When alone, Lord Thomas learned from his squire the following particulars :-The domestics, despatched by the baron and Lord Thomas, among whom was Oliver, informed the Lady Blanche, and her guardian, Lord Rondle, that their lords would be at the castle about midnight. Lord Rondle, a middle-aged man, was a kinsman of the baron, and left by him to protect his daughter and possessions during his absence in the crusade war, before mentioned. He had accepted the office with eagerness, as it enabled him to enjoy a style of splendor which his own fortune, shattered by early extravagance and dissipation, would not afford.

The baron knew him to be brave, and wary; and, during these troubled times, it was necessary to have a watchful eye and strong arm, to guard against the encroachments of his avaricious and turbulent neighbours.

When Lord Rondle understood that the baron was so near at hand, he expressed his intention of meeting him; for which purpose he sallied forth, for the second time that evening, (as we have before observed,) choosing the road the domestics had arrived by.

When Oliver, who, our readers may remember, had gone with a party to search the road that led through the forest, had approached near to the scene of murder, were startled at the sight of Lord Thomas's, and another horse, grazing, without their riders. Presently, the carcase of the baron's charger, and the dead body of Philip, confirmed their worst fears: they searched the wood round, and soon discovered the four lifeless bodies.

The baron and the two servants were shockingly mangled, and appeared to have been dead some time; but, as the trembling Oliver raised his loved master, he thought he felt a slight warmth about the heart, and his wounds were still oozing blood. He procured what handkerchiefs and linen he could, and bound them up; then, with assistance, laid him gently in a cloak, and conveyed him, with all despatch, to the castle, whither the rest followed, mournfully bearing the body of their murdered lord and comrades.

He was here interrupted by the entrance of Lord Rondle. He looked pale and haggard, and his right arm was supported in his breast After inquiring the state of Pearcy's wounds, he requested to know the particulars of the attack, that he raight endeavour to apprehend the perpetrators.

Sir Thomas gave him a brief account of the murder. "Could you form no judgment who they might be ? that is, did you see enough of any of them to know them again?" said Lord Rondle, with an inquiring glance.

"I

Pearcy caught his eye, and replied, impressively, wounded the chief villain in the sword arm; it was but a mark of the vengeance he shall feel-a bloody grave shall lead the murderer to endless torments."

The pale countenance of Lord Rondle assumed a cadaverous hue he rose from his seat. 66 These things shall be looked to, and every search be made," said he; "in the mean time, I wish you a speedy recovery." He then, evidently much agitated, strode towards the door.

During this interval, a dreadful suspicion lurked in Pearcy's mind, that he was conversing with the murderer of his second parent, the father of his Blanche. His evidently disabled arm, his trembling frame, and precipitate departure, seemed to confirm the thought that thrilled his blood; and, as the other rushes from the room, he called after him, "Blood will have blood."

The faithful squire turned his eyes on the flushed countenance of his master, and said, "You suspect him, my lord ?" "Oliver, I do."

"You are not, my lord, the only one. It is reported here, that, in our absence, he made court to the Lady Blanche, who has ever since refused to see him, unless surrounded by her servants. Moreover, he returned wounded, as you saw him, and much harassed, from what reason no one knows; but a few minutes before I set out in search of you, this sorrowful morning, he had despatched every one of the old retainers, in pursuit of the assassins, and filled the castle with ruffians of his own. One of these rode on the very horse whose fall and death, he said, had caused his hurt."

"Gracious heaven!" cried Pearcy; " and is Blanche in the power of such a wretch, and I lying, like a crushed worm, without the power of protecting her."

Oliver endeavoured to sooth him with the assurance that Blanche was, at present, perfectly unmolested; and that, by patience alone he could expect to be able to bring upon the murderers that vengeance they so richly deserved.

In the evening the surgeon again attended him, and, find

ing his fever run high, administered a composing draught, which, in a short time, lulled his senses into slumber.

In the meantime the Lady Blanche was a prey to the bitterest anguish. When she expected to fly into the embrace of a fondly loved parent, after a tedious absence, she sees him borne home a mangled corpse; her betrothed husband, the object of her earliest and only love, the only being she could now look up to for support and protection, at the brink of the grave, and, as well as herself, in the power of the man she most detested on earth, and whom she believed to be the author of all her woe. Amid the paroxism of her grief, which almost bereft her of her senses, in its utmost violence, her exhausted nature would fail her, then would ensue a calm still more dreadful to the distressed mind, as it enables us to think and feel the full extent of our afflictions. During these she could not bear the presence of any one, and the surgeon thought proper not to oppose her wish of solitude.

Although she had not closed her eyes for many hours, she felt no inclination for sleep. For a long while she paced the room in silent anguish; her untrimmed lamp burnt out, but the moon beamed through the window casement, and the light fell on the portrait of her father. With clasped hands, the wretched orphan gazed upon the loved countenance, while the tears coursed each other down her pallid cheek. She thought it seemed to smile upon her, and, giving way to her feelings, called wildly on his name: the echo of her voice alone replied to her.

"Oh! he will never see me more," she exclaimed, as she threw herself, in despair, on the floor. She had not been long in this state when she heard a hollow moan. She raised herself on one hand, while with the other she held back the dishevelled hair from her face, and looked fearfully round.

At the door she saw a tall figure shrouded in white. A sudden chill of horror ran through her blood, while her hair seemed to move on her head. She started up to fly, when her steps were arrested by a voice that vibrated through every nerve it called her by her name, and bid her follow.

She would have demanded whither, but terror had deprived her of speech; her throat seemed dried up, and her tongue clove to her parched mouth, and could give no utterance. The figure passed the door, and beckoned her on; she obeyed

the sign with trembling steps. It glided along the gallery, and down the stairs: at Lord Rondle's chamber it stopped, and, heaving a deep sigh, placed its hand upon the door :it was stained with blood. The figure passed on, and motioning the maid to follow, with panting heart she did. It led her across the dark hall, and ascended the stair of the east turret; at the foot, Blanche clung to the iron rail to support her trembling frame; the figure waved her on, and a secret impulse urged her to obey.

What had she to fear? Nought could hurt her soul, for she had done no wrong, and death she had invoked herself. On the first landing, a torch flared on the wall; as the figure passed through the light, it became invisible; a death-like clammy coldness seized the terrified girl, as she felt convinced that, what she followed, was nothing earthly. Still the voice, that well-known voice, thrilled on her ear, and, with a desperate effort, she rushed forward; when again in the dark the figure was visible, beckoning her on. At the end of the gallery it entered a room. Blanche followed, but started with horror as she stepped on a human body; she heard the murmur of voices, but her sight was rivetted alone on the figure before her; it turned slowly round. It bore her murdered father's face: the hands were raised, as if to bless her. She shrieked, and rushed towards it; it vanished, and she fell senseless on a human body.

(To be continued.)

A RECIPE FOR COURTSHIP.

Two or three dears, and two or three sweets;
Two or three balls, and two or three treats;
Two or three serenades, given as a lure;
Two or three oaths-how much they endure;
Two or three messengers sent in one day;
Two or three times led out to a play;
Two or three soft speeches made by the way;
Two or three tickets, for two or three times;
Two or three love-letters, written in rhymes;
Two or three months, keeping strict to these rules,
Can never fail making a couple of fools.

BEAUTY'S REVENGE.
Beneath the spreading myrtle's shade,
'Lull'd by the zephyr's gentle sound,
Love on his leafy couch was laid,
In slumber's rosy fetters bound.
Unmindful of surprise, he deem'd

His flow'ry resting-place conceal'd,
Nor, even for an instant, dream'd
'Twould be to mortal eye reveal'd.
Beauty, whose heart had not forgot
Her pain, discovered his retreat,
Resolv'd to punish on the spot
The author of such base deceit.

She quickly seiz'd the sharpest dart ;
Love woke, but had no power to save ;
She sheath'd the weapon in his heart,
And Love is now fair Beauty's slave.

WILLIAM L***.

THE FOND MOTHER.

WRITTEN ON SEEING A LADY NURSING HER CHILD.

How love inspires to heighten beauty's grace, The mother shows you in that soften'd face; How sleep to innocence can add new charms, The infant shows you in the mother's arms; There, placid and serene, it seems to lie, And she, as list'ning to each breathing sigh; See all enraptur'd o'er her babe she hangs; Wrapt in this joy, forgets her former pangs: Her eyes bespeak the feelings of her soul, Their languish'd orbs in melting softness roll: Light lies the hand-cheek soft to cheek is press'd, And fain would fold it to her inmost breast. You, who have felt a mother's painful throes, Must taste the bliss a tender mother knows; You, on this scene, will look delighted down, And, in fair Emma's portrait, see your own. Kent Road.

L.