rose, and the ceremony of the Recognition ensued.

Then a noble anthem swept the Abbey with its rich waves of sound; and

thus heralded and welcomed, Tom Canty was conducted to the throne. The

ancient ceremonies went on, with impressive solemnity, whilst the

audience gazed; and as they drew nearer and nearer to completion, Tom

Canty grew pale, and still paler, and a deep and steadily deepening woe

and despondency settled down upon his spirits and upon his remorseful

heart.

At last the final act was at hand. The Archbishop of Canterbury lifted

up the crown of England from its cushion and held it out over the

trembling mock-King's head. In the same instant a rainbow-radiance

flashed along the spacious transept; for with one impulse every

individual in the great concourse of nobles lifted a coronet and poised

it over his or her head--and paused in that attitude.

A deep hush pervaded the Abbey. At this impressive moment, a startling

apparition intruded upon the scene--an apparition observed by none in the

absorbed multitude, until it suddenly appeared, moving up the great

central aisle. It was a boy, bareheaded, ill shod, and clothed in coarse

plebeian garments that were falling to rags. He raised his hand with a

solemnity which ill comported with his soiled and sorry aspect, and

delivered this note of warning--

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The Prince and The Pauper