crime and not the gallows constitutes the shame.

History has told how William Berkeley, worn out by care and age, yielded
his high functions to a milder sway, and returned to England to receive
the reward of his rigour in his master's smile; and how that Charles
Stuart, who with all his faults was not a cruel man, repulsed the stern
old loyalist with a frown, and made his few remaining days dark and
bitter.

History has recorded the tender love of Berkeley for his wife, who long
mourned his death, and at length dried her widowed tears on the warm and
generous bosom of Philip Ludwell.

And lastly, history has recorded how the masculine nature of Sarah
Drummond, broken down with affliction and with poverty, knelt at the
throne of her king to receive from his justice the broad lands of her
husband, which had been confiscated by the uncompromising vengeance of
Sir William Berkeley.

Arthur Hutchinson, the victim of the treachery of his early friends,
returned to England, and deprived of the sympathy of all, and of the
companionship of Bernard, whose society had become essential to his
happiness, pined away in obscurity, and died of a broken heart.

Alfred Bernard, the treacherous friend, the heartless lover, the
remorseful fratricide, could no longer raise his eyes to the betrothed
mistress of his brother. He returned, with his patron, Sir William
Berkeley, to his native land; and in the retirement of the old man's
desolate home, he led a few years of deep remorse. Upon the death of his
patron, his active spirit became impatient of the seclusion in which he
had been buried, and true to his religion, if to naught else, he
engaged in one of the popish plots, so common in the reign of Charles
the Second, and at last met a rebel's fate.

Colonel and Mrs. Temple, lived long and happily in each other's love;
administering to the comfort of their bereaved child, and mutually
sustaining each other, as they descended the hill of life, until they
"slept peacefully together at its foot." The events of the Rebellion,
having been consecrated by being consigned to the glorious _past_,
furnished a constant theme to the old lady--and late in life she was
heard to say, that you could never meet now-a-days, such loyalty as then
prevailed, nor among the rising generation of powdered fops, and
flippant damsels, could you find such faithful hearts as Hansford's and
Virginia's.

And Virginia Temple, the gentle and trusting Virginia, was