unless he promised to restore and preserve their liberties. While these proceedings are in progress, the suspicions of the king are awakened by a thousand circumstances, to which the author skilfully imparts a good deal of mystery, and a tragic kind of interest, which is strengthened by the picture of the king's private debaucheries and crimes. As a specimen of the manner in which this part of the tale is wrought, we shall extract the scene in which Isabella discovers her royal consort in company with one of his base instruments, in a secret apartment of his palace.

'It was at this very instant that her eyes, by mere accident, rested on a door at the extremity of the gallery, not far from that of the princess, and which was supposed to have been there placed, for mere uniformity's sake; she fancied that it moved, and despite her fears, her mind's excitement urged her to examine whether it had indeed moved, or it was but a delusion of her disordered sight that had made it so appear to do.

She hastily approached it, and taking hold of the latch drew it towards her; to her extreme astonishment it yielded to the touch, though its rusty hinges bespoke the little use to which it had been applied. Her surprise was in no way lessened, when she discovered that it opened into a narrow passage, evidently, from the dust and cobwebs, not often intruded upon.

'Isabella's first feelings on the discovery, caused her to shrink back from this secret gallery; she eyed it indeed with fearful anxiety, but still, notwithstanding the thousand strange surmises which perplexed and still further excited her, she dared not even think of penetrating into its interior.

But when, as she stood still within the portal, and became accustomed to its silence, and turned over in her mind to what it might lead, and what secrets it might declare; and when, as by continued reflection, she convinced herself that the strange rushing noise, and her consequent alarm, had been caused by no more mysterious means than this very door, as, moved by the wind, it jarred to and fro on its grating hinges; her superstitious fears seemed gradually to disperse-for she heeded little the jester's words- her resolution came back, and curiosity to discover to what this secret passage led, as also the hope of satisfying many strange doubts and horrible apprehensions to which the king's midnight terrors had given rise, so urged her to the attempt, that with a boldness almost beyond herself, she snatched up a lamp and at once passed into the gallery, cautiously closing the door, lest any chance should betray it to any further notice.

Her first glance shewed her that it was of no great extent, probably devised for some secret espionage of those days of violence and wrong, if not for the more ruthless purposes of tyranny and oppression; the thick heavy door almost defied scrutiny, for it sounded as massive as the walls themselves, and the passage, contrived within the apparently solid stone, seemed secure from even a suspicion of its existence.

How it had been thus strangely left open, was as complete a mystery, as was the use and termination of the narrow passage along which she so warily crept. She sought, indeed, ere she trusted her advancing step, to be well informed to what it led her, and to guard, by minutest caution, against any sudden alarm or probable danger; but nothing appeared in

any way to disturb her, save her own existing apprehensions, and they grew gradually less troublesome, as she became more reconciled to the gloomy stillness, and her excitment drew her farther and farther along.

'She had not proceeded many paces, when the passage abruptly terminated at a narrow spiral staircase; her courage here failed her, she descended indeed, a single step, but that was all; in spite of her curiosity, and the existing excitation of her spirits, they no longer urged her on; fear and hesitation kept her motionless, and she stood lost in strange wonder, neither daring to advance, nor attempting to retire from a spot, which seemed to command the deepest secrets.

It was at this moment, that a low groan reached her close to where she stood; she started violently round, scarcely able to repress the ready scream, which her terror forced from her; but there was no one to be seen, no living thing save herself seemed to be in that hidden solitude. A cold, clammy shudder came over her, she listened in awful dread-the groan was repeated-her ready ear soon directed her to where it issued, but still. there was no object to be discerned; and, trembling with horror, she was nigh falling, when her worst terror was opportunely dispelled, or at least changed into a less appalling one, by the well-known accents of her husband's voice, as the compunctuous visitings of his conscience seemed to torture him to cry out, in the believed privacy of his closet :—

"Will this bloody stain never pass away, and not even the deep grave shut up that fearful cry? Oh! curse, curse, curse on my coward soul, to have conjured up this racking torment."

And an even deeper groan marked the extremity of his mental abase

ment.

'Isabella shuddered as she thought of the horrible crimes that must have produced that cry, and remembered the tie that united her to so terrible a being; she looked eagerly in the direction whence his words had reached her, and soon discovered that the termination of the short passage, which led to the staircase on which she stood, was only thinly cased up with plaster, a portion of which had been removed, and thereby was laid open the wainscotting of the royal closet, where John's most secret and most murderous plans were too generally devised.

Isabella quickly put down her lamp, and examined further, for the brighter light, which burned within the closet, soon betrayed to her several crevices in the boards, through which she could readily distinguish what was there passing. Curiosity, had there been no intenser feeling, would have led her to look through them, but with what an eager anxiety did she gaze-even extremest curiosity were tame to the earnestness wherewith. she strained her sight to gain every feature of that unknown-forbiddendreaded chamber.

John sat as one oppressed with anguish, and distracted with fear. Again and again did he strike his clenched fist to his forehead, as if the violence of the blow were relief to the fever of his brain; then he looked fearfully around him, as if he thought that some of the many victims of his cruelty would start up before him, or that accusing spirit which had that night so horribly affrighted him would again confront him, and that bloody sign again curdle his heart's blood with terror; and then a deep hollow groan burst from him-the grave might have breathed that groan, so deep and hollow was it-and he again wildly struck his burning brain, as if the torture of his thoughts were madness to him.

The brute Jamy sat opposite to him, his chin leaning upon the table, and apparently fast asleep; although his almost opened eyes, as if in sleep still upon the watch, seemed to contradict the evidence which the guttural snorts that accompanied his heavy breathings declared of such a condition.

The ruffian's snoring seemed to annoy his royal patron. John suddenly pushed the table on which he rested with much violence against him, and with an oath commanded him to desist.

Nym instantly jumped up, his widely parted eyes rolled confusedly about for a moment or two, as if they would have started even further from his pointed temples, and then quickly recollecting himself, he growled his indignation at the disturbance in no measured terms.

Cease, you brute! demanded John, impatient of the fellow's insolence, " or, by Heaven, I'll strike thee dead."

"What, would'st murder me?" bitterly returned the ruffian, the venom of his soul at the same moment tinging the smile that accompanied his enquiry; "hast thou not already shed blood enough? Will not the death of the good and lovely suffice, that thou should'st stain thine hand with aught so vile as the black life-stream of a devil like me? Look, king, still is the deep stain there hast thou so soon forgotten that accusing shriek?"

6.66

Hush, Nym, hush-" agitatedly interrupted the king, at once softened into submission by the extremity of his fear" Speak not of that; for God's sake, stir not up that horrible remembrance-hush, Nym-didst thou not hear a noise?-The very air to-night seems teeming with horrors, and hell itself to send forth its fiends to torment me-there again--what is that? surely thou too must hear it."

"Not I i' faith," sullenly returned the ruffian, as if in no humour to listen to the king's needless fancies, "I hear nothing but the moaning of the wind-'tis only thine own needless fears that disturb thee."

"Ah! Nym," rejoined his master, a deep sigh prefacing the remark; "'tis well for thee thou hast such nerves-would I could be as careless, Nym."

"""Tis all the Malvesie, oh! king" as Jamy spoke, he seized a goblet from off the table, and quickly drained its contents" all this god-like juice, your majesty-makes a brave man as it were a Sampson in strength, and e'en rouses the trembling soul of a coward into valour; take a draught, oh ! king, try the magic power.'

And as he spoke he filled the royal goblet, and placed it before his patron.

"I will, Nym, I will," returned the king, in a low, dejected tone, at the same time raising the cup to his quivering lips, there is, indeed, strength in the goblet, and courage in the potent wine; but mine are not every-day terrors, the palsying sights that I have this night beheld would have disordered the bravest soul," and as he spoke, he put the wine to his lips-but that same instant did his eyes distinguish a deep red light on the wall, to his shuddering sight as of blood, though simply caused by the reflection of the queen's lamp through the crevices of the oaken wainscot. He wildly dashed the cup from him, and pointing to the spot, screamed

out

""See, see, Nym, again there's blood-there, there-the grave will not -cannot hide it"-he buried his face in his hands and groaned-" every where does it meet me-all, all is blood and horror."

" The queen trembled to extremest agony to witness so dreadful a con

demnation, as that to which her husband's crimes had given him up, and she sickened to think that so horrible a wretch should be the companion of her most secret hours-that such a demon should lie in her bosom, and she be compelled to endure his caresses. But her reflections were briefly changed.

The ruffian companion of her lord's midnight hours felt not-his callous flinty soul could not feel his remorse, nor was it in his nature to be subject to his terrors; he seemed promptly to decide that it was neither blood, nor any superhuman cause that occasioned the appearance, at which the king's coward and trembling apprehension so miserably quailed, and hastily rising from his seat, he struck the pannel with his heavy sword. The scanty wainscot yielded to the blow, and a considerable fracture soon appeared.

'A loud, exulting laugh followed this unlooked-for result, and the ruffian at once prepared to repeat the blow, triumphantly demanding from his as tonished master, "What thinkest thou of that, oh! king-blood indeed! more likely treason methinks," and a second blow fell heavily on the shattered pannel.

But the queen had already retreated from her doubtful hiding-placeshe had at once guessed, from Jamy's manner, that the ruffian had discovered her concealment, and instantly snatching up the lamp, she hurried quickly along the passage, and effected her escape, as his second blow seemed to shiver the unresisting partition to pieces.'-Arthur of Britanny, vol. ii. pp. 86-97.

This is but one of the many romantic and exciting scenes, which abound in these volumes, and which are in perfect keeping with the times. The day of Magna Charta had not yet come; the first confederacy of the nobles was easily broken up by John, who succeeded in prevailing with several of them to attend him to Normandy. There, as it has been already intimated, his queen's page, Albert, now Arthur of Britanny, who had joined the ranks of John's enemies, is made prisoner. The situation of the young prince in the castle of Falaise is described by the author in his happiest style.

The castle of Falaise, situated in the town of that name, famous as being the birth-place of the Conqueror, was the place selected by John as the prison of the captive prince, as well from its strength as its vicinity to Rouen, the Norman residence of the court, and its believed security from Philip's active enterprise.

Fenced round, however, as was his victim, by so much apparent security, the secret policy of the tyrant had added another precaution, and by causing him to be conveyed there by stealthy means, again and again changing his route, as soon as the security of the Norman territory had terminated the fear of rescue, Prince Arthur was at length safely lodged in the prison without his name or quality being known, save to De la Bray, the zealous executor of his master's will, and the mercenary guards whom he commanded.

• When Arthur entered the walls of Falaise, he seemed to part from life and hope,-to embrace despair and death; for the first time, he seemed roused from the morbid abstraction into which he had sunk upon quitting the usurper's presence; he started from the dismal dungeon, in which he was about to be immured, as if he still clung to freedom and the sun's

cheering beams,-for a moment drew back, as if his impetuous soul still struggled for liberty; and the horrible fate that awaited his young existence was too horrible.

'It was, however, but for a moment that he hesitated: he turned round for one last lingering look of the fair earth, which, mingled, as it had been to him, with joy and misery, now seemed to smile nought but gladness to its possessors, as if its veriest cabin were as a kingly palace to the dark, dismal gloom of his prison-walls, and its most despised gift as wealth and bliss to the tortured, quick destruction that thirsted for him. He rushed through the gates, and then Arthur of Britanny felt, that to the world he no longer existed, but in name, and that his proud hopes, his high ambition, were but as dross-a mere word, that meant anything-nothing, and his life, but as a feeble thread, that a breath might any moment break asunder.

The mere motion of his journey, the objects, though he was unconscious of seeing them, continually changing before his eyes, the quick passage through the air, and the bodily exertion of riding, had, during his journey, in some degree distracted the intensity of his despair; but when he found himself alone in the dismal solitude of a prison, cut off from hope and comfort, separated from every friend, debarred even of the pitying tear of sympathy and affection, with nought but pain and grief, and anguish, and death staring him in the face; then, indeed, he felt the full desolation of his wretched lot.

Merely to die-to put off a life, which, save in its few sweet charities, and its small bond of affection, had been nought but disappointment and sorrow-to escape from its griefs to the peace, or, at least, the rest of the grave-even were there no better hope beyond it, was nothing, had it come in the heat of battle, when glory animated him, and well-earned victory crowned his valour; it would almost have been a welcome friend, at least, in no wise could he have shrunk from his doom; but the cold, secret steel of murder-to fall by a ruffian's hand-his body to be savagely mangled, and cast ignobly away as so much carrion-the very thought was torture. But there was in his anguish an even more harrowing sting than that. Had he been, in his thoughts, the isolated being, which, as regarded his species, he now believed himself to be, whatever his misery, the small limit of his dungeon would have contained it; but Arthur, though small indeed the number of his attachments, was adored by that few, and their affection was to him an universe of blessing. Oh! what a pang was that! The pomp of greatness, indeed, the splendour of a throne, and glittering brightness of the crown for which he had fought, were, to a young aspiring mind like his, no trivial loss; but he thought not of them, save as a curse-he thought not of them, but as the preventing cause of good, the weighted messenger of his misery; and while he abjured them as a false, deluding cheat, he only wondered that so meretricious baubles should have lured him from a better and more certain happiness to so deep, so utter destruction.

'He gazed on the dull, dismal walls around him, now all that was his of the world-deep, indeed, seemed that destruction-he thought of his mother, beloved as so dear a parent could not fail to be by so ardent a son, now left to bewail the last stay of her existence-of his sister, the fond attached companion and friend of his childhood, now deserted to a galling and