The king looked toward the ante-room and gave a signal with his hand. It was obeyed by our favorite page, who glided across the room and softly opened a door leading to the royal oratory. There, within the gleam of a silver sconce which flooded the little room as with a stream of moonlight, stood the king’s chaplain, in his sacerdotal robes, and with a book open in his hand. Upon the marble step at his feet lay two cushions of purple velvet fringed and starred with silver. Lord Dudley led his trembling charge forward, and they knelt down upon these cushions, while King Edward and all within the outer room stood up. A moment, and the deep solemn tones of the chaplain, as he read the marriage ceremony, filled the two apartments. The sweet face of Lady Jane was uplifted, and the pure light fell upon it, as she made her response in a voice rendered low by intense feeling—another response, louder and more firmly uttered—a benediction—and then Lord Dudley led his bride from the oratory. “Your blessing, my father,” murmured the half happy, half terrified young creature, as she knelt with her lord at Somerset’s feet. The Duke of Somerset bent down, kissed the beautiful forehead so bewitchingly uplifted, and gave the blessing which made his child happy. The duchess smiled, and wept amid her smiles. “Ah, Jane,” she murmured, fondly putting back the ringlets her own hand had arranged, “ah, Jane, we little thought this evening would end so happily.” The king stood by, and turned away to conceal the pleasant tears which filled his eyes. “One thing more,” he said, “and our slumber will be sweet to-night;” as he spoke, the royal youth advanced to “The two Dukes,” where they stood side by side, and linking their hands together, placed his own upon them. “Be friends,” he said, “the kingdom has need of you both.” Edward felt their hands beneath his clasped together, and was satisfied. He was young, full of generous impulses, and believed that two ambitious men toiling for the same object _could_ be friends. * * * * * THE ABSENT WIFE. BY ROBERT MORRIS. At twilight’s soft and gentle hour When shadows o’er the dull earth creep, And nature feels the soothing power Of coming night and balmy sleep— When the tired laborer hastens home His wife and little ones to kiss, And the young beauty anxiously Awaits love’s hour of dream-like bliss— When nest-ward hie both bird and bee, My fondest thought is still for thee! Again at midnight’s solemn hour, When eyes are closed and lips are still, And Silence, like a spirit’s form, Rests sweetly on each vale and hill, When Love and Grief sit side by side Around some sinking sufferer’s bed, Or Crime in shadow seeks to hide A form to every virtue dead,— E’en then in dreams thy form I see, Or waking fondly turn to thee!