CHAPTER VIII

"How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring with dewy fingers cold
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

"By fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung:
There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there."

COLLINS.

ONE evening as Mr. Maclandreth was returning from C, with his head full of projects, and his imagination conjuring up images too ethereal in their nature to be inherited by flesh and blood, he was suddenly attacked by a short, strong, and muscular man, who peremptorily demanded all that he had, or else-dropping his voice as he uttered the last word, he took out of his pocket a pistol. Startled by this discovery, Maclandreth rushed upon him, and a severe contest ensued. They both fell together: Maclandreth, however, from his

superior knowledge of the place succeeded in pushing his opponent into a large ditch that lay at the side of the road. This being done, he hastened to recover his club, but was soon reminded of his folly by a heavy blow inflicted by the innocent weapon which, dexterously wielded by his antagonist, sent him reeling to the ground. While thus gasping for breath, he accidentally laid his hand on the pistol which had been lost during the first struggle. Conscious of this advantage, he sprang upon his feet, seized the robber, and pointing the fatal instrument to his head, threatened his destruction. Seeing that resistance was useless, the threatening voice of the assailant was changed into the suing whine of the suppliant. Maclandreth would not allow him to kneel down, nor implore his forgiveness, asserting that he had no right to pardon him, that he had put himself in the grasp of the law; that he must take him into the first house that could be found, and there remain with him till information should be given to the next magistrate, who would see that justice should be done to him.

But

Whether Maclandreth intended all that he said is uncertain; for he afterwards promised, should he confess the truth and give him a full account of himself, to conceal his name and let him go. go. No sooner had he begun to speak in his natural tone of voice, than the hitherto unrelenting Maclandreth threw away the pistol, and folded him in his arms. The convulsive and half-fainting offender cried out, "MasMaster Maclandreth!" Maclandreth' could not say a word; but assured him of his forgiveness by pressing him the more closely to his bosom, whose heaving could not be mistaken for an affectionate tenderness that effectually declared what the most eloquent language would have failed to express.

Having given vent to his feelings in a flood of tears, which fell copiously upon the cheek of the suppliant, as if they would wash away the stain imprinted on his guilty brow by this ungenerous act, Mr. Maclandreth said, in a voice that might have inspired confidence in the most timid mind:

"O Romsdale, Romsdale! where will thy follies end? What will become of you?",

Here Romsdale interrupted him, sobbing aloud, and declaring that he would not rise without the assurance of his forgiveness. Mr. Maclandreth saw the feeble light of a lantern gradually approaching them, and hastily said to his humble suppliant:

"I do forgive thee; here are our servants coming to seek for me; go to the next inn, you will find one about a mile from here, and meet me again in this place to-morrow evening, at seven o'clock."

"I cannot go to an inn," replied Romsdale, timidly, "I have no money."

"Take this, then, and be off," said Maclandreth, as he placed a guinea in his hand.

The light was now hard by. He saw Romsdale taking to his heels with the speed of youth. He hesitated for a moment whether he should discover or conceal himself: the next he was over the hedge in the field, observing with satisfaction that the three nocturnal intruders were three ruffians, by no means proverbial for their honesty, whose salutation he felt happy to have avoided.

The following morning Maclandreth rose

earlier than usual, and bent his way towards the residence of a particular friend of his, whom he knew wanted a clerk in one of his offices, and he thought that such a situation would be all that his friend could wish. Having secured the place, he returned home with a heart bounding with joy at the idea of his being made the means to recover his friend from the vortex of shame and infamy into which he already seemed so deeply sunk.

James Romsdale had been at the place of the previous evening's contest for a considerable time before Maclandreth made his appearance. Had he any feelings, the stillness of a scene so fraught with painful recollections, might have thrown him into a train of reflections that would have produced the most salutary effects upon his mind. But to be serious and to reflect were both alike unknown to him. And if he believed in a state of future retribution, of reward for the righteous, and punishment for the wicked, it was because he could not fix his mind upon the subject long enough to disbelieve it.

When Mr. Maclandreth appeared, he hardly