Muriel came out of her mother's chamber to greet them, but would not suffer them to see her at this unexpected time, for that the least change in her customable habits disordered her; and then whispered to me that she had often asked for Mistress Ward, and complained of her absence.

At the last Sir Ralph came, but not Mr. Lacy, who he said was tired with his long ride, and had gone home to bed. Thereupon Kate began to weep; for she said she would not go without him to this fine ball, for it was an unbecoming thing for a woman to be seen abroad when her husband was at home, and a thing she had not yet done, nor did intend to do. But that it was a very hard thing she should have been at the pains to dress herself so handsomely, and not so much as one person to see her in this fine suit; and she wished she had not been so foolish as to be persuaded to it, and that Polly was very much to blame therein. At the which, "I' faith, I think so too," Polly exclaimed; "and I wish you had stayed in the country, my dear."

Kate's pitiful visage and whineful complaint moved me, in my then apprehensive humor, to an unmerry but not to be resisted fit of laughter, which she did very much resent; but I must have laughed or died, and yet it made me angry to hear her utter such lamentations who had no true cause for displeasure.

When they were gone,—she, still shedding tears, in a chair Sir Ralph sent for to convey her to Gray's Inn Lane, and he and Polly in their coach to Mrs. Yates's,—the relief I had from their absence proved so great that at first it did seem to ease my heart. I went slowly up to mine own chamber, and stood there a while at the casement looking at the quiet sky above and the unquiet city beneath it, and chiefly in the distant direction where I knew the prison to be, picturing to myself my father in his bare cell. Mistress Ward regaining her obscure lodging, Mr. Watson's dangerous descent, and mostly the boat which Basil was to row,—that boat freighted with so perilous a burthen. These scenes seemed to rise before mine eyes as I remained motionless, straining [{325}] their sight to pierce the darkness of the night and of the fog which hung over the town. When the clock struck twelve, a shiver ran through me, for I thought of the like striking at Lynn Court, and what had followed. Upon which I betook myself to my prayers, and thinking on Basil, said, "Speak for him, O Blessed Virgin Mary! Entreat for him, O ye apostles! Make intercession for him, all ye martyrs! Pray for him, all ye confessors and all ye company of heaven, that my prayers for him may take effect before our Lord Jesus Christ!" Then my head waxed heavy with sleep, and I sank on the cushion of my kneeling-stool. I wot not for how many hours I slumbered in this wise; but I know I had some terrible dreams.

When I awoke it was daylight. A load knocking at the door of the house had aroused me. Before I had well bethought me where I was, Muriel's white face appeared at my door. The pursuivants, she said, were come to seek for Mistress Ward.

[TO BE CONTINUED.] [Page 455]

From The Literary Workman.
FACTS AND FICTIONS ABOUT ROME.
BY THE VERY REV. DR. NORTHCOTE.

THE ROMAN PEOPLE.

It is a relief to turn from the dull, stupid, false witness of our own countrymen to the more lively but not less malicious falsehoods of the clever Frenchman, Monsieur About. He deserves a higher rank, too, in the scale of truthfulness as well as of talent than either Mr. Fullom or Dean Alford; but on this very account he is the more dangerous enemy. He handles his pen well, and he has the fatal gift of insinuating the poison he wishes to administer in the minutest quantities, but with consummate skill. Often it is contained in a single word or phrase, dropped apparently at random. Sometimes you can hardly point out a single statement that is really false, yet a certain tone and flavor pervades the whole which you feel to be unjust, and which is all the more injurious because of its extreme subtlety and the difficulty of providing an antidote. An air of moderation is thus imparted to his book, which, if we may judge by its rarity, it is not easy to maintain when writing upon this subject He does not paint either the Pope or his people all black, but sees much to commend both in the system and the results of the government. Indeed, some of his descriptions are, in our judgment, as just as they are graphic. Take, for example, the following description of the lower orders of the Roman people, the genuine plebs: