and pride the one kept her ignorant of the treachery of her companion-the other received his delusive attentions as though they were her just right and title. Something of this she had shown when in company with Sir Valentine, when the modesty of her apparel seemed out of place with the air of graceful dignity and easy self-possession with which she shared in the court-like converse of the young knight;-but now, clothed in all the delicate splendor of the times, she listened to the dangerous homage of her princely gallant, with a manner so noble as must have convinced any spectator she took them more as proper respect than as a matter for gratification.

Her noble lover's ecstacies availed him nothing-the fondness of his behavior and discourse made as little impression-but his unceasing efforts to afford her by the most lavish expenditure, signs, of the unbounded estimation in which she was held by him, were accepted with gratitude; and the seeming terribleness of his sufferings when her behavior put him into a despairing mood, were regarded with a natural sympathy. Here she was in some danger, for there is no such nigh relations to love as gratitude and pity.

In the meanwhile William Shakspeare having at last met with Sir Valentine, instant proceedings were taken to endeavor to trace out the place to which the gentle Mabel had been carried. Nothing could exceed the manner in which the young knight was moved at the relation of his fair mistress's abduction. All the chivalry of his nature was up in arms in a moment, and he was for chasing the villains to the uttermost corners of the earth, With the feelings with which he had regarded her many moving graces, so that she had become to him the sovereign of his heart's wishes, he felt bound by every principle of knighthood to peril life and limb in her service, and mounting his palfrey he rode in every direc tion to find some traces of her flight. He was at last

so fortunate as to meet with the man elsewhere spoken of, who had seen her borne past him, and had watched her direction, whilst he could keep her in sight; and with

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this intelligence he sat off as soon as he could from his kinsman's house, accompanied only by his favorite companion the youthful Shakspeare riding of a grey gelding, who was quite as eager as himself to go on such an errand.

The feelings of these two were as different as their different natures could make them. The young knight in the fresh bloom of his manhood, saw beauty only as it was expected a soldier should see it as something worthy of being honored by the honorablest achievements. The young student in the first soft glow of youth, saw beauty only as in such cases it might be seen of a student as something to worship at a humble distance with the purest and noblest thoughts. The one believing it to be his duty, would have boldly proclaimed the name of Mabel as first in his esteem wherever he went, -the other feeling it to be his nature, would have thought it sacrilege to have mentioned her name in idle company, although his estimation of her was not a whit less than was that of his companion.

They proceeded on in the course directed, at all reasonable opportunities Sir Valentine entertaining of his young associate with a very gallant discourse concerning the doings of certain famous knights in love with notable fair ladies, and ever and anon, seasoning it with divers pretty passages out of Petrarcha, his sonnets of love, to which the youthful poet would seriously incline his ear, get explained to him whatever he knew not the meaning of, and observe, question, and reply upon all he heard, with such sprightliness of wit and ingenuity of learning, as both astonished and delighted his fellow traveller.

They passed all manner of pleasant mansions, with excellent parks of deer, and beheld the country round showing a thousand signs of the decay of summer, yet still possessing so much of greenness as gave it a semely aspect. Occasionally, they would meet with a brave. company going a hawking, each with a favorite bird on the wrist, and riding on an ambling palfrey, accompanied by attendants carrying of other hawks together, perched

VOL. II.

8*

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in a circle, all hooded in their fairest gesses and Milan bells, ready to be cast off at a moment's notice. Anon, they would hear the loud "Soho!" of some eager huntsman, and they would rein in their steeds awhile to see the goodly sight of the hounds in full chase, and the gallant assemblage of men and horses speeding after them over hedge and ditch, hill and hollow, with some a tumbling in this place, others leaping in that, here a steed gallopping without his rider, and there a rider running to catch his steed: and a little way further, they would come upon divers honest anglers, pursuing of their delicate sport by the sedgy margin of the brook, to the manifest catching of sundry luce, greyling, perch, bream, and dace, then uselessly flapping of their tails in the angler's basket.

The partridges hid their heads among the stubble-the snipe lurked unseen in the water-courses-the wild-ducks floated in flocks over the broad ponds and marshy lakes, and the great heron lay in her haunt, amid the thick reeds of the same waters. On a branch of a withered old tree upon the banks, the gaudy kingfisher was making a choice repast, and in his hole deep in the sandy soil beneath, the greedy otter was busying himself with a like occupation. Great companies of small birds seemed pursuing of each other over the open fields, and far over head the noisy rooks gathered their black bands to ravage the distant country. As the travelers skirted a wood, they observed the nimble conies running into their holes, or a stray leveret rushing hither and thither, without knowing where, scared by the sound of the horses feet. Presently, a young pigeon was noticed plying of her wings with the desperate eagerness of despair, as she left the wood for the open country; but a murderous hawk followed in her track, and as she sank panting with agony behind a tree, he swept down upon her swifter than the wind, and in the same minute fixed his sharp. talons in her heart,

Having from many of the laboring country-people continued, as they proceeded, to gain such intelligence as

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still led them on, they had gone a famous distance, but full of ardor to accomplish their adventure, they pushed forward, regardless of all else, save the rescue of the gentle Mabel. It so happened, that at last, to their constant inquiries, nothing profitable was gained. No one had seen any such persons as were described to them. Finding this to be the case, they retraced their steps towards the place where they obtained the latest information, with the idea, that if any house lay convenient, it was probable there she had been carried. They now rode slowly, and took close scrutiny of the neighborhood. After so doing for sometime, they spied a fair house down in a hollow, almost hid up with trees, and completely surrounded with a high wall. Within less than a quarter of a mile of it was a small village, of some halfdozen houses, most distinguishable of which was the open smithy, the little inn, and a shop for the sale of all manner of things needed in such a place. It was thought advisable to make for this village at once, as being the likeliest spot to gain the necessary intelligence, and where they could get refreshments for themselves and beasts, whilst they made their inquiries.

As they rode into the yard, William Shakspeare caught a glimpse of a man, in whose unpleasing features he immediately recognized the villain who had struck him when he seized his companion. The fellow saw not who had observed him, for he was busy playing at bowls under a shed with divers other persons. The youthful poet resolved on saying nothing of this discovery till a more fitting opportunity presented itself, therefore quietly fol lowed the example of the young knight, in dismounting, giving his palfrey in charge to the landlord, and entering the inn. Upon sitting himself in a chamber to which he and Sir Valentine were shown, he observed a decent sort of man, of a middle age, seated on a settle, with a book in his hand, and a jug of ale on the table before him. As William Shakspeare took himself to make a hearty meal of what was set before him, he gave another glance at the person with the book, and another after that, and

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he still thought, as he had imagined when he first came into the room, that the countenance was familiar to him. Sir Valentine, finding a stranger with them, was pondering with himself whether he should abstain from seeming curious, which might perchance defeat his object, or attempt cautiously to make the necessary inquiries of this very person. However, it so fell out, that the stranger raised his eyes from the book, on which he seemed as intent as though he were the most scholarly person that had ever lived, and thereupon encountered the somewhat earnest gaze of the youthful Shakspeare.

"Why, surely?" exclaimed the stranger, in a pleased surprise yes, it must be. O' my life, 'tis either Will Shakspeare or his ghost."

"Tis myself, worthy Master Burbage," replied the young poet, proceeding quickly to take the proffered hand of the father of his friend and school-fellow.

"Glad to see thee, by'r lady!" said the other, giving his young acquaintance a hearty shake of the hand.

"And how do thy excellent parents-and how is Dick, my son and how are all my honest friends at Stratford ?" The youthful Shakspeare quickly gave him the intelligence he required; Sir Valentine remaining silent, yet glad they were known to each other.

"But what hath brought you here, worthy Master Burbage?" inquired the young poet at last.

"Ey, what, indeed!" replied the player, somewhat dolefully. 'Sprecious! I would I had never come nigh the place. Methinks I cannot help getting myself into a famous trouble on account of it, which may spoil my fortune ever after."

"Alack, that is woeful news!" observed William Shakspeare. "But, I pray you, tell me how that is so like to be?"

Why, this is it," answered Master Burbage: "F have been sent down with my company to play stage plays and interludes for the entertainment of some ladies living in a house hard by."

6.6 I pray you, tell me if the fellow in green, now play