"I doubt not,” replied Ashburnham," the Lord Digby knows his danger, as I am sure he is the least appalled at danger of any living man; and I dare be sworn, fall into it when he may, he will know how to leave it behind him."

"It is a grievous thing," said Captain Hotham, with an air of much concern, "that no way can be found to lead this distracted kingdom out of the dangers by which she suffers! Methinks, if the King could be brought to understand how truly the Parliament doth affect his honor, his real glory, and his best interests, he would not meditate, (as we hear he does,) to appear in arms against it."

Ashburnham was silent; and after a pause, long enough to allow him to express himself had he been so inclined, Captain Hotham proceeded, in the same strain of apparent candour.

"The flame of civil war, once kindled, who shall say whither it may spread? There is hope, indeed, that it will lack the fuel that should feed it; for the blood that must be spilled only by fathers, sons, brothers, and kinsmen, slaying each other, is too unnatural, to thrive upon its own increase. But it is said, the King is taking means to rob us even of this sad hope; and that foreign levies are afoot in all the states of Christendom, to invade us on his behalf. If it be so, he were a true friend to his country, who by a timely mention of it, placed our peril so full before us, that every petty bar to accommodation would be at once removed, by the common desire of all to avert so great a calamity."

Again the Captain paused; and still Ashburnham was silent; and then, the former added, " But you, Colonel, are in a condition, I do not doubt, to gainsay these malignant rumours."

"Your pardon!" exclaimed Ashburnham, with the air of a man who is roused from the state of an attentive listener, by a sudden and unexpected appeal to his opinion-" Your pardon! I was carefully considering the great wisdom of your remarks, and waiting to hear from you, all the circumstances to which they applied. I am not acquainted with any of them myself."

"Then," replied Captain Hotham quickly," they are malignant rumours; for you are a man of honor, Colonel Ashburnham, and, as we all know, in the King's confidence, and could not but be privy to these things, if they were so."

"Your pardon again," said Ashburnham, gravely. "If I take your compliment, I am not, as a matter of course, to take your assertion; still less your inference. The King honors me by allowing me to serve him, which I will do, at whatever hazard of life or fortune; but his confidence, no man so humble as myself can aspire to. Yet, say I had it, where would be that honor you have discovered in me, could I allow so poor a statagem as this to unveil it? Sir, I desire my silence may not be construed into anything my words neither affirm nor deny; and, if it be your aim to learn more than that, I am your prisoner, pray understand you are no better employed than were you to try and gather yon sun-beam in the palm of your hand."

Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Captain Lowinger, to inform Sir John that the Frenchman, who was on board the ketch, had given the centinel to understand, in his broken English, that he wished to speak to the governor, having something of importance to communicate to him."

"What Frenchman?" said Sir John-" Oh-I remember something was told me of a poor devil," he added, laughing," who was so sea-sick, that he begged hard to be allowed to die where he was. Do you know anything about him," he continued, addressing Ashburnham, "or what it is of im portance, he can have to tell?"

"I cannot even guess at his reasons for requiring an interview,” replied Ashburnham," unless it be to beg his liberty."

Captain Lowinger," said Sir John, "conduct Colonel Ashburnham to his apartment, and bring the Frenchman to me."

Ashburnham left the room with the Captain, and the Captain returned with the Frenchman, before Sir John and his son had settled it to their satisfaction whether Colonel Ashburnham was possessed of secrets which he would not betray, or only affected a fidelity where there was, in reality, nothing to conceal; the Knight inclining to the latter, and Captain Hotham to the former, conclusion.

When the Frenchman entered the room and perceived that Sir John was not alone, he evinced some reluctance to converse with him; though, understanding French well, he addressed him at once in his native tongue. By degrees, however, he became more communicative; intimated that he could disclose certain things relating to the King and Queen which would greatly advance the service of the Parliament; gave a frank account of himself as one who had seen much service in the armies of France, and said he had come over to this country, recommended to the King, for some command, should he have occasion for soldiers, as it was generally believed abroad, he would. The Knight desired him to say what he wished; but this the Frenchman declined, unless he were allowed to have a strictly private interview; and then, he assured him, he would discover that which he would be pleased to know.

Sir John, apprehensive of some design against his life, and fancying the Frenchman might be an emissary, employed to assassinate him, for the part he had already acted, refused, (but without stating his reasons,) to grant him more privacy than withdrawing to a window at the further end of the room; a sufficient distance from his son, Captain Lowinger, and one or two others who had entered during their conversation, to prevent his being overheard.

Finding he could obtain no better terms for making his promised discoveries, the Frenchman consented, and when they were together, addressing Sir John in English, he said in a low voice, "Do you know me?"

"No!" replied the Knight with surprise.

"Then I shall try whether I know Sir John Hotham; and whether he be, in truth, the same man of honor I have always taken him to be. I am the Lord Digby

"Lord Digby!" exclaimed the Knight-and, surveying the supposed Frenchman from head to foot, saw it was he; though his disguise was so complete, both as to dress and manner, that his nearest friends could hardly have known him.

"Having thus trusted you," continued Digby, "you are too much a gentleman, I hope, to deliver me up a sacrifice to their rage and fury, who, you well know, are my implacable enemies."

"Say no more at present," replied Sir John, fearful lest the by-standers should discover him too, (for he now wondered he had not discovered him himself,)" say no more at present-you shall find me what you think me— we will have further conference ere long-meanwhile, you must be content with the sorry treatment allotted you, because any change to better will beget suspicion." Then turning away he called Captain Lowinger to him. "Is your guard below, Captain ?”

"Yes."

"Carry that man instantly away, and see that you have a very strict eye upon him."

Lord Digby followed the Dutchman out of the room, with a well dissembled air of dejection; and when he was gone, Sir John, addressing those who were present, with as much composure as he could assume, “That Frenchman," said he, " is a shrewd fellow. He knows more of the Queen's counsels and designs than a man would suspect, and has told me things which it will glad the Parliament to be acquainted with."

They inquired the nature of his communications.

"I am pledged not to talk of them," replied Sir John, "till I shall have

sent off a close despatch to the Parliament, which I mean to do when I know more." Then, turning the conversation, he shortly after withdrew to his private chamber.

He who knows anything of the period we are now describing, full as it was of events and characters of the most romantic interest, can hardly fail to know something of George Lord Digby, the events of whose life, and the qualities of whose character, were deeply tinged with every hue which romance could lend to them. Swift pronounced him the "prototype of Lord Bolingbroke;" but with less of deep philosophy than St. John, he had more of that restless ambition for action, which his volatile and unquiet spirit fed to the last moment of his existence. A fervid and popular orator and actor on the political stage-elegant in person-beautiful in countenance-courageous in the field-profoundly skilled in all kinds of learning, and in all languages -prompt in devising enterprizes-bold, though hardly ever successful, in executing them—and yet, (as Lord Clarendon remarks,) the "wonderful influence of his stars always leading him out of the dangers and perplexities" into which it equally conducted him-his whole career, from the time when, abandoning the party who prosecuted Strafford, to the scaffold and devoting himself to the King, he offered to go with a select company of gentlemen, to a place where he knew the Lord Kimbolton and the five accused Members of the House of Commons, were assembled together, seize upon them, and bring them away alive, or leave them dead, down to his impeachment, (twenty years afterwards,) of his greatest friend, the Earl of Clarendon, was one continued series of rare accidents and misfortunes, of new and unusual dangers, of no less new and unusual deliverances, and of failure in those very actions for which meaner men have been highly commended. In short, the fabulist would hardly venture to imagine such a character, and hope to escape ridicule for violating nature.

The very enterprize which had now placed him in the power of Sir John Hotham was of that romantic cast, which none, but a daring and adventurous spirit, would have contemplated. The ink was scarcely dry, in which the vote of the House of Commons had been recorded, declaring him guilty of such acts as would warrant a charge of high treason, when, in the face of this vote, and with the remembrance of the fate of Strafford, he ventured to leave his retreat in Holland, and become the bearer of letters from the Queen to the King. He arrived at York, (so admirably disguised that he appeared openly in the streets without being recognised), revealed himself to two or three friends, and had his interviews with the King during the night time. When he had despatched his business, he prepared to return to the Queen, for the purpose of hastening those warlike supplies, without which he saw it was impossible his Majesty could undertake anything, or even resist the violence that appeared to threaten him.

Embarking in the same vessel that had brought him over, and joined by Ashburnham, Wilmot, Berkley, Sir Edward Stradling, and Pollard, (all belonging to the King's Court at York, but now purposely removing themselves till their services were wanted, on account of the clamor raised by the Parliament concerning them) they were not many hours at sea before they met the Providence, laden with ammunition. This being the only thing that was wanted, they agreed that Colonel Ashburnham, Sir Edward Stradling, and the Lord Digby should pursue their voyage to Holland, while the others returned to York in the Providence; and thus it was that they fell into the hands of the Parliament ships; Lord Digby, counterfeiting the sick Frenchman so well, that he was left unmolested in a hole of the bark, where he contrived to throw overboard all such papers, in his possession, as were not safe to be perused.

His next step was, to consider how he could get out of the difficulty into which his evil stars had cast him. There were a thousand mischances, any one of which might lead to his discovery; and any one of them happening, he knew would place his life in jeopardy, as he was the most obnoxious to

the Parliament of any man then in the kingdom. He was aware, too, that Sir John Hotham felt no friendly dispositions towards him, and might be but too well pleased with the opportunity of at once gratifying his own passions, and rendering a signal service to his employers.

His sagacity quickly discerned the only course that offered a semblance of safety. Men can be sometimes flattered into virtue, as well as into vice or weakness. Give them credit for great and noble qualities, and a secret pride is often kindled which makes them do what they find is expected from

them.

"If he have the least touch of generosity, (thought the Lord Digby) he will not betray one who trusts in him; but if he do, why, I only hasten, by a few days, an inevitable fate; for I cannot hope to escape being known altogether, and then he must give me up, when others know who I am." Nor was it his own personal safety alone that he thought it possible to secure by this bold design. He knew something of Sir John's character; knew him to be coveteous, proud, ambitious; and by the help of those passions he persuaded himself he should be able to advance the King's cause.

His next interview with Sir John was strictly private.

"You have so frankly put yourself into my hands," said he, when they met," that I will not deceive your confidence; but you must consider well in what way, and by what colourable device, I can set you at liberty, so as not to bring myself into question. I dare not trust any human being with the secret; least of all, my own son. He is so vehemently affected to the worst designs the Parliament either have or can have, that were you, I, and he, to change places, and I had to seek of him the favor you have received from me, I know he would refuse it. I know too, he is so much more depended upon, by the Parliament, than myself, that he is here, as their spy, over all my actions. He was so from the beginning; else,-(and there is no peril in saying so to you, my Lord Digby)-I had not now been looked upon as the chief ground and cause of the civil war that threatens us, by refusing to open these gates to the King; for, (and God is my judge!) I do from my soul abhor those proceedings which are like to bring us to that extremity. But I was o'erswayed by other counsels-thwarted-menaced-and in conclusion, driven to an act, which I trembled to do; and have sorely repented of ever since."

Lord Digby listened to this unexpected disclosure, at first with suspicion, thinking it a snare to entrap him into a reciprocal confidence, out of which matter might be extracted for his more certain destruction. But when their subsequent conversation convinced him of Sir John's sincerity, he knew right well how to work upon a mind thus predisposed, and upon feelings which lay thus on the surface, for him to handle and mould at his pleasure. Having poured forth his gratitude, in language at once fervid, elegant, and artful, for the magnanimity of Sir John's conduct towards himself, he turned to those other topics which he had introduced; echoed his lamentations over the dangerous and iniquitous designs of the Parliament; and pathetically bewailed the heavy calamities that threatened to blast the nation's happiness.

"Is it not grievous," he exclaimed, "that a mere handfull of desperate men, enemies not of the King alone, but of monarchy itself, should have power to involve you, and many, many others of the same clear and honorable intentions, in their dark counsels, enforcing them to advance the success of schemes they abhor-and which can have no other end than the utter ruin and confusion of all who are engaged in them?"

"It is indeed grievous-most grievous!" said the Knight, sighing as he spoke.

"For," continued Lord Digby, eagerly, "this is undoubted-that the King will soon triumph over all his enemies. The hearts of his people are already with him all the Princes in Christendom are ready to engage in his quarrel the moment they are invited-and, I can tell you, the Prince of Orange is only waiting for the word, to come over with an army which

would reduce this garrison in less than three days."

"Why then," exclaimed the Knight, with evident symptoms of alarm, we are sleeping on a bed, beneath which lie barrels of concealed gunpowder."

"As surely as you slept last night in your own secure bed," replied Lord Digby. "But what a glory would encircle that man, who boldly plucked his country from all this danger! The King would shower honors, wealth, preferment on him; the people bless him; and after times enrol his name among the rare, the chosen few, born to the immortality of transcendant virtue! I see the bright vision of a fame like this, fires you with the noble ambition to win it"--(continued Lord Digby, seizing hold of Sir John's hand)—“ and, thou canst—for thou art the man to do all this! Nay-hear me! Rebels and traitors grew daring, when they saw the King defied, insulted, defeated, beneath these walls; and good men grew sad and fearful. It was the jubilee of treason—the mourning garment of loyalty. What follows? There is yet time,-but it's last fragments are dropping from your hands to unravel this pernicious work. I know your heart pants to do it; and the will is ever master of the deed. Throw open your gates to the King!-You will find him a gracious master-and that same moment, you lay the beginning of an auspicious change which, like calm to the tempesttossed, bread to the famishing, or the cool spring to the parched lips of the fever-sick, will speedily restore us all to health and gladness! One word more, ere you answer me. It is thought I have some credit, both with the King and Queen. DO THIS, and here I swear, to use it all for your service: give me this ground to stand upon, and nothing pertaining to myself alone, no not even my life, shall hold so foremost a place in all my thoughts, as how I may obtain for you the full reward, the sufficient greatness, due to your excelling worth!"

The fervour with which Lord Digby uttered this appeal-the sparkling fascination of his eyes, as he fixed them upon Sir John, watching the effect of each sentence, and rising in each as he saw him touched-the impassioned energy of his manner-and the almost_pathetic tones of his rich, melodious voice, wrought all he could desire. The proposal, however, was too vast, for the Knight to embrace it at once; his decision upon it, too momentous, to be given on the instant; but he entertained the one, and spoke of the other, as a man would do who approved of an enterprize that he only wished to consider cautiously before he engaged in it. Again he talked of his own principles, of the necessity under which he had acted, of his poignant sorrow for what had happened, and of his incessant anxiety, since, to retrace his steps. The present he was already inclined to regard as an opportunity for doing so; but, (and in this result the conference terminated,) he must have a few days to weigh well, in the privacy of his own retired thoughts, all the circumstances of the case.

Lord Digby felt confident he had succeeded, and exulted in the idea of being able to signalize his return to England, nay, to convert the accident of his captivity, into a means of so far retrieving the King's affairs, as that he would be in a condition, he firmly believed, by one quick blow to end the struggle.

A week elapsed before he was summoned to another interview. Sir John had employed that interview in deeply meditating upon the proposed step, and in warily sounding the sentiments of those whom he considered most likely to fall in with such a design. The issue of both was this, that he could not openly put the garrison into the King's hands, after having so openly refused him; nor indeed, were he thus inclined, had he the power, neither the town itself being affected to his Majesty, nor the the train-bands, of which the garrison wholly consisted. But, if the King would besiege the place, though but with one regiment only, and fire but a single gun, he would know how to make that circumstance a sufficient pretext for surrender,

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