two of the hall. Your Lordship may remember that when you were very young, and took such a fancy to everything relating to ships and sailing, my Lady had all the boats destroyed, for fear you should endanger your life by venturing on the water."

"And have they never been replaced?" asked Lord Robert.

"No, my Lord: there were two boats and a fishing-punt staved in by her Ladyship's order," replied Edwards. "You may recollect that your Lordship got into sad disgrace, the next day, by embarking on the lake in a large washing-tub."

Lord Robert could not help laughing. "On my honour, Edwards," said he, "I could find it in my heart to embark in a washing-tub at present, if I thought it of any use."

"I think, my Lord," said his valet, "Captain Bently has a small boat on the river, about a mile from the Park."

"Run, carry my compliments to Captain Bently, and ask him to lend it to me for an hour."

Two or three messengers started with obedient speed to fulfil the wishes of their master: but the land conveyance of a boat is a work of time; and, long before their return, Philip, tired, as we may suppose, of his amusement, steered the boat to the most distant part of the lake (which happened to be nearest his own home), and jumped on shore, behind some bushes, which jutted out and concealed his landing. He had walked quietly through the Park, and arrived at the village, before Lord Robert perceived, by the irregular drifting of the little vessel, that she was deserted, and the culprit had escaped his vengeance.

Lord Robert was literally glowing with rage, when he met his father in the breakfast-room. For some reason best known to himself, he had hitherto concealed from the Marquis his encounters with Philip Harley; but, in the moment of indignation, everything blazed forth; and, in all the exaggeration of anger, he informed his father of every outrage Philip had been guilty of towards him; adding, that the reason of their first disagreement was, his interrupting Philip in the act of poaching.

The Marquis was a good and humane man; but the representations of Lord Robert highly incensed him. That a young ruffian, exercising the lawless pursuits of a poacher, should take every opportunity of insulting and thwarting his son, and even of brutally assaulting him in his own park, was too much to be endured, and called for the severest punishment. Certainly, of all the species of theft (and it is theft), poaching is considered with the least mercy by noblemen and gentlemen of landed property. Perhaps the Marquis may be reckoned severe, but this was an aggravated case.

It was then in the middle of the American war, and a press-gang paid pretty frequent visits to the neighbouring sea-port town. His Lordship, therefore, informed them that he wished to remove a noxious person from the vicinity, and they took their measures accordingly.

Philip was partial to the sea: he was clever in the management of a boat, and was in the habit of taking trips, now and then, with some seafaring friends. He was preparing for one of these excursions, when the press-gang caught him near the harbour, dressed in a blue jacket and trousers; and the unfortunate youth was immediately dragged from his native place, without even being suffered to bid farewell to his parents; and it was with the greatest difficulty that he obtained leave to inform them of what had befallen him. Indeed, the first news they heard of him was, that he was on board a tender, and destined to sail in the first fleet that left England.

Philip Harley has hitherto appeared in no very respectable light. That he was a desperate trespasser and depredator is the most favourable opinion that can be formed of him; yet there were people in the neighbourhood, who, having known Philip from his infancy, ventured to think that he had met with harsh treatment, and that his heart, once so good and upright, must have undergone an extraordinary change, or that he had received great provocation, to be guilty of such daring outrages.

There is an excellent saying, which, though old and trite, it is sometimes necessary to bear in mind: namely, "That one story is good till another is told."—There was, in truth, some little excuse for Philip's conduct; though he certainly deserved blame, and even punishment, for giving up every proper pursuit and feeling to the gratification of resentment.

Before Lord Robert's return from his long voyage, Philip Harley was considered as gentle in disposition, as he was manly and high-spirited. At this time, he was just sixteen, and had begun to make himself useful in his father's business, which was that of a carpenter.

His father was rather independent in his circumstances; and his whole family consisted of two children—this Philip, and a lovely little blind girl, called Kate. This unhappy sister (if a creature in the practice of the most angelic patience can be called unhappy) was the darling of Philip's heart. Every spare minute he devoted to amusing and caressing this child, who was many years younger than himself; and she returned his love with the most grateful affection. The cottage where they lived fronted the west, and could be seen from the London road; and blind Kate used to take her evening seat on the threshold, waiting to hear the step of this beloved brother on his return from work; with her fair face and glittering curls turned to the setting sun—with a divine expression of hope and peace on her innocent countenance, that attracted the admiration of every passenger.

Philip had a very large spaniel, one of the handsomest of that beautiful species. This creature he had reared from a puppy, and taught to be obedient to his sister; and in his absence Rover was her only source of amusement; but he was, indeed, a most faithful and attached attendant, serving both for a guard and guide.

Sometimes Kate would walk on the road before the cottage, with her fair hands grasping Rover's silky coat, who would restrain his natural vivacity to guide the darkling steps of his little mistress. At other times, when the sun shone warm and bright, and the grass was soft and thick, Kate was as full of frolic and play as Rover himself, and would gambol with him a whole spring-day on the lawn in front of the cottage; but as the evening approached, Kate and Rover took their station at the cottage-door, and greeted the return of Philip with the utmost joy. Both were most dear to Philip: he tenderly loved his suffering sister; and he loved the faithful dog for her sake. It is not surprising, therefore, that Philip was almost broken-hearted when Kate fell sick, and after a few days expired. True, she was removed to a better place. Philip knew that she was taken in mercy, as her lot in this world was one of peculiar hardship; but he could not bear to lose her; and he and Rover moped in the most cheerless manner for many days after the funeral.

It was some little time before this that Lord Robert returned to the hall, after several years' absence. He had promised himself much pleasure from the autumnal field-sports; but in this amusement, as in every other occupation, he was too apt to suffer trifles to ruffle his temper, and make him violent and unreasonable.

One gloomy October evening, Lord Robert was returning with his gun and dogs through the park, attended by a gamekeeper. He had pursued his amusement that day with very little success: everything had gone wrong; the dogs had pointed badly, and his new fowling-piece, that had cost him twenty guineas only the week before, had hung fire several times, at the very moment when the game sprang before him the finest mark possible. In short, he had suffered disappointment enough to vex the heart of the most patient person in the world, who had never in his life felt what real affliction was. At this unlucky minute, it was Philip Harley's ill fortune to cross the park by a public footway that led through the grounds. It was the first day Philip had resumed his work since the death of his sister; and he was walking in a