Emilius "explained" and promised to practise in private only. This was attended by a far more serious result. The only man in the university who could at all cope with "Angelo's best pupil," was his intimate friend and companion Tom Fernly, one of the kindest-hearted creatures that ever lived. He knew not how to say no to any proposal made by a friend, and though he disliked fencing for three or four hours together, he could not be so cruel as not to indulge his crony Worthington in a pursuit that so much delighted him.

One night, after most of the men had retired to bed, Emilius and Tom Fernly resolved to exchange a few thrusts before they followed so laudable an example. The chairs and tables were pushed aside, the candles favourably disposed, and the masks, gloves, and foils properly prepared. Two or three active rallies ensued-Tom Fernly made two very palpable hits, which stimulated Emilius to greater exertions. He made a feint, and before Tom could recover his guard, he made a thrust over his foil with all his force. The hit was made--but the slender weapon snapped in two. The force of the blow was such, that the broken weapon pierced through his clothes, and sunk deep into his left

side.

Poor Tom Fernly fell, and uttered a shriek of pain, which haunted his friend for years afterwards.

Emilius drew out the foil, and the blood spouted out of the wound in scarlet jets. He stayed not to staunch it, but rushed wildly to the lodge, and sent the porter for a surgeon. He then flew rather than ran to the doors of the tutors' rooms, and begged them to hasten and save his dying friend. He knocked up the Principal of the College and roused every man whom he knew even by name.

Tom Fernly was soon surrounded by assistants, who could do no more than hold towels and handkerchiefs to his side. These were speedily saturated with blood, and when the surgeon, a skilful and humane man, arrived, he found that he had come on an useless errand -poor Tom Fernly's life had ebbed away. The only child of his mother, and she a widow, lay dead upon the ground, killed by one who loved him dearly.

To describe the state of mind of Emilius Worthington after this sad accident, is not possible. For two years his existence was a blank. After a partial recovery, he found that his father had "closed the ports" and the portals of life at the same time. His widowed mother had "thrown up her hand," and with all a woman's-a mother's love, had devoted herself to watching over and tending her son. She heard of rubbers and rumours of rubbers, but she never asked "What was trumps."

Diamonds she now despised. A heart-her son's heart was the only heart she cared for. She had clubbed all her affections, and centered them in him. The only spade she thought of was the one that in the sexton's hands might cover the remains of him she held most dear when the game of life was lost to him. She finessed with the grim king, and scored against him, though the odds were greatly in his favour, as he had won several tricks. Her partner in the rubber, Dr. knew a trick worth two of his, and countered him successfully.

To quit unseemly metaphor, Emilius recovered, but he was weak in body and imbecile in mind. He took no note of ought that passed around him. He ate when meat was put before him; he drank because

his mother urged him to do so. He was drawn out daily in his Bathchair to imbibe the pure breezes of Landsdown; and as he passed through the crowded streets, wondered that the passers by looked on him with an eye of pity.

Dr., knowing that unless he was stimulated to exertion, he would wear away his life, in despite of a strong constitution, in this monotonous imbecility, recommended change of scene and air. Instead of allowing his mother to convey him to the warm and relaxing air of Devonshire, he insisted on her seeking the cool and bracing breezes of the northern coast. By easy stages, they reached Harrogate, and before they had been there many weeks, a decided improvement in the invalid was manifest. He could talk, smile-ay, even laugh with those about him. He sought the companionship of the fishermen, and after a while, hired a little vessel, in which he spent his days in sailing about, and fishing off the coast. Occupation blunted the edge of grief-his nerves recovered their tone. The mind and body, by sympathy, gained strength, and he began to resemble his former

self.

Then did his mother kindly but judiciously suggest the prosecution of his former plan of entering the army. His commission had long been ready for him. The bare mention of this revived the image of his murdered friend, as he called him, and a relapse was the consequence-attended, as most relapses are, with increased sufferings.

His mother would not quit his side, though warned that her health was in danger. What cares a mother for her own danger when her child's life is at stake? She persevered, and paid the penalty of her perseverance. She died, and left her son to the hired care of Mrs. Trusty, then the keeper of a lodging-house at Harrogate, and her brother Benjamin, who had been promoted to the office of body-servant to Emilius a little before his mother's death.

Emilius, under their joint care, again recovered. He returned to Bath, taking them with him-for Mrs. Trusty had no incumbrances, except her furniture and effects, which were easily disposed of with the remainder of the lease of the lodging-house. She was a widow and childless.

When they started from Harrogate in a hired coach, driven by "Zachariah-Zachariah Bond"-Mrs. Trusty's first cousin, that lady suggested the propriety of a purchase being made of the whole turnout, in preference to its being hired.

Emilius yielded-for he had not strength to say nay, and thus he was provided with a family of servants-nolus bolus, as Zachariah expressed it.

It is but doing justice to the trio to say, that no three servants ever displayed such zeal and attention to a master as did Mrs. Trusty, her brother Benjamin, and her cousin Zachariah. Their kindness and assiduity were not to be surpassed-as long as he was really ill. When he grew tolerably strong, he resisted their well-meant endeavours to control him in all his actions, which in the least degree militated against his physician's orders. It was of no use-he fought manfully for independancy, but they beat him. His absolute monarchy was destroyed-a republican form of government was established in his family.

The fight did him good. It put him on his metal, and operated more successfully than the medicines with which Mrs. Trusty had drenched him, and would have drenched him still, had not Benjamin and Zachariah called out shame. Mrs. Trusty yielded so far as to substitute broths and jellies for bolusses and jalap, but she still was firm in forbidding society. She was sure he would fall a victim to visiters or visiting if she permitted it.

Dr. ——, however, defeated her plans by inviting her master to dine with him, and to sleep at his house to prevent exposure to the night-air.

Emilius went. Zachariah mounted the box, and Benjamin stood on the footboard. Both gave a silent three cheers as they waved their hats to the defeated housekeeper, for both rejoiced in the prospect of vails and perquisites, which they foresaw would follow their master's liberation. Mrs. Trusty meditated abdication, but-thought better

of it.

At Dr.'s, Emilius first became aware of one of the results of his long and severe nervous sufferings. A small party was asked to meet him, and though he said nothing particularly funny, he kept the" table in a roar." Every one laughed but his host, who seemed distressed at their mirth. Even the servants smiled when he spoke to them, or gave them an order. His orders, too, were unaccountably exceeded. Butler," said he, " a little small beer."

He was immediately supplied with a large tumbler of very strong ale, delivered with a smile which seemed to indicate a clever estimation of his real meaning.

"Brandy, sir?" inquired the butler.

"A very little-a wee drop," said Emilius.

The butler gave him a wineglass full.

After dinner it was the same. The guests laughed at his most solemn stories as much, if not more, than they did at his Joseph Miller's. At tea-his "small cup of all black-very little sugar, and no cream," was handed to him in the shape of a breakfast-cup of strong gunpowder, over-creamed, and as sweet as syrup. His little glass of weak negus before bedtime was administered in a goblet, and was more than half wine.

When he took leave of his new friends, they laughed excessivelytold him they were delighted to have met him, and hoped their acquaintance might be renewed-for they never had met so amusing a man in their lives!

Mr. Worthington was amazed-he amusing! he, a poor, nervous, shaky creature, the cause of mirth ! He went to bed. ter's release from his

Benjamin had been drinking success to his massister's thraldom so zealously, that he was unable to see him to bed. The housemaid goodnaturedly offered her services to prevent an exposure of his excesses. Mr. Worthington felt awkward and nervous while she was warming his bed, but when she had done, begged her to come and tuck him up and take his candle

away.

The girl stared, laughed, gave him a poke in the ribs, and said, "She would never have believed it if she had not seen it."

Emilius looked severe, as he thought, but the girl burst out into a

louder laugh, and said, "She should certainly tell her master-she was not used to such nonsense," as she left the room and banged the door after her.

Emilius got but little sleep that night, and when he met his friend, Dr. —, at breakfast, the following morning, he told him all that had occurred, and of his amazement at his being deemed so laugh-at-able a character.

Dr. led him to a looking-glass-asked him a serious question, and bade him look in the mirror as he replied to him. Emilius did so. He saw, to his dismay, that he winked with every word he said in so ludicrous a manner, that he himself could scarcely believe that he was not joking.

He would have shut himself up for life, but Dr. exposed the folly of such a course of action, and assured him that in time, when the habit and the cause of it were known, it would cease to be noticed. His patient believed him, and had the resolution to follow his

advice.

Dr. - prevailed still further. He recommended him to engage in some professional employment. The law he hated-medicine required too long a study-the army could not be even alluded to. The church was selected, and his ordination easily obtained through Dr.

-'s brother, who was the Bishop of N▬▬.

On his first appearance in the desk, he felt nervous and fearful that his peculiarity should subject him to the ridicule of his congregation. He read the address in fear and trembling, but not a smile was to be seen. He went through the whole service, and heard with joy from Dr., who had been nervously watching the result of his experiment, that mind had conquered. A sense of the sacred nature of his office and duties, enabled him to resist the action of the muscles of the eyelid.

Though Mr. Worthington needed not the revenues, he accepted the incumbency of Rushley. But why? The parish was poor, the rectory uninhabitable, the church nearly in ruins.

He repaired and restored the church at his own cost. He built a new parsonage suitable to the living, and established a Sunday-school in the village. Instead of putting money in his purse from the tithes, he spends a considerable sum in addition to what he received. The cottagers had gardens and potato grounds. The most successful cultivators were rewarded with prizes, and furnished with plants and seeds. Mrs. Trusty had a copper of soup boiling three days in the week for the aged and those with large families. Zachariah and Benjamin went round by turns with physic and wine for the sick, and caudle for the lying-in.

"In short," said the vicar, "a better man does not live. He is now hearty and cheerful. Though he is ruled over by his housekeeper, bullied by Benjamin, and snubbed by Zachariah, a happier man does not exist than the Rector of Rushley. His servants may have their faults, but-"

"He wisely winks at them all," said I, as I wished him and the Curate of Mossbury good night.

AN HOUR AT MASS

BY A MEDICAL STUDENT.

'TWAS to beguile an hour of care
I stole into that Minster high;
For thousands came to worship there,
To rest a weary heart thereby;
But slowly as my wandering eye
Did o'er the adoring masses stray,

A gentle form was bending nigh,
Instant I knelt-but not to pray.
No-God forgive me! not a thought
That hour had I of prayer or praise,
Unseen, unknown, I only sought
On that ethereal face to gaze;
And drinking its entrancing rays,
To give my very soul to sight,

And revel in the wildering maze
Of admiration and delight!

Yea, even as the errant sons

Of Israel's Heaven-adopted line,
Of deadly sting were heal'd at once
By looking on the holy sign;
Even so this poor stung heart of mine,
In that brief hour I well could deem,
By gazing on that face divine,
Was steep'd in balm of bliss supreme.
Still fondly rapt I look d, the while
The pompous ritual went on,
And all throughout the mighty pile,
The hallelujah vast was thrown!
The air was music-every stone
Of that great temple thrill'd and rung,
As high before the imaged Son,
Their smoke the golden censers flung.
But not an instant could the whole-
The tinted windows,-incense-cloud--
The mitred priests in gorgeous stole-
The chanted mass, or anthem loud,
Or pictured saints or kneeling crowd,
Make me apostate to the shrine

Of my devotion-we all bow'd,
They to their idol-I to mine.
Yes, 'twas an hour of rapture more

;

Than ever else my spirit knew
It ended--for their worship o'er
The multitude uprising threw
A moving mass between, and drew
Us far apart. 'Twas all in vain

That frenzied through the crowds I flew,

To catch the blissful glance again.

For ne'er since then, except in dreams
Of sorrow weary night or day,

Has that bright vision with its beams
Of radiant beauty lit my way-
Oh, happy he on whom it's ray
In daily smile of love descends.

Heavens! is there one so blest?-Away!

The barbed thought my bosom rends !