rience from the continual influence of thy unbounded goodness, such words as I have at command are so little to the purpose, that I am forced to a seeming ungrateful silence; yet am I most gratefully bound to thee. Thou art my guardian angel, and in earnest truth, most exquisite Joanna, my heart ever yearneth to pour out its spirit in thanksgiving for thy unceasing kindness."

He received no reply, unless it was conveyed in a more evident pressure of the hands she held clasped in her own, or in a softer and more thrilling glance from the clear hazel of her lustrous eyes. He continued

66

My benefactress! my"

"Hush!" she exclaimed quickly, interrupting "Have I not told thee never to allude to

him.

what I have done for thy good?"

He remained silent, as if conscious he had committed an error.

"And now, prythee, tell me how hast thou sped with thy tragedy?" she enquired.

"It will not do, dear Joanna,” he replied.

"Despair not-thou wilt do better anon," she said, in an encouraging tone.

"But methinks I have found a friend," added Master Francis, more cheerfully.

"I am truly glad on't," said she.

"Hast heard of Master Shakspeare-- whose plays

so wonderfully do delight the town?” enquired the

youth.

66

Indeed, have I," she replied.

66

My father hath oft promised to take me to see the players do a play of his, but he liketh the sports of the Bear Garden best, therefore I have not been."

"I should like to take thee mightily,” observed he.

"For it is most delectable entertainment. But I must tell thee-Master Shakspeare, to whom I was directed to send my tragedy, though he did tell me very candidly of its faults, expressed himself right glad to do me a service; and as earnest of his sincerity, he hath but now sent for me to the playhouse."

66

Speed thee, then, Francis," she exclaimed, rising from her seat and raising him from the ground. "It be not right of thee to lose the precious time when such a friend desireth to serve thee. But here," she added, as she took from around her neck the very gold chain she did receive of old Gregory Vellum, and threw it over her youthful lover. "Wear that for my sake but let not thine uncle see it, or mayhap he may think thou hadst it not honestly, and question thee churlishly upon it; and I do not wish thee to say

I

gave it thee, nor do desire that thou shouldst say what is not true. And let me again request of

thee in true kindness, that when thou wantest

aught that his miserly nature doth refuse; ask it of me, and thou shalt have it straight."

66

Nay, dear Joanna," he replied, looking somewhat distressed. "Thou hast lavished upon me so many gifts already, that I am ashamed to accept of this, or to ask of thee anything; and, if thou wilt not be offended, I would sooner that thou shouldst continue to wear it. In truth, it is too good a thing for me to have."

"That it cannot be," answered she, regarding him with a more perceptible fondness. "I would have thee wear it beneath thy doublet, and affix to it the miniature of thy mother. Now, no excuses! I will not hear of them. And be sure let me know when thou dost lack anything."

"Oh, thou art too kind!" exclaimed the youth, with all the expression that love and gratitude could give.

"Now haste thee to Master Shakspeare," said Joanna.

"Dare I ask of thee once again, to let me taste of those honey sweet delights thou didst bestow on me a brief while since ?" enquired he, looking into her eyes as if his own were drawn thereunto by some marvellous magic. How she answered, methinks it be scarce necessary to state, when it cometh to be known, that in the next moment Master Francis was speeding on his uncle's errand

with a heart as light as if he had not a care in the world.

Having delivered the account-more courteously than his miserly kinsman designed, he posted off to the playhouse on the Bankside, sometimes imagining what Master Shakspeare did want with him, and thereupon, building many monstrous fine castles in the air, and then turning his thoughts to the contemplation of the exquisite excellences of Joanna, and feeding his mind with dreams of happiness she was to realise at some not far distant day. In this mood he arrived at the playhouse, which he recognised by the flag flying at the top. It was thronged with people-some waiting to see the queen, and others the play; round about were boys and serving men holding horses, and here and there might be seen costardmongers and others bawling out fruit. Making for a little door at which there was no crowd, he was entering thereat, when he was stopped by a surly looking fellow with a wooden leg and a red nose.

"Well, how now! what dost want?" he cried in a gruff voice.

"I am come to see Master Shakspeare,” replied the youth.

"Won't do," said the other sharply, as he took up a position before him, as if to stop his proceeding further, and then scrutinised his appear

ance very closely. "The players be all a dressing, and can't be disturbed for every jackanapes that wants to see the play for nothing."

"But I have business with him," added Master. Francis.

"Won't do," repeated the fellow, stumping closer to him, and looking more forbiddingly. "Dost thou not know that this be no hour for him to see runaway apprentices who seek to be players? So get thee gone."

"But he hath sent for me, and I must see him," said the youth more determinedly.

"Won't do, I tell thee!" shouted the man. "Nay, if thou dost not take thyself off, I'll set the dog on thee. Here, Pincher! Pincher! Pincher!" And immediately a savage looking wiry haired terrier came from under a chair barking and snapping at his heels. Master Francis, seeing that there was no remedy, was just about to turn back with a heavy heart, when, who should come into the place, but the same wide-mouthed, squintingeyed boy that had brought him the letter, bearing a tankard in his hand, as if he had come from a neighbouring tavern. Gib seemed to understand the state of the case immediately.

"How now, Will Peppercorn!" he cried, in a voice that shewed that the name of Stentor was not ill-applied. "This good youth is he whom I