it was necessary for a season to cease his toil in the path of learning, he delighted to recline in some cool shade with a pleasing book in his hand, and regale his senses with the flowers and refreshing streams of imaginative authors.  And thus sweetly glided his days.  Could such halcyon moments last, it were worse than madness to seek the wealth and honours of this world!  In that secluded retreat, though far from the land of his nativity, with no community but the companionship of his three or four friends and the joyous myriads of birds—­no palaces but the eternal hills of nature, and no pageantry but the rays of the rising and setting sun streaming in prismatic dies upon them, the smiling youth was far happier than he would have been in the princely halls of his fathers, where the sycophant only bent the knee to receive a load of gold, and the friend that might protect him on the throne would be the first to stab him on the highway.

A spreading elm stood near the door of Roughgrove’s house, and beneath its clustering boughs William and Mary were seated on a rude bench, entirely screened from the glaring light of the sun.  A few paces distant the brook glided in low murmurs between the green flags and water violets over its pebbly bed.  The morning dew yet rested on the grass in the shade.  The soft sigh of the fresh breeze, as it passed through the motionless branches of the towering elm, could scarce be heard, but yet sufficed ever and anon to lift aside the glossy ringlets that hung pendent to the maiden’s shoulders.  The paroquet and the thrush, the bluebird and goldfinch, fluttered among the thick foliage and trilled their melodies in sweetest cadence.  Both the brother and sister wore a happy smile.  Happy, because the innocence of angels dwelt in the bosom of the one, and the memory of his guileless and blissful days of childhood possessed the other.  Occasionally they read some passages in a book that lay open on Mary’s lap, describing the last days of Charles I., and then the bright smile would be dimmed for a moment by a shade of sadness.

“Oh! poor man!” exclaimed Mary, when William read of the axe of the executioner descending on the neck of the prostrate monarch.

“It is far better to dwell in peace in such a quiet and lonely place as this, than to be where so many cruel men abide,” said William, pondering.

“Ah me!  I did not think that Christian men could be so cruel,” said Mary, a bright tear dropping from her long eyelash.

“But the book says he was a tyrant and deserved to die,” continued the youth, his lips compressed with firmness.

“He’s coming!” exclaimed Mary, suddenly, and the pitying thought of the unfortunate Charles vanished from her mind.  But as she steadily gazed up the path a crimson flush suffused her smooth brow and cheek, and she rose gracefully, and with a smile of delight, welcomed Glenn to the cool and refreshing shade of the majestic elm.