an ancestor of his put down his name to a deed-a death warrant of a King of the Old Countree!

'This was the most, the unkindest cut of all ;'

and otherwise conducted himself with such intensest zeal and ardour as to cost him dear liberty and life!

'I do not set my life at a pin's fee.'

As his old ancestor's proclivities debarred him from doing the grand and sailing round the world in a smart fore-and-after, he made the best of it, and could be jolly, paddling his own canoe, or a native's, up and down Fernland's rapids, or out at sea with as bonnie a little cox as ever mortal wished to keep her steady, bale her out when she shipped a sea, give the word of command, and steer her to a secure haven.

Lord Alfred had a charm of manner, Ralph said to himself; but manner very often charms only-to betray! Ralph had often heard of charming men before, had read of them in books, of men who proved a very charm to one another, and long had he looked for one. Never till now had he met in living flesh and blood what in his ideas personified consummate charmingness; a man who, judging from his words and deeds-unfailing tests-soared high above the common herd, whose charm consists, say, in leading dupes to Misfortune Dire !

Such men as Lord Alfred Playfair, thought Ralph, prove sources of real delight and happiness unmixed; while their base counterfeits, rendering themselves by fascination of manner and of person more odious and more despicable than had such charms been absent, cause true hearts to recoil with ready suspicion from all charming men whatever. There was a charm about Lord Alfred Playfair resembling that which most men love in womena something within the man's bosom so unlike other men's-so like a woman's tender, loving nature, and yet unlike a woman's heart in this: that, brave as woman's heart may be, his bravery was steady, calm, unmoved! He thought, could such a creature only become a woman,-such wondrous charm of manner, such handsomeness, such frankness, such eager, free exuberance of soul, —ah, no, it could not be! And then he thought no more about it, that is, he tried. But ever and anon the thoughts would come. What thoughts? Ralph's thoughts?-as well attempt to catch the wind! Ralph's thoughts were all on Women. First they clustered around Beauty, then they reclined on Women; they then fell back on Beauty, and now they're on Women again! Could there only be a Lady Alfred Playfair!

'A Lady Alfred Playfair?' I breathed into the poor boy's ear. 'Why, yes, of course there can, and will be, doubtless, some fine day!'

The noxious weed had done its work; he heard me not, but muttered:

'Yes, a girl just like Lord Alfred-the image, its counterpart; then I should, yes, I, Ralph Osborne, would—but no, there cannot be a Lady Alfred Playfair!'

And still Ralph Osborne smoked the more.

CHAPTER XVII.

'War, war is still the cry, even to the knife.'-BYRON.

WITHIN a short while of the departure of the Sybil for the Old Countree, Ralph had some very old friends staying with him. Frank Fullheart and his father had been boys together, and on the death-bed of the latter his friend had promised to look after the boy if ever he came in his way, but had never told him of it. He had such wild, passionate longings, his father said, and yet a woman's softest, kindest heart within. He never forgot his vow; and an opportunity occurring he had set sail, in company with his wife, for Fernland, where they were warmly welcomed by the object of their solicitude.

and

Frank Fullheart was a man of business in Undone City, could not be spared for long. In the trip to the Antipodean Far Countree he had combined business with pleasure-not in 'floating' great companies, but in promoting the more solid interests of commerce.

Taking passage in a steamer then bound for Middletown, the three now left Southtown together.

Ralph called upon Colonel Trevosa immediately on their arrival, for the edict had gone forth.

'My sentence is for open war.'-MILTON.

The bugle was even then sounding as Ralph quickened his steps up the hill towards the barracks.

"The Colonel is off to the Old Countree with his wife and little Maude-do not know where Haini is-better try the other flat, where her aunt lives,' was all the intelligence he gleaned there.

Theth Regiment, two companies, 300 strong, were

then marching down to the harbour to start that very day for Westland.

But what for? asked Mrs. Fullheart of him, on hearing the news.

To support,' Ralph stopped.

'An unrighteous claim, I hear,' interposed she.

'But I must fight,' he urged.

'I suppose you must, Ralph, but I hear the claim to the land is unjust.'

I hate unjust wars,' cried he.

'Though in a righteous no heart so full of zeal,' said Mrs. Fullheart; 'go, my boy-go!'

As in duty bound Ralph fought with his corps in several actions against the natives, helped to carry his dying comrades to the rear amidst showers of balls; but seeing no prospect of a termination to the strife, he resolved to quit it and the land of his adoption for ever.

Meeting the Fullhearts, who had postponed their departure solely on his account, the lady begged him to give his ideas on the subject of the war.

'Well, I suppose it was to vindicate

'The honour of the Old Countree?' exclaimed she with the utmost warmth; 'for ever no! Why, Ralph, neither the honour of the Old Countree nor Her power was ever doubted until she precipitated both into that Slough of Despond-that unholy strife for a block of land which was never Hers, and which She has at length yielded back, trampled, and soddened with the blood of friend and foe, to Her relentless, revengeful enemy !'

As they passed the broad quay of Middletown, ever on the watch for news of any kind from the seat of war, a telegram arrived from head-quarters. The news had reached them from the seat of government, and was eagerly devoured by the excited throng. If they were humbled the spirit of the Fernland people was never broke, though in strife the weaker ever goes to the wall. The very direness of the calamity had brought best blood to the front. Hope never deserted them.

'Ha! d'ye hear?' exclaimed she, almost in rapture. 666 Selfreliance" is henceforth to be your watchword.'

'Then I'm content, and I shall stay and fight it out,' cried the excited youth.

Just then a voice among the crowd was heard to shout, in tones of exultation,

'Ha, Albion ! take back your troops !-ten thousand splendid creatures strong! We'll finish to the bitter end, with stern devotion, what you, in childish ignorance, began! And back came the Old Countree's soldiers !

CHAPTER XVIII.

Breathes there the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said,

"This is my own, my native land"?
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned
As home his footsteps he hath turned

From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell.
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down

To the vile dust from whence he sprung,

Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.'-SCOTT.

RALPH OSBORNE loved his mother, and she was dying.

As they retraced their steps to the Black Horse Hotel, they met a messenger with a letter marked 'immediate.' Ralph opened it; it was from his little sister Emma Louise, and contained the sad intelligence.

Ah,' he said to the kind lady at his side, 'now, indeed, I must hasten home-and perhaps catch her parting blessing, soothe her dying pillow, and, holding her warm, wan hand in my own, list to her last murm'ring prayer!'

She was visibly affected. 'Yes,' said she, 'let us go at once, lest it should prove too late!'

His kind friends were deeply interested in the account he had given of the gentle, lovely Haini. During his absence at the seat of war her father had returned from the Old Countree, and was dead-butchered by natives! They waylaid him during six weeks, and had at length succeeded; and thus her mother's death, which she had met following the fortunes of her tribe, had been revenged. Such were some of the miseries engendered by this wretched war-a little one of the Old Countree's!

'Could I but only see dear little Haini before we start!' he said, in plaintive tones, to Mrs. Fullheart, four days before their departure.

'Do try, my boy,' said she, and bring her with you. I long to see your little pet.'

'She's not my little pet exactly,' said. Ralph, colouring; he couldn't bear another to call her so.

'Well, she's mine-bring her, there's a good fellow,' said the kind-hearted lady, pushing his heavy locks of fair curly hair. back from off his forehead.

'I will, I will,' cried he, and out he started to have another search.

He had been out for hours, and was returning pensively along the broad quay of Middletown harbour. The wind was high, the rain almost incessant, and he was drenched to the skin. No one was out. He had turned a bend in the road, and twice abstractedly had caught sight of a female figure in advance of him. It was one not easily forgotten; the second gaze brought even Ralph Osborne down from the clouds. She was dressed in deep black. She had recognised him, and was retreating. Ralph beckoned her to wait. The rain descended in torrents, and the wind- 'Twas Middletown!-umbrellas were nowhere, and never used. Haini is tossed about ruthlessly: Ralph is soon by her side, however, and asking in tender accents,

'Haini! why running so, my child?'

But Haini is silent, and turns her face away.

'Let's get into a sheltered spot-here, under this gateway. Come, come along.'

He takes her by the arm and guides her up under a large building, free from the wind and rain. Neither speaks a word. He watches her countenance, now grown so wan and pale, but cannot muster courage to utter a word. He could not talk about the weather. Some people never begin nor end a speech without.

'Oh, what a lovely day! so charming, isn't it? A little warmer than it was too. I do hope it will keep so to the end, it's so pleasant! It wasn't fine yesterday-not all the day, but Monday was beautiful, so was Saturday week; I wonder whether it will be fine to-morrow-I hope it will to-morrow week ;' and so they go on. In Fernland, people did not talk about weather; if it was wet, 'twas very wet-if fine, 'twas fine indeed, and generally it was fine.

These two children knew it was squally, and that was why they were under the gateway. Ralph had much to ask. At his request, the squall being over, they walked again, but neither had courage to begin. Down came the rain again.

'Speak, my poor, poor child,' gently implored he.

And now for the first time their eyes have met-the half