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refractory member of this great community: just as the police officers
may be said to carry on war against the criminals whom they apprehend. But as it would be preposterous to expect a nation to sit down quietly under its wrongs until such a court is appointed, so it is equally unreasonable to demand that private men should always refrain from redressing, by their own means, those grievances for which the law offers no remedy. By the plan which we have proposed the balance of pain would be fearfully against the aggressor: and that noxious animal, the bully, must soon become extinct. At present he stands on equal ground with his antagonist; or rather, from having made a just estimate of the worthlessness of his own life, he is aware that the stakes are in his favour. Add to this, he generally has no better occupation for his time than to become very expert at his weapons. In England these creatures are happily become rare ; but in Ireland (nothwithstanding its boasted exemption from venomous animals)
-in France, in the United States, and in our own colonies, the breed still flourishes; at once the terror and the disgrace of civilized society,
M. D. H.
THIRTEEN YEARS OF AGE.
Καίτοι σε και νύντύτό γε ζηλούν έχω, ,
The smiles, thy talk, thy aimless plays,
So beautiful approve thee,
I cannot choose but love thee:
Is like the summer air,
To plant a soft kiss there.
Thy steps are dancing toward the bound
Between the child and woman;
And other years are coming ;
More precious to the heart; But never can'st thou be again,
That lovely thing thou art !
And youth shall pass, with all the brood
Of fancy-fed affection;
And waken cold reflection :
O’er pleasures unreturning,
Unto the cares of morning.
Of joyous expectation,
The freshling of creation !
Her early lamp with gladness,
Her comforter in sadness.
Smile on, then, little winsome thing !
All rich in nature's treasure,
Of self-renewing pleasure.
Of mirth, till time shall end it ; 'Tis nature's wise and gentle will,
And who shall reprehend it ?
W. ROSE ALEYN.
Let me not have this gloomy view,
my bed ;
Rose Aleyn sat at her needle-work, in the arbour at the end of the garden; it was early in a summer's morning ; the clock in the church tower had just struck six, and she lifted up her sweet face while she counted the chimes. Awhile she sat silent in the calm of her happy thoughts; and then the mirth of her light heart danced out into singing. She hardly knew the song that her soft voice had chosen, but her rejoicing humour gave a just expression to each little word. Footsteps fell lightly on the greensward about that pleasant arbour ; and Rose Aleyn never dreamed that any one was near her; she heard only her own song; or rather the murmur, not the words of the song, prevented her hearing any other sound.
She is a winsome young creature," said the old gardener, “and as fresh as a rose. He stood awhile to gaze upon her, as she sate in the arbour he had woven for her, all wreathed over with the broad leaved hop and the odorous honeysuckle, with deep blushing moss roses and pale white roses hanging in clusters about its green sides, and wild thyme and ground-ivy under her little feet. It was a hot morning, and the old man wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve, as he shaded his eyes with his arm; it was very hot, but his young mistress looked as cool and fresh as any dewy blossom around her. Quickly moved her small white fingers at her needlework, and the bold sun only pierced through the foliage, with a twinkling splendour; though it seemed as if the breeze playfully struggled with the green leaves to let in more of the golden light, stirring all the while the careless curls upon her brow, as if teaching her to feel less sensibly the ardent sunshine. The young girl started up, and the colour mounted in her cheek, as the old man spoke to her with his low quiet voice: “ There's a man and horse at the gate, Mistress Rose, and he brings a letter for you; and he will give it into no hands but yours.”—Rose ran off in a moment to the front of the house, and down the old avenue. There stood the man with the letter, and when he had given it into the girl's own hand, he leaped upon his horse, and galloped off. She looked at the direction, and wondered why her friend Wini
fred had sent her letter in so strange a manner. She returned then to the willow arbour, and sat down to read her letter. She did not scream, she did not faint, as her eye glanced over the paper; but she sat motionless, as if every faculty had suddenly deserted her. At last she read the letter again.
“ Sweet Rose,-I would have thee come hither with all haste, and may God speed thee: for thy brother Frank, his life is in danger. He hath been taken by the King's troops, and they will hang him if they please ; and so indeed they threaten in two days to do. Sweet friend, more eyes are red than thine, more hearts are aching sorely, but come here, make no delay. Thou canst do nothing where thou art, at least thou canst see thy brother and comfort him here; so come I pray thee; and God comfort both him and thee. Thy loving sister,
WINIFREDA LANGLAND." The thoughts of Rose Aleyn were now strangely bewildered. At once not only her morning cheerfulness, but all the calmness of her mind, was gone, and she sat in her arbour, trembling in every limb, and weeping bitterly. May the blessed God give me strength and wisdom,” said the poor girl; and she wiped the tears from her face, and then passed quickly to her own chamber. For a little while she remained there, with the door locked ; and then came out with a calm look and a quiet step. Rose found her grandmother already in the little walnut-tree parlour, and the servants were standing near the door, waiting for her attendance at family prayers; so the child knelt down while her grandmother blessed her, and kissed her fair forehead. Then the large bible was opened, and Rose read aloud a chapter from Isaiah, and prayed in a voice which faltered only at a few words.
“Now," said the young girl, when she was left alone with her grandmother, “now we have read the book of God, and prayed for his grace to guide us all through the day, I must tell thee very grievous news, grandmother; a man and horse have been here this morning, with a letter from Winifred Langland. And may God help us, for my brother Frank is taken, and they will hang him in two days.” The old lady at first spoke not a word, but lifted up both her thin bony hands, while her pale lips quivered with anguish. “Go on,” she said “child, let me hear all.” “There is nothing more to tell,” replied Rose, “at least my friend says nothing more of Frank. I will read her letter to thee.” -“Frank Aleyn must die then,” said the old lady, after a long pause-“ My own beautiful bold boy must die upon the shameful gallows.' Oh no! he must not, shall not die,” cried Rose, and she stopped suddenly in her speech, for she knew not how to proceed. "And how should we save him my poor child? Do we not hear of too many such deaths? How fared it with the prisoners
at Bridgewater, within this last month, were they not all butchered with cold blooded cruelty ? Were not their dying pangs mocked with jesting and music? If our sweet Frank be in the hands of that savage Colonel, and I fear he is, it will go hard with him and us. My poor maiden, you are young enough to hope in any case, but I am near my grave now; Ì have lived many years, and seen strange changes. I put little trust in man: but the blessed God bringeth wondrous things to pass ; we must look to him, my child, for he will direct all in his best way; and we must trust with a perfect faith ; for his ways may seem at first dark to us."-Rose listened attentively to her grandmother, but, when she had finished speaking, said eagerly, “would you not send me to Winifred Langland.” Most assuredly, my love; we will bid Richard Pearse be at the door in half an hour, with the horse and pillion, and you may be at Taunton by twelve o'clock at noon.' The horse and pillion waited a few minutes at the door, while the old lady finished a letter which she was writing.
“You will give this letter,” she said to Rose, “ to the commanding officer, whoever he may be, that has pronounced the judgment of death upon our dear Frank Aleyn. . An old woman can have little influence with a stern soldier, and I know not if he may look upon my letter ; but the simple pleading of the heart is often heard before wisdom; or, perchance, he may reverence my grey hairs.” Rose thought the letter would be successful, for she had been accustomed to hear all her grandmother's requests with attentive deference, and to obey them instantly; and so she rode off, presuming in the simplicity of her heart, to hope that her brother's life might yet be spared. Many hopes and many fears, however, arose in her bosom, with their alternate emotions, before she reached Taunton. Almost every visit which Rose had made to her friend Winifred, had been a sort of holiday-keeping to them both. She hardly remembered the first time that she had gone to Taunton, she had then been so young; for her own mother was, in her life time, as a sister to Mrs. Langland; and their fathers had fought and fallen side by side. The troubles of the times had then made many widows; and the mother of Rose Aleyn, always a pale sickly young creature, hung her head from the moment she heard of her husband's death, and died in the third month of her widowhood. Rose had known little sorrow, for her grandmother was really religious, and therefore very cheerful; still her merriest moments had been passed with Winifred Langland, a person of her own age, and the maiden she loved best in the world. Her heart throbbed quick as she beheld the town of Taunton. Her eye marked out the whole of the town and the surrounding country, and she felt with grief how near she was to her brother, while she could not at once seek his