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I must make this hour brief. She who rules the queen's secrets has had a bribe to make Mary merciful. There is hope of a birth at court, and death ought not to be busy. Fare-ye-well! but do not distrust that fair apparition if it should open these prison-doors to-morrow."-So saying, the young man departed without heeding Bradford's monitory gesture.

Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, and High Chancellor by Mary's favour, sat that night alone and thoughtful in his closet. He had been the chief commissioner appointed to preside at Bradford's trial: and though he had eagerly urged his colleagues to condemn him, he secretly abhorred the time-serving cruelty of Bishop Bonner and the cowardice of Bourne, who had not dared to save the life of the benefactor he had begged to save his own. "You have tarried late," said Gardiner, as his secretary entered-" the stars are waning, and their intelligence will be imperfect."

"I traced it before midnight," replied the Secretary, "but I needed the help of your lordship's science."

"It is strange," said the patron, leaning thoughtfully on one of Roger Bacon's volumes, "that men in every .age and climate, and of every creed, have this appetite for an useless knowledge and it would be stranger, if both profane and sacred history did not shew us that such knowledge had been sometimes granted, though in vain.— What is that paper in thy hand ?"

"It is a clumsy calculation, my lord, of this night's aspect. I learned in Araby, as your lordship knows, some small guesses at Chaldean astrology; but I deem the characters and engraven signs of the Hermetic men more powerful in arresting the intelligent bodies in the heavens. They were the symbols used by Pythagoras and Zoroaster, and their great master Apollonius."

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Ignatius Loyola and Athanasius Kircher, did not disdain them," replied the Bishop, crossing himself

"But what was the fruit of thy calcu lation ?"

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Nothing," answered his secretar humbly-"nothing at least not alread known to one more able than mysel The first of July is a day of evil omer and the last day of June has a doubtfu influence. My intelligence says, if lif be taken on that day, a mitre will b among ashes."

"Ha! and the heretics will think i if Bradford dies, for they are wont t say, he is worthier of a bishopric tha we of a parish priesthood. Thou has not yet told all.”

"My lord, I see the rest dimly.There are symbols of a falling star and a flame quenched in blood. They tel of a gorgeous funeral soon.”

Gardiner was silent several minute: before he raised his head. "Tho knowest, Ravenstone, that I was like the Jesuit Loyola, a student of earthly things, and a servant in profane wars before I took the cross. Therefore

sinned not when I learned as he did. And thou knowest he thought much of heathen and Egyptian conjuration; but that is not my secret. Plato and Socrates had their attendant demons. have seen, it may be, such a one in a dream last night. Methought there stood by me in an oratory a woman of queen-like beauty and strange beauty. She shewed me, as it were beyond a mist, a green tree growing near a fountain, and the star that shone on that fountain was the brightest in the sky: but presently the tree grew wide and broad, and the light of the star set behind it. Then I saw in my cathedral at Winchester my own effigies on a tomb, but all the inscription was effaced and broken except the date, and I read the first day of July.'-Is it not strange, Ravenstone, that a dream should so well tally with thy planetary reckoning? Yet I was once told by a witchwoman, that the Bishop of Winchester should read our Queen Mary's funeral

sermon."

"So he may, my lord," said the

cretary, who called himself Ravenone, "but there may be a White ishop of Winchester."

"Ah! I trow thy meaning-White a shrewd churchman, and looks for y place. Hearken to me, then-I have thought that evil is gathering against he to-night; to profit by a dream, I ill go privily from London within this our, and abide in secret at Winchester ill the ides of June are past. But take hou my signet-ring, and put my seal nd countersign to Bradford's deathvarrant when it comes from court.'"'

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"Does my lord think it will be ent?" said the secretary calmlyThey say the queen's bed-chamberwoman has told her, she will be the nother of no living thing if she harms ought that has life."

Tush-that woman is a crafty giglet, but we need such helps when a queen reigns. It was well done, Raenstone, to promise her Giles Rufford's lands.

Since the man is dead, and his heir murdered him, we will make Alice of Huntingdon his heiress."

Not a muscle in the pretended Ravenstone's face changed, and his deep black eye was steady as he replied "It will be well done, my lord, if she is faithful. At what hour is John Bradford to die?"

and Gardiner, as he stole out of his house, stopped to look at the moon's rainbow, then deemed a rare and awful omen. "Alice of Huntingdon is busy," said he, with a ghastly smile, "but the dead man's land will be free enough for the blue-eyed witch-she cannot buy a husband without it."—And stealing a look at Ravenstone, the Chancellor-bishop departed.

"I am a fool," said young Ravenstone to himself, "and worse than a fool, to heed how this wanton giglet may be made fit for a knave's bribe,and yet that this dull bigot, this surly and selfish drone, should have such glimpses of a poet's paradise, is a wonder worth envying. I have heard and seen men in love with Platonic superstition under the hot skies of Spain, where the air seems as if it was the breathing of kind spirits and the waters are bright enough for the dwelling; but here! in this foggy island-in this old man's dark head and iron heart! I will see what familiar demon stoops to hold converse with such a sorcerer."

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And young Ravenstone locked himself in his chamber, not ill-pleased that his better purpose would serve covert and gilding for his secret passion to pry into his patron's mystery. He arrayed his person in the apparel he had provided to equip him as Gardiner's representative; and while he threw it over the close purpoint and tunic which fitted his comely figure, he smiled in scorn as he remembered the ugliness and decrepitude he meant to counterfeit. At the eleventh hour, when the darkness of the narrow streets, interrupted only by a few lanterns swinging above his head, made his passage safe, he admitted himself into the Bishop's house by a private postern, of which he kept a master-key. By the same key's help he entered the chamber, and ringing his patron's silver bell, gave notice to the page in waiting that his preRavenstone promised, and his hand sence was needful. When this confitrembled with joy as he received the dential servant entered, he was not surring. It was already almost midnight,prised to see, as he supposed, the bishop

"Bid the marshal of the prison have a care of him till four o'clock to-mor mow morning, for he is a gay and glorious talker; and so was his namesake, mad John of Munster, even among red hot irons. Look to the warrant, Ravenstone, and see it speedily sent to Newgate. That done-nay, come nearer—I would speak in thine ear. There is a coffer in my private chamber which I have left unlocked. Attach my signet-ring to the silver chain, and let me know what thou shalt hear; but let this be done in the very noon of night, when no eye nor ear but thine can reach it."

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seated behind his leathern screen muffled
in his huge rochet or lawn garment, as
if he had privately returned from coun-
cil, according to his custom.
." Hath
no messenger arrived from the court ?"
said the counterfeit prelate. "None,
my lord, for the queen, they say is sore
sick.". "Tarry not an instant if one
cometh, and see that the marshal of the
compter be waiting here to take my
warrant, and execute it at his peril
before day-break." The page retired;
and Ravenstone, now alone, saw the
coffer standing on its solitary pedestal
near him. It was unlocked, and he
found within it only a deep silver bowl
with a chain poised exactly in its centre.
Ravenstone was no stranger to the mode
of divination practised with such instru-
ments. What could he risk by suspend-
ing the signet-ring as Gardiner had re-
quested? His curiosity prevailed, and
the ring when attached to the silver
chain vibrated of itself, and struck the
sides of the bowl three times distinctly.
He listened eagerly to its clear and deep
sound, expecting some response, and
when he looked up, Alice of Hunting-
don stood by his side.

"I have studied thy ruling planet, said Alice of Huntingdon, "and as th wishes are without number, so they a without a place in thy destiny. But have read the signs of Mary Tudor' and I know which of her high office will lose his staff this night."

"Knowest thou the marks of his v sage, Alice?" asked the counterfe bishop, bending down his head, an drawing his hood still farther over it.

"Hear them," replied Alice: " swarthy colour, hanging look, frownin brows, eyes an inch within his head hooked nose, wide nostrils, ever snuffin the wind, a sparrow-mouth, great hands long talons rather than nails on his feet which make him shuffle in his gait a in his actions-these are the marks o his visage and his shape; none can tel his wit, for it has all shapes. Dost tho know this portrait, my Lord of Win

chester ?"

"Full well, woman," answered Ravenstone, "and his trust is in a witch whose blue eyes shame heaven for lending its colour to hypocrisy; and her flattery has made boys think the tree she loved and the fountain she smiled on became holy. And now she serves two masters, one blinded by his folly, the other by his age."

This woman had a queen-like stature, to which the height of her volupure, or veil, twisted in large white folds like an Asiatic turban, gave increased majesty. Her supertunic, of a thick stuff, in those days called Stammel, hung from her shoulders with that ample flow which distinguishes the drapery of a Dian in ancient sculpture. "You summoned me," she said, "anded, but it was a laugh so musical, and I attend you."

Ravenstone, though he believed himself sporting with the superstition of Gardiner as with a tool, felt startled by her sudden appearance: and a thrill of the same superstitious awe he had mocked in his patron, passed through his own blood. But he recollected his purpose and his disguise; and still keeping the cowering attitude which befitted the bishop, he replied, "Where is thy skill in divination if thou knowest not what I need?"

Ravenstone, as he spoke, dropped the rochet-hood from his shoulders, and shaking back his long jet-black hair, stood before her in the firmness and grace of his youthful figure. Alice did not shrink or recede a step. She laugh

aided by a glance of such sweet mirth,
that Ravenstone relaxed the stern grasp
he had laid upon her mantle.
"The
warrant, Alice! It is midnight, and
the marshal waits-where is the warrant
for John Bradford's release ?"

"It is in my hand,” she said, “ and needs only thy sign and seal; here is the hand-writing of our queen."?

Ravenstone snatched the parchment, but did not rashly sign without unfolding it. Thou art deceived, Alice, or willing to deceive; this is a marriage

contract, investing thee with the lands of Giles Rufford as thy dowry."

"And to whom," asked she, smiling, "does my queen-mistress licence me to give it by her own manual sign ?” Ravenstone looked again, and saw Ais name entered, and himself described as the husband chosen for her maid of honour by Queen Mary." Has she also signed," he said, the reprieve of John Bradford ?"

"It is in my hand, and now in thy sight Henry Ravenstone; but the seal that will save thy friend may not be placed till thou hast given sign and seal to this contract. Choose !- ""

The warrant for Bradford's liberation was spread before him, and her other hand held the contract of espousals. He smiled as he met the gaze of her keen blue eyes, and wrote the name of Henry Ravenstone in the blank left for it. She added her own without removing those keen eyes from his; and placing the parchment in her gipsire, suffered him to take the warrant of his friend's release. It was full and clear, but when he turned to seek the chancellor's signetring, the coffer had closed upon it. "Blame thyself, Ravenstone !" said Alice of Huntingdon ; "thou hast laughed at the tales of imps and fairies, yet thou hadst woman's weakness enough to pry into that coffer and ex-pect a miracle. As if thy master had not wit sufficient to devise a safe place for his ring, which thy curiosity placed there more than thy obedience! Didst thou think I came into this chamber like a sylph or an elfin, without hearing the stroke on the silver bowl which gave notice thou wast here? Truly, Ravenstone, man's vanity is the only witch that governs him."

"Beautiful demon! when the crafty churchman who tutors thy cunning has no need of it, will thy other master,

the great Prince of Fire, save thee from the stake?".

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hair till it fell to her feet, and waving round her uncovered shoulders, and amongst the thin blue silk that clung to her shape, like wreaths of gold. Her eyes, large and brilliant as the wild leopard's, shone with such imperial beauty as almost to create the triumph they demanded. "Be no rebel to my power, Ravenstone, for it is thy safety. Gardiner has ordered Bradford's death without appeal, and feigned his dream of danger to decoy thee here! But I have earned a fair estate by serving him, and thou mayest share it with me." Thy wages are not yet paid, Alice!" he replied, grinding his teeth, "That fair estate is mine, and that contract can avail thee nothing without my will-Henry Ravenstone is a name as false as thy promise to save Bradford." Alice paused an instant, then laughing shrilly, clapped her hands thrice. In that instant the chamber was filled with armed men, who surrounded and struck down their victim notwithstanding his desperate defence. "This is not the bishop!" one of the men exclaimed, "this is not Stephen of Winchester; we shall not be paid for this. "He is Giles Rufford of Huntingdon," answered his companion, the ruffian Coniers," and I am already paid." Alice would have escaped had not the length of her dishevelled hair enabled her treacherous accomplices to seize it. They twined it round her throat to stifle her cries, making her boasted beauty the instrument of her destruction. She was dragged to Newgate on a charge of sorcery, and executed the next morning by John Bradford's side, in male attire, lest her rare loveliness should excite compassion. He knew her, and looking at the laurelstems mingled with the faggots, said, as if conscious of his young friend's death-" Alas! the green tree has perished for my sake!"It was indeed his favourite laurel, which had been hewn down with cruel malice for this purpose. The people, just even in their superstitions to a good man's memory,

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still believe the earth remains parched and barren where John Bradford perished on the first of July 1555; and his heart, which escaped the flames, like his fellow martyr's, Archbishop Cranmer's, was enbalmed and wrapped in

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laurel-leaves, His memory is sanctified by the religion be honoured, while Alice of Huntingdon's sunk among dust and ashes, as a worthy emblem of the Cabalism she practised."

THE INCHCAPE ROCK ;

OR,

THE ROVER'S FATE!

The Bell Rock, or, "Inch-Cape Rock," as it is more commonly designated by Mariners, is a sunken rock off the North-east coast of Scotland, and was formerly very dangerous to sailors. The Abbots of Aberbrothock or Aberbrothwick, a religious foundation, standing near the coast, caused a large bell to be erected on a float near to the rock, so as to ring by the agitation of the sea, and by this simple means to indicate to the bewildered seaman the perilous situation in which he was placed. There is a tradition current among the inha bitants of the coast, that the bell was cut from the float and stolen, and that the person who committed this nefarious act, afterwards met his fate by shipwreck on this very rock, during a dark and stormy night. On this tradition the following poem is founded.-We understand that there has lately been a very expensive beacon, of the most durable description, erected near the spot.

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No stir in the air, no stir on the sea,
The ship lies as still, as still as may be,
Her sails have neither breath nor motion,
Her keel lies steady in the ocean;
Without either sound or sense of their shock
The waves roll'd over the Inch Cape Rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inch Cape bell.
That bell had a holy Abbot hung,
And on a floating raft it swung;
And, as the billows rose or fell,

Still louder and louder was heard the knell;
The sailors bore off from this perilous rock
And bless'd the good abbot of Aberbrothock.
And now that bell and its float were seen
Like a darker spot on the ocean green,
The sun in heaven rode high and gay
All things were happy on that day,
The sea-gull screamed as she flitted around,
And there was pleasure in the sound.
Sir Ralph, the Rover, walked the deck,
His eye was on that dark green speck;
He felt the influence of the spring,
It made him whistle, it made him sing:
His heart was mirthful to excess
But the pirate's mirth was wickedness;
His eye was on the bell and float,
"My men," he said, "get out the boat,
And row me to the Inch Cape Rock,
I'll plague the old Abbot of Aberbrothock."
The boat they lower, the boat they row,
And to the Inch Cape Rock they go,
Sir Ralph has leant him o'er the boat,
He cut the bell from off the float,
Down sunk the bell with a gingling sound,
The bursting billows clos'd around,

Quoth the Rover," The next that comes to the rock,

Won't bless the old Abbot of Aberbrothock."

Sir Ralph, the Rover, sailed away,
He scour'd the seas for many a day,
Till, having gained of gold full store,
He bome returned to Scotland's shore.
The wind had blown a gale all day
Towards evening it had died away,
The mist was so thick on the ocean green,
Nor cape nor headland could be seen.
On the deck the Rover takes his stand,
The weather's so thick, I can spy no land;"
Quoth another, " "Twill be lighter soon,
Yonder's the beam of the rising moon ;”-
"Cans't hear," said
one, "the breakers

roar,

Yonder, methinks, should be the shore; Yet where we are I cannot tell,

Would to heaven we could hear the Inch Cape bell."

Though the wind is down, the tide is strong, The vessel quickly drifts along

At once she strikes with a dreadful shock, "Oh Christ! she has struck on the Inch Cape Rock!"

Sir Ralph, the Rover, tore his hair,
He curst himself in his despair!
The rock had burst an opening wide,
The waves rushed in on every side,
Yet even in that hour of fear

One only sound could the Rover hear;
A sound as if with the Inch Cape bell,
The fiends below were ringing his knell.

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