horribly, barbarously abbreviated; but it read to the effect that Matilda Tracy was buried here alive-no doubt, for witchcraft, heresy, and breaking her vow of chastity, when, as a widow, she had entered a nunnery. Horrible, but so interesting; but now you will say who was Matilda Tracy, and I can tell you that, thanks to the old parchments up at the Towers, which the squire lets me turn over as I choose. Matilda Tracy was the heiress of the Towers, and she married; but her husband died before the birth of their child, and on the ground that the child was not legitimate-a shameful and unjust calumny-her cousin, a powerful baron, seized the Towers and ejected Matilda, who was forced into a nunnery at the age of twenty-three. I cannot tell whether she did, or did not, break her vows. We have seen her skull; it is a low, animal type. At all events, we know the ultimate cruel end she endured. ī should have found it out long ago, only there was the difficulty in what nunnery was she immured. But from this deed it appears that Monkbourne Church, and the church, Mr. Benson's, on the opposite side of the brook, must have been parts of an old monastic establishment; and at some time since, the brook has changed its course, and divided the portion that remained standing. I had a suspicion that the brook had changed its course before: now I am certain of it. But now comes the point. This deed is the very deed the absence of which Benson taunted the squire with,-it gives him full power to deal with the common-land which never was coinmon-land, properly. He will be wild with delight. He owes it all to your ingenuity. One thing more I must tell you now: when I-I adopted you [he could not say, took you up] I traced back your pedigree, an easy thing in a small parish where the registers were well kept and where the parties have never left it. Undoubtedly, you are a true Tracy, a direct descendant of Matilda Tracy's unfortunate son, who grew up a menial instead of inheriting his right-the Towers. You may call yourself the real heir; not that I induce you to go to law, for as the niggers say

'Massa go to law, law be very funny;

Massa get the law, but the lawyer get the money;""

The old gentleman's eyes positively sparkled with delight at the success of his researches.

"I can put the capital on the column you have erected," said Ernest at last, forcing himself to speak calmly; "I have found the

altar."

So great was Bramleigh's excitement at this news, that he dragged poor Ernest back to the church, totally oblivious of the dulness of his companion, of the gloom upon his face.

"Your fortune is made, Ernest," said the vicar, as, satisfied at

"The bishop will be overjoyed.

last, they returned to the vicarage.

I shall recommend you. I could not leave Monkbourne-besides, it

My fortune is lost, rather," said Ernest, in a low, trembling tone. Then, for the first time, the vicar saw that something was wrong; a few words led to a full disclosure. The good man was deeply disheartened, but he did not despair. He would see the squire at once. Up to the Towers he went, despite all Ernest's protestations leaving the poor fellow wretched enough.

The squire would not see the vicar; for the first time in his life Bramleigh was repulsed from the doors of Tracy Towers. Much hurt, but still making allowance for the feelings of his old friend, the vicar did not give up hope. He insisted upon Ernest remaining with him. He wrote to the Bishop, detailing the discovery of the altar, and recommending Ernest for the benefice, and hinting, at the same time, his descent from the Tracys and possible alliance with them.

This was a stroke of the vicar's simple cunning. "For the bishop, save his lordship! is a worldly man (he thought). A poor curate is of no object to him. But a Tracy, allied to Tracy Towers, with all their influence, is another matter."

In three weeks Ernest received the living of Alderbury Priors, in the same county, about fifteen miles distant, yielding an income of eleven hundred, beside glebe. This revived his heart somewhat, yet he felt half ashamed to accept a living with more than his kind old friend, the vicar. At last the day came that he read himself in and took up his residence. Then, and not till Ernest had left the parish, did the squire call upon Bramleigh, and renewed their friendly relations. Gradually the good old vicar introduced the subject nearest his heart. He produced the deed, which sent the squire into an ecstasy of excitement, and declared that it was all through Ernest's ingenuity that it had been recovered. He drew forth a genealogy which he had written, showing the descendants of Matilda; finally ending in Ernest Tracy, who was not, therefore, a low-born ploughboy. He expatiated on the advance Ernest had already made. With his talents he might become a bishop himself, Finally, he hinted at the delicate state of Dora's health, which had lately given the baronet much uneasiness. But, after all, it was the deed that turned the scale-the triumph over Benson. The squire ploughed up the common-land and stamped about it sturdily. But, to do him justice, so soon as he had got his right he turned round and gave the villagers twenty-five acres of the very best arable land for allotment-gardens free of all rent.

Ernest came to Monkbourne Vicarage one Wednesday after.

noon; as if by accident the squire walked in. Nothing was said about the estrangement. In the evening, as of old, Ernest and the old vicar dined at Tracy Towers.

"Even now," said the squire, in the evening, "I don't quite see how that deed came in that steel globe."

"Why, undoubtedly," said the vicar, "Matilda put it there in the endeavour, as she could not secure the inheritance of the Towers to her own son, to prevent the cousin from gaining it. The steel But might was stronger than right in those days. globe was buried with Matilda as one of her implements of necromancy-what we call magnetism.".

Ernest had stolen away to the drawing-room; Dora's head was nestling against his shoulder. Why linger? The story is told They were married and thus, out of the miserable end of one poor wretched woman, there arose, three centuries afterwards, the exquisite happiness of another.

THE YULE GIFT.*

BY MRS. HIBBERT WARE.

CHAPTER I.

In a large and handsome apartment in the rear of a substantial mansion in Covent Garden, two gentlemen sat over their wine, one bleak December night.

The month was drawing to its close, and the great winter feast was near at hand; the Christmas of 1696, when the Dutch King sat on the throne of England, and his exiled father-in-law held his court at St Germains.

These two gentlemen were Cassio Burgess, a captain in Lumley's horse, and his intimate friend, Master Thomas Trevor, or Tom Trevor, as he was usually called, a gay young civilian, and something of a fop, as evidenced in his dress on that very evening; but spite of the splendour of his full-skirted, green-velvet coat, with its large hanging cuffs, and his richly embroidered waistcoat, Tom Trevor cut but a poor figure beside his friend, the handsomest man, perhaps in London, and certainly the greatest fop.

The Captain was a tall man, of slender figure, with thin white hands and long fingers, which he would often display by passing them through the flowing curls of his raven hair, which he wore, in defiance of fashion, instead of a periwig of extravagant height, such as that which decked the head of his friend. His small upturned moustache was of the same hue, and his eyes were large, dark, and piercing, like those of his mother, a lady from the sunny clime of Italy. He danced to perfection, sang Italian airs, and could assume a fascinating smile, exhibiting, at the same time, a set of fine white teeth. Altogether, the ladies found him irresistible, and they dubbed him a pretty fellow, a dear creature, and the most diverting man in the world.

Young ladies universally allowed that he was a beau, and set out their charms to allure him to their feet with what fatal result to herself a certain fair maiden had thus drawn him to her, we shall see presently.

On this evening he was dressed in the extreme of military foppery, as he was going to escort to a ball his betrothed bride, the

Brand's Popular Antiquities, vol. 1., 368.

rich heiress, Miss Margaret Bainbridge, a lady from his own county, Yorkshire. He wore a scarlet coat, with full skirts, richly embroidered with silver lace, and his laced waistcoat of a sea-green cloth, the colours of his regiment, reached half-way down his thighs, while his green silk stockings-for being at his ease he had put off his high jack-boots-drawn over his knees, so nearly met his waistcoat, that only a small part of his tight-fitting, sea-green cloth breeches were visible. Add to all this, his rich cravat and ruffles of Flanders' lace, embroidered sword-belt, and huge shoebuckles, glittering with brilliants, and the splendour of Captain Burgess's appearance may be fairly realised.

The room was spacious and handsomely furnished, and in its appointments, told somewhat of the tastes of its occupant, for on a small round table rested an open case, lined with green baize, and in it there reposed two violins of six strings each, with necks neatly fretted, and beside them lay two silver bows. The walls were wains cotted, and the windows hung with curtains of green and red saie, and the high-backed chairs were garnished with cushions of carpet-work with pelicans wrought upon them. A large fire of sea-coal blazed in the huge iron grate, and the flames were reflected from the shining Dutch tiles, which lined either side of the chimney, and flickered on the long looking-glasses between the windows. The table at which the gentlemen were seated, covered with its white damask cloth, was drawn close to the fire, and the brilliantly bur. nished plate candlesticks, silver flagons, and beakers, and glasses of Venice make, sparkled in the light of the leaping flames.

"My life, Cassio, what a rare display of jewellery you have gotten here!" said Trevor, indicating the small table with the fiddle-case upon it, which stood on his friend's left hand.

"Our friend Levi, the jeweller at Exeter Change hath sent them to me, and I am going to choose a yule gift for my mistress," replied the captain, as he leant back in the chair, reached the glittering trinkets which lay scattered on the table, and then began to display them to his friend.

Nay, but who is thy mistress?" persisted Trevor, with a slight sneer on his lip. He had a real friendship for Cassio Burgess; but, in common with other gentlemen of the captain's acquaintance, he could not but condemn in his heart the mean and mercenary motives which had induced the latter to break his most solemn engagements, and forsake the woman to whom he had made vows of unalterable love, when, at the death of her father, she found that she was not the rich heiress she thought herself, but merely the possessor of a small competency.

So the beautiful Italian signora, Lucia Stefano, whose charms