ed glass representing saints and martyrs, and emblazoned with the Baynton arms, which it once contained, had been removed to adorn the library of Baynton Hall. The sombre and melancholy grandeur of this old place was always particularly congenial to Laura's feelings, and as her admiration of it was not shared by any of the family except Mr. Baynton, she was sure to find quiet here; and shade too-dark verdant shade-for, owing to its low position, and the height of the wide-spreading trees around the ruin, it was seldom visited by more than a few chequered flitting rays of sunshine. Under the old Gothic window, Laura would often sit for hours occupied with her book or thoughts. Sometimes she would mount a winding, broken staircase which conducted to a little room near the summit of the tower, and from thence, if in an adventurous mood, she would clamber up to the broad battlements at the top.

This elevated spot commanded one of those quiet rural views which are quite peculiar

to England. Around and beneath were the thick and even summits of the beech trees. This grove was bounded on two sides by the broad river, which first ran through the Baynton park and gardens, and then, after several windings in the meadowed plain, traversed the pretty village, and bordered its venerable churchyard. Beyond, were hills, or rather undulating slopes, covered with rich fields, and hedge rows of majestic elms. The whole landscape was now tinged with the warm hues of autumn. The river was so smooth that the vivid colouring of trees and flowers which fringed its banks was reflected on its gently moving surface, and even the gable ends and terraces of the hall on the opposite height, played there in graceful lines. Such a scene as this, where there is no distance, no bold feature, where the highest objects in the horizon are the tall trees,-the roof of an old manor-house, or the grey spire of a village. church, has, I think, a very soothing effect on the mind. It seems to tranquillize the

restless and ambitious dreams that trouble the existence of most of us in these days of movement. It sweetly invites us to come and be contented and happy, and do good in a place which abounds in everything that can refine and satisfy a healthy mind, and to fix our chief hopes and aims on the attainment of a still more enduring bliss in the world to come. Yes, I love these quiet nooks of happy England, where every object in the pretty landscape seems to point, like the village spire, to heaven.

Laura now leaned on the broken battlement. The golden rays of the autumnal sun had departed from the adjoining woods, but they still illumined the figure of Laura; yet she saw not the glorious sunset: strange to say, her eyes were fixed on the green and stagnant water of the moat which lay at the depth of a hundred feet beneath. Yet their expression did not participate in the gloomy object on which they were fixed; now and then a smile played round her lips, and dimpled her still blushing cheek.

Soon her rêverie was disturbed by the rustling of the branches of a self-sown ash tree, which grew on the wall immediately behind. She started and turned round; her eyes now rested on a more interesting object than the green pond which had so long rivetted their gaze, and were illumined by a still more radiant expression, and yet that of the two dark orbs which met her gaze, was anything but cheerful. Often as Laura had been in this spot before, she had never yet met her lover there; often had Henry Rookmore, from the window of his own room at the rectory, seen her graceful form leaning over the same battlement, yet he had never ventured to seek her there until now. The deep settled melancholy which clouded his brow, and told a tale of no ordinary grief, showed that it was not from a feeling of hope, or because he had anything gratifying to communicate, that he was now induced to depart from the rule he had so long followed.

Laura was accustomed to see a cloud on

his fine open brow, and to mark the ravages of care and illness on his pale cheek; but there was usually a sublime expression, -a look which seemed to show that he rejoiced in being counted worthy to suffer for the Redeemer's sake,-a look which sought for happiness in speaking words of peace and hope to his fellow-creatures. This expression was now gone, and the despair which sat upon his features seemed to depress his whole figure, and could not be dispelled, even by Laura's unwonted and joyous welcome; yet with a faint smile he said, "I am glad you do not reproach me for thus intruding on your solitude; indeed, I know you would not, if you knew the motive of my visit," he continued, while his lips quivered with the intensity of his feelings.

"What has happened?" inquired Laura; 66 or, rather no, do not tell me, but let me first try to dissipate your grief, by informing you of what has-of what I know will give. you pleasure," she continued with a deep