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him. He raised slowly his brow and features which were black and swoln with contending emotions, and only replied, " My head can not fall but by the sentence of my peers-to them I will plead, and not to a princess, who thus requites my faithful service."

What! my lords," said Elizabeth, looking around, "we are defied, I think-defied in the Castle we have ourselves bestowed on this proud man!-My Lord Shrewsbury, you are Marshall of England, attach him of high treason."

"Whom does your Grace mean?" said Shrewsbury, much surprised, for he had that instant joined the astonished circle.

"Whom should I mean, but that traitor, Dudley, Earl of Leicester! -Cousin of Hunsdon, order out your band of gentlemen pensioners, and take him into instant custody.-I say, villain, make haste!"

Hunsdon, a rough old noble, who, from his relationship to the Boleyns, was accustomed to use more freedom with the Queen than almost any others, replied bluntly, "And it is like your Grace might order me to the Tower to-morrow, for making too much haste. I do beseech you to be patient."

"Patient-God's life!" exclaimed the Queen,-"name not the word to me-thou know'st not of what he is guilty!"

Amy, who had by this time in some degree recovered herself, and who saw her husband, as she conceived, in the utmost danger from the rage of an offended Sovereign, instantly (and, alas! how many women have done the same!) forgot her own wrongs, and her own danger, in her apprehensions for him, and throwing herself before the Queen, embraced her knees, while she exclaimed,"He is guiltless, madamhe is guiltless-no one can lay aught to the charge of the noble Leicéster."

"Why, minion," answered the Queen, " didst not thou, thyself, say that the Earl of Leicester was privy to the whole history?"

"Did I say so?" repeated the unhappy Amy, laying aside every consideration of consistency, and of self-interest; "O, if I did, I foully belied him. May God so judge me, as I believe he was never privy to a thought that, would harm me!"

"Woman!" said Elizabeth, "I will know who has moved thee to this; or my wrath, and the wrath of kings is a flaming fire, shall wither and consume thee like a weed in the furnace!"

As the Queen uttered this threat, Leicester's better angel called his pride to his aid, and reproached him with the utter extremity of meanness, which would overwhelm him forever, if he stooped to take shelter under the generous interposition of his wife, and abandoned her, in return for her kindness, to the resentment of the Queen. He had already raised his head, with the dignity of a man of honour, to avow his marriage, and proclaim himself the protector of his Countess, when Varney, born, as it appeared, to be his master's evil genius, rushed into the presence, with every mark of disorder on his face and apparel.

"What means this saucy intrusion?" said Elizabeth.

Varney, with the air of a man altogether overwhelmed with grief and confusion, prostrated himself before her feet, exclaiming, "Pardon, my Liege, pardon!-or, at least, let your justice avenge itself on me, where it is due; but spare my noble, my generous, my innocent patron and master!"

Amy, who was yet kneeling, started up as she saw the man, whom she deemed most odious, place himself so near her, and was about to

fly towards Leicester, when, checked at once by the uncertainty and even timidity which his looks had re-assumed as soon as the appearance of his confidant seemed to open a new scene, she hung back and uttering a faint scream, besought of her Majesty to cause her to be imprisoned in the lowest dungeon of the castle,-to deal with her as the worst of criminals;-" but spare," she exclaimed, "my sight and hearing, what will destroy the little judgment I have left-the sight of that unutterable and most shameless villain!"

"And why, sweetheart?" said the Queen, moved by a new impulse; "what hath he, this false knight, since such thou accountest him, done to thee?"

"Oh, worse than sorrow, madam, and worse than injury-he has sown dissention where most there should be peace. I shall go mad if I look longer on him."

"Beshrew me, but I think thou art distraught already," answered the Queen." My Lord Hunsdon, look to this poor distressed young woman, and let her be safely bestowed, and in honest keeping, till we require her to be forthcoming."

Two or three of the ladies in attendance, either moved by compassion for a creature so interesting, or by some other motive, offered their service to look after her; but the Queen briefly answered, "Ladies, under favour, no.- -You have all (give God thanks) sharp ears and nimble tongues-our kinsman, Hunsdon has ears of the dullest, and a tongue somewhat rough, but yet of the slowest, Hunsdon, look to it that none have speech of her."

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By our Lady!" said Hunsdon, taking in his strong sinewy arms the fading and almost swooning form of Amy, "she is a lovely child; and though a rough nurse, your Grace hath given her a kind one. She is safe with me as one of my own lady-birds of daughters."

So saying, he carried her off, unresisting almost unconscious; his war-worn locks and long gray beard mingling with her light-brown tresses, as her head reclined on his strong square shoulder. The Queen followed him with her eye-she had already, with that selfcommand, which forms so necessary a part of a Sovereign's accomplishments, suppressed every appearance of agitation, and seemed as if she desired to banish all traces of her burst of passion from the recollection of those, who had witnessed it. "My Lord Hunsdon," she said, "is but a rough nurse for so tender a babe."

"My Lord Hunsdon," said the Dean of St. Asaph, "I speak it not in defamation of his more noble qualities, hath a broad license in speech, and garnishes his discourse somewhat too freely with the cruel and superstitious oaths, which savour both of profaneness and of old papestrie."

"It is the fault of his blood, Mr. Dean," said the Queen, turning sharply round upon the reverend dignitary as she spoke; and you may blame mine for the same distemperature. The Boleyns were ever a hot and plain-spoken race, more hasty to speak their mind than careful to choose their expressions. And by my word-I hope there is no sin in that affirmation-1 question if it were much cooled by mixing with that of Tudor."

As she made this last observation, she smiled graciously, and stole her eyes almost insensibly round to seek those of the Earl of Leicester, to whom she now began to think she had spoken with hasty harshness, upon the unfounded suspicion of a moment."

In the vigorous delineation of character, this novel, if inferior to the earliest works of its author, is far richer than most of his later productions. Besides the historical portraits of the Queen and Leicester, which are executed with great skill, there are several persons, whom the reader has not recognised before, but who are now individualized in his mind for ever. We can not forget Anthony Foster, the fire and faggot zealot, who mingles religion so strangely with his villany-or his innocent daughter, Janet, who makes puritanism amends for the discredit brought on it by her father-or Varney, whose terrible atrocities are rendered more fearful, by his horrid smoothness and courtierlike demeanour-or Michael Lambourne, the best, perhaps, of the whole, whose easy virtue and gay vulgarity are redeemed by the spirit of joyousness and lusty life, which breathes through all his speeches and actions. Kenilworth, thus rich in characteristic delineation, is chiefly wanting in that tinge of poetry, and those pure humanities, which have so softened and elevated the effect of the author's earlier romances. There is no being of great moral or intellectual nobleness; no image of angelical loveliness, like that of Rebecca-or of stern and lowly beauty, like that of Jenny Deans; nor even any high uprisings and momentary triumphs of goodness, in the bosoms of the darker of its persons. The verisimilitude, too, of the scenes, though often complete, is produced by a number of minute touches, rather than by those bold master-strokes, which have come so often from his pencil. On the whole, the work displays almost as wonderful a power of realizing to us distant times and persons, as any of its author's romances; but it wants the best and most permanent charm of his earlier writings-that spirit of good, which, in them, was felt to be ever present, shedding a more than magical lustre on all things.

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LINES FOR THE BUST OF MILTON,

IN the amphitheatre at Mount Edgcumbe, is erected a small Grecian temple, in which is placed a bust of Milton, with an inscription from "Paradise Lost," which one could almost imagine was written on this very spot, every part of the scene so well agreeing.

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Nothing appeared wanting to complete the magical effect of the whole, but an Eolian harp; and on this hint were written the following lines:

And well, O Milton! is thine honour'd bust

Placed the deep twilight of these woods among;
For, though far off repose the poet's dust,
Here lingers still the spirit of his song:

And oft, at eve, these high arcades along,
To Fancy's dreaming eye his form will glide;
While even the depths of stillness finds a tongue,
And sounds unearthly float upon the tide,

Or in faint murmurs die along the dark hill side.

Yet why, O why, in such a scene, is mute

That lyre which scorns the touch of mortal hand-
The lyre of Heaven-the wandering Ariel's lute,
Which fairy fingers all alone have spann'd,
And the pure Zephyr's waving breath hath fann'd?
"Twere sweet to catch its tones when, still and dim,
The beauty-breathing hues of eve expand;
When day's last roses fade on ocean's brim,
And nature veils her brow, and chants her vesper hymn.

Sweet were that sound, at night, to many a band
That beats, with printless steps, the glimmering wave;
Sweetly 'twould linger or the moonlight sand,

To him who loves to tread where waters lave,
And dream of that which spurns the peaceful grave;
And sweetly would it fill the pauses deep,

When Autumn night-winds cease awhile to rave,

Or in low moanings hush themselves to sleep,

While listening woods and waves a holy concord keep.

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Having obtained access to a collection of highly interesting Original Letters, in the hand-writing of some of the most eminent men of former times; we feel great pleasure in commencing a series of extracts from these very curious volumes, which we purpose to continue occasionally, as our limits may permit, accompanying each letter by a fac-simile of its signature.

The value of this acquisition will, we have no doubt, be duly appreciated by our readers; whilst for ourselves we must candidly acknowledge, that we feel deeply indebted to that gentlemanly feeling, which has thus kindly admitted us to the privilege of selecting from documents, which could only have been obtained under peculiar circumstances, and by the most assiduous researches during a long period of time.

To choose from among the many mighty names before us, is, we find, a task by no means easy; for among them we discover many of our most eminent statesmen, patriots, philosophers, orators, poets, and divines. We will begin, however, with a letter from one who united, in himself, most of these characters the amiable John Evelyn, whose memoirs, recently published, have attracted universal attention. He was a zealous royalist, and went abroad during the civil troubles in the reign of Charles I. At the restoration he returned to England, and died at Wotton in Surrey, Feb. 27, 1706. He was as remarkable for the solidity of his judgment, as for the piety and integrity of his heart.

John Evelyn to Abp. Tenison.

My Reu'd Lord,

4th 9br. (16)80.

Being now (thro' the infinite clemency of a gratious God) arriv'd to the sixtieth yeare of my age; I haue (upon very serious consideration) thought it absolutely necessary, to make a more accurate discussion and search into all the passages of my whole life, to this large period: and that what I haue but hitherto don perhaps (yea, doubtlesse) too partialy, and upon solemn occasions chiefely, with greate infirmities, I might now do universaly, and so as I would desire to haue my last audite and accompts stated, when God shall calle me to die; and haue then onely that work (which is also a very greate one) to finish, I cannot expect my time should now be long in this world. By the course of Nature (tho', blessed be God, I haue enjoy'd wonderfull health of body) I must, and do now, looke when my change shall come; and I would not be surpriz'd (as I perceiue daily

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