discovered in which Kate was implicated. Bruton expressed deep sympathy. "Forget never," said he, " that at all times, thou and all that are dear to thee are welcome to my roof; that thy friends are my friends; also, that ye may command me, whenever I can assist, for I take no common interest in thy welfare. Would only," added he, in an agitated tone, "would only that I were certain of thy parentage!"

Edward's gratitude and curiosity were at once excited; the former only expressed.

Supper was soon after served, and Edward thought of Willie Bats. "I have," said he, "a humble, but warm-hearted friend below, who is in some measure a partner in my troubles, for his affections are fixed upon Kate's servant, who follows her faithfully through every change."

At Bruton's desire, Willie was called up and introduced. His walk was rather unsteady, and his gaze rather uncertain; he exhibited also a marvellous affection for the wall, against which he rolled his round body. It was evident that Edward's desire that Willie Bats should be taken care of, had been complied with to an unpleasant extreme. Bruton spoke to him kindly. "My friend Heringford," said he," hath spoken well of thee: rely on a welcome here."

"I am greatly ob-liged to thee," replied Willie, in a slow and thick voice. "Thou art a kind, affec-tionate girl, Cicely-so Master-Sir Edward-Heringford hath often confessed. I-do -love-thee; and am much ob-liged."

66

Bruton smiled. Edward was vexed at this unpropitious mode of carrying on the conversation and commencing an acquaintance. "Poor Willie," said he, in excuse, " hath suffered much anxiety to-day, and, in attempting to shake off his care, it is scarcely surprising that he should thus have committed himself. I never saw him in this state before."

"I can understand it readily," replied Bruton: "I do not blame the poor fellow, but from my heart I pity his disappointment. It will do, Willie."

"Farewell, my Cicely; my cha-char—charm-er,” replied he, affectionately kissing his hand to Bruton as he rolled out of the room, still claiming companionship with the wall.

Soon after, the inmates of the house retired to rest, but they slept not through the night; for the noisy revellers in the streets still gave loud vent to their rejoicings at the return of the victorious

army of England from the French campaign. When the sun rose in the morning, it gave the first hint to the revellers throughout London that their holiday had been drawn out to a sufficient length of time; and then, with tottering step and exhausted bodies, they returned each to his own home, and resumed their usual occupations.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH.

EDWARD HERINGFORD, HAVING PROVIDED HIMSELF WITH ANOTHER ENEMY, RETURNS TO ELLERTON.

To relate the scene in the old priest's prison, when Heringford visited it on the following morning, were a task as easy as it is needless. The dignity of virtue was maintained; Father Francis in the cold dungeon differed in nothing from the village priest,gentle, forgiving, noble too, possessed of the fearlessness of conscious right. But his trial went no farther, for the intercession of Bruton obtained a pardon; and, ere Edward left the Tower, an order arrived for his release. King Henry held the accusation insufficiently supported, but cautioned the accused lest he should again lay himself open to suspicion.

But there was another circumstance connected with Heringford's visit to the Tower, which proved of the utmost importance in the influence it exerted over his subsequent career.

we pause.

Upon this

Shortly before arriving at the Tower gates, Edward met Captain Rantern, rather paler than usual, and exhibiting, in his whole appearance, evident signs of not having slept that night—a fact to be attributed, perhaps, not to anxiety, but to his having neglected the ordinary means of obtaining rest employed by less jovial mortals.

"Hast thou provided for the old priest's comfort?" inquired Edward.

"No," replied the captain; "I have heard of rascally turnkeys, but never of one like the villain here. I should like to be told that he was well whipped for his insolence!"

"What has he done?"

"Done! I only wish he would enlist in my company, I'd make

him smart for his conduct! I told him to treat the old man well, and he called me an illumination; told me that I was a red-faced scoundrel, for speaking in favour of a Lollard; that he knew his duty, and how heretic hounds were to be used. Upon this I said he was a brute, and he called me lobster.-So we parted, and I pity the poor prisoner whom I was compelled to leave at his tender mercy."

Rendered, by this information, yet more anxious to see the good father, and ascertain his condition, Edward lost no time in obtaining entrance. Being provided with the necessary passports, Heringford soon found himself walking behind the object of Captain Rantern's animosity, on his way to the old priest's cell.

Simon Byre, the turnkey, was a very tall, muscular man, apparently of middle age, and originally a native of some distant clime. His complexion was swarthy, with black bushy hair and eyebrows, receding forehead; eyes small, but bright and glaring, with features of a fierce and malignant cast. He wore a dingy white tunic, loose at the sleeves, and confined around the waist by a girdle, to which his keys were attached.

Looking upon Edward as a Lollard's visitor, Simon Byre put himself to some little inconvenience in studying a succession of insults; and Edward was startled to observe how the voice contrasted with the words, and look, and gesture of the speaker; for its tones were soft and gentle, mellifluous as might be those of a maiden lisping love.

The taunts of this man, and, still more, his brutality towards the old priest, excited Edward's indignation. Reproof called up retort; high words arose; and, when he left the Tower, Heringford at once lodged such a complaint against the man as caused his immediate dismissal from the office he had held. The hot blood of Simon Byre urged him, with all the ferocity of a degraded instinct, to seek revenge. But of this hereafter.

Nothing of consequence occurred during the remainder of that day; and on the following morning, Edward and Father Francis, accompanied by Willie Bats, who had dreamed of a treasure he longed to seek, returned on their way to Ellerton. The age of the good priest rendered a very rapid journey impracticable. It is true that the ardent Prento was not easily restrained to the dull pace of his companions; it is true that this vigorous steed angrily champed the bit, and jerked the bridle almost from his rider's grasp. Notwithstanding all these efforts, their progress was but slow; not even

although the impetuous animal flew now to one side of the road, now to another; rearing now on its hinder legs, now suddenly raising those limbs into mid air;-not even for all this was the journey more speedily completed. Prento's haste, indeed, rather delayed the travellers; for, at intervals of about five minutes, it was necessary to halt while that ingenious and accomplished creature performed various evolutions, and exhibited new specimens of equestrian locomotion. At one time he would walk sideways, then backwards; sometimes he would not walk at all;—he would remain motionless as a statue, then scour off with fiery haste, leaving the rest behind, as if desirous of warming himself after standing so long in the cold air.

Before they had travelled an hour, during which he had experienced one fall, and with difficulty reascended to his lofty seat, Willie expressed his opinion that riding was a very active exercise. Truly he enjoyed its activity to perfection! If he turned his head and his attention to his companions, up rose Prento's hinder legs, and down fell Willie upon the long neck of his charger, clasping it with both his little arms. Then he would work his way back, carefully, until he once more reached the saddle, and there he would fix himself firmly, and, with the bridle in one hand, Prento's uncombed mane in the other, his eye sharply fixed upon the capricious steed, he would cautiously jog on with his companions.

By night, however, they reached Joe Bensal's cottage-the usual resting place—and here they found Mat Maybird, who had left Ellerton for the purpose of seeking Edward. Kate Westrill was in coercion; in two days she was to wed Spenton-a consummation that, in Mat Maybird's opinion, Heringford ought not to allow. It was arranged, as the sole alternative, that Kate should be rescued by force from her brother's hands, and once more concealed from his persecution under the good priest's roof: there (a second time) it was not likely they would seek her.

Mat Maybird, as usual, was full of schemes, of the result of which he was very sanguine: Andrew Westrill and his accomplices were absent from the village; every thing, indeed, seemed to favour his expectations; a lock and a wooden door were the only difficulties to be overcome, at least, Mat Maybird thought so.

(To be continued.)

THE BOWER OF THE DEPARTED.

I STOOD beside her jasmine bower,

As o'er it fell the cold moon's ray,
And felt once more the magic power

Of spells that should have passed away;—
Of magic spells that o'er me came,
Beneath her once approving eye;

And yet the bower was still the same
As once in happier days gone by.

Yet not the same for other hands

Since then had culled the scented flower,
And there had gathered merry bands,
And careless hearts, at evening's hour.
The turf, that once she lightly trod,
By other feet is trodden now;
Yet memory claims that sainted sod,.
The scene of many a whispered vow.

The poet's page, that once she loved,
The very lines she loved to hear,
Stood where they wont, yet unremoved,
To passion and to memory dear.
A withered rose, that once was fair,
While blooming by the lost one's side,
Beside the book lay lonely there-

It withered when the loved one died.

Her lute hangs still among the leaves,
As once it hung-yet where is she?
Since she is gone, methinks it grieves
Profaned by other hands to be.
I struck the chord-so sad in tone,
It answered to the silent hour,
That, mourning o'er the minstrel gone,
With tears I left her jasmine bower.

C. H. H.

ROSE LEAVES.

SWEET, sweet is the Rose in her beauty; with the modest charms of the half-opened Rose-bud, what flower shall venture to contend?

Around its bed of honey were arranged in graceful form the hundred leaflets of a new-blown rose. Dewdrops kissed their