in his pocket, and was something more than two hundred and fifty miles from London.

Lifting up his eyes, he beheld a horseman coming towards him, whom he discovered to be no other than Mr. John Browdie, carrying a thick ash stick.

"I am in no mood for more noise and riot, and yet, do what I will, I shall have an altercation with this honest blockhead, and perhaps a blow or two from yonder cudgel."

There appeared reason to expect it, for John Browdie no sooner saw Nicholas, than he reined in his horse, and waited until such time as he should come up.

66

Servant, young genelman."

"Yours."

"Weel; we ha' met at last."

"Yes.-Come! We parted on no very good terms the last time we met; it was my fault; but I had no intention of offending you, and no idea that I was doing so. I was very sorry for it afterwards. Will you shake hands?"

"Shake honds!

Ah! that I weel! But wa'at be the matter wi' thy feace, mun? It be all brokken loike." "It is a cut,-a blow; but I returned it to the giver, and with good interest."

66

'Noa, did'ee though? Well deane! I loike 'un for thot." "The fact is, I have been ill-treated."

"Noa! Dean't say thot."

"Yes, I have, by that man Squeers, and I have beaten him soundly, and am leaving this place in consequence."

"What!" cried John Browdie, with such an ecstatic shout that the horse shied at it. "Beatten the schoolmeasther! Ho! ho! ho! Beatten the schoolmeasther! Who ever heard o' the loike o' that noo! Giv' us thee hond agean, yoongster. Beatten the schoolmeasther! Dang it, I loove thee for 't."

When his mirth had subsided, he inquired what Nicholas meant to do. On his replying, to go straight to London, he shook his head, and inquired if he knew how much the coaches charged to carry passengers so far?

"No, I do not; but it is of no great consequence to me, for I intend walking.”

'Gang awa' to Lunnun afoot! (Stan' still, tell'ee, old horse,) Hoo much cash hast thee gotten?"

"Not much, but I can make it enough. Where there's a will, there's a way, you know."

John Browdie pulled out an old purse, and insisted that Nicholas should borrow from him whatever he required.

"Dean't be afeard, mun, tak' eneaf to carry thee whoam. Thee'lt pay me yan day, a' warrant."

Nicholas would by no means be prevailed upon to borrow more than a sovereign, with which loan Mr. Browdie was fain to content himself, after many entreaties that he would accept of more.

He observed, with a touch of Yorkshire caution, that if Nicholas didn't spend it all, he could put the surplus by, till he had an opportunity of remitting it carriage free.

"Tak' that bit 'o timber to help thee on wi', mun; keep a good heart, and bless thee. Beatten the schoolmeasther! 'Cod, it's the best thing 'a 've heard this twonty year!"

John set spurs to his horse, and went off at a smart canter. Nicholas watched the horse and rider until they disappeared over the brow of a distant hill, and then set forward on his journey.

He did not travel far, that afternoon, for by this time it was nearly dark; so he lay, that night, at a cottage, where beds were let cheap; and, rising betimes next morning, made his way before night to Boroughbridge. There he stumbled on an empty barn; and in a warm corner stretched his weary limbs and fell asleep.

When he awoke next morning, he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stared at some motionless object in front of him. "Strange! It cannot be real; and yet I--I am awake! Smike!"

"To go with you-anywhere-everywhere-to the world's end-to the churchyard. Let me go with you; Oh! do let me. You are my home, my kind friend; take me with you, pray!”

He had followed Nicholas, it seemed; had never lost sight of him all the way; had watched while he slept, and when he halted for refreshment; and had feared to appear sooner, lest he should be sent back.

"Poor fellow! Your hard fate denies you any friend but one, and he is nearly as poor and helpless as yourself."

"May I may I go with you? I will be your faithful, hard-working servant. I want no clothes; these will do very well. I only want to be near you."

you

66 And shall. And the world shall deal by you as it does by me, till one or both of us shall quit it for a better. Come!"

So he strapped his burden on his shoulders, and, taking his stick in one hand, extended the other to his delighted charge. And so they passed out of the old barn together.

BILLY GRIMES, THE DROVER.

"To-morrow, ma, I'm sweet sixteen,
And Billy Grimes, the drover,
Has popped the question to me, ma,
And wants to be my lover;
To-morrow morn, he says, mamma,
He's coming here quite early,
To take a pleasant walk with me
Across the field of barley."

"You must not go, my gentle dear,
There's no use now a-talking;
You shall not go across the field
With Billy Grimes a-walking.
To think of his presumption, too,
The dirty, ugly drover!

I wonder where your pride has gone,
To think of such a lover!"

"Old Grimes is dead, you know, mamma,
And Billy is so lonely;

Besides, they say, to Grimes' estate,

That Billy is the only

Surviving heir to all that's left;
And that they say is nearly
A good ten thousand dollars, ma-
And quite six hundred yearly!"
"I did not hear, my daughter dear,
Your last remark quite clearly,
But Billy is a clever lad,

And no doubt loves you dearly;
Remember then, to-morrow morn,
To be up bright and early,
To take a pleasant walk with him
Across the field of barley!"

JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER.-N. P. WILLIS.

Aud Jephthah vowed a vow unto the Lord, and said, If thou shalt without fail deliver the children of Ammon into mine hands,

Then it shall be, that whatsoever cometh forth of the doors of my house to meet me, when I return in peace from the children of Ammon, shall surely be the Lord's, and I will offer it up for a burnt-offering.-Judges xi: 30, 31.

She stood before her father's gorgeous tent,
To listen for his coming. Her loose hair
Was resting on her shoulders, like a cloud
Floating around a statue, and the wind,
Just swaying her light robe, revealed a shape
Praxiteles might worship. She had clasped
Her hands upon her bosom, and had raised
Her beautiful, dark, Jewish eyes to heaven,
Till the long lashes lay upon her brow.
Her lip was slightly parted, like the cleft
Of a pomegranate blossom; and her neck,
Just where the cheek was melting to its curve
With the unearthly beauty sometimes there,
Was shaded, as if light had fallen off,

Its surface was so polished. She was stilling
Her light, quick breath to hear; and the white rose
Scarce moved upon her bosom, as it swelled,
Like nothing but a lovely wave of light,
To meet the arching of her queenly neck.
Her countenance was radiant with love.
She looked like one to die for it—a being
Whose whole existence was the pouring out
Of rich and deep affections.

Onward came

The leaden tramp of thousands. Clarion notes
Rang sharply on the ear at intervals;
And the low, mingled din of mighty hosts,
Returning from the battle, poured from far,
Like the deep murmur of a restless sea.

They came, as earthly conquerors always come,
With blood and splendor, revelry and wo.
The stately horse treads proudly-he hath trod
The brow of death, as well. The chariot-wheels
Of warriors roll magnificently on-

Their weight hath crushed the fallen. Man is there-
Majestic, lordly man-with his sublime

And elevated brow, and godlike frame;

Lifting his crest in triumph-for his heel
Hath trod the dying like a wine-press down!

The mighty Jephthah led his warriors on

Through Mizpeh's streets. His helm was proudly set,

And his stern lip curled slightly, as if praise
Were for the hero's scorn. His step was firm,
But free as India's leopard; and his mail,
Whose shekels none in Israel might bear,
Was like a cedar's tassel on his frame.
His crest was Judah's kingliest; and the look
Of his dark, lofty eye, and bended brow,

Might quell the lion. He led on; but thoughts

Seemed gathering round which troubled him. The veins Grew visible upon his swarthy brow,

And his proud lip was pressed as if with pain.

He trod less firmly; and his restless eye

Glanced forward frequently, as if some ill

He dared not meet, were there. His home was near,

And men were thronging, with that strange delight
They have in human passions, to observe
The struggle of his feelings with his pride.
He gazed intently forward. The tall firs
Before his door were motionless. The leaves
Of the sweet aloe, and the clustering vines
Which half concealed his threshold, met his eye,
Unchanged and beautiful; and one by one,
The balsam, with its sweet-distilling stems,
And the Circassian rose, and all the crowd
Of silent and familiar things, stole up,
Like the recovered passages of dreams.
He strode on rapidly. A moment more,

And he had reached his home; when lo! there sprang
One with a bounding footstep, and a brow
Of light, to meet him. Oh, how beautiful!
Her dark eye flashing like a sun-lit gem,
And her luxuriant hair,--'twas like the sweep
Of a swift wing in visions. He stood still,
As if the sight had withered him. She threw
Her arms about his neck: he heeded not.
She called him " Father," but he answered not.
She stood and gazed upon him. Was he wroth?
There was no anger in that blood-shot eye.
Had sickness seized him? She unclasped his helm,
And laid her white hand gently on his brow,
And the large veins felt stiff and hard, like cords.
The touch aroused him. He raised up his hands,
And spoke the name of God, in agony.

She knew that he was stricken then, and rushed
Again into his arms, and with a flood

Of tears she could not stay, she sobbed a prayer
That he would breathe his agony in words.
He told her-and a momentary flush

Shot o'er her countenance; and then the soul
Of Jephthah's daughter wakened; and she stood