"Nothing, nothing," doggedly returned Brady, "you have the property; your father you will see no more. Hah!" he shrieked and started, fixing his blood-shot but rolling eyes at an aged-looking man, who was standing in the door-way. "Hah! what! again betrayed?-'tis he-'tis he himself, and no delusion."

The look of every one present was turned upon the object of the lawyer's terror." It is, it is indeed he," uttered Acteon Shaft with deep emotion. "Frank, it is your father."

There cannot be any necessity for relating what ensued as Frank fell himself in the embrace of his long-lost and affectionately-mourned parent! Nor can it be required of me to tell the delight of Mr. Heartwell's spirit as, restored to freedom, he gazed with pride upon the handsome features and manly appearance of his son. Those who have hearts alive to nature, have already pictured the whole, and my task is spared.

Mutual recognitions and hearty greetings for several minutes drew away attention from the wretch who had caused such long-protracted misery. On again turning towards him, he was in the same position, but his glassy eyes were fixed as if bursting from their sockets-he was dead.

CHAPTER XII.

FROM the moment of her son's departure, Mrs. Heartwell suffered intensely from anxiety and suspense, which Helen, who had come to stay with her, endeavoured to relieve. It was about noon when the party returned, and there was upon the countenances of all a glow of satisfaction and pleasure that could not be concealed from the keen penetration of her who sought to gather facts from looks.

"What-what is it?" uttered she, as she strove to nerve herself to bear whatever intelligence they might bring; "tell me tell me all."

"My dear mother," said Frank embracing her, "keep your mind calm-strange things have been revealed-my father's fate has been ascertained, come, come, sit down and compose yourself. You shall know all."

"A hidden mystery has been brought to light, my dear madam," said Mr. Wendover, quietly. "Mr. Heartwell has been heard of; but are you really able to endure whatever of joy or sorrow may betide-”

Joy?-joy?" repeated she with eagerness, "is there then hope, that you use that term? Do not keep me longer in suspense-it is becoming terrible, your countenances show no grief. Tell me, Ben, if I can learn it from no one else."

The seaman looked at his mistress-his smile of exultation could not be mistaken; but dashing the rising spray from his eyes, he uttered, "Lord love you, my lady, my heart's too full to overhaul it now; but what's the odds so as you're happy?"

"Can you bear an introduction to one who is able to explain every particular?" inquired Mr. Wendover; "exert yourself, you will stand in need of energy and strength."

"It is it must be," said the gasping lady, "there is something whispering it to my heart-a thought I have clung to through all my trials

a presage of his existence-he lives-say that he lives-I know it, and am firm!" She arose from her seat, and the next instant was pressed to the throbbing heart of her restored and tenderly loved husband. Years of past pain enhanced the felicitous enjoyment of that moment, and it was long before composure was regained.

The absent lieutenant's history may be briefly told. His first remembrance on recovering from stupor, was of a dark and dreary room,-in fact, the very one in which Brady had expired,-here shut in from the world, and concealed from every eye but that of his keeper, he had dragged on his days a lengthened chain of galling misery, till days dwindled into nothing, and the links were extended to years. But happily for him much of it had been passed in delusion-his intellect had become impaired-and when he recovered consciousness, it was like the sudden awakening from a long and fearful dream. He remonstratedinsisted upon being set at liberty, but expressions of remonstrance, and attempts at resistance, were alike punished with severity. Books he was allowed; but he had no one to converse with, except his keeper..

When Brothers was removed from Fisher's, "the prophet" was considered so harmless, that very little restraint was laid upon him, and one of the keepers telling him, that a brother seaman was confined within the walls, he earnestly requested to be allowed an interview. After repeated solicitations, the keeper secretly complied, and it may be well supposed that the meeting was anything but sorrowful, for it afforded Heartwell a hope that through the medium of his old acquaintance, he might yet escape. As the keeper was present during this, and several subsequent interviews, they could only converse on general topics, and when the fit was on him, Brothers would prophesy. It was on one of these occasions that he gave Heartwell an intimation of his designs, by saying, "What is man that he should be cared for-here to-day, and gore to-morrow like the light that shineth out of darkness that quickly passeth away!"

This was accompanied by significations that were readily understood, and hope revived the lieutenant's energies; but although Unity Peach, or more properly speaking, Acteon Shaft, had visited Brothers more than once, yet the latter with cunning peculiar to himself had said nothing about Heartwell, preferring to keep his intentions secret, so that they might not be frustrated, and fearing that if the slightest suspicion was excited, he should be subjected to greater restrictions.

On the evening of Brady's return with a fractured skull from the blow given him by Frank (for such was the fact, and it is worthy of remark that both villains met their doom from the much-injured young man) Brothers, who was roaming about, overheard directions and commands given by the lawyer to one of the keepers, to administer poison to Heartwell, so that he might be entirely removed, and as he hoped the secret would perish with him. Brothers, who had free access to all parts of the house, occasionally officiating as an assistant-now determined to put his scheme in practice, nor was a moment to be lost. Amidst the confusion which prevailed through Brady's mishap, Brothers contrived to get the keys, and having by an artful message removed the porter, Heartwell's cell was opened, and he passed through

the passages unobserved to the outer gate. This was locked, and they had no key; there were however some planks on the ground, and by inclining one against the wall to a certain height, and then placing another on it, he contrived to get into the open fields, and in the darkness eluded the vigilance of the constables who had been set to watch. The glare of the atmosphere pointed out to him the direction of the metropolis, and thither he hastened, taking a straight direction for Ormond-street, where he inquired for his family, but no one could give him intelligence respecting them. Dispirited and disheartened, he went to the nearest watch-house, and informed the chief constable of the night who he was. This functionary happened to be a clever intelligent man, related to Townsend the Bow-Street officer, and to his residence he was advised to go; Heartwell went, engaged Townsend's assistance, a warrant was promptly obtained, and they hurried back to Hoxton. In the mean time, Brady became more and more outrageous, and insisted on going to Heartwell's cell to ascertain whether his orders had been executed: he found it empty; and judging from this that the lieutenant was no more, his reason became overpowered, delirium and violence ensued, and they were compelled to secure him where he then was. Townsend and Heartwell found no difficulty in gaining admission, and Brothers conducted them to the cell, which was entered as already described.

Mr. Wendover's full consent being obtained, Frank's nuptials followed soon after this joyous re-union. Youth, beauty, rank, and fashion graced the festival in the parlours and drawing-room of the hall, whilst Ben and Sambo, who had come up on purpose to the wedding, kept the kitchen guests in one continued round of merriment, till overpowered by respect for his master, veneration for his mistress, and attachment to Frank, Ben's brains began to whirl, his steps became exceedingly erratic as if his feet were mocking each other, and he was carried off to bed by Sambo, where he was snugly deposited under the lee of his night-cap.

"You for drinkee too much, massa Ben," said Sambo. "Nem mind dis time, boy, young masser young missy, all golious and sing God shabe de king."

"Hur-rah, hurrah," hiccuped Ben, as he strove to raise his head from. the pillow. "Hurrah, you beautiful - beauti-piece of ebony-hurrah I say" down dropped his head. "Wha-wats the odds so as you're

happy!"

THE POSTILION.

"WO-HO-HO-HO-UP-wo-ho!"-Sweet public, you are now in the yard of the Crown and Cauliflower Hotel, famous for posting, roasting, and accommodating the lieges with very lean bills of fare, and very fat bills of figures ;-and you have listened to the lover-like tones, half-soliciting, half-imperative, with which our postboy brought his horses at once to a halt, at the hall-door of the Crown and Cauliflower. There he stands at your chaise-door, hand to hat, and whip couchant, soliciting your favourable notice. There stands the postboy, an important individual of the great family of the riders. He is much given to a white silk hat, with the silk worn off the rim in front, a white neckerchief, a white vest, a canary jacket, a small plaited shirt, and white corded unfit-for-finical-ladies-to-conceive

the-proper-ogatives of. The postboy is a jumble of contradictions; he is always rising in the world yet he is as constantly finding his level; he has had more ups and downs than any other being; he is, at least, fifty-seven, but he has not yet arrived at manhood; should he complete the century, he will be as far off from it then as he is now; he is always a postboy; a boy post dated; he never reaches man's estate; he never knows its declension; he never sinks into second childishness; he lives and dies a postboy. We have heard of one, two, or three instances "down the road," where he saved one or two thousand pounds, and became a landlord. We think they are apocryphal. Perhaps they occurred in the days of the highwaymen, by whom postboys have been known to profit. But whenever they occurred, or however, they are exceptions in the great chapter of postboys, proving that the will of fate has given to the postboy

"A local habitation and a name "

if, indeed, there can be said to be anything local about his changing and yet monotonous existence-else he had walked about the world an embodied nonentity. He is a totally different being to the cantering gemini, the letter postboy and his horse; nor does he ever become "a postman." Like Tom Moody, he radiates

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Through a country well known to him fifty miles round,"

yet little knoweth he besides the change-houses, and they, in his imagination, stand out in glorious array :-the Pig and Lapstone, the Three Leathern Corkscrews, the Manuscript and Hatchet, the Stork and Ruffles, the Waggon and Shirtpin, the Syllabub and Pump, all of which, in motley succession, dance before his dozing eyes as so many havens from his peril;-the sole green spots that ornament the desert of his life.

The postilion is a veritable centaur—a human quadruped partaking of the two natures, the stable and the bed and bolster," three-pennorth o' brandy," and the nose-bag. He is a poet, superior to that genuine pastoral, the haymaker, if familiarity with Apollo (and if Apollo be the sun) constitutes a poet. The sickle-wielder of Autumn burns not with such fervid inspiration. Look on his countenance"that index to the soul"-and imagine how full of fire that soul must be, when the proverbial brevity of an index contains so much-" to overflowing full." His genus stands out like a finger-post before him, introducing him to every circle. His soul is concentrated in the Mews. Talk of Shakspere and Owen Glendower, they never carried such lights before them; even Bardolph himself possessed not such a nasal flambeau. No! his is an inspired nose, and his nose knows it! And it loveth not, neither doth it abide, the familiarities of the aqueous element, but hisses in its ablutions, as a stable-boy hisses when he is cleaning a horse, thereby publishing its heat and its nosology. Again, mark you his freckles-whoever saw such in the face of beauty? He is a character alone in his glory," so far as his outward indications go. Let us gauge the calibre of his understanding. We were in the tap of the Sun and Cabbage-stump when he called to "wet his whistle." A "boy" was there before him from the Hand and Placquet, drinking with "a return," said return being a runaway apprentice, and our postboy stopped with his in the shape of a clandestine marriage. Upon meeting, the following colloquy took place:Well, Tom, how goes it at the Placquet, eh? I see ye up the road pretty often lately. I'spose the old man an' her don't agree no better? "Ah! he shouldn't a married her."

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"That's nither here nor there with us, you know, Bob, as long as there's plenty o' gemmen as wants our assistance; and, somehow, there's all'ays plenty on em' at the Placquet-good payers too. Th' old feller's terrible crabby, but she cocks her cap 'nation high, to be sure, an' she don't care--it suits her better to look arter her customers, eh?"

"Mum about them things, Tom. I got a han'some young couple here going to be made one, an' we shouldn't put canker'd snaffles into young colts' chaps. There's nothin' very pleasant in rising blisters in the mouth-is there, sir?" (to our worthy self.)

"You're the rummiest feller I ever come near, Bob, to talk to the gemman a