question. She is mother of the Marchioness of Dorset, and the grandmother of the young lady." "So!" said the innkeeper thoughtfully, weighing the connexion in his mind.

"So!" replied the other." But I see Lord Guilford's horse going a quicker pace than I expected; I shall have trouble in catching him up. Farewell, mine host; ours is a steep ascent, and only mind, there's one in a short time will stand so high, that you'll think with shame of the paltry cup of wine you dared to offer him-So there an end, and again farewell.”—And with this he fixed himself upright in the stirrups, and was about to give his horse the spur, when the stranger, who had hitherto been leaning against the railings, now crossed his path ;

"One word;-You often mentioned the name of Suffolk; pray, tell me, is not the lady in black with the long veil,

"The widow of the late duke," interrupted the other, piecing out the sentence;" quite right. By my troth," he added," one would take her

for the bride; it would have surprised nobody, if she had brought to the son-in-law of her husband's daughter the name and title which he has now received from that daughter herself. It is said, moreover, that the widow's veil, which falls so stately over her shoulders, at the same time sits so uncomfortably on them, that

"Leaving this," interrupted the stranger, "it is of importance to me that I should have a conference with the lady this very day be so good, therefore, as to take me with you to Sion House; once there I can mix in the suite of the duchess, and shall easily get a hearing."

The dress of the stranger was so plain, and so little like a wedding-dress, that the consequential servant was still balancing whether he should. grant his request, when the former mounted his horse, threw of his mantle, and appeared at his side in a habit, elegant, though modest.

"Much honour!" said the servant, glancing an eye of comparison from himself to the embroidered silk waistcoat, the laced ruff, and

knightly sword, of his neighbour.

"Much ho

nour!" he repeated, as they both trotted out of the court-yard along the road to Sion House.

Ralph Partridge followed them mechanically for a few paces. Suddenly he stopt, looked after the cavalcade, which now was visible only as a glimmering streak in the waving mist, and said, with a shake of the head, "I would I had been any thing but an innkeeper!—why, he is no better than a bed, a stool, a glass;-No sooner is he done with, then he is left, and folks go their way. What a devil of an occupation! that only irritates curiosity without ever satisfying it.”

"Let not that grieve you," said a voice close behind Partridge; "Let not that grieve you; what the breast of man hides is for the most part only care and sorrow, or what has for its consequence both care and sorrow."

"Ha! Doctor Fagius!" exclaimed the innkeeper in surprise, "How is it I see you again? How is it you have left Cambridge? And which way lies your course?"

"Beyond sea, mine honest host," replied the other, drawing his cloak more tightly about him. "It is a way that many more will seek; but, mark my words, it will not remain open to many more."

"What do you mean by that?" exclaimed Partridge, in a tone of wonder.

"What do I mean by that? I mean that Ralph Partridge will do well not to build too securely on the present. The king," he added, almost in a whisper, as they walked on, "the king is dying, and what will become of the reformed faith if the sceptre devolves to—"

"Is it possible," interrupted the host, "that you should be so little acquainted with the history of the day? Know you nothing of Lord Dudley and the beautiful Lady Jane? Have you no better faith in the crafty Warwick, who as suddenly embraced one part as he had removed the protector Somerset, and raised himself to be Duke of Northumberland. Leave all to him;

trust me, he sees his way. Lady Jane Gray will

wear the crown; the sceptre falls to her, as every child knows in the streets of London."

For a moment the mild pupil of Luther stood wrapt in thought. Involuntarily he raised his hands to heaven.

"The event is written there; I know it not. But I should unwillingly witness the grief of the church, which is threatened with new attacks in this changeful country. Oh, my kind friend, that which you cite as a ground of comfort, you should rather fear as the occasion of fresh disturbance. King Edward's death will find much work for the executioner; for, be it as it may, the rights of three women are in the scales, and the conquered is always a rebel."

"You would confound me," sighed the host, "if I did not find a consolation in the splendour of the new dynasty which just now past by us in all its strength and freshness. Truly you should have seen her, the beautiful bride of Dudley!"

"So much the worse for her and England, if she can win hearts and bribe the senses; so