living. It was strange, she thought, that her sister's partiality should have escaped her observation. Was it vanity that had blinded her eyes?—Had her persuasion of her cousin Frank's exclusive devotion to herself rendered her insensible to the possibility of his becoming an object of attachment to another?-How came it, too, that Francis should have overlooked the lighter and brighter graces of her young sister, when connected with this flattering partiality ?-Milicent was still but five-and-twenty years of age; and in spite of all her prudence, an involuntary glance bent itself on her tiring glass for a reply to the question!

That Francis was really guilty of the offence laid to his charge did not for a moment occupy her fears. A De Cressingham turn assassin ?—No, no, Frank might have subjected himself to suspicion-but to become a deliberate murderer ? -Impossible ?-She knew him to be deeply pledged to the fugitive king,—the advocate and upholder of his most obnoxious measures; and he had probably been induced into some outrage, whereby still deadlier suspicions became attached to his designs.

What was to be done?-The court was at Hampton; and Keswycke had but an hour before departed on state business for an audience with the queen. Should she despatch an express to him, imploring his intercession ?-Alas! how hard the task to commence a letter to the lofty Keswycke with an allusion to her girlish weakness, with the narrative of a love tale! But there was no time for deliberation; and in the midst of her perplexities, Ursula claimed admittance, and placing the Gazette in her hand, pointed out to her horrorstruck eyes, the ancient name of their house pointed out in large capitals to the detestation of the kingdom!—Yes, all was too true. Among the papers left by King James on his precipitate flight from Dublin, was a letter (addressed to the queen at St. Germains) detailing a plan of assassination, whereby Sir Francis De Cressingham had undertaken to cut off his royal son-in-law!

"This is no business for Keswycke's interference," cried Milicent, drawing on her hood. "For twenty cousins or twenty worlds I would not peril his noble name by entanglement in so vile a thing;-but the queen loves me—I will try my own influence over her heart. God has been merciful to her in sparing the lives of her father and husband in this unnatural conflict; let her show mercy in return."

When the Lady Keswycke's coach entered the quadrangle of the palace at Hampton, all appeared in confusion. Courtiers were thronging in on every side to tender loyal congratulations to her majesty,who was still occupied with her cabinet council;-but on the announcement of a lady of the bedchamber, respectful way was made; and Milicent was able to take her seat nearest the door of the audience chamber, and await as patiently as she might the coming forth of the queen. No one approached her. The name of Cressingham seemed to have communicated some fatal infection to Lord Keswycke's wife. The courtiers and ladies of the household stood in groups afar off, smiling and sneering and admiring how soon the rumour of her family shame had brought the favourite of the queen to be a waiter in antechambers!

But Milicent saw them not-heard them not-heeded them not! She had drawn her hood closer over her face. Her thoughts were far away in the dimness of years; her heart was back again in the green arbour.-Again she seemed to see the fiery youth at her feet; again she seemed to shudder and recoil as he denounced her father to be a ruined man, and invited her to forsake him in his helplessness. But for that spot and that hour, she might now have been the wife of a convicted traitor and malefactor!-Had she not cause for thankfulness to the Almighty Being, by whom her determination had been inspired ?—

But Milicent's prudence was about to encounter a new ordeal. On entering the presence, to which she was now hastily summoned, she discovered that she had to confront

not only the searching gaze of her royal mistress, but the wondering looks of her husband, and the somewhat supercilious smile of Bishop Burnet, who stood at the queen's right hand. Milicent's footsteps trembled for the first time on approaching an earthly throne; but after kissing the hand graciously extended towards her, she unhesitatingly kneeled down, and implored in simple terms the queen's clemency for her cousin, Sir Francis De Cressingham.

Never before had Lady Keswycke perceived the angry blood rise to the brow of her royal patroness! Mary, who resented not this bold application as a queen, but as a wife, hastily demanded, while her eyes sparkled with anger, whether the Lady Keswycke, in hazarding so audacious a supplication, could be aware of the crime of which that person stood accused ?

Milicent clasped her hands; but said not a word in reply. "Let me hear no more of this," said her majesty, seating herself beside the council table with an air of dignity she was rarely seen to assume, "or I may be tempted to inquire to what strange influence over the wife of Lord Keswycke, the traitor Cressingham is indebted for this eager intercession!"

Even this harsh taunt did not divert the lady from her purpose.

"Suffer me, madam, to forestal the question," said she, striving to assume a composed demeanour :-and without rising from her kneeling position, and regardless of the stern gaze fixed by Keswycke and the queen upon her face, she proceeded to relate all; her cousin's hereditary devotion to the house of Stuart,- his intemperance of spirit,his betrothment to herself,-his interest in the heart of her only sister.

Mary bent a significant look towards Lord Keswycke, who was visibly affected by the narration. "Rise!" said he, raising Milicent from her knees with an air of inexpressible dignity; "rise, my beloved wife, nor humble yourself further

for this thing. Your kinsman is beyond reach of the mercy or the vengeance of kings. A price was set upon his head; and being overtaken, Francis De Cressingham perished in the ignoble scuffle of capture. See, madam," said he, replying with proud consciousness to the glance of the queen, My Milicent blenches not!-Your majesty will now graciously admit that her petition arose not from any unworthy predilection. Blessed is the husband whose heart, in spite of insinuation-in spite of prejudice-in spite of every sinister appearance—is anchored in the unswerving prudence of a virtuous wife!"

It was a proud moment for Lady Keswycke. Mary,-—generously retracting her momentary mistrust,-caused the doors of the presence-chamber to be thrown open and walked forth into the gallery betwixt herself and her lord.

"For once, my lord, the text is at fault!" whispered the queen to Bishop Burnet, as she saw her two friends depart together in undiminished love and confidence:-"The children of this world are not always wiser in their generation than the children of light!"

THE BRIGHTON COACH.

BY THEODORE HOOK.

A friend, on whose veracity I can perfectly rely, told me the following story; whether a repetition of it may interest a reader I cannot say; but I will hazard the experiment.

I was once (said my friend) placed in a situation of peculiar embarrassment; the event made a strong impression on me at the time—an impression, indeed, which has lasted ever since.

Those who know as well as I do, and have known, as long as I have known, that once muddy, shabby, dirty, fishingtown on the Sussex coast, which has grown, under the smiles and patronage of our late beloved king, into splendour and opulence, called Brighton, will be aware that there run to it and from it, divers and sundry most admirable public conveyances in the shape of stage coaches; that the rapid improvements in that sort of travelling have, during late years, interfered with, and greatly injured the trade of posting; and that people of the first respectability think it no shame to pack themselves up in a Brighton coach, and step out of it at Charing-cross exactly five hours after they have stepped into it, in Castle-square.

The gallant gay Stevenson, with his prancing greys under perfect command, used to attract a crowd to see him start; and now, although he poor fellow, is gone that journey whence no traveller returns, Goodman still survives, and the ↔ Times” still flourishes; in that, is the principal scene of my