seen, and like him not: he is one of these English wolves who took it in dudgeon to have their dens converted into coverts for the gallant deer. He is a neighbour of the noble Tyrrel, and, perhaps with some stray arrow of the knight's, has done this murderous and most traitorous deed. We must take care that this Englishman escape not condign justice. My lords," continued Henry, "let us to his dwelling; if he has there ensconsed himself we have him safe."

The prince mounted his horse, for he had remained standing during his interview with the nobles, and, followed by the whole company of hunters, hastened to the residence of Henry Mortimer.

"By heavens, a comely maiden!" said Henry Beauclerc, as Alice Mortimer entered the room into which the prince and several nobles had been introduced. In the absence of her father and brother she had come to receive, as she imagined, the hunting party, supposing them to have been in quest of refreshment after their day's exertions. "A comely maiden!" repeated Henry. "Where is thy brother, lady, for I suppose thou art the sister of young Mortimer ?"

"My brother, sir," replied Alice, is absent with his father, nor do I yet expect his return.'

"Then by the mass," interrupted Henry, "'tis e'en as I surmised. Knowest thou not, damsel, that thou hast a murderous triator for a brother?"

"I know that were my brother here," replied the indignant Alice, thou wouldst not dare to urge such slanderous accusations."

She was about to retire, when Henry closed the door, adding, in a harsher tone, "when Prince Henry speaks he seldom gains such rude reply. Stay, young lady. If thou this instant confess not whither thy brother is fled, I detain thee, as the accomplice and abettor of the king's, my brother's murderer. This foul and traitorous act thy brother yesterday committed."

Alice, pale and trembling, threw herself at Henry's feet, and protested her brother's innocence. At this moment

Lewis Tyrrel entered.

"My lord, I pray thee, distress not that maiden," exclaimed the youth, I alone deserve thy rage, thy vengeance."

Thou! Thou, Lewis? Impossible!"

"Tis even so, my prince," replied Tyrrel, taking from his bosom a packet, which he presented to the prince. Henry hastily tore it open.

It was from the uncie of Lewis, and addressed to Prince Henry. In it, Sir Walter Tyrrel acknowledged himself to be the accidental author of his majesty's death, adding, that, unable to support the calamity, he had retired to the nearest port, and embarked for France, with the intention of devoting the remainder of his unhappy existence to the service of his God, in the Holy Land.

Henry perused the letter, and presenting it to Lewis, added, "Tyrrel, it was an unlucky blow. My poor brother, God rest his soul! had, I fear, much of human frailty. But, Tyrrel, thy uncle begs to recommend thee to our favour. Thou art, I believe, his only heir; his estates, then, shail descend to thee unharmed; and to convince thee how entirely I attribute to an accident my brother's unhappy fate, if thou hast any favour now to ask, it shall be thine."

The nobles present had little difficulty to judge from what cause proceeded this sudden and unusual condescension. Lewis Tyrrel led forward the blushing Alice. Kneeling with her at the prince's feet, he besought a restoration of property equivalent to that of which Mortimer had been deprived.

Enough, Lewis," replied the prince, "such loveliness can never sue in vain to me.'

At this moment Henry Mortimer, followed by his father, entered the room. "Mortimer," said Prince Henry, to the father, "thou owest our family no obligations: we must, I think, attempt to fix thy loyalty on a firmer basis than that which now supports it. Thy paternal estate it is, thou knowest, impossible to restore. I have just promised thy daughter an equal extent of England's fairest ground; this shall be doubled if thou wilt allow thy son to serve under his country's banners. One word more, Mortimer," added the prince, when the astonished father had made his grateful acknowledgments, "one word more, Mortimer; this youth, now Sir Lewis Tyrrel, has, by his honourable conduct, saved thy son an ignominious death, and to him thou owest the favours I have granted thee. Thou canst cancel all thy obligations to him, if I err not. Lewis, come

A

hither; fair damsel, thy hand; now, Mortimer, thy blessing on their heads. Thus may England's interests and those of Normandy be blended in one lovely union," added Henry, as the delighted father pronounced his benediction. "And now, my lords," continued he, "let us to Winchester, and may this first act prove an auspicious omen of the first Henry's future reign!"

THE ASSIGNATION.

BY SIR AUBREY DE VERE HUNT, BART.

FAIL not, my love,

To meet me at the appointed hour,
Beneath the grove,

Where hollies weave their glossy bower.

With football light,

That none may hear thy faltering pace,

With veil drawn light,

That none may see thy blushing face.

Haste then, oh haste!

For time drags on most wearily,
The moments waste

Sacred to love, and privacy.

To human eye

Impervious are these mantling trees;

No word, or sigh,

Can sound amid the rustling breeze.

While thus, at even,

In rapturous solitude we lie,

The smiles of heaven

Shall bless our spotless ecstacy.

For when these arms

Around thy gentle form are prest,
No vain alarms

Shall thrill thy pure, confiding, breast.

When our lips meet,

And when our glowing cheeks unite,
When our hearts beat,

Together press'd in fond delight.

Still shall no thought

Unworthy vestal love arise;

No glances fraught

With fires unhallow'd light these eyes.

Should our eyes fill

With rapture's mutual, conscious, tear;
Should our frames thrill

With man's bold hope, and maiden's fear.

Yet, cease to fear!

Hope only whispers Hymen's name,

And points how near

He waves his torch of holiest flame.

OH! LET ME SMILE, SWEET MOTHER.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "LITTLE LAYS FOR LIITLE LEARNERS.'

Oh! let me smile, sweet mother,

My cheek is pale with care,
And long 'tis since the sun-shine
Of one faint sinile played there !
See'st thou a light unearthly

Gleam in my sunken eye,
Like the waning lamp, emitting
Its brilliance but to die?

Oh! let me smile, sweet mother,
It tells that pain is o'er ;
That my freed spirit journeys
To a brighter-better shore!
Tell him who wrought my ruin,
When I am cold in death,
That I forgave and bless'd him
With my expiring breath!

JabloTHE SCENE OF

The above representation of the venerable mansion of Charlcote, in Warwickshire, derives some celebrity from its being situated in the park where the immortal Shakspeare was taken in the act of deer stealing. The estate has been in the present possessor's family for upwards of six hundred years. The mansion, as it now stands, was built by Sir Thomas Lucy, in the early part of Queen Elizabeth's reign, and has undergone very little alteration. The building forms the shape of an E. perhaps in compliment to the Virgin Queen," with whose arms it is decorated.

Here, it is said, our youthful bard followed the " sequestered stag," with feelings very different from those which pervaded his bosom when he made the melancholy Jaques moralize so pathetically upon "the poor dappled fools, the native burghers of this desert city.' The severity with which Sir Thomas Lucy prosecuted our hard, provoked his resentment so much that he imperishably handed him down to posterity in the character of Justice Shallow."

Charlcote is delightfully situated on the banks of the "sweet flowing Avon," and the park is beautifully shaded with stately oaks. The association of Shakspeare's name with this park, renders it an attractive spot to those who make a pilgrimage to the birth place of our divine bard.