f V 
 
 
 
 V 
 
 *< 
 
 V 
 
- 
 
 '■;l : ■■>>"1T(, N 
 •HUirnr.sTKfJ 
 
 e 
 
 PERKINS LIBRARY 
 
 Duke University 
 
 i^ire ^oo^. 
 

 
p. 1!)8. 
 
TALES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 By J. Y. A. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY 
 !. THOMPSON AND S. AND T. WILLIAMS. 
 
 
 LONDON : 
 EFFINGHAM WILSON, ROYAL EXCHANGE. 
 
 MDCLCXXX. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 Duke University Libraries 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/talesofotherdaysOOaker 
 
r% k> r\ 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In presenting the present volume of Tales to the 
 public, it may not be amiss to allude to the par- 
 tiality entertained for this description of fictitious 
 composition in almost every age and country. 
 The fondness of the Orientals for their far-famed 
 Arabian Nights' Entertainments is well known. 
 The roaming Arab ofttimes lays aside the lance 
 and the scymetar to listen to these narratives of 
 the doings of the good and evil genii. In the 
 dark ages of our own country there was the jester 
 with his " ryghte merrie tale," to enliven the 
 knight and the noble — even royalty itself. Then 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 there were the " Holie Legends," full of marvel- 
 ous detail, all popular in their day. In fact, every 
 nation has 
 
 " Its legends wild of woe and fear." 
 
 The Tales comprised in this volume were written 
 during the author's leisure hours, and have al- 
 ready appeared before the public, but at the 
 request of a few partial friends they have been 
 revised and collected in the present form, and he 
 trusts that although they may be wanting in ele- 
 gance of style, they will be found correct as to 
 historical and descriptive particulars. The author 
 is aware that many Tales and Novels of this cast 
 have appearect witfc much greater pretensions than 
 the present series ; but one fault, with only two or 
 three exceptions, belongs to them all, namely, an 
 absence of that quaint and once familiar expres- 
 sion, without which the dialogues in tales of this 
 description convey but a faint idea of the manner 
 of speech of our ancestors. 
 
TREFACF.. Vll 
 
 The illustrative engravings present an attraction 
 in addition to their excellence as works of art — 
 that of having been executed with a due regard 
 to historical propriety, the costume of each cha- 
 racter being given upon the best authority. 
 
 In conclusion, should this little volume be so 
 fortunate as to obtain the approbation of the pub- 
 lic, the author will be encouraged to venture upon 
 another of a similar description at some future 
 period. 
 
 London, September-, 1830. 
 
 
CONTEN T S. 
 
 The Magic Phial; or, An Evening at Delfi . . . . 1 
 
 A Tale of the Civil Wars .. .. .. .. 10 
 
 Friar Rush . • .. .. 
 
 Ghtsbrecht, the Free-Lance .. .. .. .- II 
 
 Iim Tunr.E SuiTons .. .. .. .. .. .. 69 
 
 The Fifth or November .. .. .. .. .. 91 
 
 A Tale of the Low Countries .. .. .. ..127 
 
 Trial by Battle .. .. .. .. .. .. 1 l<> 
 
 The Castle or Stauffenberg .. . .. .. 166 
 
 The Brothers .. .. .. .. .. .. \7~, 
 
 Roopr Clevelli .. .. .. .. .. .. l'.ip, 
 
 Haviland Hall .. .. .. .. .. .. 223 
 
p. I. 
 
TALES OF OTHER DAYS. 
 
 &fK iHacjic P)tal ; 
 
 cm, 
 AN E V EN1NG AT DE L II. 
 
 " Now," said the portly Peter Van Voorst, as he 
 buttoned up his money in the pockets of his capa- 
 cious breeches, — " Now I'll home to my farm, and 
 to-morrow I'll buy neighbour Jan Hagen's two 
 cows, which are the best in Holland. 11 
 
 He crossed the market-place of Delft, as he spoke, 
 with an elated and swaggering air, and turned 
 down one of the streets which led out of the city, 
 when a goodly tavern met his eye. Thinking a 
 dram would be beneficial in counteracting the 
 effects of a fog which was just rising, he entered, 
 
 n 
 
2 THE MAGIC PHIAL. 
 
 and called for a glass of Schedam. This was 
 brought, and drank by Peter, who liked the flavour 
 so much, that he resolved to try the liquor diluted. 
 Accordingly, a glass of a capacious size was set 
 before him. After a few sips of the pleasing spirit, 
 our farmer took a view of the apartment in which 
 he was sitting, and, for the first time, perceived 
 that the only person in the room, besides himself, 
 was a young man of melancholy aspect, who sat 
 near the fire-place, apparently half asleep. Now 
 Peter was of a loquacious turn, and nothing ren- 
 dered a room more disagreeable to him than the 
 absence of company. He, therefore, took the first 
 opportunity of engaging the stranger in conver- 
 sation. 
 
 "A dull evening, Mynheer," said the farmer. 
 
 " Yaw," replied the stranger, stretching himself, 
 and yawning loudly, " very foggy, I take it," — and 
 he rose and looked into the street. 
 
 Peter perceived that his companion wore a dress 
 of dark brown, of the cut of the last century. A 
 thick row of brass buttons ornamented his doublet; 
 so thickly, indeed, were they placed, that they ap- 
 peared one stripe of metal. His shoes were high- 
 heeled and square-toed, like those worn by a com- 
 pany of maskers, represented in a picture which 
 
THE MAGIC P1TT.AL. O 
 
 hung in Peter's parlour at Voorboocli. The stran- 
 ger was of a spare figure, and his countenance was, 
 as before stated, pale ; but there was a wild bright- 
 ness in his eye, which inspired the fanner with a 
 feeling of awe. 
 
 After taking a few turns up and down the apart- 
 ment, the stranger drew a chair near to Petei*, and 
 sat down. 
 
 " Are you a burgher of Delft ?" he inquired. 
 
 " No," was the reply ; " I am a small farmer, 
 and live in the village of Voorboocli." 
 
 "Umph !" said the stranger, "you have a dull 
 road to travel — See, your glass is out. How like 
 ye mine host's Schedam ?" 
 
 " ir Pis right excellent." 
 
 " You say truly," rejoined the stranger, with a 
 smile, which the farmer thought greatly improved 
 his countenance; "but here is a liquor which no 
 Burgomaster in Holland can procure. ir Tis fit for 
 a prince. 11 
 
 He drew forth a phial from the breast of his 
 doublet, and mixing a small quantity of the red 
 liquid it contained with some water that stood on 
 the table, he poured it into Peter's empty glass. 
 The farmer tasted it, and found it to excel every 
 liquid he had ever drank. Its effect was soon 
 
4 THE MAGIC PHIAL. 
 
 visible : he pressed the hand of the stranger with 
 great warmth, and swore he would not leave Delft 
 that night. 
 
 " You are perfectly right, 1 ' said his companion, 
 " these fogs are unusually heavy : they are trying, 
 even to the constitution of a Hollander. As for 
 me, I am nearly choked with them. How different 
 is the sunny clime of Spain, which I have just left." 
 
 " You have travelled, then ?" said Peter, inquir- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Travelled ! ay, to the remotest corner of the 
 Indies, amongst Turks, Jews, and Tartars." 
 
 "Eh, but does it please ye to travel always in 
 that garb, Mynheer ?" 
 
 " Even so," replied the stranger, " it has de- 
 scended from father to son through more than three 
 generations. See you this hole on the left breast of 
 my doublet ?" 
 
 The farmer stretched out his neck, and by the 
 dim light perceived a small perforation on the breast 
 of the stranger's doublet, who continued — 
 
 " Ah, the bullet that passed through it lodged 
 in the heart of my great grandsire at the sack of 
 Zutphen." 
 
 " I have heard of the bloody doings at that 
 place from my grandfather, heaven rest his soul !" 
 
THE MAGIC PHIAL. 5 
 
 Peter was startled on perceiving the unearthly 
 smile which played o'er the countenance of the 
 stranger, on his hearing this pious ejaculation. He 
 muttered to himself, in an inaudible tone, the word 
 "Dteyveir but was interrupted by the loud laugh 
 of his companion, who slapped him on the shoulder, 
 and cried — " Come, come, Mynheer, you look sad ; 
 does not my liquor sit well on your stomach? 11 
 
 '* 'Tis excellent ! 11 replied Peter, ashamed to 
 think that the stranger had observed his confusion : 
 " will you sell me your phial ?" 
 
 " I had it from a dear friend, who has been long 
 since dead, 11 replied the stranger, "he strictly en- 
 joined me never to sell it, for d'ye see, no sooner 
 is it emptied, than at the wish of the possessor it 
 is immediately re-filled — but, harkee, as you seem 
 a man of spirit, it shall be left to chance to decide 
 who shall possess it." He took from his bosom a 
 bale of dice, — " I will stake it against a guilder. 11 
 
 " Good, 11 said Peter, " but I fear there is some 
 devilry in the phial." 
 
 "Pshaw!" cried his companion, witli a bitter 
 smile, " those who have travelled understand these 
 things better. — Devilry, forsooth !" 
 
 "I crave your pardon," said Peter, "I will 
 throw for it," — and he placed a guilder on the table. 
 
O THE MAGIC PHIAL. 
 
 The farmer met with ill luck, and lost. He took 
 a draught of his companion's liquor, and determined 
 to stake another guilder ; but he lost that also ! 
 Much enraged at his want of success, he drew forth 
 the canvas bag which contained the produce of the 
 sale of his corn, and resolved either to win the 
 phial, (the contents of which had gone far to fuddle 
 his senses,) or lose all. He threw again with bet- 
 ter luck; but elated at this, he played with less 
 caution, and, in a few minutes, was left pennyless. 
 The stranger gathered up the money, and placed 
 it in his pocket. 
 
 " You are unlucky to-night, Mynheer," said he, 
 with provoking indifference, which greatly increased 
 the farmer's chagrin ; " but come, you have a 
 goodly ring on your finger, will you not venture 
 that against my phial?" 
 
 The farmer paused for a moment — it was the 
 gift of an old friend — yet he could not stomach the 
 idea of being cleared of his money in such a man- 
 ner ; what would Jan Brower, the host of the Van 
 Tromp, and little Rip Winkelaar, the schoolmaster, 
 say to it ? It was the first time he had ever been 
 a loser in any game, for he was reckoned the best 
 hand at nine pins in his village ; he, therefore, took 
 the ring from his finger, — threw again, — and lost it .' 
 
THE MAGIC l'UIAI.. 7 
 
 He sank back in his chair with a suppressed 
 
 groan, at which his companion smiled. The loss 
 of his money, together with this ring, had nearly 
 sobered him, and he gazed on the stranger with a 
 countenance, indicative of any thing but good will ; 
 while the latter drew from his bosom a scroll of 
 parchment. 
 
 " You grieve,' 1 said he, " for the loss of a few 
 paltry guilders ; but know, that I have the power 
 to make you amends for your ill-luck — to make 
 you rich — aye, richer than the Stadtholder ! w 
 
 " Ha, the fiend I 11 thought Peter, growing still 
 soberer, while he drank in every word, and glanced 
 at the legs of the stranger, expecting, of course, to 
 see them as usual terminate with a cloven foot; 
 but he beheld no such unsightly spectacle ; the 
 feet of the stranger were as perfect as his own, or 
 even more so. 
 
 " Here," said his companion, " read over this, 
 and if the terms suit you, subscribe your name at 
 foot." The farmer took the parchment, which he 
 perceived was closely written, and contained many 
 signatures at the bottom. His eye glanced hastily 
 over the few first lines, but they sufficed. 
 
 " Ha ! now I know thee, fiend !" screamed the 
 affrighted Peter, as bedashed the scroll in the face 
 
O THE MAGIC PHIAL. 
 
 of the stranger, and rushed wildly out of the room. 
 He gained the street, down which he fled with the 
 swiftness of the wind, and turned quickly, think- 
 ing he was safe from the vengeance of him, whom 
 he now supposed to be no other than the foul fiend 
 himself; when the stranger met him on the oppo- 
 site side, his eyes dilated to a monstrous size, and 
 glowing like red-hot coals. A deep groan burst 
 from the surcharged breast of the unfortunate far- 
 mer as he staggered back several paces. 
 
 " Avaunt ! avaunt !" he cried, " Sathan, I defy 
 thee ! I have not signed thy cursed parchment !" 
 — He turned and fled in an opposite direction ; 
 but, though he exerted his utmost speed, the stran- 
 ger, without any apparent exertion, kept by his 
 side. At length he arrived at the bank of the 
 canal, and leaped into a boat which was moored 
 alongside. Still his pursuer followed, and Peter 
 felt the iron grasp of his hand on the nape of his 
 neck. He turned round and struggled hard to free 
 himself from the gripe of his companion, roaring 
 out in agony, " Oh, Mynheer Duyvel ! have pity 
 for the sake of my wife and my boy Karel V But, 
 when was the devil ever known to pity ? The stran- 
 ger held him tightly, and, spite of his struggles, 
 dragged him ashore. He felt the grasp of his pur- 
 
THE MAGIC PHIAL. V 
 
 suer like the clutch of a bird of prey, while his hot 
 breath almost scorched him ; but, disengaging him- 
 self, with a sudden bound, he sprung from his ene- 
 my, and pitched headlong from his elbow- 
 chair on to the floor of his own room at Voorbooch. 
 The noise occasioned by the fall of the burly 
 Hollander aroused his affrighted helpmate from 
 the sound slumber she had been wrapped in for 
 more than two hours, during which time her hus- 
 band had been indulging in potations deep and 
 strong, until overpowered with the potency of his 
 beloved liquor, he had sunk to sleep in his elbow- 
 chair, and dreamed the hellish dream we have en- 
 deavoured to relate. The noise of his fall aroused 
 his Vrow from her slumbers. Trembling in every 
 limb on hearing the unruly sound below, she de- 
 scended by a short flight of steps, screaming loudly 
 for help, into the room where she had left her 
 spouse when she retired to rest, and beheld Peter, 
 her dear husband, prostrate on the stone floor, the 
 table overturned, his glass broken, and the remain- 
 der of the accursed liquor flowing in a stream, from 
 the stone bottle which lay upset on the ground. 
 
9L Cale of tl)e Ctbfl Mars;. 
 
 " Oh grief! beyond all other griefs, when fate 
 First leaves the young heart lone and desolate 
 In the wide world, without the only tie 
 For which it loved to live or fear'd to die ; 
 Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken, 
 Since the sad day its master-chord was broken." 
 
 In the little village of E , in Wiltshire, stands 
 
 a small chapel, which, although it has not found a 
 place in " The Beauties of England and Wales," 
 is an object by no means devoid of interest. The 
 supposition entertained by the local antiquaries, 
 that it was one of our primitive churches, (although 
 modern innovations had rendered it subordinate 
 to the unarchitectural mass designated as the pa- 
 rish church,) is borne out by its shape and indis- 
 putable antiquity ; and the few ornaments which 
 time has left still undestroyed on the walls serve 
 to strengthen this opinion. 
 
 Many associations, too, are connected with the 
 
A TALE OF THE CIVIL WARs. 11 
 
 spot on which it stands ; tradition asserts it to have 
 been formerly the site of a Roman encampment, 
 and the existence of a deOp and extended trench 
 which reaches to a river winding round the base 
 of the hill on which the chapel stands, strengthens 
 the supposition. The burial ground, where 
 
 " Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep," 
 
 contains many tributes to departed worth, erected 
 by those whose children shall in turn perform for 
 them the same melancholy duty. But there is 
 one lonely, though not wholly forgotten, grave, to 
 which is attached a tale which furnishes a striking 
 illustration of the manners of the period during 
 which the unfortunate Charles incurred the dis- 
 pleasure of his rebellious subjects, and the country 
 was disturbed by the strife of the contending par- 
 ties; when the ties of friendship and kindred were 
 severed by the violent factions, then known by the 
 several names of Cavaliers, Independents, Anabap- 
 tists, Fifth-monarchy-men, Presbyterians, &c, all 
 professing to be guided by their zeal for religion, 
 or their love for the king ; the licentious freedom 
 of one party being exceeded in iniquity only by the 
 cool and dclibcratelv atrocious acts of the other. 
 
12 A TALE OF THE CIVIL WARS. 
 
 But to return from our digression. The small 
 stone slab, which covers the grave alluded to, is 
 now cracked in many places, whilst around its 
 margin the grass has risen so as to screen it from 
 view, and the weeds, forcing themselves through 
 the fissures, spread over the tablet, from which 
 time, assisted, perhaps, by the foot of the wanton 
 schoolboy, has long since erased the inscription. 
 
 It was only during my last visit to this spot, that 
 I received from the old sexton the materials which 
 enabled me to present the following tale. I tell it 
 because it is of other times ; to the relations of 
 which, I have, from my infancy, been most passion- 
 ately attached. 
 
 Emma Walgrave was the only child of a coun-, 
 
 try gentleman, in the village of E , who had 
 
 sacrificed his life, and nearly the whole of his pro- 
 perty, in the cause of Charles the First. At the 
 commencement of the " troubles," as they were 
 then emphatically called, he mortgaged the greater 
 part of his estate to a grasping attorney in the 
 neighbouring town, and with it equipped a troop 
 of horse, which did good service for Charles in the 
 desperate engagement at Nazeby ; but their lea- 
 der, and the chief of his company, perished in the 
 field. One of those who escaped the disastrous 
 
A TALE OF THE CIVIL WARS. 13 
 
 conflict was Everhard Champernowne, the son of a 
 wealthy yeoman of Purton ; and it fell to his lot 
 to be the bearer of the sad tidings to the widow 
 and child of the fallen royalist. With a heavy 
 heart the young soldier returned home. The mis- 
 sion was doubly painful to him, for he was the be- 
 trothed of the gentle Emma. Those who are lovers 
 can tell how they met, after absence on a service 
 fraught with much danger ; and those who have 
 loved may still call to mind such scenes ; but the 
 pen cannot describe such moments of rapture. 
 The maiden's second thought was of her father, 
 (and who will not pardon its being her second 
 thought,) when her joy was suddenly clouded by 
 her lover informing her of his death. Her widowed 
 mother, her first burst of grief being over, saw 
 with alarm their destitute condition ; whilst Emma 
 consoled herself in that particular by a reliance on 
 the honour of her lover, whose conduct became 
 more marked and affectionate than it had been, 
 even in the lifetime of her father. Everhard re- 
 turned to his family at Purton, but made frequent 
 visits to his beloved, during which time nothing 
 occurred to interrupt their tranquillity. The 
 Prince, afterwards Charles the Second, had, after 
 many hair-breadth escapes, evaded his pursuers, 
 
14 A TALE OK THE CIVIL WARS. 
 
 and reached the Continent in safety- But this 
 state of things did not last long ; news soon ar- 
 rived that the exiled Prince had landed in Scot- 
 land, and was advancing with a powerful army to 
 claim his just rights. The intelligence once more 
 aroused both friend and foe to monarchy ; and 
 while some of the royalists set out to join their 
 Prince, the Parliamentarians assembled their forces 
 in that prompt, yet steady manner, which always 
 characterized their proceedings, and strongly con- 
 trasted with the headstrong zeal of the other party, 
 and prepared to resist him, " to whom," says the 
 author of ' Boscobel,' " they could afford no better 
 title than Charles Stuart." It was then that the 
 young soldier tore himself from the arms of his 
 beloved, and hastened to prove again that valour 
 which had gained for him the applause of older and 
 more experienced cavaliers. 
 
 We shall not follow Everhard through his 
 journey, which was one of neither pleasure nor 
 security — for the Prince had many bkter enemies, 
 who were continually on the watch to entrap his 
 adherents — but return to her, in whom all his 
 earthly hopes were centered. Many months pas- 
 sed away, during which period no tidings were 
 heard of Everhard. At length it was known that 
 
A TALE OF THE CIVIT. WARS. 15 
 
 the Prince's army had entered England. All was 
 anxiety and excitement ; Emma had heard that a 
 battle would soon be fought, and her heart sunk 
 within her when she reflected, that though the 
 victory might be given to the royalists, her lover 
 might be one of the victims in the fight. 
 
 She remained for some days in torturing sus- 
 pense, when intelligence arrived that the army of 
 Charles was advancing upon Worcester. Anxious, 
 yet dreading to hear the issue of the contest, the 
 maiden would, for hours, sit at her casement, and 
 watch the landscape till the sun had descended, 
 and left every object undistinguishable. She had 
 thus watched one evening, whilst the sun was yet 
 above the horizon, intently gazing on every figure 
 that appeared in sight ; but the form of her lover 
 met not her gaze. The rays of the setting sun 
 still lit up the latticed windows of the small 
 chapel, and glowed in the stream which wound 
 round the base of the hill. In the distance stood 
 the town, the spire of its noble church rising 
 majestically above the houses which surrounded it. 
 Not a breeze moved a leaf of the stately elms 
 which shaded the house of the once happy family. 
 Twilight succeeded, and the light-shunning bat 
 flitted in the cool evening, and flapped its leathern 
 
16 A TALE OF THE CIVIL WARS. 
 
 wing as it flew in fantastic circles round their 
 dwelling ; but the hour had no charms for its in- 
 mates: Everhard had not appeared to remove 
 their anxiety, and the widowed lady, as the night 
 arrived, sought consolation in her Bible, a chapter 
 of which she was reading to her daughter, who 
 sat absorbed in her own meditations, her inward 
 prayers directed to the great Author of all things, 
 when the distant clatter of horses' hoofs arrested 
 their attention. 
 
 " ""Tis Everhard !" exclaimed the maiden, in a 
 half-smothered tone, partaking both of pleasure 
 and doubt — and her hand was upon the bolt of 
 the door, ere her mother was aware of the cause. 
 
 " Wist, child, what would ye do ? — Are we not 
 alone, and unprotected ? — What if it should be 
 some of the wild and lawless troopers abroad; 
 would ye give such as them entrance ? Pr'ythee 
 withdraw thy hand from the fastening, and come 
 hither:' 
 
 To these remonstrances, the maiden made no 
 reply, but, turning from the door, was about to 
 resume her seat, when the noise of footsteps was 
 heard, and a gentle knock was given on the out- 
 side. 
 
 " Who's there? 11 demanded the matron, shutting 
 
A TALE OF THE CIVIL WAKS. 1J 
 
 her Bible, and looking over her spectacles, while 
 she motioned her daughter to keep the door fast. 
 
 " 'Tis I," replied a well-known voice; and the 
 next moment the bolt was drawn, and Everhard 
 Champcrnowne entering, received in his arms the 
 almost fainting form of Emma. In a few brief 
 words be informed them of the issue of the battle, 
 and of his own danger. His buff' coat, the sleeves 
 of which were sprinkled with blood, was cut and 
 torn, and but a remnant of the feather in his mo- 
 rion was left ; his face looked wild and haggard, 
 and his whole appearance gave evident token that 
 he had not been idle in the bloody strife. 
 
 " All is lost !" he mournfully exclaimed ; " our 
 army is dispersed, and the Prince has fled, heaven 
 knows whither ! I have ridden hard to escape 
 from the bloodhounds, who may be even now at 
 my heels, for they followed me and Ockle of 
 Marston for twenty miles. The poor fellow had 
 his arm broken by a harquebuize shot ; but he is 
 safely housed now, and may escape." 
 
 "You will remain here to-night?" said the 
 widow and her daughter. 
 
 " 'Tis impossible," replied Everhard, M I must 
 get to Purton before day-break, and conceal my- 
 self, or ha! what noise is that?." he suddenly 
 
 c 
 
18 A TALE OF THE CIVIL WARS. 
 
 cried, as the distant clatter of horses' hoofs struck 
 on his ear, — " by heaven ! the blood-hounds are 
 here ; whither shall I fly ?" 
 
 " To the secret place," cried Emma, eagerly, 
 " there is a sliding panel in the wall of the little 
 red chamber above — there you may lie secure." 
 As she spoke the noise became more distinct, and 
 the voices of several men were heard. Without 
 loss of time, they proceeded to the little chamber 
 of which Emma had spoken, when the hangings 
 were drawn aside, and the maiden touching a spring 
 in the oak wainscot, a panel slid back, and dis- 
 covered a recess capable of holding two or- three 
 persons. Everhard had scarcely entered it, when 
 voices were heard under the window, and imme- 
 diately after a loud knocking sounded at the door. 
 To have remained with the fugitive would have 
 tended but to excite the suspicion of the pursuers : 
 the widow and her daughter therefore hastened 
 down, just as a female servant (their only do- 
 mestic) had opened the door, and five or six men, 
 habited as troopers, entered the house. The state 
 of their dress and accoutrements told that they 
 had been engaged in the work of death ; and as 
 the light flashed on their grim and determined 
 features, the terrified women shrunk from their 
 gaze in alarm. 
 
A TALE OF THE CIVIL WARS. 19 
 
 " Woman," said the foremost of the troop, 
 " where is the young' malignant ye have sheltered ?" 
 
 "What mean ye, sir?" inquired the matron, 
 endeavouring to conceal her agitation. 
 
 " It is not for thee to interrogate," replied the 
 trooper ; " waste not our time, but tell us where 
 he is hidden, for the Lord hath this day delivered 
 into our hands these sons of the ungodly, whom 
 we have smitten till the going down of the sun." 
 
 " He is gone hence," said the maiden, in an 
 almost inarticulate voice. 
 
 " Daughter of Moab," replied the trooper, 
 taking a light, and holding it before her beautiful 
 face, as a tear glistened on her blanched cheek ; 
 " thy trembling frame and faltering voice tell 
 me that thou hast spoken the words of falsehood. 
 In, brethren, in, and search the dwelling of these 
 Moabitish women." As soon as the signal for 
 havock was given, the rest of the troopers drew 
 their swords, and dispersed themselves over the 
 house, Avhilst the females remained in the room 
 below, half dead with fear ; but in a short time 
 they were summoned to open the several cup- 
 boards and presses in which the rebel troopers 
 imagined their victim might be concealed. 
 
 The room to which they principally confined 
 
20 A TALE OF THE CIVIL WARS. 
 
 their search was that in which Everhard was 
 secreted ; and they hesitated not to tear down 
 and destroy those pieces of furniture which they 
 supposed might furnish a shelter for the fugi- 
 tive ; while the females remained in a state of 
 frightful apprehension. Some of the troopers tore 
 off' the bedding, and pierced the furniture with 
 their swords ; while others struck on the panels of 
 the oak wainscoat, in the hope that they might 
 discover by the sound the hiding place of their 
 victim, whom they knew, from the agitation of 
 the women, must be somewhere in the house. On 
 a sudden, one of them struck the panel which 
 concealed the recess, with the hilt of his sword, 
 when a hollow sound was returned, which plainly 
 indicated that it did not cover the wall alone. 
 
 " Come hither, brethren," cried the trooper, in a 
 tone of exultation, " and lend me your aid to tear 
 down this wainscot, for I have a shrewd suspicion 
 that a secret place is behind it. Zebulon-fear-the- 
 Lord, pr'ythee, lend me thy dagger, it is much 
 stronger than mine, and will serve to force out 
 this panel." 
 
 The dagger was handed to him ; but his efforts 
 to break the hard oak, of which the panel was 
 formed, proved abortive. 
 
A TALE OK THE CIVIL WARS. 21 
 
 " Hold," cried one of his companions, as he 
 drew a petrionel from his belt, "this will tell if 
 any one be concealed behind it. I will fire through 
 the wood." 
 
 These words were like an electric shock to the 
 nerves of the poor maiden, who in a frantic man- 
 ner, besought the ruffian to spare the life of her 
 lover, and falling on her knees before them, she 
 entreated them to have mercy, while her fair eyes 
 streamed with tears, and her heaving bosom be- 
 trayed the agony of her mind. But she spoke to 
 men whom a gloomy fanaticism had rendered cal- 
 lous to human miserv, and a grim smile played 
 on their countenances as they beheld her distress, 
 for it told them their victim was already within 
 their grasp. 
 
 " Daughter," said the first trooper, as he coolly 
 wound up the lock of the large horse-pistol, or 
 petrionel, he held in his hand, " we are none of 
 those who do their work negligently; the Lord of 
 Hosts hath delivered him into our hands; is it 
 not written, * the ungodly shall be cut off'," 1 even 
 
 as 
 
 " Oh spare him ! spare him !" cried the agonised 
 girl, clasping the knees of the trooper, " spare 
 him, and all we have is vours." 
 
22 A TALE OF THE CIVIL WARS. 
 
 " Tempt not a soldier of Emanuel with the 
 riches of this world," replied the trooper ; " away 
 with thee, thou child of the ungodly !" and strid- 
 ing forward he fired at the wall. The report shook 
 the house, but high above it rose the shriek of the 
 almost frantic Emma ; the glass in the latticed 
 window showered down on the floor, and the cham- 
 ber was filled with smoke. The terrified youth, 
 uninjured by the bullet — which, however, passed 
 near him — during the confusion, gently drew aside 
 the panel, and emerged into the chamber. He 
 immediately made towards the door, thinking to 
 escape unobserved, but two of the troop were 
 already there, and shouted loudly at his appear- 
 ance, while their drawn swords were presented at 
 his breast, and he was desired to surrender. They 
 pressed forward to seize him, when quickly draw- 
 ing a pistol from his belt, he presented it at the 
 foremost, whilst with his right hand he drew his 
 sword. 
 
 "Down with the son of Belial!" cried the Ser- 
 jeant of the troop, " smite him dead !" but Ever- 
 hard's menacing attitude kept them at bay, when 
 the serjeant fired his pistol. The shot was deadly, 
 the unhappy youth staggering back a few paces, 
 fell prostrate, and a torrent of blood deluged the 
 
A TALK OF THE CIVIL WARS. 23 
 
 floor. Who shall describe the anguish of the hap- 
 less Emma at this moment ? As her lover fell, she 
 burst from the arms of her mother, and threw 
 herself upon the corpse with a shriek so loud and 
 shrill, that it sounded like no human cry. It was 
 followed by a death-like silence, interrupted only 
 by the convulsive sobs of her widowed parent. 
 
 " Thus perish the ungodly " said the Serjeant, 
 in a drawling tone. " Now, brethren, get to your 
 horses, for it waxeth late, and there are more 
 abroad, who must be smitten with the edge of the 
 sword ; tarry not, but let us away, lest, peradven- 
 ture, the son of the late man, whom the ungodly 
 call king, escape from the land. But, first," he 
 continued, as if a sudden thought had occurred to 
 him, " let us possess ourselves of the vessels of 
 gold and silver which this Midianitish woman hath." 
 He quitted the room as he spoke, after casting 
 a glance of satisfaction on the corpse of the ill- 
 fated young royalist, from which the distressed 
 lady, assisted by her servant, was endeavouring to 
 raise her child. The heavy tramp of the troopers 
 was heard throughout the house, and the violence 
 to which they resorted to obtain every thing of 
 value, was indicated by the crashing of the various 
 articles of furniture which contained any thing 
 
24 A TALE OF THE CIVIL WAR.-,. 
 
 portable. At length their footsteps were heard in 
 the court in front of the house ; immediately after 
 the trampling of their horses told that they were 
 mounting, and in a few minutes they quitted the 
 place at a round trot. The agonized mother lis- 
 tened to the hollow sound of the horses 1 hoofs, un- 
 til it died away in silence, and then again en- 
 deavoured to raise her child, who still remained 
 in a state almost as death-like and as pale as the 
 corpse of her lover. Having succeeded in remov- 
 ing her from the body, they bore her to her cham- 
 ber, where she remained for several days in a state 
 that left but little hope of her recovery. 
 
 Intelligence of Everhard's murder was conveyed 
 to Purton, from whence, however, the Champer- 
 nownes had fled, to escape the vengeance of the 
 Parliamentarians, who, from their having espoused 
 the cause of Charles, were much incensed against 
 them. The corpse of the murdered youth was 
 
 interred in the church-yard of E , and was 
 
 attended to the grave by the widow and her daugh- 
 ter. It was not until this awful ceremony took 
 place, that Emma returned to a state of conscious- 
 ness ; her tears then relieved in some 1 degree her 
 heart's anguish, but no smile was ever seen on her 
 fair cheek ; her once cheerful and melodious voice 
 
A TAJ.E OF THE CIVIL WAB.fi. 25 
 
 was changed for a tone of melancholy and sadness; 
 her form wasted, and as each year revolved, those 
 who knew her saw with sorrow that death was 
 gaining fast upon his victim. At length her slight 
 strength began more rapidly to fail, and shewed 
 that the affectionate anxiety and attention of her 
 beloved parent were of no avail. The only request 
 she was wont to make was, when the evening was 
 drawing in, to be supported to the porch of the 
 door where she had often sat with her lover in 
 happier days. 
 
 She was thus sitting one evening, while her 
 mother read, from a volume of tracts, a passage 
 in which the afflicted are told to look for com- 
 fort through the merits of Him, whose life, while 
 on earth, was one of sorrow and suffering, when 
 a horseman was seen approaching. As he drew 
 nearer, the widow perceived that it was her bro- 
 ther, who had fled from England with Prince 
 Charles. The cavalier, dismounting, received her 
 in his arms, and with a smiling countenance in- 
 formed her that the exiled Prince had returned, 
 to fill the throne of his fathers. His attention was 
 next drawn to Emma, whose condition he beheld 
 with evident sorrow, and affectionately pressing 
 her hand, he bade her take comfort, for that her 
 
26 A TALK OF THE CIVIL WARS. 
 
 friends were hastening home, and the Prince was 
 now in quiet possession of the throne. The mai- 
 den feebly returned the warm pressure of her 
 uncle's hand ; her pallid cheek flushed for a mo- 
 ment ; a smile (her first since the death of her 
 lover) illumined her wan, though still beautiful, 
 countenance ; she essayed to speak, but the sound 
 died away in a scarcely audible murmur, and, bow- 
 ing her head, her gentle spirit fled for ever ! 
 ****** 
 
 Her remains, and those of her lover, have long 
 since mingled with their kindred dust, in the 
 church-yard of E , and the mutilated and de- 
 faced slab, which covers their grave, is all that 
 remains to tell of their ill-fated love ! 
 
jfrfai* ftuefy* 
 
 A TALE OF F A E 11 I E. 
 
 *' Will who bears the wispy fire 
 To trail the swains among the mire." 
 
 Parncll. 
 
 In days of yore (or gossips lied) England was in- 
 habited by those tiny gentry, yclep'd, in most 
 countries, elves or fairies. Indeed, some contend 
 that this frolicsome race is not extinct, but that 
 fairies are now grown timorous and shy, and rarely 
 visit the earth until those of mortal mould are 
 slumbering in the arms of Morpheus. How often 
 have we not been told that the rings of high grass 
 which may be seen round the trunks of huge oaks, 
 are the places where they have footed it till cock 
 crow, where their reels have been danced to the 
 measure of an elfin pipe. 
 
 This harmless superstition is, however, fast sink- 
 
28 FRIAR RUSH. 
 
 ing under the powerful attacks of time and the 
 march of intellectual acquirement. — But to our 
 tale. 
 
 In days of yore (we admire that word yore, 
 which gives us so wide a field, and screens us from 
 the eye of the critic, who sits with cat-like watch, 
 prepared to pounce upon our anachronisms) — In 
 days of yore, then, there lived (no matter in what 
 county) an ancient knight, who was the guardian 
 of a maiden of rare beauty. She was the daughter 
 of a deceased relative, and had been left under his 
 protection for several years, daily improving in 
 beauty and those accomplishments which add to 
 the charms of a young and lovely girl. 
 
 To conceal beauty is both difficult and danger- 
 ous ; for the more rigorously doth a guardian watch 
 over the safety of his ward, the more doth the 
 fame of her charms increase, and her protector, 
 wearied out by sleepless nights and frequent false 
 alarms, curses the cares of guardianship, and in- 
 veighs against that beauty he cannot contemplate 
 without envying his youthful fellows. 
 
 Sir Simon experienced the truth of this, and was 
 daily exposed to the mortification of beholding a 
 crowd of gallants, who each morning came to in- 
 quire after her health, and bask in the sunshine of 
 
FUIAR RUSH. 29 
 
 her beauty. The old knight watched them intently, 
 as each pressed the hand of his ward to his lips, 
 and each bouquet that was presented to her he ex- 
 amined himself, to see that no billet had been se- 
 creted in it. Such a life of continual watching 
 and anxiety would have worn out the most patient 
 of mortals, much less Sir Simon, who had not 
 much of that in his composition, which has been 
 called by some a virtue, and for which Job was so 
 eminently distinguished. 
 
 The knight deliberated for some time upon the 
 most expedient means of alleviating his cares, when, 
 after due cogitation, he resolved to get rid of his 
 anxiety by marrying her himself, without delay. 
 Alas ! poor man, he had not in his eye the famed 
 fable of Scylla and Charibdis, or he would not 
 have thought of such a dangerous resolve. But 
 fate, assisted by a little being, whom we shall soon 
 introduce to our readers, willed it that Edith should 
 not become the wife of her guardian. Among the 
 gay and handsome youths who crowded round the 
 beautiful and innocent girl, was one Sir Edmund, 
 a knight of comely presence and undaunted valour. 
 He alone had found favour in the eyes of Edith, 
 and many schemes were thought of to deceive her 
 guardian, and escape from his advances, which 
 
30 FUIAR RUSH. 
 
 were now becoming still more disagreeable to his 
 lovely ward ; but, like another Argus, he was con- 
 stantly upon the watch. 
 
 Things stood in this posture, when one fine even- 
 ing, long after the evening bell had rung, the Fairy 
 King, Oberon, with his Queen, and elfin subjects, 
 were assembled together under the shade of a large 
 oak in a neighbouring forest. The full light of 
 the harvest moon shone over hill and dale, and the 
 beauty of the evening made amends for the warm 
 and sultry day which had preceded it. Many gam- 
 bols and antics were performed by the elves before 
 their monarch and his queen, when the king bade 
 them disperse ; but ere they departed to perform 
 their deeds of good or evil to the sons of men as 
 their own minds prompted them, his Elfin Majesty 
 begged to know their several destinations. Various 
 were the answers given, but only those of two of 
 them are known. The first was that of Puck or 
 Robin-good-fellow ; the other, of the renowned 
 Will o 1 the Wisp, to whom the alias of Friar Rush 
 has been given by the inhabitants of Great Britain. 
 Whether that cognomen was bestowed upon this 
 mischievous being as a sort of side blow at the 
 qualities which have before now been known to 
 lurk under a cowl, we are not able to determine ; 
 
FRIAR RUSH. 31 
 
 but certain it is, that he was more commonly known 
 by that name than any other. Puck advanced at 
 the command of his sovereign, and in a shrill voice, 
 sung or rather chaunted the following rude and 
 irregular lines : — 
 
 O'er the dewy mead I'll sweep, 
 
 To yonder turret high, 
 Where its weary inmates sleep, 
 
 Snoring heavily. 
 
 I'll dance upon yon maiden's hreast, 
 
 Who of her lover dreams ; 
 Then wake her from her peaceful rest, 
 And fly to lowlier queans. 
 
 Plowmen's noses 
 I will tweak, 
 Their hair I'll pull, 
 Their rest I'll break. 
 Maidens I'll pinch hlack and blue. 
 Ere the cock cry doodle doo ! 
 
 As Puck concluded, Friar Rush advanced, and 
 sung; in a musical voice as follows : — 
 
 Sire, this night I am resolv'd 
 
 Some shrewd disport to make ; 
 When in a lambent flame dissolv'd, 
 
 I'll dance o'er bog and brake. 
 
32 
 
 KltlAR RUSH. 
 
 In yonder castle dwells a knight, 
 
 Guardian to a maiden fair, 
 I'll lure him from his hall to-night, 
 
 And conduct her lover there. 
 
 While these lines were reciting, several dark 
 clouds were sailing across the heavens, and as the 
 second speaker concluded, the moon was entirely 
 obscured. Instantly the whole company of elves 
 vanished with a loud shriek, which made the forest 
 echo, and started the owl from her favourite tree ; 
 while Will, rejoicing at the change, suddenly trans- 
 formed himself into a thin purple flame, in which 
 form he flitted across the meadows, and entered 
 the garden of the castle where Sir Simon dwelt. 
 Here he underwent another transformation, and 
 took the shape of the Lady Edith, who had long 
 since retired to rest. Not so her guardian. He 
 was upon the watch for any gallants who might be 
 seeking a nocturnal interview with his lovely ward. 
 As he sat at his chamber window, the white dress 
 of Edith caught his eye, a second glance as- 
 sured him that it was she. 
 
 " Fire and Furies !" exclaimed the knight, start- 
 ing from his seat, " My ward abroad at this hour !" 
 He snatched up his sword, to be prepared for any 
 gallant who might be upon the watch, resolved to 
 
FRIAR HUSH. 33 
 
 annihilate him, and descended with speed into the 
 garden. As he advanced upon the figure of his 
 ward, it receded from him, and bounded through 
 a hedge on one side of the garden. The knight 
 followed, roaring out — 
 
 "Edith! stay! stay! ah thou graceless quean, 
 have I cherished thee so long to be treated thus ?" 
 
 But he was unheeded by what he supposed to 
 be his ward, and after following it across a mea- 
 dow, it suddenly vanished, and immediately after 
 wards a pale light appeared at a short distance on 
 his right hand. 
 
 "Thank heaven ! this is mv knave, Will, come 
 to light me home, 11 exclaimed the knight, whose 
 rage and atonishmcnt were gradually giving way to 
 fear on finding himself at such a distance from his 
 castle at so late an hour. He advanced towards 
 the light with all speed, but it retreated from him, 
 and the next moment he found himself up to his 
 knees in water. In spite of his hallooing, no one 
 approached. At length he ran with all his speed 
 towards the light which he gazed upon ; when great 
 was his atonishment at perceiving a small figure, 
 habited like a grey friar, and bearing a lantern, 
 from which a pale light shone, or rather flitted. 
 The face of this little being (who was no other 
 
34 
 
 FRIAR RUSH. 
 
 than Friar Rush) was round and chubby ; but the 
 short elf-locks which curled on his forehead, and 
 the wild and peculiar expression of his eyes alarmed 
 the knight, who recoiled from the unearthly ob- 
 ject with affright, while the following words rung 
 in his ears : — 
 
 " Sir Knight, Sir Knight, 
 Don't angry be, 
 Your path I'll light, 
 So follow me." 
 
 " Never ! thou damned tormentor of the human 
 race !" cried Sir Simon, his courage awakened by 
 the jeering of the tricksy spirit. " Wert thou of 
 mortal mould, my good sword should revenge me, 
 and thou shouldst mislead the sons of men no 
 more !" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed the elfin friar. " So 
 valiant, old Sir ? — Then as you refuse my assist- 
 ance, you are likely to lay in the meadow to-night ; 
 for see, the moon is hidden, and not a star peeps 
 out to light you home again."" 
 
 The knight looked around him, and perceived 
 that the sprite spoke truly. The moon was en- 
 tirely obscured, and not a star sparkled in the 
 heavens; all was pitchy dark, and nothing could 
 be seen but the dusky outlines of several tall trees, 
 
FRIAK RUSH. 35 
 
 whose height seemed magnified through the gloom. 
 Sir Simon groaned bitterly as he saw his utter in- 
 capability of regaining his home. His tormentor 
 had disappeared, so that he was now deprived of 
 the faint light which the lantern of the mischievous 
 sprite had afforded him. He prayed and swore by 
 turns ; at one time cursed the friar for leading him 
 such a dance ; the next moment supplicated all the 
 saints in the calendar to relieve him ; offering them, 
 as a remuneration, wax tapers as long as his rapier ; 
 but all in vain ! his' prayers and entreaties, oaths 
 and curses, were alike unheeded ! The night air 
 blew chilly, and Sir Simon felt the return of ano- 
 ther tormentor, — the rheumatism, which, awakened 
 by the cold, racked him in every joint. This was 
 beyond mortal endurance. The knight had often 
 thought that pain sufficiently exquisite when sitting 
 in his arm-chair before a good fire, but he had never 
 felt it to such a degree before. His whole frame 
 ached, and shaking the damp from his clothes, he 
 started off* in the direction, as he supposed, of his 
 castle ; but he had not proceeded many steps be- 
 fore he found the ground sinking under him, and 
 the next moment he plunged into a bog up to his 
 girdle ; at the same instant his tormentor appeared 
 skimming over the bog, in a fantastic manner, and 
 
36 FRIAR RUSH. 
 
 singing in a wild tone as follows, while his victim 
 floundered in the mire : 
 
 " Sir Knight, Sir Knight, 
 Come follow me, 
 Through miry bog, 
 And swampy lea. 
 
 " Through bramble and brier, 
 O'er hill, through hollow, 
 My mysty fire 
 
 You fain must follow." 
 
 " Leave me, leave me ! thou accursed sprite !" 
 cried Sir Simon, in agony ; but the elfin friar 
 laughed at his entreaties, and sung in mockery : 
 
 " O fear not for your ward, Sir Knight, 
 She'll weep not for your stay, 
 For another cheers that lady bright, 
 While you are far away." 
 
 " Ha, thou imp of Sathan," roared the knight, 
 " dost thou taunt me thus?" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed his tormentor. — 
 " You are chafed, Sir Knight ! Hasten home, or 
 your ward will grieve for your absence. 1 ' 
 
 " Away with thee, away I 11 cried Sir Simon, 
 "and cease to torment me. 11 He dashed forward 
 as he spoke ; but his heart sank within him as he 
 found himself gradually sinking deeper in the bog, 
 
FItlAIt RUSH. 37 
 
 while his tormentor flitted round his head like a 
 blue-bottle fly round the ears of a jaded horse. 
 Dreading to move further, Sir Simon remained for 
 some moments in a state of very unenviable sus- 
 pense, whilst the sprite continued to jeer him ; now 
 flitting close to him, now darting off' to a little 
 distance, to lure his victim still further into the 
 bog; but the knight would not move a step for- 
 ward in the same direction as his tormentor. At 
 length, after deliberating for awhile, he made a re- 
 trograde movement, and with some difficulty backed 
 out of the bog in a most deplorable condition. No 
 sooner, however, had he gained the firm ground, 
 than he received several smart buffets on each side 
 of the face from an unseen hand, and sundry 
 pinches on that part of his person which the inha- 
 bitants of upper earth designate the seat of honour. 
 The pain made him roar, for in the art of pinching 
 your fairy far exceeds mortals. Sir Simon was 
 highly sensitive both mentally and bodily, and this 
 insult to both feelings roused him almost to frenzy. 
 He ran with the speed of lightning across the mea- 
 dow, pursued by a host of invisible beings, who 
 renewed their attacks upon him with increased 
 vigour. The unfortunate knight bounded forward 
 and reached the extrcmitv of the meadow. This 
 
38 1 B I A If K u s n , 
 
 inspired him with some hope that lie should be 
 freed from his tormentors after he had crossed the 
 ditch; but, alas! just as he was about to spring 
 over it, Friar Rush flashed the light of his lantern 
 right in the face of Sir Simon, and he fell head- 
 long into the ditch with a terrible splash. 
 
 The hapless knight scrambled out of it in the 
 best manner he could, and gaining the opposite 
 side, renewed his flight, still followed by the elfin 
 crew, whose shouts of riotous laughter rung in his 
 ears, while their buffets and tweakings were con- 
 tinued with still greater violence. Sweating at 
 every pore, and goaded almost to death, the knight 
 gained a small thicket ; but this would not shelter 
 him from the attacks of his pursuers, he passed 
 through it with the loss of his silk robe, which 
 was torn to shreds by the brambles. The rest of 
 his apparel was most wofully endamaged and sa- 
 turated with water, and his shoes were full of the 
 same cooling fluid. It would be tedious to detail 
 the many turnings and windings Sir Simon made 
 to avoid his pursuers, who still followed close at 
 his heels. After sustaining a chase of some hours, 
 the hapless knight sunk exhausted at the door of 
 a small cottage. At that moment a cock loudly 
 crowed the first hour of morning,— a streak of 
 
IKIAR RUSH. 39 
 
 light appeared in the east, and his elfin pursuers 
 quitted him with a loud shriek, which echoed 
 loudly over the country, and awoke the cottager 
 and his wife from their slumbers. They descended, 
 and, opening their door, raised the knight from 
 the ground, and bore him into the cottage, where, 
 under their kind treatment, he soon recovered his 
 senses. A few hours sleep were necessary to re- 
 cruit his exhausted frame, after which the knight 
 departed for his castle, having borrowed a horse 
 and a cloak to conceal his torn and soiled ap- 
 parel. The morning had far advanced, when he 
 arrived in sight of his castle, round which the 
 pigeons winged their flight, and the windows 
 blazed in the morning sun. As he approached 
 nearer, sounds of laughter and merriment struck 
 on his astonished ear. Arriving at the gate, he 
 was smitten with amazement at beholding a num- 
 ber of servants, whom he knew did not belong to 
 his household. They were all well armed, and 
 Sir Simon's mind misgave him on beholding them. 
 The impudent knaves laughed at his grotesque 
 appearance, when the knight dismounting, cried 
 in a fierce tone — 
 
 " What do yc here, varlets ? am I to be flouted 
 at the gates of mine own castle. 11 
 
40 iK i ah hush. 
 
 " Thou art mad,"' - ' said- one of the fellows, with 
 an impudent stare ; — " thy castle, forsooth." 
 
 " Away with thee, thou malapert slave," cried 
 Sir Simon, greatly incensed. He brushed past 
 the fellow and entered his castle, where he beheld 
 Sir Edmund and his ward standing at a temporary 
 altar, and the priest delivering the nuptial bene- 
 diction upon the already wedded pair. 
 
 A few words from Sir Edmund explained the 
 whole business. He was on the watch when the 
 mischievous sprite had decoyed Sir Simon away, 
 by assuming the appearance of his ward ; and 
 during the knight's absence had pleaded so elo- 
 quently to the lady Edith, that without waiting 
 for the consent of her guardian, she determined 
 to be biassed by her own feelings, and blessed the 
 gallant Sir Edmund with her hand. 
 
 Sir Simon gulped his rage and looked glum; 
 but finding there was no remedy for the mis- 
 chance, he pronounced their pardon, and gave 
 them his blessing. 
 
 The story says that the old knight lived many 
 years afterwards, and had very few sleepless nights, 
 having with his ward lost for ever the cares of 
 guardianship. 
 
CTijsfombt, tf)c jfrrc;?Xnim\ 
 
 And hurry skurry forth they go. 
 
 Unheeding wet or dry ; 
 And horse and rider snorte and blowe, 
 
 And Bpsrkling pebbles flie. 
 
 Iiurpar's Leonora. 
 
 The long and violent struggles for the crown 
 maintained by Stephen, Earl of Blois, against 
 Prince Henry, must be familiar to the reader of 
 English History- The former at length obtained 
 the sovereignty, not, however, without much blood- 
 shed, and Henry finally quitted England with an 
 understanding that he should succeed to the crown 
 upon the demise of his successful rival, an event 
 which happened not long after the cessation of hos- 
 tilities. It is well known that Stephen, fearing to 
 rely wholly upon the English, brought over with 
 
42 GHYSBRECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 
 
 him many bands of mercenaries of almost every 
 nation, but for the most part Flemings, whose dis- 
 solute habits, insolence, and violence, soon ren- 
 dered them objects of hatred and execration to the 
 English. 
 
 Henry "'s first act, on ascending the throne, was 
 to demolish the numerous castles that had been 
 raised throughout the kingdom, during the short 
 but stormy reign of his predecessor, and to disband 
 the whole of the foreign adventures above men- 
 tioned. This measure was carried into effect with 
 such vigour and promptitude, that in a short time 
 the refractory English were subdued, and the aliens 
 driven out of the kingdom. 
 
 These mercenaries were men of daring and reck- 
 less character, and their courage and experience 
 in Avar rendered them desirable instruments in the 
 hands of the ambitious and violent. Owning nei- 
 ther country nor master, and swayed only by their 
 avarice, their swords and lances were ever at the 
 service of those who could afford most. The latter 
 weapon was much in repute in those days, and 
 these men were particularly dexterous in the use 
 of it ; hence the name of " free-lance," which was 
 given, without distinction, to those restless -spirits. 
 Besides their pay, which was always considerable, 
 
GHYS15RECHT, THE EUEE-LANCE. 43 
 
 there was with them another consideration, namely, 
 plunder; which they seldom failed to get, even 
 though the party they had joined should have been 
 worsted in the fight ; for being mounted on fleet 
 horses, they always defied pursuit. 
 
 Amongst those who had distinguished them- 
 selves in the late contests, was one Ghysbrecht, 
 captain of a band of free-lances, who had done 
 good service in the pay of Stephen, during his 
 struggle for the sovereignty. He and his band 
 had been well paid for their assistance ; but calcu- 
 lating on the possibility of a renewal of hostilities, 
 he still lingered in England, and in the month of 
 October, a. d. 1154, he and his fellows had taken 
 up their abode at a hostelry in the city of Lincoln, 
 which was then a place of considerable strength. 
 
 One fine evening, towards the latter end of Octo- 
 ber, two soldiers were observed under the walls of 
 the cathedral, from which they had an extensive 
 view of the country around. Their dress, and 
 their arms, which they carried with them, shewed 
 that they belonged to Ghysbrecht's band. They 
 were engaged in earnest conversation as they walked 
 to and fro. 
 
 " Wf|l, Bernhard," said he who appeared to be 
 the younger of the two, " think ye this Henry, 
 
44 GHYSBUECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 
 
 when he succeeds to the crown, will order us home 
 again ?" 
 
 " I know not," was the other's reply ; " but he 
 is said to entertain no good will towards us for 
 having helped his rival to the seat which by good 
 right belongs to him." 
 
 " Whist, man ! — the walls of this cathedral 
 have ears. What if some of the sleek monks with- 
 in should hear thy words and report them to the 
 king ? Thy head would fly from thy shoulders in 
 the turning of a die." 
 
 " Tut, I fear it not : King Stephen knows I 
 have helped him in the hour of need. See'st thou 
 that broad tree in yon meadow to the right ?" 
 
 "Ay, — what of it?" 
 
 " I'll tell thee. Where that tree flings its sha- 
 dow, King Stephen, in the late battle, stood it 
 manfully against a host of his enemies, even though 
 his men had fled from him. Earl Ranalph ad- 
 vanced upon him, and bore the king to the ground ; 
 but at the same moment I cast the earl out of his 
 saddle with my lance, and should have made him 
 prisoner had not his fellows rescued him. The 
 king then gave me that goodly chain which I lost 
 at play with Caspar Hendricksen." 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the younger soldier, 
 
GHVSBRECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 45 
 
 " by my halidame, thou hast set a proper value on 
 a king's bounty ! Why, there was enough to keep 
 thee at home all thy life, without ever setting foot 
 in the stirrup again." 
 
 "At home,' 1 replied the other with a sneer, 
 " thimVst thou I can live at home when broad 
 pieces can be won so easily ? The free-lance has 
 no home. May the fiend rive me if I hold the 
 plough while I can grasp a lance or rein a good 
 steed." 
 
 " Well, chafe it not, man ; I meant not to offend 
 thee. See, who rides so fast up yonder road ?" 
 
 As he spoke, a horseman was descried at some 
 distance, advancing towards the city at a rapid 
 pace. The rider bore a long lance, wore a jacket of 
 linked mail, and a basenct, and rode a strong bony 
 horse, which seemed much jaded. The two wor- 
 thies continued their colloquy. 
 
 " Who owns yonder castle ?" inquired Bern- 
 hard, pointing to a strongly embattled building, 
 on which the sun, fast sinking towards the horizon, 
 threw its departing rays. 
 
 " Dost thou not know?" answered his compa- 
 nion; " 'tis Sir Ralph Brabazon's, an old knight, 
 who promised our captain his fair daughter in re- 
 ward for having saved his life in a skirmish with 
 
46 GHYSBItECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 
 
 the earl's men some short time since. But see, 
 yonder horseman approaches. By this light, 'tis 
 Conrade Braquemart ! — what the fiend makes him 
 ride so fast ?" 
 
 The object which had occasioned this remark 
 arrived at the city gates, and on being admitted, 
 rode hastily up the street. In a few moments, a 
 trumpet sounded from below, which startled the 
 two soldiers, and interrupted their conversation. 
 
 "Ha!" cried Karl, the younger one, "that's 
 our trumpet ! what means this sudden summons, 
 it bodes no good, methinks." 
 
 " Peace," muttered Bernhard sullenly, " let us 
 go at once, or we shall be welcomed with a few of 
 Ghysbrechfs round oaths. Sathan himself cannot 
 curse more heartily, — come to the hostelry . ,1 
 
 They immediately left the spot and repaired to 
 the hostelry, where their leader and the rest of his 
 followers were assembled in council. The arrival 
 of Conrade Braquemart had caused a great ferment 
 amongst them ; from him they learnt that Stephen 
 had paid that debt which even kings must dis- 
 charge, and had bequeathed the crown to Henry, 
 who had been proclaimed king, and had issued 
 orders for the disbanding of all the foreign troops 
 throughout the kingdom. This intelligence was 
 
GHYSBRECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 47 
 
 by no means pleasing to the ears of these despe- 
 radoes. 
 
 " 'Twould be witless to resist this mandate,'''' 
 said Ghysbreeht to his followers, who were assem- 
 bled round him, " for 'tis well known we are not 
 liked by these raw-boned Islanders; we must pro- 
 ceed to the coast at once." As he spoke, his 
 eye glanced hastily round the room. " How is 
 this ?" cried he, " where are those two louts, Karl 
 and Bernhard ?" They entered at that moment, 
 and approached the table where their leader was 
 sitting. His inflamed eyes and unsteady hand 
 plainly told that he had drank deeply of the liquor 
 before him. 
 
 " How now," he cried, or rather roared out, 
 " where the fiend have ye been loitering ? Look 
 to my horse instantly, and see that it have but a 
 spare measure of eorn and no water; we must 
 ride hard to-night — do you hear? Get ye hence, 
 knaves, and look to your beasts. You, Karl, 
 remain here, I have something for your ear alone." 
 
 Ghysbrecht's followers immediately repaired to 
 the stables, for the purpose of getting their horses 
 in readiness, wondering what could be the occa- 
 sion of his giving such peremptory orders, which 
 greatly perplexed them. 
 
48 GHYSBRECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 
 
 Ere twilight had spread its veil over the city, 
 the Free-lance and his band quitted the hostelry, 
 and passing through one of the gates, soon reached 
 the high road, along which they proceeded at a 
 rapid rate. 
 
 Leaving Ghysbrecht and his companions on 
 their way, we must proceed to describe the castel- 
 lated building referred to by Bernhard. It was a 
 massive structure of Saxon origin, with circular 
 towers of a great height at each angle. Its walls 
 were immensely thick, and the whole building was 
 in those days justly considered impregnable. At 
 this time it was held by an old knight, named Sir 
 Ralph Brabazon, who had in the late contest ren- 
 dered Stephen great assistance. Declining an offer 
 from that monarch of a place near the throne, 
 he had retired to his castle to enjoy, undisturbed, 
 the society of his lovely daughter, whose perso- 
 nal and mental charms were the theme of all 
 the neighbouring youths. It should be mentioned 
 that in a battle between Stephen and his rival near 
 Lincoln, the old knight was unhorsed by a spear- 
 man, who Mould have have slain him, had not 
 Ghysbrecht arrived in time to strike down the sol- 
 dier with his mace. In a transport of gratitude for 
 this timely service, Sir Ralph grasped the hand of 
 
GHYSBRECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 49 
 
 the free-lance, and swore to repay him with the hand 
 of his only child. As Ghysbrecht was at the time 
 clad in a rich suit of mail, and unknown to him, 
 Sir Ralph doubted not but that lie had made this 
 promise to no other than a belted knight ; but 
 ho.w great was his vexation and sorrow, on hearing 
 shortly after that his word was pledged to a daring 
 mercenary, whose services were at the disposal of 
 the highest bidder. 
 
 On Prince Henry's relinquishing for a time his 
 claim to the crown, upon the conditions before 
 stated, hostilities ceased, and the old knight hastened 
 to his castle, hoping that Ghysbrecht might quit 
 the country without pressing his claim. The free- 
 lance and his band, shortly after the battle near 
 Lincoln, removed to a distant part of England, 
 which in some degree allayed the old knight's fears ; 
 blit not long after he was both perplexed and 
 alarmed on hearing that Ghysbrecht and his fierce 
 companions were again sojourning in that city. 
 Though it grieved him to reflect that in refusing 
 the demand of the free-lance, he should be breaking 
 his knightly word, yet the prospect of his only 
 child becoming the wife of such a man, banished 
 his scruples, and he determined to seek some noble 
 youth whom he might think worthy of such a 
 
 1: 
 
50 GHYSBRECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 
 
 lovely partner. This was a task of no difficulty, 
 for the wealth and beauty of the Lady Beatrice 
 had already procured her many admirers. Sir 
 Mathew w r as not long in finding one, whose noble 
 birth, gallant bearing, and comely person, led the 
 knight to suppose that his daughter could not be 
 averse to the match. His fondest hopes were rea- 
 lized. Sir Aubrey De la Zouch was introduced to 
 the lovely Beatrice ; and ere many weeks had 
 passed, the lovers were daily seen on the ramparts 
 of the castle, enjoying the cool evening breeze, and 
 indulging in those fond endearments which those 
 of riper years may smile at, but which true lovers 
 alone can fully appreciate. The old knight was 
 rejoiced at the success of his plan ; it was settled 
 that the marriage should take place without delay, 
 and Sir Aubrey departed for his own castle to make 
 preparation for the approaching ceremony. 
 
 The evening on which Ghysbrecht and his band 
 had left Lincoln was fast drawing in, when the 
 Lady Beatrice sat in her chamber, attended by her 
 favourite waiting-maid, who was completing her 
 bridal dress. Sir Aubrey was hourly expected. 
 But few of the old knight's men were at the castle, 
 several of them having attended the young Sir 
 Aubrey for the purpose of assisting in the removal 
 
GHYSBRKCHT, THE FREE-LANCE. ->1 
 
 of many necessaries for the wedding to Sir Ralph's 
 castle ; for in those days good cheer was not for- 
 gotten upon such occasions. There were, at this 
 time, only five or six servants remaining at the cas- 
 tle, who were busily engaged in making prepara- 
 tions for the morrow. Beatrice looked eagerly over 
 the country, intently watching every part of the 
 road which was not obscured by tall trees and 
 hedges, for the approach of her lover, Sir Aubrey, 
 at times directing her attention to the cathedral of 
 Lincoln in the distance, which reared its tall white 
 spires majestically above the city, now shewn in 
 line relief by the dark and heavily charged clouds 
 which lowered behind it. The maiden looked in 
 vain for the glittering train of her lover ; for no 
 figures were seen, except that of a rustic returning 
 from his labour, or a solitary strolling spearman 
 sauntering along the road. There was a stillness 
 unbroken by any sound, save the cawing of the 
 rooks and daws as they winged their hasty flight 
 to the forest, warning the traveller to seek shelter 
 from the coming storm. The reigning silence which 
 pervaded the evening, well accorded with the spirits 
 of the anxious maiden : — it Avas a feeling: which 
 those who have loved can well remember, a languor 
 which, though it oppresses the heart, we are unwil- 
 
O'J GHYS.BItECHT, THE FltEE-LANCE. 
 
 ling to dismiss. Beatrice heeded not the gabble of 
 her maid Maud, who, with a freedom from time 
 immemorial allowed to such persons, ran on in a 
 strain of raillery, which might, in a moment of less 
 anxiety, have revived the drooping spirits of her 
 mistress, who gazed intently on the murky clouds, 
 whose edges, catching the last rays of the setting 
 sun, assumed that deep brassy hue which generally 
 portends a thunder-storm. At length their dark 
 masses began to be illumined by an occasional flash, 
 or a quivering stream of light, which, shooting up- 
 wards, played in fantastic lines across the heavens, 
 and as they died away, the deep prolonged rumble 
 of the thunder told that the storm was commencing. 
 The Lady Beatrice would have viewed this war- 
 ring of the elements with unconcern, had it not been 
 for the frequent exclamations of Maud, who, as 
 every succeeding flash quivered on the floor of the 
 chamber, screamed with terror, and besought her 
 mistress to descend into the hall. Maud was a 
 plump, round, rosy-cheeked lass, a coquette in the 
 sphere in which she moved, and had caused much 
 bickering between Sir Ralph's park-keeper and 
 the falconer, who had both been smitten with her 
 charms. Yielding to the intreaties of her maid, 
 Beatrice quitted her chamber, and repaired to the 
 
GHYSBRECHT, THE FUSE-LANCE. 53 
 
 hall, where her father, the old knight, sat playing 
 with a valued hawk, which was perched on his fist, 
 and talking to his falconer about a new hood for 
 his favourite bird, which, by the glance of its quick 
 bright eye, seemed almost conscious of the intended 
 arrangement. Beatrice drew near her father, who 
 observed her agitation with a smile. 
 
 " Ay, ay," said he, " I'll warrant thou hast been 
 looking for Sir Aubrey, and art chafed because he 
 has not arrived ; but do not vex thyself, he will 
 doubtless be here anon : no doubt the storm has 
 obliged him to seek shelter on the road. Will, 
 pr'ythee bring lights." A servant left the hall, and 
 Sir Ralph continued — " Come hither, my child, and 
 seat thyself by my side : how pale thou look'st !" 
 
 At this moment the horn windows of the hall 
 were illumined with a vivid flash of lightning, which 
 rendered every object in the apartment visible. 
 The several pieces of armour which hung against 
 the walls threw back the strong glare of light, and 
 a peal of thunder burst over the castle, which shook 
 to the foundation. Beatrice clung to her father in 
 speechless terror, while the red cheeks of Maud, 
 who stood near, assumed an ashy paleness. She 
 ' kept crossing herself, and ejaculating prayers to 
 the Virgin, while the two waiting men attempted, 
 
54 GHYSBltECHT, THE l'REE-LANCE. 
 
 by smiling at her fears, to conceal their own ; but 
 it was easy to perceive, by their bewildered looks, 
 that they partook of the general alarm, which ex- 
 tended even to the large mastiff that lay at the feet 
 of the old knight, and whined piteously. Torches 
 were brought, and fixed in the iron staples against 
 the wall ; but they only served to shew the contrast 
 of their own faint light with the vivid glare of the 
 lightning, which still continued to illumine the hall, 
 while loud peals of thunder burst in quick succes- 
 sion over the castle. On a sudden, between one of 
 the pauses of the storm, the shrill sound of a horn 
 was heard without. 
 
 " Ha," cried the old knight, " here is Sir Aubrey 
 at last ! Run, knaves, open gate and lower draw- 
 bridge ! Quick, ye varlets !" 
 
 The servants left the hall, and a smile lit up the 
 pale countenance of the Lady Beatrice, whose joy 
 at the supposed return of her lover made her forget 
 the storm which still continued to rage with un- 
 abated fury. At length, the heavy tramp of feet 
 was heard without. Beatrice rose, and, prepared 
 with a few words of gentle reproof for his absence, 
 flew to the door, expecting to be clasped in the 
 arms of her lover ; but she recoiled on perceiving 
 the tall herculean figure of a man who entered at 
 
GHYSBRECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 55 
 
 the moment. With some difficulty she staggered 
 to a seat, almost overpowered with mingled disap- 
 pointment and alarm. 
 
 He who entered was clad in a complete suit of 
 mail, over which he wore an acton of tough leather, 
 on which was emblazoned a red griffin. He bore 
 in his hand a long lance, and wore a sword and dag- 
 ger. One glance sufficed to shew the old knight 
 that Ghysbrecht, the free-lance, stood before him. 
 With an effort to subdue his emotion, he asked 
 what had done him the honour of a visit, at the 
 same time handing a seat to the unwelcome guest. 
 
 "That ye shall know quickly," replied the free- 
 lance, seating himself; " but, first, let your knaves 
 wipe the rain from my harness, for the wet will 
 rust it." 
 
 This request was complied with, and Ghys- 
 brecht, bending a scrutinizing glance on Beatrice, 
 continued — 
 
 " So, this is the fair lady, your daughter, who 
 is to reward me for having knocked your enemy's 
 basnet over his eyes in the ruffle near Lincoln ? 
 By my Halidame and St. Anthony to boot, 'tis a 
 rich guerdon ! What say ye, fair lady, will ye 
 become the bride of a free-lance ?" 
 
 Here he addressed a coarse remark to the terri- 
 
56 GHYSBRECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 
 
 fied lady. The withered cheek of Sir Ralph red- 
 dened with rage, which he could ill conceal. 
 
 " Sir," said he sharply, " this is not fitting lan- 
 guage for a maiden's ear, pr'ythee cease, and — " 
 
 " Ha I" cried Ghysbrecht, in a fierce tone, " is it 
 so, Sir Knight ? is she not mine ? did'st thou not 
 pledge thy word, ay, thy oath, that she should be 
 my bride ? Look that ye attempt not to deceive 
 me, or woe to thy grey head ?" 
 
 The old knight dreaded the worst consequences 
 in this visit ; Ghysbrecht's words almost deprived 
 him of the power of utterance, and he groaned 
 bitterly. 
 
 " Ay, groan on, 11 continued the free-lance, " while 
 I shall read thy treachery to thee. Know, then, 
 that I am come to claim my bride, of whom thou 
 would'st rob me. I am acquainted with thy base 
 treachery, and will maintain my right to the death !" 
 
 These words struck to the heart of the old knight, 
 who wrung his hands and remained silent. The 
 mercenary observed his anguish with a grin. 
 
 " Come,"" said he to Beatrice, " come, fair lady, 
 you must away with me." Then raising his voice, 
 he cried, " What ho ! Conrade, Bernhard, Karl, 
 where loiter ye, knaves?" 
 
 They entered at this summons, followed by 
 
GHYSBRECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 57 
 
 several of their comrades. Ghysbrccht approached 
 his victim, when the old knight, starting up, threw 
 himself at the feet of the free-lance. 
 
 " Oh, slay me here," cried he, " lay my grey 
 hairs in the dust, but spare my child ; take not the 
 prop of my old age, the solace of my lonely widow- 
 hood from me; forego your claim and half my 
 wealth is yours." 1 
 
 " Ay," replied the free-lance, " half thy broad 
 lands, which thou knowest I cannot inherit. Know, 
 Sir Knight, that I must bid you and your country- 
 men farewell " 
 
 " But hear me H cried Sir Ralph, imploringly; 
 " I ne'er till now knelt to mortal man, save to his 
 Grace. On my knees I implore thee to take pity !™ 
 
 " Peace, old man,' 1 '' replied the free-lance, coolly ; 
 "thy daughter is mine were she twenty times thy 
 child ; rise, therefore, and disgrace not thy knight- 
 hood, for bv heaven and all its saints I will not 
 part with her but with my life !" 
 
 " For our Lady's sake, take pity I 11 cried the old 
 knight ; " you are a soldier, and have behaved man- 
 fully in many a gallant encounter. You would 
 not rob an old man of his only child?" 
 
 " Sir Ralph, 11 calmly replied the free-lance, " I 
 came prepared to meet such humble words, for I 
 
58 GHYSBRECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 
 
 well knew your knaves were absent, else should I 
 have met with taunts and reproaches : but you are 
 in my power ; your daughter is mine, and I would 
 not lose my reward for a prince's ransom." 
 
 The old knight sighed deeply as he thought on 
 his utter incapability of resisting the free-lance 
 and his band. He knew he was in Ghysbrecht's 
 power, and, in the fury of despair, he started on 
 his feet, drew his dagger, and struck at the breast 
 of the free-lance with all his force; but the latter, 
 without any apparent exertion, caught in his iron 
 grasp the wrist of his adversary as the blow de- 
 scended, and wresting the dagger from him, threw 
 it to the other end of the hall. 
 
 " By the rood [" he exclaimed, " I would requite 
 your courtesy, Sir Knight, with a stroke of my 
 basilard, but it would not be fitting to receive my 
 bride with a red hand.'' 1 
 
 Sir Ralph struggled to free himself from the 
 grasp of the free-lance, when the large mastiff sud- 
 denly sprung vip and siezed Ghysbrecht by the 
 throat. The bite would have been mortal, had it 
 not been for a gorget of linked mail which he wore. 
 With some difficulty he shook off the faithful ani- 
 mal, which was instantly despatched by his com- 
 panions. 
 
GHY8RBECHT, THE FBEE-&AN1 1 C. 59 
 
 " Bind the old dotard and his knaves, and follow 
 me !" cried Ghysbrecht, who threw his mailed arm 
 round the waist of the fainting Beatrice, and bore 
 her out of the hall. His companions quickly se- 
 cured Sir Ralph and his men, by binding them back 
 to back, and were preparing to follow their leader, 
 when Conrade Braquemart espying Maud, who 
 stood in one corner of the hall almost petrified with 
 terror, cried — " So, comrades, here is my prize ; by 
 my beard, we shall have a merry night on't ! Come, 
 wench, thou shalt ride with me. 11 
 
 As he spoke, he raised Maud in his arms, and 
 hurried to the court-yard, where his comrades had 
 already assembled with their leader, who was lifting 
 the almost lifeless body of the Lady Beatrice on 
 his own horse. Conrade, spite of her screams 
 placed Maud before him, when the whole troop 
 pushed over the drawbridge, and soon left the cas- 
 tle far behind them. 
 
 The storm still raged, the thunder rolled, the 
 rain poured in torrents, and the lightning, as it de- 
 scended, rolled along the ground like waves of fire. 
 Such a night would have calmed the evil workings 
 of ordinary minds ; but to Ghysbrecht and his 
 band, with the exception of one, it had no terrors. 
 The lightning, attracted by their armour, formed 
 
60 GHYSBRECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 
 
 a halo round the helmets of the troop, who, nothing 
 daunted at a circumstance they were accustomed 
 to, cracked their impious jokes between the pauses 
 of the storm, as freely as if they had been quietly 
 seated in a hostelry. There was one, however, who 
 could not think of the night's adventure, and its 
 probable termination, without shuddering : this 
 was Karl, the youngest of the band, who, for hav- 
 ing saved the life of Ghysbrecht in some battle, 
 had obtained that desperado's confidence — he, alone, 
 saw the iniquity of their proceeding. The two fe- 
 males,' roused by the loud peals of thunder to a 
 state of consciousness, entreated for mercy ; but 
 were only laughed at by the savage band, who still 
 proceeded at a furious pace. 
 
 Ghysbrecht rode in advance of his troop, and 
 frequently called to his companions at the top of 
 his voice to increase their speed ; but the horse he 
 rode was superior in strength and swiftness to any 
 of their's. Vexed at what he considered to be their 
 tardiness, he fiercely rebuked them, adding a volley 
 of oaths too frightful to be recorded. Almost at 
 the same instant, a thunder-bolt fell near, and strik- 
 ing a large tree, hurled it withered and blasted 
 across the road. With some difficulty they sur- 
 mounted this impediment, and proceeded on their 
 
GHYSBBECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. (Jl 
 
 way. Karl, who rode by the side of Braquemart, 
 endeavoured to persuade the ruffian to leave the 
 girl at the next village, but Conrade replied only 
 with a laugh. He again urged him to abandon 
 his intention, when the ruffian answered fiercely, 
 "Think ye that I am to lose so fair a prize, be- 
 cause the thunder rolls a little louder than it is wont, 
 and the lightning flashes quicker and stronger than 
 usual ? No, no, Karl, keep thy sermon for fools 
 and doddy pates !" 
 
 A peal of thunder drowned the remainder of the 
 ruffian's speech, and a vivid flash of lightning glared 
 over the country; by its light the rough uneven 
 road was shewn, and at a little distance a small 
 cross of free-stone was perceived. 
 
 " Yonder is St. Anne's Cross," said Karl; " leave 
 the girl here ; there is an abbey not more than an 
 arrow's flight from the spot, where she may get 
 shelter for the night." 
 
 "Peace, ninny !" roared Braquemart, " the wench 
 is mine ; if thou troublest me much longer, I may 
 make " 
 
 Here he was again interrupted by a bright flash, 
 which, descending in the midst of the band, followed 
 by a tremendous peal of thunder, brought Ghys- 
 brecht, his horse, and the Lady Beatrice, violently 
 
62 GHYSBKECNT, THE FREE-LANCE. 
 
 to the ground. The troop, perceiving what had 
 happened to their leader and his prize, instantly 
 halted, and several of the band dismounted. " Our 
 leader is dead !" exclaimed one of them, as he lifted 
 up the lifeless body of Ghysbrecht, which, scorched 
 and horribly disfigured, presented an appalling spec- 
 tacle. His helmet had been melted by the intense 
 heat of the electric fluid, and the metal had run in 
 streams down his shoulders ; his beard and thick 
 moustaches were singed, and not a single feature of 
 his face was distinguishable. Even some of the 
 free-lances, daring and hardened as they were, shud- 
 dered with horror on beholding the disfigured and 
 blackened corpse of him who had so often led them 
 to battle and conquest. They turned to the Lady 
 Beatrice, who appeared to have shared the same 
 fate ; but on lifting her from the ground, they dis- 
 covered that she had received no external injury. 
 
 On a sudden, lights were seen advancing, and 
 voices were distinctly heard ; for the storm, as is 
 often the case, after venting its fury in one depart- 
 ing peal, gradually hushed, while the lights still 
 continued to advance rapidly. In a few moments 
 a party of armed men were observed approaching, 
 preceded by four, who rode in advance and carried 
 torches. The free-lances were not men to flv ; 
 
GHYSBKECHT, THE FIIEE-I.AWK. 63 
 
 indeed, escape was impossible. They were in- 
 stantly in their saddles, and awaited with couched 
 lances the approach of the party. Karl endea- 
 voured to restore the Lady Beatrice ; but finding 
 his attempt proved fruitless, yet unwilling to leave 
 her in danger of being trodden under the horses 1 
 feet during the anticipated skirmish, he bore her 
 to a bank by the road-side and left her in the care 
 of Maud, who with the help of some water, which 
 she procured from a small spring which run near 
 the stone cross before-mentioned, succeeded in re- 
 storing her mistress. 
 
 At this moment the party in pursuit came up ; 
 they halted about twenty yards off, and Sir Au- 
 brey advancing, demanded the surrender of the 
 Lady Beatrice. Well knowing that they could 
 not trust to the knight's clemency, the free-lances 
 replied with a torrent of abuse. Sir Aubrey, per- 
 ceiving that it was of no use to parley with such 
 ruffians, rode back, and putting himself at the 
 head of his party, advanced with the fury of a 
 whirlwind upon them. The old knight had, spite 
 of Sir Aubrey's entreaties, accompanied the party 
 in pursuit of Ghysbrecht and his band. 
 
 The mercenaries, on perceiving that their pur- 
 suers were resolute, determined to meet them with 
 
64 
 
 GHYSBRECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 
 
 that obstinacy which a hopeless case like theirs 
 generally inspires. 
 
 " Now," cried Braquemart, " a firm hand, a well 
 girted saddle, and another fling at these whoreson 
 Islanders, ere we part!" 
 
 "Peace," interrupted Bernhard, (who, perceiv- 
 ing their pursuer's form, had ordered his compa- 
 nions to set forward when he should give the word,) 
 " here will be bloody Avork of it anon. Ah ! by 
 heaven, they come ! Now, if ye be true men, flinch 
 not ; set on ! — upon 'em — charge !" 
 
 In an instant the two parties closed, at about 
 midway, with a dreadful shock : nearly a score of 
 lances were shivered to pieces, and more than half 
 that number of saddles were emptied ; while those 
 who were less fortunate than their fellows lay 
 sprawling in their gore, the shouts of those above 
 them engaged in the deadly conflict seemed more 
 like the yells of demons than of mortal men. " A 
 Brabazon ! De la Zouch to the Rescue !" shouted 
 one party ; while the other answered with loud 
 cries of " Down with the dull Islanders ! — One 
 blow for the free companions ! — Strike for the 
 Red Griffin!" 
 
 Twelve of the free-lances, in a short time, lay 
 on the ground horribly mutilated, while sixteen of 
 
OHYSBRECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. C5 
 
 the knight's men were either killed or disabled. In 
 one place might be seen two, who, unhorsed, were 
 engaged in a deadly struggle, dealing blows with 
 their daggers in the blind fury of bitter enmity ; 
 while in another lay a mangled wretch, unable to 
 crawl out of the melee, trampled on by the horses, 
 and imploring his comrade to end his agony by a 
 friendly thrust. Horses snorted, men yelled and 
 swore, and swords and maces clashed on the armour 
 of the combatants, wjjo fought with all the fury 
 that revenge and hatred could inspire. Sir Aubrey 
 laid about him with a desperate valour ; two of his 
 adversaries had already fallen beneath his power- 
 ful strokes, when Bernhard spurred against him. 
 The athletic free-lance showered his blows upon 
 the knight, and though many were parried, nought 
 but his helmet and hauberk of proof could have 
 saved him. Sir Aubrey, with his mace, returned 
 the blows of his adversary with such effect, that 
 Bernhardt sword was shivered to pieces ; but ere 
 the knight could strike him down, the free-lance 
 closed and grasped him tightly by the throat. Sir 
 Aubrey dropped his mace, and a desperate strug- 
 gle ensued, which was maintained for a few mo- 
 ments, when the knight, disengaging his right 
 
 F 
 
66 GHYSBRECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 
 
 hand, quickly drew his misericorde,* and struck 
 his adversary on the face with all his force. The 
 blade glanced from the hard forehead of the free- 
 lance, who struggled hard to force the knight from 
 his horse ; but it was a vain effort ; Sir Aubrey 
 held him tightly with his left hand, and dealt his 
 adversary several successive strokes, till Bernhard\s 
 hands relaxed their grasp ; a convulsive tremor 
 shook his whole frame, and, with a half muttered 
 curse upon his destroyer, he dropped lifeless from 
 his horse. Quickly wheeling round, Sir Aubrey 
 beheld the old knight stoutly contending against 
 two of the free-companions, who had slain his 
 horse. In an instant one of the assailants was 
 stretched lifeless on the ground ; he then engaged 
 the second, but in the rush which took place at the 
 same moment they were parted. Sir Aubrey as- 
 tisted the old knight to remount, and then heading 
 his men, rushed again upon the free-companions. 
 The charge was decisive ; unable to contend any 
 longer against such a superiority of numbers, they 
 broke ground, and fled precipitately. 
 
 * The ' Misericorde,' or, as it was sometimes called, the 
 ' Mercy of God,' was a strong dagger worn by the armed 
 knights of that period, and in after ages. 
 
GHYSBRECHT, THK FREE-LANCE. 67 
 
 Conrade Braqucmart, though generally the fore- 
 most in the fray, was in this instance the first to 
 set the example of flight ; this ruffian, seeing all 
 was lost, had fallen back, unperceived by his com- 
 panions, as far as the fountain, whence Maud and 
 her terrified mistress had watched the furious con- 
 flict by the light of the few remaining torches, 
 which scarcely served to distinguish friend from 
 enemy. Conrade spurred up to the fountain, and 
 dismounting, spite of her struggling and scream- 
 ing, placed Maud on his horse's back, then quickly 
 remounting, he rode furiously along the road. At 
 the same moment his companions fled, but being 
 without incumbrance they soon passed Conrade, 
 and left him far behind them. He, of course, was 
 the first overtaken by the knight's party. The 
 park-keeper and falconer both perceived his flight 
 with Maud, and eager to prove their devotion and 
 readiness to serve her, pursued the ruffian with 
 couched lances. But the park-keeper's horse soon 
 outstripped that of the falconer : he came up with 
 the ruffian, and heedless of the consequences, level- 
 led his lance at Conrade. The weapon, piercing 
 his tough jack, passed through Ins body, and cast 
 him and Maud to the ground. With a groan of 
 
68 GHYSBItECHT, THE FREE-LANCE. 
 
 agony the soul of Conrade took its flight, Avhile 
 Maud was raised from the ground (unhurt, save a 
 few bruises) by her lover, who bore her in safety 
 back to the spot where her mistress was already in 
 the arms of Sir Aubrey. 
 
 Need the sequel be added ? — The next day's sun 
 smiled on the union of the knight and the fair Lady 
 Beatrice ; and ere the week was out, the buxom 
 Maud became the wife of the happy park-keeper. 
 Whether the less fortunate falconer stabbed or 
 hung himself in despair, or sought a watery grave, 
 is not recorded ; and, indeed, were we in posses- 
 sion of the facts, we should question the propriety 
 of dwelling on a subject which would tear the ban- 
 dage from the healing wounds of those who have 
 experienced the tortures of hopeless love. 
 
1>. 69. 
 
Cfje fflbvtt &uftor& 
 
 With holy joy upon his face, 
 The good old father smil'd, 
 
 While fondly in his withered arms 
 He clasp'd again his child. 
 
 The days were, when " Finsburie Fields," instead 
 of the eternity of bricks and mortar which now 
 pollutes their site ; instead of the uncatholic piece of 
 Catholicism which modern taste has substituted for 
 the architecture of a York minster and a West- 
 minster Abbey ; instead of mathematical circuses 
 and squares, with houses built by logarithms and 
 gardens arrayed at right angles, — presented to the 
 view the delightful irregularity of nature, where 
 the substantial citizens with their buxom daugh- 
 ters and wrinkled dames would retire after the fa- 
 tigue of business to imbibe the free air and enjoy the 
 manly sports which they then afforded. Amongst 
 the most frequent and attractive exercises of the 
 
70 THE THREE SUITORS. 
 
 period in which we now lay our Tale, was that 
 practised by the far-famed London Bowmen, and 
 we presume, that few of our readers have not heard 
 of their exploits, so frequently recorded in the tales 
 of that time, and sung in their rude though quaint 
 ballads. On those days the tailor left his doublet 
 unfinished, thereby disappointing the young gal- 
 lant who ordered it to surprise his mistress with 
 its splendour ; the smith flung aside his heavy ham- 
 mer, and doffing his coarse apron betook himself to 
 the scene of action, and the 'prentice taking his 
 bat from its accustomed nook, spite of his master, 
 trudged off to witness the sports. Then was the 
 far-famed Grub-street known by another name, and 
 inhabited by Bowyers and Fletchers, and the strong 
 walls which girted the city still continued to be 
 repaired ; and ofttimes, as we read, the good citi- 
 zens, ere they quitted this sublunary world, forgot 
 not to bequeath large sums towards the repairing 
 and beautifying of its gates and towers. But long 
 since have these famed displays of archery ceased, 
 long since has the cloth-yard shaft, once so terrible 
 to our enemies abroad, ceased to whistle o'er the 
 fields of Finsbury. Upwards of two centuries have 
 passed away, since the twang of the archer's bow 
 was heard on that spot. The harquebuze, the 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 7^ 
 
 caliver, and the haquebut, all names for the vari- 
 ous kinds of hand-guns, took precedence of the 
 long bow, and Elizabeth and her successors tried 
 in vain to revive those sports, which, while they 
 served as a holiday, at the same time perfected the 
 youth of the city in the use of that then tremendous 
 weapon. But although the long bow was laid aside 
 by some when fire-arms were introduced, still it 
 was by many preferred to the harquebuze, which 
 was for some time after a clumsy and unwieldy 
 engine. 
 
 In the beginning of the reign of Elizabeth, on 
 a fine summer's evening, the youth of the wards 
 "Vintrie ,, and " Breade Streete 1 ' were met in 
 Finsbury fields, to decide a match at shooting in 
 thelong bow. Such a concourse of people had not 
 assembled for some time before this ; the greater 
 part of the inhabitants of the before-named wards 
 had flocked to witness this match ; the Chepe was 
 almost deserted, and hundreds of the more wealthy 
 citizens poured out from Moorgate, with their 
 wives and daughters. 
 
 Temporary booths and tents were erected on the 
 spot, and notices were chalked on the outside, sta- 
 ting that wine, ale, and sack were sold within, 'to 
 tempt those who were weary of the sport. In these 
 
72 THE THREE SUITORS. 
 
 places rude ballads were heard, chaunted by sten- 
 torian voices, mingled with jest and oath, and the 
 rattle of the dice box. Seats were let to those 
 who could afford to pay for them, and for which the 
 projectors of these accommodations took good care 
 to exact a fair price. All classes were mingled 
 together; the gallant, with his embroidered doublet 
 and gaily trimmed mustachios, stood by the gravely 
 clad and spade-bearded citizen, who in his turn 
 was pushed and jostled by the lately washed arti- 
 ficer ; all seemed to forget their degree while 
 looking on, though, sometimes, here and there 
 mutterings were heard and fierce words were ex- 
 changed, when one would by accident tread on the 
 toes of his neighbour, or rumple the pleat of his 
 starched ruff". But these were not sufficient to 
 break the general harmony, or abstract the atten- 
 tion of the spectators from the sports. If, how- 
 ever, there were some who paid them but little 
 attention, it was the fair forms and bright eyes of 
 the city damsels who were to blame; for though 
 many of the competitor's shafts were delivered 
 wide of the mark, Cupid's never failed. Amongst 
 the spectator's, near one of the booths we have 
 spoken of, stood a citizen somewhat advanced in 
 years, clad in a doublet of black velvet, with hose 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. ^3 
 
 of the same colour; on his arm hung his daughter, 
 his only child, and when we say that a crowd of 
 gallants stood near, it will be needless to add that 
 she was beautiful ; few indeed could boast of such 
 charms, the envy of the city dames, and the ido- 
 latry of all the gay and youthful gallants from 
 Paul's to Aldgate. She stood shrinking from 
 the gaze of those around her, and blushing at the 
 amorous glances of both old and young, while her 
 father peered through his spectacles, over the 
 heads of the spectators, at the archers who had 
 commenced shooting. Amongst those who eyed 
 the damsel, was a tall gallant looking personage, 
 clad in a rich silk doublet, with peach coloured 
 stockings, and large rosets in his shoes, with a 
 hat of Spanish felt, in which was stuck a cock's 
 feather. An embroidered belt sustained on the 
 one side a small dagger, and on the other a silver 
 hilted toledo of unusual length. For a long time 
 he stood gazing on the damsel without speaking, 
 but growing bolder on seeing her father's attention 
 engaged, he advanced nearer and attempted to 
 take her hand. 
 
 " Fair excellence !" said he, in an affected tone, 
 " even as the sun outshineth the lesser planets, so 
 doth thy beauty eclipse that of all other maidens." 
 
74 THE THUEE SUITORS. 
 
 On hearing this, the old man turned hastily 
 round. 
 
 " Sir gallant," said he, " there are others who 
 would be more desirous of thy company, pr'ythee 
 get thee gone." 
 
 u Under your favour, old Sir," replied the gal- 
 lant, " I would have some converse with this fair 
 creature ; beshrew me, 'tis a pity she should have 
 so old an arm to hang on." 
 
 " Sirrah," cried the old man, as his pale and 
 withered cheek flushed with passion, " get thee 
 gone, or by heaven, though my arm be feeble, 111 
 spoil thy doublet." 
 
 As he said this he laid his hand on his dagger, 
 but the gallant laughed, and replied — 
 
 " By this light, the warm blood has not left thee 
 yet ; but huff it not man, I meant not to offend 
 thee." 
 
 " Then get thee gone, sir." 
 
 " Nay, wilt thou not permit thy fair charge to 
 take the arm of her devoted slave ?" As the gal- 
 lant said this, he took the hand of the damsel, 
 when her father unable to subdue his passion, drew 
 his dagger." 
 
 " Begone," cried he, " begone thou whoreson 
 sot ! By this good light I would stab thee to 
 
TUB THREE SUITORS. 7^ 
 
 the earth, but I wish not to spill the blood of such 
 a Borachio. I see thou hast not long parted with 
 the wine cup." 
 
 " Marry, there is verity in thy speech, old Sir ; 
 I would fain turn from the wine flask to render 
 homage to peerless beauty." 
 
 The old man paused a moment in evident em- 
 barrassment ; he attempted to move through the 
 dense crowd, but finding this impossible, he turned 
 round and cried — 
 
 "Is there no younger arm to rid me of this 
 galliard ?" 
 
 " There is," replied a voice in the throng; and 
 at the same moment a young man, attired in a 
 plain doublet, with sad coloured hose, and wearing 
 riding boots much splashed with dirt, strode up, 
 and laying his hand on the shoulder of the gallant, 
 he whirled him round. 
 
 " Sirrah," said he, " get thee gone, or pluck out 
 the marvellously long rapier that dangles at thy 
 side." 
 
 The gallant, turning round, drew himself up 
 to his full height and staring in the face of the 
 stranger, replied — 
 
 " Sir Grey Jerkin, thou art a marvellously un- 
 courteous knight, thy plebian paw hath rumpled 
 
76 THE TJIKEE SUITORS. 
 
 my ruff' infernally ; dost thou think this silk was 
 bought at a tester the yard, that thou layest such 
 a rough hand on it ?" 
 
 " I was not bred a mercer," replied the stranger, 
 " nor care I for thy doublet; either ask pardon of 
 this lady and her father, or draw thy fox, I have 
 short time for bandying words with thee." 
 
 The gallant smiled. " Dost thou think," said 
 he, " that my bright blade will ever cross thy 
 miserable toasting iron ? Ecod! Sir Grey Jerkin, 
 'twas the gift of the valiant Captain Juan Alzedo, 
 and shall I tilt with such a groom as thee." 
 
 The stranger made no reply to this, but in- 
 stantly drew his rapier and struck the gallant 
 sharply with the flat side of it. 
 
 The blow convinced the fop that he had met 
 with one who would not be trifled with, and as it 
 was given with some force, the pain awakened his 
 latent valour. 
 
 " Thou untrimmed rustic," cried he, " 'tis in 
 vain I would desire to spare thee: thou shalt be 
 indulged with theduello; make room, good people." 
 
 The stranger threw himself in a posture of 
 defence, and waited for the attack of his adversary, 
 who pressed upon him with great vigour. The 
 maiden clung to the arm of her father, almost 
 
THE TIIIIEE SUITORS. 77 
 
 fainting with terror, while the spectators linking 
 their hands, formed a ring for the combatants. 
 Both were excellent swordsmen, and shewed great 
 skill at their weapons. The gallant, finding that 
 he could not hit his adversary, desisted, and con- 
 tented himself by parrying his thrusts, saying as 
 he threw aside the stranger's lunges, 
 
 " Well thrust, most skilful rustic ! an excellent 
 stoccado by Jupiter! verily thou art a shrewd 
 hand at thy bilbo ; my friend the Captain would 
 be delighted with thee, — so — that reversa was not 
 so good — so — so — ha!" — At this moment his sword 
 flew from his grasp over the heads of the spectators, 
 and the stranger dropping the point of his rapier, 
 desired his adversary to ask his life; but, appa- 
 rently unconscious of what was going on, the gal- 
 lant cried out — 
 
 " There goes my durindana; hold, Sir Rustic! I 
 would not lose it for the worth of my best doublet; 
 a broad piece for the knave who brings it me." 
 
 At this instant a man brought forward the rapier, 
 when the stranger taking it from him, said, 
 
 " Sirrah, your blade shall be shivered to pieces, 
 and that instantly, if you delay to ask this lady's 
 pardon for the insult you have offered her." 
 
 This speech was enforced by the speaker's pla- 
 
78 THE THREE SUITORS. 
 
 cing the point of the rapier on the ground, and 
 putting his foot on the middle of it. 
 
 " Hold, Sir Rustic," cried the gallant, " spare 
 my good blade, I pray thee; though it has been 
 false to me this time, yet we must not part." 
 
 " Thou knowest the way to redeem it," was 
 the reply. 
 
 The gallant hesitated, he bent his eyes on the 
 ground, while the stranger tried the temper of the 
 blade by bending it backwards and forwards; at 
 length, after, a struggle with his feelings, the fear 
 that he should lose his rapier predominated, and 
 striding up to the old citizen and his daughter, he 
 muttered an apology, and the stranger delivering 
 him his blade, he slunk off amidst the jeers and 
 taunts of the spectators. 
 
 " There goes my Lord Poppinjay !" cried a fellow 
 in a thrum cap and Ian thern jerkin. 
 
 " Ay, ay," said his companion, " his Duridinda 
 and he agree not to-day, hell fight better when he 
 has taken another pottle o'sack." 
 
 In the mean while the object of their jokes had 
 got out of the crowd, and the stranger after bow- 
 ing to the citizen and his daughter, was about to 
 depart, when the former spoke. 
 
 " I thank thee, young friend, 11 said he, " and 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 79 
 
 would fain show thee that I am not ungrateful; 
 pr'ythee favour us with thy company to the Old 
 Jewry, Zachary Wy \ ill loves a brave youth. 1 ' 
 
 The stranger hesitated, and the old man con- 
 tinued, " Come, we will go at once, by may fay you 
 shall not choose. 11 
 
 The young man hesitated no longer ; so proffer- 
 ing his arm to the, maiden he led her out. of 
 the crowd, and passing through Moorgate, pro- 
 ceeded towards the Old Jewry, where master 
 Wyvill dwelt. On their way thither Madeline was 
 delighted with the frank and easy maimer of the 
 stranger, who addressed her father and herself by 
 turns, till they arrived at Master Zachary's house. 
 The old merchant learnt from the stranger that his 
 name was Herbert Tyndale, and that he had put 
 up at the Windmill Inn, almost opposite to his 
 house. Master Wyvill pressed him to stay and sup 
 with him; and this was no difficult matter, for 
 when it grew late Herbert unwillingly took his 
 leave, not however without an invitation for the 
 next day. He tore himself away from the gentle 
 Madaline, and betook himself to his lodgings at 
 the Windmill. Though much fatigued with tra- 
 veling (for he had arrived in London that day) 
 Herbert slept but little, and when he did slumber, 
 
80 THE THREE SUITORS. 
 
 his rest was broken by bright and lovely visions in 
 which Madaline held the chief feature. 
 
 Early on the following morning Herbert failed 
 not to appear at Master Zachary's, whom he found 
 busily engaged in his counting-house. An invita- 
 tion to dinner was accepted by Herbert, because it 
 gave him another opportunity of beholding the love- 
 ly Madaline, with whom we hope not one of our 
 readers will require to be told he had fallen despe- 
 rately in love. Madaline herself was in love too, 
 and her only fear was, lest the handsome Herbert 
 should be already plighted to some other damsel, 
 for she never once supposed that her father would 
 withhold his consent. Fathers and mothers, put on 
 the spectacles of discrimination, and be careful 
 how ye invite young gallants to your houses, 
 especially if heaven has blessed ye with handsome 
 daughters. Both our young folks were in love, 
 though their acquaintance had been so newly 
 formed ; but Cupid is no sluggard, and after din- 
 ner, during the temporary absence of Master 
 Wvvill, Herbert, being left alone with the beau- 
 tiful Madaline, declared his passion, with all the 
 customary vows and protestations. She listened to 
 him with delight, not, however, without a mul- 
 titude of blushes and hesitations, which it is not our 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. ill 
 
 business to record. Nothing now remained hut to 
 ask the consent of Master Wyvill, and on a fitting 
 opportunity presenting itself, when Madaline had 
 left the room, Herbert at once demanded the 
 hand of his daughter. 
 
 "Well, master Tyndale," said the old merchant, 
 "but I would fain know if thou hast the means to 
 keep a wife, and from whence thou comest ?"" 
 
 Herbert was somewhat embarrassed on hearing 
 these questions, for he had never once thought on 
 his situation since his introduction to the lovely 
 Madaline. 
 
 Master Wyvill perceived his confusion, and 
 demanded somewhat hastily whether he had a for- 
 tune sufficient to aspire to the hand of the daugh- 
 ter of one of the richest merchants in London ? 
 
 " Sir," replied Tyndale, after some hesitation, 
 " I will e'en tell ye the truth. I am the only son 
 of a country gentleman, who would have me 
 wedded to age and ugliness, because, forsooth, 
 there is gold in the bargain. I refused to obey 
 him, and quitted his roof with a determination to 
 seek my fortune in another land, when chance 
 brought me to your assistance yesterday. How- 
 ever, I have some few thousand pounds, which I 
 will lay at your daughter's feet " 1 
 
 G 
 
82 THE THREE SUITORS. 
 
 Here he was interrupted by Master Wyvill, 
 whose anger burst forth like a volcano. " Sirrah !" 
 cried he, " is it thus thou woukTst repay my hos- 
 pitality? Hence with thee — she shall not be thine! 
 What! hast thou, ingi-ate, left thy parents, and 
 come abroad to teach others disobedience? Get 
 ye gone! " 
 
 "But, Sir " 
 
 "But me no buts, Sirrah V cried the old man; 
 "begone this instant, or I'll bring those who shall 
 thrust thee out !" 
 
 Herbert's blood boiled on hearing this language, 
 but the thought of Madaline checked his indig- 
 nation. He arose, and taking his hat and cloak, 
 replied: "This language may be used by you, 
 Sir, but had it come from one of younger years, it 
 should have been answered with cold iron !"" He 
 then passed out, and repaired to the Windmill, 
 overwhelmed with surprise and chagrin. 
 
 Master Wyvill, as soon as Herbert had left the 
 house, summoned his daughter, and sharply rebu- 
 ked her for encouraging the addresses of one with 
 whom she had so lately become acquainted. Mada- 
 line heard her father's determination with much 
 sorrow, which was increased when he told her that 
 he had selected a husband for her. As he spoke a 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. Hli 
 
 visitor was announced, and shortly after, a gal- 
 lant entered the roo'm, whom Master Wyvill in- 
 troduced to his daughter. 
 
 "This gentleman," said he, "is the son of my 
 friend, Master Scrips ; receive him as your future 
 husband." 
 
 Her father left the room, and Madaline ventured a 
 look at the person who had been introduced to her. 
 He was a young man of about the middle height, 
 but clumsily made — his features were coarse be- 
 yond expression, and his white starched ruff formed 
 a singular contrast to his black hair, which was cut 
 close and turned up in front in the most approved 
 manner ; his large lopped ears stuck out from the 
 sides of his head as if they were handles by which 
 it was adjusted ; his hose were of the most fashion- 
 able colour; his enormous slops glittered with 
 embroidery, and his doublet shone with gold 
 points : a long sword and dagger completed the 
 equipment of this extraordinary person. Mada- 
 line viewed him for some moments in silent surprise 
 — had she been in a more merry mood, she would 
 have laughed out right; but her father's harsh re- 
 buke was not forgotten. Master Christopher Scrips 
 interpreted her confusion into admiration of his 
 dress and person ; he essayed to make use of some 
 
84 THE THREE SUTT0KS. 
 
 of the phrases which he had heard among the gal- 
 lants of his acquaintance ; but his memory failed 
 him, and he played with the band of his hat, and 
 cast his eyes on the floor, — when Madaline spoke : 
 
 "Fair Sir," said she, "may I ask the name of 
 the worthy gentleman whom my father intends for 
 my husband?" 
 
 "Ay, marry thou may est, fair lady," replied the 
 gallant : Christopher Scrips is the name of your 
 devoted slave; your city gallants call me Kit, but 
 they of the Devil, in Fleet Street, are more cour- 
 teous. Beshrew me, if these folks of the Chepe 
 know a true toledo from a Sheffield back-sword. 
 By mine honesty, fair lady, 'tis a pity so beau- 
 teous a damsel should dwell with such doddy pates, 
 who wear doublets of -such a sad colour, that it 
 makes one gloomy to behold them ; and their ra- 
 piers, too, are most barbarous tools. My worthy 
 friend, Adrian Partington hath said much of these 
 said rapiers, which are so offensive to the sight of 
 every true gentleman." 
 
 "Doubtless "'tis a noble one you yourself wear, 
 fair Sir," said Madaline, wishing to say something 
 to break off this long dissertation. 
 
 "Marry, you shall be witness of it," replied he, 
 drawing his rapier, " 'tis one of most excellent 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 85 
 
 temper; it cost me five gold nobles without the hilt, 
 which I bought of Master Partington, who had it 
 of a valiant friend of his." 
 
 As he concluded this speech, Master Scrips 
 placed his rapier in Madeline's hand. The hilt 
 was of silver, richly chased with the representation 
 of Hercules destroying the hydra. 
 
 "Thou see'st, fair lady,'''' continued he, "there 
 are some cleverly conceited emblems graven on the 
 hilt — Hercules and the dragon. Doubtless thou 
 hast read of this same Hercules, and how he threw 
 aside his weapons at the command of his lady-love, 
 to bask in the sunshine of her smiles. I marvel 
 though whether Hercules wore so trusty a blade. 11 
 
 "Truly, Sir, it is a noble weapon," said Mada- 
 line, looking at the rapier. 
 
 "Noble dost thou say, fair damsel?" cried Mas- 
 ter Christopher; "'tis a trusty blade, and fit to 
 ride on a gentleman's thigh ; by mine honour, 
 'twould ha' gladdened thee to have seen how I 
 served mine host o' the Devil, who was sore pla- 
 gued by several Scape-graces: they fled at the very 
 sight of my trusty toledo." 
 
 Madeline smiled, and returned the weapon. 
 
 "Fair Sir," said she, " I would fain act honestly 
 towards thee ; know then, that I cannot give my 
 
86 THE THREE SUITORS. 
 
 hand to a noisy reveller, or to one who vapours so 
 highly as thou dost. There are other maidens 
 who would be more proud of your acquaintance ; 
 pr'ythee seek them, Sir Gallant. Farewell. 11 
 
 The maiden, as she said this, left the room ; and 
 Master Scrips, giving his hat a twirl, adjusted his 
 ruff, then looked down at the large rosets in his 
 shoes, then at the ceiling, and then on the spot 
 where Madaline had lately stood, as if he doubted 
 his senses. 
 
 " 'Fore heaven !" cried he, "she is a jilt and a 
 malapert quean, yet she hath a marvellous comely 
 face. — Heigho ! Mistress Wyvill, I wish thee pos- 
 sessed of more courtesy." He turned, and put- 
 ting on his hat, stalked down stairs, and proceed- 
 ed to the Windmill, intending to drown the re- 
 collection of his interview in a pottle of sack. He 
 entered the inn, where he found the gallant whom 
 Herbert Tyndale had disarmed in Moorfields the 
 preceding day. 
 
 " The good time o 1 the evening to you, Master 
 Partington," said he; "hast stomach for a pottle 
 of sack?" 
 
 "Aye, marry, Master Scrips — but how hast 
 fared? Was the damsel visible, or coy, or ?" 
 
 " She is a jilt, friend Partington; thou mayest 
 
THE THREE SUITOE6. 87 
 
 ha' her for me. 'Fore George, Fll not go near her 
 again !" 
 
 "Ha! say ye so? Then she shall be mine. 
 Harkee, friend Scrips, her waiting maid has told 
 me, that she and her father will go on a visit to 
 Master Frostling, the vintner's on the Bankside, 
 to-day. Now, if we could engage a trusty water- 
 man, and carry her off" to-night ?" 
 
 " Ah, but there is danger in that ; 'tis felony — 
 why " 
 
 '* Pish ! never fear it," continued Partington, 
 *'* Fll warrant she will not mislike the plan." 
 
 Master Scrips, after some hesitation, consented 
 to this villanous scheme, and it was agreed that 
 they should put it into execution that very evening; 
 but as their evil stars willed it, Herbert Tyndale, 
 who sat in the next room, having caught a few of 
 the first words of the dialogue, rose softly, and 
 coming on tiptoe to a crevice, saw plainly the two 
 worthies, who were concerting their diabolical plan. 
 
 His first impulse was to rush out upon them ; 
 but a moment's reflection told him that it would 
 be better to intercept them in their flight with 
 Madaline, if they should succeed in carrying her 
 off. He therefore waited until he heard the whole 
 of their plan, and then summoned his man Peter, 
 
88 THE THREE SUITGBS. 
 
 who had accompanied him to London. After 
 some deliberation, it was agreed that they should 
 leave the Windmill before the city gates were shut, 
 and repair to the Bankside, where they might lay 
 in wait for the gallants, and rescue Madaline. 
 
 The evening came, and found Tyndale and 
 his man at their post. Master Frostling's house 
 was surrounded by a high hedge, and a dry ditch, 
 which was deep enough to conceal them from view. 
 They had not been concealed long before they 
 heard the sound of footsteps in the garden, and 
 Herbert, on looking through the hedge, perceived 
 Madaline, who was walking alone. He kept still, 
 in his hiding place, well knowing that any attempt 
 to address her then might ruin his hopes ; and sup- 
 posing that if Partington and Scrips were near, 
 they would seize upon this favourable opportunity. 
 He was not deceived, for he presently heard the 
 plash of oars, and the next moment a boat ap- 
 proached the house. Two figures enveloped in 
 large cloaks, leaped ashore, while a third remained 
 in the boat. They advanced cautiously towards 
 the house, and then whispered to each other. The 
 tallest, whom Herbert recognized as Partington, 
 perceiving Madaline, leaped over the small gate 
 into the garden, and ere she was aware of his ap- 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 89 
 
 p roach, threw his large cloak over her, and raised 
 her in his arms. Scrips assisted his companion 
 with his burthen over the gate, when Madaline 
 contrived to tear the cloak from her head, and 
 shrieked loudly — 
 
 " Villains !" cried Tyndale, starting from his hi- 
 ding place, " ye are discovered ; unhand that lady, 
 or ye are but dead men !" Partington's danger 
 rendered him desperate, and placing Madaline on 
 her feet, he drew his rapier, and attacked Herbert 
 with great fury ; but after a few passes he fell, 
 from a well-directed thrust. Without waiting 
 a moment, Tyndale turned to engage Master 
 Scrips, who, however, had made up his mind to 
 decline the combat, and took to his heels, pursued 
 by Peter. Master Christopher's speed was much 
 greater than his valour, and he arrived first at the 
 water's edge, but unfortunately missed the boat 
 into which he had intended to jump, and fell souse 
 into the river. His large cloak, which he had 
 vainly endeavoured to throw off, saved him from 
 drowning, and he was dragged ashore by Peter, 
 half dead with fright. Master Wyvill, together 
 with his gossip Frostling and family, alarmed by 
 the noise, hastened out, when they beheld a scene 
 which filled them with astonishment. Partington 
 
90 THE THREE SUITORS. 
 
 was lying on the ground bleeding profusely, Ma- 
 daline was sustained in the arms of Tyndale 
 almost senseless, and Scrips, with rueful counte- 
 nance, begged hard to be released from the rough 
 gripe of Peter, while his rich doublet and hose 
 were dripping with water. His mortification was 
 increased when Master Wyvill, holding a lamp in 
 his hand, surveyed him from head to foot. After 
 a severe reprimand he was suffered to depart ; but 
 the dangerous situation of Partington rendered the 
 assistance of a surgeon necessary, and he was re- 
 moved in a litter. 
 
 It will be scarcely necessary to add, that Master 
 Wyvill's anger was not only appeased, but that in 
 a week after, his lovely daughter was united to 
 Tyndale. To increase the happiness of the lovers, 
 Herbert on the following week received his father's 
 forgiveness. Partington recovered, but not until 
 some time after, and slunk into merited obscurity ; 
 while Master Christopher Scrips was exposed to 
 the jokes of his fellow citizens for many years after- 
 wards. 
 
Ci)c ffiifil) oi flobcmlm* 
 
 A LEGEND OK PALACE- YARD. 
 
 " Lord, what a wind, what a fire, what a motion and commotion of earth 
 and air would there have been ! I tremble even to think of it. Miserable 
 desolation !" 
 
 Sir E. Cuke, the King's Attnriir;/, ujiun the trial o/ Guy Fnukes. 
 
 Numerous have been the "Histories" and ''Me- 
 moirs 11 of the reigns of Elizabeth and James the 
 First, and although many of them differ in trivial 
 and unimportant points, yet they all agree in re- 
 presenting the one monarch as noble and merciful, 
 saving that she was somewhat fiery and choleric, 
 and the other at least inoffensive ; yet none have 
 described the restless and agitated state of this 
 kingdom during their sway. In our infancy, the 
 sovereign best remembered was " Good Queen 
 Bess, 11 and, until lately, we have been taught to 
 believe that Elizabeth did more to uphold the splen- 
 dour of her empire than any preceding monarch. 
 
92 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 Her reign has been called the " golden age, 11 and 
 she has upon all occasions been contrasted with her 
 sister, but there are few now who do not consider 
 that she was a remorseless fury, who sacrificed 
 every thing to her insatiable ambition, which was 
 only exceeded by her conceit and disgusting per- 
 sonal vanity. Her people had become habituated 
 to acts of tyranny and bloodshed during the sway 
 of her sanguinai'y and brutal father, and they suf- 
 fered with more patience the violence and oppres- 
 sion of the succeeding monarchs, not because they 
 were milder, but simply because they were not 
 quite so terrible; but, when Elizabeth assumed 
 the reins of government, the rack, the halter, the 
 gibbet, and the knife, were again put in requisition. 
 Heretofore, Catholic and Protestant alternately 
 gained the ascendancy, and by turns remorselessly 
 butchered each other ; but when Elizabeth grasped 
 the sceptre, the power of the former succumbed to 
 the latter, and her agents hunted down the innocent 
 and peaceable Catholic, whose only crime was his 
 adherence to the religion of his fathers. The no- 
 torious corruption of the church of Rome certainly 
 called aloud for a reformation ; but why were the 
 guiltless punished ? — why was the phial of wrath 
 emptied upon the heads of any but those, who, 
 
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 93 
 
 under the guise of sanctity and zeal for religion, 
 struggled for temporal power ? 
 
 These persecutions were carried on with scarcely 
 any intermission until the death of Elizabeth, 
 which happened in the year 1603. Perverse and 
 obdurate in her dying moments, she quitted the 
 world without naming her successor, thereby leav- 
 ing the nation in a state of great uncertainty and 
 anxiety, as to who should be chosen to till that 
 throne from which she had, for more than forty 
 years, issued her cruel mandates. Many plots were 
 contrived to destroy her, and several daring indi- 
 viduals singly attempted her life; but all the parties 
 suffered for their temerity : even suspected persons 
 were seized and condemned. At length, a few 
 desperate men conspired to overthrow her and her 
 government ; but, in the midst of their delibera- 
 tions, the angel of death summoned their intended 
 victim before the tribunal of Him, whose name 
 and whose law she had so often wantonly profaned 
 and violated. This event led the discontented to 
 hope that a favourable change would take place, 
 as all eyes were turned towards James the Sixth of 
 Scotland, whose pusillanimous disposition sanc- 
 tioned the belief that the bloody days of persecu- 
 tion were passed away. His accession was hailed 
 
94 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 with joy by the Catholics, both on account of his 
 being a descendant of Mary, who was a rigid pa- 
 pist, and also from his having been inclined to that 
 religion in his youth ; but great was their surprise 
 and rage to find him strictly executing those mer- 
 ciless laws which his predecessors had enacted 
 against them. The peaceable and unambitious 
 Catholic dreaded a renewal of Elizabeth's barba- 
 rities, while the more violent resolved to destroy 
 the newly crowned king or perish in the attempt. 
 James on his arrival in England was attended by 
 a long train of his needy countrymen, all of them 
 seeking for places and preferment, which they ob- 
 tained to the exclusion of the English, who thus 
 saw those whom they had been taught to believe — 
 and whom, indeed, they had always found to be 
 — their bitterest enemies, filling every post of 
 emolument, and suing for places on behalf of their 
 countrymen, who were daily inundating England, 
 that country of which they had been the scourge 
 for so many hundred years. 
 
 The individual who first determined to destroy 
 the king and his minions, was Robert Catesbye, a 
 gentleman of ancient family in Northamptonshire, 
 and a descendant of that Catesbye, who so faith- 
 fully served his master, stern and cruel as he was, 
 
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 95 
 
 when all deserted him at Bosworth field. He it 
 was who framed a plot which humanity shudders 
 at, and which, although it cannot be justified, 
 must allow of some degree of palliation when we 
 reflect upon the abject state to which many families 
 of high birth were reduced. The plot was not 
 contrived by a few desperate wretches in the lower 
 walks of life, but by men of family and conse- 
 quence who had considerable property at stake ; 
 and this fact goes to prove the miserable and de- 
 graded state to which the nation had been brought 
 by James and his horde of needy countrymen. 
 Catesbve was the originator of that conspiracy, in 
 the particulars of which no two historians agree ; 
 which has been considered a mere fable by some, 
 and which for more than two hundred years lias 
 been known by the name of the Guxpowueu 
 Plot. 
 
 " Can you show me the lodging of the English 
 knight, Sir William Stanley?' 1 '' inquired a stranger, 
 in imperfect Dutch, of a boor whom he met in 
 one of the streets in Ostend. 
 
 "Yaw, Mynheer," 1 '' replied the fellow, taking his 
 pipe from his mouth, " 'tis yon house, hard by de 
 zigm of de Goot Vrow. 11 
 
96 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 " Thank ye, good fellow," said the Englishman, 
 interrupting him, " here is a groat for your infor- 
 mation, which is even better than your English ;* 
 and he passed on to the house pointed out to him 
 by the boor, who acknowledged the gift with an 
 awkward bow. 
 
 " I sail drinck your honour's goot helt," said 
 the Hollander, resuming his pipe, and rolling to- 
 wards a bier-kroeg. 
 
 In the meantime, the stranger had arrived at 
 the house of which he was in quest, and having 
 knocked at the door, was instantly admitted, and 
 shown into a small dark room, in which a man of 
 sombre countenance was sitting, who, rising from 
 his seat, greeted him with a warm grasp of the 
 hand. 
 
 " Welcome, thrice welcome to Ostend, Master 
 Wentour, ,, said he, " for by your visit I see that 
 the hour of vengeance is at hand. Say, how 
 is my honoured friend and intimate, Master 
 Catesbye ?." 
 
 " Well, excellent well, Sir William," replied 
 Wentour, " and living in the hope that our ene- 
 mies will, ere long, feel the vengeance we have 
 in store for them. We have a few more fearless 
 hearts joined with us — Master Catesbye has taken 
 
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. i)7 
 
 a commodious dwelling at Lambeth, and all is 
 ready — we must lay in our munition without more 
 delay." 
 
 " 'Tis already prepared,™ replied the knight, 
 " thirty barrels of powder are on board the gal- 
 liot alongside the Quay, and waiting for the first 
 fair wind." 
 
 " Truly you are a zealous worker in the good 
 cause, Sir William; with such souls there can be 
 no fear of a miscarriage — but where is the gentle- 
 man of whom our good friend Catesbye speaks so 
 highly?" 
 
 " He has not overrated him," said the knight, 
 whistling aloud. An attendant entered. " Bid 
 Master .Johnson attend us here, Jenkin." 
 
 The servant disappeared, and shortly after, a 
 man of commanding stature entered the room. 
 His aspect partook of that expression peculiar to 
 the better class of the people of Yorkshire ; his 
 forehead Mas high and smooth ; his nose somewhat 
 aquiline and well-shaped ; his eyes were grey, 
 sharp, and piercing, and his whole countenance 
 would have been prepossessing, but for the close 
 and determined expression of the mouth and chin. 
 A spade beard of a light brown colour descended 
 over his doublet of buff leather, and his musta- 
 
 H 
 
98 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 chios were well trimmed and turned upwards at 
 the ends, after the Spanish fashion. A profusion 
 of brown hair fell in curls over his shoulders and 
 down his back, and set off a countenance at once 
 noble and commanding. The appearance of this 
 man made a strong impression upon Wentour, 
 who regarded him with fixed attention. 
 
 " This is the gentleman, 1 ' said Sir William, 
 " who is willing to render all the assistance in his 
 power to your great undertaking; trust me, I have 
 ever found Master FauTces a man of courage and 
 ready counsel. 1 '' 
 
 Wentour extended his hand, which Faukes 
 seized in his own, and with an oath exclaimed, in 
 a northern accent, which his long residence abroad 
 had not destroyed, — 
 
 " By my beard, it glads my heart to find there 
 are a few bold and resolute souls still left to 
 
 avenge the wrongs of Old England! Madre 
 
 del M 
 
 "Hold, Faukes!" cried Stanley, interrupting 
 him, " you must forget that you have carried a 
 spontoon here ; none of your Spanish oaths, they 
 will betray ye if ye use them in England. 11 
 
 " You are right, Sir William, I will take cave 
 to keep my acquaintance with the Spaniard -a 
 
THE FTFTN OF NOVEMBER. 99 
 
 secret ; my new name will protect me from recog- 
 nition. " 
 
 " I trust so, 11 said the knight, " and now let us 
 have a flask of burgundy, and drink success to 
 our undertaking. What, ho ! glasses and a flask 
 of the best!" 
 
 The wine having been brought, they sat down 
 to discuss it, and arrange their plans. The mid- 
 night chimes had sounded ere they separated ; 
 Wentour retired to rest, rejoicing in this accession 
 to their band, and deeply impressed with the firm 
 and determined character of Faukes. 
 
 Early in the morning of the third day of Wen- 
 tour's arrival, a message from the captain of the 
 galliot informed them that the wind was fair for 
 England. Wentour and Faukes were soon on 
 board, and bidding farewell to Sir William Stan- 
 lev, they set sail with their terrible cargo. 
 
 In the meantime, Catesbye had taken a house* 
 on the banks of the Thames at Lambeth, which 
 he had entrusted to the care of one Robert Keys, 
 whom he had received into the association. The 
 lower rooms had been cleared out, and every thing 
 prepared for the reception of the powder, the arri- 
 
 * This house his been for some lime levelled to the ground. 
 
100 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 val of which was hourly expected. It was a calm 
 and beautiful evening, on which Catesbye, Keys, 
 Percy, Rookewoode, and several others, sat in an 
 apartment of this house, overlooking the river, 
 upon which the setting sun threw its last rays. 
 Their conversation was carried on in a low tone, 
 but it was not the less stern and terrible. 
 
 " Ye would not destroy all,' 11 queried Percy, 
 fixing his eye upon the rigid features of Catesbye. 
 " There are some who would rejoice to hear of 
 our plot, must they perish too?" 
 
 "Ay, Tom, all; would ye, to save some half 
 dozen shambling fools, run the risk of betraying 
 us? If one spark of pity linger in your breast, 
 think of the wrongs that thou thyself hast suf- 
 fered ; count over the fines thou has paid to these 
 villains ; reckon up the broad acres thou has lost 
 by them, and M 
 
 " By heaven, you madden me !" cried Percy, 
 " hold, I pray thee, good Catesbye ; 'twere folly to 
 think of the safety of a few when a host of ene- 
 mies are within our toils." 
 
 "Ay," said Keys, with a bitter smile, "and 
 
 unconscious of it too, the cellar is cleared, 
 
 and we have but to bestow the powder." 
 
 At this moment the arrival of two persons in a 
 
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 101 
 
 boat under the window interrupted the conversa- 
 tion, and Catesbye throwing open the casement, 
 discovered that it was Faukes and Wentour. Mu- 
 tual greetings followed, and Wentour informed his 
 companions that the galliot, with the powder on 
 board, had anchored in the Thames. 
 
 " We must get part of it here without delay," 
 said Catesbye; "we can then remove it to my 
 house in Palace Yard at our leisure. You will 
 assist us, Wentour?" 
 
 " Ay, when I return," replied Wentour, " but 
 I must first take a journey to Huddington, and 
 prepare my daughter for the event that is to fol- 
 low, by placing her in the house of some friend." 
 
 Catesbye bent a stern and scrutinizing glance on 
 his associate, which Wentour observed — 
 
 " Nay," said he, " look not so searchinglv, I 
 would rather feel thy dagger in my heart, than 
 bear a look of mistrust." 
 
 « Forgive me, Wentour," said Catesbye, " I 
 would not doubt thy zeal and fidelity for worlds ; 
 no, my good friend, I know thee too well to har- 
 bour a suspicion of so foul a thing. You will 
 meet us on your return at our rendezvous?" 
 
 " Ay," replied Wentour, " I shall not tarry at 
 Huddington; in a fortnight ye shall see me again; 
 
102 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 farewell for a short time. Gentlemen, brothers, 
 farewell." 
 
 He wrung the hand of each by turns, quitted 
 the house, hurried to the water side, and taking a 
 boat, ordered the waterman to row towards the city. 
 
 The next morning by sun rise, Wentour was 
 on his way to Huddington, attended only by one 
 man servant, whom he had left in London during 
 his absence in Holland. On the evening of the 
 third day he arrived in sight of his own dwelling, 
 one of those commodious halls built in the reign 
 of Henry the Eighth. 
 
 Deeply ruminating on the probable result of the 
 dreadful plot in which he was engaged, he did not 
 perceive that a cavalier and a lady, who bore a 
 small merlin in her hand, were walking their 
 horses down the lane which led to his house, and 
 conversing with great earnestness, while two spa- 
 niels gambolled round them and jumped to lick 
 the hand of the cavalier. It Avas not until he 
 arrived at his own gate that he found the lady 
 to be his daughter; who, upon perceiving him, 
 jumped from her palfrey and flew into his arms. 
 Without noticing the young man, Wentour strain- 
 ed his daughter in his embrace, and affectionately 
 kissed her forehead and cheek. 
 
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 103 
 
 " Amy," said he, placing her arm within his and 
 entering the house, " I have much to say to thee — 
 thou must with me to London, for business of great 
 weight calls me thither." 
 
 " Is it so pressing, dear father p" 
 
 "Ay, child, so pressing that we must needs be 
 on our way by to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Indeed ?" 
 
 "Ay, in good truth we must, therefore get thy 
 apparel in order ; and now leave me awhile. I will 
 come to thee anon." 
 
 He released her arm, and turning to the young 
 man who had followed them in, said, — 
 
 "Forgive me, Master Fenton, for my seeming 
 want of courtesy; my mind is tilled with the busi- 
 ness which has called me abroad; give me thy 
 hand, Cyril, and come with me to my study, I 
 have something for thy ear alone." 
 
 He led the way to a small apartment, into which 
 the light was sparingly admitted through a narrow 
 gothic window : some creeping plants had spread 
 over the casement, and together with the arms of 
 the Wentours which were painted on the glass, 
 almost obscured the view without. The sun was 
 fast sinking in the west, and its rays streamed 
 through the window and glared on the several 
 
104 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 objects in the room. On one side were ranged 
 several rows of bulky volumes, each of which 
 would now be a treasure to the Bibliopolist ; and 
 in a corner stood a suit of armour, of Milan steel, 
 well scoured and polished. A portrait of an 
 ancestor of Wentour, painted by Holbein, hung 
 against the wall. 
 
 " Cyril Fenton," said Wentour, closing the door, 
 " I know thy love for my daughter ; but I have 
 hitherto forbidden thee, aware that thy slender 
 means would not enable thee to maintain the style 
 and station of a gentleman, if a wife were added 
 to thy cares ; — nay, do not interrupt me, I will not 
 hesitate to let thee know my meaning : — Tell me, 
 hast thou the will to serve me ? — thy country? — ay, 
 thy God ?" 
 
 " Your words are mysterious, good Sir; what 
 mean ye?" 
 
 " I mean," laying his hand on Fen ton's shoulder, 
 " that the hour of our deliverance is at hand — that 
 the wolf is within our toils, — an awful doom awaits 
 our enemies, the heretic band who have so long 
 scoui'ged us is doomed to destruction !" 
 
 Fenton's colour fled ; he stared at Wentour with 
 surprise, and the word " treason" fell, scarcely 
 audible, from his lips. 
 
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBEK. 1 05 
 
 " Nay, call it not treason," said Wentour ; " is 
 he who labours to free his country from the scourge 
 of such hell-hounds, a traitor ? — thine own heart 
 tells thee No. Cyril, whose bloody law doomed thy 
 father to the rack and the scaffold ? was it not the 
 daughter of that Herod who so long trampled on 
 the necks of his wretched people and revelled in 
 their blood ? by Him who died to save us, I am 
 ashamed to see thee stand irresolute." 
 
 " Oh, Master Wentour, "said Fenton, "it grieves 
 me to hear such words from you, who have been as 
 a father to me. Say, what is the desperate under- 
 taking? alas! I fear 'tis but a plot to entrap thee." 
 
 " Thou art a foolish boy," said Wentour, sternly. 
 " 'Tis a design framed by those who are by many 
 years thy seniors ; by men who, stung by persecu- 
 tion, have determined to break their chains and 
 deliver England from the heretic scourge. Wilt 
 thou join us ? — let ay or no be theans\ver. , " > 
 
 Cyril was for some moments incapable of reply. 
 Fearing the issue of the meditated plot, which, in 
 the event of its failure would inevitably entail dis- 
 grace, ruin, and death, upon all concerned in it ; 
 and dreading, on the other hand, to displease the 
 father of his beloved Amy, his heart was torn by 
 conflicting feelings, and sinking into a chair he 
 
106' THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 covered his face with his hands, in an anguish of 
 mind which even softened the heart of Wen tour. 
 
 Cyril Fenton was the only child of a country 
 gentleman, who participated in the plot contrived 
 by Babington, to release from prison the unfortu- 
 nate Queen of Scots in the reign of Elizabeth, 
 and paid the forfeit with his blood. His estate 
 being confiscated and seized by the crown, Cyril, 
 then scarce five years old, having a few months 
 before lost his mother, was thrown on the world 
 without a friend or protector; when Wentour, 
 taking compassion on his forlorn situation, received 
 him under his roof, and reared him as his own 
 child. Years passed away, and as his pi-otege grew 
 up to manhood, Wentour made him his steward. 
 But he did not foresee the consequences of keeping 
 a handsome and intelligent youth, like Cyril, under 
 the same roof with his lovely daughter ; and ere 
 he was aware of it, both were deeply enamoured of 
 each other. When at length he became acquainted 
 with their passion, he sharply rebuked Cyril for 
 what he considered the youth's presumption and 
 ingratitude ; and extorted from him a promise that 
 he would desist from his attentions to his child. 
 Fearing that if he hesitated to comply with this 
 request, he should be driven from the spot which 
 
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 107 
 
 contained all he loved in the world, Cyril pledged 
 his word to obey this, to him, cruel injunction; 
 but, alas ! love had taken too deep a root in his 
 bosom, and gave the lie to all his promises and as- 
 sertions. Wentour loved him as his own child, 
 and he was now deeply affected at his distri 
 
 " Come, come," said he, " Cyril, look up and 
 tell me thou wilt join in our glorious cause; the 
 hand of Amy shall be yours, for it will place thee 
 far above dependence. 11 
 
 The voice of Wentour, which had before seemed 
 so stern to Cyril, now sounded as music to his cars. 
 He rose from his seat, and seizing the hand of his 
 benefactor, said, while tears dimmed his sight, 
 
 " Oh, Master Wentour, my best and only friend, 
 I fear some dreadful calamity will befall you ; but 
 believe not that I ever thought of shrinking from 
 you in the hour of danger ; no, while life lasts, I 
 will not quit your side. 11 
 
 " Spoken like a brave youth," said Wentour ; 
 " and now, Cyril, I will unfold to you this great 
 design." He described the nature of the con- 
 spiracy with great minuteness, painted in glowing 
 terms the advantages that would accrue to those 
 who were concerned in it, and concluded by 
 again promising that Amy should be his on their 
 
108 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 arrival in London, when their hands should be 
 joined by Father Garnet, to whom he had unfolded 
 the plot in his confession, previously to his leaving 
 the metropolis. 
 
 Early on the following morning, Wentour, ac- 
 companied by his daughter and Cyril Fen ton, 
 set out for London, where they arrived after a 
 tedious and fatiguing journey, and Cyril was 
 immediately blessed with the hand of his lovely 
 daughter. In the society of Amy, Cyril was the 
 happiest of men, and each week that passed seemed 
 but a day, though the time was fast approaching 
 when the tremendous work should be accomplished, 
 and the terrible mine, which was now in a complete 
 state of preparation, should be fired by the daring 
 hand of Faukes. 
 
 But the actions of the conspirators were closely 
 watched, and their most secret doings were reported 
 to the minister, Cecil, Lord Burleigh, the son of 
 that Burleigh who so well executed the commands 
 of his odious mistress, Elizabeth. 
 
 It was on a dark and tempestous night, a few 
 evenings before the meeting of Parliament, that a 
 figure, closely muffled in a large cloak, cautiously 
 emerged from a postern door of Exeter House in 
 the Strand, and proceeded in an easterly direction 
 
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 109 
 
 down the street. Within this palace sat Burleigh, 
 at a table, upon which was strewed a number of 
 books and papers, to which he occasionally referred ; 
 at length he rose from his seat, and after taking 
 two or three turns up and down the apartment, he 
 rung a small silver bell, which stood on the table, 
 and a servant entered. 
 
 " Is Master Nightshade here to-night ?" inquired 
 the Earl. 
 
 " Yes, my Lord, he is in the Hall." 
 
 " Bid him attend me here, anon." 
 
 The domestic quitted the room, but shortly 
 returned, and ushered in a man of diminutive size, 
 whose physiognomy was as singular as it was dis- 
 gusting. A high pale forehead, only exceeded in 
 whiteness by the grey locks which shadowed it, had 
 the full benefit of a contrast with a pair of eyes 
 black and piercing, and expressive of great shrewd- 
 ness and cunning. A hooked nose, and a mouth 
 of hideous proportions, gave to his whole counte- 
 nance the expression of a demon. 
 
 Bidding the servant quit the room, the Earl shut 
 
 the door, first satisfying himself that no one was 
 
 lurking on the stairs ; then throwing himself into 
 
 a chair, he fixed his eyes upon this singular being. 
 
 " Well, Master Brian Nightshade," said he, 
 
110 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 " you are punctual. I wish to talk to you upon a 
 little business touching that wretched slave, Tre- 
 same. Say, have ye a drug that will make worm's 
 food of your enemy in an hour ?" 
 
 Brian grinned a ghastly smile. " I have many, 
 my lord ; and not a few that will kill in half that 
 time. See you this little pouncet box P 11 — (He drew 
 from his pouch a small silver box, not bigger than 
 a nut-shell ;) " It contains a poison so deadly, that 
 were a grain of it placed on the tongue of man or 
 beast, in fifteen mortal seconds no leech's skill would 
 avail ; or, were it rubbed upon the point of sword 
 or knife, no chirurgeon would save from death the 
 man who received the wound." 
 
 " 'Tis well," said the Earl ; " to be plain with 
 thee, I would fain see how this subtle drug will 
 work upon that knave, Francis Tresame." 
 
 " Francis Tresame !" echoed Brian, in a tone of 
 surprise. 
 
 k< Ay," said the Earl, sternly ; " why dost thou 
 distend that malignant eye of thine ? Art thou not 
 a hater of thy species, and dost thou hesitate to 
 destroy one whom I now place within thy clutch ?" 
 
 " Your pardon, my lord ; I marvelled to hear 
 your desire, for I thought he had proved of great 
 service to your lordship." 
 
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER, 111 
 
 " Ay, Master Nightshade, but he now knows too 
 much. To worm myself into his confidence — for 
 he was faithful to his friends at first — I possesseu 
 him with some secrets, which, if now disclosed, 
 would bring much evil upon the state; — he must 
 die, but not yet. He has just left me with a letter 
 for the Lord Monteagle, which will cause the de- 
 struction of his friends and work his ■ " 
 
 A tap at the door of the room interrupted the 
 remainder of Burleigh's speech, and on its being 
 opened, a servant announced the return of Tresame. 
 Brian Nightshade, by command of the Earl, quit- 
 ted the room by a secret door, while Tresame 
 almost immediately entered by another. 
 
 * * ♦ * •!; •* 
 
 On the evening of the 4th of November, the 
 conspirators met in Catesbye's house in Palace 
 Yard, and made every thing ready for the ap- 
 proaching catastrophe. Their solemn oath was 
 renewed, and each swore to stand by his friend, 
 " and abvde the uttermost larval/ 1 At midnight 
 they separated, and departed with all possible 
 secrecy, leaving Faukes in care of the house, with 
 every thing necessary for the firing of the train. 
 Catesbye was the last who quitted the premises, and 
 as he passed out, he bent a look so eloquent and 
 
112 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 impressive upon his bold associate, that it went to 
 the soul of Faukes. 
 
 " Farewell," said Guy, " farewell, my honoured 
 friend ; doubt not my faith ; but a few hours and 
 a roar as of a thousand culverins, shall announce 
 to you the destruction of our foes." 
 
 " Farewell for awhile,' 1 said Catesbye, " a boat 
 shall be waiting for you at the stairs to-morrow ; 
 have a care that the train be well fired." 
 
 " Never fear that," replied Faukes, " 'twill not 
 be the first mine this hand has helped to spring. — 
 Give you good night, Master Catesbye." 
 
 " Good night," responded Catesbye, as he threw 
 his cloak around him ; " we shall meet to-morrow." 
 
 Faukes watched the receding figure of his daring 
 leader, until it was lost in the gloom ; he was then 
 about to re-enter the house, when the heavy and 
 measured tramp of feet was distinctly heard 
 above the moaning of the night wind. " What 
 can this mean ?" thought Guy, straining his eyes 
 in the direction from which the sound seemed to 
 come. The noise was familiar to one, the greater 
 part of whose life had been spent in the long wars 
 of the Low Countries ; the sound to his quick ear, 
 was that of the march of a troop of soldiers, and 
 he was deliberating how to act, should his appear- 
 
THE FrFTH OF NOVEMBER. 113 
 
 ance create suspicion, when a band of men, some 
 of them bearing torches, turning the corner of an 
 adjoining house, immediately appeared in sight, and 
 the leader called aloud to Faukes to " stand, in the 
 king's name !" — But he had summoned one whose 
 back was never turned to his enemies ; and, though 
 strengthened by numbers, his appearance did not 
 intimidate Faukes, who suffered him to approach 
 with his company. 
 
 " What is your name, my friend F" said the 
 leader of the party, who was Sir Thomas Knyvet, 
 "and why are ye abroad at this late hour?" 
 
 " My name," replied Guy, nothing daunted, "is 
 John Johnson, I am a servant of Master Percy's 
 — As to my right to be here at this time, you have 
 no authority to question it." 
 
 % " Thou art a bold knave," said Sir Thomas ; 
 " but we will know what keeps you from your bed 
 at this late hour. Here, Serjeant Warren, bring 
 your flambeau a little nearer." 
 
 The Serjeant advanced, and held his torch so 
 as to show the figure of Faukes, who was enve- 
 loped in a large dark cloak, and booted and 
 spurred. His countenance, at all times stern and 
 commanding, now grew black as night, and the 
 light which flashed upon his features added to 
 
 i 
 
114 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 their determined and awful expression ; but, check- 
 ing his wrath, he affected to treat their inspection 
 with disdain. 
 
 " Well,"" said he, with a sarcastic smile, " what 
 do ye discover? I should judge ye to be barbers, 
 if it were not for your military garments, for ye 
 seem taken with the cut of my beard. 1 ' 
 
 " Seize and bind the villain !" cried Sir Thomas, 
 and the Serjeant attempted to obey him, when 
 Faukes tripped up his heels, then stepped back a 
 few paces, cast his cloak from him, and in an in- 
 stant his sword was bared, and a long petrionel 
 appeared grasped in his left hand. 
 
 " What, are ye all afraid of one man ?" cried 
 the knight, perceiving that the soldiers discovered 
 no inclination to rush upon Guy, " then I must 
 lead ye on — surrender, thou traitorous ruffian, or 
 die a dog's death!" 
 
 "Never!" shouted Faukes. "Come on! here 
 will I stand until this body is no longer capable of 
 resistance ; — come on, I say, ye who fear not steel 
 nor lead !" 
 
 He drew the trigger of his petrionel as he 
 spoke, and had it not hung fire, so true was his 
 aim, the knight would not have assisted in his 
 capture. 
 
 
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 115 
 
 This failure evidently disconcerted Guy, who 
 hurled the petrionel with great violence, and with a 
 bitter curse, at the head of the foremost soldier, 
 who honoured the salute with the lowest possible 
 prostration. But in doing this, Faukes had neg- 
 lected his guard, and the rest of the party, rushing 
 forward, disarmed and secured him, after a despe- 
 rate struggle. By command of the knight, he was 
 conveyed into the house, which the whole party en- 
 tered ; and it was not long ere they descended to the 
 large vault, where they commenced a strict search. 
 " Pull off those fagots there," cried Sir Tho- 
 mas. His commands were quickly obeyed, and a 
 barrel was discovered beneath them — another, and 
 another appeared, and the knight turning to 
 Faukes, said — 
 
 "Tell me, vile slave, what do these tubs con- 
 tain ?" 
 
 Faukes looked at him with the eyes of a tiger 
 that has been robbed of its prey — he drew up his 
 tall and athletic figure to its utmost height, and in 
 a voice of thunder, which rang through the vault 
 in prolonged echoes, cried — 
 
 " Powder, Sir Knight ! Had I received your 
 visit here, I would ha' fired my petrionel into that 
 cask, and sent your tools and you a riding on the 
 night air !" 
 
116 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 " Then heaven be praised for this prevention of 
 thy murderous design," exclaimed the knight ; 
 " lead him away, close up the house, and guard him 
 well. I will hasten to the council, and inform 
 them of his capture. 1 " 
 
 Early on the morning of the third day of his 
 apprehension, Faukes, who had been confined in the 
 Tower, in one of the dungeons in which state pri- 
 soners were usualy immured, was aroused from his 
 slumbers by the heavy fall of the bar and the 
 withdrawing of the bolts which secured the door 
 of his prison. He started from his straw bed, and 
 beheld the gaoler standing over him. In answer 
 to his question why he was disturbed, he was in- 
 formed that he must attend the council, who were 
 then sitting in the White Tower. Gathering up 
 his fetters, Guy, though weak from mental and 
 bodily suffering, walked with a firm step to the 
 council-room, where he beheld the noblemen who 
 were to examine him. As he entered this gloomy 
 apartment, his eye glanced on the rack, which 
 stood near the door, and his wan cheek, assumed a 
 livid hue ; but it was only momentary ; he raised 
 his head, and viewed the assembly with an un- 
 daunted glance. 
 
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 117 
 
 w He is as gallant a figure as one would wish to 
 behold," whispered Nightshade to the executioner, 
 who stood leaning against the rack with his dou- 
 blet off, and his arms bare to the elbows. 
 
 " He is not so proper a man, though, as Harry 
 Vaughan, whom I assisted in his journey to a bet- 
 ter world some two years since come Candlemas," 
 replied the man of death. 
 
 One of the council now addressed Faukes, and 
 demanded his name. 
 
 "John Johnson," was the reply. 
 " Have ye not gone by other names ?" 
 " No." 
 
 " Who are your associates in this hellish plot?" 
 " If I thought that threats or torture would 
 make me confess, I would, like the Egyptian of old, 
 pluck out my tongue and cast it before ye." 
 
 " You have companions then ? What fiend 
 tempted ye to contrive so bloody a conspiracy ?" 
 Faukes smiled bitterly. 
 
 " Ye shall know," said he. " There are bounds 
 to the patience and submission of the most abject 
 slaves, and such, alas! have been too many of my 
 countrymen. I, and my fellows, have seen the 
 broad lands, which our fathers possessed, grasped 
 by the hands of men who have overturned that re- 
 ligion which has for so many hundred years flou- 
 
118 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 rished like a fair vine in this once happy country.* 
 We have seen the gems which once decked the 
 shrines of saints and martyrs glittering in the crown 
 of a tyrant. We have beheld the gold and silver 
 ornaments of the altar melted down into coin ; and, 
 Oh ! wretched land ! whole bands have been hired 
 with it to combat those who still hold to the good 
 faith. We have seen the boldest and the proudest 
 in England writhing on the rack or swinging on 
 gibbets, because they held fast to that holy faith in 
 which their forefathers lived and died. To crown 
 all, we now behold this country swarming with 
 needy foreigners, — with those vile Scotch, who have 
 so long been our deadly foes. 'Twas to revenge 
 these injuries that I would have fired that dreadful 
 mine, and blown those needy vagrants back to their 
 native mountains !" 
 
 Here one of the council rose, and sternly bade 
 Faukes disclose the names of his associates. 
 
 " Prisoner," said he, " we have heard enough 
 
 * Even the gallant and accomplished Raleigh participated in 
 the plunder. This is a lamentable truth, and would almost 
 incline us to the opinion of Echard, who declares Sir Walter's 
 misfortunes to be an indication of the hand of Heaven for his 
 acceptance of some church lands in the reign of Elizabeth. 
 However, it is to be hoped that Raleigh's long suffering and 
 subsequent death made ample atonement. 
 
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 119 
 
 of your treason to satisfy us that you have many 
 of your friends in this devilish plot. You have 
 lied in giving us the name of Johnson, — you have 
 gone by another ; confess it, or you will be ordered 
 to the rack without delay. Do you hesitate ? — 
 Then take the consequences of your stubbornness. 
 Executioner, to the rack with him. 11 * 
 
 * " The rack is used no where as in England. In other coun- 
 tries it is used in judicature, where there is a ' Semiplena 
 probatis,' a half proof against a man ; then, to see if they can 
 make it full, they rack him if he will not confess. But here 
 in England, they take a man and rack him, I do not know 
 why or when; not in time of judicature, but ichen somebody 
 bids!" — Selden. 
 
 Our histories of England tell us that Faukes, even before 
 the council, betrayed the same intrepidity and firmness, but 
 that being confined in the Tower for a few days, and the rack 
 having been "just shewn him" he made a full confession. Now 
 as to the fact of his being racked, it is, to say the least of it, 
 very unlikely that one so bold and dai'ing would, if he had not 
 been thus treated, in a few days become so weak and emaciated 
 as to require support whilst the hangman fastened the rope 
 around his neck. This circumstance is related in a now very 
 scarce tract, published a few days after the bloody tragedy in 
 Palace Yard. As to the " full confession," this is such a mon- 
 strous lie, that it will scarcely require contradiction. If 
 Faukes did make such "a full confession," how was it that so 
 few were apprehended and punished, when many hundreds 
 
120 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 In spite of his powerful struggles, Guy was 
 placed on the horrible engine. The second turn of 
 the wheel extorted a deep hollow groan from the 
 prisoner, who cried out in anguish, — 
 
 " For the love of him who died for us all, have 
 mercy ; — my name is Faukes !" 
 
 " Ha, 1 " said Burleigh, who presided at the ex- 
 amination, " you have served in the Low Coun- 
 tries?" 
 
 were ready to meet in arms under the guidance of Sir Ever- 
 hard Digby ? One word more ; there is, I have been inform- 
 ed, a document in the State Paper Office, which records the 
 answer of James, when asked by one of his Lords whether it 
 was his Majesty's pleasure that Faukes should be racked ? — 
 " Aw, mon," was the reply : " better he rack, than we perish!" 
 The Devil, who is, they say, the father of lies, could not have 
 invented such a string of falsehoods as those which have been 
 written upon the subject of the Gunpowder Plot. Bloody and 
 inhuman it certainly was, but the offenders paid a bloody pe- 
 nalty. I will not shock the feelings of my readers by detailing 
 the manner of their execution, but it may be as well to men- 
 tion, that part of their punishment consisted in their being 
 first half strangled, then cut down, while alive and sensible 
 their bowels taken out and burnt before their eyes, and their 
 bodies afterwards quartered. This is only a portion of their 
 punishment ; and yet the monster Coke, he who taunted and 
 insulted the unfortunate Raleigh, when arraigned for a crime 
 of which he was never guilty, complimented the king on his 
 clemency in not having invented new tortures for them ! 
 
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 121 
 
 " I have,' 11 replied the sufferer, shaking back his 
 long hair. 
 
 " In the Spanish army !" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Who are your associates ?" 
 
 "Away with ye," cried Faukes, turning his 
 haggard and blood-shot eye upon the questioner, 
 " do your worst ; I will not betray my friends." 
 
 Another turn of the wheel was ordered, when 
 the already distended sinews and muscles of the 
 prisoner cracked loudly, and he fainted from ex- 
 cess of pain. Nightshade then approached, and 
 grasping the clammy hand of the prisoner, felt the 
 throb of his feverish pulse. 
 
 " He will not bear much more," said he ; "but 
 I will try the effect of this." 
 
 He applied a small chased bottle to the nostrils 
 of Faukes, who slowly revived. The question was 
 again put to him — 
 
 " Who are your partners in this conspiracy ?" 
 
 Still suffering the most excruciating tortures, 
 Faukes persevered in his resolution, and the hor- 
 rible torment was renewed ; but it proved fruitless, 
 — the prisoner uttering a suppressed groan, sunk 
 under it, and lay on the rack, to all appearance 
 dead. In vain Nightshade applied his restoratives, 
 
122 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 in vain he bathed with vinegar the livid brow of 
 the sufferer : Faukes was borne back to his prison 
 
 in a most piteous state, and totally insensible. 
 
 ****** * 
 
 We must now return to Wentour and his family, 
 who had, upon their arrival in London, taken lodg- 
 ings in the Strand. Amy knew not of the dread- 
 ful conspiracy in which her father was engaged, and 
 in the society of her husband there was only one 
 alloy to her happiness ; this was the moody and re- 
 served state of her parent, whose changed demea- 
 nour she viewed with disquiet and even alarm. 
 Wentour had arranged his plans, and was prepa- 
 red to meet the result of the plot, whichever way 
 the scale might turn. Should it prove abortive, he 
 had resolved to sell his life as dearly as possible in 
 the cause of his friends : for he had already provi- 
 ded a protector for his daughter in the person of 
 Cyril Fenton, whom he had not introduced to his 
 confederates on that account. 
 
 On the eve of the memorable 5th of November, 
 Wentour, after affectionately embracing his daugh- 
 ter, quitted his lodgings, saying that he should 
 not return until the morning. Cyril witnessed 
 his departure with a sigh, for he well knew the 
 dreadful business which engaged his father-in-law, 
 
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 123 
 
 who had solemnly enjoined him to discharge the 
 sacred trust he had confided to him. The caresses 
 of his lovely bride in some degree soothed the 
 anguish of Fen ton ; but when he tried to 
 drown in sleep the horrible fears which haunted 
 him, the most ghastly visions succeeded. He 
 beheld a spacious building totter to its base, 
 while loud shrieks issued from within. A black 
 cloud obscured the whole, and a crash louder 
 than the discharge of a thousand cannon followed. 
 He awoke with terror, and found that it was a 
 dream. Again composing himself to sleep, he saw 
 the gory head of Wentour roll on the scaffold, 
 while the shouts of an assembled multitude cheer- 
 ed the dexterity of the headsman. He leapt from 
 his bed, and rushing to the window drew aside the 
 curtain. The morning sun shone brightly into the 
 apartment ; all was serene and quiet ; the sparrows 
 chirped on the roof, and the sky looked clear and 
 cloudless. How different the scene to the awful 
 visions that had haunted him ! He turned to his 
 bride, on whose lids sleep still sat, while the hue of 
 the rose tinged her cheek ; her lips lay apart, and 
 disclosed a row of teeth, small, even, and rivalling 
 the pearl in whiteness. 
 
 " Heaven shield thee, dearest," ejaculated he, 
 
124 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBEB. 
 
 as he kissed her forehead ; " thy sleep is as calm 
 and unbroken as the umveaned child : sleep on, for, 
 alas ! I fear thou wilt wake to hear ill tidings." 
 
 Amy awoke at this moment, and Cyril evaded 
 her questions by speaking of their return to Hud- 
 dington, though his unusual paleness and sunken 
 eye too plainly told what was passing within 
 him. 
 
 A place was reserved for Wentour at the break- 
 fast table, but he appeared not to partake of their 
 morning's meal. Fenton remained in a state of 
 harrowing suspense, every moment expecting to 
 hear the horrible announcement of the catastrophe, 
 which would inevitably take place, if the conspira- 
 tors remained true to each other. The clock of 
 St. Clement's church at length chimed the hour 
 of ten, and ere the sound had died away, the noise 
 of horses 1 hoofs was heard in the street, and the 
 next moment Wentour entered the room, the per- 
 spiration streaming from every pore. 
 
 " Amy — Cyril — my children, 11 he cried, " away 
 from this place ! All is lost ! our enemies triumph 
 — Faukes is taken, and the whole is discovered; 
 Cyril, look to my child — ay, I know thou wilt. — 
 Amy, farewell, perhaps for ever I 11 Amy fainted in 
 the arms of her husband, while Wentour continued, 
 
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 125 
 
 " At Fresh Wharf, near Belings Gate, a vessel sails 
 for Ostend at eleven." 
 
 " You will accompany us P 11 said Cyril. 
 
 " Oh, no, no, no ; my word is pledged to my 
 friends. Look to thy sweet charge, I conjure thee. 
 Farewell, Cyril, for ever — there is as much gold 
 there," pointing to a box which stood in a corner 
 of the room, " as will maintain ye in comfort as 
 long as ye live. 11 
 
 Wentour kissed the cheek of his daughter, and 
 his tears fell fast on her face, but she still remained 
 insensible of her father's agony. He then rushed 
 from the house, and mounting his horse, instantly 
 rode off at full gallop. 
 
 Our tale now draws to a close. Cyril and his 
 bride bade a last adieu to the land of their birth, 
 and arrived safely at Ostend. Wentour was one 
 of those who held out Holbeach House against the 
 Sheriff of Worcester, who there surrounded the 
 conspirators. The particulars of this attack are 
 too well known to require repetition here ; some 
 were slain outright, some were taken alive, and of 
 the latter, Wentour was one. He suffered with 
 his daring companions, (Faukes, Rookewood, and 
 Keys,) in Palace Yard, and in sight of that build- 
 ing tjiey sought to overthrow. 
 
126 THE FIFTH OK NOVEMBER. 
 
 Tresame, after being committed to the Tower, 
 was found dead in his prison. History tells us, 
 that he died of a stranguary, but posterity will 
 judge of the truth or falsehood of this assertion. 
 Certain it is, that a just and speedy vengeance 
 followed the betrayal of his friends. 
 
p. 127. 
 
91 Cale of tin iloto Countries* 
 
 It was a strange order that the doom 
 
 Of these two creatures should be thus traced out. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 It was on a cold winter's evening during the reign 
 of Elizabeth, that a party of young gallants were 
 carousing in the celebrated Devil Tavern in Fleet 
 Street. Liquors of various kinds stood before 
 them, and plainly indicated that they were deter- 
 mined to fortify their stomachs, while within doors, 
 against the piercing cold without. There was 
 Malmsey, Burgundy, and Sack, with burnt Claret 
 in profusion, and although they had not so far 
 fuddled these choice spirits as to make them ab- 
 solutely uproarious, they had made them lively and 
 witty. Joke and repartee were bandied about, 
 and would have almost inclined a more *sober ob- 
 server to the opinion of honest Ben, who modestly 
 tells us that the wit and humour of him and his 
 
128 A TALE OF THE LOW COUNTRIES. 
 
 companions so pervaded the atmosphere of this 
 tavern, that even bumpkins were inspired, after they 
 had quitted it. 
 
 "Well, Hal, r) said one of the gallants, slapping 
 the shoulder of him who sat on his right-hand, "by 
 cock and pye, it glads my heart to see thee here ; 
 and hast thou left thy books, and quitted the close 
 air of the Temple, for the good cheer of mine host 
 o'the Devil ? By mine honour, thou art regene- 
 rated : thou shalt be baptized in sack, and admit- 
 ted again into the society of Christian men." 
 
 "Christian men !" retorted the student, "why 
 callest thou thyself a Christian, Ned, while carous- 
 ing under the sign of the very Devil himself ? I'll 
 wager a pottle o'Malmsey, thou hast not seen the 
 inside of a church since last Penticost-tide." 
 
 "Thou wilt lose thy wager, Frank : ask Barna- 
 by, the sexton of St. Martin's, if I was not the 
 most devout of the congregation on Sunday last." 
 
 "Ay, truly," cried another of the company, 
 "thou wert there doubtless; but it was Mistress 
 Bridget Barlow, the rich goldsmith's widow, who 
 attracted thee — Here's to thy success !" 
 
 He drank off a glass of wine as he spoke, and 
 his example was followed by the rest of the com- 
 pany, when the student called for a song. The 
 
A TALE OF THE LOW COUNTRIES. 129 
 
 first speaker, (who was the son of a rich merchant 
 in the Chepe,) after giving a few preparatory hems, 
 sung as follows : — 
 
 Merrily, merrily drain the bowl. 
 
 If Care ye would not dree; 
 Here's Malmsey, Sack, and Hippocras, 
 
 Sherris and Burgundy. 
 
 Come, ye spiritless wights, who are wedded to scolds, 
 Those shrews who are match for the Devil, 
 
 'Tis wisdom to flee from their music I trow, 
 So hasten and join in our revel. 
 
 And ye gallants, who scorch 'neath your maidens' dark glance, 
 
 Who swear that your souls are like tinder, 
 O hasten away from such kirtle durance, 
 
 If ye would not be burnt to a cinder. 
 
 "By this light! 11 said the student, "thou hast a 
 marvellous proper voice, Ned ; have ye no love 
 tale to tell us ? thou hadst once a store. 1 ' 
 
 " Marry, I have forgotten them; thou knowest 
 my father likes not my travelling, so that I have 
 small chance of hearing the adventures of love-sick 
 damsels and gallant knights; but yonder sits a 
 gentleman who has, methinks, seen service." 
 
 The person alluded to by the young gallant 
 was a stout hale, middle aged man, whose profes- 
 
 K 
 
130 A TAT.K OF THE LOW COUNTRIES. 
 
 sion was indicated by his buff coat and a broad 
 belt sustaining a long sword, and a dagger of Spa- 
 nish workmanship. He had lost an arm, and the 
 empty sleeve of his doublet was fastened by a 
 point to his breast. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he, on being pressed to join 
 the party, "I have, as you suppose, seen some 
 service, and have left an arm in the Low Countries. 
 I commanded a body of pikeman at the siege of 
 St. Getrudenberg, in Brabant; "'twas there I be- 
 came acquainted with an Englishman of good 
 family, whose unhappy fate I shall ever lament. 
 I will, with your permission, relate the history of 
 our acquaintance, and the manner of his death. 1- ' 
 
 To this the company gladly assented, and the 
 Captain, draining his glass, began as follows. 
 
 " On my arriving in Brabant, Prince Maurice 
 was before St. Getrudenberg, which he had as- 
 saulted several times without success. The com- 
 pany under my command were picked men, and I 
 was soon actively engaged, for the besieged made 
 frequent sallies, and it required some of the best 
 troops to repulse them. In one of these attacks, I 
 was posted, with my company, to support the charge 
 of a regiment of English pistoliers. The action was 
 short, but bloody. The enemy's harquebussicrs 
 
A TALI: OS THE LOW COUNTRIES. 131 
 
 and cross-bowmen made sad havock amongst our 
 horse; at their first discharge full twenty saddles 
 were emptied, and a fresh body of their bill-men 
 rushing in, completed the overthrow of our ca- 
 valry — they broke ground and retreated. A des- 
 perate charge of the pikemen under my command 
 checked the pursuit of the enemy, when, in the 
 midst of the rout, I suddenly beheld a horse gallop- 
 ping by, and dragging its rider, who lay upon the 
 ground, his foot having become entangled in the 
 stirrup. I flew to the cavalier's assistance, and with 
 some difficulty succeeded in extricating hi in from 
 his perilous situation. He pressed my hand with 
 great warmth, and thanked me a thousand times 
 for my timely assistance. He had, luckily, re- 
 ceived only a few slight bruises, from the effects of 
 which he recovered in a few days, and a friend- 
 ship was cemented between us, which nothing but 
 death could terminate. I learnt that his name was 
 Walter Rymer, and that he was the youngest son 
 of a rich family in the West Riding of Yorkshire 
 " I will not tire you, Gentlemen, with an account 
 of the many affairs we had with the enemy, which 
 were attended with various success. Near to the 
 town of St. Getrudenberop is the little village of 
 Stenlo, in which was a fort of some consequence 
 
132 A TALE OF THE LOW COUNTRIES. 
 
 Prince Maurice was resolved to get possession of it, 
 as it commanded a weak quarter of the town. It 
 chanced that Rymer's company and my own were 
 ordered upon this expedition, together with six 
 culverins ; but it totally failed : the enemy sallied 
 out, and in spite of the most obstinate valour on 
 the part of our troops, we were beaten back, with 
 the loss of many men. Rymer's horse, pierced by 
 a harquebuize shot, fell under him, and he was 
 seized and dragged into the fort by the enemy, 
 while our shattered troops made good their retreat. 
 Judge of the mortification and sorrow I felt at 
 being thus deprived of my friend ; indeed, I had 
 some fears for his safety, for the prisoners on 
 either side ofttimes experienced rough, and, in 
 many instances, cruel treatment at the hands of 
 their captors. 
 
 " The alarm we were kept in during the few 
 succeeding days diverted my melancholy; but the 
 enemy, weakened by the continual checks we had 
 given them, became less venturous, and kept within 
 their walls, and I was again left to deplore the 
 loss of my friend. 
 
 " One night, while sitting in my tent absorbed 
 in thought, I heard the hasty challenge of the sen- 
 tinel, and at the same moment Rymer entered. I 
 
A TALE OF THE LOW COUNTRIES. 133 
 
 am not naturally superstitious, but this sudden 
 apparition of my friend, whom I had considered 
 lost to me, completely staggered my senses. His 
 dress was wet and disordered, and covered with 
 green weeds, and his long dark hair dripped with 
 moisture. The warm pressure of the hand with 
 which I was greeted, convinced me, however, that it 
 was he, and I eagerly inquired how he had escaped ? 
 
 " 'We will talk of that anon,' said he; but, 
 first, give me a cast of your clothes, for I have 
 been playing the otter, and am wet to the skin. 1 
 
 " I complied with this request, and when he had 
 changed his dress, he gave me an account of his 
 escape. 
 
 " ' Markham,' said he, ' am not I a lucky wight, 
 to make a conquest while a prisoner in yonder 
 fort? 1 
 
 "A conquest! echoed I, incredulously — What 
 mean you ! — I cannot solve your riddle. 
 
 " ' Marry, no less than this : the governor of 
 that fort has a niece, as fair a maid as e'er set 
 free a captive knight. Would'st thou believe it, 
 while I lay this evening in my dungeon, mourn- 
 ing the loss of my freedom, and moreover my coat 
 of mail and Bilboa blade, which those Walloon dogs 
 have despoiled me of, the door opened, and that 
 
134 A TALK OF THE LOW COUNTRIES. 
 
 sweet girl entered my prison* She bore a small 
 lamp, and was followed by a dwarfish figure, who 
 carried a basket. 
 
 " ' Stranger, 1 said she, ' this conduct may seem 
 to thee unmaidenly, but you are an Englishman, 
 and will not judge me harshly for my rashness. 
 You must hasten from this place, or your head will 
 be set on the walls by sunrise, a sad spectacle for 
 your gallant countrymen.' 
 
 " ' Had'st thou been there, my friend, thou 
 woukFst have thought me eloquent ; for methinks 
 I never poured out my thanks so freely — no, not 
 even when I experienced thy kind and timely assist- 
 ance. To be brief, she enjoined silence, the dwarf 
 was ordered to file the fetters which secured my 
 legs, and in a few minutes I was free. 
 
 " * Now,'' said my fair deliverer, ' follow, but be 
 silent — your life depends upon it I 1 
 
 " ' We passed from the dungeon with stealthy 
 pace, and after passing through several passages, 
 ascended a flight of steps. Here the measured 
 tread of a sentinel became audible. The dwarf was 
 dismissed, and I neglected not to improve the op- 
 portunity. Short as it was, I succeeded, and my 
 fair deliverer promised to be mine. A hasty kiss 
 sealed the compact^ and I solemnly swore to bear 
 
A TALE OF THE LOW COUNTRIES. 135 
 
 her away from the fort to-morrow evening. The 
 sentinel, whose steps I had heard, produced a rope, 
 which he fastened to the wall, and I quickly low- 
 ered myself into the fosse which surrounds the fort, 
 swam across, and arrived here without molesta- 
 tion.' 
 
 " Such, Gentlemen, was the account he gave me 
 of his escape. I listened to him with serious atten- 
 tion, and though I saw clearly the danger of the 
 attempt to carry off his mistress, I resolved to aid 
 him with heart and hand in the enterprise. Not 
 to tire you Avith an account of our preparations, I 
 will proceed with my story. Night arrived, and 
 found us with about fifty men, under the walls of 
 the fort. A raft, constructed with light timber, 
 served us to cross the moat. Rymer and myself 
 crossed, and a postern gate admitted us with five 
 men. The sentinels had been bribed, and all was 
 still, save the howling of the dogs within the fort. 
 Leaving our men at the gate, we proceeded on tip- 
 toe along a dark passage. The soldier who had 
 admitted us, then cautiously unlocked a small door 
 in the wall, and ascended a flight of steps : we fol- 
 lowed him, and on gaining the top, were told to 
 wait awhile. He then left us, but returned in a 
 few minutes, and desired Rymer to follow him. 
 
336 A TALK OF THE LOW COUNTRIES. 
 
 This proceeding somewhat alarmed me. What if it 
 should be a concerted plan to betray us ? However, 
 I resolved to defend myself to the last, if it should 
 prove so; and after cocking my petronels, which 
 I had taken from the holsters of my saddle, I placed 
 them again in my girdle, and loosening my sword in 
 its sheath, stood prepared for any attack that might 
 be made upon me, looking cautiously round on all 
 sides. The room in which I was left had three doors; 
 the one opposite to that by which I had entered 
 stood open, and on looking through it I perceived 
 that a flight of stairs decended into a dark and 
 gloomy passage. At this instant I was somewhat 
 startled on hearing a noise as of cautious footsteps, 
 and looking down into the space below, I perceived 
 a man approaching ; he had a torch in his hand, and 
 I saw him cautiously step over the bodies of two 
 soldiers, who were sleeping upon the floor. Their 
 calivers -f* lay on the ground, with their lighted 
 matches at a little distance. Drawing my cloak 
 around me, and shading the light of my lamp, I 
 waited the approach of this person, whose footsteps 
 I soon heard ascending the stairs, and the next mo- 
 ment he entered the room. He was a man of tall 
 and commanding stature ; his hatless head was bald, 
 
 -j- Caliver — a short matchlock hand-gun, fired without a rest. 
 
A TALE OF THE LOW COUNTRIES. 137 
 
 and his forehead high, and he glanced round the 
 room with an air of mistrust. I had retreated into a 
 corner, in the hope that he would pass without per- 
 ceiving me ; but I was deceived, for he demanded 
 to know who I was, and at the same time cocked 
 and presented a pistol. I drew my sword, and 
 rushed upon him ; he snapped his pistol, but it 
 missed fire, and my thrust was bi-oken by the cloak 
 which he had thrown over his left arm. This gave 
 him time to draw his sword, and he pressed upon 
 me with great vigour. The clash of our weapons 
 would have certainly alarmed the guards who slept 
 beneath, had not their liquor been drugged. The 
 noise, however, aroused Rymer, who entered with 
 his mistress. I conjured him to fly instantly, while 
 I kept my adversary at swords point. He reluc- 
 tantly obeyed, and left the apartment, though he 
 had already drawn his sword to assist me. My 
 antagonist swore deeply on perceiving his niece. 
 This sight probably threw him off his guard, for 
 a violent thrust striking him on the breast, he reeled, 
 and staggering backwards, fell down the stairs. 
 His coat of mail saved him, and shivered my sword 
 to pieces ; but the fall was terrible, and I heard his 
 armour ring as his body bounded from step to 
 step till he reached the bottom. Not a moment w as 
 
138 a tall: of the low couxtiues. 
 
 to be lost ; I quickly secured the door, so that he 
 could not pursue us, and flew to my friend, who 
 had borne off his prize. We had reached the gate 
 when the loud ringing of a bell told us that the 
 garrison was alarmed, and in an instant a roar of 
 voices was heard within the fort. The men who 
 had remained at the gate, seized with fear, jumped 
 on the raft — Rymer followed with his fair bur- 
 den, — and that moment it upset ! 
 
 That night will never be effaced from my memory ! 
 One loud and thrilling shriek of mortal agony 
 burst from the unfortunates, whose armour did not 
 allow them a chance of escaping. The fosse was 
 deep — they sunk down, and the next moment the 
 raft rose to the surface of the water ! A heavy 
 fire from the troops, who now lined the walls, ren- 
 dered any attempt to save them impracticable, — 
 indeed, I was in much danger myself ; but having 
 cut with my dagger the straps of my corslet, I 
 threw it off, and swam across the fosse, uninjured 
 by the shower of balls which was rained from the 
 fort, and regained my troop, overwhelmed with 
 sorrow for the fate of my young friend. The fort 
 was taken a few days afterwards, when a shot from 
 a culvcrin took off my left arm. 
 
a tall; of the low countries. 139 
 
 " Gentlemen, pardon these tears for the untimely 
 fate of a valued friend and comrade. The recol- 
 lection of it has rendered me unfit for your com- 
 pany. — Give you good night." 11 
 
 The Captain rose as he spoke, threw his cloak 
 around him, bowed to the company, and notwith- 
 standing their entreaties, departed. 
 
dial ftp Battle* 
 
 Albany. There is my pledge ; I'll prove it on thy heart, 
 Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less 
 Than I have here proclaimed thee. 
 
 King hear. 
 
 Few places have undergone so complete a trans- 
 formation as the vicinity of the far-famed London- 
 stone. Dow-Gate is no more ; the swift current of 
 Walbrook has for many centuries been hidden from 
 view, and London-stone, itself an object of surmise 
 and speculation to this day, is safely fixed in the 
 wall of St. Swithin's Church. Where, I pray, are 
 those magnificent structures of which the old city 
 historian Stowe speaks with such allowable pride ? 
 Where is the stately hall which once stood in this 
 neighbourhood ? Where the ancient fortress of 
 Tower Royal, of which the name alone is left, as 
 the perishable cognomen of an obscure street. All 
 have vanished, and to the neighing of the war- 
 
TRIAL BY BATTLE. 141 
 
 horse, the bray of the trumpet and the tramp of 
 the mailed knight and man-at-arms, have suc- 
 ceeded the bustle and hum of business, the coarse 
 oaths of carmen, and the rumbling of ignoble ve- 
 hicles. 
 
 In the reign of Richard the First, Walbrook 
 was not, as now, hidden from view. It was then a 
 rapid stream, which passed over the site of the 
 present street, and rushing down Dow-Gate Hill, 
 flowed through Dow-Gate, and emptied itself into 
 the Thames. 
 
 It was on the evening preceding the day on which 
 he of the Lion Heart entered London in triumph, 
 after his return from captivity in Austria, long after 
 the vesper-bell had rung, that two ruffianly looking 
 men were standing under the shade of a penthouse 
 on the banks of this stream, engaged in earnest 
 conversation. Their gait and air were those of 
 retainers, or armed vassals ; they were clad in 
 jerkins of coarse green serge, over which they wore 
 jacks or actons of tough bull's hide, at that time 
 the only defensive armour for the body worn by 
 the common soldiers ; their legs were bare from 
 the middle of the thigh nearly to the ankle, and 
 their feet were cased in short buskins of leather. 
 Their arms consisted of a sword and a long knife, 
 
1 1 2 TRTAT. V.Y BATTLE. 
 
 or dudgeon dagger, and they carried with them 
 bucklers of a diminutive size, studded with nails, 
 and ornamented at the edges with a sort of fringe 
 or hair. 
 
 "The fiend rive this tardy knight!" exclaimed 
 one of the worthies, stamping with impatience, " by 
 St. Erkenwald, we shall be disturbed by the city 
 watch, an 1 he come not soon." 
 
 " Wist, Leof," replied his comrade, " keep a 
 guard on thy tongue, or if ye must talk, let it be 
 in a somewhat gentler tone, for we may have a 
 greeting from some of the citizens' windows ; per- 
 haps from old Bouvrie yonder, who is a shrewd 
 hand at the cross-bow, and bears us Saxons no good 
 will, as you know.'" 
 
 " I fear not his shafts," replied Leof, with an 
 oath, "and I'll take care that he shall not show 
 his skill much longer ; my dagger and his costard 
 shall be acquainted ere many days be past." 
 
 " You must swear that to-morrow," said the 
 other, " for you may not go home scathless to-night : 
 he whom we have to do with is a proper man-at- 
 arms, and carries a sharp sword and a heavy ; thou 
 wilt find him no child's play, by my halidame !" 
 
 " Tut, I fear it not," replied Leof, " my hand 
 is steady, and " 
 
TRIAL BY BATTLE. 143 
 
 As he spoke a figure was observed advancing 
 
 cautiously towards them, under the shadow of 
 the houses, and in a few minutes a man, clad in 
 complete armour, but enveloped in a large dark 
 mantle, stood before them. His height and size far 
 exceeded that of ordinary men, and his step was 
 calm and dignified. The sword pommel of silver, 
 and the richly chased dagger, the massy chain of 
 gold around his neck, and the gilt spurs which 
 clanked on his heels, shewed that he was a knight, 
 while the deep scar on his forehead indicated that 
 he had performed some service in the field. 
 
 " Well, my trusty fellows," said he, " have vl- 
 seen aught of mine enemy yet ?" 
 
 "No," replied one of the ruffians, in a surly 
 tone, "and we have waited vour coming almost 
 since nightfall." 
 
 " Tut, chafe it not, Leof," said the knight, 
 "but prepare thyself, for he will pass this way 
 anon. 1 '' 
 
 " I am ready, Sir Radulf," said Cedric, the other 
 worthy, touching the hilt of his dagger, " my ba- 
 silard here is sharp, and my arm is firm." 
 
 He half unsheathed the weapon as he spoke, and 
 its bright blade gleamed in the moonlight, for the 
 queen of heaven was now struggling through the 
 
144 
 
 TRIAL HY BATTLE. 
 
 dark and murky clouds, and as her edge now and 
 then appeared above them, her beams were poured 
 over the ancient Dow-Gate, and fell in an uninter- 
 rupted line on the gurgling stream as it rushed 
 along. The spire of the venerable church of St. 
 Mary Bothawe* raised its grey head high above 
 the surrounding houses, and the faint sound of the 
 evening service reached the ears of the guilty trio, 
 who retired under the pent-house, and conversed 
 in low whispers. Various plans were proposed for 
 putting their victim to death without alarming the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 " I would advise," said Leof, " that he be stran- 
 gled. I have a stout coil of hemp for the nonce in 
 my pouch, 'twould make no noise.'" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha!" laughed Cedric, but in an un- 
 der tone, — " Why, thou wouldst be playing at 
 bell-the-cat, ay ! I am for treating him to sharp 
 steel like a soldier. What say you, Sir Radulf?" 
 
 " Thou art much of my mind," replied the 
 knight, " but we have no time left for parley — 
 here comes mine enemy; back and conceal your- 
 
 " This church before the great fire, stood in Turnwheel- 
 lane. A portion of its venerable walls still remains, and the 
 burial ground contains a few monuments, though of a recent 
 date. 
 
TRIAL BY BATTLE. 14o 
 
 selves awhile, and when I give the word rush out 
 and strike." 
 
 The ruffians instantly obeyed, and Sir Radulf 
 stepping forward, gained the small wooden bridge 
 which crossed the stream at that spot, and waited 
 the approach of his victim, who came on at a 
 leisure pace, followed by a serving man, and pre- 
 pared to cross the brook ; when the knight, throw- 
 ing aside his mantle and extending his arm, thus 
 addressed him — 
 
 " Geoff erv Avlward, thou art in my power — 
 commend thy soul to God, for this night thou 
 Shalt lie in Abraham's bosom. 11 
 
 " Radulf Duresme," replied the young man, 
 " why dost thou seek to murther one who never 
 wronged thee? Away with thee, thou fierce man, 
 or I will raise the watch."" 
 
 "Slave!" cried the knight, "dost thou taunt 
 me at this hour and in this place ? — Down, down 
 on thy knees, and mutter a prayer for thy soul's 
 safe passage to heaven, for no earthly power can 
 save thee." 
 
 A bell at this moment tolled out, and the moon 
 was entirely shrouded in a mass of thick and 
 murky clouds. 
 
 "Hear'st thou that bell?" cried Sir Radulf, 
 
 L 
 
146 TRIAL BY BATTLE. 
 
 " it sounds thy passing knell. Die, presumptuous 
 boy r and unsheathing his sword as he spoke, he 
 made a furious lunge at his enemy. The point 
 struck the young man on the chest, but he wore a 
 shirt of steel under his jerkin, and the weapon was 
 rendered harmless; nevertheless, the thrust was 
 given with such violence, that Geoffery Aylward 
 staggered back several paces, and would have 
 fallen, but for his serving man, who rushing up, 
 supported his master with his left arm, while with 
 his right he drew his sword, and dealt the knight 
 a blow on the head, which the mailed hood he wore 
 alone prevented being fatal; but Sir Radulf in- 
 stantly recovered himself, and shouted to his vil- 
 lanous associates, who immediately appeared and 
 joined in the strife. With such odds in favour 
 of the assassins, it could not be expected that the 
 combat would be of long duration, for even the 
 giant strength of Sir Radulf was more than a 
 match for ordinary men, even at that, rude period, 
 when effeminate habits had not made such inroads 
 upon the physical strength of the English people. 
 Ere a dozen blows had been exchanged, Geoffery's 
 follower fell at his feet with a gasp, and rolling 
 over the side of the bridge, fell with a heavy 
 splash into the brook ; at the same moment his 
 
TRIAL BY BATTLE. 147 
 
 master's sword was dashed from his grasp by the 
 powerful arm of Sir Radulf : yet ere the knight 
 could strike him down, he grappled with his 
 enemy, and seized him by the throat, but it was a 
 hopeless struggle ; he reeled and fell, pierced by 
 the daggers of the ruffians ; and Sir Radulf, half 
 choaked, shook himself, wiped the blood from his 
 armour, and resuming his mantle, bade the ruf- 
 fians cast the body into the stream. His com- 
 mands were obeyed, and the corpse of the ill-fated 
 youth was thrown into the brook ; the bubbles 
 which rose upon its surface sparkled for a moment 
 in the moonbeams, then burst, and the stream re- 
 sumed its wonted smoothness, though it swept 
 over the corpse of one of the fairest youths in 
 England. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Who has not heard or read of the splendid 
 entry of Richard the First into London, after he 
 had been liberated by his implacable foe, Leopold 
 of Austria? This event has been so often de- 
 scribed, that any attempt of ours to detail the 
 gorgeous spectacles with which the loval citizens 
 had prepared to welcome him, would, we fear, be 
 considered presumption on our part ; nevertheless, 
 we must dwell for a moment on the scene. 
 
148 TRIAL BY BATTLE. 
 
 It was a clear and beautiful day on which the 
 Lion-hearted King made his entry into London, and 
 as he proceeded through the Chepe, thousands of 
 loyal voices greeted his return. The trappings of 
 the horse he rode glittered with the most splendid 
 ornaments, and the dress of the king himself was 
 magnificent in the extreme. He bowed gracefully 
 to the people, whose shouts filled the air ; and his 
 broad and open features were lit up with rapture 
 as he looked on the smiling countenances of those 
 who surrounded him. Troops of armed citizens 
 followed in his train ; bills, pikes, lances, and rich 
 armour, flashed in the morning sun ; the windows 
 were hung with rich tapestry and cloth of gold, 
 and the beauties of London graced each terrace 
 and balcony; indeed, so great was the display 
 made by the citizens of their wealth, that some of 
 the German Barons who had accompanied the King 
 to England, were heard to say, that had the Arch- 
 Duke known of it, he would not have parted with 
 his prisoner for so moderate a ransom. 
 
 The procession moved on towards the Guild- 
 hall,* where a splendid repast was prepared. The 
 king sat aloft on the dais, surrounded by his 
 
 * The Guildhall of London at that time, we believe, stood 
 on the scite of the steel-yard in Thames-street. 
 
T1UAL HV BATTLE. I'll) 
 
 nobles. On his right hand sat Henry Fitz-Alwaine, 
 the mayor, (the first who bore that title in Lon- 
 don,) and over against him, De Antiloche and 
 Durant, the sheriffs, in their rich dresses and 
 golden chains. In the body of the hall were 
 tables for the citizens, who were all clad in their 
 best, and many of them in armour. In the gal- 
 leries were minstrels stationed, whose fingers and 
 lungs were exerted to the utmost for the gratifica- 
 tion of their sovereign. The most costly wines 
 were dealt out by the generous Londoners, who 
 were mad with joy for the return of their brave 
 monarch. 
 
 It was during the height of these revelries, that 
 a female form, closely veiled, and followed by a 
 young man of a gallant figure, was observed to 
 enter the hall by a side door. Onward she came, 
 unheeding the looks of surprise and astonishment 
 which greeted her appearance, and having passed 
 the row of men-at-arms that stood on the steps 
 of the dais, and who made room for her as they 
 would have done for a being of another world, 
 she advanced towards the King. 
 
 At this moment a knight stepped forward^ and 
 was about to interfere, when Richard spoke — 
 " Let her advance, Sir Radulf, vi said he. 
 
150 T1MAL BY BATTLE. 
 
 " My liege," replied the wily villain, " might 
 it not be some treasonable design against your 
 Grace's life ?" 
 
 "Tut! tut! good Sir Radulf," exclaimed the 
 king, impatiently, — " shall we who never shrunk 
 from the scymetars and lances of the Paynim, 
 tremble at the approach of a timid woman ? Come 
 hither, damsel, we will do thee justice, though in 
 the midst of wassail." 
 
 " May heaven reward your Grace," said the 
 maiden, withdrawing her veil, and discovering a 
 countenance of dazzling beauty, though disfigured 
 by weeping. Then kneeling down, she continued 
 in scarcely audible accents, " My liege, I claim 
 justice on a villain knight who stands in your 
 highnesses presence — he has treacherously slain my 
 only brother." 
 
 Sir Radulf 's frame quivered with impatience; 
 but he dared not speak, and contented himself 
 with scowling fiercely on the young knight who 
 had accompanied the maiden into the hall. 
 
 " Rise, gentle maiden," said the king, extending 
 his hand to the suppliant, " and name the villain 
 who has robbed you of your kinsman." 
 
 " He stands on your Grace's right hand," replied 
 the mourner ; " that dark swarthy one whom men 
 
TRIAL BY BATTLE. 151 
 
 call Sir Radulf Duresme, — on him I charge this 
 deed!" , 
 
 Sir Radulf sprung forward with a violence 
 which seemed as though he would have annihilated 
 his accuser, — when he was checked by the King, 
 who, in a stern voice, demanded what he had to say 
 to the charge. 
 
 " My liege," replied Duresme, endeavouring to 
 stifle his emotion, " 'tis a vile plot to rob me of 
 my life, or my still dearer good name. I do deny 
 the charge — by my knighthood, 'tis false) "Who 
 supports this accusation ?" 
 
 All pressed forward to hear the answer to this 
 demand, and the hum of voices was suddenly 
 hushed, when the young knight before mentioned 
 drew from his bosom a gold chain. 
 
 " Your Grace shall hear the particulars of this 
 bloody story,'''' said he, addressing the King. " Last 
 night, some two hours after moon-rise, this lady's 
 brother and my intimate, Master Geoffrey Avl- 
 ward, was proceeding from his kinsman's house 
 in the East Cheaping, attended only by his 
 serving-man, when they were most savagely slain 
 on their way home. Their bodies were this morn- 
 ing found at the grating under Dow-Gate, by the 
 sentinel, who gave me this gold chain, which he 
 
152 TRIAL BY BATTLE. 
 
 found clutched in the death-grasp of my murdered 
 friend; there is a medal attached to it which bears 
 the arms of Sir Radulf Duresme! from whose 
 neck the chain was doubtless torn in the deadly 
 struggle." 
 
 Duresme's dark countenance upon his hearing 
 this evidence of his guilt, grew black as a thunder 
 cloud, and then changed to a burning hue, while 
 he fiercely replied — 
 
 " This is a well-hatched conspiracy; but am I 
 to be condemned because, forsooth, a chain thus 
 marked has been found upon the murdered man ? 
 I lost it in a ruffle at the Conduit in the Chepe, 
 some eight months since." 
 
 " 'Tis false !" said the young knight, " thou 
 hadst it round thy neck but yesterday — yet why 
 need I argue with thee ? — Bring forward his part- 
 ner — here is one of thy accomplices." 
 
 As he spoke, a man-at-arms led forward the 
 ruffian Leof, strongly bound. 
 
 "Ha! villain!" cried Sir Radulf, while every 
 nerve quivered with rage, " art thou, too, leagued 
 against me ? y> 
 
 " Ay, Sir Knight," growled the ruffian, in reply ? 
 " you deceived me, but I have now my revenge by 
 betraying thee; nay, never chafe it, I have looked 
 
TKIAL BY BATTLE, 153 
 
 on ;i sterner face than thine, and quailed not. 
 Did you not tell us that the men we slew were 
 Normans? else should not my dagger have been 
 drawn against them."''' 
 
 " Peace, slave!" said the King, interrupting 
 Leof; " what ho! a guard there! — take this vil- 
 lain to the Chepe, and let him be hung forthwith. 
 — And thou, Sir Radulf, what hast thou to say to 
 this charge?" 
 
 " My liege," replied Duresme, kneeling before 
 the King, " I am innocent, so help me Heaven and 
 St. George ! and I claim the combat against any 
 knight who shall gainsay me," He rose as he 
 spoke, and unfastening the jewelled clasp which 
 confined his hood at the throat, drew it from his 
 head, and threw it on the floor, crying out in a 
 voice of thunder, — " There is my gage !"* 
 
 All eyes were turned on the young knight who 
 had made the accusation, — while he, striding for- 
 ward, flung down hishood, seized the hand of Sir 
 Radulf, and in a firm and solemn tone, using the 
 customary forms upon those occasions, said, — 
 
 * It appears by Hollinshed and other old Chroniclers, that 
 the gauntlet was not the only gage of hattle. When a knight 
 was armed he cast down his glove, hut otherwise the hood was 
 used ; and the hat is to this day the gage of pugilists. 
 
154 TRIAL BY BATTLE. 
 
 " Radulf Duresme, whom I hold by the hand, 
 I do here charge thee that thou hast treacherously 
 slain my dear friend, Geoffrey Aylward, and this 
 I am ready to maintain by my body as a lawful 
 man and a true knight; and that my appeal is 
 true, so help me God and his saints ! " 
 
 He rung the hand of Duresme as he spoke, and 
 flung it from him in disdain ; the guilty knight 
 smiled darkly, and taking the hand of his accuser, 
 said, — 
 
 " Wilfred of Wallingford, whom I hold by the 
 hand, I do here charge thee that thou hast lied in 
 thy throat ; for that I did not slay thy friend as 
 thou hast alleged; and this I am ready to aver by 
 my body as a true knight !" 
 
 " 'Tis well," said the King; " sheriffs, see that 
 they be delivered into the custody of our marshal; 
 and let lists be prepared for the combat in Smith- 
 field, by sun-rise to-morrow." 
 
 The sheriffs left the hall, having in custody the 
 two knights, whose looks indicated their impa- 
 tience at the delay, but not until Wilfred of Wal- 
 lingford found means to speak a few words of 
 comfort to Agnes, who dreaded the issue of his 
 encounter with the giant Sir Radulf. 
 
 " We would fain know what has caused this 
 
TRIAL BY BATTLE. 155 
 
 feud," said the King to Fitz-Alwaine ; " we 
 thought our subjects had forgotten their differ- 
 ences, and that the Norman and Saxon were bro- 
 thers." 
 
 " My liege, I grieve to say 'tis not so," replied 
 the mayor, with great reverence : " We have had 
 many sad frays since your grace left England. 
 On Lammas-day there were six citizens slain in 
 a ruffle at the Conduit at the Chepe. Your Grace 
 has heard, too, of the arch-traitor, Fitz Osbert, 
 whom we took in the church of St. Mary-le-Bow ; 
 but here come De Antiloche and Durant, who can, 
 perhaps, expound this matter unto your Grace." 
 
 As he spoke, the sheriffs approached, and re- 
 sumed their seats; when, in answer to the King's 
 enquiries, De Antiloche replied — 
 
 " My liege," said he, " yon dark and stalwart 
 knight is, as I am told, smitten with the beauty of 
 Mistress Agnes Meryl, whom he hath assailed with 
 many pieces of gallantry, but without avail. 'Tis 
 said she looks with a more kindly eye upon the fair- 
 haired knight, Sir Wilfred of Wallingford, who 
 was a bosom friend of the murdered gentleman. 
 Sir Radulf Duresme thought this preference was 
 shown at the persuasion of her brother, and has 
 often been heard to mutter revenge against the 
 
156 TRIAL BY BATTLE. 
 
 young Saxon, (whom God assoilize!) Sir Radulf 
 was seen last night by the watch, hastening from 
 the spot where the murder was committed — pray 
 Heaven he may clear himself of this charge !" 
 
 " Amen," said the King ; " we would not, for 
 the brightest jewel in our crown, that Duresme be 
 the vanquished. We have known him as a brave 
 knight — he did noble work by our side upon the 
 Paynim at Ascalon. They shall have a fair field 
 — and may God defend the right !" 
 
 Nothing further occurred to disturb the har- 
 mony of that evening, and it was late before the 
 wassailers quitted the festive board, and sought 
 their various homes, many of them to all appear- 
 ance totally disqualified for business on the fol- 
 lowing day, though some were sober enough to bet 
 upon the issue of the approaching combat. 
 
 " I'll wager a butt of Malvoisey, 11 said Ralph 
 de Morden, the rich mercer of the Westcheap, to 
 his neighbour and gossip as they reeled home. 
 "Ay, a butt of the best, I'll wager that Sir Ra- 
 dulf come off unhurt. I have heard many say 
 that he fought like a Sampson at the taking of 
 Ascalon, were he slew nine Saracens with the good 
 sword he now wears.'' 
 
 " He is a doughty knight, in good sooth, 11 replied 
 
TRIAL BY BATTLE. 157 
 
 the other, " but Master Walter is a man of strong 
 frame, and though more fair and comely than 
 Duresme, he hath thews and sinews that are well 
 nigh a match for his adversary." 
 
 " Pish !" ejaculated a voice so near that it made 
 the two citizens start, and a man of spare habit 
 advanced from behind them. " Ye talk folly, good- 
 man merchant, 11 said he, addressing the one who 
 had thus spoken, "Sir Radulf, my master, is a 
 match for two such springalds as Wilfred of Wal- 
 lingford." 
 
 " I cry your mercy, Master Argentine,' 1 said the 
 first citizen, " and will allow that you, being a man 
 of war, and a follower of the stout knight we speak 
 of, are better able to judge of his prowess than us 
 merchants, though trust me, I have seen some 
 knightly service done ere now." 
 
 " That may be, citizen Morden," replied the fol- 
 lower, " but ye have not seen the fields that I have 
 looked over. There are men of might among the 
 Paynims, and beshrew me if they deal not in hard 
 knocks, as my sconce hath ere now testified. By 
 the mass, their maces make helm and burgonet ring 
 like a kettle in a tinker's hand, and their arrows 
 are of the sharpest !" 
 
 "I doubt it not, Master Argentine," said the 
 
158 TRIAL BY BATTLE. 
 
 merchant, "but may I ask what brings ye into 
 Vintry Ward at this hour, when Sir Radulf dwells 
 nigh unto Moor-Gate?" 
 
 " I am going to Kynulph, the armourer's house 
 hard-by here; he has a hood of mail to mend for 
 our knight, and I must bear it home and get it in 
 order for the combat to-morrow. Give you good 
 even, my masters. 11 
 
 He turned on his heel as he spoke, and striding 
 down Thames Street, entered a dark alley which 
 led to the river side. Here dwelt Kynulph the 
 Saxon ; and the red glare seen through the clefts of 
 the closed door, with the heavy ring of the anvil, 
 told that his labours had not yet ceased. Argen- 
 tine pushed open the door, and entered the smithy, 
 where he found the Saxon and two of his men bu- 
 sily employed on a suit of harness. The appear- 
 ance of Kynulph was that of a Cyclops ; his frame 
 and his height were perfectly herculean, and the ex- 
 pression of his countenance had not been improved 
 by the loss of an eye, which had been struck out in 
 one of the frequent frays between the Saxons and 
 their still inveterate foes, the Normans. Kynulph, 
 under an assumed appearance of reckless boldness, 
 disguised the combined qualities of craft and dis- 
 simulation : his hatred to the Normans was the 
 
TRIAL BY BATTLE. 159 
 
 most deeply rooted, and towards Sir Radulf 
 Duresnie he nourished the most inplaeable re- 
 venge, for some injuries real or supposed, which he 
 had inflicted on his countrymen. It was not, then, 
 with pleasurable feelings that he beheld Argentine; 
 but dressing his coarse and dingy features in a 
 smile, he extended his huge paw to his visitor, who 
 returned the grasp with which he was greeted, 
 though with not the same degree of pressure, 
 which could be compared only to that of the ar- 
 mourer's own vice. Argentine grinned with pain 
 under the salute, but courtesy forbade him to 
 complain, and after his palm had been released he 
 enquired for the hood of mail. 
 
 " Ye might have had it at even-song yesterday, 
 an ye had liked," said the armourer, taking it from 
 a chest. 
 
 " Have ye tempered it well, gossip ?" enquired 
 Argentine. 
 
 " Ay," replied the other, " it is tempered 
 bravely ; Sir Radulf will need no other." 
 
 This was uttered in a peculiar tone, and was 
 noticed by Argentine. 
 
 " What mean ye, gossip?" said he. 
 
 " I mean," replied the other, "that it will bear 
 thy master through twenty battles." 
 
160 TRIAL BY BATTLE. 
 
 " 'Tis well ; and now I must away and get all 
 in order for to-morrow. Good even, Master 
 Kynulph." 
 
 And so saying lie quitted the smithy, with the 
 head-piece, little dreaming that, like another Ly- 
 chas, he was carrying the means of the knight's 
 probable destruction. 
 
 "Fool, thou art deceived as well as thy master," 
 said the armourer, fastening the door after him — 
 " that hood is the last he will wear : he will need 
 no other — 'twill not bear the blow of a churl's 
 quarter-staff: the first stroke of a mace or a pole- 
 axe will shiver it to pieces." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed his two men, " how the 
 Norman villains will be humbled when they see 
 their doughty knight's scull beaten in by our brave 
 countryman." 
 
 " Whist ! — some one may be abroad," said Ky- 
 nulph. " Would that I could let Wilfred of Wal- 
 lingford know where to strike his enemy : that steel 
 is so tempered, that a child might dash it to pieces." 
 
 " I marvel whether he would take the ''vantage 
 of Duresme, an he knew it," said Gurth, one of 
 the men, "for he hath such notions of honour and 
 honesty, that beshrew me, if he would play false 
 even with a Norman." 
 
TRIAL BY BATTLE. 
 
 1C1 
 
 " Thou say est true," replied the armourer, 
 " and as it is, we had better leave it to chance, for 
 if they come to hard blows, it will be all over with 
 Radulf Duresme ere you could say an Ave or a 
 
 Pater Noster." 
 
 ****** 
 
 Before morning dawn workmen were employed 
 in preparing the lists for the approaching combat, 
 and ere the sun's beams had gilded the spires and 
 towers of London, thousands were on the spot, eager 
 to witness the fight. The King shortly appeared, 
 and as the east began to brighten, all was in readiness. 
 At the appointed hour, Wilfred of Wallingford's 
 trumpet sounded, and shortly after, the usual 
 ceremony having been gone through, that champion 
 entered the lists armed at all points, and mounted 
 on a strong but graceful war-horse. His challenge 
 having been answered, Sir Radulf Duresme ap- 
 peared, and afterthe customary charge, the marshals 
 delivered them their lances. A breathless silence 
 pervaded theassembled multitude as the combatants 
 reined back their snorting steeds, to take full room 
 for their career; and while the Normans openly 
 proclaimed their confidence in their champion, the 
 Saxons offered up secret and fervent prayers for the 
 success of theirs. 
 
 M 
 
162 TRIAL DY BATTLE. 
 
 At length the signal was given — the trumpets 
 brayed loudly, and with levelled lances the combat- 
 ants flew to meet each other : they encountered 
 about mid-way, and Wilfred of Wallingford's horse 
 stumbling at that moment, his aim was lost, and 
 the lance of the Norman hurled him to the ground 
 with tremendous violence. Here the heralds inter- 
 posed, and raised the fallen champion from the 
 ground. His hauberk of proof had protected him; 
 and after draining a bowl of wine, he stood unhurt 
 and ready to renew the combat. 
 
 " Saxon," said Sir Radulf, who still kept on 
 horseback, " the lance is treacherous to thee — let 
 us try the battle on foot." 
 
 " Agreed,"" said W alter. 
 
 Duresme leapt from his horse and unsheathed his 
 sword ; the heralds retired, and the horses were led 
 away, when the combat was renewed with great 
 fury. Although nature had given a powerful frame 
 to the Saxon champion, yet this would have availed 
 him but little, for Sir Radulf "s strength was, as we 
 before said, much greater than that of ordinary men ; 
 Walter was, therefore, obliged to observe the ut- 
 most caution, for the blows of his adversary were 
 showered in tremendous succession ; but they were 
 all parried, and Duresme, losing breath by the great 
 
TRIAL BY BATTLE. 163 
 
 exertion he had made, desisted for a moment, and 
 contented himself with warding off the blows aimed 
 at him ; for Wilfred of Wallingford did not neglect 
 to avail himself of this opportunity, and dealt his 
 strokes with great skill and force. In the midst of 
 the combat, the sword of Duresme broke at the 
 hilt, and he was left at the mercy of his antagonist. 
 
 " Strike, Saxon," said the Norman, looking stern- 
 ly upon him — " Radulf Duresme asks not mercy 
 at thy hands." 
 
 ".Nay," replied Walter, " I scorn such 'vantage, 
 and will continue the fight with mace or pole-axe, 
 as the other weapons have failed." 
 
 Duresme's dark countenance brightened as he 
 heard this proposed, for it offered him an advan- 
 tage; the mace being a weapon which his great 
 strength so admirably qualified him to wield ; he 
 therefore replied eagerly, — 
 
 " Well, as ye list ;" then speaking to the soldiers, 
 "a mace for myself and the Saxon." They were 
 brought and delivered to them. 
 
 They took their stand opposite to each other at 
 about twelve yards distant, with flashing eyes and 
 lowered brows. On the signal being given, each 
 advanced, Duresme flourishing the ponderous wea- 
 pon round his head, while Wilfred, keeping hifl lef'i 
 
164 TRIAL BY BATTLE. 
 
 arm across his breast, carried his mace in his right 
 hand, resting it on his shoulder. They stood for 
 several moments, regarding each other with fixed 
 looks ; each apparently unwilling to strike the first 
 blow. At length the Norman's huge weapon de- 
 scended with frightful rapidity, and threatened 
 destruction to his enemy. The blow would have 
 felled a giant, had it taken effect ; but it was 
 avoided by Wilfred of Wallingford, who, leaping on 
 one side, escaped the danger. A loud shout broke 
 from the multitude on witnessing this dexterous 
 shift, which irritated the choleric Norman, who 
 was, perhaps, besides disconcerted at missing his 
 aim. It cost him his life ; for Wilfred springing 
 forward, smote him on the head with such violence, 
 that his hood of mail was shiverd to pieces, and his 
 skull was crushed like an egg-shell ! — He fell to the 
 ground as if struck by a thunder bolt. 
 
 Immediately the lists were broken in, in spite of 
 the threats and blows of the men-at-arms who kept 
 the field ; and all ranks crowded round the fallen 
 champion, whose head was now supported on the 
 knee of his follower Argentine. His face presented 
 a hideous spectacle ; the forehead was completely 
 destroyed, and a stream of blood flowed in such pro- 
 fusion that every feature was disguised. A monk 
 
TRIAL BY BATTLE. 165 
 
 pushed his way through the crowd, crucifix in hand, 
 and knelt by the side of the dying man. 
 
 '* Radulf Duresme, 11 said he, " look on this 
 blessed emblem of redemption, and say after me — " 
 He was about to repeat the Latin prayer for sinners 
 in extremis^ when he was rudely interrupted by 
 Argentine 
 
 " He hears thee not, priest, 11 said the follower, 
 "he is gone — speak, Sir Radulf ; my master, how 
 is't with thee ?" 
 
 At that moment the dying man's mailed hands 
 were raised as if in prayer, but it was only for a 
 moment ; they fell lifeless to the ground — his head 
 bowed — and Radulf Duresme slept with his fathers ! 
 
 Without dwelling on the customary mutilation 
 of the body of the vanquished, we have only to add, 
 that, ere long Wilfred of Wallingford became the 
 husband of his Agnes; — and, as courage was then 
 the greatest recommendation at court, he did not 
 long remain unnoticed by the Lion-hearted Mo- 
 narch, who advanced him to great favour and pre- 
 ferment. 
 
Cf)f Castle oi J>tattffenberg* 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 
 
 " Valour was his, and beauty dwelt with her. 
 If she lov'd rashly, her life paid for wrong — 
 A heavy price must all pay who thus err, 
 In some shape; let none think to fly the danger, 
 For, soon or late, Love is his own avenger." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 The Rhine can boast of more really romantic 
 beauty than any other river in Europe, and many 
 of the halls and castles which, together with the 
 deeds of their rude possessors, have been comme- 
 morated in numberless works of fiction, still remain 
 to add interest and grandeur to its beautiful banks. 
 The reckless conduct of the owners of these castles 
 was continually a subject of complaint, for they 
 scrupled not to attack and plunder travellers when 
 war did not allow them a chance of obtaining booty 
 in another way. These outrages, at length, roused 
 the indignation of the Emperor, and some of the 
 

 p. IC6. 
 
CASTLE OF STAUFFENBERG. 167 
 
 leaders of those desperate bands paid the forfeit of 
 their temerity with their lives. 
 
 Towards the close of the fifteenth century, there 
 lived, near to the town of Ober Wessel, a German 
 Baron, named Ludolph Von Stauffenberg, who, 
 from the part he had taken with the Duke of Alva, 
 in the sanguinary wars of Flanders, had rendered 
 himself exceedingly obnoxious to his neighbours. 
 At the time our tale commences, he had returned 
 home, satiated with plunder and bloodshed, and 
 accompanied by a lady of most exquisite beauty, 
 whom he had wedded while absent. She was the 
 daughter of a Spanish captain of foot, and had 
 accompanied her father into Flanders, where the 
 Baron first saw her. Her beauty made a strong 
 impression on the iron heart of her admirer, who 
 demanded her hand of her father. The Spaniard 
 considered the match as too advantageous to be 
 slighted ; and though his daughter shrunk from it, 
 he persisted in his determination that she should 
 become the bride of the Baron. Resistance to this 
 mandate was vain, — their nuptials were solemnized 
 immediately, and Von Stauffenberg returned to his 
 castle on the Rhine. 
 
 During the first few weeks, the castle was a scene 
 of gaiety and splendour ; but it shortly resumed 
 
16'8 CASTLE OF STAUFFEN'BEBG. 
 
 its usual appearance, and its lovely mistress was 
 often left to meditate on her lonely situation, while 
 her stern lord was engaged in the chase, or carous- 
 ing with the neighbouring barons. 
 
 The castle was a stupendous and gloomy struc- 
 ture, and its dark shadows were reflected in the 
 clear waters of the Rhine. It stood on an inacces- 
 sible rock, and before the invention of artillery 
 was considered impregnable. Such was the place 
 to which Von Stauffenberg brought his beautiful 
 bride. But the dull abode of her lord was not her 
 only cause of sorrow. There was one to whom she 
 had sworn eternal love and constancy, — one who 
 had loved her with all the warmth of early passion, 
 — whom she still hoped was ignorant of her mar- 
 riage. But it was a vain hope : the news had 
 reached the ears of Juan Gonzales, whose grief 
 may be more readily imagined than described. 
 
 It was on a lovely evening in the month of June, 
 that two horsemen were observed proceeding along 
 the banks of the Rhine, in the direction of Ober- 
 Wessel. The rich half armour of the foremost 
 rider, consisting of back and breast, with the paul- 
 drons and vambraces, and the jack boots of tough 
 and pliant leather, reaching to the middle of the 
 thigh, showed that the wearer was above the rank 
 
CASTLE OF STAUFFENBERG. 169 
 
 of an ordinary trooper; and the remains of a red 
 plume, which waved in his dinted burgonet, plainly 
 indicated that he had lately been were blows had 
 fallen thick and fast. The second horseman had 
 the appearance of a servant or follower, and, though 
 he appeared weary from hard travelling, his coun- 
 tenance partook not of that deep melancholy which 
 was stamped upon his master's, whose hands scarce 
 held the bridle of his jaded steed, but rested hea- 
 vily on the saddle bow, while the tired animal was 
 suffered to proceed at its own pace along the rug- 
 ged road. At length a sudden turn brought them 
 in view of the town ; when the foremost rider, ap- 
 parently with an effort to shake off" his melan- 
 choly, plunged his spurs into his horse's flanks, and 
 pushed forward with a rapid pace. The appear- 
 ance of an armed stranger was a circumstance that 
 attracted but little observation in those unsettled 
 times, so that the travellers, after replying to a few 
 questions, entered the town without difficulty, and 
 repaired to one of the best inns it afforded, where 
 they took up their abode. 
 
 It was not long, however, before the conduct of 
 the strangers was watched. The means they had 
 taken to screen themselves from observation, at- 
 tracted the attention of the townspeople, and many 
 
170 CASTLE OF STAUFFENBERG. 
 
 uncharitable hints were given to the host regarding 
 his guests. Their outgoings and their ingoings were 
 narrowly watched, for it was not until the even- 
 ing had advanced that they ever left the inn, and 
 they were then not long absent. Some gossips set 
 them down as part of a gang of banditti, while 
 others were inclined to think them spies ; but many 
 went still farther, and judged from their swarthy 
 complexions that they were no others than his Sa- 
 tanic Majesty and his Prime Minister ; indeed, so 
 firmly persuaded were the latter that the strangers 
 were not of this world, that as they rode down the 
 street, suspicious glances were cast on either side of 
 their steeds, no doubt in the hope of discovering 
 a cloven foot, or some other such devilish appen- 
 dage. But these honest Citizens were doomed to 
 experience disappointment, and nothing appeared 
 to warrant their uncharitable suspicions. 
 
 Since the arrival of the strangers, they had never 
 held communion with any of the townspeople, but, 
 on the contrary, appeared to shun observation as 
 much as possible. It, therefore occasioned some 
 surprise, when one evening a horseman, who was 
 known to be one of the retainers of the Baron Von 
 Stauffenberg, arrived at the inn, and inquired for 
 the stranger Knight. The messenger was immedi- 
 
CASTLE OK STAUFFKNBU£G. 171 
 
 ately .shewn into an apartment were the Knight sat, 
 and after closing the door, he inquired in a low 
 gruff voice, 
 
 "Is your name Juan Gonzales, Seiior ?" 
 
 *' Ay," was the reply ; " what woukTst thou 
 have with me P 11 
 
 The grisly messenger drew from his belt a 
 long petrionel — and with the ramrod took out the 
 charge, from which he selected a small piece of 
 paper crumpled up, as though used for the wadding. 
 This motion somewhat startled the Knight, who 
 had already grasped the handle of his sword, when 
 the messenger waving his hand, presented the 
 paper. 
 
 " Fear not," said he ; " here is a billet from her 
 ye have long sought — quick, read it, and let me 
 have your answer ; for my head will be forfeit if 
 the Baron should discover my absence and sus- 
 pect. 11 
 
 With hands quivering with emotion, the Knight 
 spread the paper, and as he read its contents the 
 cold drops started on his forehead, and his counte- 
 nance assumed a livid hue. The messenger be- 
 held it, — a devilish smile played for a moment 
 upon his meagre countenance, and then settled 
 down into a low and repulsive scowl. The Knight 
 then penned a few lines, and putting the paper 
 
172 CASTLE OF STAUFFENBERG. 
 
 into the hands of the messenger, together with 
 several gold pieces, said — 
 
 " Carry this, good fellow, to thy mistress, and 
 say I will be punctual.'" 
 
 The messenger took the paper, and bowing left 
 the room. After draining a glass of Geneva, he 
 mounted his horse, and in half an hour stood in the 
 presence of Von Stauffenberg. 
 
 "Well Fritz,' 1 said the Baron, "what success 
 hast had ?" 
 
 Fritz unsheathed his long rapier, and held it up 
 — it was covered with blood. 
 
 "Ha!" cried the Baron, " wert thou forced to 
 use cold iron ?" 
 
 " Nothing less ! My lady's messenger was firm, 
 and drew upon me — but he'll tilt no more, I trow. 11 
 
 " Hast thou slain him P 11 
 
 "Ay. 11 
 
 " Where is the body bestowed?" 
 
 " In the bed of the river — a fragment of a rock 
 sunk it deep enough. 11 
 
 " And the gallant — where is he P 11 
 
 " At Ober-Wessel — here is his billet in reply. 11 
 
 The Baron took the paper, and his eye glanced 
 hastily over the contents. 
 
 " 'Tis well," said he, with an air of fiendish 
 triumph ; " but how shall it be delivered P 11 
 
CASTLE OF STAUFFENBERG. 173 
 
 "Leave it to me, my Lord," said Fritz, "'twill 
 be easy to say that Leopold gave it me, with strict 
 orders to deliver it to none but my lady." 
 
 " Good — here is something for thy faithful servi- 
 ces, said the Baron, placing a purse heavily charged 
 
 into the hand of Fritz — " Go and deliver the billet." 
 
 ****** 
 
 The evening came. The Baroness Von Stauf- 
 fenberg sat in her chamber a prey to torturing 
 suspense : she looked from her latticed window 
 down on the clear stream, that washed the rock, on 
 which the castle stood. The sun was fast descend- 
 ing, but the swallows still skimmed over the surface 
 of the waters, and the finny tribe displayed their 
 golden scales as they jumped to seize the sportive 
 gadflies that danced within their reach. The 
 stream flowed on unruffled, save when at times the 
 coot or teal dived beneath its surface. The song 
 of the fisherman was heard as he rowed home, and 
 the eagle winged her flight through the clear blue 
 space, and sought her resting place among the high- 
 est rocks that bordered the Rhine. 
 
 The Baroness looked on the scene — how beauti- 
 ful ! — how tranquil ! — But a fierce war raged in 
 her bosom, which heaved like a billow. She wept 
 not — her hand pressed her burning brow, which 
 
174 CASTLE OF STAUFFENBERG. 
 
 throbbed wildly against her long and alabaster fin- 
 gers, but no tears relieved her mind's anguish. She 
 gazed long and intently on the stream, when a small 
 boat was seen approaching. A signal from the 
 Baroness was answered, and the boat advanced ra- 
 pidly. She sank on her seat, overpowered with 
 emotions. She had planned the meeting she now 
 dreaded, at great hazard, and little wot she of the 
 gathering storm. 
 
 The Baron had become acquainted with the 
 arrival of Juan at Ober-Wessel — theii messages 
 had been observed, and Fritz was employed to 
 intercept the letter which appointed the meeting. 
 He had done this, though not without taking the 
 life of the messenger ; and the Baroness was de- 
 ceived by the excuse which the ruffian made for her 
 page's absence. 
 
 In the side of the rock on which the castle stood 
 was a cave, which communicated with a subterra- 
 neous passage, leading to the chamber of the Baro- 
 ness. Juan arrived at it, and entering the passage 
 described in the Baroness's letter, ascended the 
 narrow stairs which ran between the wall, passed 
 through the panel which she had already drawn 
 aside, and stood before his mistress. Who shall 
 describe their meeting ? — She rose from her seat, 
 
CASTLE OF BTAUFFEXBE&& 17^ 
 
 — tottered towards him, and sank senseless into his 
 arms. 
 
 " Inez," said the Cavalier, in a half stifled voice, 
 " look up, I conjure thee." 
 
 She seemed to revive at the sound of his voice, 
 and opened her eyes. A burst of bitter tears came 
 to her relief, and roused her to a state of consci- 
 ousness. 
 
 fc 'Oh! Juan," she said, "do not upbraid me, 
 
 my father!" At the same instant a sound as of 
 cautious footsteps was heard near the panel — " Ah ! 
 we arc lost," faintly shrieked the wretched lady, — 
 "Fly, Juan, fly !" 
 
 The Cavalier flew to the door of the chamber, 
 — it was secured ! — he turned to the panel, and 
 was about to enter the recess when the gaunt form 
 of Ludolph Von Stauffenberg barred the entrance ! 
 
 The Baroness threw herself at the feet of her 
 lord, and clasped his knees, but her tongue denied 
 its office. 
 
 "Away, woman!" said the Baron, calmly, spurn- 
 ing her from him, and she fell heavily on the floor 
 of the chamber. 
 
 " Monster !" cried the Cavalier, unsheathing his 
 sword, — but at that moment the Baron discharged 
 a pistol full in the face of his rival. The deadly 
 
176 CASTLE OF ST-AUFFENBERG. 
 
 shot passed through his brain, and the Cavalier, 
 springing convulsively from the floor, fell at the 
 feet of Von StaufFenberg a disfigured corpse. 
 
 It was some time before the smoke which filled 
 the chamber cleared away, when the Baron strode 
 forward and fixedly regarded, for some moments, 
 the body of his foe. So intently was he engaged, 
 that he forgot for awhile his wretched partner ; 
 when, on looking round, she was no where to be 
 seen. He attempted to pass out by the door of 
 the chamber; but it was still fastened on the out- 
 side as he had directed. He drew aside the tapes- 
 try which covered the walls, but she had not con- 
 cealed herself; when on a sudden the horrid truth 
 flashed across his brain. He flew to the window 
 and looked down. There, on a rock, whitened 
 with age, lay the body of the Baroness. He gazed 
 with fallen jaw and distended eye balls on the 
 dreadful spectacle. She moved — she waved her arm 
 — as if in token of forgiveness, — her eyes w r ere once 
 turned on her fierce lord, and then closed for ever ! 
 
€\)t asrot&crsi, 
 
 A TALEOF LONDON I? R 1 1) G E. 
 
 Tnnta est discordia fratrum. 
 
 Ovid. 
 
 Curse on the wtcteh a thousand fold, 
 Who barters brotherhood for gold ! 
 
 It will scarcely be necessary to describe the ap- 
 pearance of London Bridge during the reign of the 
 First James, or to inform the reader that it sup- 
 ported many houses and shops tenanted by the 
 wealthy citizens. It is well known that many mills 
 were worked by the swift current which passed be- 
 neath its arches, and that the dwellings projected in 
 a terrific manner over the sides. This, together with 
 the roaring of the tide beneath rendered them habit- 
 able only by those accustomed to such a residence. 
 Yet, notwithstanding its narrowness, the Bridge- 
 street was always a scene of bustle and activity, 
 
 N 
 
178 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 and the resort of all classes from the gallant ruffling 
 in silk and velvet, to the sturdy porter and nimble 
 'prentice. Here, too, the dame of quality and the 
 rich citizen's wife came to make their purchases, 
 for the shops in the Bridge-street were then held in 
 great repute. 
 
 At the commencement of the reign of James the 
 First, nearly opposite the chapel of St. Thomas, 
 which stood on the eastern side of the bridge, dwelt 
 one Master Bartholomew Tolason, an old merchant, 
 who was accounted passing rich by most of his 
 neighbours. In early life he had taken unto him- 
 self a wife, but after a few short years of uninter- 
 rupted happiness, Dame Tolason quitted this sublu- 
 nary world for another, and, it is to be hoped, a 
 better, bequeathing him too fine boys. The death of 
 his wife, whom he loved most tenderly, was a severe 
 trial for Master Tolason, but time and his children 
 did much towards alleviating his grief. He deter- 
 mined to spare no expense in educating them, and 
 as soon as they had arrived at a proper age, they 
 were sent to the grammar-school in South wark. 
 For the first few years, the progress the boys made 
 in their learning, exceeded the most sanguine 
 expectations of their indulgent father, who never 
 forgot to visit them every Sunday after leaving 
 
Till. UROTJIEHs. 1/0 
 
 St. Magnus 1 church, at which he was a constant 
 attendant. Perhaps it was not the good curate's 
 pious exhortations alone, which made the old mer- 
 chant so constant and regular a visitor. 'Twas there 
 he had first beheld the fair form and blue eyes of 
 the being who had been so suddenly -Hatched from 
 him, and who now lay beneath the cold marble slab 
 near the seat which he usually occupied. IIi> 
 whole care was directed to his children, whom he 
 anticipated would be a solace and a comfort to him 
 in his declining years; — but these visions of hap- 
 piness were soon dispelled ; the boys were growing 
 up, and it was clearly perceptible that the youngest, 
 who was named Edmund, paid less attention to his 
 studies than his brother Aubrey, whom the old 
 merchant had named after his deceased wife. Ed- 
 mund became tetchy, wayward, and stubborn, and 
 set many examples of insubordination tohisschool- 
 fellows. Chastisement only tended to inflame his 
 spirit the more, and at length, wearied in his fruit- 
 less endeavours to subdue his fierce and fiery tem- 
 per, he was dismissed from school by the master, 
 who dreaded the consequence to the other boys if 
 he remained any longer. 
 
 The good merchant, on receiving his son back, 
 determined to treat him with all possible kindm 
 
180 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 well knowinc: that harsh measures seldom succeed 
 in reclaiming such spirits. Edmund was therefore 
 treated with great tenderness by his father, and all 
 but old Martha, his housekeeper, thought he had 
 succeeded ; she, on the contrary, always maintained 
 that he was " an imp of the old one," and would 
 again resume his proper character. These sage say- 
 ings, however, were heeded not by the old merchant; 
 but on Aubrey's leaving school he soon experienced 
 the truth of them. The brothers, spite of Aubrey's 
 peaceable disposition, were perpetually quarrelling. 
 Master Tolason witnessed it with evident concern ; 
 for three years his house was a scene of strife and 
 contention whenever they met ; even the presence 
 of their father would not restrain them. The good 
 merchant at length began to dread the issue, as they 
 had almost arrived at man's estate, and the conduct 
 of Edmund became every day more fierce and 
 violent. After deliberating a long time on the 
 most expedient means of separating them, Master 
 Tolason resolved to send his eldest son into Italy. 
 He fixed on Aubrey, not that he loved him less, 
 but because he feared to entrust Edmund with 
 such a journey. 
 
 Aubrey accordingly left England with letters of 
 introduction to some of'the first merchants at Genoa, 
 
THE SOOTHERS. 181 
 
 with whom his father had become acquainted in 
 the course of business. 
 
 On the departure of Aubrey, Master Tolason's 
 house became a scene of quietude. The brothers 
 were separated, and the object which had so often 
 kindled Edmund's ire, no longer troubled him ; 
 yet he shewed no stronger inclination to business 
 than before. The counting-house was seldom vi- 
 sited, unless for a fresh supply of money, which the 
 old merchant — such was the ascendancy Edmund 
 had gained over him — dared not refuse him. 
 Much of his money was spent at taverns, and on 
 different articles of dress. His doublet and hose 
 were made after the fashion of the most cutting gal- 
 lants, and a long rapier of Spanish steel of the newest 
 and most approved shape dangled by his side. He 
 was known by every one from his father's house to 
 St. Paul's, where he daily lounged, with several 
 fops of his acquaintance, jingling his spurs, and 
 assuming the looks and airs of his superiors. 
 
 A year had passed since Aubrey left England, 
 and the old merchant evinced great anxiety for 
 his return; but on mentioning it to Edmund, 
 he flew into violent paroxyms of rage, and used 
 many threats against his father and his brother, till 
 at length the old man abandoned his intentions for 
 
182 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 a time. Aubrey had been heard from several times 
 since his departure, but his letters did not express 
 any wish to return, which no doubt arose from the 
 recollection of his brother's violent temper. This, 
 however, served as an excellent pretextfor Edmund, 
 who failed not to taunt his father with it ; yet it 
 had but little weight with the old man. Another 
 year passed, during which Edmund's conduct grew 
 more violent, and his father gave up all thoughts of 
 his ever reforming, when finding that his health was 
 declining, he at length, unknown to Edmund, wrote 
 
 to his absent son, begging him to return speedily. 
 
 ****** 
 
 On a fine evening in the spring of the year, two 
 horsemen were seen advancing along the High-street 
 in the Borough. The soiled and dirty condition 
 of their apparel, and the jaded state of the beasts 
 they rode, told that their journey had been long and 
 unpleasant. He who rode first, appeared, from the 
 superiority of his habiliments, to be the master, while 
 the other wore the garb of a menial, and though he 
 barely kept at a distance usually prescribed to those 
 of his class, and laughed and chatted with the 
 other, yet he preserved a degree of respect which 
 the good nature and gentlemanly bearing of his 
 master commanded. Their horses seemed almost 
 
THE BK0TH3B.S. 183 
 
 incapable of proceeding much farther, and the 
 foremost horsemen by turns laughed at the knave's 
 remarks on the passers by, and coaxed and patted 
 his steed. 
 
 " So ho V cried the latter, eyeing a respectable 
 looking couple who were walking on one side of 
 the way, followed by a strapping wench with a fine 
 infant in her arms. " Mistress Joyce is married at 
 last to Ralph, the felt-maker's son, and has a fine 
 boy too ; and there," continued lie, pointing to a 
 demure looking personage, " there's Puritan Peter 
 Cole 6' the Bankside, with his bible stuck in his 
 girdle, and his rapier hanging behind him like the 
 tail of a lean rat — and there's Gaffer Robbins with 
 his buxom daughter, an arch little Jezebel, that — 
 and here is the White Hart, with a fresh daub of 
 paint, which has been laid on pretty thickly." 
 With these remarks he followed his master, who 
 rode under the gateway of the White Hart. It 
 will be hardly necessary to inform our readers thai 
 the travellers were Aubrey Tolason and his man. 
 lb' had obeyed his father's orders, and left Italy 
 immediately on the receipt of the letter. 
 
 Aubrey walked hastily along, and passing through 
 Southwark gate, entered the Bridge-street. In a 
 short time he arrived at his father's house, at the 
 
184 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 door of which he knocked loudly. It was opened 
 by old Martha, the housekeeper, whose wrinkled 
 face assumed a smile on beholding her young master 
 again. 
 
 " Well, Martha,'" said Aubrey, " how fares my 
 honoured father and my brother Ned? Has he 
 grown steady yet ?"" 
 
 To those interrogatories Martha made no reply. 
 The smile which had lit up for a moment her 
 aged features, gave place to a look of sadness; 
 she shook her head, and on being again ques- 
 tioned, raised her apron and covering her face, 
 wept aloud. Aubrey's mind misgave him, and on 
 Martha's recovering herself his worst fears were 
 realized. On hearing of his father's death, he bit- 
 terly reproached himself for not having returned 
 sooner. To add to his grief he learnt that his 
 brother's conduct had become worse ; that he was 
 an object of hatred and execration to all his neigh- 
 bours ; and, to crown all, she informed him that his 
 father had willed all his property to the worthless 
 Edmund. However sincerely Aubrey might have 
 mourned the death of his parent, his chagrin and 
 vexation overmastered his sorrow on hearing that 
 the old merchant had left him destitute. His fur- 
 ther inquiries only tended to confirm what Martha 
 
THE BROTHERS. 185 
 
 had informed him of. He learnt, too, that the house 
 was a nightly scene of riot and debauchery, and had 
 been complained of to the city authorities. Martha 
 sympathized with the distress of her young mas- 
 ter, who flung himself into a chair, and remained 
 for some time in a state of stupor. When, however, 
 he recovered his self-possession, he enquired for his 
 brother. 
 
 "Alas !" replied Martha, " I know not whither 
 he is gone ; no doubt he is drinking at the White 
 Horse with his trusty companion Bradshawe, or 
 some other such swinge buckler." 
 
 " I will seek him, — I will seek him this in- 
 stant,' 1 '' cried Aubrey, starting on his feet. "I will 
 examine the will myself; my own eyes shall be 
 witness that it bears my father's seal and has his 
 proper signature." 
 
 As he said this, he hastily threw his cloak round 
 him, and left the house with his trusty Jasper. 
 A few minutes' sharp walking brought them to the 
 Banksidc, ami Aubrey eagerly sought for the tavei n 
 spoken of by Martha. The sun was fast sinking, and 
 poured its light on the Thames, which glowed like 
 a vein of molten gold. The noble tower of St. Mary 
 Overy threw its long shadow across the churchyard, 
 and seemed to look down with an air of pride and 
 
186 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 protection on the gabled fronted and whitewashed 
 buildings which surrounded it. Amongst the 
 houses alluded to, stood one more conspicuous than 
 the rest, having its door-post ornamented with che- 
 quers of white, red, and gold. Over the entrance 
 was fixed an Uncouth figure, but little resembling 
 the animal it was intended to represent, underneath 
 which was painted in legible characters : " This 
 is y e Whyte Horse." Aubrey, bidding Jasper 
 remain without, abruptly entered the house. He 
 had already laid his hand on the handle of the door, 
 which communicated with the public room, when 
 the sound of several voices calling for a song ar- 
 rested his attention ; he paused awhile, thinking he 
 might recognise his brother's voice amongst them, 
 when the following song was sung in a deep bass, 
 but not unmusical tone, though it was evident the 
 singer's throat had suffered from long and frequent 
 potations. 
 
 Drain, drain the bowl, 
 
 If ye would not have your soul 
 
 Oppressed by grisly care, 
 
 That lank imp o' the devil ; 
 
 With us he'd badly fare, 
 
 For merrie are they who revel 
 
 In sherris and canarie. 
 
ilii: BROTH EUs. 187 
 
 Hasten, hasten here, 
 Not an eyelid drops a tear, 
 Save what laughter does shed. 
 If your damsel's unkind, 
 Here a refuge you'll find, 
 Light o' heart, light o' head, 
 The stirrup-cup to the mind 
 
 Is sparkling canarie. 
 
 Hither, hither fly, 
 
 If the sherieves man he nigh 
 
 "Wit h his freedom killing paw ; 
 
 Or if you'd essay, 
 
 Your bilho to draw, 
 
 You'd find the right way 
 
 Is to drink bright eanavic. 
 
 A loud roar of applause followed, when Aubrey 
 entered the room, and his dark eye glanced hastily 
 round the apartment ; but his brother was not 
 there. 
 
 " Ned's brother I" 1 whispered some of the com- 
 pany, as they gazed with vacant countenances on 
 Aubrey, whose face and figure strikingly resembled 
 Edmund's. 
 
 " Yes, gentlemen, 11 replied he, somewhat has- 
 tily; "I am, indeed, the brother of that Edmund 
 Tolason — would to God it were not so." 
 
 " Why so, fair Sir P 11 enquired a tall gaunt 
 figure, who sat with his elbow resting on a table, 
 
188 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 on which stood a Venice glass and a flask of Canary. 
 His high ci'owned and narrow brimmed hat, in 
 which was stuck a tuft of cock's feathers, was placed 
 on one side of his head, from which flowed a pro- 
 fusion of black hair ; he wore a pourpoint of Milan 
 fustian with silver points ; a broad belt sustained 
 his dagger and a Bilboa blade of great length, and 
 his high-heeled boots were ornamented with a pair 
 of gilt spurs. 
 
 Aubrey made no reply to this man's question, 
 but enquired of one of the company if he had seen 
 his brother Edmund. 
 
 " He has just left us," replied several voices ; 
 " for his friend, the Captain there, has won his last 
 purse." 
 
 Aubrey glanced scornfully at the person al- 
 luded to, who was, in fact, he whom we have just 
 described. 
 
 " You seem chafed, gentle Sir," said the man of 
 war, with provoking coolness. 
 
 " Chafed !" echoed Aubrey ; " yes, Sir Captain, 
 I am grieved that my brother hath so far forgotten 
 himself as to spend his time in dicing and drinking, 
 to the neglect of his business." 
 
 " Truly, you are a moralizing young gentleman," 
 said the Captain, lolling back in his chair, and 
 
THE BROTHERS. 189 
 
 stretching out his legs, "but mine host here dees 
 not favour Puritans, so ye may e'en depart the way 
 ye came." 
 
 Aubrey's blood boiled at this insult. 
 
 " Sir Stranger," said he, " I can ill brook such 
 language — bridle your tongue, or your coat may 
 suffer for your want of courtesy." 
 
 "Thou answerest like a malapert boy," replied 
 the Captain — " Mike Bradshawe hath slain his man 
 ere now for a less word. Hut come," continued he, 
 " chafe it not ; I would forgive thee for thy bro- 
 ther's sake, who is a promising fellow, believe me ; 
 — wilt drink, my young master F" 
 
 As he said this, he filled a glass, and presented 
 it to Aubrey, who, provoked at the Captain's indif- 
 ference, seemed too full for words, and as the latter 
 held out the glass, he raised his arm, and dashed 
 it to the ground. 
 
 " By buff and bilbo !" cried the Captain, " thou 
 shalt pay the forfeit of thy daring !" and spring- 
 ing up, he unsheathed his rapier, and called on 
 Aubrey to defend himself. Aubrey's blade was 
 bared in an instant, and their swords crossed. 
 The Captain was well skilled in fence, and pressed 
 hard upon his adversary, but Aubrey threw aside 
 his passes, and returned them with great rapidity. 
 
190 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 Fortunately he had, while in Italy? received in- 
 structions from some of the most skilful masters 
 of the art. The combat was not of long duration, 
 for the Captain, enraged at being foiled by one of 
 such youthful appearance, fought with less caution ; 
 and Aubrey, watching his opportunity, passed his 
 rapier through the body of his adversary with 
 such force, that the hilt struck him on the breast, 
 and he fell heavily on the floor. 
 
 "Away !" cried several voices, on perceiving 
 Aubrey attempt to raise the body. " If thou hast 
 a light pair of heels, thou mayest save thy neck ; 
 fly to the waterside and take boat — the constable 
 and his knaves will be here anon." 
 
 These persuasions were lost upon Aubrey. They 
 all crowded round the wounded man, who raised 
 himself upon his elbow, and throwing back the long 
 dark hair which overshadowed his face, he faintly 
 articulated, " 'Tis a just judgment. Come hither, 
 youth — closer still," he continued, as Aubrey knelt 
 by his side. "Mike Bradshawe is sped, but he 
 would make some atonement for the injury he has 
 helped to do thee ; here, 1 ' — taking a bale of false 
 dice from his breast — " here is that which will 
 bring thy brother to an end as untimely," and he 
 threw them on the floor. 
 
THE BROTHERS. 191 
 
 "Will any of ye hasten for a surgeon?" en- 
 quired Aubrey. 
 
 " 'Tis of no use — none," said the dying man ; 
 " I have not long to live, but the time left shall — 
 Oh ! I faint— thou knowest the chest which stand - 
 eth in thy late father's counting-house ?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 "Hasten thither, it contains the will — the forged 
 will ! the one thy brother made and I irif?icssed ! 
 possess thyself of that — and " 
 
 The miserable man could no longer articulate — 
 the effort he had made to reveal his villany overpow- 
 ered him — the death-rattle choked his speech — his 
 clenched hands relaxed — his jaw fell, and the next 
 moment he was a lifeless corpse. 
 
 Aubrey stood for some moments gazing on 
 the body of his fallen adversary, when he was 
 aroused from his stupor by the entrance of the 
 constable, followed by half a dozen assistants, bear- 
 ing brownbills, the usual weapons then carried by 
 those officers. 
 
 " Make room," said the officious officer, forcing 
 his way into the apartment ; " what," cried he, 
 espying the corpse of the Captain ; " what the 
 Captain dead at last ! — which of ve have robbed 
 the hangman of his due ?" 
 
192 the brothers. 
 
 "A truce with your jesting, Sir !" said Aubrey; 
 " the unhappy man died by my hand, but he drew 
 on me first." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed the constable, " then 
 you are likely to take a short journey to Tyburn 
 ere long, an I mistake not." 
 
 "My heart is too full," said Aubrey, "or I 
 would resent your gibes ; come with me, sir, I 
 command you, for I have much need of your 
 assistance." 
 
 The constable was about to reply, when one of 
 those who had witnessed the encounter acquainted 
 him with what had passed, particularly the Cap- 
 tain's dying confession. 
 
 "Oh, oh!" cried the man in authority, "that 
 alters the case; 'tis a foul conspiracy to defraud 
 an honest gentleman. I am ready to attend ye, 
 Sir." 
 
 " Then on to the Bridge-street," said Aubrey ; 
 and the whole party proceeded thither. On arriving 
 at the house, Aubrey, together with the constable 
 and his fellows, were admitted. The chest men- 
 tioned by the Captain was quickly forced, and the 
 first object that presented itself was the forged 
 will. Aubrey emptied the contents of the chest, 
 which chiefly consisted of papers, and to his great 
 
THE liKoTH! ]\)'.> 
 
 ,<>\. discovered the will his father had made, but 
 it was not witnessed. Old Martha beheld thi^ 
 scene with mute surprise; while Aubrey waited 
 impatiently for his brother's return. In a short 
 time, a loud knocking was heard at the door, and 
 on its being opened, Edmund entered. Uncon- 
 scious of what had happened, he abruptly strode 
 into the apartment where Aubrey and the con- 
 stable were waiting. He started on beholding 
 them, and in a voice of mingled surprise and dis- 
 pleasure, welcomed hi> brother. 
 
 " Edmund Tolason," said Aubrey, " I know 
 thee well; do not attempt to deceive me. I know 
 my presence troubles thee much, and that my 
 return was not expected." 
 
 Edmund surveyed his brother from head to 
 foot, and whether it was from the violence of hi*- 
 passion, which he was endeavouring to smother, 
 or the effect of conscious guilt, his whole frame 
 was palsied, and the fingers of his right hand, 
 which played with the handle of hi> dagger, shook 
 like the aspen. 
 
 " These are strange words, brother Aubrey,* 
 replied he, " and thy bearing still more strange ; 
 it laeks of that brotherly feeling thou didst once 
 
 o 
 
194 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 love to boast of but," continued he, " what 
 
 brings these men here ? Speak, knaves, who 
 brought ye hither ?" 
 
 " Marry, sir, this good gentleman, your bro- 
 ther," said the officious constable ; when Aubrey 
 interrupted him. 
 
 " Edmund," said he, " I have heard of thy mis- 
 deeds during my absence, and much does it grieve 
 me to act in the manner I am now forced to do. 
 I always thought thee wild and turbulent, but 
 never did I consider thee capable of doing a deed 
 so black as that thou art guilty of. I see thine 
 eye flash, and thy lip quiver ; nay, speak not till 
 I have shewn thee the instrument you and your 
 confederate have forged." 
 
 As he uttered these words, he drew the forged 
 will from his bosom, and held it up. Edmund 
 regarded it for some moments with a fixed stare, 
 while his brother cried, " See, here is thy infernal 
 contrivance to rid me of my just heritage." 
 
 " Liar !" shouted Edmund, springing forward, 
 " dost thou doubt that document ? Does it not 
 bear thy father's signature; and is it not witnessed 
 it due form ?" 
 
 " Thy father never saw this parchment," said 
 
THE BROTHERS. 195 
 
 Aubrey, firmly ; " 'tis thine own writing, and he 
 who witnessed it was bribed for the purpose. " 
 
 "Ha!" cried Edmund, while his countenance 
 grew deadly pale, and every limb quivered with 
 emotion. "Aubrey, thy art will not avail thee; 
 I'll seek the gentleman who witnessed my father's 
 will." He was about to leave the room, when the 
 constable and his men interposed. 
 
 " What," cried Edmund, in a voice of thunder, 
 "am I a prisoner in my own house? Make room, 
 varlets, or by heaven ! " 
 
 "Profane not that word," interrupted Aubrey, 
 "thou goest not hence, guard well the door — 
 and know, thou heartless son of a fond and in- 
 dulgent father, that the wretched man who aided 
 thee in thy villany sleeps in death : I slew him not 
 half an hour hence, and he confessed that M 
 
 " 'Tis false!" screamed Edmund, "'tis false, 
 thou lying varlet !" and drawing a small dag or 
 pocket-pistol from his breast, he discharged it at 
 the head of his brother. The ball grazed Aubrey's 
 left arm, and lodged in the oak wainscot. Ed- 
 mund started back on perceiving that his brother 
 did not fall, then suddenly drew his sword, and 
 rushed upon him. Luckily Aubrey had drawn 
 his rapier in time, and succeeded in parrying his 
 
196 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 brother's lunges, when the constable and his men 
 interposed. Aubrey's superior skill at his weapon 
 had enabled him to wrest his brother's rapier 
 from his hand, which, flying to the side of the 
 apartment, dashed to fragments a large mirror 
 which hung; against the wall. 
 
 Maddened with rage, Edmund drew his dagger 
 and rushed upon Aubrey, when a blow from a 
 bill brought him to the ground ; the weapon fell 
 from his hand, and the constable's men secured 
 him. They raised him up, and one of the men 
 was sent to procure cords to bind his arms, when 
 Aubrey spoke. 
 
 " Unhand him," said he, in a voice almost 
 choked with grief. " Edmund, acknowledge thy- 
 self guilty, and I will forgive thee for our father's 
 sake." 
 
 The men released their prisoner, and Edmund, 
 putting aside with his hand his long auburn locks 
 which were dyed with the blood from the wound 
 he had received, replied, in hurried accents, — 
 
 " Aubrey Tolason, I thank thee for this cour- 
 tesy, for trust me, I could not live to hear the yell- 
 ings of a Tyburn mob. Enjoy thy father's wealth 
 undisturbed ; live amidst thy merchandize, and 
 forget that thou ever hadst a brother. Curse on 
 
ill K BROTHERS. 197 
 
 my folly, and the fiend that tempted ; and curse on 
 the drivelling fool who died betraying me ! " 
 
 With these words, ere those present could in- 
 terpose, he leapt on a chair which stood under the 
 window overlooking the river, and sprung from it 
 into the roaring tide beneath. Aubrey flew to the 
 casement, but it was only to see the body of his 
 brother borne along by the resistless current. 
 
&oger details 
 
 A DEVONSHIRE LEGEND. 
 
 Why did you win my virgin heart, 
 Yet leave that. heart to break ? 
 
 William and Margaret. 
 
 K. Henry. O thou eternal mover of the heavens, 
 Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch! 
 O, beat away the busy meddling fiend, 
 That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul. 
 
 2nd Part of K. Henri/ VI. 
 
 In the village of Winkleigh there lived, in the 
 reign of Charles the Second, a miller of the name 
 of Clevelly; he was what is called, in the remote 
 parts of the county, a substantial man ; what he 
 had was his own, and his upright dealings with the 
 world, and economy in his own household, enabled 
 him at his death to place his son Roger, who had 
 just attained his twenty-second year, in similarly 
 independent circumstances. His estate consisted of 
 a good mill, and about ten acres of land in tolerable 
 cultivation. Many were the deliberations of the 
 
ROGER CLEVELLY. 199 
 
 calculating fathers and sharp-eyed mothers of 
 Winkleigh upon young Clevelly's succeeding to his 
 father's possessions, and they took especial care that 
 none of their daughters should be absent on Sun- 
 days at the village church. Roger was a comely 
 and well-proportioned youth, though the fastidious 
 might say he was somewhat too sturdy ; but this is 
 a fault which is easily overlooked in Devonshire, 
 where skill in wrestling is so much in repute, and 
 where strength of body is often found to make 
 amends for any deficiency in the mental faculty. 
 He had made no slight impression on the fair-eyed 
 girls of his native village, although there were 
 some damsels whose charms were on the wane, who 
 hinted that the flourishing business of Roger Cle- 
 velly was the most powerful magnet. Be this as 
 it may, there were many families who would have 
 been proud of an alliance with the young miller ; 
 but the charms of no maiden had as yet enslaved 
 him, although there were many in his neighbour- 
 hood who could boast of a fair proportion of that 
 beauty for which the damsels of Devonshire are so 
 justly famous. Many were the invitations he re- 
 ceived, and no rustic fete was given to which he 
 was not invited. 
 
 Three years had passed away since the death of 
 
200 Roger clevelly; 
 
 his father, when Roger, at length, seriously deter- 
 mined to take unto himself a wife, and he was not 
 long in fixing upon one whom he thought in every 
 respect likely to render him happy. He accord- 
 ingly waited one morning upon the father of the 
 object of his choice, and after some preliminary 
 formula?, Roger was permitted to visit the house of 
 the wealthy farmer, in the quality of a lover, or, 
 in more modern parlance, to "pay his address" to 
 the old man's darling, the beautiful Alice Buck- 
 land. Her's was that beauty at which your city 
 dames may scoff; but her fair cheek, glowing with 
 the rosy hue of health, her white and even teeth, 
 and dark brown ringlets, though all partaking of a 
 certain degree of rusticity, were not less winning, 
 and her triumph over the lusty young miller was 
 complete. Between two such beings there is little 
 fear of a lack of affection, and ere the year was out 
 each village lass pointed to the happy couple as 
 they strolled along, and, with laughing eye and 
 significant gestures, betrayed her allowable envy. 
 
 But the dark veil of superstition was still spread 
 over the peasantry of England. Evil spirits were 
 believed to roam through the world, blighting the 
 fair hopes of the young and sanguine heart. A 
 dark and fearful tale had oft been whispered by the 
 
ROGER CLEVELLY. 201 
 
 elders of the village, that Roger Clcvelly was the 
 last of his race, and that an evil destiny hung over 
 him. But he heard not these things, or, if he did 
 hear them, they were unheeded, and their forebo- 
 dings troubled him not. 
 
 At length, the day was fixed for their marriage, 
 and the busy fingers of the bride and her friend 
 were employed in preparing her wedding dress. In 
 three weeks they were to be made man and wife, 
 and each looked forward to the happy day which 
 should see them united by the holy ami indissolu- 
 ble bond of wedlock. 
 
 Young Clevellv was in the habit of riding over 
 to Hatherleigh market every week, and he had left 
 home one day for that purpose, intending to make 
 a purchase of some corn of a farmer with whom 
 he had many dealings. His stay at Hatherleigh 
 was much protracted, in consequence of his not 
 finding this person in the town as he expected, 
 and night was advancing, when he determined to 
 return home. Before he had quitted the town half 
 an hour, it became quite dark ; this made him urge 
 his horse forwai'd with some speed, for the roads 
 in those days were not over safe to travel in the 
 night time. He had arrived within a mile of his 
 home, when the horse he rode, with an instinct 
 
202 ROGER. CLEVELLY. 
 
 peculiar to that animal, suddenly shyed, and in 
 doing so, nearly threw the young miller into the 
 road ; at the same moment a faint voice cried out 
 for help. 
 
 "Whoa! whoa! jade!" said the miller, stro- 
 king the neck of his horse ; then raising his voice, 
 he cried out, in the familiar dialect of the west, to 
 the person who had spoken, and whom, owing to 
 the darkness, he could not see distinctly, — 
 
 " Who bist thee, vriend ? and what brings thee 
 here at this time o' night?" 
 
 A deep pause ensued, interrupted only by the 
 snorting and pawing of the miller's horse. No 
 answer was returned, and Roger dismounting, per- 
 ceived that a young and well-dressed man was ly- 
 ing in the middle of the road, apparently in a state of 
 intoxication. After a moment's deliberation he drew 
 the stranger from the road, and placing him on the 
 green sward, remounted his horse, and rode hastily 
 home for assistance. This was soon procured, and 
 in half an hour the stranger was under the roof 
 of the young miller, in a state, to all appearance, 
 of total unconsciousness of what had been done 
 for him by his generous preserver. Hock and 
 soda-water, the modern tippler's remedy for such 
 cases, were not known at that period to the unso- 
 
ROGER CLEVELLY. 203 
 
 phisticated inhabitants of Winkleigh : the miller 
 had none, but such simple restoratives as his gene- 
 rous disposition prompted him to use were not 
 spared to render his guest sensible of the kindness 
 with whidh he had been treated. Old Dorcas, the 
 miller's housekeeper, not unused to such scenes in 
 the lifetime of her old master, ventured to suggest 
 that a night's sleep would restore the stranger to 
 consciousness ; he was therefore placed with much 
 care in the best chamber, and the household re- 
 tiring to rest, left the crickets to their nightly gam- 
 bols on the deserted hearth. 
 
 The miller arose betimes, and set about his ac- 
 customed labour. When breakfast time came, the 
 stranger, to his astonishment, entered the room, and 
 thanked his preserver in the most grateful terms, 
 for the kindness shewn him. There were no marks 
 left on his countenance of the excess of the previ- 
 ous evening, and his gait and manner were those of 
 a man who had seen the world, and mixed with 
 polished society, although there was something 
 like a bluntness in his discourse, which indicated 
 that he had been used to the sea. His face was emi- 
 nently handsome; his eyes were large, dark, and 
 lustrous ; his nose beautifully formed ; his mouth 
 somewhat large, but well-shaped, though when he 
 
204 HOGEK CLEVELLY. 
 
 smiled there was a writhing of the nether lip, as 
 if it were a pain to him. His hair was jetty black, 
 and fell in large curls over his shoulders, beau- 
 tifully contrasting with his high, pale forehead, on 
 which age had not yet stamped a single wrinkle. 
 His figure was such as the most fastidious might 
 essay in vain to find a fault with ; his age appear- 
 ed to be about thirty. Upon his entering the room, 
 the miller handed him a chair, and then helped him 
 to the good things he had provided for breakfast. 
 Tea, coffee, and chocolate were not known in those 
 days to persons in his station of life, but there was 
 no lack of ham, beef, and good ale, while a flask 
 of choice wine was added to the list by the gene- 
 rous young miller. The stranger, however, made 
 but a sorry meal, which he said was owing to the 
 preceding night's debauch. 
 
 " 'Tis ever so with me," said he, " after I have 
 drank too freely overnight. 'Tis lucky that I 
 escaped without a broken limb, for my mare is a 
 winsome jade, and requires a tight hand. 11 
 
 "You had a horse then?" inquired the miller, 
 hastily; "pardon me, Sir, I wot not that you had 
 been riding last night, though, fool that I am, I 
 remember unbuckling your spurs and drawing off 
 your boots. I will send over the country in search 
 
BOGEli CLEVELLY. 205 
 
 of it immediately ;" and, rising from his seat, he 
 gave orders to two of his men to go in pursuit 
 of the stray horse. 
 
 As they sat at breakfast, the stranger conversed 
 freely with the young miller, and scrupled not to 
 tell him that he had been engaged in more than one 
 scene of violence and rapine on the coast of South 
 America. 
 
 " Here," said he, producing a massive gold chain, 
 " I took this from the neck of the governor of a 
 Spanish fort near Panama. I slew him with a pis- 
 tol shot, just as he was about to give fire to one of 
 his culverins. I cannot now bestow it on a more 
 worthy gentleman than yourself;" and, rising 
 from his seat, he hung it round the neck of the 
 astonished miller, who, thunderstruck at such an 
 instance of generositv, was with difficulty per- 
 suaded to keep it. 
 
 "'Tis but a trifle, 1 '' said the stranger, "a mere 
 bauble, believe me. I have a few things here, 
 though, which I should have much grieved for the 
 loss of, had I fallen into other hands." 
 
 He took from his vest, as he spoke, a steel 
 casket, and, opening it with a small key, displayed 
 a quantity of jewels of such dazzling brightness, 
 that old Dorcas literally screamed with amazement, 
 
206 ROGER CLEVELLY. 
 
 while the young miller doubted not but that he had 
 given shelter to the king himself; and he already 
 saw himself at court, a dubbed knight, ruffling in 
 silk and gold lace, and wearing a rapier of Bilboa 
 steel by his side. The stranger's manner was 
 bland and courteous, and his marvellous relations 
 of perils by land and sea, and " hair-breadth 'scapes 
 i' th' imminent deadly breach," completely turned 
 the head of the miller, who paid but little atten- 
 tion to his accustomed labour that day. Ere din- 
 ner-time arrived, the men who had gone in search 
 of the stranger's horse returned without it, and 
 informed their master that no traces of the stray 
 animal had been obtained. 
 
 Not to tire our readers with all that passed be- 
 tween young Clevelly, and his guest, we must in- 
 form them, that at the end of three days the latter 
 discovered no inclination to depart. These days 
 seemed but so many hours to the miller. Sunday 
 morning came, and it was then that he, for the first 
 time, remembered he had not seen his beloved Alice 
 since the day he set out for Hatherleigh market. 
 Stung by self-reproach, he hastened to his chamber, 
 and dressed himself in his best, to attend the vil- 
 lage cliurch, for the tinkle of its bell now sum- 
 moned the inhabitants under its hallowed roof. 
 
ROGER CLEVELLY. 207 
 
 Roger soon completed his rustic toilet, and was 
 descending the stairs, when he met the stranger, 
 whom we shall now call Herrick, and who thus 
 accosted him : 
 
 " Whither now, Master Clevelly P" then, glan- 
 cing at his dress, " Truly those hosen become 
 your leg passing well, and your points are tied 
 right jauntily — Where would ye, fair Sir?" 
 
 " To church," replied Roger. " Why ask ye, 
 Master Herrick? — will ye not go with me? 11 
 
 The lip of Herrick curled with a smile as he 
 replied — 
 
 " Go with thee, Master Clevelly, — marry, I 
 would as lief hang. What, sit for a whole hour 
 and hear a Ions discourse from that feeble and 
 short-sighted piece of mortality ye pointed out to 
 me yesterday. Never I" 1 
 
 " Pr'ythee, forbear," replied Roger, somewhat 
 hastily, "he is a worthy, pious man, and is be- 
 loved by his flock ; as to his discourse, why " 
 
 " Pshaw V interrupted Herrick, " it may do 
 very well for the clowns of this village ; but shall I, 
 who have studied in Araby, and learnt that secret 
 which places the wealth of the Indies at my dispo- 
 sal, listen to a teacher of clodpoles ? Nay, huff it 
 not, man ; I do not include thee, for there is that 
 
208 feOGEB ( I.KVELT.Y. 
 
 in thy looks which tells me thou wert born to a 
 better fortune." 
 
 R oe;er smiled. 
 
 "Ay," continued Herrick, " I see that thou art 
 possessed of more spirit than the clowns of this 
 dull village, in which no man can raise himself. 
 What say ye, Sir, to a visit to London ? where 
 the merits of a gallant like yourself are soon 
 known and appreciated. 1 ' 
 
 " I will talk of that when I return," replied 
 Roger, brushing past him ; " but if I stay to hear 
 you now, I shall not get to the church in time, and 
 I must go to-day " 
 
 He bounded from the house as he spoke, to the 
 evident chagrin of Herrick, and soon gained the 
 church, in which the inhabitants of the village were 
 already assembled. He passed up the aisle, and 
 entered Master Buckland's pew, where sat his be- 
 loved Alice, her countenace reddened with a min- 
 gled feeling of gladness and displeasure. A re- 
 proachful glance from Alice struck to his heart, 
 and he bitterly upbraided himself for his neglect of 
 the beautiful and fond girl, who loved him with 
 the unalloyed affection of a first and early passion. 
 Who could blame them if they rejoiced at the con- 
 clusion of the morning's service ? As they gained 
 
ROGER CLEVELLY. 209 
 
 the churchyard, the lovers separated from the 
 throng, and Roger sought and obtained pardon for 
 his neglect. 
 
 We shall not dwell on all that transpired be- 
 tween them. Those who have been lovers can 
 picture to themselves such scenes, while to those 
 who have never loved, — and where are they? — the 
 pen cannot convey an adequate description. 
 
 When Roger returned home, the vivid descrip- 
 tion of London which Herrick gave him, completely 
 turned his brain, and he swore that he would see 
 the city, and taste of its pleasures ere that moon 
 was out. And he kept his word ; for, in less than 
 a week, he bade adieu to the village of Winkleigh, 
 and was on his road to London, accompanied by 
 Herrick. 
 
 It was not without regret that he quitted Alice, 
 but then he consoled himself with the reflection 
 that he should reap advantage by a visit to London, 
 and appear more refined and polished when he re- 
 turned. On arriving there, they put up at one of 
 the best inns in Fleet Street, and Roger was soon 
 the gayest of the wild gallants who frequented that 
 celebrated part of London. Herrick mingled with 
 the polish of a courtier the recklessness and careless 
 bearing of a sailor, and ere a week had passed. 
 
 P 
 
210 ROGER CLEVELLY. 
 
 Clevelly, under his guidance, had drank deep at 
 the dark and inky fountain of vice. His appear- 
 ance soon altered; his face lost its healthy and 
 sunburnt hue, and his languid eye told too plainly 
 that dissipation had done its work upon him. His 
 step, to be sure, was much like that of the gallants 
 of London — he turned out his toes so as to shew 
 the rosetts on his shoes, or, when booted, to shew 
 his spur leathers ; but it wanted that firmness and 
 elasticity which was once the pride of Winkleigh. 
 The heartless and sensual miscreant, Charles,* 
 
 * Those who have reflected on the life and actions of this 
 king, will not, I am sure, think these epithets misapplied; 
 for a more base and worthless character than Charles never 
 disgraced the throne of England, or England herself. It is not 
 a little curious, that the two sovereigns who are known by the 
 endearing names of "good Queen Bess," and "the Merry 
 Monarch," were without their equals in perfidy. Even those 
 who are loudest in their praises of Elizabeth, cannot conceal 
 her vices ; while the frightful enormities of Charles the Second 
 are winked at by none. This wretched man was, from his 
 youth, profligate and abandoned; and, after putting many to 
 death for professing the catholic faith, he received, in his dying 
 hour, the sacrament from the hands of a[catholic priest, and 
 turning his back upon a minister of that church he had sup- 
 ported during his reign, he breathed out his soul surrounded 
 by the depraved minions of his court! This is a frightful 
 picture, but it is a true one. 
 
 • e^cztr Ck~> £^7*"^- 
 
 L^j j.^VA^: 
 
 £„-&> ^.' ^^ ****** %'jL 
 
 —2 Cll ^\. r I H.^eLr*^J 
 
 rf ^W 
 
 r ... I^.J^c. FcrC — 
 
 6^ %****—> 
 
ROGER CLKVELLY. 211 
 
 held, at this thue, his court at Whitehall, and Lon- 
 don was crammed with all the gay and thoughtless 
 in England. Every one knows, or, at least, ought 
 to know, what society was in this reign; a reign 
 in which Oates, Dangerfeld, Blood, and other such 
 ruffians, were not only allowed to live, but wi re 
 even patronized and sheltered by the Court. This 
 was the age in which the witty and talented, but 
 depraved Rochester roamed about ; at one time 
 amusing the rabble in the guise of a charlatan ; — 
 at another, frightening the credulous out of their 
 wits in the garb of an astrologer; and not unfre- 
 quently obtaining, by the latter means, secrets 
 from those by whom he was surrounded at court, 
 which gave him a fearful ascendancy over them. 
 The civil wars had made many needy and despe- 
 rate, and many who had once lived in affluence 
 were content to subsist upon the bounty of the 
 powerful and vicious. Licentiousness and vice had 
 reached their utmost height, and to be virtuous 
 was to be an object of ridicule and contempt. 
 
 It would, then, have been wonderful indeed if 
 Roger had remained three weeks in London with- 
 out contamination ; more especially in the company 
 of Herrick, whose manners were as loose ;is his 
 wealth was boundless 
 
212 ROGER CLEVELLY. 
 
 Unaccustomed to a life of riot and debauchery, 
 Clevelly soon began to feel the effects of indulging 
 in such excesses, and having been confined to his 
 chamber one day by indisposition, he retired to bed 
 early; but not to sleep, for his fevered brain for- 
 bade it. He lay till long after the midnight chimes 
 had sounded; it was then that he slept, but dreams 
 of a dark and fearful kind haunted his slumbers. 
 He beheld, as if reflected in a mirror, the church- 
 yard of his native village, and he looked and saw 
 a newly-formed grave, on which some friends of 
 the departed had scattered a profusion of wild 
 flowers, now fast fading in the noon-day sun — and 
 anon, the scene changed, and a dark cloud rolled 
 before him, and as it dissolved, an awful scene was 
 disclosed. He beheld a figure like himself bow 
 before a throne of dazzling brightness, on which 
 sat one whose countenance shone like the face of 
 the prophet when he descended from Mount Sinai, 
 and ten thousand celestial beings were gathered 
 around. Suddenly, a voice loud and fearful peeled 
 through the vault of heaven, and one of giant size 
 and height appeared, and claimed the soul of him 
 who had thus humbled himself. Then came forth 
 one arrayed in white, and low she bowed, and in 
 meek and piteous accents supplicated for the soul 
 
HOG E It CLEVELLY. 213 
 
 of him who knelt. And the figure was that of his 
 deserted love, his fondly-devoted Alice ! He started 
 from his couch with a deep groan of anguish; cold 
 drops of moisture stood on his brow; he essayed 
 to pray, but his tongue moved noiselessly, his 
 parched lips quivered with agony, and he sunk 
 back in a swoon. 
 
 When he recovered, the first rays of the morning 
 sun gleamed on the latticed window of his cham- 
 ber. Throwing himself on his knees, he implored 
 mercy for his numerous sins, and prayed with an 
 intensity like that of a criminal who is about to 
 be sacrificed to the offended laws of his country. 
 Tears, bitter scalding tears, such as he had never 
 shed before, rolled down his hectic cheek, and his 
 faltering tongue poured forth the anguish of his 
 troubled spirit. 
 
 A gentle tap at the door aroused him from his 
 recumbent posture ; he opened it, and Herrick 
 entered in his gown and slippers. 
 
 " Good morrow, Bully Roger," said he, " what 
 has troubled ye so much, my good friend? You 
 look scared." 
 
 "Oh, Herrick!" replied Roger, "I am sick at 
 heart ; this night has disclosed to me such aw- 
 ful—" 
 
214 ROGER CLEVELLY. 
 
 "Pshaw! 1 ' interrupted Herrick, "then you have 
 been only dreaming — by this light I thought so; 
 for as I lay in the next chamber, I could hear you 
 mutter and exclaim in your sleep. Why, thou art 
 not cast down because thou hast had a dream. 
 Courage, man ; what will the gallants of Fleet Street 
 say to thee if it should come to their ears?" 
 
 " Peace," said Clevelly hastily, " I have had 
 such a warning in that dream, that I would not 
 stay another day in London, were it to obtain the 
 treasures of the east — no, Herrick, no earthly power 
 shall keep me here; to-day I set off for Winkleigh. 
 If thou art still my friend, thou wilt bear me com- 
 pany." 
 
 It was in vain that Herrick attempted to turn 
 him from his determination; he was alike insensible 
 to reasoning or ridicule; and ere the morning was 
 far advanced, they quitted London, and were on 
 their road to Winkleigh. 
 
 Nothing worthy of relation occurred during their 
 journey, which was one of difficulty in those days. 
 Roger was moody and thoughtful, and at times a 
 prey to the deepest melancholy, which all the jokes 
 and witticisms of his friend could not dispel. 
 
 Day had began to dawn when they arrived in 
 sight of the village of Winkleigh. A faint streak 
 
ROGER CLEVELLY. 215 
 
 of light appeared in the east, but not a single chim- 
 ney as yet sent forth its wreath of smoke, so grate- 
 ful to the eye of the weary traveller. Every win* 
 dow and door was fastened, and Roger beheld 
 with a moistened eye his house and mill, which 
 reared its long vanes high above the surrounding 
 houses. 
 
 Old Dorcas, aroused from her slumbers by the 
 arrival of her young master and his companion, 
 immediately set about preparing breakfast; but, as 
 she did so, the miller could perceive that she was 
 unusually dejected. He dreaded to ask after Alice 
 when he first entered, as many do who are pre- 
 pared for the worst, yet are loth to have their fears 
 confirmed ; but he could now no longer delay the 
 question. How shall we describe his feelings upon 
 receiving the news of the maiden's death ? There 
 are some living who have been thus stripped of all 
 they loved in this world, but can they describe 
 their agony at the harrowing moment which makes 
 them acquainted with their loss ? No. All that, 
 poets wrote or minstrels sung would fall short of 
 the description; — how then shall we paint the an- 
 guish of the soul-struck lover? 
 
 His first torrent of grief being over, the young 
 miller inquired when and how she died. 
 
216 UOGUlt CLEVELLY. 
 
 "Alas! - " replied Dorcas, " she took your leaving 
 her so much to heart, and especially the cruel 
 letter you sent her that " 
 
 "Ha!" cried Roger, starting on his feet, and 
 staring wildly, "what letter? — a letter, say ye? — 
 I wrote none — where is it? 11 
 
 Here Herrick interposed. " 'Twas the vile art 
 of some cursed rival, my good friend," said he 
 " Now, as I wear a sword, it shall drink his base 
 blood." 
 
 " 'Twill not bring her back again, poor inno- 
 cent," said the dame ; " a fairer maid, or one more 
 gentle, never sun shone on ; but, she is gone — they 
 buried her yesterday. Alas ! that I should ever 
 live to see this day !" 
 
 Roger quitted the room at this moment, with a 
 hurried step, threw his cloak around him, and 
 strode towards the churchyard. He soon disco- 
 vered the grave, the likeness of which he had be- 
 held in his dream. There was the fresh-turned 
 earth, and the scattered flowers, now withered and 
 loveless, but newly placed. He had scarcely 
 reached the spot, when he was conscious that he 
 had been followed, and turning quickly round, he 
 beheld Herrick. He saw before him the author of 
 his sufferings, and giving vent to his indignation, 
 
ROGER CLEVELLY. 217 
 
 he upbraided him in bitter terms. Herrick heard 
 him with a smile, and tauntingly bade him re- 
 member that he alone was the cause of all. This 
 reproach stung him to the soul, and he groaned 
 bitterly as Herrick with a malicious satisfaction 
 ran over a list of his excesses while in London. 
 
 " So!" said he, folding his arms, and looking 
 on the wretched young man, as the basilisk is 
 fabled to look upon its victim; "so this is my 
 reward for having treated you like a noble. Was 
 it I who introduced ye to that pretty wench with 
 whom you were so taken, and who drew so largely 
 on your purse, that you were fain to come to me 
 for a supply ? — Or was it I alone who helped to 
 fleece the young Templar whose money burthened 
 him ?— Was it I ?" 
 
 "Peace, peace, malicious fiend!" cried Clevelly; 
 " hadst thou the heart of a man, thou would'st pity 
 my distress. Get thee gone from my sight. Would 
 I had been laid in my grave ere I had met with 
 thee!" 
 
 A wild laugh was Herrick's only reply, but it 
 stung Roger to the soul, and he quickly clutched 
 the handle of his sword, which, however, with all 
 his strength he could not draw from the scabbard. 
 
 "Desist," said Herrick, "take thy hand from 
 
218 KOGER CLEVELLY. 
 
 thy toasting iron, or I will paralyze thy frame, and 
 make thee as helpless as an aged man." 
 
 Clevelly knew too well the power of Herrick, 
 by whose means his sword had been rendered 
 useless, and he groaned bitterly. 
 
 " Pitiful minion," said Herrick, glancing fiercely 
 on him, " I thought thee possessed of a firmer 
 soul — will thy whining bring back the dead ?" 
 
 The miller made no reply, but covering his face 
 with his hands, wept bitterly, while his companion 
 beheld his distress with evident satisfaction. 
 
 " Leave me,' 1 said Roger, imploringly. 
 
 " Nay," replied Herrick, with a sneer, " you 
 had better quit this place, for yonder comes he 
 who was to have been your brother-in-law." 
 
 The miller raised his head, and perceived that 
 Herrick spoke truly, for William Buckland, the 
 brother of his departed Alice, leaping over a low 
 stile, entered the churchyard, and advanced to- 
 wards them. 
 
 " Ha ! thou damnable villain," cried he, " art 
 thou returned with thy vile companion to exult 
 over her now she is in her grave ?" 
 
 " Oh, William," replied Clevelly, " do not up- 
 braid me; 'tis punishment enough to look upon 
 < his green bank — my heart is broken." 
 
ROGER CLEVELLY. 219 
 
 " Nay, thy hypocrisy sliall not screen thee," 
 said the fiery youth ; "I yesterday swore upon 
 this grave that I would revenge her death ; there- 
 fore prepare, for one of us must fall." 
 
 He unclasped the cloak in which he was muf- 
 fled, threw it on the ground, and drawing his 
 sword, called upon Clevelly to defend himself. 
 Roger essayed to unsheath his weapon, but his 
 trembling hand refused its office; — when Herrick 
 spoke, — 
 
 "Couragio, Master Clevelly," said he, "out 
 with your fox, and shew this clodpole a little of 
 your fence."" 
 
 " I may be left to try yours," remarked young 
 Uuckland, " but he at present is my man." 
 
 " We shall see that anon, boy," replied Herrick 
 with bitter emphasis. " Take your stand, young 
 sir, my friend is ready for you.' 1 '' 
 
 As he spoke, Roger threw off his cloak, then 
 stepping a few paces aside, stood opposite young 
 Buckland, and waited for his attack. 
 
 The miller, during his stay in London, had not, 
 with other accomplishments, neglected to improve 
 himself in the art of defence, but it proved of 
 little use against the strength and impetuosity of 
 his adversary, and ere they had exchanged half a 
 
220 ROGER CLEVELLY. 
 
 dozen passes, Clevelly fell on the green sward, 
 pierced through the body. The sword of William 
 Buckland was already descending to finish the 
 work of death, when Herrick, unsheathing his 
 rapier, parried the thrust with great dexterity, 
 and presented his point so as to keep off the in- 
 furiate young man. Enraged at this interference, 
 he attacked Herrick with great fury, but at the 
 first lunge, his sword bent like a bull-rush, and the 
 blade and handle became red-hot ! With a shout 
 of terror he dashed the weapon to the ground, 
 and fled from the churchyard with the speed of 
 lightning, not doubting but that he had crossed 
 swords with the fiend himself. Herrick smiled at 
 his affright, then sheathing his weapon, directed 
 his attention to the wounded youth, whose blood 
 was fast flowing from the deep wound he had 
 received, so fast, indeed, that nothing but prompt 
 assistance could prevent his dying on the spot. 
 Raising the body in his arms, Herrick bore it 
 home, and summoned Dorcas to his assistance, 
 who was about to send for a surgeon, when he in- 
 terposed, and after placing the body in Roger's 
 own chamber, began to strip and examine the 
 wound, which he dressed with great care and skill. 
 An hour had passed ere Roger returned to con- 
 
ROGER CLEVELLY. 221 
 
 sciousness, and when he did, he found Herrick 
 and Dorcas watching by his side. 
 
 The arrival of one or two of the neighbours 
 was at the same time announced, and they entered 
 the room with open mouths, and with the evident 
 intention of demanding an explanation of the 
 strange scene in the churchyard; but Dorcas very 
 unceremoniously shewed them into another room, 
 and bidding them wait a few moments, returned 
 to her patient, whom she found supported by pil- 
 lows, in earnest, though faint, conversation with 
 Herrick. A word or two which she overheard, 
 induced her to draw back, and she saw that Her- 
 rick held a parchment in the one hand, and a pen 
 in the other, which he offered to Clevelly. 
 
 " Pshaw ! this is foolery," said he, perceiving 
 
 him irresolute, " subscribe your name, and health 
 
 and boundless wealth are yours for years to come."' 
 
 Roger's reply was scarcely audible; but she 
 
 could distinguish that he refused to sign. 
 
 " Then die in thine obstinacy and guilt," said 
 Herrick ; and he was turning from the bed, when 
 Roger motioned him to return — and again they 
 spoke together; when, suddenly, the Avounded man 
 sprung up convulsively in the bed, and clasping 
 his hands wildly together, cried, — 
 
222 ROGER CLEVELLY. 
 
 " Aroint thee, fiend ! — In the name of heaven, 
 I charge thee be gone !" 
 
 Scarcely were these words uttered when Her- 
 rick's frame seemed to dilate and tremble — his 
 eyes streamed forth a supernatural light — and 
 with a diabolical smile of disappointed malice, the 
 Tempter immediately disappeared ! No light or 
 vapour accompanied his departure — it seemed as 
 though he had suddenly dissolved into air. Dorcas 
 and the neighbours rushed into the chamber, and 
 as one of them drew aside the window curtains, 
 the morning sun burst with all its radiance into 
 the apartment; it fell upon the face of the 
 wounded man — now clad in the pallid livery of 
 death, and disclosed to their view all that was 
 mortal of the ill-fated Miller of Winkleish ! 
 
Uabtlairt! ftalL 
 
 The Uaron stroaked his darke browno face, 
 
 And turned his hcade aside, 
 To wipe away the startinge teare 
 
 He proudlye strove to hyde. 
 
 " Here, take her, Child of Elle," he saide, 
 And gave her lilly white hande — 
 
 " Here, take my deare and only ehilde " 
 
 Child <>f Kllr. 
 
 The experience which Henry the Seventh had 
 acquired in his youth, whilst in England and 
 during his exile abroad, from observing the proud 
 and factious spirit of the English nobility, taught 
 him, as the first step towards securing a quiet 
 possession of the throne, to curb that turbulent 
 disposition which existed among the powerful ba- 
 rons, and which had been so fatal to the peace of 
 the nation during the reigns of his predecessors. 
 Disdaining all control, these feudal lords main- 
 tained a number of followers, and encouraged all 
 
224 HAVILAND HALL. 
 
 the needy and mercenary who could boast of any 
 skill in arms; an accomplishment surpassing all 
 others in those days, when might so frequently 
 triumphed over law and justice. The sanguinary 
 and devastating wars of the rival roses had created 
 a spirit of disaffection and rebellion throughout 
 the land. Travelling was at all times dangerous ; 
 and, even in London, though surrounded with 
 walls, the lives and properties of the citizens were 
 not always secure. During the reign of this crafty 
 and politic prince, the arts were encouraged, com- 
 merce revived, and the carriages lately employed 
 in the service of the contending parties, were now 
 laden with merchandise ; the many villages and 
 even some towns, in England first arose; and the 
 gloom and desolation which had overspread the 
 kingdom gradually dispersed. The people, tired 
 of a long and sanguinary civil war, gladly hailed 
 the return of peace, and were not to be easily 
 roused again into rebellion, as may be seen from 
 the failure of the two attempts of Simnel and 
 Warbeck.* 
 
 * The adventures of this youth far exceed the wildest fic- 
 tion, and his untimely fate cannot but excite our commisera- 
 tion. His real pretensions are to this day a subject of dispute, 
 for we are told that the confession extorted from him by 
 
HAVILAND HALL. 225 
 
 During the time of the violent struggles we 
 have alluded to, there stood between the town of 
 Fairford and the little village of Marston Maisey, 
 in Gloucestershire, a castellated building, held by 
 Sir John Haviland, a knight of an ancient and 
 honourable family, whose ancestors had dwelt 
 there from the time of the Norman conquest. He 
 was devotedly attached to the house of Lancaster, 
 and when an appeal to arms was made by the two 
 factions, he sold the greater part of his estates, 
 and joined the standard of Henry, with his two 
 sons, who were destined to return no more. At 
 the battle of Mortimer's Cross, Robert, the eldest, 
 was slain by an arrow, and the youngest fell at 
 Hexham, while bravely defending his father from 
 the attack of a band of spearmen, led by Sir 
 William Maltravers, a knight of gigantic stature, 
 who savagely slew him, after he had been beaten 
 down and disarmed. In this battle, Sir John 
 himself received several wounds, some of which 
 were too serious to admit of his ever taking the 
 field ajrain. A cross-bow bolt had shattered the 
 
 Henry was so full of contradictions, that it raised doubts in 
 the minds of some who were before disposed to consider him 
 
 an impostor. 
 
226 HAVILAND HALL, 
 
 bone of his left arm so dreadfully, that it was 
 rendered entirely useless. 
 
 Vexed at being thus incapacitated, and inwardly 
 vowing to be revenged on the destroyer of his son, 
 the bereaved father returned to his home almost 
 heart-broken. Perhaps he would have sought his 
 own death by rushing into the midst of his ene- 
 mies, had not the recollection of his daughter, now 
 fast growing up to womanhood, withheld him. 
 Who would protect her in those unsettled times, 
 if he should fall ? It was the gentle Agnes who 
 made his life supportable, and in her society he 
 sought to bury for awhile the recollection of his 
 loss. But there were times when the remembrance 
 of his sons"' death flashed across his brain, and 
 made the unhappy father curse the faction that 
 had torn asunder the ties of friendship and kin- 
 dred. Robert had died in his arms, as he vainly 
 endeavoured to pluck the arrow from his breast, 
 and Edward was struck, mangled and bleeding, to 
 the ground before his face. 
 
 The remembrance of those scenes would often 
 recur, when the pain of his many wounds had oc- 
 casioned a temporary delirium ; and nought but 
 the attentions of his beloved child could soothe 
 his mind, and make existence endurable. Beau- 
 
HAVILAND HALL. 227 
 
 tiful she was, — fit subject for a poet's pen, or 
 painter's pencil : and her mind was fitted for such 
 a shrine. Although she had numbered scarce 
 twenty summers, there lacked not wealthy suitors 
 for such a perfection. 
 
 Her father was a man of great learning for that 
 rude age, when some of England's stoutest knights 
 could neither read nor write ; but he was not the 
 less skilled in warlike exercises, and had done good 
 service on the part of the weak-minded Henry and 
 his Amazon Queen ; indeed, this had considerably 
 reduced his possessions ; and, when he returned 
 home, the coldness of those of his neighbours who 
 had not taken part in the quarrel, stung him to the 
 quick. But he concealed his indignation, and ap- 
 peared but little abroad, seldom venturing to leave 
 his estate, unless upon particular occasions. 
 
 Several years had elapsed since the death of his 
 sons, during which time the deadly feuds of the 
 Roses had raged with unabated fury. At length 
 the Yorkists prevailed, and Henry was in their 
 power, but not long after, Queen Margaret landed 
 in England, accompanied by her son, resolving to 
 try the issue of another battle ; and, encamped near 
 Tewkesbury, she waited the approach of Edward. 
 Sir John had heard of the landing of the Queen, 
 
228 HAVILAND HALL. 
 
 and although he forgot not the heavy losses he had 
 sustained by espousing her cause, he would have 
 gladly joined her standard, had not his wounds 
 rendered him incapable of bearing arms. The 
 Knight was well aware that a battle must be fought 
 as soon as the two armies met each other, and he 
 anxiously awaited the result of the combat. 
 
 One evening in the month of May, Sir John sat 
 in a small room, which he used as a study : he had 
 once or twice attempted to read, but the agitation of 
 his mind would not allow him. His jewelled fingers 
 held down the leaves of a splendidly illuminated 
 book, but his eye wandered from the page and 
 glanced sorrowfully on a suit of battered armour, 
 which stood in one corner of the room. A lance, a 
 sword, and a mace hung against the wall; they had 
 been once wielded by a vigorous and skilful hand, 
 but were now to be used by their possessor no more ! 
 He thought on the time when he had vaulted on 
 his horse amidst the shouts of his retainers, armed 
 in that harness which he was never to fill again : he 
 thought also on the fate of his two sons, and then 
 on his only remaining child, his beautiful and 
 virtuous Agnes : no marvel that his book was 
 unheeded. He sat for some time in this mood, 
 until night had closed in, when the clatter of horses' 
 
HAV1LAXD HALL. 229 
 
 hoofs struck on his eai\ He listened attentively. 
 Had the battle been fought ? — It might be a party 
 of the conquerors come to burn and spoil his dwell- 
 ing — no, it was a single horseman. Scarcely had 
 the thought risen in his mind, when a servant en- 
 tered, and informed him that a traveller who waited 
 without, required a night's shelter under his roof, 
 having been attacked by a band of men, who had 
 slain his servant. The Knight commanded them 
 to show the stranger every attention, and having 
 descended into the hall, welcomed him with much 
 courtesy. 
 
 In answer to Sir John's inquiries, the stranger, 
 in a few words, informed him that his name was 
 Godfrey Maltravers, and that he was on his way to 
 Cirencester, when he was waylaid by a party of 
 men, who killed his only attendant, and that he 
 had escaped through the fleetness of his horse. 
 
 " Ay, ay," said Sir John, " some of the cursed 
 fore-riders belonging to one of the armies which 
 must now lie in the neighbourhood ; but, I hope, 
 Sir, they have not despoiled you of any valuables ?" 
 
 " No, nothing, save a jerkin and hose, which my 
 poor knave had strapped behind him. 1 ' 
 
 " 'Twas lucky that you escaped with your life, 
 Sir ; these are unsettled times, and the strongest 
 
230 IIAVILAND HALL. 
 
 arm takes most. What ho ! Will, a flagon of 
 Malmsey and a pasty, for my guest." 
 
 In a few minutes a table was spread, and a venison 
 pasty, together with a large gammon of bacon, and 
 a flagon of wine, were set before the stranger, who 
 eat heartily. Having finished his repast, he begged 
 to know the name of his entertainer. 
 
 On the Knight's replying to this question, the 
 stranger's face was flushed for a moment, and then 
 turned deadly pale ; but Sir John noticed it not, 
 and desired a servant to bid the Lady Agnes attend 
 him. She shortly entered, and was introduced by 
 her father as his daughter, — his sole remaining 
 child. The breast of the stranger heaved, and a 
 burning blush passed across his fine and manly 
 countenance, but the Knight attributed this to 
 bashfulness ; his guest was but a youth, and had, 
 perhaps, been little in the company of females; 
 but Godfrey's emotion was occasioned by a far 
 different feeling. He knew that his father, Sir 
 William Maltravers, was the man who had slain 
 the sons of his kind and hospitable entertainer, 
 whose hall now sheltered him in a time of danger 
 and uncertainty. It was fortunate that Sir John 
 knew not the name of the destroyer of his son, or 
 his dwelling might have been a scene of violence, 
 
HAVILAKD HALL. 231 
 
 perhaps of bloodshed, but he had never learnt the 
 name and title of the man who had done him such 
 irreparable injury. 
 
 The beauty of Agnes made a strong impression 
 on young Maltravers, who more than ever regretted 
 the fierce rashness of his father. He saw clearly 
 that there was little hope of a union with the fa- 
 mily who had suffered such a loss by the hand of 
 his parent ; and when night arrived, he retired to 
 rest, his mind disturbed by a multitude of painful 
 reflections. Sleep fled his couch, and when morning 
 dawned he arose un refreshed. After dressing him- 
 self, and preparing for his departure, he passed out 
 from his bed-chamber, when the first object -lie 
 beheld was Agnes. 
 
 Great was his astonishment on perceiving her 
 at so early an hour ; but ere he could utter a word, 
 she moved softly away on tiptoe and waved her 
 hand. Godfrey followed her until she had de- 
 scended into a lower apartment, when the maiden, 
 while her heart throbbed wildly, said — 
 
 " Fly from this place if you value your life, Sir ! 
 you are known to one of my father's men." 
 
 " Known, dearest lady ?" faltered young Mal- 
 travers. 
 
 " Ay, known as the son of the fierce man who 
 
232 HA VI LAND HALL. 
 
 destroyed my poor brother," replied Agnes, while 
 her blue eyes swam with tears ; " but fly, if you 
 would not suffer a dreadful death. My maid told 
 me yesterday, that our falconer, who was with 
 my father at Hexham, swore that you are the 
 son of our enemy ! — 'twill soon reach my father's 
 ears." 
 
 " Oh, dearest lady, how shall I express my gra- 
 titude — but, believe me, I had no share in your 
 brother's death." 
 
 " Talk not of that now — quick, to the stables, 
 and ride hard, for my father will soon be stirring." 
 
 " But how shall I pass the gate ?" 
 
 " I have the keys here — haste, or you will be 
 lost." 
 
 She led the way to the stables, and Maltravers, 
 with all haste, saddled his horse. The gates were 
 cautiously unlocked. He pressed the hand of 
 Agnes to his lips, while his sobs impeded his voice; 
 but the danger was great, and vaulting on his steed, 
 he faltered, " Farewell," and soon left the hall 
 behind him. 
 
 Leaving Godfrey Maltravers on his way, we must 
 return to Haviland Hall. 
 
 As the morning advanced the knight arose, and 
 breakfast being laid in a small room adjoining 
 
HAV1LAND HALL. 233 
 
 his study, lie waited the presence of his guest. 
 Agnes shortly entered, pale and dejected. 
 
 " Why what ails thee, my child P 11 enquired Sir 
 John, as he kissed her pale cheek, " thou hast been 
 weeping. 11 Agnes pleaded illness, and took her 
 seat by her father, who wondered at the absence of 
 his guest. After waiting for some time, a servant 
 was sent to rouse him from his slumbers, when it 
 was discovered that he had fled. 
 
 The old knight was astonished beyond measure 
 at the disappearance of his guesfc and concluding 
 that he was some adventurer who had paid him a 
 visit with a sinister intention, desired his servants 
 to look to the plate and other valuables ; when in 
 the midst of the confusion, the falconer came, atif! 
 informed his master that he had entertained the son 
 of his deadly foe. 
 
 Words cannot paint the astonishment and chagrin 
 of Sir John upon his receiving this intelligence. 
 ITe stood for some moments as if paralyzed, then, 
 stamping furiously on the floor, he desired that his 
 park-keeper should attend him, and striding into 
 his study, slammed-to the door with great violence, 
 while Agnes, alarmed for the safety of the fugitive, 
 to whose flight she had been a partv, flew to her 
 chamber to conceal her agitation. 
 
234 HAVILAND HALL. 
 
 In the mean time, her father paced the room 
 with hurried step ; at times stopped and looked on 
 his battered harness, then struck his forehead with 
 the palm of his hand, and vented his rage in a low 
 half-stifled voice, by excitement rendered inarticu- 
 late, and resembling the growl of an angry wolf. 
 A tap at the door of the study roused him. 
 
 " Enter,"" he cried ; and a man strode into the 
 room, cap in hand. He was rather under the or- 
 dinary height, but broad shouldered and muscular ; 
 his face was full, but distinctly marked, and his hair 
 was cut quite close to his head ; his neck was bare 
 and brawny, and his face, by constant exposure to 
 the weather, had become of a dark brown. His 
 #ress consisted of a coarse tunic of green, with 
 trunk hose of red serge, and buskins of buff lea- 
 ther. A short sword hung at a belt, which was 
 buckled tight round his body. His whole appear- 
 ance bespoke the perfect woodsman. 
 
 " Wat Stapler," said the knight, " thou hast 
 been a faithful follower of mine for these twenty 
 years — Harkee, I have need of thy assistance ; 
 quick, don thy jazerant."* 
 
 * Jazerant A frock of twisted or linked mail, without 
 
 sleeves, somewhat lighter than the hauberk worn by the 
 knights. 
 
UAV1LAX1) HALL. 235 
 
 " I have left it with Will the armourer, at Fair- 
 ford, to be mended," said Wat. 
 
 "Take this, then," reaching a jazerant from the 
 wall : " haste, and on with it ; and look ye, get 
 your bow and three of your best shafts ; begone ! 
 and come to me as soon as thou art ready." 
 
 Wat left the room, but in a few minutes returned, 
 armed with the knight's mailed coat, and a sallet 
 or light iron cap. lie carried his bow in his hand, 
 and bore on his elbow a small target or buckler, like 
 those worn by the archers of that period. 
 
 " That's my nimble servitor, 11 said the knight ; 
 " and now saddle Cob, my gelding, take the blood- 
 hound, and ride after the fellow who left here this 
 morning : — and harkee, Wat," in a suppressed 
 voice, ''see that he travel no more — thou knowest 
 what I mean ? thou hast sharp shafts, and a trusty 
 bow — give him not the same 'vantage as thou 
 would'st thine own enemy — he is mine! shoot him 
 from his horse, ere he know that thou art near him!" 
 Wat stopped not a moment to question this com- 
 mand : it was enough that it was given by his mas- 
 ter, whose word with him was law. In less than 
 five minutes he passed out on the knight's own 
 horse, at full speed, followed by the hound. After 
 riding a short distance, Wat distinguished the 
 
236 HAVILAND HALL. 
 
 marks of the fugitive's horse's hoofs, and the dog 
 was immediately laid on. He well knew that Mal- 
 travers would find it difficult to pick his way over 
 a part of the country with which he was unac- 
 quainted, and he doubted not that he should come 
 up with him before he had got far. 
 
 Godfrey Maltravers was at no great distance. 
 He heard the yelp of the dog, and a cold tremor 
 ran through his frame, as he discovered that he was 
 pursued. Wat, though he could not see his victim, 
 knew well that he was not far off, he therefore in- 
 creased his pace, and moved on rapidly. In the 
 mean time, the object of his pursuit had struck out 
 of the road, and gallopped across the country. It 
 was not long before a brook stopped his progress : 
 he beheld it with joy, as he well knew it was the 
 only refuge from the enemy that tracked him. 
 
 " Now, my good steed,'' 1 said he, " bear thy mas- 
 ter through this trial, or he will never press thy 
 trusty sides again." 
 
 He plunged into the brook as he spoke. The 
 stream was swollen, but the noble animal swam with 
 its master for several yards, when the water became 
 shallower. Fearing to land again, Godfrey dashed 
 down the stream, which ran through a wood at a 
 little distance, and arrived there just in time to 
 
HAVILAND HALL. 237 
 
 escape From the view of his pursuers, who came up 
 to the brook as he entered the wood. Wat swore 
 deeply, on finding that he was baulked. 
 
 "Ah ! 'tis of no use, Fangs," said he to the hound, 
 as he saw the animal run sniffing up and down the 
 bank of the stream. " We have been tracking an 
 old hand ; let us both return and prepare our backs 
 for the cudgel." 
 
 After several fruitless endeavours to regain the 
 scent, Wat turned his horse's head towards home. 
 He soon reached the hall, and having replaced Cob 
 in the stable, he repaired to Sir John's apartment. 
 
 " Well Wat," said the knight eagerly, " hast 
 thou revenged me?" 
 
 " No," replied he, sullenly, scarce knowing what 
 to say — " he has 'scaped." 
 
 "Ha! thou knave!" cried Sir John, starting on 
 his feet, " escaped, did'st thou say ? Then am I 
 foiled, and through thy mischance— there, villain, 
 take with that thy master's malison!" 
 
 As he spoke, he struck Wat a violent blow on 
 his broad chest, which, spite of the jazerant he 
 wore, made the woodsman stagger, and proved that 
 the knight had one powerful arm left. The blood 
 mounted in Wat's dark face — his eyes flashed fire, 
 and with a thrust of his hand he sent the knight 
 
238 HAVILAND HALL. 
 
 reeling to the wall — then grasped the handle of his 
 short sword, which he half unsheathed ; but it fell 
 back harmlessly in its scabbard ; its wearer's head 
 sunk upon his breast— a tear fell on the floor, but 
 the foot of the woodsman was quickly drawn over 
 it, and he stood motionless for several moments 
 without speaking. 
 
 " Wat,"" said the knight, after a long pause, 
 " thou hast raised thy hand against thy master.'" 
 
 " I have," interrupted Wat, " and will not the 
 poor worm turn on the foot that treads it down ? — 
 I am your vassal, 'tis true ; I have eaten of your 
 bread these twenty years, and never received a blow 
 before. You are my master, or your blood should 
 wash this floor !" 
 
 " These are high words for one of thy stamp," 
 said the knight, in a tone of remonstrance, fearing 
 to anger the resolute woodsman, whose temper was 
 always mild and gentle, except when roused. " A 
 rope and a swing from the wall would have been 
 thy fate, if thou had'st some masters ; but thou 
 hast served me faithfully " 
 
 " And been struck like a dog in return," said 
 the woodsman. 
 
 " Nav, nay, Wat, dwell not on that — but how 
 came the springald to escape ?" 
 
HAVILAN1) HALL. 239 
 
 " He made for the brook, and baulked the 
 hound — 'twas no fault of mine." 
 
 " Well, well," continued the knight in a calmer 
 tone, "it can't be helped now; but I am vexed at 
 his escape. His father slew my Edward when the 
 poor boy lay on the ground disarmed and wounded." 
 
 Sir John di'ew his hand across his face as he 
 spoke, and wiped away the tear which hung on his 
 eyelid. Wat's rude nature was softened. 
 
 " My honoured master," said he, " would I had 
 known that yesternight — you should have been 
 revenged." 
 
 " I know thee, Wat, — I know thee," said the 
 knight, " and methinks thou hast had time to know 
 thy master, and bear with him when he speaks 
 thee harshly. Here, let this make amends." 
 
 He placed several gold pieces in Wat's hand. 
 The woodsman received the money on his broad 
 palm, looked earnestly at it for several moments, 
 then let it slip between his fingers, and it fell on 
 the floor. 
 
 " I will not take it, Sir John," he said, " my 
 master's love and protection is the only wage I 
 crave." 
 
 He then abruptly left the room, before the 
 knight had time to reply. 
 
240 HAVILAND HALL. 
 
 "Strange fellow!" exclaimed the knight, "there's 
 not a pampered knave on my poor estate who pos- 
 sesses half thy feeling — thou, at least, art faithful." 
 
 We must now return to Godfrey, whom we left, 
 after he had baffled his pursuer. He held on his 
 way at full speed until he had quite cleared the 
 wood, when he resolved at all hazard to inquire of 
 the next person he met, the way to the town of 
 Tewkesbury. It was not long before he obtained 
 the necessary information, and found that he had 
 deviated considerably from the right road. After 
 an hour's hard riding, he came in sight of the town, 
 and beheld the tents of the Lancastrian forces 
 spread over the fields ; while from one of the lar- 
 gest the Queen's banner floated in the breeze. Va- 
 rious bodies of soldiers were in motion, and their 
 armour and weapons flashed brightly in the morn- 
 ing's sun. The host of figures which dotted the 
 landscape added to the beauty of the scene, above 
 which rose the Cotswold hills covered with the 
 verdure of spring, while ever and anon the hum 
 and " note of preparation " came borne upon the 
 gale. 
 
 It was not long before a body of mounted sol- 
 diers appeared advancing rapidly into the plain. 
 The Lancastrians perceived their approach, and- a 
 
HAVILAND HALL. 241 
 
 large party of their fore-riders pushed forward to 
 attack them. They met in a narrow lane, and in 
 an instant a wild shout arose, and a cloud of dust 
 obscured the combatants. Godfrey raised himself 
 in his stirrups for a moment, then driving his spurs 
 into his horse's flanks, rode hastily towards them. 
 As he approached, he could easily perceive his fa- 
 ther's pennon fluttering over the heads of the party, 
 while cries of "a Maltravers ! a Maltravers!" 
 were echoed by upwards of two hundred voices. 
 Though armed only with his sword, he dashed 
 boldly forward, and struck down a rawboned figure, 
 who had engaged his father. 
 
 " Thanks, my boy," 11 cried Sir William, as he 
 clove the head of his nearest foe, " thou hast ar- 
 rived in time. Ha ! these rogues give ground ! 
 upon 'em, knaves! — Hurrah!" 
 
 The knight spoke truly : — the Lancastrian 
 soldiers were broken by the charge of the remain- 
 der of his followers, who had now come up, and 
 fled precipitately. To have pursued them, would 
 have been to rush upon the main body of the 
 Queen's army, which was now drawn up. 
 
 " Ay, there they go, helter-skelter, as if the 
 devil drove them !" said the Knight, as the scattered 
 troftp scoured back ; "we must not follow them." 
 
 R 
 
242 HAVILAND HALL. 
 
 He wiped his bloody sword as he spoke on his 
 Ziorse's mane, and sheathing it, received his son in 
 his mailed arms, with an embrace that made God- 
 frey writhe with the violence of the pressure. 
 
 " And now, my boy," said he, " let us return, or 
 we shall have a fresh body upon us — see the King 
 is approaching: — I have a suit of harness ready for 
 thee." 
 
 The party gallopped back to some distance, and 
 waited the arrival of Edward's army, which ap- 
 proached slowly. First came a troop of light 
 horsemen, armed with jack and iron pot, and car- 
 rying long lances ; then followed a band of archers, 
 covered with dust and sweat, and greatly exhausted 
 by their long march, their bows strung, and an 
 arrow ready in the hand, while their leaden mells 
 were slung at their backs. A body of men-at-arms 
 came next, and then several pieces of artillery 
 drawn on clumsy and unwieldy carriages. The 
 King followed, surrounded by his friends and bro- 
 thers, arrayed in a suit of polished steel ; his rich 
 surtout, emblazoned with the arms of England anxl 
 France quarterly, soiled with dust and dirt from 
 the toilsome march. A page rode by his side, and 
 carried his gilded helmet, which was ornamented 
 with white plumes. A large body of spearmen 
 
HAVILAND HALL. 243 
 
 and bill-men to the number of several thousands 
 came next, then another band of archers, and then 
 a horde of ragamuffins, who followed the army in 
 the hope of obtaining plunder. Arriving on a 
 more open ground they began to form, while the 
 King's brothers, Clarence and Gloster, left him, 
 and took their respective posts. 
 
 The Lancastrian force immediately moved for- 
 ward, and prepared for battle. In the mean time. 
 Sir William had procured a suit of armour for his 
 son, who now rode by his side. The fight soon 
 commenced with great fury, but the particulars 
 have so often been described, that it would be un- 
 necessary to repeat them here. The Lancastrian- 
 as it is well known, suffered a signal defeat, and 
 were chased off the field with great slaughtei 
 Many nobleman fell in the unnatural combat, and 
 the Queen's son* was most barbarously murdered 
 
 * The murder of this Prince is a foul stain upon Edward and 
 his brothers, although it could hardly be said to have been done 
 in cool blood, as the pursuit was not ended when he was brought 
 before the conquerors. Of all the domestic troubles under 
 which England has suffered, the wars of the Roses stand pre- 
 eminent for ferocity. There fell 0:1 either side during these 
 sanguinary and unnatural conflicts, which may be said to have 
 ended only with the death of Richard the Third, three Kings, 
 
244 HAVILAND HALL. 
 
 by Edward and his brothers, after he was taken 
 prisoner. 
 
 The news of the battle soon reached the ears of 
 Sir John Haviland, who foresaw the danger he was 
 in from the marauders, who had been introduced 
 into the neighbourhood, and who now, under 
 pretence of taking vengeance upon those who were 
 hateful to the House of York, prowled about the 
 country, committing all sorts of disorders. He 
 therefore kept his gates closed, and summoned his 
 servants together. His worst fears were realized; 
 for on the following morning a party of men arrived 
 at Haviland Hall, and demanded admittance. In 
 answer to the Knight's questions they informed 
 him that they were Lancastrian soldiers, who had 
 escaped from the battle, and begged that he would 
 assist them with food and money. Not doubting 
 the truth of this story, Sir John desired his ser- 
 vants to admit them, when they threw off the mask, 
 and gave the signal for plunder. The most costly 
 tapestry was soon torn from the walls. The plate 
 and other valuables were seized, and the knight 
 himself treated with the greatest indignity. Sir 
 
 a Prince, eleven Dukes, a Marquis, seventeen Earls, a Vis- 
 count, and twenty-four Barons, besides many Knights and p. 
 countless host of common men! 
 
MA VILA XI) HAL] ■ *2±5 
 
 John was unable to resent these outrages ; his house- 
 hold were too weak to make resistance, and he re- 
 tired to one of the remotest apartments, with his 
 daughter the Lady Agnes, in the hope that the 
 villains would depart after they had been satiated 
 with plunder. 
 
 The leader of the band was a man of great sta- 
 ture and strength. A frock of mail over a leathern 
 jerkin descended as low as his knees, his head was 
 defended by a scull-cap of iron, and from a belt 
 with which he was girded hung a ponderous sword 
 and a lone; dagger. Walter Harden had been en- 
 
 O DO 
 
 gaged in, and had shared in the plunder obtained 
 in the various battles between the rival houses. 
 His undaunted bravery made him a great favourite 
 with the desperate band he led, who were inured 
 to every kind of hardship and danger. He was 
 now most active in encouraging his fellows to plun- 
 der, and in a short time the place was stripped of 
 every thing valuable. Several pipes of wine had 
 been brought from the cellars into the hall, and 
 their contents had rendered these mauraders still 
 more wild and boisterous. In the midst of the 
 uproar Walter Harden thought of Agnes. 
 
 " Comrades," said he, " we have wine, but where 
 is the beauty who fled from us when we entered ? 
 
24C HAVJLAND HALL. 
 
 — shall we not have her here to grace our ca- 
 rousal ?" 
 
 A loud roar of assent rose from the band ; and 
 Walter, rising from a bench on which he had been 
 seated, staggered out of the hall in search of the 
 lady, followed by three or four of his comrades. 
 After searching for some time in vain, they came 
 to the room into which the Knight and his daugh- 
 ter had retreated. The door was fastened on the 
 inside, and resisted the efforts of all but Walter 
 himself, who with his foot dashed it into the mid- 
 dle of the apartment, and discovered Sir John, his 
 daughter, and Wat Stapler. The marauder reeled 
 towards the maiden, when Wat interposed, but was 
 desired by his master to remain quiet. 
 
 " Fair mistress," said Walter, " we have much 
 need of your company below, for we find your sex 
 passing scarce in this country. Pr'ythee give me 
 thy hand." 
 
 He took the hand of Agnes as he spoke, and 
 threw his arm around her waist, when Wat sud- 
 denly started forward, and stabbed the ruffian with 
 his short sword. So deadly was the thrust, that 
 the weapon passed through his neck, and came 
 out on the other side full a hand's breadth. Wal- 
 ter Harden fell to the ground with a gasp and 
 
HAVILAND HALT.. 247 
 
 expired, while his companions sprung upon Wal 
 Stapler, and though he wounded one of them 
 severely, disarmed and bound him. He was in- 
 stantly dragged below with fierce oaths. Loud 
 were the execrations of the band, when they heard 
 of the death of their leader, and they held a coun- 
 cil how they should punish the slayer, who was 
 brought before them. Some advised that he should 
 be hanged, others that he should be thrown head- 
 long from the walls, while a third party proposed 
 that he should be roasted over a slow fire. Several 
 archers begged that he might be made a target of, 
 and bound to a tree as a mark for their arrows. 
 The latter proposition received the assent of the 
 greater part of the band, and Wat was led fortli 
 to death. 
 
 Sir John and the Lady Agnes were shut up in 
 another room, and one of the band was placed as 
 a guard at the door. The knight's fears for his 
 own safety were forgotten, when he thought on 
 the treatment his child would probably receive 
 from the ruffians, after they had wreaked their 
 vengeance upon Wat. He buried his face in his 
 hands, and remained for some moments insensible 
 to the entreaties of Agnes, who besought him not 
 to despair. At length a flood of tears came to 
 his relief. 
 
248 HAVILAND HALL. 
 
 " Alas ! my child," cried he, " "'tis not for my- 
 self that I grieve, I can but die — while thou wilt 
 be given up to the brutal violence of these de- 
 mons . 
 
 As he spoke, a hollow sound, like the noise of 
 horses' hoofs was heard, and the next moment a 
 wild cry of alarm sounded without, mixed with 
 the clash of weapons, and cries of " Maltravers ! 
 Maltravers to the rescue !* The name acted upon 
 Sir John like an electric shock — 
 
 " Ah V he exclaimed, while every limb was 
 palsied with emotion — " my enemy is come to look 
 upon my ruin, and strike the last blow !" 
 
 " Dearest father !" said Agnes, " if it be Sir 
 William Maltravers and his son, we may yet 
 hope " 
 
 But the knight heeded not what she said. The 
 noise without increased, and blows and shouts were 
 distinctly heard, while the man stationed at the 
 door of their prison forsook his post, and ran down 
 stairs. In a short time the noise became fainter, 
 and sounded more distant, while footsteps were 
 heard ascending the stairs ; the bolts which fas- 
 tened the door were withdrawn — it opened, and 
 Godfrey Maltravers entered, his drawn sword in 
 his hand, and his right arm splashed with blood. 
 
HAVILAND HALT.. 249 
 
 " Sir John Haviland," he said, sheathing his 
 sword, "you are free; the hell-hounds, who have 
 plundered ye, are scattered by my troop." 
 
 " Oh ! youth," cried the Knight, in a half-stifled 
 voice, " I did thee wrong ; but forgive me — thy 
 father " 
 
 " Fell at Tewkesbury," said Godfrey. « Let 
 not your wrath descend into his grave: believe me, 
 he sorely repented him of your son's death." 
 
 Then may Heaven pardon him, as I do !" ejacu- 
 lated Sir John, emphatically ; " but how shall I 
 find words to thank thee, gallant youth ? I am 
 poor in worldly goods. 1 ' 
 
 " Oh, say not so," interrupted the young soldier, 
 " while so fair a maiden calls you father." Then 
 turning to Agnes, whose face was suffused with 
 blushes, he said, " Dear lady, to you I owe my life 
 — say, can constant love requite you ?" 
 
 Agnes spoke not ; she placed her small hand in 
 the gauntletted palm of Godfrey, while the old 
 knight pronounced his blessing on the pair. The 
 union of the lovers took place after Godfrey's term 
 of mourning had expired. His timely arrival had 
 rescued Wat from his perilous situation, and the 
 sturdy woodsman forgot not the service. Sir 
 
250 II A VI LAND HALL. 
 
 John lived to behold a group of chubby grand- 
 children smiling around him, and died at an ad- 
 vanced age, after seeing the factions of the Red 
 and White Roses for ever extinguished. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON . 
 
 Printed by Maurice and Co., Fenehurch Street 
 
fe 
 
 
 i 
 
 I