ped her to the skin, when having satiated their eyes upon the beauties of her person, they tore her limb from limb, carried the mangled body in horrid triumph through the city; and at last made them a famous bonfire, and therein had her consumed to ashes. "This is my play, Harry," whispered his companion. He spoke in the lowest voice he could, for though he thought 'twould be a pleasure for his friend to know this, he could not bear that any of the strangers around him should have suspicion of it. "Your play, Master Francis? Said you your play though, indeed?" asked Harry Daring, his honest face in a wondrous exultation. 66 Speak not so loud," replied the other, in so little a voice he could scarce be heard. This is the very play I did take to Master Shakspeare for his perusal the day you treated my uncle and others at the Mitre; and he hath got it acted by the players without letting me know anything of the matter, thinking for to surprise me when I should see it played.' 66 By Gog and Magog, what excellent good news!" cried Harry, seemingly in as great a delight as he could be. "I did like it infinitely when I knew not by whom it was writ, but now I like it a thousand times better than ever." A very moving play was made out of this doleful tragedy, and the players seemed intent upon exerting themselves as much as was possible, that it might be well liked of the audience. Burbage played the part of St. Cyril, and got abundance of applause for the wonderful striking picture he did give of this priestly Richard the Third. Lowing was exceed ingly dignified as Orestes, the governor. Demetrius, a young philosopher, in love with Hypatia, was very admirably played by Taylor: and other of the players had parts allotted to them in which they could best display their particular skilfulness. There was one part, though of but minor importance in the tragedy, that did require no ordinary ability in the performance of it, which was the character of Cleon, the father of Hypatia, and he found so able a representative in Master After this nothing could exceed the inShakspeare that nothing could exceed terest which Harry took in the progress the admiration with which it was looked of the play, save the zeal with which he on by the spectators. In fact, though applauded such passages as met with the each player seemed doing of his best, none approbation of the audience. What Mascould have put his whole heart into what ter Francis had said of it was true. Mashe was about as did Master Shakspeare. ter Shakspeare, on its perusal by him, saw Master Francis only appeared to get of what merit it was, and after revising it the more excited as the play proceeded. with great care, he had read it to the He took a hasty glance around him, and chiefest of his brother-players, by whom observed every part of the playhouse it was so liked they would have it brought thronged with persons, all of whom, from out as quickly as was possible; thereupon the queen's majesty to the very humblest he gave to each the playing of such charserving-man who had treated himself acters as he knew best suited their abili with standing room upon the scaffold, ties, taking to himself one of less importlooked absorbed in the progress of the ance, which he studied with all the care play. At this his heart beat more quickly he was master of; and took such pains than before, and he leaned himself back that all should be perfect in their parts in his seat with a countenance in a con- as he had never done even for plays of stant flush, marked with a continual anx- his own: then, when everything was iety and fearfulness. ready, he did prevail on his patron, the Lord Southampton, through his influence with my Lord Essex, to get the queen to come to the playhouse the first time it was played, knowing this would be the means of procuring for it as favorable an audience as play could have; after which, having kept Master Francis in entire ignorance of the matter, he sent for him in the manner as hath been described. "Harry!" whispered he at last. 66 Nay, prythee speak not to me," replied his friend with some little impatience, "this be the capitalest play I ever saw, and I be so taken up with it I can have no ear for anything else." This rebuff, instead of offending him as it might have done others, appeared the rather to please him much, for he smiled in such a sort as showed he found some satisfaction in it. Presently the curtain fell to mark the close of the act. Now, Master Francis, what would you with me?" said the other. 66 It has been shown how desirous Master Francis was none should know he was the writer of the play. Indeed, he had ever been of so modest a nature, that he liked not at all being made the gaze or the talk of those around him, and although | subject of observation of nearly all who the greater intercourse with society he had could get sight of him. had of late years had taken from him much of his natural shyness, the situation in which he found himself placed, made him now painfully anxious to escape observation. With these feelings, it can be no difficult matter to imagine what he experienced when he heard, at the close of the fourth act, a famous fat old dame who, with a daughter as fat as herself, sat close to him, inquire of Harry Daring, if he knew by whom the play was writ. "Ay, that do I, mistress," replied Harry quickly; "it be writ by my true friend, Master Francis here, who for an honest heart hath not his match anywhere." Master Francis heard not what followed. He felt as if he would have given everything he possessed to get out of the playhouse, but he was well aware that if he attempted to move, all eyes would be upon him, so there he sat in a state of confusion impossible to be described, knowing but too well, that not only were the eyes of the portly dame and her portly daughter fixed wonderingly upon him, but that every one in the room was whispering remarks concerning his being the writer of the play. Even my Lord Dimple was heard to tell another lord who was beside him, who was now his true friend in place of my Lord Simple, with whom he had lately had a dreadful quarrel because the other would have it he was the truer friend of the two, that he thought the play must be a good play if, when it came to the end, no fault should be found in it. To take off his attention from these, Master Francis turned to look at the spectators before and around him. In a moment he drew back his head with more confusion than ever. It seemed to him, by the hasty glance he took, as if every eye in the playhouse was directed toward the place where he sat. In his mind there could be no doubt that it was generally known he was the writer of the play, and his sense of shame became every moment more overpowering at finding of himself put forward with a conspicuousness he had ever such dread of. In this belief he had somewhat deceived himself. As he leaned forward to gaze on the players, his youthful handsome face had attracted some attention, which, from the singular way in which he behaved, his restlessness, the ever-varying expression of his countenance, and the marked anxiety he exhibited, soon increased, and at last became so general, that during the interval between the acts, he was the The last act having the deepest interest in it soon took off from him the notice of the spectators. He then found he could look up without being observed of any, and could not help feeling wonderfully gratified at the sight of so noble a company-the queen - her court- the many beautiful dames, and proud gallants that filled the rooms around him-the throng of groundlings beneath, and the crowd of those above, all with eyes fixed upon the stage, and ears so attentive to what was being said by the players, that you might have heard a pin drop. As the play proceeded toward its conclusion a more powerful feeling influenced him and quickly took possession of his nature. This was a fear that the spectators might not like the catastrophe. As yet no disapprobation had been shown. The applause was right hearty on numberless occasions, and seemed to increase the more at every scene. The players seeing that their exertions were probably appreciated, now took all the more pains with what they did, striving what they could that the play should be well liked to the end; but Master Francis, seeing how strongly the feelings of the spectators were excited, as the tragedy approached its termination, had so overpowering a dread that the ending would disappoint the general expectations of it, that at last he could gaze no more upon the stage, but sat himself as far back as he could, trembling with the most fearful anxiousness; and his heart beating with such marvellous quickness as made it quite distressing. The crisis came. He could only hear, beside the voices of the players, the half-stifled sobs of some fair creature in whom the deep tragic interest of the conclusion was exciting her powerfulest sympathies. All else in the house seemed as silent as the grave. He felt as if he could scarce breathe. The play had ended. For a second or two nothing was heard but the sobbing of several; when, all at once, as if by a general impulse, there burst forth such a torrent of tumultuous applause as seemed like to shake the playhouse to its very foundations. "Ah, Master Francis, this be a play indeed!" exclaimed Harry Daring, clapping of his hands as if he would never have done, with the tears running down his cheeks in a very shower. Master Francis could not have uttered a word if it had been to save his life. He felt proud and happy: so happy it seemed as though naught of what had plagued him so long, had now power to hurt him in the slightest-so happy, he could think of no one thing but the infinite gratification he enjoyed in finding his play so liked of such a noble company. Alack, his happiness lasted not long. Upon raising his eyes, in the room opposite to him, which, he had heard my Lord Dimple tell his friend, contained the French ambassador and a party of foreign gentlemen and ladies, he beheld no other than Padre Bartolomé dressed in a very courtier-like fashion, and close behind him gazing intently on Master Francis, sat the beautiful Joanna. He would have hurried toward her on the instant, but seeing her in company with such a thorough villain as he felt convinced the Jesuit must be from the baseness of his behavior to him, made him pause some minutes, the which time he employed in perplexing thoughts of how she got acquainted with him, and in wondering if they had knowledge of each other whilst he was with the expedition in Guiana. Upon again looking up he noticed that the room was empty of all its company. "Come, Master Francis! the queen hath gone, so methinks we had best follow," here exclaimed Harry Daring, who, unnoticed by his friend, had hitherto been commending of the play to the portly dame and her daughter. "I warrant me you are monstrous glad at heart now because of your play succeeding so well. I can only say, never felt I such delight as I have this day." His companion replied not, but he was anything but glad at heart. An uneasiness upon the subject of Joanna's mysterious behavior, had taken away all the pleasurable feelings he had enjoyed but a short while since. However, making a violent effort, he accompanied Harry Daring out of the room, and made direct for that part of the playhouse where he expected to meet Master Shakspeare, for he could not think of leaving the place without thanking him for the pains-taking and loving kindness he had shown in performing of his play. He had scarce put his foot upon the stage when he was met by his old acquaintance Gib, the call-boy, who, as soon as he recognised in the handsome gallant before him, the youth whom he had been so desirous should do the women," shuffled round him, scratching of his head, with his eyes staring in all sorts of ways, and his mouth extending of itself to its greatest dimensions. "Hullo, Beauty!" exclaimed Harry, laughingly, as soon as he caught sight of the call-boy, "did your mother feed you with the fire-shovel ?" At this moment Master Shakspeare came up, and gave very cordial greetings to both the young men. Master Francis, though he sought his friend with the express intention of expressing his gratitude, now found he could not say a word. All that he could do was to press the hand he held in his own, and look the infinite thankfulness he felt; and this appeared to be as well understood of the other as if he had said all it was possible for him to say. Master Shakspeare hurried him along, saying that some friends of his were waiting for him-Harry Daring following, till they entered a goodly room filled with a worshipful company, like unto that previously described in the chamber of the actors at the Globe playhouse, on the Bankside. "My masters!" exclaimed Master Shakspeare, addressing them, as soon as he had corne in, "I have brought you here one to whom you owe great store of thankfulness for the absolute gratification received of you to-day from the playing of that most sweet, very moving, and admirably-writ piece of tragedy, upon the doleful history of Hypatia, that hath been so well liked of the queen's majesty and a noble concourse of spectators. Of the excellent fine genius this play showeth, methinks it be scarce necessary for me to speak. I doubt not all here are as willing and as able to do it justice as am I. What further I would say is, that the writer thereof, to my certain knowledge of him, is of as courteous, as modest, and as sweet a disposition as ever it hath been my good fortune to meet.” Master Francis had but an imperfect knowledge of what took place after this. The handsome manner in which Master Shakspeare had spoke of him before so many of the chiefest wits and gallantest spirits of the age, had so bewildered him he could make no reply to the fine compliments and hearty congratulations of those who came thronging round, seemingly anxious to show their commendation of a writer in such repute of so notable a critic. His shamefacedness though won him such good opinion of many, as he could never have gained by the completest impudency that ever was exhibited. Master Shakspeare behaved throughout with so entire a friendliness as was truly delightful to look on; answering for the youth when there was any neces sity, just the exact sentiments he felt at | Southampton pressed forward, and with a very famous courtesy introduced his young companion to the queen's notice. It was evident that Master Francis's well-disposed features and elegant figure, set off his heart; and with pleasant jests, and kindly assurances, seeking all he could to make the other feel at his ease. It so happened Master Francis had managed to bring himself to some sort of compo-to the fairest advantage by a dress that sure when a new source of disquietude appeared. This was no other than my Lord Southampton coming in all haste into the room, saying the queen was so taken with the new play she would have the writer present himself before her without delay at her palace at Whitehall. Of those who heard this intelligence, there were none so well pleased as Master Shakspeare and Harry Daring, the latter of whom expressed his gratification in no measured language, with a perfect carelessness of the persons of worship by whom he was surrounded. was at once simple and gentlemanly, created for him a favorable impression amongst all there. Some of the ladies whispered their commendations to one another, the gentlemen stared in some sort of curiosity, and Queen Elizabeth, who had a notable liking for men of a proper stature and comeliness, could not help gazing admiringly on the handsome youth before her. He stood with a very natural modesty at some little distance, his heart beating high, and his pale thoughtful face a little more flushed than ordinary. "This play of yours, young sir, hath pleased us mightily," observed the queen at last, in her most condescending man"Out of all doubt it is a marvellous proper play. You seem scarce of ripe age enough for a play-writer; and for a play so well writ, disclosing of so excellent a judgment, it seemeth strange indeed it should be writ by you. Hast writ other plays?" "Others have I writ, please your majesty; but this be the first I have had the good hap to get played," replied Master Francis, in a wonderful delight at hearing of such pleasant words from so honorable a source. Master Francis, placing himself under the guidance of my Lord Southampton, started off for the palace. It is not to be denied that his thoughts now took some-ner. what of that ambitious turn he had once so loved to indulge himself with. But as the wind is impelled, so it will go. The knowledge that the queen had so liked his play as to send for him, was a sufficient basis for the most famous dreams of honorable advancement, to the entire forgetfulness of all other things; and on he went, building up his hopes higher than ever he had done. Nor was the conversation of his companion at all likely to make him less sanguine. The latter had heard from Master Shakspeare such accounts of his young friend as interested him greatly in the success of his play; and the little he had seen of him, in conjunction with the singular fine tal- "I am the secretary of Sir Walter ent the play exhibited, so increased that Raleigh, please your majesty." At this favorable impression that he would glad-acknowledgment there was a dead sily have done whatever lay in his power to serve him. What he said by degrees wrought in the other such confidence that, when he entered the presence-chamber, he was more at his ease than he expected to be. Her majesty stood in the centre of a brilliant circle, the most conspicuous of whom were my Lord Essex, dressed very gorgeously, and looking as if he were king of them all; my Lady Howard of Walden and her lord, with whom, after a great to-do, on the part of Sir Robert Cecil, whom he ever after regarded as the honestest nature that ever lived, she was reconciled; Lady Blanche Somerset, and many ladies of her court; my Lord Henry Howard, my Lord Bumble, and divers other nobles and gallants. My Lord "And who is he that hath writ so admirable a play?" inquired her majesty; "as yet we know naught of the writer, save that we see him." lence, and many of the courtiers thought, however clever Master Francis might be as a writer of plays, he lacked judgment wofully in saying he was in any way connected with a disgraced favorite. My Lord Essex was the first to speak. "Methinks Sir Walter Raleigh is ex ceeding fortunate in having such a servant," observed he. "Had he showed as much wit in other matters as he hath in the choice of a secretary, mayhap there would be but little fault to find in him," added the queen. To an observation so shrewd the courtiers thought no reply could be made. Her majesty then turning to Master Francis said, "We asked you not of what office you held, but of what name you were.' This was a question he seemed perfectly he had been called "Master Francis," by some, because he was a gentlemanlike youth, by others, because such they had heard him styled. Not knowing of his father's name, he had himself used no surname. He liked not to call himself of the same name with his mother, fearing it might injure her reputation; and after he had heard of Holdfast's relationship to him, he had as little liking for his name, knowing it was that of a paltry cheater; so "Master Francis" he had still remained. unprepared for. Since his remembrance Master Francis felt at that moment as if all the blood in his body had rushed into his face. His heart throbbed so he was obliged to gasp for breath. His throat seemed as if tightened with a cord, and his temples were as though fire burned within them. He saw not the looks of contempt with which the courtiers regarded him, the surprise of my Lord Essex, or the pity of my Lord Southampton, as the queen haughtily turned upon her heel, saying to one of the gentlemenpensioners in attendance, "Remove that fellow!" and heard not the cutting sarcasm of my Lady Howard of Walden, as she shrunk away from him as though he were a leper, or the many rebukes of my Lord Bumble, whilst he helped to lead him from the presence; and how he got out of the palace and made his way to Master Shakspeare's lodgings, he never could explain. "We wait your answer," observed the queen, somewhat impatiently, for she would put up with no dallying. "I am called Master Francis, please your majesty," replied he, in some confusion. "Master Francis, is it?" observed his interrogator, sharply; "but hast no other name than Master Francis? Of what name was your father called?" Master Francis hesitated whether to say Holdfast or Vellum. He dreaded telling a lie, and he liked not speaking the truth. He got more embarrassed every moment, and knowing that the eyes of the whole assembly were fixed upon him, only increased his uneasiness. The queen looked as if she was displeased at his delay in answering of her questions. "Odds pittikins!" exclaimed her majesty, "by the backwardness of your replies we are inclined to think, with the old proverb, that it be a wise child who knoweth his own father." The laugh which followed this remark of the queen's did increase Master Francis's confusion to such an extent, he scarce knew what to do or say. "Dost keep the queen of England waiting for an answer, sirrah ?" angrily asked Elizabeth. "We asked of you the name of your father. Who was he?" "I believe his name was Holdfast," stammered out Master Francis; who now felt he would be glad enough had he never entered the place. "You believe his name was Holdfast!" exclaimed the queen, with marked emphasis, and then added, with her face in a sudden flush of indignation, and her voice expressing all the bitterness of scorn and disdain. "But we now see the cause of your so delaying us an answer. You must needs be the offspring of some low intrigue; and we wonder at your villanous impudency in entering our presence. Get you gone, sirrah! This be no place for the encouragement of bastards." CHAPTER XXXIII. My free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse, Of Limehouse, their dear brothers are able to endure. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here! "OH, Master Shakspeare!" exclaimed the young secretary, in a voice scarcely articulate for emotion, as he caught hold of his hand and stood pale and trembling beside him. "For the love of Heaven, counsel me, or methinks I can not but go mad." His friend marvelled greatly to see him in so terrible an excitement; and after talking reasonably, and with a sincere affection, he drew from him what had happened. "To be buoyed up unto the highest pitch of expectation," continued Master Francis, still giving evidence, in his look and manner, he was exceeding moved. "To have the fairest hopes a sanguine nature ever had to stand in the presence of the queen of England, and of a right noble company, and to be admired and commended by all-and then to have so gross an insult cast on me that my heart boils at it, and to be thrust out of the royal palace with such scorn as the basest |