QUEEN CATHERINE'S CROSS.-PAGE 142.

Ross and myself; and, when anything went wrong, as from the impetuosity of his temper was too frequently the case, my influence was generally called for to restore peace. It was often difficult to do so. The half-educated lad, deeply feeling his deficiencies, yet too proud to acknowledge them, suspected every one of disliking or pitying him; and pity to such a nature was less endurable than open hatred; it needed all my father's generous interest in him, and all Edward's forbearance, to endure with his wayward and defiant disposition.

To Floy all this, which kept me unpleasantly excited with a nervous dread of fresh outbreaks, was highly amusing. She was in the humor for merry mischief, her quick eye having detected our ill-kept secret, and sportively threatening us with her displeasure for the reticence we were practising; even my father did not always escape her raillery.

Encouraged by the furtive glances of admiration Norman occasionally bent upon her, she soon conquered all fear of his displeasure, gaily and openly teasing him at moments that his contracted brow and bitten lip made others avoid incurring his anger. Sometimes he would be compelled, in spite of himself, to yield to the influence of her innocent mirth; but at others he would sullenly bear with it, until an impatient exit announced his annoyance. I must do Floy the justice to own that the sight of his annoyance was generally the signal for compunctious visitings; and she would dart away to soothe him into better humor with her protestations of regret and promises of amendment.

My father's long-talked-of holiday at last took place, and with many farewells and injunctions, we were left in the care of the elderly relative I have already adverted to. His first hasty letter had been delightedly received, and a whole packet dispatched in return, when I was seized with a feverish attack, which prevented our visit to some friends with whom Florence and I were to have pleasantly spent the term of his absence.

While necessarily confined to his room, still there was nothing serious enough in the symptoms to cause alarm, although natural anxiety on Floy's account made me refuse that constant attendance her loving nature prompted; the long hours spent in loneliness were wearisome indeed, but I strove to bear with and forget them in anticipations of the pleasures of convales

cence.

My careful nurses at length agreed that on the morrow I should be permitted to descend to the drawing-room, and I looked forward to the delightful change with something of a child's eagerness.

But the evening was intensely hot; the night, if possible, murkier; and the mutterings of the coming thunder made me so restless, that, after every one had retired, I threw a light shawl around me, and sought the greater coolness of the gallery. Seated on the low seat of the open window before mentioned, I was enjoying the refreshing breeze which had sprung up, when footsteps in the nearest chamber aroused my attention.

It was Norman's, and I sat listening to his rapid movements, conjecturing something amiss from this sleeplessness, when the door opened, and, lamp in hand, he passed without seeing me, and ran quickly down the staircase.

The hasty glimpse I had of his face terrified me. Ghastly pale, his eyes blazing with fury, lis lips compressed, and hair disordered-surely he must be ill.

Too much alarmed to pause and consider, I followed with as much celerity as weakness permitted, and, guided by his light, found him in the inner office. Standing before an open chest, the frenzied boy sought in it for a roll of papers, which he tore into fragments with passionate exclamations of hate and revenge, and, dashing them on the floor, stamped upon them furiously.

I sprang forward, and seizing the nearest piece, looked aghast at the mischief committed. To Edward's care my father had entrusted the copying of some family archives, left with him by a client for that purpose, and the age and number of them had rendered it a long and difficult task.

I knew from Floy that he had been working very hard to complete them, and had, a few hours before, triumphantly shown them ready for my father's inspection; and here they lay-the labor of days-rendered utterly useless by the wanton destruction of a moment! Wringing my hands, I upbraided Norman with an indignation of which I had scarcely deemed myself capable. In his astonishment at my unexpected appearance, he bore the angry words with sullen silence, until I called him an ungrateful boy.

'Boy!" he repeated. Yes, that is what she called me tonight. You all think and call me that. Your eyes taunt me with it, when your lips do not dare to say it. But it is over now; none of you shall call me boy again. Let them do as they will. I shall go happily now-I have revenged myself!'' "Revenged yourself!" I cried; " on whom? If this is your revenge, oh, cousin, it is a very pitiful one!" He colored; but answered defiantly

"He will be better employed writing them afresh, than singing with Florence, reading with her, whispering to her, writing to her, and maddening me, because he knew I could not compete with him!"

"You talk strangely," I faltered. "If my sister has wronged you, Norman, surely Edward has not said or done anything which can justify your committing such an unwarrantable act as this."

What has he not said and done?" he answered, fiercely. "Have I not watched them? I tell you, Margaret, they love each other! they have lived for each other alone, while you have been ill, and your father away; and, in the few hours they are separated, am I blind, think you, to the letters and messages constantly interchanged?"'

I uttered a faint cry.

"No, no, Norman ! this is not, this cannot be true. How can you tell me such dreadful things?''

"Ha!" he said, clutching my wrist; "you, then, love, Margaret! you can feel for me now! You, too, are deceived--betrayed. Poor Margaret, our fate is alike!"

the impossibility of any one looking on them without loving one so charming. Involuntarily I recalled how, in our short interviews, she had talked of Edward, and Edward only, with a marked alteration from the teasing disparagement in which she used to delight. Her every word now bore a different signifi

"Speak to me, Margaret," said the deep voice of Norman ; "my wronged cousin, speak. Tell me how I shall avenge your injuries and my own!"

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Recalled to myself, I drew him unresistingly to the seat beside me, and repressing the sighs thronging to my quivering lips, said: Ah, Norman! I love them both dearly-so dearly! It is a hard lesson to learn, but I cannot, I will not do anything to make either of them unhappy. Could we inflict on the heart of Florence the crushing misery our own are enduring? For her sake, Norman, for her sake, let us be patient. Think how young she is, how petted she has ever been; who can wonder that one so lovely should win him to forget, and forget herself!" Low sobs choked me, and my companion, flinging himself on his knees, hid his face in my lap.

How long this lasted I know not; I prayed aloud for him more than for myself, for I knew that I had much to enable me to bear a blow which must fall heavily on his less pliant spirit. When he looked up there were tears glistening in his eyes, and his voice had lost its bitter tone.

"I cannot be as forgiving as you," he said; "I could not meet either of them again. God bless and keep you, Margaret! Tell your father that for his sake I regret this," and he pointed to the torn papers at our feet; " let him keep the trifle of wage owing me as some recompense."

"But where are you going?" I asked.

"To sea, he answered.

back to my chamber, half envious of his power to fly from the sight of a happiness founded on our own wretchedness.

The storm now burst over the house with a fury which aroused the inmates, and brought Floy and our elderly relative to my side; but I lay so silent, that believing me asleep, they conquered their own fears to avoid disturbing me, and lulled by the heavy falling of the rain, the gentle murmuring of their voices, and exhausted with emotions for which my recent illness had unfitted me, I sank into a heavy slumber, which lasted until late on the following day.

With renewed strength and composure, the ability to think and judge for myself became clearer, and the faith in those I loved firmer. It was now easier to hope that Norman was mistaken in his jealous conclusions, or easier (if he was correct) to comprehend how and why it was. Wrestling with the ardor of first love, and praying for strength to give Edward up to my happier sister, my dormant tenderness for our excellent father revived in all its force, and I believed that in a very little time, the knowledge that I should be all in all to him-that my ministrations would be necessary to the comfort of his declining years, would soothe and support me.

Keeping this constantly before me, Florence's caressing attentions became more endurable, as she hung over me with a troubled face, explained by her telling me, with a forced laugh, that our Highland eagle had grown so tired of his city cage as to have flown away in the tempest.

The calmness with which the tidings were heard evidently surprised her so much, that she attempted to question me; but

He hastily shook off my detaining hold, exclaiming, "Impossible! I dare not trust myself. I should do some deed in my madness. Forgive me, Margaret; I should not frighten you, my kind, good girl, but do not ask me to do this; let me go, it will be better, safer!"

strange restlessness, foreign to her general manner.

And now every one began to wonder at my health continuing so uncertain, and to debate upon the necessity of acquainting my father, from whom it had hitherto been sedulously concealed. The doctor shook his head and advised change of air, saying there was a degree of nervous excitement about me he could

"But your mother, Norman ?"

His look became troubled. "She will not be surprised," he said, "and ere long I may be able to assist and console her."

"But you have no money, dear cousin," I urged, although he tossed his head and turned away. He had enough for present purposes, he would not accept such aid from any one; if I wished to do him a favor, would I see that his clothes were packed and forwarded to an address he mentioned? Again he looked grievingly at the mischief he had perpetrated, and murmured, "How childish I have been! I wish this reproach to my memory had not been left for them to gloat over."

Stooping and gathering the fragments in my apron, I saw that with some trouble they could be put in sufficient order for copying, and looking up at the half resentful, half vanquished eyes watching my movements, I said, "This at least shall never be known; I will re-write them before my father's return.

"You!" he cried with astonishment; "I do not deserve it, Margaret; throw them down; no one can possibly think worse of me than I think of myself."

"It shall be done," I repeated, "and let my reward be, dear Norman, your promise to be hopeful and enduring."

He pressed my hands in silence, and picking up a small valise turned to depart. How my heart ached for him! Poor fellow! what could I say or do to comfort him? "One moment," I whispered; " let me give you a keepsake," and hurried breathlessly to my chamber, to fetch the pocket Bible I had lately received as a token of sisterly affection from Florence, who had written my name on the flyleaf in the delicate handwriting I had seen Norman admire.

It was not there, but suddenly remembering that Floy had removed it to make some addition, I gently entered her room. It lay on the dressing-table, and beside it one of her long beautiful curls, cut off for the purpose of plaiting into the markers she fancied necessary. Snatching up both, I hastily fastened the tress round the book, and scarcely venturing a glance at the sleeper, returned to Norman. With an earnest entreaty that he would read its contents, I gave it to him; and receiving his farewell kiss on my forehead,'saw the proud-hearted, miserable

None knew that my nights were spent in the fatiguing occupation of copying the manuscript, a task which left me too exhausted to make any greater effort than leaving my bed for

Every one seemed full of delight that day except Floy; I could hear, as I lay half dozing, the bustling movements of the servants and the shrill tones of our cousin, who was superintending the making of an unsurpassable cake; but Floy lingered in my room, ostensibly occupied in preparing the morning-dress in which I was to descend to the drawing-room, to meet the dear and welcome traveller.

As I thanked her for her painstaking, she sank on her knees beside my couch, and weeping as I had never seen poor Floy weep before, said,

"Oh! Margaret darling, you would not speak so kindly to me if you knew-I have been longing, yet dreading, to tell you -how wicked I have been! Don't hate me, dearest! Indeed, I never guessed how much I loved him till-"

"Hush! Florence," I cried in agony; "I cannot bear it now; some other time, my sister, but not now! Oh! leave me, leave me!"

With a sigh she obeyed, and we met no more until that happy hour when my father's arms were clasped around me, and the

At last a letter came, written by Norman, in a temperate, affectionate spirit, which revealed something of the teachings of his changed life; and a correspondence was kept up between us, as regular as his wanderings permitted.

When I became Edward's happy wife, Florence blushingly offered to be my amanuensis, and a smile is sometimes exchanged by us as the long, closely-written packets from abroad, which used to be read aloud for the edification of all, are carried away to be devoured in the solitude of her chamber. In another year Norman will come home once more, and then -ah! God bless them both! with love tempered by the trials of their long separation, may we not now look forward io their union with a well-founded hope in its happiness.

QUEEN CATHERINE'S CROSS.

AMONG the many memorials that exist of King Henry VIII.'s cruelty, the cross erected in honor of his queen, Catherine, is one of the most interesting. It stands in Ampthill Park, which is situated about eight miles from Bedford, in England.

ENGLAND.

To an American the two chief English seats of learning, Oxford and Cambridge, must always be interesting, since there the greatest of our poets received their education, and in many cases their inspiration. Poetry is not the "gusbing thing" which all our young ladies, and too many of our grown-up

"My merry Floy, too, seems to have pined away; I miss something of her gaiety. And Edward looks worried and thoughtful. Is Norman changed also, that he does not come to greet me?"

At the looked-for but dreaded question, Florence sprang up and left us, while Edward, without comment of his own, quietly related the circumstances of his disappearance.

My father was evidently astonished and grieved, expressing a determination to prosecute an immediate search for the hastytempered young man, in whom he had become much interested. His pitying concern for Norman's widowed mother brought the ready tears to my eyes.

"Don't weep, dear Margaret!" whispered Edward, who still leant over me; "it was better that Norman should go, for Florence's sake as much as his own." These words so confused me that he asked

"Is it possible, then, you did not see that Norman loved our pretty sister? And trust me, Margaret, beneath her gay raillery there was springing a deeper feeling, which, until a greater acquaintance with life had somewhat modified his views of many things, it would not have been well to develop. Since his departure I have often been angry with myself for not using a brother's freedom and remonstrating with her for-may I say it? a coquetry unworthy of her really generous nature. For mingling with her desire to allay my anxiety on your account, there certainly lurked in her whispers, her tiny notes or bulletins of health, as she playfully called them, the wish to torment poor Norman, by the appearance of a mystery which induced him to look with suspicion on my efforts to befriend him."

I could agree with Edward now, and meet his glances with answering smiles. How had I ever pinned my faith to Norman's wild tale? Poor, foolish boy! how I longed for an opportunity of undeceiving him; and how eagerly I embraced the chance afforded by the address to which his trunks were forwarded, to write a friendly letter conveying the tidings of Florence's innocence of more than girlish mischief.

Many months elapsed ere we knew that the absent one had received it; but his name was never forgotten in our prayers, and the mirth of my dear sister was quenched. We seldom spoke of Norman, but I saw that a deep-seated remorse for the

prominent of which are those exceptions to all rules, Shakespeare, Chatterton and Burns. all our great poets have been men of scholastic attainments, elaborately acquired, as well as genius, poetry being a science as much as a gift.

The old saving of Horace--Poeta nascitur, non fit, not being properly understood, has misled the world woefully. In this view alone the ancient homes of learning are precious to those who, having no native-born antiquities of their own, instinctively turn to those of their ancestors, although in a far off land; for, however we may feel towards the Pitts, Norths, Palmerstons and the crowned tyrants of England, we cannot ignore those household gods-our Miltons, Priors, Bacons, Sidneys, Jonsons, Chaucers, Tennysons, and a host of others.

Oxford, the most ancient of all nglo-Saxon universities, was first founded by Alfred the Great, who established a hall, called University Hall, there for the education of the young gentry. It of course was principally devoted to the training of the clergy. As a proof of the antiquity of the various colleges which constitute the famous University of Oxford, we will give the founders of some of the most famous of the colleges :

William of Durham, who died in 1249, bequeathed three hundred marks to the university. Baliol College was founded by John Baliol, father of the famous King of Scotland, in 1268, which carries us at once back to the days of Bruce and Wallace. Merton College was founded by William Merton, Bishop of Rochester, in the same year. The bones of this learned man repose in Rochester Cathedral, and exactly three hundred and twenty-one years after his deal namely in 1597; the grateful but somewhat tardy students of Morton College erected a monument to his memory in that fine old cathedral. Exeter College was founded by Walter Stapelton; Bishop of Exeter, and Peter de Skelton, in 1315. Oriel College was 'ounded by the unfortunate Edward II. în 1342. Queen's College was founded by the chaplain of Queen Philipp, wife of Edward III., the gentle woman who persuaded her grim lord to spare the French prisoners of Calais. St Mary's College was founded by the world-renowned Williat of Wykeham, in 1386. Thus, long before the dreamers in these musty halls knew there was such a land as America, syndents pondered in their cloistral walks, and sicklied with the pal cast of thought." Our engraving represents the doorway of Magdalen College, one of the most ancient of these haunts of thought.