\ 
 
 ^ 
 
 /
 
 "LI 5 R.AFLY 
 
 OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 
 Gr22o 
 
 V.I
 
 ^i^^U,
 
 \ 
 
 Dtljer %imtsi; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 
 
 BV THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE LOLLARDS;— THE MYSTERY; 
 
 CALTHORPE, OR FALLEN FORTUNES; 
 
 &c. &c. 
 
 All thynges in this boke that ye shall rede. 
 Doe as ye lyst, there shall no manne you bynde. 
 Them to beleiie, as surely as your crede. 
 But notwiihstanddyng certes in my mynde, 
 I durst well swere, as true ye shall them fynde. 
 
 Sir Thomas Mobb. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 LONDON: 
 
 PBINTED FOR 
 
 LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, 
 
 PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 1823.
 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 ,;^ The writer who attempts a tale founded 
 "jc on the events, the opinions, or the man- 
 ners of a remote period, has a task of 
 "^ some difficulty to perform in furnishing 
 ^ himself with those particulars, relating 
 c% to the former state of society, which 
 are necessary for his purpose. When 
 successful industry has conquered this, 
 he is in no small danger of offending by 
 ^, the very toil he has undergone. That 
 <^: which has cost much labour, men are 
 ^ reluctant to consider of no value ; and 
 <v authors too frequently inflict the result 
 -^ of their researches in a way which must 
 ^ compel acknowledgement, though not 
 ^ "admiration, of their useless diligence. 

 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 The individual who is responsible 
 for the following pages cannot deter- 
 mine whether or not he has thus of- 
 fended ; but when he looks at the mass 
 of illustrations which he has spared, 
 he is almost afraid that he has fallen 
 into an opposite error. What he has 
 offered relative to old English habits, 
 he has endeavoured to make correct. 
 Such details, as well as the local pic- 
 tures, are drawn from the most ap- 
 proved authorities. The documents 
 quoted are what they profess to be, 
 and have been accurately copied from 
 the originals ; the scenery and deco- 
 rations of the ancient mysteries are de- 
 scribed, without exaggeration ; and the 
 festivities of the day are given with a 
 like regard for truth. 
 
 The principal characters are all ima- 
 ginary, but many of the incidents will 
 be recognised as having actually occurred 
 at the date of the story, and those ac-
 
 PREFACE. Vll 
 
 quainted with the chronicles of the times, 
 will know that some of the most startling 
 occurrences are deviations from romance 
 into history. 
 
 Dreary vaults and under-ground pas- 
 sages, stand so far justified by precedent, 
 that it would seem an affectation of 
 mincing delicacy, to offer any excuse for 
 putting them in requisition for " the 
 Monks of Leadenhall." Those who 
 know how vast a theatre for subterranean 
 enterprise remains to this day, where 
 the Monastery once stood, will perhaps 
 admit that the author has availed him- 
 self of the facilities thus offered with 
 moderation. If the depravity repre- 
 sented to exist where it ought least to 
 have been expected, should seem over- 
 charged, for proof that the reverse is the 
 fact, he again refers to the Chronicles, 
 to the Harleian Manuscripts, and the 
 other records extant relative to monastic 
 estabhshments, of too many of which, if
 
 Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 those be truths which the world has re- 
 ceived as such, it might be said with 
 justice, in the words of the old poet 
 Walton, 
 
 In this place both early and late, 
 
 Dame Lust, dame Wantonness, and dame Vyce, 
 
 They were so there inhabited I wotte, 
 
 That few taken heede to Goddy's service.
 
 OTHER TIMES ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 They raised his body once a year; and the day on 
 which this ceremony was performed, which was called the 
 day of his translation, was a general holiday. 
 
 Hume. 
 
 Three travellers approached the entrance 
 of Canterbury, as journeying from Dover, 
 in the afternoon of a summer's day, when 
 they found their advance opposed by an 
 immense concourse of people. The 
 crowd was so great that they could not 
 go forward but with extreme difficulty j 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 OTHER TIMES; OR, 
 
 but as they insensibly made a little way, 
 they soon found that to retreat would; 
 not be more easy than to continue their 
 course. 
 
 Two of the persons thus circumstanced 
 were men, the third a female. Her age, 
 to judge from appearances, could not 
 exceed sixteen. She was evidently fa- 
 tigued, but in spite of this circumstance, 
 and notwithstanding the hot sun to which 
 she had been exposed had detracted some- 
 what from the delicacy of her counte- 
 nance, it was still so rich in beauty that 
 avery eye rested on her, while, wondering 
 at all around her, she was too much en- 
 grossed by the buildings which presented 
 themselves to observation, and the novelty 
 of the moving scene, to feel conscious 
 that she had for a moment occupied the 
 attention of any one besides her imme- 
 diate companions. 
 
 Her costume, and that of one of the men 
 who rode by her side, was Spanish. This 
 person, who might pass for her brother
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 3 
 
 from the resemblance to be remarked, 
 was about twenty-five years of age. Hi& 
 look was stern and thoughtful. The 
 attention bestowed on the female by his 
 side afforded him no gratification, and 
 whoever they succeeded in advancing a 
 single pace, his eyes, from surveying the 
 throng which they were attempting to 
 penetrate, were constantly turned to the 
 lady, with an expression that at once in- 
 dicated a desire to make those near him 
 comprehend that she was under his 
 care, and that he was resolute to guard 
 his charge with vigilance, and to repel, 
 with decisive energy, any attempted 
 familiarity. 
 
 The third person of the party was 
 English. His age could not be more than 
 twenty-one. He rode on the left-hand 
 of the lady, the person last described 
 being on her right. Though not less 
 attentive to his fair companion than his 
 friend, there was nothing of that stem- 
 ness about his features which marked 
 B 2
 
 4 
 
 those of her other protector. On the 
 contrary, an air of exultation could be 
 traced, and a gay anxiety to mark the 
 surprise, the pleasure, or the admiration 
 afforded or excited by the singular spec- 
 tacle which opened on the foreigners^ 
 
 *' What think you of England now !'* 
 he exclaimed, when, from the increasing 
 density of the multitude, they were ob- 
 liged absolutely to stand still. 
 
 *^ In sooth Edmund," his male com- 
 panion replied, ^* 1 know not what to 
 think of England as yet, but I have been 
 amazed all the way we came to find its 
 roads so replenished with men and 
 women, for certainly I never saw a 
 greater assemblage in all my life than 
 that which I now behold." 
 
 '* What," inquired the lady, ^' is the 
 occasion of the meeting of the multitudes 
 we now see ?" 
 
 " I," said Edmund, '* have been so 
 much occupied in conversation with you 
 and Ferdinand, that I forgot to rqfer to
 
 THR MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 5 
 
 the calendar before, and had somewhat 
 neglected it on our voyage ; but what I 
 now behold explains all, and I can at once 
 <:omprehend the cause of this congrega- 
 ting at Canterbury." 
 
 ^' I should conclude," said the female, 
 ^' that it must be some religious festival 
 that is to be celebrated, from the numer- 
 ous monks and pilgrims that mingle with 
 the crowd. What day is it ?" 
 
 " It is Translation day." 
 
 The foreigners looked on the speaker 
 with surprise. Though they under- 
 stood the English language perfectly 
 well, both were at a loss to make out 
 the meaning of the answer which they 
 had just received. Their friend hastened 
 to explain, 
 
 *' This, being the seventh of July, 
 is the day of the translation of Thomas 
 Beckett, better know^n to you, perhaps, 
 as St. Thomas of Canterbury. On this 
 day they raise his remains from the sepul- 
 chre, where they have slumbered more 
 B 3
 
 6 OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 than three centuries. If so disposed, you 
 may see his bones^ and, on making a suit- 
 able offering, touch them. Doubtless you 
 have heard of the wonder-working power 
 of these far famed relics." 
 
 " I have heard of many miracles here 
 performed. Not only bodily infirmities 
 have been healed, but even sadness of 
 heart, so I have read, can be at once dis- 
 pelled by the touch of these same relics.'* 
 
 " Then haste ye Ferdinand/* cried 
 the lady, " haste, make your offering, 
 and be well ; if indeed the bones of St. 
 Thomas of Canterbury can give the 
 troubled heart repose.'* 
 
 ** I fear me Mariana," Ferdinand re- 
 plied with a deep sigh, " repose can only 
 be bestowed on my heart by that which 
 shall stop its vibrations for ever." 
 
 The tone in which he spoke produced 
 a momentary pause. Edmund wished to 
 dispel the gloom which had come over 
 them, and replied, with vivacity, 
 
 " Never think so, man. Look at the
 
 THE 3I0NKS OF LEADENHALL. 7 
 
 devout pilgrims around you — look at 
 the merriment which is in their faces, and 
 listen to the blithe sounds which greet 
 the ear in all directions, and if you were 
 sceptical in other instances, you shall be 
 constrained to admit, that the remains of 
 the saint are at least potent to dispel care 
 and remove sadness of spirit." 
 
 He was justified in the reference which 
 he made to the crowd. Instead of that 
 solemnity which might be expected on 
 the part of those who from religious 
 motives had performed a long journey 
 to visit the grave of a saint, the majority of 
 the thousands assembled seemed brought 
 together merely to enjoy the amusements 
 of a common holiday. However pious 
 and sublime their contemplations when 
 they entered upon their pilgrimage, their 
 austerity and reserve had gradually di- 
 minished, till at length, kept in couute- 
 nance by each other, and in many cases 
 excited by the refreshment which they 
 had thought good for their earthly taber- 
 B 4
 
 OR, 
 
 nacles, boisterous laughter had sup- 
 planted reverential silence, and jolhty 
 was everywhere predominant. 
 
 Though Ferdinand had expressed a 
 belief, that not even the bones of St. 
 Thomas of Canterbury could secure him 
 peace of mind, he was reluctant to pass 
 through a city in which an object so 
 venerated was to be found, without 
 making his offering at the shrine, to 
 which so many of the devout repaired ; 
 and perhaps, mingled with religion, some- 
 thing of curiosity made him not indis- 
 posed to seek the grand object of attrao- 
 tion. But the situation in which he saw 
 Mariana precluded him from doing so 
 at that moment. H e replied, 
 
 ^* I am not of the number of those to 
 whom you would direct my attention. 
 These, relieved for a season from the 
 ordinary toils of life, cannot but be joy- 
 ful. Although I have never intruded on 
 you the history of those cares and sorrows 
 which are the inmates of my bosom, you
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. , 9 
 
 will perhaps be able to believe that ordi- 
 nary griefs would not depress my spirits, 
 as you have not unfrequently seen them 
 depressed. I cannot hope, that even 
 the remains of a saint have power to re- 
 move my sadness, yet I would not un- 
 willingly see them, if this could be. But 
 Mariana cannot endure the violent 
 pressure which those who approach 
 them must sustain, and I do not judge 
 it fitting to separate from her." 
 
 Edmund remarked that ere long the 
 difficulty would be removed. It was pro- 
 bable that the throng which then strove 
 to enter the cathedral, in order to pro- 
 ceed on their bare knees to the grave, 
 would diminish. At all events, on gain- 
 ing an inn where they could dispose 
 their horses, Mariana might rest in safety 
 under his protection, while Ferdinand 
 repaired to the church. 
 
 This seemed plausible, and slowly as 
 they advanced, they calculated on very 
 b5
 
 10 OTHER TIMES *, OR, 
 
 soon reaching an inn. They were not 
 wrong in this, but when they had done 
 so, it was only to learn that they must go 
 further. Every apartment was aheady 
 so crowded that those who belonged to 
 the house were as anxious to repel, 
 as under ordinary circumstances they 
 would have been to welcome, fresh 
 guests. 
 
 However reluctant to take such a 
 course, they made new efforts to break 
 through the crowd, in the hope of find- 
 ing a less frequented inn, where they 
 might rest themselves and their horses, 
 which were more fatigued by the impe- 
 diments they had encountered since they 
 entered Canterbury, than from the exer- 
 tions which had brought them to that 
 city from Dover. The search was use- 
 less. Every house that promised accom- 
 modation to travellers was in the situ- 
 tion of that which they had first reached, 
 and they saw the end of the town with- 
 out finding any place in which they 
 9
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 11 
 
 could gain permission to rest themselves, 
 or obtain the slightest refreshment. 
 
 The influx of visitors had that year 
 been remarkably great. That this would 
 be the case was partially foreseen, and 
 as it appeared certain that all who came 
 could not be entertained in the city, a 
 number of tents and temporary huts had 
 been set up in the neighbouring fields, 
 near the road side. These were fur- 
 nished with benches and tables, in which 
 those who carried provisions with them 
 were allowed for a small gratuity to eat, 
 and some refreshments were prepared 
 for sale by the itinerant proprietors of 
 these temporary erections. 
 
 Exhausted as the persons to whom our 
 attention has been principally directed 
 were, they did not disdain even the hum 
 ble shelter and sordid fare to be ob- 
 tained in one of these. It was not in 
 the first instance quite certain that they 
 could be received in a tent, but Edmund 
 B 6
 
 IS OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 had the good fortune to observe a party 
 rise from a form, and to secure it before 
 any other customers could occupy it. 
 
 The tent which received them was 
 large enough to contain from twenty to 
 thirty persons. A number of voices de- 
 manded the attention of the master, and 
 his presence was required in five or six 
 places at the same moment. Some 
 young men who wore the appearance of 
 mechanics, and were seated near the en-, 
 trance, distinguished themselves by the 
 loudness of their calls. To appease them, 
 a young female of interesting appear- 
 ance, bearing an infant at her bosom, 
 stepped forward with a flaggon of ale 
 in her hand, which she set before them. 
 
 " Is the knave your husband or mas- 
 ter (if he be either the one or the other), 
 deaf?" a man, differing from the others 
 in appearance, inquired. 
 
 The person who thus questioned her 
 was apparently between forty and fifty 
 years of age. Plis small piercing eyes
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 13 
 
 were continually winking to one or 
 other of the company, and these, with his 
 flat nose and long chin, which moved up 
 and down with a rapidity corresponding 
 with the knowing glances he unceasingly 
 bestowed, threw a vulgar but comic ex- 
 pression'into his countenance, which well 
 disposed those who looked on him to 
 laugh, and his words proved that it was 
 not his wish to repress the risibility pro- 
 voked by his features. 
 
 The young woman made no answer at 
 first, but on the question being sar- 
 castically repeated by the same speaker, 
 '' It might be well," said she, " that he 
 were deaf, if he often met with the like 
 of you." 
 
 ** What dost mean by that? Dost 
 think, for all that simple downcast look 
 of thine, I am like to suppose he is not 
 accustomed to a greater din than I, 
 with these lusty bawlers to aid me, can 
 make ? If he be your husband — 
 " What then ?** said the master of the
 
 14 OTHER times; OR^ 
 
 tent sternly interposing, and fixing his 
 dark full eye on his guest, with an ex- 
 pression of wrath which told that little 
 provocation would suffice to urge him to 
 something more than looks or even 
 words. 
 
 '* What then ?" replied the other, mi- 
 micking the angry tone of the interroga- 
 tory; " why then I'll wager a groat against 
 one gallon of ale, which is marvellous odds, 
 being more than three to one^ that thou 
 art not her master." 
 
 *• It is of little import to thee, so thou 
 hast thy flaggon, whether I be or not." 
 
 " Thou declinest the wager. Thou 
 art wise. But it was from thyself that I 
 learned that thou wast not." 
 
 ♦^ How may that be^ seeing I have not 
 changed word with thee till now." 
 
 ** Marry, I learned it from your head- 
 gear. I knew that the reason of your 
 wearing your cap close over both your 
 ears was, that you found such precaution 
 right needful to protect the drums of
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 15 
 
 them from the shrill tongue of your 
 meek helpmate/* 
 
 There was something singular in the 
 appearance of the man. The cap which 
 had been noticed was made of black 
 worsted. In front it reached to his eye- 
 brows, and on the sides it came down 
 completely over his organs of hearing, 
 the ends of the cap being tied under his 
 chin. His beard was untrimmed, and 
 looked as if it had been carelessly short- 
 ened with scissars. He was unwashed, 
 his hair was as much neglected as his 
 beard, and a scar on his cheek disfigured 
 him not a little, and contributed to that 
 sternness, not to name it ferocity, which 
 his whole countenance exhibited, but 
 which beamed from his eyes at the mo- 
 ment when his customer jested on his 
 hearing, with a wrathful lustre not to be 
 mistaken. He made an effort to repress 
 his ire, at least so far as the person who 
 had spoken to him was concerned, but it 
 quickly rekindled when he turned to the
 
 Id OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 female, who had remained thfe trembling 
 spectator of that fury which the careless 
 language of the stranger had called 
 forth. 
 
 '' And why are you here ?** he impetu- 
 ously demanded. 
 
 ** I but came with — " 
 
 ** And who bade you come ?" 
 
 *< You were loudly called for, and 
 seeing you already engaged, I thought 
 to ease you of some slight fatigue." 
 
 " I called thee not — wouldst come 
 at another's bidding ?'' 
 
 '* I," replied the wife, while tears of 
 anguish streamed down her youthful face, 
 *' I thought not to disquiet thee ; instead 
 thereof I — " 
 
 " Be dumb — get hence." 
 
 The poor girl, for such she was in years, 
 made no reply, but hastened to obey the 
 harshly uttered mandate of her husband. 
 
 Edmund, Ferdinand, and Mariana re- 
 garded the retiring female with pitying 
 looks. When she was out of sight, the
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 17 
 
 person who had moved the husband's 
 displeasure spoke again. 
 
 " rU tell you a secret, Mr. Ale-huckster, 
 which you may tell, if you like, to your 
 dame." 
 
 ** And what may that be ?" 
 
 ** Why, that if I, being as I am but 
 nobody, were that same wife of yours so 
 saucily snubbed to-day while you had a 
 troop of fellows to stand by you, I would 
 shew you no quarter to-morrow when 
 alone." 
 
 The master of the tent had expected 
 something serious, and disgusted with 
 the trifling of his guest, he contemptuously 
 turned away with the exclamation of 
 « Fool !" 
 
 " Fool !" cried the other, ** I wish you 
 would make good your speech. If you 
 call me fool, give me the pay of one." 
 
 " A cudgelling is often the pay of a 
 fool, and that I shall be much inclined 
 to bestow upon you, for little solicitation." 
 
 ** Take care, mind what you say. T,
 
 18 OTHER TIIilES J OR, 
 
 Master Nicholas Bray, being no common 
 person, am not to be taunted with impu- 
 nity." 
 
 " Then you, Master Bray, had better 
 bear in mind the rules of civility, (good- 
 breeding is not to be expected), or bray 
 somewhere else.'* 
 
 " For matter of that, Mr. Huckster, 
 good-breeding might perchance be thrown 
 away on so poor a judge of it as you are. 
 Never think to scold me as you do your 
 wife, unless you can fight." 
 
 " And how in that case ?" 
 
 ** Then strip you as I shall do. Throw 
 off your doublet and that same elegant 
 cap ; throw off your cap^ I say, and I am 
 your man." 
 
 The proprietor of the tent had at first 
 seemed very well disposed to put the 
 mettle of his customer to the proof, but 
 he now drew back scrutinizing the coun- 
 tenance of the latter without speaking. 
 
 " Ah ! ha !" cried the stranger " is it so. 
 What, you are at length awake, are you ?
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALt. 19 
 
 You know who I am and what I can do; 
 but, be dumb ; get hence/' he added, mi- 
 micking the manner in which the wife 
 had deen ordered to withdraw. 
 
 No reply was offered, and prompt obe- 
 dience was yielded to the command of 
 Mr. Nicholas Bray.
 
 20 OTHER TIMES : OR, 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 He being A martyr for the papacy, was more extolled 
 than all the apostles or primitive saints had ever been. 
 So, that for three hundred years, he was accounted one of 
 the greatest saints in heaven." 
 
 Bishop Burnit. 
 
 Ferdinand and. Edmund, after the wife 
 retired, had engaged in conversation, and 
 paid no attention to the irritating 
 speeches which were exchanged, till 
 fighting was proposed. It was with 
 astonishment that they saw the churlish 
 husband silenced by one, for whom, a 
 moment before, he had evinced the most 
 sovereign contempt. The unmerited 
 harshness with which he had spoken to 
 the female prevented them from feel- 
 ing more than surprise. But it was ne- 
 cessary that one of the newly arrived 
 party should speak to him, which had 
 hitherto been prevented by the alter-
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 21 
 
 cation. Rising for this purpose, Edmund 
 followed him. He had retired into a 
 small adjunct to the tent, partly formed 
 of wood and partly with sail-cloth. Ed- 
 mund presented himself at the entrance 
 to it. The man was seated. He had 
 covered his eyes with his hands, and was 
 much agitated. 
 
 " This is through thy doings,^' he said, 
 •in the same indignant tone which had 
 before distressed his wife. " But for thy 
 foolery I had 'scaped this knave. 
 
 The female bore the reproach without 
 offering a word in reply. But the af- 
 fliction which it caused she could not 
 conceal; and though she averted her face, 
 she was unable to controul the sobs which 
 repeatedly shook her slender frame. 
 
 Her distress escaped not the notice of 
 her lord. The gloomy displeasure which 
 sat on his countenance had not abated. 
 But when he saw her silent agony, and 
 perceived the tears which had fallen from 
 her eyes bathing the hand of her infant.
 
 g^ OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 a touch of nature seemed to wake him to 
 pity and remorse. 
 
 «<^ It was wholly through thee," he 
 said, as if he had felt it necessary to offer 
 some justification of his wrath. " But,'* 
 he added, with much more kindness in 
 his manner, <* it was not thy intent to 
 fret me." 
 
 The effects of this relenting speech, 
 were more striking than those of his 
 indignation had been. It was as if grief 
 had gained, from the remission of severity, 
 a licence to be audible, and the eyes of 
 the wife, in the moment when she strove 
 to dry them, overflowed faster than 
 before. 
 
 ^' Nay, weep no more,*' cried the hus- 
 band, and a smile of comfort, amidst sobs 
 and tears, illumined the face of the wife. 
 He rose from his seat and turned to- 
 wards her, but started at perceiving Ed- 
 mund, and advanced to meet him in 
 confusion, which he did not conquer even
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 23 
 
 when he perceived it was only a new 
 guest. 
 
 "I — I did not expect—*' he stam- 
 mered. " I would say I did not anti- 
 cipate — or rather, I did not know that 
 I was wanted. What may you seek, my 
 master ? " 
 
 *^ I desire to know if you have any 
 refreshments remaining of your store, 
 to set before myself and my two com- 
 panions," 
 
 •^ You will find but scanty fare here, 
 and that not such in quality as gentles, 
 like you, would care to regale with." 
 
 *< Little need be said on that subject. 
 We come here merely because we cannot 
 gain entrance elsewhere ; you therefore 
 owe us no thanks for our custom, and no 
 apology for the coarseness of the viands 
 which we may find." 
 
 " Salted beef you may have. For the 
 manchet loaves, they are all consumed ; 
 but we have brown bread, not bad of the 
 sort."
 
 24 OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 " This will suffice, but can you bring 
 it soon ?'* 
 
 " It shall be served anon»" 
 
 ** And for the horses, can you do 
 aught for them ?" 
 
 " They shall have water, and they can 
 graze with tolerable safety in the; fieldi 
 provided you first take off their saddles." 
 
 u Why shall that make them more 
 secure ?" 
 
 *' By reason that the returning pilgrim, 
 who desires an animal of that descrip- 
 tion, would much prefer stealing a horse 
 saddled, to bearing off one not so fur- 
 nished/* 
 
 There was something too rational in 
 this remark to admit of its correctness 
 being doubted. Edmund failed not to 
 take the hint, and to act upon it without 
 loss of time. On re-entering the tent, 
 he found their humble table already 
 spread, and what rather surprised him, 
 the wife in attendance on Ferdinand and 
 Mariana. Another flaggon of ale having
 
 THE Mq^KS OF LEADENHALL. 25 
 
 been demanded by Mr. Nicholas Bray, 
 it was served by the female. This 
 Ferdinand remarked as singular, after the 
 anger which she had so recently in- 
 curred for acting the same part. Such 
 apparent disobedience did not escape the 
 notice of Bray, who seemed well dis- 
 posed to indulge in a jest on the oc- 
 casion, but the voices of his companions 
 were too loud to afford him a chance of 
 being heard at the moment, and before 
 a pause had occurred, the woman had 
 retired, and the opportunity for bringing 
 his witticism, or what he mistook for 
 one, to a good market, was lost. 
 
 *^ Saw ye the saint to day," cried one 
 of his companions to the person opposite 
 to him. 
 
 " Marry did J," was the answer of a 
 very sanctified looking pilgrim, whose 
 grey beard gave him rather a venerable 
 aspect. 
 
 " And did you profit tliereby." 
 
 ** Marvellously ; for behold this vvhit- 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 ^ - OTHER TIMES ; OU, 
 
 low, which till then was fearfully sore 
 and angry, is by virtue of that touch 
 almost well." 
 
 . And in proof of this he exhibited his 
 finger, on which a whitlow nearly healed 
 was seen. 
 
 *' You ought to pay the saint well 
 then for his medical virtue/' cried Bray ; 
 ** but I wonder you did not make free 
 to get another cure out of his bones." 
 
 " A cure for what?" 
 
 *' Why for that tumour on thy nose.*' 
 
 This produced a laugh at the ruby 
 ornament of the pilgrim's face, at which 
 he seemed to be rather offended ; for not- 
 withstanding that he had found it con- 
 venient to fall into such company, he 
 wished to appear devout, and was really 
 anxious for the reputation of the saint. 
 
 " Methinks, Master Nicholas, your 
 humour carries you to jest on matters 
 which are little fitted to become subjects 
 of ribbald mirth." 
 
 " Thou sayest that with enough o£
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 27 
 
 gravity, but much I doubt thy counte- 
 nance ^yould not so excellently accord with 
 thy speech, if thou didst not feel more 
 concern in respect of the laugh at thy 
 nose, than thou wouldst for a slight 
 passed on the most wonder-working 
 bone belonging to Saint Thomas his 
 skeleton." 
 
 " You are a profligate wanting grace 
 to believe in the virtues of the saint, and 
 doubting, like others of the vulgar, that 
 miracles have really been performed 
 through the virtues of his wisely revered 
 
 <' What thou now sayest, for all that 
 thou art a pilgrim, hath some truth in it. 
 But if thou wouldst remove my doubts, 
 hie thee back to the tomb with thy nose, 
 and solicit the wisely revered remains of 
 the saint to quench the little Etna there 
 blazing.'* 
 
 A new laugh at the pilgrim's expence 
 followed this speech. He, however, was 
 not moved by it to seek that proof of 
 c 2
 
 f28 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 the efficacy of the martyr's bones which 
 had been sneeringly called for. 
 
 ^* I hope," said Bray, *' you kissed the 
 saint's shoe." 
 
 " I did." 
 
 *^ There you were right. By the bye I 
 think the shoe was more wisely kept than 
 all the rest of his relics." 
 
 " And why?" 
 
 " Because it was only by preserving 
 St. Thomas his shoe, that the priests could 
 with certainty manage to save his sole." 
 
 *' Irreverent unbeliever!" exclaimed 
 the pilgrim, raising his eyes with an ex- 
 pression of horror. 
 
 '* Never shew the whites of your squin- 
 ters in that way, for fear you should 
 overstrain them, and that done, all your 
 prayers to the good Saint Thomas would 
 hardly get your sight restored, as was 
 that of Master Ailwardus, the whetstone 
 stealer, on his paying his respects to the 
 name of Becket." 
 
 '* I know not that j seeing nothing is
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 29 
 
 more certain than that a poor bird, which 
 had been taught to speak, being pursued 
 by a hawk, on merely caUing out * O St. 
 Thomas, save me !' saw straight its enemy 
 fall dead, and therefore — '* 
 
 " Spare the inference which you would 
 draw from this undoubted truth. I be- 
 lieve it as sincerely as you can, and have 
 only to hope, that if cock sparrows 
 are to learn speech, they will not be 
 licensed to utter such nonsense as you 
 are dealing forth." 
 
 " Thou art as a dog which barketh he 
 knoweth not at what." 
 
 " Thou art as a cat which setteth up 
 her tail, and putteih out her tiny claws 
 abotit nothing, and where such shew of 
 small war can be of none avail. What is 
 Saint Tommy to thee ?" 
 
 " Whatever idlers may suppose or tell, 
 sufficient proofs exist of the miraculous 
 power of these relics, and not only of the 
 power of his bones, but also that of his of 
 mere habiliments. Who shall deny that 
 c3
 
 30 OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 his shirt, made by no common mortal 
 hands, but sewed by the Virgin herself, 
 hath comforted many women in travail ?'* 
 
 " It may be so/' 
 
 ** To the truth of this myself can 
 speak." 
 
 '* Peradventure it may have given thee 
 posterity, and removed thy wife's de- 
 spair." 
 
 " It is but two years come next latter 
 Lammas, that Winifred Wriggleford, be- 
 ing sorely grieved that she had as yet no 
 infant, on my suggestion application was 
 made for the shirt of St. Thomas of Can- 
 terbury, and marvellous to - state, the 
 prayer having been granted, in very brief 
 bpace dame Winifred brought forth two 
 man children." 
 
 " O, for matter of that, I doubt not the 
 .^hirt of St. Thomas (if indeed a shirt of 
 his can now be found) might be made 
 to bring comfort and relief to many a 
 thriving dame, who might yield twins 
 after the manner of Winifred Wriggle-
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 31 
 
 tord, care being taken in one particular 
 with respect to the said shirt." 
 
 *< In what way ?" 
 
 ** Why by especially remembering to 
 provide a moderately young and lusty 
 gallant to wear it.*' 
 
 Another laugh followed, in which the 
 pilgrim himself thought it prudent to 
 join, to escape further ridicule. 
 
 The master of the tent had overheard 
 the latter part of the conversation, and 
 now came forward. 
 
 ^« It is all too likely," said he, address- 
 ing himself to Edmund, '' that the con- 
 versation of those who are near may be 
 little to your taste, and you have a maiden 
 with you who has not been accustomed to 
 such society. If she would rather with- 
 draw, the small hut which joins this 
 tent, and the attendance of the female 
 whom you have seen, shall be at her 
 command." 
 
 The unexpected courtesy of their host 
 was not despised. There was no pros- 
 c 4
 
 S2 OTHER TIMES } OR, 
 
 pect of improvement in the manner or 
 language of those near them, and tlie 
 friends gladly availed themselves of his 
 offer. 
 
 Mariana then retired. The owner of 
 the tent did not again quit it, but took 
 his station near the entrance of the re- 
 treat in which he had previously been 
 seen with his wife. Ferdinand and Ed- 
 mund felicitated themselves on the op- 
 portunity which had thus been afforded 
 to the companion of tlieir journey of 
 more conveniently resting herself. Sa- 
 tisfied that from interest, if not from in- 
 clination, their host would feel anxious to 
 guard against any intrusion, their thoughts 
 now turned to the tomb of Beckett. Ed- 
 mund had seen all the ceremonies in 
 former years, but Ferdinand, having never 
 been in England before, was desirous of 
 witnessing them. They considered, that 
 ibr so short a time as would be necessary 
 to afford this gratification, they might 
 safely leave Mariana ; and they accord-
 
 TTHE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 33 
 
 ingly, having mentioned their purpose to 
 the man of the booth, re-entered the town, 
 and made their way towards Christ- 
 church, which was then dedicated to and 
 called after Saint Thomas. 
 
 The crowed was • still great, but their 
 youth and strength enabled them to get 
 forward faster than many of the zealots 
 in the midst of whom they found them- 
 selves. They passed up the steps lead- 
 ing into the chapel on their knees. Some 
 made a shew of baring their limbs, but 
 the respect which Edmund and his friend 
 felt for the memory of St. Thomas of 
 Canterbury, did not induce them to imi- 
 tate this act of piety, and both observed, 
 that several of those w^ho made such a 
 display were provided with small mats to 
 interpose between their liesh and tlie 
 stones over which they advanced towards 
 the sepulchre. 
 
 They soon found themselves near that 
 spot, so dear to superstition, to which 
 the body of Thomas Becket had been con- 
 
 CO
 
 0^< OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 signed. A splendid shrine, enclosed with 
 an iron grating, had been raised. This 
 was about ^ve feet in height, and was 
 built of marble. The erection was car- 
 ried still higher with boarding, which was 
 w holly concealed from the view by massy 
 plates of gold, on which images of angels, 
 the Virgin Mary, and the saints, had been 
 most elaborately worked. The sloping 
 and highly decorated top was removed 
 on these occasions, and the golden chest 
 in which the bones of Becket rested, and 
 the wooden case in which tliat was de- 
 posited, had been lifted from the 
 grave. So much of the saint had been 
 carried off at different times by his 
 votaries, that but little now remained 
 for exhibition. The skull, crowned with 
 laurel, and surrounded by a thin transpa- 
 rent substance intended to resemble the 
 halo with which painters were accus- 
 tomed to adorn their representations of 
 celestial personages, was placed in a most 
 conspicuous situation, care being taken
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 35 
 
 that the fracture and the piece fitted into 
 the hole again, together with the point of 
 the sword broken in the head, should not 
 escape notice. These vouchers for the 
 identity of the relics were carefully 
 pointed out by those who took the lead 
 in conducting the solemnities. Other 
 bones were disposed around, but it was 
 to the skull that attention was principally 
 directed. On this those whose devotion 
 might be languid were ready, from curio- 
 sity, to fix their most ardent gaze. All 
 were anxious to report that they had seen 
 the wound inflicted on a bishop more than 
 three hundred and fifty years before, 
 which, though fatal to his life, had pro- 
 cured for his memory lasting renown, 
 and placed the honours rendered to his 
 ^lame among the most extraordinary in- 
 cidents recorded in the history of man- 
 kind. 
 
 Ferdinand gazed with breathless in- 
 terest on the extraordinary spectacle. 
 Enormous candlesticks of" massy silver 
 c6
 
 36 OTHER times; or, 
 
 sustained the tall lights which threw 
 their glare on the bones of the mur- 
 dered churchman, surrounded by the 
 shining oblations of credulous wealth, 
 which, in gold, in jewels of rare worth, 
 and orient pearls of extraordinary size, 
 astonished the beholders with their splen- 
 dour. The prior of the monastery point- 
 ed to these occasionally with a white 
 W'and, and proclaimed the names of their 
 donors. The bishops and monks who 
 encompassed the shrine added to the ef- 
 fect of the scene by raising their voices, 
 not in the pensive strains of mourning, 
 or the tremulous tones of supplication, 
 but Vv^ith the bold song of boundless ex- 
 ultation in the earthly fame and ever- 
 lasting glory of the departed. While 
 listening to the solemn sounds, and con- 
 templating the clouds of frankincense 
 which arose from the glistening chalices 
 on all sides, the contrast was most 
 powerful between the dazzling magnifi- 
 cence of the preparations, and the grim
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 37 
 
 and dismal aspect of the object of them. 
 This forcibly struck the youthful friends, 
 and both felt that the awful majesty of 
 death was not to be subdued, and that 
 all the pomp with which folly might deck 
 his victim, though for a moment it might 
 invite the attention to other subjects, 
 would eventually make the lifeless, flesh- 
 less remains flash on the vision more 
 ghastly, more terrific than if exhibited 
 without disguise. 
 
 The increasing pressure behind admo- 
 nished Edmund and Ferdinand to make 
 way for others. They accordingly quitted 
 the tomb, and were conducted by the 
 force of the current, which it was impos- 
 sible for them to resist, to the altar in the 
 cloister, before which Becket had been 
 slain. Here they contemplated the exact 
 spot on which his blood had been shed, 
 as indicated by a small slip of marble 
 inserted in the stone on which the sup- 
 posed saint had perished. That portion 
 of the stone which had actually been
 
 38 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 Stained with the blood of the dying priest, 
 had been carefully cut out and sent to 
 the Pope, to swell the holy treasures of 
 the Vatican. Numerous pilgrims how- 
 ever struggled for the honour of kissing 
 the ground on which the martyr had 
 perished. 
 
 Ferdinand and Edmund left the cathe- 
 dral as soon as they could extricate them- 
 selves from the crowd. Taking their 
 way through the town, they had nearly 
 approached the tent in which Mariana 
 expected them, when they met the party 
 which had been seated near them, with 
 Mr. Nicholas Bray at their head. He 
 accosted Edmund as one of whom he 
 had had some previous knowledge. 
 The latter, astonished at this, demand- 
 ed to know where they had been ac- 
 quainted. Nicholas shook his head and 
 replied, 
 
 " Time has been you would not have 
 much tasked your memory to know who 
 Nick Bray was, and that too in the reign
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 39 
 
 of our present merciful and gentle mo- 
 narch good king Henry the Eighth.*' 
 
 *^ It may be so/* 
 
 " Nay, my sweet master Edmund 
 Sherborne, it is so. When I had the 
 lionour to be fool to my Lord Cardinal, 
 your father being alive, and you a very 
 youngster, you then knew every bell 
 on my bonnet." 
 
 " I must confess that you have reason 
 in what you say." 
 
 " You have hit on my misfortune. I 
 have reason, and indeed it was found so 
 calamitously abundant in me, that I was 
 thought no good fool, and so got flouted, 
 as one not well skilled in the art of mak- 
 ing himself ridiculous." 
 
 " I now remember you well, but be- 
 fore I knew you not. Nor will you 
 wonder at this, when I remind you that 
 valour was not formerly in the list of your 
 good qualities, and -therefore you ran 
 small risk of being recognized w^hen you 
 so boldly challenged yon grim-looking, 
 threatening ale-master."
 
 40 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 '* Truth to tell, I exposed myself to 
 little danger in proposing to him that we 
 should fight on the terms which I pro- 
 pounded, and therefore in this case I 
 have goined, as greater men have done 
 before me, a reputation for courage with- 
 out exposing my person to peril/' 
 
 ** Is he vv^hom you challenged then so 
 arrant a coward that yoii could be sure 
 he would not take you at your word." 
 
 " I know not that, but this 1 know, 
 that he is one who cares not to be met 
 by those who know him. Not a twelve- 
 month past, I saw him in the pillory, and 
 saw his ears cut as beautifully close to his 
 skull as ever were those of a puppy dog 
 at Finsbury. Therefore, he now wears 
 that same cap, which I required him to 
 doff before we fought, well knowing, as 
 the old saying runs, he ** dared not do 
 it for his ears."
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 41 
 
 CHAP. HI. 
 
 Sleep steals away 
 The wild desires of men and toils o( day ; 
 And brings, descending through the silent air, 
 A sweet forgetfulness of human care. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 IHE information thus communicated 
 made Edmund anxious to return to the 
 tent with all possible expedition. Though 
 during their brief absence little danger 
 could be apprehended, he felt uneasy at 
 the idea of having left Mariana for a 
 moment in the care of one whose villany 
 had subjected him to a punishment so 
 disgraceful as that which the ale- vender 
 had sustained. Such a character it was 
 easy to believe desperate enough for any- 
 thing, though it was difficult to ima- 
 gine any enterprize to which he could be 
 tempted that ought to give them any 
 immediate concern. 
 
 On their return they saw Marianuj
 
 4^ OTHER TIMES ; OR^ 
 
 who reported nothing to the prejudice of 
 those with whom she had been left. The 
 man had not approached the small apart- 
 ment in which she rested, and the female 
 had waited on her with the most respect- 
 ful attention. 
 
 They determined to go forward. 
 Edmund presented the master of the tent 
 with a recompence which he supposed 
 would be considered liberal. The man 
 received it with an air of discontent. 
 Edmund added to it what he thought must 
 produce some expression of gratitude. 
 The receiver sullenly bowed, but was 
 silent. He afterwards did that which 
 might be considered to indicate that he 
 was not dissatisfied with his guests ; he 
 advised them to remain there for the 
 night. Numbers, he observed, would be 
 on the road during the hours of darkness, 
 and it was to be expected that a great 
 proportion of these would be in a state of 
 intoxication. Thence he drew this infe- 
 rence, that scenes of riot were likely to
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 13 
 
 occur, which those to whom he addressed 
 himself would wilhngiy avoid. He sug- 
 gested, that it might be better for them 
 to remain till the dawn, when they would 
 be able to advance with more celerity 
 than they could otherwise calculate upon, 
 and escape much inconvenience, and pos- 
 sibly some danger, to which they must be 
 exposed if they journeyed by night. 
 
 In this reasoning, however specious, 
 Ferdinand saw but the sordid argument 
 of one who hoped to profit by their stay, 
 opposed to their progress. He considered 
 that their horses would soon leave those 
 behind whose society they wished to shun, 
 and therefore judged it advisable to make 
 no further delay ; but one of the animals 
 was not to be found, and though diligent 
 search was made in the neighbouring 
 fields, it was no where seen. While thus 
 detained, they saw the sun set, and the 
 gloom of evening came on. They were 
 in consequence induced to take the 
 counsel of their host into serious con-
 
 44 OTHER TIMES; OR, 
 
 sideration ; and not knowing where to 
 find a more commodious resting place, 
 they decided to remain where they were. 
 The niglit proved one of remarkable 
 beauty, the moon shone with a mild 
 splendour on the lofty towers of the ca- 
 thedral, which were seen above the houses 
 of the city from the meadow where the 
 tent was pitched, and every moving ob- 
 ject on the road was almost as distinctly 
 visible as by day. This circumstance made 
 the travellers regret their detention ; but 
 to reconsider the resolution which they 
 had come to was useless, as the difficulty 
 opposed to their advance was perfectly 
 insuperable. Their host having at length 
 dismissed all his other guests, proposed 
 to mount one of the remaining horses in 
 order to seek the animal which had 
 strayed. They consented to his doing so, 
 when a suspicion glanced across the mind 
 of Edmund, growing out of the informa- 
 tion which he had received from Nicholas 
 Bray, that it might be the intention of
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 45 
 
 tlie man to abscond. He therefore re- 
 solved to accompany him. 
 
 They immedi itely departed, and Fer- 
 dinand and Mariana, allured by the fine- 
 ness of the weather, walked forth in 
 the field, gazing on the several objects 
 which became conspicuous in the moon- 
 light, and listening to the various sounds 
 of mirth, contention, and devotion, which 
 ascended from different parties of pil- 
 grims who had already commenced their 
 journey tosvards the metropolis. They 
 ventured not to lose sight of the tent, 
 but withdrawing themselves as far from, 
 the road as they could to keep it in 
 their view, the noises which have been 
 mentioned gave them no disturbance, 
 and all immediately around the spot 
 on which they found themselves was 
 silent. Both, occupied with their own 
 reflections, forgot to speak, and no 
 word was uttered for some minutes. 
 Ferdinand had halted, as if to imprint 
 on his memory the scenery which claimefl
 
 46 OTHER times; or, 
 
 his attention on this the first evening 
 of his being in England. Mariana, lean- 
 ing on his arm, glanced at the same 
 objects, and then at the countenance of 
 her relation, as if to read the impres- 
 sion which they made on him. 
 
 He perceived that her eyes rested upon 
 him, and starting from the reverie in 
 which he had indulged, accosted her. 
 
 " At length, my beloved niece, for 
 though our ages are so nearly equal, 
 heaven has placed you in that relation to 
 me, we are in the famous and opulent 
 land which you know it has long been 
 my object to visit, and in which you 
 will find a peaceful home. I rejoice that 
 my cares are nearly ended, so far as you 
 are concerned ; and I trust your bosom 
 swells with holy transport, anticipating 
 the speedy arrival of that moment which 
 shall unite you for ever to some pious 
 sisterhood, and place you where your 
 hours shall never be disturbed with the 
 vain contentions of a sinful world.'*
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 47 
 
 Mariana spoke not. 
 
 " You make no reply. Must I thence 
 conclude that you are unreconciled to 
 the step which I hold indispensible to 
 your safety." 
 
 ** Forgive me, Ferdinand, if I err. 
 I wish to be in all things resigned to your 
 will ; but I must not dissemble, it would 
 glad me if that which you purpose might 
 be spared me." 
 
 ** And why ? In this country which 
 has been famed for liberty — " 
 
 " For liberty, Ferdinand ! Is it there- 
 fore that I am brought to England to 
 be immured in a convent ?" 
 
 " Even so : for liberty and equal laws, 
 the cause and consequence of the pros- 
 perity of this famed land, leave it less 
 exposed to internal commotions like 
 those which afflict other countries, and 
 consequently ensure you, in a religious 
 abode, that uninterrupted repose which 
 might elsewhere be sought in vain.'*
 
 48' OTHER TIMES ; OH, 
 
 *^ But reflect on the shudderings which 
 will, which must, invade my feeble frame, 
 when I see myself consigned, yet alive, 
 to a dreary sepulchre in a foreign landl'* 
 
 ** The foe of your own peace, you con- 
 jure up ghastly phantoms, which, if I 
 were weak enough to regard them, 
 might leave you exposed to all the dire 
 realities which form but too frequently 
 the melancholy history of woman's bud 
 and bloom." 
 
 " Are not these braved by others ?" 
 
 " Yes, and others fall their victims. 
 I would save you from being added to 
 the number. I would secure your peace, 
 ere your heart has felt the envenomed 
 dart of that peace-destroying demon^ 
 called in this language by the name of 
 Love." 
 
 Mariana trembled, and with a faulter- 
 ing voice enquired if love were so much 
 to be dreaded. 
 
 *^ Even asperdition," he replied, '* for to
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 49 
 
 that he often conducts his votary. What 
 is the fate of many a beauty, whom the 
 unthinking many deem fortunate ? Worn 
 for a brief season in the bosom of admir- 
 ing man, then loathed, reviled, and 
 slighted. Heard you not the hind who 
 owns yon tent but a few hours ago, how 
 harshly he could rebuke a woman, he who 
 quailed and fled before the wrath of a 
 saucy brawler ? I saw the tear of bitter 
 anguish fall from those eyes, which shone 
 as bright as yours, to mar a face which, 
 in despite of the mean habiliments of its 
 owner, I thought most rich in heavenly 
 beauty." 
 
 " I marked what you have noted ; but 
 I also marked that before the tear had 
 finished its short course, one word of 
 kindness, nay, one relenting look, could 
 speak peace to the tioubled heart.** 
 
 " But is it well to be thus dependent 
 on the wayward humours of a capricious 
 mortal? A higher happier destiny is 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 OTHER times; or, 
 
 yours. To God devoted from your 
 youth, He, when the roses vanish from 
 your cheeks, the lustre from your eyes, 
 and when the music of your voice shall 
 be changed into discord, will not forsake 
 nor contemn his worshipper. Trust me 
 Mariana, the comfort, the pure joy which 
 this thought will inspire, shall far exceed 
 the transient rapture which, under hap- 
 piest circumstances, could be known in 
 those scenes from which I remove you.'* 
 
 Mariana presumed not to reason in 
 opposition to one whom in infancy she 
 had loved as a brother, and whom in 
 riper years she had learned to reverence 
 as a parent ; but the mournful air of re- 
 signation with which she listened to his 
 voice attested, that, if prepared to yield 
 obedience to his decision, it was not from 
 conviction that he was pointing out the 
 course most conducive to her happiness. 
 In truth the very kindness for which she 
 was grateful, in sparing her a knowledge 
 of the evils of life, had tended to any
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 51 
 
 thing rather than to fortify her mind 
 against those regrets, which at sixteen 
 a blooming female may be expected to 
 feel, when about to be snatched from all 
 that she has learned to covet and admire. 
 Ferdinand perceived that his words had 
 silenced but not convinced his niece ; 
 and he was about to make a new appeal 
 to her understanding, when the trampling 
 of horses gave notice of the return of 
 Edmund with the owner of the tent, after 
 having recovered the horse which had 
 been missing. The lateness of the hour 
 reconciled them to prolonging their stay, 
 as they had before intended, till day- 
 break. Mariana was committed to the 
 care of the female with whom she had 
 previously rested ; Ferdinand and Ed- 
 mund stretched themselves on two 
 benches near that appendage of the tent 
 to which their charge retired, and the 
 proprietor withdrew to the corner most re- 
 mote from them, where, sitting by a table, 
 d2 
 
 UNIVERSiry OF ILLINOIJf
 
 5^ OTHER times; or, 
 
 he reclined his head on his arm, and 
 seemed endeavouring to compose him- 
 self to sleep. 
 
 When suspicion is once introduced into 
 a mind, which has not been accustomed 
 to harbour it, the most trivial circum- 
 stances suffice to keep it alive. From 
 the moment that Edmund had heard of 
 the ignominious punishment to which the 
 vender of ale had been subjected, he 
 thought it necessary to watch all his 
 movements, and in each turn, in every 
 look, he discovered something equivocal. ^ 
 He had thought it possible that it was 
 intended to rob them of their horses, 
 when the man offered to seek the animal 
 which had been lost; and Edmund was 
 not convinced that no such plan had been 
 formed, when the creature was found 
 at a distance of less than a mile from 
 the spot where the search commenced. 
 Repeatedly he had perceived that the 
 eyes of his late companion were sted- 
 fastly fixed on him, he thought with an
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 53 
 
 expression of malevolence, and the con- 
 fusion in which his face was averted, if 
 Edmund suddenly turned to him, strength- 
 ened the idea thus conceived. He now 
 doubted of its being really his intention 
 to sleep, and determined for his own part, 
 without disturbing his companion by 
 communicating his thoughts, to remain 
 awake himself. Ferdinand was not wont 
 to pass much of his time in slumber, but, 
 the very few hours which they had de- 
 voted to repose, made him then desirous 
 of sleep. Previous fatigue seconded 
 •his wishes, and he enjoyed a brief respite 
 from care. Edmund imitated the breath- 
 ing of one who enjoys sound repose, 
 while his eyes directed to the extremity 
 of the tent, watched the object of his- 
 suspicion with unremitting vigilance. 
 
 He seemed to sleep, but Edmund was 
 soon convinced that he was awake. The 
 man gently moved, then raised his head 
 from the table, and looked anxiously 
 towards his guests, as if to ascertain 
 1)3
 
 54f OTHER TIMES; OK, 
 
 whether his motions were observed. Ed- 
 mund closed his eyes. In a few moments 
 he heard the splashing of water. He 
 could perceive that the party he thought 
 it right to watch was indulging in a 
 luxury, which from his begrimed appear- 
 ance he had concluded he seldom coveted, 
 that of washing. In performing this 
 operation, he was most careful not to 
 make a noise, and he repeatedly looked 
 towards those whom he supposed to be 
 sleeping, to satisfy himself that they had 
 not been disturbed. This conduct ap- 
 peared very singular; but Edmund could 
 scarcely believe his eyes while he saw 
 the being, whose disregard of his per- 
 son had struck him at first as remark- 
 able, was actually painting his face. 
 When he had performed this operation, 
 the taper, which till then had been kept 
 burning, was extinguished. As the bell 
 of the cathedral was sounding the mid- 
 night hour, the man made his exit from 
 the tent. In doing this, he observed a
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 55 
 
 cautious silence, and when he was on 
 the outside, Edmund Hstened in vain 
 for the sound of his footsteps. For some 
 minutes all was profoundly still, when a 
 slight movement near him attracted his 
 attention. He arose, and looking through 
 a rent, perceived at a short distance the 
 individual whose conduct was so suspi- 
 cious. The moon was obscured, but 
 there was sufficient light to enable Ed- 
 mund to see distinctly that the sus- 
 pected carried what seemed to be some 
 deadly weapon ; Edmund believed it to 
 be a musket. Having occupied himself 
 with it for a few seconds, the man lifted it 
 to his eye, as if to take aim, though no 
 object at which it could be levelled ap- 
 peared in sight. Determined not to re- 
 main in uncertainty, Edmund left the 
 tent. He came behind its owner, who 
 started with unfeigned amazement, at 
 finding one so near him. His confu- 
 sion assured Edmund that he had not 
 wronged him, and rushing forward, that he 
 D 4
 
 d6 OTHER TIMES ; OK, 
 
 might not have time to recover himself^ 
 he rudely seized the arm which held the 
 supposed instrument of death. 
 
 "Hold, villain !" he exclaimed, " what 
 base design are you about to carry into 
 execution ?** 
 
 No resistance was attempted ; no reply 
 was offered ; guilt — detected guilt — it 
 struck Edmund, deprived the baffled 
 wretch of speech. He suffered himself 
 to be disarmed, without making the 
 slightest effort to prevent it, or to escape ; 
 and Edmund^ now looking at what he 
 had believed to be a musket, found that 
 he held in his hand a hollow stick, in 
 which several glasses were inserted, to 
 form an instrument somewhat resembling 
 that which, though almost unknown in 
 the early part of the sixteenth century, 
 has since been in no small request with 
 the scientific of all nations — the tele- 
 scope.
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 5? 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 No man ne may ray sorrow glade 
 That mak*th my hew to fal and fade, 
 And hath myn understanding lorne, 
 That rae is wo, that I was borne. 
 
 Chaucer. 
 
 JiiDMUND was much surprised at this dis- 
 covery. He examined the tube care^ 
 fully, to ascertain that it was really what 
 it appeared to be. 
 
 ** It is passing strange/' he at length said, 
 addressing the man whom he had so rudely 
 interrupted, '* that at the dead hour of 
 night you should thus occupy yourself, 
 instead of seeking the repose which 
 wearied nature claims." 
 
 *< Perhaps it is strange; yet methinks, 
 being harmless as strange, I might have 
 hoped to 'scape interruption. Surely it 
 is no offence to look from earth to 
 heaven. Mean and lonely as my estate 
 D 5
 
 5S OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 is, I thought I might claim a right, not 
 denied to other reptiles^ to view yon ce- 
 lestial bodies in their mysterious course, 
 although it were too much to flatter my- 
 self, that in all that glittering host one 
 star would beam with kindly influence 
 on me." 
 
 " I regret that I interrupted you. But 
 when I perceived you coming near thqse 
 whom you supposed to be sleeping, as it 
 struck me in guilty silence, having some 
 mortal weapon in your hand, I could 
 not choose but arrest you. Little did 
 I dream that one of your calling could 
 have taste or capacity for studies so 
 sublime as those to which it should seem 
 you are devoted. For astronomy, it is a 
 science I do love.'^ 
 
 " I know it^ Edmund," interrupted 
 the other, " that is, I — I — " he faltered 
 in confusion. *' I doubt not you have 
 learned to prize that which is in itself so 
 noble." 
 
 " You named me!" cried Edmund^
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 59 
 
 whose surprise, before great, was now 
 wrought up to the highest pitch, by this 
 new recognition. " Who are you? Where 
 have we met before, that I should have 
 been known to you, and that famiharly, 
 as your speech would lead me to con- 
 clude r' 
 
 The stranger was silent for some se- 
 conds. He at length said, — 
 
 " I wear my disguise but illy. I have 
 betrayed myself, and cannot now escape^ 
 You would not always have started to 
 hear yourself so accosted by Clifford." 
 
 *^ Amazement ! My old schoolmate, 
 
 Clifford r 
 
 *^ It is even so. Now knowing who I 
 am, nothing remains but that I retire, for 
 I doubt not the tale of my shame has 
 reached you, and you are prepared to 
 recede from the companion of your early 
 days with disgust and abhorrence." 
 
 There was a melancholy plaintiveness 
 in his voice^ which, in spite of Cliffords 
 endeavours to appear firm and resigned 
 d6
 
 60 OTHER times; or, 
 
 to what he deemed inevitable, spoke acute 
 anguish, and went to the heart of Ed- 
 mund. He replied in a softer tone, 
 
 *^ I cannot deny that I have heard of 
 your punishment. The crime for which 
 it was inflicted 1 have not heard, but to 
 confess all the truth I must infer — " 
 
 " From the measureless ignominy 
 heaped upon me, that guilt, the most 
 monstrous guilt, has been proved. Such 
 is the reasoning of mankind. Misery is 
 considered evidence of crime, of which 
 this very treatment commonly makes it 
 the parent. But hence these reflections. 
 I wish not to intrude them on you, nor 
 yet the story of my woe." 
 
 He turned from Edmund, and had 
 begun to walk away. The latter follow- 
 ed him. 
 
 <* From me, Clifford, you need not fly* 
 Trust me, I grieve to see you thus de- 
 pressed. However others may think it 
 right to act, T would not lend a deaf ea? 
 to aught that you would say ; and should
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 6t 
 
 h be in my power to serve an old play- 
 fellow, you need not doubt my inclina- 
 tion, if—" 
 
 " If he can prove himself not unworthy 
 of it. But that is impossible. You are 
 sincere, but who will believe the unsup- 
 ported statement of a degraded culprit in 
 opposition to the oaths of men who should 
 be holy, and who are reputed to be so. 
 Their perjuries must be believed, but I, 
 who am accounted guilty of perjury, can- 
 not hope to obtain credit. But why 
 should 1 complain. To my own vices I 
 should attribute all." 
 
 ** My astonishment is great, nor is my 
 affliction less, at this rencounter." 
 
 ** I do not wonder at it. Low as 1 am 
 1 expect that all who recognise me will 
 be grieved to acknowledge that they 
 know me. It was not my wish to be*, 
 come candidate for your pity, and I now 
 ask not your endurance. Farewell." 
 
 *♦ Stay. — Old schoolfellows must not 
 part thus. My curiosity is marvellously
 
 6^ OTHER times; or, 
 
 wrought upon. Of your story I know 
 nothing. A knave, who may have de- 
 ceived me, did say that he had seen you 
 in the pillory. But I asked for no parti- 
 culars, not suspecting that the abject 
 ale-vender you seemed — " 
 
 " And that I am." 
 
 " Not suspecting," Edmund continued, 
 «< that you had ever been friend to me. 
 Tell me the circumstances which have 
 thus reduced you ?" 
 
 " To do so will be but to abuse 
 your patience ; but not to vex your 
 ear by tedious details, these, in brief, 
 are the facts. The giddy follies of my 
 youth gave some scandal to my friends. 
 The abbot of Mount Sinai, the superior 
 of the priests of the Trinity at Leaden- 
 hall, was most severe on me for these, 
 and laboured, I thought malignantly, to 
 aggravate my wanderings, and to inflame 
 against me all who had once interested 
 themselves in my welfare." 
 
 «' He is famed for exemplary piety. 
 6
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 6S 
 
 Doubtless it was his object to re- 
 claim." 
 
 *^ To reclaim ! He reclaim ?'' 
 
 " But now you admitted that your 
 vices were the causes of your misery." 
 
 " True, — true ; and I am a wretch to 
 complain of the hostility of any one, 
 having been so long my own enemy." 
 
 *' The abbot then reproved your wan- 
 derings ?" 
 
 *' He did. You may judge with what 
 effect from that which I shall now relate. 
 After a career of degrading folly, on one 
 fatal night I revelled in lower dissipa- 
 tion than any which I had previously 
 known. I suffered myself to be enticed 
 to the stews in Southwark, and there, in 
 the common stews, it was my hap to 
 meet the abbot." 
 
 '* He had dogged you thither." 
 
 ** Not so, but the same vice had 
 brought us to the self-same spot." 
 
 ** Impossible !" 
 
 ** So judge me, God, as I speak the
 
 64 OTHER times; or, 
 
 truth," exclaimed Clifford, while raising 
 his eyes with the most awful solemnity, 
 he seemed to appeal to the Almighty. " A 
 courtezan hung on the monk's arm. He 
 was disguised, but I knew him. I could 
 not be deceived ; and, fool-like, I exulted 
 in the check which I supposed I should 
 thenceforth have on his malice." 
 
 « What ensued ?" 
 
 •* You will easily believe that I made 
 no secret of what I had seen. It was the 
 jest of all my companions, and soon of 
 all the city. It reached the abbot's ears, 
 and resenting it with well-dissembled 
 horror for the scandal thus thrown on 
 religion, he demanded — O villain ! — an 
 opportunity to clear himself !" 
 
 ** Nay, you can have no right to com- 
 plain of that." 
 
 " So say all good men, and so he knew 
 they would say. I had no right to com- 
 plain ; but mark the means he took. But 
 how can I tell it ! My bursting heart, 
 my burning brain, deny me the power of
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 65 
 
 connecting and embodying my ideas 1 
 He was subjected to a solemn enquiry. 
 Never shall I forget the saintlike meek- 
 ness with which he carried himself on 
 that occasion.'' 
 
 " Yet from the tone in which you speak, 
 that very meekness seems to have offended 
 you." 
 
 ** I speak of his outward carriage, as- 
 sumed but to cover his falsehood and 
 malevolence. Even now the mild lan- 
 guage of the wily hypocrite is in my ears. 
 He came not there forsooth to vindicate 
 his own unworthy character. For him- 
 self, but too happy to be aspersed and 
 persecuted as the follower of him who 
 died on Calvary, no revengeful feel- 
 ing would have induced him to clear 
 himself. But it became his duty, for 
 the scandal thrown on that religion of 
 which he was a humble minister. That 
 repelled, he implored those whom he ad- 
 dressed, not to pursue with their just, 
 wrath the vindictive spirit which had
 
 66 OTHER times; OR, 
 
 called him forth. It was enough that 
 calumny was silenced, and he added, his 
 hands on his bosom, his eyes uplifted to 
 the Deity he outraged, a prayer for me— • 
 for me, whom he knew he had laboured 
 by all the arts of frightful perjury to 
 damn." 
 
 •^ But his recommendation of clemency 
 was not attended to/' 
 
 " It was. He knew it would be. Well 
 read in the human heart, he had calcu* 
 lated that it would not fail to inflame 
 the holy zeal of those, who having ac- 
 quitted him, became my judges. I had 
 been compelled to depose to what I saw 
 on oath. For this, I was doomed to the 
 pillory, there to lose my ears." 
 
 ** Unhappily I need not ask if the sen- 
 tence were carried into execution." 
 
 ** With little delay this was done. It 
 seems a frightful dream, too terrible to 
 recall ; yet alas ! I feel it is one from 
 which I shall never wake to peace. In 
 the broad glare of noon I was taken to
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 6? 
 
 Smithfield, to that spot which martyrs' 
 blood has consecrated to fame and heaven 5 
 and there exhibited as an object of scorn 
 and execration to a gaping crowd. This 
 punishment was mine, and yet I live 1" 
 
 " Speak lower," said Edmund, <* or 
 your voice will wake the slumberers in 
 the tent." 
 
 " Could it answer to my feelings, like 
 the blast of the latest trumpet, it would 
 wake the dead. I felt the exposure, and 
 thought of nothing else; but when the 
 barbarous knife came to perpetuate on 
 my wretched person the degradation 
 which I sustained, though I mocked 
 the wounds it inflicted, the blood which 
 should have flowed from them seemed 
 to fly to my eyes, and mingle with the 
 tears of shame and rage that streamed 
 from them, while their wildly rolling orbs 
 looked upwards at the blazing sun, as 
 astonished that he could deign to shine 
 on a world the scene of such transcend- 
 ant crime."
 
 68 OTHER times; OR, 
 
 He paused with emotion. Edmund, af* 
 fected at his recital, was also silentr 
 Scarcely could he believe what he saw 
 and heard. That Clifford, once the gay 
 companion of his boyhood, and the heir 
 to immense wealth, should stand before 
 him, the poor degraded ale-vender, in 
 whose tent he had rested, appeared incre^ 
 dible, though to doubt was impossible. 
 
 " I am grieved," said Edmund, " what- 
 ever your imprudence may have beeu, to 
 see you thus. You have told me much, 
 but I cannot account for your being as you 
 are. Though unjustly punished, 1 should 
 still have expected that you would not be 
 reduced to that abject state of poverty 
 in which I see you. Your friends might 
 have averted this.'* 
 
 " But to which among them could a 
 wretch reeking from the pillory apply ? 
 I thought not of the means of living, but 
 only of concealment." 
 
 " Why then did you not pursue your 
 fortune as a soldier in a distant country?"
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 69 
 
 " Could I do it alone ? Who that 
 draws a sword would call him comrade 
 who bore the indelible stamp of infamy 
 on his person ? I had no resource but 
 to hide among the lowest of the low, or 
 to become a robber. Yes, there was one 
 on which I meditated — self destruction. 
 To this my mind was at one time wrought 
 up, but in the moment when I sought 
 death, my footsteps were arrested by 
 one for whom it became my duty to live. 
 I speak of the poor victim whom you saw 
 yesterday. I loathe myself for reducing 
 her to her present state. I could only 
 hope to procure the means of existence 
 where I was unknown, and in conse- 
 quence, 1 assumed this garb, this scar I 
 painted on my face, which I thought 
 would contribute to prevent me from 
 being recognized. Since my disguise 
 concealed me from you, I shall have more 
 confidence in it for the time to come." 
 
 <* And what scheme have yovt for the 
 future ?"
 
 70 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 " It is my purpose to grovel on a 
 little longer as I now am. Should I 
 be so fortunate as to gain more than 
 will suffice to subsist on, I will pass 
 to the newly-discovered continent, and 
 endeavour to establish myself among some 
 of the native tribes. If they do not put 
 me to death, I may be able to make my- 
 self useful, from the little knowledge 
 which I have of the arts, which are 
 deemed important among civilised na- 
 tions. There my disgrace will not be 
 understood, the peculiarity which they 
 must remark, may pass for the custom of 
 an unknown country, and my life will 
 close in the obscurity I covet; while my 
 child placed among savages, may escape 
 the misery which I have known from 
 being resident in a land of christians.'* 
 
 '< If such your determination^ allow me 
 to contribute towards enabling you to 
 carry it into effect. My purse is not so 
 well replenished as I could wish for your
 
 THE MONKS OF LEAD^NHALL. 71 
 
 sake, but such as it is, you are welcome 
 to it." 
 
 ** Yau have already done much. When 
 you requited me so liberally for the 
 wretched accommodation you have found 
 here, I feared to express the emotion it 
 called forth. My embarrassmeijit seemed 
 to you dissatisfaction, and you added to 
 your former bounty. I would willingly 
 return what was thus extorted, but feel 
 I should but pain you by the offer. Let 
 that which you have given me in another 
 character suffice, and inflict no new dona- 
 tion." 
 
 His manner was decisive, and Ed- 
 mund abstained from pressing him 
 furtlier. CUfford strove to conceal the 
 emotion which he could not subdue j 
 and Edmund unconsciously walked in 
 an opposite direction, musing on what 
 h^ had just heard, and endeavouring to 
 devise some expedient by means of 
 which he' might better the condition 
 without wounding the feelings of one for
 
 72 OTHER times; or, 
 
 whom, guilty or innocent, he could not 
 but feel interested. 
 
 Edmund thought not of sleep. He 
 was anxious to question Clifford on a 
 variety of subjects, but he wanted resolu- 
 tion to do so, and feared that his interroga- 
 tories might add to affliction which was 
 even then almost insupportable. He 
 saw that a new day had dawned ; and 
 the gradually increasing light reminded 
 him that the hour fixed upon for their 
 departure had arrived. He returned to 
 the tent, before which Clifford was stand- 
 ing with folded arms, so absorbed in 
 thought that he did not immediately 
 perceive the approach of Edmund. 
 
 " Tell me this," said Edmund ; " when 
 the storm burst on you what part in 
 respect to it did your uncle. Lord Erping- 
 ham take ? Did he not befriend you ?" 
 
 Clifford was evidently embarrassed. 
 Edmund remarked it, and could not help 
 drawing an unfavourable conclusion 
 therefrom. After a pause of some mi-
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 73 
 
 nutes, the question being repeated, he 
 repHed with extreme agitation, 
 
 " Ask me not. Of Lord Erpingham 
 I would say nothing/' — Then appa- 
 rently impatient to change the conver- 
 sation, or to terminate it, he remarked, 
 *' It is already dawn ; I will now pre- 
 pare your horses." 
 
 " I would not see you act that ser- 
 vile part for me," cried Edmund. 
 
 '' Nay," the other answered, " in serv- 
 ing you I shall serve myself. It will tend 
 towards making me expert in my voca- 
 tion, which to say truth is not the case 
 at present. He who has acquired accom- 
 plishments of which nobles are taught 
 to be proud, finds, when he descends to 
 associate with clowns, that he has not a 
 little to learn before they can regard him 
 as an equal. , 
 
 " At all events, as in other days, I will 
 be your comrade," said Edmund, and 
 he hastened to assist CHlFord with the 
 horses. 
 
 VOL. I, E
 
 7* 
 
 While they were thus engaged, Ferdi- 
 nand awoke by the neighing of one of 
 the animals, and perceiving it was dawn, 
 led Mariana from the tent. All was 
 soon ready. The uncle and niece 
 mounted their horses, and only waited 
 for Edmund. He desired them to go 
 forward at a slow pace till he should 
 overtake them ; they complied, and Ed- 
 mund, turning to Clifford, said, 
 
 ^* We must part; but I could wish 
 that we should speedily meet again.'' 
 
 " Could any inconceiveable good for- 
 tune make me again your equal, or were 
 misery, which heaven forefend ! to make 
 you mine, I should be right willing to 
 renew our acquaintance, and would go 
 through the world with you. But while 
 that disparity exists which now separates 
 us, it is not fit that we should meet more. 
 Your friends expect you, — Farewell. — 
 May you be happy." 
 
 " But tell me how I can communicate 
 with youj should aught transpire which I
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. ^0 
 
 may deem it important that you should 
 know." 
 
 " It is not in my power to comply 
 with the kind request. You are already 
 aware of my intention to seek a home in 
 the new world. I go not like the mul- 
 titude in quest of gold, but to escape 
 from scorn and from the haunts of civi- 
 lised men. Whither my fate may con- 
 duct me I cannot surmise : this only can 
 I promise — when I have passed the 
 mighty ocean which now intervenes be- 
 tween me and the shores which I design 
 to traverse, should opportunity offer, I 
 will write to tell you how I fare." 
 
 ^^ See you fail not/* said Edmund, tak- 
 ing him by the hand, " and trust me I am 
 sincere in wishing you better fortune." 
 
 He then stepped into the tent, as if 
 to ascertain that nothing belonging to 
 his companions had been left behind, 
 but really for the purpose of depositing 
 his purse where Clifford would find it. 
 This accomplished, he sprung on his 
 
 E 9
 
 76 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 horse with precipitation, to guard against 
 his object being frustrated by prema- 
 ture discovery. Pronouncing the word, 
 ^^ farewell," he darted into the road, 
 and soon overtook Ferdinand and 
 Mariana.
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 77 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 His greedy eye admires 
 
 Tlie more than human beauty of her face. 
 
 Chalkhill. 
 
 The travellers proceeded at a moderate 
 pace, and speedily left many who had 
 departed from Canterbury on the pre- 
 ceding evening behind them. Some of 
 these were unable to advance from the 
 state of intoxication into which they had 
 fallen, others from fatigue were obliged 
 to halt in the road till their wearied limbs 
 should be rested, and many who by their 
 piety or their intemperance had com-v 
 pletely drained their purses were too 
 weak from w^ant of sustenance to con- 
 tinue their journey, and their only hope 
 of being enabled to reach their homes 
 depended on the benevolence of those 
 E 3
 
 78 OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 who might meet with them, or overtake 
 them by the way. 
 
 Ferdinand gazed on these deplorable 
 objects with mingled pity and contempt. 
 It was with infinite surprise that he 
 beheld the long, the almost endless train 
 of pilgrims to the tomb of St. Thomas of 
 Canterbury. Though aware that the 
 king of England by his zeal for the 
 church had gained from the Pope the 
 distinction of " Defender of the faith,'* 
 he had understood that the writings of 
 Luther had produced too great a ten- 
 dency to heresy among the common 
 people, to make it likely that such con« 
 siderable numbers should unite in honour 
 of a religious celebration, connected with 
 the ancient usages of the established 
 church. Edmund had wished to see 
 his companions amazed, but by no means 
 desired to effect this by such a display 
 as the miserable appearance and dissi- 
 pated conduct of the travellers they were
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 79 
 
 mixed with presented to their observ- 
 ation. 
 
 Edmund's acquaintance with Ferdi- 
 nand was of no very ancient date. He 
 had been sent to Spain in the suite of the 
 Enghsh embassador. Returning, he was 
 attacked by banditti in the passes of 
 the Pyrenees, and his life was on the 
 point of being sacrificed, when he was 
 rescued from danger by the intrepid and 
 unexpected attack made by Ferdinand on 
 the robbers. They, from the tone of au- 
 thority in which, though unattended but 
 by Mariana, he ordered others to advance, 
 supposed him to be at the head of a mi- 
 litary force, Edmund learned with plea- 
 sure that the destination of his deliverer 
 was the same as his own, and they thence- 
 forward travelled together. 
 
 On their way, Edmund learned that 
 his companions were not natives of Spain 
 nor of England, though they spoke the 
 language of each country with ease and 
 fluency. The complexion of Ferdinand 
 E 4
 
 80 OTHER times; or, 
 
 had a deeper tint than is commonly seen 
 in that of an European. He was reserved, 
 and somewhat abrupt when questioned 
 about the place of his birth, and was evi- 
 dently unwilling to speak on that subject. 
 
 Edmund admired the person of Ma- 
 riana from the first moment he beheld 
 her, and her attractions had increased 
 every day which he had subsequently 
 passed in her society. When he learned 
 that she was shortly to become the inmate 
 of an English convent, his admiration 
 was associated with pity and regret. Hope 
 that this might be averted, fear that it 
 could not, invaded his bosom and soon 
 produced that restless, pleasing, painful 
 confusion in his mind which is called 
 love. 
 
 He endeavoured to persuade Ferdi- 
 nand to change his purpose, but all 
 Edmund's arguments were unsuccessful. 
 In vain did he urge that it appeared 
 not only lamentable, but even sinful, to 
 consign such worth and beauty to the
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 81 
 
 gloomy walls of a nunnery. The cold 
 and tranquil reply of Ferdinand was 
 equally prompt and simple, that the more 
 virtuous and lovely the female so destined, 
 the more worthy was she of her fate, for 
 it would be too much to contend that such 
 should be kept in the world, and that 
 those who were not valued there, the 
 depraved and the ugly, were good enough 
 for God. 
 
 All that Edmund gained by reasoning 
 with Ferdinand on this subject, was a 
 promise that he would not carry his de- 
 sign into execution immediately on his 
 arrival in England. Ferdinand however 
 took especial care to advertise Edmund, 
 that he did not make this promise from 
 the slightest change in his determination, 
 but merely because he felt that it would be 
 desirable to make some enquiries to guide 
 his judgment in the selection of a con- 
 vent. 
 
 But it was a relief to Edmund on any 
 terms to gain a respite for the devoted 
 E 5
 
 82 OTHER TIMES; OR, 
 
 fair one. His parents had died when he 
 was an infant, and Lord Erpingham, who, 
 as his guardian and the friend of his fa- 
 ther, had proved himself ever anxious for 
 his welfare, he doubted not would easily 
 be induced to give his sanction to that 
 union without which he could never be 
 happy. He therefore persuaded himself, 
 that by gaining time in the first instance 
 he should pave the way for making such 
 an appeal to the feelings and the under- 
 standing of Ferdinand as would event- 
 ually prevail on him to abandon his de- 
 sign for ever. 
 
 The conversations which he had held with 
 Marianaon their journey, when Ferdinand 
 was not present, augmented his anxiety 
 on this subject. Though meekly resigned, 
 he found that she shrunk with terror 
 from the contemplation of those vows 
 which were speedily to separate her from 
 the world. The lively interest which 
 Edmund took in her fate, the tender 
 assiduities which she remarked^ to say 
 
 7
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 83 
 
 nothing of his countenance orfigure^made 
 so strong an impression on her imagina- 
 tion, that, by the period down to which 
 this narrative has been brought, she felt 
 that, submitting now to take the vows of 
 a nun, she would be destined to mourn the 
 absence of one not prev-iously included 
 among the friends from which it would 
 be affliction to part. 
 
 Their journey was not a cheerful one. 
 A variety of cares oppressed the heart of 
 Ferdinand, which frequently caused him 
 to be silent for hours. During these fits 
 of abstraction Edmund and Mariana 
 sometimes stole a look at each other, 
 while sadly musing on that event, which 
 the latter held to be inevitable, which the 
 formerAv^as afflicted to consider probable, 
 they feared the glances in which they 
 now indulged were among the last that 
 they could be permitted to exchange. 
 
 On the evening of the second day 
 after their departure from Canterbury 
 they reached London. As they crossed 
 E 6
 
 84 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 the bridge Edmund failed not to make 
 his companions take notice of that an- 
 cient structure. 
 
 *' Seldom," he remarked, *' will you 
 behold a work, raised by the hands of 
 man, that shall be at once so magnificent 
 and so durable. Hardly can you believe 
 that the covered street through which we 
 are passing is a bridge, formed of stone, 
 and crossing the river of Thames. Yet 
 such do I avouch it is, and of this shall 
 you have demonstration anon by seeing 
 the w^ater between the houses." 
 
 He stopped, while he spoke, opposite 
 the entrance of a narrow passage which 
 separated two shops. At the further ex- 
 tremity there were iron pallisades, and 
 Ihrough the spaces dividing them the 
 river was visible. 
 
 " This noble building, which is justly 
 the pride of our nation,'' said Edmund, 
 " has already endured for centuries. And 
 notwithstanding it sustains these tall 
 houses, the height of which you cannot
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 85 
 
 comprehend till we shall be fairly off the 
 bridge itself, and that spacious chapel 
 which you now behold, it is not doubted 
 but it will endure through centuries to 
 come." 
 
 They proceeded through the narrow 
 road which then existed between the 
 shops established on each side, and under 
 the chambers of the houses belonging to 
 them, which covered in the way, with the 
 exception of certain spaces left to admit 
 light and air. 
 
 Ferdinand and Mariana did not dis- 
 guise their admiration of the opulence 
 and splendour of the capital of England, 
 to which they were now introduced. The 
 streets were narrow, and the houses, 
 which were principally built of wood with 
 plaister, and crossed and divided by enor- 
 mous oaken beams, projected over the 
 pathway. Each story of every house was 
 more prominent than that beneath, so 
 that where the buildings were lofty, and 
 the street but moderately wide, the attics
 
 86 
 
 nearly met. At all events they ap- 
 proached so close to each other, that per- 
 sons in the garrets of two opposite houses 
 might converse without having the least 
 occasion to speak unusually loud. This 
 mode of buikiing was no temporary 
 fashion. It was adhered to for ages, 
 and on account of the variable climate, 
 was thought necessary for the public 
 good, as the shelter houses thus foi'med 
 were calculated to afford to those who 
 were not their inhabitants against sud- 
 den storms of rain, so fatal to modern 
 finery, more than atoned for anything 
 clumsy in their appearance. Decoration, 
 however, was not disregarded in their 
 construction. The cross-beams were 
 made black, and the brackets, which 
 sustained the advance of each floor, 
 were generally decorated with images of 
 angels, some of which were accommo- 
 dated wath singularly elegant wigs. 
 These images, when newly painted, pre- 
 sented a rosy-cheeked group of guardian
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 87 
 
 cherubims, which, though a httle outre, 
 might make some of the wigged and 
 painted angels of modern date turn pale 
 with envy. 
 
 Edmund and his companions took 
 their way through Cornliil], and after he 
 had directed their attention to the re- 
 mains of the prison called from its 
 shape, The Twi, which stood in that 
 street, but which had been suffered to 
 go to decay, they passed to Cheapside, 
 where they found the inhabitants in 
 much confusion and alarm, in conse- 
 quence of a fire having broken out in 
 a mercer's house, which occupied the 
 scite of the old CroW7isilde, or stone 
 building, erected in earlier times for the 
 accommodation of persons of distinction, 
 v/ho wished to witness the pageants of 
 the city. The house on fire stood close 
 to Bow Church, on the eastern side. A 
 strong westerly breeze threatened to ex- 
 tend the calamity to the neighbouring
 
 88 OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 houses. Fire-engines, such as we now 
 see, were then unknown, and the sub- 
 stitutes for them which were used to 
 oppose a spreading conflagration it is 
 not easy to mention with gravity. The 
 only way by which water could be 
 opposed to the devouring element, at 
 least the only improvement on the ob- 
 vious mode of throwing it from common 
 household vessels, was by squirting it from 
 syringes, * These were of different sizes. 
 The hand-syringe was about five feet 
 long, and could throw water eighteen or 
 twenty feet from the ground. A larger 
 machine of the same kind was hung on 
 wheels, and could be elevated or de- 
 
 * Since the above was written this ancient inven- 
 tion has been revived. A " patent syringe'' for op- 
 posing conflagration was exhibited in connection 
 with the last Smithfield cattle show, and from the 
 force and precision with which water could be con- 
 veyed through it to a particular spot, it seemed 
 likely to be found of considerable importance in the 
 absence of more potent means.
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 89 
 
 pressed at pleasure. Thh raised a more 
 considerable body of water, when pro- 
 perly filled, than could be lifted by any 
 other means. But the difficulty and de- 
 lay which occurred in charging it from 
 buckets, and the frequent miscarriages 
 from the awkwardness of the men em- 
 ployed about it, several of whom were 
 necessary, made it utterly useless where 
 the flames had once burst forth with vio- 
 lence, but it sometimes prevented mischief 
 where the fire was slow in breaking out, 
 and was therefore thought a most va- 
 luable invention by our ancestors. Se- 
 veral persons were using these instru- 
 ments with much useless diligence, 
 and the crowd collected round, so ob- 
 structed the road, that Edmund found it 
 necessary to alter his route. He accord- 
 ingly turned back to the opening which 
 they last passed on their right hand. 
 This was St. Lawrence Lane, and it 
 now struck him that he could not be-
 
 90 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 stow his companions better than at The 
 Blossoms inn. Thither he accordingly 
 conducted them. The sign of St. Law- 
 rence projected from the building, and 
 the effigy of the saint was surrounded 
 with a representation of the blossoms 
 supposed to have flourished on the spot 
 where he received the crown of martyr- 
 dom. To these the inn in question 
 stood indebted for the name by which 
 it then was generally known, and which, 
 at this day, survives the memory of the 
 saint, so far as the inn is concerned. 
 
 At the Blossoms, on Edmund's recom- 
 mendation, Ferdinand resolved to rest 
 for the night. But Edmund thought it 
 his duty to deny himself the gratification 
 of remaining there also. He was charged 
 with letters to Lord Erpingham, which 
 he had promised to deliver on his arrival 
 in London before he slept, His lord- 
 ship's residence was in Eickett's-fields, 
 and Edmund having seen his travelling
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 91 
 
 companions satisfactorily accommodated, 
 took leave for the evening. He passed 
 to the end of the lane^ and turning to the 
 left to Wood-street, went through Al- 
 dersgate, and thence by Little Britain, 
 and Smithfield, to Holborn Bars. Fickett's- 
 fields lay at the back of the Fleet-street 
 end of Chancery-lane, and near the gate 
 of Lincoln's-inn ; several houses, the pre- 
 decessors of those which now form a part 
 of the east side of Bell-yard, were then 
 but newly built. The place, as may be 
 suspected from the name which it bore, 
 was mdely different from what it is at 
 present. The house of Lord Erpingham 
 had a meadow immediately before it, 
 beyond which Drury House appeared. 
 Looking over the garden of Lincoln's-inn 
 it commanded a view of Cup-field, now 
 Lincoln's-inn-fields, and part of Holborn. 
 To the left the houses and spacious gar- 
 dens of the Strand were seen. 
 
 Edmund had the good fortune to find
 
 92 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 that Lord Erpingham had not yet retired 
 for the night, though the clock had 
 struck nine. He was instantly admitted 
 to the presence of the peer, who congra- 
 tulated him most cordially on his arrival 
 in Fickett's-fields.
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 93 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 Fortune seems only to have her eye-sight 
 To behold my tragedy. Webster. 
 
 Lord Erpingham had passed the prime 
 of life. He had been much abroad in his 
 younger days, and, from the knowledge 
 which he had acquired, had been much 
 courted by those who were in power in 
 the early part of king Henry's reign. 
 Even the haughty Wolsey had not dis- 
 dained, notwithstanding the disparity of 
 their years, to be guided in some instances 
 by his advice. The fate of that extraor- 
 dinary man, and the fall of Sir Thomas 
 More, his lordship's particular friend, 
 while they opened to him a prospect of 
 gaining higher honours than had as yet 
 requited him, relieved him from all 
 anxiety to gain political distinction, if he 
 had ever known it j and he calmly saw
 
 g4 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 from his retirement bolder aspirants 
 contend for that favour from the mo- 
 narch, which had in various instances 
 proved so fatal to those who had had 
 the good, or rather the evil fortune 
 to gain it, without any wish to rival them. 
 But though not in office, he laboured in- 
 cessantly for the good of the state, and 
 for that of mankind in general. If the 
 common gaieties of life had but little at- 
 traction for him, his establishment was 
 not a small one, and the studies in which 
 he engaged, and the enquiries to the pro- 
 secution of which he applied himself, 
 caused him to employ, in addition to his 
 ordinary domestics, a larger number of 
 clerks than was commonly retained by 
 any nobleman not officially connected 
 with the government. 
 
 This peculiarity attracted notice. , At 
 first it was considered as the means by 
 which Lord Erpingh am designed, at some 
 future period, to prove to the king his 
 superiority in knowledge over those en-
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 95 
 
 trusted with the administration of the 
 country. But when it was seen, that he 
 persevered in the same course through a 
 series of years, neglecting to avail him- 
 self of opportunities which presented 
 themselves for advancing such views, and 
 willingly communicating to others what 
 had been acquired by himself in extended 
 and laborious investigations, the public 
 generally recognized at last that very ex- 
 traordinary character — -a man who labours 
 to deserve the gratitude of his country- 
 men rather than to gain their applause. 
 
 There were some, and it must be added 
 that many wiio were best acquainted with 
 his lordship's habits were among the 
 number, who had taken up the idea, that 
 the manner in which he occupied himself 
 was not entirely the result of patriotism. 
 They suspected that a secret sorrow 
 preyed upon his heart, which it was his 
 object to dissipate, or in some degree 
 shake off, by the mental exercise which 
 he courted. This opinion derived plau-
 
 96 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 sibility from the uniform gravity, not to 
 say the solemnity of his lordship's deport- 
 ment, but it was not easy to determine 
 whether this was the cause of his studies, 
 or grew out of them as their natural 
 effect. 
 
 If grief were familiar with Lord Er- 
 pingham, it was not accompanied with 
 that impatience and irritation which in 
 weak minds are commonly its offspring. 
 Though a stranger to mirth he was cour- 
 teous ; though he despised ostentation he 
 was hospitable ; and though the prying 
 might complain that he was too reserved, 
 it was impossible even for them to deny 
 that he was mild and benevolent to all. 
 
 Such had Edmund ever found the pro- 
 tector of his early youth. The unbend- 
 ing dignity which Lord Erpingham pre- 
 served had taught him to approach with 
 some degree of awe ; but it was not that 
 which dread of harshness might inspire, 
 but solely that which was dictated by re- 
 verence for the virtues which adorned his
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 97 
 
 character, and the talents and boundless 
 information which he was reputed to 
 possess. 
 
 He met, as already has been stated, 
 with a most cordial reception. His 
 lordship listened with eager attention 
 to his recital of what he had seen in 
 his travels, and manifested the strongest 
 interest in all that regarded Edmund 
 personally. The timely succour which 
 Edmund had received from Ferdinand 
 called forth admiration for the brave 
 foreigner; but he seemed a little sur- 
 prised at the warm panegyric which 
 Edmund went on to pronounce, on the 
 subject of the amiable qualities and su- 
 perb beauty of Mariana. 
 
 " You speak of beauty, young man,'* said 
 he, ** with all that romantic ardour which 
 at your time of life it is fitted to inspire. 
 I have now to communicate to you what 
 it interests you not a little to know, and 
 which cannot be other than gratifying 
 to one of your temperament. Although 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 §f OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 I liave ever discountenanced that im- 
 petuous pursuit of personal attractions, 
 reckless of consequences, in which young 
 men are but too often tempted to engage, 
 while looking to other objects, it gave m© 
 pleasure to be enabled to secure you a 
 wife, v/hose beauty is beyond compare, 
 and whose approved virtue is not less 
 entitled to admiration." 
 
 This unexpected intimation afforded 
 Edmund more surprise than pleasure. 
 From the manner in which this intelli- 
 gence had been imparted, it was quite 
 clear, that Lord Erpingham felt assured 
 that it would gratify ; but Edmund was 
 too much confounded to be able to at- 
 tempt reply. His lordship proceeded. 
 
 " I see the grateful intelligence is the 
 more felt from the circumstance of its 
 being at this season wholly unexpected. 
 But you shall be more rejoiced when you 
 learn to whom you have been sold, 
 
 " My lord !" exclaimed Edmund, 
 'breathless with amazement. 
 
 '^ I say,'' repeated his lordsliip, " you
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHAtU 99 
 
 will the more rejoice (so at least I hope), 
 when you shall know with whom this 
 matter has been transacted, and happily- 
 advanced so far that I have actually sold 
 you to the party." 
 
 The surprise of Edmund was at its 
 height. It was not the word " sold,'' 
 which now appears strange when applied 
 to a matrimonial arrangement, that aston- 
 ished him, but he was struck to hear that 
 such a busiuess was in progress, and so 
 far advanced to completion. At that 
 period, though very great refinement was 
 affected in many things, our language 
 had not attained the finish which it has 
 since received, and a very awkward prac- 
 tice, derived from earlier ages, still ex- 
 isted, that of calling things by their real 
 names. The delicate circumlocution 
 adopted by modern taste was as yet not 
 valued. Tlie number of matrimonial 
 sales effected in our tiine is as great as 
 at any former date ; but from the su- 
 perior phraseology employed, we hear of 
 nobody being sold. 
 
 f2
 
 100 OTHER times; or, 
 
 The confusion^ and indeed the agita- 
 tion of Edmund did not escape Lord 
 Erpingham j but he was nothing discon- 
 certed by it, as he was fully convinced, 
 that he possessed the means of dismissing 
 all uneasiness, and he serenely continued. 
 
 " Remember you not the beautiful 
 Elinor Brandon, the daughter of Sir 
 Geoffrey Brandon — " 
 
 " I do remember her right well, and 
 I also remember — " 
 
 " That I once chid you for looking 
 on her as you did, and for following her, 
 as it seemed to me, too anxiously." 
 
 *' Even so. You then told me^ that 
 I must think of her no more, as she was 
 destined to be the wife of — '" Edmund 
 paused. Recollection of a recent unex- 
 pected meeting came over him, and em- 
 barrassed his speech. He endeavoured 
 to break through it, and said, '* You told 
 me, my lord, that she was to be the wife 
 of another.'* 
 
 -" True. All was arranged, and it was
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 101 
 
 my expectation, ere this, to see her bless 
 with her hand my nephew Clifford. But 
 he has unhappily forgotten those prin- 
 ciples with which I sought to store his 
 mind in infancy. Not to dwell on a 
 subject so painful, he proved himself un- 
 worthy of her, and I, knowing your mind, 
 have placed your name where his had 
 previously stood." 
 
 He then produced a legal instrument, 
 which began as follows : 
 
 *' This indenture made the fourth daye 
 
 of Apryil, yn the yere of o' Soue- 
 
 raigne Lorde Kyng Henry the viijth, the 
 William Lord Erpiiigha,?: of theooii partie, 
 and Sir Geoffry Brandon, knight, esquyer 
 for the body of o^ saide Soueraigne Lord 
 the Kyng, and son and herre of Sir Thomas 
 Brandon discessed, of the other partie : 
 witnessith, that the saide Lord William 
 Erpingham hath bargayned, solde and 
 graunted, and by these presents bar- 
 gayneth, selleth and grauntith to the saide 
 Sir Geoffrey, the ward, custodye, and 
 F 3
 
 102 
 
 and maryage of the bodie of Edmund, 
 son and herre of Henry Sherborn dis- 
 cessed, to thentente only chat he the 
 saide Edmund shall marye and take to 
 his wyfe oon of the two daughters of the 
 saide Geoffrey, that is to say, Elinor and 
 Mary ; that is to wy te, such one of them as 
 the said Edmund shall thereunto appoynte 
 and chouse : the said appointment and 
 choyse to be made by the said Edmund 
 Sherborn on this side the feaste of Easter 
 next comyng ; yf the said Ehnor or Mary, 
 or either of the ym, to the said maryage 
 wyll assente/^ 
 
 When Edmund had read thus far, 
 Lord Erpingham, who had evidently anti- 
 cipated some exclamation of delight, 
 again broke silence. 
 
 " Judged I not aright? Did I not 
 venture well in thus procuring your 
 name to be inserted in place of that of 
 the unworthy Clifford ?' 
 
 *< In this, as in all other instances, I 
 am much indebted to your lordship. But
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. lOS 
 
 I must add, that from the period when 
 you admonished me, I endeavoured to 
 turn my thoughts wholly from the fair 
 Elinor. An absence of three years, 
 added to a sense of duty, has enabled 
 me to succeed so completely, that, be- 
 lieve me, I feel more grief for Clifford's 
 miscarriage than I know how to express. 
 It is indeed so great, that my heart 
 owns none of that joy, which tidings like 
 those now communicated would once 
 have inspired." 
 
 '* But your delight will be great when 
 you shall see Elinor, for she, 1 know, is 
 the daughter on whom your attention 
 rested, though, to guard against the possi- 
 bility of mistake, I judged it wise to 
 have the names of the two sisters inserted 
 in the instrument. Her beauty has now 
 gained a perfection of which, bright as 
 her attractions w^ere formerly, they gave 
 but imperfect promise. This I have 
 heard from others, not having seen her 
 myself past a year, she having preferred 
 F 4
 
 104 OTHER TIMES; OK, 
 
 retirement, evincing thereby a becoming 
 and discreet taste, which you will not 
 fail to approve.'* 
 
 ** I question not her perfection, 
 but — '' 
 
 *' But you still regret the loss your 
 former companion must sustain. This is 
 not uncommendable in you, but bootless 
 must it be to think of that." 
 
 '* I know it, my lord. He cannot now 
 aspire to the Lady Elinor, seeing he is 
 already married to another." 
 
 " How know you that ? Have you seen 
 him of late?" 
 
 " Being asked the question, my an- 
 swer must be ' yes ;' but for particulars, 
 I pray your lordship spare me." 
 
 ^* Resolve me one thing. Did he 
 speak to you of the crime which has 
 cast him out from the bosom of that 
 society in which he was born ?" 
 
 *^ He told me of his sufferings." 
 
 " And concealed their cause." 
 
 " Not so — at least, I cannot say so*
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 105 
 
 He named to me the charges preferred 
 against him, but owned no guilt." 
 
 " I am sad to hear it. Trust me, it was 
 my hope that one of my blood would not 
 long retain the hardened front w^hich he 
 displayed on trial, when his criminality 
 was established to the satisfaction of all 
 good men — to my deep affliction." 
 
 ** He told me of his conviction j but 
 he also told me, that it was procured by 
 foulest perjury." 
 
 " Base and impenitent as he has been 
 found, I should have expected that with 
 you he would have been sufficiently in- 
 genuous to lay aside dissimulation. But 
 alas! become familiar with iniquity he will 
 not abstain from it for a moment, even 
 where its exercise may answer no purpose." 
 
 " Pardon me, my lord, but 1 must 
 doubt the correctness of this conclusion. 
 He spoke with an earnestness which I 
 would fain believe marked sincerity." 
 
 *• The hypocrite ! Such carriage costs 
 F 5
 
 106 OTHER tiMES ; on, 
 
 him little effort. When you shall know 
 the evidence which was brought against 
 him, and know with what unblushing 
 effrontery he imputed the most fearful 
 peijuries to men of holy life, you will 
 better understand how to appreciate hi& 
 words/' 
 
 " I cannot but hope that you will find^ 
 that in this single instance you have been 
 deceived.'^ 
 
 " Edmund, I think I have had more 
 opportunities of seeing men than many, 
 and am not less capable of judging of 
 their motives than others. It is probable 
 that I flatter myself, but the world, I 
 believe, share this opinion/' 
 
 " Most assuredly." 
 
 *« Yet if I, so skilled, could own the 
 condemnation of my own nephew just — 
 if I could believe one for whom, you 
 know, I had ever been accustomed to 
 interest myself, who was indeed most 
 dear — I say, if I could be convinced that 
 6
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADJiNHALL. IQT/ 
 
 he was guilty of the crime imputed to 
 him, think you that his dictum^ degraded 
 as he now is, ought to weigh against the 
 testimony of better men, and all the cir- 
 cumstances of judicial proof." 
 
 " It is hard to judge." 
 
 " It will not be so long. When you 
 shall know the circumstances, and, above 
 all, when you shall know the character of 
 him whom Clifford aspersed, you will 
 not fail to come to that conclusion, which, 
 God my Saviour knows, I most reluc- 
 tantly arrived at." 
 
 " You speak of the abbot of Leaden- 
 hall." 
 
 ** The same. He was one of the 
 monks of Mount Sinai, and resided on 
 the spot. It was on my invitation that 
 he came to England, and accepted that 
 dignity which he now enjoys. I should 
 confess that it was with a view to 
 my own solace that I brought him 
 hither j for while in the east, his spiritual 
 F 6
 
 108 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 advice had much advantaged me. Yoa 
 shall shortly know him, and then for 
 Clifford, all you can do, will be to join 
 with me in supplicating the Most High 
 to turn him from his evil doings, since to 
 doubt his past villany will be impossi- 
 ble.'*'
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 109 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 Far other scenes must soon present my sight. 
 That lie deep buried yet in tenfold night. 
 
 Falc oner, 
 
 Jcjdmund felt more disturbed by the 
 communication made to him respecting 
 EUnor Brandon than he chose to ac- 
 knowledge. Her beauty^ though he con- 
 sidered it great, had made but a mo- 
 mentary impression. Having no hope of 
 gaining her affections, he had ceased to 
 think of her, and now, when her name 
 was mentioned to him, far from waking 
 those transports which Lord Erpingham 
 had supposed it would call forth, he only 
 remembered that he had once thought 
 Elinor beautiful, while the passion w^iich 
 he had conceived for Mariana grew 
 stronger, as the prospect of gaining hex 
 seemed more decidedly closed.
 
 110 OTHER TIMES; OTts 
 
 Kind as he had ever known Lord Er- 
 pingham, he wanted resolution to tell 
 that the beauty he once admired, while 
 Elinor was the intended bride of another, 
 now that she was destined for him, he no 
 longer desired to obtain. He could not 
 doubt but his lordship would feel much 
 hurt to find the efforts made to promote 
 his happiness thus requited ; nor could 
 he expect that a nobleman of his years 
 and prudence would listen with patience 
 to any proposition for breaking his en- 
 gagements with a young lady of fortune, 
 in order to enable Edmund to solicit the 
 hand of a female he had known but a 
 few weeks, and with whose connections 
 he was wholly unacquainted. 
 
 Edmund, when calmly considering the 
 subject, had felt that, under the most 
 favourable circumstances, the mention 
 of such an idea would be likely to startle 
 his lordship ; but the difficulty was im- 
 measurably increased by the step which 
 had been taken in his absence.
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. Ill 
 
 Yet he flattered himself that a know- 
 ledge of Mariana, would do something 
 towards inclining Lord Erpingham to 
 consider if it were possible to give up 
 the projected match with the Brandon 
 family. He was therefore anxious that 
 she. with her brother, should accept of 
 an invitation with which he had been 
 charged by his lordship. But Ferdi- 
 nand declined accepting it till the busi- 
 ness which brought him to England, 
 so far as his niece was concerned, could 
 be arranged. In pursuance of this ob- 
 ject, his days were occupied in inquiring 
 for the convents judged to be the best 
 regulated, and in ascertaining the rules 
 by which they were governed. 
 
 It was in vain that Edmund pressed 
 him to allow himself repose but for a 
 single day, Ferdinand peremptorily re- 
 fused. The more pressing Edmund be- 
 came for him to accept the invitation 
 of Lord Erpingham, the more determined 
 was Ferdinand to refuse. Edmund hoped^
 
 11£ OTHEH TIMES ^ OR, 
 
 from taking her to his lordship, that the 
 plan of shutting her up in a convent 
 might be abandoned. Ferdinand feared 
 that from letting her see the splendid 
 varieties which opulence might be pre- 
 pared to set before them, it would be- 
 come more painful, if not more difficult, 
 to carry it into effect. 
 
 In conversation, Ferdinand did not 
 conceal from Edmund that one motive 
 for placing Mariana in a convent with 
 little delay, sprung from an apprehen- 
 sion that the state of his funds would 
 make it necessary, at no distant period, 
 for him to return to Spain, unless he 
 should find employment in England. 
 Edmund expressed his conviction, that, 
 possessing as he did, the Spanish and 
 several other languages, there would be 
 no difficulty in turning his abilities to 
 account in England. On this subject 
 he proposed to make some inquiries* 
 Ferdinand thanked him, but expressed 
 little solicitude about the result.
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 113 
 
 " Mariana disposed of/' said he, " my 
 wants will probably not affect me long.'* 
 
 It was his wish to avoid all public 
 spectacles. But one day, being at Mile 
 End, where a grand display of archery 
 was to take place, and not having Mariana 
 with him, he was induced to pause for a 
 short time, to witness an exhibition which 
 the king himself did not think it beneath 
 him to attend. 
 
 Edmund had accompanied Fer^dinand 
 on this occasion. He fail/ed not to ap- 
 prize him of the several regulations which 
 had been made to guard against any in- 
 terruption of the sports by the inconve- 
 nient pressure of the crowd. He espe- 
 cially cautioned him against standing too 
 forward when the word " Fast" should 
 be given, as after that had been called 
 aloud, no penal consequences would 
 attach to wounding the spectator who 
 neglected to withdraw, even though 
 death should ensue. This was the will 
 of the king, who considered the lives of
 
 114 OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 a few subjects had better be sacrificed 
 than that the science of archery should 
 be discouraged, by suffering those who 
 practised it to be intruded upon with 
 impunity. 
 
 A chair, elevated on a small platform 
 and covered with crimson satin, had been 
 placed for the king, of which his majesty 
 now took possession. He wore, placed 
 a little aslant, a black velvet bonnet cir- 
 cled with a silver band, and surmounted 
 by a small plume of feathers. A blue 
 cloak bordered with flowers worked in 
 gold, and ornamented with a large cape 
 of spotted fur, concealed the remainder 
 of his dress. Henry's eyes glistened with 
 mirth while he gave command that the 
 sports should begin, and ordered the 
 yeomen in his train to assist the archers 
 who were clearing the ground. 
 
 "While this work was in progress, a 
 person with a very consequential air, but 
 attired in a soiled leathern doublet, made 
 his appearance. He wore a bonnet of
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 115 
 
 coarse cloth, ornamented with a gilded 
 button. The lower part of his dress was 
 of cloth, including his stockings, or the 
 substitutes for stockings, which were ap- 
 pendages to what a polite writer must 
 name inexpressibles. 
 
 As this individual bustled by, calling 
 out in an authoritative tone for those to re- 
 tire who "had no humour to taste the point 
 of an arrow," Ferdinand, surprised at the 
 contrast between the humility of his dress 
 and the loftiness of his deportment, de- 
 sired to know the rank of so singular a 
 character. 
 
 '< He is called a duke," Edmund re- 
 plied. *' You are surprised to find that 
 his exterior so little accords with that of 
 a Spanish duke.'* 
 
 ** Making all allowances for the vary- 
 ing customs of different nations, I con- 
 fess myself amazed.'^ 
 
 '* And justly, but I must explain ; this 
 fellow is not of our nobility, but a mere 
 citizen, a bowyer by trade. He, on a
 
 116 OTHER times; OR, 
 
 former occasion, so distinguished himself 
 in the exercise of archery, that the king 
 being present, and in merry mood, for 
 the shooting was in honour of his third 
 marriage, and within a week of the 
 beheading of Queen Ann, he I say, being 
 then exhilarated, did dub this same fel- 
 low Duke of Shoreditch," 
 
 *^ A singular promotion." 
 
 " A jocular burlesque on one ; but the 
 man, his name is Barlow, took it seriously, 
 and holds himself, from this circumstance, 
 a personage of no small importance, and 
 as I hear, his shop in Shoreditch (which, 
 being in the fields, is but a thinly peopled 
 parish) is fast falling to decay." 
 
 ** His greatness then, as in other 
 cases it often chances, is like to be his 
 
 ruin." 
 
 *^ Even so, but this mockery has called 
 forth others who would fain be regarded 
 as of the same class of nobles. The Mar- 
 quis of Clerkenwell, with the Earls of 
 Hoxton (or Hogsden, as it is commonly
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 117 
 
 named), of Pancras and of Shacklewell, 
 will be here anon." 
 
 While he was yet speaking, several of 
 these gentry made their appearance. 
 They passed to the stand, their horns 
 sounded, and every thing announced 
 that the sports were forthwith to com- 
 mence. 
 
 '* Would you see our real nobility," 
 said Edmund, " look on those who stand 
 on either hand of the king. That elderly 
 peer, to whom his majesty now speaks, 
 and who is pointing to Barlow, is the 
 Duke of Norfolk. Near him, on the right 
 in the brown velvet cloak, stands his son 
 the Earl of Surrey." 
 
 Ferdinand looked on these, and sud- 
 denly started, while with breathless agi- 
 tation he inquired^ '' And who — who 
 stands next to that young nobleman?" 
 
 " On the right ?" 
 
 " No, on the left, a little in advance. 
 He who is attired in black, with a long 
 white beard."
 
 118 OTHER times; OR, 
 
 <* That is my excellent friend, Lord 
 Erpingham." 
 
 " Indeed !'* exclaimed Ferdinand^ 
 shrinking as it were within himself while 
 be spoke, and looking stedfastly on Ed- 
 mund. 
 
 The latter was struck with the manner 
 of Ferdinand. 
 
 " What moves you thus ?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 " I — I — I did not expect to see kirn 
 here.** 
 
 " Douhtless you have heard that he Is 
 little wont to frequent public spectacles ; 
 but in scenes like these he takes much 
 interest, for he apprehends (the fear 
 seems to me a vain one), that if archery 
 be not especially protected, the use of 
 the musket will, in time, cause the bow 
 and arrow to fall wholly into disuse.'' 
 
 " Is it even so?" Ferdinand muttered 
 in a tone which left it doubtful whether 
 he intendcv: to address another or was 
 talking to himself. Edmund hesitated
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 119 
 
 for a moment, but assuming that the 
 question had been put to him, he pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 " I, for my own part, though extrava- 
 gance can rarely be imputed to Lord Er- 
 pingham, hold his dread in this instance 
 to be wholly chimerical. The rage for 
 musketry will, I doubt not, prove but a 
 fashion, and to my thinking, its day has 
 already nearly passed away." 
 
 ** Fast," roared a voice of stentorian 
 power. 
 
 The well known sound was repeated 
 by hundreds of tongues on every side, 
 and a general movement backward took 
 place, accompanied by some little con- 
 tention. Those who had occupied the 
 forbidden spot were anxious that their 
 neighbours v\ho had not come too for- 
 ward, should give way, so that they, 
 without breaking the line to be kept for 
 the archers, might still be in front. This 
 was not readily acquiesced in by the per- 
 sons who were already at the most ad-
 
 1^0 OTHER TIMES ; OR^ 
 
 vanced point. They were disposed to 
 let the others pass behind them, but 
 would not consent to retreat themselves, 
 Edmund stepped back as it were instinc- 
 tively, and expected Ferdinand would do 
 the same ; but he, wholly unmindful of 
 what he had been told, remained where 
 he liad previously stood. Edmund called 
 to him, but in the confusion which came 
 over him, instead of retiring, Ferdinand 
 went several paces forward. The clamour 
 of the multitude warned him of his 
 danger, but too late; for the first arrow 
 took its flight at the moment he stepped 
 from the side, and was already fixed in 
 his shoulder. 
 
 Great disorder followed. The shoot- 
 ing was suspended, and the spectators 
 again occupied that ground from which 
 they hiici so lately been excluded. The 
 Earl of Surrey and Lord Erpingham 
 hastened to the wounded man. Fer- 
 dinand thanked the former for his at- 
 tention 5 but when Lord Erpingham told
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. l!21 
 
 iiim that assistance should be forthwith 
 procured, he snatched the arrow from 
 his flesh, and turned away abruptly. 
 
 Edmund withdrew with Ferdinand, 
 saw his wound dressed, and attended 
 bim to his home, which was at the 
 house of a merchant in Gutter, or as 
 it was then called Gouter-lane, to 
 whom he had been furnished with an in- 
 troduction. On their way he noticed the 
 manner in which Ferdinand had received 
 the attentions of Lord Erpingham, and 
 regretted that he had not made a more 
 suitable return. 
 
 His answer was equivocal — ** I regret,*' 
 said he '' that it was not in my power." 
 
 Edmund supposed him to be sorry 
 that pain had made him forget his cus- 
 tomary regard for courtesy, and ex- 
 pressed an opinion, that what he must 
 have endured might well account for 
 that which, under other circumstances, 
 would appear extraordinary. 
 
 " I spoke not of pain ; I felt none,** 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 said Ferdinand. ** But let us discourse no 
 more on this subject. My wound is 
 slight, and merits not attention even from 
 me. In a day or two it will be healed." 
 The injury he had sustained was 
 inconsiderable. He soon resumed his 
 inquiries respecting the religious estab- 
 lishments of England. That of St. Helen, 
 or Elene, in Bishopsgate, seemed to him 
 preferable to the others with which he 
 had become acquainted. Report, how- 
 ever, spoke favourably of a small convent 
 at Shene, and he therefore made a point 
 of visiting that place before he came to a 
 final decision. The information he ob- 
 tained there did not produce any impres- 
 sion unfavourable to the pretensions of 
 the sisterhood of Saint Helen. While at 
 Shene, he paused for a moment to look at 
 the royal palace, which then existed on 
 that delightful spot. Mariana, who had 
 accompanied him thither, viewed, with 
 unspeakable admiration, the beauties 
 of the captivating scene. She gazed
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 1^3 
 
 alternately with unwearied eyes, now on 
 the matchless work of nature's embellish- 
 ing hand, and now on the ingenious ef- 
 forts which art and labour had made to 
 decorate thegrounds adjoiningthe palace. 
 They skirted the gardens, and coming to 
 a place where a running stream parted 
 them from a hedge, fantastically trained, 
 so as to exhibit the objects it defended, 
 in situations the most pleasingly pic- 
 turesque. 
 
 Mariana looked with wonder and delight, 
 but her pleasure was of brief duration. 
 She recollected how soon she was to be 
 withdrawn from the contemplation of ob- 
 jects like those which charmed her, and a 
 thrill of agony ran through her delicate 
 frame, which w^as nothing diminished 
 by the consciousness that it had not 
 escaped the observation of Ferdinand, 
 whose lowering eye ah'eady reproved her 
 wandering. 
 
 G ^
 
 134 OTHER TIMES; OR, 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 Through life's sad journey, hopeless to complaiiv 
 Can sacred justice these events ordain ? 
 But, O my soul ! avoid that wondrous maze, 
 Where reason lost in endless error strays. 
 As through this thorny vale of life we run, 
 Great Cause of all effects. Thy will be done. 
 
 Falconeb. 
 
 " I NOTE," said Ferdinand, '* and I must 
 confess it, I have done so with pain, that 
 your eyes sparkle with transport while you 
 gaze on this fair prospect. It is not my 
 object to rebuke, yet I cannot choose 
 but regret that such is your frame of 
 mind." 
 
 " And why, permit me to inquire ? 
 Think you a scene so enchantingly gay 
 was not fashioned to glad those who were 
 created to people it." 
 
 " Yes, Mariana ; but you are not of 
 them. I have said I would not reprehend 
 you, for I know that when heaven shines
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 125 
 
 in cloudless majesty, the clear transparent 
 wave will copy its gayest hue, and your 
 mind, as yet transparent as that same 
 wave, and ready to reflect back every 
 object in its brightest colours, might well 
 be expected to throw that mingled joy 
 and sorrow into your countenance, which 
 you have neither art nor guile enough to 
 conceal.— 'But let me conjure you to de- 
 tach your mind from such scenes. Other 
 images should occupy your contemplation. 
 I would know your thoughts fixed on that 
 hallowed gloom which awaits you in the 
 bosom of the convent you are shortly to 
 enter. The sacred thoughts which shall 
 there ever be present to the pious imagi- 
 nation, will more than compensate for 
 the loss of such glittering trifles as now 
 court the view, and holy hope will shed 
 over the most sombre moments of a 
 cloistered life, a portion of the radiance 
 of the blissful eternity to which it leads." 
 Mariana was silent. But her eyes 
 dwelt on the beautifully diversified pros- 
 g3
 
 126 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 pect with a melancholy air, and with a 
 fondly eager gaze, which seemed at once 
 anxious and reluctant to bid them an 
 everlasting farewell. The reflection that 
 her charmed sense might rest on such 
 a picture no more, caused a tear to 
 tremble on her eyelid. Ferdinand re- 
 marked it, and while a sympathising pang 
 invaded his own bosom, he made a new 
 effort by argument to diminish the afflic- 
 tion of his niece. 
 
 " This is weakness, Mariana, Reason 
 and religion should unite to expel from 
 your heart the treacherous foe to its re- 
 pose, which seeking to wed your affec- 
 tions to earthly pleasure, would bereave 
 you of your eternal inheritance/' 
 
 " Forgive me," sighed Mariana, at- 
 tempting, but in vain, to repress the sob 
 which agitated her bosom. 
 
 While she spoke a butterfly flitted by 
 them, of that species which modern natu- 
 ralists have denominated the peacock. Its 
 beautifully variegated wings rivetted the
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. IS? 
 
 attention of both, while, having passed the 
 water which divided them from the hedge, 
 they saw it sportively bound from flower 
 to flower, and at length pause to bask at its 
 ease, and to display, luxuriously reposing 
 in the bosom of a newly blown rose, its 
 minute but splendid plumage to the noon- 
 day sun. 
 
 " Behold," said Mariana, '« how that 
 unreasoning insect gives himself up to 
 unrestricted enjoyment of the banquet 
 which Nature's liberal hand has spread 
 before him. Is it sin in him to be happy ? 
 — O ! no, my uncle will not tell me that ; 
 nor will he say that heaven meant to deny 
 to its more important productions the 
 bhss conferred on this poor slave of in- 
 stinct." 
 
 Ferdinand was embarrassed. He how- 
 ever replied, ^* His all of happiness is 
 here. We have to look forward to ano- 
 ther life." 
 
 ^* And why should it be assumed that 
 our welfare in another state will be pro- 
 G 4
 
 128 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 moted by rejecting the proffered bounty 
 of the Creator in this ? — Why should we 
 deny ourselves the guiltless enjoyment of 
 the pure air ; of the light of heaven ; and 
 the decorated surface of the earth ?*' 
 
 Ferdinand seemed disposed to answer 
 the objection, but found himself at a loss 
 for words. Musing on what Mariana 
 had just said, his eye steadily pur- 
 sued the course of the insect they had 
 observed, which continued to woo, in 
 succession, the most distinguished orna- 
 ments of the parterre. He suffered his 
 whole observation to appear to rest on 
 it, that he might conceal from Mariana 
 the embarrassment he experienced. On 
 a sudden he saw the butterfly impeded 
 in its flight, and perceived in the next 
 moment that it was entangled in the web 
 of a spider. Its desperate struggles to 
 escape shook every thread of the fatal 
 snare, the texture of which, however, was 
 too strong to be broken by them, and the 
 spider was seen to dart on his helpless
 
 THK MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 129 
 
 victim. The buttei*fly perished in the 
 embrace of his tremendous enemy, and 
 the spider having banquetted on his prize, 
 threw round it a new web, the strings of 
 which were drawn so tight, that the 
 form of the dead fly was no longer pre- 
 served, and drawing it thus compressed 
 to the upper part of his abode, he retired, 
 to await the coming of a new prey. 
 
 Mariana wept the fate of the insect, 
 and regretted that the interposing water 
 had put it out of her power to prevent 
 the spider from completing his triumph. 
 Ferdinand saw she was affected, and re- 
 sumed the conversation, by referring to 
 the object which had just fallen under 
 their observation. 
 
 '' Heaven has sent an argument to sup- 
 ply my lack of wit. But a few moments 
 ago you gazed on the gay flutterer which 
 glistened before us, with feelings of regret 
 that you might not be permitted, like him, 
 to rove at pleasure among the alluring 
 beauties of nature. Do you see him now ?" 
 g5
 
 130 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 Mariana answered but by a sigh. 
 
 " Where now is the happiness which 
 lately you could envy ? Where the bright 
 colours which commanded admiration ? 
 Where the bounding joy which every 
 motion indicated ? All are no more. The 
 poor fly has been destroyed, and its re- 
 mains, enveloped in a loathsome veil^ 
 rifled, discoloured, marred in every re- 
 spect, present to the view but a shape- 
 less offensive object in the web of the 
 destroyer. Such are the consequences 
 of being at liberty to rove at large in 
 quest of pleasure." 
 
 *^ Aye, my dear uncle, to butterflies 
 which roam where spiders are to be found. 
 But this applies not to other beings. I 
 am in no danger from spiders." 
 
 " True, Mariana, but you are likely to 
 fall in the way of a more formidable, as 
 well as a more odious destroyer. This 
 spider is a poor artist, who has but used 
 the means which nature gave him to pro- 
 cure sustenance. He has destroyed his
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 131 
 
 victim to nourish himself. But monsters 
 are to be found, who, urged by no such 
 imperious necessity, will destroy, for 
 very sport, and hold the shipwreck of 
 your hope to be the consummation of 
 their triumph." 
 
 " But there are no monsters which can 
 thus destroy men." 
 
 " Women are destroyed, and the de- 
 stroyers are men. It is from these that I 
 would preserve thine innocence. I but 
 seek thy soul's health, when I withdraw 
 thee from the world. Yielding to my 
 wish, it is true, that thou must abandon 
 some objects, which in youth it may be 
 natural that thou shouldest wish to 
 cherish ; but for these thou shalt be 
 more than compensated by being pro- 
 tected against those dangers which might 
 blast thee in thy prime, and give thee an 
 old age of vain remorse.'* 
 
 " I could only feel remorse from guilt. 
 Is it because you think me depraved that 
 you would place me in a convent ?** 
 g6
 
 132 OTHER times; or, 
 
 " No, dearest, but because I know thee 
 pure, and would preserve thee so. I 
 would not leave thee exposed to the snares 
 which treachery prepares. Thy inexpe- 
 rience, thy very virtue, would betray 
 thee into the toils that crime would spread 
 for thy unsuspecting feet. Alone, thou 
 couldest not escape them. 
 
 << Alone [ but why should I be left 
 alone ? Cannot you, who have hitherto 
 protected me, continue to be my pro- 
 tector?" 
 
 " That is not certain. I may, and pro- 
 bably I shall, soon be withdrawn— with- 
 drawn for ever." 
 
 ** Withdrawn for ever ! What awful 
 meaning lurks beneath your words ! Un- 
 wonted sadness sits upon your cheek. 
 What has chanced? Tell me, I pray, 
 whence these sad forebodings." 
 
 " Mariana, we are strangers in a fo- 
 reign land — a land which I have doubt- 
 less sought with much anxiety, but still 
 in England we are, as I may say, alone.
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 133 
 
 What security is there against the pre- 
 cariousness of human Ufe ? The cUmate, 
 and diseases incidental to it, may snatch 
 me away in a few days, and is it not my 
 duty to provide for the safety of the 
 being confided to my care, if possible, 
 before an event so probable shall take 
 place?*' 
 
 With a most stedfast gaze Mariana re- 
 garded him while he spoke. She saw in 
 his whole manner an anxious desire to 
 diminish the effect of the words which 
 had previously escaped, and which had 
 alarmed her ; she could not help feeling- 
 persuaded that he had contemplated some 
 danger more imminent and appalling 
 than that of climate, or any arising from 
 those accidents to which human beings, in 
 the ordinary course of events, are exposed 
 every where. 
 
 " There is something,** she said, ''which 
 you would conceal from me. I tremble, 
 but know not why. Let me not leave 
 you, if you are exposed to peril."
 
 lS4f OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 *^' Be calm, Mariana. There is no im- 
 mediate peril ; and if there were, could 
 it be removed by your presence ?" 
 
 " You wish to hold the language of 
 comfort, but your tongue refuses obe- 
 dience to your will. When you tell me 
 that there is no immediate danger, I can- 
 not but infer both that there is danger, 
 and that it is not very remote. Part with 
 me not under such circumstances." 
 
 " No more of this. I have solemn 
 duties to perform. To these, my life is 
 devoted, and it may be that I shall not 
 long survive their fulfilment. To you, my 
 cares are in the first instance directed. 
 Withdrawn from the busy world, to Ma- 
 riana it will matter little, in her holy re- 
 tirement, whether I still live, or am re- 
 leased from the cares of existence. From 
 the moment when you are received into 
 that society of which you are to become 
 a member, you will see me, and I trust, 
 hear of me no more." 
 
 The last words of Ferdinand inflicted 
 10
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 135 
 
 a shock on the feelings of Mariana for 
 which she was not prepared. With im- 
 ploring look, she exclaimed — 
 
 ** O ! say not so. If I must resign the 
 hope of ever seeing you again, when once 
 I have taken the veil, much as I wish 
 to submit with becoming resignation to 
 that which you recommend, I know not 
 how my lips can be taught to pronounce 
 the vows, and feel that my heart can 
 never be reconciled to the melancholy 
 separation." 
 
 *• Mariana, I have wished to watch 
 over your interest as might become 
 a father or a brother. Were it per- 
 mitted, I could view you with a lover's 
 eye ; but, at all events, I think you cannot 
 doubt that your welfare is the object of 
 my earnest solicitude, and pursuing it, I 
 trust, I have never been unkind." 
 
 ^* Our separation will therefore be the 
 more insupportable." 
 
 << It is inevitable. Fate wills it. I an- 
 nounce it with pain j but this, sad as it
 
 136 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 is> I am decidedly of opinion will be less 
 painful than the wretched alternative I 
 could offer." 
 
 ** Impossible ! In this you must err. 
 Let me still remain near you." 
 
 " Ask it not. Have I not told you of 
 the danger." 
 
 " I will brave it all." 
 
 ** It may not be. This, Mariana, is, I 
 fear, a return of your fond lingerings after 
 the gaieties of life." 
 
 ** O no ! I was thinking but of you ; 
 yet still must I confess that there is some- 
 thing terrific in being withdrawn from li- 
 berty, to pine through life encircled by 
 the gloomy walls of a convent.'* 
 
 ** I know it well, nor can I blame the 
 regrets which I wish to subdue. But I 
 have already intimated that we have but 
 a choice of evils.'* 
 
 " What evils can exceed those in mag- 
 nitude which she must deplore who sees 
 herself withdrawn from all that she could 
 prize in life, to pine in solitude ?'*
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 13/ 
 
 " Those,*' answered Ferdinand/'which 
 not merely afflict for a season, but which 
 destroy. Look again on yonder fly, now 
 so changed in appearance that you can 
 scarce recognise it or believe that it is 
 the same insect which recently claimed 
 our admiration. Had it not been better 
 for him that he should have remained in 
 the shady retreat from which he issued, 
 and thus escaped the snare which had 
 been woven for him ? Fiercer enemies, 
 and more subtle snares, await you. You 
 see them not; but were it well that I, who 
 am aware of them, should weakly yield 
 to your wishes to be near me, and thus 
 expose you to annihilation ?'* 
 
 Mariana looked at the dead insect; 
 she sighed deeply, but attempted no 
 reply.
 
 188 OTHER TIMES; OR, 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 A behaviour so noble 
 As gives a majesty to adversity : 
 You may discern the shape of loveliness 
 More perfect in her tears than in her smiles. 
 
 Webster, 
 
 Ferdinand now considered that he had 
 n^nde sufficient inquiry into the state of 
 rehgious societies in England, and that 
 nothing remained but to carry his re- 
 solution into effect, and he accordingly 
 required Mariana to prepare herself 
 speedily to join the pious sisterhood of 
 St. Helen. 
 
 Aware of his intentions, Edmund had 
 on every occasion ventured to combat 
 them, but no impression could be made 
 on Ferdinand. He had sufficient to pro- 
 vide for her in the way he proposed, but
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 139 
 
 not enough, as he alleged, to establish 
 her as he could desire in any other situ- 
 ation. Edmund made light of this ob- 
 jection, and hesitated not to declare that 
 he should esteem himself the happiest of 
 mortals if permitted to aspire to her hand, 
 though unendowed with fortune and 
 those common place advantages which 
 others might deem of importance." 
 
 ** I question not your sincerity, and 
 your liberality demands my admiration. 
 I know you would feel as you say ; but I 
 kriGVv also that your imagination is filled 
 with gay smiles, bright eyes, ruby lips, 
 and all the other attributes of youth and 
 loveliness. When these shall be dimmed, 
 or when you, from becoming more fami- 
 Jiar with them, shall not find them call 
 forth all the extacy which they now 
 inspire, then painful reflection will suc- 
 ceed to a transient dream of happiness, 
 the reproaches of your friends for the 
 imprudence of which you have been 
 guilty will no longer be disregarded, and
 
 140 OTHER times; or, 
 
 you will lament that it was ever your 
 lot to meet with me.'* 
 
 " And can you think that I would 
 ever — " 
 
 *• That you would ever be base ? No -, 
 but I believe that you would be unhappy* 
 That Mariana, from being deemed a 
 blessing, would be viewed as an incum- 
 brance." 
 
 " Never." 
 
 ** I may not therefore encourage a pas- 
 sion, wmcii, however pure^ is not founded 
 on reason. Could you persuade me thiVt 
 all whose opinions you regard concurred 
 in approving those feelings which you 
 avow, even then I must withhold my 
 consent." 
 
 " Indeed ! it must be, then, because I 
 have failed to win your good opinion.'' 
 
 ^*Not so, by heaven!" cried Ferdinand, 
 taking Edmund by the hand, while he 
 trembled with emotion. '* I esteem, I 
 love you as a brother, and that esteem 
 and love would, even in the case I have
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 141 
 
 supposed, dictate the course which I have 
 announced it to be my purpose to pursue. 
 BeHeve that I have spoken the truths but 
 ask not my reasons, I would spare you 
 and Mariana pain, and having that object 
 in view, I must be deaf to your entrea^ 
 ties/' 
 
 ** You have fears that I should find 
 you burdensome, but these are idle." 
 
 '* My objection springs not thence. 
 But it is in vain to talk on this subject — 
 no argument that man can use — no event 
 that Fortune could accomplish, may 
 change my resolution." 
 
 Edmund was distressed, but the double 
 barrier opposed to his wishes — the en- 
 gagements entered into by Lord Erping- 
 ham, and the fixed resolution of Ferdi. 
 nand — united to annihilate hope. He was 
 willing to believe that the former might 
 be evaded by some means, but the latter 
 presented a difliculty perfectly insu- 
 perable. What had fallen from Fer- 
 dinand, on the subject of his funds, had
 
 14-2 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 led him to endeavour, without wounding 
 his pride, to furnish the means of im- 
 proving his condition. He flattered him- 
 self that he had done so with success ; 
 and though, after what had just been 
 stated, this did not promise a change 
 in his determination, he now mentioned 
 it, anxious to confer a benefit, though de- 
 stroyed the expectation that it would 
 contribute to the accomplishment of the 
 object which most deeply interested him- 
 self. 
 
 ^* Be assured of this, Ferdinand,'* said 
 Edmund, " your fortunes will speediK^ 
 improve. I was not deceived in thinking 
 that your talents might be advantageously 
 employed in England, and am already 
 authorized to offer you two appoint- 
 ments." 
 
 ** 1 am much beholden to your friend- 
 ship. What are they ?" 
 
 ** The first is the situation of secretary 
 to Lord Erpingham." 
 
 ** Is it possible ! This is beyond my
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 143 
 
 hope," and his eyes sparkled with un- 
 wonted fire while he spoke. ^* Tell me, 
 will not such appointment give me ad- 
 mission to his house ?" 
 
 ^' Most certainly. You will, moreover, 
 be constantly with him in his closet, and 
 you will be treated most confidentially. 
 But a higher office is open for you, which 
 w^ill place you in immediate attendance 
 on the king." 
 
 '^ Name it not ; I have no ambition." 
 
 *' You are wise. I would rather share 
 the confidence of a nobleman so virtuous 
 as Lord Erpingham, than hold a higher 
 station." 
 
 ''Is Lord Erpingham so virtuous?" 
 inquired Ferdinand. 
 
 '' Why that scrutinizing, doubting, look ? 
 Have you heard any one in England speak 
 disparagingly of Lord Erpingham ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Or out of England ?" 
 
 " I never heard the name till I came 
 to this country ?"
 
 144 OTHER TIMES J CR, 
 
 f' Why then that seeming doubt?" 
 
 " The boldness of your speech might 
 challenge it. But resolve me one thing ; 
 was this virtuous lord ever in Mexico ?" 
 
 " In early life, he was there. He was 
 one of the original followers of Cortes.-* 
 
 *^ It is the same !" Ferdinand ex- 
 claimed, speaking to himself. 
 
 " Know you aught respecting his car- 
 riage while there ?" 
 
 " Nothing worthy your ear. And / 
 may be his confidential assistant." 
 
 " If you prefer that to the higher si- 
 tuation ?" 
 
 " I would prefer it to a throne," cried 
 Ferdinand, with energy. ** But he is 
 your friend. I must not accept the boon 
 from you." 
 
 Edmund supposed Ferdinand was un- 
 wilUng to accept a benefit, after opposing 
 his wishes with respect to Mariana, and 
 hastened to assure him, that w^hatever 
 might be his determination in other 
 matters, it would gratify him to be the
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 145 
 
 means of administering to his comfort. 
 Ferdinand seemed at first not to Iiear, 
 but the sounds lingered on his ear, and 
 he rephed — 
 
 ^' True. You are generous and sincere. 
 Perhaps it is a vain qualm that disturbs 
 me. I will tell you, anon, my determina- 
 tion.'' 
 
 He spoke in a hurried manner, and 
 retired while yet speaking, as if to con- 
 ceal the emotion which he could not 
 subdue. 
 
 The manner in which his intelligence 
 had been received embarrassed Edmund 
 not a little, but he had not time to muse 
 on it, for Mariana now entered, and in 
 her presence, he was conscious of but 
 one feeling, affliction at the prospect of 
 losing her. 
 
 She entered with a look of tranquil re- 
 signation, but her eyes were dimmed by 
 sorrow, and a less attentive observer than 
 Edmund might have discovered that she 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 OTHER times; or, 
 
 had recently been in tears. He ap- 
 proached her with tenderness, 
 
 *' Mariana/' said he, ** I derive a 
 mournful satisfaction from seeing you 
 once more^ and alone/' 
 
 " Alas !" she replied, *' I share not 
 your satisfaction. Thus to meet, only to 
 pronounce an eternal adieu, inflicts a 
 pang which both might well have been 
 spared.** 
 
 *^ Not so ; for though denied to enter- 
 tain the hope which I would fain have 
 cherished, to see you even under such cir- 
 cumstances, is a luxury which I would 
 not deny my charmed senses for all the 
 earth affords. But much I grieve to say, 
 my efforts to change the resolution of 
 your uncle have all proved unavailing." 
 
 *^ I know he is not to be shaken. A 
 sense of duty urges him on, and, satisfied 
 that his decision is dictated by anxious 
 love, 1 wish to bow to it without re- 
 pining, but cannot without pain.'' 
 
 "All things conspire to cloud the
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 147 
 
 prospect which I fondly, foolishly trusted, 
 would become so enchantingly bright on 
 my arrival in England. Lord Erpinghani 
 acting most kindly, and believing that his 
 doings would pleasure me, while I was 
 from home bound me by indenture to 
 wed another whose beauty in other days 
 had won my boyish admiration." 
 
 Mariana could not repress a sudden 
 throb at hearing this, but instantly re- 
 covering her firmness, she mildly replied, 
 
 '' May you — may you be happy!" 
 
 " Not with her^ Mariana," was the 
 answer. " Come what may, if you are 
 destined never to be mine, I will lead no 
 other to the hymeneal altar." 
 
 The solemn resolution with which he 
 announced this determination affected 
 her ; she faltered. 
 
 <f Forget me, Edmund — forget me, and 
 be happy." 
 
 " The advice is vain. No ; since you 
 are torn from my view to lead a cloistered 
 life, though I may not be your companion,
 
 148 OTHER TIMES ; OEj 
 
 I will share the same fate. Dismissed 
 the gallant and aspiring projects which 
 once warmed my heart, I give up aU 
 thoughts of earthly happiness, all dreams 
 of fame. While you pass to a convent, 
 I will to a monastery.'' 
 
 " To a monastery !'' 
 
 " I have said it. The same exercises 
 shall unceasingly unite us in thought, and 
 the day may wear away less sadly from 
 the idea, which every passing hour will 
 suggest, that it has brought us nearer to 
 that which shall admit our emancipated 
 spirits to an everlasting union in a happier 
 state of being. May I trust that you will 
 share these feeUngs." 
 
 " O doubt it not ! In this moment 
 which must part us for ever, I forget my 
 former reserve, and freely frankly pro- 
 mise, when I rise to matins, I will think 
 of Edmund. Through the live-long day 
 your name shall have a place in my 
 prayers, be tenderly remembered in the 
 even-song, and when the compline has
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 149 
 
 terminated the appointed duties of the 
 day, my last thought shall dwell on you." 
 
 " Blest assurance ! This shall sweeten 
 penance, and lift my soul above all sense 
 of pain. Remembering that through 
 Mariana I became what I purpose to be, 
 her image will unceasingly attend me, 
 and still suggesting holier hope and 
 higher wishes^ to think on thee shall be 
 rehgion." 
 
 Ferdinand entered. 
 
 " I am at length resolved," he said. 
 *' The situation which you offer, I will 
 accept. Mariana will leave me imme- 
 diately, and I shall be wholly at Lord 
 Erpingham*s service." 
 
 Edmund attempted to express satis- 
 faction, but his eyes were rivetted on 
 Mariana. 
 
 ^\ I see," said Ferdinand, " how your 
 minds are affected. You rightly antici- 
 pate, that from this hour you meet no 
 more. To protract such an interview, 
 h3
 
 1^0 OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 were but to lengthen pain, so let us 
 hasten to separate." 
 
 He took Mariana by the hand, she re- 
 quired the support of his arm. As he 
 sustained, he bent over her with a look 
 of inexpressible tenderness. His eyes 
 reddened, and it was only by a violent 
 effort, which caused a convulsive distor- 
 tion of his features for an instant, that he 
 could refrain from tears. 
 
 " Trust me,'* said he, " my affliction 
 is great, thus rudely to separate hearts 
 formed to bless each other ; but it may 
 not be otherwise. You, Edmund, will one 
 day own that I could not do otherwise. 
 Sadness invades my bosom, but cannot 
 change my purpose/' 
 
 "Must we — must we part ?'* inquired 
 Edmund. 
 
 " There is no alternative," Ferdinand 
 replied, with much agitation. He added, 
 in a tone of decisive firmness, " The 
 decree is irrevocable."
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 151 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 Some strange presages in my mind forebode. 
 The worst of mis'ries or the greatest good. 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 Edmund felt that to change the purpose 
 of Ferdinand, even if the disgrace of 
 CHfFord had not induced Lord Erping- 
 ham to take the step on which he had 
 ventured, was a task beyond his powers, 
 and he retired in despair. His mind was, 
 however fully made up in no case to 
 become the husband of Lady Ehnor, 
 Hope was annihilated, and he now 
 looked for no greater comfort on earth 
 than that which he expected to reaHse 
 in devout seclusion from the world. He 
 w^as concerned that it became necessary 
 to subject Lord Erpingham to new dis- 
 appointment, but, fixed to act on the 
 resolution which he had announced to 
 H 4
 
 15^ OTHER TIMES; OR, 
 
 Mariana, he resolved to communicate it 
 without delay. 
 
 For this purpose he repaired toFickett's- 
 fields. He found his friend, and with 
 him the abbot of Mount Sinai, as the peer 
 was accustomed to call Father Egbert. 
 Though much occupied with his own 
 concerns, Edmund started on learning 
 that he saw the monk, who, according to 
 Clifford, had degraded himself by acts of 
 the most fearful depravity. 
 
 But in the appearance of Father Egbert 
 there was nothing to indicate a dissolute 
 life, or a malignant spirit. His counte- 
 nance was free from wrinkles, but there 
 was nevertheless a sufficient appearance 
 of age to avert the idea that he was un- 
 qualified by years to hold the high situa- 
 tion which he filled. His complexion 
 was rather pale, and even while convers- 
 ing he appeared to be absorbed in con- 
 templation. His large black eye had 
 not that fiery lustre which seems to pierce 
 the object it beholds j but where it rested
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 1.53 
 
 serenely observant, without any effort 
 that could surprise or alarm, it read with 
 faciUty the disposition, the mood, and 
 almost the particular thoughts of the in- 
 dividual who attracted its attention. 
 
 " Behold," said Lord Erpingham, '*the 
 venerable character whom the fallen and 
 wretched man you have lately seen conti- 
 tinues to asperse. This is the worthy 
 and enlightened superior of the priests of 
 the Trinity at Leadenhall. I would you 
 had been here some hour or more ago, 
 then should you have seen what would 
 have carried conviction to your mind of 
 that baseness, on the part of Clifford, 
 which you could scarcely beheve had ex- 
 istence. 
 
 ** Has the holy father laid new proofs 
 before your lordship ?" Edmund in- 
 quired, in a tone of sadness which seemed 
 to Lord Erpingham to border on the 
 sarcastic, and he replied with much 
 gravity — 
 
 " You seem incredulous still j and the 
 H 5
 
 154 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 manner of your question marks a suspi- 
 cion which is most unfounded. The 
 worthy father has brought me proof of 
 his benign disposition, by Jjringing me 
 no proofs of the guilt of his foe, though 
 such, I know, were placed in his hands." 
 
 ** I meant not to express suspicion of 
 this holy person's virtue. But as good 
 and wise men have often been deceived 
 by conspiring circumstances, I would 
 even now venture to hope that you may 
 yet find cause to think Clifford less aban- 
 doned than he has lately appeared." 
 
 " Impossible ! This very day has 
 produced distresshig evidence of his 
 guilt, which had not previously reached 
 me, and which, had it been possible for 
 mercy to conceal it^ would have been 
 consigned to oblivion." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 '* I speak the truth ; and sad I am at 
 heart to own such knowledge of one 
 whom I loved, and respecting whom I 
 promised a dying sister that I ever would
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 155 
 
 regard him as my own. But this good 
 rnan — '* 
 
 " I pray, my lord," interrupted the 
 abbot, *' let me not be named in terms 
 of unmerited praise. Merely to abstain 
 from crime is not virtue. Far from de- 
 serving to be lauded, I have failed in my 
 duty. The Divine Author of our religion 
 enjoined his followers to render good 
 for evil. I have not done this, but have 
 simply avoided returning evil for evil." 
 
 The earnestness of the abbot's man- 
 ner, and the humihty of his speech, were 
 happily in unison with the character 
 v/hich Lord Erpingham had given of 
 him, and Edmund felt the unfavourable 
 sentiments which he had been led to en- 
 tertain already diminished. 
 
 " I will not offend your modesty 
 
 again," said Lord Erpingham. <* The 
 
 narrative which I must recount will 
 
 sufficiently honour you, without praise 
 
 of mine. But the tale must be told to 
 
 Edmund, for it much imports him to 
 H 6
 
 156 OTHER TIMES ', OR, 
 
 know what has chanced. Prepare, youngs 
 man, for disappointment." 
 
 *• Your words provoke surprise my 
 lord ; but^ in truth^ I am at present, as I 
 may hereafter explain, in a situation 
 which leaves me small ground for appre- 
 hension." 
 
 " Thus then, in brief, knowing your 
 ardent character, immediately on your 
 return I sent with all speed a letter to 
 Sir Geoffrey Brandon, requesting him, 
 for that you were arrived, forthwith to 
 repair to London with his fair daughter. 
 I received not that prompt reply which 
 I expected, but to-day my old friend has 
 been with me." 
 
 " I am sorry," said Edmund, " that I 
 knew not of his coming. I could have 
 have wished to state — " 
 
 " Hear me to the end. He came to 
 me this day, and then I found that the 
 delay which I had noted had been occa- 
 sioned by Father Egbert." 
 
 ** This 1 do not understand."
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 1^7 
 
 " Anon you will comprehend right 
 well. That which has been my affliction 
 is, alas ! the cause of equal affliction to 
 my friend. His daughter, that same 
 Elinor whom you so admired — she, the 
 intended partner of your life, has fallen 
 to shame, and deserted her heart-broken, 
 too indulgent parent." 
 
 Lord Erpingham had now reached a 
 point which waked the livehest attention 
 on the part of Edmund. Though he had 
 previously despaired of altering the reso- 
 lutions of Ferdinand, the sudden removal 
 of one difficulty suggested a thought that 
 the other might not prove insuperable. 
 A gleam of hope broke in upon him, but 
 it was blended with sincere sorrow for the 
 amiable being (such he had considered 
 Elinor), whose degradation had been thus 
 unexpectedly announced. 
 
 *' I have since your return," (Lord 
 Erpingham resumed) " told you of the 
 passionate love of retirement w^hich had 
 taken possession of the young lady. This
 
 158 OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 now receives a mournful comment. She 
 has been betrayed by that heartless wretch 
 Chtford. She left her father four 
 months ago. He concealed her flight, 
 hoping to recall her to a sense of duty, 
 but eventually he had the affliction to 
 learn that she was associated with the 
 most profligate and depraved of men ; and 
 he, flckle and faithless as in all the rest, 
 now treats her, so it is reported, with 
 a degree of cruelty, which, though due to 
 her folly> she merited not from him for 
 whom she had sacrificed her home, her 
 friends, her fame, her all." 
 
 " I am sad to hear the tidings ; but are 
 tl^iey certainly true ?" 
 
 " They are. I received them from 
 Sir Geoffrey, who spared no pains to in- 
 form himself of the situation of his once 
 beloved child." 
 
 " I mentioned that I had seen one with 
 Cliflford, whom I considered to be his wife. 
 She was young and lovely, but I recog- 
 nised her not. It is true I saw her but 
 7
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 159 
 
 for a few moments, and her dress and 
 situation were such, that — " 
 
 ** It might not be Elinor that you saw 
 so recently. She has probably been dis- 
 carded to make way for some other 
 victim. Love changed to loathing, — Clif- 
 ford even mocked the fair being he had 
 destroyed, by counselHng her, before one 
 who carried it to her father, to leave him 
 for ever, and return to those whom she 
 has filled with anguish, and covered with 
 dishonour." 
 
 " Verily, this seemeth past belief/' said 
 the abbot, " and this was one cause why 
 I would not be the bearer of the tale 
 which I was solicited to unfold.'* 
 
 ** It does seem past belief,'* Edmund 
 repeated after the abbot, whose incredu- 
 lity filled him with anxiety to atone for 
 the unflivourable thoughts which he had 
 harboured. '* I knew him," he con- 
 tinned, " while at school, to be wild 
 and reckless. Deliberate cruelty I never 
 thought a feature in his character."
 
 160 
 
 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 " But the facts," remarked his lord- 
 ship, " which have transpired, and which 
 cannot be refuted, prove incontestibly, 
 that there is no crime to the perpetration 
 of which he is not equal. The melan- 
 choly tale, it is fit that I should add, Sir 
 Geoffrey solicited this holy father to 
 communicate. He refused to report 
 aught that could make against Clifford, 
 and kept his disgrace from my ears for 
 several days. The injured father at 
 length was compelled, through the vir- 
 tuous reluctance of the abbot to speak sad 
 truths of one who had calumniated him, 
 to unburthen his mind to me himself." 
 '^ Though I despise the affectation of 
 unnecessary humility," said the abbot, 
 "yet, my lord, again I must complain 
 when you praise me so unworthily. If 
 Clifford sinned against me, has not the 
 law^ and yet more, the scorn of all good 
 men, severely punished his offending. It 
 evinces no extraordinary virtue, that I do 
 not pursue a man thus fallen."
 
 THE MONKS OJF LEADENHALL. 16 1 
 
 These words were uttered with an air 
 of manly sincerity, which satisfied Ed- 
 mund that he spoke from his heart. 
 
 " I admire, holy sir," he said, ** the 
 sentimeilts which you have expressed, 
 while I perfectly concur with what has 
 fallen from his lordship." 
 
 " I am, I must confess, gratified to 
 hear you say so. It is a happiness on 
 which I did not calculate. Men who 
 wish to act an upright part, from the dis- 
 simulation abroad in the world, are liable 
 to be often mistaken. Blessed is he who 
 feels that his heart can bear the all-search- 
 ing glance of Him, from whom no secrets 
 may be concealed ; but he who, enjoying 
 this solace, has also the felicity to stand 
 well with his fellows, enjoys comfort 
 which is reserved for few." 
 
 The devotion, the candour, the sen- 
 sibility evinced by the abbot, all com- 
 bined to make a deep impression on 
 Edmund. He was reluctant to consider
 
 16^ OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 Clifford the villain he was described to 
 be, but he could not question the piety 
 of the monk. He disdained that servile 
 complaisance which would take up the 
 opinion of Lord Erpingham, because it 
 was the opinion of Lord Erpingham ; but 
 when he calmly reviewed the facts which 
 had been stated to him, it certainly 
 seemed more probable, that a guilty man 
 would lay claim to innocence, as Clifford 
 had done, than that a man, so esteemed, 
 so saint-like as Egbert was, should be 
 the callous perjured monster Clifford 
 had described him to be. 
 
 This reasoning came over his mind 
 with increasing force, till, at last, it 
 became perfectly irresistible. The solemn 
 energy of Clifford was not forgotten ; but 
 then he recalled the churlish sternness 
 with which he had spoken to the female 
 his companion, his own admissions, and 
 the shame and confusion with which he 
 had retired from one who knew the 
 whole story of his crime. In fine,
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. l63 
 
 Edmund could no longer doubt, that 
 Lord Erpingham had come to a just con- 
 clusion. This he stated to that person- 
 age when the abbot had retired, and the 
 unhesitating manner in which his lord- 
 ship vouched for its correctness, the de- 
 scription which he gave of Father Egbert's 
 exemplary life, and the details furnished 
 of the evidence which had established 
 the charge preferred against Clifford, all 
 tended to fortify the opinion which he 
 had formed. 
 
 On his own account, he did not share 
 the regret of the peer for tlie fall of 
 Elinor. It supplied a new motive for 
 endeavouring to prevail on Ferdinand to 
 consent to further delay ; and the moment 
 he could break from Lord Erpingham, 
 he hastened to prefer a request that 
 Mariana might not yet be passed to a 
 convent. 
 
 He found Ferdinand alone and in 
 tears. His accustomed firmness was no 
 more, and even in the presence of Ed-
 
 164 OTHER TIMES; OR, 
 
 mund, though he attempted to conceal^ 
 he could not dissipate the weakness which 
 had come over him. On being ques- 
 tioned as to the cause, he replied in a 
 tremulous voice, 
 
 " It is over. — The pang of separation 
 was a severe one — but it is past." 
 *' Of what do you speak ?" 
 *^ Of my separation from Mariana." 
 " Have you parted from her so soon ?" 
 ** I have — I have. We shall meet ho 
 more in this life, and for the next, no 
 matter — I must not think of it — yet I 
 cannot but fear that our separation is 
 eternal." 
 
 " Your words fill my heart with afflic- 
 tion, but it seems most strange that feel- 
 ing thus, you should act as you have 
 done." 
 
 ^' Press me not on this point. — I am 
 the sport of Fate. Denied to act as I 
 could wish, a destructive torrent carries 
 me away, and that it must prove destruc- 
 tive is my best consolation."
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 165 
 
 " You labour under a delusion. Your 
 mind is diseased, and has conjured up 
 some hideous phantom to destroy your 
 peace." 
 
 " Would it were a phantom ?'* 
 
 ** Mariana cannot yet have pronounced 
 the irrevocable vow. I pray you make 
 some pause. Trust me, I have more 
 potent reasons than ever for asking this. 
 At all events, before she bids a final 
 adieu to the world, let her partake with 
 you of the hospitality of Lord Erping- 
 ham." 
 
 " Lord Erpingham,'* said Ferdinand 
 suddenly resuming his accustomed firm- 
 ness, " shall never gaze upon ^" He 
 
 paused, and his eye glanced at Edmund 
 as if to ascertain whether what he was 
 about to say had been anticipated. He 
 added sternly, but with calmness, '* he 
 shall not gaze upon Mariana," 
 
 " When you shall know the person of 
 whom you speak, I indulge the persua- 
 sion that your ideas will be different.
 
 166 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 That in some cases you would do well to 
 prevent Mariana from being looked upon 
 by the great and the opulent, I admit ; 
 but Lord Erpingham was never one of 
 those who could meanly abuse the ad- 
 vantages of his station," 
 
 <^ Was he not ?" Ferdinand inquired, 
 with most significant eagerness. 
 
 " I speak not the language of partial 
 affection, but that of truth. When you 
 know him, you will reverence his vir- 
 tues. 
 
 " I hope not." 
 
 '« Why so ?'' 
 
 " Because it would make the discharge 
 of my duty more painful." 
 
 " I understand you not ?'* 
 
 Ferdinand looked round in confusion, 
 like one just awakened from a dream. 
 
 "What have I said ?" he demanded. 
 
 " You have said that the virtues of 
 Lord Erpingham would make the dis- 
 charge of your duty towards him more 
 painful than it would otherwise be. Can 
 
 II
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL, 167 
 
 you seriously mean to say you would 
 prefer being connected with one of an 
 opposite character?" 
 
 " O ! no ; such was not my thought. 
 But no more of this. Probe no further, I 
 beseech you, the wound which your skill 
 cannot heal. Heed not the incoherent 
 expressions which may have fallen from 
 me. Take me to Fickett's-fields when you 
 will," he added, with an air of alacrity 
 ** for, trust me, I live but to do my 
 duty by Lord Erpingham,"
 
 168 OTHER TIMES} OR, 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 I see them sit, they linger yet ; 
 
 Avengers of their native land. 
 
 With me in dreadful harmony they join, 
 
 And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. 
 
 Gray, 
 
 No obstacle appeared now to lie in the 
 way of the execution of that design 
 which Edmund had formed. The pious 
 calm Egbert enjoyed, and vt^hich, from 
 the proofs every passing day afforded 
 ot his charity and virtue, Edmund 
 had reason to suppose was bestowed by 
 an approving conscience, seeking and 
 finding happiness in the performance 
 of duty, to him appeared most enviable. 
 The engagements into which Lord Erping- 
 ham had entered were completely set 
 aside. Though in the instrument by 
 which Edmund was sold, two sisters had 
 been named, as the choice originally
 
 THE MOxNfKS OF LEADENHALL. 169 
 
 held out to him could no longer be offered, 
 it was not pretended that the bargain 
 could stand, and indeed Sir Geoffrey was 
 too much humbled by the conduct of 
 Elinor to think more of claiming Lord 
 Erpingham's alliance. Edmund therefore 
 had only to obtain the consent and ap- 
 probation of Lord Erpingham, before he 
 devoted himself to a monastic life. 
 
 Ferdinand was introduced to Lord 
 Erpingham, who soon found that his ta- 
 lents and acquirements had been any- 
 thing but overrated. His perfect ac- 
 quaintance with the Spanish was of great 
 use, but his knowledge of America and 
 the native languages gave him still more 
 importance. The ability with which he 
 executed the duties confided to him could 
 not be surpassed j and his undeviating 
 punctuality commanded the esteem of 
 his noble employer. 
 
 Edmund witnessed this with satisfac- 
 tion^ but he looked in vain for that grati- 
 tude which the conduct of Lord Erping- 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 ham might be expected to inspire. Ge- 
 nerous and ardent as he had found Fer- 
 dinand in other circumstances, he was 
 amazed at what he remarked where Lord 
 Erpingham was concerned. Profoundly 
 tranquil, he uttered no complaint, but 
 nothing of exultation ever appeared in 
 his manner. Cold and calm, he seemed to 
 court labour ; but from the affable friend- 
 ship, and liberal remuneration with 
 which Lord Erpingham was disposed to 
 requite it, Ferdinand shrunk with invin- 
 cible repugnance. This conduct Ed- 
 mund connected with his friend's sepa- 
 ration from Mariana, and sometimes a 
 doubt came over his mind as to the rela- 
 tionship between them. He had no rea- 
 son to suspect that Ferdinand had sought 
 to deceive, but the inward grief which 
 evidently preyed on him Edmund found 
 so similar to what he experienced, that he 
 felt half persuaded the origin of their 
 sorrow was the same, and that Ferdinand, 
 like himself, was a lover.
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. I7I 
 
 " You appear sad, young man," said 
 Lord Erpingham, one day when they 
 were alone ; *' is there any thing here dis^ 
 quiets you that it may be in my power 
 to remove ?" ''* 
 
 " Nothing, my lord." 
 
 " If in my arrangements you meet 
 aught that interferes with your comfort, 
 fear not to name it. I dare not promise 
 that the evil will cease, for something 
 may disturb which it shall be out of my 
 power to reach, but in no case can I hold 
 it an offence that you direct my attention 
 to the thing which stands between you 
 and comfort." 
 
 *^ You have wisely spoken, my lord ; 
 there may be evils which it is not in 
 your power to cure." 
 
 " If any one in my household has 
 treated you, for that you are a stranger, 
 disparagingly, my authority shall be 
 promptly exerted to do you right." 
 
 " It needs not : here I have not been 
 other than courteously, kindly treated."
 
 17^ OTHER TIMES; OK, 
 
 ^* Then must your sorrow have root 
 elsewhere. It should ill become me to 
 pry into that which you desire to conceal ; 
 but if the oppressed heart could derive 
 relief from communicating t^e cause of 
 its affliction to another, let not the rela- 
 ti\'e situations in which we stand forbid 
 disclosure. I do not feel it shame to be 
 the friend of those who are deemed my 
 inferiors, and besides that, I admire your 
 merit I am the more drawn towards 
 you from its having been recently, not 
 past an hour ago, reported to me that you 
 first saw the light of heaven in the newly 
 discovered continent." 
 
 Ferdinand bent a look of inquiry and 
 surprise on the nobleman, while he 
 asked, 
 
 " Have you, my lord ? and can that 
 endear any one to you ?" 
 
 " It does. Were it from curiosity alone, 
 I should prize one rich in European 
 knowledge as you are, whom I knew to 
 be a native of that vast theatre for ambi- 
 tion and enterprize."
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 173 
 
 «^ And crime," added Ferdinand. 
 
 " And crime, as you truly remark. In 
 this I feel as you do ; and recalling the 
 frightful enormities which have there been 
 perpetrated, I shudder for the guilt in- 
 curred." 
 
 ** Well may your lordship do so.'* 
 
 ** I see," said Lord Erpingham, ** that 
 you have a strong sense of the in- 
 justice which has degraded the men who 
 might have been the benefactors of a 
 world." 
 
 ** 1 have, my lord ; and scarcely can I 
 withold my tongue from vain rage and 
 wild execration, while my mind dwells on 
 the awful topic. But an avenging God 
 has seen the horrors which have marked 
 the murderer's track : his wrath pursues 
 them, and even now his hand is stretched 
 forth to visit crime with merited punish- 
 ment." 
 
 " I doubt it not. The Deity, always 
 waking, cannot be baffled by the wicked 
 I S
 
 174 
 
 who persuade themselves that their fool- 
 ish cunning may avail." 
 
 " Mos^ true is your lordship's speech. 
 Just vengeance cannot be defrauded; and 
 he who now enjoys greatness, and seems 
 securely in possession of wealth purchased 
 by blood, may yet come to a bloody 
 end/' 
 
 " Or if/' returned the peer, ^* that 
 visible retribution should not be exacted 
 on earth, we may still rest assured that it 
 will not pass with impunity." 
 
 " But there are cases in which ven- 
 geance may not be deferred till after 
 Nature has claimed the breath of the 
 sinner at the hands of Age. Feeble and 
 defenceless as the Mexicans were found, 
 all the original invaders did not pass to 
 their homes." 
 
 " I know it well, Ferdinand. Some of 
 the Spaniards fell by the weapons of the 
 native warriors, while others not so for- 
 tunate were taken alive." 
 
 '< Yes y and the wrathful, but impotent
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 175 
 
 defenders of their land, made sacrifice of 
 them to the god of war. The victims 
 were few, and the masters of their fate 
 sought by the extremity of pain inflicted 
 on them to requite all their wrongs. The 
 thought was weak and vain, and the dis- 
 mal superstition which countenanced it 
 I deplore, not less than the barbarities 
 which demanded punishment." 
 
 ** You speak as becomes a man born a 
 Mexican, but made by education a 
 Christian." 
 
 " Let the forfeited life be taken, where 
 just vengeance exacts it, but not with 
 torture ! It is enough that the trans- 
 gressing spirit is dismissed from the 
 fleshy home which might for a series of 
 years detain it from its account, and 
 hastened to the bar of the Eternal. But 
 my soul abhors the vain fury which 
 could tear open the bosom of the de- 
 voted, that the avenger^s expecting eye 
 might feast on the last throbs of a dying 
 heart." 
 
 I 4
 
 176 OTHER TIMES; OR, 
 
 ^* Yet in these savage delights I well 
 remember the Mexicans revelled." 
 
 " It was the insane rage of war which 
 madly answered outrage by outrage, 
 and led the untaught invaded, to copy 
 the horrible fierceness of their civilised 
 invaders.'* 
 
 " Humanity must deplore the excesses 
 on both sides." 
 
 *^ True, my lord ; but these, the effects 
 of blind rage, I view as the unavoidable 
 consequences of bringing hostile bodies 
 of men into collision, and hold them to 
 fall short of that depravity, which, deli- 
 berately exercising its powers of reasoning, 
 can calmly, sordidly devote to destruc- 
 tion those whom humanity — whom 
 nature — whom God himself enjoins man 
 to protect and cherish/' 
 
 " I cannot dissent from your theory ; 
 but I am not informed of any particular 
 instances connected with the invasion of 
 Mexico which furnish illustration,'*
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 177 
 
 ^* Are you not, niy lord?*' enquired 
 Ferdinand, with an air of surprise. 
 
 ^* Your question/' said Lord Erping- 
 ham, ^^ is put so emphatically, that it 
 should seem you marvel at my ignor- 
 ance.'* 
 
 '' That of which I speak is so deeply 
 imprinted on my own memory, that I 
 forgot it is not equally well known to 
 those who have not been resident at 
 Zempoalla." 
 
 ** At Zempoalla, said you?" 
 
 '* Aye, my lord," 
 
 '* And came you thence ? 
 
 '* I was born there. But you seem 
 moved : it is you who now question 
 emphatically." 
 
 " At some convenient season I may 
 explain why I do so ; for the present, it 
 is my object to gain not to impart in- 
 formation. Suffice it then to say, that I 
 am interested in the fate of certain parties 
 whom you may have known." 
 I 5
 
 178 OTHER times; or, 
 
 " Is it possible ! Can your lordship be 
 interested for any one — at Zempoalla ?" 
 
 ^* I would know if you have ever heard of 
 a cazique from Mexico^ who there abided ?" 
 
 «< What was his name ?'* 
 
 '' Teutila.^' 
 
 " I have seen him." 
 
 " Know you where he is now ?'* 
 
 " He is where all must go — he is in 
 the grave." 
 
 " Is that certain?" 
 
 " I can avouch it, for I was present 
 when he breathed his last." 
 
 " What time has since elapsed ?" 
 
 '« Ten years." 
 
 " Then the information which I had 
 obtained was true. And yet an after 
 report reached me that he survived. You 
 were very young at the time to which 
 you refer. Are you sure that you con- 
 found not the person of whom I speak 
 with some other cazique, who might 
 die where you chanced to be ?" 
 
 " I make no mistake. While I live, 
 6
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 179 
 
 the death of Teutila can never be con- 
 founded in my mind with that of any 
 other mortal born of woman." 
 
 " Tell me," said Lord Erpingham, 
 eagerly, ** tell me if you know aught of 
 Teutila' s grandchildren ?" 
 
 ** I did not know that he had grand- 
 children." 
 
 " Then it cannot be the same." 
 
 " There was but one cazique so called. 
 Teutila had one grandchild." 
 
 " There were two children." 
 
 ^* He of whom I speak never had but 
 one grandchild, and that one survived 
 him." 
 
 " Was it boy or girl ?" 
 
 " It was a daughter." 
 
 " Did you remain long at Zempoalla 
 after Teutila's death ?" 
 
 ** But two months." 
 
 ** Can you recall to memory how 
 that child, the grand-daughter, was be- 
 stowed ?" 
 
 " She was given to the care of an 
 I 6
 
 180 OTHER times; ok, 
 
 aged relative. Though I made short 
 stay in those parts after Teutila was no 
 more, I was there long enough to see 
 them take leave of Zempoalla." 
 
 " Did they intend crossing the sea ?" 
 
 " They did.*' 
 
 ** And whither did they shape their 
 course ? Know you not that ?*' 
 
 " That was a secret. When they had 
 withdrawn themselves, no one remained 
 in Zempoalla who knew the object of 
 their departure, or whither they went." 
 
 " And have you since by no chance 
 heard of their journeyings ?" 
 
 Ferdinand replied, with some hesita^ 
 tion, "Since that period, ray lord, I have 
 passed my days in Europe, and have had 
 no opportunities of seeing those by whom 
 Teutila was formerly known." 
 
 Lord Erpingham turned from Ferdi- 
 nand with a hurried but faltering step ; 
 Ferdinand looked on him with un- 
 moved composure, but he felt some- 
 what curious to know the cause of the
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 181 
 
 emotion he remarked, from Lord Erping- 
 ham's own lips. Tiie peer had seated 
 himself, and covered the upper part oi' 
 his face with one hand, when Ferdi- 
 nand approached him, and with a view 
 of inducing explanation, remarked on 
 his apparent disorder, 
 
 '* You seem disturbed, my lord ?" 
 ^* It is all in vain," Lord Erpingham 
 exclaimed. ** Could the days that are 
 passed be recalled, without withdrawing 
 from us the knowledge which their lapse 
 has bestowed, we might shape our course 
 better." 
 
 " This, my lord, I say it not to flatter 
 1/ou, is felt by the best and wisest of the 
 sons of men. But happy is he who 
 merely finds, like your lordship, that 
 with superior means he might have passed 
 more happily through life. How different 
 must the feelings of such a man be, from 
 those of the wretch, who, devoted to sel- 
 fish pleasures, can recal as he approaches 
 the grave but the memory of thosa
 
 18^ OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 whom he blasted with his pretended love, 
 whose child owes him but scorn, and 
 who finds, at that advanced period of life 
 when penitence can little avail, since 
 time has taken from him the power to 
 sin, that rank cannot save him from the 
 attacks of conscience, nor affluence pur- 
 chase for his troubled spirit even a 
 brief respite from remorse." 
 
 Lord Erpingham had recovered his 
 wonted serenity ; he replied, 
 
 " You speak feelingly, with perfect truth 
 and correct reasoning. I can conceive no 
 situation in which a human being would 
 be more deplorable, than that which you 
 describe.*' 
 
 " Methinks there is one, my lord,*' 
 Ferdinand rejoined. ** It is that of the in- 
 durated monster who can review such 
 conduct without being deeply, and not 
 only deeply, but permanently afflicted by 
 their recollection. We see the perfection 
 of the dreadful, while regarding an out- 
 cast from salvation whose heart can re-
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 18S 
 
 pose, because many unrepenting years 
 have made him familiar with guilt, and 
 repeated crimes subdued natural sensi- 
 bility, till he has become callous to shame, 
 and dead to all feeling." 
 
 Ferdinand looked stedfastly on Lord 
 Erpingham while he spoke. The peer 
 assented to the justice of his remarks ; 
 but other matters demanded his attention, 
 and their conversation was not con- 
 tinued.
 
 184 OTHER TIMES : OH, 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 But if I must afflicted be," 
 
 To suit some wise design, 
 Then man my soul with firm resolves, 
 
 To bear and not repine. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 When Lord Erpingham learned the re- 
 solution of Edmund, it afforded him ih< 
 finite surprise. At first he regarded 
 it as the offspring of a momentary 
 passion, which would soon be forgotten 
 with the resolution itself, and he could 
 hardly think of entertaining it seriously. 
 But when he found that his young friend 
 had calmly, and on reflection, made up 
 his mind to pass the remainder of his 
 days in a monastery, he endeavoured to 
 make him acquainted with all those cir- 
 cumstances, which he considered likely to 
 be found irksome to one of his years*
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 1S5 
 
 He did not very strenuously oppose the 
 project; for he admitted that his own 
 life would have passed away more happily 
 had he come to a similiar determination 
 in his youth. Not considering himself 
 to be fully qualified to advise on this 
 subject, he insisted on his consulting 
 with Father Egbert, whose wise and 
 disinterested counsel he was satisfied 
 might be relied on with perfect confi- 
 dence, and for this purpose he accom- 
 panied Edmund to the establishment over 
 which that sanctified personage pre- 
 sided. 
 
 It was to the monastery of Leadenhali 
 that they repaired, which stood on part of 
 the site of the market which now bears 
 that name. Though the reforming, or to 
 use a more appropriate and intelligible 
 expression, the rapacious hand of King 
 Henry, had already made free with the 
 funds of divers religious establishments, 
 tlie house of the priests of the Trinitj/ at 
 Leadenhali continued to flourish unmo-
 
 186 OTHER times; or, 
 
 I 
 
 lested by power, and enjoyed so high a 
 reputation on account of the exemplary 
 character of its inhabitants, that no one 
 who visited the market for grain which 
 then existed could anticipate, that the 
 hymn which ushered in the morning, 
 the solemn strains which accompanied 
 the celebration of high mass, and the 
 " even song*' then daily heard on 
 that spot, would, even in the lapse of 
 ages, be compelled to give way to the 
 clamorous cries of ** What d'ye buy ? — 
 What d'ye buy ?" with which it now re- 
 sounds. 
 
 Admitted to the apartment of the ab- 
 bot, Lord Erpingham with little delay ac- 
 quainted him with the cause of their visit. 
 Egbert's surprise was so extreme, that 
 for some moments it actually bereft him 
 of speech, and he gazed on each of theai 
 alternately in silent wonder, as if he 
 doubted the evidence of his senses. 
 
 ** 1 see," said Lord Erpingham, " you 
 marvel much at the occasion of our
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 187 
 
 coming hither; but thus the matter stands. 
 The youth before you had fixed his affec- 
 tions on a fair maiden. He had reason to 
 hope that she plight be his wife ; but by 
 untoward circumstances she has been 
 withdrawn from him. 
 
 " By death ?'* enquired the abbot. 
 
 '^ Not by death. She lives, but he may 
 think of her no more; and for the grief 
 which this causes to prey upon his mind, 
 he believes the world can afford no con- 
 solation but that which a religious life 
 may supply. He would at once enter a 
 monastery, but this would I in no wise 
 permit till he had taken counsel from 
 your wisdom and experience." 
 
 " I could rejoice," Egbert replied, ^* in 
 the prospect thus held out to me of win- 
 ning from the world a soul to God, but 
 that I fear the grief which now oppresses 
 him being abated, his heart will awake 
 to desire the gilded vanities of life." 
 
 " Never,'' said Edmund ; " though left 
 to roam at large, and gaze on all the
 
 188 OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 allurements that could be set forth to 
 wake a taste for sensual pleasure." 
 
 *^ This you can easily imagine, under 
 the pressure of the moment ; but when 
 time hath soothed your sorrow, then do I 
 fear the worldly spirit within a frame so 
 youthful will delight to recal the visions 
 in which it formerly delighted." 
 
 ** Fear me not, holy sir. Secluded 
 from the world as I shall be, what is there 
 within the walls of a monastery that can 
 recal the past ? Trust me, I hope in time 
 to attain the happy elevation of soul 
 which lifts you above the low desires 
 that agitate others. You will not deny 
 that you enjoy exemption from these, the 
 most appalling infirmities of our nature ; 
 and 1 dare flatter myself, that you will 
 not disdain to instruct me how to imitate 
 the virtue I admire." 
 
 Egbert looked on the young man for 
 some moments. He shook his head, as 
 contemplating with pain the difficult task 
 which he desired to impose upon himself,
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 189 
 
 and answered, in the mild accents of pa- 
 ternal admonition, 
 
 '* It is true, that I — most humbly I 
 thank him who willed that it should be 
 so — have so far triumphed over my natu- 
 ral weakness, that 1 have ceased to crave 
 those earthly gratifications which many 
 seek at risk of their salvation. But I 
 will not disguise from you, that the strug- 
 gle was long and painful which my soul 
 had to sustain against the tempter. In 
 vain did I bend in prayer — in vain did 
 I look on the symbol of mercy — nay, in 
 vain did I touch the very wood of the 
 true cross from Calvary : my rebellious 
 thoughts still roamed from the objects 
 on which they ought to have rested, to 
 unhallowed themes of contemplation." 
 
 There was a touching earnestness in 
 the manner of the ecclesiastic, which 
 proved that he could feel for the weakness 
 he described, however remote it might 
 be from his own bosom. 
 
 After a pause^ which neither of his
 
 190 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 visitors attempted to interrupt, Egbert 
 resumed, 
 
 " So it hath been with me ; and no- 
 thing to conceal from friends so dear, 
 though shame and remorse must attend 
 the confession, I will acknowledge that 
 niy mind was thus disturbed even on 
 sacred ground, and while at the head of 
 a fraternity who looked up to me for 
 example. Thus did I feel beneath the 
 consecrated roof of the monastery of 
 Mount Sinai, and even while these eyes 
 were fixed on awful Horeb^ whence God 
 vouchsafed to be seen by mortal man, 
 when descending to earth he gave the 
 law to Moses." 
 
 The solemn tone in which he spoke 
 inspired religious awe. Lord Erpingham 
 and Edmund listened with interest and 
 with reverence, but were silent. 
 
 " I believe you are sincere,** Egbert 
 went on, " in what you now profess, but 
 you imperfectly comprehend the course 
 of life which you must lead in a monas-
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 191 
 
 tery, if your present wishes were attended 
 to, and you once became a member of 
 this fraternity." 
 
 " Easily can I comprehend that I 
 have much to learn, but of the general 
 character of the duties and observances 
 which will be required of me, I think 
 I am not wholly ignorant/' 
 
 " But imagination is a cheat, which 
 decks every object with colours not of 
 right belonging to it. How often do we 
 revel in scenes of cloudless happiness, 
 which we flatter ourselves we shall not 
 fail to realise, when some wished for 
 period arrives : — it comes, and all is 
 storms and darkness, anguish and despair. 
 Your fancy has now been at work on a 
 monastic life, and you image to yourself a 
 state of calm repose, of unruffled serenity, 
 in which life may sweetly glide away, 
 bright and tranquil as the meandering 
 brook which you have sometimes gazed 
 upon in the evening of a summer's day. 
 But if such your expectation, assuredly
 
 192 OTHER TIMES; OR, 
 
 you will be disappointed. The path to 
 heaven is thorny ; — pain must be en- 
 dured and mortifications sustained, such 
 as may give your fortitude severer trial 
 than you would voluntarily endure.'* 
 
 ** To avoid such pains is not my ob- 
 ject ; I no more covet indolent repose 
 than animated pleasure. The duties to 
 which you allude will occupy my mind, 
 and sacred hope, still promising a happier 
 life, make this not comfortless." 
 
 " But can you bear the ills of poverty ? 
 These form a part of our discipline. 
 Your garment shall be coarse, and often- 
 times your meals, in place of the sump- 
 tuous banquets to which you are now 
 bidden, shall yield but bread and water. 
 Never may you forth alone. On Wed- 
 nesday and Saturday you will eat but 
 twice in each day ; and from Septuage- 
 sima till Easter you shall eat no flesh at 
 all. Should you quarrel with your bro- 
 ther^ you must eat your food for seven 
 days from the bare ground. While at
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 193 
 
 meals you may not converse as you are 
 now wont to do, and when you retire 
 to the dormitory, silence must be ob- 
 served.'* 
 
 " To all such regulations I would 
 willingly conform." 
 
 *' If, indeed, your frame of mind be 
 so perfect, I have little more to urge. 
 This only, duty to my Lord and regard 
 for you, compels me to add, if luxury 
 or rest are the objects of your desire, they 
 are not to be sought in a monastery. 
 You must be poor, abstemious and obe- 
 dient ; when you would sleep you shall 
 be required to be waking ; when desirous 
 of eating you must fast ; and when you 
 would go forth you shall be forcibly de- 
 tained." 
 
 " Such restraint will for me be need- 
 less j for being once entered, I shall wish 
 to come out no more." 
 
 *' I," said Lord Erpingham^ '* concur 
 with our holy friend in thinking this ex- 
 cess of melancholy must abate, and a time 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 may come when you will think differ- 
 ently." 
 
 " If I should wish to go forth at all, it 
 would be to seek your Lordship ; but as 
 I know it will pleasure you to learn that 
 I find all I desire within the walls of my 
 intended retreat, it is my purpose to 
 wean myself so wholly from the wish of 
 seeing the world, that even for such a 
 purpose I will not forth, but shall rest 
 satisfied with hearing that your charity 
 continues to bless the friendless till — I 
 cannot w^ish the day may be other than 
 distant — you shall be called to heaven." 
 " Resolved as you are," said Lord 
 Erpingham, ** I will not seek to make you 
 regret that you have come to a deter- 
 mination which it is not in my power 
 to change. But I would still suggest 
 that you may do well to consider of those 
 restrictions and privations to which, if 
 you devote yourself to a religious life, 
 you must submit.'* 
 
 ^* Heed them not, my lord. If ever
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 195 
 
 they give me pain, I am sure it will only 
 rise from the reflection that similar hard- 
 ships must be endured by one less capa- 
 ble of bearing them than I am. If the 
 pains to be sustained are sharp, I shall 
 partake of the consolations of those who 
 willingly bear them now." 
 
 " Questionless, you will," said Egbert, 
 " and you err not in supposing that they 
 are great. It will be your happy lot to 
 claim a share in aUthe good actions which 
 have been performed by the brother- 
 hood. You will receive the kiss of 
 peace, which it is mine on divers occa- 
 sions to bestow on the fraternity ; and 
 when the host is carried to the sick, 
 you in your turn shall enjoy the distinc- 
 tion of bearing the sponge filled with 
 holy water, which it is meet and fitting 
 should be used on such occasions." 
 
 The abbot looked while he spoke, as 
 
 if he anticipated some exclamation of 
 
 rapture from Edmund, at learning that 
 
 he was to participate in advantages so 
 
 k2
 
 196 OTHER TIMES J aR, 
 
 important. In this he was not gratified, 
 for the grief which induced Edmund to 
 act as he did, made him insensible to 
 any distinction that it might be the ob- 
 ject of ordhiary devotion or of ecclesi- 
 astical ambition to gain. Egbert made 
 no remark on his apathy, but proceeded 
 to mention other boons which he might 
 possibly receive. If denied to dance, 
 " save at Christmas and other honest 
 times of recreatioii,*' he was informed, 
 that he should be allowed to assist in 
 the representation of those sacred my- 
 steries, which w^ere annually performed. 
 Though the youngest brother in the first 
 year was generally required to be the 
 representative o^ Satan, Egbert announ- 
 ced to Edmund that he thought this 
 might be avoided. At all events he pro- 
 mised to use his best exertions, to save 
 him from the devil It would be un- 
 reasonable to expect that he could be- 
 come at once the representative of Fa- 
 ther, Son, or Holj/ Ghost j but he assured
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 197 
 
 Lord Erpingham that he had reason to 
 beheve he could prevail upon the bro- 
 thers to agree that Edmund should be 
 one of the angels. He stated with 
 much exultation that the monastery was 
 rich in what would now be called 
 ** theatrical properties," inasmuch as it 
 boasted the possession of four chevelures, 
 or perukes, to be worn by as many 
 cherubhn, besides halo, and white and 
 Jiaxen beards^ for the first and second 
 persons of the Trinity. Moreover they 
 had dyed cloths strained on timber repre- 
 senting heaven^ and an elegantly painted 
 wooden tomb, which was used when they 
 acted at Easter " the Resurrection of 
 Christ." <« Here," said he, addressing 
 himself to Lord Erpingham, as if re- 
 solved at once to dispel all regret for 
 the loss of his young friend, *^ here shaU 
 Edmund be placed, if my voice may be 
 at all attended to. It shall then be his 
 important duty, when the H0I2/ Vir^gin 
 and Mary Magdalen knock without the
 
 19^ OTHER TIMES, OR 
 
 tomb, to demand from within * Whom 
 seek ye ?' and when they as is the man- 
 ner, after the language of the Gospel, 
 give answer * We seek Jesus of Naza- 
 reth/ it will be for Edmund, all attired in 
 white^ and wearing one of the chevelures 
 which I before mentioned, to reply, 
 * He whom you seek is not here,^ '' 
 
 The advantages thus held out did not 
 particularly exhilarate Edmund ; but far- 
 cical as they now appear, Lord Erping- 
 ham, who with all his virtues and discern- 
 ment owned a strong attachment to, and 
 veneration for the ancient usages of the 
 church ; considered them, if not of the 
 first importance, as not at all to be de- 
 rided.
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL, 199 
 
 CHAR XIII. 
 
 Nothyng is to man so dere 
 
 As womanys love yn gode manere. 
 
 Robert de Brunne. 
 
 It has already been hinted, that if the 
 abbot calculated on making a monastery 
 more agreeable to Edmund than it would 
 otherwise have seemed, by describing the 
 histrionic glory which might await him, 
 he did not greatly succeed. To be dressed 
 to represent an angel, and even to act 
 the important part in the tomb of which 
 Egbert had spoken, were matters of no 
 importance in his estimation. He indeed 
 regarded them with somewhat of distaste, 
 and would have been rather pleased than 
 otherwise to have learned that such 
 exhibitions were not considered use- 
 ful or necessary. But his purpose re- 
 K 4
 
 !^00 OTHER TIMES; OR, 
 
 mained the same, and Lord Erpingham no 
 longer opposed his resolution to join the 
 priests of the Trinity at Leadenhall. The 
 piety and intelligence of the abbot com- 
 manded his admiration, and the charity 
 with which he always spoke of Clifford 
 when he had occasion to mention him, 
 proved, what indeed seemed completely 
 established by other circumstances, that 
 Egbert had been calumniated, and Ed- 
 mund felt much satisfaction at the idea 
 of putting himself under the government 
 of the holy father, whom he had formerly 
 viewed from credulity, which he now 
 regarded as culpable, with distrust. 
 
 However creditable to the brotherhood 
 the acquisition of Edmund might prove, 
 Egbert was sufficiently disinterested to 
 call upon him in the strongest manner to 
 reconsider his resolution. To do this, 
 Edmund declared was utterly useless, 
 and he therefore desired at once to take 
 the irrevocable vow. But the abbot re-
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 201 
 
 fused to comply with his request, and in- 
 sisted on his going through the usual 
 period of probation. Edmund was forced 
 to yield ; but he declared that from the 
 moment of entering the house, he should 
 consider that he parted from the world 
 for ever. 
 
 Ferdinand witnessed with unaffected 
 sorrow the sacrifice which Edmund was 
 about to make. He viewed it as the 
 tenderest mark of affection which a lover 
 could offer to the memory of the mistress 
 of his affections, but he laboured most 
 earnestly to dissuade his friend from carry- 
 ing his resolution into effect. He repre- 
 sented to him, that he need not despair of 
 meeting with brighter beauties under 
 happier circumstances — under circum- 
 stances which could present no bar to their 
 union with him ; and he conjured him not 
 to waste those energies in a monastery 
 which might, with his prospects, be called 
 into action for the benefit of his country* 
 k5
 
 ^02 OTHER times; or, 
 
 But never did Ferdinand, while anxious 
 to move him from his purpose^, drop one 
 word that could awake the slightest hope 
 in the bosom of Edmundj that if he did 
 so the fate of Mariana might be changed. 
 Of her he spoke not ; a sigh would some- 
 times escape him when he heard her 
 name, but it was invariably his object to 
 regard her as^ one that was no more of the 
 world. 
 
 Edmund became a probationer in the 
 house of the priests of the Trinity. He was 
 received with little form, but with much 
 cordiality. Egbert preached a sermon on 
 the occasion, in which he again set forth 
 the importance of maturely considering 
 the nature of a religious life, before a no- 
 vice decided to embrace it. He at the 
 same time dwelt most emphatically on the 
 impossibility of allowing him, who had 
 once been admitted, to recall his vow. 
 The conduct of the church he likened in 
 this instance to that of a father having 
 a sick son, who could only be cured by
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL, 206 
 
 the knife and cautery. To sustain this 
 operation, the son consented to be bound ; 
 but when he felt the pain, he began to 
 rave and would fain be let loose. This 
 the parent would in no wise permit. And 
 so his sermon continued, " Holy church, 
 having once taken the soul into its care, 
 will not suffer the weakness of the body 
 to risk its perdition. It is most strictly 
 enjoined, that those who become mem- 
 bers of this sacred flock, shall not be 
 suffered to stray from the fold. As a man 
 carries a candle, guarding it with both 
 hands that it shall not be blown out, so 
 must those who govern a monastery en- 
 compass the unsteady brother, that his 
 spiritual light shall not be extinguished. 
 Seeing that the step once taken may not 
 be corrected, fitting it is, that time 
 should be allowed, that it be not ventured 
 rashly. A wren there is, the which hath 
 long slender legs, and is named after 
 Saint Martin. This bird, sitting one day 
 in a tree, yain-gloriously exclaimed, * Little 
 k6
 
 ^04 OTHER TiMESj OR, 
 
 should it matter to me though the heavens 
 fall, since I with my strong legs could 
 support them.* Tumbles an acorn upon 
 his head that same moment, whereupon 
 away darted the foolish boaster, scream- 
 ing as he flew, *0 St. Martin ! St. Martin! 
 save your own poor bird.* There are 
 men who, like unto this foolish bird, think 
 they can bear all that may fall on them, 
 but who sorely repent them, and are 
 affrighted so soon as pain or the very ap- 
 pearance of suffering approacheth.*' 
 
 Other fables from that collection at- 
 tributed to Odo de Ceriton, which con- 
 tributed so largely to enrich the sermons 
 of the middle ages, were used by the 
 monk and turned in the same way, all 
 of which tended to warn the probationer 
 not to persevere in his design unless he 
 was thoroughly satisfied that his constancy 
 could not be shaken. " For he that 
 having once entered, should thereafter 
 desire his enlargement, even like the 
 ass in the fable, who having parted 
 6
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 205 
 
 with half of his tail, prayed that it might 
 be again lengthened, should be laughed 
 to scorn." ^ 
 
 Edmund entered the monastery. The 
 solemnities in which he was required to 
 take a part offended not the melancholy 
 which had taken possession of his mind. It 
 soothed him to reflect, that though divided 
 from Mariana, it was his to share the duties 
 which were imposed upon her. He had 
 no wish to leave the hallowed walls which 
 enclosed him for a moment ; and when 
 Lord Erpingham was brought to him by 
 Egbert, though he welcomed him with 
 all affection, he besought the peer not to 
 think him deficient in gratitude or love, 
 when he prayed him not to risk recalling 
 his thoughts to worldly affairs by repeat- 
 ing the kindly intended visit. 
 
 " Mark you that, my lord," said the 
 abbot, " so pure, so perfect is the holy 
 zeal of this young brother, that he would 
 fain see no more the friend he most es- 
 teems on earth, lest such indulgence should
 
 S06 OTHER times; or, 
 
 carry him back to the vanities which he 
 hath abjured. This saint-like piety 
 your lordship will know how to revere, 
 nor will you think it any disparage- 
 ment that he places you not on a level 
 with that Being to whom lie is wholly 
 devoted." 
 
 The praise thus bestowed in presence 
 of Lord Erpingham, Egbert often re- 
 peated before the rest of the fraternity. 
 They treated Edmund with respect and 
 kindness, but one of them seemed more 
 attentive, though not more respectful 
 than the rest. Brother Nicholas often 
 looked on him with a stedfastness which 
 attracted his notice ; but if Edmund spoke 
 to him at those seasons when conversa- 
 tion was not prohibited, he gave the 
 shortest possible answer or none at all. 
 Edmund considered this a mark of con- 
 tempt, and was quite satisfied that he had 
 come to a right conclusion, when one day 
 after the abbot had warmly eulogised the 
 peity of the probationer, he saw this bro-
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 207 
 
 ther turn his head* aside, and perceived 
 him to be convulsed with laughter. 
 
 He endeavoured to suppress that in- 
 dignation which derision usually inspires, 
 and he was not slow in reflecting, that he 
 ought to be more than consoled for any 
 slight which he might meet with from one 
 of the brotherhood, by the marked atten- 
 tion of their principal. Egbert, he con- 
 sidered a pattern of devotion, as well as 
 of humility. Though strict in causing 
 the rules of the house to be observed, 
 there was no austerity in his manner. 
 In the refectory, he commonly went 
 round with drink to the monks, and 
 meekly kissed the hands of each. On 
 particular days, he performed the office of 
 washing their feet, and this was done with 
 as much self-abasement, as if, instead of 
 being their superior, he had been their 
 hired menial servant. A tear of admira- 
 tion sometimes started in the eye of 
 Edmund while he remarked such con- 
 descension. " This," thought he, ^* is.
 
 QOS OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 indeed a worthy servant of the Christian 
 church, for he is really meek and lowly 
 in spirit." 
 
 But of his vigilance and resolution, ta 
 guard against those under his care 
 suffering their thoughts to rove to that 
 world which they had avowed it to be 
 their determination to renounce, Edmund 
 soon had a proof which was more deci- 
 sive than agreeable. Indulged with 
 pen, ink, and paper, when the devotions 
 of the day had concluded, he had 
 on one night remained waking in his 
 cell, (he had been favoured with one to 
 himself), and suffered those feelings 
 which grew out of his peculiar situation 
 to escape from him in the following 
 lines : 
 
 Auaunt ye flatering dreames of dayes agone, 
 
 Whiche by sadde variaunce haue begat my wo,. 
 Sithence poore wyght ! a fayre I looked on, 
 
 I in my new condicion must forego* 
 Nathless her deynty beautie doth enthrall, 
 
 Bee all my euill gouernaunce forgeven ! 
 That face and eke thatpersoune I recall, 
 
 Togyder with that lippe and smyle from heaven.
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 209 
 
 Ah why ! interrogateth my lorn soule, 
 
 Did I one of soche gode manere descry, 
 Wakenyng desyres whiche I can none controule, 
 
 To loke for blisse and fynde sharpe agonie ? 
 Most sadde ! But through this murkinesse hope craves 
 
 To tell that our heartes twain released from stryfe, 
 Shall everych rising from the silent grave 
 
 Proue mighty love fails not with losse of lyfe. 
 
 The feelings of Edmund will perliaps 
 be more intelligibly rendered by a mo- 
 dern imitation of the foregoing stanzas: 
 
 Away ye dreams of other days, 
 ^ The fruitful source of fond regret, 
 While yet on features I might gaze 
 
 It now were virtue to forget. 
 But still those beauties will enthrall, 
 
 And still, O be the sin forgiven ? 
 That face, that form I must recall 
 
 That lip of love, that look of heaven. 
 
 Ah why ! the restless mind inquires. 
 
 Did such perfection meet ray eye. 
 To wake vain wishes, wild desires. 
 
 Then thrill with keenest agony ? 
 But piercing through a convent's gloom, 
 
 Hope whispers, when reclaimed our breath. 
 Two faithful hearts beyond the tomb 
 
 Shall hail love victor over death. 
 
 The monastery bell had just struck one 
 when the door of Edmund's cell was 
 opened, and Father Egbert entered.
 
 210 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 " Much do I marvel, son, to find you 
 waking at this late hour," he said, as he 
 advanced ; " you are too ardent in the 
 race of piety, methinks, long to continue 
 in this course. Take heed that you fail 
 not. I do not wish to see this over- 
 strained exertion. A man, however he 
 may covet to appear tall of stature, can- 
 not walk on tip-toe all his life, and better 
 it is, in my judgment, not to aim at too 
 much, than suddenly to fail in what has 
 been attempted." 
 
 The tone of remonstrance which the 
 abbot took on this occasion was new to 
 Edmund, and he felt embarrassed how to 
 answer. 
 
 " What may this be !" exclaimed 
 Egbert, taking up the paper on which 
 Edmund had been writing. No answer 
 was made, and he proceeded to read it. 
 
 Having perused the verses, an air of 
 disappointment sat on his features, but 
 he spoke with his accustomed kindness. 
 
 " Youth, I have admonished thee
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. ^11 
 
 against perseverance in a rashly formed 
 resolution, for great indeed is his sin, 
 who, professing to offer all his heart to 
 God, still suffers his thoughts to rest on 
 the toys and gew-gaws of the world. 
 It is not even now too late to retrace 
 thy steps. Do it, young man, and trifle 
 not by undertaking to offer thy undi- 
 vided heart to the Creator, while it 
 breathes vows of love and adoration in 
 honour of a mortal." 
 
 «< Forgive me, holy sir ; but it was my 
 hope, that in merely expressing a wish 
 that my spirit might again meet with 
 that of a being once beloved in a better 
 world, I sinned not against those rules 
 to the observance of which I stand 
 pledged." 
 
 ** And can you imagine that a love- 
 ditty, tending to awaken a thirst for 
 sensual delights, which all here must 
 study to quench for ever, would well 
 accord with those holy exercises which 
 occupy our days. Even now, I come
 
 ^12 OTHER TIMES j OR, 
 
 to summon you to the performance of 
 a solemn duty. Brother Richard, who 
 last night expired, has just been dis- 
 covered to have had wealth concealed 
 about his couch, of which he never gave 
 account ; wherefore, that law which dooms 
 the offender's corpse to flagellation, is 
 forthwith to be enforced. Think you 
 that amorous strains in praise of beau- 
 teous eyes and lips ought to fill his ima- 
 gination, who is called on to assist in the 
 castigation of a deceased culprit.'* 
 
 Edmund shrunk with disgust and hor- 
 ror from the ceremony thus announced. 
 He replied — 
 
 " I crave your forgiveness ; but if it 
 may be, I would gladly stand excused 
 from attendance on tliis occasion," 
 
 " It little surpriseth me that the con- 
 templation of the charms of beauty, should 
 be more agreeable to a young mind than 
 the execution of a solemn duty on the 
 loathsome remains of a deceased sinner. 
 But it is not for me to indulge such fan^
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 213 
 
 cies within these walls. Harsh thougli 
 it may seem, I hesitate not to say this 
 night you must perform the irksome 
 task of scourging the dead body. It is 
 but one of many painful offices which 
 attach to the life of a member of this fra- 
 ternity. To morrow, if so minded, you 
 will be free to depart ; but while you con- 
 tinue here, it would be reproach to me if 
 I suffered friendship to interpose between 
 you and that which, in your present cha- 
 racter, ought by you to be done.** 
 
 He spoke mildly but peremptorily, at 
 the same time making a sign for Edmund 
 to follow him. The latter saw that there 
 was no alternative, and reluctantly com- 
 plied. 
 
 The abbot conducted him through the 
 corridor to the refectory, and thence by a 
 narrow passage through which Edmund 
 had never been before. Here several of 
 the brothers were assembled, a torch being 
 borne by every third monk. They de- 
 scended to a vault beneath, and, stretched
 
 S14 OTHER TIMES ', OR, 
 
 on a low bier by the side of the grave in 
 which it was presently to be deposited, 
 lay extended the body. The face was 
 towards the ground — the lower part was 
 covered with sackcloth. Edmund turned 
 his head in disgust from the abhorrent 
 spectacle, but was called upon to act the 
 part assigned to him, A whip had been 
 placed in his hand, and he found that 
 Nicholas was to be his colleague on this 
 occasion. The ill opinion he had formed 
 of that man was not diminished by the 
 readiness with which he appeared to enter 
 upon the performance of the task. The 
 probationer strove to reason down the 
 loathings which oppressed him, by re- 
 flecting that the infliction of stripes could 
 give no pain to the dead, and he advan- 
 ced xo the body to fulfil his task. He 
 raised his hand to strike, but when he 
 again saw the lifeless monk, and perceiv- 
 ed the livid flesh already marked by the 
 whip of Nicholas, his resolution left him 
 — the instrument of punishment fell
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 215 
 
 from his grasp, and he burst through the 
 circle which encompassed him, with an 
 exertion of strength which no one offered 
 to oppose — which no single member of 
 the fraternity could have opposed with 
 effect. 
 
 Egbert, considering that enough had 
 been done to initiate the new member, so 
 far as rites of this description were con- 
 cerned, suffered another to take up the 
 whip w^hich Edmund was to have wielded, 
 and the flagellation was completed with- 
 out further aid being demanded from 
 him. The body being then committed 
 to the earth, a solemn requiem was sung 
 for the soul of the departed, whose guilt, 
 it was presumed, had been expiated by 
 the flogging sustained by the body to 
 which it had belonged, and the brethren 
 were dismissed to repose.
 
 216 OTHEK times: or. 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 A man must think of all the villanies 
 He knows in all men, to decypher thee, 
 That art the centre to impiety. 
 
 Chapman. 
 
 On the following day the abbot resumed 
 all his wonted kindness towards Edmund. 
 He expressed regret for the violence 
 which had been done to his feelings at 
 the funeral of the departed brother, but 
 thus he considered it to be his duty to act, 
 more especially as it was free for Edmund 
 to withdraw himself from the fraternity, 
 and he was anxious that nothing which 
 was painful should remain to be disco- 
 vered when retreat would be impossible. 
 
 Edmund was not only satisfied with this 
 explanation, but grateful for the in- 
 genuous conduct of Father Egbert. Ad- 
 mitting the necessity of strictly adhering
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 217 
 
 to those rules which had served as the 
 foundation of the fame enjoyed by the 
 brotherhood, he thought it would ill 
 become him to complain that they were 
 not deviated from for his accommodation, 
 and he announced it to be his intention 
 to remain an inmate of the monastery. 
 
 Hitherto Egbert had exerted himself 
 to display the trials, privations, and suf- 
 ferings which the members of a religious 
 fraternity must be prepared to endure ; 
 but now. finding such representations had 
 made no impression on the probationer, 
 he no longer scrupled to disclose to his 
 view the other side of the picture. He 
 spoke with exultation of the interest in 
 heaven obtained by those who thus 
 withdrew themselves from the tempta- 
 tions of life, and painted in glowing co- 
 lours the felicity enjoyed, even here, by 
 those who passed their days in devout 
 preparation. 
 
 Edmund was no inattentive hstener to 
 language like this* The powers which 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 gl8 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 had failed to turn him from a course 
 which he was incUned to follow, were 
 sufficient to induce him to pursue it with 
 increased ardour. He was impatient for 
 the arrival of the hour which would wit- 
 ness the performance of the last solem- 
 nity. Egbert ceased to oppose his wishes, 
 and consented to abridge the period 
 which had at first been named as the date 
 of his probation. 
 
 The conduct of the monk, which had 
 from Edmund's entrance been singular, 
 continued to be so, but in various ways, 
 and in ways which seemed irreconcilably 
 at variance with each other. He looked 
 as if he disdained to exchange a word, 
 declined answering if spoken to, and yet 
 sometimes lingered near Edmund, as if 
 he coveted to be alone with him^ or as if 
 it were his especial business to watch his 
 every action. The deportment of Nicho- 
 las was so remarkable in this way, on the 
 night before Edmund was to be for- 
 mally numbered with the fraternity, that
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 219 
 
 he could hardly refrain from calling the 
 attention of the abbot to the circum- 
 stance ; but reluctance to complain pre- 
 vailed over displeasure. 
 
 Edmund now took a final leave of 
 the world. Become a member of the 
 order, bound by a solemn vow to remain 
 faithful to the fraternity while it conti- 
 nued to exist, the first resolve of the new 
 brother was to guard against its reputa- 
 tion being tarnished by any negligence 
 on his part. He rose early, retired late, 
 and distinguished himself by the most 
 rigid observance of all the duties which 
 the brethren thought fitted to occupy 
 them in this life, to prepare them for a 
 better. 
 
 But though from his time being thus 
 filled up, he experienced some relief, 
 nothing could cure the grief caused by 
 the loss of Mariana. His health declined 
 beneath the united pressure of mental 
 anguish and unwonted bodily fatigue. 
 But this gave him little concern, as he 
 
 L 2
 
 2^0 OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 had now learnt to regard life as an inflic- 
 tion, and its termination as a release from 
 pain. 
 
 His weakness continuing to increase, 
 he yielded to the entreaties of the abbot 
 to remain in his cell. From Egbert he 
 received the most marked attention. 
 Could he have tasted them, delicacies 
 till then unknown within those walls, 
 would have been at his command. These 
 he declined ; but the kindness of the ab- 
 bot would not be repressed, and one night 
 he carried to Edmund with his own hands 
 a horn of warm ippocras, which he in- 
 sisted on leaving, and which he made it 
 his particular request that the sick man 
 should drink. But his kindness was of 
 no avail. Had Edmund been so far in- 
 clined to relax in his discipline as to 
 avail himself of the present, it would not 
 have been in his power, for Nicholas, 
 who attended Egbert on this errand, lin- 
 gered a moment behind, while the ab- 
 bot hastily retreated to escape the grate-
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL, 221 
 
 ful acknowledgments of Edmund and 
 carelessly, if not wilfully, suffered the 
 ample sleeve of his habit to encounter 
 the horn, which was overturned, and its 
 contents spilt on the floor. A w^ink, sin- 
 gularly indicative of low cunning, and 
 exultation over mischief, followed this 
 exploit, and Nicholas retired. 
 
 Though he wanted not the refresh- 
 ment which had been set before him, Ed- 
 mund felt ruffled at the treatment w^hich 
 he had received from one whom he had 
 never sought to offend. But he endea- 
 voured to calm the anger which he felt 
 rising in his bosom, by reflecting that it 
 was now his duty to endure wnth patience. 
 He had succeeded in restoring his mind 
 to a state of tranquillity, and was sinking 
 to sleep, when his door was suddenly but 
 silently opened^ and the individual of 
 whom he had so much reason to com- 
 plain appeared. 
 
 " Methinks," said Edmund, who could 
 no longer help giving expression to his 
 l3
 
 2^2 
 
 displeasure, **your anxiety to annoy need 
 not keep you waking. If you have any 
 new indignity to offer, at least you might 
 have the forbearance to reserve it till to- 
 morrow, and not intrude upon my soli- 
 tude at the dead hour of night." 
 
 ** No time like the present, brother. 
 A child never likes the hour of taking 
 physic ; but that must not prevent those 
 about him from giving him the proper 
 dose at a convenient season." 
 
 There was a vulgar pleasantry in the 
 manner with which this speech was uttered, 
 which seemed to Edmund somewhat out 
 of its place in one devoted to religion. 
 
 " Whatever your errand may be," said 
 Edmund ; " tell it at once." 
 
 " I will, unless by looking on me you 
 can save me that trouble. Have you no 
 recollection of having seen this goodly 
 frontispiece of mine before you came 
 here ? Look at me well, and speak." 
 
 Amazed at being thus accosted, Ed- 
 mund stedfastly regarded his unexpected 
 visitor for some moments.
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 2^S 
 
 «« Your features," said he, " seem fa- 
 miliar ; but where I have seen them, I am 
 at a loss to declare.'* 
 
 " Yet it is not long since I made you 
 recall them. But I cannot wonder, that 
 in this place, in this dress, and in the 
 character which I now assume, you should 
 be unable to recognise poor Nick Bray, 
 the fool." 
 
 " Can it be possible ! Are you indeed 
 the fool ?" 
 
 ^< No, I must not say that. You know 
 the rules of our order enjoin humility, 
 and being reduced to what I am, I must 
 not now pretend to the dignity of a fool. 
 Reputation depends upon accident and 
 fashion. Nothing will now go down but 
 Will Somers's jokes. Though at one 
 time I flattered myself I could say and 
 do as many ridiculous things as he could, 
 the prejudice at last ran so strongly 
 in his favour, that nothing I could 
 accomplish was thought tolerably ab- 
 surd," 
 
 l4
 
 S24 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 '* But by what means did you get in- 
 troduced to this brotherhood ?'* 
 
 " The tale is somewhat long, and I 
 doubt if time will serve for the telling of 
 it. Not to enter into details — after the 
 death of my poor old master, the cardi- 
 nal, my fooleries dwindled in import- 
 ance. From being the jester of the lord, 
 I descended to become that of the knight 
 and the squire, and going lower and 
 lower, I was at last forced to take place 
 at the stews. Even there I failed ; and 
 so, not having wit enough to get my living 
 as a fool, I was constrained to turn to 
 something else. I was accordingly hum- 
 ble enough to try what I could do in the 
 way of common sense. When I saw you 
 at Canterbury, I had just engaged myself 
 as serving-man to a nobleman ; but shortly 
 after I met with our worthy abbot, and 
 he prevailed upon me to become a 
 monk." 
 
 '" He knew not of your former pro- 
 fession, I conclude."
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 225 
 
 " Trust me, he did. He knew me not 
 in my gloiy^ but after I got to South- 
 wark." 
 
 *•' To South wark !" 
 
 " Aye, to Southwark ; have you so 
 soon forgotten that I told you I had been 
 jester at the stews ?" 
 
 " No, I have not forgotten it, and 
 hence my surprise. Mean you to say 
 that Egbert knew you there ?" 
 
 *' It is even so." 
 
 Edmund started with emotion. The 
 tale of Clifford's woes came to his re- 
 collection, with the melancholy persua- 
 sion that they were unmerited, and that 
 Egbert, whom he had been brought 
 to regard as little less than a saint^ was 
 a monster. 
 
 " What you have stated," he said to 
 the jester, '' fills me with astonishment 
 and horror. Let me not mistake. You 
 say he knew you there. Did he ever go 
 to that scene of iniquity ?" 
 
 *' He did. To my knowledge, nights 
 L 5
 
 S26 OTHER times; OR, 
 
 which he has given out were passed in 
 prayer by the sick and the dying, were 
 wasted there in lewd society.'' 
 
 *' Then what Clifford told of him was 
 true." 
 
 " Most veritable." 
 
 '^ But, knowing this, why did not you 
 step forward and make known what you 
 had seen time enough to save that ill- 
 fated young man from the ignominious 
 punishment to which he was doomed ?" 
 " Of what avail would the testimony 
 of a low profligate, a servant at the 
 stews, have been, opposed to the oaths of 
 the pious liars who swore to Egbert's 
 being in another place, at the time Clif- 
 ford and I knew him to have been in 
 South wark ?" 
 
 ** It might have had some weight." 
 " Impossible. Had twenty witnesses, 
 circumstanced like myself, appeared, 
 speaking to nothing but the truth, they 
 would have been thought united in an 
 infamous conspiracy. The parties would 
 
 I
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 227 
 
 have exposed themselves to danger, 
 and might even have brought on Clif- 
 ford additional punishment." 
 
 " That, methinks, could not be.'* 
 
 " With all submission to you, master 
 Edmund, seeing you are a gentleman 
 born, a difference of opinion may exist 
 on that subject. Though there is some- 
 thing ungenteel and awkward connected 
 with standing in a pillory, and though it 
 must hurt a man's feelings to have his 
 ears cropped, yet all this is preferable to 
 hanging. Master Clifford himself^ I be- 
 lieve, would tell you this, if you ask the 
 question the next time you take a stoup 
 of ale with him in his tent." 
 
 " Talk not w^ith levity on such a sub- 
 ject. I am confused — I know not what 
 to say or think. What you have told me 
 seems incredible. Your conduct altoge- 
 ther is a perfect riddle." 
 
 ** A riddle easily explained. You have 
 wondered at my sullen silence on some 
 occasions. I feared though my counte- 
 l6
 
 Q28 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 nance escaped your observation, that my 
 speech might lead to a premature recog- 
 nition, and I considered it for our mutual 
 interest that we should be regarded as 
 strangers. Egbert did not want you 
 here. In describing the advantages of 
 a religious life, when you consulted him, 
 he (so himself reported,) only touched on 
 such topics as he thought least calculated 
 to accord with your taste, andlikely to dis- 
 gust. It was in pursuance of this design 
 that the dead man was floggedo Poor 
 Richard had no money to conceal ; he was 
 dealt with but to set you against the austere 
 discipline pretended to be maintained 
 here." 
 
 '* Pretended to be maintained !" 
 " Those were my words. The abbot 
 no longer ventures to Southwark, but he 
 has brought the disorders of Southwark 
 here. He was most unwilling to admit 
 you a member of the fraternity, as he 
 feared things might come to your know- 
 ledge, which, if they in any way transpired, 
 would furnish our good king with what
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 2^9 
 
 he has no objection to find, a fair pre- 
 tence for appropriating to himself the 
 goods and revenues of Leadenhall." 
 
 *« Might he not have objected to your 
 coming for the same reason ?" 
 
 " No. — In the first place, he had not so 
 high an opinion of my virtue and piety as 
 he ought to have had, seeing I had been 
 fool to a cardinal ; and so he did not sup- 
 pose that I should be shocked or sur- 
 prised at meeting with crime in a monas- 
 tery. Secondly, he knew me to be in 
 possession of a part of his history, which 
 he did not wish repeated even by one 
 who had been a professed jester, lest by 
 some accident it should obtain credit, 
 and bring others forward who could 
 speak to matters of the same kind ; and 
 therefore he judged it better to get me 
 here and stop my mouth." 
 " By making you a monk ?" 
 " Aye. He told of the easy merry 
 life I should lead here, and I preferred 
 taking this garb to eat and drink in in-
 
 §30 OTHER times; or, 
 
 dolence, to seeking a livelihood by hardly 
 requited servitude. He has gained his 
 object. I am seldom permitted to leave 
 the house, never — this is the rule of the 
 order — without a companion, which com- 
 panion is appointed to watch over my 
 words and actions." 
 
 '< I am shocked !" 
 
 " You have reason to be so. I am 
 convinced he desires nothing so much as 
 to get rid of you." 
 
 At this moment Edmund recollected 
 the ippocras which had been knocked 
 down by Bray. A suspicion flashed 
 across his mind, and he impatiently en- 
 quired — 
 
 <^ Was it therefore that you threw 
 down the horn this evening ?" 
 
 « It was." 
 
 " And can you suppose that the abbot 
 would proceed so far as to attempt my 
 destruction." 
 
 <« I have not time to tell what I know, 
 so will not dilate on what I only suppose.
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. SSI 
 
 Thus much I may say, I do^not beheve 
 that he brought you a potion which 
 would have caused you to be found dead 
 in the morning ; but I know that it was 
 intended to make you sleep, and beheve 
 that deleterious drugs were used in its 
 preparation, to undermine your health.'^ 
 
 " But why should he be anxious for 
 my sleeping this night in particular ?" 
 
 " Because several of this holy frater- 
 nity, who have been subjected to some 
 restraint by your coming among them, 
 are a little impatient, and these, taking 
 advantage of your temporary absence, 
 had so carelessly indulged, that they 
 were already inebriated, and much dispo- 
 sed to be noisy, when he so considerately 
 attended you." 
 
 " Every word you utter creates new 
 astonishment. I cannot believe the things 
 you tell." 
 
 " If you choose to pass along the cor- 
 ridor, and to the door of the apartment 
 communicating with the refectory, which
 
 ^82 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 you can do in silence, and without a 
 light, you will be convinced that I have 
 not attempted to deceive. Before I left, 
 the whole party drank, on their knees, 
 " to all the courtezans in the world ;" 
 and, if still capable of speech, I will 
 answer for it they are little better occu- 
 pied at this moment." 
 
 '' I will do what you suggest," said 
 Edmund : '' I will have conviction." 
 
 '* Go cautiously. In the meantime 
 I will step to the dormitory for a memo- 
 randum which I had made, and which it 
 was my intention to put into your hands 
 to-morrow, had I not found an oppor- 
 tunity of speaking with you this night. 
 I will then, unless the party seem on 
 the point of breaking up, tell you more 
 of my thoughts." 
 
 Both immediately left the cell. They 
 separated. Edmund approached the door 
 of the room which had been mentioned. 
 It was closed, and the key was in the 
 lock, but through a small crack in one of
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. i^33 
 
 the pannels he could perceive that the 
 brethren were not practising that self- 
 denying abstemiousness which they pro* 
 fessed, while the loud but indistinct 
 speech of some of the party satisfied him 
 that several, if not all, were in a state of 
 intoxication. He had no wish to learn 
 more, and was softly drawing back when 
 his foot slipped and he stumbled. That 
 moment the door opened, and Egbert 
 demanded, *' Who comes there ?'' 
 
 Edmund had sufficient presence of 
 mind to advance towards the door, as if 
 he had intended to enter the apartment 
 in which the brethren were engaged. At 
 the same time he addressed the abbot — 
 
 " Forgive me reverend sir, but the 
 wine which your bounty proffered for 
 the solace of my weakness, has been 
 spilt. I thirst, and would fain obtain a 
 cup of water.^' 
 
 The abbot was much surprised. He 
 however placed his form in the door-way, 
 so as to bar all entrance.
 
 SS4 OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 ** I — I did not expect to see you my 
 son, this night. I fear you have done 
 wrong to leave your couch. Trust me, 
 I am sorry for the untoward accident 
 which brought you here. But retire -^ 
 retire without delay, and I will bring you 
 a new supply of ippocras. Retire, I say, 
 strait, for your health may suffer from 
 delay." 
 
 Edmund retreated to his cell. He 
 was fearful that Bray would return at the 
 moment when the abbot should be 
 there, but he was spared the embarrass- 
 ment which such a meeting must have 
 occasioned. Egbert failed not to make 
 good his promise. He brought another 
 cup of spiced wine, a part of which he 
 insisted that Edmund should drink in 
 his presence. He enquired if he could 
 render any further service, and being an- 
 swered in the negative, withdrew. Ed- 
 mund remarked that he locked the door 
 on the outside. For some time he waited 
 in expectation of the jester's return, but
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 235 
 
 a drowsiness now came over him which 
 he could not resist. He remembered 
 what Bray had told him of the object of 
 the abbot, but his senses began to wan- 
 der, and sleep sealed his eyes.
 
 3S6 OTHER times; or, 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat ? 
 Why feels my heart its long forgotten beat ? 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Unaccustomed to resist, Mariana en- 
 tered the convent of St. Helen without 
 a murmur, but not without a tear. It 
 was in vain that Ferdinand called upon 
 her, with the authority of an uncle, to 
 dismiss the grief which he regarded as 
 a weakness. While she gazed for the 
 last time on one who had ever been dear 
 to her, and one on whom she had long 
 leaned for support, she experienced af- 
 fliction which no language can pourtray, 
 and when added to this came those re- 
 grets which of themselves were sufficient 
 to depress a spirit less likely to be borne 
 down than that of the gentle Mariana, her 
 heart seemed to sink within her, and the
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 237 
 
 paleness of anticipated death already in- 
 vaded her cheek. 
 
 The nuns expressed the highest satis- 
 faction at gaining such an addition to 
 their society, and the prioress, though her 
 piercing looks made the novice tremble, 
 spoke in the gentlest accents. Mariana 
 had never known a mother's love. Of- 
 ten had she looked, not with envy, for of 
 that she was incapable, but with deep re- 
 gret, that she had not been permitted to 
 taste the happiness which she beheld, 
 when it was her fortune to see a young 
 female the object of a fond mother^s care. 
 To find herself now treated with mater- 
 nal kindness by one who in years she 
 could suppose to be what her own mother 
 might have been, affected her deeply, 
 and though it could not supply conso- 
 lation, it failed not to inspire gratitude. 
 
 But tenderly as she was treated, Mari- 
 ana marked in the conduct of the prioress 
 anxiety to instruct her in the duties of a 
 nun without loss of time. In doing this,
 
 238 OTHER times; or, 
 
 she was careful not to shock the new 
 comer by harshly announcing the regu- 
 lations which must be observed. The 
 method which she took was to withdraw 
 Mariana from the rest of the sisterhood, 
 and describe them, while giving the his- 
 tory of the institution, so as to enable 
 her young charge to infer what was ex- 
 pected from every one belonging to the 
 institution. 
 
 Wishing to strip precept of its dryness 
 and severity, she connected it with nar- 
 rative ; and while teaching the duty of a 
 nun, she acted as if her main object was 
 to gratify curiosity. 
 
 She recounted to Mariana, with glow- 
 ing exultation, the glorious labours of 
 St, Helena, and told her the empress 
 of that name, under the immediate guid- 
 ance of heaven, had been so happy as 
 to discover the true cross, a portion of 
 which was then beneath that sacred roof, 
 which portion had all the miraculous 
 virtue of the whole. But, to convey a
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 239 
 
 more lively idea of this incident, she pro- 
 duced the seal of the convent. This was 
 in the form of an eye ; on its rim the 
 inscription ** Sigill : Monialum Sancte 
 Elene Londo7iiarum^^ appeared; and vi^ith- 
 in this, the empress Helena was repre- 
 sented sustaining the cross in an erect 
 position, her left arm round the shaft, 
 and the three nails which had sustained 
 the hands and feet of Jesus grasped in 
 her hand. On the opposite side, a group 
 of devout worshippers were pourtrayed, 
 who, with bended knees and uplifted eyes 
 and hands, looked towards the expiatory 
 emblem, for comfort and salvation. 
 
 When Mariana's attention had been 
 duly directed tow^ards the objects here 
 depicted, it was next led to the contents 
 of a parchment, to which the seal was 
 appended. These consisted of the regu- 
 lations which Reginald Kentwode, dean 
 of Saint Paul's, had thought proper to 
 frame for this pious sisterhood, in the 
 year 1439. The articles were many, but
 
 240 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 the prioress herself took the trouble to 
 select the two which follow, and read 
 them to Mariana. 
 
 *< That ye, ne noone of youre sustres, 
 use nor haunt any place withinne the 
 priory, thoroghe the wich evel suspec- 
 cyone or sclaundere mythe aryse, weche 
 places (for certeyne causes which move 
 us) we wryte not hereinne in our present 
 injunccyon, but woU notyfy to yowr 
 prioresse. Nor have no lokyng nor spec- 
 tacles owteward thorght the wiche ye 
 mythe falle in worldly dilectacyone." 
 
 " That noone of yow speke ne comone 
 with no seculere persone, withoute ]y cence 
 of the prioresse. And that there be ano- 
 ther of yowre sustres present assigned by 
 the prioresse, to here and record e the 
 honeste of both partyes in such commy- 
 nication. And such letters or geftes 
 sent or receyed may turn into honeste 
 and wurchepe, and none into velanye ne 
 disclaundered of yowre honeste and reli- 
 gione."
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. S241 
 
 The prioress stated, in explanation of 
 these articles, that in former times great 
 excesses had taken place even within 
 those walls. Improper communications 
 had been exchanged through the grating 
 of the crypt, during the performance of 
 mass ; and this had made it necessary that 
 further powers should be given to the 
 superior, as well to maintain the reputa- 
 tion of the convent, as to preserve from 
 Satan the souls of its inmates. 
 
 She expressed an apprehension that 
 Mariana would consider the restrictions 
 which the nuns were compelled to ob- 
 serve, too rigid. Mariana assured her, 
 that it would be her care not to trans- 
 gress them. It was her sincere desire to 
 comply in all things with the will of her 
 uncle. It would have given her satisfac- 
 tion had he come to a different decision ; 
 but assured that what he had done was 
 dictated by the most ardent affection, she 
 felt, though she could not repress melan- 
 
 VOL. I, M
 
 M2 OTHER times; OUf 
 
 choly, that to be in any respect disobe- 
 dient or refractory would be ungrateful. 
 
 The prioress applauded the piety of 
 this resolution. She was confident that 
 it would be found to have been inspired 
 by wisdom; and she assured Mariana, that 
 those restraints^ of which in the first in- 
 stance it was natural for her to stand 
 much in awe, would eventually be found 
 so light as not to be felt in any respect 
 irksome. 
 
 The prioress was anxious to prove that 
 the words of kindness addressed to Ma- 
 riana, on her entrance into the convent,, 
 were not uttered as a matter of course^ 
 by endeavouring to do what might com- 
 fort and pleasure her on every occasion. 
 This conduct compelled her in answer 
 to a letter which she received through 
 the superior from Ferdinand, to state that 
 she had experienced the kindest attention 
 on every occasion ; but at the same time 
 she scrupled not to add, that her objec- 
 tions to the life of a nun remained un-
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 24S 
 
 shaken. She entreated him yet to con- 
 sider, if she might not be released from 
 the necessity of taking the veil, and 
 declared herself not without hope that 
 he would see reason to revoke his de- 
 cision, 
 
 Ferdinand promptly replied. He re- 
 joiced that she was satisfied with the con- 
 duct of the prioress and her sister nuns, 
 but thought, however unwelcome the as- 
 surance, that it was kindness once for all 
 to state, that she must look for no change 
 in her situation. " I do thank you,** he 
 concluded, *^ for your letter. It hath 
 done merveilles to set my heart at ease, 
 and now, sithence you be thus happily 
 settled, where no engulphing storm can 
 assail, God his name be thanked, I have 
 but little to do on earth, which little 
 shall be soon and easily accomplished. 
 Wherefore I pray ye, Mariana, forget the 
 world and forget me. Past one other 
 lettre after this present you shall not re- 
 ceive, soe I believe and desire. Repine 
 M 2
 
 ^44 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 not, weep r.ot at this ; for trust me, it 
 will grieve thy gentle spirit to hear of 
 me ; but still more to hear from me 
 again." 
 
 Mariana received the letter with hope, 
 but she closed it in despair. There was 
 that in its termination which recalled the 
 terrific confusion into which she had 
 been formerly thrown, by the language of 
 Ferdinand. When she read what he had 
 now written, and recalled his former 
 words and manner, she suspected that 
 he meditated self-destruction. The horror 
 which this idea inspired, she in vain strove 
 to repel. It heightened her former me- 
 lancholy ; and tears, as often as it recurred 
 to her and it never was long absent, 
 fell from her eyes in torrents, which she 
 strove in vain to hide. 
 
 The prioress failed not to remark that 
 Mariana, before sad, was now disconsolate. 
 She endeavoured to soothe her, but the 
 maternal love which at first, in some de- 
 gree, mitigated her sorrow, could not
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADEN HALL. 545 
 
 reach the present source of her grief. 
 Th€ superior imputed her affliction to 
 the peremptory manner in which the suit 
 of Mariana to be withdrawn from a reli- 
 gious life had been rejected. 
 
 " You weep-, daughter," said she, '* and 
 trust me your tears affect me. It is my 
 office to reprove them ; but I know liow 
 keen the pang which nature, rebelHng 
 against devotion, inflicts on the young 
 and susceptible mind," 
 
 " Indeed my holy mother — " 
 ^* Nay, Mariana, dissemble not with 
 me, it would be useless, and fear no 
 harshness from my lips ; you are now as 
 one who has received the veil, so I con- 
 sider you, for your uncle has written to 
 request that this may take place with all 
 speed, and as privately as possible. 
 Therefore, henceforth regard me as your 
 mother, or, if that would bring me 
 nearer to you, as a sister, to w^hose Jove 
 you may reveal the inmost workings of 
 your heart, without f^-read of exposure^,
 
 ^46 OTHER times; Oil, 
 
 and with prospect of solace greater thaii^ 
 when you first came here^ it would have 
 been safe in me to encourage you to ex- 
 pect/' 
 
 <* Alas 1" Mariana sighed, " I know 
 not how to make return for kindness so 
 unlooked for ; I have sorrows springing 
 perhaps from phantoms of the mind, which 
 I dare not trust to expression." 
 
 " I can easily guess the state of your 
 feelings^ but fear not me." 
 
 ** I cannot give utterance to my 
 thoughts, nor can I render up myself en- 
 tirely to the performance of those duties, 
 which it should now be my joy to fulfil. I 
 feel that I am unworthy of the asylum I 
 have found — of the indulgence which 
 I have known ; for while my whole soul 
 should ascend to its Creator, my mind is 
 as it were chained to the earth, and my 
 lips repeat without consciousness or 
 meaning, those prayers which ought only 
 to be pronounced with the liveliest emo^ 
 tions of piety."
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. ^V/ 
 
 ** Heaven does not require impossibi- 
 Hties of its creatures. Tlie youthful 
 being, suddenly snatched from the world, 
 cannot at once forget the brightly- varied 
 scenes which she has beheld; nor can 
 she, while they are fondly remembered, 
 at once discard all wish to revisit them, 
 or to indulge in those associations which 
 they recaL" 
 
 '* Your kindness frames an apology 
 for my weakness, which I should have 
 feared to pronounce for myself" 
 
 " Let this be regarded as a cheering 
 omen, that as now in words I go further 
 in your favour than your own speech 
 could venture, I may hereafter indulge 
 in something beyond words." 
 
 '* You are good, but goodness cannot 
 perform impossibilities. No indulgence 
 can eradicate the cureless grief which 
 inhabits my disturbed bosom." 
 
 '* I think, my young sister, I can guess 
 at the situation of your heart. I know 
 the agonising tortures which thrill the 
 • 31 4
 
 248 OTHER TJMES ; OR, 
 
 bosom of the maiden devoted to heaven, 
 but fondly attached to the world. I have 
 felt and can commiserate those emotions, 
 which the deity seems to inspire (so the 
 votary of love feels)^ but which duty to 
 that deity commands us to subdue (so 
 holy fathers teach); you will therefore not 
 be dealt with harshly by me.'* 
 
 Mariana again expressed her acknow- 
 ledgments for present kindness and pro- 
 mised indulgence. 
 
 '* But," said the prioress, " there is 
 something in your countenance which 
 tells me, that while you express and de- 
 sire to manifest gratitude, you feel de- 
 spair. Be comforted: often in the blackest 
 night, a bright star unexpectedly pours 
 his glistening glory on the eye ; and so 
 perhaps, dreary as all within these walls 
 may appear, unlooked-for happiness will 
 yet gladden its pensive inmate." 
 
 Mariana was affected by the tender 
 warmth of the superior, and abstained 
 from speaking, that she might not give
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 249 
 
 new pain, by declaring how impossible 
 it was, with the griefs and apprehensions 
 which then oppressed her, for her mind 
 to receive the comfort which the prioress 
 desired to impart. 
 
 3vl 5
 
 250 OTHER TIMES ; OK, 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 Sir, quod 1, and where is she now ? 
 Now, quod he, and ystinte anone, 
 Therwith he wox as dedde as a stone, 
 And saied, Alas ! that I was bore ! 
 
 Chaucer- 
 It is a goodly sight to see a young 
 man diligent. Such sight refreshes my 
 eyes ; but it may be meet to remember 
 est modus in rebus, and truly I must re- 
 mark your industry passes that line which, 
 in my judgment^ prudence requires should 
 be observed/' 
 
 Such were the words of Lord Erping- 
 ham, addressed to Ferdinand, when, after 
 weeks of toil, his lordship found his 
 secretary occupied with labours which 
 he had never required him to take upon 
 himself. 
 
 *< Your lordship is kindly considerate ; 
 but it has escaped your recollection, that 
 
 14
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 251 
 
 the industry which fatigues the body is 
 often found the best means of giving the 
 mind repose." 
 
 " Leave you these cares for a season. 
 The day is passing fair; and asyou may find 
 pleasure in viewing the country, a horse 
 is ready saddled, on which you can forth 
 immediately. This will perhaps relieve 
 your spirits, and improve your healtli, 
 which of late is, so it strikes me, some- 
 what impaired.*' 
 
 " Of such improvement I have no 
 need. I covet not the proffered indul- 
 gence, and cannot enjoy the recreation 
 you would fain afford." 
 
 " Nevertheless it is my desire that the 
 experiment shall be tried. Change of 
 scene will sometimes work wonders on 
 the youthful mind ; and it would not a 
 little pleasure me, if it might bring to 
 you that lightness of heart which does 
 not ill become your age. So take your 
 course ; and that you may think nothing 
 M 6
 
 252 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 of charges, disburse tlie contents of this 
 purse for me." 
 
 Ferdinand received the offered purse, 
 at the same time demanding, 
 
 '* In what way am I to expend this 
 gold ? For whom is your bounty in* 
 tended ?" 
 
 " To your first question, Ferdinand, 
 I reply, even as you like: — to the second, 
 I must say, talk not of bounty, but con- 
 sider it an inadequate acknowledgment 
 for the unwearied zeal by which you 
 have distinguished yourself since you 
 first came beneath this roof." 
 
 Ferdinand started with unfeigned sur- 
 prise at finding the present, which was 
 of no mean value, intended for him. 
 
 <* I pray you take it back, my lord," 
 — he faltered 5 " I have no use for it — I 
 have not — I — I cannot deserve it from 
 you, as others may." 
 
 " Let your modesty be dumb for this 
 time. Name it not — nay, nay," con-
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADBNHALL. 263 
 
 tinued his lordship, repelUng Ferdinand, 
 who endeavoured to return the purse to 
 his hand, " this is too much. If you mean 
 not to offend me by a mark of your con- 
 tempt, give over resistance.*' 
 
 Ferdinand was irresolute how to act. 
 A deep blush invaded his countenance. 
 Yielding to the kindness of his patron, 
 he said, bowing while he spoke, 
 
 '•' That I may not offend, I will hold 
 it for your lordship." 
 
 Lord Erpingham pressed on him tlie 
 propriety of indulging in the exercise 
 which he had recommended, and with 
 such effect, that Ferdinand ceased to re- 
 sist, and descending to the yard, he 
 mounted the horse prepared for him, and 
 passed out behind the house into Jacka- 
 napes-lane, which then led eastward from 
 Fickett's fields into Chancery-lane. 
 
 But Ferdinand had no desire to view 
 the country. He gazed with the most 
 perfect indifference on scenes which, had 
 his frame of mind been different, might
 
 ^54f OTHER times; or^ 
 
 have charmed by their beauty^ or sur- 
 prised by their novelty. Without any 
 particular object in view, he first rode in 
 the direction of Hampstead^and then with 
 listless disregard, suffering his horse to 
 choose the road, he went eastward. He 
 took little notice of the parts to which he 
 wandered, till he found himself in Fins- 
 bury-fields. It was by this time after- 
 noon, and having done enough to satisfy 
 himself that exercise could not benefit 
 him^ he traversed the extensive plot of 
 waste and swampy ground on which 
 Finsbury-square, and the streets north 
 and south of it, have been erected, and 
 returned by Moorgate to the city. 
 
 He had reached St. Paul's, when he 
 observed a funeral procession enter the 
 cathedral. Ferdinand felt desirous of 
 witnessing a ceremony, likely, from its 
 solemnity,^ to be congenial with those feel- 
 ings of melancholy which had possession 
 of his heart. He accordingly passed 
 within the church-yard of Pardon Haw,
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 25.5 
 
 which stood on the north side of the 
 cathedral, dismounted^ and followed the 
 corpse. 
 
 There was then a pubUc way through 
 the body of the church, which was very 
 much frequented in the latter part of the 
 day. Those who repaired thither did 
 so, not from feelings of devotion, but to 
 walk and lounge, to talk of politics and 
 business, and plan the pleasures of the 
 night. The pressure was commonly so 
 great in ** the walks of Paul's," that but 
 few females ventured there, such ex- 
 cepted whose object it was to entertain 
 the dissipated of the other sex. Here 
 those who ventured to criticise the mea- 
 sures of the government, a body greatly 
 inferior in numbers to those who in that 
 way now occupy themselves, failed not 
 to repair to catch the current reports of 
 the day. Here was seen the trader to meet 
 his mercantile friends; and here came the 
 dandy of the sixteenth century to exhibit 
 to the admiration, envy, or merriment
 
 256 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 of the crowd the newest fashions. The 
 entrances and various parts of the walls 
 were covered with numerous placards, 
 describing the wants and wishes of those 
 by whom they were placed there, the com- 
 modities they had to sell, or the feats they 
 were competent to perform. That they 
 disfigured a splendid edifice, might have 
 been objected to them by those who de- 
 served not censure for being over-fasti- 
 dious ; but this was not regarded, and to 
 say the truth, merited not to be regarded 
 as of moment, when set against the import- 
 ant accommodation offered to all classes 
 of the community by this sort of general 
 advertiser. The Royal Exchange had not 
 then been erected, theatrical saloons had 
 not been imagined, the diurnal press had 
 not been called into existence j and it will 
 therefore excite little surprise that this, 
 or that any place in London, should have 
 been generally in the crowded state, 
 which caused the walks of Paul's to be 
 called '* the land's epitome," or ** the
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. S57 
 
 lesser ile of Great Britaine/' which so 
 oddly combined the attractions of an ex- 
 change, a playhouse^ and a daily news- 
 paper. 
 
 Ferdinand penetrated into the midst 
 of the multitude without intending to do 
 so, and the procession wiiich he intended 
 to follow had passed and w^as no longer 
 within view. After a short delay, he 
 found his way to the choir. The mourners 
 were not there, and he was retiring, when 
 a chorister of the cathedral^ sustained by a 
 verger, detained him by demanding money. 
 
 The peremptory tone in which this 
 demand was made ill accorded with the 
 sacred character of the place, and Fer- 
 dinand felt his indignation moved by the 
 manner in wdiich he had been accosted. 
 
 " What mean you, sir," he enquired, 
 '< that you thus rudely claim money of 
 me for entering a place of worship, which 
 of right is open to all.'* 
 
 ** Speech is thriftless, my master, here," 
 replied the chorister : " methought even
 
 258 OTHER TIMES j OIC, 
 
 one of the common sort, such as you may 
 be peradventure, could hardly remain so 
 clownish as not to know that coming here 
 in such guise as you come, he must pay 
 s^ur money J** 
 
 «« My spurs,'' said Ferdinand, " are 
 no accommodation to myself at this pre- 
 sent ; but I see not what incommodity 
 they can bring to you, that you should 
 feel emboldened so coarsely to extort 
 pay." 
 
 " Perhaps you deem that you have 
 shown much forbearance in only bringing 
 your spurs, and looked for gratitude from 
 us of the church, forasmuch as you 
 have spared us as yet the company of 
 your horse." 
 
 '< I say not that ; but this I shall adven- 
 ture'to hint, that, but for your surpHce, I 
 should so have requited your flouts, that 
 you should, ere this, have felt you owed 
 me no thanks for coming without my 
 whip." 
 
 While he spoke, a motion of his arm
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. ^50 
 
 displayed the instrument of which he had 
 spoken to such advantage, that the 
 chorister fell back a step or two, as 
 if he anticipated its immediate applica- 
 tion to his shoulders. The words of 
 Ferdinand served to dissipate this idea, 
 and backed by several of his fellows, he 
 returned to the attack with increased 
 courage. 
 
 *' Your flourish, friend,*' he said, ^' will 
 not avail to save your pence. If you part 
 not with some of your coin, we shall be 
 in no haste to part with you. Those only 
 refuse to satisfy the ancient demand for 
 spur money ^ who, being masterless men 
 or houseless vagrant knaves, desire to get 
 a lodging for the night in the oratory, 
 which shall be yours if you scruple more. 
 So pay your coin strait, or the door shall 
 be made fast." 
 
 The door by which Ferdinand had en- 
 tered was already bolted. One of the 
 choristers was hastening towards a second 
 door, which was opened^as if to secure
 
 ^60 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 it, when another entered in haste, and 
 called out to his fellows, 
 
 ** Speed ye — speed ye to the grave." 
 The* desire of witnessing the obsequies 
 about to be performed operated more 
 powerfully on Ferdinand than the threats 
 which had been uttered ; and as he now saw 
 judged that by satisfying their cupidity his 
 wish might be gratified, hegave a tester 
 (a shilling was then so named), being the 
 first piece on wdiich he chanced, to the 
 choristers, who instantly ran with dis- 
 orderly laughter out of the choir, towards 
 tlie place where they were to assist in 
 the solemn rites appointed for the burial 
 of the dead. 
 
 Disgusted not less by their indecorous 
 levity than by their rudeness and rapacity^ 
 he followed their steps, wondering at the 
 carelessness with which human beings 
 from habit are brought to view the most 
 affecting solemnities. He passed the 
 Gothic shrine of Saint Erke7ixvalcl, then 
 a splendid object, for the hands of re-
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. ^6l 
 
 forming puritans had not despoiled it 
 of the silver, gold, and jewels with which 
 credulous piety had enriched it, to pre- 
 vail on the saint, for rewards so muni- 
 ficent, to intercede for the liberal donors 
 in heaven, as well as to cure divers ma- 
 ladies which afflicted the faithful on earth. 
 He had little time to examine the mo- 
 numents of the Saxon kings Sehba and 
 Ethelred, and he passed in the same 
 hurried manner the tombs o^ Henricus de 
 Hengham^ Eustatius Falconberg, Harry 
 de Lacte Earl of Lincoln, Bishop Niger, 
 Sir Simon de Burley, Bishop Kempe. Sir 
 John de Beauchamp, and John of Gaunt. 
 He halted for a moment to admire the 
 singular beauty of the final resting-place 
 of Thomas de Eiire, The admirable 
 brass effigies of himself, and the angels 
 and saints placed about his tomb, made 
 it hardly less striking to the beholder 
 than the shrine of the saint. His pause 
 was short, for he was now near the grave, 
 and perceived that the service, which was
 
 S6^ OTHER TIMES ; OIl^ 
 
 different from that now in use, had 
 begun. The body had been lowered 
 into the narrow cell prepared for its 
 reception, and Ferdinand saw the priest 
 take a small spade which was handed 
 to him, and drop earth on the coffin, 
 so as to form a line from the head to 
 the feet. He then threw mould over 
 the bosom of the dead man, in a trans- 
 verse direction, to form the sign of the 
 cross. This part of the ceremony com- 
 pleted, the shovel was given to an at- 
 tendant, and a chalice with a small 
 brush in it was handed to the officiating 
 ecclesiastic, who sprinkled with holy 
 water from the chalice the cross which 
 had been described. A pause ensued, 
 and more earth was thrown in by the 
 grave-digger, so as completely to hide 
 the coffin from view. The choristers, 
 who had sung when they first reached 
 the grave, now chaunted the antiphon. 
 Ferdinand listened to the affecting strain 
 with interest, but with astonishment, while
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. ^63 
 
 he reflected that the sublime harmonies 
 which moved his wonder proceeded from 
 those who had so lately been engaged 
 in a rude and insolent struggle for a 
 trifling donation. 
 
 The priest then apostrophising the 
 departed, exclaimed, '' I commend thy 
 immortal spirit to God, the all-omnipo- 
 lent, through the merits of his Christ — 
 earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to 
 dust." The last words were unaccom- 
 panied by the ceremony connected with 
 them in the modern funeral service, and 
 the mourners retired. 
 
 Ferdinand was about to leave the 
 church, when his attention was arrested 
 by the spear, shield, and cap of Joh7i of 
 Gaunt, 
 
 The same taste which placed the gar- 
 ment worn by Edward the Black Prince 
 over his remains at Canterbury, had de- 
 posited these relics of his brother in the 
 metropolitan cathedral. Examining them 
 with that minute observation which ob-
 
 S64 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 jects, once the property of some distin. 
 guished mortal who flourished in a gene- 
 ration long since passed away, are cal- 
 culated to invite, he perceived by a neigh- 
 bouring tomb a man reclining with a 
 melancholy air. His eyes were fixed on 
 the statue of a beautiful woman. The 
 elegance of the figure, and the sweet 
 expression of the countenance, as seen 
 through the dusky gloom which the 
 coming evening had thrown on every 
 object, commanded involuntary admira- 
 tion. Ferdinand could not but acknow- 
 ledge the exquisite skill of the sculptor, 
 who, while giving her an air of cheerful 
 resignation as she prepared to obey the 
 summons of two beckoning cherubim, 
 had mingled with it an expression of 
 commiseration for one below, who was 
 seen struggling in frantic despair, to 
 detain her on earth. His attention rested 
 alternately on the tomb and on the indi- 
 vidual near it, by whom he suddenly
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADBNHALL. S(55 
 
 found himself recognised. It was Lord 
 Erpingham. 
 
 ^^ I thought not of meeting with you," 
 said his lordship " in this lonely aisle. 
 Rather should T have expected to find 
 you in the thronged walks ; for though 
 you seek not dissipated pleasures, there, 
 methinks, you would look on a more 
 agreeable variety than can amuse in this 
 silent receptacle of death.'* 
 
 " Yoiir lordship, it should seem, judged 
 differently for yourself, or you would not 
 have been here to remark on my singu. 
 larity of taste." 
 
 " Interesting associations and affecting 
 recollections bring me here, which cannot 
 exist for you," 
 
 ** But, my lord, there is enough of in- 
 terest ever resident with the tombs of 
 departed worth, to give a place of se- 
 pulchre no small attraction." 
 
 *' That there is much to interest can^ 
 not be denied. How thrilling the re- 
 flection suggested when w« recal what 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 Q6G OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 the dust on which we stand has been, 
 or when the open grave presents us 
 with 'the mouldering clods, which were 
 the mighty men of other days." 
 
 ** Or with the wasted relic, once the 
 monarch's hand, which proud ambition 
 but aspired to kiss." 
 
 ^* But perhaps still more touching the 
 contrast," said Lord Erpingham, ** when 
 we remember that here too all the potent^ 
 the once resistless artillery of love is 
 deposited. Here sleeps, in cold forget- 
 fulness, the eye which could dazzle with 
 its radiance. The ruby lip, that woke 
 the admiring lover to rapture, crumbles 
 unregarded, and the gay tresses which 
 sported in wanton luxuriance over a brow 
 of alabaster, lie dishevelled and disho- 
 noured. Here, side by side, reduced to 
 the same level, rests the fair one who 
 flourished in unaided, undecorated beauty, 
 and she who wooed all the arts to which 
 folly can resort to conceal its absence.' 
 ** I need not ask to which of these
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 26? 
 
 classes she belonged, at whose tomb I 
 saw your tears fall." 
 
 " True, Ferdinand, for though the 
 sculptor could but faintly indicate the 
 living grace, the mild intelligence, the 
 beaming love, which belonged to the 
 dear original, enough of her departing 
 brightness is imaged by his chisel, to 
 distinguish her from those who vex their 
 lives with vain studies to adorn them- 
 selves, and who to seem lovely, wear col- 
 ours not their own, in odious mockery of 
 the roseate glow which mantles on the 
 damask cheek of youth, blooming in 
 happy innocence." \ 
 
 '« Indeed, my lord, she seems to have 
 been no common beauty." 
 
 *^ She was, — but oh why, why should 
 I recal it! a model of perfection. I speak 
 not merely of her form and face, but of 
 her mind. I wish to bow with submissive 
 reverence to the inscrutable decrees of Pro- 
 vidence, yet can I not choose but marvel 
 N 2
 
 ^68 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 while I mourn, that one so fitted to grace 
 this earth should have been recalled so 
 soon." 
 
 His voice faltered, and he slightly 
 stumbled. Ferdinand offered to support 
 him, and doing so he perceived the 
 strongest emotion expressed in the coun- 
 tenance of his patron. 
 
 *^ Thy kind aid I need not/* said Lord 
 Erpingham, endeavouring to resume his 
 wonted calmness. " I feel better." 
 
 " A burning tear has fallen on my 
 hand. It came from you, my lord." 
 
 " It is not the first by millions that I 
 have shed on this spot." 
 
 " Indeed!" exclaimed Ferdinand. 
 
 ** This seems to cause you measureless 
 astonishment." 
 
 ** It does, my lord, to mark a love so 
 fervent and so constant — in youJ' 
 
 *^ Because you see rhe a lonely isolated 
 being now, it tills you with amazement 
 to learn that I w^s ever otherwise," 
 
 *' I certainly did consider your lord-
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 26^ 
 
 ship too prudent to enthrall yourself with 
 those ties which, though some have 
 deemed them sweet, often bring much 
 sorrow." 
 
 '^ True ; but the kindred bond is still 
 so rich in exalted joy, that all else on 
 earth is mean compared with it. This, 
 giddy unreflecting youth can ill compre- 
 hend. It is when the wane of life ap- 
 proaches, — when experience has taught 
 the observer to comprehend the intrinsic 
 worthlessness of common pleasure, the 
 vanity of praise, the hollowness of pro- 
 fession, that he understands the solace 
 of being enabled to retreat to a sweetly 
 peopled guileless little world, where he 
 may reign in undisputed sovereignty, as 
 father and as lord." 
 
 " Feeling thus, I should have expected 
 that you would not have been as you 
 now are." 
 
 " It is because I feel thus that I am 
 what you see me. Prematurely ro^)bed 
 of all I most prized on earth, I mourned 
 n3
 
 270 OTHER TIMES; OE, 
 
 too much for lost happiness, to be capahk 
 of beginning the world again/' 
 
 " But you feel too acutely. Ought 
 you not rather to exult in the hope^that 
 the beauty here imaged in monumental 
 marble awaits your coming in a better 
 world/* 
 
 '' So I trust/' 
 
 ** How vast were the difference, if 
 instead of being able to cherish such be- 
 lief, it were yours to know that instead 
 of hastening to meet the smiling object 
 of happy love, you must soon be con- 
 fronted by the bleeding spectre of one 
 betrayed — betrayed to shame and mur- 
 der. You start, my lord." 
 
 *' The awful idea you have suggested 
 might make any mortal start with horror. 
 It is sad for a sufferer to feel himself a 
 
 " Wretche that dethe hath made al naked. 
 Of all the bliss that 'er was maked," 
 
 as our great poet has described that same 
 John of Gaunt, near whose grave we
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. ^Jl 
 
 Stand, to have been ; but if to agonizing 
 regret conscious guilt were added, I 
 should think the lo^ad of woe too great 
 for mortal man to bear." 
 
 " J once supposed so too, but I know 
 the contrary." 
 
 ^* Do you know the contrary ?*' 
 
 ** At least, my attention has been di« 
 rected to one who is a living proof that 
 your supposition is unfounded." 
 
 " Can it be possible ! Is he in Eng- 
 land ?'" 
 
 ** He is." 
 
 *' Is he known to me ?" 
 
 " Your lordship has been where he 
 was to be found." 
 
 <« His name ?" 
 
 " It were useless to mention it." 
 
 *^ I grieve that such a wretch should 
 exist." 
 
 " And so do I — but the doors of the 
 
 cathedral are now being closed. We 
 
 must retire. Come, shake off this show 
 
 of sadness. There is much cause for 
 
 N 4
 
 ^2 ^ OTMER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 grief when we lose those to whom we ar€ 
 fondly attached ; yet you must feel that 
 he is comparatively happy who knows 
 this to be the result of calamity, and not 
 the consequence of heartless damning 
 crime*'*
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. S7S 
 
 CHAP. XVII. 
 
 The wanton nunnes likewise dallying with them lit 
 *he darke, brought forth the fruits of darknesse, as was 
 found in finding many infants' bones in many of their 
 cells. Speed. 
 
 Though caution was as necessary as it 
 could have been at any time on the part of 
 Bray, when communicating with Edmund, 
 yet as the latter was no longer likely to 
 attract notice by any sudden exclamation 
 of surprise, opportunities for exchang- 
 ing their ideas occurred which had not 
 before offered. These were of short du- 
 ration, but they sufficed to enable the 
 jester to explain the prudential consi- 
 derations which had prevented him from 
 returning on the preceding morning, after 
 the abbot had been unexpectedly en- 
 countered, and to announce that on the 
 following night; as it would be his tnnii 
 n5
 
 ^74f OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 to perform the ceremony of going round 
 to the cells, to ascertain that all were in, 
 he would visit Edmund, if the corridor 
 should be clear, when they could con- 
 verse more at leisure. 
 
 Edmund had contemplated death, not 
 only without pain, but with feelings of 
 satisfaction and consolation, while he be- 
 lieved that it approached but in the so- 
 ciety of devotion and love. He did so 
 no longer when he suspected that he 
 might perish the victim of base assassina- 
 tion. He began to enquire if he had no 
 motive for living — if it became not a duty 
 to defeat the villain who aimed at his life ? 
 and he had nearly carried this in the 
 affirmative, on considering the question 
 merely as it affected himself, but when 
 he remembered the wrongs — the cruel 
 injuries which the ill-fated Clifford had 
 sustained, doubt was no more, and he 
 felt that it was his duty to preserve his 
 own existence, in order, if possible, to 
 vindicate another's fame. Clifford, it was 
 6.
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 275 
 
 too probable, had left England in despair, 
 and was now far beyond the reach of re- 
 paration, but his name might be snatched 
 from obloquy, and his destroyer brought 
 to justice. 
 
 Reflections like these made him not a 
 little anxious for the arrival of the hour 
 when he calculated on receiving a visit 
 from the jester. Nicholas came. He 
 called on Edmund by his name, and re- 
 ceived the usual answer, while the door 
 was silently opened for his reception. 
 Bray waived his hand, and declined en- 
 tering. He vanished, Edmund heard his 
 steps at a distance, and believed that 
 he was prevented from fulfiUing his 
 promise. The sounds died away, and 
 the next moment Bray appeared. Having 
 walked some distance from the cell, he 
 returned barefooted that his approach 
 might not be remarked. 
 
 '' Well, Master Edmund," said he,- 
 " the door being closed, you had little 
 opportunity of watching the motions of 
 N 6
 
 ^76 OTHER times; oe, 
 
 the worthy abbot before he surprised 
 you/' 
 
 " I certainly had but few moments for 
 observation. These, however, sufficiently 
 unfolded his character. They proved 
 that he was different from what I had 
 supposed him to be; and that point 
 settled, I can easily believe that he has 
 sustained no wrong from your descrip- 
 tion/* 
 
 " It now only remains for you to de- 
 cide what course you will take/' 
 
 " On that subject I have no right to^ 
 pause. I hold it to be my duty to ex- 
 pose the hypocrite without delay/' 
 
 " How will you attempt this?" 
 
 ** My first step shall be to acquaint 
 Lord Erpingham with what I know ?" 
 
 "But by what means will you do 
 this?" 
 
 The jester smiled while he put this 
 question. Edmund thought be was 
 trifling with him by asking it. 
 
 '* Surely," said he, ** you are jesting
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 277 
 
 when you make such enquiry. In speak- 
 ing with Lord Erpingham, I shall avail 
 myself of the same organ which has 
 hitherto served me, however indifferently, 
 for the purposes of conversation." 
 
 '^ It is a sore calamity that when a 
 man has once gained the name of a fool, 
 or a wit, or any thing of the kind, he 
 cannot easily obtain attention wlien he 
 speaks the language of sober thought- 
 fulness. Your tongue, I doubt not, has 
 heretofore served you in very good 
 stead ; but I hope you will not suspect 
 me of wishing to resume my abdicated 
 functions, nor yet of meaning to treat 
 your mode of discourse with the slightest 
 disrespect, when I hint that you will 
 find it somewhat difficult, standing here 
 at Bishopsgate, to make yourself well 
 understood by Lord Erpingham at Tem- 
 ple-bar." 
 
 '^ Nay, this is idle." 
 
 " Why so ?" 
 
 ** Because Egbert has repeatedly of-
 
 S7B OTHER TIMES J OR, 
 
 fered to permit me to visit Lord Er- 
 pingham. He has even pressed me to 
 go ; and though by the rules of the 
 order one of the fraternity must be my 
 companion, that cannot prevent me from 
 disclosing what I wish to reveal." 
 
 *^ Heretofore, while he had no suspi- 
 cion of you, it would have been an easy 
 matter to gain licence to visit Fickett's- 
 fields*^ It will not be so now." 
 
 <* How know you that ?" 
 
 ** Because I know the man of whom 
 we speak. Though you disguised your 
 object in watching him and bis brothers 
 in jollity with some address, depend 
 upon it you have not so far succeeded 
 but he at least suspects you. If you 
 pass from this place, it must be by 
 stealth." 
 
 '^ I think you magnify the difficulty. 
 After pressing me on many occasions to 
 see Lord Erpingham, when I shall say 
 that feeling indisposed, I will avail myself 
 of his kindness by leaving the monastery
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 279 
 
 for a few hours, still in all things con- 
 forming to its rules, what can he offer in 
 opposition to my wish ?*' 
 
 *^ In argument nothing, but in bar to 
 the execution of your design, sundry 
 bolts and locks, which will defeat all 
 your projects more effectually than the 
 most cogent reasoning that ever fell from 
 the lips of man." 
 
 " Do you think then, that he will ven- 
 ture to throw off the mask ?" 
 
 " Believing that he will consider the 
 danger great, there is nothing which de- 
 speration can suggest which he will not 
 oppose to your purpose.'* 
 
 " He dare not proceed to extremities. 
 Dread of Lord Erpingham, who will not 
 fail to seek me — " 
 
 " You forget that your zeal has for- 
 bidden Lord Erpingham to come." 
 
 ** At least he will enquire — " 
 
 '< And will receive a lying answer. 
 He will be told that your austere piety 
 denies approach to all the world. He.
 
 S80 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 will next hear of your sickness, but be 
 admonished that he must not intrude 
 upon your solitude. At length he shall 
 be informed of your disease^ and then — 
 then he may be permitted to gaze on 
 your remains, when there shall be no 
 danger of your tongue revealing aught 
 that could be prejudicial to his interest, 
 or derogatory to his character." 
 
 " What then would you advise ?" said 
 Edmund. 
 
 ** To escape,*' replied the jester. 
 
 " But that is not in my, power." 
 
 "With my assistance, I trust it may 
 be effected. I have found a key which 
 opens the door of the sepulchral vaults 
 in which the flagellation was performed 
 on the carcase of Brother Richard. 
 Thence a series of passages extend,, but 
 to what precise point I have not yet as- 
 certained. This however I know, that 
 they lead beyond the walls of the monas- 
 tery, and the fastenings are within. If 
 we can gain these unobserved, you may
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. S81 
 
 go forth. I will remain to adjust matters, 
 so that your flight shall not be too soon 
 discovered, and the means by which you 
 obtain your emancipation cannot be 
 known." 
 
 << Why will you remain behind?'^ 
 " That my testimony, when required, 
 may be less suspected. A charge made 
 by two runaway monks would be viewed 
 with suspicion, and the oath of Nick 
 Bray would be laughed at. But when I 
 support your accusation, not having 
 transgressed the rules of the order 
 myself, my very character will make 
 against the wretch who brought me 
 hither.*' 
 
 Edmund was grateful for the zeal 
 which the jester manifested, but still 
 argued that he could pass from the mo- 
 nastery with more ease and safety by 
 application to Egbert, who would not, he 
 was convinced, refuse him the permission 
 he proposed to solicit. Bray insisted 
 that the application would only confirm
 
 282 OTHER times; or, 
 
 the misgivings of the abbot ; bat as 
 Edmund thought little would be risked 
 in making the experiment, it was finally 
 resolved that this should be done on the 
 following day. At night, in the event of 
 failure, if noun^expected difficulty opposed 
 the execution of such a design, Edmund 
 consented to attempt leaving the monas- 
 tery by the way which his companion 
 had recommended. 
 
 They parted, and Edmund impatiently 
 awaited the return of day. The objects 
 to which his attention was now directed, 
 had in some degree withdrawn his mind 
 from that debilitating grief under which 
 he had languished, and though during the 
 last two nights he had slept but little, he 
 found himself in an improved state of 
 health. On this he was most cordially 
 congratulated by the abbot with an air 
 of sincerity which, added to the almost 
 unearthly piety of his manner, while join- 
 ing in devotional exercises, made Edmund 
 ask himself whether what he had heard
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. ^83 
 
 could be true, whether what he had seen 
 might not admit of explanation. 
 
 What he purposed saying to Father 
 Egbert, Edmund thought would put him 
 to the test. He named what he wished, 
 and felt convinced that Bray was mis- 
 taken unless he had wished to deceive, 
 when the abbot with all his accustomed 
 benevolence of manner intimated assent. 
 
 He doubted whether to avail himself 
 of the licence thus accorded or not. 
 To act on the mere, assertions of one who 
 had been a jester would be rash, and 
 though he had witnessed what he viewed 
 as a scene of disgraceful revelry, there 
 was a possibility that the brothers whom 
 he had supposed to be engaged in carous- 
 ing were differently occupied. There 
 might be rites to which one so young 
 could not be admitted^ and the vessels 
 used in them, it was just possible, would 
 pass on a slight glance for the common 
 ministers of drunkenness. 
 
 These considerations opposed the con-
 
 ^84 OTHER TIMES 5 OR, 
 
 viction of the abbot's profligacy. But 
 he had soon reason to beUeve that he 
 had not erred in thinking the worst of 
 Egbert. Having given assent to his 
 request to leave the house, the abbot 
 soon applied himself with all the artifice 
 he could use to dissuade Edmund from 
 seeking Lord Erpingham. He pressed 
 on his consideration the inconsistency 
 which would be imputed, if he thus early 
 departed from the resolution he had an- 
 nounced, and for himself he confessed 
 that he lamented to find the firmness of 
 Edmund already shaken. He said he 
 had feared that it would be so, and there- 
 fore it was that he had so repeatedly 
 called upon him to give the subject his 
 serious consideration, before he made that 
 vow which he had now pronounced, and 
 which could not be recalled. 
 
 To this Edmund replied by urging 
 what the holy father himself had said in 
 favour of occasionally going forth on for- 
 mer occasions. But Egbert found avast
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 28 
 
 difference between the present case and 
 that of an ordinary monk, who had not 
 so repeatedly and so decisively resolved 
 on rending asunder the last link which 
 connected him with the rest of the world. 
 All that he said served to prove 
 that Bray had spoken but the truth. 
 Edmund did not relax in his suit, nor 
 express any intention of not acting on the 
 permission to leave the house^ which had 
 been granted. Egbert renewed his ar- 
 guments, but the ear to which they were 
 addressed was closed against his elo- 
 quence, and he found it necessary to 
 abandon the attempt. In doing this, he 
 took occasion to confess that he had sel- 
 dom met with one so difficult to convince 
 — that the change in Edmund's wishes 
 was remarkably sudden, and he finished 
 by observing, that as another change 
 might follow as quickly, he would at least 
 secure the applicant time to reflect before 
 he risked any part of the high character 
 for piety which he had already obtained.
 
 286 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 He desired it therefore to be understood, 
 that the consent he had given to his 
 leaving the monastery, must not be acted 
 upon till the following day. 
 
 This conduct satisfied Edmund, that 
 all that had been stated to the prejudice 
 of the abbot was correct. In the benign 
 smile which sat on his features, while he 
 seemed to impose a kind restriction, 
 Edmund recognised the most detestable 
 hypocrisy, and it was followed by what 
 he considered a malignant glare, which 
 embodied the rage of a demon. He was 
 persuaded that it was the object of Eg- 
 bert, if possible, to prevail on him to giv^ 
 up the determination to which he had 
 come 5 but failing in his efforts to do this, 
 Edmund no longer doubted that force 
 would be used to prevent the accomplish, 
 ment of his purpose. 
 
 His mind was fully made up to ex- 
 tricate himself by the way which the 
 jester had pointed out. That such was 
 his intention, he found an opportunity of
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 287 
 
 Stating in the course of the day, and Bray 
 promised to repair to him at the proper 
 time. 
 
 Edmund anxiously waited for his ap- 
 proach, when the hour arrived which he 
 thought best fitted for the accompUsh- 
 ment of their design. Midnight had 
 sounded, and another of the fraternity 
 had been round to the cells to call on 
 their respective inmates. A new appre- 
 hension came stealing over Edmund's 
 bosom. Might not this failure be justly 
 imputed to negligence or treachery ? If 
 to the former, a guide so careless was 
 little to be trusted ; if to the latter, it was 
 impossible for him to escape. Bray had 
 been considered a careless mischievous 
 character. That he did not scruple 
 to wound another's feelings merely for 
 sport, he had seen in his conduct towards 
 the unfortunate Clifford. The chimes 
 announced the hour of two, while his 
 mind was thus engaged. He sadly lis- 
 tened, and hope seemed to expire as the
 
 288 OTHER TIMES ; OR, 
 
 sound died on his ear. ** I am duped, or 
 he is detected,"' he sighed, as he threw 
 himself on his mattrass. He perceived 
 that the lamp was expiring, but he con- 
 sidered he had no further occasion for 
 light, and cared not to stretch forth his 
 hand to trim it. Disappointment pro- 
 duced a listless drowsiness, and sleep 
 closed his eyes. He suddenly woke, 
 and thought he heard the signal of Bray. 
 It was repeated, the door opened, and 
 Bray entered. 
 
 ** Master Edmund, are you here ?" he 
 enquired. 
 
 Edmund answered, by expressing sur- 
 prise, that he had not come sooner. 
 
 " I have been on the watch since mid- 
 night," said the jester, *^ but till now, we 
 could not venture forth with safety. 
 Some of the monks have been moving 
 in the very direction in which we are to 
 go. But come, be quick." 
 '■ " Since it is so late, will it be wise to 
 make the ajttempt now ?"
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 289 
 
 " I think so. It will certainly subject 
 you to some inconvenience which might 
 be avoided ; but inconvenience is not to 
 be regarded, where life is at stake." 
 
 " Undoubtedly not ; but to what do 
 you particularly refer ?" 
 
 " Why I am fearful it will be too late 
 for you to pass to Lord Erpingham's this 
 morning, without risk of being followed 
 and secured before you can explain your 
 conduct." 
 
 <* Indeed !*' 
 
 ** If we encounter any difficulty in 
 making our way, as it is now past three 
 o'clock, it will be perhaps almost five 
 when you get outside the walls. What 
 I would advise then, should be this, that 
 you pass down the lane leading from 
 Bishopsgate Street, just by the WMte 
 Hart, whence Wolsey once took his 
 departure in state for Canterbury. Go 
 straight by the wall, but turn to the 
 right, before you get to Limping Saint 
 Giles's." 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 S90 OTHER times; or, 
 
 *< I do not know the place you men- 
 tion/' 
 
 ** No!" cried Bray, with an air of in- 
 effable surprise. '* Only to think now in 
 what ignorance you better sort of people 
 are brought up ! Why, Limping Saint 
 Giles's is the knick name for Cripplegate, 
 as Redriff is for Rotherhithe, You need 
 not go so far by half a mile. Turn down 
 the lane I have mentioned, pass the Tum- 
 bledown Hospital of St. Mary of Beth- 
 lem, which stands, — no, which falls therein, 
 and then take your way to the right just 
 before you reach Wall Brook. Do this, 
 and you will ere long come to the Dog- 
 house at Finsbury, where my friend the 
 Common Hunt, that is the name of the 
 office given to Dick Longthong, is to be 
 found. Devoted to the instruction of 
 the rising generation, it is his business 
 to feed and educate my Lord Mayor's 
 hounds, and a short time ago let me tell 
 you, he had some veiy promising pup- 
 pies, which did their preceptor great 
 credit.
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. ^91 
 
 The garrulity of the jester was now 
 running away with him, and Edmund 
 thought it necessary to remark that they 
 had no time for conversation on such 
 matters. 
 
 " That is true my master ; well then, 
 Dick is my friend, and, though he is now 
 a great man, will pay you some attention 
 if you mention Nick Bray. There, in 
 any case, you can remain through the 
 day, and after nightfall it will not be 
 difficult for you to pass unobserved to 
 Fiskett's fields." 
 
 The lamp had expired, and they were 
 now in total darkness. 
 
 " Follow me," said Bray. 
 
 '' Can you find the way without a 
 light," Edmund enquired. 
 
 " Not very well," the other replied ; 
 " but I can borrow a light from the with- 
 drawing room next the refectory." 
 
 " May not some one be there ?" 
 
 '' Should such be the case, there is an 
 end of our journeying; for through that 
 room we must pass. But come j we must 
 advance cautiously. 
 
 o2
 
 292 OTHER TIMES', OR, 
 
 They passed along the corridor with- 
 out speaking. He carefully opened 
 the door of the apartment which had 
 been named. It was deserted appar- 
 ently for the night, and Bray took the 
 only lamp by which it was illuminated. 
 He entered the passage through which 
 they had moved on the night of the 
 Monk's funeral ; and, descending as be- 
 fore, they soon saw the door of the vault. 
 
 "Now, master Edmund, take the lamp, 
 while I apply my key to th^lock. I 
 hope the wards are not so rusty as they 
 were some months ago, when all my 
 strength would not suffice to get the key 
 round. We are fortunate," he exclaimed 
 on a sudden ; " by marvellous good luck 
 the door is unlocked to our hands." 
 
 He pushed the door open, and a vio- 
 lent gust of wind extinguished the lamp. 
 
 ** Truly," said the jester, *< this is a 
 sore calamity. I like not the paths of 
 darkness just now. To get another lamp 
 I fear is impossible, and without one I 
 am much afraid of some miscarriage."
 
 THE MONKS OF LEADENHALL. 293 
 
 " 1 think I saw a flash of light on the 
 opposite side." 
 
 " x\nd so did I. Lord how forgetful I 
 am ! It came from the candles, which 
 are constantly burning in the little crypt 
 at the shrine of our lady, I shall make 
 so free as to borrow one." 
 
 He then advanced into the vault, closely 
 followed by Edmund. A flash of light 
 was again seen, and Bray, turning round, 
 sought to retrace his steps with the ut- 
 most ppecipitation. 
 
 '* There is some one here beside our- 
 selves," he whispered. ""^ Follow me." 
 
 Edmund attempted to do so, but 
 missed the door. He heard the jester's 
 whisper, •' This way," but he had not 
 been able to follow when a strong glare 
 of light was thrown on the wall. The 
 door was now sufficiently visible, but he 
 could not reach it without being seen 
 by the bearer of the lanthorn ; and aware 
 of this, he on the instant shrunk behind 
 a piUar which had impeded his retreat. 
 " Did you see nothing move ?" en- 
 
 4
 
 294^ OTHER TIMES. 
 
 quired the holder of the Hght, who was 
 no other than the abbot. 
 
 "Nothing," replied a female voice, 
 '' but the shadows of the pillars, as you 
 changed the situation of the lamp." 
 
 " The grave is ready," said he ; '' and 
 I hope the child will yet be born, and 
 entombed before day-light." 
 
 Edmund was thrilled with amazement 
 and horror at what he heard. Tfeat 
 moment he perceived the advancing lamp 
 had thrown his shadow on the wall full 
 in the view of Egbert and his companion. 
 He strove to conceal himself behind the 
 pillar ; but the abbot and his companion 
 had marked the gliding image, and the 
 former impetuously rushing forward, de- 
 manded, 
 
 " Who is he that seeks concealment 
 here ?" 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 London : 
 Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode, 
 New- Street- Square.
 
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