:-

Family Conversations continued :-

311: Meerschaum pipes, 312: Mirage,

the, 326: Monsoons, the, 248: Num-

bers, the properties of, 346: Parachutes,

215: Pens, ink, &c., 426: Photography,

394, 442: Pit-coal, 136: Planets, the

10: Plant, the growth of a, 183: Retina,

the, 267: Scull, the formation of the,

296: Sea, the, 150: Sea, the currents of

the, 247: Shell, the formation of a, 213:

Ship worm, the, 267; Single vision,

214: Spawning season, the, 167: Sun-

dials, 345: Thunderbolts, 135: Tides,

53, 266 Trade winds, the, 248.

Family whist playing, 12.

Fashion, 383.

Female resolution, 218.

Feminine fastidiousness, 46.

Fermentation, acetous, 278.

Hints to merchants and tradesmen, 7.

Holland, 190.

Home, love of, 330.

Homely truth, a, 159.

Hope, 94, 110.

Hot water, medical effects of, 39.
How easy it is to forget, 383.

London is supplied with water, 54.
men should treat women, 52.
to please your friends, 285.
to write clearly and forcibly, 111.

Howth Castle, (Ireland), 121.

Hyacinth, the, 88.

Hydrostatics, 47.

Hypocrisy, 175.
Human Life, 223.

ICELAND MOSs, 75.

Idleness, 207.

In propriâ personâ, 94.

Individual vice, 335.

Inertia of matter, 79.

Infant labour, 95.

Influence of our pursuits upon the pas-

sions, 399.

Marriage, 46.

Insect happiness, 52.

Instantaneous light, (lucifer matches), 311. Matthews and Spring, 186.

Instinct and reason, 367.

Inventions, 319.

Mary Ashton, (a tale of the sea side), 107.

Invisible Shell, Captain Warner's, 349.

Irish beggar, the, 127.

postcript, an, 142.

Irishman's plea, an, 136.

Iron shroud, the, 396.

It could not be helped, 8.

It never rains but it pours, 255.

JERPOINT ABBEY, 24.

Jesse, extract from, 186.

Maude Marsden; or the Camp and Court

of the Merry Monarch:-1, 17, 33, 49,

65, 81, 97, 113, 129, 145.

May, 186.

-day among the sweeps, 149.

Medical friendship, 142.

Meerschaum pipes, 312.

Melancholy, 239, 319.

Memory, 303.

the, 169.

Men and women, 239.

of business, 207.

Jew, the Wandering, 305, 321, 387, 353, Mental amusements for the young, 72.

369, 385, 401, 417, 433.

Jews, customs of the, 159.

June, 263.

Judgement of books, 216.

KALEIDOSCOPE, changes of the, 30.

Gambler's last stake, the, (a scene in Kilkenny Castle, 9.

Generosity, in what it consists, 117.

Madrid,) 218.

Gardening, 328.

Kissing, the philosophy of, 62.

Knowledge and ignorance, 191.

is power, 4.

- culture, 191.

LA PLACE, on the formation and structure Motive to matrimony, 46.

of the earth, 74.

Lach, 415.

Ladies' teeth, 46.

Ghost Story, a, Charles Murray and G. P. Land storm, a, (a military anecdote), 245.

Motives, 63.

VALISNERIA SPIRALIS, 424.

Vale of Avoca and Castle Howard, 153.

Sporting literature, sublime specimen of, 152. Value of character, 207.
Spots on the sun, 39.
Spring, 198.

CHAPTER I.

BY A POPULAR AUTHOR.

THE FESTIVAL.-THI BOON.-THE OMEN. THE OATH. GONZALO.-"I have great co.afort from this fellow; methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows; stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging; make the rope of his destiny our cable; for, if he be not born to be hanged our case is miserable."-THE TEMPEST.

'prentice forgot his cry of "clubs," and hastened to join the throng, with white rosettes for party favours, and his buxom mistress hanging rapturously on his arm; the sturdy mercer disregarded the claims of custom, and, donning his holiday suit strode with the rest towards the general rendezvous; the sim"I little deemed I could forget each old familiar friend, For there I thought our vows were such not time itself could end; pering abigail, despising the threats and frowns of servitude, A change hath passed, and I am now deserted and alone, Like some tall mountain from whose brow the circling clouds have flown." streamers of the civic companies floated in the atmosphere, and hurried to obtain the first glimpse of the cavalcade; the gaudy THE glittering beams of a summer sun danced and dazzled over fluttered congratulations with every zephyr; the bright toledos, the river's surface, now coyly kissing, like the salutation of a morions, cuirasses, and spears, now polished and furbished for the bashful maiden, the prow of some golden galley that lingered on occasion, flung back the solar rays with disdainful pride; and the Thames, and anon breaking into myriad coruscations of cloths of silver and gold, with devices on tapestried hangings, amber light, as the waves eddied round the pebbly abutments of swung from the gabled widows of every house in the Chepe. It the shore. The air was untainted by smoke, and the earth burst- was a general holiday, and right merrily did all seem to echo ing into the rich green of summer garniture, exhaled around the back the summons in their hearts, for on that day was King fragrance of its cradled flowers. Bells rang from every steeple, and on land crowds of citizens were wending their way towards Blackheath with hearty demonstrations of joy and gladness. The

Charles the Second to make his public entry into London; on that day was all party feud and civil broil to terminate, and on that day was a King to be restored to the throne of his beheaded

parent. In one sentence, it was the twenty-sixth of May, 1660.

At Greenwich the utmost attention was paid by the inhabitants, who, with zeal and fervour, prepared to demonstrate their loyalty. Huge bonfires were kindled in the most open thoroughfares; the old belfries shook again with sonorous and frequent peals; cannon roared in unison athwart the Thames; and many a bright-eyed damsel gazed with admiration on the fine features and commanding forms of the gallant chevaliers, who were now escorting their monarch on horseback through the dense crowd that had assembled to pour forth their congratulatory exclamations as the King progressed over Suitor's (now Shooter's) hill towards the town. But amidst the scene of tumultuous joy there was one who sighed and wept in secret and in solitude. Whilst every other heart was beating with exulting rapture, the fair Maude Marsden was pensively meditating in the recesses of her own chamber. Why this was so we can thus briefly relate.

"The life and freedom of Joyce Atherley, my betrothed husband, may it please your Majesty," responded Maude, with increased confidence from the King's demeanour.

66

Joyce! I remember a Roundhead, a renegade of that name; can this be he?"

"The same, your Majesty; a Roundhead once, but a truer and more liege subject now you have not in your dominions. They have cruelly consigned him to the Tower, and would tear him from me. Oh! my gracious Sovereign, let me implore your pardon for him. My grandfather fell in your royal father's cause at Naseby; my father ever remained stanch to the Stuarts; and Maude Marsden, his orphan daughter, now renews before you the same oath of allegiance her ancestors have given." "By my troth, a fair prospect enough. We will inquire into this matter, my pretty boon-seeker; and for the present let the release of your lover suffice to prove that a King's promise can be kept where his clemency may be safely exercised. The entry of Charles Stuart into the land of his ancestors shall have no ill deed to mark its memory."

The boisterous shouts of the multitude, and the universal cry of "Long live our true King!" bore testimony to the good policy that had dictated this speech, and entwined their future lawgiver still more closely in the affections of the people. Startled by the sudden and unexpected interruption, they had been prepared only for peremptory refusal, but, now the condescension of their monarch had become generally known, a thousand voices were filled with aspirations for his welfare. Maude alone remained silent, for gratitude and emotion choked her utterance.

Maude had scarcely been seventeen years old when the decease of her only remaining parent, her father, left her an orphan with no dowry but her beauty, with no protector save He who protects all. On her father's death-bed the last feeble breathings of her revered parent were consecrated to the recommendation of a husband -one Joyce Atherley, for whom Maude had long a secret passion, and whose affection she had been confident of since the early days of childhood. Influenced, however, by the party spirit of the times, Joyce had followed the Roundhead faction with all the zeal of a staunch adherent; and, now the death of Oliver Cromwell had quenched the hopes of many a partisan to his cause, the Cavaliers, intoxicated with the news of their exiled monarch's return to the shores of England, imprisoned in the Tower all those who had refused allegiance to their sovereign, and amongst the number of these "ringleaders of rebellion" had been Joyce Atherley. It was for his fate that Maude now trembled ; it was for him that the glittering tear lingered on those long dark lashes; for him that the heart of the lonely maiden beat in sorrow, whilst other hearts were pulsing with gladness; and now, as she heard the music that indicated the approach of the King, and watched the gay cavalcade already entering the park, the wild joyousness of the scene around only contributed a sad-away to Southwark." contrast to the griefs and agitating woes that made a home within that aching breast.

The shrill clarions of the trumpet, the louder roll of the drum, and the harmonious breathings of the "wry-necked fife," told of the near approach of the "merry monarch;" and, as the sounds fell upon the listening ear of Maude Marsden, the bashful maiden, that would have shrank from the encounter even of the rude blast, now bent every corporal energy to the task of soliciting an interview with the King on behalf of her lover. Leaving the flower-festooned cottage for the thronged road, and hastily donning a mantle, which rather brightened than concealed her charms, our heroine mixed with the admiring crowd, and, without being recognised by the pageant-engrossed populace, gained a prominent position in front of the human barrier before which the procession would pass. As the King was now within a hundred paces of the spot where Maude stood, her heart vibrated between a thousand fears, hopes, and anxieties ;-fear that her boldness might defeat the object of her wishes; hope that the purport of her mission might succeed; and anxiety lest the present favourable opportunity might escape her. Charles, with the affable dignity that with him supplied the place of more solid virtues, was now returning gracefully the salutations that poured from every side, and, as Maude contemplated the regal appendages of his train, her mind wavered, and she felt half inclined to abandon her intention.

The arrival of the King before the group which shrouded her from impertinent observation now seemed to determine her; for as the royal train passed, there was a hasty pause, as if the effect of irresolution, and in another moment Maude had caught the monarch's bridle, and was kneeling at his feet.

"A boon! a boon! most gracious Sovereign," cried the supplicant, in a weak, trembling voice.

"Odds-fish!" ejaculated his Majesty, with some misgivings of danger, "what's this; assassination without warning, before I even have time to sit on my royal throne? By my kingdom, however, thy face is no assailant's visage, and should be a passport to my favour. What boon dost crave?"

"Buckingham!" continued the King, summoning that nobleman to his side, "your royal galley lies off the stairs yonder; wilt give this maiden convoy to the Tower?"

66

"Your Majesty's wishes are my commands," returned the duke; my equerry, Eustace, shall see your orders obeyed."

66

Enough! then again to horse, or, odds-fish, we shall keep our loyal subjects waiting beyond patience. Mark, maiden, we shall see you perchance again; take this signet; it will gain you free access to the captive's cell. The Duke of Buckingham's galley will convey you thither. No thanks! they would but hinder me;

The courtly bow of Charles concluded this interview, and gave the signal for the procession to resume their pace, as, in order to make a greater display, it had been resolved to enter the metropolis over London-bridge, which had been transformed into a species of triumphal arch for the occasion. As the crowd progressed with the moving pomp and pageantry of the procession, the accompanying "huzzas" and their attendant clangour grew fainter and fainter with the receding of the royal cortège; and, when Maude recovered from the joyous trance into which she had thus been thrown, she found herself the only one who lingered there, with the exception of a gaily-attired youth, who had been evidently awaiting her departure. The sight of him and the royal signet on her hand alone convinced her that she had not mistaken a dream for reality.

"The tide waits, and we are only staying for your arrival, Mistress Maude," exclaimed the equerry. The voice seemed familiar to her, though the tones were those of one who had evidently resided in a foreign land for some period. Maude started.

"I should remember that voice somewhere," she soliloquised; and then, regaining her presence of mind, with an apology for the delay, she resumed "I attend thee, good youth; but the actions of the past quarter of an hour had well-nigh rendered me distraught. I am, however, now ready for thy guidance."

Accepting the protection of Eustace, Maude, with a light and gladsome heart, turned down the avenue leading to the river's side, which was thronged with those who, leaving the escort, had assembled there to embark for the Babylon of Europe, and, under the direction of the equerry, Maude became seated in the state barge or galley of Villiers Duke of Buckingham.

Gaily floated the noble vessels on the bosom of the tranquil river, and gently flaunted the silken streamers and gallant pennons as they toyed with the passing breeze and rustled harmony together. The Thames, as if proud at bearing on its bosom such choice and noble burdens, mirrored on its glassy surface the golden prow and burnished keel, and reflected ever and anon some beauteous form that bent idly over the galley's side, as if watching for some triton of the deep. But amidst all that filled