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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/traditionsoflincOOquai 
 
V 
 
 UPfJRsTITIONS AND LEGENDS. 
 
 C Continued). 
 (Br Caboubn Pocklinqton"). 
 
 lie following is abrifijjred from a very eoaroe 
 t pabiisbed in 1837 under the nom d- plume 
 'othouy Oidback, Gent , entitbi — 
 ♦ "EQ^^ND OF BO J,. V 
 
 upon hin boree, or breaking hia spear. The oomoa 
 tftuta rnshed towards each other with great force 
 and oorreotnesa of aim, both retaining their eeati*, 
 bat thflir epears shattered. Being supplied with 
 fresh spears they renewed the attack, and bo on 
 for several ooarees. The other ohampione then 
 tilted with each other in like manner. The victory 
 was considered to be nearly equally divided. After 
 a space the combatants retarned to the course and 
 t'ied '■'>^ir prowess at \,\ifi tourney. They were armed 
 «rf9 '^^•"Trds.'thouph in the former tourna- 
 
 XX*"*^ 
 
 Two parties 
 '"ing a*^' 
 
V 
 
TRADITIONS OF LINCOLNSHIRE. 
 &c., &c. 
 
TRADITIONS OF LINCOLNSHIRE, 
 
 (first series.) 
 
 BOSTON IN THE OLDEN TIMES; 
 
 A SERIES OF 
 
 LEGENDS AND TALES, 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE 
 
 HISTORY AND ANTIQUITIES OF BOSTON 
 
 AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD, 
 
 BY ROGER QUAINT, vAaa^^ j 
 
 Monk of the Order of St. Francis, and formerly of the Grey Friary, South End, 
 
 Boston. 
 
 ' Listene these lays, for some there bethe 
 Of love which stronger is than dethe ; 
 And some of scorne, and some of guile. 
 And old adventures that fell while." 
 
 BOSTON; 
 
 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY JOHN NOBLE. 
 
 SOLD BY SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND CO., LONDON; AND ALL OTHER 
 BOOKSELLERS. 
 
^ 
 
 
 / 3 3533 
 
 7 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 A Brown Study {preface) 
 
 The Masquers ; or, Merry Pilgrims page 1 
 
 A Legend of Kyme Tower — 104 
 
 The Conflagration of Boston — 107 
 
 Father Jerome ; or, The Sailors Ashore .. .. — 113 
 
 The Old Tavern ; or, a Century Ago . . . . — 149 
 
 The Abduction, a Legend of Hussey Tower . . — 205 
 
 Icanhoe ; or, St. Botolph and the Devil . . . . — 239 
 
 ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 Ancient Cross, Boston ; . page 55 
 
 Seal of the Guild of the Holy Trinity, Boston — 60 
 
 Seal of the Guild of St. George, Boston . . — 90 
 
 Kyme Tower, Boston . . — 104 
 
 Seal of the Staple, Boston — 112 
 
 Ancient House, Boston — 113 
 
 Seal of Corpus Christi Guild, Boston . . .. — 125 
 
 Seal of the Guild of the Blessed Mary, Boston — 137 
 
 Market Cross, Boston — 153 
 
 Seal of Gmld of St. Peter and St. Paul, Boston — 180 
 
 Hussey Tower, Boston — 205 
 
A BROWN STUDY 
 
 IN THE CHURCH LIBRARY, 
 
 BEING AN INTEODUGTORY CHAPTER, OR PRO-PREFACE. 
 
 Over the southern porch of Boston Church is a spacious 
 chamber, fitted up as a hbrary, and stored with many 
 valuable works, both in ancient and modern litcraturej 
 but which the hand of time, by its usual relentless minis- 
 ters, moth, damp, and dust, is fast hastening to decay. 
 
 This neglected depository of the literary treasures of 
 past times, was established in the year 16S5, and in the 
 reign of Charles I., by the celebrated Dr. Laud, Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury, then on his metropolitical visitation 
 to Boston ; who, in consequence of an application to that 
 effect from the Rev. Anthony Tuckney, vicar of Boston, 
 ordained, " that the roome over the porch of the saide 
 church shall be repaired and decently fitted up to make 
 
Vm A BROWN STUDY. 
 
 a librarye, to the end that, in case any well and charita- 
 bly disposed person shall bestow . any books to the use of 
 the parish, they may be there safely preserved and kept." 
 
 In this library, which at present consists of several 
 hundred volumes, are to be found many valuable and 
 scarce works, choice editions of the Greek and Roman 
 Classics, ponderous tomes of controversial divinity, 
 standard historians, and fabulous chroniclers; — ^nay, 
 even glorious Ghaucer himself, in all the dignity of 
 black-letter folio ; together with a curious medley of 
 minor writers, many of whom seem astonished to find 
 themselves cheek-by-jowl with ancient fathers, and 
 learned divines, in a church library. 
 
 A propensity to forage amongst the records of by-gone 
 days, often tempted me to disturb the sacred dust, be- 
 neath which time and neglect had long buried these 
 remains of the immortal dead, — the visits of other la- 
 bourers in the same mine being, like those of angels, 
 ' few and far between.' 
 
 ' Twas towards the close of a fine summer's day, that 
 I was induced to resort to the chamber in question, in 
 search of a scarce volume, which I had reason to believe 
 was to be found upon its shelves ; but it was not until 
 after a long and laborious search, — for many of the brass- 
 bound folios are immensely heavy, — that I discovered the 
 prize I sought. Evening had far advanced, and I was 
 
A BROWN STUDY. IX 
 
 intently poring over the moth-eaten volume, whose leaves 
 were falling from its vellum cover, when methought I 
 heard a rustling near me, — the dead stillness of the 
 church rendering the slightest sound perceptible, — and 
 on turning suddenly round, I was surprised to see at my 
 elbow a tall figure in the frock and hood of a Franciscan 
 Friar, with a small silk scull-cap over his shaven crown, 
 from beneath which curls of rich auburn hair escaped in 
 profusion down his shoulders. I had full leisure to re- 
 mark thus much, for his back was towards me, and I 
 had no idea at the time that I was then in company with 
 any other than a being of flesh and blood. 
 
 "Who could he be that had thus imperceptibly in- 
 truded himself upon my privacy ?— he was certainly not 
 there a minute before." Such were the first thoughts 
 that rushed upon my mind. 
 
 Presently he raised his eyes from the book he was 
 perusing, and turned them slowly upon me ; — but there 
 was no expression of surprise or embarrassment in the 
 mild and placid features that presented themselves to my 
 startled gaze. Nay, the complacent smile that lit up for 
 a moment that handsome and gracious countenance, was 
 rather the greeting of an ancient friend, that was happy 
 to renew a former intimacy, than of one, who found 
 himself suddenly in contact with a stranger. And al- 
 though I now knew, and felt, that I was in the pres^tice 
 
 aS 
 
X A BROWN STUDY. 
 
 of a being of another world, perhaps of the genius of 
 the place, or at least of mine ownjumiliary I experienced 
 none of the sensations common to such unwonted visi- 
 tations, nor was my alarm increased, when he saluted 
 me in a deep, but harmonious voice, as follows, 
 
 " Salve, domine." 
 
 " Salvus sis et tu, pater venerande." responded I. 
 
 " Benedicite." rejoined the spirit. 
 
 "■ Spiritus tuus quiescat in pace." resumed I, with a 
 profound obeisance. 
 
 " I will assist and direct your researches, and supply 
 you with the information you desire." continued the ap- 
 parition, in the vernacular. 
 
 *' But how know you the immediate object of my 
 pursuit, beyond general information ?" enquired I. 
 
 There was a placid smile on the countenance of the 
 phantom, as he replied, " Have I not been ever at your 
 elbow on your former visits to this literary sepulchre ? — 
 Have T not noted every passage you have sought out ; — 
 and, over your shoulder, have I not read every portion 
 you have selected, as well as every extract you have 
 made ? — how then can you doubt my knowledge of the 
 sort of information you are seeking ?" 
 
 " And how happens it, gracious shade," I retorted, 
 " that I have never before been favoured with an ocular 
 demonstration of your presence T'' 
 
THE BROWN STUDY. XI 
 
 " Because it has so pleased me," rejoined the spirit, 
 " nor would you now have been so honoured, but for the 
 congeniality of our views on certain points, and other 
 reasons, which you may know hereafter. Take this 
 volume." he added, " It contains all the information 
 
 you require. Bene vale, nostri memor !" 
 
 With the last words he vanished from my sight, — 
 melted into thin air, — and I stood for some time para- 
 lysed, — not with fear, — but with astonishment at the 
 extraordinary occurrence. How long this torpor of the 
 external senses lasted, I know not, but during its conti- 
 nuance I must have hurried home, for on recovering my 
 ordinary apprehension of sublunary matters, I found my- 
 self seated in my study, with the magic volume before me. 
 
 I am quite aware that many will say, this was merely 
 a dream I had whilst dozing over the expiring embers 
 of my study fire ; and, that others perhaps will throw 
 in my teeth the old proverb, originally formed from a 
 corruption of the Latin prayer, which begins '^ O mi 
 beate Mar tine." To such I yield full liberty to enjoy 
 their fancied penetration, in discovering that the MS. 
 thus strangely thrown into my hands, is nothing but a 
 creation of my own imagination; and, strong in the 
 integrity of my purpose, turn with pleasure from such 
 stiff-necked unbelievers to the gentle reader, who, con- 
 tent to be amused, pries not with too severe a scrutiny 
 into the ways and means 
 
Xll A BROWN STUDY. 
 
 I have only to add, that whatever may be considered 
 good in the following pages, is to be exclusively ascribed 
 to the gracious phantom, from whose manuscript it has 
 been transcribed ; and that whatever is bad is all my 
 own. To shelter myself however from the consequences 
 of the latter, I have taken the liberty of placing the name 
 of my ethereal friend upon the title page, that he who 
 gains the praise may also share the blame. 
 
 Should the public deem our joint lucubrations worthy 
 of patronage, I shall perhaps be induced again to draw 
 upon the ample folios of the aforesaid magic volume. 
 
 THE EDITOR. 
 
 Boston, Jan. 30th, 1841. 
 
THE MASQUERS; 
 
 OR, THE MERRY PILGRIMS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " What noisy rogues be these, 
 
 That wake the echoes of our peaceful vale ?" 
 
 The Royal Castle of Bolingbroke stood in the centre 
 of a vast amphitheatre of hills, open towards the south- 
 east, in which direction the prospect extended over the 
 adjacent fens as far as Boston and the sea. 
 
 On the evening upon which our narrative commences, 
 the setting sun was shedding a mellow radiance upon the 
 venerable battlements of this ancient fortress, when the 
 brow of the hill, which formed the northern boundary of 
 the valley, became suddenly peopled with a numerous 
 company of travellers, both male and female, in all the 
 variety of costume peculiar to the fantastic taste of the 
 age of which we write. 
 
 Slowly did the motley throng wend their way down 
 the hill ; the ladies on ambling palfreys ; and the gen- 
 tlemen, some on horseback and some on foot, the better 
 to assist their fair fellow travellers in the descent. The 
 party-coloured mantles and glittering arms of the men, 
 blending with the flowing draperies and rich head dresses 
 
2 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 of the ladies, gave a splendid and imposing effect to the 
 whole cavalcade : while the jingle of bells attached to the 
 horses' bridles, the sound of drums, hautboys, and trum- 
 pets, mingled with the song, the laugh and the merry 
 jest, combined to give life and spirit to ihe cheerful scene. 
 Such were the appearance and demeanour of this pious 
 company, for such they professed to be, however few the 
 outward signs they displayed. On completing the de- 
 scent the road ran along the outer verge of the fosse, so 
 that the inmates of the Castle had a good view of the 
 whole party, which amounted to nearly two hundred. 
 
 The unexpected arrival of such unusual visitors within 
 the precincts of the Honour of Bolingbroke, created no 
 small commotion amongst the peaceful inhabitants of the 
 secluded town, who all turned out to bid them welcome- 
 Impelled by the same motive as their more humble neigh- 
 bours, the ladies of the Castle took their station in the 
 embrasure of a window, which commanded a view of the 
 road, to see the strangers as they passed. Many were 
 the caps doffed to the lady Rosabel and her pretty com- 
 panion ; but the gay greetings and saucy comphments 
 of the wassailers quickly drove the blushing damsels from 
 their post; and the evening presently after closing in» 
 the tumult subsided into a distant murmur, interrupted 
 only by occasional bursts of music and laughter, showing 
 that neither wine nor travel had yet entirely hushed the 
 noisy voice of mirth. 
 
 Christine in the mean time had tripped away to the 
 porter'^s lodge to learn the meaning of this extraordinary 
 procession, and on her return reported it to consist of 
 pilgrims, merchants, mummers and wassailers, journey- 
 ing to the great mart at Boston, for the various purposes 
 
THE MASQUERS. 3 
 
 of religion, pleasure, and traffic. " But what think you P'"* 
 continued she, '' that surly old seneschal, my father, has 
 caused the gates to be closed, and the bridge to be raised ; 
 and vows he will allow no one to quit the Castle until 
 the town is well cleared of these vagabonds, as his invete- 
 racy styles this goodly company of gallant fellows and 
 happy damsels. Really, though he is my father, he is a 
 sad old churl." 
 
 " Well, but how can this affect you, silly girl, who 
 certainly do not wish to join yonder riotous assembly, 
 whose conduct so ill becomes the devotion proper to their 
 ostensible pilgrimage ?" 
 
 *^ I know not that, lady Rosabel ; nor will I promise, 
 despite my father's prohibition, that I will not visit them 
 this night. Did your ladyship observe the mad tricks of 
 the merry rogues ; and the burly old father Bluff, the 
 jolly vicar of Horncastle ; — and his squire and lieutenant, 
 the handsome young yeoman minstrel ? Oh ! how I should 
 love to accompany them to the merry makings, and fes- 
 tivities of the royal mart of Boston." 
 
 The rebuke which hung upon the lips of Rosabel was 
 here suspended by the approach of an ancient matron, 
 whose shrill voice gave notice of her proximity long before 
 she herself became visible. This old lady, whose name 
 was Cicely Moreton, having been the nurse of Henry 
 the Fourth in his infancy, had been allowed apartments 
 in the Castle ever since that memorable event ; and, pre- 
 suming upon the indulgence of successive governors, had 
 become as much the tyrant of the kitchen and larder, as 
 the old seneschal was of the garrison in general. Indeed 
 the struggles for supremacy between these two officials 
 
 were daily and desperate, each encroaching upon the 
 
 B 2 
 
4 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 other's domain, and each repelhng the aggression with all • 
 the venom of wordy warfare. 
 
 " Insolent and presumptuous knave !" such were the 
 first words distinguished in the rapid flow of her angry 
 eloquence ; — " am I to be thus insulted by a drunken 
 old soldier ? — Hag ! harridan ! indeed ! — are these con- 
 temptuous terms fit to be applied to Cicely Moreton, who 
 has fondled in her arms, and cherished at her breast, the 
 princely and glorious Harry the Fourth of England ? 
 No ; — I will no longer endure such treatment ; — I will 
 quickly know whether I am to be kept a prisoner in the 
 Castle like the lowest menial at the will of a tyrannical 
 seneschal, who takes advantage of the absence of the 
 governor to abuse his brief authority. In the time of 
 my good lady Blanche, the humble Simon Briton, who 
 now bears himself so proudly, would have thought him- 
 self honoured by a kind look or a passing word from her 
 he now treats with such contumely." 
 
 Thus speaking in bounced the old lady, tall of stature, 
 gaunt of figure, raised on high heeled shoes, with a lofty 
 head-geer, that added greatly to her extraordinary height, 
 and of which her pride, notwithstanding her great age, 
 did not allow her to lose a single inch. She flounced 
 about and tossed her head more like a damsel of sixteen 
 than a matron of seventy ; raising a cloud of dust and 
 perfume in her passage, the former caused by the sweep 
 of her long train and hanging sleeves, and the latter by 
 the motion her vivacity communicated to the curls of her 
 flaxen wig. But her anger had not yet exhausted 
 itself, and she thus resumed her declamation, on being 
 a'ddressed by Rosabel. 
 
 ^« What is the matter, good nurse ?" 
 
THE MASQUERS. 5 
 
 " Matter enough forsooth : but you will hardly be- 
 lieve, my dear young lady, the indignities I am compelled 
 to put up with. You must know then that having 
 observed my kinsman, Jerry Stalwart, and his buxom 
 daughter Jane, in the company of godly pilgrims now 
 foregathered in the town, I donned my braves to go and 
 visit them this evening ; which was but seemly, for 
 cousin Jerry is well to do in the world, and" — " Was 
 also an ancient flame of your's nurse ;" said the roguish 
 Christine. " Silence, vixen, and hsten to my tale of woe 
 without any of your pert remarks. Well, as I was say- 
 ing, Jerry being my near kinsman, for his mother's first 
 husband was half brother to my good man, (whose soul 
 God rest,) I thought it only proper to go and enquire of 
 his welfare : but when I came to the port, lo and behold, 
 to my utter astonishment, the gates were closed, the 
 bridge raised, and no passage open for dame Cicely 
 Moreton to go and visit her kinsman ! And when I told 
 the warder to open the gates for me, the knave flatly 
 refused, pleading the orders of the seneschal. To Mas- 
 ter Simon Briton I accordingly repaired ; when with all 
 the insolence of his petty office, he declared he would not 
 let me pass the portals, under some vain pretence of sus- 
 picion as to the character of the assembly which rests 
 this night in the town. So much for the impudence of 
 this self-styled captain." 
 
 '' Marry, dame Moreton, you give your tongue too 
 great a licence, to speak thus of my father, who is as 
 truly a captain as you are the royal nurse you so often 
 tell us of" 
 
 The old lady looked at Christine as if astonished at her 
 presumption, yet hurt at her unkindness ; and all her 
 
 b3 
 
6 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 ire having spent itself upon the captain, she replied only, 
 ** And do you too, Christine, turn your sarcasms upon 
 your old nurse ?" Hereupon her feelings being wrought 
 up to a high state of excitement, she burst into tears, 
 partly of spite and partly of vexation ; and was only 
 prevented from falling into hysterics by the assidu- 
 ous application of the remedies in thai case made and 
 provided. 
 
CHAPTER IL 
 
 " If thou lovest me, then, 
 
 Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night ; 
 
 And in the wood a league without the town, 
 
 There will I stay for thee." SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 As the bell tolled nine, a lady was seen to issue from 
 a small sally-port in an angle of the Castle wall, which 
 opened upon the inner bank of the fosse. 
 
 " Who goes there ?" was her challenge addressed to a 
 dark form which gloomed on the opposite verge. 
 
 " Love and honour:'"* was the whispered reply.— 
 Whereupon the fair night-walker stepped into a skiff 
 which lay near, and paddled it over the moat with a 
 dexterity that showed her not unpractised in that clan- 
 destine mode of quitting the Castle. W^ith a light heart 
 and a nimble foot she sprang upon the bank, and was 
 presently shrouded in the arms and mantle of the gentle- 
 man in waiting, who led her through the wood towards the 
 village. They had not proceeded far when they suddenly 
 encountered four fen-men, wild and desperate looking 
 fellows, of sallow visage, gaunt form, and rude and scanty 
 garb. The notorious brutality of these ruffians, and 
 their love of plunder even to blood, affrighted the 
 maiden, and she besought her lover, if possible, to avoid 
 
 them, which the young soldier, for her sake would wil- 
 
 B 4 
 
8 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 lingly have done, but the rencounter had now unfortu 
 nately become inevitable, for the boors had already hailed 
 him with a loud shout of brutal triumph, as if they had 
 unexpectedly pounced upon a prize. On they came, — 
 four as truculent looking fellows as ever graced a gallows- 
 tree ; their long visages obscured by thick shaggy hair, 
 which escaped from beneath small thrum caps ; and 
 brandishing huge bludgeons in their hands, for the skil- 
 ful exercise of which the fen-men were celebrated. 
 
 " Oh, oh, gallant sir ! — and oh, oh, fair lady ! — a fair 
 good e'en to your worships :" said the first ruffian in a 
 tone of mock courtesy. " Have you any pretty trifles, 
 or paltry baubles, such as a golden rosary, or a jewelled 
 cross, to bestow upon the poor fen-men ? We be honest 
 men who will thankfully receive at your hands whatever 
 your worships may be pleased to bestow." 
 
 *' Aye, aye," roared 4.he others, flourishing their clubs, 
 and laughing loudly at the banter of their comrade; 
 " we be humble petitioners for your bounty." 
 
 <« Why, gentlemen," said the youth, «^ as you speak 
 so fairly, I have no objection to present you with the 
 only trifle I have just now at your service; and here it 
 is :" shouted he, as he drew his sword and made a thrust 
 at one of the robbers, which laid him a corpse at his feet. 
 
 At the first flash of the weapon the lady fled, and as 
 one of the fellows turned to pursue her, the lover flew 
 upon him like a tiger, and passing his sword through his 
 unguarded body, followed rapidly the receding steps of 
 his mistress, before the two survivors had time to inter- 
 cept his retreat. At the outskirts of the wood he suc- 
 ceeded in overtaking the damsel, who almost fainted in 
 his arms ; but, on being assured of his safety, she recov- 
 
THE MASQUERS. 9 
 
 ered sufficiently to continue the flight until they found 
 themselves amongst the tents of the pilgrims on the south 
 side of the town. Here whilst they tarried to recover 
 breath, two muffled strangers rode rapidly towards the 
 Castle, but reined up their horses near them to enquire 
 the meaning of the assemblage of such a motley multitude 
 in so unusual a place. 
 
 '' This holy company of pilgrims, noble sirs,*'" said a 
 sprightly youth in green, who wore the silver badge and 
 chain of a yeoman-minstrel, " is journeying to the shrine 
 of our Lady of Mount Carmel at St. Bodolph''s." 
 
 " And you, I presume,'' said one of the horsemen, 
 " are their conductor and ghostly father." 
 
 " So please you, kind sir ; for the worthy shaveling 
 who enacts that part, lies snoring in yonder booth over- 
 come by the fervour of his devotion to the pottle-pot, 
 I am therefore for the present bpth minstrel and friar. 
 Should it please you to join our good company, you may 
 depend upon my fatherly counsel and protection." 
 
 " You are a hopeful youth," quoth the younger horse- 
 man, " to take charge of so large and fair a company of 
 damsels." 
 
 " Truly my hands are quite full of them, as you say, 
 but I find no difficulty in obtaining assistance in that de- 
 partment of my important office from the young fellows 
 who accompany me ; yet such is the glut of the bonny 
 kirtles that I can immediately put you in commission of 
 some lovely forlorn one, whom you shall chaperon if you 
 will make one of us." 
 
 " We thank you for your courtesy, sir minstrel, and 
 would gladly avail ourselves of your powerful patronage, 
 but that at present we are otherwise engaged. You de- 
 part for Boston on the morrow ?" 
 
10 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 " Early in the morning ;" was the reply. 
 The strangers with a courteous " good night," resumed 
 their journey, and immediately after crossing by a ford 
 the small " boling-broke," from which the Castle, town 
 and king have all derived their names^ turned into a road 
 that led to the Castle, and were presently out of sight. 
 
 " These be gay birds, and of high feather, or I am 
 mistaken,'' said the minstrel. 
 
 " Aye, truly," answered his neighbour. " Did you 
 mark the jewel that sparkled in the youngster's cap .^" 
 
 " Higher perchance than you imagine," grumbled a 
 surly fellow from behind an adjoining tree. 
 
 " Why, who may they be ?" enquired several voices at 
 once. 
 
 " That is as it may be," responded the same ungra- 
 gracious growl. 
 
 " Why, you are mysterious, brother mine ;" retorted 
 the minstrel, " and would persuade us you know more 
 than you are pleased to tell. 'Tis a shallow conceit, and 
 often proceeds from as shallow a brain." 
 
 " If they be not from the court," chimed in a third, 
 '' they are propably some of Hotspur's runaway lords, 
 who find it convenient to travel under favour of the 
 night." 
 
 " They cannot be rebels," replied another, " or they 
 would avoid the Castle, and I saw them turn their horses' 
 heads towards the draw-bridge. That would be like 
 running into the lion's mouth." 
 
 " It may perchance prove so to them notwithstanding," 
 was the ominous reply that again proceeded from the 
 dark shadow of the tree, from which a tall figure pre- 
 sently glided away into the distant gloom. 
 
THE MASQUERS. 11 
 
 " There be more mummers in our company, I fear, 
 than are well disposed,*" murmured several of the strag- 
 glers, as they betook themselves warily to their several 
 tents for the night, and left our lovers to do the same. 
 These, on hearing the end of the preceding gossip, hast- 
 ened to a small cottage in a retired part of the village. 
 
 There was neither light nor sound perceptible to give 
 token of inhabitants, yet, after a single knock and a 
 whispered pass-word, the door was opened, and they 
 entered. 
 
 On a miserable bed, in a back room, lay a fine old 
 gentleman fast asleep, whose white locks were dabbled 
 in blood from a wound on the temple, over which was 
 bound a silk scarf. The convulsive shudder, which occa- 
 sionally passed over his pallid and deeply-furrowed brow, 
 showed that he laboured, even in sleep, under bodily 
 pain and mental anxiety. A splendidly embroidered 
 doublet and cloak lay across the foot of the bed, and a 
 richly mounted sword and dagger hung from a peg in 
 the wall, over which also was placed a plumed velvet cap 
 peculiar to those of high rank. 
 
 To the enquiries of the young man, the aged attend- 
 ant replied, " My lord has slept soundly these two 
 hours, and the fever has considerably abated, so that with 
 proper care and rest I trust he will be out of danger in 
 two or three days." 
 
 '' Out of danger, Margery ! Would to God I could 
 think so ; but, truth to tell, perils thicken around us, for 
 I fear that the strangers we saw just now proceeding to 
 the Castle, come commissioned to search for, and arrest, 
 all fugitives who may lie concealed in this neighbour- 
 hood, and then my poor father will be the first victim 
 sacrificed to the vengeance of the enraged king.'' 
 
12 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 *' Do not indulge in such dreadful surmises, my dear 
 Rupert/'' said the young lady, " but, that all doubt on 
 this head may be set at rest, it is necessary that I return 
 forthwith to the Castle, to watch the course of events, and 
 prevent my absence from being discovered, for I shall 
 certainly be sought for on the arrival of guests. Should 
 danger threaten you, I will show a light from the win- 
 dow of my apartment, and immediately extinguish it ; 
 but if I let it continue to burn steadily, be assured you 
 have nothing to fear."" 
 
 *^' Ever my guardian angel, my sweet Christine !" said 
 the young man, pressing her to his breast, — *' You were 
 made to be a soldier's bride, for you are prompt to act 
 upon emergency, as well as quick to discern the best 
 way out of a labyrinth of difficulties.'' 
 
 Again the loving pair issued fourth into the darkness, 
 their hearts glowing with that generous devotion to each 
 other, which insensible to self concentrates all its happi- 
 ness in that of the beloved object. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 " At the Baron of Mowbray's gate was seen 
 
 A page with a courser white." S0N«. 
 
 There was an apartment in the Castle called the 
 Spanish chamber, which had originally been fitted up for 
 the princess Blanche, shortly after her marriage with 
 John of Gaunt, furnished in the most costly style, and 
 containing every luxury that the times had introduced, or 
 wealth could procure. This splendid room was assigned 
 to the lady Rosabel, nor did any one presume to enter it 
 without her special permission, except her favourite and 
 companion, Christine, and the dame Moreton. 
 
 The former of these damsels was a blonde, tall and 
 remarkably fair, with hair of a nut-brown shade, and her 
 form exquisitely moulded. Her mind was strongly tinc- 
 tured with romance, which the character of the age, her 
 conventual education, and along secluded residence in the 
 Castle of Bolingbroke, had tended to confirm. There 
 were other causes which had heightened this feeling in 
 an extraordinary degree, namely, the legendary tales 
 with which dame Moreton**s memory and fluent tongue 
 were wont to wile away the tedious hours; — to these 
 must be added the long accounts of moving accidents by 
 flood and field, with which the veteran Simon frequently 
 astounded the ears, and harrowed up the feelings of his 
 
14 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 credulous hearers on a winter's night. Thus was her 
 imagination constantly filled with dreams of love and 
 chivalry ; or, if the genius of pandemonium were in the 
 ascendant, all the spirits of earth and air assembled in 
 the theatre of her mind, and enacted their fantastic hor- 
 rors in all the vivid colouring of youthful fancy. 
 
 These traits, though savouring strongly of weakness, 
 were redeemed by an energy of character, and a boldness 
 of spirit, equal to the most trying emergency : and, in- 
 deed, it may be here remarked, that the gentlest and 
 most feminine of the dear sisterhood, have generally dis- 
 played a higher spirit, and a more decisive character, 
 in the day of trial, than those ladies whose general de- 
 meanour is of a more masculine order. 
 
 Her chosen companion and confidential friend, Chris- 
 tine, was a sparkling beauty of another order, — dark as 
 the daughters of Spain, from one of whom she was de- 
 scended, her eye had the bright glow — the fiery quick- 
 ness — of an eastern glance. Her form also was faultless, 
 but remarkably small, and her vivacity not to be repres- 
 sed. She was accomplished far beyond the generality of 
 her sex in the times of which we write, playing delight- 
 fully on the harp and citole, and executing delicate 
 needlework, and rich embroidery with equal skill and 
 taste. 
 
 The former of these fair maidens, wrapt in those 
 pleasing dreams in which romantic visionaries delight to 
 indulge, was reclining on a large sofa in the apartment 
 above described ; fascinating pictures of handsome 
 cavaliers, gallant knights, glorious tournaments, fairy 
 palaces, and propitious genii, were successively flitting in 
 charming disorder through her mind, when her reverie 
 
THE MASQUERS, 15 
 
 were suddenly disturbed by the sound of a bugle, and she 
 sprang from her recumbent posture as if some of her wild 
 fancies were on the instant to be realized. After a short 
 pause the bugle sounded again, and was followed by loud 
 and continued knocks. These were repeated at intervals 
 for some time, and apparently without effect. Sur- 
 prised at the summons not being answered by the warder, 
 she was about to go and enquire the cause, when Chris- 
 tine hurried into the room, her dress disordered, and her 
 cheeks flushed with the haste of her return from her se- 
 cret expedition. 
 
 " Ah, my dear Rosabel, I am glad to find you here, 
 for I was afraid you had retired to rest. — You must be 
 brave, — here be noble guests at the Castle gate. But fie 
 upon these saucy jack-men, for, knowing that my father 
 had withdrawn to his nocturnal devotions with the chap- 
 lain, they have made the old warder drunk, and persuaded 
 him to open the gates to allow them to quit the Castle, 
 and join the wassaiiers in the village. The old man has 
 from instinct fastened the inner gate, and now sleeps 
 soundly in his great arm chair, from which I have in vain 
 endeavoured to rouse him." 
 
 " But what can we do ?" 
 
 '' Try to open the gate ourselves." 
 
 Impelled by curiosity, and without considering for a 
 moment what might be the consequence of the step they 
 were about to take, the two young ladies tripped lightly 
 down the circular stairs, crossed the court, and took from 
 the feeble hands of the snoring porter tlia ponderous key. 
 Still they hesitated between fear and doubt of the pro- 
 priety of their conduct ; and so startled were they at the 
 clamorous renewal of the knocking that they were on the 
 
16 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 point of flying to the apartment they had left, but re- 
 suming their courage they at last ventured to open a 
 small grate and, parley with those without. 
 
 " Are you the governor of the castle, my pretty dam- 
 sel?"" said a merry voice from without, as Christine 
 peeped through the gratings. "Yes, so please you, for 
 the present. But what may be your pleasure, sir ?"" 
 
 " You being governor, fair one, our business is with 
 you. We are from the court of our good king Henry, 
 who by us greets the governor of his native Castle of 
 Bolingbroke, which, by the bye, he little suspects is 
 so fairly garrisoned, and so ably commanded." 
 
 " Gra^mercy, Christine ; — says he not he is from the 
 king? — Call your father. — Or stay; — ^let us admit them.— 
 They are perhaps some great men who will make an evil 
 report of this want of courtesy." 
 
 " Oh, if they be noble lords, they are at least young 
 and merry ones, by the sound of their voices," replied 
 Christine, " therefore let us admit them by all means." 
 
 With some difficulty, Christine, assisted by Rosabel, 
 succeeded in drawing the bolts and opening the gate, 
 whereupon the gallants throwing the bridles over their 
 horses'* necks, entered, apparently in no ill humour, not- 
 withstanding their long detention at the gate. 
 
 " We are your grateful debtors, fair ladies, for your 
 courteous admission, however tardy ; and as you are the 
 only portion of the garrison who at present keep watch 
 and ward, allow us, as in duty bound, to pay the saluta- 
 tions due." 
 
 And suiting the action to the word, the young speaker 
 was about to kiss Christine, when his gallantry received 
 a sudden and somewhat boisterous check. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Do not think, gentlemen, that I am drunk ; — this is my ancient ; — 
 this is my right hand, and this my left hand : — 1 am not drunk : — 
 vou must not think that I am drunk." Shakespeare. 
 
 In the early part of August, 1403, shortly after the 
 death of that star of chivalry, Henry Hotspur, and the 
 general dispersion of the rebels at Shrewsbury, Sir 
 Owen Tudor, constable of the Royal Castle and Honour 
 of Bolingbroke, was summoned to attend the king in his 
 progress to the north. He left the fortress under the 
 command of his lieutenant, Simon Briton, an approved 
 and loyal soldier ; to whose vigilance he also confided his 
 only and beloved daughter, Rosabel. 
 
 Simon Briton, or, as he was generally styled, " the 
 captain," was a short portly old gentleman, of a rubicund 
 and good-natured aspect, the rosy hue of which was 
 rendered more striking by a profusion of snow-white 
 hair, which covered his head and upper lip. The rest- 
 less twinkle of his small eyes, and an habitual nervous 
 twitch of his bushy eyebrows, showed him of a tempera- 
 ment easily excited, and extremely captious. He had 
 been from his youth a confidential follower of the House 
 of Lancaster, and had received the appointment he held 
 many years prior to the date of this narrative, from no 
 
18 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 less a person than John of Gaunt himself, under whom 
 he had served with zeal and honour in France and Spain. 
 
 He was also one of those that delight to figure as great 
 men in the drama of life, and who make the most of the 
 characters assigned to them ; his manner and language 
 were consequently always pompous and imposing, and 
 particularly so when he acquired the right to domineer 
 by being left in command of the " Royal Castle and Hon-^ 
 our of Bolingbroke," as he never failed to style his 
 small kingdom. 
 
 It will be readily conceived that such a person found 
 few who dared to thwart his imperious will, either in the 
 garrison or the neighbouring township, for his power was 
 indisputable, and the frequent absence of the Lord Con- 
 stable left him at full liberty to exercise it according to 
 his whim and pleasure. On these occasions the lady Ro- 
 sabel was the only person who had any influence over the 
 self-willed old soldier, for from long connexion with the 
 great he had acquired an almost blind deference for rank, 
 which at once commanded from him passive obedience. 
 
 The men-at-arms and other retainers about the Castle, 
 found their principal relief from the severe discipline he 
 generally kept up, in the old soldier''s devotion to the 
 pottle-pot. For no sooner were they assured that he was 
 safely ensconced behind the well-known mighty tankard, 
 than they knew themselves secure from discovery, how- 
 ever wild their pranks ; for the jolly old toper on these 
 occasions seemed to forget the world and all its vanities. 
 Friar Philip, the chaplain of the Castle, was the only 
 person admitted to the celebration of these Bacchanalian 
 rites, than whom a more efficient help-mate could not 
 possibly have been chosen. 
 
THE MASQUERS. ft 
 
 That these two worthies were engaged in their usual 
 symposium during the events of the preceding chapter 
 has heen already intimated^ and the train of our narra- 
 tive leads us to record a part of their edifying conversa* 
 tion. 
 
 " Spare not the pottle-pot, brother Philip, or you are 
 no true son of mother church. I never yet knew civilian 
 or layman that could cope with a soldier or a priest at 
 the wine flask." 
 
 '' Fairly spoken, jolly companion ; — nor will you find 
 me slow to support the reputation of our several callings^ 
 which certainly agree in that point, however dissimilar in 
 others, for you are a man of war, and I of peace." And 
 the good priest raising the pitcher to his lips drained its 
 contents to the last drop ; whereupon the replenishing of 
 the said pitcher became the subject of debate. 
 
 " May Beelzebub fly away with these knavish serving- 
 men, who leave me, — me, the representative of his Ma- 
 jesty ""s Lord Constable, — nay, of Majesty itself, — to draw 
 mine own wine." 
 
 " Fret not yourself, noble captain ; — I will undertake 
 the office of cellarer on the present occasion, if it so 
 please you.'* 
 
 " Aye, aye, holy father," replied the captain with a 
 hearty laugh, " His kindly proffered. And, pray, when 
 might I expect to see your reverence return from the 
 lower regions ? No, no, I will even be my own knave, 
 for I could ill support the weight of your bulky person 
 up the cellar stairs in addition to that of the flagon ; and 
 if you once got amongst the puncheons, your own legs I 
 misdoubt would never bring you up again into the re- 
 gions of light." 
 
 c2 
 
20 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 " Nay, now you are scandalous, captain ; — tliis too 
 amongst friends!" 
 
 The difficulty of recharging the exhausted cups was 
 at length obviated by the joint voyage of the two wor- 
 thies to a vault of the castle, the depositary of a quantity 
 of choice old wines of the best quality. Arrived at this 
 haven of their wishes, and being curious in their liquor, 
 they broached and tasted several sorts in succession, and 
 that so freely, that they were little inclined to quit their 
 strong hold, more particularly as the ascent was both 
 steep and rugged, and they would have to peril their 
 necks in the venture. Having therefore drawn trestles 
 up to the barrel most agreeable to their palate, they 
 jovially sat down, as it were at the fountain head of hap- 
 piness, and thus removed the possibility of future disputes 
 touching a regular supply of their beverage. 
 
 The orgies of these veteran compotators were at length 
 disturbed by the sound of a bugle, and finally by loud 
 and repeated knocks at the gate of the Castle. 
 
 " What makes this burly," said the captain. " This 
 now is some drunken frolic of these holyday fools, I ween. 
 A cloth-yard shaft through the fooPs brains would make 
 him remember playing his pranks before a Royal Castle. 
 'Tis strange that my people, notwithstanding my fre- 
 quent admonitions on the subject, will still give way to 
 that pernicious vice, drunkenness." 
 
 " Aye, aye, you say truly," replied the priest, on re- 
 covering his breath, which the length of a recent draught 
 had quite exhausted, *■' it is indeed extraordinary that 
 men should be so dull and besotted. Nay, incredible as 
 it must appear, I can assure you that at the very time 
 when I have been declaiming with holy fervour against 
 
THE MASQUERS. 21 
 
 the insidious and seductive liquor, the wine cup has still 
 continued to circulate with unabated rapidity, nor has a 
 sino^le guest declined to do honour to its contents, so in- 
 veterate is the fatal propensity." 
 
 "A truce, brother, to thy preachment," said the captain, 
 " and give me your opinion of this fine old Bourdeaux." 
 
 Whereupon the priest, nothing loath, after imbibing 
 the best part of a pint at a draught, exclaimed, '^ Exqui- 
 site, noble captain ! Good wine like this is always free 
 from the malison which rests upon the goblets of vulgar 
 and unprivileged wine-bibbers, whose muddy beverage 
 at once disorganizes the system, clouds the brain, and 
 corrupts the body, while those who partake of generous 
 liquor like this, brighten the imagination and add new 
 life and vigour both to mind and body." 
 
 '' You speak like an honest priest and a holy friar, 
 
 as you are, Philip, and I pledge you with all my heart. 
 
 I never heard you expound such sound doctrine before." 
 
 Here again the knocking became very loud, and was 
 
 followed by a point of war blown upon a bugle. 
 
 " By'r Lady, but that flourish tingles in mine ears, — 
 'tis ' the Reveille of Lancaster.' Who presumes to blow 
 it now unless he heralds the approach of blood-royal ? 
 Come, come, father Philip, this must be looked to. By 
 my good sword, I know not but the glorious Harry of 
 Bolingbroke is now standing before his own castle gate, 
 whilst we are carousing in his cellar." 
 
 He arose, and, tottering a ^ew steps, would have fallen, 
 had he not supported himself against one of the barrels. 
 
 *' Why, captain, — noble captain, what ails you ? 
 Surely the slight refection you have taken, has not weak- 
 ened your knees. It matters not, — I will myself go and 
 
 reconnoitre, and bring you information forthwith." 
 
 c3 
 
22 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 The jolly friar rose accordingly, but before he had 
 taken three steps his portly person rolled on the floor, 
 and the old soldier, delighted to see his co-mate as far 
 gone as himself, made the vaults echo with his long 
 laugh and uproarous mirth. However, after sundry 
 mishaps, the worthy couple emerged from the cellar, and 
 arm in arm, with unsteady steps approached the hall, at 
 the very moment the young stranger was on the point of 
 saluting, somewhat familiarly, the captain's daughter. 
 
 ** Zounds and furies! what is this?" bellowed Simon, 
 roughly pushing the young gentleman on one side. 
 
 " Softly and quietly, captain ; — steady, captain,, stea- 
 dy,'* said the priest, but the caution was unheeded by 
 the furious father, for the sight he had just seen had at 
 once sobered him, and he now confronted the strangers 
 with a firm yet fierce aspect. 
 
 *'What means this ? — Your courtesy, gentlemen, is, 
 methinks, indeed extreme, and requires fitting answer. 
 How dare you thus enter a royal fortress, and assail its 
 garrison in its weakest point .^ Can such conduct be 
 justified?'* 
 
 " Pray, Sir," said the elder stranger, " whom have we 
 the honour to address? 
 
 *' Captain Briton, lieutenant governor of the Royal 
 Castle and Honour of Bolingbroke." 
 
 " Oh, I cry you mercy, noble captain : we took this 
 fair damsel for the governor, as being at his post, and 
 answering to the name." 
 
 " Now, gentlemen, as I have told you who I am ; may 
 I beg the same courtesy of you ?" 
 
 *' This will inform you :" he gives a letter. 
 
 < To Captain Briton, lieutenant of Bolingbroke Castle. 
 
THE MASQUERS. 23 
 
 * These greeting. — Our noble kinsmen, the lords Neville 
 and Lacey, journeying through Lincolnshire, will sojourn 
 for a time at our Castle of Bohngbroke ; and it is our 
 command that you treat them in every respect as if our- 
 self had taken up our residence with you. 
 
 ' Given at our Camp, at Derby, Henry.' 
 
 July SOth, 1403.' 
 
 The blustering captain, on reading this, immediately 
 changed his tone and manners; and with stammering 
 and respectful words addressed the gay intruders, who 
 came with such a letter of credence. 
 
 " I pray your pardon, noble lords ; — had I known your 
 rank, and that you were friends of my illustrious master, 
 I should have received you with all honour and courtesy." 
 
 '^ Oh, think not of it, noble captain ; you were at 
 your devotions, doubtless, with that holy father ; and 
 we have rather to ask your pardon for disturbing them at 
 so unseasonable an hour." 
 
 The captain cast a warning yet merry glance at the 
 friar, who turned away from the company to conceal the 
 laughter with which his fat sides were heaving, and the 
 suppression of which almost choked him. 
 
 " We cannot sufficiently admire," resumed the younger 
 stranger, " the efficient lieutenant, and her pretty Aide- 
 de-camp, who performed duty in your absence. They 
 reconnoitered and parleyed with us in true garrison style 
 before we were admitted." 
 
 The captain now led the way to an inner apartment, 
 where the care and activity of Christine had provided a 
 well-covered board, to which the guests, nothing loath 
 immediately applied themselves. 
 
 V 4 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine, 
 
 Were not revenge sufficient for me ; 
 
 And 'till I root out thine accursed name, 
 
 And leave not one alive, I live in Hell." shakesfeare. 
 
 RuPEiiT was still cowering in the wood, with eyes 
 steadily fixed on the dark turret, whence the beacon of 
 good or evil omen was to be displayed, when the castle 
 bell tolled one. No light had yet gleamed from the 
 well-known window, or rather loophole, which Vione but 
 the eyes of a lover could have distinguished through the 
 thick darkness, when he was suddenly startled by the 
 sound of cautious steps and suppressed whispers near 
 him, together with the crackling of the underwood as 
 it gave way to those who were forcing a passage through 
 it. But just at this moment, as he drew his sword, and 
 was about to challenge the night walkers, the long ex- 
 pected light appeared and continued to burn steadily. 
 As the safety of his father, in a great measure, de- 
 pended upon the steady gleam of that taper, it for some 
 moments absorbed all his attention, but when the con- 
 tinuance of its cheering ray had relieved his mind from 
 that anxietv, his thoughts reverted to the immediate dan- 
 ger which threatened him, and he listened for the repeti- 
 
THE MASQUERS. 25 
 
 tion of the sounds which had before alarmed him. A 
 dead silence prevailed, yet the parties could not be far off, 
 for his attention had been withdrawn but a iew seconds. 
 Presently a slight rustling of the bushes took place ; but 
 it was too dark to perceive the cause. Uncertain whether 
 he himself were the object of his suspicious neighbours, 
 without moving a step from his position, he kept the 
 point of his weapon opposed to the direction of the sound, 
 which again became perceptible and was accompanied by 
 suppressed whispers, at this time nearer and more distinct, 
 and the import of which consequently reached his ears. 
 
 " What means that light ? They cannot have received 
 information of our design. But v.'hy are these boors not 
 here to meet us according to agreement?" 
 
 *' Oh, the curse of St. Francis rest upon them, and 
 upon thee for engaging them : — I doubt not but their 
 brutal clumsiness will spoil our well-arranged plan." 
 
 "Nay, if your hot head must needs vent its spite, ex- 
 pend it on your own folly and thirst for revenge, which 
 have instigated you to an enterprize like the present. I 
 warn you, at any rate, not to make me the butt of your 
 ill humour, although I am fool enough to take my risk 
 in your wild scheme," 
 
 " Wild scheme call you it ? By my troth, but it is a 
 magnificent scheme, — a glorious plot, big with the fate 
 of princes ; and, moreover, pregnant with revenge up- 
 on the usurping tyrant and his profligate son ; upon the 
 murderer of my father, and of — yours — ^yours ! Think 
 of that, and let it fire your blood to vengeance, — dark, 
 deep, and bloody vengeance." 
 
 " I have not such a thirst for blood as you." 
 
 '* But is there not also a brilliant chance of redeeming 
 
26 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 our blighted honours, if we become the stepping stones, by 
 which the young Earl ascends the throne of his fathers." 
 
 " Fine dreams, truly, for outlawed vagabonds, whose 
 lives are at a price, and who can scarcely traverse this 
 dark wood in safety from the arm of the law, which is 
 hunting us down to our fate." 
 
 " What do you propose T' 
 
 *' I care not." 
 
 ** Will you not then second me in my enterprize ?'* 
 
 '* You have my word. It is for you to lead, — fear not 
 but that I shall follow." 
 
 " Well then, — let us rejoin our small band, and lead 
 them at once to the assault. Every inmate of the Castle 
 must now be at rest, and in the confusion of the surprise, 
 \ve shall have an opportunity either to kill or carry off 
 the boy." 
 
 " Hold ! — you know the condition I made, — his life 
 shall not be touched," 
 
 " 1 remember." was the cold reply. 
 
 The two strangers now retreated in silence ; and Ru- 
 pert, who had gathered from their conversation that an 
 immediate attack on the Castle was intended, impelled 
 by anxiety for the safety of Christine, hastened directly to 
 the Castle gate, roused the warder, and on his admission 
 imparted to the captain and his guests what he had over- 
 heard. Whereupon arrangements were immediately 
 made to give the assailants a warm reception. 
 
 About two o'clock the sentinels passed the word in a 
 whisper, that they perceived the approach of the enemy 
 whose proceedings showed that they considered their at- 
 tack altogether unexpected, and that they should have no 
 difficulty in carrying the fortress by surprise. 
 
THE MASQUERS. 27 
 
 One of llie party i^rst swam across the moat, and re- 
 turning with the skiff, some twenty others were soon 
 ferried over, whereupon they proceeded to raise a tall 
 ladder against the wall, where it was most accessible, and 
 to climb up to the parapet. The first who thus adven- 
 tured however slipped and fell, overthrowing three others 
 who were on the ladder below. On examination he was 
 found to be quite dead. After a pause of some seconds, 
 to ascertain if the noise of this incident had alarmed 
 the garrison, the attempt was resumed, but with no better 
 result ; for no sooner had another of the party raised his 
 head above the coping, than he uttered a groan and fell 
 over in like manner upon the dead body of his comrade. 
 
 The recurrence of this unlooked for event paralyzed for 
 a moment, the courage of the rest, and whispers of doubt 
 were passing between those on the ladder and those be- 
 low, when simultaneously there appeared several heads 
 above the wall with pointed arquebuses ; and at the same 
 moment, from a sally-port near them, issued a small party 
 armed to the teeth, who taking them in rear, killed seve- 
 ral, and drove the rest into the moat, in which several 
 were shot, only two or three escaping to the other side, 
 and taking shelter in the wood. 
 
 On reassembling in the hall, the sturdy old soldier, 
 Briton, to whom this skirmish had proved quite exhila- 
 rating, because it vividly recalled to his memory the ex- 
 citing scenes of his youth, loudly extolled the conduct 
 of his noble guests ; and they in their turn assigned all 
 the honour of the affair to the courage and intelligence 
 of Rupert. 
 
 " Truly, my lords, you speak but sooth, for I myself 
 observed his alacrity and daring." 
 
28 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 " Tell us, young man," continued the captain, " to^ 
 whom we are so much indebted for the fortunate issue of 
 this night's adventure." 
 
 All eyes turned upon llupert, in expectation of his 
 answer, but he who but a few minutes before had been 
 so bold to encountre an armed foe, now shrunk abashed 
 from the questions and scrutiny of those he had rendered 
 so much his debtors. 
 
 " I am but a poor soldier of fortune, gentlemen," he at 
 length stammered out, " whose name is not worthy of your 
 remembrance, and who, if he has done you any service,, 
 begs only that you will allow him to depart unquestioned.'" 
 
 *' Well, my brave boy," said Briton, " we will not 
 strain our courtesy to unkindness, by asking you that 
 you are unwilling to answer, but you must not quit the 
 Royal Castle without some token of gratitude for your 
 conduct on this occasion from him, who, however un- 
 Avorthy, now holds command here. AV herein can I 
 serve you ? — In purse, or person ?" 
 
 " I am grateful for your kindness. Sir Captain, and 
 if I do not task your liberality on the present occasion, 
 it is not that I disdain your proiFer, or indeed that I need 
 it not ; but I would reserve your promise for a future 
 crisis, and doubt not but the time will come, when I 
 shall ask you to redeem it." 
 
 " In all that consists with honour and fealty," said tha 
 captain, " I pledge you my word ; in token whereof take 
 this ring. The motto, as you see, is Pret a fair e ; and so 
 will you ever find me on presenting it, and demanding 
 the fulfilment of my promise." 
 
 "Allow me also," said the younger nobleman, "to add 
 my ring also, with my hearty thanks and admiration fos* 
 
THE MASQUERS. 29 
 
 this night's service. I regret that your circumstances 
 should require secresy, and compel your immediate de- 
 parture, as we should have much pleasure in commend- 
 ing so gallant and hopeful a young soldier to the notice 
 of the King. But since that may not be, and in these 
 turbulent times we cannot always command the beck of 
 fortune, should you ever be in extremity, whatever the 
 circumstances, forward this ring to the lord Neville, in 
 the train of the Prince Henry, and doubt not but it will 
 bestead you at your utmost need." 
 
 '^ Gratefully do I accept your valuable signet, my lord ; 
 and should fortune press me so hard as you suppose, I 
 will try the magic of its power, nothing doubting its in- 
 fallibility." 
 
 This the youth said, as he received the ring, with a 
 profound obeisance to the donor. Then turning to the 
 ladies, who stood near, he said with a smile, '* May I 
 presume to solicit a friendly token from the fair chatelans 
 also, a favour from whom will indeed make me a proud 
 soldier, and give me cause to glory in my knightly 
 achievements." 
 
 The lady Rosabel immediately presented him with a 
 jewelled cross, at the same time invoking the benison 
 of our Blessed Lady upon his head. The blushing and 
 trembling Christine drew from her finger a small ring 
 set with rubies, which, with a furtive smile, she presented, 
 requesting him to keep it in remembrance of her, until 
 her father redeemed his promise. Whereupon Rupert, 
 with his blushing honours thus thick upon him, made 
 farewell bow and departed. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Stealing her soul with many vows of faith, 
 
 And ne'er a true one." shakespeare. 
 
 On the morning following the events detailed in the 
 previous chapter, notwithstanding the broken rest of the 
 previous night, Rosabel rose early, and pensively took 
 her station at a window, which commanded a view of the 
 eastern horizon, and of the pilgrims' camp. The latter 
 was already instinct with life and motion, but the mind 
 of the fair spectator was so absorbed in its own thoughts, 
 that her eyes wandered over the extensive prospect with- 
 out notino^ Its beauties. The freshness of the morning 
 air, which breathed through the lattice, gave a slight 
 rose tint to her delicate complexion, and in some measure 
 communicated its cheering influence to the tone of her 
 meditations, which were wholly fixed upon the occur- 
 rences of the preceding evening. 
 
 The peculiar circumstances under which the strangers 
 had arrived, their cavalier bearing, and the dangerous 
 afterpiece of the mysterious attack, all tended to give an 
 interest and importance to their arrival, which it would 
 not otherwise have commanded. Of their persons and 
 features she had but an indistinct impression, mixed up 
 with hurried thoughts of their first admission, their 
 familiar salutation, and subsequent interview with the 
 
THE MASQUERS. 31 
 
 captain ; — that impression was however highly pleasing, 
 and she looked forward with a fluttering heart to their 
 appearance at the breakfast table, which on this occasion 
 had been prepared in the Spanish chamber. 
 
 Thus abstracted in mind, her cheek resting upon her 
 hand, and reclining on the sill of the window, she was 
 startled by the voice of some one behind her. 
 
 " A fair good morrow to my beautiful hostess.'* 
 
 She turned quickly round, and with a deep blush and 
 a profound courtesy, returned the salute of the elder 
 stranger, lord Lacey, who now stood before her. He 
 was a fine young man of about twenty, with a handsome 
 and manly countenance, and of a bold and easy carriage, 
 far beyond his years, and acquired by habits of command, 
 to which his rank and station had accustomed him. 
 
 " I fear, gentle lady, my sudden appearance has alarm- 
 ed you, and I humbly crave your pardon." 
 
 " 'Twas but a momentary surprise, my lord, and 
 therefore requires no apology.'* 
 
 The ready address of lord Lacey quickly dispelled 
 the awkwardness of this introduction, and by slow and 
 almost imperceptible degrees their conversation assumed 
 a more animated tone ; the gentleman introducing into his 
 discourse many figures of speech which savoured more of 
 gallantry than of ordinary courtesy, and the lady listening 
 with modest yet not ungratified reserve. In short their 
 conference was as pretty and pleasant an affair as could 
 possibly have been got up on so short an acquaintance, 
 and was still in its full piquancy, when it was suddenly 
 broken off by a scuffle and a scream in the ante-room, 
 and the hasty entrance of Christine, closely followed by 
 mv lord Nevii. 
 
32 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 This young gentleman, who was considerably younger 
 than his companion, was tall, well proportioned, and of 
 a fair countenance, with a bright quick eye, — the whole 
 contour being highly agreeable, though somewhat dashed 
 with the air of a roue^ and slightly disfigured by a re- 
 cent wound on the left cheek. 
 
 " Stay, my beautiful httle sylph ;" shouted he, " Why 
 will you fly from me thus ? See me at your feet, and 
 say, does this look like the insolent presumption you 
 charge me with." 
 
 " I hate and despise you :"" replied the enraged girl. 
 " You are neither lord nor gentleman, to treat a lady 
 thus, but, I doubt not, some saucy groom, who having 
 stolen his master's doublet, knows not how to assume 
 manners suitable to the garb in which he is disguised." 
 
 " Nay, nay, my sweet bonny belle, accuse me not so 
 bitterly, for I here vow myself your true knight, and 
 I trust, ' sans tache et sans peur.'' I only wished to pay 
 you the fraternal salutations of the morning." 
 
 " Your fraternal salutations appear to be for all sea- 
 sons, night as well as morning ; but, my lord, you will 
 do well to seek some other recipient of your favours, for 
 I desire them not. AVere you the prince himself, I 
 would not put up with your insolent familiarity ; though, 
 as coming under the king's recommendation, I am de- 
 sirous of paying you all becoming courtesy." 
 
 " Bravely spoken, my bright eyed queen of hearts. 
 You cannot think how beautiful you look, when you are 
 angry." 
 
 " My lord, — my gracious lord," said Lacey, in a defe- 
 rential, yet deprecatory tone, " let me pray you to consi- 
 der what is due to the roof-tree of a royal Castle, and to 
 
THE MASQUERS. 33 
 
 those that command therein. — Bethink you also, what is 
 becoming of yourself and your father's son.'^ 
 
 " I am wrong, — I am wrong,"" said the youth, '•' and 
 I cry you mercy, sweet lady. Yet allow me, I pray 
 you, to be your most obedient slave, — your foot-page, 
 — nay, your mo^t menial knave; and I shall deem 
 myself in a high and honourable post, if you will be- 
 stow upon me, occasionally, in guerdon of my service, 
 one of those roguish and bewitching smiles, which now 
 and then light up your merry face, and tell of a heart in 
 that fair bosom overflowing with love and feeling, — a 
 treasure worth a diadem.'* 
 
 "Peace, peace, my good lord," said Lacey, "you will 
 alarm the young lady by your madness." 
 
 " Oh no, my lord, he does not alarm me ;" retorted 
 Christine, " I am only surprised at his impudence, in 
 presuming to talk in such a strain with his baby's face, 
 on which there is not yet a single hair to swear by." 
 
 " By my fai', Nevil, but she has you there," said 
 Lacey. 
 
 " 'Tis fair warfare," resumed the youth," so I may as 
 well make the most of my smock face, and say, at least 
 she cannot take me by the beard." 
 
 During the latter part of this playful contention. Dame 
 Moreton entered the apartment. She had contrived to 
 quit the Castle the evening before, notwithstanding the 
 prohibition of the seneschal, and, having spent the night 
 in the village with some of her gossips, was totally unac- 
 quainted with the occurrences which had fallen out 
 during her absence. Surprise at seeing such unwonted 
 guests in the usually deserted chamber, at first kept her 
 speechless, and she turned her bewildered gaze rapidly 
 
34 THB MASQUERS. 
 
 from one party to another, until it became suddenly fix- 
 ed, as if by magic, upon the features of the laughing 
 young nobleman, who was on his knees at the feet of 
 Christine : and, after devouring him as it were with her 
 eyes, she exclaimed vehemently, *' It is, — it must be — 
 my royal — my princely nursling !" And thus saying, 
 she threw her arms round the neck of the astonished 
 young man, and covered his face with her kisses. So 
 utterly was he confounded by this sudden assault, that it 
 was some seconds before he could recover his position, 
 and shake off the unwelcome embraces of the ancient 
 dame; but when at last released, the blushing youth, 
 with a somewhat clouded brow, which the undisguised 
 laughter of Lacey and the ladies did not tend to smooth, 
 turned to the old lady, and requested to know why he 
 was so highly favoured with the tokens of her affection, 
 she was on her knees before him, humbly imploring his 
 pardon for the liberty she had taken, and calling him— 
 *' her royal babe ! — her princely fondling ! — her glorious 
 lord and master !" — evidently supposing him to be no 
 other than the king himself, her former nursling. And 
 the young ladies, gleaning from her exclamations the 
 cause of her strange conduct, said, ^' Why, nurse, — 
 dame Moreton, you must be mistaken : — this is not the 
 king; — this is lord Nevil." 
 
 *' Lord Nevil ! — lord Nevil ! — do you say ?'"' shrieked 
 the still agitated nurse : " Tell me not of lords, or of 
 dukes; — do you think I have forgotten the features of 
 the child of my bosom. Look at him ; — there he stands 
 in all his noble beauty, as when he last visited the Castle, 
 twenty years ago come next candlemas !" 
 
 *' But this gentleman, nurse, can scarcely be twenty 
 
THE MASQU£RS. 85 
 
 years of age :" said Christine, " at any rate he is not 
 come to years of discretion." 
 
 This self-evident fact rather shook the old lady's con- 
 fidence in her position ; and she again approached the 
 young gentleman, with eyes of doubt and enquiry : but 
 here lord Lacey interposed, saying, " You are correct, 
 good nurse, in your recognition of the striking similarity 
 of feature between my friend and the king, which is 
 indeed extraordinary, and has been frequently observed 
 by others. In fact, Nevil, I believe you boast of some 
 distant relationship to his majesty, which may in part 
 account for the resemblance." 
 
 Still the dame was not satisfied, and it was long before 
 she gave up her point, her eyes constantly following 
 every motion of the supposed king, whose image seemed 
 to have been stored up in her heart of hearts. 
 
 The arrival of the captain and father Philip caused 
 the whole party at once to adjourn to the breakfast table, 
 and the meal passed off pleasantly enough, with much 
 cheerful chat and many merry jibes, principally directed 
 against the venerable nurse, but the good old lady was 
 so fully possessed by her own thoughts, and the contem- 
 plation of the object of them, that she seemed deaf to 
 all that was said. No sooner was the meal over than 
 the ladies dispersed to their household avocations, and 
 the captain, commending his guests to the conversation 
 of the chaplain, was about to follow their example, when 
 a letter was put into his hand, which had just arrived by 
 a special messenger from the governor, Sir Owen Tudor. 
 In this epistle the good knight informed his lieutenant, 
 that he had accidentally learnt, the day before, that Prince 
 Henry was about to visit Bolingbroke Castle, with whal 
 
36 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 object he could not discover ; but that as the manners 
 of the young prince, and his associates, were generally 
 dissolute, the careful father directed the captain imme- 
 diately to send his daughter Rosabel and her companion 
 Christine to the house of his sister, the lady Isabel 
 Bohun, at Gishour''s Hall, Boston; there to remain un- 
 til his return from the north with the kinc^. The letter 
 went on to say that he had not been able to discover 
 the precise time of the threatened visit, nor who were to 
 be the companions of the royal scape-grace, but that 
 Thomas Fitz-Allan, the Earl of Surrey, was certainly 
 one of them, a young man of much better character than 
 those who were generally honoured with the prince's 
 friendship. 
 
 No sooner had the captain possessed himself of the 
 contents of this important dispatch, than he addressed 
 his guests as follows, *' My lords, I suppose you can 
 guess the subject of my letter, which informs me that 
 the prince himself is about to honour the Royal Castle 
 of Bolingbroke with his presence, and you, gentlemen, I 
 presume, form his advanced guard, — his avaiit-couriers. 
 Pray, when may I expect his royal highness, and how 
 many persons form his suite ? for it is so long since we 
 were honoured with visitors of high rank, that our ac- 
 commodation is but scanty, and I must prepare accord- 
 ingly." 
 
 " You divine the matter sagely, captain,"" said La- 
 cey. " The prince will be here perhaps in a day or 
 two, but do not make any extraordinary preparation, for 
 his highness travels incog. , dislikes ceremony, and will 
 probably be attended by only one or two confidential 
 adherents." 
 
THE MASQUERS. 37 
 
 " If I may make so bold," rejoined the captain, " has 
 he the jolly old knight. Sir John FalstafT, in his train ?" 
 
 '' AVhat ! hast heard of fat Jack even in this remote 
 part of the realm ?" 
 
 " Aye, truly, my lord ; and men say he is in high 
 favour with the prince, although the king likes him not." 
 
 ^* The jolly knight is commissioned to hunt up corn, 
 wine, and hay, from the fat burghers of Boston, and to see 
 them dispatched for the king's service to Tynemouth ; 
 and if he should hear that the prince is at Bolingbroke, 
 he will probably leave the king's commission to take care 
 of itself, and hasten hither to join us, when he will be 
 most happy to assist you and the holy friar in your de- 
 votions." 
 
 " Let me pray your lordship's pardon and silence on 
 that head," entreated the captain, " or you may do me 
 much harm with the prince and his royal father, of 
 whose house I have been a faithful follower from ray 
 childhood." 
 
 Thus saying he quitted the room, and the two young 
 noblemen shortly after mounted their horses, and rode 
 over to Spilsby, promising to return by noon. 
 
 D3 
 
CHAPTER Vn, 
 
 ** Who lets his wife abroad with pilgrims roam, 
 Deserves a fool's cap, and lon^ ears at home." 
 
 CHAUCER. 
 
 No sooner had his guests departed, than Simon called 
 a council of the ladies, and informed them, that in conse- 
 quence of an order from Sir Owen, the lady Rosabel was 
 to proceed forthwith to Boston, and there to remain with 
 her aunt Isabel until his return from the north ; and 
 moreover that Christine and dame Moreton were to ac- 
 company her. He further stated his wish that they 
 should be prepared for the journey in half an hour :^ 
 at which there was a general up-lifting of hands, and ex- 
 clamations implying the impossibility of having all the 
 requisite paraphernalia ready on so short a notice ; but 
 as the old gentleman was absolute, they were compelled 
 to submit, and in about an hour had mustered in the 
 court yard, equipped for riding, and being mounted on 
 good mules, with a guard of six men-at-arms under the 
 orders of a halberdier, took the road to Boston at a 
 round trot. 
 
 Rosabel with regret left the handsome lord Lacey be- 
 hind, and wondered if she should ever see him again : 
 
THB MASQUERS. Sft 
 
 while Christine lamented the untimely removal as most 
 unfortunate, and anxiously bethought herself of the 
 dangers that threatened her gallant lover and his wound- 
 ed father. As for dame Moreton, she was overjoyed at 
 the prospect of rejoining cousin Jerry, and the merry 
 pilgrims, and tattled away with childlike delight, whilst 
 the two young maidens rode in silence by her side, fully 
 occupied by their own reflections. What would have 
 been the train of their thoughts, had they known of the 
 expected arrival, the captain, by his prudent silence, pre- 
 vents the necessity of enquiring. 
 
 Being well mounted they rode rapidly on, and soon 
 came up with the rear stragglers of the company of 
 pilgrims, and at Sibsey overtook the main body, who 
 hailed their appearance with shouts of v/elcome ; and at 
 dame Moreton's earnest request the rate of travelling 
 was shortened to that of the godly company they had 
 now joined. 
 
 At Sibsey they stopped to dine, and during dinner a 
 company of mummers performed the " Mystery of the 
 Ass,"" to the infinite delight of the spectators. In this 
 performance was introduced a wooden ass enclosing a 
 man, upon which mounted Balaam, equipped with an 
 immense pair of spurs, and otherwise dressed in most 
 farcical style. An angel, personated by one of the fair 
 pilgrims, appeared on the road, whom the ass refused to 
 pass, and was in consequence most unmercifully beaten, 
 
 to escape the continuance of which the poor animal at 
 last spoke, to the great satisfaction of the hearers. 
 
 Whereupon the hitherto despised ass rose into suddea 
 
 estimation, and was led in grand procession, followed by 
 
 the whole assembly, uttering one universal bray, so that it 
 
 x> 4 
 
40 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 might have been supposed that the assumption of speech 
 by the long-eared brute, had deprived the two-legged 
 animals of their ordinary mode of utterance, and had 
 communicated in return the asinine power of braying 
 alone. The very geese hissed at the tumultuous mob as 
 they passed along. 
 
 From the conclusion of this farce, until it entered 
 Boston, the procession appeared to consist rather of 
 Bacchanals than of holy pilgrims ; for such was the feel- 
 ing of the age that the utmost licentiousness was per- 
 missible on these occasions, under the name and guise of 
 religion. 
 
 The escort of the lady Rosabel and her party, in the 
 general confusion and licence that surrounded them, soon 
 forgot their duty, and left their charge exposed to the 
 ruffianly insults of any pot-valiant jacks, who could 
 muster courage enough to address their ribaldry to ladies 
 so much their superiors. Some of these they rebutted 
 with contemptuous silence,, which drove them away to 
 seek more complaisant objects for their pastime; but two 
 fellows in masks, whose language and bearing shewed 
 them not to belong to the ordinary class amongst which 
 they herded, were not so easily dismissed, but pressed 
 their attentions with a pertinacity and officiousness, 
 which would take no repulse, so that the young ladies 
 became seriously alarmed ; when another mask, who had 
 recently kept close to them, suddenly stepped in between 
 Christine and her tormentor, with a bold and manly 
 '« Stand back fellow." 
 
 The party thus unceremoniously addressed, staggered 
 back a pace or two, and then all at once recovering him- 
 self, drew a dagger from his belt, and slashed it across the 
 
THE MASQUERS. 41 
 
 face of the intruder, with the intention of bhnding him, 
 but his adversary was on the alert, and striking the wea- 
 pon up with one hand, dealt him a blow with the other, 
 which threw him prostrate amongst the horses' feet, 
 where he left him to recover himself as he best could. 
 
 A whisper from her protector reassured the terrified 
 Christine, who with a smiling countenance communicated 
 the information she had received to Rosabel, whose per- 
 secutor had also disappeared, probably to look after his 
 fallen comrade. 
 
 An earnest conversation ensued between Christine and 
 her new chaperon, and it was remarked, that from the 
 moment he took his place at her side the hitherto sad 
 and anxious expression of her countenance, had been 
 changed for one of the most happy and joyous that a 
 beautiful face can assume. 
 
 As they drew near to the good town of Boston, the 
 truant escort resumed their station, the old halberdier 
 loudly upbraiding his men with their derehction of duty, 
 and fiercely asseverating the trouble he had had to bring 
 them back to their post, in which occupation he would 
 have had it inferred he had been all the time busily en- 
 gagedj though his twinkling eye and purple face told a 
 different tale. 
 
 On their arrival at the Strait Bar Gate, the friendly 
 mask bade them farewell, and the men-at-arms were com- 
 pelled to draw up on one side, not being permitted to 
 enter without the permission of the High Bailiff of the 
 Town, but the ladies proceeded with one attendant to 
 Gishour's Hall, the residence of lady Isabel Bohun, 
 who joyfully welcomed her niece and her attendants to 
 her house. 
 
CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 Nothing there grew beneath the sky, 
 
 But willows scarcely six feet high ; 
 
 And those of only one year's crop 
 
 The floods did fairly overtop." HALX,. 
 
 The evening that succeeded the day of commotion 
 described in the foregoing chapter, closed in with clouds 
 and darkness before the last stragglers of the company 
 reached Boston. 
 
 'J'he only road which traversed the West Fen, in the 
 times of which we write, was a straight, but very uneven 
 causeway, distinguishable from the surrounding marsh 
 by rows of willows, which skirted it on either side, but 
 in other respects exactly the same, being for the most 
 part covered with water, and in places rendered quite 
 impassable by deep sloughs of quick swamp, large enough 
 to swallow a whole troop of horse. These necessarily 
 occasioned the way-farer to quit the marked track, and 
 to pick his way through the adjoining bog and quag, 
 mire, which were almost as dangerous as the quaking 
 swamp he sought to avoid. Hence strangers were com- 
 pelled to employ, as guides, the native fen-men, to whom 
 alone these devious paths were known. 
 
THE MASQUERS. 4$ 
 
 It was late on the night in question, when a portlj 
 horseman, on a fine charger, followed by a young page 
 mounted on a spirited jennet, rode slowly along the dark 
 and dismal causeway between Stickney and Sibsey, under 
 the guidance of one of the amphibious beings before 
 mentioned, who plodded on before them, in sullen si- 
 lence, through mud and water, never pausing to answer 
 any of the numerous queries addressed to him. 
 
 The forlorn traveller, very ill at ease, though disliking 
 the route, and doubtful of the honesty of his guide, still 
 followed in his steps, for nothing appeared so much to 
 be dreaded as the alternative of being left alone to find 
 his way out of the labyrinth of dangers by which his path 
 was now beset. Thus then did they wade on through 
 increasing difficulties, until they came to what appeared 
 an impassable lake of dark water, the boundaries of 
 which the eye in vain sought for through the dense fog 
 that hung over it. Here the guide stopped, and said, 
 
 "You must dismount, and let me lead your horses 
 across this piece of water, or both you and they will be 
 lost in the bog." 
 
 " Is there no other road .?'' 
 « None.'' 
 
 " I would rather retrace the one we have come, than 
 quit my horse." 
 
 "You can please yourself; but I shall not return 
 to night.'' And the fellow thereupon directed his steps 
 across the surface of the lake, and was presently lost in 
 the mist that hung over it. 
 
 On seeing himself thus deserted, the sense of his help- 
 less condition and perilous situation, pressed so strongly 
 upon the mind of our traveller, that he recalled his guide 
 
44 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 in accents of earnest entreaty, and loudly proclaimed 
 his willingness to follow his directions. After an anxious 
 pause of some minutes, the splash of approaching feet 
 gave token of his return, and the same grim figure 
 emerged from the gloom, and took his station at the 
 horse's head. 
 
 " Are you willing to dismount ?" 
 
 " Can you not lead the horse with me uyjon him ?'' 
 
 " Yes, if you are content to be smothered with your 
 beast.'' 
 
 Slowly, and most unwillingly, did he lower his rotund 
 person from the back of his trusty steed ; which he had 
 no sooner done than he sunk up to his knees in mire, 
 and, with a woeful aspect, watched the receding form of 
 his only hope and stay, his good horse.- 
 
 " The black thief shall not have my jennet, Sir John ;" 
 said the shrill voice of the young page, " for I think he 
 intends to play us false." 
 
 " I fear you are right, Walter; — I already regret the 
 loss of Bucephalus." 
 
 By this time the guide had reappeared ; and the page 
 shouted to him, " You shall not carry off my horse, 
 bully black ; so keep your distance, or beware my 
 dudgeon." 
 
 " We will presently see that," roared the fen-man in 
 reply, and seizing the horse by the bridle, he made it 
 plunge suddenly forward into the pool, the boy never- 
 theless sticking to his beast as if he were a part of it, 
 and striking fiercely at his assailant with his dagger, 
 until the latter, raising his staff, knocked the poor page 
 from his seat, and left him apparently dead on the sur- 
 face of the marsh. He was however only stunned, and 
 
THE MASQUERS. 45 
 
 after a second or two, rose from his ' oozy bed,' shook a 
 shower of black water from his garments, and made his 
 way to where his unhappy master still stuck fast in the 
 mud ; and who in doleful accents addressed him thus, 
 ''Gog's wounds, boy ; — we are in a woeful plight, for 
 the villain has left us to our fate. Can you see no light? 
 — no siijrn of civilized man, or of brute beast ?" 
 
 " None save yourself, Sir John ;"" said the boy. " I 
 can scarcely see mine hand; and the only sound I can 
 hear, is the thorough bass of the Lincolnshire bagpipes, 
 the dismal croaking of myriads of frogs and toads, that 
 seem to make merry at our distress, and to enjoy by an- 
 ticipation the banquet of picking our boncSy of which 
 they have a fair prospect.*" 
 
 " Alas ! and alas !" cried Sir John, '' I will assuredly 
 turn shaveling, repent of my sins, and fast, if it be only 
 to reduce my enormous bulk, which is ever bringing me 
 into these disastrous predicaments.'' 
 
 The waggish boy, though shivering in his drenched 
 garb, was so much tickled at the idea of his master's 
 proposed reformation, that he laughed out-right, and 
 began to chaunt the old popish saw, 
 '* When the devil was ill, 
 The devil a monk would be ; 
 When the devil got well, 
 The devil a monk was he." 
 
 " Thou imp of Satan," roared the infuriated knight, 
 violently struggling to extricate himself, " darest thou 
 sport thy doggerel wit at my expense. An I catch thee, 
 I will crush thy pernicious carcase, as I would a viper on 
 my path." And such energy did passion give to his ex- 
 ertions, that, with the loss of his boots, he succeeded in 
 releasing his legs from one quagmire, but, unfortunately, 
 
46 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 only to plunge himself deeper into another ; for in his 
 eagerness to seize his saucy page, his foot slipped and he 
 rolled over and over into the slimy lake, from which the 
 boy had so recently escaped. 
 
 " Help, help, my dear Walter," spluttered he, " or I 
 shall be suffocated in this sink of abominations.'" 
 
 ** But now you threatened to annihilate me, and how do 
 I know that you will not try to smother me in the mud ? 
 You must get out as you best can ; — I should have lain 
 long 'ere you would have moved a foot to help me." 
 
 " Oh, knave, knave ; — hast thou no bowels for thy 
 dying master ?'' 
 
 " Nay, good sir, thou hast enough of thine own ;-— 
 certainly thou hast no claim upon those of another." 
 
 " Sayest thou, mongrel cur .^^ — have I fed and pamper- 
 ed thee, until thou crackcst thy jibes upon me at my 
 utmost need ? An I survive this hour, I will brain thee 
 for this." 
 
 " Nay then, if that is to be the meed of my faithful 
 services, I will e'en bid thee farewell at once." 
 
 *' Nay, my good goblin, for I must still believe thee of 
 the order infernal, leave not thy kind, noble and generous 
 master, to perish in this detestable bog, to be stifled with 
 ditch-water, and to be serenaded to the death by a gene- 
 ral convocation of frogs, assembled expressly to consume 
 him." 
 
 "'Tis a melancholy idea, indeed. Sir John; and yet 
 they will have a rare feast." And the incorrigible boy 
 again indulged in a loud laugh at his master's expense. 
 
 " A plague upon your mirth say I. Come hither, and 
 lend me your hand to extricate me from the black gulph 
 into which I am fast sinking." 
 
THE MASQUERS. 4j 
 
 " You must pardon me. Sir John : — I could not pull 
 you out, and you certainly would pull me in, if it were 
 only for fellowship.'*' 
 
 " But, my dear boy, I am positively perishing amid 
 the stench of this stagnant water, (faugh !) which flows 
 within an inch of my nose."" 
 
 " It has but an indifferent flavour of sack, Sir John, 
 which, I fear me, you will never taste again," 
 
 " Oh madness ! — why talk of nectar, when I am la- 
 bouring under a surfeit of this hell-broth ?" 
 
 All this time, the fat knight, whose huge corporation 
 resembled an inflated bladder in buoyancy, as well as in 
 form, was rolling about on the surface of the pool, to his 
 own sore discomposure, and to the utter dismay of a 
 large colony of frogs, whose domains had not been so 
 rudely invaded before in the memory of the oldest inha- 
 bitant. But this state of things was not destined to con- 
 tinue long, for both master and man, or rather boy, were 
 both alarmed by the sudden appearance of some half 
 dozen tall and terrible figures, advancing with giant 
 strides towards them, — demons apparently of the grena- 
 dier order, for they stood at least ten or twelve feet high, 
 and the fears of our benighted wanderers magnified 
 their stature to the clouds. An attendant company of 
 inferior fiends, not so tall, but of broader dimensions, 
 also appeared at the same moment, and together they 
 surrounded the appalled knight and trembling boy. 
 
 By the agency of these Spirits of the Fens, Sir John 
 presently found himself standing on terra fir ma ^ and 
 surrounded, to his great surprise, by beings of the size 
 and form of ordinary men ; for the tall had descended 
 from their stilts, and the broad had with equal prompti- 
 
48 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 tude reduced their bulk, by casting from their backs the 
 corracles, or small skiffs, which were in general use 
 amongst the fen-men in traversing the watery plains. 
 These small boats were used only to cross deep gullies, 
 or large stagnant pools, and were at other times carried 
 by the owners on their backs, by means of a broad band 
 secured to the thwart or seat, and passing over the fore- 
 head. 
 
 The utter helplessness of the unwieldly being they had 
 dragged out of the bog, his pitiful and dismal moans, 
 and his ridiculous plight, excited the hearty laugh even 
 of tliese phlegmatic sons of the marsh and the fen, and 
 they capered round him in the excess of their mirth like 
 so many demons ; the finale of their sport seeming 
 sufficiently doubtful to justify the rueful aspect with 
 which Sir John and his page watched their motions. 
 When this extraordinary ebullition of feeling had sub- 
 sided, a brief parley took place between two or three of 
 those who appeared to have the ascendancy, at the con- 
 clusion of which the passive captives were each seized by 
 a couple of their uncouth friends, and hurried along at a 
 rapid race ; some of the party following in the rear, and 
 probing the unhappy Sir John with their stilts every time 
 his pace slackened, for locomotion on foot was to him a 
 very painful process, beyond the speed of a snail, and 
 even that he always declined if possible. These sportive 
 attacks upon the person of the laggard knight, were some- 
 times so rude as to cause him to utter exclamations of 
 pain, which always elicited bursts of uproarious laughter 
 from his savage escort ; and the consequence was, that 
 four horsemen, who came full gallop along the road, were 
 upon them before their approach was perceived. 
 
THE MASQITEHS. 49 
 
 " Hallo ! — what have we here ?" shouted one of the 
 cavaliers, as the fen-men drew up across the road, and 
 with their long staves presented a formidable barrier to 
 the further progress of our travellers. 
 
 " Hallo ! — what have we [here ?" shouted the same 
 voice. " Robbers and highwaymen ? Make way, 
 fellows, or we ride you down. Now, Fitz-Allan ;— 
 together, — down with them." 
 
 But at this moment the speaker's horse started on one 
 side, and a feeble voice, proceeding from a shapeless mass, 
 which lay in the middle of the road, exclaimed, " Mercy, 
 mercy ; — kill me not, for our lady's sake : — I am a poor 
 old sinner, unprepared to die !"" 
 
 '' What mummery is this?" said the same speaker. 
 ''But surely I should know that voice !" 
 
 The apparition rose from the earth, and in tones of 
 exultation, exclaimed, '' What, my noble master ! — my 
 princely Hal ! — Is it possible ? — Now joy be wi' us !— 
 Brutus is himself again !" Then turning to the fen-men, 
 he bellowed, " Down, dogs, upon your knees, and beg 
 your lives ; — worship the true prince, or ye are but 
 dead men. For myself, I bear no malice, though I can- 
 not commend your courtesy ; for ye have done but scant 
 honour to my knighthood." 
 
 The boors were at first but little disposed to ' worship 
 the true prince;' but, on perceiving that their opponents 
 were well armed, and that one of their old associates, 
 now a retainer of the Castle of Bolingbroke, was of the 
 party, they ceased to present an hostile front, and after an 
 exchange of friendly greetings, the whole company ad- 
 journed to a hut in the fen, near the place of meeting. 
 
 E 
 
50 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 This lone retreat in the watery wilderness, surrounded 
 on all sides by luxuriant willows, which protected it from 
 the chilling blasts that swept over the desolate plain, 
 was like an oasis in the desert, and abounded in every 
 thing that could comfort the body and cheer the heart 
 of the weary traveller. A splendid fire sparkled upon 
 the spacious hearth, and savoury viands, reeking from 
 the pot, smoked upon the board ;— how welcome to the 
 bedraggled knight and his luckless page may be well 
 conceived. Nor were the other nocturnal travellers dis- 
 pleased to find themselves so securely sheltered from the 
 storm that now raged without, for the walls, wattled with 
 willows, and lined with mud, and the roof well thatched 
 with reeds, excluded every breath of wind, whilst the 
 smooth floor, a compost of mud and reeds, well covered 
 with dry rushes, afforded a warm resting place for the 
 damp and weary feet, or a comfortable bed for those that 
 were disposed to slumber. The party now met to- 
 gether, after satiating themselves with venison, drank 
 sherris, Bourdeaux, and sack, until, amidst the general 
 roar of noisy mirth and jovial songs, both prince and 
 peasant sunk, a heterogeneous mass, amongst the rushes, 
 v^'here for the present we will leave them. 
 
CHAPTER IX, 
 
 No penny, no pater-noster." proverb. 
 
 The young lords, on their return from Spilsby, were 
 accompanied by two servants, whom they had left in that 
 town the day before, with their vahses, to await their 
 further orders; for, not expecting to find any amusement 
 at the secluded Castle of Bolingbroke, they had deter- 
 mmed on the morrow to pursue their route northward, 
 and, rejoin the army. The discovery however of two 
 charming young ladies, where they had promised them- 
 selves but a dull sojourn, at once dispelled all aspirations 
 for glory in the field of Mars, and induced them, heart and 
 soul, to enter that of Venus, and her bow-bearing son. 
 
 What then were their surprise and chagrin, to find the 
 birds of beauty flown in their absence, maybe easily con- 
 ceived. Utterly baffled, and almost maddened at their 
 disappointment, they applied to Simon Briton for expla- 
 nation, but could extract no other reply from him, than 
 that he acted under the orders of his superior officer, 
 which enjoined silence as to the destination of the young 
 ladies, as well as his duty in dispatching them thither. 
 
 For such mercurial beings to sit down quietly under 
 these circumstances, was of course impossible, and every 
 engine in their power was consequently set to work to 
 
 e2 
 
52 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 find the retreat of the fair fugitives, which, towards the 
 fall of the day, was eifected by bribing one of the jack 
 men to extort the secret from a favourite waiting maid of 
 the lady Rosabel. This fellow was also persuaded by a 
 similar argument to accompany, and guide them through 
 the fens to Boston, whither the impetuosity of the young 
 men induced them to proceed immediately, although the 
 lowering sky promised a stormy night and an unpleasant 
 journey ; and they started forthwith at a rapid pace, 
 without even bidding their host fai-ewell. We have how- 
 ever already seen that their speed was not such as to 
 carry them to Boston that night. 
 
 On being aroused the next morning from their heavy 
 slumbers in the fen-man's hut, their ideas were still so 
 confused by the eflPects of the over-night's debauch, that 
 they were utterly at a loss to account for their strange 
 situation, until the well known voice of Sir John Falstaff 
 recalled to their minds the occurrences of the previous 
 evening. 
 
 The good knight was boasting, in " King Cambyses' 
 strain," amidst a savage group of fen-men, round a huge 
 wood fire, of his own power and influence at court, and 
 of the wonderful feats he had performed at the battle of 
 Shrewsbury, where, if he were to be believed, nobody 
 could stand before him, and all the principal persons 
 that fell, were slain by his hand. This rodomontade 
 was somewhat helped out by the account the jack-man 
 gave of the gentlemen he had accompanied from Boling- 
 broke, for it was generally known in the garrison, that 
 they came with credentials from the king, and inasmuch 
 as the fat knight was certainly a friend of theirs, he 
 might also be a man of importance. Sir John had how- 
 
THE MASQUERS. 53 
 
 ever been warned by Lacey not to be too communicative 
 to the boors, as it might be attended with evil conse- 
 quences. Yet such is the unaccountable nature of the 
 impulses of untutored man, that although these wild 
 young noblemen, and the stout old knight, were entirely 
 in their power, the fen-men, who were robbers and mur- 
 derers of the most implacable order, felt such a regard 
 for the gallantry, spirit, and reckless humour of their 
 distinguished pot companions, that no thought of injur- 
 ing them ever entered their minds; and they thus let 
 slip a prize far superior to many for which they had 
 often risked life and limb. This good feeling extended 
 even to the restoration of the horses of Sir John and his 
 page, and the whole party were thus enabled to resume 
 their journey together, after another hearty meal of wine 
 and venison. 
 
 Sir John, when led astray by his treacherous guide, 
 was, as he supposed, on the road from Horncastle to St. 
 Botolph's, to execute the king's commission, and little 
 expected to encounter, at such a time and place, the boon 
 companions of his merry hours in East Cheap. 
 
 A short hour brought the party to Boston, where, after 
 changing their disordered garments for others of a richer 
 and more comely order, at the hostel of Robin Grey, in- 
 side the Bar Gate, they proceeded in search of Gishour's 
 Hall, trusting to their own assurance for an introduction 
 to the good old lady Bohun. Their progress was how- 
 ever soon obstructed by an immense concourse of people, 
 assembled to witness the processions of the different re- 
 ligious orders and guilds, which were then taking place. 
 
 The fairs and great marts of Boston, which brought 
 
 vast bodies of people together, not only from the neigh 
 
 e3 
 
54 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 bourhood and surrounding counties, but also from the 
 remotest pans of the kingdom, and even from the conti- 
 nent, were also remarkable for the religious ceremonies 
 and solemn processions, which always took place on these 
 occasions, and in which the different orders of ecclesiastics 
 vied with each other by every holy artifice to attract the 
 reverential regard, and consequent liberahty, of the su- 
 perstitious multitude towards themselves, their saints, and 
 monasteries. The consequence was that the bright sun, 
 which rose upon the assembled thousands that thronged 
 the narrow streets of the old town, — and be it remem- 
 bered that numerous bodies of visitors, similar to the 
 one we have described, had entered Boston by every 
 approach,— that bright luminary, 1 say, which commu- 
 nicated a portion of its own brightness to every indivi- 
 dual it shone upon, also lit on their way black trains of 
 monks and friars, parading their images, relics, and sa- 
 cred symbols, to catch the eye, and excite the devotional 
 sympathies of the admiring populace. 
 
 Golden crucifixes, splendid chalices, and embossed 
 pixes, ghttering all over with precious stones, proofs 
 of the generous devotion of wealthy sinners in past 
 times, were held up as models, worthy the imitation of 
 new proselytes. 
 
 In the centre of the market place stood a lofty and 
 ancient Cross, around which, as the place of the greatest 
 resort, and consequently the best calculated for display, 
 each procession took its slow and imposing march, to the 
 chaunt of some holy anthem, gradually increasing in 
 numbers as it moved along, by the accession of all the 
 votaries of the particular order to which it belonged. 
 
THE MASQUERS. 
 
 55 
 
 The first of these trains, that « dragged its slow length 
 along/ was that of the Austin Friars, or Black Ere- 
 mites, from their Friary in South End, near St. John's 
 Church, a The severe aspect of the monks forming 
 this procession, whose eyes wandered not either to the 
 right or the left, but were kept steadily bent upon the 
 
 a The ground on which the Union Workhouse now stands. 
 
 Printer's Dkvil. 
 
 e4 
 
56 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 earth, as if their minds were wholly abstracted from the 
 vanities that surrounded them, found admirers in the 
 more ascetic portion of the mob, and they were conse- 
 quently followed back to their priory by a moderate 
 number of fair-going devotees. 
 
 The next procession consisted of Carmelites, ^ origi* 
 nally a modification of the former order, but differing 
 now both in discipline and dress, for they wore white 
 robes, with scapularies of brown cloth thrown over the 
 shoulders. Their house was much frequented on account 
 of a celebrated image of the Virgin, which was known 
 throughout the country for the miracles^wrought by its 
 agency. 
 
 These again were followed by the Dominicans, ^ or 
 Preaching Friars, in black cassock and rochet, a nume- 
 rous, but quarrelsome, and malignant race of men, ever 
 in fierce contention with the other orders. Their general 
 portliness and obese countenances, gave ample token of 
 their propensity to indulge in the good things of this life, 
 however strenuously they might preach temperance to 
 their brother sinners. A spirit of envy, and a disposition 
 to quarrel and intrigue, fully entitled the members of this 
 order to their ordinary appellation of " black monks." 
 
 The Franciscans, ^ or Grey Friars, next made their 
 
 a The Carmelite Prioi-y, with its various buildings and gardens, 
 extended over a considerable space of ground ; one front was in High 
 Street, reaching from Doughty's Quay to Liquorpond Street ; another 
 front was in West Street, nearly opposite to Lawrence Lane. 
 
 Thompson's Hist, of Boston. 
 
 b The site of the Dominican Friary was in South Street, between 
 Sibsey Lane and Custom-House Lane. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 c The Franciscan Friary was situated in the south east part of 
 Boston, and extended over the gardens behind the Grammar School. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
THE MASQUERS. 57 
 
 appearance, and many smiles of the young and fair wel- 
 comed their approach, and exchanged greetings with the 
 jolly monks, whose merry faces displayed but few signs 
 of fasting and self denial, although their bare feet, 
 coarse grey frock, and the thick knotted rope which 
 formed their girdle, betokened the severity of the primi- 
 tive regulations of the order. 
 
 The Grey Friars were celebrated for the performance 
 of Mysteries, or Corpus Christi Plays, an amusement in 
 great vogue amongst all classes, and one which conse- 
 quently made the actors in it general favorites. 
 
 Several minor processions succeeded, consisting of 
 small fraternities, that were mere appendages to other 
 houses, connected with one of the foregoing orders. 
 The most conspicuous of these was that of the Bre- 
 thren of St. Botolph, which was followed by all the 
 mariners of the port, for St. Botolph was always consi- 
 dered the sailors' friend, and the beacon fire, which 
 shone nightly from the beautiful lantern of his lofty 
 steeple, had saved the lives of many of those who now 
 gratefully attended to do him honour. 
 
 Such spectacles as these, at all times most attractive, 
 were at this festive season especially so, and consequently 
 all the inhabitants, as well as strangers, who could escape 
 from business, thronged the avenues through which the 
 processions took their way. The High Bailiff, with a 
 few of the principal personages of the town, had taken 
 their station on the platform and steps, at the foot of the 
 cross, from which they commanded a view of the whole 
 ceremony, and amongst the ladies, thus conspicuously 
 placed, our two gallants presently recognized the fair 
 Rosabel and her friend Christine, surrounded by other 
 ladies of rank and figure. 
 
58 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 Their impatience soon enabled them to force a way 
 through the crowd, but not without many curses and 
 sneers at the Popinjay Jacks, from those they so rudely 
 elbowed. But heedless of every thing but the immedi- 
 ate objects which attracted them, the young men pressed 
 on until they reached the outer line of the Dominican 
 train, which was then parading round the cross, and re- 
 ceiving the salutations of the magnates there assembled. 
 
 Regardless alike of the reverence due to the Holy 
 Brotherhood, and of the respect they owed to the chief 
 magistrate, in this, the high place, and high day, of his 
 dignity, the reckless young men dashed through the line 
 of march, upsetting one gouty old friar, and discomfiting 
 some half dozen more, at the very moment, when they 
 thought they were looking most edifyingly holy, and de- 
 vout ; and also inflicting a deep wound on the pride of 
 the worthy High Bailiff himself by such a flagrant 
 breach of the peace in his very presence. Their irrup- 
 tion was also accompanied by a violent out-break of public 
 feeling against them, in which those they had jostled in 
 their passage through the mob were most vehement. 
 
 " Down with the sacrilegious dogs ! Away with them 
 to the river, and cool their pride in the Witham. — 
 Their fine feathers shall not save them from the horse- 
 pond." 
 
 Without noticing the commotion their thoughtless 
 conduct had excited, the two young men were already in 
 the midst of the ladies, and paying their respects with all 
 the warmth and animation, which the excitement of their 
 pursuit had naturally engendered. But the evident in- 
 difference to the displeasure of the multitude, which 
 their conduct evinced, so excited the bile of that many- 
 
THE MASQUERS. 59 
 
 headed monster, that the uproar now became tremen- 
 dous, and, the processions having passed on, the mob 
 closed round, and with terrific yells threatened vengeance 
 on the offenders. 
 
 The rush of the infuriated populace, which seemed 
 likely in its inconsiderate wrath to trample down the ladies 
 in its attempt to seize the delinquents, was suddenly ar- 
 rested by a body of the High Bailiffs officers, who, with 
 their halberts beat back the more turbulent of the riot- 
 ers, and formed a kind of cordon sanataire round the 
 cross, and those assembled at its foot ; and at the same 
 time, the magistrate himself directed his chief constable 
 to capture the bodies of the insolent causes of the distur- 
 bance, and to bring them before him immediately, in his 
 court of piepoudre. 
 
 The sight of the culprits being led away under charge 
 of the proper officers, at once appeased the multitude ; 
 and the many claims, which the different chapmen, buf- 
 foons, and others, made upon their attention, quickly 
 drew away their thoughts to other subjects. But we must 
 not so easily forget the important personages of our his- 
 tory, but follow them to the tumultuous court, in which 
 they now stand arraigned. 
 
 Here it was likely to go hard with them, for the court 
 and its advisers, seemed very much disposed to commit 
 the peace-breakers to the comforts of a dungeon till the 
 fair was over, which would last some twenty days to come. 
 From this fate they were however saved by the timely 
 appearance of Sir John Falstaff, who, breathless with 
 haste, and " larding the lean earth" with the perspiration, 
 his laborious passage through the throng had thrown 
 him into, presented his red face and rotund form before 
 
60 
 
 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 the civic dignitary, and in a voice of majesty, addressed 
 the bench. 
 
 " Mr. Bailiff, before you decide upon the case now 
 before you, allow me to speak in behalf of the gentlemen 
 at the bar. This m^II at once inform you who I am.'' 
 
 So saying, he handed to the magistrate his commis- 
 sion, and during its perusal, with his arms folded on his 
 ample chest, looked round upon the expecting audience 
 with a complaisant smile of self-satisfied importance. 
 Nor was he disappointed, for the royal seal and signa- 
 ture instantly wrought the desired complacency on the 
 court, and on Sir John's certifying that the offenders were 
 noblemen in his majesty's service, and his personal friends, 
 they were allowed to retire without further question. 
 
 SEAL OF THE GUILD OF THE HOLY TRINITY, BOSTON. 
 
CHAPTER X, 
 
 " Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, 
 Where evils are most free ? O, then, by day. 
 Where wilt thou find a cavern dark' enough 
 To mask thy monstrous visage ?" Shakespeare, 
 
 The lady Isabel Bohun, having learnt in the interval 
 from her niece, who the strangers were, made them 
 heartily welcome when they appeared at Gishour's Hall, 
 which they did immediately after escaping from the 
 clutches of justice. Their apologies also for the fear, 
 and positive danger, to which they had exposed their 
 fair friends, were readily admitted, and they soon found 
 themselves comfortably installed, in the agreeable office 
 of conductors to the ladies on their sight-seeing expedi- 
 tions, many of which had been projected, and were still 
 to be carried on, notwithstanding the alarm of the morn- 
 ing. But the principal spectacle, and that on which all 
 hearts were most earnestly set, was the nocturnal pro- 
 cession of the Brethren of the different guilds to St. 
 Botolph's church, which took place after the business of 
 the day was closed, and all other attractions had ceased, 
 
62 THE MASQUERSc 
 
 and in which the different fraternities of merchants 
 rivalled each other in the splendour of their dresses and 
 ornaments, and in the costliness of the emblems of their 
 respective crafts and patron saints, which were borne in 
 state on these occasions. These societies, partly religi- 
 ous and partly civil, consisted of all the respectable mem- 
 bers of each particular craft resident in the town, and 
 provided at once for the temporal and spiritual welfare 
 of the brethren, by excluding all foreigners and stran- 
 gers from pursuing the same calling to the prejudice of 
 the native crafts-men, and also by the appointment of a 
 priest or chaplain for the performance of mass at certain 
 seasons, and to pray for their souls after death. Of these 
 guilds there were six established in Boston, distinguished 
 by the names of St. Botolph, Corpus Christi, The 
 Blessed Mary, St. Peter and St. Paul, St. George, and 
 the Holy Trinity. ^ Of these the principal and most im- 
 portant, was the Guild of the blessed Mary, the Gilda 
 Mercatoria of Boston, to which belonged all the principal 
 merchants of the town, as well as many of the resident 
 gentry, and dignified clergy of the neighbourhood. 
 
 The curfew bell had just ceased to toll when the dif- 
 ferent Guilds started from their several Halls, and amidst 
 the glare of torches and tapers, and the joyous peal of 
 bells from the steeple, proceeded towards the church, 
 each headed by its chaplain and warden, and accompa- 
 nied by a band of music. But what gave zest to these 
 processions, as contrasted with those of the morning, was, 
 that the wives, sisters, and mistresses, of the members, 
 joined the spectacle, and threw over the whole ceremony 
 
 a Engravings of the seals of these various Guilds will be given as 
 vignettes in different parts of the work, see page 60. 
 
THE MASQUERS, 63 
 
 that magical charm, which the presence of the fair 
 enchanters alone can communicate. The servants and 
 labourers of the community, also considered this their 
 hour of freedom, and joined in the devotions and amuse- 
 ments of their superiors with all the noise of vulgar 
 joy ; and many of all classes assuming the mask, the 
 consequent licence both of manners and conversation, 
 gave to the whole scene the air of a carnival. 
 
 The magnificent church of St. Botolph, as viewed 
 from without, was surpassingly brilliant and beautiful, 
 for the thousands of tapers, with which its altars, shrines, 
 and chapels were lit up, made it appear one blaze of 
 light, which streamed through the richly painted glass 
 of its lofty windows in all the shades of the rainbow ; at 
 the same time that its " cloud-capt" steeple threw forth a 
 flood of light from its beacon-fire upon the dusky atmos- 
 phere around. 
 
 The throngs of people which now poured into the 
 church by the southern porch, were quite dazzled by the 
 sudden burst of light which presented itself, and dis- 
 persing over the body of the church, were some time 
 before their eyes could recover from the effects of the 
 glare of tapers, sufficiently to distinguish objects. When 
 they did so, the several guilds were seen defiling along 
 the nave and aisles towards the high altar, and taking up 
 their stations under the rood loft, at which point their 
 wardens and other officers left them, and advancing into 
 the chancel, took their seats in the stalls assigned to them. 
 
 Amongst the distinguished persons, who attended the 
 procession of the guild of the Blessed Mary, were the 
 lady Bohun and her party ; and her rank also procured 
 for herself and them seats in the chancel during the per- 
 
64 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 formance of high mass, which took place immediately 
 after the arrival of the guilds. 
 
 The imposing splendour of the Roman Worship in a 
 fabric of such magnificence, accompanied with the solemn 
 chaunt, the sublime anthem, and the heart-thrilling music 
 as it reverberated along the lofty and vaulted roof, toge- 
 ther with the smoke and fragrance of the incense, and 
 the sacrifice, as is pretended, of God himself, could not 
 fail strongly to affect the feelings of the devout specta- 
 tors ; and such was the powerful impression wrought upon 
 the public mind on the present occasion, that, although 
 every part of the capacious church was thronged with 
 devotees, not a sound, nor a whisper, disturbed the so- 
 lemn silence, save the voices of the choirs which rose and 
 fell with the undulations of the holy symphony. Even 
 the stillness of such a multitude had something awful in 
 it, as if death had suddenly fallen upon a whole people 
 in the most cheerful period of their existence, and blighted 
 them, as it were, in an instant. But the ceremony over, 
 joy and tumult resumed the ascendancy, and the mob, 
 who but a moment before were prostrate upon the bare 
 stones, in the attitude of prayer and penitence, rushed 
 forth from the presence of their God, as if eager to com- 
 mence a fresh account of sin with the world and the 
 prince thereof. 
 
 On the general dispersion of the assembly, lord Lacey 
 supported the lady Bohun and her niece on their way 
 homeward, and made the best of his way through the 
 still crowded streets, towards South Place ; nor did he 
 cast a single thought upon his friend and the fair Chris- 
 tine, so fully was his attention occupied by the two ladies 
 under his charge. On arriving at Gishour's Hall, how- 
 
THE MASQUERS. 65 
 
 ever, their thoughts naturally reverted to their late com- 
 panions, and they were much surprised at not finding them 
 at home before them, and much more so, when, after 
 the lapse of an hour, neither of the parties made their 
 appearance. 
 
 Servants were dispatched with torches in different di- 
 rections in vain, and lord Lacey himself returned to the 
 church, but found all there dark and deserted, nor could 
 any trace of the lost ones be discovered, so that the inmates 
 of Gishour's Hall became greatly alarmed for the safety 
 of their friends, who they feared must have been way- 
 laid, and perhaps murdered, by some of the marauders 
 that always frequent fairs, and whose depredations were 
 terrible in the times of which we write. Lord Lacey in 
 particular was almost distracted at the doubtful fate of 
 his friend, for whom he vowed, he would willingly have 
 sacrificed his own life, and hinted mysteriously at lord 
 Nevifs being a person of more illustrious rank and im- 
 portance than he appeared, and that upon the safety of 
 that young nobleman depended, not only his own future 
 fortune, but probably his life. In the midst of these doubts 
 and apprehensions, the sound of horsemen entering the 
 court yard was heard, and presently after Sir Owen Tu- 
 dor himself, and Simon Briton, were ushered in, who, 
 after the first salutations were over, immediately inquired 
 for lord Nevil and Christine. The tale of their unac- 
 countable disappearance was soon told, and wrought the 
 most extraordinary effect upon the hearers, who raved 
 like mad-men, the old captain for his daughter, and both 
 for the Prince, — the Prince ! For it now appeared that 
 the wild and facetious Nevil, was no other than Prince 
 Henry, the heir apparent of England, whom his own 
 
66 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 wayward humour, and the jealous policy of his father, 
 in excluding him as much as possible from public affairs, 
 thus left to run wild as his fancy dictated. 
 
 On the present occasion, this unnatural jealousy, which 
 had gathered new ground for suspicion from the gallan- 
 try and courage his son had displayed at Shrewsbury, 
 had prompted the King to send him to Bolingbroke, 
 ostensibly to visit the scene of his father's infancy, and 
 to recruit after the fatigues of the late campaigns, in 
 which he had been slightly wounded, but positively to re- 
 move him from further opportunities of distinguishing 
 himself in the battles likely to be fought in the north, 
 and from thereby acquiring fresh reputation, and ingra- 
 tiating himself still more with the army and the people, 
 with both of whom his approved valour and frank de- 
 meanour had already rendered him a great favourite, 
 notwithstanding the wild companions and licentious 
 courses to which he was too prone. 
 
 Some misgivings as to the propriety of his conduct to- 
 wards his son, and some twinges of conscience touching 
 the personal safety of the heir to his honours, in travers- 
 ing the country almost alone, at a time when it was 
 overrun with hostile fugitives and discontented nobles, 
 induced him to dispatch Sir Owen Tudor to Bolingbroke, 
 to look to his welfare, and if possible to keep the vagrant 
 prince out of harm's way. 
 
 On his arrival at the Castle, Sir Owen was surprised to 
 find the captain there alone, busy in preparing for the 
 arrival of the prince, and pluming himself on his skill 
 and cunning in parrying so adroitly the queries of the 
 young lords as to the disappearance of the ladies. His 
 opinion was, that Lacey and Nevil were gone to meet 
 
THE MASQUERS. Q7 
 
 the pri-nce, and lie was in hourly expectation of their 
 return with his illustrous guest that was to be. A brief 
 comparison of notes with the governor put all his con- 
 ceits to flight, and the little great man felt truly humbled 
 at his own want of penetration, in not being able to dis- 
 tinguish between a true prince and a false lord. 
 
 But what then had become of the runagates.? This 
 also every body in the Castle knew, except the self-con- 
 fiding captain, and a few enquiries at once put Sir Owen 
 on the right scent, whereupon he immediately ordered 
 horses that he might resume his pursuit of the royal 
 fugitive. 
 
 Father Philip entered the Castle at the moment the 
 
 governor was about to sally forth, and on perceiving him, 
 
 scarcely waited to give the greeting due, before he begged 
 
 him to dismount for a few minutes, and listen to some 
 
 important information he had to communicate, and 
 
 which he had just gleaned from the mouth of a dying 
 
 man, upon whom he had been performing the last rites of 
 
 religion. This man, one of the party that attacked the 
 
 Castle, had on that occasion been severely wounded, and 
 
 left by his comrades for dead, but being afterwards found 
 
 in the adjoining wood, writhing with agony,* was removed 
 
 into the village, and had lingered until that day, when 
 
 death put an end to his sufferings. In his last moments, 
 
 the consolations of religion had been denied him by the 
 
 chaplain of the Castle, unless he confessed, who were the 
 
 authors and instigators of the assault before mentioned, 
 
 and what motives and objects the assailants had proposed 
 
 to themselves. Thus urged, the wretched being had 
 
 declared all he knew, and this formed the budget which 
 
 the priest was so anxious to open to Sir Owen Tudor. 
 
 f2 
 
68 THE MASQUERS, 
 
 From his narrative it appeared, that John Holland^ 
 son of the late forfeited earl of Huntingdon and duke 
 of Exeter, related both to Hotspur and the earl of 
 Marsh, together with Henry Montacute, the son of the 
 late earl of Salisbury, whose fathers had both been 
 executed by the king for conspiracy against him ; — 
 these two young men, stripped of their patrimonies and 
 honours, had, after the defeat of their cause in the battle 
 of Shrewsbury, fled eastward, and on the evening of the 
 arrival of the prince at Bolingbroke, had, with a few 
 followers, joined the company of pilgrims, the better to 
 disguise their real character, and escape detection. — It 
 moreover appeared, that a casual sight of the prince, with 
 his single companion, in a situation apparently so unpro- 
 tected, had aroused all the vengeance and party rancour 
 of the young earl of Huntingdon, and that the attempt 
 upon the fortress was the mad project of an hour, and 
 consequently failed, as we have seen. 
 
 Here another question arose ; whither had the conspi- 
 rators betaken themselves ? — most probably to Boston, 
 in the same company in which they reached Bolingbroke. 
 This was an additional motive for hastening with all speed 
 to that great mart of merchandise and monkery; for 
 amid the licence and tumult of a fair, many opportunities 
 would present themselves to a watchful enemy to work 
 his vengeance upon the thoughtless young man, whose 
 general habits were so wild and unguarded. With this 
 strong conviction on his mind. Sir Owen hastened to 
 Boston at his best speed, and only arrived in time to 
 find his worst fears realized. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " We are oft to blame in this ;— 
 'Tis too much proved, — that with devotion's visage, 
 And pious action, we do sugar o'er 
 The devil himself." 
 
 SHAKESPEAIIE. 
 
 The prince, all life and spirits, with the beautiful 
 Christine by his side, was pointing out to her the effect 
 of the illumination upon the splendid altar piece, and 
 the paintings depicted on the panels of the roof, each of 
 which illustrated some portion of Scripture History, for 
 the waving lights seemed to give life to the creations 
 of the painter's pencil, and to make his angels, which 
 were floating on the clouds, appear actually to fly about ; 
 when, after gazing upwards for some moments, and re- 
 ceiving no answer to his remarks, on turning round, he 
 found the sylph had all at once vanished, and his eager 
 and flashing eye in vain sought her in the throng that 
 were now pressing towards the door. Vainly also did 
 he search every aisle, chapel, and confessional, disturb- 
 ing sundry agreeable tete a tetes in his way ; and then 
 issuing forth into the darkness, offended many a modest 
 
70 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 matron and comely wife by his unmannered scrutiny, 
 for he pried under every close hood he encountered, in 
 the hope of finding the pretty face he sought. At length 
 the thought occurred to him, that perhaps she had re- 
 turned with Lacey to Gishour's Hall, and he rapidly 
 directed his steps in that direction, but in traversing 
 South Street, he caught a glimpse of a female figure lean- 
 ing on the arm of a male companion, a short distance 
 down Shod Friar's Lane, and instantly pursued the ap- 
 parition, for the contour, it struck him, was that of his 
 inamorata. 
 
 The parties pursued evidently accelerated their pace, 
 on hearing some one behind them, and suddenly disap 
 peared when he was close upon them. Had they sunk 
 into the earth, or melted into air ? for there appeared to 
 be no other means of escape, each side of the road being 
 skirted by a dead wall, in which he could find no opening 
 of any sort: and, lost in bewilderment, he stood to consi- 
 der what was next to be done. Whilst thus at a pause, a 
 strong gleam of light was shot direct upon his face and 
 person, and as suddenly withdrawn, and such was the 
 dazzling effect of the momentary flash, that he was not 
 sufficiently collected to discover from whence it pro- 
 ceeded, and after its disappearance, the gloom of the 
 lonely lane was so much more intense, that he was com- 
 pelled to feel his way with his hands, which he did slowly 
 and cautiously along the wall, until he found a small 
 door. It yielded to the pressure, and he stepped in, 
 nothing doubting but that he had found the way by which 
 his fair perdita had given him the slip. All was dark- 
 ness within, and as the youth paused in the gloomy 
 chamber, dubious of the propriety of adventuring fur 
 
THE MASQUERS. 71 
 
 ther, the door closed behind him, with a noise that shook 
 every nerve in his body, and made him sensible of the 
 folly of his heedless pursuit of a shadow. 
 
 His first impulse was to draw his sword, and stand 
 upon the defensive ; — but how guard against an un- 
 known and invisible foe? — what dungeon had he been 
 entrapped into? — and who were the enemies he had to 
 contend with ? These were perplexing questions to one in 
 his situation, and as thought brought no consolation, 
 with the native energy of his character, he shook off the 
 gloomy fears that fancy began to engender, and after 
 certifying the fact that no person stood near him by the 
 rapid flourish of his weapon in every direction, he com- 
 menced an examination of the boundaries of his prison. 
 
 The door, by which he had entered, was the fisrt ob- 
 ject of his search, but having lost all notion of its relative 
 position from the spot on which he stood, he had to grope 
 round the wall, which he did several times to no pur- 
 pose, for wherever the door might be, it was so exactly 
 fitted into the wall, that it could not be distinguished by 
 the touch. He therefore soon ceased from the useless 
 attempt, and seating himself on the bare stones with his 
 back against the wall, and sword in hand, determined 
 to await, in that attitude, whatever might next appear. 
 But how futile are the strongest resolutions, when the 
 energies of the mind outstrip those of the body ! and so 
 great had been the fatigues to which his wild vagaries 
 had exposed him, within the last three days, that he had 
 not been seated thus above ten minutes, when his head 
 drooped upon his breast, and the poor young prince 
 sunk down on the damp pavement in a sound and heavy 
 slumber. 
 
 F 4? 
 
72 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 The prior of the Dominicans, a man of much learn- 
 ing and high birth, had been a soldier in his youth, and 
 was therefore, from habit, as well as disposition, imperi- 
 ous and overbearing. From early associations, he had 
 acquired a violent affection for Richard the Second, and 
 as violent an antipathy to the House of Lancaster, in all 
 its branches, which originated in some slight, which he 
 considered his claims to promotion had experienced at the 
 hands of John of Gaunt, under whom he had at one time 
 served ; superadded to which was the rancour of bigotry, 
 for, since he had assume dthe cowl, and more particularly 
 since his elevation to the superior's chair in the Domini- 
 can Priory at Boston, religious zeal had prompted him to 
 take part against Henry the Fourth, the son of his ancient 
 enemy, and one, who, like his father, was suspected of a 
 predilection for the reformed doctrines, and consequently 
 an object of jealousy and hatred to all devoted members 
 of old mother church; amongst whom Father Ambrosius 
 ranked as one the most violent. Hence his house was 
 the resort of malecontents, and the place of refuge for 
 sufferers in the cause; — and secret councils were held 
 in its dark cells, which aimed at nothing less than the 
 subversion of the existing dynasty. 
 
 On the night of the procession of the Guilds, a meet- 
 ing of this kind was held, in consequence of the arrival 
 of certain important personages, and the agitation of a 
 scheme, which was to shake the usurper from his throne, 
 and install the earl of March in his place, was the subject 
 of discussion amongst the members. 
 
 " As for the heedless boy, it seems a pity to take 
 advantage of his reckless gaiety ; he is too giddy and 
 thoughtless to merit the serious consideraton of men of 
 
THE MASQUERS. 73 
 
 bold thoughts and great daring, like those that form the 
 hnks of this enterprize. Let us pull down the subtle 
 tyrant from his throne, and his whelps will be smothered 
 in the dust of his downfall/'' 
 
 Such was the speech of one of this council of traitors, 
 the point in debate at the time being, whether they 
 would promote the interests of their cause by dispatching 
 the young Prince of Wales, of whose presence at the 
 fair they were fully informed, or not ; for Holland, Mon- 
 tacute, and de Mohun, the father of Rupert, were 
 present at this discussion. 
 
 " Be it so ; — but still I could wish the lion's cub should 
 be dealt with, before his fangs become sharp enough to 
 inflict deadly' wounds: for this hair-brained Harry of 
 Monmouth, let me tell you, has a spice of his cunning 
 father in him, and is already creeping into the hearts of 
 the mob, who admire him for that very quality, which 
 should tell most against him, namely his profligacy/' 
 
 " Nay, you must allow the boy comported himself well 
 in the field at Shrewsbury, though to our cost. But I 
 see, Holland, you have not forgiven him the rough 
 handling you received at Bolingbroke, and truly you owe 
 him but small thanks for his courtesy on that occasion." 
 
 "Curse him; — my dagger thirsts for his blood, and 
 with my good will he shall not escape the death. But 
 what say you, father Ambrose, — do you think we should 
 let slip the opportunity thus aff'orded us of crushing the 
 cockatrice at once ? Is it not the very chance we 
 have sought, — nay, have prayed for ? — nay more, is it 
 not a sacred duty ?" 
 
 "My voice is for death to the scion of the haled 
 house, that slew its master, and would subvert' our holy 
 church ;" said the Prior. 
 
74 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 Rupert's father here mildly replied, " I cannot see how 
 the death of this youth will promote our cause, and it 
 will certainly expose us personally to great, and perhaps 
 inevitable danger, for you may be assured that such a 
 deed will not escape detection.'' 
 
 The divided council here became noisy and tumultu- 
 ous, the majority being decidedly prone to blood ; whilst 
 those, that were for saving the life of the prince, did not 
 dare to advance any arguments against the project, ex- 
 cept the dread of its prejudicial influence upon the rebel 
 cause. Matters were in this state, when the entrance of 
 another monk occasioned a cessation of the angry con- 
 troversy . 
 
 The monk whispered his superior, who thereupon ex- 
 claimed, " Saint Dominic be praised ! — The scoffer is 
 taken in his own snare ; and it shall go hard but we will 
 teach him the reverence due to our holy order, before he 
 sees the light again." 
 
 " This, gentlemen," he continued, " is a matter, which 
 touches my personal dignity, and that of my order, 
 closely ; for in the open day, — in the midst of a multi- 
 tude, in the presence of the High Bailiff liimself, and of 
 all the honourable personages assembled to witness our 
 holy procession, — this fellow, a malapert and beardless 
 boy, — broke violently through our line of march, at the 
 very foot of the High Cross, overthrowing in his course 
 our venerable bursar, and discomposing the solemn and 
 devout bearing of other members of our order ; — 
 thus giving occasion to the ready laugh and contemptu- 
 ous sneer of the mob, who are but too prone, without 
 such inducement, to vilify and scoff at the rites and 
 ministers of religion. Now this very fellow, as if led by 
 
THE MASQUERS. 75 
 
 the hand of providence, has followed, for what object 
 I know not, one of our fraternity through the postern of 
 our house, and the vigilance of our porter has cut off the 
 possibility of retreat : — he is therefore at our mercy. 
 And be assured, he shall sorely rue the day in which he 
 wronged the Dominican Friars, or I am not the Prior of 
 this house !" 
 
 " But who or what is this violator of the dignity of 
 your order ?" 
 
 '' A stripling of a page, as his jaunty manners and 
 gaudy dress would imply ; — but, be he noble, or simple, 
 he shall taste the sweets of our penance cell." 
 
 '' What if it were the Prince himself, as I strongly 
 suspect it to be, for your description tallies with his ap- 
 pearance, and he has been seen with the lady Bohun, 
 who was one of the company assembled at the high 
 cross." 
 
 " By the Holy Virgin, it is he ;" screamed the Prior, 
 with the savage exultation of gratified malice and anti- 
 cipated revenge. " Who shall now talk of sparing the 
 young viper, that has thus thrown himself into our 
 hands ? — It would be a positive neglect of the chance 
 providence has given us, if we did not cut off this limb 
 of Satan, — this fire-brand of England, who, like his im- 
 mediate progenitors, will drench his country in the blood 
 of its noblest and best, to the utter subversion of both 
 church and state. I could not answer it to my conscience 
 if I allowed him to escape. Drag the Lancasterian dog 
 into our presence, and let us glut our eyes with his 
 humiliation and his misery, for, I doubt not but the 
 rampant blade is now crest-fallen enough, and will sue 
 for mercy at the very hands of those he a (ew hours 
 since treated so scornfully." 
 
76 THE MASQUERS 
 
 Some time elapsed, yet the porter did not return with 
 his prisoner; and the prior, becoming impatient, rung his 
 bell several times. At length another monk entered, of 
 whom the superior demanded, why Bernard did not bring 
 in the prisoner ; who, after hesitating a moment, said he 
 would go and see. Another interval of some minutes 
 occurred, yet no prisoner appeared, and on the bell be- 
 ing again rung, a second monk entered, and, in trembling 
 accents, announced that the prisoner was not to be found. 
 Never was such an exhibition of demoniac fury, as that 
 which the prior displayed at this moment ; the lion rob- 
 bed of his prey, or the tiger of her whelps, could give 
 but a faint shadow of the wild actions and savage excla- 
 mations, which his disappointed revenge suggested. He 
 clutched the unfortunate informant by the throat, and 
 vowed to annihilate him and the whole house, if the boy 
 were not produced before him forthwith. But vain was 
 the anxious scrutiny of the alarmed brotherhood, and 
 equally vain the personal search of the fierce prior him- 
 self through the secret chambers of the house. So that, 
 however reluctantly, the ' black monk' was forced to 
 conclude that the royal youth had for the present escaped 
 the machinations of his revengeful spirit ; and he retired 
 to his private chamber to conceal the bitterness of his 
 disappointment, and to brood Over new mischief. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Round many a Conyent*s blazing fire, 
 Unhallowed threads of revelry are spun ; 
 There Venus sits, disguised like a Nun, 
 With Bacchus, clothed in semblance of a Friar." 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 How long the royal hero of our narrative had slept on 
 his cold couch, he knew not, when the grating of a key 
 aroused him from his broken slumbers, and starting to 
 his feet, he perceived, by the gleam of twilight from 
 without, that two dark figures for a moment filled the 
 door-way, instantly entered, and as quickly and cautiously 
 reclosed it after them. The momentary glimpse he had, 
 led him to suppose the apparitions a couple of friars; 
 but the whispered fears of one of them were evidently 
 those of a female, and the tone of both proved, that they 
 thought themselves the only occupants of the apartment. 
 
 ^' Hush, hush, my sweet charmer ; and confide in me. 
 My arrangements are such, that it is impossible any dis- 
 covery should take place ; even if the suspicions of our 
 Cerberus of a Prior were awakened against me : but I 
 am confident I stand well in his books, and he would as 
 soon suspect the old sub-prior himself of having a fair 
 friend in his cell as me.'" 
 
78 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 " Oh ! did you not hear a step ?" said the same soft 
 voice. 
 
 " No, no ! — It is only your fooUsh fears, my bird of 
 Paradise, that alarm you. Lean upon me, and be silent, 
 and all will be well. I have just found the panel that 
 leads to my secret chamber in the vaults. Ah, ah, my 
 bonny Gilian, I should be loath to change stations with 
 our superior, proud and pompous as he is ; — no, no, if 
 there be an office that gives a man true power in a mon- 
 astry, it is that of cellarer ; — he has a key that will open 
 all hearts, — he has a bribe that is more powerful than 
 gold, — more seductive than flattery. And though last 
 not least, he has always a comfortable retreat for a loving 
 friend, and a choice liqueur to entertain her with." 
 
 By this time the amorous cellarer and his fair friend, 
 had forced themselves through the narrow pass, and the 
 prince, who had been close beside them for some time, 
 now held the panel, so that the utmost efforts of the monk 
 could not close it, though he cursed it by all his gods, 
 and invoked some score of saints to his aid. At length 
 the prince said, 
 
 " Don"*t be alarmed, friend ; — your secret is safe with 
 me, but I shall not allow you to close this outlet, until 
 you reopen the one by which you entered, and permit 
 me to escape.'"* 
 
 " Sancta Maria !"" exclaimed the terrified monk, and 
 away he and his companion hurried, without waiting to 
 hear more. Without a moment's consideration, the 
 prince followed them, the panel closing of itself behind 
 him, but he had hardly taken two steps, when he fell, and 
 rolled down a flight of stone steps. On recovering from 
 the stunning effect of his fall he was still in darkness. 
 
THE MASQUERS. 79 
 
 and not a sound broke the fearful silence that reigned 
 around. To remain where he was, was of course impos- 
 sible, and the danger of proceeding alone in darkness, he 
 had but too recently experienced to his cost, he therefore, 
 after a short consideration, resolved to call to his aid the 
 amorous friar, who he fancied could not be far off. At 
 first he only whispered, intreating his assistance to escape, 
 and assuring him, on his pledge of honour, never to di- 
 vulge the particulars of his intrigue. This modest tone 
 however produced no effect, and he was forced to threaten 
 to shout at the top of his voice, to alarm the whole 
 monastery, and thus obtain relief for himself, as well as 
 an unenviable notoriety for the worthy cellarer. This 
 drew the old fox from his hole, for a light was presently 
 held out at a small door near, and a shaven crown, and 
 a broad purple face, with an immense hooked nose, — 
 any thing but a beautiful representation of Cupid, — 
 peered forth into the darkness over it; — then a great 
 brawny neck was thrust forward, and immediately after- 
 wards withdrawn, and the door was closed and fastened 
 on the inside upon the approach of the prince. 
 
 After a parley of nearly ten minutes, the door was 
 again opened, and the prince admitted into the cellarer's 
 boudoir. A fine young girl, in a monk's frock, with the 
 cowl drawn over her head, sat trembling on a stool at the 
 far side of the snug apartment, and on a small round 
 table was piled a supply of vivres, and a black jack of 
 wine ; — nor had the comforts of a fire in this subterra- 
 nean retreat been forgotten by the friar. 
 
 The parties surveyed each other for some moments 
 with doubt and distrust, till the prince putting forth his 
 hand, said, "Come, father, fear nothing from me; — 
 
80 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 I am only sorry I should have found it necessary to dis- 
 turb your comfortable menage ; but ' needs must when 
 the devil drives," and I had no choice." 
 
 " I think I may trust you," said the friar, *' for I like 
 your frank and honest face.*" 
 
 The jovial friar, his leman fair, and the gay young 
 prince, were soon ' hale fellows well met,"* and the con- 
 tents of the pitcher, as well as the savoury solids, which 
 the interest of the cellarer had procured from the con- 
 vent kitchen, were fast disappearing, when their orgies 
 were disturbed by the trampling of numerous feet over 
 their heads, accompanied by the sound of many voices. 
 
 " They are searching for me,'"* said the prince, " can 
 you not let me out by some secret gate at once, and then 
 your danger of discovery will be less." 
 
 " I think I can ; — follow me quickly," said the monk. 
 " Gilian, my brave lass, stay you here quietly until I 
 return, — I shall not be away two minutes." 
 
 But Gilian would not remain behind, but insisted on 
 quitting the monastry with the stranger, promising 
 however to return on some future night, and the fear of 
 discovery would not allow the friar to argue the matter 
 with a wilful woman at such a moment. They were 
 therefore quickly on their route to the proposed outlet, 
 threading a tortuous labyrinth of narrow galleries, when 
 their rapid steps were arrested by the sound of voices, 
 and the gleam of lights, in the distance before them. 
 
 The friar thereupon turned his steps through the in- 
 tricate windings of other passages, until they entered the 
 vaults, in which were deposited the rich stock of wines 
 belonging to the monastery, the peculiar province of 
 father Ralph's official duties, with every nook of which 
 
THE MASQUERS. 81 
 
 he was perfectly familiar. But even here they were not 
 in safety, for, as if simultaneously, the sound of approach- 
 ing ibotsteps were heard in several directions, and the 
 perplexed fugitives knew not which way to fly to avoid 
 the enemy. 
 
 At this crisis a bright thought entered the fertile mind 
 of the cunning monk, and he quickly raised the head of 
 an empty hogshead, and placed the fair Gilian within itj 
 with a charge to lie still, if she valued her life, — to say 
 nothing of her honour. This was a clever contrivance, 
 but how to conceal his male friend still remained to be 
 considered, without much time to do it in, but luckily the 
 youth was as prompt as his reverend friend, and pushing 
 aside the lid of the same hogshead, which already con- 
 tained the young lass, he slipped his lithe form in by her 
 side, and the friar, with a grim smile, replaced the cover 
 over the snug little party, and hurried away to join his 
 sable brethren, in search of those he had just barrelled up. 
 
 Fortunately his absence had not been observed, and 
 he therefore accompanied those who examined the cellars, 
 and carefully kept them from the cask so strangely filled. 
 With what a throbbing heart he led the way out of the 
 vaults, may be well conceived, and yet he burned with 
 impatience to return thither, which he did as soon as pos- 
 sible, and was by no means pleased to find the two, whom 
 he had left so closed ensconced, seated comfortably to- 
 gether on the top of an adjoining puncheon. But this 
 was no time for petty squabbles or jealous bickerings, 
 and he begged them again to follow him in the direction 
 originally proposed. 
 
 They reached the gate unmolested, but the sound of 
 voices on the farther side caused the monk and Gilian 
 
82 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 again to retreat, and the prince to stand upbehindthe door 
 which immediately opened, and several friars entering, 
 closed it after them. The darkness prevented them from 
 seeing the prince, although their garments touched his 
 person, and they proceeded into the interior, leaving him 
 alone in the passage. He immediately attempted to open 
 the postern, but it resisted all his efforts, and he waited a 
 short time, in hope that the cellarer would rejoin him, 
 but in vain. At length, wearied with inactivity, and 
 anxious to find some other means of escape, he groped 
 along the wall, and presently found a turning to the right, 
 which he followed, until a door arrested his farther pro- 
 gress. It was half open, and he perceived that the ad- 
 joining chamber was occupied, for the parties within 
 were at high words, to which he listened in breathless 
 silence. 
 
 " So thou canst prefer the puny love of a boyish fan- 
 cy, like that of this vagabond, de Bohun, to the noble 
 and manly passion of the prior Ambrosius, or if you 
 like it better, of the cavalier, Henry Stanley. — Nay, by 
 my hopes of happiness, if you will smile upon me, and 
 give me the kiss of true love, I will forswear the cowl 
 for thy sake, resume the sword, and fight my way to a 
 name of glory, that thou shalt be proud to share. I 
 am no child to be pleased with a toy to day, and to 
 throw it away to morrow ; but I offer you the perma- 
 nent possession of a heart of fire, and a soul of passion; — 
 But why do I talk thus ?" reasoned the haughty monk 
 with himself, " methought the beauty of a fair brow, 
 and the twinkle of a soft eye, had ceased to have charms 
 for me ; — but I knew not the full force of their magic 
 until I looked upon thee, Christine, the beautiful and 
 
THE MASQUERS. 83 
 
 spirited personification of my noonday fancy, and my 
 midnight dream. Will you accept the love I proffer, on 
 the conditions I have tendered ?" 
 
 ** My lord, I have already told you, that my heart and 
 hand are both pledged to another ; and if they were not, 
 the black monk, Ambrosius, would never be my choice ; 
 and I am only sorry to think so meanly of him, as his 
 present language compels me to do." 
 
 " Foolish girl ! know, that although the black monk 
 condescends to sue, he has the will and the power to 
 force compliance." 
 
 " Then he is a fiend, as well as an hypocrite !" said 
 the noble girl, with a burst of indignation that flushed 
 her pallid brow with crimson. 
 
 " Dost thou defy me, silly girl ?" 
 
 " Yes, dastardly shaveling, I — do defy you ;" shouted 
 the prince, as he burst into the apartment, to the astonish- 
 ment of the prior. 
 
 " Oh ! the prince ! — the prince 1" screamed the terrified 
 Christine, as she fell back in a swoon. 
 
 *' The prince ! — the prince !" reiterated the prior, his 
 passion almost choking him ; " Then welcome death, or 
 revenge !" and drawing a knife from his sleeve, he flung 
 himself headlong upon the youth, with the intent to stab 
 him to the heart. But the activity of the latter evaded 
 the deadly blow, and enabled him to plunge his own 
 sword into the side of his murderous assailant. The 
 black monk fell heavily upon the floor, and, writhing in 
 mortal agonies, expired, with the most horrid imprecations 
 upon his lips. 
 
 Scarcely had this tragedy been completed^ when the 
 
 door opened, and in rushed a tumultuous rabble, headed 
 
 g2 
 
84 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 by Rupert de Mohun, lord Lacey and Sir John Fal- 
 stafF. All stood aghast at the spectacle which presented 
 itself; — on the one hand lay the prior, W'eltering in his 
 blood ; — on the other the apparently lifeless corpse of 
 Christine, with the pallor of death on her brow ; — and 
 between them stood the prince with his bloody sword 
 still reeking in his hand, and regarding the multitude 
 with a fierce aspect, as doubtful whether to receive them 
 as friends or foes. But the hearty congratulations of 
 lord Lacey and Sir John Fastaff, at once dispelled all 
 fear on this head, and he immediately flew to assist Ru- 
 pert in raising the fair cause of all this commotion. 
 
 She revived, and with eyes of terror looked round on 
 the assembly, and recognizing several of those near her, 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " Oh ! bear me from this abode of profligacy and vice, 
 veiled under the garb of religion and virtue !" 
 
 Her wishes were immediately complied with, and she 
 was conveyed to Gishour's Hall, under the escort of her 
 friends ; whilst the mob forced their way into the pene- 
 tralia of the monastery, rejoicing in the opportunity thus 
 afforded them of gratifying their curiosity, cupidity, or 
 revenge against the black monks. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ** Knavery cannot, sure, hide itself in »uch reverence." 
 
 SHAKESPEARS. 
 
 During the performance of high mass in St. Botolph's 
 church, before referred to, the eyes of Christine wander- 
 ed incessantly amongst the audience, in search of the 
 form she loved, not doubting that he was somewhere near 
 her ; and consequently the assiduities of the youth by 
 her side, whom she knew only as lord Nevil, were lavish- 
 ed upon her in vain. The eyes of a young and loving 
 couple, intent upon finding each other, are never long 
 before they meet, — so it was on the present occasion : 
 and watching her opportunity, Christine slipped away 
 from her companion, and joined a mufiied figure, which 
 none but the eyes of love could have recognized as the 
 smart and gallant Rupert de Mohun. Anxious to escape 
 from the throng, as well as, for a time, from the observa- 
 tion of her friends, she consented to accompany her lover 
 to an apartment in the Dominican Friary, which had 
 been assigned to his father as a place of concealment, till 
 his future course should be determined. Thither there- 
 ibre they hastened, but, as we have seen, barely quick 
 
 enough to escape the pursuit of her previous chaperon : 
 
 g3 
 
S6 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 for they were actually the parties whom the prince pur- 
 sued down Shod Friar's Lane, although they knew not 
 who their pursuer was. 
 
 In this lone chamber, the young couple held that 
 sweet communion of heart and soul, which young love on- 
 ly knows, and in comparison with which, all other joys are 
 but as evanescent bubbles on the stream of life, whereas 
 one of these precious moments forms a sunny spot on the 
 tablets of memory, which, by recalling the spirits of the 
 past, can shed a gleam of happiness over the darkest 
 hour of misfortune. Alas ! that such moments should 
 be so few, and so fleeting ! 
 
 This agreeable tete a tete was interrupted by the en- 
 trance of Sir Reginald de Mohun, Rupert's father, who 
 had just left the traitorous assembly before described. 
 From him they learned the particulars of the entrapment, 
 and subsequent disappearance of the prince ; and the 
 scrutiny that was then being made for him throughout 
 the monastery. The trio at once identified lord Nevil 
 with the prince, and consequently became most anxious 
 for his safety, not doubting that he was still in the mon- 
 astery, and that if discovered, his life would be sacrificed 
 to the malignity of the prior. 
 
 As no help was to be found within the convent walls, 
 the elder de Mohun advised his son to hasten immedi- 
 ately to Gishour's Hall, and to apprise lord Lacey of 
 the danger of his royal friend, and to come in force, and 
 demand his immediate release. That this might be done 
 with greater despatch, it was arranged that Christine 
 should remain with the old gentleman until Rupert's 
 return, lest a moment's delay should prove fatal ; and 
 Christine consented the more readily to this plan, from a 
 
THE MASQUERS. 87 
 
 conviction that the gay young prince had involved himself 
 in his present awkward dilemma, from his admiration, or 
 at any rate his pursuit, of her, — a fact which gave him 
 an interest in her thoughts, which perhaps Rupert him- 
 self would have hardly approved. 
 
 Shortly after Rupert had proceeded on his mission, the 
 prior, in the course of his personal search, entered the 
 apartment of de Mohun, and stood, apparently aghast and 
 horrified at the sight of a lady within the chaste and 
 hallowed precincts of the monastery ; and fiercely inter- 
 rogated the noble refugee, as to how and why she came 
 there. De Mohun explained at large that the young 
 lady took an interest in the fortunes of himself and his 
 son, and had accompanied the latter from church that 
 evening to pay her respects to him, forgetting that it was 
 against the regulations of the house that sheltered him, 
 for the breach of which he sincerely begged pardon. 
 During this explanation, the eyes of the monk were fixed 
 intently upon the blushing face of the beautiful Chris- 
 tine, and even after de Mohun had ceased speaking, they 
 continued to glare upon the poor girl with a fierceness 
 which made her quail beneath his glance. At length, 
 without deigning to reply, he slowly took his way to the 
 other parts of the house, and Christine felt infinitely re- 
 lieved by his departure. A few minutes however brought 
 a message to Sir Reginald, — the prior wished to speak 
 with him, and he obeyed the summons. Presently after 
 the same sable messenger, — and there was « villain' 
 written on his scowling brow, — brought a request from 
 Sir Reginald, that she would join him in the parlour of 
 the prior. 
 
 She followed the steps of her guide, and presently 
 
 found herself in a small, but commodious chamber, 
 
 g4 
 
88 THE MASQITERS. 
 
 fitted up with every comfort, and indicating nothing of 
 the ascetic habits of monkish disciphne, but the crucifix 
 and small altar, on one side, which, indeed, formed a 
 part of the furniture of every respectable chamber in the 
 times of which we write. There was no one in the room, 
 and the guide had disappeared. What could this mean .? 
 Where was Sir Reginald ? 
 
 She was not allowed to remain long in suspense, for a 
 side door presently opened, and the prior entered, with a 
 slow and stealthy pace, at the same time making a pro- 
 found obeisance, and relaxing his stern features with 
 what he intended to be a gracious smile, but the pas- 
 sions, that were constantly agitating the muscles of his 
 face, had deprived him of the power of smiling agree- 
 ably, and converted his efforts in that way into mere 
 grins, evidently assumed to hide the evirpurpose of his 
 treacherous heart, and consequently offensive to the most 
 inexperienced eye. To all which Christine answered 
 only by a low courtesy. 
 
 Gracefully, and with much blandness, for he was 
 courtly bred, the monk motioned and invited the lady to 
 a seat. " They told me Sir Reginald wished to see me," 
 said Christine. 
 
 " He will be here shortly," responded the prior, " in 
 the mean time let me beg you to be seated." 
 
 " I prefer standing, reverend father, as becomes an 
 humble maiden in the presence of the prior of St. 
 Dominic." 
 
 " Bah !" said the prior, impatiently. " My malison 
 upon St. Dominic, and all the saints in the calendar! 
 canst thou see nothing in me, my brave maiden, save the 
 prior of St. Dominic!" 
 
THE MASQUERS. 89 
 
 " See ! good father, — what should I see ?" 
 " See ? — see a soldier, a cavalier, a man of the world ! 
 — any thing but a monk !" 
 
 " I am content, reverend prior, to'regard you as what 
 you are, — the devoted servant of holy church, a guide in 
 the path of virtue, the solace of the dying bed, the stay 
 of innocence, and the scourge of vice." 
 
 " Why did you not add, sworn to celibacy ?" 
 ** It concerns me not, holy father ; and therefore, why 
 should I canvass the tenour of your oath ? I fear you are 
 offended at my imprudent entrance into your holy house." 
 " Faith not I, my bonny damsel ; and it depends on 
 yourself to make it the happiest incident that ever befel 
 me : for, truth to tell, I became desperately enamoured 
 of your pretty face from the moment I first beheld it in 
 de Mohun's chamber.'' 
 
 " Surely I misunderstand the words of the holy prior, 
 Ambrosius. He cannot mean what he says." 
 
 " By St. Dominic, fair lady, but he does ; and in 
 proof thereof, behold him, an humble suppliant at your 
 feet." And the monk threw himself into the correspond- 
 ing attitude, and looked up into the face of the indignant 
 Christine, with all the passionate devotion, with which 
 young enthusiasts are wont to worship before the glowing 
 pictures of their favourite saints. 
 
 " Rise, sir ; nor insult me further with this mockery. 
 If you have aught to say to me, that it becomes a virtu- 
 ous maiden to hear, speak at once, for I will not stay to 
 listen to such language as you have just uttered, as unfit- 
 ting for me to hear, as for you to utter." 
 
 The hypocritical monk quailed before the firm tone, 
 and scornful eye, of the virtuous damsel, as she confront- 
 ed him. 
 
do 
 
 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 ** Thou hast then pledged thy troth," resumed the 
 monk, in a sarcastic tone, **to this traitorous son of a 
 forfeited Earl, who has not a hovel wherein to shelter 
 his bonny bride." 
 
 " If the term traitor apply to de Mohun, thou hast a 
 just title to share it with him. But be he what he may, 
 he has my troth and my heart ; and I am proud to con- 
 fess the love I bear him, nor will the darkest frowns of 
 misfortune ever be able to wean my affections from him, 
 which only cling the closer to a worthy object in the hour 
 of affliction." 
 
 The rest of the conversation, of which the prince 
 became an accidental auditor, together with its disastrous 
 termination, have already been detailed. 
 
 SEAL CF THE G'^LD OF ST. GEORGE, BOSTON, 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " When maidens sue 
 Men give like gods ; but when they weep and kneel. 
 All their petitions are as freely theirs 
 As they themselves would have them." 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Great was the joy that hailed the reappearance of the 
 prince and his fair friend at Gishour's Hall ; and various 
 were the recognitions that took place at the general 
 congress of the characters of our drama. Lord Lacey 
 dropped his masquing name for that of the earl of 
 Surrey ; and, on the entrance of Sir Reginald, leaning on 
 the shoulder of his son, he was instantly recognised as an 
 old acquaintance by Simon Briton, for he had formerly 
 been Constable of Bolingbroke Castle ; and at the same 
 moment he was challenged by lord Surrey, as the for- 
 feited earl of Somerset, upon whose head a price had 
 been set by the king, for his participation in the battle of 
 Shrewsbury, and other traitorous acts in conjunction with 
 the general body of malecontents, for which crimes and 
 misdemeanours he would have been at once arrested, but 
 for the interposition of the prince, who said, 
 
92 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 ** This gallant young soldier," indicating Rupert, " is, 
 I believe, the son of this veteran rebel, and has shewn 
 himself so truly loyal and valiant, that we will take his 
 pledge of honour for the future fidelity of his father." 
 
 The aged nobleman bowed his hoary head at the 
 gracious speech of the youthful prince, who with his 
 usual gaiety, added, " He only shall be deemed a traitor 
 to day, that dares to look miserable amidst the happy 
 group around me." 
 
 So saying, he shook Sir Reginald heartily by the hand, 
 and on perceiving the smiles that mantled on the faces of 
 the ladies at witnessing this scene, in the exuberance of 
 his youthful spirits, he immediately proceeded to kiss 
 them all round, including sundry pretty waiting maids, 
 the venerable lady Bohun, and his devoted friend Dame 
 Moreton herself. The old nurse was indeed a proud 
 and happy woman at this joyous eclaircissement, which 
 afforded so triumphant a proof of her penetration and 
 discernment ;— for the slight discrepancy of mistaking the 
 son for the father, she considered of no moment : — and 
 she now regarded the youth before her with all the 
 warmth of affection, with which her memory had for 
 years doated upon the foster-child of her bosom. 
 
 Day now began to dawn, and the anxiety of Sir Owen 
 for the safety of the prince, induced him to urge his im- 
 mediate return to Bolingbroke ; for it was probable that 
 the events of the past night, together with the rumoured 
 presence of the prince, would excite a great commotion 
 in the town, which might not be suppressed without dan- 
 ger to the principal actors. To this proposal the prince 
 lent a very unwilling ear, until it was arranged that the 
 whole conclave should return together, whereupon pre- 
 
THE MASQUERS. 93 
 
 paratioiis for departure were immediately made, and the 
 whole party quitted Boston before the bustle of business 
 had aroused the drowsy revellers of the preceding even- 
 ing from their heavy slumbers. 
 
 On entering Bolingbroke Castle, the first person that 
 saluted them was young » Owen Tudor, the son and heir 
 of Sir Owen, and the future progenitor of a race of 
 kings, who had that day arrived with the news of the 
 dispersion of the rebels in the north, of the submission 
 of Northumberland, and of the probability that the 
 king would pass a night on his return at his good Castle 
 of Bolingbroke. 
 
 All were rejoiced to learn the happy issue of the ex- 
 pedition, but various were the feelings excited by the 
 expected presence of the stern but politic Henry the 
 Fourth of England, surnamed of Bolingbroke. 
 
 But how prospered, in the mean time, the most impor- 
 tant feature of our little drama ; namely, the loves of our 
 gentle dames and enamoured knights ? 
 
 The earl of Surrey had sedulously cultivated the fre- 
 quent opportunities he had enjoyed of ingratiating him- 
 self with the beautiful Rosabel, nor had he sighed in 
 vain, for she listened with favour to his suit ; and with 
 her consent he had even sounded Sir Owen himself, but 
 that cautious old courtier, although he highly approved 
 of the match, declared his utter inability to decide with- 
 out the approbation of his royal master, whose pleasure, 
 he said, must first be consulted. Thus the matter stood 
 on the morning of the king's expected arrival. 
 
 a Edmund of Hadham, the son of Owen Tudor, by his wife, Queen 
 Catherine, widow of Henry 5th, King of England, married Margaret, 
 sole daughter and heiress of John Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, the 
 grandson of John of Gaunt, and of this marriage was born one son, 
 afterwards Henry VII, King of England, the first monarch of the 
 Tudor line. 
 
94 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 But the affairs of our intrepid little heroine, Christine, 
 and her gallant, though secret, admirer, Rupert, did not 
 run so smoothly ; the evident fancy, — it could hardly be 
 called passion, — of the prince, for that young lady, being 
 the cause of much annoyance and great anxiety to both 
 the lovers, for they dreaded lest the discovery of their 
 mutual attachment, should excite the anger, or inflame 
 the resentment of the mercurial Henry of Monmouth, 
 against the younger de Mohun, perhaps to the destruction 
 of both himself and his father, whose life and fortunes 
 hung but upon the breath and favour of the royal 
 youth. But fortunately for them, they had to do with a 
 prince of a generous heart and high principles, though of 
 somewhat loose habits, and Christine, judging thus much 
 of her illustrious admirer, adventured a bold step with 
 him, by consenting to be his companion in a solitary stroll, 
 early on the morning of the expected arrival of the king. 
 
 She had hitherto treated all his advances with jeers 
 and bravado, and her seeming compliance on the present 
 occasion, had consequently inflamed the excitable fancy 
 of the prince in an immoderate degree, and he was pro- 
 portionably the more gallant ; but in the midst of his 
 rhapsodies, his fair companion arrested his flow of elo^ 
 quence, and with a serious face addressed him as follows. 
 
 " My gracious lord, ever since your first arrival at 
 Bolingbroke, you have deigned to honour your humble 
 handmaiden with marks of your royal favour, and with 
 frequent declarations of attachment, of which she feels 
 utterly unworthy ; — now, my lord, I am willing to 
 believe these, so far as to think, that you really wish me 
 well, and would be sorry to render me unhappy." 
 
THE MASQUERS. 95 
 
 ** Make you unhappy, my sweet Christine ! — What 
 would I not rather sacrifice to make you happy ?" 
 
 " Nay, but hear me, my lord, and that calmly, for I 
 am speaking to you in sad and sober earnest, and I do so 
 in confidence of the goodness of your heart, notwithstand- 
 ing your general gaiety and apparent thoughtlessness :— • 
 yes, my lord, I must now tell you plainly, that your 
 attentions to me, however kindly meant, have been a 
 constant source of pain and trouble to me, and, at the 
 present moment, make me truly miserable."" And the 
 poor girl sobbed as if her heart would break. 
 
 " Miserable ? — makes you miserable ? — my love, — my 
 devotion, — my readiness to surrender all I am, and all I 
 hope to be, for your sake, renders you miserable ? — you 
 do not, — you cannot — love me, then, Christine !" 
 
 " My lord," said the hesitating and blushing girl, 
 " my gracious lord, — I love another." 
 
 " Is it possible that Fitz-Allan can have played me 
 false ? — I thought he was otherwise engaged, and I have 
 not sought to cross his path." 
 
 " You are mistaken, my lord ; — the earl of Surrey 
 has ever treated me with courtesy and respect, but never 
 spoke of love." 
 
 '* Who then can be my rival ?"" 
 
 " One, my lord, who was the partner of my childish 
 sports, and whose manly virtues have ripened youthful 
 fancy to a more tender feeling."" 
 
 " By my fai', but he is a happy dog ; and I have no 
 alternative left but to hang myself, or murder him." 
 
 <« My lord, you said, but now, that you were willing 
 to make any sacrifice to promote my happiness ; — let me 
 beseech you to subdue a fleeting fancy, which you will 
 
96 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 forget as soon as you re-enter the vortex of pleasure that 
 forms the atmosphere of a court ; and grant me, — her 
 whom you have so often declared you love, — grant me a 
 boon." And the weeping beauty knelt at the feet of the 
 youth, and raised her tearful eyes to his countenance, 
 with the earnest expression of anxious yet confiding 
 hope ; and, after regarding her steadily for a moment or 
 two, he raised her gently from her suppliant position, 
 and mildly said ; 
 
 '< What can I do for you, Christine; or for — him 
 you love?" 
 
 " Blessings upon your kind heart for that word, my 
 lord," said the still weeping girl. " It is for him I pray, 
 — and through him for myself. He languishes under the 
 fear of 3^our displeasure, though at present favoured with 
 your smiles. He is here, and will speak for himself." 
 
 At this moment Rupert advanced from an adjoining 
 thicket, and taking Christine's hand, the two lovers knelt 
 before the astonished prince, and implored his pardon 
 and protection. 
 
 " How, Rupert ! — is it you that have robbed me of 
 the heart of my little mistress ? Then I fear my case is 
 desperate indeed, and I may as well surrender my pre- 
 tentions at once, and with a good grace. Rise, — pray, 
 rise, — and be assured, that though on the present occa- 
 sion not allowed to enact the part of the favoured lover, 
 the lovers shall not want my favour in whatever I can do 
 to render them happy. ''' 
 
 In kindly chat, and merry mood, the trio returned to- 
 wards the Castle, and by the way arranged what might 
 be requisite to appease the king, touching the delinquency 
 of the elder de Mohun. 
 
 ] 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 "What? 
 
 I will be jovial ; coiae, come ; I am a king, 
 Aly masters, know you that ?" 
 
 SHAKESI'EARE;. 
 
 Scarcely had they reached the Castle gate, when the 
 sound of bugles awoke the echoes of the hills around, 
 and the glittering array of the royal escort was seen de- 
 scending into the valley. All the garrison was instantly 
 in motion ; the men-at-arms were drawn up in the court 
 yard ; the governor, the seneschal, and the other officers 
 of the Castle, in full costume, assembled at the port to 
 receive their sovereign lord. 
 
 The cavalcade presently reached the draw-bridge, and 
 the king, mounted on a splendid war-horse, dashed 
 over the bridge with all that ease and dignity, that cour- 
 teous smile, and gracious manner, which, in the earlier 
 stages of his fortune, had won for him ' golden opinions 
 from all sorts of men." He appeared in a more than or- 
 dinary good humour; and it was remarked by those who 
 were accustomed to attend him, that his manner had less 
 of pomp and parade than generally marked his appear- 
 ance in public. It might be that the recollections of his 
 youth were crowding upon his mind, and softening down 
 the asperities it had acquired in ' battling the bray** with 
 a rough and turbulent world : — but, be that as it may, 
 his friends and adherents never saw the great and prudent 
 
98 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 Henry of Bolingbroke so much unbend himself as on 
 this visit to his native town and Castle. 
 
 This argued well for those whose hearts throbbed high 
 for the safety of themselves and their friends, and whose 
 very existence depended upon the fiat of the great man, 
 whom they now saw so gracious and condescending. 
 
 The banquet was immediately served in the great hall 
 of the Castle, and the illustrious guests at once took their 
 seats on the dais, the knights and nobles next in suc- 
 cession, and below the baronial salt the men-at-arms, 
 and inferior retainers of the guests and garrison ; the 
 strictest attention being paid to rank and precedence in 
 the placing of every individual at the board, from the 
 king at the head, to the greasy scullion at the foot. 
 
 As the viands disappeared, and the wine circulated, the 
 tongues, which the awful presence of majesty had hitherto 
 tied up, began gradually to find their wonted fluency, 
 and the king, as if determined to play the cheerful host, 
 was affable and gracious to all around him, remaining at 
 table long after his usual time for retiring, and enjoying 
 the jovial scene, to which he had been so many years 
 a stranger. At length, raising a goblet to his lips, he 
 pledged his guests, and bade them be merry, for it 
 gladdened his heart to see such happy faces about him. 
 
 The rafters of the lofty hall shook with the hearty 
 cheers that responded to the pledge, amidst which he 
 bowed to the company, and was about to retire, when a 
 bustle took place at the lower end of the hall, and he 
 beheld Sir Owen Tudor advancing towards him, leading 
 by the hand his daughter Rosabel, and followed at a 
 short distance by the earl of Surrey.— They knelt before 
 the king. 
 
THE MASQUERS. 99 
 
 ** Let me crave your majesty's pardon, for presenting 
 my daughter." 
 
 " The presentation of so fair and beautiful a lady," 
 said the king, taking her hand, " requires no pardon, the 
 pleasure and honour is mine. She would grace and or- 
 nament our court, Sir Owen; — how is it you have not 
 presented her before .^" 
 
 " My liege, she has an ambition to be presented by a 
 younger and more noble courtier than your aged servant ; 
 and to obtain your gracious approbation of the match is 
 our present humble suit." 
 
 At this moment the earl of Surrey advanced to the 
 side of the young lady. 
 
 " And this" said the king, " is, I presume, the knight 
 that aspires to her hand ?" 
 
 " So please you, my gracious lord." said the earl. 
 
 " Well, be it so,*' said the laughing king. ^' I can 
 refuse you nothing to day." 
 
 The trio again did homage, and withdrew, and the 
 king was about to do the same, when his purpose was 
 again frustrated by another appearance. This was no 
 other than the prince himself supporting the trembling 
 Christine, and followed at a respectful distance by Sir 
 Reginald and Rupert de Mohun. 
 
 " How now, Harry, what mummery have you in 
 
 hand here?" 
 
 The prince and the maiden knelt, but spoke not. 
 
 " Why, thou art not mad enough, Harry," continued 
 the king, " with all thy folly, to come to me with a 
 lovelorn tale like that of thy companion, Fitz-Allan.'' 
 
 " My gracious sire, I appear here, not as the lover 
 
 but as the father of the lady by my side." 
 
 h2 
 
100 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 " I crj you pardon, venerable sir. And, pray, what 
 may be your suit for your beautiful little daughter, for 
 I see you have adopted one, who might move an 
 anchorite, much more so young a father ?" 
 
 " That I have a great esteem for this young lady, sire, 
 I allow ; and therefore, I trust, you will permit me to 
 plead her cause, or rather that of her lover, who unfor- 
 unately stands under the ban of your displeasure." 
 
 " What, have we traitors here too P" 
 
 " No, my liege, they have ceased to be such, or I 
 should not now stand here to plead their cause." In 
 rapid and eloquent words, he detailed the account of the 
 attack upon the Castle, and his own perils at Boston, in 
 all of which he had been saved by the loyal intrepidity 
 of Rupert. 
 
 " And now, father, can you call this youth a traitor ?" 
 
 *' No, assuredly not, my son ; — I shall be happy to 
 call so gallant a youth, my friend and yours: — for the 
 lady, — if he has her consent, let him take her, and be 
 happy. His fortune shall be cared for." 
 
 " But who," resumed the king, " is this venerable 
 man ? — methinks I should know that face." 
 
 '' He is the father of my friend and protector." said 
 the prince. 
 
 " And his name ?"" said the king. 
 
 " Is de Mohun, my leige.""' 
 
 " What! the traitorous earl of Somerset, — the sworn 
 friend of Northumberland and Glendour, — the dark 
 plotter against my throne, and my life ? — Away with him 
 to the block, and fix his head on the highest battlement 
 of the Castle. There is no mercy for veteran traitors 
 like him on this side the grave." 
 
THE MASQUERS. 101 
 
 The prince, Rupert, and Christine, hung upon the 
 robe of the enraged king, and prevented him from retir- 
 ing ; and the former thus resumed his entreaty. 
 
 *' My gracious sire, he is here and at your mercy, on 
 my pledge of honour for his safe conduct, and will you 
 compel your son to forfeit his word ? For my sake, I 
 beseech you to spare him. For the sake of this young 
 couple, whom you have so recently made happy, and 
 whose happiness will be utterly wrecked by his death, 
 I beseech you to spare him. For the sake of his own 
 grey hairs, I implore you to pardon him." 
 
 The king seemed to struggle with himself for some 
 seconds, but he could not resist this appeal to his better 
 feelings, and raising those that knelt before him, he 
 turned to his ancient enemy, and said, 
 
 " Somerset, you have been my implacable and uncom- 
 promising foe, but for the sake of ray son, and of yours, 
 — and for the sake of this beautiful maiden, whose hap- 
 piness hinges upon your existence — I pardon you." 
 
 So saying the king hurried out of the hall, and the 
 assembled guests pressing round the prince, heaped 
 blessings on his head, for his earnest and successful in- 
 terposition in favour of the proscribed de Mohun. But 
 the thanks that the youth valued most were conveyed in 
 the grateful glance of the tearful, but brilliant eyes of 
 the beautiful Christine, as she almost embraced him in 
 the warmth of her acknowledgments. 
 
 This scene somewhat chilled the joy and mirth, which 
 before reigned throughout the hall, but the impression 
 gradually wore off, and the evening concluded with 
 songs, music, and dancing ; and the cheerfulness was not 
 a little increased by the unexpected accession of a party 
 
 h3 
 
102 THE MASQUERS. 
 
 of masquerading pilgrims, who had arrived in the town 
 on their return from Boston. 
 
 But though many seasoned vessels were seated at that 
 princely table, who valued themselves on the quantity 
 they could imbibe, by two in the morning all the guests 
 had retired, or found a resting place for their heavy 
 heads beneath the ample board, with the exception of a 
 glorious trio, upon whom good wine wrought no visible 
 change, except that it rendered them more happy and 
 uproarious. These consisted of that pink of knighthood. 
 Sir John Falstaff, now installed in the royal chair, self- 
 elected, nem. con,; his right hand supporter, the reverend 
 and exemplary representative of Holy Church, Father 
 Philip ; and on his left, the valiant veteran, a true son of 
 Mars, captain Simon Briton ; who might truly say, 
 
 " We three 
 Jolly fellows be." 
 
 But the best of friends must part, and the sound of bugles, 
 announcing the break of day, compelled them to separate. 
 
 During the morning repast, of which the royal party 
 partook, the prince suggested to his father, that he would 
 best complete the work he had began by insisting that 
 the weddings should take place before his departure, to 
 which the king good humouredly assented ; and the 
 consequence was, that Father Philip, who had just fallen 
 into a sound sleep, was dragged from his couch, and hur- 
 ried away to the chapel, to perform the ceremony. This 
 he did with many blunders and mistakes, both of the 
 words and parties, which formed a prolific source of mer- 
 riment to the spectators. 
 
 The king and the prince claimed the privilege of sa- 
 luting the brides, and immediately took horse to rejoin 
 
THE MASQUERS. 103 
 
 the army, which awaited them on Lincoln Heath, amidst 
 the loyal and delighted acclamations of the assembled 
 multitude; the bells of the village church ringing a 
 merry peal in honour of the occasion, and the bugles 
 making the hills to reecho with the " Reveille of Lan- 
 caster." 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 The only authentic description of Bolingbroke Castle now extant, is 
 contained in a MSS. vol. of Church notes by Gervase Holies, deposited 
 in the British Museum. Tt is as follows : — 
 
 " The Castle of Bullingbroke was built by William de Romara, Earl 
 of Lincolne, and ennobled by the birth of King Henry the 4th, who 
 from thence took his sirname. Heretofore it was a famous structure, 
 but now gone much to mine and decay. 
 
 '* The towne stands in a bottome, and the castell in the lowest part 
 of it, compassed about with a large moat fed by springs. It is most 
 accessible on the south-west part, the rest being encompassed by the 
 hills. 
 
 "As for the frame of the building, it lieth in a square, the area 
 within the walls conteyning about an acre and an half, the building is 
 very uni forme. 
 
 " It has 4 stronge forts or ramparts, wherein are many roomes, and 
 lodgings : the passage from one to another lying upon the walles, which 
 are embattled about. There is likewise 2 watch-towers all covered 
 with lead. If all the roomes in it were repayred, and furnished [as it 
 seemes in former tymes they have bin] it were capable to receyve a very 
 great prince with all his trayne. 
 
 " The entrance into it is very stately over a faire draw-bridge. The 
 gate-house a very uniforme, and strong building. Next within the 
 porter's lodge is a payre of low stayres, which goe downe into a dun- 
 geon, in which some reliques are yet to be scene of a prison-house. 
 Other 2 prisons are on either side. 
 
 ** The building itself is of a sandy stone hewen of a great square 
 out of the rocks thereby, which though it abide the weather longe, yet 
 [in process of tymej it will moulder, especially if wett gett within it, 
 which hath been the decay of many places of the wall where the roofe 
 is uncovered. 
 
 " There be certaine roomes within the castle, [built by Queen Eliza- 
 beth of freestone] amongst which is a fayre great chamber with other 
 lodgings. 
 
 " In a roome in one of the towers of the castle they usually kept 
 their auditt once by the yeare for the wholle Dutchy of Lancaster, 
 having ever bin the prime seate thereof, where all the recordes for the 
 whole countery are kept. 
 
 " The constable of the castle is Sir William Mounson Lord Cas- 
 tlemayne, who receaveth a revenue out of the Dutchy lands of £500 
 per annum, in part payment of £1000. yearely given by the King to, 
 the Countesse of Nottingham his lady. 
 
 Hahleian MS. No. 6829, p. l62. 
 
 h4 
 
A LEGEND 
 
 KTMm T@wmm 
 
 Why tarries Lord Kyme in the lonely bower, 
 
 When nobles are thronging the halls of his tower ? 
 
 Why wanders he forth at the midnight hour, 
 Forgetful alike of his pomp and his power ? 
 
 Communes he with demons, or aerial sprites, 
 
 That float on the clouds in the darkest of nights, 
 
 Misleading unwary and wandering wights, 
 
 That venture to follow their dangerous flights ? 
 
 Tis not to converse with a spirit of air. 
 That the lord of the tower is loitering there; 
 
A LEGEND. 105 
 
 Yet he waits for a being as gentle and fair, 
 
 As light and as lovely as float on the air. 
 
 ^he comes, in her beauty and briglitness serene, 
 
 The modest and blushing, yet smiling Selene j 
 
 Her innocent fondness is easily seen 
 
 In her tender, confiding, yet tremulous mien. 
 
 Ah ! maiden, beware of the Lord of the Tower, 
 Nor trust his false vows at this treacherous hour ; 
 
 Tho' gracious his smile, o'er his features will lower 
 A frown that will crush you, when once in his power. 
 
 ' The halls are lit up with a dazzling light ;' — 
 
 The minstrels are singing of love's soft delight ; 
 
 Proud nobles and ladies, all gorgeously dight. 
 Assemble to honour the lordly knight. 
 
 Lord Kyrae has attained to the height of his pride^ — 
 King Henry's fair daughter is placed by his side, — 
 
 Cecilia, his glory, his love, and his bride : — 
 What honour could subject aspire to beside ? 
 
 But no traces of pleasure those stern features show, 
 Whereon they should shine most resplendently now :- 
 
 Doth Kyme then repent of the nuptial vow 
 
 He has pledg'd to the lady with diadem'd brow ? 
 
 A matron of ominous aspect appears. 
 
 By adversity sour'd, and bent double with years ; — 
 And slowly her steps to the bridegroom she steers, 
 
 And thus with her curse she startles all ears. 
 
 *^ Selena is dead ! — nay, why do you start ? 
 
 " The Lord of Kyme Tower hath broken her heart : 
 " Full well hath the villain enacted his part ; 
 
 *^ But his bosom shall throb with the deadlier smart." 
 
106 A LEGEND. 
 
 " My curse be upon you, by night and by day, — 
 " At home in your tower, — abroad when you stray ; — 
 
 " May your friends all forsake you, — your children betray ; 
 '* At your uttermost need, be unable to pray." 
 
 " Instaird in your grandeur, you're seated on high, 
 " But soon in the dust all your greatness shall lie ; — 
 
 " When next to the battle-field boldly you fly, 
 
 " On the blood-clotted turf you are destin'd to die." 
 
 " When the last throes of death are convulsing your frame, 
 " With bitter remorse you shall call on her name, 
 
 " Whom you robb'd of her honour and virtuous fame, 
 " And left to decay in the blight of her shame." 
 
 The crone has departed, — the guests are all flown, — 
 The lord and the lady are left there alone ; — 
 
 The Baron his guilt to his bride dares disown. 
 Though he feels for the crime he can never atone. 
 
 The Wars of the Roses called knights to the field. 
 And Kyme, who to none in the battle would yield, 
 
 Was quickly prepar'd his good falchion to wield, 
 From Warwick and Edward his father to shield. 
 
 The Lord of Kyme Tower put spurs to his steed, 
 For, whether foredoom'd in the battle to bleed, 
 
 Or to reap the proud glory of Victory's meed, 
 To words of ill omen he gave little heed. 
 
 But the curse of his crime, 'mid the war-trumpet's sound. 
 When the storm of the battle was thick'ning around. 
 
 Still follow'd his track o'er the blood-sprinkl'd ground ; — 
 
 The Lord of Kjone Tower 'mongst the slaughter'd was found. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 John Lord Viscount Wells, of Well near Alford, married Cicely, 
 Becond daughter of King Henry the 6th, who survived him, and after- 
 wards married a gentleman of the noble family of Kyme, of Kyme 
 Tower, near Boston in this county, and died without issue. 
 
 Brooke's Catal. Yorke's Union of Honouh. p. 40. 
 
 ^ 
 
THE 
 
 CONFLAGRATION 
 
 " The glow 
 " Of burning streets, like moonlight on the water, 
 " Was imag'd back in blood, the sea of slaughter." 
 
 BYROir. 
 
 Shortly after the return of Edward the First from 
 the Holy Land, his numerous chivalrous followers were 
 disbanded ; and those amongst them, who had not been 
 so far inflamed with crusading zeal as to part with their 
 castles and estates before embarking on the expedition, 
 returned to their deserted homes ; but there were many, 
 who, from extreme ardour in the cause, or in hope of ob- 
 taining larger and richer possessions in the sunny east, 
 had sold their patrimonies, and consequently on revisit- 
 ing England, found themselves quite destitute, with no 
 resource but the arms they had so bravely wielded 
 against the Saracen. The proud knight and the gallant 
 soldier, reduced to the last extremity, and inured to 
 plunder by the customs of war, did not hesitate to supply 
 their necessities by the strong hand, without respect 
 either to the laws of the land, or to those of honour 
 
108 THE CONFLAGRATION. 
 
 Sir Robert Chamberlain, a person of this class, for- 
 nnerly possessed of great wealth and extensive landed 
 property in the neighbourhood of Boston, the whole of 
 which he had squandered away in the Crusades, on re- 
 turning to the scene of his former splendour, saw himself 
 absolutely in want of the common comforts of life ; and, 
 therefore banding with others, of desperate fortunes like 
 himself, concerted a plan for the plunder of the rich Fair 
 of Boston, to be held on the approaching feast of St. 
 Andrew. 
 
 With this view a part of the gang entered the town 
 on the first morning of the Fair, equipped as knights and 
 esquires, who came to take part in a tournament, which 
 was to be held that day in the tilt-yard of the castle of Sir 
 Philip Tilney, on the western side of Wide Bar-Gate. 
 Their appearance no way alarmed the townsmen, as it was 
 customary for gentlemen to flock to such entertainments 
 from all parts of the country. These military plunderers. 
 vi^ere soon followed by the rest of their comrades, disguised 
 as monks and canons, who of course excited no distrust^ 
 and were consequently allowed to disperse themselves 
 over the town, in prosecution of their nefarious design. 
 
 In the afternoon of the same day, when most of the 
 company at the Fair were collected near the barriers to 
 witness the feats of arms performed by the champions 
 at the tournament, consternation was suddenly spread 
 through the assembly by shouts of " Fire! — Fire!" which 
 were heard simultaneously in various quarters. The 
 distracted multitude hurried away in all directions to ex- 
 tinguish the flames, for the town had been fired by the 
 pretended monks in three different places, and so well 
 had they done their diabolical work, that in a short time 
 
THE CONFLAGRATION. 109 
 
 the whole place presented to the eye one immense Con- 
 flagration : for the buildings being mostly of wood, the 
 fire communicated from house to house with incredible 
 rapidity, consuming in its way church and monastery, 
 warehouse and shop, booth and private dwelling, with all 
 the valuables they contained ; insomuch that ancient 
 chroniclers have recorded, that veins of gold and silver, 
 mixed together in one common current, flowed down the 
 centre of the burning streets into the sea. 
 
 During the confusion consequent upon this dreadful 
 calamity. Chamberlain and his confederates, falling upon 
 the rich stalls and bales of costly merchandize, possessed 
 themselves of all that was most valuable and easy to be 
 removed, barbarously murdering the unhappy merchants 
 who attempted to defend their property. While the fire 
 was yet raging, the robbers decamped with their booty 
 unmolested, the townsmen being busily engaged in saving 
 their own, or their neighbours"* houses from destruction. 
 
 Sir Robert Chamberlain, the projector, and leader in 
 this infamous outrage, whilst stripping a jeweller^s booth, 
 the owner of which he had stabbed to the heart, was 
 violently assaulted by a lovely young woman, the daugh- 
 ter of the murdered tradesman ; — like a tigress, she 
 sprung upon him, and, but for his mail-shirt, would have 
 avenged the death of her father by that of his assassin. 
 Before she could repeat the blow, the ruffian snatched the 
 dagger from her feeble grasp, and turned its point to her 
 own bosom ; but, on remarking her beauty, he stayed 
 his hand, and said, in a bantering tone, 
 
 " By St. George, damsel, but thou art the fairest 
 jewel thy father possessed. — Come, we must be better 
 acquainted." 
 
ilO THE CONFLAGRATION. 
 
 So saying,' he consigned the now insensible girl to the 
 care of some of his party, whose flight presently after 
 became general. 
 
 On the third evening succeeding the catastrophe above 
 related, Chamberlain, with five of his associates, had 
 secreted himself at a small cottage in a wood near 
 Ewerby, and, after carousing to a late hour, retired to 
 the only sleeping apartment the hut could boast, and in 
 which was immured the unhappy Janet Kolbein, whom 
 he had compelled to yield to his will after murdering her 
 father. His deep potations soon drowned his senses in 
 forgetfulness, which his beautiful,' though unwilling, com- 
 panion no sooner perceived, than she rose from the couch, 
 and descending with a stealthy pace, stepped cautiously 
 over the prostrate sleepers below, and fled for her life. 
 
 The first house she reached in her timeless flight, was 
 one in which she found a ready welcome for herself, and 
 an attentive ear for her extraordinary tale, which the 
 gallant Franklin that owned it had no sooner heard, 
 than he girded on his good broad sword, and, staff in 
 hand, issued forth to secure the murderous incendiary, 
 without, for a moment, considering the danger of the 
 enterprise, or the fearful odds he would have to encounter. 
 On approaching the cottage, with the situation of 
 which he was well acquainted, he found every thing in 
 the state the fugitive had described, and being anxious 
 to capture the principal offender, he merely removed the 
 weapons of those below, and then hastened to the apart- 
 ment of Sir Robert. This he did not however effect 
 without starthng that guilty person from his feverish 
 slumber, who instantly missing his fair companion, and 
 hearing the heavy step of a powerful man approach, 
 
THE CONFLAGRATION. Ill 
 
 sprung from his couch, and, seizing his sword, stood 
 ready to receive, as a soldier ought, whoever might 
 appear. 
 
 " Who comes there ?" was his stem demand. 
 
 The reply was a blow from a quarter-staff, that would 
 have felled an ox, and which shivered his sword to pieces, 
 instantly after which he felt himself in the iron gripe of a 
 powerful hand, which he found it impossible to shake off. 
 But Chamberlain was not a man quietly to surrender 
 under any circumstances, much less to one man, and 
 the struggle between them was consequently long and 
 desperate, the culprit only yielding at last from utter 
 exhaustion. 
 
 This battle which took place in darkness, at once 
 aroused the drunken sleepers below, who in their stupid 
 bewilderment, and alarm at the exraordinary noise over 
 their heads, fancied that a strong body of the officers of 
 justice were upon them, and therefore instantly fled, 
 leaving their captain to defend himself as he best could. 
 
 The Franklin now having his enemy at his mercy, 
 compelled him to accompany him to his house, and on 
 the following day conducted him, under a proper guard, 
 to Boston. 
 
 In the ensuing week he was tried and convicted of the 
 aggravated charge against him, and condemned to be 
 hanged and gibbetted at Boston, forthwith. A lofty 
 gallows was accordingly erected in the centre of the 
 Mart-Close,^ the principal scene of his villany, and the 
 incendiary suffered amidst the smouldering ruins of the 
 dismantled town, and the execrations of the ruined inha- 
 
 a The yard adjoining the Grammar School, in which the Mart is 
 still annually proclaimed. 
 
112 
 
 THE CONFLAGRATION. 
 
 bitants. Scarcely was life extinct, when the incensed 
 multitude heaped fuel around the gallows-tree, and, 
 with shouts of triumph, consumed it and the culprit 
 together. 
 
 Stow says, " A Justis was proclaimed at Boston, in the faire time 
 in 1287, whereof one part came in the habyte of monks, the other in 
 sute of chanons, who had covenanted after the Justis, to spoiJe the 
 faire; for the aichieving of their purpose, they fired the towne in three 
 places ; it is said the streams of gold, silver, and other metal, molten, 
 ranne into the sea. The caiptaine of this confederacye was Robert 
 Chamberlain, Esquire, who was hanged, but would never confess hys 
 fellows." 
 
 Stow's Chronicle, p. 227. 
 
 ■HE SEAL 07 THE t^.TAPLE, BOSTON. 
 
 J 
 
FATHER JEROME; 
 
 OR, THE SAILORS ASHORE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "At eventide my mother sits, 
 
 " Her knittinfT on her kneCj 
 " And wakes by starts, and dreams by fits, 
 
 '^ But never dreams of me." 
 
 MITFORt). 
 
 There is an ancient House yet standing in South 
 Street, Boston, at the corner of Shod Friars' Lane, 
 which, although shorn of its former importance and 
 respectabihty by contrast with the modern buildings 
 around it, was once a mansion suitable for the residence 
 
114 FATHER JEROME. 
 
 of a high and honourable family. Decay and change have 
 of course defaced many of its original features, though 
 its form and fabric still prove its great antiquity. Its 
 walls, formerly curiously traced, and ornamented with 
 highly coloured paintings, which the projection of the 
 upper stories defended from the weather, have lost all 
 their glory ; and the grotesque heads and devices, which 
 grinned forth from the carved oak frames of window and 
 door.post have all been swept away by the ruthless hand 
 of time, or of modern innovation. But in the times of 
 which we write, the house in question, with its frontage 
 unobstructed towards the river, and possessed of an 
 extensive garden behind — its now dismantled chambers 
 hung with tapestry, or shining with highly polished oak, 
 and furnished with all the detail, that in those days was 
 considered necessary to comfort and luxury ; — this 
 house, so furnished, and so adorned, and peopled with 
 the active spirits which then thronged its hall, presented 
 an object altogether far superior to the one which now 
 meets the eye of the observer, and impressed him at once 
 with the conviction, that it was the residence of one who 
 was a lord in the land. 
 
 We have been thus particular in describing the former 
 condition of this ancient house, because it was the scene 
 of several incidents we are about to relate. 
 
 In the beginning of the reign of Henry the Eighth, 
 Sebastian Cabot, the celebrated discoverer of Newfound- 
 land, then about thirty years of age, succeeded to the 
 possession of the house above described, amongst other 
 properties of his lately deceased father ; and the resi- 
 dence of his widowed mother, and two young sisters 
 therein, together with the convenience of the port of 
 
FATHER JEROME. ]J5 
 
 Boston, as an occasional haven for his shipping then 
 trading to the Baltic, made him a frequent visitor in 
 South Street. On these occasions he was generally 
 accompanied by some of his officers, young men of rank 
 and family, who were proud to serve under a commander 
 of his reputation and success, for the sea service had 
 lately risen greatly in estimation with all classes, in con- 
 sequence of the recent important discoveries effected by 
 Columbus, Vasquez de Gama, Cabot, and others, and it 
 was considered a vast field of enterprise, in which both 
 glory and wealth were to be obtained. 
 
 Amongst these gallant visitors were two young men, the 
 younger sons of good families in Boston, who had been 
 seized with the enterprizing spirit which then prevailed, 
 and whose friends had consequently confided them to the 
 care of Cabot. These youths, active, alert, and fearless 
 of danger, promised to make able seamen and good 
 officers in process of time ; but a certain recklessness of 
 humour, frequently seen in our nautical heroes when 
 ashore, led them to commit sundry wild pranks, which 
 gave great offence to the sober citizens. These freaks were 
 however regarded with more indulgence by the ladies, 
 especially the younger ones, and not the less so because 
 the mad-caps were themselves young and handsome. 
 
 The following conversation will at once show that the 
 sisters of Sebastian Cabot were amongst the latter class, 
 though their prudent mother and her ghostly adviser by 
 no means took the same view of the matter. 
 
 " Nay, Patty, I pray you, spit not your spite at me. 
 If Harry has a grey eye, it is as full of expression and of 
 love, as those of Alan, whatever colour you may call 
 them." 
 
116 FATHER JEROME. 
 
 " Why will you seek to quarrel with me, Flory ? I did 
 not mean to offend you." 
 
 " Offend me, forsooth ! — I am not so easily offended, 
 believe me, Martha. But since you talk of colour, 
 I shall take the liberty of saying, that a dark moustache 
 is decidedly handsomer than those of a sandy shade, like 
 Master Alan Witham's." 
 
 " That depends entirely upon taste, Miss Florence : 
 but you cannot deny that a fine tall fellow, of power and 
 proportions to protect himself and his lady from all 
 comers, is decidedly to be preferred to a puny mortal, 
 whom nature seems to have intended for a woman, but 
 by some strange mistake has thrust forth upon the world 
 a pitiful epitome of blighted manhood." 
 
 " 1 scorn your words, malapert. There is not the 
 swaggering blade that wears a sword, be he as tall as 
 Boston Stump,a ^ith whom Harry Tudenham dare not 
 cope to the death." 
 
 " Stump ! stump ! — the term I should fancy belongs 
 peculiarly to the Tudenhams, for they are all curtailed 
 of man''s fair proportions.'' 
 
 " Aye, aye, Patty, you are only angry with Harry, 
 short as he may be, for overlooking you, and lavishing 
 his smiles upon your younger sister." 
 
 " Nay, now you jest indeed, Flory, for you know I 
 never sought, nor desired to rob you of your little beau." 
 
 " Well, well ; — say what you will. Harry is a pretty 
 fellow, and though somewhat wild, if I mistake not, he 
 dearly loves little Florence Cabot, and if I know any 
 
 a The lofty tower of Boston Church is so called by Mariners, to 
 whom it is a beacon at sea. The name, so inappropriate, seems to have 
 been given on the principle of " lucus a non lucendo." 
 
FATHER JEROME. 117 
 
 thing of her mind, she hkes him as well as he does her." 
 " Then, Flory dear, let us be friends, as we have ever 
 been, and as we have especial need at present to be, for 
 our lady mother, and father Jerome, seem fully deter- 
 mined to thwart our fancies, and compel us to discard our 
 merry lovers. Last evening my mother read me a long 
 lecture on the subject, and threatened me with seclusion 
 in the convent of St. Clare, if I again encourage the ad- 
 vances of Alan ; advising me at the same time to have 
 an especial eye upon you, as my younger sister, and one, 
 who is consequently in a great measure under my tute- 
 lage. But, hark, I think I hear her step on the stairs. 
 Let us fly to our wheels, or we shall have a sermon of 
 an hour's length. — Just tie up this rebellious snood, or 
 I shall look quite frightful." 
 
 " How does this curl suit the side of my face ; — just tell 
 me, Patty ? Would it not look better farther forward .?'' 
 " So," said the sister, " It looks quite killing now." 
 But, alas ! this adjustment of a stray curl had delayed 
 the young ladies at the toilet until their venerable, but 
 shrewish mamma popped her head in at the door, which 
 she had no sooner done, than she opened upon them a 
 volley of angry invective. 
 
 " Ye idle jades, will ye never leave toying before the 
 glass ? By St. Catherine ! I will soundly switch you for 
 this. Here have I been busy in the household for three 
 good hours, — in the larder, the buttery, the brewhouse, 
 and the kitchen, whilst ye slatternly hussies have been 
 kemping your hair, and adorning your delicate persons, 
 to parade them before two as mad gallants as ever wore 
 sword. Ye wanton hussies, have ye no sense of shame or 
 
 decorum ? Know ye not that the ranting boys of the sea, 
 
 i3 
 
118 FATHER JEROME. 
 
 whose thoughts and hves are as wild as the rude waves 
 they are wont to buffet withal, care nought for the silly 
 maidens they delude beyond the amusement of an idle 
 hour. In troth, I can see nothing that is likely to come 
 of it, as father Jerome truly says, but sore heart, soiled 
 fame, or a dishonoured house. And I tell ye once again, 
 that my peaceful dwelling shall no more be made the 
 scene of the noisy pranks and unseemly jests of these 
 roaring jacks, who disturb my household, hunt my maids, 
 romp with my daughters, and laugh at my angry frowns 
 the while. But in good time here comes the Reverend 
 Father, who will rate ye soundly for your unmaidenly 
 proceedings ; and so I will leave you to his admonition, 
 in the hope that you will profit by it, whilst I again make 
 the circuit of my maids." 
 
 So saying, with a passing whisper to her confessor, as 
 she entered, the restless housewife hurried away to rate 
 her servants and direct their operations. 
 
 The monk thus indicated was a handsome man of 
 about forty, above the middle size, of an intelligent 
 countenance, and with abundance of thick dark hair, 
 which almost concealed the small white circlet of the 
 tonsure on the crown of his head. His garb was of 
 course that of his order, but, unlike most of his frater- 
 nity, his manners were bland and apparently unassuming, 
 which rendered his advances less suspicious, and made 
 him a general favourite. There were however tales 
 abroad to his prejudice, touching sundry mysterious 
 intrigues in which he was said to have been concerned, 
 but which his general reputation for sanctity, and the 
 ostensible correctness of his demeanour, prevented from 
 operating extensively against him. 
 
FATHER JEROME, 119 
 
 With a gracious smile the confesscr approached the 
 giddy girls, who in obedience to the orders of their 
 mother had sullenly seated themselves to their wheels, 
 and were spinning away with a rapidity and intentness, 
 that seemed to defy the monk and his expected lecture to 
 withdraw their attention from their work. 
 
 " My dear young ladies," said the insinuating ecclesi- 
 astic, *' you look charming to day. What can have made 
 your lady mother so angry with her beautiful and indus- 
 trious daughters P'*" 
 
 '* You know well enough.'' was the sulky reply. 
 
 " Dame Cabot certainly told me something concerning 
 some officers belonging to the " Golden Fleece," your 
 brother's immense merchant ship, now lying in the har- 
 bour, and about to sail, I believe, to the Baltic." 
 
 " Oh ! she told you something : — and pray what did 
 your reverence tell her in reply ?— Why I will tell you, 
 —that our innocent chat and flirtation with two honour- 
 able young men, whom our brother introduced to us, will 
 endanger our peace of mind, our good fame, and the 
 reputation of our house. Pray, father Jerome, since you 
 are appointed to lecture us, please to say what you ever 
 saw in our conduct to justify such shameful and slan- 
 derous insinuations.'' 
 
 " My dear young ladies, permit me to speak. Your 
 lady mother, knowing that I have the interest of her 
 house warmly at heart, did consult me upon the subject 
 you have named." 
 
 " Yes ; — and you told her to drive our lovers from the 
 house, and to shut us up in a nunnery." 
 
 "By no means, my dear young lady. Nothing was 
 farther from my thoughts. I merely recommended cau- 
 tion, in consequence of the general flighty character of 
 
 i4 
 
120 FATHER JEROME. 
 
 sailors, and the ungoverned licence of their manners ; 
 and I consider I shall not perform my duty, unless I re- 
 new that warning to you personally." 
 
 " Oh ! yes ; — it is very kind of you, — no doubt. And 
 we are very much obliged, — very much obliged indeed," 
 replied both the young ladies sarcastically. 
 
 " Nay ; — but hear me through, ladies ; and then de- 
 cide for yourselves whether these gentlemen are deserving 
 of your confidence. Last evening, as I was returning late 
 to the Priory, I encountered, in Worm-Gate, your love- 
 sick swains, full of wine and noise, and each supporting 
 on his arm a bouncing dame in flame-coloured taffeta." 
 
 " It cannot be, father. You were mistaken in the 
 persons." 
 
 " No, by'r Lady ; — there could be no mistake, for 
 they recognised and spoke to me with all the familiar 
 insolence, and saucy ribaldry peculiar to drunken men." 
 
 " How was Harry Tudenham dressed," said Florence, 
 " for I would wager my life he was not one of the 
 revellers ?'' 
 
 " He had on a blue velvet cap with a gold band, and 
 a cock's feather with a ruby buckle." 
 
 " My Harry's cap to the letter ; — but his cloak and 
 doublet?" 
 
 " His doublet was of blue, slashed with pink ; and his 
 cloak a bright scarlet, guarded with gold twist and fur." 
 
 " Then it was he, Patty ; — the false and wicked boy ! 
 —Oh ! I will never— -never speak to him again." 
 
 At this moment Biddy, the old lady's favourite maid, 
 intimated to the reverend father that her mistress desired 
 his presence in her closet ; whither the holy man imme- 
 diately repaired, leaving the young ladies in great tribu- 
 
FATHER JEROME. 121 
 
 lation at the faithlessness and profligacy of their lovers, 
 and fully determined never to see them more. 
 
 But, alack for the stability of such determinations, for 
 scarcely had these vows been breathed, and the fair 
 forlorn ones were still sitting cheek on hand in doleful 
 despondence, when a gentle tap was heard on the stairs, 
 which was immediately followed by the appearance of 
 the merry face of Master Harry Tudenham, peeping 
 through the half open door, and whispering 
 
 *' Flory ; — Flory, dear ! — Are you alone ? Is old 
 dame Spitfire in the way ?" And having by this time 
 satisfied himself of the clearness of the ground, the 
 youth sprang instantly to the side of his mistress, who 
 at first with sullen sobs repelled his advances. 
 
 But why should I proceed to describe what all can so 
 much better conceive ; — the gentle entreaties, — the fond 
 reproaches, — the boldly asserted innocence, the readily- 
 believed justification, — and the happy reconciliation, with 
 all its delightful blandishments ? Suffice it to say, that 
 the lovers cordially joined counsel against the common 
 enemy, the young ladies undertaking to conduct the war 
 at home against mamma, and the gentlemen to direct 
 operations abroad, and even to carry their incursions 
 into the enemy's territories. With this arrangement they 
 parted, but not until future meetings had been agreed 
 upon, and time and place minutely specified. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 "I am a friar of orders grey. 
 
 " And down the valley I take my way : 
 
 " I pick neither blackberry, haw, nor hip, 
 
 *' Good store of venison lines my scrip. 
 
 " I'm cloth'd in sackcloth for my sin, 
 
 " With good sack-wine I'm lin'd within." 
 
 OLD BALLAD. 
 
 The complin bell, which always rang at seven in the 
 evening, had just ceased tolling at the Grey Friary, in 
 South End, when the pretty Bridget Gadaway, dame 
 Cabot's confidential maid, tripped lightly through the 
 grove at the back of the Dominican Friary, and flitting 
 like a fairy over the esplanade that intervened between 
 it and the Franciscan Garden, suddenly disappeared 
 through a small gateway in the wall, which opened at 
 her approach as if by magic. She had perhaps been 
 dispatched with a message by her mistress, or was her- 
 self going to confession. The latter appears the more 
 probable, for the Reverend Father Jerome, Almoner of 
 the Monastery, was waiting the arrival of the buxom 
 damsel with impatience ; and on her arrival immediately 
 retired with her to a small oratory, erected in a remote 
 part of the garden, for the better indulgence of devout 
 contemplation, far from the vanities of a wicked world. 
 
 Such however are the prying propensities of the un- 
 godly, that the good man's arrangements on this occasion 
 
FATHER JEROME. 123 
 
 did not shelter him from the observation and consequent 
 evil surmises of our two nautical scape-graces, who, 
 whilst prowling about the convent, intent upon mischief, 
 accidentally became privy to the secret interview between 
 Biddy and the Friar, but without alarming the parties 
 whose motions they were watching. 
 
 In the mean time, vespers being over in the chapel of 
 the priory, the monks had retired to their dormitories, 
 with the exception of four worthy functionaries, namely, 
 the sacristan, the chamberlain, the cellarer and the bursar, 
 whose offices procured for them immunity from most of 
 the restrictions enforced upon the community in general. 
 
 This quartetto, having assembled in the refectory, soon 
 became as jovial as good wine, a roaring fire, and hearts 
 devoid of care, could render them. There they were 
 wont to indulge without restraint, for their principal, 
 whose authority alone they had to fear, had become 
 childish with age, and helpless with infirmities, the 
 accumulation of many years of sloth and intemperance. 
 
 Twice had the fat cellarer dragged his unwieldy 
 person to the cellar to replenish the ponderous tankard, 
 which held about a gallon, when their party was increased 
 by the entrance of the almoner. 
 
 Now father Jerome was not an habitual wine-bibber, 
 whatever other faults he might have, and it would be 
 rash to assert that he had none, although his high repu- 
 tation for sanctity caused him to be much sought after 
 by fair devotees. 
 
 " What !— again at your nocturnal orgies ?'' said he. 
 " I blush for your monstrous irregularities, which have 
 already given currency through the town to rumours 
 highly prejudicial to our house and order. In justice to 
 
124 FATHER JEROME. 
 
 myself, and the confidence reposed in me by our venerable 
 prior, I shall be under the painful necessity of reporting 
 your conduct to the Provincial, on his next visit." 
 
 " Baugh, baugh, brother Jerry," said the cellarer, 
 " sit thee down, and taste the good Malmsey at thy 
 elbow. 'Twill drown thy sour humour. I know thou 
 art a good fellow at the core, and lovest — aye, what do'st 
 love ? — Why a pretty face, and a brave kirtle. And, 
 marry, next to them, is there on earth a more enchant- 
 ing sight than a noble jorum, mantling to the brim with 
 generous wine like this .?'"* 
 
 " Come, come, brother Jerome," said the bursar, 
 ^' we tamper not with your pleasures, therefore do not 
 you spoil our sport, for we were right merry before you 
 came." 
 
 " Hilloa, Ralph, man, cheer up ;" bawled the cham- 
 berlain, slapping the sacristan on the shoulder, whose 
 double chin had dropped upon his immense paunch, 
 whilst his nose loudly proclaimed the triumph of 
 Morpheus over Bacchus. The jolly sacristan thus saluted 
 grunted forth several inarticulate sounds in reply, and 
 again relapsed into sleep ; but animal instinct still so far 
 prevailed, that when his loving brother, the bursar, held 
 the pitcher to his lips, he took a long and deep draught 
 without interruption to his nasal music. 
 
 The almoner, moved by the rhetoric of his comrades, 
 laid aside the cynic, which was only his assumed charac- 
 ter, and soon became as happy and uproarious as the 
 rest. When the mirth was at the highest, and the 
 cellarer was reeling back to his chair with another full 
 flagon, the jovial company was suddenly disturbed by a 
 most terrific noise, the lugubrious sound of a bulPs horn, 
 
FATHER JEROME. 
 
 125 
 
 blown through a small lattice at the farther end of the 
 refectory by young Harry Tudenham. 
 
 Those, who could naove, rose and fled ; the almoner 
 and cellarer took shelter among the wine-casks; the 
 sacristan continued to snore and grunt uncomfortably in 
 his chair; while the bursar and chamberlain, rolUng 
 against each other on the floor, in their drunken stupi- 
 dity, continued for some time to belabour each other 
 most unmercifully. 
 
 In the mean time, Harry, and his roguish companion, 
 Alan Witham, greatly enjoyed the scene of confusion 
 and dismay they had occasioned, and retired shaking 
 their sides with laughter. 
 
 THE SEAL OF CORPUS CHRISTI GUILD, BOSTON. 
 
CHAPTER IIL 
 
 " 'Tis merry in Hall, 
 
 " When beards wag all.'* proverb. 
 
 The day that succeeded the events of the previous 
 chapter was one of festival and rejoicing in the good 
 town of Boston, for the wily Itahan, Sebastian Cabot, 
 had quite infatuated the worthy burghers with ideas of 
 the wonderful advantages that were to accrue to them- 
 selves and the town from the newly projected " Russian 
 Company of Adventurers trading to the Baltic and the 
 parts adjacent." This, like many modern schemes, was 
 guaranteed to enrich all that speculated in it ; and the 
 inhabitants of Boston still remembered with regret the 
 profitable foreign traffic they had carried on some twenty 
 years before, through the E sterlings, or Merchants of the 
 Hanseatic League, and therefore the more eagerly caught 
 at the first chance that offered of recalling the lost trea- 
 sure to their port. Hence so great was the estimation in 
 which the successful mercantile adventurer, Sebastian 
 Cabot, was held, that no honour was deemed too high for 
 him, and he was consequently invited to a banquet in the 
 Hall of the Guild of St. Mary,» at which he was to be 
 presented with the freedom of that distinguished Com- 
 pany. 
 
 a The present Town Hall, 
 
FATHER JEROME. 127 
 
 To this feast were invited all the lionourable and 
 respectable inhabitants, both civil and ecclesiastical ; nor 
 were our two young sailors, and the other officers of 
 the " Golden Fleece" forgotten. 
 
 The tables groaned beneath the gorgeous display of 
 plate, amidst which stood conspicuous the massive baro- 
 nial salt, that magical boundary between the high and 
 low ; and the fumes of every delicacy peculiar to the 
 times and season, rose in a grateful mist from the smoking 
 viands, tickling the olfactories of the hungry guests, 
 and setting their mouths watering in anticipation of the 
 coming feast. 
 
 We will not trouble our readers with a tedious report 
 of the luminous after-dinner speeches, made on this occa- 
 sion, but beg them to believe that Sack and Bourdeaux 
 were equally potent in inspiring lucid oratory, as the 
 cold punch and bad port of more modern times, nor were 
 the roaring boys of Bluff Harry"'s reign less rapturous in 
 their applause than the jolly topers of later days. 
 
 Cabot, on returning thanks for the honour conferred 
 upon him, took occasion to point out at large the merits 
 of the new project, and as the company were all pre- 
 disposed in its favour, every sentence that he spoke was 
 hailed with cheers ; and as he resumed his seat, he was 
 greeted with three distinct rounds of applause. 
 
 Wereupon up rose a weighty member of the Guild, a 
 man of great substance, and one, who for gastronomic ca- 
 pacity, was worthy to have flourished in the glorious days 
 of aldermanic feasts. His name was John Vonderbum 
 Stockfish ; and being a great dealer in fat cattle, and a 
 general victualler on a large scale, his opinion on the 
 present question was deemed of importance, particularly 
 
128 FATHER JEROMEl. 
 
 as hides and tallow formed a prominent part of the traffic 
 up the Baltic. He thus commenced. 
 
 " Brother Townsmen." 
 
 " It is with great difficulty I rise from my chair, — I 
 beg pardon, — It is with great diffidence I rise to express 
 my opinion of this important — this most important !" — 
 
 Here the worshipful member, overcome by the heavy 
 counterpoise of the * argumentum a posteriori^ sunk 
 back into his chair, and such was the comfort he felt 
 when thus reinstated, that rather than quit it again, he 
 left the important question to take care of itself. 
 
 The successful debut of this great man, induced an- 
 other respectable dealer in the same line, named James 
 Vonbest Brunt, to take up the debate, which he did in 
 the following strain. 
 
 " I am proud to declare that I fully cVmcide with the 
 opinion so eloquently expressed by my worthy fellow 
 townsman, and Guild brother, John Vonderbum Stock- 
 fish ; and after duly weighing the question in all its 
 bearings, I hesitate not to assert, that we are a lost people 
 if we do not exert all our energies to promote the object 
 of the company so happily projected by my celebrated 
 friend on the right hand of the worshipful Warden. For 
 myself, I here avow my intention of embarking all my 
 property in the speculation. (great applause) More- 
 over t beg to recommend to the Guild, and to the town 
 of St. Botolph generally, that as the draught of water 
 will not allow vessels of the tonnage to be employed in 
 tills traffic to come up to the town, that a dock be forth- 
 with dug at the Scalpe, near the mouth of the river, for 
 their accommodation, that nothing may be wanting on 
 our part to further the general success of the company, 
 
FATHER JEROME:. 129 
 
 or to secure a share of the profits to the important town 
 and port of Boston.^' 
 
 This motion was immediately seconded, and carried by 
 acclamation. One gruiFold gentlemen, an ancient Guild 
 Brother, in times past esteemed a man of letters, and 
 who rejoiced in the use of long and high-soun(hng words 
 above the every-day phrases of the profane multitude, 
 felt sorely annoyed that so important a business should 
 have been so speedily settled, and that too before he had 
 illuminated the assembly with one of his long-winded and 
 wordy orations. This was quite sufficient to induce the 
 worthy referred to, whose name was John de Pynchum, 
 to oppose the whole project, whatever its merits, or what- 
 ever his own private judgment thereupon. 
 
 It was sometime before his deep sonorous voice, power- 
 ful as it was, could make itself heard amidst the din of 
 uproarious applause, jovial laughter, and the jingling of 
 glasses and goblets : but de Pynchum, who was the well 
 known cynic of his Guild, was too much accustomed to 
 opposition, to be put down by clamour, and he therefore 
 continued to declaim until a lull in the storm gave him 
 a chance of being heard. 
 
 " My worthy Fellow-Townsmen, and Brethren of the 
 Guild of our Blessed Lady, an imperative duty compels 
 me to address you. When I look around me, and see 
 all the honourable and noble of our great commercial 
 town assembled to do honour to a stranger and an adven- 
 turer, I tremble for the consequences of such infatuation ; 
 I see the future big with ruin, and (which God forefend) 
 our goodly port desolate and deserted, or^ what is 
 worse, the mere depot, and place of refuge of a foreign 
 projector, grown rich upon the spoils of our wealthy 
 
130 FATHER JEROME. 
 
 burghers, and their fond creduUt}' in his honour and in- 
 tegrity. I am fully cognisant of the preposterous fact 
 that you have prejudged the weighty matter under dis- 
 cussion ; — that you have approached the subject with all 
 your perceptions obfuscated by the dazzling promises of 
 interested speculators, and that my honest endeavours to 
 arrest you in the mad career of destruction, upon which 
 you are about to embark, will have to encounter nothing 
 but contumely and ingratitude. But this conviction shall 
 not stop the torrent of my just indignation, — nor pre- 
 vent me from stripping the impostor of the false glories 
 in which he now stands before you." — 
 
 How much more this profound reasoner might have 
 adduced in support of his opinion must for ever remain 
 a secret, which time itself will not be able to unfold ; for 
 the friends and adherents of Cabot, together with the 
 rapidly progressing consumption of sack and sugar, 
 occasioned such a hurly in the Hall, as to drown the ut- 
 most vociferations of the speaker, and poor de Pynchum 
 was compelled to resume his seat and nurse his wrath in 
 silence ; nor did he ever after experience that solemn re- 
 spect and awful deference from the fraternity, with which 
 they were wont to listen, in by-gone times, to his florid 
 specimens of oratory. 
 
 In the confusion consequent upon the coughing down 
 of this learned Theban, Father Jerome made his exit 
 from the Hall, and that too without being observed by 
 either Witham or Tudenham, although they had agreed 
 together to watch his motions. His absence, however, 
 was soon discovered, and the two lovers after signalizing 
 each other from remote parts of the table, also rose and 
 withdrew. 
 
FATHER JEROME. 131 
 
 It was a fine but dark evening, when they issued from 
 the Hall ; and after a moment's consultation, they pro- 
 ceeded towards the Grey Friary, resolved to demand an 
 interview with the Almoner, and to compel him to pro- 
 mote their suit with Dame Cabot, under the threat of 
 exposing his intrigue with her maid, and of also promul- 
 gating the Bacchanalian orgies of himself and his frater- 
 nity. 
 
 In this, however, they were disappointed for the holy 
 father had not returned to the Friary, and they therefore 
 hastened to fulfil a clandestine appointment they had 
 made with the young ladies in the gardens of Cabot 
 House. Silently and rapidly they traversed the grove 
 that skirted the back of the Dominican Garden, and 
 presently vaulted over the garden wall, but unluckily 
 the confessor was then taking a solitary walk below, and 
 the two young sailors consequently pounced upon the 
 holy man's head, as they threw themselves into the garden. 
 The poor monk shouted " murder and thieves !" and be 
 lieved himself suddenly fallen into the hands of a legion 
 of devils. But, remarkable as it may appear, there were 
 angels of light near at hand, for suddenly from one 
 arbour emerged the fair sisters tapers in hand, and from 
 another, at the same moment. Miss Bridget Gadaway, 
 which may be noted as one of those occurrences called 
 remarkable coincidences. 
 
 The monk, who was more frightened than hurt, on 
 recognising the intruders, became very bitter in his in- 
 vective and remonstrances, threatening to denounce their 
 proceedings, not only to Dame Cabot, but to the Signor 
 Sebastian himself Whereupon the two young men, 
 
 knowing their advantage, drew him aside, and said, 
 
 k2 
 
132 FATHER JEROME. 
 
 " Father Jerome, it is necessary that we should per- 
 fectly understand each other. We think it possible that 
 you may be induced to take a different view of this case." 
 
 They then, to his utter dismay and astonishment, 
 unfolded to him all they had discovered touching his 
 intrigue with Dame Cabot's maid, and the drunken rites 
 nightly celebrated at the Refectory of the Grey Friary ; 
 at the same time declaring their intention to make all 
 public if he continued to thwart their suits for the hands 
 of their captain's sisters, and stipulating on the contrary 
 for his hearty co-operation, as the price of their secrecy. 
 
 The wily monk said little in reply. He only begged 
 them not to be rash in any thing they might say or do, and 
 to await the issue of his conduct on the morrow, which 
 he doubted not would give them satisfaction. So saying 
 he retired, and left them at liberty to join their fair and 
 trembling friends, who, on recognising the monk, had 
 immediately extinguished their tapers and taken refuge 
 in a nut-walk in a remote part of the garden, where for 
 the present we also will leave them. 
 
CHAPTER IV, 
 
 " Your mind is tossing on the ocean ; 
 There, where your argosies with portly sail^ 
 Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood, 
 Do overpeer the petty traffickers, 
 That curt'sy to them, do them reverence. 
 As they fly by them with their woven wings" 
 
 MERCHANT OF VEyiCE. 
 
 On the morrow Cabot was occupied all the morning 
 with the shipment of stores, ammunition, and cargo, 
 preparatory to his voyage, from the wharf near his house ; 
 in the centre of which he stood like a prince among his 
 subjects, commanding, directing, and superintending the 
 movements of his men, and observed at a respectful 
 distance by a group of honest burghers, who having 
 embarked much of their capital in the venture, took a 
 strong interest in all the detail of the equipment. 
 
 It was consequently not before the then aristocratic 
 dining hour of twelve at noon, for the ' ignobile vulgus' 
 had already munched their black bread and grey peas at 
 eleven, that the hungry company dispersed, and gave the 
 worthy almoner the opportunity he had long sought for, 
 of approaching and saluting the ' Mariner of the Long 
 Voyage,' as Cabot and such as he were styled par excel- 
 lence. 
 
 k3 
 
134 FATHER JEROME. 
 
 " You are shortly to leave us, noble captain ?"' 
 
 *' On the third day, holy father ; so please the winds 
 and waves, and good St. Botolph. We will crave your 
 benediction and your prayers before we depart." 
 
 " Most cordially will they be bestowed, captain ; and 
 may our Blessed Mary give you a fair voyage, and pros- 
 perous traffic.'' 
 
 " Give us a fair voyage, and for the traffic we will 
 risk our reputation on its success ; — We have traded 
 with savages before, and shall therefore not fear to en- 
 counter the Russian Bear." 
 
 " Should he prove uncivil, you go prepared, I see, to 
 give him blow for blow, and hug for hug, though he 
 should be as rough as his own clime." 
 
 " You speak sooth, friar ; — we can accommodate 
 Master Bruin with a variety of dainties, for we have 
 guns of every caliber to greet him withal, as Culverins, 
 Basilisques, Faulcons, and Sacres ; and if he desire a 
 few grapes to his dessert, here be good store of Arque- 
 buze, Caliver and Petronil, with abundance of food for 
 such roaring and fire-eating boys." 
 
 ** And you appear to have a crew able and willing to 
 back you, gallant captain." 
 
 " As fine a set of fellows, friar, as ever brushed salt 
 spray from their beards, or shook hands with Old Boreas 
 on the top of a mountain wave. I would ask no better 
 men to circumnavigate the globe withal, nor bolder spirits 
 to cope with a legion of fiends." 
 
 " What think you of our two young townsmen that 
 have taken service with you ?'* 
 
 " Young Alan Witham and Harry Tudenham ? 
 They will make good sailors and splendid officers, if their 
 
FATHER JEROME. 135 
 
 reckless daring do not cause them to be knocked on the 
 head before their time." 
 
 *' But, signer, they are wild and graceless dogs, 
 I fear." 
 
 " Pshaw ! — the mere overflowing of high spirits and 
 noble natures. ' Tis of such stuff that our great men 
 and gallant adventurers are made ; and not of the milk- 
 sop foppling, who dares not take a single step beyond his 
 posture master's prescription, lest he ruffle his lace, dis- 
 order his doublet, or start some of the points that loop 
 up his delicate person." 
 
 " Then you would not be offended to learn that the 
 two young officers I have named have cast eyes of love 
 and fancy upon your beautiful sisters." 
 
 " By'r Lady, but they be bold boys : — but, where is 
 the wonder ? — or why should I swear ? Now I remember 
 me, I brought the boys and girls together, and perhaps 
 at some future day there may be no objection. For the 
 present they and I have other matters to think of, and 
 the girls are young enough to wait." 
 
 " You do not then forbid the youths to hope, should 
 they rise in their profession, and acquire wealth and 
 status, becoming the brothers-in-law of the illustrious 
 and princely merchant-mariner, Sebastian Cabot .?" 
 
 " Oh, oh. Sir Priest, you are their advocate, I see." 
 
 " You misconceive me, noble sir. As the confessor 
 and ghostly adviser of your lady mother, I take a deep 
 interest in all that concerns your family ; and I was de- 
 sirous that you should know the state of matters in the 
 household, and also to learn your opinion thereupon, that 
 I might know the better how to regulate my own conduct 
 
 in regard to the affair in question." 
 
 4k 
 
136 FATHER JEROME. 
 
 " I stand you debtor, friar, for the friendly feeling you 
 evince, and commend the giddy girls to your kind offices 
 in my absence ; for I am well aware, that a harsh mother, 
 whilst she strictly enforces upon her daughters the obser- 
 vance of all the minutiae of external demeanour, is not 
 unfrequently utterly blind to the more dangerous plots 
 and intrigues that are carrying on under her very nose. 
 Now you, as an occasional visitor and dispassionate ob- 
 server, will be more likely to discover, and consequently 
 to prevent, any clandestine proceedings to which silly 
 girls are prone. In so doing you will render me impor- 
 tant service, nor will you find me ungrateful," 
 
 The merchant and the priest then parted, the latter 
 well pleased to find Cabot so well disposed towards the 
 young men, the promotion of whose love affairs was the 
 only means he possessed of silencing them on the subject 
 of his own delinquencies. Having gained the son, his 
 labour with the mother was infinitely less difficult, for 
 Dame Cabot, though a shrewd woman, and a shrew to 
 all the world beside, had a blind confidence in her son, 
 whom she regarded as a being more than mortal, before 
 whom all were bound to succumb both in mind and body. 
 
 Father Jerome, who next to her son possessed the 
 hio-hest influence over her, was fuUv aware of this weak 
 point in the infatuated mother, and had therefore resolv- 
 ed to avail himself of it in bringing about the object he 
 at present had in view. He accordingly sought an oppor- 
 tunity that evening, after vespers, of holding a long con- 
 ference with the old lady, and by strongly insisting upon 
 the favourable opinion of her son towards the young 
 men, succeeded in softening down her prejudice against 
 them, which it must be confessed was considerably helped 
 
FATHER JEROME. 
 
 137 
 
 out by the knowledge that the obnoxious invaders of her 
 quiet and orderly menage, would in a day or two be 
 careering far away over the dark blue waters, whence 
 neither their voices nor vagaries could disturb her. Her 
 spleen, however, was so far abated that she admitted 
 them to the freedom of her house and home until their 
 departure, and graciously allowed them to salute her 
 shrivelled hand in token of reconciliation, on their next 
 admission within the precincts of her mansion. 
 
 With a fair field thus prepared for them by their com- 
 pulsory agent, the young men, thoughtless of the future, 
 were for the time as happy as health and youth could 
 make them. 
 
 SEAL OF THE GUILD OF THE BLESSED MARY, BOSTON, 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 *' My sailor, so rough, and so fearless, at sea, 
 
 *' When the moment of peril is past, 
 
 *' Is all that is loving and tender to me, — 
 
 *' Oh God ! bring him safe through the threatening blast ' 
 
 ANON. 
 
 There was many an aching heart and many a tearful 
 eye amongst the fair maidens of Boston, on the day that 
 witnessed the departure of Cabot and his flotilla, for 
 several vessels belonging to the port, manned by the bold 
 and adventurous native seamen, were fitted out to ac- 
 company the expedition, and consequently many a young 
 tar in the lower walks of life, besides our two lovelorn 
 heroes, left behind them fond hearts and fair bosoms 
 to pray for their welfare and to sigh for their return- 
 Thus every boat load of adventurers, that took its final 
 passage down the haven, was escorted by a number of 
 small skiffs, each containing one fair Niobe or more, 
 whose father, brother, or one more dear to her than 
 either, was about to embark in what was then deemed a 
 long and dangerous voyage. 
 
 These dismal accompaniments of the embarkation were 
 however by no means its most prominent features, for a 
 band of music in a large boat led the van, playing lively 
 
FATHER JEROME. 139 
 
 and triumphant airs, which were responded to by hearty 
 cheers from those that followed. Every boat had a flag 
 at its bows, and I fear I must add, one or more drunken 
 men, singing and huzzaing in wild concert with the music. 
 Salutes were fired from every vessel in the harbour, as 
 they passed along, and at intervals loud cheers greeted 
 them from the crowds that thronged the banks on either 
 hand, while from the steeples of St. Botolph's and 
 St. John's Churches reverberated far and wide the merry 
 peals of the bells. Oh ! it was a day to be remembered 
 through the longest life, as one of gaiety and excite- 
 ment seldom witnessed by the sober citizens of Boston. 
 
 All this noise and display were however lost upon the 
 throbbing hearts of the tender demoiselles, Martha and 
 Florence Cabot, nor were the wild gallants they loved 
 insensible to the pang of a first separation from a first 
 love, whose image, whatever the world may make of us 
 afterwards, ever lives in the mind, the idol of memory. 
 
 ' Twas in the tapestried chamber, where the abundant 
 fragments of a large breakfast were still scattered over 
 the spacious tables, that our two young adventurers still 
 loitered to take a last farewell of their lady loves; 
 all the other guests having departed to escort Cabot 
 himself to his boat, and the two beautiful girls utterly 
 overwhelmed with trouble at the loss of their gallant 
 lovers, gave full vent to their grief, and wept upon their 
 shoulders, responding only in broken sobs to the re- 
 peated kisses and reiterated vows of unalterable and 
 undying love, with which the youths tried to comfort 
 them. 
 
 " Nay, Flory, my heart's jewel, doubt not but I shall 
 return, true in heart, as safe in body ; and then, blow 
 
140 FATHER JEROME. 
 
 fair — blow foul, you shall be my bonny bride. I will- 
 then have a bark of my own, — you shall be my first 
 lieutenant, and we will be as happy as the day is long, 
 whilst we dance over the merry waves, whatever course 
 we steer." 
 
 Now this was a very comfortable speech, and the fair 
 Hebe that hung upon his shoulder, raised her tearful 
 eyes with bright beams of love and confidence to his ; — 
 and he knew that she was comforted, and with a parting 
 embrace bade her adieu, and hurried after his comrade. 
 Alan had already reached the wharf and answered to 
 the repeated calls for himself and Tudenham to take 
 their places in the last boat, which only waited their ar- 
 rival to push off. 
 
 And they are gone, and carry with them the warmest 
 love and kindest affections of two young and inexperi- 
 enced hearts^ that were doomed never to forget them. 
 
 So true it is, that love, although the business of a 
 woman's life, is but the amusement of man's leisure, — 
 it may be added, the solace of his hours of repose, — 
 which the stern realities of every day life presently 
 smother, and obliterate from his mind until some fond 
 memorial recalls long-forgotten scenes, and the fairy 
 forms that peopled them, and then the original impres- 
 sion, mellowed perchance by the fancy hues of distance, 
 revives with redoubled force, and the vagrant swain 
 returns to his duty, and redeems past neglect by the 
 entire devotion of his heart to the tender object of his 
 passion. 
 
 Such was the case with the young men of our tale, for 
 the bustle of getting under wa}^ the necessity of action, 
 the excitement of danger, the novelty of the cnterprize, 
 
FATHER JEROME. 141 
 
 and the pleasure of command, soon resumed their empire 
 in those breasts, in which a few days of leisure had 
 kindled such a flame of tender passion ; and the fair 
 young creatures whose hearts throbbed so highly for 
 them, were soon forgotten in the turmoil of nautical life, 
 or remembered only in the lonely midnight watch, when 
 all was still save the remorseless dash of billows. 
 
 Months passed away but brought no news of the 
 expedition. At length word arrived that one of vessels 
 had returned to London, but which it was, or what had 
 become of the rest of the fleet no one knew. The state 
 of suspense became terrible both for those, whose friends 
 had joined the expedition, and for those whose wealth 
 was embarked in the venture. 
 
 It came at last, a lone and desolate bark, its bulwarks 
 battered in, its cordage rent, its sails in tatters, and its 
 haggard crew a ghastly set of shadowy ghosts, whom 
 toil, danger and famine, had reduced to skeletons. And 
 for their cargo that was to realize the golden dreams 
 of the speculators, — what was that ? Vain hope ! — the 
 shattered hull was water-logged, and contained nothing 
 but empty casks and the carcasses of some scores of 
 drowned rats, which had been suffocated in their strong- 
 hold, the sides of the leaky vessel. 
 
 But what said the crew ? Alas ! poor fellows, they 
 told the usual tale of rough waves and heavy seas, foul 
 winds and midnight squalls, dangerous coasts and hostile 
 natives, with a sad catalogue of incessant labour and 
 watching ; of comrades cut off" by the savages on one 
 coast, of others washed off" the deck on another, and all 
 the catastrophes incidental to unfortuate voyages. — 
 Of their consort ships, or the commander in chief, they 
 
142 FATHER JEROME. 
 
 knew nothing ; having been separated from the fleet in a 
 gale of wind off the Naze of Norway, which they had 
 never been able to rejoin. 
 
 Three years passed away, and nothing more was heard 
 of Cabot, or his Russian Company, except uncertain re- 
 ports of sundry letters that passed between the gulled 
 merchants of Boston, and the agents of the Italian ad- 
 venturer, apparently to the satisfaction of neither party. 
 
 It was a fine evening in the beginning of October, — 
 the curfew had just ceased tolling, and the careful warden 
 had just raised the draw-bridge, that formed the centre of 
 the wooden convenience that then crossed the Witham, 
 and had seen his halberdiers at their posts, when a party 
 of horsemen clattered rapidly up to the closed port on the 
 west side of the river, and loudly demanded a passage 
 over. They were answered only by the presentation of 
 some dozen arquebuses, and an order to draw off, and 
 not to disturb the town at so unseasonable an hour, for, 
 truth to tell, custom had rendered the curfew toll the 
 general signal for retirement with all honest and orderly 
 burghers. 
 
 The party thus frustrated bestowed a few oblique 
 blessings upon the recusants, and then turned iheir 
 horses' heads in the direction they had come. They had 
 not however proceeded far when four of the number 
 alighted, and after directing the others where to bestow 
 the horses, descended to the river, where they made free 
 with the first skiff they could find, and presently paddled 
 themselves over. 
 
 Their motions, however, had not passed unobserved, 
 and on landing they were consequently immediately sur- 
 rounded by the town guard, armed with sword, halbert, 
 
FATHER JEROME. 143 
 
 and petronel, and bearing burning cressets or torches. 
 Resistance was vain, and they were therefore hurried 
 away to the warden's lodge, near the church gate. Here 
 on shewing who they were, they were permitted to retire 
 for the night to the goodly hostel, known by the sign of 
 the Peacock, the precaution being taken to place one of 
 the town-guard at the door of the inn, to prevent the 
 egress of the strangers, and the consequent disturbance 
 of the sober denizens. 
 
 'Twas a lovely morning that succeeded the evening 
 we have described, and Dame Cabot, whose temper in- 
 creasing years and infirmities had not improved, was up 
 very early, with no other apparent motive than to disturb 
 the delightful slumbers of those who slept more soundly 
 than herself; for she was one of those unfortunate beings, 
 who, so to say, was never happy but when she was mi- 
 serable herself, and occupied in making all about her the 
 same. 
 
 " Up, up, ye idle hussies, your wheels should have 
 been going for this hour. Up, I say, or the sun will 
 shine upon your drowsy heads still in bed. The curfew 
 has long since rung out its last chime, and all the town 
 has been a-stir for this hour." 
 
 Such was the morning salutation of the amiable lady 
 to her daughters, as she shook, with violence, the door 
 of their sleeping chamber. The young ladies were at 
 the moment wrapt in elysian dreams of by-gone happi- 
 ness, — of gallant young tars, sweet kisses, and the gentle 
 murmurs of whispered love in the nut walks of the 
 garden, the " leves susurri sub noctem," when the harsh 
 voice of mamma put all their fairy visions to flight, and 
 recalled them to the dull realities of every day life. 
 
144 FATHER JEROME. 
 
 Hastily induing their loose morning dresses, — for 
 why should they bestow time and care upon their toilet 
 when they had none to admire their finery or praise their 
 beauty, — they descended to the breakfast, at which their 
 notable mother was already seated, and which for the 
 gratification of modern belles we will describe, whilst the 
 old lady reads her daughters another lecture on early 
 rising. 
 
 o 
 
 The comestibles set forth for the morning repast, 
 consisted of one loaf of brown bread upon a wooden 
 trencher, two manchets, or small rolls of white bread, 
 one for the old lady's peculiar eating, the other between 
 her two daughters ; — a quart of beer, a quart of wine ; 
 — be not alarmed, good economists, the wine was scarcely 
 preferable to the beer, and the latter was sour ; — two 
 pieces of salt fish, six baconed herrings, and a dish of 
 sprats. 
 
 This we transcribe from the veritable family record 
 now before us, and can therefore safely recommend it to 
 the imitation of any good housewife, who may feel dis- 
 posed to follow the example of so celebrated and notable 
 a manager as Dame Cabot. 
 
 Scarcely had the poor girls consumed one herring 
 each, when Dame Grundy, a pestilent old gossip, and a 
 great crony of Dame Cabot's, bustled into the hall, big 
 with important news, which she was burning with impa- 
 tience to retail to her neighbour. Her account was ex- 
 traordinary both in matter and manner, and was to the 
 following effect. 
 
 " That during the night the town had been beset by 
 several hundreds of marauders from Deeping Fen, and 
 had only been preserved from destruction by the gallantry 
 
FATHER JEROME. 145 
 
 of the bridge-ward and town guard, who after a violent 
 contest had succeeded in throwing some scores of the 
 assailants into the stream, and raising the draw-bridge, 
 while successive vollies were fired at each party from 
 opposite sides of the river. That the robbers finding 
 themselves foiled at the bridge drew off, but succeeded in 
 crossing the river below, which they did in twenty large 
 boats, but were so fiercely opposed on landing by the 
 valiant halberdiers, that they surrendered at discretion. 
 That the whole body of invaders were secured in the 
 dungeon, with the exception of the two leaders, who 
 turned out to be noblemen, and who were consequently 
 taken under a strong guard to the Royal Hostel known 
 by the sign of the Peacock." All this the old lady 
 related in her own peculiar style, with many curious 
 illustrations, which I have taken the liberty to condense, 
 as the verbatim relation would have filled a volume. 
 
 The wonder at this strange event had been duly ex- 
 pressed,— the gossip had departed,— the matron had re- 
 turned to her vocation of scolding her maids, and her 
 two lovelorn yet lovely daughters had returned to their 
 hum-drum task at the spinning wheel, when they were 
 startled by a tap at the chamber door. It half opened, 
 and, as in time past, presented to their astonished gaze 
 the merry countenance of Harry Tudenham, and peeping 
 over the little man's head, that of Alan Witham. In an 
 instant the lovers were locked in each others' embrace. 
 
 Dame Cabot was at the time up to her elbows in the 
 meal tub, and therefore could not have disturbed their 
 joyous meeting had she known it was taking place, which 
 happily she did not. But while she was yet in the 
 midst of her culinary preparations, her kind communi- 
 
Ii6 FATHER JEROME. 
 
 cative neighbour returned with a fresh budget of news, 
 and penetrated open-mouthed into the kitchen, where 
 she resumed her narrative in the following strain. 
 
 " Aye, by St. Ursula, ' tis the strangest thing I ever 
 heard." 
 
 '' What is the matter now, Dame Grundy ?" said 
 Dame Cabot. 
 
 " Do pray give me a glass of your canaries. I am 
 quite overcome. It is such an extraordinary affair."" 
 
 After receiving the glass of liqueur^ the usual price 
 she exacted for her information, she continued, 
 
 " The robbers I told you of. Dame Cabot, after all 
 prove to be no robbers at all, and the two principals are 
 — who do you think ? — no other than your quondam 
 friends and tormentors, Harry Tudenham and Alan 
 Witham, the former by the demise of his uncle and 
 brother transformed unto the Right Honourable Lord 
 Tudenham, and the latter into Sir Alan Witham, of 
 Witham Hall, Skirbeck. Such is the information my 
 good man has just brought me, for I sent him out to 
 learn the particulars, and he met the whole party leaving 
 the Warden's Lodge, having been freely discharged by 
 that gallant officer, as good men and true." 
 
 " This is strange news indeed, Dame Grundy, if it be 
 true." 
 
 '^ I wonder if the lovers, formerly so zealous, will re- 
 member in their greatness the mistresses of their more 
 humble days ? I fear me, not. Their journey down is 
 of course to take possession of the estates that fall to 
 them in right of inheritance, but I doubt much whether 
 you will see them at your house. At any rate it would 
 be kind to conceal the arrival of their run-a-gate lovers 
 
FATHER JEROME. 147 
 
 from the poor girls, lest a new disappointment should 
 quite break their hearts." 
 
 Here the conversation was interrupted by the distant 
 sound of repeated laughter, which seemed to proceed 
 from the apartment of the two poor young ladies, whom 
 the kind Mrs. Grundy pitied so much. The two gossips 
 pricked up their ears at this, and proceeded together 
 directly to the room in question, where they beheld the 
 parties as happy as heart could wish. 
 
 The two young men instantly flew to meet Dame Ca- 
 bot, and greeted her with all their wonted enthusiasm, 
 nor was the old lady a little pleased or proud with the 
 attentions of the fortunate youths she had formerly re- 
 garded so obliquely. 
 
 In justice to our heroes we must here state, that the 
 sincere pleasure of the meeting so fully possessed their 
 minds, that all remembrance of the change that fortune 
 had wrought in their favour was entirely forgotten by 
 them, and the first intimation that the young ladies 
 received of the rank of their lovers was from their mo- 
 ther's addressing them as " My Lord," and " Sir Alan." 
 In the course of the ensuing fortnight, the names of 
 Martha and Florence Cabot were merged in those of the 
 Ladies Witham and Tudenham. 
 
 Great were the rejoicings that celebrated this auspi- 
 cious event, for all the nautical heroes of Boston, and 
 every blue-jacket was a hero on that day, considered 
 themselves bound in duty to pledge the bonny bride of 
 a Son of the Ocean, till they could no longer raise the 
 glass to their thirsty lips, especially as the noble bride- 
 grooms supplied grog enough to have floated a frigate. 
 Even the very chapmen, who in times past had abused 
 
148 FATHER J£ROM£. 
 
 them for their pranks, could now see grace and nobility 
 in every action of the wealthy young men, who might 
 perchance become such excellent customers. 
 
 There was however one person, who was by no means 
 so well pleased with the unexpected exaltation and 
 sudden return of his old acquaintances, and this was 
 the former Almoner of the Grey Friary, South End. 
 Father Jerome, who on the demise of the late Prior, 
 had been elected to the vacant chair, on the settlement 
 of Lord Tudenham and Sir Alan Witham in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Boston, for some time secluded himself 
 from the public eye, and at length, it was said, trans- 
 ferred himself to another house of the same order on the 
 Continent. This tale was not, however, generally be- 
 lieved, for reports were current, (with what foundation 
 we cannot say) that he had entirely dropped the cowl, 
 and was now enacting the part of " mine host" in a de- 
 cent tavern in London, the landlady of which, though 
 now grown very portly, had a very suspicious likeness 
 to Mistress Bridget Gadaway, 
 
 Though unsuccessful in this particular voyage, Cabofs 
 reputation was too strongly established by his previous 
 and subsequent successful expeditions to suffer much 
 from a single failure. His latter years were spent in 
 peace and honour in the Metropolis, where he died at 
 the age of eighty, leaving behind him a princely fortune, 
 which, on failure of his immediate descendants, was di- 
 vided between his two sisters. 
 
THE OLD TAVERN ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 A CENTURY AGO. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 « What's to do ? 
 << Shall w« go see the reliques of this town t" 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 
 
 Alas ! for the destructive besom of modern innova- 
 tion ;— how utterly has it swept away all that rendered 
 our ancient streets and venerable mansions snug and 
 comfortable ; sacrificing with unsparing hand individual 
 convenience to that many-headed monster, the public 
 good. Time was, and that not far remote, when the 
 doors of many of the shops in the Market-Place of 
 Boston were covered with small projecting porches, with 
 one or more seats on either side, whereupon the worthy 
 chapmen and their gossips could sit at their ease, and 
 discuss the prevailing topics of the day. 
 
 Aye;— they were happy days, when, after taking a 
 
 chirping cup with a drouthy neighbour, a sober citizen, 
 
 as he threaded his devious way through the dark streets 
 
 towards his home, could recreate his exuberant spirits 
 
 in the spacious gutter, which then in odoriferous luxuri- 
 
 l3 
 
150 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 ance usurped the greater part of the causeway ; and if 
 disturbed in his amusement by the insolent interference 
 of the veteran guardians of the night, could display his 
 valour by cracking some half dozen lanterns, to say 
 nothing of skulls, and afterwards beat a retreat with all 
 the honours ; whereas, in these degenerate times, the 
 chances are that his own will be the only head damaged 
 in the fray, and that his body will be taken more care 
 of than either he or his friends may desire. 
 
 How fondly does memory recall the faded splendors of 
 by-gone days, w^hen glaring sign-boards protruded from 
 every shop front, and together with the pent-houses that 
 shaded the low windows, frequently comx^elled the way- 
 farer who boasted a stature above four feet, to quit the 
 narrow foot-path, and take his chance with the ducks 
 in the puddle, those denizens of the mud that have such 
 cause to complain of the aforesaid besom of reform. 
 Nor, miserahile didu, can we now find in the whole 
 circuit of the Market-Place one of those interesting 
 monuments of antiquity, a cobbler'*s bulk, although it is 
 upon record that some half-dozen have existed there 
 within the memory of man. 
 
 The only remnant of the ancient picture that used to 
 greet the eyes of our forefathers, is that pride of the 
 barber-surgeons, the variegated pole ; but even this vener- 
 able and venerated emblem of chirurgical and barbarous 
 skill is now compelled to veil its glories in the clouds, 
 being fixed so high as to be almost unheeded by the 
 passers-by. 
 
 But why should we rake up the ashes of the past, — 
 only to weep over the faded splendours of the good old 
 town of St. Botolph ? 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 151 
 
 And yet the picture of what it once was is so strongly 
 before our mind's eye at the present moment, that we are 
 half inclined to attempt the sketch. In so doing we fear 
 we must descend to the level of common sense, which, 
 however contrary to our nature, we will endeavour to do 
 in the confident hope that our condescension will be duly 
 appreciated. 
 
 Few towns perhaps have undergone a greater change 
 within the last century than Boston ; much of which in- 
 deed has taken place within the memory of the oldest 
 of its present inhabitants. 
 
 The now spacious Market Place, surrounded on all 
 sides by large and elegant shops, commanding a fine view 
 of St. Botolph's magnificent and cathedral-like church, 
 and bounded on the western extremity by superb 
 assembly rooms,^ a beautiful iron bridge, and commo- 
 dious parade, was at the time of which we write, scarcely 
 one-fourth of its present size, — badly paved, worse lit, and 
 begirt on all hands by irregular and unsightly buildings, 
 many of which strutted forward from their more retiring 
 neighbours, with no other apparent object than that of 
 obstructing the foot-path. 
 
 In the north-eastern part of the Market-Place stood 
 the Corn^ or as it was more commonly called, the Meal 
 Cross, occupying the now vacant space from the end of 
 Strait Bargate to the Green Dragon. It was a light, 
 elegant building, raised three steps above the surround- 
 ing level, and supporting a flat roof upon fourteen square 
 stone pillars. In the centre of the roof was a small cupola, 
 protecting from the weather a large bell, by the sound of 
 which the Corn Market was opened and closed, no deal- 
 Soon, alas ! to be Assembly Rooms no more. printer's devil. 
 
 l4 
 
152 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 ings before or after the prescribed hours being lawful. 
 On the western side of the Corn Cross stood the Pillory, 
 and at the southwest corner, the Whipping Post ; but 
 whether these salutary erections were thus conveniently 
 placed for the exclusive benefit of the Rogues-in-Grain, 
 or '^^ pro bono publico,'''' our informant sayeth not \^ 
 
 A little to the south of the Corn Cross, and nearly 
 opposite to the Green Dragon, was a horse pond, in which 
 the tanners also washed their skins, thereby giving to an 
 adjoining rise of the ground the name of Skin-Hill. Here 
 loo was erected that terror to scolds, the Ducking Stool, a 
 method of quelling unruly members which the fastidious- 
 ness of modern justice has done away with, to the 
 regret of many an unfortunate Benedict. 
 
 Thence to Dolphin Lane was an open space, as at 
 present, in the centre of which, however, securely fixed 
 in the earth, was a ponderous iron bull-ring, to which on 
 high days and holidays the worthy burghers were wont 
 to tether the monarch of the herd, and bait him to mad- 
 ness with fierce dogs, no doubt to their great amusement 
 and edification ; a very ancient pastime, but now happily 
 exploded throughout the kingdom. 
 
 Opposite to the end of Dolphin Lane stood the Market 
 Cross, a large old building of an oblong form, open be- 
 low on all sides, and supporting, on stone pillars a 
 spacious Assembly Room, in which most of the public 
 business of the borough was transacted, the lower part 
 being devoted to the general purposes of a Market 
 Cross> The whole was surmounted by a dial and vane, 
 
 a The Corn Cross was taken down La 1790. 
 
 thopmson's hist, of boston. 
 b Built in 1782, and taken down in 1826. 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 153 
 
 the only remains of the old Cross that have been pre- 
 served, and which now occupy a conspicuous place over 
 the Permanent Library. 
 
 On the site of the house at the south end of Fountain 
 Lane, rendered remarkable by the aforesaid dial and 
 vane, formerly stood the Water House, a reservoir to 
 which water was conducted through wooden pipes from 
 the West Fen, and thence distributed by the same means 
 over the town. 
 
 Separated from the above by a narrow lane, and occu_ 
 pying a great part of the ground which now forms the 
 
154 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 paved part of the promenade within the church yard, 
 stood the Town Gaol,a a large dismal looking building, 
 which presented towards the Market Place nothing but 
 an immense sloping roof, its walls being surrounded 
 on all sides by small booths or shops. 
 
 At the western end of the gaol, facing the Butchery, 
 stood the old Ostrich Inn, conspicuous for its gallows-like 
 sign-post, and a rude painting of the bird whose name 
 it bore ; a house noted for good ale, before quassia and 
 quackery had become such important ingredients in the 
 art of brewing. 
 
 The Butchery. I' a large oblong building of one story, 
 with four windows and a door on each side, stood near 
 the church gate, to the south of the gaol. The principal 
 entrance, which faced towards the market-place, was 
 surmounted by the arms of the borough; and at its 
 north-eastern corner were fixed the Stocks, — an excellent 
 situation, for if a gentleman chanced to be laid by the 
 heels he could amuse his leisure by a general survey of 
 proceedings in the market place. A defective drainage 
 rendered this place a nuisance to the neighbourhood in 
 which it stood. 
 
 Near the southern extremity of the Market Place 
 stood the Fish Shambles, a circular building, well 
 adapted for its purpose, and not unsightly, but rendered 
 objectionable by the same causes which operated against 
 the butchery. 
 
 A clump of buildings also extended along the western 
 side of the market-place, from the corner of the Angel 
 Inn to the fish shambles, thereby entirely obstructing the 
 
 a Taken down in 1720. 
 
 b Built in 1707, and taken down in 1790. 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 155 
 
 direct approach to the bridge, and compelling passengers 
 to make a circuit before they could reach the bridge-foot . 
 
 The Bridge then in existence, though thought much 
 of at the time of its erection, was indeed but a wooden 
 affair. It consisted of one large stone pier in the centre 
 of the river, and of rudely constructed wooden commu- 
 nications from it to the bank on either side, which shook 
 and bent, to the terror of the passengers, beneath the 
 weight of any heavy carriage that crossed it. 
 
 At this time there also flourished near the butchery, 
 at the corner of what is now called Church Lane, the 
 Three Tuns Inn ; from which extended southward some 
 half-dozen very old houses, which stood forward into the 
 market-place, about thirty feet in advance of the fine 
 buildings that have succeeded them. 
 
 In thus presenting a brief sketch of things as they 
 were in Boston a century ago, we have only been prepar- 
 ing the ground for what is to follow ; for we have sundry 
 spirits of the past to call up from the vasty depths of 
 time, and to place in the theatre we have thus decked 
 for their reception ; but they are personages of too much 
 dignity to be introduced at the fag-end of a chapter. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 " As for us drunken rakes, if we hang or we drowtiy 
 *' Or are decently poisoned, what loss has the town; 
 *\But ta devil good claret, that does so much good, 
 ** Is downright effusion of true Christian blood. 
 
 TRAKs. or mahtial's ef. 
 
 On the eastern side of the market-place, adjoining 
 Crown Court, and a little to the south of the old market- 
 cross, formerly stood — nay, still stand— though entirely 
 remodelled, two ancient houses,— one, the shop of a 
 flax-dresser, and the other that of a breeches-maker, 
 trades of paramount importance amongst our great- 
 grandmothers, and grandfathers, when the former spun 
 their own yarns,^ and the latter incased their substantial 
 persons in durable buck-skin. 
 
 Beneath the shop window of the breeches-maker, 
 
 whose name was Geoffery Mudge, was a cobbler's bulk, 
 
 inhabited by as merry a son of St. Crispin as ever 
 
 hammered lapstone, and who rejoiced in the euphonious 
 
 a Does the author mean to insinuate that the dear old ladies of the 
 present day have lost the art of spinning yarns ? 
 
 printer's devil. 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 157 
 
 appellation of Aristobulus Hunks, — though more com- 
 monly called Toby Hunks, and by his enemies, the 
 mischievous boys who delighted to pelt him with mud in 
 his snug stall, — Old Hunks. 
 
 These worthy tradesmen, and their neighbour the 
 flax-dresser, whose name was Robert Short, were very 
 great cronies, and in their frequent sessions in the porch 
 that projected over the door- way of the breeches-maker's 
 shop, were in the practice of settling, not only the affairs 
 of their neighbours, but of the nation at large ; yet, 
 strange as it may appear, neither the town nor the nation 
 appeared the better for their counsel. 
 
 The only party, indeed, who was said to benefit by 
 their long, loud and pragmatic discussions, was " mine 
 host" of the Crown Tavern, in the court adjoining, the 
 proximity of whose tap often tempted the speakers to 
 adjourn the debate when it became dry, to the kitchen 
 settle of old Larry Sackbutt, where they had the advan- 
 tage of an enlarged audience and a foaming tankard to 
 inspirit their eloquence. 
 
 On a fine evening at the latter end of April, 1736, this 
 sapient trio had just assembled at their usual post, the 
 door of goodman Mudge, and the chat had commenced 
 with its usual energy, when their attention was suddenly 
 drawn to the noise of a rabblement around the pump at 
 the southern front of the market-house, the centre and 
 object of which was a man in black, of the class called 
 shabby-genteel, whose declamatory gestures, at a dis- 
 tance, induced the idea that he was haranguing the rag- 
 ged urchins around him, but on a nearer approach it 
 was discovered that he was apostrophising that well 
 known public character, the pump itself. 
 
158 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 The orator, whose years could not be more than five 
 and twenty, with unsteady steps reehng from one side 
 to the other, yet preserving throughout a drunken gravity 
 of countenance that well consorted with the mock solem- 
 nity of his address, proceeded in the following strain. 
 
 '* Thou most pernicious bane of generous liquor, — 
 I curse thee by my gods, but especially by him of the 
 purj)le face, whose lips are red with the blood of the 
 luscious grape. Thou art not only a knave of the first 
 water thyself, but the source — the fountain-head of 
 knavery in others. How many a vinter, whose soul is 
 now roasting below for his crimes, hast thou assisted to 
 rob the sober citizen, who whilst sipping his humble 
 pint after the fatigues of the day, little dreamt he was 
 honouring a draught upon the town pump.'' 
 
 " Ah ;" he continued, " it makes my heart ache, to 
 think how many a pipe of glorious wine has been be- 
 deviled by thy agency ; and its flavour and reputation 
 utterly ruined." Then turning to the gaping mob 
 around him, he resumed; — " Such, good people, are 
 the consequences of evil associations. Wine and Water I 
 Horrible conjunction ! Let me, my dear friends, most 
 affectionately urge upon you never to commit so impious, 
 so preposterous a folly as to dilute good wine, or you 
 will most assuredly be — — ." 
 
 How far his affectionate sympathies might have carried 
 the inspired speaker we cannot say, for at this moment an 
 unlucky imp of a butcher's boy, more mischievous than 
 his fellows, gave a stout tug at the skirt of his coat, and 
 brought the orator upon his seat of honour in a puddle 
 beneath the very pump he had lately treated so oppro- 
 briously, and which, as it were in spite, now began to 
 cascade the prostrate tippler with the hated element. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 *' I have kept the night watch, where she chiefly is said 
 
 " To roam by the ruinous stair ; 
 
 '* I should not have trembled, I should not have fled — 
 
 " For I could have faced her there." the white lady. 
 
 Afteh witnessing the catastrophe described in the 
 foregoing chapter, the worthy trio, already introduced, 
 forthwith betook themselves to their usual retreat, 
 namely, the kitchen of the Crown Tavern. Whither we 
 will make bold to follow them, and minute down a part 
 of their colloquy. 
 
 '' It is a sad thing to see his father's son in such a 
 situation !" said the breeches-maker. 
 
 " So clever and learned, and yet so dissolute and reck- 
 less," added the cobbler. 
 
 " The greatest clerks are not always the wisest men." 
 growled Bob Short, the flax-dresser. 
 
 " And yet 'tis a mad wag when in his vagaries ;**' said 
 Hunks, " as I know to my cost.*" 
 
 " ' Tis good to be merry and wise," added Short. 
 
 " He was born to high expectations, and nurtured in 
 the lap of luxury, until that fatal lawsuit stripped him 
 of his birthright, and cast a blight over the fortunes of 
 
160 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 his house. From that day he has been a lost man, reck- 
 less alike of fortune and of fame ; and anxious only to 
 down care in the wine flask."" said a small limb of the law, 
 distinguishable by the choice selection of terms of speech. 
 
 '' There's many a slip — you know the proverb," said 
 Short. 
 
 " His proud stomach," resumed the breeches-maker, 
 " could never condescend to an honest trade, 1 suppose, 
 if he were to starve." 
 
 *' Hungry dogs will eat dirty puddings," said Short. 
 '' Or," continued Mudge " I would willingly instruct 
 him in the art and mystery of converting buck-skin and 
 cordevan into breeches and gloves." 
 
 " And I the still more important vocation of a cord- 
 wainer," added Hunks. 
 
 " Charity covereth a multitude of sins," said Short, 
 who was somewhat of a cynic, as well as a retailer of 
 old proverbs. " Ye are vastly considerate, neighbours 
 mine, and I doubt not were altogether uninformed of 
 the fact that the poor fellow you so much commiserate, 
 is already provided for." 
 
 " As how. Master Short ?" 
 
 " Why, though all the world seem to have turned 
 their backs upon poor Harry Fuddle, the vicar, who as 
 master of the Grammar School had the care of his edu- 
 cation, has never deserted him, and together with Dr. 
 Stukeley, the learned antiquary, have employed their 
 interest to procure him an appointment abroad. A letter 
 arrived yesterday from our member, the Honourable 
 Albemarle Bertie, informing Mr. Rigby that his appli- 
 cation had been successful, and that the young man 
 must prepare to proceed to India forthwith. 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 161 
 
 " The doctor and vicar came up just as we lert."" said 
 the breeches-maker. 
 
 " I wonder what the learned gentlemen thought of 
 their hopeful protege ; — he was in a nice pickle to 
 present himself before his patrons,"" observed Hunks. 
 " Worse reprobates however than Harry Fuddle have 
 made good men in the end." 
 
 " Of a ragged colt comes a good horse ;" said Short, 
 
 '' Well, brethren, suppose we drink his speedy refor- 
 mation, and better luck in foreign parts." 
 
 "• With all my heart." echoed round the room ; and 
 a dozen tankards were raised to as many pairs of lips. 
 
 There was here a break in the conversation, during 
 which most of the company had their cups replenished, 
 and all puffed away at their pipes as if to conceal their 
 blank countenances from the vacant gaze of their unoc- 
 cupied fellows. At length a small shrill voice, in tremu- 
 lous accents, as if alarmed at the noise itself had made, 
 was heard to proceed from a remote corner of the room, 
 in which was ensconced a very diminutive barber; and 
 this was the tenor of his remark. 
 
 '* ' Tis a very mysterious affair— the sudden and unac- 
 countable fall of a house once so celebrated in this town 
 and neighbourhood !" 
 
 " Mysterious indeed !" again echoed round the room. 
 
 " To say that the heir of the first family in Boston, 
 some thirty years by-gone, is now a beggar and a vaga- 
 bond in the streets thereof !" 
 
 " There is no fence for ill-fortune." growled Short. 
 
 " Aye, aye, there are strange tales afloat about the 
 first cause of their ruin." said one of the sages, shaking 
 his head significantly. 
 
 M 
 
162 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 " One thing is certain, that their old house near the 
 Chantry is haunted," whispered the trembling barber. 
 Whereupon all eyes were turned upon the poor little 
 man, and as the steadfast gaze of so many substantial 
 ghosts glared upon him through the clouds of smoke 
 that enveloped them, he seemed visibly to diminish, and 
 as it were to shrink into himself. 
 
 "Prithee, tell us, neighbour Sudds," said Hunks, 
 ** hast thou ever seen the White Lady that is said to flit 
 up and down the principal stair-case ?'''' 
 
 " Nay ; — heaven forefend !"" almost screamed the bar- 
 ber. " No, no, thank God, I never saw any thing ; but 
 old Job Tapham, the butler, who has lived in the house 
 twelve years, with three successive families, and who 
 comes to my shop to be shaved every Saturday afternoon 
 at four o'clock precisely, tells me that strange sights have 
 been seen in the haunted chamber, and on that terrible 
 stair-case. That the other servants have seen blue lights 
 and fleeting shadows suddenly shoot across the hall and 
 along the dark passages, and have heard unearthly noises 
 in the vacant chambers at the southern end of the house, 
 where is a secret apartment that is never opened, but in 
 which there is often heard at midnight such an uproar as 
 if a whole legion of witches were dancing the devil's 
 saraband." 
 
 " But what of the white lady ?" earnestly enquired 
 one of the attentive hearers. 
 
 " Aye, truly I was going to tell you," continued the 
 barber, " that Susan, the housemaid, — you know Susan, 
 neighbour Hunks ?" 
 
 " Aye, aye ; well, what of her ?" 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 163 
 
 ' Prithee ; — don't be so fierce, Master Aristobulus ; 
 — my tale will come in good time. Gentlemen, I have 
 the honour to drink your very good health." 
 
 " Curse the fellow. Why doesn't he go on .f"' 
 
 '« Well, well, — where was I ? — yes, — well you must 
 know that Sukey having forgotten something in the 
 principal chamber, which it was necessary should be 
 attended to, without thinking any thing about ghosts or 
 goblins, — for she's a giddy wench, you know, — about ten 
 o'clock at night ran through the hall and up the stairs ; 
 but just as she got on the second landing, who should 
 she meet but the ghost of the murdered 'squire, who 
 rushed by her in his bloody shirt, bearing under his arm 
 the lady in white, whose screams so frightened the poor 
 girl, that letting fall her light, she jumped from the top 
 to the bottom of the stairs, fled across the hall, and 
 fainted outright as soon as she entered the kitchen." 
 
 " Ah, ah, ah ; — oh, oh, oh ;" here bellowed out old 
 Hunks, to the surprise of the company, and the vast in- 
 dignation of Master Sudds, who rose no less than three 
 inches from his seat, as if he positively contemplated 
 some hostile movement against the cobbler. 
 
 " Beg pardon, gentlemen, but I could'nt help having 
 my laugh, for I have heard a very different version of 
 the tale neighbour Sudds has been telling us ; and I am 
 much mistaken if Ralph, the footman, and Betty, my 
 lady's maid, could not have explained all the mystery of 
 Sukey's alarm, if they had been so disposed. Strange 
 mistakes some times take place in the dark, and lights will 
 fall from the hands of frightened damsels, we all know." 
 
 " There are more ways out of the wood than one.*' 
 said Short. 
 
 M 2 
 
164 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 " You may say what you will. Master Aristobulus ;'' 
 said Sudds, sulkily, " but I believe there is more seen 
 and heard in that house than is dreamt of in your 
 philosophy." 
 
 " Why, it was but the other day,"" said the breeches- 
 maker, " that young Master Jeremy'^s groom, who came 
 to try on a pair of leggins, told me for a fact that after 
 every body is gone to bed, the rats assemble in hundreds 
 in the drawing-room, and have regular contre-dances 
 for the best part of the night ; and only last week, old 
 Moggy, the cook, was sitting up late for the return of 
 the butler, who had been sent out of town by his master, 
 when a large rat, bigger than their brindled cat, came 
 and sat on the opposite side of the fire, and began to rub 
 his whiskers and compose himself to enjoy the warmth 
 with as much impudent coolness as puss herself could 
 have done ; and when Moggy raised the poker to drive 
 him away, instead of flying, he put himself into attitude 
 as if about to spring at her throat, whereupon the fat old 
 woman dropped the poker, and scampered off to bed, 
 thinking she heard the monster rat at her heels all the 
 way up stairs." 
 
 " Truly, what with rats, ghosts, blue lights and white 
 ladies, it is a fear-some house to dwell in !" ejaculated 
 Sudds. 
 
 " A fool's bolt is soon shot." said Short. His bolt 
 however fell short of its destination, for the innocent 
 barber did not perceive that it was aimed at him. 
 
 The only stranger in company during the previous 
 conversation, was a stout hale man of about fifty, who 
 had the appearance both of a soldier and a traveller, 
 his dress being of stout buff*, and of a foreign cut, and 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 165 
 
 his carriage and bearing altogether military. He had 
 listened in silence to all that had been said, but concealed 
 the impression it made upon him by pulling his broad 
 Spanish hat deeply over his brows, and enveloping his 
 face in a constant cloud of smoke which issued in volumes 
 from his large Turkish pipe. 
 
 During the pause which now ensued, he took the 
 hooka from his mouth, and as soon as the smoke 
 had dispersed there appeared to the company a dark 
 red visage, almost covered with bushy beard and whis- 
 kers, and large curling mustaches ; in the midst of 
 which twinkled two small fierce eyes from beneath a 
 penthouse of shaggy eyebrows, and which glanced rapidly 
 round the room, from face to face of the silent company. 
 At length, with a gruff voice, he slowly enquired ; 
 
 " Gentlemen, of what family may you have been 
 speaking .?" 
 
 No one at first dared to answer, not knowing how his 
 reply might be taken by the grim-visaged stranger ; but 
 at last Master Hunks ventured to say, 
 
 " We were lamenting. Sir, the downfall of the Traf- 
 fords." 
 
 " Of the Traffords ?'^^ exclaimed the stranger. 
 
 *' Yes, Sir, of the Traffords, some years ago a family 
 of great wealth and high repute in this town, the last 
 remaining member of which has been utterly ruined by a 
 long protracted lawsuit, in which the verdict ultimately 
 went against him, and stripped him of his entire patri- 
 mony." 
 
 " The Traffords utterly ruined !" ejaculated the 
 stranger. 
 
 " Past hope." said Hunks. 
 
 m3 
 
166 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 " All their estates, and the mansion itself, passed into 
 other hands f 
 
 " All." 
 
 " But you spoke of a young man by the name of 
 Fuddle." 
 
 " Ah ! — did I ? — He is nevertheless a true Trafford, 
 and Fuddle is only the appellation his late habits have 
 acquired him." 
 
 *' And is this hopeful springald the only son of the 
 proud and high spirited Francis Trafford, Esquire, 
 whose word was as good as his bond for a hundred thou- 
 sand pounds .?" 
 
 " The same. But you seem to know the family. Sir." 
 continued the curious Hunks. 
 
 " Why yes ; — I have heard of them ; — but it is many 
 years ago. I was formerly intimate with one who had 
 been in their service for years, nay from his birth, and 
 who was always talking of them. Hence my knowledge 
 of the family." 
 
 All eyes turned upon the speaker, and several ex- 
 claimed at once, 
 
 " What was his name ?" 
 
 " His nom de guerre^ and that to which he answered 
 on muster, was Harry Black ; though he was generally 
 called by his comrades Black Harry. I believe he had 
 been known by a different name in his own country- 
 But why do you enquire, my friends ?" 
 
 " Why you must know. Sir," resumed Hunks, " that 
 about thirty years ago, the then head of the family, 
 George Hildebrand Trafford, the grandfather of the 
 youth we were speaking of, was murdered upon the very 
 stairs, which were the scene of poor Sukey's fright; and 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 167 
 
 on the following morning, a servant of the family, the 
 supposed murderer, and who in some respects answered 
 the description of your quondam friend, was found to be 
 missing, together with a considerable sum of money, 
 which the deceased gentlemen was known to have had 
 about his person." 
 
 " Was he ever taken ?" 
 
 " No ; but the jury that sat upon the body returned a 
 verdict of ' wilful murder against Gilbert Ashton,' the 
 fugitive. He was, however, never afterards heard of." 
 
 *'Was any body suspected to be his accomplice.'*" 
 
 *' There were many rumours abroad on the subject, 
 some of which implicated the young 'squire, but none 
 sufficiently clear to bring the charge home to him, al- 
 though many believe to this day that he had a guilty 
 knowledge of, if not himself an actor in, the bloody 
 tragedy. But the parties are now all dead, and the 
 truth is known only to Him who knoweth all things." 
 
 " Now, listen to me," said the stranger, in a harsh 
 and deep voice, well suited to a tale of blood, " and I 
 will relate the truth of this mysterious affair, which you 
 consider so entirely buried in the womb of time. My 
 former comrade was no other that the run-away Gilbert 
 Ashton, who, whilst lying ill of a wound, received in a 
 drunken frolic at Namur, of which he afterwards died, 
 related to me all the adventures of his hfe, and amongst 
 others this extraordinary murder, which first launched 
 him a vagabond upon the wide world."" 
 
 Such a prelude, it will be readily believed, attracted 
 the earnest attention of all his hearers, in so much that 
 half the pipes present ceased to emit the ambient cloud, 
 
 and even the cups of many remained untasted in their 
 
 M 4 
 
168 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 hands during the whole narration ; which he gave in the 
 following words. 
 
 " You have probably all heard, that at the time of 
 this occurrence there resided in the family of the Traf- 
 fords a young lady named Gertrude Walton, a ward of 
 the 'squire's, the daughter of a brother officer deceased, 
 — for the 'squire had served in his youth, — and of very 
 great expectations. She was highly accomplished and 
 exquisitely beautiful, — had a splendid bust, — was tall, 
 elegant, and of a high and noble spirit, worthy of her 
 family, fortune, and personal endowments." 
 
 " As might be expected, the society of so charming a 
 woman had its usual effect upon the young 'squire ; and 
 corresponding as they did in mind and person, it is 
 not to be wondered at that the lady reciprocated the at- 
 tachment of such a lover as Francis Trafford." 
 
 " Thus far it was well and promised happily, although 
 the father, who could not be ignorant of the existing 
 attachment between the young people, never by word 
 or sign, either approved or disapproved, of a match, 
 apparently every way so eligible and desirable. But 
 whatever view he took of the affair, it is certain that 
 all his arrangements for his son tended to his removal 
 from home, and the obstruction, or at least the delay 
 of the consummation of his long cherished hopes. 
 Hitherto he had strenuously opposed the desire of his 
 son to enter the army, yet now he all at once, unsolicited, 
 obtained an appointment for him, and to render it less 
 exceptionable purchased for him the two steps at once, 
 and at the same time furnished him with carte blanche as 
 to his equipments. The young man altogether taken by 
 surprise by this sudden change in his father's policy, had 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 169 
 
 no plea for now refusing what he had often begged for in 
 vain, however ill-timed he felt the measure, and there- 
 fore acquiesced in silence. From many minute points in 
 the conduct of his father, Francis and Gertrude had 
 already divined his opposition to their union ; and this 
 final stroke of policy, which was evidently intended to 
 separate them, fully confirmed the idea."" 
 
 " The young man, loath to quit the society of her he 
 loved, and doubtful of the intentions of his father with 
 regard to his beautiful ward, delayed his departure as 
 long as possible; but the impatience of the old gentle- 
 man at length compelled him to tear himself away, and 
 to plunge into all the gaieties and excitements of martfa] 
 life, a career for which he had long panted, and on which 
 he would have embarked with rapture, but for his recent 
 tender liaison.'''' 
 
 " He had, however, scarcely began to enter into the 
 spirit of his new position, and to relish the company 
 of his brother officers, when the love-missives of Ger- 
 trude, who availed herself of every opportunity to 
 communicate with him, came laden with expressions of 
 mysterious trouble and secret grief, more than were 
 natural to a high minded and sensible woman, who at no 
 distant period had the prospect of seeing her lover again 
 at her feet. Indeed he fancied something extraordinary 
 had occurred since he left home, which she was anxious 
 to reveal to him, yet hesitated for fear of the conse- 
 quences of the disclosure. This soon became so apparent 
 as to render him quite miserable, and hctherefore 
 resolved to obtain leave of absence, — to run down to 
 Boston, and to satisfy himself at once of the truth or 
 falsehood of his surmises." 
 
1/0 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 "This he accordingly did, and on his arrival found 
 his father from home, — he having gone out to dine with 
 a friend, — and Miss Walton ill in bed. 
 The latter, however, no sooner heard that he was in the 
 house, than she dressed herself, despite the remonstrances 
 ot her maid, and insisted upon seeing him. In the inter- 
 view which followed, she informed him that she had been 
 so miserable since he left home, that she had determined 
 at every risk to quit the house of her guardian, rather 
 than submit to the persecutions she had recently endured ; 
 for he was incessantly tormenting her to marry a person 
 whom he had selected for her husband, — a person, whom 
 she could never like, — whom indeed she detested.'' 
 
 '* ' And who may this wonderful personage be, whom 
 my prudent father has chosen for you, to the prejudice 
 of his only son and heir .?"' 
 
 " ' That, Francis, I shall never tell you, lest your im- 
 petuosity should lead to consequences the most dreadful, 
 and which might render us wretched for life." 
 
 " No entreaties could induce the young lady to de- 
 clare the name of the person, on whose account she had 
 suffered so much, and for whom his father was so zealous. 
 The young captain and his fair inamorata however so 
 well understood each other, that it was arranged be- 
 tween them that they would quit Trafford House to- 
 gether on the morrow, and be joined in the holy bands 
 of wedlock either with or without the old 'squire's con- 
 sent, which Gertrude seemed to despair of obtaining, 
 although Francis Trafford indulged a hope to the con- 
 trary. With this understanding the young couple parted 
 for the night, the lady to her bed, and the young man to 
 await his father's return in the study." 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 1 71 
 
 " It was nearly twelve when the old gentleman reached 
 home, and he was then so much excited with wine, that 
 the son doubting the nature of the reception he should 
 experience, avoided an interview, and allowed the servant 
 quietly to see his father to bed, and when all was quiet, 
 about half an hour afterwards, prepared to retire to his 
 own sleeping apartment In crossing the hall he thought 
 he heard footsteps on the landing of the principal stair- 
 case. He listened, and immediately afterwards a door was 
 violently forced, and the screams of a female voice, which 
 he recognised to be that of Gertrude Walton, startled his 
 ear. As quick as thought he ascended the stairs, and was 
 utterly paralized by the sight of his own father in dish- 
 abille, dragging his betrothed mistress along the floor." 
 
 " The furious ravisher no sooner recognised his own 
 son in the intruder, than dropping the insensible lady on 
 the floor, he rushed into his bed-room, the door of which 
 was wide open, and immediately reappeared with a pistol 
 in one hand and a dirk in the other. The former he snap- 
 pep at his son, who was now kneeling beside the prostrate 
 lady, but the pistol missing fire he flew like a tiger upon 
 him with the dirk. The quick eye and prompt action 
 of the young man however warded off the blow, and a 
 mortal struggle ensued between the father and son, dur- 
 ing which the weapon of offence was savagely grappled 
 by both parties, and — but why should I proceed ? In 
 that dreadful encounter the veteran ravisher fell by the 
 hand of his own son !" 
 
 " Good God I — How horrible ! — Is it possible ?" — 
 Such were the ejaculations that echoed from mouth to 
 mouth, round the room, at this stage of the narrative. 
 
172 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 «' Then Ashton was innocent after all ?" said Hunks. 
 
 *' You shall hear," resumed the grim stranger. " Dur- 
 ing this fearful contest, the unnatural combatants, insen- 
 sible to every thing but the impulse of their unbridled 
 passions, had inadvertently approached the head of the 
 stairs, down which they both fell headlong. The young 
 man was instantly on his feet again, but it was only to 
 see his father a corpse. In silent horror he hung over 
 the lifeless body, and was only aroused from his stupor 
 by an exclamation of Miss Walton, who having recovered 
 from the swoon into which she had fallen on the first 
 appearance of her lover, now approached the scene of 
 blood, and in piteous accents said, 
 
 "Sure he is not dead, Francis !" 
 
 " ' Dead, Gertrude !"** said the wretched son. " Aye, 
 dead, — and by my hand !'' 
 
 " Here they were both startled by the voice of Gilbert 
 Ash ton, who, unobserved, was standing near, and as 
 afterwards appeared had been a witness of the whole 
 catastrophe, having been alarmed at the first cries of the 
 lady, upon which he had instantly left his room, and 
 hurried to the scene of action.' 
 
 " ' This is a shocking affair, Sir," said the serving man, 
 " but I am witness that you are guiltless."" 
 
 " ' I — guiltless — Gilbert ? — but what will the world 
 say and think .?"" 
 
 " « Why truly. Sir, I fear that is a very doubtful ques- 
 tion, and it behoves you immediately to consider how 
 you will act. I think you had better fly, and keep your, 
 self out of harm's way until the matter is put fairly 
 before the public." 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 1/3 
 
 " * Gilbert, I will not fly, whatever may be the conse- 
 quences ! — No, I will face a jury of my countrymen, 
 and abide the issue of their verdict, though it should 
 condemn me to the gallows." 
 
 " ' Which, with permission. Sir, I think it is very likely 
 to do. The law is at all times a very uncertain and dan- 
 gerous enemy to grapple with upon the most favourable 
 grounds; but what are the circumstances under which 
 you propose to commit yourself to its tender mercies.? 
 I pray you to consider them for a moment, and to see 
 how dark your case appears. You have returned home 
 this evening without any ostensible cause, after a very 
 brief absence, and the murder takes place immediately 
 after your arrival ; — the demise of your father places 
 vou in instant possession of immense property, and it is 
 well known that your habits are such as to require more 
 liberal supplies than you have hitherto been allowed ; — 
 it is also notorious that you have not latterly lived on the 
 same friendly footing with the deceased as heretofore ; 
 — these with other incidental evidence that may be 
 brought forward, will be sufficient to convince the jury 
 and the public of your guilt, and to hurry you to an ig- 
 nominious end amidst the execrations of the multitude.'"' 
 " ' You draw a fearful picture, Gilbert, of what awaits 
 me : — but it cannot be helped." 
 
 " ' Oh, fly, dearest Francis, — fly instantly ; — if not for 
 your own — for my sake." said the weeping girl, as she 
 hung upon his shoulder, and looked up with imploring 
 eyes into his face, not a muscle of which moved, all be- 
 ing apparently frozen with horror. 
 
 " ' Now, listen to me," said Ashton, " you are my 
 foster brother, Mr. Francis Traffbrd, and have ever been 
 
174 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 a loving master to me ; you will also by this event be 
 rendered rich and independent, and are therefore in a 
 position to grant with ease what I shall ask. I have long 
 had a desire to quit the peaceful life I have hitherto led, 
 and have an ambition to be a soldier of fortune in foreign 
 parts, hke my father before me. Such has long been my 
 nightly dream and my daily aspiration ;— I have now a 
 good opportunity of commencing the career I pant for, 
 and of importantly serving my foster brother at the same 
 time. Give me here five hundred pounds, and your best 
 horse, and I will fly instantly to Wainfleet, embark in a 
 smugghng boat I wot of, and 'ere morning will be out at 
 sea, far beyond pursuit." 
 
 " ' And you propose that I should accompany you," 
 said TrafFord. 
 
 '' ' Not so. Sir. — You are but dull at apprehending the 
 drift of my plan. I am fully bent upon joining myself, 
 in a foreign land, and under a new name, to the yager 
 corps of some Rhenish Baron or German Prince, and, 
 that once effected, what matters to me the good or evil 
 opinion of the inhabitants of Boston ? Let them say, an' 
 they will, that Gilbert Ashton murdered his master, and 
 then fled with the plunder his guilt procured him. In 
 short I consent to allow you to throw all the odium of 
 this disastrous affair upon me, and thereby to enable 
 you to retain all the advantages of your position, toge- 
 ther with your present fair name and unsullied reputa- 
 tion. What say you to my plan now. Sir .?" 
 
 " TrafFord did not immediately answer, but presently 
 after, as if his mind had at once embraced and appreciated 
 the whole scheme, he turned suddenly upon his foster- 
 brother, and grasping his hand nervously, exclaimed, 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 175 
 
 " ' It is nobly proffered, Gilbert, and T embrace your 
 offer with all my heart. You will thus render me infi- 
 nitely your debtor. But time presses, and it behoves us 
 not to loose a moment. Follow me into the study, and 
 T will furnish you with whatever you desire." 
 
 " * Gertrude," he continued, " return to your chamber. 
 Gilbert and I will be able, I trust, to avert the conse- 
 quences of this unhappy business better than could at 
 first have been anticipated." 
 
 " This address of Trafford's, relieving her mind from 
 the intense anxiety under which it had hitherto laboured, 
 allowed her thoughts to revert to herself, and she now 
 became sensible how thinly she was clad, being exactly 
 in the state in which she had been dragged from her 
 couch, whereupon with burning blushes mantling over 
 her face and bosom she retreated to her room." 
 
 " A short time sufficed to arrange the preliminaries of 
 the projected flight, to start the putative murderer on his 
 voluntary exile, and to place the involuntary parricide 
 on his sleepless bed. After which the silence of death 
 reigned through that house of blood." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ; 
 
 " Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; 
 
 *' Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; 
 
 " And with some sweet oblivious antidote, 
 
 *' Cleanse the foul bosom of that perilous stuff, 
 
 " Which weighs upon the heart ?" Macbeth. 
 
 At this point of his tale the speaker stopped to take 
 breath, and all present breathed more freely, as if re- 
 lieved by the cessation of the exciting narratave. Tan- 
 kards were emptied and replenished, as if to provide 
 courage for the sequel of the tragedy ; and some two or 
 three of the company, who had a wholesome dread of the 
 curtain lecture that awaited their tardy return home, 
 slunk out of the room with the stealthy step and hang- 
 dog look of a Jerry Sneak. 
 
 As for the stranger he seemed fully bent upon making 
 up for the time he had lost in drinking and smoking, by 
 tossing off glass after glass, and blowing such dense 
 clouds from his huge pipe as soon filled the room, and 
 rendered it difficult for the guests to distinguish each 
 other''s features. The rapidity with which the grim un- 
 known swallowed tumbler after tumbler full of a strong 
 mixture of brandy, lime-juice, and sirup de BourdeauXy 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 177 
 
 astonished the more modest tipplers around him, and 
 conduced not a little to increase the awe with which they 
 ah'eady regarded him. 
 
 Oh, but he was a jewel of a customer for a jolly 
 vintner ! — for as he received each smoking glass from the 
 attentive Sackbutt, he ever threw down a broad piece in 
 payment, which the obsequious landlord, with a ready 
 smile, quietly slipped -into his breeches pocket, and se- 
 curely buttoned up in that sacred depository. Nor was 
 this the only way in which the conduct of his unwonted 
 guest promoted the interest of ' mine host,' for his other 
 customers, influenced perhaps by the example of the 
 " lion of the evening," were unusually deep in their pota- 
 tions, and consequently liberal in their calls upon the tap. 
 At last Master Hunks began to grow impatient for the 
 rest of the story, and ventured to give a hint upon the 
 subject. 
 
 " This is a very strange tale you have been telling us. 
 Master Traveller ; yet many things I have before heard 
 bear out the truth of what you say.*" 
 
 " Truth ?"" growled the ominous voice from behind 
 i ts shroud of smoke. " Do you intend to impeach my 
 veracity ?" 
 
 " By no means, Sir ;" said the cobbler, trembling in 
 his shoes, " only what you have told us makes us curious 
 to hear more." 
 
 " Why, you must be better informed of the after-clap 
 than I." said the stranger. 
 
 "By no means,*" resumed Hunks. " All I remember^ 
 — I was then just out of my time, — is, that there was a 
 great talk about the shocking murder of 'Squire TrafFord 
 by his serving man, and that warrants were issued for his 
 
178 THE OLD TAVERN^. 
 
 apprehension. It is only since the death of the captain, 
 and the downfall of the fortunes of his house, that re- 
 ports have been circulated to his prejudice, which in 
 some measure tally with your account." 
 
 " Well," said the stranger with a grim smile, " what 
 you say proves that the plan was well conceived aud suc- 
 cessfully carried out. And after the jury had given 
 their verdict against the run-away servant, no one, I pre- 
 sume, dared to sully the fair fame of the proud, wealthy, 
 and gallant Captain Francis TrafFord." 
 
 " He soon after left the town, I believe," observed 
 Mudge, " and in a few months news arrived that he had 
 married Miss Walton ; nor do I think he ever returned 
 to this part of the country, for all his property and 
 estates were entrusted to the stewardship of Jeremy 
 Holdfast, the lawyer.*^ 
 
 " But this boy of whom you were speaking — this^ 
 Harry Fuddle^ — what have been his fortunes.'^'"' 
 
 " He was, I believe, the only issue of th€ marriage in 
 question ;" responded the before mentioned dapper limb 
 of the law, " and at the age of five years was brought 
 hither by his father's agent, and by him transferred to 
 the care of the master of the Grammar School, with 
 whom he continued until he went to college. He quit- 
 ted the university about three years ago, on the demise 
 of his father, but scarcely had he taken possession of hi& 
 patrimony, when the verdict in the long pending suit^ 
 '' Doe on the demise of Walton versus Trafford," was 
 given against him ; and what with the properties in- 
 volved in that cause, and the legal expenses, he found 
 himself a beggar. From that day, as I before said, he 
 has been a lost man, squandering with reckless profusion 
 
 I 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 179 
 
 the small wreck of his fortune in debauchery, as if re- 
 solved to let fate do her worst by him." 
 
 " And faith she seems to have taken him at his word." 
 said Short. 
 
 " Plad Ashton any communication with the captain 
 after his flight?" enquired the curious Hunks. 
 
 "Communication, — did you say? — Aye, indeed had 
 he, for what with w^omen, wine, and wassail. Black Harry 
 soon ran through the money he started with, and did not 
 hesitate to apply to the same source for a fresh supply. 
 This he did so frequently, and with such urgent impor- 
 tunity, that the captain began to tire of supplying one, 
 whose enormous and incessant demands seemed only to 
 increase with the liberality of his remittances. He there- 
 fore sold his commission, and retired with his lady in 
 cognito into Italy, in the hope of escaping from the in- 
 satiable blood sucker that had fixed his fangs upon him. 
 In this respect his object was answered, for he baffled the 
 enquiries of Ashton for several years, during which his 
 unhappy lady, who was rendered miserable by the constant 
 dread of the ultimate exposure of her beloved husband's 
 accidental delinquency, was delivered of a son, whose 
 birth she survived but a few months, at which period she 
 died raving mad, a diseased mind co-operating with an 
 enfeebled frame to crush the vital spark. Such was the 
 end of a union, which might be said to have been 
 cemented with a father's blood." 
 
 " After the death of his lady, the unfortunate Trafford, 
 harrassed at once by a guilty conscience, and the dread 
 of discovery by the extortionate being who was now the 
 sole depositary of his fatal secret, seems to have divided his 
 time between the superstitious observances of the Romish 
 
180 
 
 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 Church, to which he had latterly conformed, and the 
 gaming house. In the one, it is to be presumed, that he 
 sought consolation for the secret pang that rankled in his 
 bosom, and in the other an escape from intrusive 
 thought.' " 
 
 3KAL OF THE GUILD OF ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL, BOSTON, 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Hast thou found me, O mine enemy ?" 1 Kin&s 21. xx 
 
 * Late one night as TrafFord was pursuing his accus- 
 tomed path along one of the dark streets of Rome, in 
 his passage from the shrine of '• Our Lady of Sorrow" to 
 that of " Lady Fortune,"'"' his ears were startled by a 
 wild chaunt in his native language. It seemed to proceed 
 from a female figure, that was crouching down at the 
 corner of the street, close to the image of some neglected 
 saint, whose grim and weather-worn statue was illumi- 
 nated by a couple of dim tapers. Such a sound in such 
 a place, and at so unsual an hour, induced him to stop 
 and listen attentively ; and as he did so, he became as it 
 were rooted to the spot with horror, for the words, wild 
 and unmeasured as they were, entered his very soul. 
 They were as follow, 
 
 " Beware, beware 
 Of the blood-stain'd stair, 
 For the shades of the dead 
 Are wandering there 
 
 " The murder'd sire 
 In robe of fire, 
 And the lady in white, 
 At the dead of the night 
 
 n3 
 
182 THE OLD TAVERN, 
 
 " Will still repair 
 To the blood-stair, 
 ' Till the parricide's doom 
 Send them back to the tomb. 
 
 " And a ban on their race 
 Of the darkest disgrace, 
 Shall banish them far 
 From that desolate place, 
 
 " ' Till their recreant son 
 By his blood shall have won 
 The maiden, that brought 
 His high fortunes to nought." 
 
 " I have heard that ditty before." said Hunks, with 
 a sagacious nod to his fellows, without however inter- 
 rupting the narrative of the stranger, who proceeded thus, 
 
 ' Scarcely had the melancholy songstress finished the 
 lay, when the captain flew towards her, and dragging her 
 to the light, examined her features with a savage earn- 
 estness that might have alarmed her, but his manner had 
 no such effect upon the wretched being that now hung 
 upon his arm, apparently too weak to support herself.' 
 
 " Ah, Francis Trafford," said she, ••' art thou come at 
 last. Methought that my song would be my own requiem, 
 but since it is thine, I care not now who sings mine." 
 
 " Woman, be thou of earth or hell, I conjure thee to 
 tell me how thou knowest me, what is the import of thy 
 infernal rant, and why thou hast now crossed my path T^ 
 
 " Am I indeed so utterly changed, Frank, that thou 
 can''st not recognise in the fallen creature before thee, the 
 once gay Mirabel — the once beautiful and admired mis- 
 tress of thy proud but false hearted father ; — nay more, 
 the nurse that so often has fondled thee on her lap, 
 and as a boy loved thee with almost a mother's love? 
 But*" added the beldam, with a chuckle of gratified 
 malice, " Mirabel is not the only flower that has been 
 Iblighted by premature decay and ruin. Oh, no! my 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 183 
 
 curse has indeed overtaken the proud race of him that 
 wronged, and then spurned his humble kinswoman. Aye, 
 aye, he too is gone to his black account, and thou, Frank, 
 knowest how. Oh, how happy hadst thou been if thine 
 own heart's blood had formed the purple stream that 
 trickled its slow way down the fatal stairs from the veins 
 of him that gave thee life ! " 
 
 " Hag ! — dar'st thou insinuate ? — I will tear thy 
 false tongue from thy malignant throat." 
 
 *' But thou can'st not gainsay the truth, Frank. The 
 hoary letcher got but his just meed,^and, had it come 
 from any hand but thine, I should say it was well done. 
 Ah ! how I would have gloried in the act, had fate re- 
 served for me so dear a morsel of revenge J" 
 
 " Thou art mad, woman, — utterly mad ;" said Traf- 
 ford, gently placing her on the seat from which he had 
 raised her, and preparing to depart, but she clung con- 
 vulsively to his arm, and said, 
 
 " Frank Trafford, if you leave me at this crisis I will 
 precipitate the doom that hangs over thy head. Hear 
 me out, or by the hell to which we are both hastening, I 
 will cut short thy brief career, and thou shalt go down 
 to the grave with the malison of all good men." 
 
 " Speak, woman, for I Usten," said Trafford, " but 
 press not a desperate man, for I am dangerous, and feel 
 strongly disposed to throttle thee on the instant." 
 
 " I fear thee not, Francis Trafford. Thou hast too 
 sincerely repented of one death, to be rashly the cause 
 of another." 
 
 ' Trafford averted his face at this saying, and muffling 
 himself in his cloak, leant back against the pedestal of 
 
 the statue, as if resigned to hear with patience all that 
 
 ^ 4f 
 
184 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 his extraordinary communicant might have to say. After 
 some moments' silence, he turned to observe her, when he 
 perceived that she had sunk down upon the pavement with 
 all the appearances of death, lie raised her, felt her 
 pulse, chaffed her temples, but she hung a lifeless mass 
 upon his arm. Wiih the perversity to which human 
 nature is so often prone, he was now most eager to recall 
 to life her, whose death a few minutes before he had so 
 earnestly desired, and so savagely contemplated. Having 
 called assistance, he had her conveyed to his house, and, 
 on the application of proper restoratives, she soon showed 
 signs of life. It was, however, many days before ex- 
 hausted nature was so far recruited as to give assurance 
 that she was out of immediate danger.' 
 
 ' Her tale is soon told. Left an orphan in the flower of 
 her youth and beanty, with pride and accomplishments 
 far beyond her fortune_, for she had been thus superla- 
 tively educated because she was remotely connected with 
 a high and wealthy family, all her ideas took a flight 
 beyond the sphere in which she was justly entitled to 
 move, and the natural consequence was, that in aspiring 
 too high she fell altogether below the honourable respect- 
 ability to which she might fairly have attained.' 
 
 ' The patronage of her great relatives, the Traffords, 
 extended no farther than to admit her into their family 
 in one of those doubtful and intermediate situations, 
 half menial, half genteel, but without the comforts 
 and privileges of either condition. In this capacity she 
 led a life of drudgery and contempt, until her beauty 
 caught the eye of her unprincipled master. From that 
 time her position was changed, and however the servants 
 might whisper and sneer behind her back, they were 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 185 
 
 forced to pay her every public demonstration of re- 
 spect. This connection commenced previously to the 
 death of her paramour's wife, and no doubt hastened the 
 poor lady's end, for her faithless husband compelled her 
 to admit his mistress to her society and table, under 
 the plausible pretext of relationship. During the earlier 
 stages of this illicit amour, her lover never hesitated to 
 soothe the outbreaks of remorse to which the beautiful 
 Mirabel was subject, by positive promises of marriage, 
 which he never intended to perform. At length being 
 quite wearied with her importunities, he took her with him 
 abroad, having previously vowed to wed her in a foreign 
 land, and to bring her home again his lawful wife. To 
 this proposal the then lovely and confiding girl most 
 joyfully assented, and with a light heart and happy smile 
 accompanied him to Florence. In that city he purposely 
 quarrelled with her, and when with the high spirit of a 
 spoiled beauty she retorted upon him, he left her with 
 expressions of the utmost contempt, vowing never to see 
 her more. That vow he kept, and the forlorn damsel 
 found too late that she had indeed lost her lover, and all 
 hope of reclaiming him. Pride and anger for some time 
 sustained her, but gradually there came over her droop- 
 ing spirit all the desolation of desertion in a strange land, 
 and that too by the man on whom she had lavished her 
 first love, however unadvisedly. In the first paroxism of 
 grief and anguish she attempted self-destruction, but in 
 that land of myrtle bowers and moonlight serenades, a 
 young and beautiful Inglesa could not fail to find a 
 friend and comforter in her hour of affliction. Suffice it, 
 tliat she was comforted ; yet she never forgot or forgave 
 the man that had so cruelly wronged her. Various were 
 
186 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 the fortunes she had experinced since that fatal era of 
 her destiny ; but of late years, during which both beauty 
 and health had forsaken her, she had fallen into so low a 
 condition, as to be forced to earn a precarious livelihood, 
 by enacting the humble part of nurse to English invalids, 
 who sought, in the genial clime of Italy, to recruit their 
 failing systems. 
 
 « It was in this capacity that she attended the dying bed 
 of the captain's lady, and from the delirious ravings of 
 madness that she gleaned the sad history of the tragical 
 end of her quondam paramour. After her engagement 
 had thus expired, she was soon reduced to still greater 
 distress, and as a desperate and last resource for relief, 
 waylaid, as we have seen, the unhappy captain. She 
 remained with him till the hour of his death, and then I 
 believe came to England with the money he left her. 
 
 " Said I not so ;'"* shouted Hunks, who had been for 
 some time impatient to interrupt the speaker, " This 
 Italian Witch was no other than our Bess of Bedlam, 
 that was convicted of practising the Black Art, and be- 
 witching all the spinsters in the country side." — 
 
 " What was her fate ?" enquired the stranger. 
 
 " She was declared guilty of sorcery, as I told you, 
 and sentenced to be burnt on the market-hill ; but the 
 mob taking the law into their own hands, seized upon 
 the old woman, hurried her away to the ducking- 
 stool, and soused her so frequently, that when taken out 
 of the chair to be led away to the pile of faggots on which 
 she was to be burnt, she was found to be quite dead ; 
 and as there would be no fun in burning a dead witch, 
 the mob kindly allowed the corpse to be carried away to 
 the bone house, and afterwards to be buried.'' 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 18/ 
 
 " Very kind indeed." said the stranger. 
 
 " Why yes; — it was considerate, I must say, — I was 
 myself principally instrumental in effecting that diver- 
 sion in the old lady's favour." 
 
 " Very humane indeed, Mr. Cobbler ! — but how 
 know you that she was indentical with the unfortunate 
 iMirabel .?" 
 
 " She was ever chaunting the verses you have this 
 evening quoted ; and, moreover, all her ravings were 
 about the Traffords. She quite haunted poor Harry 
 Fuddle, and was ever harrassing him with her ill-omened 
 prognostications touching the fortunes of his house." 
 
 Here another pause in the conversation ensued, dur- 
 ing which all the guests, except the trio first introduced 
 and the tale-telling traveller, departed, for it was now 
 one o'clock. The cobbler, the breeches-maker, and the 
 flax-dresser, however, upon whom an extraordinary liba- 
 tion of good liquor had only had the effect of rendering 
 them more sociable, and altogether oblivious of their better 
 halves, drew their seats up in a small circle round the fire, 
 and recharged their pipes and glasses, as if determined to 
 make a night of it. The chat was some time general, 
 but the all absorbing subject of the evening was soon 
 again brought upon the tapis, when the stranger resumed 
 his narrative. 
 
 " Why, as to his death, master cobbler," said he, in 
 reply to an enquiry of that worthy mechanic, " I can 
 give you the particulars in few words. I told you before 
 that the captain was constant in his attendance at a cer- 
 ' tain gaming-house. Now you will not wonder when I 
 inform you that my " ancien camarade,'' Black Harry, 
 sometimes soldier, sometimes bandit, was himself always 
 
188 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 a gamester, and consequently passed through various and 
 rapid changes of fortune, — to day a lord, — to morrow 
 a beggar. In pursuit of this his most honourable pro- 
 fession, he visited Rome, and during his residence there 
 frequented every gaming-house within the confines of the 
 eternal city. In so doing he one night recognised his 
 old master and liberal subsidizer, TrafFord; the sight 
 of whom made his heart leap with joy ; — it was like 
 springing a new mine, which he might indeed call all his 
 own, and which he at once determined should never 
 more escape him." 
 
 " The unhappy victim of accidental parricide, blighted 
 love, ill-governed passion, and ruffianly extortion, sat 
 absorbed in the game in which he was engaged, with all 
 his soul centred on the throw of the fatal die, and utterly 
 unconscious of the evil eye that was watching his every 
 movement with the savage maliciousness of a tiger ready 
 to pounce upon its passive prey the moment it moves. 
 The throw was in Trafford's favour, and his pile of gold 
 was now doubled. The gratification of success, more 
 than the love of pelf, had mantled his sallow visage with 
 a fleeting smile, when his eye chanced to encounter the 
 fierce glance that was so earnestly fixed upon him. As if 
 fascinated by the sight of a basilisk, he remained for some 
 seconds speechless and motionless, glaring steadily in the 
 direction of the horrible spectre that had paralysed him, 
 until with a sudden spring he rose and fled, leaving his 
 large bank of money to the grasping knaves that gree- 
 dily pounced upon it the moment his back was turned. 
 This he did with such precipitation as actually to bafile 
 the instant pursuit of his enemy, and to reach his apart- 
 ments unmolested." 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 189 
 
 " Oh, what a night to the unhappy man ! How in- 
 cessantly did he pace his soHtary chamber, for sleep — 
 " He had murdered sleep." 
 
 " To be found at last by the demon that for so many 
 years had haunted his sleeping and waking dreams ; — 
 and the terror of whose hated presence had hurried his 
 beloved wife to a premature grave ! All the horrors of 
 discovery and infamy again rose before his mind ; — every 
 step in the street, — every sound in the house, alarmed 
 him. They were coming to drag him to the scaifold !" 
 
 " Morn came at last, and while seated before the untast- 
 ed meal, a note was put into his hand : — aye, 'twas from 
 him ! — from whom else could it be? The blood-hound, 
 although he had lost sight, had not lost the track, of 
 his victim, and if he did not pounce instantly upon him, 
 it was because he knew him wholely in his power. " He 
 was poor." — So said his letter, — what gambler is not so ? 
 " He wondered that his ancient friend and foster-brother 
 should avoid him. He did not wish him any evil — 
 oh, no, no, — but if, as a favour, he could accommo- 
 date him with a cool hundred or two, — why, he should 
 feel much obliged !" 
 
 "Such was the tenor of the gracious epistle that now 
 greeted the eyes of the wretched captain. He was in 
 the toils, — He must submit for a time ; but his determi- 
 nation was at once taken to break through them, — at 
 once and for ever, — by fair means or by foul. In the 
 mean time he could only answer the hypocritical note 
 in a similar strain." 
 
 " He was sorry to hear his old friend was so indiffer- 
 ently favoured by fortune, — should be happy to assist 
 him to the utmost of his power, and would not fail to 
 meet him at the time and place appointed." 
 
190 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 " This reply being dispatched, Traffbrd breathed again; 
 —his resolution was formed, and he was consequently in 
 comparative peace, knowing that his troubles would 
 shortly be at an end." 
 
 " Ashton had named a certain obscure tavern as the 
 place of rendezvous ; and thither, at the appointed hour, 
 Traiford repaired, armed, though covertly, to the very 
 teeth. Ashton was awaiting his arrival in a small back 
 room, and on his entrance rose to greet his old master 
 with the vulgar frankness peculiar to his rank and cha- 
 racter, but the captain, without noticing his salutation, 
 secured the door behind him, and advancing slowly up 
 to his tormentor, looked him steadily in the face, and 
 in a quiet yet decisive tone, said to him. 
 
 " Gilbert Ashton, you once did me an important ser- 
 vice, and I paid you the price you stipulated for. Since 
 that time you have availed yourself of the power your 
 knowledge of my secret has given you over me, to ex- 
 tort large sums from my fears." 
 
 " Why, your life and fortune were wholely — " 
 
 " Hear me out, Ashton. Through dread of your 
 treachery and the threats you have held out, though you 
 knew me innocent, I have led a life of torturing anxiety, 
 worse than to have suffered a thousand deaths. For 
 some years I have escaped your persecution by a change 
 of residence, and during that time have enjoyed com- 
 parative peace, — or at least such peace as so unfortunate 
 a being as I can hope to find on this side the grave. But 
 you have discovered my retreat, and I have every reason 
 to fear a repetition of your former proceedings to the 
 destruction alike of my fortune and peace of mind. I 
 now require an explicit declaration of your views and in- 
 tentions on this matter." 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 191 
 
 *'^ Why, captain, to tell you the truth, it has happened 
 to me according to the proverb, " Give a dog a bad 
 name, and hang him." Now, for your sake, I took a 
 bad name, and from that day forth I have daily grown 
 worse and poorer, despite of all that you have advanced to 
 me, all I have either earned or — why should I mince the 
 word, — stolen, since I left Boston ; I therefore leave you 
 to judge whether I can spare you an iota of the advan- 
 tage I have over you. However I will not be hard upon 
 you, and am willing to listen to a reasonable proposal 
 from you." 
 
 " I will give nothing," coolly replied Trafford, " but 
 on a full and fair understanding that you never trouble 
 me more." 
 
 '* And why should 1 consent to such conditions?" 
 said Ashton. 
 
 " Because you have no choice but that or this :" ex- 
 claimed Trafford, drawing a pistol from his breast. He 
 then added. «* We are here alone, Ashton ; — I have 
 secured the door, and only one of us shall ever repass it 
 alive. Nay," He continued, " fear not that that I will 
 murder you. Take one of these pistols, — retire to what 
 distance you please, and fire the instant that clock begins 
 to strike — I see it now wants only a minute to nine." 
 
 " There is no necessity for this," said Ashton, grasp- 
 ing convulsively the proffered weapon. " Give me a 
 good round sum to start me fairly in the world again, 
 and I will leave you unmolested to your fate." 
 
 '' I will not trust you." said the now greatly excited 
 Trafford. 
 
 " Then take the fate you have tempted," said Ashton^ 
 instantly shooting the unfortunate man in the breast. 
 
1^2 
 
 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 "The report of the pistol alarmed the other inmates of 
 the tavern, who instantly forced the door, and rnshed in- 
 to the room. The wounded man was found with a pistol 
 still clenched firmly in his hand, which consequently 
 gave a specious colouring to the assertion of the assassin, 
 that he had fallen in fair fight in an affair of honour; 
 and the low character of the house, in which Ashton was 
 well known, will at once account for the fact that he was 
 allowed to escape before the officers of justice had cogni- 
 zance of the matter. 
 
 ' He was at first doubtful whither to direct his steps, 
 but as if rendered desperate by this tragical termination 
 of his golden dreams, he ran with all speed to the resi- 
 dence of his victim, and hurriedly informed the servants 
 what had befallen Trafford. These, as he had expected, 
 at once proceeded in mass to the relief of their wounded 
 master, leaving the house entirely unguarded. This was 
 as he desired, and in a few minutes he had traversed 
 every chamber of the deserted dwelling, and in his passage 
 had appropriated every valuable and portable article he 
 could find, together with a casket of money, jewels, and 
 papers. With these he decamped before the mournful 
 train of attendants reappeared with their dying master, 
 who, though he was expected momentarily to breathe his 
 last, had insisted on being removed to his own residence. 
 
 ' Thus closed the mortal career of Francis Trafford, 
 after having dictated a short will to his confessor, be- 
 queathing sundry sums of money to his servants, and all 
 his goods and furniture at Rome to Mirabel, who receiv- 
 ed his last breath, closed his eyes, and committed his body 
 to the tomb, out of the proceeds of what he had left her/' 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 193 
 
 These were the last words which Aristobulus Hunks 
 remembered to have heard of this strange narrative, when 
 he awoke from the nap into which he had fallen, as he 
 sat before the dying embers of the fire. On looking 
 round him, he saw Short lying along the floor, as he had 
 fallen from his seat, — Mudge snoring with his head upon 
 the table, and even the landlord himself enjoying a com- 
 fortable snooze upon the settle. His first movement was 
 to arouse Sackbutt, who, on being touched, instantly 
 jumped up, and cried " Coming, coming. Sir;" but on 
 rubbing his eyes, and recalling the events of the previous 
 evening, he enquired what had become of ^the stranger 
 guest, for his chair was now vacant. All the sleepers 
 were by this time awake, and all declared themselves 
 equally unable to account for the disappearance of their 
 interesting boon companion. Mine host now opened the 
 shutters and admitted the light of day, and a search was 
 made for the missing guest. He was not in the house? 
 his horse was gone from the stable, and in short he was 
 never seen more. None knew whence he came, — none 
 knew whither he had gone, — nor could any one ever di- 
 vine why he did either. — Hunks maintained to the day of 
 his death, that the story-teller of that night was nothing 
 but a spectre ; and Short supported the same opinion ; 
 but Mudge, who it seems had minutely examined his 
 outward man, stoutly insisted that he was a being of flesh 
 and blood, for never did ghost wear such genuine good 
 cordovan gloves, and such fine buck-skin breeches, as 
 those that covered the portly person of the Tale-teller. 
 
CHAPTER VL 
 
 ' A change came o'er the spirit of my dream." bYroj?. 
 
 The lapse of seven years, at the expiration of which 
 we resume the thread of our narrative, had wrought its 
 usual changes in Boston and the denizens thereof; — 
 some of the great men of the town had passed down the 
 stream of time, and were forgotten ; — some had ceased to 
 shine as the stars of the local firmament ; — whilst others 
 formerly of less note, had become the primary constella- 
 tions of their sphere, and already evinced strong tokens 
 of forgetfulness of the lowliness from which they sprung. 
 
 Nor had the worthy tradesmen, whom we before intro- 
 duced to our readers, failed to experience their share of 
 the mutations which revolving years had brought about. 
 Master Robert Short, the flax-dresser, had fallen beneath 
 the stroke of the general leveller, and his place conse- 
 quently knew him no more. Geoffery Mudge, now Mr. 
 Alderman Mudge, who had in the interval thriven apace, 
 had become one of the magistrates of the town, and al- 
 ready aspired to the civic chair. Sundry bequests and 
 fortunate speculations had thus raised the good man from 
 a petty manufacturer, to a wealthy and respectable general 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 195 
 
 dealer ; and he now strutted up and down his enlarged 
 premises, chinking the loose guineas in his breeches' poc- 
 kets, scarcely deigning to recognize his old acquaint^ 
 ances. So far indeed had his pride carried him in this 
 respect, that the bold familiarities of his ancient boon 
 companion, Hunks, who did not sufficiently appreciate 
 the budding honours of his flourishing neighbour, had 
 given mortal offence, and he had therefore dismissed the 
 cobbler from his small tenement under the shop window, 
 as the only sure means of being entirely freed from his 
 " low and vulgar conversation,'' as he now discovered it 
 to be. 
 
 As for Master A.ristobulus, though driven from one 
 stall he soon found another, in which he whistled as 
 loudly and sung as merrily as before. The only change 
 observable in him, was, firstly a considerable enlarge- 
 ment of that part of his person which was generally 
 screened by a leathern apron, and secondly that the native 
 hue of his proboscis had turned from a bright red to a deep 
 purple, a mutation effected by the frequent immersion of 
 its extremity in a pottle-pot. His new residence was at 
 the foot of the bridge, and happily for his convivial pro- 
 pensities, stood next door to the Antiquarian Coffee-house, 
 a small tavern kept by"no less a person than the renowned 
 Charles Little, who supposed himself to have monopo* 
 lized all the learning of the age, with the exception of 
 the small portion which he allowed his friend and patron, 
 Dr. Stukeley, to possess. 
 
 This literary quack, who prided himself on the posses- 
 sion of a strange medley of old coins and such other 
 nicknackeries, as generally cumber the museums of ignor- 
 ant antiquaries, when not engaged in sounding the depth 
 
 o S 
 
196 THE OLD TAVERN: 
 
 of his own casks, or in communicating of their contents to 
 his customers, spent most of his time in lounging against 
 the cobbler's bulk, which happily stood in a position 
 that enabled him to observe whatever crossed the 
 bridge, and to communicate his remarks thereupon to his 
 merry neighbour. Thus was he employed on the day 
 from which we recommence our tale ; and after roughly 
 handling the characters of several of the most respect- 
 able and wealthy burghers, had entered, with all the 
 dogmatism of the most profound nescience, into an inte- 
 resting discussion upon the date of an old brass farthing, 
 which had been palmed upon him by a travelling tinker 
 for a Roman coin, when he suddenly exclaimed, '' Hillo ! 
 Hunks, what have we here ?" as a gentleman in a mili- 
 tary undress and cloak, well mounted, and followed by 
 two servants with cockades, made his appearance at the 
 opposite side of the bridge. 
 
 The cobbler instantly popped his head out of his stall, 
 and peered eagerly through his spectacles at the im- 
 posing apparition. 
 
 " The stranger is a gentleman," said Hunks, " for 
 both he and his servant are mounted on splendid nags." 
 
 " Your humble servant.'"* continued the astonished cob- 
 bler, doffing the greasy cap that covered his bald pate, 
 and scraping his short leg upon the pavement in the most 
 approved style of bowing, for the gallant horseman in 
 passing had certainly waved his hand and nodded in the 
 direction of the queer pair. 
 
 The curiosity of Little was so much excited by this 
 incident, that he stepped forth into the road, as the last 
 servant, who led a sumpter horse laden with his master's 
 luggage, was passing, and said to him, 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 197 
 
 *' Who may your master be, my man ?" 
 
 " Your man ! — you be ." and putting spurs to 
 
 his spirited horse, our antiquarian host had enough to do 
 to escape being ridden down, and returned to his com- 
 panion sorely bespattered, growling, 
 
 " We need no other proof that the master is a great 
 man when we find his menial so insolent." 
 
 " But who can he be" said Hunks, '' for he certainly 
 nodded to me, though I have no recollection of having 
 ever seen him before. Here, Kitty, you slut," he added, 
 addressing his daughter, whose pretty face was seen peep- 
 ing out of a small window over the stall, and for whom 
 in truth the military stranger's smile and nod were in- 
 tended, " Run round the corner, and see where those 
 horsemen are gone to.*" 
 
 " Yes, father, — yes," said the alert damsel, not at all 
 displeased with her commission, for she had made no 
 mistake as to the destination of the elegant stranger's 
 salute, and therefore tripped away lightly to execute her 
 father's order. Half an hour had elapsed before the 
 maiden's return, and in the interval. Little had fetched 
 out a tankard of his best, for the comfortable discussion 
 of which the cobbler and he had seated themselves on the 
 settle before the Coffee-house. Numerous were the sur- 
 mises raised and rejected, touching the appearance of the 
 unknown, which led to a general discourse upon the 
 chances of war and peace, and the probability of a ru- 
 moured attempt by the Pretender, until the animated 
 speakers worked themselves into the idea that the very 
 stranger himself might be no other than the illustrious 
 exile, travelling incog., or at least that he was some dis- 
 tinguished officer from the Court of St. Germain's, sent 
 
 o3 
 
198 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 over to feel the pulse of the people, and to prepare the 
 field for future action. 
 
 " But here comes Kitty to solve the mystery. Well, 
 girl, what have you learnt .?'' 
 
 " Why, father, according to your direction I followed 
 the stranger until he alighted at the vicarage ; upon see-. 
 ing which I made bold to step into the kitchen, and ask 
 Susan Cook all about him. From her I have learnt 
 that they have expected a visitor for some days, who — 
 so Miss Biddy told her maid, — holds some high office at 
 Court, and is a very brave soldier, having killed I know 
 not how many Frenchmen in the late war in Germany." 
 
 '' But what is his name ? and why does he visit 
 Boston ?^' 
 
 *'I have quite forgotten his name ; but as to his coming 
 here — why you must know, that he once lived in Boston, 
 and some years ago left the town a poor beggar-boy 
 without a coat to his back, or a shoe to his foot ; but being 
 honest, brave, and fortunate, he has thriven amazingly in 
 the interval. And I am sure he richly deserves all he 
 has got, for he is as handsome as he is great and good.^' 
 
 " Plague upon the girls ! — all they think about is a 
 man's features. If he be but good looking, he is sure 
 to be honest, in their opinion. But here comes old Sixa- 
 nate's clerk — he's sure to know the news if any one does.''"' 
 
 " Strange affair this," said the scrivener, who now 
 came up, and as a matter of course stopped to have his 
 chat and glass of raw Hollands with Master Little, 
 *' very extraordinary indeed i" 
 
 " What do you refer to. Master Scrawlum ?'"* inter^ 
 jected the inquisitive Hunks. 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 199 
 
 '' What, have you not heard of the wonderful change 
 that has been so suddenly brought about in the fortunes 
 of Sir Henry Traiford, formerly our old friend Harry 
 Fuddle ? You must at any rate have seen him ride by 
 just now." 
 
 « Was that Sir Harry Trafford, say you .?— Well, I 
 am happy to see him return to his native town in such 
 style, and with a disposition not to be ashamed of old 
 friends, for he favoured me with a bow in passing, though 
 I must confess I had entirely forgotten him. Aye, aye, 
 — many's the sly trick, the mad rogue has played me. 
 Lets hope his manners, as well as his fortunes, have 
 mended in the interval." 
 
 " It seems," resumed the lawyer's clerk, " that Jerry 
 Holdfast did not do exactly the genteel thing by his 
 young client, when he was formerly concerned for him, 
 and the consequence is that the gallant knight has trans- 
 ferred his business to my master ; and it was from a 
 conversation between Mr. Rigby and Old Sixanate, which 
 took place in our office, that I gleaned the particulars. 
 From what I overheard, it appears that when he left 
 Boston, it was with a view to proceed forthwith to India in 
 a civil capacity, that on reaching town he was introduced 
 to Sir William Irby, then vice-chamberlain to the Princess 
 Augusta of Wales, who having been formerly ac- 
 quainted with his father, and being remotely connected 
 with his family, took so lively an interest in the forlorn 
 young man, that he promised to take care of his future 
 fortunes, if he would give up his Indian appointment, and 
 accept a subordinate situation about the Court, into 
 which he would induct him. This offer Trafford at once 
 
 accepted, and being both a gentleman and a scholar, be 
 
 o 4 
 
200 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 SO conducted himself in his office, as to find speedy pro- 
 motion, until his zeal and ability attracted the favourable 
 notice of the Prince of Wales, and through him of the 
 king himself. The first fruits of his favour were a cap- 
 tain's commission in the Prince's own regiment of Hussars, 
 and the lucrative and honourable post of page in waiting 
 to his Majesty. Last year he joined his regiment under 
 the Earl of Stair, and was present at the battle fought in 
 June last, near Dettingen. The king himself was pre- 
 sent in that action, and displayed great personal courage, 
 exposing himself to a severe fire of cannon as well as 
 of musquetry, and encouraging the troops by his pre- 
 sence and example." 
 
 " Aye, aye, — there's no want of courage or spirit in 
 the Hanoverian family, let the Jacobins say wliat they 
 will.''' remarked Master Little. 
 
 " Well, you must know" resumed Scrawlum, " that 
 just when the French began to give way, an unlucky 
 baggage train, which had been delayed by the bad roads, 
 and had partly wandered from the route assigned it, 
 made its appearance on the brow of a distant hill, on the 
 right flank of the enemy, and in a direction which a 
 party of the enemy's horse seemed likely to take in their 
 retreat. Now it was very desirable that this train should 
 not be plundered, as it contained many valuables, the 
 private property of the king, and a troop of light horse 
 was accordingly dispatched to cover its approach. Good 
 fortune threw this chance in the way of our young 
 friend, — he and his troop were the first at hand, and on 
 receiving the order, went off with the speed of the wind, 
 nor had they a moment to spare, for a party of the 
 French light horse had been dis^^ tched at the same mo- 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 201 
 
 ment to cut off the train. Johnny Crapaud rode ventre 
 a terre, but he was not able to gain his point, for Traf- 
 ford and his troop had just time to form themselves on 
 one side of the waggons before the French party came 
 up, who finding themselves baffled of the promised plun- 
 der, vented a few sacres, and after firing their pistols 
 galloped off by the way they came. 
 
 " Ah, ah. Master Frog did not like the looks of the 
 English bull-dogs." said Hunks, with a loud giffaugh. 
 
 " An English travelling carriage," resumed Scrawlum, 
 ''containing a gentleman and his daughter, had joined tliis 
 train in the course of the day, for the sake of the escort, 
 being desirous to reach the protection of the English 
 camp, but at the time of the abovementioned skirmish 
 it was some distance behind, having been detained by 
 a slight accident on the road a few minutes before ; and 
 it chanced to reach the brow of the hill, which had shel- 
 tered it from previous observation, just as the Frenchmen 
 rode off. Four of the enemy's troopers perceived the 
 isolated situation of the carriage, and eager to indem- 
 nify themselves for the disappointment they had just 
 sustained, detached themselves from their comrades, and 
 riding direct towards the unprotected travellers, instantly 
 shot the postillion, and after discharging another pistol 
 into the carriage, proceeded to cut open the portmanteau 
 and valises, and to appropriate their contents. The cries 
 of the lady first attracted the observation of Trafford to 
 this affair, who instantly perceiving how the matter stood, 
 ordered his party to proceed with the train towards the 
 camp, and putting spurs to his horse flew to the relief of 
 his fair country-woman. What followed was the work 
 of a few seconds ; — the first fellow he encountered he shot 
 
202 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 dead on the spot, — the second he disabled by throwing the 
 pistol with all his force in his face, — the third he struck at 
 with his sabre until he cried for quarter, — and the fourth 
 fled for his life, Trafford then, without dismounting^ 
 seized the rein of one of the leading horses, and exciting 
 them into a gallop, thus brought his prize right into the 
 camp."" 
 
 " This feat was luckily witnessed by the king himself, 
 who, with Lord Stair and several other officers, was 
 standing on a rising ground which commanded the field, 
 and was observing from thence the retreat of the dis- 
 comfited enemy. He immediately sent for the officer 
 who had commanded the rescue, and, after highly com- 
 mending his conduct, knighted him on the spot." 
 
 " The act of a king, performed in a princely style !" 
 ejaculated Little. 
 
 " But the cream of the jest remains to be told,*" con- 
 tinued the narrator. " The rescued damsel, who alone 
 survived, for her father was killed in the encounter, 
 proved to be no other than the identical Miss Walton, in 
 whose behalf the lawsuit was commenced, which in its 
 termination stripped Traffiard of the estates which he in- 
 herited in right of his mother; and she, as in duty 
 bound, feels so grateful for the services of her gallant 
 deliverer, that she proposes to return him all that she 
 formerly took from him, with the slight additional favour 
 of throwing herself into the bargain." 
 
 " That is as it should be," said the cobbler, rubbing 
 his hands with glee. " It is strange to see how things 
 come about. But, by the bye, this account tallies with 
 the prophesy, of that mad woman, Madeline." 
 
THE OLD TAVERN. 203 
 
 " Yes," continued the lawyer's clerk, " I have heard 
 as much before ; but there is something still more myste- 
 rious in the recovery of certain deeds, the want of which 
 has enabled old Graball to retain unjust possession of the 
 large Bayfield property so long, to the prejudice of the 
 rightful owner, Trafford. All that, however, will now 
 be put to rights, for we are laying matters in train in our 
 office, that will, I fancy, astonish some of the sly rogues 
 that have been feathering their own nests at the expense 
 of their neighbours." 
 
 " But what was the mystery you were speaking 
 of?" enquired Hunks. 
 
 " I heard it but imperfectly," resumed Scrawlum, 
 <* but from what I gleaned, it would appear, that one of 
 the fellows, that were wounded by Trafford whilst plun- 
 dering the carriage, having been brought into the English 
 camp, when at the point of death begged to see the gen- 
 tleman by whom he had been shot. Trafford accordingly 
 visited the dying man, who made some disclosures, 
 which led to the recovery of the papers in question. 
 But the particulars, I was not able to hear, — something 
 was said, implying that the man was not a Frenchman, 
 but a renegade Englishman, although taken fighting for 
 the French, and in the uniform of that nation. And if I 
 understood rightly, the fellow had formerly been servant to 
 the late Trafford, and had appropriated the missing docu- 
 ments at the time of the old 'squire's death, in the hope 
 of turning them to profit at some future day. At any 
 rate the deeds are now safely deposited in our office, and 
 will be forth-coming to good purpose." 
 
 Some two months after the above conversation, a 
 general jubilee was held by all the tenants of the exten- 
 
204 THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
 sive TrafFord and Walton properties, now again happily 
 united by the intermarriage of the only surviving heirs 
 of the two families. 
 
 Great was the assembly of the gentry of Boston and 
 its neigbourhood to welcome the gallant bridegroom and 
 blooming bride, when they arrived to take formal posses- 
 sion of their estates ; upon which occasion Sir Henry 
 went through the ancient ceremony of turning a turf 
 with his own hands, in proof of his right to the soil. 
 Nor were the populace of Boston forgotten by their for- 
 tunate fellow townsman, for noble joints of roast and 
 boiled, with copious suppHes of the nut-brown beverage, 
 were liberally dispensed to all comers at several of the 
 taverns by his orders. So that Master Aristobulus 
 Hunks had an opportunity, of which he did not fail to 
 avail himself, of getting happy and glorious whilst 
 quaffing bumpers to the health of Sir Harry and his bride. 
 
 Whether this happy termination of the family feud 
 has laid the troubled " Spirit of the Lady in White/' 
 we know not, — but if not we consider her more unrea- 
 sonable than ghosts in general. 
 
 END OF THE OLD TAVERN. 
 
THE ABDUCTION; 
 
 A LEGEND OF HUSSEY TOWER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "As full of peril and adventurous spirit 
 " As to o'erwalk a current roaring loud 
 " On the uncertain footing of a spear." 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Many circumstances tend to prove that South-End, as 
 the more southern part of Boston is now called, was in 
 ancient times a very populous and important quarter of 
 the town. A bridge, known as St. John^s bridge, 
 crossed the Witham, from the corner of St. John's Row 
 to the bottom of White-Horse Lane in High-Street; 
 just below which was the Steel-Yard, or Custom House; 
 and very near the eastern extremity stood the old Parish 
 
206 THE ABDUCTION, 
 
 church of St. John, and Hussey Tower. In South-End 
 also were, the Chantry ,'the Mart Close, the Grammar 
 School, and several Religious Houses, besides many of 
 the residences of the principal inhabitants. 
 
 In the latter part of the reign of the gay and dissolute 
 Edward the Fourth of England, at which period the 
 events recorded in the following legend took place, Sir 
 William Hussey,^ then Attorney General, occasionally 
 visited his family mansion at Boston, of which the pre- 
 sent ruinous tower formed a small but conspicuous part, 
 and where his wife and children generally resided, al-^ 
 though the duties of his office compelled him to spend 
 most of his time in town. 
 
 In addition to the extensive buildings and offices re- 
 quisite for the comfort and accommodation of a wealthy 
 and distinguished family, the Tower was surrounded by 
 an extensive garden, or pleasance, as it was then called, 
 the walls of which were skirted by a grove of lofty trees, 
 towards the north as far as the Grey Friary, and towards 
 the south as far as the Austin Friary. The last named 
 monastic establishment stood partly on the new Burying 
 Ground, and partly on the adjoining field, and was also 
 embosomed in trees. 
 
 The constant absence of Sir William Hussey from 
 home, his immediate prospect of a seat upon the bench, 
 together with the rising fortunes of his family, as evinced 
 by the recent marriage of his eldest daughter with an 
 earl, had induced the politic lawyer to commence an es- 
 tablishment in London, which he had recently done on 
 a liberal scale. Lady Hussey had consequently been 
 
 a The father of Sir John, afterwards Lord Hussey, who was execu- 
 ted for High Treason in the reign of Henry the Eighth. 
 
THE ABDUCTION. 207 
 
 summoned to Town to preside over and direct the new 
 household ; and had thought it most advisable to leave 
 the younger members of her family at Boston, until the 
 new establishment was fully formed, and the domestic 
 arrangements completed. Her second daughter, Mary, 
 though only between sixteen and seventeen years of age, 
 thus found herself the uncontrolled mistress, both of her 
 own actions, and of all the dependants of the Tower ; 
 aided however by the guidance and assistance of a trust- 
 worthy steward, or seneschal, who was also left in full 
 commission over every thing save the movements of 
 the young lady herself. 
 
 Now, in the times of which we write, the coast of Lin- 
 colnshire was infested with gangs of free-booters, — half- 
 smuggers, half pirates, — who, whenever they landed for 
 the ostensible purpose of contraband traffic, always 
 availed themselves of any opportunity that offered of 
 plundering the unprotected inhabitants, and not un- 
 frequently of carrying off the unfortunate people them 
 selves. Repeated complaints of these depredations at 
 length induced the government to appoint a small sloop 
 of war to cruise upon the station, under the command 
 of a dashing young dare-devil, commonly called 
 " Captain Wildfire," under which sobriquet his real 
 name of Bertie was almost lost sight of. 
 
 This gentleman, on his first arrival on the station, was 
 introduced to Sir William Hussey and most of the re- 
 spectable inhabitants of the town ; but his wild and irregu- 
 lar habits, when occasionally ashore, gave great offence 
 to the more sober denizens, and he therefore soon found 
 himself excluded from the pale of civilized society. His 
 general reckless bearing, together with sundry desperate 
 
208 THE ABDUCTION. 
 
 skirmishes he had with the pirates, in which he had dis- 
 played great personal courage, early acquired for him the 
 name of terror above mentioned, and rendered him an 
 object of dread to prudent mothers, who had beauti- 
 ful daughters in their teens. Yet such was the perversity 
 of the young ladies of Boston at that remote period, that 
 the more their mammas and papas warned them against 
 this terrible sea-monster, the more desirous did they seem 
 to fall into his clutches, for his reputation for daring and 
 gallantry, his unblushing effrontery, and handsome face 
 and person, together with the currency of sundry myste- 
 rious rumours of his high rank and powerful interest at 
 Court, rendered him altogether an object so fascinating, 
 that all the young girls in the town, both gentle and 
 simple, were setting their caps at him. Thrice only had 
 captain Bertie visited Hussey Tower, and on the two last 
 occasions he had been admitted only to an interview with 
 the stately lady Hussey herself, all the other members of 
 the family being carefully kept out of sight ; and the old 
 lady with all the dignified hauteur, which elderly matrons 
 know so well how to assume towards ineligible young 
 men, fairly warned the intruder off. His cold reception, 
 however, by Madame la Mere by no means induced our 
 hero to give up the object which had procured her the 
 honour of his visit, for he felt his pride piqued, and his 
 reputation as a daring gallant at stake by the rebuff he 
 had experienced, and he resolved therefore to leave no 
 means unturned of making love to the daughter, if it were 
 only out of spite to the mother. 
 
 In the prosecution of this hopeful scheme, he had a 
 powerful auxiliary in a young officer of his own ship, 
 whose propensity to mischief made him a worthy follower 
 
THE ABDUCTION. 209 
 
 of such a commander. — By the instrumentahty of this 
 young gentleman, the lady's maid was soon won over, at 
 the expense of sundry honied words and golden pieces. — 
 Through her the conspirators became acquainted with all 
 the movements of her young mistress ; a knowledge, 
 which on the departure of lady Hussey to London, they 
 so improved, as by frequently waylaying her in her 
 walks, gradually to make her acquaintance, so that their 
 meetings, which at first were ostensibly accidental, soon 
 became regular and appointed. 
 
 In the outset Bertie had contemplated any thing but an 
 honourable termination to his suit, but the steady virtue, 
 unaffected modesty, and confiding innocence of the beau- 
 tiful young creature he had thus become familiar with, 
 wrought an entire change in his views and sentiments 
 with regard to her, and indeed in his whole character, for 
 he now quite idolized the fair being whom he had origi- 
 nally approached with such dishonourable intentions. 
 
 Mary Hussey, who had thus made a convert of our 
 hair-brained salt-water captain, was a young lady of 
 a somewhat serious turn, having been for several years 
 a boarder in the Benedictine Nunnery at Stainfield, 
 from which place she had been recalled in the previous 
 spring on the marriage of her sister, Elizabeth, with 
 Richard Grey, Earl of Kent ; and she still retained so 
 many of her conventual ideas as to be very zealous in 
 the performance of all the ceremonial observances re- 
 quired of the devout members of the Romish Church. 
 Such an education, and such a temperament, rendered 
 Mary Hussey peculiary susceptible of superstitious im- 
 pressions, which her confessor, one of the Austin Friars 
 from the neighbouring monastery, was careful to manage 
 
210 
 
 THE ABDUCTION. 
 
 so as to enthrall her gentle spirit in all the trammels of 
 sophistry and priestcraft, and thereby to hold her in a 
 sort of spiritual slavery, which the ancient lecher had 
 long plotted to convert into an animal as well as mental 
 prostration of his fair confiding penitent. The evil ma- 
 chinations of the monk had been much disturbed of late 
 by the assiduities of captain Bertie and his emissary, but 
 the duties of his command compelling the sailor to go to 
 sea for a short time, the confessor resolved to avail him- 
 self of his absence to effect his nefarious purpose either 
 by fair or by foul means, not doubting but the shelter 
 of the church, and his monastic character, would protect 
 him from the just reward of his crime, if his sophistry 
 were not able to reconcile his victim to her fall ; of 
 which he did not altogether despair. 
 
 J — i«llllllllMIII ilHIMttliillMMMMMIIIIKIfnilUL. \^ig~,v , 'ir r^ 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 " He must be told o't, and he shall : the office 
 " Becomes a woman best ; I'll tak't upon me : 
 " If I prove honey-mouth' d, let my tongue blister." 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 " Well, my pretty Alice, how fares your beautiful 
 lady, Mistress Mary ? She promised to visit my poor 
 cell yester-eve, but I was doomed to be disappointed. I 
 hope no evil has befallen the sweet lady." 
 
 " Good lack, no, father Adam ; — my young mistress 
 was detained at the Tower to receive the Earl of Kent, 
 and his lady, who are just returned from foreign parts. 
 The countess, who you know is my young lady's sister, 
 gives strange accounts of the wonderful sights they have 
 seen beyond the seas : — How they have been to Rome, 
 and have kissed his holiness, the pope's toe ; — and how he 
 has granted them pardons for all the sins they shall ever 
 commit, as well as for those they have already committed. 
 How charming, father, it must be to possess such an 
 indulgence ; — one could sin then with such a clear con- 
 science !" 
 
 *' I will explain that doctrine to you at a future time.'* 
 said the priest. 
 
 " Her ladyship's page," continued the talkative dam- 
 sel, " gave me a long account of their adventures last 
 
 p 2 
 
312 THE ABDUCTION, 
 
 evening ; — a handsome youth is her ladyship's page, I 
 assure you, father Adam, and the countess Elizabeth 
 herself is a sweet lady and a fair. In good sooth, we 
 are all delighted that the goodly company has arrived ; 
 for the followers of the earl are merry and frolicsome 
 fellows, who make us so gay and happy, that the old 
 hall and tower are already quite different places. Old 
 Peter, the steward, is the only person displeased at the 
 change, for my lord's attendants only laugh at the old 
 churl when he commences one of his long harangues 
 about temperance and good order." 
 
 " I fear me, Alice, these followers of the earl are but 
 wild and ungodly men ; and I warn you, as your ghostly 
 adviser, to beware such roving boys, whose greatest de- 
 light is to deceive giddy maidens." 
 
 '' Giddy maidens, indeed ! — marry, come up, father 
 Adam ! — Methinks I, at least, needed not your reve- 
 rence's caution. No, indeed ! — I am my lady's own 
 maid, indeed ! — and though I may condescend to talk 
 and laugh with pages and men-in-arms, I would have 
 you to know, father Adam, that none below a 'squire's 
 degree would presume to salute me. Wild boys, too, 
 indeed ! — I don't know truly whether poor maidens 
 should be more on their guard against such, or against 
 the sly, subtle, and insinuating oratory of the whining 
 shavehng." 
 
 The friar, knowing that he had forfeited all right to 
 lecture Alice on this subject, turned the conversation, 
 and said, " Well, but my dear girl, what has all this to 
 do with your message to me ? — am I to expect the young- 
 lady this evening or not ?" 
 
THE ABDUCTION. 213 
 
 <* Yes, she will come, but contrary to my wish and 
 advice, for I like not these long and frequent confessions. 
 I cannot but suspect some mischief in agitation under all 
 these mysterious visitations to St. Augustine's Chapel. 
 Father Adam, you are well aware that I know you 
 thoroughly, and believe you capable of any villany ; 1 
 therefore warn you to beware how you tamper with the 
 peace and honour of my noble young lady, for there is 
 one that watches over her, that is both able and willing 
 to protect and avenge her.'' 
 
 '* Who may that be, Alice ? — and what could make 
 you fancy any evil as likely to befall the young lady by 
 her frequent attendance upon the holy ordinance of con- 
 fession ?" 
 
 " As to whom I allude to, — that is a secret which is 
 safer in my custody, though a woman's, than it would be 
 in that of the holy father confessor. Friar Adam;— And 
 for the why I suspect ? — If you have forgotten the elm- 
 grove by the fish-pond, I have not." 
 
 " Why, really, Alice, }ou look too seriously upon that 
 innocent frolic, which was only intended to try how good 
 and virtuous a maiden you were." 
 
 " Aye, aye, father Adam ; and you found me a better 
 and more virtuous maiden, than you either expected, or 
 desired; or the fate of poor Bridget Welburn would 
 have been mine, — a white sheet and a bare-foot penance 
 at high mass, exposed to the scorn and sarcasm of all 
 the country-side.'' 
 
 " These are matters, Alice, long passed and repented 
 
 of, and should not be raked up anew. Adieu, my dear 
 
 girl, give my blessing to your young mistress, and tell 
 
 her I shall expect her at eventide ." 
 
 p3 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Thus with his stealthy pace, 
 " With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design 
 " Moves like a ghost." macbeth. 
 
 The Austin Friary consisted of a considerable mass 
 of buildings, erected rather with a view to the comfort 
 and security of the inmates than to external display and 
 effect. The delicate tracery and high finish of the porch? 
 chapel, and refectory, however, proved that the architect 
 had not made the fabric so plain from a deficiency of 
 skill, but from design, for wherever he was allowed to 
 exert his taste and genius the effect produced was at 
 once magnificent and beautiful. This was particularly 
 evinced in the chapel, which was exquisitely rich and 
 chaste both in design and execution. 
 
 This monastery, though but of a secondary order, was 
 liberally endowed ; and its large and well-furnished 
 offices were filled with lay-brothers, glad to partake of 
 the spoils of the monks, whose meals savoured little of 
 the temperance and simplicity prescribed by the rules of 
 their order. It was indeed a place every way calculated 
 for holy seclusion, wherein a mind, weaned from worldly 
 pleasure, might devote its declining years to peace and 
 
THE ABDUCTION 215 
 
 godliness ; and in which, the spirit broken by misfortune, 
 the victim of disappointed love, or of blighted ambition, 
 might learn to forget its sorrows by fixing its hopes 
 upon heaven. Alas ! that such should have been only 
 the nursery of ignorance, sloth, passion, and intempe- 
 rance ! The outward semblance looked fair to the world, 
 but within guilt and vice triumphed. 
 
 The sun had just sunk in calm beauty below the 
 western horizon, when the chimes of the monastery sum- 
 moned the monks to their evening devotions, and they 
 were seen in their black scapularies, gliding slowly 
 through the dark green trees towards the chapel. The 
 dark vestments and silent march of the friars, the dim 
 twilight, together with the deep toll of the bell, as it 
 floated on the evening breeze, threw a solemnity over the 
 whole scene, which gave to the devotees the air of spirits 
 of another world. 
 
 The chaunt of the monks was still echoing through 
 the vaulted buildings and the adjoining groves, when a 
 young lady, closely veiled, tripped quickly and fearfully 
 along a foot-path towards St. Augustine's chapel. Every 
 few steps she cast around her a terrified glance; — nor 
 did her alarm appear groundless, for though unseen by 
 her, the dark countenance of a man occasionally peered 
 over the adjoining underwood, or from behind a neigh- 
 bouring tree. This person, whoever he might be, though 
 sometimes in advance of the object he was watching, did 
 not attempt to arrest her course ; but the rustling of the 
 foliage, which attended his rapid change of place, in- 
 creased her terrors so much, that she ran, or rather flew, 
 towards the chapel, and tapping at a postern, was im- 
 mediately admitted. 
 
 o4 
 
216 THE ABDUCTION. 
 
 " I am happy to find, my dear young lady, that you 
 are diligent to perform the duty I enjoined. May the 
 Blessed Virgin smile upon you, for you are the delight 
 of her aged servant's heart." So said the friar that 
 awaited the lady's arrival in the chapel. 
 
 " Ah;, well-a-day, good father Adam ; — I fear I 
 shall not dare to persevere in attendance at eventide, for, 
 good lack ! — methought that robbertsmen and ravishers 
 were ever on my track, for the bushes rustled on all 
 sides of me.'^ 
 
 " ' Twas nothing but the breeze, my sweet lady ; or 
 the birds, which your foot-fall startled from their nests : 
 but if it alarms you to traverse the grove after sun-set, 
 I must steal from my devotions some earlier part of 
 the day." 
 
 " Thanks, good father ; — thanks, good father ; — I am 
 but a poor weak girl, and indeed I almost fainted before 
 I reached the wicket." 
 
 " Compose yourself, my dear lady. I will give you a 
 cordial, which will soothe and compose you, preparatory 
 to confession. At which holy sacrament the mind should 
 always be calm and collected ; for, be it remembered, 
 you confess to God and not to man, although, we, his 
 unworthy servants, are the instruments he is pleased 
 to employ." 
 
 The lady took the potion presented to her, and knelt 
 for some time in silent prayer before a crucifix. She 
 was extremely beautiful, — a blonde in complexion, with 
 bright blue eyes, and a form of exquisite symmetry ; her 
 rich and clustering locks fell in charming disorder over 
 her neck and shoulders, as her beaming eyes were raised 
 in fervent devotion to the holy emblem. Not far re- 
 
THE ABDUCTION. 217 
 
 moved from her riorht, and somewhat in the rear, stood 
 father Adam, a short portly personage, with a round 
 rubicund face and small lascivious eyes twinkling from 
 their deep and fat sockets, and gloating upon the fair 
 maiden then kneeling before him, whose pure mind he 
 had entangled in the sophistry of superstition, and by 
 the trammels he had thus thrown around her understand- 
 ing, hoped to win her to his own vile purposes. 
 
 The other monks had now retired to their dormitories, 
 and the hoary sinner thereupon took the hand of his fair 
 confiding penitent and led her to the confessionary, all 
 his motions being observed by the same eye that had 
 watched the lady through the grove, and which now 
 glanced upon them from behind the pillars of the aisle ; 
 and when the friar took his seat and the lady knelt to 
 confession, a dark figure suddenly flitted into a recess 
 near them. 
 
 The whispered confession of the lady continued for 
 some time to be partially heard in the solemn stillness, 
 but at length it ceased. — Strange to say, she had fallen 
 asleep in the place where she knelt ! 
 
 The wily monk, who had foreseen the effect his 
 draught would produce, remained quiet for a short time, 
 until its torpid influence should have deadened all her 
 faculties, he then peeped out upon his passive victim, as 
 the tiger does upon the sleeping traveller, his eyes spark- 
 ling with savage delight. Then laying aside all at once 
 his wonted slow pace and dignified demeanour, and 
 wisping his robe up under his arm, he hobbled briskly 
 through the cloisters, leaving the lady in her dormant 
 position. 
 
218 THE ABDUCTION. 
 
 No sooner was he gone than the mysterious being be- 
 fore mentioned stepped from his concealment, and after 
 surveying her for a moment in silent admiration, im- 
 printed a kiss upon her forehead, and again retreated to 
 his hiding place. 
 
 Father Adam presently returned, and with him came 
 another monk, apparently an unwilling agent in the 
 affair, and much displeased at being roused from his doze 
 at so unseasonable an hour. The two fat old men imme- 
 diately raised the sleeping beauty in their arms in no very 
 graceful or gentle manner, and bore her away through 
 the south transept into a passage bordering on the prior''s 
 garden, at the further extremity of which near the river 
 bank, stood St. Austin's grot. In times of strict disci- 
 pline this solitary cell had been occasionally used as a 
 dungeon for severe penance in cases of heinous misde- 
 meanour amongst the fraternity. Towards this grot, as 
 to a place of seclusion wherein any villany might be 
 perpetrated without fear of interruption, did the two 
 friars bear their fair burden, and, depositing it upon the 
 grass, proceeded to unlock the door. It was, however, 
 long before they could find the right key from the rusty 
 bunch, which the porter had brought, — for such was 
 friar Adam's worthy confederate. At length their united 
 efforts forced open the door, thereby disturbing sundry 
 owls, bats, toads, and other vermin, that had long been 
 the occupants of this damp and dismal den ; but no 
 sooner was the portal fairly opened than an invisible 
 hand from behind, violently and irresistibly thrust the 
 two old sinners within its confines, closed and locked the 
 door, and left them to their devotions. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 « Lost '—lost ! 
 Ah ! whither has she fled ?" old play. 
 
 Early the next morning Hussey Tower was the scene 
 of noisy preparation for a grand banquet and rejoicing, 
 to which all the noble and distinguished of the town 
 and neighbourhood had been invited, in honour of the 
 visit of the noble Earl of Kent and his beautiful bride 
 to the place of her nativity. In furtherance of this 
 design workmen were employed in erecting temporary 
 buildings both in the Tower Court and in the Mart 
 Close, for the exhibition of feats of strength and skill, 
 and for the accommodation of jugglers and mountebanks, 
 who were always at hand to amuse the guests of the rich 
 and noble after their early dinner. Sir William Hussey 
 himself was also expected to arrive by high-noon, to take 
 his place at the banquet board, and to preside over the 
 sports. But this gay and cheerful bustle was quickly 
 converted into dismay and consternation by the discovery 
 of the absence of Mistress Mary Hussey. No one had 
 seen her quit the Tower ;— her couch was undisturbed, 
 and every thing tended to show that she had not spent 
 
220 THE ABDUCTION. 
 
 the night in her apartment. A general search was im- 
 mediately instituted, but the missing damsel was no where 
 to be found. Horsemen were dispatched far and wide, 
 but they returned without bringing any tidings of the 
 lost lady. She had parted with her sister, Elizabeth, 
 early on the previous evening, and, alleging indisposi- 
 tion, had retired to her chamber. No one had seen her 
 since. "But where is Alice ? — perhaps she can give an 
 account of her mistress." 
 
 Alice had also disappeared, nor did any one know 
 when or how she had departed. It was soon whispered 
 amongst the domestics, that the young lady had fre- 
 quently visited the Austin Priory of late ; and that Alice 
 had been seen in conversation with Father Adam on the 
 afternoon preceding their disappearance. As soon as 
 these facts were reported to Sir William, he went directly 
 to the Friary, where he found the venerable prior in great 
 perplexity at the unusual absence of his porter and sa- 
 cristan, the latter being the office filled by friar Adam : 
 but of the lady and her maid none of the monks had 
 heard or seen any thing. The mystery seemed to thicken 
 around this strange affair ; for although the search was 
 resumed throughout the priory and its grounds, — al- 
 though every office, every cell, every tomb and vault was 
 strictly "^scrutinized ; — neither monk nor lady was to be 
 found. The neighbouring groves were traversed in all 
 directions, but to no better purpose, for none of the 
 searchers chanced to pass near St. Austin's grot ; or 
 they would inevitably have heard the moanings and 
 mutual reproaches of the unhappy prisoners, who still 
 remained there with a fair prospect of starvation before 
 their eyes. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 ••' Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, 
 
 " When death's approach appears so terrible ! 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Now it chanced that Sir William Hussey, and his 
 son-in-law, the Earl of Kent, towards the close of the day, 
 strolled down to the Scalpe, in hopes of meeting some of 
 the parties that had been dispatched to the sea shore in 
 quest of the missing fair-one ; for the general impression 
 was, that she had been carried off by a marauding party 
 of smugglers or pirates, as no trace whatever of her flight 
 could be discovered in any other direction. Disappointed 
 in this expectation, the broken-hearted father was slowly 
 retracing his steps along the bank, supported by the arm 
 of the young earl, who was in vain endeavouring to 
 comfort him, when their attention was arrested by certain 
 strange noises, which proceeded from a clump of trees, 
 in the midst of which stood St. Augustine's Grot. They 
 approached to discover the cause, and were surprised at 
 the wild and discordant sounds, that issued from the cell, 
 in which they at once concluded that some unhappy 
 lunatics were confined. Some chance words, however, 
 induced them to listen, when they heard the following 
 colloquy. 
 
222 THE ABDUCTION. 
 
 " Had I not lent myself to your treacherous schemes 
 against confiding innocence, and thereby catered to your 
 sensuality, I should not now be starving in a dungeon. — 
 O Christ, forgive me ! — Blessed Mary, plead for me !" 
 
 " You doting old fool !"" was the reply, " all you ever 
 lived for was to glut, guzzle, and doze in your arm chair, 
 at the port. Pray, who has upheld you so long in your 
 idle berth ? Who has so often averted your expulsion 
 from the sluggish office, you sottish drone ? — Who has 
 incessantly supplied your thirsty paunch with draughts 
 of the best, unknown to our principal ?"" 
 
 " Cans't thou now supply my burning throat with a 
 draught of water, Adam ? — I will thank thee : — I will 
 thank thee, Adam." 
 
 " Why, truly, Gilbert, thou speakest sooth, for, if we 
 are not released this night, we are like to become food 
 for the noxious reptiles that sv/arm around us." 
 
 '' Oh ! for a drop of water !" yelled the unhappy 
 porter. 
 
 This brief calm was succeeded by another storm of the 
 wildest curses and imprecations upon each other, in the 
 midst of which Sir William and the Earl departed for 
 the Priory ; for they could not help connecting what 
 they had heard with the mysterious disappearance of 
 Mary Hussey. 
 
 " Whom have you immured in that solitary cell, 
 father prior .?" enquired Sir William. " And what 
 crimes can have called for so severe a penance ?" 
 
 The prior, who scarcely knew of the existence of the 
 grot, was surprised at the enquiries. This led to an ex_ 
 planation, and several monks were sent to ascertain who 
 the prisoners were. The wretched old men, who had 
 
THE ABDUCTION. 223 
 
 now been six and thirty hours without breaking their 
 fast, were no sooner challenged by their brethren from 
 without, than with one shrill cry, they called for food and 
 drink. To the questions, " How came you here? — who 
 locked you up ? — the only reply was, " let us out ; — 
 food ; — water, — water." 
 
 With the assistance of a smith, the door was forced 
 open, and the miserable captives, squalid and emaciated, 
 crawled out of their prison, — worn in mind and body 
 with terror, remorse, and hunger. Unable to walk, they 
 were borne on litters to the monastery, where Sir Wil- 
 liam and the prior, although eager to interrogate them, 
 commiserated their wretched plight so much that they 
 ordered them to be supplied with nourishing cordials, and 
 after a thorough ablution to be put to bed. 
 
 The next morning the same party assembled in the pri- 
 or's parlour, to hear the explanation the sacristan and the 
 porter had to give of their extraordinary imprisonment, 
 which it was expected would throw some light upon the 
 disappearance of the lost lady. Gilbert, the porter, had 
 nearly recovered from the effect of his fast and confine- 
 ment, but the sacristan had been attacked during the 
 night with rheumatic fever in conseqence of exposure to 
 the damp of the cell, and was then raving mad. At one 
 time he talked wildly about Mary Hussey, and his many 
 crimes ; at another, of the vermin and bats in his late 
 prison ; in which his excited imagination made him 
 suppose himself to be still immured. His evidence con- 
 sequently could not be taken, and that of the porter was 
 confused and unintelligible. 
 
 The tale he told was, that the lady having fainted in 
 the chapel, he and Adam attempted to carry her home 
 
224 THE ABDUCTION. 
 
 through the grove ; — that as they passed St. Austin's 
 grot, tlie lady was snatched from them by invisible hands, 
 and they themselves were thrust with great violence into 
 the cell. 
 
 " How came the lady to faint, — and why did you not 
 call for proper assistance to convey her home ?" 
 
 He could not for some time be induced to say more; 
 but when the prior and Sir William threatened, that if 
 he did not at once confess all he knew, he should be shut 
 up for life in the dungeon, from which he had so re- 
 cently escaped, the terrified old man, falling on his 
 knees, proceeded to develop the infamous practices of the 
 sacristan, his vile designs upon Mistress Mary Hussey, 
 and the secret of the medicated drauo^ht, tofxether with 
 other similar plots, in which innocence and virtue had 
 been sacrificed at the shrine of hypocrisy and lust. But 
 nothing was elicited to throw light upon the retreat of 
 the lost lady ; for the old porter was utterly unable to 
 account for the violence he and his brother in iniquity 
 had suffered, and consequently to explain the disappear- 
 ance of their gentle burden. Indeed the old man leant 
 to the idea, that the devil himself, or some of his prime 
 agents, had been employed on the occasion to punish the 
 guilty, while some good angel flew away with the im- 
 maculate fair-one to heaven ; and father Adam dying 
 that same evening, still in a state of delirium, left the 
 matter wrapt in all its original mystery. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ** Come o'er the sea, 
 " Maiden ! with me. 
 " Let fate frown on, so we love and part not ; 
 *^ ' Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thou art not." 
 
 MOORE. 
 
 When Mary Hussey first awoke to partial perception, 
 the torpid effects of the potion which had been adminis- 
 tered to her, had not entirely passed away, and her senses 
 consequently received but a confused impression of ob- 
 jects around her ; but as the mist which enveloped both 
 her eyes and her understanding dispersed, she found 
 herself reclining upon a small but splendid couch, in a 
 narrow apartment, in which were assembled all the 
 comforts and luxuries of life, as it were in petto. A sil- 
 ver lamp suspended from the low roof, threw a rich and 
 glowing tint over the furniture and ornaments of the 
 fairy retreat. " But, good heaven ! — it is all in motion." 
 shrieked the simple maiden. " Surely T am bewitched, 
 and this is the cell of some sorcerer who is exercising his 
 diabolical power over me." 
 
226 THE ABDUCTION. 
 
 Scarcely had she said this when a dark visage, encirled 
 with black hair, was for a moment thrust in at a door, 
 and again instantly withdrawn. The sight of that 
 dreadful countenance, so savage, so oger-like, confirmed 
 all her terrors, which the report of several cannons im- 
 mediately over her head heightened almost to madness, 
 and the poor girl hid her face in the pillow, and sobbed 
 convulsively, until a familiar voice addressing her in 
 friendly accents recalled her attention and confidence. It 
 was that of her maid, Alice ; who uttered an acclamation 
 of joy at finding her fair mistress recovered from her 
 long and death-like trance. 
 
 " Where am I .?" was the first and earnest enquiry of 
 the young lady. 
 
 '' You are among friends, my dear madam," said 
 Alice. " Don't be alarmed." 
 
 *' Where is my sister ? — and what has happened to 
 me .^" continued the still perplexed young lady. 
 
 Alice then detailed to her the incidents attending her 
 visit to the chapel, the knavery and contrivances of the 
 confessor ; all which, it appeared, the subtle waiting maid 
 had previously suspected, and communicated to our nauti- 
 cal hero, who, with the impassioned ardour of his charac- 
 ter, immediately undertook to watch the motions of the 
 treacherous monk, and to baffle his villany. This we have 
 seen fully effected, and after shutting the shavelings in 
 the cell, which was to have been the scene of their ini- 
 quity, he conveyed the insensible fair-one to a galley, 
 which was in attendance upon the beach below. Thither 
 had Alice also repaired, as she persuaded herself, to learn 
 the result of his observation, but in truth to listen to the 
 soft nonsense of the mischievous young reefer, Jack Bang. 
 
THE ABDUCTION. 227 
 
 It would appear that captain Bertie had not originally 
 contemplated carrying off his fair mistress on this occa- 
 sion, whatever he might have done on others, but the 
 opportunity was so favourable, that he could not, nor 
 indeed did he try to, resist the temptation. The entreaties 
 of Alice, that the young lady should be taken back to 
 the Tower, and committed to the care of the earl and 
 countess, were consequently unheeded ; and she herself, 
 partly by persuasion, and partly by force, was induced 
 to enter the boat, and take her seat by her mistress' side. 
 Once on board, the young lady was carefully deposited 
 upon the captain's couch, and his state-cabin was entirely 
 surrendered to her and her maid. The captain, on retir- 
 ing, left strict orders with Alice to watch her mistress 
 attentively, and to give him immediate notice of any 
 change that might take place in her fair charge. The 
 excitement attendant upon his recent adventure, and 
 his extreme anxiety for the speedy recovery of the fair 
 creature, now so entirely in his power, filled his breast 
 with a tumult of passions, and gave to his demeanour 
 the air of a mad-man ; for, on quitting the cabin, he 
 first paced the deck with rapid and irregular strides, and 
 then, suddenly standing still, sunk into a profound reve- 
 rie, which the bustle around him in no way disturbed ; 
 and when he presently after approached the tafrail, so 
 extraordinary had been his recent conduct, that the officer 
 of the watch, doubting his sanity, cautiously drew near 
 to the spot where he stood, to be ready to seize his per- 
 son, should he attempt to throw himself overboard, as 
 he fully expected him to do. But a calm seemed to 
 come over his troubled spirit, as he gazed upon the dark 
 blue waters, and the sparkling spray of the dashing 
 
 Gt2 
 
228 THE ABDUCTION. 
 
 waves, that washed the sides of his gallant ship ; for he 
 could now answer with a clear and approving conscience 
 the question that had at first excited so severe a struggle, 
 and so fierce a tumult in his mind. 
 
 " Why had he brought this lovely and beloved crea- 
 ture from the protection of her home and friends to a 
 scene and society so little suited to a young and delicate 
 female?" 
 
 The solution of this problem had, as we have seen, cost 
 him much anxiety ; but he had now decided it by the 
 rules of love and honour. " He would never surrender 
 her." So said Love. " He would do by her all that 
 became a man and a sailor, whatever the world might 
 say." So said Honour. 
 
 He had just arrived at this notable conclusion, and 
 was proceeding to enquire if his beloved passenger had 
 yet evinced any signs of returning life, when a new 
 subject presented itself to his attention, and again called 
 forth all the energies of his ardent character, thus reliev- 
 ing one care by the pressure of another. 
 
 They were running through the Deeps, and had j ust 
 entered the channel between the Dog's Head, and the 
 Knock Sands, when the lieutenant of the watch inform- 
 ed the captain, that a strange and suspicious sail was in 
 sight, broad on the weather-bow. Such an intimation at 
 once attracted the earnest attention of all the crew of the 
 saucy little Spitfire, and particularly of her commander ; 
 for information had been received, that a notorious Scotch 
 pirate, who had long been the terror of the North 
 Seas, had been seen off the coast ; and that the daring 
 freebooter, who commanded her, had made it his boast 
 that he would soon rid the sea of the waspish little craft 
 
THE ABDUCTION. 229 
 
 that presumed to disturb honest traffic, and to carry mat- 
 ters with so high a hand as she had hitherto done. Such 
 a report had put the crew of the Spitfire upon their 
 mettle, and there was consequently nothing they so earn- 
 estly desired as an encounter with the saucy rover of 
 the North. 
 
 " Crack on, my fine fellows ;'' said the captain, " and 
 let us overhaul this terrible fellow. It shall go hard but 
 we will make him eat his words." 
 
 " All hands make sail." Shouted the lieutenant, 
 which was instantly followed by the boatswain's pipe, 
 and the immediate rush upon deck of the whole crew. 
 
 In two minutes she was bending over to the breeze, 
 and, " walking through the waters like a thing of life ;"" 
 and that too at a rate that promised soon to shorten 
 the distance betwixt her and the Chase. The latter was 
 a clean built, schooner rigged craft, fitted both for war 
 and stowage; and confident in her own sailing points, 
 she stood steadily on her course, notwithstanding the near 
 approach of the government cruiser. It was evident she 
 either did not know, did not fear, or did not intend to 
 avoid, her. — 
 
 On nearing the vessel in question, this quietude 
 appeared the more extraordinary to Captain Bertie, for 
 he had no doubt she was the pirate he was in quest 
 of ; but this assumed calmness did not deceive, nor in- 
 duce him to alter his previously determined plan of 
 attack. Every preparation for battle having been made 
 during the run, he now proceeded quietly to shorten 
 sail ; which being effected, without even hailing the sus- 
 picious stranger, he ran her along-side, and discharged 
 his broadside. This was so quickly responded to by the 
 
230 THE ABDUCTION. 
 
 enemy, that it was evident he had contemplated taking 
 the cruiser at a disadvantage, and hy getting the first 
 fire, perhaps to decide the fate of the battle at once, but 
 the foresight and decision of Captain Bertie had baulked 
 this treachery, and the pirate had nothing for it but to 
 do his best, for he soon found that he had caught a 
 Tartar. Nor were the desperadoes slow to return shot 
 for shot, until both vessels were sadly crippled, — and 
 the Spitfire especially ; — in so much so that her gallant 
 young commander resolved at once to decide the fate of 
 the day by a coup-de^main. The word was consequently 
 given to run her on board, — to summon the boarders, 
 and to carry the enemy sword in hand. The boarders 
 rallied round their daring leader, happy in the immediate 
 prospect of a close grapple with the foe. 
 
 A desperate struggle ensued, in which the pirates thrice 
 repulsed the assailants, who still returned to the charge, 
 and ultimately gained possession of the deck, driving 
 the enemy into the sea, or cutting down all who did not 
 instantly surrender. But ruffians who know their 
 lives are already forfeited to the offended laws of their 
 country, are not men quietly to yield, whatever be the 
 odds against them. The consequence was, that many 
 were cut down fighting to the last gasp ; others when 
 hard-pressed jumped overboard ; and some few who had 
 run below, passed through the port-holes of the two 
 ships, which were now in conjunction, and thus, unob- 
 served, gained the deck of the cruiser, which in the hurry 
 of battle had been entirely deserted. At this time also 
 it happened that the grappling irons gave way, and the 
 two vessels drifted apart. The fellows who were thus 
 fortunate did not exceed half a dozen, and on perceiving j 
 
THE ABDUCTION. 231 
 
 their advantage, they put the helm up to let her run 
 before the wind, without observing vvhether her crippled 
 state and the wreck of the top-mast which hung over the 
 quarter, would allow her to fetch way or not ; and then 
 proceeded to reconnoitre their unexpected prize. 
 
 The captain's cabin was of course the first place to 
 which they directed their attention ; and on perceiving 
 its fair inmates, a yell of savage and brutal triumph 
 burst from them, and black and bloody from the fight, 
 as they were, the two foremost rushed down upon their 
 prey. The report of two pistols, and the shriek of the 
 forlorn damsels, rent the air, and reached even to the 
 deck of the pirate ship, and the ears of captain Bertie, 
 who instantly comprehended the whole affair. What 
 was to be done ? — the boats were all disabled ; — and their 
 vessel lay like a log on the water. There was nothing 
 for it, but to swim back to their ship, desperate as the 
 attempt might appear. The captain, without a moment''s 
 hesitation, sprung over-board, and was followed by Bang 
 and some eight or ten others of his most attached adhe- 
 rents, and they struck out manfully for the slowly reced- 
 ing vessel. 
 
 Two minutes sufficed to bring Bertie and his midship- 
 man within reach of some the running rigging, which 
 having been cut by the shots was trailing astern, and by 
 which, with the activity of the wild cat, they presently 
 climbed on board. No sooner did their feet touch the 
 deck than they sprung towards the cabin, and strange 
 was the sight which there presented itself to their won- 
 dering gaze. At the foot of the accommodation ladder 
 lay two grim corpses weltering in their blood, and at the 
 farther side of the cabin, side by side, stood the lady and 
 
 q4 
 
232 THE ABDUCTION. 
 
 her maid, each armed with a pistol in either hand, pointed 
 towards the four men clustered together on the ladder, 
 afraid either to advance or recede, lest the intrepid hero- 
 ines, who had shot their companions before their face, 
 should on the instant send them also to their long ac- 
 count. In vain had they several times endeavoured to 
 parley with their fair enemy, who answered not, moved, 
 not, wavered not, and though very pale, steadfastly ex- 
 tended their small taper arms with the deadly weapons 
 directed upon the ruthless foe. The sight was at once 
 beautiful, and dreadful ! 
 
 No sooner did Bertie see how matters stood, than he 
 cut down the fellow nearest him, and seized a second by 
 the throat, which whilst he was in the act of doing, a 
 third drew his knife and was on the point of thrusting it 
 into his side, when another shot was fired by one of the 
 fair statues, which brought the assassin to the ground ; 
 whereupon the survivors surrendered to the overwhelm- 
 ing force, which had by this time got on board. 
 
 The interview that followed we must leave to the 
 apprehension of our readers ; suffice it to say, that com- 
 munity of danger had ennobled their mutual passion, 
 without detracting from its tenderness, and the inter- 
 change of thoughts and vows became more satisfactory. 
 Neither of them had the least doubt or shyness of the 
 other, and in that confidence they were perfectly happy. 
 Nor let the hyper-critic cavil at the heroism of my sim- 
 ple maidens, for, know, ' O vain man,** that woman, 
 gentle, trembling, and confiding woman, — in her extre- 
 mity, — when love or honour are at stake, — can be brave 
 far beyond the boasted courage of proud man himself. 
 
THE ABDUCTION. 233 
 
 It had chanced that a small depot of arms, which was 
 kept on one side of the cabin had been opened to equip 
 the boarders, when several braces of pistols were acci- 
 dentally left on the cabin table, hence the ladies in the 
 moment of danger, found arms at hand, and showed they 
 had hearts to use them. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 *' Know^ then, you are this landlord, Sir, the sole lord of this 
 demesne and me : this morning I was mistress of this house, these 
 servants, and all the dirty acres within three miles round us ; now they 
 are yours, you are their Master now. 
 
 THE CUSTOM OF THE MANOR 
 
 At the top of the tide, on the morrow, the gallant little 
 sloop of war, the Spitfire, sailed up the harbour, with 
 bands playing and colours flying, followed at a short 
 distance by her prize, the notorious pirate schooner, the 
 Kelpie. 
 
 Rumour had not failed to do her part in preparing the 
 good people of Boston for the due reception of their 
 brave defenders ; and the consequence was, that the 
 wealthy burgher, with his portly dame and laughter-lov- 
 ing daughters, — the proud baron, with his haughty lady 
 and insolent menials, — together with all the elite and 
 beautiful of the town and neighbourhood, and the usual 
 overwhelming supply of that most important and influ- 
 ential portion of every community, the great unwashed, 
 — turned out to welcome the heroes* return, and to 
 gratify their gaping curiosity with a sight of the re- 
 nowned pirate, Black-Beard, and his no less redoubtable 
 conqueror, Captain Wildfire. 
 
THE ABDUCTION. 235 
 
 Coldly and indifferently did the bereaved father, Sir 
 William Hussey, survey the approaching vessels, and 
 the animated countenances that thronged the banks of 
 the river, until he was startled by the scream of his 
 daughter, Elizabeth, who was hanging upon his arm. 
 
 "My sister ! — my sister !" exclaimed the delighted 
 countess. 
 
 All eyes were now riveted upon the crowded deck of 
 the Spitfire, one of the most interesting objects upon 
 which was a young lady supported by the arm of Cap- 
 tain Bertie, and who seemed to scan with anxiety the 
 line of spectators, in the hope of discovering some dear 
 friend of her own. At the sound of her sister's voice, 
 Mary Hussey almost fainted upon the arm of her lover, 
 and on recognizing the form of her venerable and be- 
 loved father, earnestly entreated to be immediately put 
 ashore. A boat presently placed the lost daughter in the 
 arms of her sire, who hurried away with his invaluable 
 prize to the Tower, and left the multitude to enjoy their 
 own surmises about the scene they had witnessed. 
 
 Wonderful indeed were the tales in circulation, touch- 
 ing the adventures and hair-breadth escapes of the beau- 
 tiful young lady, and the feats of her gallant deliverer ; 
 for the popular voice raised the latter into a hero of 
 chivalry, and the former into a captive princess in the 
 hands of the grim Scotch pirate. 
 
 This view of the case was of course only the bubble 
 that floated on the surface of the giddy mob ; for both 
 Bertie and Mary Hussey at once revealed the whole 
 matter to Sir William, who, happy in the recovery of 
 his daughter, did not refuse to lend a favourable ear to 
 the suit of the young captain, especially as he saw that 
 
236 THE ABDUCTION. 
 
 his daughter's happiness was depending on his consent. 
 The plea of the pressure of public business, and the 
 necessity of proceeding forthwith to town, in consequence 
 of his important capture, induced Sir William and his 
 daughter, nothing loath, to yield to the earnest entreaties 
 of our young sailor; and the wedding was therefore 
 concluded on the third day after their return to Boston. 
 
 After the banquet, which succeeded the ceremony, a 
 large company, consisting of Sir William Hussey, the 
 Earl and Countess of Kent, and the bride and bride- 
 groom, with all their attendants, forming together a 
 cavalcade of about twenty persons, took horse, and after 
 a short refection at Donington, proceeded on to Grims- 
 thorpe Castle, the residence of Lord Willoughby de 
 Eresby, the near and dear kinsman of the bridegroom, 
 where it was proposed they should spend the night. 
 
 On entering the Red-Deer Park, which surrounded 
 the Castle for many miles on all sides, Bertie, who 
 during the whole day had been the gayest of the gay, 
 became at once silent, gloomy, and abstracted, forgetting 
 even to reply to the remarks of his fair bride, so that she 
 became alarmed for his health, supposing he must have 
 been seized with sudden illness. To all her enquires he 
 gave but vague replies, and at length excusing himself 
 to the company, and commending his young wife to the 
 care of her father, said he would ride forward and ap- 
 prize his kinsman of their approach ; and abruptly put- 
 ting spurs to his horse he disappeared amongst the forest 
 trees that now surrounded them on all sides. The caval- 
 cade, though surprised and troubled at this strange 
 desertion of the bridegroom at so interesting a moment, 
 moved slowly forward, passing in their route the cele- 
 
THE ABDUCTION. 237 
 
 brated Cistertian Abbey, which then stood within sight 
 of the Castle, and presently approached the embattled 
 gate-house of that ancient baronial residence. 
 
 Here they found an ample welcome, the gate being 
 open, the draw-bridge lowered, and all the baron's re- 
 tainers in their rich and splendid liveries, drawn up to 
 receive them. — At the head of the glittering array of 
 men-in-arms, Alice was not slow to recognize, although 
 she could hardly believe her own eyes, the person of her 
 boisterous lover. Jack Bang, himself, in all the ensigns 
 of official dignity, as prime warder, or seneschal of the 
 Castle. 
 
 On alighting from their horses, and being ushered into 
 the great hall, the astonishment of the party was again 
 excited, when in the courteous and gorgeously decked 
 nobleman, who advanced to bid them welcome, they dis- 
 covered no other than the run-away bridegroom. Captain 
 Wildfire, otherwise William Bertie; who instantly ad- 
 vanced to the side of his blushing and almost fainting 
 bride, and said, 
 
 " Pardon me, my dear Mary, the little stratagem, 
 which I have employed to give you, I trust, an agree- 
 able surprise. I should not have thus trifled either with 
 you or Sir William, but that having in a youthful frolic 
 laid aside my title, as a useless encumbrance to my 
 course of pleasure, when I first came to Boston, I could 
 not on the instant resume it when I became acquainted 
 with you, without appearing to do so with the unworthy 
 motive of influencing you in my favour by its means ; 
 but since I have won my bride as a humble tar, I am 
 proud to introduce her to the station she was born to 
 adorn ; and now with all my heart I bid this fair com- 
 
238 THE ABDUCTION. 
 
 pany welcome to Grimsthorpe Castle, in which welcome, 
 I doubt not, my dear Lady Willoughby most cor- 
 dially joins." 
 
 Here we would conclude our narrative, but that 
 poetical justice bids us add that the wild and ranting 
 blade, Jack Bang, became in a few years the sober, 
 steady, and demure, John Bang, Esquire, my lord's 
 steward and factotum ; and that he took such care of 
 his patron's property, as in due course of time to become 
 himself a rich and great man ; and the partner of his 
 fortunes was no other than the whilom waiting-maid, 
 Alice, who bore her exaltation with all becoming 
 dignity. 
 
 END OF THE ABDUCTION. 
 
ICANHOE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 ST. BOTOLPH AND THE DEVIL. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Full oft the hunter check'd the ardent chase, 
 " Dreading the latent bog, and deep morass ; 
 " While like a blasting mildew, wide were spread 
 " Blue thickening mists in stagnant waters bred." 
 
 ABORIGINAL BRITONS, OXF, PRIZE POEM. 
 
 About the middle of the seventh century, the spot 
 upon which the good town of Boston stands, was one of 
 those islands called holmes, which rising a little above 
 the level of the watery waste around them, appeared 
 like oases in the marshy desert that then covered the 
 whole of the Fen country. The broad channel of the 
 Witham, unrestrained by banks, and following only its 
 natural course, with every succeeding tide inundated the 
 adjacent district, and rendered an approach to the spot 
 
240 ICANHOE. 
 
 almost impracticable, except in shoutes, or corracles, as 
 the rude boats of the day were called. 
 
 Large herds of half-wild cattle, that lived by cropping 
 the rank and luxuriant verdure which covered the holmes 
 above described, from one to the other of which they 
 were constantly wading or swimming, formed a striking 
 feature in the otherwise deserted landscape; and the 
 stranger that first beheld them in that situation, with 
 their shaggy coats, was led to doubt their identity with 
 the peaceful kine that feed upon the upland glades, and 
 rather to suppose that he looked upon animals of an 
 amphibious nature, the natives of the intermediate region 
 in which they seemed to thrive and rejoice. 
 
 The scanty inhabitants of these desolate morasses, half 
 covered with their own thickly-matted hair, and clad in 
 the undressed skins of the wild cattle which they tended, 
 were scarcely human. Their residence, which was gene- 
 rally a low wattled hut, hid amidst a clump of stunted 
 willows, on one of the small islands that dotted the whole 
 surface of the fenny sea, rendered them independent and 
 fearless of their fellow men, and consequently added a 
 savage recklessness to their wild character, which even at 
 this early stage of our history rendered the Fenman an 
 object of dread to his more civilized neighbour on the 
 highland, or the coast. Yet even in this primitive 
 state of society, party and faction had sown the seeds of 
 discord, so that one ragged rogue arrogated to himself a 
 rank above his brother in iniquity and misery, upon some 
 factitious and imaginary grounds, which often caused the 
 dark waters of the fen to be mingled with blood ; for the 
 strong hand alone was the fenman's law. Although two 
 hundred years had already elapsed since the departure of 
 
ICANH0E. 241 
 
 the Romans, and the arrival of the Saxons in Britain, the 
 animosity of their descendants against each other, and 
 of the aboriginal Britons against both, was constantly 
 the source of strife, whenever the opposing parties 
 chanced to find themselves in contact. The descendants 
 of the Romans, now so far identified with the people 
 with whom they dwelt as to retain only the name and 
 tradition of their descent, aff^ected to despise both Britons 
 and Saxons, as mere barbarians, and every way their 
 inferiors; the Britons, strong in their original right 
 to the soil, regarded both Romans and Saxons with the 
 inveteracy of accumulated wrongs, suff'ered by a con- 
 quered people ; while the Saxons, now in the pride of 
 their power, for they had no less than seven flourishing 
 kingdoms in different parts of the island, looked down 
 with contempt upon the abject condition of the two op- 
 posing factions, and did not hesitate to make them feel 
 their power, whenever the struggle was brought to an 
 important issue. 
 
 The island upon which Boston now stands, was, in the 
 times of which we write, considerably larger than the 
 generality of the holmes above described, and was con- 
 sidered of more importance on account of its near neigh- 
 bourhood to the town of Kirton, and because it stood on 
 the bank of the Witham at a point where it was ford- 
 able ; from which last circumstance it derived its ancient 
 name, Icanhoe, which in the Anglo-Saxon language sig- 
 nified Oxenford. 
 
 A grey-headed veteran, who had weathered the storms 
 of some sixty years in the fens, and to whom their drear 
 aspect was dearer than the fairest landscape fair Albion 
 could boast,— for they were the scene of his youthful 
 
242 ICANHOE. 
 
 pleasures, his manly prowess, and the domestic comforts 
 of his age, — this veteran fenman was the tenant of one of 
 the two solitary huts which alone stood on the terra firma 
 of Icanhoe. He had been a powerful man in his youth, 
 and his personal strength was backed by an indomitable 
 courage, that rendered him altogether a fit and proper 
 person both to sustain himself, and to gain an influential 
 reputation in so rude a state of society. Of late years 
 he had led a settled life at Icanhoe, where he had turned 
 miller on succeeding to the mill of his father-in-law, and 
 seemed likely to end his days in peace ; for the miller of 
 a district, from the usefulness of his trade, was regarded 
 as almost a sacred person by the rude inhabitants. No 
 one thought of injuring the miller, any more than of 
 murdering the priest. The old man had a son and a 
 daughter, who dwelt at-home with him ; — his own name 
 was Harold Hopper, — that of his son, Edwin, and of 
 his daughter, Dora. Harold was a true Briton^ and 
 gloried in the name, yet of a lion-like character, and 
 confident in his own power to resent an insult, he was 
 slow to take offence. 
 
 The tenant of the other hut was a Saxon, a stout 
 brawny fellow, not wanting in courage, but sluggish and 
 inert ; he was, as he delighted to style himself, the royal 
 cow-herd, being appointed to take charge of the fen stock 
 belonging to Ethelmund, King of Mercia, who held 
 Icanhoe and the adjoining fens as his own private fief, 
 independent of his right as sovereign lord of that, in 
 common with the rest of his dominions. The Saxon, 
 whose name was Leolf, on first taking his station at 
 Icanhoe, regarded the sturdy old miller as an unautho- 
 rized intruder upon his domain, and more particularly so 
 
ICANHOE. 243 
 
 because he was a Briton ; nor did he hesitate bluntly to 
 express his opinion, and to intimate his intention to en- 
 deavour to get rid of the mill and its appurtenances, if he 
 had any influence with the powerful proprietor of the 
 soil. This threat he did not fail to do his best to fulfil, 
 but either he had overrated his own influence with his 
 royal master, or the miller had a friend at court that had 
 averted the mischief, for the mill still continued to 
 clack, to the great annoyance of the cow-herd, until 
 
 one day 
 
 Upon the evening of that day, Leolf, after sounding 
 his dismal cow"*s horn to call the herd together, as was 
 his wont at night fall, whilst patting one of his curly- 
 headed young bullocks, was turned upon by the playful 
 brute and tossed into the air. He fell, much hurt, 
 into the water near, and being utterly unable to help 
 himself, would soon have been sufibcated but for the 
 timely assistance of young Hopper, who presently drag- 
 ged him to the shore. On finding there was no fire in 
 the cowherd's hut, the young miller bore him away to 
 his own snug home, where the Saxon was welcomed by 
 the father, and nursed by the daughter, until his re- 
 covery, which did not take place until the lapse of ten 
 days, during the whole of which time the son performed 
 all the duties of the invalid's office. It will be naturally 
 supposed that from that time forth he became as much 
 the friend, as he had before been the enemy, of the mil- 
 ler's family ; and spent most of his idle hours, and he 
 had many, in gossiping with old Harold at the mill-door, 
 or in chatting and laughing with his pretty daughter at 
 the cottage window. 
 
 b2 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 " In Lincolnshire, fast by the fenne, 
 " Standeth a Religious House — Who doth it kenne ?" 
 
 CHAUCER. 
 
 In the year 654, Ethelmund, Earl of Mercia, and 
 King of the South Angles, held his court at the then 
 important town of Kirton,^ now known only as a small 
 village about four miles from Boston. 
 
 Father Botolph, a pious Saxon priest, afterwards 
 renowned as St. Botolph, ' whose locks are said by an 
 ancient writer to have been white as wool, and his beard 
 like the down of the thistle,'— this venerable personage 
 was deservedly held in high esteem by the Mercian 
 Prince, whose confessor he was, and who at his request 
 granted him a plot of ground at Icanhoe, on the north 
 side^ of the present church, upon which to erect and 
 establish a monastery. This grant was made in the year 
 654> ;'^ and the reason assigned for the selection of so 
 desolate a spot, is that the saint had determined not to 
 dispossess any previous possessor, even for so good a 
 purpose ; and the locality, thus chosen, is described as 
 " an untilled place, a wilderness, whereon no man dwelt. "'^ 
 
 It is also certain, that, in the earlier stages of a faith 
 yet uncorrupted, it was a material principle with its most 
 a Stukeley b Saxon Chronicle, c Life of St, Botolph. d Stukeley. 
 
ICANHOE. 245 
 
 enthusiastic devotees to divest themselves, as much as pos- 
 sible, of the world by which they were surrounded, — to 
 stand apart from the bustle of life, and the fever of 
 society ; that they might without distraction devote them- 
 selves to the service of their God. It will at once be 
 seen that no spot could be more eligible for such a pur* 
 pose than Icanhoe. It is also probable that the facility 
 with which bread, fish, and water, which constituted the 
 principal food of the primitive monastic fraternities^ 
 could be there obtained, may have had its weight in the 
 selection. Be that as it may, the work progressed 
 rapidly, workmen and materials arriving daily ; and the 
 hitherto solitary and silent holme soon became a scene of 
 busy life, with all its attendant commotions : so that al- 
 though the good monk had originally sought Icanhoe 
 with a view to the pleasures of solitude, that coy nymph 
 took flight at his first appearance, and has never returned 
 to the spot since. For scarcely had the walls of the new 
 monastery risen above the foundation, when huts sprang 
 up all over the island, like mushrooms, for the accommo- 
 dation of the workmen, suttlers and others, who thronged 
 to supply the new settlement with provisions and other 
 necessaries. These temporary dwelhng places soon as- 
 sumed a more permament form, for many of the more 
 peaceful denizens of the Fens gladly fixed their residence 
 in the neighbourhood of a religious establishment, and 
 under ecclesiastical protection, which had already become 
 the most powerful arm of the body politic. 
 
 Here then we have our embryo town of Boston, the 
 principal sea-port in Lincolnshire, the centre of one of 
 the greatest agricultural districts in the kingdom, and, ir\ 
 a word, the future Metropolis of the Fens. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Heaven prosper our sport ! No one means evil but the devil, and 
 we shall know him by his horns." merry wives of Windsor. 
 
 Many of our readers, who are in the practice of 
 traversing the footpath which passes through the church- 
 yard, at the foot of the steeple, are well acquainted with 
 the remarkable fact, that whatever wind is blowing, it is 
 always felt more strongly on that particular spot than 
 any where else. We know that some vain-glorious phi- 
 losophers have pretended to explain this phenomenon on 
 what they call scientific principles, but we have too much 
 regard for the wisdom of past times to lend ourselves 
 rashly to the propagation of any such new fangled doc- 
 trines, especially when we find the matter so satisfacto- 
 rily explained in the traditions of our forefathers. Be it 
 therefore known unto all whom it may concern, that 
 shortly after the completion of the monastery before re- 
 ferred to, St , Botolph proceeded to erect a chapel for the 
 public worship of the rapidly increasing community of 
 Icanhoe, which already began to be designated St. Bo- 
 tolph's Town.a The engine-house at the south-western 
 
 a The etymology of the present name of Boston has been derived 
 by some writers from the Latin word Bos, an Ox, which they contend 
 to be the translation of Vccan, meaning in Anglo Saxon Oxen^ from 
 which there is no doubt that the primitive name, Icanhoe, was formed ; 
 but we rather conceive the word, Boston, to be the popular abbreviation 
 of its long ancient designation, St. Botolph's Town : as in the case of 
 Brighton for Brighthelmstone, and others that might be quoted. 
 
 I 
 
ICANHOE. 247 
 
 corner of the present parish church, is supposed to be 
 the remains of the primitive chapel. 
 
 Now this holy monk, like Issac of old, was wont to 
 take an evening stroll, to commune with own heart and 
 his God ; and his promenade was generally confined to 
 a short space near the western extremity of the new 
 chapel, from which he could contemplate and enjoy the 
 glories of the setting sun over the far-waste of waters. 
 
 On one of these occasions, whilst slowly pacing to 
 and from on the spot before described, the saint became 
 aware that his thoughts were not flowing in their usually 
 calm and pious tenour ; but that pride at his extraodinary 
 success in establishing a monastery in that desolate re- 
 gion, — vain glory at the rising splendour of his chapel, 
 and an over-weaning self-satisfaction at the reverence 
 with which he was regarded by the society he had col- 
 lected around him, had taken deep possession of his 
 mind, which had hitherto been free from such pollutions. 
 " What could these be," he asked himself, " but the 
 suggestions of the wicked one, who, enraged at seeing 
 another kmgdom wrested from his empire, sought to 
 subvert the whole by tempting the founder himself to 
 sin and destruction, and that too, the subtle serpent, by 
 that most fatal delusion of religious enthusiasts — spiri- 
 tual pride !" No sooner had this conviction entered the 
 good man's breast, than with a prayer for pardon and 
 grace, he addressed himself to resist the devil, confident 
 in the promise that the tempter would then flee from 
 him ; and whilst in the earnestness of his fancied resist- 
 ance, the monk extended his arm as if to drive the foul 
 fiend from him, he became suddenly aware of the pre- 
 sence of his Satanic Majesty, in propria persona^ on the 
 
248 ICANHOE. 
 
 crown of the causeway immediately before him. Nothing 
 startled at such an apparition, the saint instantly seized 
 the demon by the throat, and a most desperate struggle 
 ensued ;— pull devil, — pull saint ; until a mist enveloped 
 the heated combatants: but the saint prevailing in his 
 integrity, most soundly belaboured the infernal, until 
 the poor devil puffed and blowed so violently as to raise 
 a whirlwind, which has never since entirely subsided. 
 
 Hence the constant wind which prevails to this day at 
 the foot of the steeple of St. Botolph's church ; which, 
 it is supposed, the Prince of Darkness still keeps up in 
 the hope of one day avenging the thrashing he there re- 
 ceived, by blowing down the steeple itself about the ears 
 of the inhabitants. 
 
 We trust that our version of the affair has for ever 
 silenced the babble of the would-be philosophers above 
 alluded to; for if this explanation of the phenomenon 
 be not satisfactory, we know not what will. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 ** Oire him all kindness : I had rather have 
 
 " Such men my friends, than enemies. julitts c^sar. 
 
 Two years had now elapsed since the establishment of 
 the monastery at Icanhoe; and yet Dora, the miller''s 
 buxom daughter, continued in a state of single blessedness, 
 although all the young men in the island courted her 
 smile, and aspired to her hand. She laughed them all to 
 scorn, and her veteran admirer, Leoif, amongst the num- 
 ber ; until, piqued at her contempt, he and several others 
 of the rejected suitors, made common cause against the 
 disdainful fair, and resolved to watch her every movement 
 until they discoved their secret rival, wliose existence 
 alone they conceived could account for their own failures. 
 
 They were not much mistaken in this surmise ; for 
 they had not watched many days, when they discovered 
 that Dora met a man every evening at the back of the 
 mill, who came up the river shortly after sun-set in a 
 shoute alone. This unpardonable intrusion of a stranger 
 excited all the fiercest passions of jealousy and rage in 
 the Saxon cowherd and his confederates ; and they there- 
 fore determined to surprise and seize him on] the very 
 
250 ICANHOE. 
 
 next visit ; which they did accordingly, for the lover, 
 true to his appointment,and suspicious of no treachery, 
 rarived at the usual time and place ; but had no sooner 
 quitted his boat, than he was surrounded and over- 
 powered. But what was the surprise of the captors, 
 when they discovered in their prisoner the notorious 
 Alan Toft, the head of a numerous band of Britons, that 
 had long set at defiance the power of the Mercian King, 
 and who possessed several fastnesses on the holmes of 
 Fishtoft, whence Ethelmund had in vain endeavoured to 
 dislodge them. The Saxon Prince had but very recently 
 set a high price on the head of this very chief, in conse- 
 quence of a foray lately made by his party in the town 
 of Kirton itself, in which they had plundered his palace 
 and carried off his only son, an infant, and the heir to his 
 name and honours. The infant prince had however been 
 since restored to his disconsolate father by an unknown 
 hand, who on replacing the tender babe on its mother's 
 breast, refused any reward, except permission to retire 
 unquestioned. The depredations of these desperate sons 
 of liberty had made them peculiarly the terror of the 
 new colony, and the capture of their chief was conse- 
 quently an event hailed with joy by all parties at Icanhoe, 
 except the poor miller's maid. 
 
 Information was immediately dispatched to Kirton, 
 where the king then was, that his enemy was now in his 
 power ; and the messenger, on his return, brought orders 
 that a gibbet should be forthwith erected, and all things 
 prepared for his execution by break of day, when the 
 monarch himself would arrive to see the rebel die. 
 
 These orders were strictly obeyed, so that when the 
 Mercian prince arrived, he beheld the convict kneeling 
 
ICANHOE. 251 
 
 with the priest at the foot of the gallows, and penitently 
 commending his soul to his maker. The sight struck 
 even the heart of Ethelmund, for, instead of the hand- 
 some and elegant youth before him, he had expected to 
 see, in the noted Alan Toft, a ruffian of the rudest order* 
 His devotions over, the prince ordered the prisoner to 
 be brought before him, but no sooner did he recognize 
 his features than he exclaimed, 
 
 " This is not Alan Toft, but the preserver of my 
 child, — my darhng child, Ethelbert." 
 
 " My Lord," replied the prisoner, " Alan Toft now 
 stands before you. I restored your child, because I war 
 not with infants, but with men, who, not content with 
 the entire possession of our country, wish to deprive me 
 and mine of our liberty also." 
 
 " Unbind him,'' exclaimed the Saxon Prince. " Were 
 he ten times my foe, 1 could not shed his blood after the 
 act of mercy he has performed on me and my child." 
 
 " Toft,*" he continued, stretching out his hand to the 
 now unshackled Briton, '* we must be friends." 
 
 " With all my heart,"" replied Toft, grasping the royal 
 hand extended towards him. 
 
 *' And," continued the prince, " to render our union 
 more binding, I hereby grant you free soc and soccage 
 over all the fens, holts, and holmes of Fishtoft." 
 
 " My Lord," resumed, Toft, " my future conduct 
 shall prove to you, that he, who has been an uncompro- 
 mising foe, can be a faithful friend." 
 
 Thus terminated for ever the feud between the Britons 
 and Saxons in the Fen country, for all the members of 
 his party instantly followed the example of Toft, who 
 was a lineal discendant of one of the aboriginal chiefs. 
 
252 ICANHOE. 
 
 The union of Alan Toft with the beautiful miller's maid 
 took place about a month after the event above recorded ; 
 and was celebrated at Icanhoe with great rejoicings ; but 
 from that day forth nothing was ever heard or seen of 
 poor Leolf, who was supposed to have thrown himself 
 into the Witham in a fit of despair and jealousy. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 JOHN NOBLE, PKINTER, MARKET-PLACF, BOSTON. 
 
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