he turned to her again), "nay, fear it not. A curse rests on the entire race of man, but 'tis made impotent by God's great love and mercy. Trust to that mercy, mother, and all will be well. Shall the foul ministers of darkness have more power than the emissaries of heaven? Mother, if the fabled curse of the outraged victim of our ancestor has worked for a long hundred years, how is it? Because men, by their own wild deeds, their reckless lives, have helped that curse to work. Evil needs the encouragement of evil to foster it; resistance blunts the shaft which Satan points against us, and makes his darts fall helpless to the ground. Droop not, dear mother. Trust in God, in whom alone man may trust without fear of disappointment. It may be, mother, that this night the great sins of our race may bring on me the judgment of that race-extinction; but if so, another world is brighter than this present one, mine own mother."

He smiled so gently on her as he spoke. "Evan, and all my good friends here, cast off this gloom. Shall one spectre form affright ye, when, could the windows of your soul be opened, the dull senses of your mind be cleared, ye would perceive thousands of beings from the spirit world pervading what now seems empty space. Ye would draw courage from the sight, as ye beheld angel's of brightness, watching waiting, to lead

from the treacherous lures of crime.

"It is ingratitude to fear, when help is promised to those who ask that help. But, what is that melody which rises o'er mine ear? Listen, mother, listen," and a hymn rose on the night air. Whence it came none could tell, but it seemed like countless voices melting into one, and through them all he heard the words, "Ivor, thy words were words of wisdom; but would'st thou act up to them in the hour of trial? Art thou stronger than those who have gone before thee? It may be that thou art, for a strength seems to dwell in thee greater than thine own. Thou dost speak of others, who by their deeds have helped the curse to work. How have their lives been spent, and how has thine? Theirs, in the active service of the world, where good is but too often drowned in the great flood of evil; thine in the dim seclusion of this castle, afar from the temptations

of that world. If thou wert circumstanced as they, perhaps thou might, like them, become a thing of guilt."

"I would pray for help to save me." "Thou think'st so; but how canst thou be sure of this untried? Absence from temptation is absence from the proof of power to resist temptation." "Thou hast said that crime produced the curse. 'Tis writ, the curse causeless shall not come;' coming from some cause, it flees not till the cause be past." "By the unrestricted passions of the human heart, it came n thee and thine; by the same means through each successive generation it has been perpetuated. These same passions dwell in

thee. How dost thou not know that, when thou art thrown into the more active scenes of life, they will not break from the reins of thy government, and drag thee onwards in the same mad course thine ancestors have run before thee. Better die this night than live for such a doom. But thou shalt be tried-and thus, with the speed of thought, each place and stirring scene of human life shall be presented to thine heart and soul. In that visionary world temptations shall assail thee, and dark spirits lure thee on to ill. Each temptation shall come as strongly to thee as it could come didst thou live among the worldly throng.

"This is thy test. If thou failest, then let the curse fall on thee; and thy life pay the forfeit. But stand thou firm, and thou art safe, and the curse shall recoil from thee.

"Ere the blood of those who now are here have made the circuit of their bodies, shall all these scenes both come and go, and life or death be cast before thee."

The voice ceased, and a blaze of meteoric light fell on that crowded hall, holding all in suspension. But through the soul of Ivor there shot a sharp and acrid pain.

He thought he stood in the busy world where one he loved had wronged him cruelly. His sad heart bled, and he would have taken the injurer his ear. "Revenge is sweet; 'tis cowardly to to him, and pardoned all, but a voice whispered in forget so easily. Shall the great Lord Ivor, the scion of a noble race, be wronged, and not resent the wrong? Does a woman's feeling spirit dwell in his heart, and whisper words of mocking charity? Charity! another name-a cloak for fear-and that which is the result of fear-forgiveness !"

And Ivor raised his hand, and would have smote and slain him who had wronged him-for insidiously the venomed words crept through his soul, 'till every angry feeling stirred within him.

But a soft wing interposed, and hid the aggressor from his sight; and a voice full of tender sadness murmured, "Beware." But the angry feelings gathered strength in Ivor's breast; and when he would have cast them forth he could not.

Now they tore and chafed his smarting spirit, and then they hurled him down, and trampled on him till he cried for aid and help.

Then in a scowling mass they fled, and Ivor hid himself again.

A form stood at his side. A form of human loveliness, and the wounded soul of Ivor clung to it for healing. "Gentle maiden ;" and she smiled on him, and twined her arms about his neck, and pressed her kisses on his lips. "Gentle maiden, I am sore distraught by the stormy passions of the human heart, and I am tempted by cruel wrong almost to hate my kind; but thou, shalt make me love them. I will give up all and dwell with thee in some fair isle, where flowers shall strew our path, and birds sing their

wild melodies in our charmed ear. mine, dear one?

735

And she clasped her arms about his neck again, and pressed her kisses on his lips a second time. But the kisses scorched and burnt, and her arms grasped him like chains of iron, and he could not escape from her 'till he cried, Save me, or I perish.'"

Then she fled. Her blue eyes changed to stars of fire-her face to rage and hate.

And now a seer stood by the side of Ivor; a man of years, and thought, and learning. "Now youth," he said, "thou hast escaped the vices of the world, and her vile blandishments; follow me, and I will keep thee safe from all temptation. Thou art young, poor youth, and foolish; but I am wise and old, and can guide thee safely. Listen to me-Thou needest wisdom such as mine.

Then Ivor's heart was filled with joy. "Praise be to God," he cried, and he turned to his companion; but a sneer dwelt on the old man's face. "Praise!" he cried; "thou art too young to dare to praise. Learn how to praise, before thou dost address Omnipotence." "Too young," and Ivor paused; "too young! yet he hath said that out of the mouths of babes and sucklings praise has been perfected.'"

"Poor erring youth!" and the old man smiled, "thou art too credulous. Thou must not take all that is writ as 'tis writ. Exercise thine own judgment, for what else was that judgment given, and believe that which it tells thee to believe. Now hearken to me," and with lengthy words, and arguments, and subtle reasonings, he entered on the subject of all faith. He brought his human intellect to bear on the great theme. To that he turned each point; by that he doubted or be lieved.

And the bright mind of Ivor drank in the poisoned draught drank till that mind reeled with its own intoxicating power-drank till it even thirsted, and the parched soul cried "More, more, more"-but cried in vain; for the fount of human wisdom was dry, and had not one drop to quench the fever it had created.

Then Ivor raised his straining eyes to heaven and prayed," Remove this dreadful state far from me, this dreadful doubt." The seer smiled still.

"Dost thou sicken of the draught thou didst quaff so eagerly? But thou hast imbibed it, and it stirs in thee still. Can thy prayer save thee? How dost thou know the power thou dost call on can help thee? How dost thou know He is? Thou canst neither see nor hear Him. He is afar perchance-if, indeed, He be at all! I am beside thee. Thou dost see, and touch, and listen to me. Thy reason tells thee that I am, but where is the He whom thou dost thus address? Lives be in the dreamy haunts of nature? in the glen, the dale, the lofty summit of the mountain range, or in the busy traffic of the town. If in the latter, is he a God of mercy, love or

But Ivor heard no more: his soul was wrapt in prayer. He cried, "Have mercy on my weakness, ignorance, and clothe me in the armour of thy faith, that I may vanquish this insidious foe. Why vice for a time should seem to go unscathed, and evil be permitted, I know not, but show me that it is because thou dost see it good that it should be.

"Let me draw wisdom from the contemplation of the greatest permitted wrong, the cruelest death which worked out so much everlasting good, and let me argue from it to this wily fiend, that lesser wrong than this may be made to work out lesser good, but still good to thine own faithful children. 'Lord of all might and power save me or I perish.' And Ivor bent his knee, and bowed his head, as the prayer rose from his heart. Aud where the seer had stood was a dark fiend of malice.

Raging with hatred, disappointment, impotent to ruin, naught could it do but prey upon its own unholy nature; and gnaw, and chafe, and tear itself, and threaten wildly, and then flee, shrieking, from itself, and others like itself-flee helpless, powerless! It had none to crave help from, for it had crushed help with infidelity; and it was powerless, for it had found a power stronger than its own.

The world of dreams was gone, and Lord Ivor clasped his mother's trembling hand.

"Fear not, dear mother;" he said. "he has promised help to those who ask that help." And he took up the sentence where he had left it ere the vision came upon him; and it seemed, to those who listened, as though he had paused but a second in his speech.

There was a long and piercing shriek. Α meteor dashed madly through the star-lit sky, and sank in the dim horizon.

"Evan'-and Lord Ivor knelt beside the faithful servant-"Is thy sand so nearly run? thy weary race now over? Farewell, old friend; thy glazing eyes are fixed on me, but thy soul is looking towards God. Farewell! A few more years of mortal life, and then all here must take the path thou takest-leave earth, and all that earth contains, the friends, the dear loved friends, the scenes, the hopes, the high ambitions, or the grovelling pleasures, and the wealth, the hard-gained wealth, of which, perchance, so dear a purchase has been made, and lie as thou art lying, a senseless piece of clay. Woe to the wretched soul which has existed but to minister to the wants and wishes of that

Years passed over Lord Ivor's head; his face became marked by time, and care impressed her wrinkles on it. His locks were white with age; his form was bent, his steps were feeble.

But young and stalwart arms were offered for his support, and young, and warm, and loving hearts breathed their affection in the ear of him whom they called "father." And at Christmas, when the snow lay thick upon the ground, when the crisp

when the starving robin came to man's friendly casement for the food which nature had sealed from him-then Lord Ivor would sit by the gleaming fire, the great clumps of wood blazing so cheerily, and throwing their ruddy glow upon his venerable face-and he would talk to those who clustered round him-to his children-children now no longer, but youths and maidensalmost men and women, and tell them of his boyhood, and far beyond it, to the wild legends of the castle, and of the curse, and how it came, and how it went.

1. THE DREAMER.

Sitting alone, I watch the firelight's gleams,

As the red embers fitfully expire;
Feeding my heart with Fancy's empty dreams-
Dreaming alone beside a failing fire.

There, in yon grate, once more can Fancy view

Faces, long-lost, of friends grown strangely coldFriends whom fond boyhood deemed would aye be true, Ere manhood's heart with grief grew sadly old. There is the home which once I called my own;

There are the fields where, happy boy, I played; Come back to me, fresh feelings, early flown;

Come back, dear days beneath the greenwood shade!

Lonely I sit; yet, I am not alone;

Here, ushered in by memory, comest thou,
Dearest of all to dreamy boyhood known;
Dearer, though dead, than fairer maidens now.
Idols I've made,-and found them common clay-
Since first I lost the light of those dear eyes,
Winning me back te virtue's peaceful way—
Preaching to me like saintliest homilies.

Sit by my side-and be my penance this:-
Sadly to think of all I used to be

(When with pure lip I met thy girlish kiss),
Till grief, through shame, shall worthy grow of thee.

Though thou art dead, it is a craven part

Idly to mourn, or, madlier, sin, I ween;
Base to degrade, by joyless vice, a heart
Which once to love and thee a shrine had been.

Sit by my side-ah! 'twere a vain request.

Fool! fool am I!-false Fancy's willing slave: Pale, shrouded form, thou peacefully dost rest; Spring's withered daisies fade upon thy grave.

Yet it is well that I sit here forlorn,

Watching this fire with dim, tear-clouded eyes: Thus to a heart the world too long hath wornAngel-like come its "BROKEN MEMORIES!"

II. THE WORKER.

Oh! tell me not that life is dark-that hope hath fled for aye,

The sun is still behind each cloud-perchance 'twill shine to-day;

Oh! tell me not that life is dark-what, if thy heart be faint ?

Shalt thou so strive to win weak hearts to echo thy false plaint ?

What, if thy Past were wasted time ?-thy Present is thine

own;

Life is a field wherein to sow, and reap when that is done: What, when the Present's corn doth stand, with rich, ripe, golden ears,

Wilt thou sit down and dream of want with a dotard's idle tears?

The harvest's ready to thy hand,—if labourers be few, There's more remaining thus in store for the gallant hearts and true,

Who waste not strength on empty dreams, nor snarl at "cruel fate,"

As if God put us here on earth to murmur-" Desolate!" Up from thy slumbers, dreamer! there's man's work must be done;

Up to the field and do it, before the set of sun;
Stay not in-doors repining that thou must lonely be;
Know that abroad are loving hearts, who only wait for thee!
Look up! God's sun is shining through the clouds in
yonder sky;

While thou art looking backward, where the Fast's dead flowerets lie.

Man! while there's work for manhood, art idly gazing back,
And roving with sad memory adown a barren track?
Oh! dreary-hearted brother mine, come, listen unto me,—
Come, let us speak together, for I have mourned like thee;
I, too, have been a dreamer-dreaming drearily as thon,
But my eyes, thank God! are opened, and I look right on-
ward now!
W. B. B. S.

who invariably accompany him in his drives, are very much like repetitions of the Nabob himself. His carriage is a despicable old rattle-trap, drawn by four sorry nags, and driven by postillions, whose livery is a disgrace to the profession. He, too, has his troopers; some bootless, some with one boot and one shoe, and not one with corresponding jackets or head-dresses. The only thing I have ever seen to equal them are the irregular soldiers in Turkey.

Next to the Nabob comes "Ranasawing Chinnatwerby Chitty," the opulent and corpulens native money-lender, riding, cross-legged, in his hackerry, which is drawn by a little Brahminy bull, and driven by an exceedingly black individual in alarmingly light costume, his head shaved, all but an upright tuft, in the centre of the crown, and shining like a highly-polished ebony ball. Tinkle, tinkle; jingle, jingle-merrily sound the little bells in the hackery and round the little bull's neck, as the driver flourishes his whip, and the little bull steps out to its utmost speed. Merrily cachinates the little fat Chitty inside of his hackerry, as shoeless and cross-legged, he ruminates over the day's spoils, and glories in reckoning up the dupes and victims he has gulled that blessed day. Thirty per cent. per annum and good security in hand. Duly legalised receipts, and more substantial safeguards, in the shape of costly rings and other jewellery. Slyly the Chitty smiles as he meditates a terrific onslaught on the curry, and rice, and ghee, and other like dainties, simmering away against his return home. He can afford to be extravagant to-day and indulge in an extra platter of butter.

Ladies and gentlemen in carriages-ladies and gentlemen in gigs, phaetons, and tandems-ladies and gentlemen on horseback-poor clerks, limited to shanks' mare-people in palanquins-people on foot-people in white, green, red, blue, every colour of the rainbow-people in tight-fitting costumes--people in loose-flowing robes-people in shocking bad hats-people with no hats at allpeople in primæval costumes-children in no costume at all; the perpetual murmuring roar of the surf, as it rolls heavily upon the beach-voices like the sound of many waters, mingling with the sighing of the breeze-noisy crows in myriads, cawing overhead-catamaran men drawing in their catamarans for the night, and securing them far beyond the reach of the waves the intense silence that succeeds, as the night closes in-all these indicate, beyond a doubt, the approach of some great meteorological change. The sea breeze gradually subsides, and people drive home as fast as they can, always preceded by those indefatigable, untiring grooms, who, with a light lantern in either hand, run before the fastest trotting horses, always outstripping them in speed; always sound in wind; always holloaing and bellowing "Ho! ho!" to warn foot passengers off the carriage track, and hackeries and other conveyances of the approach of another carriage.

People get home and dine in a hurry. Barometers indicate a great change in the weather, and preparations are being made to evade the violence of an approaching hurricane.

CHAPTER XXIII.

FAREWELL TO COROMANDEL.

SITUATED about two hours pleasant drive from Madras, is Ennore, the Brighton, Hastings, and St. Leonards of Madras, all three combined in one. For though invalids sometimes resort to St. Thomé for the benefit of the sea-breeze, St. Thomé can scarcely be considered as distinct from the long and rambling district of Madras itself. Now Ennore, on the contrary, is parted off by a quantity of intermediate meadow ground and paddy fields. The drive thither is quite rustic, and the scenery on arrival charming beyond the stranger's most sanguine expectations. In the first place, the houses that constitute this convalescent retreat, are all carefully built; of exceedingly pretty structure, and situated on the shores of a very extensive lake, which communicate by a very narrow channel with the sea, and is, consequently, a splendid reservoir of all the most delicious Indian fishes, commencing with the incomparable pomphret, aud finishing with goodly sized and well-favored prawns. In addition to the private residences, there was one convalescent bungalow pro bono publico, and a large mansion, known as Compton-house, which was also thrown open for the benefit of the sick and suffering. This retreat from the noise, and din, and dust of Madras, was one of the greatest enjoyments recorded on memory's tablets, during my frequent sojournings in Madras. The delightful bustle and preparation of packing up for this occasion, the extraordinary and extensive suburban costumes, deemed indispensable with, and inseparable from, a visit to Ennore. The hats with alarming brims—the loose, wide, sailor-like inexpressibles, made of gaily-striped gingham-the dark blue silk jackets with capacious pockets-the utter contempt for braces and waistcoat-the mania for fishing-rods and spy-glasses-all these betokened on the part of the gentlemen mighty preparations for aquatic enjoyments. And the ladies-what a merry life of bustle and confusion was theirs! What mysterious looking hampers suddenly made their appearance under sideboards, and in every available nook and corner of the room. What a perpetual boiling of hams, and tongues, and shrimps! what a cheerful array of long necked champaigne bottles, apoplectic beer ditto, and attenuated claret bottles! What biscuits and cakes, and gingerbread, sardins and pickled herrings! Then my recollection makes me feel young again, and buoyant as a cork. As for the children, there was no keeping them within the bounds of decorum, even under the terrorem of fearful threats. No close