Herrick, “but it shall be! Who shall stay me?" "Your own better reason and honour, I trust," replied the other; "hear me but hear me, Herrick! Your lady mother promised this fellow safety to stay and to go; and upon her promise alone -she says-he staid. Had that promise not been given we should not have found him here. Will you slay a man by your own hearth, who put confidence in your mother's word! Fie, fie! let him go! We have slain enough this night to let one rebel escape, were he the devil himself!" Sir George Herrick glared round for a moment, in moody silence, and then put up his sword. "Well," said he, at length," if he staid but on her promise, let him take himself away. He will grace the gibbet some other day. But do not let me see him move across the room," he added, with a look of disgust, " or I shall run my blade through him whether I will or not." "Come, fellow, get thee gone!" said Henry Lisle, "I will see thee depart:" and while his companion fixed his eyes with stern intensity upon the fire-place, as if not to witness the escape of the roundhead, he led him out of the chamber to the outer door. The stranger moved forward with a firm calm step, keeping his naked sword still in his hand, and making no comment on the scene in which he had been so principal a performer. As he passed through the room, however, he kept a wary glance upon Sir George Herrick; but the moment he quitted it he seemed more at ease, and paused quietly at the door while the boy brought forward his charger. During that pause he turned no unfriendly look upon Henry Lisle; and seemed as if about to speak more than once. At length, he said, in a low voice, "Something I would fain saythough, God knows, we are poor blinded creatures, and see not what is best for us-of thanks concerning that carnal safety which it may be doubted whether "No thanks are needed," interrupted Henry Lisle, cutting across what promised to be one of the long harangues habitual with the fanatics of that day, "no thanks are needed for safety that is grudgingly awarded. I tell thee plainly, that, had it not been for the lady's promise, I would willingly have aided in hanging thee with my own hands; and when next we two meet face to face, we shall not part till the life-blood of one or other mark our meeting-place!" “It may be so, if such be God's wil,” replied the Parliamentarian, * and I pray the Lord to give me strength that I may never be found slack to do the work appointed me!" Thou hast never been so yet, though it be the work of the evil one," answered Henry Lisle, and then added, "I know thee, though none else here does, or it had fared harder with thee in despite of all promises." "Thou knowest me!" said the stranger, without testifying any great surprise," then thou doest the better deed in Israel! and I will trust, notwithstanding thy present malignancy, that the day of grace may yet come to thee. Farewell!" Thus saying, he put his foot in the stirrup, and mounting somewhat heavily the horse which was now brought up for him rode away across the common. Time flew-years passed-the temporary success obtained by General Goring over the forces of Oliver Cromwell was swept away and forgotten in a tide of brilliant triumphs won by the Parlia mentary general, who trod upon steps of victory to the government of an empire. He had conquered his opponents by the sword; he had conquered his partisans by hypocrisy ; he had subdued all to his will, and, under the name of Lord Ge neral, ruled with more power than a king. In the mean while, Sir George Herrick and Henry Lisle had fought to the last in the cause of their ancient monarchs; and their zeal like that noblest of human energies, hope-had grown but the stronger under the pres sure of misfortune and distress. Amongst the various chances of the civil war, five times had the day been appointed for the union of Henry Lisle with Margaret Herrick, and five times had some unforeseen mishap intervened to delay what all so much desired. Each day that went by, Lady Herrick, with means quite exhausted and hopes quite de pressed, longed more and more to see her child united to a man of talent, and firmness, and resource; and each battle that passed by, Sir George Herrick, struck with a presentiment of approaching fate, thanked God that he had lived to place his sister's hand in that of his friend. The last time the marriage was suspended was on the fatal call to Worcester field, where Sir George Herrick fell; and Henry Lisle only escaped to bear his companion's last request to Margaret, that without further pause or delay without vain ceremonies or useless tears -she would give herself, at once, to her promised protector. Their wedding was a sad one-no glad peal, no laughing train, announced the union of the two lovers; and, ere the day of their bridal was spent, Henry Lisle was a prisoner, journeying towards the tower of London. His trial was delayed some time; but when it took place it was soon decided. No evidence was wanting to his full conviction of loyalty to his king; and the block and axe was the doom pronounced upon him. A brief three days lay between him and death; and Margaret, who was permitted to see him, clung in agony to her husband's bosom. Lady Herrick, to whom he had been more than a son, gazed for some time, with equal agony, upon his fine but faded countenance, which, worn by toil, and anxiety, and long imprisonment, was still more clouded by the hopeless despair of her he loved. But suddenly, without a word, the mother turned away and left the prison. It was in that great and unequalled hall, whose magnificent vault has overhung so many strange and mighty scenes in English history, and whose record of brief and gorgeous pageants reads as sad a homily on human littleness as even the dark memorials of the tomb. It was in Westminster Hall, on the 16th day of December, that, with the clangour of trumpets and all the pomp and splendour both of military and civil state, a splendid procession moved forward to a chair or throne, raised on some ornamented steps at the further extremity of the building. Judges, in those solemn robes intended to give dignity to the judgments the pronounce; and officers, dressed in a that glittering panoply destined to dec and hide the rugged form of war, move over the echoing pavement between tw long ranks of soldiers, who kept th space clear from the gazing and admir ing multitude. But the principal figur of the whole procession, on which al eyes were turned, was that of a stout broad-built man with a dingy weatherbeaten countenance, shaggy eyebrows, and a large red nose. His countenance was as unprepossessing as can be conceived; nor was his dress, which consisted of plain black velvet, at all equal to those which surrounded him. But there was something in his carriage and his glance not to be mistaken. It was the confidence of power-not the extraneous power of circumstance and situation, but of that concentrated internal strength which guides and rules the things around it. Each step, as he planted it upon the pavement, seemed destined to be rooted there for ever; and his eye, as it encountered the glances of those around, fell upon them with a calm power which beat them to the dust before its gaze. Passing onward through the hall, he ascended the steps which raised the chair of state; and, turning round, stood uncovered before the people. The two keepers of the great seal, standing on his right and left, read a long paper called the Institute of Government, by which amongst other things, the Lord General, Oliver Cromwell, was named Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England. The paper was then signed, an oath was administered, and, putting on his hat, the figure which had advanced to the chair sat down, amidst the acclamations of the people, while all the rest continued to stand around uncovered. Various other ceremonies were performed; and then the Great Usurper, rising from his seat, led back the procession towards the door of the hall: but scarcely had he traversed one half of its extent, when a woman, who had been whispering to one of the soldiers who lined the way, pushed suddenly past, and cast herself at Cromwell's feet. "An act of grace, Lord Protector!" she exclaimed," an act of grace, to bring a much-needed blessing on the power you have assumed !" "What wouldest thou, woman ?" demanded Cromwell; "somewhere I have seen thy face before: what wouldest thou? If thy petition be conceived in godliness, and such as may be granted with safety to these poor disturbed realms, it shall not be refused on such a day as this." "When Colonel Cromwell failed in his attack on Faringdon House," said Lady Herrick-for it was she who knelt before him," and when General Goring surprised and cut to pieces his troops at night near Warnham Common"-Cromwell's brow darkened, but still she went on-" he fled from a disaster he could not prevent; and was cast from his horse, stunned, at the door of a widow woman, who gave him shelter. He was the enemy of her and hers, and flying from a battle in which her own son had fought; and yet she gave him rest and comfort, and opposed that very son, who would have shed his blood by her hearth. There, too, Henry Lisle interposed to save his life and was successful; otherwise, Lord Protector, I tell thee, thou wouldest never have sat in that seat which thou hast taken this day. Condemned by your judges for acting according to his conscience, I now ask the life of Henry Lisle, in return for the life he saved. Grant it-oh, grant it, as you are a man and a Christian!" Cromwell's brow was as dark as thunder; and, after gazing on her for a moment in silence, his only reply was, "Take her away; the woman is mad take her away and put her forth; but gently-gently-bruise not the bruised -so-now let us pass on, for, in truth, we have been delayed too long." Put out of the hall by the soldiers; her last hope gone; her heart nearly broken for her child and her child's hus band, Lady Herrick wandered slowly on towards that sad place where she had left all that was dear to her. The gay and mighty cavalcade, which conveyed the usurper back to his palace, passed her by like one of those painful dreams which mock us with sights of splendour in the midst of some heavy woe; and before she had threaded many more of the solitary streets, robbed of their population by the attractive ceremony of the day, a single trooper galloped up, gazed on her a moment, and rode on. At the tower no formalities were opposed to her immediate entrance of the prisoner's chamber-she was led to it at once; the door itself was open; an unsealed paper lay upon the table; Henry held Margaret in his arms; and tears, which she never before had seen in his eyes, now rolled plentifully down his cheeks, and mingled with those of his bride; but, strange to say, smiles were shining through those tears, and happiness, like the rainbow-sun, beamed through the drops of sorrow! first Joy, mother, joy!" were the and only words: joy, mother, joy!Henry is pardoned !" THE CHILD OF EARTH.* Make the warm air such luxury to breathe- Not while bright flowers around my footsteps wreath. The spring hath ripened into summer-time; The glorious sun hath reached his burning prime: From the Amulet. "Let me not perish while o'er land and lea, Greets my dull ear with music in its tone! I am content to die-but, oh! not now!" The bleak wind whistles: snow-showers far and near Yet still that prayer ascends. "Oh! laughingly The spring is come again-the joyful spring! Again the banks with clustering flowers are spread; The child of earth is numbered with the dead! Death's silent shadow veils thy darkened brow- THE GERMAN JEW.* BY WILLIAM HOWITT. DURING the protectorate of Cromwell, Joel Rede, as enthusiastic a wight as ever issued from the British Isles, had been indulging his wandering propensities in various regions of Europe. With an odd, wild-looking little person, a stout blackthorn in his hand, cut from the hedge of his father's orchard, and his knapsack on his back, he had traversed France and Spain; had indulged innumerable classic reveries in Italy; had, more recently, placed the shores of its northern lakes; rhapsodized in Val D'Arno, where Milton, not long before, had walked, and collected imagery for his scenery of Eden; and thence diverged into Switzerland, and, as the year was drawing to a close, was directing his steps towards Vienna. It was November. He was now in the midst of the mountainous forests of Bavaria. The woods and heaths had assumed all the richness of their autumnal hues. The sky above was clear as crystal; the turf beneath his feet was dry as at midsummer; the wilds through which he was journeying were silent and solitary, and Joel was full of enjoy From The Winter's Wreath. ment. He was one of those well-meaning, but eccentric beings that, with the kindest feelings towards every living thing, yet hold themselves loose from the bonds of society. He wanted no kindred mind to participate in the operations and emotions of his own; he had no object in filling his heart with a multitude of solemn and sublime images, but the immediate delight they afforded; and, at night, he entered a hut, an inn, or whatsoever place of rest presented itself,-passed a few hours of lively intercourse with the persons amongst whom he happened to be thrown, laughed, chatted, gave way to a flow of exuberant spirits, and departed without a reflection that he would never see one of those beings again. As I observed, the open clearness of the season had induced Joel to linger in the forests through which he was passing; but, suddenly, the weather changed; strong winds began to sweep, howling and sighing through the woods, and to whirl the already loosed leaves in eddying torrents around him; and heavy showers of gusty rain beat in his face. These plain facts startled him from his trance, as he lay at the foot of an old tree, gazing with fixed eyes on a stream that foamed and dashed vigorously down the steep before him; and, springing to his feet, he looked around at the signs of the sky, and marched briskly forward. What was the next town, or the distance to it, he scarcely knew, for he often left these things to Providence; but he found the day, influenced by the alteration of the weather, rapidly closing, and himself in a narrow valley between woody rocks that kept winding and ascending in a manner that appeared interminable. It speedily grew dark; the track became invisible; the clouds vanished from the face of heaven; a multitude of stars shone out, and a keen, frosty gale announced the sudden arrival of winter. Our wanderer, with all his experience, became alarmed. In summer he could have awaited, with pleasure, the return of morning; but in the intense cold and darkness, exposed to the visitations of the wolf and bear, at a perfect loss which way to direct his steps, he was struck with consternation. There was no alternative, however, but to push on in the most probable direction; and, stumbling over stumps and stones, he proceeded in a state of mental and bodily anguish inconceivable. At length, to his exquisite joy, he saw a light;it appeared at a great distance, but stationary; and, advancing towards it, after some hours of tremendous exertion, after surmounting rocks, descending valleys, passing through dense masses of wood wrapped in the thickest gloom, he stood on a lofty height, crowned with a pine forest. The light now shone twinkling just before him; it appeared to issue from some lofty window; but, as he carefully approached, he was astounded with the roar of waters somewhere far below him; and the wind, sweeping chill and gustily, convinced him that he was on the brink of some awful precipice. It was indispensable, however, to approach the light, if possible; he therefore subdued his terror as well as he could, and feeling his way with his stick, moved step by step, as a blind man explores his track. It was singular:-his path was still on the smooth and solid rock; beneath him sounded the dash of descending torrents; yet he could not conceive the existence of a bridge in such a situation. He moved on, and presently was stopped by a strong gate, as of an ancient castle. He knocked, and was answered by the simultaneous bark of a dozen hounds. Presently he heard a hoarse voice commanding them to silence, and, a minute afterwards, the same voice demanded at the gate who he was. He replied, a poor traveller who had lost his way. "The devil you are!" said the voice, in a tone of mingled gruffness and astonishment. "Lost your way! In the name of all hobgoblins, how did you find it here?" "That is more than I can tell," answered Joel; but, in the name of all good angels-nay, for God's sake, let me in for the night!" "Stand there a moment," replied the voice; and, in about ten minutes more, he found himself scanned by the glare of a torch, from a loophole above the gate; soon after, the huge gate opened, was locked behind him, and he found himself following his unknown guide. A minute more, and another door flung open, dashed upon his eyes a flood of light that perfectly blinded him. As his vision gradually accommodated itself to the glare, he beheld himself in one |