"I am a fool," said 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 their 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."

And young Ravenstone locked himself in his chamber, not ill-pleased that his better purpose would serve as 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 pourpoint and tunic which fitted his comely figure, he smiled in scorn as he remembered the ugliness and decripitude 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 the private postern, of which he kept a masterkey. 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 pedastal 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

* A follower of Roger Bacon practised this mode, and pretended the

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 às 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

ring would give such answers as the celebrated Brazen Head. is, time was, time is past," &c.

VOL. III.]

C

"Time

[No. XIII.

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 queenmistress licence me to give it by her own manual sign?"

Ravenstone looked again, and saw his own 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 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?"

"My trust is in myself," she answered; and throwing her cloak and wimple on the ground, she loosened her bright hair till it fell to her feet, 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 laurel-stems mingled with the faggots,

* Coniers and his gang confessed their guilt before the Queen's Council in November 1555.

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 perished on the first of July 1555; and his heart, which escaped the flames, like his fellow-martyr's, Archbishop Cranmer's, was embalmed 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. European Magazine.

OTWAY'S ORPHAN.

THE plot of this celebrated tragedy, though generally supposed to be invented by the author, is taken from a fact related in a very scarce pamphlet (of which I believe, only two copies are now to be found) entitled " English Adventures," published in 1667. The following are the principal particulars.

The father of Charles Brandon, afterwards Duke of Suffolk, retired on the death of his lady, to the borders of Hampshire. His family consisted of two sons, and a young lady, the daughter of a friend lately deceased, whom he adopted as his own child This lady, being singularly beautiful, as well as amiable in her manners, attracted the affection of both the brothers. The elder, however, was the favourite, and he privately married her; which the younger not knowing, and overhearing an appointment of the lovers to meet the next night in her bed-chamber, he contrived to get his brother otherwise employed, and made the signal of admission himself (thinking it was a mere intrigue.) Unfortunately, he succeeded.

On a discovery, the lady lost her reason, and soon after died. The two brothers fought and the elder fell. The father broke his heart in a few months afterwards.* The younger brother, Charles Brandon, the unintentional author of all this misery, quitted England in despair, with a fixed

*The father, Sir William Brandon, fell at Bosworth field, bearing the standard of the Earl of Richmond.-ED.