“I did not say that I ever had amused myself so,” replied Jasper, somewhat crest-fallen by the rebuke of his father—“though if I am kept moping here much longer, heaven only knows what I may do.” “Well, sir, no more of this!” said the old man sharply. “You are not yet a man, whatever you may think of yourself; neither, I believe, are you at all profligate or vicious, although, as boys at your age are apt enough to do, you may think it manly to affect vices of which you are ignorant. But to quit this subject, when do you think you shall sail, Master Olifaunt?” “I cannot answer you that, Sir Miles, certainly. I purpose to set off hence for Plymouth to-morrow afternoon, and, as I shall ride post, it will not take me long ere I am on board. When I arrive, I shall be able to fix upon a day for sailing.” “But you will return hither, will you not, before you go to sea?” “Assuredly I will, Sir Miles, to say farewell to my kind uncle here, who has been as a father to me, and to my little Theresa.” “And you will pass one day I trust, if you may not give us more, with Jasper at the Manor. We can show you a heron or two on the moor, and let you see how our long-winged falcons fly, if you are fond of hawking. It shall be my fault, if hereafter, after so long an interruption, I suffer old friendship, and recent kindness also, to pass away and be forgotten.” “I will come gladly to see my young friend here, who will ere then be quite recovered from this misadventure; and who, if he rides as venturesomely as he fishes, will surely leave me far behind in the hot hawking gallop, for though I can ride, I am, sailor-like, not over excellent at horsemanship.” [_To be continued._ * * * * * THE SPANISH MAIDEN. BY MRS. AGNES S. COLEMAN. A wanderer o’er the hills of Spain, I stood one balmy summer’s night, To see come down on hill and plain, Streamlet and tower fair Luna’s light; While traced on the bright waters deep Were forest dun, dark mountain hoar, Old ruined tower and castle keep, Reflected from the emerald shore. But swift winged thought, so prone to stray, Was hov’ring o’er a western strand, When lo! came minstrel’s gentle lay. In tones as from Elysian land. A Seville girl with jeweled hair Was near her trellised window leaning, And pouring on the balmy air, This song of love’s own gentle dreaming. “How many an hour, bright Guadalquiver, I’ve stood beside thy flowing tide, And wished my home might be forever, Near where thy silver waters glide— Were Carlos near, with brow of snow His noble intellect revealing, And that dark eye whose radiant glow Is lit by high and holy feeling.