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at which he and his mother had long resided, was now his only home. She had long since taken a liking to her little Edward as she fondly called him, and was determined that while she had a crust to share, he should never want. This was more than most women in her very humble circumstances would have done, but as she was a widow and had no children living, Edward might, she thought, prove in time a great comfort and help to her. Years flew by, and he grew both in stature and knowledge, but it was that kind of knowledge most likely to effect his ruin-the knowledge of vice, picked up by associating with all the young sansculottes of the French metropolis. Though thus degraded by the caste of society into which fate had thrown him, he not unfrequently evinced a proud and haughty spirit, by no means suitable to his condition, the fact being that he was conscious of not being in that sphere of life to which by birth he was entitled. He remembered, at one time, living with his mother in what he now considered absolute splendour, (for Danvers had not long left her when she died) and, in addition to possessing a miniature likeness of her, handsomely set in gold with a lock of hair at the back, surmounted by the initials "A. T." (of which for a long time he could not conceive the meaning), he had in his possession numerous letters which he frequently attempted to decypher, dated from Woodlands Park, signed by Sir Thomas Harcourt, and beginning my dear daughter;" others again signed "yours devotedly, Arthur Templeton," but who this Mr. Arthur Templeton really was, little Edward could not possibly imagine, His fostermother had read these documents carefully over, and had, long since, caused a letter to be written to Sir Thomas Harcourt, detailing the poor boy's circumstances and condition, but that epistle was never replied to. She well knew, however, from what Henrietta in her anguish of mind had told her, that Edward was the child of crime-the son of her betrayer, Danvers, born soon after her elopement, but this knowledge she had very prudently, never imparted to the boy, who till his mother's death, had always borne the name of Danvers, and was much too young to dream of making further enquiry. By some means or other (for most people are fond of gossiping about what least concerns them,) Edward's illegitimacy became publicly known, and when he attempted to assume any haughtiness over his playmates, they did not scruple to taunt him with it in very scurrilous terms. On these occasions, he at first used to fly to his foster-mother and appeal to her as to the justice of such stigma, but the only answer he could obtain was that she did

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not want to be plagued about it. This used to make him still more angry, and he would immediately return into the street, single out one of the most daring aggressors, and generally speaking, thrash him very handsomely. At last, some of the bigger boys began to insult him, and then, as he would not put up with it, he got himself handsomely beaten. Continued provocation and ill treatment at last soured his temper, and he determined to quit Paris altogether, in pursuance of which resolution he stole the packet of letters and papers from his foster-mother, besides helping himself to all the cash in her possession, and having hung his mother's miniature round his neck, stole off one morning before day-break.

Leaving Edward to pursue his wayward fortune, we must now return to the betrayer, Danvers. After deserting his victim, he returned to England, and having squandered away the remains of his fortune in extravagance and debauchery, figured for some time in the metropolis as a fashionable swindler, until at last, during a temporary absence on the continent, he was declared an outlaw, and thus compelled to absent himself for ever from his native land. He now assumed a foreign title, subsisted entirely by gaming, and at last became associated with a numerous party of gamblers who carried on their iniquitous practices at many of the principal cities in Italy and France; but his career was fast drawing to a close.

Having received information that a young English nobleman, a great gamester, had just quitted Venice to proceed to Naples, he and three of his companions instantly set out thither in order to ensnare him in their toils. Taking the shortest route, they traversed the mountains, and on coming to the centre of a narrow defile, suddenly found themselves intercepted by brigands. There were not many, and the travellers having considerable spoil about them and being themselves well armed, refused to surrender. Shot were fired on both sides, and Danvers's companions fell. Being himself unhurt, he closed with the brigand chief and attempted to wrest his stiletto from his hand. Some of the banditti would have fallen upon him instantly, but their leader bade them keep back. The struggle was continued for a considerable time, although the brigand being quite a youth compared with Danvers, and of a very strong muscular form, had decidedly the advantage. At last, the ruffian threw his antagonist, and as he fell, plunged the stiletto into his breast. He lay bleeding on the ground, partly reclining on one hand and wildly gazing on a miniature he held in the other, and which at the end of the struggle, had acciden

tally fallen from within the brigand's vest. The latter stood over him watching the workings of his countenance very intently. Suddenly, the dying man raised the trinket to his lips, kissed it passionately, and pronounced the name of Henrietta. "She was my mother!" exclaimed Edward, (for it was he) "and you?"" I," murmured Danvers, death fixing his features as he spoke-" I am your father and her destroyer— and now at last-in justice to her-you have become

AVENGER.'

THE

S. H.

MEMORY,

Thou greatest bane or blessing man can feel,
While eagerly life's toilsome path he treads;
Which either weal or woe around him spreads,
How potent is thy influence none can tell.

From thee a radiant joy will ofttimes spring,
When all of past is pleasurable thought;
Then bliss extatic thou to man doth bring,
Which but of that enjoy'd in Heav'n falls short.

But if our by-gone days thou dost recall,
With but a bursting bosom's tale, to tell
Of mighty woes which do the breast enthrall,
A murky sorrow, like some with'ring spell
Draws round the heart, and chases far away,
The relics of each feeling bright and gay.

D. A.

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