fortune; his father's estate having greatly suffered in the confusion of those turbulent times. Belville was now in his twenty-ninth year ;-his figure was graceful and manly,—and to a disposition as amiable as his person was joined an understanding both quick and strong, and which had been improved by the most extensive education, that the fashion of the age allowed. He had been sent to travel over Europe,-had resided in several of its principal courts;-and was now on his return from a short expedition into France, and had stopped at Canterbury to pay his respects to the abbot, and to deliver him certain letters with which he had been charged. Belville, on his first return to England, a few years previous to the present period, had been honored by the patronage of Richard Duke of Gloucester; near whose person he held an employment, which could not long dispense with his ab sense; for that prince, being now mounted on the throne of England, the whole nation was thrown into an hostile state. It will not be wondered at, if after Belville and Isabella had been a few days together, their mutual accomplishments, and their mutual desire to please, should have made them much charmed with one another. Belville felt himself enamoured of his fair companion, aud had the satisfaction to perceive that his attention was not thrown away. Though he took leave, after a short time, to go to London, yet he found an excuse for returning very soon; and having reason to think he had made a favorable impression on Isabella, did not long hesitate to propose himself to her, as one who would be happy to pass his life in the society of so engaging a woman. His offer was not less pleasing to Isabella than it was to her uncle and Frances :-the latter of whom agreed to give up to her sister, her right in the castle of Saint Clair, where it was proposed they should reside. Every thing was preparing for their nuptials; and nothing could wear a fairer face of prosperity, than did this purposed union of true and disinterested affection. But the successful progress that the arms of Henry of Richmond now made in the kingdom, had obliged Richard to oppose them with his utmost force, and to summon all his servants to attend his camp; amongst whom as I before mentioned, was the intended bridegroom; who, at this time, would most willingly have waved the service, had not his own nice sense of honor, and his zeal for his royal master, overcome every private, motive. Were I to follow closely the manuscript from whence the substance of this story is drawn, it would lead me into some of the historical transactions of those times, which are already sufficiently known; only it is worthy of being remembered, that there are encomiums bestowed on the character and person of Richard; upon both of which historians have thrown so much deformity. I shall therefore pass over those circumstances, which are foreign to my subject; and only observe, that the unfortunate Belville was amongst those of the king's followers, who shared the fate of their royal master in Bosworth Field. He was near Richard in great part of the battle, and was also a witness of his death;-and by his own horse being killed under him, either by the fall or by being trampled on in the confusion, his thigh was broken; and, after Richmond's party had obtained the victory, this gallant youth was carried, with several others wounded, into Leices ter,-where, his rank being known, he was lodged in a monastery of Black Friars, in that city. His page, Bertram, who had served him from his infancy, took care that every assistance should be procured him; but the fever, which was occasioned by the accident, together, with the many bruises he had received, neither gave himself, or those about him, any other prospect but that of approaching death. Those who contemplate Belville a few weeks before, in the full vigour of youth, flattering himself with every expectation of happiness, that virtue, fortune, and an union with one of the loveliest of women, could present to his imagination; and now picture him-stretched on a poor pallet, surrounded by a parcel of mendicant friars,-his countenance shrunk and wan,—and his eyes fixed with humility, and resignation, on a crucifix which they held before him,-cannot surely, by the contrast, avoid dropping a sigh at the fallacy of human hopes! A little before he expired, he desired to be left alone with his page, that he might give him his latest orders. "Bertram," says he,-looking wistfully on him-" the day that hath ruined our sovereign's fortune hath blasted mine!—and that. too, in the moment when it shone the fairest !—Thou wilt soon render me the last of thy faithful services!-Let my body rest with the fathers of this house, and as soon as thou hast seen its due rites performed, speed thee to Canterbury, and acquaint the holy abbot of Saint Augustin, with the bloody event of yesterday. Conjure him that he unfold it to my intended bride, in such manner as his discretion shall advise. Bear her this jewel from my finger, in token that my last thoughts dwelt on her;-and tell her, my only sigh in leaving the world was for the losing her, whose virtues so embellished it !" (To be continued.) STANZAS, ON A TOMB STONE IN DITTON CHURCH-YARD, SURREY. BY MRS. ANN ROLFE, AUTHOR OF THE WILL, OR TWENTY-ONE YEARS, ETC. Sacred to the Memory of John Kaye, Esq. late Accountant General, I knew thee not when living, no, Or whether thou dropp'd in the grave, I cannot tell-but pity must Some pensive tears let fall, For one so soon consigned to dust, Forgotten too, perhaps by those And fancy brings thee to my view, The proud, the beautiful, and true, Now fancy shifts the scene again, The eyes, whose starry beams are fled, So young at once to yield thy breath, Beyond which none can scan, The spirit's fled, -the body's here, No gorgeous monument is near, Oh! no-a humble stone alone How many rest in gorgeous state, That lived despised, and still are great While wisdom, worth, the virtuous brave, And humbly in some lowly grave Ye beautiful beneath the sod, Eternity! tremendous sound, To those who fear the theme, With life's celestial stream; The sod is much beaten down, and engenders mournful ideas in the mind of a stranger. |