ot abundance, but she has a spirit of love in her bosom, ɔmetimes smothered, but the more ready to come forth ow at a time when she is not happy, and feels more umbly than is her wont; and so she says that if the poor o unfed from the household, they should not go unblessed. he proceeds to the court, and thus addresses them in a one of real kindness. 6 Friends and neighbours!-I am come amongst you unrovided with the usual means of discharging one portion of he Christian duty which has been common in this house a this day. Before Sir John Fastolf died, at the reverend ge of eighty, he distributed his Maundy to an increasing umber with his increasing years. When my husband me into possession of this house, we each distributed aundy according to our several ages, so that the poor ere not worse off than before. When he died, you were educed to the widow's mite, for my son left me here to be is housekeeper. I am no longer equal to that duty. I vell not among you. According to the custom of ancient ne, the Maundy must be as the years of the age of the rd of the household. I grieve that some of you will turn to your homes disappointed. But let us not part if there was wrong to be remembered. Let us meet gether, and offer up our prayers together, that God will ess and preserve all his children, and give them accordg to their several necessities. Sir James, we follow you the chapel.' There is disappointment, but it is only for a moment; for en did the words of sincerity and kindness ever fail, if dressed to an assembled multitude not stirred by passion rendered sullen by real or fancied contempt? Men, men, and children follow the lady and her chaplain to sacred place; and there prayer and thanksgiving are ered; and there, with many a passing word of considerate quiry, of comfort to those who are afflicted, of sympathy th those who bear their lot in cheerfulness, does the tron kneel at the feet of the old and the young, and charge her office patiently and gracefully, so as to draw ONCE UPON A TIME. down many a tear and many a blessing. Had her maidens performed the duty alone, the form of sane niousness might have been present; but where would been the spirit that unites the great and the humble reverent love before Him who knows no distinctions? Thus, then, is this castle of Caister a very troubles possession to the widow and her sons. It is the autum this same year 1469, and Margaret writes to Sir J Your brother and his fellowship stand in great jeer at Caister, and lack victuals, and Daubeney and Berne Idead, and divers others greatly hurt; and they a gunpowder and arrows, and the place is sore broken guns of the other party.' And she calls upon Sir Joh for br give them hasty help. But what can Sir John do? T is nothing to be accomplished without money a gunpowder; and the knight has his own necess Mother, I beseech you send me some money, truth I have but ten shillings; I wot not where to t and moreover I have been ten times in like cas worse, within this ten weeks.' What can the brave m ten pounds upon pledges, and that is spent upon! Item, as for money I could get more; do in these straits? livelih and other things; and I wot not where to get none, ne for surety nor for pledges; and as for mine own I am so simply paid thereof that I fear me I shall be fa borrow for myself, or else to break household, up or b Yet the good Margaret keeps a great heart amidst t troubles, and counsels her son most righteously: visiteth you as it pleases Him in sundry wises: He w ye should know Him and serve Him better than ye done before this time, and then He will send you grace to do well in all other things; and for God's remember it right well, and take it patiently, and t God of his visitation; and if anything have been amiss otherwise than it ought to have been before this, eithe pride or in lavish expenses, or in any other thing that I the Abid ffended God, amend it, and pray Him of His grace and elp, and intend well to God and to your neighbours.' Is ot this a noble woman? It is in adversity that such atures are matured. She has had a hard life-struggle since ld Sir William gave her that silk gown thirty years ago; ut there is no weeping and wringing of hands with her. he has her work to do,-and she does it, though somemes in a stern way, with slight pity for human infirmities. vidently her belief is that to be weak is miserable, oing or suffering.' Let us look upon her under another spect-the severe mother, exhibiting the harshness of the omestic relations between parent and child, yet in her cret heart most loving. This is a Shadow of a Reality. Young Margery Paston is sitting in the accustomed litude of the Brown Chamber in her mother's dowry-house Norwich. The chaplain, Sir James Gloys, has interpted a letter addressed to Margery. The young lady is e object of constant anxiety and suspicion-watchedrsecuted. Up to the age of twelve or fourteen she had en little of her parents, but had been a welcome inmate the family of Sir John Fastolf, at Caister; who, in his resses of the fair girl, indulged the strong affection which 1 men generally feel towards a playful and endearing ild. He had no children of his own, and little Margery is therefore a real solace to the ancient warrior. There s another child, a few years older than Margery, who was mitted to play, and to learn out of the same book, with e daughter of the Pastons. This was Richard Calle, the ly son of an honest and painstaking man, who acted in capacity of a steward for Sir John Fastolf, and conducted ny of the complicated affairs with which the old knight used himself in the evening of a busy life--his friends nplaining of 'the yearly great damage he beareth in disrsing his money about shipping and boats, keeping a ise up at Yarmouth to his great harm, and receiveth but ffer and ware for his corns and his wools, and then must de a long day to make money.' ONCE UPON A TIME. Richard Calle has now grown into manhood. He reputed to have received a goodly inheritance from father, which he has increased by provident enterprises trade. When the Pastons wanted money, he was always to be applied to. But he has presumed to addr his playfellow Margery with the language of affection; though Sir John Paston had once said that, for his Richard Calle might have his dowerless sister and wele for he had always been a warm friend of the Pastons mother is indignant that a trader should presume of marrying into a gentle family; and John of Gelston second son, in an hour when the fortunes of the b seemed in the ascendant, has vowed that Richard C 'should never have my good-will for to make my sister to th sell candles and mustard at Framlingham.' Margery Paston sits in the Brown Chamber, with bright-blue eyes dimmed with tears. She is endeavou to forget her own sorrows by reading a tale of imagi with a tearless eye. griefs, which for four hundred years has never been r Tale' of Chaucer, where Grisildis has her infant daug taken from her, under pretence that it is to be pul She is at that passage of The Cle death: :- But, at the last, to speaken she began, And meekely she to the serjeant pray'd That she might kiss her child ere that it deid [died]: With full sad face, and 'gan the child to bliss, the servant stands before Margery with a face of affright. The door of the chamber is hastily opened, and a in that household love the gentle maiden; and so man, seeing the tear in her eye, bids her be of good dat for though his worshipful mistress is now in a some impatient humour, and demands her instant attendanc the Oaken Parlour, she is a good lady at heart, and soon forgive any slight cause of offence. ice told Dame Paston has called in two allies to constitute, with rself, the tribunal that is about to sit in judgment on argery Paston. Dame Agnes Paston, the aged mother of > late heir of Caister, sits at the table with her daughterlaw and the priest. u; Margery enters; and, in a moment, is kneeling at the t of her mother, with the accustomed reverence of child parent. Oh, minion,' says the mother, rise, I beseech it is not for such as you to kneel to a poor forlorn dow, left with few worldly goods. Mistress Calle has nteousness all around her, and has nothing to ask of world's gear. She has her good house at Framlingn, and her full store at Norwich. Mistress, know you price of salted hams at this present? Are pickled rings plenteous? We have some wool in loft, which should not be unwilling to exchange for worsteds. w say you Mistress Dry-goods; will you deal, will you ffer?" My mother, what mean you?' Oh, minion, you know full well my meaning. You are alien from your family. You are betrothed to a low ler, with no gentle blood in his veins.' The good Sir William Paston, Knight, and whilom ge of his Majesty's Court of the Common Pleas, would from his grave to save a granddaughter of his from inaarrying with mustard and candle,' quoth the ancient 7. Faugh! a factor!' And one whom I shrewdly suspect to be a heretic,' the priest, looking earnestly at Mistress Margaret ton. Oh, my mother, why am I thus persecuted?" Persecuted, forsooth!' responds the elder dame; 'I took D |