wondered at the strength of resolution to endure that was expressed in every curve of her mouth, in the firmness of her attitude, as she stood with her little nervous hands clasped in front of her, in the steadiness of the dark eyes whose setting was so worn and tear-stained.

66

Good-by, Zillah," he said, taking her hand; "I will come to Gower-street, soon." "Yes; you had better come. Hugh misses you. He wants to talk to you about his plans, he says."

"I shall give him the advice I told you -to stay with Digby and West for at least another year, on the terms they offer. Bless my life, it is no such hardship! What hurry is there for him to undertake the responsibilities and cares of a professional man who has, or thinks he has," added Mr. Frost, hastily correcting himself, "nothing in the world to depend upon but his own exertions ?"

Mrs. Lockwood made as though she were about to speak, and then checked herself with a little, quick sigh.

"Zillah!" said Mr. Frost, taking again the hand he had relinquished, and bending down to look into her face, "there is something new! You have not told me all that is in your mind."

"Because what is in my mind on this subject is all vague and uncertain. But I fancy-I think that Hugh has fallen in love.'

"I have considerable faith in the accuracy of your surmises. And it furnishes a likely enough motive for Hugh's hot haste to make himself a place in the world. you guess at the woman ?"

Can

"I know her. She is a girl of barely eighteen. She lives in my house." "What! that Lady-Lady"Lady Tallis Gale's niece, Miss

mond."

brained, spendthrift, Irish-gentleman! I dare say the young lady has been taught to be proud of her (probably hypothetical) descent from a savage inferior to a Zulu Kaffir.”

"Very likely. But your cloquence is wasted on me. You should talk to Hugh.

I'm afraid he has set his heart on this." "Set his heart! Hugh is-how old? Three-and-twenty?"

"Hugh will be twenty-five in August." "Ah! Think of a woman of your experience talking of a young fellow of that age having set his heart' on anything! No doubt he has set his heart.' And how many times will it be set and unset again before he is thirty ?"

"God forbid that Hugh should be such man as some whom my experience has taught me to know!"

a

Humph! Just now this love on which Hugh has set his heart,' was a mere surmise on your part. Now you declare it to be a serious and established fact, and 'God forbid' it should not be !"

"When will you come ?" asked Mrs. Lockwood, disregarding the sneer. "I will come to-morrow evening, if I You know that my time is not mine to dispose of."

can.

"True. But it is sometimes easier to dispose of that which belongs to other people than of one's own rightful property, is it not ?"

With this Parthian dart, Mrs. Lockwood disappeared, gliding noiselessly out of the small room, through the next chamber, and acknowledging by a modest, quiet, little bend of the head the respectful alacrity of the clerk who had first admitted her, in rising to open the door for her exit.

"Stay! Where did I hear of her? Oh, I have it! Lovegrove is trustee under her mother's will. She has a mere pittance secured to her out of the wreck of her father's fortune. Besides, those kind of people, though they may be almost beggars, would, ten to one, look down on your son from the height of their family grandeur. This girl's father was one of the Power Desmonds, a beggarly, scatter

The houses of Winchester are ranged round

the cathedral, like so many pawns round a king at chess. This building is a small history of England in itself. It dates back to some early British king, and was subsequently turned into a Pagan temple. St. Swithin, Bishop of Winchester (852-863), was the patron saint whose relics were here honoured for many centuries. The worthy man had originally snug lying in the churchyard, but his successor, Bishop Athelwold, removed the honoured bones from a chapel outside the north door of the nave, and placed them in a glistening golden shrine behind the cathedral altar. The removal of the relics was at first frustrated by forty days' miraculous rain, and it hence became a popular belief, first in Hampshire, then all over England, that if there were rain on St. Swithin's Day (July 15), it would rain for forty days after, according to the old rhyme :

St. Swithin's day if thou doth rain,
For forty days it will remain;
St. Swithin's day if thou be fair,

For forty days 'twill rain na mair.

But the crow must for a moment be biographical. In a recent number he gave a sketch of the career of an old soldier in the reign of Henry the Fifth; he will now give an outline of the life of a prelate in the reign of Edward the Third. The old cathedral was rebuilt by Bishop Wakelin, 1079, with Isle of Wight limestone and Hempage oak. Bishop De Lucy carried the work further, and Bishop Edington began the nave that William of Wykeham continued; and that great statesman lies in effigy still in his beautiful chantry, arrayed in cope and mitre, his pillow supported by angels, and three stone monks praying at his feet.

William of Wykeham, born in 1344, and the son of poor parents, was educated by Nicolas Uvedale, governor of Winchester. While still young he became architect to Edward the Third, and rebuilt part of Windsor Castle. He then took holy orders, and was made curate of Pulham, in Norfolk. Step by step Wykeham rose to the highest dignities: being first, secretary to the king, lastly, Chancellor of England and Bishop of Winchester. Compelled to resign office by a cabal to prevent all priests holding civil employments, the bishop applied himself to building and endowing New College, Oxford, and a college at Winchester, originally the enlargement of a small grammar school, to which the founder himself had been sent as a child by his kind patron, Sir Nicolas Uvedale. When Edward the Third retired to Eltham to mourn over the loss of the Black Prince, the Duke of Lancaster (John of Gaunt), the real sovereign for the time, persecuted Wykeham, drove him from parliament, and seized all his temporalities. Richard the Second, however, rehabilitated him. The minister resigned when he found the young king recklessly rushing to ruin, henceforward devoted himself to good works, and died in 1404. Winchester owes much to this great prelate, for he procured the charter for the city as a wool staple, and he restored that admirable charity, the Hospital of St. Cross, just

outside the town, originally founded by Bishop de Blois, in 1136, for thirteen poor men. Shakespeare's Cardinal Beaufort increased it and added the distinct establishment of "The Almshouse of Noble Poverty," for thirty-five brethren and three attendant nuns. This great cardinal lies in the cathedral in a chantry of his own, opposite Bishop Waynflete. It was mutilated by the Puritan soldiers when they stabled their horses in Winchester choir. In spite of the Bard and Sir Joshua, Beaufort never murdered his rival Gloucester, nor did he die in a torture of remorse, but, on the contrary, as an eye-witness tells us, he made a goodly ending of it. Unscrupulous in the choice of his instruments" the cardinal may have been, but he was undoubtedly a great statesman, firm, far-seeing, and fertile in resources.

A plain marble slab in Prior Silkstede's Chapel marks the tomb of an illustrious angler, honest Fleet-street tradesman, and excellent writer, Isaac Walton, who died in 1683, at the house of his son-in-law, Dr. Hawkins, a prebendary of Winchester. His epitaph, probably written by Bishop Ken (the author of the Evening Hymn), his brother-in-law, is well worthy the excellent man it records: Alas! he's gone beforeGone to return no more. Our panting breasts aspire After their aged sire,

Whose well-spent life did last
Full ninety years and past;
But now he hath begun

That which will ne'er be done;
Crown'd with eternal bliss,

We wish our souls with his.

Every stone of this old cathedral, has its legend. At the altar Edward the Confessor was crowned, and in the nave his mother, Emma, falsely accused of incontinence, passed safely, blindfold, over the ordeal of nine redhot ploughshares. In this building lies a son of King Alfred; here, at the high altar, Canute, after his rebuke on the Southampton shore to his courtiers, hung up his golden crown, and here he was afterwards interred.

Rufus, the successor of the Conqueror, delighted in Winchester because it was so near the Hampshire forests. Indeed the rapacious rascal had reason to like it, since on the death of his father he had scooped out of the Winchester treasury sixty thousand pounds of silver besides gold and precious stones. Rufus died detested by his subjects, and the monks he had plundered, but he left two things to be remembered the White Tower that he completed, and the Great Hall at Westminster, that he put together. The plain tomb of the tyrant, whom no one lamented, is still existing-a stumbling-block nearly in the centre of the choir at Winchester Cathedral.

Winchester has twice been glorified by the splendour of royal marriages-a happy and an unhappy alliance. The first was in February, 1403, when Henry the Fourth married Joanna of Navarre. This sensible and amiable woman was the daughter of Charles the Bad and the widow of John the valiant Duke of Bretagne;

Henry was a widower, his first wife having been Mary de Bohun, with whom early in life he had eloped from the old castle the crow has already visited at Pleshy. Joanna started from Camaret, a small port near Brest, and arrived at Falmouth storm-driven, attended by her two infant daughters, Blanche and Marguerite, their nurses, and a gay crowd of Breton and Navarese attendants. The fair widow of France was a beautiful woman, with small regular features and a broad forehead. Her handsome husband-elect received her at Winchester, attended by many lords and knights. The marriage took place with great pomp in the ancient royal city at the church of St. Swithin. The bridal feast was thought very costly, and was remarkable for two courses of fish and the introduction of crowned eagles and crowned panthers in confectionery during intervals of the meal.

After her husband's death Joanna got on but badly, for her step-son, Henry the Fifth, plundered her of half her dowry, and accused her of witchcraft. She had also to mourn when the nation that had adopted her was rejoicing, for her son Arthur, attacking our outposts at Agincourt with a whirlwind of French cavalry, was desperately wounded, struck down, and taken prisoner. Her son-inlaw the Duke d'Alençon, who had cloven Henry's jewelled helmet, was also slain in the same battle, and her brother, the Constable of France, died of his wounds the following day. Joanna ended her troubled life at Haveringatte-Bower, in 1437, and her ghost is supposed still to haunt the ruins of the palace there. Joanna's arms, an ermine collared and chained, were formerly conspicuous in the windows of Christchurch, near Newgate.

The next royal wedding at Winchester was the ill-omened and fruitless union of Mary and Philip. The gloomy Spanish king, with the projecting jaw and the hard cruel eyes, landed at Southampton, with the Duke of Alva and other memorable Spanish nobles. He was dressed in plain black velvet, a black cap hung with gold chains, and a red felt cloak. Gardiner, the notorious Bishop of Winchester, escorted him to that venerable city with a train of one hundred and fifty gentlemen, dressed in black velvet and black cloth, and with rich gold chains round their necks. The cavalcade rode slowly over the heavy roads to Winchester, in a cruel and pitiless rain. On the next day, the 25th of July, St. James's day, took place the nuptials. The gloomy bridegroom wore white satin trunkhose and a robe of rich brocade, bordered with pearls and diamonds. The ill-favoured bride was attired in a white satin gown and coif, scarlet shoes, and a black velvet scarf. The chair on which she sat, a present from the Pope, who had insufficiently blessed it, is still shown at the cathedral. Gardiner and Bonner were both present, rejoicing at the match, and four other bishops, stately with their crosiers. Sixty Spanish grandees attended Philip. The hall of the episcopal palace where the bridal

One of the interesting historical events that have dignified Winchester, was the defiance hurled at Henry the Fifth, just about to embark at Southampton for his invasion of Normandy, by the gallant French ambassador, the Archbishop of Bruges. On Henry saying, through the Archbishop of Canterbury, that he would not rest satisfied with anything short of all the territories formerly possessed by England, the French prelate replied that Henry would certainly be driven back to the sea, and lose either his liberty or his life. He then exclaimed, “I have done with England, and I demand my passport." Our chivalrous young king had never forgiven the Frenchmen's insolent present of a cask of tennis balls, in scorn of the wild excesses which had disgraced his youth.

"When I use them," he said, bitterly, "I will strike them back with such a racket as shall force open Paris gates!"

After his house at Newmarket was burnt down, Charles the Second squandered nearly twenty thousand pounds, according to Evelyn, in building a palace on the site of the old castle. It was to have cost thirty-five thousand pounds, and to have been a hunting seat. The first stone was laid by the swarthy king in person, March 23, 1683. James stopped the building, but Queen Anne came to see, and wished to have completed it for her dully respectable husband, Prince George of Denmark. In the French war of 1756, five thousand prisoners cooked their soup and cursed the English within its walls; in 1792 some poor famished French curés occupied it; and in 1796 it became what it has since been; a common barrack. Wren's design included a large cupola, sixty feet above the roof, that was to have been a sea mark, and a handsome street leading in a direct line from the cathedral to the palace.

It was at Winchester, in August, 1685, that the detestable Judge Jeffreys began the butchery that King James so much desired, with the trial of dame Alicia Lisle, a venerable and respected woman of more than seventy, the widow of one of Cromwell's lords (one of King Charles's judges, some say) who had been assassinated at Lausanne by the Royalists. She was accused of harbouring John Hickes, a Nonconformist divine, and Richard Nelthorpe, a fugitive lawyer, who had dabbled in the Rye House Plot. The chief witness, a man named Dunne, living at Warminster, deposed that some days after the battle of Sedgemoor (which was in July), a short, swarthy, darkhaired man sent him to Lady Lisle at Moyles Court, near Fordingbridge, to know if she could give Hickes shelter. Lady Lisle desired them to come on the following Tuesday, and on the evening of that day he escorted two horsemen, "a full, fat, black man, and a thin

black man." A Wiltshire man, whom they paid to show them the way over the plain, betrayed them to Colonel Penruddock, who early the next morning discovered Hickes hidden in the malthouse, and Nelthorpe in a hole in a chimney. Lady Lisle's defence was that she knew Hickes to be a Nonconformist minister against whom a warrant was issued, but she did not know he had been with the Duke of Monmouth. As for Nelthorpe, she did not even know his name; she had denied him to the soldiers, only from fear, as they were rude and insolent, and were with difficulty restrained from plundering the house. Lady Lisle then avowed that she abhorred the Monmouth plot, and that the day on which King Charles was beheaded she had not gone out of her chamber, and had shed more tears for him than any woman then living, as the late Countess of Monmouth, my Lady Marlborough, my Lord Chancellor Hyde, and twenty persons of the most eminent quality could bear witness. Moreover, she said, her son had been sent by her to bear arms on the king's side, and it was she who had bred him up to fight for the king. Jeffreys, eager to spill blood at the first case of treason on the circuit, and seeing the jury waver, roared and bellowed blasphemy at Dunne, who became too frightened to speak.

"I hope," cried this model judge, "I hope, gentlemen of the jury, you take notice of the strange and horrible carriage of this fellow, and withal you cannot but observe the spirit of this sort of people, what a villanous and devilish one it is. A Turk is a saint to such a fellow as this; many a Pagan would be ashamed to have no more truth in him. Blessed Jesus, what a generation of vipers! Dost thou believe that there is a God? Dost thou believe thou hast a precious and immortal soul? Dost

"I cannot tell what to say, my lord," stammered poor tormented Dunne.

Jeffreys: "Good God, was there ever such an impudent rascal! Hold the candle up that we may see his brazen face."

Dunne: "My lord, I am so baulked I do not know what I say. Tell me what you would have me say, for I am shattered out of my senses."

Placid Judge: "Why, prithee, man, there is nobody baulks thee but thy own self. Thou art asked questions as plain as anything in the world can be; it is only thy own haughty depraved heart that baulks both thy honesty and understanding, if thou hast any; it is thy studying how to prevaricate that puzzles and confounds thy intellect; but I see all the pains in the world, and all compassion and charity is lost upon thee, and therefore will say no more to thee."

The jury were long in discussion, and three times brought in Alicia Lisle not guilty, but they succumbed at last to the judge's threats and denunciations. The poor charitable woman was condemned to be burnt to death on the next day. The clergy of Winchester Cathedral remonstrated against the cruel haste, and Jeffreys,

not wishing to destroy the sociability of his visit, postponed the execution for five days. In the mean time there was great intercession made. The only mercy James had the heart to show was to commute the sentence from burning to beheading. On the afternoon of September the 2nd she suffered death on a scaffold in the market-place, and underwent her fate with serene courage and Christian resolution. Her last words were forgiveness to all who had done her wrong. In the first year of William and Mary the attainder was reversed, and Lady Lisle's two daughters, Triphena and Bridget, were restored to all their former rights.

Winchester Castle was destroyed by Cromwell. The hall (formerly called the chapel) now only remains. The famous Round Table, framed by Merlin, still hangs on the east end. Henry the Eighth and Charles the Fifth came to see this relic, whose date is uncertain. There are bullet marks on it, said to be the work of Cromwell's relic-despising musketeers.

The crow skims to Southampton, and alights on the Bar-gate, just above the sullen figures of Sir Bevis and Ascapart. This Ascapart was a loathly giant whom Sir Bevis subdued with sword and spear, and coerced into more or less patient bondage. Only half tamed, however, this Caliban mutinied on one occasion in the absence of his master, and carried off Josyan the Bright, wife of Sir Bevis, whose knights soon tracked out and slew the foul felon. Sir Bevis lived on the mount three quarters of a mile above the Bar. This noble paladin, after much fighting, died on the same day with his loving wife, Josyan, and his horse Arundel. Venice galleys that in the middle ages brought to the Hampshire coast Indian spices, Damascus carpets, Murano glass, and Levant wine, no doubt took back with them English cloth and English legends. Mr. Rawdon Brown tells us that to this day the "History of Sir Bevis of Hampton," is a stock piece at the Venetian puppet-show theatres.

The

The crow must not forget that it was on the shore near Southampton (not at Bosham as Sussex antiquaries insist on having it) that Canute, to rebuke his Danish courtiers, who beheld in him a monarch feared by the English, Scotch, Welsh, Danish, Swedes, and Norwegians, commanded the tide to recede, and respect its sovereign. Indeed a daring Southampton man has satisfactorily settled the site of the story by erecting a public-house near the Docks called "The Canute Castle."

Our bird rejoices in Southampton, not because it was once a depôt for Cornish tin; because Charles the Fifth embarked from here; because Richard the First here assembled his fleet for the crusades, and took on board eight hundred protesting Hampshire hogs, and ten thousand horse-shoes; or because our army for Crecy embarked here, but because it is eminently a Shakesperean place, like many others he has visited. Here, as the depôt for Cordovan leather, Alexandrian sugar, and for Bordeaux and Rochelle wine, the favourite place of embarcation indeed for Nor