casually illumined by the last rays of the setting sun, a very striking resemblance to one of his earliest and dearest friends, a descendant of the house of Neville, and who had been for many years a compulsory exile from his native country, and of whose history, or even existence, he had long lost any certain knowledge.

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It was, therefore, with feelings almost parental, and with a look and voice, indeed, which bespoke the sincerest compassion, that he now addressed his suffering companion. My Hubert," he said, "for by this endearing term your misfortunes entitle me to call you, I will henceforth be your friend, and, if will permit me, your counsellor and guide !"

you

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Tears of uncontrollable gratitude gushed into the eyes of Hubert, and he was about to throw himself at the feet of Shakspeare. Nay, kneel not to me, dear youth," exclaimed the pitying bard, "a being frail and transient as yourself, but turn with humble resignation to Him who made yon glorious orb now sinking from our view. Go, ask of Him, my son, a contrite and a peaceful spirit; for it is to the impetuosity and pride of passion, to the re

pinings of a heated imagination, to the keenness of an unregulated sensibility, that you are now the thing you dread to look upon. A time there has been, Hubert, when I have partly felt what now you feel, and, if I err not in the estimation of your nature, a time there will be, my young friend, when peace and hope shall once more shed their blessings on you."

"Oh, my friend! my father I may justly call you," replied the agitated youth, "can there be peace for one so wretched and so lost as I am ?"

"There can, there is, my son," rejoined the bard, "provided you will listen to the promptings of dispassionate reason, to the suggestions of your better self, to the dictates of your conscience and your God! Believe me, Hubert, had you but been duly grateful for the blessings that were round you, what now you have to suffer and to fear could not have happened. It is true, the want of acknowledgment on the part of your parents, and, above all, your ignorance of their very being, is a great and serious evil; but, recollect, my son, that they have not altogether deserted you; they have placed you in

the hands of one who loves you as a father, who has had the desire, and, through them, the means, of giving you an excellent education; nor when, by some casualty, no doubt, your pecuniary resources failed, should you, actuated, as I must think, by a false notion of independency, though mingled with a tenderer feeling, have contemned the assistance of one to whom you were not only very dear, but bound as if by the ties of paternity. You have also enjoyed, in the society of the Montchenseys, those who knew your worth and prized your talents, and who, albeit acquainted with the obscurity which clouds your birth and parentage, have received you on terms of almost per

fect equality; and if some coolness did at length take place on the part of Montchensey himself, could you wonder at the cause ? I blame not your attachment, my son; for to have been long the companion and the favourite of Helen Montchensey, and not to have loved her, would have shown a heart alike insensible to goodness and to beauty; but you should not, at the same time, have been unmindful of the feelings of a father, you should not have forgotten your own

peculiar circumstances, and how few, situated as my friend Eustace is, could bear to think upon an union with one of unavowed, and, therefore, unknown origin; nor should in you, the bitterness of disappointment, have doubted the affection of her whose filial love and duty would alone account for what you have unjustly placed to coolness and caprice."

"And is there, then, my best of friends," interrupted the impetuous youth, his features flushing with delight, "is there then a chance, a hope for me, that Helen still cherishes in her breast one thought of Hubert Gray?" And then, suddenly reverting to his forlorn and desperate situation, he exclaimed, whilst his countenance assumed an expression of the deepest anguish, "Oh! fool that I was to doubt her tenderness and truth!—to rush headlong into misery and crime! Whither, shackled as I now am, the companion of outlaws and of robbers, an object of fear and execration, oh! whither shall I turn ?"

As he said this, he threw himself on the ground in a paroxysm of grief, whilst Shakspeare, after waiting for a few moments, until

the first ebullitions of passion had subsided, again addressed him: "Suffer not, my son, I pray you,” cried the compassionate bard, melted even unto tears by what he witnessed, "suffer not these too agonising feelings to overwhelm your powers of mind. As far as they may lead to other and to better views, I would not wish to repress them; but this excess of self-reproach can only point the path to horror and despair. Rise, my son, and listen to me, for my heart yearns to save you from the gulph which seems ready to open at at your feet."

There was, in the tone and manner with which these words were accompanied, such an evidence of earnestness and kindly sympathy, as irresistibly to soothe and calm the tumult which was struggling in the breast of Hubert. He rose and approached his monitor, under an impression of love and admiration, such as he had never felt before for any human being. "See, my son," resumed the poet, taking him affectionately by the hand, "how all things lie hushed around us! This vale, so green, so beautiful, these waters lapsing with a flow scarce audible, -seem they not the chosen