countenance. A litter was ordered for Grace, and the army proceeded on its march to Paris.

It will be unnecessary for us to follow the Protestant army through its subsequent chequered scenes of misfortune and success, and still less so to inform our fair readers that the lovely Grace had no sooner recovered from her wound, than she was led to the altar by our hero.

Shortly after this happy union, the King of France had conceded to the demand of his Protestant subjects; and the country, tired of a horrible and devastating civil war, gladly hailed the return of peace. Stephen was rewarded by the prince of Berne, (who was a Protestant), with an estate near Paris, where with his wife, he lived most happily, and they were blessed with a lovely boy, who was early instructed in every manly accomplishment. In the summer of 1572, Stephen made a visit to Paris, with his wife and his son. The admiral Coligni had lately been called to court, and had requested the company of Frampton, one evening, when, as they sat in the apartment of his hotel, they were suddenly alarmed by the loud ringing of a bell, and almost at the same moment, a tumultuous roar of many voices. They started up, thinking that an insurrection had broken out, when several voices boisterously demanded admittance at the gate, which the porters denied them; they then proceeded to break open the gates, and having succeeded, they rushed up stairs.

The Admiral dropped on his knees, and prayed fervently, then turning to the servants, who had crowded round him, he bade them fly, and save themselves. Several of them instantly fled, but two resolved to die with their venerable master. The Admiral pressed Stephen to seek safety in flight.

"Never," said Stephen, "will 1 desert my benefactor in peril!" and he unsheathed his sword, and was imitated by the two serving men.

"Young man," said Coligni, "my soul must in the course of nature be shortly required of me by my Maker, but thou mayst live many years, and thou hast a wife and child to mourn thy loss, if thou shouldst fall."

Still Stephen was resolute, and would have stood by the Admiral, but the ruffians bursting open the door of the apartment, entered, and Bessme a German, drawing his sword, demanded if he was Coligni.

"I am he," said the old man, "and methinks thou shouldst seek more honourable employment, than imbruing thy hands in the blood of an old man."

"To hell! thou heretic old villain !" said the wretch, passing his sword through the Admiral's body.

The old man fell dead on the floor, and some of the wretches taking up the body, threw it down stairs, where it was treated in the most barbarous and savage

manner.

Stephen, the moment that the murderers entered the room, fled down a private staircase, and gained the

street. Here he beheld a scene, which froze him with horror. Several bands of armed men were scouring the streets. Some of the inhabitants were running through the city distracted-mothers were screaming for their infants, which were torn from their arms and instantly butchered. Here a father might be seen wringing his hands for the loss of his family, in all the horror of grief, until in pity he was in his turn slain by the remorseless hands of the assassins. This, with the crashing of the doors, as they were burst open, and the screams of infants and women, struck awfully on the ear of Stephen, who, though a soldier, felt his soul sicken at the horrid scene. The streets were lit up by the red glare of the torches of the murderers, and he was stopped several times in his way to his own hotel, where he had left his wife and son, but crying aloud "Death to the heretic dogs," he passed them without further interruption.

Arriving at his hotel, he saw with horror that it was beset by a party of Swiss guards. The door was burst open, and the shrieks of his beloved wife rent the air. He heard her calling on him for assistance, and without thinking on the madness of his attempt, he endeavoured to force his way through the throng; but failing in this, he ran to the back of the hotel, and leaping the wall, a youth, whom he instantly knew to be his son, rushed out, followed by a soldier. Stephen rushed upon the ruffian, and stabbed him to the heart, he would then have entered the house, but his son clung to him.

"Oh! my father," said he, "do not risk your life toomy mother is dead-I saw her fall. Fly, or we shall be discovered and slain."

Had his own life been required, Stephen would have rendered it in defence of his wife, but feeling his inability to cope with numbers, he instantly made for the house of the English ambassador, Walsingham, shouting as he went, "Death to the heretics," he escaped the weapons of the numerous bands who were speeding through the city, and arrived at the ambassador's hotel, where he found numbers of Englishmen, who had taken sanctuary there.

He had no sooner gained the door than he fell senseless, and was carried into the house by some of the porters. He was confined several days by a fever, which threatened his life, but he finally recovered, when he learned that his house had been plundered, and rased to the ground.

The news of this misfortune occasioned a relapse, and when he recovered, a settled melancholy preyed upon his mind. Finding it was not safe to remain in France, he procured a passport, and set out for England, disguised as a billman, taking with him his son Edmund.

After a tedious and fatiguing journey, they arrived safely at Malmsbury, and chance led them to seek a lodging at the house of Ralph Aldwinkle the scrivener, who was then concerned with Anthony Babington, and others, in a conspiracy, to seize and assassinate Queen

Elizabeth, and raise the captive Mary of Scotland to

the throne of England.

CHAP. V.

Worshipful Sir,

I beseech you respect the state of a poor soldier,
I am ashamed of this base course of life.

Ben. Jonson.

We must now return to the billman, whom, as our readers will perceive from the latter part of the foregoing chapter, was no other than Stephen Frampton. Fearful of assuming his proper name, and yet desirous of visiting once more the scenes of his youth, and the halls of his ancestors, he had thought it prudent to have recourse to the nom de guerre of Mark Slater.

On the morning following the eventful night which we have attempted to describe in the first chapter, the billman, or as we shall now call him, Stephen Frampton, rose early from his pallet, and after settling with Aldwinkle for his board, &c., walked out with his son. He passed through one of the town gates, and strolled carelessly through the fields, in a melancholy mood. The sun had risen, and the trees and grass glittered with the dew. The birds carolled their matin song, all looked gay, save Frampton; he leant on his staff, and