Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end;
For this the passion to excess was driven,
That self might be annulled-her bondage prove
The fetters of a dream, opposed to love."

WORDSWORTH.

UR Norwich travellers spent the next few days in calling on various friends. The Alderman saw his lordly brethren of London, and enjoyed a

banquet at the Lord Mayor's mansion, which was a house greatly overloaded with heavy architectural ornament. The Fleming had much business with the Dutch merchants then adventuring in India, as also in aiding to found the Massachussets Bay Company, and opening the colonial traffic with America.

The friends went together to see the boys at school. Dr. Osbaldeston was yet more courteous, and conversed freely on public matters. Referring to the boys, the Doctor praised them both, alluding specially to the frank courage of George. Edward he called highly honourable, but reserved, and disposed to side with the Court and High Church party, having a boyish fancy for the Queen and the new Popish fashions. When the boys appeared, the Principal left the party to perfect freedom. After embraces and minor questions, the Alderman asked, "What friends have you picked up here?"

George named Richard Eliot and young Hampden, with

a younger Vane, and added, "We had an election at school, in which John Eliot (eldest son of Sir John) and the eldest Hollis stood against a son of Lord Weston and a nephew of Laud. We did work hard for votes."

"And which side beat?" asked the Fleming.

"Ah!" cried Edward, breaking silence, "we beat, though they called us Papists and Steenie's dogs !—we beat!"

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But were you not on the same side?" said their father. No," answered Edward sadly; "I went with my friend Wren and Bishop Williams's son, whom George calls Bishops' spawn."

"But, my dear boys, you should hold together as you used to do at home."

"So we do, father,” replied George; "only at an election one divides for fun. But I wish Edward did not like that mischievous fellow Stephen Wren."

"No more mischievous than Richard Eliot, the pale-faced idiot,” cried Edward.

"Yes! so our old tutor, Green, advises you," rejoined his brother.

"What have you to do with that man?" said both their astonished visitors in anxiety.

Edward answered, "He only comes to see Wren; and though old Baldy would not like it, he contrives somehow to get admittance."

"Have as little as possible to do with him, Edward."

"He tells us about the Court," replied Edward, "and the great Duke; and about the Queen and her beautiful ladies, Eva and Flora, and the fair Gabrielle; and they send us presents and ribbons."

"Yes," said George bitterly, "and for them you forget all your old friends-even Alice."

"No, I don't," said Edward; "but you are taken up with your Eliots and Vanes, and this troublesome new Parliament, which I would like silenced, so that King and Queen might rule, as God meant them to do."

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'Why, Edward, you have learnt a great deal in a short time! Ought not the King to take the advice of a Parliament when he has called it? Would you wish your own father, and Alice's father, to be fined and lodged in prison, as they certainly would be if the wish you express were fulfilled?”

"Nay, sir, I love father, and all of you, as much as George; but I never heard about the King's troubles before, and I am sorry for them," stammered Edward, with tears in his eyes.

"Boys," said his father, "beware of severing from each other. Do not think you can understand these State matters, which puzzle your elders. Get on with your school learning, and, please God, when you come home, we can talk of these things together."

"Father," said George, "we shall be all right.

Edward's

as good as gold, and like to be one of the first scholars, if it weren't for this Tutor, who tries to influence and sever us. We are quite happy, and very good friends in the main."

"That we are," cordially rejoined Edward, with his old brightness; and so the interview ended. The Alderman seemed to accept this issue, or to hide his uneasy thoughts; but the Fleming could not help discerning "the little rift in the lute," and fearing that a beginning was laid for the division already rending English society by weaning from each other these affectionate brothers.

The Fleming took occasion to call at the Queen's side of the Palace, and ask if any instructions awaited him. He was ushered, as he had hoped, into a private chamber where were Gabrielle and her mother, both rather preoccupied and ceremonious. After some formal messages regarding the royal wants and orders, the Fleming begged to know if he could have the honour of doing anything abroad for these ladies. The mother replied that they were desirous of quitting England soon themselves. A cold and tedious conversation ensued, almost in monosyllables, constantly threatening to

cease, and reopening with effort, until at last the mother remembered some business which called her away.

Finding himself free from restraint, the Fleming then approached his fair mistress, saying, "Does Gabrielle accept this French settlement ?—I can hardly believe or endure it.” The young lady lifted her face with a mischievous expression, and replied, "What else am I to do, Philip? Wait till the Dutch Companies are dissolved, and my earlier knight puts off his russet jerkin, and arrives cap-à-pie to rescue me?"

"Oh, Gabrielle, throw not yourself away!-if not for my sake, at least for your own. This Duke de Rochefoucauld whom they talk of– -but I will not malign even him. Ask Buckingham what he is, and he will say too like himself. Can you love him?-can you endure such a lot?"

"And what is the alternative?" pouted the lovely girl. "Am I, the butterfly, to come down and mate myself with the hedgehog or the snail ?"

"Thanks for the comparison, lady!-but perchance the snail would leave his shell, and find wings to meet the butterfly, did she only call him to her side."

to me.

She playfully retired a few steps, in a sort of dancing measure, and then returned again with an airy grace, and said, “Philip, I always liked you, and do so now. You have saved me from many evils-none worse than those of this Court. But I am not good enough for you; after all, I am only a Court flutterer. I love this Queen, who is very kind I despise the Duke, and his cold, haughty master. I know the devilry which haunts this place. Yet I am a worldling, proud of my rank, and of courtly admiration and incense; fond of ceaseless luxury and mirth. I shrink from all that is coarse and low-bred." Here she again went off in a sort of dance, going and returning, fixing bright eyes on her guest which were as fiery arrows of love in the centre of his heart. Then pausing once more, she continued, “I could not do it-that's the honest truth. 'Tis against my

nature, though I like you so much, and am so grateful to you. Yet don't ask me to make the sacrifice. I might not be able to resist, but I am not fit for it yet."

"YET YET!" echoed the Fleming with a gleam of joy; "then I may wait and hope?"

"And be a fool for your pains!" said the laughing lady; and then, clear as a lark, she trilled out Suckling's verses: "But love is such a mystery,

I cannot make it out;

For when I think I'm best resolved,

I then am most in doubt."

The Fleming listened in a sort of rapture, but waking from it, he sighed and answered:

"Give me more love or more disdain :

The torrid or the frozen zone

Bring equal ease unto my pain;

The temperate affords me none.

Either extreme of love or hate

Is sweeter than a calm estate.'

Farewell, dear lady. I will live awhile upon 'yet,' and hourly wish your happiness, though it were at the expense of my own."

"Nay," replied she, "I forbid it. Dear Philip, give me up. I dismiss you. Go and be happy your own way. I am not made for that way. Some one will be richly happy in your noble heart; but there is a lofty strain in it-I know not what-that frets and mortifies me too keenly for happiFarewell, my good friend!"

ness.

Long after midnight, our hero was making his way home, when he saw a crowd gathered in the road around a handsome chariot. A band of wild roysterers-aristocratic youths, masked and half-drunk, such as infested the streets at nightfall, calling themselves Roaring Blades, or Hellfire Ruffians, and who took liberties with all passers-by,—had stopped this carriage to indulge the pleasure of admiring and terrifying the beauties it contained. He saw some of these rude fellows, with their wild songs, their naked swords,