able to keep up the appearance of the expectation he did not feel, rode out to see a friend, and Effie was left to wander about the house, in her anxiety, longing, but not daring to walk along the cliffs to try and discover some trace of the lost one. Trace, did we say? Had it come to that? Poor Effie did not dare to own, even to her self, how painfully confirmed her fears were growing. Mr. Lawrence's feelings now took a different turn, and those joking words haunted his brain.

"It may be true," he murmured, thoughtfully; he may have been led away by the temptation, and gone off with my ring. It was a great temptation for a poor young man, and I was wrong to put it in his way.

A messenger who had been dispatched to the village, returned to say that Mr. Leicester had been there, and left before four o'clock, saying he would bring the ring another day, and no further trace of him could he discover. The tale was soon generally believed that Mr. Leicester had gone off with Mr. Lawrence's ring. Effie could not credit so infamous a story. What a hard struggle it is to bring ourselves to look with doubt upon one we have learned to love.

Weeks passed on, and Mr. Leicester ceased to be talked of, and Captain Lawrence began to talk of joining his regiment. Then Mr. Lawrence first signified his wish to Effie that she should look on her cousin as her future husband.

"I do not wish to be abrupt, my dear," said

he, gently, "but Godfrey has asked that it may be soon, and I do not see any reason for deferring matters. I should like to have you provided with a protector before I die."

"But I do not love him, dear uncle," said Effie.

"Love is a relative term, my dear, and Godfrey is a good fellow, and thinks a good deal of you; and you know it has been the wish of my life to see you two married, since

He paused, and turned away, while Effie made no reply. Hurrying to her room, she flung herself upon her bed in an agony of tears, moaning again and again, "Harry, Harry, lost forever; oh, how I loved you."

Effie bore with life instead of enjoying it. And so she stood one evening, watching the shadows gradually steal across the lawn. She did not hear the door open gently; she did not hear that slow, feeble footstep on the thick carpet; but she did hear that low murmur, "Effie!" and turned with a start to meet the gaze of those earnest blue eyes, and to find herself in the arms of him she had believed lost forever!

The strange tale was soon told. How he had fallen over the cliff; but had been saved from a fearful death by falling on a ledge of rock half-way down. There he had lain, stunned and bruised, in the pitiless blinding rain, till he was found next day by an old halfcrazy man, who wandered about the cliffs in search of birds' eggs, who took the helpless, delirious man to his own humble cottage, nursing him with great care through the severe ill

ness that followed. Effie wondered whether she were awake or asleep as she sat and listened to the strange revelations, with her head resting on the shoulder of her recovered Harry, and so they were found by Mrs. Ellis when she entered the room to ask Effie's opinion as to blue or mauve trimmings on a grey dress.

It would be difficult to describe the feelings of the good old lady at the sight that met her eyes; but when her niece, with smiles and blushes, told how the young secretary was none other than "poor Cousin Harry," she welcomed him almost as gladly as Effie, and ran with trembling steps to break the news to the father. And then what a scene followed! It was long before the stricken man could believe his ears; but as his son recalled to his memory scene after scene of his childhood, he knew that God had been very merciful, and restored his child to him in his old age; more dear for having been so long and bitterly mourned.

As they all sat round the open window, Harry told his strange adventures; how when the vessel had gone down he had clasped his lifebelt round him, and floated till he was picked up by a steamer bound for India; how in that sultry country he had worked as a clerk until he had saved money enough to return.

Effie, seeing a cloud upon her uncle's brow, and guessing its cause, whispered to him, with crimsoned cheek-"Uncle, will you tell Godfrey that I cannot be his wife, because I have always loved Harry.”

None but Harry understood the blank look that covered Godfrey's face; but neither of them ever revealed the fearful scene on the cliff. Perhaps it was owing to this that Godfrey took the loss so quietly.

SHAKSPEARE

IN

DOMESTIC LIFE.

Among the vexed questions that have engaged the literary world during the last thirty or forty years, that of Shakspeare's sonnets has held a conspicuous place. After having been all but forgotten for more than a century, these sonnets, when republished, so far from awakening admiration, seem to have been viewed by the blundering, self-conceited critics of George the Third's days actually with disgust, Stevens declaring that "the strongest Act of Parliament would not be strong enough to compel them being read." It was reserved for the deeper feeling, the clearer insight of the poet, to recognize and welcome these gems.

It is about the middle of the sixteenth century that the name of John Shakspeare first meets us in the records of the good town of Stratford-upon-Avon. Homely enough are the entries, for in the one he is represented as being proceeded against for the recovery of a debt of some eight pounds, and in the other he is fined, together with his neighbors, for neglecting to remove the dirt near his house in Henley street.

For many years the career of John Shakspeare seems to have been prosperous. He