"My history," answered Mary, "relates to a very affecting scene. A family group meets for the last time on earth. A father, with deep grief depicted on his regular, handsome, although care-worn features, has a little boy about seven years old on his knee: he seems anxious to impress something of importance on the child's mind, who is listening to his father with his eyes fixed on him. An interesting little girl stands by his side, crying bitterly." "I think," said Mrs. Macdonald, "if we help him a little, Alfred might name this subject. When we first began this game, he was very anxious to know more of this poor king, who was in prison; since then you have passed on to other reigns, but this incident you cannot forget." "I will tell you," answered the little boy. "The poor dear little duke of Gloucester said, when his father told him not to be made king when he was dead, 'I will be torn in pieces first.'" "You have answered quickly, dear child; and I am glad you remember so much." Alfred was quite delighted, and begged that they would talk a long time about this king, and all that happened to him; and when he was reminded that this would not be agreeable to the rest of the party, he seemed a little disappointed. Mr. Macdonald noticing it, told him, as he had not urged his entreaties, he would reward him by telling him a story that would please him very much. [Illustration: Cromwell and the Monkey.] The little boy was instantly on his father's knee, who began to relate the following fact:-- "A large monkey is seen dancing about on the roof of a house with a baby in his arms. From the child's dress, he has evidently taken the infant from its cradle; the family seem greatly alarmed, and are spreading feather beds, carpets, and everything that is soft enough to break the violence of the child's fall. The animal shews no inclination to descend, and dances about with great glee." "Oh, papa, did the poor child fall?" "No; the monkey, which was quite tame, and a household favourite, carried it carefully down the same way he went up." "You have indeed told me a funny story," said Alfred; "please some one make haste, and guess who it was." "I think," said Mrs. Arabin, "that the baby became a very important person, and was one of the instruments of Charles's later troubles." "Your aunt has told you," said Mr. Macdonald; "and I am now expecting a story from Edward." "I have remembered a painful one, for the scene is a death-bed. A young and very beautiful woman is mustering her last strength, and making a final effort to impress some words on a man who leans over her. His countenance expresses deep affection and distress; the invalid is very dear to him, or he would not so patiently listen to arguments, which formerly even from her lips would have exasperated him; a family likeness may be traced between the two." "Is it the death of a queen?"