I

from a king capable of going back to Ara- | the Granadine Moors to a crusade undergon with that crown; and when James on taken against them by his son-in-law, the twenty-first day of his stay in Lyons Alfonso of Castile. The abdication of made up his mind to depart, the pontiff James was made in favor of his eldest son, received him gracefully. the Infante en Pere, who was further charged to bury the king, his father, either at St. Mary's of Alcira or of Valencia, and when the war was over to carry the body to the shrine of St. Mary of Poblet, to which monastery the Conquistador had already by will bequeathed it. Six days after, on Wednesday, July 27. 1276, James sickened unto death in Valencia, and there about midnight rendered his warlike soul to God.

I took him apart, and said, “Holy Father, wish to leave, but not as the proverb says, 'He who goes to Rome a fool comes away a fool' (Que foll sen va a Roma, foll sen torna). Let it not be so with me. I never saw any Pope but yourself, and so I wish to confess to you." He was much pleased and content, and said he would confess me. I told him my sins, and on the other hand what I remembered of the good deeds I had done. He imposed no other penance on me but that I should keep from evil for the future, and persevere in good. Then I went on my knees before him, and he put his hand on my head, and gave me my blessing full five times. I kissed his hand and took my leave.

The king of Aragon, Mallorca, and Valencia, count of Barcelona, Urgel, and Montpellier, now lies in Poblet. To that Westminster Abbey of the kings of Aragon the corpse was carried over moor and fell, and laid there under one of those Nothing ever came of the king's pro- curious double effigies which marked the jected visit to Jerusalem, and the shadows of evening were beginning to gather religious taste of the age. James is represented in death by two statues, one of round the bold Conquistador. Sickness which wears the sandals and frock of a overtook him, and as he felt his great Bernardine friar, the other the sword and strength slip from him he determined to die, not in harness, but in the monastic spurs of the king who wrested the Baretirement which so many soldiers, both learic Islands and the fertile plains of before and after him, have affected and Valencia from the Moors. It does not seem too much to have hoped that a sought. "I sent a message to my son, church which had been built by one of the Infante en Pere, to come in person to the Berengers (counts of Barcelona and me at Alcira. I received him, and he did me reverence as a good son ought to do to of Forcalquier), and which was chosen to be the burying-place of the Conquistador, his father." At this point the narrative might have been preserved. But so far becomes exceedingly confused; perhaps is this from being the case, that Poblet is because the hand which completed the commentaries of King James confused now, to quote the words of Mr. Augustus some of the dates and facts, perhaps be- Hare, "the most utterly ruined place that can exist." It looks as if the shock of an cause the dying Conquistador, in dictating the last pages of the work, had himself earthquake had levelled the stately courts where the five hundred white friars of some partial failure of memory as well as Poblet watched the tombs of the kings, a flagging pulse. For example the pas- and drank the red priorata that was sages read as if the king had died in this first illness, 1272, but this is an error:tion of the great monastery was caused by grown on their vineyards. The destrucThough the great blue eyes were dimmed there was life still in that intrepid heart, and a reserve of energy in that frame which had long been the type of chivalrous strength. The Conquistador was, say his contemporaries, the most power: fully built man of his age; of abnormal stature, practised in every manly exercise; a victor in thirty well-fought fields, and rich in his people's love, he stood, as he still stands, a landmark in the history of Spain and of the Christian world. The king, in spite of his forebodings, recov ered, and his real abdication was

not

made for four years later. It took place in the midsummer of 1276, just after a formidable check that had been given by

spite. In the wars of Don Carlos, some Carlist monks, considering themselves to be oppressed by their brethren, determined to take a stealthy revenge. They whispered such tales of secret and hidden tortures that public indignation was roused against the convent. Twenty-four hours only were granted to the inmates to make their escape, and then the mob falling on the monastery gutted the house. They destroyed the splendid library, and defaced even the graves of the Conquistador and of his brother kings whose

"bones" are now dust.

Their swords are rust,

Their souls are with the saints, we trust.

From Belgravia.
MARY ABBOT'S TRYST.

PART I.

SOME years ago there sat one afternoon in the parlor of a Devon farmhouse, a middle-aged man and a girl of about twenty, in earnest talk.

The walls of the room were low, and some heavy oak beams across the ceiling made it lower. The room looked comfortable, and though all the furniture had seen service, the woodwork shone with the polish of daily friction, and the chintz coverings of the sofa and chairs were spotlessly clean. A few prints in black frames hung on the walls, the open door of a corner cupboard showed that it was full of old china, and a long low glass was over the fireplace. A bowl filled with roses stood on the table-semi-single white roses with golden eyes, smelling so sweetly and looking so pure; roses of the past, for they are only to be seen now in a few old-fashioned country gardens.

The young girl, Mary Abbot, looked as fresh and as sweet as the roses did; a letter lay in her lap, and every now and then she nervously unfolded and folded it again, while she talked. There was a timid expression in her sweet face, but her low, broad forehead, square brows, and well-formed mouth, indicated latent strength of will.

Her companion sat by the open window, looking into the pretty little garden, gay just now with stocks and pansies and sweet-williams. He was frowning, and the expression on his sunburnt face showed that he differed from the girl.

"Well, there's no use in arguing. I'm thinking of all you'll have to go through; but that you can't even guess at. It's ignorance makes you brave, my dear — if you would but trust me

-

She interrupted him, "It's no use talking, uncle; my mind is made up. I promise you I'll never leave dear Aunt Martha while she lives, and I hope she may be spared to us for some years yet; so you see there's no use in talking any more about it. I may not have to go to Willie for a long while."

"Well, I hope before the time comes he'll have tired of waiting," her uncle said to himself. He said to Mary,

"Has the doctor been to-day?"

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No, but I'm expecting him."

"He tells me he has a bad opinion of my poor sister's chance. Well, my dear, I must be going home. Think over what I've said; I'll look in to-morrow, and hear what the doctor says."

He took his departure, and the young girl went up-stairs to her patient. She felt very sad. Her position was a painful one. She wished to keep her aunt, and yet she longed to be with her lover.

More than a year ago, Mary Abbot's promised husband, the son of a neighboring farmer, had found himself unable to settle down to an agricultural life, and had gone to seek his fortune in America. He went, against the wish of his sweetheart and the advice of his friends; but his father, seeing how unsettled his son was, and how bent he was on going, at last consented, and gave him money for his passage, and promised to send out sufficient funds for a short stay in the United States. His idea was that his son would soon grow discontented, and come back "I'm sorry I can't do as you wish, un-cured of his roving fancies, and willing to cle. I made a promise to Willie, and I stay at home. must keep it, whatever happens. Don't fear for me -the color flew into her cheeks, and a lovely light shone in her deep grey eyes "I have such trust in him why, the very feeling that I am going to meet him will keep me up in any trials that may happen on the way."

"You are very headstrong, Mary," he said. She looked at him sweetly,

"And I say," her companion said doggedly, "what I said before. Somerfield ought not to expect you to go out to him. If he's as well off as he states, let him come and fetch you. You promised to go out to New York; he's a long way off New York now, and to my thinking, this change of place frees you from any promise you may have made."

"Ah! but uncle, my promise was to go when he sent for me,” she said simply.

At first the young man's letters praised everything he saw, but gave little hope that he would earn his own living. His father said, "Willie will be home before six months are out."

But by the time the six months ended, Somerfield's letters had gradually changed. He wrote that his luck had taken a turn; he had left New York and had gone into partnership with several friends of his. At the year's end he wrote, —

"We are doing a roaring trade, in fact, we are making money as fast as it can be made. In a few years I shall be a rich man.'

But he made no answer to his father's question as to the nature of the business he was engaged in.

This letter had only been gone a fortnight, when she received her lover's answer to the announcement of her aunt's death. After a few words of condolence: "Now, my darling," he wrote, "you will fly to me as soon as you have settled your affairs. I am transported with delight at the idea of seeing you. I feel sure that your aunt has left you all she had. Send Ime particulars forthwith, and I will then tell you what to do. Things are different over here, gold is more useful than banknotes, and any other property should, without loss of time, be turned into cash."

the money had been left entirely to her; there was no one who could interfere with her disposal of it. The farm stock and furniture were disposed of, and by the time all was settled, Mary found that she possessed nearly four hundred pounds. Her uncle had renewed his opposition to her departure, but Mary would not listen to him. The lawyer disapproved her plan of taking out her little fortune to the States, and suggested a safe plan of investment; but Mary shook her head.

"I am bound to follow out Mr. Somerfield's advice," she said; "he must have good reasons for giving it."

The lawyer smiled; but he was wiser than uncle John. He gave her his opinion, and then seeing that she had made up her mind, he said no more.

"There's no more use in arguing with a girl in love, than there would be in trying to get milk out of a flint," he said to himself.

Mary's preparations were soon completed, and when she had written to tell her lover the name of the steamer and the date fixed for starting, she said farewell to her friends, and set off for Liverpool.

PART II.

THE Voyage passed pleasantly. Mary proved herself an excellent sailor, and greatly enjoyed her sea experience.

She found, too, a pleasant friend in the captain of the steamer, who was by good luck a Devon man, and to whose care her uncle had especially commended her for uncle John had relented, and proving himself better in deed than in word, had gone with her to Liverpool, and seen her safe on board.

The girl's good looks, her sweet ways, and unprotected position, made the captain take a great interest in her. He was double her age, and though at first Mary was shy and reticent, she soon began to feel confidence in him, and one day she told him her story yet more fully than her uncle had done.

The captain shook his head, and he looked grave. He did not like her lover's plan of taking her at once from New York into the interior.

"My dear young lady," he said, "you must excuse my plain speaking, but I don't like Mr. Somerfield's plan. I have heard no good of that part of the country; 'tis a wild, uncivilized part- by no means fit for a delicate young woman - 'tis only fit for men who are out seeking their fortunes, and who don't mind rough living." 'Ah! but, sir," she answered quickly,

66

"you forget that I shall be well taken care of, and that I have a dear little home waiting for me."

The captain shrugged his shoulders. "That all looks pretty on paper, my so- and I don't doubt it from that point; dear excuse the liberty of calling you but I've heard several queer stories from those parts, and I fancy those that go there are not to be envied."

"I'm sure Mr. Somerfield would not comfortable and happy." Mary tossed want to take me where I shall not be her pretty head. "I don't mind roughing blushing like a rose. it a bit, so long as as "she stopped,

stand," the captain laughed. "Quite right "So long as he's with you. I underis human nature, and we mustn't put too and proper, no doubt; still, human nature big a strain on it."

Mary pressed her lips closely, and shook her head,

cate as I look, and I've done plenty of "I'm not afraid, sir. I'm not so deliwork in my time, and if needful, why, I can do it again."

The captain's eyes were full of deep admiration, as he answered: "That I'd delicate ones that have the pluck; you'll take my oath on, my dear girl. It's you go till you drop. I know, bless you; but, you to rough it." all the same, a man oughtn't to put it on

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away from her kind friend. At this she pouted a little, and turned he meant well, but "Well, he presumes on my confidence; I've been too open She thought perhaps." Then she sighed softly to her. self Bother the men, they are all alike. I'm sure men have been horribly mean Talk of women being spiteful, indeed; about my Willie. Well, the best excuse for this one is that he's never seen him, so how can he judge?"

up and down, the captain was beside her By the time she had taken two turns again.

"but we shall soon be in sight of the Beg pardon, Miss Abbot," he said, harbor, and I want to talk to you about that precious bag."

her treasure into the captain's charge, and By her uncle's advice Mary had given he had told her it was safe in his cabin.

44

give it up to Mr. Somerfield along with Keep it, captain," she said, " till you me."

dence, but still things happen which no He smiled. "I like to see your confione can guard against-something might delay your friend a day or so," then, as