chair, and fervently besought heaven to grant her strength for the encounter. She then arose, and fixing her eye upon Gardiner, said in a firm tone, "I am ready, my lord: I pray you question me, and spare me not."

No further intimation was necessary to the bishop, who immediately proceeded to interrogate her on the articles of her faith; and being a man of profund learning, well versed in all the subtleties of scholastic dispute, he sought in every way to confound and perplex her. In this he was likewise assisted by Bonner and Feckenham, both of whom were admirable theologians, and who proposed the most difficult questions to her. The conference lasted several hours, during which Jane sustained her part with admirable constancy-never losing a single point-but retorting upon her opponents questions, which they were unable to answer-displaying such a fund of erudition-such powers of argument-such close and clear reasoning-and such profound knowledge of the tenents of her own faith and of theirs, that they were completely baffled and astounded. To a long and eloquent address of Gardiner's she replied at equal length, and with even more elequence and fervor, concluding with these emphatic words-" My lord, I have lived in the Protestant faith, and in that faith I will die. In these sad times, when the power of your church is in the =ascendant, it is perhaps needful there should be martyrs in ours to prove our sincerity. Among these I shall glory to be numbered-happy in the thought that my firmness will be the means in after ages, of benefiting the Protestant Church. On this rock," she continued, pointing to the Bible, which lay open before her-" my religion is built, and it will endure, when yours, which is erected on sandy foundations, shall be utterly swept away. In this sacred volume-I find every tenent of my creed, and I desire no other mediator between my Maker and myself."

As she said this, her manner was so fervid, and her look so full of inspiration, that all her listeners were awe-stricken, and gazed at her in involuntary admiration. The secretary suspended his task to drink in her words; and even Simon Renard, who, ensconced beneath the door-way, seemed no inapt representation of the spirit of evil, appeared confounded. After a brief pause, Gardiner arose, saying, "The conference is ended, daughter. You are at liberty to depart. If I listen =longer," he added, in an under tone to his companions, "I shall be convinced against my will."

"Then you acknowledge your defeat, my lord," said Jane, proudly.

"I acknowledge that it is in vain to make any impression on you," answered the bishop.

"Jane," cried her husband, advancing toward her, and throwing himself on his knees before her, "you have conquered, and I implore your forgiveness. I will never change a religion of which you are so bright an ornament."

"This is indeed a victory," replied Jane, raising him and clasping him to her bosom. "And now, my lord," she added to Gardiner," conduct us to prison or the scaffold as you please. Death has no further terrors."

After a parting embrace, and an assurance from her husband, that he would now remain constant in his faith, Jane was removed by her guard to the Brick Tower, while Lord Guilford was immured in one of the cells adjoining the room in which the conference had taken place.

XI....How Cuthbert Cholmondeley revisited the stone kitchen; and how he went in search of Cicely. Cuthbert Cholmondeley, who, it may be remembered, attended Lord Guilford Dudley, when he was brought from Sion House to the Tower, was imprisoned at the same time as that unfortunate nobleman, and lodged in the Nun's Bower -a place of confinement so named, and situated, as already mentioned, in the upper story of the Coal Harbor Tower.— Here he was detained until after the Duke of Northumberland's execution, when, though he was not restored to liberty, he was allowed the range of the fortress. The first use he made of his partial freedom was to proceed to the Stone Kitchen, in the hope of meeting with Cicely; and his bitter disappointment may be conceived on finding that she was not there, nor was any thing known of her by her foster parents. "Never since the ill-fated Queen Jane, whom they now call a usurper, took her into her service, have I set eyes upon her," said Dame Potentia, who was thrown into an agony of afflic tion, by the sight of Cholmondeley. "Hearing from old Gunnora Braose, that when her unfortunate mistress was brought back a captive to the Tower she had been left at

Sion House, and thinking she would speedily return, I did not deem it necessary to send for her; but when a week had elapsed, and she did not make her appearence, I desired her father to go in search of her. Accordingly, he went to Sion House, and learned that she had been fetched away, on the morning after Queen Jane's capture, by a man who stated he had come from us. This was all Peter could learn. Alas! Alas!"

"Did not your suspicions alight on Nightgall?" asked Cholmondeley.

"Ay, marry, did they," replied the pantler's wife; "but he averred he had never quitted the Tower. And as I had no means of proving it upon him, I could do nothing more than tax him with it.”

"He still retains his office of jailer, I suppose?" said Cholmondeley.

"Of a surety," answered Potentia; "and owing to Simon Renard, whom you may have heard, is her Majesty's right hand, he has become a person of greater authority than ever, and affects to look down upon his former friends.'

"He cannot look down upon me, at all events," exclaimed a loud voice behind them. And turning at the sound, Cholmondeley beheld the bulky figure of Gog darkening the doorway.

A cordial greeting passed between Cholmondeley and the giant, who in the same breath congratulated him upon his restoration to liberty, and condoled with him on the loss of his mistress.

"In the midst of grief we must perforce eat," observed the pantler, "and our worthy friends, the giants, as well as Xit, have often enlivened our board, and put care to flight. Perhaps you are not aware that Magog has been married since we last saw you."

"Magog married!" exclaimed Cholmondeley, in surprise. Ay, indeed!" rejoined Gog, "more persons than your worship have been astonished by it. And shall I let you into a secret-if ever husband was henpecked, it is my unfortunate brother. Your worship complains of losing your mistress. Would to Heaven he had had any such luck! And the worst of it is that before marriage she was accounted the most amiable of her sex."

66

Ay, that 's always the case," observed Peter Trusbut; 'though I must do my dame the justice to say that she did not disguise her qualities during my courtship.'

"I will not hear a word uttered in disparagement of Dame Potentia," cried Ribald, who at that moment entered the kitchen, “even by her husband. Ah! Master Cholmondeley, I am right glad to see you. I heard of your release to-day. So, the pretty bird is flown, you find—and whither, none of us can tell, though I think I could give a guess at the fowler." "So could I," replied Cholmondeley.

"I dare say both our suspicions tend to the same mark," said Ribald-"but we must observe caution now-for the person I mean is protected by Simon Renard, and others in favor with the queen."

"He is little better than an assassin," said Cholmondeley; "and has detained a wretched woman whom he has driven out of her senses by his cruelty a captive in the subterranean dungeons beneath the Devilin Tower."

And he proceeded to detail all he knew of the captive Alexia.

"This is very dreadful, no doubt," remarked Ribald, who had listened to the recital with great attention. "But as I said before, Nightgall is in favor with persons of the greatest influence, and he is more dangerous and vindictive than ever. What you do, you must do cautiously."

By this time, the party had been increased by the arrival of Og and Xit, both of whom, but especially the latter, appeared rejoiced to meet with the young esquire.

"Ah! Master Cholmondeley," said the elder giant, heav ing a deep sigh. "Times have changed with us all since we last met. Jane is no longer Queen. The Duke of Northumberland is beheaded. Cicely is lost. And last, and worst of all, Magog is married."

"So I have heard from Gog," replied Cholmondeley, "and I fear not very much to satisfaction." your

66

"Nor his own either," replied Og, shrugging his shoulders. However, it can't be helped. He must make the best of a bad bargain."

"It might be helped, though," observed Xit. "Magog seems to have lost all his spirit since he married. If I had to manage her, I'd soon let her see the difference."

You, forsooth!" exclaimed Dame Potentia, contemptu

and pushing aside the door with the blade, raised his torch, and beheld a spectacle that filled him with horror. At one side of the cell, which was about six feet long and three wide, and contrived in the thickness of the wall, upon a stone seat rested the dead body of a woman, reduced almost to a skeleton. The face was turned from the door, but rushing forward he instantly recognised its rigid features. On the wall close to where she lay, and evidently carved by her own hand, was traced her name-ALEXIA.

AN EPISTLE TO KATE.

Five long, long years, my dearest Kate,
Have run their round of joy and wo,
Since first your laughing face I met,

Its fair possessor chanced to know-
Five years have passed, and in that time
We met and loved-fell out and parted;
And you are now a 'flirt;' and I 'm-
Kind Heaven knows what:-not broken-hearted!
Five years ago! and I had been

Of your sweet self a chance beholder; And you were sunny, 'fair fifteen,'

And I-perhaps some five years older:
I saw you, Kate! and I resolved

To fall in love with you instanter!
Fast then Love's phaton-wheels revolved,
For Love himself drove in a canter!
And then came on the happy days,

And lightly sped the winged hours;

And life was sweet as Poet's lays,

And love's bright path was strewn with flowers: Two short and happy years flew over,

Nor cast a shade upon your brow; And I was blest-your favored lover, My own, my sole-beloved-thou! And then, alas! a change came o'er us,

And doubts and jealousies were gendered;
And Love's light pinion drooped before us-
Himself almost his charge surrendered:
But yet not long the change I mourned,

For soon that cloud in air all vanished;
Love to his pleasing charge returned,
And doubts and jealousies were banished.
Another year of love was ours;

Another year of bliss was mine;
And all unnoted flew the hours,
Unthought of-for each thought was thine!
Happy if I might revel then

In the blue Heaven of thy dear eyes,
I dreamed not ever cloud again

Could dim the sunshine of those skies!
And yet a storm was gathering there,

Was soon to rive our hearts asunder;
And dark and murky grew the air,
And roll'd the low and mutt'ring thunder:
And then, a mist-cold, damp and chilly,
Gathered around on every side;
And Love-a weakly child and silly,
Went out, caught cold, alas-and died!
And we are strangers now, that were

Of friends and lovers, best, and dearest; (Oh! build thine hopes upon the air

Sooner than trust Love's vows-sincerest!) I loved you most sincerely, Kate!

You vowed you ne'er could love anotherLast week I met you in the street,

We coolly stared and-cut each other! Well! if it needs must be so, Kate!

I'll give you up without repining;

For he 's a fool, who to his fate

Submits not, but with tears and whining: And yet you loved me once; ('t is vain,

You know you did, Kate! do n't deny it !)

I wish you 'd love me so again;

Now can't you? won't you? KATE, DO TRY IT!

TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

It is not every story now-a-days that has a moral. The following sketch has; and we are induced to print it in the hope that it may prove of some advantage to our fellow Gothamites, who, during the approaching season, will seek to improve their minds and bodies by travel. It differs from most narratives in another important point: it is true, every word of it. We had it only on second hand, and relate it verbatim as it was told us by a friend over a snug wood fire last winter.

*

"About twenty-five years ago," said he, some business of our firm obliged me to visit Canada. # Our party consisted of three besides myself, viz: Mr. I—, a Pearl street merchant, who had accompanied me from New York, and Messrs. Rogers and Benson, two English gentlemen, who had been introduced to each other at Kingston. As it was summer, we travelled in light calèches. Mr. ― was a very civil and agreeable man, who had seen much service in divers wayfarings, and knew that mutual accommodation was the only principle which could render a journey comfortable; but Rogers and Benson were the worst matched associates imaginable.

Rogers was what is usually called 'a young sprig of aristo cracy.' His parents were originally poor. but he was a distant relative of a noble lord, and on this fortunate circumstance formed mighty plans of future success. His pretensions to a place in fashionable society, which were somewhat equiv ocal, he nevertheless carried through by dint of the most consummate impudence and the liberal expenditure of a small fortune which was left him in a lucky moment by some maiden aunt. As however all his labor was of the species denominated unproductive, and his consumption rather large, in the course of a few years he found his strong box getting low, and being somewhat troubled by importunate creditors, he suddenly "pulled up stakes" and embarked for Canada, there to rusticate awhile and devise some plan to recruit his shattered fortunes. That he talked very magnificently about earls, dukes and marquises, Regent's Park, Almacks, and the like, and that he entertained a sovereign contempt for what. ever was plebeian and vulgar, i. e. useful you may suppose as a matter of course.

"Benson, on the contrary, was essentially a business man in the strictest sense of the term. He was a partner in the house of Brandram & Co., an extensive London firm which dealt in tar, paint, oil, and such like commodities. It was some business of this establishment which had brought him to Canada, and they could not have chosen á more faithful agent; for his whole soul seemed devoted to the interests of the firm, which was with him almost an object of veneration. Historians tell us that one of the German emperors had so high an opinion of the power and resources of the French kingdom, that he once said, "Si j' etais Dieu et avais deur fils, le premier serait Dieu et le second roi de France."Could we suppose our friend Benson to have been placed in a similar category, he would doubtless have made his second son senior partner of the great house of Brandram and Co.

Two such men were not likely long to agree. Benson was disgusted by his companion's endless gabble about high life, and his adventures therein, most of which he believed to be (as doubtless many of them were) rather apocryphal in their character. This, however, he could have borne with patience, but a more serious annoyance soon followed. Rogers had somehow managed to obtain letters of introduction to several of the magnates of the Hudson's Bay Company, which was then in all its glory; and, being unwilling to lose this opportu nity of adding to his list of great acquaintances, was continually diverging from the road and stopping at this man's house and that man's country seat, dining with one and supping with another, so as frequently to detain our party for some days. Benson often expostulated with him on the injustice of detain ing in this unreasonable manner men who were travelling on business, and alluded to the prompt despatch required by the interests of Brandram & Co. Upon this Rogers would become excessively indignant and indulge in various unseemly remarks excessively derogatory to the character of the afore said Messrs. Brandram & Co., all which manifestations Benson, who was a very gentlemanly and withal a very sensible man, notwithstanding his excessive amour propre, received only with silent contem] t. Rogers on his part was mortally offended at Benson's plebeianism, as he called it, his continual

ed:

hurry, his inability to appreciate the joys of fashionable life, and above all, his eternal reference to the house of Brandram & Co.

Things could not go on long at this rate, and it is not surprising that before we reached our journey's end, the parties came to an open rupture, which happened on this wise.

Rogers entertained to its fullest extent that false notion so common among a certain class of Englishmen, that patriotism required him to despise every thing that was not English, and more especially every thing that was French, the language of course included. Accordingly he was utterly ignorant of the French language, and was thus in a great measure dependent on Benson, with whom he was nevertheless angry for availing himself of his knowledge in this respect. Benson, who wished to make the best use of his time, was continually questioning the boy who drove them as to the general state of the country, the condition of the people, and whatever prominent objects attracted his attention as they passed along. All this was gall and wormwood to Rogers.

"Benson;" exclaimed he at length, "why are you always bejabbering with that young vagabond? One would think you were a Frenchman yourself; you're always parlez-vooing with these fellows."

"Mr. Rogers,” replied the other, "I apprehend that a man ought not to travel through a country with his eyes shut. I am seeking information. The interests of the house of Brandram & Co."

"D-n the house of Brandram & Co.!" interrupted Rogers in a passion. "Information! Have n't you a pair of e eyes? Can't you see? There's a house! there's a tree! there's a man and a pig! What's the use of chattering with that little scoundrel?"

2.

And thus he went on till Benson became incensed in his turn, and at length refused to hold any communication whatever with him; nor was it long before Rogers felt the want of his assistance. The weather grew hot and the road excessively dusty, so that their calèche, which was the hindmost, was enveloped in the clouds thrown up by ours. Rogers desired the boy to drive more slowly, but the latter, not understanding him, supposed that he wished to go faster, (Englishmen are generally in a great hurry to get on,) and accordingly whipped up his horses, who plunged forward into the very middle of what his passenger wished to avoid.

Rogers swore at the boy for some minutes, and finding this only made matters worse, at last deigned to apply to Benson for aid. But he positively refused, declaring that since his companion disliked so much to hear French spoken, he might do the best he could without it.

On hearing his determination expressed, Rogers became excessively rantancorous,' as a Western man would say, and had serious thoughts of knocking Benson out of the calèche, a task for which he was eminently qualified, being naturally very strong and, moreover, quite an adept in the noble science of pugilism. But considering that such a proceeding could hardly be deemed justifiable, and determined to vent his rage on some one, he turned once more to the boy, whom he seemed to regard as an intentional party in this conspiracy against his peace and comfort.

"Now look here you young scoundrel," he exclaimed, presenting a fist of very aristocratic dimensions in alarming proximity to the nose of the terrified urchin, "do you see this sledge hammer? Well, if you do n't do as I tell you and pull in the horses, you'll smell it, that you will, by and the concluding oath was lost in the "allons donc" of the boy as he waved his whip in the air and applied it with all the energy he could muster to the backs of his horses, who started off at full gallop.

The next moment the unlucky shaver was seen flying through the air, projected by the impetuous fist of Rogers, in a parabola of considerable random; and, falling head foremost into a pit by the road side, he stuck there heels uppermost, plying his legs vigorously in the attempt to disengage himself, and pouring forth the most dolorous cries for assistance, while Rogers seized the reins and stopped the horses, Benson meanwhile maintaining his seat with perfect composure.

Now it chanced that the boy's father was driver of our caleche, and hearing his son's fall and consequent cries, he immediately jumped out and hastened to relieve his recumbent offspring from his unpleasant situation. This done, he turned to the author of the mischief to demand the why and wherefo when a very edifying scene took place between them, the Canadian understanding about as much English as Rogers did Fench. At length surmising that the boy might have been

re,

in some way impertinent to his passenger, the father exchanged places with him, sending the youngster to drive our calèche, and taking the hindmost one himself. Rogers was now perfectly furious.

"Now mind yourself you rascal!" shouted he to the man, "and hold in the horses, or I'll knock you out as quick as I did the boy. That's all."

"Va t'en!" quoth the Canadian. Crack! went the whip, and off started the horses. Bang! went Rogers's fist and out tumbled the driver with more precipitation than was altogether agreeable.

Confusion now became worse confounded. Both calèches stopped and we all jumped out. The driver and his son complained most bitterly of their passenger's outrageous conduct, and Rogers swore at, and offered to fight with, any and every body then and there present; and anathematized the whole Canadian nation in general and the offending father and son in particular, with most tremendous energy. At length we settled the matter by separating the quarrelsome travellers, Rogers and myself exchanging places; after which we went on quietly enough, but the two travelling acquaintances never exchanged another word during our whole journey.

THE MARTYRS.

Among all the early Christian martyrs there is probably none which is more calculated to awaken the most tender emotions than that of Blandina, who suffered A. D. 177, at Lyons, under the second persecution, in the time of Trajan. A youth named Ponticus, aged fifteen, represented by ecclesiastical historians as her younger brother, was her constant associate and her fellow sufferer. Together they were repeatedly led forth to behold their brethren cruelly tortured or devoured by wild beasts in the amphitheatre, amid the derision of infuriated thousands. They were subjected to the severest and most ignominious tortures, in order to induce them to recant. It is impossible to relate the tale of all that this noble heroine endured in those scenes of barbarous agony.

One remarkable trait was seen in their deportment: unaffected humility. The extravagant admiration of martyrs, was then a growing fault in the Church; and when, as they came out of one scene of anguish after another, they maintained their unwavering fidelity, this admiration was expressed by their fellow Christians in a reprehensible manner.

The noble youths, as if this was not the least of their trials, begged them to desist; declared themselves unworthy to receive such praise; and gently, but firmly rebuked those that offered it. 'We do not deserve the name of martyrs,' said they, we are only humble confessors of the Gospel.'

It was the lot of Ponticus to be the first called to death. Of feeble frame, and gentle disposition, his sister had always watched over him with a kind of maternal fondness. Her anxiety for him was now inexpressible. She feared, not so much for the pains he was called to undergo, as that in consequence of his constitutional feebleness, some act or expression might give their malicious foes an occasion to triumph.

The interesting and affectionate victim kept his eye upen her to the last. Animated by her stirring exhortations, cheered by her radiant smile, and imitating her great example, he continually strove to honor that Saviour whom his sister had taught him to love, and into whose presence, with her, he was speedily to be ushered. It was a thrilling sight to witness the sincere steadfastness of the lad; the intense but sublimated affection of Blandina; her incessant watchfulness, that he might not falter; and especially that transcendent fortitude by which, still shedding vigor into his heart through many an expressive sign, she witnessed his appalling sufferings.

The scene, however, attained its utmost sublimity, when, having assured herself of his triumphant exit, all these radiations of her lofty faith were gathered back into her own most glorious testimony. The hour at length arrived, which was to crown her last example, to all after ages as a burning and shining light. She looked around upon her persecutors without one feeling of revenge. She exhorted her fellow Christians to remain immoveable in their holy profession; she wept over some who had denied the Lord, and calling them about her, melted them to repentance, and consoled them with the