SWAMP HALL. 295 



read the certificate of marriage solemnized at Whitechapel church, 

 between "Nicholas Bunce, bachelor, and Charlotte White, spinster." 

 Added to this, was another witness in Mrs. Bunce herself, snatched from 

 her washing-tub by the impatient Edmund Wilkins, and brought at full 

 gallop to identify the Honourable Frederick Rustington, forger, swind- 

 ler, and bigamist. If the reader ask, how it was that Mr. Wilkins should 

 know so quickly of the intrusion of the police, with the existence and 

 habitation of Mrs. Bunce, our only clue to the mystery is afforded in the 

 belief that he was a great favourite with Miss Mary Penny's maid, who 

 sympathized with the unwilling bride, and heartily hated the Honourable 

 Mr. Rustington. 



All now was happiness, when the friend of the family ventured to 

 enter on some explanation. Mr. Penny, with a sudden change of cha- 

 racter, sometimes remarkable in greater persons than himself, " rose up 

 like a pillar." He never had the look of a Socrates ; but on the pre- 

 sent occasion, there was a certain air of resolution, a strong significancy 

 of purpose in his face " that was not there before." The friend of the 

 family began to stammer, when Mr. Penny, without uttering a word, 

 made an eloquent reply, by pointing with his forefinger to the door. 

 The friend of the family again essayed ; Mr. Penny continued to point. 

 Once more the friend wished to explain Mr. Penny directed his finger 

 inexorably to the door. " But one word/' cried the friend of the family. 

 Mr. Penny moved not his finger. The friend of the family walked 

 out, and took the coach for Lincolnshire. 



Three days after this Mary became Mrs. Wilkins. Some ten years 

 afterwards, Mr. Penny read in the Times, the death of Nicodemus 

 Solon, esq. of Swamp Hall, Lincolnshire ! The estate, mortgaged to 

 treble its worth, descended as a disappointment to the money-lenders. 



Again and again has Mr. Penny congratulated himself on the energy 

 which made him cultivate and enjoy the substantial domain of his own 

 home, and not sacrifice that real land of milk and honey to the visionary 

 chance of the reversion of a Swamp Hall. 



J . 



SONNET. 



We dwell in darkness, where thou art not, love ! 



O shine upon us queen of man's desire ! 



Breathe thy fond voice above the silent wire, 

 And bid it quiver into music : move 

 The parched eye to tears we vainly strove 



To escape thy power, we turn us, we implore 



Thy pardon ; we would learn thy blessed lore 

 Like children at the knees of age ! O dove 



Of peace ! O nightingale of song ! return ! 

 And we will thank thee with our hearts and lyres, 



And, as of old, bid flower-drest altars burn 

 To thy sweet name ; and, round their odorous fires, 

 Dance in ecstatic joy beneath the moon : 

 We weary for thv smile : O hold not back the boon ! 



H. F. C. 



