It was on the night previous to Shakspeare's departure from London, that he and Ben Jonson, having left the Mermaid together, at a somewhat late hour, the conversation naturally turned upon the friends whom the former was about to revisit. Ben had been much struck, as we have seen, both with the manners and appearance of Helen Montchensey, on his late trip to Stratford, and now learning from Shakspeare, that owing to the late train of events, there would, in all probability, soon be a marriage feast at Wyeburne, "Body of me, my dear Will," he exclaimed, as he took his parting leave of the poet, "an there be a wedding at the Hall, you shall see me among the guests. Tell Master Montchensey, therefore, with my kind affections, that I have not forgotten his invitation, and that should he give away his bonny Helen this autumn, I will do my best to grace the nuptials."

After spending a day or two at New-Place on his route, Shakspeare was received at Wyeburne with the most sincere and heartfelt pleasure. Montchensey had passed, indeed, during the absence of his friend, a hurried and an

anxious time, nor was Helen, though ignorant of the precise object of Shakspeare's expedition to town, scarcely less uneasy or apprehensive; for she could not but infer from what had fallen under her observation previous to the poet's departure, and from what had since casually, and almost unconsciously dropped from her father's lips, during his moments of abstraction, that something of essential importance both to his happiness, and to that of Hubert's and her own, hung in the balance. Her only solace, in fact, had been that of unbosoming her sorrows to her beloved friend Agnes Clifford, to whom she sent a minute account of all that had happened since their visit to Stratford, intimating a wish at the same time that, should circumstances assume a more favourable aspect, Agnes would pay her annual visit at the Hall, whilst the Bard of Avon was yet with them.

Under this state of painful uncertainty at Wyeburne, whilst Montchensey was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Neville, and Helen knew not what to hope or dread, the cheerful countenance and engaging conversation of Shakspeare proved a cordial to their hearts. He

took, indeed, an early opportunity of whispering to Helen, without entering further into the affair, that in a few days he trusted all would be well, both at the hall and in the cottage. With Hubert, however, he deemed it necessary in one particular at least, to be more explicit, for he had his pardon, and that of his associates in his charge, and he much wished, that before Raymond Neville could reach Wyeburne, the dispersion of these freebooters could be effected. Simon Fraser, he understood, had been repeatedly with Montchensey during his absence, and had told him that Hubert, who often called at the cottage, was, he believed, seriously and earnestly engaged in endeavouring to bring over his companions to a subserviency to his views and wishes, a piece of information which induced Shakspeare, the morning following his arrival at the Hall, to pay an early visit to the good old man. He found Simon and his wife, delighted beyond measure at the sudden and entire alteration which had taken place in the sentiments and conduct of their dear child, as they fondly termed Hubert Gray, and ready

almost to worship their friend Shakspeare as the author of so blessed a change.

"My worthy friends," exclaimed the poet, endeavouring to moderate their too warm expressions of acknowledgment, "thank not me, but Him of whom I am the humblest of instruments; and recollect I beseech you, that it is for one whom I have every reason to believe the son of my dear and long-lost companion, that I have been making these efforts."

The words "God bless you!" had just escaped the lips of the grey-haired minstrel, as about to reply, when the door of the room opening, there stood before them Hubert Gray. An exclamation of rapture and astonishment burst from the youth on beholding Shakspeare, and the next moment, throwing himself at the feet of the bard, he took his hand, and with a look in which the deepest anxiety was painted, he faintly uttered, "And have found my parents ?"

you

"Dearest Hubert !" replied the poet, raising him from the ground, whilst tears started in his eyes, "I would I could this moment fully

gratify your heart; but I can, however, venture to say, that a few days, a very few days, will now, I think, decide the question, and I do trust to our mutual satisfaction. In the meantime, my son, and as preparatory to the disclosure we are looking forward to, I present you with this, a full pardon from our most gracious sovereign for yourself and your associates, who are prepared, I hope, to avail themselves of the royal mercy with promptitude and thankfulness."

"With that generous enthusiasm, my noble friend," returned Hubert," which is sometimes found to burn with a pure and intense flame in the breasts even of the most lawless, these men have agreed to sacrifice their predatory habits for the welfare of their leader, and will, I have no doubt, on the sight of this instrument, immediately disperse; and though their wants and mode of life have been such as do not easily accord with the regular and even current of society, I am convinced their re-union is not to be apprehended, influenced as I know they will be, not merely by the consciousness of the signal vengeance which may follow any contempt