of the contraband system which they pursued. "Are you left in this place entirely alone?" inquired Fanny, gazing around the gloomy abode.

"Bill was here a little ago; but I fell asleep, and I suppose he has gone for an hour on that account," replied Oliver.

At that moment, however, a sound was heard in the adjoining vault, and in another instant, with a slight expression of alarm in his countenance, that person entered the presence of Fanny, evidently no less surprised than was Oli. ver at the sight of a female in such a place.

"I

"How is this?" said he, somewhat annoyed at finding that one had entered the cave without his knowledge. thought no one could have entered here without my knowing it."

Umph! it is strange that I did not hear you making your way," returned Bill, evidently dissatisfied with himself at the carelessness his conduct implied in his duties as a sentinel.

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'O, I came very quietly," said Fanny; "for I have been in this retreat before, and am well acquainted with all its nooks and corners."

Bill looked at Oliver with an expression of incredulous amazement at the fool-hardiness of Miss Austin, in trusting herself on an adventure attended with so much danger when there was no one with her.

"You have run a great risk, Miss," said he; " for had I seen the entrance by the Witches' wood darkened, some of my barkers might have bitten; and, bad as matters are, that would have made them worse."

"So it would," said Fanny, "but as I was led on by the purpose of doing good and assisting you in your trouble, the lead of your barker would not have harmed me. However, here I am, come for the purpose of aiding, by relieving you, if possible, of your attendance upon Oliver. He has got into this trouble through my father; and I, my father's daughter, am determined to see him out of it," said Fanny, laying aside her shawl, and about to take off her bonnet.

"My dear Miss," said Bill," them walls are hung with no pictures, and this floor is rather rough for a carpet, so you'd better keep your things on."

"No matter. I can bear and I can dare as well as the best, when it comes to the worst," said Fanny, and she took off her bonnet and laid it on the rocky shelf whereon she had laid the lamp a few minutes before.

"Umph! those that wont be ruled by the rudder must by the rock," muttered Bill, as he threw himself down upon a heap of dry fern with which different parts of the cave were well supplied.

"Now Oliver and Master Bill," said she, throwing back, with a toss of her head, the rich profusion of curls which gave grace to its classical outline, "here I am, self-installed mistress of this house, let who likes be master; and the first command that I have to issue is, that you, Oliver, must be removed from this place this very night."

"And that he must," cried a voice coming through the corridor, "but who, in the name of thunder and lightning, brought you here?" demanded the Captain, as he stood before his daughter, swelling with passion and surprise. 66 No one. I came," said Fanny, unmoved in the slightest

degree.

"It is very strange," murmured the Captain, " for I have no recollection of it."

"You bade me to go and see for myself, in what condition Oliver was, and I am here for that purpose," returned Fanny.

"It would be better if you were minding your own duties at the Farm," growled the Captain, who now recollected the hasty expression which he had suffered to pass from him, and of which she had taken advantage.

"That is as you may think, father," said she, " but, unless this free trading of yours is brought to an end, a darker day even than this, will overtake us all."

"Now, now, now, Fanny," interrupted the Captain, “we cannot have a long yarn spun to us here and at this time o' day, in the very bowels of the earth. I have heard so much of that kind o' stuff lately, that I am perfectly sick on't."

"Stay, father; what I am going to say will not detain you long, and pray Heaven, it may open your mind to a new and better way of thinking for the future."

"Listen a moment, Captain," said Oliver.

"Well, go on," said the Captain, in a manner throwing himself by the side of Oliver with that dogged sort of air which indicated how disagreeable the task was he imposed upon himself.

cost.

"Father," began Fanny, "since ever I was capable of knowing the difference between right and wrong, and was admitted into a knowledge of your mode of life, I have prayed in secret that your eyes might be opened to its iniquity, and I have felt that some retributive vengeance would overtake you, even in the midst of your greatest successes. Look back for a few years and count your gains with their Have not several of your best men fallen in blood? Have not you, yourself, frequently only escaped with life? Have you not lain here, in this dungeon, for weeks together, at death's door? Did not my mother sink with sorrow into an early grave? Have you not frequently been more than ruined? Has not Oliver, here, escaped only by a miracle, and all for what?" Here she looked around her and saw some of the packages which had just been saved in the present venture, and pointing contemptuously at them," for these wares, which are worthless, totally worthless, in comparison with the stake which is laid to get them.'

Well, now, are you done?" asked the Captain.

"Yes," said Fanny, "and I hope I have not spoken in vain.” "Well, the worthless wares must be saved this night, | that's all," said the Captain, "and we must arrange so as to get this piece of human worthlessness out of the way, too, before the others are touched, in case of some untoward event interfering with our proceedings," jocularly remarked the Captain, as he smiled upon Oliver.

"Has Jem returned, then?" inquired Bill.
"Yes, and I expect him here soon."
"Is it all right?"

'Right, ay, as a trivet! He has seen the merchant, and arranged with him when I am to meet him and make all ¦ square for half the amount for himself, and the other half to be divided between other two."

It will be in the recollection of the reader, that when intelligence had been brought to Captain Austin as to the state in which his daughter had been found on the beach, that he took his best steed and flew, rather than rode, as fast as he could, towards the cottage of Mrs. Mansell. Amid the hurry and agitation which he found on his arrival there, he still preserved so much of his mind as to remember an appointment which he had made to meet a Plymouth_merchant with whom he had dealt before, and who was deeply interested in the success of the present venture of Captain Austin. Under the circumstances, however, he felt it to be impossible for him to keep that appointment; accordingly he immediately enlisted Jem Mansell into his service, and despatched him upon his horse to see the Merchant and explain to him the reason of the Captain's being unable personally to wait upon him himself. This, Jem had done, and had now returned from his mission, having already seen

As it was absolutely necessary that Oliver should be removed "out of the way," as some of them irreverently expressed it, as soon as possible, the Captain on his road hither, had called at the Rock Farm and ordered Rat and Oakheart "to pull down in the punt to Black Point Corner, and wait there till he came to them."

This was a rocky point, lying between the farm and the Witches' Cauldron, and affording the advantages of an almost perfect seclusion from both sides of the coast. Beneath this point there was in the rocks an opening which, in calm weather, was easily entered, and where a boat could lie secure from observation on all sides, save from the open sea. It was to this spot that the Captain gave directions for the punt to be pulled, and it was here that he intended Oliver should, if possible, be conveyed, where he might readily be put aboard and rowed to the Rock, without either much pain to himself, or the chance of exciting the suspicions of any of the Government officers whose vigilance, although not very active, might still be keeping up appearances. This plan the Captain now communicated to Oliver, who no sooner heard it, than he declared that nothing could be better, the only difficulty being to get there.

"I hope there will be no difficulty in that," cried Fanny, whose heart bounded with joy at the proposal.

"Indeed, and there will be some difficulty," said her father, who was not quite pleased with her yet, "for I don't think it is such an easy matter for a body that has only two legs to walk upon, to get along with one."

No, but he must be carried," said Fanny. "Yes, but how can we carry him through that tunnel there, when it's little over big enough to admit one at a time through it, instead of three or four," returned the Captain, in allusion to the tunnel which led out into the Witches' Wood. "Take him the other way then, father," promptly suggested Fanny.

"Yes, and have him and every one on us nabbed! No, no, Miss! you're better at preaching than at planning, which is less in your way than the other," returned her father, in a tone, and with a look of sullen sarcasm, that touched Fanny so keenly that she was fain to make no further observations for the present.

A brief silence succeeded this speech of the Captain, who began to turn over some of the cases of goods which were, here and there, piled upon each other, and "stowed away" into every cleft and corner of the rocks. Bill was helping him in his occupation, whilst Fanny, lost in reflection, leant against the ledge upon which the lamp burned, and began to doubt whether she had acted altogether prudently in taking the step of visiting Oliver in such a place. Besides the impetuosity of her disposition had, in some degree, exhausted itself against the strong nature of her father. She began to feel, for the first time, how really feeble a creature a woman, like herself, is, when placed in a position where strength of body and mind are alike requisite to put in execution any plan such as that upon which they had just been speaking.

During this general suspension of speech, the mind of Oliver was engaged in framing the means by which he might be extricated from the gloomy situation into which fortune had cast him. "I wonder if I could walk," so ran his thoughts, "if I was out of this place," and, concluding that he could, if he had something to support him, he suddenly started up in his couch and exclaimed, "Rig me up a crutch, and I'll be out o' this in ten minutes."

"A crutch!" Bill cried, "why if a crutch would do it, there is one at our house. But the thing is to get you out o' this." "O! bowl me through the hole there, and I'll be into the Witches' wood in a trice, and then I'll hop round to the point with ease."

A low sound coming through the passage at this moment, announced that some one was on his way into the cave, and almost immediately Jem appeared amongst them.

He

brought the important intelligence that the coast was clear; that several of their colleagues were all planted in safe places and ready to give an alarm in an instant, if the slightest sign of danger arose, and that anybody or any thing else might be removed without the smallest risk; that he saw the boat at the Black Point, and that Oliver might as easily escape by the way of the Witches' Cauldron as by the other.

"Then am I here no longer!" cried Oliver, rising from his ferny lair. "Hand me that broken oar, Jem! That is as good a crutch for my purpose as the best. Fanny, get on your bonnet, for you will be of no use here any more than me, and I dare say, your father would rather hear of you being at home than see you here."

"That I would," said her father, who, for the first time since his arrival, permitted a smile to illumine his counte

nance.

Fanny silently did as she was told; but although she was about to be gratified by the removal of Oliver from his dreary abode, a sadness lay at her heart when she reflected that she would leave her father behind her and that he was to be engaged in a new danger.

"Here, father," said she, by way of breaking speech with him, and taking from her reticule the refreshments she had brought for Oliver, but had not had a proper opportunity of giving to him. "Here, father; you may need this before I see you again."

"Why, where is the girl going!" ejaculated the Captain, "and what is she whimpering at?"

To these exclamations of astonishment Fanny could return no answer, save in the tears which gushed from her large eyes, and ran down her cheeks.

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There, Fanny, there," said the Captain; and he kissed her twice as he gave her back the reticule, as he was about to lead her through the labyrinthine windings of the cave which led to the opening of the Witches' Cauldron. "I must not go that way," said she. "Yes, yes," cried Jem, "all is safe."

"But my pony is at your mother's, and I promised to see her again," returned Fanny.

"O, well, if you promised to see the old woman again you must go out by the Witches' wood, and Jem will take you that way," said the captain.

I'd rather you'd come with me, father."

"Come then;" and he proceeded, followed by her, through the low-browed way which led out to the Witches' wood. When they arrived here the heart of Fanny was like to break, for she foreboded some evil to her father.

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What are you crying about?" said he. My dear girl, this ought to be one of the happiest moments of your life. Don't you see that all is going on well? That Oliver is better, and will soon be safe in the Farm? That the revenue officers are silent and bribed"-he saidin a whisper-"and that this night will end my free-truding speculations for ever, and that I shall settle down at the Rock, and venture no more?"

"Will all this come to pass, think you?"

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There, now; as sure as I've kissed you," and he gave her another smack which stayed her tears and enabled her to proceed to Mrs. Mansell's with a lighter heart than she had felt since she had become connected with these untoward events.

Whilst she was proceeding on her way to Mrs. Mansell's, Oliver was toilsomely pursuing his to the Black Point, where he found Oakheart and Rat ready to receive him. He was soon lifted aboard, and tears actually rolled down the bronzed countenance of the stout-hearted smuggler, when he beheld the ghastly complexion which a few hours had given to Oliver.

"My stars," cried Oakheart," I could scarcely ha' believed my eyes, did I not know they were my own. Why, there doesn't seem to be a single drop o' blood in your face."

"No!" said Oliver smiling, "I have parted with the most of it on the beach."

"Well! had I knowed it were you that was hit, I'd as soon have gone to the locker o' Davie Jones myself, than have left you. Howsomever, it's, may be, all for the best, and we've got you now, at any rate."

With slow and measured strokes Rat and Oakheart glided along the shore with their charge, and in due time pulled into the little cove which might be said to belong to the Rock Farm. Here they were met by Fanny, who had got her pony, and putting him to his speed had arrived home in time to receive Oliver herself, whilst suffering from his present calamity.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

ADELA AND LORD WATCHFORD.

By nature, the brow of Adela was as smooth as the lake of Wular in the valley of Cashmere; but when she came to reflect on the indifference with which Lord Watchford had treated her narrow escape from the most imminent danger, a slight cloud disturbed the beauty of its tranquillity. "Whatever pretensions this man may make to me of affection," said she to herself, "it can have no real existence in his heart, or it would have shown itself on this occasion. Did my horse not start from his very side? Might he not have sprung from his own and made an effort to stop it, before it was able to break upon its career? Might he not have exhibited some alarm at my danger; and should he not, at all events, have been as soon up with me as my father and Joseph? Yes, yes, he cannot love me, however ardent may be his professions, or strong his declarations."

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Such was the kind of searching criticism into which Adela entered when she found herself alone after her return to Willowbranch, from the accident by which her life had been endangered, and, if it was just, it contrasted very unfavourably with a review of the conduct of Dorrington. By what fatality is it," she continued in another strain, " that I have again been thrown into the path of Dorrington-and to be saved by him! There would seem to be some Destiny controlling us both, and making us the sport of its own caprice. Yet I must not love him, because he is false. But he has saved my life at the risk of his own, and yet I must not love him because he would have done the same for another. Alas, to throw himself away upon a smuggler's daughter! And yet he seems to be true. O Dorrington, I would I could forget thee!' sighed Adela, at the conclusion of one of those dreadful examinations in which the heart plays the part of a usurper to the judgment.

These were the kind of unuttered soliloquies which passed through the mind of Adela shortly after her return from her ride, whilst she was doffing the habit of the horsewoman, and making her toilette to don another for the evening. It must be confessed, however, that she did not feel very much hurt at the conduct of Lord Watchford, as she recollected the conversations she had had with her father upon the folly of supposing that persons of title marry from such a foolish passion as love. Still she would have liked him better had he evinced some alarm at the position in which she had been placed by the spirit of her horse. It would have gratified her self-esteem, although it might not have greatly influenced her opinion of him, or materially altered the estimation in which she was forced to hold Dorrington.

The quiet which usually characterised the existence of the inhabitants of Willowbranch, was very little changed by the company of the nobleman, who had brought no attendants with him but a solitary servant, and who had arrived at the mansion with but one object in view, that of paying his addresses to Adela, and securing for himself her fortune in her hand. If the truth, however, must be told, the hand entered very little into the "visionary bliss" of his lordship's mind; and as for the heart, such a thing was never dreamt of as being worth possessing. The gold and the lands of the heiress of Isaac Ilbert were the only objects worthy a lord's consideration. These were the magical creators of whatever "visionary bliss" floated in prospective through

his brain. In them he beheld the only value which Adela had, and which was enhanced in his conception solely by the preponderance which these had over those of others. Had Adela known how lightly she was estimated for her own personal merits, how would she have spurned the creature from her presence; how would she even have set the strong will of her father at defiance, rather than do such a violence to her soul as to unite herself to a man, whom, if she did not utterly despise and hate, she could not respect or esteem. But when woman is the object of a man's apparently devoted attentions; when she seems to be the only mistress of his soul; when she listens to the soft accents of flattery artfully conveyed; when she finds, on examination, that there is a vein of truth in what is whispered to her, and when, above all, it is declared that it is for her, and her alone, that every sacrifice that man can make will be done; that her gold and her lands are worthless in comparison with the possession of her own matchless self, it is difficult to believe that falsehood could carry the "lords of the creation" so far, and that they are not sincere in, at least, the half of what they declare, even should the other half be only the breathings of momentary passion. Leaving these sentiments, whether just or unjust, to the consideration of the reader, we must turn for a few moments to the garden of Willowbranch, in which Adela and Lord Watchford are standing together half encompassed with flowers and shrubs, and seemingly engaged in deep conversation. The slanting rays of the setting sun are throwing their long lines of yellow light over the face of nature, and steeping the flowers, the fields, and the foliage in a glorious bath of burnished gold.

"O God! who can behold thy works and mourn

If we would deal with Thy great laws aright!"

The stillness of the surrounding woods; the lengthened shadows of the trees sleeping upon the grass; the cloudless sky and the breathless atmosphere, unite in shedding over the mind a tranquillity so soft and luxuriant, that one feels as if he could live for ever in a scene of such fascinating beauty and peacefulness. Here we might suppose that neither falsehood nor corruption could be found; that the heart of man would expand beneath the operation of all the benign influences which such a scene would communicate, and that he would feel himself allied through nature to nature's God, in contemplating so much of the good, the grand, and the beautiful from his creative hand. But amidst all these objects the voice of Lord Watchford might be heard deforming the loveliness of the scene, by the falsity of the passion he was breathing in the ear of Adela.

"Indeed! Miss Ilbewi, I assure you that I am wholly devoted to you, and that my indifference was only appawent, not real in the accident from which you were so happy to escape."

"My lord, I am not charging you with indifference. I believe that had there been no real danger, your lordship would have been the first to have interposed on my behalf, that you would have been as Dr. Johnson said of Lord Chesterfield, encumbering a drowning person with help after he had struggled to the shore."

"Aw-that is vewy good; vewy good, indeed; but I thought that Miss Ilbewt was too good an equestwian to wequire any assistance fwom me to manage her animal."

"It was through no defect in my horsemanship, my lord, that the horse ran away; it was from my want of strength to hold him in. But it mattereth not. It is past, and I am here without injury of any kind."

"Aw-yes, yes; it is passed and I hope it will not occur again, for nothing would give me greater pain, if any thing happened to you, with whose destiny so much of my own happiness is mingled."

"O, my lord!'

"Nay, believe me, Miss Ilbewt, that if I live for any hope in this world, it is that which gives existence to a day that I may call you my own."

PALESTINE.

"Really, my lord; I am not quite prepared for this," said Adela, "and would rather that we should speak upon some other subject at present."

"But, Miss Ilbewt will pewhaps gwatify me so far as to give me some token of encouragement in my suit."

"I know not what to say, my lord. Really-I cannot, my lord;-some other time we will speak upon this. I am not well, and would rather delay this subject to a future period," said Adela.

"Aw-I am sowy; but weally Miss Ilbewt," he grasped her hand, "I shall nevew know happiness more without you-youaw-give me some assurance that I may continue to hope."

Adela made no reply, but by diverting the conversation into another channel managed to save her own feelings, by not committing herself to any promises, which it was Lord Watchford's desire she should. Cold as was his mode of courtship, it breathed a sufficient amount of passion to make innocence believe in its sincerity, but it was in the manner of its utterance rather than in the matter uttered, that, whatever charms it possessed, appeared. Yet it was all hollow. He cared as little for Adela personally as he did for any other woman, saving in so far as she could bring him the means of enlarging his power and his pleasures, in her own possessions. His courtship was, therefore, entirely mercenary-despicable in the eyes of true manhood; vile in the estimation of sincere womanhood, and too hateful to us, to allow it longer to delay the progress of our story. (To be continued in our next.)

HE name of Palestine is derived from the Philistai, designated the Holy Land, as the promised inheritance of and death of the Saviour. The country is overspread with the seed of Abraham, and the scene of the birth, sufferings, picturesque ridges, inclosing plains and valleys, susceptible of extensive produce in the hands of an industrious people, except in the south, where sterile rocks, frightful precipices, The olive, fig, citron, orange, pomegranate, and vine, are dreary glens, and sandy wastes, are prominent features. especially luxuriant in the lower grounds, while natural groves of sycamore, mulberry trees, evergreen oaks, cypresses, and turpentines, clothe the uplands. Present appearances fully confirm the ancient description of the surface, as an "exceeding good land;" "a land of oil, olive, and honey;" "a land of wheat and barley, and vines and fig-trees, and pomegranates," when cultivation was carefully attended to, and irrigation provided for, while they sufficiently show that the neglect of industrial occupations is a more potent cause of desolation than the ravages of armies.

the banks of which our accompanying engraving depicts. Through this country runs the river Jordan, a scene from This river is remarkable for the extent of its fall in a comparatively short course, one of its sources being five hundred and thirty-seven feet above the level of the Mediterranean;

while the Dead Sea in which it terminates is one thousand

three hundred and twelve feet below it; thus making the nine feet in about one hundred and seventeen miles. The total fall of the river one thousand eight hundred and fortycurrent is rapid and furious, owing to the declination of its bed. In winter a great number of rills and torrents flow over its banks, but in summer these are completely dried up.