plore mercifully to receive his returning creature-cause His best blessing eternally to descend upon thee,-my brother-and my friend-bringing thee in His own good hour, into His purified fold!-and forget not-that I wait for thee in glory. Call in the sisters, Plantagenet-and fare thee well" And as I sorrowfully turned me from her, I heard her add in a low fervent voice, "Lord have mind of me, now Thou art in Thy Kingdom."

Thereupon hastily entered the nuns, with certain others, to give her the viaticum and extreme unction, but she was now so weak that they could do no more than support her, yet did her dying eyes beam upon me with love unutterable. It was now sunset, and at that moment was heard the swell of the organ from the chapel, where even-song was being performed; and then followed the choral voices of those sisters, who owed their advancement in piety unto her most religious care and holy pattern. I ween that all who heard those strains, felt them to be full fitting for the departure of one so blessed into the world of spirits; and I ween that the Lady Bride thought so herself, for when the nunc dimittis was heard, she strove to raise herself, and spake somewhat in a voice that might not be understood. The nuns declared it to be the Latin words of the holy Simeon's hymn, but I rather trow that they were those from Wiclif's translation of St. Luke's gospel, seeing that they did refer both unto her readiness to die, and unto the rising light which she had found for herself, and expected for others, in the blessings of the translated gospel.

"LORD, NOW LEEVEST THOU THY SERVANT IN PEACE. FOR MINE EYEN HAN SEYN THINE HEALTH: WHICH THOU HAST MADE READY BEFORE THE FACE OF ALL PEOPLE; LIGHT TO THE SHEWING OF HEATHEN MEN, AND GLORY OF THY PEOPLE ISRAEL!"

Such, I do well believe, were the dying words of the Lady Bride Plantagenet, upon ending the which, she languidly bent her head as if in a last farewell; whereupon one of the nuns signed unto me to withdraw, and so I turned me from that scene of triumph, though of almost more than mortal suffering, and from the face and form I had so long loved to look upon.

I have so often mused over the passages which I have now recounted, that they are all impressed upon my memory with wondrous exactness and power; yet is there one thing, which I may not omit to note, whereof I know not what to say, whether in truth it really chanced, or whether it were but a dream of phantasy, either at the very time, or even in after years. Howbeit, whatever it were, this is the sum thereof.-When I turned to depart from the prioress, I gave her my last adieu and benediction; which she had no power to answer but by a weak motion of her head: but as I was leaving the chamber, methought I again heard her well-known and beloved voice saying, "Farewell, Richard!-Farewell, Plantagenet!" in its saddest and sweetest tones. I started with amaze at hearing her so accost me before strangers, and hastily turned me again, but in doing so, mine eyes chanced to fall upon the çasement, whereat methought I heard the soft

fluttering of wings, and I beheld a Dove, more lustrous and silvery white than any which I ever saw upon earth, suddenly fly therefrom into the brightest parts of the heavens where the sun was sinking, and so disappear!-I truth I dare not affirm, that it was the Lady Bride's beatified soul which I did thus see and hear; yet it is certain that she died at the very moment thereof, as I knew from the sudden cry of the sisters, though I continued gazing upon that wondrous vision, until they recalled me by noting the intenseness wherewith I was looking upon that, which appeared to them but as an empty space!

I then turned me once more unto the couch of the departed prioress, to behold her dear countenance for the last time; wherein I saw there was but little change from dying. For the brightness of unshaken faith and unspotted virtue were upon it, which made her last moments wondrously radiant; even as the sun never looketh more glorious, than when his parting rays are cast upward unto the mountain's summit, as he sinketh to his rest upon the glowing bosom of the western wave.

CHAPTER XI.

THE RECLUSE'S LAST SORROWS AND TRIALS THE
DISSOLUTION OF RELIGIOUS HOUSES.

He who hath bent him o'er the dead
Ere the first day of Death is fled,-
Before Decay's effacing fingers

Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,
And mark'd the mild angelic air,

The rapture of repose that's there,

The fix'd, yet tender, tints that streak
The languor of the placid cheek,
And--but for that sad shrouded eye,

That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now,
And, but for that chill changeless brow;
Where cold Obstruction's apathy
Appals the gazing mourner's heart,-

Yes, but for these, and these alone,
Some moments, ay one treacherous hour
He still might doubt the Tyrant's power;
So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd,

The first, last look by Death reveal'd.

LORD BYRON

AND THERE SHALL COME A KING and confesse your Religions,
And bete you, as the Bible telleth, for breaking of your Rule,
And amende Moniales, Monkes, and Chanoines;-

And then shall the Abbot of England, and all his issue for

ever,

HAVE A KNOCKE OF A KING, AND INCURABLE SHALL BE THE
WOUNDE!

PROPHECY IN THE VISION OF PIERCE PLOUGHMAN.

It is full sad and sweet to look

upon the mortal remains of one whom in life we were wont to admire and to love: it is full sad to think how that

.

countenance, which was of late so rich in beauty and lively emotion, and how those eyes which glistened so lustrously, and the tongue which could discourse with highest wisdom or with holiest eloquence, have all become the prey of death, and are for ever dark, motionless, and mute. Yet, I ween, that amidst all the kindly lamentations which sorrow wakeneth at such a moment, it is also full soothing to mark the quiet rest, which the happily-parted dead do seem already to partake of; even in the brief space ere we note that the loathly work of decay is advancing, or the worm beginneth to revel upon the charms of his fallen victim.

All this did I feel, full sadly and truly, at that solemn hour, when it was mine to gaze upon the lifeless form and visage of the departed Lady Bride. But though I did much lament me that one so pious, and noble, and beauteous, should fall thus early into the sepulchre; yet could I not look upon that which she had left of her mortality, without thinking that she had but the sooner retreated unto an holy and blessed rest; and that, with such hopes as hers, it was, in truth, happiness thus speedily to have crossed over the troubled sea of life, and to have gained the eternal shores of the world beyond it.—And I do well trust that God can bear me witness, that my pious and hopeful musings at this time, have not in any sort been altered by aught which has since chanced; albeit I once thought that it would have been happy for me had I also arrived at mine appointed restingplace, ere I had counted another year beyond the Lady Bride's death: yet can I now well see the