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was by no means so impregnable to a single thief who should simply use the precaution of taking off his shoes. Not a single domestic did Mary meet as she took her wellknown way towards the stables; and even Bayard's loud neigh of recognition, echoed as it was by the delighted sorrel, failed to disturb the slumbers of Dymocke and his satellites. With her own fair hands Mary saddled and bridled her favourite, hurting her delicate fingers against the straps and buckles of his appointments. With her own fair hands she jessed and hooded Dewdrop,' and took her from her perch in the falconer's mews, without leave asked of that still unconscious functionary; and thus dressed and mounted, with foot in stirrup and hawk on hand, Mary emerged through Boughton-park like some female knight-errant, and took her well-known way to Brampton-ford.

We are all more or less selfdeceivers, and this lady was no exception to the rule of humanity. Secresy was no doubt judicious on such an expedition as that which she had now resolved to take in hand; yet it is probable that Dy. mocke at least might have been trusted so far as to saddle her horse and hood her falcon; but something in Mary's heart bid her feel shame that any one, even a servant, should know whither she was bound; and although other and unacknowledged motives besides the obvious duty of warning Charles of his danger prompted her to take so decided a step, she easily persuaded herself that zeal for the King's safety, and regard for his person, made it imperative on her to keep religiously secret the interview she proposed extorting from his Majesty; and that in so delicate and dangerous a business she ought to confide in no one but herself.

So she rode gently on towards Brampton-ford, Bayard stepping lightly and proudly over the spangled sward, and Dewdrop' shaking her bells merrily under the inspiriting influence of the morning air. A few short years ago she would have urged her horse into a gallop in the sheer exuberance of

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her spirits; nay, till within the last twenty-four hours, she would have paced along at least with head erect, and eye kindling to the beauties of the scene; but a change had come over her bearing, and her brow wore a look of depression and sadness, her figure stooped listlessly on her saddle; her whole exterior denoted that weary state of dejection which overcomes the player in the great game of life, who has thrown the last stake-and lost!

As she neared the river, she looked anxiously and furtively around, peering behind every tree and hawthorn that studded the level surface of the meadow. In vain no fisherman disturbed the quiet waters of the Nene-no solitary figure trampled the long grass, wet with the dews of morning. There was no chance of a recognition-an explanation. Perhaps he avoided it on purpose-perhaps he felt aggrieved and wounded at her long silence-perhaps he had forgotten her altogether. Two years was a long time. Men were proverbially inconstant. Besides, had she not resolved in her own heart that this folly should be terminated at once and for ever? Yes, it was providential he was not there. It was far better-their meeting would have been painful and awkward for both. She could not be sufficiently thankful that she had been spared the trial. All the time she would have given her right arm to see him just once again.

With a deep sigh she roused Bayard into a gallop, and the good steed, nothing loth, stretched away up the hill with the long, regular stride that is indeed the true poetry of motion.' A form couching low behind a clump of alders watched her till she was out of sight, and a shabbily-dressed fisherman, with sad brow and heavy heart, then resumed his occupation of angling in the Nene with the same studious pertinacity that he had displayed in that pursuit for the last two days.

It would have required indeed all the instincts of a loving heart, such as the sorrel, in common with his generous equine brethren, undoubtedly possessed, to recognise in the wan, travel

stained angler the comely exterior of Humphrey Bosville. The drooping moustaches had been closely shaved, the long lovelocks shorn off by the temples to admit of the short flaxen wig which replaced the young Cavalier's dark, silky hair. His worn-out beaver too, slouched down over his eyes, and his rusty jerkin, with its high collar devoid of linen, completed the metamorphosis, while the small feet were encased in huge, shapeless wading boots, and the hands, usually so white and well kept, were now embrowned and stained by the influence of exposure and hard usage. His disguise, he flattered himself, was perfect, and he was not a little proud of the skill by which he had escaped suspicion in the port at which he landed, and deceived even the wary soldiers of the Parliament as to his real character, at several military posts which they occupied, and where he had been examined. Humphrey Bosville, as we know, had passed his parole never again to bear arms against the Parliament, but his word of honour, he conceived, did not prohibit him from being the prime agent in every hazardous scheme organized by the Royal Party at that intriguing time. True to his faith, he missed no opportunity of risking life in the service of his Sovereign, and he was even now waiting in the heart of an enemy's country to deliver an important letter from the Queen to her wretched and imprisoned husband.

For this cause he prowled stealthily about the river Nene, waiting for the chance of Charles's crossing the bridge in some of his riding expeditions, and the sport of fishing in which he seemed to be engaged enabled him to remain in the same spot for several hours, unsuspected of aught save a characteristic devotion to that most patience-wearing of amusements.

Though he saw his ladye love ride by alone in the early morning, a feeling of duty, still paramount in his soldier nature, prevented his discovering himself even to her. So he thought, and persuaded himself there was no leaven of pique, no sense of irritation at long and unmerited neglect, embittering the

kindly impulses of his honest heart. He watched her receding form with aching eyes. Aye,' thought poor Humphrey, all his long-cherished love welling up in that deep tide of 'bitter waters' which is so near akin to hate, ride on as you used to do, in your beauty and your heartlessness, as you would do with out drawing rein or turning aside, though my body were beneath your horse's feet. What care you, that you have taken from me all that makes life hopeful and happy, and left me instead darkness where there should be light, and listless despair where there should be courage, and energy, and trust? I gave you all, proud, heartless Mary, little enough it may be, and valueless to you, but still my all, and what have I reaped in exchange? A fevered worn-out frame, that can only rest when prostrated by fatigue, a tortured spirit that never knows a respite save in the pressure of immediate and imminent danger. Well, it will soon be over now. This last stroke will probably finish my career, and there will be repose at any rate in the grave. I will be true to the last. Loyalty before all. You shall hear of him when it is too late, but of his own free will, proud, heartless woman, he will never look upon your face again!'

Our friend was very much hurt, and quite capable of acting as he imagined. These lovers' quarrels, you see, though the wise rate them at their proper value, are sufficiently painful to the poor fools immediately concerned, and Major Bosville resumed his sport, not the least in the frame of mind recommended by old Isaac Walton to the disciple who goes a-fishing.

Meanwhile Mary Cave stretched on at Bayard's long easy gallop till she came in view of the spires and chimneys of Holmby House towering into the summer sky, when, with a gleam of satisfaction such as she had not yet displayed kindling on her beautiful face, she drew rein, and prepared for certain active operations, which she had been meditating as she came along.

Taking a circuit of the Palace, and entering the park at its westernmost gate, she loosed Dewdrop's

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jesses, and without unhooding her, flung the falcon aloft into the air. A soft west wind was blowing at the time, and the bird, according to the nature of its kind, finding itself free from restraint, but at the same time deprived of sight, opened its broad wings to the breeze and soared away towards the pleasuregrounds of the Palace, in which Charles and the Earl of Pembroke were taking their accustomed exercise.

Mary was no bad judge of falconry, and the very catastrophe she anticipated happened exactly as she intended. The hawk, sailing gallantly down the wind, struck heavily against the branches of a tall elm that intervened, and fell lifeless on the sward almost at the

King's feet. Mary at the same time urging Bayard to his speed, came scouring rapidly down the park as though in search of her lost favourite, and apparently unconscious of the presence of royalty or the proximity of a palace, put her horse's head straight for the sunken fence which divided the lawns from the park. Bayard pointed his small ears, and cleared it at a bound, his mistress reining short up after performing this feat, and dismounting to bend over the body of her dead falcon with every appearance of acute and pre-occupied distress.

The King and Lord Pembroke looked at each other in mute astonishment. Such an apparition was indeed an unusual variety in those tame morning walks, and the drooping figure of the lady, the dead bird, and the roused, excited horse, would have made a fit group for the sculptor or the painter.

Gallantly ridden, fair dame!' said the King, at length, breaking the silence, and discovering himself to the confused equestrian. ‘Although this is a somewhat sudden and unceremonious intrusion on our privacy, we are constrained to forgive it, in consideration of the boldness of the feat, and the heavy nature of your loss. Your falcon, I fear, is quite dead. Ha!' added the monarch, with a start of recognition; by my faith it is Mistress Mary Cave! You are not here for nothing,' he proceeded, becoming visibly pale, and speaking in an

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agitated tone; are there tidings of the Queen ?'

Mary was no contemptible actress; acting is, indeed, an accomplishment that seems to come naturally to most women. She now counterfeited such violent confusion and alarm at the breach of etiquette into which her thoughtlessness had hurried her, that the old Earl of Pembroke began to make excuses for her impetuosity, and whilst Mary, affecting extreme faintness, only murmured water, water,' the old courtier kept urging upon the King that the lady was probably ignorant of court forms-that she did not know she was so near the palace -that her horse was running away with her,' and such other incongruous excuses as his breathless state admitted of his enumerating.

The King lost patience at last.

'Don't stand prating there, man,' said he, pointing to Mary, who seemed indeed to be at the last gasp; go and fetch the lady some water-can you not see she will faint in two minutes ?'

And while the old Earl hobbled off in quest of the reviving element, Charles raised Mary from her knees, and repeated, in a voice trembling with alarm, his previous question, "Are there tidings from the Queen?'

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'No, my liege,' replied Mary, whose faintness quitted her with extraordinary rapidity as soon the Earl was out of ear-shot. This business concerns yourself. There is a plot to carry off your Majesty's person, there is a plot to lead you to London a prisoner, this very day. I only discovered it at midnight. I had no means of communicating unwatched with my Sovereign, and I took this unceremonious method of intruding on his privacy. Forgive me, my liege, I did not even know that I should be so fortunate as to see you for an instant alone; had you been accompanied by more than one attendant, I must have taken some other means of placing this packet in your hands.'

As Mary spoke she unbound the masses of her shining hair, and taking a paper from its folds, presented it to the King, falling once more upon her knees, and kissing the royal hand extended to her with devoted loyalty. I have here

communicated to your Majesty in cipher all I have learned about the plot. I might have been searched had I been compelled to demand an interview, and I knew no better method of concealing my packet than this. Oh, my liege! my liege! confide in me, the most devoted of your subjects. It is never too late to play a bold stroke; resist this measure with the sword-say but the word, lift but your royal hand, and I will engage to raise the country in sufficient force to bring your Majesty safe off, if I, Mary Cave, have to ride at their head!'

The King looked down at the beautiful figure kneeling there before him, her cheek flushed, her eyes bright with enthusiasm, her long soft hair showering over her neck and shoulders, her horse's bridle clasped in one small gloved hand whilst the other held his own, which she had just pressed fervently to her lips; an impersonation of loyalty, self-abandonment, and unavailing heroism, of all the nobler and purer qualities which had been wasted so fruitlessly in the Royal cause; and a sad smile stole over his countenance, whilst the tears stood in his deep, melancholy eyes as he looked from the animated living figure, to the dead falcon that completed the group.

Enough blood has been shed,' said he; enough losses sustained by the Cavaliers of England in my quarrel. Charles Stuart will never again kindle the torch of war-no, not to save his crown- not to save his head! Nevertheless, kind Mistress Mary, forewarned is forearmed, and your Sovereign offers you his heartfelt thanks, 'tis all he has now to give, for your prompt resolution and your unswerving loyalty. Would that it had cost more than your falcon, would that I could replace your favourite with a bird from my own royal mews. Alas! I am a King now only in name-I believe I have but one faithful subject left, and that is Mistress Mary Cave!'

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As the King spoke, Lord Pembroke returned with the water, and Mary, with many acknowledgments of his Majesty's condescension, and many apologies and excuses, mingled with regrets for the loss of her falcon, remounted her horse, and leaving the pleasure-grounds by a private gate or postern of which the Earl had the key, returned to Boughton by the way she had come, pondering in her own mind on the success of her enterprise and the impending calamities that seemed gathering in to crush the unhappy King.

Much to the relief of the aged nobleman, this adventure closed the royal promenade for that morning, and Charles, giving orders for his attendants to be in readiness after dinner, as it was his intention to ride on horseback and indulge himself in a game of bowls at Lord Vaux's house at Boughton-an intention which may perhaps have accounted for his abrupt dismissal of Mary Cave-retired to the privacy of his closet, there to deliberate, not on the stormy elements of his political future, not on the warning he had just received and the best means of averting an imprisonment which now indeed threatened to be no longer merely a matter of form; not on the increasing power of his sagacious enemy, who was even then taking his wary, uncompromising measures for his downfall, and whose mighty will was to that of the feeble Charles as his long cutand-thrust broadsword to the walking rapier of a courtier; not of Cromwell's ambition and his own incompetency; not of his empty throne and his imperilled headbut of an abstruse dispute on casuistical divinity and the unfinished tag of a Latin verse!

Truly in weaker natures constant adversity seems to have the effect of blunting the faculties and lowering the whole mental organization of the man. The metal must be iron in the first instance, or the blast of the furnace will never temper it into steel.

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REAT as are the facilities afforded

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us at the present day for journeying from place to place, it is a question whether as much has been gained by our improved modes of travelling as is generally imagined. Now that it is no less easy to get away from a place than to reach it, a long sojourn is seldom made anywhere; goaded by a longing after novelty, travellers are ever on the wing in search of fresh fields and pastures new,' and as a natural consequence of this ceaseless flitting about, they derive no real benefitexcepting, perhaps, in so far as health is concerned from their travels. Again, the comparative cheapness of continental travelling, together with sundry other advantages, tempting almost every one to spend his holiday abroad, England has become to the majority a sealed book which they have scarcely any wish to open or curiosity to examine. On the other hand, tourists come back from their rapid flight over France, Germany, and Italy, struck by the few peculiarities in character and singularities in custom of which they have managed to catch a passing glance, unconscious that in districts lying close at hand in their own country are to be found characters quite as strongly marked with peculiarities, and customs to the full as singular as any they may have chanced to fall in with on the other side of the Channel.

In order to prove the truth of our assertion, we would request our readers to accompany us on a visit to a wild hill district of the West Riding of Yorkshire, not twenty miles distant from the desertedlooking village where poor Charlotte Bronté lived out her dreary life.

We will imagine, then, that, travelling by the Great Northern Railway, we have arrived at Leeds, with which, as one of the busiest and most unpicturesque towns of the Riding, most persons are familiar. Some hundred years before the reign of King John-who granted a charter to the Lord of the Manor, which contained a clause to the effect that no woman who was to be sold into slavery should pay custom in the borough-Leeds was

VOL. LX. NO. CCCLVIII.

a wretched village containing some twenty houses; while not more than a century ago its inhabitants were characterized by their indolence and want of enterprise, having nothing to boast of in their town except the parish church, which, Thoresby tells us, resembled the spouse in the Canticles-for it was 'black but comely.' In Leland's time the population was not equally quick with that of Bradford, and until the beginning of the present century but little change had taken place in the manners of the people. At that period, the markets were kept in a street called Bridgate, which was ‘admirable for two things-one, the Bridge-end shot, at which the clothiers could have a good pot of ale, a trencher of roast or boiled meat for their breakfast for two-pence, besides a noggin of pottage; the other, that several thousands of pounds of broadcloths were usually sold there in a few hours, and that with little or no noise. On a sudden, by the sound of a bell, the cloth and benches were removed, and the markets for other trades began.' The roads in the neighbourhood were formerly in a wretched state, and exceedingly unsafe, consisting as they did of a narrow, hollow way, which in winter became a perfect slough, and along the side of which ran, at the height of several feet above it, a narrow, paved horse-track, the remains of which may often be traced at the present day bordering the highways. Travellers meeting on these pack roads found it difficult to pass each other, and winter journeys were toilsome and perilous in the extreme, especially when performed, as was frequently the case, by night. Yet when an attempt was made to improve the state of the high-roads a riot ensued, which rose to such a height that the Mayor of Leeds, in order to quell it, was obliged to call in the aid of a troop of dragoons, who firing upon the mob quickly put them to flight. During those rude and sluggish times few men of note arose among the inhabitants of Leeds; the name of one worthy deserves, however, to be had in honourable remembrance. This was Peter Saxton, sometime vicar of the parish, who during one part of his

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