escape, stands fiercely at bay when it is finally chaced into the toils, did Valentine Walton gather courage from despair, and look round at the court that was to try him, and at the myriad eyes that were rivetted upon him, with an expression of resolute and even fierce defiance. Beneath him sate his wife, who had insisted upon acting as his counsel and defender, and who upon this awful occasion preserved all that dignified calmness, and majestic self-possession, which Jocelyn had so often admired in her demeanour at Haelbeck.

After enlarging upon the peculiar heinousness and enormous atrocity of the offence, and indulging in a proportionate strain of invective and vituperation against the prisoner, the counsel for the crown drew a frightful picture of the evils entailed upon the country by the late detestable Usurper, which he contrasted with its present happy and glorious state under his most sacred Majesty King Charles the Second, upon whom he pronounced a flaming panegyric; and

concluded his long speech by stating, that as the prisoner at the bar had been so many years absent from England, during which time he had changed his name, had artfully suffered his beard to grow, and had encouraged other alterations of personal appearance for the purpose of disguising himself as much as possible, there might have been considerable difficulty in proving his identity, had they not been fortunately provided with a witness who had known him under every change of circumstances, and who could not only swear to his person, but to his guilt, although that was already sufficiently notorious. This witness, he declared, was the only one he should call, and it was a satisfaction to be able to state that he was not only a gentleman of unimpeachable veracity, but one who, in this instance, had evinced a more than Roman virtue by sacrificing every feeling of regard and kindred upon the double altar of patriotism to his country and loyalty to his King.

During the delivery of this speech, the pri

soner had preserved a look of unaltered firmness, which only varied towards its conclusion, into an expression of slight wonder. But no sooner had the crier pronounced aloud the name of Mark Walton, as the man whose evidence was to condemn him; no sooner had he seen his nephew actually standing up in the witness-box, than he leaped suddenly backwards, as if recoiling from a demon, and clasping his hands together above his head, while his whole face was distorted by ungovernable passion, he shouted out in a terrible voice,-“ Villain! monster! parricide! man!!-may the blood and the curse of a murdered uncle, of one who adopted, fed, and nurtured thee in his bosom, fall upon thy head, and wither up thy heart! May thy hopes be blasted in this world! and in the next, may fires unquenchable

Overcome by the paroxysm of his wrath, he could not complete the malediction. His usually wan complexion was suffused and sanguine, the veins swelled, perspiration trickled from his

forehead, his blood-shot eyes seemed starting from their sockets, the horrible grinding of his teeth became audible as he gnashed them together, his body writhed as if the mighty convulsion within would rend it asunder, and then every limb becoming suddenly rigid, he fell backwards in a fit.-By order of the judge, he was removed from the court, his wife accompanying him and promptly performing such melancholy offices as the occasion required, by loosening his bands, applying volatile salts to his nose, and giving proper directions to the bewildered officers of the court.

Apparently unaffected by the catastrophe he had occasioned, Mark Walton gave the most conclusive testimony of his uncle's guilt and identity, winding up his testimony by something like an apology, in which he attempted to disguise his hideous ingratitude and treacherous violation of every claim of consanguinity, under the flimsy veil of fealty to the King and duty to the public.

1

At the conclusion of his deposition, Mrs. Walton returned into the court, her counte

nance a little saddened, but still collected and undismayed.

"Who is of counsel for the prisoner?" inquired the Judge.

"I am, my Lord," replied Mrs. Walton. "I was his counsellor and adviser in the offence; I will be his defender in his trial; I would willingly be a sharer in his punishment. I have but a few words to say, and I hope therefore to stand excused if I enter into a short detail of our private history. I am the sister of the late sovereign of these realms, his Highness the Lord Protector of England, Scotland, and Ireland, and the dominions and territories thereunto belonging."

"Woman! woman!" cried the Judge, angrily, "we know of no such person here. If you speak of the late execrable usurper, Oliver Cromwell, call him by his name."

"My Lord, my Lord," calmly resumed Mrs.