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said department, issued by the British authorities at the Belize, July 17, 1852, announcing that "Her Most Gracious Majesty our Queen has been pleased to constitute and make the Islands of Ruatan, Bonacca, Utilla, Barbarat, Helma, and Morat to be a colony, to be known and designated as the Colony of the Bay Islands," and signed "By command of Her Majesty's Superintendent, Augustus Fred. Gore, Colonial Secretary." And also what measures, if any, have been taken by the Executive to prevent the violation of that Article of the Treaty of Washington of July 4, 1850, between the United States and Great Britain, which provides that neither party shall

occupy, or fortify, or colonize, or assume dominion over Nicaragua, Costa Rica, the Mosquito Coast, or any part of C'entral America."

Thus it appears that as soon as ever the benefit to be derived from a Treaty to which America was a party, and which had never been questioned or commented upon, was at an end, the American Senate began to read it over again, and with what object? Why, to get rid of it. THIS is the idea which, taken up by the government of President Pierce, lies at the bottom of the whole dispute, and has extended itself even into the apparently distinct precincts of the recruitment quarrel. As the treaty was framed, and was intended to be understood by its framers, it was for the "great design" of the convention, to tie the hands of both parties from encroachment in the neighbourhood of the canal. We were a little too close to it at one end, and an adjustment was to be made there-that was to be arranged. America was not near either end-there was nothing to be settled as regarded her. But now there was to be no canal--there was no "great design," for which to make a sacrifice. What, America says, have we done, then? Simply renounced for ever the right to attack, overrun, overwhelm, or annex,"or, in the words of the treaty, occupy, fortify, or colonize, or assume or exercise any dominion" over any part of Central America.


We English were quite ready to renounce. The little we had there was enough for us. If we possessed nothing there, it would have been the same thing. It was no object with us to make new acquisitions in that quarter. At least, no object sufficiently paramount to

quarrel or manoeuvre for. Not so in the case of America. She found her "destiny" interfered with in this region. There was a Clayton-Bulwer Cordillera in her path. Aggression here was out of the question, the Treaty still in existence. Well let us look at it let us spell it-let us turn it upside down-let us read it backwards, as witches jabber their prayers-perhaps we may find that it means one thing in English-another in American. "Central America"that in English is a political designation, and in such a sense is bounded by the limits of those republics in which the designation was first used. But geographers, geologists, botanists, antiquaries, stretch the term till it. reaches the sea at both sides, and don't acknowledge little settlements and dependencies outside it. Well-that shall be the American meaning of the words. Nay, it shall be, in spite of their own declarations, Messrs. Clayton and Bulwer's meaning, and they shall not be permitted to say to the contrary. "Occupy"-that, it is true, in English, as its very first primitive meaning, is to take adverse possession of, to seize. Such it is by its derivation. Such is invariably its meaning, when used as an active verb in military or political parlance. But that wont do for us. We must make it retrospective, and use it as a sort of stern-chaser, to drive out the British from possessions which they have hi therto been snugly enjoying, by giving it an American meaning of our own, similar to that it bears when applied to furnished apartments, and the like. "Not to occupy" a post may indeed be held to mean, not to take it by force and retain it: but "not to occupy" Central America is a notice to quit; and the tenant must be ejected from those spacious premises if he does not go quietly.

Such was the argument of Mr. Cass in 1852 such, stripped of its diplo matic trappings, is the language of Mr. Marcy at this moment. The words of the Treaty are studiously dis torted, not, we are firmly convinced, for the purpose of disturbing us in our occupancy, such as it is, of the British Honduras and its dependencies, so much as to give the colour of an excuse for a contemplated repudiation of the Treaty itself. Nay, we doubt whether it would not be a disappoint


ment if we were to surrender our possessions in Central America tomorrow, and adopt the American reading of the Treaty. What Mr. Marcy wants is to get out of it. The repudiation will leave America free to pursue her own -to work out her own 66 destiny." And in this light it will be easier to see why that oracular and not very defensible dictum called "The Monroe Doctrine" was promulgated so clamorously at the period in question. Should the treaty be annulled, ordinary people might think that American aggression on the Central American states might still be met-or neutralised--by British aggression in the same quarter. But, no! the shade of Monroe interposes, and enunciates the following apophthegm :

The American Continents, by the free and independent condition which they have as sumed and maintained, are henceforth not to be considered subjects for future colonization by any European Powers.

What, then, should the policy of England be in the face of these things? She cannot expect, if our view of American ulterior designs be correct, that the powers with which Mr. Dallas is said to be invested, and the proposals for arbitration, limited and useless as they are, which he is entrusted to offer, are intended to bring the questions at issue to a termination. She must act upon the assumption that they are illusive. The dismissal of Mr. Crampton being only one step in a course to which the American Government (we will not include the American nation) is pledged, she must not suffer herself to be diverted from the path to which honour and policy alike point, unless she is prepared to see those objects already faintly indicated carried out to their full extent, and Anglo-Saxon America absorb the whole of the geographical continent of that name. There are indeed men -- - Englishmen, they call themselves who not only fancy they see this "destiny" before the race, but actually call upon England to approve and co-operate in achieving it for them! The poor Indian was scarcely violating his duty when he fought for his hunting-fields against the white man-and yet the white man's "destiny" was to supplant him. Besides, in this case, the "destiny" of the race may point to the Anglo

Saxon Englishmen as well as to the Anglo-Saxon American. The "Monros doctrine" takes no notice of the Anglo-Saxon. It is the American who alone is to colonize America. This doctrine we have a right to resist, so far as it may be construed as justifying American aggression. As doctrine, it is senseless. There is no proposition involved in it. It is a simple political manifesto-and as a manifesto, it is, of course, morally binding upon nobody, and only obligatory in practice where resistance is impossible.

England will therefore be called upon to decide, sooner or later, whether she will submit to the development of the doctrine in question to its legitimate extent, or take timely measures to check it. If the decision must be arrived at in the end, it seems to us that it would be the better part of policy to make up our minds at once. We shall have the fairer chance of resisting successfully what has been met manfully. It is very far from our wish to urge upon the country measures which might possibly lead to a disturbance of our relations with a nation to which we are bound as we are to America. That disaster is to be deprecated on every account. But assuming that a dangerous and aggressive policy lurks under the successive acts of the American government, we put it to ministers whether it might not be wiser and safer to shew that we are not deceived--that we distrust appearances that we care little for professions-that, in short, we are determined to pursue the course dictated by honour, at the hazard of offending men who see in such a course obstacles thrown in the way of deeplylaid and long-cherished schemes of ambition.


We need scarcely enunciate inore plainly what follows by necessary inplication from our premises even had the charges of indiscretion and incompetence been brought home to Mr. Crampton, his dismissal should not have been submitted to as it was; and that since they were not, it was derogatory to the dignity of the empire, and prejudicial to its real interests, to retain the American Anbassador under the illusive supposition that through him differences would be settled, which it is the interests of his country to leave unadjusted.

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Good night! Good night!
Still stands thy eagle on his perch;
Thy palfrey whinnies in her stall;
Thy dog roams whining round the church;
Thy page weeps in the darkened hall;
For thou art in the churchyard mold,

The bright eye dimmed-the kind heart cold;
Good night! Good night!

Yet the deeds thou hast done

Will outlast thy breath,

And the love thou hast won

Is with us till death:

Good night! Good night!

Oh! a dearer presence never crost

The path to which its light was given:
And a gentler spirit ne'er was lost
To earth--and gained to heaven:
Good night! Good night!-The Keen of Moycarna.

I AM now coming to narrate one of the darkest sorrows of my life, which was the illness and the death of my sister Madeline, and which took place about a year after the stirring events recorded in the last chapter. To me this cloud, which burst at last on my uncle and Montfort in a thunder storm of grief, had been perceptibly gathering for a long time; and I well recollect one day in summer, when my sister and I had returned from a ride together, her saying to me at our hall door, "Walter, lift me down, for I feel someway unaccountably tired and weak."

She flushed up as she spoke, and after I had taken her from the saddle I said, "How light you have become, Madeline; I trust you are well!"

"Oh quite well," was the answer, 66 save for this pain in my left side, which robs me of my sleep, and that causes the fatigue I speak of; but, Walter, breathe not a word to my uncle or to John." For Madeline was always thinking of others, and like many of her sex who have the still heart,' and the mind of gentle dignity, she concealed her illness till it had mounted to a degree which reached beyond medical skill. She VOL. XLVIII.-NO. CCLXXXIII.

had been much confined all this year by her attendance on Montfort, and though he would beseech her to leave him, and go out, and have her ride, yet she would not do it, but kept constantly to the house, or only took exercise in walking beside his bath chair up and down the avenue. When he was so far recovered as to be enabled to drive his own ponies in the phaeton, she would accompany him in his favorite excursion through the great oak wood road up to the waterfall; or get down to the beach, where Montfort would sit and drink in health and vigour from the fresh cool breezes, that came in around him revivingly along the bright and heaving plain of the green Atlantic. But his limbs were too weak as yet to admit of his mounting a horse; and Madeline would seldom ride except she had him for a companion. In the beginning of the year my uncle took her to Dublin for advice, where C. pronounced her disease to be organic affection of the heart, but said that with care she might live for many years. Meanwhile Montfort's brother, Sir Philip, had died; and he was now a baronet, with a large fortune, and a beautiful place in Shrop


shire. From these combining circumstances their marriage was deferred; and we all hoped that the coming spring with its balm and its scented airs would greatly restore both our dear invalids. But while Montfort rapidly improved, my sister as visibly declined; and alas, alas, was even now in the lengthening shadow of the grave. I was deeply attached to Madeline, and her death dried up the sweetest and brightest fountain that ever leaped up through my being.

During her sickness, which came on fast and fatally as the summer advanced, and when she was confined to her apartment, it was my pride and sad pleasure to bring to her dressing room, when she would come there each afternoon to lie on the sofa, the choicest and most beautiful bouquet I could procure from our gardens and conservatories. Montfort spent all his evenings by her side; even the cherished cigar was forsaken for her, and his presence seemed to almost check her disease for the time; for, though so beneath her in refinement and in culture, he loved her well in his own manly and truthful way, and his delicacy of health gave him an additional lustre and interest in her true womanly heart. She saw visitors beyond our home circle, except our little curate, who, indeed, was one of the best of men, living to work, and working to live. His visits, which were judiciously timed, she greatly enjoyed; and her thoughts and conversation would now often wander forward amongst the scenes and landscapes of the other world, towards which her spirit was setting, with a calmness which astonished and affected us all. One evening, when I was sitting alone with her, she told me of a curious dream which had, as it were, heralded in her illness.


"That it was a dream," she said, "I now believe; but, indeed, Walter, at the time, and for many weeks afterwards, I thought it must have really happened, and it greatly depressed my spirits. It occurred last January. You know my bedroom, and how it lies at the very end of the long corridor, and how it is entered by three steps from the gallery. Well, Walter, you know too that I never was troubled with superstitious fears, and that I have at least a

woman's share of the constitutional fearlessness of our race. I had gone to bed late, leaving a good fire in the grate, and a nightlight burning on my toilet; I certainly felt unwellthis poor heart of mine nervously beating, and giving me pain; however, I fell asleep, but awoke again in an hour or so, as I should think, for I heard the great clock from the farmyard striking two. It was beginning to blow, although the night had been as still as the grave when I had fallen asleep. The windows were rattling along the corridor, and presently I heard a far door clap, and I thought of the stories of the Admiral's ghost, and I smiled; and then, I know not why, all that dreadful business of Ahern's death, and John's share in it, floated up in my mind, and I became agitated and wept. I was roused from this train of sad thought, by distinctly hearing the steps of some one advancing along the gallery, and approaching my door; the wind had fallen, and the house was quite still; the steps sounded nearer and nearer, and presently I heard the handle of my door gently turned, and I was aware that some one was in the room along with me. I saw it plainly by the double light of the nightlamp and the fire, dim, indeed, but sufficient for vision and recognition. It seemed a tall form in grey garments, something like a woman's faded night dress. It came straight on to the foot of the bed, and then I saw it was our dear mother. I could not speak; I felt choking, and if palsy stricken. Presently I saw the figure stooping down, and removing the bed clothes; it seized my two feet in its hands, and their touch was colder than the coldest ice, pervading my whole frame like a dead clasp then it spoke, and my mother's sweet tones brought back the life warmth to my heart again, "My child," it said, "you are very ill: you will soon come to me; and to

oh such happiness." Then the icy hands slowly passed up to my ancles, and then the figure turned again to the door, and I saw it and heard it no more, for the wind suddenly rose again with a violent plash of rain against my windows, and the old accustomed noises began to sound through the house, and I fell off into deep sleep, and did not wake up till


eight in the morning when I found the door of the room locked, which I had done on first entering it the night before. But what seemed unaccountable, Walter, was, that I saw that the clothes at the bottom of the bed had indeed been lifted during the night, and not replaced. But though I could not but believe that I had seen my mother for some weeks afterwards, yet on mentioning the matter to Margaret Joyce, whom I at once took to be my companion at night, and my kind nurse, her matter of fact and sensible mind refused to admit such an idea, and she persuaded me that it had been night-mare, or that I had removed the bed-clothes in my sleep, and in this I now concur. What think you of the matter, Walter ?

I confess that I had listened with the deepest interest and most lively credence to Madeline's recital, but I was saved from giving an answer by the entrance of my uncle; and perhaps it was all the better; for the interpretation of the vision according to what my imaginative temperament would have decided, might have disturbed and unsettled my sister's mind. The poor thing now sunk rapidly, and her feet and ancles were much swoln, which I connected with the coldness she had felt in her dream; if, indeed, it were a dream. God only knoweth; the physical ailment of the part might have produced the idea or notion of spiritual causality, as we all know it often does in dreams, and thus confused together cause and effect. I do not believe, however, that this question troubled her or occupied her mind; that was set on loftier things, and her peace and joy knew no measure. The week before she died the General had a long interview with her; he left the room with his face all bathed in tears, while her's wore a look of triumph I had never seen there before, and her smile was of superhuman beauty, as if she had caught and retained some of the strange high light of the upper world which was soon to shine around her; as the loftiest peaks are seen to sparkle with the beams of the coming morn, while the valleys below are all dark. Í must pass on now, and rapidly; for lingering over each well remembered event of the last week is like coming back to weep at her grave. She died,

and we buried her by torch light, an old custom in our family; and early as it was-about three in the morning -a vast multitude, chiefly of peasantry, filled the whole area of the lawn, and were dimly seen by the red light of the moving torches waxing duller and duskier, as the crimson of the East flushed up more vividly each moment from the horizon,-reminding me of the bright draperies with which hope had decked her own gentle spirit of late; paling all earthly lights. As the long cavalcade streamed up the avenue, there arose the wild melodious Keen, swelling across the fields, and seeming at times to sink, and die among the hills, only to be taken up again-louder and more wailingly still, in all its shrill and passionate notes of thrilling sorrow. Nor did it cease, till the procession had reached the churchyard gate; to me it was inexpressibly soothing, seeming to echo the sweetness of the memories which mingled with my sad feelings, while it expressed the bursting and vehement grief I could not speak. We laid her in the family vault in the village. My uncle and Montfort both attended. The former wept abundantly, and many a sob from the surrounding poor gave back the expression of his sorrow; but Montfort stood an image of stone-a man without a tear

till we had returned home, when he called me into the old drawing room, where were her piano, and music stand, and harp; and flinging himself into my arms, the strong man broke down, and gave way to the most heart-bursting and terrible gush of sobs, cries, and sorrow I have ever witnessed. "Oh! dearest Walter" he would exclaim, "I have lost an angel," and then his tears would choke his voice and he would weep and lament in my arms for hours. I know not how it was, but I felt strong to comfort him, as well as my uncle, whose grief was more measured, and of a gentler description; but poor Montfort's sorrow was for ever breaking out, and I think he was ashamed that men should see it; and so before two months had elapsed, to our great regret and surprise, he had left us, utterly unable to stay, having sold his property to McClintock, resigned his commission of the peace, and disposed of all his stud

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