the walls, but with varying results, for both armies were contending for that which they deemed more valuable than life, and therefore fought with desperation. Where the Forum afterwards stood, whose remains may be seen at this day in modern Rome, a wide gulf is said to have opened in the earth, and Romulus having consulted the priests, they informed him that it would not close, as it was necessary it should for the safety of Rome, until the strength of the city should be cast into it. This, a young man by the name of Curtius interpreted as meaning arms and bravery, and mounting his horse covered with richest trappings, he plunged headlong into the gulf, and it immediately closed. Such was the bravery and patriotism of ancient Rome. Day after day the fight continued, when at last a great battle came on, in a valley between two hills within the city, the Capitoline and Quirinal Hills, still to be discerned in the modern city of Rome. While this battle was being fiercely waged, and the blood running in torrents, a most singular event happened. These very Sabine women, who had been so shamefully carried off by the Romans, with their hair loose and disheveled, and their dresses in disorder, were seen flying towards the contending armies. They cared nothing for the danger to which they exposed themselves-they desired only to preserve their parents, the Sabines, and the Romans, who were now their husbands. Throwing themselves between the contending armies, they cried out, "If you are resolved upon slaughter, then turn your arms upon us-we are the cause of all these calamities!" Now this was very noble conduct in these Sabine women; and it produced, as noble conduct will, its just recompense of reward. The tears and entreaties of wives and daughters were too much for these stern warriors to stand-their hearts melted at the sight, and ceasing from strife, a lasting peace was declared, which resulted finally in the union of the Sabine and Roman people, which only served to make Rome increase in greatness and power. Romulus, when he perceived the growing power of the state, entertained views of increasing his own power. He began to act the tyrant-and the senate, who were very jealous of any encroachment upon the liberties of the people, determined to kill him. They fell upon him in the night, when not surrounded by his guards, and cut him to pieces, each senator bearing off a part under his robe, in order to hide all traces of their crime. A commotion ensued, encouraged by the friends of Romulus; he was supposed to have been assassinated, and they clamored against the senate; but the crafty senators appeased the tumult by assuring the crowds that Romulus had been carried to heaven. And one senator, Julius Proculus, who had been a faithful friend of Romulus, went into the Forum, and declared with the most solemn oaths before the people, that as he was traveling on the road, Romulus met him in a form more noble and august than ever, and clad in bright and dazzling armor. Astonished at the sight-he said to him, "For what misbehaviour of ours, O king, or by what accident have you so unseasonably left us to labor under the heaviest calumnies—and the whole city to sink under in expressible sorrow." To which he replied, "It pleased the gods, that I should dwell with men for a time-and after having founded a city, which will be the most glorious in the world, should return to heaven." The silly people were caught by this wonderful story, and finding no traces of the body of their king, readily believed it. Rom. ulus was thereupon made a god, and ever afterwards worshipped under the name of Quirinus. Romulus was certainly a very great king. When he first laid the rude foundations of Rome, the city numbered only three thousand—when he died, that number had increased to forty thousand. He certainly must have been a very wise prince, for by his judicious government he caused a tribe of plunderers and adventurers to submit to the regulations of law and justice, and formed from them a people who afterwards gave laws to the world. (TO BE CONTINUED.) WRITTEN FOR THE LITTLE PILGRIM. AUTUMN. BY CONSTANCE. Brightly falls the pleasant sunlight, Far amid the woodland bowers; Vainly wooing back to beauty Summer's fair, but fading flowers. Summer's glory hath departed, In the apple tree, the robin, Sings his latest farewell song; And the memory of his music, In my heart will linger long. Now all day the ripe nuts dropping, Sound among the fallen leaves, As the bending boughs stir lightly, Swaying in the passing breeze. And among the hills, the children, Gather up their winter store; With shout and laughter sweet recalling All my happy days of yore. The brooklet chimes in mournful numbers, When Autumn winds sweep through the vale, Tossing from the grand old forest Yellow leaves along the plain. For the joyous hours of summer, Sadly oft my spirit grieves, When the rustle of my footsteps Sounds among the withered leaves. Yet there comes a deeper sadness, With a lonely sense of pain, Friends have passed away with summer, Who will ne'er return again. Then let us onward in our labor, Ere the time for work has passed; Let each day that cometh, ever Find us wiser than the last. Put not off for deeds of greatness, The little good we now may do; For He who formed the mighty ocean Blessed alike the drop of dew. Then will greet us in life's Autumn A higher joy than earthly gain; Angel tones will whisper ever, That we have not lived in vain. WILLOW GLEN, Oct., 1854. Contentment.—If two angels were sent down from Heaven, one to conduct an empire, and the other to sweep a street, they would feel no inclination to change employments.-John Newton. DEATH.-Death to a good man, is but passing through a dark entry, out of one little dusky room of his father's house, into another that is fair and large, lightsome and glorious.-Clarke. When Fenelon's library was on fire, "God be praised," said he, "that it is not the dwelling of some poor man." WRITTEN FOR THE LITTLE PILGRIM. THE ROOSTER-MOTHER. BY GRACE GREENWOOD. Once on a time there lived in a country farmyard, a plump, pretty, gay-feathered hen, who among all the fowls was the liveliest scratcher and the merriest cackler, except when she was sitting on a nest full of eggs, when she was so cross that there was no coming near her-always squalling and bristling up on the slightest provocation. She had a particular spite against the young poulets who had no such domestic duties to confine them, but could go gadding and cackling about just as they pleased. She always appeared to be in a terrible hurry to have her brood hatched and started in the world; and those poor weakly or lazy chicks who were the last to get out of their shells, she was apt to treat very unkindly. One time, she sat on ten good eggs, and in one day hatched nine fine chickens. But the shell of the tenth egg remained unbroken for some time longer. At last, after a good deal of pecking and rolling and kicking about, it popped open, and a puny little cockerel crawled out--"peep," "peep-" ing in a scared, pitiful way, that ought to have touched any hen-mother's heart. But this proud biddy seeing that he was so small and ugly, and being very angry because he had kept her waiting so long-coolly turned her back on him, and devoted herself to her stronger and prettier children. That night, she refused to brood him, and actually drove him from the nest. If it had been cold weather, I think he would have died,—but though such a wee, young thing, he had sense enough to see that if his mother would do nothing for him, he must look out for himself,-and as he could not nestle under her wing, he determined to make the best of her tail-feathers. So under their shelter, he managed to keep tolerably comfortable till morning. After that, the hen treated him a little better-but she often scolded him and clawed him, and he led a sad life. Many times, when the children flung crumbs to her and her brood, she would drive this poor little half-starved chick away-and he would run and hide in the currantbushes, and hang his head, and droop his small tail, and may-be wish that he had never been hatched. Now, it happened that there was also in that farm-yard a good old rooster, who, observing how cruelly the little cockerel was treated, resolved to adopt him. So one day, he took him under his protection; he hunted grain and worms for him, fought for him at meal times. and even brooded him at night, till he was old enough to roost. Under his care, the young cockerel grew strong and handsome, and my little readers will be glad to hear that he always treated his good old rooster-mother with kindness and respect. As for his own mother, you will be glad also to hear that he once had the opportunity of defending her from a fierce rat. He went at it, with beak and spur, and soon drove it bleeding and squealing into its hole. Then the hen was happy to make up with him; and his brothers and sisters were very fond and proud of him ever after. ANGER. To rule one's anger is well; to prevent it is better.-Edwards. We should feel our deficiencies more and more, till we lose them. The Ancients feared death; we, thanks to Christianity, fear only dying. Bower, Ivy, and a great many others. But you And the mocking birds! I don't think any of Little Darling, or Johnny, rather, (Darling is only a pet name,) is very fond of flowers and birds too, and you should have seen him every afternoon before he left home, come tugging along the little winding path that leads up from the hammock branch, weighed down under a load of wild flowers, with which to fill the flower pots in "mamma's" room. And this is why I miss him so much. But I never knew him to rob a poor little bird's nest in all his life. I should not love him so dearly if he could be so cruel. Well, as I was telling you in the beginning, Darling was leaving home for the first time, going among strangers. Rude boys were to be his play fellows-a stern, cold man, perhaps a tyrant, to be his master; and my mother's heart ached within me as I contemplated the necessity of sending forth my little nestling, all unfledged as he was, to be at the mercy of the cats and hawks of the human species. I feared too, that my boy might never come back to me so good and pure as he then was. I had been ever near to watch over him, and to guard him from even the faintest breath of evil. Especially, had I labored to instil into his young mind a love of truth and a detestation of every thing false and unreal. But how would he be able to stand all alone and unaided? Might not his A COLUMN FOR THE LITTLE ONES. scarcely formed principles fall, like a broken reed WRITTEN FOR THE LITTLE PILGRIM. ABOUT LITTLE DARLING AND HIS HARP. BY MARY E. M'KINNE. under the weight of temptation or oppression? You are no doubt ready to ask why I did not teach my child myself, since I was so lothe to confide the task to another. A very natural "Remember, dear child, to say your prayers, question to be sure, and very easily answered. and do n't tell any stories." These were the very last words I said to my little boy of seven years old, on that memorable Monday morning last Spring, when, led by his father, he passed out the gate, and left Rose Bower for the little village school at C-. The little fellow forced back the tears that would start when he bade me good-by, for his father had told him it was not manly to cry, and But stop, let me tell you about Rose Bower first-my little readers I mean, not Little Pilgrim, he knows all about it and can tell you too, could you only get his tongue once to running. Not many of you little folks have ever been to Florida, I know, so you can have no idea how very beautiful a country it is; but you have all read of it, I am sure-read about the beautiful flowers, the gay. colored birds, and the soft breezes. would take no notice of it. I have no doubt that Darling thought he would blow very softly, but scarcely had it touched his lips, when a note loud and prolonged filled the school-room with melody. The next moment, the master's eye, stern and commanding, was directed that way, and a voice whose sharp tones filled the little boy with terror, bade the culprit approach. It was a trying time for the little fellow, when the teacher said that as he had been so short a time at school he might be ignorant of his laws and regulations-that perhaps he did not know be was infringing a rule. Then came the startling question, "Did you know you were doing wrong, John ?" Darling hesitated-temptation was strong within him. There sat the awfully-severe looking master with a whip in his hand, ready to inflict pain on his poor little fragile body. Darling dreaded a whipping so much, (ours had been a discipline of love) and it was so easy to evade one now. But his hesitation was but for a moment-the next and his childish voice rang out clear and firm, "I did know it was wrong. There sir, you may whip me if you choose, but I cannot tell an untruth!" And he did whip my darling boy, that bad old schoolmaster; but lightly, and as he said, only for the sake of making an example. You may be sure, little children, that I was very happy when I learned how courageous my boy had been in telling the truth there before that grim old master, and with all the school looking on; and when he came home during the holidays, I took an opportunity to strengthen him in his young wisdom, telling him how very happy he had made me, and how well pleased God was. You must know that Darling has no little play- "THE LITTLE PILGRIM" is published at No. 66 SOUTH THIRD STREET, Philadelphia, on the first of every month, in quarto form, eight number will contain one or more elegant illustrapages, on fine paper and in good type. Each Poor little fellow! how scared he looked when, upon his entrance into the school-room, the master told him to hang up his hat, and then calling him to him, asked him his name! and how the tears trembled in his voice as in faltering tones he answered, You must have heard too of our magnificent forest trees, lofty Pines, the Magonlia Grandi- "My name is Johnny, but they call me Darling." flora with its varnished leaves and snowy petals; Well, Darling had been at school but a few the deadly Upas that betrays the golden-winged days, when a gentleman with whom he was a insect with a kiss; the Tulip Tree, the Mock great favorite, gave him a little harp, one of those Orange, the Mock Olive-and the grandest of all-musical instruments invented for the amusement the stately Live Oak, that looks so grave and dig- of children; and you may be sure he was very nified with its hoary locks of moss waving in the proud of it. wind. Well, Rose Bower is nestled right down in the heart of one of these grand old forests, and is the dearest, coziest little cottage! I do wish you could see it! It is literally covered with vines of every description-Rose, Woodbine, Virgin's Bower, Jasmine, Honeysuckle, Washington's He should not have taken it with him into the school-room at all, but he did take it there, and one of the large boys who sat next to him, thinking I have no doubt to have some fun, although I'm sure you will agree with me that it was very wrong, persuaded him to take it out of his pocket and to blow on it, assuring him that the teacher It is not our intention to discuss profound religious doctrines or political problems with our young readers. But while we urge upon them no peculiar sectarian views, our aim shall always be to inculcate a high religious morality. "Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely," honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever we shall heartily advocate; and ever strive to present, in fair attractive forms, the divine truths contained in that blessed epitome of Faith, FreeSermon on the Mount. dom, Love, Temperance and Peace-Christ's It will be our object not only to adapt our paper to the tastes and comprehension of children, but to render it pleasant reading for parents and teachers. TERMS. Fifty cents a year for a single copy, or ten copies for Four Dollars-Payable in advance. For remittances, gold dollars, for amounts less than five dollars, and for larger amounts Eastern Pennsylvania, New Jersey, or New York City bank bills will be preferred. Articles for THE LITTLE PILGRIM to be addressed post-paid, to GRACE GREENWOOD, Philada. cations to be addressed post-paid, at our risk, to Subscriptions and all business communiLEANDER K. LIPPINCOTT, Philadelphia. City Subscriptions can be left at the office of the site Dock Street, or dropped in the Post Office. Saturday Evening Post, South Third Street, oppoIn either case to be enclosed and addressed as above. Edited by Trace Treenwood Flight of fowl, and habitude [No. 1. Of the tenants of the wood, Where the whitest lilies blow, Where the freshest berries grow, Where the ground-nut trails its vine, Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; Of the black wasp's cunning way, Oh! for boyhood's time of June, Talked with me from fall to fall; Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond, Oh! for festal dainties spread, Of the pied frog's orchestra; And to light the noisy quire I was monarch: pomp and joy Cheerily, then, my little man, Quick and treacherous sands of sin. How well I remember one pleasant morning in September-more than two years ago, I declare!—when a merry party of us, English and Americans, met at the counting-house of our noble friend, Mr. B- to go from thence to Hampton Court. It was in the city of London that we met. This is entered from the town, which holds most of the parks and palaces of royalty and the nobility, by an old, old gateway, called Temple Bar. When the Queen is to pay a visit to the city, Temple Bar gate is closed, and she must respectfully ask admittance of the lord mayor, and he must graciously present the keys to her before she may come in. The lord mayor is the real king of London-and takes precedence of royalty in all processions in the city, as, for instance, the funeral procession of the Duke of Wellington, after it passed Temple Bar. All lord mayors are elected from the board of aldermen; they serve but one year, during which time they live in a very handsome residence, called "The Mansion House," and ride in a splendid, but rather gaudy and old-fashioned coach-something such as you have seen pictures of in the story of Dick Whittington. Every lord mayor gives one grand ball, at Guildhall, when the Queen and all the court attend, and there is a magnificent display both on the part of the aristocracy and the citizens. Guildhall is a large building, where the aldermen and councilmen meet, to transact business and eat good dinners. In the hall where balls and great banquets are given stand two gigantic painted figures, called Gog and Magog, which are very quaint and odd-looking, and I don't know how many years old. "But what," you will say, "has all this to do with Hampton Court?" Over the gateway, by which we entered, are carved the arms of Cardinal Wolsey, with a Latin motto, as his own words afterwards proved, for when dying in disgrace, he exclaimed, "If I had served my God half as faithfully as I have served my king, He would not have given me over to my enemies in my old age." We went up the grand stair-case, to the guard chamber, and from thence passed through several suites of noble rooms, hung with pictures and ancient tapestry, with frescoed ceilings, and carved and gilded cornices. The most interesting among the pictures are portraits of famous people, kings, queens, princes, heroes and beauties, of whom we read in history. In the reign of Henry the Eighth, when the great prelate, Cardinal Wolsey, was at the height of his power, he leased the old manor and manor-inscription, signifying "God is my help”—a lying house of the Knights-Hospitallers of Jerusalem, to whom it then belonged, for the purpose of building a palace suitable to his rank and splendor. He erected a structure so magnificent, and so far surpassing any of the royal residences, that he quite overshot his mark, and roused the jealousy of the king, who bluntly asked him what he, a priest, and a butcher's son, meant by building for himself a palace handsomer than any of his king's. Then the cunning Cardinal putting the best face he could on the matter, said that he had only been trying to build a residence worthy of so great and glorious a monarch-and that Hampton Court was at King Henry's service. But as there are more than a thousand paintThe king jumped at the offer, but in return be-ings at Hampton Court, of course I cannot stop stowed upon Wolsey the old manor of Richmond, to describe any of these, though about many I the favorite residence of his father, Henry the could tell you very strange and romantic stories. Seventh. It was observed, when the great Cardinal was going home, after this interview with his royal master, that he scowled and growled at his followers, and belabored the poor mule that he rode most unmercifully. So, by gift from Cardinal Wolsey, Hampton Edward the Sixth was born in this palace, and Charles the First, with his queen and court, sought refuge at this place from the plague, which was ravaging London. But there was another trouble that came upon him from which he could not escape, even here. Death, with his scythe, passed by the healthful shades of the country palace, but the executioner with his axe, was not to be evaded. The Lord Protector, Oliver Cromwell, resided sometimes at this palace; but his favorite daughter, Elizabeth, a very lovely woman, died here, and after that, it was the saddest place in all the world to him. The most magnificent apartment in the palace, and one of the grandest in the world, is the great hall, which is one hundred and six feet long, forty wide, and sixty high. The roof is beautifully carved and decorated with the royal arms and badges-the walls are hung with costly tapestry-the windows are richly stained, and bear the arms and pedigree of Henry the Eighth, and his six wives. From this hall we passed through another splendid apartment, called "the withdrawing room," down "the queen's stair-case," into a court, containing a pretty fountain, and from thence into the gardens. These are very fine, but rather too stiffly and formally laid out to suit our modern taste. I remember one narrow, gloomy alley, of box-wood, or yew, called "Queen Mary's Walk," after bloody Mary, who used to take her evening exercise here alonemarching slowly up and down in the waning twilight, meditating, I fear, those frightful persecutions, rackings and burnings of the poor protestants; and trying to steel her heart against the womanly pity that would creep into it, sometimes, in spite of all the admonitions of Cardinal Pole and Bishop Gardiner-and the counsels of her cruel husband. The greatest curiosity of these gardens, is a Hamburg grape-vine, supposed to be the largest in the world. It alone fills a green-house seventytwo feet long and thirty broad-it is itself one hundred and ten feet long, and is thirty inches in circumferance, three feet from the ground. It often bears as many as two thousand five hundred bunches. From the green-house, we walked down to the avenue of linden trees, to the east part of the palace, where there is a fountain and a basin containing gold and silver fish. Then we whiled away another hour in the grounds, the "Labyrinth," and under the noble chestnut and lime trees in the great avenue, which is more than a mile in length, and then the golden day was over! Charles the Second, with his gay court, which hardly held one honest man, or reputable wo-Thames, and then returned through a beautiful man, used to hold revels here; and stubborn James the Second, resided here now and then, till he was driven by a roused people from throne, palace and country. William the Third was very partial to Hampton Court, and did much to improve and adorn it. His queen here performed prodigious labors in the embroidery line, and kept her maids of honor as hard at work on chair covers and bed curtains, as though they were poor seamstresses, toiling for their daily bread. George the Second and Queen Caroline were the last sovereigns who resided at this palace. It Well, we started from the city, a social, merry is now only occupied by the officers and servants party, of five or six-and, after laughing and who have charge of it-and some dowagers and chatting in a comfortable English railway car-poor women of rank, called in England "decayed riage, for a few minutes, arrived at the station, near the palace. The old palace of Hampton Court stands on the northern bank of the Thames, about twelve miles west of Hyde Park, and is situated in the parish of Hampton, and county of Middlesex. gentlewomen." To those ladies the Queen allots THE LADY MARY'S VISION, Some ten years ago, there resided for a time, in a pleasant suite of apartments at Hampton Court, a young and beautiful gentlewoman, who was greatly beloved by all who knew her for her goodness and her sweet and winning ways. Lady Mary Hamilton, or "the Lady Mary," as she was called by the pensioners and retainers there, was the youngest daughter of a poor Scottish nobleman, and the widow of a still poorer young officer. Captain Hamilton, soon after his marriage, was ordered to join the army in Afghanis tan, and for several months dared danger and death, and endured frightful hardships, in that dreadful war against a treacherous and savage people. the lonely stillness of that place seemed to suit her she seemed to feel the calm moonlight in which she sat, bathing her like a soft, soothing flood. She leaned her head against the tapestried At last, in a skirmish among the mountains, wall, closed her eyes, and thought, and thought he was seen to fall under the spear-thrust of a of the great days and splendid festivals long gone fierce Afghan chief, and was reported as "killed," by-of kings and queens, brave knights, and though his body was never recovered by his vic-beautiful ladies, and—when all at once, that vast torious comrades. It was supposed that the natives had carried him off in their retreat, to plunder him at leisure. But the Lady Mary never would give him up as really dead, and though she was very sorrowful and anxious for him, she could not be persuaded to put on a widow's dress, or cover her soft, brown hair with a widow's cap. She even refused to receive a widow's pension, professing always a firm belief that her husband was yet living. Month after month went by, till two long years had passed and brought her no word from her beloved George-and still she did not despair. It was said that she was kept up by happy dreams that her husband often came to her in her sleep, and told her to be of good cheer, and all would yet be well. However that may have been, it is certain that she never wholly lost heart. The Queen kindly offered Lady Mary apartments at Hampton Court, and she gladly accepted, for she was poor, and then, she felt that she should like the melancholy quiet of the old palace far better than the gaiety and bustle of the town. And so she came to Hampton Court to live, and "wait for my husband," she said, smiling sadly, while her friends shook their heads, and whispered among themselves that "the poor dear creature was hardly in her right mind." The lonely Lady Mary soon became a great favorite with the guards and servitors at Hampton Court. They all felt for her a tender, respectful pity, and would do anything in their power to serve her. Being very shy, she never liked to visit the show apartments of the palace, at hours when she might meet strangers. So, the kind porter would often let her go in by herself, and sometimes even give her the keys, that she might stay as long as she pleased in any of the halls or galleries. She was romantic and poetical, and loved much to visit the grand old hall, on summer evenings, and see the rich sunset light pour in and then fade softly out through the gorgeous stained windows. Sometimes, she would linger here till the long twilight was over, and the starlight and moonlight struggled through the stained glass, and faintly lit up the hall-silvering over the faded tapestry and banners-glistening on the old arms and armor. Strolling up and down the hall, or seated under one of the great windows, she would think and dream, and try to forget the sorrows of her humble life in remembering the misfortunes of the great and royal ones, who had so often walked where she walked, and sat where she sat. Once, old Roger, the porter, asked her if she were not afraid to stay there, all alone by herself, so late. "Why, no," she answered, "what should I be afraid of?" He shrugged his shoulders, but said no more; I suppose because he did not know what to say, to such a simple, childlike question. One lovely August evening, the Lady Mary stayed later than usual in "Wolsey's Hall." The sunset glory faded and faded away-the twilight deepened and deepened into night-the moon and the stars looked in upon her through the great window. She was weary and sad, and hall was lighted up as though by magic! Music swelled through the arches, and a splendid court came slowly sweeping in! First walked a stout, red-faced man, all velvets and jewels, with a dark, sorrowful-looking lady on his right-and on his left, an elderly man, with a bold, haughty face, and a rich dress of scarlet velvet and ermine. The Lady Mary recognized these as Henry the Eighth, Queen Catharine, and Cardinal Wolsey. They were followed by maids of honor, gentlemen, priests and pages. Soon there was a livelier peal of music, and the dance began. The king danced with the most beautiful of the maids of honor, whom he smiled lovingly upon, while the poor queen looked very unhappy. So the Lady Mary knew that this fair maid must be Anne Boleyn. When the dance ended, the gay court passed out; but again there was music, and another swept in. This was headed by a proud, stately woman, with golden hair, and cold blue eyes. She wore a sparkling diadem-her dress was of stiff brocade, thickly bestrewn with pearls and diamonds, while about her neck was a ruff so prodigious, that it alone would keep everybody at a very respectful distance. On her left, walked a handsome noble, most royally dressed, and behind came a brilliant host of beauties, pages, cavaliers, poets, and statesmen. Again there was loud music, and again a brilliant court came pouring in. First walked a dark, dissolute-looking young man, very gaily dressed, with long curls dangling about his shoulders-handing carelessly along a pale dispirited lady, who didn't seem to find much comfort in the queenly diadem she wore. The ball began, and soon it was turned into a wild revel. Beautiful, but bold ladies, and reckless-looking gentleman-danced, and laughed, sung, and feasted, and gamed, and grew merrier and madder every minute. The Lady Mary became frightened, for she saw that she was in the profligate court of Charles the Second. She tried to hide behind the tapestry by the window, but a rollicking nobleman, whom she recognized by his portraits as the Earl of Rochester, caught sight of her, and sprang forward, to drag her out into the midst of the hall! She flung his hand off, with a scream, and lo, he, the king, the queen, the court, the lights, everything vanished! It was all a dream! The Lady Mary was alone in the old hall, in the silent night, now darker than before, for a cloud had come over the moon. She groped her way to the door, unlocked it, and passed into the withdrawing-room. At the farther end she saw some one coming-she could not see who it was, by the dim starlight-so she asked-" Roger, is that you?" "No, Mary," answered a glad, tremulous voice, "it is not Roger-it is I-George!" With a wild, joyful cry, the Lady Mary sprang forward, and was clasped in her husband's arms. And this was not a dream. Captain Hamiltom had been severely wounded The Lady Mary now recognized Queen Eliza- and taken captive by the Afghans. They had beth, the Earl of Essex and the court. The queen took her place upon the throne, and graciously desired her court to be seated. Before them was a stage-they were to witness a play. The queen signified that she was ready, and the play began. It was "Henry VIII., or the Fall of Wolsey." The queen seemed interested, and applauded occasionally, though the actors played badly. They were half frightened to death at appearing in that august place, before her august majesty; all but one, who went through with his part in a quiet, manly way, which did him great credit. This was the author-William Shakspeare. At length, the queen, court and actors all went out, and there came in next, not a court, with music and pomp, but quietly and silently, a dark, sad-looking man, leading two children by the hand. These three walked up and down the hall, several times—the man talking to the children, and telling them, it seemed, something very sad, for they cried and clung to him, and then the three passed out weeping. The Lady Mary knew these to be Charles the First, and his children, whom he had been telling, perhaps, that he might soon be put to death. Next there came, in stillness also, a stern, haggard-faced man, in a rough, half-military dress, with a sweet delicate-looking lady, in white. She was clinging to his arm and seemed expostulating with him very earnestly, but he shook his head, yet at the same time, he tenderly smoothed her hair, with his strong hand, and playfully pinched her thin cheek, and tried to smile. Then he suddenly turned, and strode out of the hall. lady stood a moment, looking after him mournfully, and then passed out also. The kept him a close prisoner in the mountains, not even permitting him to write a letter to any one, for two years. He had at last been discovered, liberated, and sent home, to recover his health, which had suffered somewhat in his hardship and confinement. On arriving at Hampton Court, whither he had been directed from London, he had been told by old Roger where his wife probably was, as he could not find her in her apartments, and was on his way to the hall, when he met her, as we have Ah! how dearly I love 'mid the forests to rove, To the song of the birds, and the lowing of herds, By the sea, where the surf dashes high, The Lady Mary knew these two to be Crom-To the moon and the stars, and the bright meteors, well and his daughter Elizabeth, who often interceded with her father, for political offenders. And to think of Heaven and of God. BRIDGEPORT, Nov. 9th. |