My sole occupation, with which I tried to prevent my mind from brooding, was the reading of the different sad histories of those which writ down their thoughts, and fates to be, upon their--and now my--prison's walls. One of these, whose sadness and beautiful resignation--even though it hath no great poetic merit--most affected me, I now set down. The lines and words are imprinted on the pages of my memory with such a force as never can fade, so long as the old, worn book doth hold together. Here they are, my children; and much profit may be gathered from their calmness and resignation:-- "Somewhat musing, and more mourning, In remembering the unsteadfastness, This world being of such wheeling, Me contrarying, what can I guess? "I fear, doubtless, remediless, Is now to seize my woful chance; For unkindness, withouten less, (lessening) And no redress, doth me avance. "With displeasance, to my grievance, And no surance of remedy; Lo, in this trance, now in substance, Such is my dance, willing to die. "Methinks, truly, bounden am I, And that greatly, to be content; Seeing plainly Fortune doth wry All contrary from mine intent "My life was lent me to one intent; It is nigh spent. Welcome Fortune! But I ne went (thought) thus to be shent, But she it meant, such is her won (wont)"[1] Evidently the woeful writer of these lines had been condemned to death. His bones had now lost their fleshly mantle, and forgotten he lay, far from those he loved. "How long ere I shall be in the same condition?" thought I, as I stood before my secure-barred window and gazed at the rain, as it fell in one unceasing torrent. "Verily the heavens do weep for the sufferings of poor England," I said aloud; for now I spoke unto myself as though I were another. For I know not how many days, for in my sorrow I lost all track of time, the rain fell with unabated fury. How I longed to hear how fared my gentle Hazel. "Hell and furies!" would I cry, and grip at the same time the iron bars that stood like the gate of Hell betwixt me and my liberty. How relieving did it feel to my pent up hate to twist at an iron bar and imagine that it was Catesby's throat I held. "Ha! thou accursed villain!" would I cry aloud, "thou now shalt know the fury of my vengeance!" Then would I strike the cruel metal with my bare and clenched fist, with such a force as did drive the tender skin back from the bone and leave a bleeding tear. The days lengthened into weeks; and still no word from the outside world. No trial; no condemnation; no execution; and that which I then most distasted, no definite knowledge of what should be my fate. * * * * * But let me now imagine myself as a free man, outside the Tower's walls--the which I then saw no chance of my ever being--and let me now describe the strange and important events that there were happening.