like a King to-day-with just a touch of the pedant; and he made all listen. He had the grand air!" The rest of the fine dames passed by remarking, "He gave it them roundly."-"They look fine men-Spaniards dress so well on gala days."""Tis a fine spectacle, only the Commons rush in like beasts."-"The ladies' fashions are not so striking this year."—" I did not fancy the rattling of swords -surely they won't fight!"

Gabrielle now came on talking merrily. The Fleming thanked her for her enquiries, and her letter. She said provokingly, "I did not think you were really so well, Philip, or I might have spared my forwardness."

"Your kindness, dear lady, has helped greatly to cure me."

"Nay, sir, I was not kind—I was half asleep, and thought my letter was very cold."

"Gabrielle, your very coldest kindness is as summer rays to me."

"There is no question of your goodness, but only of mine," answered the perplexing fairy; "and of this you are no fair judge. Really, Philip, I mean that nearer association would be bad for us. We should differ more than you think. You would be disappointed. I dare not follow my heart, knowing myself to be what I am. Philip, this is the truth, though it distress you. It is better to know it."

"Lady, I respect your sincerity,-I have nothing to oppose; only you said something about brother, and after all I had rather be that than nothing."

"Very good," exclaimed the lady; "so be it. I am so glad you are content." Then rapidly turning to a young companion, she said, "See, Clara, this is my brother-ever since we were children. My brother, Lady Clara D—, she added, with singular liveliness of manner.

"Oh," replied Lady Clara, "your servant, sir! Gabrielle, you have not told me your brother's name. I had imagined a nearer sort of relation !" she said aside.

"Oh no! nothing of the sort-brother and sister." Some further talk ensued, in which the poor Fleming, as usual, had the worst, being let down from the zenith of love to a prosaic level by his merciless and merry companion. He heard Lady Clara expostulate in a whisper, and say, "Nonsense, Gabrielle, you deceive yourself, and treat him shamefully!" She closed her remonstrance with the lines—

"Now be not coy, but use your time,

And while ye may-go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.”

CHAPTER XVIII.

BUCKINGHAM'S END.

“Had you rather Cæsar were living, and die all slaves, than that Cæsar were dead, to live all free men? As Cæsar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honour him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him."-SHAKSPEARE.

UR Norfolk travellers remained in town some days further, in which they visited the House of Commons, and witnessed the calm and able statesmanship of the leaders-heard masterly orations from Seymour, Wentworth, Eliot, and Coke, in advocacy of the Petition of Right, while offering at the same time ample taxes for the King's service. They saw the servile terror of the courtiers, and the anxiety of the Court, during the crisis. The good Alderman Sherwood, after his friend had gone abroad, left London for Norwich, where he found all men eager for news, and the most erroneous rumours rife about foreign troops in London-the imprisonment of patriots-the dissolution of Parliament-the death of the Queen in confinement-the arrival of a Papal legate from Rome,―besides various monstrous incidents in heaven and earth.

The Corporation welcomed their returning officer with the usual dinner, at which, in the absence of the Mayor, Thomas Cory, Mr. Brightling presided with much felicity: only his daughter Lucy said, "Dad, I thought you had given up this sort of stuffing socialities! They always upset you for

a day or two. You are sure to take the vilest dishes offered to you; and you'll hum and ha over your speech so that everybody will be asleep long before you finish." But it did not happen so, for he took his clever daughter with him and she watched over him while she enjoyed the good things herself; and his speech was capital, because his heart was in it, for he loved Alderman Sherwood and Norwich, and his daughter's joke had roused him to an unusual effort. The fine Town Hall was full of burgesses. The plate was exhibited, and all the paraphernalia. Mr. Taylor delivered a powerful harangue, declaring that the Parliament had been greatly encouraged in upholding the Petition of Right by the messages borne by their Alderman and his worthy colleague the Fleming, and that both had deserved well of the old city. Dr. Hope upon this observed privately that he wondered they had escaped a dose of the Tower. The Bishop, who condescended to look in, said he had heard from his friend the Principal of Westminster School that his Norfolk pupils were inferior to none in ability and spirit. Here loud cheers were raised for "Westminster School and its Norfolk scholars." So the fine old Town Hall was gay with its streaming lights and carousing company, while outside were the whifflers and the band playing in the market,—a vast crowd lounging about and feasting themselves in imagination, and even old Snap was busily collecting his dues. Too many of the guests had to be led or carried home at an unduly early hour in the morning.

Alderman Sherwood called at the Rectory on his way to the feast, and was answering many questions, when Alice came and stood by him with expressive features and parted lips. He lifted her on his knee and kissed her, saying, "Sweetheart, they both sent love to you, and they seemed very happy and good."

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But, sir, you said Edward was a friend of that Stephen Wren whom George hates, and that they took opposite sides at school! Surely they are good friends still?"

"Yes, my lassie," replied the Alderman; "but out in the world men must take sides. Their opposition was only playing at an election. They are close brothers still,—only they said they missed a certain Alice who used to hold them together."

The tears came into her soft eyes at this unexpected praise. "So I did, sir," she said; "but Edward was always for the Court and Queen, and George for the Parliament and the Puritans. But, sir, do they really have ribbons and presents from the Queen's pretty maids? That will turn their heads and spoil them for home."

"Don't believe it, girl!" said her friend. "Early loves may be covered over by newer ones, but they live on often when the upper ones wither. They will come home the same to us-only grown and manly, I hope; and my pet here will be a fine, lovely young lady then, as good as any maid of honour."

The Fleming's visit abroad occupied a considerable time, and was prosperous. He returned to London, about the end of August, to find the Parliament still engaged on the Petition of Right, which, after long refusal, the King had reluctantly accepted. Both parties were becoming irritated and extreme. Buckingham had been named by Coke as "the grievance of grievances;" but he was on the point of leaving to command another expedition for the relief of Rochelle. He was, if possible, more hated than ever; while the King, by his bursts of passion, his dishonest. evasions, and his high-handed messages, had worried his friends and provoked his enemies to the limit of endurance.

Men began to whisper that even the Duke could not curb his master, and would have propitiated the Puritans had he been allowed. The Queen had now unbounded influence over Charles, and instigated him to the harshest resolves. Gabrielle and her mother had gone suddenly to Paris in consequence of her brother's illness with fever, and would probably never return.