And sought its handsome shaft to rid
Of weeds, that half its beauty hid,
When lo! some words I then espied,
Full deftly traced on every side!

Square was the plate, and thus 'twas plann'd
That wheresoe'er I chose to stand-

North, south, east, west, start whence I would
To read it-still the sense was good.

And this the motto which I found

Graven that antique dial round,

Mocking, it told those frowning towers,

'I NUMBER+ NONE + BUT SUNNY+ HOURS. +'

The moss-grown turf beneath my feet
Offering a soft and welcome seat,

I rested there, and wearied, slept,

And sleeping, dreamed methought, and wept,

O'er all that seemed so sad and drear

Which erst to some had been full dear,
And of the dial sought to know

The history of so much woe:

'Whose was the hand that fashioned thee?

Doth he beneath some old yew tree

Within the chapel's precincts slumber?'

'NONE+ BUT SUNNY + HOURS + I NUMBER. +'

'The owner of this vast domain,

I fain of him would tidings gain,

Hath he to foreign countries gone?'

'BUT SUNNY+ HOURS + I NUMBER + NONE. +'

'Scarce courteous is thine answer, friend,

To parley with thee serves no end;
One form of words said o'er and o'er
Seems all thy scanty memory's lore;

'Tis each one's lot, and such is meet
To take the bitter with the sweet,
Certes thy store is not all honey?'

'HOURS+I NUMBER + NONE + BUT SUNNY. +'

'Where are the tones of childhood's voice,
Which made these glades and woods rejoice?
Ah! Where, 'neath fragrant myrtle bough
Is whispered Love's impassioned vow?

'Where is the sound of chapel bell

Ringing its summons through the dell,
Bidding their lord's retainers all
To prayer, within the castle wall?

'Dire desolation is around!

No prancing steed, no baying hound,
Nor hooded hawk, await the hand
That gave caress or reprimand.

'Yet thou, of all in this drear spot
So long forsaken and forgot,
Thou, cold unsympathizing stone,
Dost number sunny hours, alone!

'Yes, thou may'st mock at human hearts
So often pierced with sorrow's darts!
No cloud so light, but leaves, I trow,
Some track of sadness on the brow-

'While blackest storms may dim thy face
But of their gloom shall leave no trace!
O Dial, sure I envy thee

Thy bright and happy memory!

I woke, to find the sun had set
Though rosy hues were ling'ring yet
Upon the far horizon's breast,
The soft attendants of his rest.

Homeward I turned, while in my ear
That dial's tones I seemed to hear,
For sure, a lesson I might learn
Ev'n from a stone so taciturn.

I too had known sweet sunny

hours

When all my path was strewn with flow'rs,

Till tempests came, and swept them by,
And I had longed that I might die!

Henceforth, I'll strive not to repine

Though storms may brood, the sun will shine

Nor think his face is hid for aye,

Because he smiles not ev'ry day.

Bravely I'll breast each cloud that lours,

And NUMBER+ NONE + BUT SUNNY + HOURS. +

A. L. C.

THE CAGED LION.

CHAPTER IX.

THE DANCE OF DEATH.

THE Queen was coming! No sooner had the first note of surrender been sounded from the towers of Meaux, than Henry had sent intelligence to England that the way was open for the safe arrival of his much-loved wife; and at length, on a sunny day in May, tidings were received that she had landed in France, under the escort of the Duke of Bedford.

Vincennes, in the midst of its noble forest, was the place fixed for the meeting of the royal pair; and never did a happier or more brilliant cavalcade traverse those woodlands than that with which Henry rode to the appointed spot.

All the winter, the King had heeded appearances as little as of old when roughing it with Hotspur in Wales; but now his dress was of the most royal. On his head was a small green velvet cap, encircled by a crown in embroidery; his robe was of scarlet silk, and over it was thrown a mantle of dark green samite, thickly powdered with tiny embroidered white antelopes; the Garter was on his knee, the George on his neck. It was a kingly garb, and well became the tall slight person, and fair noble features. During those tedious months, he had looked wan, haggard, and care-worn; but the lines of anxiety were all effaced, his lustrous blue eyes shone and danced like Easter suns, his complexion rivalled the fresh delicate tints of the blossoms in the orchards; and when, with a shyness for which he laughed at himself, he halted to brush away any trace of dust that might offend the eye of his 'dainty Kate,' and gaily asked his brother King if he were sufficiently pranked out for a lady's bower, James, thinking he had never seen him so handsome, replied,

'Like a young bridegroom-nay, more like a young suitor.'

'You're jealous, Jamie, afraid of being outshone. 'Tis your own fault, man; none can ever tell whether you be in festal trim or not.'

For King James's taste was for sober, well-blending hues; and as he never lapsed into Henry's carelessness, his state apparel was not very apparently dissimilar from his ordinary dress, being generally of dark rich crimson, blue, or russet, with the St. Andrew's cross in white silk on his breast, or else the ruddy lion, but never conspicuously; and the sombre hues always seemed particularly well to suit his auburn colouring. Malcolm, in scarlet and gold, was a far gayer figure, and quite conscious of the change in his own appearance-how much taller, ruddier, and browner he had become; how much better he held himself both in riding and walking; and how much awkwardness and embarrassment he had lost. No wonder Esclairmonde had despised the sickly, timid,

monkish school-boy; and if she had then shown him any sort of grace or preference, what would she think of the princely young squire he could now show her, who had seen service, had proved his valour, and was only not a knight because of King Henry's unkindness and King James's punctilio at any rate, no child to be brow-beaten and silenced with folly about cloistral dedication; but a youth who had taken his place in the world, and could allege that his inspiration had come through her bright eyes.

Would she be there? That was the chief anxiety, for it was not certain that either she or her mistress would risk themselves on the Continent; and Catherine had given no intimation as to who would be in her suite-so that, as Henry had merrily observed, he was the only one in the whole party who was not in suspense, except indeed Salisbury, who had sent his commands to his little daughter to come out with the Queen.

'She is come!' cried Henry. 'Beforehand with us, after all;' and he spurred his horse on as he saw the banner raised, and the escort around the gate; and in a few seconds more he and his companions had hurried through the court, where the ladies had scarcely dismounted, and hastened into the hall, breaking into the seneschal's solemn reception of the Queen.

'My Kate, my fairest! Mine eyes have been hungry for a sight of thee.' And Catherine, in her horned head-gear and flutter of spangled veil, was almost swallowed up in his hearty embrace; and the fervency of his great love so far warmed her, that she clung to him, and tenderly said, 'My Lord, it is long since I saw you.'

Thou wert before me! Ah! forgive thy tardy knight,' he continued, gazing at her really enhanced beauty as if he had eyes for no one else, even while with lip and hand, kiss, grasp, and word, he greeted her companions, of whom Jaqueline of Hainault and John of Bedford were the most prominent.

And the babe? where is he?' then cried he. 'Let me have him to hold up to my brave fellows in the court!'

"The Prince of Wales?' said Catherine.

bringing him.'

'You never spake of my

'If I spake not, it was because I doubted not for a moment that you would keep him with you. Nay, verily it is not in sooth that you left him. You are merely sporting with me.'

Truly, Sir,' said Catherine, 'I never guessed that you would clog yourself with a babe in the cradle, and I deemed him more safely nursed. at Windsor.'

'If it be for his safety! Yet a soldier's boy should thrive among soldiers,' said the King, evidently much disappointed, and proceeding to eager inquiries as to the appearance and progress of his child; to which the Queen replied with a certain languor, as though she had no very intimate personal knowledge of her little son.

Other eyes were meanwhile eagerly scanning the bright confusion of veils and wimples; and Malcolm had just made out the tall head and dark locks under a long almost shrouding white veil far away in the background behind the Countess of Hainault, when the Duke of Bedford came up with a frown of consternation on his always anxious face, and drawing King James into a window, said, 'What have you been doing to him?' to which James, without hearing the question, replied, 'Where is she?'

'Joan? At home. It was the Queen's will. Of that another time. But what means this?' and he signed towards his brother. Never saw I man so changed.'

'Had you seen him at Christmas you might have said so,' replied James; but now I see naught amiss; I had been thinking I had never seen him so fair and comely.'

'I tell you, James,' said Bedford, contracting his brows till they almost met over his arched nose, 'I tell you, his look brings back to me my mother's, the last time she greeted my father!'

To your fantasy, not your memory, John! You were a mere babe at her death.'

'Of five years,' said Bedford.

That face-that cough-have brought all back-ay, the yearning look when my father was absent, and the pure rosy fairness that Harry and Tom cited so fiercely against one who would have told them how sick to death she was. I mind me too, that when our grandame of Hereford made us motherless children over to our grandsire of Lancaster, it was with a warning that Harry had the tender lungs of the Bohuns, and needed care. One deadly sickness he had at Kenilworth, when my father was ridden for post-haste. My mind misgave me throughout this weary siege; but his service held me fast at home, and I trusted that you would watch over him.'

'A man like him is ill to guide,' said James; but he is more himself now than he had been for months, and a few weeks' quiet with his wife will restore him. But what is this?' he proceeded in his turn; 'why is the Lady Joan not here?'

'How can I tell? It was no fault of mine. I even got a prim warning that it became me not to meddle about her ladies, and I doubted what slanders you might hear if I were seen asking your Nightingale for a token.'

'Have you none! Good John, I know you have.'

John smiled his ironical smile, produced from the pouch at his girdle a small packet bound with rose-coloured silk, and said, 'The Nightingale hath a plume, you see, and saith moreover that her knight hath done his devoir passably, but that she yet looks to see him send some captive giant to her feet. So, Sir Knight, I hope your poor dwarf hath acquitted him well in your chivalrous jargon.'

James smiled and coloured with pleasure; the fantastic message was not devoid of reality in the days when young imaginative spirits tried to