vidence which has watched over us hitherto, will protect us Utterly helpless and hopeless as our situation

till the end.

appears at present, He can save us, and He will."

Her words inspired me with renewed energy; and, with a good deal of difficulty, I stepped the mast, which we had unshipped for greater convenience in rowing. Next day we made the land, and, before evening, after a little danger in passing the surf, I landed my precious charge in safety.

But I must hurry to the conclusion of my tale, for I see, Lorrimer, you are beginning to yawn, and I am tired of it myself.

My first care was to seek a snug shelter among the rocks, where I quickly lighted a fire, and shared with my fair fellow-prisoner the last remains of our slender sea stock. For the next day's subsistence, we were obliged to rely upon my skill as a fowler. I spread the remainder of the powder to dry, and contrived to make up a rude bed for Miss Neville, on which, worn out with fatigue and excitement, she soon enjoyed that rest which she so much required. I retired to a little distance to watch her slumbers; but very soon followed her example. In the morning, invigorated and refreshed, I sallied out with my gun, and soon succeeded in procuring some birds for our morning meal; I then climbed the highest part of the island, and set up the boat's mast with a handkerchief flying from it, in hopes of attracting the attention of some passing South Sea whaler. Weeks passed in dreary monotony; we wanted for none of the absolute necessaries of life; but we were prisoners, and that consciousness alone was enough to make me discontented and restless. My fair companion bore all her inconveniences unrepiningly, and did all in her power to soothe and comfort me; her sweet disposition, and gentle, silent attentions, insensibly withdrew my thoughts from the discomforts of the present, and hope pictured a bright future of happiness with her whom fate had thrown upon my protection. One morning,

at daybreak, I climbed as usual to my signal-post, and there, about three miles to windward of the island, a ship was standing under easy sail to the westward. The ship

was hove to, and a boat lowered. I rushed down to apprise Miss Neville of the joyful event, and we both hurried to the beach, to receive our welcome visiters. After considerable difficulty, on account of the surf, they effected a landing, and were greeted by us with the warmest gratitude. The vessel, we were told, was the Medusa, South-Seaman, and had been out from England nearly two years; they had observed my flag some time before they hove to, and at first thought it had been left there by some former ship, as there were no settlers on the island at the time; but they fortunately saw me through their glasses, and determined upon landing.

The evening was closing in cloudy and threatening, the surf was beginning to run high, and everything indicated bad weather.

"Come, be quick!" said the captain of the Medusa, who was in the boat; "jump in, we've no time to lose; there's a gale coming on, and I wouldn't wait two minutes longer for the world."

As we were struggling through the heavy surf, a sudden roll of the boat threw me overboard, and in a moment I was swept some distance towards the beach. I swam for the shore immediately, as I knew it was in vain to attempt reaching the boat again, or to hope that they would risk their own lives, or the safety of the ship, by longer delay. I was an excellent swimmer, and reached the shore in safety, where I had the mortification of seeing the Medusa make sail, and haul off the land. I comforted myself, however, with the reflection, that Emily Neville was in safety, and that, if the captain of the Medusa was a Christian, he would return to take me off the island. That night a heavy gale of wind came on from the north-west, and a constant

succession of stormy changes of wind and calm followed for some time. In about a month, a sail hove in sight; it was the Medusa! Oh, how delighted I was, once more to feel a solid plank under my foot! I felt myself at home once more when I touched her deck, and asked for Emily Neville. She was gone! The Medusa had fallen in with a Cape trader, and Miss Neville had taken a passage on board of her to the Cape, from whence she meant to proceed to England. Imagine my disappointment! For two months longer we beat about in these latitudes in the Medusa, and then, our cargo being completed, we shaped our course homewards. On my arrival in England, I went to my old friend, Darey, who provided me with the needful, and I am now so far on my way home. You tell me I have gained a fortune; but I have lost the only girl I ever loved, and without her fortune is valueless."

I did what I could to comfort Musgrave, but he would not be comforted.

Next morning, he proceeded on his journey. A short time afterwards, there appeared in the papers the following announcement-"Arrived in the river, the Proserpine, from the Cape. This vessel has on board one of the survivors of the wreck of the ship Anne, which foundered at sea some months since; the lady was saved in one of the ship's boats, and taken off the island of Tristan d'Acunha by the Medusa whaler."

I immediately wrote to Musgrave, congratulating him on this happy event; and received an answer, in the course of a few weeks, telling me that he was now amply repaid for his past dangers and disappointments; for Emily Neville had consented to become his wife, and to share with him the bounties, as she had before partaken with him of the harsher dispensations, of Providence.

THE RED HALL; OR, BERWICK IN 1296.

SOMEWHAT more than five hundred years ago, and Berwick-upon-Tweed was the most wealthy and flourishing city in Great Britain. Its commerce was the most extensive, its merchants the most enterprising and successful. London in some measure strove to be its rival, but it possessed not a tenth of the natural advantages, and Berwick continued to bear the palm alone-being styled the Alexandria of the nations, the emporium of commerce, and one of the first commercial cities of the world. This state of prosperity it owed almost solely to Alexander III., who did more for Berwick than any sovereign that has since claimed its allegiance. He brought over a colony of wealthy Flemings, for whom he erected an immense building, called the Red Hall (situated where the wool market now stands), and which at once served as dwelling-houses, factories, and a fortress. The terms upon which he granted a charter to this company of merchants were, that they should defend, even unto death, their Red Hall against every attack of an enemy, and of the English in particular. Wool was the staple commodity of their commerce, but they also traded extensively in silks and in foreign manufactures. The people of Berwick understood FREE TRADE in those days. In this state of peace and enviable prosperity it continued till the spring of 1296. The bold, the crafty, and revengeful Edward I. meditated an invasion of Scotland; and Berwick, from its wealth, situation, and importance, was naturally anticipated to be the first object of his attack. To defeat this, Baliol-whom we can sometimes almost admire, though generally we despise and pity him-sent the

chief men of Fife and their retainers to the assistance of the town. Easter week arrived, but no tidings were heard of Edward's movements, and business went on with its wonted bustle. Amongst the merchants of the Red Hall was one known by the appellation of William the Fleming, and he had a daughter, an heiress and an only child, whose beauty was the theme of Berwick's minstrels, when rhyme was beginning to begin. Many a knee was bent to the rich and beautiful Isabella; but she preferred the humble and half-told passion of Francis Scott, who was one of the clerks in the Red Hall, to all the chivalrous declarations of prouder lovers. Francis possessed industry and perseverance; and these, in the eyes of her father, were qualifications precious as rubies. These, with love for his daughter, overcame other mercenary objections, and the day for their marriage had arrived. Francis and Isabella were kneeling before the altar, and the priest was pronouncing the service, the merchant was gazing fondly over his child, when a sudden and hurried peal from the Bell Tower broke upon the ceremony, and cries of "The English! to arms!" were heard from the street. The voice of the priest falteredhe stopped; William the Fleming placed his hand upon his sword; the bridegroom started to his feet, and the fair Isabella clung to his side. "Come, children," said the merchant, "let us to the Hall-a happier hour may bless your nuptials-this is no moment for bridal ceremony." And in silence, each man grasping his sword, they departed from the chapel, where the performance of the marriage rites was broken by the sounds of invasion. The ramparts were crowded with armed citizens, and a large English fleet was seen bearing round Lindisfèrne. In a few hours the hostile vessels entered the river, and commenced a furious attack upon the town. Their assault was returned by the inhabitants as men who were resolved to die for liberty. For hours the battle raged, and the Tweed became as a