was stopped in her speech; for the old gallant had, since she spoke, began to make so ridiculous a face, which grew more ludicrous every minute, that she could gaze on him no longer, and hurried out of the room in a violent fit of laughter.

Leaving Sir Narcissus to be lifted up by Stephen and Sir Nicholas, which was done without his saying ever a word, he was so crest-fallen he scarce attempted to breathe till he got out of the house, the courteous reader must follow the merry Alice to the chamber in which she had left Dame Elizabeth. There she found her, with the boy still asleep in her arms, and with tears straggling upon her delicate countenance.

"O' my life, Bess, it be exceeding unkind of thee to fret in this way," exclaimed her cousin, as she hurried to her, wiped away her tears, and affectionately kissed her cheek. "I tell thee he will return anon: there cannot be a doubt of it."

"I feel assured some harm hath happened to him, else would he have been here long since," replied the fond wife, very dolefully.

"Believe it on no account, dear Bess," said the other, "it be the very falsest, wretchedest stuff that ever was thought of: it doth not deserve credit of any. I would not put trust in it, were it ever so. The rather believe that he is speeding back, after having met with wonderful success in his expe

dition, and that he careth for nought so much as the sight of his dear sweet excellent good wife."

"I wish I could think so, Alice," exclaimed her companion, with a profound sigh.

cousin.

"And why not think so?" enquired her merry "Methinks it be far better thinking than the other. For mine own part, I would be hanged before I would allow of such paltry poor thoughts to fret me as those thou hast. It cannot be other than I say, so no more of this moping. Be happy as I am. I tell thee what, Bess, I have got rid of all my lovers, and they were every one of them so excellently well served of me, sight of any of them shall I never see again. I will be bound for't. Oh! it was such exquisite fine sport! I will tell thee how famously I managed." Here the promised narration was completely put a stop to, by Dame Elizabeth giving of a loud scream, which woke the child out of his sleep, and her countenance became all at once lighted up by a wonderful exultation.

"Bess! Bess!" cried Alice, looking upon her in some alarm, "what aileth thee?"

"'Tis his voice!" exclaimed the other, gasping so for breath she could scarce speak the words.

"O' my life thou art crazed," replied her cousin ; "there is no voice of any kind as I can hear."

"Oh! I would swear to it," cried the devoted wife, with a very touching emphasis; "there cannot

be such another. Here, take the boy. I will see. I cannot tarry here a moment longer."

"Bess! Bess! if thou goest on at this rate, thou wilt break my heart," cried Alice, who was fully convinced her companion was distracted. voice dost fancy thou hearest?"

Whose

"His that I love better than all voices in the world," said Dame Elizabeth, fervently, as she stood up with her boy in her arms. "'Tis Walter! 'tis he beyond all doubt. I hear him in the hall greeting Stephen and my uncle."

"Methinks I do hear something now," observed her cousin; "but be calm, dear Bess. If 'tis he, he will be here on the instant."

The words had scarce been said, when a quick footstep was heard, and in another moment Sir Walter Raleigh was locked within the embraces of his wife and child.

CHAPTER III.

Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow,
As seek to quench the fire of love with words.
SHAKSPEARE.

Alas! the snow, black shall it be and scalding,
The sea waterless, and fish upon the mountain,
The Thames shall back return into his fountain,
And where he rose, the sun shall take lodging,
Ere I in this find peace or quietness.

My suit is,

SIR THOMAS WYATT.

That you would quit your shoulders of a burthen,
Under whose ponderous weight you wilfully

Have too long groaned-to cast those fetters off
With which, with your own hands, you chain your freedom.
MASSINGER.

"'Tis exceeding strange, this story of Joanna," observed Master Shakspeare, as he sat in his lodging, with Master Francis, opposite a famous fire. "I scarce know what to think of her: but how behaved she upon the discovery of herself?"

"More strangely than ever," replied Master Francis. "When she recovered consciousness, I had got her off her horse, and she was reclining in my arms, as I stood upon the ground; and the moment she found she was known, she tore herself

from me, with an appearance of extreme confusion, and as it did appear to me, in some sort of horror. Upon this I did use no lack of entreaty she would be calm, and allow of my shewing her such attentions as my affection for her prompted; for in truth the knowledge that it was to her I was indebted for my deliverance from being made a sacrifice to the Indian idol, put every feeling of resentment against her out of my heart, and I could on the instant have loved her as madly as ever. But when I attempted to approach her, she put up her hands, and averted her face, and begged of me not to come nigh her, with so wonderful an earnestness, that I was quite moved at it. Still imagining only that she did this on account of the attempt on my life, to shew how ashamed and horrified she was with herself for the acting of so monstrous a thing, I assured her I was willing to forget all that was past; and believing from what she had lately done, that I had misjudged her, I told her, if she would allow of it, my future conduct should prove the sincerity of my affection. I was approaching to take her hand, when, as if in a very monstrous alarm, she fell on her knees before me, and implored me not to touch her. I knew not what to make of it; and whilst I hesitated, she, in the same wild manner, seeming as if she knew not what she was saying, prayed I would not come nigh her, or seek to have speech with her till the morrow,