In much and earnest affection he appeared to bend over her, and low and imploring was his tone, like unto that of a young child breathing the tale of its sorrows into the ear of a beloved parent. But the words that he murmured were of such fearful import that she struggled convulsively, and would have fallen had he not supported her. Yet he ceased not to importune her, but continued, saying, "Surely my beloved mother cannot refuse me this trifling, this last request! How often, when I was a child, have you given me a soothing potion that I might be spared from pain! Have you not blessed yourself when you have seen its genial influence cast oblivion over my senses and beheld me sleeping? And even so will you now, my dearest mother, when you have saved me from the unutterable agony of public disgrace and ignominy to which I am doomed, without hope of reprieve. Yes, you will-you will! If ever you really loved me, you will. You will, as formerly, lull your suffering child to rest, and his slumber will be sweet and sound. Rest assured that I shall be troubled with no dreams of the future or the past."

"Oh, Henry!-my son !-my son!"-she gasped, "would that such were my belief! But oh! Forgive me, heaven! I know not what I say. Henry, my son, believe it not! There is-there is a God !-and oh !pray-pray-pray to Him, I beseech you!"

"Woman!" he exclaimed, "you know not what you say! Leave these foolish fancies to the priests, who are paid for upholding them, and go hence, and bring me what I have asked. They will admit you unquestioned and unsuspected, for you are my mother, my oldest and dearest, and now my only friend."

And with many kind words he continued to entreat

her, till she lifted up her head, and, looking mournfully upon him, murmured, with quivering lips, "I would die for thee, my son, but this I dare not—cannot do."

Then his countenance fell and became darkened towards her; and it seemed to her that his eyes were of flame as he thrust her from him, and in the rage and bitterness of his despair he cursed her. And she fell upon the ground, and, for a time, life seemed to have departed from her.

The door of the cell was open, and the darkness of the prison-house broken by a gleam of daylight from a distance. A deep-toned knell thrilled through her frame, and its vibrations yet played upon the air, when she felt that she was alone. Spare him!-spare him!"-she shrieked, rushing toward the light. "Save him!-spare him! My son!-my son!" And the many-vaulted chambers of the dreary mansion re-echoed the forlorn cry, as if in mockery,

Then with faltering and unequal steps she hurried onward, and it seemed as though she had been supported by some supernatural agency, for she knew not whither she went, but was, as it were, borne along into the glare of day.

And there appeared a great multitude assembled below her, and the faces of all were cast upward; yet all was silent, save the tolling of that deep-toned knell. Again its awful sound smote and reverberated throughout the inmost recesses of her heart. Yet she cried not out in her agony, for the power of utterance was gone from her. Neither could she move any more to approach towards her son, but she glared upon him as he stood before her.

And, as she gazed, she beheld that he stood apart from the rest, and a holy man approached him and entreated

him mildly but he turned impatiently away, and refused to listen to the words of truth. So the holy man withdrew, and again he who was to suffer was alone for a brief space, until others came and gathered round him. And their intention towards him was plain, for they laid their hands upon him.

Then the mother struggled to move onward, and strove to lift up her voice; but all remained without motion and silent, save the tolling of the deep-toned bell swaying heavily through the air.

Then there came a low rustling sound, as of the faint and vain resistance of some weak one against the mighty. And she beheld the group before her move slowly, bearing away her son.

They moved but a few steps. A film came over her eyes, and it seemed as if many fearful things and confused noises were floating around her; and she shuddered, and, uttering one piercing shriek, was released from her mental torture. For these things, which she had seen with the eye of her mind, and believed to be real, were

not so.

In the dead of night, when darkness brooded over the earth, and the utter forgetfulness of sleep was upon the many, a vision had passed before her, and it was given to her in mercy. As that wild piercing cry burst from her lips, she awoke, and though she trembled exceedingly, warm was the gush of gratitude which pervaded her heart, as she felt that the spirit of her young and innocent son had been snatched away from trial and temptation and the day of wrath.

Then she arose from her couch and prayed, and gave thanks and praises to Him who doeth all things well, and whose Providence erreth not, though his path be hid

among thick clouds and in deep waters. And as she prayed, the exceeding bitterness of her grief passed away, and her spirit became chastened within her. So she bowed her head meekly, as one who hath received instruction, and was enabled, with heart and voice, to say, "Thy will be done!"

A RIDDLE.

BY VISCOUNT NEWARK.

WHAT art thou, that understandest
Better, her I love, than I?
Ever present--and commandest
Every rhyme that lovers try?

What art thou, that glancing near me,
Armed for conquest "here below,"
Shewest (why then should I fear me?)
Cupid's string-without his bow?

What art thou, that only rovest
To and fro, within the yard?
While, amid the dance thou lovest,
Step of thine is never heard!

Fairy phantom! I have spied thee!
Vainly would thy mistress hide thee!

Thou art robed in snowy white,—

Though oft 'tis black, that meets the sight.

Thou art light, and thorough bred,—

Yet dost walk, with measured tread—

Thou art ne'er a moment still,-
Yet dost halt-if I rhyme ill !—

ANSWER.

'Tis-it must be! 'tis the foot,

Lovers rhyme in, to their lute

'Tis the foot, at Zoë's pleasure,

That makes, or gaily treads, the measure!
"Tis the foot-of her I love-

Or-any foot that rhymes to-dove!

GENEALOGICAL MEMOIR OF LADY CAROLINE CAPEL.

LADY CAROLINE CAPEL is daughter of the late Duke of St. Alban's, and wife of Arthur Algernon Capel, Esq., nephew of the present Earl of Essex.

The noble family of Capel, Earls of Essex, derives from Sir RICHARD CAPEL, who was Chief Justice of Ireland in the year 1260, and whose ancestors were for many ages lords of the manor of Capel, in the county of Suffolk. In the reign of Henry VII., his descendant, Sir WILLIAM CAPEL, settled in London, and, becoming rich by successful trade, served, in 1493, the office of Lord Mayor, and sat in Parliament as one of the representatives of the City. Refusing to accede to the exactions of Empson and Dudley, the well-known extortioners of Henry VII., this gentleman was committed to the Tower, but released soon after at the monarch's death. Sir William died possessed of immense wealth, 6th Sept. 1515. By his