'Do with me what you please,' continued Fawkes, but do not compel Sir William Radcliffe to join the conspiracy. He will be fatal to it.'

'No one shall compel me to join it,' replied the knight.

'Perhaps it is better thus,' said Garnet, after a pause, during which he was buried in reflection.

son. But before you depart you you have just learnt.'

'Willingly,' replied the knight.

'I will urge you no further, my must swear not to divulge what

*There is another person who must also take that oath,' said Guy Fawkes, having accidentally become acquainted with as much as yourself.'

And stepping out of the chapel, he immediately afterwards returned with Viviana.

'You will now understand why I would not allow Sir William to join the conspiracy,' he observed to Garnet.

'I do,' replied the latter, gloomily.

The oath administered, the knight and his daughter quitted the chapel, accompanied by Guy Fawkes. Viviana was profuse in her expressions of gratitude, nor was her father less earnest in his ac. knowledgments.

A few hours after this, Sir William Radcliffe informed Sir Everard Digby that it was his intention to depart immediately; and, though the latter attempted to dissuade him from his purpose, by representing the danger to which he would be exposed, he continued inflexible. The announcement surprised both Catesby and Garnet, who were present when it was made, and added their dissuasions to those of Digby-but without effect. To Catesby's proposal to serve as an escort, Radcliffe likewise gave a peremptory refusal, stating that he had no fears; and when questioned as to his destination, he returned an evasive answer. This sudden resolution of the knight, coupled with his refusal to join the plot, alarmed the conspirators, and more than one expressed fears of treachery. Sir Everard Digby, however, was not of the number, but asserted, 'Radcliffe is a man of the highest honour. I will answer for his secrecy with my life.'

'Will you answer for that of his daughter?' said Tresham. 'I will,' replied Fawkes.

To put the matter beyond a doubt,' said Catesby, 'I will set out shortly after him, and follow him unobserved till he halts for the night, and ascertain whether he stops at any suspicious quarter.' 'Do so, my son,' said Garnet.

'It is needless,' observed Sir Everard Digby; but do as you please.'

By this time Radcliffe's horses being brought round by Heydocke, he and his daughter took a hasty leave of their friends. When they had been gone a few minutes, Catesby called for his steed; and,

after exchanging a word or two with Garnet, rode after them. He had scarcely proceeded more than a couple of miles along a crossroad leading to Nantwich, which he learnt from some cottagers was the route taken by the party before him, when he heard the tramp of a horse in the rear, and, turning at the sound, beheld Guy Fawkes. Drawing in the bridle, he halted till the latter came up, and angrily demanded on what errand he was bent.

'My errand is the same as your own,' replied Fawkes. 'I intend to follow Sir William Radcliffe, and, if need be, defend him.'

Whatever Catesby's objections might be to this companionship, he did not think fit to declare them, and, though evidently much displeased, suffered Guy Fawkes to ride by his side without opposition.

Having gained the summit of the mountainous range extending from Malpas to Tottenhall, whence they beheld the party whose course they were tracking enter a narrow lane at the foot of the hill, Catesby, fearful of losing sight of them, set spurs to his steed. Guy Fawkes kept close beside him, and they did not slacken their pace until they reached the lane.

They had not proceeded along it more than a quarter of a mile, when they were alarmed by the sudden report of fire-arms, followed by a loud shriek, which neither of them doubted was uttered by Viviana. Again dashing forward, on turning a corner of the road, they beheld the party surrounded by half a dozen troopers. Sir William Radcliffe had shot one of his assailants, and, assisted by Heydocke, was defending himself bravely against the others. With loud shouts, Catesby and Guy Fawkes galloped towards the scene of strife. But they were too late. A bullet pierced the knight's brain; and, no sooner did he fall, than, regardless of himself, the old steward flung away his sword, and threw himself, with the most piteous lamenta tions, on the body.

Viviana, meanwhile, had been compelled to dismount, and was in the hands of the troopers. On seeing her father's fate, her shrieks were so heart-piercing, that even her captors were moved to compassion. Fighting his way towards her, Catesby cut down one of the troopers, and snatching her from the grasp of the other, who was terrified by the furious assault, placed her on the saddle beside him, and striking spurs into his charger at the same moment, leapt the hedge, and made good his retreat.

This daring action, however, could not have been accomplished without the assistance of Guy Fawkes, who warded off with his rapier all the blows aimed at him and his lovely charge. While thus engaged, he received a severe cut on the head, which stretched him senseless and bleeding beneath his horse's feet.

THE EVENING STAR.

BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

THE night is come, but not too soon;
And sinking silently,

All silently, the little Moon

Drops down behind the sky.

There is no light in earth or heaven
But the pale light of stars;
And the first watch of night is given
To the red planet Mars.

Is it the tender star of love?

The star of love and dreams? Oh no! from that blue tent above A hero's armour gleams.

And earnest thoughts within me rise
When I behold afar,
Suspended in the evening skies,

The shield of that red star.

O star of strength! I see thee stand
And smile upon my pain;

Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand,
And I am strong again.

Within my soul there shines no light
But the pale light of stars;

I give the first watch of the night
To the red planet Mars!

The star of the unconquer'd will,
He rises in my breast,-
Serene, and resolute, and still,

And calm, and self-possess'd.

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art,
That readest this brief psalm,
As one by one thy hopes depart,
Be resolute and calm.

O! fear not in a world like this,
And thou shalt know ere Jong,
Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong!

THE PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPKIN (DECEASED).

WHERE SHALL WE DINE?—A LUCKY DISCOVERY.

SAMUEL RUSSELL, when a young man, and Cresswell (afterwards of Covent-Garden Theatre), belonged to a small strolling company in Kent. This concern breaking up, they applied to the manager of the Deal Theatre for employment, and succeeded in obtaining an engagement. The theatre, it was stated, would open in a few days. In the mean time their finances were in a woeful plight, Cresswell not having a farthing, and Russell possessing only three shillings and sixpence in the world. To render the matter worse, the latter, fancying that he had friends at Deal, laid out his three and sixpence on a pair of second-hand white kerseymere breeches, in which he intended to enact the part of Belcour. After making this purchase, Russell to his mortification discovered that the friends from whom he had expected assistance had quitted Deal.

Cresswell was a stout, melancholy person, and paraded the sands with an awfully craving appetite, and no credit. Russell, pour passer le temps, went to his lodgings to try on his kerseymeres. Whilst admiring them, he imagined that he felt something like buttons inside the lining at the knee. He proceeded immediately to cut open the seam, and to his great delight, miraculously discovered three half guineas, which had probably made their way from the pocket of some former fortunate possessor of the smallclothes. Highly elated with this piece of luck, Russell hit on an expedient to have some fun, in consequence, with poor Cresswell. Accordingly, he went to a tavern-the Hoop and Griffin, and ordered a roasted fowl and sausages, and a bottle of sherry, telling the waiter to lay the cloth, and he should return. He then sought Cresswell, whose appetite and despondency had increased in an eminent degree.

'What, in the name of Heaven, is to be done, Cresswell? This is Thursday, and the theatre will not open until Monday next. If you can last so long as that, I cannot.'

"I last ?' replied Cresswell. 'I am now perfectly empty. at my waistcoat.'

Look

'Come along,' says Russell; 'let us put a bold face on it. It is of no use being poor, and seeming poor, too. Let us go to the Hoop and Griffin, and try and get a dinner. We cannot be worse off than we are at present.'

Cresswell was a modest reserved man; but he followed Russell into the coffee-room of the tavern, which was vacant. As they stood before the fire the waiter was busily employed in laying the cloth. When he had left the room, 'Cresswell," said Russell, I have made up my mind to one point. You and I will dine with the gentleman for whom that cloth is laid.'

'Heavens! Russell, what is your intention?'

'No matter,' replied Russell; 'leave it all to me.'

He then looked out at the window, as if to observe whether any person was coming.

VOL. V.

38

'Here goes,' said Russell; and he rang the bell consequentially. Waiter, tell your mistress to send in the dinner.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Heaven bless us!' exclaimed Cresswell. You surely are not going to get us in such a dreadful scrape? We had better be hungry than dishonest.'

Necessity has no law,' said Russell; and so I shall tell the gentleman when he comes.' The waiter now entered with the roasted fowls and sausages, placed them on the table, and left the

room.

'I cannot resist it, Cresswell,' exclaimed Russell. How nice this fowl smells!' Accordingly he sat down, and removed the covers. 'Let me exhort you to take care what you are about,' said Cresswell; you know we neither of us have got a farthing. Oh! if you had not laid out your money on those deplorable breeches! Good Heayens! you are cutting up somebody else's fowl! Suppose the gentleman should come! Hadn't you better wait for him, and explain?'

D― the gentleman!' said Russell.

I'll fight him, if he does not like it. Sit down, I say. I'll hold you harmless!"

Cresswell was in great distress, and endeavoured in every way to persuade Russell to desist from his fraudulent mode of proceeding. At this moment the waiter bustled in with the bottle of sherry. Cresswell inwardly groaned, There's the gentleman's wine, too, to add to the misdemeanour!' At length, worn out with hunger, overcome by the savoury exhalation of the roasted fowl and sau sages, and persuaded by Russell, Cresswell moodily seated himself at the table. While Russell was carving, he took the opportunity occasionally to peer out of the window, and remark, 'He has not come yet.' After some glasses of wine Cresswell became a little less unhappy.

'For what we are going to receive,' said Russell, 'the Lord make us truly thankful.'

'Amen!' fervently ejaculated Cresswell, and devoured his share of the dinner with an appetite that showed how much he was in want of it. When the fowl was demolished, Russell, looking into the street, saw a stranger coming into the tavern.

'Here he is,' said poor Cresswell. Now it is all up with us!'

I will bet you a bottle of wine,' replied Russell coolly, 'to be paid in more prosperous times, that the gentleman will not take the slightest notice that we have eaten his dinner.'

'I hope to Heaven,' sighed Cresswell, he may not!'

'Now, observe,' said Russell, when he comes into the room I will give him a look that shall prevent him saying a word to us.'

Here the stranger entered: Cresswell modestly hung down his head; whilst Russell rose, and affected a sort of swagger, flourishing the carving-knife, humming a tune, and sitting down again.

'You are a wonderful fellow, Russell,' whispered Cresswell. He has not taken any notice of the loss of his fowl and wine!' 'Nor will he,' said Russell. He knows better.'

Cresswell remained on tenter-hooks all the afternoon, expecting the gentleman to break out every moment. He never knew that his companion had hoaxed him; but he set the stranger down as the greatest poltroon he had ever met in his life.