“Henry,” said Mr. Friend, taking him kindly by the hand, “we pity thee sincerely, as thou knowest; but thy bitter, revengeful expressions are unchristian, sinful.  The authorities whom thou, not for the first time, railest on so wildly, acted, be sure of it, from a sense of duty; a mistaken one, in my opinion, doubtless; still”—­

“Say no more, sir,” interrupted Mason.  “We differ in opinion upon the subject.  And now, gentlemen, farewell.  I wished to see you, sir, before I left this country forever, to thank you for your kind, though fruitless exertions.  Mr. Friend has promised to be steward for poor Willy of all I can remit for his use.  Farewell!  God bless you both!” He was gone!

War soon afterwards broke out with the United States of America, and Mr. Friend discovered that one of the most active and daring officers in the Republican navy was Henry Mason, who had entered the American service in the maiden name of his wife; and that the large sums he had remitted from time to time for the use of Willy, were the produce of his successful depredations on British commerce.  The instant Mr. Friend made the discovery, he refused to pollute his hands with moneys so obtained, and declined all further agency in the matter.  Mason, however, contrived to remit through some other channel to the Davies’s, with whom the boy had been placed; and a rapid improvement in their circumstances was soon visible.  These remittances ceased about the middle of 1814; and a twelvemonth after the peace with America, we ascertained that Henry Mason had been killed in the battle on Lake Champlain, where he had distinguished himself, as everywhere else, by the reckless daring and furious hate with which he fought against the country which, in his unreasoning frenzy, he accused of the murder of his wife.  He was recognized by one of his former messmates in the “Active;” who, conveyed a prisoner on board the American commander Macdonough’s ship, recognized him as he lay stretched on the deck, in the uniform of an American naval officer; his countenance, even in death, wearing the same stormful defiant expression which it assumed on the day that his beloved Esther perished on the scaffold.

THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT

“It is really time that a properly-qualified governess had charge of those girls,” observed my wife, as Mary and Kate after a more than usually boisterous romp with their papa, left the room for bed.  I may here remark, inter alia, that I once surprised a dignified and highly-distinguished judge at a game of blindman’s buff with his children, and very heartily he appeared to enjoy it too.  “It is really time that a properly-qualified governess had charge of those girls.  Susan May did very well as a nursery teacher, but they are now far beyond her control. I cannot attend to their education, and as for you”—­The sentence was concluded by a shrug of the shoulders and a toss of the head, eloquently expressive of the degree of estimation in which my governing powers were held.