L I E) RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N I VLRS ITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 
 v.|
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD: 
 
 A LEGEND OF DEVON. 
 
 By Mrs. BRAY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 DB FOIX,' 'THE WHITE HOODS,' ' THE PROTESTANT, 
 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 Is the tale true ? 
 
 Aye marry, 'tis a tale 
 Of old tradition, full of wonderment 
 And such sweet sorrows, as make crystal beads 
 Hang from young maidens' eyelids, whilst the aged 
 Shake their gray locks, and, deeply sighing, tell us 
 Such is the world ! 
 
 Manuscript Play, 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 SMITH, ELDER, AND CO., CORNHJLL. 
 
 1830.
 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Prill, cd by J. L. Cox, Great Queen Street, 
 
 Lincoln's-Inn Fields.
 
 TO 
 
 HIS GRACE 
 
 THE DUKE OF BEDFORD, 
 
 (THE PRESENT PROPRIETOR OF FITZ-FORD), 
 
 THESE VOLUMES 
 
 BY PERMISSrON, 
 
 DEDICATED, 
 
 AS A MARK OF THE SINCERE RESPECT, 
 
 OF HIS GRACE S 
 
 MOST OBLTGED, 
 
 AND VERY FAITHFUL SERVANT, 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Nor unsung 
 
 Be here the Ta\y, mountain-born, the theme 
 Of the old bard. The duteous river laves. 
 Fair Tavistock, thine abbey's mould'ring walls, 
 And flows complaining by. O ye who dwell 
 Around yon ruins, guard the precious charge 
 From hands profane ! carrington. 
 
 It has of late been much the custom with 
 writers who raise a superstructure of fiction on 
 a foundation of truth, to pretend that, for the 
 narrative they lay before the public, they are 
 indebted to some lucky chance ; such as find- 
 ing- a manuscript in an old chest, or amongst 
 family papers in an ancient castle. In many 
 instances has this ingenious mode of introduc- 
 tion been rendered so pleasing by the talent of 
 the writer, that it has added materially to the 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 Kso'^'S
 
 1 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 interest of the work itself; so that we become 
 delighted by a double fiction. 
 
 In the present case_, however, it is not ne- 
 cessary to resort to any fictitious mode of in- 
 troduction. The tale of Fitz of Fitz-ford is 
 founded in truth. And in order to satisfy the 
 reader of this, and by what means the few but 
 interesting- facts connected with it, became 
 known to the writer of these pages, it will be 
 advisable to give him, in the first instance, 
 some account of the town and neighbourhood 
 where the family of Fitz once flourished, and 
 where their name is still mentioned with in- 
 terest, as the traveller looks upon the ruined 
 vestiges of their once splendid mansion. 
 
 The town of Tavistock, situated about four- 
 teen miles from Plymouth, in a country 
 abounding with the most varied and pictu- 
 resque scenery, was once a place of consi- 
 derable opulence, and famous for its costly 
 abbey, originally erected by Orgar, Earl of 
 Devon. This was destroyed by the incursions 
 of the Danes. But a second monastic edifice 
 was afterwards erected, and the town once 
 more became a place of importance. With 
 the lover of poetry, as well as of history, it 
 must ever be replete with interesting associa-
 
 FIT2 OF FITZ-FORT). 3 
 
 tions ; since it was here that Elfrida triumphed 
 in her prime over the heart of her youthful 
 sovereign. And it was near this spot that 
 Drake^ who, in the language of a contempo- 
 rary poet, may be said first to have placed 
 '' a girdle round about the earth," was born ; 
 and passed in obscurity the dawn of a life 
 afterwards so glorious in the annals of our 
 covuitry. And though the humble remains of 
 the house in which Drake spent his childhood 
 have been unfortunately taken down, yet the 
 quiet valley of Crowndale, where it stood, 
 and the Tavy which wanders through it, just 
 as it did at the hour of his birth, must ever 
 be held as a sacred and endearing scene. Here 
 too was born Browne the poet, and many 
 other worthies whose names have long out- 
 lived the sculptured pomp of their tombs. 
 
 But as all things human are subject to decay 
 and change, so is it with this interesting spot. 
 Cromwel, Earl of Essex, demolished, in the 
 reign of Henry the Eighth, a considerable part 
 of the noble abbey. About a hundred years 
 since, the Chapter-house was pulled down to 
 make room for a private dwelling, which now, 
 also changed in its nature, is become a public 
 one, for the accommodation of travellers; as 
 B 2
 
 4 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 their eyes will instantly inform them^ by the 
 simi of the Bedford Arms which swing's above 
 the door. And, thoii;L,^h the antiquary may 
 deplore the chanoe, and wish that in its stead 
 Ihe venerable Chapter-house had still main- 
 tained its g-round, yet all such persons as busi- 
 nesSj or the desire of visiting- the beauties of 
 this neighbourhood, may bring- to the spot, 
 will find some consolation in the comforts of 
 an excellent inn, and an oblig-ing- host and 
 hostess. And there, too, may be seen a beauti- 
 ful g-othic portal, now converted into a dairy, 
 a spacious room supposed to have been the 
 refectory, and other portions of the monastic 
 buildings. 
 
 The abbey church, which stood adjacent to 
 that of the parish, is entirely destroyed, 
 swing a solitary ruined arch, once the part 
 of a tomb, that most probably was situated in 
 a lateral chapel or cloister of the building. 
 The parish church, though large and ancient, 
 is not remarkable for beauty. In it may be 
 seen the mausoleum of the family of Fitz. It 
 contains also a fine monument of the Elizabe- 
 than age, with the effigies of Judge Glanville 
 and his wife : both so characteristic, that no 
 doubt can exist of their being excellent like-
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 5 
 
 nesses of the deceased persons they represent. 
 And as a farther confirmation of it^ I have 
 often heard my husband say that he remembers, 
 when a boy, his late father possessed an old 
 portrait of Judge Glanville, in his scarlet robes, 
 with a black cap on his head, which exactly re- 
 sembled the effigy in the church ; and that 
 whenever a strolling company entered the 
 town, and wanted a picture for the farce of ' My 
 Grandmother,' or any other scenic exhibition in 
 which a portrait was required. Judge Glanville 
 was constantly lent to supply their want. 
 
 To return from this digression. The most 
 considerable portion of the abbey walls, still 
 adorned by their embattled summits, extend 
 for a considerable space, on a raised causeway, 
 along the banks of the river. These formed 
 the boundary of the Abbot's grounds, and now 
 those of the vicarage gardens ; since within 
 them his Grace the present Duke of Bedford 
 has erected a handsome edifice for the use of 
 the incumbent of Tavistock. Within the pre- 
 cincts of the vicarage, at the entrance next the 
 town, stands a gothic arch, supported on either 
 side by a polygonal tower overgrown with ivy, 
 and decorated with wild flowers ; it presents
 
 FITZ OF FFTZ-FORD. 
 
 altog-ether such a subject as an artist would se- 
 lect for his pencil. 
 
 This archway was once a private entrance to 
 the orchard and pleasure grounds of the abbey. 
 Ascending- the dilapidated steps of one of its 
 towers, you reach the top, whence may be seen 
 a partial view of the town ; the inn above- 
 named being a near object in the foreground. 
 Here a busy imagination might find employ- 
 ment, in conjuring up the black-hooded monks 
 to people the now mouldering walls ; only that 
 such reveries, from the proximity of this tower 
 to mine host's stables, stand a chance of 
 being somewhat disturbed by the crack of the 
 post-boy's whip, or a dialogue between the 
 ostler and his cattle, given in the true accentua- 
 tion of broad Devonshire. However, we have 
 but to descend again the winding stairs, and the 
 imagination need fear no interruption of her 
 poetic mood, for here will be found food enough 
 for cogitation beneath the vaulted arch, where 
 lie scattered around, in not unplanned disorder, 
 various fragments of gothic sculpture, broken 
 pinnacles, muUions of old windows, with several 
 heads of grim and gaping monsters, erst the 
 ornaments of many a stately column.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD / 
 
 A stone coffin, or sarcophagus, said to be 
 Saxon, may also here be seen. Tradition de- 
 clares it to be that which once contained the 
 bones of Orgar, Earl of Devon, the founder 
 of the abbey. If this be true, either the bones 
 must have been placed in it after exhumation, 
 or Orgar must have been a dwarf: a thing 
 which his bones contradict, since they are still 
 shewn, as the lion in the sexton's own keeping, 
 within the church, and are of such magnitude, 
 that they proclaim Orgar to have been equal in 
 size to those men when giants walked the earth. 
 A portion of these sculptured fragments might, 
 with the help of the antiquary's quizzing-glass, 
 be readily converted into a piscina, or basin for 
 holy water. This is now partially covered with 
 ivy, and receives the damp droppings of the 
 roof, whose humidity cherishes the maiden-hair, 
 the snap-dragon, and other wild flowers that 
 grow between the groinings of the stones, and 
 unite themselves with the pendant ivy that fan- 
 tastically twines about the fragments of the 
 gothic carvings. This archway bears a name, 
 not however the most inviting for a tale of ro- 
 mance ; since it is distinguished by the some- 
 what formidable appellation of Betsy Grim- 
 boTs Tower, For^ '^ as the old tale goes," a
 
 8 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 w Oman of that name in former times was mur- 
 dered on this spot. Her g^host is still averred 
 to haunt it; though I confess I have never yet 
 seen the apparition. But perhaps the country 
 hours we keep may be the reason. For what 
 ghost, excepting- that of Mrs. Veal, was ever 
 yet seen to wander before " the witching time 
 of night, when church-yards yawn?" 
 
 Another portion of the ruined abbey, in the 
 vicarage garden, which unites with the stupen- 
 dous walls looking toward the river Tavy, is 
 highly interesting. It is an ancient tower called 
 the Still-house, beautifully hung with ivy, and 
 having within it an upper and lower apartment, 
 with their narrow round-headed windows. A 
 door from the upper chamber gives egress to 
 the battlements, whence the eye enjoys a beau- 
 tiful prospect of the Tavy foaming and roaring 
 beneath its picturesque bridge, and taking its 
 course past the declivity of a gentle eminence, on 
 the opposite bank, adorned with many a noble 
 tree. These ruins of the Abbey of Tavistock 
 afford a sufficient indication of the former mag- 
 nitude and consequence of its monastic founda- 
 tion. And if I have somewhat dwelt uj)on the 
 description of them, I trust the good-natured 
 reader will make some allowance, since, whilst
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. \) 
 
 writing this in a room that looks directly on 
 the ancient Still-house^ richly hung with its 
 mantle of ivy, a favourite object in my garden 
 rambles, I cannot help pausing to pay a just 
 tribute to so venerable an acquaintance. 
 
 Tavistock was formerly a corporate town, 
 but, like other places, it has seen many changes, 
 and has felt the ups and downs in the fortunes 
 of this world; being, at one remote period, so 
 poor, that it was actually disfranchised at the 
 petition of the inhabitants, because it could 
 not afford to return, and support, members 
 for Parliament. And, as a curious contrast 
 with the poverty of the church at that period, 
 to its opulence in the days of its mitred abbots, 
 I may also state, that the late Mr. Bray found 
 a document in the church chest which contained 
 a petition from the vicar to the parish for a 
 pair of shoes. Yet the trade of this place was 
 once so thriving, and its woollen manufacture 
 so famous, that in London nothing of that 
 description of cloth was held excellent unless 
 it bore the name of Tavistock kersey. And it 
 ought not to be forgotten that here too was a 
 Saxon school, where that ancient language was 
 taught when almost forgotten in every other 
 part of England. And one of the first books 
 B 5
 
 10 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 ever printed in this kingdom was a Saxon 
 grammar, at the '^ exempt monastery of Tavy- 
 stoke." 
 
 To the west of the town, by the side of 
 the new road to Plymouth, stand the ruins of 
 the gateway of Fitz-ford, which, excepting an 
 old barn, is all that now remains of the man- 
 sion and offices of the family of Fitz. This 
 gateway is spacious, and the label ornaments 
 of its architecture proclaim it to be a structure 
 of the time of Henry the Seventh. Such por- 
 tions of the carving as appear through the ivy, 
 with which it is amply hung, are w^ell sculp- 
 tured ; and the whole might form an interest- 
 ing subject for the pencil of a Harding or a 
 Prout, The ancient mansion of Fitz-ford, that 
 once stood in an open court beyond this gate- 
 house, was, many years since, pulled down, and 
 the materials used to erect the present market- 
 house in the town. 
 
 It was during a summer evening when, in 
 
 company with Mr. B , I first visited this 
 
 ancient gateway. And, as we passed along, 
 he related to me the various anecdotes, respect- 
 ing the place of his birth, that I have men- 
 tioned above. But he more particularly drew 
 my attention to Fitz-ford, as he told me tradi-
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 11 
 
 tion had peopled even the solitary gateway, 
 now m ruins, with the restless spirits of the 
 invisible world ; that strange forms were said 
 to be there seen ; and that one of these was of a 
 truly German character : since a Lady Howard, 
 famed in her life-time for some great offence, 
 was now nightly doomed to a fearful penance, 
 to follow her hound that was compelled to run 
 from Fitz-ford to Oakhampton Park, between 
 midnight and cock- crowing, and to return with 
 a single blade of grass in its mouth ; a punish- 
 ment from which neither the mistress nor the 
 hound could be released till every blade was 
 consumed. I laughed at this wild tradition. 
 
 And Mr. B then told me, there were other 
 
 and more probable traditions, supported by 
 the evidence of history, connected with this 
 gateway at Fitz-ford, which in early life had 
 much interested his imagination. My curiosity 
 was strongly excited ; and, whilst viewing the 
 only vestige of their once magnificent dwelling, 
 it may be supposed that I listened with deep 
 interest to the few, but remarkable facts he 
 related to me of the family of Fitz. He also 
 told me that, having at one period of his life 
 the idea of writing a history of his native town, 
 with some account of its local antiquities, and
 
 12 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 the delig-htful scenery of the neig-hbourhood^, 
 he had made some memoranda of the interest- 
 ing- traditions of the place, as well as collected 
 materials of a more historical description ; and 
 I here, perhaps, may be allowed to state that 
 "he had explored every deep valley and ro- 
 mantic tor of the western parts of Dartmoor, 
 investigating- the druidical remains there still 
 existing-, accompanying- his written accounts 
 of the neighbom-hood with a number of sketches, 
 and had frequently indulg-ed his fancy in many 
 a little poem^ inspired by the romantic objects 
 around him. 
 
 On our return from Fitz-ford, he placed his 
 manuscript in my hands. And as I found much 
 of it so intimately connected with, or descrip- 
 tive of, some of the most striking- scenes in 
 this vicinity, we determined to visit them toge- 
 ther. The possession of a quiet pony rendered 
 the plan practicable, as it enabled me to ascend 
 the mountainous heights and tors without the 
 danger of breaking my neck, and I could with 
 equal safety explore the wild valleys and deep 
 glens, that lie hidden, as it were, from the 
 traveller, who is content merely to follow the 
 high road, and, by so doing, may pass along 
 a country teeming with the most romantic
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 13 
 
 beautieSj without even suspecting- that he is 
 within a gun-shot of a valley ^ a wood, and a 
 waterfall such as Lidford, or an alpine village 
 like Peter Tavy ; both but solitary instances 
 of those numberless scenes of beauty that here 
 abound, and that cannot fail to delight both 
 the poet and the painter. 
 
 After, therefore, having visited, with the ad- 
 vantages of such a guide, the tors of Dartmoor, 
 the beautiful woods and vales of the Tavy, 
 and the Tamar, and many other scenes, all 
 more or less connected with the subject that 
 had so much interested my imagination, I de- 
 termined to indulge it, and to give the reader, 
 in the form of a narrative, the legend of Devon 
 respecting Fitz of Fitz-ford. 
 
 A. E. B. 
 Vicarage, Tavistock, Devoiij 
 October ISth, 1828,
 
 14 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 On the very edge 
 
 Of the vast moorland, startling every eye, 
 A shape enormous rises ! High it towers 
 Above the hill's bold brow, and, seen from far, 
 Assumes the human form — a granite god ! 
 
 CARRINGTON. 
 
 Towards the western limits of the county 
 of Devon is situated that vast waste of land, 
 known in ancient times by the name of the 
 Forest of Dartmoor, and still recognised under 
 that appellation, in all deeds and grants of the 
 Duchy of Cornwall. 
 
 Within a few years Dartmoor has been gra- 
 dually becoming a subject of inquiry with the 
 traveller and the tourist; and certainly a 
 more interesting spot to gratify the antiquary 
 or the lover of the picturesque, in its wildest 
 forms, could scarcely be found. This im- 
 mense tract of land is characterized by moun- 
 tainous and rugged heights, bare and stupen- 
 dous in their declivities, and studded with such 
 innumerable masses of granite, which forms
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 15 
 
 indeed the basis of nearly the whole moor^ 
 that were all the cities of Europe built from 
 their blocks, it would scarcely exhaust them. 
 
 Upon the very summit of most of these 
 mountains arise, with peculiar g-randeur, those 
 fabrics of nature's own construction, the tors 
 of Dartmoor. By some geologists they are 
 supposed to be the product of volcanic fusion. 
 They chiefly consist of solid granite, piled 
 mass on mass, in horizontal strata ; some por- 
 tion of dark iron-stone is found amongst them^ 
 and so gigantic are many in their forms, that 
 when viewed in twilight, or through a vale of 
 mist (as the clouds, with which they are fre- 
 quently crowned, break asunder), they might 
 easily be mistaken for the ruined towers and 
 walls of an ancient castle. The black eagle, 
 though now rarely seen upon them, was once 
 a frequent inhabitant of these lofty summits, 
 as well as the heath polt, the rock ouzel, or 
 the moor black-bird, which now is so often 
 observed at the source of the river Dart. 
 
 The soil of Dartmoor, that in several parts 
 is merely a formation of decayed vegetable 
 matter, covering the foundation of rock, 
 affords excellent pasture for cattle, since it is 
 always verdant, from the continual showers
 
 16 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD 
 
 that fall in these mountainous regions. In the 
 plains it produces abundance of peat for fuel^ 
 and the whole moor is filled with innumerable 
 rivers and streams of the purest water. Many 
 of the former run with the utmost velocity, 
 especially when swollen by rains, foaming and 
 thundering over black masses of rock, whose 
 fantastic forms, their wild and sequestered 
 character, the waters frequently seen leaping 
 and bounding over them in a natural cascade, 
 afford scenes such as Salvator delighted to 
 depict as the haunts of his banditti. 
 
 The moor, except in a few solitary instances, 
 is totally barren of trees,* at least where it 
 rises into mountainous heights ; for if the beau- 
 tiful vales of Bickleigh, Lydford, and that of 
 the Walkham, are to be considered within the 
 boundaries of the moor, this cannot be said of 
 them, since they each afford fine studies of 
 forest scenery, where the oak, that tree of 
 British pride, grows in the utmost luxuriance 
 of foliage. Yet the want of trees on Dartmoor 
 can scarcely be considered a defect. A solemn 
 
 * The late Mr. Bray of Tavistock planted above twenty 
 thousand trees on Bair-dovvn, near the river Cowsic, on Dart- 
 moor. Some of them now standing in a beautiful little island, 
 are grown to a height of sixty feet.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 17 
 
 and desert grandeur is its character. Trees, 
 by their elegant ramifications and foliage, 
 convey to the mind ideas of beauty ; but a 
 desert, by its vastness, of sublimity. And no 
 where is. this sentiment experienced with deeper 
 feeling than when the traveller stands on some 
 of the elevated tors of Dartmoor. He stands, 
 like a thing of nought, amid portions of the 
 giant rock, the smallest of which, were it to 
 fall, would crush him, but which look as if they 
 had maintained their station unchanged since 
 the creation of the world. If he turns his eye 
 inland, it ranges from height to height, from 
 tor to tor, in unbroken succession. And as 
 the clouds roll above, casting their shadows 
 below, or part asunder, the finest effects may 
 be observed. At one moment an eminence 
 will appear shrouded in so deep a purple as 
 to approach almost to blackness, in another, 
 the same minaret of the lofty moor will be seen 
 white and silvery, and to sparkle and glitter 
 in a sunshine almost too dazzling for the sight. 
 
 If he looks towards the west, the conical 
 eminence of Brent Tor, with its little church 
 perched on the very summit, is seen rising ab- 
 ruptly from an extensive plain of high lands, 
 and forms a striking feature in the landscape.
 
 18 FITZ OF FITZ-FOKD. 
 
 If he turns his eye towards the coasts far below 
 his lofty stand appears a country^ fertile^ culti- 
 vated^ and varied by hills^ woods, rivers, and 
 hamlets, that extend as far as the town of 
 Plymouth, where the Sound, and the heights of 
 Mount Edg-combe, that Eden of Devon, close 
 a scene, alone bounded by the immensity of 
 ocean as its horizon. 
 
 Though Dartmoor is now easy of access by 
 an excellent road made across it some sixty or 
 seventy years since, before this improvement 
 its desolation was rendered doubly fearful by 
 the difficulties that occurred to the traveller in 
 guiding his course, through a country vast, 
 rugged, and solitary : so that chanced he to 
 miss his line of direction, to be entangled 
 amidst rocks and marshy grounds, or, what 
 not unfrequently happened, to become enve- 
 loped by one of those mountain mists that pre- 
 vented his descrying distant objects as land- 
 marks, or the course of the sun above his head, 
 he was often obliged to guide his way by fol- 
 lowing the track of a river or a mountain 
 stream, since, should this last resource fail 
 him, there was great danger of becoming be- 
 nighted, and, in the depth of winter, even of 
 perishing on the moor, before he could hope
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 19 
 
 to be relieved from his perilous situation. 
 Many other circumstances, of which more 
 hereafter, also concurred to make it dangerous ; 
 and these last-hinted perils were at their very 
 height in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, in 
 whose days the events we have undertaken to 
 record are said to have occurred. 
 
 It was on an April morning then, during the 
 time above-named, when the clouds yet hung 
 half way down the mountainous heights of the 
 moor, completely veiling their summits, and 
 lightly streaked with the first red glow of the 
 dawn, that two persons, each mounted on an 
 ass, began to ascend, in the direction from 
 Tavistock, the high lands of Dartmoor. The 
 foremost rider was an old man, habited in a 
 lons" black g-own of camlet, not unlike the 
 garb of a priest, wearing upon his head one of 
 those steeple-crowned and broad-brimmed 
 hats that may be observed in old pictures, and 
 which in our days we have seen adopted on 
 the stage as the head-dress of Mother Goose, 
 in the pantomime of that name. 
 
 The face that looked out from beneath this 
 formidable beaver, was of that cast which, if 
 viewed in any country throughout this terres- 
 trial globe, be it on the sandy deserts of Egypt,
 
 20 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 or in the reoions of the frigid zone, can never 
 be mistaken ; so marked and so peculiar are 
 the characteristic features of that nation before 
 whom Heaven placed blessings and curses, 
 showering- down upon them the former with 
 unbounded favour, by means both natural and 
 miraculous, till, by the obstinacy and per- 
 verseness of their heart of unbelief, they so 
 f Lilly incurred the latter, that they are pursued 
 by them, even to this day, as a people scattered 
 and branded throughout the earth. The indi- 
 vidual of whom we now speak had the hooked 
 nose, the bright black eye, the cautious and 
 quick g-lance in its expression, the raised eye- 
 brow, and the compressed mouth, so marked 
 in the Jew ; thouoh the latter feature was but 
 imperfectly seen through the long and flowing 
 beard that fell upon his breast. 
 
 The rider who followed this descendant of 
 Israel was a youth of his own people, light, 
 small, and active in his appearance, with as 
 knavish a cast of countenance as any youngster 
 of his tribe who now importunes the passenger 
 to purchase Dutch sealing-wax manufactured 
 in London, rotten black-lead pencils, or 
 oranges with a thick rind and no juice, with- 
 in the purlieus of the Royal Exchange.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 21 
 
 For some time the two riders continued 
 their journey, without other attempts at speech 
 than an oc();asional ejaculatory address to the 
 animals tl^ey bestrode, accompanied by many 
 a good blow bestowed by the younger upon 
 his own beast, which grew tardy as the ascent 
 grew steeper ; till the elder rider observing the 
 contest, turned round, and said in a tone of 
 admonition, '^ Benjamin, dismount ; spare the 
 beast such hard blows ; dismount I say, and 
 walk thyself up the hill. The ass will be sore 
 laden anon with a grievous burthen ; spare 
 him therefore now, that his strength may not 
 fail him in the hour of need ; and remember, 
 Benjamin, the merciful man is merciful to his 
 beast." 
 
 " I wish, then," answered Benjamin, some- 
 what pertly, " that you. Master Levi, would 
 think me a beast, and that I might find some 
 mercy at your hands, for there is not a hire- 
 Un"- amono-st the Nazarenes that is worked as 
 you work me. All yesterday was I out upon 
 the watch in this wilderness of desolation, to 
 look for what I could not find, till I was 
 drenched to the skin in such a rain, that, but 
 for the bow of the covenant, which rested like 
 the ark on the summit of Brent Tor, I should
 
 00 
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 have thoiig-ht the flood was come again. And 
 scarcely had I g-ot housed at home, and taken 
 but small food, and smaller rest, when I am 
 turned out agam to follow you after a traffic, 
 of which I know little except that it is unlaw- 
 ful, and lies among the Christian dogs." 
 
 " Have I not told you, Benjamin," said Levi, 
 '' that there is a great necessity for these labours, 
 and that they shall be to thy profit, youth, as 
 well as mine? Hold thy peace then, mur- 
 murer. But thus it is ever ; the ung^rateful ser- 
 vant rails against the ruler, even as the chil- 
 dren of Israel railed against Moses as he led 
 them through the wilderness ; the water came 
 not at the moment to refresh them, so they 
 thought it would not come at all ; patience is 
 the parent of thrift, and unlawful you call 
 this traffic ! The law binds us to our own 
 people; but not to the Moabite, the Amorite, 
 or to those who are the enemies of the true 
 God. You say these men we are about to 
 seek are Christian; bat I tell you they are no 
 more Christian than Jew. They know of no 
 God but that for which they seek in the very 
 bowels of the earth, and even that they do by 
 stealth, defying the law of their own people, 
 and making a mock of rulers. I tell thee, little
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 23 
 
 Benjamin^ they dig, and toil, and sweat, to glut 
 their villainy, and would sell their very souls 
 for a handful of gold and silver." 
 
 '' You have often told me so before," said 
 Benjamin, *^ and yet they are sought by you 
 as your favoured people." 
 
 '^ You must be cautious how you deal with 
 them," continued Levi, without heeding this 
 interruption, " or even how you speak with 
 them; for they are a desperate race, and 
 would use the very weapon they draw, as 
 David did the sword of Goliah against its 
 master J on the smallest cause of provocation." 
 
 '" Then why do you send me out alone, as 
 you did yesterday, to look for the chief among 
 them?" said Benjamin. '' You promised my 
 father Absalom, when you took me to your 
 service, as he was about departing to sleep 
 with his fathers, that I should be cared for in 
 health, life^ and limb, and have rest from my 
 toil in due season." 
 
 '' And have I not cared for you even as for 
 myself?" answered Levi; '' do I not peril my 
 own life more than thine? Have you not 
 rest? Have you not the Sabbath-day, and the 
 feasts of the Passover, of Tabernacles, Trum- 
 pets, and new Moons? Are not these rests?
 
 24 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 And the rests appointed for the children of 
 God? When thou didst drudge in the great 
 city of iniquities^ did the flat-caps of London 
 spare thee? Did they not buffet^ and spurn, 
 and kick at thee as the wretched Jew boy? as 
 they would at a dog that follows their heels 
 by day, and becomes their watch in the night, 
 with no recompense but to pick the bones that 
 are the offals of their shambles. But dismount, 
 thou foolish churl, and I will do the same, to 
 ease our beasts as they toil up these stony 
 places, and I will shew thee that if thou art 
 wise and faithful, the things that I do shall 
 lead to thy profit as well as mine; for thou art 
 of mine own seed, the son of the first-born of 
 our house, and as I promised to Absalom, so 
 will I do to thee, who art the fatherless boy of 
 my own brother. Dismount I say, and thou 
 shalt hear all, for the hour is come to trust 
 thee, and that fully." 
 
 Little Benjamin, who longed to be acquaint- 
 ed with all the particulars concerning his un- 
 cle's mysterious traffic, and whose curiosity 
 had long been excited to desire the communica- 
 tion often promised, and as often delayed, in- 
 stantly dismounted, and both uncle and nephew 
 leading' their asses, that seemed well content to
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 25 
 
 be relieved of their burthen, by the bridle, 
 slowly ascended the steep tog-ether as Levi 
 thus pursued his discourse. 
 
 '^Benjamin," said he, '^'^ thou art young: 
 seventeen summers have scarce passed over 
 thy head, and before I would trust thee, I 
 was willing- to prove if thou wast worthy and 
 prudent. And though thou art somewhat 
 g-iven to murmur at thy toils, yet I have found 
 thee faithful — keep a close tong-ue still, Benja- 
 min, for what I have to say must be for no ear 
 save thine own." 
 
 '' Master Levi," replied the nephew, '' there 
 is little danger of my betraying your counsel, 
 since, should you turn me adrift on the wide 
 world, I have no other prospect but starvation : 
 the London service I did with the fat city Na- 
 zarenes in Cheap, having cured me of all desire 
 to serve a people who used me worse than I 
 would use my beast, though he be the most 
 obstinate of his kind that ever bore rider or 
 crook."* 
 
 '' My own life has been one of crosses and 
 
 * The crook here alluded to is peculiar to Devon. It is 
 formed of wood, and used in the place of panniers. Its ap- 
 pearance is highly picturesque. The load sometimes carried 
 on these crooks is immense. 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 cares," continued Levi. " In the days of that 
 woman called Mary, sometime Queen of Eng- 
 land, who offered, as the idolaters did of old, 
 to Moloch the sacrifices of human blood by 
 fire, I, and many of our race, fled the land. I 
 had lost all my well-earned gains by persecu- 
 tion ; and though I fled from the bondage of 
 Egypt, I had still to wander through the wil- 
 derness of tribulation, till I found a way to 
 gain a livelihood by the sweat of my brow 
 amongst the workers in the bowels of the earth 
 in Germany. I had a quick eye, Benjamin, a 
 ready wit, and a hand that never turned back 
 from the toil ; so that I became skilled in 
 the knowledge of all metals, and of the cer- 
 tain signs and assurances to find them. I 
 throve, and did well, till on a time, in the 
 hope of making a good venture, in a more set- 
 tled course of life, I passed into that country 
 called Flanders, where I grew in riches as a 
 merchant, and mighty in esteem with my own 
 people." 
 
 '^ And yet you tarried not there, uncle," 
 said Benjamin. 
 
 " No," replied Levi, " for envy follows 
 good, even as the shadow does the body that 
 walks before the beams of the great light.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 27 
 
 Under pretext of persecuting me for my reli- 
 gion, but in reality to find occasion to seize on 
 my wealth, that accursed Duke Alva threw me 
 into prison in the strong- walled city of Tour- 
 nay. There I should have perished but that I 
 had learnt the art to burrow in the earth, like a 
 fox that makes his passage, unsuspected, be- 
 neath these mighty rocks, whilst they stand 
 above unshaken by his cunning. I had secured 
 one implement of my old vocation ; and with 
 that I worked me a way, by toiling day and 
 night, and so escaped from my dungeon at a 
 time when a public uproar in the city favoured 
 it. As I journeyed towards the coast, I begged 
 in common charity for sustenance ; and when 
 men would have cursed me for a *Tew, I told 
 them of Alva's cruelty; and the hatred in 
 which they held that man, caused them, for 
 very spite to him, to throw me a portion from 
 their tables. At length I reached the coast, 
 where, learning that the lady Elizabeth, now 
 Queen of England, being desirous to improve 
 the art of w orking mines in these western parts, 
 had freely invited over into her country all 
 such as had practised the craft in Germany, 
 with large promises of reward to those who 
 were most skilled, I instantly availed myself 
 c 2
 
 28 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 of this circumstance, offered my services to her 
 man of business who came to seek the workers, 
 and was accepted My being- a follower of the 
 law of Moses, and not of the law of the Gen- 
 tiles, was winked at for the sake of my cunning 
 in the art of mining. I came to England, and 
 how think you, Benjamin, I then fared?" 
 
 " Why I suppose, uncle," said the youth, 
 '' as you were so skilled in the craft, that you 
 gained the recompense of your reward." 
 
 " I will tell you what I gained, Benjamin," 
 continued Levi, with considerable warmth of 
 expression, '' I gained a cause for cursing — 
 and, whilst I breathe, it shall never cease but 
 I will curse the traitors — I was fawned upon, 
 flattered, paid, pampered, and upheld as a 
 wise man in Israel, a very Solomon in my 
 calling, till they gained from me so much 
 knowledge of my art, that they could enrich 
 themselves ten-fold ; and then, simply thinking 
 I had taught them all I knew, they scorned 
 me, accused me of false dealing, when, so help 
 me holy Father Abraham, I had dealt with 
 them as truly for my hire, as Jacob did with 
 Laban when he did seven years' service for 
 Rachel. — But I have vowed a vow unto the 
 God of Jacob, and I will keep it, to repay
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 29 
 
 upon this people the wrongs they have heaped 
 upon my head." 
 
 '^ But for what cause could they so falsely 
 accuse you, uncle ?" enquired Benjamin, '*^ what 
 good could it do them so to use you?" 
 
 '' Some one amongst their own people, who 
 was greatly trusted," continued Levi, '' had 
 acted dishonestly ; and, in order to screen 
 himself, charged me with the offence. The 
 Jew found ready credit as a thief, and he was 
 made as the scapegoat of the tribe. The sins 
 of the people were laid upon his head — I fled 
 to save myself from the malice of mine enemies, 
 and for some time took shelter with the bold 
 men who had once been miners, till, for their 
 rebellion against their rulers, they became out- 
 lawed by the sentence of their own Stannary 
 courts. These miserable men used me better 
 than my faithless masters, since they did not 
 flatter me to ruin me. They made me bear the 
 burthen of the day ; but they gave me the 
 bread I required to supply my wants." 
 
 '' And why did you leave them, uncle?" said 
 the nephew. 
 
 '^ I have not left them," replied Levi, '' I 
 have only left to dicell with them. But I am 
 still the broker and the chief agent of their
 
 30 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 secret traffic — you shall hear my motive. The 
 enemy who I feared would attempt my life to 
 screen his own misdeeds^ died, and then we 
 judged it safer, and better for our purposes, 
 that I should openly inhabit the town, since, 
 by appearing- not to fear a public enquiry into 
 my way of life, men would be deceived to think 
 it lawful. I dwell therefore in Tavistock, and 
 follow publicly a simple calling, whilst I ma- 
 nage such matters for these people as they 
 could not do for themselves. Before I had 
 been driven from the service of the crown 
 mines, I had long suspected, by sure signs 
 which never fail, that, in a certain spot of this 
 country there was a vein of silver ore,^ and 
 having already proved these outlawed miners, 
 I taught them how to work the lode by stealth, 
 shewing them the treasure but in part, and 
 slowly leading them on, as it were piece-meal, 
 to their task, so that they cannot do without 
 
 * The silver mines of Devon were once celebrated, and of 
 such profit that they greatly assisted Edward III. to carry on 
 his wars against France. In the time of Elizabeth, several 
 veins were discovered. A splendid cup, weighing 137 ounces, 
 made from the silver of Coomb-martin mines, in the north 
 of Devon, was presented to the City of London by Sir Francis 
 Bulmer.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 31 
 
 me; and as they dare not sell the ore m this 
 countrj^, smce by law it pertains to the queen, 
 1, who have the use of many tongues, and a 
 knowledg-e of the foreign marts, deal for them 
 with the captains of certain foreign vessels that 
 beat about the coast, receiving a just propor- 
 tion of the profits as a guerdon for my own 
 labours," 
 
 '' Bat perhaps, uncle," said Benjamin, '' these 
 outlawed workers may do by you, as did your 
 first employers ; they may oast you out when 
 they no longer want your help, and so give 
 you up to the queen's justice," 
 
 '' They cannot, they dare not do it," ex- 
 claimed Levi ; '' I have learnt by experience, 
 boy, the way of this world's iniquity — I have 
 not pointed out to them where all the treasure 
 lies, and besides this I prepare the ore in ingots 
 for the market. They gain but little of it at a 
 time, since all is done by stealth; therefore 
 they work slowly — and as to betraying me to 
 rulers, they are outlawed themselves. There 
 is not one amongst them, should he venture 
 within an English court, but would hold his 
 life as forfeited. Still, I grant they are violent 
 and dangerous, but not in the way you suspect. 
 — They have no rule of life but their own wants 
 and interests ; and those they satisfy by any
 
 32 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 means. They have no law but that of the beasts 
 which war together —the strongest overcome 
 the weakest. And they have no conscience but 
 that of passion — a quarrel, a stab, and a dead 
 man, follow hard upon each other." 
 
 '^ Then, Master Levi," said Benjamin, " it is 
 surely full of danger that you should trust your- 
 self amongst them. What could you do un- 
 armed, if the strong man you now seek should 
 turn upon you?" 
 
 "^ I trust them in nothing without due caution, 
 Benjamin," replied his uncle ; '^ and I am as 
 Joshua w as of old, something of a man of w^ar. 
 I know the use of the sword, the dagger, and 
 of the black-powder that turns into flame on 
 the slightest spark from the flint. Look at me, 
 am I unprepared ?" and he drew aside the gar- 
 ment that covered his breast as he spoke, where, 
 (though concealed from observation by the thick 
 folds of his gown) it appeared he carried be- 
 neath it, w ell secured in a broad leathern belt, 
 a short but stout dagger, with a formidable 
 brace of pistols. 
 
 " I am not the man, Benjamin," continued 
 Levi, '' to shed man's blood without a cause ; 
 but I have a hand that will not flinch if neces- 
 sity render it lawful. And, if once these people 
 give me cause to suspect them of treachery, I
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 33 
 
 am not as the fool^ that will suffer the viper to 
 bite him twice ; I would crush the reptile at 
 once upon the head." 
 
 '' But the chief of these people, uncle," said 
 the nephew, '' I thought you told me before 
 HOW, was not a miner, but a man of more civil 
 breeding, and of better knowledge than the rest. 
 What is he?" 
 
 " What he is, the God of Abraham, who 
 seeth the thought of man, can alone tell," re- 
 plied Levi. '' It is certain he is not a miner, 
 for he knows nothing of the craft ; and where- 
 fore these men choose him for a leader I can 
 scarce tell you ; except it be that the children 
 of the old serpent would be led by Satan him- 
 self and none other. This man is of a more 
 civil breeding, it is true, for he hath the learn- 
 ing of an elder in his own profane way ; but for 
 manners, I wot he is as rude as the rest; as 
 rude as these mountain winds when they visit 
 the wild rocks. He is bold, yet cunning; wary 
 as the earth-grubbing fox, but cruel as the wolf 
 that watches, when the mastiff sleeps, to rifle 
 the fold — and for such properties, 'tis like 
 enough, these men should have chosen him for 
 a leader, since, though they are ferocious in 
 themselves, they have scarce wit enough to guide 
 c 5
 
 34 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 the bark of their piracy without an able pilot at 
 the helm." 
 
 '' By the terror of Pharaoh/' said Benja- 
 min, '' I almost fear to meet this man when I 
 hear you relate these thing's of him. In Lon- 
 don I feared nothing' but the stocks,, the whip, 
 and an empty stomach; but, some how or 
 other, on this larg-e and rocky and dreary 
 place, I fear things I can't see, and can't think 
 of, as the Nazarene clout-heads do the pixies 
 and fairies that they say live in the hollows of 
 the rocks, and dance at nig-ht on the moor; 
 and when it is half-dark, I fancy every tall 
 dusky rock, as it stands still, and seems to be 
 growing- taller and taller as I move on, to be a 
 man. The ding^y alleys of the Exchange, and 
 the close little dark streets of Cheap, were a 
 comfort compared to this; for there, though 
 the signs that hang out over the shop-doors 
 creek and groan at night like the old trees in 
 Fitz-park, yet I knew what made the noise; 
 but here I fear every thing, even when I see 
 nothing." 
 
 '' Benjamin," said Levi, " you are but as a 
 fool; learn this, that wisdom is better than 
 rubies, as Solomon saith; and that, to the 
 foolish and weak- hearted man, all things are as
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 35 
 
 vineg-ar to the teeth, and smoke to the eyes. 
 What talk you of pixies, and simple Naza- 
 rene fairies ? There is nought dances in the 
 flood of the lesser light, but the motes in these 
 foolish people's own eyes. Fear nothing-, Ben- 
 jamin, for fear becometh well the woman, who 
 cling-eth to her husband as the tendril to the 
 vine; but in a man it is the reproof of shame, 
 and the fool layeth open his fear. Fear no- 
 thing, but trust in the providence of God, for 
 he careth for all his people ; and of him even 
 the young" ravens, as saith holy writ, seek their 
 food." 
 
 *^ That may be, uncle, but if you were to 
 turn me out upon this dreary place, and I had 
 nothing- to eat but what the ravens might bring 
 me, I fancy I should look long enough before 
 I might hear them come flapping their wings, 
 and cawing through the air, with a piece of 
 flesh in their claws to feed me. It is only a 
 prophet in Israel, and a great one too, who 
 can look to be fed by miracles." 
 
 '' Benjamin," said Levi, '' you must learn 
 to trust in Providence, and he will never desert 
 you at your need. We must not be of doubt- 
 ful mind. We must trace the finger of heaven 
 in all things, as I said to my neighbour Ma-
 
 36 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 nasses when he was going' to be hanged, only 
 for helping the officers of her Majesty's mint 
 to make her own sweet face in silver not so 
 virgin as herself, without a warrant for so 
 doing. '^ Manasses/ says I, Mve must rejoice 
 in the ways of heaven, and find all its paths 
 pleasant and sweet.' But Manasses never heed- 
 ed me, and only looked at the hangman, and 
 said nothing would have been so sweet as to 
 have hanged that fellow in his own stead." 
 
 *' Look! uncle Levi," cried Benjamin, 
 *' yonder stands Vixen Tor, the place of our 
 destination." 
 
 '^ The red light streams upon it," said Levi; 
 '^ it rises like the monument of Rachel, in the 
 plains of Bethlehem, mighty and alone." 
 
 The object which the travellers now ap- 
 proached was one of the most striking through- 
 out the whole of the moor, being a vast gra- 
 nite rock, or rather rocks, since it consists of 
 three contiguous lofty masses, above one hun- 
 dred feet in height, that stand insulated on an 
 extensive declivity, yet when viewed at a little 
 distance, seem but as one solid body, vast, 
 rugged, and of a form so peculiar, that it is 
 not improbable this august work of nature*s 
 hand might have been selected as a rock idol
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 37 
 
 of the Druids^ who once consecrated so many 
 of the tors of Dartmoor to the ceremonies of 
 their priesthood. Vixen Tor in its form has 
 been aptly compared to the S2:>hinx,^ and the 
 abrupt heights, by which it is surrounded in 
 various directions, to those '^ rocks amidst the 
 flood of years," the pyramids of Egypt. The 
 scene was at once wild and desolate, but full 
 of grandeur. 
 
 In the foreground appeared a rugged way 
 thickly strewed with rough stones and heath, 
 yet with no object of sufficient magnitude to in- 
 terrupt the view of the dark tor, or to lessen 
 its claim of solitary pre-eminence. But if viewed 
 from the south-east, the abrupt fall of the land 
 upon which it stands gives it a new character ; 
 and there Vixen Tor assumes the form of an an- 
 cient castle of stupendous construction, tower- 
 ing above the valley of the Walkham, that 
 lies as it were sleeping in beauty far, far be- 
 
 * This comparison was made by the Rev. E. A. Bray, in 
 his MS. survey of the western limits of Dartmoor, in 1810, 
 when, in company with a friend, he managed to ascend to 
 the very summit of Vixen Tor, through a natural fissure of 
 the rock, and discovered on the top three basins cut in the 
 solid granite. Mr. Burt, in his notes on Carrington's beau- 
 tiful poem of Dartmoor, has lately made the same com- 
 parison.
 
 38 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 low its base; where the river wmds its rapid 
 course throiig-h this vale of enchantment, amidst 
 woods that hang- in rich profusion down to the 
 very verg-e of its banks, strewed with rocks, over 
 which the waters break in white foam as these 
 masses interrupt their passag-e : and on the op- 
 posite side the bold declivities that form the 
 boundary of the valley appear interspersed here 
 and there with cottag-es, their blue smoke curl- 
 ing" up, and relieving- by contrast the deep green 
 foliag-e of the woods, whilst they indicate, as 
 do also the patches of cultivation in their little 
 gardens, that this spot, on the skirts of the 
 moor, shares neither its barren nor unsocial 
 character. 
 
 From the direction, however, in which Levi 
 and Benjamin advanced towards the tor, it ap- 
 peared to them in that view we have first de- 
 scribed, as a dark and solitary pile. In a mo- 
 ment its face seemed to chang-e : for the clouds, 
 that hung- in a dense mass above, parted 
 asunder : and a full flood of the morning' lig-ht 
 suddenly streamed upon the rock, and rendered 
 it so brilliant, as to shew every broken fissure 
 of its surface, and the white lichen g-rowing- 
 thick upon its sides. 
 
 Levi, whose mind was by no means insensi-
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 39 
 
 ble to the grandeur of nature, was impressed 
 by the scene with a sense of awe and veneration ; 
 and the old man exclaimed, in the language of 
 scripture, as he raised his hands and eyes to- 
 wards heaven, " How fearful is this place ! 
 This is none other but the house of God ! It is 
 as the altar of unhewn stone that Jacob raised 
 to the God of Israel." 
 
 '' Uncle, uncle !" exclaimed Benjamin, and 
 he drew near Levi with considerable perturba- 
 tion as he spoke, '' is not yonder figure the man 
 we seek ? I see his corslet glitter in the san." 
 
 " Have you the bags ready for the silver?" 
 said Levi, whose mind was instantly recalled 
 from its images of grandeur and veneration by 
 the slightest circumstance that referred to his 
 worldly traffic, " Have you the bags ? for we 
 will not tarry long with yonder Goliah — Go 
 on boy, to the tor." 
 
 ** No, uncle Levi," replied Benjamin, as he 
 turned the ass upon which he now rode, after 
 having remounted, so as to follow in the rear 
 of Levi, *' I will not go forward before you. 
 To give place to the elder is a duty of our peo- 
 ple ; and that youth is foolish who forgets to 
 honour age, as you have often told me your- 
 self,"
 
 40 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 " You fear to go forward^ Benjamin/' said 
 Levi. '' \t is fear that makes you remember it 
 now. But I will warrant me you would not do 
 as much if we were going- to the May games of 
 \the Christian. You have the heart, Benjamin, 
 of a little mouse, that fears the domestic cat 
 though she be sleeping on the lap of the 
 maidens — But come on youth, and never fear, 
 for yonder man will not hurt you. He comes 
 to me in peace, even as doth the lion of the 
 desert that bows down before his keeper."
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 41 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 I know thee well, 
 
 But in thy fortunes am unlearned and strange. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 They now advanced to the tor, and joined the 
 man, the very idea of whom had struck such a 
 panic into the heart of the little city-bred fol- 
 lower of Israel. Levi and the youth dismount- 
 ed. Let us imagine the place, and the gTOupe. 
 It was such as Salvator perhaps alone could 
 have done justice to in the wildness of its scenery, 
 though the fig-ures might have been a study 
 worthy the pencil of Rembrandt, so strong, so 
 marked was the character of each, and so well 
 adapted for that force of light and shadow 
 which, in the hand of the great Flemish master 
 just named, became the means of rendering the 
 creatures of his canvass so truly animated, that 
 it seemed as if they were about to start into 
 life and action before the eyes of the observer. 
 
 The mornino' liolit tino-ed with o;-old the sum^ 
 mit of every surrounding eminence, though the
 
 42 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 mists^ or clouds, yet hung about them, and the 
 more distant mountains were faintly seen in 
 the back-ground melting into the purple ether 
 of early day. Upon a projecting- portion of 
 Vixen Tor, under the thousand fantastic forms 
 and hues of its superincumbent rocks, was 
 seated a man, about fifty years old, of a coun- 
 tenance strongly marked, but so regular in the 
 formation of every feature, that in youth it 
 must have possessed the highest claims to 
 manly beauty. An unsettled and wandering- life, 
 and probably the change of many climates, had 
 dyed it of the deepest brown ; so that there was 
 little, if any, difference of its complexion from 
 that of the swarthy natives of an Eastern coiui- 
 try. His eye was black, and full of fire, yet it 
 was often cast upon the ground. And not the 
 least remarkable thing in the change of expres- 
 sion which this person's countenance frequently 
 underwent, was, that sometimes it bore a me- 
 lancholy, and at others even a savage and fero- 
 cious character. His beard was of a rich 
 brown, full and curly, without one hair having 
 been changed by time and toil ; his figure, tall, 
 well-formed, and athletic. Upon his breast 
 he wore a steel corslet, somewhat tarnished ; 
 and the bare arms, which were crossed upon
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 43 
 
 it, large, sinewy, and dark, looked as if they 
 were as hard as the very steel upon which they 
 pressed. His leg's also were bare, covered with 
 hair, and brawny ; a short and light boot of 
 leather, that scarcely reached above the ankle, 
 being the only covering of the feet. 
 
 This man wore upon his head a morion, or 
 steel cap, with a single black feather drooping 
 towards the shoulder. A rusty cloak lined 
 with fur, and of foreign fashion, hung across 
 his back. A brace of pistols, a short knife, 
 and a sword, the whole secured about the 
 middle with a leathern belt, completed the 
 figure we have endeavoured to describe : though 
 we should vainly attempt to pourtray a coun- 
 tenance so marked and so expressive, that it 
 was at once capable of exciting feelings of ter- 
 ror, awe, and admiration, bordering even upon 
 wonder, since there was nothing about it that 
 gave the idea of the vulgar and low-bred ma- 
 rauder. On the contrary, though this man 
 really seemed a daring breaker of the laws, yet 
 he looked like a rogue of a high degree. He 
 might have stood as the prince amongst vil- 
 lains. 
 
 Levi bent before him, leaning upon his rid- 
 ing staff, his long grey beard and black gown
 
 44 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 waving in the wind, which blew bleakly on the 
 moor, and visiting the rock in its passage, made 
 it murmur and echo as it were to its shrill 
 tones. Levi's large hat served as a pent-house 
 to his brows; so that, from under its project- 
 ing shade, he could observe the countenance 
 and manner of the person he addressed with 
 cautious attention ; indeed the eye of the Jew 
 was immovably fixed upon him. 
 
 Close behind Levy stood little Benjamin. 
 At first something dashed and fearful, but 
 gaining assurance by the quiet position in which 
 the person we have described was seated, he 
 raised himself on tip-toe so as to take a peep 
 at him over his uncle's shoulder ; and Benja- 
 min's raised brow, full- opened eyes, and half- 
 gaping mouth, seemed to speak the wonder 
 with which he satisfied his curiosity. The two 
 asses, turned loose near the spot, and peace- 
 fully grazing on the pasture, heath, and net- 
 tles, that grew between the large fragments of 
 stone scattered about, complete the picture ; 
 which we doubt not the imagination of many 
 of our readers will much better be able to fill 
 up than our pen to describe. 
 
 '' A good morrow to you. Captain Stand- 
 wich," said the Jew; '' and are you alone?"
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 45 
 
 he continued, as he cast his eye cautiously 
 around. 
 
 '' No/' replied the armed figure, somewhat 
 roughly, to his address, '' I am not alone 
 whilst you are here. And when you are ab- 
 sent I have as bad company — my own 
 thoughts." 
 
 "^ And why came you not yesterday at the 
 appointed time, and place. Captain Stand- 
 w4ch?" continued the Jew; " not finding you, 
 as I expected, I sent the boy out to look for 
 you on the moor, at your old harbour ; but he 
 saw nothing save the clouds that wetted him 
 to the skin. Why came you not?" 
 
 '' \ could not come," replied Standwich ; 
 '' the hawks are abroad, ready on the wing to 
 swoop upon the game. I have passed the night 
 amidst the wilds of Wistman's wood. For 
 the present we have all left our old station ; 
 henceforth you must seek our people at the 
 cave. I dare not remain longer openly with 
 them ; I am so beset on every side. But I 
 have devised the means to provide for my own 
 safety." 
 
 *' And what means are those?" enquired 
 the Jew, '^ for I know you have so many 
 tricks, and masks, as the Visnomy players
 
 46 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 in a city mumming-, to disguise you on occa- 
 sion. Speak plainly your purpose, then, for I 
 cannot read riddles." 
 
 *' And what is my purpose to you?" said 
 the outlaw in an angry voice, as he raised his 
 head and looked sternly upon Levi, at the 
 same time remarking- that little Benjamin drew 
 still nearer, and seemed to listen with curiosity 
 to what was going forward ; '' and how dare 
 you," continued Standwich, '^^ bring that boy 
 vf'ith. you, and seek to learn my purpose whilst 
 he stands at your elbow to hear our confer- 
 ence?" 
 
 '' The lad is my own lad," replied Levi. 
 *' It is even the boy Benjamin, of whom I told 
 you but now ; and he will not give ear to what 
 does not concern him." 
 
 '' He shall not, he dare not," exclaimed 
 Standwich, and without another word the 
 outlawed leader suddenly started up, caught 
 Benjamin by the collar of his gown, and, giving 
 him a violent shake, sent him reeling some 
 paces backward. '' Begone, fool," cried Stand- 
 wich, " nor dare to listen to our conference." 
 
 Benjamin apparently had no desire to do so 
 after this rough injunction ; for he retreated, 
 as fast as his legs could carry him, to a dis-
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 47 
 
 tance far more than necessary to be out of 
 ear-shot. '' Captain Standwich/' said Levi, 
 '' I would entreat you to forbear this violence. 
 For my own sake as well as yours, believe 
 me that I should not bring- hither any one 
 likely to prejudice our affairs. But I have 
 told you before, that I, being a man of years, 
 find it necessary to take some one into my 
 employ to share the labours of it with me ; 
 and who could I so safely trust as the son of 
 my own brother Absalom ? The lad is depen- 
 dent on me, and for his very life dare not utter 
 what I command him to keep secret ; besides 
 that he is prudent, has a close tongue, and 
 being- somewhat a timid child, would seek 
 nothing- but the paths of peace and silence." 
 
 '' But his father?" said Standwich. 
 
 '' Is gathered to his people," replied Levi, 
 interrupting- the outlaw. '' He is dead in the 
 body thoug-h his spirit be alive in Sheol, for I 
 will warrant me that Absalom hath no part in 
 the Gehenna of the damned. So I would beof 
 of you. Captain Standwich, to speak the youth 
 fairly, and he will never harm you or yours." 
 
 Standwich looked contemptuously upon the 
 Jew; *' Well, well," said he, ''I care not 
 whom you bring, for your life is as forfeited
 
 48 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 as mine, if all were known — and for that very 
 cause I stoop to use you, who are a wretch 
 loathsome to my sight, a cursed Jew, whose 
 very step pollutes the earth he treads upon, the 
 abhorrence of every Christian church ; for, in 
 that article at least, all creeds agree, however 
 they may differ on other points." 
 
 '^ If your Christian creeds," said Levi, '^ agree 
 but in that single point, it seems to me a bond 
 that does but bind you together in sin, even 
 in the sin of hatred against the persecuted 
 people of Israel. Yet you are a fierce race 
 amongst yourselves. Do you not revile, and 
 curse, and use the fire and the sword, the 
 dagger of the tongue, and the faggots for the 
 burning, against each other? Does not that 
 very cross, which I have seen hang about your 
 neck, George Standwich, when your corslet is 
 imloosed, does it not hang there as an emblem 
 of destruction, though you say your master 
 came to spread peace upon the earth? What 
 is your Bishop of Rome, but a king of curses ? 
 And do you talk of reviling me amongst your 
 people, when you ban and brawl with each 
 other ? — But come, George Standwich, we will 
 not begin our work this morning with up- 
 braidings — you are in a bad humour to-day —
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 49 
 
 Let us speak of the silver, and that is a point 
 in which Jew and Christian both ag-ree ; for a 
 follower of the law, and a man after the 
 Pope's own heart, have each a keen eye to 
 the shining metals of the earth, that bear the 
 impress of a ruler — be it the head of a king- of 
 God's own people, or of an infidel race, for 
 the one shews as clearly as the other, since 
 both are current through the world, and no 
 man cavils at the faith of him who keeps the 
 day of payment with gold or silver." 
 
 '' I have brought none to-day," said Stand- 
 wich ; '^ have I not told you I am beset with 
 dangers ? Our people have silver in store ready 
 for you, but we dare not remove it, and in 
 consequence of these perils some amongst us 
 are in great necessity; they have scarcely food. 
 But that must be supplied by the fallow deer 
 from Fitz Park. To-night will relieve their 
 owner from more than one forked head of his 
 dappled herd." 
 
 '' You had best beware of that work, 
 George Standwich," said Levi; " the park- 
 keeper is on the look-out, and young John 
 Fitz, as I hear, and Sir Nicholas Slanning, 
 have sworn to quell the first man that they 
 find deer-stalking in the old knight's woods." 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 FITZ OF FiTZ-FORD, 
 
 '^^ Let them attempt it/' said Standwich, 
 *' and the same shaft that gives us a buck to 
 save our men from starving, shall give a corpse 
 to the ground, and a supper to the worms. 
 The vault of that oppressive house shall hold 
 one more of a family, which you, Levi, as well 
 as I, would willingly see destroyed. There 
 the Jew and the Christian agree, I grant you. 
 Sir Hugh Fitz has injured you as much as he 
 has our people." 
 
 " He hath, he hath," cried Levi ; ''for in 
 the time of that cruel woman Mary, it was Sir 
 Hugh Fitz who first began my ruin. He used 
 his turns and his quibbles of the law to bear 
 down the poor Jew, in a suit that I had in the 
 courts, till I was obliged to fly the country, 
 else should I have perished at the stake, or 
 
 from worldly want; and that man " 
 
 '' Is now an apostate," cried Standwich, 
 '' the Julian of these days — the base, truckling 
 hireling of a court. It is to him I owe my 
 present danger. Hear me Levi. Sir Hugh Fitz 
 has been busy, first to ruin us, and then to 
 drive us to desperation ; and now he has set 
 a strong power upon us. In consequence of 
 his information Sir Richard Esdale, the go- 
 vernor of Lydford Castle, has so harassed and
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 51 
 
 alarmed our people, that we have been com- 
 pelled to desert the glen of Lydford. We are 
 scattered abroad, with no place of safety but 
 the cave. There are lodg^ed the few women, 
 and the helpless who belong to the outlawed 
 miners. Great is their distress; and I learnt 
 but last night that the price of an hundred 
 marks is set upon my head." 
 
 '^ This is bad news indeed !" said Levi. 
 '' But why do not you, who have no tie 
 amongst these people, take advantage of some 
 one of those foreign vessels that touch upon 
 our coast, and for the present fly these parts ?" 
 
 '' What !" cried Standwich, '' to starve, or 
 perish, where I have no followers, no sup- 
 porters ?" 
 
 " You would surely soon find both. Captain 
 Standwich," said the Jew, " since in your 
 w^ay of life there are many of your brethren to 
 be found in every country, and you are no 
 strang-er to forei^-n climes." 
 
 '' But I cannot — I will not fly," replied 
 Standwich ; '" I am bound to this spot by a 
 chain I cannot break if I would— no, my mind 
 is made up to endure all, to risk all — to at- 
 tempt all, in the furtherance of one great end, 
 of which you yet know nothing. — Yet I will 
 D 2
 
 52 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 be prudent ; I will endeavour to preserve my 
 life with every energy, by every means nature 
 or art may devise. But never, never will I 
 quit this solitary and desert wilderness till that 
 object is achieved. Here I will remain, though 
 here I may fall." 
 
 '' Well, captain," said Levi, ^' jou are a 
 man of mystery : strange in words, but reso- 
 lute in deeds. And thus much I will say of 
 3'ou, that though you have often reviled me 
 with the tongue, yet you have done me service 
 at my need. Is there aught I can do to help 
 you in your present straight ? And where must 
 I seek the silver ore? The vessel that is to 
 convey it away lies off the coast. A boat is 
 in readiness to carry it safely down the Tamar 
 to lodge it on ship-board. The master has the 
 means of payment, could we but get the ore 
 safely stowed. Where is it lodged?" 
 
 *" You must seek the cave of the Virtuous 
 Lady," said Standwich, '' Betsy Grimbal has 
 instructions how to deal with you." 
 
 '' What? must I seek that witch ofEndor?" 
 cried Levi ; '' she is the worst amongst 
 your people; you are a fearful race, all of 
 j'ou. But the passions of your men I dare 
 meet, for they are not turned to w rath without
 
 FfTZ OF FiTZ-FORD. 53 
 
 a cause — and wrath may be turned away by a 
 smooth word; but the dark malice of that 
 woman I fear is deadly." 
 
 *^ Bring her the price of the silver ore," 
 said Standwich, '' and she will be satisfied. 
 She is trusted by her companions, and with 
 them she deals justly ; you have more cause 
 to fear Sir Richard Esdale, Did he but sus- 
 pect you assisted in this traffic, you were no 
 better than a lost man; should he fall within 
 your power, Levi, rid us of him at once, and 
 you will do us a service that shall not g*o un- 
 requited." 
 
 '' Captain," said Levi, '^* that is your trade; 
 to kill men in the dark is not mine." 
 
 No sooner had Levi uttered these words than 
 a fierce angry glance flushed from the expres- 
 sive eyes of the person he addressed. He put 
 his hand upon the hilt of his sword, and trem- 
 bled with emotion, but the next moment, as 
 if recollecting himself, Standwich dropt his 
 hand, and said in a subdued tone, '' you are 
 a fool, and so am I to think you other; you 
 would destroy our enemies, but dare not do it." 
 
 " I would destroy them," replied Levi, 
 " but not by violent means — for the blood of 
 man shall be required of man ; and what says
 
 54 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD, 
 
 Solomon? '' Surely, the wringing' of the nose 
 bringeth forth blood, so the forcing of wrath 
 bringeth forth death." 
 
 '' Levi/' said Stand wich, " I came hither 
 to-day in part to tell you of these things. 
 But that was not the sole cause of my desiring 
 to meet you this day at Vixen Tor. It is pos- 
 sible I may rest under your roof, perhaps, to- 
 morrow night." ..' 
 '' Rest under my roof 1" exclaimed the Jew, 
 in a tone of mingled fear and astonishment ; 
 " holy father Abraham are you mad^ to think 
 of it ! It would be a greater hazard than that 
 of the spies when they committed themselves 
 to rest under the roof of Rahab the harlot. 
 For surely every man in the town will be upon 
 you^ and they will rise up and shut their gates 
 to secure you; and though Rahab was faithful, 
 yet the God of Israel was with her. But should 
 I be faithful, peradventure he will not be with 
 me to save thee." 
 
 '' I will risk that," said Standwich, '' though 
 it is in part to secure my own safety that I 
 shall on the morrow seek the town. No man 
 will even suspect that I would dare to do so. 
 I shall be sought for in the valley of the 
 Lyd; and I shall not come to you thus clad in
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 55 
 
 steel. Of one thing I warn you, that though 
 you will know me, I bid you beware how you 
 point me out to yonder foolish boy." 
 
 '' But the lad hath eyes, the lad hath ears," 
 said the Jew, '' and this day he hath both 
 seen the features of thy face, and heard the 
 accents of thy tongue. How can I then bid 
 him not to know thee?" 
 
 '' But he will not do so unless you betray 
 me to him," replied Standwich ; '' obey my 
 directions, and he cannot. I shall lodg-e with 
 you for the night; you must receive me — you 
 dare not refuse me. Remember, Levi, that, 
 wretched Jew as you are, it was I who saved 
 your life. It was I who warned you of the 
 plot formed to ruin you, when you were en- 
 gaged with your old and treacherous masters. 
 I did this before I last left England." 
 
 '^ I. know it," answered Levi, '' and the 
 wretched Jew, as you call him, has one virtue, 
 not always found to dwell in the heart of the 
 Christian. He can be grateful, even as David 
 was grateful to Jonathan when he bid him flee 
 from the wrath of Saul. I will lodge you, 
 since you are mad enough to desire it, and 
 the life you once preserved shall be risked to 
 guard yours !"
 
 56 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 '^ And I in requital/' said Standwich, '' will 
 pledg-e you my word that the people who obey 
 me shall never injure a hair of your head, un- 
 less you provoke them to a quarrel ; you shall 
 be free to make your market by their labours 
 as before." 
 
 '' It is a covenant between us/' cried Levi, 
 " a covenant even as that between Joshua and 
 the people of Gilgal; and this rock shall be 
 as a token of the same. And as the dove of 
 Noah, you shall find rest for the sole of your 
 foot, and bear the olive branch of peace to the 
 ark of safety when you seek my roof; it shall 
 be to you even as the city of refug-e to the 
 slayer of man's blood." 
 
 " Enough of this," said the outlaw; '^ one 
 word more and I depart; you must do me 
 yet another service, and that without delay." 
 
 '^ Speak it," cried Levi, ^' and if it be nei- 
 ther at dang-er of life or limb I will do it." 
 
 ^^ You must bear this letter," continued 
 Stand wich, as he took one from out a little 
 pocket in his cloak, "to Margaret Champer- 
 noun, and contrive to deliver it to her in pri- 
 vate." 
 
 '' Holy Isaac!" exclaimed the Jew with an 
 air of the utmost amazement in his countenance.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 5*7 
 
 '' What^ are you gone mad to-day. Captain 
 Standwich, or are you in your sober senses ? 
 You ! you send a letter to Mistress Margery 
 Champernoun, the fair young ward of Judge 
 Glanville ! Surely the man hath lost his wits !" 
 continued Levi, as he raised his hands and 
 eyes, and shrugged up his shoulders in the 
 surprise of the moment. '' And for me, too, 
 to become the bearer ! I will tell you what 
 would be the consequence : that letter would 
 prove as fatal to me as did the sealed letter to 
 Uriah, which David sent by the Hittite's own 
 hand to Joab, the captain of the host. I will 
 not do this thing. And how you, George Stand- 
 wich, a wild man, the son of no man knoweth 
 who — an outlaw yourself, and a dweller 
 among outlaws — how such as you, I say, should 
 have aught to do with the daintiest damsel in 
 all the county of Devon, and the ward of a 
 mighty ruler amongst this people, is to me a 
 thing passing all wonder. I would ask you to 
 explain this if the affair concerned me, but 
 you are in all things a man of mystery." 
 
 '' Will you not then do me this service?" 
 said Stand wich ; '^ if you refuse, I must find 
 another messenger." 
 
 '' I have already told you that I will not^" 
 D 5
 
 58 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 answered Levi ; '^ to lodge you is full of dan- 
 ger, but to do this service were mere madness ; 
 it w^ere a voluntary thrusting myself into the 
 den of lions." 
 
 " Then will you do thus much for me, in 
 the event of my not finding a messenger who 
 may do my errand in safety?" said Standwich,, 
 '' Will you, if you can gain speech of Mar- 
 garet Champernoun, tell her that May morn- 
 ing is at hand, and she shall on that day see 
 one she most desires, yet least expects to see ? 
 She will understand you." 
 
 '' It is a dark saying," cried Levi, as he 
 shook his head with an air of doubt; '' but 
 the matter is not mine. If I can gain the ear 
 of the damsel, though I see no chance of such 
 a thing, yet I wdll say as much to her. From 
 whom must I tell her I come — since not for 
 worlds would I repeat your name, even when 
 I act as your messenger— from whom shall I 
 say the dark speech cometh ?" 
 
 " From a wanderer through the paths of 
 penitence," replied Standwich ; '' you are not 
 obliged to know the name of such a man." 
 
 The Jew again looked surprised; but so ab- 
 surd did it appear to Levi that a man who, 
 like Standwich lived by fraud, secresy, and
 
 FITZ or FITZ-FORD. 59 
 
 violence, should describe himself as di penitent, 
 that he could not suppress the smile that curled 
 his lip, as he looked keenly upon the Captain 
 from out the corners of his eyes, and said, 
 " with our people, the breakers of the law 
 beg-in their penitence by a keeping" of the law ; 
 but this I trow is not of your Christian creed 
 of penitence. — Well, if I can do thus much for 
 you, I will, though I dare not bear about with 
 me, or deliver, that written paper; it were too 
 perilous." 
 
 " It is enough," said Standwich; '' to mor- 
 row evening at dusk, I shall stand before your 
 door to take shelter for the night. Before the 
 next dawn of day I may quit you, so remember 
 to say nothing to yonder simpleton. If he sees 
 me, he may not know me but as a stranger." 
 
 '' The boy Benjamin shall know no tiling 
 from me," replied Levi ; '''^ but he is not so 
 dull as you apprehend him to be. Neverthe- 
 less, it is like enough that the tabor and the 
 pipes, and the May games of the youths and 
 the maidens, will keep him abroad, and make 
 him too busy to be curious. I will do my 
 best to shelter you, and I trust no ill will 
 come of it to you or me." 
 
 " Fear not," said Standwich, " and now
 
 60 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 depart, return as quickly as you may with the 
 boy. The sun is full risen, and looks abroad 
 with all his light. I must no longer rest here, 
 exposed to the gaze of any hind or traveller 
 who may chance to pass this way. I must be 
 busy to-day, for to-morrow hath its own 
 especial business. Remember the silver ore 
 lies in the cave of the Abbot's weir. There 
 you must seek it at a convenient time." 
 
 '' I will look to it," answered Levi, " and 
 now farewell. Captain Standwich." 
 
 The outlaw waved his hand, drew his cloak 
 around him, passed hastily behind the rock, 
 and striking down the steep declivity that led 
 towards the wild and intricate valley of the 
 Walkham, w^as soon out of sight. Levi spee- 
 dily called Benjamin to advance. They re- 
 mounted their asses; the first much disap- 
 pointed in being obliged to return without 
 obtaining the precious ore that had formed the 
 object of his morning excursion on the moor, 
 and greatly wondering in his own mind at the 
 mysterious character and conduct of Standwich. 
 
 Benjamin, whose terror had been raised even 
 by a slight glance at the muscular, armed, and 
 imposing figure of the outlaw, still seemed to 
 suffer from the shaking he had received at his
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 61 
 
 hand; and ever and anon, as they journeyed 
 onward, he kept lookmg- back, fearing he knew 
 not what ; nor did he find either his courage, 
 or the free use of his tong-ue return to him 
 again till his uncle and himself began to descend 
 the mountainous regions of Dartmoor; where 
 the sight of the road that led to the town, the 
 meeting occasionally with passengers, and the 
 town of Tavistock itself, rising with the battle- 
 mented walls and towers of its dismantled 
 abbey, once more freed him of all fears, and 
 allowed him to find heart to chatter as glibly 
 as ever to his uncle on indifferent matters ; for 
 Levi forbade any allusions in his discourse to 
 the transactions of the morning, wisely remark- 
 ing, that though it is well to observe all things, 
 some are better to be thought upon than 
 spoken.
 
 62 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Look where the master comes ; 'tis a playing day I see — 
 How now, Sir Hugh ? 'tis no school to-day. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 A May-day in the reign of Queen Elizabeth 
 was a very different festival of rejoicing- to what 
 it is in our times, when the ancient rites in ho- 
 nour of the goddess Flora (for there is little 
 doubt amongst antiquaries but that the festival 
 owes its origin to the sacrifice of the heathens) 
 have given place to the singular fantasies of the 
 black votaries of foul chimnies ; when, for one 
 day in the year at least, with faces half washed, 
 the begrimed coating of soot exchanged for that 
 of rose-pink and brickdust, and the sable gar- 
 ments of the profession shining in all the glory 
 of gold-leaf and tin-foil, the sweeps of Lon- 
 don triumph in faded flowers and paper crowns ; 
 a sad, but perhaps too just, caricature of many 
 an earthly crown, and of many a votary of 
 sublunary grandeur. 
 
 The customs, as well as the manners, of so-
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 63 
 
 ciety never stand still : since chang-e seems to 
 be the order of every thing- in this world. And, 
 in spite of all the boasted refinement and im- 
 provements of the present age, it is much to be 
 questioned if, in subjects more serious than that 
 of May-day games, we have not considerably 
 degfenerated from our ancestors. The remark 
 may perhaps be widely extended, even to the 
 world of art : for whilst we erect churches with 
 pinnacles, and steeples, that may vie in beauty 
 of form with the modern pepper-box, or the 
 extinguisher of a candlestick, and build palaces, 
 or houses for the wealthy, that resemble no- 
 thing so much as a prison, or, its opposite for 
 solidity, a house of cards, ready to be blown 
 down by the slig-htest breath of wind; the 
 stately cathedrals of our forefathers, as light 
 and eleg-ant in their forms as they are substan- 
 tial in their foundations, the impreg-nable walls 
 of their castles, that have laughed to scorn even 
 the siege of Time himself, still stand as it were 
 looking- down upon our pig"my works with aw- 
 ful and supreme contempt ; as if they would 
 say to them, '' You deg-enerate sons of our 
 sons, you can never equal us." It is time how- 
 ever to return from this digression, which has 
 only been introduced by way of saying' a word
 
 64 riTZ OF FITZ-rORD. 
 
 or two in vindication of the good taste and 
 wisdom of those ag-es, which in the present day 
 we are too fond of ranking under the sweeping 
 clause of general barbarism. 
 
 The festival of May-day in the reign of 
 Elizabeth was one of universal delight, shared 
 alike by the court, the gentry, and all classes 
 of society ; that time being considered as the 
 boundary between winter and summer, as 
 the birth-day of flowers, love, plenty, and re- 
 joicing. And in no part of England, at the 
 period of our narrative, was it more honoured 
 than in this ** outmost corner of the west,*' 
 where all the ancient ceremonies, whose traces 
 now only exist to remind us of their decay, 
 were duly and fully observed. 
 
 Tavistock, the scene of these delights, si- 
 tuated about three miles from Dartmoor, bore 
 then a very different aspect to what it does at 
 present. The monks it is true had been driven 
 from their nest by Cromwel Earl of Essex, 
 during the reign of Henry the Eighth ; but the 
 stately abbey, with its richly sculptured chap- 
 ter-house, its battlemented walls and tapering 
 pinnacles, still reared its head above the rapid 
 Tavy, that ran past its base, just as it does now^ 
 tumbling and foaming over the masses of rock
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 65 
 
 that form the bed of the river, sometimes re- 
 sembling flakes of snow in its eddies, or, when 
 the sun played in a full stream upon its waters, 
 appearing- like '' strings of glittering diamonds;" 
 as the jewels of those pixies and fairies, who 
 were believed to make their sports and to wan- 
 ton in the fountains that spring from the hollow 
 caves and dark rocks of the moor; whilst, on 
 the banks, opposite to the abbey walls, a grove 
 of trees, extending to the very summit of the 
 hill, and sweeping down to the verge of the 
 river, dropt their green arms into the flood, 
 where at every turn of its winding course those 
 beautiful combinations of light and shadow, of 
 vivid foliage, rock, and water, rendered the 
 immediate vicinity of this spot so delightful, as 
 to distinguish it, par excellence, by the name 
 of The Walk. 
 
 The gothic house, formerly the hospital of the 
 LazarS;, or the Maudlin, a building of great 
 antiquity, and many a venerable mansion whose 
 founders had witnessed the contests of the Red 
 and White Roses, then stood in all the pomp of 
 their sculptured ornaments ; and the shops ex- 
 hibited their antiquated fronts, supported by 
 low, thick columns of granite, with the goods 
 exposed for sale lying open upon a kind of
 
 66 FITZ or FITZ-FORD. 
 
 counter, without any g-lass to protect them, 
 under the colonnade that shewed the gothie 
 origin of these buildings, whose sole entrance 
 was by a little door called a hatch, that reached 
 no higher than the waist of the master or his 
 apprentice, who stood behind it ready to attend 
 upon the customers as they passed along, fre- 
 quently inviting them to examine the stores 
 offered to their choice, and as frequently to 
 share in a gossip on the settlement of their 
 neighbours' concerns and affairs. 
 
 Near the church, the plainest building in the 
 town, and, which like many a plain face, has 
 outlived all the beauties by which it was once 
 surrounded, grew, in stately row, a solemn ar- 
 cade of yew trees, in compliance with that obso- 
 lete law, which tradition says enjoined that yew 
 trees should be planted in every church-yard to 
 provide bows for the unrivalled archers of the 
 land. These trees, casting a deep gloom around, 
 were in perfect harmony with the dark-coloured 
 stone of the tower, whose plain architecture 
 served as a foil to that of the magnificent abbey 
 church which stood near. Of the latter, not a 
 vestige, except the single archway of a tomb, 
 said to be Orgar's, Earl of Devon, now exists. 
 At the south-west of the parochial church there
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FOUD. 67 
 
 stood a house whose front was ornamented by 
 an open book carved in stone, which shewed 
 that this edifice was a public one, and not the 
 dwelling' of a private person. It was in fact the 
 school-house, where in the olden time, thoug-h I 
 must allow that antiquaries have doubted it, 
 the Saxon grammar school was held, and which 
 at the date of our narrative had somewhat de- 
 generated into one for a set of bare-legged, and 
 curly-headed youngsters called the Latin boys. 
 Their master, Barnabas Ferule, was a leading 
 man in the town, famed for having a hard hand 
 at a flogging ; the surest information relative to 
 all news abroad and at home ; and was respected 
 even by the great man of the parish himself. 
 Sir Hugh Fitz, for his consummate art in cast- 
 ing nativities, for having the best recipes to 
 raise pixies and fairies, and for anointing the 
 eyes of mortals, so that they might look upon 
 them when raised, without the danger of being 
 struck blind by their presumption. 
 
 Barnabas was a little man, very meagre, 
 and looked as if he had been boiled, so wan 
 and so sallow was the skin upon his cheeks ; 
 whilst a pair of bright goggle-eyes, set in a rim 
 of scarlet, added to his covmtenance such an air 
 of wildness and disorder (together with his thin
 
 68 
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 grey locks^ hanging uncombed about his face, 
 and a beard half-starved for want of nourish- 
 ment), that he had very much the appearance 
 of what the country people here call a mazed 
 man. Add to which his sitting up at nights to 
 contemplate the stars, and other nocturnal 
 studies in the pursuit of judicial astrology, had 
 so helped to change him, that he became alto- 
 gether like one of those spectres in whose ex- 
 istence he so devoutly believed. The care of 
 the Latin boys, the office of town bailiff, and 
 assistant barber-surgeon, with the incumbrance 
 of a wife and six small children, were all things 
 that helped to hinder this learned votary of 
 astrology from growing fat upon an income 
 not exceeding eleven pounds a year. 
 
 Upon the morning of May-day, Barnabas 
 had risen before it was light, or rather he had 
 sat up all night, having watched a particular 
 conjunction of the heavenly bodies, till the 
 great church clock struck the hour of two, 
 when he stole into his bed to dream in which 
 house of the moon mig-ht be lodg-ed the for- 
 tunes of a neighbour's bantling just ushered 
 into this world of woe. But Barnabas had not 
 long been allowed to indulge these visions of 
 repose, having been obliged to quit his couch
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 69 
 
 soon after, in order to rock the cradle of the 
 younger born of his own house, whose re- 
 peated cries had disturbed both himself and 
 his less active wife from the sweet influences of 
 sleep. No sooner had the sun shown his broad 
 red face over the eastern hills than a clamorous 
 peal of bells, that made the old tower shake 
 again with their merry tongues, once more 
 caused Barnabas to start from his bed ; and, 
 hastening to don a new black gown of kersey, 
 he washed his face in the circumference of a 
 ring ; so that his morning ablutions, although 
 they rendered fresh and vigorous the mouth, 
 nose, and eyes, never once obtruded to remove 
 the dingy rim of smut around them, which 
 served, like the oak frame of an old picture, 
 by the contrast it afforded of the deep brown 
 colour, to give a brilliancy to the more striking 
 features of his countenance. Barnabas dressed 
 in all haste, and strode down stairs to meet the 
 group of his big and little boys, who on this 
 occasion were ordered to assemble at a very 
 early hour. 
 
 The school-room, into which we must now 
 introduce the reader, was a long, old, gothic 
 chamber, with large beams of carved oak form- 
 ing the ceiling, decorated with many a grinning
 
 70 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 and monstrous head, as the finishing- ornaments 
 of the arched supporters. The narrow win- 
 dows were placed so high as to preclude all 
 possibility of the boys being- tempted to idle 
 their time by staring- out of them at the pas- 
 sengers below ; and many a long- table and 
 bench stood ranged around. At the upper end 
 of the room was seen a very curious carved 
 chair, representing on its back a monk holding 
 a book, with a child by his side who seemed as 
 if he was receiving instruction in the art of 
 reading, with these words inscribed above : 
 " Schola SaxonicadeTavystoke." This inscrip- 
 tion showed that this ancient seat of learning 
 had once been the property of the Saxon 
 grammar-school. A raised desk stood before 
 it, to which was fastened, by an iron chain, 
 the precious and solitary Latin dictionary de- 
 voted to the use of the whole school, and thus 
 secured from loss or trespass, since at the pe- 
 riod of our narrative, the art of printing being 
 less extensively employed than it is at the pre- 
 sent time, books were much higher in value, 
 and of rarer occurrence. A large birchen rod 
 (for this terror of little boys is of ancient date), 
 and a wooden spatula, to inflict punishment 
 on the hand, rested one on either side of the
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 71 
 
 dictionary, being, to that body of learning, 
 what supporters are to a coat of arms, power- 
 ful auxiliaries to the enforcement of the reve- 
 rence in which it should be held. 
 
 The school-room was soon filled; for, as 
 this day was designed for a holiday, none of 
 the lads had been ^^ creeping like snail unwil- 
 lingly to school." Mirth and eager expecta- 
 tion sat on the countenance of each little, 
 round, rosy-faced boy. Their heads were all 
 combed as smooth as flax by the care of their 
 good mothers, excepting where nature, defying 
 such formalities, had curled them with too 
 much obstinacy to admit their being made to 
 resemble the tail of old Dobbin, the mill-horse, 
 to which Launcelot Gobbo compares the locks 
 of his son. And with no small degree of pride 
 did Barnabas contemplate his flock, now dressed 
 in their Sunday clothes, and each ready to 
 sustain the part destined for him in the May 
 games. 
 
 The moment the master appeared, the whole 
 fry set up with one voice their small shrill 
 pipes, and, agreeably to custom, exclaimed 
 " Holiday for the Latin boys, holiday for the 
 Latin boys ! God save the Queen and our 
 master!"
 
 72 FITZ OF FITZ-FOED. 
 
 '' And all the nobles, and the knights of the 
 land/' added Barnabas ; '^ that's right my little 
 lads, shout merrily, and a holiday you shall 
 have, or Maid Marian, our May Queen, would 
 lack her pages. Where's Jacky Kelly, and 
 Bob Physic?" 
 
 " Jacky Kelly," said a lad with a face shin- 
 ing like a silver groat," is gone to get the ladle 
 for the hobby-horse as you told him. And 
 Bob Physic is gone to milk Dame Ferule's 
 cow, for fear he should get sore udders, be- 
 cause Bob forgot to milk him last night." 
 
 " He ! him /" exclaimed Barnabas, '' call a 
 cow he ! Will you never. Tommy Osegood, 
 learn to speak English instead of Devonshire ? 
 Will you never learn your genders, your mas- 
 culine and feminine genders, my little lad? 
 Why it w^as but last night I told you the same, 
 when you called the mune he,'' added Barna- 
 bas, himself for once following the goodly 
 custom of the co-untry of softening every dou- 
 ble o, by pronouncing it like the u. " Don't 
 you know. Tommy, I have told you before 
 now, that a man is knoAvn in a moment by 
 his tongue, and that a clodpole or ,a gentle- 
 man, may be instantly detected by the gram- 
 matical construction of his sentences? Have
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FOUD. /^ 
 
 I not told you these thinj:.'s^ and I must say 
 with Cicero. " Miror, cum jwcecej^to^' sit adeo 
 insigniter erudihis, te non vlterms fuisse pro- 
 gressumy And now^ my lads, have you all 
 got your parts ? for we are to play the inter- 
 lude before Sir Hugh Fitz and a noble com- 
 pany this ev-ening-, Oberon and Titania, with a 
 prologue of my own composition : Tommy 
 Osegood you play Oberon, and Sammy Budd 
 the fairy queen ; and remember what I told 
 you before, you must walk smoothly and 
 lightly along, and not tramp with that gait, 
 like a plough-boy after the team. Stand up. 
 Tommy, and let me see you embrace Titania, 
 and lead her hand in hand as you take her to 
 her bower. Trip, boy, trip ; don't you know 
 your fairies always trip : why that's like the 
 paces of widow Moffat's grey nag; you must 
 play your fairy steps better than that, or you 
 W'ill find no sixpence in your shoe dropt by 
 those invisible beings as a reward for well re- 
 presenting them before the eyes of mere mor- 
 tals." 
 
 " Look at me, lads," continued Barnabas, 
 as he took Sammy Budd by the hand, and led 
 the lad, holding him by the ends of his fin- 
 gers, on tip-toe across the school-room. — 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 '' Don't you see I move with grace? Titania, 
 hang- your head over your left shoulder^ and 
 don't keep it upright in that stiff way, like 
 the sign of Lot's wife turned into a pillar of 
 salt. That's right, that will do — now turn it 
 gently round, and fix your eyes on nie ; pshaw ! 
 not in that way, you must not move your 
 head as if it turned east and west upon a pi- 
 vot ! And remember, Sammy, you must just 
 hold up your petticoats a little with the left 
 hand, just to shew the tip of the toes, and the 
 top of the instep, as gentlew^omen do when 
 they go along to church. That's a good boy, 
 that's very well ; Mistress Margery Champer- 
 noun has lent her orreen farthing^ale and kirtle 
 for you to play the fairy queen in, so be a 
 good boy, and we'll make as nice a little wo- 
 man of you as ever was seen: and noAv you 
 must fly from Oberon, whilst he follows after 
 you. What have you done with your wings ? 
 They were new last May-day and cost six- 
 pence, including the pasteboard and wires to 
 make them stick out." 
 
 '' Mother broke one of them," said the 
 lad ; ^' she took it away to brush the cobwebs 
 irlF the books of Sir Hugh Fitz, when she 
 worked up at the great house."
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD fo 
 
 ^^ Titania's wings to brush cobwebs off the 
 books of an old lawyer!" exclaimed the mas- 
 ter ; '' that is as great a violation in the right 
 use of things^ as it would be in a Roman priest 
 to raise the devil with holy water. The law- 
 yer's use the dust of their profession to throw 
 it in the eyes of the people, and not Titania 
 herself must sweep it out, or down goes their 
 craft, as a court wit would say," cried Barna- 
 bas, laughing heartily at his own far-fetched 
 conceit. '' Oberon, my lad, hold up your 
 head; you know you are a king — you must 
 have majesty, dignity: look at me; now ad- 
 vance towards the fairy queen — very well; but 
 don't stick out your belly, dignity is seated 
 in the head and shoulders; raise your right 
 arm, as you present her with a bunch of flowers 
 and a posey: not so, your action must be free 
 and easy, never make your arms stand straight 
 out like a barber's pole. Now follow Titaniaj 
 I'll shew you how to do it:" and Barnabas 
 ambled trippingly after Titania, followed by 
 Oberon, who winked slyly at the other boys, 
 and twisting his little mouth into a caricature 
 expression of his master's face, followed close 
 behind him imitating his gestures, and in a 
 E 2
 
 76 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 manner very like that of a monkey skij^pin;- 
 after a dancing bear. 
 
 " And now, my lads/' said Barnabas^ '' pracf 
 tise your morris-dance, and we will all away 
 to the mansion of Sir Hugh Fitz, to give the 
 great man of our parish a May-day salutation, 
 and to taste of his good cheer at the buttery 
 hatch; and then for the green wood, and to 
 bring home the May boughs for the procession. 
 Dance boys, dance, and I'll give you a touch 
 on the tabor and pipes." 
 
 Barnabas did so, and after having instructed 
 his little party in the best manner he could, in 
 the practice of the morris-dance, he gave some 
 orders to his wife, and then led all the school 
 away to the mansion of Fitz-ford.
 
 FiTZ OF FITZ-FORD. 11 
 
 CHAPTER IV, 
 
 He had been long tow'rds mathematics, 
 Optics, philosophy, and statics, 
 Magic, horoscopy, astrology. 
 And was old dog at physiology ; 
 But with the Moon was more familiar 
 Than e'«r was almanack well-wilier ; 
 Her secrets understood so clear, 
 That some believed he had been there. 
 
 HUDIBRAS. 
 
 Of the residence of Sir Hugh Fitz nothing 
 now remains but the ivy-grown gate-way; nor 
 is it the building alone that has experienced 
 those changes so common to the revolutions of 
 time. Of the noble parks that once surround- 
 ed the house not a vestioe exists: and the ffen- 
 tie eminence on wliich it stood is now divided 
 by hedge-rows into a monotonous scene of 
 meadow-lands, resembling, even in its utmost 
 diversity, no other than the variations of a 
 chess-board; whilst in front of the edifice, or 
 rather of its ruined gateway, where in former 
 days the stately oak and elm cast their deep
 
 78 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 shadows^ the same walls are now overspread 
 with a cloud of dust from the whirling wheels 
 of the stag-e-coach, as it passes rapidly up the 
 new Plymouth road to the accompaniment of 
 the huntsman's chorus in Der Freischutz^ pl^^Y" 
 ed, or rather tortured, upon the keyed bugle 
 by the guard, to the great w^onder and delight 
 of all the little boys, maidens, and gossips, 
 who, summoned by this well-known salutation, 
 eagerly press forward to witness that great 
 event to a country town, the arrival of the 
 stage-coach, with all its excitations of chang- 
 ing the smoking and jaded horses for others 
 ready harnessed, fresh, and vigorous ; staring 
 at the dust-covered passengers, with the tu- 
 mult of ostlers and postilions, and the sight 
 of that important per&onage the portly master 
 of the whip, buried in the broad and manifold 
 capes of his drab great-coat and Belcher 
 handkerchief. 
 
 How different from this was the scene of 
 former days ! No dusty road, no whirling 
 wheels then disturbed the green sward, or 
 broke the deep silence that reigned about the 
 mansion of a family who, famed for the pride 
 of blood and pedigree, could, as the arms 
 and quarterings of their house declared, trace
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 79 
 
 their orig-in even to the days of Norman pro- 
 geniture. The mansion of Fitz-ford stood at 
 the termination of an avenue of stately trees, 
 whose lofty tops formed an archway above, so 
 green and impervious to the sultry heats of 
 summer, that the trunks of the old elms were 
 embedded in moss, and hung with festoons of 
 ivy and creeping plants. The rooks, those 
 dusky inhabitants of the elm, here held their 
 colony undisturbed, excepting in the early 
 part of spring, when that avowed enemy of 
 their rising generations, the formidable cook- 
 maid, issued her mandate that sundry of the 
 young ones should be slain, in order that she 
 might be enabled to supply the tables of the 
 great hall with a rarity of Devon, a rook pye, 
 sauced with the rich scald cream of the county. 
 At the end of the avenue appeared the gate- 
 house, a low building of the time of Henry the 
 Seventh, bearing upon its front, carved in 
 stone, a shield with the arms of Fitz. A well 
 turned archway, ornamented with the oak- 
 branch and the label-moulding, gave entrance 
 to an inner court, where stood around it the 
 various buildings belonging to the mansion, 
 whose front, facing the south, presented an 
 object worthy the good taste and good sense of
 
 80 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 its projector. It was substantial and well-pro- 
 portioned • had a large claim to what is hand- 
 some^ and even to what is elegfant, thouo-h 
 lightness was not the character of the buildings. 
 The gothic door-ways were richly ornamented 
 in their carved tops^ and ihe massive mullions 
 of the long square-headed windows^ enclosing 
 little diamond-shaped portions of glass^ were 
 of great strength and thickness. On the eastern 
 side stood a small building dedicated to family 
 worship, and called the chapel. And though 
 the present possessor of the estate had renounced 
 the errors of popery for the light of the re- 
 formed church, yet a couple of figures carved in 
 stone, representing the Virgin and Child, w ithin 
 a niche, proclaimed that this sacred edifice, like 
 the rest of the buildings, was of that date when 
 the Roman church still held her sway over 
 England. 
 
 The chimnies rose in massiv^e clusters, aud 
 from the richness of their ornaments might not 
 unaptly be termed the crowned caps of the edi- 
 fice ; whilst the volumes of smoke that curled 
 upwards from their tunnels, proclaimed that 
 good cheer was no stranger to these walls ; and 
 the savory steam of boiling pots and kettles, that 
 floated through the open door of the common
 
 FITZ OF FfTZ-FORD. 81 
 
 hall;, confirmed this indication of old English 
 hospitality. 
 
 About two hundred yards from the house 
 flowed the river Tavy, passing" on towards the 
 west, and seeming by its pleasant murmurs to 
 talk to the numberless little rocks, pebbles, and 
 banks beset with wild flowers, that it visited in 
 its course, A bridge, still remaining, of three 
 beautifully turned arches, speckled with white 
 lichen and hung with i\y, formed an object the 
 most pictm-esque, and crossed the river in that 
 part called Fitz-ford, a name that extended itself 
 to the mansion built so near its precincts. The 
 " smooth shaven turf" of a green lawn swept 
 down from the house to the banks of the river, 
 here and there decorated with some stately oak, 
 that stood in solitary grandeur, and aff'orded by 
 the shade of its multiplied foliage a pleasant 
 spot for the repose of the deer as they strayed 
 from the thick covert of the park to drink of the 
 clear flood. In the heat of noon they would 
 stand in groupes, crouching their heads for 
 shelter under the broad arms of these lords of 
 the forest, and more especially where several 
 of them grew together, so overhanging the Tavy, 
 that many of their branches drooped and floated 
 even upon the very surface of the water, 
 E 5
 
 8^ FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 From the lawn the abbey of Tavistock ap- 
 peared in great beauty, its clustering pinnacles 
 rising above the old houses and picturesque 
 gables of the town, the mountainous heights of 
 Dartmoor finishing the scene^ which, if viewed 
 at the evening hour, often appeared glowing 
 in purple, affording that fine tone of colour in 
 the background so much the subject of admira- 
 tion to the eye of the poet and the painter. 
 A well of the purest water, known by the name 
 of Fitz's well, rose near this spot ; and though 
 not a vestige of the building now remains, it 
 was then covered with an arch somewhat re- 
 sembling the niche of a holy well. The groupe 
 that sometimes surrounded this spot would 
 have afforded a subject for the pencil of Mul- 
 ready. There many a little boy and girl, with 
 their pitchers in their hands, came from the 
 town to fetch water, their lips and cheeks like 
 a new-blown rose, their locks as curly and 
 often as white as the lambs these little crea- 
 tures resembled in innocence, their legs bare, 
 and their clothing too scanty to hide the boun- 
 ties of nature in their well-formed and plump 
 limbs. Here they would fill their pitchers, put 
 them down, and run after the deer with a por- 
 tion of bread saved from dinner in their hand.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 83 
 
 with the hope to entice the pretty dappled 
 foresters to come within their reach. 
 
 Here^ too^ they would loiter in their task^ as 
 they plucked many a wild flower from its bed ; 
 and should the evening- hour steal upon them, 
 they would return together in company to the 
 town, carefully avoiding" Pisgie lane in their 
 way^ then celebrated as the haunt of those 
 little elves of Devon called pixies, whose fame 
 in some parts of the country is not altogether 
 extinct even at the present time. 
 
 Behind the mansion of Fitz, towards the 
 north, on the abrupt eminence of a hill, stood 
 the noble park, presenting- at every turn that 
 scenic effect of light and shade, so wild and so 
 enchanting, which is always found where the 
 trees rise the one above the other on the slope 
 of a hill. Often was the light there seen to 
 sparkle suddenly upon the eye through a shade 
 of the deepest gloom ; sometimes the sky 
 peeped in soft and blue, and at others of a fiery 
 glow, reflected from the setting sun. Beyond the 
 boundaries of the park lay many a fair meadow, 
 many a farm-house and wooded glade ; the 
 whole being within the territory of the wealthy 
 knight. Sir Hugh Fitz of Fitz-ford.
 
 84 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD 
 
 Sir Hugh himself was now fast declining into 
 " the vale of years." He had been eminent 
 in the law^ as his biographer declares, who has 
 handed down for the benefit of posterity, or 
 for that of the g-entlemen of the long robe in 
 the inns of court, one or two opinions of 
 Sir Hugh in the settlement of knotty points 
 of law. At the time, however, at which we 
 introduce him to the reader, he had retired 
 from public life, and devoted himself exclu- 
 sively to those pursuits in which he so much 
 delighted, namely, the antiquities of the 
 world visible, and researches into the world 
 invisible ; one of his feats in the last-men- 
 tioned study having been also handed down to 
 posterity, together with his law opinions, by 
 the biographer to whom we have above al- 
 luded. 
 
 Sir Hugh, it is certain, like a retired medical 
 doctor, who now and then gives advice gratis 
 from the pleasurable habit of feeling an irre- 
 gular pulse and observing the indications of dis- 
 ease, would sometimes still give his law gratis 
 to his poorer neighbours, and also to those of 
 a more wealthy class, observing this distinction 
 between the two, viz. that by the former his 
 opinions must be received as oracles, infallible
 
 FfTZ OF FITZ-FORD. 85 
 
 as a pope's bull or a quack-doctor's panacea ; 
 and by the latter as friendly hints^ suggestions, 
 and advices that, if duly observed, would save 
 them the costs of a chancery suit, and were 
 more to be relied upon than the opinions of 
 all the bench of judges, with the assistance of 
 all the bar to boot. 
 
 But these little inklings after his old profes- 
 sion were, as we before stated, but occasional 
 indulgences ; something like the habits of an 
 old cat, who now and then pounces upon a 
 mouse, though she may have long since aban- 
 doned the pursuit of prey to the paws of the 
 younger tabbies. Sir Hugh Fitz would say, 
 the latter years of a man ought to be devoted 
 to the most useful and serious pursuits, that 
 the world and its follies ought to be aban- 
 doned, and that therefore he had wisely made 
 up his mind to devote the evening of his own 
 days to things worthy a philosopher and a 
 christian ; a reason so just and luminous, that 
 accordingly he gave up nearly all his days, 
 and very often half his nights, to the study of 
 astrology, a science, or, if the reader pleases, a 
 mania, common in his day. 
 
 In his less important avocations, or, as he 
 would term it, ' in the strangeness of his un-
 
 86 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 bending fancy/ Sir Hugh amused himself with 
 antiquity, in a manner that, had he lived in 
 our days, would have procured him the honour 
 of laying before some Antiquarian Society 
 many a curious paper, and of composing 
 some of its members with one of those com- 
 fortable naps into which th^y are now and 
 then lulled by a prosing dissertation upon things 
 so very intricate and curious, that neither writer 
 nor auditor, to use a vulgar phrase, can possibly 
 make liead or tail of them, or, if they can, by 
 sometimes taking the head for the tail, a thing 
 of which we ourselves once saw an instance in a 
 learned friend of our own, who insisted that the 
 bottom of an old brass box was the identical 
 top of a British club. 
 
 Sir Hugh's antiquarian researches, however, 
 were chiefly local, and we believe we may say 
 that he was the first person who in his day 
 thought it at all worth while to examine the 
 druidical remains of Dartmoor. This he had 
 done, according to his own assertion, with 
 success ; so that he could tell in what precise 
 spot many an old Druid had played his pranks 
 to astonish the multitude, where he had prac- 
 tised the supposed charm on the shaking or 
 logaa stones, where the sacred fires were
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 87 
 
 kindled^ and what rude rocks had undergone 
 the chisel to form them into the seat of judg- 
 ment or of superstition. But this was not all ; 
 it had been the grand aim^ the hoped-for object 
 of Sir Hugh's glory, one day or other to cul- 
 tivate an acquaintance with the fairy tenants of 
 the lone caves and deep hollows of the moor; 
 so that, after repeated labours and trials, he 
 expected one of these days to be able, like the 
 famous Dr. Dee, to pocket a little pixie in a 
 nut-shell, or to cork her up in his own closet — 
 a thing specially recommended as the safest 
 way by Dee himself, should the spirit be a 
 female, since even fairies of the softer sex, the 
 learned Doctor assured his readers, were at all 
 times prone to gadding. 
 
 Such were the chief avocations of the great 
 and wise Sir Hugh Fitz. And though, what 
 with his astrology and his schemes, he lived 
 very like the man in the moon, upon whom he 
 spent whole nights in gazing, still he was not 
 altogether devoid of earthly thoughts and 
 affections. One of the strongest and most 
 amiable was the love he bore to an only son, 
 the prop of his age, and the last scion of 
 his noble house. John Fitz was his pride 
 and his delight, and he considered the young
 
 88 FITZ OF FITZ-F0R3). 
 
 g-entleman wanted nothing- to make him per- 
 fectly such, but an intercourse with the stars, 
 and a little grubbing amongst the cairns on the 
 moor; and it must be confessed the young 
 man's inaptitude to these pursuits was a thing 
 that now and then alarmed the parental solici- 
 tude of an affectionate father. 
 
 Sir Hugh had another near tie in his wife. 
 Lady Theodora Elizabeth Fitz, who, not to 
 be outdone by her husband in the noble pursuit 
 of science, had devoted much time, enquiry, 
 and attention to a certain long roll of parch- 
 ment, which bore depicted at the bottom the 
 g^oodly figure of a warrior, not unlike, in 
 beauty and expression, the giant Gog of Guild- 
 hall; while from the ten fingers of his hands 
 sprang forth leaves, and, instead of feet, oak 
 roots were represented as the supporters of his 
 dignity. From the body of this grim founder 
 of the race issued a long scroll, which wound, 
 and twisted, and ramified into all the intrica- 
 cies and incomprehensibilities of grandfathers 
 and great grandmothers, first, second, and 
 fiftieth cousins, marrying and intermarrying 
 all with grand names and great houses; the 
 entire work forming that charm of pride, that 
 lullaby of brainless descendants and worthless
 
 FiTz OF fitz-ford;; 89 
 
 heirs, that sanctifier of fools, that record of 
 dust and ashes, the family pedigree. 
 
 Upon this fascinating' labyrinth would Lady 
 Fitz g-aze with such delight, such curious inves- 
 tigation, that at last she positively found out 
 that she was related, either by blood or con- 
 nexions, to all the nobly born in and out of 
 the land. She would have traced her race up 
 to Adam himself, but that he was too common 
 a father for a line of such distinction. She 
 could boast twenty grandfathers celebrated for 
 havins" lost their heads, and ten countesses for 
 having lost their reputations ; but still countesses 
 were countesses all the world over, so not one 
 of them would Lady Fitz have cleared out of 
 the great scroll, even if by so doing she could 
 have cleared their characters. 
 
 Then there was such a number of lords and 
 knights, such broken-down and cracked-crown- 
 ed warriors, such judges who carried the au- 
 thority of the laws in their portly stomachs and 
 long robes — such bishops and abbots, who 
 left behind them such monuments of their merit 
 cut in stone — such noble mothers, who ma- 
 naged to slip into the pedigree, with broad 
 lands and gold pieces at their backs — such vir- 
 gins, who died in the sanctity of single blessed-
 
 90 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 ness for lack of husbands — and lastly, there 
 was a poet in the list, but how he managed to 
 get there nobody knew; and Lady Fitz had 
 nearly rubbed out his name, by fastening at his 
 back the string which kept together the noble 
 family, when they were all rolled up and laid 
 upon the shelf. 
 
 But we fear our readers will say that we are 
 something like Lady Fitz, and that we have 
 wandered from the root of our subject to lose 
 ourselves amidst its branches. We have, how- 
 ever, but a word or two more to say respecting 
 Sir Hugh, when we shall introduce him in pro- 
 pria persona, and let him speak for himself: 
 that is, should the vein for so doing be upon 
 him ; for there were moments in which he was 
 mightily abstracted from the things of earth, to 
 wander in the heavens, amongst whose starry 
 hosts he collected whatever knowledge he 
 deemed most necessary and useful for man, as 
 well in the casting of nativities as in the com- 
 pounding and administering those drugs and 
 decoctions he was wont, on certain occasions, 
 to give to the poor and sick amongst his neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 Li person Sir Hugh was of the middling 
 height, neither corpulent nor lean, but well
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 91 
 
 conditioned, and tolerably well favoured. His 
 double-pointed beard was sleek and grey, and 
 a couple of grey locks of hair stood an end, 
 and projected themselves above either of his 
 temples, from under a black velvet cap, that 
 sat close round the head, finished by a loose 
 and full top of the same material. He wore a 
 small close ruff round the throat, with a gown 
 richly furred ; a hose and coat of black velvet, 
 garnished with many a point, and studded with 
 buttons down the front, and at the shoulders, 
 formed of the finest gold. His sword was like 
 that of a gentleman, and an old one too, since 
 it was more calculated to become a respectable 
 appendage to his rank than for actual use. 
 The haft was set with precious stones, but it was 
 difficult to draw it from the scabbard. Noc- 
 turnal studies and law cases had dimmed the 
 fire of his eyes, but had not sunk them in his 
 head ; and the frequent absence of Sir Hugh's 
 mind from external things very often gave 
 them a fixed stare, as he looked intently upon 
 any object that might be before him, though 
 he indeed saw nothing but what was in the 
 clouds, or within the besotted fancies of his 
 own brain. 
 
 Such was the doughty knight to whom Bar-
 
 92 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD 
 
 nabas now proceeded, attended by his little 
 boys^ in pursuit of the maying. As the worthy 
 master paraded up the long avenue of trees we 
 have just described, the rooks, disturbed by 
 the steps of intruders, cawed and flapped their 
 wings as they sprang from the nest in the lofty 
 elms, and set off in a full flio^ht to seek a shel- 
 ter less disturbed, amongst the old trees of the 
 domain. The wide portal of Fitz-ford speedily 
 opened to these early visitants, and Barnabas, 
 heading his little regiment, marshalled them 
 into double files, and proudly entered the inner 
 court. A whole kennel of dogs kept near the 
 house instantly set up their throats, and barked 
 and yelped at the approach of strangers, whilst 
 a large black eag-le, a favourite with the knig^ht, 
 that had been taken on Dartmoor when very 
 young, flapped its wings, spreading them very 
 wide, and vainly attemptingto burstfromthe chain 
 that confined her to pounce upon the intruders. 
 When Barnabas and his .little boys had ar- 
 rived so far, they walked directly up towards 
 that part of the house inhabited by the family. 
 The master then raised his hand, looked round, 
 and, nodding the signal of command, the boys 
 opened their morning song of salutation as 
 Barnabas, the composer of this choice piece of
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 93 
 
 Eno"lish rhymes, chimed in the bass of his own 
 voice to the shrill pipes of his little scholars, in 
 a manner about as harmonious as the accompa- 
 niment of a cracked double bass to the squeak- 
 ing- of a couple of fiddles, which, by the bye, 
 is the common music of psalmody even to this 
 day in the county of Devon, and with no small 
 delight did he now raise and then let fall his 
 hand, to mark time to the following melody 
 of his own composition. 
 
 *' Oh, it is a gay Maj' morning, 
 
 And all are risen from bed ; 
 The purple day is dawning. 
 
 The dark old winter 's fled. 
 The morning is gay. 
 Come out to the May ; 
 The owl is abed. 
 And the lark in his stead, 
 On the sweet white-thorn as he sits, 
 Light carols a summons to Fitz. 
 
 Oh maidens come, and youths arise, 
 
 Follow to the gay green wood : 
 There dew-drops lurk in cowslip's eyes. 
 
 And pixies kiss the silver flood. 
 Each flower is spread 
 On its velvet bed : 
 The thrush sings his lay. 
 Then come out to the May ; 
 For the lark on the thorn as he sits, 
 Light carols good luck to the Fitz."
 
 94 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 The song ended, the young- troop with one 
 accord doffed their caps, and loudly exclaim- 
 ed: ^*^ Largesse to the Latin boys ! God save 
 Sir Hugh Fitz! God save the Queen !" As 
 these shouts encreased so did the yelping of 
 the dogs, and the uneasiness of the eagle ; and 
 all the household of the knight, from the cook 
 and housekeeper to the humblest scullion of the 
 kitchen, left their several occupations to rush 
 into the court and hear the song. 
 
 Just as the first mentioned personage was 
 very civilly inviting master Barnabas to walk 
 into the buttery hatch, and taste a morning 
 draught of white ale, one of those long, nar- 
 row, and square windows opened in that part 
 of the house inhabited by its master, and the 
 bewildered head of Sir Hugh, crowned by an 
 embroidered night- cap, became visible to all 
 present, as he thrust it out, and with a vacant 
 stare enquired what was the matter that he 
 should be thus disturbed. 
 
 '' Bless your honour's heart," said Barnabas, 
 '' can you have forgot that this is May-day 
 morning? and I and my boys come but ac- 
 cording to the good and ancient custom of 
 these parts, to give greeting to the noble house 
 of Fitz, whose master is the very caput of the
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 95 
 
 whole parish, as I may say; and these lads 
 would crave of your honour a largesse to make 
 the hay sweet." And before Barnabas could 
 end his speech, the shouts of " Largesse to 
 the Latin boys" again rent the air. 
 
 '' May-day !" said Sir Hugh, staring about 
 him like one just awakened out of his sleep ; 
 '' May morning ! good lack I I did not know it 
 was morning. — Can any body tell me if I have 
 been to bed ?" 
 
 ''' That can I, your honour," said the cook, 
 who now advanced bearing the mace of office, 
 a ladle, in her hand. ^^ But your honour's 
 head is so mazed about the mune, that you 
 often don't know day from night. — You have 
 been a-bed ; for just as your honour was going 
 into your chamber, you bid Robin, the varlet, 
 call me ; and when I came, you asked me what 
 I wanted ? and so I told your Honour it was 
 your own pleasure to acquire my attendance, 
 and you then said, says you, ' Dolly, kill me 
 by to-morrow morning a black hen, and be sure 
 to turn her rump to the east when you do 
 so, and save me the blood of her in a por- 
 ringer.' " 
 
 '^ True, true," cried Sir Hugh, completely 
 recalled to life by the association of ideas this
 
 96 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 anecdote of the past evening' had brought to 
 mind : '''I remember it well^ and have you 
 done it ?" 
 
 " Yes, truly have I, Sir Hugh/' replied the 
 mistress of the spit ; '^ I have killed a real 
 black hen as ever was seen ; thoug-h you wouldn't 
 know a hen from a gvse in one of your 
 mune g^azing iimdes,'" added this Devonian 
 larder of capons in a lower voice, as she gave a 
 sly wink to the schoolmaster. 
 
 " I'm glad to see you, Master Barnabas," 
 continued Sir Hugh: '' you are welcome at this 
 time ; do you come up to my closet ; let the 
 boys eat their manchets and drink their cyder 
 in the hall, and they shall away to the Maying 
 anon ; and in the mean time, do you come and 
 look with me into the conjunction." 
 
 '' But this is May-morning, Sir Hugh," re- 
 plied the schoolmaster, '^and the boys lack — " 
 
 '' Never you mind what they lack," cried Sir 
 Hugh, who was again absorbed in his mysteries. 
 
 "■' And the May-boughs must be brought 
 home," continued Barnabas, '' before twelve of 
 the clock, or the May-queen Marian will have 
 bad luck all the year." 
 
 '' Never mind that," again cried Sir Hugh, 
 '' do you come up, good Master Barnabas,
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 97 
 
 and we'll see into the conjunction immediately." 
 And so saying. Sir Hugh drew in his head, closed 
 the lattice, and thought no more of the largesse ; 
 for these fits of absence not unfrequently seized 
 him when any demand was made upon his 
 purse. 
 
 Barnabas, however, dared not disobey. He 
 committed his little band to the charge of the 
 cook, who promised them junkets and May 
 cakes in the old hall ; and there leaving them 
 to regale, he retired to seek the great man in his 
 closet ; and as he did so, cast a longing, linger- 
 ing look behind him at the good fare he would 
 just now much rather have tasted than the plea- 
 sures of a sublime ^e^e-a-fe^e with the star-gazing 
 Sir Hugh. The cook seemed to understand 
 his wishes, for she assured him, that as she 
 knew, from what she saw of her master, that 
 learning was a dry thing, and not worth an old 
 hen's egg, were it that of a black or white one, 
 she vvould take care Master Barnabas did not 
 lose his breakfast by means of the Devil, who, 
 she verily believed, he was going to raise with 
 her old master. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CIS FITZ OF FITZ-FOKP, 
 
 CHAPTER V, 
 
 Yet none a deeper knowledge boasted, 
 Since old Hodge Bacon and Bob Grosted. 
 Th' intelligible world he knew, 
 And all men dream of to be true. 
 
 HUDIBRAS. 
 
 Barnabas Speedily found his way to the closet 
 of the astrologer, where every thing- bespoke 
 the favourite pursuits of its master. All here was 
 dark and dingy, and a row of old law books 
 stood upon their shelves covered with dust, not- 
 withstanding the brushing from Titania's wings ; 
 whilst a few, but rare volumes, bound in parch- 
 ment, with many a silver clasp, were worn 
 smooth, and shining from frequent use. One of 
 these, decorated in its pages with strange figures 
 and symbols, with divisions of the sun, moon, 
 and stars in schemes, mansions, and conjunc- 
 tions, lay open upon the table, which was filled 
 with astrolabes, and various other instruments 
 belonging to the black art. A whole row of 
 phials and bottles stood ranged upon a separate 
 shelf, much in the order of a doctor's shop.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 99 
 
 With sundry strange figures^ like nothing on 
 heaven or on earth, painted upon them with leaf 
 gold. 
 
 There was a small stove in the room, that 
 stood within the jaws of the large old chimney, 
 with a cracked crucible or two lying on the top, 
 and a pair of bellows, resting at the bottom, 
 formed of oak, and carved with a running pattern 
 or border of the leaves of that tree. And in order 
 that even this piece of household furniture should 
 not be without instruction, agreeably to the 
 fashion of the time, a text from Solomon was 
 cut in raised letters within the border, which 
 text said, '' I wisdom dwell with prudence, and 
 find out knowledge of witty inventions." Now 
 whether the possession of these instructive raisers 
 of the wind had, by presenting such a text con- 
 stantly before the eyes of Sir Hugh, encouraged 
 him to hope that he might find out '' the witty 
 iiwentions" of the grand arcanum, we cannot 
 say, but certain it is scandal was busy enough 
 in . declaring that he lost his prudence in the 
 attempt, as did many wiser heads than his own. 
 
 In this room also were scattered about, with 
 a confusion resembling the ideas tossed and 
 tumbled together in the head of its master, plans 
 of Dartmoor, measurements of cairns, circles.
 
 100 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 and druidical basins^ bundles of herbs dried and 
 green, with an inkstand, and a piece of moon- 
 stone, that stood close at the elbow of the knight. 
 Two high and narrow windows admitted suffi- 
 cient light for the purpose of shewing the dark- 
 ness and discomfort that reigned around, and 
 the whole chamber had that musty smell so ac^ 
 ceptable to the olfactory nerves of all book- 
 worms. 
 
 A picture of the grandfather of Sir Hugh, 
 from the pencil of Holbein, hung over the 
 chimney, and represented a very old man, who 
 during his life had been a celebrated miser, 
 with so much truth and nature, that avarice and 
 misery appeared to be personified in every line of 
 his mean and shrivelled features. And, as if the 
 painter, who tradition said had executed this 
 piece for nothing, by way of study in his art, 
 had designed slyly to satirize the original, he had 
 introduced in the back-ground the cap and bau- 
 ble of a fool carelessly resting upon a leathern 
 money-bag, closed and secured at the mouth. 
 
 Perhaps the miser when he contemplated this 
 portrait of himself might have been too dim- 
 sighted, as most people are to their own defects, 
 to find out the slight but well-defined satire thus 
 aimed against him, He might not, therefore.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 101 
 
 feel any groaning- of the spirit either for his 
 folly or his sin ; but what tortures would that 
 spirit, nay, the very portrait have known, could 
 it have been animated but for a moment, to find 
 the great Sir Thrifty Fitz placed above the stove 
 of analchymist, and that alchymist a descendant 
 of his own house, there to see him puff, blaze, 
 and melt away, in as useless a manner as he 
 had himself stored it, many a good bag of his 
 dearly- earned pelf. " Man layeth up riches, and 
 knoweth not who shall gather them," says 
 Solomon ; and he might have added with truth, 
 a fool often collects what a fool shall as often 
 spend. A marble head or two of some noted 
 philosopher, with a portrait of Tycho Brache, 
 finished the decorations of this apartment. 
 
 When Barnabas entered the room. Sir Hugh 
 was seated at a table, so wholly abstracted by 
 a notable train of calculation, that he sat with 
 open mouth holding a pen in the right hand, 
 and scratching his head under the night cap 
 with the other, staring with wide opened eyes 
 upon Barnabas, yet wholly unconscious of the 
 profound salutation of the schoolmaster, who 
 bowed till his head nearly touched the ground, 
 repeating a good morrow to his patron with the 
 utmost patience and humility. And long might
 
 102 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD- 
 
 he have bowed^ but for an accident that once 
 more recalled the wandering- senses of Sir 
 Hugh. 
 
 In bending- forward^ Barnabas had the ill 
 luck^ not being- able to see what was in his rear, 
 to upset a bundle of sticks that rested against 
 the top of an old joint stool, and down went 
 stool and sticks to the ground. Sir Hugh 
 started up; the first exclamation that passed 
 his lips was, '' Good lack, master Barnabas, 
 you have upset the hazel wands, they should 
 not have been moved till the third Wednesday 
 of the present month." 
 
 Barnabas apologized, and instantly collected 
 together the fallen twigs. Not readily knoAving 
 what to do with them, he was about to lay them 
 on a side table, when Sir Hugh again exclaimed^ 
 " not there, man! not there, for your life! 
 don't touch the crystal vial. That's the chief 
 thing I want to talk to you about; for I know 
 and esteem your learning. Master Barnabas, in 
 all matters touching the divine science." 
 
 The compliment came sweet upon the ears 
 of the schoolmaster, who at this moment forgot 
 he May-cakes and junkets of the hall, in the 
 charm of finding himself summoned to a dis- 
 cussion in which his own learnino' would be
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 103 
 
 brought on the tapis^ since Barnabas had no 
 mind altogether to play the part that Whackiim 
 did to Sidrophel, 
 
 To be an under-conjurer, 
 Or journeyman astrologer. 
 
 However desirous to cultivate the g-ood g-races 
 of Sir Hugh, a second bow_, if possible more 
 profound and respectful than the first, followed. 
 And once more drawing up his head iiito an 
 erect position, Barnabas continued standing as 
 fixed and immoveable as any piece of old furni- 
 ture in the apartment. 
 
 There is a kind of free-masonry between the 
 sons of science in all ages, by which they can 
 understand each other by the slightest sign, 
 without a word being spoken, and recognize 
 that they are children of the same mystery 
 wherever they meet. Some such slight sign, of 
 well-known significance, now passed between 
 Sir Hugh and Ferule, as the latter said, with a 
 very intelligent glance at a compound mixture 
 of heterogeneous substances lying upon the table, 
 " want to raise her? — eh. Sir Hugh ; I see the 
 business." 
 
 Fitz nodded, looked grave, and immediately 
 added, with something of more earthly courtesy
 
 104 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD, 
 
 than he had before observed, '' you are stand- 
 iiio-, good Master Barnabas. Good lack, do 
 pick up the joint stool, sit down, and then we 
 will to business." 
 
 '' Pardon me. Sir Hugh," replied the school- 
 master, " I know my place, I would not pre- 
 sume to take so familiar a position. Allow me 
 to talk standing." 
 
 '' Master Barnabas," said Sir Hugh, " I 
 honour your modesty. But the children of 
 science. Master Barnabas, and above all, of such 
 a science as we follow, are, during the progress 
 of their studies, in some sort placed upon an 
 equality ; for I trow the planets shew no respect 
 of persons; the divine light of their paths being 
 as open to be traced by the shepherds of Chal- 
 dea as by a king upon his throne. And though 
 my station in life may demand there should be 
 some distance between us in public, according 
 to our degrees, like the distance between Saturn 
 and the sun, yet in private,^ Master Barnabas, 
 when w^e meet within the odoriferous precincts 
 of such a chamber of science as this is, why 
 then we will be as brothers, and go on hand in 
 hand, even as the gemini of the zodiac, conse- 
 crating- our brotherhood to researches after 
 truth — ^truths tlie most sublime, useful, and ex-
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 105 
 
 altedj that were ever yet honored or distin- 
 guished by man. Pray sit down, and foi-get the 
 dignity of my station, in the greater dignity of 
 the astrologer." 
 
 Sir Hugh, who now and then in his discourses 
 had so much left of the lawyer about him to be 
 fond of making a good pleading out of a bad 
 case, here ended his long harangue by a climax, 
 in which, by the vehemence of his speech, the 
 glow of his features, and the air of satisfaction 
 that sat upon them, he seemed to feel he had 
 made an eloquent summing up on the glory of 
 astrology. And Barnabas, seating himself upon 
 the joint stool, prepared to listen to his dis- 
 course, and to exhibit his own learning as occa- 
 sion might require. 
 
 " And now. Master Barnabas," continued his 
 condescending patron, " before we enter upon 
 matters of abstruse science, we must attend to 
 the necessary but less imposing claims of hu- 
 manity. — How does the widow? Is she cured 
 of her quartan ?" 
 
 Barnabas shook his head. 
 
 " What!" exclaimed Sir Hugh, '*^ not cured! 
 that can't be — it can't be." 
 
 " She had three shakes yesterday, I do as- 
 sure you. Sir Hugh." 
 
 F 5
 
 106 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD, 
 
 '' It can't be^ I am positive it can't be/' cried 
 Sir Hugh, '' for did not I do the thing needful 
 for her myself ? and that according to the ad- 
 vice of the great Agrippa ! Did not I take the 
 parings of her nails, put them up in an old linen 
 rag, tie the same round the neck of a live eel^ 
 and let him slip into the water on the first Fri- 
 day of the last month ? Agrippa never knew 
 the remedy to fail, and you'll not doubt his 
 opinion I think." 
 
 '* She is as bad as ever, I do assure you. Sir 
 Hugh." 
 
 '' It can't be I tell you. Master Barnabas, she 
 must be cured, though she shake till her bones 
 rattle in her skin." 
 
 " Sir Hugh I will not dispute with you," 
 said the schoolmaster, *' but the old woman has 
 had her shaking fits as bad as ever; but perhaps 
 she may have mistaken the effects of age for 
 those of an ague." 
 
 '' It must be so," said Sir Hugh, '' for as to 
 her not being cured after the nails, the rag, 
 and the eel, it is impossible. Why if she were 
 not cured. Master Barnabas, it would be giving 
 the lie to the learned Agrippa, the greatest man 
 in medical astrology these latter times, or any 
 other times, have yet produced. But no more
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD.' 107 
 
 of this foolish old woman, who doesn'tknowthe 
 shake of an ague from that of a frosty morning-, 
 ■ — Let us talk of things more important. Master 
 Barnabas, I am a man full of the crosses and 
 cares of this life. I have failed ; for the life of 
 me I can't catch her." 
 
 '' Then, Sir Hugh, you must have mistaken 
 the means to be used in this matter. I know 
 fairies are ticklish things to deal with, but they 
 are to be had. May I ask what is your re- 
 cipe ?" 
 
 " I'll shew it you. Master Barnabas," said 
 Sir Hugh, " I am determined to make another 
 trial, and crave the assistance of your learning 
 and experience." 
 
 '' They shall both be at your service, most 
 honored Sir," replied Barnabas, '' as in duty 
 bound." 
 
 Sir Hugh rummaged amongst his papers, as 
 his learned assistant drew close to him, and 
 looked with anxious expectation to the opening 
 of an old, brown, dusty, and worm-eaten book 
 of most ample contents. " Here it is," said 
 Sir Hugh, '' Dr. Dee's own recipe. But stay, 
 my barnacles ;" and he took up a pair that 
 hung by a black riband round his neck, and 
 which having no supporters for the temples.
 
 108 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 aiforded the help of their artificial eyes by 
 keeping themselves on at the tip of the nose, 
 which they pinched in, almost to the size of the 
 back of the blade of a knife, and by so doing 
 materially affected the voice, changing it into a 
 tone that '-^ piped and whistled in the sound." 
 Barnabas lent an attentive ear as Sir Hugh read 
 as follows : — 
 
 *' An excellent way to catch a fairy, which will 
 obtain any one that is not already bound. First, 
 get of Venice facture a square crystal glass." 
 ''I should say round," cried Barnabas. 
 " No, no, square," said Sir Hugh. "^ It 
 suits best with the action of spirits, as the learned 
 Dr. Dee says in his book." 
 
 '' Pardon me, it must be round," reiterated 
 the schoolmaster. 
 
 " All philosophers admit the contrary," cried 
 Sir Hugh. 
 
 " The place of their confinement should re- 
 semble the form of the globe," said Barnabas, 
 '' Is not the world round?" 
 
 "" I know nothing about the world, round or 
 square," said Sir Hugh, '' but I know this 
 recipe to be infallible. — Let me go on. — Then 
 lay the said crystal in the blood of a black hen 
 tliree Wednesdays, and take three hazel twigs
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 109 
 
 of a year's growth, and peel them fair, and 
 bury them where fairies haunt, and on the next 
 Wednesday take up your sticks, and call her 
 you would bind, three times on every stick, and 
 so you shall call her in a dark place the three 
 following Wednesdays, and, if she comes, 
 catch her, and let her be well corked." 
 . '' By the soul of Tycho Brache," exclaimed 
 Barnabas, '' I cannot hear this with patience — 
 to think of calling- up a fairy in the. dark ! and 
 on three Wednesdays, instead of three Fri- 
 days. — Do you really expect. Sir Hugh, that 
 a recipe like that w ill ever get you up a fairy ? 
 or that she can ever be seen in the dark ? And 
 on a Wednesday call ! It must be a Friday. 
 
 '' You are quite wrong. Master Barnabas," 
 said Sir Hugh, '' and if you maintain such an 
 opinion, you are no spirit-monger at all, and 
 410 astrologer to boot !" 
 
 " No astrologer. Sir Hugh !" cried Barna- 
 bas, and he started from his seat as he spoke : 
 '' No astrologer! you surely cannot mean to 
 insult mel" 
 
 '' I have no wish to insult you. Master Bar- 
 nabas, but I repeat it, if you maintain such an 
 opinion, you have no knowledge of the action of 
 spirits, and you are no astrologer."
 
 no FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 " No astrolog-er^ Sir Hugh !" again exclaim- 
 ed the impassioned schoolmaster : '' Sir Hugh;, 
 I have been master of the Latin boys these ten 
 years and upwards^, and no one e^er yet ques- 
 tioned the purity of my latinity ; but neverthe- 
 less, had you found fault with my prosody, my 
 hexameter or pentameter verses, or had my 
 feet displeased you, why — why. Sir Hugh, I 
 could have borne it; I could have managed to 
 keep my ground without them. — But thus to be 
 knocked down at once. — No astrolos"er for- 
 sooth ! Why, did not I hang Timothy Dole- 
 man, who was executed at Exeter last year, 
 even from the very hour of his birth ? Did not I 
 tell his mother, before he was breeched, that all 
 her pains would come to nothing? for that I 
 had found a rope hanging over the boy's head 
 even from the very horns of the moon ? Was 
 not the lad brought up with such a conviction of 
 the truth of my prediction, that he sucked in the 
 ideas of the gallows with his mother's milk ? 
 And was not he ever after as careless a young 
 dog, as to what became of him, as ever ran 
 headlong to his ruin ? And was he not hanged ? 
 Did he not verify the truth of my prediction ? 
 Did he not say in his last dying speech and con- 
 fession, that I, aye that I, Sir Hugh^ had
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. Ill 
 
 helped him to the gibbet faster than either 
 judge or jury to boot! Yet forsooth my skill 
 must be called in question^ and I am no astro- 
 loger !" 
 
 '' I say it again/' cried Fitz, '' that^ to wave 
 the question respecting fairies in particular^ 
 many charms and schemes must be worked in 
 the dark; for what says that most learned^ sweet, 
 and curious astrologer, Cornelius Agrippa, on 
 this very subject ?" 
 
 " The learned Gustavus Jacobovitch is de- 
 cidedly of a contrary opinion/' replied Barna- 
 bas,, " and no scheme ever yet saw the light, 
 that was worked in the dark. Has not the moon 
 been always held necessary and infallible in all 
 works of magic, even from the times of Zo- 
 roaster, who was so famous as to be held the 
 inventor of this divine science ; and if he was, 
 he was the greatest benefactor to mankind that 
 the world ever yet saw. — Did not Albaris, and 
 Charmonedes, and Hermippus, all follow after 
 him ^. Did they not all reverence the moon, 
 and hold it as the sun of the science ?" 
 
 " Still I maintain," cried Sir Hugh, ^'^ that 
 some schemes must be put up in the dark ; else 
 how think you we should ever come at the for- 
 tunes of half the great men in the world?"
 
 112 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 '' Pardon me. Sir Hugh," said Barnabas, 
 '' I trace the fortunes of the greatest man of 
 latter times, one who stands so high in the fa- 
 vour of our gracious Queen, the Earl of Lei- 
 cester himself, in the very cusp of Saturn." 
 . '' Look to that most curious chapter, page 
 ninety-nine, on the powerful effects of darkness, 
 in Agrippa," said Sir Hugh, " doth not he 
 say, that a civet cat maketh all dogs dumb with 
 the touch of her shadow ? that enchanters cover 
 their ovm works with the shade of their bodies? 
 that if cuttle-fish be put into a lamp in a dingy 
 apartment, it maketh blackamoors appear 
 before men's eyes ? and that if a candle com- 
 posed of saturnine things be put into a dead 
 man's mouth, it will ever after, as oft as it 
 shines in darkness, bring great sorrow and fear 
 upon all the house ?" 
 
 '' Hermes and Chyrannides, and of later 
 times Alburtus, hold the contrary. With them 
 every charm must be worked in the light," said 
 Barnabas. 
 
 " Trismegistus, Porphyricus, Jamblicus, and 
 Gog the Grecian, are on my side the question," 
 cried Sir Hugh. 
 
 " Their books are lost," exclaimed Bar- 
 nabas.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 113 
 
 ''That I deny/ ' said Fitz ; '' seeing that Demo- 
 critus collected the substance of them all, add- 
 ing to the same his own cunning comments there- 
 on ; and if you deny his authority, as well might 
 you deny the truth of those wise sayings of So- 
 crates, because they were set forth by Plato." 
 
 '' Sir Hugh/' said Barnabas, '' allow me to 
 put one question, only for the sake of argu- 
 ment, since truth should be the result of all 
 discussion. — Only answer me this : of what use, 
 think you, are the twenty-eight mansions of the 
 moon ? What was the moon made for ?" 
 
 " To give light to astrology," exclaimed 
 Fitz. 
 
 '' Well, I'm glad you grant me that," said 
 Barnabas; ''^ that's liberal — that's one point 
 conceded to my argument. And therefore do 
 I say, that nothing can be done in a charm or 
 scheme without that most noble and curious 
 planet the moon ; wanting which, all the astro- 
 logers that ever yet lived must have been left to 
 grope their way in the dark. — And as to spi- 
 rits ! what says Heraclitus ? Did not he set 
 the soul of the world in the centre of the sun, 
 declaring it to be, as I may say, the very 
 frying-pan of all devils, spirits, and spirituals ? 
 And did not Alpharus set the moon in the
 
 114 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD, 
 
 eighth sphere, and give her her mansions and 
 powers thereof ; her horns, her ecliptics, her 
 gibbouses, and her signs ? And what were all 
 these for, but for the uses of astrology ? And 
 what shall a son of that science hoj^e to accom- 
 plish without her? — And what is more than 
 all, I have raised a spirit myself. Sir Hugh, 
 under the influence of the twelfth house." 
 
 '' The devil you have," cried Sir Hugh in 
 great amazement. 
 
 '' Aye, I have. Sir Hugh," continued Barna- 
 bas ; '' and such a spirit as would have rejoiced 
 the very cockles of old Cornelius's heart to see 
 him — that is, always provided his eyes had 
 been properly anointed, so that he might have 
 the power to see him." 
 
 '*■ And who did you raise?" inquired Fitz. 
 
 '' Guess, Sir Hugh," said Barnabas, '' only 
 guess." 
 
 '" Perhaps Pippin." 
 
 " Pippin !" exclaimed Barnabas, with an air 
 of contempt. '^ Pippins and cheese; no such 
 paltry spirit as that, I do assure you : one who 
 can do nothing but pinch lazy queans when they 
 cog and lie. No ; the fairy I have found is of 
 more consequence than Pippin and all his race. 
 Guess again. Sir Hugh."
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 115 
 
 " Perhaps it is Gathon/' said Sir Hugh ; *^' a 
 fairy common to these parts^ who especially 
 haunts mines and caves." 
 
 '' No ! Sir Hugh," exclaimed Barnabas. 
 '' By the power of my elixir, decocted under 
 the influence of the twelfth mansion of the 
 moon, I have raised Pigwiggen himself." 
 
 " Pigwiggen!" cried Sir Hugh. '' Is it pos- 
 sible, dear master Barnabas; can this be true?" 
 
 " It is true, I do assure you, upon the vera- 
 city of an astrologer," said Barnabas. '' I'm 
 now engaged in writing a treatise on my way of 
 bringing him up ; in which I shall have a rub at 
 Dee about his black hen, and his square phial. 
 Dee will wish me at the devil, I fancy, for I 
 shall go some way to upset his system." 
 
 *' Can it be possible," again exclaimed Fitz. 
 '' Raised Pigwiggen!" 
 
 '' Aye," said Barnabas, " I raised the pretty 
 little fellow, though with some difficulty I grant 
 you ', but I nabbed him just as he was mounting 
 the back of a flea; and more than all, this 
 thing was done on a Friday call, and not on a 
 Wednesday, as you and Dr. Dee will have it." 
 
 *' And where is the pretty little pixie ?" en- 
 quired Sir Hugh, '' what have you done with 
 him?"
 
 116 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 '' Corked him up in a glass bottle," said 
 Barnabas; ^' my wife had like to have made 
 sad business of it, for I did not let her into 
 the secret, and she mistook the little pixie for a 
 bottle of succory water, and had like to have un- 
 corked him for the comfort of her own stomach." 
 
 '' That would have been a sad mishap, in- 
 deed," said Fitz. 
 
 '' There's no knowing. Sir Hugh, what might 
 have been the consequence," replied Barnabas ; 
 *' for if she had done so, it is like enough, in 
 requital, she might have been turned into a jay, 
 a starling, or a magpie; in either case a very 
 disagreeable circumstance to a husband." 
 
 ''Very true," saidFitz; " butwe are disturbed. 
 Good lack ! what a noise there is, what a clatter 
 in the court-yard below — I fear this is no day 
 for learned debates j the vain follies of custom 
 stir up all my house to idleness and laughter, 
 as if it were on purpose to confound our col- 
 loquy. What can-be the matter ?" 
 
 The sounds which disturbed this learned dis- 
 course were of a mingled nature, the loud blast 
 of a bugle-horn being followed by the trampling 
 of horses' feet in the court-yard below, and the 
 blithe minstrelsy of pipe and tabor, that seemed 
 to bear them company.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 117 
 
 Sir Hugh once more undid the lattice, and 
 took a hasty peep at these new visitors. He 
 speedily drew in his head, exclaiming, '' By the 
 satellites of Jupiter, it is the Glanville family 
 from Kilworthy, though the judge is not among 
 them himself. There's Dame Glanville, and 
 Lady Howard, and I don't know who besides. 
 I had forgot, they come to join our people at 
 the Maying. And good lack- a- day ! there is 
 my own son, John Fitz, amongst them, clad in 
 Kendal green. But now I think of it, he is 
 Robin Hood to-day in the sports and pastimes. 
 Go down. Master Barnabas, and let your boys 
 make some diversion to pleasure these new 
 comers ; go down, and I will follow immediately. 
 How unlucky is this interruption ! — But why do 
 you tarry there ? get you gone, and do as I bid 
 you." 
 
 Barnabas obeyed ; but feeling in the course 
 of his descent to the court-yard that fasting be- 
 yond his usual hour and the late dispute had 
 considerably sharpened his appetite, without 
 farther deliberation he made his way to the but- 
 tery-hatch, ill order to remind the cook of her 
 promise concerning securing for him a due pro- 
 portion of May-cakes, junkets, and other good 
 cheer for his morning repast. And so pleasant
 
 118 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 did the schoolmaster find the exercise of partak- 
 ing-, that, whilst employed in it, the immaterial 
 world of pixies, spirits, and all things thereunto 
 belonging, were forgotten, before the sensible 
 and more material pleasures of a noble sirloin 
 of roast beef, and the genuine spirits called up 
 by a foaming tankard of ale.
 
 FIT2 OP FITZ-FORD. 119 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 No doubt, they rose up early, to observe 
 The rite of May ; and, hearing our intent. 
 Came here in grace of our solemnity. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The party, now arrived at Fitz-Ford, con- 
 sisted of Dame Glanville, wife of the judge of 
 that name. Lady Howard, her near kinswoman^ 
 a young- gentlewoman, named Margaret Cham- 
 pernoun, to whom it was generally understood 
 the judge had lately become guardian, his son 
 Frank Glanville, a wild young fellow, who 
 had more of good spirits than good sense, and 
 Sir Nicholas Slanning, who had served with 
 credit in the wars, and now possessed an ho- 
 nourable name with a small estate, a good per- 
 son, and a temper that was both frank and 
 g-enerous. 
 
 John Fitz, son of Sir Hugh, formed the 
 escort of these honourable personages to his 
 father's house ; and whilst he, with Sir Nicho- 
 las, and the other gallants, are at the bridle-
 
 120 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 rein of the ladies^ assisting- them to dismount, 
 and ushering- them into the house^ it may not 
 be amiss for us to take this opportunity of 
 saying a word or two to the reader concerning 
 the family of Glanville. 
 
 Judge Glanville, whose '' lively effigies/' as 
 old Prince calls them, we have still the plea- 
 sure of contemplating in the parish church of 
 Tavistock, was a man well known in his day 
 as a sound and learned dispenser of the laws, 
 neither shewing favour nor affection to his 
 friends, nor any undue severity to his enemies, 
 if they came within his power. He had been a 
 good deal employed in affairs of state, and 
 thoug-h, for reasons we shall hereafter have oc- 
 casion to mention, he had now retired as much 
 as possible from public life, he was still a warm 
 advocate in upholding the interests of the go- 
 vernment of Elizabeth, and those of the re- 
 formed church, which now, like a vessel that 
 has been tossed and tempest-worn on a troubled 
 ocean, had once more taken shelter in the port 
 of o-ood old Eno^land. In his manners the 
 judge was mild and agreeable, though un- 
 usually grave, and, at times, even melancholy ; 
 a depression of spirits, supposed to have taken 
 its rise, as it was not natural to him, from a
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 121 
 
 great domestic calamity — the death of a fa- 
 vourite daughter, under circumstances pecu- 
 liarly painful to his feelings. This event, which 
 happened many years before the commence- 
 ment of our narrative, was still so fresh in his 
 recollection, and so intensely painful, that he 
 could not bear the least allusion to it ; so that 
 those few friends who were really acquainted 
 with all the particulars of this sad occurrence 
 so much respected his feelings on the subject, 
 that they were careful never to name it in his 
 presence; and, indeed, to suppress as much as 
 possible the memory of it altogether, in order 
 to prevent the idle curiosity of others. 
 
 In addition to this grief, the wild and extra- 
 vagant manners of his eldest son, Frank Glan- 
 ville, had also given the Judge a good deal of 
 pain ; add to which, he had to contend with 
 some matrimonial troubles occasioned by the 
 overbearing temper of his wife : so that the 
 Judge was not altogether quite so happy a man 
 as the stateliness of his condition, his great 
 wealth, and influence in life, might have in- 
 duced most persons to believe he was. 
 
 Since the death of his daughter, Glanville had 
 never been known to share in any sports and 
 pastimes ; he did not, therefore, attend the 
 
 VOL. 1. G
 
 122 riTZ OF riTZ-FORD. 
 
 May-day party at Fitz-ford. Dame Glan- 
 villej we ought to mention, was his second 
 wife, and not the mother of his deceased 
 daughter. Her character was so wholly oppo- 
 site to that of Glanville. that many of his 
 friends wondered how he came to marry her. 
 It is^ in fact, a question we could not pretend 
 to solve ; and indeed, we believe we maj^ ven- 
 ture to say that it sometimes puzzled the 
 worthy Judge himself when he thought upon it. 
 But how often in life do we see marriages, so 
 contrary to all our calculations, take place, 
 that we are sometimes tempted to believe in 
 that doctrine which avers that marriages are 
 made in heaven, or, perhaps, now and then, in 
 its antipodes. 
 
 Dame Glanville, we have before said, was 
 accompanied by her near kinswoman. Lady 
 Howard ; and this gentlewoman will be found 
 to play so conspicuous a part in the sequel of 
 the story we have undertaken to relate, that 
 though in our drama her time for action may 
 not yet be arrived, she must not be passed over 
 in silence. Lady Howard, although a person 
 of rank, was not of the house of Norfolk. 
 She had been given in marriage (something in 
 the same way as a bond-servant is turned over
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 123 
 
 to a new master, without having any will of 
 his own in the matter), when but sixteen years 
 old, to Sir Theodosius Howard, a knight, pos- 
 sessed of almost princely wealth, a propor- 
 tionate share of pride, and years enough over 
 his head to have rendered him the grandfather 
 of his childish bride. She was extremely beau- 
 tiful ; her beauty, however, was of the Juno 
 cast, and had something forbidding in its lofty 
 carriage. 
 
 Though the idol of her doating husband, she 
 failed not, as might have been expected, to 
 hate him most cordially. Yet, young as she 
 was, her mind, possessed of considerable na,- 
 tural force, had acquired a maturity seldom 
 found at so early an age ; and finding that 
 her marriage could afford her no happiness, 
 but such as might result from gratified pride 
 and ambition, she resolved not to be sacrificed 
 for nothing. Her thoughts thus early and ex- 
 clusively bent on self-interest, (the most nar- 
 rowing principle of degradation to the human 
 heart,) the wealth of her husband became 
 almost the sole object of her desires, so that 
 she might possess it entire in case of his de- 
 cease. By constantly guarding her actions, 
 
 and framing her attentions and her words to 
 G 2
 
 124 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 suit his humour, she daily acquired the art of 
 deception, till it grew with her into a habit too 
 powerful ever after to be broken ; and, as 
 some remuneration for the constraint under 
 which she lay in the presence of her old 
 knight, she indulged a sarcastic, sneering, viru- 
 lence of temper and remark upon every other 
 creature who did not exactly please her fancy. 
 
 For five years Lady Howard endured this 
 life of constant deceit, self-command, and 
 constraint, till, just after she had completed 
 her twenty-first year, her husband died, leaving 
 her the fruits of her policy, and the unlimited 
 mistress of his vast estate, to the injury of 
 many poor and near relatives, who might with 
 justice have expected something at his death. 
 
 It is needless to say that, young, beautiful, 
 and endowed with an income that might have 
 improved the fortunes of the first noble in the 
 land. Lady Howard had many suitors. But 
 though she affected no disguise in saying that 
 she thought it possible she might wed here- 
 after ; yet, for the present, she rejected them 
 all. Of course the connexion likely to be 
 formed by so distinguished a person became a 
 regular theme of gossip and conjecture in the 
 neighbourhood where she lived, so that she
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 125 
 
 was successively given in marriage, by report, 
 to almost every handsome young gallant upon 
 whom she bestowed the least notice. At one 
 time she was held to be on the eve of wedding 
 with Sir Nicholas Slanning, having three times 
 hunted with him and his hounds. Once Sir 
 Thomas Morlay was chosen, by the many- 
 tongued multitude, as the happy man ; and 
 then young John Fitz was thought to have 
 eclipsed them all, and that, by the attention 
 he paid her, he was as desirous of the union 
 himself, as it was publicly known his mother 
 was that it should take place. 
 
 We are not in possession of many facts to 
 throw a light on these conjectures. Thus 
 much, however, we can say, that whatever 
 might have been the motive, there certainly 
 was a time when John Fitz both paid to, and 
 received from, the splendid and beautiful Lady 
 Howard a more than ordinary share of atten- 
 tion, sufficient to warrant all the reports so 
 busily circulated. But this attention of late 
 had altogether ceased, and they now met and 
 parted with the civility of common friends : so 
 that report, always ready in settling the affairs 
 of others, at once proclaimed John Fitz a re- 
 jected lover of his wealthy mistress.
 
 126 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 Lady Howard had a noble mansion near 
 Tavistock, but from some cause or other she 
 did not always inhabit it ; for, being- nearly 
 related to Dame Glanville, and that Dame, 
 thinking- probably by her warm friendship to 
 obtain the lady for one of her own sons, was 
 very pressing in inviting- her beautiful kins- 
 woman to pass much of her time at Kilworthy, 
 as being" less solitary than her own house. 
 Lady Howard chose to accept these invita- 
 tions, thoug-h nothing- yet had resulted from 
 them, and often stayed there for four or five 
 months tog-ether. It was during- one of these 
 visits that she now joined the party for the 
 May-day sports. 
 
 Having said thus much of the chief person- 
 ages newly arrived at Fitz-Ford, we shall con- 
 clude with some mention of Mistress Margaret 
 Champernoun; and in order to do this dis- 
 tinctly, we shall here but repeat what was ge- 
 nerally understood to be her history amongst 
 the friends and neighbours of the worthy 
 Judge. Her father, (Glanville said), in the 
 early part of his life, was the dearest friend he 
 had in the world, though the violent party 
 spirit of politics, and, above all, a difference in 
 religious opinions, had afterwards estranged
 
 FITZ OP FITZ-FORD. 127 
 
 them from ea ch other ; so that by degrees all 
 intercourse ceased, and Sir Frederick Cham- 
 pernoun at last left the kingdom, after having 
 expended a considerable portion of his estate 
 in a fruitless law- suit, and afterwards nearly all 
 that remained of it in payment of a heavy fine 
 levied upon him by the Star Chamber for 
 some offence of a political nature. 
 
 Thus, nearly bankrupt, he retired to 
 France, and for many years Judge Glanville 
 knew nothing of the fate of his early and un- 
 fortunate friend, till the anxiety of that friend, 
 when upon his death-bed, for his only daugh- 
 ter, had induced him to cause to be forwarded 
 to England a letter, addressed to Glanville, 
 dictated by him (for he was too ill to write it 
 himself) but a few hours before he expired. 
 The subject of that letter may be easily ga- 
 thered from what followed, since Glanville, 
 on the receipt of it, immediately sent a trusty 
 person over to France, who was commissioned 
 to bring back with him to England the daugh- 
 ter of Sir Frederick Champernoun, now de- 
 ceased. 
 
 At this period France was in a disturbed 
 state, and it is therefore probable that the
 
 128 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 dying father^ however he might have differed 
 from Glanville in religious or political opinions, 
 yet, knowing his worth, felt desirous to remove 
 his child from a country where there w^as so 
 little personal security, and to place her under 
 the care of his early friend, in whose honour 
 and probity he could entirely trust both her- 
 self and the small fortime he had to bequeath 
 to her. 
 
 With all that warmth with which a mind na- 
 turally benevolent undertakes a good action, 
 did Glanville now enter, upon his trust, as 
 guardian to a young and lovely orphan, 
 scarcely eighteen years old. Two things ren- 
 dered her peculiarly interesting in his eyes — 
 the consideration that she had not a friend in 
 England besides himself, and the hope, though 
 he was bound by the injunctions of her dying 
 father not to endeavour to change her reli- 
 gious opinions, that, by living in his own protes- 
 tant family, she would of herself renounce the 
 errors of the Romish church ; especially as at 
 this time they could not be publicly avowed 
 without much danger, since instances daily oc- 
 curred of the severities exercised on those who 
 dared to perform or attend the mass ; the fa-
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 129 
 
 mily of Lord Morley, amongst others, having- 
 been fined, and even imprisoned, for the of- 
 fence. 
 
 Marg-aret told Glanville, when speaking of 
 her previous life, that she had been brought 
 up by her father in the greatest privacy. Her 
 mother, she said, died soon after her birth, 
 and she had never known female care or tender- 
 ness, beyond that of a hired servant. She had 
 no recollection of her native country, having- 
 been an infant when Sir Frederic fled with her 
 to France, and yet she could speak English as 
 well as French, as she had acquired the lan- 
 guage from her father. 
 
 For the rest, we may add, she knew no- 
 thing of the world, was gentle and yielding in 
 her temper, but possessed altogether a charac- 
 ter that might rather be considered quiet than 
 inert ; since her mind, susceptible of deep feel- 
 ings, was of an energy that, even in trifling 
 circumstances, shewed how strong might be its 
 exertions should occasion require them. In 
 her person she was small and delicate ; and 
 without possessing that regularity of features, 
 to which the term beautiful may be applied, 
 there was so agreeable an expression in their 
 combination, in the play of the rosy and full 
 g5
 
 130 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 lips, which looked, as the poet says, ^' like 
 twin cherries parted in sweet division ;" such 
 animation in the lustre of a fine pair of hazel 
 eyes, a clear comj)lexion, with hair that hung- 
 in rich profusion, curling like the vine about her 
 fair brows and neck ; that, though a critic in 
 female loveliness might have denied the name 
 of perfect beauty to her features, he could not 
 deny that they possessed the power of beauty — 
 that of fascination. Add to which, Margaret 
 had health and youth, things in themselves 
 which, as we once heard remarked by a most 
 exquisite painter of female grace and loveli- 
 ness*, may be considered as the chief requi- 
 sites of beauty, unless nature has been very 
 perverse indeed in forming the face that can 
 claim them. 
 
 It was to this young and engaging orphan 
 that the good Judge Glanville now extended 
 his care, and to whom he became more and 
 more attached, till the habit of regarding her 
 with peculiar tenderness rendered her almost 
 as dear to him as if she had been his own child. 
 Ail men know the power of habit upon the 
 human mind ; so that, by constantly associat- 
 ing our ideas with the same set of persons, and 
 * Our English Raphael, Thomas Stothard, R.A.
 
 FITZ OF FJTZ-FORD. 131 
 
 sometimes even animals, that are about us, we 
 often become attached to them in a way imper- 
 ceptible even to ourselves. And so great is 
 the power of habit, that this feeling will fre- 
 quently extend itself even to inanimate objects ; 
 witness that attachment which we often observe 
 in old people to a particular piece of furniture, 
 as a favourite article of domestic use, till the 
 smooth worn leathern seat of a particular arm 
 chair appears to them to be the only one in the 
 world in which they can sit at their ease ; whilst 
 the crooked-legg-ed and rough horse-hair sofa of 
 fifty years standing is preferred to all the soft 
 couches and velvet ottomans of modern fashion. 
 If habit is thus powerful to attach us to 
 things that have no sympathy with our affec^ 
 tions, what must be its effect when a human 
 creature, and one peculiarly engaging, becomes 
 the object? And never was its power more 
 fully displayed than in the attachment, which, 
 almost unknown to himself, grew upon the 
 Judge for his ward. He had busied himself 
 much for her good, so that his thoughts dwelt 
 upon her ; he knew he was her only protecting 
 friend in this world, and the gentle gratitude, 
 the modest expression of her feelings, wound 
 about his heart as closely as the delicate plant
 
 132 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 winds itself around the tree which affords it 
 strength to bear the rude winds that blow 
 around it, when, but for such a stay, it would 
 lie torn and prostrate on the ground. 
 
 If the Judge wished to be amused by hearing 
 any one of his family read aloud to him, his 
 ward was ever ready to afford him that plea- 
 sure, whilst it became enhanced by the ques- 
 tions he encouraged her to put to him concern- 
 ing his opinion of the authors or the subject 
 that had been the theme of their studies. When 
 he rambled about his grounds, Margaret was 
 always at his side ; and often was he diverted 
 in these excursions by the innocent and playful 
 character of her temper. If he was cUdl and 
 melancholy, a thing which frequently happen- 
 ed, Margaret possessed that delicate tact of a 
 feeling mind, which enabled her to soothe or 
 divert his sad thoughts, by turning them to 
 contemplate the many subjects of consolation 
 that Providence had afforded to the afflicted, 
 and those hopes of Christianity, the best balm 
 for a wounded mind, which, like stars in the 
 midst of darkness, direct the traveller on his 
 way, when but for these the path before him 
 would be wholly obscured. Add to which, 
 there was a readiness, a kindness of attention
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 133 
 
 about her, ever on the watch to prevent the 
 wants of declining life ; an attention so accept- 
 able from young- persons towards their supe- 
 riors. If Glanville returned home cold and 
 tired by his walk, or was fatigued by the 
 studies of his closet, Marg-aret was the first to 
 notice the least indication of his weariness, and, 
 with the utmost alacrity, she would draw the 
 easy chair by the side of the ample hearth, 
 raise the mouldering fagg-ots into a blaze, place 
 the foot cushion, and adjust the pillow for her 
 guardian's head, asking him, whilst she did so, 
 with a smile upon her lip, if she should order 
 him a posset or a cup of sack, to cheer up his 
 spirits as an evening draught. 
 
 In human life, the occasions for great acts 
 of kindness seldom occur, but little daily at- 
 tentions are continually within the power of 
 every one, and make up in their number that 
 sum of good actions required of each living 
 creature in society. They are, as it were, the 
 small coin of exchange, stamped by benevo- 
 lence and courtesy, current in a family or a 
 neighbourhood; wanting which, the general 
 fund of comfort and sympathy would become 
 bankrupt. And these little, but amiable at- 
 tentions, although they could not well be de-
 
 134 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 scribed or defined^ insensibly win upon the 
 heart, and find their interest repaid tenfold by 
 the general love and affection which they never 
 fail to inspire. They are as the habitual, 
 though minor virtues of a generous mind and 
 a kind temper, and are never found to flourish 
 with selfish, cold, or sluggish feelings ; hateful 
 qualities, that act like the touch of the tor- 
 pedo, chilling, and rendering inanimate every 
 nobler principle of human action. 
 
 Having- said thus much of Judg-e Glanville 
 and his amiable ward, we shall now proceed to 
 speak of the subject of general rejoicing, which 
 had collected together the honourable person- 
 ages above named on the first of May. The 
 hour was early, since the great bell of the 
 clock-house had but just chimed six when the 
 parties assembled. But the manners of good 
 society at the period of our narration, widely 
 differed from those of the present time. Fine 
 ladies and fine gentlemen did not then, as now, 
 prefer the illumination of wax lights to that 
 of the glorious sun ; nor did they dine when 
 he was ffoino- to bed, or under the influence 
 of the moon, however much she might be in 
 fashion with learned votaries, like Barnabas 
 and Agrippa.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 135 
 
 It would have been as contrary to the ton of 
 that day to yawn and stretch in bed at one 
 o'clock, as it would now be held vulgar to 
 drive from house to house for the pleasure of 
 leaving a printed card at the doors of some fifty 
 or sixty of one's particular friends before three 
 or four o'clock in the afternoon. And as for 
 May- day, now observed only by milk-maids 
 and chimney-sweeps, what will our fine ladies 
 think of it when we tell them, should they 
 not happen to know it already, that, in the 
 times of good Queen Bess, it was as much a 
 festival of high fashion as a court ball or a 
 masquerade at Almack'sis in the present iiLore 
 refined state of society ; with this advantage, 
 that whereas in many a fancy modern ball a 
 gentleman may hide under a mask a face he 
 would be ashamed to show in the world, and 
 often plays the fool in the effort to become a 
 wit, in the May-games most faces were un- 
 masked, thouo^h the character mig^ht be as- 
 sumed ; and the fool himself, being such by 
 public licence, might be as dull as he pleased, 
 or, under an external assumption of folly, 
 might aim those shafts of wit and truth ag-ainst 
 the vices and absurdities of that world, which
 
 136 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 holds all things as foolishness, except the follies 
 of its own devising-. 
 
 Yet, ev'en in Elizabeth's time, the noble sports 
 of May-day had somewhat degenerated ; the 
 delicate queen of the May, Maid Marian her- 
 self, being- often personated by a " great lub- 
 berly boy," dressed up as a girl. But this 
 degeneracy had commenced where degeneracy 
 in most things takes its rise, within the walls 
 and about the predncts of the great metropolis. 
 It had not yet extended itself throughout all 
 the counties of England ; and in the west, 
 Maid Marian was still performed by some 
 damsel of good quality, chosen by the general 
 voice of her compeers, before the day of the 
 festival, to perform that part. 
 
 On the present occasion, the lovely Mar- 
 garet Champernoun was the May-day Queen ; 
 and a worthy emblem she appeared of the 
 youth and beauty of the spring. And as we 
 conclude all our readers may not be as good 
 antiquarians as certain learned men who have 
 written so ably in illustration of the popular 
 games of this country, we trust it will not be 
 amiss to give them some very slight sketch of 
 the characters and ceremonies of the present 
 rejoicing. Should the antiquary find us too
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 137 
 
 brief, we can only say that this notice of the 
 subject is desio-ned for the general reader, and 
 not for those learned gentlemen who may have 
 employed themselves in searching the church- 
 wardens' accounts throughout all the parishes 
 in the kingdom, to find out the price of '' Ro- 
 bin Hoode's cote," or the stuff it was made of, 
 with the most exact precision. 
 
 At an early hour, the principal characters of 
 the games assembled in a body to go out into 
 the neighbouring woods to collect and bring 
 home the sweet hawthorn, hung with its rich 
 blossoms of purest white, and to form that 
 regular procession in honour of the May we 
 shall hereafter notice. John Fitz, a young 
 and handsome man, attired in Kendal green, 
 with a baldric, a bugle-horn, a black velvet 
 cap, and a white plume drooping over his 
 shoulder, bearing in his hand the long bow of 
 English archery, was no bad representative of 
 *' Blythe Robin Hoode;" since gallant man- 
 ners and good looks were considered the cha- 
 racteristic qualities of that celebrated outlaw 
 of merry Sherwood, and custom had for ages 
 assigned to Robin the post of king of the 
 May. 
 
 Margaret, this day his queen, appeared at-
 
 138 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 tired in a vesture of pink silk^ ornamented 
 with g-reen ribands^ her tresses of hair hanging 
 g-racefully over her shoulders from beneath a 
 coif of silver tissue, bound round with a crown 
 formed of gold and decorated with flowers, in 
 a manner so as to unite richness with elegance. 
 In her bosom she carried a nosegay ; and 
 though many a delicate blossom looked lovely, 
 they seemed to be rivalled by the deep blush of 
 youth and modesty that animated the fair cheek 
 of the May Queen. Friar Tuck, played by 
 Frank Glanville, appeared clad in russet weeds ; 
 and Sir Nicholas Slanning, who performed the 
 fool's part by his own choice, though many 
 said it was more natural to Frank Glanville, 
 came gaily forward in a motley dress, faced, 
 or, as the old phrase would have it, guarded 
 with yellow ; the bauble in his hand represent- 
 ing a human head with a pair of ass's ears at 
 the end of it, and his cap adorned by a cocks- 
 comb, and hanging down his back in the form 
 of a jelly-bag, jingling at every movement of 
 the head with the sound of the little bells with 
 which it was thickly hung. A calf's-skin cloak, 
 cut short, covered his shoulders ; being the usual 
 finish of the fool's dress in the days of Elizabeth, 
 a circumstance which forms a probable illustra-
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 139 
 
 tion of that passage in Shakespeare, where Con- 
 stance, in a strain of contempt, bids Austria 
 ''go hang- a calfs-skin on his recreant limbs." 
 
 The Lady Fitz, attired in the formidable 
 ruff and farthingale of the period, with a waist 
 as long and as stiff as if the buckram of which 
 it was composed were designed to supply the 
 place of armour, her neck hung with a treble 
 chain of massive gold, received Dame Glanville 
 and her party with all the ceremonious for- 
 mality then considered an essential part of good 
 breeding ; giving the Dame the highest place in 
 the apartment, and marshalling her other guests 
 something in the same way as would a herald ; 
 who knew, to the flourish of a lion's tail, the 
 genealogical honours that belonged to each ; 
 w^hilst the May queen, who, in fact, ought to 
 have taken precedence of every one, at least on 
 this day in the year, was left at the lower end 
 of the apartment, for lack of Lady Fitz feeling 
 assured whether she could or could not claim 
 the dignity of armorial bearings. 
 
 Sir Hugh Fitz soon after appeared ; and whilst 
 all the party (previous to their sallying forth to 
 bring home the May) partook of that substan- 
 tial good cheer which formed the breakfast of 
 our ancestors, seated himself next to Dame
 
 140 FITZ OF FITZ-FOIID. 
 
 Glanville, and entered into familiar discourse. 
 The subject was general, and treated of the 
 festivities of the day. 
 
 *' I declare," said Dame Glanville, address- 
 ing- Lady Fitz, in reply to some observation 
 she made on the retired life of the Judge, la- 
 menting his absence at the present festivity, 
 *^ I protest that I really believe my husband 
 leads so moping a life, that he seems to forget 
 every thing around him : and more than that, 
 he seems to forget what belongs to the laws of 
 the land ; since I could not this morning induce 
 him to cause to be secured a strange-looking 
 woman, who came lurking about Kilworthy, 
 and shewed herself to be a witch, by craving 
 fire to light her torch of the maidens on May- 
 morning. 
 
 '' The woman. Dame Glanville," said Sir 
 Nicholas Slanning, '' might have been no witch 
 for all she did so ; since to crave fire at the 
 doors of the wealthy on May-morning is a 
 popular superstition still extant with many of 
 the vulgar." 
 
 " It is so," said Sir Hugh Fitz ; " and I 
 trace the custom, neighbour Slanning, to the 
 Druids. It is the remains of an heathen sacri- 
 fice, the kindling of the Beltan fire to the god
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 141 
 
 Baal : and I will engaj^e that the woman craved 
 the light for no other purpose than to set in a 
 blaze a whisp of straw, that her kine might 
 pass through it as a preservative against disease 
 during the rest of the year. The custom is 
 common enough on Dartmoor ; yet, for my 
 own part, I must say Dame Glanville gave 
 wholesome counsel, for witches often affect 
 such matters to cover their more dark designs. 
 Old women are dangerous ; and especially are 
 they to be suspected if they have an evil eye 
 and a sharp tongue. 
 
 " Now, by the credit of my sceptre," said Sir 
 Nicholas Slanning, who played the fool's part, 
 '' if that is to become a rule of general observ- 
 ance, woe be to every old dowager within the 
 parish ; for it is shrewly suspected that some of 
 them are evil-eyed whenever a pretty girl crosses 
 their path ; and as to sharp tongues, may the 
 saints shew pity and render deaf their husbands. 
 But as for the woman who craved the fire to 
 light her torch this morning at Kilworthy, I 
 will venture my cap and bells against your 
 wisdom, that I tell what she came for, and that 
 it was for something more than to charm horn 
 cattle and brute beasts : she sought to parley 
 with Mistress Margaret, the May Queen.
 
 142 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 " You are a licensed fool^ Sir Motley," 
 said John Fitz, '' so your tongue is no slan- 
 der, utter what falsehoods it may." 
 
 " But children and fools speak truth, as the 
 proverb goes," replied Slanning; " and I tell 
 you that the woman was desirous to come 
 at the speech of Mistress Margaret. But I, 
 being valiant as well as wise, thought a pretty 
 damsel could learn no good of one who looked 
 like a dealer in my wares, for her trade seemed 
 to be licensed folly, the divining of fortunes ; 
 so I bid her pack, shog, and begone, for fear 
 of the cucking-stool, and threatened her back 
 with a taste of my sceptre if she delayed. Did 
 I not vvell, Sir Hugh? for what good ever 
 yet came from a she-dealer in astrology ?" 
 
 " Astrology is a science," said Sir Hugh 
 gravely ; '' and, like many other wise things, 
 is therefore the mock of fools. And pray by 
 what authority do j^ou presume to talk against 
 astrology or astrologers ?" 
 
 '' Pardon me if I do. Sir Hugh," replied 
 Slanning ; '' the world is my authority, since 
 I but follow its example if I sometimes treat 
 my own friends and kindred with ingratitude. 
 For surely all the astrologers that ever yet were 
 born are my brothers or progenitors, inasmuch
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 143 
 
 as they are the great continuators of my race, 
 being- fools themselves, and making many more 
 such." 
 
 Sir Hugh, who, even on a day set apart for 
 mirth and jesting, could not abide any slur 
 cast on his favourite science, now turned the 
 discourse into another channel, and once more 
 got back to the Druids, which led the way to 
 a long- detail of his own discoveries of un- 
 doubted remains of that ancient priesthood on 
 Dartmoor ; till Lady Fitz, who saw how little 
 the disquisition was relished by her guests, 
 interrupted him, and said, '' Dear Sir Hugh, 
 these young people have nearly finished their 
 repast, and must away to the Maying ; and you 
 talk so much about things as old as the world 
 before the flood, as if we had nothing to do 
 with the same world as it is now fashioned. 
 You forget this is May-day." 
 
 '' No, I don't," cried Sir Hugh , '' I know 
 very well the antiquity of it. May- day, by 
 some learned writers is supposed to have de- 
 rived its name from Maia, the mother of Mer- 
 cury." 
 
 '^ So think my heels," exclaimed the fool ; 
 '' for they are winged for tripping, and long to 
 prove themselves legitimate, as a son of the
 
 144 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 light-footed and light-fing-ered god. In the mor- 
 ris dance and the Devonshire faddy." 
 
 '' Aye, there again," cried Sir Hugh, ^' only 
 see how friendly this western country is to the 
 preservation of antiquity. The Devonshire 
 Faddy is nothing more than a remnant of an 
 ancient custom, derived from the dance sacred 
 to Flora, the mother of flowers. It is a dance 
 also," continued the old gentleman with un- 
 usual animation, '^ friendly to the action of 
 spirits ; for, as the learned Doctor Dee says, 
 every witch of the Hartz Mountains dances the 
 Faddy on this very day, striding across a 
 broom-stick, with a little devil at the end of 
 it, to give a welcome to the flov»ers." 
 
 '' Yet having no affinity with any flowers 
 themselves, except it be those of brimstone, as 
 I take it," said Slanning. " But hark! John 
 Fygge, the town piper, plays up merrily in the 
 court below, and all the schoolmaster's little 
 boys are singing in chorus, ' hey for the green- 
 wood, the maid, and the may,' so leave these 
 wise colloquies, and, for one day in the year, 
 make haste to follow a fool." 
 
 With these words. Sir Nicholas Slanning, full 
 of thoughtless mirth and glee, ran off" as swift 
 as a roe towards the scene of amusement, fol-
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 145 
 
 lowed by all the younger persons who formed 
 the party at Fitz-ford. In the court-yard, 
 they were joined by a set of young people, 
 dressed as the votaries of summer and of win- 
 ter ; the former being decorated with flowers, 
 and the russet weeds of the latter with festoons 
 of ivy, and branches of holly in their caps. 
 The young men were provided with bows and 
 arrows, as archery formed a part of the day's 
 sport. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 14G FITZ OF FITZ-FORD, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Love's a mighty lord; 
 
 And hath so humbled me, as, I confess 
 There is no woe to his correction, 
 Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth. 
 Now, no discourse, except it be of love. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The youthful party soon g-ained the woods 
 of Fitz-park, as Barnabas, heading his little 
 boys, and himself, on this day, as much a boy 
 as any of them, followed the blythe sounds of 
 pipe and tabor that led on before. The day 
 was delightful, though a few grey clouds at 
 times obscured the brilliancy of the morning 
 sun. Every bird was on the wing as, disturbed 
 from its covert, it sprang from the branches 
 and warbled a thousand wild notes, that made 
 the whole air musical. The hawthorn threw 
 abroad its rich perfume, and every lowly cow- 
 slip, and herb of the field, lay as it were, with 
 open blossom, to welcome the return of spring. 
 The deer in the park, as they rested under the 
 chequered and quivering shadows, formed by
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 147 
 
 tlie branches of the stately oak^ yet but thmly 
 clothed with leaves, started up at the ap- 
 proach of footsteps, and shakmg' the dew from 
 their velvet coats, reared their arched necks, 
 g"azed steadilj^ for a moment upon these in- 
 truders on their sylvan haunts, and bounded off 
 with the utmost speed to seek a deeper soli- 
 tude within them. 
 
 The whole scene was one of fresh and vivid 
 beauty, the morning- of the day harmonizing- 
 with the season of the year, lovely and cheer- 
 ful ; and gladly was it greeted by those whose 
 age and temper corresponded with the scene. 
 No sad thought, like a winter's cloud, no cold 
 feelings, like its biting frost, obtruded to chill 
 the young' hearts, that now beat high with ex- 
 pectation inspired by the exhilarating hour. 
 The boys clambered the trees, tore down many 
 a goodly branch to hang round the doors and 
 windows of their home ; whilst the hawthorns, 
 thickly hung with their white blossoms, and 
 sparkling with dew, were rifled as spoils of 
 honour to grace the triumph of the day. And 
 those youths, whose ages were verging" from 
 boyhood into manhood, desiring to throw aside 
 childish sports, and to practise the gallantry 
 of their elders, selected many a flower of the 
 H 2
 
 148 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 yellow broom, to ofter it as a wreath to some 
 pretty damsel in the company ; and many a 
 kiss was stolen, and granted with a forbidding 
 gesture, but a laughing eye, as the chaplet was 
 placed about the favoured brow. 
 
 These sports engaged the whole party for a 
 time, till, upon the command being given by 
 Barnabas, who acted as grand master of the 
 ceremonies during the day, all hands, except- 
 ing those of the king and queen, and the fool, 
 hastened to make up the may-pole, which was 
 to be drawn with triumph into the town. At 
 this juncture, Barnabas recollected that he had 
 not been quite so precise as he ought to have 
 been, in telling the yeomen to what particular 
 spot they were to bring the yoke of oxen, or 
 the beeves, as he called them, to drag home 
 the may-pole. The apprehension that some 
 serious delay would arise, appeared to give the 
 worthy master of the May sports considerable 
 uneasiness. 
 
 John Fitz, or rather Robin Hood, saw this; 
 and as himself, his queen, and the fool, were 
 not yet called upon to play their parts in the 
 ceremonies, he very good-naturedly proposed 
 to his companions that they should relieve the 
 fears of the schoolmaster, by setting off for the
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 149 
 
 farm-house, whence the yeomen were to brmg 
 the oxen, and to direct them to the right spot. 
 Barnabas thankfully accepted the offer, and 
 the fool declared he would still wait on the 
 king" and queen, since he w^as too properly of 
 the court of royalty to part company. '' And 
 besides," said he, '' if Robin Hood and Maid 
 Marian are to pair to-day, like the foolish 
 birds, it is like enough they will need me to 
 keep the peace, since coupling- and wrangling- 
 they say go together, when jerkin and petticoat 
 trip side by side. Come along, my king of out- 
 laws, and you, my pretty queen of flow^ers and 
 posies;" so saying. Sir Nicholas Slanning, John 
 Fitz, with Margaret leaning on his arm, each 
 attired in character, set off to do the errand 
 they had kindly undertaken for Barnabas. 
 
 They had for some time pursued their way 
 through one of those romantic forest tracks so 
 peculiar to Devon, when suddenly they per- 
 ceived a female figure at a distance, clad in a 
 russet cloak, that appeared to stand still to 
 look upon them for a moment in a scrutinizing 
 manner, and then struck into the neighbouring 
 covert. 
 
 '' By the wisdom of fools," said Slanning, 
 *' I am much mistaken if that is not the very
 
 150 FITi: OF FITZ-FCRD. 
 
 woman who this morning asked fire at Kil- 
 worthy. She seems again to be upon the look- 
 out for the May Queen. Be she witch or 
 devil, she shall not cross the path of our pretty 
 Marian for any evil purpose this day, whilst I 
 am thus gallantly armed;" and he flourished 
 his bauble as he spoke. 
 
 The party now advanced near the spot where 
 the woman had been seen to make her retreat, 
 when, in a manner as sudden as she had dis- 
 appeared, she once more stood before them. 
 Her features were hard and swarthy, and 
 though low in stature, she looked sturdy. Her 
 whole appearance was that which may be often 
 observed, even to this day, as characteristic of 
 the women who, in Devon and Cornwall, assist 
 in the work of the mines. She came boldly 
 forward, and as boldy demanded to speak with 
 the Queen of the May. 
 
 '' Aroint thee^ witch, as Will Shakespeare 
 says," cried Slanning. " What ! cross the path 
 of her majesty of lilies and roses, and that on 
 her own day ! and whilst she is supported by 
 her consort royal on the one hand, and by her 
 prime minister on the other ! Stand back, 
 good mother, and give over your purpose, for 
 here I allow no one but myself to play the fool,'*
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 151 
 
 *^ But I will not stand back/' said the wo- 
 man, " and you shall not pass on till I have 
 spoken with the May Queen, for I have that 
 for her ear which a fool must not understand." 
 
 '' Then speak it out boldly, woman," said 
 John Fitz, ^' for though a fool hath ears, he 
 has no understanding-." 
 
 " You play the part of yonder motley as 
 well as he," replied the woman in the russet 
 cloak, " and since you will know my business 
 with this damsel, you must ; I come to do the 
 part of an honest woman." 
 
 "^ And very much in the way of a wise one," 
 said Slanning", '' for so they call those of your 
 tribe ; since I take it you are a crosser of pretty 
 palms, and a pocketer of silver testers." 
 
 '' I have found a jewel," said the woman, 
 '^ which I am told belongs to this lady, and I 
 seek her to restore it, and to crave a guerdon 
 for my pains. The lady shall be the judge of 
 my truth, and if this jewel is her own." 
 
 As she spoke, she fixed her eye on the May 
 Queen with a peculiar expression of intelligence, 
 and tendered her a small cross of fine gold, 
 ornamented with a few precious stones. At 
 the sight of the cross, Margaret turned pale as 
 death, and, for a moment, was speechless with
 
 152 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 emotion. She extended her hand — took the 
 jewel from the woman who had thus singularly- 
 restored it to her possession^ but spoke not a 
 word in reply to her address. 
 
 The surprise of the companions of the lady 
 may be readily supposed. '' What is this ?" 
 said John Fitz, in an ang-ry voice to the w oman, 
 as he observed the extreme ao-itation of Mar- 
 g-aret, "you have alarmed this lady almost to 
 fainting ! You are some worker of evil spells 
 — stop the woman, Slanning ; I have heard my 
 father tell of such creatures. She is some foul 
 practiser — she shall answer this." 
 
 '^ No, no," cried Margaret, '' the jewel is 
 mine — it is a sacred emblem. It was once 
 dearly valued by my dead father. There are 
 circumstances, recollections, connected with 
 that token, which forbid me to look on it un- 
 moved. — I shall be better anon. — I would en- 
 treat you to leave me, so that I may inquire 
 of this woman how she came by a thing so dear 
 to my feelings." 
 
 And hastily securing the little cross within 
 her bosom, at her request Slanning and Fitz 
 walked forward, whilst she lingered a few paces 
 behind them. Margaret paused a moment, as 
 if to collect herself, and then said, in an eager
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 153 
 
 and agitated manner, " Woman, tell me, in 
 the name of heaven I conjure you tell me, who 
 placed that jewel in your hand ? who bid you 
 give it me?" 
 
 '' The same who bid me deliver to you this 
 letter, lady," replied the woman. " I have 
 risked much to convey it to you in safety." 
 
 '' He is come then !" said Margaret, as she 
 took the letter, and instantly concealed it 
 within her bosom. 
 
 '' He is," replied the stranger, *^ and would 
 meet you at any place you may name. At 
 the peril of life itself he desires to see you." 
 
 " Where is he ?" inquired Margaret. 
 ** Surely this country must be fatal to him. 
 Where lies he concealed ?" 
 
 '' That question I dare not answer," said 
 the woman ; " more lives than one rest with 
 the keeping of that secret. He is safe for the 
 present. Where shall I say that you will see 
 him?" 
 
 '' I cannot now name time or place," re- 
 plied Margaret. '' I am so engaged this day 
 with my young companions, that it is impossi- 
 ble I should escape their notice." 
 
 '' Then I will be his warrant," said the wo» 
 H 5
 
 154 riTZ OF FITZ-I'ORD, 
 
 maii^ " that he attempts to see you, perhaps 
 to-day." 
 
 '' Good heaven !" cried Margaret, '' surely 
 he will not venture to shew himself in public ! 
 Think what may be the consequence." 
 
 " That is his own care, and not mine," re- 
 plied the letter-bearer. '' Farewell, lady, I 
 leave you." 
 
 " Stay," cried Margaret, '' take this for 
 your pains. Whoever you are, you shall not 
 have rendered me a service so dangerous with- 
 out some requital. Here, take it quickly. Be 
 faithful, for of the peril of these things you 
 seem to be fully aware. And say to him who 
 sent you, that Margaret is unchanged — the 
 same to him as ever» I must join my com- 
 panions. Adieu.' ^ 
 
 Margaret instantly quitted the woman ; and, 
 anxious as she felt to learn the contents of the 
 letter just delivered to her in so singular a 
 manner, was compelled to delay the perusal, 
 and once more joined her companions. 
 
 As these gentlemen were both aware that 
 her father had quitted England on account of 
 Ills political and religious opinions, and had 
 died in much distress in a foreign land, they
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 155 
 
 concluded some peculiarly painful circumstan- 
 ces, as Margaret had indeed herself told them^ 
 were connected with that little emblem of her 
 faith, the remembrance of which had so deeply 
 affected her feelings on the restoration of the 
 token ; they forbore, therefore, from motives of 
 delicacy, to revert to the late surprise. And 
 Slanning, who was of a temper remarkable 
 for its cheerful good-humour, endeavoured to 
 direct her attention by that playful flow of 
 conversation, which, though it might be want- 
 ing in wit, was full of the vivacity of youthful 
 spirits and thoughtless mirth. 
 
 They now pursued their way towards the 
 farm-house, the object of their destination ; 
 passing in their road a cluster of little thatched 
 cottages, piled one above the other, on the 
 projecting portions of some rocks, not far from 
 the banks of the Tavy. The cottages of Devon 
 were, at this period, as they now are, un- 
 equalled in their picturesque beauty. The ro- 
 mantic interest of these was greatly heightened 
 by a rapid and clear stream that ran past the 
 base of the rocks on which they were situated. 
 Passing these humble tenements, the party fol- 
 lowed a path that ran through groves of the 
 lofty elm and the oak, where many a graceful
 
 156 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD, 
 
 tree, its branches crossing the road, and 
 uniting- with the boughs on the opposite side, 
 formed a natural arcade above the head ; 
 whilst, through the openings of the way, a 
 view of the bubbling and sparkling Tavy grati- 
 fied the eye with the most lively effects of light 
 and shade. 
 
 At length they began to descend a steep and 
 irregular path, which brought them into a 
 valley watered by the Lumbourne, whose 
 small stream falls into the Tavy. John Fitz 
 observed they were now near a cottage in- 
 habited by an old servant of the family, who 
 had been his nurse, which he admired more 
 than all the rest, for the peculiar beauty of the 
 spot where it was situated. It lay before their 
 view. The rose-bush, the myrtle, and the 
 honeysuckle grew luxuriantly about the cottage 
 walls; and its thatched roof appeared mantled 
 with ivy. Near the entrance were seen two or 
 three straw bee-hives, their busy inhabitants 
 sporting and humming around, whilst on the 
 wing, to rifle every flower, and add its sweets 
 to their own store. 
 
 The little stream we have before noticed, 
 after falling over some low masses of rock, 
 glided past the door of the cottage ; and a few
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 157 
 
 sheep^ completely domesticated, browsed on a 
 smooth green plot, like a lawn, that in part 
 surrounded the house. They seemed quite un- 
 disturbed by the feathered tribe of ducks and 
 fowls that were near them , whilst at some 
 little distance a peacock spread its gay plu- 
 mage, whose diversity of colour sparkled with 
 the utmost brilliancy, as the kingly bird strut- 
 ted in the rays of the sun. The surrounding 
 valley was closed in by hills richly hung with 
 wood, from whose sides started abruptly many 
 a majestic rock, finely diversified in form and 
 colour ; the whole combination of objects pre- 
 senting a scene of exquisite beauty. 
 
 Margaret, whose feelings had been so dis- 
 turbed by the late occurrence, before she 
 reached this spot, complained of weariness and 
 indisposition ; and, as the party drew nearer to 
 the cottage, one of those sudden and heavy 
 showers, so frequent in Devon, even on the 
 finest day, overtook them. The dress of the 
 May- Queen was ill calculated to resist it ; 
 and Slanning, observing that she looked also 
 too unwell to go farther, bid Robin Hood 
 seek a shelter for his fair companion, whilst 
 he went himself to the farm-house, which was 
 ^till at some distance, to order the oxen to
 
 158 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 bear home the May-pole. Having said this, 
 Slanning ran off as fast as he could to execute 
 his purpose. 
 
 The shower increased, and though it was 
 but one of those common to the season and 
 the county, still, for the time it lasted, it was 
 heavy. John Fitz hastened on with Margaret 
 to the cottage, where, receiving no answer to 
 his repeated call, he raised the latch, remark- 
 ing that the rain was his license for so doing; 
 and as the mistress of the tenement had been 
 an old servant of the family, he was quite sure 
 of a welcome. The cottage, however, he 
 found to be entirely deserted ; the sports of 
 May-day having in all probability led abroad 
 its inmates at an early hour. With the kindest 
 attention to Margaret, he conducted her into 
 the little neat room near the entrance, made her 
 sit down, and endeavoured by every means in 
 his power to dispel the anxiety that it was evi- 
 dent still preyed on her mind. 
 
 We pass in silence the many little acts of 
 kindness thus offered by John Fitz to the ob- 
 ject of his solicitude. They appeared tolbe 
 offered in vain ; and, unable longer to suppress 
 her feelings, Margaret burst into tears. 
 
 '' Tears ! Maroaret," exclaimed Fitz, as he
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 159 
 
 looked upon her with a countenance full of 
 the tenderest concern ; '' surely there is some- 
 thinof niore in this than the sorrow of filial 
 affection! The stran^-e incident of this morning-, 
 this unusual agitation — might I, Margaret, 
 dare I ask, is there aught I could do to relieve 
 your feelings, or to share them?" 
 
 She hesitated, and looked down ; for there 
 was a warmth of expression in the manner of 
 her companion, which implied a tenderness 
 she feared would lead him to speak on a sub- 
 ject he had of late repeatedly pressed upon 
 her : yet her own confusion was great ; and 
 scarcely knowing what she said, she replied 
 with embarrassment, '' Let me pray you not 
 to notice me; my mind has been much dis- 
 turbed — you must allow some indulgence for 
 the feelings of the orphan and the friendless." 
 
 '' Friendless 1" exclaimed Fitz, " Margaret, 
 do not call yourself such whilst I am near 
 you. Too well you know, though you have 
 forbid me to hope, that I would serve you 
 with life itself, so I might but prove to you 
 how much, how sincerely I love you." 
 
 Margaret was silent ; but her complexion 
 changed, like the cloud of evening, from white 
 to red ; and all the tide of life seemed suddenly
 
 160 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 called up into her face and neck. " Yes, 
 Margaret/' continued Fitz, '' I can no longer 
 hide the truth ; my peace, my happiness, rest 
 on you. You interested my feelings when I 
 first knew you, only as an unfortunate stranger 
 who was fatherless, almost friendless. But 
 then I knew not half your worth. The inti- 
 macy of our families, the many opportunities 
 I have had of viewing those thousand virtues 
 that adorn your mind, have confirmed in my 
 heart the affection which might at first, per- 
 haps, have been inspired by the graces of 
 youth and beauty — all my hopes now rest on 
 
 you." 
 
 '' I must not hear this," said Margaret, in 
 extreme agitation; '' I beseech you, let me go 
 hence." 
 
 '' Margaret," said Fitz, '' hear me ; for a mo- 
 ment but listen in patience. Do not shun me ; 
 this may be the last time I shall ever crave a 
 hearing. Of all evils, to me suspense is the most 
 terrible. You were wont to be candid in your 
 nature. If I am hateful to you, tell me so, 
 and my suit shall never more offend your ears ; 
 I shall then know my fate. I shall have cer- 
 tainty, though it were but another name for 
 misery — yet were there but a shadow of hope.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 161 
 
 what is there 1 would not endure to win 
 you?" 
 
 Marg-aret spoke some few words in reply. 
 They intimated the answer she had before so 
 repeatedly given^ that John Fitz had better 
 think of her no more. Yet, as she did not al- 
 lude to her own feelings respecting him, he 
 was by no means satisfied. 
 
 " Another moment," said Fitz, " and I will 
 importune no long-er. We are both, Margaret, 
 the creatures of one God. In his name I call 
 upon you to be sincere to me. We are bound, 
 even by his laws, to do no injury to another. 
 And what injury is so deep as that which de- 
 stroys the peace of a fellow-being by trifling 
 with his affections ? — Tell me but truth, declare 
 to me the real motive of this rejection . and if 
 I am despised, though I may feel my disap- 
 pointment as the loss of all my dearest hopes 
 in life, yet I will try to bear it as a man. Can 
 you lay your hand upon your heart, and say 
 that I am no more to you than the common 
 friend whose welfare you might wish, but whose 
 loss would be indifferent ? — Answer but this, 
 and my fate is decided." 
 
 These words were spoken by Fitz in a man- 
 ner so expressive of his deep feelings, that
 
 162 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 Margaret became even yet more agitated. She 
 had seen little of the world; but there is a per- 
 ception natural to women of a cultivated mind, 
 which, in an instant, detects the difference exist- 
 ing between the mere gallantry of a common- 
 place suitor, and the sincere expressions of a 
 true affection ; and such Margaret felt to be 
 that of John Fitz. As she raised her head, 
 her eye caught a view of the anxious, the im- 
 passioned countenance of him who now ad- 
 dressed her. His looks spoke more than his 
 words ; and as her hasty glance was met by 
 his, a deep blush overspread her cheek ; her 
 eye turned again upon the ground, whilst a 
 tear started unbidden, and hung upon the dark 
 lash by which it was shaded. 
 
 Fitz, with the eagerness of ardent affection, 
 observed this, and once more emphatically 
 called upon her to speak to him with sincerity. 
 The agitation of Margaret increased, the mor« 
 she endeavoured to become composed, as the 
 young man continued to press his suit in terms 
 equally tender and emphatic ; and once more 
 did he solenmly appeal to her feelings to re- 
 lieve his mind from the torturing suspense 
 under which it laboured. 
 
 At length she replied, " I am little used to
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 163 
 
 conceal the feelings of my mind, and still less 
 could I dissimulate them ; yet I know my sin- 
 cerity may subject me to appear wanting in that 
 sense of maidenly reserve which is suited to my 
 sex and to my age. Yet surely you will not 
 misconstrue the very candour you solicit. I am 
 the child of misfortune , I dare not act freely, 
 nor dare I follow the impulse of my own feel- 
 ings. Had I been placed in other circum- 
 stances, I might- have" — slie stopt. 
 
 *^' Speak, nay speak," cried Fitz impatiently; 
 " tell me, might I have hoped you would have 
 received, that you would have returned my 
 faithful, my unbounded affection ?" 
 
 The silence of Margaret, her confusion, all 
 confirmed the truth, and Fitz succeeded in 
 gaining from her an avowal that she was not 
 insensible to his love. She was, perhaps, sur- 
 prised into an acknowledgment of her feelings, 
 and the same hour that witnessed the confession 
 of mutual affection, also witnessed the mutual 
 pledge that it should be faithful. Still the deli- 
 cate and sensitive mind of Margaret appeared 
 to apprehend that she had been too candid ; 
 but her delighted lover answered every objec- 
 tion with an ardour that shewed how much he
 
 164 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 valued the hopes to which this avowal had 
 given birth. 
 
 " Marg-aret/' said he, ''^ do not thus upbraid 
 a sincerity which has given me life and happi- 
 ness ; and do not suppose me capable of that 
 ingratitude which misconstrues a conduct that 
 I admire and revere. — My Margaret is far 
 above the idle vanity of too many of her sex, 
 who play with the feelings of another, and are 
 alike incapable of tenderness or sincerity." 
 
 " Yet do not mistake me/' said Margaret ; 
 " I will never be the means of injuring you 
 with your family, or of rendering you wanting 
 in duty to your father." 
 
 '^ My father loves me," replied Fitz ; '^ I 
 will confess to him, that without you he can 
 never hope to see his only son happy or pros- 
 perous in life. He shall solicit your guardian 
 in my behalf, and all will be well." 
 
 '' But your mother," said Margaret doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 '^ My mother must submit to my father's 
 will," answered Fitz ; '' and what could she 
 desire more than to see her son united to one 
 who will confer honour upon him to whom she 
 gives her hand, rather than receive it? I
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 165 
 
 know my mother's weak point, but I do not 
 fear to meet it." 
 
 '' But I fear it," said Margaret; '' I know 
 that my unhappy father's name is despised by 
 your mother. She will think you degraded, by 
 having placed your affections on the orphan of 
 a disgraced and beggared house. And, humbled 
 as I am by fortune, I have too nice a sense of 
 what is due to my father's memory, and to my 
 own character, to enter that family where I 
 should be held in contempt. — I have no such 
 dignity to boast as Lady Fitz would regard ; 
 but the dignity of right action and of self- 
 esteem is always w ithin my own power ; and 
 the hard-hearted world shall not rob me of 
 either." 
 
 '*^It could not," said Fitz, '' since it could 
 never deprive you of those feelings that 
 give birth to both. But why these doubts, 
 Margaret ; why embitter the happiness I feel at 
 this moment? — Let us hope for the best. — 
 Leave me to overcome those difficulties I may 
 have to contend with ; and surely on your part 
 none can exist. You owe obedience to no one 
 but a guardian, who delights to render you 
 happy." 
 
 " There is a cause," said Margaret ; '^ that
 
 1G6 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 is/' she added in a confused manner^ ^' there 
 are circumstances I cannot explain to yon, that 
 render me apprehensive." 
 
 '^ What cause ! what circumstances I" ex- 
 claimed Fitz ; ^' surely you at least are free to 
 make that choice which your own heart shall 
 dictate?" 
 
 " I am not free to wed/' said Marg-aret, 
 '' without" 
 
 " Without what !" cried Fitz^ alarmed by 
 her manner. 
 
 '^ Forbear to question me/' said Margaret, 
 ^' I beseech you to forbear. The time may 
 come when I shall be at liberty to be more ex- 
 plicit : for the present, rest assured, that after 
 what has this day passed, some powerful cause 
 can alone induce me to keep from you a confi- 
 dence you have now" a right to claim." 
 
 '^ You astonish me/' said Fitz: ""your words 
 are dark, Margaret ; and but that I know the 
 truth of your mind, I should mistrust you. — 
 Surely the strange incident of this morning — I 
 know not w hat to think. In pity to my feelings, 
 tell me more, tell me the worst." 
 
 " I dare not," said Margaret ; '' I am 
 bound to silence by the most solemn ties. — 
 There is indeed, and heaven knows with how
 
 FITZ OP FITZ-FORD. 16J^ 
 
 sad a heart I confess it, there is a mystery about 
 my fate, which only time can clear. — Yet thus 
 much I would say for your sake, and perhaps 
 for my own, that we may both live to rue the 
 faith we have this day plighted to each other." 
 
 '^^ I never can do so," said Fitz; ^'^ never^ 
 unless you change ; and that I will not think, 
 Margaret. What can thus alarm you, in oppo- 
 sition to an affection that I believe concerns 
 your happiness even as it does mine ?" 
 
 '^ I am not at liberty to speak plainly," said 
 Margaret : '' but thus much I may say ; that were 
 there no other cause, the ancient enmity borne 
 by your mother to my father's blood, to his 
 principles, were enough to crush all hope." 
 
 ^'No, Margaret, no," said Fitz, ^^ that 
 obstacle must give way. Nothing shall ever 
 part us but your own change of heart, and 
 that I will hope cannot be. Yet this mystery 
 alarms me, and the more since I am forbidden 
 to enquire into it. I thought you had no friend 
 but your guardian ; that no one existed who 
 could influence yourmind or rule your conduct, 
 now that your father is no more." 
 
 *^He is dead indeed," said Margaret, '^^but his 
 influence still exists. Urge me not to say how 
 it exists. I am the daughter of misfortune, sur-
 
 168 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 rounded by difficulties I dare not explain^ and 
 the time may come when I may need a friend to 
 save me from misery." 
 
 '' And you have one, Margaret, a faithful, 
 a devoted friend," said Fitz. " I will no longer 
 urge you to a confidence your own rectitude 
 of mind forbids you to repose in me ; but I 
 will hope all from time and your affection." 
 
 Whilst Fitz yet spoke, he was interrupted 
 by a noise without doors ; for so deeply had 
 these young persons been engaged in a subject 
 so interesting to their own feelings, that neither 
 of them perceived the shower was past, till 
 their attention was now awakened by the rei- 
 terated shouts of Sir Nicholas Slanning, who, 
 having accomplished his mission, had returned 
 in quest of his partners in the maying. He 
 was instantly joined by Margaret and Fitz, and 
 returned with them to take part in the proces- 
 sion that was about to form itself in honour of 
 the sports of the day.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 169 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 The gallant bruin march'd next him. 
 With visage formidably grim, — 
 And laid about him, till his nose 
 From thrall of ring and cord broke loose.. 
 Soon as he felt himself enlarg'd, 
 Through thickest of his foes he charg'd, 
 And made way through th' amazed crew; 
 Some he o'er-ran and some o'erthrew : 
 In haste he fled, and so did they, 
 Each and his fear a several way. 
 
 HUDIBRAS. 
 
 The May-pole, thickly huiig- with boughs of 
 the hawthorn, the laurel, and the holly, that 
 g-row so luxuriantly in Devon, decorated with 
 all the flowers of spring, bound about with ri- 
 bands, its top finished with a garland like a 
 crown, and many a silk banner streaming from 
 its sides, was drawn triumphantly into Tavi- 
 stock by several yoke of oxen, upon whose horns 
 appeared nosegays tied with ribands. The vo- 
 taries of May followed in procession, their caps 
 covered with hawthorn, and each bearing a 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 bough from the " gay green-wood," singing and 
 rejoicing to the sounds of minstrelsy that pre- 
 ceded their steps. 
 
 As they drew near the town, at a spot before 
 appointed, the procession was joined by a party 
 of young men dressed in sad- coloured russet, 
 their bonnets covered with ivy and yew, repre- 
 senting the band of Winter, headed by an old 
 fellow, whose long white beard and grey locks 
 constituted him no bad representative of the 
 churlish tyrant of the year. 
 
 In opposition to this formidable array, the 
 May Queen, attended by several young maidens, 
 their heads crowned with flowers, led on the 
 procession, followed by Robin Hood and his 
 band of archers, with friar Tuck, the fool, the 
 dragon, and the hobby-horse. The latter, a 
 curious personage in this motley drama, was 
 played by Barnabas, who was now equipped for 
 the character, having cased himself in a mask 
 formed of pasteboard to represent a horse's 
 head, to which was added a flowing mane, and 
 he was also decorated with a tail of the real 
 animal, his ears and head being hung with fea- 
 thers, little silver bells, and ribands of all 
 colours, a species of finery displayed on May- 
 day, which might have given rise to the vulgar
 
 FfTZ OF FITZ-FORD. 171 
 
 saying- of ^^ as fine as the horse." To the mouth 
 of the pasteboard mask was attached a ladle, 
 intended as the receiver of all contributions to- 
 wards the sports of the day. 
 
 The display of the hobby-horse, from the 
 words of Hamlet, who complains that the hobby- 
 horse was forgot, we may conclude was some- 
 what out of fashion, even in the time of EHza- 
 beth ; nevertheless he still kept his ground, and 
 that too for many years, in Devon, even after he 
 had elsewhere fallen into oblivion. His feats 
 chiefly consisted in dancing and capering, in imi- 
 tation of the cabrioles of a horse, in rattling 
 across the stones in hob-nailed shoes, and in 
 playing off certain tricks of legerdemain, which 
 required this representative of a brute beast to 
 shew himself human by the use of his hands. 
 
 The dragon, the constant companion of the 
 hobby-horse, appeared also cased in pasteboard, 
 and flourished with great effect a long, gilt, and 
 scaly tail, intended to personify the body of that 
 apocryphal creature. Such were the principal 
 characters of the May-games; who were invari- 
 ably attended by the morris-dancers, with caps 
 covered with paper crowns, and hung about with 
 silver bells, the same kind of bells being also 
 fastened to their feet. 
 
 I 2
 
 172 FITZ OP FITZ-FORD. 
 
 The procession having- passed through the 
 principal streets of the town^ now proceeded up 
 the avenue to Fitz-ford : since it was on he 
 green lawn before that mansion that the May- 
 pole was to be set up as the rallying point of all 
 the diversions of the day. The church choris- 
 ters walked in a body^ the latin boys followed^ 
 and right merrily did they all join in the old 
 Eno-lish chorus of " We have broutrht the sum- 
 mer home/' the welcome burden of a May-day 
 rejoicing. 
 
 Hence Winter, with thy locks of snow, 
 
 Depart on frozen wings, 
 For now the ice-bound streamlets flow, 
 
 The lark his carol sings ; 
 And flowers uprear their lowly heads 
 
 Freed from thy captive doom, 
 Each wood his greenest mantle spreads : 
 
 " We have brought the Summer home," 
 
 Hence Winter, hide thy churlish brow, 
 
 Darkness and storms away. 
 For bird and bee on light wing now 
 
 Sport on the hawthorn spray. 
 The painted butterfly is free : 
 
 And childhood plucks the yellow broom, 
 V/eaves the wreatli, and sings with glee, 
 
 *' We have brought the Summer home." 
 
 Before the procession reached Fitz-ford^ old 
 Sir Hugh, Lady Fitz, Dame Glanville, Lady
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 173 
 
 Howard, and indeed all those guests who had 
 not joined the procession,, came out to receive it 
 with all due honour ; and, after some respectful 
 ceremonies paid and received. Sir Hugh took his 
 seat under a temporary arbour, called Robin 
 Hood's bower, to witness some of the sports of 
 the day that were about to begin. 
 
 The rejoicings, however, were not confined to 
 Fitz-ford, they were general throughout the 
 town ; even the parish church was decorated 
 with hawthorn, and every house displayed its 
 livery of May-boughs. Nor were the popular 
 superstitions of the times forgotten. Some of 
 these were peculiar to the county ; and vestiges of 
 them still exist in the present day. Every good 
 wife who could boast the possession of a cow, 
 failed not to hang upon the door of her dairy an 
 ashen bough, in order to keep off the evil spirit, 
 that the milk of her kine might be plentiful 
 throughout the year. The wedding ring of the 
 last married neighbour was thrown into the milk- 
 pail, and scrambled for by the hands of those 
 eager damsels who were desirous to wear such 
 a conjugal pledge themselves before the return 
 of the next May- day. Whilst other maidens, 
 less bold in exhibiting their wishes, but all as 
 anxious to ascertain their accomplishments, pro-
 
 174 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 cured a snail^ aiid^ placing it in private upon the 
 white ashes of the hearth, watched with eager 
 eyes its progress as it slowly crawled along, in 
 the hope to trace what letter they might fancy it 
 would form, as the initial of the hoped-for 
 lover's name. 
 
 The archers bent their bows, and shot at a 
 mark with a cloth-yard arrow, for the prize of a 
 silver cup; whilst many a hardy youth cud- 
 gelled, wrestled, pitched the bar, or ran at the 
 ring, with a superiority of strength and skill that 
 at all times distinguished the yeomanry of De- 
 von ; so that Drake himself was wont to boast 
 the men of his county as unequalled in Europe. 
 On this day even children amused themselves 
 with unusual glee, and played the old games of 
 pick hatch and blind hob, from morn to night. 
 
 Sir Hugh and his party havdng taken their 
 seats, the grand mock battle between Summer 
 and Winter speedily began, to the great de- 
 light of Sir Hugh, who really enjoyed this part 
 of the amusement almost as much as he did his 
 astrological studies ; since he took particular 
 pains to descant upon it, and to prove to his au- 
 ditors to what remote antiquity its ceremonies 
 might be traced. Nothing escaped him ; and 
 most of his remarks were as sage and as in-
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 175 
 
 structive as the following-: " There/' cried Sir 
 Hugh, " look Lady Howard, observe Dame 
 Glanville, there comes Maid Marian the May- 
 Queen, led on by the soft music of flutes, lutes, 
 tabor and pipe. John Fygge, the piper, has 
 the best hand at a tabor-stick in all the county. 
 And see that old fellow in the white beard, who 
 plays the part of Winter ; to be in concord with 
 the season he represents, he is led on by the 
 discord of tongs, marrow-bones, and cleavers, 
 commonly called rough music ; and a very an- 
 cient phrase it is I do assure you, though some of 
 my learned friends have disputed its origin with 
 me. But I have written upon the subject my- 
 self, in which writings I may say I have proved 
 that the word rough does not mean smooth, 
 ergo, that harsh sounds produced by the 
 contact of harsh materials, may, with great 
 probability and undoubted propriety, come 
 mider the denomination of rough music, that is, 
 always supposing, as in the present case, such 
 sounds are intended to be musical." 
 
 A loud shout from the populace here inter- 
 rupted the remarks of the learned commentator 
 on rough music, and announced that the onset 
 was commenced. This onset was an attempt 
 made on the part of Winter and his band to
 
 17^ riTZ OF FITZ-FOKD. 
 
 seize on the May Queen, whose attendant 
 archers, or the band of Summer, instantly re- 
 pelled it with vigour ; and, after a short con- 
 test, oblig-ed Winter and his troop to take 
 shelter in the barn at Fitz-ford, where they 
 were to be consoled for this defeat by feasting 
 under cover, upon roast beef and plum-pudding, 
 whilst the votaries of Summer partook of their 
 dinner under no other roof than such as was 
 afforded by the spreading boughs yet thinly 
 clothed with leaves. 
 
 As soon as Winter was beaten off the ground, 
 the morris-dancers tripped forward to take his 
 place, and waved their silken scarfs, and jingled 
 their bells merrily, as they footed it round the 
 May-pole to the music of pipe and tabor. 
 The rest of the characters joined the dance; 
 the hobby-horse practised ^' his ambles and 
 his trots," with a dexterity that excited the 
 applause of the populace. The fool and the 
 dragon joined the throng. The one flourished 
 his bauble, and the other his scaly tail, to the 
 great delight of all the little boys and girls 
 there assembled, and to the no less delight of 
 Sir Hugh Fitz himself, who stood looking on, 
 snapping his fingers to the beat of the tabor 
 and the jingle of the bells, as he exclaimed.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD, 177 
 
 ^' that's bravely danced ; and the hobby-horse 
 has no bad idea of a trot^ for an animal that 
 has but two legs^ where we generally look to 
 find four. The morris is right orderly and 
 well performed. It is a pity^, though, that the 
 dancers of it don't know any thing of the an- 
 tiquity of their own capers. I will warrant me 
 they are ignorant whence this custom is derived ; 
 for if they knew it as I do, they would carry 
 swords in their hands, instead of those foolish 
 jingling bells, and clash them in time to the 
 music, like the dances of the Pyrrhick, or war 
 dance. But who comes yonder, that the peo- 
 ple are making way for so readily, with as 
 much respect as if he were the town mayor?" 
 
 '' It is Mike of the Mount," said Lady Fitz, 
 looking in the direction to which Sir Hugh 
 pointed ; " he is the Cornish minstrel. Lady 
 Howard, and never fails to visit our poor house 
 on the first of May. He is a lad of excellent 
 parts, I assure you, and knows the history, and 
 the alliances, and the bearings of every honour- 
 able family in the two counties, as well as if he 
 were Rouge Dragon himself of the College of 
 Arms." 
 
 '' He shall be most welcome," said Sir 
 Hugh ; '' bid the lad come forward. I honour 
 I 5
 
 178 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 him for his antiquity, though he does not seem 
 to have a hair on his chin. Let him come 
 forward." 
 
 The Cornish minstrel accordingly approached 
 the presence of the great man of the parish, 
 who welcomed him heartily to the games. 
 Mike of the Mount, born at a place called 
 Mousehole, under St. Michael's Mount, in 
 Cornwall, was a young professor of that tribe 
 of itinerant poets or bards thai had now fallen 
 into oblivion in most parts of England ; but in 
 the west, as in Wales, a few favoured mortals 
 still kept up the old vocation, once so highly 
 esteemed when love and chivalry divided the 
 worship of the noble and the gay. The youth 
 in question was the son and successor of an 
 elder of his tribe, who had practised the arts of 
 rhyme and song for more than half a century 
 amongst the mountains and vallies of Cornwall 
 and Devon. 
 
 Mike was a well-favoured youth, and to his 
 skill on the light harp that he carried slung 
 across his shoulders, united that of a clear and 
 mellow voice, with some power of stringing 
 rhymes and couplets. His manners had re- 
 ceived a degree of refinement far beyond those 
 cf the country yeoman ; and in all probability
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 179 
 
 he had acquired this by being- admitted, even 
 from his childish days, into the halls of the 
 wealthy and the noble ; add to which, his mind 
 had acquired that sort of grace that generally 
 flows upon him who drinks of the waters of 
 Helicon and Parnassus. And though so young, 
 his itinerant life had afforded him opportunities 
 of gaininga certain degree of knowledge, which 
 is only to be acquired by mixing with the 
 world ; at least with the world of village gos- 
 sips. And as men are pretty much the same 
 in their nature in a great city or in a country 
 town, though in the latter their passions shew 
 themselves in a more confined sphere, and often 
 therefore on trifling objects ; a shrewd youth, 
 like our minstrel, soon learnt the art of render- 
 ing himself popular with all kinds and classes 
 of men with whom he had to deal, by acquiring 
 a pretty correct knowledge of their habits, 
 manners, and inclinations. 
 
 Thus, with the noble lord, or proud dame, 
 he was humble and unobtrusive, and generally 
 chose a ballad that he assured them referred to 
 the actions of some one or other of their ex- 
 alted ancestors ; so contriving many a jingling 
 rhyme that, at a shift, by the simple change of 
 a name, he could make one knight of a cele-
 
 180 FITZ OF FITZ-FOKD, 
 
 bratecl house knock another knight of the ad- 
 verse family on the head, and so again, reverse 
 the success of the fight when he visited the 
 halls of the opposite party : just in the same 
 way as did certain minstrels who invariably 
 sang the defeat of the Scots on the English 
 border, and vice versa, hedl the Southerns when 
 they rehearsed the same ballads on Scottish 
 land. 
 
 With the farmers' wives, Mike *^^ took state 
 upon him," and often played off a few airs in 
 his own person, before he condescended to do 
 as much upon his instrument. Like a modern 
 amateur, he sometimes needed pressing. Thus 
 his voice was out of tune, or his harp could not 
 be brought easily into order, till at length his 
 flourishes generally ended in singing the ballad 
 of St. George and the Dragon, or the woeful 
 ditty of the Lady Isabella's Tragedy, wherein he 
 gravely rehearsed to his wondering auditors, 
 that a certain cruel step-mother gave orders to 
 the cook to kill her daughter-in-law ; how the 
 cook did the same, and made her into a pie ; 
 and how, when the great lord came home and 
 missed his daughter at dinner, he made a vow 
 not to eat nor drink ^' until he did her see ;" 
 when
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORB. 18i 
 
 " Oh, then, bespoke the scullion boy, 
 With a loud voice so hye : 
 * If now you will your daughter see, 
 My Lord, cut up thatpye.' " 
 
 For the ears of the pretty village girls he had 
 ditties all as tragical, and could sing to them 
 the cruelty of Barbara Allen, or the ballad of 
 Childe Waters, as lessons to warn the fair sex 
 against the dangers of being either too cruel or 
 too kind ;— -adding a sage moral of his own, or 
 rather one transmitted to him by the aged min- 
 strel his predecessor, that said, whereas in Bar- 
 bara's tale it would be found she had killed her 
 lover by the severity of her virtue, in the latter 
 story, the love of the great lord, from having 
 no virtue at all, was so humbled as, in the dress 
 of a page, to be made to run after him bare- 
 foot. 
 
 " She all the day long Childe Waters rode, 
 Ran barefoot through the broome ; 
 Yet he was never so courteous a knight, 
 To say put on your shoone." 
 
 With the young men, whose taste lay mostly 
 in hearing of exploits of valour, or tales of 
 comic humour, Mike could rehearse many a 
 ballad of Robin Hood, that Ritson would
 
 182 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 have gloried in having to add to his collection ; 
 or he would sing- the tale of the Miller of 
 Mansfield, till, at the hearing- of it, the broad 
 shoulders of his auditors would shake with 
 peals of laughter, and they would shout and 
 clap their '' chopped hands" in the extacy of 
 their mirth. Even with children too the min- 
 strel had become popular, and, whilst the little 
 boys and girls stood with open mouth, eager 
 ears, and every little plump feature wearing 
 an air of fixed attention, Mike would sing his 
 best news from fairy-land, and tell how idle 
 boys were pinched and whipped by no earthly 
 hand ; that a little bird told all they did that 
 was naughty ; but that the good and docile 
 would be sure one of these mornings to find 
 their reward of a 
 
 " White silver tester fine, 
 All dropt into their shoe." 
 
 Such was the youth and his occupation, who 
 now came to add joy to the joyful on this 
 merry day of May. He was dressed fantasti- 
 cally; but a face like his, with every feature 
 well formed, an eye as clear and as blue as a 
 summer sky, a cheek like a rose, with a head 
 covered with clustering curls of light brown,
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 183 
 
 might make any dress seem graceful. He took 
 up his wrest, that hung- by a riband round 
 his neck, speedily brought his harp into tune, 
 and, as the g-ay youths and maidens danced 
 round the May-pole, sang some verses of his 
 own to an old English air, for the following 
 modernized version of which we are indebted to a 
 Devonshire bard.^ 
 
 SONG. 
 
 " Though, Delia, on the flovv'ry mead. 
 With thee the sportive dance I lead, 
 View not the virgins with disdain 
 Who for a partner sigh in vain. 
 
 " Though oft with truth thou hear'st me, swear 
 Thine eyes are bright, thy face is fair ; 
 Oh ! think not Love has throMTi his dart, 
 And pierc'd for thee my thrilling heart. 
 
 " For I from fair to fair resort, 
 
 And pay to each my amorous court ; 
 In hopes at last a maid to find, 
 The best and fairest of her kind. 
 
 " Thus from the hive the insect flies, 
 And soars o'er flowers of thousand dyes ; 
 But, when the sweetest strikes his view, 
 He shuts his wings, and sips its dew." 
 
 Thus gaily passed the morning ; but as a 
 course of pleasure, like that of true love, seldom 
 • Edward A. Bray.
 
 184 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 ruiis smooth, so neither did it on the present 
 occasion. Many a party of young- men, who 
 began in mere mirth to try conclusions at 
 sinole- stick, or to wrestle and break each 
 others' heads for mere amusement, by degrees 
 got on from mirth to extravagance, and from 
 thence to quarrelling ; so that trials of skill at 
 length degenerated into those of angry contest, 
 and many a cracked crown and bloody nose 
 shewed most forcibly the truth of that position, 
 which avers fists, clubs, and single-stick, to be 
 as dangerous things to be played with as 
 edo-ed tools. Another cause of disturbance also 
 
 o 
 
 occurred, which, as it had like to have ended 
 seriously with an important personage of our 
 drama, must not be passed in silence. 
 
 At the time of our narrative, it will be re- 
 membered by many of our readers, that the 
 Puritans, then a rising sect, made a furious 
 attack upon the sports of May-day. Several of 
 their preachers and leading men, in divers parts 
 of England, making it a rule, in order to 
 shew their boldness and zeal for the repressing 
 of heathenish abominations, to choose that day 
 to take their stand, exalted upon a tub, or in a 
 cart, to address the people in the open streets 
 on the infamy and idolatry of the practice.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 185 
 
 On the present occasion^ one of these zealots 
 disturbed the high ceremonies of May-day in the 
 town of Tavistock ; and^ without respect of per- 
 sons, or for the character of those honourable 
 names who mingled in the games, thundered out 
 the denunciations of God's wrath upon them, and 
 upon the land that sanctioned such practices. The 
 maypole was compared to the golden calf wor- 
 shipped by the children of Israel to their utter 
 confusion ; poor Maid Marian was denounced as 
 the harlot of Babylon ; Friar Tuck, as represent- 
 ing a Romish priest, was duly consigned, with 
 the pope and all that belonged to him, to the 
 devil. The drag-on was likened to the old ser- 
 pent that first tempted man to evil ; the fool and 
 the hobby-horse were pointed out as vile and abo- 
 minable vestiges of heathen superstition, and the 
 whole sports in honour of the day as a stinking 
 sacrifice on the altar of Beelzebub. 
 
 The effects of this address were various on 
 the auditory. Some replied to it with peals of 
 laughter; others turned up their eyes, and 
 groaned at every interjectional anathema; whilst 
 many mocked and mimicked the furious coun- 
 tenance and gestures of the preacher. And as 
 Solomon Savegrace grew louder and warmer in 
 his discourse, so did many of the younger men
 
 185 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 grow more and more incensed at his audacity ; 
 till at length he became so very personal in his 
 applications of metaphor, that several of the 
 cong'reg'ation suddenly rushed upon him with 
 such violence, that the bottom of the barrel, set 
 on end, upon which he stood g-ave way, and the 
 preacher instantly disappearing" within its capa- 
 cious bowels, they turned it on its side, and, but 
 for the interference of their betters, the mob 
 would have rolled it down to the river, there to 
 afford a cooling draught to this zealous Regulus^ 
 of puritanical fame. 
 
 Solomon Savegrace, however, with some diffi- 
 culty escaped this consummation of his day's 
 work ; and being fairly driven from the field, 
 slunk home, somewhat chop-fallen, but still vent- 
 ing anathemas, though in a much lower tone, 
 and merely attended by a few old men and 
 women, who deemed it a duty incumbent upon 
 them not to desert their spiritual instructor at 
 the hour of his peril. 
 
 But discord having once broken in upon the 
 day, was resolved to keep the field ; and another 
 cause of strife, of a more serious nature, occurred. 
 No sooner had Savegrace been driven out, than 
 there appeared, upon the very spot where he 
 had stood, a very different sort of person to sup-
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 187 
 
 ply his place^ being one no less important in his 
 office than that of bear-ward of the district. In 
 one hand he carried a staffs with a little pennon 
 at the end of it^ embroidered with the arms of 
 the town, and ringing- a bell by way of pro- 
 logue, he gave notice aloud that the contest 
 between the dogs and the bear was about to 
 begin. 
 
 All now hurried to the bear-garden, which 
 stood not very far from the banks of the Tavy, 
 surrounded by a temporary gallery and seats for 
 the accommodation of the numerous spectators. 
 They were of both sexes, and cf high as well as 
 low degree. Sports of this savage kind having 
 been sanctioned, as it is well known, by roypJty 
 itself, they w ere deemed fashionable ; nor will 
 the Enoflish reader wonder at this, when he re- 
 members that Elizabeth often visited the bear- 
 garden, surrounded by her courtiers and ladies 
 of honour. 
 
 On the present occasion, however, several of 
 the ladies at Fitz-ford, and Margaret Champer- 
 noun, declined being present, not so much, per- 
 haps, from feeling any particular disgust at the 
 amusement, since even the most delicate minds 
 are in some degree influenced by the prevalence 
 of custom, as from a wish to recover themselves
 
 188 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 after the fatigues of the nioniing"^ in order to 
 share the festivities of the evening- mask and 
 ball. Marg-aret long-ed also to be alone^ that 
 she might find an opportunity to peruse her 
 mysterious letter, and to compose her spirits, 
 after the various agitations they had suffered du- 
 ring- the day. 
 
 All the young- men, however, and even Sir 
 Hugh Fitz, found their way down to the bear- 
 garden, and speedily took their seats. We 
 must here notice, that the gallery for the specta- 
 tors was raised on either side the open space 
 allotted for the contest. The lower part of this 
 space was left open, without any barrier 
 or pallisade. This was not the plan of a 
 regular bear-garden, that at Tavistock being 
 merely a temporary erection for the day. In 
 speaking of the horrid sport that follows, we 
 shall be as brief as possible ; since, in our 
 times, we cannot feel much interest or respect 
 for this savage amusement of our ancestors ; nor, 
 indeed, should we here allude to it, but that it is 
 absolutely necessary to do so in tracing the pro- 
 gress of our tale. 
 
 The bear was at length turned out, being fas- 
 tened by a chain, fixed in a staple, to a large 
 post at the upper end of the arena. Bruin was
 
 FlTZ OF FITZ-FORD. 189 
 
 an animal of the most formidable appearance^ 
 and^ according- to the report of the bear-ward, 
 had proved himself of unequalled skill, having 
 killed almost every dog that attacked him in the 
 celebrated Paris garden of London. On being 
 first turned out, he strode forward to the utmost 
 limit his chain would admit, raising each hind leg 
 slowly, and putting it on the ground again with a 
 rolling action of his huge and ungainly bulk. 
 
 He then stood stiU, shook his shaggy hide and 
 ears, and learing round with his " pink eyes," to 
 see if the enemy might be approaching, opened 
 the sepulchre of his gloomy jaws, yawned fear- 
 fully, and finally saluted the assembly with a low 
 and continued growl. At this moment the dogs 
 were let slip, and, rushing forward, yelling, and 
 barking' amidst the shoutings, clapping of hands, 
 and encouraging exclamations of the multitude, 
 fiercely attacked their foe. 
 
 The bear, surprised as it were by the sudden 
 rush, paused, and then rearing himself in a mo- 
 ment upon his hind legs, gave so warm a hug 
 with his great rough paws to a large mastiff that 
 grappled him at the throat, that '^ rib after rib" 
 cracked in his embrace ; and, instantly casting 
 the animal a dead carcase at his feet, he turned 
 round, and griped and pinched with his mouth, as
 
 190 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 he could catch them, two or three other dog-s that 
 had fastened about his bodj^ For a moment 
 they retreated, some unharmed, some wounded, 
 limping, howhng and lame, beyond the limits of 
 the chain. Bruin now roared defiance, shook his 
 ears, rolled his head from side to side as his eyes 
 looked redder and fiercer, and licked the slaver 
 hang-ing- about his chops, to the infinite satisfaction 
 of the spectators. He had fairly routed the first 
 attack, and bets ran high upon liis ultimate success. 
 The dogs gained a breathing ; and now once 
 more hooted on to the attack, they rushed for- 
 ward in a body, the van being headed by a surly 
 one-eyed old mastiff, who was so thoroughly game 
 that nothing daunted his spirit. It appeared also 
 that he possessed the science as well as the cou- 
 rage necessary for war, and now practised one of 
 its stratagems, for whilst the bear prepared to 
 receive the attack directly aimed at him in the 
 front, Turk, for so the old mastiff was called, 
 changed his attack, ran round to the flank, and 
 with one bound fastened upon the bear's back. 
 The stratagem was well attempted, and was as 
 ably ans^N ered, for, unable to reach his foe, who 
 had thus mounted himself upon his back. Bruin 
 cracked with as much ease, as if they had been a 
 couple of nuts, the heads of two canine leaders
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 191 
 
 who had again aimed at his throat, shook off 
 another, and then sprawUng on his side prepared 
 himself for a roll, a thing that obliged the old 
 mastiff to quit his post of honour, since otherwise 
 he must have been crushed to death beneath the 
 weighty bulk of the enemy. 
 
 Thus rolling-, roaring, and wriggling, paws, 
 mouth and body all in action, the bear effec- 
 tually kept the dogs at bay, having killed not less 
 than three of them in a few minutes. A new 
 catastrophe however, as fearful as it was unex- 
 pected, in a moment changed the whole scene of 
 combat and amusement into one of the utmost 
 confusion and terror : for in the course of his 
 strugghngs, whilst rolling on the ground, the post 
 to which the bear was fastened shook violently, 
 and the staple that confined the chain somehow 
 or other gave way, and snapped short. Bruin, 
 finding himself at liberty, in a moment recovered 
 his upright position, and, feeling perfectly satis- 
 fied with the valour he had already exhibited, 
 resolved to march off without awaiting the ho- 
 nours of victory. With long and rapid strides he 
 made his way to the end of the lists, followed by 
 Turk, who longed for another tussel, though he 
 could now only limp after his opponent, being 
 wounded in the left fore-leo\
 
 192 FIT2 OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 Sudden terror is often the cause of sudden 
 folly ; so was it now. The sight of the bear 
 thus loose, and in that furious mood, which had 
 been aroused by the irritation of the combat^ 
 struck a panic into all present ; every one fancied 
 himself already within the grasp of the merciless 
 Bruin. The women present screamed, fainted, 
 and cried out they were killed, in fearful emula- 
 tion of each other. The peasantry set off, and 
 ran as hard as they could in all directions. Some 
 crept under the benches, others jumped over them; 
 but no one offered to do what common sense 
 would have dictated, namely, attempt to stop the 
 progress of the bear : the only person who would 
 hav'e been the most likely to effect such a pur- 
 pose, the bear-ward, having just before left the 
 scene of action, in order to bring up another set 
 of dogs that were held in readiness at a house 
 near the spot. 
 
 In the interval — for the escape we have related 
 passed in less time than will be consumed in 
 reading it — the bear had rushed furiously out, 
 beyond the limits of the bear-garden ; every 
 mother's son flying at his approach as if sent off 
 with the impetus of an arrow from a well-strung 
 bow. The bear was in the most savage mood of 
 a savage animal ; and nothinfif could be more cer-
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 193 
 
 tain than the fate he desig-ned for the first living 
 thing, man or beast, that came in his way. 
 
 Amongst those who were seen flying at their 
 utmost speed was an old man, who, in spite of 
 all his exertions, could not keep up with the 
 younger and more vigorous. The bear eyed 
 him, and at once marking this ill-fated wretch for 
 his prey, turned a swift pursuit in that direction. 
 His long and hasty strides soon brought him 
 within a few yards of his devoted victim. ** God 
 of Abraham have mercy on me," cried the old 
 man, '' or I am a spoil to the bears of the wil- 
 derness, even as were the mockers of the holy 
 man of God. Oh if I had but arms to defend 
 me — he comes nearer — speed my steps. Oh ! 
 holy one of Jacob, or I am lost." 
 
 With an effort beyond what either his years or 
 his strength could have been thought capable, he 
 kept a-head of the bear, in the hope to take 
 shelter within a small house that was near ; but 
 stumbling over a loose stone that in his haste he 
 had not perceived, he fell prostrate on the ground, 
 and before he could raise himself again, for he 
 was hurt by the fall, the bear was within a couple 
 of yards of his prey, his mouth covered with 
 white foam, his eyes fixed on the victim, and 
 with every indication of the savage exultation 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 with whicli he already enjoyed in anticipation 
 the blood that in a moment he was about to 
 spill. 
 
 Levi, for the victim was the unfortunate Jew, 
 shrieked — his fearful cries rent the air ; when, at 
 the very moment he gave himself up for lost, 
 and thought death inevitable, something whizzed 
 through the air, and an arrow, truly aimed, pe- 
 netrated the skull of the monster. A loud roar 
 followed. He rolled over twice or thrice in the 
 agonies of death, tearing up the ground with his 
 feet, and then lay stiff and motionless before the 
 object of his pursuit. Levi fell on his knees, 
 raised his hands and eyes to heaven, but was 
 incapable of utterance. His heart was thankful 
 indeed to the god of mercy for this deliverance, 
 but he had no power to arrange his thoughts so 
 as to express those thanks in words, and nature 
 afforded relief to his oppressed feelings in a flood 
 of tears. 
 
 Whilst he was in this condition, still looking 
 alternately up to heaven, and upon the nigged 
 animal that lay dead before him, shrinking back 
 from it as if he feared it would again start into 
 life, a man habited in a long garment like that 
 of a monk, with the hootl drawn close about 
 his head, bearing a bow in his hand, advanced.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 195 
 
 and snatching- up Levi by the arm, as he was 
 still kneelin;^, exclaimed, " stand up, unbe- 
 liever! you are safe. Why this folly ? Be a 
 man—all danger is past." 
 
 Levi saw the bow in the hand of the man 
 who addressed him, and instantly conceived 
 that his deliverer stood before him. Again he 
 fell upon the earth, poured out his thanks in 
 rapid and broken sentences, and after the man^ 
 ner of his people, who still preserved among 
 themselves many of those customs which they 
 had brought from the East, kissed the hem of 
 his garment, and, would his deliverer have al- 
 lowed it, attempted to raise his foot to put it 
 upon his own neck, as he lay prostrate before 
 him. 
 
 '* May the blessing of the God of Israel be 
 upon thee," said Levi: ^' I owe my life to the 
 valour of thy bow and thy spear. I am a poor 
 man, old, and of little worth ; but what I can 
 do to shew myself grateful I will do, and could 
 gold or silver be useful to thee, whilst Levi 
 has but a shekel left, it shall be thine — at the 
 lawful interest of monies, that is, I mean" — 
 he added, correcting himself, *' it shall be 
 thine at no interest at all ; in my confusion I 
 spoke after the manner of worldly traffic. 
 K 'Z
 
 196 FITZ OF FITZ-FORO. 
 
 Look at yon fearful beast ! Thanks be to 
 God, I am alive ! It is gTisly and terrible even 
 in death, and looks even now, with its wide 
 distended jaws, as if it would devour me. Art 
 thou sure it is dead? quite sure? Hast thou 
 another shaft with thee ? Yes, yes, I see it is 
 even so, and the carcase is as the dust of the 
 earth from which it w^as formed. And thou, 
 good stranger, thou, my deliverer, hast this day 
 saved from the ruthless fangs of yonder brute, 
 Levi, the son of Aminadab, the son of Adoni- 
 jab, the son of — ►" 
 
 '' The son of the devil," exclaimed the 
 stranger. '^ Why, Levi ! why man, look up ! 
 collect thy scattered senses — dost thou not 
 know me ?" 
 
 Levi did look up, as the stranger for a mo- 
 ment threw back his hood. The Jew instantly 
 recognised him, and exclaimed, '' Holy Pro- 
 phet of Israel, thou art George Standwich, the 
 man of mystery and valour, but mighty as 
 Sampson when he rent the young lion as if 
 it had been a kid, that roared against him in 
 the vineyards of Timnath. Let me take off 
 my shoe," continued Levi, in the extremity of 
 his gratitude, '' and I will swear fealty to thee 
 in all things, and it shall be as a testimony in
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD, 197 
 
 Israel, and as the witness of Boaz to the elders 
 sitting- in the gates." 
 
 '' Once more a truce with this," cried Stand- 
 wich, " or we may both be found sitting in the 
 stocks, or in a worse place. Rise up and follow 
 me — dost thou foro^et that I am this ni^ht to 
 sleep in thy house ?" 
 
 '' Wonder upon wonder," said Levi, inter- 
 ruptin^him; " how camest thou hither in this 
 dress ? And where didst thou get the good 
 shaft that made my brutal enemy to bite the 
 dust ? I will gird up my loins and follow thee 
 — oh, the good shaft ! Thou hast a bow in thy 
 hand, but I see not thy quiver." 
 
 " I was lurking in yonder woods near the 
 archers," said Standwich, " when all of them, 
 to a man, ran off to listen to that puritanical 
 fellow, Savegrace, and to duck him for his 
 pains. The archers left many a bo^ and arrow 
 behind them at their stand. Soon after, I saw 
 the bear pursuing a man : I knew not it was my 
 host Levi who was in so much danger — X\\e, 
 less thanks he owes me ; but I snatched up a 
 bow and shaft to save a fellow-being from a 
 dreadful death. The animal was beyond the 
 reach ofpistol-shot,else, Levi,I had not needed 
 bow nor shaft ; for I have here," he added.
 
 198 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 placing his hand upon his breast, '' under these 
 garments, I have arms to use at my need, such 
 as I suspect you sometimes carry when you 
 come, Levi, amongst our people. It appears, 
 however, that to-day you had none, else my 
 help had not been needed to save you." 
 
 '' It is true," said Levi, '' I had neither wea- 
 pons of iron or steel, nor the black powder that 
 can cast out the breath of the nostrils by a single 
 spark : but I owe life to you, even as did David 
 to Jonathan." 
 
 " I must be gone," cried Standwich; " see 
 the people are coming this way; say an archer 
 saved you, but dare not to say who he was that did 
 the deed of service: at night I shall be with you; 
 admit no one to your house — ^till then farewell :" 
 and without farther parley, the disguised outlaw- 
 struck down a by-path that stood near and led 
 into the woods of Fitz-park, leaving Levi to give 
 the best account he could of his deliverance, to all 
 whom curiosity or wonder might induce to make 
 the inquiry. 
 
 Under any other circumstances, the confused 
 and incoherent account given by the Jew of his 
 delivery from death, and his deliverer, would 
 have excited suspicion ; but aU now^ readily set it 
 down to the score of his terror, excited by the
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 199 
 
 late pursuit and escape^ sufficient to have confused 
 tlie ideas of a man less old, and more daring 
 than himself. And thouoh Levi, as a vvorkinor 
 goldsmith, a broker of pawns, a money-lender, 
 and one sufficiently cunning in his traffic, was 
 often made the butt of the rude jibes, tricks, and 
 malice of the people in the town, yet none w ere 
 so hardened and malicious as to offer to insult 
 him at this moment, or to feel other than re- 
 joiced that the bold, but unknown yeoman, as 
 Levi had termed his deliverer, had saved him 
 from the fate of being torn to pieces by the bear. 
 
 All now turned their attention to the animal 
 itself, and those who had fled as fast as the 
 arrow of Standwich, whilst the creature was 
 alive, were, now that it lay dead before them, 
 grown wondrous bold, at least in words, each 
 declaring how he meant to have despatched 
 the beast, by the valour of his own single arm, 
 had he not been forestalled; and in proof of this, 
 one scrupled not to lay hold of the stiff and out- 
 stretched paws, whilst another raised and exa- 
 mined the tail; and a third ventured upon a kick 
 of defiance, bestowed with a contemptuous grin 
 on the unconscious carcase.
 
 200 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 This is the place, the centre of the grove, 
 Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood. 
 
 DOUGLAS. 
 
 The important amusement of bear-baitino-^ 
 and the no less important consequences which 
 might have attended its close, but for the valour 
 of Captain Standwich, obliged us to relate the 
 events of the last chapter without interruption. 
 But we must now avail ourselves of the privilege 
 of all gossips and tale-tellers, that of going back 
 or of taking up our story at tlie beginning, or at 
 the end, as circumstances may render it necessary 
 and agreeable, either to us or the course of our 
 narrative. Yet as we have now a word or two 
 to say about a fair lady, we hope the reader, if 
 he be a gentleman, will shew his gallantry by a 
 willing attention ; and if a lady look on our pages, 
 we shall beg her indulgence to one of her own 
 sex. 
 
 It will be remembered, therefore, that Margaret 
 Champernoun declined witnessing the amusements
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 201 
 
 of the bear-g"arden, though in her time they were 
 quite as fashionable and as genteel as the race- 
 course of the present day. In either case, and 
 at all times, it may readily be believed, that 
 though many respectable persons frequented such 
 sports, there were always to be found a sufficient 
 number of worthless people, both of high as well 
 as low degree. Margaret, no doubt, availed her- 
 self of the first moment she was alone, to read 
 the contents of her letter, which had been placed 
 in her hands by a woman, who, it may easily be 
 guessed, was either mother, wife, sister, or com- 
 panion to some one of the outlawed miners. 
 
 Certain it is that, after reading that letter, she 
 very hastily removed her May- day finery ; since 
 it was not necessary she should resume her cha- 
 racter again till the party should assemble in the 
 hall at supper, where the sports were to be con- 
 cluded by music, dancing, &c. She now thre^v 
 on one of those large, old-fashioned cloaks, such 
 as we may sometimes observe in the pictures of 
 our great grandmothers, and was leaving her 
 diamber to descend the stairs, when she was met 
 by the young and lovely Lady Howard. Ellen 
 Howard, though extremely beautiful, was some- 
 thing shrewish, had a good share of what is term- 
 ed talent, and a still greater of what is called 
 K 5
 
 1:02 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 vanity, thoug-h in her days it was often, as it is in 
 our own, considered by its possessor merely as a 
 becoming- self-confidence inseparable to merit. 
 Margaret and Lady Ellen Howard were not re- 
 lated, but their age being nearly the same, and 
 living tog-ether in the same house, they ^vere wont 
 to call each other cousin, " as school-maids 
 chang-e their names." 
 
 '' And pray, cousin," said Lady Howard to 
 Margaret, '' where may you be g'oing in that 
 o'Liise, and whilst visitinj>- at our neiohbours at 
 Fitz-ford? And good lack ! what a cloak is that 
 for our May-day Queen! I declare it would bet- 
 ter become old Sir Hugh, as a muffler, when he 
 ventures forth to meet the night air and night- 
 spirits, at a consultation of the stars." 
 
 '^ I am only just going down into the park — 
 that is, not into the park, but — " 
 
 " But in short, cousin, to some place where 
 you do not wish me to accompany you," said 
 Lady Howard, interrupting her. 
 
 Margaret blushed. 
 
 '■' Well, mistress Margery," continued Lady 
 Howard, with a toss of die head, " I do assure 
 you I wish to intrude my company upon no one, 
 as you might well perceive this morning-, when I 
 would not join you and your May-king- John Fitz,
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 203 
 
 and so I played a friendly part in your absence ; 
 and when the gossips looked wise, and made 
 jests at your setting off, in the manner you did, to 
 Fitz-farm, with a couple of young- men, I do as- 
 sure you I took your part, and declared it was 
 my opinion you only cared for one of the num- 
 ber, though they certainly did say, that Mistress 
 Margaret Champernoun liked to have two strings 
 to her bow, as well as any marksman or marks- 
 woman in the county." 
 
 '' Dear Lady Howard," cried Margaret^ 
 '' how can people be so ill-natured? I am sure 
 I thought nothing of walking to the farm-house 
 with Sir Nicholas Slanning and Master John Fitz, 
 who, you know, so often comes to Kilworthy to 
 see the Judge." 
 
 Here Lady Howard coughed in that short 
 dry way that indicates distrust, when one young 
 lady does not like in positive terms to give the 
 lie to what another young lady pleases to affirm. 
 
 '' But people are so ill-natured!" added Mar- 
 garet in a pettish voice. 
 
 '' They are very ill-natured, I am sure, my 
 dear," re-echoed Lady Howard, '' and so I said 
 the other day to Dame Basset, when she remark- 
 ed that you looked about at church as if your eye.s 
 were seeking' some young man you wanted to
 
 204 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 meet there^, instead of fixing them upon good 
 Master Parson, whilst he delivered his homily ; 
 I am sure, my dear Margaret, I always take 
 your part, and I should never repeat the ill- 
 natured things that are said of you, and that 
 must be very mortifying, did I not find it was a 
 great duty of friendship." 
 
 '' I thought friendship consisted in an inter- 
 change of kind offices," said Margaret, '' and 
 I am something doubtful if such a one can be 
 numbered in the list : but, perhaps, I am mis- 
 taken." 
 
 '' Assuredly you are, my dear," continued 
 the provoking Lady Howard '' for you know 
 we should always wish to learn the truth ; since 
 it is the best way, as my kinsman the Judge says, 
 to learn to know ourselves." 
 
 '' I hope, however," added Margaret, '' that 
 I am not to judge myself, nor to be judged by 
 others, by the report of scandal and malice." 
 
 '^ Certainly not," said Lady Ellen, who now 
 resolved to appear wholly unconscious of the pain 
 she was inflicting, ^' and so I told Mistress 
 Mary Kelly, when she expressed herself sur- 
 prised that you should take upon you the part of 
 the May- Queen, whilst there were so many other 
 young ladies in the neighbourhood who, being
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 205 
 
 natives of the place, and of known respectability 
 as to family, were more fit for it, as Mistress 
 Kelly remarked, and ought to have been pre- 
 ferred. But I defended you; for believe me, said 
 I, Margaret means no presumption, no offence ; 
 she is quite unconscious how unfit her station in 
 life renders her to sustain the character." 
 
 *' I wish you a good morrow, and a kinder 
 humour. Lady Ellen," said Margaret, with tears 
 in her eyes, for she was sensibly hurt by these 
 little ventings of envy and ill- nature on the part 
 of her companion. 
 
 " Nay, now, dear Margaret," cried Lady 
 Howard playfully, ^' I did not mean to give 
 you pain; come let us be like the children, kiss 
 and make it up again ; for you know how angry 
 my kinsman the Judge would be with me if he 
 knew I had offended you ; do forgive me — I am 
 sure I meant nothing." 
 
 Margaret readily forgave her friend, kissed 
 her, and wiping the tears from her eyes, once 
 more prepared to leave the room. 
 
 '' And now I will shew you," said Lady 
 Howard, '' that I am really in a kind mood, fcr 
 I w ill tell you that if you are about to walk into 
 the park to look after John Fitz, he is not there. 
 He and all the archers went out to drub that old
 
 206 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 puritanical madman Solomon Savegrace, who is 
 preaching" against the sports of May- day in the 
 market-place. John Fitz went out just as I came 
 up to you." 
 
 Margaret blushed again; '' and why do you 
 suppose^ Lady Howard/' said she^ '' because I 
 am going out, that I must therefore necessarily 
 be going to seek Master Fitz — I — I — " 
 
 ^' Oh, my dear/' said Lady Ellen, " I only 
 thought so because it was evident you did not 
 wish me to go with you, as I could plahily per- 
 ceive: but if it is to look after anybody else, I 
 have no objection. And I think I will descend 
 into the green parlour, where I left Dame Basset 
 with Dame Fitz, that I may be ready to take 
 your part if they should suspect any thing, and 
 make remarks upon the imprudence of your 
 conduct, as many ill-natured people are apt to 
 do." So saying, Lady Howard, with a mali- 
 cious smile that curled her lip, left her fiiei;d to 
 pursue her own purpose. 
 
 Margaret, with the utmost impatience, now 
 prepared to set out ; she swiftly descended the 
 stairs, crossed the court-yard, and looking be- 
 hind her at every step, lest any one should 
 lurk near on the watch, she made her way to 
 a particular spot in the park called the Hun-
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD, 20/ 
 
 ter's Oak ; a very aged tree there standing, 
 having derived its name from some wild tradi- 
 tion of the comity. 
 
 The spot was peculiarly sequestered, and 
 the oak stood amidst a variety of trees, all of 
 which had grown up and flourished since this 
 veteran of the forest began to decay. A little 
 sunny glade of green turf lay before it^ now- 
 sparkling in all the strength of light, and ren- 
 dered more brilliant by the depth of shadow 
 that offered itself in full contrast amidst the 
 entanglement of those thick woods that formed 
 the back-ground. The oak presented its bald 
 head, crowned by a few green leaves, its scath- 
 ed and decaying limbs, to the changes of sum- 
 mer and winter, to the mild breath of noon, 
 or to the howling of the midnight tempest ; 
 like an aged warrior, who keeps his stand, 
 though time, factions, and violence rise up by 
 turns to subdue him. 
 
 On a low bench, beneath the oak, sat a man 
 clad in a black gown and hood, whom our rea- 
 ders will instantly recognize as Captain Stand- 
 wich, but whom Margaret addressed by the 
 name of Father Oswald, with the deepest re- 
 verence of word and look. '' Father," she 
 said, as she approached him, *' I have obeyed
 
 208 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 your command, though with some difficulty. 
 I would say that I rejoice to see you, did I not 
 know, as you have yourself so often told me 
 in times past, that this country was dangerous 
 to you, and that if you were taken by the go- 
 vernment you w ould fall under the laws as a 
 popish recusant. I have longed to see you, 
 though 1 fear the brief space I can now afford 
 for conference, will hardly admit of my learn- 
 ing all I could wish to learn." 
 
 Oswald, or Standwich, for the person be- 
 fore us used both these names, as best might 
 suit the precarious circumstances in which he 
 stood, arose from his seat, approached Mar- 
 garet, gazed upon her innocent countenance 
 with peculiar earnestness, took one hand within 
 his own, and placing his other hand upon her 
 head, blessed her with a warmth of feeling 
 quite in character with that profession, of which, 
 whatever might be his present mode of life, he 
 had once been a member. He then bade Mar- 
 garet to seat herself at his side, and after some 
 few questions not very material, but which 
 shewed the kind interest he felt in her welfare, 
 asked if she had forgotten his instructions to 
 her when they last parted in France. 
 
 *' No, truly, holy man," said Margaret, '' I
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 209 
 
 have not forgotten those instructions, nor the 
 solemn and melancholy occasion upon which 
 they were given. I can never forget the day 
 you followed my dear father's remains to their 
 last earthly rest. Nor can I ever cease to re- 
 member that I was brought up to look to you 
 as to a second father. You know not how 
 deeply I was this morning affected at the sight 
 of that little cross, which my father gave to you 
 upon his death-bed, whilst he made me solemn- 
 ly promise that, whenever that cross should be 
 sent to me by you, I would hasten to obey 
 your dictates, I have fulfilled my word. Yet, 
 (dare I say it, reverend father?) your fortunes, 
 your enthusiastic pursuits in life, hitherto but 
 darkly hinted, are to me as much a mystery as 
 ever. I know you still but as that holy man, 
 that trusted friend my father so much loved, 
 as one in whom he so absolutely confided. 
 Something, too, he told me of you, not long 
 before his death; but that communication ra- 
 ther increased than diminished my wonder." 
 
 '' Did he so ?" cried Standwich, with an air 
 of surprise; " repeat it to me, Margaret — tell 
 me distinctly the whole substance of his com- 
 munication. It is necessary I should know it ; 
 necessary even for your sake as well as mine :
 
 21t) FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 let nothing escape you in the repetition ; call 
 up the least word to your remembrance that 
 fell from his lips ; you know not how deep 
 may be the consequence." 
 
 '' I was too much mterested in the recital to 
 forget the least circumstance/' replied Mar- 
 garet. " You must remember^ holy father, 
 that from my infancy you were w ont sometimes 
 to visit at our house, since the order of St. 
 Francis, to which you belonged, rendered your 
 life that of a w^anderer. At these times you 
 kindly noticed me, instructing me in all things 
 most worthy to be learned, and above all in 
 the deep mysteries of our holy faith. Can I 
 ever cease to recall the thoughts of my early 
 youth, without feeling the deepest gratitude to 
 you ? My unhappy father's aflfairs, his broken 
 fortunes, and the distracted state of France, 
 determined him, when he found his death ap- 
 proaching, to send me to England, and to com- 
 mit me to the care of Glanville, his early 
 friend. Some mystery there was about the 
 matter; and, indeed. Father Oswald, I have 
 always thought you knew more of it than I do 
 myself; since my father would not determine 
 upon taking this step till he had first consulted 
 with you — "
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 211 
 
 *' I knew and approved of his motive," re- 
 plied Standwich (for though Margaret called 
 him by the name he bore when in France, we 
 prefer that which he chose to take in England). 
 *^ You need not speak of that part of your 
 tale. Pass on to the conference just before 
 his death." 
 
 '' My father, then," said Margaret, '' feel- 
 ing assured he had not long to live, sent a let- 
 ter to summon you to attend him in his last 
 hours ; but after the messenger was gone he 
 grew worse, and feared he might expire before 
 you arrived. Never shall I forget the anxiety 
 of his mind on this account : he could not die 
 happy, he said, till he saw you ; something 
 there was that hung upon his mind^ a burthen 
 of which you, and none but you, could relieve 
 him. He counted the days, nay he told the 
 very hours ; but you came not at the time he 
 expected." 
 
 *' The letter failed to find me," said Stand- 
 wich, " and it was at last by mere chance that 
 I heard of his sickness, hastened to him, and 
 saw him but a few hours before he expired." 
 
 " He feared it would be so," answered 
 Margaret, '' and in consequence of this fear, 
 one morning, when he thought himself worse.
 
 212 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 he called me to his chamber ; and as I stood 
 weepmg by his side, he took my hand and said, 
 * Margaret, do you know how terrible death 
 is?' — '^ Ah, sir, truly do I,' I replied; '^ he is 
 that awful king of terrors who divides body 
 and soul asunder, and whilst he destroys the 
 one, gives immortality to the other ; but, at 
 the same time, calls it to a fearful account.' " 
 
 Standwich started up, paced a step or two 
 before Margaret, and seemed greatly agitated. 
 ^' It is a just picture," Margaret, he said ; 
 ^' that account must one day be rendered by 
 us all — may God have mercy on the sinner." 
 
 " When I had said this to my father," con- 
 tinued Margaret, '' I thought he looked dis- 
 turbed : he bent his eyes upon an empty seat 
 that stood facing him at the lower end of the 
 room: there was a wildness in his looks that 
 alarmed me, and pointing with his hand, he 
 said in a low and tremulous voice, '^ Margaret 
 I can fancy death ! He sits there looking onme; 
 slowly he seems to rise, to steal towards me 
 with a lagging but certain pace, and I have no 
 power to fly : anon he will clasp me in his cold 
 and stiffened arms !" — I was shocked to hear 
 my father talk thus, and to see him look so 
 wild : ' compose yourself, dear sir,' I said to
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 213 
 
 him ; ' you have always been a good man, your 
 family has been unfortunate but honourable, 
 and surely there is nothing in death that need 
 render you anxious either for yourself or 
 others, saving that awe which every human 
 being must feel who is about to meet his God ; 
 the God of justice it is true, but still the father 
 of mercy.'" 
 
 '' And what answer made he to that?" said 
 Standvvich, who appeared much moved by the 
 recital. 
 
 Margaret continued: " my father told me 
 he had something heavy on his mind — ' I 
 wish,' said he, ' I could see that unhappy 
 man, for so he called you. I wish I could see 
 Oswald before I die : you, Margaret, you are 
 concerned in this. There is something I would 
 fain tell you, but I dare not do it without his 
 sanction ; and die in peace I cannot till it is 
 told. How I wish he were come.' " 
 
 " ' Surely, sir,' said I, ' you need consult 
 no one in a communication that regards your 
 child.' 
 
 " He shook his head, sighed, and said I knew 
 not what I wished him to do. ' But thus 
 much,' he added, * I will tell you, lest I 
 breathe my last before that most unfortunate
 
 214 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 man shall arrive. Oswald is near akin to me; 
 when I am g-one you must loo'; up to him as to 
 a father. Remember, it is my dying command 
 that you should do so ; and though I place you 
 in England for safety, yet should Oswald seek 
 you there, obey him as you would obey me. 
 He will guide you to happiness; he will teach 
 you to avoid those rocks and shoals that stand 
 amidst the tumultuous breakers of human life, 
 and which so often make shipwreck of the 
 bark that drives upon them. He will teach 
 you to know who are your friends, and whom 
 to avoid as the enemies both of body and soul 
 — and in due time, Margaret, he will impart to 
 you the fatal secret that hangs upon your 
 birth.'" 
 
 " Holy saints and angels I" exclaimed Stand- 
 wich, extremely agitated, " did he say that?" 
 and, overwhelmed by feelings he could not hide, 
 and yet w as desirous to suppress in the pre- 
 sence of Margaret, he turned aside his head. 
 Again he arose, breathed short, paced up and 
 down upon the sunny glade of turf, and once 
 again resumed his seat. He clapped Mar- 
 ^"arei :> fh- hnnd. His own was cold as 
 deatl:. 
 
 *^' Shall i g"o on: ' -:he inquired, '' I fear I
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 215 
 
 distress you ; yet why I should do so I know 
 not." 
 
 '' Speak, speak," cried Standwich ; '^ I can 
 bear it. Conceal nothing- that passed ; repeat 
 the lightest word that fell from his lips, though 
 it strike upon my heart like the dart of death." 
 
 ^' I was much shocked," continued Margci- 
 ret, *' by this fearful intimation, since I had 
 never suspected that there could be the least 
 shadow of mystery about my birth. I knew 
 my mother had died, as I was always inform- 
 ed, a few hours after I was born, and left me 
 to the care of my kind, my indulgent father. 
 He took me from England to France at so 
 early an age, that though he carefully instruct- 
 ed me in my native tong-ue, I had lost all recol- 
 lections of my country. I beg-ged my father, 
 in an agony of feeling such as I will not attempt 
 to describe, to tell me more, to explain to me 
 this fearful secret, but he would not. The 
 very mention of it seemed to have escaped his 
 lips in a moment of weakness. He made me 
 solemnly promise him never to utter but to your 
 ear even what he had already told me, little 
 and unsatisfactory as it was. He then added 
 but one thing more to this most alarmingf and 
 painful communicdlioii,"
 
 216 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 " Speak it/' said Standvvich hastily. Margaret 
 hesitated a moment ; she saw the extreme anxiety 
 with which her auditor expected her reply ; and 
 unwilling to meet his eye^ since she feared she 
 was about to give pain to his feelings, fixed her 
 looks upon the ground, and added, in a low 
 but distinct voice, '' my father told me that 
 Oswald was not your real name." 
 
 '' He told you true," replied Standwich: 
 *' those laws that I detest, and would never 
 yield me to their tyranny, have written my 
 name lonof since in the book of death — but was 
 this all?" 
 
 " Indeed it was," replied Margaret, except- 
 ing that my father added, you had led a life of 
 great austerity, as far as your own personal 
 comfort was concerned, but active, zealous, 
 strenuous in the cause of our holy religion ; 
 and I think he said that, in some active part 
 you had formerly taken in England in public 
 affairs, this country was one of extreme dan- 
 ger to you, now that Elizabeth had ascended 
 the throne. This is all I know ; the rest I need 
 not repeat. You arrived before my father ex- 
 pired. You had a long and secret conference 
 with him. I was but called in at its close; I 
 saw him give you that cross, as a dying, token.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 217 
 
 which was to be to me the remembrance of that 
 filial duty and obedience he commanded me to 
 pay to you, when he should be no more. I 
 have not, I will not forfeit my solemn promise 
 to the dead." 
 
 ** Nor to the living," said Standwich; '* you 
 are bound to both. Are you happy, Margaret ? 
 Is your heart as light in England as it was in 
 France ? How does your guardian, how does 
 Glanville bear himself towards you?" 
 
 '' I am as happy," said Margaret, ^' as the 
 thoughts of other days, and the w^ords of my 
 dying father, will let me be — but for my guar- 
 dian, he is all that is generous, good, and 
 kind." 
 
 '' Heaven be praised he is so," replied Stand- 
 wich. " And he has never interfered to seduce 
 your mind from the faith in which you have 
 been instructed from your birth ?" 
 
 '' Never !" said Marg-aret. 
 
 " It is well," answered Standwich; *^' did 
 he do so, I would assume the right given to 
 me by your father ; I would remove you from 
 his care, though the consequence might be that 
 you shared my miserable, dangerous, and wan- 
 dering life." 
 
 '' Alas!" said Margaret, '^ have you then 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 FITZ OF FJTZ-FORD. 
 
 no home in England, and yet have ventured 
 hither ? What roof shelters your head, and at 
 whose table do you drink of the cup and eat 
 of the bread, that in France all good men 
 would willingly afford to a brother of the holy 
 order of St. Francis?" 
 
 " Forbear to inquire, Margaret," said Stand- 
 wich. '' Are you so ignorant of the severe 
 laws of the land in which you live, not to 
 know that my life is forfeited ? A recusant, a 
 seminary priest, as they would call me in their 
 accursed councils, would find no mercy, if 
 taken after the proclamation that bids all such 
 persons depart from England. But for one 
 cause, my life would be worthless to me, and I 
 have no human affections but for you. The 
 cause I have espoused demands all my energies ! 
 Could I but live to see that triumph, and to 
 witness the security, the happiness of the or- 
 phan child of my dear kinsman and friend, my 
 part in life would be ended, and the earth that 
 should lap this load of clay, that now binds 
 me down to wander like an outcast upon its 
 bosom, would be to me more welcome than 
 the roof that shelters the head of kings. In 
 the gi'ave, care sleeps ; the tempest may beat 
 upon its turf, the frost and the winds may wi-
 
 FiTZ OF FITZ-FORT). 219 
 
 ther the green herb that grows about it, but 
 the inmate feels nor cold nor misery again." 
 
 '' Holy father!" said Margaret, '' these are 
 melancholy thoughts ; and surely he who de- 
 votes his hours to God on earth, should rather 
 turn his mind to the happiness that awaits him 
 after death, than to reflect upon those evils 
 which the poor and perishing body escapes, 
 merely by an insensibility that reduces it to a 
 level with the sod in which it lies." 
 
 '' Yes, yes," said Standwich ; '' but there 
 are those who would wish, if it might be, that 
 the spirit might slumber, as well as its tene- 
 ment of earth, in death — but that cannot be." 
 
 *' It is only the guilty who would wish such 
 a consummation of their being," said Margaret. 
 
 '' Aye the guilty, indeed," replied Stand- 
 wich ; '' but we do not wish it, Margaret?" 
 
 '^ Heaven forbid!" she exclaimed, greatly 
 surprised by the singular manner in which her 
 deceased father's friend addressed her. He 
 seemed to labour under some powerful cause of 
 painful reflexion. 
 
 " 1 must be gone," she added; ^^ my ab- 
 sence may give birth to suspicion; perhaps 
 some one may be sent to seek me ouc. And 
 L 2
 
 •220 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 your safety demands our interview should be 
 known to no one." 
 
 " The dead may know it," said Standwich, 
 '' if the spirits of the departed can revisit 
 earthy but the living- must not — we must meet 
 again, Margaret — I will devise the means, and 
 let you know them." 
 
 '' Yet, before we now part," she replied, 
 *^ there is a thing^ I would ask, if I dare ask it." 
 
 ^' Speak it," said Standwich; and he added, 
 in the gentlest tone, " \[ \ am to be held by 
 you in the place of a father, you shall find me 
 a kind one." 
 
 *' I would solemnly conjure you," conti- 
 nued Margaret, " to reveal to me, if it may 
 be, that fearful secret of my birth to which my 
 father alluded in his dying hour. For since 
 that hour, sleeping or waking, his words have 
 thrilled in my ears, forbidding peace, like the 
 low murmurs of the surge that never stills itself 
 to rest; whilst their import has raised before 
 my fancy a thousand vague and changing 
 images, all fearful, but all shadowy and imper- 
 fect as the phantoms of the night. Might I but 
 know this, my mind would be at peace." 
 , '' Forbear to ask it," said Standwich; '' the
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 221 
 
 time may come, thouo^h I say it not with cer- 
 tainty, when your desire may be fulfilled — yet 
 happier, far happier for you should that hour 
 never be. In the interval, study to subdue that 
 restless spirit of inquiry, which will but lead to 
 misery. Oh, woman! how fatal to thee, even 
 from the first, hath been thy curiosity, thy de- 
 sire to know what is forbidden ! Shun it, Mar- 
 garet, as you would shun the serpent, that for 
 his accursed guile in tempting woman to sin, 
 now crawls upon the earth. The curse has fal- 
 len on their sons; and they live to act new 
 guilt, to feel remorse, whilst their portion is 
 misery, often without a hope but that which 
 leads to the grave." 
 
 Margaret was about to sj)eak, when Stand- 
 wich bid her forbear. '^ Hear me," he said, 
 ^^ but do not reply to me. Enquire nothing, 
 seek to know nothing, for you know not what 
 you seek — ask not who I am, whence I come, 
 nor whither I go. The very beasts of the field 
 have instinct enoug^h to find a covert from their 
 enemies ; and I have sense as much — I can 
 guard the vital spark that animates this mise- 
 rable body against danger, treachery, and 
 death; and though an outcast in the sight of 
 man, to you I will be as a father, as a friend;
 
 222 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD, 
 
 I will watch your safety, and guide your steps. 
 Farewell : we shall meet again — remember your 
 promise to the dead/^ 
 
 Standwich pressed her hand with warmth, 
 and walked rapidly from the spot, leaving 
 Margaret to return to the house in a state of 
 mind the most anxious and painful, wondering 
 what singular connexion could have existed 
 between her late father and his friend, that 
 should have induced him to impose upon her 
 a command of parental respect and obedience 
 to one, whose very reason seemed to be disor- 
 dered by the enthusiastic character of his pas- 
 sions, and by some deep and secret cause of 
 sorrow, perhaps of guilt.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. "223 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
 Would harrow up thy soul. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 On the evening of May- day, the knight ot* 
 Fitz-ford and his lady gave a splendid banquet 
 to their numerous friends and acquaintance 
 who had shared in the amusements of the morn- 
 ing. The old hall exhibited its long tables co- 
 vered with massive plate, and eveiy delicacy of 
 the time, whilst the blaze of light, reflected from 
 the numerous tapers burning in silver sconces, 
 and the chamber hung with garlands of laurel, 
 hawthorn, and flowers, gave a brilliant and lively 
 effect to the scene. 
 
 Many a stately dame, and beauteous damsel, 
 on this night shone in all the pride of rustling 
 silks, rich jewels, starched and widely- spreading 
 ruffs, long waists stiff as armour, with the bulky 
 grandeur of the farthingale ; the latter being a 
 dress that made the female fi«fure resemble in 
 grace and circumference the form of a tub ; for
 
 224 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD, 
 
 certain it is that, however costly might be the 
 style of dress in the days of Elizabeth, it was 
 the very opposite to all that true taste or simpli- 
 city could devise. The men likewise, and espe- 
 cially such as emulated the court fashion in their 
 attire, presented figures all ruff and buckram, 
 loaded with gold ornaments and embroidery. 
 
 Old writers have informed us, that in the 
 reign of Henry VI. the ladies grew so preposterous 
 in their taste, that the entrance of their chambers 
 were sometimes obliged to be made higher, in 
 order to give free passage to that monstrous 
 fashion called ' the horn head-dress;' and judging 
 of the size and bulk to which our fair country- 
 women attained in their garments of Elizabeth's 
 reign, we should almost fancy it would have been 
 as necessary to increase the doors in w idth, as it 
 had before been in height. However, notwith- 
 standing all the pains that were taken to make 
 the ladies of this time look as formidable as 
 possible, true beauty, like light, w ill shine out, 
 in spite of all the clouds by which it is surround- 
 ed ; so that England was then, even as it is now , 
 pre-eminent for the loveliness of the female part 
 of the nation. 
 
 At the festival of Fitz-ford, many a beautiful 
 face shone with the animation of mirth and
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 225 
 
 pleasure, heightened by the consciousness of ad- 
 miring and being admired. Amongst all the 
 younger part of the fair sex who were present, 
 none, perhaps, shared so largely the latter ho- 
 mage as the May Queen, Margaret, who, to the 
 attractions of a face and person really lovely, 
 added the still greater charms of an expression 
 replete with modesty and innocence; qualities 
 which often give gi'eater power even to a set of 
 plain features, than can be acquired by the 
 greatest beauty without them. Margaret, how- 
 ever, did not look so cheerful this evening as she 
 was wont to do, and, on its being noticed, plead- 
 ed fatigue and indisposition as her excuse; which 
 served also as some apology for her declining to 
 join the coranto, or to figure in a galliard, when 
 the merry sound of pipe and tabor set every light 
 foot a dancing in the hall. 
 
 Barnabas's little boys performed their interlude 
 of ' Oberon and Titania ' with considerable eclat. 
 The schoolmaster, who had indeed composed 
 the piece, delivered his own prologue to the au- 
 dience, and with that anticipation of the success 
 which was to attend his labours — a feeling some- 
 times entertained by greater dramatic poets than 
 himself — thanked, in advance, his audience for the 
 laurels he was about to gain; and his classical 
 L 5
 
 226 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 muse having supplied him with a hint from the 
 Roman stage^ he finished with the i^l audit e, 
 given in a most exalted voice, and accompanied 
 with a clapping of his own hands, designed either 
 as an action suited to the word, or as an exam- 
 ple to the audience, or probably as applicable f d 
 both purposes. 
 
 Mike of the Moinit, who, during the perform- 
 ance of the interlude, had sat yawning and gap- 
 ing upon what v/as going on with a true profes- 
 sional contempt of those who, as amateurs, pre- 
 simied to trench upon his province, soon after 
 exhibited his own talents. He played many an 
 air, and sang many a ballad, many a love-song-, 
 to charm the ears of his attentive auditors. One 
 of these was given him by John Fitz, with a de- 
 sire that he would sing it in case Mistress Mar- 
 garet should request him again to renew his min- 
 strelsy to pleasure her. 
 
 John Fitz, like all youths of imagination, 
 when they feel the power of the little blind god, 
 had often, when alone, courted the inspiration of 
 the muses to assist his passion. The same friend^ 
 who has obliged us with the few specimens we 
 possess of the songs and ballads, of Mike of the 
 Mount, has also handed to us the pretty little 
 * Edward A. Bray
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 227 
 
 soiig composed by his young patron^ and here we 
 give it to the reader. 
 
 Ah ! credit not the rival swain. 
 
 Who whispers in thy jealous ear. 
 That other maids my vows obtain, 
 
 And calk my passion insincere. 
 
 ■ 'i own, dear maid ! I love to seek 
 
 The plain, where sport the virgin choir ; 
 And oft, the form, the blushing cheek, 
 The charms of many a fair, admire. 
 
 But, though each love-inspiring dame 
 Mine eye with earnest gaze surveys, 
 ; Ah ! cease, my love ! thy swain to blame, 
 . rr. ■ Because he gives each beauty praise. 
 
 i By blending every virgin's grace, 
 ■ A something like thyself I see 
 For all the charms of every face 
 Are surely, Margaret ! found in thee. 
 
 Such were the amusements of this evenino- in 
 the halls of Fitz-ford. Every one seemed pleased, 
 and harmony held undisturbed her sway. In 
 short, the whole scene was by far too pleasant to 
 be so in repetition, w^e shall here, therefore, close 
 it ; since many an entertainment that would ani- 
 mate us, if present, would be v^ery likely to have 
 a composing effect in the pages of a writer when 
 rehearsed. At a merry-making all begin tlie
 
 228 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 evening together, the spirit of good-humour be- 
 comes universal, and people are often wise enough 
 to learn to play the fool in company without 
 lauofhina- at each other. But we much doubt if a 
 stranger in his sober senses, and devoid of that 
 exhilaration of feeling, which at such times is as 
 catching as a fever, had chanced to come in upon 
 the revellers at Fitz-ford, whether his presence 
 would not at once have cast a chill upon the rest 
 of the company, and the slipper that was now 
 hunted round the room with peals of loud laughter 
 and shrieks of mirth, might not at once have been 
 dropped, as children do their toys when the mas- 
 ter, with a birch in his hand, suddenly enters and 
 finds the little rogues engaged in their gambols, 
 instead of the more serious occupation of their 
 books. 
 
 Human life, in its events, as well as in its 
 amusements, is justly compared to the ocean, on 
 which, though we should wish to sail when its sur- 
 face is calm and smooth, yet, if we contemplate 
 it as a spectacle, we would almost desire to view 
 it agitated by crossing billows, that foam and 
 break against each other, awakening in the mind 
 of the spectator that thrilling interest which 
 causes his feelings to rise and fall with the swell of 
 the striving waters, till he becomes agitated by
 
 FlTZ OF FITZ-FORD. 229 
 
 those strong sensations of hope and sympathy ;, 
 that constantly attend him where danger and un- 
 certainty He before his view. 
 
 The merry-making at Fitz-ford was not con- 
 fined alone to the banqueting-hall of its master. 
 The kitchen was filled with the guests of the ser- 
 vants ; and the housekeeper. Mistress Alice Phy- 
 sic, a Devonian born and bred, a thing demon- 
 strated by almost every sentence she spoke, en- 
 tertained Master Barnabas, Mike of the Mount 
 (after their dismissal from the hall), and a few 
 select friends of her own, in her own apartment ; 
 and with quite as much consequence, and a little 
 more parade, than Dame Fitz herself, did the 
 honours of the table. 
 
 After supper, as neither Mistress Alice, nor 
 the schoolmaster, nor an ancient companion or 
 so, were young enough to dance to tabor and 
 pipe with those who had set-to in the full enjoy- 
 ment of that exercise in the kitchen, they drew 
 round the fire (for though the day had been warm, 
 the evening was cold enough to make a few blaz- 
 ing faggots no bad addition to social comfort), 
 and very cordially and freely entered into one of 
 those pleasant gossips, in which the domestics of 
 great people discuss their masters, mistresses, 
 and their affairs, and all that does or does not
 
 230 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 concern them, as if they were their own, and 
 often with a much greater latitude of remark than 
 would be indulged or tolerated amongst the mas- 
 ters and mistresses themselves. The sports of 
 the day formed also a theme of discourse. 
 
 '' Master Barnabas," said Mistress Alice, 
 "'' pray fill out a cup of wine, and make yourself 
 at home ; or is there any thing else you would 
 wish to make use of ? I know you are a learned 
 man ; but, for all that, I dare say you don't 
 dislike a cup of sack, or of Malmsey whey? 
 And you'll find we have both at Fitz-ford, as 
 good. as any in the county, though I say it who 
 should not say it, since I always make old mas- 
 ter's possets myself." 
 
 " Thank you. Mistress Alice," replied Bar- 
 nabas, "^ the wine is good, pleasant, and suffi- 
 cient j and as the juice of the grape was designed 
 to glad the heart of man, as Homer — or, I be- 
 lieve, as Solomon says, its no consequence which, 
 seeing both are great men — I have no objection 
 to enjoy the luscious draught which Bacchus has 
 brought in so plenteous a store to this house." 
 
 '' Craving your pardon. Master Barnabas," 
 said the housekeeper, '' it was brought by no 
 such gentleman. Captain Nosew^orthy, of the 
 Swallow, was the bearer of it; for he always
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 231 
 
 brings us a husgett of wine when his vessel 
 drops down the Tamar." 
 
 " I did but speak metaphorically. Mistress 
 Alice/' said Barnabas ; '' you might have per- 
 ceived some very classical instances of metaphor 
 in my interlude performed this evening ; such as, 
 where I described a stormy night in that bold 
 figure^ as ' the dark drunken tempest of the skies' 
 — very bold that, quite figurative ; for a tempest, 
 you know. Mistress Alice, produces much the 
 same effects on nature, as an over- quantity of 
 the juice of the grape does upon the brain; 
 making trees, man, and beast, reel before it. I 
 used the word Bacchus, therefore, metaphori- 
 cally, for he. Mistress Alice, being the god of 
 wine, may truly be said to supply it wheresoever 
 it abounds. Bacchus is a god, and a jolly one 
 too, I do assure you." 
 
 '' Master Barnabas," said Mistress Alice, " I 
 am no papist, but I don't hke to jest about sacred 
 things, though they are not of my own vehgion ; 
 so, if you please, we will not talk about either 
 saints, gods, or the Virgin Mary, that the Ro- 
 mans tell of in the mass-book." 
 
 '' You are quite right. Mistress Alice," cried 
 Barnabas ; '' the god is Roman, as you say ; 
 and at one time held, I can assure you, as much
 
 232 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 power over the seven hills as the beast himself in 
 his purples and his scarlets does at the present 
 time. But how did you like my interlude ? 
 Wasn't it quite classical ? Eh ? Was there ever 
 a sweeter bit of poetry than that of Oberon's 
 address to Titania— ^ My Titty Tity ' ? Tity, 
 Mistress Alice, means Titania, abbreviated for 
 the sake of alliteration: 
 
 My Titty Tity, come to me. 
 And we will all so loving be ; 
 The little birds shall hop and sing, 
 And fairies dance the charmed ring. 
 
 The inspiration came upon me after taking a co- 
 pious draught of the pure waters of Helicon." 
 
 '' Lord! Master Barnabas/' said the house- 
 keeper^ '' why I never knew you to be a water- 
 drinker in all my life. But if you like such poor 
 potations, we'll get you up a bucket fiill from 
 Fitz's well in a minute; and I'm no true woman, 
 if they are not as pure as Master Hellygon's 
 waters, that looks as muddy as the washings of a 
 mine ; and I know him very well, for he keeps 
 theGorgan's Head atLaunceston, and a very good 
 inn it is." 
 
 '' The gorgon's head, woman," cried Barna- 
 bas, ^^ is classical too. But I see you have no
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 233 
 
 comprehension of it, unless when it appears be- 
 fore your sight, with a tankard of foaming ale 
 painted like a supporter by its side, whilst un- 
 derneath is writ, ' entertainment for man and 
 horse.' Alas I Mistress Alice, I see you know 
 nothing of the schools! But how should you ? 
 for you are a woman of low degree, and ne sutor 
 ultra crepidam applies to you as well as to the 
 cobler." 
 
 '^'^ A woman of low degree! Master Barnabas," 
 cried the housekeeper, reddening with resentment, 
 '^ now that's neither handsome, nor true in you, 
 to say so. Is not Tobias Tibbs, who sits there 
 in the chimney corner, my half-brother ? and 
 isn't he clerk of the parish ? and wasn't my fa- 
 ther sexton here for more than thirty years ? I 
 would have you to know, sir, that all 7ny family 
 belonged to the church, and that's more than 
 some people can say for themselves, I believe, 
 who have spent their lives in teaching A, B, C, 
 and in whipping children's bottoms." 
 
 " That rub is designed for me," cried Barna- 
 bas, '' but know, woman, that to teach youth, 
 to instruct the mind, that better part of us, is the 
 noblest occupation of man. Who was ever more 
 honoured by antiquity than Anaxagoras the tutor 
 of Cyrus ? And was not Dionysius, the king of
 
 234 FITZ OF FITZ-FOHD. 
 
 Syracuse, a schoolmaster? And don't / teach 
 the Latin boys m her Majesty's free grammar 
 school of Tavistock ? And does not all the town 
 Cry out, audivi e vlris doctls ilium esse egre- 
 gium doctor em /" 
 
 " And I'm sure, if you do teach the Latin 
 boys, Master Barnabas," said the housekeeper, 
 '' you don't teach them for nothing — for, to say 
 nothing of odd compliments, don't you receive 
 from me a ham and a couple of cheeses every 
 New Year's Day for teachingmy boy. Bob Physic? 
 But, for all I could ever find out, the lad can't 
 yet cast up that two and two make four." 
 
 " Figures! woman, vile arithmetic'." cried 
 Barnabas, '' and utterly below the attention of a 
 classical votary of the Muses, unless, I grant you, 
 he be intended to become an adept in the noblest 
 of all sciences, that of astrology — but mine is a 
 Latin school, and summing, spelling, and such 
 like vulgar acquisitions, I leave the boys to teach 
 themselves." 
 
 '' Well, you know best. Master ^Barnabas," 
 said Mistress Alice; '' but as to yonr strology, 
 my boy shall never learn that, for I never saw 
 any good come of it, but a great deal of evil : 
 only look now to our noble master." 
 
 '' What! the learned Sir Hugh Fitz?" cried
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 235 
 
 the schoolmaster ; *^'' he is skilful I grant you^ 
 but obstinate,, and might learn better things from 
 those he thinks beneath him, if he chooses to do 
 it." 
 
 '.' That he might/' said the parish clerk, who 
 now ventured, for the first time, to put in a word, 
 since Barnabas and Mistress Alice, both celebrated 
 for the exercise of the tongue, had, it seemed, 
 this evening fairly thrown down the gauntlet in a 
 war of a words, which should out-talk the other. 
 '^ Sir Hugh," continued Tibbs, ^' sees every 
 thing afar off, but nothing that lies afore his 
 nose." 
 
 '' And fears what he never sees, and never 
 may see either," cried the housekeeper; ^' for 
 all his studifying, as he does, about the stars and 
 the mune. Why now, I remember the night 
 young John Fitz was born — and a foul night it 
 was as ever came out of the heavens — and as 
 pretty a babe was John Fitz as ever came into 
 this world. Well, and so, when my lady was 
 taken with her pains, and I had sent Giles Barnet 
 to run down to Mother Merriweather to bid her 
 come up as fast as she could, for fear the child 
 should be born before she came — which, you 
 know. Master Barnabas, was neighbourly in me, 
 for she might have lost her minute fees by com-
 
 23G FITZ OP FITZ-FORD. 
 
 ing- too late, and we ought to live and let live, as 
 the saying goes. Well, and so not long after 
 Giles was gone. Sir Hugh calls me out of the 
 room to speak to him, and he looked very much 
 hurried, and he says, ' Alice,' says he, ' as you 
 love your life, or the welfare of your master's 
 house, put back the birth of the child, if it is 
 possible, for an hour ; for there's such a position 
 of the stars at this hour, that if the babe is bom 
 afore its past, he'll come to an unhappy end, and 
 be the undoing of his family as well as himself.* 
 I was as much hurried as Sir Hugh at hearing 
 tliis, and so I went back to my lady: but how- 
 somever, the child w^as born soon after, when 
 there was nobody with my lady but me and Betsy. 
 And after I had dressed it, pretty dear, and was 
 trying to make it take something to keep the 
 wind out of its stomach, up runs Sir Hugh, 
 bounces into my lady's bed-room, just as if she 
 was as well as she should be, and will know 
 exactly at what time the child was born." 
 
 " And did you tell him?" said Baniabas ; 
 *' you ought to have known to a second." 
 
 " Lord! Sir Hugh, says I," continued the 
 housekeeper, '' pray, says I, don't be keeping 
 such a rout here, for you'll kill my lady if you 
 do ; but if you want to know at what time the
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 237 
 
 child was born, all I can tell you is^ that just as 
 the bell in the old clock-house struck twelve the 
 blessed babe came into the world all alone by 
 hisself, and with no help but what God gave him. 
 ' A bad sign/ says Sir Hugh, ' for a bold com- 
 ing into life shews a bad going out of it.' And 
 with that he went a ramping on with a gi'eat deal 
 more such words, till I said, says I, ' you'll 
 frighten my lady into the stericks with such bad 
 dictions as tliQse about her babe — and so I got 
 Sir Hugh out of the room as fast as I could, and 
 then gave the child something to comfort its 
 bowels, for it seemed to be taken with a cholic at 
 the hearing- of his father's words, though it 
 couldn't understand them." 
 
 ** And I remember," said the parish clerk, 
 who now found it his cue to take up the tale, '' I 
 remember that same night very well, for the 
 wind was blowing very hard, and Sir Hugh 
 made me — for then I was one of his people, and 
 it was not till the Whitsuntide after that he got 
 me into the church, as Mistress Alice says — and 
 so Sir Hugh made me go with him to the top of 
 the old tower, and I held the lantern in one 
 hand, and kept on master's hat with the other, 
 for, as I said before, it blew up a hurricane, 
 whilst he looked about him at the skies, and
 
 238 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 thoug-h it was so dark you could not see a bit of 
 a star any more than if it had been a farthing 
 rush-light that was g-one out — and the rain beat 
 and the wind blew, and I did the best I could to 
 keep in the light, but down went lantern, candle 
 and all — and I said to Sir Hugh, shall I go into 
 tlie hall, sir, and get another light, that you may 
 see what you are about in the skies ?" — ' No, 
 fool,' says he, ' of what use would that be to 
 me ? We'll grope our way down the stairs of 
 the tower as well as we can ; but I see how it is, 
 my boy's fortimes will be as dark and as evil as 
 this hour, but I'll set up a scheme of tlvity for all 
 that." 
 
 ^' Of nativity, you mean," said Barnabas. 
 
 " Aye, aye," cried the parish clerk, ''^ of ti- 
 vity or nativity, its all the same thing — ' though,' 
 says Sir Hugh, ' it will but break my heart if I 
 find my boy's house as evil as I think it is '— 
 and I said, to comfort him, that the boy had a 
 good house over his head when he was born, 
 and I hoped he w ould never have a worse : but 
 Sir Hugh huffed me, and bid me go to the devil 
 for a blockhead and an ass — and I did think 
 there was other folk might keep me company if I 
 went there, for that matter. But I said nothing, 
 for I saw master was in a bad humour, and that
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 239 
 
 something crossed him, for we all have our hu- 
 mours sometimes, as I observed to our parson 
 when the white mare kicked him off into the 
 Tavy ; ' the beast is very gentle,' says I, ' but 
 has her humours, like most she things when they 
 are put out of sorts.' " 
 
 " And pray," said Mike of the Mount, who 
 had hitherto only played the part of listener, 
 perhaps from an affectation of that reserve which 
 high people are apt to assume towards low peo- 
 ple, when chance or ill-luck throws them into 
 the company of each other : " pray, has any ill- 
 fortune chanced to Master John Fitz, to verify the 
 old knight's prediction ?" 
 
 '' 111 fortune to John Fitz, sweet babe ?" 
 cried the housekeeper, who thus connected her 
 early reminiscences of her favourite, to vrhich her 
 attention had been directed, with her present 
 speech, forgetting that he was now grown a man ; 
 '' ill-fortune to John Fitz ? why no; he is the 
 heir to one of the best fortunes in the county ; 
 and there is not a family in the west of England 
 but he may pick and choose amongst their 
 daughters ; and there's not a mother among 
 them but courts the old folks, in order to throw 
 the young ones together. But I did hear Sir 
 Hugh once say, that the dark hour hung over
 
 240 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 his son's head hke a cloud, though it had not 
 yet burst upon him — and to be sure there may be 
 some truth in what he says after all, for I have 
 heard people tell that it was Sir Hugh who fore- 
 told Judge Glanville's misfortune about his 
 daughter." 
 
 *' That was a bad business indeed/' said the 
 parish clerk, and he looked very grave. 
 
 Barnabas also looked grave, it might be for 
 company, and said, '' I know but little about 
 that affair, for it happened before I came into 
 these parts to take the care of the Latinboys,and 
 tlie people here, I don't know why, but they 
 don't care to talk about it." 
 
 *' Butlknow why they don't," said the house- 
 keeper; for Judge Glanville, though he is now a 
 mopish sort of a man, does much good, and 
 spends a power of money in the place, and gives 
 to everybody who wants help, and even if they 
 don't want it, if they do but ask him ; so the 
 people here look to their own interest, which 
 is the surest way to make them hold their 
 tongues, and a world of pains was taken to 
 hush up that matter ; but I know more about it 
 than anybody, I believe:" and she gave that sort 
 of nod of the head, accompanied with a wink of
 
 FITZ OF FJTZ-FORD. 241 
 
 flie eye, the sure prelude of mysterious commu- 
 nication. 
 
 Mike of the Mount, who, like all of his pro- 
 fession, was an eager listener to all the gossip 
 he could pick up in the towns and villages through 
 which he passed, felt an eager desire to learn this 
 story, and, plying the old housekeeper with some 
 very civil speeches, which he had at command, 
 soon persuaded her to become communicative. 
 Indeed, if the truth must be told, she desired to 
 be so, but liked to have a little pressing on the 
 subject, since it gave her an additional air of im- 
 portance with the company — at least she thought 
 so ; and there certainly is a degree of consequence 
 attached to the communicators of all tales, sto- 
 ries, and gossippings about great families, when 
 their auditors sit a-gape, with ears attentive to 
 every word that is dropt, and eager to learn 
 more. Mistress Alice on the present occasion 
 added a little suspense, in order to heighten tlie 
 zest of her recital. 
 
 Barnabas filled the empty cups that stood round 
 the board, exclaiming as he did so, ^' imple ad 
 summum marginem, as Horace says. Mistress 
 Alice, it will help you on with your story to 
 quaff this cup of wine." The schoolmaster 
 handed it to her, then roused the n.ouldering 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 faggots into a cheerful blaze^, and once more re- 
 sumed his seat. 
 
 '' We are ail friends here/' said Mistress 
 Alice, " otherwise I should not mention what I 
 am about to do ; for though it don't much concern 
 the Fitz family, yet they might not, perhaps, 
 wish it to be talked of, as the Glanvilles are so 
 much their friends. But as I said before, we are 
 all friends here." 
 
 Of the sincerity of their friendship her auditors 
 now assured her with one voice, for curiosity, 
 like self-interest, can, with great readiness, adapt 
 itself to all possible exigencies. 
 
 " You must know, then,'"* said Mistress Alice, 
 
 " that I was, in former times, a young woman." 
 
 '^ Truly, Mistress Alice," said Barnabas, 
 
 '' we give you full credit for that part of the 
 
 story, seeing you are now an old one." 
 
 '^ Not so very old, either. Master Barnabas," 
 said the tale-teller ; '' but not quite so young as 
 I used to be: well, let that go — " 
 
 'Mt is gone already, if you talk of your 
 youth,"''' said the schoolmaster, who carried some- 
 thing of dogmatic precision with him into all 
 companies. 
 
 '' Let me tell my tale my own way," said 
 the housekeeper warmly, '' or tell it yourself.
 
 FITZ OF FiTZ-FORD. 243 
 
 Ma&ter Ferule; we are not at scide here, I trow! 
 i declare you put me out. Let me see, where was 
 I? Oh, I remember : when I was a young wo- 
 man, I lived first as lady's maid to Judge Glan- 
 ville's daughter; but my young mistress and I 
 could not set our horses' heads together, for I was 
 young, and free-spoken, and open, and she was 
 haughty and high, and very handsome, and had 
 strong evil passions, as it afterwards turned out, 
 and so I left her service and came to live with 
 Dame Fitz. And I was first her waiting gentle- 
 woman, and so got on till I was made house- 
 keeper, as right it should be ; for you know, 
 Master Barnabas, people ought to be promoted 
 in their station as the reward of their deserts, as 
 good Master Battlebook said in his sermon 
 preached before the Bishop of Exeter, when the 
 living of Peter Tavy was vacant. Well, and 
 after I left Mistress Mary Glanville to come to 
 Dame Fitz, it seems she went to London, and 
 there had a sweetheart that her father knew no- 
 thing about, and I have heard he was no great 
 things as to character, and what was worse, he 
 had no money." 
 
 '' Filthy lucre!" cried Barnabas, '' never 
 thought of by love and the muses. Love, Mis- 
 tress Alice, is therefore represented blind, that 
 M 2
 
 244 FfTZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 he might not be dazzled by gold; no bad idea 
 that for my next sonnet." 
 
 The housekeeper proceeded : " Now, some 
 how or other, mj master. Sir Hugh Fitz, hap- 
 pened to be in London too, and he learnt all 
 about the love-affair C'oino- on with Mistress 
 Mary, and knew a great deal about the young 
 man, who was then a sailor or a soldier, though 
 an officer to be sure, and so Sir Hugh told 
 the Judge all about his daughter's secret love, 
 and up goes Judge Glanville, though the sizes 
 were near at hand, and he had to sit in court, 
 but up he goes to London as if he had been 
 sent there with a flea in his ear — and I suppose 
 soon settled the business; and I fancy he 
 thought the best way to drive out the old love 
 from her head was to give his daughter a new 
 one, for the next thing I heard was that she 
 was married to the rich Sir John Page of Ply- 
 mouth — a man old enough to be her father. 
 You mind Sir John Page, I dare say. Master 
 Barnabas ?" 
 
 Barnabas shook his head, something in the 
 same way in which Whackum did to '^ stir his 
 wit up,' for he looked rather drowsy. " I re- 
 member having seen him when I was a boy at 
 Plymouth," said Barnabas, '^ for Sir John
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 245 
 
 was many years older than myself; but he was 
 hated for a miser, and every body wondered 
 how such a sensible, respectable man as Judge 
 Glanville, came to marry his daughter to Sir 
 John Pag-e." 
 
 " Why, I believe he did it," said Mistress 
 Alice, '• just as people sometimes take one ill 
 thing to be rid of a worse, for they say he 
 never thought his daughter safe till she was 
 married, so much he lived in fear that her first 
 good-for-nothing lover would run off with her, 
 and so married she v as. And a great lady, 
 they say, she then wanted to be. But Sir John 
 Page would never let her touch a penny but 
 w^hat he doled to her, like a miser as he was ; 
 and so as he grew more and more stingy, she 
 grew more and more violent in her temper, and 
 a dog and cat life of it they led together, till, in 
 short, the old lover came back again, and she 
 ran away with him from her husband," 
 
 " And the lover and the husband measured 
 swords and fought, of course ?''' said Mike of 
 the Mount. 
 
 " No, that they did not," replied Mistress 
 Alice. " You shall hear — the old man liked her 
 well enough for all her quarrelling and haughty 
 airs and her wickedness, and people did say he
 
 246 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 was a Christian, though he was as stingy as a 
 Jew ; and so he wished to reclaim her, and not 
 to give her up as a cast-away. After above a 
 twelve-month's hunting about, Sir Hugh Fitz, 
 who acted as lawyer in the business for Sir 
 John Page, again found her ovit, and he and 
 her father, Judge Glanville, got her home again, 
 and Page took back his run-away wife, and 
 treated her more severely than ever, in the hope 
 to humble and reform her. And then came the 
 dreadful part of the story- — ^but I don''t like to 
 tell it, for it is too shocking to repeat.'' 
 
 " And what was it ?" said Mike of the Mount, 
 whose curiosity was much heightened by this 
 declaration. "Is she alive or dead ?^ 
 
 " Alive f cried the housekeeper, and she 
 shook her head, raised her hands, that were 
 clasped together, and added, in an emphatic 
 manner : " She died a fearful death — but there 
 was one died more cruelly than she did, for she 
 deserved her fate — ^but, poor Judge Glanville t 
 I shall never forget when he sat upon the bench, 
 and—" 
 
 " And what ?" exclaimed Mike of the Mount. 
 
 " And passed the sentence of death upon his 
 own daughter," said the housekeeper.* 
 
 * So says tradition in Devon^
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 247 
 
 " The sentence of death upon his own davigli- 
 ter ! for what crime ?'" cried Mike of the Mount. 
 
 " For murder !" said Mistress Alice. "The 
 murder of her husband." 
 
 " Horrenda narras T exclaimed Barnabas. 
 There was a deep pause in the company. A 
 cold shudder stole over every eager listener to 
 this dreadful tale. Mistress Alice was the first 
 to break it, as she thus continued : " I saw 
 Judge Glanville," — and she wiped the tear from 
 her eye as she spoke, — " I saw him put on the 
 black cap as he rose from his seat. Good God ! 
 how he looked ! he was as white as a sheet, 
 but there was not a tear in his eye, though we 
 all saw he trembled. Yet he pronounced, word 
 for word, the awful sentence of the law, in a 
 voice as clear and as deep as a bell. He did not 
 look at the prisoner. But when he came to the 
 words dead ! dead ! it seemed they sounded to 
 him like his own knell, for then his voice failed 
 him; yet he finished, and, turning to his daugh- 
 ter, as he said ' the Lord have mercy on your 
 soul,' all the father broke out at once; tears 
 rushed to his eyes, and in another minute he 
 was carried senseless out of the court." 
 
 " O calamitatem r cried Barnabas. 
 
 " And his daughter," said Mike of the Mount.
 
 248 FITZ OF FITZ FORD. 
 
 Mistress Alice bent her head forward, and 
 said in a low voice, " She was burnt alive ! for 
 to murder a husband, they say is treason ! and 
 her poor father has never held up hi& head since; 
 he is a melancholy, broken-hearted man." 
 
 " No wonder that he did not come to the 
 May games," observed Mistress Sugarsop, 
 the grocer's lady, who was one of the attentive 
 friends and auditors of the housekeeper. 
 
 " Judge Glanville come to the May games !" 
 cried Mistress Alice, " you might as soon ex« 
 pect to see him attend his own funeral. No, 
 poor man, that judgment day was to him almost 
 as terrible as the great judgment day will be to 
 us all. It was a thing to shake both body and 
 soul within him, and the sentence of death, as it 
 passed from his lips, sounded like the last trump 
 to his ears." 
 
 " He sat like a second Brutus,^' said Bar- 
 nabas, " that great man of old, who judged to 
 death his own sons."" 
 
 " I know nothing about Judge Brutus,' ' said 
 Mistress Alice, " but I am sure to have seen 
 Judge Glanville that day, as he sat upon the 
 bench, was enough to soften the hearts of even 
 brutes themselves to pity him." 
 
 " I had heard,'' said Mike of the Mount,
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 249 
 
 " that Judge Glanville was a melancholy man, 
 and lived like nobody else ; but I never before 
 knew the cause. And pray, Mistress Alice, in 
 what way did Sir John Page come by his death ? 
 Had his wife any accomplices when she dealt to 
 him such hard measure ?'^ 
 
 " Why that's a question I can't so justly 
 answer,"' replied the housekeeper, " for there 
 was a good deal of contradictory evidence on 
 the trial as to that matter; and the criminal 
 would confess nothing, for she had a firm spirit, 
 though it was turned to evil. She had an 
 attendant, or a waiting gentlewoman, or some 
 sucli person about her, whose breeding was said 
 to have been better than her condition, thougli 
 it seemed her breeding had only taught her the 
 better to act wickedness. This waitino^ o-entle- 
 woman, it was shrewdly suspected, had a hand 
 in the murder ; but she made off, or escaped, or 
 was hid by some who befriended her, for nothing 
 more was ever heard of her that I could make 
 out. And as to all the peticklers of Sir John's 
 death, I shall be going to bed soon, and I'm 
 very subject to the narvicals, so I'd rather not 
 talk about them any more just now. And 
 besides that, there was a report that got wind, 
 after his wife was burnt for murdering him, 
 M 5
 
 250 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 that Sir John Page was seen alive and well, and 
 was no more murdered than I am.'"' 
 
 " FahulcE^ cried Barnabas. 
 
 " That he was seen to walk, I know very 
 well,'' said Mrs. Sugarsop ; " but as to being 
 alive, the Lord help you ! he was no more seen 
 bodily alive than his wife was after she was 
 executed ; though many people used to say that 
 she vised to walk with a burning faggot in one 
 hand, and drao-o-ino; an iron chain alono; after 
 her in the other, and would so rattle it every 
 night at twelve o'clock in the morning along the 
 church-yard — ^" 
 
 " But there are people," said Mistress Alice 
 interrupting her friend, " who would swear, 
 upon their Bible oath that they had seen Sir 
 John Page alive, notwithstanding his wife was 
 burnt for murdering of him." 
 
 " That can't be," cried Barnabas, " for the 
 body of Sir John Page was crowned, and the 
 jury brought in their verdict, as I have heard, 
 against some person or persons unknown for the 
 murder ; and soon after, his wife was taken up 
 on circumstances of suspicion, examined, tried, 
 and executed according to law." 
 
 '"' Well, the Lord knov/s best about it," said 
 Mistress Alice ; " Sir John Page was a miser
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 251 
 
 and bad enough in his way, and nobody would 
 have thought anything about his death if he 
 hadn't come by it in so shocking a manner. But 
 he's gone to answer for himself, and if he was 
 alive, it was a cruelsome act in him to let his 
 wife be burnt for murdering him. But we are 
 sinners all ; and let people say what they will, I 
 believe it's nothing but an idle tale after all, to 
 fancy that Sir John was alive. Now I suppose 
 it was somebody that was very like him who was 
 seen afterwards, for he was a well-favoured man, 
 and had a mole on his chin, and a wart on his 
 nose, as I can mind very well. But I do no 
 more believe the story of his being alive, than I 
 do what they tell about Edward Luggar, who 
 they say came by his death by peeping through 
 the key-hole of Tavistock church-door on Mid- 
 summer eve." 
 
 " That story is as true as Holy Writ," said 
 Barnabas, "for I knew Edward Luggar very- 
 well, and knew poor Emma Gendall, to whom 
 he was about to be married. And a foolish 
 thing it was in her to set him a peeping on 
 Midsummer eve through the church-door — it 
 was a tampering with sacred things, and couldn't 
 end well; but the curiosity of M^oman, as the 
 ancient poet says — I don't at this present moment
 
 252 riTZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 remember which of them it was, but it's all the 
 same thing — was, and is the source of all evil." 
 
 " You make very hard sayings about our 
 sect^'' cried Mistress Alice, "and as to your 
 poets, that you make such a stir about, I don't 
 see what they have to do with our affairs, and 
 if they were real gentlemen, they would scorn to 
 be looking after what does not concern them, — 
 and as to Edward Luggar, he was a wild young- 
 man, and went after the girls instead of mind- 
 ing his business." 
 
 " Now that's slander. Mistress Alice," cried 
 Barnabas ; " he cared for no girl in the place but 
 Emma Gendall, and he loved her dearly. I 
 knew him well, he was one of the ringers, and 
 when he was buried they muffled the bells, and 
 a melancholy peal they made." 
 
 " And his fate will never be forgotten, since I 
 have immortalized it, by having written a ballad 
 on the subject myself," said Mike of the Mount, 
 " and I will sing it to you with all my heart." 
 
 " Pray do," said Mistress Alice; " and first 
 take another cup of wine, to wet your whistle, 
 for there's no singing with a dry throat, and I 
 love a ballad of all things, and most specially 
 when there is any thing in it about ghosties and 
 spcrrits."
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 253 
 
 Mike of the Mount took up his harp, ran his 
 handover the chords, brought a few strings into 
 tune, with the assistance of his wrest, and hem- 
 ming two or three times to clear his voice, sang 
 with considerable expression, the following 
 ballad of 
 
 MIDSUMMER EVE * 
 
 Scarce sheds the moon, through rolling clouds, 
 
 A faint and flickering light ; 
 Long has the wearied villager 
 
 Shared the " deep sleep" of night. 
 
 Slow o'er the church-yard's lonely path 
 
 Young Edward bends his way. 
 Where bodies, from life's cares and toils, 
 
 Rest till the Judgment-day. 
 
 Yews, drear as death, in lengthening rows, 
 
 Spread a chill gloom around; 
 Beneath the verdant vault, his steps 
 
 In startling echoes sound. 
 
 The bat, in circles o'er his head. 
 
 On leathern pinion flits. 
 What time, 'tis said, the wailing ghost 
 
 His narrow mansion quits. 
 
 With heart undaunted he proceeds 
 
 To where, amid the skies. 
 The spire uplifts his haughty head. 
 
 And wind and storm defies. 
 
 * For this modern version of Mike's ballad we are in- 
 debted also to Edward A. Bray.
 
 254 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 He enters now the frowning porch 
 That guards the hallowed door; 
 
 And, seated on its smooth-worn bench, 
 Thus cons his purpose o'er. 
 
 " Here, till the hour of midnight sound, 
 " With patient heed I stay ; 
 
 " Such is my Emma's fond command, 
 " And gladly I obey. 
 
 " Long though so coy, the yielding maid 
 " Has smiled on my request ; 
 
 " To-morrow quits a mother's care, 
 " And seeks a husband's breast. 
 
 " What joys were mine, when thus she cried, 
 " ' I know my Edward's true : 
 
 " ' My mother and my home I'll leave, 
 " * To live, and die with you ! 
 
 " * By arts, which now I blush to own, 
 
 " * I oft your love have tried ; 
 " ' And if your courage be as strong, 
 
 " * Yourself shall now decide. 
 
 " * Midsummer's awful eve is near, 
 " ' When they whose hearts are bold 
 
 " ' May, at the great church-door, 'tis said, 
 " ' The train of death behold. 
 
 " ' There, through the key-hole (such the tale) 
 
 " * At midnight hour, the eye 
 " * Sees those slow pacing through the aisle 
 
 " ' Who in the year shall die.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ FORD. 255 
 
 " ' Learn whether, then, the virgin train, 
 
 " ' (If you the sight can brave) 
 " * Shall lead me to the nuptial bovver, 
 
 " ' Or bear me to the grave. 
 
 (C < 
 
 For why, short joy to either heart. 
 Should wedlock join our hands ; 
 If death, to pierce each heart the more, 
 ' So soon shall break the bands?' " 
 
 Now through the sacred pile resounds 
 
 The long, last hour of night ; 
 To the broad key-hole bends the youth, 
 
 And through it darts his sight. 
 
 Bright through the windows bursts the moon. 
 
 And pours her beams around ; 
 He hears, re-echoing through the aisles. 
 
 Slow footsteps tread the ground. 
 
 Instant he sees a numerous train 
 
 Approach in solemn pace; 
 A sable shroud surrounds each limb. 
 
 And pale is every face ! 
 
 He watch'd ; and, ere to aisles remote, 
 
 The spectres slow withdrew. 
 Most, if not all the ghastly train. 
 
 The youth, with horror, knew. 
 
 Some doom'd in manhood's prime to fall ; 
 
 Some in the pride of charms ; 
 And mothers, with their new-born babes 
 
 Reposing in their arms !
 
 ^56 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 The feeble forms of hoary age 
 
 Pass on with tott'ring knees : 
 A cold sweat bathes his shiidd'ring limbs 
 
 When, last, himself he sees ! 
 
 Another Edward meets his eye. 
 
 And ends the horrid train I 
 His breath is stopp'd, his eyes are fix'd. 
 
 His bosom throbs with pain. 
 
 His locks are stifFen'd with affright. 
 
 His breast distends with sighs. 
 Scarce can his limbs support him home, 
 
 He enters — falls — and dies ! 
 
 Mike ended his ballad, the bell in the clock- 
 house told in one loud stroke the hour, and 
 proclaimed that the morning had now stolen 
 upon the night. 
 
 " Bless us !'' exclaimed Mistress Alice ; "as 
 I live, it is one o^clock — it's time to break up, 
 or we shall be turning day into night ; 'tis no 
 hour to be out of our warm beds, and all mas- 
 ter's guests are gone to rest, I warrant me, so 
 'tis but proper we should say good niglit and 
 part company." 
 
 Barnabas drew his cap close over his ears, and 
 Mistress Sugarsop cloaked herself up so com- 
 pletely, that nothing but the tip of her nose 
 could be seen amidst the abundance of her ruffs
 
 FITZ OF FITZ FORD. 257 
 
 and mufflers. Barnabas lighted the taper of 
 bis lantern, offering his arm to the grocer's lady, 
 whom he gallantly volunteered to squire home 
 as far as the Church Bow. " A good night to 
 you, Mistress Alice,'"' said the worthy school- 
 master, " or rather a good morning — many 
 thanks to you, my young friend, for your pretty 
 ballad, which might have been better had you 
 studied the classics under me, and learnt to 
 measure your feet. But I suppose you are a 
 |X)et of nature, a poet for the people ; now, as 
 Horace says, spernere vulgus, that is my motto ; 
 give me the rules of art in poetry, and the ap- 
 plause of the judicious. The lantern is ready, a 
 good morrow to you all — come along Mistress 
 Sugar sop, Domum repetamus, come along.'' 
 
 Barnabas and his companion sallied forth ; 
 the rest of the guests soon followed. Mike of 
 the Mount was marshalled by a little scullion 
 boy, who acted as page to the old housekeeper, 
 into the dormitory of Fitz-ford, and all the 
 house gradually sunk into silence and repose.
 
 !58 FITZ OF FITZ-FOKD. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Yon bee his straw-built hive forsakes. 
 His wing o'er ev'ry flowret shakes. 
 
 Then shuts them on the rose ; 
 Although he quaff the luscious tide, 
 A store for winter to provide. 
 
 The flow'r no paler grows. 
 
 So when impell'd by youthful fire, 
 Thy charms, dear Marg'ret I admire, 
 
 And seize the hasty kiss ; 
 Thy ruby lips remain the same : 
 Then why the stealth so angry blame ; 
 
 Why rob me of such bliss ?* 
 
 As John Fitz, who was alike a votary of 
 music and poetry, carelessly sat reclining in the 
 window of his apartment, and singing the above 
 lines on the morning after May-day, the door 
 was so softly opened by some one who stole in, 
 that he did not at first observe the intruder, till, 
 on looking up, he perceived his father stood 
 before him. 
 
 " I wish, John Fitz," said old Sir Hugh, 
 " that you would find something better to do, 
 
 * We likewise owe this version of John Fitz's song to 
 Risvard A Bray.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 259 
 
 than to be sitting there, folding your arms, and 
 kicking your heels, and singing jingling cou- 
 plets and rhymes, that you learn of that young 
 strolling vagabond, Mike of the Mount."" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir,"" replied John Fitz ; 
 " that song was my own composition.'" 
 
 " So much the worse,"" cried Sir Hugh ; 
 " there are fools and poets enough in the world, 
 without your adding to the number. And 
 pray what fair lady may be thought a fitting 
 subject for your muse ?''' 
 
 " Why — why, sir, lady, sir ? — Queen Eliza- 
 beth, sir."" 
 
 " Queen Elizabeth !"" cried Sir Hugh, " and 
 what do you know about her gracious Majesty 
 Queen Elizabeth, that you should be making as 
 free with her as a country fellow does with a 
 village wench at Whitsuntide ?"" 
 
 " Oil sir, every young man now, you know, 
 writes verses in praise of the Queen, and calls 
 her Astrea, or Virginia, or Una, or Diana, or 
 some such pretty term as his fancy may suggest. 
 It"s so much the fashion, that they say there"s 
 no going to court without it, and that a copy of 
 verses addressed to the Queen, with a well-turned 
 compliment rounded off at every period, is a 
 surer passport to the way of honour and rewards
 
 260 FiTZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 than if he brought his genealogical tree in his 
 hands, with a catalogue of all the heads lost by 
 his family in the service of the Tudors." 
 
 " So much the worse, so much the worse, 
 .«John Fitz,^"* answered Sir Hugh ; '' but you 
 are my son, and, as such, are to continue down 
 to posterity the name and honours of my house; 
 and I could therefore wish to see you do some- 
 thing better than play the fool. Not that I dis- 
 like to see in you a turn for the art of poesy, 
 inasmuch as it hath the sanction of many great 
 men of antiquity ; Zoroaster having, as we know, 
 amused himself in his leisure hours, as a relaxation 
 from the more important studies of the heavenly 
 bodies, witii the composition of about a couple 
 of million of verses. But his were verses worthy 
 the man — none of your love ditties, none of your 
 cupids and stupids, which might very well go 
 together; none of your loves and doves, and 
 bowers and flowers. No, Zoroaster celebrated 
 in his poems the glory of the sun and moon, the 
 glory of the God of nature, giving to him the 
 titles of light and splendour, heat and fire, and 
 other lively epithets ; though his meaning was 
 afterwards corrupted by the Magi, who, taking 
 his figures in a literal sense, taught that God 
 himself was the central fire, and thence intro-
 
 FiTZ OF FITZ-FORD. 261 
 
 diiced the worship of fire among the Chaldeans, 
 and I am decidedly of opinion that the sacred 
 fire of Vesta was nothing more than the remains 
 of this ancient and venerable superstition. Now 
 as I said — do you mark me, John Fitz, for you 
 seem to be looking out of the window.^' 
 
 " I am all attention, sir," replied the young 
 man. 
 
 " Very well, sir," continued Sir Hugh, "poetry 
 therefore having the sanction of very high anti- 
 quity, to say nothing of the names of Homer, 
 Virgil, and other writers of more modern date, 
 poetry, therefore, is to be honoured when it is 
 directed to an object worthy its aim, and its 
 end. And if you turn it to noble purposes I 
 have no objection. And I could wish you to 
 cultivate the arts and sciences also. Now if you 
 had but wisdom enough to study astrology, my 
 dear boy, or if you would but give up a little 
 time to join in my researches on the moor, I 
 should have some hopes." 
 
 " Of what, sir?" said John Fitz. 
 
 " Of what, sir.f^" repeated old Sir Hugh, 
 " Why sir, that you might acquire a little com- 
 mon sense, and learn to know the value of time 
 by making a proper use of it." 
 
 " And pray, my dear father, what should I
 
 262 FITZ OF FITZ-FORI). 
 
 gain by astrology ? or by burrowing on Dart- 
 moor, like a rabbit or a fox ?" 
 
 " What should you gain by astrology !" cried 
 Sir Hugh. " Why the noblest of all human 
 acquisitions, a knowledge of those mysteries 
 which nobody can comprehend. And w^hat is 
 to be gained on Dartmoor ! Pray Master John 
 Fitz, let me ask you if you saw what we brought 
 away after opening the great cairn near Wist- 
 man's wood ?" 
 
 " I saw a parcel of old black broken pots 
 and pans," said John Fitz, " and some pieces 
 of rusty brass or iron, that had neither shape 
 nor make as I could find out." 
 
 a Wretched ignorance," cried Sir Hugh, 
 " and in my own son ! Broken pots and pans ! 
 to call the finest specimens of British pottery, 
 (for I hold them to be British and not Romaji) 
 that ever yet was found on the moor ; funeral 
 urns no doubt — to call them pots and pans ! — 
 Old Alice the housekeeper could not have 
 spoken more ignorantly." 
 
 " And pray Sir Hugh," said John Fitz, " of 
 w^hat use may they be ? what do they prove ?" 
 
 " What do they prove !" replied the star- 
 gazing antiquary, " what do they prove ? Why 
 they are undoubted proofs that pottery was
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD, 263 
 
 known to the British people as well as to the 
 Roman, and that funeral urns are found in their 
 graves." 
 
 " And where else should they be found ? and 
 these are both points of extraordinary impor- 
 ance in the history of the world," cried John 
 Fitz. " But come, my dear father, do not be 
 angry with me, for though I care not a rush if 
 the druids made their pans — their urns I mean 
 — of pottery or of pewter, and cannot conceive 
 that it can be of the least consequence to me to 
 cultivate an acquaintance with the moon or stars, 
 except as beautiful objects in the eye of poesy, 
 yet I should be very sorry to offend you. But 
 we have both our pursuits, and our tastes. 
 Leave me to follow mine, and I will promise 
 never to interfere with yours, though the stars 
 should threaten perdition upon my head for 
 despising their influence." 
 
 " Alas ! my son," said Sir Hugh, whose 
 countenance instantly changed, " to hear you 
 talk thus, it grieves my very heart. You know 
 not upon what a subject you are thus lightly 
 jesting. I came to you this morning to open to 
 you my mind on certain points in which the 
 preservation of your happiness, nay, your very 
 life is concerned ; and in pity to my feelings, if
 
 264 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 you have no regard to your own, I would beg 
 of you to give an attentive ear." 
 
 John Fitz, who really loved his father, though 
 lie never would consent to become an astroloo^er 
 to oblige him, saw, by the expression of his 
 countenance, that the old gentleman was deeply 
 affected, whatever he might have to communi- 
 cate ; and, unwilling to give him pain, instantly 
 changed his manner, became attentive, and as- 
 sured his father that he would listen with the 
 utmost respect both to his communications and 
 his advice. 
 
 " I am glad to hear this," said Sir Hugh, 
 " since it is in your power to remove from my 
 mind a cause of anxiety I can no longer con- 
 ceal. My son, a fatal destiny hangs over you — 
 If it can be averted — if the fatal hour can but 
 be passed, you may live long and happy ; but 
 if not — I tremble to repeat the consequences that 
 hour may bring forth. At your birth there was 
 a fearful ascendancy — the cusp of Mars — " 
 
 '' Nay, my dear sir, let any thing threaten 
 me but the stars, and I will listen with gravity. 
 But really to make yourself unhappy about such 
 an old woman's tale — " 
 
 " Silence !'' said Sir Hugh sharply ; for, 
 though a kind and indulgent father, there were
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 265 
 
 moments in which he could assume the full au- 
 thority of the parent. " I command silence. 
 Do you listen and obey. I grieve to say it, but 
 you are so ignorant even of the very terms of 
 art, that if I now used them you would not un- 
 derstand me. I shall therefore merely inform 
 you of the result of my scheme, put up soon 
 after the hour of your birth. All the terms of 
 art shall be dropt, that you may perfectly com- 
 prehend me." 
 
 John Fitz gave that sort of shrug of the 
 shoulders which indicated submission when it 
 cannot be helped, and prepared himself to listen 
 with attention. 
 
 " I have learnt by my art," said Sir Hugh, 
 " that the safest course you can pursue to 
 avoid the danger which threatens you from 
 some great, but yet unknown cause, would be 
 for you to travel till you had completed your 
 twenty-fourth year. Since till then this country, 
 I fear, is no safe place for your longer residence, 
 will you travel ? will you relieve my fears by 
 passing into Germany, where, you know, I have 
 friends who would gladly receive and entertain 
 you r- 
 
 The countenance of John Fitz instantly fell, 
 and he vehemently combated the proposal. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 FITZ OF FlTZ-FORt). 
 
 " Nay then," cried his father, " I must fear 
 that you entertain some motive, concealed from 
 me, that makes you so anxious to remain here ; 
 since the love of travel is natural to youth and 
 gentle blood, I fear I must suspect to be true 
 the tale that has been whispered into my ear, 
 that you love Margaret, the ward of Glanville." 
 
 Thus taken by surprise, the son knew not how 
 to answer,, or to excuse himself to his father. 
 He turned pale, looked confused, and attempted 
 some incoherent answer. 
 
 Sir Hugh shook his head. " The evil planet 
 that hung over you at your birth," he said, 
 " was not an ascendancy of Venus ; and yet, as 
 it indicated mischief, I might have feared that 
 woman would have something to do with it. 
 Alas ! alas ! I see how it is ; love is at the bot- 
 tom of the business. Young maidens are to 
 young men but as the syrens of old, that sang 
 their melodies to draw the unwary mariner so 
 near the rocks and shoals of destruction, that 
 his bark too frequently went to pieces upon 
 them. Yet, though I thought you spent your 
 time idly, and suspected you had no taste for 
 the profound mysteries of philosophy, yet I 
 never suspected this folly to be in you. But 
 this comes of your versing and your rhyming.
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 267 
 
 and making songs on Queen Elizabeth ! But I 
 have found you out I see, and I now expect a 
 full account of this proceeding, and that nothing 
 be hid from your father." 
 
 " I never designed to hide the truth from 
 you, sir," replied John Fitz. '' But I am 
 much agitated, much confused — yet you shall 
 be obeyed, you shall know all ; and learn from 
 my lips the truth. That secret which has so 
 long weighed upon my mind shall be revealed 
 to you, my dear father, and to your tenderness, 
 as a parent, I will commit the happiness of your 
 only son." John Fitz then confessed the whole 
 story of his love, represented in lively colours the 
 perfections of Margaret, declared that, without 
 the hope to win her, his life must be wretched ; 
 and having thus broken the ice, he now even 
 ventured to plunge so deeply in, as to solicit his 
 father to sanction his addresses to the maiden 
 of his heart. 
 
 In what manner this confession was received, 
 and the petition granted to John Fitz by his in- 
 dulgent father, must be made known hereafter. 
 For the present, we must shift the scene, and 
 introduce the old star-gazer to the presence of 
 another character in our drama ; which obliges 
 us, though somewhat abruptly, to close a collo-
 
 268 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD. 
 
 quy so deeply interesting to the feelings of the 
 youthful lover. And though this chapter is a 
 short one, we must beg the reader's indulgence 
 to begin another. 
 
 END OF VOL. 1. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 VRINTKD BY J. L. COX, GREAT QUEEN STREET.
 
 WORKS 
 
 AUTHOR OF FITZ OF FITZ-FORD, 
 
 TO BE HAD OF 
 
 LONGMAN & CO., PATERXOSTER-ROW, 
 
 COLBURN & CO., NEW BURLINGTON-STREET, 
 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO. CORNHILL, 
 
 AND OTHER PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS IN LONDON. 
 
 DE FOIX; or, Sketches of the Manners and 
 Customs of the Fourteenth Century. An Historical 
 Romance. In 3 vols. Price 1/. 75. 
 
 THE WHITE HOODS; an Historical Ro- 
 mance. In 3 vols. Price il, lis. 6d. 
 
 THE PROTESTANT; a Tale of the Reign of 
 Queen Mary. In 3 vols. Price il. lis. 6d. 
 
 Extracts Jrom Critical Opinions of the above Works: 
 
 " De Foix professes only to be an historical romance, yet it is 
 St. faithful and vivid picture of the warlike character, manners and 
 customs of that chivalrous age, the fourteenth century. — The 
 readers of De Foix will be at once reminded of Sir Walter Scott. 
 — The story of this work may be considered as the thread on 
 which gems of great value and great beauty are strung; it is 
 sufficiently connected to engage the attention of the reader, unless.
 
 fVorh hy the Author of Fit z of Fitz-ford. 
 
 indeed, the charms of description should make him view the work 
 as a series of distinct pictures, rather than as parts of the same 
 group. — We shall be glad again to meet her in the regions of 
 historical romance. — Mrs. Bray is a highly-gifted woman." — 
 Literary Chronicle. 
 
 " Be Foix, and The White Hoods, may be consulted as very 
 faithful and very pleasing chronicles of the elder day." — Quarterly 
 Review, 
 
 " On the events connected with these circumstances (of 
 
 the White Hoods,) JNIrs. Bray has framed a most amusing and 
 spirited romance ; strictly adhering to the material and even the 
 minor details of real history, describing, with no small antiquarian 
 knowledge and precision, the manners of the time ; interspersing 
 her work with sound moral reflections, with lively poetical images, 
 and exhibiting in the progress of her story a great variety of cha- 
 racters, drawn with much truth to nature, distinctness of defini- 
 tion, and knowledge of the human heart. She owes little to him 
 (Froissart,) further than the truth of the historical events, or the 
 incidental allusion to some particular custom. All else is the 
 result of a lively, well-informed, and well-directed imagination." 
 ' — Gentleman's Magazinei. 
 
 " The White Hoods will, we think, stand very high in its class. 
 There is a most interesting story, some spirited sketches of 
 character, and most faithful pictures of the times." — Literary 
 Gazette. 
 
 " The genius of Mrs. Bray has been so justly appreciated by 
 an admiring public ; and we ourselves entered so fully into the 
 peculiar excellencies which characterize it, in the 361st number 
 of the Literary Chronicle, when reviewing her chivalrous story of 
 De Foix, that it will be no slight recommendation of The White 
 Hoods to say that, as an historical romance, it is not less distin- 
 guished by the pomp and circumstance of chivalry, by accurate 
 delineations of every variety of ancient manners, by an interest- 
 ing narrative, and a flowing, vigorous and graceful style." — 
 Literary Chronicle.
 
 Worhs by the Author of Fitz of Fitz-forcL 
 
 " We are well pleased to see another production from the 
 
 author of De Foil. — That work showed IMrs. Bray possessed 
 talents of no common class. The story of the rebellion of the 
 citizens of Ghent against the Earl of Flanders, and of their pro- 
 ceedings after they distinguished themselves by wearing White 
 Hoods is one of great interest and curiosity. It must also be 
 acknowledged that Mrs. Bray has done full justice to its most 
 prominent scenes, by the lively and dramatic manner in which 
 she Has represented them.—Two or three scenes in this way 
 exhibit great strength of imagination.— In general Mrs. Bray's 
 style is fluent and clear ; she seldom aims at fine writing, but 
 whenever she does aim at it she is successful. Her best attempt 
 at humour is Sir Simon de Bete, a good hearted vain burgomas- 
 ter, who makes a conspicuous and always an agreeable figure in 
 these volumes."— ilIo//t/t/_i/ Review. 
 
 " Such scenes as these form the staple of Mrs. Bray's 
 
 novel of The Protestant. — The incidents of the tale follow one 
 another in breathless rapidity, according to the hurried and fearful 
 nature of the times they illustrate. The great agitators, Bonner, 
 Gardiner, Thornton, Harpsfield, Fiiar John of Spain, and others, 
 are brought on the stage ; and the imaginary characters group 
 admirably well witli the historical. The heroine. Rose, is a beau- 
 tiful creation ; her sufferings are many, and her constancy under 
 them is heroical. We regret that we have not space to lay before 
 our readers some of the many fine things in a book which, if we 
 mistake not, is destined to exert much influence, not only on 
 account of its subject, but of its talent." — New Monthly 
 Magazine. 
 
 " The Protestant is fairly entitled to the appellation of an his- 
 torical romance. Its author has not merely mingled names and 
 events known and recorded with those created by imagination, 
 to give verisimilitude to the narrative, but has interwoven the 
 silver thread of fancy with a substantial tissue of facts, curious, 
 interesting and important. The Protestant contains a lively 
 description of the sufferings which a virtuous minister of thg 
 reformed church, with his children and dependents, endured,
 
 Works hij the Author of Fitz of Fitz-ford. 
 
 when " bloody Queen Mary " played second to Philip of Spain 
 and his Holiness the Pope. INIuch dramatic vigour is exhibited 
 in the delineation aud developement of the different characters ; 
 the style is luminous, and the story increasing in excitement to 
 the veiy close. — The details borrowed from historic records, and 
 the relics of antiquity, are given with force and effect, and entirely 
 without exaggeration." — Morning Journal. 
 
 '' The Frotestant. — There are in this work some exquisite 
 touches of nature, which we shall point out. The following is 
 worthy to be ranked with very high flights of poetry. It relates 
 to one of the intended protestant sufferers at the place of execu- 
 tion, a village doctress, oracle, &c. whose character is admirably 
 drawn. — With them were to be burned an old family servant, and 
 an unfortunate blind boy ; when they were asked by the mayor if 
 there was any thing that he could do for them, they made replies, 
 which demonstrate a beautiful simplicity that goes to the very 
 heart. — The great merit of the fair authoress is strong delineation 
 of character ; she paints anatomically and finely, and is singularly 
 successful in her representations of humble life. Old Abel and his 
 dog Pincher, Gammer Plaise, the housekeeper, and the blind boy 
 Tommy, are beautifully dramatic; nor are there w^anting very 
 fine descriptive reflections, such as that on church-yards (vol. 2, 
 p. 139), and on the chapel of the Holy Trinity at Canterbury 
 (vol. 3, p. 37). The moral of the novel is exposure of the horrid 
 effects of bigotry, productive as it is of the worst passions, and 
 generative of villainy as horrible as that of Judas." — Gentleman'' s 
 Mao-azine.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 041416592 
 
 ^