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ening, and, viewed through this dim and softened medium, everything looked as of old, and produced a tightening and stilling sensation in her breast, that nothing but a flood of tears could remove. | The flowers yielded forth their richest scents, and the whole scene was such as she had often beheld it in times long ago, when sorrow was wholly unknown to her. Perfumes, it is well known, exercise a singular influence over the memory. A particular odour will frequently call up an event, and a long train
of circumstances connected with the time when it was first ( inhaled. Without being aware whence it arose, Viviana felt a
tide of recollections pressing upon her, which she would have willingly repressed, but which it was out of her power to control. Her tears flowed abundantly, and at length, with a heart somewhat lightened of its load, she arose from the bench on which she had thrown herself, and proceeded along a walk to gather a few flowers as memorials of the place.
In this way she reached the further end of the garden, and was stooping to pluck a spray of some fragrant shrub, when she perceived the figure of a man behind a tree at a little distance from her. From his garb, which was that of a soldier, she instantly knew he was an enemy, and, though greatly alarmed, she had the courage not to scream, but breaking off the branch, she uttered a careless exclamation, and slowly retraced her steps. She half expected to hear that the soldier was following her, and prepared to start off at full speed to the house; but, deceived by her manner, he did not stir. On reaching the end of the walk, she could not resist the inclination to look back, and glancing over her shoulder, perceived that the man was watching her. But as she moved, he instantly withdrew his head.
Her first step on reaching the house was to close and fasten the door; her next to hasten to Guy Fawkes's chamber, where she found him, together with Garnet and Oldcorne. All three were astounded at the intelligence, agreeing that an attack was intended, and that a large force was, in all probability, concealed in the garden, awaiting only the arrival of night to surprise and seize them. The disappearance of the younger Heydocke was no longer a mystery. He had been secured and carried off by the hostile party, to prevent him from giving the alarm. The emergency was a fearful one, and it excited consternation amongst all except Guy Fawkes, who preserved his calmness.
“I foresaw we would be attacked to-night," he said, “and I am therefore not wholly unprepared. Our only chance is to steal out unobserved ; for resistance would be in vain, as their force is probably numerous, and I am as helpless as an infant, while Father Garnet's broken arm precludes any assistance from him. The subterranean passage leading from the oratory to the further side of the moat having been stopped up by the
pursuivant and his band, it will be necessary to cross the drawbridge, and as soon as it grows sufficiently dark, we must make the attempt. We have no horses, and must trust to our own exertions for safety. Catesby would now be invaluable. It is not like him to desert his friends at the season of their greatest need.”
“Great as is my danger," observed Viviana, “ I would rather, so far as I am concerned, that he were absent, than owe my preservation to him. I have no fears for myself.”
“And my only fears are for you," rejoined Fawkes.
Half an hour of intense anxiety was now passed by the party. Garnet was restless and uneasy. Oldcorne betrayed his agitation by unavailing lamentations, by listening to every sound, and by constantly rushing to the windows to reconnoitre, until he was checked by Fawkes, who represented to him the folly of his conduct. Viviana, though ill at ease, did not allow her terror to appear, but endeavoured to imitate the immoveable demeanour of Guy Fawkes, who always became more collected in proportion to the danger with which he was environed.
At the expiration of the time above-mentioned, it had become quite dark, and desiring his companions to follow him, Guy Fawkes drew his sword, and, grasping the hand of Viviana, led the way down stairs. Before opening the door he listened intently, and, hearing no sound, issued cautiously forth. The party had scarcely gained the centre of the court, when a petronel was discharged at them, which, though it did no damage, served as a signal to the rest of their foes. Guy Fawkes, who had never relinquished his hold of Viviana, now pressed forward as rapidly as his strength would permit, and the'two priests followed. But loud shouts were raised on the drawbridge, and it was evident it was occupied by the enemy.
Uncertain what to do, Guy Fawkes halted, and was about to return to the house, when a shout from behind told him that their retreat was intercepted. In this dilemma there was nothing for it but to attempt to force a passage across the drawbridge, or to surrender at discretion, and though Guy Fawkes would not at other seasons have hesitated to embrace the former alternative, he knew that his strength was not equal to it now.
While he was internally resolving not to yield himself with life, and supporting Viviana, who clung closely to him, the clatter of hoofs was heard rapidly approaching along the avenue, and presently afterwards two horsemen gallopped at full speed toward the drawbridge. This sound had likewise attracted the attention of the enemy; who, apprehensive of a rescue, prepared to stop them. But the tremendous pace of the riders rendered this impossible. A few blows were exchanged, a few shots fired, and they had crossed the drawbridge.
of the en
But the few blows he draw“Who goes there ? " shouted Guy Fawkes, as the horsemen approached him.
It is the voice of Guy Fawkes,” cried the foremost, whose tones proclaimed that it was Catesby. “They are here," he cried, reining in his steed.
“Where is Viviana ?” vociferated his companion, who was no other than Humphrey Chetham.
“ Here-here,” replied Guy Fawkes.
With the quickness of thought, the young merchant was by her side, and in another moment she was placed on the saddle before him, and borne at a headlong pace across the drawbridge.
“ Follow me," cried Catesby. “I will clear a passage for you. Once across the drawbridge, you are safe. A hundred yards down the avenue, on the right, you will find a couple of horses tied to a tree. Quick ! quick !”
As he spoke, a shot whizzed past his head, and a tumultuous din in the rear told that their pursuers were close upon them. Striking spurs into his steed, Catesby dashed forward, and dealing blows right and left, cleared the drawbridge of its occupants, many of whom leaped into the moat to escape his fury. His companions were close at his heels, and got over the bridge in safety.
“ Fly !-Ay!” cried Catesby,~" to the horses—the horses ! I will check all pursuit.”
So saying, and while the others flew towards the avenue, he faced his opponents, and making a desperate charge upon them, drove them backwards. In this conflict, though several shots were fired, and blows aimed at him on all sides, he sustained no injury, but succeeded in defending the pass sufficiently long to enable his friends to mount.
He then rode off at full speed, and found the party waiting for him at the end of the avenue. Father Oldcorne was seated on the same steed as his superior. After riding with them upwards of a mile, Humphrey Chetham dismounted, and resigning his horse to Viviana, bade her farewell, and disappeared.
“And now, to London !” cried Catesby, striking into a road on the right, and urging his steed to a rapid pace.
“Ay, to London to the Parliament-house!" echoed Fawkes, following him with the others.
THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.
PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPKIN.
DICKY SUETT IN PAWN. SUETT, the comedian, had one son, of whom he was very fond. The boy had just come home from school for the holidays; and walking down the Strand with his father, Suett took him into a pastrycook's shop to treat him to some tarts. After the lad had eaten as many as he could, Suett put his hand into his pocket to pay for them, when, lo! there was no money there. Suett was much disconcerted, and said to the woman behind the counter, “Oh, la! don't you know me, my dear? "_" No, sir.”—“I am Mr. Suett, the comedian.” The woman replied sulkily, “She could not help that.” -“Won't you trust me, marm?” said Dicky; but the lady's look was enough, and he was fain to send his son home for the money, while he remained in the shop till his return. Here he ever and anon poked his odd face out at the door, exclaiming, “O la! ha! ha! O dear!'la! Here's the great Mr. Suett, the comedian, in pawn for ten penn'orth of tarts! O la! only think-ha! ha! Pawned for ten penn'orth of tarts !”
WARM FRIENDS. Bernard, the pleasant dramatic author, was describing an evening he passed, when a large company were invited to a house of very small dimensions, in the month of July. He had attired himself in a new suit, and the visitors were so jammed together, that some of the effects of the black-hole of Calcutta were exemplified in the “ perspiring heroes.” “When I got home,” said Bernard, “after six hours' crowding, I discovered that the dye was cast' all over my person.” — “Ay,” replied his friend Barnaby, “you found yourself party-coloured."
EARLY DINNER. Tokely, the comic actor, although a young man, died a victim to intemperance. He drank so much ardent spirits, that the other performers were compelled to complain to Mr. Fawcett, the manager, that Tokely at the rehearsals was not bearable; he was, in fact, most offensive. Fawcett, with a kind feeling, and with real admiration of the young actor's talents (which were original and effective), undertook to give him a lecture. He pointed out to him the folly of his conduct; that it would destroy him in his profession; and expatiated so eloquently and in so parental a manner on the subject, that both parties shed tears. Fawcett, perceiving that he had produced an effect, and thinking that he had almost gone too far, told Tokely that “he did not object to a little stimulus or exhilaration after din. ner; but that Tokely must sacredly promise him that he would not for the future drink anything prior to that meal. They parted, Fawcett convinced that Tokely would become a reformed man. Two days afterwards a rehearsal of a farce was called at eleven o'clock in the forenoon; in this farce Tokely was to sustain a prominent character ; but, alas ! the performers in a body came and reiterated their complaints of him. "Fawcett beckoned the unfortunate Tokely aside, severely remonstrated with him, and reminded him of his vow, “that he would not touch anything drinkable until
after dinner.” At this time the green-room clock was ten minutes past eleven. Tokely, with great modesty and simplicity, replied to Mr. Fawcett, “I have dined, sir.”
SHUTER. On January 20, 1776, Shuter, the comedian, was robbed by two footpads in Tottenham-court-road; though he told them that he thought it very hard to be robbed by others, when he had been robbing himself all his life.
JOHN REEVE, MORALISING. John Reeve was accosted in the Kensington road by an elderly female, with a small bottle of gin in her hand. “Pray, sir, I beg your pardon, is this the way to the workhouse?” John gave her a look of clerical dignity, and, pointing to the bottle, gravely said, “ No, ma'am ; but that is."
GARRICK AND MRS. CLIVE. Garrick having a green-room wrangle with Mrs. Clive, after listening to all she had to say, replied, “ Madam, I have heard of tartar and brimstone, and know the effects of both; but you are the cream of one, and the flower of the other.”
NEW APPLICATION OF WHISKEY. At a celebrated convivial society, the Dukes of Argyle and Leinster sat together at the bottom of the table, giving it the appearance of having a pair of vice-presidents. The Knight of Kerry remarked to the gentleman who was next to him, “Behold the two vices of their respective countries, Ferintosh and Inishone !”
DUBLIN GALLERY AUDIENCE. Mr. Morris Barnett, who has gained a reputation in the London theatres for his finished performance of “ Monsieur Jacques," was on a visit to Dublin. Although the season was over, Mr. Calcraft, the manager, thought that a very profitable night might be produced by the engagement of Charles Kean, on his return from Cork; and Calcraft asked Barnett to act Monsieur Jacques, first time in Dublin. It was, however, impossible for Mr. Kean to arrive to play Richard until eight o'clock. There were some interludes announced between the tragedy and the farce; consequently Barnett had to walk on in the quiet character of pathos (Monsieur Jacques) at a quarter past twelve o'clock. The gallery audience, numerous, remained to a man, and determined to have their " whack” for their money; but, unluckily, it had entered their heads that Monsieur Jacques was somehow or other connected with an exhibition which had been given at the London Adelphi, and elsewhere; moreover, they confused it with the pantomime of “ Jocko," in which poor Mazurier was so admirable.
Barnett began his sentimental scene, and was delivering it with all the pathos he could muster, when he heard a man in the gallery exclaim, “Holy father, it is not a monkey!” Startled at this, he proceeded to act his best, when another fellow called out, “Where's your tail, and be dead to you?”
Barnett thought it now high time to push on as rapidly as pos