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Oh! how happy will that Princess be who calls him husband!"

At these words the young lady paused, and blushed; yet notwithstanding such very unpromising symptoms the day for the nuptials was immediately fixed, as the old Lord never dreamed of asking his daughter if his own and the King's choice were agreeable to her. The Abbey of Westminster was chosen for the celebration; the Primate performed the ceremony, the King gave away the bride, and Katharine, accompanied by her husband and her sister, proceeded to spend the honeymoon at the Earl's Castle of Wark, in Northumberland. His Lordship had not, however, many weeks enjoyed the society of his beautiful wife, before he was summoned to attend the Earl of Suffolk on a warlike expedition to Flanders, on which occasion his usual good fortune for the first time forsook him. Both the Earls were defeated in the first battle in which they engaged, and were sent prisoners to the court of France, until they could be ransomed or exchanged.

This piece of intelligence was communicated to the Lady Katharine at the same time with another, by which she learned that King Edward had been solemnly betrothed to the Lady Philippa, of Hainault. The treaty for the marriage gave general and unmixed pleasure to all his subjects; the Count of Hain ault, the lady's father, being one of the most powerful allies of England on the Continent, who had been mainly instrumental in rescuing it from the tyranny of Mortimer, Earl of March; and the old Queen Isabella, and thus securing the crown for Edward the Third. The Lord de Grandison, in particular, was delighted by the prospect of an union between the houses of England and Hainault; but no sooner was this news communicated to the Countess of Salisbury, than she was overwhelmed with the most poignant sorrow; whether the Earl's captivity, or the King's marriage, had the greatest share in causing it, we must leave our fair readers to determine.

"Why, my sweet Katharine," said Alice, "why do you take the Earl's captivity so much to heart? the court of France must be the most agreeable prison in the world, there he will find every thing to solace him in his misfortunes, and enable him to sustain his separation from you."

"Let him forget me, let him cease to love me, 'tis no matter!" sighed the Countess.

"You deceive me, Katharine," said Alice, " you conceal something from me,

for it is impossible that the capture which has placed your lord in the hands of generous foes, can be the occasion of so deep a grief as yours."

"True, true, my sweet Alice," said the Countess, throwing herself in her sister's arms, "I am the most wretched of women; I love"

"The Earl," said Alice.

"The King!" said Katharine, hiding her face in her sister's bosom.

"Ha!" said the latter, "what is't I hear? I am your friend, your sister, Katharine, and would fain administer to your peace; but whither will this fatal passion lead you ?"

"To death! sweet Alice! to death! or, at least, to a life made miserable by the consciousness of nursing in my heart a sentiment, to which honour and virtue are alike opposed. And I have a rival, Alice! oh! save me, save me from myself! speak to me of Salisbury, of my husband, of his renown, his truth, his valour! and I will forget this King, whose conquests cannot be bounded by France and Scotland, but must include even the affections of his subjects."

The heart of Katharine was tender and susceptible, but bold and firm; and in the society of her sister, and in the ac tive discharge of the various duties devolving upon her elevated rank, she endeavoured to repress that fatal passion which the recent intelligence had strengthened to a height almost bordering upon insanity.

In the meantime, King Edward openly declared war against the Scots; who, instead of waiting to be attacked, resolved to become the assailants, and, with a large army, invaded England; ravaged the northern counties, attacked Newcastle, took and burned the city of Durham; and, finally, laid siege to Wark Castle, which was left to the defence of the Countess of Salisbury, Sir William Montacute, the son of her husband's sister, and a very slender garrison. This heroic lady, however, by her beauty and firmness inspired all with courage and devotion to her cause though the assault of the enemy was too fierce and unremitting for them to hope long to defend the castle, without assistance from King Edward; which Sir William Montacute volunteered to obtain.

"I know your loyalty and heartiness, towards the lady of this house," said the gallant Knight, to the beleaguered garrison, "and so, out of my love for her, and for you, I will risque my life in en deavouring to make the King acquainted with our situation; when I doubt not to be able to bring back with me such succour as will effectually relieve_us."

This speech cheered both the Countess and her defenders; and at midnight Sir William left the fortress, happily unobserved by the Scots. It was so pitiless a storm that he passed through their army without being noticed, until about daybreak, when he met two Scotsmen, half a league from their camp, driving thither some oxen. These men Sir William attacked and wounded very severely, killed the cattle, that they might not carry them to their army; and then said to them, "Go and tell your leader, that William Montacute has passed through his troops, and is gone to seek succour from the King of England, who is now at Berwick;" which intelligence being speedily communicated to the King of Scotland, he lost no time in raising the siege, and retreating towards the frontier.

Within a very few hours, King Edward arrived to the relief of the garrison, and proceeded to pay his respects to the Countess, who went to meet him at the castle gates, and there gave him her thanks for his assistance. They entered the castle hand in hand, and the King kept his eyes so continually upon her, that the gentle dame was quite abashed; after which, he retired to a window, where he fell into a profound reverie; and, as Froisart tells us, upon the Countess enquiring the subject of his thoughts, and whether it was public business on which he mused, the King replied

"Other affairs, lady, touch my heart more nearly; for in truth, your perfections have so surprised and affected me, that my happiness depends on my meeting from you a return to that love with which my bosom burns, and which no refusal can extinguish."

"Sire," replied the Countess, "do not amuse yourself by laughing at me, for I cannot believe, that you mean what you have just said; or, that so noble and gallant a prince would think of dishonouring me, or my husband, who now is in prison on your account."

The lady then quitted the King; who, after passing the whole of that day, and a restless and sleepless night, at the castle, at dawn the next morning departed in chase of the Scots. Upon taking leave of the Countess, he said, "Dearest lady, God preserve you! Think well of what I have said, and give me a kinder answer." Her reply to which solicitation was, however, similar to all the former; though Edward would have been amply revenged for the rejection of his suit, had he possessed the keen eyes of Alice de Grandison, for to their piercing scrutiny

her sister's heart, with all the storm of passions by which it was agitated, was laid entirely open.

"Alice," she said, "it is too true, I do not love alone! Edward returns my fatal passion. But my mind is fixed. I will behold him no more; would to heaven that my husband were here!"

As she uttered these words, the Countess sunk into the arms of Alice, and at that moment she received a letter from the Earl. "Heaven be praised!" said she, "Salisbury is on his return, and his arrival will alike prevent the King and me from nursing a sentiment which ought to be stifled in its birth." Upon the old Lord de Grandison's arrival on a visit to his daughter, he observed the profound sorrow in which she was plunged. "But rejoice, Katharine!" said he, "your husband will soon be here. By an arrangement between King Edward and the courts of France and Scotland, he has been exchanged for the Earl of Moray. Check then, this immoderate grief, Salisbury has suffered defeat, bnt it is without disgrace."

The Countess felt all the pangs of conscious guilt, when she heard her father attribute her grief to the absence of her husband. Oh! my father," she said, when left to her own painful thoughts, "even thee too, do I deceive : I am the betrayer of all who surround me, and dare I meet the gaze of Salisbury? Alas! my misfortune and my crime are traced in indelible characters on my brow."

Edward, on his return to his capital, though surrounded by dazzling splendour and enticing pleasures, could not chase from his mind the image of the Countess ; and, unable any longer to bear her absence, he wrote to the Lord de Grandisou, commanding him to bring his daughter to Court, for the purpose of awaiting the speedy arrival of her husband. "My father," said she, as soon as the old Lord had communicated to her the royal command, " will not the Earl come hither to me?"

"Katharine!" answered De Grandison, "the slightest wishes of the King it is our imperative duty to obey."

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My Lord, if you knew I am a stranger to the capital; does it not abound with dangers? Is there not-"

"Nay, nay, my child; you have wisdom, education, and virtuous example to protect you. Once more your father and King command you; and you must accompany me."

De Grandison then made the necessary preparations for his own return to the metropolis; and the Countess, under the

pretext of indisposition, was able to delay her own journey but for a short period. News from her father, however, speedily informed her of her husband's arrival; and this was quickly followed by a letter from Salisbury himself, full of the most passionate expressions of attachment, and urging her immediate presence. To both these she answered by a plea of continued illness; and to the latter, added an earnest entreaty that her lord would himself come to Wark Castle, where she had matter of importance to communicate to him; being resolved to explain the cause of her reluctance to visit London, and, confidentially, to acquaint the Earl with the solicitations of the King.

This latter letter had remained unanswered for a considerable time; and the Countess feared that she had given offence to both her husband and her father, when at length a messenger arrived from London. The Countess snatched the paquet from his hand, and eagerly perused it; it was from her father, and ran thus :

"My dearest Daughter,

"The moment has arrived when you must arm yourself with all that fortitude which you have inherited from me. True grandeur resides in our own souls; that which we derive from fortune vanishes with the other illusions of which this life is compounded. You were anxiously expecting your husband; and he was about to receive further honours from his master; but the King of kings has decreed that Salisbury should not live to enjoy the bounty of his Monarch. A sudden illness has just removed him from this world. "Your affectionate father,

"DE GRANDISON."

The decease of the Earl of Salisbury was deeply lamented by the Countess. Gallant, generous, and affectionate, he had won her esteem; and had she had an opportunity of knowing him longer, might have gained her love. Her delicacy, too, loaded her with self-reproaches, from which she did not attempt to escape; and made her feel the loss she had sustained still more acutely. " I will repair my crime," she said; "I will revenge the manes of Salisbury. The King, although affianced, and by proxy espoused, to Philippa of Hainault, will renew his suit to me; but he shall learn that esteem and duty are sometimes as powerful as love

itself."

By the death of the gallant Earl, King Edward found himself deprived of one of he main supports of his crown, and he egretted him not less as a useful citizen, t whom the nation was justly proud,

than as a loyal servant, who was sincerely attached to his master. Love, nevertheless, mingled with the King's regrets; since he could not but be sensible that he was now without a rival; and that the Countess was free from a constraint, which had hitherto separated them from each other. The Earl died without children; and the law compelled his widow to renounce the territorial possessions which were attached to the title, and which now reverted to the Crown. This event, therefore, rendered her presence in London unavoidable; and, on her arrival in the metropolis, her father, desirous to relieve her from the melancholy in which she was plunged, wished to introduce her at Court, and present her to the King. This proposal, however, met her firm refusal. "What is it that you propose to me, my Lord?" said she; "ere these mourning habiliments are well folded round me, would you have me parade them in solemn mockery at the foot of the throne? Never! Leave me, I conjure you, my Lord; leave me to solitude and despair."

De Grandison wished not to constrain the inclinations of his daughter; and upon communicating the reasons of her absence, the King affected to be satisfied with them. He had, however, communicated his passion to Sir William Trussell, one of the most artful intriguers and insinuating sycophants about his Court; who, anxious only to secure his place in the King's favour, had encouraged him in the prosecution of this amour, and even violence, should it be necessary towards the attainment of his object.

"The ingrate!" said the King, when he found himself alone with Trussell, " she refuses me even the innocent grati. fication of beholding her. I ask but an interview; I wish but to look upon her beauty; and she refuses to grant ine even this niggardly boon, for all that she has made me suffer."

My Liege," said Trussell, "it is compromising your honour and your dignity, to submit to such audacity. The daughter of De Grandison ought to feel but too much flattered that King Edward deigns to bestow a glance, or a thought upon her. Her husband is in the tomb; she is free from all restraint; and you have tendered your love: what is it that she opposes to your offer? Her virtue ! Is not obedience virtue? Is not compliance the first duty of subjects to their sovereign? My Liege, this daughter of De Grandison hides intrigue under the name of virtue. Your Grace has rival."

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"Ha!" said Edward, while his lip

quivered, and his whole gigantic frame trembled like an aspen leaf: "By Heaven, thou hast it, Trussell! Fool that I was to feign that reserve for which this haughty minion now despises me! Fly to her, then; demand an audience, and command her to appear at Court; tell her that I will brook no answer but compliance."

Trussell hastened to execute the Monarch'sorders; and the King, left to him self, began to ponder on the course which he was pursuing. "I have yielded, then," said he," to the fiend's suggestions; and thus abased myself to a level with the weakest and most despicable of mankind. I am preparing to play the tyrant with my subjects, and my first victim is an unhappy woman; whose only crime is the obstinacy with which she repels my unworthy addresses. Hither," he added, clapping his hands, and immediately one of his pages stood before him; " hasten after Sir William Trussell: bid him attend me instantly."

"Trussell," said the King, as he returned equipped for the errand he was about to undertake, "I have consulted my heart; I have held communion with myself; and I have learned that it befits not Edward of England to employ force or artifice to achieve the conquest of the heart of Katharine; "I will vanquish her obstinacy by other means."

"What, my Liege!" said Trussell, " will you then submit"

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To any thing, rather than suffer the Countess of Salisbury to accuse me of despotism."

"In your Grace's place-" said Trussell. " In my place," interrupted Edward, " you would act as I do: I wish to show that I possess the soul, as well as the sta tion of a King. Katharine of Salisbury shall not be the victim of my caprice.Go; and, in future, give me only such counsel as shall be worthy of us."

The King congratulated himself on this heroic effort; and it was one which cost him many pangs: nor was the Countess without her struggles and her anxieties; for, while the image of her lost husband was hourly becoming more effaced from her heart, that of the King was more deeply engraven there than ever. She received manyfletters from him, but answered none; and the pride of the royal lover began to take fire again at the neglect and contumely with which his mistress treated his addresses; whilst Trussell used every means of nourishing this feeling, and of insinuating that both the father and daughter were anxious only to enhance the price at which the virtue of the latter was to be bartered.

De Grandison, who began to think that his daughter carried her grief for her husband to an immoderate height, now remonstrated with her, somewhat impetuously, on her absence from the Court.

"Do you think," said he, "that I will willingly behold you in a state of eternal widowhood? or that I will suffer you to fail in the respect and duty which we owe the King? Is there a monarch in the world so worthy of his subjects love?"

"Alas!" said the Countess, "who can feel more deeply than I do, how much we are indebted to him. But take care, my father, that he performs the contract for which his royal word and your own are irrevocably given. See that he weds, and that speedily, Philippa de Hainault."

"Wherefore should I doubt that he

will do so?" said De Grandison. "Is he not pledged in the face of all Europe, to become her husband? and was I not the bearer of his promise to the Earl of Hainault to that effect?"

"He will never wed her, my father," said the Countess; " you are yourself witness that from day to day he defers the marriage, on the most frivolous pretexts."

"

Nay, y, nay, sweet Katharine," said the old Lord, "wherefore should you take so much interest in this marriage? This is but a stratagem to put me from my suit. I am going this evening to attend the King, so you must accompany

me."

"Pardon me, my dearest father, pardon me, but I cannot go."

"I entreat, I command you," said de Grandison. "I have too long permitted your disobedience, and now"

"Father! behold me a suppliant on my knees before you; defer but for a few days, defer this visit to the court, and then I will obey you."

"What means this emotion, Katharine?" said her father, "I find it difficult to refuse you any thing. Do not forget, however, that the delay which I grant must be but a short one, in three days you must accompany me."

This interview, however, which the Baron had been unable to effect, either by his commands or his entreaties, he at last managed to accomplish by a stratagem. He persuaded his daughter to consent to accompany him to a masqued ball, to which she had been invited by the Countess of Suffolk, at her seat, a fev miles distant from London; and th fair and noble widow no sooner made he appearance among the assembled cor-. pany, than every eye was fixed upa

her. Her tall and stately, yet graceful figure, glided down the rooms like a visitant from another sphere, when an unfortunate accident completely disconcerted her. A mask, richly dressed, had long followed her through all the apart ments; when, as she was endeavouring with some embarrassment to escape from his pursuit, by hurrying to a vacant seat, her Garter dropped upon the floor; the mask eagerly stooped down and seized it, and she, as eagerly, instantly demanded its restoration.

"Nay, gentle madam," said he, "this is a prize too precious to be lightly parted with, and I

"Discourteous knight," said the lady, "know you whom you treat with so much indignity?" and at these words, she removed the mask from her face, hoping thus to awe her persecutor into acquiescence. Her surprise, however, was equal to that of any one present, when her tormentor, removing his own visor, discovered the features of King Edward. The lady sank on her knees before the monarch, and the whole company followed her example.

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stow!

How warm thy whispers in the bosom glow !
Fair as the happiest spot in Paradise,
What blissful scenes beneath thy pencil rise,
And seem to beckon on the raptur'd heart
To taste the blessings which their joys impart!
Oh! to be always young would be a heav'n!
For ev'ry care by youth is backward driven,
Or quickly slain! The thoughts which on-
ward rove,
Tasting the ripe delicious fruit of love,
Seem guides to heav'n's best joys! Delightful
days-
The fairest fruit the tree of life can raise !

feast

On the full flavour of their nectar'd taste!
How full of sweets they are! if aught there be

come from Thee!"

Age.

"Behold!" cried the King, holding GoD! let me thankful prove, while yet I up the ravished garter, a treasure, of the possession of which I own myself unworthy; yet I will not part with it, for Can make them sweeter seem, 'tis this-they any ransom wealth or power can offer." An ill-suppressed burst of laughter followed this speech. "Honi soit qui mal y pense!" exclaimed the King. “Laugh on, my lords and gentlemen! but in good time the merriest of ye, aye, and the greatest sovereigns of Europe, shall be proud to wear this Garter." Thus saying, the King whispered a few words to the Countess, which seemed to occasion her considerable embarrassment; and then, making a lowly obeisance, left the apartment. [To be Continued.

EXTRACTS FROM THE "ΟΜΝΙΡΟ.
TENCE OF THE DEITY."
Publishing by Subscription.

BY R. JARMAN.

(For the Olio.)

Enfancy.

"Fair Infancy! -the matin hour of life,
Scarce mark'd by star of joy, or cloud of
strife-

Who can long gaze upon thy cherub-cheeks,
Note thy all-happy smile and ringlets sleek,
And hear thy guileless prattle, and forget
The God who guides along thy tott'ring step ?
Vho, as he gazes, cannot quick descry

lis Maker's goodness in thy smiling eye ? r who can look on thee-fair, blooming id doubt his God's sublime, unbounded POW'R?

flow'r,

"Still Age! thy placid years may fairly be
Term'd the still even of humanity;
Thy soften'd passions and thy hopes well
The fresh'ning breeze and mellow moonshine

tried,

wide;

Thy noiseless habits and thy joy's calm smile,
The happy quiet, and the planet's wile;
And the soft sinking of thy slow decay,

The growing beauties of the dying day:
Ah! many a fostering hand attends thy bed,
And smooths the pillow for thy languid head;
Tends all thy wants with pitying kindness
still,

Watches thy wishes, and outstrips thy will!
Full many an eye meets thine with rev'rence
kind-

The best return for culture of the mind;
And many an ear is bent to hear thy tales
Of hall, or cottage, or the sea-born gales!
When children tend thee at affection's beck,
And their young offspring play upon thy
neck;

When long-tried friends attend thy oft-told
tale,
And wond'ring younkers at its horrors quail;
Thy happy cup is full: thou ean'st not drain,
And therefore tastest not the dregs of pain!"

EVASIONS are the common shelter of the hard-hearted, the false and impotent, when called upon to assist; the real great alone plans instantaneous help, even when his looks or words object against its possibility. LAVATER.

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