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secretary, who called himself Ravenstone, but there may be a White Bishop of Winchester."

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

"Does my lord think it will be sent?" said the secretary calmly"They say the queen's bed-chamberwoman has told her, she will be the mother 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, Ravenstone, 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 ?"

"Bid the marshal of the prison have a care of him till four o'clock to-mormow 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."

Ravenstone promised, and his hand trembled with joy as he received the ring. It was already almost midnight,

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."

as

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 presence was needful. When this confidential servant entered, he was not surprised to see, as he supposed, the bishop

seated behind his leathern screen muffled in his huge rochet or lawn garment, as if he had privately returned from council, 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 instruments. What could he risk by suspending the signet-ring as Gardiner had requested? 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 Huntingdon stood by his side.

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, "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?"

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

"Knowest thou the marks of his visage, Alice?" asked the counterfeit bishop, bending down his head, and drawing his hood still farther over it.

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

"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."

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 laughed, but it was a laugh so musical, and 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 his 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 expect 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 asylph 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 ?"

"My trust in myself," she answered; and throwing her cloak and wimple on the ground, she loosened her bright

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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 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,

still believe the earth remains parched and barren where John Bradford perish ed 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

laurel-leaves, His memory is sanctified by the religion he 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 bewil dered 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.

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 biliows 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 home 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," 66 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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The extraordinary interest which the above tale has excited, from its having been made a musical exhibition at almost every theatre in England, and a vehicle for the delightful strains of the celebrated German composer, Von Weber, has rendered it universally popular. The incantation, with all its accompanying devilries-the casting of the magic balls the agency of the Demon Huntsman, and other infernal powers, and mysterious and unearthly music, hold such a thrilling power over the senses, that in spite of our better reason, we can but see and admire."

As we profess in our work to present our readers with the original romances and traditions of every nation, we give this highly interesting tale from its primitive source. ("The popular tales and Romances of the Northern nations") without any abridgment or alteration of our own, so that those who have witnessed the dramatic exhibition, will

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