CJass TA 
 
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 Book V 
 
 PRESENTED' BY 
 
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 5~G U 
 
1 
 
 ,, lL'!>. 
 
 
8fa 
 
 Select 
 
 Eales 
 
 from ^S tfjc 
 
 <Bt$tu &omanorum, etc 
 
 ILontfott: ffititoartr iumleg. 
 
 p. 57. f 
 
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 Gift 
 
 W. L. Shoemaker 
 7 S '06 
 
Zo mt) SnenbS. 
 
 OU have here, my good friends, sundry 
 moral and entertaining stories, invented 
 by the monks of old, and used by them 
 for amusement, as well as for instruction; from 
 which the most celebrated poets of our own and 
 other lands have condescended to draw their plots. 
 The improvements and refinements of this age 
 will naturally lead you to condemn as absurdities 
 many of the incidents with which these tales abound. 
 Considering the knowledge of the present day, you are 
 justified in so doing. But I pray you to bear in mind 
 that few qualities are more dependent on time than pro- 
 bability and improbability. When you read these tales 
 you must, for the time, retrace your steps to the age 
 in which they were written ; and though the tale may 
 seem absurd to us of this day, yet if it was calculated 
 to impress the minds of those for whom it was invented, 
 
TO MY FRIENDS. 
 
 and to whom it was told, its merit was great, and there- 
 fore deserving of due praise. A giant or a magician 
 was as probable to the people of the middle ages as 
 electricity to us. I pray you bear this in mind whilst 
 you judge of these tales. 
 
 Romantic fiction pleases all minds, both old and 
 young; the reason is this, says an old Platonist ; " that 
 here things are set down as they should be : but in the 
 true history of the world, things are recorded indeed as 
 they are, but it is but a testimony that they have not 
 been as they should be. Wherefore, in the upshot of 
 all, when we shall see that come to pass that so mightily 
 pleases us in the reading the most ingenious plays and 
 heroic poems, that long-afflicted Virtue at last comes to 
 the crown, the mouth of all unbelievers must be stopped." 
 
 To the work of the ingenious Mr. Swan, the only 
 translator of these stories that I know of in this country, 
 I am indebted for my first introduction to these old 
 tales ; and I cannot conclude these few words without 
 thanking him for having often lightened my labours by 
 his close and admirable versions. 
 
 G. B. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Gesta Romanorum— Its Origin— Tale of the Ungrateful Man— Sources 
 of Didactic Fiction— Jovinian the Proud Emperor— Morals of the Tales . 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Discussion on the Source of Fiction renewed — The King and the Glutton — 
 Guido, the Perfect Servant — The Middle-age Allegories— Pliny and 
 Mandeville's "Wonders allegorised 21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Progress of Fiction from the East to the West — The Early Christians — The 
 Monks — The Spanish Arabians — The Crusades — The Knight and the 
 King of Hungary — The English Gesta 31 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Modern Conversions of the Old Tales — The Three Black Crows — King Lear 
 — The Emperor of Rome and his Three Daughters — The Merchant of 
 Venice— The Three Caskets 39 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The probable Author of the Gesta — Modern Conversions — Parnell and Schiller — 
 The Angel and the Hermit — The Poets' Improvements — Fulgentius 
 and the Wicked Steward— Irving's Vision in the Museum— The Claims 
 of the Old Writers on the New 50 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Curiosities of the Gesta— The Wicked Priest— The Four Qualities of the Dog 
 — The Emperor's Daughter — Curious Application — The Emperor Leo 
 and the Three Images — An Enigma 61 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Curiosities of the Gesta — Byrkes' Epitaph — The Lay of the Little Bird — 
 The Burdens of this Life — Ancient Fairs — Winchester — Modern Conti- 
 nental Fairs — Russia — Nischnei Novgorod 71 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Southey's Thalaba — The Suggestions of the Evil One — Cotonolapes the 
 Magician— The Garden of Aloaddin — The Old Man of the Mountain — The 
 Assassins— Their Rise and Fall— Gay's Conjurer— Sir Guido the Crusader 
 —Guy, Earl of Warwick 82 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Illustrations of Early Manners — Sorcery— The Knight and the Necromancer 
 — Waxen Figures — Degeneracy of Witches — The Clerk and the Image — 
 Gerbert and Natural Magic— Elfin Chivalry— The Demon Knight of the 
 Vandal Camp— Scott's Marmion— Assumption of Human Forms by Spirits— 
 The Seductions of the Evil One — Religious Origin of Charges of Witch- 
 craft 101 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The Three Maxims— The Monk's Errors in History— The Trials of Eus- 
 tace— Sources of its Incidents— Colonel Gardiner— S. Hubert— Early English 
 Romance of Sir Isumbras 118 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Another Chat about Witches and Witchcraft— Late Period of the Existence of 
 Belief in Witches— Queen Sesiiramis— Elfin Armourers — The Sword of the 
 Scandinavian King — Mystical Meaning of Tales of Magic — Anglo-Saxon 
 Enigmas — Celestinus and the Miller's Horse — The Emperor Conrad 
 and the Count's Son — Legend of the " Giant with the Golden Hairs" . . 137 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Love and Marriage— The Knight and the Three Questions— Racing for a 
 Wife — Jonathan and the Three Talismans— Tale of the Dwarf and the 
 Three Soldiers— Conclusion 158 
 
ancient agotai Cales* 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE GESTA ROMANORUM ITS ORIGIN TALE OF 
 
 THE UNGRATEFUL MAN SOURCES OF DIDACTIC 
 
 FICTION THE TALE OF JOVINIAN THE PROUD 
 
 EMPEROR THE MORALS OF THE TALES. 
 
 T was a dull cold Christmas evening ; 
 the snow fell fast and small, and 
 the cutting north-east wind blew its 
 white shower into heaps and ridges 
 in every corner of St. John's quad- 
 rangle, and piled its clear flakes against every pro- 
 jecting part of the old building. No one was moving 
 in college, at least out of doors ; but the rude laugh 
 l^from the buttery, and the dull red gleam through the 
 ' ^a closely drawn curtains of one of the upper rooms in 
 the outer quadrangle, proved that in two portions of 
 the college Christmas was being kept with plenty and 
 with gaiety. 
 
 The change from the white cold of the quadrangle to the 
 ruddy blaze of that upper room was inspiriting. The fire 
 burnt bright ; the small table, drawn immediately in front of 
 its merry blaze, glittered with after-dinner good cheer; and 
 three young and happy faces sat by that little table, and com- . 
 pared their former Christmases at home, with this one, during 
 which they were determined to remain up in Oxford and read 
 up for the ensuing examination. 
 
1 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " Morrison is always in good luck," said Henry Herbert, the 
 youngest of the party. "Whatever it is, whether drawing lots for 
 a Newnham party, or cramming for an examination, he always suc- 
 ceeds ; and now he is the last man that got away from Oxford 
 before the roads were blocked up by the snow-drift." 
 
 " Fortunate fellow!" said Lathom. "We are shut up now — 
 fifteen feet of snow at Dorchester, and Stokenchurch bottom quite 
 impassable." 
 
 " Ay, and Oxford streets equally so," said Frederick Thompson, 
 the last of the triumvirate, " and we shut up here with the pleasant 
 prospect of taking our constitutional, for some days to come, under 
 the old Archbishop's cloisters." 
 
 " By the by," said Herbert, "what were you after in the old 
 library last week, Lathom V* 
 
 " Looking for a copy of the Gesta Romanorum, with the idea of 
 reading some of its amusing stories, during our after-dinner sit- 
 tings." 
 
 " Any thing but those Romans : it is bad enough to have read 
 and believed all that Livy wrote, from his Sucking Wolf to his 
 Capitol Goose, and then to have a shrewd German prove that 
 kings were not kings, and consuls not consuls, just when you are 
 beginning to think that you really do know something about your 
 Roman History." 
 
 " You will have but little Roman History, Thompson ; the title 
 of the book but ill agrees with its contents : fables of all climes con- 
 tribute their share in the formation of this singular composition. 
 The majority of the tales are entirely unconnected with the History 
 of Rome, though the writer, in order to, in some manner, cover this 
 deviation from his title, has taken care to preface almost every story 
 with the name of some emperor, who, in most cases, never existed, 
 and sometimes has little to do with the incidents of the narrative." 
 
 " To whom, most learned antiquary, arc we indebted for this 
 very stout volume ':" 
 
 " To the imagination, knowledge, and literary labour of the 
 monks of the middle ages. In the refectory, whilst the monks ate 
 their meals, one, the youngest generally of the society, read from 
 some Mich collection as this, ;i tale at once amusing and instructive. 
 Nor was the use of these fables confined to the refectory. The 
 success which has always attended instruction by fables, and the 
 
CH. I.] THE UNGRATEFUL MAN. 3 
 
 popularity ever consequent on this form of teaching, led the monks 
 to use this medium to illustrate their public discourses, as well as 
 for their own daily relaxation/' 
 
 " Few things are more certain/' said Herbert, " than that an 
 argument, however clear, — a deduction, however logical, — operates 
 but faintly except on trained intellects ; but an apposite story at 
 once arouses the attention, and makes a more durable impression 
 on illiterate auditors. Knowledge in the garb of verse is soonest 
 appreciated by an uneducated mind, and remains there far longer 
 than in any other form. A ballad will descend from generation to 
 generation without a fault or an interpolation." 
 
 " Yes," rejoined Lathom ; " and next to poetry comes poetic 
 prose, at the head of which class stands didactic fiction. Many a 
 clever man has confessed, that he was more indebted to Shakspeare 
 and Scott for his English and Scottish history, than to the standard 
 historians of either land." 
 
 " And as far as the general belief goes," said Thompson, " the 
 popular dramatist or poet will always outweigh the learned histo- 
 rian. Let Walpole or Turner write what they will about Richard 
 the Third; to the majority, — ay, to more than four-fifths of the 
 people, — he is still Shakspeare's Richard, the Humpbacked Mur- 
 derer." 
 
 " One of the best of the old monks' stories," said Lathom, 
 " was translated in Blackwood's Magazine, some years since. It 
 well illustrates the popular method by which the writers of these 
 tales inculcated Christian duties on their brethren of the convent, or 
 on their hearers in the Church. If you like, I will read it." 
 
 The following was the tale of 
 
 €i)t ©fojjrateM Jtoi. 
 
 Vitalis, a noble Venetian, one day, at a hunting party, fell 
 into a pit, which had been dug to catch wild animals. He 
 passed a whole night and day there, and I will leave you to 
 imagine his dread and his agony. The pit was dark. Vitalis 
 ran from the one side of it to the other, in the hope of finding 
 some branch or root by which he might climb its sides, and 
 get out of his dungeon ; but he heard such confused and 
 extraordinary noises, gro wrings, hissings, and plaintive cries, 
 
4 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 that he became half- dead with terror, and crouched in a corner 
 motionless, awaiting death with the most horrid dismay. On 
 the morning of the second day he heard some one passing near 
 the pit ; and then raising his voice, he cried out with the most 
 dolorous accent, " Help, help ! draw me out of this ; I am 
 perishing !" 
 
 A peasant crossing the forest heard his cry. At first he 
 was frightened ; but after a moment or two, taking courage, 
 he approached the pit, and asked who had called. 
 
 " A poor huntsman," answered Vitalis, " who has passed a 
 long night and day here. Help me out, for the love of God. 
 Help me out, and I will recompense you handsomely." 
 " I will do what I can," replied the peasant. 
 Then Massaccio (such was the name of the peasant) took a 
 hedgebill which hung at his girdle, and cutting a branch of a 
 tree strong enough to bear a man, " Listen, huntsman," said 
 he, " to what I am going to say to you. I will let down this 
 branch into the pit. I will fasten it against the sides, and 
 hold it with my hands ; and by pulling 3'ourself out by it, you 
 may get free from your prison." 
 
 " Good," answered Vitalis ; " ask me any thing you will, 
 and it shall be granted." 
 
 " I ask for nothing," said the peasant ; " but I am going 
 to be married, and you may give what you like to my bride." 
 
 So saying, Massaccio let down the branch — he soon felt it 
 heavy, and the moment after a monkey leapt merrily out of the 
 pit. He had fallen like Vitalis, and had seized quickly on the 
 branch of Massaccio. " It was the devil surely which spoke 
 to me from the pit," said Massaccio, running away in af- 
 fright. 
 
 " Do you abandon me, then ?" cried Vitalis, in a lament- 
 able accent; " my friend, my dear friend, for the love of the 
 Lord, for the love of your mistress, draw me out of this; I 
 beg, I implore you; I will give her wedding gifts, I will en- 
 rich you. I am the Lord Vitalis, a rich Venetian; do not let 
 me die of hunger in this horrible pit." 
 
 Massaccio was touched by these prayers. He returned to 
 
CH. I.] THE UNGRATEFUL MAN. 5 
 
 the pit — let down another branch, and a lion jumped out, 
 making the woods echo with a roar of delight. 
 
 " Oh, certainly, certainly, it was the devil I heard," said 
 Massaccio, and fled away again ; but stopping short, after a 
 few paces, he heard again the piercing cries of Vitalis. 
 
 " O God, O God," cried he ; " to die of hunger in a pit. 
 Will no one then come to my help ? Whoever you may be, I 
 implore you return; let me not die, when you can save me. 
 I will give you a house and field, and cows and gold, all that 
 you can ask for ; save me, save me only." 
 
 Massaccio, thus implored, could not help returning. He 
 let down the branch, and a serpent, hissing joyously, sprang 
 out of the pit. Massaccio fell on his knees, half dead with 
 fear, and repeated all the prayers he could think of to drive 
 away the demon. He was only brought to himself by hearing 
 the cries of despair which Vitalis uttered. 
 
 " Will no one help me ?" said he. " Ah, then, must I 
 die ? O God, O God !" and he wept and sobbed in a heart- 
 breaking manner. 
 
 " It is certainly the voice of a man, for all that," said 
 Massaccio. 
 
 " Oh, if you are still there," said Vitalis, " in the name cf 
 all that is dear to you, save me, that I may die at least at 
 home, and not in this horrible pit. I can say no more ; my 
 voice is exhausted. Shall I give you my palace at Venice, my 
 possessions, my honours ? I give them all ; and may I die if I 
 forfeit my word. Life, life only ; save only my life." 
 
 Massaccio could not resist such prayers, and mingled with 
 such promises. He let down the branch again. 
 
 "Ah, here you are at last," said he, seeing Vitalis come up. 
 
 " Yes," said he, and uttering a cry of joy, he fainted in the 
 arms of Massaccio. Massaccio sustained, assisted him, and 
 brought him to himself; then, giving him his arm, " Let us," 
 said he, " quit this forest ;" but Vitalis could hardly walk, 
 — he was exhausted with hunger . 
 
 " Eat this piece of bread," said Massaccio, and he gave 
 him some, which he took out of his wallet. 
 e 2 
 
6 AXCIEXT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " My benefactor, my saviour, my good angel," said Vitalis, 
 " how can I ever sufficiently recompense you!" 
 
 " You have promised me a marriage-portion for my bride, 
 and your palace at Venice for myself," said Massaccio. But 
 Vitalis now began to regain his strength. 
 
 " Yes, certainly, I will give a portion to your wife, my dear 
 Massaccio, and I will make you the richest peasant of your 
 village. AVhere do you live ?" 
 
 " At Capalatta in the forest ; but I would willingly quit my 
 village to establish myself at Venice in the palace you have 
 promised me." 
 
 " Here we are out of the forest," said Vitalis ; " I know 
 my road now ; thank you, Massaccio." 
 
 " But when shall I come for my palace and the portion of 
 my intended ?" returned the peasant. 
 
 " When you will," said the other; and they separated. 
 
 Vitalis went to Venice, and Massaccio to Capalatta, where 
 he related his adventure to his mistress, telling her what a rich 
 portion she was to have, and what a fine palace she was to 
 live in. 
 
 The next day early he set out for Venice, and asked for the 
 palace of the Signor Vitalis, — went straight to it, and told the 
 domestics that he should come shortly with his mistress, in a 
 fine carriage, to take possession of the palace which the Signor 
 Vitalis had promised to give him. Massaccio appeared to 
 those who heard him mad, and Vitalis was told that there was 
 a peasant in his hall, who asked for a marriage-portion, and 
 said the palace belonged to him. 
 
 "Let him be turned out immediately," said Vitalis ; "I 
 know him not." 
 
 The valets accordingly drove him away with insults, and 
 Massaccio returned to his cottage in despair, without daring 
 to see his mistress. At one corner of his fireplace was seated 
 the monkey, at the other corner the lion, and the serpent had 
 twisted itself in spiral circles upon the hearth. Massaccio 
 was seized with fear. " The man has driven me from his 
 door," thought he; " the lion will certainly devour me, the 
 
CH. I.] THE UNGRATEFUL MAN. 7 
 
 serpent sting me, and the monkey laugh at me ; and this will 
 be my reward for saving them from the pit." But the mon- 
 key turned to him with a most amicable grimace ; the lion, 
 vibrating gently his tail, came and licked his hand, like a dog 
 caressing his master ; and the serpent, unrolling its ringy 
 body, moved about the room with a contented and grateful 
 air, which gave courage to Massaccio. 
 
 " Poor animals !" said he ; " they are better than the 
 Signor Vitalis ; he drove me like a beggar from the door. 
 Ah ! with what pleasure I would pitch him again into the pit. 
 And my bride ! whom I thought to marry so magnificently ; 
 I have not a stick of wood in my wood-house, not a morsel of 
 meat for a meal, and no money to buy any. The ungrateful 
 wretch, with his portion and his palace !" 
 
 Thus did Massaccio complain. Meanwhile the monkey 
 began to make significant faces, the lion to agitate his tail with 
 great uneasiness, and the serpent to roll and unroll its circles 
 with great rapidity. Then the monkey, approaching his bene- 
 factor, made him a sign to follow, and led him into the wood- 
 house, where was regularly piled up a quantity of wood suf- 
 ficient for the whole year. It was the monkey who had 
 collected this wood in the forest, and brought it to the cottage 
 of Massaccio. Massaccio embraced the grateful ape. The 
 lion then uttering a delicate roar, led him to a corner of the 
 cottage, where he saw an enormous provision of game, two 
 sheep, three kids, hares and rabbits in abundance, and a fine 
 wild boar, all covered with the branches of trees to keep them 
 fresh. It was the lion w T ho had hunted for his benefactor. 
 Massaccio patted kindly his mane. " And you, then," said he 
 to the serpent, " have you brought me nothing ? Art thou 
 a Vitalis, or a good and honest animal like the monkey and 
 the lion ?" The serpent glided rapidly under a heap of dried 
 leaves, and reappeared immediately, rearing itself superbly on 
 its tail, when Massaccio saw with surprise a beautiful diamond 
 in its mouth. " A diamond !" cried Massaccio, and stretched 
 forth his hand to stroke caressingly the serpent and take its 
 offering. 
 
O ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 Massaccio then set out immediately for Venice to turn his 
 diamond into money. He addressed himself to a jeweller. 
 The jeweller examined the diamond; it was of the finest 
 water. 
 
 " How much do you ask for it ?" said he. 
 
 " Two hundred crowns," said Massaccio, thinking his de- 
 mand to he great ; it was hardly the tenth part of the value of 
 the stone. The jeweller looked at Massaccio, and said, " To 
 sell it at that price you must be a robber, and I arrest you." 
 
 " If it is not worth so much, give me less," said Massaccio; 
 " I am not a robber, I am an honest man ; it was the serpent 
 who gave me the diamond." 
 
 But the police now arrived, and conducted him before the 
 magistrate. There he recounted his adventure, which ap- 
 peared to be a mere fairy vision. Yet as the Signor Vitalis 
 was implicated in the story, the magistrate referred the affair 
 to the state inquisition, and Massaccio appeared before it. 
 
 ' " Relate to us your history," said one of the inquisitors, 
 " and lie not, or we will have you thrown into the canal." 
 
 Massaccio related his adventure. 
 
 " So," said the inquisitor, " you saved the Signor Vitalis ?" 
 
 " Yes, noble signors." 
 
 " And he promised you a marriage -portion for your bride, 
 and his palace at Venice for yourself?" 
 
 " Yes, noble signors." 
 
 " And he drove you like a beggar from his door?" 
 
 " Yes, noble signors." 
 
 " Let the Signor Vitalis appear," said the same inquisitor. 
 
 Vitalis appeared. 
 
 " Do you know this man, Signor Vitalis ?" said the in- 
 quisitor. 
 
 " No, I know him not," replied Vitalis. 
 
 The inquisitors consulted together. "This man," said they, 
 speaking of Massaccio, "is evidently a knave and a cheat; lie 
 must be thrown into prison. Signor Vitalis, you are acquit- 
 ted." Then, making a Bign to an officer of police, " Take that 
 .-aid lie, " to prison." 
 
CH. I.] THE UNGRATEFUL MAN. 9 
 
 Massaccio fell on his knees in the middle of the hall. ' ' Noble 
 signors, noble signors," said he, "it is possible that the dia- 
 mond may have been stolen ; the serpent who gave it me may 
 have wished to deceive me. It is possible that the ape, the 
 lion, and the serpent may all be an illusion of the demon, but 
 it is true that I saved the Signor Vitalis. Signor Vitalis" 
 (turning to him), " I ask you not for the marriage-portion for 
 my bride, nor for your palace of marble, but say a word for 
 me ; suffer me not to be thrown into prison ; do not abandon 
 me ; I did not abandon you when you were in the pit." 
 
 " Noble signors," said Vitalis, bowing to the tribunal, " I 
 can only repeat what I have already said : I know not this 
 man. Has he a single witness to produce ?" 
 
 At this moment the whole court was thrown into fear and 
 astonishment, for the lion, the monkey, and the serpent, en- 
 tered the hall together. The monkey was mounted on the back 
 of the lion, and the serpent was twined round the arm of the 
 monkey. On entering, the lion roared, the monkey spluttered, 
 and the serpent hissed. 
 
 " Ah, these are the animals of the pit," cried Vitalis, in 
 alarm. 
 
 " Signor Vitalis," resumed the chief of the inquisitors, when 
 the dismay which this apparition had caused had somewhat 
 diminished, " you have asked where were the witnesses of 
 Massaccio ? You see that God has sent them at the right 
 time before the bar of our tribunal. Since, then, God has 
 testified against you, we should be culpable before Him if we 
 did not punish your ingratitude. Your palace and your pos- 
 sessions are confiscated, and you shall pass the rest of your 
 life in a narrow prison. And you," continued he, address- 
 ing himself to Massaccio, who was all this time caressing the 
 lion, the monkey, and the serpent, " since a Venetian has pro- 
 mised you a palace of marble, and a portion for your bride, the 
 republic of Venice will accomplish the promise ; the palace 
 and possessions of Vitalis are thine. You," said he to the 
 secretary of the tribunal, " draw up an account of all this his- 
 tory, that the people of Venice may know, through all genera- 
 
10 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 tions, that the justice of the tribunal of the state inquisition is 
 not less equitable than it is rigorous." 
 
 Massaccio and his wife lived happily for many years after- 
 wards in the palace of Vitalis with the monkey, the lion, and 
 the serpent ; and Massaccio had them represented in a picture, 
 on the wall of his palace, as they entered the hall of the tri- 
 bunal, the lion carrying the monkey, and the monkey carrying 
 the serpent. 
 
 "To what source can this tale be traced?" 
 
 "To the Arabian fable-book called Callah-u-Dumnah," replied 
 Lathom. "Mathew Paris recites it as a fable commonly used by our 
 crusading Richard to reprove his ungrateful nobles, and old Gower 
 has versified it in his Confessio A mantis. The translator in Black- 
 wood seems not to have been aware of its existence in the Gesta 
 Romanorum, content to translate it from the later version of Mas- 
 senius, a German Jesuit, who lived at Cologne in 1657." 
 
 " Few subjects," said Herbert, " seem more involved than the 
 history of didactic fiction. The more mysterious an investigation 
 bids fair to be, the less we have to depend on fact ; and the more 
 we are at the mercy of conjecture, so much the more does the mind 
 love to grasp at the mystery, and delight in the dim perspective and 
 intricacies of the way. Each successive adventurer finds it more 
 easy to pull down the various bridges, and break in the various 
 cuttings by which his predecessor has endeavoured to make the 
 way straight, than to throw his own bridge over the river or the 
 morass of time that intervenes between the traveller and the goal." 
 
 " Four distinct sources," said Lathom, " have been contended 
 for : the Scandinavian bards, the Arabians of the Spanish peninsula, 
 the Armoricans or Bretons, and the classical authors of Greece 
 and Rome. Mallet and Bishop Percy come forward as the advo- 
 cates of Scandinavia ; Dr. Wharton writes himself the champion of 
 the Spanish Arabians ; Wilson is rather inclined to the Breton 
 theory ; and Dr. Southey and Mr. Dunlop come forward as the 
 advocates of the classical and mythological authors ; whilst Sir 
 Henry Ellis would reconcile all differences by a jumble of Breton 
 scenes coloured by Scandinavia and worked by Arabian ma- 
 chinery. Let us, however, adjourn this subject until to-morrow, 
 as I wish to read you another of these tales, in order to give you 
 
CH. I.] JOVINIAN THE PROUD EMPEROR. 11 
 
 some idea of the moral applications and explanations appended to 
 them by the monkish writers. We will take Jovinian the Proud 
 Emperor, and in this case you must be content with my own 
 translation." 
 
 SMtntan tije ;Proutt (Emperor* 
 
 In the days of old, when the empire of the world was in the 
 hands of the lord of Rome, Jovinian was emperor. Oft as he 
 lay on his couch, and mused upon his power and his wealth, 
 his heart was elated beyond measure, and he said within him- 
 self, " Verily, there is no other god than me." 
 
 It happened one morning after he had thus said unto him- 
 self, that the emperor arose, and summoning his huntsmen 
 and his friends, hastened to chase the wild deer of the forest. 
 The chase was long and swift, and the sun was high in the 
 heavens, when Jovinian reined up his horse on the bank of 
 a clear bright stream that ran through the fertile country on 
 which his palace stood. Allured by the refreshing appearance 
 of the stream, he bade his attendants abide still, whilst he 
 sought a secluded pool beneath some willows, where he might 
 bathe unseen. 
 
 The emperor hastened to the pool, cast off his garments, 
 and revelled in the refreshing coolness of the waters. But 
 whilst he thus bathed, a person like to him in form, in feature, 
 and in voice, approached the river's bank, arrayed himself 
 unperceived in the imperial garments, and then sprang on 
 Jovinian' s horse, and rode to meet the huntsmen, who, de- 
 ceived by the likeness and the dress, obeyed his commands, 
 and followed their new emperor to the palace -gates. 
 
 Jovinian at length quitted the water, and sought in every 
 direction for his apparel and his horse, but could not find 
 them. He called aloud upon his attendants, but they heard 
 him not, being already in attendance on the false emperor. 
 And Jovinian regarded his nakedness, and said, " Miserable 
 man that I am, to what a state am I reduced ! Whither 
 shall I go ? Who will receive me in this plight ? I bethink 
 me there is a knight hereabout w T hom I have advanced to great 
 
12 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 honour : I will seek him, and with his assistance regain my 
 palace, and punish the person who has done me this wrong." 
 
 Naked and ashamed, Jovinian sought the gate of the knight's 
 castle, and knocked loudly at the wicket. 
 
 " Who art thou, and what dost thou seek ?" asked the 
 porter, without unclosing the gate. 
 
 " Open, open, sirrah !" replied the emperor, with redoubled 
 knocks on the wicket. 
 
 " In the name of wonder, friend, who art thou ?" said the 
 old porter as he opened the gate, and saw the strange figure 
 of the emperor before the threshold. 
 
 " Who am I, askest thou, sirrah ? I am thy emperor. Go 
 tell thy master, Jovinian is at his gate, and bid him bring forth 
 a horse and some garments, to supply those that I have been 
 deprived of." 
 
 " Rascal," rejoined the porter — " thou the emperor ! Why 
 the emperor but just now rode up to the castle, with all his 
 attendants, and honoured my master by sitting with him at 
 meat in the great hall. Thou the emperor ! a very pretty 
 emperor indeed ; faugh, Fll tell my master what you say, 
 and he will soon find out whether you are mad, drunk, or a 
 thief." 
 
 The porter, greatly enraged, went and told his lord how 
 that a naked fellow stood at the gate, calling himself the 
 emperor, and demanding clothes and a good steed. 
 " Bring the fellow in," said the knight. 
 So they brought in Jovinian, and he stood before the lord 
 of the castle, and again declared himself to be the emperor 
 Jovinian. Loud laughed the knight to the emperor. 
 
 " What thou my lord the emperor ! art mad, good fellow ? 
 
 Come, give him my old cloak, it will keep him from the flies." 
 
 " Yes, sir knight," replied Jovinian, "lam thy emperor, 
 
 who advanced thee to great honour and wealth, and will shortly 
 
 punish thee for thy present conduct." 
 
 " Scoundrel !" said the knight, now enraged beyond all 
 bounds, " traitor! thou the emperor; ay, of beggars and fools. 
 Why, did not my lord but lately sit with me in my hall, and 
 
CH. I.] JOVINIAN THE PROUD EMPEROR. 13 
 
 taste of my poor cheer ? and did he not bid me ride with him 
 to his palace-gate, whence I am but now returned ? Fool, I 
 pitied thee before ; now I see thy villany. Go, turn the fellow 
 out, and flog him from the castle-ditch to the river-side." 
 
 And the people did as the knight commanded them. So 
 when they ceased from flogging the emperor, he sat him down 
 on the grass, and covered him with the tattered robe, and com- 
 muned on his own wretchedness. 
 
 " Oh, my God !" said Jovinian, — for he now thought of 
 other gods but himself, — " is it possible that I have come to 
 such a state of misery, and that through the ingratitude of 
 one whom I have raised so high !" And as he thus spake, he 
 thought not of his own ingratitude to his God, through whom 
 alone all princes reign and live. And now he brooded over 
 vengeance. " Ay," said he, as he felt the sore weals on his 
 back from the scourging ; "ay, I will be avenged. When 
 he next sees me, he shall know that he who gives can also 
 take away. Come, I will seek the good duke, my ablest coun- 
 sellor ; he will know his sovereign, and gladly aid him in his 
 calamity." And with these thoughts he wrapped his cloak 
 round him, and sought the house of the good duke. 
 
 Jovinian knocked at the gate of the duke's palace ; and 
 the porter opened the wicket, and seeing a half-naked man, 
 asked him why he knocked, and who he was. 
 
 " Friend," replied the emperor, " I am Jovinian. I have 
 been robbed of my clothes whilst bathing, and am now with 
 no apparel save this ragged cloak, and no horse; so tell the 
 duke the emperor is here." 
 
 The porter, more and more astonished at the emperor's 
 words, sought his master, and delivered Jovinian' s message 
 to him. 
 
 "Bring in the poor man," said the duke; " peradventure 
 he is mad." 
 
 So they brought Jovinian into the duke's great hall, and 
 the duke looked on him, but knew him not. And when 
 Jovinian reiterated his story, and spr 1 " angrily unto the duke, 
 he pitied him, " Poor mad fellow," said the good duke, "I have 
 
14 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 but just now returned from the palace, where I left the very- 
 emperor thou assumest to be. Take him to the guard-house. 
 Perhaps a few days' close confinement on bread and water 
 may cool his heated brain. Go, poor fellow ; I pity thee !" 
 
 So the servants did as their lord commanded, and they fed 
 Jovinian on bread and water, and after a time turned him out 
 of the castle ; for he still said he was the emperor. 
 
 Sorely and bitterly did the emperor weep and bewail his 
 miserable fate, when the servants drove him from the castle- 
 gate. " Alas, alas !" he exclaimed in his misery, " what shall 
 I do, and whither shall I resort ? Even the good duke knew 
 me not, but regarded me as a poor madman. Come, I will 
 seek my own palace, and discover myself to my wife. Surely 
 she will know me at least." 
 
 "Who art thou, poor man?" asked the king's porter of 
 him when he stood before the palace-gate, and would have 
 entered in. 
 
 " Thou oughtest to know me," replied Jovinian, " seeing 
 thou hast served me these fifteen years." 
 
 " Served you, you dirty fellow !" rejoined the porter. " I 
 serve the emperor. Serve you, indeed !" 
 
 "I am the emperor. Dost thou not know me ? Come, 
 my good fellow, seek the empress, and bid her, by the sign of 
 the three moles on the emperor's breast, send me hither the 
 imperial robes, which some fellow stole whilst I was bathing." 
 "Ha, ha! fellow; well, you are royally mad. Why, the 
 emperor is at dinner with his wife. Well, well, I'll do thy 
 bidding, if it be but to have the whipping of thee afterwards for 
 an impudent madman. Three moles on the emperor's breast ! 
 how royally thou shalt be beaten, my friend !" 
 
 When the porter told the empress what the poor madman 
 at the gate had said, she held down her head, and said, with a 
 sorrowful voice, unto her lord, " My good lord and king, here 
 is a fellow at the palace-gate that hath sent unto me, and bids 
 me, by those secret signs known only to thee and me, to send 
 him the imperial robes, and welcome him as my husband and 
 my sovereign." 
 
CH. I.] JOVINIAN THE FE.OUD EMPEROR. 15 
 
 When the fictitious emperor heard this, he bade the attend- 
 ants bring in Jovinian, And lo, as he entered the hall, the 
 great wolf-hound, that had slept at his feet for years, sprang 
 from his lair, and would have pulled him down, had not the 
 attendants prevented him ; whilst the falcon, that had sat on 
 his wrist in many a fair day's hawking, broke her jesses, and 
 flew out of the hall : so changed was Jovinian the emperor. 
 
 "Nobles and friends," said the new emperor, "hear ye 
 what I will ask of this man." 
 
 And the nobles bowed assent, whilst the emperor asked of 
 Jovinian his name, and his business with the empress. 
 
 " Askest thou me who I am, and wherefore I am come ?" 
 rejoined Jovinian. "Am not I thy emperor, and the lord of 
 this house and this realm ?" 
 
 " These our nobles shall decide," replied the new king. 
 " Tell me now, which of us twain is your emperor?" 
 
 And the nobles answered with one accord : " Thou dost 
 trifle with us, sire. Can we doubt that thou art our emperor, 
 whom we have known from his childhood ? As for this base 
 fellow, we know not who he is." 
 
 And with one accord the people cried out against Jovinian, 
 that he should be punished. 
 
 On this the usurper turned to the empress of Jovinian — 
 "Tell me," said he, " on thy true faith, knowest thou this 
 man who calls himself emperor of this realm ?" 
 
 And the empress answered, " Good my lord, have not thirty 
 years passed since I first knew thee, and became the mother of 
 our children ? Why askest thou me of this fellow ? and yet it 
 doth surprise me how he should know what none save you and 
 I can know ?" 
 
 Then the usurper turned to Jovinian, and with a harsh 
 countenance rebuked his presumption, and ordered the execu- 
 tioners to drag him by the feet by horses until he died. This 
 said he before all his court ; but he sent his servant to the 
 jailor, and commanded him to scourge Jovinian ; and for this 
 once to set him free. 
 
 The deposed emperor desired death. " Why," said he to 
 
16 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 himself, " should I now live ? my friends, my dependents, yea, 
 even the partner of my bed shuns me, and I am desolate among 
 those whom my bounties have raised. Come, I will seek the 
 good priest, to whom I so often have laid open my most secret 
 faults ; of a surety, he will remember me." 
 
 Now, the good priest lived in a small cell, nigh to a chapel 
 about a stone's cast from the palace -gate ; and when Jovinian 
 knocked, the priest being engaged in reading, answered from 
 within, " Who is there? why troublest thou me ?" 
 
 " I am the emperor Jovinian ; open the window, I would 
 speak to thee," replied the fugitive. 
 
 Immediately the narrow window of the cell was opened, and 
 the priest, looking out, saw no one save the poor half- clothed 
 Jovinian. " Depart from me, thou accursed thing," cried the 
 priest ; " thou art not our good lord the emperor, but the foul 
 fiend himself, the great tempter." 
 
 "Alas, alas !" cried Jovinian, "to what fate am I reserved, 
 that even my own good priest despises me ! Ah me, I bethink 
 me — in the arrogance of my heart, I called myself a god : the 
 weight of my sin is grievous unto me. Father, good father, 
 hear the sins of a miserable penitent." 
 
 Gladly did the priest listen to Jovinian ; and when he had 
 told him all his sins, the good priest comforted the penitent, 
 and assured him of God's mercy, if his repentance was sincere. 
 And so it happened that on this a cloud seemed to fall from 
 before the eyes of the priest ; and when he again looked on 
 Jovinian, he knew him to be the emperor, and he pitied him, 
 clothing him with such poor garments as he had, and went 
 with him to the palace- gate. 
 
 The porter stood in the gateway, and, as Jovinian and the 
 priest drew near, he made a lowly obeisance, and opened the 
 gate for the emperor. "Dost thou know me?" asked the 
 emperor. 
 
 "Very well, my lord," replied the servant; " but I wish 
 that you had not left the palace." 
 
 So Jovinian passed on to the hall of his palace ; and as he 
 went, all the nobles rose and bowed to the emperor ; for the 
 
CH. I.] JOVINIAN THE PROUD EMPEROR. 17 
 
 usurper was in another apartment, and the nobles knew again 
 the face of Jovinian. 
 
 But a certain knight passed into the presence of the false 
 emperor. " My lord," said he, " there is one in the great 
 hall to whom all men bow, for he so much resembleth you that 
 we know not which is the emperor." 
 
 Then said the usurper to the empress, " Go and see if you 
 know this man." 
 
 " Oh, my good lord," said the empress, when she returned 
 from the hall, " whom can I believe ? are there, then, two 
 Jovinians ?" 
 
 " I will myself go and determine," rejoined the usurper, as 
 he took the empress by her hand, and leading her into the 
 great hall, placed her on the throne beside himself. 
 
 " Kinsfolk and nobles," said the usurper, "by the oaths ye 
 have sworn, determine between me and this man." 
 
 And the empress answered, "Let me, as in duty bound, 
 speak first. Heaven be my witness, I know not which is my 
 lord and husband." 
 
 And all the nobles said the same. 
 
 Thereupon the feigned Jovinian rose and spake : " Nobles 
 and friends, hearken ! that man is your emperor and your 
 master ; hear ye him ; know that he did exalt himself above 
 that which was right, and make himself equal unto God. 
 Verily he hath been rewarded ; he hath suffered much indig- 
 nity and wrong, and, of God's will, ye knew him not ; he hath 
 repented him of his grievous sin, and the scourge is now re- 
 moved ; he has made such satisfaction as man can make. Hear 
 ye him, know him, obey him." 
 
 As the feigned emperor thus addressed the astonished 
 nobles, his features seemed illumed with a fair and spiritual 
 light, his imperial robes fell from off him, and he stood con- 
 fessed before the assembly an angel of God, clothed in white 
 raiment. And, as he ended his speech, he bowed his head, and 
 vanished from their sight. 
 
 Jovinian returned to his throne, and for three years reigned 
 with so much mercy and justice, that his subjects had no cause 
 c 2 
 
18 ANCIEXT MORAL TALES. 
 
 to regret the change of their emperor. And it came to pass, 
 after the space of three years, the same angel appeared to him 
 in a dream, and warned him of his death. So Jovinian dic- 
 tated his troublous life to his secretaries, that it might remain 
 as a warning unto all men against worldly pride, and an in- 
 citement to the performance of our religious duties. And 
 when he had so done, he meekly resigned himself, and fell 
 asleep in death. 
 
 " So much for the story, as a story ; now for the moral, with all 
 that eccentric spirit of refinement and abstraction with which the 
 age was characterised," said Herbert. 
 
 " The moral in this case is less eccentric than in many to which 
 I hope we shall come before Christmas is over. 
 
 " Jovinian was but the picture of the proud, worldly-minded man, 
 entirely given up to vanity and folly. The first knight whose castle 
 he visited was true wisdom, ever disdainful of the pomps and vani- 
 ties of the world. The next knight was conscience. The dog that 
 turned against his old master was the lusts of the flesh, our own 
 evil desires, which will ever in the end turn against those who have 
 pampered them. The falcon is God's grace; the empress, man's 
 soul ; and the clothes in which the good priest clothed the half- 
 frozen emperer are those kingly virtues which he had thrown off, 
 when he gave loose to the vanities of the world." 
 
 " It must be admitted," remarked Herbert, " that from very early 
 times a secondary meaning was commonly attached to every import- 
 ant work ; it progressed from the sacred writings through the poetic 
 fictions of the classics, to compositions professedly allegorical. The 
 want of discrimination, which in our eyes assumes much of the appear- 
 ance of profane levity, with which the fictions of the classics were 
 interpreted to signify the great truths and mysteries of religion, was, 
 perhaps, hardly reprehensible in the simple state of knowledge which 
 prevailed at the time when these attempts at secondary interpretation 
 were made" 
 
 " And hence it was," said Lathom, "that in the early ages it 
 might seem to partake of little levity to prefigure our Saviour's birth 
 in that of Bacchus ; his sufferings and death in that of Action, or 
 his resurrection in the legend of Hercules, as related by Lycophron ; 
 
CH. I.] MORALS OF THE TALES. 19 
 
 as late as the thirteenth century the Franciscan Walleys wrote a 
 moral and theological exposition of the Metamorphoses of Ovid." 
 
 "But surely the writers of that age did npt stop there," said 
 Thompson ; "was it not the case, that to these expositions succeeded 
 compositions professedly allegorical, and which the spirit of refine- 
 ment of that age resolved into further allegories, for which they were 
 never intended?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly so, " replied Lathom ; "it was not enough that 
 the writer of the ' Romaunt of the Rose' had allegorised the difficul- 
 ties of an ardent lover in the accomplishment of his object, under 
 the mystery of the rose which was to be gathered in a fair but al- 
 most inaccessible garden. Every profession saw in this allegory the 
 great mystery of their craft. To the theologian it was the rose of 
 Jericho, the New Jerusalem, the Blessed Virgin, or any other mys- 
 tery to which obstinate heretics were unable to attain ; to the 
 chemist it was the philosopher's stone ; to the lawyer it was the 
 most consummate point of equity ; to the physician the infallible 
 panacea, the water of life. And does not this spirit of allegory extend 
 to the present day, only in a somewhat different form ?" 
 
 "Not unlike the present system of commentating," remarked 
 Henry Herbert. " As soon as a poet has attained to any great re- 
 putation, and death has sealed up his writings, then comes the host 
 of annotators and critics, each one more intent than his predecessor 
 to develop the mind of the writer ; to discover with what hidden in- 
 tentions, with what feelings, this or that passage was written; and to 
 build on some stray expression a mighty theory, for some clever 
 writer to overthrow, and raise a new fabric on its ruins. And in 
 these attempts it is not the old author whose glory is sought to be 
 heightened, but the new man who would ascend the ladder of repu- 
 tation on the labours of the ' man of old. ' " 
 
 " Far different," rejoined Lathom, "was the spirit which 
 prompted the fashion of resolving every thing into allegories in the 
 middle ages ; nor, indeed, is it to be solely charged to an unmeaning 
 and wanton spirit of refinement. ' The same apology,' says Whar- 
 ton, 'may be offered for cabalistic interpreters, both of the classics 
 and of the old romances. The former, not willing that these books 
 should be quite exploded which contained the ancient mythology, 
 laboured to reconcile the apparent absurdities of the pagan system 
 with the Christian mysteries, by demonstrating a figurative resem- 
 
20 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 blance. The latter, as true learning began to dawn, with a view of 
 supporting for a time the expiring credit of giants and magicians, 
 were compelled to palliate those monstrous incredibilities, by a bold 
 attempt to unravel the mystic web which had been wove by fairy 
 hands, and by shewing that truth was hid under the gorgeous veil of 
 gothic invention.' And now, Thompson, we must adjourn, you 
 to your real Greeks and Romans, Herbert and I to Aristotle's Sum- 
 mum Bonum." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 DISCUSSION ON THE SOURCE OF FICTION RENEWED THE STORY OF 
 
 THE KING AND THE GLUTTON GUIDO, THE PERFECT SERVANT 
 
 THE MIDDLE-AGE ALLEGORIES PLINY AND MANDEVILLe's WONDERS 
 
 ALLEGORISED. fe < ... 
 
 ^i£zJLfa?fp URELY," said Henry Herbert, when the friends were 
 ^yfW^ttVfJ again assembled, " surely the poems of the northern 
 eit^T^^/ J Scalds, the legends of the Arabians of Spain, the 
 BJdi^>MT' d songs of the Armoricans, and the classics of the 
 ancient world, have been the sources of the most 
 prevalent fictions." 
 
 ** The sources from which the monks themselves compiled these 
 stories, but by no means the original sources," replied Lathom. 
 "The immediate source must be sought" in even earlier times and 
 more eastern climes. In some instances perverted notions of Scrip- 
 ture characters furnished the supernatural agency of the legend ; in 
 the majority the machinery came direct from the east, already 
 dilated and improved. In many parts of the old Scriptures we 
 learn how familiar the nations of the east were with spells ; and the 
 elevation of Solomon Daoud to the throne of the Genii, and to the 
 lordship of the Talisman, proves the traditional intercourse between 
 God's own people and the nations of the far east." 
 
 "The theory is probable," said Thompson. "We can easily 
 conceive how the contest of David and Goliath may have formed the 
 foundation of many a fierce encounter between knight and giant, 
 and the feats of Samson been dilated into the miracles of the heroes 
 of chivalry." 
 
 " There is one very pertinent instance of such a conversion in 
 this very book. In the book of Tobit, which is indeed referred to 
 in the application of the tale of ' The Emperor Vespasian and the 
 Two Rings,' we find an angel in the place of a saint, enchantments, 
 antidotes, distressed damsels, demons, and nearly all the recognised 
 machinery of fiction. The vagaries of the Talmud, clearly derived 
 
22 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 from eastern sources, were no small treasure on which to draw for 
 wonders and miracles. And when we find all the machinery of the 
 east in the poems of the Scalds, we cannot but perceive how much 
 more reasonable it is to suppose the cold conceptions of the northern 
 bards to have been fed from the east, than the warm imaginations 
 of the east to have drawn their inspiration from the north." 
 
 " Very plausible, Lathoni," replied Herbert ; " but still this ob- 
 jection must not be neglected — the ignorance and misrepresentation 
 of the religions. e"f the east, shewn through every page of the popular 
 legends of the chivalric age." 
 
 " An objection of apparent weight, I will admit ; and yet may 
 it not have been the aim of the Christian writers to represent the 
 infidels in the worst possible light, to pervert their creed, to exag- 
 gerate their vices ? The charge of idolatry, and the adoration of 
 the golden image of Mahomet, may have been mere pious frauds." 
 
 " Admitting even this apology," rejoined Herbert, " the difference 
 of religion in the east and north seems another objection. The 
 Romans adopted the legends of Greece, and naturalised them. 
 With the mythology came the religious rites appendant to it. How 
 did it happen that the Scalds adopted the one without falling into 
 the other error ?" 
 
 "Are the cases similar ?" replied Lathom ; "were the nations 
 alike ? Was there no difference of predisposition in the Romans 
 and the Scalds as to the adoption of the mythologies of the East 
 and of Greece ? Had not long intercourse in the one case prepared 
 the Romans to receive? did not the system agree with their preconceived 
 notions ? Such was not the case with the northern nations. Chil- 
 dren, and rude children of nature, they were in no way prepared for 
 a similar effect ; but, seizing on the prominent features of the 
 legends presented to them, they engrafted them on their own wild 
 and terrible stories, adding to the original matter in some cases, and 
 rejecting portions of it in others." 
 
 "Well, I will not carry this discussion further," said Herbert, 
 " for fear of losing a story to-night ; but I by no means give up my 
 sources of didactic fictions." 
 
 " Well, then, a truce for this evening. I will read the tale of 
 lli! King and the Glutton, by which the old monk wished to illus- 
 trate the moral, that men are blinded by their own avarice." 
 
ch. ii.] 23 
 
 Cije Btng antf tyt Glutton. 
 
 There once lived a king of Rome, who, out of charity to the 
 blind, decreed that every subject of his that was so afflicted 
 should be entitled to receive a hundred shillings from the royal 
 treasury. Now there was in Rome a club of men who lived 
 for the world alone, and spent all they had in rioting and eat- 
 ing. Seven days had they continued revelling at one tavern, 
 when the host demanded to be paid his bill. Every one 
 searched his pockets, but still there was not enough to pay 
 the reckoning. 
 
 " There still wants one hundred shillings," said the inn- 
 keeper ; " and until that is paid ye go not hence." 
 
 These young men knew not what to do, as they were pen- 
 niless. " What shall we do ?" said they one to another. " How 
 can we pay so large a sum ?" At length one bethought him 
 of the king's edict. 
 
 " Listen," said he, " listen to me ; does not the king give 
 one hundred shillings to every blind man that applies for it ?" 
 
 "Even so," said the rest; "but what then? we are not 
 blind." " What then ?" rejoined the young man. "Come, let us 
 cast lots who shall be made blind, that when he is deprived of 
 sight we may take him to the king's palace, and obtain the 
 hundred shillings." 
 
 So the young men cast lots, and the lot fell upon the man 
 who had proposed this plan. And the rest took him, and put- 
 ting out his eyes, led him to the king's palace. When they 
 knocked at the gate, the porter opened the wicket, and de- 
 manded their business. 
 
 "Business," said they ; "see ye not our companion is 
 blind ? he seeks to receive the king's benevolent gift." 
 
 " The blindness is rather sudden," muttered the porter, 
 who knew the young man by sight. " Well, well, I will fetch 
 the almoner." 
 
 So the almoner, who distributed the king's charity, came 
 to the gate, and looking on the young man, asked him what 
 he wanted. 
 
24 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " A hundred shillings, which my lord the king gives to 
 those that are blind," replied the youth. 
 
 " Thy blindness is very sudden," rejoined the almoner ; 
 " when did it happen, and where ? for I saw thee yesterday 
 with both eyes perfect in the tavern by the city wall." 
 
 " Last night, noble sir," replied the blind man, " last night, 
 at that tavern I became blind." 
 
 " Go fetch the host," said the almoner, sternly; " we will 
 look into this matter more fully." 
 
 So when the innkeeper came, he inquired of him how the 
 matter was : and when he had heard all their deeds, he turned 
 to the young man and said : 
 
 " Of a surety thou knowest but half the law, and dost in- 
 terpret it wrong ; to such as are blind by God's act, does our 
 gracious king give his charity ; such the law protects and re- 
 lieves. But thou — why art thou blind ? Thinkest thou that 
 thou dost deserve to be rewarded for voluntarily surrendering 
 thine eyes, in order to discharge the debt thou and thy com- 
 panions had contracted by gluttony and rioting ? Begone, 
 foolish man ; thy avarice hath made thee blind." 
 
 So they drove away the young men from the king's gate, 
 lamenting their folly and wickedness. 
 
 " There can be little doubt," said Herbert, " what moral the 
 author of this tale intended to teach. The king's gift clearly illus- 
 trates God's reward of forgiveness to those that by natural infirmity 
 and temptation fall into sin ; as the withholding of it from the 
 glutton is meant to teach us how difficult it will be to obtain the 
 forgiveness of voluntary sin, done out of pure wickedness." 
 
 "You have found out the monk's moral rightly in this tale, 
 Henry ; but I think you will not be so successful in that which I 
 now propose reading to you — the story of Guido, the Perfect Ser- 
 vant." 
 
 ^utoo, tljc perfect i&crbant. 
 
 There was once a great emperor of Rome, named Valerius, 
 who would that every man, according to his wishes, should 
 
CH. II.] GUIDO, THE PERFECT SERVANT. 25 
 
 serve him; so he commanded that whosoever should strike 
 three times on the gate of his palace, should be admitted to do 
 him service. In the emperor's kingdom was also a poor man, 
 named Guido, who, when he heard of his lord's commands, 
 thus spake with himself : " Now I am a poor man and lowly- 
 born ; is it not better to live and serve, than to starve and 
 be free ?" So he went to the king's gate, and knocked three 
 knocks ; and lo, it was opened to him, according as it had been 
 said ; and he was brought before the emperor. 
 
 " What seek you, friend ?" asked Valerius, as Guido bowed 
 before him. 
 
 " To serve my king," was Guido' s reply. 
 
 " What service can you perform for me ?" rejoined the 
 emperor. 
 
 " Six services can I perform, O king : as your body-guard, I 
 can prepare your bed and your food, and attend your chamber. 
 I can sleep when others watch, and watch while others sleep. 
 As your cup-bearer, I can drink good wine, and tell whether it 
 be so or not. I can summon the guests to my master's ban- 
 quet, to his great honour and benefit. I can kindle a fire 
 which shall warm all that seek it, and yet not smoke. And I 
 can shew the way to the Holy Land, to the health of such as 
 shall go thither." 
 
 "By my truth," rejoined the emperor, " these are great 
 things that thou dost promise : see that thou do them ; each 
 for one year. Serve me first as my body-guard." 
 
 Guido was content to obey the emperor ; and he prepared 
 to perform his duties as his body-guard. Every night he made 
 ready the emperor's bed, and prepared his apparel. Every 
 night he lay before the emperor's chamber- door, armed at all 
 points ; whilst by his side watched a faithful dog to warn him 
 of the approach of danger. In every thing did he minister so 
 faithfully to his lord, that the emperor was well pleased with 
 him ; and, after his first year, made him seneschal of his castle 
 and steward of his household. Then did Guido commence his 
 labours in bis second office. During the entire summer he 
 gathered large stores of every thing needful into the castle, and 
 
26 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 collected much provision at little cost, by carefully watching 
 his opportunities. Anon came on the winter ; and when those 
 who had slept during the times of plenty began to labour and 
 lay up in their store-houses, Guido remained at ease, and com- 
 pleted his second year's service with credit to himself. 
 
 And now the third 3^ear of Guido's service came on ; and 
 the emperor called for his chief butler, and said, "Mix in a cup 
 good wine, must, and vinegar, and give it to Guido to drink ; 
 that we may know how he doth taste good drink, and what he 
 knoweth of its qualities." 
 
 So the butler did as he was ordered, and gave the cup to 
 Guido, who, when he had tasted of it, said, " Of a truth it was 
 good, it is good, and it will be good." And when the emperor 
 asked him how these things could be, he said, " The vinegar 
 was good, the old wine is good, and the must will be good 
 when it is older." So the emperor saw that he had answered 
 rightly and discreetly of the mixture, which he knew not of 
 before. "Go, therefore," said Valerius, " through iny country 
 and invite my friends to a banquet at the festival of Christmas 
 now at hand;" and Guido bowed assent, and departed on his 
 way. 
 
 But Guido did not execute his lord's commands — going 
 not unto his friends but unto his enemies. So that when the 
 emperor descended into his banquet-hall, his heart was trou- 
 bled ; for his enemies sat round his table, and there was not a 
 friend among them. So he called Guido, and spake angrily 
 to him. 
 
 "How, sir ! didst thou not tell me that thou knewest whom 
 to invite to my banquet?" 
 
 And Guido said, " Of a surety, my lord." 
 
 "Did not I bid thee invite my friends? and how, then, 
 hast thou summoned all mine enemies ?" 
 
 And Guido said, "May thy servant speak ?" 
 
 So the emperor said, " Speak on." 
 
 And the servant said, " My lord, there is no season or time 
 thai thy friends may not visit thee, and be received with plea- 
 sure and honour ; but it is not so with thine enemies. Then 
 
CH. II.] GUIDO, THE PERFECT SERVANT. 27 
 
 I said to myself, ' Conciliation and kindness would go far to 
 convert enemies into friends.' " 
 
 Now it turned out as Guido hoped ; for ere the feast was 
 ended, the king and his enemies were reconciled to each other, 
 and became friends even unto the end of their days. So the 
 emperor called Guido, and said, "With God's blessing thy de- 
 sign has prospered. Come now, make for my reconciled ene- 
 mies and me a fire that shall burn without smoke." 
 
 And Guido answered, " It shall be done as thou hast re- 
 quired, O king." 
 
 So he sent and gathered much green wood, and dried it in 
 the sun until it was quite dry, and therewith made a fire that 
 did cast out much heat, and yet did not smoke. So that the 
 emperor and his friends rejoiced greatly therein. And so it 
 was when the emperor saw how well Guido had performed his 
 five ministries, he bade him execute his sixth service, that he 
 might attain to great honour in his kingdom. 
 
 " My lord," said Guido, " he that would know the way to 
 the Holy Land must follow me to the sea-shore." 
 
 So a proclamation went forth from the king to that effect ; 
 and great multitudes of men and women flocked to the sea- 
 shore after Guido. When the people were come, Guido said, 
 " My friends, do you see in the ocean the things that I see ?" 
 
 And the people answered, " We know not." 
 
 " See ye in the midst of the waves a huge rock ?" 
 
 And the people answered, "It is even so : why ask you 
 this of us ?" 
 
 " Know ye all," replied Guido, " that on that rock liveth a 
 bird, that sitteth continually on her nest, in which are seven 
 eggs. While she so sitteth, behold the sea is calm, and men 
 may pass to and fro over the wide waters in safety. But when 
 she doth quit her nest, the winds blow, and the waves rise, and 
 many perish on the waters." 
 
 Then said the people, " How shall we know when this biid 
 quitteth her nest ?" 
 
 And Guido answered, " She sitteth always, unless a sudden 
 emergency happen ; and then when she is away, there cometh 
 
28 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 another bird, great and strong, that defileth her nest, and 
 breaketh her seven eggs, which, when the first bird seeth, she 
 flieth away, and the winds and storms arise ; then must the 
 shipman remain in port." 
 
 Then said the people, "Master, how may we prevent 
 these things, and defend the bird and her nest from her enemy ?" 
 
 And Guido said, " The enemy hateth the blood of the lamb, 
 and cannot come where that is. Sprinkle, therefore, the in- 
 side and outside of the nest with this blood ; and so long as 
 one drop remaineth, the friendly bird will sit in peace, and the 
 waves will not rage and swell, and there shall be safety on the 
 waters of the sea." 
 
 And the people did as Guido said. They took the blood of 
 a lamb, and sprinkled the nest and the rock therewith. Then 
 passed the emperor and all his people to the Holy Land, and 
 returned in peace and safety. And the emperor did as he had 
 promised unto Guido, and rewarded the perfect servant with 
 great riches, promoting him to high honour among the people. 
 
 " I confess myself conquered," said Henry Herbert, as soon as 
 the story was concluded. " Some points in the allegory are clear ; 
 as the way to the Holy Land, and the sprinkling of the blood of the 
 lamb ; but the rest are beyond my discovering." 
 
 "The explanation," said Herbert, " is undoubtedly more recon- 
 dite than any we have read as yet. The great emperor is our 
 Father in heaven ; the three blows on his gate are prayer, self- 
 denial, charity ; by these three any one may become his faithful 
 servant. Guido is a poor Christian, by baptism made his servant. 
 His first service is, to serve his God, and to prepare the heart for 
 virtue. His second duty is to watch ; ' for he knoweth not the day 
 nor the hour when the Son of Man cometh.' His third task is, to 
 taste of repentance, which was good to the saints who are departed, 
 is good to such of us as it brings to salvation, and will be good to all 
 in the last day. The fourth duty is, to invite Christ's enemies to 
 be His friends, and to come to the banquet of His love ; for He 
 came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance/ The 
 lire that burnetii without smoke is the fire of charity, which burnetii 
 
CH. II.] THE MIDDLE-AGE ALLEGORIES. 29 
 
 free of all ill will and bad feeling. The way to the Holy Land is 
 our course heavenward. We are to sail over our sea, the world ; in 
 the midst of which standeth our rock, even our heart, on which the 
 holy bird of God's Spirit resteth. The seven eggs are the gifts of 
 the Spirit. When the Spirit leaves us, the devil hasteth to defile 
 our hearts ; but the blood of the Lamb which was slain for us, even 
 our Saviour, will ward off the attack of our enemy, so long as we 
 are sprinkled therewith." 
 
 "The explanation is characteristic of the age," said Herbert. 
 
 "What, then," rejoined Lathom, "will you say to the moral 
 drawn by these writers from the wonders that Pliny believed in, 
 without seeing, and Sir John de Mandeville tried to persuade the 
 world he believed in, from seeing?" 
 
 " What," said Thompson, " the Anthropophagi, and men whose 
 heads do grow beneath their shoulders ?" 
 
 " No creature is so monstrous, no fable so incredible, but that 
 the monkish writers could give it a moral form, and extract from its 
 crudities and quiddities some moral or religious lesson." 
 
 " They believed in the words of the song," said Thompson — 
 
 ' Reason sure will always bring 
 Something out of every thing.' " 
 
 " Pliny's dog-headed race," said Lathom, " whom Sir John 
 places in the island of Macumeran, and at the same time gives to 
 them a quasi pope for a king, who says three hundred prayers per 
 diem before he either eats or drinks, were naturally regarded by the 
 middle-age writers as symbolical of priestly preachers of faithful 
 hearts and frugal habits ; whilst of those other islanders, who ' have 
 but one eye, and that in the middest of their front, and eat their 
 flesh and fish raw,' the monk says, ' These be they that have the 
 eye of prayer/ The Astomes, who have no mouths, ' are all harie 
 over the whole bodie, yet clothed with soft cotton and downe, that 
 cometh from the leaves of trees, and live only on aire, and by the 
 smelling of sweet odours, which they draw through their nose- 
 thrills/ are the abstemious of this world, who die of the sin of 
 gluttony, even as an Astome by the accidental inhalation of bad 
 odour. Humility is signified by the absence of the head, and the 
 placing of the face in the breast ; and a tendency to sin is fore- 
 shadowed by a desire and habit of walking on all fours, or pride by 
 d 2 
 
30 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 short noses and goat's feet. The Mandevillean islanders, who had 
 flat faces without noses, and two round holes for their eyes, and 
 thought whatsoever they saw to be good, were earth's foolish ones ; 
 as those foul men, who have their lips so great, that when they 
 sleep in the sun, they cover all their face therewith, are the just 
 men, the salt of the earth." 
 
 "One would as soon dream of allegorising the Sciapodes of 
 Aristophanes, or Homer's Cranes and Pigmies," said Thompson. 
 " And so the monk has," said Lathom. 
 
 " What the old Greek's parasol-footed people, of whom Mande- 
 ville says with such gravity, 'There be in Ethiope such men as 
 have but one foot, and they go so fast that it is a great marvel ; and 
 that is a large foot, for the shadow thereof covereth the body from 
 sun or rain, when they lie upon their back ?" 
 
 " Both Aristophanes and his follower would doubtless be as sur- 
 prised in learning that their Sciapodes were allegorical of the chari- 
 table of this world, as Homer would in discovering in his crane- 
 fighting pigmies those mortals who begin well, but cease to do well 
 before they attain perfection ; or in their neighbours who boast of 
 six hands, and despise clothes in favour of long hair, and live in 
 rivers, the hardworking and laborious among men." 
 
 "The last is decidedly the most intelligible," remarked Herbert. 
 "The reason of the explanation is not always clear," replied 
 Lathom ; " it is not very easy to decide why those who have six 
 fingers and six toes are the unpolluted, and why virtuous men are 
 represented by a race of women with bald heads, and beards flowing 
 to their breast ; nor is it very clear that virtue is well represented by 
 a double allowance of eyes. But one curiosity remains— the beauti- 
 ful men of Europe who boast a crane's head, neck, and beak. These, 
 says the author of the Gesta, represent judges, who should have long 
 necks and beaks, that what the heart thirties, may be long before it 
 reach the mouth." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF FICTION FROM THE EAST TO THE WEST THE EARLY 
 
 CHRISTIANS THE MONKS THE SPANISH ARABIANS THE CRU- 
 SADES THE TALE OF THE CRUSADER AND THE KING OF HUNGARY 
 
 THE ENGLISH GESTA THE TALE OF THE KING OF ROME AND HIS 
 
 THREE DAUGHTERS. 
 
 ADMITTING the east as the immediate source of fic- 
 tion," said Henry Herbert, when they were met once 
 more, "you must still regard the Spanish Arabians 
 as the great disseminators of those extravagant in- 
 ventions which were so peculiar to their romantic and 
 creative genius." 
 
 "Less, perhaps, than many other sources. The absence of 
 Moorish subjects from the earliest tales of chivalry, if it proves no 
 more, at least shews how prevalent the tales of Charlemagne and his 
 peers were in the eighth century, that a nation of conquerors could 
 do little to infect them with legends of their own." 
 
 " How and when, then, Lathom, would you introduce eastern 
 invention?" asked Thompson. 
 
 " I would refer it to much earlier ages, to the earliest of the 
 Christian centuries, and contend that it was gradual, and therefore 
 more natural ; was the production of times and of ages, not the 
 sudden birth and growth of one age ; gradually augmenting until 
 it attained to full and perfect stature." 
 
 "Still," rejoined Herbert, "we want the means by which this 
 knowledge of eastern fable was introduced." 
 
 " Some share may be due to the return of those primitive Chris- 
 tians who sought refuge in the east from the persecutions of the 
 pagan rulers of the west. Their minds were well prepared to adopt 
 the fervent expressions of the east, and their condition prevented 
 them from investigating the tales they heard. Hence, in the lives of 
 these saints they were as ready to interweave the prodigies of another 
 land ; hoping, perhaps, to conciliate the minds cf the eastern orientals 
 to the tenets of their faith, by introducing fictitious incidents of ori- 
 
32 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 ental structure ; as, to conciliate the heathen, they placed their gods 
 and goddesses in the Christian temple, dignifying them with a new 
 name, and serving them with novel ceremonies." 
 
 " Admitting the probability, still your machinery seems deficient." 
 
 " It is but a portion of my machinery. Much more was due to 
 the monks, who, during the third and fourth centuries, wandered 
 over the face of the habitable world." 
 
 " When Gibbon admits that the progress of monachism was co- 
 extensive with that of Christianity," suggested Frederick Thompson. 
 
 " The disciples of Antony," said Herbert, " we are assured, 
 spread themselves beyond the tropic, over the Christian empire of 
 Ethiopia." 
 
 " Their distribution was universal," said Lathom ; " every pro- 
 vince, almost every city of the empire, had its ascetics ; they feared 
 no dangers, and deemed no seas, mountains, or deserts, a barrier to 
 their progress. 
 
 " * The roving character of the monks, therefore,' says the last 
 translator of the Gesta, ' is another link of the chain by which I 
 introduce oriental fiction into the west ; and it is utterly impossible 
 (maturely weighing the habits and propensities of this class of 
 people) that they should not have picked up and retained the floating 
 traditions of the countries through which they passed. Some of the 
 early romances, as well as the legends of the saints, were undoubt- 
 edly fabricated in the deep silence of the cloister. Both frequently 
 sprung from the warmth of fancy, which religious seclusion is so 
 well suited to nourish ; but the former were adorned with foreign 
 embellishments.' " 
 
 " Did it ever occur to you," said Thompson, " that the story of 
 Ulysses and Circe bears a wondrous likeness to that of Beder the 
 prince of Persia and Giahme princess of Samandal, and that the 
 voyages of Sinbad afford the counterpart of the Cyclops of the 
 Odysei ?" 
 
 " It would be but consistent with the reported travels of Homer, 
 to allow an eastern origin to a portion of his fable," said Lathom. 
 
 " After your banished Christians and roving monks," said Her- 
 bert, "you would admit the Spanish Arabians." 
 
 " As one means, certainly," replied Lathom ; " and after them 
 the Crusaders." 
 
 " It were almost superfluous," rejoined Herbert, " to allude to 
 
CH. III.] THE KNIGHT AND THE KING OF HUNGARY. 33 
 
 the Crusades as further sources of romantic and didactic fiction. No 
 one will dispute their right to a place in the system. About the 
 period of the third crusade this kind of writing was at its height." 
 
 "Undoubtedly," rejoined Lathom, "that age was the full tide of 
 chivalry. Twenty years elapsed between that and the fourth and 
 fifth expeditions into the east ; and nearly a generation passed before 
 for the sixth and the last time, the wealth and blood of Europe was 
 poured upon the plains of the east. Enough of money and life had 
 been now spent to satisfy the most enthusiastic of the crusading 
 body, and to check, if not to stem, the tide of popular feeling which 
 had formerly run so strong in favour of the restoration of the sepul- 
 chre and the holy city to the guardianship of the faithful. Time was 
 now at last beginning to allay the an ti- Saracenic passion. With 
 the decline of these remarkable expeditions romantic fiction began to 
 be regarded. For though originally extraneous and independent, 
 romantic fictions had of late years become incorporated with chivalry 
 and its institutions, and, with them, they naturally fell into decay." 
 
 "Come, come, we must break off this discussion," said Thomp- 
 son, "or else we shall have no time to judge of Lathom's perform- 
 ance this evening/' 
 
 " The story I have selected to begin with," said the latter, " is one 
 replete with eccentricity, and peculiarly characteristic of the age : 
 it is entitled — 
 
 Cjje Bmgfjt antt tf)e 2&wg of imngarp. 
 
 There was a merry feast in the palace of Philonimus, the em- 
 peror of Rome, and his fair child, the maiden Aglse, sat by his 
 side, whilst a brave knight that loved the maiden dearly sat on 
 the other hand of the emperor. For the knight was bound for 
 Palestine, to aid in rescuing the holy city from the power of 
 the infidels, and the emperor held a high festival in honour of 
 that knight. 
 
 The feast was over in the hall, and the knight led the 
 maiden from beside her father's throne to the floor of the hall, 
 and danced with her, whilst the king's minstrels played a mea- 
 sure. And as he danced, the knight talked with the lady, and 
 the lady talked with the knight, and often sighed she when he 
 spoke of his voyage to the Holy Land, and the great deeds he 
 
34 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 would perform for the glory of God, and the love of the fair 
 lady. Then said the knight, " Lady, fair lady ! to-morrow's 
 dawn sees me on my way to Palestine, and for seven years I 
 bind myself to fight for the holy city. Plight me, dearest, thy 
 troth, that this seven years you take no other husband, and I 
 will plight thee my troth that for that time I will take no wife ; 
 and if this day seven years I come not again, then art thou free 
 from my promise." 
 
 The lady was pleased with the words of the knight, and 
 they vowed their vow, the one to the other. 
 
 Then sailed the knight for Palestine, and for years they 
 wist not where he was. At length the king of Hungary came 
 to the emperor's court, and he looked on the beauty of Aglse, 
 and sought her of her father for his queen. And the emperor 
 was glad ; for the king was a great and good king. Then said 
 he, " So be it, if my daughter consent." 
 
 And Aglse bowed her head, when the king of Hungary 
 spoke to her, and said, " O lord the king, I am not free to be 
 thy wife ; for lo, these six years past I vowed to marry no man, 
 and lo, one year more remains of my vow ; until the end of 
 which, I cannot accept the honour of my lord the king." 
 
 Then said the father, " Since thou hast so vowed, I will not 
 break thy vow. Wait, then, my lord, yet one year, and then 
 my daughter shall be thy bride." 
 
 So the king of Hungary returned to his kingdom. 
 * ***** 
 
 Aglse sat at her chamber-window, and looked out upon the 
 road that led towards her father's palace. " Alas, alas," she 
 said, " it wants but one day to complete the seven years of my 
 vow ! To-morrow, my love promised to be with me again from 
 the Holy Land. To-morrow the king of Hungary comes to claim 
 me. Ah me, what shall I do ! if my love comes not, I must be 
 the king's bride !" and she bent her face on her hand and wept 
 sorely. 
 
 As the day drew near, the king of Hungary prepared to 
 seek his bride. A great company was gathered together, and 
 many waggons of presents were prepared to accompany the 
 
CH. III.] THE KNIGHT AND THE KING OF HUNGARY. 35 
 
 king. But when he saw them, and how slowly they journeyed, 
 he left all his company, and went his way alone, eager to claim 
 Aglse as his bride, so soon as the seven years were ended. 
 The king was royally arrayed in purple, and his steed was 
 clothed in gorgeous trappings. Now, as he drew nigh to Rome, 
 a knight rode after him, who was covered from head to foot in 
 a long black cloak, and bore on his shoulder a white embroi- 
 dered cross. " Hail, sir knight," said the king, " whither 
 travellest thou ? what news from the Holy Land ?" 
 
 " To Rome, my lord," rejoined the knight, halting his steed 
 alongside of the king's, " the Cross has gained the victory." 
 
 " Thither, too, do I travel, sir knight ; I am the king of 
 Hungary, I go to seek my bride, the emperor's fair daughter ; 
 I pray thee bear me company on the road." 
 
 The knight acceded to the king's proposal ; and as they 
 journeyed, they talked of the holy war in Palestine, and re- 
 joiced that the city of the holy sepulchre was free from the 
 power of the Saracens. As they thus talked together, the sky 
 became cloudy, the wind howled through the woods, and the 
 rain fell so fast, that the king's apparel was wet through. 
 
 " My lord," said the knight, "ye have done foolishly, in 
 that ye have not brought your house with you." 
 
 " My house, sir knight ! how meanest thou ? my house is 
 large and broad, made of stones and mortar ; how should I 
 bring with me my house ? thou art beside thyself, sir knight !" 
 
 But the knight said nothing until they came to the bank 
 of a broad stream, into which the king, being out of humour, 
 plunged his horse, at the same time striking his spurs deeply 
 into him ; so he missed the ford, and would have been drowned 
 but for the knight's help. 
 
 "My lord," said the knight, when they were safe on the 
 river's bank, "thou shouldst have brought thy bridge with 
 thee." 
 
 " My bridge !" said the king ; " how strangely thou speakest, 
 sir knight : my bridge is made of stones and mortar, and is 
 half a mile long, and yet thou sayest, why have I not my 
 bridge ? thou art foolish, sir knight." 
 
36 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " Perhaps," replied the knight, " my folly may turn thee to 
 wisdom." 
 
 And as they rode on, the king asked of the knight what 
 hour of the day it was. 
 
 "For those that are hungry," replied the knight, "it is 
 time to eat ; dismount, therefore, my lord, and honour me by 
 partaking of the food I have with me." 
 
 So they both sat down under a tree, and ate of the food 
 that was in the knight's wallet, and drank of the clear stream 
 that ran beside them. When their meat was finished, and they 
 were once more mounted, the knight said : 
 
 " king, why didst thou not bring with thee thy father 
 and thy mother ?" 
 
 " My father, sir knight, is dead, and my mother is old and 
 cannot travel ; how, then, could I bring them ? Verily, thou 
 art the most foolish man that I did ever meet with." 
 
 " That is as it may be," said the knight with a smile ; 
 " every thing is judged by its end. Now, O king, farewell ! 
 I may not ride with thee to the emperor's palace ; thither lies 
 thy road, farewell." 
 
 " But stay, sir knight," said the king, " whither ridest 
 thou, then V 
 
 " Seven years ago, I left a net in a place, and now I go to 
 see. If I find it not broken, then will I take it home and keep 
 it as a precious jewel ; if it be broken, I will leave it to thee. 
 O king, once more, farewell." 
 
 So speaking, the knight turned away from the high road, 
 and w r ent by a shorter way towards Rome, to the emperor's 
 palacs. The king rode upon the highway. Now, as the king 
 drew near to Rome, one of the emperor's servants met him, and 
 went and told the emperor, how that the king of Hungary was 
 riding all alone towards the city, and was wet and weary with 
 his journey. Then the emperor set out to meet the king, and 
 received him royally, and took his wet clothes off him, and 
 clothed him with his own imperial robes. Then the trumpets 
 sounded to dinner, and the emperor and the king descended to 
 the hall ; but Aglee was not there, for she kept her chamber, 
 
CH. III.] THE KNIGHT AND THE KING OF HUNGARY. 37 
 
 and her father refused her not, as it was the last day of her 
 seven years' vow. 
 
 " Brother," said the emperor, as soon as the meats were re- 
 moved from the table, " I pray thee tell me of thy journey." 
 
 Then the king told him how he left his own company to 
 come after, and fell in with the crusader on his journey, and 
 how he was dressed, and what he said as they rode together. 
 
 " Surely," said the emperor, " that knight was a wise man ; 
 for the house of which he spoke was thy cloak ; the bridge was 
 thy squire, that should have ridden before thee to try the depth 
 of the stream ; and what was thy father and mother, save bread 
 and wine, which thou shouldest have brought with thee ? But 
 why did he leave thee ?" 
 
 " When we came where two roads met," rejoined the king, 
 " he left me, saying, that seven years since he left a net in a 
 private place, and he went to see whether it were broken or 
 not, that he might treasure it as a jewel if it were unbroken, 
 and if broken, resign it to me." 
 
 Then the emperor cried with a loud voice, " Ho ! my 
 knights and servants, go ye to my daughter's chamber." 
 
 So the knights and servants went, and found not the lady, 
 for her lover had stolen her away while the kings dined. 
 
 " Even so as I expected," said the emperor ; " brother, the 
 knight's folly has taught thee wisdom." 
 
 " Yea, brother," rejoined the king sorrowfully, " truly said 
 the knight, every deed is judged by its end." 
 
 So the king returned to Hungary ashamed ; and when the 
 knight and the maiden returned to her father, his heart yearned 
 towards her, and he wept over her, and received them with joy. 
 
 " This last tale," said Lathom, as soon as he had concluded his 
 manuscripts, " comes not from the old Latin books, but from what 
 is called the English Gesta." 
 
 "An imitation of the original, I suppose," said Thompson. 
 
 '* So thought that antiquarian, Mr. Douce," replied Lathom. 
 
 " Is it not natural, that a work so remarkable as this old Latin 
 
38 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 Gesta seems to have been, should have stimulated some person to 
 compose a similar work for this country?" suggested Herbert. 
 
 " If the English version was not intended for the same work as 
 the original, it is difficult to account for the striking- identity between 
 the stories in each of the Gesta ; whilst the differences between the 
 two works is in no respect greater than is consistent with that great 
 latitude which the old transcribers and translators gave themselves." 
 
 " It is, therefore, Lathom, in your opinion, as much an original 
 work as Donne's Satires modernised by Pope, or Horace's Art of 
 Poetry translated by Roscommon," said Thompson. 
 
 " Yes, or as Dr. Johnson's version of the Tenth Satire of Ju- 
 venal." 
 
 "We must be thinking of adjourning," said Herbert, as the 
 college-clock began to strike eight. 
 
 " Or we may find ourselves inscribed among St. Peter's mad- 
 men," said Lathom. 
 
 " St. Peter's madmen — who were they ?" exclaimed Herbert and 
 Thompson together. 
 
 " Five men St. Peter deemed to be madmen," rejoined their host. 
 "One ate the sand of the sea so greedily that it ran out of his 
 mouth: verily he was the covetous man of this world. The next 
 madman stood over a pit filled with sulphur and pitch, and strove to 
 inhale the noxious vapour that rose from the burning mass : he was 
 the glutton and debauchee. A third lay on a burning furnace, and 
 endeavoured to catch the sparks that rose from it, that he might 
 feast on them : for he was rich, and would have fed on gold, though 
 it would have been his death. The next lunatic sat on the pinnacle 
 of the temple, with his mouth open to catch the wind ; for he was a 
 hypocrite : whilst the last madman devoured every finger and toe of 
 his own he could get into his mouth, and laughed at others ; for he 
 was a calumniator of the good, and devoured his own kind.''" 
 
 "And the sixth stayed up to read in a Christmas vacation," sug- 
 gested Thompson. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MODERN CONVERSIONS OF THE OLD TALES THE THREE BLACK CROWS 
 
 KING LEAR THE MERCHANT OF VENICE EASTERN ORIGIN OF 
 
 THE INCIDENT OF THE THREE CASKETS. 
 
 ;f,HAT a mine must these tales of the old monks have 
 
 //--- . ; ^i\Y\j been to writers of every age!" said Herbert, as the 
 |||M^gW/J friends returned to their old book for the fourth 
 
 ' ' The purloiners of gems from their writings have 
 been innumerable, and of all ages. Gower, Lydgate, Chaucer, Shak- 
 speare, of olden days; and in our own times, Parnell, Schiller, Scott, 
 and Southey have been indebted to the didactic fictions of the old 
 monks for many a good plot, and many an effective incident." 
 
 " As the old monks themselves were indebted to the earlier 
 legends of other lands, the traditions of their own convent, or the 
 meagre pages of an old chronicle." 
 
 " Even the veteran joker, Mr. Joe Miller, has been indebted to 
 the Gesta for one of his standard tales," said Lathom ; " the Three 
 Black Crows dates back to the middle ages. The moral, however, 
 was hardly so fpolite as that now attached to the story ; for the 
 monk boldly headed his tale with this inscription, 
 
 Of women who not only betray secrets but lie fearfully." 
 
 " Pray let us hear the original Joe Miller,'' said Thompson. 
 *' Here, then, you have," replied Lathom, "the original 
 
 Tale that will raise the question, I suppose, 
 What can the meaning be of three black crows ?" 
 
 €f)e Cljrct 23Iack Crofos. 
 
 Once upon a time there lived two brothers, the one a cleric, 
 the other a layman. The former was always saying that no 
 woman could keep a secret; and as his brother was married, 
 
40 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 he bade him test the truth of this assertion on his own wife. 
 The layman agreed ; and one night, when they were alone, he 
 said, with a sorrowful face, to his spouse : 
 
 " My dear wife, a most dreadful secret hangs over me; 
 oh, that I could divulge it to you ; but no, I dare not ; you 
 never could keep it, and, if once divulged, my reputation is 
 gone." 
 
 " Fear not, love," rejoined the wife ; " are we not one body 
 and one mind ? is not your advantage my benefit, and your 
 injury my loss ?" 
 
 " Well, then," said the husband, " when I left my room 
 this morning, a deadly sickness came upon me ; and after 
 many a pang, a huge black crow flew out of my mouth, 
 and, winging its way from the room, left me in fear and trem- 
 bling." 
 
 " Is it possible ?" asked the wife; "yet why should you 
 fear, my life ? be thankful rather that you have been freed 
 from so noxious and troublesome an occupant." 
 
 Here the conversation ended. As soon as it was day, up 
 got the wife, with her thoughts full of the black crow, and 
 hastened to a neighbour's house. 
 
 " Dearest friend," said she, " can I trust you with a se- 
 cret ?" 
 
 " As with your life," rejoined the confidant. 
 
 " Oh, such a marvellous accident happened to my hus- 
 band !" 
 
 " What ? what ?" asked the anxious friend. 
 
 " Only last night, he felt deadly sick, and, after a great 
 deal of pain, two black crows flew out of his mouth, and took 
 wing from the room." 
 
 Away went the wife home, with her mind disburdened of 
 the awful secret ; whilst her friend hastened to her next neigh- 
 bour, and retailed the story, only with the addition of one more 
 crow. The next edition of the legend rose to four ; and at 
 last, when the story had gone round the gossips of the village, 
 a flock of forty crows were reported to have flown from the 
 poor man's mouth ; and there were not a few who remembered 
 
CH. IV.] THE EMPEROR OF ROME AND BIS THREE DAUGHTERS. 41 
 
 seeing the black legion on the wing from the man's window. 
 The consequence of all this was, that the poor husband found 
 himself saddled with the very questionable reputation of a wiz- 
 ard, and was obliged to call together the village, and explain 
 to them the true origin of the fable. On this his wife and her 
 confidants were overwhelmed with ridicule and shame, and the 
 men of the village were the more impressed with the truth of 
 the cleric's maxim. 
 
 "Did the old monk attempt a further interpretation of his un- 
 gallant fable?" asked Herbert. 
 
 "Undoubtedly," replied Lathom. "The unfortunate husband 
 typified the worldly man, who, thinking to do one foolish act with- 
 out offence, falls into a thousand errors, and has, at last, to purge 
 his conscience by a public confession." 
 
 But let us now pass on to Shakspeare. King Lear dates back to 
 the Gesta. Theodosius of Rome occupies the place of the British 
 king, his child Theodosia is Shakspeare's Cordelia. 
 
 Cfje (Emperor of &ome antJ i)te €f)m Baup^ters. 
 
 Theodosius was emperor of Rome, mighty in power, and 
 wise in counsel. He had no son, but three daughters whom 
 he loved exceedingly. Now when they were come of full 
 age, the emperor called unto him the eldest, and said : " How 
 much lovest thou me ?" 
 
 " More than mine own self," replied the eldest. 
 
 " It is good," rejoined her father ; " thou shalt be rewarded 
 for thy love." So he married her unto a neighbouring king, 
 of great power and wealth. 
 
 Then he sent for his second daughter, and asked her the 
 same question. 
 
 "Even as I do myself," was the reply. 
 
 At this the emperor was well pleased, and he kissed his 
 child, and said : "I will reward thee for this thy love." 
 
 So he married her unto one of the greatest nobles of his 
 realm. 
 
42 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 At last he sent for his youngest daughter ; and when she 
 was come into his presence, he asked her likewise how much 
 she loved him. 
 
 Theodosia bowed her head, and bent her knee to her father, 
 as she mildly replied, " Even as my father deserveth." 
 
 Then was the emperor hurt with her reply, and he said, 
 " Lovest thou me no more than this ? thy reward shall be less 
 than thy sisters'." So he married her unto a poor but good 
 lord, who was one of the lesser nobles of his kingdom. 
 
 Time passed away, misfortune came upon the emperor, and 
 his kingdom was all but taken from him by the king of Egypt. 
 Then said he to himself, " I will appeal to my children ;" so he 
 w T rote to his eldest daughter for aid. 
 
 "My lord the king, I have here a letter from my father," 
 said the eldest daughter to her husband ; "he asketh help of 
 us in his misfortunes." 
 
 " Is it not just that we should aid him ?" replied the king ; 
 "we will raise an army, and go and fight for him." 
 
 " Nay, my lord," rejoined his wife, " consider the expense ; 
 send my father five knights to keep him company in his wan- 
 derings." 
 
 " Alas, alas," said the aged emperor when he read his 
 eldest child's answer, " in her was my chief trust ; she, that 
 loved me more than herself, hath done only this much ; how, 
 then, shall I trust the other two ?" 
 
 Then wrote he to the second daughter, who, when she 
 read her father's letter, advised her husband to grant him food, 
 lodging, and raiment, during the time of his need. The em- 
 peror was sore grieved at this reply. " Now have I tried my 
 two daughters, and have found them wanting : let me try the 
 third ;" so he wrote to his youngest child. 
 
 When the messenger brought the emperor's letter to Theo- 
 dosia, she wept sorely as she read how that her father was 
 driven from his capital, and was become a wanderer in his own 
 kingdom. Then went she to her husband, and said : 
 
 " Oh, my dear lord, by thy love towards me, succour me in 
 this great distress : my father is driven from his capital by the 
 
CH. IV.] THE EMPEROR OF ROME AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS. 43 
 
 king of Egypt, and even now wanders up and down his own 
 kingdom, homeless and unattended." 
 
 "As thou wiliest, Theodosia," replied the noble, " so will 
 I do." 
 
 " Gather, then, a great army ; raise again my father's ban- 
 ner ; and go, my lord, fight for my father's throne, and under 
 God's blessing thou shalt conquer." 
 
 Gladly the noble obeyed the wishes of his wife; gladly 
 did he summon his retainers and friends, and raise the royal 
 standard. His example was all that was required; numbers 
 flocked to the royal standard, for they w T ished well to the em- 
 peror, but lacked a leader. Then led he his forces against 
 the king of Egypt, and long and fierce was the battle ; but at 
 length the emperor's friends prevailed, the Egyptian was driven 
 from the land, and the emperor reseated on his throne. It was 
 a happy day for his people when Theodosius reascended his 
 throne : round him stood all his nobles, and on his right hand 
 his youngest daughter, and on his left her noble husband, to 
 whom he was indebted for his restoration. Before his footstool 
 stood his other children and their husbands, and sought to do 
 him homage. But the emperor forbade them, and turning to 
 his nobles, he said : 
 
 " The child that loved me but as I deserved, hath succoured 
 me in this my time of trouble ; the twain that professed to love 
 me more abundantly, have failed in the trial God ordained to 
 them and to me. I pray ye, my nobles and knights, to ratify 
 this my wish. When I die, let the kingdom pass to her and 
 to her husband, for she succoured her father and her country ; 
 but for these other two, let them go hence." 
 
 And the nobles and knights, with one accord, said, " It is 
 well said ; be it so." 
 
 " Is the Merchant of Venice among the list of plots borrowed 
 from the Gesta?" asked Herbert. 
 
 "It is inscribed as a debtor to two tales ; to the one for the 
 incident of the Bond, to the other for that of the Three Caskets." 
 
 " I thought," said Frederick Thompson, " the incident of Shy- 
 
44 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 lock's bond came from the Italian of Fiorentino, a novelist of the 
 fourteenth century." 
 
 " It is found there, and is generally translated from his work in 
 the preface to the play; but is also found, in almost the same words, 
 in the English Gesta, in the story of Selestinus, the Wise Emperor, 
 who had a Fair Daughter." 
 
 " You claim also the incident of the Three Caskets." 
 
 " I claim one form of it for the old monks in the story of the 
 Carpenter and the Owner of the Lost Treasure, and another form 
 in the tale found in the English Gesta of the emperor Anselmus." 
 
 " What is the legend of the Carpenter?" asked Herbert. 
 
 " He is supposed to have found some gold, and to be doubting 
 whether he should restore it to its owner, whom chance had led to 
 the carpenter's cottage in his inquiries after his lost treasure. To 
 satisfy his mind, he makes three cakes ; one he fills with earth, 
 another with bones, and the third has a piece of gold within it. On 
 giving his guest the choice, the traveller is led by the weight to 
 choose the one full of earth ; and claiming a portion of that con- 
 taining bones, should the first not satisfy his hunger, he gives the 
 lightest to his host. Thus convinced that the man does not deserve 
 his lost treasure, the carpenter drives him from his hut, and dis- 
 tributes the money to the poor." 
 
 " This is but a slight hint," said Herbert; "the choice is ex- 
 actly contrary to that of the play." 
 
 " In the latter story, whether original or copied, the choice is 
 identical with that in the Merchant of Venice. The moral the 
 writer intended to read was the deceitfulness of outward appear- 
 ances." 
 
 " The old proverb," suggested Thompson, — " all is not gold that 
 glitters." 
 
 " I will read now the form of the story in the English Gesta." 
 
 CIjc Calc of tlje Cljvce Castecte. 
 
 Centuries have passed since Anselmus reigned in Rome, 
 whose empress was the fair daughter of the king of Jerusalem, 
 and gracious in the sight of every man. Long had they lived 
 happily together, but were not blest with a child to comfort 
 their lives, and to inherit their power and honours. And it 
 
CH. IV.] THE THREE CASKETS. 45 
 
 came to pass that, as the emperor walked in his garden, he be- 
 thought him of the constant wars of the king of Ampluy, his 
 neighbour, who ceased not to trouble him, because he had no 
 son to defend his dominions. And as he walked and mused, 
 he looked on the moon, and fell into a trance, and dreamed a 
 dream, how that the morning was very bright, and the moon 
 looked paler on the one side than on the other. And then 
 there flew towards him a bird of two colours ; two beasts came 
 and stood by the bird, and warmed the little creature with their 
 heat. And lo, other beasts, mighty and terrible, came and 
 bowed themselves before the little bird, and went their way ; 
 and then followed these many other birds of bright plumage 
 and sweet song, and they sang pleasantly, and waked the em- 
 peror. 
 
 Anselmus was troubled with his dream, and he called for 
 his wise men, his nobles, and his counsellors, and told them 
 of his vision, and sought from them the interpretation of his 
 dream. When the wise men, the nobles, and the counsellors 
 had considered of these things, they spoke cheerfully unto the 
 king. 
 
 " Sire," said they, " the vision betokens good to the em- 
 pire ; its glory shall be clearer than it is. The loss of colour 
 in the moon prefigures the loss of strength to our empress 
 when a child is born unto you. The little bird is this child, 
 our prince. The two beasts that warmed him, are the good 
 and the great of our empire, who will give of their substance to 
 sustain and cherish their prince. And whilst the other nations, 
 mighty and strong, shall bow down before him, as the beasts 
 did in the vision, so shall our people rejoice and sing with ex- 
 ceeding joy, as the birds sang sweetly and pleasantly in thy 
 dream. Such, O king, is the interpretation of the vision." 
 
 Exceeding glad was the emperor at these words ; and his 
 joy was the more increased when a son was born unto him, 
 according to the words of the wise men. 
 
 When the king of Ampluy heard of the birth of the prince, 
 he was afraid, remembering the wrong he had done to Ansel- 
 mus, and foreseeing the vengeance he would experience from 
 
46 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 the prince when he should come of age and lead the armies of 
 his father. So he turned his mind to peace, and wrote hum- 
 bly unto the emperor. When Anselmus read the king's letter 
 he replied in peaceful terms, and promised him his protection 
 and friendship, if he would give securities for his conduct, and 
 acknowledge his sovereignty by a small tribute. 
 
 King Ampluy read the emperor's letter to his council, and 
 prayed their counsel as touching the matter. Then said the 
 counsellors, " The emperor's words are good, and to be obeyed. 
 As for the surety that he asks, is there not to our lord one 
 daughter, a maiden fair and goodly withal ; and is there not 
 to the emperor one son, a noble prince ? Contract, therefore, 
 marriage between thy child and his, that there may be a per- 
 petual peace." 
 
 The king obeyed the advice of his counsellors ; he wrote 
 their words unto the emperor, who received them gladly, and 
 the marriage -contract was signed. 
 
 So the king sent his child by sea to the emperor's court. 
 The ship was a great ship, with fair masts and able pilots, 
 glittering with gay pennants and costly ornaments, and it bore 
 a goodly company of nobles, knights, and titled dames, with 
 many and rich presents to do honour to the marriage of the 
 maiden and the prince. 
 
 And it came to pass that as they sailed towards Rome, a 
 storm rose, and drove the ship hither and thither over the 
 waves, until she brake against a rock, and sank into the waters. 
 And all they that were in her were drowned, save the daughter 
 of the king, who put her trust in God and was saved. At 
 length the storm abated, and the ship, broken and helpless, 
 rose from beneath the waves and floated. But, lo, a great 
 whale followed after the ship to swallow up it and the maiden. 
 So the maiden struck a light, and lighted a fire, that terrified 
 the whale, which dared not to approach the ship for fear of 
 the fire. At break of day she fell asleep, for she was weary 
 of watching ; "and as she slept, the fire ceased for want of fuel, 
 and the whale came and devoured the maiden. 
 
 When she awoke, darkness was around her on every side, 
 
CH. IV.] THE THREE CASKETS. 47 
 
 for she was in the belly of the whale ; but she feared not, but 
 struck with the stone until the fire came, and thrust with a 
 knife into the sides of the whale, so that he made towards the 
 shore, for he felt that he was wounded. 
 
 In that country dwelt a noble, a servant of the emperor, who, 
 for his recreation, walked on the shore at the time the whale 
 was making towards the land. When he saw the monster, he 
 turned homeward, summoned his servants, and returning to 
 the shore, fought with the whale until it was sore wounded, 
 and like to die. And even as they smote the fish, the maiden 
 cried with a loud voice from within the whale : 
 
 " Mercy, gentle friends, mercy on me ; for I am a king's 
 daughter." 
 
 Wondering greatly at these words, the noble hauled the 
 fish ashore, and opening the side of the whale, released the lady 
 from her prison. And when he heard her story, he pitied her 
 sore, and took her to his own castle to comfort her until he 
 could convey her to the court of the emperor. 
 
 When Anselmus heard of the maiden's safety, he rejoiced 
 greatly, and came to her, and had compassion on her. 
 
 " Fair maiden," said the emperor, " sorely as thou hast 
 been tried, and great woe as thou hast suffered for the love of 
 my son, still must thou endure another trial ere thou be pro- 
 claimed worthy to be his wife. Let the caskets be brought 
 hither." 
 
 Then the king's servants brought three caskets. The first 
 was of pure gold, richly set about with precious stones ; but 
 within was full of dead men's bones. On this was inscribed, 
 
 '* WHOSO CHOOSETH ME SHALL FIND WHAT HE DESERVETH." 
 
 The second casket was made of fine silver, filled with earth and 
 worms, and its inscription was, '■ whoso chooseth me shall 
 
 FIND THAT HIS NATURE DESIRETH." But the last Vessel Was 
 
 made of lead, and without was dull and useless ; but within 
 were precious stones. On this casket was written, " whoso 
 
 CHOOSETH ME SHALL FIND THAT WHICH GOD HATH DISPOSED 
 FOR HIM," 
 
 Then said the emperor, " Maiden, look on these three ves- 
 
48 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 sels, they be rich vessels ; if thou choose that wherein is profit 
 to thee and to others, then thou shalt marry my son ; but if 
 thou choose that in which is no profit to thee or to others, 
 then in peace return to thy father." 
 
 The king's daughter lifted up her hands to God, and prayed 
 for his grace in the hour of her trial. First she looked upon 
 the golden casket, and as she read the words of its inscription, 
 she said, " Full precious and gay art thou, O casket, but I 
 know not what is within ; therefore, dear lord, I choose not 
 this." 
 
 Then looked she on the silver casket and its inscription, 
 "Whoso chooseth me shall find that which his nature de- 
 sireth." " Alas," said the maiden, "I know not what is 
 herein ; but this I know, that I shall therein find that which 
 my nature desireth, even the wickedness of the flesh. Casket 
 of silver, I will have none of thee." 
 
 Lastly she looked on the leaden casket. 
 
 " Poor art thou, O casket, to look upon, and yet thy in- 
 scription giveth comfort ; thou promisest ' that which God 
 hath disposed ;' and God never disposeth any thing harmful ; 
 by His permission, I take thee, O casket." 
 
 Then cried the emperor, " Well done, thou fair and good 
 maiden ; open thy casket, for it is full of precious gifts. Well 
 hast thou chosen." 
 
 Then appointed he the day of the wedding ; and the maiden 
 and the prince were married with great solemnity, and with 
 much honour among all the nations lived they until their 
 lives' end. 
 
 " Your title is, I think, perfected," said Herbert. 
 
 " And yet there are those that can put in an earlier claim/' said 
 Lathom. 
 
 " An earlier claim ! how far back, then, would you carry it ?" 
 
 " Nearly to the eighth century ; one link between the east and 
 the west. Damascenus, the Greek monk, in the spiritual romance 
 of Barlaam and Josaphat, relates that Barlaam commanded four chests 
 
CH. IV.] THE THREE CASKETS. 49 
 
 to be made, two covered with gold, and two overlaid with pitch, and 
 bound with common cords ; in the former he placed dead men's 
 bones ; in the latter, jewels, gold, and precious ointments. He then 
 gave his courtiers the choice ; and when they chose the golden cof- 
 fers, the king said, ' I anticipated your decision, for ye look with 
 the eyes of sense. To discern the good or evil that lies within, we 
 must look with the eyes of the mind/ Then he opened the chests, 
 and shewed his courtiers their error." 
 
 " It is that kind of tale that would be most acceptable to all 
 writers," said Herbert. 
 
 " The general use they have made of it, in one form or other, is 
 evidence of its popularity. Boccaccio has dressed it up under the 
 story of the King and Signor Rogiero ; and Gower has versified it, 
 filling the unlucky chest with earth, stones, and rubbish, instead of 
 men's bones. To-morrow evening I will give you some more in- 
 stances of this kind of conversion of the old monks' stories." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE PROBABLE AUTHOR OF THE GESTA MODERN CONVERSIONS 
 
 PARNELL'S HERMIT THE POETS' IMPROVEMENTS SCHILLER'S 
 
 FRIDOLIN IRVING's VISION IN THE MUSEUM THE CLAIMS OF THE 
 
 OLD WRITERS ON THE NEW. 
 
 j]N what nation have the antiquaries endeavoured to fix 
 the authorship of these tales ?" inquired Herbert. 
 
 " Here doctors disagree : Wharton contends for a 
 Poitevin prior of the Benedictine convent of St. Eloi 
 at Paris ; whilst Douce argues for ' a German origin, 
 because in the moralisation attached to one tale there is a German 
 proverb, and in another the names of some dogs are partly German, 
 partly Saxon." 
 
 " Might not this arise from the pen of a translator or adapter?" 
 suggested Thompson. 
 
 " More than probably it did. The fact of the scenes in one or 
 two of the tales being laid in England, may tend to shew that the 
 copy in which they appear was prefaced by a writer of that country ; 
 as the introduction of the German proverb would lead us to suppose 
 that the editor of that copy was a German." 
 
 "Is it not probable," said Herbert, "that this book may have 
 been a mere collection of the popular tales of the age in which it was 
 written, confined to no particular country, drawn from every avail- 
 able source ; thus leaving to the reputed author the task of arrange- 
 ment and transcription, rather than of origination?" 
 
 " It is now useless to endeavour to determine this point ; as in 
 the history of fiction it is far more easy to upset prior theories than 
 to set up new ones," replied Lathom. 
 
 " Whose conversions, as you kindly denominate them, do you 
 propose illustrating this evening?" asked Thompson. 
 
 " Parnell and Schiller," rejoined Lathom ; " the lay of the Her- 
 mit, and the ballad of Fridolin. We will begin with Parnell." 
 
51 
 
 Cf)e ^tigel anti tfje Hermit. 
 
 Far in a wild unknown to public view, in a cell which he had 
 hollowed out with his own hands, on the edge of an open 
 down, from youth to age a reverend hermit grew. The neigh- 
 bouring lord's shepherd was wont to feed his sheep on the 
 short but sweet pasture of the hermit's down. 
 
 One day the poor shepherd, fatigued with watching, fell 
 asleep, and a robber came and stole the lord's flock. When 
 he awoke, he discovered the loss, and stoutly maintained that 
 the sheep had been stolen ; but the lord would not believe the 
 shepherd, and commanded him to be put to death. 
 
 The hermit saw the deed, and thus communed with him- 
 self : " Merciful God, seest thou what this man hath done, and 
 how the innocent suffers for the guilty ? Why permittest thou 
 these things ? If injustice is to triumph, why remain I here ? 
 Verily, I will re-enter the world, and do as other men do." 
 
 Impressed with these thoughts, the hermit left his cell, and 
 wandered back to the world and the abodes of men ; and on 
 his way, an angel, sent from God, met him, and being in the 
 form of a traveller, he joined himself to the hermit, and asked 
 him which way he journeyed. 
 
 " To the city that lieth before us," rejoined the hermit. 
 
 " I will accompany you," replied his companion ; "I am 
 an angel sent from God to be the associate of your wander- 
 ings." 
 
 So they walked onwards to the city. When they entered 
 the gates, they sought the house of a soldier, and entreated 
 him, by God's love, to give them harbourage during the night. 
 The veteran complied with cheerfulness, and spared not of the 
 best of his substance for the entertainment of the travellers. 
 The hospitable soldier had but one child, an infant in the cradle. 
 And so it happened, that when supper was ended, the veteran 
 lighted the guests to his best chamber, and the angel and the 
 hermit retired to rest. About midnight the hermit awoke, and 
 saw the angel rise from the bed, enter the chamber where the 
 infant slept, and strangle it with his own hands. 
 
52 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " Surely," said the hermit to himself, " this cannot be an 
 angel of God ; did not the good soldier give us every thing 
 that we required ? and now, lo, the only child that he had is 
 slain by this his guest." And yet he feared to reprove his 
 companion. 
 
 With the morning, the hermit and the angel arose, and 
 sought a neighbouring city, where they found a hospitable 
 reception in the house of one of its chief persons. This man 
 had a valuable drinking-cup of gold, which the angel purloined 
 during the night : but the hermit yet was silent, for he feared 
 more than he doubted. On the morrow the travellers con- 
 tinued their journey, and on their way they came to a river, 
 over which was a bridge thrown. They ascended the bridge, 
 and met, midway, a poor and aged pilgrim. 
 
 "My friend," said the angel to the old man, "shew us 
 the way to yonder city." 
 
 As the pilgrim turned him to shew the angel the road, he 
 seized him by the shoulders, and cast the old man headlong 
 into the river that ran beneath. 
 
 "Alas, alas!" cried the hermit to himself, "it is the evil 
 one himself. Why, what evil had the poor man done ?" and 
 yet, with all his thoughts, the hermit feared to give utterance 
 to his fears. 
 
 About the hour of vespers the travellers reached another 
 city, in which they sought shelter for the night ; but the 
 master of the house refused them rudely. 
 
 " For the love of heaven," said the angel, " spare us of thy 
 house for shelter against the wolves and other wild beasts." 
 
 " That," rejoined the man, "is my pigsty; lie ye there if 
 it so please ye ; for ye come no other whither." 
 
 " Necessity," replied the angel, "forces us to accept your 
 ungracious offer." 
 
 On the morrow the angel called the host, and said, "Friend, 
 I give you this goblet," presenting to him the cup he had 
 stolen from his former host. 
 
 " Now," said the hermit, " know I that this is no angel ; 
 doth he not reward evil for good, and good for evil? No 
 
CH. V.] THE ANGEL AND THE HERMIT. 53 
 
 longer will I travel with you : fare thee well, I commend thee 
 to God." 
 
 " Dear friend," rejoined the angel, "hear me ere you de- 
 part. Whilst thou wert in thy hermitage, the lord of the flock 
 unjustly slew his careless but innocent servant. For his in- 
 nocence he will be in a fit state to enter another world ; but had 
 he lived, he would have fallen into sin, and died before repent- 
 ance could have followed. Eternal punishment shall follow 
 them who stole the sheep ; but repentance and acts of faith 
 shall repair the error which the owner of the flock committed 
 in his ignorance. Truly the soldier was hospitable, but he 
 loved his son overmuch ; ere then he was charitable and mer- 
 ciful, but on the birth of his child he grew parsimonious and 
 covetous, that he might leave a fortune to his son. With his 
 child's death hath returned his Christian virtues to his parent. 
 Before that cup was made, which I stole from our host who 
 owned it, there was not a more abstemious person in this world; 
 but with that cup came the love of indulgence and inebriety. 
 I took away the temptation, and our host is once more ab- 
 stemious. Again, I cast the poor pilgrim into the river. He 
 whom I drowned was a good Christian ; but had he proceeded 
 farther, he would have fallen into mortal sin : now he is saved 
 and is reigning in heaven. Neither did I bestow the cup on 
 the unhospitable citizen without reason : he gave us his swine's 
 house ; he has received his reward— the temptation of gluttony 
 and pleasure. Guard, therefore, thy lips ; detract not from the 
 Almighty ; to Him all things are known." 
 
 At these words the hermit fell at the feet of the angel, and 
 besought his pardon. It was acceded to him ; and he returned 
 to his hermitage a wiser and a better Christian. 
 
 '* Admitting, of course, the identity of the main incidents, Par- 
 nell must have the credit of heightening those he has used with many 
 masterly touches of poetic colouring, and of a happier arrangement 
 of circumstances," said Herbert, who had been following the story 
 in the poet's works. 
 
 " Many indeed are the proofs of his genius and address in the 
 v 2 
 
54 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 treatment of the subject," said Lathorn. "And no one more strik- 
 ing than his delaying the discovery of the angelic nature of the 
 visitant until the close of the story, and thus introducing a beauti- 
 ful description and interesting surprise." 
 " Read us the part," said Thompson. 
 
 " It is where the angel has just thrown the guide into the 
 river — 
 
 ' Wild, sparkling rage inflames the hermit's eyes, 
 
 He burst the bands of fear, and madly cries : 
 
 Detested wretch! — but scarce his speech began, 
 
 When the strange partner seem'd no longer man. 
 
 His youthful face grew more serenely sweet ; 
 
 His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet ; 
 
 Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair ; 
 
 Celestial odours breathe through purple air ; 
 
 And wings, whose colours glitter' d on the day, 
 
 Wide at his back their gradual plumes display. 
 
 The form ethereal bursts upon his sight, 
 
 And moves in all the majesty of light.' " 
 
 " Do you suppose that the Gesta was known to the poet ?" asked 
 Frederick Thompson. 
 
 " Hardly : he is far more likely to have taken the incidents of 
 his poem from the Divine Dialogues of the Platonist Moore, who 
 affixes to his version of the tale some reflections well worth reading. 
 'The affairs of this world,' says the Platonist, 'are like a curious but 
 intricately contrived comedy ; and we cannot judge of the tendency 
 of what is past, or acting at present, before the entrance of the last 
 act, which shall bring in righteousness in triumph ; who, though she 
 hath abided many a brunt, and has been very cruelly and despite- 
 fully used hitherto in the world, yet at last, according to our desires, 
 
 we shall see the knight overcome the giant But impatiently 
 
 to call for vengeance upon every enormity before that time, is rudely 
 to overturn the stage before the entrance of the fifth act, out of ig- 
 norance of the plot of the comedy ; and to prevent the solemnity of 
 the general judgment, by more paltry and particular executions.' " 
 
 " Thanks for the old Platonist's remarks," said Herbert. " I 
 could have wished them more elaborate, were not Schiller's Fridolin 
 waiting for the conclusion of them, to come upon our stage." 
 
 " I will give you, then, one form of Schiller's ballad." 
 
55 
 
 dfulgentiiui anti tl;e mi&tH ^tefoarlf. 
 
 When Martin was emperor of Rome, his uncle Malitius 
 was steward of his household, and his nephew Fulgentius, his 
 only sister's son, an orphan, was his constant attendant, his 
 cupbearer at meals, and his page of his chamber. For Martin 
 loved his nephew, and was kind to him ; and regarded him as 
 his own child, for he was not a father. Malitius hated this 
 Fulgentius ; seeing that if he should succeed to the kingdom, 
 his own son would lose that crown which he had so long 
 regarded as his by right of inheritance. Day and night he 
 thought how he might cause Martin to discard Fulgentius. 
 
 " My lord," said he, with a face of assumed distress, one 
 day to the emperor, "it is with great pain, my lord, that I 
 speak unto you ; but in that I am thy true servant, it is my 
 duty to warn my sovereign of any thing that lessens his honour 
 and repute." 
 
 " Speak on," said the emperor. 
 
 " Will my lord," rejoined the steward with apparent 
 anxiety, " keep what I shall tell him a secret between him 
 and me ?" 
 
 " If thou wishest it, Malitius," said the emperor. 
 
 " Oh, my dear lord, how ungrateful is the world !" began 
 the steward. 
 
 " Well, well, that is as it may be," rejoined the emperor; 
 •* but to your secret ; the sun is rising high in the heavens, and 
 my horses wait me." 
 
 " Your nephew Fulgentius — " 
 
 " Ha !" said Martin, " Fulgentius ; what of him ?" 
 
 " I grieve to say, my lord, he most ungratefully defames 
 you among his companions, speaking ill of your habits, and 
 especially of your breath, and saying that it is death to him 
 to serve you." 
 
 " If I could but prove this," muttered the emperor. 
 
 " Remark him, my lord, when he next serves you with the 
 cup ; and if he turns away his head when he gives you the 
 
5 6 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 goblet, be sure that he so accuses, and thus endeavours to 
 make the bystanders believe that his accusation is true." 
 
 " It is well," replied the emperor; "go, good Malitius ; we 
 will remember your advice." 
 
 Then went the steward unto Fulgentius, and spoke kindly 
 to him, and professed, as a friend and a near relative, to warn 
 him how nearly he was about to lose the good wishes of 
 Martin, and perhaps forfeit his succession to the throne. 
 
 " Fulgentius, my dear relative," said he with a fawning 
 smile, " thy breath is sadly displeasing to the emperor, and he 
 talks of removing you from near attendance on his person." 
 
 " O good sir," replied the youth, " can this be true ?" 
 
 "Alas! I fear it is so. I have experienced it myself; 
 but be sure it is merely temporary ill health, it will soon 
 pass off." 
 
 " And before then, I shall have lost my uncle's good 
 opinion. What shall I do, Malitius ?" 
 
 " There is but one thing," replied the steward : " when jon 
 hand the cup to the emperor, turn away your head from him ; 
 then will he not be incommoded by your breath, and will see 
 that you do your best to please him." 
 
 "Thanks, good Malitius. Your advice has made me feel 
 happy." 
 
 "Thy happiness be thy ruin," muttered Malitius to him- 
 self, as he turned away. 
 
 That day Fulgentius attended on his uncle at dinner ; and 
 as he handed to him the cup he held it far off, and turned 
 away his face, lest he should distress the emperor. 
 
 "Wretch!" cried the emperor, at the same time striking 
 Fulgentius on the breast; " now know I that it is true what 
 I have heard of thee ; go, go from my sight, thou varlet ! I 
 thought to have made thee a king ; but now see my face no 
 more." 
 
 Sorely wept Fulgentius as he passed from the hall, amid 
 the jeers and scoffs of his former companions ; for he was now 
 disgraced, and they cared not for him. 
 
 "Malitius," said the emperor, "let thy son supply the 
 
CH. V.] FULGENTIUS AND THE WICKED STEWARD. 57 
 
 place of this ingrate. Come, my good lord, counsel me how 
 I may rid myself of this varlet, that disgraces me before the 
 world." 
 
 " Sire, this would I propose : some miles from this city 
 your workmen burn lime in a vast forge in the forest ; send to 
 them this night, and bid them cast into their furnace whoever 
 first comes to them to-morrow morning, and asks of them, 
 ' Have you performed the emperor's will ?' Call also Fulgen- 
 tius to thee, and bid him early on the morrow go to the lime- 
 burners, and ask them whether they have fulfilled your com- 
 mands : then will they cast him into the fire, and his evil 
 words will perish with him/' 
 
 And the emperor did so. He bade Fulgentius be at the 
 kilns before sunrise ; and that night sent a horseman to the 
 lime-burners, bidding them burn the first man that on the 
 morrow should inquire of them, whether they had performed 
 the emperor's will. 
 
 Long before sunrise, Fulgentius rose from his sleepless 
 couch, and hastened to perform his uncle's commands, hoping 
 by this means to regain the goodwill of the emperor. As he 
 went on his way, with a heavy heart, and drew near to the 
 wood within the depths of which the lime-burners dwelt, the 
 sound of the matin bell of a neighbouring chapel arrested 
 his steps. The tones of the bell seemed to bring peace to his 
 troubled mind, and he turned from the path towards the way- 
 side chapel, and offered up his prayers and thanksgivings to 
 his God. But as the service was ending, the fatigue he had 
 undergone disposed him to rest himself, so he sat himself 
 down in the porch of the chapel, and fell asleep. 
 
 " Poor child," said the good priest as he passed through 
 the porch, "thou lookest wearied and careworn; sleep on, 
 no one shall disturb thee." When he awoke, the sun was 
 going down in the heaven. 
 
 Malitius was as sleepless during the night as the poor 
 youth, and his anxiety drove him early from his bed, and suf- 
 fered him not to be at peace all the day. Now when it 
 was noon the steward could no longer remain in the palace, 
 
58 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 but he hastened to the lime-kilns, and demanded of the lime- 
 burners " whether they had performed the emperor's will." 
 
 " Not yet," cried they with hoarse voices : " but no fear, 
 master ; it shall be done forthwith." 
 
 "With these words, one of the men seized Malitius, and 
 hurried with him in his arms to the mouth of the kiln. 
 
 " Mercy, mercy, good sirs," cried the steward ; " it is Ful- 
 gentius you should burn, not me." 
 
 "Ha, ha!" laughed the lime-burners; "we know neither 
 thee nor Fulgentius ; thou art the first man that has come 
 here this day and asked us, ' Whether we have done the em- 
 peror's will:' so peace, man, peace. Ha, ha ! his will is done." 
 
 So Malitius died in the fire. 
 
 It was past noon when Fulgentius awoke, and the sun was 
 going down in its course. 
 
 " Alas, alas !" he said, " I have delayed to perform my 
 lord's will." 
 
 And he hastened through the wood, and came to the lime- 
 kilns. 
 
 "What wantest thou, boy?" asked the chief of the lime- 
 burners. 
 
 " Tell me, tell me, sirs," asked Fulgentius anxiously, u hast 
 thou performed the command of the emperor ?" 
 
 " Ay, my lad, right well ; come, look into the furnace, and 
 see his bones yet burn." 
 
 " His bones ! w T hose bones, sirs ?" asked Fulgentius, aghast 
 with fear. 
 
 Then they told him all that had been commanded them, 
 and how Malitius coming first to the lime-kilns, had been cast 
 into the fire and burnt. 
 
 " Thanks be to God," said the youth, devoutly kneeling, 
 "who hath saved me from this terrible death." With these 
 words he bade the burners farewell, and returned to his 
 uncle's palace. 
 
 " Hah," said the emperor, when Fulgentius bowed himself 
 before his uncle's throne, " thou here, sir varlet ; hast thou 
 not been to my lime-burners ?" 
 
CH. V.] CLAIMS OF THE OLD WRITERS ON THE NEW. 59 
 
 "Verily, my lord, I have been there and performed thy 
 commandment ; bnt before I came your will had been per- 
 formed." 
 
 "Performed," rejoined the emperor, "how performed? 
 Malitius ; is he not here ?" 
 
 " No, my lord, he is burnt in the lime-kiln," replied the 
 youth; "he came first to the kiln, and the burners obeyed 
 your commands, and he is dead, and I have escaped. But, 
 O my dear uncle, how couldest thou contrive such a death 
 for thy poor nephew ?" and he wept bitterly. 
 
 Then did they each declare to the other the deceits of the 
 wicked steward ; and the emperor raised up the youth, and 
 acknowledged him before all his people as his very true and 
 good nephew, his heir and successor to the throne ; render- 
 ing thanks to God, who had preserved the uncle from so 
 deadly a sin against his relative, and the nephew from so 
 horrible a death. 
 
 "The German poet has been equally successful in his amend- 
 ments with Parnell," said Herbert. 
 
 "In none more so," said Thompson, "than in substituting, in 
 the place of the unpleasant bodily affection, the more courtly failing 
 of jealousy excited in the mind of the knight by the malice of the 
 huntsman Robert." 
 
 " Was it, then, from this old book, or from some similar tradition 
 of his own country, that Schiller obtained his incidents?" asked 
 Herbert. 
 
 " It is impossible to determine : it is said that Schiller learnt 
 his plot from an Alsatian legend that he heard at Manheim ; and 
 yet the similarity of the incident renders it more than probable that 
 the poet was acquainted with this form of the tale. The story as 
 it appears in the monks' books, and the tradition of Alsatia, most 
 probably started from the same original, which, being immediately 
 written down by the monk, we now have in its primitive form. The 
 tradition went on from mouth to mouth, and became gradually 
 varied to suit the popular feelings." 
 
 "Your instances of conversion, Lathom," said Thompson, "re- 
 
60 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 mind me of Washington Irving's vision in the library of the British 
 Museum, when all the old writers leapt down from their shelves 
 and despoiled the moderns of the patchwork garments, made of the 
 shreds of countless writers, and left them plucked of their borrowed 
 plumes." 
 
 " Nay," replied Lathom, "rather of those few who had borrowed 
 gems from the writers of old, and, by new setting and repolishing, so 
 improved their original lustre, that the former owner was eager to 
 tender his thanks to his modern adapter, who had renewed his long- 
 lost glories." 
 
 " I am afraid your old monks would have had as many to divest 
 of their borrowed plumes, as to compliment on their ingenuity as 
 working jewellers/' said Thompson. 
 
 "The process of recovery would be curious in some cases," said 
 Herbert : " the modern adapter would have to settle with Lydgate 
 or Gower; the old poet would resign his title to the middle-age 
 monk or chronicler ; and he perhaps be finally stripped of his gem 
 by some eastern fabler." 
 
 " Be sure that Shakspeare, Parnell, and Schiller would meet 
 with more thanks than reproaches," was Lathom's reply, as he 
 closed his book for that evening. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CURIOSITIES OF THE GESTA THE WICKED PRIEST THE FOUR QUALI- 
 TIES OF THE DOG THE EMPEROr's DAUGHTER, ITS CURIOUS AP- 
 PLICATION — THE EMPEROR AND THE THREE IMAGES — AN ENIGMA. 
 
 |nHE use Shakspeare has made of your monks' tales 
 would seem to augur a certain popularity of the 
 _, work in the days in which he wrote," said Her- 
 ™"J bert, when the friends met on their sixth evening. 
 
 " A greater popularity than will now be credited : 
 in the reign of Elizabeth and her successor, the Gesta Romanorum 
 seems to have been sufficiently well known to admit of a frequent 
 reference to it on the stage," replied Lathom. 
 
 " Allusions to the work, not incidents from it ?" asked Herbert. 
 
 " Yes, in the anonymous comedy of Sir Giles' Goose Cap, pub- 
 lished early in James's reign, one of the characters speaks of the 
 ' quips and quick jests of his lordship as so good, that Gesta Ro- 
 manorum were nothing to them;' whilst Chapman in his 'May- 
 Day,' which dates in 1611, says, ' one that has read Marcus Aure- 
 lius, Gesta Romanorum, and the Mirror of Magistrates, to be led 
 by the nose like a blind bear that has read nothing !" 
 
 " The slightest knowledge of the accomplishments of the Tudor 
 and early Stuart times compels us to admit the extensive acquaint- 
 ance with Latin writers, possessed by classes to whom now they 
 seem so little fitted," remarked Herbert. 
 
 '* An acquaintance arising in all probability from the absence of 
 a native literature, as well as from the position held by the Latin 
 language in that age," rejoined Thompson. 
 
 " Whose conversions have we to-night ?" asked Herbert. 
 
 " Not any : not that my catalogue is run out, but partly because 
 I have not been able to keep up with the speed of our reading; 
 and partly because I wished to illustrate the moralisations attached 
 to the tales, which we have lately rather lost sight of." 
 
62 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " What peculiar doctrine are you intending to illustrate V asked 
 Herbert. 
 
 <f The doctrine that the effect of a divine ordinance is not taken 
 away, nor the grace of God's gifts diminished, by the ministration 
 of evil men. The story is that of 
 
 €i)t »tdutr grwat. 
 
 In the reign of Otho there was a certain wicked priest 
 who created much dissatisfaction among his parishioners ; and 
 many were extremely scandalised. One of them, in particular, 
 always absented himself from the mass when it was the turn of 
 this priest to celebrate it. Now it happened on a festival day, 
 during the time of mass, that as this person was walking alone 
 through a meadow, a sudden thirst came upon him, insomuch 
 that he was persuaded, unless present relief could be obtained, 
 he should die. 
 
 In this extremity continuing his walk, he discovered a rivu- 
 let of the purest water, of which he copiously drank ; but the 
 more he drank, the more violent became his thirst. Surprised 
 at so unusual a circumstance, he said to himself, " I will find 
 out the source of this rivulet, and there will I satisfy my thirst." 
 
 With these thoughts he went up the stream. And as he 
 went, a venerable old man met him, and asked him whither he 
 was going. 
 
 " Father," he replied, "lam oppressed with an unquench- 
 able thirst, and even now I drank of this rivulet ; but, lo, the 
 more I drink, so much the more I thirst; and I now seek its 
 source, if perchance I may there quench my thirst, and not 
 die." 
 
 The old man pointed with his finger, " There," said he, 
 " is the spring-head of the rivulet. But tell me, my honest 
 friend, why are you not at church, and with other good Chris- 
 tians, hearing mass ?" 
 
 " Truly, master," answered the man, " our priest leads 
 such an execrable life, that I think it utterly impossible that 
 he should celebrate it so as to please God." 
 
 " Suppose what you say is true," replied the old man; 
 
CH. VI.] THE WICKED PRIEST. 63 
 
 " observe this fountain, from which so much excellent water 
 issues, and from which you have so lately drunk." 
 
 He looked in the direction pointed out, and beheld a putrid 
 dog, with its mouth wide open, and its teeth black and de- 
 cayed, through which the whole fountain gushed in a surpris- 
 ing manner. The man regarded the stream with terror and 
 confusion of mind, ardently desirous of quenching his thirst, 
 but apprehensive of poison from the foetid and loathsome car- 
 cass, with which, to all appearance, the water was imbued. 
 
 " Be not afraid," said the old man, observing his repug- 
 nance; " thou hast already drunk of the rivulet ; drink again, 
 it will not harm thee." 
 
 Encouraged by these assurances, and impelled by the in- 
 tensity of his thirst, he partook of it once more, and instantly 
 recovered from the drought. 
 
 "Master, dear master," exclaimed the man, "never man 
 drank of such delicious water." 
 
 " See now," the old man answered, " as this water, gush- 
 ing through the mouth of a putrid dog, is neither polluted, nor 
 loses aught of its natural taste or colour, so is the celebration 
 of the mass by a worthless minister ; and therefore, though the 
 vices of such men may displease and disgust, yet should you 
 not forsake the duties of which they are the appointed organ." 
 
 Saying these words, the old man disappeared : and what 
 the other had seen, he communicated to his neighbours, and 
 ever after punctually attended mass. He brought this unstable 
 and transitory life to a good end, and passed from that which 
 is corruptible to inherit incorruption. 
 
 "There is but one fiction," said Herbert, " in this legend which 
 requires further explanation ; why the stream of the fountain of life 
 is made to flow through the rank jaws of a putrid dog, rather than 
 that of any other animal." 
 
 " The incident is intentional/' rejoined Lathom ; " an old couplet 
 ascribes to the dog four special qualities ; a healing tongue, a dis- 
 tinguishing sense of smell, a perfect love, and unremitting watch- 
 fulness." 
 
64 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " You allude to the lines 
 
 ' In cane bis bina sunt, et lingua medicina, 
 Naris odoratus, amor integer atque latratus,' " 
 
 said Thompson. 
 
 "Yes/' rejoined Latham, "these four qualities, say the old 
 writers, ought to be diligently cultivated by a priest. By his tongue 
 he should heal the sick at heart, and probe the wounds of sin, 
 careful not to heal with roughness the soul's wounds, but to lick 
 them as the dog does those of the body. His keenness of per- 
 ception should be able to distinguish the true confession from the 
 false one ; to see what is due to cunningness, what to internal 
 struggles, what to reckless contempt of consequences. He, too, 
 should have as unshaken a love for the Church and the faith as the 
 dog for its master or its charge ; ready to lay down his life for his 
 flock. As the watch-dog of the great King, his warning voice must 
 be raised against enemies from without, preventing, by his diligence 
 in his calling, the machinations of the world and its master against 
 the soul." 
 
 Next we have the tale of 
 
 Cfje (£mpcrrjr'$ 2BaucjI)ter. 
 
 Many centuries ago there reigned a great and good emperor, 
 whose name was Pompey. He had an only daughter, of re- 
 markable beauty, whom he loved so dearly, that day and night 
 he ordered five of his most valiant knights to watch over her ; 
 and on pain of their lives to guard her from harm. Day and 
 night did these brave men keep watch and ward over the lady's 
 chamber. A lamp burned above the door, that the approach 
 of an enemy might be more readily detected ; and a faithful 
 mastiff lay on the threshold, whose watchfulness was as un- 
 remitting as his bark was loud and shrill. But all these pre- 
 cautions were fruitless. The princess loved the world and its 
 pleasures ; and sighed to mingle in its busy scenes, and gaze 
 upon its gorgeous pageants. One day, as she looked from her 
 window, a certain duke rode by, and he looked upon her 
 beauty, and loved her with a false love. 
 
CH. VI.] THE EMPEROR'S DAUGHTER. 65 
 
 Day after day did the duke endeavour to withdraw the 
 princess from her guardians, and numerous were the devices by 
 which he sought to accomplish his designs upon her and her 
 father's throne. At length by the promise of unbounded plea- 
 sure, the duke persuaded the princess to overturn the lamp 
 that burned at her chamber- door, and to poison the dog that 
 lay at her threshold. 
 
 That same night, when the lamp was quenched, and the 
 mastiff silenced, the duke stole upon the guard, and bore away 
 with him the maiden. 
 
 On the morrow, great was the confusion at the emperor's 
 court. Men rode hither and thither in pursuit of the fugitives, 
 for no one knew which way they had fled. One knight alone 
 hit upon their track ; a great and terrible knight he was, the 
 emperor's champion ; and he came upon them and slew the 
 duke, and brought the maiden back to her father. 
 
 Very wroth was the emperor with his daughter, and he 
 left her to bewail her sins in solitude. Time and reflection 
 brought repentance, and the princess bewailed her sins bit- 
 terly. 
 
 Now there was a good old man at Pompey's court, who 
 was ever ready to intercede with the emperor on behalf of peni- 
 tent offenders, and to whose words Pompey listened willingly. 
 This lord came to the emperor and told him of his daughter's 
 repentance ; and his words were pleasant to the emperor, so 
 that the father was reconciled to his child, and she was be- 
 trothed by him to a nobleman of worth and power. 
 
 Many and precious were the bridal gifts the princess 
 received. 
 
 The good old lord gave her a robe of the finest and richest 
 wool, on which was worked this moral, — " I have raised thee 
 up ; beware how thou fall again." He gave her also a ring, 
 of which the legend was, " What have I done ? How much ? 
 Why ?" 
 
 From her father she received a golden coronet, on which 
 was engraved, " Thy dignity is from me." 
 
 From the king's champion, who rescued her from her 
 g2 
 
66 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 seducer, she received a ring, and the legend was, " I have 
 loved thee ; do thou return my love." 
 
 The king's son gave her a ring, and on it was written, 
 " Thou art noble ; despise not thy nobility." Whilst on that 
 which her brother presented to her was engraved, " Approach, 
 fear not ; I am thy brother." 
 
 The last gift was from her husband ; a golden signet that 
 confirmed her inheritance, and which bore this motto, " Now 
 thou art espoused, be faithful." 
 
 The princess received these gifts with gratitude, and parted 
 not with them but with her life. 
 
 " The meanings of some of these presents are clearly too recon- 
 dite to be guessed at," remarked Herbert on the conclusion of the 
 tale. 
 
 " You will say so when we read them. But first of the actors 
 in the tale," rejoined Lathom. " The emperor is our Heavenly Father, 
 and his daughter, the human soul, which he delivers to the five 
 senses, armed by the powers of baptism, to guard from injury. The 
 burning lamp is the will, shining brilliantly in good works, and dis- 
 pelling the gloom of sin. The watchful dog is conscience. As often 
 as the soul breaks any of the commands of God, it may be said to 
 look abroad on the world and its dangers. Then comes the devil, 
 the great seducer, whose triumph over the soul is easy when the 
 lamp of the will is extinguished, and the barking of conscience is 
 silenced. Then God arises as our champion, and fights for us 
 against the world, the flesh, and the devil, and leads back the 
 sinning soul to the palace of the heavenly king. The sage lord, 
 the mediator, is our Saviour : 'for He is our peace, who hath made 
 both one.' " 
 
 " This is tolerably clear and probable," said Thompson. 
 
 "The marriage presents will compensate for it. — From him," 
 continues the moral, " we received the aforesaid gifts ; first, a cloak 
 descending to the ancle, that is, his most precious skin ; and said 
 to be of delicate texture, because it was woven with stripes, blood, 
 bruises, and other various instances of malice ; of which texture 
 nothing more is meant than this : ' I have raised thee up, because I 
 
CH. VI.] THE EMPEROR LEO AND THE THREE IMAGES. 67 
 
 have redeemed thee ; do not throw thyself into further evil.' That 
 same Christ, our king, gave to us a glorious crown, that is, when 
 He submitted to be crowned for our sakes. And of a truth, ' thy 
 dignity is from me,' even from that crown. Christ is our champion, 
 who gave us a sign — that is, the hole in His right hand ; and we 
 ourselves can see how faithfully it is written, ' I have loved thee ; do 
 thou also love/ He gave us another ring, which is the puncture in 
 His left hand, where we see written, 'What have I done? How 
 much? Why?' 'What have I done?' I have despoiled myself, 
 receiving the form of a servant. 'Why?' To redeem the lost. 
 Concerning these three, Zachary xiii. : ' What are the wounds in 
 the middle of thy hands ? ' and he answered, saying, ' I am wounded 
 by these men in their house, who loved me.' Christ is our brother, 
 and son of the Eternal King. He gave us a third ring, — to wit, 
 the hole in His right foot ; and what can be understood by it, but, 
 'Thou art noble ; despise not thy nobility?' In like manner Christ 
 is our brother-german. And He gave us a fourth ring, the puncture 
 in His left foot, on which is written, ' Approach, fear not ; I am thy 
 brother/ Christ is also our spouse ; He gave us a signet, with 
 which He confirmed our inheritance ; that is, the wound made in 
 His side by the spear, on account of the great love with which He 
 loved us. And what can this signify, but ' Thou art joined to me 
 through mercy ; sin no more V " 
 
 " You have established the character of the Gesta for recondite 
 moralisation," said Thompson ; " will you give us a tale rather more 
 intelligible?" 
 
 "Willingly," rejoined Lathom j "you shall have the tale that 
 Gower has versified." 
 
 djc GBmpmir 3Uo antf tlje €l)vtt images. 
 
 A certain Roman emperor, Leo, was so fond of looking upon 
 a pretty face, that he made three fair female images, and placed 
 them in a temple, that all his subjects might look on them and 
 worship. One statue stood with its hand extended, towards 
 the worshippers, and bore on its finger a golden ring, on which 
 was the legend, " My finger is generous." The' second figure 
 had a beard of beaten gold, and on its brow was written, " I 
 have a beard ; if any one be beardless, let him come to me, and 
 
5 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 I will give him one." The third figure had a cloak of gold and 
 a purple tunic, and on its breast was written, " I fear no one." 
 With so many temptations came a law, that whosoever stole 
 either the ring, the beard, or the cloak, should surely die. A 
 thief was soon found. According to the poet : 
 
 " There was a clerk, one Lucius, 
 A comlier, a famous man ; 
 Of every wit some what he can, 
 Out-take that him lacketh rule, 
 His own estate to guide and rule;" 
 
 So he took to riotous living, " and was not wise in his doing ;" 
 ergo — 
 
 " After the need of his desert, 
 So fell this clerke in poverte." 
 
 The thief, whether poor man or ruined clerk, removed the 
 treasures, was seen by the people, and brought before the em- 
 peror, on the charge of breaking the royal edict. 
 
 But the thief said, " Good my lord, suffer me to speak." 
 
 And the emperor said, " Speak on." 
 
 Then said the man, " Lo, as I entered the temple of the 
 three images, the first image extended to me its finger, as 
 though it would say, ' Take this ring ;' but yet I doubted of its 
 wishes, until I read the superscription, ' My finger is generous ;' 
 then knew I that it was the pleasure of the statue to give the 
 ring, and I obeyed and took it. Then came I to the image 
 with the beard of gold. Methinks the maker of this had no 
 beard ; shall the creature be better than the creator ? that were 
 a plain and manifest wrong. But still I was modest, and hesi- 
 tated, until the words of the inscription, * Let him that is beard- 
 less come to me, and 1 will give him one,' forbad me to refuse 
 to supply my own wants by the statue's gift. As for the 
 golden cloak, it was in pure charity that I took it away. Stone 
 is cold, and metal is cold ; the image is of the former, the 
 cloak of the latter. In winter it was adding cold to cold ; in 
 summer it was too heavy and warm for the season. Still should 
 I have forborne to rob the statue of its cloak, had I not seen 
 
CH. VI.] THE THREE IMAGES. 69 
 
 the words, '■ I fear no one.' Such intolerable arrogance, in a 
 woman too, was to be punished. I took the cloak to humble 
 the statue's pride." But all these excuses were useless. 
 
 " Fair sir," replied Leo, " do you not know the law, that 
 he who robs the statues shall die ? — let the law be obeyed." 
 And it was as the emperor said. 
 
 " Your tale reminds me strongly of the witticisms by which the 
 elder Dionysius justified his theft of the golden cloak of Jupiter and 
 the beard of iEsculapius," said Herbert. 
 
 " What, when he exchanged the cold gold garment for the warm 
 woollen robe, and took off the beard of the son of the Beardless V* 
 remarked Thompson ; " but let us hear the moral." 
 
 " The moral of this tale," said Lathom, " is the least strained, 
 and perhaps the best of all the applications attached to the legends. 
 The emperor is God. The three images, the three sorts of man- 
 kind in whom God takes delight. The first image with its extended 
 hand and proffered gift, is no bad symbol of the poor and simple of 
 this world, who prevail little among the great and powerful, unless 
 their gift is ready in the extended hand. ' Why fleecest thou the 
 poor V asks conscience. ' May I not receive the proffered gift when 
 freely offered ?' replies the wicked man. ' Did I not take it, men 
 would laugh at me — to curb their tongues I take it.' " 
 
 " A bitter and too often true lesson, in all times and all nations," 
 remarked Herbert. " We seldom want for a good excuse." 
 
 "The second image," continued Lathom, "is the symbol of 
 those who are raised to wealth by God's especial blessing, and 
 from whom the wicked seek to take away their property by every 
 pretext. ' We are bald/ cry they ; ' we are poor ; let us divide this 
 man's riches among us.' " 
 
 " There were chartists in those days as well as now ; levelling 
 comes natural to some minds," said Thompson. " But to the third 
 figure." 
 
 " The image with the golden cloak," continued Lathom, " repre- 
 sents the good man in power and authority, who fears not the evil 
 man, encourages virtue, and eradicates vice. ' He is proud ; he is 
 a tyrant,' cry the people ; f we will not have this man to reign over 
 
70 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 us/ But, says the old monk, ' The end of these men is according 
 to the law of the Lord, for they perish miserably/ " 
 
 " The old priest's moral has so well satisfied me, that I am 
 sorry that our evening is come to a close," said Herbert. 
 
 " Well — it must be so : but come," replied Lathom, " you shall 
 have an enigma to discover. An emperor found a sarcophagus on 
 which were three circles, with these words: 'I have expended — J 
 have given — I have kept — J have possessed — / do possess — I have lost 
 — / am punished.' Whilst on the front of the chest was written, 
 ' What I have expended, I have : TlHiat I gave away, I have.' Read 
 me this inscription." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CURIOSITIES OF THE GESTA BYRKEs' EPITAPH THE LAY OF THE 
 
 LITTLE BIRD CURIOUS DIALOGUE ON THE TROUBLES OF LIFE 
 
 ANCIENT FAIRS WINCHESTER MODERN CONTINENTAL FAIRS 
 
 RUSSIA NISCHNEI NOVGOROD. 
 
 IE confess ourselves conquered," said Herbert, when 
 the next evening was come ; " your old monk's 
 learning is too recondite for us." 
 
 " First, then, comes ' I have expended :' what ? 
 — my life — in judgment, in advice, in authority. ' I 
 have given' — equipments to my servants and warriors, charity to 
 the needy. 'I have kept' — exact justice. 'I have possessed' — a 
 generous and true heart. ' I do possess'— a hand to bestow, to 
 protect, to punish. ' I have lost' — my folly, the friendship of my 
 foes, the desires of the flesh. ' I am punished' — for my sins." 
 
 " So far, so good ; but the most abstruse remains unexplained," 
 said Thompson : ** on the front of the sarcophagus was written — 
 ' What I have expended, I have ; what I gave away, I have :' how 
 do you read these sayings ?" 
 
 " I am afraid I cannot help you," rejoined Lathom ; "the story 
 seems to be defective at this point, and we must fall back on the 
 suggestions of the translator, of whom I have spoken before. Mr. 
 Swann refers the words, ' What I have expended, I have,' to a judi- 
 cious outlay of property, by which various benefits are reaped by 
 the expender in the persons of his descendants. Whilst the other 
 words, ' What I gave away, I have,' he explains of the thanks of the 
 poor and the blessings of heaven consequent on charitable gifts." 
 
 " Your story reminds me of the old epitaph in Doncaster Church," 
 said Herbert, " which Gough gives in these words : 
 
 ' Howe, howe, who is heare ? 
 
 I, Robert of Doncaster, and Margaret my feare (wife), 
 
 That I spent, that I had; 
 
 That I gave, that I have ; 
 
 That I left, that I lost : 
 
72 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 A.D. 1579. 
 
 Quoth Robertus Byrkes, 
 
 Who in this worlde 
 
 Did reygne three 
 
 Score yeares and seven 
 
 And yet lived not one.' " 
 
 " The three centre lines of his epitaph, indeed, bear a curious 
 likeness to some of the inscriptions on the sarcophagus; perhaps 
 the wise man who composed the epitaph may have seen your old 
 monk's book, or heard its moralities in many an old pulpit exhorta- 
 tion in his early days/' said Thompson. 
 
 " Coincidences are oftentimes just as remarkable as plagiarisms," 
 said Herbert. " But come, Sir Tale-teller, what entertainment have 
 you for us this evening?" 
 
 " A little poetry, not of my own ; but so closely resembling 
 the old tale of the Gesta, that I prefer this poetic version, of the 
 Lay of the Little Bird, to my own stiff prose/' 
 
 €f)e ILai) of fyt Utttte 33ttt. 
 
 " In days of yore, at least a century since, 
 There lived a carle as wealthy as a prince : 
 His name I wot not ; but his wide domain 
 Was rich with stream and forest, mead and plain ; 
 To crown the whole, one manor he possess'd 
 In choice delight so passing all the rest, 
 No castle, burgh, or city might compare 
 With the quaint beauties of that mansion rare. 
 The sooth to say, I fear my words may seem 
 Like some strange fabling or fantastic dream, 
 If, unadvised, the portraiture I trace, 
 And each brave pleasure of that peerless place. 
 Foreknow ye, then, by necromantic might 
 Was rais'd this paradise of all delight : 
 A good knight own'd it first ; he, bow'd with age 
 Died, and his son possess'd the heritage : 
 But the rude stripling, all to riot bent, 
 (His chattels quickly wasted and forespent,) 
 Was driven to see this patrimony sold 
 To the base carle of whom I lately told. 
 
CH. VII.] THE LAY OF THE LITTLE BIRD. 
 
 Ye wot right well there only need be sought 
 
 One spendthrift heir, to bring great wealth to nought. 
 
 A lofty tower and strong, the building stood 
 
 Midst a vast plain surrounded by a flood ; 
 
 And hence one pebble -paved channel stray 'd, 
 
 That compass 'd in a clustering orchard's shade : 
 
 'Twas a choice charming plat ; abundant round 
 
 Flowers, roses, odorous spices cloth'd the ground ; 
 
 Unnumber'd kinds, and all profusely shower'd 
 
 Such aromatic balsam as they flower 'd, 
 
 Their fragrance might have stay'd man's parting breath, 
 
 And chas'd the hovering agony of death. 
 
 The sward one level held, and close above, 
 
 Tall shapely trees their leafy mantles wove ; 
 
 All equal growth, and low their branches came, 
 
 Thick set with goodliest fruits of every name. 
 
 In midst, to cheer the ravish'd gazer's view, 
 
 A gushing fount its waters upward threw, 
 
 Thence slowly on with crystal current pass'd, 
 
 And crept into the distant flood at last : 
 
 But nigh its source a pine's umbrageous head, 
 
 Stretch'd far and wide in deathless verdure spread, 
 
 Met with broad shade the summer's sultry gleam,' 
 
 And through the livelong year shut out the beam.' 
 
 Such was the scene : yet still the place was bless'd 
 With one rare pleasure passing all the rest : 
 A wondrous bird of energies divine 
 Had fix'd his dwelling in the tufted pine ; 
 There still he sat, and there with amorous lay 
 Waked the dim morn, and closed the parting day : 
 Match 'd with these strains of linked sweetness wrought 
 The violin and full-toned harp were nought ; 
 Of power they were with new-born joy to move 
 The cheerless heart of long-desponding love ; 
 Of power so strange, that should thev cease to sound, 
 And the blithe songster flee the mystic ground, 
 That goodly orchard's scene, the pine-tree's shade, 
 Trees, flowers, and fount, would all like vapour fade. 
 
74 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 ' Listen, listen to my lay!' 
 
 Thus the merry notes did chime, 
 'All who mighty love obey, 
 
 Sadly wasting in your prime, 
 Clerk and laic, grave and gay ! 
 
 Yet do ye, before the rest, 
 Gentle maidens, mark me tell ! 
 
 Store my lesson in your breast, 
 Trust me it shall profit well : 
 
 Hear, and heed me, and be bless'd !' 
 So sang the bird of old ; but when he spied 
 The carle draw near, with alter 'd tone he cried — 
 * Back, river, to thy source ! and thee, tall tower, 
 Thee, castle strong, may gaping earth devour ! 
 Bend down your heads, ye gaudy flowers, and fade ! 
 And wither 'd be each fruit-tree's mantling shade ! 
 Beneath these beauteous branches once were seen 
 Brave gentle knights disporting on the green, 
 And lovely dames ; and oft, these flowers among, 
 Stayed the blithe bands, and joyed to hear my song: 
 Nor would they hence retire, nor quit the grove, 
 Till many a vow were pass'd of mutual love ; 
 These more would cherish, those would more deserve ; 
 Cost, courtesy, and arms, and nothing swerve. 
 
 O bitter change ! for master now we see 
 A faitour villain carle of low degree ; 
 Foul gluttony employs his livelong day, 
 Nor heeds nor hears he my melodious lay.' 
 
 So spake the bird ; and, as he ceas'd to sing, 
 Indignantly he clapp'd his downy wing, 
 And straight was gone. But no abasement stirr'd 
 In the clown's breast at his reproachful word ; 
 Bent was his wit alone, by quaint device 
 To snare, and sell him for a passing price. 
 So well he wrought, so craftily he spread 
 In the thick foliage green his slender thread, 
 That when at eve the little songster sought 
 His wonted spray, his little foot was caught. 
 
CH. VII.] THE LAY OF THE LITTLE BIRD. 75 
 
 * How have I harm'd you V straight he 'gan to cry, 
 
 ' And wherefore would you doom me thus to die ?' 
 
 ' Nay, fear not/ quoth the clown, * for death or wrong ; 
 
 I only seek to profit by thy song : 
 
 I'll get thee a fine cage, nor shalt thou lack 
 
 Good store of kernels and of seeds to crack : 
 
 But sing thou shalt ; for if thou playest the mute, 
 
 I'll spit thee, bird, and pick thy bones to boot.' 
 
 ' Ah, woe is me ! ' the little thrall replied, 
 
 ' Who thinks of song, in prison doomed to bide ? 
 
 And, were I cook'd, my bulk might scarce afford 
 
 One scanty mouthful to my hungry lord.' 
 
 What may I more relate? — the captive wight 
 Assay'd to melt the villain all he might ; 
 And fairly promis'd, were he once set free, 
 In gratitude to teach him secrets three ; 
 Three secrets, all so marvellous and rare, 
 His race knew nought that might with these compare. 
 
 The carle prick'd up his ears amain ; he loos'd 
 The songster thrall, by love of gain seduc'd ; 
 Up to the summit of the pine-tree's shade 
 Sped the blithe bird, and there at ease he stay'd, 
 And trick'd his plumes full leisurely, I trow, 
 Till the carle claim'd his promise from below : 
 
 * Right gladly,' quoth the bird ; ' now grow thee wise ; 
 
 All human prudence few brief lines comprise : 
 
 First, then, lest haply in the event it fail, 
 
 Yield not a ready faith to every tale/ 
 
 ' Is this thy secret?' quoth the moody elf, 
 
 ' Keep, then, thy silly lesson for thyself; 
 
 I need it not.' ' How be't, 'tis not amiss 
 
 To prick thy memory with advice like this, 
 
 But late, meseems, thou hadst forgot the lore ; 
 
 Now may'st thou hold it fast for evermore. 
 
 Mark next my second rule, and sadly know, 
 
 What's lost, 'tis wise with patience to forego/ 
 The carle, though rude of wit, now chafed amain ; 
 
 He felt the mockery of the songster's strain. 
 
76 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 ' Peace,' quoth the bird ; * my third is far the best ; 
 
 Store thou the precious treasure in thy breast : 
 
 What good thou hast, ne'er lightly from thee cast : 
 
 — He spoke, and twittering fled away full fast. 
 
 Straight sunk in earth, the gushing fountain dries, 
 
 Down fall the fruits, the wither'd pine-tree dies, 
 
 Fades all the beauteous plat, so cool, so green, 
 
 Into thin air, and never more is seen. 
 
 ' Such was the meed of avarice,— bitter cost ! 
 
 The carle who all would gather, all has lost.' " 
 
 "There is something very eastern about this tale," remarked 
 Herbert at its conclusion. 
 
 " It is found in the old Greek monk's legend of Barlaam and 
 Josaphat," replied Lathom, " to whom it is more probable that it 
 came from the east, than from any other source." 
 
 " Such a story, I should suppose, has been freely used by later 
 writers," said Thompson. 
 
 " It appears in the Disciplina Clericalis of Alphonsus, in the 
 Golden Legend of Caxton, and in Lydgate, under the title of ' The 
 Chorle and the Bird ;' but besides these and Mr. Way, whose ver- 
 sion I have just read to you, I cannot discover any other writers 
 who have made use of this fiction." 
 
 "The moral of this fiction explains itself," said Herbert. "I 
 presume the author is content with the plain meaning." 
 
 "Yes, for this once," rejoined Lathom; "but be content, the 
 next story will satisfy the greatest lover of allegories ; for curious 
 indeed is it as an instance, even among curiosities, of the once com- 
 mon practice of converting every thing into allegory." 
 
 " How is it entitled?" asked Thompson. 
 
 " ' Of the Burdens of this Life ;' in form, it is a dialogue between 
 a scholar and his master, who might well be supposed to change 
 places with each other. You must be content with Mr. Swann's 
 version." 
 
 <&i tljt 33uv*en4 of t$itf %iic. 
 
 A certain king once went to a fair, and took with him a 
 preceptor and his scholar. Standing in the market-place, they 
 
 i 
 
CH. VII.] OF THE BURDENS OF THIS LIFE. 77 
 
 perceived eight packages for sale. The scholar questioned his 
 teacher respecting the first of them. "Pray," said he, " what 
 is the price of poverty ? that is, of tribulation for the love of 
 God ?" 
 
 Preceptor. The kingdom of heaven. 
 
 Scholar. It is a great price indeed. Open the second 
 package, and let us see what it contains. 
 
 P. It contains meekness : Blessed are the meek. 
 
 S. Meekness, indeed, is a very illustrious thing, and worthy 
 of divine majesty. What is its price ? 
 
 P. Neither gold nor silver will be taken ; they are too con- 
 temptible. I demand earth for it, and nothing but earth will 
 I receive. 
 
 S. There is a spacious tract of uninhabited country be- 
 tween India and Britain. Take as much of it as you please. 
 
 P. No ; this land is the land of the dying ; the land which 
 devours its inhabitants. Men die there. I demand the land 
 of the living. 
 
 S. I muse at what you say. All die, and would you alone 
 be exempt ? Would you live for ever ? Behold, Blessed are 
 the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. What is there in 
 the third package ? 
 
 P. Hunger and thirst. 
 
 S. For how much may these be purchased ? 
 
 P. For righteousness. Blessed are they who hunger and 
 thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled. 
 
 S. Therefore you shall possess righteousness, provided 
 there be no neglect. What does the fourth contain ? 
 
 P. Tears, wailings, and woe ; 
 
 Moisture above, and moisture below. 
 
 S. It is not customary to buy tears and wailings, yet I will 
 buy it ; because the saints desire it at this price. Blessed are 
 they who mourn, for they shall be comforted. What is the 
 fifth package ? 
 
 P. It is a divided parcel, and contains mercy, which I will 
 weigh to please you. At a word, I will take mercy for mercy ; 
 eternity for time. 
 
 h 2 
 
78 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 S. You were a bad umpire to ask this, unless mercy 
 plead for you. Still, she shall become your surety. And 
 Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. In this 
 life we abound in poverty, wretchedness, and hardship. Undo 
 the sixth package, perhaps it may contain something better. 
 
 P. It is clearly full ; but it loves not, like a purple robe, 
 to be exposed before the common eye ; you shall see it in pri- 
 vate, and then we will agree about the price. 
 
 S. Very well ; what is next ? 
 
 P. Purity ; which is extremely valuable. That gold and 
 silver vase contains piety, goodness, charity, and spiritual joy. 
 Now, then, let us open these precious garments. Here are 
 lectures, meditations, prayers, and contemplations. The judg- 
 ments of the Lord are justified in themselves, and more to be 
 desired than gold and precious stones. 
 
 £. There is a great reward in the possession. Ask, there- 
 fore, what you will. 
 
 P. To see God. 
 
 S. Therefore, Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall 
 see God. Open the seventh package. 
 
 P. It contains peace. 
 
 S. What ! are you going to sell me your peace ? 
 
 P. It does not accord with my poverty, nor would it with 
 your justice and great wealth, to take any thing of me for no- 
 thing. But your liberality will make me rich. What then ? 
 I am a mean country fellow, and made of clay ; formed of the 
 very dust of the earth. My want of nobility oppresses me, 
 and I would no longer bear the reproach which says, ' You 
 are earth, and to earth you shall go.' I would rather have it 
 said to me, ' You are heaven, and to heaven you shall go.' I 
 eagerly desire to fulfil the destiny of the sons of God ; I would 
 become a son of God. 
 
 S. I have done ; I confess the truth, and distrust you no 
 longer. Blessed are the peace-makers, for they shall be called 
 the sons of God. If, therefore, you preserve the love of a son, 
 you shall receive the paternal inheritance. -Now what is con- 
 tained in the last package ? Explain it. 
 
CH. VII.] ANCIENT FAIRS. 79 
 
 P. It contains only tribulation and persecution for the sake 
 of righteousness. 
 
 S. What do you want for it ? 
 
 P. The kingdom of heaven. 
 
 8. I gave you that as the price of poverty. 
 
 P. True ; but month after month, week after week, man 
 wanders in his wishes. Before the present week or month 
 expires, what will remain of it ? 
 
 S. I marvel at your sagacity in making a bargain. Now 
 hear, good and faithful servant ; because thou hast been faith- 
 ful over a few things, I will make thee lord over many. 
 
 "The allusion to the king's visit to the fair," said Herbert, " re- 
 minds me of what Wharton says of the royal booth at the fair of St. 
 Botolph, at Boston, in Lincolnshire, from which stall or booth the 
 king drew revenue." 
 
 " Before roads were general and passable, and the communication 
 between town and town was frequent, the concourse of people at the 
 various fairs must have been very great," said Thompson. 
 
 " As great as even now in many parts of the East, where the fairs 
 are still regarded as the great emporia of merchandise, the universal 
 mart of extensive districts, dependent on such meetings for their 
 chief supplies." 
 
 " Wharton," said Herbert, " gives a curious account of St. Giles' 
 fair at Winchester, which dated back to the Conquest, was held for 
 three days, and, by later grants, extended to sixteen ; and was given 
 by William the Conqueror to the bishops of Winchester as a source 
 of revenue." 
 
 '* Doubtless no mean revenue was derived from it ?" said Lathom. 
 
 " For those days, very great: the jurisdiction of the fair extended 
 for seven miles round, including the port of Southampton ; and 
 every merchant who sold wares within that circuit, except at the 
 fair, or refused to pay the bishop's toll, had' his goods forfeited to 
 the bishop. In the middle of St. Giles' Down stood the bishop's 
 pavilion, where sat his court, supreme, so long as the fair lasted, 
 within the seven miles' jurisdiction." 
 
 '* What, over other existing jurisdictions, the lords of the neigh- 
 bourhood, or the corporation of Winchester :" asked Thompson. 
 
80 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " Yes, supreme for the time. Even the city was for the time 
 under the bishop's rule ; on St. Giles' eve the keys were delivered to 
 him, and, during the fair, toll was exacted in his name on all goods 
 that went through the city gate. No baron within the circuit could 
 hold his manor-court without a license from the bishop's pavilion. 
 The bishop appointed a mayor, bailiff, and coroner of his own during 
 the fair." 
 
 "Being so near the coast, foreigners must have often resorted to 
 the great Winchester fair, I presume?" 
 
 "Yes," rejoined Herbert. "So numerous and powerful that 
 they had their separate street in the fair, as the drapers, and 
 spice-dealers, and potters had theirs ; and the toll to the bishop 
 from the foreign merchants formed no mean portion of the revenue 
 he derived from the fair." 
 
 " It was an old custom for merchants to meet from all countries 
 at the different fairs," said Lathom. " I remember to have read that 
 in 1314, Philip of France remonstrated with our second Edward on 
 the great loss his subjects had received from the merchants of Eng- 
 land desisting from frequenting the fairs in France." 
 
 "Yes," remarked Frederick Thompson ; "in the days of the 
 Edwards and Henrys a fair was as great a panacea for evils, as public 
 meetings in this century. If a village was sacked or destroyed by 
 fire or flood, the grant of a fair was an established means of restoring 
 it to its pristine vigour." 
 
 " We must look abroad for the old fairs, such as they were in 
 the middle ages," said Herbert. " Frankfort and Leipzig still re- 
 mind us of such fairs as that at Winchester ; thirty to forty thou- 
 sand buyers and sellers are not uncommonly seen at Leipzig, the 
 last great fair of central Europe." 
 
 " And yet," said Lathom, " both these are but children to the 
 great fair of Nischnei Novgorod, where merchants from the banks of 
 the Baltic and the Caspian interchange goods with Khivans, Chi- 
 nese, the mountaineers of central Asia, and the merchants of western 
 Europe." 
 
 " It is, indeed, almost difficult to believe Kohl's account of the 
 meeting at Nischnei Novgorod," said Herbert. 
 
 " Wonderful, but of admitted truth. How curious must be the 
 scenes ; a town of vast emporia, mingled with nearly three thousand 
 shops, almost without an inhabitant, save a few government officials, 
 
 
CH. VII.] ANCIENT FAIRS. 81 
 
 until the flag is raised on the 29th of June ; then the town is alive 
 like an ant-hill. Every magazine and booth is filled with merchan- 
 dise, the produce of the most diverse countries ; thousands of boats 
 are landing goods, or taking them to other vessels ; piles of merchan- 
 dise stand on all sides, even in the open country ; and amidst all this 
 treasury of wealth, three hundred thousand of nearly all nations 
 under heaven are trafficking." 
 
 " The value of goods exposed at such fairs must be startling, if 
 capable of being calculated," said Herbert. 
 
 "The system of fair- tolls makes this an easy matter. In 1839, 
 the value of goods exposed at twenty-two of the fairs of Russia, 
 reached fifteen millions and a half, of which Novgorod contributed 
 nearly one-half. 
 
 " Roubles," suggested Thompson. 
 
 " No, sterling pounds." 
 
 With this digressive conversation, the evening closed, 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SOUTHEY'S THALABA THE SUGGESTIONS OF THE EVIL ONE COTONO- 
 
 LAPES THE MAGICIAN THE GARDEN OF ALOADDIN THE OLD MAN 
 
 OF THE MOUNTAIN THE ASSASSINS THEIR RISE AND FALL GAY's 
 
 CONJURER THE TALE OF SIR GUIDO THE CRUSADER GUY, EARL 
 
 OF WARWICK. 
 
 ^]RE you going to give us a specimen of the late Lau- 
 reate's conversions/' said Thompson, " that you bor- 
 rowed my Southey 1" 
 
 " Even so — to claim for the magic garden of 
 Aloaddin, the gem of the sixth book of Thalaba, at 
 least a Latin form, if it must not be regarded as a striking instance 
 of my eastern theory." 
 
 " Southey did not come to your book for his idea ; he was con- 
 tent with the apparently historical account of Purchas in his Pilgrims, 
 or the more elaborate description of the notorious Mandeville," re- 
 joined Thompson. 
 
 " I am very much at a loss to appreciate your account," said 
 Herbert, " as Southey, Purchas, and Mandeville, are nearly all 
 equally unknown to me." 
 
 " The best means of shewing the progress of the story and its 
 conversion by the poet," said Lathom, "will be to commence with 
 the old monk's very short version ; let that be followed by Man- 
 deville, and that veritable author by Southey 's description." The 
 monk's tale is, 
 
 Cije ihiggcgttom; of tfjc <£bil <&m. 
 
 There was a celebrated magician, who had a vast castle, sur- 
 rounded by a very beautiful garden, in which grew flowers of 
 the most fragrant smell, and fruits not only fair to look upon 
 but most delicious to the taste. In short, it was a garden of 
 paradise ; no one was allowed to see its glories, or taste its 
 pleasures, but fools or personal enemies of the magician. "When 
 the gate was opened to any one, great was his wonder and de- 
 light ; and few who once entered ever wished to return. Nay, 
 
CH. VIII.] COTONOLAPES THE MAGICIAN. 83 
 
 the pleasures they there enjoyed so affected their minds, that 
 they yielded forthwith to the will of the magician, and were 
 ready to resign to him every thing that they had. 
 
 To the fools, this garden appeared to be Paradise itself : its 
 flowers and its fruits they looked upon as of immortal growth, 
 and regarded themselves as chosen from among the inhabitants 
 of the world as the happy possessors of the land. Beyond this 
 they gave not one thought. Day and night they revelled in 
 pleasure, and surrendered their minds and their bodies to law- 
 less gratifications. 
 
 At last the day of reckoning came, and the magician pre- 
 pared to reap the fruits of his scheme. Their inheritances once 
 placed in his power, he waited but for some moment when his 
 victim was steeped in sensual intoxication, and then fell upon 
 him and slew him. Thus by his fictitious paradise, he acquired 
 great wealth and power. 
 
 " I admire the moderation of your old monk," said Thompson, 
 " in not assigning a particular locality to his magician's paradise. 
 Purchas and Mandeville are not so moderate ; the former puts 
 Aloaddin's abode in the north-east parts of Persia, and Mandeville 
 locates him in the island of Milsterak, a portion of the kingdom of 
 Prester John." 
 
 "No bad illustration," said Herbert, "of the difference between 
 a writer who tells a fiction as a fiction, and one who records it with 
 the intention of making his readers believe it to be true." 
 
 " Great particularity as to time, place, and persons, is the sure 
 mark of a mendacious traveller," remarked Lathom. " Both Purchas 
 and Mandeville have altered the object of the magician's plot, 
 making it his means of destroying his enemies, by persuading his 
 victims that death in his service was only a step to a more beautiful 
 paradise. Thus reads Mandeville's tale of — 
 
 CrjtonoIap*£ tfje J&agtrian. 
 
 In the Isle of Pentexoire, that is in the land of Prester John, 
 is a great isle, long and broad, and men call that isle Milsterak. 
 There was a man there that was called Cotonolapes ; he was 
 
84 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 full rich, and had a fair castle on a hill, and strong, and he 
 made a wall all about the hill right strong and fair ; within he 
 had a fair garden, wherein were many trees bearing all manner 
 of fruits that he might find, and he had planted therein all 
 manner of herbs of good smell and that bare flowers, and there 
 were many fair wells, and by them were made many halls and 
 chambers well dight with gold and azure, and he had made 
 there divers stories of beasts and birds, that sung and turned by 
 engine and orbage as they had been quick ; and he had in his 
 garden all things that might be to man solace and comfort ; he 
 had also within that garden maidens within the age of fifteen 
 years, the fairest that he might find, and men children of the 
 same age, and they were clothed with cloth of gold, and he 
 said that they were angels ; and he caused to be made certain 
 hills, and enclosed them about with precious stones of jasper 
 and crystal, and set in gold and pearls, and other manner of 
 stones ; and he had made a conduit under the earth, so that 
 when he would, the walls ran sometimes with milk, sometimes 
 with wine, sometimes with honey, and this place is called Pa- 
 radise ; and when any young bachelor of the country, knight 
 or esquire, cometh to him for solace and disport, he leadeth 
 them into his paradise, and sheweth them these things, as the 
 songs of birds, and his damsels and wells ; and he did strike 
 divers instruments of music, in a high tower, that might be 
 heard, and said they were angels of God, and that place was 
 Paradise, that God hath granted to those that believed, when 
 he said thus : Dabo vobis terram fluentem lacte et melle ; that 
 is to say, I shall give you land flowing with milk and honey. 
 And then this rich man made these men drink a manner of drink, 
 of which they were drunken ; and he said to them, if they would 
 die for his sake, when they were dead, they should come to his 
 paradise, and they should be of the age of those maidens, and 
 should dwell always with them, and he should put them in a 
 fairer paradise where they should see God in joy, and in his 
 majesty. And then they granted to do that he would ; and he 
 bade them go and slay such a lord, or a man of the country that 
 he was wroth with, and that they should have dread of no man* 
 
CH. VIII.] THE GARDEN OF ALOADDIN. 85 
 
 And if they were slain themselves for his sake, he should put 
 them in his paradise when they were dead. And so went these 
 wachelors to slay great lords of the country, and were slain 
 themselves in hope to have that paradise ; and thus he was 
 avenged of his enemies through his desert : and when rich men 
 of the country perceived this cautell and malice, and the will 
 of this Cotonolapes, they gathered them together and assailed 
 the castle, and slew him, and destroyed all his goods and his 
 fair places and riches that were in his paradise ; and the place 
 of the walls there is yet, and some other things, but the riches 
 are not, and it is not long ago since it was destroyed. 
 
 " The variation made by this worthy story-teller seems to me to 
 be an incorporation of the history of the Assassins," said Herbert. 
 
 " Perhaps their ' Old Man of the Mountain,' as the chief of the 
 Assassins was called, may have given rise to the entire fable," re- 
 joined Lathom. " Now, Thompson, read the poet's conversion." 
 
 Clje <§artfw of ^loafcaw. 
 
 Thalaba stood mute, 
 And passively received 
 The mingled joy which flow'd on every sense. 
 Where'er his eye could reach, 
 Fair structures, rainbow hued, arose ; 
 And rich pavilions through the opening woods 
 Gleam 'd from their waving curtains sunny gold ; 
 And winding through the verdant vale 
 
 Went streams of liquid light, 
 And fluted cypresses rear'd up 
 Their living obelisks ; 
 And broad-leaved plane-trees, in long colonnades, 
 
 O'erarched delightful walks, 
 Where round their trunks the thousand-tendrill'd vine 
 Wound up, and hung the trees with greener wreaths, 
 And clusters not their own. 
 Wearied with endless beauty, did his eyes 
 Return for rest ? beside him teems the earth 
 
86 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 With tulips like the ruddy evening streak'd. 
 And here the lily hangs her head of snow ; 
 
 And here amid her sable cup 
 Shines the red eye-spot, like one brightest star, 
 The solitary twinkle of the night ; 
 And here the rose expands 
 Her paradise of leaves. 
 Then on his ear what sounds 
 Of harmony arose ! 
 Far music and the distance-mellow'd song 
 From bowers of merriment ; 
 The waterfall remote : 
 The murmuring of the leafy groves, 
 The single nightingale. 
 
 # * * * 
 
 And, oh, what odours the voluptuous vale 
 Scatters from jasmine bowers, 
 From yon rose wilderness, 
 From cluster 'd henna, and from orange groves. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Full of the bliss, yet still awake 
 To wonder, on went Thalaba : 
 On every side the song of mirth, 
 The music of festivity, 
 Invite the passing youth. 
 Wearied at length with hunger and with heat, 
 He enters in a banquet-room ; 
 Where round a fountain's brink 
 On silken carpets sat the festive train. 
 Instant, through all his frame 
 Delightful coolness spread ; 
 The playing fount refresh'd 
 The agitated air ; 
 The very light came cool through silvering panes 
 Of pearly shell, like the pale moonbeam tinged. 
 
 "I think I must stop here," said Thompson ; "though the entire 
 book seems but the poet's amplification of the tale of Mandeville." 
 
 "The more I think on the subject, the more certain I feel that 
 the Assassins of the eleventh century are the origin, if not of your 
 
CH. VIII.] THE ASSASSINS. 87 
 
 tradition, at least of the tales of Purchas and Mandeville," said 
 Herbert. 
 
 " I know too little of their history, to agree with you or not ; 
 surely theirs was a purely political association," answered Lathom. 
 
 "Their original and avowed object was the placing a caliph of 
 the race of Ismael on the throne of Bagdad ; but their secret doc- 
 trines are supposed to have embraced a wider sphere, and are known 
 to have been converted into the means of private revenge by the 
 adept, who afterwards became known as the ' old man of the moun- 
 tain/ " 
 
 "Where did the old man reign ?" asked Thompson. 
 
 i( On the mountain of Alamoot, in the north of Persia. The 
 Vulture's rest, as its name imported, was not unlike the hill of 
 Cotonolapes, or the Castle of the Magician of the Gesta. There 
 Hassan ben Sabah gathered round him an independent society of 
 seven degrees, with himself as their head, by the title of Sheikh of 
 the Mountain." 
 
 " What was the date of that event?" 
 
 " Within a few years of the close of the eleventh century," re- 
 plied Herbert : " his seven degrees commenced with the three grand 
 priors, under him the practical rulers of the society. Then came 
 the dais, or initiated ministers ; and fourthly, the refeelcs, or com- 
 panions. Below these were the fedavees, or devoted, who were 
 followed by the laseelcs, the aspirants, the novices of European 
 orders. The profane, the common people, formed the last of the 
 seven orders of the Assassins." 
 
 "The mysteries, I suppose, were not revealed to any below the 
 third class?" remarked Lathom. 
 
 " No, the dais were alone acquainted with these ; what they 
 were, besides implicit obedience to their chief, and the principle of 
 interpreting the Koran allegorically, it is impossible to discover. By 
 the rest of the society, the text of the Koran was to be observed in 
 its strict letter. The fedavees were, however, the support of the 
 society. They were composed, too often, of youths stolen from 
 their parents, and educated in such a system as recognised the 
 sheikh as omnipotent, and impressed on them the moral and reli- 
 gious duty of obeying his commands." 
 
 " From this order, then, the common idea of the Assassins arose ?" 
 said Lathom. 
 
88 
 
 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " Undoubtedly/' rejoined Herbert. "They were led to look to 
 his mandates as direct from heaven, and as impossible to be evaded. 
 They were clothed in white, with red bonnets and girdles, and armed 
 with sharp daggers ; but when a secret and dangerous mission was 
 imposed, the disguises of the fedavees were appropriate to the task 
 enjoined." 
 
 " Is any thing known of their initiatory ceremonies ?" 
 
 " But little ; Marco Polo, indeed, gives us a curious account 
 of the garden of Alamoot, bearing a very strong likeness to that 
 of Aloaddin, whither the fedavee was borne under the influence of 
 opiates, before being sent on any important mission ; and where, on 
 awakening, he found himself surrounded with every earthly pleasure. 
 This, he was persuaded, was but a foretaste of the joys of paradise, 
 which were to be the reward of his faithful performance of the 
 mission. And thus buoyed up, the fedavees confronted danger in 
 every form, and executed the commands of their chief in despite of 
 countless difficulties." 
 
 " Their name, I suppose, is but the corruption of that of their 
 leader, Hassan," remarked Thompson. 
 
 " Here doctors disagree," replied Herbert; "some are content 
 with this origin ; whilst others, explaining the visions in the gar- 
 den of Alamoot as the effects of an intoxicating herb, derive the 
 name of the society from Hashish, the opiate of hemp-leaves, sup- 
 posed to have been so freely used by the sheikh in deluding his 
 victims." 
 
 " How long did this strange society exist?" asked Lathom. 
 
 " After a time, they divided into two branches ; the eastern one 
 remaining at Alamoot, whilst the western spread into Syria. Both 
 branches became too powerful and dangerous to be endured : after 
 repeated attempts, the eastern branch was destroyed by the Monguls, 
 about a century and a half after its foundation ; whilst the western 
 branch lasted only fourteen years longer, and fell about 1270, under 
 the power of the Mamluke sultans of Egypt." 
 
 " It was far easier to root out their strong-holds than their 
 principles," remarked Lathom. 
 
 " It was so found by their conquerors : the mountains of Syria, 
 especially, gave shelter to many of the society, and the tenets of the 
 order are still believed to linger among a branch of the Koords. 
 But come, we are wandering from our tales ; and if we do not leave 
 
CH. VIII.] THE ASSASSINS. 89 
 
 off our remarks, Lathom will close the evening without another 
 specimen of the old story-teller." 
 
 " We have not yet heard the moral of the magician's garden," 
 said Thompson. 
 
 "The application is plain," replied Lathom: "the magician is 
 the world ; the luxuries and beauties of his garden are the world's 
 rewards and riches ; worldly people think that they have grasped its 
 gifts ; anon, they open their hands, and find them empty." 
 
 " But a short application, though over true," remarked Herbert. 
 $ " I have rather condensed the old monk, and perhaps wrongly, 
 as the latter part of his moral reminds me strongly of a passage in 
 Gay's fables. 'The conjurer,' says the old monk, 'puts down a dish, 
 but places nothing in it. Then he begins to prate and mock the 
 spectators with fair words and long speeches. Soon he inquires 
 of them, What is in the dish ? they look, and it is full of pennies. 
 These he distributes among the bystanders ; with thanks they re- 
 ceive his gifts, and eagerly close their hands on them ; anon, they 
 open their hands, and lo, there is nothing.' " 
 
 "You allude," said Herbert, "to Gay's lines, where he describes 
 his conjurer performing his tricks : 
 
 * Trick after trick deludes the train, 
 He shakes his bag, and shews all fair, 
 His fingers spread, and nothing there, 
 Then bids it rain with showers of gold ; 
 And now his ivory eggs are told.' " 
 
 " Hardly so much," replied Lathom, " as the four lines where 
 he says of fortune : 
 
 ' A purse she to the thief exposed ; 
 At once his ready fingers closed. 
 He opes his fist, the treasure's fled, 
 He sees a halter in its stead.' 
 
 And now," continued Lathom; "now for the original of Guy, Earl 
 of Warwick." 
 
 "The original of a romance, that was a celebrated piece in the 
 time of Chaucer, and usually sung to the harp at Christmas dinners 
 and bridals, is indeed a curiosity," remarked Herbert. 
 
 " But how comes Sir Guy in the Latin stories ?" said Thompson ; 
 " does not Bishop Percy say it was of English growth ?" 
 i 2 
 
90 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " I cannot resolve the difficulty," answered Lathora : " we must 
 admit that it was in French before the end of the 13th century; 
 when it came into its Latin dress, must depend on that most difficult 
 of all points, the date and authorship of my volume of stories. But 
 come from where he will, you have here the story of the Champion 
 of Warwick." 
 
 J5tr <&uitio ti)c Cnts"attn\ 
 
 Centuries have gone by since the court of the king of 
 England was adorned by two valorous knights named Guido 
 and Tyrius. Many a hard battle had they fought side by side 
 against the enemies of their king, for the sake of the smiles of 
 the fair ladies to whom they had dedicated themselves. After 
 several years of brilliant deeds of daring and numerous perils, 
 Sir Guido married the lady of his devotions. Happy were 
 the early days of his marriage, for the knight and the lady 
 loved each other greatly. One night Sir Guido saw a vision, 
 as it were an angel of God talking with him, and he was 
 afraid. 
 
 Then said the angel, " Why sleepest thou, Sir Guido ? 
 arise, put on thy arms, and fight for the holy cross." 
 
 " Verily, Lord," replied Sir Guido, " much and often have 
 I fought." 
 
 " Yes," replied the angel, " much, often, and valiantly hast 
 thou fought for the love of woman ; now fight for the love 
 of God, the glory of the holy cross. Contend against God's 
 enemies, as thou hast against those of men." 
 
 With these words the vision faded away, and Sir Guido 
 knew that he was called to battle in the Holy Land against 
 the infidels. Then he turned to his wife and said : 
 
 " Felicia, we must part, but for a time ; I am called to the 
 Holy Land, to fight under the banner of the cross." 
 
 " Alas, alas, my lord!" replied Felicia, clasping her hus- 
 band in her arms, and weeping hot tears upon his neck ; 
 "alas, and wilt thou leave me? death were to be preferred ; 
 then welcome death !" 
 
 As she spoke, she snatched up a dagger that lay beside her, 
 
CH. VIII.] SIR GUIDO THE CRUSADER. 91 
 
 and would have killed herself, had not Sir Guido wrenched it 
 from her grasp. 
 
 " Felicia," said the knight, "be comforted; I am vowed 
 to go to the Holy Land ; bear with it, my love ; it is but for 
 a time ; be comforted." 
 
 " God's will be done," murmured the lady. " Take th 
 ring; and as often as you look upon it, in happiness or in 
 misery, in joy or in woe, think of Felicia." 
 
 Sir Guido gathered together his vassals, and his friend 
 Sir Tyrius added his to those of Sir Guido ; and thus com- 
 bined, they marched for the Holy Land, and journeyed by land 
 and not by sea until they came to the borders of Dacia., a 
 Christian country overrun by the infidels. 
 
 " Brother," said Sir Guido, "go thou to the king of the 
 country, and with thy good sword rescue his kingdom from 
 the power of the Saracen ; I will proceed to the Holy Land, 
 and when the foes of God are vanquished will rejoin you here, 
 and so together we will return to England." 
 
 " Even as you wish," said Sir Tyrius ; " I wiU await your 
 return here." 
 
 Thus did the friends separate. Sir Guido reached the 
 Holy Land, and fought valiantly against the Saracens. Many 
 and dire were his conflicts with the infidels ; but in all of them 
 he bore aloft the Cross, and in his hands it never bowed before 
 the Crescent. Every one spoke of his deeds of arms, of his 
 charity, and of his kindness ; the minstrels made songs of his 
 exploits, and spread his fame over the whole Christian world. 
 Sir Tyrius, too, was successful in Dacia ; by his aid, the king 
 regained his throne, and the infidels were driven from the 
 kingdom. Rewards and thanks followed his successes; the 
 king regarded him as the preserver of his throne, and con- 
 sidered no rewards too great or too good for the Christian 
 warrior. The rewards of the good are ever sources of envy 
 to the wicked. So was it at the court of the Dacian king. 
 The prosperity of Sir Tyrius was gall and wormwood to a 
 knight of Dacia, Sir Plebeus, who, until the coming of this 
 stranger, had been looked upon as the greatest warricr of the 
 
92 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 Dacian people. To envy succeeded hatred, to hatred false- 
 hood. Treason, he insinuated, was in the mind ofTyrius; he 
 aspired to the crown which he had recovered from the infidel. 
 
 Alas, how easily do we credit falsehood ! how readily do we 
 believe that every one is as wicked as ourselves ! The king 
 believed the words of Plebeus. He called his preserver before 
 him, charged him with treason, and upbraided him with in- 
 gratitude. 
 
 " Go," said he, " leave my court. I have honoured thee 
 much, I would have honoured thee yet more. Now I give 
 thee thy life, in return for the valiant blows you struck for 
 me; go in peace, but in poverty." 
 
 " Miserable creature that I am !" murmured Sir Tyrius ; 
 " whither shall I flee in this my abject poverty ?" 
 
 Sadly and slowly he wandered on, his eyes cast down, his 
 hands crossed upon his breast : at last he sat down by the 
 wayside. 
 
 " Friend," said a tall pilgrim, whose care-worn look shewed 
 how long he had been journeying ; " friend, whence comest 
 thou?" 
 
 " Father," replied Tyrius, "I am of Rome; years have I 
 lived in this land, and now I seek another home. Years have 
 past since my companion parted with me, but a few miles 
 from here ; he sought the Holy Land ; and whether he be dead 
 or alive, I know not." 
 
 " Friend," replied the palmer, " I am wearied ; suffer me, 
 by the memory of your friend I pray you, suffer me to repose 
 my head on your knees, that I may sleep awhile." 
 
 Tyrius pitied the poor pilgrim, and acceded to his request. 
 The palmer's cloak was thrown over his face, so that he could 
 distinguish but a portion of his features. 
 
 As the palmer slept, of a sudden a weasel, small and white, 
 leapt from out of his mouth, and ran to a neighbouring hill- 
 side, where it entered a small hole ; after a time the creature 
 returned, and appeared to enter into the mouth of the sleeping 
 man. At that moment the palmer awoke. 
 
 " Friend," said he to Tyrius, " I have dreamed a strange 
 
CH. VIII.] SIR GUIDO THE CRUSADER. 93 
 
 dream. Methought a weasel, small, and white as snow, ran 
 from out my mouth to a hole in yonder hill, and thence re- 
 turning-, re-entered my open mouth." 
 
 "Father," replied Tyrius, "it was no dream; so did it 
 appear to me also, as I sat and watched you. What the weasel 
 did in yonder hill I cannot conjecture." 
 
 " Come, let us arise and look ; peradventure we may find 
 some good treasure. Even as I thought," continued the 
 palmer, when they entered the hole in the hill- side, that led 
 to a large cave ; " see, a dragon dead, and filled with gold; 
 the treasure he was thus guarding is our own ; ay, too, a 
 sword. What do we read on its bright blade ? ' By me shall 
 Guido overcome the enemies of Tyrius.' " 
 
 u Alas, Guido !" said Tyrius, " where art thou, O my 
 friend ?" 
 
 " Come," said the palmer, "we will' divide the treasures : 
 to you the piles of gold and jewels'; to me this sword." 
 
 " To thee the sword of Guido !" exclaimed Tyrius ; " nay." 
 "To me the sword of Guido," said the pilgrim, inter- 
 rupting the knight in his words, and gradually raising the 
 cowl of his dress from off his face. " Yes, to me, Tyrius." 
 
 " Guido, my friend, my brother !" cried the knight, as he 
 looked on the pilgrim's features. " And have we met, my 
 brother ! It is enough, O my brother !" and the tears came 
 in the eyes of both. 
 
 " Courage, courage, Tyrius ; weep not, for I will do battle 
 with your enemy ; with this sword will I beat down thy foes. 
 Do you go to your own home, and leave me to deal with your 
 traducers." 
 
 The friends embraced and parted. Tyrius went to his 
 home with his treasure, and Guido repaired to the Dacian 
 king's palace. 
 
 " Who art thou, and from whence ?" asked the porter, as 
 Sir Guido knocked at the king's gate. 
 
 " A humble pilgrim from the holy sepulchre." 
 " Enter, father ; I crave thy blessing," said the porter, as 
 he knelt before Sir Guido. 
 
94 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " Thou hast it, my son ; peace be on thee and this house. 
 I seek the king." 
 
 The king sat at meat, and all his nobles were round him. 
 
 " Is the Holy Land at peace?" inquired the king, as the 
 pilgrim entered. 
 
 " At peace, my lord ! the holy sepulchre is delivered from 
 the infidel." 
 
 " Ho, give place ! sit, father ; bring wine and bread. Fa- 
 ther, hast thou heard of a Christian knight named Guido?" 
 
 " Both heard and seen him, my lord ; we have eaten of the 
 same bread, and shared the same couch." 
 
 " What say they of the Christian kings ?" 
 
 " They say the Dacian king has regained his kingdom and 
 crown by the aid of a brave knight of Rome, whom he pro- 
 moted to great honour and riches." 
 
 " They say true, sir pilgrim," said the king, on whose 
 brow an angry spot began to shew. 
 
 " They further say that thou, O king, hast driven away 
 this good and brave knight, seduced by the malice of one Ple- 
 beus, who has poisoned your royal ear with his falsehoods." 
 
 " False pilgrim !" cried Plebeus, who stood by the king's 
 chair; " false pilgrim, thou utterest lies, that thou darest not 
 defend with thy life. That Tyrius was a traitor; he would 
 have dethroned our king." 
 
 " Sir knight," replied Guido, " I have both spoken the 
 truth, and dare prove it. If thou art Sir Plebeus, and sayest 
 Tyrius was a traitor, go to, thou art a liar; and by the king's 
 leave, I will prove thy falsehood on thy body." 
 
 " It is well," said the king ; <c let the wager of battle decide 
 the truth ; and God defend the right !" 
 
 " Give me, my lord, such arms as be necessary for the 
 field, and the ordeal of battle shall prove the truth. Save this 
 sword, I have no armour." 
 
 " Be it so as you desire ; to-morrow, at noon, we will see 
 this combat. Daughter, to thy care I commit this pilgrim 
 knight ; see that he be forthcoming by to-morrow's noon." 
 
 It was a bright day when the lists were prepared for the 
 
CH. VIII.] SIR GUIDO THE CRUSADER. 95 
 
 contest. Before the hour appointed drew nigh, all the popu- 
 lation of the royal city poured towards the scene of the ap- 
 proaching combat. Some trusted to the known prowess of the 
 Dacian knight ; others sided with the pilgrim, speculated upon 
 who he was, and wished him success for the sake of Tyrius. 
 
 " Haste thee, haste thee, sir pilgrim knight I" said the 
 king's daughter ; "thy adversary even now stands in the lists, 
 and exclaims, False pilgrim ! why tarriest thou ?" 
 
 Sir Guido hastened to put on his armour, and to gird his 
 sword about him. At noon the king entered the lists, the 
 combatants took oath to the justice of their quarrel, and pre- 
 pared to engage. Long and arduous was the battle ; Guido 
 pressed upon his adversary so fiercely, that he thirsted almost 
 to death. 
 
 " Good pilgrim," he said, " if thou wilt courteously permit 
 me to quench my thirst this once, I will do the like to thee, 
 shouldst thou require it of me." 
 " I consent," replied Guido. 
 
 His thirst thus quenched, Plebeus renewed the combat 
 with redoubled animation. At length Guido also thirsted, 
 and claimed of his adversary his promise. 
 
 " Go to, fool; you shall taste no water but by the strong 
 hand," replied the Dacian. 
 
 " By the strong hand, then," rejoined Guido, " be it so." 
 With these words he made towards the water, guarding 
 himself with his shield : as soon as he gained the edge of 
 the pond, he jumped in, drank freely of the water, and rushed 
 out refreshed and re-invigorated against his treacherous foe. 
 His prowess and his courage alike deserted the Dacian, and he 
 turned and fled. 
 
 At that moment the king threw down his sceptre, and the 
 combat closed for that day. 
 
 The king's daughter led the knight to his chamber, bound 
 up his wounds, tended him softly, prepared his evening meal, 
 and smoothed his bed with her own hands : a deep sleep soon 
 came over Sir Guido, for he was wearied with the exertions of 
 the combat. 
 
96 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 "My sons/' said Plebeus to the seven stout warriors that 
 called him father, "my sons, if to-morrow's sun sees yonder 
 pilgrim in the lists, I die ; never yet did I meet so stout an 
 opponent." 
 
 " Fear not, sir," replied they all ; " we will take care of the 
 pilgrim." 
 
 Sir Guido slept heavily; at midnight his chamber-door was 
 
 carefully opened, and the sons of Plebeus crept into the room. 
 " He sleeps soundly," whispered the eldest : " how shall we 
 
 dispose of him ? If we slay him here as he sleeps, what are we 
 
 but dead men on the morrow ?" 
 
 " Does not the sea flow beneath the window ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but if we touch him he will wake." 
 
 "Nay, let us take and throw him bed and all into the sea." 
 
 Sir Guido slept on, and knew not what was plotting against 
 
 him. 
 
 It was midnight, and the moon shone brightly on the sea. 
 A fisherman beneath the wall of the Dacian king's palace was 
 casting his nets, when a sudden splash in the water arrested 
 his attention. " Halloa !" said he to himself, " what villany 
 is this ? a bed floating on the sea, and a man on it ? Ho, 
 friend ! ho, I say ! awake, or be drowned !" 
 
 " Where am I ?" exclaimed Sir Guido, as he awoke with 
 the fisherman's clamour. " Help, friend, — I am sinking : I 
 am the pilgrim that fought yesterday in the lists — thanks — 
 thanks," he continued, as he reached the fisherman's boat; 
 " but how got I here ?" 
 
 " I hardly know : just now I heard a splash, looked round, 
 and by the moon's light saw you and your bed floating on the 
 water." 
 
 " Ah, well, the treachery has failed, good friend ; to-morrow 
 will confound the traitors." 
 
 The morrow came in fair and bright; again the people 
 hastened to the lists, eager to see the issue of this wondrous 
 
CH. VIII.] SIR GUIDO THE CRUSADER. 97 
 
 combat. The king was seated, the lists were ready, and the 
 heralds sounded. Then stept forth Sir Plebeus with his visor 
 up, and a fair and smiling countenance. 
 
 " My lord the king," said the Dacian champion, as he bowed 
 before the king's throne, " I demand the combat with the pilgrim." 
 
 " It is well, Sir Plebeus. Ho, herald ! go to my daughter, 
 and demand of her the pilgrim knight." 
 
 " The princess is even now coming to the royal presence," 
 replied the herald, as the crowd formed a lane, through which 
 the king's daughter was seen approaching her father's throne, 
 with a meek and sorrowful aspect. 
 
 " My child," said the Dacian king, " where is the pilgrim 
 knight, the champion of Sir Tyrius ? we await his coming 
 forth." 
 
 " Father and dear lord," replied the maiden ; " I know not 
 whither he is gone ; but last night I left him in deep sleep in 
 his chamber, and now neither he nor his bed whereon he slept 
 are to be found." 
 
 " Cowardly boaster!" exclaimed Sir Plebeus, " dares he not 
 meet me in the lists ? The coward has fled." 
 
 " That is not so, my lord," exclaimed a poor man in the 
 crowd ; " he has not fled." 
 
 " Ah ! how say est thou ?" 
 
 " Even now he sleeps at my hut; last night I found him 
 floating on his bed beneath the palace-wall ; I took him into 
 my boat, and he is safe." 
 
 "Thou hast done well — summon him to the lists. Sir Ple- 
 beus, you shall not be disappointed of your combat ; see, even 
 now your adversary comes. Now, marshals, arm the stranger." 
 
 ■' Nay, my good lord," said the Dacian knight, " press not 
 on the pilgrim — I pray you, my lord, give him time to recruit 
 his strength." 
 
 " Not for a minute, sir knight," exclaimed the pilgrim, as 
 he entered the lists and hastened to don his armour; "not for 
 a minute — I have much to reckon with you: remember last 
 night." 
 
 The combat was short; each knight struck twice without 
 
98 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 fatal effect ; the pilgrim's third blow ended the battle, and the 
 Daciari rolled on the ground a headless corpse. 
 
 " Sir pilgrim," said the king, as he knelt before the throne, 
 " God has defended the right ; even now have I been told of 
 the treachery of that senseless corpse, and of the villany of his 
 sons towards thee ; they now are going to their reward — to 
 death. Come, sir knight, for thy sake I restore Sir Tyrius, 
 renew his honours, and add to them those which you so sted- 
 fastly refuse. One boon I ask, before you leave our court and 
 our kingdom ; disclose thy name ; let me and my people know 
 to whom they owe the punishment of a traitor, and the defence 
 of their best friend, their former preserver." 
 
 " My lord/' replied the pilgrim, " my name is not unknown 
 to you ; I am the knight of the Holy Land ; the Guido of 
 whom men speak." 
 
 Loud were the exclamations with which that famous name 
 was hailed by the assembled Dacians, as their king fell on the 
 pilgrim's neck, and embraced him as a brother. 
 
 Seven years had passed since Guido left his castle and 
 sailed for the Holy Land. Day by day did Felicia minister to 
 the poor, and bestow alms on every applicant, with this one 
 request, that they would pray for the safety of her husband 
 Sir Guido, and that once more before her death she might re- 
 joice in his presence. Felicia stood at her castle-gate, and the 
 inner court-yard was filled with her poor pensioners. One by 
 one she accosted them, and bade her almoner give to each his 
 accustomed alms. Her young son ran by his mother's side. 
 
 " Mother, dear mother," said the child, as he heard Felicia 
 commend Sir Guido to the prayers of the poor men, " is it 
 not my father for whom you ask these poor people to pray ?" 
 
 " Yes, my child; seven years have passed since he left me : 
 but a few months had we been married, before God summoned 
 him to the Holy Land, and he took the cross, and went against 
 the infidel." 
 
 As she thus spake to her son, Felicia drew nigh to a tall 
 pilgrim who stood apart from the rest of the poor people. She 
 gave him the alms, and asked of him his prayers for her hus- 
 
CH. VIII.] SIR GUIDO THE CRlfSADER. 99 
 
 band's return. Low bowed the pilgrim bis head, but not a 
 word did he speak, as the lady passed onwards. Her son fol- 
 lowed after Felicia : as he passed, the pilgrim bowed himself 
 forward and embraced the youth. 
 
 "God give thee grace," said he, with a trembling voice ; 
 " God give thee grace to do His will!" 
 
 " Thanks, father, for thy blessing," said Felicia ; " can I do 
 aught to reward thy good wishes?" 
 
 " Lady," said the pilgrim, in a low, stifled voice, " I crave 
 the small hermitage below the eagle's rock ; there let me live 
 and die." 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed Felicia, " the eagle's rock ; art thou of 
 this place, good father, that thou knowest the name so well ?" 
 
 " I was of thy people once, fair lady ; now I am God's 
 poor servant." 
 
 " Be it as thou desirest ; go, father, and pray for this house 
 and its long-lost master." 
 
 Those who could see the pilgrim's face, saw the tears start 
 in his eyes, as he accepted Felicia's gift, and turned towards 
 his lonely hermitage. Many years did he live there, many a 
 time did he come to the castle-yard, and his daily companion 
 was Felicia's child, Sir Guido's son. Day after day did he 
 talk to him of adventures of knights in the Holy Land, of 
 those that had fallen fighting for the sepulchre, and those who 
 had passed through the fiery ordeal of that expedition. At 
 last death came upon him. 
 
 " Dear boy," said he to Sir Guido's son, " take this ring to 
 thy mother, and bid her if she would see me ere I die, come 
 hither quickly.", 
 
 " Mother, dear mother," said the youth, when he entered 
 Felicia's chamber, " the good pilgrim is sorely ill ; he sends you 
 this ring, and bids you see him ere he die." 
 
 Felicia cast one look upon the ring. " Haste, haste, my 
 child," she exclaimed ; " it is my lord's your father's ring ; 
 come, come to the forest." 
 
 Quickly as she rushed to the hermitage, she found but the 
 dead body of her husband. 
 
 LOFC. 
 
100 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 "Woe, woe is me!'' she exclaimed, casting herself on the 
 cold corpse ; " woe, woe is me ! where are now my alms ? My 
 husband asked charity of me, and I knew him not ; thy father 
 talked with thee, my child, he embraced thee, and thou knewest 
 him not. O Guido ! thou didst look upon thy wife, and didst 
 not tremble ; thou didst look upon thy child, and kissed him 
 and blessed him ; alas, alas, my husband !" 
 
 " I should be loath to agree with Percy, that so beautiful a tale 
 should have been resigned to children," said Herbert, as soon as 
 Lathom had concluded his version of the old tale. 
 
 " No wonder that the pilgrimage of the warrior was such a fa- 
 vourite with all nations, as to be claimed by nearly all as peculiarly 
 their own," said Thompson. 
 
 " It was very early translated into French, and is alluded to in a 
 Spanish romance written somewhere about 1430. But now that, 
 as the old ballad says, 
 
 1 The story is brought to an end, 
 Of Guy, the bold baron of price, 
 And of the fair maid Felice/ 
 
 we will conclude our evening with some account of its applications, 
 as intended by the monk. Sir Guido was symbolical of our Saviour, 
 Felicia of the soul, and Tyrius of man in general. By the weasel 
 was meant the prophets, and especially the Baptist, as prophesying 
 of the coming of the Saviour. The mountain is the world, the dead 
 dragon the old law of Moses, and the gold within it the Ten Com- 
 mandments. The sword represented authority, the seven deadly 
 sins were symbolised in the sons of Plebeus, the good fisherman 
 was the representative of the Holy Spirit, and the king's daughter 
 the Blessed Virgin." 
 
 " Come, Herbert, we are over our time : to work ; good night." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS OF EARLY MANNERS SORCERY THE KNIGHT AND THE 
 
 NECROMANCER WAXEN FIGURES DEGENERACY OF WITCHES THE 
 
 CLERK AND THE IMAGE GERBERT AND NATURAL MAGIC ELFIN 
 
 CHIVALRY THE DEMON KNIGHT OF THE VANDAL CAMP SCOTT's 
 
 MARMION ASSUMPTION OF HUMAN FORMS BY SPIRITS THE SE- 
 DUCTIONS OF THE EVIL ONE RELIGIOUS ORIGIN OF CHARGES OF 
 
 WITCHCRAFT. 
 
 flHE attention of the king's daughter to the wounded 
 knight," remarked Herbert, "reminds me strongly of 
 the patriarchal habits described by Homer in his 
 Odyssey. The daughter of Nestor thinks it no dis- 
 grace to attend to the bath of the wandering Tele- 
 machus ; and Helen herself seems to have performed a like office 
 for his father." 
 
 " The tales of chivalry are replete with instances of these simple 
 manners," rejoined Lathom ; "the king's daughter, the fair virgin 
 princess, is ever the kind attendant on the honoured guest, prepares 
 his bath after the fatigues of the day, and ministers to his wounds 
 by her medicinal skill." 
 
 "Your old monks' tales," said Thompson, "have no little merit 
 as illustrations of the manners and habits of the middle ages." 
 
 " Indeed, the light is curious that is thrown by these tales on the 
 habits of the middle ages," answered Lathom: "in these vivid and 
 strongly delineated fictions, I seem to fight, to tilt, to make love and 
 war, to perform penances, and to witness miracles with the actors 
 themselves." 
 
 " We cannot but feel, however," remarked Herbert, "that we 
 are sometimes more inclined to laugh at the regulations of their 
 chivalry, than to appreciate them. The penances with which ima- 
 ginable crimes were visited in those days cannot but raise a smile ; 
 whilst the carelessness with which enormous sins were committed 
 excites extreme regret." 
 
 " What fragrant viands furnish forth 
 Our evening's entertainment?" 
 said Thompson. 
 
 K 2 
 
102 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " Some illustrations of witchcraft and sorcery ; that most pre- 
 valent belief from the middle ages to the days of the sapient James 
 the First." 
 
 " Among all curious discoveries, this would be the most curious/' 
 said Herbert, " to find a people in whom there never has existed a 
 belief that human beings could be gifted with supernatural powers 
 for the purpose of accomplishing some good or evil object of their 
 desire." 
 
 " Wherever Christianity spread, witchcraft must be regarded as 
 a recognised form in which the powers of evil contended with the 
 Almighty." 
 
 " Of what sex is your witch?" asked Thompson. 
 
 " Oh, in this case, the good and the bad sorcerers are both of the 
 male sex." 
 
 "Your writer, therefore," replied Thompson, "does not seem to 
 have held the ungallant notions of Sprenger, that from the natural 
 inferiority of their minds, and wickedness of their hearts, the devil 
 always preferred women for his agents. But to the story." 
 
 " Well then, as the old chronicler would say, here begins the 
 tale of 
 
 Clje Bmcrljt mrtf tje Necromancer. 
 
 Among the knights that graced the court of the emperor 
 Titus, there was one whom all men agreed in calling the good 
 knight. For some years he had been married to one whose 
 beauty was her fairest portion, for she loved not the knight 
 her husband, but delighted in the company of others, and 
 would gladly have devised his death, that she might marry 
 another courtier. 
 
 The good knight could not fail of discovering the wicked- 
 ness of his wife. Ofttimes did he remonstrate with her ; but 
 to all he said, she turned a deaf ear, and would not return the 
 affection he felt for one so unworthy of his love. 
 
 " My dear wife," said the good knight, " I go to the Holy 
 Land to perform a vow ; I leave you to your own discretion.'' 
 
 The knight had no sooner embarked, than the lady sent for 
 one of her lovers, a clever sorcerer. 
 
 " Know," said she to him, when he arrived at the house, 
 
CH. IX.] THE KNIGHT AND THE NECROMANCER. 103 
 
 "my husband has sailed for the Holy Land; we will live 
 together, ay, and for all our lives, if you will but compass, 
 his death ; for I love him not." 
 
 " There is danger," replied the necromancer ; " but for the 
 sake of thee and thy love, I will endeavour to perform your 
 wishes.'' 
 
 Then took he wax and herbs gathered at dead of night in 
 secret places, and unguents made of unknown ingredients, and 
 moulded a figure of the good knight, inscribing it with his 
 name, and placing it before him, against the wall of the lady's 
 chamber. 
 
 The good knight commenced his pilgrimage towards the 
 Holy Land, and wist not what the lady and her lover were 
 plotting against him and his dear life. As he descended to- 
 wards the vessel in which he was to embark, he observed a 
 man of some age, and of lofty and commanding stature re- 
 garding him with interest. A long robe covered him, and its 
 hood drawn over the face concealed in a great degree the 
 features of the wearer. At last the old man approached the 
 knight. " Good friend," said he, " I have a secret to com- 
 municate to thee." 
 
 "Say on, good father," rejoined the knight; "what 
 wouldst thou with me?" 
 
 " I would preserve thee from death." 
 
 " Nay, father, that is in God's hands ; I fight not against 
 His will." 
 
 "To-day, then, thou diest; unless thou obeyest my com- 
 mands ; and listen, the lover of thy unfaithful wife is thy 
 murderer." 
 
 " Good sir," replied the knight, " I perceive thou art a wise 
 man ; what shall I do to escape this sudden death ?" 
 
 " Follow, and obey me." 
 
 Many and winding were the streets through which the 
 good knight followed his mysterious guide. At last they 
 reached a dark dismal-looking house, apparently without any 
 inhabitant. The guide pressed his foot on the door-step, and 
 the door slowly opened, closing again as the knight followed 
 
104 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 the old man into the house. All was darkness ; but the guide 
 seized the knight's hand, and led him up the tottering stair- 
 case to a large room, in which were many strange books, and 
 figures of men and animals interspersed with symbolical em- 
 blems of triangles and circles, whose meaning was known to 
 that aged man alone. In the midst of the room was a table, 
 on which burned a lamp without a wick or a reservoir of oil, 
 for it fed on a vapour that was lighter than air, and was invi- 
 sible to the eye. The old man spoke some words to the knight 
 unknown ; in a moment the floor clave asunder, and a bath, on 
 whose sides the same mystic symbols were written as on the 
 walls of the room, arose from beneath. 
 
 " Prepare to bathe," said the old man, opening a book on 
 the table, and taking a bright mirror from a casket. 
 
 No sooner had the knight entered the bath, than the old 
 man gave him a mirror, and bid him look into it. 
 
 " What seest thou ?" asked he of the knight. 
 
 " I see my own chamber ; my wife is there, and Maleficus, 
 the greatest sorcerer in Rome." 
 
 " What does the sorcerer ?" 
 
 " He kneads wax and other ingredients ; he hath made a 
 figure of me, and written under it my name : even now he 
 fastens it against the wall of my chamber." 
 
 " Look again," said the old man ; " what does he ?'' 
 
 " He takes a bow, he fits an arrow to the string ; he aims 
 at the effigy." 
 
 '* Look on ; as you love your life, when that arrow leaves 
 the string, plunge beneath the water till you hear me call." 
 
 " He shoots !" exclaimed the knight, as he dived below the 
 water. 
 
 " Come out ; look again at the mirror ; what seest thou ?" 
 
 " An arrow is sticking in the wall, by the side of the figure. 
 The sorcerer seems angry ; he draws out the arrow, and pre- 
 pares to shoot again from a nearer place." 
 
 " As you value your life, do as before." 
 
 Again the good knight plunged, and at the old man's call 
 resumed his inspection of the mirror. 
 
CH. IX.] THE KNIGHT AND THE NECROMANCER. 105 
 
 " What seest thou now ?" asked the old man. 
 
 "Maleficus has again missed the image; he makes great 
 lamentations : he says to my wife, If I miss the third time, I 
 die ; he goes nearer to the image, and prepares to shoot." 
 
 " Plunge," cried the old man ; and then, after a time, 
 " Raise thyself, and look again ; why laughest thou ?" 
 
 " To see the reward of the wicked ; the arrow has missed, 
 rebounded from the wall, and pierced the sorcerer ; he faints, 
 he dies ; my wife stands over his body, and weeps ; she digs a 
 hole under the bed, and buries the body." 
 
 " Arise, sir knight ; resume your apparel, and give God 
 thanks for your great deliverance." 
 
 A year and more elapsed before the good knight returned 
 from his pilgrimage. His wife welcomed him with smiles and 
 every appearance of pleasure. For a few days the knight con- 
 cealed his knowledge of his wife's conduct. At length he 
 summoned all his and her kinsfolk, and they feasted in com- 
 memoration of his return from his dangerous pilgrimage. 
 
 "Brother," said the knight during the feast, "how is it 
 that I neither hear nor see aught of Maleficus, the great 
 magician ?" 
 
 "He disappeared, we know not whither, the very day that 
 you departed for your pilgrimage." 
 
 " And where did he die ?" asked the knight, with a look at 
 his wife. 
 
 " We know not that he is dead," replied the guests. 
 
 " How should a sorcerer die ?" asked the knight's wife with 
 a sneer. 
 
 " If not dead, why did you bury him ?" rejoined the knight. 
 
 " Bury him ! what meanest thou, my lord ? I bury him !" 
 
 " Yes; you bury him," said the knight calmly. 
 
 "Brothers, he is mad," exclaimed the lady, turning pale 
 and trembling. 
 
 '* Woman," replied the knight, rising, and seizing the lady 
 by the wrist, " woman, I am not mad. Hear ye all ; this 
 woman loved Maleficus ; she called him here the day I sailed ; 
 she devised with him my death ; but God struck him with that 
 
106 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 death he would have prepared for me, and now he lies buried 
 in my chamber. Come, let us see this great wonder." 
 
 The hiding-place of the body was opened, and the remains 
 found where the knight had said. Then did he declare before 
 the judges and the people the great crimes of his wife ; and the 
 judges condemned her to death at the stake, and bade the exe- 
 cutioner scatter her ashes to the four winds of heaven. 
 
 " Few practices were more prevalent among the witches than 
 that which your tale illustrates, of effecting the death of an enemy 
 through the medium of an enchanted image of the person intended 
 to be affected," said Herbert. 
 
 "As old Ben Jonson sings: 
 
 ' With pictures full 
 Of wax and wool, 
 Their livers I stick 
 With needles quick,'" 
 said Thompson. 
 
 "Yes," said Herbert; "it was a very approved method to melt 
 a waxen image before the fire, under the idea that the person by it 
 represented would pine away, as the figure melted ; or to stick pins 
 and needles into the heart or less vital parts of the waxen resem- 
 blance, with the hopes of affecting, by disease and pain, the portions 
 of the human being thus represented and treated." 
 
 " In one of the old ballad romances in which Alexander is cele- 
 brated, we find a full account of the wondrous puppets of a king and 
 magician named Nectabanus. I will read you the old verses. 
 
 ' Barons were whilhome wise and good, 
 That this art well understood ; 
 And one there was, Nectabanus, 
 Wise in this art, and malicious ; 
 When king or earl came on him to war, 
 Quick he looked on the star ; 
 Of wax made him puppets, 
 And made them fight with bats {clubs) ; 
 Anl so he learned Je vous (lis, 
 Aye to cpiell his enemy 
 
CH. 1X.J WAXEN IMAGES. 107 
 
 With charms and with conjurisons : 
 
 Thus he assayed the legions 
 
 That him came for to assail, 
 
 In very manner of batail ; 
 
 By clear candle in the night, 
 
 He made each one with other fight.' " 
 
 "No bad way," said Thompson, "of testing the advantage of 
 that royal and national luxury, — war." 
 
 "The rhymer makes his charms successful, especially in the case 
 of one, king Philip, a great and powerful prince, who brought nine- 
 and-twenty great lords to battle against Nectabanus. Once put 
 into his charmed basin, the magician saw the end of the battle, the 
 defeat and death of his enemy." 
 
 "The old Romans had as much fear of the waxen image as good 
 king James," remarked Herbert ; " and were as firm believers in 
 the feats of Canidia over the enchanted model, as the Scottish king 
 in the modelling of his national witches, and in the secret cavern on 
 the hill, where Satan and his imps manufactured devils' arrows to 
 shoot at the enemies of the witches." 
 
 " ' Sympathia Magica works wondrous charms,' says Scott ; and 
 so before him dreamt the Arabian philosophers, and the royal witch- 
 finder, who founds his arguments against waxen images on the doc- 
 trine of sympathy," said Thompson. 
 
 "It is worth remarking," said Herbert, "how witchcraft de- 
 generated, not in its powers, but in the persons of the supposed 
 witches. Joan of Arc, the wife of the protector Somerset, the 
 mistress of Richard III., were in early days deemed worthy of being 
 punished as witches. In later days, the charge was confined to the 
 oldest, the ugliest, and generally the poorest crone in the neigh- 
 bourhood." 
 
 " With the fashion of political witchcraft, the custom of charg- 
 ing persons of rank with the crime died away," replied Lathom. 
 " Instead of torturing images, or raising spirits for the sake of 
 crowns and thrones, the witches became content to tease a neigh- 
 bour's child, or render a farmer's cow barren. The last instance of 
 such a charge against a person of rank is the case of the countess 
 of Essex. The charges of sorcery, however, formed but a small 
 portion of the accusations against the countess." 
 
 "We are forgetting the moral," said Thompson. 
 
108 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 "It is short and plain," answered Lathom ; "and intended to 
 be illustrative of the advantage of the confession of sins. The good 
 knight is the soul of man, and his wicked wife the flesh of his body. 
 The pilgrimage represents our good deeds. The wise magician, a 
 prudent priest. Maleficus stands as the representative of the devil, 
 and the image is human pride and vanity ; add to these the bath 
 of confession, and the mirror of the sacred writings, by which the 
 arrows of sin are warded off, — and the allegory is complete." 
 
 "Does your storehouse afford another magical tale?" asked 
 Thompson. 
 
 " Many more ; I will read one that is short, but curious from 
 its being founded on a generally received legend of the monk Ger- 
 bert, afterwards pope Sylvester. I will call it, for want of a better 
 name, 
 
 €i)t Clerk antr tf;e tacje. 
 
 In the city of Rome stood an image ; its posture was erect 
 with the right hand extended ; on the middle finger of the 
 outstretched hand was written, " strike here." Years and 
 years had the image stood there, and no one knew the secret 
 of the inscription. Many wise men from every land came and 
 looked at the statue, and many were the solutions of the mys- 
 tery attempted by them : each man was satisfied with his own 
 conclusion, but no one else agreed with him. 
 
 Among the many that attempted to unravel the mystery of 
 the figure was a certain priest. As he looked at the image, he 
 noticed that when the sun shone on the figure, the shadow of 
 the outstretched finger was discernible on the ground at some 
 distance from the statue. He marked the spot, and waited 
 until the night was come ; at midnight he began to dig where 
 the shadow ceased : for three feet he found nothing but earth 
 and stones ; he renewed his labour, and felt his spade strike 
 against something hard : he continued his work with greater 
 zeal, and found a trap-door, which he soon cleared, and pro- 
 ceeded to raise. 
 
 Below the door, a flight of marble steps descended into the 
 earth, and a bright light streamed upward from below. Cast- 
 ing down his spa<!e, the priest descended. At the foot of the 
 
CK. IX.J THE CLERK AND THE IMA.GE. 109 
 
 stairs he entered a vast hall : a number of men habited in 
 costly apparel, and sitting in solemn silence, occupied the 
 centre ; around, and on every side, were riches innumerable : 
 piles of gold and enamelled vases ; rich and glittering robes, 
 and heaps of jewels of the brightest hue. 
 
 The hall was lighted by one jewel alone ; a carbuncle so 
 bright, so dazzling, that the priest could hardly bear to gaze 
 upon it, where it stood in a corner of the hall. At the oppo- 
 site end of the hall stood an armed archer, his bow was strung, 
 and the arrow fitted to the string, and he seemed to take* aim 
 at the carbuncle ; his brow blazed with reflected light, and on 
 it was written, "my shaft is inevitable: yon glittering jewel 
 cannot escape its stroke." 
 
 Beyond the great hall appeared another chamber, into which 
 the priest, amazed at what he saw, entered. It was fitted as a 
 bed-chamber, couches of every kind ornamented it, and many 
 beautiful women, arrayed in robes as costly as those worn in 
 the great hall, occupied the chamber. Here too all was mute ; 
 the beautiful damsels sat in silence. 
 
 Still the priest went onward. There were rooms after 
 rooms, stables filled with horses and asses, and granaries 
 stored with abundant forage. He placed his hand on the 
 horses, they were cold, lifeless stone. Servants stood round 
 about, their lips were closed — all was silent as the grave ; 
 and yet what was there wanting — what but life ? 
 
 " I have seen to-day what no man will believe," said the 
 priest, as he re-entered the great hall ; " let me take something 
 whereby to prove the credit of my story." 
 
 As he thus spake to himself, he saw some vases and jewel- 
 handled knives on a marble table beside him; he raised his 
 hand, he clasped them, he placed them in the bosom of his 
 garment — all was dark. 
 
 The archer had shot with his arrow; the carbuncle was 
 broken into a thousand pieces — a thick darkness covered the 
 place ; hour after hour he wandered about the halls and 
 passages — all was dark — all was cold — all was desolate ; the 
 stairs seemed to have fled, he found no opening, and he laid 
 
 L 
 
110 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 him down and died a miserable death, amid those piles of gold 
 and jewels, his only companions the lifeless images of stone. 
 His secret died with him. 
 
 
 " Spenser, in his Fairy Queen, seems to have had some such tale 
 as this in his mind, in his scene in the House of Riches," remarked 
 Herbert. 
 
 " You allude to the fiend watching Sir Gouyon, and hoping that 
 he will be tempted to snatch some of the treasures of the subterra- 
 neous palace, so freely displayed to his view.'' 
 
 " Sir Gouyon fares better than your priest," replied Herbert ; 
 " he resists the temptation, and escapes the threatened doom ; as 
 the poet says, — 
 
 ' Thereat the fiend his gnashing teeth did grate, 
 And grieved so long to lack his greedy prey ; 
 For well he weened, that so glorious bait 
 Would tempt his guest to take thereof assay ; 
 Had he so done, he had him snatched away, 
 More light than culver in the falcon's fist.' " 
 
 "Pope Sylvester, I presume," said Thompson, "was a clever 
 mechanician, and a good astronomer, as far as knowledge extended 
 in his day." 
 
 " Precisely so, and hence all the wondrous tales of his magic," 
 rejoined Lathom. " Born in France, and naturally of an acquisi- 
 tive mind, he proceeded to Spain, to gain, in the Saracenic univer- 
 sity of Seville, some little of the eastern sciences. Arithmetic and 
 astronomy, or, as Malmesbury calls the last, astrology, were then 
 flourishing in Spain, and when introduced by him into his native 
 country, soon gained for him the reputation of a magician." 
 
 " Friar Bacon experienced in this country," remarked Herbert, 
 " that a knowledge of mechanics sufficient to create automatons, of 
 acoustics to regulate the transmission of sounds through long con- 
 cealed pipes, and of astronomy to attempt some predictions of the 
 weather from planetary movements, was quite enough to ensure him 
 the name of magician among our rude ancestors." 
 
 " One of the magic arts attributed to Gerbert," remarked La- 
 thom, "clearly indicates, that a knowledge of mechanism was the 
 
CII. IX.] GERBERT AND NATURAL MAGIC. Ill 
 
 source of this reputation in his case. Malmesbury tells us that 
 Gerbert framed a bridge, beyond which were golden horses of 
 gigantic size, with riders of gold, richly glittering with jewels and 
 embroidery. A party attempted to pass the bridge, in order to 
 steal the treasures on the farther side. As the first stept on the 
 bridge, it rose gradually in the air, and stood perpendicularly on 
 one end. A brazen man rose from beneath, and as he struck the 
 water with a mace of brass, the sky was overshadowed, and all was 
 thick darkness." 
 
 "Setting aside the darkness," said Thompson, "the result of 
 accident, or an addition of the chroniclers, a little clever mechanism 
 will account for the movable bridge of Gerbert." 
 
 " The same explanation applies to the ever-burning lamp of the 
 Rosicrucians, held in the hand of a figure armed with a mace, with 
 which he dashes the lamp to atoms, on the entry of any person into 
 the secret vault." 
 
 "Most undoubtedly, Herbert," said Thompson; "for in this 
 instance, the legend describes the figure as raising its hand at the 
 first step of the intruder, preparing to strike as he draws nearer and 
 nearer, and at last, when almost within reach, the secret springs on 
 which he is walking dash down the armed hand of the figure, and 
 the lamp and the secret perish in darkness." 
 
 "The tales of natural magic," said Herbert, " remind me of the 
 legends of one of the James's of Scotland, in the subterraneous 
 cavern of Halidon Hill." 
 
 " I hardly know to what legend you allude," replied Lathom. 
 
 " The one in which the king enters a long hall, where a hundred 
 knights stand on either side, each with his armour on, and his horse 
 ready caparisoned by his side. At the end of the hall stand a 
 bugle and sword. All is silence ; the knights stand as statues, and 
 their war-horses do not seem to breathe. The whole charm de- 
 pends upon which is performed first, the bugle blown, or the sword 
 drawn from its scabbard. The king seizes the bugle : the effect is, 
 that the whole melts into darkness, and the charm is gone." 
 
 " As you have led the way to traditions of the northern part o f 
 our island," said Lathom, " one form, if not the original one, of the 
 legend which Scott has worked up in his Marmion will not be out 
 of place. I allude to the encounter of Marmion with De Wilton, 
 under the guise of the spectral champion of the Pictish camp." 
 
112 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 "Your old monk's book would have been a treasure to Sir 
 Walter Scott," said Herbert. 
 
 " That he would duly have appreciated its contents, no one can 
 doubt," replied Lathom ; "but he was so well read in the later 
 forms of the legends which he would have found in its pages, that 
 though apparently unknown to him, he required but little of its aid. 
 Our writer would wish his readers or hearers to see in this legend 
 an allegory of the discomfiture of the devil armed with pride, by 
 the Christian armed with faith. I will call it by the name of 
 
 CIjc Demon i&mgjt of tlje 2Fanoal Camp. 
 
 On the borders of the diocese of Ely stands an old castle, 
 now crumbling into ruins, below which is a place called by 
 the people Wandlesbury ; commemorating by this name the 
 camp of the Vandals, which they pitched hard by this castle, 
 after laying waste the country and cruelly slaughtering the 
 inhabitants. The camp was on the summit of a hill, on a 
 round plain : round about it ran a trench, which 
 
 " The Vandal race 
 
 long since in blood did trace. 
 
 The moor around was brown and bare, 
 The space within was green and fair, 
 The spot the village children knew, 
 Tor there the wild flowers earliest grew ; 
 But woe betide the wandering wight 
 That treads its circle in the night ! 
 The breadth across, a bowshot clear, 
 Gives ample space for full career ; 
 Opposed to the four points of heaven, 
 By four deep gaps was entrance given." 
 
 Woe indeed to the adventurous man who dared to go armed 
 into that camp, and call upon an adversary to meet him. Even 
 as he called, another knight rode into the camp, armed at all 
 points, and met the challenger in combat. The encounter was 
 always fatal to one of the combatants. 
 
 The knight Albert sat in the hall of the castle of Wandles- 
 bury, and shared the hospitality of the lord. At night, after 
 
CH. IX.] THE DEMON KNIGHT OF THE VANDAL CAMP. 113 
 
 supper, the household closed round the great fire, and each 
 man in his turn told some tale of arms, love, or sorcery. The 
 demon knight of the Vandal camp figured in many a tale, and 
 Albert hastened to prove the truth of the legend. It was in 
 vain that the lord of the castle endeavoured to dissuade his 
 guest from seeking the phantom knight. Armed at all points, 
 the English knight sallied from the castle-gate ; and his trusty 
 squire, a youth of noble blood, rode by his master's side. 
 
 Some hours passed : the hall was sadly silent during the 
 knight's absence, for they all feared the worst for him ; anon, 
 a horn was heard at the gate, the warder hastened to open the 
 doors, and the knight rode into the castle- court ; his squire 
 followed him close, and he led by the bridle a horse of perfect 
 form and figure, of enormous size, and coal black. 
 
 The knight hastened to the hall : all clustered round him 
 to hear his tale ; but the good lord of the castle bade them first 
 release him of his armour, and bring in refreshment. One by 
 one the pieces of his armour were taken off, and neither wound 
 nor bruise appeared ; at last they proceeded to take off one of 
 his cuishes : it was filled with blood, and even then a few drops 
 were seen to ooze from a slight wound in the thigh. His 
 wound drest, his fatigue refreshed with good wine and meat, 
 the lord of the castle requested the knight's account of his 
 meeting with the demon champion. 
 
 " My lord," replied the English knight, " you know how, 
 in despite of your earnest remonstrances, I rode from you 
 castle- gate. The moon was bright and clear, and I soon reached 
 the entrance of the Vandal camp ; without a pause I rode in, 
 and blew my bugle. 
 
 ' Methought an answer met my ear, — 
 Yet was the blast so low and drear, 
 So hollow, and so faintly blown, 
 It might be echo of my own.' 
 
 I waited for a moment in doubt, 
 
 ' Then sudden in the ring I view, 
 In form distinct, of shape and hue, 
 A mounted champion rise.' 
 
114 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 Without a word, the demon prepared for the charge ; I raised 
 my shield, couched my lance, and rushed to the attaint : we 
 both staggered with the charge ; our lances broke in half, but 
 the points glided harmlessly from our armour. I still pressed 
 on, and my adversary's horse stumbled and fell : the demon 
 Mas rolled on the ground. In a moment I was by his side, and 
 seized his horse's rein ; the demon seemed to revive ; he saw 
 my action, snatched a portion of his broken lance, and darted 
 it at me as a javelin. It struck me on my thigh, but in m} 
 eagerness I felt it not. In a moment 
 
 ' He seem'd to vanish from my sight : 
 Ihe moonbeam dropp'd, and deepest night 
 Sunk down upon the heath.' 
 
 Had I not that dark black horse as a witness of the combat, I 
 should begin to doubt whether I had met the demon." 
 
 "Let us see the demon's steed," said the old lord, after 
 he had thanked the knight for his relation of the adventure ; 
 " even now the dawn is about to break, and we must seek some 
 little rest before day shines out." 
 
 In the court-yard they found the black steed ; his eye 
 lustrous, his neck proudly arched, his coat of shining black, 
 and a glittering war-saddle on his back. The first streaks of 
 the dawn began to appear as they entered the castle-yard ; the 
 black steed grew restless, and tried to break from the hands of 
 the groom ; he champed his bit, snorted as in pain and anger, 
 and struck the ground with his feet until the sparks flew. The 
 cock crowed — the black steed had disappeared. 
 
 Every year, on the self-same night, at that self-same hour, 
 did the wound of the English knight burst out afresh, and tor- 
 ment him with severe anguish ; to his dying day lie bore this 
 memorial of his encounter with the demon champion of the 
 Vandal camp. 
 
 " You have made good use of Scott's version of the tale in Mar- 
 mion," said Thompson, " to whom I should think your version of 
 the story was hardly known." 
 
CH. IX.] THE SEDUCTIONS OF THE EVIL ONE. 115 
 
 " No ; if I remember rightly he gives the old Durham tale of 
 Ralph Buhner as its immediate source, and the strange tale of the 
 Bohemian Knights, as related by Hey wood, in his ' Hierarchie of 
 the Blessed Angels.' " 
 
 "The introduction to the story recalls the custom so adroitly 
 used by Chaucer to introduce his Canterbury tales," remarked Her- 
 bert ; " tale-telling round the fire." 
 
 "When there was neither juggler nor minstrel present/' replied 
 Lathom, " it seems to have been the custom of our ancestors to 
 entertain themselves by relating or hearing a series of adventures/' 
 
 " So that Chaucer's plan, at first sight so ingenious an invention, 
 is in truth an equally ingenious adaptation of an ancient fashion." 
 
 "But to return to our demonology," said Lathom : "what no- 
 tion was more common than that spirits could assume the human 
 form, and live on earth, and mingle as mortals in social life ? This 
 belief we find illustrated by the author or authors of the Gesta." 
 
 " The stay, however, of these spirits is generally but a lease of 
 life for so many years," remarked Herbert. 
 
 " Generally ; but not in the case which my author relates under 
 the title of 
 
 Cfje dettucttoiul of tlje 4£bil ©tie. 
 
 It often happens that the devils are permitted to transform 
 themselves into angels of light, or to assume the human form, 
 in order to foster in human hearts whatever is wicked. So did 
 it happen in France, when Valentine was bishop of Aries. 
 
 On the very borders of his diocese stood a knight's castle, 
 with lofty and strong battlements. The knight had travelled 
 in many lands, and seen many nations, that none others had 
 looked upon or heard of. He was a good man, and a constant 
 attendant on the services of the Church. His wife was very 
 fair to look upon; her figure was light and tall; her face 
 delicately white, and her eyes ever bright, and sparkling with 
 almost unearthly brilliancy. Attracted by cries of distress, 
 whilst on one of his distant pilgrimages, he had hastened into 
 a dark wood, where he discovered this fair lady, almost denuded 
 of her garments, bound to a tree, and being beaten with rods 
 by two men of fierce countenances and powerful frames. 
 
116 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 His sword flashed in the air as the knight rode against the 
 men : with one blow he struck down the nearest of the lady's 
 torturers ; with the second, he pierced the breast of the other 
 monster ; whilst with a third stroke of his trenchant blade, he 
 cut in pieces the cords that bound the lady to the tree. 
 
 The lady's tale was simple ; she was the daughter of a 
 powerful prince of a far-off land ; had been seized by those in 
 whose hands the knight discovered her ; carried for days and 
 months over seas and lands, and at last bound to the tree and 
 scourged because she would not yield to the desires of her tor- 
 mentors. She knew not where her father's kingdom lay, and 
 its name was unknown even to the knight, though he had tra- 
 velled far and often. 
 
 After a time, the knight married the lady of the wood : 
 happy were they by their union, for he loved her dearly, and 
 the lady seemed to return his love. One thing alone grieved 
 the good knight. Every day that she came to the service of 
 the Church, she stayed no longer than the beginning of the 
 consecration of the Elements of the Sacraments. Often and 
 often had the good knight remonstrated with his wife on her 
 conduct, and sought from her some reason for her action. 
 There was ever some excuse, but it was always unsatisfactory. 
 
 One holiday the knight and the lady were at church. The 
 priest was proceeding to the celebration of the Sacrament, and 
 the lady rose as usual. 
 
 " Nay," said the knight, forcibly arresting his wife's de- 
 parture ; " nay, not for this once." 
 
 The lady struggled, her eyes gleamed with redoubled bril- 
 liancy, and her whole body seemed wrung with violent pain. 
 
 " In the name of God, depart not !" said the knight. 
 
 That holy name was all-powerful. The bodily form of 
 the lady melted away, and was seen no more ; whilst, with a 
 cry of anguish and of terror, an evil spirit of monstrous form 
 rose from the ground, clave the chapel roof asunder, and dis- 
 appeared in the air. 
 
 u Such stories might be multiplied by hundreds," said Herbert. 
 
CH. IX.] THE SEDUCTIONS OF THE EVIL ONE. 117 
 
 " Every country has its good and evil angels, that live among men 
 and assume their forms." 
 
 "It illustrates the curious fact," remarked Lathom, "that the 
 earliest accusations of sorcery in Christian ages are connected with 
 relapses from the faith of Christ. The Anglo-Saxon laws against 
 witchcraft are levelled against those who still adhered to the heathen 
 practices of their ancestors, or sought to combine the pure faith of 
 the Bible with the superstitions of their ancestral idolatry." 
 
 " Was not such the fact in the south of Europe ?" said Herbert : 
 " the still lingering worship of the gods and goddesses of the woods 
 was visited as sorcery. The demons do but occupy their places, 
 under forms, and with opinions, gradually adapted to the religious 
 opinions of the age." 
 
 " Many a secret meeting for the worship of God has been made 
 the foundation of the mysteries of a witch's sabbath," said Lathom ; 
 " sorcery was a common charge against the early Christians when 
 they met in their secret caves and hiding-places ; and it has been 
 an equally current accusation since. — But we must beat a truce, 
 and be content to leave the rest of our illustrations of natural 
 magic, witchcraft, and demoniacal agency until our next meeting." 
 
 " Good night, then," said Thompson ; " remember the witches' 
 time of night approaches — 
 
 ' The owl is abroad, the bat, and the toad, 
 And so is the cat- a-mountain ; 
 The ant and the mole set both in a hole, 
 And the frog peeps out of the fountain.* ** 
 
L^ ■ 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE TALE OF THE THREE MAXIMS • — THE OLD MONk's ERRORS IN 
 
 HISTORY TALE OF THE TRIALS OF EUSTACE SOURCES OF ITS 
 
 INCIDENTS CONVERSION OF COLONEL GARDINER LEGEND OF ST. 
 
 HUBERT EARLY ENGLISH ROMANCE OF SIR ISUMBRAS. 
 
 ^IFHAT marvellous tale of sorcery are we to be regaled 
 with to-night ?" asked Thompson, when the tenth 
 evening with the old story-tellers came round. 
 
 "We must adjourn that subject for to-night ; for I 
 ' have chanced on a point, in illustration of one of the 
 tales intended for this evening's reading, that will require another 
 day's looking up." 
 
 "Are we to go to bed supperless, then?" 
 
 " No, no ; not quite : here are two specimens, that will both 
 amuse, and, I hope, instruct us. To those who remember the 
 Turkish tales, and have not forgotten the story of ' the King, the 
 Sofi, and the Surgeon,' the three maxims of Domitian will hardly 
 appear a novelty. But without further preface, I will commence 
 the monk's account of the three maxims, for each of which Domi- 
 tian thankfully gave a thousand florins." 
 
 €l;e Cljvte Plajttmg. 
 
 There was an emperor of Rome named Domitian, a good 
 and wise prince, who suffered no offenders to escape. There 
 M r as a high feast in his hall, the tables glittered with gold 
 and silver, and groaned with plenteous provision : his nobles 
 feasted with him — 
 
 " And 'twas merry with all 
 In the king's great hall, 
 
 Wheo his nobles and kinsmen, great and small, 
 Were keeping their Christmas holyday." 
 
 The porter in his lodge made his fire blaze brightly, and solaced 
 
CH. X.] THE THREE MAXIMS. 119 
 
 himself with Christmas cheer ; every now and then grumbling 
 at his office, that kept him from the gaieties of the retainers' 
 hall. The wind blew cold, the sleet fell quick, as the bell of 
 the king's gate sounded heavy and dull. 
 
 " Who comes now ?" grumbled the porter ; " a pretty night 
 to turn out from fire and food. Why, the very bell itself finds 
 it too cold to clank loudly. Well, well — duty is duty : some 
 say it's a pleasure — humph! Hilloa, friend, who are you? 
 what do you want, man ?" 
 
 The traveller whom the porter thus addressed was a tall, 
 weather-beaten man, with long white hair that fluttered from 
 beneath his cap of furs, and whose figure, naturally tall and 
 robust, seemed taller and larger from the vast cloak of bear- 
 skins with which he was enveloped. 
 
 "I am a merchant from a far country," said the man; 
 f* many wonderful things do I bring to your emperor, if he 
 will purchase of my valuables." 
 
 " Well, come in/ come in, man," said the porter ; " the 
 king keeps high Christmas feast, and on this night all men may 
 seek his presence. Wilt take some refreshment, good sir ?" 
 
 "lam never hungry, nor thirsty, nor cold." 
 
 "I'm all — there — straight before you, good sir — the hall- 
 porter will usher you in — straight before," muttered the old 
 porter, as he returned to his fire and his supper. " Never 
 hungry, thirsty, nor cold — what a good poor man he would 
 make ! — humph! he loses many a pleasure though," continued 
 the porter, as he closed the door of the lodge. 
 
 The strange merchant presented himself to the hall-porter, 
 and was ushered by him into the presence of the emperor. 
 
 " Who have we here ?" said Domitian, as the strange visitor 
 made his obeisance. " What seekest thou of me ?" 
 
 " I bring many things from far countries. Wilt thou buy 
 of my curiosities ?" 
 
 "Let us see them," rejoined Domitian. 
 
 " I have three maxims of especial wisdom and excellence, 
 my lord." 
 
 " Let us hear them." 
 
120 
 
 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " Nay, my lord ; if thou nearest them, and likest not, then 
 I have lost both my maxims and money." 
 
 " And if I pay without hearing them, and they are useless, 
 I lose my time and my money. What is the price ?" 
 
 "A thousand florins, my lord." 
 
 " A thousand florins for that of the which I know not what 
 it is !" replied the king. 
 
 " My lord," rejoined the merchant, " if the maxims do not 
 stand you in good stead, I will return the money." 
 
 " Be it so, then : let us hear your maxims." 
 
 " The first, my lord, is on this wise : Never begin any 
 
 THING UNTIL YOU HAVE CALCULATED WHAT THE END WILL 
 BE." 
 
 "I like your maxim much," said the king; " let it be 
 recorded in the chronicles of the kingdom, inscribed on the 
 walls and over the doors of my palaces and halls of justice, 
 and interwoven on the borders of the linen of my table and my 
 chamber." 
 
 " The second, my lord, is : Never leave a highway for 
 
 A BY-WAY." 
 
 "I see not the value of this maxim : but to the third." 
 " Never sleep in the house where the master is an 
 
 OLD MAN AND THE WIFE A YOUNG WOMAN. These three 
 
 maxims, if attended to, my lord, will stand you in good stead." 
 " We shall see," said the king ; " a year and a day for 
 the trial of each, at the end of this time we will settle ac- 
 counts." 
 
 " Good master," said the king s jester, " wilt sell thy chance 
 of the thousand florins for my fool's cap ?" 
 
 " Wait, and see what the end will be," rejoined the mer- 
 chant ; " a year and a day hence I will return to see how my 
 first maxim lias fared. Farewell, my lord." . . 
 
 The year and a day were nearly elapsed, and yet the first 
 maxim had not been clearly proved. Domitian remained se- 
 verely just, and the ill-intentioned of his nobles plotted his 
 destruction, in the hopes of indulging their vices more freely 
 
CH. X.] THE THREE MAXIMS. 121 
 
 under the rule of his successor. Many were the plots they 
 concocted to put him to death, but all were foiled by his fore- 
 sight and prudence. 
 
 " Every failure," said the conspirators at a midnight meet- 
 ing, " brings danger nearer to ourselves." 
 
 " Even so, brothers ; but this time we will not fail," said 
 one of the number; "do ye not mind that I am the king's 
 barber ; every day he bares his throat to my razor — it is but 
 one slash, and we are free : promise me the crown ; in return 
 for this, I will give you freedom by the king's death, and free 
 license during my reign." 
 
 " It is well spoken," cried all the conspirators ; " the barber 
 shall be our king." 
 
 On the next morning, the barber entered the chamber of 
 Domitian, and prepared to shave the king. The razor was 
 stropped, the lather spread upon the royal chin, and the towel 
 fastened round the royal breast. On the edge of the napkin 
 were these words in letters of gold, " Never begin any thing 
 until you have calculated what the end will be." 
 
 The barber's eye fell on these words, they arrested his 
 attention, he paused in his labours. 
 
 " What am I about to do ?" thought he to himself ; " to kill 
 the king, to gain his crown ; am I sure of the crown ? shall I 
 not rather be slain miserably, and die amid unheard-of tortures 
 and infamy ? whilst those that plot with me will turn against 
 me, and make me their scape-goat." 
 
 " Art dreaming, sir barber ?" exclaimed the king. 
 
 At the king's voice, the barber trembled exceedingly; he 
 dropt the razor from his hand, and fell at his sovereign's feet. 
 
 " What means all this ?" 
 
 " Oh, my good lord !" exclaimed the barber, as he knelt 
 trembling at Domitian's feet, " this day was I to have killed 
 thee ; but I saw the maxim written on the napkin : I thought 
 of the consequences, and now repent me of my wickedness. 
 Mercy, my good lord, mercy !" 
 
 " Be faithful, and fear not," replied the king. 
 
 " The merchant, my lord the king," said a serv nt of the 
 
 M 
 
122 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 chamber, who entered at that moment, followed by the old 
 merchant. 
 
 " Thou art come at a good time, sir merchant : the first 
 maxim has been proved ; it has saved my life ; it was worthy 
 of its price." 
 
 " Even as I expected, my lord ; a year and a day hence, 
 expect me again." 
 
 " We will trust no more to a single hand," said one of the 
 conspirators, when they met again after the barber's repent- 
 ance ; " this time we will all share." 
 
 " I propose," said one of the rebel lords, " an ambush on 
 the road to Naples. Every year, on the day after Christmas, 
 the king journeys thither ; the by-path near to the city-gates 
 is the nearest road, peradventure he will go that way." 
 
 When the Christmas night was over, the king prepared 
 to journey to Naples ; a great company of nobles, knights, and 
 men-at-arms, went with him. Not far from the city, he came 
 to the place where the highway and a by-path diverged. 
 
 " My lord," said an old noble, " the day is far spent, the 
 sun sinks fast in the horizon ; will not my lord turn by the 
 by-path, as it is far shorter than the high road ?" 
 
 "Nay," said the king, "it's a year and a day since the 
 merchant's first maxim saved my life ; now will I test the 
 second admonition, ' Never leave a highway for a by-way ;' but 
 go part of ye by that path, and prepare for me in the city ; I 
 and the rest will pursue the highway." 
 
 Onward rode the knights and the soldiers by the by-path, 
 and hastened towards the city : as they neared the ambush, 
 the traitors sprang upon them, for they thought the king was 
 among them. Every man slew his opponent ; and there re- 
 mained not one of the king's company, to bear the tidings to 
 the king, but a youth, a little page whom the conspirators did 
 not remark during the attack. 
 
 At the city-gates the king found the merchant who had 
 sold him his maxims. " Unit, () king!" said he, '*■ the second 
 maxim has been proved." 
 
CH. X.] THE THREE MAXIMS. 123 
 
 " How so ?" replied the king. 
 
 «' The company that rode by the by-path are slain, every 
 one of them, save this little page, who is here to tell the sad 
 tale." 
 
 " Is this so, good youth ?" 
 
 " Alas, my lord, it is too true ! From behind the trees they 
 rushed upon our company as we rode lightly and merrily ; and 
 no one, save your poor page, lives to tell the tale." 
 
 " For a second time is my life saved by thy maxim ; let it be 
 inscribed in gold, ' never leave a highway for a by-way.' " 
 
 " For a year and a day, O king, fare thee well." 
 
 " A murrain on the fool's maxims !" grumbled the chief 
 of the conspirators, when they discovered that the king had 
 escaped their wicked design ; " we are beaten out of every 
 plot, and had best submit to his dominion." 
 
 " Nay," exclaimed a young and licentious noble, " there 
 is luck in odd numbers ; let us have one more trial, a sink or 
 a swim." 
 
 " I care not if we try once more," said the old rebel ; " but 
 come, who suggests a scheme ?" 
 
 " I, and I, and I !" exclaimed several at once ; but their 
 schemes were pronounced futile. 
 
 " What say ye to this ?" said the young man who had 
 spoken before : " every year the king goes to the small village 
 town, where his old nurse lives : there is but one house in the 
 village where he can be lodged ; let us bribe the master of the 
 house, that he slay our tyrant while he sleeps." 
 
 The plan was approved by the rebel lords, the bribe offered 
 and accepted by the old man, to whose house the king always 
 came. The king came as usual to the village town, and to his 
 old lodgings. As he entered, the old man received him with 
 humility and feigned delight ; and a young damsel, not eighteen 
 years of age, attended at the door-step. The king noticed the 
 damsel, he arrested his steps, and called to the old man. 
 
 " Good father," asked he, " is yonder damsel thy daughter, 
 or thy niece ?" 
 
124 AXCIEXT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " Neither, my lord," replied the old man ; " she is my 
 newly-married wife." 
 
 " Away, away," said the king to his chamberlain ; " prepare 
 me a bed in another house, for I will not sleep here to-night." 
 
 " Even as my lord wishes," rejoined the chamberlain ; " but 
 my lord knows there is no other house in this place fit for a 
 king's residence, save this one ; here every thing is prepared, 
 every thing commodious." 
 
 " I have spoken," replied the king ; " remain thou here ; 
 I will sleep elsewhere." 
 
 In the night, the old man and his wife arose, stole on tip- 
 toe to the chamber which was prepared for the king, and where 
 the chamberlain now slept in the royal bed ; all was dark as 
 they approached the bed, and plunged a dagger into the breast 
 of the sleeping noble. 
 
 " It is done," said they ; " to bed ; to bed." 
 
 Early the next morning, the king's page knocked at the 
 door of the humble abode where the king had passed the 
 night. 
 
 " Why so early, good page ?" asked the king. 
 
 "My lord, the old merchant waits thy rising ; and even 
 now strange news is come from the village." 
 
 " Let the merchant and the messenger come in." 
 
 The merchant seemed greatly elated, his eye glistened with 
 joy, and his figure appeared dilated beyond its ordinary height. 
 The messenger was pale and trembling, and staring aghast 
 with fear. 
 
 " My lord, my good lord," exclaimed the pallid messenger, 
 " a horrible murder has been committed on your chamberlain ; 
 he lies dead in the royal bed." 
 
 " The third maxim is tried and proved," said the merchant. 
 
 "Give God the praise," said the king; "thy reward is 
 earned ; a robe of honour, and thrice thy bargained price ; to 
 the old man and his wife immediate death." 
 
 ' What theological application docs the author append to this 
 
CH. X.] THE TRIALS OF EUSTACE. 125 
 
 clever tale ?" said Herbert, " for moral it wants not, as it tells its 
 own." 
 
 " The emperor is any good Christian ; the porter none other 
 than free will; whilst the merchant represents our blessed Saviour. 
 The florins are virtues, given in exchange for the maxims — the grace 
 and favour of God. The conspirators are devils ; the highway is 
 the Ten Commandments ; the by-way, a bad life ; the rebels in 
 ambush, heretics." 
 
 " So far as it goes, I do not object to the explanation ; it re- 
 quires great additions, however," replied Herbert. 
 
 " Which the author considered to be compensated for, by adding 
 more characters than the tale contained, in several of his other ex- 
 planations. '' 
 
 " Domitian is obliged to the old monk," said Thompson, " for 
 such a pretty character of justice and mercy." 
 
 " See again the system of compensation ; in the next story 
 Adrian is as much traduced, as Domitian flattered in this. But, 
 remember, the old monk was writing neither histories nor bio- 
 graphies ; any name that occurred to him served his purpose ; he 
 looks more to the effect of his incidents than to the names of his 
 characters. Let me now give you 
 
 €f)e Criatsi of lEuStace. 
 
 When Trajan was emperor of Rome, Sir Placidus, a knight 
 of great prowess, and a most skilful commander, was chief of 
 the armies of the empire. Like his imperial master, he was 
 merciful, just, and charitable, but a worshipper of idols, a 
 despiser of the Christian faith. His wife was worthy of his 
 virtues, and was of one accord with him in his religion. Two 
 sons had he, educated in all the magnificence that befitted their 
 father's station ; but, as was to be expected, the faith of the 
 parents was the faith of their children, — they were idolaters. 
 
 It was a fair soft day, the southerly wind blew lightly over 
 the meadows, and the fleecy clouds, ever and anon obscuring 
 the sun, proclaimed the hunters' day. Sir Placidus rode to 
 the chase. His friends and his retainers were with him, and 
 a right gallant company were they. A herd of deer was soon 
 m 2 
 
126 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 bound, the dogs loosed from their leashes, the bugles sounded, 
 and the whole of the company in full and eager pursuit. One 
 stag, of lofty stature and many-branching antlered head, se- 
 parated itself from the rest of the herd, and made for the 
 depths of the neighbouring forest. The company followed the 
 herd, but Sir Placidus gave his attention to the noble animal, 
 and tracked it through the mazes of the wood. 
 
 Swift and long was the chase. Sir Placidus rode after the 
 stag, ever gaining just near enough to the noble animal to 
 inspire him with a hope of its ultimate capture, yet never so 
 near as to strike it with his hunting spear. On, on they went 
 with untiring speed. The wood and its thickets were passed, 
 a lofty hill rose to the view. He pressed the stag up its sides, 
 and gained rapidly on the chase. In a moment the stag 
 turned and faced the knight; he prepared to strike, but his 
 hand was stayed as he saw between the horns of the creature 
 a cross encircled with a ring of glorious light. Whilst he 
 mused on the wonder, a voice addressed him. The stag 
 seemed to speak thus to the knight : 
 
 " Why persecutest thou me, Placidus ? for thy sake have 
 I assumed this shape ; I am the God whom thou ignorantly 
 worshippest ; I am Christ. Thine alms and thy prayers have 
 gone up before me, and therefore am I now come. As thou 
 dost hunt this stag, even so will I hunt thee." 
 
 Placidus swooned at these words, and fell from his horse. 
 How long he lay on the ground he knew not. When his 
 senses returned, he cried in anguish : 
 
 " Tell me Thy will, O Lord, that I may believe in Thee, 
 and perform it." 
 
 Then replied the voice, " I am Christ, the Son of the living 
 God. I created heaven and earth, caused the light to arise, 
 and divided it from the darkness. I appointed days, and sea- 
 sons, and years. I formed man out of the dust of the earth, 
 and for his sake took upon me his form. Crucified and buried, 
 on the third day I arose again." 
 
 "All this I believe, Lord," replied Placidus; "yea, and 
 that thou art lie who bringest back the wandering sinner." 
 
CH. X.] THE TRIALS OF EUSTACE. 127 
 
 Then said the voice, " If thou believest, go into the city 
 and be baptised." 
 
 " Shall I reveal this unto my wife and children, Lord, that 
 they also may believe ?" 
 
 "Yea," replied the voice; "return here on the morrow's 
 dawn, that thou mayest know of thy future life." 
 
 Placidus returned to his wife, and told her all that had hap- 
 pened unto him ; then did they believe, and were baptised, 
 and their children with them. The knight was called Eustace, 
 his wife Theosbyta, whilst to his two sons the names of Theos- 
 bytus and Agapetus were given in their baptism. On the 
 morrow, the knight returned to the place where he had seen 
 the vision. 
 
 " I implore Thee, O Lord, to manifest Thyself according to 
 Thy word," prayed the knight. 
 
 Then the voice was heard, saying, " Blessed art thou, 
 Eustace, in that thou hast been washed with the laver of 
 my grace, and thereby overcome the devil. Now hast thou 
 trodden him to dust, who beguiled thee. Now will thy fidelity 
 be shewn; for he whom thou hast forsaken will rage con- 
 tinually against thee. Many things must thou undergo for 
 my sake. Thou must become another Job ; fear not ; perse- 
 vere ; my grace is sufficient for thee. In the end thou shalt 
 conquer ; choose, then, whether thou wilt experience thy trials 
 in thine old age, or forthwith." 
 
 " Even as Thou wiliest, O Lord ; yet, if it may be so, try 
 me now, and help me in my trial." 
 
 "Be bold, Eustace; my grace can support you." With 
 these words, the voice died away, and was no more heard ; and 
 Eustace, after prayer and praise to God, rose from his knees, 
 and returned to his own house. 
 
 But a few days had elapsed ere the trials of Job came upon 
 Eustace and his family. Pestilence carried off his flocks and 
 his herds, and his servants fled away, or died with their 
 charges. Robbers plundered his palace, driving away the 
 knight, his wife, and his sons, in poverty and nakedness. It 
 was in vain that the emperor sought every where for the 
 
12 S ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 knight, for not the slightest trace of him could anywhere be 
 found. 
 
 At length the unhappy fugitives, covered with such rags as 
 they could obtain, reached the sea- shore, and besought a pas- 
 sage across the waters. The captain of the vessel was capti- 
 vated with the beauty of Theosbyta, and consented to carry 
 them over. No sooner were they on the farther side, than he 
 demanded of them money for their voyage. 
 
 " Good master," said Eustace, " I am poor and destitute, 
 and have no money." 
 
 "Very well," replied the captain; "thy wife will do as 
 well ; I take her as my slave, she will sell for the passage- 
 money." 
 
 " With my life only will I part with her," exclaimed the 
 knight, as his wife clung to him in her distress. 
 
 " As you please, master ; ho, men ! seize the woman, and 
 take her to my cabin ; as for the man and his brats, heave 
 them overboard." 
 
 "Leave me, leave me, Eustace," murmured Theosbyta; 
 " save thyself and our children ; I can but die once." 
 
 With many a hard struggle, Eustace consented ; he clasped 
 his two boys by their hands, and led them from the ship. 
 
 " Ah, my poor children !" he cried, " your poor mother is 
 lost ; in a strange land and in the power of a strange lord, 
 must she lament her fate." 
 
 A few hours' travelling brought Eustace and his children 
 to the bank of a broad and rapid river, the water of which ran 
 so deep that he feared to cross its stream with both his boys 
 at one time ; placing one therefore on the bank, under the 
 shade of a bush, he clasped the eldest in his arms, and plunged 
 into the river. The stream ran swiftly, and the bottom was 
 treacherous ; but at length he reached the farther side, and 
 placed Theosbytus on the bank. Again he plunged into the 
 river. The middle of the stream was but fairly gained, when 
 he saw a wolf creep from the wood close to which his younger 
 son was placed, and approach the child. It was all in vain that 
 he shouted, and strove to reach the shore ; the wolf seized the 
 
CH. X.] THE TRIALS OF EUSTACE. 129 
 
 child, and bore it off before its father's eyes. At that moment 
 a loud roar from the other bank startled the bereaved father ; 
 he turned, and saw a lion carrying away his eldest son. 
 
 " Alas, alas V exclaimed Eustace, as soon as he had reached 
 the farther bank of the river. " Once was I flourishing like 
 a luxuriant tree, but now I am altogether blighted. Military 
 ensigns were around me, and bands of armed men. Now I 
 am alone in the world. My wife, my children are taken from 
 me ; the one to slavery, the others to death. O Lord, Thou 
 didst warn me that I must endure the perils of Job ; are not 
 these worse than that holy man's ? In his greatest misery he 
 had a couch whereon to rest his wearied limbs, and friends 
 to compassionate him in his misfortunes. His wife, too, re- 
 mained to him — mine is gone from me. Place a bridle on 
 my lips, lest I utter foolishness, and stand up against Thee, 
 O my God." 
 
 His heart relieved by these passionate expressions, the 
 knight continued his travel : after many days of want and fa- 
 tigue, he reached a far-off village, where he abode with one of 
 the villagers as his hired servant. For fifteen years he served 
 his master faithfully, and at his death he succeeded to his cot- 
 tage and his land. 
 
 Trajan still lived, but his fortunes did not prosper : his ene- 
 mies became daily stronger and stronger, for Placidus no longer 
 directed the movements of the imperial army, or urged on the 
 soldiers, by his example, to deeds of valour against the enemy. 
 Often and often did the emperor think of his lost commander, 
 and ceaseless were his endeavours to discover the place of his 
 concealment. 
 
 Eustace was sitting at his cottage-door about this time, 
 little thinking of Trajan or of Rome, when two men drew near, 
 and after observing him for some time, and communing with 
 each other, accosted the knight. 
 
 " Friend," said one of the men, " dost know in these parts 
 a knight named Placidus and his two sons ?" 
 
 The heart of Eustace was sore tried, when he saw the 
 emissaries of Trajan. The sight of them recalled his previous 
 
130 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 honours in the "world, and he still felt a lingering wish to re- 
 trace his steps. " Nay," he thought, " were I not alone, it 
 were well to return ; but for a solitary this place is best." 
 Then said he to the two men, 
 
 " There is no one about here, good sirs, of the name you 
 ask after.' - ' 
 
 " It is but a fool's errand we are on, master, I fear," said 
 the man ; " we have travelled far and near after our old 
 general, but no one knows aught of him." 
 
 " It is years since he left Rome, friends, is it not ?" rejoined 
 Eustace. 
 
 " Fifteen years and more. But come, comrade, we must 
 go onwards." 
 
 " Nay, sirs, enter my poor abode ; what I have is at your 
 service." 
 
 The emissaries of Trajan gladly acceded to Eustace's re- 
 quest. The homely repast was soon placed on the board, and 
 the men sat down to refresh themselves, whilst Eustace waited 
 on them. Again, the thoughts of his old home came thickly 
 upon him, and he could not restrain his tears. He left the 
 room where his guests were, bathed his face with water, and 
 returned to wait on the two men. 
 
 " I have a strange presentiment," remarked one of the men 
 during Eustace's absence, " that our good host is even he whom 
 we search after. Marked you not how he hesitated when we 
 first addressed him ?" 
 
 "Ay, and even now he has left us with his eyes red with 
 suppressed tears." 
 
 " Let us try the last test, the sabre-mark on his head which 
 he received in the passage of the Danube, when he struck 
 down the northern champion." 
 
 As soon as Eustace returned, the soldiers examined his 
 head, and finding the wishcd-for mark, embraced their old 
 general ; the neighbours, too, came in, and the exploits of 
 Eustace were soon in the mouths of the villagers. 
 
 For fifteen days they journeyed towards Rome, Eustace 
 and his two guides ; as they neared the imperial capital, the 
 
CH. X.] THE TRIALS OF EUSTACE. 131 
 
 emperor came out to meet his old commander. Eustace would 
 have fallen at his master's feet, but Trajan forbade him ; and 
 side by side, amid the congratulations and applauses of the 
 people, the emperor and his long-lost servant entered Rome. 
 
 The return of Eustace inspired the people with confidence ; 
 thousands hurried from every village to volunteer as soldiers ; 
 and his only difficulty was, to select who should be rejected. 
 One contingent from a far-off village arrested his attention ; it 
 was headed by two youths of wonderful likeness the one to the 
 other, and apparently within a year of the same age. They 
 were tall in stature, of commanding features ; and their selec- 
 tion as leaders by their comrades did justice to their attain- 
 ments and the superiority of their manners. Pleased with 
 the youths, Eustace placed them in the van of his army, and 
 began his march against the invaders, who had reached within 
 a few miles of the coast whereon he had disembarked from the 
 ship of the barbarous captain. 
 
 Pitching his camp within sight of that of the enemy, the 
 commander billeted the best of his troops in a small village 
 that formed the rear of his position. A widow lady, of but 
 few years, but sorely worn with grief, received the two }rouths 
 into her house. About the mid-day meal, the youths con- 
 versed the one with the'other of their early life. 
 
 " Of what I was when a child," said the elder, " I know 
 only this : that my father carried me over a broad river, and 
 laid me under a bush, whilst he returned to fetch my brother ; 
 but whilst he was gone, a lion came, seized me by the clothes, 
 and bore me into a wood hard by. My mother we lost on 
 our journey nigh to a great sea, where she remained with a 
 cruel captain who had seized her for his slave. As I was car- 
 ried away by the lion, methought a wolf seized on my brother, 
 whom my father had left on the other bank. The lion soon 
 dropped me ; for men with loud cries and stones pursued him 
 and drove him from me. Then did they take me to the village 
 where we have lived together so long." 
 
 " My brother, O my brother !" exclaimed the other youth, 
 hardly able to restrain his emotions during the recital, " I am 
 
132 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 he whom the wolf carried off, saved from his jaws by the 
 shepherds, as thou wast from the jaws of the lion." 
 
 The widow had listened to the wonderful story of the two 
 young men. Much she marvelled at their preservation. On 
 the morrow she sought the commander of the imperial forces ; 
 she found him in his tent, his officers were around him, and the 
 two young men stood within the circle. The widow craved 
 permission to return to her own country. 
 
 " Sir," she said, " I am a stranger in these parts : fifteen 
 years have past since I left Rome with my husband, once high 
 in power, and rich, but then poor and in misery : we reached 
 yonder sea, our two sons were with us ; we crossed in a ship- 
 man's boat, but when we arrived on this side, he demanded 
 money of my husband, and when he had it not to give him, he 
 seized on me and carried me into slavery. Years lived I be- 
 neath his roof in sorrow and in pain ; but it was in vain that he 
 sought to do me evil, for God preserved me from his devices. 
 At length my master died, and I became free ; since then I 
 have laboured honestly; and would now return to Rome, if 
 perchance 1 may find my husband and my children." 
 
 "Theosbyta!" said the general in a low voice, raising his 
 helmet as he spoke. 
 
 " Eustace, my husband !" 
 
 The general raised his fainting wife, and kissed her gently 
 on her forehead. " Our sons, Theosbyta, we shall see no more ; 
 a lion and a wolf carried them off before my eyes, as we 
 crossed the river not man}? - leagues from hence." 
 
 " Father ! our father !" said the two youths, as they knelt 
 before the general. 
 
 " Nay, doubt not, Eustace," said his wife ; " last night I 
 overheard the tale of their adventures : this is he whom the 
 lion took ; this one did the shepherds rescue from the jaws of 
 the wolf." 
 
 The tale was soon retold, and Eustace convinced that he 
 had recovered in one day his wife and his sons. Then loud 
 b] e\v the trumpets through the camp, and cheer upon cheer 
 ■ v from the good soldiers, when their general came from 
 
CH. X.] THE TRIALS OF EUSTACE. 133 
 
 his tent, leading bis long-lost wife, and supported on either 
 side by his sons. The enthusiasm aided them in obtaining the 
 victory over the enemy. Every one loved their general, and 
 rejoiced in his joy ; and that day they fought for their home, 
 their emperor, and their commander. 
 
 Trajan lived not to welcome home his honoured general ; 
 his successor, however, spared not to receive Eustace with 
 the honours his achievements deserved. The banquet-hall 
 was gorgeous with ornaments ; and the banquet replete with 
 delicacies and curiosities. On the emperor's right hand sat 
 Eustace, and his sons occupied no mean place in the banquet- 
 hall. 
 
 " To-morrow," said the emperor, " we will sacrifice to 
 the great gods of war, and offer our thanks for this thy vic- 
 tory." 
 
 " As my lord pleases," said Eustace ; " one thing I pray, 
 that my lord will not regard my absence from the temple as an 
 intentional slight on his royal person." 
 
 " Absence, sir !" exclaimed the emperor ; " I command your 
 attendance ; see that you and yours are before the altar of 
 Mars, at noon, to-morrow ; thou shalt offer there with thine 
 own hands." 
 
 " I will cut off the hand that so offends," replied Eustace. 
 " Ah ! a Christian — be it so — sacrifice or die !" 
 '•' Death, then, my lord ; I worship Christ, not idols." 
 " Let him save thee from the lions' mouths," exclaimed the 
 impious emperor. " Ho, guards ! this Christian and his sons to 
 the beasts' den ; come, my guests, to the arena." 
 
 " And me to my lord," said Theosbyta, advancing from 
 the lower part of the hall. 
 
 " As thou wilt : come, sirs ; our lions will be well fed." 
 The party reached the amphitheatre ; it was crowded with 
 spectators. Rumour had soon carried abroad the tidings that 
 the triumphant general was to die by the lion's mouth for his 
 Christianity. Some pitied him for what they called his folly : 
 " What, die for a little incense thrown on the fire !" Others 
 gloried in his expected death, for they hated the new faith. A 
 
134 ANCIENT MOltAL TALES. 
 
 few in secret prayed to God to give their brother strength to 
 undergo his fearful martyrdom, for they were Christians. 
 
 Eustace stood in the arena ; his wife knelt by his side ; 
 his sons stood before him to meet the lion's first bound. The 
 crowd grew impatient — a sudden silence — a sound as of revolv- 
 ing hinges, and then a sullen roar, as with a bound the lion 
 sprang into the centre of the amphitheatre. One look he cast 
 on the youths ; and then he bowed his head, crept to their feet 
 and licked them ; another, and another, was let loose ; but the 
 old lion kept guard over the family, and fought with the other 
 lions, and drove them back to their dens. 
 
 " It is enough," said the emperor, " he has a charm against 
 the teeth of beasts ; we will test his powers against the heat of 
 fire : prepare the brazen ox." 
 
 A fire was lighted beneath the animal, a vast hollow frame, 
 that represented an ox, and into the belly of which the victims 
 were introduced through a door in the right side. As soon as 
 it was heated to its utmost heat, the executioners hastened to 
 throw their victims in. Eustace forbade them, and then clasp- 
 ing his wife in his arms, and followed by his sons, he moved 
 slowly up the ladder that led to the horrid cell, and entered the 
 belly of the brazen ox calmly and without fear. 
 
 For three days the fire was kept burning beneath the crea- 
 ture. On the third evening the beast was opened ; within, lay 
 Eustace, his wife, and his sons, as it were in a deep and placid 
 sleep. Not a hair of their heads was burnt, nor was the smell 
 of fire upon their persons. 
 
 So died they all: the father, the wife, and the children. 
 The people buried them with honour, and remembered with 
 sorrow the martyrdom of the Christian general. 
 
 " The scene of the conversion," said Thompson, " recalls to 
 my mind Doddridge's account of Col. Gardiner, converted from his 
 licentious life by an almost similar vision of our Saviour on the 
 cross, and by an address not less effective than the words heard 
 by the Eustace of your tale." 
 
CH. X.] ROMANCE OF SIR ISUMBRAS. 135 
 
 " Few of my old monk's tales are more true, in their leading 
 features," said Herbert, " than this of the trials of Eustace and his 
 family. It has been told more than once as an authentic history, 
 and you will find it alluded to in Butler's ' Lives of the Saints,' 
 where it is stated, that a church at Rome was dedicated to the 
 memory of St. Eustachius." 
 
 " Surely the incident of the stag and the cross is very similar to 
 that in the legend of St. Hubert." 
 
 " Almost identical, Thompson," rejoined Herbert ; " in the 
 old pictures, the two incidents are generally depicted in nearly the 
 same manner." 
 
 " Another curious similarity occurs in the early English ro- 
 mance of Sir Isumbras," said Lathom. " That knight's misfor- 
 tunes came upon him in a very similar manner to poor Eustace's : the 
 knight, his wife, and his three children wander on their pilgrimage 
 to the Holy Land ; she wrapped in his surcoat, his scarlet mantle 
 being divided among his three children. They so reach a river, and 
 two of their children are carried off by a lion and leopard ; one 
 child, however, and the mother, are left : then sings the old poet : 
 
 ' Through the forest they went days three, 
 Till they came to the Greekish sea ; 
 
 They grieved, and were full wo I 
 As they stood upon the land 
 They saw a fleet come sailand (sailing), 
 
 Three hundred ships and mo (more). 
 With top castles set on loft, 
 Richly then were they wrought, 
 
 With joy and mickle pride : 
 A heathen king was therein, 
 That Christendom came to win, 
 
 His power was full wide.' " 
 
 "The king, of course, plays the part of the cruel ship captain," 
 said Herbert. 
 
 " Yes. Seven days' hunger drives the knight and his lady to 
 the sultan's galley to ask for bread : taken for spies, they are at 
 first driven off, until the noble stature of the knight, and the fair 
 complexion of the wife, 'bright as a blossom on a tree,' convinces 
 the Saracens that their piteous tale is true. To the knight the 
 
13 6 AXCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 sultan offers rank, honour, and wealth, if he will renounce Christi- 
 anity and fight under the Moslem banners. Sir Isumbras refuses, 
 and renews his petition for bread. Then, continues the poet, 
 
 • The sultan beheld that lady there, 
 Him thought an angel that she were, 
 
 Comen a-down from heaven : 
 Man — I will give thee gold and fee, 
 An thou that woman will sellen me, 
 
 More than thou can neven (name). 
 I will give thee a hundred pound 
 Of pennies that be whole and round, 
 
 And rich robes seven. 
 She shall be queen of my land ; 
 And all men bow unto her hand ; 
 
 And none withstand her steven (voice). 
 Sir Isumbras said — Nay ; 
 My wife I will not sell away, 
 
 Though ye me for her sloo (slew). 
 I wedded her in goddis lay 
 To hold her to my ending day, 
 
 Both for weal and woe.' " 
 
 "A decided refusal to complete the bargain," said Thompson. 
 
 " Yet not so taken by the sultan ; the money is counted into the 
 knight's cloak, the lady taken forcible possession of, and Sir Isum- 
 bras and his child carried on shore, and beat until hardly able to 
 move. But here we must stop with the early English romance, 
 having already gone beyond its similarity to the old monk's story. 
 —And now I must break off for to-night; I know it is but a short 
 allowance, and shall be compensated for when we next meet. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 ANOTHER CHAT ABOUT WITCHES AND WITCHCRAFT — -LATE PERIOD OF 
 
 THE EXISTENCE OF BELIEF IN WITCHES WITCHCRAFT OF LOVE 
 
 TALE OF THE QUEEN SEMIRAMIS ELFIN ARMOURERS THE SWORD 
 
 OF THE SCANDINAVIAN KING MYSTICAL MEANING OF TALES OF 
 
 MAGIC ANGLO-SAXON ENIG AS CELESTINUS AND THE MILLER^ 
 
 HORSE THE EMFEROR CONRAD AND THE COUNT'S SON. 
 
 ^HOSE stories about sorcerers and sorcery, Lathom," 
 said Herbert, " have made me consider a little as to 
 the amount of truth on which such fictions may have 
 been founded." 
 
 " Perhaps you believe in witches, magicians, and 
 all that tribe that gather deadly herbs by moonlight and ride 
 through the air on broomsticks," said Thompson, with a smile. 
 
 ■' May not Herbert fairly ask you," said Lathom, " whether 
 there is any antecedent improbability in mortal beings obtaining, 
 from the spirit of evil, a temporary superhuman power ; or in the 
 idea of Satan awarding the riches and honours of this world to 
 those who will fall down and worship him?" 
 
 " Selden's apology for the law against witches in his time shews 
 a lurking belief," remarked Herbert. " ' If,' says that sour old 
 lawyer, ' one man believes that by turning his hat thrice and cry- 
 ing buz, he could take away a fellow-creature's life, this were a just 
 law made by the state, that whosoever should do so should forfeit 
 his life.' " 
 
 " He must have believed, or his logical mind would have seen, 
 that a law waging war with intentions, which are incapable of ful- 
 filment, is both wrong and mischievous." 
 
 " Well," said Herbert, " as good a lawyer as Selden, and a 
 
 better man, did not fear to profess his belief in witchcraft, and 
 
 to give his judicial countenance to trials for sorcery : Sir Matthew 
 
 Hale was ever ready to admit his belief in witches and witchcraft." 
 
 n 2 
 
138 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " To the lawyers you may add the learned antiquary and physi- 
 cian, Sir Thomas Browne, the author of the Religio Medici." 
 
 " But surely, Lathom, all this belief, as well as the practice of 
 witch-tormenting, ceased about 1682," said Thompson. 
 
 " The belief in witchcraft has never yet been extinct, and the 
 practice of witch-burning lasted forty years after that, at least, in 
 Scotland. The act of James, so minutely describing witches and 
 their acts, and so strenuously inciting the people to burn them, 
 remained on the statute-book until the ninth year of George the 
 Second; and as late as 1722, the hereditary sheriff of Sutherland- 
 shire condemned a poor woman to death as a witch." 
 
 " I think I can carry down the belief at least a few years later 
 than the date even of the last witch-execution," remarked Herbert. 
 
 " Among the poor and uneducated, undoubtedly?" 
 
 " Nay, Thompson, with them it remains even now ; I speak 
 not only of the educated, but of that class of men which is most 
 conversant with evidence, and most addicted to discredit fictitious 
 stories." 
 
 " What, the lawyers ?" 
 
 " Even so," replied Lathom ; " in 1730, William Forbes, in his 
 Institutes of the Law of Scotland, published in that year, makes 
 this remark : ' Nothing seems plainer to me than that there have 
 been witches, and that, perhaps, such are now actually existing; 
 which I intend, God willing, to clear in a larger work concerning 
 the criminal law.' " 
 
 " Did this large work appear?" said Thompson. 
 
 ** I should think not ; at least it is not known. " 
 
 " The old Jesuit, from whom you got your version of the Un- 
 grateful Man, has a story illustrative of a kind of witchcraft that all 
 will admit to have been prevalent in every age," said Thompson. 
 
 " What, will you believe in witchcraft in any form ?" 
 
 " At all events in one form — the witchcraft of love ; my in- 
 stance is the story of Semiramis and Ninus. I will read it you 
 from the same version that Lathom used for his tale of Vitalis and 
 Massaccio." 
 
 €i)e (Queen Aemiramfe. 
 
 " Cf all my wives," said King Ninus to Semiramis, " it is 
 
CH. XI.] THE QUEEN SEMIRAMIS. 139 
 
 you I love the best. None have charms and graces like you, 
 and for you I would willingly resign them all." 
 
 " Let the king consider well what he says," replied Semi- 
 ramis. " What if I were to take him at his word !" 
 
 " Do so," returned the monarch; "whilst beloved by you 
 I am indifferent to all others." 
 
 " So, then, if I asked it," said Semiramis, " you would 
 banish all your other wives, and love me alone ? I should be 
 alone your consort, the partaker of your power, and queen 
 of Assyria ?" 
 
 " Queen of Assyria ! Are you not so already," said Ninus, 
 " since you reign by your beauty over its king 1" 
 
 " No, no," answered his lovely mistress ; " I am at pre- 
 sent only a slave whom you love. I reign not ; I merely 
 charm. When I give an order, you are consulted before I am 
 obeyed." 
 
 " And to reign, then, you think so great a pleasure?" 
 
 " Yes, to one who has never experienced it." 
 
 " And do you wish, then, to experience it ? Would you 
 like to reign a few days in my place ?" 
 
 " Take care, O king ! do not offer too much." 
 
 " No, I repeat it," said the captivated monarch. "Would 
 you like, for one whole day, to be sovereign mistress of As- 
 syria ? If you would, I consent to it." 
 
 " And all which I command then shall be executed ?" 
 
 " Yes, I will resign to you, for one entire day, my power 
 and my golden sceptre." 
 
 " And when shall this be?" 
 
 " To-morrow, if you like." 
 
 " I do," said Semiramis; and let her head fall upon the 
 shoulder of the king, like a beautiful woman asking pardon for 
 some caprice which has been yielded to. 
 
 The next morning, Semiramis called her women, and com- 
 manded them to dress her magnificently. On her head she 
 wore a crown of precious stones, and appeared thus before 
 Ninus. Ninus, enchanted with her beauty, ordered all the 
 officers of the palace to assemble in the state- chamber, and 
 
140 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 his golden sceptre to be brought from the treasury. He then 
 entered the chamber, leading Semiramis by the hand. All 
 prostrated themselves before the aspect of the king, who 
 conducted Semiramis to the throne, and seated her upon it. 
 Then, ordering the whole assembly to rise, he announced to 
 the court that they were to obey, during the whole day, Semi- 
 ramis as himself. So saying, he took up the golden sceptre ; 
 and, placing it in the hands of Semiramis, " Queen," said he, 
 " I commit to you the emblem of sovereign power; take it, 
 and command with sovereign authority. All here are your 
 slaves ; and I myself am nothing more than your servant for 
 the whole of this day. Whoever shall be remiss in executing 
 your orders, let him be punished as if he had disobeyed the 
 commands of the king." 
 
 Having thus spoken, the king knelt down before Semi- 
 ramis, who gave him with a smile her hand to kiss. The 
 courtiers then passed in succession, each making oath to exe- 
 cute blindly the orders of Semiramis. When the ceremony 
 was finished, the king made her his compliments, and asked 
 her how she had managed to go through it with so grave and 
 majestical an air. 
 
 " Whilst they were promising to obey me," said Semi- 
 ramis, " I was thinking what I should command each of them 
 to do. I have but one day of power, and I will employ it 
 well." 
 
 The king laughed at this reply. Semiramis appeared 
 more piqnante and amiable than ever. " Let us see," said he, 
 " how you will continue your part. By what orders will you 
 begin ?" 
 
 " Let the secretary of the king approach my throne !" said 
 Semiramis, with a loud voice. 
 
 The secretary approached ; two slaves placed a little table 
 before him. 
 
 " Write," said Semiramis : " ' Under penalty of death, the 
 governor of the citadel of Babylon is ordered to yield up the 
 command of the citadel to him who shall bear to him this 
 order.' Fold this order, seal it with the king's seal, and give 
 
CH. XI.] THE QUEEN SEMIRAMIS. 141 
 
 it to me. Write now: 'Under penalty of death, the governor 
 of the slaves of the palace is ordered to resign the command 
 of the slaves into the hands of the person who shall present 
 to him this order.' Fold, seal it with the king's seal, and 
 deliver to me this decree. Write again : ' Under penalty of 
 death, the general of the army encamped under the walls of 
 Bahylon is ordered to resign the command of the army to 
 him who shall be the bearer of this order.' Fold, seal, and 
 deliver to me this decree." 
 
 She took the three orders, thus dictated, and put them in 
 her bosom. The whole court was struck with consternation ; 
 the king himself was surprised. 
 
 " Listen," said Semiramis. " In two hours hence let all 
 the officers of the state come and offer me presents, as is the 
 custom on the accession of new princes ; and let a festival 
 be prepared for this evening. Now let all depart. Let my 
 faithful servant Ninus alone remain. I have to consult him 
 upon affairs of state." 
 
 When all the rest had gone out, "You see," said Semi- 
 ramis, " that I know how to play the queen." 
 
 Ninus laughed. 
 
 " My beautiful queen," said he, " you play your part to 
 astonishment. But if your servant may dare to question 
 you, what use would you make of the orders you have dic- 
 tated ?" 
 
 " I should be no longer queen, were I obliged to give 
 account of my actions. Nevertheless, this was my motive. 
 I have a vengeance to execute against the three officers whom 
 these orders menace." 
 
 " Vengeance ! and wherefore ?" 
 
 " The first, the governor of the citadel is one-eyed, and 
 frightens me every time I meet him ; the second, the chief of 
 the slaves, I hate, because he threatens me with rivals ; the 
 third, the general of the army, deprives me too often of your 
 company, — you are constantly in the camp." 
 
 This reply, in which caprice and flattery were mingled, 
 enchanted Ninus. " Good," said he, laughing. " Here are 
 
142 ANCIENT MOKAL TALES. 
 
 the three first officers of the empire dismissed for very suffi- 
 cient reasons." 
 
 The gentlemen of the court now came to present their gifts 
 to the queen. Some gave precious stones ; others, of a lower 
 rank, flowers and fruits ; and the slaves, having nothing to 
 give, gave nothing but homage. Among these last were three 
 young brothers, who had come from the Caucasus with Semi- 
 ramis, and had rescued the caravan, in which the women 
 were, from an enormous tiger. When they passed before the 
 throne : 
 
 " And you," said she to the three brothers, " have you no 
 present to make to your queen?" 
 
 " No other," replied the first, Zopire, " than my life to 
 defend her." 
 
 " None other," replied the second, Artaban, " than my sabre 
 against her enemies." 
 
 " None other," replied the third, Assar, " than the respect 
 and admiration which her presence inspires." 
 
 ''Slaves," said Semiramis, "it is you who have made me 
 the most valuable present of the whole court, and I will not 
 be ungrateful. You who have offered me your sword against 
 my enemies, take this order, carry it to the general of the 
 army encamped under the walls of Babylon, give it to him, 
 and see what he will do for you. You who have offered me 
 your life for my defence, take this order to the governor of 
 the citadel, and see what he will do for you ; and you who 
 offer me the respect and admiration which my presence in- 
 spires, take this order, give it to the commandant of the slaves 
 of the palace, and see what will be the result." 
 
 Never had Semiramis displayed so much gaiety, so much 
 folly, and so much grace ; and never was Ninus so captivated. 
 Nor were her charms lessened in his eyes, when a slave, not 
 having executed promptly an insignificant order, she com- 
 manded his head to be struck off, which was immediately 
 done. 
 
 Without bestowing a thought on this trivial matter, Ninus 
 continued to converse with Semiramis till the evening and 
 
CH. XI.] THE QUEEN SEMIHAMIS. 143 
 
 the fe*te arrived. When she entered the saloon which had 
 been prepared for the occasion, a slave brought her a plate, in 
 which was the head of the decapitated eunuch. " Tis well !" 
 said she, after having examined it. " Place it on a stake in 
 the court of the palace, that all may see it ; and be you there 
 on the spot to proclaim to every one, that the man to whom 
 this head belonged lived three hours ago, but that having dis- 
 obeyed my will, his head was separated from his body." 
 
 The fete was magnificent; a sumptuous banquet was pre- 
 pared in the gardens, and Semiramis received the homage of 
 all with a grace and majesty perfectly regal ; she continually 
 turned to and conversed with Ninus, rendering him the most 
 distinguished honour. " You are," said she, " a foreign king, 
 come to visit me in my palace. I must make your visit agree- 
 able to you." 
 
 Shortly after the banquet was served, Semiramis con- 
 founded and reversed all ranks. Ninus was placed at the bot- 
 tom of the table. He was the first to laugh at this caprice; 
 and the court, following his example, allowed themselves to 
 be placed, without murmuring, according to the will of the 
 queen. She seated near herself the three brothers from the 
 Caucasus. 
 
 " Are my orders executed?" she demanded of them. 
 
 " Yes," replied they. 
 
 The fete was very gay. A slave having, by the force of 
 habit, served the king first, Semiramis had him beaten with 
 rods. His cries mingled with the laughter of the guests. 
 Every one was inclined to merriment. It was a comedy, in 
 which each played his part. Towards the end of the repast, 
 when wine had added to the general gaiety, Semiramis rose 
 from her elevated seat, and said, " My lords, the treasurer of 
 the empire has read me a list of those who this morning have 
 brought me their gifts of congratulation on my joyful acces- 
 sion to the throne. One grandee alone of the court has failed 
 to bring his gift." 
 
 " Who is it ?" cried Ninus. " He must be punished 
 severely." 
 
1-14 ANCIENT-' MORAL TALES. 
 
 " It is you yourself, my lord, — you who speak ; what have 
 you given to the queen this morning ?" 
 
 Ninus rose, and came with a smiling countenance to 
 whisper something into the ear of the queen. " The. queen 
 is insulted by her servant,'' exclaimed Semiramis. 
 
 " I embrace your knees to obtain my pardon, beautiful 
 queen," said he; " pardon me, pardon me;" and he added in 
 a lower tone, " I wish this fete were finished." 
 
 " You wish, then, that I should abdicate ?"' said Semiramis. 
 " But no, I have still two hours to reign ;" and at the same 
 time she withdrew her hand, which the king was covering 
 with kisses. " I pardon not," said she, with a loud voice, 
 " such an insult on the part of a slave. Slave, prepare thy- 
 self to die." 
 
 " Silly child that thou art!" said Ninus, still on his knees ; 
 " yet will I give way to thy folly; but patience, thy reign will 
 soon be over." 
 
 " You will not, then, be angry," said she in a whisper, 
 '■ at something I am going to order at this moment ?* 
 
 " No," said he. 
 
 " Slaves," said she aloud, " seize this man — seize this 
 Ninus !" 
 
 Ninus, smiling, put himself into the hands of the slaves. 
 
 " Take him out of the saloon, lead him into the court of 
 the seraglio, prepare every thing for his death, and wait my 
 orders." 
 
 The slaves obeyed, and Ninus followed them, laughing, 
 into the court of the seraglio. They passed by the head of 
 the disobeying eunuch. Then Semiramis placed herself on a 
 balcony. Ninus had suffered his hands to be tied. 
 
 " Hasten," said the queen, " hasten, Zopire, to the fortress; 
 — you to the camp, Artaban ; — Assar, do you secure all the 
 gates of the palace." 
 
 The orders were given in a whisper, and executed im- 
 mediately. 
 
 " Beautiful queen," said Ninus, laughing, " this comedy 
 wants but its conclusion ; pray, let it be a prompt one." 
 
THE QUEEN SEMIRAMIS. 145 
 
 " I will," said Semiramis. " Slaves, recollect the eunuch. 
 Strike !" 
 
 They struck ; Ninus had hardly time to utter a cry : when 
 his head fell upon the pavement, the smile was still upon his 
 lips. 
 
 " Now I am queen of Ass3 7 ria," exclaimed Semiramis, "and 
 perish every one, like the eunuch and Ninus, who dare disobey 
 my orders." 
 
 " The discovery of the sword by Sir Guido, in your tale of the 
 Crusader," said Herbert, "reminds me of the elfin swords so com- 
 mon among the Scandinavian heroes/' 
 
 " Such as the enchanted sword taken by a pirate from the tomb 
 of a Norwegian monarch," suggested Lathom. 
 
 '* Rather, perhaps, of those manufactured by the elves under 
 compulsion, or from gratitude to some earthly warrior ; the famous 
 sword Tyrfiny, the weapon of the Scandinavian monarch Suafurlain, 
 was one of these. This is the story as given by Scott, in the second 
 volume of his Scottish Minstrelsy : ' The Scandinavian king, re- 
 turning from hunting, bewildered himself among the mountains ; 
 about sunset he beheld a large rock, and two dwarfs sitting before 
 the mouth of a cavern. The king drew his sword, and intercepted 
 their retreat by springing between them and their recess, and im- 
 posed upon them the following condition of safety: — That they 
 should make for him a falchion, with a baldric and scabbard of pure 
 gold, and a blade which would divide stones and iron as a garment, 
 and which would render the wielder of it ever victorious in battle. 
 The elves complied with his demand, and Suafurlain pursued his 
 way home. Returning at the time appointed, the dwarfs delivered 
 to him the famous sword Tyrfiny ; then standing in the entrance of 
 the cavern, spoke thus : 'This sword, O king, shall destroy a man 
 every time it is brandished, but it shall perform three atrocious 
 deeds, and shall be thy bane.' The king rushed forward with the 
 charmed sword, and buried both its edges in the rock, but the 
 dwarfs escaped into their recesses. This enchanted sword emitted 
 rays like the sun, dazzling all against whom it was brandished ; it 
 divided steel like water, and was never unsheathed without slaying a 
 man.' " 
 
146 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " The supernatural skill in the fabrication of arras attributed to 
 the northern elves," remarked Lathom, "seems to indicate some 
 traces of historical truth. The Fins, who inhabited Scandinavia 
 when Odin and his Asiatics invaded the country, retired to the moun- 
 tains to avoid the tyranny of the new people. Far better acquainted 
 than the invaders could have been with the mines of their country, 
 a superior knowledge in the manufacture of arms may be fairly 
 awarded to them. And thus, in time, the oppressed Fins would 
 come to be the dwarfish armourers of Scandinavian mythology." 
 
 " As theory is the fashion," said Thompson, " what say you to 
 a geological foundation to many of your mythological wonders? 
 Were not the great dragons of stone suddenly released from their 
 rocky beds — the long serpents guarding treasure in deep pits — the 
 closely-coiled snake of the cavern — were not many of these the 
 gigantic antediluvian relics of our caves ? Has not many an ichthy- 
 osaurus, in his earthy bed, been transformed into a deputy fiend, or 
 even into the father of evil himself, keeping watch over some hoard 
 of ill-gotten wealth ; whilst the strange form of the huge pterodac- 
 tyle, with its wings and claws, has been metamorphosed into the 
 dragon of Wantley and his compeers?" 
 
 "Your theory, Thompson," rejoined Herbert, " may not be so 
 baseless as you regard it. The entire series of the heathen mytho- 
 logy has been of old, and still is, in Germany, regarded as a mere 
 mystical delineation of the phenomena of nature. The elements are 
 said to have suggested the nature of the gods and their origin ; the 
 specific phenomena of nature may have suggested the various forms 
 under which the divine race appears and acts. It was a very com- 
 mon practice among the astronomers of the days of Galileo, and 
 even to a later period, to conceal their discoveries in enigmas. May 
 we not, with some little appearance of reason, regard the fables of 
 our ancestors, the knights, the dragons, the giants, the magicians 
 and their followers, as in some respect an esoteric teaching of the 
 philosophy of physics, a mystical setting forth of natural pheno- 
 mena?" 
 
 "The love of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors for philosophical enig- 
 mas, as they may be called, was undoubtedly very great," rejoined 
 Lathom ; " I remember one given by Mr. Wright, in his introduc- 
 tion to Anglo-Saxon literature. It was in these words : 
 
ANGLO-SAXON ENIGMAS. 147 
 
 4 I saw tread over the turf 
 Ten in all, 
 Six brothers 
 And their sisters with them, 
 They had a living soul : 
 They hanged their skins, 
 Openly and manifestly, 
 On the wall of the hall : 
 To any one of them all 
 It was none the worse, 
 Nor his side the sorer : 
 Although they should thus, 
 
 Bereaved of covering, 
 And awakened by the might 
 Of the guardian of the skies, 
 Bite, with their mouths, 
 
 The rough leaves ; 
 Clothing is renewed 
 To those, who, before coming forth, 
 
 Left their ornaments, 
 
 Lying in their track, 
 To depart over the earth.' " 
 
 " I shall not attempt to guess such an enigma," said Thompson. 
 
 "Its solution is the butterfly; the various transformations through 
 which it passes from the grub until it rises with its beautiful wings, 
 are intended to be described. But come, as we are on enigmas, 
 what say you to this : ' We are a family of seventeen, all sisters ; 
 six others claim to belong to our race, but we account them illegiti- 
 mate. We are born of iron, or of the feather that bears the bird 
 heavenwards ; by iron we die. Our fathers were three brothers, our 
 mother's nature is uncertain. We teach him who desires to learn, 
 and quickly and silently give words to him who requires them of 
 us.' " 
 
 " I see the solution," said Herbert, " but yet cannot work it out; 
 it is, doubtless, the alphabet, in that day confined to seventeen true 
 and six false letters ; what puzzles me is the iron, and the natures 
 of the mother and the father." 
 
 "The iron," said Lathom, "is the stile used in writing; the 
 sharp point for marking, and the broad end to rub out with : the 
 uncertainty of the mother's race arises from the pen being either of 
 
148 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 reed or quill, or even of iron ; the three brothers are the thumb and 
 two fingers employed in writing." 
 
 " The uncertain mother' is peculiarly applicable to these times," 
 said Thompson, with a smile, " when you may vary your pen from 
 goose to swan, and from swan to crow ; or choose between steel- 
 pens of every size and shape, and delicate nibs of gold tipped with 
 rubies." 
 
 " Come, we must leave our theories and enigmas, and return to 
 our old story-tellers," said Herbert. "What tale is in preparation 
 for us?" 
 
 "A little more demonology, as we have it in the story of 
 
 Cclcsttnus; anfc tfjc JHtlUr's 5?ors'c. 
 
 Alexander had an only son, named Celestinus, who was very- 
 dear to him : desirous of having him well instructed, he sent 
 for a certain sage, and proffered his son to him for a pupil, 
 promising a bountiful remuneration for his labour. The sage 
 agreed, and took the boy home with him. Celestinus was a 
 diligent scholar, and made great and satisfactory progress under 
 the tuition of the philosopher. 
 
 One day, as the tutor and the pupil were walking together 
 through a meadow, their attention was directed to a horse 
 grievously afflicted with the mange ; he lay on the ground in 
 the middle of the field, and on either side of him two sheep 
 were feeding, tied together by a rope which chanced to hang 
 over the horse's back ; irritated by the rubbing of the cord, the 
 poor horse rose, and naturally drew with him the two sheep. 
 The weight of the sheep made the rope press more and more 
 upon his poor back, and galled him dreadfully. Unable to 
 endure the pain, the horse ran towards his master's home ; 
 the faster he ran, the more the sheep knocked against his 
 flanks, and by their weight ground the cord into the sores on 
 his back ; with every struggle of the horse and his living 
 burdens, the cord sank deeper into the wound. 
 
 On went the horse, maddened with pain ; at last he reached 
 the hut of his master, the miller, and dashed in with his bur- 
 dens through the open door. No one was within, but a lire of 
 
CELESTINUS AND THE MILLERS HORSE. 149 
 
 logs burned brightly on the hearth : plunging and striking 
 with his hoofs, the horse scattered the burning logs about the 
 house ; the flames caught the building, and soon surrounded 
 the poor animal. Unable to move from terror at the flames, 
 there died the poor horse and the unlucky sheep, amid the 
 ruins of the miller's hut. 
 
 "My son," said the tutor, when from afar he saw the end 
 of the accident, "you have seen the beginning, the middle, 
 and the end of this incident ; when you return to your 
 study, make me some verses upon it, and shew me where- 
 fore the house was burned. If you fail, beware of the punish- 
 ment." 
 
 It was all in vain that Celestinus tried to coin a verse or 
 two on such a curious subject. He felt more than usually 
 unpoetical ; and as for assigning a cause for the fire, he so 
 puzzled himself with his own arguments, as at last to begin to 
 doubt whether there was any cause at all. At length he left 
 his room, and tried what a walk would do towards making 
 him able to poetise. 
 
 " My son," said a venerable-looking man that met him on 
 his solitary ramble, " what makes you so sorrowful ?" 
 
 " Pray do not trouble yourself," replied the youth ; " it is 
 quite useless to tell you of my trouble : you cannot help me." 
 " Nay, but my son — how can we decide until we hear the 
 cause ?" 
 
 "Well, then, good father, I have got to make some verses 
 on a mangy horse and two sheep, and I do not know how." 
 
 " And to decide wherefore the hut, the horse, and the sheep 
 were burnt." 
 
 " Why, father, how know you that ?" exclaimed Celes- 
 tinus. 
 
 " Though human to look at, I am not of this world," 
 replied the old man ; " come, make a contract with me ; hence- 
 forth serve me, and care not for your master, and I will make 
 you such a copy of verses as never were yet seen. Come, 
 choose : you know the alternative — the philosopher flogs 
 sharply." 
 
 o 2 
 
150 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 Celestinus hesitated a long time, but at last, through fear, 
 he agreed to the devil's proposal. 
 
 "Now then, my son," said the devil, "write what I tell 
 you ; are you ready to begin ? 
 
 A mangy horse lay in a field, 
 
 A sheep on either side ; 
 Across his back the rope was hung, 
 
 To which the sheep were tied. 
 
 Teas' d by the rope, uprose the horse, 
 
 With him the sheep up swung ; 
 On either flank, thus weighted well, 
 
 The rope his withers wrung. 
 
 Clogg'd by his living load, he seeks 
 
 Yon miller's hut to gain ; 
 The rope wears deeper, and his pace 
 
 Is quickened with the pain. 
 
 He minds not bolts, nor bars, nor logs 
 
 That on the hearthstone burn ; 
 Nor fears, with ready, scattering hoof, 
 
 The flaming pile to spurn. 
 
 Wide flies the fire, above, around, 
 
 The rafters catch the flame ; 
 Poor Dobbin, and his fleecy load, 
 
 Are roasted in the same. 
 
 Had but that miller deigned at home 
 
 His careful watch to keep, 
 He had not burnt his house or horse, 
 
 Nor roasted both his sheep." 
 
 Delighted with the verses, Celestinus hastened to his master 
 on his return home. The philosopher read them with asto- 
 nishment. 
 
 " Boy," said lie, " whence did you steal these verses?' 
 
 " I did not steal them, sir." 
 
 " Come, come, boy — they arc clearly not your own ; tell 
 me who made them for you." 
 
CELESTINUS AND THE MILLERS HORSE. 151 
 
 "I dare not, master," replied the boy. 
 
 " Dare not ? why dare not ? Come, boy, tell me the truth, 
 or abide a worse punishment than would have awaited you had 
 you not brought me any verses." 
 
 Terrified at his master's threats, Celestinus revealed his in- 
 terview with the devil in a human form, and his contract of 
 service with him. Deeply grieved at the occurrence, the pre- 
 ceptor ceased not to talk with his pupil, until he had persuaded 
 him, humbly and heartily, on his knees, to confess to God 
 his grievous sin in his compact with the devil. His con- 
 federacy with the evil one thus renounced, Celestinus became 
 a good and holy man, and, after a well- spent life, resigned his 
 soul to God. 
 
 " Pray, Lathom, what moral did your old monk intend to draw 
 from this diabolical poetry?" asked Thompson. 
 
 " His application is very recondite ; the preceptor is a prelate of 
 the Church ; the mangy horse, a sinner covered with sins ; the two 
 sheep represent two preachers bound by the cord of charity ; the 
 miller's house is the world, and the fire, detraction. I must admit 
 that the application, in this case, is far less valuable or intelligible 
 than the story itself." 
 
 " In an old book of moral advice," said Herbert, " I found a de- 
 scription of three madmen, that reminded me much of the five kinds 
 described by St. Peter, as related by your old writer. The first 
 carried a fagot of wood, and because it was already too heavy for 
 him, he added more wood to it, in the hopes of thereby making it 
 lighter." 
 
 "And he," rejoined Lathom, "was a sinner, daily adding new 
 sins to old, because unable to bear the weight of his original errors." 
 
 " The very same. The second madman drew water from a deep 
 well with a sieve ; his labour was incessant, and his progress just as 
 slow. Can you explain the nature of his sin?" 
 
 " 1 can read the explanation," rejoined Lathom, "for I have this 
 moment found out the source of your extract in my old monk's 
 book. This madman was the man who does good, but does it sin- 
 fully, and therefore it is of no benefit. The third madman was far 
 worse, he carried a beam in his chariot ; and wishing to enter his 
 
152 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 court-yard, and finding the gate so narrow that it would not admit 
 the beam, he whipped his horse until it tumbled both itself and its 
 master into a deep well. The beam was worldly vanities, with 
 which their possessor sought to enter into heaven, but by which he 
 was cast down into hell." 
 
 "The belief in witchcraft," began Herbert, " is very well illus- 
 trated by a late publication of the Camden Society of London." 
 
 "Nay, nay, Reginald, no more of witches now," rejoined La- 
 thom ; " the subject deserves far more time, attention, and illustra- 
 tion than we can now afford it, and must be adjourned for the 
 present. Let me conclude this evening with the tale of 
 
 %\)t 3Empcrov Conrati antf tljc Count's J£mt. 
 
 During the reign of the emperor Conrad, there lived a certain 
 count of the name of Leopold, who had risen to high commands 
 by his bravery and his knowledge. Every one regarded the 
 count with favour, and loved him for his kindness to suitors, 
 and his prowess against the enemies of the emperor. Conrad 
 alone looked on his servant with an evil eye : for he envied his 
 reputation, and would have taken to himself the glories he had 
 acquired, and ascribe to himself those victories which Leopold 
 had won. 
 
 The count unable to endure the evil looks and hard words 
 of the emperor, and fearful that in time his present anger 
 would be turned into bitter hatred, suddenly left the court of 
 Rome, and fled with his wife into the forest of the Apennines. 
 There he toiled all day, and laboured diligently to support 
 himself and his spouse. There he knew not what the fear of 
 impending evil was ; he had no one to envy him, no one to 
 covet his position or his property. 
 
 It was a bright sunny day, and the meridian sun glared 
 with unwonted fierceness even through the thick trees of the 
 forest, and rendered the air close and heavy from lack of a 
 breeze to move even the highest leaves of the loftiest pines. 
 The emperor pursued the chase with ardour ; urged on by the 
 exhilarating cry of the hounds, he thought not of the denseness 
 of the forest, or the tangled nature of its winding ways, until 
 
THE EMPEROR CONRAD AND THE COUNT'S SON. 153 
 
 at last, tired and thirsty, he checked his horse in a dark close 
 glade, and looked around for some hut where he might obtain 
 rest and refreshment. 
 
 Many were the paths which the emperor and his attend- 
 ants followed before they reached the cottage where Leopold 
 lived in solitude : the count recognised his sovereign, but Con- 
 rad knew not his old servant, nor was he recognised by any 
 of the hunting train ; refreshments, such as the homely store 
 could furnish, were soon placed before the emperor. It was 
 now nigh to evening : already the glades of the forest were 
 growing dark, and the devious paths more and more difficult 
 to track out, even to the experienced eye of a woodman. It 
 was useless to attempt to escape from the forest before the 
 next morning. The attendants soon formed for themselves 
 sylvan beds on the soft grass and beneath the broad -spreading 
 trees, their cloaks for coverlids, and the green mossy grass for 
 their beds. The emperor fared better. One low trussel bed 
 Leopold had in a lower room of his hut ; this he resigned to the 
 emperor. 
 
 Fatigued with his hard day's riding, Conrad soon fell asleep : 
 how long he slept he knew not ; but when all was dark and 
 still, both within and without the hut, a voice broke upon his 
 ear. 
 
 "Take — take-— take," said the voice. 
 
 Conrad rose and listened. " What," said he to himself, as 
 he thought on the words, " what am I to take ? Take — take 
 — take : what can the voice mean ?" 
 
 As he reflected on the singularity of the words, the em- 
 peror again fell asleep; again a voice awoke him from his 
 slumbers. 
 
 " Restore — restore — restore," said the mysterious voice. 
 
 " What means all this mystery ?" exclaimed the emperor. 
 " First I was to take, take, take, and there is nothing for me 
 to take : and now I am to restore. What can I restore, when 
 I have taken nothing ?" 
 
 Again the emperor slept, and again the voice seemed to 
 speak to him. 
 
lo4 AXCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " Fly — fly — fly," said the voice this time, " for a child is 
 now born who shall become thy son-in-law." 
 
 It was early da\vn when Conrad heard the voice the third 
 time. He immediately arose, and inquired of his squires if 
 they had heard a noise, and what had happened in the night. 
 
 " Nought," replied they, " my lord, but that a son was 
 born to the poor woodman whilst you slept." 
 
 " Hah !" exclaimed Conrad, " a son ! mount — to horse — 
 we will away." 
 
 The emperor and his train had hardly found their way out 
 of the wood, when Conrad called two of his knights to him. 
 
 " Go," said he, " to the woodman's hut, take away the 
 new-born child, kill it, and bring its heart to me, that I may 
 know that you have performed my commands." 
 
 With sorrowful hearts the two knights returned towards 
 the woodman's cottage. The babe was nestled in its mother's 
 breast, and smiled on them as they seized it. Vain was the 
 resistance of its mother, for she was alone ; Leopold had gone 
 into the wood, to his daily labour. 
 
 "I cannot strike the poor babe," said one knight to the 
 other, as they left the hut in the forest ; " do you play the 
 butcher." 
 
 " Not I," replied the other ; " I can strike down my adver- 
 sary in fair fight, but not this poor babe." 
 
 At this moment a hare sprang across the path so close to 
 the foremost of the knights, that he raised his hunting-pole and 
 struck it down. 
 
 " Comrade," said the other knight, " I perceive how we 
 majr make the emperor believe that we have obeyed his com- 
 mands, and yet not take this poor babe's life ; open the hare, 
 take out its heart. As for the babe, we will place it on yonder 
 high branch, where the wild beasts cannot get at it, until we 
 have done our message to the emperor ; then will I return and 
 take this poor babe to my home, for I am childless." 
 
 Leaving the babe, the two knights went on their message 
 to the emperor; but before they could return, a good duke 
 rode by the tree where the babe was, and took compassion on 
 
THE EMPEROR CONRAD AND THE COUNT'S SON. 155 
 
 it, and carried the child to his own house, where it was nur- 
 tured as his own son. As for the child, he grew up a man of 
 fine form, the joy of his adopted parents, eloquent in speech, 
 and a general favourite at the emperor's court. For a time 
 Conrad was as pleased with the attainments of the young 
 Henry as he had been with those of his poor father ; but time 
 brought with it envy, and he soon hated the youth, as he had 
 before the unfortunate count. A dreadful suspicion haunted 
 Conrad's mind that he had been deceived by his knights, and 
 that the youthful favourite of the people was the woodman's 
 child, against whom he had been warned by the secret voice. 
 The most cruel thoughts entered his mind, and he determined 
 this time not to be deceived by his agents. 
 
 " Henry," said he to the young count, " I have a letter of 
 the utmost importance that I wish to be delivered to my wife ; 
 to you I commit it, for you I can trust ; haste, then, prepare 
 for your journey whilst I write the letter." 
 
 Henry retired to his apartments to prepare for his ride ; he 
 chose his best riding- suit, and his strongest horse, desirous in 
 every way to do honour to the emperor's mission. Conrad 
 went to his private room to prepare the letter. 
 
 " As soon as this letter reaches you," he wrote, "I com- 
 mand you to cause the bearer thereof to be put to death. See 
 that this be done, as you value my love." 
 
 Henry received the letter, and prepared to commence his 
 journey. As it happened, his horse cast one of its shoes, and 
 he was compelled to wait until another could be forged. Un- 
 willing that the emperor should know of the delay, the young 
 man wandered into the royal chapel, and seating himself in 
 one of the royal stalls, fell asleep. 
 
 There was a prying, crafty priest in the chapel who had 
 heard the message given to the young count, and wished very 
 much to discover the secret of the message. Seeing the young 
 man asleep, he silently approached the youth, and extracting 
 the letter from the little silken bag in which it was enclosed, 
 opened its folds, and read, with astonishment, the proposed 
 wickedness. 
 
156 
 
 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 "Poor youth," murmured the priest, " thou little thinkest 
 on what errand thou art riding. But, come, 1 will deceive 
 this cruel emperor," continued he, as he erased the passage 
 in which Henry's death was commanded, and inserted these 
 words : " Give him our daughter in marriage." 
 
 The letter altered and replaced, his horse reshod, Henry set 
 out on his journey, and soon arrived at the city where the 
 queen dwelt. Presenting his letter to the queen, he was 
 greatly surprised when she hailed him as her son-in-law, by 
 virtue of the royal commands, and bade the priests and nobles 
 of her court to assist in rendering the celebration of the nup- 
 tials as gorgeous as befitted the occasion. 
 
 It was in vain that Conrad raged against the deceit thus 
 practised on him ; one by one the wonderful facts of the 
 young man's deliverance were revealed to him, and he could 
 not but recognise in them all the hand of a protecting Provi- 
 dence. Deeply penitent for his many offences against God 
 and man, he confirmed the marriage of his daughter, recalled 
 the old count from his forest-hut, and proclaimed the young 
 Henry heir to his empire. 
 
 " There is a great family-likeness between this tale of yours and 
 the German story of the Giant with the Golden Hairs." 
 
 " In what respect?" 
 
 " In the manner in which the fortunate youth obtains the prin- 
 cess as his wife. In that legend a king discovers the babe after a 
 manner very similar to that in which Henry is found by Conrad, 
 and — warned that the child is to be his son-in-law — he sends him on 
 a message to his queen, with a letter of the same import as in your 
 tale. Fatigued with his journey, the youth arrives at a robber's 
 cottage, falls asleep, and during his rest the thieves alter the letter, 
 as the priest does that borne by Henry. The effect is, of course, 
 similar." 
 
 " But what of the golden-haired giant?" asked Herbert. 
 
 " He does not appear until the second part of the legend, and this 
 is doubtless added on from some other tradition. You will find the 
 
THE EMPEROR CONRAD AND THE COUNTS SON. 
 
 157 
 
 whole story in Grimm's most amusing collection of German popular 
 stories." 
 
 "With this tale, then, we conclude our evening's amusement." 
 "I am afraid it must be so, Herbert," rejoined Lathom; "I 
 should not like to be left without material for to-morrow, our last 
 meeting; and between this and then I am unable to prepare any- 
 more tales." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LOVE AND MARRIAGE THE KNIGHT AND THE THREE QUESTIONS - 
 
 RACING FOR A WIFE JONATHAN AND THE THREE TALISMANS - 
 
 THE DWARF AND THE THREE SOLDIERS CONCLUSION. 
 
 HAVE been very much surprised at the almost entire 
 absence of compulsory marriages from your tales '> 
 marriage, indeed, is the staple incident of the story, 
 but the course of love seems to be allowed to run 
 almost too smooth." 
 " Why, Herbert," said Frederick Thompson, with a smile, "were 
 it not rank heresy to suppose that power, and wealth, and policy in- 
 fluenced marriages in those romantic days, when knights performed 
 impossibilities, and ladies sang love-ditties from high towers?" 
 
 " You must not delude yourselves that ladies were married in the 
 tenth and eleventh centuries on principles very widely differing from 
 those now prevailing. I could give you far worse examples than the 
 w r ondrous nineteenth century furnishes." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Herbert, " w r orse examples than eighty 
 linked to eighteen because their properties adjoined ? or a spend- 
 thrift title propped up by a youthful heiress, because the one wanted 
 money and the other rank ?" 
 
 " Hilloa, Master Reginald Herbert, methinks we speak feelingly ; 
 is there not something of the accepted lover and disappointed son- 
 in-law in that exalted burst of indignation ? can it be true that 
 ' The lady she was willing, 
 But the baron he said no?'" 
 " Be it as it may," said Lathom, "we will solace our friend with 
 an example or two of the approved ways of lady-winning in the 
 tenth century. Which shall it be; the case of a successful racer, 
 or a clever resolver of riddles ?" 
 
 "Oh, I will answer for Reginald ; pray leave Miss Atalanta for 
 the present, and favour us with the resolver of hard questions." 
 Here begins the tale of 
 
159 
 
 €!je Bmgljt antf tl;e Cfjrte aEwsttong. 
 
 A certain emperor had a very beautiful but wilful daugh- 
 ter, and he much wished to marry her, for she was his heir ; but 
 to all his wishes she was deaf. At last she agreed to marry 
 that person who should answer succinctly these three ques- 
 tions. The first question was, " What is the length, breadth, 
 and depth of the four elements ?" The second required a 
 means of changing the north wind ; and the third demanded 
 by what means fire might be carried in the bosom without in- 
 jury to the person. 
 
 Many and many were the nobles, knights, and princes that 
 endeavoured to answer the princess's questions. It was all in 
 vain : some answered one, some another, but no one resolved 
 all three, and each reserved his secret from his competitor, in 
 the hopes of another and more successful trial. The emperor 
 began to grow angry with his daughter, but she still per- 
 sisted in her intentions, and her father did not like to com- 
 pel her. At length, after many years, came a soldier from a 
 foreign land ; and when he heard of the questions of the prin- 
 cess, he volunteered for the trial. On the appointed day, the 
 soldier entered the court of the palace accompanied by one at- 
 tendant, who led an extremely fiery horse by the bridle. The 
 king descended to the gate of the inner court-yard, and de- 
 manded the soldier's wishes. 
 
 " I come, my lord, to win thy daughter, by rightly answer- 
 ing her three questions ; I pray thee propose them to me." 
 
 " Right willingly," rejoined the emperor. "If thou succeed- 
 est, my daughter, and the succession to my throne, is thine ; 
 but mark me, if thou failest, a sound whipping awaits thee as 
 an impudent adventurer. Shall I propose the questions ?" 
 
 " Even so, my lord — I am ready : a crown and a wife, or 
 the w r hipping-post." 
 
 " Tell me, then, succinctly, how many feet there are in the 
 length, breadth, and depth of the elements." 
 
 "Launcelot," said the soldier to his servant, "give the 
 horse to a groom, and lie down on the ground. 3 ' 
 
160 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 The servant obeyed his master's orders; and the soldier 
 carefully measured his length, his breadth, and the thickness 
 of his body. 
 
 " M5 T lord," said the soldier, as soon as the measuring 
 was complete, " the length of the elements is scarcely seven 
 feet, the breadth is nearly three, and the depth does not exceed 
 one." 
 
 " How mean you, sir ? what has this to do with the ele- 
 ments ?" 
 
 " My lord," rejoined the soldier, " man is made of the fou v 
 elements : I have given you the measure of man, and there- 
 fore of those parts of which he is composed." 
 
 " You have answered well, sir soldier : now resolve this 
 difficulty — how can the north wind be changed ?" 
 
 " Launcelot, bring up Niger." 
 
 The servant brought up the horse at his master's command, 
 and the soldier placed it with its head to the north ; after a 
 few minutes he administered to it a potion, and at the same 
 moment turned its head to the east ; the horse that before had 
 breathed fiercely now became quiet, and its breathing was soft 
 and gentle. 
 
 " See, my lord, the wind is changed." 
 
 " How, sir soldier ?" asked the emperor, " what has this to 
 do with the wind?" 
 
 " My lord," rejoined the soldier, " who knows not that the 
 life of every animal is in its breath, and that breath is air? 
 When my horse looked northward, he breathed fiercely and 
 snorted excessively. Lo, I gave him a potion and turned his 
 head to the east ; and now the same breath comes softly and 
 quietly, for the wind is changed." 
 
 " Well done — well done, soldier! for these two answers 
 thou shalt escape the whipping-post. Now resolve me this 
 difficulty : How can fire be carried in the bosom without injury 
 to the person ?" 
 
 " Look and see, my lord." 
 
 With these words, the soldier stooped towards a fire that 
 burned in the court-yard, and hastily seizing some of the 
 
THE KNIGHT AND THE THREE QUESTIONS. 161 
 
 burning wood, placed it in his bosom. Every one expected 
 to see him injured; but after the fire had burned out, the 
 soldier threw the wood from his breast, and there was neither 
 scar nor burn on his flesh. 
 
 " Well hast thou performed thy task, soldier," said the 
 king. " My daughter is thine according to promise— the in- 
 heritance of my kingdom is also thine and hers ; now tell me 
 the secret whereby thou didst prevent the fire from burning 
 thee." 
 
 " This stone is the talisman," replied the soldier, shewing 
 a small bright stone that he carried in his right hand. " Who- 
 soever bears this about him shall be able to resist the hottest 
 fire that men can light." 
 
 Loaded with riches and honours, the soldier married the 
 princess, and they succeeded to the throne and the wealth of 
 her father. 
 
 " Your princess, Lathom, seems to have been one of those young 
 ladies who never dream that husbands and wives are born for each 
 other, but regard the former as especially provided for the benefit 
 of the latter." 
 
 " I suspect the old monk, Thompson, thought very little about 
 love-matters, but rather looked to the appropriateness of his story 
 for a religious application." 
 
 " Exactly so, Herbert," remarked Lathom ; "■ the moral is de- 
 cidedly the best part of this tale. The emperor is our Saviour; the 
 daughter, the human soul. Measuring the elements is typical of 
 subduing the lusts of the flesh. The fiery horse is a sinner changed 
 by repentance ; and the small bright stone, that conquers the'power 
 of fire, is a true and lively faith in our Saviour, utterly subjugating 
 the fire of pride, luxury, and avarice." 
 
 " What is the tale of the marriage by racing ?" asked Thompson. 
 
 " Hardly worth relating at length." 
 
 " Except as a hint to our poor friend Reginald." 
 
 "The lady is to be won by no one who cannot outrun her. 
 After many T failures, comes one called Abibas, a poor but shrewd 
 fellow. Knowing the failings of the young lady, he prepares a gar- 
 
162 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 land of roses, a beautiful silken girdle, and a golden ball, on which 
 was written, 'Whosoever plays with me shall never be tired.' The 
 race begins, and the lady is just passing her competitor, when he 
 skilfully jerks the rose-garland on to her head. Attracted by the 
 smell of the flowers, and despising the slow pace of Abibas, the 
 lady stops to admire, and Abibas gets well ahead. She soon throws 
 away the garland, and is off again after her competitor ; nearer and 
 nearer she comes, when Abibas slily drops the embroidered girdle 
 n her path. She stops — admires — takes it up, and again loses 
 ground. Again she throws away the tempting bait, and renews the 
 race ; the distance between her and her suitor is soon lessened, and 
 the race draws towards its end. As a last resource, he casts the 
 golden ball before her. She stops— reads the inscription — deter- 
 mines to try it for a moment — goes on and on with her pleasure, 
 and is only awakened from her folly by the cries that hail Abibas 
 as the winner of the race and the lady." 
 
 " What makes you look so solemn, Herbert ? Can you not per- 
 suade the repudiating father in your case to run a race with you 
 for the lady ?" 
 
 " Tut, tut, Thompson ; I was thinking whether any of those 
 persons who promote or sanction what the world calls marriages 
 of convenience, in which every one admits that love or identity of 
 feelings has nothing at all to do, ever read the commencement of 
 the exhortation in the marriage-service. Surely it can never occur 
 to them, that we are there told that marriage signifies unto us the 
 mystical union between our Saviour and his Church." 
 
 " It were charity to suppose they were ignorant," replied 
 Lathom ; " but let us leave these speculations ; we are by no means 
 in a proper tone of mind for them, and are more ready to laugh 
 than to reason." 
 
 " Let us, then, return to our sorcerers and witches," said 
 Thompson. 
 
 " Nay, rather let me demand your attention for a tale of some 
 length, but not less interest, and which combines just sufficient 
 magic in its incidents to satisfy Herbert's love of the marvellous. 
 1 will read you the story of 
 
163 
 
 iBonatijau antJ tyz Cljvw CaltslmanS. 
 
 Darius was a wise and prudent king ; he had three sons, 
 whom he loved much, and amongst whom he divided his pos- 
 sessions. To the eldest he gave his kingdom ; to the second, 
 his personal wealth ; to the third, a ring, a necklace, and a 
 valuable carpet. These three gifts were charmed. The ring 
 rendered any one who wore it beloved, and obtained for him 
 whatsoever he desired. The necklace, if worn on the breast, 
 enabled the wearer to realise every wish ; whilst the cloth had 
 such virtue, that whosoever sat upon it, and thought where he 
 would be carried, found himself there almost before his thought 
 was expressed. These three precious gifts the king conferred 
 upon Jonathan, his youngest son, to aid him in his studies ; but 
 his mother retained them during the earlier years of his youth. 
 After a time his mother delivered to him the ring. 
 
 " Jonathan," she said, " take the first of thy father's be- 
 quests — this ring ; guard it as a treasure. So long as you wear 
 it, every one shall love you, and whatsoever ypu wish shall be 
 obtained by you ; of one thing beware — an artful woman." 
 
 Jonathan with many thanks and protestations took the 
 ring. Its magic effects were soon evident. Every one sought 
 his society, and every one loved him. Though he had neither 
 silver nor gold, house nor fields, he had but to wish for them, 
 and lo, one gave him fields, and another houses, a third gold, 
 a fourth merchandise. Walking one day in the streets of 
 Rome, he met a lady so beautiful to look at, that he could not 
 restrain himself from following her, and eventually he had no 
 happiness but in her society. She loved Jonathan, and Jona- 
 than loved her. 
 
 " Dearest," said the lady one day, as Jonathan was enjoy- 
 ing her society, " how comes it that you immediately obtain 
 every thing you but wish for, and yet the good king did not 
 leave thee his wealth or his power?" 
 
 " It is a secret, Subtilia ; a secret that I may not reveal, 
 lest it lose its value." 
 
164 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " And do you profess to love me, Jonathan, and yet keep 
 from me the secret of your power, your wealth, and your 
 life ?" 
 
 " Ask me not, dearest, for it may not be." 
 
 " Farewell, then, Jonathan — thou lovest me not — never 
 more will I love thee again." 
 
 " Nay, Subtilia, but thou canst not prevent thyself loving 
 me as long as I wear this ring." 
 
 " Ah, Jonathan, the secret — the secret : you wear a magic 
 ring." 
 
 " Fool that I was !" exclaimed Jonathan, " in my haste I 
 forgot my discretion; well, you know my secret — be honest, 
 and keep it yourself." 
 
 " You have not told me all the properties of the ring ; I 
 must know all, if thou wouldst have it kept a secret." 
 
 Subtilia at length elicited the secret from her lover. The 
 source of his power once known to her, the next object of her 
 plans was to obtain that power for herself. 
 
 "Thou art very wrong, Jonathan," said she, looking up 
 into his face wither dark black eyes, " surely thou art wrong 
 to wear so precious a jewel on your finger : some day, in the 
 hurry of your occupation, you will lose the ring, and then your 
 power is gone." 
 
 " There is some sense in what you say, Subtilia," replied 
 Jonathan ; " yet where shall I place it in security?" 
 
 " Let me be its guardian, dearest," said Subtilia, with a lool 
 of deep affection. " No one will seek such a treasure of me 
 and whensoever you wish for it, it will be ready to your hand 
 among the rest of my jewels it will be perfectly secure." 
 
 Jonathan acceded to her request, and placed the ring in her 
 possession. For a time all went well ; the ring was safe and 
 ready to his use, and the lady's love did not decrease. One 
 day when he came to visit her as usual, he found Subtilia sit- 
 ting on a couch, bathed in tears. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, dear lord," exclaimed she, casting herself 
 at his feet ; " how can I dare to approach my lord ?" 
 
 " Why this anxiety, this sorrow, Subtilia?" said Jonathan, 
 
JONATHAN AND THE THREE TALISMANS. 165 
 
 as he raised her from the ground, and strove to kiss away her 
 tears. 
 
 " Oh, my lord ! pardon me — the ring!" ejaculated Subtilia. 
 
 " Ah ! the ring — what of the ring?" 
 
 " It is gone, my lord — stolen." 
 
 "Gone! how gone, woman?" rejoined Jonathan, in anger. 
 
 " Ah, my good lord, this morning I went to my jewel-box 
 to take out such ornaments as might best please my lord, and 
 lo, the ring was not there ; and now where it is I know not." 
 
 " Farewell, Subtilia — I am ruined." 
 
 With these words Jonathan left the lady. It was all in 
 vain that he searched every where for the ring : it was but of 
 a common form, and he dared not to reveal its secret, as once 
 known no one would dream of resigning such a treasure. In 
 his distress he returned to his mother, and told her all his 
 misfortunes. 
 
 " My son," said his lady mother, " did not I warn thee of 
 this very danger? by the subtlety of this woman thou hast 
 lost thy charmed jewel. Receive now thy father's second be- 
 quest — this necklace ; so long as you wear this on your breast, 
 every wish of yours shall be fulfilled. Go in peace, and once 
 more beware of female subtlety." 
 
 Overjoyed with his new acquisition, and unable to believe 
 that Subtilia had deceived him about the loss of his ring, 
 Jonathan returned to the city, and to the society of that fair 
 but deceitful lady. For a time his secret remained within his 
 own breast ; at length, however, he yielded to the blandish- 
 ments of his lady-love, and disclosed to her the source of his 
 prosperity. Long and subtle were the means by which Sub- 
 tilia gained the knowledge of the secret of the necklace, and 
 longer and more subtle the plans by which she at last gained it 
 to her own possession. This, too, was lost, as the ring ; and 
 Jonathan returned a second time to his mother. 
 
 " My son," said she, " these two times you have fallen a 
 victim to female subtlety. The ring and the necklace are not 
 lost ; Subtilia has them both ; and if you would succeed, you 
 must regain them from her. Receive this, the third and last 
 
166 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 bequest of your royal father ; seated on this carpet, you have 
 but to wish, to find yourself forthwith in whatever place you 
 desire. Go in peace, my son ; for the third time beware of 
 female subtlety." 
 
 "I will be revenged on this faithless woman," muttered 
 Jonathan, as he entered Subtilia's house, bearing the last be- 
 quest of Darius. " Subtilia," he said, w T hen he entered the 
 room in which she sat, " come, see the third bequest of the 
 good king — this splendid carpet; here, sit down with me 
 on it." 
 
 Subtilia was hardly seated on the carpet, ere Jonathan 
 wished that they were in a desert place, far, far from the abode 
 of man. His wish was hardly complete before they were both 
 in a drear solitude, many hundreds of miles from a human 
 abode, and where wild beasts and deadly serpents abounded. 
 
 "Subtilia!" exclaimed Jonathan, "thou art now in my 
 power : restore the ring and the necklace, or die by the mouths 
 of beasts, or the slow torture of famine; no human footstep 
 ever treads these solitudes." 
 
 "We perish together, Jonathan." 
 
 " Delude not thyself so, false woman," rejoined Jonathan, 
 in anger ; "I have but to wish myself away, and find my wish 
 accomplished ; choose, therefore, — death, or the restoration of 
 the ring and the necklace." 
 
 " I have his secret," muttered Subtilia to herself; and then 
 with a most piteous voice, " My dear lord, I pray thee, give me 
 time— but an hour, or even less — before 1 decide." 
 
 " As you wish ; until the sun touches the top of yonder 
 pine-tree, consider your choice." 
 
 Whilst the time was passing away, the heat of the day 
 seduced Jonathan into a slight sleep. Subtilia saw the advan- 
 tage ; slowly and softly she drew away the carpet from beneath 
 him, and as, awakened by her last efforts, he would have re- 
 gained the magic carpet, she wished herself again at Rome, and 
 passed from his sight. He was alone in the desert, whilst she 
 revelled in every luxury that could be obtained, through the 
 means of the three gifts of his royal father. 
 
JONATHAN AND THE THREE TALISMANS. 167 
 
 Jonathan meditated on his situation, and upbraided him- 
 self for his own foolishness : whither to bend his steps from 
 that dreadful wilderness he knew not ; but committing himself 
 by prayer to God's especial protection, he followed a narrow 
 path, and at length reached the banks of a large river. The 
 river was not deep, and Jonathan essayed to pass it. Though 
 the water was so hot that it burnt the flesh off his bones, he 
 persevered, and at length reached the opposite bank. He 
 essayed to taste of the stream, but it was sore bitter, and 
 burned the roof of his mouth as he drank of it. Astonished at 
 the properties of the river, Jonathan placed a small quantity of 
 it in a small glass vessel, and proceeded with great pain on his 
 journey. 
 
 Hunger soon succeeded to thirst, and the solitary wanderer 
 wist not how to assuage his bitter craving. As he wandered 
 on, limping with pain, he suddenly cast his eyes on a fair and 
 tempting tree, abounding in fruit of a rich and golden hue. 
 Without one thought of thanks to God, Jonathan limped to 
 the tree, and plucked eagerly of the fruit. The fair meal had 
 hardly concluded, ere he was a leper from head to foot ; the 
 foul disease broke out over his body. Weeping and mourning 
 for his misfortunes, he gathered of the hurtful fruit, and re- 
 newed his miserable wanderings. 
 
 Another hour of painful travel brought Jonathan to the 
 bank of a troubled, turbid stream, whose depth appeared un- 
 fathomable, and whose waters were repugnant even to the 
 thirsty man. Careless of his life, with one prayer to God, the 
 wanderer stept into the river, unconscious of its depth. It was 
 shallow, and offered little resistance to his passage, though its 
 stream seemed to roll onward with headlong violence. His 
 burnt flesh, too, came again in all its original purity. Jona- 
 than reached the bank, and on his bended knees gave thanks 
 to God for his great kindness in relieving him from his pains. 
 Of this stream, also, he took a small vase full, as a treasured 
 medicine. 
 
 Still the wanderer continued his journey, hungry and a 
 leper. No tree on either side of him gave any promise of 
 
168 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 sustenance, and he despaired of sustaining his fast-fleeting 
 strength. Anon he came to a low, crooked, cankerous-looking 
 bush, with two or three withered and apparently rotten apples 
 on one of its branches ; desperate with hunger, he seized one 
 of the wretched fruits, and ate it. His hunger was assuaged ; 
 his leprosy was departed from him. Strength, health, and a 
 free spirit seemed renewed in him ; and plucking another of 
 the withered fruits, he went on his way rejoicing. 
 
 By the virtue of that food he wandered on without feeling 
 hunger ; by the virtue of that water his flesh suffered not from 
 his journey, and he knew not what fatigue was. After many 
 days, he neared the gates of a walled city, and made as though 
 he would have entered. 
 
 " Ho ! sir traveller," said the gatekeeper, " whence comest 
 thou — what art thou — and whither goest thou ?" 
 
 " From Rome, good porter — a physician." 
 
 " Stay," interrupted the porter ; " a physician — you are in 
 good fortune; canst cure a leprosy ?" 
 
 " I can but try my skill." 
 
 " If you succeed with this case, your fortune is made, 
 friend ; our king is ill of a leprosy. Whosoever will cure 
 him will receive great rewards, but death if he fails." 
 
 " I will undertake the cure," replied Jonathan ; '• lead me 
 to the king." 
 
 Jonathan entered the palace, and was led to the chamber 
 of the king, where he lay on his couch, wasted with disease, 
 and covered from head to foot with a leprosy of the most viru- 
 lent kind. 
 
 " A physician, my lord the king," said the attendant, 
 " who would try to cure your disease." 
 
 Cf What, another victim ?" rejoined the royal leper ; " does 
 he know the alternative ?" 
 
 " My lord," said Jonathan, " I am aware of the terms, and 
 accept them freely ; by God's help I will cure my lord, or 
 perish in the attempt. I pray my lord the king to eat of this 
 fruit." 
 
 " What, this withered, rotten apple ?" exclaimed the king. 
 
JONATHAN AND THE THREE TALISMANS. 169 
 
 " Even this, my lord." 
 
 The king took the fruit of the second tree and ate it, as 
 Jonathan advised. In a moment his leprosy began to disap- 
 pear, and the pimples to sink and become hardly visible. 
 
 " Thou art indeed a physician !" exclaimed the king ; " the 
 promised reward is thine." 
 
 " Stay, my lord," said Jonathan ; " we must restore the 
 flesh to its original state." 
 
 With these words, he touched every mark on the king' 
 body with the water of the second river, and the flesh returned 
 fair and white as before the leprosy. 
 
 " Blessed physician, thy reward is doubled ; stay, I pray 
 thee, in our country." 
 
 " Nay, my lord, I may not. I must seek my own land, 
 and all I ask is, that my lord will divide the half of my reward 
 amongst the poor of this city." 
 
 Soon after this, Jonathan sailed from this city for Rome : 
 arrived there, he circulated a report that a great physician 
 had arrived. Now it happened that Subtilia, in despite of all 
 the talismans, lay grievously sick, and nigh unto death. The 
 report of the arrival of the great physician comforted her, and 
 she sent for Jonathan. He knew her again, but she knew 
 him not, for he was greatly altered and disguised. 
 
 " Great master," said she in a faint voice, " I die." 
 
 " Death, lady, comes ever to those who confess not their 
 sins against God and man, and defraud their friends ; if thou 
 hast done this, my help is vain, without confession and resto- 
 ration." 
 
 Then did Subtilia confess all her treachery against Jona- 
 than, and how she had deprived him by her subtlety of the 
 three talismans, and left him to die in a desert place. 
 
 "Woman," said Jonathan, " thy ill-used lover yet lives, 
 and is prosperous ; the talismans must be restored to him — 
 where be they ?" 
 
 1 ' In yonder chest : here, take the keys, restore them to 
 Jonathan, and give me of your medicine." 
 
 " Take this fruit — drink of this water." 
 Q 
 
170 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 " Mercy, mercy !" exclaimed Subtilia, "lama leper — the 
 flesh is burning away from my bones — I die — I die." 
 
 " Subtilia, thou hast met with thy reward; thou diest, and 
 Jonathan is thy physician." 
 
 With one fearful look at Jonathan, and one agonised 
 scream, the wretched woman fell back a corpse ; her diseased 
 flesh already mouldering to destruction. 
 
 Jonathan regained his father's bequests, and returned to his 
 mother ; the whole kingdom rejoiced at his return. Until his 
 life's end, he remembered the lessons he had learned in his 
 prosperity and his poverty, and he lived and died in peace 
 with God and with man. 
 
 w Your tale, of course, boasts of a moral?" 
 
 " Yes ; a moral far from unreasonable. The emperor Darius is 
 typical of our Saviour, as is generally the case in these tales : and 
 the queen-mother is the Church. The two sons are the men of 
 this world ; the third son typifies the good Christian. The lady, 
 his great temptation and source of all his evils, is the flesh. • She 
 first obtains from him the ring of faith, and after that deprives 
 him by her devices of the necklace of hope ; and in despite of these 
 two warnings, steals from him at last the cloth of charity. The 
 bitter water, that burned away the flesh from the bones, is repent- 
 ance, and the first fruit is heartfelt remorse : the second river is 
 repentance before God, and the unpromising fruit represents the 
 deeds of faith, prayer, self-denial, and charity." 
 
 " You have left the leprous king and the ship still unex- 
 plained." 
 
 " The former is but a type of a sinful man, the other is intended 
 to represent the Divine command ; but the application seems forced 
 and inappropriate/' 
 
 "You have another link between the East and West in this 
 tale," remarked Herbert. "The talisman of the magic cloth may 
 be found in the Arabian Nights, in the story of Prince Ahmed and 
 the Fairy Pari Banou." 
 
 " All the three talismans proclaim the eastern origin of the 
 story," rejoined Lathom ; "and besides this, its entire structure re- 
 
CONCLUDING REMARKS. 171 
 
 sembles the tale of Fortunatus, to which few have hesitated to assign 
 an eastern origin." 
 
 " Many of the incidents of your story are to be found in the old 
 German nursery-tale of the Dwarf and the Three Soldiers." 
 
 " Not unlikely ; but the tale in question is so little known to 
 me, that I cannot trace the likeness." 
 
 "The tale, in a few words, is this," replied Thompson. "Three 
 poor soldiers obtain from a dwarf three gifts ; a cloak, a purse, and 
 a horse ; one and all equally useful in promoting their worldly ad- 
 vantage. A crafty princess steals all these gifts, and the soldiers 
 are once more poor. Driven by hunger, one of the three eats of an 
 apple-tree by the road-side, and forthwith his nose grows, not by 
 inches, but by miles. The friendly dwarf, in pity of his misery, 
 cures him by administering another kind of apple ; and the nose 
 shrinks as quickly as it had grown. Now comes the revenge on 
 the princess. The old soldier offers some of the fatal apples for 
 sale ; the princess buys and eats ; her nose grows without ceasing. 
 Under pretence of curing her, the old soldier, disguised as a doc- 
 tor, makes her nose grow more and more ; and at length, having 
 terrified her into restoring the dwarf's gifts, kindly gives her a 
 piece of the second kind of apples, and cures her of the nasal pro- 
 tuberance." 
 
 "And now that we have concluded our criticisms," said Her- 
 bert, " let us give all due praise to the admirable instruction con- 
 tained in this last narrative." 
 
 " May we not extend our praise to all the tales ?" 
 
 " As critics, well-intentioned towards the writers, and especially 
 towards this translation, we must not set much store on our criti- 
 cism. We need not, however, fear to give our own opinions, and 
 therefore I agree with you that great praise may with reason be 
 given to all the tales we have heard, and to no one more than that 
 with which our last evening, I fear, must now conclude. One thing 
 I would ask you, Lathom ; you spoke of the want of the usual ac- 
 cessories to fiction in these old monks' stories. One or two slips 
 have not escaped me ; but, unless you have re-produced many of 
 the tales, the credit of great experience in writing fictions must be 
 allowed to the authors of the Gesta." 
 
 " I do not mean to deny that I have re-written many of these 
 tales, and in some places introduced a little embroidery, but no 
 
172 
 
 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 
 
 where have I done more than re-set the old jewels, and put old 
 pictures into new frames." 
 
 "This, then, is our last evening with the old story-tellers," said 
 Thompson ; " to-morrow, Herbert and I are off for a week of 
 home, whilst you are left here to " 
 
 "To reset some more old jewels, should these, through your 
 report, obtain favour and acceptance with my friends." 
 
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 zantine Manners of the Tenth Century, translated, "full of interest."— 
 See Sir W. Scott's praise, cloth, fine Illustrations, As. 
 
 Undine, translated, uniformly beautiful, 9ci 
 
 Ditto, the last and best translation," with Author's Preface, " most grace- 
 ful fiction of modern times," " most exquisite," 6 engravings, 5s. 
 
 Unknown Patient, Vow, Eugenia Berthold,Rose, translated, illustrated, M. 
 
 Wild Love, and other TALES, translated, "toild and beautiful," cloth, 
 beautiful engravings, by Selous, Franklin, &c, As. 
 
 Froissart.— Chronicles of England, France, Spain, <tc, condensed by the 
 Rev. H. P.Dunster, "what better gift-book for young of either sex 1 }" 
 2 vols., cloth elegant, front., &c, by Tenniel, 7s. 
 
 German Literatrue, (Beauties of) best Tales of Modern Authors, trans- 
 lated by Hoffman, Richter, Pichler, Zschokke, Tieck, etc., with Lives of 
 Authors, cloth, elegant, dcliglitful, enchanting book, 3s. 
 
 German Tales, translated : The Cherries, The Nightingale, The Canary 
 Bird, Castle of Falkenburgh, The Rose Bush, The Wren, cloth, gilt 
 leaves, fine woodcuts, 2s. 1843 
 
 Gold Makers' Village, ,: philanthropic, moral, economical hints," trans- 
 lated from the seventh German edition of Zschokke, elegantly printed, 
 cloth, gilt leaves, Is. Gd. 1845 
 
 Grossi, Marco, Visconti, Italian tale of 14th Century, translated from 
 Italian; "pictures of most vivid character, full of wild cliivalric spirit of 
 turbulent Italy," ILLUSTRATIONS by WARREN, 4s. 
 
 Gulliver's Travels, "unequalled for amusement," but the only edition 
 that children can read, now first adapted, with great labour for this 
 purpose, choice edition, cloth, handsome, clever pkttes by Phiz, 2s. 
 
 Hauff's Popular Tales : Caravan, Sheik, Cold Heart, etc., translated, 
 "a master in fiction, abounding in witty clever 2>ortraiture," cloth, 2s. Gd. 
 
 Household Tales of England, France, and Germany, 52 mostinteresting 
 Nursery and Fireside Popular Legends, etc., 21 engravings, Is. Gd. 
 
 Johnson, (Dr., Boswell's Life of) condensed, with the additions of Piozzi, 
 Hawkins. ,Vc. by Russell, cloth, 3s. 
 
 Juvenile Verse and Picture Book. A selection of 40 pieces in Verse, 
 from our best Modern Poets, with 70 illustrations and borders, cloth, 
 <,iU, 1 .-. 6d. (pub. a1 L0«. Bd.) 
 Lays and Ballads from English, Scottish, &c, History, by S. M., (Mm 
 SiHedlcyi " jierfcctiou <>f ludlad writing, whole pervaded 'by elevated piety, 
 pure morality," 12mo. 2s. e<d. 
 
w 
 
 AMUSING AND INSTRUCTIVE BOOKS 
 
 LUMLEY: 136, HIGH HOLBORN. 
 
 Legends, Traditions, Stories, Prose and Verse, told immemorially in 
 Nurseries and Firesides of People of England, France, Germany, 
 Scotland, Ireland, Tales of Chivalry, &c, also Notes, blue cloth, covered 
 with silver ornaments, 21 fine ivoodcuts, 3s. 
 Lieslie, a beautiful Swiss Tale; has been translated into almost every 
 European language; also HEINBICH and JBLANCA, or the Three 
 Brothers, engravings, 6d. 
 i"J Lives of Eminent English Laymen, Lord Falkland, Isaak Walton, 
 Bobert Nelson (England's worthies), names deservedly dear to every 
 English heart, fragrant indeed with the odour of sanctity; with Notices 
 of their times, the most delicate and debatable periods of our history — 
 the Eebellion and Eevolution, by Eev. W. H. Teale, executed so ad- 
 mirably, such a combination of diligent research, clear discrimination, 
 and sound principle, that we warmly recommend it. — Christian Remem- 
 brancer, June, 1842. 12mo. cloth, most beautifully illustrated with fine 
 portraits and elegant wood engravings, 2s. 
 Louis ; or, Little Emigrant, and other Stories : King and Woodman, 
 
 May Day, Lost Child, square, cloth, elegant, gilt leaves, cuts, 2s. 
 Lucy and Arthur, a Domestic Tale, cloth, gilt leaves, 2s. 
 Manzoni, Promessi Sposi, or Betrothed Lovers ; only complete transla- 
 tion of this " most bewitching work ; superior to Sir W. Scott, rivalling 
 Defoe's force and pathos," 2 vols, fancy covers, 60 beautiful vignettes, 7 s. 
 Martyr of Carthage, (The) a tale exemplifying Life and Times of St. 
 CYPETAN, by Eev. E. Wilson, cloth, 2s. 1645 
 
 Massinger's Virgin Martyr, "a noble play, pure and cliastened produc- 
 tion," Miniature 4to. cloth elegant, beautifully ornamented book, with 
 borders, also Plates by Pickersgill, 3s. 
 Musaeus' Popular Tales, translated, "most pleasing, charming, entertain- 
 ing, instructive, so original, so ingenious," cloth, fine engravings, 2s. 
 Natural History, Popular, of BEASTS and BIRDS, with Anecdotes, by 
 DOWLING, "an attractive volume, interestingly and popularly written" 
 cloth elegant, fine Illustrations, 3s. 
 Northern Minstrelsy, 100 Choicest Poems and Songs of SCOTLAND, 
 Ancient and Modern, including Jacobite Songs; also COPIOUS 
 GLOSSARY, exquisitely printed, and Illustrated with original designs, 
 by Franklin, Weigall, M'lan, Scott, Gilbert, &c, 2s, 
 Nursery Rhymes, Tales, Jingles, Excellent Selection of ENGLISH 
 NUESEEY EHYMES, nearly 200 ; carefully excluding all objection- 
 able, exquisitely printed, Small Quarto, red cloth, handsomely gilt, 76 
 truly beautiful wood cuts, of highest order of excellence, by Cope, Horse- 
 ley, Dyce, &c, 6s. 
 Peter Schleminl ; or, Shadowless Man, translated from German of 
 Chamisso, " most enclianting romance," best edition, with Appendix, 6 
 engravings, Gd. 
 PichWs (Caroline) Tales : QUENTIN MATSYS ; or, the Painter of 
 Antwerp and Wallenstein, SWEDES IN PEAGUE ; or, the Signal 
 Eocket, "graphic, stirring, captivating writer, redolent of sterling no- 
 bility of nature," 2 works in 1, 2s. 
 Plutarch's Lives of Greeks, condensed, with Additions from Thirlwall, 
 Muller, Mitford, Keightley, Eobinson, &c. ; also Introduction with 
 Chronology, Geography, &c. of Greece, Is. 6d. 
 Ditto, of Romans, Additions from Niebuhr, Gibbon, Fergusson, Adam, 
 | etc., Is. M. 
 
 | Poems and Pictures, the most beautiful Book of Modern Times, 4to., 
 f cloth handsome, each page with elegant border, and 100 Illustrations by 
 
 \ first English Artists, Horscly, Dyce, Cope, Selous, Franklin, Pickersgill, 
 
 &c, 18s. (pub. at £2 2s.) 
 
AMUSING AND INSTRUCTIVE BOOKS. 
 
 LUMLEY: 126, HIGH HOLBORN. 
 
 Eed and White Eoses, and other Tales. Contents: GOTT- 
 FRIED; or, the Island Hermitage ; ISAAC PINCHPENNY ; or, the 
 Unmasked Hypocrite; HENEY of EICHENFELS ; HEINEICH and 
 BLANCA, cloth, gilt leaves, fine engravings, 2s. 
 
 Robinson Crusoe, Life and Surprising Adventures of, " not 
 only most charming, but most instructive of books," carefully edited by 
 Eussell, fine type, paper choice, artistic plates, by Kcene, 3s. 
 
 Eutilius, or Stories of the Third Age, (a.d. 297 to a.d. 298) 
 a very masterly arid accurate sketch of the early Church, interestingly 
 exhibiting the real secret of her persuasive power, not argument, not 
 miracles, not early bribes, but consistent development of her Principles, 
 her Christian Life, her Example, by ABCHDEACON WILBEE- 
 FOECE, cloth, 2s. 
 
 Sacred Verses, by Isaac Williams, with Pictures, illustrating 
 Our Lord's Life, Small Quarto, cloth, richly gilt, 37 beautiful Prints by 
 Albert Durcr, Overbeck, Steinle, Thompson, £c, 6s. 
 
 Schiller's JOAN OF ARC, or the Maid of Orleans, translated, 
 "among the most beautiful of his conceptions, abounds v:ith passages 
 of highest standard of excellence," frontispiece, Is. 
 
 Ditto, WILLIAM TELL, translated, "most excellent, ad- 
 mirably pourtrayed, best thing he ever icrote, descriptions of Alps exqui- 
 site."— Carlylc. Frontispiece by TENNIEL, Is. 
 
 Schmid's Historic Tales: Lucius and his Children, Christmas 
 
 Eve, Brothers Eustace and Family, translated, " very attractive and 
 
 beautiful, fascinating simjdieity," cloth, gilt, plates and cuts, 2s. 
 
 Selected Letters, from Men whose Lives and Conversations 
 form profitable subjects of contemplation; such as Taylor, Hooker, 
 Nelson, Ken, Walton, Jones of Nayland, Nicholas Farrar/Collingwood, 
 &c, edited by Eev. T. Chamberlain, cloth, neat cuts, 2s. 
 
 Shakespeare's Select Plays, most carefully edited for the 
 
 Young, with Notes, Life, Glossary, beautifully printed, fine paper, cloth, 
 handsome frontispiece, by Cope, " supplies a great desideratum for 
 parents and schools," 3s. Qd. 
 
 Short Stories and Poems, Original and Select, Excellent 
 
 Work, " most interesting Binding and Holiday Book for Young, and one 
 of the cheapest ever published," beautifully printed, with borders and 
 illustrations in modern German style, very fine paper, cloth elegant, gilt 
 leaves, 40 woodcuts by first Artiste, 3s. 
 
 Stories and Sketches for Leisure Hours ; also PRASCA 
 LOUPOULOFF, a beautiful Eussian Tale, origin of Exile of Siberia, 
 translated; also other tales: contains 40 Stories, 2 vols, in I, fine en- 
 gravings, 2s. 
 
 Tales and Adventures by Sea and Land, 20 most amusing 
 
 Narratives, " developing truest herois)n in Men of all Ages," cloth, luind- 
 some, 38. 
 
 Tieck, Small Tales and Romances from the German, with 
 Entroduotion, and exquisite Preface by Froude, cloth extra, 6 en- 
 White Lady, from the German of Yon Wolfmann, " con- 
 sidered equal to Undine;" also ijakonkss mottk ronjnrs 
 FOtJB TALIS: Physician of Marseilles, Christmas Tree, Eevolu- 
 tionists, Valerie, 2 works in 1, Is. 
 
 45= 
 
from ^EI tfje 
 
 <®t&t% ftomatumtm, 
 
 tic. 
 
AMUSING AND INSTRUCTIVE BOOKS. 
 
 LUMLEY: 126, HIGH HOLBORN. 
 
 Legends, Traditions, Stories, Prose and Verse, told immemorially in 
 Nurseries and Firesides of People of England, France, Germany, 
 Scotland, Ireland, Tales of Chivalry, <fcc, also Notes, blue cloth, covered 
 with silver ornament*, 21 fine woodcuts, 3s. 
 
 Lieslie, a beautiful Swiss Tale: has been translated into almost every 
 European language; also HEINRICH and BLANCA, or the Three 
 Brothers, engravings. (;d. 
 
 Lives of Eminent English Laymen, Lord Falkland, Isaak Walton, 
 Robert Nelson {England's worthies), names deservedly dear to every 
 English heart, fragrant indeed with the odour of sanctity; with Notices 
 of their times, the most delicate and debatable periods of our history — 
 the Rebellion and Revolution, by Rev. W. H. Teale, executed so ad- 
 mirably, such a combination of diligent research, clear discrimination, 
 and sound principle, that we warmly recommend it. — Christian Jlemem- 
 braneer, June, 1842. 12mo. cloth, most beautifully illustrated with fine 
 portraits and elegant ivood engravings, 2s. 
 
 Louis; or, Little Emigrant, and other Stories: King and Woodman, 
 May Pay, Lost Child, square, cloth, elegant, gilt leaves, cuts, 2s. 
 
 Lucy "and 'Arthur, a Domestic Tale, cloth, gilt leaves, 2s. 
 
 Manzoni, Promessi Sposi, or Betrothed Lovers ; only complete transla- 
 tion of this " most bewitching work; superior to Sir W. Scott, rivalling 
 Defoe's force and pathos" 2 vols, fancy covers, CO beautiful vignettes, Is, 
 
 Martyr of Carthage, (The) a tale exemplifying Life and Times of St. 
 CYPRIAN, by Rev. E. Wilson, cloth, 2s. liUo 
 
 Massinger's Virgin Martyr, "a noble play, pure and chastened produc- 
 tion," Miniature 4to. cloth elegant, beautifully ornamented book, with 
 borders, also Plates hy Pickevsgill, 3s. 
 
 Musaeus' Popular Tales, translated, "most pleasing, charming, entertain- 
 ing, instructive, so original, so ingenious," cloth, fine engravings, 2s. 
 j Natural History, Popular, of BEASTS and BIRDS, with Anecdotes, by 
 BOWLING- , "an attractive volume, interestingly and popularly written," 
 cloth elegant, fine Illustrations, 3s. 
 
 Northern Minstrelsy, 100 Choicest Poems and Songs of SCOTLAND, 
 Ancient and Modern, including Jacobite Songs; also COPIOUS 
 GLOSSARY, rxquisitebi printed.' and Illustrated with original designs, 
 In/ Franklin, Wei, /all, M'lan, Scott, Gilbert, &C, 2s. 
 
 Nursery Rhymes, Tales, Jingles, Excellent Selection of ENGLISH 
 NURSERY RITYMKS, nearly 200; carefully excluding all objection- 
 able, exquisitely printed, Small Quarto, red cloth, handsomely gilt, 76 
 i trulv beautiful wood cuts, of highest order of excellence, by Cope, Horse- 
 
 ley, Dyce, &c., Gs. 
 
 Peter Schlemihl ; or, Shadowless Man, translated from German of 
 Chamisso, "most enchanting romance," best edition, with Appendix, 6 
 enoro rings, Ctd. 
 
 Pichler's (Caroline) Tales: QTJENTIN MATSYS; or, the Painter of 
 Antwerp ami Wallenstein, SWFDKS IN l'KAGFF; or, the Signal 
 Rocket, "gvaphic, stirring, captivating writer, redolent of sterling no- 
 hililii of nature," 2 works in 1, 2s. 
 
 Plutarch's Lives of Greeks, condensed, with Additions from ThirlwftU, 
 Muller, Mitford, Keightley, Robinson, (fee; also Introduction with 
 Chronology, Geography, Ac. of Greece, Is. »;</. 
 
 Ditto, of Romans, Additions from Niebuhr, Gibbon, Fergusson, Adam, 
 etc., U.Gd. 
 
 Poems and Pictures, the most beautiful Book of Modem Times, lt->., 
 ehdhhttwUome, each pane with elegant border, and 100 Illustrations by 
 first English Artists. I Forsely, Dyce, Cope, Scions. Franklin, Pickevsgill, 
 &c, 18s. (pub. at .£2 2s.) 
 
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