when I tell you that this bill amounted to little more I had not courage to finish the letter. I put it into my How was it, dear grandmamma?" Bella asked. In the first place, Bella, there was the concealment. I put off, from day to day, speaking of the debt I had contracted until I dared not speak of it at all. The fact is, your dear grandfather had a great dislike to buying on credit, and rather prided himself in thinking that though our income was small, we were not embarrassed. I knew this, and conscience made a coward of me. Well, I kept the knowledge of this debt to myself. This was easy enough, for another of my dear husband's peculiarities was a strange unconsciousness in one particular; if I and the children had put on new dresses every day, he would have taken no notice of the change. So I was safe there; and I thought if I were just to economize and save a few shillings every week from my housekeeping money, I need never let him know that the debt had been owing. desk. "At length, dear Bella, could bear up under my weighty burden no longer. My health gave way. I became feverish, lost all appetite, and looked, as I felt, woe-begone, and care-worn. It was not long before my husband saw this, and insisted upon having medical advice. But no medicine, you know, can 'Minister to a mind diseased;' I and I became worse and worse. Soon I was laid "My husband was very kind to me. He got leave of absence from his desk that he himself might nurse me he took care of the children, sat by my bedside, read to me, talked to me, watched me, and prayed with me. I was ill, very ill; and, though the doctor said there was no immediate danger, I believed I should never recover: happily, I was able to fix my "But oh! Bella, this concealment! How it de- mind upon my God and Saviour. Yes, Bella, I had grades and debases! I had never before had a secret; been worldly and 'cumbered' with many things, so never wished to know or do anything in the knowledge that my soul had become rusted; but I had not let go or doing of which my husband might not share. We my hope, and I felt, that it was good to be afflicted. had always been so open-hearted with each other, and It drew me nearer to heaven and heavenly things. this had made much of our domestic happiness. But But to die with this concealment on my mind; I could now I seemed like a guilty thing. There were times not bear to think of it. Accordingly, one day I openwhen I could scarcely look him in the face. I have ed my whole heart to my husband, showed him the heard it said that in almost every house there is a letter I had begun to write, and told him where the spectre, scaring away content; this concealed debt was debts were owing. my spectre. Little pleasure or peace had I in wearing, or putting on to my children, the clothes I had bought; but there they were, and we wore them. Well, I saved a little money, week after week. But I will not tell you all I did and felt, or I should make my story a very long one; and it is a very simple one, after all," continued the old lady, "perhaps scarcely worth telling." But Bella wished to hear it; and her grandmother went on. the same. "I had prepared myself for some expression of vexation from my husband, and had humbled myself, as I thought, to meet his deserved reproof with meekness. How great was my surprise, then, to see his countenance lighted up with real joy. I fancied I must be mistaken; but I was not. "Is that all?' he said. 'Dearest wife, don't let it "But these debts-these horrid debts,' I said. WHY ARE ROSES RED AND WHITE? WHEN first the roses reared their heads White-as the snow o'er mountain driven; Unspotted, and without a thorn, Around the tree they blew ; There, as Eve passed, to rob that tree, So, now they're blended, red and white; ADMIRABLE THINGS. THE hand outstretched to meet a brother's. "One error leads on to more, Bella. My first resolution had been that when I had paid, by some means or other, this draper's bill, I would keep clear of tradesmen's books in future; at least, I would not get into debt again, unknown to my busband. But after a time I became less scrupulous; I did pay the debt, and again got into debt. It was easy enough; and it was needful enough, some would have said, for our "Well, Bella, dear, I will not make my story much expenses were increasing while our income remained longer. I soon recovered. I did not know how much By degrees, I got into a habit of dealing my constant care, and self-reproach, and dread, had on credit with our grocer, and baker, and butcher, as had to do with my illness. When I got quite well well as with the draper, and every week's money and my husband would not let me speak on the subwhich my husband put into my hands with such sim-ject till then-we went over all the bills together. ple-hearted trust, because he said I was the best purse- There was more owing than I had calculated upon; it bearer, and money was of no use to him, except just is astonishing how soon debts accumulate when they to pay our rent with, and buy his own clothes, I had are allowed to get a footing in household expenses. to lay by, for one bill after another; while I grudged But my husband looked them manfully and cheerfully parting with a penny in ready-money purchase. And in the face. He never reproached me-never-by is not for Cœur de Lion, but for Cribb! Richard was all this contriving and scheming was carried on secret-word or deed; but we looked about us to see where to ly-oh, so secretly. save, and how to economize; and, at the end of another two years, were once more out of debt. "One day, I remember, I ventured to say to my husband how small his salary was, compared with what he might expect from his long service with his employers. Never mind,' said he, 'we'll get rich, dear, some day, perhaps; and if we are not rich now, we are happy. And what a comfort we can pay our way, without being in debt, is it not?' "Fancy, Bella, how I felt then. Oh, how despicable I was in my own eyes. I burst into tears; but I could not speak My dear husband said all he could think of to comfort me. He thought I was crying because we were not rich. "Soon after this, Bella, we came to London; and it pleased God to prosper us, as you know; but I never forgot the lesson I had learned so painfully; from that time to the last that we lived together on earth, It had no secrets from my husband-nothing to hide; nor had he from me. THEY propose in London to erect Baron Marochetti's colossal statue of Richard of the Lion Heart on the old site of the Crystal Palace, as a memorial of where the palace stood. This statue was one of the most attractive ornaments of the exhibition. But Douglas Jerrold thinks that if there must be a statue set up, it should not be Richard Plantagenet, but Thomas Cribb, the pugilist. "If," says he, "we must have a fighting man as a monument of the Crystal Palace, our voice a great fighter: so was Cribb. Richard beat Saladdin, the Saracen did not Cribb "lick" Molyneux, the black? Richard was a martyr to his royal word: did Cribb ever sell a fight?" An experiment in the instantaneous blossoming of flowers was made at a private residence in London "And, Bella, dear," added the aged speaker, after a short interval, "I am an old woman, and perhaps I recently. The flowers selected for trial were a rose talk like an old woman, but I know you will believe and a geranium, both of which were without blossoms, me when I say that, among all the married people I but with small buds. When the company had assemhave known-and I have known a good many-I have ever seen that where wife from husband, or husband bled, the flowers were each covered with a circular from wife has thoughts or deeds to hide, there is not glass, and some chemical preparations applied to the the place for domestic happiness. Bella, never hide interior. In about fifteen minutes the geranium was anything from your husband, no, not even a fault. uncovered, and revealed several full sized blossoms, And now, you shall, if you please, ring the bell for candles." which were cut and distributed among the guests. No explanation of this singular phenomenon was offered by the exhibitor. “And thus, Bella, things went on for two or three years- miserable years to me; for I had to wear a mask every hour and minute that your poor grandfather was at home, lest my secret should be betrayed. I had to manœuvre, too, to keep bills out of sight; and every unexpected rap at our door made me start like a guilty thing, as indeed I was, lest it should announce FIVE hundred and seventy six millions of sardines, the entrance of a creditor. I was even glad, dear Bella-but I blush to think of it now-yet I did feel were captured the last season upon the coast of relieved when, on one occasion, my dear husband left Brittany. Ten thousand persons are engaged in the home on business for his employers, and was absent capture and preparation of this fish. The season lasts a week or more. I dreaded his return. Once, during his absence, I sat down and began to write to him, to two hundred days. The sardines disappear during the tell him all, and how wretched I had long been winter months, whither it is not known, and every because of my embarrassments and concealments; but season brings an entire new generation. THE old fashioned word circus is abandoned, and all over the country the most insignificant shows rejoice in the magnificent appellation of Hippodrome. Names, names! they outweigh substances, realities, and truths. LIVES OF THE QUEENS OF ENGLAND. BY J. F. SMITH, ESQ.. Author of "Stanfield Hall," "Minnie Grey," &c "Where is the loitering knave?" demanded Wake. "I'll have him scourged by his own scullions an he delay much longer!" "Villain!" said the prisoner; "you shall dearly answer it. Bear witness all that I came on special service to her grace the queen-who will resent the ELIZABETH WOODVILLE, QUEEN CONSORT wrong done to her brother's messenger" My son 66 OF EDWARD IV Continued from page 51. my son !" My brother!" faintly added her daughter, with a dreadful foreboding of what had occurred. The Duchess of Bedford was the first to recover her self-possession. With her, pride and ambition had long weakened, if not destroyed, the gentler feelings of her sex-her heart and nerves were both of iron. Approaching Walter Gascoigne, the page, whom respect kept at the entrance of the queen's chamber, she said: "You, sir, at least, appear to have retained your senses. Explain this folly of her grace's tirewoman." "Easily, madam," replied the youth "John Gould, the cousin and lover of the pretty Mistress Alice-the same who fled the court in consequence of a blow struck within the precincts-has been arrested by Wake, the esquire of his highness, in his attempt to convey the chain and device to her grace." "Arrested!" repeated Jaquetta, impatiently. "And they are even now about to chop off his hand in the court-yard." "Save him! oh, save him!" sobbed Alice. Elizabeth, whose attachment to her tirewoman was stronger than is ordinarily found between persons of their unequal station, at once comprehended the agony of Alice. Starting from her chair, with her own hands she drew the heavy velvet mantle, lined with sables, which she had just laid aside, over her shoulders, and telling the page to call the captain of her guard, was about to leave the apartment, when her mother restrained her. "Whither would you?" demanded the prudent duchess. "To the court-yard, to prevent this crime." "You! the queen! this must not be." "It must," answered her daughter firmly; "the messenger of my brother must not fall a sacrifice to his fidelity remember," she added, "that but for him the token had not reached us, and we have yet to learn its purport." The latter consideration seemed to strike the duchess; still she hesitated. She was too well acquainted with courts not to foresee the evil constructions which might be put upon it. "I will go," she said. "You must be brief, then, madam," observed the kind-hearted page; "for Wake has commanded the billet to be dressed in the court-yard, and sent for the sergeant of the kitchen, whose duty it is to strike off the culprit's hand.” By this time, the clash of arms and the light of torches in the ante-chamber, announced that the captain of the queen's guard was at his post. Elizabeth advanced to the threshold of the apartment, and, addressing the officer, said: "You will attend our mother, and obey her oraers as you would mine." There was a murmur amongst the crowd of servitors, and there was little doubt but they would have rescued the speaker, but for the presence of the palace guard, which was under the command of his rival. After a few moments' further delay, the sergeant of the kitchen made his appearance. He was followed by a boy carrying an enormous cleaver. The man whose duty was to strike off the hand of any one under the dignity of a knight, who so far forgot the respect due to Majesty as to strike a blow in the precincts of the palace, was a burly, good-looking fellow, whose ample person did honor to the department over which he presided. "So," said Wake with a grim smile of satisfaction, "you are come at last!" “Ay, worshipful sir!" replied Dick Blunt-the name of the sergeant. "I and my cleaver are both ready; where is the gallant ?" "There," said the esquire, pointing to the prisoner. No sooner did the eyes of Blunt and Gould meet, than a marked change came over the countenance of the former: they had been long friends, and the roystering cook was not one to injure a hair of an old comrade. "John Gould!" he said. "Even so," answered Wake. "In that case, worshipful sir," answered the man, at the same time throwing down his cleaver, which he had taken from the hands of the boy-" you may e'en lop off his hand your worshipful self!" A suppressed murmur of approbation broke from the crowd of domestics. "Stand to your arms, men!" exclaimed the esquire, who, in the absence of the marshal, exercised supreme authority over the household and the palace guard; "we shall see if the orders of his highness are to be braved with impunity." "Delay it but a few minutes," whispered Gould to the friendly sergeant, "and I am saved!" Blunt gave a knowing wink, to intimate that he understood him. "And so, master," said Wake, "you refuse to perform your office?" 66 Humph! I did not absolutely say that," replied the man, with the air of a person who had reconsidered his resolution, and half repented of it; "but it is night "What difference does that make?" "I can't be so sure of my blow. Besides, Gould is a friend of mine; we have drunk together; and it's not a pleasant thing to strike off the hand you have so often shaken. Even cooks have their feelings," he added: "I remember, in the late wars, the purveyors had been at fault, and I was obliged to kill a pet lamb for his highness's table " "Pshaw !" "You may Pshaw!' worshipful sir," continued Blunt, "whose object was to gain time; "but I tell you that I felt it. It had been the companion of my children--the play thing of the kitchen. I had dressed Sir Henry Chambers-the name of the officer-it, I remember, with a larding of porpoise fat and a bowed. 66 'Bring him privately to my chamber," added the queen, in a whisper to the duchess; "I have a fore boding that his message is a fatal one." "I fear so too," replied the duchess, in the same under-tone, as she left the royal chamber, preceded by the guards and torchbearers, for the court-yard, where a very different scene was being acted. The court-yard of the Palace of Westminster, on which the New House of Commons stands, was filled by a crowd of soldiers and domestics in the royal livery. In the centre stood our reader's old acquaintance, John Gould; his doublet stripped from his shoulders, and his muscular arm bared to the elbow. His rival, Wake, whose duty it was, as esquire of the king's body-guard, to see the sentence carried into execution, was standing near, vociferously calling for the sergeant of the kitchen, whose duty it was to strike off the forfeit hand; but the fellow was unwilling to make his appearance. Gould was well known, and liked by the household as much as his rival and enemy was hated braize of Malmsey wine; and after all his highness did not taste it, for the Lancastrians suddenly attacked the camp; so I was compelled to eat the poor thing myself." 'Eat an entire lamb !" exclaimed a page who was standing near, with a look of astonishment. "Every bit of it," answered the cook, gravely; "I could not do less, out of respect for the poor thing; but I did not get over it for some time." "I should think not," observed the saucy youth, with an expresion of disgust; "a whole lamb!" By this time lights were seen moving through the windows of the queen's lodgings. Wake observed them, and in a tone of fury commanded the sergeant to proceed at once to his duty. "But two minutes!" whispered Gould, "only two!" Blunt stooped and picked up the cleaver, which he had cast upon the ground: passing his finger over the edge, he observed that it was notched, and asked one of the guards to lend him his partisan to sharpen it. "No matter, it will perform its office, I warrant me," said Wake On a sign from their commander, two of the soldiers led, or rather dragged, Gould towards the cook's block, which had been removed from the royal kitchen to the court-yard for the purpose. Every moment was precious, and the lover of the pretty Alice struggled bravely to preserve his hand. Despite his efforts, they succeeded, however, in placing his right hand on the block "Now, then," said Wake, drawing his sword, and approaching the sergeant; "strike! If you fail in your duty, I will not in mine!" "But an instant, Blunt-an instant!" said Gould. With a reluctant step the cook advanced, the rejected suitor of the pretty Alice close at his side. As he approached the block, the tramp of the queen's guard was faintly heard. He raised his axe. Wake, satisfied that he intended to strike, dropped the point of his weapon. But he was deceived: instead of striking, the friendly sergeant passed his axe with a rapid motion into the left hand of the prisoner, saying, as he did so: "Now, John, let you left hand defend your right !" The weapon swept fearfully round the prisoner's head; those who held him started back. Thus armed, John Gould was a fearful antagonist to encounter. The domestics with whom he was a great favorite, set up a loud shout. The esquire was not a man easily to be disappointed of his prey. Calling on his men to level their partizans, they prepared to rush upon him in a body, and cut him down. Before the plan could be carried into execution, the Duchess of Bedford, attended by the captain of the queen's guard, made her appearance, and commanded Wake to stay hostilities. All but Wake inclined before the mother of the queen. He resolutely refused to give up his prisoner, observing, in a tone which stung the haughty Jaquetta to the quick, that he had no orders to take from her. "You will take them, then, from me," observed Sir Henry Chambers "In the name of her grace I take possession of this man!" he added, pointing with his leading staff to Gould; " and will answer to his highness the king for my proceedings." Wake called upon his men to back him, but they refused. The queen's guard, though not the stronger, was backed by the domestics of the palace, who, led by their sympathy for the rescued lover, one and all took part with them. Desperate as he was, the mortified esquire was compelled to give way. "You will answer this?" he said, turning on his heel. "When and where you please!" replied the knight. As Wake passed the spot where the Duchess of Bedford was standing, the imperious woman struck him with an ivory baton, used in a game called "closbeys," which she carried in her hand, at the same time calling him a varlet and saucy knave. The esquire fixed his eyes upon her with an expression of malignity so intense, that it caused even her firm heart to tremble. "Sorceress!" he said, "we shall meet again!" And then she trembled more: it was not the first time the accusation had been levelled against her. THE death of her father and brother so savagely murdered by Warwick and Clarence at Northampton-produced a fearful effect upon Elizabeth, whose heart was devoted to her family. For the first time she seemed to have forgotten the natural gentleness of her nature, and vowed a deep revenge-a sentiment which was kept alive by the passionate grief of the Duchess of Bedford, her mother, who, according to an old chronicler of the time, made the palace ring with her cries and imprecations against the assassins. The day on which John Gould brought the fatal intelligence, had been passed by Edward in hunting the stag in the royal chase at Windsor. Te hour was so late when he returned, that he would have immediately retired to rest, had not the lights which he saw in the queen's apartments, and the loud cries of his motherin-law attracted his attention, and he proceeded to visit her. When the gallant monarch entered the chamber of the queen, he discovered her, to his astonishment, reclining upon a pile of cushions, supported by her women, her eldest daughter sobbing and crying beside her. The long golden hair of his wife, which he was so proud of, had escaped from the linen coif, and fell in wavy curls down her neck and shoulders; her tears and broken sighs added to her beauty. Jaquetta, furious as a bereaved lioness, was questioning the bearer of the fatal news. "In the name of every saint in heaven!" exclaimed the king, "what has happened?" Elizabeth started from her recumbent position at the sound of his voice, and, throwing herself into his arms, exclaimed :- "Safe! safe! thanks to our Lady of Eltham, the traitor's have not reached my lord's life!" This might have been acting, or it might have been the natural impulse of a woman's heart, alarmed for the safety of her husband. "What traitors, Lady Bessy ?" he demanded, addressing her by the name which he was accustomed to use in the moments of endearment. Elizabeth only clung the closer to his embrace, and her tears fell the faster. She could not speak. "The_traitors_who have robbed me," replied the Duchess of Bedford, "both of a husband and a son; Elizabeth, of a father and a brother; your majesty of two staunch friends and leal defenders of your throne." The countenance of Edward became flushed with indiguation as he listened to the astounding intelligence. At this period of his life he was still the active soldier, and excess had not weakened the natural energy either of his mental or physical organiza tion. "Name them!" exclaimed Edward, impatiently. "The man," continued Jaquetta, "who boasts that he holds the crown of England in his iron gauntlet; that his coronet outweighs the crown; whose influence with the people placed your house upon the throne! the traitor Warwick, the enemy of me and mine, and the ready tool of your unnatural brother, the ambitious, feeble, aspiring, Clarence !" The features of the king grew darker and darker as he listened to words so well calculated to sting his pride and arouse the natural jealousy of his fiery nature, which had long been galled by the airs which the powerful earl gave himself, both in parliament and in the council. "Indeed!" he muttered; "it is time to show them which is the strongest, the sceptre or the sword; and Clarence you said Clarence!-the brother whom I loved-trusted! Don't weep, Bessy!" he added; "don't weep. Since he has forgotten the tie of blood between us, I will forget it too. Their victims shall be avenged! I swear it by the oath of the Plantagenets and my father's death!" A smile of ferocious joy flitted for a moment over the pale features of the duchess, as she listened to his words. She felt assured that he would keep his oath; indeed, it was the only one he was never known to break. "My father!" sobbed Elizabeth; "my poor, kind father! Oh! my sweet lord, they will take thy life next! Would I were dead; I am not worth the coil they make for me!" Under the mask of affected moderation, the queen concealed a hatred for her enemies, if possible, more intense even than that of her mother: but she knew the disposition of her husband; knew that her tears and pretended resignation would tend more to confirm him in his resolution than violence and passionate demands for vengeance could have done. "My answer to this bold rebellion," he observed, must be by acts, not words! I have long foreseen that the time would arrive when the sword must decide whether Warwick or Edward is to rule in England. taken to be revenged upon the Earl of Warwick and his brother. "Who is this man?" he demanded, in a dissatisfied tone. Alice, who felt alarmed for the safety of her lover for the expression of Edward's countenance was anything but assuring-whispered a few words in the ear of the queen, who hastily replied that he was the last friend of her murdered relatives, and the bearer of the death-token between her brother and herself. "And the witness of their death?" inquired the king; for he could scarcely persuade himself that Warwick and his brother would venture on such an extremity. "Even so, your highness," said the honest fellow, respectfully. "Warwick was present?" "He was." "And Clarence?" "And Clarence, too, your grace." As late even as the reign of Henry VIII. it was customary to address the English sovereigns by the titles of "highness" and "grace;" and as late as the reign of Elizabeth we find the form of "the queen's highness" frequently used in the public records. James appears to have been the first king to whom the style of "majesty" was given. "Follow me to my closet," said Edward; "I must question thee!" Repeating his adieus to Elizabeth, the speaker left the privy-chamber of his queen, followed by Gould, who, despite the services he had rendered, scarcely felt assured as to the intentions of the king towards him; for he had witnessed an oath which it was the interest of the taker should remain a secret to all the world; at least for the present. being further north, the earl judged the most secure prison of the time. Amongst the few devoted servitors who were permitted to attend him was John Gould, whose shrewdness and devotion made him, each succeeding day, a greater favorite with the captive king. Whilst at Warwick, everything that could be suggested was tried to shake the affection of Edward for his queen. The accusation against her mother, the Duchess of Bedford, was renewed; and Wake even had the effrontery to appear before his captive master and produce certain images of lead, which, he asserted, he had discovered at Grafton; but the king, however superstitious in other points, rejected the accusation with scorn. At this time there were two kings in England, and both prisoners: Henry VI., a captive in the Tower of London to the party of the house of York, which still held possession of the metropolis, and Edward IV., in the hands of Warwick and his faction. Hitherto the queen had brought her husband female issue only, and her eldest daughter, who was named after her, was consequently heiress to the throne. This circumstance inspired the ambitious Warwick with the idea of a marriage between the Lady Elizabeth and his son, young George Neville, and ruling the kingdom in their name The Archbishop of York, the uncle of the boy, a proud and ambitious prelate, entered warmly into the scheme, and proposed to his brother that Edward should be removed from Middleham Castle to his seat in Hertfordshire, called the More, where he trusted, by his tact and representations, to induce the captive monarch to consent to an arrangement which would virtually deprive him of the crown. It was not without repeated solicitations that Warwick consented to the removal, and the event proved that the prudent earl was right in his hesitation. On reaching the royal closet, Gould related, word for word, all that had occurred, from his first meeting The faithful Gould accompanied Edward in his rewith Sir Richard and John Woodville in the Forest of moval to the More, where he was sent under a strong Dean, to the final scene of their execution at North- guard, and as completely a captive as in the strong ampton. When he had finished, all trace of mistrust castle of Middleham, his former prison. The only conhad vanished from the handsome countenance of Ed-solation he found in the change was in the circumward, who was forcibly struck, not only with the cour- stance of his being so much nearer to London, which age, but the address the narrator had displayed. was still devoted to him. "Doubtless," he said, "thou dost look for a reward for thy share in this sad work?" "Even so, your grace," frankly answered the young man. "Name it." 'I love my cousin, the chamber-woman of the queen," replied Gould, blushing deeply; "but my worthy uncle, who has gained both pride and riches in the service of your highness, looks down upon his sister's child, and would fain marry her with one of your highness's body-squires-Thomas Wake-who accused the Duchess of Bedford, but a few hour's since, of sorcery ?" "It shall be seen to," observed the king with a smile; "thou art a discreet varlet, and I may find service for thee. Remember," he added, as he dismissed him, "that a word of what thou hast heard to-night will cost thee thy life!" Gould bowed in a manner which showed that he perfectly understood the importance of the caution he had received. Four days later, when the king advanced to the north, in order to inquire into the rebellion, the sturdy woodcutter accompanied him, much to the delight of the pretty Alice, and despite of her avaricious old father. EVER did Edward IV., in the course of his ro He had been about fifteen days a resident with the archbishop, when the devoted servitor, on entering his chamber to assist him to disrobe for the night, found his royal master a prey to the deepest melancholy. He was seated at a table, under a cresset suspended from the ceiling, the light from which fell on a parchment spread out before him, the contents of which were evidently anything but agreeable to him, since once or twice he clutched his hand as if he grasped a sword, and broken curses escaped between his quivering lips. Respect kept his attendant silent; still he could not prevent his eye from glancing from the parchment to the countenance of the captive, with an inquiring look. "Read, John-read!" exclaimed the king, pushing the document near him; see what the traitors pro pose!" Gould ran his eye over the deed, and smiled. "Pardon me, your grace," replied the bold woodman, respectfully, "if I do not see the proposal in the same light as yourself. Have you signed?" 46 The sentence of my eternal condemnation as soon!" exclaimed Edward. "What! give the heiress of my crown the son of my subtle enemy! Never! Α child might calculate the number of my days, were once my name affixed to yonder parchment. Oh, for one hour of liberty!" he added; dearly should the traitors rue their insolent attempt to wrest the sceptre from my hand!" 'Tis well that we can rely on the fidelity of the citizens mantic, chequered career, make a more fatal er- for my execution. of London!" he added; "they have ever been constant in their devotion to our cause." With many soothing words and endearments, he consigned the queen to the care of Alice and her tirewomen, at the same time recommending his mother-inlaw to send for Dr. Serigo, her physician. As he was about to leave the apartment, he observed, for the first time, the presence of John Gould in the privy-chamber of the queen. The circumstance appeared to annoy him, for he did not feel pleased that a stranger should have witnessed the scene which had just taken place, or have heard the oath he had ror than in advancing into the north-the stronghold of the Neville faction-where Montague, Warwick, and the Archbishop of York were all-powerful. Had he remained in London, the probability is that he might have wearied the rebels out; since his queen remained in the metropolis in safety, even while her husband was in the power of his enemies-a misfortune which took place shortly after his advance to meet them Warwick first conveyed his royal prisoner to Warwick Castle, and from thence to Middleham, which, Sign it," whispered Gould, “and never shall prince grasp it more firmly." "Art mad? I tell thee it would be the signal Warwick thinks to reign in the name of my infant child. His design is clear. The traitors have given me four-and-twenty hours to reflect." "When does the earl arrive ?" demanded Gould. "To-morrow night, and his brother with him." "Promise the archbishop to sign," replied the shrewd woodman, "and I answer with my life for the result." "Never!" interrupted Edward passionately;never!" Continued at page 70. gence. THE first impression on entering the Crystal Palace is its vastness. The design and situation of it is such that no exterior view affords an adequate conception of its size. Apprehensive of its smallness from the comments of the papers and its exterior appear ance, you are most agreeably disappointed as you step through the entrance into the building. And as you thread the various courts and departments upon the ground floor, and walk over the ample galleries, you are astounded at the vastness of space afforded. As yet, you will observe that many of the departments are quite meagre in their display, but hundreds of busy We have gazed for a dreamy hour out upon the waters, and taken in from different points all the rare beauties of the prospect, so we will return. Broadway begins to be crowded with the downward flow of business life, and so, for the sake of novelty, we will take the river walk. We do not propose this because of the shore lined with tall, commanding warehouses, and any attractions it may possess. If you expect to find THE EXHIBITION. THOSE who were gathered within the Crystal Palace, on the occasion of its dedication to the cause of Art and Industry, will not soon forget the imposing and beautiful spectacle there presented. The lofty dome that arched with so airy a grace above them, with its delicate tracery and its exquisite harmony of color; the vastness of the edifice, so elaborately yet tastefully ornamental; the animated spectacle of ten thousand persons assembled in the naves and upon the galleries; the ceremony of the time; the presence of distinguished and honorable personages, who gave dignity and nationality to the occasion-all this counbined to present a picture of imposing beauty and moral significance. We doubt if there were any who gazed upon the scene without sensations of pleasure, to derive much pleasure in looking upon our noble, exadmiration, and pride. The ceremonies of the inaugutensive dockage, we fear you will be disappointed. ration were marked by republican simplicity and perfect The street is mostly lined with shops for the sale of taste. The beautiful and solemn prayer of Bishop adulterated poison. The walks are crowded with rotWainwright, the effective singing of the chorale, the tenness, rusty and refuse remnants of old boilers and pointed and excellent speech of Mr. Sedgwick, with iron, dilapidated casks, dirt heaps, and filth generally. the reply of President Pierce, gave to the whole pro-workmen are engaged in preparing cases and stands But your docks, we hear you say, can be exhibited ceedings dignity and solemnity. for exhibitors, and a continual influx of huge boxes with pride. They are noble and substantial structures, The opening of the Exhibition under such bright and bales is assurance that ere long the vacancies ample in their size, perfect in their construction, and auspices is a gratifying thing. From the commence- will be filled, and the reproach of meagerness no of most orderly and systematic keeping. Not at all, ment of the enterprise up to the present time there longer exist. You will find, however, more objects sir. They are full of rottenness and decay; of no has been a singular prevalence of prejudices against and places of interest already perfected than you can systematic construction, and ample for nothing whatthe project. Many of our public journals sneered at it, satisfactorily examine in one visit. It will, however, ever. Some of them are half sunk, on all are accumuand all along evinced the most determined skep- be some weeks before the additional structure is com-lated piles of refuse things, and they are accessible ticism. But now, the prejudices and the skepticism pleted, and until this is done and opened to the public, only to the most determined courage and athletic have vanished in the general glory of its transcendant the Exhibition will not attain its full glory and perfec- vigor. We will not speak of the mud through which It is before us, a thing of beauty and delight. tion. The structure alone, in its purity, beauty, aerial grace, and perfect harmony of parts and colors, is a triumph for American genius. Those who have watched the progress of Art and taste among us, feel it to be so, and rejoice in the hope that a new era of purer and more classical taste is dawning upon us. success. As you stand beneath the dome, and gaze around you at the many emanations from the skill of man, at his genius wrought into marble and iron, or glowing upon canvass; at fabrics whose delicate textures are wonders of patient toil; at forms of grace and symmetry, whose perfect beauty delights the senses; at the complicated and almost mysterious workings of machinery; you are inspired with a keen appreciation of the capacity of man, and marvel at the wonderful dexterity which has wrought so much perfection and so many uses out of the crude material furnished by nature. As you gaze on you are led into the contemplation of the many moral and rational influences which this Exhibition is destined to exercise. You perceive how it exalts and dignifies labor; and how, too, it will serve to promote the ends of labor, by bringing together variations and manifestations of its skill from remote quarters of the globe, that idea may suggest to idea, and thought spring from thought. The mechanic here may gather new and enlarged conceptions as to his art, from the exhibitions of his transatlantic brethren. The artist here can study color and form in works fresh from the home of Art, fair Italy. Comparison too, between what we have perfected and invented, and what other nations have done, will serve as incentives to mutual progress, and generous emulation, and the sum of the world's good be thereby enhanced. Aside from the Exhibition's incentive to industry; aside from its grand mission for the promotion of the mechanical and the imaginative arts, there is another aim it has, another mission it will fulfil, and that is the extension of the people's knowledge. It will promote liberal enlightenment, and diffuse a wide intelli A MORNING WALK WHEN the early sun reddens the window panes, and the shadow from the far-off tree stretches down so long that it even clambers up the house-side, it is a fine and vigorous hour for an early walk. Sometimes, when our city-begotten indolence will permit, we saunter out at such an hour. If the reader is a stranger to metropolitan scenes, he should see our city in its various aspects: so let him walk with us. you must wade, but of the utter hopelessness of threading the maze of vehicles that crowd upon their narrow surfaces, and of the miracle you have perform ed in doing so. There is one with a lady upon each arm, who is desirous of reaching a steamboat, while But it is the hour for the breakfast bell. We will pass on hastily, leaving other scenes that astonish and amuse us for a future noting down. We will bend our steps to the Battery. The time was when this was the choicest resort for Gothamites. Our fathers loved the old Battery. Their early loves were fostered beneath its grand old trees. In its wide avenues friendships had been cemented, and they had echoed often to the glad voices of their children. But now fashion has put her seal upon the place. It is forbidden ground. It were better for your fashionable welfare that you should be a Turk than to be confessed a frequenter of its walks. There are now no more such groups as were wont to assemble there. The In a walk, recently, around the Crystal Palace, we breeze that comes sweeping, laden with Neptune's fra- paused on the threshold of one of the fat cattle exhibigrance, fans not now the cheeks of young beauty or tions, and put some questions to the exhibitor as to venerable age. It reaches only some straggler like their really being of the immense size they were ourselves, and for the rest, it is wafted in loneliness announced. "I'll tell you what I'll dew," was the and melancholy through the grand and silent aisles. reply from our friend, who was a fine specimen of a Yankee, "I'll take a bushel of corn, a heapin' bushel, and I'll pour them on the back of one of them critters, and there sha'nt a single grain roll off." His admirable illustration was proof conclusive. We were satisfied It is a bright morning as now we walk down the gravelled ways. The sunlight lies sweetly upon the serene waters of the bay, and upon their wide surface are many ships and vessels, all riding at anchor with a calm and majestic repose. Their tall masts, with their light tracery, cast long delicate shadows upon the waters. The remote shores of the bay, dotted white with cottages, look beautiful in the sunlight. We talk much of city confinement, the want of fresh air, and yet here is a spot, unsurpassed in the way of beauty, accessible to us all. The air is as fresh as the salt sea can make it; there are trees above you as beautiful, and grass as sweet and as fresh as elsewhere. And here everything is so silent, calm, and beautiful. at once. SLEEP. HAIL, blessed sleep! thine is the gifted spell THE husband's tears may be few and brief, FANNY FERN. COMMENCING with the present number, the witty and popular Fanny Fern will be a regular contributor to the columns of the New York Journal. Fanny Fern is a literary star of the first magnitude, and has burst upon us with dazzling effect. As a contributor to the Boston Olive Branch, this lady first became known, and her little effusions came to be copied everywhere, and to be read by all classes with applause and admiration. A few weeks ago the choicest of these sketches were offered to the public in a beautifully executed volume from the press of the enterprising publishers, Derby & Miller of Auburn, under the title of "Fern Leaves." The eagerness with which the book was caught up by the public excelled even that of "Uncle Tom." Fifteen thousand copies were sold in a few weeks. A greater success in literature bas never been attained. Fanny Fern now became a "Household Word." Speculations as to her identity began to be rife. She became all sorts of personages. She was a man, she was Madame this and Miss so; she was N. P. Willis, she was his sister, his aunt, his relation; in fact the public had for her as many shapes as Proteus. But from behind her incognito she has laughed defiance, while incessantly pouring her broadsides of wit, satire, and humor, mingled with low and tender wailings. Fanny Fern's pen pulsates with life. Impulse and emotion are her characteristics. She overflows with the abundant sympathies of her nature; she exults in excess of life and emotion; heart, soul, and rare witchery are in her words; they are charged with electricity, and throb through and through her readers. We give in the present number, two very beautiful illustrations from "Fern Leaves," accompanied by the descriptive sketches. The designs are from the pencil of a young artist, Mr. Coffin, who evinces already great excellence in his art. They were engraved by Mr. N. Orr, one of the best artists we have. WHEN the sun begins to redden the chimney-tops, or as the soft hues of the sunset climb high above you, walk forth into the quiet streets, where long rows of stately houses face each other, if you would look upon a pleasant picture in city life. The warmth of the evening, and the cool airs that can be seen stirring air many open the tree-tops, invite into the household groups. Indeed they cluster upon almost every stoop and balcony, or saunter with an easy gait to and fro Bold urchins are clambering upon swinging gates or mounting balcony railings. Grave sires sit in easy chairs, while among their white locks the winds play gently. Young girls, arm in arm, with cheeks tinted from the faint rosiness that remains yet in the sky, and eyes that burn with an unwonted eloquence out of twilight shadows, pass you thickly. Cheerful courtesies are passing from door to door, and are wafted across the street. The laughter of girlhood, the gladdest thing in the world, rises and falls upon the air. From some mansions is issuing low sweet music, while children move among the scenes light-hearted and merry. It is a quiet domestic picture, but there is etry in it, reader, if you can find it out. FERN LEAVES. Written for the New York Journal. THE SICK BACHELOR. HERE I am, a doomed man-booked for a fever, in this gloomy room, up four flights of stairs; nothing to look at but one table, two chairs, and a cobweb; pulse racing like a locomotive; head throbbing as if it were hooped with iron; mouth as parched as Ishmael's in the desert; not a bell-rope within reach; sun pouring in through those uncurtained windows, hot enough to singe off my eye-lashes; all my confidential letters lying loose on the table, and I couldn't get up to them if you held one of Colt's revolvers to my head. All my masculine friends (?) are parading Broadway, I suppose; peeping under the pretty girls' bonnets, or drinking "sherry cobblers." A sherry cobbler! Bacchus! what a luxury. I believe Satan suggested the thought to me. Lava and brimstone! does she take me for an iceberg. Oh, Cupid! of all your devices, this feminine doctoring for a bachelor, is the ne plus ultra of witchcraft. If I don't have a prolonged "run of fever," my name isn't Tom Haliday! She's gone! and-I'm gone, too! FANNY FERN. DICKENS states, in a recent number of the Household Words, that during the last year he had read nine hundred manuscripts, out of which eleven only were available after being entirely rewritten. This is one part of an editor's labor, which the public generally have very little conception of. The grains of wheat that enrich his columns are only obtained by sifting vast quantities of chaff. It is extraordinary to see the quantities of literary productions that pour in upon him, all clamorous for a hearing, and of them how very few can be used. The difficulty, mostly, is in the crudeness and inexperience with which they are prepared. If contributors would labor more at the literary anvil, beating and hammering the crude ore into symmetry and smoothness, they would oftener attain their desire, and appear in print. We know of those who we wish would take this home and digest wisely. In the busy precincts and crowded thoroughfares of our city, twilight settles down in a maze of dust and dusk. High, smoky, cavernous-looking buildings are emptying themselves of crowds of noisy republicans. The stage tops creak under bone and sinew, and "seats for twelve" expand to the capacity of a baker's Heigho! I suppose the Doctor (whom they have sent for) will come before long; some great, pompous Esculapius, with an owl phiz, a gold headed cane, an oracular voice, and callous heart and hands; who will first manipulate my wrist, and then take the latitude and longitude of my tongue; then, he will punch me in the ribs, and torment me with more questions than there are in the Assembly's catechism; then, he'll bother me for writing materials, to scratch off a hieroglyphic humbug prescription, ordering five times as much medicine as I need; then, I shall have to pay for it; then, ten to one, the apothecary's boy will put up poison, by mistake! Cæsar! how my head spins round; Hippodrome racing is nothing to it. dozen or so of democratic muscle. Turmoil and Hist! there's the doctor. No! it is that little unre- confusion master the scene. The many throated generate cub, my landlady's pet boy, with a bran new public are vociferous in the transports of suspended drum (as I'm a sinner), upon which he is beating labor. The stage horses dash hither and thither in a crucifying tattoo. If I only had a boot-jack to throw impetuous fury. The crowds on the side walk flow in at him. No! that won't do his mother wouln't a thick and sturdy stream, which bears you along, and make my gruel. I'll bribe him, with a sixpence, to which you do not dare to stem. Vagabondising keep the peace. The little embryo Jew! he says organs grind out discord. A dozen Pandemoniums he won't do it under a quarter! Twitted by a little seem to be let loose. Your brain turns confused, pinafore! I, Tom Haliday, six feet in my stockings! until with the strength of desperation you break away I shall go frantic. from the scene, and obtain a welcome respite in some quieter avenue. "Doctor is coming!" Well, let him come. I'm as savage as if I'd just dined off a cold Missionary. I'll BOSWELL, that rarest of biographers and best of pretend to be asleep, and let old Pill-box experiment. How gently he treads: how soft his hand is: how fools, once made a very touching lament because in fucool and delicious his touch! How tenderly he parts turity he would be deprived of Shakspeare's poetry. my hair over my throbbing temples! His magnetic Had he lived in the present age his sorrows would touch thrills every drop of blood in my veins it is have flown, for we have recently received very excelmarvellous how soothing it is. I feel as happy as a lent proof of the high estimation the great poet is held humming bird in a lily cup, drowsy with honey dew. among the spirits and other gentry that congregate in Now he's moved away. I hear him writing a pre the other world. Absalom, the son of David, in a rescription. I'll just take a peep and see what he looks cent rapping communication, eloquently repents his like. Cæsar Agrippa! if it isn't a Female Physician! rebellion against his father, and in a very scholar-like : dainty as a Peri-and my beard three days old! What a bust! (Wonder how my hair looks?) What a foot and ankle! What shoulders: what a little round waist. Fever! I've got twenty fevers, and the heart complaint besides. What the mischief sent that little witch here? She will either kill or cure me pretty quick. Wonder if she has any more masculine patients? Wonder if they are handsome? Wonder if she lays that little dimpled hand on their foreheads, as she did on mine? Now she has done writing, I'll shut my IN 1769 Newport outrivalled New York. The inha-eyes and groan, and then, may be, she will pet me bitants of our city then depended upon Newport for her foreign supplies. We have seen an old newspaper which expressed the apprehension that in some future time New York would equal, if not excel, Newport. Now and then affords an amusing contrast. some more; bless her little soul ! She says, "poor fellow!" as she holds my wrist, "his pulse is too quick." In the name of Cupid, what does she expect? She says, as she pats my forehead with her little plump fingers, "'Sh-'sh! Keep cool." and tasteful manner describes himself as compelled in punishment for his offence, to "bide the pelting of the pitiless storm" on the outer confines of chaos. To find Skakspeare quoted by so venerable a gentleman as Absalom, is very gratifying indeed to all his admirers, and proves how well-thumbed his works must be among the literati of the spirits. It is a very glowing fame, whose fullness extends far into the future, but how pre-eminent must be the fame of that author who is studied not only by those who come after, but by those who have gone before. But it is only proof that Shak"for all time," but for eternity as speare was not only well. A WRITER thirty years ago complained of the prevalence of love stories. What would he say now, when our modern ocean of love stories would swallow his rivulet without an effort? |