they burst in, accusing their superiors of their calamities. The queen's life was in danger;--and then occurred a gallant action, which is worthy to live if man lives. A Churchill, a descendant of that Marlborough who fought Blenheim, came to the hall whither they had broken in, and required in the queen's name to know what they wanted. He meant to gain time; for other nobles had effected an exit at a private door for her, and were hurrying her away to a place of security, till she could escape from England. They answered Churchill, that water was monopolized; that Matthison must be minister; that they must speak to the queen face to face, and have her hostage for the accomplishment of what they wished. Churchill pretended to deliberate for an instant with some one in the adjoining chamber; and then returning, said, 'If the queen do not speak with you in ten minutes, you may tear me in pieces.' Some of the mob cried that he was saying this to give her time to escape. Others said, if it were so, he should assuredly suffer the penalty. Churchill answered nothing, only smiled; and then the majority said he could not be so foolhardy, and they would grant the queen ten minutes. "The time passed, and Matthison eagerly cried, 'The time is gone, yet we don't see the queen.' "'Then tear me in pieces,' said Churchill; and the mob, finding their prey had escaped, did so indeed; the gallant man falling where he stood, and not another word came from his lips." "The brave man!" cried Charles; "the good man! Were there many such brave, good men in the old world, father?" "Ay, that there were," said Paulett; "many a glorious one; some known and some unknown, who did things which made one know one's-self a glorious, an immortal creature. See there that ruined abbey--there lie the ashes of brave and good; these are their crumbled monuments--'that fane where fame is A spectral resident!' Alas, there is no fame, no name left!" Paulett and Charles went down among the ruins of the abbey, and there, amidst the fallen stones and broken aisles, saw monumental marbles, old known names, and funeral inscriptions, contrasting strongly by their quiet character with the confusion around. "Never forget them, Charles," said Paulett. "These are names which the world has trembled at, and which are now like to be such as those before the Flood, barbarous to those who are building up a new order of things, and known merely as a barren catalogue of names. Yet, if you live, remember Edward the king here; remember the Black Prince; remember the days and heroes of Elizabeth; remember the poetry and the romance of the old world." "Ay, father, and I'll remember the great name of him who taught you to print, and of Wicliffe the reformer, and of the man who gave you the steam-engine." Paulett smiled and sighed; he felt that his own ideas of things heroic were as much contrasted with those of Charles, as their notions of the beautiful. But he thought not to stem the stream.