I would care to meet; nor would I believe, did I not know it, that Roupall the Rover, who has borne more blows upon his thick head than there are days in February, and rises six feet two without boots, could be half choked by little Robin the Ranger, who stands forty inches in his shoes;-but I beg pardon for offending a man of your mettle. I warrant you safe from any future jests of mine; I like not quarreling with old friends-when there is nothing to be got by it. Tut, man! leave off your moping, and shake hands like a Christian. You won't! why you are not going to convert your body into a nursery for bad blood, are you? What would pretty Barbara Iverk say to that?"

Robin laughed a laugh so loud, so shrill, so unearthly, that it echoed like a death-howl along the walls; then stretched out and looked on his ill-formed limbs, extended his long and grappling fingers, and muttered bitterly, "Curse!-curse-curses on myself! I am a dainty morsel for a fair girl's love! Ah! ah! ah! a dainty morsel!" he repeated, and covered his face with his broad palms. Thus, shutting out the sight of his own deformities, and rocking himself backwards and forwards, moaning and jibbering like one distraught, he remained for several minutes. At length, poor Crisp, who had been a most anxious spectator of the scene, rau timidly to his master, and, standing on his hind legs, began licking his fingers with an affectionate earnestness, more soothing to his agitated feelings than all the sincere apologies of the trooper, whose rough good-nature was really moved at what had taken place. Slowly uncovering his face, Robin pressed the little animal to his bosom, bending his head over it, and muttering in a tone the dog seemed fully to understand, by the low whine with which he returned the caress. After a tine, his eyes met those of Roupall's, but their meaning was totally changed; they no longer sparkled with fury, but were as quiet and subdued as if nothing had occurred.

"You'll shake hands now," exclaimed the trooper, "and make the child's bargain."

Robin, rising, extended his hand; and it was cordially taken by his adversary, who soon after removed the settle, and entered the concealed room to join his slumbering companions.

Whatever were Robin's plans, reflections or feelings, time alone can develop; for, laying himself before the yet burning embers of the fire, he appropriated the stranger's cloak as a coverlet in which to enshroud himself and Crisp, and, if oral demonstrations are to be credited, was soon in a profound sleep.

THE morning that followed was rife with the sweet and balmy air and the gay sunshine, so duly prized in our variable climate, because of the rarity of their occurrence; more especially when the year is yet too young to assist with vigour the energies of all-industrious Nature. The trees, in their faint greenery, looked cheerful as the face of childhood; the merry birds were busied after their own gentle fashion, forming their dwellings in the covert and solitude of the wooden slopes which effectually sheltered Cecil Place from the chill blast of the neighbouring sea. The freshened breeze came so kindly through the thick underwood, as to be scarcely felt by the early wanderers of the upland hill or valley green. Even the rough trooper, Roupall, yielded to the salutary influence of the morn; and as he toiled in his pedlar's guise across the Downs, which were mottled with many hundred sheep, and pointed the path-way to King's ferry, his heart softened within him. Visions of his once happy home in Cumberland-of the aged parents who fostered his infancy -of the companions of his youth, before he had lived in sin, or dwelt with sorrow-of the innocent girl, who had loved, though she had forsaken him,-all passed before him; the retrospect became the present; and his heart swelled painfully within him: for he thought on what he had been, and on what he was, until, drawing his coarse hand across his brows, he gave forth a dissolute song, seeking, like many who ought to be wiser, to stifle conscience by tumultuous noise.

About the same hour, our friend Robin Hays was more than usually active in his mother's house, which we have already described, and which was known by the name of the "Gull's Nest." The old woman had experienced continued

kindness from the few families of rank and wealth, who at that time resided in Shepey. With a good deal of tact, she managed outwardly to steer clear of all party feuds; though people said, she was by no means so simple as she pretended; but the universal sympathy of her neighbours was excited by her widowed and almost childless state-three fine sons having been slain during the civil wars-and the fourth, our acquaintance Robin, being singularly undervalued, on the ordinary principle, we may presume, that "a prophet hath no honour in his own country." This feeling of depreciation Robin certainly returned with interest, indulging a most bitter, and, occasionally, biting contempt for all the high and low in his vicinity, the family at Cecil Place forming the only exception. Despite his defects natural and acquired, he had, however, managed to gain the good opinion of Burrell of Burrell, who, though frequently on the island, possessed only a small portion of land within its boundary. Into this service be entered for the purpose of accompanying the knight to London as travelling-groom. During that brief servitude he rendered himself so useful while sojourning in the metropolis, that Burrell would fain have retained him in his employ-a design, however, to which Robin strenuously objected the moment it was communicated to him. Nature,' he said, 'had doubtless made him a bond-slave; but he liked her fetters so little, that he never would be slave to any one or any thing beside.' He therefore returned to the Gull's Nest, on the night his late master arrived at Cecil Place, from which his mother's home was distant about three miles.

Never was there a dwelling more appropriately named than the cottage of Mother Hays. It stood on either a real or artificial eminence between Sheerness and Warden, facing what is called "The Cant," and very near the small village of East-Church. The clay and shingle of which it was composed would have ill encountered the whirlwind that in tempestuous weather fiercely yelled around the cliffs, had it not been for the firm support afforded to it by the remains of an ancient watch-tower, against which the "Gull's Nest" leaned. Perched on this remarkable spot, and nestling close to the mouldering but still sturdy walls, the very stones of which disputed with the blast, the hut formed no inappropriate dwelling for withered age, and, if we may be allowed the term, picturesque deformity. Robin could run up and down every cliff in the neighbourhood like a monkey -could lie on the waters, and sport amid the breakers, with the activity of a cub-seal-dive like an otter; and, as Nature

generally makes up in some way or other for defects similar to those so conspicuous in the widow's son, she had gifted him with so sweet a voice, that the fishermen frequently rested on their oars beneath Gull's Nest crag, to listen to Robin's wild and mournful ballads, which full often mingled with the murmur of the small waves as they rippled on the strand. But the manikin, Robin, had higher and better qualities than those we have endeavoured to describe—qualities which Hugh Dalton, with the ready wisdon that discovers at once what is excellent and then moulds that excellence to its own purpose, bad assiduously cultivated. Many years before the period of which we treat, Robin had accompanied the Buccaneer on one or two piratical cruises; and though it cannot be denied that Hugh was a better sailor than scholar, yet he generously sought to secure for little Robin the advantages he did not himself possess; Robin, accordingly, received daily instruction in penmanship from a run-away merchant's clerk, the clerk and book keeper, the lubber and idler of the crew.

Robin laboured to reward this kindness by unshaken fidelity, unceasing watchfulness, and a wild enthusiasm which endeared him to the rude captain, as if he were something that belonged exclusively to himself. The Buccaneer knew that secrets, where life and property were at stake, were safe in his keeping; and as the renowned Dalton had often worked in the service of both Cavaliers and Roundheads, a person of ready wit and true heart was most invaluable as an auxiliary on the coast.

If the Buccaneer cntertained any political creed, it was certainly in favour of the exiled Charles; a bold and intrepid spirit like his felt something most galling and repulsive in the stern and unyielding government of the Protector. A ruler who not only framed acts, but saw those acts enforced, whether they regarded a "Declaration for a day of Publique Thanksgiving," or "A Licence for transporting Fish in Foreign Bottoms," was not likely to be much after the taste of one who had the essence of law-giving only within himself, and who perceived clearly enough that the royal but thoughtless Stuarts would be more casily managed -more prone, if not from feeling, at all events from indolence, to overlook the peccadillocs of such as Dalton, than the unflinching Oliver, who felt that every evil he redressed was a fresh jewel in his sceptre. Nevertheless, as we have seen, the Buccaneer had decided on offering his services to the Commonwealth: he believed that Cromwell knew his talents and valued his courage; but he also knew that the Protector piqued himself upon consistency, and that, con

sequently, there would be vast difficulties to overcome, as a price had more than once been set upon his head.

We must, however, conduct our readers back into the fresh morning we have instanced as one of the favourites of spring. Leaving Robin to his preparations for the stranger's breakfast, and premising that he had previously dismissed the midnight revellers on their respective errands, we will roam for a while amid the sheltered walks of Cecil Place.

It was situated on the slope of the hill, leading to the old monastery of Minster. Although nothing now exists except the church, a few broken walls, and a modernized house, formed out of one of the principal entrances to what was once an extensive range of monastic buildings; yet at the time of which we treat, the ruins of the nunnery, founded by Sexburga, the widow of Ercombert, king of Kent, extended down the rising ground, presenting many picturesque points of view from the small but highly cultivated pleasuregrounds of Cecil Place. Nothing could be more beautiful than the prospect from a rude terrace which had been the favourite walk of Lady Cecil. The small luxuriant hills, folding one over the other, and terminating in the most exquisite valleys and bosky glades that the imagination can conceive the rich mixture of pasture and meadow landthe Downs, stretching to King's Ferry, whitened by thousands of sheep, whose bleating and whose bells made the isle musical,-while, beyond, the narrow Swale, widening into the open sea, shone like a sliver girdle in the rays of the glorious sun,-were objects indeed delightful to gaze

upon.

Although, during the Protectorate, some pains had been taken to render Sheerness, then a very inconsiderable village, a place of strength and safety, and the ancient castle of Queenborough had been pulled down by the Parliamentarians, as deficient in strength and utility, no one visiting only the southern and western parts of the island could for a moment imagine that the interior contained spots of such positive and cultivated beauty.

It was yet early, when Constantia Cecil, accompanied by a female friend, entered her favourite flower-garden by a private door, and strolled towards a small Gothic temple overshadowed by wide-spreading oaks, which, sheltered by the surrounding hills, had numbered more than a century of unscathed and undiminished beauty, and had as yet escaped the rude pruning of the woodman's axe. The morning habit of the noble Constance fitted tightly to the throat, where it was terminated by a full ruff of starched muslin, and the waist was encircled by a wide band of black crape, from