Raleigh for a reason I will presently explain. The barge made for Durham House, which, knowing the suspicions that were afloat, created in us no small astonishment. Then we saw him in the cloak, land, with Mistress Alice and her cousin; and these three went up the steps into the house. This seeing, we knew not what to make of it; so for the satisfaction of my lord's curiosity and my own, we waited at a convenient distance. In half an hour or less, the three returned to the barge and went on their way; and I, thinking it could be nothing more than a passing visit, thought so light of it that we watched them no more. He in the cloak could not have been Sir Walter Raleigh, because my father did have speech of him at your majesty's command in his own house, at the very time I saw this person on the river. Knowing this, as I soon found out, I did not see any wrong in the visit of these young women with another person to Durham House; but my Lord Howard did offer me a wager, that Mistress Elizabeth had gone there to be married, and that he in the cloak was no other than her father, Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, who had good reason for seeking concealment, as it was given out he was like to perish for want of proper nursing."

"Now is it all made clear to us," exclaimed the queen, her face crimsoning with rage. "We have been cozened, cheated, and imposed upon; and doubtless they now laugh in their sleeves at finding us gulled so easily. By God's wounds, we'll let them know what it is to make sport of their sovereign."

"I wonder at their baseness," cried her ladyship with much asperity.

"Tis not enough for them to do us the foulest dishonour we have received since we have been a crowned queen," continued her majesty, seemingly waxing more wrath every minute, "they must needs play a trick upon us! We are thought to be worthy no better hap by this false woman than for a stale to catch her woodcock Raleigh!"

"'Tis marvellous strange how such extreme impudency can exist," said Cecil very gravely. "He

"Get you to his chaplain, Sir Robert," added the queen. is one Burrel, in some repute for his learning, and doubtless may be found at Durham House. Question him of this marriage for we would know if it hath taken place. If he answer you to the purpose, you shall come away and do him no hindrance-but if he be contumacious, or seem to hold back what he knoweth-straight with him to prison: he shall there have time to repent him of his meddlesomeness. Delay not to report to us the minute you get aught worth the telling."

"I will be the most zealous intelligencer in your majesty's dominions," replied Cecil.

"My Lady Howard, we are for the presence chamber," said the queen, and straightway she passed haughtily out at the door with her attendant, but not before the latter and Sir Robert Cecil had, unseen by her majesty, exchanged a look in which there appeared a wonderful deal of meaning.

My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night?-SHAKSPEARE.

Ir was getting deep into the evening. The prudent citizens had long closed their houses, and many of the more sober sort had retired to rest. Nothing disturbed the silence of the streets, but now and then the riotous singing of some prodigal gallants returning late from the tavern, with more wine in their pates than wit, with perchance, the hoarse bawling of some of the city watch, chiding them for disturbing the night with their catterwauling; or mayhap, a score of disorderly apprentices for the sake of diversion screaming fire, murder, and the like, from different places, till the whole neighbourhood was in an uproar, and the watch running to and fro in strange perplexity as to where was the mischief. Now you might hear some particular clock striking the hour, and anon there was such a striking from all parts that it seemed as if there would be no end to it; like unto when chanticleer croweth in the early morning, there answereth to him another, and he is taken up by a third, and so on till the whole of the cocks round about have tried the strength of their voices.

So it fared in the city, and in Eastcheap more especially—which of all places was most noted for mad pranks and merry doings; but whilst such goings on proceeded outside, the little back parlour of Geoffrey Sarsnet the mercer, as oft did echo with a very similar merriment. There he sat before an oak table having on it a bowl and drinking horns, looking very portly in a buff jerkin; a jolly face and a merry eye seeming to mock the gravity of his grey beard and bald pate; and a loud short laugh bursting from his mouth ever and anon, said plain enough, of all conscience, that his thoughts were none of the saddest. Opposite to him, in singular fine contrast, sat the meagre form of the miser of St. Mary Axe, who, by the complacency of his withered aspect had evidently forgiven Joanna the loss of the Venetian chain.

"Margery! Margery!" bawled the mercer, after he had looked into the bowl and found it empty of liquor. "By cock and pye, I'm no lover of jolly good ale and old, if we hav'n't drained it as dry as-as dry as thy wit, thou ghost of a pickled herring. Haw! haw! haw!"

"Forsooth, thou art in a most facetious vein gossip," replied Gregory Vellum, who cared not for being laughed at when he had aught to gain by joining in the mirth.

If I be not in the vein the vein be in me," said the jolly mercer, with another laugh as loud as the preceding. "Here, Margery," cried he again; then sinking his voice, added, "Hang these old women, say I! They be as deaf as thy conscience, and as slow as thy comprehension. Is't not so, thou delectable pippin-face?”

"In truth, they be exceedingly deaf and slow," answered the scrivener, with a wonderful gravity.

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"The young ones for me-ey, Gregory!" continued the old fellow, with a knowing wink of his eye. They have ears for any thing; and as for going, I doubt them not, at an ambling pace, they would beat any colt that runs. Haw! haw! haw! Why, Margery, I say."

"How, now?-what do you lack, sweet master?" exclaimed a little old woman with a very pointed nose and chin, and sharp grey eyes, who appeared at the door.

"Another bowl, Margery!" replied Geoffrey Sarsnet. "And, prythee, brew it delicately, with good store of nutmeg and a famous toast in it."

"That will I, kind heart, and quickly," answered the old dame, fetching the empty vessel.

"I'faith, Margery, thou lookest as innocent as a sucking donkey," said the jolly mercer, with his usual laugh, as he gazed upon her uncomely face.

"An't please your goodness, I was always noticed for the innocency of my looks," replied the old dame very demurely.

"I doubt it not," cried her master; "and thine innocency was always respected, I'll be bound for it. Haw! haw! haw!"

"Indeed, you may say that," responded she. "For it is a most notable truth that no longer ago than five-and-twenty year last Martinmas "

"Thou must then have seen a good forty years at least-an excellent fine age for innocency;" and then the old fellow chuckled again mightily.

"Fie on you for saying so, and I not fifty yet!" said Margery, her yellow physiognomy blushing with indignation at such an insinuation of her antiquity-the which, however, was no great way from the truth. "No longer ago than five-and-twenty year last Martinmas-”

"Thou wert put in the stocks for a wanton-an excellent fine proof of innocency, o' my life! Haw! haw! haw!" And then he gave the table a slap that made the horns jump again.

"What I! I that have ever been the discreetest and virtuousest of virgins!" exclaimed the old woman, in a seeming monstrous to-do. "I'll be upon my oath I was never put in the stocks."

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'Well, thou hast had exceeding good luck, then," replied the mercer, winking at his companion, and endeavouring to keep a grave face; but he succeeded not, for he presently burst out in the same short loud laugh as at first.

"Nay, I'll tarry not to be made game of," cried she somewhat sulkily; and thereupon hurried out of the room.

"Mayhap, if she tarry to be made game of, then should none hurry to put her on the spit. Haw! haw! haw!" shouted her master, his eyes twinkling very merrily at the conceit.

"Methinks it would be but barbarous to make a roast of her," observed the scrivener, with a perfect seriousness. "And indeed she seemeth not very delicate eating."

"No more delicate eating than thou art; and I doubt not to find more juice in the fag end of a piece of dowlas than thou canst boast of in thy whole body," replied the mercer, who being of a well-fed person himself, held the other's lankness in seeming contempt. "But what sayest thou to a dainty young wench of some sixteen years or so -fresh and plump and tender as a chicken? Doth not thy mouth water at such fare-ey, Gregory?"

"In honest truth, I have no stomach for human flesh," answered the scrivener.

"Out on thee for a dull wit!" exclaimed the other. "I'll be hanged if thou hast more brains than a roast chesnut. But as thou canst not entertain me with thy discourse, see if thou canst tune up thy pipe for a song. A song-a song, Gregory!"

"Believe me, I have forgotten every tune but one," said the miser of St. Mary Axe in very serious fashion, "and that be the hundredth psalm."

"Psalm me no psalms! Dos't take me for a puritan?" cried the jolly mercer.

"Nay, but it be an excellent sober tune, Geoffrey Sarsnet."

"Then shall it be the most unfit tune in the world over a full bowl. Haw! haw! haw!" shouted his companion in the same merry key as at first.

"Methinks I know of none other," said Gregory Vellum.

"Then ale of mine shalt thou never taste till thou hast bethought thee of something more to the purpose. So look to thy memory, and quickly."

"I do remember me there was a song I did use to affect in an idle hour when I was but an apprentice," observed the scrivener. "Prythee, then, out with it!" exclaimed the other.

"Indeed, I have no voice for singing, gossip. Hem! hem!" and then the old fellow began to clear his throat very diligently, looking, or rather striving to look, exceeding modest all the time.

"I have asked thee not to sing with any other voice than thine own; so I must needs make the best of it," replied the jolly mercer very merrily.

"Hem, hem !"

"Nay, I would as lief sit with a tailor as with one that doth nothing but 'hem,"" said his companion with a laugh as loud as ever.

"I will fall to it as well as I may," replied the scrivener. Then turning up his eyes to the ceiling, began in a wonderful shrill trembling pipe

"When little birds sat on their nests

"Nay, but good gossip, I be not in most excellent voice," said he, ere he had got any further. "Hem, hem."

"It wants no conjuror to tell me that," answered his companion with a chuckle. "But not a drop of my good ale shall moisten thy throat if thou dost not sing me the song before it be brought in."

"Hem, hem!" repeated the other quickly, for he had no objection to any good thing at another's expense. Then with a lack-a-daisical look, the like of which it is impossible to conceive, he recommenced— "When little birds sat on their nests,

And conies to the young wheat hied;

And flowers hung down their dainty crests,
And Philomel her sweet trade plied.
'With my heigh-ho!

Whether or no,

Kiss me but once before I go,

Under the tree where the pippins grow.'"

"I say nothing against the matter of thy ballad," here interposed the mercer; "for it be as exquisite foolish stuff as heart can desire; but if thou art not singing it to the hundredth psalm then never gave I honest measure.'

"Tis very like," replied the old miser gravely; "for I did tell thee I knew of no other tune."

"I'll have none on't. So look that thou sing the proper notes." At this, with a preliminary hem or two, Gregory Vellum did essay the second verse, much after the same die-away fashion as at first.

""Twas then a lover and his lass,

Her rosy cheek with his acquaint—”

"Thou art at the psalm again, and be hanged to thee!" here exclaimed his companion.

"Indeed then I knew it not; but I will take good heed I fall no more into that strain." And then he continued his ballad.

"Had set them on the tender grass;
Whilst he thus fondly made his plaint.
'Singing heigh-ho!

Whether or no,

Kiss me again before I go,

Under the tree where the pippins grow.””.

"Thou art clean past all hope," cried Geoffrey Sarsnet. "For to one note of the ballad thou hast given a score of the hundredth psalm." "Ah, did I so?—then in truth it did escape me unawares," replied the other, and resumed his ditty, the first two or three notes of the which seemed of a fitting tune; but the rest was the psalm beyond all possibility of contradiction.

"He kissed her once, he kissed her twice,

Though oft' she coyly said him nay;

Mayhap she had him kiss her thrice,

Before she let him get away.

Singing heigh-ho!

Whether or no,

Kiss me again before you go,

Under the tree where the pippins grow.""