Peter Anderson then told me that he would teach me, provided I behaved myself well. He desired I would come to his cabin every afternoon at six o'clock, a time which interfered little with my avocation of Poor Jack,' and that he would give me a lesson. Before he had finished talking, one I of the lieutenants of the hospital sent for him; and Ben remained behind, to point out to me how valuable my knowing how to read and write might one day prove to me. "I've no larning myself, Jack," said he; "and I know the loss of it. Had I known how to read and write, I might have been some thing better than a poor Greenwich pensioner; but, nevertheless, I'm thankful that I'm no worse. Ever since. I've been a man grown I've only regretted it onceand that's been all my life. Why, Jack, I'd give this right arm of mine-to be sure, it 's no great things now; but once it could send a harpoon in, up to the hilt-but still a right arm is a right arm to the end of your days; and I'd give it with pleasure, if I only knew how to read and write;-nay, I wouldn't care about the writing; but, if I could only read print, Jack, I'd give it; for then I could read the Bible, as Peter Anderson does. Why, Jack, when we do go to chapel on Sunday, there's not one in ten of us who can follow the parson with his book; all we can do is to listen; and when he has done speaking, we are done also, and must wait till he preaches again. Don't I feel ashamed, then, Jack, at not being able to read; and ought not they to feel proud who can; -no, not proud, but thankful?* We don't think of the Bible much in our younger days, boy; but, when we are tripping our anchor for the other world, we long to read away our doubts and misgivings; and it's the only chart you can navigate by safely. I think a parent has much to answer for, that don't teach its child to read; but I must not blame my father or mother, for I never knew them." "Never knew them?' "No, boy, no. My father and mother left me when I was one year old; he was drowned; and my mother-she died too, poor soul!" "How did your mother die, Ben?" "It's a sad, sad story, Jack, and I cannot bear to think of it; it was told me long afterward, by one who little thought to whom he was speaking." "Do tell me, Ben." enough, was sent to sea. I had been told that my father and mother had been lost at sea, but no one could tell me howand I thought little more about it, for I had never known them; and those we do n't know we do not love or care for, be they father or mother. Well, I had sailed four or five voyages to the north, in the whalers, and was then about twenty-five years old, when I thought I would go back to Yarmouth and show myself; for I was 'harpooner and steersman' at that early age, and not a little proud. I thought I would go and look at the old workhouse, for it was the only thing I could recollect; and see if the master and mistress were still alive; for they were kind to me when I was living with them. I went to Yarmouth, as I said: there was the workhouse; and the master and mistress both alive; and I made myself known to them, and the old people looked at me through their spectacles, and could not believe that I could possibly be the little Ben, who used to run to the pump for water. I had money in my pocket; and I liked the old people, who offered me all they could give, without hopes of receiving any thing in return; and, as I knew nobody else, I used to live much with them, and pay them handsomely; I gave the old man some curiosities, and the old woman a teapot, and so on; and I remained with them till it was time for me to sail again. Now you see, Jack, among the old folk in the workhouse, was a man who had been at sea; and I often had long talks with him, and gave him tobacco, which he could n't afford to buy, for they do n't allow it in a workhouse, which is a great hardship; and I have often thought that I should not like to go into a workhouse, because I never could have a bit of tobacco. This man's hair was as white as snow, much too white for his age, for he was more decrepid and worn out than, perhaps, he was old. He had come home to his parish, and, being unable to gain his living, they had sent him to the workhouse. I can't understand why a place should be called a workhouse, where they do nothing at all Well, Charley, as they called him, got very ill; and they thought he would not last long-and when the old people were busy, I used to talk a great deal with him; he was generally very quiet and composed, and said he was comfortable, but that he knew he was going fast. 66 6 'But,' says he, 'here 's my comfort;' and he pointed to a Bible that he had on his knees. If it had not been for this "You're too young, boy, for such a tale-it's too shock- book,' said he, 'I do think, at times, I should have made ing." "Was it worse than being froze to death, as I nearly was the other day?" "Yes, my lad, worse than that; although, for one so young as you are, that was quite bad enough." “Well, Ben, I won't ask you to tell me, if it pains you to tell it. But you did not do wrong?" "How could a baby of two years old do wrong? and five thousand miles off at the time, you little fool? Well, I do n't know if I won't tell you, Jack, after all; because you will then find out that there's a comfort in reading the Bible-but you must promise me never to speak about it. I'm a foolish old fellow to tell it to you, Jack, I do believe; but I'm fond of you, boy, and I do n't like to say 'no' to you. Now come to an anchor close to me. The bells are ringing for dinner. I shall lose my meal, but you will not lose your story, and there will be no fear of interruption. "My father was brought up to the sea, Jack, and was a smart young man till he was about thirty; when a fall from the main-yard disabled him from hard duty, and going aloft; but still he had been brought up to sea, and was fit for nothing on shore. So, as he was a clean, likely fellow, he obtained the situation of purser's steward in an Indiaman. After that, he was captain's steward on board of several ships. He sailed originally from Yarmouth; and, going home, after a voyage, to see his relations, he fell in with my mother, and they were spliced. He was very fond of his wife; and I believe she was a very true and good woman, equally fond of him. He went to sea again, and I was born. He made another voyage to India; and when he came back, I was two years old. I do not recollect him or my mother. My father had agreed to sail to the West Indies as captain's steward, and the captain, with whom he had 'sailed before, consented that he should take his wife with him, to attend upon the lady passengers; so I was left at Yarmouth, and put out to nurse till they came back-but they never came back, Jack; and, as soon as I can recollect, I found myself in the workhouse, and, when old Ben's observations were true at the time he spoke but this is no longer the case. So much more general has education become, that how, in a ship's company, at least five out of seven can read. away with myself.' 66 6 "Why,' say I, 'what have you done? Have you been very wicked?' actly it-I have been haunted for so many years, that I have been almost driven mad.' "We are all very wicked,' said he; but that's not ex "Why,' said I, what can you have done that you should have been haunted? You hav' n't committed murder, have you?' "Well, I don't know what to say,' replied he; if a man looks on and do n't prevent murder, is it not the same? I hav' n't long to live, and I feel as if I should be happier if I made a clean breast of it; for I have kept the secret a long while; and I think that you, as a sailor, and knowing what sailors suffer, may have a fellow feeling; and perhaps you will tell me (for I'm somewhat uneasy about it) whether you think that I am so very much to blame in the business? I've suffered enough for it these many years; and I trust that it will not be forgotten that I have so, when I'm called judged—as we all shall, if this book is true-as I fully believe it to be." up to be "Here he appeared to be a good deal upset; but he took a drink of water, and then he told me as follows: "About twenty-three years ago, I was a seaman on board of the William and Caroline, West Indiaman, bound to Jamaica. We had two or three passengers on board, and the steward's wife attended upon them. She was a handsome tall young woman; and when she and her husband came on board, they told me they had one child, which they had left at home. Now Yarmouth, you see, is my native place; and, although I did not know her husband, I knew her family very well; so we were very intimate, and I used to talk about the people we knew, and so on. I mention this, in consequence of what occurred afterward. We arrived very safe at Jamaica, and remained, as usual, some time at the island before the drogers brought round our cargo, and then we again sailed for England. "Well, we got clear of the islands, and were getting well north, when there came on a terrible gale of wind which dismasted us; and for three weeks we were rolling about gunnel under, for we were very heavily laden; and we lost our reckoning.. At last we found out that we had been blown down among the reefs to the southward of the Bahama Isles. We had at one time rigged jury masts, but unfortunately the gale had blown up again, and carried them also over the side; and we had no means of doing any thing, for we had no more small spars or sails, and all our hopes were, of falling in with some vessel which might assist us. "But we had no such good fortune; and one morning, when a heavy sea was running, we discovered that it was bearing us down upon a reef of rocks, from which there was no chance of escape. We had no resource but to get the boats out, and take our chance in them. The captain was very cool and collected; he ordered every thing in which might be requisite; called up the men, and explained to them his intentions. All the water and provisions were put into the launch, for the sea ran so high that the small boats could not carry them; and it was intended that all the boats should keep com, pany till it moderated, and then each boat should have his own supply. When all was ready, we were told off to our respective boats. The steward and his wife were to be in the same boat with me; and I had put her carefully in the stern sheets, for I was her great friend. Now the steward was called out by the captain to go for something which had been forgotten; and while he was away the ship was struck by a heavy sea, which occasioned such a breach over her that all was in confusion, and, to prevent the small boats from swamping, they were pushed off. The launch was still held on for the captain, who hastened in with the mate and the steward, for they were the only three left on board; and away we all went. tion this as the cause why the steward was separated (only for a time, as we supposed) from his wife. We had not been clear of the ship more than five minutes, before we found that in our boat, could hardly make head 'gainst the wind and swell, which bore down on the reef close to us; the launch, which was a heavy pulling boat and deeply laden, could not; and in a quarter of an hour we had the misery to see her in the breakers, swallowed up with all hands, together with all the provisions and water for our sustenance. I will not attempt to describe the agony of the steward's wife, who saw her husband perish before her eyes. She fainted; and it was a long time before she came to again; for no one could leave his oar for a minute to assist her, as we pulled for our lives. At last she did come to. Poor thing! I felt for her. Toward night the wind lulled, and we had every appearance of fine weather coming on; but we had nothing to eat, and only a barrico of water in the boat, and we were quite exhausted with fatigue. we, men "We knew that we must pull to the northward, and try and fetch the Bahama isles, or, perhaps, one of the small quays to the Southward of them, where we might procure turtle, and, perhaps, water; and when the sea had gone down, which it did very fast, we put the head of our boat in that direction, pulling all night. At day break, the other boat was not to be seen; it was a dead calm, but there was still a long heavy swell-we shared out some water and rested till the evening, and then we took to our oars again. "We rowed hard till the morning, but when the sun rose it scorched us up; it was impossible for us to keep to our oars without drinking, and, there being no one to take the command, our water was all gone; and we had not gained fifty miles to the northward. On the third morning we laid down exhausted at the bottom of the boat-we were dying not only with thirst but with hunger; we had agreed that when night came on we would take to the oars again; but some would and some would not; so that, at last, those who had taken to their oars would pull no longer. "The steward's wife at times sang psalms, and at times wept; she had a very sweet voice; but her lips were soon glued together for want of water, and she could sing no longer. When the sun rose on the fourth day, there was no vessel to be seen: some were raving for water, and others sat crouched under the boat's thwarts in silent despair. But, toward evening, the sky clouded over, and there fell a heavy rain, which refreshed us. We took the gown from off the steward's wife, and spread it, and caught the water; and we all drank until our thirst was quenched,-even our wet clothes were a comfort to us;-still we were gnawed with hunger. That night we slept; but the next morning every man's eye flashed, and we all looked as if we would eat each other; and there were whisperings and noddings going on in the bow of the boat; and a negro who was with us took out his knife, and sharpened it on the boats gunnel. No one asked him why. We spoke not, but we all had our own thoughts. It was dreadful to look at our hollow cheeks, our eyes sunken deep, but glaring like red hot coals,-our long beards and hag gard faces,-every one ready to raise his hand against the other. The poor woman never complained or said a word after she left off singing,-her thoughts appeared elsewhere. She sat for hours motionless, with her eyes fixed on the still blue wa ter, as if she would pierce its depth. At last the negro came aft; and we were each upon our guard as he passed us, for we had seen him sharpen his knife. He went to the stern sheets, where the poor woman sat, and we all knew what he intended to do-for he only acted our own thoughts. She was still hanging over the gunnel, with her eyes fixed downwards, and she heeded not his approach: he caught her by the hair, and dragged her head towards him. She then held out her arms towards me, faintly calling me by name; but I-shame on me-remained sitting on the after thwart. The negro thrust his knife into her neck, below the ear; and, as soon as he had divided the artery, he glued his thick lips to the gash, and sucked her blood. "When the deed was done, others rose up and would have shared; but the negro kept his white eyes directed towards them-one arm thrust out, with his knife pointed at them, as he slaked his thirst, while, with his other round her waist, he supported her dying frame. The attitude was that of fondness, while the deed was-murder. He appeared as if he was caressing her, while her life's blood poured into his throat. At last we all drew our knives; and the negro knew that he must resign his prey, or his life. He dropped the woman, and she fell, with her face forward, at my feet. She was quite dead. And then-our hunger was relieved. "Three days passed away, and again we were mad for want of water,-when we saw a vessel. We shouted, and shook hands, and threw out the oars, and pulled as if we had never suffered. It was still calm, and, as we approached the vessel, we threw what remained of the poor woman into the sea; and the sharks finished what we had left. We agreed to say nothing about her; for we were ashamed of ourselves. "Now, I did not murder, but I did not prevent it; and I have ever since been haunted by this poor woman. I see her and the negro constantly before me; and then I think of what passed, and I turn sick. I feel that I ought to have saved her, she is always holding out her arms to me, and I hear her faintly call Charles,'-then I read my Bible-and she disappears, and I feel as if I were forgiven.-Tell me, what do you think, messmate?" 'Why,' replied I, 'sarcumstances will make us do what we otherwise would never think possible. I never was in such a predicament; and, therefore, can't tell what people may be brought to do-but tell me, messmate, what was the name of the poor woman?' 666 666 The husband's name was Ben Rivers.' Rivers, did you say?' replied I, struck all of a heap. "'Yes,' replied he; that was her name; she was of this town;-but never mind the name,-tell me what you think, messmate?' "Well,' says I. (for I was quite bewildered,) 'I'll tell you what, old fellow-as far as I'm consarned, you have my for giveness, and now I must wish you good bye-and I pray to God that we may never meet again.' "Stop a little,' said he; don't leave me this way-Ah! I see how it is-you think I'm a murderer.' "No I don't, replied I; 'not exactly-still there'll be no harm in your reading your Bible.' "And so I got up, and walked out of the room-for you see, Jack, although he mayn't have been so much to blame, still I didn't like to be in company with a man who had eaten up my own mother!" Here Ben paused, and sighed deeply. I was so much shocked with the narrative, that I could not say a word. At last Ben continued: "I couldn't stay in the room-I couldn't stay in the work house. I couldn't even stay in the town. Before the day closed, I was out of it-and I have never been there since. Now, Jack, I must go in-remember what I have said to you, and larn to read your Bible." I promised that I would, and that very evening I had my first lesson from Peter Anderson-and I continued to receive them until I could read well. He then taught me to write and cipher; but before I could do the latter, many events occurred, which must be made known to the reader. THE TOWER OF LONDON.* A HISTORICAL ROMANCE. EY W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, BOOK THE FIRST....JANE THE QUEEN. PART II. V. Of the misunderstanding that arose between Queen Jane and her husband, Lord Guilford Dudley. Jane not appearing, and some time having elapsed since her departure, her sisters, who were anxiously awaiting her return in the room adjoining the council-chamber, became so uneasy, that, notwithstanding her injunctions to the contrary, they resolved to go in search of her. Accordingly, bidding the ushers precede them, they descended to the chapel; and their uneasiness was by no means decreased on finding it buried in darkness, and apparently empty. As they gazed around in perplexity and astonishment, a deep-drawn sigh broke from the northern aisle; and, hurrying in that direction, they discovered the object of their search, who had been hidden from view by the massive intervening pillars, extended upon a seat, and just recovering from a swoon into which she had fallen. Revived by their assiduities, Jane was soon able to speak, and the first thing she uttered was a peremptory or der that no alarm should be given, or assistance sent for. "I am now well-quite well," she said, with a look and in a tone that belied her words, "and require no further aid. Do not question me as to what has happened. My brain is too confused to think of it; and I would fain banish it altogether from my memory. Moreover, I charge you by your love and allegiance, that you mention to no one-not even to my dear lord and husband, should he interrogate you on the subject-how you have just found me. And if my visit here be not remarked by him-as is not unlikely, if he should remain closeted with the Duke of Northumberland-it is my will and pleasure that no allusion be made to the circumstance. You will not need to be told, dear sisters, that I have good reasons for thus imposing silence upon you. To you, sirs," she continued, addressing the ushers, who listened to her with the greatest surprise, "I also enjoin the strictest secrecy and look well you observe it." The solemn and mysterious manner in which the Queen delivered her commands quite confounded her sisters, who glanced at each other as if they knew not what to think-but they readily promised compliance, as did the ushers. Sup porting herself on the arm of Lady Herbert, Jane then arose, and proceeded at a slow pace toward the eastern stair-case. As she was about to turn the corner of the aisle, she whispered to Lady Hastings, who walked on her left, “ Look behind you, Catherine. Do you see nothing on the ground?" "Nothing whatever, your highness," replied the other, glancing fearfully over her shoulder. "Nothing whatever, except the black and fantastic shadows of our attendants." "Thank Heaven! it is gone," ejaculated Jane, as if rclieved from a weight of anxiety. "What is gone, dear sister?" inquired Lady Herbert, affectionately. "Do not ask me," replied Jane, in a tone calculated to put an end to further conversation on the subject. "What I have seen and heard must for ever remain locked in my own bosom." "I began to think a spirit must have appeared to your ma," observed Lady Herbert, whose curiosity was violently jesty," excited, and who, in common with most persons of the period, entertained a firm belief in supernatural appearances. Every chamber in the Tower is said to be haunted-and why not this ghostly chapel, which looks as if it were peopled with fantoms?. I am quite sorry I proposed to visit it. But if I am ever caught in it again, except in broad daylight, and then only with sufficient attendance, your majesty shall have free leave to send me to keep company with the invisible world for the future. I would give something to know what you have seen. Perhaps it was the ghost of Anne Boleyn, who is known to walk-or the Guilty Catherine Howard-or • Continued from page 205. the old Countess of Salisbury. Do tell me what it was-and whether the spectre carried its head under its arm?" "No more of this," said Jane, authoritatively. "Come with me to the altar." "Your majesty is not going to remain here?" cried Lady Hastings. "I declare positively I dare not stop." "I will not detain you longer than will suffice to offer a single prayer to Heaven," rejoined the Queen. "Be not afraid. Nothing will injure or affright you." "Where ?" "I am by no means sure of that," replied Lady Hastings. "And now I really do think I see something." "Indeed!" exclaimed Jane, starting. "Behind the farthest pillar on the right," replied Lady Hastings, pointing toward it. "It looks like a man muffled in a cloak There?-it moves." "Go and see whether any one be lurking in the chapel," said Jane to the nearest usher, and speaking in a voice so loud, that it almost seemed as if she desired to be overheard. The attendant obeyed; and immediately returned with the intelligence that he could find no one. "Your fears, you perceive, are groundless, Catherine," observed Jane, forcing a smile. "Not altogether, I am persuaded, from your manner, my "Oh! how I wish I was safe back again in the palace." dear sister, and gracious mistress," rejoined Lady Hastings. "So do I," added Lady Herbert. "A moment's patience and I am ready," rejoined Jane. With this sbe approached the altar, and prostrated herself on the velvet cushion before it. "Almighty Providence!" she murmured in a tone so low as to be inaudible to the others, "I humbly petition thee and supplicate thee, that if the kingdom that has been given me be rightly and lawfully mine, thou wilt grant me so much grace and spirit, that I may govern it to thy glory, service, and advantage. But if it be otherwise-if I am unlawfully possessed of it, and am a hindrance to one who might serve thee more it on that of thy chosen servant! And if what I have this night effectually, remove, O Lord, the crown from my head, and set doom that awaits me, grant me, I beseech thee, strength to beheld be a fore-shadowing and a warning of the dreadful meet it with fortitude and resignation;-so that my ending, like my life, may redound to thy honor, and the welfare of thy holy church." stood behind her, could scarcely control their uneasiness, but While Jane was thus dévoutly occupied, her sisters, who glanced ever and anon timorously round, as if in expectation of some fearful interruption. Their fears were speedily communicated to the ushers; and though nothing occurred to occasion fresh alarm, the few minutes spent by the Queen in prayer appeared an age to her companions. There was something in the hour-it was past midnight,—and the place, calthe attendants only illumined a portion of the chapel; renderculated to awaken superstitious terrors. The lights borne by ing that which was left in shadow yet more sombre; while the of the gallery above, were shrouded in gloom. Even in broad columned aisles on either side, and the deeply recessed arches day, St. John's Chapel is a solemn and a striking spot; but at midnight, with its heavy, hoary pillars, reared around like phantoms, its effect upon the imagination will be readily con ceived to be far greater. Already described as one of the most perfect specimens of Norman ecclesiastical architecture, this venerable structure, once used as a place of private worship by the old monarchs of England, and now as a receptacle for Chancery proceedings, has, from its situation in the heart of the White Tower, preserved, in an almost unequaled state, its original freshness and beauty; and, except that its floors are encumbered with cases, and its walls of Caen stone disfigured by a thick coat of white plaster, it is now much in the same state that it was at the period under consideration. It consists of a nave with broad aisles, flanked (as has been mentioned) by twelve circular pillars, of the simplest and most solid construction, which support a stone gallery of equal width with the aisles, and having an arcade corresponding with that beneath. The floor is now boarded, but was formerly covered with a hard polished cement, resembling red granite. The roof is coved, and beautifully proportioned; and the fane is completed by a semicircular termination toward the east. Old Stowe records the following order, given in the reign of Henry the Third, for its decoration:-"And that ye cause the whole chapel of St. John the Evangelist to be whited. And that ye cause three glass windows in the same chapel to be mede; to wit, one on the north side, with a certain little Mary holding her child; the other on the south part, with the turned to Lord Guilford, except that it was couched in a firmer image of the Trinity; and the third, of St. John the Apostle tone; but it had this addition, that she was well aware of his and Evangelist, in the south part. And that ye cause the cross Grace's object in the proposal, which was, in effect, to obtain and the beam beyond the altar of the same chapel to be paint-possession of the supreme power. In vain arguments, ened well and with good colors. And that we cause to be made treaties, and even threats, were used by the Duke: Jane conand painted two fair images where more conveniently and de- tinued inflexible. Northumberland was succeeded by his no cently they may be done in the same chapel; one of St. Ed- less imperious spouse, who, with all the insolence of her arroward, holding a ring, and reaching it out to St. John the Evan- gant nature, rated her daughter-in-law soundly, and strove to gelist." These fair images-the cross-the rood,—and the terrify her into compliance. But she, too, failed; and Lord splendid illuminated window, are gone-most of them, indeed, Guilford was so enraged at his consort's obstinacy, that were gone in Queen Jane's time-the royal worshippers are quitted the Tower, and departed for Sion House, without even gone with them; but enough remains in its noble arcades, taking leave of her. its vaulted aisles, and matchless columns, to place St. John's Chapel foremost in beauty of its class of architecture. Her devotions over, Jane arose with a lighter heart, and, accompanied by her little train, quitted the chapel. On reaching her own apartments, she dismissed her attendants, with renewed injunctions of secresy; and as Lord Guilford Dudley had not returned from the council, and she felt too much disturbed in mind to think of repose, she took from among the books on her table, a volume of the divine Plato, whose Phædo, in the original tongue, she was wont, in the words of her famous instructor, Roger Ascham, "to read with as much delight as some gentlemen would take in a merry tale of Boccace;" and was speedily lost in his profound and philosophic speculations. In this way the greater part of the night was consumed; nor was it till near day-break that she was aroused from her studies by the entrance of her husband. "Jane, my beloved queen!" he exclaimed, hastening toward her with a countenance beaming with delight. "I have intelligence for you which will enchant you." "Indeed! my dear lord," she replied, laying down her book, and rising to meet him. "What is it?" "Guess," he answered, smiling. Perplexed as he felt by Jane's conduct, Northumberland was too well versed in human nature not to be aware that a character however soft and pliant may, by the sudden alteration of circumstances,be totally changed-but he was by no means prepared for such a remarkable display of firmness as Jane had exhibited. The more he considered the matter, the more satisfied he became that she had some secret counsellor, under whose guidance she acted, and with the view of finding out who it was, he resolved to have all her motions watched. No one appeared so well fitted to this office as his daughter, the Lady Hastings; and sending for her, he extracted from her, in the course of conversation, all particulars with which she was acquainted of the mysterious occurrence in St. John's Chapel. This information filled Northumberland with new surprise, and convinced him that he had more to dread than he at first imagined, and that the schemes of his enemies must be in full operation.. His suspicions fell upon Simon Renard, though he scarcely knew how to connect him with this parti cular occurrence. Dismissing his daughter with full instruc tions for the part he desired her to play, he continued for some time brooding over the mystery, and vainly trying to unravel it. At one time, he resolved to interrogate Jane; but the reception he had recently experienced induced him to adopt a different and more cautious course. His thoughts, however, were soon diverted from the subject, by the onerous duties that pressed upon him. Among other distractions, not the least was the arrival of a messenger with the intelligence that Mary had retired from Kenninghall in Norfolk, whither he had des patched a body of men to surprise her, and retreated to a more secure post, Framlingham Castle-that she had been "They have not the power to do so, my lord," she rejoined proclaimed in Norwich-and that her party was hourly gaingravely; "I, alone, can thus elevate you." "Then I am king," cried Dudley, triumphantly. My lord," observed Jane, with increased gravity, "you will pardon me if I say I must consider of this matter.' "Consider of it!" echoed her husband, frowning; “I must have your decision at once. You can have no hesitation, since my father desires it. I am your husband, and claim your obedience.' “And I, my lord," rejoined Jane, with dignity, "am your queen; and, as such, it is for me, not you, to exact obedience. We will talk no further on the subject." "As you please, madam," replied Lord Guilford, coldly."To-morrow you will learn the Duke's pleasure." "When I do so, he shall know mine," rejoined Jane. "How is this?" exclaimed Dudley, gazing at her in astonishment. "Can it be possible you are the same Jane whom I left-all love-all meekness-all compliance ?—or have a few hours of rule so changed your nature, that you no longer love me as heretofore?" "Dudley," returned Jane, tenderly, "you are dear to me as ever; and if I accede not to your wishes, do not impuse it to other than the right motive. As a queen, I have duties paramount to all other considerations-duties which, so long as I am queen, I will fulfil to the best of my ability, and at every personal sacrifice. Be not wholly guided by the counsels of your father-be not dazzled by ambition. The step you propose is fraught with danger. It may cost me my crown, and cannot ensure one to you." 'Enough," replied her husband, apparently convinced by her arguments. "We will postpone its further consideration till to-morrow." ing strength in all quarters. Ill news seldom comes alone, and the proud Duke experienced the truth of the adage.Other messengers brought word that the Earls of Bath, Sus sex, and Oxford, Lord Wentworth, Sir Thomas Cornwallis, Sir Henry Jerningham, and other important personages, had declared themselves in her favor. While he was debating upon the best means of crushing this danger in the bud, a page from Lady Hastings suddenly presented himself, and informed him that the Queen was at that moment engaged in deep conference with M. Simon Renard, in St. Peter's Chapel. On inquiry, the Duke learned that Jane, who had been greatly disturbed in mind since her hus band's departure, had proceeded to St. Peter's Chapel-(a place of worship situated at the north end of the Tower Green, and appropriated to the public devotions of the court and household,)-accompanied by her mother, the Duchess of Suffolk, and her sisters, the Ladies Herbert and Hastings; and that the train had been joined by the Earls of Pembroke and Arundel, De Noailles, and Simon Renard-the latter of whom, when the Queen's devotions were ended, had joined her. Tarrying for no further information, the Duke summoned his attendants, and hastened to the Tower Green. Entering the chapel, he found the information he had received was correct. The wily embassador was standing with the Queen before the altar. VI.-Of the solemn exhortation pronounced to the giants by Master Edward Underhill, the "hot-gospeller," at their lodging in the byward tower; and of the effect produced thereby." In spite of the interruption occasioned by the dwarf, the evening at the Stone Kitchen passed off pleasantly enough. Dame Potentia was restored to good humor by the attentions When that morrow came, Dudley's first business was to seek of the jovial warder, and the giants in consequence were rehis father, and acquaint him with the manner in which his galed with an excellent and plentiful supper, of which Xit communication to the Queen had been received. The haughty was permitted to partake. Whether it was that their long Duke appeared surprised, but imputed the failure to his son's fasting, or their attendance at the state-banquet. had sharpened mismanagement, and undertook to set it right. With this the appetites of the three gigantic brethren, or that the viands view, he repaired to the Queen's apartments, and on obtaining set before them were of a more tempting nature than ordian audience, informed her that he and the lords of the council nary, we pretend not to say, but certain it is that their prodihad resolved to place her husband on the throne beside her.-gious performances at the table excited astonishment from Her answer differed in nothing from that which she had re- all who witnessed them, and elicited the particular approba tion of Ribald, who, being curious to ascertain how much they could eat, insisted on helping them to every thing on the board, and, strange to say, met with no refusal. With the profuse hospitality of the period, all the superfluities of the royal feast were placed at the disposal of the household; and it may therefore be conceived that Peter Trusbut's table was by no means scantily furnished. Nor was he disposed to stint his guests. Several small dishes which had been set before them having disappeared with marvelous celerity, he cauled for the remains of a lordly baron of beef, which had recently graced the royal sideboard. At the sight of this noble joint, Og, who had just appropriated a dish of roast quails, two of which he despatched at a mouthful, uttered a grunt of intense satisfaction, and abandoning the trifling dainties to Xit, prepared for the more substantial fare. Assuming the part of carver, Peter Trusbut sliced off huge wedges of the meat, and heaped the platters of the giants with more than would have satisfied men of ordinary appetites. But this did not satisfy them. They came again and again. The meat was of such admirable quality so well roasted-so full of gravy, and the fat was so exquisite, that they could not sufficiently praise it, nor do it sufficient justice. The knife was never out of Peter Trusbut's hands; nor was he allowed to remain idle a moment. Scarcely had he helped Og, when Gog's plate was empty; and before Gog had got his allowance, Magog was bellowing for more. And so it continued as long as a fragment remained upon the bones. heart was no longer her own; and if her lover had deceived her, and feigned a passion which he did not feel, she had no help for it, but to love on unrequited. While her bosom alternately fluttered with hope, or palpitated with fear, and her hands mechanically pursued their employment, she chanced to raise her eyes, and beheld the sinister gaze of Lawrence Nightgall fixed upon her. There was something in his malignant look that convinced her he read what was passing in her breast-and there was a bitter and exulting smile on his lip which, while it alarmed her on her account, terrified her (she knew not why) for her lover. "You are thinking of the young esquire who left you an hour ago," he observed sarcastically. "I will not attempt to deny it," replied Cicely, coloring; "I am." "I knew it," rejoined the jailer; "and he dared to tell you he loved you?" Cicely made no reply. "And you ?-what answer did yon give him, mistress ?"— continued Nightgall, furiously grasping her arm. "What answer did you give him, I say?" "Let me go," cried Cicely. "You hurt me dreadfully. I will not be questioned thus.' "I overheard what you said to him," rejoined the jailer."You told him that you loved him-that you had loved no other-and would wed no other." "I told him the truth," exclaimed Cicely. "I do love him, and will wed him." "It is false," cried Nightgall, laughing maliciously. "You will never see him again." "How know you that?" she cried, in alarm. "He has left the Tower-for ever," returned the jailer, moodily. Impossible!" cried Cicely. "The Duke of Northumber land has given orders that no one shall go forth without a pass. Beside, he told me he was returning to the palace." "I tell you he is gone," thundered Nightgall. "Hear me, Cicely," he continued, passionately. "I have loved you long Puffing with the exertion he had undergone, the pantler then sat down, while Ribald, resolved not to be balked of his pastime, entreated Dame Potentia to let her guests wash down their food with a measure of metheglin. After some little solicitation, she complied, and returned with a capacious jug containing about three gallons of the balmy drink. The jug was first presented to Magog. Raising it to his lips, he took a long and stout pull, and then passed it to Gog, who detained it some seconds, drew a long breath, and returned it to Dame Trusbut, perfectly empty. By dint of fresh en--desperately. I would give my life-my soul for you. Do treaties from the warder, Dame Potentia was once more in- not cast me aside for this vain court-gallant, who pursues you duced to seek the cellar; and, on receiving the jug, Og took only to undo you. He would never wed you." care to leave little in it for his brethren, but poured out what was left into a beaker for Xit. They were now literally "giants refreshed;" and Peter Trusbut, perceiving that they still cast wistful glances toward the larder, complied with a significant wink from Ribald, and went in search of further provisions. This time he brought the better half of a calvered salmon, a knuckle of Westphalia ham, a venison pasty with a castellated crust of goodly dimensions, a larded capon, and the legs and carcass of a peacock, decorated with a few feathers from the tail of that gorgeous bird. Magog, before whom the latter dainty was placed, turned up his nose at it, and giving it to Xit, vigorously assaulted the venison pasty. It soon became evident that the board would again be speedily cleared; and though he had no intention of playing the niggardly host on the present occasion, Peter Trusbut declared that this was the last time such valiant trenchermen should ever feed at his cost. But his displeasure was quickly dispelled by the mirth of the warder, who laughed him out of his resolution, and encouraged the giants to proceed by every means in his power. Og was the first to give in. Throwing back his huge frame on the bench, he seized a flask of wine that stood near him, emptied it into a flagon, tossed it off at a draught, and declared he had had enough. Gog soon followed his example. But Magog seemed insatiable, and continued actively engaged, to the infinite diversion of Ribald, and the rest of the guests. There was one person to whom this festive scene afforded no amusement. This was the fair Cicely. After Cholmondeley's departure-though wholly unacquainted with what had befallen him-she lost all her sprightliness, and could not summon up a smile, though she blushed deeply when rallied by the warder. In surrendering her heart at the first summons of the enamored esquire, Cicely had obeyed an uncontrollable impulse; but she was by no means satisfied with herself for her precipitancy. She felt that she ought to have resisted rather than have yielded to a passion which, she feared, could have no happy result; and though her admirer had vowed eternal constancy, and pleaded his cause with all the eloquence and fervor of deep and sincere devotion-an eloquence which seldom falls ineffectually on female ears-she was not so unacquainted with the ways of the world as to place entire faith in his professions. But it was now too late to recede. Her "He has sworn to do so," replied Cicely. "Indeed!" cried Nightgall, grinding his teeth. "The oath will never be kept. Cicely, you must―you shall be mine." "Never!" replied the maiden. "Do you suppose I would unite myself to one whom I hate, as I do you?" "Hate me!" cried the jailer, grasping her arm with, such force that she screamed with pain. "Do you dare to tell me so to my face?" "I do," she rejoined. "Release me, monster!" 'Body of my father! what's the matter?" roared Magog, who was sitting near them. "Leave go your hold of the damsel, Master Nightgall," he added, laying down his knife and fork. "Not at your bidding, you overgrown ox!" replied the jailer. "We'll see that," replied the giant. And stretching out his hand, he seized him by the nape of the neck, and drew him forcibly backward. “You shall bleed for this, caitiff!" exclaimed Nightgall, disengaging himself, and menacing him with his poniard. "Tush!" rejoined Magog, contemptuously, and instantly disarming him. "Your puny weapon will serve me for a tooth-pick," he added, suiting the action to the word. And, amid the loud laughter of the assemblage, the jailer slunk away, muttering interjections of rage and vengeance. Nightgall's dark hints respecting Cholmondeley were not without effect upon Cicely, who, well aware of his fierce and revengeful character, couid not help fearing some evil; and when he quitted the Stone Kitchen, an undefinable impulse prompted her to follow him. Hastily descending the stairs, on gaining the postern she descried him hurrying along the road between the ballium wall and the external line of fortifications, and instantly decided on following him. On reaching the projecting walls of the Beauchamp Tower, behind which she sheltered herself, she saw that he stopped midway between that fortification and the next turret, then known as the Devilin, or Robin the Devil's Tower, but more recently, from having been the prison of the unfortunate Earl of Essex, as the Devereaux Tower. Here he disappeared. Hastening to the spot, Cicely looked for the door, through which he must have passed; and after some little search, dis |