He walked boldly up to the magistrate's table, and placed his hand upon it, before he perceived his wife, to whom consciousness had not yet returned. The moment he beheld her, he started back, saying, "Whatever charge you may have against me, gentlemen, you can have none against that woman.' "Nor have we," replied Sir Thomas; "she is your accuser!" The fine features of Joseph Huntley relaxed into an expression of scorn and unbelief. "She appear against me! Not not if I were to attempt to murder her!" he answered firmly. "Grace!" exclaimed her father joyfully, "here is the child Abel-he is found!" and, seizing the trembling boy, with evident exultation, led him to her. The effect of this act of the poor simple-minded man was electrical-the mother instantly revived, but turned her face from her husband; and, entwining her son in her arms, pressed him closely to her side. The clergyman proceeded to interrogate the prisoner, but he answered nothing, keeping his eyes intently fixed upon his wife and child. In the meantime, the officers of justice had been prompt in the execution of their duty the Smiths were apprehended in the village; and the greater portion of the property stolen from Sir Thomas Purcel was found in the hut where Grace had beheld it concealed. : When the preparations were sufficiently forward to conduct the unfortunate men to prison, Joseph Huntley advanced to his wife. The scornful, as well as undaunted, expression of his countenance had changed to one of painful intensity; he took her hand within his, and pressed it to his lips, without articulating a single syllable. Slowly she moved her face, so that their eyes at last encountered in one long mournful look. Ten years of continued suffering could not have exacted a heavier tribute from Grace Huntley's beauty. No language can express the withering effects of the few hours' agony; her husband saw it, and felt, perhaps for the first time, how truly he had once been loved, and how much of happiness he had sacrificed to sin. "'Twas to save my children!" was the only sentence she uttered, or rather murmured; and it was the last coherent one she spoke for many weeks. Her fine reason seemed overwhelmed. It was a sight few could witness without tears. The old father, tending the couch of his afflicted daughter, would sit for hours by her bed-side, clasping the child Abel's hand within his, and every now and then shaking his head when her ravings were loud or violent. It might be some fifteen years after these distressing events had agitated the little village of Craythorpe, that an elderly woman, of mild and cheerful aspect, L sat calmly reading a large volume she supported against the railing of a noble vessel that was steering its course from the shores of "Merrie England,” to some land far over sea. Two gentlemen, who were lounging on the quarter-deck arm in arm, frequently passed her. The elder one, in a peculiarly kind tone of voice, said, "You bear the voyage well, dame." "Thank God, yes, sir!" "Ah! you will wish yourself back in old England before you are landed six weeks." "I did not wish to leave it, sir; but my duty obliged me to do so." The gentlemen walked on. "Who is she?" inquired the younger. Her information trans "A very singular woman. ported for life a husband whom she loved notwithstanding his coldness and his crimes. She had, at that time, three children, and the eldest had already become contaminated by his father's example. She saw nothing but destruction for them in prospective, her warnings and entreaties being alike unregarded; so she made her election-sacrificed the husband, and Isaved the children!" "But what does she here?" "Her eldest son is now established in a small business, and respected by all who know him; her second boy, and a father whom her misfortunes reduced to a deplorable state of wretchedness, are dead; her daughter, a village belle and beauty, is married to my father's handsome new parish-clerk; and Mrs. Huntley, having seen her children provided for, and by her virtues and industry made respectable in the Old World, is now on her voyage to the New, to see, if I may be permitted to use her own simple language, whether she can contribute to render the last days of her husband as happy as the first they passed together.' It is only justice to the criminal to say that I believe him truly and perfectly reformed." "And on this chance she leaves her children and her country?" "She does! She argues that, as the will of Providence prevented her from discharging her duties together, she must endeavour to perform them separately. He was sentenced to die; but, by my father's exertions, his sentence was commuted to one of transportation for life; and I know she has quitted England without the hope of again beholding its white cliffs." THE ENGLISH SEA-CAPTAIN'S SONG. BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. Now the sea-raven mute Now the night-wind's last sob On the billow is dying; And the full Moon is up, Whom no dark clouds encumber, While the numberless stars Lie around her in slumber. All beneath us is bright All above us is glowing- And shakes mast and pennon; |