ENGLISH SCENES. III. TORQUAY. MUSIC AT NIGHT. Still lingers eve with fond delay, Though night has claim'd yon lovely shore, And yonder waves of varying sheen, 'Tis past-that gleam of crimson light, And restless waves, that loved to chide, Lie still, and quiver in her glow. The clouds of grief have dimm'd his eye, The waves of woe have swell'd his breast: What pure, pale planet draweth nigh Whose look can soothe them all to rest? Come, fairer than yon crescent moon; Come with thy calm and quiet grace, There's not a wave on yon wide sea But thrills to that pure power above; From nature's beauteous outward things Sweet scene! we shall not love thee less With our home-dream of tenderness Rather a thousand-fold more fair Thy sea-thy shore fresh charm shall borrow; For they have heard the tender air She sang to night to soothe his sorrow. VOL. LI-NO. CCCI. IV. TO DETAINED FROM CHURCH. Thou hast been dwelling in a gleam Of glorious light sent straight from heaven; It mingled with thy morning beam, It broke the twilight of thine even. It came with concord of sweet sound, Along thy daily path it lay, For inward peace, for added grace; 'Tis past-or if it linger yet, Poor, weary heart, 'tis not for thee; Still day by day those sweet bells set Chime to the murmur of the sea. Still, by the fair shrine never cease In vain the distant measure thrills Thine heart, and vibrates in thine ear. 'Tis but an echo from the hills, That cheats the home-sick mountaineer. "Tis but the wild wave's murmuring tone Is heavenward thought and rapture stirr'd. Sweet are the strains that upward float And passing sweet the pastoral note But those denied, let no quick word, Sin to thine inward commune high. Thou hast a shrine no hand can close, There grief may all her woes reveal, And self-denial feed the flame. There patience, wearing duty's chain, There, though thy heart in vain should yearn For other voice estrang'd or dumb, If thine own incense duly burn, The great High Priest himself shall come. Ah! dream in sorrowing mood no more, Deep in that wounded heart of thine C. F. A. THE PARTNERS. BY SHIRLEY BROOKS. CHAPTER XIV. THE reader will have surmised that the defeat of the Hebrew doctors, and the deliverance of Mr. Henderson from the snare, were due to the whimsical energy of the painter. His original interview with the stranger had convinced Wenlock that the former was at least as sane as Richard himself; and, it may be, partially wrought upon by some conversation with little Mrs. Aubrey, by whom he set great store, the artist resolved to impede, if he could not prevent, the incarceration of the creditor. Hurrying to the house of Ingott, he reached it before the Jews, and speedily made Mr. Henderson aware of the plan devised for putting him out of the way. The trick by which it was baffled was an idea of the artist's own, and one which he insisted on performing Henderson, in the first outbreak of his fury, having entertained slightly murderous intentions towards the whole party of conspirators. The next question for the person who had thus been delivered was the course he should adopt towards Mr. Aubrey. For reasons which may hereafter appear, Henderson attributed the whole scheme for his imprisonment to the junior partner, and transferred to his account a good nine-tenths of the revenge which he now meditated. He had known John Ingott for years, and found little difficulty in believing that he had been the tool of a more powerful mind. The audacity of the attempt upon Henderson's liberty was, he felt, a flight beyond Ingott, and it was upon Aubrey that the returned adventurer resolved to precipitate the whole weight of his wrath. At the same time his shrewdness could not but apprize him that he himself stood in a position of no small difficulty and danger. He had been absent for years from a country where he had left very few acquaintances, and could scarcely expect to find any, on his return. He had come back in shabbiness and poverty, and he knew well what obstacles they oppose between truth and belief in the mind of all decent people. Also, he had made enemies of a firm of powerful bankers, who had now committed themselves so far in their hostility to him that it was impossible they should recede. And as he thought on this, and his rage against Aubrey increased for the hypocritical mode in which he had at last pretended to recognise the stranger and his claims, Henderson perceived that he must act with considerable caution. A second clutch at him would infallibly be made, and would probably succeed. Nevertheless, he could not make up his mind to deprive himself of the pleasure of witnessing Ingott's discomfiture at the failure of the attempt, and when the Jews had departed (an operation which they performed with some promptitude at the sight of the great knife which Henderson brandished in their faces, adding strange threats, specially adapted to members of the Hebrew persuasion), he affected to treat the affair as great fun, and easily persuaded the domestics that he bore no malice, and was a harmless creature. The great footman who, having been used to good society, was excessively disgusted at the violence and scandal of the proceedings that had taken place, conceived a sort of liking for the eccentric visitor, and perhaps by assuming a species of protectorate over him, indemnified himself, and made atonement to his vanity for having, on the first introduction, been frightened and kicked by the stranger. The man, therefore, was easily persuaded to let his master find out for himself what had happened, instead of greeting him with the tidings on his arrival. When Mr. Ingott thought he might safely venture home, he did so, and his inquiries as to who had called were met by his domestic with answers which, though they were true enough in terms, did not convey the truthanswers of a class found excessively useful in a greater House than the banker's, and highly calculated to promote the best interests of the country. As when, in reply to an interrogatory as to an unsound vessel having been despatched with troops, a Minister shall solemnly assure a querist, that "there was not a single soldier on board the Perilous;" and when the rotten Perilous hath gone down, the Minister shall be acquitted of insincerity, because every soldier on board was married. Or as when another Minister shall explain that a certain prisoner, erroneously supposed to be a spy, "had not a shilling in his pocket," and it afterwards turneth out that the prisoner, nevertheless, had many sovereigns therein, the Minister shall be held to have spoken guardedly, but truthfully. In the same spirit did Mr. Ingott's menial inform him that two medical gentlemen had been there, and that a strange looking gentleman had been taken away in a coach. Therefore, when Mr. Ingott entered his dining room, in which the table was then brilliant with the appointments of the long over-due dinner, he was considerably more astonished than pleased to see his friend Mr. Henderson lying on the hearthrug, smoking his everlasting cigar. As Ingott came in the other started up with great alacrity, and began to reprimand him in a friendly way for keeping dinner back so long. And with much tact, Henderson held on at a rattle of goodtempered objurgation, in order to let his host recover himself. "So precious inhospitable, Jack, to send a fellow up to your house, and when he's dying to sit down to a Christian meal to keep him fasting on tobacco for all these hours. But you look as if you had the grace to be ashamed of yourself, and so we'll say no more about it this time, and to-morrow, by your gracious leave, Mr. Jack, I'll have the fixing of my own times.' "The servants would havemumbled Ingott, by no means sure what he ought to do, and privately consigning his religious partner to as bad a fate as the creed of the latter reserved for all but his own sect. "Well, I dare say I could have had any thing I liked, but the critters were all in such a state of stand-upon-yourheadishness about the scene we had here, that I couldn't find it in my head to order them to work. Very sad thing, that poor young fellow." "Poor-young-fellow," gasped In gott. "Ay; I suppose it was best to take him; but I don't know why they hunted him here. To say nothing of the damage to my fine nerves, they've smashed your fine door, with its painted China fixings, all to smithereens. I wouldn't let the girls come and sweep it up, because I thought you would like to see all about it. Is it law in the old country now, that a set of doctors and their men may break into a fellow's castle, and play the devil's diversions?" "I'll-I'll quicken the dinner," said Ingott, rushing from the room. The preternatural antics and grimaces of triumph which his friend performed, as soon as the door had banged, would baffle description. Nobody but Mr. Robson, in one of his most artistic paroxysms of self-excitement, could reproduce the demonstrations made by Mr. Henderson at that crisis of his fortunes. The big footman was summoned by his master into the little room inhabited by great coats, umbrellas, and the Court Guide. "You told me that person had been taken off in a coach," said Mr. Ingott, with a coarse oath--it being an understood thing that there are coarse oaths and fine ones. "No, sir," replied the big footman, calmly, for his intellect, though sluggish, had begun to comprehend how the land lay, and his unexcitable nature permitted him to wait with placidity for the annoyance which he was happy to think his ill-conditioned master was about to experience. "What do you mean by 'No, sir?" said Ingott, in a rage, "You said that two doctors had been here, and that he'd been taken away." "Not him, sir.” "He did'nt say any thing to the contrairy, sir, and laughed uncommon." "D- his laughing," muttered Ingott. "Dinner directly." He went up stairs to his dressingroom, and on the way perceived the battered state of the door, and the pink Cupids of its showy finger-plates in piteous dismemberment on the carpet. His musings during a brief toilette were any thing but satisfactory; and, oh, how he vituperated Mr. Aubrey-first for his scheme, and then for its failure. Here he was, after all his endeavours to escape, planted in the house with the friend "Then who the devil has been taken he had wronged, and compelled to away?" "Couldn't say, sir.” "Don't be impertinent, sir," exclaimed Ingott; "who do you suppose the person is?" 66 Well, sir, I don't much notice that class of persons, but I seem to fancy as if a young man that brought a picture had come back and been took. But I won't take on myself to say it was him.' "The new picture, just come?" "Yes, sir. I heard the gentleman in the parlour and him talking about it, and saying it was a 'do,' and I seem to fancy as if it was him.' "Did he go away quietly?" "After the door had been broke down, sir, he made no further resist ance. A thought flashed across Ingott's mind. Perhaps they were all at crosspurposes, and Wenlock, who, as a painter, must be poor, and in debt, had been arrested. Served him right. "Who were the men that came for him?" he asked. "Never saw them before, sir. expect they were Jews." I "That makes it still more likely," said Ingott; for the moment forgetting Dr. Isinglass' looks. "And that gentleman in the parlour-did he see Mr. Wenlock taken away?" sit down, listen to his reproaches, and give an account of his own career. At all risks-even to that of the ruin which exposure would bring-he entertained thoughts of rushing from the house, and leaving matters to take their own course. But, while this notion was in his mind, he heard Henderson shouting, or rather yelling, to him to come down. The soup-pot's on deck," was the form in which the gentleman chose to clothe the information, adding, "scaldings." There was no escape, and Mr. Ingott and Mr. Henderson sat down to the well-appointed dinner. "How did it break out in that poor, young fellow?" demanded the latter, after he had applied himself to soup and to fish with an energy and rapidity of execution, which showed how little he regarded such obstacles in making his way to the realities of dinner. "How do you mean break out?" said Ingott. "Take some of that sherry.' 66 'No; it's beastly. I dare say it's good enough for you folks here, but it won't do for me. Besides, it's full of brandy, and I like my brandy neat. Give me some, Calves, will you?" said he, thus irreverently addressing the grinning attendant. "Give it me in a tumbler. No; in this flat thing, like a saucer," he added, holding out the champagne-glass. "It used to be vulgar to drink out of a saucer, in my time; but make him of glass, and "Confound you; yes." stick a leg to him, and he's the height "Yes, sir; he was there." of politeness. Such is life, and here's “And seemed to think it was all your fortune, Jack Ingott.' right?" "Is that the young man's name, sir?" "Don't call him a young man, sir; he is a gentleman. Yes; did Mr. Henderson see him go?" "That's the party in the parlour, sir ?" And the brandy disappeared, and |