horror and dread. Oh that he could be removed to some far distant land, where my eyes might never more behold him!"

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My dear Sir," returned Mr. Forrester," had our suspicions been excited by circumstances purely, or apparently accidental, we might perhaps have felt at liberty to proceed, or not, with the investigation; but certainly I may say without hesitation or superstition, that the more immediate hand of God is to be traced in this affair. We have yet no proof whatever of Cumming's guilt; we have only what appears strong presumption against him: but I have something to communicate, which I forbore to mention when I first listened to your dream, because I was unwilling to strengthen its impression unless corroborating proofs were obtained, though the circumstance recurred to my mind at the time with the most vivid and painful force.

"More than twenty-five years ago, Susan Wilmot, the young person whom Cumming loved, lived in my service. She was a sprightly, gay, good humoured girl, with rosy cheeks and laughing eyesthe belle and coquette of the village; and when the gossips of the parish let me into the secret that John Cumming was her suitor, he found warm advocates both with Mrs. Forrester and myself. We thought

his steadiness and industry would form a happy counterpoise to the thoughtless simplicity of Susan; therefore John's lingering in the poultry yard or leaning over the gate for a long chat with her, appeared to us to be very happy omens. Every thing went on prosperously, till a young stranger came to our village, on a visit to some distant relations. Frank Gordon was an orphan; but gay, goodhumoured, and careless as Susan herself, and soon rivalled John Cumming in her favour. Strange to say," continued Mr. Forrester, in a still lower tone, "this successful rival was a sailor."

Walton started, and shuddered.

"Well do I remember him!" resumed Mr. Forrester; "his countenance so full of youth, life, and glee! Imprudent as the whole business was, and while I gravely remonstrated, I could scarcely wonder at Susan. Though only twenty-one, he had made three voyages; and his talk of parrots and palm-trees, of bread-fruit and wild Indians, made the village annals of John Cumming appear stale, flat, and unprofitable.

"The lovers had golden hopes-he was to take a voyage,

To make the crown a pound,'

and in six months to return, and marry. Poor

Susan wept abundantly when they parted; but her tears were 'forgot as soon as shed,' in the joyful hope of his return.

"Gradually, however, fear began to mingle with hope; for month after month passed-not a line, not a word reached her. No tidings cheered the long, dull winter. Spring, summer, autumn, returned; then another long, dreary winter; and her bright hopes gradually faded into deep melancholy --she never doubted his truth-but

Her fancy followed him through foaming waves
To distant shores, and she would sit and weep
At what a sailor suffers.'

"At length the hope that kept alive despair was all that remained to her. I made repeated inquiries, but it appeared that he had not sailed in the vessel which he had mentioned to Susan.

"It was concluded that he had entered on board another; but when or where, could never be ascertained. She became languid and dejected, and her health so visibly suffered, that it was thought desirable she should return to her friends, who lived in a distant county. For some months, we expected that she would be able to resume her place in our family, but her spirits were so entirely saddened, that it was considered best for her to remain

at home-and many years have elapsed since we lost sight of her.

"All these circumstances considered-as a magistrate, I do not think myself justified in passing over the discovery of the body. I will not, however, act on my own judgment; this day a letter shall be dispatched to the Home Secretary, stating the circumstances, without mentioning names, and requesting advice upon the subject."

"He saved my life," reiterated Walton, covering his face with his hands, in unutterable anguish, " and I shall bring him to a shameful death!"

"Take courage, Walton," said Mr. Forrester. "Endeavour to calm this emotion; human sympathies, even the kindliest and the best, need control. 'We dimly scan' but a little part of the ways of God in this world. If Cumming be really guilty, doubt not that even the distressing circumstances, which at this moment bow your spirit to the earth, will be overruled for good. He whose mighty prerogative it is, to educe good from evil, is, no doubt, mysteriously and beautifully working out his own gracious ends. May not the repentance of the criminal need awakening or quickening? Will not agonies of shame in this world be the award of mercy, if they lead to deep contrition, if they teach

him to cling to the cross of his Redeemer, and if from the depths of humiliation his pleadings for mercy rise to the throne of the eternal God? Remember, 'duties are ours, events are His.'"

The proposed letter was forwarded the following day; and in a short time a reply was received, recommending a private examination of the suspected person. John Cumming was therefore summoned to the rectory, where Walton, pale and agitated, was already prepared to meet him. John, concluding that the Rector had sent to talk to him on the subject of crops and cattle, entered the room, and stood before them in fearless confidence. His figure was tall, his cheek bronzed with health; but his grey locks, and a slight bend in the shoulders, shewed that age was touching him, though gently. "You and I are old acquaintance, John;" said Mr. Forrester; 66 many a year has passed since we

first met."

"It is just five-and-twenty years since your reverence came to the rectory," returned John. "I remember it as well as if it was but yesterday.”

"I am glad to find your memory so tenacious," said Mr. Forrester, "for I have some important questions to put to you, about years long ago. Pray, have you any recollection of a young sailor, who