in fact, that though they had formerly bur- JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.* dens which they bore, and which, though heavy, it was no dishonor to bear, they have not only now a heavier load upon their shoulders, but one made still more grievous by the ignominy of those who have now the privilege of inflicting it.

"But, my dear boy, I propose that you and how little I deserve what you have called shall remain with me-we will all live toge- me, I now promise you to marry as soon as ther. I do not intend that we shall part. I you wish." really wish, Japhet, you would think seriously of it."

"My dear father, allow me to observe, that at present I am not in a situation to support a wife, and I should be sorry to be a tax upon you, at your age; you require many comforts and luxuries, and I presume that you live up to your income."

"Thank you, my boy, that's kind of you; but I will say that you are a comfort and a treasure to me, and I bless the day that brought you to my arms. Well, then, look about you."

"No, sir, I leave it all to you; select the party, and I am willing to obey you."

"My dear boy? Well, then, I'll talk the matter over with Mr. Masterton to-morrow," and the general shook me warmly by the hand.

The next day I picked up Harcourt, and proceeded to Park Street. A note from Harcourt had informed them of our intended visit, and other visitors had been denied. "All has been explained, Cecilia," said I, after the first greeting. "I was very wrong, and very foolish."

"Then, my dear fellow, you are under a great mistake. I can lay down one hundred thousand pounds on the day of your marriage, with any lady whom I approve of, and still not spend half my remaining income." "That, sir," replied I, "certainly removes one difficulty, at the same time that it proves what a generous and indulgent father I am blessed with; but, sir, with such a fortune, I have a right to expect that the lady will also bring a handsome addition. Miss De Clare "And made me very miserable. I little is engaged, I believe, to Mr. Harcourt, or I thought that you, Japhet, would have made might have made strong interest in that quar-me cry so much; but I forgive you for it, as ter." I would a thousand times as much more. Now sit down and tell us all that has happened since you left us."

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Something, my dear boy; but a moderate fortune now-a-days is all that we expect with wives, and the best wives are those who are not born to too much wealth; still, she should bring something; but tell me, Japhet, who is that young lady whom you thought. handsomer than Miss De Clare?"

"A Miss Temple, sir."

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Temple-it is a very good name. I think girls brought up in the country make the best wives."

Suppose I was to fall in love with a person you did not like, would you allow me to marry her?"

"Most certainly not, sir."

"Not yet, my dear Cecilia. You, as well as I, owe a reparation to poor Harcourt, whom, I think, you have treated cruelly. You were about to answer a question of vital moment when I broke in upon you, and you have since kept him in a state of cruel suspense for more than three weeks, refusing him an answer until he brought me into your presence. An hour of such suspense must be dreadful, and before we sit down, I wish every one should feel comfortable and happy."

"It was not altogether to stimulate Mr. Harcourt to bring you back, which induced me to refuse to answer his question, Japhet. I considered that your return had rendered it necessary that it should be deferred until I saw you. I have not forgotten, Japhet, and never shall forget, what I was when you rescued me; and when I think what I might have been had you not saved me, I shudder at the bare idea. I have not forgotten how you risked, and nearly lost your life in Ireland for my sake-neither has my mother. We are indebted to you for all our present happiness, and I am eternally indebted to you for rescuing me from ignorance, poverty, and, perhaps, vice. You have been more, much more than a father to me—more, much more than a brother. I am, as it were, a creature of your own fashioning, and I owe

"Then, sir, is it reasonable to expect me to you that which I never can repay. When, to marry without being in love?"

66

then, you returned so unexpectedly, Japhet, I felt that you had a paramount right in my disposal, and I was glad that I had not replied to Mr. Harcourt, as I wished first for your sanction and approval. I know all that has passed between you, but I know not your real feelings towards Mr. Harcourt; he acknowledges that he treated you very ill, and it was his sincere repentance of having so done, and his praise of you, which first won "To prove to you how unjust you are, sir, my favor. And now, Japhet, if you have

"I did not marry for love, sir." 'No,” replied I, forgetting myself a little; "and a pretty mess you made of it.”

“I did,” rejoined my father in a rage, "by begetting an undutiful, good-for-nothing, graceless, insolent, ungrateful son."

"My dear father, I was not aware that I had a brother."

I mean you, sir."

"Stop, my dear Fleta, I will answer all your questions at once." I took Harcourt's hand, and placed it in hers. "May God bless you both, and may you be happy!"

still animosity against Mr. Harcourt-if with him, and appointed them a quarter of an you" hour before our time. This he had arranged, that the general might see Miss Temple, as if by accident; and also allow me, who, my father supposed, was not aware of Miss Temple being in town, to meet with her. What a deal of humbug there is in this world! Nothing but plot and counterplot! I shook hands with Cophagus, who, I perceived, had, notwithstanding his wife's veto, put on his blue cotton net pantaloons and Hessian boots, and he appeared to be so tight in both, that he could hardly move. As far as I could judge, his legs had not improved since I had last seen them in this his favorite dress.

Cecilia threw her arms round me and wept; so did every body else, I believe. It was lucky for Harcourt that I was in love with Susannah Temple. As soon as Cecilia had recovered a little, I kissed her, and passed her over to her right owner, who led her to the sofa. Lady de Clare and I went out of the room on important business, and did not return for a quarter of an hour. When we returned, Cecilia went to her mother and embraced her, while Harcourt silently squeezed my hand. We then all sat down, and I gave them an account of all that had passed during my second excursion-how I had nearly been hanged-how I had gone mad-how I had turned Quaker and apothecary-which they all agreed, with what had happened to me before, made up a very eventful history. "And, Japhet, if it be a fair question about one so fair, was that Miss Temple who was at church with you yesterday?"

"It was."

"Then, Cecilia, if ever she appears in the same circle, except in my eyes, your beauty will stand in some danger of being eclipsed." "How can you say, except in your eyes, Mr. Harcourt," replied Cecilia, "the very observation proves that it is eclipsed in your eyes, whatever it may be in those of others. Now, as a punishment, I have a great mind to order you away again, until you bring her face to face, that I may judge myself."

"If I am again banished," replied Harcourt, "I shall have a second time to appeal to Benyon to be able to come back again. He can produce her, I have no doubt."

"And perhaps may, some of these days, Cecilia."

"Oh! do, Japhet. I will lover her so." "You must wait a little first. I am not quite so far advanced as you and Harcourt. I have not received the consent of all parties, as you have to-day. But I must now leave you. Harcourt, I presume you will dine here. I must dine with my governor."

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"Mr. De Benyon, I believe that you have met Miss Temple before," said Mr. Masterton, winking at me. In Berkshire, was it not? Miss Temple, allow me to introduce General De Benyon."

I went up to Susannah, who colored and trembled at the sight of my father, as I expressed my hope that she had been well since we last met. She perceived that there was some planned scheme, and was so puzzled that she said nothing. My father then spoke to her, and after a short time took a chair and seated himself close to her. I never knew her make herself so agreeable. He asked her where she was staying, and when he heard that it was with Mr. Cophagus, he said that he should have the pleasure of calling upon Mr. Cophagus, and thanking him for his kind information relative to me. Shortly afterwards Cophagus took his leave, and Susannah rose to accompany him, when my father, hearing that they had walked, insisted upon putting Miss Temple down in his carriage. So that Mr. Cophagus had to walk home one way, and I the other.

Alas! little did Mr. Cophagus know how fatal to him would be the light cotton nets when he put them on that day. He had proceeded, as it appears, about two-thirds of his way home, (he lived in Welbeck Street,) when he perceived a rush from up a street leading into Oxford Street. He looked to ascertain the cause, when to his horror he perceived-what to him was the greatest of all horrors a mad bull. If any thing could make Mr. Cophagus run, it was a sight like On my return, I found that the table was that, and he did run; but he could not run laid for three, and that the general had asked fast in his cotton nets and tight Hessians, Mr. Masterton, from which I augured well. which crippled him altogether. As if, out of Masterton could not speak to me when he ar- pure spite, the bull singled him out from at rived, but he gave me a wink and a smile, least one hundred, who exerted their agility, and I was satisfied. "Japhet," said my fath- and again was poor Mr. Cophagus tossed far er, "you have no engagement to-morrow, I behind the animal, fortunately breaking his hope, because I shall call at Mr. Masterton's fall by tumbling on a large dog who was in on business, and wish you to accompany me.' ." full chace. The dog, who was unable to I replied, "that I should be most happy," and crawl from beneath the unfortunate Cophathe conversation became general. gus, was still in a condition to bite, which he I accompanied my father the next day to did most furiously; and the butcher, who Lincoln's Inn, and when we went up, we found had an affection for his dog, when he perMr. Masterton at the table, with Mr. Copha- ceived its condition, also vented his fury upon gus and Susannah sitting apart near the win-poor Cophagus, by saluting him with several dow. "The plot thickens," thought I. The fact was, as I was afterwards told by Mr. Masterton, he had prevailed upon Cophagus to pretend business, and to bring Susannah

blows on his head with his cudgel. What between the bull, the dog, and the butcher, poor Mr. Cophagus was taken into a shop in a very deplorable condition. After some time

he recovered, and was able to name his resi- new name was considered highly respectable, dence, when he was taken home.

It was late in the evening when I received a note from Susannah, informing me of that unfortunate accident. My father had just finished a long story about filial duty, country girls, good wives, &c. and had wound up by saying, that he and Mr. Masterton both considered that Miss Temple would be a very eligible match, and that as I had requested him to select, he had selected her accordingly. I had just proved how truly dutiful I was by promising to do all I could to love her, and to fulfil his wishes, when the note was put in my hands. I read it, stated its contents to my father, and, with his permission, immediately jumped into a hackney coach, and drove to Welbeck Street.

my father's hall tables were loaded with cards, and I even received two dinner invitations from Lady Maelstrom, who told me how her dear nieces had wondered what had become of me, and that they were afraid that Louisa would have fallen into a decline. And during these three months Cecilia and Susannah had been introduced, and had become as inseparable as most young ladies are, who have a lover a-piece, and no cause for jealousy. Mr. Cophagus had so far recovered as to be able to go down into the country, vowing, much to the chagrin of his wife, that he never would put his foot in London again. He asked me whether I knew any place where there were no mad bulls, and I took some trouble to find out, but I could not; for On my arrival I found poor Mrs. Cophagus even if he went to the North Pole, although in a state of syncope, and Susannah attend- there were no bulls, yet there were bull bisons ing her. I sent for the surgeon who had been and musk bulls, which were even more savcalled in, and then went up to Mr. Cophagus. age. Upon which he declared that this was He was much better than I expected-calm, not a world to live in, and to prove that he and quite sensible. His wounds had been dressed by the surgeon, but he did not appear to be aware of the extent of the injury he had received. When the surgeon came I questioned him. He informed me that although much hurt, he did not consider that there was any danger to be apprehended; there were no bones broken; the only fear that he had was, that there might be some internal injury; but at present that could not be ascertained. I thanked him, and consoled Mrs. Cophagus with this information. I then returned to her husband, who shook his head, and muttered, as I put my ear down to hear him, “Thought so come to London-full of mad bulls-tossed-die-and so on."

"Oh! no!" replied I, “the surgeon says that there is no danger. You will be up in a week-but now you must keep very quiet. I will send Mrs. Cophagus to you.”

I went out, and finding her composed, I desired her to go to her husband, who wished to see her, and I was left alone with Susannah. I told her all that had passed and after two delightful hours had escaped, I returned home to the hotel. My father had waited up for some time, and finding that I did not return, had retired. When I met him the next morning I mentioned what the surgeon had said, but stated that, in my opinion, there was great cause for alarm in a man of Mr. Cophagus's advanced age. My father agreed with me, but could not help pointing out what a good opportunity this would afford for my paying my attentions to Miss Temple, as it was natural that I should be interested about so old a friend as Mr. Cophagus. My filial duty inclined me to reply, that I should certainly avail myself of such a favorable opportunity.

My adventures are now drawing to a close. I must pass over three months, during which my father had taken and furnished a house in Grosvenor Square; and I, whenever I could spare them, had, under the auspices of Lord Windermear, again been introduced into the world as Mr. De Benyon. I found that the

was sincere in his opinion, poor fellow, about three months after his retirement in the country he died from a general decay, arising from the shock produced on his system. But before these three months had passed, it had been finally arranged that Harcourt and I were to be united the same day; and having renewed my acquaintance with the good bishop, whom I had taxed with being my father, he united us both to our respective partners. My father made over to me the sum which he had mentioned. Mr. Masterton gave Susannah ten thousand pounds, and her own fortune amounted to as much more, with the reversion of Mr. Cophagus's property at the decease of his widow. Timothy came up to the wedding, and I formally put him in possession of my shop and stock in trade, and he has now a flourishing business. Although he has not found his mother, he has found a pretty wife, which he says does quite as well, if not better.

Let it not be supposed that I forgot the good services of Kathleen-who was soon after married to Corny. A small farm on Fleta's estate was appropriated to them, at so low a rent, that in a few years they were able to purchase the property, and Corny, from a leveller, as soon as he was comfortable, became one of the government's firmest supporters.

I am now living in the same house with my father, who is very happy, and behaves pretty well. He is seldom in passion more than twice a-week, which we consider as miraculous. Now that I am writing this, he has his two grand children on his knees. Mrs. Cophagus has married a captain in the Life Guards, and as far as fashion and dress are concerned, may be said to be "going the whole hog." And now, as I have no doubt that my readers will be curious to know whether my lovely wife adheres to her primitive style of dress, I shall only repeat a conversation of yesterday night, as she came down arrayed for a splendid ball given by Mrs. Harcourt De Clare,

"Tell me now, De Benyon," said she, "is not this a pretty dress?"

"Yes, my dear," replied I, looking at her charming face and figure with all the admiration usual in the honeymoon," it is indeed; but do you not think, my dear Susan," said I, putting the tip of my white glove upon her snowy shoulder, "that it is cut down a little too low?"

"Too low, De Benyon! why it's not half so low as Mrs. Harcourt De Clare or Lady C wear their dresses."

"Well, my dear, I did not assert that it was. I only asked."

""Twas my mother's gift," (the maiden cried,)
This cross with the bleeding heart.
With her own dear hand round my neck she tied,
When her soul was about to depart;
And she told me to wear it both day and night,
And pray often to Him that shed
His blessed blood, that can wash us white,
Though our sins be as rubies red."

Then the Wizard scoffed at the Lady's speech,
As he took the cross, and said:
"Thou hast learned of some juggling friar to
preach

About the blood that was never shed."
The maid grew pale at his impious words,
And she fain would have fled away;
But her feet seemed bound, like the captive bird's,
That is caught in the limed spray.

"Well, then, if you only asked for infor-
mation, De Benyon, I will tell you that it is
not too low, and I think you will acknowl-
edge that on this point my opinion ought to
be decisive; for if I have no other merit, I
have at least the merit of being the best-dress-Which no holy feet that walked with God
ed woman in London."

"Verily thou persuadest me, Susannah," replied I.

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Now, De Benyon, hold your tongue." Like a well-disciplined husband, I bowed, and said no more. And now, having no more to say, I shall also make my bow to my readers, and bid them farewell.

CHRISTMAS TALE.

THE WIZARD'S CAVE; OR, THE MAR-
TYR'S CROSS.

(From an old Welsh Legend.)

BY MRS. CRAWFORD.

"Come to the hall of shells! and list
To a tale of the times of old."

THE Lady stood in the Wizard's cave,
And her young heart thrilled with fear;

"Ah! woe is me! that I'm doomed to crave

The aid of unholy seer!"

And the Wizard took his charmed rod,
And the magic circle drew,

Ever stood within, he knew.

And he called on the spirits of earth and air,
And the shrouded dead to hear;
As his blue lips muttered the soulless prayer,
More strong waxed the Lady's fear;

That flashed on his silver beard,
Like the lightning's glare on the snowy height
Of some peak out of chaos reared.
Then a form arose of a youthful knight,
And his mail was of polished steel,
And above his helm was a plume of white,
And the gold spur on his heel.

For there shot from his eyes a fearful light,

And the Wizard turned to the maid, and said,
"What more would'st thou know of me ?"
Then the Lady bowed her beauteous head,-
"I would like the knight's face to see."
Ah! did not young Rosabel's bosom glow
With a joy but ill concealed;

When the vision unclasped the helm, and lo!
Her lover's face revealed;-

The Knight of the Cross, brave Argentine,
The flower of Crusaders; he

Who fought 'gainst the Crescent in Palestine,
Was the lord of her fate to be!

Oh happy fate! but anon, behold
A change came o'er the knight;

"Now, what would'st thou, daughter?" the Wiz- And Rosabel's heart grew faint and cold,

ard said,

As he came from the inner cell :

As a death's head met her sight.

"I would know whom my fate will have me to But the vision fled; and again she smiled, wed,

And they told me that thou could'st tell."

“And what wilt thou give me to wake the spell, And thy future fate unfold ?"

"This ruby brooch," said Rosabel,

"And this chain of the purest gold," Now there hung to that chain a martyr's cross, With a bleeding heart above;

And to part with that, were a heavy loss,'Twas the gift of a mother's love.

So she loosed it from the glittering chain,
And hid it within her vest;

Ah! well would it be, could it there remain,
As a charm against lips unblest.

* That cross I must have," said the hoary wight,
Ere I give thee the truth to know ;"
Then she drew it again from her bosom white,
And her tears began to flow.

Since she found 'twas her fate to wed
Her own true love; and with hope beguiled,
From the Wizard's cave she sped.

Now Rosabel was of noble race,

And of Cambrian maids the flower,
And many that looked on her lovely face
Never thought of the maiden's dower.

But to all that bowed at her virgin shrine,
Her heart was as cold as snow,
Save the gallant knight, Sir Argentine,
The son of her father's foe.

Her father he was a baron proud,

Of high Llewellyn's line,

And he'd rather have looked on his daughter's shroud,

Than have wed her to Argentine.

Time wore away, and the Wizard's spell
Still worked its unholy part :-