middle age, and a little drooping from his lettered life; then he hears of old Mrs. Freeland's visit, and his suspicions, visionary as they are, are still further raised.

In the meanwhile, Honor's mother has thus come, is seen by Dr. Oliver, is much liked by him; whilst he in return raises an infinite respect and reverence in the breast of the good dame. The morning after her arrival, she goes up into his study to speak to him; the night before her departure, also. On this last occasion, Honor has gone out. As a matter of course they speak of her, then revert to other things.

"I have one question to ask, dame, which I hope you'll not think impertinent. Pray what is the amount left of the mortgage?"

"It was two hundred pounds originally, sir, now it is no more than forty-five. Please God our field of wheat turns out well next harvest, we shall lessen even this."

"Honor must help, too."

"Oh! no, sir; the dear child has done too much already; she has none to spare." "She has.-Honor."

Honor has just come in; she is crossing the hall, she hears the well-known voice, takes off bonnet and shawl, and goes in, as she ever does, with reverence.

"I have been asking your mother, Honor, about the amount of the mortgage. She has told me what it is; and as there is that sum belonging to you in the savings' bank, may she have it ?"

Honor gazes at her master in blank astonishment.

"There is nothing to be surprised at. You recollect the laundry matter; the sum we fixed it at per week-the number of weeks you did the work, till I persisted that you should endure wet and cold no longer. Well, I put your earnings every now and then in the nearest savings' bank. These, with interest thereon, amount to forty-five pounds. You had better let your father have the sum, it can be sent to him; his honest head will lie more lightly these winter nights if his little patrimony be once more free."

"I really cannot, sir. I cannot think the money mine."

"But it is; and you will much offend me by not taking and using it thus. Now, not another word about it."

So he gives Honor her savings' bank book, in which she finds herself set down as possessor of forty-seven pounds ten and six

pence. Then he presents old Mrs. Freeland with a sovereign to buy her a gown, and dismisses her with many kind wishes.

This same evening Honor unpacks one of the boxes she brought with her from the house of the dead, By a little paper attached, she knows it contains the child's clothes. This it does; little fairy under garments, in stock enough for several years, all new and exquisitely made by patient hands-hands that are now cold! Honor has not fortitude to open further the possessions of the dead.

Honor and her mother have been once to see little Dora ; now on the day of the journey into Warwickshire, they go again to fetch her. The dead has been buried several days, still little Dora, though talkative and full of fun, recollects her mamma, and thinks that her journey will take her to her.

"Mamma-going to mamma," she lisps. Honor has not heart to undeceive the child. But, parting with it at the railway station, prays God to make her though only a poor and lowly servant-though only Dr. Oliver's maid-a good and worthy mother to this little child, and make that day come soon when she shall lead it tenderly to her master's arms.

At the town nearest her own station, old Mrs. Freeland encounters Southam.

He

has waited her arrival here some hours. His jealous fears have conjectured that there has been an object for her journey-now they are more than confirmed by seeing her bear home a child so young, and one she watches and tends so carefully. At this place he does not even accost her, but getting drink, comes on by the same train. At her own station, where her old husband awaits her, he no longer conceals the bitterness burning at his heart.

"So," he says, "thy mystery was, that thou hast been to London to fetch Honor's bastard, eh? This is what her love for her precious master has come to, eh? She loves me, does she? She'll marry me by and by, eh ? She'll be kind enough to bring her bastard and come home-oh! oh! But she shan't; she shall die in a ditch, for all

to, and this for reasons its no business of ours to explain to thee."

"Of course not! My dear master is rich enough to pay others to keep his secrets. Honor will come home, will she?-not to mine, though such a hussy shall not cross the threshold of an honest man."

He says no more, but rushes from the station-happily-or the old yeoman would fell him to the earth. For a month nothing is heard or seen of him. He is then taken home in a cart, shoeless, unshaven, besotted, with not a sixpence left of a large sum of money he had had about him. Delirium tremens and a lengthened illness follow, during which, for many days, he lies at the threshold of death. Then he slowly recovers thanks to his thrifty housekeeperbecomes a reader of Calvinistic books, and the follower of a Calvinistic preacher, who has a congregation thereabouts; and the result, in the course of a few months, is, a gloomy, soulless man, who consorts with nobody, and who, working early and latewho, buying and selling-who, pinching in every way, seems to have but one passion left that of making and saving money.

In the meanwhile, little Dora thrives. Though her advent causes a vast amount of scandal and gossip, both are unheeded by the Freelands. His little patrimony once more free from debt, the old man is the blithest of creatures. The baby becomes his treasure-goes with him everywhererides before him on old Ball the horse-is carried by him to the fields-sits on his knee of an evening. Nor is the old dame's love less, or that of little Ruth: the tenderest care overshadows Honor's darling. There is but one in the whole village or neighbourhood but what loves its beauty and pretty goodness: this is Benjamin. See it where he may, he turns right off at once he cannot, as he says, "bear to meet the bastard."

Fearing that this over love and tenderness may spoil her, Miss Charnwood takes the child when she is about three years old. Still the schoolhouse is only portionally her home three or four times a day, in fine weather, she may be seen with her little pinafore held up before her, trotting off to the Freeland's cottage. Here she has ever a welcome, a dear word, a hearty kiss. she grows older, she keeps more with Alice, takes her place on the lowest of the school forms, and learns rapidly to read. Alice

As

soon loves her dearly;-the schoolmistress has nothing in her home so fair or bright as Dora.

In the meanwhile, things go on in their old way of peace at Dr. Oliver's. Alice often sends Honor charming letters about Dora. Honor, on the other hand, writes in her simple way, and pays her little offering in money for Dora's keep with the regularity of a Chancellor of the Exchequer. But Alice is very noble, and will but accept a fraction of it a mere make-believe in the shape of money-to satisfy Honor's punctilious conscience; for she writes: "The darling's keep is nothing, for your mother is always sending niceties, in some shape or another. Send the child a few clothes now and then-that is all."

Of this duty Honor is always thinking. Many of her own gowns get marvellously metamorphosed; small bonnets are manufactured; tiny shoes bought. Many, many nights, long after Dr. Oliver is in bed, the faithful creature sits sewing for the little child. Then, as time wears on, the good soul invents small plots against her master, and puts them into execution. He has long had a nice warm duffle dressing gown, which at length, getting shabby and ink-bespattered, he, at Honor's suggestion, orders a When this is on and seen to fit, she asks boldly for the old one.

new one.

He looks up kindly into her face: "Will it be useful to you?-I am glad of it-pray take it."

"Thank you, sir: it will be very useful." She sets to at once and washes and turns it, and makes her darling a little warm coat wherewith to run about the garden and woods in frosty winter-time. Another thing is, that Dr. Oliver likes a fine dessert-on Sundays especially. On that day invariably a nice plateful is set aside for Honor; crystalized and preserved fruits, bonbons, and other rarities included. These she never touches, but puts by in a pretty box for Dora. On one occasion, a woman comes to the door with dolls. She sorely tempts Honor to buy; and Honor recollects her darling. At this moment her master comes upon the step.

"What, buying a doll, Honor? What, have you some little favourite ?"

"Yes, sir and the poor woman wants money."

sake." So he buys the largest doll in the woman's basket -a great flaxen-headed thing, with staring blue eyes, and gives it to Honor. If he had bestowed diamonds upon her, she could not be more rejoiced. She dresses it with beautiful care and sends it to the child.

Just at this time, Bella comes to pay one of her occasional visits. She is stepping fast,into the most lovely time of girlhood: this, with a nature as sweet and guileless as it ever was. Her papa most wisely has not yet sent her to the much-talked-of school at Hammersmith; but, with the assistance of an elderly sister who keeps his house, educates her himself. Certainly, he often talks about Bella's having a governess; but then his description implies the need of so many rare qualities, that Bella, it does not seem likely, will ever have one set over her.

As usual, when she thus comes to stay with her grandpapa, Bella's chief delight is to be with Honor. The old confidence is renewed the child talks of her mother (though as one living, knowing not her death), and the ear which listens sympathises with devout tenderness.

Amongst other comforts with which the good master has enriched his servant's little sitting-room is a kind of press, or wardrobe, wherein she stores linen, work, and other things. In a certain portion of it, she keeps her various dressmaking elaborations for Dora; and such are usually locked up, more especially when Bella pays her visits. On this occasion, however, the key is left in the lock one day, and Bella most innocently looks within. Here she finds some little garments and dresses in various stages of preparation, one of the latter being finished. Much surprised, she brings it forth, lays it on the table, and when Honor comes to sit down to her needlework, questions her all about it. She does this very acutely; and drawing a stool to Honor's knee, rests her face there whilst she talks.

"Do you like this little girl very much, Honor-better than me?"

"No, dear; but just the same as I love you."

"What is her name and has she a mamma ?"

"Her mother is dead; and her name is Dora."

"How very curious, Honor. If my poor mamma had had another little girl its name

would have been Dora. Has this little Dora no other name ?-is she pretty?" "Very, very; the loveliest little creature I ever knew. You, my darling, would love her as tenderly as I do. But you must ask me no more questions."

Bella is very puzzled

she sees a secret lurks behind which she must not know. She is too well taught to ask further, but sighing heavily, sits still for some time. Then looking up into Honor's face, she says gently, "I should like to give Dora a frock."

Honor catches at the sweet thought: "Would you, darling. I should be very pleased that Dora wore a frock of yours. Will you let me have an old one of yours sometimes, for she has no one to give her a frock besides me and a lady who is very kind to her."

"Oh that I will. I will save my money and buy her a new one. Indeed, I will ask my papa to buy her a new one, too."

"On the contrary, Miss Bella," replies Honor, with great gravity, "you must repeat to no one what I have said to you about this little child. If I keep your secret about your poor mamma, so must you this of mine about the little child, though I will one day tell you. As for new frocks, those are not what I want, but such as you have worn and done with. It is the sentiment and feeling I ask for,-that my little Dora wears what has once been yours."

"I am sure, Honor, Dora must be a dear little creature by this way you love her. No, I won't say a word about her to any one, because you wish me not; and I will save up all my frocks for her. I will tell aunt that they are for a little girl you love, and she will be very pleased that you should have them, for she says you are so good to grandpapa."

"Thank you, dear; you are very kind." Bella sits awhile, thoughtfully; then she rises and steals her arms very tenderly about Honor's neck.

"Dear old thing," she whispers very softly, "what did you do with the coral necklace I cried about, a long while ago?"

"It was never asked for, dear, and put it away in a drawer."

"Don't you think, then, that we might give it to little Dora ? It was mine, I am sure! But there is something in all you say about little Dora which I like very much. I think you want me to know her, and like and love her, don't you?"

"I do, I do, my darling," falters Honor: "it is the wish nearest my heart:" and she sheds gentle tears, which are reciprocated by those of the child.

Not long after this visit of Bella's, a shadow falls between Honor and her master. He has bought the flaxen-headed doll, as we have seen; he has observed small parcels come to the door, looking as though they held children's shoes, clothing, and occasionally toys. Once he has caught a glimpse of a small straw bonnet, decked prettily in white but he is not prepared for an incident which leaves the strongest impression on his mind that Honor is a mother. One morning, quite incidentally, on account of some literary business, he breakfasts so late, that his general post letters arrive just as he begins. Honor, as customary, empties the letter-box, and carries the contents in on her waiter, selecting two that are for herself, when she has set them down before her master. She then goes down stairs. There being some trivial piece of cooking to effect-an egg to boil, or something of that sort-she, as she stands beside the fire, opens the letter which, by the beautiful hand-writing, she knows to be from Miss Charnwood. Dora has been ill with some little childish complaint; she is, therefore, the more anxious; so, glancing at that portion where she knows that she shall have news of the chiid, she finds, to her joy, that

she is better, indeed, nearly well, and that the early violets which lie within the letter and fill it with perfume, are the result of her first walk in the vernal woods. The letter seems otherwise brimful of interest; but Honor cannot stay to read more just then, so, hurriedly folding it, violets and all, she goes up on her errand, and to answer some tradesman's knock at the door. Whether from her tray, on which she may in her hurry have placed it, or from her pocket-Honor never knows-but she certainly drops the letter in the breakfast room when she goes in, and this so near her master as for him to notice it as soon as she has withdrawn. Thinking it to be one of his own, he lifts it up-unfolds it sees the violets, some of which drop around him on the table, and then plunges at once into the writing, thus reading as much at a glance, with the rapid accustomed literary eye, as others might in ten or a dozen minutes. At the first instant he is intensely puzzledthen perceives it belongs to Honor-closes it, and, with a profound sigh and look of rigid severity, lays it on the table. When she comes in to clear away, he says simply: "There is a letter of yours, I think, Honor," then rises and leaves the room.

From this time a shadow for many months lies between them.

(To be concluded in our next.)

We do not pretend to offer to our readers a history of the Zouaves, their history would be that of the African campaigns. It would require at least one entire volume to narrate all the feats of war and all the glorious actions with which the name of the Zouaves is associated; but at a moment when all eyes and hearts are following with emotion the gallant armies of the allies in the East, we have felt anxious to obtain some more definite information concerning these three regiments, whose names are so frequently mentioned in the letters from the Crimea, and to know what was their origin, what were their principal exploits, and what the vicissitudes which they had experienced. We have, therefore, gathered from various sources

a few facts which we trust may possess some interest in the eyes of our readers. Without further preamble, we beg them, therefore, to accompany us to Algeria, the military birthplace of the Zouaves.

In the month of August, 1830, General Clausel took the command of the French army in Africa; his mission was neither easy to accomplish, nor was it even very clearly defined. The government, organized during the revolution of July, had not refused the glorious legacy of the restoration, but was, nevertheless, somewhat embarrassed thereby. If national feeling rejected the idea of abandoning Algiers, it was a species of instinct rather than a matured resolution which attached France to

her new conquest. None considered the difficulties nor even the object of the enterprise; and if it had been then proposed, in the face of menacing Europe, to conquer, by force of arms, the vast empire which France now possesses beyond the Mediterranean, the most courageous and daring would have hesitated. It was a matter of great importance to retain Algiers, but none would have granted the means for subjecting the regency; and yet this was an inevitable consequence of the overthrow of the Turkish authorities. The measures taken by government satisfied this twofold inclination of the public mind; the effective portion of the army was considerably reduced, but the very name of the general summoned to replace Marshal de Bourmont indicated that the command of the African army still continued a serious and important mission.

General Clausel found himself, therefore, at the head of a reduced army, without definite instructions, surrounded by intrigues and urgent solicitations of every kind, having before him an unknown country barely described by a few forgotten travellers, and a population still less known, savage, and warlike, but accustomed to receive laws from Algiers, and whom the fall of the Bey had plunged in all the tumult of anarchy. The climax of the confusion was occasioned by the expulsion of the Turks, the objects of secular veneration to the Arabs, accustomed to command and combat with them, and who would gladly have served their victors with fidelity and zeal. The expulsion of the Turks has been severely censured; at the present day, we must confess that, whatever the motives of this proceeding may have been, the consequences have proved most fortunate. Being compelled to rule the native population without the aid of intermediaries, the conquerors were enabled to leave the track invariably pursued by Mussulmans ; and the government of the Arabs in the hands of French officers has already produced results for which the most sanguine could not even have hoped from the Turkish system. At that period, however, during the latter months of the year 1830, the momentary inconveniences of the measure were alone felt; and General Clausel, in order to remedy these in some degree, as well as also to augment his effective force, commanded the organization of a body of native infantry and cavalry. A resolution of October 1st, 1830, succeeded by a royal

ordinance of March 21st, 1831, created two battalions, which received the name of Zouaves, in Arabic "Zouaoua."

The Zouaoua are a tribe, or rather a confederation, of Kabyle tribes, inhabiting the most remote gorges of the Jurjura, a race of men proud, intrepid, and laborious, whose submission to the Turks was never more than nominal, but who were well known at Algiers, to which place they made frequent visits in order to exchange their oils and the produce of their rude industry for the money which their poor mountains failed to supply. As they bore the reputation of being the best soldiers in the territory, their name was given to the new militia. The ranks were, nevertheless, open to all the natives without distinction of origin-to mountaineers, to inhabitants of the plain, to mechanics or labourers, to Kabyles, Arabs, or Couloughis; but leaders were now required, and the instruction and command of the new troops committed to certain French officers, men of energy, disinterestedness, and courage. As the recruits from the native population were not very numerous, and as, furthermore, it would have been dangerous to leave the officers in the midst of soldiers in whom implicit confidence could not be reposed, and whose language was yet unknown to their leaders, it was deemed advisable to enrol Europeans in the corps of the Zouaves. The first volunteers whom government had sent to Africa were incorporated, and some foreigners were also admitted; but in a short period the numbers, both of natives and others, having singularly increased, those Europeans who were not French were organized into a foreign legion, and the new detachments which arrived from Paris formed the 67th of the Line.

Six weeks had scarcely elapsed since the order for the creation of the new corps before it was already in the field; the general-in-chief conducted it with him to the first expedition against Medeah. The Zouaves received their baptism of fire at the defile of Mouzaïa, which was frequently afterwards bathed with their blood and rendered illustrious by their valour. They then remained two months at Medeah, where General Clausel had decided upon leaving a small garrison of French and native soldiers.

Medeah was evacuated by the French troops in the commencement of 1831; but in the month of June, in the same year, General Berthezène reconducted a portion of