g as they did from a woman's lips so
tunefully, and sounding the praises of the sea, of which he was
passionately fond:--

SONG.

"I love the land where acres broad
Are clothed in yellow grain;
Where cot of thrall and lordly hall
Lie scattered o'er the plain.
Oh! I have trod the velvet sod
Beneath the beechwood tree;
And roamed the brake by stream and lake
Where peace and plenty be.
But more than plain,
Or rich domain,
I love the bright blue sea!

"I love the land where bracken grows
And heath-clad mountains rise;
Where peaks still fringed with winter snows
Tower in the summer skies.
Oh! I have seen the red and green
Of fir and rowan tree,
And heard the din of flooded linn,
With bleating on the lea.
But better still
Than heath-clad hill
I love the stormy sea!"

The air ceased, and Oliver, stepping in at the open door, found Rose
Ellis with a Spanish guitar resting on her knee. She neither blushed
nor started up nor looked confused--which was, of course, very strange
of her in the circumstances, seeing that she is the heroine of this
tale--but, rising with a smile on her pretty mouth, shook hands with the
youth.

"Why, cousin," said Oliver, "I had no idea you could sing so
charmingly."

"I am fond of singing," said Rose.

"So am I, especially when I hear such singing as yours; and the song,
too--I like it much, for it praises the sea. Where did you pick it up?"

"I got it from the composer, a young midshipman," said Rose sadly; at
the same time a slight blush tinged her brow.

Oliver felt a peculiar sensation which he could not account for, and was
about to make further inquiries into the authorship of the song, when it
occurred to him that this would be impolite, and might be awkward, so he
asked instead how she had become possessed of so fine a guitar. Before
she could reply Mr Donnithorne entered.

"How d'ee do, Oliver lad; going your rounds--eh?--Come, Rose, let's have
breakfast, lass, you were not wont to be behind with it. I'll be bound
this gay gallant--this hedge-jumper with his eyes shut--has been
praising your voice and puffing up your heart, but don't believe him,
Rose; it's the fashion of these fellows to tell lies on such matters."

"You do me injustice, uncle," said Oliver with a laugh; "but even if it
were true that I am addicted to falsehood in praising women, it were
impossible, in the present instance, to give way to my propens