ILLUSTRATED ARTICLE.

THE WOOING AT GRAFTON.

Ir was one of those fresh and balmy summer evenings which sometimes succeed a day of scarcely endurable sultriness. The breathless stillness and heat of noon had given place to a refreshing breeze which rippled the waves of the Ouse, and stirred the countless leaves of the forest, through which the river meandered. The sun was setting in unclouded magnificence; and although his rays had greatly declined in intensity and strength, they had lost nothing of their splendour and their brightness. The birds, whose floods of melody appeared to have been dried up during the day, now poured forth a tide of song so full and resistless, that it seemed as if they intended during the short interval previous to the hour of roosting, to make amends for the silence of so many hours.

A lady of a stately figure and features, of exquisite beauty, was walking on the banks of the river. She was followed by a female attendant, and led by the hand a youth who seemed to be about nine or Vol. I. T

She

ten years of age. She was tall and finely formed; her eyes were large, black, and bright; her ringlets, which were as black and almost as bright, fell down to her shoulders; her complexion was exquisitely fair, approaching even to paleness. seemed to have scarcely attained twenty years of age, but the tears which streamed down her cheeks, the melancholy expression of her eye, especially when it glanced on the stripling by her side, and the widow's weeds in which she was apparelled, too plainly told that, young as she was, sorrow had outstripped time, and premature clouds had darkened the morning of her days.

"Adelaide," she said, addressing her attendant," see'st thou yonder alder-tree, how it gleams and brightens in the rays of the sun; but that sun is setting; into those crimson clouds beneath him that like a sanguinary sea he will shortly sink, and then the tree which now gleams and brightens will be surrounded with desolation and darkness."

"But to-morrow, madam" said the attendant.

"Talk not of the morrow to me," in18 SATURDAY MAY 10, 1828.

terrupted the lady-" to me, on whose darkened fortunes no morrow shall ever dawn. Alas! like yonder tree I flou rished; brightness was on my head and around my path; but the sun that shone upon me has set, has set in a sea of blood."

"Sweet lady!" said Adelaide, "but I will talk to thee of the morrow, for a morrow of joy and gladness shall dawn upon thee yet: King Edward is gallant and generous and although Sir John Grey fell fighting the battles of the Red Rose, he will not visit on his widow and orphans the transgressions of the husband and the father.'

:

“Alas! Adelaide, only this day have I received a letter from my noble mother, who informs me that all her importunities have been in vain, The King has been besieged by her in his palace at Westminster more unremittingly than ever he was by Clifford or Northumberland, or the most zealous Lancastrian, when shut up in some iron fortress which constituted his only territory. The ruthless Richard Plantagenet, he whom they now call the Duke of Gloucester, stands between him and every generous disposition of his

heart. The Lancastrians are devoted to the slaughter, and the crime of my dead lord, in gallantly supporting to his latest gasp the cause of his lawful sovereign, can only be expiated by the beggary of his widow and his orphans."

"Would that the gallant King," said Adelaide, "could but once behold that fair face wet with tears, and know that a single word from his lips would suffice to dry them, methinks that the forfeited estates of your husband would then be soon restored to you."

"And in truth, gentle Adelaide," said the Lady Gray, " a wild hope that perchance in the course of the chase, which he is to-day following in this neighbourhood, I might come in contact with him, and have an opportunity of falling at his feet and pleading my cause in person, has lured me from Grafton Manor, and kept me wandering by the river-side till the hour of sunset.'

"The dews of evening are descending, Madam, and the chase is over. Let us return, lest we be intruded upon by some of the wild gallants in King Edward's train, who are not very scrupulous in their mode of courtship when they encour

ter a fair lady alone and unprotected. Trust rather to the continued importunity of your noble mother. The Duchess has a persuasive speech, and the King a susceptible heart. Let us return to the Manor and hope that all will yet be well."

The lady turned round to retrace her steps in compliance with the advice of her attendant, when she found herself suddenly seized in the grasp of a man who had followed her unperceived, and who now, with very little ceremony, proceeded to overwhelm her with his embraces.

The author of this outrage was by no means one whose personal attractions could render the violence which he committed less unpalatable. He was a short and meagre figure, hump-backed, with legs of an unequal size, and teeth, or rather fangs, which protruded from his mouth, and gave an hideous expression to his face, which otherwise might have possibly been called handsome. His forehead was high and fair, his eyes, black and sparkling, and his broad arched brows gave an expression of intelligence and dignity to the upper part of his countenance, which strangely contrasted with the grotesqueness and deformity of his figure. He was very richly habited in a robe of blue velvet, lined with silk, and glittering with gold-a sword hung by his side, and a cap, adorned with a plume of feathers, and a sparkling diamond in the front, was placed in rather a fantastic and foppish manner upon his head.

The lady shrieked fearfully when she found herself in the arms of this hideous being. "Silence, madam, silence," he said, "or," and he touched his dagger, while a cloud as black as midnight gathered on his brow, which, however, instantly gave place to a smile of even bewitching Pardon, pardon," he added; "that one used to war and strife should begin with menaces, even when addressing so fair a creature as thou art.' "Unhand me, monster '" said the Lady Gray.

sweetness.

Sweet lady," he said, you must unheart me first."

with a sullen and malignant smile, and then uttering a loud and discordant laugh, disappeared amidst the recesses of the forest.

The Lady had sunk on the ground, exhausted and stupified with terror. Her deliverer hastened to raise her up, while the boy, whose bosom heaved with sobs, caught her hand and covered it with his kisses, and Adelaide sprinkled her pallid and death-like features with water from the river. When she once more opened her eyes, they rested upon a being very dissimilar from him in whose arms she had last found herself. The perfect grace and symmetry of his form was only equalled by the sweetness and noble expression of his features, which, save that the curl of his lip and the proud glance of his eye indicated something of a haughty and imperious temperament, approached as nearly as possible to the beau ideal of manly beauty. The simplicity and modesty of his dress were as strikingly opposed to the gorgeous apparel, as were his graces of form and feature to the ghastliness and deformity of his late opponent.

"Thanks, gentle Sir," said the Lady Gray, "thanks for thy timely aid.".

"No thanks are due to me, sweet lady, but to thy fair self I owe unbounded thanks for an opportunity of gazing on so much loveliness. Yet must I be a petitioner for a further favour-permission to escort you home."

The lady accepted with gratitude the service which was proffered as a boon: and giving her hand to the graceful cavalier, she proceeded under his escort homewards, attended by the stripling and Adelaide. During this short journey, she had an opportunity of discovering that the elegant and accomplished form of her deliverer was but the mirror of his refined and cultivated mind. The wit, vivacity, knowledge of men and manners, originality of thought, and courteous and chivalrous demeanour which he evinced, were such, that, if they did not positively win the heart of the Lady Gray before this their first interview terminated, certainly laid the foundation of a passion, which, as the reader will subsequently learn, exercised a powerful influence over the destinies of both.

"And now, gentle Sir," said the lady, as they arrived at her residence, "welcome to Grafton Manor. Will you please to enter ?"

"Not now, sweet Madam !" answered the cavalier; I am in the King's train, and my services will be missed. Yet may I crave leave to call to-morrow, and inquire after the health of— ?" He paused, but the lady soon concluded his

sentence

"Thanks, once more a thousand thanks, generous Sir," said the Lady. "The cause of Elizabeth Gray indeed needs all the efforts of her friends to insure for it a prosperous issue. If Master Edward March can do aught to serve it, the blessing of the widow and the fatherless will rest upon his head."

"And the blessing of the widow," thought Master Edward March, after he had taken leave of the lady, and was retracing his steps to the river side, "will be the blessing of the prettiest woman in England. That of the fatherless I could e'en dispense with; yet, methinks, it is well that they are fatherless, Heaven rest their father's soul!"

This short interview caused a strange disturbance in the heart of Elizabeth Gray. The interests of her orphan children, and anxiety to obtain for them the restitution of their father's forfeited property, had for a long time occupied her mind exclusively. Now a new feeling, she would not venture to call it a passion, seemed at least to mingle with if not to absorb all other considerations. Yet even this came disguised in the garb of her children's interests, who, she now felt more than ever stood much in need of a protector to supply the place of their deceased parent. The mother of the Lady Gray

was Jaqueline of Luxembourg, the Dowager Duchess of Bedford, who had, after the death of her husband, so far sacrificed her ambition to love, that she espoused in second marriage Sir Edward Woodville, a private gentleman, to whom she bore several children; and among the rest Elizabeth, who was remarkable for the grace and beauty of her person, as well as for other amiable accomplishments. This young lady had married Sir John Gray, of Groby, by whom she had two sons; and her husband being slain in the second battle of St. Albans, fighting on the side of Lancaster, and his estate being for that reason confiscated, his widow had retired to live with her mother at her seat of Grafton, in Northamptonshire. The Duchess herself resided principally in London, as well for the purpose of leaving her daughter as much as possible in complete possession of Grafton Court, as to afford the Duchess, by her vicinity to the palace, opportunities for pressing upon the King the propriety of restoring to the widow of Sir John Gray the forfeited estates of her husband. These solicitations, however, had as yet been unavailing, and she was in daily expectation of hearing that the estates, which formed the subject of them, had been bestowed upon some adherent of the House of York.

Such was the posture of her affairs when the Lady Gray became acquainted with Edward March, in the manner which we have narrated. The young esquire called on her the next day, and their second interview confirmed in the bosoms of both the passion which had been excited by the first. March, in addition to his personal attractions, expressed so much anxiety for the interests of the lady and her children, and such a determination, as soon as the King returned to London, and was at leisure to attend to business, to press the fair widow's suit upon his attention, that the surrender which the lady made of her heart, seemed to her to be no less a matter of policy than affection. The youth was not slow in perceiving the impression which he had made on the susceptible bosom of Elizabeth; and one day, when the parties had scarcely been acquainted a month, he took like Othello "a pliant hour," poured into the lady's listening and not offended ear a confession of his passion, and made an offer of his hand and heart.

"Alas! good Master March," said she, "thou talkest idly. What hopes can a poor Esquire and the portionless widow of Sir John Gray have of future happiness, by uniting their forlorn fortunes together."

"I have a sword, Madam, which has