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mental in bringing about. Use the information which is contained here as you think best." Having said this, she begged leave to retire to her room. "I am not strong; it is a great effort for me to do this, and I cannot bear much interrogation. What is necessary I will submit to, but let me entreat you to spare me as much as you can." Mrs. Martin turned and left the room, the servant was motioned to follow her, and the Acton family were left alone with the weighty secret in their hands.

"Take it, my dear," said the good rector; " your eyes are better than

mine."

Mrs. Acton took the sheet of paper, and drawing to the window to obtain all the light there was, she read aloud as follows, for the benefit of her husband and children:

"I was Miss Douglas's confidential companion; I took care of her, and managed her affairs to the best of my ability, so far as she would entrust me with them. In some things she depended on me as a child, whilst in others it was all I could do to divine her intentions and to regulate her movements. That Miss Douglas was eccentric in her habits is well known. Travelling was a passion with her; she enjoyed the mere locomotion, the changing from place to place. She left the arrangement of these journeys entirely to me. I do not think that she had it in her power to regulate or plan anything. I endeavoured to do my duty at first. It was for my interest to gain Miss Douglas's confidence, and to remain with her; for I was saving money in the hope of adding my little earnings to that of Mr. Martin, to whom I was then engaged. There was no prospect of our marriage for some years to come, as he had got entangled in some speculation, and there was a danger of his being drawn into worse difficulties, owing to no fault of his own. Mr. Branburn was acquainted with all the circumstances, and he had my future husband in his power. I was in constant correspondence on the subject, both with Mr. Branburn and Mr. Martin, but I could never extort a promise of secrecy from the former. He reserved this till he could exercise his power over us to his own advantage.

"We were staying at Strasburg, when I received a letter from Mr. Branburn informing me of the death of Mr. Douglas and of his singular will. I knew that my cousin had set his heart on obtaining that property for himself. No sooner had the entail been broken than he began his deep plan. It must have been very galling to him to be thus frustrated, but he was not a man to be beaten if he saw the least chance of extricating himself from a difficulty. He proposed a deep design to me in this letter, by which he might secure the person of Miss Douglas through my connivance. He threatened me if I refused to act with him, and offered me a bribe if I complied.

"His threat was to expose my future husband, and his bribe was to supply me with the money necessary for emigration. I could marry, he said, and it would be safer for my husband to be out of England. It was a terrible temptation, and I fell into his snare. There could be no harm in complying with the first part of his instructions, I thought; they were simple, and might lead to nothing; at all events, I should have time to consider, which I had not then, as we were to leave Strasburg immediately, and journey by a very circuitous route to a small town in Switzerland, where it was agreed that we should meet him as if by accident. Mr. Branburn was to appear to pay his addresses to Miss Douglas, and I

was seemingly to object to his behaviour, to oppose his coming near her, and yet secretly to favour his doing so to the best of my ability. He was then to pretend to disclose to her a story against me, to hint that I was an instrument in the hands of her sister, Mrs. Acton, to prevent her ever marrying, that the property might not be left away from her own children. Miss Douglas was aware that, the entail being broken, she would have a right to dispose of it should she come into possession; but she was not, of course, acquainted with the fact of her brother's death, nor with the will he had made; the story would, therefore, be very plausible in her ears. I found no difficulty in making Miss Douglas remove at a moment's notice from Strasburg; I invented some trivial reason for our doing so, and she was perfectly willing to go wherever I proposed. Our journeys were so intricate, and arranged with such secrecy, that no clue was gained as to our place of residence, or, rather, I should say, place of rendezvous with Mr. Branburn. Miss Douglas once wrote to her sister, but I intercepted the letter; it was destroyed. Every day made me more callous to the part I was acting; the only restriction that caused me any pain was that I might not communicate with Mr. Martin. I dreaded lest he should think me wanting in affection, and I longed for the time when I should meet him in England, and acquaint him with what he would consider my cousin's magnanimous offer.

"At the town agreed upon Mr. Branburn met us; he was travelling with his servant, who is now, I am told, acting as porter at "The House." We had a lengthened interview together, in which he developed his plans more fully to me. I was awed by his manner, and partly frightened by his threats of vengeance, if I did not do all he desired. In this interview it was arranged that we should travel amongst the mountains, he following in our track, sometimes with us, sometimes before or behind us, but always paying marked attention to Miss Douglas. He thoroughly succeeded in making my unhappy charge believe his professions of undying devotion, and, what is more, he persuaded her to fly from me with him. I was informed of all this, and acted accordinglyaiding the plot whilst apparently making it difficult. Fortune favoured the design much more than we could have anticipated. It was I who provided the shawl, and Hugh Franklin, Mr. Branburn's servant, placed it on the glacier; he also dropped a little flower-basket belonging to Miss Douglas on the moraine, which was not found till some days afterwards. How they succeeded in escaping unobserved, I cannot tell; that they should not do so, was a source of great anxiety to me, as you may suppose. I spread the report that it had not been accident, but suicide; I wrote the information necessary for the newspapers, and told my heartrending tale to the authorities with a pathos which was not altogether unnatural. For when I had done my part, and was no longer called into action, my strength gave way; I was so nervous, so confused, that I had to entreat not to be questioned any more. I pretended that horror at what had occurred overwhelmed me, and I met with much compassion, much undeserved kindness. The rest of my personal history you are acquainted with, for it was young Mr. Acton who escorted me back to England.

"As to Miss Douglas, I know that a house had been hired in an obscure part of Islington, which was intended for her reception. She was

doubtless kept in close confinement there under Hugh Franklin's charge until it was safe to convey her secretly to the north. Before my marriage, and subsequent departure from England, I heard that she had been removed to The House.' I wrote several times to Mr. Branburn, entreating him to use all kindness to his prisoner, for my conscience began to torment me even in those early days. I hoped that change of scene would drown the past, but I was mistaken; no one can tell the agonies of remorse I have endured all these long years. Fear of Mr. Branburn, and the dread lest he might expose my husband, kept my mouth closed, and it is only now that I come to confess. I may be too late to do any good; but I trust not. I cherish the conviction that Miss Douglas is still living, and that she is concealed at The House ;' should this be the case, I shall yet have the unmerited satisfaction of retrieving in some measure the evil I have done. May it be so! My confession is now almost completed; I have but to add that I wrote a few days ago to Miss Douglas, directing the letter to The House.' This may seem to be a strange act on my part, but I did it for two reasons: first, to warn Mr. Branburn of what was coming upon him, for though the letter was anonymous, he will most assuredly guess the writer's name he has done much for me, I wished to give him an indirect warning; and secondly, I wrote with the idea of rousing suspicions, or at least gossip, amongst the peasants of the neighbourhood.

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"I have now told all, and every word here stated is true. To this I swear and sign my name before witnesses."

Mrs. Acton had read in a clear, distinct voice; she never paused to take breath, or to smother any emotion, till she reached the end, and then, covering her face with her pocket-handkerchief, she sank into a chair and sobbed audibly. Here was the truth, the whole dreadful truth. "Is it possible!" "Could you have believed it ?" "Poor, poor Mary!" were the exclamations which burst from the lips of all.

"If it is actually true-and it has all the semblance of truth," said Mr. Acton, patting the document, which now lay on the writing-tablewe must have been marvellously blind not to have seen through so simple a veil."

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"There was no clue," said his wife, recovering her composure by degrees. "They made no mistakes, they did the deed cleverly, and we were duped. To think that poor Mary may have been a prisoner all these years! Could she exist in confinement? must she not have died of grief? The thought is terrible, but she may have met with another fate. Her death was desired by her captors; they may have hastened it. One crime leads to another-nay, it sometimes necessitates another. Mrs. Martin has no proof of her being still alive." And again Mrs. Acton's voice was choked by her tears.

"We have still the letters to read," remarked her husband, in the hopes of rousing her. "There may be proof here to warrant our arresting this upstart, this impostor."

He unfolded the packet, and perused each letter in turn; one was addressed to Mrs. Martin, from William Branburn, and it disclosed the design he had formed for the capture of Miss Douglas; the others were short notes of less importance, but still bearing on the same subject.

"These are very valuable," said the rector. "Read them, Elizabeth."

Mrs. Acton did as she was requested, and then folded them carefully together.

"How must we set about ascertaining whether there is any one confined in the old house ?" inquired she, looking towards her husband.

"It is a subject for a magistrate; we had better consult with Mr. Proctor, he will advise us. We must have the law on our side," said he.

"Should we give publicity to the affair so soon?" asked his wife. She flinched from exposure, from the busy tongues of the world at large. Visions of newspaper reporters came before her, and she expressed her dislike in particular to making Mr. Proctor their confidant. "He is so pompous; he thinks of nothing but his own consequence, and I believe that he delights in raising a scandal about any family."

"We must have some advice, or the whole thing will be allowed to drop, and we ought to have an investigation with such a confession as that in our possession. We cannot pass it over; it would not be right." "Far be it from me to wish such a thing; and if we must ask advice, let us consult Mr. Salamon, he is by far the most skilful and active magistrate in the county."

This was agreed upon, and whilst the rector went in search of his friend, Mrs. Acton was closeted with her strange guest up-stairs. We forbear to describe what passed in so strictly private an interview.

Mr. Salamon heard the whole history with great interest; he returned to the rectory in company with Mr. Acton, was introduced to Mrs. Martin, talked the matter over with all parties concerned, behaved in a very gentlemanly, kind manner, and the result of all this will form the subject of a future chapter.

ODE OF CALLISTRATUS TO HARMODIUS AND ARISTOGEITON.

BY E. A. BOWRING.

WITH a bough of green myrtle my sword I will cover,
Like Harmodius and Aristogeiton of yore,
When they slew the proud tyrant who Athens ruled over,
And gave to their country its freedom once more.

Thy name, loved Harmodius, shall long live in story,
In the isles of the blest a bright home thou hast won,
Where swift-footed Achilles is dwelling in glory,

Ay, and Diomed too, of old Tydeus the son.

With a bough of green myrtle my sword I will cover,
Like Harmodius and Aristogeiton of yore,
Who, ere yet the glad feast of Athene was over,
Laid the tyrant Hipparchus all welt'ring in gore.
Harmodius and Aristogeiton the Glorious,
Countless ages to come your great names shall adore,
For ye slew the proud tyrant with sword all-victorious,
gave to your country its freedom once more.

And

CANTERBURY AND ITS ARCHBISHOPS.

IN Dr. Stanley's engaging narrative of the landing of Augustine-a narrative which has been justly said to be written in the spirit of a poet and with the accuracy of an historian-the reverend and learned writer points out the memories that are associated with the view beheld from the hill of St. Martin's little church, near Canterbury. It is justly described as a view the most inspiriting that can be found in the world; for from Canterbury, the first Christian city of England, from Kent, the first English Christian kingdom, has flowed the Christianity of our country; and from that little hill a power went forth, which in the course of a few centuries adorned England with all its glorious monuments of piety and ecclesiastical art.

The landing of Augustine has, therefore, a continuing interest for England through every age; and, beginning with the story of that memorable event, and tracing thence the succession of the Archbishops of Canterbury, the learned Dean of Chichester has produced a work of national as well as great historical interest, by connecting with the biography of each primate the ecclesiastical and chief political events of his age. Dr. Hook thus presents the Church of England as a national institution which, under its various phases, has existed from the time of Augustine, through whom is (of course) deduced that succession of the Christian ministry which connects the present Church of England through the Gallican, with the primitive and apostolic Church of Christ. And by giving not merely the episcopal acts but the lives of the archbishops, the author has embraced a large region of literature and theology, and events of political and of private life-the latter often as characteristic of the times as of the mind of the individual prelate.

Hardly any one of the lives contained in the first volume (it is the only one at present published, and embraces the period-extending over about four hundred and seventy years-from the mission of Augustine to the close of the Anglo-Saxon dynasty) is without some memorable features of interest relating to the early days of the English Church and English civilisation; and it would be difficult to point out a subject of ecclesiastical controversy, usage, or legislation, from the planting of the Church in England down to the time of the Conquest, that does not receive illustration in Dr. Hook's pages. The state of the country and of the people, the progress of arts and employments, and of religion and learning, are illustrated in almost every chapter; and one cannot fail to recognise how truly, in this labour of love, as in his long life of sacred duty, the learned author has himself worked in the spirit of his maxim, "that no man becomes great or really good who does not give his heart and mind to perform what his hand finds to do." His charitable judgment, his candour, and his fairness, are, moreover, not less conspicuous than his industry.

* Lives of the Archbishops of Canterbury. By Walter Farquhar Hook, D.D., Dean of Chichester. Vol. I.-Anglo-Saxon Period. London: Richard Bentley. 1860. Pp. 530.

VOL. XLIX.

P.

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