"Well, sir!" repeated the man, and a slight expression of insolence mingled with the dry and determined tone of of his voice. "Had I expected this reception, I might have introduced more than this faithful follower to your presence, and not left my other attendants without."

"But the cause of this interference! I would know the cause, sir; you will tell me this, if you please."

"I shall answer nothing more to your questions, (delivered as they are,) but, that you are summoned on the charge of offending against the bill of Six Articles, lately passed in parliament.'

But what is proved ?"

"Your own consciences can best reply to that, and the studies which I have, doubtless, interrupted," he added, glancing his eye coolly from the open Bible to the book which Hubert had flung down, and which lay at his feet. “But, sir,” he continued, addressing himself to Sir Arthur, my business is chiefly with you, are you ready?"

"I am quite ready," said the calm old man; and placing his hand on his walking-cane, he was rising up

"Oh, my own, my dearest grandfather," eried Frances, wildly, and she flung herself down at his feet, and threw her armis fondly round his aged form, "you must not go, have you the heart?" she exclaimed fervently, turning to the commissioner,-"Have you the heart to hurry him away thus? He is so feeble so very feeble! He has scarcely left his sick bed.". Stril the man came forward, silently and sternly pointing to the warrant in his hand.

Stop, begone, instantly! Touch him at your peril, fellow!" said Hubert, stepping at once before Sir Arthur, and his rage seemed deep and dreadful! Then with a look of unutterable scorn, he laid his hand upon his sword—“ Now, sir!" he shouted, drawing forth the blade.

"Peace, peace, my son !" cried the old man, putting down his grandson's raised hand with his own weak and extended arm. "Shame on this unholy violence. Remember who hath said, 'Put up thy sword into its place, for they that take the sword, shall perish by the sword.' I do command you not to interfere, my son, between this gentleman and myself. As I told you, I have looked forward to this hour, and you need not fear for me. You, my good sir,” L. 35. 1.

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and he turned to the commissioner, "will excuse the rashness of one who is still green in years, and more warm in affection for me than practised in prudence, or," he smiled, "I may add, civility to others."

The officer was struck by the courteous, and even winning manner of the aged kuight; and when he added, "May I beg you to sit down beside me, and to read to me the warrant you have brought?" the man replied kindly, and, sitting down, opened the warrant. "Rise up, my sweet child," said the old man, pressing his lips to the forehead of his lovely grand-daughter, and gently withdrawing the arm which had partly encircled the kneeling maiden,-" rise up, while this gentleman is about to comply with my request." Frances rose up instantly, and Hubert walked away to the farther end of the room. When the warrant was read, Sir Arthur thanked the officer, and then turning to Hubert and Frances, said, "My children, you will, I trust, make no opposition to my departure. Hubert, my good Hubert, believe me, you will only injure me by any untimed violence.-Now sir, I will go with you. I observe, that in the warrant, the names of my grand-children are not mentioned: they are, therefore, free to remain here.-Come hither, my kind Margery," he said to his housekeeper, a tried and faithful woman, (who had followed the officer to the apartment, and who stood and wept without ceasing in the doorway,)" you will be very careful of your young mistress, and never leave her till

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Yes, yes, my dearest grandfather," said Frances, before he could finish his sentence, "Margery will take care of every thing, but, for the present, not of me. I cannot leave my kind protector; indeed, indeed, I cannot," and she gently drew his arm within her own, and turning to her brother said, "Come, Hubert, we are ready, are we not?"

"I am sorry to part from you," replied Hubert, and Frances stared with astonishment at him when he continued, (with a manner wholly changed from his late impetuosity,) "I am sorry to part from you, but I shall not go to prison." Having said this, he bowed gravely and haughtily to the officer, and quitted the room.

Sir Arthur had, at the time of his recovery, a man-servant, whom he had discovered to be a thief. He had been re

peatedly on the point of discharging the man, and had always relented; being unwilling, in the Christian kindness of his disposition, to send the fellow without a character upon the world. But the offence had been so often committed, that Sir Arthur had felt it his duty to rebuke the man, not only seriously, but sharply, and to threaten, that if the crime were once more repeated, he would deliver the man over to the justice of the public laws. Instead of feeling gratitude towards his kind and forbearing master, the wretch nurtured in his heart a deep and bitter enmity, at having been so often exposed; and forgot the many pardons he had received, in the one threat which had been pronounced upon him. This fellow was by profession a Romanist-by profession only; for not one grace of the faith which he avowed, existed in his heart or conduct. The opinions and character of Sir Arthur Woodgate were well known, and his influence much dreaded by the bad and designing among the Romanists; for his principles and his practice were so consistent, that many respected and admired his opinions merely because they saw that those opinions were borne by him, just as we value a tree when we see the fine fruit which it bears. The spies of Bonner had formed an acquaintance with this servant, and had even introduced him to that bold, but crafty prelate. With a power peculiar to the bad, Bonner had succeeded in giving the appearance of a religious duty to a scheme of infamy, which he rather hinted at, than declared, during this interview; and with a facility as peculiar to those who love to let a troublesome conscience be duped into wickedness, Ephraim Perkins (for so the servant was named) meekly and quietly yielded to the conviction, that by betraying his master in this world, he should save his soul from everlasting burnings in the next, and entitle himself to the high favour of his God. The wretch profitted by his master's illness, when Frances and the old knight were absent from their favourite parlour, and, for once, refusing the money and jewels which might have been found and stolen, he looked for, and discovered, what he had been told to search for-papers.-Bonner saw with much secret satisfaction that he had got into his possession a manuscript in which Sir Arthur had fully given his opinions on the disputed points of religion. The designing priest tore out a few leaves from the middle of the

book, and it was carefully returned to the place from whence it had been taken. A few days after Sir Arthur's recovery, Perkins had come up to him apparently in great distress, and begged for leave of absence, that he might attend the death-bed of a very dear brother, of whom he had not heard for many years, and of whom, in fact, no one had ever heard till then. The fellow departed, pitied and unsuspected, with a handsome present of money to pay the expenses of his journey, and with a few articles of silver plate, which were not in common use, nor likely to be inquired after for some length of time.

It is well known that the designing Romanists overreached themselves in the success attending the passing of the Bill of the Six Articles. The severity and extreme injustice of the Bill was so glaring, that, although, not less than five hundred offenders were discovered and sent to prison in fourteen days, the king foresaw the fatal effects which must have attended such unwarrantable proceedings, and the prisoners were not burnt, but, with very few exceptions, were set at liberty. Sir Arthur Woodgate was one of the hapless few for whom no order of liberation came. Inquiries were vainly made as to the cause of his detention; no answer was given: indeed, a mystery that was never wholly cleared, hung over his affairs. It was suspected, however, or more than suspected, that Bonner was the chief party in the prosecution kept up against him.

(To be concluded.)

MY TWO BOYS.

BY MRS. ANN ROLFF, AUTHOR OF THE WILL," &c.

My dearest boys, oh where are they? one, one is in the grave,

My youngest-born, my beautiful, the graceful and the brave, Or rather good, for he was pure as is the sunny way

Where angels wave their bright records, where mortals watch and pray.

And he was meek too as the dove that plumes its downy wings,

Yet merry as the jocund lark that upward soars and sings;

Physic he studied with delight, and his capacious mind
In that laborious pursuit grew more and more refined.
Skilled in diseases incident to nature in decay,

He waited on the bed of death, and charmed its pains away. Polite and sedulous to please, a captivating youth,

Who won the hearts of those who loved undeviating truth; And he was in his person tall, most graceful and genteel, With coal-black eyes whose vividness made every bosom feel;

And he'd a cheek whose brilliant tints surpassed the roses bloom,

But little did I think my sweet would find an early tomb.
My eldest boy, and where is he? the pensive and demure,
The deeply learned in classic lore, and modern literature;
The studious that would digest each scientific plan
That roused the mind to energy and blest aspiring man;
A valued son, of striking parts, that sought on every side
For knowledge to ennoble both his genius and his pride,
Whose elegant, but tender form, and contemplative brow,
Matched well his dark expressive eyes and saintly cheeks

of snow.

Alas! his mind was bent to see climes lovelier than ours,' Like the bright sun that speeds away to gaze on other flowers; And soon the dear romantic one, like fabled knights of yore, Who doffed their hats for very joy to hear the ocean roar, Embarked and crossed the troubled sea,-the talented, the fair,

And leaped upon the Indian coast to see the wonders there. Methinks I see his charming face, his piercing eager eye And lovely form, all drcoping now beneath a burning sky. Methinks I see a languid smile strive for pre-eminence, 'Midst graver thoughts of infant birth combined with manly sense;

Perchance his dreams are gloomy too-perchance they're wondrous bright,

For hopes are strong within the breast, as stars are full of light,

And will the youth of either sex their young hopes throw away?

As soon would darkness most profound a blazing orb display.