In addition to the market-fairs, which are held at Bergues no less than eight, times during the year, there prevails among the adjacent villages an immemorial custom of celebrating an annual festival, said to have been first introduced from France, called the " Fête of the Rose." Somewhat resembling, in the ceremonies, the feasts of our old English village greens, and most, perhaps, that of electing a Queen of the May; it is, nevertheless, very distinct in its object and tendency. The Rose-maiden, as she is prettily designated, who is selected to wear the triumphal wreath, and to preside as queen of the day, aspires to the distinction, not by virtue of superior, beauty, station, or influence in the place, but of the reputation she has acquired for filial and domestic virtues; her gentle and obliging manners; in short, for all that makes a girl favourably reported of in her native village. According to an oral tradition, one of these annual festivals was made memorable by the occurrence of some singular incidents, and as singular a discovery, hardly to be anticipated by the chief personages who figured in the humble drama.

In the year 1765, General Muffeldorf, an old campaigner in the wars of the great Frederick, arrived at his family mansion in the vicinity of Bergues. He was evidently suffering under depression of spirits, as well as a shattered frame; and he brought with him his friend Count Lindenkron, an old courtier of the Viennese school, whose merry mood marked him a rare exception to the usual line of Austrian thick lips and wits obtuse. As a preparation for culti vating the arts of peace, the general was recommended by his friend to mingle in the approaching festivities: it was the eve of the Rose-festival; and it was reported that the prize of merit would be awarded to one of the worthy pastor's daughters. The young Evelina bore the most enviable character: she had punctually fulfilled her every duty with unwearied gentleness and assiduity; she was beloved by all for her benevolence; she visited the poor, instructed their children, raised subscriptions, for every object of good, among the neighbouring gentry; and, always eager and enthusiastic in a right cause, she was at once the pride and the life of the hamlet.

Delighted with the account he heard, the good old general commissioned his friend to pay a visit to Evelina and the pastor, and to offer, on his behalf, the free use of the noble lawn, and the hall itself, as the scene of the next day's

election. The proposal was accordingly tendered to the ladies' committee, and accepted: the ancient courtier was enraptured with the beauty and manners of the fair candidate; and he still lingered, after performing his mission, to converse with her. He regretted that he had not yet seen the village church; and the pastor being from home, Evelina, at her mother's request, instantly took down the keys, and offered to show him through the edifice. Expressing his gratitude in the most profuse terms, the count attended her to the church; and, having seen every thing worthy notice, turned to depart, when, just on reaching the door, he had the temerity to offer her a salute; and the next instant found himself locked inside the church, with a parting slap of a fair hand tingling on his cheek. Here the count had full leisure to indulge his taste for church architecture, instead of drinking tea with his friend the general, who was now impatiently looking for his return; hut he looked in vain. It grew dark; but no Count Lindenkron made his appearance. Meantime, in fast durance, the courtier of the old school began to feel uneasy as the shades of night advanced: he could see nothing distinctly; but what he did see, seemed very like the ghosts of deceased elders, coming out of the vaults to read him a grave lecture on the wicked gallantry of the old courts. The shadowy forms, of ancient apostles appeared to be leaving their marble stations: strange noises. were heard; and fancy was about to run away with him on her witch's broom. In this delectable state he had crawled, to the doors, and begun to batter them, crying, at the top of his voice, "Ghosts and murder!" and with so much emphasis, that the words reached the ears of the worthy pastor, as he was jogging by, on his way home. He made a full, stop. "Ghosts and murder !" he ejąculated, as he heard the words repeated

"and in my church!-that is very shocking!-very odd !" Instead of going nearer, however, he only spurred on the faster, thinking it was of no use to examine into the cause before he had got the church keys, if he did it at all.

On entering his own door, Evelina came forward and handed him the said keys; but the pastor involuntarily refused them, exclaiming, in an uneasy tone, "What makes you think I am going to church to-night, child?"

"You MUST go, dear father: I have a particular reason for it."

And I may have a particular reason for not going," rejoined the pastor

" and assuredly either you, or your mother, or our old sexton, or all of you, shall go with me; I heard strange noises as I came by."

"Yes, yes! I dare say," replied his daughter; and, taking her father's arm, she related to him what had occurred in his absence, as they went along. Greatly comforted, in one sense, the worthy pastor thanked Heaven that matters were no worse, and hastened his steps to release the unfortunate count.

The moment the church-door was unfastened, out bolted the captive like an arrow shot from a bow, as if pursued by a legion of demons, nor looked once behind him until he had reached the general's, who had almost given him up for lost. Swift as he had come, how ever, the count had time to invent a story by the way; for he assured the general he had been locked in the church by the sexton, and quite by mistake. It passed with the good old general, who even commiserated the poor count's mishap; while the latter secretly vowed venge ance on the fair cause of his disaster and alarm.

The morning at length appeared, and the general was first roused by the blast of a trumpet under his windows, answered by the peals of a great drum. He looked out and beheld, with astonishment, the most singular company he had ever seen upon parade-literally a skeleton regiment. It consisted of about twenty old, shrivelled, broken-down soldiers-a true invalided corps, most fit for the body-guard of death. They were almost buried in their wide regimentals, old cocked hats, and huge perukes. They were armed in an equally ludicrous style, while their colours flourish ed in the grasp of an ugly hunch-backed little ensign. Their commander, advancing in front, mounted on a richly caparisoned donkey, answered the queries of the general, by informing him that they were a detachment of an invalided regiment at Bergues, despatched thither by the general's friend, colonel Solmitz, to do honour to the festival, and preserve peace during the election.

"Just as well qualified for the one as the other, returned the general to the dwarfish officer;" and though I had no idea of calling out the military on this occasion, I will furnish you with some rations, for which, I suspect, you are much better prepared than for fighting so march, quick time, to my house-steward; he will be your commisThe general had no need to repeat his request: they suddenly disappeared.

sary."

The festival was ushered in by a fine cloudless day. The good and lovely Evelina was conducted from her residence with great pomp. Her fine auburn tresses were wreathed with flowers; flowers were strewed along her path. Upon the green lawn, bedecked as the place of coronation, the pastor addressed the spectators in a short impressive discourse, pointing out the superior advantages of a course of prudent and virtuous conduct, as contrasted with an opposite career. The general next placed the rose-crown on the fair maiden's brows, little dreaming, at the moment, he was bestowing the prize of excellence on his own long-lost child, whose fate, and that of her mother, he had vainly mourned for years. As little could he have conjectured that his ancient friend count Lindenkron, the courtier, would be the cause-hardly, we fear, the innocent cause, of making so interesting a discovery; for a certain feeling of revenge was still lurking in his heart, on account of the fright Evelina had thrown him into the day before. He had matured his design; and such was the happy sequel of it.

After the festivities of the day, the parties had withdrawn late in the evening into the castle. While there engaged in different amusing games and dances, Evelina was informed that a fine lady wished to speak with her in another apartment. She followed her informant's steps, and was conducted into the presence of the strange lady, who requested her to be seated near her. She was alone: she threw her arms round Evelina, and saluted her most warmly. The fair girl shrunk back intimidated, but was terrified at being clasped closer in the lady's arms than before. She shrieked out repeatedly; and, the next moment, Erick, the young forester, (and her reputed lover), rushed into the room, and, observing the sleeves of a man's coat under the strange lady's gown, instantly knocked her down, and released the trembling Evelina.

No sooner had Erick performed this feat, than in hobbled a party of the skeleton regiment, and boldly took up a position, with a demonstration to seize upon the young forester. But the athletic champion warned them off, begging they "would not compel him to lay a heavy hand upon so respectable a body of veterans; for if they did not respect his person, he would shuffle them all together like a pack of cards, and throw them out of the window." But the count, now rising, joined their standard, and encouraged them to the at

SAGES IN THE LIFE OF THE LADY OF BRADGATE...

without his wig, mopping and mowing like a monkey, in a lady's dress-and the veteran invalids shouldering their crutches, "showing how fields were not won." In the midst of all this hubbub, in burst another personage, a lady in deep mourning, exclaiming, "My daughter! where is my long-lost daughter?" She withdrew her veil, and the general started and uttered an exclamation of terror, as he gazed on her countenance. "Adelaide my own! my lost one! is it true? Alas! I believed you had been long dead."

ed.

"The lady seemed little less surpris"False, treacherous Mowbray " she cried, "false to your trust as a husband and a father;-how could you desert us? I, too, believed you fallen in battle; and, had it not been for the excellent pastor, who adopted my little Evelina as his child, we had never lived to reproach you."

"Alas!" returned the general, "you cannot reproach me so severely as my own conscience has done. Yet, believe me, I have again and again sought to discover you. I was even assured both you and my child were dead; but thus to meet is an over-payment for all our sufferings."

The general clasped to his bosom his weeping wife and daughter; the veterans were ordered to counter-march; the old count slunk away to adjust his gown; and young Erick, taking Evelina's hand, sank upon his knees before the general, and entreated his blessing.

Che Winter's UWreath

CONTAINS Seventy pieces, varying but little in point of merit, and altogether of attractive character. The plates may take their stand even by the golden Keepsake, and, proportioned to the price, they are even of finer execution. They are from beautiful pictures in private collections in the country. In fine, the provinces appear chiefly to have furnished the literature as well as the art of the volume; since few of the contributors owe their fame to the hotbed of our metropolis; and the volume emanates from Liverpool.

We have selected a tale of pleasant antiquarianism, by the author of "London in the Olden Time ;" and a verse-piece of singular beauty, by Mr. J. H. Wiffen, the elegent translator of Tasso.

Time."

THE merry bells were all ringing; the royal standard of England flung forth its broidered folds from the tower's grim battlements; the old bridge with its tall overhanging houses, was crowded with holiday-drest spectators; and the fair river, sparkling in the sunbeam, and reflecting a cloudless sky, glided proudly on, bearing, on his placid bosom, barges gay with pennon and streamer, and each filled with a gallant freight of high birth and beauty. King Henry had set out that day to hold "joustings" at. Greenwich: and there, close beside the tower stairs, surrounded by rich-liveried serving men and silken-coated pages, vainly striving to keep back the rude crowd from pressing round to gaze on her youth and beauty-stood Frances, eldest daughter of the chivalrous Charles Brandon, and wife of the wealthy Marquess of Dorset; her amber tresses were gently confined by a jewelled coif; she wore a collar of pearls, the diamond clasp whereof alone out-valued six manors; and a murray-velvet gown designated her rank as marchioness, by its double train-one reverently borne by two attendant maidens, and the other drawn in graceful folds through her broad girdle; while the mantle of rich ermine-a yet prouder symbol, attested her claim to royal blood.

There was a haughty smile on that high-born lady's brow as she passed along, receiving, as her unquestioned right, the spontaneous homage always paid to nobility and beauty. She ca ressed the gallant merlin which sat on her jewelled glove, and looked up, with eye undimmed by sorrow to that blue expanse, whose cloudless transparence seemed a meet emblem of her own lofty fortunes. Her gilded barge with its liveried band of rowers drew near; and, leaning on the arm of her steward, conspicuous with his white wand and gold chain, she was preparing to descend the steps, when an old man, hitherto unnoticed amongst the crowd, came forward, close to her side, and said; "I have a message for thee." It was a look of mingled anger and wonder that this haughty lady cast on the meanly-dressed stranger; but the proud glance of the high-born marchioness quailed before

his steady gaze; her cheek grew pale, and her eyelid drooped;" he held her with his glittering eye," and said.

"Wouldst thou safely sail life's sea?
Trust not to proud Argosie:
Broad sail ill can blast withstand,
Tall masts courts the levin brand;
And wrecked that gallant ship shall lie
While safe the light barque boundeth by.
⚫ Cloth of gold,' beware; beware:
High and wealthy, young and fair:
All these joys from thee must part,
Curb thy proud mind-school thine heart.
"Ware ambition: that shall be

The fatal rock to thine and thee."

"Who dares insult me with unsought counsel?" cried the lady, anger having conquered the transient feeling of awe. "Who dares to name chance or change? sooner shall this wild haggard, whom jesses and creance will scarce keep on my wrist, return to me again, than sorrow or change shall visit Frances Brandon!" With angry hand she snapped the thread which secured her merlin, unloosed the jesses-and up soared the gallant bird, while her haughty mistress gazed with triumph on her proud flight. "Alas!" cried the old steward, "Alas! for the beautiful bird with her gorgeous hood and collar; may she not be reclaimed ?"" Speak not again of her!" proudly replied the marchioness, "onward! time and tide wait for no man!" She threw herself on the tapestried couch in her barge, the rowers seized their oars, the flutes and recorders made soft music; when, as if close beside her, she heard a clear whisper, "Pass on! What shall be, shall be; time and tide wait for no man!" She looked up no one was near her; but the dark shadow of the tower frowned sternly in the sunshine, like an omen of ill. Onward glided the gilded barge to the soft strains of music and light dash of the oars, and like a summer cloud fleeted that solemn warning from the proud lady's mind.

There is high feasting at Bradgate; for princely Northumberland is there. Each day two hundred hounds are unkennelled, and two hundred knights and nobles range through the broad green alleys and fern-clad glades of Charnwood Forest, and return ere eventide to lead the dance in the lofty halls. And now the bright autumn sun is sinking behind the purple heather-spread hills, and the gallant train are returning from the merry greenwood. On the broad sloping terrace that fronts the setting sun, the Lady of Bradgate, (with brow as haughty, and almost as fair, as when, fifteen years before, she stepped into her gilded barge,) and now Duchess of

Suffolk, stands listening with glad ears to the lofty projects of that bold bad man, the Duke of Northumberland. King Edward is dying: his sisters are at variance: the royal blood flows in the veins of the haughty duchess." Why should not her eldest daughter, and his son, reach at once the very summit of their long-cherished hopes ?"? The stake is high; and for it they may well venture a desperate game: the prize is no less than the crown of England.

as

Close behind them, unnoticed by the ambitious mother, save as the fittest instrument of her daring schemes, stands one, whose touching and romantic history has thrown a spell around every relic of now ruined Bradgate. She, the nursling of literature, the young philosopher, to whose mind the lofty visions of classical antiquity were familiar household faces; she, who in such early youth fled from all that youth mostly loves, to hold high communion with the spirits of long-buried sages; there stands Lady Jane, with a book in her hand, her nut-brown hair parted on her high intellectual forehead. Her bright hazel eye shrinks from the cold glance of her haughty and unloving mother, but dwells with girlish pleasure on the venerable features of that plainly drest man, in scholar's gown, standing close beside her. He is Roger Ascham, the tutor of three queens, who may well be termed the most illustrious of schoolmasters.

The sun had barely descended, when the steward appeared, bringing tidings that three messengers had just arrived, each demanding instant admission to the duchess. The daughter of that fortunate knight, whose cloth of frize" had matched so highly and happily with "cloth of gold,"--the wife of that powerful noble, over whose broad lands twas fabled that the falcon could stretch his rapid wing right onwards for a long summer day-the mother of a goodly family, each wedded or betrothed to the scions of the flower of the land's nobility-yet prouder in the plans and hopes she had framed than in all her enjoyed gifts of fortune, the duchess retired to receive her messengers with the feelings of a queen about to grant an audience. The first entered, and, kneeling before her tapestried footstool, presented a pacquet of letters. The silken string was soon loosed; the perfumed seal quickly broken; and she read, with uncontrollable delight, that the weak and amiable young king had determined to set aside his sisters' succession in favour of the powerful house of Suffolk,

This messenger being dismissed with rich gifts and kind speeches, a second drew near. And more welcome than the former were his tidings; the king was dying the active agents of Suffolk and Northumberland had ripened their plans for the instant proclamation of her daughter, ere the heiress of the throne could know of his decease. Wrapt in deep visions of regal splendour, half dazzled by the near prospect of the coming glories of her princely family, the duchess sat unconscious of the entrance of the third messenger. At length her eyes fell upon the well-remembered features of the mysterious stranger, seen long years back on a former occasion of triumph. "Yet one more warning—and the last!" said the old man, drawing from beneath his cloak the merlin she had loosed as an emblem of her soaring destiny. He placed it on her hand her proud boast rushed overpoweringly on her mind. The very merlin, whose return she had linked with chance and change, as things alike impossible that bird was before her, bright as when she had freed her wing, with her collar of gold fillagree set round with turquoise, and hood of crimson silk netted by her own fingers!- Whence come? What boding? As soon as she had somewhat recovered from the shock, she looked around: but the messenger was gone; and with heavy footsteps, her joy changed to anxious fear, she regained the terrace.

The dreams of ambition can wrap, in the calm apathy of fearless repose, even those who feel themselves doomed by a thousand omens: and ere three days were over, princely Bradgate rang with mirth and revelry. Northumberland and Suffolk had concluded a double alliance of their children: all the terrors of the duchess were forgotten; and her eye rested with proud complacency on the simple beauty of the Lady Jane, for she already saw the crown of England sparkling upon her gifted but sentenced daughter's sweet disapproving brow.

An iron lamp dimly shows a low vaulted room; the damp floor scantily strewn with withered rushes. The flickering light falls upon a rude couch, where lies in disturbed slumber, a woman, whose features, though wasted by long sickness and sorrow, yet show some faint traces of former beauty. A single attendant watches over her. Only by the ermined robe that wraps the sleeper, or by the gold-clasped bible, opened where the vellum leaf bears in

beautiful characters the name JANE GREYE, Would a stranger learn that the mother of that queen of a day-the proud Duchess of Suffolk lay before him -a prisoner in the tower. The bolts of the iron-barred door grate harshly; and the governor of the tower enters, with an order, " For Frances Brandon to be sette at libertye, thro' ye Queen's great clemencie." This once-powerful and dreaded woman is considered too weak and insignificant to excite the fears even of the jealous Elizabeth. Supported by the arm of her sole attendant, the half-awakened sleeper threaded her way through many an intricate long winding passage; until the cool damp night breeze, and the plash of oars, indicate their approach to the water-gate.

Here the liberated prisoner stood for a moment and looked wildly around her: the place brought vague and painful sensations to her memory, and dim remembrances of all that she had been and suffered, were crowded into a few hurried thoughts of agony.

"The boat waits, and the tide is on the turn," cried the rough waterman. "Come away, madam !"—" Ay," replied a distinct voice, close at her side, "onward! time and tide wait for no man." That voice was well-known: it had been heard when she stepped into her gilded barge, with a pride that repelled all thought of sorrow; it sounded when a royal crown was ready to clasp with delusive splendour the sweet brow of Lady Jane ;-now, son, daughter, and husband, had fallen beneath the axe of the headsman, and she was thrust from prison, a houseless wanderer, herself dependant, perchance, on the precarious bounty of her ere-while dependants. She drew the mantle over her throbbing brow, and her reason quivered and wellnigh failed beneath the weight of her remorse and bitter anguish.

The sorrowful life of Frances of Suffolk ended about two years after her discharge from the tower. In bitter mockery of her fallen fortunes, Elizabeth, who so often "helped to bury those she helped to starve," decreed a magnificent funeral for her whose last days had passed in neglected poverty: honours, the denial of which had galled that haughty spirit more than want itself, were heaped with unsparing profusion upon the unconscious dust. rounded by blazing torches, bright escutcheons, and the broad banners of the noble house of Suffolk and the royal line of Tudor, surely we may hope her heart of pride was well laid to rest beneath the ducal coronet, and in the magnificent

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