How I Fared at the Siege of Plymouth. cherish a good hope that they may soon be exchanged. Next day, to our great joy, news was brought to us No sooner were the besiegers gone, than it seemed A day of thanksgiving was appointed to celebrate The next course was a portion of dried fish, well "Bravo, girls!" cried Harry; "we're not without a "Maligs." was Harry's way of calling our enemies, I think Yet all were there, though proportionately and a Beyond Harry's impulsive exclamation when he first morsel, "Never ate had tasted his he or she tasted, better, girls!" little was said for a few moments, But each, as whilst we all more cautiously repeated Harry's was evidently inclined to echo the lad's verdict. experiment. Curiosity increased as appetite was satisfied. I had a shrewd suspicion that the serving woman knew something about it; she had lingered so persistently to enjoy the surprise. "The credit of this pudding is due to Rhoda," said Mrs. Tonkin, "and we must ask her to come in her share in the kitchen." and tell us the story later on, when she has enjoyed This was the story that Rhoda, a fine-looking words of her mistress: woman of thirty, had to tell us, prefaced by these "I need not tell you, Master Holbeck, nor any of us, that the women of this town have done good to these sore straits, for though some of them, and service to our army, all the while we have been put amongst the rest Rhoda here, have been shot through several garments, and even once or twice received a graze upon their skins, yet they have continued to take such provisions as they had to the Parliamentarians engaged at our defences, and strong waters to rally them when wounded or faint." "My brother is a soldier," said Rhoda, "and my father and other relatives are in the train-bands; so of course I was necessitated to be very anxious My mistress," and here about them, though I would not have had them anything different, of course. she glanced with an expression blended of love and The Lord pride at Mrs. Tonkin, "could not do enough kindness to me and them; she often spared me to take them things when she wanted me at home, and still more often gave me the things to take. Rhoda, I knew, was a religious woman of high reward her for her goodness to His suffering ones!" the family, acting up to her principles in all things, character, much esteemed by her mistress and all like Sergeant Gurney, "fearing God and knowing no other fear." "One day," she continued (" our Lieutenant and Ensign Holbeck will remember it well), at that last great fight at Lipson, when poor Captain Wansey fell, there were a grievous slashing and driving on both sides at the enemy as well as at ourselves, whereby the slaughter was great, and the number of wounded very many. I was attending on our poor men, when I saw a prisoner amongst us, dreadfully wounded, and no surgeon to attend him. So I bound him up as well as I knew how, and my brother, who was wounded too, took a little interest in the poor wretch. I waited on him a little, from time to time, and did what I could for him, it wasn't much, till by and by, at the end of a week, maybe, he was exchanged, and his imprisonment came to an end. I never expected to hear any more of the matter, not looking for much gratitude amongst malignants," and here Rhoda looked rather grim; "but this one was to show himself more of a man than some of them. The next time afterwards that there was an exchange of prisoners, one of our men who came back from Widey where he had been during his imprisonment, brought for me a parcel, not of very small size, from my patient, who, he told me, was an officer's servant to a gentleman high in authority under Prince Maurice. It was some days before the parcel came into my hand, owing to a little accident I had had, which prevented my going to the fort as usual." Here Rhoda looked meaningly at her mistress. "Rhoda's little accident was being shot at and slightly wounded," said Mrs. Tonkin, drily. "Our man was told," continued Rhoda, 66 on no account to deliver the parcel to anyone but myself, and he smirked and simpered about it just as if he thought it might be a love-message. But he little knows Rhoda Calmady, who thinks she would allow herself to love a malignant." The woman drew herself up proudly, and her eyes flashed. I felt my colour come vividly over my face, and feared everybody would notice it. Did Rhoda suspect my love for Lucy Woollcombe ? "I was certainly curious to know what my parcel contained," continued the serving-woman; 66 but I would not let the other soldiers guess as much, so I quietly put it in my basket and went on with my work, dealing out the food and drink my mistress had sent for the poor hungry fellows. On my return home there were certain duties to be fulfilled in this house for the family, so that I had to put my curiosity to some test. At last I had time for my own concerns." "If we had known, poor Rhoda," said Moll Tonkin, a sprightly girl of eighteen, "we would have given you time to peep into your mysterious packet at once. It must have been dreadfully tantalising to wait so long!" Rhoda smiled at her young mistress. "I found, on removing the outer covering, that the parcel consisted of a small wooden box, and on opening this discovered various separate packets, all of which I of course proceeded to examine. In one was sugar, in another spice, in another raisins, in another currants, in another lemon peel, and in another tea; and beneath all I found this note." Here Rhoda took a sheet of paper from her pocket, and read: "Mistress Rhoda Calmady will do the sender a favour by accepting the accompanying articles for her Christmas pudding, which otherwise he fears may not be worth the eating. He would have put in flour, but fears to add too greatly to the weight of this, supposing as he does, that Mistress Calmady herself must transport it from Lipson to Plymouth. He wishes he could do this service for her, a wish in which he has no expectation that Mistress Calmady will join him.' "I should think not!" interposed Rhoda. "He hopes these little matters will at least prove that Mistress Calmady's kindness to him is not forgotten by one who signs himself by the name she knows him to bear."" Here Rhoda abruptly concluded. "I am not going to read that name. I think it better not in the presence of his enemies." Dick Tonkin laughed merrily. "Nay, Rhoda, after that pudding you may be assured we are his friends, at all events now that the siege is raised and he has betaken himself to other regions. But do as you will, you are a prudent woman, yet I would not willingly kill our grateful malignant, who has provided us with such suitable sustenance on this festive occasion. But we have to thank you most of all that you did not, as so many would have done, keep these things for yourself, but generously gave them for the family feast." Rhoda's countenance beamed with affection as she answered oracularly, yet with a not much hidden meaning in her words "Master Dick! Master Dick! we should none of us be as we are, if we were different. There's never been a day since I first stepped into this house, sixteen years ago, when I wasn't treated as one of the family, sharing their goods even more than their ills. Would you think me less grateful than my malig nant ?" Tears came into her honest eyes, and she retreated. "I will send a bit of pudding to father and mother, mistress," she said, as she went out of the door, quite in a different tone. "Dear good Rhoda! God bless you, Rhoda!" Such exclamations greeted her pleasantly, from the young people. After this, Mrs. Tonkin and her daughters Grace and Moll, with Lieutenant Dick and Harry and my self all went out towards Lipson Fort. 'It was such a treat," the girls declared, "to be a bit free again, after being shut up like hens in a coop." I must lend her my arm; she really needs better But Bridget's wooden face was as unyielding and expressionless as a door. The broad mouth opened and shut again without a word, as if by machinery, or as if taking a bite at an invisible object; then she opened it once again and said, in broad Devonshire "If that was all, I could carry her out and home; hers no more than a fly to me, in manner of speaking; and when we talk about weight, her may lean as hard as her likes, her won't hurt me." "Lord Falkland! I think I heard the name, but have no knowledge of the gentleman," I said. Surely it was not possible Lucy Woollcombe took an especial interest in this nobleman ! "From all I have heard of him," she continued, her face glowing with enthusiasm, her dark blue eyes kindling," he was my type of a Christian hero and gentleman." Her words could but pain mẹ. "Once I went with my father to London, when I was almost a child, and I saw him. Such a beautiful, intellectual face, such a chivalrous manner, such a graceful form! And now-oh! it is horrible!" and she sighed mournfully. "Tell me all about it, Miss Woollcombe." "He was our poor dear King's secretary of state, and only thirty-four years old. He enlisted in Lord Byron's cavalry corps as a volunteer. No Roundhead could be more truly religious than he, Mr. Holbeck; besides this he was clever, even brilliant, and his honour was unimpeachable.. You know he tried all he could to make the King understood by your party, and to reconcile us all, and reestablish peace. If all the King's ministers had been like Lord Falkland, my father says, the disagreement would never have existed, at any rate, would never have widened into war. He was a true "Of course not," said Mrs. Tonkin; "but, Bridget, patriot, Mr. Holbeck, and when hostilities began, it let it be as I say, for I have two or three things I is said, he grew quite morbid and melancholy, have occasion to ask your advice upon." neglected his dress, and gave way to fits of dejection, If any us of were inclined to think this only an ex-weeping over the calamities that must afflict his cuse, we changed our opinion when Mrs. Tonkin and Miss Woollcombe's wooden-faced servant walked together, and appeared to enter at once into confidential talk. I gave Mrs. Tonkin credit for being the most straightforward and yet clever diplomatist the world had ever seen. And now that I looked at Lucy, the first time I had seen her out of doors save at the moment of the accident, I felt a strong pang of anxiety concerning her health, so exquisitely pink and white was her sweet face, so fragile and delicate her whole appearance. Was it possible that this awful war, besides killing strong men in the field, caused beautiful maidens to be struck and to pine to death in besieged cities? "Miss Woollcombe," I said tenderly, as I raised her little hand upon my arm, and entreated her to lean upon me, how is it you regain strength so slowly? I fear you are not taking care of yourself." "I am doing very well, my kind doctor says,' she answered; "pray do not trouble about me. What a little thing my death or my life would be to anyone save my father. What I think about is the peril of my King, and of the many brave men with him, as well as on the side of the Parliament -your side," she added, looking at me, as I thought, a little reproachfully. "Only this morning, my dear father has had news that has grieved him sorely, though it happened long weeks ago, on the 20th of September, I think my father said." "At the battle of Newbury?" I queried, watching her sweet face intently. country and her people, and was often heard to say to himself the one word, "Peace! peace!" as if he longed for that more than all besides. I think I understand just how he must have felt," said Lucy; "my own life seems so altered. It is quite difficult to me to imagine that less than two years ago, I was one of the merriest girls in Plymouth, spending my life in song and mirth, never dreaming of all that was so soon coming for me and all those I love." "Perhaps in another two years the storm-cloud of war and sorrow will have passed away, and you will be merry and happy again. God grant it may be so!" I said. "There will be so many dead," she said, pensively. "Tell me more about Lord Falkland, Miss Woollcombe." "It is said in my father's letters that on the morning of this battle of Newbury he appeared to have a presentiment of his fate; he attired himself richly, and said playfully to a friend that his body should not be found by the enemy in a slovenly condition. Then he added these words, I am weary of the times, and foresee much misery to my country; but believe me, I shall be out of it before night." He was inspired by this solemn conviction when he took his place in the ranks, and in the first onset he fell, mortally wounded, by a cannon shot; he only lived about an hour afterwards." Lucy's eyes filled as she ended her simple yet pathetic narration. I remembered afterwards that I had heard the name of Lucius Carey, Lord Falkland, spoken of by our officers as amongst the killed, at Newbury. "Yes," she replied; "but my father has only today received letters from his friends describing it. "He was indeed one of the Cavalier heroes," I said In that battle, as you may have heard, Lord Falk-and in all his good, grand qualities, I desire to land fell." imitate him. May I tell you, in my turn, of a Puritan hero, in a humbler rank of life, who has died amongst us at Plymouth here? "Do," she said; "true bravery is always good hearing." How I loved her for those words. My Lucy! Ah, if only I could ever hope to call her so! So fair in form, so equally fair in mind and soul, happy will be that man who wins so priceless a treasure for himself! In a few brief words I told her the pathetic little story of our old Sergeant Gurney, and his giving his life up for the poor, young, half-fed lads he commanded and trained. I told her of his motto-the motto of the Ironsides-" Fear God, and have no other fear," and then I added, for the thought came into my mind, and I desired my heart to be open as a book to Lucy-"Who knows, perhaps Sergeant Gurney and Lord Falkland are united in heaven, though they could not be on earth." She glanced at me with such a look in her true deep eyes, which were soft with tears shed this time for the Puritan sergeant, I thought there was no sincerer tribute to his honoured memory. We had no further opportunity of private speech, for we were drawing near the fort, and conversation became general. And then on the return, Mrs. Tonkin chose to take Lucy to herself a while, and Lieutenant Tonkin walked with me and the merry lad Harry, who was full of interest, and asked more questions than one could answer him. But I felt, when I conducted Miss Woollcombe and Bridget to their home in Looe Street, and took leave of them, that we had advanced considerably in our acquaintanceship. I did find opportunity to ask her if the matter of the stone was satisfactorily settled between Messrs. Greedy and her father, and she told me yes. I had before this ascertained that they had paid their promised visit to Mr. Woollcombe. This eventful Christmas day was not to end for me without one more pleasure, for on my return to the Fort and to my chamber, I found an ample packet laid on the little table, and joyfully recognised the handwriting of my sister Lettice. Several signatures of officers, by whom the parcel had been "passed" on its transit from Yorkshire into Devonshire, interested me, notably those of our great leaders, Sir Thomas Fairfax and Oliver Cromwell. But one signature was of yet more worth to me; it was this, "Benjamin Holbeck, Colonel, all well." So it had passed through my father's hands, and bore news of him also, important to me. He was raised to a colonelcy, on which I heartily congratulated him; and he was well, for which I praised God from my very soul. Here is the letter of Lettice : : "Brier Grange, November 8, 1643. "MY DEAR BROTHER,-How is it we hear no news of you? Surely it cannot be impossible, if you be alive, to let us hear of you; at all hazards send us some news, for we are troubled, especially mother. Grandmother says, The dear lad is in God's hands, whether in battle or at peace' which reminds me of the words of Sir Humphrey Gilbert, that we are as near heaven at sea as on shore.' But for all that I like to know people are well, and not wounded or killed, so pray send us news. "My father wrote and told us you were in a besieged place, and could hardly get enough to eat, he feared. Poor Ben! how gladly would I go hungry that thou mightest eat. Some time I almost choke when I have a good meal, and think of thee, and the tears will come rolling down into my plate. Mother says then, rather sharply, Tears are poor sauce, Lettice." But grandmother says, 'Let her cry, dear child; ber heart will lighten, if her tears flow gently.' "Dear Ben, there is another thing I must say to thee, that I would to God I knew thou wert a Christian. It must be a dreadful thing to fight, and not feel that we shall go to heaven when we die; above all to fight for God's cause, and yet not to seek for His blessing. Father's leaving us, and thy going away, and many other matters, have induced my poor stubborn soul to yield at last to the Lord's good Spirit, which has long striven to lead me to Him. And now, dear Ben, I think I want nothing so much as to know that all whom I love are also loving the Lord with me. Be assured, dear brother, that I pray for thee continually, and that I have full faith that my prayers will be answered. I do believe thou dost dearly love me. Wilt thou not please me in this one thing, that thou wilt read thy Bible daily, and pray for me as I do for thee? Father says thou hast had the news sent on to thee about Master Thackeray and sister Miriam. His coming over often makes us lively, when otherwise it would be but dull for such a family of lone women. Jonathan Thorp goes foraging for news' sometimes, as he calls it, and picks up a good deal that interests us, but when we ask him to learn news of thee, he says thou art too far away, where none of our pikemen or musketeers ever reach. This is a very great pity. We hope thou wilt send full particulars of where thou art, and what the place is like, and who thy friends are. I hope they are godly young men, like Colonel Cromwell's Ironsides. My father says there are no caths, no profane talk, no drunkenness in their ranks, and more praying and preaching, of a high class too, than he ever heard before. He says they all feel God is present, and act accordingly. Isn't that a beautiful thought, dear brother? Yet no more beautiful than true. God is present in our Yorkshire dales and wolds, as in your besieged town. If only we could always remember this. Now that I have once begun, dear Ben, to open my heart to thee, I find it difficult to stop, yet I must bring my letter to a close ere long, for we have heard of an opportunity, through good Master Thackeray, to send it to thee. So while he is in our parlour, courting our sister, I am writing this in the kitchen, at a warm nook near grandmother's chair by the fire, for him to take away with him, later on. Yet as he is never in a hurry to end his discourse with her (and it is wonderful to me how much lovers have to say to each other), I reckon upon a full hour longer in which to continue my chat, and to pack those little matters of comfort which Patience has brought to my side on the great dining table, and which I may be able to squeeze for thee into so small a compass as that to the which I am limited. difficult to pack. Grandmother sends some of thy favourite Pontefract liquorice cakes, so good against colds and coughs. Miriam has made thee a warm knitted covering for thy chest and woollen cuffs for thy wrists. I risk sending thee my small store of money, which mother says is foolish, but I hope it may not prove so. We all wish we could pack a barrel for thee with one of our prime hams, and cheese, and other good things. "I send thee my Bible, dearest Ben, with many passages marked for thee that have been a blessing to myself. Jonathan Thorp recommended a bottle of strong waters, to cure thee of many ills, but I told him plainly I had neither room nor inclination to send such to thee, and that he was the last man who should have given such ill advice. Poor man! he looked somewhat crestfallen at that, and then I took to pitying him, and have told him for his encouragement that I will give a good account of him to thee, for indeed he has only been drunk three times this autumn, and that upon strong provocation to drink, which is really great improvement for Jonathan, and bids me not to give up all hope of him. "Grandmother enjoins me not to finish this letter without giving some public news. Once, when the troops of Sir Thomas Fairfax came into these parts, we had some of them quartered here at Brier Grange, and though I suppose they behaved decently, yet it was a great trouble to us to have them here. But grandmother gently talked to them, all rough as some of them were, and persuaded them to attend our family devotions in the great kitchen, night after night, and, by the end of the fortnight, when they departed again, they thanked her for her kind care of their souls, as well as bodies, and many of them seemed softened before the Lord. Our brave leader has suffered much in himself and those dearest to him in these troublous times, for his wife has been taken prisoner by the Earl of Newcastle's troops, while he himself had to defend the ferry at Selby, that his father, the Lord Ferdinando Fairfax, might cross the river. Sir Thomas was shot in the wrist, the poor, dear, brave man, and for twenty hours sat on his horse, with his wrist shattered, while his poor little daughter, the little Lady Mary, was so overcome with the fatigues of this dreadful retreat he sustained, that they thought to have lost her. He hoped to have a little rest at Burton, and lay down to take it, but was called up again in a quarter of an hour by the sudden appearance of the enemy, and had scarcely time to huddle his ordnance on board a ship in the Humber, when the King's troops galloped into the town. So, in this mangled condition, covered with blood, without a shirt, and his clothes rent, he arrived only just alive at Hull. I am glad, for the honour of Earl Newcastle, to say that he sent home Lady Fairfax a few days later in his own coach, attended by a maid of honour. Surely it must be hard on a gallant gentleman, on their side or ours, to take a lady prisoner and away from her husband's protection, to unknown peril. Dear Ben, I hope war will not make thee cruel, but that thou wilt be very tender of prisoners, especially if they be women. "So now I must bring my letter to an end, hoping it will not weary thee, which I do not think it will, seeing thou hast not many letters to read. "Grandmother sends thee her love and her blessing; mother desires me to say, with her tenderest love and care for thee, that she beseeches thee to write and relieve her anxiety, as a good son should. Patience and Miriam send their best loves, and Master Thackeray sends his love. He, with Miriam, have just come into the kitchen for supper, of which I wish thou, dear hungry brother, couldest take part. I have determined to put in a small vessel of my savoury potted meat for thee, and let Master Thackeray complain of the weight, if he will; also a very small jar of mince-meat, for Christmas draweth nigh, and, may be, thou wilt not have a Christmas dinner, poor dear brother; Jonathan Thorp commends himself to thy remembrance, so likewise do all the household. Dear, dear brother, good-bye. Thou knowest how much of my love thou hast, and never so much as now. God keep thee, dear Ben. Thy sister, "LETTICE." "P.S.-It is reported that, for his bravery in various actions, our dear father is made a colonel. We are all pleased at this, as thou wilt be." (To be continued.) 66 GIRLS OF O-DAY. HAT author is it that defines | other side of this literary Jordan, winding up her Not very flattering certainly, and not even true of women now, whether it was so of those in past days or not. True? No, indeed! Our girls of the present answer more questions than they ask, and as for fires why, when a young lady has gone through all the "Ologies" and "Onomies," and come out unscathed and victorious on the But, seriously, our girls of to-day have infinite advantages over the simple and unlearned maidens of the past. Instead of sitting down submissively to the spinning-wheel or the never-ending tapestry, without a thought beyond the smoothness of the thread or the sorting of gay colours, fair damsels |