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 TALES OF CHIVALRY; 
 
 IPll^OLg ©Y (FiL©'©© hmij IFilillL©. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH NUMEItOUS ENGRAVINGS, 
 By Mb. S. WILLIAMS. 
 
 
 
 Hontion : 
 
 G BERGER, HOLYWELL STREET, STRAND 
 
 AND MAY BE HAD OF ALL DOOK«;ELLFRS.
 
 G. Berger, Printer, Holywell Street, Strand. ^m
 
 823 
 
 V.I 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 The "Age of Chivalry" formed a remarkable era in the annals of the 
 
 world. The pages of history bear ample testimony, that the establishment 
 
 of the ancient order of Knighthood produced a great change in the manners 
 
 and customs of Christendom. The youthful knight, thirsting for an 
 
 \rj honourable name, having received on his cheek or his shoulder the last 
 
 ^ blow which he was allowed to endure without retaliation, immediately 
 
 ^"^ became the sworn champion of Heaven, and of Heaven's fairest creature — 
 
 . woman ; he was bound to speak the truth, and to defend it, at the peril of 
 
 ^^ his life; he was pledged to protect the distressed; to maintain every 
 
 r^ virtuous and rightful cause ; to despise the blandishments of vice, and the 
 
 ^A allurements of ease and safety ; to be courteous and merciful ; to defend 
 
 ^ the true faith ; and, in every perilous adventure, to vindicate all the honour 
 
 of his character. Immaculate purity and undaunted valour, were the 
 
 characteristics of a true knight. The loftiest kings and princes of the 
 
 J' earth condescended to solicit the badge of Knighthood, and esteemed it of 
 
 c more value than their richest diadems, or the most extended empire; and 
 
 ^^ the proudest nobles gladly bent the knee, and performed the various 
 
 '^ ceremonies that admitted them to the " order." In a short time, by the 
 
 ameliorating and softening influence of Chivalry, the naked contests and 
 
 - savage "spectacles" of the ancients disappeared, and gave way to the 
 
 >, costly and fascinating " tournament," where skill and valour contested for 
 
 V 
 
 ^« the prize, and peerless and priceless beauty presided, to bestow on courage 
 ^-^and merit their hard-earned reward. 
 
 A 2
 
 iv PREFACE. 
 
 It will be readily seen that an order of men like tliese knights of old — 
 impetuous, gay and free — pledged to the practice of the sternest virtue, 
 and the performance of the most heroic actions, would naturally be exposed 
 to dangers infinite; and cold must be the heart, and dull the spirit, that 
 could remain unmoved by the recital of those chivalrous deeds which 
 procured for these champions of truth and victory never-ending reno^7n. 
 The marvellous adventures and hair-breadth escapes of the valorous cavalier 
 — the perils of his " lad^'e-love" — and the devotion of his stripling page 
 (occasionally some love-lorn noble beaut}^ in disguise, who deemed it no 
 disgrace to brave the dangers of the battle-field), have been the theme of 
 many a poet's song, and, in the absence of the art of printing, to chronicle 
 their deeds, called into existence the celebrated minstrel race, who wandered 
 from clime to clime, singing the praises of gallant knights, and the con- 
 stancy and beauty of their mistresses, exciting warlike ardour in the 
 youthful breast, and enkindling the love of virtue and of arms. Such was 
 the "Age of Chivalry," and such were its results. 
 
 To give to the fleeting and faulty records of these heroic knights " a local 
 habitation and a name," an attempt has been made in the present work, to 
 embody their innumerable heroic achievements, under the title of " Tales 
 OF Chivalry." The warm support which the work has received, is a 
 sufficient testimony that the public approve of the design ; and the Pub- 
 lisher, in closing the First Volume, avails himself of the opportunity to 
 announce that he has prepared the materials for a Second Volume, the 
 publication of which will be immediately commenced ; and interesting and 
 valuable as the following pages are admitted to be, he is enabled to promise 
 his Subscribers a yet greater treat in the forthcoming volume of the " Tales 
 OF Chivalry."
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY; 
 
 OR, 
 
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 HUMPHREY THE HOMICIDE, 
 
 It was late on Christmas Eve, about 
 
 years ago, before the accustomed 
 
 festal ceremonies which distinguished that 
 great vigil were concluded at Pype-Hall, 
 then the residence of sir Humphrey Stan- 
 ley, knight of the body to king Henry 
 the Seventh. Among the various festi- 
 vities peculiar to the season, the well- 
 known Christmas gambols, consisting in 
 change of dress between the sexes, had 
 been freely indulged. Sir Humphrey had 
 commanded the great gates to be kept open, 
 and the planks of the drawbridge-tower 
 to remain lowered all day and night. Not 
 only the peasantry, but those also of high 
 degree, mingled in this feudal masquerade 
 — and long after midnight, when the 
 knight ana the chief of his guests had 
 retired to their chambers, parlies were 
 perpetually passing and repassing the 
 drawbridge ; some returning^ to the hall 
 from the different mansions they had been 
 visiting, and others quitting it for their 
 
 VOL. I. — 1. 
 
 Page i . 
 
 several homes, which, in their turn, had 
 been recipients of masquers from Pype- 
 Hall and the neighbourhood. 
 
 The chambers and courts were be- 
 coming comparatively hushed and lonely, 
 when two masqued figures, attired in the 
 costume of either sex, which, however, at 
 this season, afforded no clue to the actual 
 sex of either, were seen to cross the gal- 
 lery which overlooked the great hall. 
 The enormous yule-log flamed roaring 
 up the vast chimney, and flung an iHumi- 
 nation brighter than daylight over the 
 whole apartment. Quickly passing from 
 this blaze of illumination, they quitted 
 the gallery : 
 
 Down the wide stairs a darkling way they 
 found : 
 
 In all the house was heard no human sound ; 
 A chain-droop'd lamp was flick'ring at each door. 
 
 The arras rich, with horseman, hawk, and 
 hound, 
 Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar ; 
 And the thick rushes stirr'd along the gusty floor ; 
 
 They glide like phantoms into the bioadhall,— 
 
 Like phantoms to the iron porch they glide.
 
 TALES OT CHIVALRY; OR, 
 
 When they descended into the quad- 
 rangle, every thing looked drearily tran- 
 quil. A drowsy domestic or two crossing 
 here and there, glanced cursorily at the 
 pair with unwondeiing eyes, as they 
 moved to the principal gateway. A deep 
 snow, which had been cleared away from 
 the courts, lay in a thick mantle over the 
 battlements and turret-tops ; its hard 
 silvery bosses clung to every knosp and 
 dripstone of the windows and parapets ; 
 the grim turban of the Saracenic figure 
 over the fountain was swelled to double 
 dimensions by its glittering fleece, while 
 the full moon glittered over the whole, 
 picturing the bulky towers and high walls 
 of the quadrangles in bold reliefs of black 
 and white, save when the hollow gusts 
 wafted a cloud over it, or dislodged with 
 a hissing noise portions of the snowy mass 
 from the corbel and machicolations. 
 
 Ere they passed the outer gale, which, 
 as we have stated, stood open, signals, 
 apparently preconcerted, passed between 
 them and the porter, A brief and whis- 
 pered conversation ensued ; the man hst- 
 ened and replied with an air of deep re- 
 spect and interest ; bowed low as they 
 left him ; and gazing after their forms as 
 they vanished through the drawbridge- 
 tower, he muttered, 
 
 " Felix Redmayne ! thou wilt smart 
 for this : but no matter ; foul befal those 
 that would thwart true love ! I am well 
 minded to follow them in their flight, for 
 I'm weary of serving this passionate 
 master of mine; but they have given me 
 my part, and I will tarry till I have 
 played it." 
 
 When the fugitives were clear of the 
 raoatand walls of Pype-Hall, they changed 
 their stealthy pace for one of greater 
 speed ; and it was remarkable that the 
 figjire in female attire almost supported 
 the other, as with rapid steps they fled 
 over tracts of gleaming snow that crackled 
 under their feet, and beneath oak-trees 
 whose mighty branches were freakishly 
 loaded with the white and sparkling 
 enamel, forming a ghastly contrast to 
 their black gigantic trunks. At length 
 they reached a deep rocky lane that led 
 to Lichfield. The snow lay here in deep 
 drifts, the thick trees met over their 
 heads, and the panting breath of the male 
 figure might be distinctly heard, amidst 
 the pausing hoots of the owls in the 
 Abenhall woods, or the intermitted plash 
 
 of many a little well m the mossy hedge- 
 row, whose musical voice not even the 
 tyrant frost had been able to silence. 
 The female now spoke, as her companion 
 paused with weariness, and the first words 
 soon accounted for the apparent contra- 
 diction. 
 
 " Will my brave, my noble-minded 
 Magdalene, droop now ? I'ake courage, 
 love ! it is barely a quarter of a mile to 
 Lichfield ; there horses and attendants 
 await us — ere morn we shall be safe from 
 thy relentless father !" 
 
 '* Aye, aye !" murmured Magdalene 
 Stanley (for it was sir Humphrey's only 
 daughter), "my father! thou hast indeed 
 given me a charm against fatigue in that 
 w ord. Oh ! let us hapten ; I am strong — 
 quite strong, Valentine ! my father may 
 even now discover my escape !" 
 
 With these words Magdalene sprang 
 forwards, and sir Valentine Chetwynd 
 had scarcely any further need to support 
 her till they gained the hostel of the Bar- 
 bican, situated at a little distance from 
 the northern suburbs of Lichfield. Ser- 
 vants well armed, and wearing the Chet- 
 wynd livery, were waiting at the gate; 
 to them sir Valentine gave a few hasty 
 directions, and then led his companion 
 into the principal chamber of the hostel. 
 There, though at that untimely hour, the 
 Christmas block was blazing in full 
 vigour ; the fire-place formed a wide and 
 lofty alcove, stretching across one entire 
 side of the room. Within this household 
 temple were placed, on a heavy oak table, 
 a flagon of wine and other provisions, 
 while the leathern hangings, stamped and 
 gilded, the thick and fresh rushes, and 
 the glowing Hght playing over all, con- 
 stituted a mute but cheering welcome to 
 the fugitives of this bitter night. Sir 
 Valentine now left Magdalene to the care 
 of the hostess, who entered laden with 
 different articles of dress, dry and warm, 
 it is true, but still resembling the male 
 attire the fair fugitive already wore. As 
 she threw of her cloak and raised her 
 barret-cap, both drenched with the snow- 
 fall from the trees, Magdalene disclosed 
 in the fire-light a figure of the loftiest 
 beauty. There was energy — there was 
 command in her stately face and form, 
 though scarcely ripened into womanhood ; 
 but her noble cheek was pale, and her 
 beautiful lips compressed, and her rich 
 tresses hung down on the loosened doublet
 
 PERILS BT FI.OOI) AND FIELI>. 
 
 and unbuckled belt, all dripping and 
 dishevelled with the snow. The hostess 
 seemed to understand her part ; for re- 
 straining all needless loquacity, she re- 
 spectfully assisted the young lady to 
 exchange her dress, and then silently 
 retired. 
 
 **Tl)e saints forgive me;" was Mag- 
 dalene's faltered exclamation v^hen she 
 frmnd herself alone ; " the saints forgive 
 me, if there can be sin in this deed ! But 
 what sin ca7i there be ? Is not Valentine 
 Chetwynd my equal in birth and rank ? — 
 is he not the paragon of manly goodness ? 
 — and may we not look that this deadly 
 feud will be staunched by these irrevo- 
 cable measures ? T will hope," she con- 
 tinued, her eye kindling and her cheek 
 glowing ; *' true, sir Humphrey is fierce 
 and terrible — but he will hear reason, at 
 least he must listen to the king, for not 
 even my father is higher in Henry's 
 favour than sir Valentine Chetwynd. 
 His grace will joy to see those bitter 
 quarrels extinguished for ever, wherein 
 he hath so often mediated in vain ! My 
 brother John is prejudiced, but he loves 
 me well ; and my mother — ah, my poor 
 mother, I fear me, this will fall heaviest 
 on thee,'* 
 
 Magdalene had risen from her seat 
 under the excitement of'her meditations ; 
 but the thought of her mother — her gentle 
 — her confiding mother — suffering at once 
 under her loss, and the too probable 
 harshness of sir Humphrey, who had been 
 austere as a husband as well as a father, 
 dispelled at once all her bright visions, 
 and she had sunk on the huge settle in an 
 attitude of the deepest despondence, when 
 Valentine re-entered (having discarded 
 his woman's weeds), and hastened to her 
 side. 
 
 He was completely armed except his 
 head, and his armour, of German manu- 
 facture, was beautifully fluted ; its several 
 plates being embossed with the arms of 
 the city where it was made. A cloak, 
 richly emblazoned with his family bear- 
 ings, was thrown over his shoulders, and 
 he placed on the table his burgonet (that 
 graceful lielmet of the period) superbly 
 engraved and studded, the beaver being 
 enamelled blue and white. Short and 
 thick curls of raven gloss retired from his 
 lordly forehead ; while the faultless regu- 
 larity of his features was redeemed from 
 the charge of effeminacy, by the com- 
 
 plexion of clear brown, eloquent with 
 noble blood, that mantled over them. 
 
 *' What, Magdalene, all amort > In 
 faith I have made some error, and have 
 stolen— save the mark ! stolen my lady's 
 page, who trembles at the discipline of the 
 buttery-hatch." 
 
 Magdalene's fine face was once more 
 relumed at the sight and voice of her 
 lover ; and, smiling as she pointed to her 
 disguise, asked, 
 
 " And at what buttery-hatch is the 
 truant page to be disciplined ? Hold the 
 broad towers of Ingestre such gear ? By 
 yea and nay, Valentine, I will not farther 
 in this mummery !" 
 
 *' Be satisfied, my beautiful ! retain it 
 but for this night, and yon moon" — (he 
 said, as the planet emerging from a cloud 
 played through the lozenged casement 
 and showed the snowy steeples and houses 
 of the city) — "yon moon shall not be 
 half so brilliant as the mistress of Ingestre 
 to-morrow. Thou fearest not a distant 
 journey, though at this wild season, if it 
 will place us beyond the arm of sir Hum- 
 phrey's vengeance ?" 
 
 ** With Valentine at my side, I can 
 fear nothing ; and an angry father is less 
 to be braved than a withering winter i" 
 
 " Trust me, my beloved, we tarry at 
 Ingestre only till holy church hath linked 
 us for ever. We will then speed to Lon- 
 don, where my rank as gentleman usher 
 to the king will obtain me ready access 
 to his grace. To him our story shall be 
 told ; and doubt not, ere long, Magdalene 
 of Ingestre shall be so brave in the court 
 sunshine, that not even a father's ire shall 
 venture to interpose a cloud !" 
 
 Magdalene now took the proffered 
 nook of the pasty, and sipped the wine 
 flagon, while the young knight speedily 
 dispatched a manly share, both of tren- 
 cher and goblet. He next replaced the 
 cap and cloak on the lady, bestowed a 
 munificent guerdon on the hostess, and 
 led Magdalene to her steed. Valentine 
 then mounted his own gallant gray ; four 
 horsemen, armed to the teeth, trotted 
 briskly behind them up the hill to the 
 north, and they were soon far on the way 
 to the towers and woods of Ingestre. 
 
 The clear notes of the morning peal 
 from the Minster and other churches in 
 Lichfield were wafted through the sunny 
 air, over woods and fields of sparkling 
 snow, to the lofty courts of Pype-Hall. 
 B 2
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY; OR, 
 
 The great bell in the cupola was ringing 
 aloud ; horses were in the outer quA- 
 (irangle, richly caparisoned, and, snorting 
 with impatience, tossed incessantly the 
 long feathers on their chanfrons, and 
 pawed the clattering pavement. Per- 
 suivants, men-at-arms, and otiier domes- 
 tics, were bustling to and fro ; the grooms 
 stamped their feet and blew their fingers, 
 benumbed with the cold, as they stood by 
 the horses' reins, and the ba} ing of the 
 hounds from the kennels, was answered 
 by the screams and jangled bells of the 
 falcons in their mews. The broad banner 
 of Stanley, impaling Lee, floated proudly 
 over the building, flinging its gorgeous 
 blazon from a staff of pine, into the blue 
 frosty sky, — while the mantle of snow, 
 overlaid by a powerless sun, lay like a 
 golden roof upon the deep and frowning 
 pile. 
 
 Sir Humphrey his family, and their 
 numerous guests, were to distinguish the 
 great festival of Christmas-day, by at- 
 tending high mass in the Minster, in 
 observance of the conditions by which the 
 knight was permitted to have a private 
 chapel at Pype-Hall for ordinary services. 
 The company were assembled in the 
 baronial hall, whose immense volumes of 
 tapestry were worked with the dazzling 
 scenes of courtly magnificence taken from 
 the book of Daniel — there the guests 
 
 ** Saw men pourtrayed on the wall, 
 the images of the Chaldeans pourtrayed 
 with vermilion, girded with girdles upon 
 their loins, exceeding m dyed attire 
 upon their heads, all of them princes to 
 look to, after the manner of the Baby- 
 lonians of Chaldea." Ezekiel xxiii. 
 
 The table of dais displayed a weighty 
 profusion of mediaeval delicacies, which 
 nothing but its massive pillars of oak, 
 carved in the figures of eight bulls ram- 
 pant, could have supported. Capacious 
 flagons of malmsey, claret, and mead, 
 and richly sculptured vessels of foaming 
 ale, were intermingled with savoury col- 
 lops of veal and beef, dishes of salt and 
 fresh water fi.sh, buttered eggs, honey, 
 and various preparations of milk spiced 
 and sweetened. Canisters piled up with 
 loaves of warm bread, rose like towers 
 here and there, interspersed with the 
 most delicate flawns, manchets, and al- 
 mond biscuits. The yule-dough, or paste 
 images, displayed every where their fan- 
 ciful figures ; while, central and pre-emi- 
 
 nent, a gigantic boar's head displayed 
 his rosemary chaplet, the ruddy orange 
 in his jaws, and his highly gilded tusks. 
 Two taoles on each side the hall, extend- 
 ing at right angles from the dais, were 
 occupied each in their rank by the various 
 domestics of the knight and his visitors : 
 their fare, though of inferior quality, was 
 equally abundant ; plum-porridge, Christ- 
 mas pies in the shape of cradles, yule- 
 cakes, &c. &c. Mighty boughs of ivy, 
 holly, and yew, each with its green, scar- 
 let, and pink berries, were mingled with 
 box and laurel, and smaller but more 
 precious clusters of the misletoe, whose 
 yellow fruit and dull leaves looked all the 
 ghastly mysteries of the Druids they 
 once adorned. 
 
 In the midst of a desultory conversa- 
 tion on the sports of the preceding night, 
 sir Humphrey, glancing round the table, 
 suddenly exclaimed, 
 
 " How now ? — where is Madge ? — 
 Where is your daughter, my lady Stan- 
 ley ? She is not wont to be a loiterer 
 either at meal or mass — yet I see her 
 not 1" 
 
 The lady turned pale with various 
 but guiltless fears as her husband spoke, 
 when, following the direction of his broad 
 fierce eye, she saw that the beautiful 
 Magdalene was not at the morning meaL 
 Sir Humphrey was a man in the fruitful 
 vigour of life; his person was moulded 
 in all the gigantic symmetry of a Farnese 
 Hercules : — 
 
 No airy elegance that fancy sees 
 Float in the dance, or flutter in the breeze. 
 No shapeless mass ot huge colossal plan — 
 No Athos laboured to the form of man ; 
 But true proportions of resistless might. 
 Heroic mien, and lineament, and height. 
 
 His face was intended by nature to be 
 handsome ; the light hair, the broad fore- 
 head, the aquiline nose, the refined cast 
 of the lips, the fair and ruddy-tinted com- 
 plexion, were all there, — but they were 
 counteracted to an extraordinary degree 
 by black hair and black eyebrows, the 
 former being as unusualh' large as the 
 latter was bushy. When to this phy- 
 siognomical anomaly it is added, that his 
 passions had no bounds, 
 
 And where his frown of hatred darkly fell, 
 Hope withering fled, and Mercy sigh'd farewell ! 
 
 — it may be imagined that his face, in 
 tranquillity, a picture of what woman 
 loves and man envies, was, on the slight- 
 est stir of emotion, fearful, and, when
 
 PERILS Br FLOOD AXD FIELD. 
 
 under the influence of violent excitement, 
 absolutely diabolical. His dame Ellen, 
 daughter of sir James Lee, of Stone, 
 (and by whom sir Humphrey Stanley 
 had added the wealthy manor and the 
 noble hall of Aston to his ancestral pos- 
 sessions), was a thin, pale female, whose 
 gentle tones and timid eye required 
 encouragement even from those of milder 
 mood ; but which, beneath the stern man- 
 ner and imperious voice of her lord, habi- 
 tually quailed into helpless terror. 
 
 Lady Stanley began faltering forth her 
 answer to her turbulent husband, " that, 
 in the hurry of attending her guests, she 
 had forgotten to arouse Magdalene." 
 
 A violent burst of invective from sir 
 Humphrey cut short her reply : pale and 
 trembling, she sat silent. The guests all 
 looked at each other in painful embar- 
 rassment ; a female domestic was sum- 
 moned, and as she crossed the gallery 
 overlooking the opposite end of the hall, 
 every eye and ear followed her footsteps; 
 soon after she had disappeared, a faint 
 scream was heard, and rushing back and 
 leaning over the carved pinnacles of the 
 gallery, the maiden proclaimed that Mis- 
 tress Magdalene's chamber was empty, 
 and that her bed had never been pressed 
 the preceding night. 
 
 Sir Humphrey's face began rapidly to 
 darken with its fiendish expression. The 
 porter was summoned. Felix Redmayne 
 entered the hall ; a beautiful robust yeo- 
 man, apparently about four-and-twenty, 
 with the family badge of the eagle and 
 the child wrought on his shoulders and 
 loins. As he approached the dais, a cloud 
 of timidity and awkwardness overcast his 
 blutf but gallant features. 
 
 " Mistress Magdalene," he said, " had 
 risen before dawn, and had parted for 
 Lichfield, having vows to pay by the well 
 of her patroness St. Magdalene, in the 
 meadows north-west of the city, and pur- 
 posed rejoining the company in St Peter's 
 chapel at the Minster." 
 
 Language would fail to describe the 
 paroxysm of fury that dilated and in- 
 flamed sir Humphrey's countenance, 
 impeding his very utterance, at these 
 tidings. 
 
 *' Purposed !" he at length roared out, 
 " purposed ! a most maidenly purpose ! 
 and a delicate confidant by St. Giles she 
 hath chosen for her purpose; and a 
 worthy warden I have cliosen for my 
 
 walls. Villain ! thy life shall answer for 
 this 1" 
 
 " So please you, sir Humphrey, it was 
 your own order that both gates and draw- 
 bridge should be open during the night 
 (as was ever your wont on Christmas 
 Eve) to all outgoers and incomers: and 
 it was not for me to battle words, much 
 less offer restraint, to Mistress Magda- 
 lene." 
 
 Sir Humphrey looked as if he would 
 have slain the man where he stood ; lady 
 Stanley, with a faint cry of terror, im- 
 plored the guests to assuage her husband's 
 fury. 
 
 All instantly arose, and two or three of 
 the most distinguished among them suc- 
 ceeded with difficulty in partially appeas- 
 ing the furious knight, who at length 
 ended by ordering the porter into close 
 custody. 
 
 " To horse and forward," he exclaimed, 
 " or we shall be late at mass ! We must 
 not let this errant damsel suppose us 
 more laggards in holy things than herself! 
 But by the crest of my father!" — he 
 champed his teeth as he spoke, — " by the 
 crest of my father, she shall say Nones 
 Vespers and Complin in her own closet, 
 and that fasting too ! 
 
 The whole company now passed forth 
 into the quadrangle, and amidst much 
 marvel and conjecture mounting their 
 horses and ascending their litters, filed 
 oflf through the sounding gateway, and 
 ere long the stately pile of Northsburgs- 
 gate, surmounted by its magnificent 
 tower, admitted them into the Minster 
 Close. 
 
 It was some hours afterwards that the 
 burly form of sir Humphrey Stanley was 
 seen advancing through the snowy lane, 
 leading to the retired precincts of Saint 
 Magdalene's Well. Every tree was so 
 thickly and dazzlingly silvered with in- 
 crustations of snow, as to resemble with 
 their arching boughs the crystalline colon- 
 nades of a fairy grotto ; and when the 
 knight reached the sainted spot, nothing 
 could be more striking than the contrast 
 between the chilly brilliance and breath- 
 less silence of the scene, and the tornado 
 of passions that tumultuously agitated its 
 sole spectator ! A carved basin, simply 
 laced with open wheelwork and quatre- 
 foils, received the diamond element 
 through a stone rosette in the pedestal 
 that supported the graceful shrine and
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRV : OR, 
 
 effigy of Saint Magdalene ; bursting 
 tlience, the little stream marched its 
 course by a sweeping tract of inky black- 
 ness through the jagged snow, till it lost 
 itself in the neighbouring brooks : the 
 birds flitted hither and thither, silent as 
 phantoms ; and there was a profound 
 ^ hush, only interrupted by the puny tinkle 
 of the well, the sleepy breeze hissing 
 through the hedgerows, the partridges 
 from the dell, or the cold clear notes of 
 the robin, as with large black eye and 
 brown and crimson vest he perched fear- 
 lessly on a pinnacle of the fountain. In 
 this place of peace, sanctified as it was by 
 the holiest and most beneficent rites of a 
 beautiful superstition, stood one who, if 
 the earth had cleft beneath his feet, and 
 sent forth the visible arch-enemy himself, 
 would have fronted him in the fierceness 
 of his own passions. A single glance 
 sufficed to show him, that not a footstep 
 bad displaced the pure and sparkling sur- 
 face round the well. The certainty of his 
 daughter's flight was frightfully aggra- 
 vated by vague but fierce suspicions ; 
 and while he writhed beneath their in- 
 fluence, it might have been supposed that 
 some maniac was venting his horrible 
 insanities. 
 
 We dare not detail this explosion of a 
 father's anger and a rival's hate. The 
 agony of the first surmise gradually suc- 
 ceeded by a half-choaked enumeration of 
 every real, or fancied cause of hatred, 
 which the Chetwynds had inflicted on 
 him, — and this blazing forth into threats 
 and imprecations only subsiding in the 
 deliberate pitiless purpose of revenge, we 
 dare not, if we could display. 
 
 When sir Humphrey alighted at his 
 hall, the silent fury in his face terrified the 
 old butler ; but when, in a calm, unna- 
 tural tone, he commanded that Felix Red- 
 mayne, the porter, should be brought 
 before him, the old man read such a ter- 
 rible meaning in his master's eye, that, 
 forgetting all personal considerations, he 
 flung himself on his knees at sir Hum- 
 phrey's feet, exclaiming — 
 
 *' Oh, for holy Mary's sake, sir Knight ! 
 — for His sake, who came down to save 
 sinners, let not blood stain thine hands on 
 this blessed festival !" 
 
 ** Peace, slave ! I will only take so 
 much of his blood as shall purge his false- 
 hood from his veins. Bring him up, I 
 say. Bid Bartholomew bring his scourge, 
 
 and let the cook and his assistant at- 
 tend." 
 
 So saying, sir Humphrey ascended the 
 steps into the hall. Thither Felix was 
 conducted, and as he entered sir Hum- 
 phrey said — 
 
 " Thou hast done such good service^ 
 knave, that it were wronging thee to keep 
 back thy wages a single hour. Untruss, 
 man ! Be ready to hold him, fellows," he 
 added to two stout men, who now ad- 
 vanced ; " you, Styche !" to the cook, a 
 truculent looking personage, '* prepare 
 our badge ; and you, Amos, scourge him 
 till his bones are bare I" 
 
 Felix, while untrussing his points, and 
 taking off his doublet and shirt, turned an 
 unshrinking eye upon his stern master, 
 and said, firmly — 
 
 " Sir Humphrey Stanley ! you may 
 scourge the life out of me ; but every stripe 
 shall make me rejoice that the young lady, 
 as they tell me, is clean escaped from 
 such a tyrant father !" 
 
 Sir Humphrey only replied by a signal 
 to two of the servants, who, with evident 
 reluctance, approached Felix ; the poor 
 fellow put an arm round each of their 
 Decks, and was held by the hands in that 
 posture ; and while undergoing a flagel- 
 lation too severe to be mentioned, he 
 seemed like one asleep, or in the act of 
 an affectionate caress, so entirely did his 
 manhood conceal his sufferings. This 
 punishment over, the two men turned him 
 on his back upon their knees — a third 
 held his feet, while the cook, approaching 
 with a small iron, figured like an eagle 
 and child, stamped it hissing on tlie 
 yeoman's naked chest, which, broad and 
 brawney, never flinched from its burning 
 salute. The deep drawn breath, however, 
 and the perspiration starting from every 
 pore of white skin, betrayed, in spite of 
 himself, the unfortunate porter's agony. 
 A suit of clothes resembling the common 
 dress of a peasant, was then put upon the 
 tortured Felix ; and, without further cere- 
 mony, he was thrust forth from the gates 
 of the manor hall. 
 
 The savage punishment was witnessed 
 by sir Humphrey, not only with a pitiless 
 eye, but with the mien of one disdainful 
 of the paltry revenge he was taking on a 
 vassal, and looking to more eminently 
 horrible tokens of his rage. 
 
 Redmayne had scarcely strength to 
 walk ; but his limbs, in spite of his pains,
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 were of the most masculine strength ; 
 and his heart, his courageous heart, no 
 slavish punishment could touch. Heroic 
 was his step and mien, till he found him- 
 self beyond the sight of his cruel master; 
 and it was not till the last battlement of 
 Pype Hall was hidden by the wintry oak 
 trees from his view, that he yielded to his 
 excruciating torments, and sank ex- 
 hausted at the threshold of a large wooden 
 gate, leading into the yard of a farm or 
 homestal of apparent magnitude. 
 (To be continued. J 
 
 DEATH OF GENERAL WASHINGTON. 
 
 The following affecting account of the 
 death of the celebrated general Washing- 
 ton, is extracted from his Life, just pub- 
 lished by Mr. Colburn. 
 
 " About half past four o'clock on the 
 19th March, 1783, he desired me," says 
 Mr. Lear, " to call Mrs. Washington to 
 his bedside, when he requested her to go 
 down into his room, and take from his 
 desk two wills which she would find there, 
 and bring them to him, which she did. 
 Upon looking at them, he gave her one, 
 which he observed was useless, as being 
 superseded by the other, and desired her 
 to burn it, which she did, and took the 
 other and put it into her closet. After 
 this was done, I returned to his bedside, 
 and took his hand. He said to me — 
 * I find I am going. My breath cannot 
 last long. I believed from the first that 
 the disorder would prove fatal. Do you 
 arrange and record all my late military 
 letters and papers. Arrange my accounts 
 and settle my books, as you know more 
 about them than any one else, and let 
 Mr. Rawlins finish recording my other 
 letters, which he has begun.' I told him 
 this should be done. He then asked, if I 
 recollected any thing which it was essen- 
 tial for him to do, as he had but a very 
 short time to continue with us. I told him 
 that I could recollect nothing, but that I 
 hoped that he was not so near his end. 
 He observed, smiling, that he certainly 
 was, and that, as it was the debt which 
 we must all pay, he looked to the event 
 with perfect resignation. In the course 
 of the afternoon he appeared to be in 
 great pain and distress from the difficulty 
 of breathing, and frequently changed his 
 posture in the bed. On these occasions 
 I lay upon the bed, and endeavoured to 
 raise him, and turn him with as much 
 
 ease as possible. He appeared penetrated 
 with gratitude for my attention, and often 
 said, ' I am afraid I shall fatigue you 
 too much; and upon my assuring him 
 that I could feel nothing but a wish to 
 give him ease, he replied, * Well, it is 
 a debt we must pay to each other, and I 
 hope, when you want aid of this kind, you 
 will find it.' He asked when Mr. Lewis 
 and Washington Curtis would return. 
 [They were then in New Kent.] I told 
 him about the 20th of the month. About 
 five o'clock, Dr. Craik came again into 
 the room, and upon going to the bed- 
 side, the general said to him, * Doctor, 
 I die hard, but 1 am not afraid to go. 
 I believed, from my first attack, that I 
 should not survive it. My breath cannot 
 last long.' The doctor pressed his hand, 
 but could not utter a word. He retired 
 from the bedside, and sat by the fire ab- 
 sorbed in grief. Between five and six 
 o'clock. Dr. Dick and Dr. Brown came 
 into the room, and with Dr. Craik went 
 to the bed, when Dr. Craik asked him if 
 he could sit up in bed. He held out his 
 hand, and I raised him up. He then said 
 to the physicians, * I feel myself going ; 
 I thank you for your attentions; but I 
 pray you to take no more trouble about 
 me. Let me go off quietly. I cannot 
 last long.' They found that all which 
 had been done was without effect. He 
 lay down again, and all retired except 
 Dr. Craik. He continued in the same 
 situation, uneasy and restless, but with- 
 out complaining, frequently asking what 
 hour it was. When I helped him to 
 move at this time, he did not speak, but 
 looked at me with strong expressions of 
 gratitude. ♦ ♦ * » » 
 
 ** About ten o'clock, he made several 
 attempts to speak to me before he could 
 effect it. At length he said, * I am just 
 going. Have me decently buried ; and 
 do not let my body be put into the vault 
 in less than three days after I am dead/ 
 I bowed assent, for I could not speak. 
 He then looked at me again, and said, 
 
 * Do you understand me ?' I repHed, 
 
 * Yes.' • 'Tis well,' said he. About ten 
 minutes before he expired (which was be- 
 tween ten and eleven o'clock), his brea- 
 thing became easier. He lay quietly ; 
 he withdrew his hand from mine, and felt 
 his own pulse. I saw his countenance 
 change. I spoke to Dr. Craik, who sat 
 by the fire. He came to the bedside
 
 8 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 The general's hand fell from his wrist. 
 I took it in mine, and pressed it to my 
 bosom. Dr. Craik put his hands over his 
 eyes, and he expired without a struggle 
 or a sigh. While we were fixed in silent 
 grief, Mrs. Washington, who was sitting 
 at the foot of the bed, asked, with a firm 
 and collected voice, * Is he gone ?' I could 
 not speak, but held my hand as a signal 
 that he was no more. ' 'Tis well,' said 
 she, in the same voice, ' all is now over; 
 I shall soon follow him ; I have no more 
 trials to pass through.' " 
 
 HORRIBLE CATASTROPHE. 
 
 Ix 1821, a vessel called the General 
 Gates, left Boston, in the United States 
 of America, on a sealing voyage. On 
 the 10th of August following, five men, 
 and a leader, named Price, were landed, 
 near the south-west cape of the district of 
 Te Wai Poenamu, for the purpose of 
 catching seals. Within six weeks, the 
 success of the men amounted to three 
 thousand five hundred and sixty-three 
 skins, which had been salted and made 
 ready for shipment. One night, about 
 eleven o'clock, their cabin was surrounded 
 by a horde of natives, who broke open 
 the place, and made the Americans pri- 
 soners. The flour, salt provisions, and 
 salt for curing skins, were all destroyed, 
 as their use and value was unknown to 
 the savages. After setting fire to the 
 cabin, and every thing else that was 
 regarded as unserviceable, they forced 
 the sealers to march with them, for some 
 days, to a place known by the name of 
 Looking-Glass Bay, from a remarkable 
 perforation in a rock, a distance of one 
 hundred and fifty miles from whence they 
 sat out. The only food they had was 
 roasted fish. After resting a day at this 
 place, they were made to travel a further 
 distance of two hundred miles, in a 
 northerly direction, until they came to a 
 large sandy bay. The natives then took 
 John Rawton, and, having fastened him 
 to a tree, they beat in his skull with a 
 club. The head of the unfortunate man 
 was cut off, and buried in the ground ; 
 the remaining part of the body was 
 cooked and eaten. Some of this nauseous 
 food was offered to the sealers, who had 
 been without sustenance for some time, 
 and they also partook of the cooked body 
 of their late comrade. The five survivors 
 were made fast to trees, well guarded by 
 
 hostile natives, and each day one of the 
 men was killed by the ferocious connibals, 
 and afterwards devoured ; viz. James 
 White and William Raw^son, of New- 
 London, in Connecticut, and William 
 Smith, of New York. James West, of 
 the same place, was doomed to die also ; 
 but the night previously a dreadful storm, 
 accompanied by thunder and lightning, 
 frightened the natives away, and the two 
 remaining Americans found means to 
 unfasten the flax cords that bound them. 
 At day -break, next morning, they had 
 launched a small canoe that was within 
 reach, and put to sea, without any provi- 
 sions or water, preferring death in this 
 way to the horrid fate of their comrades. 
 They had scarcely proceeded a few yards, 
 when a number of natives came in sight, 
 who rushed into the water to catch their 
 prey ; but the Americans eventually 
 eluded their grasp, despair lending them 
 strength to paddle beyond their reach. 
 They remained in this exhausted state 
 three days, and were then taken up by 
 the Margery, a flax trader and sealer of 
 Sydney. 
 
 FORTUNATE ESCAPE. 
 
 In 1823, a young Englishman, named 
 James Caddel, visited Sydney, after re- 
 siding nearly twenty years among the 
 natives on the north-west coast of New 
 Zealand. He stated, that in 1806, or 
 thereabouts, a sealing ship, called the 
 Sydney Cove, left Port Jackson for the 
 sealing ground on the coast of the 
 country. On the ship arriving there, a 
 boat landed Caddell, who was then a lad 
 of thirteen years, and a crew of men, in 
 pursuit of skins, in the vicinity of the 
 South Cape. All the men were imme- 
 diately murdered and eaten ; and such 
 would have been Caddell's fate, had he 
 not ran up to a chief, named Tako, who 
 happened, accidentally, to be tapued at 
 the time, and, catching hold of his gar- 
 ment, was saved in consequence ; his life 
 was further granted him. After remain- 
 ing some few years with the people, he 
 married the daughter of the principal 
 chief, and was himself raised to that dig- 
 nity, and tattooed in the face. He visit. d 
 Sydney, as above stated, in the colonial 
 schooner. Snapper, accompanied by his 
 wife ; and afterwards returned, with re- 
 newed pleasure, to the precarious life of 
 savage hordes.
 
 PET?ILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 THE DOOM OF M OR YEN. 
 A Scottish Legend. 
 
 Scarcely a breeze ruffled the silver 
 lake ; nature was hushed, save when ever 
 and anon the distant murmurings of a 
 waterfall struck on her ear, affording soft 
 and pleasant relief to the silvery scene. 
 A boat quietly glided under the shelter 
 of the towering rocks, now clothed with 
 the vestiges of summer ; the sun, sinking 
 majestically behind the hills, threw around 
 his cheering beams, colouring with tints 
 of gold and hues of crimson the rugged 
 promontories. Such a scene was in 
 unison witli the feelings of the beauteous 
 Matilda : all bore the aspect of tranquillity. 
 Her auburn locks sported in graceful 
 negligence over her bosom ; her eye raised 
 to heaven spoke patient resignation, and 
 her lips moved in fervent prayer. She 
 appeared rather a seraph of that azure 
 abode on which was fixed her eye, pure 
 as the morning dew ! than an inhabitant 
 of this lower sphere. 
 
 Twice had the mountain hag crossed 
 
 VOL. I. — 2. 
 
 Page 10. 
 
 Matilda's path — twice had the hag pro- 
 claimed, in accents wild, ** that ere the 
 earth had rolled its annual course, the 
 star of Morven would set in blood !" 
 Another day would prove the truth or fal- 
 lacy of this prognostication, for just twelve 
 moons had waned since first the sybil had 
 pronounced the dread anathema. 
 
 The boat continued winding along the 
 indented margin of the lake, towards a 
 small chapel dedicated to the tutelar saint 
 of the noble house ; here might she pour 
 forth her prayers to avert its threatened 
 doom, uninterrupted by the loud revelry 
 of assembled clans at the castle. Doub- 
 ling a projection of the rock, the strand 
 presented itself; Matilda, assisted by her 
 faithful servant, left the boat, and pro- 
 ceeded to the ruined chapel. The way 
 was rugged, the destructive strife of the 
 elements had detached huge masses from 
 the overhanging precipices, and crossed 
 the moss-covered path with the branches 
 of the solitary inhabitants of the glen. At 
 I he termination of the defile stood the 
 chapel. The gloomy solemnity of the 
 c
 
 10 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 sanctuary struck on her heart ! — her feel- 
 ings were roused to that intensity which 
 renders the possessor easily susceptible of 
 outward impressions; the ivy clad walls, 
 faintly illumined by the flickering rays of 
 the setting sun, the murky aspect of the 
 interior, the death-like stillness that per- 
 vaded the place, shook her resolution ! 
 The pause was brief, the consciousness of 
 rectitude subdued her fears, she advanced 
 to the altar, and, on bended knee, poured 
 forth the aspirations of a guiltless heart. 
 She retired from the dilapidated pile, less 
 oppressed by the mysterious prediction, 
 with feelings tranquillized by devotion. 
 On this altar, she and the youthful Oscar 
 had first plighted vows of eternal love and 
 constancy — vows subsequently sanctioned 
 by her father. 
 
 On her return, memory fondly traced 
 the happy hours spent in climbing the 
 rocky heights, or wandering among the 
 peaceful glens, ere she knew sorrow but 
 by name. Busied with the picture of 
 past pleasures, she had nearly reached the 
 strand, when a shadow darkened her path 
 — raising her eyes, the same mysterious 
 being appeared on the summit of a rock. 
 Matilda would have proceeded ; she stop- 
 ped, and knew not why. The hag, lifting 
 lier long sinewy arm, yelled forth, " Seest 
 thou yonder star ? — that rules thy house !" 
 The figure, gliding from the knoll, was 
 lost amidst the craigs. An involuntary 
 shriek escaped Matilda's lips ; but she 
 quickly joined the trusty Andrew, who, 
 placing her drooping form in the boat, 
 and vigorously plying the oars, soon 
 reached the landing beneath the stately 
 towers of Morven. 
 
 The despairing, almost heart-broken 
 lady, retired to her chamber, tliere to rumi- 
 nate on the destiny of her house. Long 
 did Matilda strive to persuade herself that 
 the mysterious words were the ravings of 
 a distempered brain. She viewed her 
 spotless life— reflected on the noble vir- 
 tuous tenor of her father's course — so un- 
 deserved a calamity would not, could not 
 ensue. The sun's cheering beams called 
 her from feverish slumbers; she descended 
 to the hall, and found the gallant chief- 
 tains equipped for the chase. Their bois- 
 terous mirth allowed ofno thoughts opposed 
 to pleasure ; but if for one moment sad- 
 ness crossed Matilda's brow, one glance 
 at the peerless Oscar, or at the calm and 
 venerable countenance of her sire, ba- 
 
 nished at once the unwelcome intruder. 
 Tlie lively notes of the horn, playing in 
 succession the favomite airs of tlie clan, 
 announced tlie hour of departure ; repair- 
 ing to the court-yard, the party mouiued 
 their steeds, and left the castle, headed by 
 the lord of Morven. The horns of those 
 in advance now rose upon the gale ; the 
 prey had been started ; — Oscar, leaving 
 his lovely bride in a spot commanding an 
 entire view of the scene, hurried forward 
 to join the eager train. 
 
 The boar took shelter in a cavern at 
 the extremity of the glen, so protected by 
 irregular rocks as to preclude the hunter's 
 near approach. The dogs drew back 
 gored and wounded with fruitless at- 
 ten)pts to dislodge the wily animal, — 
 neither could they be induced to renew 
 the encounter. Stratagem was employed 
 — they ascended the craig, and passing 
 along the shelving ridge forced the animal 
 from its lair by throwing from behind 
 masses of rock ; the noise drove the infu- 
 riated beast from his den ; maddened 
 with the pain inflicted by showers of 
 arrows, he rushed along the ravine. The 
 baying of the dogs, the shouts of the 
 chiefs, the hurried notes of the horn, the 
 clangor of horses hoofs resounded through 
 the vale. The noble palfrey of Matilda 
 could no longer be curbed ; mi patiently he 
 dashed forward, far beyond the foremost 
 of the huntsmen : a loud quivering shriek 
 followed ; the prediction was fulfilled I — a 
 shaft drew the blood of the gentle, un- 
 offending Matilda. 
 
 Bowed down by his loss, the lord of 
 Morven, ere another spring put forth its 
 buds, was numbered with the departed of 
 his race. 
 
 Oscar, the unhappy Oscar, only lin- 
 gered to see the sepulchral rites performed 
 to his more than parent : he enlisted under 
 the sacred banner, and departed for Pales- 
 tine. In many a sanguinary fray did the 
 Moslem feel his prowess j many a gallant 
 brow yielded to his arm. He fell, covered 
 with wounds and glory, in attempting to 
 mount the walls of the holy city. 
 
 HUMPHREY THE HOMICIDE. 
 
 (Continued from p 7.) 
 
 The butchering scene at Pype-Hall 
 was scarcely concluded, when the rest of 
 the cavalcade returned from Lichfield, 
 their countenances evincing so many
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 11 
 
 nameless evidences of dislike, discompo- 
 sure, or downright offence, that sir Hum- 
 phrey, after stern and short ceremony, 
 accepted their excuses and farewells ; and 
 when the courts and drawbridge had 
 rung to the last departing horse's hoof, he 
 retired to visit upon his wife and son the 
 terrors of his frown and voice. Tiius 
 were marred the Christmas festivities of 
 Pype-Hall. 
 
 Humbler, but not less liberal, and cer- 
 tainly not so inauspiciously, concluded, 
 were the Christmas festivities at the 
 Grange of Brentwood. This was a large 
 farm-house on the south-eastern verge of 
 Cannock Heath, built in all the pic- 
 turesque uncouthness of the period, in 
 whose heavy walls huge beams of timber, 
 rudely carved and arranged in grotesque 
 patterns, predominated far over their pro- 
 portion of stonework. The farmer and 
 his wife, Gaffer and Gammer Redmayne, 
 had assembled not only the different 
 branches of their family (if so lofty a term 
 may be applied to the vulgar sons and 
 daughters-in-law of a hard-working, but 
 prosperous couple,) — together with their 
 neighbours, but also their numerous hinds 
 and maidens, with their respective sweet- 
 hearts. Boisterous was the mirth and 
 most abundant the cheer. When the 
 noontide meal was ended, the young men 
 went out for a shooting-match, their target 
 being a white patcii rudely painted on the 
 great barn door ; their lady-loves looking 
 on with blue noses and tingling fingers. 
 For it was the season, — 
 
 "When icicles hang by the wall, 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
 And Tom bears lees into the hall. 
 And milk comes frozen home in pail : 
 When blood is uipp'd and ways be foul, 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
 
 To-who ! 
 Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note. 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 In the lofty kitchen. Gammer Red- 
 mayne, with her white coifered cronies, 
 were seated in a sta^e on a large wicker 
 settle with a high back, beneath the soar- 
 ing vault of the chimney, nowise resem- 
 bling the funnels of modern days, but an 
 enormous pyramidical structure, through 
 whose aperture the family could gaze on 
 the heavens as they sate by the fire. No 
 festal draperies hung over this " bower of 
 dames," but huge flitches of bacon and 
 joints of dried beef were prized as its 
 most elegant furniture. Many an old 
 legend did the matrons chirrup within 
 
 this ample recess, the flame giving an 
 unwonted colour to their withered cheeks, 
 and the ale posset, in which the brown 
 crab simmered, awakening not a little the 
 eloquence of their ancient tongues. The 
 sturdy Gaffer, meanwhile, was still ply- 
 ing his silver-headed cotemporaries from 
 brown manthng horns of ale, that ''drank 
 diviiiely,'" at the clumsy but well covered 
 table that stretched by the wall of the 
 wide apartment 
 
 The level beams of the cold pale sun 
 were now shooting athwart the snow- 
 covered stable, cowsheds and barns, and 
 glimmered through the leafless file of 
 wild pear-trees and birches that marked 
 off the homestal from the wide white sur- 
 face of Cannock Heath. The young men 
 had concluded their archery feats, and 
 their shivering sweethearts had gladly 
 consented to seek the more genial atmos- 
 phere of the farmhouse kitchen, for the 
 favourable game of Dun's in the mire. 
 I'he gossips in the chinmey-wing, and 
 the wagging grey-beards at the board, all 
 willingly rose to view the popular amuse- 
 ment. The bulky block representing 
 Dun the carthorse, was heaved by five or 
 six men into the midst of the room, and 
 a general cry of ** Dun's in the mire .'" 
 was raised around. Two men then ad- 
 vanced from the circle, and strove to 
 extricate the poor beast from his painful 
 plight ; their efforts proving unsuccessful, 
 two more came with cart-ropes and failed, 
 or pretended to fail, in their struggles. 
 More help was summoned, till at length 
 the whole party of young men joined in 
 the attempt. The pith of this rustic 
 gambol consisted in the awkward and 
 affected attempts of the crowd to raise the 
 log, and loud and long was the laughter 
 on all sides as they contrived to let the 
 ends of the heavy block fall upon each 
 other's toes. 
 
 " Ah !" at length exclaimed Gammer 
 Redmayne, *' if our Felix were here, he 
 would soon have Dun out o' th' mire !" 
 
 The words had scarcely passed the mo- 
 ther's lips, when a stout figure emerged 
 from the oaken partition that divided the 
 room from the outer door, pushed himself 
 among the athletic competitors, and put- 
 ting his brawny arm to the bulky log, at 
 one effort hurled it, like a bowl, amidst 
 the company. It trampled their feet, it 
 tripped them up, it made even the old 
 folk separate, while the maidens screamed 
 c2
 
 12 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 and sprang in all directions, as the great 
 wooden log rolled along the floor. A 
 shout of Felix! Felix Redmayne, wel- 
 come ! — That's our own Felix's mis- 
 chievous trick ! — How came he here ?" 
 succeeded to the momentary pause of 
 surprise that left the hero of this exploit 
 standing alone on the floor. 
 
 " See, now," he exclaimed, as, throw- 
 ing his cap down on the ground, he stood 
 erect in nature's own majesty and beauty 
 of strength ; " see, if brand and scourge 
 have not left me some strength still !" 
 
 ** Brand and scourge !" said the gray- 
 haired Gaffer, taking his son's hand, and 
 gazing earnestly on his flushed counte- 
 nance, while Gammer Redmayne hung 
 on her darling's neck in a transport of 
 astonishment and joy. 
 
 ** Ay, good father ! I have played 
 truant, and I have paid for it ! Sir 
 Valentine Chetwynd thought the hollow 
 walls of Pype-Hall too cold a shelter for 
 its rose, and I agreed with him ; by ill 
 luck, sir Humphrey Stanley disagreed 
 with our notions : — I bear no longer the 
 eagle badge on my coat, but faith, I have 
 gotten such a grip of his talons on my 
 flesh as I shall carry with me to my 
 grave !" 
 
 All thronged around Felix as he de- 
 tailed the circumstances already known 
 to the reader, and, to their mingled ex- 
 clamations of anger, grief, and fear, — to 
 his mother, weepingly offering her assist- 
 ance, and to his father, shaking his white 
 hairs in sorrow, — he replied at once, 
 
 "A truce to your clamour, my kind 
 companions ! you cannot help me ! Mo- 
 ther, be pacitied! my hurts have been 
 kindly tended by Dame Witherton at the 
 Woodhouses. What, fatiier, though it be 
 hard to have rogue written on one's skin, 
 while one knows that true man is stamped 
 on the heart ; yet manhood and honesty 
 lie too deep for whip or iron. And my 
 pretty Judith here surely will not give n)e 
 one kiss the less for the unmerited marks 
 of shame on her true-love's body ?" 
 
 "I would love thee, Felix," said a very 
 beautiful young woman, clasping with 
 her round white arms his broad neck, 
 " I would love thee, though they bore 
 thee to the very death, and though every 
 one heaped shame upon thee, yet would 
 I believe every one false, ere thee dis- 
 honoured." 
 
 Her lover answered with a heartv 
 
 smack, and then, taking his father and 
 mother by the hand, he said, "I am 
 about to quit you, and how long it will 
 be before I see you again heaven knows. 
 Sir Valentine offers me a post in his 
 household far above my merits, and I go 
 to Ingestre to-morrow ; I have left in my 
 old service the sympathy and love of my 
 fellows, and I hope to earn trust and 
 value from my superiors in my new ! 
 When you see me again, be sure it will 
 be as one who hath done somewhat to 
 show that a tyrant's cruelty cannot un- 
 nerve an honest man's heart!" 
 
 Judith Waters (the daughter of a 
 wealthy yeoman then present,) turned 
 paler at these words than she did at hear- 
 ing of the sufferings of her lover. Felix, 
 watching the expression of thoughts more 
 eloquent than language, grasped her hand 
 with warmer fondness, — he attempted to 
 speak, but, after many vain efforts, he 
 turned to his companions, and was en- 
 treating them to renew their sports, when 
 old Gaffer Waters, advancing and leading 
 away his daughter to the other end of the 
 room, left poor Felix in angry suspicion 
 of this strange movement. 
 
 "Ay, ay," he said, "thus the world 
 wags! the whipped and discarded Felix 
 is no longer to be regarded as the Felix 
 high in favour, and higher in prospect at 
 Pype- Hall ! Cannock, in its widest range, 
 dotli not contain such a crabtree as that 
 old Waters !" 
 
 During these hasty interjections, those 
 who stood near Gaffer Waters observed 
 that the old man's tones were affectionate 
 and mild, and that the maiden's pale hue 
 was turned to one of scarlet. Felix at 
 length was interrupted in his ireful mood 
 by Gaffer Waters leading up to him his 
 only child amidst the suspended breath 
 and eager looks of all present. The sire 
 thus addressed him : 
 
 " FeMx Redmayne, you love my 
 daughter; I have encouraged your suit, 
 and had all thingS gone on prosperously 
 with you, I would have waited a fitting 
 time to surrender my claims in her by 
 making her your's for ever. But now — " 
 
 "But now," said Felix, impatiently, 
 " but now, God w ot ! she must look out 
 for some lover with a whole skin ! — Thou 
 needestnot finish, Gaffer Waters, full well 
 I trow thy text !" 
 
 " But now," continued the senior, his 
 hard features utterly unmoved by this
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 13 
 
 interruption, ^^now, that fitting lime 
 must be dispensed with, and to-morrow's 
 sun shall see her your's for ever, at the 
 priory of Fairwell, — unless, indeed, yon 
 would leave her there a nun, — for one of 
 the two the spoiled chit vows that she 
 will be r 
 
 A burst of joy from all around followed 
 this speech. The young men crowded 
 to congratulate Felix ; the maidens drew 
 closer to their sweethearts 5 the elders 
 wept aloud; Gaffer Redmayne grasped 
 his friend heartily by the hand; while his 
 Gammer enfolded the young couple in 
 her wrinkled arms, sobbing forth blessings 
 upon them. As for Felix, he looked like 
 one in a dream ; the colour mantled 
 richly to his cheek and brow, then left 
 them white as statuary marble ; he gazed 
 around; uttered an incoherent some- 
 thing ; till at length, clasping his be- 
 trothed wife to his bosom, he buried his 
 face in the full soft tresses that escaped 
 from her kerchief, and tears, such as the 
 extremity of bodily pain could not have 
 wrung from him, streamed from his eyes 
 upon her snowy neck. We have too 
 many melancholy incidents to record in 
 this tale, not to indulge ourselves with 
 something like relief in its progress, — 
 but our narrow limits compel us to drop 
 the curtain abruptly on this rustic scene : 
 and we must now transport our reader to 
 a very different one, the royal council 
 chamber in the Tower of London. 
 
 Suppose, then, sir Humphrey Stanley 
 arrived in London, furious for revenge, 
 and eager to lay his wrongs before the 
 king in council; calculating highly on 
 his own favour and rank in the royal 
 household, — much upon his name, than 
 which there was none more powerful at 
 this period, — and not a little on the in- 
 fluence of his cousin, sir William Stanley, 
 the lord high chamberlain. It was in the 
 early part of January, 1479, that sir 
 Humphrey, ascending the grand stair- 
 case in the north-east turret of tiie white 
 tower, and traversing a narrow vaulted 
 gallery, found himself in the presence of 
 the most heartless and sordid sovereign 
 that ever burdened the English throne. 
 The council chamber was a stately apart- 
 ment, ninety feet long, occupying the 
 uppermost story of the white tower. The 
 roof, of majestic altitude, was supported 
 by massy beams of timber, disposed in 
 horizontal and transverse frame-work. 
 
 coloured and gilded in various fashions ; 
 these were sustained in turn by two rows 
 of heavy wooden pillars, highly carved, 
 marking off the apartment into some- 
 thing like aisles. The painted panes of 
 the round Norman windows receiving 
 only a secondary light fi'om the exterior 
 lattices of the surrounding galleries, 
 transfused a troubled but solemn splen- 
 dour upon this divan of England's wisest 
 and noblest 
 
 The unwonted agitation on sedate fea- 
 tures which not often were permitted to 
 betray the inward emotion, — the inde- 
 scribable stir of consternation half sup- 
 pressed, — but chiefly the dubious smile 
 on Henry's passionless countenance, — 
 might have shown sir Humphrey that 
 some disturbance had already occurred in 
 the council chamber. Engrossed, how- 
 ever, in his own feelings, he had already 
 knelt before the king, — stated with vehe- 
 mence the outrage on his honour and 
 happiness committed by sir Valentine 
 Chetwynd, — and had received his high- 
 ness's command to rise,— when, struck 
 by his peculiar tone, he raised his eyes 
 to Henry's face, and saw there that por- 
 tentous smile, like a dull lamp in a dis- 
 mantled chamber, only increasing the 
 dreary gloom. But how was the devil 
 unchained in sir Humphrey's heart, 
 when, glancing to the king's right hand, 
 he beheld it resting on the shoulder of 
 Valentine himself, while (a basilisk to his 
 eye) his daughter, now the lady Magda- 
 lene Chetwynd, stood a little behind her 
 husband. Her manner was as one who, 
 strueMino^ for the firmness she knows to 
 be necessary, assumes a dignity sue does 
 not feel ; her attitude was firm, her eye 
 stedfast, but her cheek was deathly pale ; 
 an almost imperceptible tremor at tim«s 
 passed over her frame, and more than 
 once she seemed to be instinctively clasp- 
 ing her hands, but always as suddenly 
 did she repress the impulse. The last 
 drop was now poured into the cup of sir 
 Humphrey's fury ; forgetful of the pre- 
 sence in which he stood, regardless of the 
 penalty attached to the deed, he sprang 
 forward, and his arm was actually up- 
 raised to strike sir Valentine, when it 
 was arrested by two or three of the noble- 
 men present. The whole chamber was 
 instantly in confusion. The king alone 
 remained unmoved : commanding silence, 
 he sat rigidly upright in his tall backed
 
 14 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 throne ; his hat of purple velvet glooming 
 over his smooth sallow brows, and his 
 long straiglit hair combed down on either 
 cheek, he looked like some animated 
 image as he addressed the furious knight : 
 *' We have known sir Humphrey Stan- 
 ley as a good and loyal knight, — we have 
 known him as one chary of his reputa- 
 tion, — but we had yet to learn what he 
 hath now taught us, that a gentleman of 
 so many descents, a subject so high in 
 his sovereign's favour, could so far tbrget 
 our rank and his own honour, as to brawl 
 in our very presence !" 
 
 Sir Humphrey, who by this time began 
 to see the extent of the heinous outrage 
 he had attempted, again threw himself 
 on his knees, and said (his deep chest 
 heaving with subsided teiDpest, and his 
 large eyes glaring hke half extinguished 
 torches), 
 
 " Your royal grace will surely deign 
 to pardon the burst of a robbed father's 
 feelings at first sight of the robber. If 
 that may not be, here is my right hand," 
 (stripping his large and hairy wrist), 
 " let mallet and cleaver do their work 
 upon it. She who was in sooth my right 
 hand hath been lopped off already." 
 
 There was a softened and a saddened 
 change in Stanley's voice as he concluded 
 this sentence, which much assuaged the 
 indignant mood of those who had so re- 
 cently witnessed his turbulence ; and even 
 Henry addressed him with someUiing hke 
 compassion. 
 
 " Be appeased, sir Humphrey ! we love 
 you much ; no less, indeed, than we prize 
 our trusty knight of Ingestre — " 
 
 The father of Magdalene groaned and 
 gnashed his teeth. 
 
 " Who," continued the Tudor, *• hath, 
 we trust, by his gentle audacity, put an 
 end for ever to the feud between two 
 honourable houses, wherein even our 
 royal self has hitherto interfered in vain." 
 
 Another explosion from sir Humphrey 
 interrupted this speech ; but it was not 
 one of anger, but of unfeigned astonish- 
 ment and dismay. His eye had for the 
 first time alighted on his kinsman, from 
 vhose powerful interference in this their 
 family affair he had expected so much. 
 Wild and incoherent were the exclama- 
 tions that burst from his lips, when he 
 beheld sir William Stanley, his minever 
 robes rudely disordered, his face pale, his 
 limbs trembling, and his whole appear- 
 
 ance denoting the deepest dejection, m 
 the custody of the earl marshal. Henry 
 proceeded, however, in his address to sir 
 Humphrey, as if nothing had interrupted 
 him. 
 
 " Say not, sir knight, that your house 
 is to be trodden into the dust, for your 
 branch hath by this marriage been grafted 
 on so stately and flourishing a stock, that 
 it must needs put forth fair blossoms and 
 rich fruit, even if our royal favour did 
 not shine upon it, as surely it shall. As 
 for our trusty and beloved chamberlain, 
 we credit not the charge against him, 
 and have only permitted this arrest, that 
 he may have occasion openly to convince 
 all men of his loyalty. In sooth, this pre- 
 tended duke of York, this Peterkin or 
 Perk in Warbeck, hath grievously troubled 
 our estate ; and certes, we bear him the 
 less good will that his intrigues against 
 our crown and dignity have glanced upon 
 one to whom we owe so much. Ill can 
 we spare the counsellor we shall lose if 
 sir Robert Clifford's accusation be true," 
 and again the odious smile glimmered 
 ghastlily over Henry's clayey features. 
 
 The person last mentioned, who stood 
 near the king in the soiled and disar- 
 ranged attire of one arrived from recent 
 travel, turned haughtily upon his heel, 
 muttering, — 
 
 "Thou hast won me, and hardly! — 
 but had I thought such a fals«ehood could 
 have polluted thy lips, I would have laid 
 my head as the first step, but I would 
 have lifted Warbeck to thy throne!" 
 (To be continued.) 
 
 THE INDIANS. 
 
 When the prow of Columbus first 
 struck the point of San Salvador, and he 
 cast his eyes upon the new world, he was 
 so completely fascinated by the sublimity 
 of the surrounding landscape, that he 
 terms it a second Paradise. As regards 
 climate, productions of soil, and grandeur 
 of scenery, he acknowledges himself 
 utterly unable to give even a sketch, and 
 far surpassing the imagination of the 
 wildest and most enthusiastic admirer of 
 nature. Beautiful birds, of rainbow co- 
 lours, fluttered and sported in the groves, 
 making their cool shady aisles sound to a 
 thousand mingling notes ; bright insects, 
 w ith light, transparent wings, were roving 
 from flower to flower, giving a drowsy 
 hum to the already bland and languid
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 15 
 
 air, and the mingling colours that they 
 exhibited, playing confusedly together, 
 appeared elegant and grand; the atmos- 
 phere was pure and elastic, and bore all 
 the wild sweetness of the surrounding ver- 
 dure and flowers ; tiie magniticent forests 
 swept away as far as the eye could reach, 
 with their summits wreathed in a fresh 
 and brilliant verdure ; the bays lay sleep- 
 ing within their banks, with a bright and 
 glossy stillness ; the music of the far-off 
 rivers was heard in the silence of the at- 
 mosphere, and the waters of those that 
 were near flowed forth sparkhng and 
 fresh as the mountain spring. As regards 
 the luxuries of life, a large proportion 
 sprang forth spontaneous. The plum 
 glistened in the foHage of the wood — the 
 vines of the grape mounted the most lofty 
 trees, and hung their swinging branches 
 from the dizzy tops, and the earth below 
 was choked and tangled by the creeping 
 herbage that ran in wild luxuriance over 
 it. It might almost have warranted the 
 belief that it was none other than Eden 
 itself, unmarred by the hand of civiliza- 
 tion, but lying in all its glory and perfec- 
 tion, as when the unhappy couple fled 
 before the wrath of the Almighty. 
 
 When the caravals of Columbus were 
 first seen hovering on the shores of 
 the Indians, their super. ■ititions became 
 awakened, and they were deeply im- 
 pressed with an awful reverence. They 
 supposed they came from out the eastern 
 horizon, where the sky bent down to the 
 waters. Instead of resorting to reason 
 to solve the phenomena, their ignorance 
 called in their superstition, and Columbus 
 with his fleet was supposed to be super- 
 natural, under the care of Him who made 
 the thunder, and kept the hosts of heaven 
 in their courses. And through this very 
 same t'gnorayice, the Indians have held 
 their superstition even unto tlie present 
 day. 
 
 On the first landing of Columbus, he 
 met with another trait of Indian character, 
 hospitality and kindness. Nor could 
 this be ascribed to fear alone ; for sub- 
 sequently, when their superstition had 
 become in a manner allayed, and by be- 
 holding the dead bodies of the Spaniards, 
 they assured themselves that they were 
 indeed mortal, we find the same love and 
 kindness actuating their conduct toward 
 the whites. It is related by Irving, I 
 think, in his History of Columbus, of a 
 
 cacique, named Suacanagari, that he be- 
 friended and fought for the Spaniards 
 unto the last — even when every tribe 
 beside was arrayed in hostility against 
 them, because he had pledged himself to 
 do it ; and many instances are on record, 
 where a chief has submitted to the fate of 
 having his village pillaged rather than 
 restore a friend whom he had taken imder 
 his protection. And at the present time, 
 no kindness goes farther than the Indian's, 
 and no ingratitude is quicker retaliated. 
 
 As regards the courage of the Indians, 
 it is established beyond a doubt — nothing 
 dimming it — not even death. It lives 
 amid the flames of the fagot — it never 
 stoops — but is in all cases the same. The 
 war-song is sounded to them by their 
 mothers while yet in their "tree-rocked 
 cradles" — deeds of chivalry are recounted 
 and played before them in their juvenile 
 years, and courage becomes the most 
 noble prize which an Indian can bestow 
 upon his aspiring ofluspring. If an Indian 
 wants fame, let him excel in the arts of 
 war — all others are of a secondary con- 
 sideration. Stratagems — skill — impas- 
 siveness under all circumstances — render 
 a warrior among his tribe noble, and his 
 deeds shall be sung long after he shall 
 have laid himself down in the shade of 
 the forest. 
 
 I must bring up a character who bore 
 a conspicuous part in the island of Hayti, 
 when the Indians began to feel the 
 Spanish yoke, and made a struggle for 
 their independence. He was a cacique, 
 named Caonabo. In a deep-laid plot, 
 he was taken bv a young cavalier, and 
 brought in prisoner before Columbus. 
 Previous to his capture, he had fought 
 long and well for freedom, and kept up 
 the torch of war even when the neigh- 
 bouring tribes were silent and peaceful. 
 Columbus deemed him the most for- 
 midable foe around him, and therefore 
 adopted measures for ensnaring him. 
 But when Caonabo came before the 
 admiral, his high and lofty soul remained 
 unbent — the haughty spirit which he 
 exhibited in the wilderness had not 
 stooped ; but even amid the camp of his 
 enemies he bore about him an air of 
 superiority. He plainly told Columbus 
 he had intended to burn his fortress and 
 murder his people — that he had shed the 
 t)lood of some of them, and that it had 
 been his intention to slay more. He even
 
 IG 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY: OR, 
 
 went so far as to lay before him a plan 
 whereby he was to surprise the fortress, 
 and then, in the undaunted and firm de- 
 meanour which characterized him at the 
 head of his tribe, turned upon t!)e admiral 
 with a scornful eye, bidding defiance to 
 his most exquisite tortures. After this 
 he was conducted on board of one of the 
 caravals, and bound down with chains. 
 When Columbus visited him, he re- 
 mained seated, wrapt in a sullen, melan- 
 choly mood, taking no notice of him 
 wiiatever; but when the young cavalier 
 who entrapped him, came where he was, 
 Caonabo showed every form of respect by 
 rising and saluting him. When asked 
 the reason of not paying due deference 
 to the admiral, and lavishing his respect 
 upon a subject, he said he loved the 
 young man for his art in ensnaring him, 
 and his courage in bearing him away 
 from his country and friends. Poor 
 Caonabo died on his voyage to Spain. 
 He pined and drooped gradually, even 
 as the lion of the forest in his iron-bound 
 den. 
 
 A SPANISH EXECUTION. 
 
 I HAD an opportunity, while at Barce- 
 lona, of being present at an execution, 
 the first I had seen in Spain. The man 
 had been condemned to the galleys for 
 some previous offence, and had murdered 
 one of his fellow convicts ; and, although 
 this is not an agreeable spectacle, yet, as 
 in every country, public spectacles, whe- 
 ther agreeable or the reverse, exhibit 
 some peculiarities either of character or 
 of manners, I resolved to be present. 
 Three o'clock was the hour appointed ; 
 and all that morning, as well as the greater 
 part of the day before, there was an 
 unceasing noise of little bells, carried 
 through the streets by boys in scarlet 
 cloaks, with the bell in one hand, and a 
 box in the other, collecting alms to pur- 
 chase masses in the different convents 
 and churches, for the soul of the felon. 
 Tiiere is another thing worth relating, 
 connected with the last days of a felon in 
 Spain. A society, called the Benevolent 
 Society, undertakes to soften the last 
 three days of his existence, and to dimi- 
 nish the terrors of death, by the singular 
 device of increasing the pleasures of life. 
 During these three days, he may have 
 every luxury he desires; lie may feast 
 upon the daintiest viands, drink the 
 
 choicest wines ; and thus learn, in quit- 
 ting the world, new reasons for desiring 
 to remain in it. 
 
 I obtained a good situation, close to 
 the military who guarded the ground. 
 Beside the platform, there was erected, 
 at a little distance, an altar, upon which 
 was placed an image of the Virgin and 
 Child ; and opposite to this a cross, with 
 an image of Christ extended upon it. I 
 was much struck with the procession ; 
 the unfortunate felon was accompanied 
 by upwards of two thousand masked 
 penitents, who looked more like a train 
 of devils than human beings; a black 
 cloak entirely enveloped the body and 
 the head, holes only being made for the 
 eyes and mouth ; a black pyramidal cap, 
 at least eighteen inches high, crowned 
 the head ; and each carried in his hand a 
 long white wand. This strange escort 
 was the result of an indulgence pub- 
 lished, and addressed to all persons con- 
 scious of secret crimes, and penitent; 
 granting its benefits to such of them as 
 submitted to the humiliation of accom- 
 panying the felon to the scaffold. Two 
 accomplices of the felon also accompanied 
 him, that they might benefit by seeing 
 him hanged ; and a friar of the Francis- 
 can order was his spiritual guide. 
 
 After having been led to the altar, and 
 then below the cross, where he repeated 
 a number of prayers, he ascended the 
 platform, attended by the friar, who car- 
 ried a large cross in his hand. When the 
 offices of religion were concluded, the 
 man wished to address the people, and 
 twice began, "Mis hermanos," but his 
 voice was instantly drowned by shouts 
 from a crowd at some distance behind 
 the platform, no doubt so instructed ; 
 and when he found that he could not be 
 heard, he gave the signal, and the exe- 
 cutioner immediately leaped upon his 
 shoulders, and swung off the platform ; 
 while the friar continued to speak, and 
 extend the cross towards him, long after 
 he was insensible to its consolations. 
 The spectacle concluded by the friar 
 ascending to the summit of the ladder, 
 and delivering a sermon, in which he did 
 not omit the exhortation of contributing 
 largely towards masses for the soul of the 
 deceased. The exhortation was not with- 
 out its effect; the little bells immediately 
 began to ring, and hundreds obeyed tlie 
 invitation to piety.
 
 PKKILS BY FLOOD AND FIFLD. 
 
 17 
 
 f\ «3- jv^^ ^-'-' --^ 
 
 THE DEMON'S VICTIM. 
 
 From gold great evils spring; 
 
 'Tis not possession that should give, 
 
 Nor peace nor happiness. 
 
 The demon tempts thee and thy fate is sealed. 
 
 Towards the close of the twelfth cen- 
 tury, when religion and superstition 
 reigned predominant over the mind of 
 man, there was living in one of those 
 strongholds, then so prevalent in Ger- 
 many, a serf of the name of Hugo Strall, 
 who owned the baron GrifFenburgh von 
 Rauchdenfeldt, the possessor of the castle, 
 as his lord. The power and almost 
 super-human and reckless bravery of this 
 cliieftain, had rendered him no less vene- 
 rated by his vassals than feared by the 
 neighbouring barons, — many of whom 
 enlisted under his banner, and readily 
 obeyed his call to arms. His sword 
 was law among his serfs, who joyfully 
 observed his mandates. But there was 
 one amidst the crowded throng vthich 
 swelled his halls, whose stubborn nature 
 could not brook command, to whom the 
 bonds of slavery were as death. Strall 
 
 VOL. I. — 3. 
 
 Page 19. 
 
 lived only in the anticipation of freedom. 
 Many were the plans he had devised for 
 the purpose of putting this, his all ruling 
 passion, into execution ; but hitherto they 
 all had proved abortive. At length, an 
 opportunity occurred for the consumma- 
 tion of his long cherished hopes. 
 
 Being sent on a mission of importance 
 to a distant province, he set out with a 
 predetermination never to return again ; 
 and spurring his horse onward, he left 
 the animal to pursue its course, unmind- 
 ful whither it would lead him. Hugo 
 had not wandered long, before he found 
 himself on the borders of a thickly wooded 
 forest, and perceiving the darkness ga- 
 thering round him, and no hopes of 
 obtaining entrance within the habitation 
 of man, he dismounted, and tying his 
 horse to a tree, struck into a deep part of 
 the thicket, where, having found a shelter 
 formed by the spreading branches of a fir, 
 he threw himself upon the ground j but 
 sleep forsook his eyelids. A glare of 
 intense light, which emanated from a 
 steep and rugged mountain at no great 
 distance, roused him from his reclining 
 posture ; and starting hastily from the 
 
 D
 
 TALKS OF chivalry: OR 
 
 ground, lie proceeded to ascertain tlie 
 nature of iliis phenomenon. Great was 
 his surprise and terror on discovering it 
 to proceed from an illuminated halo, 
 which surrounded a figure of gigantic 
 stature and supernatural aspect, busily 
 occupied in excavating the earth within 
 the circle, into the cavity of which he 
 cast a quantity of glittering coin ; and 
 again replacing the earth, both light and 
 figure disappeared, leaving the terrified 
 Slrall iumioveable at the sight he had 
 just beheld. Alter a pause of some mo- 
 ments, and when liis reason was returned, 
 Hugo determined to exhume the hidden 
 treasure of the demon.* Fixed on this 
 determination, he once more sought out 
 the friendly fir-tree, and flinging himself 
 hstlessly beneath it, he soon sunk into 
 repose. 
 
 Scarcely had the rising sun dispelled 
 the clouds of night, when, by the help of 
 his weapon, Strall contrived to dig deep 
 enough to perceive the golden treasure, 
 which having secured, he returned to his 
 horse, and mounting, set off at a brisk 
 pace, — not ill satisfied with the adventure 
 of the night. 
 
 Years liad rolled away, and with them 
 the happiness of Strall ; for though slavery 
 had formerly been the bane of his exist- 
 ence, he then enjoyed comparatively a 
 more perfect felicity than in his present 
 elevated station. He was no longer re- 
 cognised as Hugo Strall the serf; he had 
 obtained his freedom — he had purchased 
 honours — he had built the strong and 
 almost impregnable fortress of Gunens- 
 dorf, from which he derived his title, and 
 numerous fresh dependants now crowded 
 to his standard. Still he was despised by 
 the nobles, on account of the meanness of 
 his birth ; and since he could not join in 
 the society of his equals in rank and 
 power, he became a gloomy, proud, and 
 solitary man. 
 
 Years again passed on, and the baron 
 von Gunensdorf asked of the lord of 
 Rauchdenfeldt the liand of his only 
 daughter in marriage ; he, however, met 
 ■\\\\h a refusal. This denial roused his 
 latent energies, and he determined to 
 take vengeance on the father for his ob- 
 stinate contempt of the proffered alliance. 
 
 * There was formerly a tradition in the interior 
 of Germany, that whenever money or gohl was 
 lost, it fell into the possi^-ssion of the devil. 
 
 The night was dark and stormy; the 
 entire face of heaven was arrayed in 
 awful grandeur ; the increasing roar of 
 the thunder struck terror into the stoutest 
 hearts, whilst the faint glare of lightning 
 at intervals discovered to the view a 
 cavalier, attended by a small retinue, 
 making their way with speed towards the 
 castle of Rauchdenfeldt. Suddenly turn- 
 ing an angle of the forest, a party of 
 horsemen emerged from the thicket, 
 which bounded the beaten track, and 
 rushed furiously upon the small but 
 gallant band. 
 
 " Dastards and murderous villains," 
 cried the chief of this opposing party, 
 ** know ye not who I am ? — Behold the 
 baron Rauchdenfeldt !" 
 
 He was answered only by a bitter 
 scowl from the leader of the assailants, 
 whom he now recognised through the 
 lightning's gleam, as his former vassal, 
 Hugo Strall. 
 
 Fired by the ingratitude of the serf 
 and his hostile intentions, the baron 
 fought with a desperate energy ; but he 
 stood alone, — his few retainers being 
 already stretched upon the ground, whilst 
 his murderous opponent pressed upon 
 him with redoubled fury. At length the 
 baron fell. 
 
 The nobles, indignant and alarmed at 
 the assassination of the lord of Griffen- 
 burgh, combined together for the purpose 
 of taking vengeance on the murderer, 
 and, accordingly, mustering all their vas- 
 sals, laid siege to the castle of Gunens- 
 dorf. 
 
 For three days the fortress was de- 
 fended with obstinate bravery, and various 
 success on both sides ; but towards the 
 close of the fourth, the besiegers made 
 good an entrance, by scaling the walls. 
 The garrison surrendered ; but the baron 
 von Gunensdorf, fearing the just venge- 
 ance of his fierce antagonists, mounted 
 his horse, and having gained a postern 
 known only to himself and a few of his 
 retainers, made his escape. 
 
 It was midnight when the fugitive 
 found himself at the entrance of that 
 same forest, where he had years ago sur- 
 veyed the demon from whence his wealth, 
 his title, and his guilt had sprung. Again 
 overtaken by the nigiit, and ignorant 
 what course to follow, he resolved once 
 more to visit the spectre's glen. He
 
 PKKILS BY FLOOD AND FIFLP 
 
 19 
 
 approached the spot, when he again be- 
 held the spirit standing upon a pile of 
 earth but newly raised, which lay at the 
 edge of a deep abyss. He grinned hor- 
 ribly at the sight of the baron, whilst he 
 shouted in a voice of thunder — 
 
 ** Hugo ! thou art mine !" 
 
 " Thine ?" answered the terrified and 
 almost sinking Hugo. 
 
 *• Yes ; thou hast possessed my gold, 
 and, by the law of retribution, T claim 
 ihee .'"' 
 
 " How ? thou black and stormy fiend 
 of hell!" cried the baron, raving despe- 
 rately — " tell me ?" 
 
 ** Where is Gritfenburgh von Rauch- 
 denfeldt ?" 
 
 The wretched baron answered not, but 
 sunk terrified and speechless upon the 
 ground, — w^hen the demon, with a loud 
 hideous, and exulting laugh, that made 
 the VA'ooded glen resound, instantly rush- 
 ing upon his victim, dragged him into 
 the newly excavated gulph. The earth 
 closed over them. 
 
 Such is the tradition of the demon's 
 victim. 
 
 HUMPHREY THE HOMICIDE. 
 (Contmued from p. 14.J 
 
 An embarrassed silence now ensued, 
 which was broken by the king harshly 
 asking sir Humphrey whedier he were 
 willing to gratify his sovereign by a 
 voluntary act of reconcihation with sir 
 Valentine Chetwynd ? 
 
 " Never r' roared out sir Humphrey, 
 " by the honour of my house, never ! I 
 will die amidst the torments of twenty 
 traitors, rather than clasp in friendsiiip 
 one whom my soul loathes as my flesh 
 creeps at him !" 
 
 To this discourteous speech Henry 
 vouchsafed not to reply, but motioned to 
 the clerk of the council, who in a sharp 
 high voice said, 
 
 *' Sir Humphrey Stanley will then be 
 pleased to quit the king's presence, the 
 precincts of the court, and the good city 
 of London; on pain of his life he is to 
 avoid all and each of his highness's 
 palaces, and to confine himself to his 
 manors in Statfordshire, till the pain of 
 banishment from the royal presence may 
 teach him the obedience that will alone 
 regain it." 
 
 Stanley's eye grew dark, and the ga- 
 
 thering scowl of Ins inflamed features 
 menaced if it did not startle majesty 
 itself; but he turned haughtily awayj and 
 was quitting the council chamber, when 
 Magdalene, no longer able to control her 
 feelings, broke from sir Valentine's grasp, 
 and clinging to her father's mantle, knelt 
 till she was almost prostrate, imploring 
 forgiveness and a blessing. The knight's 
 first impulse was to tear his manUe from 
 her hands, but, as his fierce eyes looked 
 down upon his suppliant and weeping 
 daughter, his heart began to soften, and 
 broken but gentler words were trembling 
 on his lips, when sir Valentine Chet- 
 wynd, indignant at this humihating dis- 
 play, raised his wife from the ground, 
 exclaiming, — 
 
 ** There is no need, my lady Chet- 
 wynd, for this degradation ; if your father 
 disdains the friendship of the house of 
 Ingestre, let him know that we equally 
 defy his hostility." 
 
 All sir Humphrey's fury rushed back 
 with redoubled violence, and though the 
 coldly politic Henry himself descended 
 from his state to further Magdalene's 
 supplication, the ungovernable Stanley 
 turned fiercely on them, and said, 
 
 " I will forgive thee, girl, only when 
 thou art made as miserable by the loss of 
 thine husband as he hath made thy father 
 by the loss of thee !" — and without obei- 
 sance or ceremony he quitted the pre- 
 sence. 
 
 Shortly after this eventful interview, 
 sir Valentine Chetwynd was dispatched 
 by the king to Spain, as one of the com- 
 missioners to negociate the marriage 
 between Arthur prince of Wales, and 
 Katherine the third daughter of Ferdi- 
 nand and Isabella : he was accompanied 
 by his wife. Felix Redniayne was among 
 his numerous suite, and high in his con- 
 fidence. 
 
 Sir Humphrey Stanley retired to Pype 
 Hall, devouring and devoured by his 
 animosity : and his discontents we may 
 imagine received no alleviation from the 
 execution of his kinsman the lord cham- 
 berlain, which took place about a year 
 afterwards on Tower Hill. 
 
 The story must now overleap about 
 five or six years, to the period when the 
 negociations for the Spanish match was 
 at length concluded, by the royal plenipo- 
 tentiaries at Bevvdley ; and in October 
 1501, Katharine of Arragon arrived in 
 D 2
 
 20 
 
 ALKS OF CHIVALRY 
 
 liOndon with a magnificent train of Spa- 
 nish and EngHsh nobihty. 
 
 It was on the morning of the nuptials 
 between prince Arthur and this lady, that 
 a knight, attired in all the festal splendour 
 of the period, accompanied by a lady of 
 striking beauty, withdrew from the royal 
 cortege, of which they had formed a part, 
 and striking into a retired aisle of St. Paul's 
 cathedral, was followed by a stout male 
 attendant, who led by the hand a noble 
 looking boy about six or seven years old. 
 At the narrow arch leading into St. 
 Andrew's chapel, they paused a moment, 
 and the lady, laying her hand on her com- 
 panion's arm, said in eager and fluttered 
 tones : — 
 
 ** But thou art certain, Valentine, that 
 my father and mother have been com- 
 manded to attend ?"' 
 
 " Can we doubt it, when his highness 
 the prince himself assured me that he had 
 persuaded the king to recal sir Hum- 
 phrey, in the hope that time and absence 
 may have mitigated his mood : trust me, 
 a most gracious message hath been sent !" 
 " But no conditions ?" 
 " None, we must make our own peace. 
 Henry hath confessed to me that he dares 
 not disoblige any further the house of 
 Stanley. Faith, he hath disobhged one 
 of them w ith a vengeance." 
 
 " I consent, tlien !" said lady Chet- 
 wynd, " there is risk in what b'elix pro- 
 poses, but — " 
 
 ♦* Risk, sweetlieart ! not a whit, but in 
 thy fond fears. Thou knowest thy father 
 best, however, and if by other means — " 
 " Oh, no ! no ! I see no other : nought 
 less will move him. Heaven send that 
 this moy! Marmaduke hath his grand- 
 sire's bright hair, his eagle eye (mark 
 how the boy glances fearlessly around 
 him !) his chest, his hmbs, his port ! Ah, 
 Valentine, they will go further for him in 
 sir Humphrey's good graces than if he 
 had the dark eye and jetty hair that won 
 his foolish mother !'— and Magdalene 
 wreathed her white fingers in her hus- 
 band's sable locks. 
 
 ** Well, love," said Chetwynd ; " so 
 they but win one, whom for thy sake I 
 grieve to write foe, I would my own 
 locks were sandy, and my own spindle 
 shanks (here Valentine looked down 
 smilingly on the graceful symmetry of 
 his limbs) were something more resem- 
 bling millposts." 
 
 " Oh hush, sir Valentine, I must nof, 
 even in joke, hear my poor father jeered. 
 Alas ! who knows but to careless jibes like 
 these thou owest all his dreadful enmity ?" 
 
 " Faith 'tis like enough, for I certainly 
 used to love harrassing him with my 
 guips, and have laughed to see how his 
 heavy artillery — but a truce to this, or by 
 that flashing eye I shall find sir Humphrey 
 hath a daughter. Felix, hither !" and at 
 the word our old acquaintance Red- 
 mayne, who stood at a respectful distance, 
 approached. 
 
 " Repair to the aisles of the nave, watch 
 the entrance of sir Humphrey Stanley, 
 and then" — he concluded by a whisper — 
 and then raising his voice added — "Keep 
 the lad in view, but be not seen thyself." 
 
 ** It shall be done to the letter, my 
 master," was Redmayne's reply ; ** and 
 as to keeping out of sight, trust me six 
 years absence have not made me anxious 
 to renew our acquaintance." 
 
 ** How now, Marmaduke, my prince," 
 said Chetwynd to his son ; " art minded 
 to see more of this gay show ?" 
 
 " I'm minded to see more of the good 
 knights and fair dames than this old 
 gloomy hole is likely to show me," re- 
 plied the child ; " for I am to be a knight 
 some day myself, and I must learn how to 
 carry myself, and I shall wed a gay lady 
 too, and must see how they are to be 
 wooed. But Felix so holds me in." 
 
 *• And if Felix lets tliee loose, wilt not 
 run away, if any bold knight lays hand 
 on thee ?" 
 
 The child coloured, and with a tiny 
 stamp, pointed to his gilded lath dagger, 
 and said — '* He shall brook this ere I 
 budge !" 
 
 Valentine laughed aloud, and glancing 
 at Magdalene, who was gazing with a 
 mother's delight on the boy's dauntless 
 bearing. 
 
 ** Our good father's mood will not lack 
 a representative thou seest, any more 
 than his thews and sinews." 
 
 ** Away, away !" said lady Chetwynd, 
 *' we lose time. Felix, watch the child 
 heedfully, thou art thyself a father, think 
 of Judith and thy little ones at Ingestre : 
 thou hast many, but tiiis is our only one." 
 Felix kissed the hand that was extended 
 towards him and withdrew, Marmaduke 
 bounding gleefully by his side, while the 
 knight and his lady entered the chapel, 
 dimly lit by two large tapers, though it
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 21 
 
 was then high day, and kneeling at the 
 altar, after crossing their bi'ows from a 
 fluted stoup of holy water, were absorbed 
 for some time in deep devotion. They 
 then arose, and without further colloquy 
 rejoined the royal train, who after making 
 offerings at several shrines, had now ap- 
 proached the high altar. 
 
 Sir Humphrey Stanley, in obedience 
 to the royal command, had repaired to 
 London with his lady, and a numerous 
 train of attendants ; and, on the morning 
 of the bridal, was preparing to set forth 
 from his lodging, a handsome mansion 
 assigned to him by his noble cousin of 
 Derby, when a man of foreign garb and 
 featin-e was ushered into his chamber, 
 with whom he remained closeted for some 
 time ; the man then quitted the house, 
 and sir Humphrey repaired with his lady 
 and suite to St. Paul's. 
 
 The ceremonies were now nearly con- 
 cluded, and Marmaduke watched at a 
 distance by Redmayne, who was amusing 
 his boyish curiosity near the great west 
 door. Many a knight and lady had at- 
 tracted the free gaze and elicited the 
 frank observations of the child, and many 
 had paused to admire and caress him. 
 But the nave was now nearly deserted, 
 and he began to grow weary, when his 
 sudden exclamation aroused Felix. 
 
 " Ah 1 here comes another at last, and 
 the bravest of them all." 
 
 With these words Marmaduke bounded 
 forward (certain of the accustomed caress) 
 so suddenly, that a personage of noble 
 stature, superbly habited, and leading a 
 lady, whose sad demeanour and pale fea- 
 tures ill accorded with her sumptuous 
 dress, nearly stumbled over the boy. 
 The gentleman stopped, and with a deep 
 and hasty accent, exclaimed — 
 
 '* And what would you with me, my 
 young peascod I" 
 
 *' In faith, nothing, I," replied the lad 
 proudly, " an ye be pleased to look so 
 black and speak so like old father Austin 
 that sets me tasks at home." 
 
 " But what if I speak thee fair ?" said 
 the knight, struck, in spite of his sullen 
 mood, as Magdalene had predicted, with 
 Marmaduke's air and voice. 
 
 " Why then, I will say that thou art the 
 
 fallantest gentleman that hath entered 
 'aul's this day." 
 
 ** And what wilt thou say of me •'" 
 asked the pale lady, partaking in a 
 
 stronger degree of her husband's emo- 
 tion. 
 
 " Ah !" said Marmaduke, and there he 
 stopped. 
 
 ** Speak, my brave fellow," said the 
 gentleman, and motioning his followers 
 to stand apart, he seated himself on a 
 stone seat under the flat arches in a side 
 aisle, and took the boy between his knees, 
 while the lady bent wistfully over 
 him. 
 
 " Why, then, if she were not so white, 
 she would be like my mother." 
 
 The knight's face became blood-red, 
 and in the next moment ashy pale, and 
 the lady caught by the massy pillar to 
 prevent her falling. A silence ensued, 
 broken by lady Stanley's faltering tones. 
 
 " And who is thy mother, my beauteous 
 boy ?" she gasped for an answer. 
 
 ** How — know ye not my mother ? all 
 whom I have seen to-day knew her 5 nay, 
 then, I shall be chidden, they ever chide 
 me when I prate as they call it," and 
 Marmaduke struggled to extricate him- 
 self from the gentle yet strong grasp of 
 sir Humphrey, in whose bosom, Nature, 
 so long outraged, began imperiously to 
 resume her sway ; even self-love here 
 joined her cause, for never was miniature ' 
 so faithfully delineated, as the robust form 
 and bluff features of sir Humphrey Stan- 
 ley in the budding frame of Marmaduke 
 Chetwynd. 
 
 " Stay, child," he said, almost clasping 
 him to his breast; " stay, and tell the 
 lady where we may send the roan pony 
 and the new bow and arrows, that shall 
 be for thine own use." 
 
 Marmaduke's face brightened as his 
 grandsire spoke, but as suddenly it be- 
 came overcast 
 
 " Ah, but it will chafe my father, and 
 grieve my lady mother, and I must not 
 do that for — " 
 
 ** For why, my child ?" 
 
 ** For she often tells me what a heavy 
 sin it is to grieve a parent, and then her 
 eyes are all wet with tears ; and she tells 
 me how she once offended her parents, 
 and has never been quite happy since." 
 
 Sir Humphrey groaned, and lady Stan- 
 ley sobbed aloud. 
 
 " And thy father," resumed the knight, 
 speaking through his teeth, ** doth he 
 chide her when she weeps !" 
 
 " Oh no, my father speaks gently to 
 her, and always says how he wishes he
 
 11 
 
 TALKS OF (H IV ALKY 
 
 OK, 
 
 could gain her father's pardon, and then 
 they say their prayers." 
 
 A pause of ineffable emotion ensued; 
 soon broken, however, by Marniaduke, 
 whose confidence seemed now to be com- 
 pletely won, and playing with the gilded 
 hilt of his grandfather's sword, he con- 
 tinued — 
 
 ** But, Felix and Judith, and the rest 
 of them, tell me that my grandsire was a 
 cruel and bad man, and that I ought to 
 hate him, and that some day I must do 
 battle against him." 
 
 *' And wilt thou ?" asked the knight, a 
 tenderness new to his rugged heart gra- 
 dually overpowering him, " wilt thou ?" 
 
 Marmaduke was silent. 
 
 " Wilt thou bear sword against thy 
 mother's father ?" 
 
 Still the boy spoke not, but his cheek 
 glowed, and his bold eye was downcast. 
 
 " Tell me, wilt thou add thyself to thy 
 grandsire's foes ?" 
 
 "Nol" answered the child in a low 
 voice, " for, once I told my mother that 
 1 ivoulcl, but she wept so, and said the 
 thought would kill her, and so — I wept 
 too, and promised if I could to love her 
 father." 
 
 The loud sudden swell of the organ, 
 and the voices of the distant choristers, 
 now pealed through the IMinster, and the 
 royal company began to pour through the 
 great arch that separated the choir from 
 tlie nave. As the gorgeous procession, 
 uncoiling its flood of colours, ^wept up 
 the nave, canopies and banners floating 
 over crowns, coronets, and mitres (let the 
 j)ageant-loving Hall give the particulars), 
 Felix Redmayne, who had watched the 
 propitious event of his scheme, had quitted 
 the nave to impart it to sir Valentine and 
 his lady. The group, whose aflfecting 
 colloquy we have just detailed, were in a 
 dusky aisle sutflciently screened from ob- 
 servation, but as the van of the procession 
 gleamed from under the distant archway, 
 sir Humphrey starting up hastily, re- 
 signed Marmaduke to his grandame (who 
 was loading the child with caresses), and 
 seemed to be struggling to resume his 
 haughty state, when a light hand was 
 laid on his shoulder, a few words of im- 
 perfect English melted on his ear, and as 
 he turned, a youthful female met his view, 
 whose countenance, at once amiable and 
 majestic (tliough its comeliness was some- 
 what clouded by habitual gravity), needed 
 
 not the bridal crown and costume to an- 
 nounce the future queen of England ; 
 while, at her side, a young man also with 
 a crowned brow, and in cloth of gold, 
 whose purple tissue denoted a prince of 
 the blood royal, stood, the phantom of 
 that regality which he was not destined 
 to share with his bride. 
 
 Marmaduke was at once forgotten by 
 both sir Humphrey and his lady, and off 
 he hied, not loth to be released, in search 
 of new amusement, while Stanley and his 
 wife hastily threw themselves on their 
 knees before the royal pair, and offered 
 their duteous congratulations. 
 
 " Rise, friends," said the prince, " for 
 such we would fain esteem those who are 
 so nearly allied to one whom we love and 
 honour. Think not it is on a sleeveless 
 errand we have quitted yonder gay com- 
 pany. Our royal father himself hath de- 
 spatched us, and though we looked for 
 you earlier, sir Knight, we trust we are 
 not too late to ask and to obtain a boon 
 on this our bridal day." 
 
 The prince then condescended to plead 
 earnestly for the lady Chetwynd, aided 
 by Katherine, whose sweet tones rendered 
 her broken English the more irresistible. 
 But we really have dilated, and continue 
 to dilate so much, that our story will 
 never end unless we briefly say what 
 was not briefly done, — that after many 
 struggles, sir Humphrey's pride and pas- 
 sion, already much weakened, at length 
 gave way, and that once effected, it was 
 with sincere love that he clasped his for- 
 given daughter to his heart, and with 
 kindness grasped the readily extended 
 hand of sir Valentine. The princess now 
 inquired for her little godson. 
 
 ENTRANCE INTO FORT D'USSON. 
 
 From " Henri Quatre." 
 The king of Navarre was known to be 
 in Auvergne, and thitiier his wife Mar- 
 garet, accompanied by the abbe De 
 Nevailles, proceeded in search of him. 
 On arriving before fort D'Usson, a bril- 
 liant idea entered her mind, as she be- 
 held the lofty rocks on which the fortress 
 was built, its impregnability and romantic 
 site ; but, without communicating her 
 sudden resolve, she simply requested the 
 baron to ask of De Coeuvres the iiospi- 
 tality of the castle for a daughter of 
 France.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIKLD, 
 
 23 
 
 Fluslied with hor scheme, slie drew 
 aside the curtain on approaching the 
 gate-tower, and at the expected presence 
 of the old governor ; but in his place 
 stood the smirking and bowing Pomini, 
 who was dazzled with the beauty of the 
 fair voyagers, and quite forgot the grace- 
 ful Gabrielle. Margaret smiled inwardly 
 at his officiousness, but she saw at a 
 glance that he was her own, and might 
 be moulded to her purpose. This was 
 sufficient to induce her to return his civi- 
 lities with condescension, and make him 
 the proudest of men. He already fancied 
 himself Monsieur du Marais, and even 
 went so far as to presume on the possible 
 acquisition of a baron's coronet and mant- 
 ling. 
 
 The cortege passed into the interior 
 court, where the queen and Emilie 
 alighted, and were conducted by the 
 enraptured seneschal into the hall. Great 
 was the indignation of the loyal governor, 
 when one of the pages ran to inform him 
 that his visitor was the queen of Navarre ; 
 but as it was too late to proceed to the 
 court-yard, where he could only dispute 
 with his servant the honour of the recep- 
 tion, he wisely resolved to take up a 
 position with his daughter in the saloon 
 of state, and in order to increase the 
 group, the page was desired to bring his 
 fellow immediately, that they twain might 
 be in readiness to do honour to royalty, 
 and reflect a proper dignity on the rank 
 of the governor. 
 
 But for this coiqj d'etat there was more 
 than abundant time ; for Pomini indulged 
 in his usual artifice with visitors, of con- 
 ducting them through the entire suite of 
 rooms of the castle, ere he introduced 
 them to the marquis ; commenting the 
 while on the antique beauty of the furni- 
 ture, the lofty proportion of the chambers, 
 and the historical importance of the royal 
 chateau. 
 
 *• Stay ! stay ! monsieur !" said the 
 fatigued' queen of Navarre; "has not 
 the marquis a fair daughter — a pearl of 
 price ? Let us not delay in doing her 
 honour." 
 
 " Her beauty can only be eclipsed by 
 the bright luminaries before whom I now 
 stand '" replied the assiduous and crafty 
 seneschal: " and your majesty shall see 
 her soon." 
 
 But Monsieur Pompini had something 
 yet in store for his new friends, ere their 
 
 eyes were blessed with the presence of 
 the lady Gabrielle. To the surprise of 
 the queen and her suite, he opened a 
 small door behind the tapestry of the last 
 chamber, and disappeared fi-om view of 
 his visitors, but soon returned with a 
 bundle of torches, which were speedily 
 lighted. 
 
 '* What ! torches in day-time !" cried 
 Margaret in surprise. 
 
 *' Your majesty must c-^insider that it 
 is the fault of the architect, not mine," 
 replied the obsequious seneschal. 
 
 Any one but l)e Nevailles would have 
 dissuaded the queen from proceeding 
 further, but his curiosity and love of 
 eccentricity were deeply interested in the 
 denouement of the strange proceeding, 
 and he resolved to let the seneschal go 
 to the full length of his line. 
 
 The tapestry was put aside, and one 
 by one following each other, the visitants 
 passed through the narrow (loor-way, and 
 entered on a stone gallery or coiridor. 
 The light of the torches displayed the 
 rudeness of the masonry, and the awful 
 prison-like gloom of the gallery. The 
 royal party began to doubt the sincerity 
 of their guide. 
 
 '* Is De Cceuvres a hermit ?" exclaimed 
 Margaret ; " does he hve in a cell ?" 
 
 Pompini made no reply, for he was 
 preparing for his last eftbrt. 
 
 Suddenly he stopped, and waved aloft 
 his torch, commanding the attendants to 
 do the same. At his invitation the party 
 approached the spot whereon he stood, 
 but were awe-struck with the seeming 
 horror of their position. They were no 
 longer enclosed between the walls of the 
 gallery, but found themselves standing 
 on a balcony projecting into the murky 
 space. Above and beneath was utter 
 darkness: — the partial dim atmosphere 
 of light which surrounded them, was just 
 sufficient to make the awful gloom visible. 
 
 De Nevailles caught hold of the senes- 
 chal. " Why this mystery ?" said he, 
 not knowing whether it were prudent to 
 express alarm. 
 
 '* Look !" exclaimed the seneschal, 
 beckoning the party to approach the iron 
 railing which skirted the balcony. Im- 
 pelled by mingled curiosity and dread, 
 Margaret and her friends ventured to 
 obey Pompini's bidding. 
 
 "Now watch the descending light!" 
 exclaimed the'mysterious functionary ;-^
 
 24 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 OR, 
 
 and at these words, he and his domestics 
 threw their torches into tlie abyss. 
 
 The glaring- whirling meteors as they 
 fell, illuminated the cavernous side of the 
 descent, and impressed (he awe-struck 
 gazers with terror of the dreadful gulf 
 over which they stood. After many a 
 mazy gyration, the lights reached tiie 
 bottom, and burned flickeringly in the 
 abyss. 
 
 The group surveyed them from above 
 with awe. 
 
 " Something shines close to the red 
 light of the further torch !" cried De 
 Nevailles, who was the first to break 
 silence. 
 
 " Very likely," said Pomini, in a care- 
 less tone, " the skulls are scattered about 
 in profusion." 
 
 Aery of horror arose from the fair living 
 dames at this announcement; nor was 
 their dread diminished by discovering 
 that they were now in total darkness. 
 
 "By St. Hubert !" exclaimed the baron, 
 ** it would only be doing justice to throw 
 you to the spirits beneath ! Tell ns, what 
 means this, or you shall rue your mis- 
 chief?" 
 
 ** Where those torches burn are the 
 dungeons of D'Usson," replied Pomini; 
 " there, his majesty, Louis the eleventh 
 of that name, of happy memory, kept the 
 state prisoners Avhose treasons were ma- 
 nifest. Your majesty's ancestor," con- 
 tinued the seneschal, speaking to the 
 queen of Navarre, " was a wise prince — 
 no one could escape from those depths." 
 
 " Let us away from the horrid sight," 
 cried the queen, who had retained the 
 hand of Emilie out of fear. 
 
 " There is no danger from this con- 
 ceited fool," whispered De Nevailles, 
 who was close to mademoiselle. 
 
 As the road was straight, no great dif- 
 ficulty was found by the visitors in groping 
 their way out of the gallery into the 
 genial light of day, and the warm tapes- 
 tried chamber. But their anger now 
 vented itself against the seneschal ; he 
 was surrounded by a circle of inquisitors, 
 who threatened him with every punish- 
 ment they could think of. 
 
 " If I had been anxious only to re- 
 venge an insult to my sovereign," said 
 De Nevailles, " your body would have 
 been flung after the torches." 
 
 " But why show us these curiosities 
 when the marquis is waiting ?" exclaimed 
 
 Margaret, who could not repress a smile 
 at the singular occurrence. 
 
 Pomini, who was taken off his guard 
 by the cheerful speech of the queen, re- 
 plied with naivete, '* that since the visit 
 of the abbe Bourdeille de Brantome to 
 D'Usson, he had taken his advice, which 
 was to display the drapery depths of the 
 prison caverns to visitors, ere he intro- 
 duced them into the presence of lady 
 Gabrielle, that her lightsome beauty 
 might strike her beholders with all the 
 force of intense contrast." 
 
 A peal of laughter followed this expla- 
 nation, which was uttered in a tone which 
 at once displayed the vanity and weak- 
 ness of the seneschal, at the same time 
 that it bespoke the sincerity of the im- 
 pulse. 
 
 " Ah ! the abbe De Brantome is a man 
 I reverence," said De Nevailles ; '* his 
 wit leaves a rough mark on every softer 
 mind it comes in collision with." 
 
 ANECDOTE OF THE POLISH REVOLUTION- 
 
 When the people were storming the 
 arsenal, a regiment of Polish soldiers 
 under the command of a Russian colonel, 
 a man who happened to be universally 
 liked, even by the Poles themselves, ar- 
 rived upon the ground. A strict sense 
 of military duty induced the colonel im- 
 mediately to draw up his men, and order 
 them to fire upon the people. The sol- 
 diers paused, for their hearts were in the 
 cause of their compatriots. During this 
 critical moment a voice issued from the 
 crowtl, which was heard, even among 
 the din of musketry and the clash of 
 swords — " Colonel ! you are known, and 
 you are respected ; we do not wish to 
 injure j'ou, but you must desist from 
 your orders to the soldiers ; if not your 
 blood be upon your own head !" — The 
 ill-fated but gallant officer could not 
 listen to this warning; the obnoxious 
 order was again repeated, and the sol- 
 diers still wavered between their habitual 
 respect for their commander and their 
 repugnance to fire upon their friends : 
 there was a moment's pause, but it was 
 only for a moment: fifty shots then fol- 
 lowed each other in quick succession ; 
 the unfortunate Russian fell, and his sol- 
 diers joined the people in their bold, but 
 unsuccessful struggle, to recover the 
 liberties of their country.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 25 
 
 THE ASSASSINATION of the DUKE 
 OF BUCKINGHAM. 
 
 Much has been written upon this sub- 
 ject, but most of tlie accounts are meag^re 
 and unconnected. Tiie following parti- 
 culars, collected from various sources, 
 will, it is hoped, be read with interest. 
 Buckingham was the profligate compa- 
 nion of the mean and dastardly James 
 the First ; a monarch with so little of the 
 dignity of the king, that his very reign is 
 a foul blot upon the page of our history. 
 Without dwelling upon the rise of the 
 duke, or the infamous course of his life 
 during the reign of James, we come 
 down to the year 1623, at which time 
 Charles the First swayed the English 
 sceptre. 
 
 Buckingham, having the countenance 
 and protection of this monarch, con- 
 ducted himself with great insolence 
 towards the ancient nobility, over whose 
 heads he had been raised by his former 
 master, and brought upon himself the 
 hatred of the whole English nation. — 
 Parliament after parliament denounced 
 this pernicious favourite ; but the infa- 
 tuated Charles still clung to his minion. 
 
 VOL. I. — 4. 
 
 Page 26. 
 The murder of the favourite of the duke, 
 one Dr. Lamb, a pretended conjuror, by 
 the enraged mob, might have operated 
 as a salutary warning to sonie moiiaichs ; 
 but Charles, incensed against the city of 
 London, imprudently imposed a heavy 
 fine of six thousand pounds upon the 
 citizens. During the perpetration of the 
 outrage upon the doctor, voices in the 
 crowd were heard to say that his master 
 should, ere long, be handled worse, and 
 diat they would mince his flesh. A few 
 days after, a paper was pasted by some 
 unknown hand upon a post in Coleman 
 Street, bearing these words : — 
 
 " Who ruU s the kingdom ?— The Iviiig. 
 Who rules the king .'—The duke. 
 Who rules ihe duke ?— The devil. 
 
 " Let the duke look to it, for they 
 intend shortly to use him worse than 
 they did the doctor; and if things be not 
 shortly reformed, they will work a refor- 
 mation themselves !" 
 
 Affairs were in this posture when the 
 duke went to Portsmouth ; and while 
 engaged in preparations for the expedi- 
 tion to Rochelle, fell beneath the knife of 
 Felton, who had been a lieutenant in a 
 company of foot under sir John Ramsey.
 
 •26 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY J OK, 
 
 Various conflicting accounts are given, 
 but tlie following bears the stamp of truth. 
 It is taken from a folio volume, entitled, 
 " Annals of the reigns of James T. and 
 Charles I.," printed in the year 1681. 
 
 ** And now again was a naval royal 
 equipped for the relief of Rochel, under 
 the duke of Buckingham, who being at 
 Portsmouth in order to his embarkation, 
 and to the giving;- the necessary orders, 
 he was on the 23rd of August in his own 
 lodging, fitting himself to wait on the 
 king; he hastily called for breakfast, his 
 servants attended the sewer to bring in 
 the meat, the duke came down stairs 
 from his upper chamber to eat in a lower 
 parlour; turning in at the foot of the 
 stairs with a narrow entry, and sir 
 Thomas Friar, one of his colonels, follow- 
 ing him to the parlour door, stooping to 
 take his leave, the duke declining, em- 
 braced Friar with these words, * Honest 
 Tom,' and so turning into the room, one 
 John Felton at that instant, shadowed 
 behind them, stabbed him to the heart 
 with a back blow of a coufcel-knife, which 
 stuck in his body till the duke dragged it 
 out, and so enlarged the orifice that it 
 streamed with the effusion of so much 
 blood and spirit, that instantly he died, 
 not able, it seems, to utter a syllable; 
 and certainly no soul there present, for 
 he fell backward into the parlour, and the 
 assassinate fled." 
 
 Some accounts, however, say that the 
 duke, upon receiving the stroke, ex- 
 claimed, " The villain has killed me !" 
 and that Felton, in his hurry, lost his 
 hat, and claimed it as his upon seeing it 
 in the hand of a bystander ; but the 
 author before quoted says," Felton having 
 no power to fly far," — and it seems he 
 had no such intent, — " uncertain what to 
 do, stepped aside into the kitchen ; thi- 
 ther the uproar and search followed ; 
 some cried out, * Where's the villam ?' 
 Felton, mistaking the words for * Here's 
 the villain,' suddenly started and said, 
 * I am he ;' — upon which they seized 
 him, and had some difficulty to preserve 
 him from the fury of the soldiers, who 
 feared that this disaster would cause the 
 delay of the expedition. One Stamford, 
 a follower of the duke, valiantly made 
 many passes at him witli his rapier after 
 he had been seized and bound." 
 
 The news was soon carried to London, 
 and a courtier was sent to see the slaver. 
 
 who was, says our author, ** a little, 
 timber, meagre, ghastly, frightful-faced 
 fellow, already clapped into a small 
 sentry-house upon the guard, heavily 
 laden with manacled irons, neither able 
 to sit, nor to lie down, but to be crippled 
 against the wall." The courtier, by re- 
 presenting himself as a friend, endea- 
 voured to worm himself into Felton's 
 confidence, but failed in his object. 
 
 The event was hailed with joy by all 
 classes ; thousands cheered Felton on 
 his way to London, and an old woman, 
 alluding to the greatness of Buckingham, 
 and the mean figure of his destroyer, 
 cried out, " God bless thee, little David I" 
 His health w^as toasted by the republicans. 
 Alexander Gill, son of Dr. Gill, of St. 
 Paul's school, was prosecuted by the Star- 
 chamber, upon three charges, heavily 
 fined, and condemned to lose his ears. 
 One of the charges was, that he had said 
 at Trinity College that the king was 
 fitter for a shop or stall- keeper than to 
 govern a kingdom ; and ** that tlie duke 
 was gone to h — 1 to see king James." 
 
 In answer to many questions that were 
 put to him, Felton said, that " he had 
 killed the duke for the cause of God and 
 his country." To which the questioner 
 remarked, that ** there was hope of his 
 life, for the surgeons said so." — " It is 
 impossible," said Felton ; •' I had the 
 force of forty men assisted by him that 
 guided my hand." He said that passing 
 out at the postern-gate at Tower-hill, he 
 espied the fatal knife with which he had 
 effected his deadly purpose, in a cutler's 
 glass case, and bought it for sixteen 
 pence; it was the point end of a cufT 
 blade, stuck into a cross haft, the whole 
 length, handle and all, measuring scarcely 
 twelve inches ; that he followed the train 
 to Portsmouth, and coming by a cross 
 erected in the highway, he siiarpened the 
 point upon the stone, " believing it more 
 proper in justice to advantage his de- 
 signs, than for the idolatrous intent it 
 was erected." 
 
 To the eternal disgrace of those who 
 first started the question, it was left to 
 be doubted by the judges whether he 
 should be racked. Lord Dorset waited 
 himself upon the prisoner, and stated 
 that it was his majesty's pleasure (what 
 a word!) that he should be put to the 
 torture ; but Felton resolutely told him 
 that he had no accomplices. ** If I be
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 27 
 
 put upon the rack," said he, " I will 
 aocuse you, my lord Dorset, and none 
 but yourself." This speech silenced the 
 noble, who retired discomfited. Felton 
 was condemned and hung at Tyburn. 
 He died penitent, it is said, laying the 
 guilt directly upon the parliament's re- 
 monstrance. 
 
 He was a man of moody and melan- 
 choly habits, and had met with many 
 disappointments, both as regards promo- 
 tion and arrears of pay. There is little 
 doubt that he was influenced by per- 
 sonal feelings to assassinate the duke, 
 who had probably neglected him. Be 
 this as it may, he did his country a signal 
 service by the act for which he suffered. 
 That he was a man that could meet 
 danger and death with a smile, may be 
 argued from the fact that he once cut off 
 a piece of hisjiyiger, and inclosed it in 
 a challenge to a person who had offended 
 him. Yet his love of truth and honour 
 procured for him the nickname of " Ho- 
 nest Jack" among his acquaintance. It 
 should be mentioned that the judges 
 came to a determination that the assassin 
 ought not to be put upon the rack, for 
 that no such punishment was recognized 
 by our law. Felton, after his condem- 
 nation, offered his hand to be cut off, but 
 the court would not inflict that pimish- 
 ment upon him, although Charles in- 
 treated that he might suffer that horrible 
 niutilation previous to his execution. 
 
 The duke's body was brought to Lon- 
 don, and lay in state for several days at 
 York House ; when it was interred in 
 St. Edward's chapel, at Westminster. 
 He lived a life of profligacy and vice, 
 and died regretted by none but the rep- 
 tiles who pandered to his worst passions. 
 The death of Charles by his own subjects 
 rescued his name from the odium which 
 would have attached to it, but his par- 
 tiality to this pernicious favourite, in de- 
 fiance of his people's wishes, together 
 with his vindictive feeling towards Felton, 
 prove that he had little of the amiable or 
 the merciful in his disposition. 
 
 HUMPHREY THE HOMICIDE. 
 
 (Continued from p. 22 J 
 " Where is Marmaduke, Redmayne ?" 
 asked the lady Chetwynd, but no Red- 
 mayne answered ; the mother's fears 
 were instantly in arms, she looked 
 
 eagerly around, and observing neither 
 Marmaduke nor his attendant, siie uttered 
 a cry of terror, while sir Valentine, more 
 composed, but equally anxious, chid 
 Magdalene for her unreasonable fears. 
 
 " Doubtless," he said, " Felix hath 
 taken him to view the procession j but 1 
 will seek him myself." 
 
 From aible to aisle, from chapel to 
 chapel, flew the fond father ; the galilee, 
 the baptistory, nay, the very crypts them- 
 selves were searched, but in vain. One 
 whom he met informed him that he had 
 seen a boy, seemingly of noble nurture, 
 roaming towards the choir as the proces- 
 sion approached. Another stated that 
 shortly after he had been wildly interro- 
 gated by a man in some knight or noble- 
 man's livery, respecting the same child, 
 while a third, who knew Felix Red- 
 mayne, said that he had seen him about 
 half an hour since, descend like one pos- 
 sessed the steps at the south gate, — throw 
 himself on a horse, and gallop off in the 
 direction of Black Friars. 
 
 On returning in the keenest agonies 
 to the aisle where he had left his party, 
 he found there only a single attendant, 
 who infonned him that shortly after his 
 departure sir Humphrey Stanley had 
 seemed like one to whom a horrid drearn 
 suddenly recurs, and wildly exclaiming, 
 "The Spaniard! the Spaniard!" had 
 rushed abruptly from the church, after 
 giving brief orders to his attendants, who 
 dispersed in all directions. The lady 
 Magdalene had been conveyed in violent 
 I fits to the palace, whither their high- 
 I nesses in great grief had accompanied 
 her. In short, the child was lost, and 
 Felix Redmayne was no more to be seen. 
 I 'I'he result of this most unhappy affair 
 j soon involved both parties in still deeper 
 evils. Sir Humphrey, in the first ago- 
 nies of his remorse, accused himself before 
 the king and council of having hired a 
 Spanish attendant of Chetwynd's, who 
 had some grudge against his master, 
 either to assassinate sir Valentine, or 
 make away with the boy, as he found 
 opportunity. And though this was done 
 in the most pathetic strain of repentance 
 (for sir Humphrey's smallest impulses of 
 good or evil knew no bounds), the avari- 
 cious Henry seized the golden occasion 
 which he never neglected, of converting 
 offences into a source of lucre to himself^ 
 A fine to the enormous amount of one 
 e2
 
 2S 
 
 TALES OF CniVALUY ; OR, 
 
 thousand five hundred marks was levied 
 on sir Humphrey's estates. It may be 
 expected that sir Valentine could not 
 effectually conceal his dislike of an enemy 
 who, though repentant, had thus cruelly 
 bereft him. Even JNIagdalene could now 
 scarcely look upon her father without 
 shuddering. Thus beset, the unhappy 
 Stanley's remorse, long preying on his 
 own fierce heart, at length sought relief 
 by venting itself in his old hatred, — and 
 the darkest and most determined pur- 
 poses of revenge took possession of his 
 turbulent mind. His was now a mixture 
 of feelings, wherein real sorrow for the 
 injury, which had recoiled upon himself, 
 was strangely blended with increased 
 animosity towards him whom he had 
 injured. He even endeavoured, with 
 the sophistry common to desperate crime, 
 to encourage himself in his hatred by 
 imputing to Valentine the miseries he 
 had brought upon himself, and he was 
 heard one moment to mourn bitterly over 
 his lost grandchild, and the next to rejoice 
 that the house of his enemy was left de- 
 solate. 
 
 For about the space of a year after the 
 occurrences we have described, sir Valen- 
 tine and lady Chetwynd remained in 
 strict seclusion at Ingestre, and even 
 then it was viith diflSculty that they forced 
 themselves to comply with the solicita- 
 tions of the lord Ferrers, who, with a 
 view to dissipate their deep melancholy, 
 had pressed them to visit him for a space 
 at his castle at Chartley. Tliis noble pile, 
 destined ere long to be a deserted and 
 dismantled ruin, was then adorned with 
 all the feudal appendages, of boldly- 
 sweeping ramparts, spacious courts, and 
 lofty buildings. The tall and massive 
 Donjon, with its state apartments, the 
 chapel within the area, the great and 
 gloomy gateway, with its turrets and 
 machicolations, the grand but irregular 
 circuit of the outer walls, and the pic- 
 turesque vaiiety of the towers, round, 
 square, and octagon, broad and heav}^, or 
 tall and graceful, still gleamed in the sun 
 over their green woods and grassy glades. 
 The power of the feudal nobility was now, 
 however, thoroughly broken by the politic 
 Henry. Most of them finding that the 
 advantages they used to derive from their 
 gigantic holds no longer existed, began 
 with one accord to desert them for more 
 commodious habitations ; and shortly after 
 
 the period of this story, the fortress of 
 Randal Bondeville shared the same fate 
 of other baronial castles. Thither, then, 
 did sir Valentine and lady Chetwynd 
 repair, and mingled in the usual amuse- 
 ments of the day. The sylvan domain of 
 Chartley, with its breed of wild cattle, its 
 herds of deer, and flights of wood and 
 water fowl, afforded abundant opportuni- 
 ties for hunting and hawking, and sir 
 Valentine willingly strove to forget for 
 awhile his griefs in the stirring excite- 
 ment of these sports. 
 
 One day, as the lordly train went gal- 
 loping over the magnificent drawbridge 
 over the Trent, near Haywood, consisting 
 of forty arches, their feathers streaming 
 in the air, their bridles ringing, and their 
 gay attire glancing gorgeously in a calm 
 October sunshine, sir Valentine Chet- 
 wynd, who was the last of the party, was 
 joined by a horseman, who, as well as 
 his steed, showed every token of furious 
 riding. The effect of this fellow's intel- 
 ligence (whoever he might be), was won- 
 derful ; the pale dejection of his brow 
 vanished, gleams of long absent joy lighted 
 up his beautiful countenance, and after an 
 eager and rapid interchange of questions 
 and replies, he gave his able horse the 
 head, and returned at full speed, accom- 
 panied by the strange horseman to Chart- 
 ley castle. 
 
 The gloomy grandeur of the towers 
 and forest-trees of Ingestre were glowing 
 in the western light of a red tempestuous 
 sunset, when Chetwynd and his lady, 
 with a small attendance, amongst \\hom 
 was the strange horseman, passed from 
 under the autumnal foliage of a thick 
 coppice upon the dreary range of Tixal 
 Heath. The evening mists were rising, 
 and the evening gusts swept over the 
 moor with the hollow moaning sound 
 prelusive of the rising storm, and as the 
 horse's hoofs fell noiseless on the blue 
 harebell and yellow tormentil that sprink- 
 led the short herbage of the mossy turf, 
 you might hear the wind hissing among 
 the beds of purple heather and golden 
 gorse, and (blattering the black pods of die 
 I spiky broom. 
 
 j 'I hey were approaching those two 
 mounds called the King's and the 
 j Queen's Low, when they perceived in 
 I front a considerable body of men coming 
 i at full speed from the opposite verge of 
 i the moor. As they drew near, Valentine
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AXD FIELD. 
 
 29 
 
 and Magdalene observed that they were 
 completely armed, and tlie former, turn- 
 ing fiercely upon the stranger horseman, 
 exclaimed, 
 
 ** Villain ! you have betrayed us !" 
 
 " You have betrayed yourself, sir 
 Knight," said the man, looking anxiously 
 to the troop that now rapidly advanced 
 upon them, and at the same time retreat- 
 ing from Valentine. " 1 am true to my 
 master — he bade me promise you tidings 
 of your son, and from aim, doubtless, you 
 will hear them." 
 
 " Thou, at least, shalt not triumph in 
 thy treason," said the knight ; and draw- 
 ing his sword, spurred his horse against 
 liim ; but by this time they were com- 
 pletely surrounded by the armed men, 
 who called upon him to surrender. 
 
 " Fly, Magdalene !" said sir Valentine ; 
 " that road to the left will bring thee in 
 ten minutes to Ingestrej thou mayest 
 send those who will save or avenge me ! 
 Berdmore and Lantry, as I do !" 
 
 And with these words he made a des- 
 perate onset on the left of his opponents, 
 and assisted by his two men, succeeded 
 in making an opening, through which 
 Magdalene's horse darted, and skimmed 
 like lightning along the heath in the 
 direction of Ingestre. This accomplished, 
 Valentine fell back to his other followers, 
 about six or eight in number, and with 
 them maintained for some time a valiant 
 but hopeless fight against a score of men, 
 for their antagonists were of that force. 
 His attendants were at length slain or 
 disabled, but not till they had thinned the 
 ranks of their assailants. 
 
 Sir Valentine himself had engaged 
 hand in hand with their leader, whose 
 gigantic figure spoke too plainly who he 
 was, and the desperation with which the 
 knight of Ingestre fought, equalized for 
 some time the odds of bodily strength 
 between the combatants, when a piercing 
 cry from Magdalene, whose flight had 
 been pursued and overtaken, threw him 
 for a moment off his guard, and a dread- 
 ful thrust fi'om his adversary, grinding 
 through his shoulder and bosom, stretched 
 him senseless on the heath, just as the 
 lady Chetwynd was brought back by two 
 horsemen. 
 
 Midnight had passed on this eventful 
 day, and lady Eleanor Stanley was alone 
 in the chapel at Pype-Hall. The wind 
 groaned through its narrow aisle, and the 
 
 two waxen tapers fluttering in the gusts, 
 shed their melancholy ray down the dark- 
 ness, from the altar before which the sad 
 lady was kneeling in perturbed devotion. 
 An accumulation of griefs had worn her 
 fragile frame to a mere skeleton, and the 
 frightful apprehensions which now haunted 
 her, seemed to shake her very life. To 
 see her now wringing her attenuated 
 palms in prayer ; now lifting her eyes in 
 tearless agony to the light ; and ever and 
 anon bending sidelong her haggard 
 cheek, and shuddering as if she listened 
 amidst the pauses of the storm for other 
 sounds more terrible, you would have 
 thought that soul and body were about to 
 be torn asunder. 
 
 At length, the lady's terrified expecta- 
 tions seemed realized; the great bell at 
 the gateway was rung violently, the 
 trampling of men and horses were heard 
 in the courts ; and at the sound, though 
 trembling violently, lady Stanley quitted 
 the chapel, and summoning her attend- 
 ants, who preceded her with lights, re- 
 paired to the outer quadrangle. 
 
 Mere narrative would vainly attempt 
 to convey an idea of the spectacle which 
 there presented itself. The whole house- 
 hold summoned by the bell had flocked 
 into the courts ; their blazing torches 
 flinging a swarthy and umbered light 
 upon the tall buildings ; while the figures 
 that stood revealed by the flambeaux — 
 appalling enough in themselves — showed 
 in the smoky red lustre, like the hideous 
 phantasmagoria of a dream. In the 
 midst was the huge form of sir Humphrey 
 still on horseback ; his vizor was up, and 
 his features, writhed into their most fear- 
 ful expression, received additional horror 
 from several streaks of blood, which also 
 painted his armour, and mingled with the 
 flecks of foam upon his sable steed. He 
 was in the act of speaking as lady Stanley 
 entered the court, and his arm was ex- 
 tended towards the wounded and blood- 
 streaming figure of sir Valentine, who, 
 supported by two attendants, only gave 
 evidence by short thick gasps that he still 
 breathed. On the other side was the 
 miserable Magdalene, in almost as pite- 
 ous a plight as her husband ; her dress 
 dishevelled, her hair streaming in the 
 wind, and her countenance expressive of 
 a vague horror, resembling that of a 
 maniac. 
 
 ** Welcome, welcome !" shouted the
 
 30 
 
 TALES OF CIJIVALKY J OR, 
 
 savage voice of sir Humphrey ; " wel- 
 come gallant bridegroom to our halls ; if 
 you left them somewhat too privately, at 
 least you have leturned to them with 
 public honour ! And you. Mistress Mag- 
 dalene, have you learned at last what a 
 father can do when his child has made 
 bim mad? Ha! ha! had you left me 
 amongst you a gleam of reason, I had 
 never ordered this gear so bravely !" ! 
 
 Lady Chet^ynd gazed on her father ' 
 for a moment, and then with a desperate 
 cry she burst from the men who held her, j 
 and rushing to her husband knelt by bin), ' 
 took his languid head on her knees, 
 staunched with her scarf his flowing 
 blood, and bent over him murmuring low 
 such broken ejaculations of grief and af- 
 fection, as might have melted a heart of 
 stone ; but Stanley's was a heart of fire at 
 tliat moment. 
 
 " Tear them asunder !" he exclaimed, 
 *' hurl them into the Mazmorra, and let 
 him live or die as he may !" 
 
 But here the lady Stanley interfered. 
 She approached her cruel husband, and 
 though her frame trembled with emotion, 
 her eye was lighted up w ith aw ful energy, 
 and her voice was that of authority. 
 
 *' Husband !" she said, laying her hand 
 upon his bloody rein, her deep clear tones 
 thrilling through every heart. *' Hus- 
 band, your reason hath deserted jou, and 
 if mine is still spared amidst horrors that 
 might well unthrone it, 'tis because 
 heaven wills that 1, a weak woman, I, a 
 wife, that never yet questioned your plea- 
 sure, should now assume the command 
 which you can no longer exercise. You 
 cannot — you dare not — you shall not pro- 
 ceed in this horrible work !" 
 
 A wild stare and a laugh too dreadful 
 to be imagined, was Stanley's only an- 
 swer, and his wife resumed — 
 
 " You shall not complete a deed which 
 will make these very walls crash over our 
 heads. I, Ellen Lee, forbid it ! — Vassals !" 
 she continued, " convey forthwith sir Va- 
 lentine Chetwynd to the best chamber ; 
 let the leech be in waiting, and on your 
 peril see that his hurts have careful 
 tendance." 
 
 She then approached lady Chetwynd, 
 who, regardless of all around, hung in 
 agony over her bleeding husband — 
 
 "Alas! Magdalene," she began; but 
 here the mother's fortitude gave way, and 
 crying in accents of maternal anguish, 
 
 ** My child, my poor, poor child I" Lady 
 Stanley threw herself on her knees beside 
 the ill-fated pair, and burst into a pa- 
 roxysm of tears and sobs. 
 
 *' Mother !" at length said Magdalene, 
 looking ghastfully up from her palpitating 
 husband, *' dear mother ! bless you for 
 your kindness ! — Oh, let them bear him 
 in immediately ; much may yet be done ! 
 — but, heavens ! look at my father !" 
 
 She might well exclaim, for sir Hum- 
 phrey, spurring his steed, which reared 
 and plunged under him, drew his sword, 
 and waving it over his head, roared out — 
 
 " A rescue ! a rescue ! rebellion in 
 mine own house ! — treason ! treason !" 
 as he spoke, his arm dropped, he reeled 
 in his saddle, and would have fallen, but 
 his vassals caught him in their arms, and 
 while some quieted the frightened steed, 
 others lifted up their master, and found 
 that he was even in a more deplorable 
 state than his wounded victim. His 
 stormy passions, that so long had revelled 
 in his heart, had now mounted to his 
 brain, and he was borue to his couch in 
 furious delirium. 
 
 Sir Valentine was treated with the 
 greatest tenderness, but the leech, on in- 
 specting his wounds, gave no hopes of 
 his recovery. 
 
 (To be continued. J 
 
 A MAN AND TIGER COMBAT. 
 
 This was a scene of a most awful cha- 
 racter. A man entered the arena armed 
 only with a Coorg knife, and clothed in 
 short trousers, which extended only half 
 way down the thighs. The instrument 
 which he wielded in his right hand was a 
 heavy blade, scmiething like the coulter 
 of a plough, about two feet long, and full 
 three inches wide, gradually diminishing 
 towards the handle, with which it formed 
 a right angle. This knife is used with 
 great dexterity by the Coorgs ; being 
 swung round in the hand before the blow 
 is inflicted, and then brought into contact 
 with the object intended to be struck, 
 with a force and effect truly astounding. 
 
 The champion who now presented him- 
 self before the rajah was about to be op- 
 posed to a tiger, which he volunteered to 
 encounter almost naked, and armed only 
 w ith the weapon I have just described. 
 He was rather tall, with a slight figure, 
 but his chest was deep, his arms long
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD, 
 
 31 
 
 and muscular. His legs were thin, yet 
 the action of the muscles was percepible 
 with every movement; whilst the free- 
 dom of his gait and the few contortions 
 he performed preparatory to the hazard- 
 ous enterprise in which he was about to 
 engage, showed that he possessed un- 
 common activity, combined with no ordi- 
 nary degree of strength. The expression 
 of his countenance was absolutely sub- 
 lime when he gave the signal for the 
 tiger to be let loose ; it was the very 
 concentration of moral energy— the index 
 of a high and settled resolution. His 
 body glistened with the oil which had 
 been rubbed over it in order to promote 
 the elasticity of his limbs. He raised his 
 arm for several moments above his head 
 when he made the motion to admit his 
 enemy into the arena. The bars of a 
 large cage was instantly lifted from 
 above ; a huge royal tiger sprang for- 
 ward and stood before the Coorg, waving 
 his tail slowly backward and forward, 
 erecting the hair upon it, and uttering a 
 suppressed howl. The animal first looked 
 at the man, then at the gallery where the 
 rajah and his court were seated to see the 
 sports, but did not appear at all easy in 
 its present state of freedom ; it was evi- 
 dently confounded at the novelty of its 
 position. After a short survey, it turned 
 suddenly round, and bounded into its 
 cage ; from which the keepers, who stood 
 above, beyond the reach of misciiief, 
 tried to force it, but in vain. The bars 
 were then dropped, and several crackers 
 fastened to its tail, which projected 
 through one of the intervals. 
 
 A lighted match was put into the hand 
 of the Coorg, the bars were again raised, 
 and the crackers ignited. The tiger now 
 darted into the arena with a terrible yell ; 
 and while the crackers were exploding, 
 it leaped, turned, and writhed, as if in a 
 state of frantic excitement. It at length 
 crouched in a corner, gnarling as a cat 
 does when alarmed. ^leanwhile its re- 
 treat had been cut off by securing the 
 cage. During tiie explosions of the 
 crackers, the Coorg stood watching his 
 enemy, and at length advanced towards 
 it with a slow but firm step. The tiger 
 roused itself and retreated, the fur on its 
 back being erect, and its tail apparently 
 dilated to twice the usual size. It was 
 not at all disposed to commence hostili- 
 ties, but its resolute foe was not to be 
 
 evaded. Fixing his eyes intently upon 
 the deadly creature, he advanced with 
 the same measured step, the tiger re- 
 treating as before, but still presenting his 
 front to his enemy. The Coorg now 
 stopped suddenly; then moving slowly 
 backward, the tiger raised itself to its 
 full height, curved its back to the neces- 
 sary segment for a spring, and lashed his 
 tail, evidently meditating mischief. The 
 man continued to retire ; and so soon as 
 he was at so great a distance that the 
 fixed expression of his eye was no longer 
 distinguishable, the ferocious brute made 
 a sudden bound forward, crouched, and 
 sprang with a sliort, sharp growl. Its 
 adversary, fully prepared for this, leaped 
 actively on one side, and as the tiger 
 reached the ground, swung round his 
 heavy knife, and brought it with irre- 
 sistible force upon the animal's hind leg, 
 just above the joint. The bone was in- 
 stantly severed, and the tiger effectually 
 prevented from making a second spring. 
 The wounded beast roared ; but turning 
 suddenly on tlie Coorg, who liad by this 
 time retired several yards, advanced 
 fiercely upon him, his wounded leg hang- 
 ing loose in the skin, showing that it 
 was broken. The tiger, now excited to 
 a pitch of reckless rage, rushed forward 
 upon its three legs towards its adversary, 
 who stood with his heavy knife upraised, 
 calmly awaiting the encounter. As soon 
 as the savage creature was within his 
 reach, he brought down the ponderous 
 weapon upon its head with a force which 
 nothing could resist, laid open the skull 
 from ear to ear, and the vanquished foe 
 fell dead at his feet. He then coolly 
 wiped the knife on the animal's hide, 
 made a dignified salaam to the rajah, and 
 retired amid the loud acclamations of the 
 spectators. 
 
 THE LAST TRIAL. 
 
 The reign of Napoleon, worried and 
 ransacked as it has been by the writers 
 of memoirs, recollections and histories, is 
 a mine that still contains a multitude of 
 rich, and, as yet, unexplored veins. The 
 history of tlie secret associations that 
 sprang up during the latter days of the 
 empire, would form a most curious and 
 interesting volume, and there would be 
 no lack of materials wherewith to fill it. 
 The society of the United Brothers alone,
 
 32 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 OR, 
 
 woukl furnish pages of the most intense 
 and absorbing interest, while nothing 
 could appeal more forcibly to the imagi- 
 nation, than the strange and dramatic 
 episodes connected with its existence, and 
 the details of its mysterious initiations. 
 Perhaps an hundred incidents might be 
 related as striking and well conceived as 
 the following. 
 
 An officer of the French army, having 
 inctuTed the suspicion or resentment of 
 the emperor, thought it expedient to 
 abandon his country, and take refuge in 
 one of the Austrian provinces ; and here 
 he became advised of and initiated into 
 a society, the object of whose formation 
 was to hurl to the ground the Colossus, 
 whose arm smote and governed the whole 
 continent of Europe with a sceptre of 
 iron. One day, a letter was brought to 
 him, containing the usual signs and pass- 
 words of the society, and requiring him 
 to repair, on the following night, to a 
 secluded spot in a forest, \a here he would 
 meet some of his associates. He went, 
 but found nobody. 'J'he orders were 
 repeated four times, at intervals of a few 
 days ; and four times the officer sought 
 the appointed place, with no better suc- 
 cess than at first. On the fifth night of 
 his appearance at the re?idszi'oiis; after 
 waiting some time, he was on the point 
 of returning, when loud cries suddenly 
 arrested his attention. Drawing his 
 sword, he hastened to the spot v\-hence 
 they seemed to proceed, and was fired 
 upon by three men, who, seeing that he 
 remained unwounded, instantly took to 
 flight ; but at his feet lay a bleeding 
 corpse, in which, by the feeble light 
 of the moon, he in vain sought for tokens 
 of animation. He was yet bending over 
 the dead man, when a detachment of 
 chasseurs, summoned, apparently, by die 
 noise of the pistols that had been dis- 
 charged at himself, came suddenly up, 
 and arrested him as the assassin. He 
 w-as loaded with chains, tried the next 
 dav, and condemned to die for his sup- 
 posed crime. ]iis execution was ordered 
 to take place at michiight. 
 
 Surrounded by the ministers of justice, 
 he was led, at a slow pace, by the light 
 of torches, and amid the funeral tolling 
 of bells, to a vast square, in the centre of 
 which was a scaffold, environed by horse- 
 men ; beyond these were a numerous 
 group of spectators, who muttered im- 
 
 patiently, and, at intervals, sent forth a 
 cry of abhorrence. The victim mounted 
 the scaffold, his sentence was read, and 
 the last act of the tragedy was on the 
 point of fulfilment, when an officer let 
 fall a word of hoj^e. An edict had just 
 been promulgated by the government, 
 offering pardon and life to any condemned 
 criminal, who should disclose the mem- 
 bers and secret tokens of a particular 
 association, the existence of which was 
 suspected ; it was that of vihich the 
 Frenchman, to whom these words were 
 addressed, had lately become a member. 
 He was questioned, but denied all know- 
 ledge ; they urged him to confess, with 
 promises of additional reward — his only 
 reply was a demand of immediate death 
 — and his initiation was completed. All 
 that had passed was but a terrible trial 
 of his fidelity ; those who surrounded 
 him were members of the society, and 
 every incident that has been described, 
 from the time of the first summons to 
 the last fearful moment of expected death, 
 was only a step in the progress of the 
 fearful experiment, by which they sought 
 to determine the trust-worthiness of the 
 neophyte. 
 
 MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 A remarkable instance of magnanimity 
 is related of Montecuculli, the great im- 
 perial general, who so nobly made head 
 against the most consummate skill of 
 Turenne and the great Conde. Monte- 
 cuculli had commanded, under pain of 
 death, that no person should pass tin ough 
 the corn-fields. A soldier returning from 
 a village, and ignorant of the prohibition, 
 took a path that led across the fields. 
 Montecuculli, who perceived this violation 
 of military discipline, sentenced him to 
 be hanged, and despatched the necessary 
 orders to tlie provost of the army. The 
 soldier, however, contrived to approach his 
 general, alleging his entire ignorance of 
 the prohibition. " Let the provost do his 
 
 I dnty," said Montecuculli. The soldier. 
 
 I whom they had not disarmed, was enraged 
 at this injustice. *' I have not been 
 guilty," he exclaimed, "but now I am ;" 
 and instantly fired at Montecuculli. He 
 happily missed his aim ; but this great 
 man, allowing for the feelings of the 
 brave soldier, pardoned him on the 
 spot.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIKLD. 
 
 33 
 
 PHEMIE MACKENZIE; OR, THE 
 CARVED OAK CHAIR. 
 
 A LEGEND OF MY ANCESTRESS. 
 
 My mother's dwellings, in the mercantile 
 
 town of , is situated in one of its busiest 
 
 streets, and having been deprived of many 
 symbols of ancient architecture (particu- 
 larly the Cross of the Templar Knights, 
 shewing how wide once had been the rule 
 and large the property of those heroes of Je- 
 lusalem, who, by this type of their valorous 
 devotion, marked every dwelling which 
 contributed to their rents or rights), by 
 the profane hands of some abettor of the 
 ** Improvement Act," and perfectly mo- 
 dernized into a plain brick building, by 
 the tasteful endeavours of its cuijour d'hui 
 landlord — has nothing remarkable in its 
 oujt of door appearance, but within the 
 spoiler has not been, and its favourite 
 apartments still present an air of gothic 
 splendour, from the many relics of the old 
 style of furniture which adorn them. I 
 love this dwelling, not merely because my 
 mother has, for many years, shed the sweet 
 quiet of her gentle heart over it, till it 
 almost appears to my imagination, when 
 far away and clouded with the world's 
 
 VOL. 1. — 5. 
 
 Page 34. 
 
 troubles, like that sanctuary on the waters 
 to which the lonely dove returned, when 
 she had *' sought rest and found it not." 
 In that house one was born and died — a 
 fair blossom, too beautiful for earth, on 
 whose life I had founded my happiness ; 
 but the destroyer came, and my heart's 
 brightest feelings perished in the early 
 grave of the loved and lost — for ever ! 
 
 One evening, when the silver kettle 
 and antique china were removed, I had 
 nothing to divert me but the wild rush of 
 the wind without, and the contemplation 
 of the mementos of antiquity within. My 
 mother's attentionsbeing deeply engrossed 
 by a superb piece of embroidered damask, 
 on which tlie witchcraft of the needle had 
 wrought, in coloured silk and silver, the 
 white rose and the heath flower. This 
 she was forming into a cushion for a 
 curiously carved and high -backed oak 
 arm-chair, the possession of which was 
 most irreligiously coveted by an antiqua- 
 rian friend of ours, and as strenuously de- 
 fended by my mother. 
 
 " Pray," said I, •* what can you see so 
 very interesting in that evidently decay- 
 ing piece of furniture, to adorn it with 
 such splendid hues ?" 
 F
 
 34 
 
 TALES OF CinVAI,RY; OR 
 
 " Child," answered my mother, look- 
 ing up from her employment, " has your 
 heart not yet learned to look beyond the 
 surface ? There is a tale of woe and 
 daring attached to this old oak chair — a 
 legend of those times when men shed their 
 blood like water, fighting for what each 
 tliought the good cause." 
 
 It is needless to say, that, inspired alike 
 by curiosity, and the hope of passing 
 away the long and weary winter night 
 free from (he tediimi of ennui, I persuaded 
 my kind mother to repeat to me her 
 chronicle of the times of my ancestress, 
 the original possessor of the carved oak 
 
 chair. 
 
 t * * * 
 
 " Father ! the times are wild : we are 
 far from that field which is to decide the 
 fate of many : do not despair — our Mal- 
 colm will return ; and think how well that 
 gallant brow will look, when the long-lost 
 coronal of our race shines above it, and 
 the bonnie earl shall come with a mo- 
 narch's favour once more to his father's 
 hall," said the fair-haired Phemie, as she 
 kissed her father's reverend brow. Her 
 race had long been devoted, with many 
 of the proudest of the land, to the fortunes 
 of the *• Exile ;" and her brave brother 
 was now out, in the first of his fields, to 
 support the cause of " bonnie prince 
 Charlie." Her father, confined by severe 
 ill-health, could only be there m heart ; 
 and was deeply anxious to learn the issue 
 of that last decisive battle on (he fatal 
 field of Culloden. The rapid approach of 
 a steed — its sudden stop — and the quick 
 parley of its rider with the nearest do- 
 mestic (who, anxious as his master, was 
 ever on the watch for the coming of the 
 tidings), made the old laird start to his 
 feet, as the enthusiastic Phemie rushed to 
 tlje outer portal, trusting to meet her 
 brother's embrace. 'J'here was a slight 
 pause — to the father, an age of apprehen- 
 sive torture — when a wild and tlirilling 
 shriek was heard, and almost at the same 
 time Piiemie lay senseless at his feet. 
 
 *' It is enough," said he, ** raising her 
 to his heart ; " I now know that all is 
 lost !"— and for a moment the agony of 
 his crushed hopes bowed his grey head, 
 as the weeping domestics received from 
 his falling grasp the fainting form of his 
 daughter; then, suddenly looking round, 
 as if for the messenger of evil news, his 
 eye rested on a stranger, who, wrapped 
 
 in a tartan plaid, leant against the door, 
 which he appeared to have iiastily closed 
 on his entrance into the apartment. He 
 seemed almost sinking with fatigue, yet 
 deeply interested in the scene before him. 
 
 " Oh, Scotland ! how many broken 
 hearts are thine ! — how many hearths like 
 
 this made desolate ! and can Pardon 
 
 me, sir ! you say true indeed — all is lost ! 
 I am a fugitive from the saddest field that 
 Scottish blood ever stained — my wearied 
 steed died at your gate — that maiden's 
 words spoke to whom your hearts are 
 plighted. I ask but an hour's shelter, and 
 the simplest of your fare ; and I am again 
 a wanderer on the earth !" 
 
 As the stranger spoke thus, he sunk 
 upon an oaken chair near him, and drew 
 the veiling tartan over breast and brow — 
 but it could not hinder his low sobs of 
 agony from reacliing the ears of his au- 
 ditors. Phemie, who had risen from her 
 death- trance, and clung weeping to her 
 father, first broke (he silence — 
 
 " Oh, father, think that our own Mal- 
 colm may have thus to plead, and cast not 
 the fugitive from our gates!" 
 
 " Stranger, here you are safe : none 
 will pursue into this rocky wilderness. 
 Rest, then, thou whose heart seems 
 broken as my own;" and the old laird 
 kindly sought to press the hand of his 
 guest : it was yielded to him, and its cold 
 damp touch showed liow worn the frame 
 must be from nece«sity and want. 
 
 Phemie's eyes met her father's glance, 
 and she hastily left the room, returning 
 quickly with abundant provision, which 
 the ancient domestics helped her to 
 arrange, and heaping upfresh fuel, retired. 
 During this time, the stranger appeared 
 to have partly recovered himself, but still 
 enfolded in his plaid, he traced uncon- 
 sciously, with his sheathless and broken 
 dirk, some characters on the arm of the 
 chair in which he reposed ; suddenly 
 starting as his kind host addressed him, 
 he, with a silent obeisance, availed him- 
 self of the plentiful repast, though still 
 assiduously, with plumed cap and tartan, 
 shielding himself from the gaze of his 
 entertainers: much as the laird wished to 
 learn if the stranger knew aught of the 
 fate of his son, yet hospitality demanded 
 he should not embitter the much wanted 
 meal by a recurrence to circumstances 
 that agonized his guest so deeply. None 
 spoke — for Phemie could but weep, and
 
 PKKILS BY FLOOD AND FIKLD. 
 
 35 
 
 the fatlier mused on tlje full of his own 
 proud hopes, and the fate of his only son. 
 Suddenly, in the stillness, the tramp of 
 horses was faintly heard, and the stranger 
 sprang wildly into the centre of the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 " Hark ! my pursuers 1 — they come ! — 
 then I am lost !" 
 
 " Nay, not so, stranger ; the father of 
 Malcolm Mackenzie will give his life for 
 one who has fought beside him : here thou 
 shalt be safe, wert thou Charles Stuart 
 himself." 
 
 "I am Charles Stuart!" said the wan- 
 derer, casting aside his cap and tartan, 
 his long fair curls falling brightly round 
 his face, whose noble features had, amidst 
 their mortal paleness, a sweet and touch- 
 ing dignity. ** I am that outcast ; and 
 what can I expect from the father of Mal- 
 colm Mackenzie, but his eternal malison. 
 Curse me, old man ; thy son's blood is 
 yet upon my garments — he died to aid 
 my escape. Nay, sink not thus to earth 
 — speak, and let me, in thy words, hear 
 the curses of all whose hearts I have 
 broken, in lost, unhappy Scotlanti." 
 
 At these words, Euphemia rose up; her 
 bright eyes without tears, and her sweet 
 girlish face beaming with the proud ex- 
 pression of her devoted heart. She 
 rapidly crossed the room, and sliding back 
 a part of the carved wainscoting, ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 " Fly, fly, my prince-^the sister of 
 Malcolm will, like him, protect thee to 
 the last ;" then suddenly forced Charles 
 (whose arm she had seized) into the aper- 
 ture, and closing the spring, he found 
 himself in utter darkness ; then, with the 
 quickness of devoted and determined 
 courage, she wrapped herself in the tartan 
 he had thrown aside, and placing the 
 phmied cap above her own fair curls, she 
 turned to her astonished and agonized 
 father, exclaiming — 
 
 " To the death, father ! to the death for 
 Charles Stuart !" 
 
 At the moment when the crash of the 
 yielding gates, the quick tread of many 
 feet, and the hoarse voices and the clatter 
 of steel announced the entrance of the 
 dreaded pursuers, the door of the apart- 
 ment was burst open, and the room half 
 filled with soldiers. 
 
 " Ha !" said the leader ; " behold cur 
 prize ! Yield, sir — you are my prisoner !" 
 and seizing the arm of the form enveloped 
 
 in the well-known tnrlim of Charles, there 
 was a cry of *' 'Vo horse ! to horse I" — a 
 rush of departing steeds, and the devoted 
 Phemie was borne away a prisoner, ere 
 her father (whose broken exclamations 
 were disregarded) could comprehend his 
 heroic daughter's purpose. The sudden 
 disclosure of his son's death, and the added 
 agony for his daughter's fate, literally 
 broke his aged heart, and Charles forced 
 his way through the shattered pannel into 
 the room only to hear his death-groan : 
 with this fatal proof of the horrors of civil 
 war weighing upon his soul, the Stuart 
 fled far away into the darkness of the 
 night, with the vain thought of yielding 
 himself up, and saving the fair and fearless 
 Phemie. 
 
 But time rolled away : the wanderer 
 found a home in a foreign land; and 
 Phemie — the early discovery of whose 
 sex called forth the admiration of her 
 gallant captors for such a proof of cou- 
 rageous devotion — was speedily returned 
 in safety to her now disconsolate home. 
 Time, it is said, does wonders ; and the 
 proverb must be true — for when Phen)ie 
 Mackenzie cast aside her long- worn 
 mourning weeds, it was to dc^j, tlie bridal 
 garment to meet at the altar the voung 
 warrior, to whom, as ** Bonnie Prince 
 Charlie," she had yielded herself pris(jner. 
 Her descendants have been many ; but 
 it has ever been their pride to preserve 
 the oaken chair on which Charles Stuart 
 traced with his dirk the initials of his name 
 and the cross, alike the symbol of his 
 faith and the t_\pe of his fate — 
 
 " For ever crost and crost." 
 
 HUMPHREY THE HOMICIDE. 
 (Conthmed from p. 2,0.) 
 
 We must now make another space of 
 about two months from this event, and 
 change the scene to a large but neglected 
 garden, belonging to the manor-house of 
 the Abenhalls, whose estate joined that 
 of Pype : it had been forfeited in the last 
 reigns for its adherence to the Red Rose, 
 and had not yet been restored. 'Ihe 
 mansion, partially dismantled, was te- 
 nanted only by two labourers and their 
 families. 
 
 It was ihe noontide, and never sun 
 shone on a fairer or a sadder scene. The 
 broad turf walks had run rank and wild, 
 the massive yew-hedges were untrimmed, 
 the fountains dry and moss-grown, the 
 f2
 
 'Mi 
 
 TALKS OF CUIVALRY ; OR. 
 
 >tatues overt urnecl, and stamped witli 
 grey and golden liciiens. A lonely pea- 
 cock was perched upon the snndial, af- 
 fronting the yellow sun witli the Iris 
 radiance of his painted train. A large 
 summer hall arose in one of the grass- 
 plots, but the vanes on its turrets were 
 dimmed wiUi rust, and its open galleries 
 or balconies broken down. The old man- 
 sion itself looked in melancholy pomp 
 over the deserted pleasaunce ; its win- 
 dows disclosed shattered colours of story 
 and blazon, whose ivied apertures ushered 
 the sunlight (an miwelcome intruder) 
 into chambers of tarnished gilding, of 
 faded tapestry, and shrivelled damask. 
 
 1'hree persons had entered this de- 
 serted inclosure by a latticed gate, lead- 
 ing from the oak-lawns of Pype-Hallj 
 and with what they may be pleased to say 
 we must fill up the chasm we have made. 
 
 The first to be noticed was the lady 
 Magdalene of Ingestre, and when we 
 state that she was attired in that most 
 affecting garb — a widow's, it may be 
 imagined that the freedom of her gait 
 was cliastened, that her majestic figure 
 was less elastic, and that her beautiful 
 face was thin and pale : but if we add, 
 that she led by the hand a gallant-look- 
 ing boy, whose bright eyes and glowing 
 cheek bore a powerful contrast to his 
 mourning dress, — we need scarcely say, 
 that her grief, though profound, as it 
 might well be, carried with it no feature 
 of despair. 
 
 The two principal figures in the group 
 being thus introduced, it w ill be no matter 
 of surprise that the third was Felix Red- 
 mayne, of whose whereabout since we 
 last left him we must say a few words. 
 
 When Marmaduke had disappeared in 
 that mysterious manner from the aisles 
 of Saint Paul's, Felix, stung to the heart 
 by his involuntary neglect, had made a 
 vow that lie would never see his master, 
 or his h«me at Ingestre again, till he had 
 recovered the child, A hasty letter to 
 Judith informed her of his purpose ; and 
 from her, of course, it passed to sir Valen- 
 tine and his lady. Thus their hopes were 
 buoyed up during the year that ensued j 
 and it was by employing this report 
 (which Felix justly termed a seething 
 of the kid in its mother's milk), that the 
 relentless, and indeed half-mad sir Hum- 
 phrey, succeeded in decoying Chetwynd 
 to his destruction. 
 
 Shortly after the Tixal aflfray, a man, 
 desperately wounded in a night-brawl, 
 had been rescued by Redmayne in some 
 obscure street in London. Felix attended 
 him home, and in that home Marmaduke 
 Chetwynd was found. It seems that 
 compunction had seized the Spaniard 
 who had kidnapped the boy. Though he 
 durst not restore him, he had treated him 
 kindly ; and the heir of Ingestre, squalid 
 as he was in his attire, was returned to 
 his mother nowise injured in his health 
 or bodily appearance, 
 
 " Go, Marmaduke," said lady Chet- 
 wynd, as soon as she found that they 
 were secured from intruders in that 
 garden-wilderness, — " go, darling, and 
 play with the peacock tdl I call ye," 
 
 Off ran the glad child, and a close con- 
 versation ensued between his mother and 
 her attendant, 
 
 ♦* Was then the change so sudden in 
 sir Humphrey ?" asked Felix. 
 
 " It was wonderful ! he arose from his 
 sick couch an altered man ! — All that was 
 ill in his nature seemed utterly banished, 
 — all that was brave and generous and 
 kind remained."; 
 
 *' I heard that he ordered his gates to 
 be thrown open the moment king Henry's 
 pursuivants, with their people, appeared ?" 
 
 " He did ; and in their presence sent 
 for me — (I had not seen him since my 
 husband died) — he clasped me in his 
 arms, wept o>»er me, and then suddenly 
 kneeling at my feet, confessed the dread- 
 ful deed, implored my pardon for it, and 
 declared that he still trusted to make 
 some reparation." 
 
 ** And you, lady " 
 
 ** Sprang to his heart as fondly as if it 
 had never harboured a thought against 
 my happiness ; and kissed his liand as 
 fervently as if — (shade of Valentine for- 
 give 1) — I saw not thy blood there !" 
 
 " But men say, and (pardon me, lady) 
 with indignation say, that the king hath 
 offered to compromise this foul murder, 
 by an additional fine on sir Humphrey's 
 still large estates." 
 
 *• And if they say so, they say true," 
 sighed Magdalene. 
 
 '* He is safe then ?" 
 
 " All, you know not my poor father ! 
 Extreme in good or ill, — the severity of 
 his penitence exceeds the enormity of his 
 guilt : he hath refused the conditions with 
 firmness and even scorn,"
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AM) FIELD. 
 
 37 
 
 •' Alas ! then, lady, his estates are lost 
 to your brothers and yourself; for he will 
 die a convicted felon !" 
 
 Magdalene's colour leaped to her pale 
 cheek, till the veins in her noble brow 
 seemed bursting with it ; her eyes flashed, 
 and her whole frame trembled, as she 
 said — 
 
 " Felon ! how darest thou, born-vassal 
 as thou art to the house of Stanley, brand, 
 in the hearing of a Stanley, one of her 
 kindred with that foul word ? — Nay, nay, 
 forgive me, Felix !" she added ; and then, 
 in a lower voice, " Alas ! thou knowest 
 not the spirit of our family — felon will 
 never be written against my father's 
 name." 
 
 ** How mean ye, my lady ?" 
 
 Magdalene was unable immediately 
 to reply ; at length the answer came, 
 choked with emotion, — 
 
 " He will stand mute on his arraign- 
 ment !" 
 
 Felix started, and after pausing a mo- 
 ment, while various emotions chased each 
 other over his fine features, exclaimed — 
 
 " I forgive him — I forgive him my 
 scourging, my brandishing; I forgive 
 him all ! —he is still my own gallant 
 master, as he was ere this fatal feud un- 
 hinged him ! I'hus, and thus only, can 
 he defeat the sordid Henry, and preserve 
 his estates to his family ; — but, oh, lady, 
 the penalty is fearful." 
 
 ** He will be pressed to death !" mur- 
 mured Magdalene. ** We have knelt to 
 him for hours to dissuade him, but in 
 vain! — it is too horrible !" 
 
 " Horrible, indeed ! I saw sir Roger 
 Calverley suffer ; he was a man of great 
 lustihood, like sir Humphrey, and he was 
 three days in dying." 
 
 Magdalene, shuddering, closed her 
 eyes ; she leaned against a stone balus- 
 trade, and seemed near fainting, when 
 Marmaduke came bounding up the walk 
 to her; seeing her situation, he checked 
 his joyous pace, and stealing softly up to 
 her, put his arm gently round her neck : 
 this action, slight as it was, afforded the 
 mother instant relief in a passionate flood 
 of tears. 
 
 Felix retired to a respectful distance, 
 but after a pause lady Chetwynd called 
 him to her, and said — 
 
 " Felix, there is an idea that haunts 
 me — it is too horrible to be entertained 
 for a moment, but still it beisets me — 
 
 that / have brought my poor father to 
 this. Were it not for thee, my orphan 
 boy !" she added, holding Marmaduke 
 at arm's length, and gazing on him with 
 tearful affection—" were it not for thee, 
 I should account the hour that I fled 
 with thy sire the most miserable as well 
 as most sinful of my life !" 
 
 Shortly after this, they quitted the 
 
 desolate garden of the Abenhalls, and 
 
 returned to Pype, where Magdalene 
 
 i immediately repaired to her mother's 
 
 i cabinet. It was well for her widowed 
 
 I daughter, in this agonized state, that the 
 
 j lady Stanley had so long been inured to 
 
 suffering, that the dreadful event now 
 
 pending only added a gentle step to that 
 
 decline which had long been undermining 
 
 her life. She was Hke the tree, that, 
 
 while its trunk weakens and decays every 
 
 hour, still continues year after year to 
 
 put forth leaves and blooms, till'the last 
 
 fibre that held it to the earth is softly 
 
 unstrung. 
 
 In a few days Redmayne set forth for 
 Stafford, to pray from sir Humphrey, who 
 was there imprisoned, his consent to a 
 last interview witti his wife and daughter. 
 The die was now cast; — Stanley had 
 peremptorily refused to plead, and the 
 barbarous sentence inflicted on such recu- 
 sants had thrilled in his unshrinking ears. 
 
 Fehx had never seen his former master 
 since that fatal Christmas-day, and his 
 manly heart was overcome by the forti- 
 tude and gentleness of the once terrible 
 sir Humphrey. The knight dwelt with 
 great calmness on all the particulars of 
 his impending punishment, and requested 
 Felix to be with him in that dreadful hour. 
 But with the most affectionate messages 
 to his wife, and blessings to his daughter, 
 he entreated them, for his sake, to forbear 
 a further interview. His cruel sentence 
 was to be executed at noon the following 
 day, and Felix promised to be with his 
 master. That promise he faithfully per- 
 formed. 
 
 When he left Pype- Hall on the fatal 
 morning, the lady Stanley and her 
 daughter were preparing to pass the day 
 and night in the chapel in penance, 
 prayer and fasting, 
 
 \Vlien he arrived at the prison- gales of 
 Stafford, he was informed that sir Hum- 
 phrey, attended by the priest and the 
 executioners, had already descended to 
 the Press-room, and thither, with a sickea-
 
 3S 
 
 TALES OF crilVALRY J OR, 
 
 ing heart, Redmayne repaiied. As lie ; 
 descended tlie numerous t^teps, which left I 
 dayhght far behind, the murmur of earnest 
 praver burst upon his ears; but it had 
 died away ere, finisliing his toilsome 
 descent, he found himself in alow, narrow- 
 room, whose floor of earth, without pave- 
 ment or straw, reeked with damp, and 
 where the only light was the smoky glare 
 of torches that seemed half-strangled in 
 the unwholesome dungeon. The first 
 object that met his eye was the athletic 
 figure of Stanley, stripped naked, except 
 a pair of linen drawers that reached to 
 about the middle of his thighs. Near the 
 culprit were two savage-looking men, 
 who were rearing against the wall a broad, 
 massy board, cramped with iron, and iron 
 weights of various sizes were piled around. 
 The knightly criminal himself might, but 
 for his bared body, have been taken for 
 an unconcerned spectator ; and, unclothed 
 as he was, the quiet courage in his eye, 
 the colour on his cheek, and his noble 
 yet modest mien, might have resembled 
 him to a Grecian wrestler, or a Dacian 
 gladiator, whose sinews, in a state of 
 grand repose, were soon to swell into 
 terrible action, instead of being stretched 
 out, passive subjects of a lingering and 
 unresisted torment. 
 
 He clasped the hand of Redmayne with 
 great warmth — 
 
 " Now, Felix," he said, " I trust you 
 have forgiven me 1 I once caused and 
 beheld your sufferings. At least you will 
 witness for me that'l know how to suffer 
 as manfully as yourself! 1 thank the 
 saints, my heart is penitent, and I trust 
 that my humble prayers will be accepted. 
 The torment I am about to suffer will 
 make to my wife and children the only 
 reparation in my power, since it will 
 secure to them the inheritance they never 
 deserved to forfeit." 
 
 Then, turning to the executioners, he 
 said — 
 
 " I trust I may be allowed the sharp 
 timber under my back, to shorten my 
 pain ?" 
 
 He was informed that in his case it had 
 been specially prohibited. 
 
 '* Well, it will be but a few struggles 
 more. Redmayne, I am glad thou art 
 come, for I have resolved in no wise to 
 assist in this execution, lest I be guilty of 
 self-murder, and I would not have these 
 fellows touch my body : lay me down, 
 
 lu'lix, and, with this holy father, pray for 
 me till my soul flies from her tortured 
 mansion." 
 
 With a trembling hand, and eyes that 
 swam with tears, Felix took his naked 
 master in his arms, and laid him along 
 the ground. The executioners then 
 approached : thick ropes were fastened 
 around his wrists and ancles, stretching 
 at full length his arms and legs to the 
 four corners of the dungeon, where the 
 cords were fastened to huge iron rings. 
 A napkin was then laid upon the criminal's 
 face — the board was heaved upon his 
 body — the weights were heaped over it — 
 gasps and groans filled the uncouth dun- 
 geon with sounds of horror But we 
 
 must drop the curtain over the writhing 
 agonies of the dying and penitent Ho- 
 micide. 
 
 BEAR-HUNTING. 
 
 The scene of the following is laid in 
 Scandinavia, where the sport is performed 
 by crowds of people assembling, and, 
 forming a large circle, gradually close it, 
 and force the animals from their retreat. 
 This species of amusement is called a 
 shall in the country. 
 
 The skall to which this anecdote re- 
 lates, and at which the celebrated sports- 
 man, captain Eurenius, was present, took 
 place about the year 1790, in the parish 
 of Yestram, province of Wernesborg. It 
 was conducted in the usual manner, every 
 person having his proper position assigned 
 to him. One man, however, an old sol- 
 dier, who was attached to the ballet, or 
 stationary division of the skall, thought 
 proper to place himself in advance of the 
 rest, in a narrow defile, through which, 
 from his knowledge of the country, he 
 thought it probable the bear would pass. 
 He was right in his conjecture ; for the 
 animal soon afterwards made his appear- 
 ance, and faced directly towards him. 
 On this he levelled, and attempted to dis. 
 charge his piece, but owing to the morn- 
 ing being wet, the priming had got damp, 
 and the gun missed fire. The bear was 
 now close upon liim, though it was pro- 
 bable that, if he had stepped to the one 
 side, he might still have escaped ; but 
 instead of adopting this prudent course, 
 he attempted to drive the muzzle of his 
 gun — to which, however, no bayonet was 
 attached — down the throat of the enraged 
 brute. This attack the bear parried with
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AXD FIKLD. 
 
 39 
 
 the skill of a fencing-master ; when, after 
 wresting the gun out of the hands of the 
 man, he quickly laid liim prostrate. 
 
 All might still have ended well ; for the 
 bear, after smelling at his antagonist, who 
 was lying motionless, and holding his 
 breath, as if he had been dead, left him 
 almost unhurt. The animal then went 
 to the gun, which was only at two or 
 three feet distance, and began to overhaul 
 it with his paws. The poor soldier, how- 
 ever, who had brought his musket to the 
 skall contrary to the orders of his officers, 
 and knowing that if it was injured he 
 should be severely punished, on seeing 
 the apparent jeopardy in which it was 
 placed, quietly stretched out his hand, 
 and laid hold of one end of it, the bear 
 having it fast by the other. On observing 
 this movement, and that the man in con- 
 sequence was alive, the bear again at- 
 tacked him; when, seizing him with his 
 teeth by the back of the head, as he was 
 lying with his face on the ground, he tore 
 off the whole of his scalp, from the nape 
 of the neck upwards, so that it merely 
 hung to the forehead by a strip of skin. 
 The poor fellow, who knew that his safety 
 depended upon his remaining motionless, 
 kept as quiet as he was able ; and the 
 bear, without doing him much farther 
 injury, laid himself along his body. 
 
 Whilst this was going forward, many 
 of the people, and captain Eurenius among 
 the rest, suspecting what had happened, 
 hastened towards the spot, and advanced 
 within twelve or fifteen paces of the scene 
 of action. Here they found the bear still 
 lying upon the body of the unfortunate 
 man. Sometimes the animal was occupy- 
 ing himself in licking tlie blood from his 
 bare skull, and at others in eyeing the 
 people. AH, however, were afraid to fire, 
 thinking either that they might hit the 
 man, or that, even if they killed the bear, 
 he might, in his last agonies, still farther 
 mutilate the poor sufferer. In this po- 
 sition the soldier and the bear remained 
 a considerable time, until at last the latter 
 quitted his victim, and slowly began to 
 retreat, when a tremendous fire opened 
 upon him, and he instantly fell dead. 
 
 On hearing the shots, the poor soldier 
 jumped up, his sealp hanging over his face, 
 so as completely to blind him ; when, 
 throwing it back with his hands, he ran 
 towards his comrades like a madman, 
 frantically exclaiming, " The bear ! the 
 
 bear !" The mischief, however, was done, 
 and was irreparable. The only assistance 
 he could receive was rendered to him by 
 a surgeon who happened to be present, 
 and who severed the little skin which con- 
 nected the scalp with the forehead, and 
 then dressed the wound in the best man- 
 ner he was able. The scalp, when sepa- 
 rated from the head, captain Eurenius 
 described as exactly resembling a peruke. 
 In one sense, the catastrophe was for- 
 tunate for the poor soldier. At tlie time, 
 every one in the army was obliged to 
 wear his hair of a certain form, which was 
 extremely troublesome to dress and keep 
 in order during the day; and he, in con- 
 sequence, being now without any, imme- 
 diately got his discharge. 
 
 Bears are not unfrequently domesticated 
 in Wermeland. I heard of one that was 
 so tame that his master, a peasant, used 
 occasionally to cause him to stand at the 
 i back of his sledge when on a journey ; but 
 ' the fellow kept so good a balance, that it 
 was next to impossible to upset him. 
 When the vehicle went on one side, Bruin 
 threw his weight the other way, and vice 
 vend. One day, however, tlie peasant 
 amused himself by driving over the very 
 worst ground he could find, with the in- 
 tention, if possible, of throwing him oflf 
 his equilibrium, by which, at last, the 
 animal got so irritated, that he fetched his 
 master, who was in advance of him, a 
 tremendous thwack on his shoulders with 
 his paw. This frightened the man so 
 much, that he caused the bear to be killed 
 immediately. 
 
 THE LEGION OF HONOUR. 
 
 During the latter part of the Russian 
 campaign, when the soldiers of Buona- 
 parte had lost all confidence in their chief*;, 
 and all the ties which should subsist be- 
 tween soldiers and their officers were 
 almost entirely dissolved, the Legion of 
 Honour was, notwithstanding, a most 
 powerful incentive. The prerogatives 
 and extraordinary advantages attached in 
 France to the possession of that order, 
 caused it to be sought as a reward of the 
 highest price. Unhappily, the most dis- 
 gusting abuses had crept into that insti- 
 tution, as well as into many others of a 
 I very useful description. An individual, 
 j patronized by his colonel, received this 
 I decoration, refused to a hundred braver 
 I men than he. However, any one who
 
 40 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 thought he possessed good grounds of 
 claim, and liad distinguished himself by 
 his valour, might address himself to Buo- 
 naparte, and complain of the wrong he 
 had instanced. When the troops liad per- 
 formed, or were about to perform, any 
 extraordinary enterprise. Napoleon gene- 
 ralh'^ decreed a certain number of deco- 
 rations of the Legion of Honour to a 
 brigade, a battalion, Szc. The candidates 
 arranged themselves in front of tlie batta- 
 lion, the commanding officer of the regi- 
 ment presented them to Napoleon, and 
 the adjutant on duty noted the name and 
 rank of each in his pocket-book, in order 
 to report them thence to the chancery. 
 The most importunate were commonly 
 messieurs the officers of health, and the 
 soldiers attached to the service and com- 
 mandants. It depended, however, on the 
 impartiality and justice of superior officers, 
 to act agreeably to the intention of the 
 founder of the order, or the reverse. 
 Officers, and even private soldiers, have 
 been seen to address themselves directly 
 to Buonaparte, saying, ** Sire, I have 
 merited the cross:" on such occasions he 
 almostalways replied, with a smile, *'Well, 
 in what manner ?" Then the claimant 
 related the battles in which he had been 
 engaged, what he had performed, that he 
 had suffered from injustice, &c. ; and 
 Napoleon caused his name to be taken 
 down, or the commandant was sent for 
 immediately, to render an account of cer- 
 tain circumstances. If the man had 
 spoken truth, the matter was soon settled. 
 
 ENERGETIC MODE OF REASONING. 
 
 In the latter part of 1827, when the 
 Catalonian insurrection in favour of the 
 Carlists took place, and when 50,000 men 
 in arms threatened the province with 
 anarch}', and Barcelona with capture, the 
 conde de Espana represented to the king 
 the necessity of his appearing in Cata- 
 lonia ; and after his majesty had arrived, 
 he, by the advice of the conde, called a 
 convocation of bishops, ostensibly to con- 
 sult respecting the state of the province. 
 The conde w-ell knew the connexion of 
 the bishops with the plot ; and was in 
 possession of documents that proved their 
 guilt. The conde, as representing his 
 majesty in that province, or by express 
 delegation, presided ; and all the bishops 
 being assembled, he addressed them to 
 this effect : ** My lord bishop," said he, 
 
 taking a paper from his pocket, and un- 
 I folding it, "you know this •" and turning 
 } to another, and shewing another paper, 
 j ** and you, my lord, know this ;" and so 
 on, producing documents that connected 
 ! every one present with the conspiracy ; 
 " and now, gentlemen," said he, address- 
 ing the assembly, "you perceive that I 
 hold in my hands proofs of treason ; you 
 who have fon)ented this rebellion can j)ut 
 I it down; and I have instructions from his 
 ; majesty, if the rebellion be not put down 
 i widiin forty-eight hours — I am sorry for 
 the alternative, gentlemen — but my in- 
 structions are peremptory, to hang every 
 one of you ; and it will be a consolation 
 for you to know, that the interest of the 
 church shall not suffer, for the king has 
 already named successors to the vacant 
 sees." This reasoning was effectual ; the 
 bishops knew the man they had to deal 
 with; and within a few hours the insur- 
 rection was at an end. A man who 
 threatens to hang a bench of bishops, 
 cannot be called apostolical. 
 
 At the same period, but before the 
 council had been called, when Gerona 
 was closely pressed by tiie insurgents, the 
 bishop despatched a letter to the conde de 
 Espana, saying, that it would be neces- 
 sary to give up the city to the besiegers. 
 The conde, who very well knew how the 
 inclinations of the bishop lay, and what 
 were the defences of the city, but who 
 also knew the influence possessed by him 
 over the inhabitants, who might force tl.e 
 troops to give it up, wrote, in repl}' to the 
 bishop, that his lordship, being upon the 
 spot, was no doubt best able to judge of 
 the state of the city ; and adding, that 
 along with the letter which he had sent 
 to the bishop, he had also sent instructions 
 to Gerona, that when the enemy entered 
 the gate, the first thing they should see, 
 might be the gibbet of a traitor bishop. 
 
 ADDRESS OF NAPOLEON TO HIS SOL- 
 DIERS IN EGYPT. 
 
 When the French army, in the invasion 
 of Egypt, came in sight of the Pyramids 
 at sunrise, Napoleon, stretching out his 
 hand towards Gizch, addressed the sol- 
 diers in these words : " To-day you are 
 going to encounter the rulers of ^"gy})t : 
 reflect, that from the height of these mo- 
 numents, forty centuries have their eyes 
 upon you."
 
 PKRII.S BY FrO0I> AND FIRm. 
 
 41 
 
 Pa^e 46. 
 
 THE DETHROXED. 
 
 A TALE OF LICHFIELD. 
 
 ■VSTiat must the king do uovr ? Must be submit ? 
 The king shall do it. Must he be deposed ? 
 The king shall be contented ! Must he luvf^ 
 The name of king ? — o' God's name let it go ! 
 I'll give my jewt'ls for a set of beads, 
 My gorgeous palace for a hermitage. 
 My gay apparel for an alms-man s gown, 
 My figured goblets for a maplr dish, 
 My sceptre for a palmer's walkiiig-slaff, 
 My suhjects for a pair of carved saints, 
 And my large kingdom for a little i^T.-xve. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 A CLOUDY but magnificent sun-set was 
 closing an autumnal day in 1398, over 
 the vast forest of Cannock, when two 
 horsemen, diverging from the principal 
 road that led to Lichfield, struck into a 
 path whose short green sward showed 
 now rarely it was trodden. Huge groups 
 of oaks and beech waved over their heads, 
 and the ripe mast either hung in many 
 tinted clusters on the branches, or strewed 
 the turf, where they mingled with the 
 stained leaves which September's gusts 
 had already began to separate from their 
 still verdant brethren. 
 
 The taller of the two riders was of a 
 VOL. I. — 6. 
 
 commanding, though slight figure ; his 
 limbs, of perfect symmetry, were disclosed 
 by the tight crimson hose of fine cloth 
 which appeared beneath his short riding 
 mantle; the ease with wliich he managed 
 his Barbary courser show ed to full advan- 
 tage the graceful strength of his person, 
 and his countenance, which revealed the 
 highest order of patrician beauty, was set 
 of!" by a broad flat cap of costly sable, 
 confined around his white forehead and 
 jet black curls with a massy chain of 
 delicately wrought gold, clasped by an 
 immense ruby, which fastened a single 
 scarlet feather, drooping backwards over 
 the cap; a hood of azure velvet, lined 
 with ermine, hung down over his mantle, 
 which was of the same materials ; a noble 
 ger- falcon, in similar livery, sat sedately 
 on his wrist, the semi- tones of her Milan 
 bells being the sole sound that mingled 
 with the moaning viind, as with tranquil 
 pace they traversed the winding glades 
 of the old wood. 
 
 His companion was of a very different 
 calibre. Coarse, yet not unhandsome, 
 features, great breadth of chest and shoul- 
 ders, and arms and thighs like the brawns 
 
 G
 
 42 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 OR, 
 
 of Hercules, seemed somevvliat out of pro- 
 portion to tiie stature of their owner, who 
 appeared below the middle size. Again, 
 a quantity of light hair, a florid com- 
 plexion, and blue eyes, could not divest 
 his countenance of an evil expression that 
 seemed to live in every lineament. He 
 was in a close buflfjerkin, his mantle and 
 bonnet of coarse blue cloth ; and though 
 the broad belt round his middle occasion- 
 ally displayed to the gale more W'eapons 
 of offence than seemed needful, few would 
 notice them whose attention had once 
 rested on the baldric itself, which was of 
 red leather, and had the following extra- 
 ordinary legend embroidered on it in 
 letters of silver : — 
 
 *' / am captain Warner, commander 
 of a troop of robbers, an enemy to God, 
 iinthout pity and without mercy."" 
 
 Tiie forest, as they pursued its twining 
 path, began at length to scatter its mighty 
 oaks in wider glades of hill and dale ; a 
 bright rapid brook glimmered shyly in the 
 waning light, and coppices of weeping 
 birch and alder drooped over its border 
 of luxuriant mosses. At length, two or 
 three steep gables and turrets began to 
 disclose their dreary battlements over the 
 trees, and the last mentioned rider here 
 began to manifest increasing signs of im- 
 patience ; he shook his head, bit his lips, 
 cast a disturbed look before and behind, 
 and at length broke the silence which his 
 companion seemed so determined to main- 
 tain, and which other circumstances tlian 
 the loneliness of the place, and the dull 
 motion of their steeds, appeared to render 
 intolerable to him. 
 
 " My lord of Courtnaye is then re- 
 solved to beard sir Lionel, defy the Fran- 
 ciscan, and, in the teeth of the mitred 
 Confessor himself, — wed, at all hazards, 
 the lady Sybil ?" 
 
 " Hazards !" exclaimed the nobleman 
 haughtily, and more addressing himself 
 than his companion, — " who talks of 
 hazards when Richard of Bourdeaux is 
 my fast friend ? What though sir Lionel 
 be lord of tiie broad acres of Helmhurst, 
 and by my thrice abhorred espousals with 
 Rosamund Biddiilph, has some claim to 
 term me fair brother, — was she not ever 
 a fantastic peevish woman ? was I not 
 her thrall? a very boy to be whipped 
 with splenetic upbraidings whenever my 
 feet wandered to another bower ? For 
 the two tedious years I wore her chain. 
 
 was not our bed barren, as our board was 
 delightless ? And is she not now dead ? — 
 to the world at least," he added, in a 
 fierce but subdued tone, as he caught his 
 follower's grim smile. He paused, and 
 continued. " 'Tis true, the bishop loves 
 me not at heart, and, could he find a 
 pretext to evade the will of his sovereign, 
 would think lightly of ennobling his fa- 
 mily (hough with the house of Courtnaye ; 
 he would fkin, forsooth, leave his pretty 
 orphan niece to the guidance of her own 
 free choice." 
 
 *' To the choice namely," said Warner, 
 " of such a haggard as the knight of 
 Helmhurst ? — read I not that scornful 
 look aright, my lord of Courtnaye ? Yet 
 he may be scorned and safely, — a vision- 
 ary fool of chivalrous dreams." 
 
 ** Nay, Warner, wrong not Lionel 
 Biddulph, he is brave." 
 
 " Granted, my lord ; but lie lacks the 
 wisdom to make bravery a thing of price ; 
 squares every thing by what he terms 
 the rule of right, and would rather die a 
 saintly martyr, than become by hardi- 
 hood a golden-helmed warrior." 
 
 " f^y plunder, thou would' st say, 
 gentle captain ?" 
 
 *• Name it as you will — him you might 
 easilj' overcrow ; but the Fraiiciscan — 
 this warden of the Minorites, my lord ? 
 
 " Well ! and the Franciscan ? True, 
 he has had an audience with De Burg- 
 hill, and has proffered disclosures which 
 might relieve the worthy Dominican from 
 his ])resent dilemma between gratitude to 
 his king and love to his niece." 
 
 " Add also, between his liking to sir 
 Lionel, and his aversion to the (so called) 
 wild lord Walter de Courtnaye." 
 
 ** And let him feel aversion, so long 
 as lie dares not profess it, against him 
 whom king Richard delights to honour !" 
 
 " But did not father John, — 1 cry 
 mercy ! I mean his translated lordship of 
 Landaff, — did he not seize on the pro- 
 posal of the warden ?" 
 
 *' Far from it ! a certain wrong-headed 
 honesty, — a quality not to be found in 
 thy rubric, captain, — made him coldly 
 decline any private allegations against a 
 person of such high rank (I thank him !) 
 and so high in the king's favour (I thank 
 the king !) as the baron de Courtnaye!" 
 
 A pause of some minutes ensued, when 
 Warner once more interrupted tlie moody 
 lord.
 
 PKRILS BT FLOOD AND FIELD, 
 
 43 
 
 " Why, then, the I>ominican is 6ght- . 
 ing for you with one weapon, while he ; 
 suppHes your adversary with another." j 
 
 " Not so ! to-morrow thou knowest is 
 his enthronement, and the old minister of j 
 Saint Mary and Saint Chad never wit- 
 nessed, I warrant thee, a pomp like that 
 which will usher him into her broad 
 aisles'" I 
 
 " Still, lord Baron," said Warner, and \ 
 his bold eye surveyed the dusky mansion, ; 
 which displayed its massy front in the | 
 twilight, amid the gloomy tossing boughs, 
 with as much uneasiness as he durst dis- 
 play to the fiery noble, — " still you say 
 not the result of the warden's interview." 
 
 *' Simply this, — the lord bishop is to 
 give him public audience in the very 
 cathedral itself, — before the Plantagenet 
 and his whole court — nobles, prelates, 
 abbots : in a word, the mighty secret is to 
 be told to whoever chooses to hear it." 
 
 " Then, I conclude, your lordship relies 
 on your faithful Warner to close this 
 dangerous friar's mouth, lest his false- 
 hood bring peril to his soul, or breathe 
 an imputation on the heir of the long 
 line of De Courtnaye ?" 
 
 ** There needs not, man? — 'tis done 
 already. But, captain, certes thou art a 
 niggard to-night ! thou lookest at those 
 old gables and pinnacles as if they con- 
 tained a magician, instead of the blazing 
 fire, the savoury haunch, and the luscious 
 pigment that is to refresh thy master !" 
 
 Warner checked his steed at the word ; 
 but as suddenly sptirring him, he exe- 
 cuted a la volta that only showed his 
 rider's perfect masterdom. 
 
 " If I seem a niggard, my lord, it is 
 from the fear that these old and desolate 
 halls will scarcely afford that refreshment 
 and repose, which may present the most 
 favoured and the handsomest knight of 
 all king Richard's court in his best 
 favour before the dames and maidens of 
 Lichfield to-morrow." 
 
 *' 'Tis well, Robert ; — but is it not 
 strange that Uion hast never asked me 
 why 1 drew thee from the high road, and 
 those cheery lodgings at the Golden 
 Horse in Hedgford, where we have the 
 brownest old ale, the snuggest couches, 
 and the most debonnaire damsels to wait 
 our bidding, for thine ill-looking hold, 
 w hich thou visitest as rarely as an owl the 
 sunshine ? When I proposed it, thy 
 brow lowered, even as now ; and had I 
 
 not matter of weight to divert me hither, 
 I had scarce withstood the reluctance 
 thou didst betray in making a Norman 
 nobleman the guest of a robber chief." 
 
 " Now, by my father's beard !" War- 
 ner was fiercely beginning, when he 
 changed as suddenly, — •* Your lordship 
 hath reason to know that I never offer 
 words of expostulation where deeds may 
 stand instead. This old house shall al- 
 ways welcome you, if cold cheer, ragged 
 tapestry, clattering windows, and doors 
 that are equally divided with myself be- 
 tween admitting and excluding guests, 
 are over-matched in your mind by the 
 hot meat, the mantling flagon, and the 
 hearty welcome I can still afford you ! — 
 Would he were," he continued internally, 
 " in the deepest pool of the forest ere he 
 taxed either of them !" 
 
 " To bring the matter to a close," said 
 lord Courtnaye, with an air in which 
 badinage strove with a slight tinge of 
 embarrassment, " as we are now about to 
 tumble into the moat, — and in sooth thy 
 manor-hall of Edial is none of the most 
 inviting. Mercy on me! those tall chim- 
 neys and frowning parapets sympathize 
 with thee in showing me small welcome ! 
 — and that straggling clock-tower, too ! 
 But now, Robert, what would'st thou say 
 if I told thee I had sent, before, certain 
 well-stored purveyors to give us welcome 
 here ?" 
 
 Warner's bold and fierce face blanked 
 at once, and he looked absolutely aghast ; 
 his lips parted, and the large white teeth 
 between, made him appear a perfect he- 
 raldic head. 
 
 " The fiends are not so unemployed !" 
 he exclaimed, as if to himself. " Know 
 ye not, baron of Courtnaye, that the sun 
 himself scarcely dares visit these old 
 towers, such is the protecting gloom this 
 great forest throws around them ? — Their 
 moat knows only the green faces of the 
 boughs, and their chambers have not light 
 to thank ttie day for ! Midnight alone 
 confesses that they are inhabited, and 
 midnight alone looks gladdened at their 
 inhabitants." 
 
 ** The Franciscan is here, however,'' 
 said Courtnaye, endeavouring to brave 
 with affected cookiess the agitation of the 
 robber chief. 
 
 " The Franciscan, my lord ! — you have 
 not been so mad ?" exclaimed Warner ; 
 and then throwing off all restraint, ** if, 
 G 2
 
 44 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 OR, 
 
 at least, you havet ^ wash my hands of 
 you and your plots ! Was it not enough 
 that you assumed so aiTogantly as to drag 
 me to mine own house, whither you were 
 not invited ? Nay, frown not, proud 
 peer ! — at least I am only your inferior in 
 guilt ; in pride of heart, ay, in pouer, I 
 am your equal ; and in thews and sinews, 
 your superior— far your superior, though 
 I must own, your lordship's title is rather 
 written in your own dark bosom, than 
 blazoned, as I bear mi?ie, boldly on my 
 breast /" 
 
 The baron Walter chafed, but inly, 
 and then soothingly said, 
 
 *• A most sublime bravado, truly ! and 
 if words could win an escutcheon, nay, a 
 coronet, truly, good Robert, thou wert not 
 far from the peerage. Nay, clutch not 
 that honourable belt of thine, nor plimge 
 so pitilessly thy knightly spurs into thy 
 jaded steed ! Thou knowest / am in thy 
 power ; and, for my part, if thou wilt 
 only refrain from showing those boar's 
 tusks for the future, when I take some 
 freedom with thee or thy place of rest, 
 I will frankly forgive thee the rash speech 
 thou hast directed against a born and de- 
 scended nobleman !" 
 
 Warner had by this time recovered 
 somewhat of his presence of mind, and 
 muttering sullenly about his apprehension 
 of ill provisions, he sounded a horn sus- 
 pended at the outer portal of the draw- 
 bridge ; it was answered by a deeply 
 clanging bell from the single and aspiring 
 tower that rose in the centre of the build- 
 ing ; lights glanced from window to win- 
 dow of the old hall, till now so blank 
 and dismal, the drawlDridge fell, and the 
 clattering horse's hoofs, the thundering 
 gates, and voices in various tones, ushered 
 under an umbered blaze of torch-light 
 the travellers to their abode for the night. 
 
 The wild and sonorous gusts of a Sep- 
 tember evening were just beginning to 
 swell around the old neglected rooms of 
 Edial Hall ; a pale lamp glimmered in 
 one apartment, which we must now ap- 
 proach. It was vaulted ; the roof had 
 been painted with the Fight of Ronces- 
 valles, but time and damp had much 
 effaced the once glowing colours. Where 
 the painting ended, a gaudy tapestry sus- 
 pended on pegs round the chamber, still 
 showed in its fading colours various le- 
 gends of monkish or romantic fiction. A 
 few brands lay half expiring on the hearth 
 
 — the narrow lancet windows seemed 
 nearly ready to burst with the wind — 
 while the rain, which began to patter oq 
 the horn lattice, trickled even on tiie 
 floor. The sole tenant of this dismal 
 apartment was a man of stately mien, 
 somewhat advanced in years, habited in 
 the dress of the Grey Friars or Minorites, 
 as they were called. 
 
 Solitude, however, seemed to be any 
 thing than tranquillity to him ; the fre- 
 quent and apparently forced application 
 he made to a broad parchment manu- 
 script, which, at the slightest noise, he 
 thrust hastily into the innermost folds of 
 his raiment, could scarcely control his 
 agitation ; ever and anon he would pace 
 the room, survey the grim tapestried walls 
 around him, and seem as though he 
 wished for the VA'ings of a dove to eman- 
 cipate him from his thraldom. In the 
 midst of his agitation he sank upon his 
 knees, and appeared mentally imploring 
 the aid of heaven. His cowl falUng back, 
 disclosed his pale high forehead, his 
 silver-white tonsure, his intelligent, but 
 deeply furrowed features, and the fine 
 formation of his mouth. As the mingled 
 gleams of the lamp and fire-light shot 
 changefully over him, lie looked like 
 some martyr of old awaiting the hour of 
 torture and death. 
 
 On a sudden his attention seemed with- 
 drawn from his agony of prayer ; he rose 
 hastily from his knees, and gazed ear- 
 nestly towards one side of the room where 
 a light timid footstep was now heard — the 
 tapestry rustled, and in the next moment 
 a vision entered, which he might have 
 well deemed that of an angel, had not the 
 grief and terror of the countenance, as 
 well as the complaining tones of the voice, 
 convinced him that his visitant was a 
 mortal like iiimself, and (like himselfj 
 too,) unhappy. 
 
 It was a female figure, tall and majestic, 
 whose pale and flowing hair had a nar- 
 row circlet of gold that denoted her to be 
 noble, the long black robe of silk, con- 
 fined by a girdle of large pearls, — the 
 hesitating step, — the clasped hands, — the 
 streaming eye, combined to show the 
 Franciscan that he was in the presence 
 of no angel, it is true, but of one of the 
 fairest of the daughters of men, suffering 
 too her full share of the sorrows of mor- 
 tality. 
 
 " Am I then," exclaimed the friar.
 
 PKRILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD 
 
 45 
 
 »azing on this apparition with perplexed 
 emotion, — " Holy Francis ! am 1 to have 
 a companion in my terrors and my 
 bonds ?" 
 
 " Alas ! holy father," the unknown 
 began in the softest tones, '* it were well 
 for her, if such were the only companion 
 that approached the thraldom of the 
 wretched Rosamund de Courtnaye." 
 
 The friar started, with trembling hands 
 advanced the lamp to her features, and 
 almost dropping it in his emotion, ex- 
 claimed — " The lady de Courtnaye ! and 
 here ? — here, where I deemed that mur- 
 der was only brooding for my own worth- 
 less life ; here, where I was brought but 
 yesterday, by a feigned message as re- 
 lating to thyself, decoyed from my peace- 
 ful convent in Lichtield, and thrust by 
 rude men into this wretched solitude. 
 Thy missions I received by a faithful 
 hand ; they told me of thy captivity in 
 London ; thanks to St. Francis, they at 
 least are safe in the friary — but where- 
 fore art thou here ?" 
 
 " The savage Warner," replied the 
 lady, " intending to acquire a securer 
 plea for his rapacious designs on my hard- 
 hearted lord, has removed me hither; he 
 purposes to tell Walter that I am indeed 
 dead, as the world, by vay mock funeral, 
 believes, or at least so to blind him as to 
 the place of my secretion, that he may at 
 all times have unlimited control over him. 
 Providence, however, sleeps not ; and 
 though I little deemed to meet thee, the 
 faithful confessor whom I have so often 
 knelt to in my father's halls of Helm- 
 hurst" — here the unfortunate lady's tears 
 gushed forth in passionate violence, but 
 soon checking her emotion, she exclaimed, 
 " Heaven will not permit wicked men to 
 prevail against its servant I thou hast 
 seen me, and unknown to Warner — thee 
 they will not long detain." 
 
 '* And yet, lady, they have doubtless 
 discovered my speech with the bishop j 
 the public audience was to take place 
 to-morrow ; — thy brother Lionel is, by 
 this time, at the friary. I, alas ! have 
 other causes to accuse of my imprison- 
 ment than thy hard treatment." He 
 paused, and then added, " but my inter- . 
 ference in thy behalf no human obstacle 
 shall check for an instant ! Thy gaoler 
 dreams not that I know of thy being 
 here, and my imprisonment is the work 
 of lord Walter, whose violence I must 
 
 abide — my life he will not dare to touch: 
 but it is of the last moment that our 
 meeting should not become known ; — 
 return then to thy place, and hope every 
 thing from my enlargement, which, trust 
 me, will only be delayed by a i^w rude 
 insults." 
 
 The sounds announcing the arrivals 
 already alluded to, produced the imme- 
 diate disappearance of the noble captive; 
 and the father was once more left to his 
 perturbed meditations. 
 
 It was with no delightful eye that 
 Warner, on entering the low wide hall, 
 in whose immense hearth blazed a bright 
 tire, noticed the livery of De Courtnaye 
 mingling with those of his own wild fol- 
 lowers. History but too faithfully re- 
 cords the unprecedented impunity of the 
 robber chiefs at this period : still'he little 
 liked that a nobleman, however his con- 
 federate in guilt, should mingle his own 
 vassals with those brawling ruffians; for, 
 though prompt to any deed of crime at 
 their lord's bidding, their presence might 
 induce notice, daiigerous, even from the 
 feeble police of the time. He had, how- 
 ever, his own secret to keep, and knew 
 that his men durst not hint it, and would 
 not, if they durst. 
 
 Welcoming therefore the noble guest, 
 whom he would willingly have thrust 
 forth to the tempest, or add'ed to the num- 
 ber of the captives which Edial already 
 contained ; he ordered the table of dais 
 to be spread, and, excusing his absence, 
 repaired to Rosamund's prison-room. — 
 Meanwhile the lord Courtnaye addressed 
 one of his attendants who remained in 
 the hall. 
 
 " Come hither, Edward ! closer still — 
 wouldst have yonder ruffians share my 
 confidence ?" 
 
 " So please ye, my lord, they know 
 most, I trow, of what your lordship would 
 say. The Franciscan is safe, and by'r 
 lady, had they not helped us, the dungeon 
 he lies in would have been ill to find 
 among the mazes of this hiding hole." 
 
 " Answer to what 1 ask thee, fellow, 
 and think thyself fortunate if thine an- 
 swers save thy back from the scourge ! 
 what habitants hath this howling man- 
 sion ?" 
 
 ** None, .save the worthies whom your 
 lordship's pleasure hath thought fit to 
 make bedfellows to your poor servants 
 for the night."
 
 46 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY J OH, 
 
 ** Are there means of expediting mat- 
 ters if the Franciscan be obstinate ?" 
 
 The servant replied by an ominous 
 smile, and pointed to a large ring in the 
 wall, and two horizontal bars of iron 
 about six inches from the floor at the 
 further end of the long apartment. 
 
 *' 'Tis well ! — the house is lonely, — 
 no cries can arrest the passenger ?" 
 
 " Nay, my lord, when we arrived last 
 night, your lordship's own signet, and 
 their knowledge of your lordship's 
 esteem for their captain, scarcely hin- 
 dered their deeming us a troop of ghosts 
 from their former victims, — there is not 
 a house within miles." 
 
 ** The better for our purpose ! Thou 
 and thy fellow stake good heed no brawl 
 arises 'in your wassail to-night, and to 
 make it the more joyous, scatter these 
 nobles among yon wild band." 
 
 The entrance of Warner with some- 
 what of the former discontent banished 
 from his brow, and followed by his men, 
 bearing plentiful refreshments, here put 
 an end to the discourse. 
 
 The meal passed heavily enough, and 
 the wild wind seemed a confidant which 
 either of these guilty conspirators pre- 
 ferred to his companion. When the 
 tables were drawn, De Courtnaye, in a 
 hasty tone, without consulting the ruo- 
 ber, even by a look, commanded the friar 
 to be brought in. He came — that vene- 
 rable high-souled old man ; and all trace 
 of his former agitation being effaced from 
 his features, walked meekly but firmly 
 up the hall, guarded by two men, but 
 still unbound, his placid countenance 
 forming a strong contrast to the inflamed 
 visages and embarrassed but fierce air of 
 Courtnaye and Warner. 
 
 ** Surely, father !" said the former 
 sarcastically, ** thou lackest some one in 
 this good presence ! thou wouldst fain see 
 the mitre here ! unshorn heads may not 
 hear thine holy secrets !" 
 
 " I would fain," said the captive un- 
 dauntedly — " I would fain see counte- 
 nances where guilt hath not set its seal — 
 fain find ears that would profit by what 
 mine unworthy lips might utter." 
 
 " And yet, for lack of hoUer shrift, thou 
 must e'en confess thee to us, sirWarden I" 
 
 ♦* What shall 1 confess? — that my sins 
 alone have caused heaven and St. Francis 
 to give me up into the hands of cruel 
 men! — men who defv alike — " 
 
 *' Stop ! grey friar !" said Warner 
 impetuously springing from the board, — 
 ** stop, or thou may'st find the shorter 
 shrift!" 
 
 ** Nay, good Warner !" interposed De 
 Courtnaye, " we will shrive at our leisure 
 this holy man, whose bosom hath such a 
 weight that none but king Richard's 
 confessor can suffice to absolve him ! — 
 What," he said, turning with a sudden 
 alteration of manner to the friar, — " what 
 was the sui^ject of the conference with 
 John the Dominican ?" 
 
 ** Now, so help me, the chaste founder 
 of mine order, as I never will divulge it, 
 save in the presence of that holy John 
 himself!" 
 
 ** Nay, then, Edward 1 Osric 1" shouted 
 De Courtnaye. 
 
 " My own men were your better aids, 
 my lord," said Warner, " they under- 
 stand the eloquence of steel and fire !" — 
 He stamped, and four men, half naked, 
 of robust frames, and countenances where 
 the slightest trace of truth was a stranger, 
 entered the room. Two of them instantly 
 seized the Franciscan, while the others 
 hastily raking some red-hot coals from 
 the hearth, arranged them on the floor of 
 stone, so as to make a bed of fire under 
 the iron bars already mentioned. The 
 Warden was quickly despoiled of his 
 upper garment, his large bright eye 
 showing no terror at his impending tor- 
 tures ; but as they were pulling off his 
 tunic, several packets dropped from his 
 bosom ; his countenance changed at once, 
 and as the men left him to show them to 
 their master, he evinced a momentary 
 agony that no prospect of pain could have 
 wrung from him. It was but for a mo- 
 ment, however ; and, recovering his com- 
 posure, he knelt down in prayer, while 
 Warner, carelessly eyeing the packets, 
 resigned them to his lordly companion. 
 
 Lord Walter perused them with the 
 most unreprest satisfaction. ** Stop," he 
 cried, with malicious joy, to the ruffians, 
 who had already stripped the old man, 
 and were about to extend him on the bars, 
 now red-hot, — " singe not a hair of his 
 mortified carcass ; there be those will find 
 a gayer bonfire for him ere long ! 
 
 In an instant the poor naked friar was 
 placed on his legs, gazing in newly 
 revived anxiety on all around as they 
 restored to him h's habit. 
 
 *' Thou mayei i depart, sir Friar !"
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 >47 
 
 said De Courtnaye ; ** for well I ween 
 the rain without will be more welcome 
 to thee than the hospitality thou hast en- 
 countered here ; but take heed thou fail 
 not in thine holy purpose ! I thank thee 
 for thy zeal, — it hath quickened mine! 
 Show him the road to Lichtield, and see 
 you harm him not ! We meet in the ! 
 cathedral to-morrow !" he continued ; 
 and then marking the downcast looks of , 
 the old man, he burst into scornful i 
 laughter. Warner gazed at him in un- i 
 feigned wonder, while the warden, being j 
 recluthed, was led blindfold from the old 
 hall, and the bandage was not removed 
 from his eyes till he had been conducted 
 half way through the wood on the road to 
 Lichtieid. 
 
 (To be continued. ) 
 
 BATTLE BETWEEN TWO SNAKES. 
 
 As I (an American farmer) was one 
 day sitting in my arbour, my attention 
 was engaged by a strange rustling noise 
 at some paces distant. I looked around 
 without distinguishing any thing, until [ 
 climbed one of my great hemp-stalks, 
 when, to my astonishment, 1 beheld two 
 snakes of considerable length, the one 
 pursuing the other with great celerity. 
 The aggressor was of the black kind, six 
 feet long : the fugitive was a water-snake, 
 nearly of equal dimensions. They soon 
 met, and in the fury of their first en- 
 counter they appeared in an instant firmly 
 twisted together ; and whilst their united 
 tails beat the ground, they tried with open 
 jaws to lacerate each other. What a fell 
 aspect did they present ! Their heads 
 were compressed to a very small size, 
 their eyes tia5.hed fire ; and after this con- 
 flict had lasted about five minutes, the 
 se<"ond found means to disengage itself, | 
 and hurried towards the ditch. Its anta- i 
 gonist instantly assumed a new posture, I 
 and, half creeping, overtook and again 
 attacked the other, which placed itself in 
 the same attitude, and prepared to resist. 
 The scene was beautiful ; thus opposed, 
 they fought with the utmost rage, but, 
 notwithstanding this appearance of mu- 
 tual courage, the water-snake seemed 
 desirous of retreating towards the ditch, 
 its natural element This was no sooner 
 perceived by the keen-eyed black one, 
 than, twisting its tail twice round a stalk 
 of hemp, and seizing its adversary by the 
 throat, not by means of its jaws, but by 
 
 twisting its own neck twice round that of 
 the water-snake, it pulled the latter back 
 from the ditch. To prevent a defeat, the 
 water-snake took hold likewise of a stalk 
 on the bank, and by this acquisition be- 
 came a match for its fierce antagonist. 
 Strange was this to behold two great 
 snakes strongly adhering to the ground, 
 fastened together by means of the writh- 
 ings which lashed them to each other, 
 and stretched at their full length. They 
 pulled, but pulled in vain, and in the 
 moments of the greatest exertions, that 
 part of their bodies which was entwined 
 seemed extremely small, while the rest 
 appeared inflated, and now and then con- 
 vulsed, with strong undulations rapidly 
 following each other. Their eyes seemed 
 on fire, and ready to start out of their 
 heads. At one time the conflict seemed 
 decided. The water-snake bent itself 
 into two great folds, and by that opera- 
 tion rendered the other more than com- 
 monly outstretched. The next minute 
 the new struggles of the black one gained 
 an unexpected superiority ; it acquired 
 two great folds likewise, which necessarily 
 extended the body of its adversary in 
 proportion as it had contracted its own. 
 These efforts were alternate. Victory 
 seemed doubtful, inclining sometimes to 
 the one side and sometimes to the other, 
 till at last, the stalk to which the black 
 snake was fastened suddenly gave way, 
 and they both plunged into the ditch. 
 The water did not extinguish their vin- 
 dictive rage, for, by their agitations I 
 could trace, though not distinguish, their 
 mutual attacks. They soon re -appeared 
 on the surface, twisted together as on 
 their first onset ; but the black snake 
 seemed to maintain its wonted supe- 
 riority, for its head was exactly fixed 
 above that of the other, which it inces- 
 santly pressed down under the water, 
 until it was stifled, and sunk. The victor 
 no sooner perceived its enemy incapable 
 of further resistance, than, abandoning it 
 to the current, it returned on shore and 
 disappeared. 
 
 SINGULAR ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR. 
 
 It was on the setting in of the winter, 
 and when the ground was but slightly 
 covered with snow, that a hunter of the 
 name of \iAg and a peasant started in 
 company for a very wild range of country 
 to the southward of Brunberg, in the
 
 48 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY; OR, 
 
 hopes that they might fall in witl) and 
 ring the track of a bear ; this being the 
 most proper season for that purpose. 
 But their search proved unsuccessful; 
 and after the lapse of four or five days, 
 during which they had bivouacked on the 
 ground, their provision being exhai;sted, 
 they separated for their respective homes. 
 In the afternoon of the same day, and 
 when Elg was alone in a very wild part 
 of the country, covered with much fallen 
 timber and immense fragments of stone, 
 he suddenly came upon the track of a 
 bear; the next minute, and within a 
 short distance from where he stood, he 
 discovered, in a cleft of a great mass of 
 rocks, the den of the animal. As he had 
 no confidence, however, in the lock of his 
 rifle, he did not care to go immediately 
 up to the den ; he therefore mounted a 
 pretty high stone, immediately overlook- 
 ing it, at about fifteen paces distant. 
 From this position he* discovered the bear 
 lying fast asleep near the entrance of the 
 den ; and as he got sight of her ear, 
 under which is one of the most fatal places, 
 he lost no time in levelling and discharging 
 his rifle. For a moment after he had 
 fired, the bear lay still, and, in conse- 
 quence, Elg almost imagined she (for it 
 was a female) was killed ; had he thought 
 otherwise, he would have had ample time 
 to get out of her way ; but presently the 
 beast raised herself up, when, fixing her 
 eyes steadily upon him, and uttering at 
 the same time a terrific growl, she dashed 
 at him (to use his own expression) " with 
 the rapidity of a bullet out of a gun," and 
 was close upon him in almost the twink- 
 ling of an eye. Very fortunate for Elg, 
 the stone on which he was standing was j 
 situated in a declivity, the after part of it 
 being some five or six feet from the 
 ground ; down this, in liis hurry to escape, 
 he tumbled all but headlong. It was well 
 he did so, for the bear, followed by two 
 of her cubs, which were more than half 
 as large as herself, almost at the same 
 instant made her spring, and passed clean 
 and far over him. In this situation Elg 
 lay for a short while, frightened, as he 
 said, almost out of his senses ; when find- 
 ing all quiet, and supposing, as was the 
 case, that the bears, from not seeing him, 
 had taken themselves ofl' to another part 
 of the forest, he ventured to get up, and 
 to reconnoitre the den ; he then discovered 
 that, besides the three which had made a 
 
 leaping-bar of his person, a fourth had 
 taken an opposite direction. Though all 
 four bears for this time made their escape, 
 yet in the course of eight or ten successive 
 weeks, Elg, with the assistance of several 
 other peasants, managed to kill the whole 
 of them. On taking the skin from the 
 old bear, which he described to have been 
 of a very large size, he found the ball 
 which he had fired at her flattened out, 
 and set fast on the back of her skull. By 
 this it would appear that he had mistaken 
 the position in which she was lying, so 
 that, instead of aiming at the root of her 
 ear, as he imagined was the case, he had 
 fired at her lengthwise. Had his ball, 
 howpver, been of any moderate size, this 
 would not have been of much conse- 
 quence ; for if his gun was properly loaded, 
 I take it, that, at so short a distance, her 
 head would have been split in pieces. 
 
 SOLDIERS' FUNERALS. 
 
 There is a simplicity and a decency 
 in a military funeral, even in its plainest 
 form, far surpassing in solemnity all the 
 pomp and pageantry of the most sump- 
 tuous funeral in civil life. There, a 
 number of hirelings, whose bodies only 
 bear the garb of woe, while their coun- 
 tenances, gestures, and manner, betray 
 indiflerence or a hackneyed observance 
 of form, render the last office to the 
 deceased; and a hired vehicle, still smell- 
 ing of its last inmate, bears the body to 
 the grave, I'rom which, perhaps, the bones 
 of some old tenant of the sod are displaced, 
 to make room for the new one, destined 
 in process of time to a similar ejectment. 
 Here, the deceased soldier is borne to his 
 last resting-place on the shoulders of his 
 comrades ; the flag under which he fought 
 and died is the pall which covers his 
 remains ; the sword and other emblems 
 of his profession, which surmount the 
 body, speak more than the most eloquent 
 funeral oration to the heart of the spec- 
 tator ; the martial music, in solemn ca- 
 dence, disposes the soul to suitable emo- 
 tions ; the fresh grave, open to receive 
 its first offering ; the short but affecting 
 ritual is pronounced by the lips of a 
 brother soldier, perhaps in the faltering 
 accents of friendship ; and the last volley 
 seems to announce the entrance of the 
 immortal part into the portals of eter- 
 nitv.
 
 PKRILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 49 
 
 III ! f} 
 
 1 ill 
 
 Page 51 
 
 THE DETHRONED. 
 (Continued from p. 47 .J 
 
 Beautiful was the sunrise that burst, 
 on the 8th of September, 1398, over the 
 magnificent towers and town of Lichfield. 
 De Courtnaye, with Warner, now herd- 
 ing among the barons' assembled fol- 
 lowers, could not help pausing on the 
 hill- brow that overlooked the fair vale. 
 The blue sky was cloudless, the air brisk, 
 but sweet; orchards, gardens and woods 
 spread their many-coloured leaves, flowers 
 and fruitage, to the sparkling sun ; the 
 towers of the old castle, the steeples, 
 gables and cloisters of the Franciscan 
 friary, the spires of the various churches, 
 mingling with the turrets and chimnies of 
 the ancient houses ; the massive, upheaved 
 bulk of the towered palace, together with 
 the triple pyramids of the graceful Min- 
 ster, all coronetted with thousands of wea- 
 ther-cocks that sparkled in the morning 
 ray, exhibited their mingled pomps. 
 Houses of every shape and size, of stone, 
 of brick and of timber-work, with tower- 
 lets, pinnacles, porches and moulded 
 roofs, disclosed thei; chequered hues 
 VOL. I. — 7. 
 
 amidst airy groves, severed here and 
 there by the numerous lakes of this city 
 of waters, whose broad blue bosoms were 
 diamonded by the sun, while the mingled 
 bell-peals swelled sweetly on the breeze. 
 As the baron's train approached the 
 close over Langton's bridge, the bustle 
 and glitter of the scene increased ; the 
 streets were hung with various coloured 
 cloths and silks ; tapestries, pictures and 
 garlands almost hid the picturesque fronts 
 of the different mansions, and the win- 
 dows made a splendid display of gold 
 and silver plate and jewels, varied per- 
 petually with the fair faces and gorgeous 
 raiment that showed themselves over the 
 carved balconies. Votaries to the shrine 
 of Saint Chad were seen passing, in their 
 gilded and vermilion-coloured barges, 
 over the Minster pool, to the courts of 
 the New College, bearing wealthy offer- 
 ings from Saint Mary's Guild. The 
 Brigg Street was crowded with citizens 
 i and their families, in parti-coloured 
 dresses, thrust aside perpetually by the 
 proud retinue of some knight or noble, 
 whose attendants scattered rose-groats on 
 the throng they interrupted j spearmen, 
 
 H
 
 60 
 
 TALES OF CEIIVALRY; OR. 
 
 arblasters, heralds, monks, and processions 
 of the various companies, each with its 
 distinctive banner, were intermingled 
 with barbs, mules, and even the humble 
 ass itself (but sleek and well fed), whose 
 gaudy caparisons swept the streets. Pon- 
 derous wains, bearing provisions to the 
 palace, rolled heavily amidst the em- 
 broidered purple curtains of the stately 
 litter, fraught with some noble dame, 
 whose years did not permit her to join 
 her lively daughter, caracoling on her 
 feathered palfrey, by the side of some 
 obsequious suitor, or grave white-bearded 
 sire. Standards, guidons and pennons 
 of a thousand blazons waved in every 
 direction, and the lay of the troubadour 
 could scarcely be heard amidst the clang 
 of the tremendous Minster bells, answered 
 by all the other churches in the city, — 
 the rolling of drums, the pealing of cla- 
 rions, and the shouts of the multitude. 
 The king had just returned to the palace, 
 after proceeding in state through the dif- 
 ferent streets to the Guildhall. 
 
 A vast and beautiful gateway, sur- 
 mounted by a stately tower, now rose 
 before De Courtnaye and his train. The 
 arches, parapets, turrets and windows of 
 this splendid structure were profusely 
 ornamented. Over the heavy battlements 
 waved the royal banner, and by its side 
 floated a lesser flag, displaying paley of 
 ten, argent and azure, on a bend gules a 
 mitre or ; the arms of the new bishop. 
 Tlie name of Courtnaye, announced to 
 the two heralds who stood on each side 
 of the great arch, by the baron's own pur- 
 suivant, soon made the ponderous gates 
 roll open ; a purse of golden florins was 
 bestowed, and amidst loud shouts of 
 " Largess !" the haughty noble entered 
 the close. Winding round the west front 
 of the cathedral, his large and glittering 
 suite swept under the principal portal of 
 the palace, and dismounted in the inward 
 court. 
 
 The vast and majestic edifice occupied 
 the whole north eastern range of the 
 close : its principal facade, extending in 
 immense length from north to south, and 
 elevated on a terrace overhanging the 
 broad moat, displayed the most gorgeous 
 assemblages of towers, ramparts, painted 
 Gothic windows and oriels, that can be 
 imagined. Every gate and turret had its 
 banner, whose pompous colours of scarlet, 
 green, blue, &c. formed a rich contrast to 
 
 I the solemn and gigantic buildings over 
 which they waved. Numberless weather- 
 cocks of copper, gilded or painted, flashed 
 in every direction to the airy sunshine ; 
 while, amidst the vast inclosures of this 
 castle-palace, a broad, smooth bowling- 
 green, a garden, grapery and orchard, 
 mingled with a noble old grove of ches- 
 nuts, sycamores and flowering limes. — 
 Lord Walter could scarcely wind his way, 
 with Warner and his principal attendants, 
 through the throngs that tilled the court. 
 At length he drew near a balcony in 
 the bishop's parlour, from whence king 
 Richard was listening to a minstrel, who 
 chaunted in the Langue D'or the tragical 
 story of the countess of V^ergy. De Court- 
 naye soon caught the eye of the hand- 
 some monarch, and, in obedience to his 
 gesture, was in the act of ascending the 
 steps leading into the building, when a 
 page, in the Biddulf livery, placed a billet 
 in his hand ; on reading which, the prac- 
 tised courtier with difficulty concealed his 
 agitation. With a look of deadly wrath, 
 and the single word " caitiff!" he gave 
 the note to Warner, then sprung up the 
 stairs and disappeared through the door- 
 way. 
 
 Warner read the paper with no very 
 enviable sensations ; it ran as follows : — 
 
 " False lord, — Thy wicked deeds are 
 come to the light ; thy abused wife is 
 known to be alive, — known, too, to be 
 immured hard by the city. And though 
 thou deemest thou hast gained the means 
 of silencing him who would have im- 
 peached thee openly, there will not be 
 wanting those who will foil thee as effec- 
 tually." 
 
 This scroll was signed " The Knight 
 of Helmhurst." 
 
 We will not descend into the black 
 abyss of Warner's heart. This mischief 
 he had in part anticipated; and if Court- 
 naye had some reason to be enraged at 
 his duplicity in withdrawing his injured 
 lady, Warner now became furious at 
 Courtnaye''s folly in bringing the Fran- 
 ciscan to Edial, a circumstance to which 
 he justly attributed the present untoward 
 aspect of their villanies. 
 
 He had no time to form a single plan 
 ere De Courtnaye was again at his side, 
 and drawing him apart into the grove, 
 after some recrimination their mutual 
 danger induced them to forego their mu- 
 tual animosity, and it was agreed that
 
 PKRILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 SI 
 
 Warner should repair to the old hall the 
 instant the solemnity was concluded 
 (the Close gates being now finally shut 
 to prevent further influx of the populace) 
 and there take measures to prevent the 
 threatened exposure. There was no 
 dread of an open attack, for Biddulf 
 could not have had time to collect his 
 vassals, and Warner's presence at Edial, 
 while it would rally round him his nume- 
 rous bands, would be equally a safeguard 
 against any secret attempt ; and thus 
 these wicked men, now tolerably at ease 
 again, prepared to join the procession. 
 In a short time, the increased clangour 
 of trumpets and the thunder of the belfry, 
 announced that the bishop had quitted his 
 palace, and was moving to the cathedral. 
 The king, the archbishops of Canterbury, 
 Vork, and Dublin, together with nume- 
 rous lords, spiritual and temporal, formed 
 his resplendent escort. At the licht-gates 
 he was met by the dean Stretton, the 
 canons, the prebendaries, the vicars, the 
 vergers, and the choristers, with naked 
 feet. The organ shook the vaulted choir 
 as tliey entered, and the ceremony of 
 enthronement took place with the most 
 solemn and imposing rites of a church 
 that knew so well how to reach the soul 
 through the senses. 
 
 During the ceremony, however, some- 
 thing appeared to distm^b the good bishop 
 in an extraordinary degree. He frowned, 
 turned pale and red, held up his hands in 
 horror, and seemed only prevented by the 
 sanctity of the place and the occasion 
 from uttering some strong exclamation. 
 After the ceremony had closed with high 
 mass, king Richard approached the 
 bishop, holding by the arm his favourite 
 De Courtnaye. Among all this splendid 
 train, none in striking effect could be 
 compared to the three who now stood 
 grouped together on the platform of the 
 high altar. Plantagenet, besides the 
 open diadem of golden leaves, fleur-de- 
 lys and rays, that graced his beautiful 
 countenance, was attired in his cele- 
 brated golden robe of jewels, valued at 
 thirty thousand marks ; an uncommonly 
 large white greyhound, with gilded collar, 
 wrought like a coronet, attended his 
 every movement, and watched his every 
 glance. De Courtnaye was habited in 
 the extreme of the then fashion, — one 
 side of his dress being cloth of gold, and 
 the other scarlet brocade ; while the 
 
 Dominican himself, a man of noble and 
 ample port, bore aloft his beaming mitre, 
 leaned majestically on his massy silver 
 crosier, and seemed hardly conscious of 
 the superb purple dalmatique, powdered 
 with quatrefoils, that descended to his 
 knees, and the bright scarlet stole, with a 
 deep border of gold, that flowed to his 
 feet, just showing in front his vest of 
 enowy-flowered silk. 
 
 " We are a suitor to your lordship," 
 said the graceful young king, " and can- 
 not better urge our request than at this 
 shrine," (here Richard crossed himself,) 
 ** where we hope our suits will be both 
 granted and blessed, and the king will 
 need only to speak to be heard when he 
 offers one of his most honoured nobles as 
 a worthy mate to your fair niece. The 
 lady Sybil de Burghill," he proceeded ; 
 and the courtly crowd at once opening, 
 turned to a lovely young creature, hitherto 
 screened from observation, " the lady 
 Sybil will not, we trust, turn a disdainful 
 eye on one whose lowest claim is the 
 favour of his prince, whose loftiest merit 
 is his love for her." 
 
 Sybil de Burghill, a brio-ht girl of 
 eighteen, stood blushing and trembhng 
 before the gaze of the court and the con- 
 gregation. Adorned in the richest fashion 
 of the day, her beauty outshone all the 
 manifold colours of her dress ; her robe 
 was vermilion silk, lined with azure — 
 her vest of brocade was thickly broidered 
 with the arms of her family — her steeple 
 head-dress let fall on the ground a long 
 train of purple silk — her white throat 
 was clasped by a broad carcanet of bril- 
 liants — and her sleeves, which also swept 
 the pavement, were confined at the wrists 
 by emeralds of great size. Her face of 
 sunny girlish beauty was burning with 
 blushes, and the distress that showed in 
 every feature, evinced that it was not 
 mere maiden coyness that called them 
 here. A general murmur of applause 
 pervaded the crowd, and the wanton 
 eyes of the handsome De Courtnaye 
 gazed on her with sparkling admiration. 
 After a pause of some embarrassment 
 the bishop spoke: 
 
 '* It were the bounden duty, my liege, 
 of your grace's poor servant, to deem 
 any proposal from his sovereign and 
 benefactor an implicit law with him ; but 
 I may not well proceed further in this 
 suit of the noble baron, of which I have 
 H 2 
 
 LIBRARY
 
 5*2 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY ', OR, 
 
 in some sort signified my approbation," — 
 (the worthy Dominican's look and accent 
 here woefully belied his words) — " mitil 
 certain charges which our Warden of the 
 Minorites in this city has proffered to 
 make good against the lord Courtnaye, — 
 and which I have deferred to tiiis audi- 
 ence, that your highness's wisdom may 
 decide upon them — be substantiated or 
 disproved. We have heard this morning 
 that sudden illness prevents his appear- 
 ing ; and, indeed, had not your grace 
 spoken upon the matter, it had well nigh 
 left my memory, so much have I been 
 moved from my composure by a sight 
 that might make even these solid pillars 
 to shake over our heads. Blasphemy 
 approaching the very altar of our God !" 
 He pointed to the broad ruffian figure of 
 Warner who stood not far from Court- 
 naye, and the throng parting as before, 
 showed to every eye the broad baldric, 
 which either from bravado or the inad- 
 vertence caused by his recent agitation, 
 he still wore with its impious legend, 
 " ^n e7iemij to Gody ivithout pity and 
 iL'ithout mercy,'' The king, coloured 
 with anger, and turning to lord Walter, 
 exclaimed — 
 
 *' How, my lord, knew ye of this ? he 
 seems of thy company. By the brave 
 spirit of my father, I had rather seen the 
 foul fiend himself, than one who, mingling 
 still with the heirs of redemption, mocks 
 their hope and blasphemes their God !" 
 
 An earnest conversation ensued be- 
 tween the baron and his prince apart, 
 the latter listening with ill repressed im- 
 patience, which the bishop observing, 
 took courage to break in. 
 
 " Your pardon, my gracious liege, but 
 I am he who should pronounce on this 
 outrage ; and if your highness forbids 
 not, I will myself speak sentence on this 
 blasphemous profaner of the sanctuary." 
 
 " Your lordship hath our free con- 
 currence," said Richard, hastily ; " our 
 unreserved approbation of the punish- 
 ment your saintly wisdom shall appoint." 
 
 De Courtnaye bit his lip, and fell back 
 into the crowd. 
 
 " Advance, then, my body guard," 
 cried De Burghill, and a dozen yeomen, 
 in liveries of blue and silver, with an j 
 obedient start, approached. " Four of I 
 you seize yon miscreant, convey him to | 
 the dungeon under our lady's chapel j 
 let him be soundly disciplined, imprison ' 
 
 him eight days with bread of affliction 
 and water of affliction, burn that accursed 
 belt before his eyes, and we will pray 
 that the pains of his body may purge his 
 soul unto repentance !" 
 
 All this was done with incredible 
 celerity ; from the time that the delin- 
 quent was pointed out, hardly three 
 minutes elapsed ere he was hurried from 
 the cathedral, without offering the slight- 
 est resistance, so stupified was he with 
 surprise and rage ; while De Courtnaye, 
 whose troubled thoughts were at the old 
 manor-hall, saw the danger thickening 
 around him without either composure to 
 devise or means to execute any measures 
 for averting it. Tiie assembly was then 
 dismissed by a prayer from the arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury against witchcraft 
 and impiety, and he pronounced the 
 blessings just as the glories of the noon- 
 tide sun, flooding through the mighty 
 range of painted windows, was beginning 
 to dim the manifold dresses of the com^ 
 pany that now either poured through the 
 Close gates into the city, or flocked to the 
 banquet in the bishop's palace. 
 
 The Warden of the Minorites, whom 
 our story left in such extraordinary cir- 
 cumstances, found no great difiiculty in 
 reaching his convent, situated amidst 
 pleasant pastures on the south-western 
 side of Lichfield. He entered the eastern 
 and principal gate of the friary about 
 midnight. It might be from fatigue and 
 anxiety, but certain it is he made no 
 genuflexion as he passed the great cru- 
 cifix on the outside. Lauds had just 
 commenced in the convent church, whose 
 cloistered range stretched away on his 
 right, and the noble arched windows 
 glowed amidst the black and massy but- 
 tresses with red splendour. The porter 
 testified some surprise at his return at 
 this unusual hour, checked, however, by 
 the most profound habitual respect. To 
 the warden's hasty question, he replied, 
 that his sudden absence, protracted to 
 the unusual length of two days, had 
 caused some anxiety, that sir Lionel 
 Biddulf had arrived that evening, a little 
 before vespers, and was awaiting his re- 
 turn in the most restless eagerness. 
 Avoiding the church, the warden crossed 
 the court in the opposite direction to 
 the spacious builfl'"ig termed the bishop's 
 lodging, which was in fact appropriated 
 to the warden himself. He immediately
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 .53 
 
 retired to liis oratory, and was in the 
 midst of tlianksgiving for his present 
 deHverance, and prayer for guidance 
 through his impending difficulties, when 
 the loud swell of the organ and the bells 
 mutually blending through the night air, 
 announced that the service was over. 
 A blaze of torches pouring through the 
 great west door began to scatter in every 
 direction along the cloisters, or across 
 the quadrangle, according as the brethren 
 had heard or not the much desired return 
 of their superior. 
 
 Chafed almost to distraction by the 
 Franciscan's unaccountable failure in his 
 appointment, the knight of Helmhurst 
 had past the evening in the convent 
 without touching food ; he had attended — 
 not without some impatience — the mid- 
 night service, and was the first to catch 
 the intelligence of the warden's re-ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 It may be imagined with what eager- 
 ness die brother of the ill-fated Rosamund 
 repaired to the bishop's lodging, and 
 demanded immediate admittance to the 
 warden. He was ushered into a large 
 pannelled chamber, well lighted by a 
 huge lamp and a fire. The warden, 
 worn by apprehension, hunger, and fa- 
 tigue, was seated near the ample chimney, 
 his shrivelled hands stretched over the 
 blaze, — while a massively carved oak 
 table, covered with substantial cates, and 
 a portly stoup of Staffordshire ale, of 
 ivory and ebony, hooped with silver, 
 stood at his elbow. 
 
 Far above the middle size, and of pro- 
 portions that would have been too brawny, 
 had not his mien been so elegant, sir 
 Idonel Biddulf possessed little to recom- 
 mend his countenance, except that inde- 
 scribable air of gentility and worth which 
 received enhancement from a profusion 
 of short, curled, nut-brown hair, large 
 hazel eyes, and teeth which, if displayed 
 by too capacious a mouth, seemed, from 
 their size, regularity, and whiteness, to 
 derive some title to be seen. He wore a 
 tight dress of hunter's green, puffed with 
 black — a black velvet hat, full and some- 
 what raised, with a gold eagle in front, 
 and a cloak for whose scanty dimensions 
 we may excuse the native vanity that 
 used it less as a coverhig than as a set- 
 off to the deep ample bust, the lusty arms, 
 the stately shoulders, and the large well- 
 turned thigh and calf, that in fight or 
 
 feast, on horseback or in the dance, pro- 
 claimed the gallant and the gentle knight 
 of Helmhurst. 
 
 Affectionately did the venerable war- 
 den lay his thin hands on the glossy 
 clusters of that head that was bowed be- 
 fore him, but he had scarcely done so, 
 when, impatiently waving the attendants 
 to withdraw, he fell on the young man's 
 neck, and burst into a passion of uncon- 
 trolled tears. Astonished and embar- 
 rassed at so unusual an agitation in one 
 of the father's age and general equani- 
 mity, sir Lionel had not presence of mind 
 to utter a connected sentence, ere the 
 Franciscan subdued his emotion. 
 
 ** Forgive me, my son," he said, ** that 
 I, who ought to set a pattern of patience, 
 am the first to depart from it ; but f 
 have suffered much, and this peevish fit 
 will not pass away till I have tasted 
 food." 
 
 The meat and wine were accordingly 
 put in requisition, less indeed by the 
 temperate appetite of the friar, than by 
 the vigorous hunger of the young knight, 
 from whose heart the very sight of the 
 Franciscan seemed to have taken a heavy 
 load. When hunger was appeased, and 
 the warden, with a solemn ''Da veniam 
 precar .'" had taken a second draught of 
 wine, of which sir Lionel, with less cere- 
 mony, quaffed more largely, the attend- 
 ants were recalled, the table cleared, and 
 an earnest conversation ensued. It was 
 then the friar stated, that the loss he had 
 sustained at Edial was of serious conse- 
 quence to him. Papers, by which he 
 might be fatally involved with his dio- 
 cesan, and which, in his haste to obey the 
 pretended summons that decoyed him to 
 Edial, he had omitted to place in security, 
 were now in the hands of De Courtnaye, 
 or his infamous confederate, Warner. It 
 was become absolutely necessary that he 
 should seek a place of temporary seclu- 
 sion. 
 
 He then entered into a full detail of his 
 adventures at the robber's hold ; con- 
 cluding by advising sir Lionel to intimate 
 to De Courtnaye the detection of his 
 machinations, that fear of exposure might 
 induce the guilty lord to abstain from all 
 acts of violence to his wife ; and at all 
 events, that the knight of Helmhurst 
 should take a public opportunity, on 
 the morrow, of proclaiming his sister's 
 wrongs : which was to be followed up by
 
 54 
 
 TALRS OF chivalry; OR, 
 
 a muster of his retainers, to be led with- 
 out delay against the robber chieftain's 
 hall. 
 
 It was on the following day, about an 
 hour after the episcopal train gathered to 
 the cathedral, that the old warden of the 
 Minorites was seen to take a weeping 
 farewell of sir Lionel, under the fruit- 
 laden boughs of the great orchard behind 
 the friary. At a low arched postern in 
 the broad grey wall, stood a sturdy mule 
 well caparisoned. As the friar and his 
 companion paced slowly toward it, the 
 former placed a sealed packet in sir 
 Lionel's hands. 
 
 ** Here," he said, " are those letters 
 of thine ill-starred sister, by which I first 
 became apprised of her existence and 
 captivity. Surrender them only to the 
 bishop himself. I purpose taking refuge 
 at the Benedictine convent of Fairwell, 
 where I am sure of shelter without in- 
 quiry, till time permits me to plead my 
 cause at the palace, liet me have thy 
 signet ring, which shall be a pledge for 
 any messenger whom I may need to dis- 
 patch to thee, and heaven have thee in its 
 keeping, my son." 
 
 " Amen 1" responded the knight, — 
 " and shield thee from danger in thy 
 righteous purposes ! I am bidden to the 
 royal banquet to-day. Pray for me, 
 father, that my unskilled interference 
 impair not the cause that my father calls 
 to me from the grave to uphold 1" 
 
 The warden now mounted his mule, 
 and ambling through the Barr Plack, as 
 the pasture behind the orchard was called, 
 struck into a narrow bridle path, and was 
 soon in the most retired but somewhat 
 circuitous lanes that lead to Fairwell. 
 For the sake of privacy, now so essential 
 to him, the good warden preferred even 
 the wilderness of Cannock Wood to the 
 high road that led north of the city to the 
 Benedictine convent. Yet, little accus- 
 tomed to its numberless intricacies, he 
 soon became bewildered, and had now 
 wandered into one of the broader ways 
 that intersected the old forest. Speedily, 
 however, did he turn his animal into the 
 thicket again, when thundering by, at 
 full gallop, well mounted and armed, and 
 venting horrible imprecations, some thirty 
 or forty men, among whom the friar easily 
 recognised the men he had seen at Edial, 
 swept down the most direct road to Lich- 
 field. 
 
 When they had passed, Ihe warden, 
 auguring he knew not what, inunedialely 
 pursued the direction from whence tiiey 
 came, and a very brief space brought 
 him, to his astonishment, in front of the 
 ominous old hall. His first impulse was 
 to turn and flee — his second to think on 
 the poor forlorn lady whom he knew to 
 be contined there. 
 
 The extraordinary appearance of the 
 mansion, every door open, though it was 
 then by the sun little more than two 
 o'clock, gave him curiosity, if not cou- 
 rage ; he dismounted, and then a horrible 
 idea flashing across him, that the larly de 
 Courtnaye might have been carried off to 
 some unknown spot, or even murdered, 
 made him, in defiance of personal risk, 
 boldly enter the dismal old mansion. — 
 Halls, galleries, chambers did he traverse, 
 but all were deserted as the cave of the 
 forty thieves, when visited by Ali Baba. 
 One apartment at length arrested his 
 steps ; it was the one in which he had 
 been imprisoned. Not a moment did he 
 lose in discovering the aperture under 
 the grim tapestry by which Rosamund 
 had appeared to him. To be brief, he 
 soon found the unhappy lady, whom 
 ecstacy had nearly deprived of the power 
 of following him to air, sunshine and 
 freedom. 
 
 To return instantly to Lichfield was 
 their first idea, but besides the danger of 
 encoimtering Warner's men, the Fran- 
 ciscan concealed not from the lady de 
 Courtnaye that circumstances which had 
 transpired since they met, would not only 
 render it dangerous for himself to appear 
 before the bishop, but would also render 
 his presence and advocacy prejudicial to 
 her cause. Her mock funeral, which had 
 been celebrated in his own convent, 
 might afford grounds on which her artful 
 lord knew well how to build a super- 
 structure : he might retort on the warden 
 the accusation of secluding her for his 
 own purposes ; and, however monstrous 
 such a charge might be, it was too likely 
 it would be well received, when preferred 
 by the king's favourite against one who 
 had deeply incurred the displeasure of the 
 bishop. Placing the lady, therefore, on 
 the mule, and encouraging her to rally 
 her strength where it was so needful, the 
 old man walked at her side, relating as 
 they went those particuln/s which our tale 
 either has or will shortly make known.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AXD FIELD. 
 
 55 
 
 and ended by undertaking to be her 
 envoy to Helnihurst. 
 
 It was sunset when they reached the 
 warm green valley where rose the con- 
 vent, e:rano:e, and mill of the Benedic- 
 tmes, — Its grey towers smihng, and its 
 Gothic windows sparkling wherever the 
 level sunlight reached them through their 
 green elms. Here the baroness of Com t- 
 naye experienced the respect due to her 
 rank and afflictions, and found the safe 
 retirement that her critical fortunes re- 
 quired. 
 
 (To be continued ) 
 
 STORY OF THE DUKE DE ALVA. 
 
 It was on a December evening, when 
 the winds and waters seemed striving 
 which should make the most fearful ra- 
 vages, that the inhabitants of the little 
 village of Melinda, in the bay of Lago, 
 were alarmed by a signal of distress at 
 sea. The night being an awful one — 
 the waves fearfully bounded to the blast, 
 and the vivid lightnings playing over 
 their undulated surface, discovered a ship 
 driven by the strong lee-wind towards 
 the shore. In vain the landsmen, who 
 had been drawn together by the signal 
 of distress, shouted to steer her between 
 two enormous masses of rock, in which 
 course was her only chance of safety, for 
 the dashing of the water drowned the 
 loudest voice ; even had the helmsman 
 heard it, the thing were impracticable, 
 as immediately after a huge wave struck 
 the vessel on her beams and unshipped 
 her rudder, and in a few moments she 
 struck on the reef at the east side of the 
 bay, and went to pieces. After a fruit- 
 less watch of several hours, to assist any 
 who might have been able to reach the 
 shore, the villagers retired to their re- 
 spective habitations, with the melancholy 
 feeling that not only the vessel but all on 
 board were lost. 
 
 In this ship was the young duke de 
 Alva, who, as his father had been some 
 time dead, not only inherited his title, 
 but was heir to the vast estates which 
 surrounded the chateau, and were situated 
 about eight miles from the village. When 
 the ship first struck, he, together with a 
 lad about his own age, fastened them- 
 selves to a plank, as the only means that 
 afforded them even a chance of reaching 
 the shore ; and after striving with the 
 waters for some houis, they were driven 
 
 on shore, about a mile distant from the 
 fatal rock. But the noble youth, unused 
 to a life of hardship, and untutored in 
 the dangers of the deep, had breathed his 
 last long ere the fragile bark was washed 
 upon the sands. 
 
 Juan Palos, for such was the name of 
 the only being saved from the wreck, was 
 about the same age and size as his de- 
 ceased companion, but far, far different 
 had been their prospects in life, and their 
 feelings on board the ship. While the 
 young duke, returning from his three 
 years' travels, thought of little but the 
 enjoyments that might be purchased by 
 his wealth, the other, with a deeply boding 
 mind and quick apprehension, was anti- 
 cipating those troubles with which his 
 poverty threatened him. The rising sun 
 had faintly tinged the highest pinnacle of 
 the Alpine barrier, in the distant scene, 
 when Juan had so far recovered from his 
 state of exhaustion, as to be able to dis- 
 engage himself from the plank which had 
 floated him ashore. His eyes involuntarily 
 turned upon his dead companion, who 
 was not only very similar in size and 
 form, but whose face and features wore a 
 striking resemblance. This fact was not 
 unknown to Juan, and the idea came 
 forcibly into his mind, that by assuming 
 the dress of his deceased companion, he 
 might pass for the duke de Alva. No 
 sooner was this thought conceived than, 
 faint as he was, he commenced putting it 
 into execution by assuming the clothes 
 and jewels of the young duke. 
 
 The tidings of the stranded vessel had 
 been carried to the chateau of the duke 
 de Alva, and its inhabitants, much alarmed 
 by hearing that the name of the ship in 
 which their young lord was expected, was 
 marked upon some of the packages that 
 had floated ashore, at the earliest dawn 
 proceeded in different parties to traverse 
 the coast. Scarcely had Juan completed 
 the change of raiment and again laid 
 himself upoH the sand beside the dead 
 body of his companion, shrewdly anti- 
 cipating the circumstances which were 
 about to follow, than, on turning the 
 jutting corner of a rock, some of the party 
 from the castle descried them lying toge- 
 ther. The rich dress in which he was 
 attired attracted their attention, and it 
 did not require a very strict scrutiny to 
 convince them that this was their young 
 master, while the pulsation and warmth
 
 56 
 
 TALES OF chivalry; OH, 
 
 of his body testified that Hfe was not ex- 
 tinct. Juan scarcely knew how to act, 
 and in this state of mind he hiy motion- 
 less, as though he were still suffering tiie 
 effects of his late exhaustion. It would 
 be impossible to conceive the anxious 
 feelings with which the duchess hung 
 over him, while he lay as if in a state of 
 unconscious stupor, nor the joy which 
 animated her breast as he appeared to 
 be regaining strength. But here he felt 
 he was in a dilemma. What account 
 was lie to give of his travels, his affairs, 
 and his acquaintances, or how could he 
 recognize the several friends and domes- 
 tics, the knowledge of whom three years' 
 absence could not have obliterated, and 
 his failure in doing which would destroy 
 his scheme and bring ruin upon himself. 
 He therefore determined to awake from 
 the stupor of exhaustion only to the 
 phrenzy of a fever, and talk and act so 
 incoherently, that nothing he said or did 
 should be attributed to a sound mind, 
 until he had learned sufficient from the 
 converse of those around him, to act his 
 part witii sufficient accuracy. By the 
 judicious management of this plan it was 
 not long before he became acquainted 
 with all the secrets connected with tl»e 
 family, as well as the acquaintances of 
 his predecessor in the title, and so com- 
 pletely did he succeed in his stratagem 
 that, by the period when the laws of 
 Spain permit an heir to enjoy tlie paternal 
 inheritance, he contrived to have so com- 
 pletely regained his mental powers, as 
 to be allowed to take possession of the 
 princely title and estates of the ancient 
 dukes de Alva. 
 
 ALOYS REDING. 
 
 When the French armies entered Swit- 
 zerland, at the commencement of the 
 revolution, Aloys Reding resumed the 
 sword in favour of his country, and per- 
 formed many splendid actions. But the 
 armies of his enemies were too numerous, 
 and treachery and cowardice thinned his 
 own ranks. At length the time arrived 
 which was to decide the issue of the con- 
 test. Certain death appeared to await 
 the whole band of heroic Swiss. On the 
 sublime heights of Morgarten, Reding 
 appeared at the head of his troops. Mor- 
 garten had been a theatre for the per- 
 formance of great actions; and calling to 
 mind the heroic achievements of ancient 
 
 times, the brave general thus addressed 
 his soldiers : " Comrades and fellow citi- 
 zens ! tlie decisive moment is arrived. 
 Surrounded by enemies, and deserted by 
 our friends, it only remains to know if 
 we will courageously imitate the example 
 formerly set by our ancestors among 
 these magnificent mountains; indeed 
 upon the spot on which we now stand. 
 An almost instant death awaits us. If 
 any one fear, let him retire ; we will not 
 reproach him ; but let us not impose upon 
 each other at this solemn hour. 1 would 
 rather have a hundred men, firm and 
 steadfast to their duty, than a large army 
 which, by flight, might occasion confu- 
 sion, or by precipitous retreat, immolate 
 the brave men who would defend them- 
 selves. As to myself, I promise not to 
 abandon you, even in the greatest danger. 
 Death, and no retreat ! If you participate 
 in my resolution, let two men come out 
 of your ranks, and swear to me, in your 
 name, that you will be faithful to your 
 promises." 
 
 When the chieftain had finished his 
 address, his soldiers, who had been lean- 
 ing on their arms, and listening in reve- 
 rential silence, instantly hailed its con- 
 clusion with loud shouts of " We will 
 never desert you ; we will never abandon 
 you; we will share your fate, whatever 
 it may be." Two men then moved out 
 of each rank, as Reding had desired ; 
 and giving their hands to the chief, con- 
 firmed the oath their comrades had taken. 
 This treaty of alliance between the chief 
 and his soldiers, was sworn in open day, 
 and in one of the sublimest scenes in all 
 Switzerland ; a treaty which, as the his. 
 torian observes, bears marks of patriar- 
 chal manners worthy the simplicity of 
 the golden age. These brave men fought* 
 and bled with the resolution of heroes, 
 and the enthusiasm of patriots; but fate 
 having for a time decreed the subjugation 
 of their countiy, they fought therefore in 
 vain. 
 
 SIR GEORGE ROOKE. 
 
 When the brave sir George Rooke 
 was making his will, some friends who 
 were present expressed their surprise 
 that he had not more to leave. *' Why," 
 said the worthy man, " I do not leave 
 much, but what I do leave was honestly 
 acquired ; for it never cost a sailor a tear, 
 nor my country a farthing."
 
 PKRII.S BV FLOOD AND FIKI.I). 
 
 57 
 
 Page 59. 
 
 THE SHAPE. 
 
 The eleventh hour of the night had 
 sounded on the ears of the baron and 
 baroness Idenberg, and still their son, 
 Usgard, was absent; he was their only 
 male child, and the sole means of pro- 
 longing their noble hne of ancestry. 
 
 Usgard, whose chief delight was to 
 ramble about the wild and mountainous 
 country that surrounded his father's 
 dwelling, was returning from his usual 
 pursuit one evening shortly after sunset, 
 and threading at a swift and silent pace 
 the wild scenery of the Rhine. He had, 
 however, so far involved himself amid 
 the intricacies of wood and hill, that he 
 found it a matter of extreme difficulty 
 to proceed ; to add to his perplexity, 
 the shades of night were rapidly closing 
 around, and it was not until the moon 
 had risen, a lapse of full two hours, that 
 he was able to advance a step. The 
 forest wherein he stood was now partly 
 illumined, and Usgard again went for- 
 ward. He had not made much progress, 
 however, before he met with a second 
 interruption, and one it was that excited 
 
 VOL. I. — 8. 
 
 I his curiosity in a very extreme degree. 
 It was a sound of footsteps which re- 
 sponded truly to his own, as thongb a 
 person followed close at his heels ; if he 
 increased his pace, that did the same ; he 
 even heard the rustle of its garments, and 
 ever and anon, as he turned quickly 
 round, he fancied he could discern some 
 strange shape that moved simultaneously 
 with himself. Usgard marvelled much'; 
 he bethought himself once or twice of 
 challenging it, yet some power — it was 
 not fear, for that formed no part of him — 
 chained his utterance, and he still went on. 
 Having threaded a long, briary lan<% 
 his course wound up a long narrow ledtre 
 that jutted from the smooth face of a 
 rock, whereon the moon poured her full 
 effulgence, he was now no longer an- 
 noyed by the phantom whom he thought 
 had hitherto haunted him, and he was 
 about to set the whole down as a freak 
 of fancy, when lo ! to his amazement, 
 the spectre stood before him. It ap- 
 peared on a spot where the path grew 
 most precarious, where one false footstep 
 would have hurled him into the waters of 
 the Rhine, which gleamed like a silver 
 I
 
 53 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY J OR, 
 
 thread at an immeasurable distance be- 
 neath. Usgard, fortunately for his own 
 safety, remained unterrified — and nar- 
 rowly eyeing the Shape a few moments, 
 he thus addressed it — 
 
 " Who are ye, that appearest thus be- 
 fore me ? — for what purpose come ye ?" 
 
 " To warn thee, count of Idenberg-," 
 it replied, ** of thy approaching fate ; 
 thou shalt behold me twice again. My 
 presence comes fraught with horror and 
 woe — and to thee, count, it brings both. 
 Hear me — thy mother, the baroness Iden- 
 berg, this moment expires!" 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed Usgard, " myste- 
 rious being, what are ye ?" 
 
 " The destruction-cloud that hovers 
 o'er thy house," it again replied ; ** thy 
 fatlier's foe and thine !" 
 
 With these words the vision melted 
 into the air, and was seen no more. 
 
 Usgard hastened home, and arriving 
 there, he found to his dismay that the 
 spectre's words were no delusion — the 
 baroness had expired ! 
 
 Usgard brooded on this mysterious cir- 
 cumstance long and deeply ; the fearful 
 Shape still lived in his imagination, nor 
 could he by any means drive it from his 
 remembrance. It had signified its pur- 
 pose of appearing twice again, and it was 
 with shuddering and apprehension that 
 the young count awaited its coming, 
 which, according to its own report, would 
 be fraught with so much fatality. It 
 chanced some two or three years from 
 this period, that Usgard, his sister Ella, 
 and a beautiful girl to whom he was about 
 to be united, went together one fine sum- 
 mer's evening, to view an ancient ruin 
 which stood some three miles distant from 
 Idenberg castle, and to which some old 
 tradition had given the name of the 
 Haunted Hall. It had long been the 
 residence of some rich recluse, of whose 
 particular liistory, however, we are un- 
 able to give any account, further than by 
 stating that he was the hero of many a 
 legend of diablerie, which was at that 
 time recounted by those who dwelt near 
 the spot. Ever since the death of this 
 individual, it had been untenanted, and, 
 indeed, scarce visited, — so scared was 
 every one that came near, by the tales 
 tiiat were told concerning it. 
 
 As Usgard and his companions ap- 
 proached the edifice, they found its 
 crumbling walls thickly garmented with 
 
 moss and lichen, and starred with a pro- 
 fusion of wild flowers of a thousand dif- 
 ferent hues ; over the low arched door 
 drooped festoons of honeysuckle and ivy, 
 which they moved aside, and entered the 
 building. Many a fair apartment they 
 successively paced, each of which was 
 distinguished only by their traces of dila- 
 pidation and decay, and the ruddy lustre 
 of the setting sun streaming in, height- 
 ened instead of diminishing their melan- 
 choly aspect. Their attention was by no 
 means particularly interested, until they 
 came to a long narrow room with carved 
 wainscotted walls, and vaulted roof; it 
 was the apartment of the recluse, and 
 had once possessed a well-stored library, 
 with many other articles for pursuing 
 divers studies ; a pamphlet or two oc- 
 cupying the dusty and deserted shelves ; 
 a few carved oak chairs nigh crumbling 
 into dust ; two or three shattered por- 
 traits, and a broken globe, was nearly all 
 that now remained. 
 
 Usgard and his betrothed contented 
 themselves with a far slighter investiga- 
 tion of this chamber than Ella seemed 
 disposed to yield it ; she had rummaged 
 every book shelf it contained, and having 
 discovered many a worm-eaten scroll, she 
 soon became deeply interested in their 
 perusal. One of them excited her curio- 
 sity in a particular degree. It was a 
 black letter rhyme, whose scarcely legible 
 characters styled it — 
 
 DESMAR THE DANE. 
 
 It ran nearly thus : — 
 
 Dim was the moon upon Ottinvar's fane. 
 
 Where a horseman came rapidly riding : 
 " So, ho '." cried the rider, and drew up his rein. 
 
 And into the chapel went gliding. 
 Around him he gazed, with a keen, searching e j-e. 
 
 Then frlanced on the pavement before him ; 
 Around him he listened, no watchers were nigh. 
 
 So to work then he went with the flooring. 
 Long, long had he toil'd, yet nought could he find, 
 
 Save corses all calnilj' reposing. 
 But soon to his view brazen fastenings shined, 
 
 Round a chest some vast treasure enclosing. 
 He gazed on the cotler with glittering eyes. 
 
 Broke the lid which its contents concealed, 
 But, ah ! how dismay'd when he gazed on the prize 
 
 Whicli then to his view was revealed. 
 It treasured no rosary, relic, nor chain, 
 
 Nouglit else in tlie' coffer was seen 
 But the terrific shape of fell Dosmar the Dane, 
 
 That for ages entombed there had been. 
 All gloomy scowled the phantom so drear. 
 
 And forth from the chapel went gliding; 
 Far upwards he soar'd in tlie levin-lit air, 
 
 The cloud of the tempest bestriding. 
 Now oft in the still uf the eve, when the moon 
 
 Pours down her broad mantle of glory, 
 Il( r lustre is crossed by the phantom of gloom — 
 
 Lo ! reader, e'en now 'tis before ye!
 
 PBRlLsi BY FLOOD AND FIELD, 
 
 59 
 
 Ella rested the scroll upon her knees, 
 and her eyes wandered round the apart- 
 ment. She found that her companions 
 had deserted her, and she was left entirely 
 alone. The clear moonlight was stream- 
 ing in upon her through the tresses of 
 honeysuckle and ivy which clothed the 
 shattered casements, and, whether it was 
 raised in her imagination by the wild tale 
 she had been perusing, or what we are 
 unable to say, but certain it is, that some 
 terrific object appeared to her, and a loud 
 sliriek issuing at that moment from her 
 lips, brought Usgard quickly to her pre- 
 sence. 
 
 " O God I my sister !" cried he, as 
 bursting into the apartment, he beheld 
 her in a swoon, and the appalling phan- 
 tom beside her. It grinned upon him 
 witli horrible exultation, and clasped her 
 in its livid arms. Usgard's carbme was 
 in his hand ; he pointed it at the phantom, 
 and fired — the floor was in a moment de- 
 luged with blood, and a piercing scream 
 told the poor maiden's doom. 
 
 Thus terrible was the consequences 
 that attended the second coming of the 
 Sliape : once more it would appear, and its 
 awful purposes would be accomplished. 
 Usgard now felt himself doomed; he 
 knew there was no possibility of avoid- 
 ing the dreadful visitation ; he therefore 
 awaited it with gloomy and silent presage. 
 
 It chanced, shortly after this event, 
 that a belated traveller came one night 
 to Idenberg castle, to seek shelter until 
 morn. He was received joyously by the 
 old baron, and his conversation was such 
 as to entice count Usgard from his gloomy 
 mood. He had traversed every city in 
 the known world, and from each he had 
 gleaned some " legend wild," — some old 
 romantic lore, wherewith he now amused 
 his kindly hosts. It was singular that 
 one of those tales should treat of circum- 
 stances which closely resembled those we 
 have already recorded ; but so it was, 
 and Usgard's whole soul, therefore, was 
 buried in the recital. The stranger saw 
 it, but he said nothing. 
 
 In due time the guest was ushered to 
 his dormitory, while the baron and count 
 Usgard each betook themselves to their's. 
 The latter, however, could obtain no 
 sleep ; his mind was agitated by the 
 strange recital he had heard, and he felt 
 a longing now to see and speak with the 
 stranger. He was about to quit his 
 
 apartment to communicate to him his 
 wish, when he was called to the opened 
 casements by a strong blaze of light, 
 which, streaming through them at that 
 moment, irradiated the room. He looked 
 out upon the wild country around, and 
 saw it in places totally obscured by dense 
 masses of cloud, while in others a bril- 
 liant and preternatural glow outlined hill 
 and fall for miles around. Anon the 
 levin blaze would spring up from the 
 bosom of the sky, and playing momen- 
 tarily in the murky air, shed its awful 
 lustre over the entire scene. A clap of 
 thunder presently made the building 
 rock to its very foundation ; Usgard 
 reeled round, and his eyes fell upon the 
 tall form of the stranger, who had stole 
 into his room unheard. 
 
 " Count," said he, " mark me well. 
 Thy doom, and the doom of those around 
 thee, is at hand. Know'st thou who has 
 created this turmoil in the heavens ?" 
 
 Usgard looked enquiringly at the 
 stranger, and faintly uttered " Whom ?" 
 
 " The enemy of thy house — the phan- 
 tom, whose career is marked with blood !" 
 
 " Can nothing save them ?" cried Us- 
 gard ; " my wife ! my father 1 — I care 
 not for myself — can nothing be done for 
 them ? Oh ! stranger, speak !" 
 
 ** Yes," he replied, *' there is one 
 chance left wliereby ye may be saved — 
 I have bethought me on't. Go, all of ye 
 instantly quit Ihis devoted pile ; the fell 
 demon shall perish in the storm himself 
 hath raised !" 
 
 Usgard proceeded instantly to obey 
 the stranger's command. He hurried 
 from room to room, summoning every 
 one to prepare for immediate departure 
 — but what was his vexation and dis- 
 may, to find that all were chained in 
 sleep so sound, that defied his efforts to 
 wake them. As a last resource, he blew 
 a blast on his bugle loud enough to startle 
 the very dead. It was echoed imme- 
 diately by a tremendous burst of thunder, 
 that seemed to come directly over the 
 building ; the bolt descended on it, and 
 rent it in twain— and turret and bastion, 
 which had resisted the force of earth and 
 heaven for centuries, came thundering 
 down in one chaotic mass. 
 
 On a high battlement wall, that seemed 
 to heave and totter in the flames that 
 were lacing it round, a diminutive group 
 of persons were assembled ; presently
 
 60 
 
 TALliS OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 tliey were joined by two others — it was 
 Usgard and the stranger ; they had just 
 emerged from among the ruins. Some 
 consultation ensued between them ; what 
 its import was we are unable to say ; it 
 ended, however, in the latter taking the 
 lead, while Usgard, clasping his wife in 
 his one arm, and supporting his father 
 with the other, followed him. Shortly 
 they disappeared amid the flaming pile, 
 and were anon seen to emerge again 
 from a heap of smouldering ruins, de- 
 scend the glacis, and, winding up a steep 
 acclivity on the opposite side, they soon 
 left the castle far behind. 
 
 They now found to their terror, that 
 Usgard was not with them. In their 
 haste to fly the impending danger, they 
 bad not regarded his absence, and now 
 it was the belief of all that he must have 
 perished amid the awful devastation. 
 As they gazed towards the yet flaming 
 ruin, however, they discerned on the 
 lofty summit of an unfallen tower, a 
 figure that resembled count Usgard's, 
 shown in red relief against the sky. It 
 seemed as if striving to elude some ob- 
 ject in pursuit, and that such was the 
 case became shortly apparent. A dark 
 shadowy form, of Herculean size, arose 
 in view, and while seeming to grasp the 
 recoiling fugitive, the turret rocked, 
 heaved, and in a moment rolled from its 
 eagle height with a thundering crash to 
 the earth. The nearly subsided flames 
 broke forth again with redoubled fury, 
 and one brilliant red involved the whole 
 ruin, striding through which was seen 
 the dim retreating Shape ! 
 
 The morning sun arose in troubled 
 splendour, and its fitful beams showed 
 to those who approached the scene of 
 destruction, how awfully its prediction 
 had been fulfilled. 
 
 THE DETHRONED. 
 
 (Continued from p. 59.^ 
 A SOLEMN festival was held by king 
 Richard in the bishop's palace on this 
 eventful day. The long passage leading 
 under the withdrawing room from the hall 
 to the kitchen was choked with jostling 
 servitors. The great kitchen itself seemed 
 one vast hecatomb : fish of every de- 
 scription, including sturgeons, porpoises, 
 and sealSy slaughtered oxen and wild 
 bulls, swans, peacocks, geese, cranes. 
 
 herons, shaws, stags, bucks, and roes, 
 cumbered in barbarous profusion llie 
 floors, dressers, and spits, while every 
 delicacy of poultry and game, excepting 
 turkeys, then unknown in England, were 
 piled around without number j the pas- 
 ties, jellies, tarts, and custards, might 
 amount to some twenty thousand, and, to 
 use the words of an old bill of fare on 
 a similar festival, there were ** spices, 
 sugared delicates, and wafers plenty!"' 
 Three gigantic fire-places received and 
 dismissed in rotation their various offer- 
 ings ; while the buttery broached its hogs- 
 heads of ale, and the cellar its tuns of 
 wine and pipes of ippocrasse. 
 
 At length the great bell of the palace 
 proclaimed that the gates were to be 
 closed, and the king, moving from the 
 bishop's bedchamber, adjoining the great 
 north tower, (a decagon upwards of fifty 
 feet high, and a hundred and thirty in 
 circumference,) appeared in the bishop's 
 dining-room, whicli was now merely an 
 antichamber to the lair of royalty. He 
 was there received by the illustrious com- 
 pany in their less cumbrous attire. A 
 velvet cap of scarlet or purple reposed on 
 the tonsures where mitres had flamed in 
 the Minster, and their venerable beards 
 fell over plain but costly and very full 
 robes of red and purple silk, girdled with 
 gold ; — the temporal nobles and knights 
 had assumed similarly light tabards, but 
 emblazoned, and of gayer colours, for 
 j this was the very age of colours ; and 
 I Plantagenet himself had thrown aside his 
 I golden habit, and wore a long loose 
 I mantle over a satin surcoat, on which 
 was wrought his favourite blazon, a white 
 hart couchant, ducally crowned, and 
 gorged with a chain, the device of his 
 mother ; as usual his beautiful greyhound 
 w-as with him. 
 
 The king, now leaning on his con- 
 fessor, passed on to the great hall, the 
 sleek and snowy Blemach gracefully 
 pacing after her master, and, as they 
 entered, the folding doors leading from 
 the ladies' chamber at the opposite end, 
 were thrown open, and a perfect thicket 
 of steepled and horned head-tires, ushered 
 with due rustling of silks, gleaming of 
 jewels, and tiny Babel of tongues, indi- 
 cated the approach of the better half of 
 creation. This glorious room, a hundred 
 feet long, and sixty broad, formed about 
 the centre of that immense facade that
 
 PERIUS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 61 
 
 looked over meadow, lake, and orchard, 
 to the east. Unexampled in magni- 
 ficence as the furniture of this festal apart- 
 ment was, the kindling eyes of the guests 
 rested chiefly on the decorations of the 
 walls and vaulted roof. They were 
 painted in the most brilliant colours with 
 the coronation, marriages, wars, and fu- 
 neral of king Kdward the First ; and 
 there was many a noble in this august 
 saloon whose forefathers figured on its 
 walls ; especially those connected with 
 sir Roger Pewlesdon of Emral, so distin- 
 guished against the Welchmen, or Al- 
 meric de Bailgioll, Burnell V^alence, earl 
 of Pembroke, lord Bandlesmere, and 
 knights equally successful against the 
 Scots. 
 
 The banquet had nearly closed, most 
 splendid presents having been made by 
 the king and bishop between each course 
 — when one of the bishop's gentlemen- 
 ushers entered hastily, and with a good 
 deal of importance, whispered his lord- 
 ship, who replied aloud, 
 
 *' Let the gate be opened forthwith !" 
 — he then said something to the king, 
 wiiich was lost to most of the guests, save 
 that Richard smiled and whispered to his 
 favourite, uho turned pale, and looked 
 uneasily towards a door which now flew 
 open. Preceded by the seneschal with 
 his silver stick, a knight, seemingly of 
 gigantic stature, armed cap-a-pie, with a 
 large spread eagle of gold on his basinet, 
 and a scarf of black silk over his thick 
 scale armour of steel and gold, entered 
 the palace- hall, attended by a herald, 
 whose tabard was of the same colours, 
 displaying his master's arms, — sable, a 
 cross, between four spread eagles vert. 
 The lord marshal inmiediately advanced, 
 and courteously but stately said, 
 
 "Sir Knight of Helmhurst !— for by 
 that style your well known cognizance, 
 distinguished in many a fight and tour- 
 nament, proclaims you, — say, wherefore 
 are you come, a tardy, not an unwelcome 
 guest, and avowed more against the true 
 love of your friends than the threats of 
 your enemies ?" 
 
 Sir Lionel signed to his pursuivant, 
 who immediately advancing, and making 
 a low obeisance to the king, said — 
 
 " Sir Lionel Biddulf, lord of Helm- 
 hurst, comes hither engaged by an oath 
 which knight should never violate, against 
 the lord Walter, baron of Courtnaye, 
 
 once termed his brother-in-law, which 
 title he now casts from him with abhor- 
 rence and scorn ; and is ready to prove, 
 by heaven's grace and his body's prowess, 
 that the aforesaid Walter of Courtnaye is 
 a villain, the consort of robbers, disloyal, 
 perjured, and so black with crime, that 
 every noble in this con)pany should start 
 from his side as from a scorching fire- 
 brand or a withering pestilence." 
 
 King Richard's sunny brow grevv stern 
 as the herald ended with a mortal de- 
 fiance, while the steel gauntlet rung on 
 the pavement without being touched by 
 the confused and conscience- stricken De 
 Courtuave. Lionel approached the dais, 
 and with a deep reverence to Richard, 
 passed on to the bishop, and bending his 
 knee, presented the packet which the 
 Franciscan had delivered to him. At the 
 king's command he then unhelmed, and 
 took his seat where his rank entitled him. 
 
 Deep was the colour that mantled over 
 the good prelate's brow and cheek, as, 
 kneeling in his turn to the king, he 
 placed in his hands the documents he had 
 perused. Plantagenet bent over them a 
 weariful eye, as of one who sorely re- 
 gretted the interruption of good fellow- 
 ship which the privilege of chivalry did 
 not permit him to control, — when a few 
 lines arrested his attention ; he cast his 
 eye on Courtnaye, and the glance was 
 anything but au^ipicious. But lord Walter 
 had in some measure recovered his ef- 
 frontery, and, scarcely over-rating the 
 influence of a favourite \\ith the thought- 
 less monarch, whispered in the royal ear. 
 In an instant the versatile king's brow 
 cleared up, and briskly but sternly ad- 
 dressing sir Lionel — 
 
 " Where is this warden of the Minor- 
 ites ?" he said, " we have no proof but 
 thou and we, sir Knight, have been prac- 
 tised upon ! Ourself saw the noble dame's 
 funeral train move from London where 
 she died." 
 
 ** So please you, my liege, tlie holy 
 friar deems the falcon in peril that can- 
 cellers around the eagle's eyrie," — and he 
 glanced imprudently at De Courtnaye. 
 
 "Now, by my royal crown, sir Knight, 
 thou art unjust as thou art bold, when 
 thou deemest that Richard of Bourdeaux 
 would screen even his own brother from 
 an imputation so foull What sayest 
 thou, baron of Courtnaye ? — Is thy sove- 
 reign so readv to harbour crime, that
 
 6? 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY J , OK, 
 
 thou vvouldst shelter under his name what 
 thou darest not challenge, or canst not 
 disavow in thine own ?" 
 
 " Mighty king !" replied lord Walter, 
 " if I have hitherto foreborne answering 
 tins insolent challenger, it is at least as 
 much from respect to your grace's plea- 
 sure, as from pity for the madness of my 
 kinsman. But" when my sovereign's 
 equity is questioned, I throw aside all 
 kindly affection, disclaim all delicacy for 
 myself, and openly answer lie lies foully 
 in his throat !" 
 
 Here the baron again spoke low and 
 earnestly to the king, and the credulous 
 Richard immediately addressed sir Lio- 
 nel,— 
 
 " Much we fear, sir Knight of Helm- 
 hurst, that an ill-governed attachment for 
 one now all but affianced to thy widowed 
 brother hath urged thee to this measure." 
 
 But here the lord bishop arose and 
 spoke. 
 
 *♦ My liege, much as I owe to your 
 gracious self, much as I deplore this in- 
 terruption to the festivity, I must speak. 
 The attachment of sir Lionel to my niece 
 hath long been known. Pity hei\ at 
 least, sire," (and the poor girl wept at 
 his words,) " pity hery if not the noble 
 knight, nay, if not myself, who boldly 
 avow my belief before this high assembly 
 that Lionel Biddulf is incapable of false- 
 hood, and hath either been grossly de- 
 ceived, or else will substantiate the 
 charges he hath advanced." 
 
 " Ha ! peers the halcyon's beak in 
 that quarter?" said Richard, "nay then, 
 Walter, thou must e'en go wear the 
 willow I" 
 
 Here the lady Sybil herself arose, and 
 with faltering steps approached the king. 
 " Gracious prince," she exclaimed, her 
 voice interrupted by emotion, " it were a 
 crime in me to suffer pride or shame to 
 keep me silent ; albeit it is painful to 
 speak on such a theme in such a presence 
 — the knight of Helmhurst, whatever his 
 affection for one so worthless as poor 
 Sybil Burghill, would to a worthy rival 
 surrender me at his king's bidding, though 
 the hearts of both broke in the instant !" 
 
 Richard, visibly touched, raised the 
 lovely girl and spoke soothingly to her, 
 as, drawing her veil over her face, she 
 vainly endeavoured to conceal her stream- 
 ing tears. The archbishop of Canterbury 
 then addressed the king — 
 
 *' Sire !" he said, " by your kingly 
 and knightly oath, by your love for your 
 subjects, by your own precious interests, 
 temporal and eternal, let not, I adjure 
 you, let not prejudice or affection sway 
 your princely wisdom in this cause." 
 
 De Courtnaye now saw the tide 
 strongly setting in against him, and at 
 once summoning all his effrontery, said — 
 
 " The man lately committed to the 
 Minster dungeon has that to unfold which 
 may limit the degree of credit due to this 
 warden of the Minorites. Knowing this 
 friar had been practising against me with 
 the holy bishop, I deemed it right to 
 investigate the accusations he brought 
 against the honour of the house of Court- 
 naye." 
 
 " Yes," interrupted De Biddulf, im- 
 patiently, ** and most unlawful means 
 didst thou employ." 
 
 *♦ But where is the Fransciscan ?" re- 
 peated Richard ; " thou hast not dared to 
 harm him, Walter?" 
 
 " My liege, he is scatheless for me, 
 and that sir Lionel knows — knows, too, 
 why he is away ; but what he may be 
 unwilling to disclose on that subject, this 
 Warner, if I be permitted to release him 
 from his bonds, hath the means of making 
 known." 
 
 Right gladly did Courtnaye receive the 
 permission of the king, and quitting this 
 displaced meeting, descended dirough the 
 south gate of the palace into the Close, 
 and entered a dismal looking portal under 
 the south-east side of the Minster. A 
 glimmering torchlight, though it was then 
 high day, gleamed along the pillared 
 passage, and it was the sound of the lash, 
 and an occasional groan that alone guided 
 him to an arched souterrain. 
 
 Naked to his middle, his brawny arms 
 strained round a thick column, that showed 
 every vein and muscle, and his broad 
 back answering with crimson streaks 
 every stripe of the rods that were plen- 
 tifully showered upon his bare skin, the 
 robber chief met the eyes of his titled 
 accomplice. 
 
 " Stop !" said lord Walter, " I bear 
 king Richard's warrant to release this 
 unhai)py man, and to conduct him forth- 
 widi to the presence. Withdraw in- 
 stantly," said he, unloosing with his own 
 hands the cords with which Warner was 
 tied, and assisting in giving him his 
 clothes, which the other sullenly suffered.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIF.LD. 
 
 63 
 
 When they were alone, *' I might re- 
 proach thee, captain," said De Court- 
 naye, " for great is the peril into which 
 thy deceitful selfisliness hath plunged me, 
 — nay, I have only to accuse thee to the 
 king of having for thine own ends wrought 
 this coil of mischief, and thine head will 
 roll on the palace pavement to-morrow. 
 But thou hast suffered ; and, in spite of 
 thy falsehood, I love thee too well — too 
 well to save myself, and gratify the proud 
 bishop by thy destruction." 
 
 Warner answered not, but groaned, 
 and seemed as much in distraction of mind 
 as pain of body. He had just finished 
 putting on his clothes, when the back- 
 ward clang of the Minster bells, answered 
 from the towers of the palace, proclaimed 
 some commotion. 
 
 An attendant rushed into the dungeon 
 to say that a strong band of robbers had 
 attacked Norburgh'sgate, and proclaniied 
 their object to be the freedom of their 
 imprisoned captain. An escaped com- 
 rade iiad informed them of his detention, 
 and (such was society in the fourteenth 
 century) they had to a man left their hold, 
 and were determined upon his rescue or 
 death. 
 
 •' Ay !" groaned Warner, " but they 
 are too late, — I am no longer their cap- 
 tain, but a wild, ensnared beast; — yet," 
 he muttered, " I have fangs and claws 
 still !" 
 
 " Peace, peace !" said Courlnaye, — 
 " And thou, sirrah, hence ! and learn the 
 issue of the contest while I hold further 
 parley with this unfortunate." 
 
 •* Unfortunate !" said Warner, his heart 
 now fiercely roused, " and through whom 
 but thee, thou felon lord ? — Look to thy- 
 selfl — I have been abused to the very 
 death !" 
 
 ** Nay !" said Courtnaye, proffering a 
 flask of wine, and only smiling as he saw 
 the robber swallow it with eagerness, — 
 ** at least pause ere thou devotest to ruin 
 one whose misfortune it is as much as 
 thine own that thou shouldest be impri- 
 soned here." 
 
 " What am 1 to do, then ? I own you 
 have paid me well, and I would have re- 
 paid you with my services ; — but this vile 
 scourging; has blotted me from humanity." 
 
 •' Yetlliere is one passion of humanity 
 by whicli thou may est do me princely ser- 
 vice still, good Warner — Revenge !" 
 " Revenge, and how ? for unless my 
 
 poor faithful fellows scale yonder giant 
 barriers, I see no road to it." 
 
 *' I will show thee one, and not so 
 hard ; it shall be through the mitre and 
 dalmatique, through the head and heart 
 of yon proud Dominican. — Foil sir Lio- 
 nel, and thou wilt delight my patron, 
 whom (thanks to his imprudence) he hath 
 already offended ; betray tlie Franciscan, 
 and thou shalt disarm the bishop against 
 me ; win me the lady Sybil, and thou 
 shalt punish uncle and niece more fully 
 than if thou hadst drunk their hearts' 
 blood." 
 
 " But thy wife ?" 
 
 " May rest in thy keeping ; I care not 
 for the peevish quean ; and she may be 
 my bond if thou distrustest me." 
 
 The attendant here re-entered and 
 announced that lord Walter was imme- 
 diately required to bring the prisoner to 
 the palace ; the robbers had been re- 
 pulsed, the greater part slain, and the 
 rest captured. 
 
 " I am ruined then !" said Warner, 
 wildly, and springing on De Courtnaye, 
 the baron stamped, and several assistants 
 rushing in, effectually secured the ruffian 
 by their leathern belts ; while De Court- 
 naye, again requesting them to withdraw, 
 thus addressed him : — 
 
 " Art thou, then, so utterly dead to 
 thine own interest, that, because a set of 
 bloodhunters, who would sacrifice thyself 
 the moment thou art an object of their 
 jealousy, are fallen in the net they spread 
 for others ; — art thou so mad as not to 
 remember that, while De Courtnaye lives, 
 thou hast a treasury from whence thou 
 mightest refit twenty such bands. The 
 disclosures thou art to make will bear 
 thee scatheless for the present ; and these 
 rose-nobles," he added, thrusting a large 
 bag into the captain's vest, " shall be fol- 
 i lowed by others that will go near to repay 
 I the losses thou hast met for my sake." 
 
 The chief was once more appeased, 
 and now suffered himself to be led by the 
 attendants to the palace, his arms closely 
 fettered and followed by Courtnaye. As 
 they entered the back gates, a scene dis- 
 played itself which made Courtnaye re- 
 joice at the precautions he had taken. — 
 Eight of the captive robbers lay headless 
 on the pavement, and two more, hastily 
 shrieved by a barefooted monk, were 
 kneeling with their shirts drawn down 
 below their breasts and shoulders, from
 
 64 
 
 TALES OF CHIVAI.KY 
 
 which, as their captain passed, their heads 
 were stricken by the long sword of the 
 executioner. 
 
 Warner gave them a look of impotent 
 agony, and passing under the inner gate- 
 way chroughthe bowling-green, was con- 
 ducted into the garden, whose flowered 
 walks were tilled with groups of ladies, 
 pale with wonder and consternation, and 
 listening to the account of the late on- 
 slaught from the courtiers and knights 
 who had just returned from the west- 
 gate. From them lord Walter learned 
 that his grace the king was on the eastern 
 terrace. 
 
 " Highly chafed," they said, " was the 
 blood of the Plantagenet, and he had 
 repaired thither that the evening air might 
 restore his princely mood." Thither, 
 then, was the robber chief conveyed. 
 This beautiful and extensive esplanade 
 formed a broad shelf of turf, with here and 
 there an old acacia of sycamore shooting 
 their broad trunks over the moat; — it 
 stretched from the great east tower already 
 mentioned, under the bishop's chamber — 
 the hall, tlie state room, and the chapel, 
 whose broad hexagon descended to the 
 moat. A lovely sunset streaming behind 
 the palace, fell in rich flakes over the 
 meadows and orchards to the east, and 
 the blue pool, with the broad grey tower 
 of Chadstow, the parti-coloured houses 
 of its street, and the yellow track of the 
 great highway between London and 
 Chester, were variously inlaid with the 
 ruddy light. 
 
 Richard of Bordeaux, at once roused 
 from his easy mood by the late audacious 
 insult, stood below an immense oak that 
 tossed its boughs against the eastern win- 
 dows of the chapel, somewhat apart from 
 his nobles, who were in deep conference 
 around him. 
 
 " A goodly coil you have brought upon 
 us, my lord," he said, as De Courtnaye 
 approached the presence with his pri- 
 soner, "doubtless our subjects deem that 
 the days of Wat Tyler are to return ; 
 but they shall find that Richard's man- 
 hood hath not forgotten the daring of his 
 youth!" 
 
 •' The coil, my gracious liege," said 
 Courtnaye, humbly kneeling, " the coil 
 is not my work ; but, if it please your 
 grace, and these holy prelates, the de- 
 tection of foul and pestilent heresy in this 
 your grace's loyal city, and in no mean 
 
 member of their lordship's holy order, is 
 my work, assisted by a misbold but faith- 
 ful liegeman," — and he drew from the 
 vest of the bound and sullen Warner the 
 papers which the preceding night they 
 had taken from the person of the Fran- 
 ciscan at Edial. 
 
 The noble ecclesiastic looked round in 
 awakened interest. The poor warden's 
 papers discovered not only the prohibited 
 English translation of the Testament, but 
 also a correspondence between father 
 Heniy Jordan, warden of the Minorites, 
 and Dr. Hereford, one of the Wickliflate 
 leaders of the day, which at once pro- 
 claimed the poor Franciscan a rank he- 
 retic ! 
 
 Sir Lionel was eagerly beginning to 
 speak, when the excellent Dominican 
 putting him aside with gentle force, (for, 
 in truth, the young man was greatly 
 loved by the bishop,) spoke briefly to the 
 archbishops, and apparently with their 
 assent, thus spoke, — 
 
 " Deadly, my liege, is the guilt of 
 this Franciscan, thus clearly avouched — 
 deadly as proclaiming him an unfruitful 
 branch from the tree of the Catholic and 
 Apostolic Church, cast off* for the burn- 
 ing. But since error has blinded his 
 eyes, it remains for us to convince him 
 that the members of the church he hath 
 deserted, judge not after the sight of their 
 eyes nor the hearing of their ears. How- 
 ever these documents have been pro- 
 cured," (and the bishop glanced witlier- 
 ingly at De Courtnaye,) "the warden's 
 charges are too heavy to be dismissed, at 
 least without hearing what he personally 
 may advance in their support." 
 
 Warm debates now ensued, to which 
 the king put an end by saying, " First 
 let that ruffian be thrust forth from the 
 city, and thank his comrades that they 
 have paid his ransom with their heads. 
 Walter of Courtnaye, thou hast presumed 
 deeply on our favour, but we are willing 
 to deem that yon villain hath misled thee, 
 and that thou wilt be foremost to right 
 thine unhappy dame if this friar's tale be 
 true. The knight of Helmhurst may 
 rely on our support even against ourself 
 in any matter of proved injustice. To 
 our privy council, during our approach- 
 ing expedition to Ireland, we commit the 
 management of this perplexed affair ; 
 God prosper the right ! 
 
 (To be continued.)
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD, 
 
 Pa-e tl8. 
 
 THE WITCH HARP. 
 
 Idremene, while riding one beautiful 
 summer's evening near the Lake of Con- 
 stance, became all at once arrested by 
 the wild tones of a harp, seemingly at no 
 great distance from him. The instru- 
 ment, it was plain, was touched by no 
 unpractised hand, for the melody was so 
 sweet and so inexpressibly wild, that 
 Idremene was absolutely in raptures with 
 it. He turned in every direction to seek 
 the charming musician, but all his search- 
 ing proved for some time utterly vain. 
 At length, however, the few faint gleams 
 of departing day, which yet lingered on 
 the horizon, enabled him to discern a 
 female form of more than mortal love- 
 liness seated on the brow of a grassy 
 hillock that partly overhung the brilliant 
 waters of the lake. Her sweetly moulded 
 features were turned toward the sky, and 
 the yet feeble radiance of the early moon 
 shining thereon, gave to them an expres- 
 sion at once enchanting and divine. A 
 profusion of bright golden tresses de- 
 scended from her head to her waist ; and 
 a thin silvery habit, slightly confined 
 
 VOL. I, — 9. 
 
 j at that part with a zone of diamonds, 
 
 I enveloped her fine voluptuous form. A 
 
 harp, c jmposed apparently of silver, stood 
 
 before her, breathing, as often as her 
 
 slender fingers roamed among the strings, 
 
 [ those sweet enchanting tones that Idre- 
 
 I mene had heard. The count having 
 
 spent a few moments in contemplating 
 
 ; the beauteous, and, what he certainly 
 
 considered, unearthly being, alighted from 
 
 i his steed, and silently approached her ; 
 
 he descended the hillock whereon she sat, 
 
 and anon her radiant countenance beamed 
 
 full and sweetly upon him. To Idre- 
 
 mene's surprise, she testified no alarm 
 
 whatever at his approach, neither did she 
 
 i attempt to remove. She ceased her song 
 
 j and fixed her shining eyes upon his 
 
 visage, while he, in a confused manner, 
 
 offered sonie apology for his intrusion. 
 
 " Pardon, beautiful maiden !" he ex- 
 claimed, ** the presumption thy charms 
 have created ; thy syren voice it was 
 that drew me hither ; sure sounds so 
 heavenly never could proceed from mor- 
 tal lips, nor charms so peerless grace a 
 creature of earth." 
 I " You are right," she replied, " in
 
 66 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY J OR. 
 
 Supposing me no eartlily being. You 
 behold, count Idreniene — nay, wonder 
 not at my knowledge of you — you be- 
 hold a daugiifer of this fairy lake I" 
 
 ** Ha !" cried Idreniene, mournfully, 
 " then I shall lose thee." 
 
 *' Nay, not so," answered the beautiful 
 n\ m])!). ** Here, after sunset, shall thou 
 find me the whole summer long. Wilt 
 thou not come again ?" 
 
 Idreniene was at her feet ; her small 
 w hite hand was in his ; and while he 
 beheld his own fine embrowned visage 
 vividly reflected in her large lustrous 
 eyes, he was at leisure to scan more 
 minutely than he had hitherto done, the 
 contour of her's. Her face possessed the 
 hue and transparency of the purest ala- 
 baster ; her tiny pouting lips were tinged 
 with a glow that would have shamed the 
 budding moss-rose ; and her eyes were 
 brilliant, and blue as the waters of her 
 native lake. Her strict feminine love- 
 liness was, perhaps, greatly heightened 
 by the dark manly visage and stalwart 
 form of the German count at her feet. 
 
 A quick withdrawal of the fair hand 
 which he had still continued to press, 
 caused him presently to spring on his 
 feet ; but he was too late to witness the 
 departure of his lovely companion, — she 
 had completely disappeared. He gazed 
 around, but nothing met his eye, except 
 his steed, which, quietly browsing at the 
 foot of the hillock, seemed the only thing 
 of life near him. He looked steadfastly 
 over the waters, but no trace w^hatever 
 of any thing having entered them was 
 visible, — they rested calm and motionless 
 in the dewy moonlight ; the stars shone 
 sweetly, the heavens were without a 
 cloud, and the beautiful scenery around 
 — the woods, the vineyards, and the 
 tovv-er-crowned heights, \^hich so abun- 
 dantly fringe the magnificent Rhine, 
 gleamed wlih moisture in the silvery 
 light. The count sighed deeply, shook 
 the dew from his mantle, and approached 
 his steed ; and often, as he galloped to- 
 wards his home, did his eyes wander back 
 to the hill by the lake. 
 
 The evenings, regular as they came, 
 saw Idremene hasten to his beautiful 
 n\ mpli, and in those delicious interviews 
 did he centre his sole felicity. Few en- 
 joyments, however, are sufii^red to be of 
 very long duration, and Idremene was 
 one to experience the Iruth of the adage. 
 
 His constant evening excursions had long 
 been a subject of wonder to his numerous 
 retainers, and many and various were the 
 conjectures which that contemptible fra- 
 ternity had started touching the why and 
 wherefore. At length the real cause was 
 discovered, and by no less important a 
 personage than Hans the w'oodman. 
 This wight, fearing that some harm 
 threatened the count, as he had no very 
 exalted opinion of the river lady, betook 
 himself one evening to the hermitage of 
 father Aldomir, which hermitage stood at 
 about the distance of three bow-shots from 
 Idremene casile. To its lord the friar 
 was solely indebted for his support, and 
 in return performed the part of medi- 
 ciner to the household, which his know- 
 ledge of herbs, drugs, and the like, ena- 
 bled him skilfully to practise. Aldomir 
 was by no means ascetical himself, though 
 like a true son of the church would he, 
 with a most lengthened and pious exor- 
 dium, frequently set forth the necessity of 
 abstinence and the numberless benefits 
 accruing therefrom ; and with more than 
 stentorian emphasis would he as fre- 
 quently inveigh against the sin of drunk- 
 enness and gluttony, though many a time 
 and oft his own dwelling was the theatre 
 of both. Such was the character of the 
 friar ; to describe his person would be a 
 needless waste of time and paper, — let 
 the reader picture to himself a squat, 
 rubicond, round-headed, rosy-cheeked 
 wM'ght, and he has father Aldomir before 
 him. 
 
 Hans the woodman having armed him- 
 self with a couple of flasks of wine, the 
 choicest the count's cellar would pro- 
 duce, repaired, therefore, to the friar's 
 abode. 
 
 " Enter," he cried to the loud rap of 
 the woodman on the door of his hut. 
 Hans obeyed, and vailing his bonnet, 
 drew a seat towards the rustic table, on 
 which he placed the flasks. The friar's 
 little eyes twinkled joyously at the sight 
 of them, notwithstanding the sharp re- 
 proof which he gave to the woodman. 
 
 ** Nay, holy father," said the latter, 
 *' be not severe ; in sooth, I thought the 
 wine would be of comfort to ye, since the 
 nights are growing chill; but I came 
 hither, father, to discourse with ye on a 
 subject which presses somewhat heavily 
 on my heart." 
 
 " Disburthen thyself straight, my
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FrFLD. 
 
 67 
 
 son," replied the friar ; " for know 'tis 
 in the power of holy church alone to 
 grant thee forgiveness." 
 
 •• Nay, pardon me, father, — 'tis no 
 crime nor sin that 1 have to confess — I 
 came to talk with ye touching an affair of 
 danger towards another." 
 
 " Fie ! fie ! my son," answered Al- 
 domir, who having been occupied in tap- 
 ping and scrutinizing the contents of the 
 flasks, had paid not the strictest attention 
 to the woodman's speech ; " thou only 
 augmentest thy sin in thus striving to 
 elude confession," 
 
 " But, father," cried the woodman, 
 elevating his voice, ** listen to me : I 
 came not, I tell thee, to confession, but 
 to impart to thee a secret of importance. 
 I say tlie count, count Idremeue, our 
 noble master, is threatened with danger." 
 
 ** Hd! what!" said the friar quickly, 
 and now for the first time fixing his tiny 
 blueish orbs on the woodman's visage ; 
 "the count threatened with danger? — 
 From whence ? — from whom ? — Speak, 
 Hans, speak." 
 
 Hans detailed at some length the inter- 
 course of his master with the beautiful 
 harpress, concluding with his profound 
 belief that she certes could be no other 
 than fiend or witch come to carry otf the 
 count to her hellish abode. As to Al- 
 domir, he had done nothing else during 
 the narration but count his beads, cross 
 himself, turn up the whites of his eyes, 
 and utter paternosters in abundance. 
 Shortly, however, he decided on what 
 course it would be mosi. prudent to pro- 
 ceed j he explained to Hans that the 
 harp in question was the same that had 
 allured many a soul to destruction ; that 
 it now pleased heaven to appoint him to 
 break the spell, and render its future 
 power abortive. He was about to enter 
 into a long discussion respecting it, but 
 the castle-bell soundmg the eighth hour 
 of the night caused him to postpone his | 
 design, and accompany the woodman to 
 the lake, which lay at a considerable dis- 
 tance beyond. 
 
 Th« evening was delightful ; stars 
 innumerable thronged the unclouded 
 heaven, and a rich silvery moonlight 
 flooded the landscape. Tim hermitage 
 stood on the border of a magnificent 
 forest, whose glades antl avenues they 
 threaded at a quick pace ; the tall grass 
 beneath tlieir feet, the branches above 
 
 them, and ihe low copse wood which thev 
 brushed as they passed along-, saturated 
 their garments, and soon wetted them 
 through to the skin. The woodman 
 minded it not, neither did the friar, 
 which latter had frequently recourse to 
 one of the flasks, which all his anxietv 
 for the count's safety had not caused hiiii 
 to forget to arm himself with. The 
 nightingale piped melodiously, and the 
 pressure of their feet upon the sward sent 
 forth a continual burst of fragance from 
 the herbs and flowers which so luxuriantly 
 sprinkled it. 
 
 An hour's smart walking brought them 
 in view of the Lake of Constance, which 
 appeared stretching out like a sheet of 
 silver in the moonlight, fringed with its 
 hills of lively and luxuriant green. One 
 hillock towering above the others anon 
 made itself visible, and, seated thereon, 
 they could presently discern two scarcely 
 defined forms. Hastily and stealthily 
 they approached it, and in the few mo- 
 ments they were sufficiently near to dis- 
 tinguish the tones of a liarp, which the 
 following words accompanied : 
 
 Real pleasure flies the festival 
 
 In greenwood bower, in bunner'dhall. 
 
 To revel 'neath the sea : 
 'Tis there alone she loves to reign. 
 There music pours it^ joyous strain, 
 And featlv trip our ocean train, 
 
 Beneath the deep, deep sea. 
 
 " Count," said the harpress, turning 
 from her instrument, and twining her 
 beautiful white arm around his neck, 
 " will you not accompany me ?" 
 
 " 1 will," cried the fascinated Idre- 
 mene, " lead where thou wilt, I'll follow 
 thee." 
 
 " Plunge with me, then, beneath these 
 crystal waters. Your hand— now — " 
 
 '*' Hold, rash man, hold!" bellowed the 
 friar, who at that moment made himself 
 visible on the brow of the hill, putting 
 and blowing from exhaustion, and launch- 
 ing as well and as lustily as he migiit 
 anathemas most formidable on the beau- 
 tiful harpress, a proceeding in which he 
 was materially assisted by the sturdy 
 woodman. 
 
 The voice of Idremene obtained a 
 moment's silence. " What mean ye ?" 
 he loudly and angrily demanded — '* what 
 brought 'ye hither? ' Back, knaves, this 
 moment, or your lives shall answer it — 
 hence, I say !" 
 
 *' No, count Idremene," shouted Al-
 
 f>8 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 <loniir, still loudor, " we are come hither 
 to save you. Sathanaus, avaunt ! Hans, 
 do as I command ye." 
 
 The woodman grappled the coimt 
 unawares, and mimediately pinioned 
 his arms. The friar, meanwhile, ap- 
 proached the harp, on which the female 
 now despondingly clung ; he drew from 
 his bosom a small ebony crucifix, and 
 glancing towards the count, who now 
 passively contemplated his movements, 
 lie uttered some unintelligible sentences, 
 and passed it over the strings. A wild 
 thrilling incoherency of sound imme- 
 diately ensued, — they became red-hot, 
 flamed, — and presently, the harp disap- 
 pearing, a grim, fiendish shape was seen 
 to entwine the lady in its arms, and leap 
 from the rock into the flood at its base. 
 
 All heard the plunge, and instantly 
 approached the brink of the precipice. 
 They beheld the agitated waters sparkle 
 in the moonbeams, and the far spreading 
 gyres which the plash occasioned — buL 
 no trace whatever of the beautiful harp- 
 ress remained. 
 
 THE DETHRONED. 
 
 (Continued from p. Q4.) 
 Warner, perfectly frantic with con- 
 flicting passions, his flesh flayed with 
 lashes, and his mind raw with the sense 
 of his dishonour, and rage for revenge, 
 made instinctively for the forest of Can- 
 nock. In its most westerly thickets stood 
 a wide dreary building, which had once 
 been the abode of a wealthy Franklin ; 
 he had been slain or dispossessed in those 
 ill-governed times, and the house was 
 now ostensibly a hostel, with the sign of 
 the Brazen Helmet. It was a huge 
 straggling structure of rough stone, a 
 perfect jumble of gables and chimnies 
 one over another, miserably out of repair, 
 situated in a deep glade from whence the 
 trees retired, except eight or nine old 
 elms that flung their ample shade over 
 the clambering roof. 
 
 It was about nine o'clock in the even- 
 ing of the day after the bishop's enthrone- 
 ment, when mine host of the Helmet, a 
 powerful but ill-looking fellow, came forth 
 and fixed a blazing pine-torch over the 
 porch, above whicli an old rusty morion 
 claimed the proud title of this wretched 
 inn. In none: of iiis l)est liuniours, (for 
 company had been slack, and the robbers. 
 
 his regular guests, absent an unusual 
 time,) he telt little soothed when, looking 
 into the forest illumined by the red flame, 
 he descried a miserable looking man, 
 with hurried but staggering steps, ad- 
 vancing to the door ; his dress was torn 
 and stained, his eye blood-shot, his whole 
 appearance distracted ; one hand clutched 
 together his dishevelled garments, while 
 the other grasped a sealed packet and a 
 signet ring. 
 
 " How now ?" exclaimed the savage, 
 ** are we to whistle to the wind for lack 
 of company till it sends us a dying man 
 for a guest ?" — for now the figure reeled 
 and fell across the threshold. " But save 
 us !" he continued, as he surveyed more 
 closely the pallid, distorted countenance, 
 till his own seemed to catch its reflected 
 hue, " it cannot be!" 
 
 " Wine, Gotta ! wine, or I die !" fal- 
 tered Warner, for it was he, ** raise me — 
 so — never stare and gasp, man j if I have 
 suffered, I have done also, and there is 
 comfort yet," (smiling ghastfully on the 
 packet in his hand,) " but bring me wine 
 — or rather, bear me in — take down your 
 brand — bolt and bar thy doors," — he at- 
 tempted to rise, but would have fallen, 
 had not Gotta caught him in his arms, 
 and, carrying him like a child into the 
 house, placed him in its principal apart- 
 ment. It was a large room extending 
 over half the building. A plentiful heap 
 of turf and brushwood blazed in a vast 
 vaulted fire-place, whose gaping orifice 
 looked like some temple of the penates. 
 Venison and boar hams, mingled with 
 flitches, bunches of dried herbs, and great 
 ropes of golden onions, swung from the 
 lofty root 5 wooden and iron utensils of 
 cookery, interspersed with less peaceful 
 instruments, hung round the room, which 
 by day was lighted only from the top. 
 
 A melancholy looking, middle-aged 
 woman rose from the long settle by the 
 fire with a scream, as Warner was placed 
 on it ; a sturdy lad was roused from his 
 half-sleep at the apparition ; and a large 
 wolf-dog, whose deep hoarse bark had 
 never ceased since the stranger's ap- 
 proach, now dropped his tail and ears, 
 — whimpered, — laid his monstrous head 
 on Warner's knee, and seemed fully to 
 enter into the melancholy state of his old 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Meat and wine were now brought forth, 
 in attacking which the captain seemed
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 69 
 
 the personification of famine and thirst; 
 and the lustre returned to his blue eye 
 and the colour to his cheek. But ere he 
 detailed his adventures, he requested to 
 be led into the chamber of Dais, ''for 
 such there had been when the house had 
 better owners,) and thither the hostess 
 conducted him. There stripping himself 
 with a groan of rage, shame, and pain, 
 he submitted his lashed shoulders to the 
 eye and hand of his hostess, who, with a 
 skill and tenderness ill suited to her situa- 
 tion and appearance, washed his stripes, 
 fomented them with healing herbs, and, 
 by the various medicaments she em- 
 ployed, showed herself at least as much 
 a mistress of pharmacy as a proficient in 
 cookery. Then having reconducted him 
 to the larger room, she left him to pre- 
 pare the tattered remnants of bygone 
 splendour in the old bed-room for the 
 reception of his wearied frame. When 
 she returned, Warner, now greatly re- 
 cruited, was discoursing vehemently with 
 her husband." 
 
 " The fools !" he said, " and yet faith- 
 ful and brave fools, forgot, when their 
 chief was in danger, that, in rushing to 
 his rescue, they were abandoning the 
 pledge of his safety ; and now she is fled 
 — my men slain, — and myself reduced to 
 the level of a lashed hound !" He paused, 
 and then wringing the host's hand bit- 
 terly, he pursued, " Yet I have motives 
 to live — hopes of triumph ! Vengeance 
 I have already tasted, but I will be glutted 
 with it — glutted. Gotta," and flinging 
 away his liand, he rose and strode up and 
 down the room. ** The haughty Domi- 
 nican I w^ill strike through his niece ; 
 Courtnaye I will destroy by seconding 
 his evil views ; his wife I will make my 
 thrall ; Sybil Burghill his paramour; and 
 the pangs of all this mischief shall con- 
 centrate in the bosom of the plausible 
 Lionel of Helmhurstl This once achieved, 
 1 will think the base scars now burning 
 on my skin, glorious badges — charms 
 that gave me all I \^ anted before, a reason 
 and a spur to cruelty !" 
 
 Here he unfolded' the packet, and read 
 as follows : — 
 
 " Sweet Brother, 
 
 " By the mercy of heaven and the 
 courage of the good warden, I have 
 escaped my cruel thrall, and have taken 
 sanctuary with the prioress of the black 
 Benedictines ; any missives with your 
 
 signet (which the holy father will restore 
 to you when he gives you these) will be 
 welcomed, till you arrange for the final 
 deliverauce of 
 
 *' The widowed Wife of De Courtnaye. 
 
 *' From the house of the Benedictines 
 at Fairwell." 
 
 " By all that's mischievous, how fell 
 these missives into thine hands ?" said 
 Gotta. 
 
 ** I was roaming over the wild Can- 
 nock like a mad wolf; my entrails W'ere 
 consuming away with fury, when I saw 
 a man — I sprung upon him — I had done 
 so were it my own father ! He took the 
 death stroke as calmly as I would a salute 
 from my mistress — staggered on his 
 knees — and, as he clasped his hands — 
 but not to me — my dagger smote him 
 again, for he had the shaven crown, and 
 I was smarting from the smart of shaven 
 crowns ; — he was dead, but I spurned, 
 beat, mangled his carcase, till in my mad 
 rage I tore his vest, and this packet and 
 this signet became mine /" 
 
 " And know ye whom ye slew ? 
 
 *' Know him ?" said the robber, with 
 a horrid change of countenance, '* I ought 
 to know him : he was by my side all the 
 way hither, rising from the bloody turf 
 the moment I turned from him — and there 
 he stands still ! there he stands yet !" (and 
 he pointed to the far and gloomy end of the 
 apartment) " dost thou not see him ? — the 
 spare form clad in grey, the rope girdle, 
 the silver tonsure, the spare forehead — 
 Dost not see him, Gotta ? " 
 
 Words cannot describe the feelings of 
 the host, as he gazed towards the quarter 
 to which Warner's finger pointed ; his 
 eye-balls seemed starting from his head, 
 his knees shook, his teeth clattered, his 
 hair bristled, a perfect epilepsy seemed to 
 have seized him. Such is the power of 
 guilty memory ! There was nothing 
 visible but a long stream of moonlight 
 stealing pallidly through a crevice — yet 
 this little circumstance, at a future period, 
 decided the issue of this story. Warner 
 applied deeply to the wine flagon. 
 
 " Weariness and suffering have dazzled 
 mine eyes and wrecked my mind. Sleep 
 will restore all to-morrow — ay, to-morrow 
 the fool Biddulf will be leading his vassals 
 against the robber's hold — ha ! ha ! old 
 Edial will slack the sleuth-hound ! while 
 this cunningly used," he held up the ring
 
 70 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY 
 
 exultingly, *' .shall make the whipped 
 Warner able to place his foot on prelates 
 and on peers 1" 
 
 We willingly close the scene on this 
 dreadful man, and proceed with the tale. 
 (To be conthiued.J 
 
 GLADIATORY COMBAT. 
 
 The following passage is descriptive 
 of the sanguinary games performed in 
 the Colosseum, and gives a good idea of 
 the barbarous state of Rome in the second 
 century. The hero, a Briton of that pe- 
 riod, is represented as visiting ancient 
 Rome, and describing the various scenes 
 it presented to his eye. 
 
 Such was the enormous crowd of human 
 beings, high and low, assembled in the 
 vast amphitheatre of the Colosseum, that 
 when any motion went through the as- 
 sembly, the noise of their rising up or 
 sitting down could be likened to nothing, 
 except, perhaps, the far-off sullen roaring 
 of the inimitable sea, or the rushing of a 
 great niglit-wind amongst the boughs of 
 a forest. It was the first time that 1 had 
 ever seen a peopled amphitheatre — nay, 
 it was the first time I had ever seen any 
 very great multitude of men assembled 
 together, within any fabric of human 
 erection ; so that you cannot doubt there 
 was, in the scene before me, enough to 
 impress my mind with a very serious 
 feeling of astonishment — not to say of 
 veneration. Not less than eighty thou- 
 sand human beings (for such they told 
 me was the stupendous capacity of the 
 building) were here met together. Such 
 a multitude can nowhere be regarded, 
 without inspiring a certain indefinite in- 
 definable sense of majesty; least of all, 
 when congregated together within the 
 wide sweep of such a glorious edifice as 
 this, and surrounded on all sides with 
 every circumstance of ornament and 
 splendour befitting an everlasting monu- 
 ment of Roman victories, the munifi- 
 cence of Roman princes, and the impe- 
 rial luxury of universal Rome. Judge, 
 then, with what eyes of wonder all this 
 was surveyed by 'me, who had but of 
 yesterday, as it were, emerged from the 
 solitary stillness of a British valley ; who 
 had been accustomed all my life to con- 
 sider, as among the most impressive of 
 human spectacles, the casual passages of 
 a few scores of legionaries through some 
 dark alley of a wood, or awe-struck vil- 
 
 lage of barbarians. Trajan himself was 
 already present, but in nowise, except 
 from the canopy over his ivory chair, to 
 be distinguished from the otiier consul 
 that sat over against him. 
 
 The proclamation being repeated a 
 second time, a door on the right hand of 
 the arena was laid open, and a single 
 trumpet sounded, as it seemed to me, 
 mournfully, while the gladiators marched 
 in with slow steps, each man naked, ex- 
 cept being girt with a cloth about his 
 loins ; bearing on his left arm a small 
 buckler, and having a short straight 
 sword suspended by a cord around his 
 neck. They marched, as I have said, 
 slowly and steadily; so that the whole 
 assembly had full leisure to contemplate 
 the forms of the men : while those who 
 were, or who imagined themselves to be, 
 skilled in the business of the arena, were 
 fixing, in their own minds, on such as 
 they tliought most likely to be victorious, 
 and laying wagers concerning their 
 chance of success, with as much uncon- 
 cern as if they had been contemplating 
 so many irrational animals, or rather, in- 
 deed, I should say, so many senseless 
 pieces of ingenious mechanism. The 
 wide diversity of complexion and feature 
 exhibited among these devoted athletes, 
 aflforded at once a majestic idea of the 
 extent of the Roman empire, and a ter- 
 rible one of the purposes to which that 
 wide sway had been too often made sub- 
 servient. The beautiful Greek, with a 
 coimtenance of noble serenity, and limbs 
 after which the sculptors of his country 
 might have modelled their god-like sym- 
 bols of graceful power, walked side by 
 side with the yellow -bearded savage, 
 whose gigantic muscles had been nerved 
 in the freezing waves of the Elbe or the 
 Danube, or whose thick strong hair was 
 congealed and shagged on his brow with 
 the breath of Scythian or Scandinavian 
 winters. Many fierce Moors and Arabs, 
 and curled Ethiopians, were there, with 
 the beams of the southern sun burnt in 
 every various shade of swarthiness upon 
 their skins. Nor did our own remote 
 island want her representatives in the 
 deadly procession, for I saw among the 
 armed niultitude (and that not altogether 
 without some feelings of more peculiar 
 interest) two or three gaunt barbarians, 
 whose breasts and shoulders bore uncouth 
 marks of blue and pui-ple, so vivid in the
 
 PERILS BY FfOOI) AND FIRl,D. 
 
 71 
 
 tints, that I thought many months could 
 not have elapsed since they must have 
 been wandering in wild freedom along 
 the native ridges of some Silurian or 
 Caledonian forest. As they moved round 
 the arena, some of these men were sa- 
 luted by the whole multitude with noisy 
 acclamations, in token, I supposed, of 
 the approbation wherewith the feats of 
 some former festival had deserved to be 
 remembered. On the appearance of 
 others, groans and hisses were heard 
 from some parts of the amphitheatre, 
 mixed with contending cheers and huzzas 
 from others of the spectators. But by 
 far the greater part were suffered to pass 
 on in silence ; this being in all likelihood 
 the first ; alas ! who could tell whether it 
 might not also be the last day of their 
 sharing in that fearful exhibition ! 
 
 Their masters paired them shortly, and 
 ill succession they began to make proof 
 of I heir fatal skill. At first, Scythian 
 wa^ matched against Scythian — Greek 
 againrt Greek — Ethiopian against Ethio- 
 pian — Spaniard against Spaniard : and 
 I saw the sand dyed beneath their feet 
 with blood streaming from the wounds of 
 kindred hands. But these combats, al- 
 though abundantly bloody and terrible, 
 were regarded only as preludes to the 
 serious business of the day, which con- 
 sisted of duels between Europeans on one 
 side, and Africans on the other; wherein 
 it was the well-nigh intransgressible law 
 of the amphitheatre, that at least one out 
 of every pair of combatants should die on 
 the arena before the eyes of the multitude. 
 Instead of shrinking from the more des- 
 perate brutalities of these latter conflicts, 
 the almost certainty of their fatal termi- 
 nation seemed only to make the assembly 
 gaze on them with a more intense curio- 
 sity, and a more inhuman measure of 
 delight. Methinks I feel as if it were 
 but of yesterday, when — sickened with 
 the protracted terrors of a conflict that 
 seemed as if it were never to have an 
 end, although both the combatants were 
 already covered all over with hideous 
 gashes — I at last bowed down my head, 
 and clasped my hands upon my eyes, to 
 save tlieni from the torture of gazing 
 thereon farther. 
 
 At that instant all were silent, in the 
 contemplation of the breathless strife ; 
 insomuch, that a groan, the first that had 
 escaped from either of the combatants, 
 
 although low and relu«,-tant, and lialf-sup- 
 I pressed, sounded quite distinctly amid 
 the deep hush of the assembly, and being 
 t constrained thereby to turn mine eyes 
 once more downwards, I beheld that, at 
 i length, one of the two had received the 
 I sword of his adversary quite through his 
 body, and had sunk before him upon the 
 sand. A beautiful young man was he 
 that had received this harm, with fair 
 hair, clustered with glossy ringlets upon 
 his neck and brows ; but 'the sickness of 
 his wound was already visible on his 
 drooping eyelids, and his lips were pale, 
 as if the blush had rushed from them to 
 the untimely outlet. Nevertheless, the 
 Moorish gladiator who had fought with 
 him, had drawn forth again his weapon, 
 and stood there, awaiting in silence the 
 decision of the multitude, whether at once 
 to slay the defenceless youth, or to assist 
 in removing him from the arena, if per- 
 chance the blood might be stopped from 
 flowing, and some hope of recovery even 
 yet extended to him. Hereupon there 
 arose, on the instant, a loud voice of 
 contention; and it seemed to me as if 
 the wounded man regarded the multitude 
 with a proud, and withal a contemptuous 
 glance; being aware, without question, 
 that he had executed all things so as to 
 deserve their compassion, but aware, 
 moreover, that even had that been freely 
 vouchsafed to him, it was too late for any 
 hope of safety. But the cruelty of their 
 faces, it may be, and the loudness of their 
 cries, were a sorrow to him, and filled his 
 dying breast with loathing. Whether or 
 not the haughtiness of his countenance 
 had been observed by them with dis- 
 pleasure, I cannot say ; but so it was, 
 that those who had cried out to give a 
 chance of recovery, were speedily silent ; 
 and the emperor looking round, and 
 seeing all the thumbs turned downwards 
 (for that, you know, is the signal of 
 death), was constrained to give the sign, 
 and forthwith the young man, receiving 
 again without a struggle the sword of 
 the Moor into his gashed bosom, breathed 
 forth his life, and lay stretched out in his 
 blood upon the place of guilt. With that 
 a joyous clamour was uplifted by many 
 of those that looked upon it; and the 
 victorious Moor being crowned with an 
 ivy garland, was carried in procession 
 around the arena by certain young men, 
 who leaped down for that purpose from
 
 Tl 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY J OR, 
 
 the midst of the assembly. In the mean 
 time, those that had tlie care of such 
 things, dragged away, with a filthy hook, 
 the corpse of him that had been slain ; 
 and then raking up the sand over the 
 blood that had fallen from him, prepared 
 the place, with indifferent countenances, 
 for some other cruel tragedy of the same 
 kind, while all around me the spectators 
 were seen rising from their places and 
 saluting each other ; and there was a 
 buzz of talking as universal as the silence 
 had been during the combat; some 
 speaking of it, and paying and receiving 
 money lost and won upon its issue; some 
 already laughing merrily, and discoursing 
 concerning other matters, even as if 
 nothing uncommon had been witnessed; 
 w^hile others again appeared to be entirely 
 occupied with the martial music which 
 ever struck up majestically at such pauses 
 in the course of the cruel exhibition ; 
 some beating time upon the benches be- 
 fore them ; others, lightly joining their 
 voices in umson with the proud notes of 
 the trumpets and clarions. 
 
 THE VARDARELLI BAND. 
 
 The Vardarelli band, so called from 
 their chief, and his brothers, had for 
 more tlian two years committed great 
 depredations in Apulia, until at length 
 they were allowed to form a regular 
 corps, still commanded by the same 
 leader, who received a monthly salary, 
 and engaged to secure the provincas 
 which he had so long ravaoed from all 
 similar attacks in future. In 1811, the 
 remains of this band presented themselves 
 to the general commanding Foggia, and 
 had an altercation with him. The gene- 
 ral finally commanded the two leaders to 
 repair to his own apartment to speak to 
 them ; this they objected to do without 
 their arms, which they declared they 
 would never part from; and it is sup- 
 posed that the language they made use 
 of in the course of their argument so 
 exasperated the officer, that he roughly 
 pushed one of them back, who was using 
 threatening gestures, on which the other 
 fired his musket at him, but having 
 missed his mark, was shot dead on the 
 spot by the sentry at the gate ; this was 
 the signal for an attack from his com- 
 panions, that was immediately answered 
 by a round of musketry from the troops 
 who were drawn out close to them, which 
 
 killed several, and spread consternation 
 among the crowds of towns people who 
 had assembled on the spot. Four of the 
 band who had presence of mind to spring 
 upon their horses, escaped in different 
 directions out of the town, though fol- 
 lowed by cavalry, and fired at as they 
 fled. Another portion were made pri- 
 soners ; but a third division sought secu- 
 rity in a cellar, the first place of refuge 
 which offered itself, and which, having 
 one very low entrance, afforded them a 
 defensible asylum for some time; the 
 depth and darkness of this receptacle, 
 made it difficult to attack them with 
 success, for they killed a soldier and 
 wounded several others who ventured 
 too near the aperture. Of this last des- 
 perate set, four, however, gave them- 
 selves up, and made known the number 
 tliat remained. In order to bring to as 
 speedy a termination as possible the dis- 
 may and agitation which this event had 
 spread throughout the city, two of those 
 who had been last taken were sent to 
 their companions, with their hands tied, 
 to persuade them to surrender, and to 
 inform them that if they persevered in a 
 resistance, which, from the local nature 
 of their retreat, must be unavailing, a 
 straw fire would be lighted at the orifice, 
 as the only means of hastening their com- 
 pliance or destruction. The unfortunate 
 men never returned, and no answer being 
 given, this threat was put into actual 
 execution, and the aperture blocked up 
 with stones. Imagination pictures their 
 situation as most horrible ; but its terrors 
 were eluded by the last resource of 
 despair. Two hours after, the cellar was 
 entered without opposition, and their life- 
 less bodies, covered with wounds, indi- 
 cated the death they had received at each 
 other's hands. 
 
 QUIN. 
 
 The instruction of king George III. 
 in elocution, was assigned to the cele- 
 brated Quin, under whose direction plays 
 were sometimes performed at Leicester 
 House by the younger branches of the 
 royal family. Quin, who afterwards ob- 
 tained a pension for liis services, was 
 justly proud of the distinction conferred 
 on him ; and when he heard of the grace- 
 ful manner in which his majesty delivered 
 his first speech from the throne, he cried 
 out, "Aye, I taught the boy to speak."
 
 pi;Kir>i Rv FT,r)ni) an'i> F'Trrn, 
 
 73 
 
 THE LAST OF THEIR RACE: 
 
 A TAL£ OF THE MEST. 
 
 Though romance, novel and tale, have 
 been poured forth with a liberal hand 
 for many years, and human life (and 
 oftentimes sometliing beyond humanity) 
 has been })ictured in almost every shape 
 and variety of circumstance, still there 
 aie large and unexplored fields, from 
 whence an inexhaustible fund may be 
 drawn, for the amusement of such as 
 delight to ramble in the wilds of fiction, 
 and lose themselves, their joys and sor- 
 rows, in those of an imaginary being, or 
 one who lived ** to grace the world some 
 centuries gone bye." Every village has 
 its tale — every romantic situation, tor- 
 rent, or fountain, has its legend ; and, 
 long before an hundredth part has been 
 gi-en to the world, this generation will 
 iiave passed away, and other men will fill 
 their places, 
 
 Tiie family of Trenance once held a 
 distinguished station among the worthies 
 of the west, but they have all vanished 
 before the wand of the great magician 
 death; their names are nearly forgotten, 
 
 VOL. I. — 10. 
 
 Page 76. 
 
 their mansion has sunk to the ground, 
 and their lands are gone to other hands, 
 who knew them not, or perhaps only as 
 dependants upon the lords of the soil they 
 now call their own. The following story 
 of one of them was told me a short time 
 since, and, like a good citizen, 1 hasten 
 to give it to my fellow subjects and bre- 
 thren of the realm, to repay some of 
 them (as far as my abilities will permit) 
 for the pleasure they have given me in 
 the perusal of tales, with which mine can 
 never be brought into comparison ; to 
 amuse others, whose good offices I thank- 
 fully acknowledge ; to the public, " all 
 and every of them," for I liave long lived 
 upon their bounty j and perhaps to in- 
 dulge a little vanity of my own, willing 
 to see myself in print. 
 
 Early in the morning of the 23d July, 
 1595, two gallies, making towards tiie 
 land, were discovered by the inhabitants 
 of the town of Mousehole. The terrors 
 of the Spanish Armada had hardly sub- 
 sided, and as tliese were evidently ves- 
 sels of war, they were viewed with much 
 anxiety, and various were tlie conjectures 
 as to the purport of their visit ; that th;'y 
 
 L
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 were strangers was plainly seen by the 
 working of their vessels, but, of wliut 
 nation could not be ascertained, as only 
 one boat was at that time near them, and 
 this they detained, whether in order 
 to prevent the people on shore being 
 alarmed and prepared to resist invasion, 
 or as a pilot, was not known ; but the in- 
 habitants of the town were not left long in 
 suspense ; for on reaching the rock called 
 the Merlin, they hoisted Spanish colours, 
 and immediately landing some men, com- 
 menced hostilities. When taken by sur- 
 prise, men have rarely readiness of mind 
 to escape a threatening evil, and gene- 
 rally use methods to avoid danger quite 
 contrary to what they would have done 
 had the event been foreseen : thus, in- 
 stead of opposing the invaders, the people 
 fled in every direction, and the work of 
 fire and plunder was carried on without 
 opposition. Superstition, as powerful as 
 an enemy, aided the bold intruders, in 
 the shape of an old prophesy, which 
 stated — ^* liiat strange men should land 
 on the Merlin, and destroy Newlyn, 
 Mousehole and Paul." So universal was 
 the panic, from the belief this prophesy 
 was now about to be fulfilled, that it 
 was some time before any one could be 
 brought to oppose the enemy ; but when 
 tlie first alarm had passed away, they saw 
 the absurdity of such conduct, and rushed 
 to the combat. It was then the invaders 
 had to repent of their temerity, and njake 
 a precipitate retreat, to escape being in 
 turn reduced to the necessity of surren- 
 dering to the mercy of an incensed foe. 
 
 At this time the family of sir Edward 
 Trenance were on a visit to Mousehole, 
 and in the confusion of the moment, when 
 nearly the whole attention of every one 
 was to secure their own safety, it was not 
 noticed that the stringers, in their re- 
 treat, had carried off Uter Trenance, a 
 fine boy, five years of age, and the crew 
 of the boat they had first detained, as 
 living testimonies of their courageous in- 
 vasion of the British coast. 
 
 Sir Edward was at this time employed 
 in the service of his country in another 
 part of the kingdom. The mother, in 
 her despair for the loss of her boy, knew 
 not what course to follow, and several 
 days elapsed before she cotdd summon 
 courage to inform her husband of the 
 event which had robbed him of his great- 
 est pride — his only son. This delay, and 
 
 the tedious travelling of that period, pre- 
 vented immediate pursuit, and the Spa- 
 nish gallies were far, far away, before 
 any attempt could be made to recover 
 the infant prisoner. In the meantime 
 gaily over the waves sped the barks of 
 Spain ; they were going to their homes 
 triumphant; they were returning to the 
 land of their birth, pleasure dancing in 
 their eyes, while the olive cheek glowed 
 with feelings of delight, and the gay and 
 joyous songs of Spain echoed from one to 
 the other of the crew, as they neared the 
 port to which they belonged — their own 
 dear home — while the English prisoners, 
 dejected and sorrowful, looked wistfully 
 as the hills of Britain sank beneath the 
 horizon, and the thoughts of a long and 
 tedious captivity clouded the brow, and 
 made tears involuntarily gush from eyes 
 that would have looked on death with 
 composure. 
 
 The vessels reached the Spanish port 
 in safety ; but beyond this, though thou- 
 sands were expended to get tidings of 
 the lost one, year after year no informa- 
 tion could be obtained. This was the 
 first great stroke levelled at the prosperity 
 of the Trenance family, —the commence- 
 ment of misfortunes which humbled their 
 pride, and taught them to respect the 
 misfortunes of others, by the remem- 
 brance of their own. 
 
 Fifteen years had nearly passed since 
 the loss of the boy : though sir Edward 
 was not old in years, sorrow had bent 
 him down, and he bore the marks of 
 extreme old age ; he had lost his influ- 
 ence in the council chamber — bolder, if 
 not better, courtiers had usurped his 
 place ; his wife and children were all 
 swept away, — he had seen them, one 
 after the other, go down to the grave, yet 
 it was not till the last of his race had 
 fallen asleep in death that the man gave 
 way to the Either, and he wept, as he found 
 himself, like the solitary palm of the desert, 
 living amidst eternal barrenness, a dry 
 and withered trunk. 
 
 Providence, m pity to our weakness, has 
 given hope to illumine the dark passages 
 in our lives, and now, when every other 
 object on which he had to depend was 
 gone, the thought of his long lost son came 
 to his imagination, and a hope that he 
 might once more be restored to hi.s arms. 
 
 This hope, this joywas fondly fhi-vishcd, 
 Wliou every otiicr liopo had j)erif,t:ed ;
 
 PRRILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 75 
 
 and supported sir Edward in his lone- 
 liness, — perhaps he was now the only I 
 being of his name, the last of all his ' 
 father's sons, and the sole survivor of a 
 family who had inherited the title he bore 
 for a long succession of years ; but he 
 hoped that one day, by some event, his 
 son — his long lost son — would be re- 
 stored ; and, ere the grave covered him, 
 that son would be at hand to minister to 
 his dying hours, to transmit to posterity 
 the name and virtues of his forefathers, 
 and be the support and protector of the 
 numerous tenantry and dependants of the 
 family. 
 
 Another year passed, no tidings came 
 to cheer the dwelling of Trenance, and 
 he determined, as a last attempt, to em- 
 bark himself for Spain. The following 
 spring was to see him leave England, 
 and a vessel, fitted up for his accommo- 
 dation, was undergoing the necessary 
 repairs in a little creek, called the Gan- 
 nel, on the north coast of Cornwall. 
 
 Preparatory to this voyage, sir Edward 
 removed from his principal residence to 
 a small habitation near the place he de- 
 signed to embark from. February was to 
 have been the time of saiUng — December 
 was already past — January had num- 
 bered some of his days, when a series of 
 storms arose, and with them an event 
 which entirely changed the prospects of 
 Trenance. 
 
 Though the month of January, 1602, , 
 was remarkable for tempestuous weather, 
 yet the fifteenth of that month was pecu- 
 liarly a day of storms ; from sunrise to 
 sunset the heavens were overshadowed I 
 with immense masses of black clouds, ^ 
 from which fell torrents of cold sleety 
 rain; and the wind from the north-west, ' 
 full on the shore, had lashed the waves 
 into a sheet of foam along the whole line ! 
 of coast. The labours of the husband- 
 man and the inhabitants of the inland 
 districts were entirely suspended, while | 
 the fishermen, seamen, and the dwellers ; 
 in the villages bordering the sea, were 
 on the alert to secure their own property, 
 and, at the same time, keeping a sharp 
 look-out to see if any vessel in distress 
 approached the shore ; this, from the na- 
 ture of the coast, would in all probability 
 be certain destruction, and from which 
 many had and still hoped to derive great 
 advantage. 
 
 Night closed upon the scene, and, 
 
 saving the hollow, heavy roll of the 
 ground sea, and the roar of the storm, all 
 was at rest, exceptmg a few individuals 
 rambling about among the cliffs, intent 
 on securing such articles as the waves 
 might throw upon the shore, and to ap- 
 propriate them to their own benefit. The 
 wind did not abate, but rather increased 
 with the night j still, however, nothing 
 occurred to disturb the slumbers of those 
 who had retired to repose, until about 
 an hour after midnight, when the heavy 
 boom of a signal gun told that some 
 vessel was driving towards the shore. 
 Another and another sounded gloomily 
 over the deep, and aroused the sleepers 
 from their beds. In a short space of 
 time, half-dressed people might be seen 
 hurrying to and fro, and the rocks were 
 covered with people anxiously looking to 
 the quarter from whence the signals of 
 distress came, endeavouring to discover, 
 from the lights on board, what she was, 
 and the probability of her keeping the 
 sea till daybreak, the time of high water, 
 and the only period that any hopes of 
 saving the vessel or crew could be enter- 
 tained. 
 
 At tiiis moment how fearful and terrible 
 were the workings of Providence 5 the 
 ocean, bursting over the immense rocks 
 of the Towan head, was covered with 
 foam, which the wind carried to the land 
 like flakes of snow ; the ship in the oflBng 
 hanging between life and death as it were 
 by a thread, while the exertions of those 
 on board, as they appeared through a 
 glass, seemed more than human ; then 
 the demoniac joy and yells of the plun- 
 derers waiting on the shore for their 
 prey, contrasted with the determined air 
 of those on the side of humanity, who 
 were resolved to oppose any attempt of 
 the other party to add to the miseries 
 of the distressed mariners, proved that 
 human passions were as wild and hard 
 to be controlled as the fury of the ele- 
 ments. These were rough times : the 
 people were but half civilized, and wanted 
 powerful examples to subdue the natural 
 propensity in uncultivated minds to con- 
 sider property thus driven on the coast as 
 their own ; but now the inhabitants of 
 this county are as humane as any, who, 
 moving in polished society, shrink with 
 horror at the name of a wrecker. 
 
 The morning at last slowly began to 
 dawn, and then the ship could be plainly 
 L 2
 
 70 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 OR, 
 
 (lisi overed at a slmrt distance iVom tl}e 
 headland, pitching at times with awful 
 fury in the waves ; and at another nio- 
 nient, lifted by the ocean swell high aloft, 
 to be again lost in the foaming abyss. 
 
 Among the number who crowded the 
 rocks was sir Edward Trenauce and some 
 of the neighbouring gentry ; to them the 
 scene was by no means new, and they 
 tried every method to restrain the wild 
 passions of those by whom they were 
 surroundea, exhorting them to behave 
 like men who had a love towards their 
 fellows, and promising rewards to any 
 who might rescue from a watery grave 
 the expected victims of the storm. 
 
 ft was now near high water, the only 
 moment that a chance appeared of escape, 
 and anxious were the thoughts of all 
 turned upon the possibility of some one 
 being on board, who, knowing the coast, 
 might embrace the favourable opportu- 
 nity. Till this time the ship had tried to 
 weather the headlands and keep to sea, 
 but now, all at once, her head was toward 
 the land, and driving furiously on the 
 wings of the storm to tiie shore. 
 
 " Bravo ! bravo !" said an old seaman, 
 " there is in that vessel some person who 
 knows the land, and well too; I'll war- 
 rant he has boxed the old Towan befoie 
 to-day many a good time ; poor fellows, 
 in a quarter of an hour, all will be over, 
 perhaps asleep with old Davy — but no 
 matter, here's to lend a hand to save 
 them." 
 
 *' As you hope for mercy when you 
 die," said sir Edward, to the men around 
 him, *' as you wish for the safety of your 
 own when on the sea, do I entreat you 
 save the lives, and let not your names be 
 disgraced, and your after lives made mi- 
 serable by the thought that you have not 
 done your duty to God, and your bre- 
 thren in distress." 
 
 There was not time for further obser- 
 vation; the vessel, with the velocity of 
 lightning, rounded the head ; not a sail 
 was on her — onward she dashed through 
 the tremendous sea, and though she was 
 managed in a most admirable manner, 
 tlie chances of safety compared with that 
 of her total loss were so feeble, that men 
 seemed afraid to breathe lest they should 
 break the chain of thouglit, and confuse 
 the ideas which the helmsman had so 
 skilfully brought into action. 
 
 Exullingly sir Edward saw the dangers 
 
 of the navigation one after the other 
 avoided, and hoped that finally she would 
 reach the creek at the bottom of the bay, 
 where, ran on the beach, she would have 
 been in safety ; but the workings of Pro- 
 vidence are mysterious; we see yet can- 
 not comprehend ; the blow is struck, the 
 thing is completed, though we know not 
 the reason ; the cause, the spring of all, is 
 veiled from human eyes ; thus, the noble 
 vessel which had withstood the buffets of 
 the waves, and had ridden through storms 
 uninjured, was now doomed for destruc- 
 tion ; the danger was nearly over — a 
 minute, and all would have been well, 
 when, at only a cable's length from the 
 shore, she struck on a rock at the entrance 
 of the creek ; swang round with her 
 broadside to the waves, and in a few- 
 seconds was in pieces. Then was heard 
 a confused cry of exultation and horror, 
 entreaty and execration terribly mingled j 
 ihe rushing of one party to plunder, the 
 other to save; the ocean strewed with 
 fragments of the wreck ; men clinging 
 convulsively to the floating spars and 
 pieces of the vessel ; some beating ofi'the 
 waves with their strong sinewy arms ; 
 while others, worn out w'ith fatigue, sank 
 before the eyes of men who would have 
 risked their lives to save them, had the 
 means been in their power. Two men 
 were noticed beyond all the rest in this 
 struggle for life ; they had been seen at 
 the helm nearly all the time the vessel 
 was beating about before she ran on 
 shore, and now appeared to act with a 
 coolness and self-possession almost incre- 
 dible ; not an advantage or favourable 
 circumstance occurred, but it was seized 
 at the instant, and in all probability they 
 would have saved themselves, when a 
 huge curling wave broke over them, and 
 dashed them both full against the rocky 
 shore ; another wave instantly succeeded, 
 they were whirled around in the boiling 
 eddy, and were then cast with fury on 
 the land. As the waters receded, they 
 were left on the beach, stunned with the 
 force of the blows they had received, and 
 so cut and bruised as to be incapable of 
 moving. In the hope of rescuing them 
 from death, several persons ran towards 
 them, and before the waves again re- 
 turned, they were removed out of their 
 reach, though in all appearance dead ; 
 they were taken to the house of sir Ed- 
 ward, and assistance innnediately pro-
 
 PERILS BY KLOOD AND FIKLD. 
 
 77 
 
 cnretl ; but the storm had done its work, 
 the victims were selected, and the sacri- 
 fice paid, for the elder of the two only 
 recovered, the other slept in death. Bet- 
 ter had it been for sir Edward's peace 
 that they both had died : then he would 
 not have known the extent of his misery ; 
 but now he felt that intensity of grief, 
 which, though momentarily like the light- 
 ning's flash, sears up the heart, and 
 instantaneously stops the life's pulse ; for 
 the stranger, on his recovery, had com- 
 municated tidings which deprived him of 
 sense and feeling, and completed the 
 number of days allotted for his existence. 
 The younger stranger, now brought to 
 die as it were at his own door, was his 
 son, returning from captivity in Spain ; 
 he who had suffered cruelty, oppression 
 and slavery, had survived the tempest 
 and storms, for many years toiling in the 
 Spanish galleys, the evil efiects of climate, 
 and every otl)er misery, was now, when 
 England's shores had opened to his view, 
 and he was rejoicing at the near approach 
 of happiness, cut off ere he had tasted the 
 promised bliss, and the moment he had 
 touched the land of his fathers, death 
 (perhaps in mercy) loosed him from all 
 captivity, and set liim free. Sir Edward 
 and his son now rest in the same grave, 
 the last of their line ; their names and 
 story are still sometimes mentioned, but 
 to most of the world it is not even known 
 that such persons existed ; while others 
 make use of their history to prove that 
 God had inflicted this punishment, and 
 destroyed the family of Trenance for 
 some misdeeds of one of their ancestors ; 
 that such is said ought not to surprise us, 
 it is sufficient to know 
 
 Men's evil deeds are written in brass. 
 Their good ones in water. 
 
 But they are gone to their dread ordeal, 
 where an all-wise and inscrutable Pro- 
 vidence reigns, and we who hve at the 
 present should not condemn faults in 
 others, but leave that to their maker, God. 
 
 THE DETHRONED. 
 
 (Continued from p. 7 O.J 
 During the winter months that now 
 rapidly approached and passed away, we 
 will as rapidly sketch the events belong- 
 ing to this story. De Courtnaye accom- 
 panied the king to Ireland, and sir Lionel, 
 after an ineffectual search after iiis sister, 
 whose letter from Fairwell we have seen 
 
 never reached iiim, left Helmhurst to 
 join the king, about a ueek before mis- 
 sives came from the prioress, declaring 
 her " satisfaction in having sheltered hi's 
 sister, who, she stated had, according to 
 the directions conveyed under his signet, 
 proceeded from the convent, under the 
 protection of four men in the Biddulf 
 livery, for her brother's hall in Helmhurst, 
 where the lady prioress trusted te hear of 
 her safe aiTival.' This letter lay some 
 months at Helmhurst, till it was forwarded 
 with others to the absent knight. 
 
 Meanwhile, of the hapless baroness 
 nothing was heard or seen. \\"arner, too, 
 had disappeared ; it was conjectured he 
 had accompanied De Courtnaye, and 
 there seemed grounds for his opinion ; for 
 when, in the close of May, the baron, by 
 his patron's permission, returned to pro- 
 secute his suit with Sybil, Warner was 
 seen in more obsequious attendance upon 
 him than ever. The followers of De 
 Biddulf, in wrath at their unsuccessful 
 march, had burnt the old hall to the 
 ground, and the robber chief now formed 
 one of De Courtnaye's household. 
 
 The growing disturbances of the time 
 soon superseded the horror occasioned by 
 the murder of the warden ; and sir Lionel 
 had the misery of leaving his revered 
 friend in the bloody grave, and his sister 
 in unknown perils, without being able to 
 avenge the one or to succour the other. 
 Thus the spring passed away, and the 
 great festival of Whitsuntide approached. 
 The kingdom was now distracted by wars 
 and rumours of wars. The internal mis- 
 management of the realm, the regency 
 of the duke of York, his uncle, and the 
 unseasonable expedition of Richard into 
 Ireland, together with the urgent invita- 
 tions of his numerous and powerful friends 
 in England, had induced the duke of 
 Hereford to meditate a return from his 
 exile. Report at this time had anticipated 
 his arrival and magnified his forces. 
 
 Meanwhile the lord Courtnaye received 
 his dismissal from the bishop, and his 
 visits to the palace were prohiijited. De 
 Burghill was called to London by the 
 alarming exigences of the times ; when 
 one morning, as Sybil was mournfully 
 sitting in her bower in the highest story 
 of the eastern tower of the palace, gazing 
 abstractedly over the blue hills and woods 
 of Leicestershire, a notice was placed in 
 her hand by one of her maidens, who said
 
 '8 
 
 TALKS OF CIIIVALRV ; OK, 
 
 that a muffled stranger had thrown it into 
 the gateway. It warned her of appearing 
 in the approaching festival of Whit-Mon- 
 day, where, from her rank as the bishop's 
 niece, it would be expected she should 
 bear one of the tutelary saints to be 
 blessed by the priest of St. Mary's. 
 
 " If," continued the letter, " you dare 
 abide the result, go as usual, but have a 
 sutlicient body of the bishop's yeomen 
 about you well armed ; when you anive 
 opposite the hostel called * The Pilgrim's 
 Rest,' you will see a band habited like 
 Robin Hood and his men; — let no fear 
 unnerve you ; they will approach you, 
 but give your people strict orders to seize 
 Robin Hood and Scathelock : have them 
 conveyed forthwith to the Guildhall, and 
 there will meet you one who humbly 
 hopes that her zeal in your behalf may 
 make amends for an ill-spent life." 
 
 It was at the next meeting of the archers 
 at the Shooting Butts, on that fair hill 
 north of the Close, called The Bishop's 
 Walkj and commanding the Minster, the 
 palace, the city, and the various churches 
 of Licliiield, that Sybil had an opportunity 
 of putting this mysterious scroll in the 
 hands of sir Reginald Dyott of Stich- 
 brooke, a distant kinsman of her father's. 
 He not only attached importance to it, 
 but advised Sybil to mingle as usual in 
 the procession, taking upon Jiimself the 
 preparation and the conduct of the pro- 
 posed means of precaution. 
 
 Accordingly, the important Monday 
 came. The various acts commencing 
 with Edward the Confessor, confirmed by 
 Henry the Second, and subsequently by 
 Edward the First, at Winchester, esta- 
 blished the rites uf this festival, entitled 
 
 THE ARRAY OF ARMOUR. 
 
 The citizens confederated to defend the 
 kingdom against all foreigners and ene- 
 mies. Every man between fifteen and 
 sixty was to be assessed and sworn to 
 armour, according to the amount of their 
 property — the richest in a hauberke or 
 breastplate of iron, a sword, a knife, and 
 a horse ; others a doublet, a breastplate 
 of iron, a sword, and a knife ; those less 
 wealthy a sword, a bow and arrows, and 
 a knife ; others again were to keep gis- 
 armes, knives, and other less weapons. 
 Constables were to be sworn to survey 
 these arms, and to note their defects. 
 But the point most bearing on our story 
 is, that these constables were to present 
 
 " all such as do lodge strangers in up- 
 landish townSy for whom they will not 
 answer.'' 
 
 It was after the service of Tierce had 
 been performed in the palace chapel on 
 this high festival, that Sybil de Burghill, 
 bearing a silver effigy of the Virgin, and 
 attended by sir Reginald Dyott and her 
 seneschal, w ith an escort of twenty men- 
 at-arms, passed through the postern of the 
 palace, and was ushered into the city 
 through the southern or Langton's gate, 
 as it was called, leading from the Close. 
 Lichfield had put on her beautiful gar- 
 ments. The different belfries mingled 
 their sounds with numerous bands of 
 music. Processions were moving in every 
 quarter. Persons of the first considera- 
 tion in the city and neighbourhood vied 
 with each other in their offerings. Mys- 
 teries and pageants showed their barbaric 
 costume in every street. Bands of men, 
 imitating, with shirts and ribbons, the 
 Moresco costume, were seen in every cor- 
 ner performing sarabands, chacons, &c., 
 while the priest of St. Mary's, in full 
 pontificals, stood in the church-porch, 
 blessing, receiving, and ushering to their 
 shrine the various images as they were 
 presented. 
 
 Sybil, with her splendid suite, crossed 
 the east angle of the market-place, the 
 crowd separating with the profoundest 
 demonstrations of respect as she passed ; 
 and having made her offering and knelt 
 to receive the old man's benediction, 
 moved round the west end towards St. 
 Michael's Hill, to inspect, according to 
 usage, the array of armour displayed in a 
 building erected for that purpose. When 
 she arrived opposite the Pilgrim's Rest, 
 in Tamworth Street, she saw% exactly as 
 the unknown had told her, a superbly 
 dressed and numerous troop of foresters, 
 with vizors, representing the outlaws of 
 merry Sherwood. So attractive was the 
 appearance of these masquers, that Sybil 
 for a single moment paused ere she dis- 
 turbed their revels ; but seeing them gra- 
 dually advancing towards her, she looked 
 in alarm to sir Reginald Dyott ; — he gave 
 the preconcerted signal, and in an instant 
 the men-at-arms surrounded and arrested 
 the two principal masquers with many of 
 their band ; they were quickly divested 
 of their vizors, &c. and discovered to the 
 eyes of the astonished multitude at least 
 more weapons and defensive armour than
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 79 
 
 was st'pulated by the " Cotirt of Array ." 
 The leaders being no other than the noble 
 baron Walter, and his accomplice in all 
 evil, the ** pitiless and merciless" captain 
 Warner. 
 
 We will, however, follow these wor- 
 thies, who (while Sybil in the greatest 
 consternation was escorted back to the 
 palace) were accompanied by a vast 
 crowd into the Guildhall, where the city 
 magistrates were then holding their court. 
 Close to the elevated seat of these func- 
 tionaries, was discovered a female deeply 
 muffled, in earnest conference ; and on 
 the prisoners being placed before them, 
 tlie chief magistrate addressed her aloud, 
 
 " Hofried of the Wood ! thou seest thy 
 bidding hath been done ; those whom thou 
 hast impeached are before thee, without 
 the aid of the civic bands, which doubt- 
 less we would have lent thee to coerce 
 such daring disturbers of our city charter ; 
 yea, though it were the king himself," 
 added the worthy bailiff, glancing at the 
 lord Courtnaye with a look in which 
 habitual respect for nobility seemed 
 strangely at variance with the import- 
 ance of a justice of the peace. 
 
 " Here, then," said the woman, throw- 
 ing back her muffler, and disclosing to 
 the scowling Warner the hostess of the 
 Brazen Helmet, — " here I proclaim that 
 the much wronged Rosamund, styled 
 baroness of Courtnaye, still lives — that 
 she hath been for months the thrall of the 
 ruffian Warner, from whom my influence \ 
 and presence have alone prevented her 
 receiving the last indignity. She now 
 languishes in a most cunning hiding- 
 place, at the hostel of the Brazen Helmet, 
 in the forest. My wretched husband is 
 there, too, lunatic with remorse ; and I, * 
 miserable woman, desperate of any longer ' 
 interposing between that miscreant and 
 his captive, appear in this court as one 
 who harhoureth strangers for whom she 
 will not answer'-"' — liere the unhappy 
 being was conveyed from the hall in a 
 strong fit. 
 
 ** Sir Baihffl" said De Courtnaye, 
 whose proud spirit seemed broken to the 
 ground at this dreadful exposure, and 
 who had stood pale with humiliation and 
 guilt — " Sir Bailiff, my sins have found 
 me out : all that she has advanced is true 
 — but it was that villain who, fostering 
 my evil designs when in their infancy, 
 reared them till they became the mon- 
 
 sters that are now dragged forth to the 
 hatred of my fellows !" 
 
 *' Our bond is cancelled, then, at last !" 
 shouted Warner ; and before an arm couid 
 be raised to prevent him, a concealed 
 knife gleamed in his uplifted hand, and 
 ere one pulse could quicken in that hall, 
 was buried in the throat of De Court- 
 naye, where his armour left it exposed ; 
 he fell, choked with blood, and expired 
 instantly ! 
 
 In the midst of the tumult that imme- 
 diately arose in the court, loud cries were 
 heard from without, and, as if to make 
 *' confusion more confounded," a horse- 
 nian, draggled with dust and sweat, rushed 
 into the Town Hall with the astounding 
 intelligence that the duke of Lancaster, 
 whose landing had long been announced, 
 was advancing to Lichfield, with Richard 
 of Bordeaux in his keeping, and was now 
 within a day's journey of the city. Fresh 
 messengers poured in — the court rose in 
 the utmost disorder — and, when some- 
 thing like composure was restored, War- 
 ner was no wliere to be found. 
 (To be continued.) 
 
 A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. 
 
 Chevert, an eminent French general, 
 and one of the bravest men whoever lived, 
 was originally a destitute orphan, and en- 
 tered the army as a common soldier at 
 twelve years of age. Without high birth, 
 fortune, or connexions — by his personal 
 merits alone — he rose to the rank of lieu- 
 tenant-general, at a period when favours 
 and honours were usually bestowed upon 
 those only who could boast of a long 
 line of ancestors. A profound study of 
 tactics, an unwearied attention to his duty, 
 with an ardent desire to distinguish hitn- 
 self, were the means which he employed 
 to elevate himself above the crowd, and 
 fix upon him the regards of his country. 
 Though extremely modest, he knew his 
 talents and his rights, which he showed 
 on the following occasion, when he con- 
 sidered himself unjustly treated. A com- 
 pany in his regiment becoming vacant, 
 he applied for it, but the colonel of the 
 regiment had solicited it for one of his 
 friends. Upon this Chevert went imme- 
 diately to Versailles, and laid his com- 
 plaint before the minister. On the latter 
 saying that he had never heard any thing 
 about him, Chevert replied, " In that 
 case, have tiie goodness to write to my
 
 so 
 
 TAI.ES OF cm V ALKY 
 
 colonel, (hat you require a brave and able \ 
 officer to conduct an atfair as difficult as i 
 important; and demand of him, if he can : 
 name any one who will suit your pur- i 
 pose." The minister did so, and the | 
 colonel named Chevert ; upon which he 
 immediately received the appointment. 
 The confidence with which he inspired 
 the soldiers, was only equalled by the 
 bravery by which lie distinguished him- 
 self. On one occasion, when he was de- 
 termined to surprise a fort, lie sent for a 
 soldier, and thus addressed him. *' Go 
 straight to that fort without stopping; 
 when they ask who goes there, make no 
 reply ; when the challenge is repeated a 
 second time, still advance in silence ; at 
 the third demand they will tire upon you; 
 if the shot fails, throw yourself upon the 
 guard — secure him— I shall be there to 
 assist you." The soldier departed, ful- 
 filled his orders, and every thing happened 
 as Chevert had foreseen : such was the 
 enthusiasm with which he inspired those 
 under his command. At one time when 
 he was ordered to dislodge the enemy 
 from their position on the top of a hill, 
 which was covered with wood, when they 
 had penetrated a little vi'ay, he seized the 
 marquis de Brabant by the hand, and 
 exclaimed with ardour, whilst his eyes 
 sparkled with the love of glory, " Swear 
 to me, on the honour of a sjldier, that you 
 and your regiment will die to a man be- 
 fore you retreat." Then turning to the 
 soldiers, he said, "We must advance, but 
 never return." And with one voice of 
 assent the soldiers obeyed. He was 
 always superior to danger. At the com- 
 mencement of an attack, his officers en- 
 treated him to put on his cuirass, but he 
 replied, pointing to his soldiers, " Do 
 
 these brave fellows wear tht 
 
 When 
 
 marshal de Belleisle left him at Prague 
 with eighteen hundred men, the inha- 
 bitants, pressed by famine within and a 
 numerous army without, demanded that 
 he should surrender the town. Upon this 
 he seized several persons as hostages from 
 amongst the princij)al citizens, and shut 
 them up in his own house, under which 
 were a number of vaults filled with gun- 
 powder ; determined to blow them up 
 with himself, should the inhabitanfs insist 
 on surrendering the city. He obtained 
 all his demands, marched out of the town 
 with the honours of war; and in testimony 
 of their admiration of liis bravery, they 
 
 presented him with two pieces of cannon. 
 A general officer, who had been too long 
 accustomed to a court life to understand 
 much about war, complained with as much 
 haughtiness as bitterness of the prefer- 
 ence given to this soldier of fortune over 
 him : this was repeated to Chevert, and 
 he determined to revenge himself in his 
 own way. One day that the marquis de 
 Belleisle had appointed him to an expe- 
 dition as dangerous as it was glorious, he 
 took this opportunity thus to address the 
 malcontent : " Monsieur, it has always 
 surprised me that a man of your merit has 
 never been employed ?" " It is not my 
 fault," rejoined the other ; "all here goes 
 by favour. I have frequently solicited the 
 command of a detachment, but have al- 
 ways been refused." " I know one that 
 will be granted you," said Chevert ; he 
 then acquainted him with the nature of 
 the enterprise ; and as he proceeded to 
 detail the dangersand difficulties of the ex- 
 pedition, the officer became first thought- 
 ful, then uneasy, and finished by saying 
 it was not his turn to march, that he was 
 not acquainted with that part of the 
 country, and that, in short, he would not 
 go. " Well, sir," replied Chevert, " this 
 detachment has been given to me ; and it 
 is by such perilous undertakings, which 
 you have refused, that I have reached the 
 rank I now hold. T am aware of the re- 
 marks you have made upon me, but now 
 J have my revenge." With such a noble 
 mind, it was not surprising that marshal 
 Saxe had the affection of a father for him. 
 On one occasion when the former was 
 lauding the noble qualities of the latter, 
 to the great annoyance of his enemies, a 
 person present had the boldness to remark, 
 that Chevert was nothing more than 
 quun officier de fortune. "How !" re- 
 plied the marshal, pretending to have 
 heard somethingnew ; " is this really true r 
 I always had a warm regard for liim ; I 
 shall now add respect to njy esteem." 
 Chevert was surprised one day by a visit 
 from a stranger wliom he had never seen 
 before, and who came to claim relation- 
 ship with him. •• Are you a gentle- 
 man ?" demanded Chevert. " Am I a 
 gentleman I" replied the other ; " can 
 you doubt it ?" " In that case," rejoined 
 the warrior, " you cannot possibly be any 
 relation of mine, as I am the first and 
 only gentleman of my family."
 
 PKRILS BV FLOOD A\'!> FIKLD. 
 
 81 
 
 Page 83. 
 
 CASTLE BAYNARD. 
 
 PAGE FROM THE HISTORY OF THE THIR- 
 TEENTH CENTURY'. 
 
 In Thames Street, between Black- 
 friars and Queenhiihe, may be seen on 
 the wharf now occupied by the Carron 
 Iron Company, a few remains of the once 
 celebrated Baynard Castle. Behold the 
 changes a few centuries have wrought ! 
 In ancient times it was the abode of feudal 
 power, and the scene of chivalric magni- 
 ficence. In 1831, it degenerates into a 
 receptacle for frying- pans and register 
 stoves ; and the same ground on which 
 richly caparisoned chargers pranced, to 
 the " martial trumpet's sound," is now 
 torn up by the clumsy hoofs of the draught- 
 horse, a<;companied by the ear-splitting 
 clashing of the iron cart. 
 
 Baynard's Castle was built by Geffry 
 Baynard, of Baynard, who came to Eng- 
 land in the victorious train of William 
 the Conqueror. In the year 1111, Wil- 
 liam Baynard, the tiiird possessor of this 
 castle, and grandson of its founder, by an 
 act of felony, forfeited this, together with 
 the rest of his property ; and it was sub- 
 
 VOL. I. — 11. 
 
 sequently granted to Robert Fitz- Walter, 
 in whose time it was partially destroyed 
 and rebuilt. Lastly, it devolved on the 
 Pembroke family, with whom it remained 
 until its partial destruction by the great 
 fire of 1666. 
 
 Before commencing our narrative, it 
 may not be amiss to submit to the reader 
 a slight description of the castle. 
 
 Baynard's Castle presented, from the 
 Thames, the appearance of a huge, un- 
 gainly mass, sufficiently characteristic of 
 the tasteless inelegance of the priniiti\e 
 Norman architecture. It consisted of four 
 sides, the whole forming a hollow square ; 
 and it had also hve towers, three facing 
 the river, the fourth on the east side, and 
 the other in the middle of the square ; all 
 of a septangular form, except that at the 
 south-western corner, which was round. 
 Seven abutments protruded into the river, 
 and between the second and thirti was a 
 door that opened on a platform, terminat- 
 ing in a small flight of steps, used for the 
 purpose of embarkation ; the other egress 
 was at the back of the building, on the 
 spot now occupied by Tliames Street. 
 The castle had no fence or protection
 
 8*2 
 
 TALES OF CmVALRY 
 
 OR, 
 
 from the river, so that a high tide brought 
 tlie water within a small distance of the 
 long, narrow loop-holes, which served as 
 windows. The adjacent tenements being 
 raised, as it were, upon stilts, were by 
 that means protected from the inroads of 
 the Thames. 
 
 In 1215, Castle Bavnard owned for its 
 lord, Robert Fitz-Walter ; and the 23rd 
 of June, in that year, was appointed by 
 king John for a visit to ihe city, for the 
 purpose of witnessing certain civic rights 
 then and there to be performed : an act 
 which has been represented as an attempt 
 to conciliate the discontented spirit of the 
 barons, v^hich his oppression, tyranny, 
 and cowardice, had raised. Among other 
 ceremonies, that of doing suit and service, 
 as principal banner-bearer to the city of 
 London, was to be performed by sir Ro- 
 bert Fitz-Walter. 
 
 At the appointed hour, the king, ac- 
 companied by Langton, archbishop of 
 Canterbury, and the great officers of state, 
 together with Henry Fitz-Aldewyne, the 
 aldermen, and a retinae of the city autho- 
 rities, assembled in St. Paul's Cathedral ; 
 and at eleven o'clock sir Robert Fitz- 
 Walter, and a large and magnificent pro- 
 cession, started from Baynard Castle for 
 the western door of the cathedral. 
 
 The feudal train consisted of, first, four 
 heralds on horseback, who acted as trum- 
 peters, habited in coats on which the arms 
 of their master were worked in gold ; next 
 came six clerks, wearing hoods of black 
 budge (a kind of serge), over gowns of 
 grey cloth ; these were followed by Fitz- 
 Walter, in a complete suit of armour, 
 bestriding a noble black charger, and ac- 
 companied by his esquires, well mounted. 
 But the most interesting object in the 
 procession was a lovely female form ; the 
 beauty of whose face was hid by the 
 ample white veil which hung in rich 
 luxuriance down to her feet, covering a 
 part of the milk-white palfrey that bore 
 the sweet burden ; six maidens followed 
 on foot, attired like their mistress, with 
 the exception of the veil being exchanged 
 for white hoods. So long a train of re- 
 tainers, grooms, vassals, and inferior serv- 
 ants followed, that the whole were not 
 in motion when the heralds had passed 
 through Ludgate, and were turning in the 
 direction of St. Paul's. 
 
 By the time they had reached the outer 
 gate of the cathedral, the lord mayor 
 
 was standing at the door, holding the 
 magnificent banner of St. Paul, on which 
 appeared a representation of the saint; 
 the body embroidered in gold, and the 
 face, legs, and arms, in silver. Fitz- 
 Walter rode up to the door, attended by 
 his esquires ; his lovely daughter and her 
 maids, the retainers, &c., forming in ranks 
 in St. Paul's church -yard. The lady 
 alighted, and proceeded with her train 
 into the chancel, to say mass. Fitz- 
 Walter then vaulted from his steed, and 
 kneeling before the king (who was seated 
 on a platform behind the lord mayor and 
 aldermen;, said, in an audible voice — 
 
 '* Sir mayor, I am come to do my 
 service wliich I owe to the city." 
 
 The mayor then answered — 
 
 *' We give you, as our banneret of fee 
 in this city, this banner ; to bear and 
 govern to the honour and profit of this 
 city, to your power." 
 
 Fitz-Walter then vialked into the chan- 
 cel ; and, after hearing mass, was return- 
 ing with his daughter — when, on passing 
 the royal platform, he was accosted by 
 king John — 
 
 " By God's tooth !" said the monarch, 
 "thou hast a comely damozel tor thy com- 
 panion. Who may she be ?" 
 
 "Matilda Fitz-Walter, surnamed the 
 Fair," was the hasty reply. 
 
 Fitz-Walter, well knowing the licen- 
 tiousness of John, would have fain passed 
 on •, this prudent intention was, however, 
 frustrated. 
 
 " Whither so fast, sir banneret ?" pet- 
 tishly ejaculated the monarch ; " we must 
 see thy daughter's face : she be not sur- 
 named " the fair," without good cause, 
 I wot. Prithee, fair dame, remove thy 
 veil." 
 
 The royal request was obeyed, and a 
 cry of admiration from the lascivious 
 monarch was the consequence : a very 
 different feeling was traceable in the 
 countenances of the rest of the assembly 
 — all seemed to appreciate the danger of 
 awakening the amorous propensities of 
 king John. 
 
 While the king condescended to hand 
 Matilda the fair to her palfrey, her fatiier, 
 wielding the banner, proceeded on foot 
 to the outer gate of St. Paul's, followed 
 by the mayor and aldermen. The former 
 having taken the bridle of a horse (on 
 which had been thrown a splendid cloth, 
 richlv embroidered with Fitz -Walter's
 
 PKRILS BY FLOOD AND FIKf.D. 
 
 83 
 
 arms), he presented it to tlie chief banner- 
 bearer of the city of London. B'itz- Walter 
 seated himself on the animal, and having 
 joined his retainers, &c., returned to Bay- 
 nard castle. \ 
 
 To what trifling causes may not the 
 most important events be traced. The 
 little incident just related, contributed a 
 spark, which hastened, in no small degree, 
 the ignition of the flame which rose to 
 feed that Phoenix of our liberties, the 
 Magna Charta. 
 
 The next morning found the fair INIa- 
 tilda busily employed at her knitting- 
 frame. 
 
 "Nay, Fitz-Aubin; this visit to my 
 apartment savours somewhat of abrupt- 
 ness," said the damsel to a comely, noble- 
 looking knight, who had just entered her i 
 presence. 
 
 **If thou lackest my absence, sweet 
 coz, I will retire," replied the youth, 
 making a very low retreat towards the 
 door ; " but I had purposed to drop in 
 thine ear that which toucheth me nearlv, I 
 if_if " ' : 
 
 Now it is well known that many a 
 doughty knight, though invincible in the 
 tilt-yard of Mars, hath made but a sorry 
 figure in the tilt-yard of Cupid : videlicet, 
 a fair lady's bower. The confusion of 
 sir Arthur Fitz-Aubin prevented his 
 getting further than " if;" "if," stood in 
 his way like a white stripe in the road of 
 a shy horse — he could not get past it. 
 His beauteous kinswoman shared his con- ' 
 fu!;ion ; and the thirteenth " if" was just 
 escaping the lover's lips, when woman's 
 wit interposed with — ! 
 
 " Tlie blast blows ungently through 
 the open door. Prithee, close it, coz !" 
 
 Never did retreating army hail the ap- 
 proach of succour with greater joy than 
 did the lover this encouragement. | 
 
 *' I would ask thee, Matilda, what thou 
 thinkest of me, as — as " i 
 
 "To tell all I think of thee, Arthur, 
 would make thee vain," archly interrupted 
 the lady ; " and to show that I do think 
 of thee, behold tJiis nearly-finished scarf, 
 — 'tis fur (hee'" ' 
 
 " Angel, receive my plight and troth !" ■ 
 exclaimed the delighted Arthur, dropping 
 on his knees. " I swear — " At this 
 moment the door suddenly opened, and 
 sir Robert Fitz- Walter stood before them. \ 
 
 "Ay, rigiit, right, cuusin," said he; 
 "make love while there's time: thy ■ 
 
 wooing must be brief : a rival will sup- 
 plant thee." 
 
 " Not ere my good sword shall have 
 proved him worthy of that title," proudly 
 said the youth, rising. 
 
 " What if he be too great a coward to 
 fight, and too much a despot to let his 
 beastly desires go unsatisfied ? What if 
 he be a king — the tyrant John ?" 
 
 " Then," energetically repUed the maid, 
 " will I die in tortures rather than be his 
 slave — nay, his queen I" 
 
 " And so thou shalt, my lovely daughter ; 
 and die will we all sooner, eh, Arthur? 
 Here, boy, read this scroll." 
 
 " What do I see ?" exclaimed Fitz- 
 Aubin ; "a scuttle of 100,000 marks, or 
 the fair daughter of Robert Fitz- Walter ?" 
 
 ** So our loving monarch's commands 
 are worded," answered sir Robert, laugh- 
 ing bitterly. " By the rood, he shall not 
 possess my child ! But the marks he shall 
 have freely, an' they be left on the car- 
 cases of his followers." 
 
 A sudden flash of joy hghted up in 
 young sir Arthur's countenance — 
 
 " There be stout hearts and merry men 
 at Stamford," he said, " who have long 
 panted to call sir Robert Fitz- Walter 
 brother in arms ; even his oldest friend, 
 my father, and my poor self, have found 
 our arguments bootless." 
 
 "While I owed fealty to this hated 
 prince, my honour barred me from num- 
 bering among the discontented barons ; 
 but now the tyrant hath broken the bond 
 — his own act hath dubbed me * discon- 
 tented.' We will set forth to-day ; there- 
 fore prepare for thy journey, Matilda. 
 You, Arthur, shall be the herald of our 
 intent, so hie thee to thy father, and 
 heaven help thee to a fleet horse and good 
 spurs." 
 
 " With all speed," said Arthur, ten- 
 derly embracing his lovely cousin. 
 
 " With all speed, then," said sir Ro- 
 bert ; "all our throats may be cut in less 
 time than thou lackest to say farewell. 
 Away — away !" 
 
 " Adieu !" said the youthful knight ; 
 and in the next instant he was in the court- 
 yard, waving his farewells to sir Robert 
 and his fair daughter. 
 
 " Sir Arthur !" shouted the old knight, 
 from the window ; " say I will meet them 
 at Stamford, by day-break." The youth 
 nodded, and was out of sight in a trice. 
 
 " I will meet them at Stamford bv dav-
 
 84 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY 
 
 OR, 
 
 break !" echoed a Gascon body-guard, 
 wtio was loitering on the outside of tlie 
 castle. " Ha ! Iia ! news for de court," 
 he continued, hastily departing in the 
 direction of Westminster. 
 
 In these unsettled times, all feudal 
 lords found it necessary to keep their 
 vassals and retainers as much in readiness 
 for immediate action, as do hostile armies 
 on the eve of battle. Such was the case 
 at Castle Baynard ; and in four hours 
 from the departure of sir Arthur, the 
 whole corp«, consisting of about 400 per- 
 sons, were marching through Goodman's 
 Fields on their way to Stamford. They 
 had proceeded a little beyond Mile End, 
 when the trampling of horses was dis- 
 tinctly audible in the rear ; and presently 
 a well-armed band, bearing the royal 
 standard, some of whom were mounted, 
 were visible about half a mile beyond. 
 The order to halt and prepare for the fight 
 was no sooner given than obeyed, by the 
 retainers of Mtz -Walter ; who, being 
 aware of the object of their pursuit, com- 
 manded his principal esquire to set forth 
 with his daughter, accompanied by a 
 small escort of archers, while he covered 
 their retreat. This movement was, how- 
 ever, unhappily anticipated by the enemy, 
 and a similar band was despatched on a 
 circuitous route in pursuit, while their 
 leader, on arriving within bow-shot of sir 
 Robert, demanded his authority for quit- 
 ting London without the special license 
 of the king. Sir Robert pleaded his per- 
 fect independence of action; while de 
 Bricey (the leader) intimated tjiat his 
 orders from the court were to arrest his 
 progress, and return with him alive or 
 dead. Fitz- Walter, seeing the urgency 
 of his position, gave his chief mace-bearer 
 a look which was well understood. The 
 next instant every bow was strung, and 
 the whole only waited for orders to dis- 
 charge a forest of well-aimed shafts in the 
 breasts of their adversaries. 
 
 " If I return," said sir Robert, " it will 
 be on the shoulders of four of thy fol- 
 lowers, for alive I will not see thy dastard 
 master, an' it be not on the tented field." 
 He then brandished his mace, and in a 
 moment about twelve score arrows were 
 discharged by his archers ; which, being 
 followed by the word ** Charge !" and 
 obeyed with tiie utmost precipitancy, the 
 confusion and destruction which ensued 
 among the royal troops, rendered the 
 
 success of their mission to sir Robert 
 utterly hopeless. Many of them were 
 slain, ■ the remainder hastily retreated, 
 leaving Fitz- Walter master of the field, 
 and without any further obstacle to the 
 accomplishment of his journev. 
 (To be continued.) 
 
 THE DETHRONED. 
 
 ( Concluded from p. 7^.) 
 The tale now hastens to a conclusion. 
 The robber captain, who had taken ad- 
 vantage of the confusion to rush out of 
 the hall, seize the nearest horse, and gal- 
 lop furiously to the forest, had nearly 
 gained the Brazen Helmet, when certain 
 of his scouts met and informed him that 
 the king, the duke, bishop Burghill, sir 
 Lionel Biddulph, and a vast attendance, 
 were then a short distance east of the 
 forest, and would, doubtless, pass through 
 it on their road to Lichfield. He spurred 
 on his horse, and with what feelings may 
 be imagined, saw at the very porch of 
 the hostel the lady Rosamund, accompa- 
 nied by the sturdy clown mentioned be- 
 I fore, in the very act of escaping. She 
 saw her fate in his countenance ; he did 
 not notice her companion, who with a cry 
 of terror fled into the wood, but grasping 
 her emaciated arm, drew rather than led 
 her into the old kitchen. 
 
 The host, in the most hopeless insanity, 
 sat muttering, scowling and grinning by 
 the hearth ; and the unearthly peals of 
 laughter with which he hailed the entrance 
 of Warner with his victim, shocked even 
 the blood-hardened robber himself. Soon, 
 however, with forced calmness, more hor- 
 rible to the luckless lady than the most 
 outrageous violence, he commanded her 
 to kneel : she mechanically obeyed, and 
 he thus spoke : — 
 
 " Baroness of Courtnaye ! — I address 
 thee by that style, for it is (hi/ sentence ! 
 — thou, fatal as well as fated woman, Inst 
 been the evil star of my destiny! For 
 thee I first relinqu'shed the rank and in- 
 fluence of a free leader, to become the 
 instrument of thy thrice false lord ! When 
 I encountered crime to which my former 
 life was innocence, thou wert the cause ! 
 When I was forced to mingle as a menial 
 in a retinue less numerous than a wave 
 of my gauntlet njight once have com- 
 manded, thou, Rosamund de Courtnaye, 
 didst force me there ! I have spared thy
 
 PRRILS BY FLOOD AND FIFLD 
 
 m 
 
 life when I might have slain thee ; and 
 what has been my reward ? 1 have been 
 scourged like a slave — my gallant fol- 
 lowers have been murdered — fame, for- 
 tune, gone ! My life has been made a 
 burden. And yet thou livest" — he gnashed 
 his teeth horribly — " livest to be the high- 
 dowered widow of De Courtnaye !" 
 
 " Widow /" ejaculated the baroness, 
 faintly. 
 
 *' Widow ? — ay, widow 1 though, trust 
 me, thou shalt not wear weeds long ' 
 Hear me ! This day was thy brotlier's 
 dainty leman to have been carried off in 
 the niidst of the mummeries yonder, and 
 brought hither — to be by turns the partner 
 of thy captivity, and the companion, par 
 amours, of thy faithful lord. We were 
 foiled. The baron grew peevish, turned 
 upon his old comrade ; and that comrade, 
 not being in his mildest mood, answered 
 iiim with this !" and Warner held up the 
 still bloody war-knife. 
 
 Rosamund sprang at once to her feet 
 with a ringing cry, that made the maniac 
 host shiver and moan, and in the attitude 
 of a vengeful Pallas, 
 
 ** Villain !' she exclaimed, '* thou hast 
 consummated the diabolical arts by which 
 thou didst decoy my wretched husband 
 from truth and honour, by thrusting an 
 unprepared soul to that judgment where 
 its guilt shall be heaped upon thine own ! 
 What, ho!" she shrieked, till the roof, 
 nay, the forest rang — " What, ho ! lieges, 
 attach the murderer !" 
 
 *• Stay, wild frenetic 1 till I join ye both 
 there!" and the knife was within an inch 
 of.her bosom, when the lunatic host sprang 
 up, and with gigantic force seizing his 
 arms, exclaimed — 
 
 •* Hold, cousin ! There be those yon- 
 der," pointing to the dusky end of the 
 room, " would fain have speech withtliee: 
 he thou wot'st of is there, with his grey 
 dress — and many another that / know as 
 well as thou !" 
 
 "Loose me, dotard!" said W^arner ; 
 and after vain struggles, finding himself 
 overpowered by the sheer strength of 
 roused madness, he aimed his knife at the 
 maniac ; but it was a movement fatal to 
 himself, for in a trice Gotta wrenched the 
 weapon froai his hand, and dealt him, 
 swifter than thought, two strokes under 
 the fifth rib, that stretched him, with a 
 groan like an explosion, a quivering 
 corpse ! 
 
 A trampling, as of a multitude of horse, 
 was heard on the turf beibre the hostel of 
 the Brazen Helmet, and in the next in- 
 stant the stcut rustic, who had fled at the 
 approach of Warner, came hastily into 
 the room, closely followed by two stately 
 figures, who gazed with equal but various 
 emotion on the scene before them. Both 
 were in complete armour, but had their 
 vizors raised. The first, his care-worn 
 but still handsome features proclaimed to 
 be Richard Plantagenet. His conical 
 helmet, richly foliated, had the regal 
 diadem in jewellery round its lower rim ; 
 his gorgeous suit of Milan armour was 
 covered, except his legs and arms, by a 
 tabard of scarlet velvet, quartering the 
 arms of England and France. The other 
 personage, by his sagacious and majestic 
 tranquillity of face, by the broad gold 
 collar of S. S., implying his haughty and 
 prophetic motto, ** Souverain,'' but chiefly 
 by his well-known crimson cargan, em- 
 broidered with pearls, and drooping in 
 rich folds over his basinet, might quickly 
 be recognized as the returned duke of 
 Lancaster. 
 
 The bishop of Lichfield, the abbot of 
 Westminster, sir Lionel Biddulf, and 
 others, followed, each as they entered 
 uttering exclamations as the ghastly sight 
 in that dismal apartment presented itself 
 to their view. The wretched host, his 
 beard of hideous growth, his small eyes 
 bright with madness, his hands and face 
 smeared with blood, sat astride on the 
 corpse of his victim, moaning, howling, 
 and gibbering. The beautiful lady de 
 Courtnaye, in the most miserable attire, 
 and stifiening with the horror that pre- 
 vented, by its intensity, either words or 
 tears, stood in the centre of the floor, 
 I while the great wolf-dog, growling and 
 I glaring, seemed to hesitate on whom he 
 ' should first fasten his bared fangs. Sir 
 Lionel sprang to his sister ; and the warm 
 flood of tears that streamed over her pale 
 thin neck, first recalled the poor lady to 
 herself, and then finding herself safe and 
 clasped in the dear arms of an only bro- 
 ther, she gave way at once, and, with a 
 faint ejaculation of joy, was borne by sir 
 Lionel in a deep swoon into the outer air. 
 The ill starred Richard, overwhelmed in 
 his hour of adversity by so many ocular 
 testimonies of his mis-government, stood 
 with clasped hands, head and body droop- 
 ing, and at length, turning toBolingbroke,
 
 86 
 
 TALKS OF ClIIVALlty; OR, 
 
 •' See, fair cousin," he said ; *' see from 
 what a load you are about to reheve us ! 
 — all this bloody mischief lies at the so- 
 vereign's door. We thank heaven and 
 you, that the seclusion of a cloister will 
 afford us leisure toassoil us of its stains!" 
 
 •• Say rather, my noble liege, that many 
 years of good government on the throne 
 of your royal fathers," said the generous- 
 hearted Dominican, kindly yet reverently 
 approaching his master, *' will enable your 
 grace, by the aid of the noble Lancaster, 
 to wash from mens' minds all memory of 
 this or of any other miscarriages." 
 
 " My lord of Lichfield speaks well," 
 said the deep but reverential tones of Bo- 
 lingbroke ; ** far be it from Harry of Lan- 
 caster to seek higher rank in this disturbed 
 realm, than that which may entitle him 
 to reclaim his sovereign's confidence from 
 the traitors who have abused his princely 
 disposition so long." 
 
 Plantagenet being still absorbed in sor- 
 row, the duke gave orders that Warner's 
 body should be removed, and the wretched 
 maniac placed under proper care. The 
 trumpets soon after sounded to horse, and 
 the whole company passed from this dis- 
 mal scene into the fresh green forest. A 
 vast train of horses, some with noble and 
 knightly riders, and others whose richly 
 embroidered saddles were empty, held by 
 pages and yeomen in costly liveries, filled 
 the turfy glade in front of the Brazen 
 Helmet. 
 
 The great banner of England waved 
 over a thousand pennons and guidons of 
 multifarious blazonry, mingled with flash- 
 ing glaives, gisarmes, maces, burgonets, 
 and bucklers, illuminated by the placid 
 radiance of the declining sun, that sparkled 
 through the leafy vistas of the forest, or 
 fell in broad yellow flakes on the thick 
 turf. Two steeds, the one white as snow, 
 the other coal-black, stood pre-eminent 
 from their size and beauty, and the mag- 
 nificence of their caparisons. Their sau- 
 toirs were of gold, heavily embossed ; the 
 saddles, covered with purple and scarlet 
 brocade, resembled the back of an arm- 
 chair ; the chanfrons were of red leather, 
 embossed with gold ; while the poitral 
 and croupiere, of laced mail, were almost 
 hidden by the cointise of purple silk, that 
 of the white steed being powdered with 
 fleur-de-lys, while the black barb was em- 
 broidered with tile S. S, 
 
 ** High Hereford" led his royal cousin 
 
 with great humility to the white barb, 
 whose quivering ears and low trembling 
 neigh confessed his liege master. Just 
 as Bolingbroke, with solemn parade of 
 deference, knelt, and was assisting the 
 Plantagenet to his stirrup, the king's 
 large white greyhound came bounding up 
 to her master ; but after snuffing his sur- 
 coat for a moment, turned away, and leap- 
 ing upon the duke of Lancaster, pla(-ed 
 her long white paws carelessly on his 
 shoulders, in which action the golden 
 circlet about her neck became unclasped, 
 and rolled at his feet. 
 
 " Nay, then," said the poor prince, 
 " see if Blemach have not discovered her 
 new sovereign, and shaken ofi'my badge 
 before hin)." 
 
 The duke spoke not, but his high heart 
 throbbed at this trivial occurrence, which 
 the superstition of the time, not less than 
 the murmured exclamations of those about 
 him, stamped as ominous. He sprang to 
 his horse, and the procession was soon in 
 motion towards the principal road to 
 Lichfield. 
 
 The widowed baroness of Courtnaye 
 travelled with the suite in a silken litter, 
 from whose side sir Lionel was insepar- 
 able, whispering through its curtains 
 words of comfort, and painting to his sister 
 the tranquillity of her future days in the 
 stately seclusion of Helmhurst, and the 
 society of his affianced Sybil. 
 
 'J'he ecclesiastics ambled along on mules 
 or Spanish jennets, with footmen at the 
 bridle of each, and moved in groups, 
 deeply conversing on the important crisis 
 of affairs, in which their rank, wealth, and 
 reputation, entitled them to claim a lead- 
 ing share. On their approaching Brigg 
 Street, the magistrates, with the compa- 
 nies in their liveries, met them, doing 
 more reverence to Lancaster than to the 
 king, and " rejoicing that God had sent 
 them such a prince," &c. Richard cast 
 a glance at his confessor, who rode in 
 front of the other churchmen, and whose 
 hood, drawn closely over his face, pre- 
 vented its being seen that the good bishop 
 was in tears. They had now passed 
 Norburgh's Gate, and were turning up 
 towards the grand portal of the palace, 
 when the king stopped, and looking at a 
 broad and lof^ty tower, heavily machico- 
 lated, that frovA-^ned over a range of fair 
 gardens, to the turrets, steeples, and gabled 
 mansions of the city, exclaimed,
 
 PEKU.S BY FLOOD AND FIF.r.D. 
 
 87 
 
 " So please you, cousin of Lancaster, 
 here will Richard take his unrest. Our ; 
 lord confessor will lodge you as beseems I 
 your sunny stale ; but it were ill that the | 
 palace in which a king of England hath 
 feasted, should be darkened by the pre- 
 sence of The Dethroned." 
 
 BATTLE OF A BEAR AND AN ALLIGATOR. 
 
 On a scorching day in the middle of 
 June, 1830, whilst I was seated under a 
 venerable live oak, on the evergreen 
 banks of the Teche, waiting for the fish to 
 bite, I was startled by the roaring of some 
 animal in the cane-brake, a short distance 
 below me, apparently getting ready for 
 action. These notes of preparation were 
 quickly succeeded by the sound of feet, 
 trampling down the cane, and scattering 
 the shells. As soon as I recovered from 
 luy surprise, I resolved to take a view of 
 what I supposed to be two prairie bulls 
 mixing impetuously in battle — an occur- 
 rence so common in tliis country and 
 season. 
 
 When f reached the scene of action, 
 how great was my astonishment, instead 
 of bulls, to behold a large black bear 
 reared upon his hind legs, with his fore- 
 
 ?aws raised aloft, as if to make a plunge ! 
 lis face was besmeared with white foam, 
 sprinkled with red, which, dropping from 
 his moutli^ rolled down his shaggy breast. 
 Frantic from the smarting of his wounds, 
 he stood gnashing his teeth, and growling 
 at the enemy. A few paces in his rear 
 was the cane-brake from which he had 
 issued. On a bank of snow-white shells, 
 spotted with blood, in battle array, stood 
 bruin's foe, in shape of an alligator, fifteen 
 feet long ! He was standing on tiptoe, 
 his back curved upwards, and his mouth, 
 thrown open, displayed in his wide jaws 
 two large tusks and rows of teeth. His 
 tail, six feet long, raised from the ground, 
 was constantly waving, like a boxer's 
 arm, to gather force ; his big eyes, start- 
 ing from his head, glared upon bruin, 
 whilst sometimes uttering hissing cries, 
 then roaring like a bull. 
 
 The combatants were a few paces apart 
 when I stole upon them, the '* first round" 
 being over. They remained in the atti- 
 tudes described for about a minute, swell- 
 ing themselves as large as possible, but 
 marking the slightest motions with atten- 
 tion and great caution, as if each felt 
 confident that he had met his match. 
 
 During this pause, I was concealed be- 
 hind a tree, watching their manoeuvres 
 in silence. I could scarcely believe my 
 eyesight. What, thought I, can these 
 two beasts have to fight about ? Some 
 readers may doubt the tale, on this ac- 
 count; but if it had been a bull-fight, no 
 one would have doubted it, because every 
 one knows what they are fighting for. 
 The same reasoning will not always apply 
 to a man-fight. Men frequently fight 
 when tliey are sober, for no purpose ex- 
 cept to ascertain which is the better man. 
 We must then believe that beasts will do 
 the same, unless we admit that the in- 
 stinct of beasts is superior to the boasted 
 reason of man. Whether they did fight 
 upon the present occasion without cause, 
 I cannot say, as I was not present when 
 the affray began. A bear and a ram have 
 been known to fight, and so did the bear 
 and the alligator, whilst I prudently kept 
 in the back-ground, preserving the strictest 
 neutrality betwixt the belligerents. 
 
 Bruin, though evidently baffled, had a 
 firm look, which showed he had not lost 
 confidence in himself. If the difficulty of 
 the undertaking had once deceived him, 
 he was preparing to resume it. Accord^ 
 ingly, letting himself down upon all fours, 
 he ran furiously at the alligator. The 
 alligator was ready for him, and throwing 
 his head and body partly round to avoid 
 the onset, met bruin half way with a blow 
 of his tail, which rolled him on the shells. 
 Old bruin was not to be put oflT by one 
 hint — three times in rapid succession he 
 rushed at the alligator, and was as often 
 repulsed in the same manner, being 
 knocked back by each blow just far enough 
 to give the alligator time to recover the 
 swing of his tail before he returned. The 
 tail of the alligator sounded like a flail 
 against the coat of hair on bruin's head 
 and shoulders, but he bore it without 
 flinching, still pushing on to come to close 
 quarters with his scaly foe. He made his 
 fourth charge with a degree of dexterity, 
 which those who have never seen this 
 clumsy animal exercising would suppose 
 him incapable of. This time he got so 
 close to the alligator before his tail struck 
 him, that the blow came with half its 
 usual efl^ect ; the alligator was upset by 
 the charge, and, before he could recover 
 his feet, bruin grasped him round the 
 body below the fore legs, and, holding 
 him down on his back, seized one of his
 
 88 
 
 TALKS uF rnrVAr,RY : OR, 
 
 legs in his montli. The alligator was 
 now in a desperate situation, notwith- 
 standing his coat of mail, which is softer 
 on his belly than his back : from which 
 The darted steel with idle shivers flies." 
 As a Kentuck would say, " he was getting 
 up fasL" Here, if I dared to speak, and 
 had supposed he could understand Eng- 
 lish, I should have uttered the encourag. 
 ing exhortation of the poet — 
 " Now, fiallant knight, now hold thy own. 
 No maiden's arms are round thee thrown." 
 
 The aUigator attempted in vain to bite ; 
 pressed down as he was, he could not 
 open his moutii, the upper jaw of which 
 only moves, and his neck was so stiff he 
 could not turn his head short round. The 
 amphibious beast fetched a scream in de- 
 spair, but was noi yet entirely overcome. 
 Wiitliing his tail in agony, he happened 
 to strike it against a small tree that stood 
 next the bank : aided by this purchase, 
 he made a convulsive flounder, which pre- 
 cipitated himself and bruin, locked toge- 
 ther, into the river. The bank from 
 which they fell was four feet high, and the 
 water below seven feet deep. The tran- 
 quil stream received the cambatants with 
 a loud splasli, then closed over them in 
 silence. A volley of ascending bubbles 
 announced dieir arrival at the bottom, 
 wliere the battle ended. Presently bruin 
 rose again, scrambled up the bank, cast a 
 hasty glance back at the river, and made 
 off, dripping, to the cane-brake. I never 
 saw the alligator afterwards to know him ; 
 no doubt he escaped in the water, which 
 he certainly would not have done, had he 
 remained a few minutes longer on land. 
 Bruin was forced by nature to let go iiis 
 grip under water, to save his own life : I 
 therefore think he is entitled to the credit 
 of the victory; besides, by implied con- 
 sent, the parties were bound to tinish the 
 fight on land, where it began, and so 
 bruin understood it. 
 
 THE SAILOR AND THE BEAR. 
 
 A Hull whaler was moored to a field of 
 ice, on vvhic!i, at some distance, a bear 
 was observed prowling about for prey. 
 One of the ship's company, emboldened 
 by an artificial courage, from the free use 
 of his rum, undertook to pursue the bear 
 that was within view. Armed only with 
 a whale-lance, he resolutely set out on his 
 adventurous exploit. A fatiguing journey 
 of half a league, over a surface of yielding 
 
 snow, brought him within a few yards' of 
 the enemy, which, to his surprise, un- 
 dauntedly faced him, and seemed to invite 
 him to the combat. His courage being 
 now greatly subdued, partly by the eva- 
 poration of the stimulus he had employed, 
 and partly by the threatening aspect of 
 the bear, he levelled his lance, and stopped. 
 The bear also stood still. In vain the ad- 
 venturer tried to rally courage to make 
 the attack : his enemy was too formidable,' 
 and his appearance too imposing. In vain 
 he shouted, advanced his lance, and made 
 feints of attack ; the enemy obstinately 
 stood his ground. Already the limbs of 
 the sailor began to shake, the lance trem- 
 bled in the rest, and his gaze began to 
 quiver ; but the fear of ridicule from his 
 messmates still had its influence, and he 
 yet scarcely dared to retreat. Bruin, how- 
 ever, more regardless of consequences, 
 began, with the most audacious boldness, 
 to advance. His nigh approach and un- 
 shaken step subdued the spark of bravery 
 that had hitherto upheld our adventurer : 
 he turned and fled. But now was the 
 time of danger. The sailor's flight en- 
 couraged the bear to pursue ; and, being 
 better practised in snow travelling, he 
 rapidly gained upon the fugitive. The 
 whale-lance, encumbering him in his re- 
 treat, he threw it down, and kept on. 
 This excited the bear's attention ; he 
 stopped, pawed it, bit it, and then resumed 
 the chase. Again he was at the heels of 
 the panting seaman, who, conscious of the 
 effect of the lance, dropped a mitten : the 
 stratagem succeeded ; and while bruin 
 stopped to examine it, the fugitive made 
 considerable progress ahead. Still the 
 bear resumed the pursuit, excepting when 
 arrested by another mitten, and finally by 
 a hat, which he tore to shreds between his 
 teeth and his paws, and would soon have 
 made the sailor his victim, but for the 
 well-timed assistance of his shipmates, 
 who sallied out to his rescue. The little 
 phalanx opened him a passage, and then 
 closed to receive the bold assailant. — 
 Though now beyond the reach of his ad- 
 versary, the dismayed fugitive continued 
 onward, until he fairly reached the ship! 
 Bruin once more prudently came to a 
 stand, and seemed lo survey his enemies 
 with all the consideration of an expe- 
 rienced general ; when, finding them too 
 numerous for a reasonable hope of suc- 
 cess, he made an honourable retreat.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD \Nr> FIKLD. 
 
 ^9 
 
 Ta.^e 91. 
 
 THE WHITE LADY: 
 
 A TALE OF THE HIGHLANDS. 
 
 Whoever has passed the old military 
 road from the Black Mount to Fort Wil- 
 liam, will remember the deep secret 
 corrai which opens from the extremity 
 of Kinloch-Leven. Surrounded by lofty 
 precipices, it lies like a vast cauldron in 
 the bosom of the hill, and it is only for 
 two or three hours after noon, that the 
 sun ever shines upon the httle stream 
 which murmurs along its bottom. Before 
 the last century, its gloom was deepened 
 by the forest of birch and pine trees which 
 overhung the crags; but,partially covered 
 with short turf and deer's grass, it affords 
 excellent pasture in the summer months. 
 For this and its proud solitude, it was 
 formerly the favourite haunt of the great 
 stags at that season when they retire from 
 the herds into the recesses of the moun- 
 tains. Their passes were well known to 
 the hunters of Lochabyr, and, at the twi- 
 light or full moon, the dark figure of a 
 deer-stalker might sometimes be seen 
 w^atching behind the great stone of Cea?i- 
 glass, or stealing down the deep hollow 
 of Sloch-dubh. 
 
 VOL. I.— 12. 
 
 It was on a bright still morning in 
 February, that such a figure appeared 
 following the bank of the stream which 
 descends from the corrai. Though the 
 sun had risen, the shade was still so deep 
 under the mountain, that the green tar- 
 tans of the Highlander were scarcely 
 visible as they moved through the blue 
 tint of the dewy heath, and at times he 
 could only be distinguished by the motion 
 of his long white purse and the little 
 snowy speck of the cockade in his bonnet. 
 At length his dark figure reached the 
 gorge of the corrai ; and as it passed into 
 the sunshine, the light flashed brightly 
 upon the long Spanish matchlock which 
 he carried on his shoulder, and the dirk, 
 pisfols, and broadsword, which kept a 
 continual glitter as he moved. The light 
 now discovered the shaggy limbs of a 
 large deer-greyhound, which followed at 
 his foot, and sometimes stopped to stretcli 
 his nose to the wind, or prick his ear at 
 the forked thorns which showed their grev, 
 half-withered points among the cairns, ' 
 
 They had entered the parks which lie 
 along the side of the lake, and were ap- 
 proaching the little peel-tower which then 
 occupied the site of the present house of 
 N
 
 90 
 
 TALRS OF CHTVALRY; OR. 
 
 Kinlocli, when suddenly the dog- put his 
 nose to the ground, and, raising his ears, 
 tracked the path with increasing speed, 
 till, all at once, he bounded forward, and 
 disappeared in the winding of the ground. 
 The hunter hastily unslung his match- ' 
 lock, and, springing forward, glanced his 
 keen eve to every bush and hollow from 
 which the game might start. Without, ^ 
 however, seeing any object, he came to 
 the deep chasm where the stream falls • 
 over a lofty crag into a deep black pool, i 
 overhung by birch trees and aspens j but 
 as he turned the rock which shuts in the 
 ravine, he at once discovered the object 
 which the dog had tracked. 
 
 By the edge of the pool stood a tall 
 dark young man, wrapped in his plaid, 
 and leaning on his deer-gun ; his mantle 
 was of the coarse thick tartan worn by a 
 simple deer-stalker ; but the broad eagle's 
 wing, and tuft of heath in his bonnet^ 
 were distinctions which could be worn by 
 none but a duine-uasal of the clan Don- 
 nel. As he stood musing on the foaming 
 water, he was roused by the dog, which 
 bounded up the path, and, leaping on his 
 breast, whined, howled, and saluted his 
 cheek with his rough, dewy nose. 
 
 The young man received him with the 
 caresses of an old friend ; but, immedi- 
 ately looking round, hastened towards his 
 master with the extended hand, and the 
 exclamation, " Failte, mo chalt fein /" 
 (** Welcome, my own foster-brother !") 
 
 The hunter returned liis salutation with 
 that mixture of affection and respect with 
 which the inferior foster-brother regarded 
 the superior. After the first words — " I 
 fear, Kinloch, that I keep late tryst, since 
 you are thus early abroad to meet me," 
 said the hunter. 
 
 " No, Angus," replied the young laird, 
 " you are before time ; but it is I that 
 am impatient to see you, upon an enter- 
 prise which will take all our space to 
 concert. 1 returned last night from Loch 
 Awe — " 
 
 " Loch Awe 1" exclaimed the hunter, 
 " and did you see the young lady of 
 Fraoch-Elan?" 
 
 " No," replied Mac Donnel, " I had 
 enough to escape the Campbells and 
 dubh-saulf without crossing the laird of 
 Mac Naughton, whose right hand is left 
 unchristened to revenge his father's 
 blood on me and mine. I saw red Dun- 
 can, however, who has not forgotten that 
 
 I spared his life at Inverlochie : from him 
 I learned that Beatrice is confined to the 
 island, and that Allan Dubh Mac Allan 
 has sworn by the holy rood that his 
 daughter shall never cross the shore till 
 she submits to give her hand to the Black 
 Knight of Ardconnel. Mac Lanchlin is 
 unremitting in his endeavours to obtain 
 her favour, but, during his visits to the 
 island, she never leaves her room ; at 
 other times she often walks alone upon 
 the narrow beach, and her white figure is 
 seen standing on the httle green rock 
 above the water after the twilight has 
 fdllen." 
 
 " And is there never a bird on the 
 lake would fly over the waves, and whistle 
 a true song from the blue stone ?" said 
 Angus. 
 
 " I have a * grey goshawk' would fly 
 with * lord William's !' " replied Kinloch. 
 " Argyll is panic-struck by his defeat at 
 Inverlochy, and, expecting nothing less 
 than to see Montrose at Inverara, has 
 summoned all the chieftains who owe him 
 service to bring their vassals to the castle 
 on Saint Valent's day. By the help of 
 Duncan, I have concerted a tryst with 
 Beatrice ; and on the evening after her 
 father leaves the island, she will wait on 
 the little cladach under tlie east rock. 
 We must be on the lake an hour before 
 sunset. Duncan will provide the boat, 
 and I trust to you and your brothers to 
 be in my aid." 
 
 " We are as the sword in your belt, 
 and the gun on your shoulder," answered 
 Angus. 
 
 As Kinloch was about to reply, his 
 attention was drawn by the low restless 
 growl of the dog, and, glancing down 
 the ravine, lie saw one of his men as- 
 cending the path with great haste. In a 
 few minutes he reached the fall, and, 
 without replying to the question of his 
 master, delivered a small billet into his 
 hand. As Kinloch glanced on the seal, 
 his cheek became red as the collar of his 
 crimson doublet, and, tearing open the 
 paper, his ^yes ran eagerly over the 
 writing; but all at once his face changed 
 deadly pale, and, turning suddenly to the 
 attendant — 
 
 "Cross the larich with all your speed," 
 said he ; " warn Eachain Mor, and Do- 
 nald Ladir and his brothers, to meet at 
 the ferry of Glen Co an hour before sun- 
 set; bid them bring their mail-shirts and
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIRLD. 
 
 91 
 
 two-handed swords, and put balls in their 
 pouches j — I shall wait yon at Invercoe.'" 
 
 Angus stood in silent amazement, 
 while Kinloch g^ave some further brief 
 instructions to his vassal ; but as soon as 
 he had left them, Mac Donnel put the 
 letter into the hand of the foster-brother. 
 
 " Alan Mac Alan has discovered the 
 tryst," said he ; " Ardconnel is at Fraoch- 
 Elan, and the bridal is fixed for to-morrow 
 before vespers in the convent-church of 
 Inishail." 
 
 The clansman ran quickly over the fair 
 but trembling lines which had been traced 
 by the unsteady hand of Beatrice. ""What 
 will you do ?" exclaimed he. 
 
 *• That I know not yet," replied Kin- 
 loch, ** but there is not a moment to lose. 
 Alan Dubh has not discovered the assist- 
 ance of Duncan ; and while we wait your 
 brothers, we will take farther counsel with 
 the black clerk of Kilmoray, whose silk 
 gown and grey beard are often better 
 than coat of mail and steel winyard." 
 
 Angus threw his matchlock over his 
 shoulder, and his brother leading the 
 way, they bounded into the ravine, and 
 fording the brook, were lost under the 
 copse-wocd which descended to the tower. 
 ♦ ♦**•» 
 
 The day began to close within the 
 cloister of Inishail. The stained light 
 faded in the narrow casements, and 
 faintly touched the tall pillars and white 
 figures of the tombs around the chancel. 
 One by one the lamps appeared like 
 twinkling stars through the dim and soli- 
 tary aisle, and the black figures of the 
 monks glided like shadous across the 
 choir, and vanished at tlieir stalls ; but 
 not a sound disturbed the profound still- 
 ness, except the faint hum of the water, 
 and the slow toll of the vesper-bell, scarce 
 audible within the building. 
 
 At length the bell ceased, the light 
 was illuminated about the altar, the dark 
 cowls of the monks appeared motionless 
 in their stalls, and in a few moments the 
 white figure of the abbot, followed by the 
 procession of friars, entered the aisle and 
 passed towards the choir. The priests 
 were scarce seated, when the faint sound 
 of pipes pealed through the cloisters, and 
 as they gradually advanced, continued 
 moving round the church with the wild 
 thrilling clamour of a war-march. 
 
 The music stopped all at once, and, in 
 the succeeding pause, the heavy measured 
 
 tramp of feet approached through the 
 cloister, and suddenly the black shadows 
 of an armed crowd entered the aisle. 
 As they passed forward, the flatter of 
 female drapery appeared beyond the dark 
 tartans and blue mail ; and the veiled 
 figure of Beatrice, attended by a white 
 train of bride-maidens, moved slowly 
 towards the altar. Supported by their 
 arms, the bride advanced like an inani- 
 mate shadow through the crowd of gazing 
 monks and warriors. Her face was wholly 
 covered by the veil of her white plaid ; 
 but, as she passed, the quick palpitation 
 of her breath was visible on the mantle, 
 and the hand which held it had the cold 
 lifeless whiteness of death Except from 
 her place in the procession, she had not 
 been distinguished among the rest of the 
 female figures ; for her dress had no 
 other ornament than the simplest of her 
 attendants, and the plaids drawn over 
 their heads, discovered only the features 
 of a few. 
 
 As the train approached the altar, the 
 bride became visibly agitated, and once 
 or twice her head moved as if her eyes 
 glanced round for some object of hope or 
 expectation ; but there was none to meet 
 them, except tlie black still figures of the 
 monks ; and, as she drew her plaid closer 
 to her face, her slender fingers trembled 
 like a leaf. 
 
 At length the crowd gathered before 
 the altar, and the black knight, who had 
 closed the procession with his own fol- 
 lowers, advanced to the rail ; but the 
 bride never lifted her eyes, nor offered 
 any reply to the few eager words which 
 he whispered at her cheek. Tlie abbot 
 stepped down to the rail and opened the 
 missal, Alan Mac Alan fixed his stem 
 eye upon the bride, and all at once the 
 deep voices of the monks began the chorus 
 of the service. The bridemaids fell on 
 their knees before the rail, but the bride 
 remained fixed and motionless, till Alan 
 Dubh, taking her hand, signed to her to 
 kneel, and she sank slowly down with the 
 empty passiveness of an infant. The 
 service proceeded witliout interruption, 
 the care-cloth was spread over the kneel- 
 ing couple, the ring was placed on the 
 finger of the bride, and the abbot was 
 about to speak the final benediction, 
 when several armed men rushed into the 
 church, and, regardless of the sacred ser- 
 vice, cried the alarm-cry of the Mac 
 N 2
 
 92 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 Naughtons, and, forcing their way to- 
 wards the chiefs, — 
 
 '* Alaister Mac Coll-cedach has come 
 down Glen Co, witli all Montrose's Irish !" 
 cried the foremost, " and is burning the 
 lake-side down to the black wood of Ard- 
 tuitle I" 
 
 As he spoke, a dusk-red glimmer shone 
 through the east windows of the church, 
 like the glow of the setting sun. The 
 organ and the choir stopped at once, and 
 the whole bridal company, and many of 
 the monks rushed towards the door. As 
 soon as they passed the arch, they beheld 
 the lights of burning houses, and pillars 
 of glowing smoke glimmering through 
 the distant darkness like a chain of watch- 
 fires. Some of the conflagrations ap- 
 peared as near as the crofts of Auchlian, 
 and threw a dusky glimmer across the 
 water, faintly touching the long black 
 barges and confused figures of the armed 
 men who were already hurrying into the 
 boats, or launching them from the shore. 
 
 Alan Mac Alan and the Black Knight 
 never quitted the hands of the bride, 
 while the vassals and monks hastened the 
 female attendants on board the barges. 
 In the darkness and confusion, one of the 
 bridemaids was separated from her com- 
 panions, and a group of monks, who had ' 
 been busy with their assistance, suddenly 
 hurried her into a small skitF which lay be- 
 yond the rest, and before any could follow, 
 leaped into the boat and pulled off from 
 the shore. 
 
 For some moments the shallop kept 
 her course with the crowd of barges, but 
 by degrees she edged away, till their 
 long black shadows disappeared one by 
 one into the darkness. For a short time 
 the plash of their oars could still be heard, 
 but suddenly the boat changed her course, 
 and, turning her head to the north, pulled 
 straight across the lake. Not a word was 
 spoken. Whether from alarm or igno- 
 rance of tiieir direction, the lady made 
 no observation nor inquiry ; and as the 
 black figures of the monks pulled at their 
 oars, not a sound passed but the short 
 dash of the strokes, and the quick gurgle 
 of the gliding boat. 
 
 The night was so still that every star 
 twinkled in the black water, but their 
 light was scarce sufficient to distinguish 
 the pale figure of the bridemaiden in the 
 stern of the boat ; and it was only by a 
 momentary shadow that the eye could 
 
 discern the dark outline of a monk who 
 sat beside her, and steered the skiff. 
 
 He kept the helm direct for the Lettir- 
 beann, the wide birch-wood which covers 
 the lower half of Cruachan, and in less 
 than an hour the broad red moon rose 
 over Beann Luid, and showed the dark 
 shadow of the forest, and the tall silvery 
 stems of the birch-trees above the shore. 
 The boatmen redoubled their strokes 
 at the sight, and at length the shallop 
 grounded under the deep shadow of the 
 wood. The monks leaped out on the 
 beach, and the steersman, supporting the 
 maiden from her seat, lifted her gently 
 to the sand. As she descended, her plaid 
 loosened from the brooch, and the breeze 
 blowing back its hood, the faint moon- 
 light glanced upon her face and illumi- 
 nated the pale features of Beatrice of 
 Fraoch-Elan. It was but a momentary 
 blink, for a little white hand appeared 
 from the fluttering mantle, and, drawing 
 it close over her face, again confined it 
 with the brooch. 
 
 The monk who had acted as steers- 
 man, now gave his arm to assist her from 
 the shore ; and as soon as the rest had 
 drawn up the boat, they ascended the 
 steep bank into the wood, and in a few 
 paces reached the path which leads to- 
 wards Glenurchy. They had not gone 
 a bow-shot when one of the party gave 
 a low whistle, and immediately a boy, 
 mounted on a black Highland garrnn, 
 rode out from among the bushes. The 
 man, who supported Beatrice, asked a 
 brief question in a low voice, and, at the 
 reply, the monks hastily unbraced their 
 knotted cords, and, throwing off their 
 gowns and hoods, discovered the armed 
 figures of Ronald of Kinloch and his five 
 foster-brothers. 
 
 Each had a quilted acton and steel cap, 
 a dirk and pistol at his belt, and the corch, 
 or large black knife, concealed within his 
 sleeve. There was a brief halt while 
 they thrust their friars' weeds under the 
 bushes ; and Ronald, hastily adjusting 
 the pillion of the garron, lifted Beatrice 
 to the seat. In a few moments they 
 were ready to set forward ; the gille beg 
 proceeded in advance, to guide them 
 through the darkness of the wood, and 
 Ronald, walking at the shoulder of the 
 horse, was followed by the formidable 
 guard of his foster-brothers, now com- 
 pletely armed with their match-locks and
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIKLD, 
 
 93 
 
 pistols, and the heavy two-handed swords 
 which they had been obhged to leave for 
 their diguise. 
 
 While Mac Donnel pursued his retreat 
 along the north side of Loch Awe, Alais- 
 ter Mac Coll pressed forward, with fire 
 and sword, towards Inverara. The num- 
 bers and valour of his celebrated legion 
 left no thought for opposition, and the 
 only consideration of Alan Dubh and the 
 Black Knight was to remain secure within 
 the walls of Fraoch-Elan. Their alarm, 
 however, was chiefly excited for Bea- 
 trice ; for though they had little appre- 
 hension that the objects of an inroad 
 would incite an attack upon the fortaUce, 
 they much doubted lest the active and 
 exasperated Kinloch should avail himself 
 of the opportunity to attempt some enter- 
 prise to carry off his mistress, (conti- 
 nually expecting to see hosts appear 
 through the darkness, the two chiefs sat 
 on either side of the bride, with their 
 hands on their swords, and never quitted 
 her arms until they led her under the 
 portcullis of Fraoch-Elan. 
 
 Ardconnel's heart bounded when he 
 heard the heavy gate fall behind him ; 
 but the bridal company had scarce entered 
 the hall, when he was summoned by Alan 
 Dubh to concert preparations against the 
 chance of an assault. Before he left the 
 bride, he offered some hasty words of 
 encouragement, which she heard with 
 the same silence in which she had suf- 
 fered the bridal ceremony ; and the bride- 
 groom drawing back the plaid from her 
 face, to offer a salute of consolation, sud- 
 denly started back at uncovering, — not 
 the fair, pale features of Beatrice, but 
 the round ruddy cheeks of dey Margaret, 
 her foster sister ! 
 
 For a moment he gazed upon the ap- 
 parition, looked to her slender figure, 
 and stood confounded at the resemblance 
 of shape and stature, which had enabled 
 her so well to personate her mistress. 
 But, suddenly seizing the wrist of the 
 trembling maiden, he drew her forward 
 after Mac Naughton. ** Alan Mac Alan !" 
 cried he, fiercely, " here is a damnable 
 treason! — and, if with your knowledge, 
 by St. Moray, I will give light to your 
 masking, shall make the fire of Mac 
 Colla like Friar Rush !" 
 
 Alan Dubh turned back, confounded at 
 this address ; but when he saw the face of 
 
 Margaret under the plaid of his daughter, 
 he uttered a shout of malediction, which 
 was heard in the gate. Immediately he 
 called for the warder, the irons, and his 
 daughter, in one breath ; and the terri- 
 fied maidens hiding their faces behind 
 each other, he ran from plaid to plaid, till, 
 discovering the entire absence of Bea- 
 trice, and the presence but of one bride- 
 maid, the whole plot burst upon the 
 confounded father and bridegroom. For 
 several moments Mac Alan stood with- 
 out speaking, but suddenly, " Malice !" 
 said he, in a calm voice, " bring my hau- 
 berk, and let every man get on his arms.'* 
 
 •* Of what use are arms ?" cried Ard- 
 connel, contemptuously. " How shall 
 we follow, who know not the road ? and, 
 besides, she has doubtless fled to yonder 
 sons of Satan, who are setting the fire of 
 hell to your corns and crofts on the Loch 
 side." 
 
 ** I care not for the road," replied 
 Alan, " wherever it is, it is with Ronald 
 of Kinloch ; and where should his road 
 lie, but to his own fortalice ? If they 
 have taken the south side of the lake, 
 they must make the road of the Mealach, 
 or Glen Lochie, and we shall cut them 
 off by the Glens, before they have crossed 
 the Black Mount. If they are gone 
 straight for Glen Co, we shall be but 
 half an hour behind them ; and it shall be 
 hard but the deer's chourn shall overtake 
 the silk slipper on Beann-Ani." 
 
 Ardconnel gave a sullen acquiescence, 
 but the whole tower was instantly filled 
 with the clatter of mail and spear-staves; 
 and in less than half an hour the long 
 black line of barges, filled with glaves, 
 hauberks, and steel bonnets, swept glit- 
 tering through the moonlight water. 
 
 The bell of Caolchairn struck mid- 
 night as they passed under the castle, 
 and disembarked upon the level mea- 
 dows of the Coish. The party was not 
 fifty paces below the path from the Lettir- 
 Beann, and the moon shone so bright 
 that they could have seen the white 
 figure of Beatrice at a bow-shot distant. 
 For a moment the chiefs paused upon 
 the brae, and gazed towards the wood ; 
 but immediately the long clinking line 
 of hauberks and glaves filed into the 
 narrow path, and marched rapidly to- 
 wards Glenurcha. 
 
 (To he concluded in our next.)
 
 94 
 
 TAr-KS OF CHIVALRY 
 
 OR, 
 
 CASTLE BAYNARD. 
 
 (ContiniLed from page 84.^ 
 
 About a mile on this side of Stam- 
 ford lie overtook his esquire, and only a 
 part of the escort ; and his horror and 
 mortification were great on learning that 
 his daughter had been forcibly taken 
 from her protector by a superior number 
 of the king's soldiers. Pursuit was worse 
 than useless ; and the triumph which had 
 elaied his followers at the recent success 
 of their arms was now embittered by the 
 deepest sorrow for the loss of their lovely 
 mistress. 
 
 Their arrival at Stamford was wel- 
 comed by above two thousand knights, 
 besides retainers and inferior persons 
 without number, all of whom were highly 
 exasperated at the tyrannical abduction 
 of so celebrated a beauty ; and they re- 
 doubled their oaths of vengeance, on 
 hearing, from a messeng^er, a few hours 
 afterwards, that Castle Baynard had been 
 destroyed, by order of the king, who had 
 immediately set out from Westminster 
 for Oxford. Fitz-Aubin was distracted, 
 although he had the melancholy satisfac- 
 tion of receiving from the hands of the 
 esquire the unfinished scarf which Matilda 
 had cut from her kniiting-frame imme- 
 diately before her departure from the 
 castle. The knight threw it across his 
 corslet, and drawing his sword, vowed it 
 should never return to its scabbard until 
 he had rescued his lady-love. 
 
 Elated by having received so powerful 
 an accession to their arms as sir Robert 
 Fitz- Walter, the barons advanced in a 
 body to Brackley, within a short distance 
 of Oxford. Here they received a letter 
 from the king, by the earl of Pembroke, 
 to know their demands, which they an- 
 swered by placing a scroll in the earl's 
 hands, the contents of which was a copy 
 of the great charter, and also by calling 
 upon the king to give up the daughter of 
 sir Robert Htz- Walter. 
 
 To the first of these demands, king 
 John required time for consideration. 
 To the second he replied, that the lady, 
 being with him at Oxford, he would ap- 
 point a knight to meet her champion — if 
 the former fell, Matilda should remain 
 with him : if the latter vanquished, she 
 should be restored to her friends 
 
 The barons agreed to the monarch's 
 first request j and the ears of Fitz-Aubin 
 
 drank deep of delight on Iiearing the 
 second proposition. 
 
 The appointed hour for the combat 
 arrived, and, accompanied by a train of 
 about one hundred and fifty retainers, 
 guarding the person of Matilda the fair, 
 came the champion of king John ; who, 
 as if to insult the friends of the lady, and 
 to ensure success, had encased in a splen- 
 did suit of armour one of the most powerful 
 of his Gascon body-guards. All trembled 
 for sir Arthur, when they beheld the giant 
 against whom he had to contend, except 
 the youthful knight, who, inspired by the 
 hope of rescuing his beauteous cousin, 
 entered the lists, nothing daunted. 
 
 Every thing having been prepared, 
 the onset was sounded from the trumpets 
 of the heralds, and Fitz-Aubin received 
 such a shock from the lance of his adver- 
 sary, that his horse reeled backwards, 
 and made it a matter of the greatest dif- 
 ficulty for his master to keep his seat. 
 He, however, did not fall; and the com- 
 batants retired to gather fresh strength 
 for the renewal of hostilities. Another 
 shock ensued, but to the evident disad- 
 vantage of the youthful knight. The 
 agitation of sir Robert was extreme. It 
 seemed most improbable that his yoimg 
 friend could escape another rencontre 
 with his life, and quite impossible that he 
 could overcome his enemy. 
 
 Again the onset was sounded, and 
 concentrating all his energies for the 
 encounter, sir Arthur clapped his spurs 
 rowel-deep in the sides of his charger. 
 On arriving within a short distance of 
 his antagonist, the golden threads of his 
 unfinished scarf suddenly untying from 
 his corslet, glistened vividly in the sun's 
 rays, which, darting across the eyes of the 
 Gascon's horse, it swerved, and missing 
 its aim, sir Arthur's lance met its rider's 
 side with such force, that he staggered in 
 his saddle, and presently fell under the 
 affrighted animal ! 
 
 An universal shout of joy rent the air, 
 and the bravery of sir Arthur Fitz-Aubin 
 was speedily rewarded by finding Matilda 
 the fair locked in his arms. 
 
 An answer unfavourable to the demands 
 of the barons having been returned by 
 king John, they immediately chose sir 
 Robert Fitz- Walter their general, by the 
 title of " Marechal of God's Army, and 
 the Holy Church," and proceeded to 
 Nottingham, where they laid siege to the
 
 PERir.S BY FLOOD AND FIKLD. 
 
 95 
 
 castle for fifteen days, but witlyout suc- 
 cess; and after marching through Bedford 
 to London, tbey issued a proclamation, 
 requiring other barons to join them ; and 
 all diose who had hitherto favoured the 
 royal party, were glad of this pretence of 
 joining a cause to which they were never 
 averse ; so that the tyrant was soon left 
 at Odiham, in Surry, with a contem[>tible 
 retinue of seven knights. 
 
 On the 15th of June, a conference be- 
 tween the discontented barons and the 
 king was appointed at Runnimede, be- 
 tween Windsor and Staines ; and, after a 
 few days' parleying, the famous deed was 
 signed, which secured to Englishmen 
 those rights and immunities which our 
 European neighbours sue for in vain. 
 
 After this ever-memorable event, sir 
 Robert Fitz- Walter, his daughter, and 
 (now) his son-in-law, retired to his castle 
 at Dunmow, where they resided until the 
 rebuilding of Castle Baynard. 
 
 A PERILOUS SITUATION. 
 
 Captain Crow, in his memoirs, relates 
 tlie following perilous adventure : — " One 
 afternoon, when we were ten to twel\ e 
 hundred miles from any land, and were 
 saihng at the rate of seven or eight knots, 
 the alarm was given that the ship was on 
 file in the afterhold. I was in the cabin 
 at the time, and springing upon deck, 
 the first persons I saw were two young 
 men with their flannel shirts blazing on 
 their backs : at the same time I perceived 
 a dense cloud of smoke issuing from 
 below, and looking round me, 1 found 
 the people in the act of cutting away the 
 stern and quarter boats, that they might 
 abandon the vessel. At this critical junc- 
 ture I had the presence of mind to ex- 
 claim, in an animated tone, * Is it pos- 
 sible, my lads, that you can desert me at 
 a moment when it is your bounden duty, 
 as men, to assbt me ?■' And observing 
 them hesitate, I added, ' Follow me, my 
 brave fellows ! and we shall soon save the 
 sliip.' These few words had the desired 
 effect, for they immediately rallied, and 
 came forward to assist me. To show 
 them a proper example, I was the first 
 man to venture below, for I thought of 
 the poor blacks entrusted to n)y care, and 
 who could not be saved in the boats, and 
 I was determined, rather than desert 
 theai; to extinguish the fire, or to perish 
 
 in the attempt. Wl>en we got below, we 
 found the fire blazing with great fury on 
 the starboard side, and as it was known 
 to the crew that there were forty five 
 barrels of gunpowder in the magazine, 
 within about three feet only of the fire, it 
 required every possible encouragement 
 on my part to lead them on to extinguish 
 the rapidly increasing flames. When I 
 j first saw the extent of the conflagration, 
 ' and thought of its proximity to the pow- 
 I der, a thrill of despair ran through my 
 ; whole frame ; but by a strong mental 
 I effort I suppressed my disheartening feel- 
 ' ings, and only thought of active exertion, 
 i unconnected with the thought of immi- 
 nent danger. We paused for a moment, 
 struggling, as it were, to determine how- 
 to proceed. Very fortunately for us our 
 spare sails were stowed close at hand. 
 These were dragged out, and, by extra- 
 ordinary activity, we succeeded in throw- 
 ing tliem over the flames, which they so 
 far checked, that we gained time to ob- 
 tain a good supply of w^ater down the 
 liatchway, and in the course of ten or 
 fifteen minutes, we extinguished the 
 flames. Had I hesitated only a few 
 [ minutes on deck, or had I not spoken 
 encouragingly to the people, no exertions 
 whatever could have saved the ship from 
 j being blown up, and the catastrophe 
 would most probably have taken place 
 before the hands could have left the side 
 in the boats ; perhaps not a soul would 
 have survived to tell the tale. I hope, 
 therefore, I shall be excused in assuming 
 to myself more credit (if indeed credit be 
 j due) for the presence of mind by w^hich I 
 was actuated on this occasion, than for 
 any thing I ever did in the course of my 
 life. The accident I found was occa- 
 sioned by the ignorance and carelessness 
 j of tiie two young men whose clothes I 
 I had seen burning on their backs ; through 
 the want of regular officers they had 
 been entrusted to draw off some rum 
 from a store cask, and who, not knowing 
 \ the danger to which they exposed tliem- 
 selves and the ship, had taken down a 
 lighted candle, a spark from which had 
 ignited the spirit. 
 
 A SCOTTISH MILITARY BISHOP, 
 
 It appears from Scottish history, that, 
 prior 10 the Reformation, churchmen 
 were often as much distinguished for
 
 96 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 their gallantry as swldiers, as for their 
 piety as divines. Of these clerical war- 
 riors no one appears to have been so cele- 
 brated as William Sinclair, a bishop of 
 Dunkeld, at the beginning of the tbnr- 
 teenth century. This prelate was known 
 by the appellation of the Military Bishop 
 and the Champion of the Kingdom. 
 Living in tiie time of the unhappy trou- 
 bles caused by the attempt of Edward to 
 subdue Scotland, he was frequently called 
 upon to exert his abilities in securing the 
 independence of his country. Once, while 
 residing at his palace of Auchtertool, in 
 Fife, the sheriff of that county went with 
 a body of five hundred men to make head 
 against the English, who had landed in 
 the neighbourhood ; but observing that 
 the country was laid waste, and that the 
 enemy kept a good countenance, the 
 slieritF fell back as fast as he could. On 
 hearing this, the bishop armed himself, 
 took horse with about sixty of his people, 
 who were well disciplined, and, soon 
 meeting the sheriff, cried aloud, " What 
 madness is it in you to run away at this 
 rate!" The sheriff' replied, '''Because 
 the English are more numerous and better 
 soldiers than we are." " If you got your 
 due," says the bishop," " the king would 
 cause chop off your golden spurs. But 
 follow me, and with the assistance of St. 
 Columbus, whose lands they lay waste, : 
 we shall have revenge." ' With these ' 
 words he threw away the bishop's staff, 
 grasped his sword, and turned himself to 
 the sheriff with this expression, " Do fol- 
 low me." They did follow him, came up 
 with the enemy, and happily obtained a 
 complete victory. There fell that day 
 more than five hundred English, besides j 
 a number, who, by crowding into their | 
 boat, overset it, and were all drowned, j 
 Sinclair was a great favourite of the ' 
 king (David the Second), who always | 
 in conversation ealled him " my own ] 
 bishop;" and the letters he v^Tote to him I 
 were addressed " To our Bishop." He | 
 died, 27ih June, 1337, having tilled the ' 
 see of Dunkeld twenty-five years, and I 
 was buried in the choir of Dunkeld cathe- I 
 dral, which he built from the foundation ; j 
 and, in memorial of this work, he caused ' 
 to be erected on the top of the east ! 
 gable of the choir of the present church I 
 of Dunkeld, a fluted cross, as part of the 
 armorial bearings of his family, which is 
 still standing. 
 
 A HIGHLAVD TRADITIOV. 
 
 Near the middle of the vale of Glen 
 Urcha, in Argyleshire, the traveller will 
 perceive a small eminence, entitled by 
 the people of the district the Gallows 
 Hill, and which is now an object of tra- 
 ditionary legend. When the clan Mac- 
 gregor was in possession of this part of 
 the country, this mount was the ordinary 
 place of execution ; Mid the gallows, from 
 whence it took its name, is said to have 
 stood on a small knoll upon its summit. 
 Among the various tragic tales told of 
 the fate of those condemned by the feudal 
 jurisdiction to suffer on this spot, the fol- 
 lowing one is sufficiently illustrative of a 
 system of barbaric legal usage, which 
 was not abolished till about the middle 
 of the last century. At a remote period, 
 the chief of the Alacgregors became vio- 
 lently in love with a beautiful young 
 woman of the glen, who was betrothed 
 to one of his clansmen. The addresses 
 of Macgreggor were in the highest de- 
 gree distressing ; but though she was the 
 daughter of a serf, and he was her chief, 
 neither his threats nor his entreaties could 
 induce her to alter her resolution not to 
 listen to his proposals. At length, en- 
 raged by her obstinacy, Macgreggor's 
 love was turned to hatred ; and to re- 
 venge the slight which he imagined he 
 had received, he devised the horrible 
 plan of causing her to be accused of having 
 conspired against his life by means of 
 witchcraft. In the mock trial which en- 
 sued, it is almost needless to say that 
 this unfortunate female was condemned, 
 and was forthwith hanged upon Gallows 
 Hill, and her body afterwards suspended 
 from the gallows in a creel or rustic 
 basket. The corpse of tliis victim of 
 superstition continued for a considerable 
 period bleaching in the rain and sun, till 
 during a violent storm, when it was 
 blown from the gallows, and thereafter 
 conveyed away and privately interred by 
 the sorrowing and impotent relatives. It 
 is a remarkable fact, though of course 
 proving nothing in the way of retribution, 
 that the descendant of the Macgreggor 
 who inflicted the above atrocious act of 
 despotism, was, according to tradition, 
 the first Highlander who suffered the 
 punishment of hanging in chains — a 
 doom held by the Scots at the time as 
 the most abhorrent to the feelings.
 
 PEBILS BV FIX>OU AND riKLD. 
 
 91 
 
 OR. 
 
 THE LONE TOWER; 
 THE WAKNIXG FULFILLED. 
 
 On the summit of St. Vincent's rocks, 
 in the neigiibourbood of Clifton, looking 
 OQ die Avon, as it rolls its lazy course 
 towards the Bristol channel, stands an 
 edifice, known by tlie name of *' Cooke's 
 Folly." It consists of a single round 
 tower, and appears at a distance rather 
 as the remnant of some extensive build- 
 ing: than a complete and perfect edifice, 
 as it DOW exifts. It was built more than 
 two eeotnries ag<o^ by a man named 
 Ifanriee Cooke — not, indeed, as a strong 
 hold from the arms of a mortal enemy, 
 hot as a refuge from the evils of destiny. 
 He was the proprietor of extensive 
 olaties in the neighbourhood ; and while 
 loB lad|f was preg^nant with her first 
 child, as she was one evening walking in 
 their domain, she enfeoimtered a strange- 
 looking gypsy, who, pestering her for 
 ahns, received but a small sum. The 
 man turned over the coin in his hand, 
 and implored a larger gift. 
 
 " That," said the lady, " will bay you 
 food for the present." 
 
 VOL. I.— 13. 
 
 Pa^e 100. 
 
 " Lady," said the man, " it is not food 
 for liiis wretched body I require j the 
 j herbs of the field, and the waters of the 
 ditch, are good enough for that. I asked 
 \ our alms for higher purposes. Do not 
 distrust me, if my bearing be prouder 
 than my garments ; do not doubt tljc 
 sirengih of my sunken eye, when I tell 
 you that it can read the skies as they re- 
 late the fates of men. Not more familiar 
 is his horn-book to the scholar than are 
 the heavens to my knowledge." 
 
 *' What ! thou art an astrologer ?" 
 
 " Ay, lady ! my fathers were so before 
 me, even in the times when our people 
 had a home amidst the pyramids of the 
 mighty — in the times when you are told 
 the mightier prophets of the Israelites 
 put the soothsayers of Egypt to confu- 
 sion : idle tales 1 but if true, all reckless 
 now. Judah's scattered sons are now 
 desolate as ourselves ; but they bend and 
 bow to the laws and ways of other lauds 
 — we remain in the stem stedfastness of 
 our own." 
 
 " If, then, I give thee more money, 
 bow will It be applied I'" 
 
 " That is not a courteous quertion, but 
 o
 
 93 
 
 TALKS OF CFIIVAI 
 
 OR, 
 
 ril answer it. The most cunning crafLs- 
 inan cannot work without his tools, and 
 some of mine are broken, which I seek to 
 repair : another crown will be enough." 
 The lady put the required sum into his 
 hand, and at the same time intimated her 
 desire of having a specimen of his art. 
 
 ** Oh ! to what purpose should that be ? 
 Why, why seek to know the course of 
 futurity ? Destiny runs on in a sweeping 
 and resistless tide. Inquire not what 
 rocks await your bark : the knowledge 
 cannot avail you, for caution is useless 
 against stern necessity." 
 
 " Truly, you are not likely to get rich by 
 your trade, if you thus deter customers." 
 ** It is not for wealth I labour. I am 
 alone on the earth, and have none to 
 love. I will not mix with the world, lest 
 I should learn to hate. This present is 
 nothing to me. It is in communion with 
 the spirits who have lived in the times 
 that are past, and with the stars, those 
 historians of the times to come, that I feel 
 ought of joy. Fools sometimes demand 
 the exertion of my powers, and some- 
 times I gratify their childish curiosity." 
 
 ** Notwithstanding I lie under the im- 
 putation of folly, I will beg that you pre- 
 dict unto me the fate of the child which I 
 shall bear." 
 
 *' Well, you have obliged me, and I 
 will comply. Note the precise moment 
 at which it enters the world, and soon 
 after you shall see me again." 
 
 Within a week the birth of an heir 
 awoke the clamorous joy of the vassals, 
 and summoned the strange gypsy to 
 ascertain the necessary points. These 
 learned, he returned home ; and the next 
 day presented sir Maurice with a scroll, 
 containing the following words : — 
 " Twenty times shall Avon's tide 
 lu chains of glistening ice be tied — 
 Twenty times the woods of Lfigh 
 Shall wave their branches merrilv. 
 In spring burst forth in mantle gay, 
 And dance in summer's scorching ray ; 
 Twenty times shall autumn's frown 
 Wither all their green to brown — 
 And still the chiid of yesterday 
 Shall laugh the happy hours away. 
 That period past, another sun 
 Shall not his annual journey run. 
 Before a secret silent foe 
 Shall strike that boy a deadly blow : 
 Such and sure his fate shall be. 
 Seek not to change his destiny." 
 
 The knight read it ; and in that age, 
 vv-hen astrology was considered a science 
 as unerring as holy prophecies, it would 
 have been little less than infidelity to 
 
 have doubted the truth of the predictioti 
 Sir Maurice, however, was wise enough 
 to withhold the paper from his lady, and, 
 in answer to her inquiries, continually 
 asserted that the gypsy was an impostor, 
 and that the object of his assuming the 
 character of an astrologer was merely to 
 increase her alms. The child grew in 
 health and beauty ; and as we are most 
 usually the more strongly attached to 
 pleasures in proportion to the brevity of 
 their continuance, so did the melancholy 
 fate of his son more firmly fix him in the 
 heart of sir Maurice. Often did the won- 
 dering lady observe the countenance of 
 her husband with surprise, as, watching 
 the endearing sportiveness of the boy, 
 his countenance, at first brightened by 
 the smile of paternal love, gradually 
 darkened to deepest grief, till, unable to 
 suppress his tears, he would cover the 
 child with caresses, and rush from the 
 room. To all inquiries sir Maurice was 
 silent, or returned evasive answers. We 
 shall pass over the infancy of young 
 Walter, and resume the narrative at the 
 period in which he entered into his twen- 
 tieth year. His mother was now dead, 
 and had left two other children, both 
 girls, who, however, shared little of their 
 father's love, which was almost exclu- 
 sively fixed on Walter, and appeared to 
 increase in strength as the fatal time 
 grew near. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that he took no 
 precautions against the predicted event. 
 Sometimes hope suggested that a mis- 
 take might have been made in the horo- 
 scope, or that the astrologer might have 
 overlooked some sign which made the 
 circumstance conditional ; and in unison 
 with the latter idea he determined to 
 erect a strong building, where, during 
 the year in which his doom was to be 
 consummated, Walter might remain in 
 solitude. He accordingly gave directions 
 for raising a single tower, peculiarly 
 formed to prevent ingress, except by 
 permission of its inhabitants. The pur- 
 pose of this strange building, however, 
 he kept secret ; and his neighbours, after 
 numerous vain conjectures, gave it the 
 name of " Cooke's Folly." Walter him- 
 self was kept entirely ignorant on the 
 subject, and all his inquiries were an- 
 swered with tears. At length the tower 
 was completed, and furnished with all 
 i things necessary for comfort and conve-
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 99 
 
 nience ; and on the eve of Walter's com- 
 pletino^ his twentieth year, sir Maurice 
 showed him the gypsy's scroll, and en- 
 treated him to make use of the retreat 
 prepared for him till the year expired. 
 Walter at first treated the matter lightly, 
 laughed at the prophecy, and declared he 
 would not lose a year's liberty, if all the 
 astrologers in the world were to croak 
 their ridiculous prophecies against him. 
 Seeing, however, his father so earnestly 
 bent on the matter, his resolution began 
 to give way, and at length he consented 
 to the arrangement. 
 
 At six the following morning, there- 
 fore, Walter entered the tower, which 
 he fastened within as strongly as iron 
 bars would admit, and which was secured 
 outside in a manner equally tirm. He 
 took possession of his voluntary prison 
 with melancholy feelings, rather occa- 
 sioned by the loss of present pleasure, 
 than the fear of future pain. He sighed 
 as he looked upon the wide domain be- 
 fore him, and thought how sad would it 
 be to hear tiie joyous horn summoning 
 his companions to the chace, and find 
 himself prevented from attending it — to 
 hear the winter wind howling round his 
 tower, and rushing between the rocks 
 beneath him, and miss the cheerful song 
 and merry jest, which were wont to make 
 even the blast a pleasant sound. Cer- 
 tainly his time passed as pleasantly as 
 circumstances permitted. He drew up 
 in a basket, at his meal hours, every 
 luxury which the season produced. His 
 father and sisters daily conversed with 
 him from below, for a considerable time ; 
 and the morris-dancers often raised his 
 laughter by their grotesque movements. 
 
 ^^^eeks and months thus passed, and 
 Walter still was well and cheerful. His 
 own and his sisters' hopes grew more 
 lively, but sir Maurice's anxiety increased. 
 The day drew near which vvas to restore 
 his son to his arms in confident security, 
 or fulfil the prediction which left him 
 without an heir to his name and honours. 
 On the preceding afternoon, Walter con- 
 tinually endeavoured to cheer his parent, 
 by speaking of what he would do on the 
 morrow — desired his sisters to send round 
 to all their friends, that he might stretch 
 his limbs once more in the merry dance 
 — and continued to talk of the future with 
 sucli confidence, that even sir M;iurice 
 caught a spark of hope Irom the fiery 
 
 spirits of the youth. As the night drew 
 on, and his sisters were about to leave 
 him, promising to awake him at six 
 o'clock the following morning by a song, 
 in answer to their usual inquiry if he 
 wanted anything more that night, 
 
 " Nothing," said he ; " and yet the 
 night feels chilly, and I have little fuel 
 left — send me one more faggot." 
 
 This was sent him, and as he drew it 
 up, " This," said he, "is the last time I 
 shall have to dip for my wants, like old 
 women for their water : thank God ! for 
 it is wearisome work to the arm." 
 
 Sir Maurice still lingered under the 
 window, in conversation with his son, 
 who at lengdi complained of being cold 
 and drowsy. 
 
 " Mark," said he, as he closed the 
 window, ** mark, father. Mars, the star 
 of my fate, looks smilingly to-night — all 
 will be well." 
 
 Sir Maurice looked up — a dark cloud- 
 spot suddenly crossed the planet, and he 
 shuddered at the omen. 
 
 The anxious father could not leave 
 I the spot. Sleep he knew it was in vain 
 ( to court, and he therefore determined to 
 remain where he was. The reflections that 
 occupied his mind continually varied : at 
 one time he painted to himself the proud 
 career of his high-spirited boy, known 
 and admired among the mighty of his 
 time ; a moment after, he saw the pre- 
 diction verified, and the child of his love 
 lying in the tomb. Who can conceive 
 his feelings, as hour dragged after hour, 
 while he walked to and fro, watching 
 the blaze of the fire in the tower, as it 
 brightened and sunk again, — now pacing 
 the court with hasty steps, — and now 
 praying fervently for the preservation of 
 his son ? The hour came. The cathe- 
 dral-bell struck heavy on the father's 
 heart, which was not to be lightened by 
 the cheerful voices of his daughters, who 
 came running full of hope to tiie foot of 
 the tower. They looked up, but Walter 
 was not there ; — they called his name — 
 he answered not. 
 
 " Nay," said the youngest, " this is 
 only a jest; he thinks to frighten us, but 
 I know he is safe." 
 
 A servant had brought a ladder, which 
 he ascended and looked in at the window. 
 Sir Maurice stood immovable and silent 
 — he looked up, and the man answered 
 the anxious expression of his eves. 
 o 2
 
 100 
 
 TALKS OF (;mVALRY5 ok, 
 
 ." He is asleep," said he. 
 
 ** He is dead ! nuirnmred the father. 
 
 The servant broke a pane of the win- 
 dow, and opening the casement, entered 
 the room. The father, changing his 
 gloomy steadfastness for frenzied anxiety, 
 rushed up the ladder. The servant had 
 thrown aside the curtains and the clothes, 
 and displayed to the eyes of sir Maurice 
 his son lying dead — a serpent twined 
 round his arm, and his throat covered 
 with blood. The reptile had crept from 
 the faggot last sent him, and fulhlled the 
 Prophecy, 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 (Continued from page 93.^ 
 They had almost reached the ford 
 where the road parts for Clachan Disart 
 and Glen Strae, when they met a herds- 
 man, who, from the general alarm of the 
 inroad, was driving his cattle to join his 
 friends, who had collected their herds 
 under the walls of Castle Caolchairn. 
 He had come by the very path which is 
 the shortest tract for Glen Co ; and upon 
 being interrogated if he had seen any 
 who bore the description of Beatrice, 
 immediately declared, that, not half an 
 hour before, he had passed a lady, 
 mounted on a black garron, and attended 
 by six armed men, in whose bonnets he 
 distinguished the badge of the Mac Don- 
 nels. Supposing them to be a party 
 belonging to Alaister Mac Colla, he had 
 driven his cattle among the bushes at 
 their approach ; but had lain concealed 
 so near the path, that he overheard one 
 of the men speak of passing into Glen 
 Go's country, by Glen Eitive and Dal- 
 ness. 
 
 At this intelligence Alan Dubh hurried 
 forward the pursuit, and immediately 
 ascending from the glen followed the 
 path which leads over the range of moun- 
 tains that separate Glen Strae from Glen 
 Kinglass. As they ascended, the pur- 
 suers glanced to each grey stone or white 
 birch that caught the pale moonshine, and 
 which more than once deceived them for 
 the glitter of mail and the slender shape of 
 a maiden figure. By degrees, however, 
 the moon became obscured by shifting 
 clouds, and a deep, black, sullen bank 
 rose m the north, and gradually drew 
 over the whole sky. The last light faded 
 from the rocks as the pursuers passed the 
 summit of Larich-Ouian ; and as they 
 
 descended into Glen Kinglass the dark- 
 ness became so great, that each carriach 
 could scarce discern the man by whom 
 he was preceded. 
 
 They reached the narrow strath, forded 
 the water, and followed the glen, without 
 meeting any trace of their pursuit, till 
 they came out beneath the deep woods of 
 Glen Eitive. The night was profoundly 
 still and close; not a breath of wind ruf- 
 fled the broad lake, but a deep continual 
 roar came from the mountain ; and as 
 they reached the bank of Alt-Chapel, the 
 black water was running over the largest 
 stones with impetuous fury. The men 
 made a sudden stand upon the brink, but 
 all at once the sound of distant voices 
 came through the thunder of the torrent. 
 " Forward ! forward ! they are before 
 us !" cried Alan Dubh ; and, rushing 
 into the water, the dark line of men 
 locked their arms together, and after a 
 moment's desperate struggle gained the 
 opposite bank. 
 
 The voices were now lost ; but the 
 pursuers hurried on with unabated speed, 
 though scarce able to distinguish the 
 shadow of the scattered trees, when sud- 
 denly a flash of lightning showed the dis- 
 tant summits of the mountains, and gave 
 a momentary glimmer to their path. It 
 discovered, however, no object but the 
 grey rocks and doddered oaks ; and the 
 sound of their steps was lost in the dis- 
 tant but heavy peal of thunder which 
 rolled down the glen. The rising storm 
 seemed to give new energy to Alan 
 Dubh. " Press on !" said "he, " they 
 will shelter from the tempest ; or if not, 
 there is no maiden may ride the Eitive." 
 
 For several hours they continued their 
 march with unabated speed and constant 
 vigilance. All night the thunder rolled 
 before them, and the unceasing lightning 
 played and glimmered about the black 
 ridges of Glen Co, as if the spirits of (he 
 storm were engaged in battle on tiieir 
 summits. All at once a terrific explosion 
 of light blazed in the north, and for an 
 instant the whole mountains of Dalness 
 seemed on fire with the white- forked 
 lightning, which ran like serpents upon 
 the air. For several moments a deep 
 dark pause succeeded, but suddenly an 
 awful peal of thunder burst in the wind, 
 and the earth and air seemed to tremble 
 beneath the reverberation, which rolled 
 o\er the mountains, and rebellowed from
 
 pf;rils by flood avd fikld. 
 
 101 
 
 hill to hill, till it died away into the 
 south. 
 
 Alan Mac Alan watched the tempest 
 in silence, but his countenance betrayed 
 no doubt nor fear for the fragile maiden, 
 who was then exposed, unsheltered, to its 
 fury j but after that terrific peal the light- 
 ning and the thunder continued to de- 
 crease, and the storm could be distin- 
 guished receding gradually into the west. 
 As it passed away, a few large heavy 
 drops of rain fell in Glen Eitive, but 
 the close air remained still and breath- 
 less, as if it listened to the passing tem- 
 pest. 
 
 The morning began to break as the 
 pursuers approached the water of Eitive ; 
 but as soon as they came in sight of the 
 stream they made a sudden halt. No 
 mortal man nor horse could ford the 
 swollen flood ; and doubtful if Beatrice 
 and her conductors could have passed 
 before the rising of the water, Alan Dubh 
 and the Black Knight debated whether 
 to cross the river or search the neigh- 
 bouring wood. At length they decided 
 to leave a party of their followers behind 
 the stream, and with the rest to hasten 
 forward and gain the pass of Glen Co. 
 
 Having made the necessary division, 
 the pursuers defiled over the tottering 
 bridge, formed of the trunks of two trees, 
 tlirown from bank to bank ; and having 
 passed the narrow strath beyond, began 
 to climb the steep chain of mountains 
 which closes the extremity of Glen 
 Eitive, and bounds the royal deer-forest 
 of Dalness. The gushing streams and 
 rain-worn rocks now gave evidence that 
 they had reached the tract over which the 
 storm had passed ; and as the light ad- 
 vanced and they ascended on the hill, 
 they discovered the grey trunks of the 
 scattered pine-trees, blown over from the 
 crags, and the slopes of the hill torn into 
 deep gullies by the rain. The stream 
 by which they ascended had brought 
 down vast fragments of its rock, and 
 upon one of the heaps of shingle, now 
 deserted by the abating water, lay a 
 little doe, which had been surprised, and 
 washed away by the sudden rise of the 
 torrent. 
 
 The sun was about to appear as they 
 ascended out of the deep black pass which 
 leads towards Glen Co, and came upon 
 the high naked drim, or back, which lies 
 between Beann-Dubh and Sciu-na- 
 
 Bhouic. It is a wild, unsheltered, lofty 
 ridge, so high above the natural region 
 of vegetation, that it affords no plant but 
 a short cold moss, which barely covers the 
 black spongy soil. No trees have cast a 
 seed so high ; and, devoid of any pasture 
 for the deer, it is frequented only by the 
 solitary eagle, or a lonely fox crossing 
 from the cairns. At intervals, a little 
 black heap directs the tract of the shep- 
 herds from glen to glen ; and formerly, 
 on the highest spot, the hunters had built 
 a small hut, for shelter against the storms 
 by which they were sometimes overtaken 
 in passing from the forest. 
 
 As they approached this spot, " It 
 should not be unlikely they might rest in 
 the bothi/,"" said an old Highlander, who 
 followed "Mac Alan. "There could be 
 no better shelter, and they should never 
 think to be followed into Glen Go's 
 country, and Alaister Mac Colla in 
 Glenurcha." 
 
 Mac Naughton made no reply, but his 
 eye glanced eagerly for the hut, and he 
 advanced up the steep with increasing 
 speed. Tht-y had nearly reached the 
 summit, when one of the Highlanders 
 observed a bright object glittering on the 
 moss ; and as he came to the spot, dis- 
 covered it to be a fragment of double 
 mail. On lifting it, he immediately re- 
 cognised the gusset of a hauberk ; but 
 several of the links were torn and twisted 
 in an extraordinary manner, and some 
 marked as if partly fused. His com- 
 panions examined it with surprise ; but 
 as they proceeded they picked up the 
 lock of a pistol, the hilt of a dirk, and 
 several small fragments of dress and arms, 
 till, as they came to the summit of the 
 hill, they beheld a sight which froze them 
 with horror. 
 
 Scattered over the moss and rocks lay 
 the remnants of arms and garments, 
 blackened, and singed, and torn to shreds. 
 The tatters of actons and plaids were 
 whirled high upon the precipices, and 
 hung fluttering from the points of inac- 
 cessible rocks ; and below lay a two- 
 handed sword, split and shivered like a 
 lathe, and near it the barrel of a match- 
 lock, twisted and writhed like a hazel 
 withe. No hving being, nor any remains 
 of a human body, were visible ; but the 
 prints of recent steps were deeply tracked 
 in the moss, and it was easy to trace the 
 short tread of a small horse, and the
 
 10^ 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 stride of several men, who appeared to 
 have passed during the storm. 
 
 After the first pause of astonishment, 
 the Highlanders looked round for the 
 hut ; but it was gone, and noUiing ap- 
 peared against the sky except tlie smooth 
 naked line of the moss where it had 
 stood. Alan Dubh hastened forward to 
 the spot. The earth was raised, and 
 swept to the bare rock ; and in the scat- 
 tered drift was marked a faint circular 
 trace, like the vortex of a whirlwind. 
 At a considerable distance, rafters and 
 stones were scattered along tlie hill, and 
 upon one of the beams hung the tatters 
 of a white plaid and a broad fragment of 
 yellow silk, resembling the embroidered 
 breast of an acton. 
 
 Mac Alan snatclied the fluttering tartan 
 from the tree, and, spreading the folds, 
 beheld with horror the peculiar pattern 
 of the arisad, worn by the women of 
 Glenurcha. For a long while he stood 
 motionless and speechless, the torn plaid 
 fast clenched in his hands, and his eyes 
 fixed upon the suUied colours. At length 
 he was aroused by the reiterated voice of 
 Ardconnel, who hastily called his atten- 
 tion to the indistinct figure of a man, 
 seated upon a large stone in the glen 
 below. They called, but he did not 
 answer nor turn his head ; and the whole 
 company hastily descended the hill to- 
 wards the spot. 
 
 As they approaclied, they discovered 
 a grey old man sitting on the stone ; his 
 bow lay on tlie grass beside him, and 
 between his feet a large deer-lurcher, ap- 
 parently dead, and his long hair scorched 
 and stained with blood. Regardless of 
 the clank of the armed steps which ad- 
 vanced towards him, the hunter con- 
 tinued leaning his face on his hand, his 
 eyes fixed on the dog, and his grey head 
 moving with a slow abstracted motion. 
 There was a wild, fearful vacancy in his 
 look ; and as the Highlanders stopped 
 and spoke to him, he returned no answer 
 or notice, and continued with his gaze 
 fixed upon the greyhound, till a beam of 
 the rising sun flashing on his face from 
 the bright corslet of Alan Dubh, he sud- 
 denly lifted his head. At the sight of the 
 clear light he started up, and breaking 
 into a laugh of fearful exultation, waved 
 his hand to the red sunshine. " The 
 fire! the fire of heaven!" he exclaimed, 
 " the battle of the spirits amidbt the 
 
 clouds !" and tossing his arms, he broke 
 into a wild Ossianic song : 
 
 " They came in the fire of tlie sky, 
 Like the terrible spirit of Loda, 
 When he rides in the roar of a thousand storms. 
 And scatters battle from his eyes." 
 
 He stopped suddenly, and pointing to 
 the hill, leaned forward and muttered, 
 in a low voice, " The fire ran upon the 
 ground ! the rocks were lifted in the 
 wind ! — Bran ! Bran ! Bran ! — Where is 
 my dog ?" 
 
 He looked wildly round, but instantly 
 sitting down, wept over the greyhound, 
 and a momentary gleam of reason seem- 
 ing to come to his mind, " Mo chu fein !" 
 he whispered ; " Bran of the winged 
 foot ! The fire and the wind came from 
 the cairn — he was fleet as the great ^tag 
 of the desert, but he could not fly from 
 them!" 
 
 Again he relapsed into silence, while 
 Alan Dubh strove in vain to rouse his 
 abstraction, by an inquiry to ascertain if 
 he had seen his daughter ; but at length, 
 as he endeavoured to awaken his notice, 
 by describing the nighean gheal (white 
 maiden), and the hratehe solas (brooch 
 of light) which she wore, he suddenly 
 lifted his head: "Light! light !"" he 
 exclaimed, *' it was all light /" And 
 passing from one object to another, with 
 the sudden transition of a maniac, he fell 
 into that deep poetical Gaelic, which 
 solitude, and the frequent recitation of 
 ancient verse, rendered the familiar lan- 
 guage of the old deer-stalkers. For a 
 moment he pointed to the pass above. 
 
 " The White Lady sat on the stone," 
 said he, in a low voice ; ** the tall war- 
 riors were around the hut. Gaul ! 
 Ossian of the stately steps — the mighty 
 form of Fion ! Their hands were on 
 their great swords — their looks were in 
 the glen !" 
 
 He stopped suddenly, and his voice 
 changed to a low, almost inaudible 
 whisper. " She was pale — pale — like 
 the flower in the blast. Her tears fell 
 with the rain : there was no hall — no 
 house, but the cold moss — the wet rock, 
 and the tire, and the wind, and the water, 
 around her !" His voice sunk to an in- 
 articulate murmur ; but still he continued 
 that fearful abstracted motion of his grey 
 head ; and at times they could distin- 
 guish in his nmttering the recurrence of 
 the words.
 
 PKRILS BY FLOOn ANH FIELD 
 
 103 
 
 ** TJia mi trom ! trom ! — TJia mi 
 trom, 1110 7iighean bhoiach /" 
 
 ♦ ♦*»** 
 
 Alan Mac Alan returned to Fraoch- 
 Elan, but Ronald and Beatrice never 
 came to Kinloch. Days and weeks 
 elapsed, and some thought they had gone 
 to France, to king Charles and Glen 
 Garry. But king Charles came to Holy- 
 rood, and Mac Mhic Alaister returned to 
 Invergarry ; but when the traveller passed 
 Kinloch there was no smoke on the 
 tower, and no light in the casement ; 
 and when he asked for Ronald and his 
 foster-brothers, the old warden turned 
 away his face, and shook his head, and 
 gave no answer. But long after in the 
 glens the hunters said they were seen in 
 the mountain of Dalness, and that the 
 faint cry of a female voice was heard at 
 night amidst the storms. 
 
 Months, years, centuries, the hunters 
 and the deer have passed away ; but the 
 shepherds say they are still upon the hill, 
 in the same liabits as they were seen 
 passing up Glen Eitive on the night that 
 Alaister Mac Colla " burnt Loch Awe." 
 Their appearance always indicates a tem- 
 pest, and some think that it precedes the 
 death of a Macdonnel. Before a storm, 
 the White Lady is seen standing upon 
 the green heap of cairn-hothan, and 
 more than once, at the twilight, Ian 
 Diibh Drinachan, the last of the old race 
 of deer-stalkers, has met on the hill the 
 gigantic figures of ancient-looking men, 
 in the antique habit of the former High- 
 landers. Some have affected to rally his 
 failing sight ; and upon these occasions 
 he generally shook his head, and made 
 no reply; but if questioned "discreetly," 
 he would describe the sharp-pointed bon- 
 nets of the unknown hunters, the long 
 Spanish ** spunk'' guns on their shoul- 
 ders, and the gigantic two-handed swords 
 on which they leaned, and seemed to 
 watch the passes of Glen Eitive. 
 
 REMARKABLE TIGER HUNT. 
 
 The following is an extract of a letter 
 from Java. The letter was written by a 
 " true son of the ocean," and is addressed 
 to his brother. " At seven a.m., on the 
 2d of October last, I set out with my two 
 sons, a Berzoekie man in my service, and 
 about fifty natives, armed with pikes and 
 hogspears ; I was armed with a gun and 
 a spear. The tiger, for which we were 
 
 on tile look-out, was in a valley about 
 two miles and a half distant from our 
 port. The moment we arrived near him 
 we commenced operations. About nine 
 A.M. we effectually drove him out of his 
 den of underwood ; and while he was 
 doubling the brow of a hill, I had a rap 
 at him, which took effect about six inches 
 astern of his tafferail ; had I taken his 
 tafferail, it would have disabled his tiller 
 ropes, and he would have been forced to 
 heave- to, and we should have had some 
 sport with him whilst in that situation. 
 He now made over to the west side of 
 the valley, and into a thorny bush. In 
 half an hour we started him again; he 
 then ran along the western side of the 
 valley into another bush ; several spears 
 were now thrown at him, but without 
 effect. We followed, and soon roused 
 him again ; he now made a start for his 
 old station on the east side of the valley ; 
 he seemed to be very much fagged on 
 account of the heat and a want of water, 
 and it became difficult to arouse him ; 
 several spears flew after him, but they 
 fell short. All this time, although pretty 
 close, I could not get a shot at him, some- 
 times on account of my people, and at 
 others not wishing to throw a shot away, 
 not knowing how soon I might require it 
 in self defence. Close to his heels we 
 followed him across the valley. He now 
 took shelter in a bush on the side of a 
 hill, where he remained growling for 
 some time. He now saw that he was in 
 danger, so he made a start from that 
 bush to another just at my feet, and lay 
 for at least ten minutes, not ten yards 
 from where I was with one of my sons, 
 who was making an opening into the 
 bush, so that at length I got a clear sight 
 of him ; but before we could finish our 
 task, he made a spring with an intention 
 to clear the heads of three men who were 
 to my right at about a fathom distance ; 
 but they received and put three pikes and 
 a hogspear into him ; the former entered 
 his belly, the latter entered his starboard 
 shoulder ; this he took with him, but the 
 pike staves all broke. This shock to his 
 delicate frame brought him down on one 
 of the men, on whom he left the marks of 
 three of his paws, but he got into a bush 
 before I could turn round to have a rap 
 at him. This was his last move. It w as 
 now just twelve at noon. We gathered 
 up our broken pike staves, bound up the
 
 104 
 
 TAf.KS OF CHIVALRY 
 
 wounds of our man, and sent him off to 
 the mill, to wait our arrival ; but, deter- 
 mined not to give up our prize, we re- 
 mained quiet for about an hour, to rest 
 ourselves. During this time he growled 
 once, but faintly ; he vveis at that time 
 drawing the hogspear out of his starboard 
 shoulder. This gave him much pain, 
 and made him growl. We now saw the 
 bush shake very much, so again we began 
 operations, by cutting down the small 
 bushes to get a sight of him ; this was 
 done, and I put a shot into his head. 
 Our work was now done, so we went up 
 to him ; but I think that he was closing 
 his book more from the pikes than from 
 the shot. I had him carried home. His 
 weight was three hundred and thirty- 
 three pounds, stood three feet three inches 
 high ; length of body six feet, tail two 
 feet four inches. I then dressed the 
 wounded hunter. He was fourteen days 
 under my hands. He had ten wounds 
 on his body, left arm, and head. This, 
 you will say, is no children's play." 
 
 CANDOUR IN A PRISONER. 
 
 The following is a curious instance of 
 plain speaking in a prisoner of the name 
 Story, who was condemned for the part 
 he had taken in Monmouth's rebellion, 
 but was reprieved by the interest of a 
 friend with Judge Jetferies, and subse- 
 quently removed to Newgate. He was 
 soon afterwards ordered to be brought 
 before the privy council, in the same 
 plight in which he then was, which was 
 truly miserable. The keeper advised 
 him, in case the king were present, that 
 the wisest way for him would be to answer 
 the questions put to him in a plain and 
 direct manner, without concealing any 
 thing — advice which he strictly followed. 
 When he was brought into the council 
 chamner, he made so sad and sorrowful a 
 figure, that all present were surprised and 
 frightened, and he had so strong a smell 
 by being so long confined, that it was 
 very offensive. When the king first cast 
 his eyes upon him, he cried out, " Is that 
 a man, or what else is it ? Chancellor 
 Jetferies told his majesty that that was the 
 Story of whom he had gi\ en iiis majesty 
 so distinct an account. " Oh, Story !" 
 says the king; "I rememember him. 
 That is a rare fellow, indeed !" Then, 
 turning towards hirn, he talked to him 
 very freely and familiiiily. " Pray, INIr. 
 
 Story," says he, ** you were in Mon- 
 mouth's army in the west, were you not ?" 
 He, according to the advice given him, 
 made answer presently, " Yes, an't please 
 your majesty." " And you," said he, 
 *' was a commissary there, were you not?" 
 And he again replied, " Yes, an't please 
 your majesty." ** And you," said he, 
 " made a speech before great crowds of 
 people, did you not ?" He again very 
 readily answered, ** Yes, and please your 
 majesty." " Pi'ay," says the king to 
 him, " if you haven't forgot what you 
 said, let us have some taste of your fine 
 florid speech ; let us have a specimen of 
 some of the flowers of your rhetoric, and 
 a few of the main things on which you 
 insisted." Whereupon Mr. Story told 
 us that he readily made answer, " I told 
 them, an't please you majesty, that it was 
 you that fired the city of London." " A 
 rare rogue, upon my word !" said the 
 king. " And pray what else did you 
 tell them ?" " I told them," said he, 
 " an't please your majesty, that you poi- 
 soned your brother." '* Impudence in 
 the utmost height of it !" said the king. 
 " Pray let us have something further, if 
 your memory serves you." *' I further 
 told them," said Mr. Story, " that your 
 majesty appeared to be fully determined 
 to make the nation both papists and 
 slaves." By this time the king seemed 
 to have heard enough of the prisoner's 
 speech ; and therefore, crying out, ** A 
 rogue with a witness !" and cutting off 
 short, he said, " To all this 1 doubt not but 
 a thousand other villanous things were 
 added ; but what would you say, Story, if, 
 after all this, I should grant you your 
 life V To which he, without any demur, 
 made answer, that he should pray heartily 
 for his majesty as long as he lived. — 
 " Why, then," says the king, " I freely 
 pardon all that is past, and hope you will 
 not, for the future, represent your king 
 as inexorable." 
 
 HONOUR. 
 
 M. de Vauban once sent a soldier to 
 examine the enemy's outposts. The man 
 cheerfully obeyed, and though exposed to 
 a sharp fire, remained until he received a 
 ball in his body. He m.ade his report 
 with great calmness, although the blood 
 continued to stream from his wound, and 
 refused to receive any reward for his 
 valour.
 
 PRRILS BV FLOOD A\D FIELD. 
 
 105 
 
 Pa^e 108, 
 
 THE BABINGTONS. 
 
 A TALZ OF CHADSTOW, 
 
 '' She had taken care to conceal her elegant 
 shape, by fastening a large lump upon her shoul- 
 der, as if she had been crooked ; her beautiful 
 auburn hair was covered with a large coarse cap ; 
 and she had anointed her face and hands, in 
 imitation of the gjpsies, with juice of walnut 
 husks."— PopuLAa Tales of the Germans. 
 
 Paul Babixgton, or, as he was more 
 generally designated, the Black Priest 
 of Chadstow, was unquestionably one of 
 the handsomest men of his time. In vain 
 did the sable Benedictine garb enlbld his 
 noble form with coarse and unsightly dra- 
 pery ; his majestic height, for he was 
 upwards of six feet, his broad square 
 shoulders, his brawny chest, his thick 
 and towering neck, spoke him framed in 
 the most masculine proportion of man ; 
 and the fine contour of liis animated, 
 though somewhat full features, his bold 
 and large eye, aquiline nose, and exqui- 
 sitely formed mouth, whose red lips loved 
 to display a clustering and splendid set 
 of teeth, gave him every external grace 
 that the eye delig'.its to dwell upon ; while 
 his bushy sable beard, carefully trimmed, j 
 
 VOL. L — 14. 
 
 and his curly tonsure of the same hue, 
 cherished to the utmost point that mo- 
 nastic rules allowed, or, to say truth, 
 indulged rather beyond it, wreathed like 
 a coronet his high, white forehead, testi- 
 fying, in no slight degree, the opinion 
 which the worthy monk entertained of 
 his own personal attractions ; and, to 
 complete all, the clear brown of his 
 cheeks, mantling with a rich healthy red, 
 that told more of daily exercise in the 
 field than of nighlly vigil in the cell, fully- 
 testified the reputation he enjoyed of 
 being an uncommonly fine-looking man. 
 Many a fair lip had been heard to sigh 
 that " a good knight was spoiled uhen 
 Paul Babington was doomed to wield the 
 rosary and crucifix, instead of the sv\ ord 
 and shield ;" many a languishing eye 
 longed to see those bold temples crested 
 with the helmet, that were veiled with 
 the cowl ; many a white bosom heaved 
 to think how gallantly that lusty form 
 would have borne itself in tournament, 
 that moved so stately in the mass ; and 
 many a beauty that bent before him in 
 confession, would have given her heart 
 to have seen him at her feet as she knelt
 
 106 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 at hiSy — the red-windowed aisle, with its 
 carved vault, exchanged for the broad 
 green and flowery meadow, willi its flags 
 and pavillions, white, red, yellow, and 
 blue, and the high and sculptured confes- 
 sional transformed into the gay canopied 
 throne, where the queen of the festival 
 dispensed the chivalric wreath. Yet 
 Father Paul, at the period of our tale, 
 was not a young man ; he had seen more 
 than forty summers, and it cannot be 
 denied that a certain degree of obesity 
 had begun to amplify his robust form. 
 But there was an inextinguishable fresh- 
 ness of spirit about him, an open fearless- 
 ness of demeanour, a versatility of talent, 
 a flow of conversational powers, and a 
 fund of those nameless attractions which 
 make you love a man before you know 
 him, that, placing him on a par with, if 
 not ahove^ the glittering youth of his day, 
 certainly detracted in no slight degree 
 from the solemn and impressive attri- 
 butes with which his sacerdotal character 
 would otherwise have invested him. 
 
 Truth to tell, Paul Babington was 
 never intended by nature for the priestly 
 functions. His genius, undaunted and 
 excursive in its range, disdained the pre- 
 scribed formalities in which his profession 
 ordained him to move ; of science he had 
 paced through all the paths, but most 
 loved her forbidden track. And then, 
 no Troubadour could chaunt virelay or 
 romaunt with such efTect as his deep 
 manly tones produced. In every athletic 
 exercise he was distinguished among his 
 competitors j and in the noble science of 
 venery* he was confessed by all to be 
 unrivalled. None knew so w-ell how to 
 rein a steed, or train a hound. The 
 falcon ever took the surest flight from his 
 large-handed glove, and the raven loved 
 the day when, with brawny arms naked 
 to the shoulder, he applied himself to the 
 task of breaking the hart, for which the 
 noble authoress of '* The Book of St. 
 Albans" gives such unblushing direc- 
 tions. The abbess Juliana herself could 
 not have pictured a finer hart of grease, 
 a more picturesque forest, a huger oak- 
 tree vvith forked branches, a more satis- 
 fied corbyn with his bone, or a more 
 faithful disciple of her rules, than were 
 seen in the sports of the Black Priest 
 of Chadstow. Every rustic amusement, 
 also, flouri.siied most" freely w hen under 
 ♦ The hunting of wild animals. 
 
 his auspices. The May- pole, the well- 
 flowering, the quoits, the bat and ball, all 
 found in Father Paul not only a ready 
 assistant, but a main spring. Nor were 
 these his only flights from the prison of 
 conventual rule ; in the recently termi- 
 nated wars of York and Lancaster, Paul 
 Babington had fought under the Red 
 Rose with such distinction, that, had it 
 not been for the powerful interest of his 
 brother, sir Oliver Babington, at king 
 Edward's court, he would have expe- 
 rienced an eternal divorce both from his 
 clerical duties and his laical pastimes. 
 As it was, he was subjected to heavy 
 penances by his superior, the lord prior 
 of the Benedictines at Coventry, although 
 the discipline that there mortified his 
 flesh in more ways than one, is said to 
 have produced anything than the eflTect 
 of reconciling the worthy priest to holy 
 church. 
 
 From that period, report stained him 
 (timorously, it is true, and only by slight 
 tints, but no less stained him) with the 
 imputation of Lollardism ; and the de- 
 light he occasionally took in studies to 
 which the ignorance of the period afhxed 
 the term of sorcery, was another advan- 
 tageous ground which his open and fear- 
 less temper aflPorded to his enemies. — 
 However, to use an expressive Scottish 
 phrase, he *' jowked and let the jaw rin 
 by." The rank, riches and respectability, 
 of his brother, sir Oliver, who was most 
 tenderly attached to him, invested the 
 priest of Chadstow with great immuni- 
 ties ; while the unsettled state of the 
 kingdom (the death of Henry and the 
 final flight of Margaret having but re- 
 cently taken place), together with the 
 general laxity of the clergy at this period, 
 and their entire exemption from civil 
 autliority, conveyed to them by Edward, 
 who was earnestly solicitous of their sup- 
 port, left Father Paul pretty much to the 
 undisturbed pursuit of his inclinations. 
 Not that we are to suppose him a vicious 
 or depraved character — far otherwise- 
 he was idolized by the small circle of 
 poor who were under his care, no less 
 than he was courted by the young and 
 gay of his own station, nor was he less 
 careful in administering to the wants of 
 the one, than he was indispensable in^ 
 promoting the enjoyments of the other. 
 The chief point in his cliaracter which 
 most threatened him was his persevering
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 107 
 
 attachment to the exiled house of Lan- 
 caster, — an attachment which no argu- 
 ments of his brother, who had espoused 
 the opposite cause (a circumstance very 
 common in those times), could induce 
 him for one moment to relinquish, even 
 in thought. 
 
 Our tale opens about that period when 
 the bootless retreat of Edward from the 
 continent, whither he had led one of the 
 finest armies that had ever crossed tlie 
 Channel, excited general discontent. An 
 expedition, the result of many negocia- 
 tions, of long and expensive preparations, 
 which threatened Louis XL with the loss 
 of his crown and the dismemberment of 
 his kingdom, had become fruitless and 
 even highly disadvantageous to England ; 
 for the caged conference on the bridge of 
 Peguini had dissolved the most formid- 
 able confederacy that ever was organized 
 against France, and given the crowned 
 fox such an insight into the councils of 
 his foes, that they could never afterwards 
 afford him the least disturbance. The 
 popular mind was accordingly in a high 
 ferment. Yorkists and Lancasti'ians not 
 only began to lose their party spirit, but 
 also frequent unions were set on foot be- 
 tween the two factions, the objects of 
 which referred pretty plainly to the young 
 earl Henry of Richmond, then a refugee 
 at tlie ducal court of Brittany. 
 
 Edward could not be long ignorant of 
 this : accordingly history, while she re- 
 cords his attenipts to get the earl and his 
 uncle into his hands, does not hesitate to 
 ascribe to him intentions as sanguinary 
 as his proceedings were hypocritical. As 
 if this were not sufficient, treason stole 
 into the very court itself, and dissensions 
 in the royal family, of the most compli- 
 cated nature, for a time both defied king 
 Edward's sagacity to detect, and his power 
 to panish them. 
 
 Sir Oliver Babington, a brave and 
 high-minded, but at the same time a vio- 
 lent and imprudent man, had felt heavily 
 the existing discontents. Surrounded by 
 every thing that could make life enviable, 
 one might imagine that the knigiit of 
 Curborough had small reason to embroil 
 himself in the wild and veering politics 
 of the period. He was blessed with a 
 fair and virtuous wife, the personal friend 
 of queen Elizabeth, when only the lady 
 Grey of Grobv. His only child, a son, 
 the flower of his contemporaries, was 
 
 betrothed — and (rare event) betrothed 
 with mutual love, nourished from child- 
 hood — to Barbara Somerville, heiress of 
 the ancient house of Whichnover, who 
 had been sir Oliver's ward, and was re- 
 cently arrived at age, and consequently 
 was now mistress of the venerable man- 
 sion and extensive estates of her ances- 
 tors. But in spite of all this, sir Oliver 
 showed himself disgusted with the late 
 measures. He had been one of the 
 leaders in the French expedition, had 
 remonstrated most strongly against the 
 compromise and retreat; and after point- 
 ing out, in the most forcible terms, the 
 deceitful policy of Louis, he retired, in 
 sullen acquiescence with his sovereign's 
 mandate, 
 
 " For majesty might never yet endure 
 The muudy frontier of a servant's brow, 
 
 to the towered halls of Curborough, one 
 of his seats in Staffordshire. 
 
 In this remote and forested retreat, he 
 had been received with no small dehght 
 by his brother Paul, who dwelt by the 
 ancient and neighbouring church of Chad- 
 stow. Their intercourse was now re- 
 newed in more cordiality than had sub- 
 sisted between them for some time, and 
 much important and perilous matter was 
 agitated between them, the result of 
 which our story will unfold. 
 
 It was a windy moonlight midnight, 
 on St. Mark's eve, 147G, when the porch 
 of the old village church of Chadstow 
 contained three watchers. Most readers 
 know the superstitions attached of old to 
 the vigil of St. Mark too well to need 
 explanation here. The cemetery, sur- 
 rounded by majestic trees, lay shadowed 
 or brightened by the fitful planet, as the 
 clouds, whirled by the gusts that groaned 
 among the leafless branches, veiled the 
 broad town in stormy darkness, or sheeted 
 the landscape in troubled lustre. The 
 huge elms and maples rocked and howled 
 in the blast. The resounding aisles 
 boomed from buttress to pinnacle, with 
 its violence. The long rows of lancet 
 windows clattered, and their lozenged 
 panes, superb in painted story, now stood 
 pale and dull in the muffled sky, and 
 then, as the moon emerged, darted a 
 many-coloured refulgence on the sculp- 
 tured altar — tombs and variously attired 
 etfigies,with armorial blazons, that marked 
 the Babingtons, and the Biddulfs of other 
 days. The weathercocks gleamed and 
 p 2
 
 108 
 
 TALKS OF ( inVAI-RY 
 
 OR, 
 
 ranished like spirits on the summit of 
 the massy edifice, and the broad dial on 
 the Campanile, displayed and hid its 
 brazen Hgnres, like some illuminated 
 book, opened or closed at the bidding of 
 the necromancer. | 
 
 But the interior of the porch stood j 
 impassive in its deep-ribbed gloom, the j 
 utmost reach of the moonbeams only dis-. j 
 closing a gleamy robe, or a pallid ciieek, I 
 as the intermitted light struggled through { 
 its narrow and deeply moulded arch. ! 
 
 The owl w^as heard from the hill be- j 
 hind ; and the lake that rolled for nearly j 
 half a mile up to the very walls of the 
 Minster-Close, sent with a roar its windy 
 waves against the barrier, which pro- 
 tected the Chester road, falling in hissing 
 streams (only heard when the wind 
 paused) over the motionless wheel of the 
 adjacent mill. On a sudden a form was 
 seen to enter the church-yard, it paused 
 at the porch, and the light being then 
 deeply obscured, passed into the church. 
 Its entrance was marked by a suppressed 
 scream from one of the w^atchers ; she fell 
 back in a swoon, and the imperious 
 clangor of the clock bell, which, swelling 
 and fleeting away in the blast, tolled 
 with anxious pauses the twelve strokes of 
 midnight, alone recalled the others from 
 attending to their companion. At that 
 moment another maiden, whose fair hair 
 gleamed for a moment from beneath the 
 worn muffler that enfolded it, started up 
 with apparent terror as a second figure 
 passed the porch, habited in armour with 
 his \ isor up. This maiden's terror made 
 her utter loud cries, which, if they testi- 
 fied less deeply seated grief than her 
 companion, nevertheless, conjured up 
 immediately a third apparition, who was 
 entering the porch when the aroused 
 terrors of the lair watchers arrested his 
 step, and the next moment the deep tones 
 of the Black Priest of Chadstow issued 
 from the cowl of this last intruder. 
 
 " Nay, then, an' I had known it were 
 to end thus, the silly fowl shouUl have 
 abided their peril at home. Why, what 
 a coil is here !" he continued, " doth not 
 Barbara Somerville know her old friend 
 and tutor, and can she not spare some- 
 what of the marvellous courage and pru- 
 dence to her damsel who seems so greatly 
 to lack those virtues? Thus my wise 
 plans ever serve me. And here is mv 
 
 adv too, sunk down in mortal terror 
 
 Thou art but a fool after all, Paul Babing- 
 ton, to think that woman's fortitude or 
 discretion might be trusted. And yet, 
 bating a few hasty words, all may be 
 right still." 
 
 As the monk spoke, the two figures 
 advanced from St. Catherine's chapel in 
 the northern aisle, one of whom bearing 
 a lamp from the shrine, thus angrily ad- 
 dressed him — 
 
 " What'^ here ? and how is it, brother, 
 that a set of screaming women are suf- 
 fered to break in upon our conference ; is 
 it thus, mad priest, that thou keepest 
 tryste ?" 
 
 The speaker was a man of command- 
 ing stature, whose crimson hood attached 
 to a rich robe of sables, disclosed a piercing 
 eye, and locks and beard a sable silvered. 
 The priest did not immediately answer, 
 but the armed figure who had taken tiie 
 lamp from sir Oliver (for it was no other), 
 and had busied himself about the swoon- 
 ing lady, addressed with assumed softness 
 the angry knight. 
 
 " Speak not so harshly, sir Oliver, it is 
 some dame of quality ; and this lady who 
 bends over her so anxiously, is, doubtless, 
 of consideration ! judge for thyself, how- 
 ever, since I, a stranger so long to Eng- 
 lish fashions, may scarcely venture to 
 pronounce on those of high degree, who 
 thus venture on a peasant girls frolic." 
 
 As he spoke, sir Oliver had roused the 
 fainting lady in his arms, and with a voice 
 of anger and astonishment, exclaimed — 
 
 " By St. Catherine ! 'tis Joscelyne 
 herself! what fiend hath moved her to 
 embark in such a freak?" 
 
 ** Kreak as it was, good guardian," 
 said the soft accents of the lady Barbara, 
 half weeping with terror, and half laugh- 
 ing with the excitement her buoyant 
 spirit so dearly loved, " Freak as it was, 
 blame not thy lady ; let thy wrath rather 
 fall upon me, whose thoughtless mood 
 induced her to this folly ! Or rather," 
 she said, turning angrily on Paul, " let 
 it alight on thy reverend brother, who 
 encouraged only to terrify and betray us!" 
 
 Sir Oliver scarce heeded the maiden ; 
 for, holding his still senseless lady in his 
 arms, he alternately addressed the fondest 
 language to her, and broken upbraidings 
 to those around him. But, when lady 
 Babington's kindling colour and unclosing 
 eye relieved his first fears, he was on the 
 eve of resigning her to Barbara's care.
 
 PERIL3 BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 109 
 
 and turning away in cold displeasure, 
 when Joscelyne beholding her husband, 
 sprang at once to his neck with a cry of 
 joy. 
 
 " The saints be praised ! it was then 
 no phantom ! But, oh, my beloved ! — 
 wherefore didst thou trifle with thy foolish 
 Joscelyne ?" 
 
 ** Ought I not rather," replied the 
 Anight gravely, yet tenderly, " ought I 
 not rather to ask Joscelyne why she hath 
 thus trifled with herself? Ought I not 
 to ask whether it becomes the state of the 
 lady Babington to be seen like some vil- 
 lage crone leading young maidens to 
 tamper with unhallowed practices ? And 
 thou, Barbara, of Whichnover ! how is 
 it that thou hast thus left my house, thus 
 outraged my hospitable cares, for the 
 purpose of indulging these unmaidenly 
 pranks ? As for thine attendant here, 
 she shall know whether I have not the 
 power to punish her impudence." 
 
 The damsel alluded to, dressed in the 
 coarsest menial attire, drew back in 
 terror at the knight's speech, and muffling 
 her grey cloak more closely around her, 
 seemed about to consult her safety by 
 immediate flight, when Barbara clasping 
 her arm, and drawing herself up with 
 dignity, replied — 
 
 ** No one will dare, not even sir Oliver 
 Babington, will dare to lay hand on my 
 own tire-woman, whose sole offence was 
 her duteous obedience to my commands. 
 He, I repeat, ought to feel thine indig- 
 nation, who at yesterday's confession im- 
 posed upon us a penance our curiosity 
 too readily allowed, to watch one hour in 
 the porch at midnight." 
 
 " Yes !" interposed lady Babington, 
 " he it was who induced us to come to 
 Chadstow, knowing our foolish notions 
 respecting the vigil of St. Mark, and 
 stabled near his cell are tlie steeds that 
 brought us hither." 
 
 " Saints and fiends," roared the in- 
 censed Babington, " what mischief Paul 
 hast tiiou been brewing ? — is thy wild 
 and reckless demeanour the cloak of 
 darker evil than the outrage it offers to 
 thy church ? Am I to hold thee an alien 
 from my affections a.s thou hast too often 
 been a recreant to mine house ? Speak 
 ere I forget that our arms have embraced 
 in the same mother's bosom ?" 
 
 The Black Priest with the utmost com- 
 posure, his folded arm? wrapping his 
 
 vesture close round his noble figure, and 
 his open features fully illuminated by the 
 lamp, slowly and kindly replied — 
 
 " Will my brother implicidy trust to 
 one who, however he might appear an 
 alien to his house, hath never given cause 
 that his affection should be doubted, and 
 whose poor judgment hath, ere this, been 
 found serviceable ; will he permit sir 
 Gilbert Vaucler here to escort these 
 ladies to the Pool House, to the care of 
 the widow Dyott, where they are looked 
 for at this hour ? And," he added signi- 
 ficantly, " will Barbara Somerville ac- 
 quiesce in the wishes of one who never 
 counselled but for her good, and follow 
 the guidance of sir Gilbert ?" 
 
 All the party gazed at the Black Priest 
 in unfeigned astonishment, but the last 
 mentioned personage burst forth, 
 
 " To the Pool House ? and why not 
 to their own mansion ? why not to Cur- 
 borough ?" 
 
 " Alas ! sir Gilbert," replied Father' 
 Paul, " had my means of intelligence 
 been more prompt, you would have 
 learned that Curborough Hall is at this 
 moment a most luifitting abode for ladies. 
 A king's messenger is now in the house, 
 his armed followers in the adjacent ham- 
 let ! You perceive, as well as I, how 
 dangerous the knowledge of this would 
 have been to the excited mind of our 
 friend and brother here." And then, 
 while the others stood in blank dismay, 
 the priest took sir Oliver aside. After a 
 short parley, the knight returned to them, 
 and said, " Go, my lady ! our brother 
 counsels well; to-morrow all will be ex- 
 plained. Vaucler, escort them to the 
 Pool House, and then return — we await 
 you in St. Chad's cell." 
 
 The priest then whistled, and a man, 
 in the dress of a lay brother (the storm 
 having now subsided), brought round the 
 steeds. The lady Babington and her 
 companions were soon on the road by 
 the lake's side, scarcely in less astonish- 
 ment than Vaucler ; and after having 
 accompanied them to the mansion, whose 
 lighted windows, open door, blazing 
 hearth, and especially the welcome of 
 dame Eleanor Dyott, proclaimed the 
 monk's assertion correct — he retraced his 
 steps to the cell of Chadstow. 
 
 During sir Gilbert's absence, a small 
 matted apartment, adjoining the north- 
 west angle of the church, received the
 
 no 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 brothers. A cheerful fire of brushwood 
 and logs bickered on the hearth. The 
 table was covered with manuscripts — the 
 brilliant colours of whose halt'-tinished 
 illuminations were nearly hidden by dog 
 whistles, Milan hawk bells, jesses, a hunt- 
 ing horn richly embossed, compasses, 
 quadrants, old pedigrees, hawking gloves, 
 carved drinking bowls, and a ruddy flask 
 of Bourdeaux, all mingled somewhat in- 
 congruously vvith articles of sacerdotal 
 attire. Arblasts and boar-spears hung 
 on the gleaming walls, where, also, a 
 shirt of link-mail, and a huge two-handed 
 sword, did not shame to show themselves. 
 Beaufet, half open, disclosed some costly 
 carved vases and other articles of silver, 
 and the whole apartment would have 
 puzzled a stranger to decide whether it 
 belonged to a poet, an epicure, a forest- 
 ranger, or, as it really did, to a Benedic- 
 tine monk. Two stag-hounds, of magni- 
 ficent size and Lancashire breed, whose 
 long heads, large ears, straight hams, and 
 well-trussed thighs, might have delighted 
 the most fastidious sportsman of the day, 
 started from their slumbers by the hearth, 
 shook their dun hides, and in a moment 
 had their enormous white paws on the 
 arms of their master. 
 
 ** Down Thunder ! down Countess !" 
 exclaimed Paul, as the huge animals 
 gambolled round the room, transferring 
 their caresses from the priest to his bro- 
 ther, while a large merloun stretched her 
 long wings, and screaming aloud, shook 
 her bells at the sound of his voice. 
 
 Paul now busily removed some of the 
 incumbrances from the loaded table, and 
 heaping it with a large venison pasty 
 and other viand.s, at the same time adding 
 another billet to the hearth, invited sir 
 Oliver to sit down, who, after mechani- 
 cally complying, burst forth. 
 
 "The lady Anne Plantagenet missing? 
 — the kingdom in a hue and cry — and 
 the privacy of my own house invaded ? 
 Why then, Paul, did you not tell me this 
 sooner?— what hath it to do with this 
 foolish vigil ? — and why have you kept 
 he secret from Vaucler ?" 
 
 " Because I knew not whether I might 
 less safely trust thine impetuous openness 
 than his dark dissimulation ! Secret it 
 hath ceased to be ; at least, to morrow 
 will proclaim it; and thy question should 
 be 7iot why / have concealed it from sir 
 Gilbert, but why lie hath not imparted it 
 
 to thee. My life for it, he knows more 
 of it than either of us!" 
 
 " Vaucler ? why he is only fresh from 
 Calais. With a just indignation at the 
 disiionour Edward hath inflicted on the 
 nation, he hath hastened hither in tiie 
 strictest incognito, and dreads discovery 
 more than death." 
 
 *' My brother 1 Vaucler is not to be 
 trusted ; he is an edge-tool with which 
 I would not care to play, did I not know 
 him to be in my power. If I appear to 
 join him, it is more to exert the influence 
 that knowledge gives me, to prevent his 
 doing ynischief to our cause, than from 
 my hope of his doing it any good^ 
 
 *' But is he not bound by every tie to 
 the cause for which his patron the great 
 Warwick embarked, and lost both for- 
 tune and life ? Doth he not know that 
 my attachment to the Nevilles hath 
 drawn on me the hatred of the AVood- 
 ville party at court ?" 
 
 ** Oliver, he is thy wife's kinsman ; 
 judge thou whether he shares thy love 
 to tlie Nevilles, or thy disgrace with the 
 Woodvilles. Well he knows that there is 
 a higher malcontent than thou — George 
 of Clarence — who would rather lay his 
 own head beneath Edward's fauldstool 
 than mount his throjie, if Vaucler were 
 to help him there! Can his highness, 
 think you, forget the day when the un- 
 grateful adventurer planted the guns of 
 Calais against them, causing the duchess 
 Isabella to fall in labour on shipboard ! 
 The main hope I see in him, added Paul, 
 with a sarcastic smile, " is his solemn 
 oath to be faithful to Edward against all the 
 world — an oath which the Judas that dwells 
 in his heart will never let him keep." 
 
 " But he hath brought us missives from 
 the court of Brittany with the privy sign 
 of Richmond himself!" 
 
 " Ay, and if report belie him not, the 
 trusty Vaucler had well nigh brought 
 Richmond in person ! But, it seems, a 
 misgiving seized his highness of Brit- 
 tany, who, as the earl and his uncle Pem- 
 broke were embarking, recovered them 
 from sir Gilbert's hands, and placed them 
 in sanctuary." 
 
 " Brother, brother, you will ruin your- 
 self with your suspicions !" 
 
 " And you, brother, will ruin us both 
 by your incaution !" 
 
 Here a pause ensued, which was broken 
 by sir Oliver —
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIKLD. 
 
 Ill 
 
 " Why, tlion, admit him to our coun- 
 cils, or why not let the dungeons of Cur- 
 borough secure us from him at once, if 
 he be the gigantic traitor your discourse 
 implies ?" 
 
 " To have excluded him from our 
 councils, I would gladly have given my 
 life ; but to plunge him in the dungeon 
 of a house already suspected, w^ould scarce 
 be wise. Traitor by turns to Edward 
 and to Margaret, he hath already been ; 
 but those treasons, while they impair his 
 credit, may strengthen us. Let us use, 
 but not trust him further than we may. 
 At all events, our confidence is of his own 
 seeking, and, though he be even worse 
 than I suspect, I have that will make the 
 fox repent having intruded into the hound 
 kennel !" 
 
 With these words the priest opened by 
 a spring a secret recess, and produced 
 papers which he placed in sir Oliver's 
 hand. They contained overtures, made 
 by sir Gilbert during Warwick's late in- 
 surrection, to surrender Calais on con- 
 dition of his receiving the hand of lady 
 Anne Neville, then on the eve of espousal 
 with prince Edward of Lancaster. 
 
 *• I'liese audacious proposals were 
 placed in my hands," said the priest, 
 ** by the gallant Warwick himself as I 
 knelt by him in the fatal field of Barnet. 
 But hush ! — I hear his horse's tramp !" 
 And in a few moments, a knock at the 
 door of an outer apartment announced 
 the governor of Calais. 
 
 But before he mingles in our dramatis 
 personee, it may be as well to admit the 
 reader for a moment behind the scene, 
 and to state that sir Gilbert Vaucler (one 
 of the most accomplished traitors of a 
 period when treason was a science) had 
 quitted Calais at the request of king 
 Edward, who was now little better than 
 a suspicious tyrant, and who was anxious 
 to employ the governor's Machiavelian 
 talents in frustrating the numerous plots 
 which already began to manifest them- 
 selves among his discontented subjects. 
 In fixing on sir Oliver Babington, whose 
 wife was Vaucler's cousin -german, that 
 arch-plotter had no other motives than 
 those which a sordid cupidity of self- 
 aggrandisement might be supposed to 
 suggest. The knight's impetuous dis- 
 position seemed to offer a fair quarry for 
 his pursuit. He had commenced a cor- 
 respondence w ith him from Calais ; and, 
 
 ere the sagacious priest of Chadstow was 
 niade aware of its extent, or could ascer- 
 tain its object, sir Oliver had committed 
 to the traitor's keeping the dangerous 
 discontents that were breeding in his 
 bosom, and was more than half entangled 
 in those snares, which Paul perceived 
 would tax all his own circumspection, if 
 not to loosen, at least to prevent their 
 being closed round his brother to his 
 destruction. 
 
 Vaucler, however, had soon a more 
 definite motive for his conduct. The 
 hatred between him and the young duke 
 of Clarence has already been alluded 
 to, and almost the first tidings which he 
 encountered wiien he reached Edward's 
 court (then at Coventry), were those of 
 the mysterious disappearance of the hap- 
 less lady Anne Plantagenet. This extra- 
 ordinary event had for some time been 
 anxiously confined to the precincts of the 
 court ; but Edward's suspicion, fomented 
 by the duke of Gloucester, pointed in 
 secret to George of Clarence. Between 
 this prince and the king, the wound of 
 his recent revolt had been scarcely skim- 
 med over, and various discontents smoul- 
 dering in the breast of the unstable Cla- 
 rence, had more than once blazed out 
 into angry recrimination between the 
 brothers. Sir Gilbert took his measures 
 accordingly, and with great professions 
 of his gratitude to Edward, which he 
 swore was in his heart superior to every 
 consideration of kindred, he avowed his 
 knowledge of sir Oliver's close intimacy 
 with duke George, to whom his son was 
 a bosom friend, adding that the dangerous 
 necromancer and Lollard, the priest of 
 Chadstow, was even then instigating 
 them to treasonable measures. Vaucler 
 then persuaded the king to dispatch a 
 secret commission to Curborough, where 
 the family then resided, to satisfy his 
 grace whether the fugitive princess were 
 there, or, at all events, to possess them- 
 selves of the knight's papers. Sir Gil- 
 bert himself undertook to lull all suspi- 
 cion, by proceeding to join the Black 
 Priest at Chadstow, and by dispatching 
 missives to sir Oliver, which would with- 
 draw him from Curborough on the night 
 when the commission was to arrive. 
 
 In all this we have seen how he was 
 foiled by Father Paul, whose connexion 
 with Coventry, and known adherence 
 to the Lancastrian cause, procured him
 
 112 
 
 TM.K^ OF CHIVAf-RY; OR, 
 
 information from the inmost penetralia 
 of that divided court. Thus the priest 
 Ijad the means of removing the important 
 papers from Curborough, and of seeing 
 the ladies with their attendants, ushered, 
 under the sanction of sir Ohver himself, 
 into a safe asylum for the night, without 
 giving him such an insight into matters 
 as might urge the fiery knight to break 
 prematurely with Vaucler. 
 
 He entered the cell, — a tall man in 
 complete armour, a reason for which he 
 gave in the unsettled state of the coun- 
 try, and, as he unhelmed, the sharp but 
 not unhandsome visage, with aquiline 
 nose, and small black eye, were dis- 
 closed by the mingled fire and lamplight. 
 His whole features, however, were dis- 
 composed, forming a portentous contrast 
 to the suppressed tone (almost sinking 
 into a hiss) with which he greeted the 
 brothers, and requested some insight into 
 the strange circumstances he had just 
 witnessed. Sir Oliver looked dubiously 
 at him, as if he knew not whether at once 
 to proceed to some desperate act, or to 
 reject the suspicions the priest had infused 
 into him ; but Paul, with an inimitable 
 mixture of simplicity and effrontery, after 
 quieting the angry growls of Thunder 
 and Countess, replied, 
 
 " Ha ! then thou knewest not, sir 
 Governor, to their full limit, the unhappy 
 suspicions to which we loyal Lancas- 
 trians" — (he laid strong emphasis on the 
 word) — *' are exposed, otherwise thou 
 mightest haply have deemed that even 
 thy close disguise would scarce have 
 made the broad meadows and woods of 
 merry England so safe as the towered 
 ramparts and rolling seas of Calais." 
 
 Vaucler's eyes glittered as though they 
 would have scorched the priest's very 
 soul ; but the steady glance that encoun- 
 tered hh; made him quail, and Paul con- 
 tinued, — 
 
 *' Yet may Lancastrians well rejoice 
 at the tidings that the young princess 
 dowager of Wales hath fled the court, 
 even though their houses are invaded 
 from hall to bower by the emissaries of 
 the suspicious Edward." 
 
 Sir Gilbert assumed to admiration a 
 look of astonishment, and, after some 
 incoherent exclamations, paused awhile 
 and said, 
 
 " Then is Richard of Gloucester the 
 cause of this insult to Curboroush ! 
 
 None other would have dared fo im- 
 peach sir Oliver Babington. As for me, 
 I am safe — these woody retreats, and the 
 numerous and powerful friends who are 
 even now organizing the overthrow of 
 the voluptuous Edward, are bulwarks I 
 can surely trust. I purpose a speedy 
 return, however, to Calais, where the 
 garrison is entirely devoted to me; and 
 our plans once organized, Brittany, nay, 
 France herself, will combine to make 
 our cause triumphant. I only grieve 
 that the sacred privacy of Curborough 
 should be invaded." 
 
 ** Chafe not thyself on that score," 
 replied the monk ; "nor thou, brother, 
 look so angrily on those walls, which 
 for this night must be thy lodging ; nor 
 start, as if Curborough needed thy single 
 sword to its defence ; well do I know 
 that the secrecy of this expedition will 
 secure thine house from violence." 
 
 *' I fear not for Curborough," said sir 
 Oliver, then first breaking silence, *' but 
 the papers " 
 
 " Are all safely bestowed," rejoined 
 the monk, keeping his eye fixed on Vau- 
 cler, who almost wreathed beneath it. 
 
 *' Then, indeed, 1 may defy them," 
 said the knight, with kindling spirits, 
 •' as for the flight of lady Anne, what 
 hath it to do with the honour of mine 
 house ? So help me St Catherine, as I 
 know not ought of the errant damsel ! 
 I trust a knight may be dissatisfied with 
 a mercenary sovereign without incurring 
 the imputation of a kidnapper !" 
 
 Here the knight filled a goblet of claret, 
 and passing it to Vaucler, proposed ** suc- 
 cess to the gallant earl of Oxford and our 
 allies in Cornwall ; and now, brother, we 
 will ask no better counsellor than thy 
 grape of Bourdeaux for to-night. With 
 the dawn we will return to Curborough, 
 and see what welcome these unbidden 
 visitants have found in the absence of its 
 lord !" 
 
 {To be continued.) 
 
 FRANCESCO SFORSA. 
 
 His father, when at work in the field, 
 was accosted by some soldiers, and asked 
 if he would enlist. " Let me throw my 
 mattock on that oak," he replied, " and, 
 if it remains there, I will." It remained 
 there ; and the peasant, regarding it as a 
 sign, enlisted. He afterwards rose to the 
 rank of general, and was made a prince.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FFEr.D 
 
 113 
 
 Page 113. 
 
 THE SPECTRE MASK. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE LAKE OF COMO. 
 
 Italy has ever been the land of ro 
 mance ; the events in her history have far j 
 exceeded the wildest pictures of imagi- 
 nation } her legends are as numerous as 
 they are dark and wild, and although the 
 fiction-mongers of this age are supposed 
 to have overstepped the bounds of proba- 
 bility or possibility, many scenes have 
 occurred in that beautiful country, which 
 in the relation cannot receive additional 
 intensity from the pen of the poet or the 
 novelist. Much, however, of the romantic 
 in Italy has passed away for ever. The 
 days of the gay Petrarch and his Laura — 
 of the stern Dante and his real or imagi- 1 
 nary Beatrice — of Ariosto, and Tasso, I 
 and Boccaccio, are gone ! The names ' 
 alone are left of Sforza and Medici, and i 
 the proud nobles of Italy have, alas 1 | 
 but feeble representatives in their de- , 
 scendants. j 
 
 Italy has always been the theatre of 
 luxury and crime, and the gross super- 
 stition of a portion of her children has 
 been shown in disgusting relief by the 
 VOL. I. — 15. 
 
 monstrous excesses of the rest. Still it 
 would be ungenerous to assert that truth 
 and honour dwell not in Italy, or that her 
 sons were born for dupes and slaves : a 
 recent event has, in some degree, re- 
 trieved the national character, and proved 
 her worthy of those mighty legions who 
 once carried dismay and terror even into 
 England herself. But, to our tale. 
 
 It was a still and cloudless night ; not 
 a breath stirred the leaves of the huge 
 trees that shadowed the elegant villa of 
 the count Minotti on the Lake of Como, 
 when two figures were seen to emerge 
 from a private door that led into the 
 garden surrounding the house, and de- 
 scend the stone steps to a little boat, in 
 the stern of which sat a figure muffled in 
 a large coarse cloak. Perceiving their 
 approach, the man who occupied the boat 
 immediately arose, and assisted the cava- 
 lier and his companion, a female of stately 
 form, and features of great beauty, to de- 
 scend, which they did in silence, and 
 entered the boat, which was immediately 
 pushed off. There was no moon to add 
 beauty and effect to the scene, but the 
 heavens were studded with innumerable 
 Q
 
 114 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY j OK, 
 
 stars, and the clear blue lake reflected 
 thedr more intensely blue rays, whilst the 
 lights from the windows of the different 
 dwellings that skirted the shores were 
 reflected in long lines of gold, and the 
 distant bark of the watch-dogs alone broke 
 the stillness of the night. Not a word 
 was spoken by either party, until the boat 
 reached the middle of the lake, when the 
 lady, laying her small white hand on the 
 shoulder of the cavalier, looked earnestly 
 in his face for some moments. 
 
 " Dearest Vincenzo," said she, " why 
 so moody and thoughtful ? Yon evening 
 star shines as. brightly as on that night 
 you wooed and won my poor heart ; but," 
 she continued, mournfully, " you are 
 changed, ay, changed, and now scarcely 
 vouchsafe a word." 
 
 " Yes," replied he who was thus ad- 
 dressed, as he cast from his shoulders the 
 cloak in which he was muffled, " I have 
 words for thy ear to-night which may not 
 be pleasing, — Marina, thou hast outlived 
 my love ? Hast tiiuu no prayer ready ? 
 for here I shall absolve myself from the 
 vow my folly made thee." 
 
 The lady stared wildly at her husband, 
 for he was no less, and then attempted to 
 clasp him round the neck. 
 
 '* Dear, dear lord," she said, in suppli- 
 cating accents, " what dreadful deed dost 
 thou meditate ? Think, oh, in mercy, 
 think of what you would do ! Have I 
 offended? — have 1 said or done aught 
 to " 
 
 ■*' Peace !" muttered her stern and 
 cruel partner, forcibly removing her arms I 
 — " Peace, 1 say, and pray for thy soul; 
 for tljou hast not ten minutes to live i" 
 
 Tlie lady fell on her knees before her ; 
 merciless lord, and in a frantic manner ' 
 besought him to have pity, but the fiend 
 had steeled his heart, and he harshly 
 bade her prepare for death; when the 
 tone of his victim suddenly changed, and : 
 no longer a suppliant, she vehemently 
 upbraided him for his cruelty. j 
 
 " Vincenzo," said she, as her dark eye j 
 flashed wrathfully, " I am in tiiy power, 
 but my friends will avenge me ! I ask ' 
 thee not for life, for I know thy purpose 
 is deadly ; but dread the vengeance of i 
 my family, who will demand me at thy I 
 hands." i 
 
 The count deigning no other reply ! 
 tlian a low and inarticulate malediction, ' 
 made a sign to his attendant, who im- 
 
 mediately rising, seized the lady by the 
 arms. 
 
 •* Hurl her into the lake, Jacopo," said 
 Minotti ; and the words had scarcely 
 passed his lips, when their victim, forced, 
 in spite of her struggles, over the side of 
 the boat, fell with a faint shriek and a 
 heavy splash into die water ; but she 
 almost immediately rose to the surface, 
 and the count, seizing an oar, endea- 
 voured to stun her by a blow on die head. 
 The stroke was ill-directed, and missed 
 the countess, who, seizing the oar with 
 both hands, supported herself for a few 
 moments, and thus addressed her cruel 
 husband : — 
 
 " Vincenzo Minotti, thy days are num- 
 bered — God shall judge thee for this 
 deed- -I summon thee to appear before 
 his tribunal ere the moon is out !" 
 
 As she uttered these words, the countess 
 sunk beneath the waters of the lake, and 
 her destroyer instantly directed his at- 
 tendant to return to the villa. 
 
 Remorse never touched the breast of 
 Minotti, who was as subtle as he was 
 revengeful and cruel : he soon spread it 
 abroad that his wife had eloped from him, 
 and the tale was believed, for he had pre- 
 viously circulated stories of her infidelity. 
 
 Three weeks and more had passed, 
 when a nobleman on the opposite side of 
 the lake gave a splendid fete, to which 
 many were invited, and among the rest 
 the count Minotti. The entertainment 
 concluded with a masquerade, and Mi*. 
 notti was the gayest of the gay throng. 
 During the evening he had attentively 
 regarded a lady of exquisite beauty, and 
 he now endeavoured to enter into con- 
 versation with the object of his admira- 
 tion, whom he recognized in spite of her 
 mask and domino ; but the lady was coy, 
 and replied to all the fond things he ad- 
 dressed to her with provoking coldness, 
 and Minotti more than once felt his wrath 
 almost master liis ardour. If he handed 
 the beautiful mask an ice, she modestly 
 but haughtily excused herself, and the 
 count in vain begged that she would par- 
 take of some slight refreshment, without 
 which she could not possibly support her- 
 self through the evening. Some of the 
 company were in the gardens, which 
 were brilliantly illuminated by innumer- 
 able lamps that mocked the stars above 
 them, and song, and dance, and sprightly 
 conversation were not lacking.
 
 PBRILS BY FLOOD AXD FIELD. 
 
 115 
 
 The lovely mask at length appeared to 
 listen to the conversation of her admirer, 
 and at his earnest entreaty consented to 
 accompany him into the garden. As they 
 passed down one of the most shaded 
 walks, Minotti pressed his suit with still 
 greater warmth. 
 
 '• Dearest lady," said he, " excuse a 
 little gentle force, and let me remove that 
 envious vizor from your lovely face." 
 
 His companion made no reply, and 
 Minotti, construing her silence as an as- 
 sent, playfully raised the mask from the 
 lady's face — but, oh, horror ! what did he 
 behold ! — the pale countenance of his 
 murdered wife, who regarded him with a 
 look so fearful, that his very blood was 
 chilled, and his knees bent under him. 
 
 *• V'incenzo !" said the spectre, laying 
 her cold clammy hand on his, and looking 
 him earnestly in the face, " behold thy 
 wife !" 
 
 The count heard no more ; he recoiled 
 from the apparition, and with a gasp fell 
 senseless to the ground. He was dis- 
 covered a short time after by some of the 
 company in a death-like state, from which, 
 though attended by the most skilful phy- 
 sicians, he did not recover until the morn- 
 ing, when he begged those who attended 
 him to send for a confessor, to whom he 
 unfolded what had occurred ; but the re- 
 membrance of the scenes in which he had 
 been an actor operated so strongly on his 
 shattered nerves, that fit after fit suc- 
 ceeded, and ere the evening bell had 
 rung, the guilty soul of count Vincenzo 
 Minotti had fled for ever ! 
 
 THE BABINGTONS. 
 
 (Continued from page \V2.) 
 Here we must pass from the cell at 
 Chadstow to the spacious mansion of 
 Pool-house, situated about the middle 
 of the straggling street, or rather village, 
 extending along the borders of the large 
 sheet of water already mentioned, and 
 leading to the church of Chadstow. The 
 fair refugees had been hospitably re- 
 ceived* by the widow of Master Richard 
 Dyott, a' gentleman of no mean name in 
 those parts, and after partaking of some 
 r.^freshments, mingled with anxious sur- 
 mises as to the cause of their present 
 situation, repaired to their chambers. 
 Barbara Somerville had requested that 
 her woman might occupy the same apart- 
 ment with herself, which was situated in 
 
 a lofty square turret witii balcony and 
 bartizan rising high over the gables and 
 chimnies of the house. The night soon 
 passed, and when the first tints of dawn 
 began to streak the sky, the air was tran- 
 quil and even mild, every vestige of the 
 late tempest having disappeared. 
 
 At this hour a female figure, whose 
 clustering tresses had escaped from be- 
 neath a thick kerchief, was seen seated 
 in the massy and spacious balcony, her 
 arm supporting her cheek on its carved 
 balustrade, her whole attitude and ap- 
 pearance denoting the utmost dejection, 
 while her eye wandered over the lordly 
 mansions of the Lombard merchants in 
 the adjacent street, or turned mechani- 
 cally to the spires, woods, and waters of 
 the city, though it was evident her in- 
 ward gaze marked them not. The camp 
 of night was breaking up, the heavens 
 still hung with sable pall, except where 
 the east uncurtained a realm of calm and 
 gorgeous coloured light, chequered from 
 the sober grey and pallid white to the 
 bright green and orange- tinted red. The 
 city herself, thus over-canopied, stood 
 like some princess of fairy lore awakening 
 from enchanted sleep ; her massy towers, 
 superbly black, were relieved to their 
 very pinnacles against the kindling sky, 
 or stood huddled in the gloom like a con- 
 gregation of misty phantoms ; the lake 
 lay white and hvid in its terraced borders 
 of garden and orchard; the trees swayed 
 heavily to the sighs of the receding night- 
 gusts, while in the shadowed streets, a 
 solitary footfall, as though the awakening 
 city whispered, was occasionally heard 
 from some early straggler, who turned up 
 his face from the darkness in which hi.s 
 feet stumbled, to the fiery pageantry which 
 began to streak the sky. The female at 
 length broke out into this half- whispered 
 soliloquy — 
 
 ** Was ever lady so distressed as I ? 
 the murder of my princely lord — the de- 
 tested addresses of Gloucester — and the 
 scarcely less loathed riendship of his bro- 
 ther, ^A■hich I choose as the least evil, are 
 not enough, it seems, for that wretched 
 she who might once have looked to the 
 throne of England. This horrible Vau- 
 cler ! to avoid whom I would fly to the 
 very arms of Richard himself — this Vau- 
 cler, who dared to insult- me with his love 
 — he, too, oomes to persecute me ! If 
 that villain once get me within his grasp, 
 Q 2
 
 16 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY } CR, 
 
 adieu hope, happiness, honour ! — but no ! 
 llie widow of Edward, and the princess — 
 (let them deny my title as they may) the 
 princess of Wales halh a resource against 
 that !" 
 
 The unhappy lady shuddered as she 
 spoke the last sentence with raised tones, 
 when a manly but subdued voice was 
 heard from below — 
 
 " Now St. Chad be praised ! This is 
 more than I hoped !" 
 
 The princess looked down into the still 
 dusky court, but her eyes, dazzled by the 
 eastern glare, only served her to discover 
 a muffled form of unusual height. 
 
 " Descend, lady," he continued, *' to 
 the lattice in the hall ; we may not parley 
 here " 
 
 " And who art thou that thus stealest 
 upon the sorrows which have driven me 
 from a fevered couch to breathe them in 
 the ear of heaven ?" 
 
 " One who never intruded on the un- 
 happy, if he could not administer coun- 
 sel," responded the deep tones of Father 
 Paul. 
 
 The princess immediately quitted the 
 balcony, and with noiseless steps passing 
 through the chamber where Barbara lay 
 in profound repose, descended the large 
 and gloomy staircase into the hall, and 
 found the priest already at the lattice. 
 
 " Listen, lady, for I may not tarry ! 
 They you wot of have departed from 
 Chadstow ! For Curborough and its 
 inmates there is nothing immediately to 
 dread ; but tell the lady of Whichnover 
 that noon must not find you in or near 
 Lichfield — leave me to assign some cause 
 for your departure, and speed to the hilly 
 towers of the Somervilles. Once there, 
 you may be safe; but from this snake 
 Vaucler, both you and we have that to 
 dread which will demand all our wisdom 
 to avert." With these words the priest 
 disappeared in the distant glooms of the 
 street. 
 
 The day was fully advanced ere the 
 lady Babington and she of Whichnover 
 arose from heavy slumbers. The lady 
 Anne, habited as a servant, while attiring, 
 in her assumed character, the beautiful 
 Bart)ara, betrayed so much agitation, 
 that she hastily asked " what new alarm 
 had occurred ? ' 
 
 *' Alas, lady," said the princess, " why 
 — why did you venture w^ith me to Cur- 
 borough ?" 
 
 " Because," replied Barbara, with a 
 compassionate respect very different from 
 her usual frank and buoyant manner, 
 " because the signal services of sir Oliver 
 to the king, and my lady's close con- 
 nexion with the court, seemed to render 
 it the last place where your refuge would 
 be suspected." 
 
 " But our hosts themselves — " 
 
 " Do not dream that your highness is 
 other than you appear — a humble menial. 
 The purport of this strange mission to 
 Curborough is as much a mystery to 
 myself!" 
 
 '*' Alas, lady, where that dreadful Vau- 
 cler shows his face, what can it forbode 
 but evil to my safety ?" Here the hap- 
 less princess gave way to a passion of 
 tears. 
 
 " Oh, Mark, Mark !" exclaimed Bar- 
 bara, in great distress, " my faithful, my 
 beloved ! wherefore dost thou tarry at 
 court ? — alas, me! thou canst not see our 
 peril !" 
 
 ** I have this morning," said the prin- 
 cess, •* conversed with Father Paul ; he 
 talks (as well he may) of peril from sir 
 Gilbert Vaucler : in short, lady, as soon 
 as courtesy will permit, we must leave 
 Lichfield." 
 
 ** It will be wisely done, even though 
 suspicion may be incurred. To Which- 
 nover Vaucler will not dare to come. 
 See that the horse await us eastward of 
 the great pool : the bye-roads will secure 
 us from notice, and if my father's towers 
 and walls be not high enough, nor the 
 moat wide enough, they shall at least 
 have all the advantage of my numerous 
 armed vassals, and the poor skill of one 
 who knows how to defend, in the halls of 
 her ancestors, her whom Mark Babington 
 hath committed to the keeping of a 
 Somerville!" 
 
 " And lady Babington ?" 
 
 " She must not know of our departure, 
 j that is, if, without her privacy, we can 
 make the necessary acknowledgment to 
 the Dame Dyott for her hospitality. And 
 now, dear lady, I leave you — be cautious 
 in the arrangements — put back your thick 
 tresses, and renew those stains on your 
 cheek and brow. I will join you by the 
 lane leading south from St." Chad's." 
 
 It was in the wide and pleasant apart- 
 ment over the garden porch in the Pool- 
 house, that the kind hostess was presiding 
 over the morning meal. The bees were
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 in 
 
 on the wing amidst the white and tinted 
 blossoms of the apples, pears, and dama- 
 scenes, — a vast clan of rooks who had 
 built their citadels in a group of venerable 
 birch-trees, were darkening the blue sky 
 with their clamorous squadrons — and the 
 lake of Chadstow, with its snowy swans, 
 was basking in the golden glitter of morn- 
 ing. The lady Babington and Barbara 
 sate together in a retired oriel at the 
 further end of the apartment, in deep 
 converse. 
 
 " Talk not to me, Barbara," said the 
 lady Joscelyne, ** the Black Priest will 
 be the downfall of his brother's house ; 
 my very heart recoils from him when I 
 think of his restless, plotting spirit, ani- 
 mated as it is by unextinguishable animo- 
 sity towards my royal patrons. Then 
 my husband so doteth upon him, that 
 even when sir Oliver's sword was distin- 
 guished in the victories of the house of 
 York, his first solicitude was for his un- 
 priestly brother, who had been battling 
 for the bloody Margaret, and the shame- 
 faced Henry ! These thinly-veiled dis- 
 contents, too, of my fiery lord, what may 
 I not fear from the direction this intri- 
 guing monk may give to them ! And 
 was ever the honour of an ancient house 
 so compromised as ours by his betraj'al of 
 last night ?" 
 
 " Soft, my lady," said Barbara, whose 
 high and open spirit sometimes en- 
 trenched on courtesy, " if my late guar- 
 dian stands committed in ought, he owes 
 it to his own headstrong impulses, and 
 those I join you in regarding with fearful 
 anticipation. As for the monk's conduct 
 yesternight — reflection makes me deem 
 it the result of honest love towards your 
 house ; doubtless we shall find that urgent 
 danger was to be apprehended 1" 
 
 " What danger ?" haughtily interposed 
 Joscelyne, " what danger so long as we 
 are loyal ? and what a method of proving 
 our loyalty, to fly like hares from our 
 hall, when every door should have been 
 flung open — every closet lighted — and 
 every coflfer unlocked, to shame the eye 
 of suspicion ! By my faith, we deserve 
 that the hare should indeed be the tenant 
 of our roofless chambers and cold hearth- 
 stones ! At all events," pursued the 
 dame, with rising wrath, " Mistress Bar- 
 bara Somerville, whatever her prudence, 
 whatever her rank, and however she may 
 presume on her new-born independence. 
 
 to slight her too indulgent guardian, will 
 do well to remember that a few months 
 back she would not have dared to adven- 
 : ture yon imprudent vigil !" 
 
 The deep and magnificent oriel where 
 this conversation took place was burnished 
 with beautifully coloured glass, displaying 
 the scriptural emblems of the twelve 
 tribes, and representations of the seasons, 
 finely painted, and each occupying a 
 single pane. Barbara laughed, and 
 pointed to the emblem of Kphraim, an 
 ass stooping between two burdens. 
 
 *' Methinks," she said, ** it were hard 
 to expect a poor maiden to sustain a 
 guardian's influence on the one hand, 
 and bags of wealth on the other; nor can 
 we always," she added, with provoking 
 sarcasm, " expect to see the gay and 
 buxom spring, with her yellow scarf, and 
 wreath of hyacinths, endued with the 
 care and foresight which we reasonably 
 expect from yon fur-mantled winter, 
 stooping over his brazier of faggots. 
 Yon, lady, were at the vigil !" 
 
 Joscelyne coloured deeply, and was 
 about to reply in anger, when the voice 
 of the Dame Dyott, from the other end 
 of the apartment, announced that the 
 dejeuner waited. The sun had climbed 
 high ere its stately ceremony concluded, 
 and Barbara was, once or twice, on the 
 point of leaving the room, on some pre- 
 text, when, to her mingled relief and 
 alarm, an attendant entered and an- 
 nounced to lady Babington that the sieur 
 Vaucler waited below, and requested an 
 immediate and private interview with his 
 kinswoman. 
 
 Joscelyne arose, and with solemn ex- 
 cuse to Mistress Dyott, quitted the apart- 
 ment. Barbara also rose, but with much 
 less decorum ; her agitated countenance 
 and fluttered manner would have fright- 
 ened any other than the good quiet dame ; 
 as it was, the hostess was not a little 
 surprised when her guest, with hurried 
 expressions of acknowledgment and apo- 
 logy, stated the necessity of her imme- 
 diate departure for Whichnover, and 
 darting from the room, left the old lady 
 in the act of upsetting a silver tray of 
 comfits, amidst mingled exclamations of 
 regret, and calls to her servants to attend 
 the lady Barbara. The damsel, however, 
 hastily assuming her hood and mantle, 
 sped through the court, and was quickly 
 bv the lakeside, whither the disguised
 
 113 
 
 TALES OF chivalry; OR. 
 
 princess bad preceded lier. The steeds 
 stood ready with two mounted servitors 
 in the livery of^onierville, whom Father 
 Paul had contrived to summon from Cur- 
 borough, and the party were soon on 
 their way to Whichnover. 
 
 Meanwhile, a prolonged and earnest 
 conference was going on betw^een sir 
 Gilbert Vaucler and lady Babington, 
 wherein he anxiously aggravated that 
 lady's fears for her husband, at the same 
 time that he artfully inflamed her dislike 
 of the Black Priest; disclosing as much 
 as he thought fit of their correspondence 
 with the earl of Oxford and tiie arch- 
 bishop of York — and the finished traitor 
 added that her son Mark was inseparable 
 from the restless duke of Clarence (with 
 whom, indeed, he had been brought up), 
 and w as suspected to be an abettor of his 
 treasonable designs. Without we con- 
 sider that lady Babington, though a 
 doting wife and an affectionate mother, 
 was a courtier attached by private friend- 
 ship to the reigning family, and moreover 
 a w^oman of an imperious disposition, we 
 can scarcely imagine how warmly she 
 adopted the insidious views of Vaucler, 
 or how bitterly her animosity was in- 
 creased against her brother-in-law, whom 
 she considered as the future obstacle be- 
 tween her family and the full sunshine of 
 the court. How far this feeling trans- 
 ported her, our story will unfold. 
 
 It was with some surprise, however 
 much engrossed by other feelings, that 
 lady Babington, on taking leave of her 
 hostess, heard of Barbara's precipitate 
 return to Whichnover ; to Vaucler, how- 
 ever, it was in some measure gratifying; 
 his suspicions had already received sup- 
 port from the very means that the worthy 
 priest had employed to baffle them, and 
 it need not be told that Vaucler's keen 
 eyes, if they had not detected the fugi- 
 tive princess, had at least seen enough to 
 satisfy him he had come on no vain 
 search. This flight confirmed him, and 
 his wily speculations thereon hurried him 
 to the destruction he had richly laboured 
 for others. His own views led him, how- 
 ever, carefully to conceal any hint of his 
 suspicions from lady Babington, who pro- 
 ceeded to Curborough under his escort. 
 
 The emissaries with their troops had 
 returned towards Coventry, expressing 
 themselves satisfied with the result of tlieir 
 investigation; but sir Oliver's brow was 
 
 clouded as he announced to his lady that 
 missives had just arrived requiring her 
 immediate presence at court, as lady in 
 waiting to the queen ; and by the same 
 messeng^ers it had been announced that 
 prince George of Clarence proposed ac- 
 companying Mark Babington to partake 
 of the hospitality of Curborough, 
 
 At this intelligence Joscelyne's brow 
 caught the clouds that shadowed sir 
 Oliver's countenance; but ere she de- 
 parted for Coventry she had another pri- 
 vate interview with Vaucler, in wiiich it 
 was resolved he should remain at Cur- 
 borough, to watch the movements of Cla- 
 rence, and, if possible, to detach Mark 
 Babington from his counsels. It may be 
 seen that sir Gilbert lacked not these 
 motives to induce his acquiescence with 
 lady Babington's wishes. 
 
 The city of Coventry at this period 
 well deserved her proud title, ** The 
 Chamber of Princes, and the Secret 
 Arbour of Queens." W^alls of enor- 
 mous bulk, bristling up at intervals in 
 huge towers, and embattled gateways, 
 girdled, with a graceful circumference of 
 three miles, such an assemblage of stately 
 churches and convents, picturesque man- 
 sions, blooming gardens, and clustered 
 orchards, as was rarely to be seen, even 
 in that period of chivalric and monastic 
 ornament. The gorgeous cathedral and 
 convent of the Benedictines, the vast 
 church of St. Michael, with its peerless 
 spire, the church of the Holy Trinity, the 
 solid bulk of St. Mary's Hall, and the 
 buildings of the abbatic and episcopal 
 palaces, stood grouped in one splendid 
 area that occupied the platform of a hill, 
 sloping softly to the river Sherborne, and 
 soared to view without the slightest inter- 
 ference of any mean contiguous object — 
 an unrivalled picture of ecclesiastical and 
 civil splendour. The priory surpassed 
 all others in the county for amplitude of 
 revenue and splendour, so that an old 
 chronicler says, " As to its magnificence 
 of embellishment, it was enriched with 
 so much gold and silver, that the walls 
 seemed too narrow to contain it." 
 
 In this stately city, then, king Edward 
 the Fourth held his court at the period 
 of this tale ; and it was on a fine spring 
 morning that lady Babington and her 
 train entered the woody domains of 
 Cheylesmore Hall, bordering on the 
 southern walls of Coventry, and distin-
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AXD FIELD. 
 
 119 
 
 guished no less by its herds of deer, 
 whose anthers and sur-anlliers, crowns, 
 palms, and croches, royals and sur- 
 royals, would challeno^e the gallant Sher- 
 wood itself for branchy stateliness — than 
 it was marked by its soft lawns of turf, or 
 the gigantic dimensions of its ancient 
 trees. These were now the precincts of 
 the royal court ; and from hence (after 
 assuming her robes of ceremony, and 
 partaking a hasty repast), lady Babington 
 repaired to the city. After a short pause 
 at the Cheylesmore gate, she passed on, 
 attended by two waiting- women and four 
 men-at-arms, to the Benedictine Minster, 
 where the court was holding a solemn 
 ceremony. A few days ago, the Feast 
 of St. George had been celebrated by the 
 king with grand solemnities, in the St. 
 Mary's Hall, and to-day the youthful 
 prince of Wales was to stand god-father 
 to a child of the mayor — so anxious was 
 Edward to conciliate the affections of the 
 Coventry citizens, whom he had recently 
 puni5^hed for their adherence to the Red 
 Rose. 
 
 When lady Babington passed under 
 the great western gateway of the cathe- 
 dral, the ceremony had commenced. 
 There is a gorgeous and gloomy magni- 
 ficence distributed over every part of a 
 monkish temple, which we look for in 
 vain among the coldly classic fanes of 
 Athens or of Rome. Omitting the broad 
 elevati(/n of the towers, the canopies, the 
 spires, the pinnacles, the array of royal 
 and saintly images that clothe, like an 
 arabesque pattern, the mighty minster, 
 whose giant mould makes all this elabo- 
 rate decoration resemble diminutive em- 
 broidery, the interior alone is absorbing 
 in its splendour. 
 
 It was high noon when the lady of 
 Curborough entered die cathedral. The 
 first things that struck the eye were the 
 windows — enormous frames of living 
 paintings, sunbright delineations of pa- 
 triarchal, apostolical, and princely por- 
 traitures, intermingled with armorial 
 shields and legends ; the rich colours 
 were relieved by the flowery tracery of 
 cool grey stone, that wreathed itself 
 amidst the flaming panes. The wooden 
 ceiling, of fantastic Norman work, was 
 wrought in large lozenges, each contain- 
 ing, in brilliant colours of white, green, 
 crimson, gold, black, scarlet and blue, 
 portraits of crowned, helmed, or mitred 
 
 • benefactors ; while grotesque emblems 
 I were here and there introduced to ridi- 
 cule the Augustines, Dominicans, and 
 other orders of preaching friars, whom 
 the monks had with reason considered 
 formidable opponents. The pavement, 
 whose tiles were wrought in amulets, 
 diamonds, and quatrefoils of red and gild- 
 ing, displayed liere and there a broad, 
 brazen effigy, or a heraldic coat ; and 
 the aisles were enriched with bold ribs, 
 streaked in vermiliion and azure, corbels 
 of the most grim and ridiculous faces, 
 and flowered bosses overlaid with gold. 
 The walls were clothed in rainbow tapes- 
 try of silk or worsted, in whose story the 
 f;ir-famed procession of the countess of 
 Mercia stood conspicuous. The high 
 altar absolutely flamed with jewels, silver 
 censers, and golden candlesticks, whose 
 branches stretched over gold brocade and 
 crimson velvet. 
 
 But the splendour of the royal cortege 
 seemed to eclipse even these evidences 
 of monastic wealth. The royal sponsor, a 
 lovely boy, about six years old, arrayed 
 in jewels and cloth of gold, was placed 
 under a splendid canopy near the font ; 
 and standing at his side, king Edward, 
 then in the prime of life, and still hand- 
 some (though somewhat bloated by ex- 
 cess), together with his consort, on whose 
 beautkul face anxiety had made more 
 ravages than time, appeared in royal 
 robes, studded with falcons and fetter- 
 locks in jewels of dazzling lustre. The 
 duke of Clarence was also gorgeously 
 attired, and Mark Babington at his side 
 displayed his well made limbs and glow- 
 ing countenance to full advantage ; Ri- 
 chard of Gloucester was near, but dressed 
 so at variance widi the fashion of the day, 
 that his habit denoted him, scarcely less 
 than his deformed figure and surly visage, 
 that seemed at once to scorn the pao-eantry 
 around him, and to be brooding plans for 
 future indemnification. But to describe 
 the fantastic costumes of the courtiers 
 would demand a volume. The men had 
 petticoats of scarlet velvet, or brocade, 
 over their lower clothes, some of them 
 showing their doublets laced in front, like 
 a woman's stays across the stomacher ; 
 and others with furred or silken gowns 
 open in front to the girdle, and thence to 
 the ground; all of them had innumerable 
 slashes in their tunics and hose. The 
 ladies had chiefly huge head-dresses re-
 
 1<20 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 OR, 
 
 sembling a heart, with the bottom cut otf. 
 Yet, combined as they were with the 
 ample red robes of the municipal body, 
 and the white, grey and black vestments 
 of the Carmelites, the Francescans, and 
 the Benedictines — together with a long 
 file of snowy-vested Carthusians, that had 
 just entered the choir (from the woody 
 convent of the Chartreuse, bordering 
 on the south-eastern wall of the city) 
 — the effect was picturesque in the ex- 
 treme. 
 
 The lady Joscelyne, as, at the conclu- 
 sion of the ceremonies, she moved towards 
 the great silver font, round which the 
 royal party were assembled, perceived, 
 with all a courtier's horror, that her recep- 
 tion was unfavourable. The diamonds 
 in her crown were as bright, but not so 
 cold, as the glance the queen bestowed 
 on her early and beloved friend. It 
 might indeed be necessary etiquette in 
 that public and sacred assembly, but cer- 
 tain It is that the royal hand was slightly 
 extended to the kneeling dame, which at 
 another time would have been raised to 
 the royal bosom. As for Edward, depart- 
 ing from his usual courtesy to the sex, he 
 was imperious, and even rude in his 
 salutation — 
 
 ** Ha ! Mistress Joscelyne, — and in 
 good time !" 
 
 " Nay, my liege !" interrupted a soft 
 but somewhat sarcastic voice, " you do 
 the dame much dishonour, — she is a 
 knight's lady, forsooth ! 
 
 It. was a beautiful woman who spoke ; 
 a flowing gown of crimson velvet left 
 bare a neck and bosom of surpassing 
 whiteness; her hair, of golden colour, 
 was marvellously lovely, and the gold 
 dust that powdered it did not prejudice 
 its silken delicacy — it was confined by 
 an exquisite Venetian chain, from the 
 centre of which a large ruby, set with 
 orient pearls, in the shape of flowers, 
 reposed on her broad and snowy fore- 
 head, while a carcanet of massy gold 
 clasped her beautiful neck. 
 
 The king's mood changed at once, or 
 rather his spleen vented itself in another 
 channel. 
 
 " Nay," he exclaimed, " an thou, pre- 
 sume to tutor us, we must look to our 
 queen for sanction ! How say you, Eli- 
 zabeth, — think you the liouse of Babing- 
 ton deserve their rank ; or, in spite of 
 their misdemeanours, shall we concede 
 
 it to thy favourite at the petition of our 
 gentle Shore ?" 
 
 Whatever might be her inward feel- 
 ings at this gross speech of the over- 
 bearing Edward, the queen suppressed 
 them admirably, and with a glance of the 
 sweetest complacency on her fair rival, 
 she replied — 
 
 *' If your grace is pleased to demand 
 the counsel of my poor wit, I am bound 
 to give it ; but it will be to support the 
 suggestion of Mistress Shore. I doubt 
 not the house of Babington will retrieve 
 its honour." 
 
 Lady Babington's pride now came to 
 her aid, and casting an angry glance on 
 Jane Shore, she was about to give words 
 to her indignation, but, after a moment's 
 pause, she repressed them, and with 
 flushed cheek and flashing eye swept 
 haughtily to the further side of the queen, 
 as if to shun the contamination of the 
 royal leman's presence. Mark, stung to 
 the quick by this brief colloquy, quitted 
 the side of Clarence, and kneeling to his 
 mother to offer her his filial greeting, was 
 received by the same coldness which her- 
 self had just experienced. 
 
 ** Mark Babington," she said, in raised 
 tones, " must first inform his mother, why 
 he prefers the favour of a court to the 
 vindication of a father's honour, ere he 
 can claim from her the reception of a son." 
 
 Elizabeth, whose kind heart began to 
 sympathize with her favourite's wounded 
 feehngs, now taking her kindly by die 
 arm, led her apart, and seemed anxiously 
 soothing her irritation. A few proud 
 tears rolled down the lady's cheek as 
 with gentle tones her royal mistress ap- 
 pointed a private interview with her at 
 Cheylesmore ; while Edward impatiently 
 exclaimed — 
 
 ** Cease we this idle jarring — graver 
 matters than a woman's tongue can weigh 
 demand our immediate notice. My lord 
 Prior, hath your chapter been convened ?" 
 The mitred ecclesiastic bovied assent. — 
 '* Move we then, with your lordship's 
 pleasure, to the Chapter-house forthwith j 
 where w^e will ourselves set forth much 
 solemn and perilous matter, touching not 
 only the safety of our throne, but — (here 
 Edward crossed himself devoutly) — also 
 the interests of holy church, which we 
 have ever religiously consulted." 
 (To be continued. J
 
 PKRFLS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 VZi 
 
 THE PEARL OF BRABAXT. 
 
 The great clock of Saint Peter's was 
 chiming an hour past midnight, vihen a 
 solitary boat was proceeding rapidly up 
 the centre of the Tiber. It contained 
 but two persons, the boatman and his 
 passenger, a young man, who stood at 
 the head. He was closely enveloped in 
 a cloak, which, however, left to view a 
 singularly handsome countenance — round 
 which flowed a profusion of dark hair, 
 descending to his shoulders, according to 
 the fashion of the period. Although his 
 mantle concealed the greater part of his 
 person, the three-piled Genoa velvet 
 bonnet, surmounted by the jewelled 
 plume, and the extraordinary length of 
 his embroidered shoes, plainly indicated 
 the gallant of the fifteenth century. The 
 night had been remarkably still, and the 
 moon was sailing in all her glory through 
 a clear and cloudless sky. The palaces 
 of Rome gleamed brightly in the dis- 
 tance, while far above all towered the 
 giant dome of St. Peter's, like a haughty 
 monarch surrounded by his abject slaves. 
 As the last reverberation of the bell died 
 VOL. I. — 16. 
 
 Page 124. 
 
 away, the boat neared the shore, and 
 the cavalier, leaping from it, proceeded 
 rapidly along the bank of the river. He 
 had gone but a short distance, when his 
 progress was impeded by three men, who 
 sprang forward from behind a projecting 
 angle of an adjacent building, where they 
 had lain concealed. The cloak of the 
 cavalier was thrown from his shoulder in 
 an instant, and his rapier bared, to receive 
 the attack of his assailants, whose mail 
 jerkins and ponderous swords displayed 
 the garb of the bravi of the period. 
 Placing his back against a wall, he de- 
 fended himself from the fierce onset of 
 j his adversaries, with a skill and valour 
 I that proved him to be a master of his 
 I weapon ; but in the height of the combat, 
 the faithless rapier broke short to the hilt, 
 1 and he stood defenceless : the arm of tlie 
 I foremost ruffian was raised to give the 
 fatal blow ; but, ere it descended, a fourth 
 sword gleamed in the air, and the next 
 instant the bravo was stretclied at the feet 
 of his new opponent. This terminated 
 the conflict; for the companions of the 
 fallen man, finding they had to do with 
 an unexpected and powerful antagonist, 
 
 R
 
 ]<22 
 
 TALKS OF CniVALHV 
 
 after exchanging a few blows retreated, 
 bearing with tlieui the body of tlieir 
 vvdnnded comrade, and were soon lost to 
 view amid the gloom of the distance. 
 
 *• By Saint Luke !" said the rescued 
 cavalier, addressing himself to the person 
 who had so opportunely delivered him, 
 " but that thrust of thine came not a whit 
 too early ; and I would fain know to 
 whom I am indebted for so vast a ser- 
 vice." 
 
 The person thus addressed w^as a 
 powerful young man, whose clear blue 
 eye, and fair, yet ruddy complexion, be- 
 spoke him to be no native of Italia's 
 sunny clime. He was clad in a leathern 
 jerkin, which fitted closely to his body, 
 showing the muscular proportions of his 
 person to great advantage ; and as he 
 leant on his bloody sword, his athletic 
 frame appeared to vie with the finest 
 models of antiquity. 
 
 " For my name," returned the stranger, 
 bluntly, " Quintin IMatsys, the armourer, 
 of Antwerp, is not ashamed ; but for the 
 debt ye speak of, I deserve no thanks ; I 
 saw tnree brands opposed to one, and so 
 I was upon them, and had the villain at 
 my feet ere 1 knew mine own weapon 
 had left the scabbard. And now, having 
 answered your query, I would be better 
 acquainted with the cavalier, who must 
 have handled his rapier right prettily to 
 have kept these murderous dogs so long 
 at bay ?" 
 
 " Call me Urbino," replied the Italian, 
 grasping the hand of the young Fleming 
 cordially as he spoke. " But," he con- 
 tinued, " is there naught in which I could 
 serve you ? Thou art a stranger, as I 
 gue>s, by thy tongue ; and it may be- " 
 
 He paused as he glanced at Ihe coarse 
 doublet of Matsys. The brow of the 
 other flushed deeply as he answered, 
 
 " The purse of the armourer of Ant- 
 werp may not be so weighty, signor, as 
 when he forged harness for prince and 
 peer in his native town ; but, St. Nicholas 
 be praised ! it is not so light that he 
 should yet ask aid of any man of Rome." 
 
 " What brings you here, then, my 
 friend ?" said Urbino, smiling : " I should 
 have thought your Brabant burghers 
 needed coats of mail more than our citi- 
 zens, to whom Milan harness is as com- 
 mon as rusty iron ; or is it a vow of love 
 to some fair-haired, blue-eyed beauty, 
 for whom you have undertaken a pil- 
 
 grimage to our lady's shrine ? You 
 smile — have I guessed right, then ?" 
 
 **By St. Hubert !" returned the Flem- 
 ing, " but you have nearly struck the 
 right nail ; and, perhaps, I deserve a 
 smile for my folly, in leaving friends and 
 country for the sake of a fair cheek and a 
 laughing eye. But ye shall judge for 
 yourself, if ye have patience to listen to a 
 short history." ^ 
 
 " That will I right gladly— a tale of 
 love is always welcome to a true gentle- 
 man ; na}', you may put up your weapon, 
 your blade has made too ugly a mark in 
 tliat rogue's shoulder to tempt either him- 
 self or his comrades to return." 
 
 " I will not trespass on your patience," 
 replied Matsys, as he complied, "for I 
 am not one of those who can prate by 
 the hour, like a shaven monk. I'hus, 
 then, it is. There is in Antwerp a 
 famous limner, by name Michael Flors ; 
 by good report ye may have heard of 
 him ?" 
 
 ** His fame has reached Italy ; he is 
 indeed a worthy follower of the great art 
 of painting." 
 
 " He," continued the Fleming, ** has 
 a daughter as famed for her beauty as 
 her father is for his pencil. Tliis maiden, 
 signor, I have loved fondly, and I do not 
 overrate myself when I say that my love 
 lias been returned, and, long ere this, but 
 for the accursed obstinacy of her father, 
 we should have been the happiest pair in 
 Antwerp : — but pride or the devil put it 
 into his head to look down with contempt 
 on my goodly craft, and he has sworn by 
 all the saints in the calendar that I shall 
 ne'er call him father — except I equal him 
 in his own mystery." 
 
 " By'r lady, but it is a strange tale," 
 said the Italian, ** and puts we lovers of 
 Italy to shame. Thou hast left, then, 
 thy home — thy kindred — for the sake of 
 a blue -eyed girl, with whom the money- 
 bags of some old burgess will soon make 
 a wondrous change ; and " 
 
 " The Flemish maidens, signor," in- 
 terrupted the armourer, rather angrily, 
 " when their love-token is given, abide 
 by their choice ; albeit, they may not be 
 so lightly come by as from the belles of 
 Rome." 
 
 He glancedy as he spoke, at the belt 
 of the other, in which was entwined an 
 embroidered glove, which, from its size, 
 could but belong to one of the softer sex.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 23 
 
 " Nay," said the Italian, again smiling, 
 " thy readiness to defend them inclines 
 me to think with thee ; and yet, though 
 our ladies' favours are easily won, they 
 may not be worn with impunity," — 
 showing the fragment of his sword, which 
 he siill held. " But a truce to this ban- 
 tering," he continued, in a more serious 
 tone ; ** thy errand now would be 
 shrewdly guessed, I warrant me, were J 
 to say that thou hast journeyed thus far, 
 for the purpose of studying the great art 
 thyself." 
 
 '* Right," responded the other, eagerly ; 
 ** cannot you assist me in this task ? — 
 but now thy services were proffered, — 
 serve me in this, and, if he be within 
 call, the arm of Quintin IVIatsys shall 
 be always ready to strike with thee in 
 the fray, or, if absent, you shall have 
 his prayers as regularly as he says his 
 paternoster. I have heard that some of 
 your Roman painters keep open school 
 for the instruction of their art ; T will toil 
 from sunrise to sundown; this hand " 
 
 *' Marry, thy hand," interrupted Ur- 
 bino, half smiling, half mournfully, *' is 
 far fitter to hammer an hauberk, than to 
 handle the tools of a limner." 
 
 " It is well, signor," returned the 
 armourer, drawing himself up proudly, 
 ** Quintin Matsys is not wont to take 
 gibe and jest upon his calling at any 
 time, nor is he now in the humour to 
 afford laughter to a stranger. I must 
 seek for courtesy elsewhere." 
 
 So saying, Matsys turned upon his • 
 heel, and was preparing to leave the ' 
 spot, but the hand of Urbino was laid on 
 his shoulder, and arrested his further 
 progress. 
 
 " Nay, nay," said the Italian, " this 
 must not be ; I meant not to offend thee ; 
 besides, I owe you much for that timely 
 thrust of thine, and though somewhat 
 given to pleasantry, you shall not find 
 me ungrateful. But come," he con- 
 tinued, replacing his cloak around him — 
 " if thou wilt trust thyself to my guidance, 
 sir smith, there shall be naught on my 
 part left undone to serve thee, as far as the 
 efforts of an humble votary can effect it." ■ 
 
 " Thou art then a painter thyself?" ] 
 said Matsys. [ 
 
 *' As I said, an indifferent follower of 
 the pencil." 
 
 The Fleming hesitated, bit his lip, and 
 then suddenly striking his hand into the 
 
 extended palm of the other, with a force 
 that made the surrounding walls ring 
 with the sound, he followed the steps of 
 his companion, vAho directed his course 
 towards the centre of the city. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Time, whose career is not to be ar- 
 rested, had rolled on — sweeping away 
 prince and beggar, and levelling alike 
 the palace and the hovel in his resistless 
 course. Four years had passed, and Ant- 
 werp still had to regret the absence of 
 one of her bravest citizens. Quintin 
 Matsys was still away from the place of 
 his birth. 
 
 It was a glowing evening in the month 
 of June, and the summer sun was sink- 
 ing fast beneath the towers of the fairest 
 town of Brabant. The carved pinnacles 
 and gables of the houses were glittering 
 in its mellow radiance, while the huge 
 spire of the cathedral rose from the midst 
 of them hke a tower of gold. The busy 
 hum of many voices was dying away into 
 silence, and the streets were nigh de- 
 serted, save by those patriotic burgesses 
 who thought it tlieir duty to watch over 
 the weal of the beloved city. These 
 worthies still perambulated the high- 
 street, almost fainting beneath the huge 
 partizans they bore, and the. weight of 
 the corslets which they had crammed 
 themselves into. 
 
 At one of the casements which over- 
 looked the scene, her fair brow and clus- 
 tering tresses lighted up by the gleam of 
 the sunset, sat Lestelle Flors, chronicled 
 by the minnesingers as the " Pearl of 
 Brabant !" — she whose name formed 
 the war-cry of half the chivalry of Flan- 
 ders; she whose hand even belted earl 
 and gentle knight had sought for in vain, 
 much to the regret of the suitors, the 
 surprise of all unmarried ladies within 
 the walls of Antwerp, and the great dis- 
 comfort of her father. A tear was trick- 
 ling down the maiden's cheek, and the 
 convulsive heaving of the richly worked 
 bodice, told that it covered a bosom in 
 which (young as it was) care had already 
 found a hiding-place. 
 
 " 1 know not," she said, unconsciously 
 speaking lier thoughts; "I know not 
 whether I am right to anger my father 
 by refusing these goodly offers — offers as 
 far above my deserts as they are above my 
 wishes, for the sake of one who, perhaps 
 — but I will not think of it."
 
 VZ4 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 She turned from the window, and taking 
 up a cittern, which lay on a cushion be- 
 side lier, passed her hand once or twice 
 over the strings of the instrument ; but 
 the lute responded but a mournful chord, 
 as if echoing back the melancholy feeling 
 of its mistress. Her heart was too full, 
 and suffering the cittern to fall from her 
 hand, she threw herself back in her seat, 
 and wept bitterly. 
 
 " Oh ! Quintin, Quintin," she mur- 
 mured in the paroxysm of her grief; *' I 
 cannot — cannot think thee false — that 
 noble form of thine cannot conceal a 
 faithless heart ; and yet — rumour — " 
 
 " Rumour," said a voice from behind, 
 ** is a foul-mouthed wench, whose asser- 
 tions should ne'er be credited." 
 
 The maiden started from her seat, and 
 a scream was rising to her lips, as she 
 beheld a tall figure standing in the gloom 
 of the apartment. 
 
 " Lestelle," said the same voice. She 
 staggered forward, threw back her hair 
 from her forehead, gazed wildly on the 
 stranger for an instant, and the next she 
 was clasped in the embrace of her faithful 
 Matsys. 
 
 ** Lestelle, dearest, constant Lestelle !" 
 exclaimed her lover, as he imprinted kiss 
 after kiss upon her glowing lips — " look 
 up, dear, faithful girl ! You are mine — 
 ay, mine too w ith your father's sanction." 
 
 " With my father's sanction !" ex- 
 claimed the blushing maiden, as she dis- 
 engaged herself from the caressps of her 
 lover. 
 
 '* Nay, doubt not, girl, your father's 
 sanction is freely given," said Michael 
 Flors, who had introduced his portly form 
 into the chamber unnoticed. " By the 
 three holy kings ! the lad speaks nought 
 but the truth, and with the blessing of 
 Saint Nicholas, to morrow's sun shall see 
 thee a wedded wife. But how now ? — 
 you look as scared as a startled heron ; 
 remember, although I refused thy hand 
 to the smith Matsys, I said I would be- 
 stow it freely on Matsys the painter. 
 What! not understand me yet? Then 
 I must e'en leave ye to yourselves ; 
 perhaps, Quintin may be better able to 
 solve the riddle." 
 
 So saying, the good burgpss left the 
 room ; and we also, not wishing to in- 
 trude on the privacy of the reunited 
 lovers, will follow the old gentleman's 
 steps. 
 
 The conference, however, appeared to 
 be satisfactory to all parties ; for certain 
 it is, on the following morning, as the 
 chimes of the cathedral clock proclaimed 
 noon, " the Pearl of Brabant" became 
 the bride of the long lost Matsys. On 
 that day the citizens of Antwerp seemed 
 to make it their sole occupation to dis- 
 cuss the causes of this unexpected event; 
 and many a doublet was stitched awry, 
 much to the dissatisfaction of the gallant 
 who wished to prank it in the bravest 
 attire at the evening revel which was to 
 celebrate the marriage ; and many a tire 
 woman was absent from her mistresses' 
 bower when her service was most re- 
 quired. The villain knave of the needle 
 forgot his jerkin, and the waiting damsel 
 her lady's head-gear, in relating and 
 listening to the wondrous tale which was 
 in every man's mouth. How the bride- 
 groom, while in Italy, had slain a score 
 of ruffians in defence of a noble cavaher, 
 which said cavalier turned out to be the 
 far-famed Raphael himself; how the great 
 Hmner, out of gratitude, had instructed 
 him in his art ; how he had toiled from 
 matin bell to midnight chime; how he 
 had at last returned, and won his bride, 
 by proving himself not only the equal, 
 but far the superior of his father-in-law ; 
 thus fulfilling the conditions, and removing 
 that which, in the eyes of men, appeared 
 an insurmountable obstacle to liis hopes. 
 
 Nearly four hundred years have now 
 elapsed since that day, and the name of 
 Matsys is still renowned throughout 
 Europe — revered alike for his constancy 
 and devotion, as for his skilful pencil. 
 His tomb is still to be seen by the tra- 
 veller in the cathedral, which also con- 
 tains his famous altar-piece. It bears this 
 inscription — *' Conjugalis amor de Mul- 
 ciber fecit Appellum ;" signifying that 
 the love of his wife changed him from a 
 Vulcan to an Appelles. 
 
 THE BARINGTONS. 
 
 (Cojitin uedfroni page 1 20.^ 
 This was the signal for the general 
 dispersion of the gay crowds in the cathe- 
 dral, who streamed through the great 
 gates, and over the sunny quadrangles of 
 the priory ; while the king, attended by 
 his brothers, was ushered by the lord 
 Prior into the chapter-house, and followed 
 by those churchmen whose rank entitled 
 them to a share in the deliberations.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AKD FIELD. 
 
 12; 
 
 The queen ascended her magnificent 
 litter at the west gateway, and as if to 
 obHterate every trace of lier late morti- 
 fication, commanded lady Babington to 
 give up her horse to her attendants, and 
 place herself at her side ; and thus the 
 regal cavalcade proceeded to Cheyles- 
 more, Mark Babington riding close by 
 the litter, and occasionally mingling in 
 the deep conversation that ensued be- 
 tween his mother and the queen. 
 
 The subject of this day's deliberations, 
 both in the Benedictine chapter, and the 
 queen's cabinet, will be shown in the way 
 most suited to the narrow limits of our 
 story, by conducting our reader to a vast 
 and gloomy gate-tower in the city walls, 
 facing the north-east, where Mark Ba- 
 bington, after pleading urgent business 
 to his mother, passed hastily forth into 
 the meadows about an hour before sunset. 
 He paused at the distance of an arrow's 
 flight from the walls. A large fountain, 
 wljose basin of red stone was protected 
 by a round of six pillars, supporting an 
 open battlement, from the centre of which 
 arose a short florid spire, appeared to be 
 some trysting place to which the youth 
 had repaired. Rich yellow tufts of jilli- 
 flower waved in the crevices of the carve- 
 work, and a matting of small ivy-leaves 
 wreathed here and tiiere the swarthy 
 pillars. Bursting from this well, a brighter 
 rivulet expanded into an ample pool, sur- 
 rounded by willows and alders of great 
 girth, and having in its centre an island, 
 where the stately swan might be seen 
 gleaming among the tall flags and bul- 
 rushes. As Mark waited by the graceful 
 columns of the Swan's Well (for so the 
 fountain was called), the northern side of 
 the city displayed itself to his view, in all 
 the solemnly picturesque effect of the 
 westering sunlight. The noble walls, 
 stretching far away to the south- east, 
 with their multiform gates and turrets, 
 soared in profound gloom. Ascending 
 from within this circle, huge tiers of 
 swarthy buildings overhung the narrow 
 streets, in all the fantastic but gorgeous 
 architecture of the period. Tall groves 
 waved over them ; and at the summit of 
 the hill whose sides were thus brocaded, 
 the grand ecclesiastical buildings stood 
 up into the blue sky, — the whole being 
 stretched in broad masses of sunlight and 
 shade, while the weathercocks, flashing 
 in the evening air from house-top and 
 
 steeple, hovered like lightning above 
 the checquered piles. The great clock 
 of the cathedral had just struck five, when 
 a solitary figure was seen advancing to 
 the S, van's Well from the Bastille-gate, 
 a portal on the other side the river, and 
 after crossing the bridge, the duke of 
 Clarence, closely muffled, approached the 
 spot where Mark was apparently expect- 
 ing him. 
 
 After a hurried salutation, Mark eagerly 
 demanded what tidings had summoned 
 him to this secret interview ? 
 
 *' Cold tidings, Mark, for all free- 
 hearted Englishmen ! Oxford has been 
 compelled to surrender Saint Michael's 
 Mount, and is now imprisoned in the 
 castle of Hammes !" 
 
 " Cold call ye them ? — they are such 
 as should kindle a fire in our hearts to 
 rescue or avenge him." 
 
 *' Alas ! this is not all : my ruthless 
 brother (who it seems had received the 
 intelligence ere he went to the Minster 
 this morning) hath issued orders for the 
 apprehension of the archbishop, to wliom 
 he had granted a full pardon : his effects 
 and revenues are to be seized, and him- 
 self sent prisoner to Guinnes ?" 
 
 Marks countenance fell. " My father, 
 then," he asked in faltering tones, " my 
 father is in peril ?" 
 
 " A close prisoner in his house at 
 Curborough," replied the duke ; " but," 
 and he paused — " the worst remains be- 
 hind. The noble-hearted, the sagacious 
 Fatlier Paul has been this day formally 
 accused by Edward, in full chapter, of 
 sorcery, heresy, and high-treason." 
 
 " Can heaven suffer such injustice ?" 
 
 " Patience ! and you shall learn all. 
 The recreant Vaucler, who hath more 
 fair faces than the rainbow hath colours, 
 and who shifts his skin oftener than his 
 brother the snake, hath sent missives, 
 accusing your kinsman of the darkest 
 necromancy, instancing especially his 
 practices on last Saint Mark's eve, in 
 which he states him to have compromised 
 the honour of two noble dames." 
 
 *' By heavens ! the very tale my mo- 
 ther hath been pouring into the queen's 
 ear, and was angry, forsooth, that I 
 laughed at it !" 
 
 " Well, the lord Prior received the 
 accusation with all the eagerness that 
 Edward could have wished, and in the 
 chapter a perfect hubbub arose. One
 
 126 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY; OR, 
 
 ecclesiastic of rank stood up, and ac- 
 cused the Black Priest of perverting his 
 parishioners to LoUardisni, offering to 
 bring proofs from those who heard him 
 preach. Another stated that he had been 
 known to use magical philtres, and to 
 employ forbidden charms in sundry cures 
 of thesick: while a third (contradictory 
 enough) urged his inordinate love of 
 hawks and hounds, to the neglect of all 
 his other duties. To be brief, they all 
 made the vaulted roof so ring with their 
 clamours against one whom they had so 
 long hated, that the king had some dif- 
 ficulty in proceeding to lay before them 
 tiie further allegations of Vaucler, in 
 w hich it was positively stated that Father 
 Paul was at that very time maintaining 
 a correspondence with Richmond at the 
 court of Brittany !" 
 
 " The ruin, then, of our house is 
 sealed," exclaimed Mark, wildly. *♦ Is 
 my mother mad, that she cannot see how 
 my uncle's disgrace, which she hath been 
 urging with the queen, must involve us 
 all?" 
 
 " The prospect is threatening," re- 
 sumed prince George ; ** but we may yet 
 dispel the clouds." 
 
 Here a brief silence ensued, when 
 Mark abruptly asked the duke — 
 
 " Glanced not the king at your grace 
 during all this ?" 
 
 " In faith did he! — and hinted so pa- 
 thetically certain unhappy dissensions in 
 the court, which would compel him to 
 commence his acts of injustice in his own 
 family, that, by Saint George I I deemed 
 my good brother was about to make the 
 dukedom of Clarence vacant." 
 
 " And nought more explicit ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! he appointed to Richard 
 and myself this day week, for a solemn 
 hearing in St. Mary's Hall, in which we 
 are to plead our claims, and his highness 
 (save the mark!) to adjust them finally," 
 
 " But," said Babington, in a low tone, 
 " spake he nothing of our affair ? — said 
 he nothing of — of the princess Anne ?" 
 
 ** Not a syllable ! he did not even 
 breathe her name, though all knew that 
 she was the apple of discord." 
 
 '* I might have guessed it," said Mark, 
 •* but it makes mi/ mention of her indis- 
 pensable to the sacred friendship I owe 
 your grace. Know, then, that the place 
 of lady Anne's retreat, if not known, is 
 at least vehemently suspected — ^he is no 
 
 longer safe, and, may I add, without im- 
 pugning "a brother's love for a brother — 
 the duke of Clarence is in danger." 
 
 Clarence started in his turn at this 
 unexpected information, and evinced the 
 utmost anxiety as young Babington pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 " My poor mother's surprise and in- 
 dignation may be faintly imaojned, when, 
 in my presence, queen Elizabeth intbrmed 
 her that the lady Anne Piantagenet was 
 undoubtedly concealed somewhere in 
 Staffordshire, under the disguise of a 
 menial, and that sure information had led 
 the king to suspect she had even been at 
 Curborough itself." 
 
 ** Oh, that devil Vaucler 1" ejaculated 
 the young duke. 
 
 " And that she was now at Whicli- 
 nover. The extremely delicate nature 
 of the affair will prevent any sudden or 
 violent measures ; but there is little doubt 
 that ere long all our efforts on behalf of 
 this persecuted princess will be baffled." 
 
 " And let them," Clarence burst forth, 
 " let them be thrice baffled, so we have 
 but our revenge on that Judas — Vaucler ! 
 Listen, Babington : thy noble heart hath 
 involved thee, I fear, too deeply in my 
 views, and at this hour of mutual peril, 
 the thoughts of thy family's ruin galls me 
 most shrewdly. Richard woos this un- 
 happy lady — Edward sanctions his suit; 
 if she weds him, thou knowest Gloucester 
 w^ell enough to foresee what will be her 
 fate ! I, too, shall lose, or rather the 
 duchess, her sister, will lose many a fair 
 acre. But, trust me, if I can restore thy 
 father, and crush that devilish Vaucler, 1 
 will gladly make the sacrifice. Much 
 may be done at this audience in Saint 
 Mary's Hall." 
 
 Mark warmly expressed his gratitude, 
 but urged his royal friend nut to en- 
 counter any risque to himself. 
 
 *' Fear not for me," said the young 
 prince, whose mind, ill-regulated as it 
 was, yet contained sparks of noble feel- 
 ing ; ** consult rather your own safety 
 and the honour of your house — you will 
 thereby most effectually further my de- 
 signs. I have a steed in readiness. 
 Hasten home this very night. Prepare 
 the priest for what is to happen, and bid 
 him obey the apparitor, who will quickly 
 be dispatched to Chadstow. Tarry till 
 you hear from me ; and if there be a 
 grain of wit in George's brain, thy family
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AN'D FIELD. 
 
 127 
 
 shall be scatheless. Only bear in mind — 
 vengeance on Vaucler !" 
 
 Here the duke shouted, *' Halbert, ho !" 
 when a iiorseman, in the royal livery, 
 leading a powerful steed, fully capari- 
 soned, approached the Swan's Well ; and 
 after a hasty adieu, young Babington 
 mounted the led horse, while the servant 
 resigning A?> to the duke, followed him on 
 foot in the direction of the Bastille-gate. 
 
 Avoiding the city, and choosing the 
 by-roads to the woody village of AUestry, 
 Mark swiftly pursued his journey, and 
 had reached the hostel of Basset's Pole, 
 dividing the two counties, ere he drew 
 the reins of his gallant horse. 
 
 The day of the ascension, which this 
 year fell on the first of iNIay, was cele- 
 brated in Lichfield and the adjoining 
 villages with the usual ceremonies of 
 well-flowering and the erection of bovvers 
 and May-poles. The injunction of the 
 prophet seemed literally obeyed : 
 
 ** Go forth unto the mount, and fetch 
 olive branches, and pine branches, and 
 myrtle branches, and palm branches, and 
 branches of thick trees. 
 
 " So the people went forth and brought 
 them, and made themselves booths, every 
 one upon the roof of his house, and in 
 their courts, and in the courts of the house 
 of God, and in the street of the Water- 
 gate, and in the street of the gate of 
 tphraim." 
 
 ft is true, that myrtle or palm did not 
 figure in the numerous bowers which 
 made Lichfield a perfect greenery, but 
 what they wanted in that^ respect was 
 amply compensated by the pomp attend- 
 ing the erection of the May-pole. Men, 
 women and children, had gone in groups 
 to the hills, the heaths, and the woods, 
 where they had passed the preceding night 
 in various diversions; and that morning 
 they were returning, bringing with them 
 boughs of various trees to adorn the 
 bowers of their houses and courts. The 
 mighty May-pole itself moved, like an , 
 Indian idol, amidst its exulting votaries. 
 Forty yoke of oxen, each ox having a 
 gaudy nosegay to the tips of his gilded 
 horns, brought home the stately tree. It 
 was adorned with branches of Birch (a 
 tree especially honoured on similar fes- 
 tivals by our Gothic ancestors), bunches 
 of forest leaves, and fragrant flowers, 
 together with thyme, lavender, mint, and 
 other herbs, whicli, wreathing from top to 
 
 bottom, display eil at intervals the gay 
 scarlet and gilding with which the pole 
 was coloured. Having brought it to a 
 spacious meadow adjoining the pool of 
 Chadstow, they proceeded to elevate it 
 with great pomp. Richly wrought ker- 
 chiefs, and flags of various hues, streamed 
 from it on every side ; a gilded eflHgy, 
 with mitre and crosier, representing St. 
 Chad, stood as a weathercock on its sum- 
 mit, while the green turf at its base was 
 strewed with herbs and flowers. The 
 peasants then set up their summer-halls, 
 bowers, and arbours, the various greens 
 being variegated with the narcissus, 
 peony, lilac, tulips, laburnum, &c. ar- 
 ranged in fantastic shapes. 
 
 Such was the rustic spectacle that pre- 
 sented itself to Mark Babington, as, from 
 the straggling street that led to Chadstow 
 his eye glanced over the blue lake to the 
 Mill-crofts (as they were termed), the 
 scene of this sprightly pageant. He found 
 the Black Priest in his sacerdotal vest- 
 ments, reading aloud the Gospel for the 
 day over St. Chad's well, which, nestling 
 in a sequestered dell under an orchard of 
 filberts and damascenes, was now sur- 
 rounded by bands of gaily dressed youths 
 and maidens, who had hung its basin 
 with garlands, and strewn on its calm 
 waters their many-coloured posies. When 
 the ceremony was concluded, Mark dis- 
 covered himself to his uncle, and after 
 a warm and aflfectionate greeting, learnt 
 that the information of Clarence was but 
 too correct, and that sir Oliver had re- 
 ceived the king's command to confine 
 himself to his house and park at Cur- 
 borough. Thither, at Mark's earnest re- 
 quest, the priest accompanied his nephew, 
 and by the road learned, with indignant 
 emotion, the substance of the last night's 
 conference. It was a delicate, but indis- 
 pensable point, to break to sir Oliver the 
 residence of lady Anne Plantagenet at 
 Whichnover, and her actual visit to his 
 own house ; equally problematical, too, 
 was the view that the disguised princess 
 might be disposed to take of her probable 
 surrender to tlie court ; but her well- 
 known horror of Vaucler, together with 
 their proofs of his villainous designs, gave 
 them every reason to hope her acquies- 
 cence. Mark learned that sir Gilbert 
 himself had quitted Curborough abruptl}^ 
 but was suspected to be lurking some- 
 where in the neighbourhood. In these
 
 128 
 
 TALES OK rniVALRY 
 
 discussions they came in sight of Cur- 
 borough Hall, and, as the grey turrets 
 disclosed themselves in sunshine from 
 amidst their haughty woods, the ancient 
 banner of Babington displaying its ten 
 torteauxes on a silver field, over the gate- 
 way, Mark's heart sank within him at 
 the idea of confessing to his father his 
 share in a proceeding which sir Oliver's 
 punctilious spirit might regard as an out- 
 rage on his family honour. 
 
 And here we quit them for the gay 
 scene around the May-pole in the Mill 
 Crofts. It was about noon, when a tall 
 man, habited in grey like a villager, 
 though without any ribbons or poins, 
 entered one of the most retired summer- 
 halls, which, after having furnished re- 
 freshments in rude plenty, was now 
 deserted, like the rest, for the dance, the 
 archery, the quarter-staff, the quoits, &c. 
 on the open meadow. He was accom- 
 panied by two others in masquer's attire. 
 
 " The duke of Brittany," said one of 
 the masquers, as they entered, " will not 
 b)ook any injury to Father Paul." 
 
 " The" duke of Brittany, thou foolish 
 knave! why 'tis with France himself I 
 have been treating. Ask Julian there if 
 he cannot show you the signet with the 
 three fleur-de-lys," 
 
 •* 'Tis most true," said Julian, " but is 
 it wise to reveal?" 
 
 " Pshaw, man !" interrupted he in 
 grey, " this is mine own tried servant ! 
 — it is as necessary that he should be in 
 our confidence, as it is his interest to 
 preserve it. What cares Louis for the 
 Babingtons ? (and they must be sacri- 
 ficed) — or Bfittany for Anne Planta- 
 genet ? — and she ahall be mine ! By 
 heaven," he added, stamping his heel 
 fiercely, and speaking as to himself, " I 
 never knew that my love was so strong, 
 until vengeance stepped in and lent him 
 weapons." Then, turning to the French 
 messenger, he said, *' In these missives" 
 (touching an open packet in his hand), 
 " King Louis stipulates that the moment 
 lady Anne sets foot on French ground, 
 she is 7nine, and I and Calais his .'" 
 
 Julian bowed assent. 
 
 ** When will his vessels appear off the 
 coast of Dover ?" 
 
 *' In a week's space." 
 
 " 'Tis well ! Return, good Julian, to 
 thy master with these," and he drew a 
 sealed packet from his bosom, " and say 
 
 that a bride's ring hath won him the great 
 gateway of France and England." 
 
 Julian bowed and quitted the arbour. 
 
 " And now, my faithful Philip, thy 
 part lies at Whichnover, in what guise 
 thou deemest most fit for thy purpose ; 
 if thou canst gain access, the better — if 
 not, let this paper be dropped where it 
 may soon be found ; at all events, re- 
 member that thy sole aim is to lure this 
 dainty bird from her cage. But what 
 now ?" he exclaimed, as a violent uproar 
 began to displace the May-pole revels; 
 ** Away, Philip, we must not be seen 
 together." 
 
 When sir Gilbert left the arbour, he 
 perceived a man in an ecclesiastical habit 
 surrounded by tlie rustic revellers, who 
 overwhelmed him on all sides with vocife- 
 rations of displeasure. 
 
 *' Shove the black-gown into the pool," 
 shouted one, " we'll teach him to bring 
 his insolent messages here." 
 
 " Make him mount the May-pole," 
 oried another, ** and there let him preach 
 against our good priest." 
 
 " By my troth," screamed an old crone, 
 '* I have a mind to make his bald pate 
 into a cardinal's cap with my ten nails !" 
 
 It was the lord Prior's apparitor, who, 
 not finding the Black Priest at his cell, 
 concluded, from the report of his general 
 habits, that he was at the May-pole, and 
 seeking him there, had proclaimed, his 
 office with rather too much pomp for that 
 season of licence, and announced his 
 design too precipitately for the feelings 
 of the peasantry, who all idolized Father 
 Paul. Vaucler, penetrating the circle, 
 saw the poor monk, pale with terror, 
 expecting every moment the tlireatened 
 violence, tliough none had been actually 
 inflicted. At this crisis a loud shout from 
 a distant part of the meadow — ** The 
 archers — the archers are going to shoot 
 for the grand prize !" — diverted the at- 
 tention of the lustics, and Vaucler had 
 the satisfaction of seeing them abandon 
 the object of their anger, and hasten in 
 throngs to the shooting butts. He lost 
 no time in conducting the frightened 
 monk to his mule, and after some eager 
 questions, which appeared to be an- 
 swered to his satisfaction, directed him 
 to Curborough, the governor himself 
 quitting the meadow in another direc- 
 tion. 
 
 (To he continued. J
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 129 
 
 
 /v 
 
 ^M ' ^ 
 
 TREGURTHA: 
 
 A LEGEND IN IMITATION OF THE ANCIENT 
 CELTO-COKNISH. 
 
 Who comes from the hill of the Logan, 
 
 the stone of divination, the holy circle, 
 the cromlech of sacrifice ? It is Tregurtha, 
 the blue-eyed maiden, bright as the ruddy 
 beams of the dawn, beautiful as the open- 
 ing roses of summer, bathed in the pearly 
 dews of morning. She returns to the 
 strong towers of Tintagel, to the sea-en- 
 compassed palace of the kings of the west, 
 to the residence of Dmigerth, her sire. 
 
 The dungeons of her father's castle 
 have echoed to the death-cry of the pri- 
 soner ; his hands have been stained with 
 the blood of the captive ! therefore her feet, 
 white as the down of swans, have pressed, 
 unsandalled, the mire, and crimsoned with 
 their blood the sharp flint. In pilgrimage 
 hath she travelled to the awful groves of 
 Carn Breh, there to offer sacrifice for 
 Dungerth on the high-places of the sun, 
 and obtain the prayers of the holy Druids 
 for success on the arms of her lover and 
 her sire. 
 
 Darkness hath fallfn on the sea, and 
 VOL I. — 17. 
 
 Page 132. 
 
 night covers the mountain as with a thick 
 pall. The waning moon rises in the east, 
 and flings a feeble light across the rough 
 surges of the ocean. The skin- covered 
 currach of the fisherman moves up and 
 down on the rolling billow, as he casts 
 his net for the conger into the midnight 
 wave. His torch flashes like a wandering 
 meteor on a wild and lonely heath, fling- 
 ing on the sea-foam a ruddy light, while 
 dismally roar the hoarse breakers in the 
 caverns beneath the castle. 
 
 War trumpetings sound from the heathy 
 hills of Bossinie. The horn of the chief 
 of Tintagel rings through the caverns of 
 the cliffs, the banner of Dungerth floats 
 dimly in the wan moon-beam ; 'tis stained 
 with the Hfe- stream of the slain. His huge 
 shield gleams feebly to the aflfi-ighted star 
 of night — 'tis red with the blood of the 
 invading Roman. Tregurtha descends 
 from her inner chamber in the lofty tower 
 of her father's fortress ; she hasteth to 
 meet the prince of Tintagel : she flies 
 across the court of the palace ; the watch- 
 men open the iron-gates at her approach: 
 she crosses the narrow bridge which leads 
 from the isle of the castle to meet her
 
 130 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 1 OR, 
 
 stern father's embrace. Sorrow and in- 
 dignation rest on his dark brow, he clashes 
 his terrible claymore on the thick bosses 
 of his mighty buckler, while his faithful 
 war-dog, that sits beside him in his battle- 
 chariot, howls to the shout of the warrior's 
 return. 
 
 The bands of Dungerth enter the tower 
 of his strength disordered and weary. 
 The joy of victory flashes not from their 
 eyes, the song of triumph breaks not from 
 their lips. Few are the downcast chiefs 
 that stand around the lord of Tintagel, 
 and sad leans his favourite bard on his 
 silent harp. The eye of Tregurtha wan- 
 dered through the crowd of warriors, like 
 a bright star amid the passing storms of 
 autumn, O, virgin daughter of Dungerth, 
 he whom thou seek est is not returned ! — 
 Cold he lies on the hills of Cathmorna, 
 where the wolf is howling to the moon 
 o'er the slain. And shall the brave Pen- 
 carmo fold thee no more in his warm em- 
 brace? Shalt thou behold no more his 
 blue eyes shedding rays of delight on thy 
 beauty, like the young sun illuminating 
 the dew -drops on the leaves of the sum- 
 mer rose ? 
 
 Chief of the line of Tregozan, the va- 
 liant Pencarmo, he followed the prince of 
 Kernew to battle, and fought bravely be- 
 neath the banners of Tintagel. He met 
 sword to sword the proud king of ships, 
 the monarch of the world, on the wilds of 
 Cathmorna. The roar of combat was as 
 the war of ocean round the rocks of the 
 western islands of Tin, when the tempest 
 walks forth in its strength at midnig^ht! 
 the clashing of the brazen arms terrible 
 as the rushing of the mountain surge into 
 the deep chasms of Kynance ! dreadful 
 as the voice of the thunder-cloud amid 
 the storm-shook and craggy heights of 
 Cam Breh ! 
 
 He fought bravely, the gallant Pen- 
 carmo, like the lion of the desert assailed 
 by the hunter's spear! but his chariot was 
 overthrown in the midst of the foe ; the 
 sword entered his bosom, and he fell a 
 hero in battle covered with wounds ! He 
 lies stretched on his shield ; his flowing 
 locks are steeped in gore ! The brand 
 of the Roman prevailed ; the battle is 
 lost, and the grim bear of the heath, and 
 the wolf of the forest, are feasting on the 
 slain. 
 
 Dungerth descended to the banquet of 
 shells in the halls of Tintagel, where the 
 
 warriors of Kernew hung up their shields, 
 and strong bows of steel and yew. But 
 joy was not a guest at the silent feast of 
 the chiefs. Care and sorrow pervaded 
 the soul of Dungerth, and the harp of the 
 mournful bard rung with the hapless fall 
 of the bravest heroes of Kernew, who 
 fought unavailingly for their country's 
 freedom, against the proud stranger from 
 beyond the sea. 
 
 Alas ! the maiden of woe, the beautiful 
 Tregurtha, is disconsolate and sad, and 
 refuseth comfort; she rends her dark- 
 curling tresses, and flings them on the 
 winds in despair ! The voice of lamen- 
 tation sounds through the lofty chambers 
 of Tintagel. 
 
 ♦ ♦*♦•♦ 
 
 Tregurtha is lost ! Her father, the 
 hoary -headed king of Coinubia, sits deso- 
 late in his tower of strength, a prey to 
 many sorrows. Unearthly yells ring 
 through his palace ; he starts aghast from 
 his midnight pillow, and beholds the cap- 
 tive's blood-stained spectre glide through 
 his lofty chamber! 
 
 But where is the hapless maiden of 
 Tintagel ? Hath the fierce wolf devoured 
 her on the mountain of the slain ? or 
 doth the remorseless ocean roll her dark 
 billows o'er her sea-weed bier ? 
 
 Wliat form of paleness and woe sits 
 beside the rock of the mountain circle ? 
 'Tis the daughter of Dungerth ; 'tis the 
 love-crazed maiden, whose tuneful voice is 
 heard on the midnight desert, as she tells 
 the stars her hapless tale, and awakens 
 the echoes of the moon-light forest with 
 wild lays of melodious sorrow. 
 
 Lonely, silent, and desolate, is the aw- 
 ful mountain of sacrifice, the hill of Carn- 
 Breh, the temple of death ! The Druids 
 are returned to their sacred cells. Her 
 hair is wet with the white mists, for the 
 clouds of midnight repose on the moun- 
 tain. She sits by the red cromlech, the 
 altar of human victims. 
 
 The winds sound through the rustling 
 forest that girds the hill of magic, and the 
 wild spirits of night shriek amid its 
 gloomy shades! the rock of divination, — 
 the enchanted Logan, moves to and fro 
 to the hollow blast I dim shadowy shapes 
 of horror hover o'er its cloudy top, and dip 
 their wings in the rock-basins filled with 
 victim blood ! Tregurtha, unheedful of 
 all around, decks her tresses with the
 
 PKKfLS nV FLOOD AND FIKLD. 
 
 131 
 
 f)nr{)le heath- flower, while her voice of 
 amentation mingles with the song of the 
 winds, hke a love-touched harp, on the 
 murmuring shores of the moon-illumined 
 deep. The wolf listens in silence afar 
 off — he snuffs the air for his prey, then 
 makes the echoes of the mountain-gorge 
 reply to his angry howlings. The spirits 
 of the departed, whose blood hath been 
 poured forth like water on the stone of 
 death, glide around the lovely mourner, 
 and listen to the disconsolate wailings of 
 her who refuseth to be comforted. 
 
 A storm comes rushing on, and wraps 
 the sacred hill in its skirts. Wild and 
 solemn music floats along the dark sky, 
 and comes sweetly over the wood of oaks 
 in the low lapses of the wind. The vision 
 of human sacrifice passes in all its terrible 
 solemnities before her. The vast crom- 
 lech trembles over her head ! the spectre 
 captive mounts the dreadful altar, his 
 shrieks ring in her ears, the grim shade 
 of the arch-druid brandishes the knife of 
 slaughter, and the bardic harp flings the 
 witch-notes over the mountain of death ! 
 The tempest redoubles it roaring — she 
 rushes in terror from the scene. 
 
 The youthful prince Derwin comes 
 forth from his strong- hold, his lofty war 
 town, the ancient Phoenician palace of 
 his fathers, on the mountain of Dunheved. 
 The horns of the hunters fling their shrill 
 music on the morning winds, floating 
 round the thy my hills of the Alter ie, 
 where the pipe of the herd- groom sounds 
 sweetly as he sits on the solitary cairn, 
 the ancient monument of the dead. The 
 wolf-dog bays with gladness as he leaps 
 around the heels of the eager charger, 
 and the white hounds are joyously clamo- 
 rous for the merry chase. 
 
 The chief of the royal hawks, the Pen- 
 hebogydd, who sits near the prince at the 
 banquet of mead, whose stirrup, when he 
 returns from the field, laden with the 
 spoils of his warrior-birds, the king hold- 
 eth as he dismounts at tlie palace-gates, 
 and whose entrance in the hall of shields, 
 the king, from his regal footstool of 
 power, ariseth to greet, this honoured 
 chief of the palace now brings forth his 
 well-trained hawks, \\hose silver bells, as 
 they flutter their wide-spread pinions, 
 sound pleasantly in concert with the mu- 
 sical chorus of the fleet-footed hounds. 
 
 Prince Derwin descended from his 
 
 circular palace on the hill j the sports of 
 the chase invite him to the freshly waving 
 forest, the valle}^ and the mountain, he 
 vaults nimbly on his prancing steed, 
 whose mane is white as the untrod snow 
 on the peaks of Craigianeryri, and whose 
 tail streams on the winds like the foaming 
 cataract that tumbles from the dark rocks 
 of Penmorvan. The princely hunter 
 rushes on in his strength and his glory, 
 with all his jocund train, to the woods of 
 Tormotha. 
 
 The birds are singing sweetly on the 
 green banks of the Atterie that flows 
 beneath the lofty towers of Dunheved, 
 the ancient palace of kings. The morn- 
 ing winds breathe melody and fragrance 
 in its leafy groves, and the golden-spotted 
 trout leaps gladly in the sunbeam. There 
 wandered a damsel bewildered and sad, 
 plucking the daflfbdils and yellow cowslips 
 that embroidered the pleasant margin of 
 the winding stream. Her voice sounded 
 through the alder groves like the song of 
 the widowed nightingale. 
 
 Prince Derwin, as he returned with 
 his merry hunters from the chase, beheld 
 Tregurtha on the violet banks of the At- 
 terie, and love touched his noble heart. 
 He bore her to the liigh chambers of his 
 tower, to the bannered hall of Dunheved, 
 which rung with feasting and mirth, with 
 the songs of ancient bards, and the joy- 
 inspiring tones of the harp. But plea- 
 sure beamed not in her eye, nor gladness 
 visited her soul. Six months stole away, 
 and reason dawned once more on the 
 darkness of her mind, like the star of 
 night gilding the wild billows of the 
 wintry sea. 
 
 Prince Derwin sought her love, but 
 he sought in vain ; her heart could not 
 feel a second flame. She sighed to become 
 a vestal Druidess, a holy sister of the 
 consecrated groves, and young Derwin 
 the brave, full of honour, yielded mourn- 
 fully to her request. 
 
 The upswelling flames of the Beal- 
 TiXE on the lofty cairns of the mountains, 
 illume the evening skies of May. Deep 
 amid the oaken woods of Car.v Breh, 
 the stately Tree of Magic is sprinkled 
 with the blood of victims, and adorned 
 with wreaths of mistleto, vervain, fox- 
 glove, ruplea, and other sacred plants. 
 
 The harps of the azure-vested bards 
 chaunt the rapturous hymn of consecration 
 to the gods J, the Druids in their rainbow 
 s 2
 
 132 
 
 Talks of chivalry : or, 
 
 coloured garments, gleaming with gold, 
 rnarcli in solemn procession round the 
 inner rampart of the lofty circle of wor- 
 ship, and the mysterious dance of the 
 vestal Druidesses is begun in many 
 windings about the altar, and along the 
 avenue of the temple of rocks. A white 
 bull is led to the altar of sacrifice ; Tre- 
 gurtha appears with her downcast sire, 
 amid a long train of Cornubian maidens; 
 she is led by the arch-priest to the central 
 pillar of consecration. Pure water from 
 the sacred fountain of Melcom, and blood 
 from the rock- basin, is brought, and the 
 lustration performed by the priestess of 
 the sun. The dreadful mysterious words 
 are about to be pronounced, which binds 
 the maiden of Tmtagel a perpetual vestal 
 of the sacred groves ! 
 
 Who rushes down the avenue of rude 
 pillars in splendid armour, like a mountain 
 cataract flashing over its dark rocks in 
 the light of the morning ? Tiie tall war- 
 rior tlings his painted shield on the 
 ground, and Tregurtlia, shrieking at his 
 appearance, faints in the arms of her 
 father. 
 
 Is it the spectre of Pencarmo risen 
 from its gory grave, that forbids the so- 
 lemn rites to proceed ? No, it is Pen- 
 carmo himself! who was found bleeding 
 amid the slain, and borne by the noble 
 Roman to his castrum on the hills of the 
 Danmonii. The captive warrior is re- 
 leased, loaded with honours, and the tears 
 of Tregurtha are dried in the arms of her 
 lover. 
 
 Again the voice of mirth is heard in 
 the strong tower of Tintagel. The ban- 
 quet is prepared in the halls of Dungerth. 
 The flames of love dart from the eyes of 
 Pencarmo, which are reflected in Tre- 
 gurtha's, like sun-beams in the blue lake 
 of Lynher. 
 
 The marriage-hymn resounds over the 
 deep waters of ocean, who joins with a 
 voice of thunder the full ch;)rus of love. 
 The horn of rejoicing is filled to the brim, 
 and the loud din of bridal revelry echoes 
 from rock to rock along the sea-worn 
 caverns and rugged cliffs of Tintagel. 
 
 THE BABINGTONS. 
 
 (Concluded from page \20.) 
 It is not necessary to detail the pro- 
 ceedings at Curborough, further than to 
 state that sir Oliver Babington, after dis- 
 playing full as much surprise and vehe- 
 
 mence as they expected, was at length 
 induced to listen to the representations of 
 his brother and son, and finally to concur 
 with them heartily in their desire of 
 bringing Vaucler to pimishment. In two 
 days. Father Paul repaired to Coventry, 
 in obedience to the apparitor's summons, 
 and before another week elapsed, a king's 
 messenger commanded the attendance of 
 sir Oliver himself to the important coun- 
 cil in St. Mary's hall. 
 
 Mark, in the meanwhile, spent much 
 of his time at Whichnover; he had fre- 
 quent private interviews with Barbara, in 
 which he placed the alarming exigencies 
 of their situation in the strongest light, 
 and after successfully combating the scru- 
 ples of his high-minded mistress, he in- 
 duced her to aid him in the delicate task 
 of communicating to the princess the pre- 
 carious safety of her present abode. With 
 undisguised agony did that unfortunate 
 lady receive the appalling intelligence, 
 and, so suspicious are the persecuted, she 
 even began to doubt whether her friends 
 did not intend to make their own peace 
 by betraying her. 
 
 One evening towards dusk, as a female 
 servant of the house was passing one of 
 the most private walks of the garden, she 
 was startled to find herself accosted by an 
 old woman who was standing under the 
 shadow of an enormous mulberry tree. 
 
 ** Princess," said the crone, — "nay, 
 start not, your disguise cannot conceal 
 you from one who hath long watched in 
 secret over your safety — you are betrayed : 
 the walls of Whichnover are no longer a 
 refuge for you ! Read this paper when 
 you are in your chamber — but beware 
 you disclose not its contents!" 
 
 Thus saying, the old woman disap- 
 peared under the trees with a speed ill 
 suited to her decrepit appearance, leaving 
 the servant rooted to the spot in asto- 
 nishment. She soon decided, however, 
 on laying the whole mystery before her 
 lady ; and repairing to the great tapestried 
 chamber, where Barbara usually sate, 
 paused at the door, and then rapped softly. 
 No answer was given, but the voice as 
 of one weeping violently, was heard. 
 
 *' Urge me no further," it said, in 
 broken accents, " I see my fate, and see, 
 too, that it cannot be avoided save by one 
 immeasurably more dreadful." Barbara's 
 low and soothing tones were then heard, 
 and the other voice replied, " I own it, 1
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AXD FIKLD. 
 
 133 
 
 own it ! yon have done all that lionour 
 and pity could have done — only save me 
 from him, and — " Here the I^ady of 
 Whichnover hurried to the door, and 
 with manifest signs of discomposure, 
 asked the maid how she durst intrude on 
 her privacy. The attendant humbly stated 
 the reason of her boldness, and then re- 
 lating the mysterious adventure in the 
 garden, placed the packet in Barbara's 
 hands, who bidding her retire and be 
 secret, hastily re-entered the apartment. 
 
 The fate of Lady Anne had that night 
 been decided. Letters had arrived from 
 the duke of Clarence, containing the 
 most important matter. The two dukes 
 had pleaded their cause before the king 
 with much acrimony, and it had been 
 terminated by the king allotting certain 
 estates to Gloucester on his marriage with 
 the lady Anne, while Clarence was suf- 
 fered to retain the greatest part of her 
 immense estates as co-heiress with his 
 duchess of the great Warwick. The 
 Babington's affair was then brought on, 
 and Clarence, after stating that sir Oli- 
 ver's hasty and momentary resentment 
 had been fanned into a flame by the arti- 
 fices of Vaucler, offered to prove, by the 
 assistance of Father Paul, the various 
 treasons of that arch apostate. The Black 
 Priest was accordingly summoned from 
 the priory dungeon, whither he had been 
 consigned on his arrival at Coventry, and 
 produced the papers alluded to in an 
 early part of the tale ; while, to crown the 
 whole, the dispatches of the French emis- 
 sary, who had been arrested at Dover for 
 some private brawl, proved the treason- 
 able plot for the surrender of Calais and 
 the abduction of the lady Anne. A 
 reconciliation had ensued between sir 
 Oliver and his royal master, who had 
 ever been warmly attached to him, and 
 Father Paul was included in the amnesty, 
 in consideration of his share in the detec- 
 tion of Vaucler. Gloucester, like other 
 deceivers, most indignant at finding him- 
 self deceived, vowed vengeance on the 
 perfidious governor, and Clarence had 
 been deputed to state that the lady Anne 
 would be honourably welcomed at court, 
 and no force put upon her inclinations. 
 
 Such was the import of prince George's 
 letter, on which Mark Babington and the 
 two ladies were conversing when they 
 were so unexpectedly interrupted. The 
 packet which the Mistress of Whichnover 
 
 now displayed to her astonished guest 
 contained these words — 
 
 " If the lady Plantagenet would save 
 herself from certain danger, by encoun- 
 tering a little hazard, she will appear at 
 the garden postern in the closest disguise, 
 an hour after midnight, on the third night 
 from this. If the next morning beholds 
 her at Whichnover, she is betrayed to ruin. 
 Signed, — A Friend to the Friendless." 
 The first result of the deliberations 
 produced by these letters, was Mark's 
 departure for Coventry ere the next 
 morning's sunrise. A post arrived on the 
 second day, 
 
 "stain'd with the variation of each soil," 
 between Coventry and \Miichnover — 
 bearing letters which produced a close 
 conference between Barbara and the prin- 
 cess, to which the maiden who had re- 
 ceived the mysterious packet was also 
 admitted. 
 
 The appointed night and hour arrived. 
 During the entire day, the princess and 
 Barbara had been closely secluded in the 
 tapestried room, whose hangings were 
 worked in figures as large as life, por- 
 traying different scenes in the eventful 
 career of Cour-de-Lion. In one part the 
 glowing arras displayed him tearing out 
 the hon's heart— in another were seen the 
 huge towers of his castle prison, beneath 
 whose trees Blondel was chaunting the 
 lay that led to his deliverance — but, most 
 conspicuous, was his magnificent entry 
 into London, amid gorgeous barons and 
 shouting citizens. All these royal reverses 
 did the lady Barbara, when other sources 
 of consolation failed, pithily moralize to 
 the desponding princess, and so far pre- 
 vailed, that ere night, she could deliberate 
 calmly on her future fortunes. Precisely 
 as the second hour after midnight was 
 proclaimed from the clock-tower, Barbara 
 herself led the way down a private turret, 
 and was followed by the fugitive, closely 
 wrapt from observation, through the yew 
 labyrinths and ghastly gleaming statues 
 of the garden. Every argument of hope 
 and courage did Barbara employ, to 
 which the other seemed ruefully to assent ; 
 but, when left to herself at the appointed 
 postern, her hand trembled so that she 
 could scarcely turn the wicket. On the 
 outside she found a person in a horse- 
 man's cloak awaiting her, who, in a low 
 but respectful tone, requesting her to be 
 silent, led or rather carried her to a con-
 
 134 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY J OR, 
 
 siderable distance, till they reached a 
 lonely house on Fradley Heath, on whose 
 verge a body of horsemen were hovering. 
 Her guide was no other than the trusty 
 Philip, and they were speedily joined by 
 sir Gilbert Vaucler. He did not address 
 his captive, but, with a long clear whistle, 
 summoned the distant horsemen, who im- 
 mediately approached, and forming them- 
 selves into marching order, displayed a 
 formidable force. Vaucler could hardly 
 conceal his joy at this successful end of all 
 his plots. He mastered himself, however, 
 so far as to present to the lady, in the 
 same respectful silence, a flaggon of spiced 
 wine, which was produced from the house. 
 Apparently stupified with terror, she 
 sipped it mechanically ; a palfrey was then 
 brought forward, on which she was care- 
 fully mounted, and then the whole party, 
 with their precious charge in the centre, 
 and sir Gilbert at their head, set off at a 
 round frot, striking into the bye-ways 
 in a southerly direction. After about an 
 hour's silent travel, the east began to 
 redden, and objects to assume a more 
 distinct shape ; and as the troops swept 
 beneath the bulky heights of Hopwas 
 Forest, the brown towers of Tamworth 
 displayed their hilly outline, like Cybele's 
 diadem, against the manifold colours of 
 the kindling sky. Still avoiding the high- 
 roads, they struck into the grassy lanes 
 to the hamlet of Weeford, and thence 
 proceeded to thread the paths of the Can- 
 well woods. The sun was now strug- 
 gling through the tangled trunks, and the 
 lady had drawn her cloak and hood more 
 closely, to protect her from the chilly air 
 of that early hour, when Vaucler, quitting 
 the front of the troop, took his station at 
 her side. 
 
 " Be not startled, lady," he began — 
 but had not time to finish the sentence, 
 when a flight of arrows, hurtling through 
 a large oak thicket, stretched three of the 
 headmost riders on the plain, while a 
 terrific sliout, — "St. George to the res- 
 cue ! Down with the traitors!" — speedily 
 recalled sir Gilbert to the van. A body 
 of horse, nearly doubling his own in 
 number, now poured from the covert, 
 some of tliem disclosing the St. George's 
 Cross in the growing light, and others 
 bearing the torteauzes of Babington. 
 At the first onset, Mark Babington rode 
 up to the lady Anne, and giving her in 
 charge to two others, she was quickly 
 
 |)laced out of danger from the conflict, 
 in a brief space, the victorious party re- 
 joined her with Mark at their head, sir 
 Gilbert disarmed and bound on a led 
 horse between two arbebussiers, and sun- 
 dry of his followers in a similar plight, 
 the rest being either dispersed or slain. 
 
 "Sir Gilbert Vaucler," said Mark, 
 after an ironical obeisance, "is doubtless 
 surprised to meet so large an addition to 
 his escort in these unfrequented paths; 
 but he has to learn, that, so anxious was 
 the king to secure his safe arrival at 
 Coventry, there is not a high-way or by- 
 way for miles around where he would not 
 have been so encountered. Thanks to 
 my poor skill in hunting and hawking, 
 these tracts are specially well known to 
 me, and to that I owe the honour (which 
 many would have so proudly claimed) of 
 escorting the governor of Calais to king 
 Edward's presence." 
 
 Vaucler groaned with rage, but an- 
 swered not. Messengers were then dis- 
 patched east and west, to announce their 
 capture to the other detachments of the 
 royal troops. The lady Anne, still 
 wrapped in her muffler, besides the addi- 
 tional concealment of her riding vizor, 
 was once more placed in the centre of the 
 troop : the steep streets of Coleshill were 
 soon approached and left behind ; and ere 
 mid-day, the towered arch of the Bablake 
 gateway ushered the party into Coventry. 
 As they moved up the Fleet -street, a 
 long loud peal from a single clarion was 
 answered by an exulting peal of trumpets, 
 from the various streets leading into the 
 Broad-gate, and, as they reached the 
 City Cross, gorgeous was the cavalcade 
 that met them. 
 
 From Cheylesmore came king Edward 
 on a majestic steed, whose caparisons of 
 purple and cloth of gold swept the very 
 pavement ; on his right hand rode prince 
 George of Clarence, and the duke of 
 Gloucester on his left : — amidst a con- 
 course of proudly apparalled courtiers, 
 sir Oliver Babington, on his favourite 
 roan, and in festal attire, was near the 
 king. Elizabeth, attended by lady Ba- 
 bington, and a bevy of splendid dames, 
 all on horseback, came next ; while dif- 
 ferent parties of nobles and knights, issu- 
 ing from the many winding streets in 
 every direction, flashed back the noon 
 beams from their refulgent costumes. 
 The royal guard had some difficulty in
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 135 
 
 keeping back the throngrs of citizens ; the 
 spiry gables and grotesque fronts of the 
 houses were covered with gazers ; while 
 the majestic cross itself, a hexagon of 
 three lofty tiers, adorned with effigies of 
 kings and confessors, each stage having 
 royal supporters, and vanes emblazoned 
 with coats of arms, bore on its topmost 
 spire the banner of St. George. 
 
 ** Welcome, thrice welcome, to our 
 right trusty governor !" said the king. 
 "Thou seest how we delight to honour 
 thy successful return after all thine un- 
 wearied toils in our service!" 
 
 " I know not, sire," said sir Gilbert, 
 sullenly, "whether it be in mockery that 
 you speak — but I appeal to your highness 
 how far it sorts with your royal justice, 
 that my enemies should be permitted to 
 maltreat my followers and myself, when 
 with so great risk we were devotedly en- 
 gaged in farthering your highness's 
 wishes !" 
 
 " Alas, good sir Gilbert ! " pursued 
 Edward, " we well know thy devotion 
 to ki?ig.s — but we doubt thou strainest 
 thy zeal somewhat too far. Is it not so, 
 sirrah ?" (addressing a man who was led 
 forward by two yeumen,) "speak to the 
 loyal governor of Calais, and remind him 
 tliat Edward of York is not the sole 
 sovereign to whom he is devoted! 
 
 It was the French emissary, Julian, 
 that now blighted Vaucler into all the 
 speechless confusion of a detected villain. 
 An appalling but brief pause took place, 
 when the queen, moving her palfrey to 
 the side of the king, said, — 
 
 " With your pardon, my liege, we tarry 
 too long in welcoming back our reclaimed 
 fugitive." 
 
 *• By mine honour ! thou speakest in 
 good time, Elizabeth ; let him who res- 
 cued her — let the young Babmgton lead 
 her to us — doubtless she shall meet with 
 honourable reception." 
 
 Mark smilingly comphed ; the fugitive 
 princess was assisted to dismount; but 
 she betrayed the greatest reluctance, and 
 almost struggled with him as he led her 
 between sir Gilbert and the king. 
 
 '♦ Nay, madam," said Edward, (sup- 
 pressing a violent inclination to laugh,) 
 *' dismiss your fears — we have forgotten 
 all ; nay, we would fain have spared you 
 this exposure, but it is fit sir Gilbert 
 Vaucler should see how much he hath 
 promoted our gain and his own loss. 
 
 Undo the lady Anne's vizor, Mark, and 
 remove her mantle !" 
 
 The mantle was removed, the visor 
 unclasped, — and the coarse features and 
 clumsy figure of a veritable kitchen 
 wench were disclosed. Mingled peals of 
 laughter and shouts of astonishment made 
 the piled streets ring again. 
 
 " By St. George !" exclaimed Edward, 
 " thou hast sustained great wrong at our 
 hands, sir governor ! Had we known that 
 thy knightly love was so humble, we had 
 scarcely ventured to cross its course !" 
 
 " A glorious page," said Clarence, ** a 
 glorious page it would have formed in 
 English chronicle, that sir Gilbert Vau- 
 cler, the wise and renowned, bartered 
 the keys of Calais for a lady of the spit 
 and porringer !" 
 
 *' I would venture to propose," said 
 Gloucester, with a subdued smile of 
 triumph, "since sir Gilbert's title as 
 governor of Calais seems likely to be in 
 abeyance, that he be forthwith constituted 
 a clerk of the kitchen !" 
 
 " Nay," interrupted the queen, tears 
 of laughter filling her eyes as she spoke, 
 " let him have a title — let him be dabbed 
 knight of the ladle." 
 
 The lady Joscelyne here approached 
 the king and queen; her features were 
 glowing with family pride, so openly out- 
 raged, and her stately form trembled with 
 emotion, as she said — 
 
 " I would humbly pray my sovereign 
 to consider that the honour of my father's 
 house hath already been sufficiently out- 
 raged by the treasons of sir Gilbert Vau- 
 cler ; and I would beseech that ribald 
 insult may not be suffered to accumulate 
 I disgrace on his family, or aggravate the 
 punishment he hath in his own person 
 incurred." 
 I " Peace, my lady Babington," said the 
 ; king, somewhat sternly ; " he shall have 
 I nought but justice, and that in lighter 
 ; measure than his treasons have deserved." 
 i " Dearest Joscelyne, be pacified," said 
 Elizabeth ; " the honour of thine house 
 nought can tarnish, while it boasts so 
 j honest, so beloved a subject, as thyself." 
 While the queen spoke, a peculiar 
 ; flourish of trumpets only used to herald 
 I the approach of a member of the royal 
 \ family, was heard from the Flee-tstreet, 
 ; and forthwith another armed party, es- 
 corting a close litter, and conducted by 
 the Black Priest of Chadstow, entered the
 
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 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD 
 
 157 
 
 •niK 8U.VKR UKI.K. 
 
 A aiOHV OK THK HlliCINU.M). 
 LiKo hcv lit ^vhotn. At (Ioa«1 of ui^hl, 
 
 l'.o>u' lit Ino ltu»hol K»vo )tn>l i^uUs 
 
 V\ Ui'H, *» »ho »H\v lui» iH»\Uy «)>thiKi 
 Atiil, htulxvity u\», »»i »l.»uu«'t » liKg. 
 
 H»»i. Iti.Ujf hi... .K.xv.. 1.. . 1>..-; l-loV t.Hl>, 
 
 K)»« Uiuuiku 1 .. > . , ' i\w\v I" 
 
 N«H« I tlHli) < 
 
 riu> XM\\\ . . \ 
 
 Am kooii lu (ht^ Iktml ItiU |va:*»<si ()u^ 
 much »liott«l<Hl whulpool of lUiS Hiitgoi 
 |o«|j, Ilio huvolloi *oo* Ikol'oio liliu ihv^ 
 villnijoitl Asiluoauuxluuuou » on <hc UM\ 
 ItituTltuuk llio uuslwMvk ol Hau>.h(Mg[ 
 
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 ulumli^Juilti'il vot«l(uo 0^^(lu'M^I>( Imu»I 
 
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 IUM uI llli* KMliMllgail ll ib luMOH^OUU 
 
 tIliU lltu hto^ulittu t'tUtlltMl Ki>«ltU'h, ot 
 llto OiAviTti Sl(Uio«i«o, lMl^<^% 11^ hu^i^ 
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 lain t«Mi Dioi.v lt>«» inut ll lo «lo 
 vol,, I, \H 
 
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 Au> jihoun, ovon to tho jvixv^oni *i;\\» th** 
 ivn\ain« of an nnoieut ol>Att>An» \NhuM\ wm 
 RniutM-lv inlwhittsi ^> Silvst \An l<ovi^^h» 
 >i knighl of tiniln\j^\n!«ht\l vh)oui\ hnl of 
 i\ *lis»|KVsiaou \\l\uh \VA!» A»\>thu\ij IhU 
 rtin»HhU>. 
 
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 Monnv \\oHlh«'v, thjit a htilo oU man with 
 rt lonjj jjix\v iHMi^i sjoU* iiOii xhohov al tho 
 oa^ilo ^iiio, Tho kn>j^lil ol I -ou* h havn\£ 
 r«ss>nno\lixsl (In* Mn^nUn l(t»t«i\> ihixMVjjl^ 
 a \\M\\ liolo n\ ih«* j^Mlor* K>»ljjx\ »vt\>Msi 
 Innt a«)nuMu\n in a tono aiv) u>ai>mM Mif 
 ii«-ionl)v hai^kli. 
 
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 \o\\ to an a*ssHn\t t^i u» 1\o\vi*\«m\" wa* 
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 luk |oinni\v. Sn vSi\\ol |\ai«) no )>)H>ai 
 allonlion to thoNO woihU at iho tnni\ hut 
 wh«M\ at noon, flu* fUlKnvinij; «ij\v» hrt 
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 laUlo in hin haiviinal haU» iho \nijjh(,v 
 lu^ai'k ham a»loo«) nnh^noho.), ilio «avoniy 
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 gohl wron^^hi hinni lot Uaihiui, (no on\v 
 kuivivih)^ |i)i>t^ii» of hm ^\i?>^^s\ w\k\ Uai 
 r
 
 33 
 
 TALKS or CIJIVATRV; OK, 
 
 lind, by turns the consolation and amuse- 
 ment of his widowhood — Garlind, a beau- 
 tiful httle girl, twelve years old, was 
 waited for in vain ! The vassals were 
 immediately dispatched in every direc- 
 tion ; at last Sibol himself set forth to 
 seek her. A young shepherd, from whom 
 the distracted father made inquiries to 
 that effect, apprised him that he had 
 noticed a young girl in the cooler hours 
 of the morning, on the side of the Ked- 
 rich mountain, employed in gathering 
 the scarlet, yellow, anti blue flowers, that 
 variegate its green grasses in brilliant 
 multitude. A short time afterward, he 
 saw a crowd of little men advance towards 
 her, and finally carry her away up the 
 craggy mountain as easily as if they were 
 walking on a plain. 
 
 " God forbid !" added the sheplierd, 
 crossing himself devoutly, *' that they 
 should have been those mischievous 
 Gnomes who inhabit the interior of the 
 mountain, and who are very easily pro- 
 voked." 
 
 ** Sir Sibol, seized with horror at this 
 account, cast his eyes towards the sum- 
 mit of the Kedrich, and sure enough 
 there he belield his pretty little Garlind, 
 wlio seemed to stretch out her arms to- 
 wards him for help. Sibol immediately 
 assembled all his vassals, to see if there 
 was not one among them who could 
 scramble up to the top of the mountain. 
 The enormous reward offered by the 
 agonized father induced many to under- 
 take the attempt, but not one succeeded. 
 The first fell and broke his leg ; another 
 lost an eye ; and a third, when near the 
 summit, was dashed from crag to crag, 
 till he lay a lifeless and mangled mass at 
 the bottom. Su- Sibol then ordered them 
 to prepare their tools for cutting out a 
 road in the mountain. His commands 
 were obeyed with the utmost promptitude, 
 for Garlind was a general favourite ; but 
 tbe labourers had scarcely comnienced 
 their work, when, from the pinnacles of 
 the moimtain there w^as launched upon 
 them such a multitude of stones, that they 
 were compelled to consult their safety by 
 flight. They, one and ail, declared that/ 
 at the same time they heard a voice, pro- 
 ceeding apparently from the centre of the 
 mountain, which pronounced distinctly 
 these words : — 
 
 " It is thus w^e return the hospitality 
 of sir Sibol van Lorichl" 
 
 Sir Sibol had recourse to all manner of 
 projects for the recovery of his darling 
 from the power of the Gnomes. Accord- 
 ing to the superstition of the age, he 
 made more than one vow, and distributed 
 munificent largesses to the monastic 
 orders and to the poor. But all was in 
 vain : no one could give him good counsel 
 as to the means to be pursued ; and much 
 less, after the frightful examples that had 
 been made, durst any body offer his 
 assistance in regaining poor Garlind. 
 
 Days, weeks, months, thus flowed 
 away, and the wretched father had no 
 other consolation than the certainty that 
 his child was still in life ; for his first look 
 in the morning, and his last at nightfall, 
 rested on the summit of the Kedrich ; 
 and there he always saw Garlind, ex- 
 tending to her dear father her white 
 arms in a manner that* cleft his yearning 
 heart in twain. It was at those periods 
 alone that the Gnomes permitted her to 
 be visible to his eyes; and, perhaps, it 
 would be ditlicult to decide whether plea- 
 sure or pain predominated in the effects 
 of this truly tantalean punishment. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Gnomes took the ut- 
 most possible care of the little giil ; 
 fondling her with the most affectionate 
 caresses, and endeavouring to win her 
 young heart by the most lavish gifts and 
 indulgencies. In the most romantic and 
 inviolate recesses of their domain, they 
 built her a beautiful pavilion; the walls 
 they encrusted with the most magnifi- 
 cently variegated shells, and the dome 
 was of dazzling crystal. The softened 
 lustre of the sun floated in upon its 
 checkered marble pavement ; and tall 
 alabaster pillars, lightly curtained with 
 pink and pale- green silks, disclosed the 
 groves and parterres of a richly planted 
 garden, from whence soft and sleepy 
 zephyrs, swelling the dainty draperies, 
 waf(ed a thousand odours around the flut- 
 tering ringlets of Garlind. A large basin 
 under the centre of the dome, entirely of 
 coral, was surrounded with a little trellice 
 of white, yellow, and red roses, cluster- 
 ing over a border of the most rare mosses, 
 which were kept in perpetual verdure by 
 the silver sprinklings of the fountain. 
 The nightingale, the black- bird, and the 
 throstle, here lavished their most be- 
 witching melodies ; and the mountain 
 spirits, by their art, prohibited the ap- 
 proach of storm or rain. Their females
 
 PKKILS BY FLOOD AXD FIKF.D. 
 
 139 
 
 also made up sumptuous dresses for Gar- 
 luid, and gave her necklaces of emeralds, 
 diamonds, and rubies. Her (able was 
 everyday loaded witli dainties, for which 
 the four elements were put in requisition, 
 and which were served up in gold and 
 silver vessels of the most marvellous 
 workmanship ; and the Gnomes emulated 
 each other in striving to enliven her with 
 songs, ballads, legends, and fairy tales. 
 
 'I'here was, in particular, a little old 
 woman, whom the others called Trud, 
 who distinguished herself in fondling and 
 indulging the pretty Garlind — she was 
 for e\er whispering in her ear: 
 
 " Be of good cheer, my darling, my 
 love ; I am preparing a marriage dowry 
 for you, which a king's daughter need 
 nut disdain !" 
 
 Four mortal years had now rolled 
 away from the fatal morning on which 
 she was carried off to the Kedrich ; and 
 Giulind, from a little playful fascinating 
 girl, had become a beautiful, blushing, 
 graceful virgin — a prize for a summer 
 day's tournament. The first sparkling 
 beam of the morn, and the last tranquil 
 crimson of the evening sky, still revealed 
 to sir Sibol van Lorich the form of his lost 
 child, from the summit of the Kedrich ; 
 and with these momentary interviews, 
 the unhappy knight began to think he 
 must content himself for the rest of his 
 miserable life. Affairs wore this aspect, 
 when sir Ruthelm of Konigstein, a young 
 and valorous chevalier, and of an ancient 
 family in the neighbourhood, returned to 
 his ancestral castle from Hungary, where 
 he had gilded gloriously his maiden sword 
 with Turkish blood, on the banks of the 
 Danube. His romantic mansion, weaving 
 like a garland its groves of beech-trees, 
 amidst which its grey spires, and turrets, 
 and burnished fanes, glistened to the sun, 
 might be descried from sir Sibol's battle- 
 ments. 
 
 Ruthelm of Konigstein had no sooner 
 learnt the affliction that had befallen his 
 old neighbour, than he resolved to at- 
 tempt the rescue of Garlind. He accord- 
 ingly repaired to the castle of Lorich, 
 where he found every thing melancholy 
 enough. On the great tower over the 
 gateway waved a huge black banner, 
 surging in the morning wind against the 
 blue and sunny, as if it wished to blot 
 out the resplendence of nature. The 
 seneschal, attired in deep mourning, and 
 
 without uttering a word, marshalled the 
 young knight through deserted courts 
 that drearily echoed to his clinking spurs 
 of gold. 
 
 A steep covered stair, hung with black, 
 ascended from the low browed arch of the 
 inner tower to the great hall ; but the 
 sun no longer gleamed upon its trophies 
 of (he battle and the chase. Its gorgeous 
 arciied windows no longer displayed the 
 patrician or equestrian emblazonments of 
 the family ; its hearth smouldered in 
 white ashes ; a single cresset, swinging 
 from the roof, made darkness visible; 
 and, in the deep recess of the tall em- 
 bayed oreille, skulked, like a hunted wild 
 beast in its lair, what might once have 
 been the fiery and indomitable knight of 
 Lorich. His hair and beard were grown 
 to a frightful length, his eyes gleamed, 
 like decayed comets, over his ghastly 
 cheeks ; a long black robe enfolded his 
 skeleton figure, and dust and ashes defiled 
 his head and smeared his countenance. 
 Ruthelm had prepared himself for a vehe- 
 mence of sorrow in accordance with sir 
 Sibol's impatient spirit ; but for such hor- 
 rible tokens of deliberate despair he had 
 not, he could not have looked ; and the 
 shock completely arrested his utterance. 
 A gleam of something like satisfaction 
 shot athwart Sibol's haggard features, as 
 he recognised the son of his old brother- 
 in-aniis ; hr.t it was connected with some- 
 thing intolerably painful, for in the next 
 moment, with an earthquake groan, the 
 poor old knight was stretched senseless 
 on (he pavement. Rudielm, in compli- 
 ance with the usages of chivalry, had been 
 brought u}) in sir Sibol's castle ; and an 
 alliance between him and Garlind had 
 always been a favourite topic with the 
 two sires of Konigstein and Lorich. 
 
 It was sometime ere the wretched old 
 man recovered his senses ; when at length 
 he unclosed his eyes, and found himself 
 supported in the affectionate arms of sir 
 Ruthelm, and read, in the sorrow of his 
 handsome countenance, the profound 
 sympathy he felt for his affliction, he 
 wrung the young warrior's hand with 
 warmth. 
 
 " Ruthelm ! my gallant boy ! I am 
 wretched ! I would say curelessly 
 wretched ; but thou art here : I will 
 not add to my sins by doubting that 
 Heaven's providence hath sent thee to 
 rescue my Garlind from those demons, 
 T 2
 
 140 
 
 TALES OF chivalry; ORj 
 
 and her poor father from a desperate 
 grave !" 
 
 That very day at sunset sh* Ruthelm 
 repaired to the foot of Mount Kedrich, 
 for the purpose of reconnoitring ; but he 
 soon saw the physical impossibility of 
 scrambling up a rock which was almost 
 perpendicular. Ruminating on the unto- 
 ward aspect of affairs, he was about to 
 return slowly and reluctantly to his castle, 
 when he beheld advancing towards him 
 an old man of a stature dwarfish in the 
 last extreme. 
 
 " Good day, my fair young gentle- 
 man I" squeaked the mannikin, " I sup- 
 pose you, too, have heard of the charm- 
 ing Garlind who dwells there, over the 
 way, on the top of Kedrich. That pretty 
 damsel is my ward ; and if, as I have no 
 doubt, you want to make her your wife, 
 vou have nothing to do but go and find 
 her!" 
 
 *' Done !" said the knight, holding out 
 his band. 
 
 " I am but a dwarf in comparison of 
 you," rejoined the little old body, "never- 
 theless my word is as good as your's. 
 I give up the girl to you, provided the 
 road to her dwelhng does not discourage 
 you. But, believe me, you will be well 
 repaid for your trouble; for there is not, 
 in all the Rheingau, a virgin who is her 
 fellow for beauty, for modesty, and for 
 wit !" 
 
 After uttering these words, the mali- 
 cious old dwarf disappeared with a loud 
 peal of laughter ; and young Ruthelm 
 shook his sunny curls, and bit his downy 
 lip, in pure vexation at being so mocked 
 by the hideous abortion. 
 
 " Find her out !" he said, looking wist- 
 fully at the impracticable crags of the 
 Kedrich, " ay, with wings perhaps 1 
 might 1" 
 
 A smart rap on his shoulder, accom- 
 panied with a shrill voice, saying, " You 
 may do it even ivitkout wings !" made 
 sir Ruthelm start ; and, turning briskly 
 round, he perceived a little old woman, 
 whose puckered features bore a strong 
 family likeness to her brother, the grey- 
 beard, except that their general expres- 
 sion was illumined with an air of benevo- 
 lence which never shone over his crabbed 
 spiteful physiognomy. 
 
 *' I have overhead the conversation 
 which my brother has been holding with 
 thee," said the old lady, looking up with 
 
 good-humoured shrewdness at the hand- 
 some young knight ; " and, if 1 read 
 that comely face aright, there is no neces- 
 sity I should inform thee, that thou art 
 his laughing-stock !" 
 
 Blushes, thrice crimson- dyed, mantled 
 over Ruthelm's neck, cheek, and fore- 
 head : he cleared his voice, stammered, 
 and tried to look dignified. 
 
 ** 1 old gentlewoman ! really — " 
 
 " Old gentlewoman 1" retorted Trud, 
 " 'tis well for thee that I am not quite 
 so snappish as my brother Kobold ! But, 
 well-a-day ! thou art but a poor blind 
 mortal after all, and I pity thee. Besides, 
 I love fun far better than vengeance ' 
 Harkee, young man ! my brother Kobold 
 has had a rare chuckle at thy expense ; 
 what sayest thou, shall we make him 
 laugh on the other side of his mouth ?" 
 
 Our knight stared at the facetious 
 pigmy, who thus continued: — 
 
 " Ah ! I see thou hast more brawn in 
 thine arm than brain in thy head ! but 
 thou hast a good heart that outvalues 
 both, and 'tis for that I love thee ?" 
 
 " The devil you do !" muttered Ru- 
 thelm. 
 
 The officious Trud seemed extremely 
 discomposed — 
 
 " I beg of you not to use that name 
 in my presence, or you shall never see 
 Garlind !" 
 
 *' Ho, ho !" sits the halcyon towards 
 that quarter !" thought our hero, greatly 
 relieved; for (truth to tell) from the tenour 
 of her speech, he began to think the old 
 lady meditated consoling him, and out- 
 witting her brother, by substituting her 
 own somewhat over-ripened charms for 
 the blossomed beauties of Garlind, Sir 
 Ruthelm therefore assumed an air of the 
 most respectful attention, which greatly 
 mollified Trud. 
 
 " A good lad !" she exclaimed, '* and 
 now thou hast recovered thy manners, 
 listen to me !" 
 
 " Assuredly, madam, and with eter- 
 nal — " 
 
 *' Bah 1 insect of a day ! be contented if 
 thou mayest expand thy spangled wings 
 while it is noon ; painted bubble ! be 
 thankful that thy colours sparkle in the 
 sunshine before they burst I thou hast 
 nought here eternal: woe to thee if thou 
 haclst ! Enough! — hsten — and let me 
 sjieak !" 
 
 Ruthelm, hke a chidden school-boy.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 141 
 
 bowed and looked meek ; while Trud 
 continued — 
 
 •• Take this Uttle silver hand-bell, and 
 repair this night to the shadowy hollows 
 of the Wisperthal. There thou wilt find 
 an old mine, which they have long ceased 
 to work ; at its entrance,- a beech and a 
 fir, two huge trees, interlace their thick 
 boughs ; they will serve to point out the 
 place to thee. Enter the mine without 
 fear." 
 
 Ruthelm felt as though, in such a 
 cause, the bare suspicion oi fear was an 
 insult ; and perhaps he looked it also, for 
 the Gnome pursued — 
 
 ** Beseech thee ! attend, and do not start 
 and snort, like an impatient charger, lest 
 tliou stumble also ! When thou art in 
 the mine, ring thy bell three times ; my 
 younger brother inhabits the interior, and 
 will no sooner have heard the sound of 
 the bell, than he will be at thy side. The 
 bell itself will be a token that t have sent 
 thee ; be discreet, be courageous, and I 
 shall not have sent thee in vain !" 
 
 With these words Trud vanished as 
 her brother Kobold had done, and (if the 
 truth must be told) without leaving much 
 more satisfactory impressions behind. To 
 the dismal phantotn-famed ravines of the 
 Wisperthal at nightfall did sir Ruthelm 
 repair. The sky was starless — a waning 
 moon, more dismal than eclipse, shed a 
 shy and swarthy light over the umbered 
 landscape. Enormous trees, congregated 
 in gloomy clumps, or feathering with their 
 rampant boughs and billowy foliage down 
 the craggy hills, waved in mysterious and 
 shapeless phantasmagoria, to the solemn 
 wailings of the Wisperwind that swelled 
 and eddied through the desert vale. The 
 curling waters of the Rhine, tinged with 
 the sullen moonbeam, glared ghastly here 
 and there, between the thick trunks of 
 the pines and beech trees, whose volu- 
 minous foliage undulated over them like 
 a funeral pall. Spectres, whose dim misty 
 visages wore an aspect of menace, shot, 
 tall and white, athwart the pitch-black 
 iioUows in the distance ; the owls, each 
 from his blasted tree, seemed to utter 
 accents of discouragement and dismay ; 
 the very bats, as they wheeled with creak- 
 ing leathern wings around his head, were 
 fraught to Ruthelm's imagination with 
 messages of disaster. Still the knight 
 perceived, and at length he discovered, 
 the mine pointed out by Trud. He 
 
 entered, and had scarcely rung the silver 
 bell, for the third time, when a little man, 
 attired in grey, and holding in his hand 
 a little lighted lamp, ascended from the 
 bottom of the mine, and demanded sir 
 Ruthelm's name and business. Our hero 
 promptly complied, and was listened to 
 with much complaisance by grayfrock, 
 who, having heard him patiently to an 
 end, said, 
 
 " My elder brother has been bitterly 
 affronted, it is true, by the knight of Lo- 
 rich ; but, in my opinion, as well as that 
 of my sister Trud, the four years penance 
 he has undergone is sufficient to have 
 expiated his offence. Kobold, however, 
 is of a different opinion, and continues so 
 implacable, that if left to his own will, it 
 is to be feared he will never restore Gar- 
 lind. He has nevertheless given you a 
 hold upon him in the promise he made 
 you, and which he thinks he has nullified 
 by the extravagance of its conditions. 
 You must know that we Gnomes are 
 extremely punctilious in abiding by our 
 words to the very letter ; we outwit where 
 we can, but we never break our words. 
 So that if you can once reach Garlind, 
 she is as securely yours as if she had 
 never seen the Kedrich." 
 
 Sir Ruthelm's eyes glistened with hope 
 at the grayfrock's speech. 
 
 " Kind spirit 1" he exclaimed, " only 
 give me the means, the very slenderest 
 means, only place me within the verge of 
 possibility, and see if diflSculty or danger 
 can deter me, when love and friendship 
 invite me forward !" 
 
 " Good !" rejoined the spirit of the 
 mine : " those means I promise thee. 
 But be on thy guard. Kobold is mine 
 elder, and mightier than I ; he may 
 thwart us, if he discover our designs." 
 
 Here sir Rutliehn fancied he heard 
 sounds as of violent laughter, half su[)- 
 pressed, echo along the distant hollows 
 of the mine ; but as the Gnome did not 
 notice it, he attributed it to imagination 
 overheated by the strange scene, and 
 remained silent, while grayfrock thus 
 went on. 
 
 *' Return to thy castle, and at day- 
 break be at the foot of the Kedrich : it 
 shall not be my fault if thou art not soon 
 at its summit." 
 
 At the same time he drew a httle 
 whistle from his pocket, and whistled 
 three times. In 'in instant the whole
 
 14'2 
 
 Ar.Ks OF CHIVALRY 
 
 valley glimmered as with ten million 
 glow-worms; while countless myrmiduns 
 of dwarfs each holding his tiny lamp, 
 swarmed over its grassy surface. Appa- 
 rently, grayfrock did not wish our hero to 
 witness their proceedings, for he stamped 
 his little foot, and waved his hand impa- 
 tiently. In compliance with these injunc- 
 tions, sir Ruthelm turned away from the 
 mouth of the mine, and hied him home- 
 ward. 
 
 Tiie warder of Konigstein castle looked 
 d'jwn right gladly on tlie dancing plumes, 
 as the night air" blew them aside at the 
 gateway ,°and gave to view sir Ruthelm's 
 well-known crest, fleckered by the red 
 torch Hame ; and the seneschal's old eye 
 brightened as he saw his young lord 
 enter with a firmer step and a more 
 cheery countenance than he had shown 
 since his return ; while the old privileged 
 nurse blessed herself at the keen appetite 
 that her darling displayed at the well- 
 furnished table in his illuminated hall. 
 
 Ruthelm iiimself, when, that night, 
 afier pious orisons and vows, he flung 
 his limbs to rest, under the lofty tester 
 of his richly carved and draperied bed, 
 could not help wondering at the glow of 
 hope he experienced. Yet, in after days, 
 he always declared, that during that night, 
 whenever he awoke, he heard violent 
 bursts of half-stifled laughter, sometimes 
 outside the arched and painted lattice, 
 sometimes under the armorial shield upon 
 the massy mantelpiece, and sometimes 
 behind the red and green hangings of the 
 pictorial arras. 
 
 Day had scarcely begun to tinge the 
 mountain tops, whep the young knight 
 of Konigstein repaired to the fo(;t of the 
 Kedrich, where, to his unspeakable de- 
 light, he found a great ladder, composed 
 of the stems and branches of beech and 
 
 f)ine-irees, aspiring to such an incredible 
 leight, that although his eye was unable 
 to ascertain its termination, he could not 
 but think that it conducted him to the 
 retreat of the charming Garlind. All 
 nature wore a hallowed smile around : 
 the broad disk of the sun began to tinge 
 the forests and the hill tops with golden 
 green ; a soft fresh air fluttered among 
 the dewy silken leaves, and seemed to 
 sow with sun-sparks the blue ripples of 
 the Rhine ; the distant lowing of cattle, 
 and the cheerful songs of the herdsmen 
 weie heard from afar, flUing up the 
 
 pauses between the clangs of the matin 
 bell from some adjacent monastery ; 
 while a thousand happy birds carolled 
 from their green and shady citadels hymns 
 to the new-born day. Could it be pos- 
 sible that beings adverse to man could 
 have power at such a heavenly hour ? 
 Yet Ruthelm could not altogether keep 
 down certain misgivings that assailed 
 him as he climbed the tirst twenty steps 
 of the ladder ; hou ever, as he proceeded 
 in the long ascent, his spirits grew lighter, 
 and when he had reached about midway, 
 he was so exhilirated by the prospects of 
 success, that he fairly laughed aloud with 
 glee. A most portentous echo had that 
 ill-timed merriment ! No longer half- 
 stifled, as in the mine, or at Konigstein, 
 but loud and explosive, a burst of laughter 
 drowned his own ; and Ruthelm, looking 
 up, beheld the features of the formidable 
 Kobold dilated to a gigantic size, and 
 proportionably increased in a diabolical 
 deformity, with the old hideous expres- 
 sion of laughing malice sw elling in every 
 lineament. 
 
 " Ho ! iio ! ho !" shouted the Gnome, 
 ** thou art come for thy bride, I see ! 
 look that thy footing be sure !" 
 
 At the same moment he kicked the 
 ladder, and sir Ruthelm beheld every 
 stave gradually break asunder one by 
 one j one by one he heard tliem clatter 
 down the sides of the Kedrich, till at last 
 the one on which his foot was placed 
 crashed from under him, while the staves 
 above him were converted into wreathed 
 and fanged and hissing serpents. 
 
 A desperate spring placed him clear of 
 the enchanted ladder, but in scarcely a 
 less perilous situation. By the sheer 
 strength of his nervous arms he secured 
 himself on a projecting crag, overmatted 
 with the gnarled roots of an old beech. 
 While thus suspended between heaven 
 and earth, ten thousand ugly noises of 
 fiends hurtling in his ears, and the horrid 
 depth of countless fathoms below dizzy- 
 ing his eyes, his agonized glance caught 
 the distant tower vanes of the cathedral 
 and other churches of Mayence, glittering 
 in the morning sun. 
 
 ♦• Holy Virgin 1" ejaculated the luck- 
 less youth, " to thee I appeal ! thou 
 knowest that my intentions are pure i 
 Remember not my signs, but save me 
 from these demons! Give me but to 
 rescue that innocent girl, and I vow to
 
 PKRIL9 BY FLOOD AXP FIKI-D. 
 
 143 
 
 build a diapel to thine honour, and 
 eadow it with a fifth of my revenue !" 
 
 Tradition says that these words had 
 hardly escaped his lips, when the hellish 
 hubbub in the air ceased, a swoon over- 
 powered his senses, and when he awoke 
 it was in the castle-hall of Lorich ; while 
 the first objects that his eye encountered 
 were the soft, dark, wondering eyes of 
 Garliod anxiously bent over him, and the 
 venerable form of Sibold, clasping him in 
 his arms, and hailing him as the champion 
 and bridesroom of his cliild ! 
 
 ANECDOTE OF AN INDIAN CHIEF. 
 
 During the great American war, an 
 English officer, in command of a foraging 
 party, was, together with his soldiers, 
 surprised by a large ambush of Indians, 
 who poured in a destructive fire upon 
 tliem, by which many of the English were 
 killed, Tlie survivors had hardly time to 
 look from wiience the attack proceeded, 
 when the Indians sprung forward from 
 their lurking place with yells more savage 
 than the howls of the wild beasts of the 
 forests. The few English who were not 
 killed or disabled took to flight, it being 
 impossible to withstand the superior num- 
 ber of the enemy, and among the fugi- 
 tives was the ofhoer, who had received a 
 wound in his left arm. 
 
 For a slicwt time he did not consider 
 himself pursued, but aftei* forcing his way 
 with ditiiculty through the wildest and 
 gloomiest thickets for about half an hour, 
 he was alarmed to hear the well-known 
 whoop of the Indians not far from him. 
 He gave himself up for lost, for what 
 chance had he of escape in those thick 
 woods, every pass of which was probably 
 as familiar to his enemies as unknown to 
 himself? He sought the deepest recesses, 
 but the Indians still kept near him, and 
 an accident only prevented his being 
 almost immediately discovered by them. 
 There was a hollow place, almost like a 
 well, in his path, the mouth of which was 
 so overgrown witli wild shrubs as not to 
 be perceptible, except on a minute search. 
 Into this he fell ; and though he was 
 bruised by his fall, he was here effectually 
 concealed from the Indians. More than 
 once he heard their footsteps as they 
 passed by his place of concealment. 
 
 When several hours had elapsed, and 
 all seemed still, the oflBcer ventured to stir 
 from his hiding place. His wound was 
 
 painful ; his limbs were stiff'; and it was 
 with great difficulty that he could get out 
 of the pit into which he had fallen. At 
 last he effected his deliverance, and faint 
 and wounded as he was, and though the 
 night was dark and dismal, he set forth, 
 in hopes of rejoining the English army. 
 
 He liad not proceeded far, when a light 
 glimmering through the trees attracted his 
 attention ; he approached it with caution, 
 and sheltering himself from observation, 
 regarded with much anxiety a party of 
 Indians, who were assembled round a 
 great fire, roasting the flesh of a deer. 
 Their wild and savage looks, as they sat 
 on the ground in the red light of the fire, 
 wexQ truly alarming, and the officer, afraid 
 of being seen, changed his position in the 
 hope of concealing himself more effec- 
 tually. In doing so he struck his wounded 
 arm against a branch, which caused him 
 such violent pain that he was unable at 
 the moment to prevent a cry of agony 
 bursting from him. In a moment the 
 Indians were on their iee\.y and in another 
 they had dragged him forth. 
 
 Wounded as he was, and though his 
 enemies were too numerous to leave any 
 chance of successful resistance, the officer 
 drew his sword and endeavoured to de- 
 fend himself, for he dreaded the torture 
 which he knew the Indians would inflict 
 on him if he became their captive. So 
 unequal a strife would speedily have 
 terminated in the death of the officer ; 
 but that an old Indian, who had hitherto 
 stood aloof, sprung forward, and waving 
 his tomahawk over the Englishman, forbad 
 any one to harm him. 
 
 It was fortunate that this old Indian 
 was the chief of this tribe, and was higlily 
 reverenced by his people for his great 
 strength, and skill in war and in hunting ; 
 they sullenly obeyed liim. He addresseil 
 the officer in broken Frencii, of wliich 
 language many of tlie Indians who were 
 in league with the French had a slight 
 knowledge. He promised his protection, 
 and gave him food. Perceiving that the 
 captive was wounded, he gathered the 
 leaves of some healing plant, and after 
 steeping them in water, bound them on 
 the wound, with the greatest solicitude for 
 the officer's recovery, and by words oi 
 comfort tried to alleviate his sufferings. 
 
 After some time the Indians stretched 
 themselves on the ground to sleep, all 
 but one or two, who remained to watch.
 
 144 
 
 tai.es of chivalry j or 
 
 and the cliief, who carried on a short 
 conversation with the officer. 
 
 *' You cannot," said he, ** go away 
 yet, my son, for you could not find the 
 patlis through the woods, and if you 
 could, you would probably meet with 
 enemies. I cannot now conduct yon, for 
 we go in the morning towards the north. 
 Vou must therefore accompany us ; but 
 as soon as possible you shall be restored 
 to your own people. Now go and sleep, 
 for you are wounded and weary, and 
 must have rest." 
 
 The Englishman it may be imagined 
 did not much relish the idea of being 
 kept among the Indians ; it was, how- 
 ever, much better than being tortured or 
 killed by them, and he returned many 
 thanks to the chief. 
 
 Early in the morning he was aroused 
 by the troop preparing for departure. 
 They travelled with the most singular 
 caution, and wound their way through 
 the most obscure parts of the woods, and 
 guided themselves by tracks quite undis- 
 tinguishable, except by the experienced 
 eye of an Indian. They preserved a 
 profound silence, and showed great inge- 
 nuity in the means they adopted to pre- 
 vent their course being known. 
 
 During the middle of the day they 
 rested, and again at night. In the depth 
 of the night, the officer was aroused by 
 some one shaking him, and looking up 
 he saw his friend the old Indian, who, 
 cautioning him to be silent, bade him to 
 follow his steps. He did so, and they 
 proceeded carefully among the woods. 
 It was not until day-break that the silence 
 was broken by the Englishman asking 
 his conductor whither they were going. 
 
 " One of our people," replied the In- 
 dian, ** was wounded severely by you, 
 when you were first surprised by them. 
 In consequence of this his brother has 
 sworn revenge against you, and it would 
 have been unsafe for you to remain with 
 us. i will guide you to safety, and then 
 return." 
 
 The Englishman made grateful ac- 
 knowledgments for the Indian's kindness. 
 •' I am thinking," he then added, " why 
 you should show me this goodness, for I 
 was a stranger and am an enemy." 
 
 " Does a white man never do good to 
 a stranger, or an enemy ?" asked the 
 Indian. The Englishman blushed and 
 was silent. 
 
 " But I am only paying a debt," said 
 the Indian : ** nine months ago I was 
 wounded and weary, and dying of thirst; 
 you saw me, and gave me drink, which 
 saved my life. I prayed to the great 
 Spirit that I might repay the benefitj be- 
 hold, he has heard me." 
 
 The officer was struck with the noble 
 sentiments of the savage, and sighed to 
 think how often his countrymen might 
 take lessons from the Indian. 
 
 ** That is an English station," said the 
 Indian, ** there you will find white men 
 and friends. But, my son, when tliou 
 art with them do not forget the Indian, 
 nor think ill of his people ; farewell, my 
 son ! may the great Spirit protect thee, 
 and give thee strength among thy 
 people." 
 
 The Englishman pressed the hand of 
 the old Indian, spoke a parting word, for 
 he was too much affected to say more. 
 The next morning the Indian was amid 
 the woods, and the officer on his way to 
 join his regiment. 
 
 IMPERIAL ANECDOTE. 
 
 Napoleon, when sailing in a yacht in 
 Holland, entered into conversation with 
 the steersman, and asked him how much 
 his vessel was worth ? ** My vessel !" 
 said the man ; " it is not mine : I should 
 be too happy if it were ; it would make 
 my fortune." *• Well, then," said the 
 emperor, *' I make you a present of it ;" 
 a favour for which the man seemed not 
 particularly grateful. His indifference 
 was imputed to the phlegmatic tempera- 
 ment natural to his countrymen : but this 
 was not the case. *' What benefit has 
 he conferred on me ?" said he to one of 
 his comrades, who w^as contratulating 
 him ; ** he has spoken to me, and that is 
 all: he has given me what is not his 
 own to give — a fine present truly !" In 
 the meantime, Duroc had purchased the 
 vessel of the owner, and the receipt was 
 put into the hands of the steersman, who, 
 no longer doubting the reality of his good 
 fortune, indulged in the most extravagant 
 demonstrations of joy. 
 
 " Nothing will stay on my stomach," 
 said an old toper, ** but beef-steaks and 
 Hodgson's ale ! What do you think of 
 my stomach, doctor ?" — " Why, I think 
 your stomach a very sensible one !" was 
 the equivocal reply.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 145 
 
 ARMS AND AMOURS. 
 
 A TALE OF MALVESVN. 
 
 Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague, 
 The only son of your great enemy. 
 Juliet. Mv onlv love sprung from my only 
 hate ! " 
 Too early seen unknown, and loved too late ! 
 Prodigious birth of love it is to me. 
 Thus forced to love my loathed enemy. 
 
 Shakspeark. 
 
 All fumish'd — all in arms ; 
 All plumed, like estridges that wing the wind, 
 Bated like eagles having lately bathed ; 
 GliUeriug in golden coats like" images ; 
 As full of spirit as the month of May, 
 And gorgeous as the sun at Midsum'raer. 
 
 2nd Part K. Hen. IV. 
 
 Midnight had already tolled from the 
 great turret clock of Malvesyn Hall, and 
 a beautiful summer midnight it was, when 
 a brother of the Benedictine priory, of 
 Saint Giles, at Blythburgh, was slowly 
 returning from a visit to a sick person in 
 the neighbourhood. As he passed by the 
 large mill, which had been only lately 
 erected by sir William de Hansacre, in 
 the southern meadows of the Trent, he 
 could not help pausing, less to recruit his 
 wearied limbs, than to gaze on the exqui- 
 site scene of repose before him. 
 VOL. I. — 19. 
 
 Page 147. 
 
 A broad and yellow moonlight swayed 
 supreme over the dewy landscape. The 
 vast and ancient oakwoods of Malvesyn 
 stood breathless in the gentle light — al- 
 ternately capped with silver, and enfolded 
 in sable shadow ; the ample meadows, 
 partly pastures of rich turf, and partly 
 waving with meadow grass, displayed 
 large masses of lustre, broken here and 
 there by the trunk of some old sylvan ; 
 the royal Trent poured his abounding 
 flood in silent spariiles, and the buildings 
 of the Manor Hall in the distance, lifted 
 into the cloudless sky their vast and pic- 
 turesque outline j large white swans were 
 floating like dreams on the moonhght 
 river ; the great mill-wheel reposed its 
 black disk, still shining with moisture, 
 against a gable white with moonshine, 
 while the only sound that lulled the slum- 
 bers of the tranquil scene were the gurg- 
 ling of the sluice from the dam, the harsh, 
 restless cry of the corncraik in the long 
 grass, and the wild whoops of the owls 
 from the adjacent woods. 
 
 " Ah !" said the poor monk, " who 
 
 would not deem that to be lord of all this 
 
 fair domain were to be the patriarch of 
 
 peace and benevolence — rich and happy 
 
 u
 
 146 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 in himself, and diffusing plenty and hap- 
 piness on all beneath his sway. And yet 
 who that knows what these unhappy times 
 have brought forth, would not rather be 
 the poor Benedictine, who, if he hath 
 nought to command, has as little to fear — 
 who, confined to the elevating duties of 
 prayer and praise, enlivened only by the 
 illumination of books, the decorations of 
 his convent, the felling of timber in the 
 woods for many a rich and quaint carving, 
 or the care of fruits, flowers, and herbs — 
 hath reason to be thankful for that blessed 
 peace which the world cannot give, though 
 the world so often takes it away I" 
 
 So saying, the Benedictine moved on, 
 but had scarcely proceeded a quarter of a 
 mile westward, through that long and rich 
 vale, when a loud tumult and fearful strife 
 of voices swelled from behind him down 
 the clear, cool air of night. He turned 
 and paused, but saw nothing save the 
 massy walls of Malvesyn, now close at 
 hand, and the more distant chimnies of 
 De Hansacre's mill peering in the moon- 
 light over the clustering foliage. 
 
 He continued, however, to gaze in that 
 direction, arrested by the increasing tu- 
 mult, when suddenly a cloud appeared to 
 mantle over the distant building, at first 
 white and fleecy, then darkening — be- 
 coming swarthy — reddening — and finally, 
 flinging aloft the broad flag of conflagra- 
 tion, which wavered fiercely over the 
 landscape, making the moon dim and 
 ghastly. Without a moment's hesitation, 
 the monk hastily retraced his steps — 
 when, on his reaching the broad green- 
 sward in front of the mill, a scene pre- 
 sented itself which made him repent his 
 precipitation. 
 
 Violent feuds between the Nortli and 
 South Trentsmen had more or less agi- 
 tated most of the Staffordshire families at 
 that period (the early part of Henry the 
 Fourth's reign), but nowhere had they 
 been carried on with such animosity as 
 between the rich and rival Normans, 
 Malvesyn and Hansacre ; the former 
 dwelling in the fertile valley north of the 
 Trent, and the latter building his knightly 
 eyrie on a fair hill in its southern district. 
 
 The recent destruction of a magnificent 
 game of swans, bearing on their beaks 
 the notch and crescent of Malvesyn, 
 which was attributed, of course, to the 
 malice of the rival house, had tended 
 greatly to inflame the old quarrel ; and 
 
 the last drop had been poured info the 
 cup of wrath by the " outrecin dance," 
 as it was termed, of De Hansacre, in pre- 
 suming to build a large mill on bis own 
 bank of the Trent, whose outwards were 
 supposed to trespass on that portion of the 
 noble stream claimed by De Malvesyn. 
 The importance of a mill and fishery at 
 that period, as constituting a leading 
 feature in the manor of royalty, is well 
 known ; as also the high estimation at- 
 tached to a game of swans, and the 
 jealous care with which they were guarded 
 by their owners. The outcries and tumult 
 which thus broke out in the dead waste 
 and middle of the night, were occasioned 
 by a number of North Trentsmen, re- 
 tainers of De Malvesyn, who liad beset 
 and fired the mill — that obnoxious token 
 of the insolence of De Hansacre. 
 
 As the monk approached, the hurried 
 roar of the tocsin, or storm bell, was heard 
 from the hill edifices of the South Trents- 
 men, and a trampling of numerous armed 
 men, on the surcoat of whose leader the 
 arms of Hansacre, ermine, three chess- 
 rooks gules, gleamed in the mingled 
 glare of fire and moonlight, came gallop- 
 ing from the east. The Malvesyns, on 
 this unwished-for apparition, ceased from 
 the assault, and prepared for their defence. 
 A gallant looking youth, about sixteen, 
 whose tall form and well-turned limbs 
 already promised the thewes and prowess 
 of manhood, habited in the wiiite and 
 scarlet blazon of Malvesyn, was imme- 
 diately recognized by the monk as Flo- 
 rent de Fradley, the orphan heir of a 
 Staffordshire knight, who, according to 
 the fashion of the chivalric ages, was 
 brought up at Malvesyn Hall as Damoi- 
 seau to the brave sir Robert, in order to 
 his regular advancement to knighthood. 
 This young man seemed foremost in the 
 business. 
 
 " Saint Giles for the Malvesyn !" he 
 cried; "brave North Trentsmen, here 
 come the insolent rooks that have dared 
 to build in our eyrie ; grammercy, if we 
 do not quickly give their master check- 
 mate ! Here be the fowls, brave Mal- 
 vesyns, that would fain hatch swans'- 
 eggs 1 Give the marauders a volley, and 
 let the grey shaft remind tliem that they 
 are but geese ! 
 
 On rushed the Hansacres with a shout 
 of wratli, and a dark flight of arrow^s from 
 the Malvesyns found sure aim among
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIKLD. 
 
 147 
 
 tliem ; tligir chieftains' chessrooks glit- 
 tered no more that night; still on tliey 
 came, and the conflict waxed violent. 
 Broader and broader the red blaze of the 
 burning mill shook above the clanging 
 weapons ; the roused meadows rang with 
 the onset. The noble steeds that had 
 been turned out for the night on the 
 opposite banks of the river, came thun- 
 dering and neighing over their pastures 
 to its brink. There they paused with a 
 start, and with coal bright eyes, streaming 
 manes, and tossing tails, stood revealed 
 in the portentous blaze which the red 
 Trent reflected to the umbered skies ; 
 and then snorting, wheeling, and career- 
 ing up and down, seemed as though they 
 would stem the fire light stream to join 
 the battle. The raven's huge black wings 
 might be seen in the glare, sailing slowly 
 down from Cannock ; the awakened hawk 
 stretched his long pinions, as his bright 
 eye looked forth from his brown oak, 
 wiiile the great owl was hushed, and the 
 cruel otter, trembling in his bulrush 
 haunt, deemed that tlie morning's hunt 
 was about to be renewed. 
 
 The affrighted Benedictine hastened to 
 the aid of sir WiUiam Hansacre, whom 
 he had seen fall — and was still vainly 
 attempting to withdraw the arrow which 
 had pierced through his sinewy shoulder, 
 when the din of the affray suddenly grew 
 less, and the monk, looking up from the 
 wounded knight, who had swooned from 
 pain, saw that the Malvesyns were re- 
 treating in disorder, while the triumphant 
 Hansacres, after vain attempts to quench 
 the mill, whose half timbered walls looked 
 like a fabric of flaming red gold, returned 
 to the spot where their chieftain lay ap- 
 parently lifeless, bringing with them as 
 prisoner the young Damoiseau, Florent 
 of Fradley. 
 
 The South Trentsmen were furious and 
 hot for blood ; and it was soon clear that 
 the luckless Damoiseau would never 
 escape from their hands alive. The sight 
 of their fallen lord made them perfectly 
 frantic ; in vain the monk assured them 
 that sir William had only swooned, 
 
 " Dead or swooning," said the fiercest 
 of them, wielding an enormous battle-axe, 
 whose handle and broad blade were crim- 
 soned with blood, " may never Simon of 
 Tuppenhurst strike blow on a Malvesyn 
 again, if his next be not on the neck of 
 this young fire faggot. Our master shall 
 
 thank us for this deed, though he should 
 seem to chide. Strip him, Herbert ? and 
 thou, sir Priest, give him short shrift, for 
 he shall die ere another flake fly from yon 
 bonfire of his kindling!" 
 
 " You will not murder me in cold 
 blood ?" said the youth, as the men, 
 pulling off his doublet, thrust him down 
 upon his knees. " Give me the strongest 
 and the best of you hand to hand, and let 
 me not die the death of the shambles." 
 
 '* Thou should'st die the death of a 
 dog, and a mad dog to boot, if we had a 
 stone here heavy enough for yonder river j 
 or if there were a rope at hand, yon oak 
 should bear a worthless acorn for the 
 nonce! As it is — confess and speedily; 
 and thou, shaveling, absolve him — since 
 thou must needs be a spectator of our 
 play, thou shalt be an actor too 1" 
 
 The unfortunate Damoiseau, seeing 
 that remonstrance was fruitless, unloosed 
 his vest, and with chest and shoulders 
 naked, and gleaming white and polished 
 in the moonshine, knelt to the Benedic- 
 tine. The monk appeared like one in a 
 dream ; a few incoherent words he ad- 
 dressed to the incensed ruffians, who 
 spurned him from them : when Florent 
 said, with a smile that struggled ghastly 
 with his haggard glance : 
 
 " Spare thine intercessions, holy father : 
 the felon Hansacres will but follow their 
 calling in butchering me — hear me shrift, 
 and bless heaven that I die young, and 
 with no heavier guilt than that of avenging 
 my insulted lord — no misfortune but that 
 of' falling by a rabble of cowardly South 
 Trentsmen." 
 
 The words were hardly past his lips, 
 ere a sweeping stroke from Tuppen- 
 hurst's axe lighted on his neck ; he fell 
 with a groan and slight shudder upon his 
 face; his long bright hair had prevented 
 the blow from being mortal, but Simon, 
 dragging up his light curls, smote again, 
 and tossed the dissevered head among the 
 Hansacres, who hailed it with a savage 
 shout. 
 
 At this moment, all Malvesyn Hall 
 seemed in disturbance ; lights in the 
 windows glanced from bay to bay ; the 
 trumpet sent forth that chieftain's battle 
 note through the vale ; and the Hans- 
 acres, hastily bearing away their still 
 senseless leader, turned their horses' heads 
 eastward, proceeding rapidly through the 
 meadows till they api)roaclied the em-
 
 148 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY j OR, 
 
 battled and moated walls of Hansacre 
 Hall. 
 
 The site of the late combat was now 
 once more in silence, but it was the ! 
 silence of terror. The monk had fled 
 with aci^onized speed towards his convent ; 
 the still glowing mill sent up fits of flame, 
 and fragment after fragment fell echoing 
 to the river and the wood. The bodies 
 of those who had fallen, among whom 
 was the miller (his wife having perished 
 in the flames), lay strewn around, and 
 Florent's headless trunk was left pros- 
 trate as he had fallen. 
 
 The fresh succours which had poured 
 forth from Malvesyn on the return of 
 their discomfited comrades, had passed 
 along the north pastures of the Trent, 
 and crossing the high bridges, a small 
 party repaired to the adjacent mansion 
 of Pipe-rid ware, to summons their allies 
 the Vemons ; while the main body pushed 
 up the hill to Hansacre, where they were 
 in the very act of tossing firebrands into 
 the court of their enemy, when the vic- 
 torious South Trentsmenonce more came 
 up with them, and not only saved the 
 stately mansion of their chief, but being 
 aided by those from within, once more 
 repulsed them. 
 
 It was, however, with tiie loss of many 
 men, and among them Simon of Tuppen- 
 hurst, the immediate murderer of the 
 Damoiseau, that they drove the Malvesyns 
 down to the bridge, v»hile the wounded 
 sir WilHam was conveyed safely to his 
 chamber. On a small but strong turret 
 in the bridge the hasty succours of Vernon 
 had posted themselves; the retreat of the 
 North Trentsmen was thus covered, while 
 the Hansacres, with numbers seriously 
 thinned, returned to the hall, less in 
 triumph than in rage and pain and weak- 
 ness. 
 
 Meanwhile, the scene around the mill 
 again had its visitants. The fields still 
 lay beneath the calm impassioned moon- 
 beam. The Trent still rolled peacefully 
 along his regal flood, the woods still stood 
 unruffled in their pomp, and the startled 
 swans had resumed their floating sleep — 
 nothing but the decaying beams of the 
 mill, and the black wings of a solitary 
 raven, hopping from carcass to carcass, 
 and dipping liis great beak in the best 
 flesh of each, gave evidence of the recent 
 afli ay ; when suddenly a noble cob-swan 
 that had approached the flags on the 
 
 southern brink, with a hoarse scream, 
 dashed off into the middle of the river, 
 unfurled his magnificent silver wings till 
 they formed a hollow arch above his 
 back, recoiled his proud neck till it almost 
 touched its tail, and spurned the calm 
 Trent with the noise of many waters. 
 
 A solitary figure having crossed the 
 wooden bridge that led from Malvesyn, 
 was now standing on the fatal spot. Of 
 lofty stature, not even his mean, un- 
 crested cap, and the rougli grey mantle 
 that concealed his figure, would have 
 led a spectator to deem him such as he 
 appeared. Nothing could exceed the 
 apparent anguish with which he paced 
 from spot to spot of this dreadful scene ; 
 ever and anon he turned up his noble 
 countenance to the heavens, wrung his 
 hands, and murmured ejaculations of 
 grief and horror. But when he recog- 
 nized the headless trunk of the Damoi- 
 seau, torrents of tears streamed down his 
 cheeks, and he knelt beside it in a 
 paroxysm of anguisli that spoke more 
 eloquently than words — " Would to God 
 1 had died for thee 1" when suddenly the 
 tramp of armed footsteps was heard ad- 
 vancing, and he was surrounded and 
 roughly grasped by several men, who, 
 on looking at his features, clearly visible 
 in the moonbeam, shouted with joy. 
 
 " Heaven is just !" said one of them ; 
 " the fight is ours ! The star of Mal- 
 vesyn culminates amidst the red war- 
 clouds that have dimmed its lustre ; and 
 the haughty halls of Hansacre may stand 
 to be a grange for our serfs, or a stable 
 for our steeds, since the heir is delivered 
 into our hands !" 
 
 It wa*?, indeed, the young, the hand- 
 some William of Hansacre, on whose 
 smile the fairest maids of Staflbrdshite 
 had hung delighted, and to whose future 
 prouess the chivalry north and south of 
 Trent, looked with apprehension or hope. 
 
 Hoarse was the clamour of revenge 
 that roared around him, and he had al- 
 ready received more than one wound of 
 misdirected fury, when a deep and autho- 
 ritative voice from behind stilled at once 
 the uproar ; a dignified form, clad in 
 hastily assumed armour, three silver 
 bendlets in a red field being blazoned on 
 his breast, advanced amidst the throng. 
 
 ** Forbear !" said he, " would ye make 
 the pure fame of a true knight foul and 
 spotted as his recreant antagonist ? If we
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 149 
 
 are to triumph, it shall be by respecting 
 the laws of chivalry as much as our bloody 
 foemen have transgressed them. Have 
 the youth to my house (see ye not he is 
 unarmed ?) place him in gentle durance, 
 and see that his wounds (for which mine 
 honour bleeds as deeply), meet with due 
 tendance ! I swear by St. Giles, heir 
 and hope though he be of mine injurious 
 foeman, if the young man die of these 
 hurts, right dearly shall ye answer it !" 
 
 The rebuked kinsmen and vassals of 
 De Malvesyn quailed at once from their 
 towering pitch, and while two of them 
 recrossed the bridge with William, now 
 faint from loss of blood, to their chief- 
 tain's manor hall, those who remained on 
 the spot betook themselves to the mournful 
 task of separating the slain among their 
 comrades from those of the rival house. 
 
 Those who know the close connexion 
 subsisting, in the days of chivalry, between 
 the nobleman, or knight, and the Damoi- 
 seau, will be at no loss to conceive the 
 grief of sir Robert de Malvesyn, as his 
 people pointed out to him the severed 
 head and still bleeding trunk of the 
 hapless page. 
 
 Florent was the only son of sir Robert's 
 brother-in-arms, sir Edward de Fradley ; 
 his widowed mother was recently dead, 
 and fron\ the age of eight he had been 
 trained to knighthood in the manor castle 
 of his father's friend. Inseparable from 
 the knight and his two daughters — Eli- 
 zabeth and Margaret — whether in the 
 fight or the forest, the hall or the bower, 
 and well versed in the sciences of religion, 
 love and war, which chivalry delighted 
 to intertwine ; none excelled Flurent in 
 leaping the trench, launching the spear, 
 or poising the shield ; while his gentle 
 birth, his beauty and his gallant spirit, 
 had endeared him to aU the Malvesyns, 
 but to none so much as the stately 
 knight. 
 
 " It is well for thy poor mother that 
 she is at rest in her peaceful grave," said 
 sir Robert, the big tears rolling over his 
 dark brown cheek, while his people care- 
 fully wrapped the head and trunk in a 
 soft mantle — " else had this sight stretched 
 her beside thee a passionate lunatic ! — 
 But thou shalt be revenged, and that in 
 such a fashion as shall teach this un- 
 knightly cavalier of Hansacre, the dif- 
 ference between a murderer of children 
 and him who presen-es his inauguration 
 
 vow — * to shed his blood even to its last 
 drop in behalf of his brethren !' " 
 
 The mournful business was now com- 
 pleted, and the knight returned to his 
 hall, followed by his kinsmen and re- 
 tainers ; the slain being conveyed in 
 reverent guise, accompanied by pro- 
 longed and wailful tumpet blasts, to 
 ! various receptacles, previous to their 
 I interment at the priory of Blythburgh or 
 ; other churches. 
 
 The fine old monastery of St. Giles, 
 ' beautifully situated on the southern bank 
 I of the Blytlie, where it flows through a 
 I sequestered valley, was sheltered by those 
 I woody hills once crowned by the man- 
 j sion of sir Hugo, its founder, a worthy 
 knight of king Stephen's reign. The 
 ' old castle, however, was a ruin, having 
 I long been deserted by his descendants 
 ' for the broad, sheltered meadows of the 
 : Trent. This conventual establishment 
 consisted of monks and nuns, who here 
 spent their blameless lives amidst every- 
 ! thing that could invest the sameness of a 
 j monastic house with cheerfulness and 
 i contentment. A spacious quadrangle of 
 j short bright turf, with a large sundial in 
 ' the centre, was surrounded by cloisters, 
 j turrets, and Norman windows ; climbing 
 the low structures on every side, luxu- 
 ! riant treillages of creepers spread their 
 j various tapestries, carefully pruned away, 
 I however, from the statues and pinnacles, 
 i whose sharp points and delicately chiselled 
 draperies showed the greatest care for 
 I their preservation. A tract of fertile land 
 : lay round the gates ; a fruitful orchard 
 j and productive garden offered amuse- 
 ment rather than taxed labour in their 
 } cultivation ; and the bright brown Blythe 
 ; that washed the buttresses of the priory, 
 at once supplied its tenants with fish, and 
 I turned the wheel of their adjacent corn- 
 ! mill. Their vicinity to the highway 
 j afforded the monks of Blythburgh fre- 
 1 quent opportunities of exercising the 
 most pleasing part of their profession — 
 the relief of the poor and the refreshment 
 of the traveller ; which last was fre- 
 quently repaid by the intelligence of 
 events passing in that busy world, from 
 whose storms and vicissitudes they were 
 so safely sheltered. 
 
 It was now the forenoon of the day 
 after the funeral of Florent, which was 
 conducted under the inspection of the 
 knight of Malvesyn with great solemnity.
 
 J 50 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY 
 
 in St. Giles' church. The high summer 
 sun swept over the village green ; the 
 crimson spotted trout were playing in 
 the tide that sparkled under the priory 
 wall ; the village was lapped in the 
 sultry repose of noon, the men being still 
 abroad in the fields, the women preparing 
 their meal, the children at school in the 
 chamber over the church porch, and the 
 very dogs slumbering beneath the wood- 
 bines and wildflowers that mantled on 
 the cottages — when a female figure, 
 habited in the deepest mourning of the 
 time, and followed by her attendant, 
 emerged from Nun's Lane, and was seen 
 to pass over the broad and daisied green 
 In the very heart of the village. She 
 paused at the broad steps of the great 
 cross which rose in the centre, its carvings 
 lavishly gilded by the meridian sun, and, 
 kneeling reverently, made a sign to her 
 attendant, who followed her example. 
 After a short exercise of apparently deep 
 and earnest devotion, the lady arose, and 
 attended as before, was admitted with 
 great respect by the portress through the 
 priory gates. 
 
 Attired in a robe of black, lined, bor- 
 dered, and buttoned with white, while 
 her long tippet behind flowed down to 
 her heels — her hair being confined in a 
 Burcol or net of black and white silk — 
 she who appeared highest in rank of the 
 two addressed the nun who ushered her 
 into the locutory — 
 
 " Say that Margaret of Malvesyn would 
 tax for a short space the precious time of 
 the prioress Agatha of Bromley." 
 
 The nun retired with the lady's at- 
 tendant, while, sinking on one of the 
 elaborate tall-backed oak chairs, the 
 high-born damsel employed the interval 
 before the appearance of the prioress in 
 a passion of hysterical sobs and weeping ; 
 and her silken kerchief, or veil, deeply 
 embroidered with her family arms, was 
 glittering with her tears when the holy 
 mother approached her. The lady Agatha, 
 of Bromley, was beginning a solen n 
 phrase of welcome and condolence, when 
 she, of Malvesyn, hastily struggling to 
 resume her composure, threw back her 
 veil, and kneeling to the prioress, dis- 
 closed a countenance of such beauty as 
 not even her passionate grief could ob- 
 scure. A perfect oval, her face was of 
 that delicate fairness from which the total 
 absence of colour, save when summoned 
 
 thither by emotion, was hardly perceived ; 
 her hair was intensely black j and her 
 eyes, large and dark (as she turned them, 
 swimming in tears, to her whom she re- 
 garded as a second mother), might have 
 defied a heart of stone to resist her be- 
 seeching sorrows. 
 
 ** Bless me, dear and holy mother, ere 
 I speak my business, and pray that my 
 speech may be for good !" 
 
 •* My blessings and orisons are ever 
 thine, gentle daughter," replied the 
 prioress, as Margaret, somewhat more 
 composed, received the benediction ; and 
 after a pause, during which both seemed 
 engaged in prayer, she continued — " But 
 surely this grief is somewhat out of reason. 
 It was an accursed deed, but it cannot be 
 recalled. The youth was both fair and 
 dear while with us, but though his mur- 
 derers dwell in towers and waters, ample 
 vengeance is providing !" 
 
 " Yes [" sighed Margaret, and mute 
 with embarrassment proceeded not be- 
 yond the monosyllable. 
 
 " Hath not the only son of thy father's 
 foe fallen into the power of De Mal- 
 vesyn ?" continued the prioress, with a 
 warmer colour and more sustained voice ; 
 *' and is it not a visible interposition 
 of providence, that the cruel and blood- 
 thirsty man should not live out half his 
 days, when, otherwise, the encounters of 
 yon fatal night would only liave given 
 birth to new conflicts, just as likely to 
 have ended in the ruin of thy father's 
 house as in the subjugation of the Hans- 
 acres ?" 
 
 By the writhing and restless emotion 
 which Margaret evinced during this 
 speech, she appeared like one pierced 
 with repeated puny strokes of daggers. 
 The prioress looked astonished and per- 
 plexed at her extraordinary mood, till at 
 length Margaret raised her stately head 
 at once — 
 
 " But wherefore do I pause ?" she 
 said, " since for no other cause am I 
 come hither, than to ease my bosom of 
 the secret — the unabsolved secret (for not 
 even in my shrift have I poured it forth), 
 which weiglis down my heart with many 
 sorrows ? Know then, holy and kind mo- 
 ther, that the cause of all these tears — 
 the object dearer to me than father, kins- 
 men or friends — the source of emotions 
 that divide my heart at this moment with 
 g)ief and pleasure, is that very William
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 151 
 
 of Hansacre, who is now the thrall of my 
 father I" 
 
 " William of Hansacre ! and a maiden 
 of Malvesyn to couple that name with 
 love ?" the prioress almost screamed. 
 
 *' Love !" replied Margaret, her figure 
 elevated from its drooping posture, her 
 eyes upturned, bright and impassioned, 
 her beautiful red lips smiling, her hands 
 clasped, and her whole appearance 
 radiant with enthusiasm — ** yes, love, as 
 holy, as intense, as ever found its shrine 
 in woman's heart ! Love that makes me 
 forget all the offences of his fierce house 
 in the light of his own mild virtues ! 
 Love, that when all at Malvesyn were 
 wailing for poor Florent, made me weep 
 in agony for the heir of the foeman who 
 slew him. Chide not, gracious dame, 
 but hear me. From the day we met at 
 the tournament at Howksyard, it was 
 written on my heart, that the hostile 
 houses should one day cease to hate. 
 Our vows have long been solen)nly 
 plighted ; the violence of the ancient 
 feuds seemed to have relaxed, and our 
 hopes grew high. That fatal night, Wil- 
 liam had lingered widi me longer than 
 usual at our tryste — the great old pine 
 overhanging the Faulcon's well — and he 
 talked encouragingly of his father's noble 
 heart, and augured liappily from thedoat- 
 ing affection his parents bore to him their 
 only child. He had already won sir 
 W^illiam to admit the propriety of lessen- 
 ing the encroachments at the Briggmuln." 
 
 " Nay," interrupted the prioress, ** all 
 the Hansacredom, and Malvesyn to boot, 
 can testify that Robert Mulner was a 
 wrathful and a violent man. Did he not 
 revile and even smite John Hammond 
 (to whom diy father hath leased the 
 Brigg water down to Oxenholm pool), 
 out of spite that he brought to our poor 
 house, last Lent, a finer salmon than had 
 smoked for years in the hall of Hans- 
 acre? — and did he not " 
 
 " Pardon me, mother, we but waste 
 time on the paltry disagreements of a 
 miller and a fisherman. And yet," she 
 added with a sigh, " from the wrangling 
 of those churls, what blood hath been 
 spilt — what lives jeopardied !" 
 
 " I see a higher than earthly hand in 
 this," said the prioress; " and since the 
 youth is of fair fame and gentle heart, 
 and even by his foes reported honourable, 
 it may well be that providence hath its 
 
 own good views in thus permitting your 
 young hearts to become each other's 
 thrall. If it be so, not all the just indig- 
 nation of tliy father — not his deepest dun- 
 geons — nay, not the pronounced sentence 
 of death itself, will avail to scathe a hair 
 of his head ! Hast thou seen him ?" 
 
 *' I was in the hall, weeping for the 
 murder of the Damoiseau, when William 
 was brought in wounded and a captive. 
 Elizabeth turned from him in horror, and 
 I — oh, mother, hadst thou seen his noble 
 form streaming with blood, the patience 
 of his manly countenance, and, above all, 
 the ineffable glance which none inter- 
 preted but me, then you would not 
 wonder that even there, in the presence 
 of mine elder sister, and before all the 
 vassals of my father's house, who were 
 thirsting for his life, I was on the very 
 point of rushing into his arms — staunch- 
 ing with his robe his piteous wounds, and 
 proclaiming that a daughter of Malvesyn 
 centred her whole world in the bleeding 
 heir of the detested Hansacres !" 
 
 " Calm thee, my child ! these violent 
 transports are neither maidenly nor 
 Christian-like." 
 
 " The loud shriek I uttered was most 
 erroneously ascribed to very natural feel- 
 ings, and ere 1 could execute my frantic 
 impulse, the tender anxiety of Elizabeth, 
 and the ofhcious cares of our women, who 
 flocked around me, gave me time for re- 
 collection." 
 
 " Great reason hast thou to be thank- 
 ful, therefore, daughter — thou hadst other- 
 wise fatally perilled Am, no less than 
 dishonoured thyself." 
 
 To this truism, most sententiously 
 delivered, the good-natured prioress ap- 
 pended a rather leading question — 
 
 " What doth sir Robert meditate re- 
 specting young Hansacre ?" 
 
 " Oh, my father grieves still most bit- 
 terly for his slaughtered Damoiseau; and 
 his very meals, instead of refreshment, 
 excite only new unhappiness from the 
 recollection of his horrid fate who was 
 wont to present iiis wine and carve iiis 
 meat ! But sir Robert is a wise and 
 upright man, and a strict lover of justice. 
 The burning of Briggmuln was without 
 his privity, and hath excited his utmost 
 displeasure. He hath treated WiUiam 
 mildly ; the leech hath had him in con- 
 stant tendance, and though my father 
 cannot yet brook his presence at the hall-
 
 152 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY J OR, 
 
 board, he hath assigned him apartments, 
 where Ehzabeth hath already visited 
 him ; and oh, mother, they wonder / 
 have kept away — they term me unfeel- 
 ing, and even Elizabeth tells me I carry 
 
 my animosity too far ! Alas " Here 
 
 a flood of tears again streamed from the 
 beauteous maiden's eyes. After a pause, 
 the prioress spoke. 
 
 " What then of the Hansacredom ? 
 Is it to enjoy undisturbed its bloody and 
 wicked triumph ?" 
 
 " A herald was dispatched this morn- 
 ing, before my father had tierce per- 
 formed in the oratory, where he daily 
 attends the masses said for the soul of 
 the slain De Fradley. The import of his 
 message we trow not, but, alas! as little 
 do we doubt it ! Meanwhile, the Hans- 
 acres have carried off their dead, and we 
 learn they are busily employed in adding 
 to the defences of their hall." 
 
 ** And let them fortify — let them build 
 their towers to heaven — let their gates 
 be of brass, and let their moat be an 
 inland sea, the curse of blood shall sap 
 their foundation ; treachery shall unfold 
 their doors to the enemy; and the steam 
 of murder shall exhale like a pestilence 
 from the waters in which they trust !" 
 exclaimed the saintly mother — when, as 
 suddenly rembering her rank and pro- 
 fession,%he added in a different key: 
 " Holy Mary, grant another issue than 
 this seems to forbode ! And thou, daugh- 
 ter, be watchful over thyself! remember 
 that heaven may yet have happier times 
 in store for thee, and wreck not, by any 
 rash act of thine, the fortunes which pru- 
 dence may secure." 
 
 The mother Agatha here blew on a 
 silver call, the lady Margaret's attendant 
 re-appeared, an elderly nun placed re- 
 freshments before them, and the maid of 
 Malvesyn, lightened of her bosom's load 
 by her late conversation with the lady 
 prioress of Bromley, returned to her 
 father's hall. 
 
 (To be continued.) 
 
 tiful little white beds, trimmed with smart 
 fringes, and walk over a carpeted draw- 
 ing-room into a handsomely furnished 
 dining-room ; who have milk with their 
 tea and coffee ; whose stock of preserved 
 fruits, vegetables, and eggs, make their 
 table resemble that of a house in Portland 
 Place, whose ample space gives them all 
 their wonted amusements and employ- 
 ment : but, after all, they know nothing 
 of going to sea. Put them into a boat 
 from which they are obliged to jump, as 
 the waves heave them up, into the chains 
 of the vessel ; put them into stifling 
 berths, too \o\v to sit upright in, and 
 so narrow that, unless they are expert 
 packers, every roll thumps them from 
 side to side; let their only sitting-room 
 be a space of six feet square, surrounded 
 by such berths, and encumbered by 
 chests, hampers, and part of the cargo. 
 Give them tea infused in bad smoky 
 water; set them down to apiece of hard 
 beef or pork that has been in pickle for 
 fifteen years, accompanied by hard, tough 
 biscuit, and on Sundays by a roll pudding 
 made of flour and stale suet. I^et them 
 rise from their sickness to be assailed by 
 the smell of grog, cheese, and bilge- water. 
 Let every thing they touch feel damp 
 and cold. Let the sea which is shipped 
 on deck run through to their bedding, so 
 that every movement they make on it 
 produces a squashing noise. These, and 
 many worse things than these, would 
 entitle them to complain of the sea. 
 
 MISERIES OF A SEA VOYAGE. 
 
 The miseries of a sea voyage are 
 loudly blazoned forth by those who, 
 making their passage in an East or West 
 Indiaman, or in one of her majesty's 
 frigates, are hoisted into her, seated in a 
 gaily decorated chair ; who sleep in beau- 
 
 INDIAX ELOQUENCE. 
 
 At a conference held at Vincenne,";, 
 in the United States, in 1811, between 
 general Harrison and some Indian cliiefs, 
 after a long talk, Tecumseh, a cele- 
 brated Indian warrior, looked round for 
 a seat, but finding no accommodation 
 provided for him, his eyes flashed Are. 
 General Harrison saw the cause, and 
 instantly ordered a chair. One of the 
 council ofTered the warrior his chair, and 
 bowing respectfully, said to him, " \Var- 
 rior, your father, general Harrison, 
 offers you a seat." " My father !" ex- 
 claimed Tecumseh, extending his hand 
 towards the heavens, *' the sun is my 
 father, and the earth is my mother : she 
 gives me nourishment, and I will repose 
 on her bosom." He then threw himself 
 upon the ground.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 53 
 
 THE SPECTRE COMBAT. 
 
 Albert, the younger, and Leofrvd, 
 by some three or four years his senior, 
 were bereft of their parents, and con- 
 signed to the guardianship of a high and 
 haughty kinsman, at a very early period 
 of their hves. Albert, at the time our 
 story commences, had just emerged from 
 juveniHty, and a more handsome and 
 dignified form can scarce be imagined. 
 His fine oval face was shaded with a pro- 
 fusion of bright chesnut hair; his eyes 
 were of a light and sparkling blue ; small 
 well trimmed mustachios adorned his 
 upper hp ; and his figure, stout and tall, 
 was attired in a manner that plainly told 
 his study to please other eyes than his 
 own. Leofryd was dissimilar to his bro- 
 ther in every respect ; he was equally 
 tall, stout, and well proportioned — per- 
 haps, a close and skilful observer would 
 have pronounced him in this last respect 
 superior : his visage, however, was totally 
 destitute of that air of frankness and cor- 
 diality which so strongly characterized 
 that of his brotlier ; its contour was re- 
 markable, nay, sometimes, thrillingly so. 
 Its more than marbly whiteness was con- 
 voL. I.— 20. 
 
 Page 155. 
 
 siderably heightened by two large, lus- 
 trous, coal-black eyes, and a quantity of 
 equally dark hair, which lie wore divided 
 on the centre of his lofty brow. His nose 
 was prominent, and slightly aquiline ; 
 his upper lip and chin were adorned with 
 hair, thus rendered capable of almost 
 every expression — its most general was 
 one of irony and scorn. The costume of 
 each, we may briefly notice, consisted 
 of a dark green pourpoint, slashed and 
 braided ; brown flapped hat, decorated 
 with a quantity of sable plumage ; russet 
 boots, belt and baldrick, with their usual 
 appendages of sword, dagger, &c. 
 
 Thus much for description : let us now 
 to our tale. Between Leofryd and Albert, 
 even in their days of childhood, a stern 
 antipathy had existed — an enmity which, 
 instead of wearing away, increased with 
 them as they increased in years, and at 
 length grew to such an extremity that 
 they rarely met without a frown, rarely 
 spoke without a curse. More than once 
 had their swords crossed each other, but 
 never until about the commencement of 
 our story had their rashness spurred them 
 on to deeds of blood. 
 
 Their hate, which for a long time had
 
 154 
 
 TALES OF chivalry; OR, 
 
 smouldered, blazed forth at leng^th with 
 the most uncontrollable fury. This sudden 
 excitation of their passions was occasioned 
 by the charms of a beautiful woman. 
 Albert loved, with all the ardour of a 
 youthful enthusiasm, the peerless daughter 
 of their guardian, the haughty Luneberg, 
 and she returned his love with a fervour 
 that equalled his own. Leofryd, the 
 avowed favourite of the baron, loved her, 
 too J and no sooner had he discovered 
 her partiality for Albert, than he all at 
 once became animated with the spirit of 
 a demon. His rage knew no bounds ; 
 he sought his brother, and in the blind 
 fury of the moment taxed him with per- 
 jury and cowardice, loading him with all 
 manner of invective. Albert, by far the 
 most calm, though not a whit the less 
 courageous, retorted, and eventually fol- 
 lowed his brotlier towards a thick wood, 
 which stretched from Luneberg tower to 
 the Rhine border. Tliey had not ad- 
 vanced far when the cowardly Leofryd, 
 fearing lest chance should turn the scale 
 in his brother's favour, drew his dagger, 
 and before Albert could offer the least 
 resistance, he plunged it into his breast. 
 The miscreant fled instantly, and pur- 
 sued the windings of the forest for the 
 space of an hour with unabated speed ; 
 at length he halted, and still he found 
 himself involved amid its labyrinths ; he 
 glanced around him, eager to discover 
 some outlet, but he sought in vain ; he 
 cast his eyes above, yet saw he nothing 
 but the closely twisted branches of the 
 trees, which shut out the sunny autumn 
 evening sky, and to his guilty soul their 
 lowest whisperings seemed to greet him 
 with the name of fratricide ! He gazed 
 upon the healthy sward, which the ruddy 
 sunlight, streaming through a here and 
 there opening, beautifully chequered. 
 At his feet he beheld a crystal spring 
 bubbling and flashing through the tall 
 grass ; he bent his knee and bathed his 
 hands therein, but the cooling fluid re- 
 fused to cleanse the stain ; his brother's 
 blood had fixed upon them an indelible 
 die — a mark that defied his every effort 
 to erase. His drawn weapon was yet 
 beside him, he wiped it in the luxuriant 
 herbage, and returned it to its scabbard, 
 and anon sought again some outlet from 
 the forest. Night, however, descended 
 on him ere he could succeed, and the 
 wood was presently wrapped in profound 
 
 gloom. One course only was now left to 
 him, which was to abide in the wood till 
 morning, and this was by no means a 
 measure which he seemed disposed to 
 adopt. He wended on, therefore, in the 
 hope that he might find some cottage, or, 
 at least, some peasant who could guide 
 him to the castle. He had not proceeded 
 far when footsteps sounded on his ear, 
 and anon some one crossed his path. 
 
 " Ho, there," shouted Leofryd, " turn 
 thee, stranger." 
 
 *' What would'st thou ?" said the per- 
 son, halting. 
 
 " Art thou familiar with this forest?'* 
 
 ** I am — what then i'" 
 
 ** Guide me to Luneberg castle, and 
 name thy reward." 
 
 ** I need none ; go find thy path thy- 
 self — 1 have other care. Farewell." 
 
 " Hold one moment," cried Leofryd ; 
 " dost thou know me ?" 
 
 " I should know thee," answered the 
 stranger. ** Hark to the winds that 
 whistle round us! Are their voices un- 
 intelligible ? Do they not call thee 
 coward — traitor — assassin ?" 
 
 *' Assassin !" echoed Leofryd. 
 
 ** Ay, fratricide !" 
 
 ** What mystery is this ? who are ye ? 
 speak." 
 
 " Whoe'er thou wilt. Would'st see 
 thy destiny ?" 
 
 *' Thou jestest." 
 
 " Wilt behold it, I say ?" 
 
 " Is the sight worth looking on ?" 
 
 " Ay, 'tis a scene of strife and blood- 
 shed — lo !" 
 
 Leofryd shuddered violently, and a 
 terror, which he could by no means with- 
 stand, gradually crept over him — his 
 every nerve was paralyzed ; he felt him- 
 self unable to speak or move, and he 
 leant passive against the trunk of a 
 gigantic oak. 
 
 The breeze subsided, the waving of the 
 trees became inaiidible, even the murmur 
 of the hills dwindled into a dreamy indis- 
 tinctness, and a silence terrific and pro- 
 found presently involved the scene. It 
 was in vain that Leofryd studied to trace 
 the lineaments of his companion : though 
 close beside him, he was totally invisible, 
 and all that he could hear was the low 
 and scarcely articulate murmurings of 
 his voice. Anon the scenery seemed to 
 lighten up before him — a blueish trem- 
 bling lus^tre gradually expanded, impart-
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIKLD. 
 
 155 
 
 ing a preternatural tinge to the trees and 
 green sward. Presently two shadowy 
 forms were discerned flitting, dreamhke, 
 to and fro ; anon they became more de- | 
 fined, and eventually took the appearance j 
 of armed figures, striving hotly against 
 each other. One of the combatants was 
 distinguished by the semblance of a lion ; 
 rampant, which crested his helmet, and i 
 decorated his breast and shield j his ; 
 armour was sable, and his vizor was close 
 down. The other wore blue armour, 
 and had his helmet surmounted with a 
 crimson plume ; his vizor also was down. 
 Each fought with short two-edged swords, 
 that struck forth sparks of fire with every 
 blow, though no sound whatever of the 
 strife was heard. Thus they contended 
 for the space of several minutes, when all 
 at once the red plumed warrior stumbled 
 over a piece of rock which the tall grass 
 concealed, and his opponent, instantly 
 following up the advantage, clove his 
 helmet and skull in twain. The shivered 
 casque rolled on the ground, the lustre 
 became more brilliant, and gleamed 
 vividly on the visage of the prostrate 
 warrior, and one glance sliowed the 
 amazed Leofryd a perfect semblance of 
 his own. A glittering cortege of knights 
 and dames advanced, and one of the latter 
 was received in the arms of the victorious 
 warrior. In a moment the lustre fled, 
 and profound darkness again took posses- 
 sion of the scene. 
 
 Leofryd started, rubbed his eyes, and 
 strove himself into the belief that fancy 
 had been playing her freaks upon him ; 
 it could not have been real, it must have 
 been some unaccountable delusion ; there 
 stood the trees, the copse, and the brush- 
 wood, waving their autumnal foliage in 
 the early morning light ; there, too, were 
 the streams he had before witnessed, 
 twinkling merrily by, and catching and 
 reflecting the gleams that began to streak 
 the eastern heavens. No trace whatever 
 of the phantom combat was visible ; 
 though blood had seemed to flow pro- 
 fusely from the wounds of the combatants, 
 not a stain was there seen on the velvet 
 sward ; Leofryd, therefore, strove himself 
 into the belief that the scene he had wit- 
 nessed was nothing more than a dream, 
 and that his late mysterious companion 
 was no other than a being which his 
 fancy had conjured up. The heavens 
 grew Ughter and lighter, and presently 
 
 the sun flamed on the eastern horizon. 
 Leohyd was not long in finding Castle 
 Luneberg ; he entered hastily, sought 
 his chamber, a thousand confused ideas 
 floated in his troubled brain — he threw 
 himself on an ottoman and slept. 
 
 It is needless to dwell on the scene 
 which took place when the beautiful 
 Linda became aware of the death of her 
 beloved Albert ; those who have loved 
 may best conceive it. No one, however, 
 suspected Leofryd to be the murderer; 
 not even Linda, persecuted as she eter- 
 nally was by his addresses, thought him 
 guilty ; for the wily miscreant had im- 
 pressed every one with the behef that it 
 was Albert who nursed the most deadly 
 hatred, and who was ever the first to 
 begin the quarrel. 
 
 Time passed on, Luneberg died and 
 left his immense wealth to his daughter ; 
 he had often pressed her to consent to 
 a marriage with Leofryd, but in vain ; 
 Linda could not endure him, and the 
 baron had too much love for his child 
 to force her against her inclination ; he 
 therefore commended her to Leofryd's 
 protection, and expired. Linda was a 
 maiden of most surpassing beauty and 
 gentleness, and Leofryd, we must do 
 him the justice to say, loved her no less 
 for her amiable endowments, than for 
 her recently acquired wealth. He had 
 now no rival to contend with, and, but 
 for the occurrence of one of those unfore- 
 seen and unexpected incidents, which 
 fortune is for ever throwing in to turn 
 the scale in the affairs of mortals, stra- 
 tagem would have given him the hand 
 he had so long coveted in vain. 
 
 It was one fair evening in the year's 
 decline that Luneberg woods and castle 
 echoed a lusty blast, announcing a com- 
 pany of horsemen at the gate. The warder 
 made his appearance, and thus unto him 
 the leader spake — 
 
 " Say unto the baron Von Luneberg, 
 that De Valdemar greets him kindly, 
 and craves sojourn for the night within 
 his walls." 
 
 '* How, sir Knight," answered the 
 warder, " can it be that ye wot not of 
 my noble master's death ?" 
 
 " Not I, good fellow; I am but just 
 returned from foreign parts. And is it 
 so, my old companion in arms no more ? 
 Tell me, then, wlio holds this tower ?" 
 
 "Marry, sir, his daughter, the beau- 
 X 2
 
 15G 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY 
 
 tiful lady Linda, who is shortly to be- i 
 come the bride of the noble count Leo- 
 frj d — but see, yonder the lady comes." 
 
 The knight reined up his steed, and 
 bent his head full gracefully as she ap- 
 proached. 
 
 " Fair lady," he said, " a knight of i 
 France, a coriirade of your noble father, 
 whom I grieve to hear is no more, craves 
 sojourn for a night widiinyour hoqjitable 
 dwelling." 
 
 " And right gladly, fair sir, shall it be 
 given ye," replied the lady, " Ho, there, j 
 haste ye knaves, simimon your fellows, , 
 and let the best cheer the castle will 
 afford be served instantly, to glad my | 
 father's friend. Wilt please ye enter, sir 
 Knight?" 1 
 
 De Valdemar leaped from his steed, i 
 and drawing the latly's arm within his 
 own, entered the castle, while his train, 
 folloAing to the refectory, made speedy | 
 inroads on the excellent cheer which was 
 provided for them. j 
 
 Soon as the repast was ended, Val- I 
 demar, accompanied by Linda, walked 
 forth into the wood, which stretched from 
 the castle to the Rhine border. It was a 
 cool, quiet, delicious evening, and the | 
 multitude of stars which began to muster ) 
 in the firmament, made ample compen- 
 sation for the desertion of the moon ; the 
 air was filled with dew, and a sweet 
 dreamy fragrance diffused itself around. 
 
 Valdemar and Linda, however, lent 
 little attention to the beauty of the scene, 
 they were too deeply involved in con- 
 versation, the subject of which may be 
 gleaned from the following dialogue. 
 
 " And did not suspicion light strongly 
 on count Leofryd ?" asked the knight. 
 
 ** No," replied the lady, ** it was be- 
 lieved by every one that J/eofryd bore 
 him too much love ; besides, he spent 
 long time in grief." 
 
 *' 'Twas credited, then, by all that 
 count Albert fell ?" 
 
 *♦ Tis past all doubt — blood spots were 
 discovered in many parts of the fores^t, 
 and his sword was found shivered to tlie 
 hilt." 
 
 At this moment a trampling of steeds 
 was heard advancing towards the castle, 
 and })resently a shrill bugle- note rever- 
 berated through the woods. Valdemar 
 looked enquiringly at Linda. 
 
 " 'Tis Leofryd," said she ; ** pardon 
 me leaving you thus abruptly, sir Knight. 
 
 I must hasten to the castle — follow at 
 your leisure." 
 
 So saying she quickly retreated, leaving 
 Valdemar to gaze after her, until she had 
 totally disappeared. Thus occupied, he 
 felt a smart tap on the shoulder, and, 
 turning, he beheld a tall arn)ed figure, 
 who accosted him in the following terms. 
 
 " Who was't, sir, that parted from you 
 so hastily e'en now ?" 
 
 ** Sir !" echoed Valdemar, " I am not 
 accustomed to gratify the impertinent 
 curiosity of every stranger I meet. Show 
 me in what it concerns ye to know, and 
 I may be pleased to answer ye." 
 
 *♦ You behold count Leofryd, the lord 
 of INIaltigern, and of this fair castle and 
 its mistress." 
 
 " Then I behold a villain that hath 
 burdened the earth too long. You are 
 armed, sir ; then defend yourself, for I 
 vow to heaven that but one of us shall 
 quit this spot alive." 
 
 Valdemar's sword streamed in a mo- 
 ment from its scabbard, his vizor was 
 down, and, sheathed in sable armour, he 
 contemplated for a while the person of 
 his adversary. Leofryd's weapon was 
 also in his grasp, and he too regarded 
 the gallant figure of Valdemar with the 
 air of a hungry tiger on the point to 
 spring. 
 
 "Hal" he exclaimed suddenly — 
 '* what do I behold ! that cognizance, 
 that crest — the armour sable too. It is 
 — it is tlie visionary knight. I could not 
 scan thy visage then: soon will I now 
 gratify my wish. Have at thee." 
 
 They met, their weapons flashing 
 around each other's heads like light- 
 ning, and clang followed clang in fierce 
 i and dread succession. It was hard to 
 tell to which the victory would be given, 
 so excellently were they matched, and 
 } so stoutly did both hold out. At length, 
 ; however, it was decided — Leofryd stum- 
 j bled over a rock which the tall grass con- 
 cealed, and Valdemar, immediately fol- 
 lowing up the advantage, brought dov\'n 
 I his weapon with such hearty good-will 
 j on the helmet of his adversary, that the 
 ' fastenings burst asunder, and the blade 
 I clove through to the very teeth. 
 
 The din of strife had by this time 
 I alarmed the castle and its inmates — all 
 ! poured forth to seek die cause of affray. 
 j The tall form of Valdemar, resting on 
 I his blood-stained sword, and gazing on
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIKLD. 
 
 157 
 
 his prostrate adversary, attracted their 
 g-aze as soon as tliey entered the wood. 
 Linda was the first to approach him, and, 
 to her wild enquiring look, Valdemar 
 thus spoke : 
 
 " Lady of Luneberg, behold the corse 
 of Leofryd Maltigern, a false friend and 
 a treacherous brother. He fell by my 
 hand — I, whose life he once attempted, 
 and deemed he had taken. Say, gentle 
 lady, will the heart and hand of thy faith- 
 ful Albert Maltigern requite thee for the 
 loss of the caitiff Leofryd's ?" 
 
 Her reply, and the scene that ensued, 
 is needless to detail. Luneberg castle 
 was long the theatre of merriment and 
 festivity. Its hospitable halls were free 
 to the beggar as the king, and to the 
 time of their death, and for ages after, 
 not a prayer was said, nor mass was sung, 
 wherein was forgotten the good lord Al- 
 bert and his beautiful ladv. 
 
 ARMS AND AMOURS. 
 
 C Continued from page 152.) 
 The knight of Hansacre had been con- 
 veyed to his mansion, senseless from the 
 severe wound he had received in the com- 
 mencement of the affray at the Brigg- 
 muln. On the day that Margaret of IVIal- 
 vesyn made a confidante of the prioress 
 of Blythbnrg, sir William was so much 
 recovered as to quit his bed-chamber for 
 tlie adjoining cabinet — a beautiful room, 
 with richly carved and gilded pannels of 
 limewood, huge beams crossing each 
 other at stated squares, and bourgeoning 
 with heraldic colours, formed the ceiling, 
 and a single large window, projecting in 
 a deep bay, not only had its lozenge 
 panes gorgeously diversified with mot- 
 toes, emblems, and armorial pictures, but 
 also admitted through the ample case- ; 
 nient the soft rich verdure, the multitu- 
 dinous mansions and villages, bridges, 
 meadows, and woods of the vale of Trent. 
 The fever and temporary delirium 
 ensuing from the anguish of his wound, 
 together w ith the irritation of his mind 
 on the alarming capture of his darHng 
 son, had left him in a state of great ex- 
 haustion, and, with the exception of the 
 strenuous measures taken by his kins- 
 men to fortifS' his already strong mansion, 
 as little seemed to have resulted in Hans 
 acredom from tlie late affray, as in the 
 domains of Malvesyn. Sir \Villiam was 
 sitting in the wide' and deep oriel of the 
 
 pleasant u})per chamber we have men- 
 tioned ; his eye was fixed on the bright 
 expanse of blue noontide sky, the rolling 
 I river, and green meads, amidst which, 
 : proudly conspicuous, rose tlie red build- 
 ings of that rival njansion, w^here his only 
 child was confined. His lady stood a 
 little behind him, one arm softly pillow- 
 ing his wounded shoulder, and the other 
 : falling gracefully over the carved and 
 spiry back of the massy chair, while her 
 eye, glazed with brimming tears, pursued 
 the same object as her lord's. A superb 
 chess-board of oak, heavily carved and 
 gilded, inlaid with squares of jasper and 
 ivory, the men being of crystal and scar- 
 let porcelain (a newly imported Indian 
 luxury), stood before them, and a large 
 golden flaggon, embossed on its swelling 
 sides with the labours of Hercules, and 
 its hd surmounted by the ghttering tree 
 and truculent dragon of the Hesperides, 
 held (all iintastedj the rich posset for tlie 
 invalid. The midsummer sun flooded 
 with soft splendour this beautiful apart- 
 ment, its rays reaching even the pon- 
 derously sculptured bed-posts and thick 
 velvet draperies of the bed-room within, 
 while the soft air wafting scents from 
 the delightful groves and gardens below, 
 swayed daintily the grizzled curls on the 
 knight's pale cheek, puffed out his lady's 
 embroidered wimple, and undulated the 
 thick red tapestry of the inner room, im- 
 pictured with the story of Danae's Tower. 
 
 Illio et Tyrium quae Purpnije sensit alienum, 
 Texitur et tenues parvi discriminis umbrje ; 
 Qualis ab imbre sulet percussus solibus areas, 
 Inficere ingenti longum curvamiiie cceluni: 
 In quo diversi niteant quam mille colores, 
 Transitus ipse tamen spectamia lumina faJlit, 
 Usque adeo quod tangit idem est ! tamen ullima 
 
 distant. 
 Illio et leutum filus immittitur aurum, 
 Et vetus in tela deducitur argumeatum. 
 
 As the knight and his lady still gazed 
 over the 'I'rent meadows, and the sun- 
 laved turret of their long buttressed 
 bridge, the colour suddenly mantled and 
 fled on tlie cheek and brow of sir Wil- 
 liam ; he felt that the dame was trembling 
 behind him, and heard her thickened 
 breath, to which his own violent heart- 
 beating responded ; neither spoke, how- 
 ever, till a figure whose apparel, glisten- 
 ing in the sun, bespoke some one of 
 distinction, having crossed the bridge, 
 was now seen ascending the steep path 
 that led througii the Hansacredom to the 
 embattled portals of the hall.
 
 158 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY 
 
 Sir William, looking over his shoulder 
 to his wife, who stood with clasped hands, 
 and features deathly pale, pronounced, 
 with suppressed emotion, 
 
 " A lierald from Malvesyn !" 
 
 " Tidings of our William !" answered the 
 dame, " the saints grant they be for good !" 
 
 ** Add, * or give us vengeance if they 
 be evil !' " answered her lord, " and I 
 will say amen to thy prayer !" 
 
 "Alas, mine husband, I cannot breathe 
 that word, too redly written in blood 
 already ; let us pray, rather, that Wil- 
 liam's life may not have swelled the list 
 of those who have changed the banks of 
 our beautiful river from a place of gardens 
 and groves to a feudal Aceldama !" 
 
 De Hansacre answered not, but lifting 
 the ponderous flaggon, quaffed deeply, as 
 the sounding horn, the fall of the draw- 
 bridge, the grating of the raised port- 
 cullis, and the trampling in the court, 
 announced the admission of the emissary. 
 The knight was soon formally apprized 
 of the herald's arrival ; and while, as a 
 matter of course, refreshments were 
 placed before him, sir William, throwing 
 off the attire of an invalid, descended 
 into the hall in his robes of ceremony — 
 a low broad cap of scarlet velvet, with a 
 large cluster of pearls in front, and show- 
 ing its ermine lining here and there ; a 
 mantle of the same colour, with what is 
 termed the pudding sleeve, thickly em- 
 broidered with his family arms, and lined 
 with rich ermine ; his outer robe stretched 
 over his shoulders in a wide and a grace- 
 ful standing collar, while his doublet, cut 
 close so as to show his throat, was of cloth 
 of gold, clasped by a cincture of magni- 
 ficent jewels ; it was, moreover, profusely 
 pinked to show the fineness and white- 
 ness of his shirt ; his hose were one side 
 scarlet, the other ermine, so closely fitted 
 as to show every sinew and vein of his 
 muscular limbs, while his shoes, richly 
 embroidered, required, from their pre- 
 posterous length, the usual gilded chain, 
 &c. The lady of Hansacre, at her hus- 
 band's command, also made her appear- 
 ance in her habit of state, whose enormous 
 horn head-dress and huge train struck 
 even the hostile emissary himself with 
 temporary respect; four maidens followed, 
 two by two, their mistress into the hall, 
 which was strewn with beautiful fresh 
 rushes of great size, and the glossiest 
 verdure. 
 
 The knight, attended by his Damoi- 
 seau, Thomas Agarde, of Hermitage, 
 having taken his slate in a huge chair on 
 the dais ; his lady, on his sign, occupied 
 a similar throne, one great canopy of 
 silver and silken tapestry overhanging 
 both. The herald of Malvesyn was then 
 ushered with great ceremony before them. 
 This personage was dressed, according to 
 the fasliiou of the time, in an emblazoned 
 coif, a red mantle that reached to his feet, 
 with long sleeves ; over his mantle glist- 
 ened his tabard, two portions of which 
 fell over his shoulders, like two great 
 wings, while two smaller skirts hung 
 upon his breast and back, the whole being 
 profusely embroidered with the various 
 blazons of his master's house. 
 
 In spite of sir William's admonition 
 often repeated, the sad lady's tears rained 
 down to the very rushes beneath her feet 
 on the herald's appearance, while De 
 Hansacre briefly and formally demanded 
 the cause of his coming. 
 
 " I come, sir Knight of Hansacre," 
 answered the herald, in a loud voice, 
 " from my master, the chief of the house 
 of Malvesyn, first, to impugn thee as 
 no true knight, for thine unchivalruus 
 conduct in committing, or sanctioning 
 the murder of a Damoiseau, whose ten- 
 der years have ever been respected by 
 the law of arms, even in the heat of 
 battle. Secondly, the knight of Mal- 
 vesyn does thee to wit, that thy son is 
 captive, and though he disdains to imi- 
 tate thee in thy savage cruelty, he will 
 hold him as the prisoner of his sword 
 and of his bow, till reparation be made 
 for the murder of Florent de Fradley. 
 Thirdly, the knight of Malvesyn hath 
 thus fixed that reparation — Tiiou, sir 
 William de Hansacre, shalt, in writing, 
 avow thy penitence for that unchivalrous 
 deed — thou shalt cause masses to be put 
 up for his soul in the minster of Lichfield, 
 in the church of St. James at Longdon, 
 in the hermitage, and in thine own 
 chapel ; farther, thou shalt, with thy prin- 
 cipal followers, undertake a pilgrimage 
 on foot to his tomb in the priory church 
 of St. Giles at Blythburgh, and there 
 pass a whole summer's day in prayer for 
 his soul and thine own. This done, or 
 promised, on the faith of a knight, thy 
 son William shall be restored without 
 ransom." 
 
 " And what," said the knight, hoarse
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AXD FIELD. 
 
 159 
 
 with emotion, while his lady looked at 
 him with beseeching tears, *' what if I 
 decline these conditions ?" 
 
 " Fail herein," replied the herald, un- 
 dauntedly, ** at thy peril ! — thy name 
 shall be proclaimed as a traitor knight — 
 my master, and all the true lieges north 
 of Trent, will pursue thee to the entrance, 
 and take thy life with as little remorse as 
 they would spear an otter whose felon 
 ravages had plundered the salmon, the 
 trout, and the perch, in the gallant 
 Trent!" 
 
 Sir William leapt from his chair, and 
 stood like a startled lion, wounded, but 
 not daunted, by some rash assailant. 
 The lady de Hansacre arose at the same 
 moment. 
 
 ** Ah, William/' said she, " pause ere 
 thou repliest ; it was too truly a dreadful 
 deed, and for the ease of thine own con- 
 science thouwouldst have done what thou 
 art now called to do for the restoration, 
 haply," and here the lady's voice trem- 
 bled and sunk, " haply the life of our 
 only child." 
 
 " What !" cried sir William, " and are 
 all my wrongs — my destroyed property, 
 my vassals burnt in their Ijeds, my men 
 slain, and my son captured — to be weighed 
 as nothing against the death of a mala- 
 pert page, the mainspring of all these 
 outrages ? I have heard you, sir Herald 
 (but too patiently), now hear me. In 
 reply to the most audacious me"ssage of 
 your master, I retort in his throat the 
 term of traitor knight — nor is he worthy 
 of our noble brotherhood who would rashly 
 impute crime to another ere he hath proof 
 of his guilt ; the deed was perpetrated 
 (confusion on the clowns who stooped 
 to such carrion!) while I was swooning 
 from an arrow wound haply inflicted by 
 the young Eyass himself. He u ho slew 
 him fell on the same night — and had he 
 survived, the next morning should have 
 been his last. Thus much for my share 
 in the death of this forward Damoi- 
 seau." 
 
 Here the young Agarde pressed affec- 
 tionately the knigiit's arm, and said : 
 
 ** Too much, my master, too much — 
 art thou speaking either in respect to 
 thine honour or thine health ; at least, 
 let not thine adversaries rejoice to see 
 they iiave such power to move thee !" 
 
 The knight shook off his 13amoiseau, 
 but at tlie same time practically admitted 
 
 the justice of his remonstrance by re- 
 suming his seat with some haughtiness, 
 and continued — 
 
 " To thy second article, I answer, that 
 I most willingly subscribe, provided the 
 knight of Malvesyn will lay with his own 
 hands the first stone of the Briggmuln 
 destroyed by his retainers." 
 
 " My master," said the Damoiseau, 
 " does not imitate De Malvesyn, in 
 charging him with the excesses of his 
 followers." 
 
 " Peace, Thomas Agarde !" said the 
 knight, in a rough tone, yet looking 
 affectionately on the young man ; " and 
 you, sir Herald, continue to me your 
 patient ear. Sir Robert de Malvesyn 
 shall erect a tomb over Robert Mulner 
 and his wife, with a legend of brass, 
 stating the manner of their deaths ; he 
 shall himself lead the bridle rein of my 
 son as far as the turret on the high bridge 
 that marks the bounds of the Hansacre- 
 dom, and before the very chair I now 
 occupy, confess how wrongfully he ac- 
 cused me, and how unjustly detained my 
 son. Then may the long-famed feuds 
 between the North and South Trents- 
 men, as far as regards ourselves, be 
 finally staunched. As to this last clause 
 of thine embassy, I laugh it to scorn, and 
 spit at it as presumptuous and ridiculous; 
 and shall joy to find South Trentsmen 
 enough to hunt the fox of Malvesyn to 
 the death I" 
 
 Sir William stamped, and a large 
 robust man, in the splendid attire of a 
 Hansacre herald, entered the hall from 
 a deep embayed oriel, ensconced in which 
 he had been an appointed hearer of the 
 embassy. 
 
 ** Repeat, Roger de Valroy, the terms 
 of our counter defiance, and command 
 our almoner to give a purse of rose- 
 nobles to this fellow, and dismiss him 
 privately." 
 
 All this was done : the herald of 
 Hansacre repeated the answer in nearly 
 the same words ; and the dismissal of 
 the Malvesyn messenger w^as attended 
 with the same respect as his entrance ; 
 while the knight descended with his lady 
 to cool his chafed blood in the pleasure 
 walks and terraces of the garden. Both 
 were not a little comforted at learning 
 the immediate safety of their son, and the 
 lady inwardly hoped that her lord's inno- 
 cence as to the death of the Damoiseau.
 
 160 
 
 TALES OF CniVALUY 
 
 might induce De Malvesyn to offer 
 milder terms. 
 
 On the day of this embassy, the young 
 WilHani of Hansacre had appeared for 
 the first time in his Hfe at the table of 
 dais in his enemy's hall. He was still 
 suffering from his wounds, but had been 
 treated with great courtesy by tlie Ni-rdi 
 Trent cavalier, who, violent as his family 
 feelings were, would not for a moment 
 suffer his sense of justice to be over- 
 powered. The mid-day meal was con- 
 cluded, and William, complaining of a 
 sudden shooting in his wounds, was given 
 in charge by sir Robert to his daughters. 
 The ladies of that period had always free 
 access to the chamber of the wounded or 
 sick knight, and the knowledge of vul- 
 nerary herbs which they shared with the 
 monks, together with no small skill in 
 the practice of chirurgery, added con- 
 siderably to the high respect in which 
 maidens were held in the days of chivalry. 
 It was not till that day, however, that 
 Margaret had ventured to accompany 
 her elder sister to William's chamber. 
 Sir Robert's own leecli was gone to Blyth- 
 burgh, and Margaret, with a thousand 
 emotions, saw her lover placed on a 
 settee, and, holding with a trembling 
 hand the various medicaments, followed 
 with her eye the light and snowy fingers 
 of her sister, who gently removing Wil- 
 liam's doublet, and extricating his side 
 and one arm from his shirt, began com- 
 po.s(-dly lo remove the plaisters. Mar- 
 garet screamed with anguish at the 
 ghastly sight; young Hansacre, with 
 11) any a wry face at the smart he was 
 undergoing, strove by laughing to con- 
 ceal the deeper emotion of his heart, 
 while Elizabeth rated her sister roundly 
 for her cowardice. 
 
 ''How now, Margaret 1 wliat spell 
 hath come o'er thee ? I have known 
 thee tend with steady eye and hand 
 giiastlier hurts than these ; nay, thou 
 l.iast even challenged me, thine elder 
 sister, in the nimiber of thy cures. Yet 
 here — in a matter importing the honour 
 of our house — thou dost long withhold thy 
 needful tendance, and then comest only 
 to disturb our patient by thy strange 
 clamour. See if his cheek and brow be 
 not burning widi fever; and trust me," 
 (laying her soft hand on his ai-m) — "his 
 pulse is even now more irregular than 
 ever I" 
 
 Margaret answered not, but the ricli 
 clusters of her black hair drooping down 
 her cheek as she bent over the wounded 
 young man, could not conceal her burn- 
 I ing blushes, any more than the sudden 
 readiness with which she applied the 
 I bandages, could hide the trembling ot 
 her small white hands. 
 
 •• Woe is me," said young William, 
 ** who am not only a burden to the kind- 
 ness of mine enemies, but also a source 
 of terror and pain to my fair leeches!" 
 
 " Peace, good youth," said Elizabeth, 
 completing the bandages, and gently 
 replacing his dress over the wounds ; 
 " thou art no burden, and if thou art a 
 pain, 'tis but for thine own sake. But 
 pass we into the garden — the soft air will 
 refresh thee, and there be high alleys, 
 and soft turf, and thick arbours, where 
 we may shun this flaming light. Lead 
 to the sycamores, Margaret, while T pre- 
 pare a posset, with mine own hands, for 
 Master William ; and take order that the 
 new table, for nine men's morris, be set 
 in the yew arbour, or if you prefer the 
 paume-carie, I will send down the dice. 
 I will be with ye soon, and bring the 
 tapestry I am embroidering for the ora- 
 tory." 
 
 (To he continued.) 
 
 GREAT VICTORY OF ALEXANDER SEVERUS. 
 
 This emperor, in the year 234, ob- 
 tained a signal victory over Artaxerxes, 
 the Persian monarch, wiiose army was 
 almost annihilated. Severus, on his re- 
 turn to Rome, before entering his palace, 
 presented himself to the Senate, and thus 
 addressed them : — *' Senators," said he, 
 " we have conquered the Persians ; they 
 had 700 elephants, of these we have 
 slain 200, and captured 300. Of 1000 
 chariots, armed with scythes, we ha\ e 
 taken 200, which I have not brought to 
 Rome, because it would have been but 
 an equivocal proof of our victory, since it 
 is easy to construct similar engines. We 
 have routed an army of 120,000 horse, 
 and killed 10,000 horsemen, whose arms 
 have served to equip our own soldiers. 
 We made a host of prisoners, who have 
 been sold for slaves ; we have regained 
 Mesopotamia, whicli our unworthy pre- 
 decessor had neglected and lost, and we 
 have put to flight Artaxerxes, who is 
 called The Great Monarch!"
 
 rrniLR BY FLOOD AXI) FIRLD. 
 
 161 
 
 Fase 164. 
 
 THE SOLITARY HI-yTSMAN. 
 
 A GF.BMAN LEGEND. 
 
 All present then ut'er'd a terrific shout — 
 All turn'd with disgust from the scene, 
 
 Thf worms they crept in, and the worms they 
 cr.pt out, 
 
 And sported his eves and temples about. 
 While the spectre address'a Imogens ! 
 
 In the time of the far-famed Frederick 
 Redbeard, all Thuringia, perhaps, boasted 
 not a more able and eager huntsman 
 than Ernest Von Zubervhald. Forest 
 sports were his delight — nay, his idolatry ; 
 insomuch, that he even withdrew himself 
 entirely from the society of his kinsmen, 
 and took up his abode in a solitary tower, 
 amid the recesses of the Harz Forest. 
 Oftentimes this singular being, engaged 
 in his favourite pursuit, was encountered i 
 in divers parts of the woods by those ' 
 whose concerns led them in that direction, ' 
 to whom, in the event of their being lost I 
 or benighted, he frequently proffer^ his 
 services as guide, but always avoided 
 entering into conversation, and never 
 offered to anyone the shelter of his lonely j 
 dwelling. j 
 
 At the death of his father, Ernest Von ' 
 
 VOL I.— 21. 
 
 Zubervhald became possessed of a liberal 
 patrimony, wherewith, having no one 
 closely allied, or dependant on him for 
 support, and taking no manner of de- 
 hght in any other occupation than that 
 we have named, he purchased the lonely 
 and somewhat ruinous tower, and at once 
 determined his mode of Hfe. His pre- 
 sence was rather prepossessing than other- 
 wise : he was tall of stature, athletic and 
 robust J while the w hole contour of his 
 person, dignified and graceful, implied at 
 once the descendant of, though poor, at 
 least ennobled ancestry. His attire was 
 a rich hunting suit of green and gold, 
 and a belt round his waist sustained a 
 short silver-hiked dagger, anelace, and 
 various other implements of the chase. 
 In his hand he carried a long hunting 
 spear, which serving him to strike the 
 gaunt wolf and grim wild boar to earth, 
 sufficed him also to urge on his noble 
 raven steed. 
 
 The woodsman returning from his 
 daily toil, the miner plodding to his 
 shieHng — ay, and the lover hastening to 
 his place of tryst — all were oftentimes 
 scared at the sudden and frequently 
 
 Y
 
 ]62 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY J OR, 
 
 mysterious appearance of the Solitary 
 Hunter, as he was termed, looming 
 darkly across their path ; and in south 
 such an apparition, seen too in the still ! 
 twilight of a summer's evening-, moving j 
 noiselessly yet swiftly amidst the glades 
 and thickets, was little calculated to in- 
 spire aught save terror, particularly in 
 tiie minds of German peasantry, wiiose 
 sole creed is superstition. Gradually, 
 however, the presence of the Solitary 
 Hunter grew customary to them, and at 
 length all, save strangers, viewed him 
 with unconcern. 
 
 Thus this singular individual pursued 
 his favourite sport, both summer and 
 winter, for the space, perhaps, of ten or 
 twelve years, when, all at once, he dis- 
 appeared. A whole twelvemonth elapsed, 
 and he had not once been seen or heard 
 of. Some said — nay, positively averred 
 (of course, without alleging any reason 
 for so saying), that he had plunged, steed 
 and all, into the river Oides, or the 
 Rhine, or some other ; while many more 
 declared, no less firmly, that he had leaped 
 from the Kynast, and thereby terminated 
 his existence. We are not aware of 
 aught that should have stimulated him to 
 the perpetration of any such rash action, 
 except, indeed, that he might have beheld 
 the forest queen, which appellation was 
 justly given by the dwellers around to 
 the baron Von Kugelstein's daughter, 
 Leodine ; except, therefore, that he had 
 seen this beautiful girl — had become ena- 
 moured ofher charms — had comn)unicated 
 to her his pa^^sion, and had, finally, met 
 with a repulse, and thereby sealed his 
 destruction, we can by no means account 
 for his disappearance. That such, how- 
 ever, could have been his fate, is strongly 
 disputed by his well-known character 
 and disposition. Society he constantly 
 avoided, his manners were stern and for- 
 bidding, and the most beautiful of the 
 gentler sex he had contem[)lated with 
 apathy and unconcern. The whole affair, 
 therefore, gradually wore away, and be- 
 came at length entirely forgotten. 
 
 It chanced, one cool dewy evening, in 
 the height of summer, not very long after 
 the mysterious disappearance of the soli- 
 tary hunter, that the emperor Frederick, 
 attended by a gallant company of knights 
 and nobles, among whom was tlie baron 
 Kugelstein, threaded the intricacies of the 
 Harz Forest, in the direction of the 
 
 latter's abode, wherein the monarch de- 
 signed to pass the night. This was 
 intended chiefly as a mark of especial 
 favour by the emperor ; for, was it not 
 that the baron's extreme love for his 
 master, nay, moreover, that he had twice 
 saved his life in battle, rendered the latter 
 peculiarly attached to him, he would have 
 journeyed on to Ratisbon that night. 
 The day had been one of intolerable 
 heat, and the soldiers, encumbered with 
 their heavy weapons and arnjour, and 
 fatigued to excess witli the long march 
 they had undergone, panted to descry 
 the towers of Kugelstein castle, which 
 promised them a period to their toil for 
 that night. The monarch and his nobles, 
 though mounted, were, nevertheless, toil- 
 'wom and fatigued, and their jaded beasts 
 plainly evinced their inability to proceed 
 much further without rest. The sun had 
 set previous to their entering the forest, 
 and set portentously — the patches of cloud, 
 which had attended him to his repose, 
 began slowly to meet, accumulate, and, 
 abandoning their lively crimson, assume, 
 at their extreme edges, a fierce, brassy 
 hue; gradually, and almost impercep- 
 tibly, the heavens became shrouded with 
 black, murky clouds, which presently 
 seemed to stoop, as it were, until they 
 rested on the mighty wood ; an awful 
 stillness, interrupted only by the shrill 
 occasional wail of the bittern, prevailed 
 everywhere around, while a dim, whitish 
 lustre, lurking on the extreme verge of 
 the horizon, shed a still, unnatural glare, 
 down many a glade and vista. Anon, a 
 dazzling stream of forked lightning sprang 
 up in the immediate rear of the troop, 
 and, playing for a moment across the 
 pitchy sky, illuminated the entire forest, 
 and rendered the long line of spear-heads 
 and helmets that silently threaded it, 
 peculiarly distinct ; it disappeared, and 
 the scene was again involved in gloom 
 more profound. Heavy rain-drops were 
 now heard rattling on the parched herb- 
 age, while a low, rumbling noise in the 
 heavens told a tremendous storm at hand. 
 The awful stillness was presently broken ; 
 the troop separated, and sought shelter 
 among the thickest of the foliage ; and 
 they had scarcely done so, when a sear- 
 ing blaze of light darted apparently in a 
 perpendicular direction from the sable 
 sky, and riving a gigantic oak in twain, 
 hurled it furiously to the ground — a peal
 
 PK«ILS BY FLOOD AND FIKLD. 
 
 If)3 
 
 of thunder, resembling the irregular firing 
 of a thousand pieces of artillery, imme- 
 diately accompanied the flash. 
 
 The emperor stood nigh ; his golden 
 casque, crested with a coronet of dia- 
 monds and precious stones, rolled on the 
 ground, and was instantly melted in the 
 levin glare; meanwhile his atlrighted 
 steed plunged, reared, and wheeling madly 
 round, dashed at once into the forest's 
 depths. Kugelstein saw his monarch's 
 peril, and Hew to his aid ; but, ere he had 
 far advanced into the wood, he beheld 
 the frantic steed stretched lifeless on the | 
 ground, and the emperor supported in : 
 the arms of a tall, muffled figure. Kugel- | 
 stein leaped from his steed, and in the I 
 ebullition of his joy on beholding the ; 
 monarch safe, he grasped the hand of the 
 stranger, and thus addressed him — 
 
 *' Sir, whoe'er ye are, ye have pre- 
 served the life of your sovereign ; how 
 can I thank ye ? — how sufficiently reward 
 ye ? Ha ' hear me ; I have a daughter — 
 she is accounted beautiful — she is thine ! 
 nay, [ have said it. The word of V"on 
 Kugelstein is pledged." 
 
 The emperor slowly revived — reco- 
 vered his senses, and saw his deliverer 
 before him : his first care was to bestow 
 on him a precious collar of diamonds, 
 which he took from his own neck ; his \ 
 next to command him to fall in with his j 
 train. To the surprise of both, however, \ 
 the stranger rejected the costly boon, ' 
 and testified no inclination to obey the : 
 emperor's command. He turned to 
 Kugelstein ; his visage closely concealed 
 by a huge sombrero hat and its drooping 
 plumage — and thus he spake, 
 
 " Remember your promise !" The 
 tone of his voice made Kugelstein's | 
 blood run cold in his veins ; he shuddered ' 
 and looked around, but the stranger was 
 no longer visible. Meanwhile the storm 
 had abated, the thunder, in low fitful mur- 
 murings, was dying fast away, and the 
 sheet lightning was now comparatively 
 mild ; the heavens grew lighter, and gra- 
 dually divesting themselves of their masses 
 of murky cloud, revealed full many a star 
 glimmering in the here and there patches 
 of lively blue. Kugelstein wound his 
 horn, which swiftly assembling the scat- ; 
 tered band, they were soon again on 
 their journey ; and soon, to their infinite 
 joy, the towers of Kugelstein castle made 
 themselves visible. 
 
 It is not our purpose to describe the 
 feasting and revelry wiiich that night 
 took place therein. Suffice it to say, 
 that every one, except the host, did ample 
 justice to the repast, and departed on the 
 following n)orning, no ways displeased 
 either with the entertainment or their 
 entertainer. Leodine received an espe- 
 cial mark of the emperor's favour, which 
 was no less than the costly circlet of dia- 
 monds that had been so unceremoniously- 
 rejected by his unknown preserver. As 
 for Kugelstein, his joy was damped by 
 the remembrance of the singular incident 
 in the forest; he bethought him of his 
 promise, so rashly, yet so faithfully made ; 
 could he recal it ? — no, his word, as a 
 knight, was pledged ; it was past recal, 
 and he must abide by it. Yet, could he 
 hope that by offering the -stranger a large 
 reward— even the half of his domains — 
 lie might render him a greater gratifica- 
 tion tiian he could derive from the pos- 
 session of his daughter's hand. 'I'he 
 baron's visage brightened as this project 
 occurred to him, and determined iiini 
 forthwith to seek the unknown. 
 
 These deliberations took place on the 
 night succeeding the event we have just 
 narrated ; the baron was seated in tiis 
 private apartment, which was lighted up 
 by two flaming torches fixed in rude iron 
 staples against the wall ; the hour was 
 waxing late, the castle-bell had tolled the 
 eleventh hour long since, yet the baron's 
 reverie continued. 
 
 "Yes," said he, "to-morrow I will 
 seek him ; this offer will probably induce 
 him to relinquish his claim to Leodine." 
 
 The pause which here ensued w as pre- 
 sently broken by the tones of a deep 
 and sepulchral voice, sternly exclaiming, 
 " Remember your promise !" and all 
 again was silence. The baron's cheek 
 turned deadly pale, an icy tremor ran 
 through his whole frame, and a fear came 
 over him that he was totally unable to 
 repress. The sound seemed to come 
 from behind ; he raised his head — his eye 
 glanced at a mirror which pended from 
 the wall before him, and there became 
 fixed. Within it he beheld the same 
 mysterious form that had appeared to 
 him once before, his visage, as then, 
 closely concealed. The baron did his 
 utmost to shake off his terror, and gra- 
 dually turned round, though dreading 
 to encounter his singular visitant. To 
 Y 2
 
 164 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 OR, 
 
 Kiigelstein's utter amazement, however, 
 the stranger had disappeared ; he was 
 nowliere visible. He summoned his vas- 
 sals, and questioned them, but all were 
 totally ignorant of the presence of the 
 unknown. 
 
 Long, long did Kugelstein reflect on 
 this mysterious circumstance. Who could 
 ihe stranger be? he asked himself; he 
 had heard ofttimes of the fiends of the 
 Blockberg; he had heard, moreover, that 
 the forest was haunted by the spectre of 
 the Solitary Huntsman ; but never had 
 he listened seriously to things so wild, far 
 less did he believe in their existence. 
 He knew not what to think j he strove to 
 forget, and he succeeded. 
 
 Years passed by, and nothing of note 
 occurred. At the expiration, liowever, 
 of about four years, the marriage of his 
 daughter Leodine, with the son of a 
 neighbouring baron, was celebrated in 
 Ktigelsiein castle, and a noble company 
 were assembled therein. Good cheer 
 was dispersed around with the utmost 
 prodigality, and every door of the castle 
 was tlirown open to those wiiom chance 
 or intention should bring in that direc- 
 tion. The spacious banqueting apart- 
 ment sparkled with the superb costume 
 of the noble and knightly personages 
 that were gathered therem, and rang 
 full gaily with the songs and harps of the 
 minstrels. All on a sudden, however, 
 amid the general confusion that took 
 place previous to the banquet, a piercing 
 shriek issued from the lips of the bride ; 
 in the same moment a violent, though 
 brief clash of weapons, was heard. Many 
 of the females, ignorant of what was 
 
 Eassing, and thinking that some banditti 
 ad broken in among them, uttered 
 scream upon scream, until the whole of 
 the apartment was a scene of indescrib- 
 able chaos and alarm. Gradually, how- 
 ever, the hall became somewhat cleared, 
 and the cause of terror stood at once 
 revealed. 
 
 It was the stranger — he whom Kugel- 
 stein had already twice beheld, and who 
 now stood again proudly and erect before 
 him, his visage still viewless, and screen- 
 ing some object beneath his huge black 
 mantle, one part of which was perforated 
 as with a sword, and dabbled with blood 
 whicii had oozed forth ; his left arm was 
 drawn around it, and his right hand 
 rested on the hilt of his weapon, which 
 
 was likewise reddened with gore. Ac 
 his feet lay the bridegroom, who had ap- 
 parently just expired ; his hand clutched 
 tightly the hilt of a sword, whose blade 
 had seemingly pierced the mantle of the 
 unknown. The horrified demeanour of 
 the baron, whose wild, distended eye- 
 balls, resting now on one, now on the 
 other, is hard to portray. Several of his 
 guests standing around, each having their 
 swords drawn, and hesitating whether or 
 not to seize on the mysterious intruder, 
 comjaletes the scene. 
 
 Kugelstein was the first to break the 
 terrific silence. 
 
 *• Fiend, daemon, or whate'er ye be, 
 restore me my child ! — my daughter 1- - 
 give me back my Leodine !" he cried, in 
 agonizing tones, while his arms were 
 stretched forth towards the stranger's 
 mantle. 
 
 " Remember your promise, baron 
 Kugelstein !" replied the latter, calmly, 
 yet sternly ; •* she is mine, and with me 
 she remains. Behold my lifeless bride !" 
 He threw back the covering, and Kugel- 
 stein's eyes rested on the corse of his 
 daughter, his murdered Leodine. He 
 beheld her fair neck dabbled with blood, 
 her brown tresses wreathing wildly and 
 tangled over it; her hands and arms 
 frozen and icy cold ; the death agony had 
 imparted a blackish expression to her 
 features, but it was fast yielding to a soft 
 and sweet serenity. 
 
 *' Speak ! speak !" exclaimed the baron, 
 gasping for utterance. ** Who — wliat 
 are ye ?" 
 
 " Behold !" answered the stranger ; 
 and dashing to the ground his large som- 
 brero hat, he revealed to the amazed and 
 terrified group the fleshless head of a 
 skeleton 1 
 
 A tremendous noise that at that mo- 
 ment reverberated throughout the entire 
 building, recalled the scattered senses of 
 the beholders, while at the same time 
 every inmate of the castle rushed into 
 the apartment. Speech had totally de- 
 sertea them, but all nointed eagerly 
 towards a huge stained window at the 
 further end of the hall : every eye was 
 instantly upon it, and in less than a mo- 
 ment it was completely shivered ; a wild 
 unearthly peal of wind instruments floated 
 on the ear ; and plainly discernible against 
 the profound sable back ground of the sky 
 appeared the Solitary Huntsman,mounted
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIKLD. 
 
 165 
 
 on his gigantic Bteed ; across the saddle 
 bow lay the hapless Leodine, and many 
 a ghastly object flickered around. The 
 spectacle, however, was but momentary j 
 but the wild hubbub that attended it re- 
 sounded long after it had disappeared. 
 
 Baron Von Kugelstein survived not 
 that fatal night ; and his castle, according 
 to the tradiiion of the Harz peasantry, 
 haunted by all the fiends of the Block- 
 berg, was left to ruin and decay. 
 
 ARMS AND AMOURS. 
 
 (Continued from page QO.J 
 
 With these words the fiiture lady of 
 Ingestre quitted the chamber. Margaret, 
 immediately following, paused at the 
 door, and with downcast eyes and con- 
 fused accents, invited William to accom- 
 pany her ; he rose, and neither trusted 
 themselves with a syllable, till having 
 passed through the coloured and fragrant 
 flower-beds, a thick alley of sycamores 
 shed a cool and sparkling greenness on 
 the turf walk, and, terminating in an 
 arbour, which, formed by four gigantic 
 yews, afforded a delicious retreat from 
 the afternoon sun, that was blazing in 
 the rich and breathless garden. 
 
 Art, strivin*,' to compare 
 With natuff , did an arbour green dispread. 
 Framed of wanton ivy, flowering fair. 
 Thro' which the fragrant eglantine dvd spread 
 His prickling arms entrailea with roses red, 
 VVhich dainty odours round about them threw ; 
 And all within with flowers was garnished, 
 That when mild zephyrs amongst them blew. 
 Did breathe out bounteous smells, and painted 
 colours threw. 
 
 Fairy QuEBif, b. 3, c. 5, 8. 29. 
 
 Here they found the merelles table, 
 and the turretted dice-box already set j 
 and here, after glancing hastily around, 
 young Hansacre seized the lily hand of 
 Margaret, and pressed it to his bosom 
 and lips : he spoke not, but his trembling 
 hand and beating breast were all eloquent 
 for him. Margaret suffered him to re- 
 tain her little hand in his large and manly 
 grasp, and, turning away her face, 
 
 *• Oh, William !" she murmured, in 
 low sweet accents, " what are we to do ? 
 If thou tarriest here, all must be dis- 
 covered ! — and then my father " 
 
 " Is a just, a prudent, and a good 
 knight," replied William, " and well may 
 we hope from all this some speedy termi- 
 nation to our long suspense, and to the 
 grievous strife between our houses. — 
 Happy was the night when I first paid 
 
 with my blood the bUss for which I had 
 
 been so bankrupt a debtor ! 
 
 Margaret no longer averted her head 
 — an expression of the most intense 
 affection sparkled all over her glowing 
 features, as she gazed on her handsome 
 lover, and gently reclining her cheek on 
 his shoulder, exclaimed, 
 
 " Happy rather is the maiden who 
 hath been so dearly bought ! Thou wilt 
 make me cruel, my William, and I shall 
 deem that blood of thine love's most 
 glorious garment, and dwell with triumph 
 over those wounds, as so many rich badges 
 of thy love for Margaret." 
 
 Hansacre's answer was a pressure of 
 that graceful form to his bosom, forgetful 
 of his hurts, which, however, his sudden 
 paleness, and a few red stains, oozing 
 through his linen, evinced to have been 
 disturbed in this action. Margaret hastily 
 started from his arms. 
 
 " Holy Mary I what omen is this ? thy 
 blood hath sprung forth at my touch !" 
 
 " 'Twas but to show that the blood of 
 Malvesyn and Hansacre will soon cease 
 to be aliens," said William, who, though 
 smarting with awakened pain, drew com- 
 fort from this trivial circumstance. ** My 
 poor heart," he added, ** is still the bank- 
 rupt I told you of, and is paying, where 
 tiiey are due, its dearest drops. Besides, 
 hast thou not heard that the dead corpse 
 will bleed at the touch of its mur- 
 derer ?" 
 
 " Hush, William, I hear a step; Eli- 
 zabeth is at hand — loose me, and com- 
 pose thyself; thou knowest that Margaret 
 of Malvesyn hath no heart but in thy 
 bosom, nor shall any, save William of 
 Hansacre, lead her hence a bride, though 
 ber departure were eternal exile from 
 the heart and home of her father." 
 
 " That would grieve thy father sore," 
 said a well known voice, in sonorous and 
 melancholy tones, as the figure of sir 
 Robert darkened the entrance of the 
 arbour. Margaret stood transfixed and 
 breathless with astonishment, and Wil- 
 liam coloured with resentment as De 
 Malvesyn continued — " Be not amazed, 
 Margaret, nor thou, youth, deem me a 
 discourteous intruder or a base eaves- 
 dropper ; but know, that your interviews 
 have been long known to me, and had 
 not thy many goodly qualities, young 
 man, been as well known, the hopes 
 which I have entertained of ending
 
 16f5 
 
 T\F,KS i)F (tIJVALRY 
 
 through thee these unhappy disturbances, 
 would hardly have preserved thee from 
 durance long ago! But 1 am aweary 
 of these bloody quarrels, and when that 
 unha{)py Damoiseau of mine was enticed 
 by some of thy turbulent retainers to the 
 bloody atiray of the Briggmuln, I was 
 meditating perpetual union between our 
 families. But the deed is done, and the 
 atrocious murder of my page demanded 
 atonement. My herald hath recently 
 returned from the Hansacredom, and 
 though much of the imputation hath been 
 rebutted by thy sire, the prospect of ac- 
 commodation seems as distant as ever." 
 
 Sir Robert then related all which had 
 passed at Hansacre Hall that morning. 
 A pause ensued ; Margaret remaining 
 in an agony of maiden shame, and Wil- 
 liam, absorbed in thought, till, throwing 
 himself on his knees before the knight of 
 Malvesyn, 
 
 " Noble knight," he exclaimed, " send 
 me back on my word, to my father's 
 house — thy speech bids me hope that 
 thou darest trust me — and let me essay 
 what my mediation may effect either to 
 soften down thy terms, or induce my 
 father to listen." 
 
 *' That would I willingly, but fearful 
 obstacles have arisen, as if tate had de- 
 termined that nothing should staunch the 
 bloodshed of our long feuds. Missives 
 have reached me from the court, certify- 
 ing the tidings which divers pilgrims and 
 travellers have made rife at our priory of 
 Blythburgh, that the quiet of the land is 
 once more about to be disturbed." 
 
 •' Alas, then, my father's friend, the 
 Hotspur, is at length, as we have long 
 expected, in open rebellion." 
 
 " It is even so : the earl of Northum- 
 berland, inflamed by his son, is disgusted 
 at the peremptory command of the king, 
 that they and other barons presume not 
 to ransom any of their prisoners without 
 his particular admission : their near kins- 
 man, the earl of Worcester, high in favour 
 with Richard of Bordeaux, had gladly 
 seized this opportunity of avenging the 
 dethronement of his master. I'heir pri- 
 soner, the earl of Douglas, they have set 
 free on condition of his joining them with 
 his followers, and sir Edmund Mortimer, 
 whose house, thou knowest, aspires to the 
 crown, is no longer the prisoner, but the 
 friend of Owen, the lord of Glendoudwy, 
 who brings all the bravery of his ancestor 
 
 Llewellyn, backed with ten thousand men, 
 to meet them on the confines of Wales." 
 
 Wiiliam of Hansacre looked aghast — 
 but Margaret then first ventured to 
 speak — 
 
 " My fiilher, it ill-becomes me to in- 
 terfere ; but sure, of all others, this is the 
 season when private feuds will be most 
 gladly relinquished, and the common 
 strength against the common enemy most 
 readily shown." Sir Robert answered 
 not, but looked significantly on young 
 Hansacre. 
 
 ** I see it," said William, ** I see it! 
 all the comj)licated misery of this dis- 
 tracted time ! My father, besides his 
 regard for Percy, hath ever clung to the 
 cause of the late king. Private feuds I 
 At this moment he hath forgotten them, 
 and would rather leave the proud walls 
 and broad acres of the Hansacredom open 
 to the enemy, than not lead every spear, 
 arblast and gisarme, that obeys his ban- 
 ner, to uphold Northumberland." 
 
 " And as surely," said De Malvesyn, 
 solemnly, " as surely shall every knight, 
 squire, man-at-arms, yea, the very mean- 
 est serf that ever follov\ed the bendlets, 
 or respected die house of De Malvesyn, 
 be summoned for the defence of king 
 Henry ! The traitors ! they would tear 
 from his brow the crown themselves 
 caused to be placed there ! But go, 
 young man, this is indeed no time for 
 private feuds — I return thee to thy pa- 
 rent : yet, tell thy father, that from him 
 who survives this earthquake that is to 
 shake a kingdom, the murder of a Da- 
 moiseau of Malvesyn will look for atone- 
 ment ! Elizabeth," he added to his elder 
 daughter, who had for sonie time stood 
 before the arbour ir. amazement at the 
 conversation; "Elizabeth, thy sister, thou 
 seest, hath chosen her a mate as well as 
 thyself; but Roger de Chetwynd leads 
 his banner with me — " 
 
 " While William of Hansacre, thou 
 wouldst add, will fight against thee," 
 interrupted the young lover. *' Were 
 my father's banner on the field, and the 
 foeman's foot ready to trample it, I might 
 then, but not till then, raise my arm 
 against the father of Margaret de Mal- 
 vesyn !" 
 
 The party then repaired to the man- 
 sion, and a great part of the evening was 
 spent in anxious debates and arrange- 
 ments for the approaching convulsion.
 
 PKRTLS nV FLOOD AND FIPLD 
 
 167 
 
 William professed his determination to 
 consider himself as a prisoner at large, 
 and as such he was to remain at Hans- 
 acie with what force he could muster to 
 guard his mother ; an adequate garrison 
 was to be left at INIaivesyn, and William 
 was not positively forbidden to extend 
 his protecting care thither also. Ere 
 noon the next day, young Hansacre was 
 clasped in the arms of his parents. 
 
 Sir William de Hansacre was neither 
 a cruel nor an implacable man, and the 
 warm eulogiums of his dame, and the 
 arguments of his son (who, however, 
 ventured not to hint his love for Mar- 
 garet), lessened in no small degree that 
 hereditary antipathy which mutual in- 
 juries had so long inflamed. Mean- 
 while, days and weeks flitted away, and 
 July was half over, when sir Robert de 
 Malvesyn set forth from liis manor castle 
 to join the standard of the king. It was 
 a flaming morning, on the 17th of July, 
 1403, which beheld the gallant train of 
 De Mdlvesyn, swelled by many of his 
 neighbours, who made his house their 
 gathering place, pouring through the 
 huge gateway of that ancient hall. As 
 banner after banner came gleaming into 
 the sun from the deep and dusky arch, 
 the Rougelays, of Hawksyard ; the Ver- 
 nons, of Pipe ; the Chetwynds, of In- 
 gestre : and many others, became con- 
 spicuous by their different cognizances, 
 and the whole train moved on at a brisk 
 pace towards the high bridges. Mal- 
 vesyn Hall was a gram! and gloomy pile 
 of red stone, built round two cedarts, 
 whose solemn and heavy appearance 
 consisted not so much in their extent, as 
 in the extreme height of their structures, 
 which was such as to render the approach 
 of the sun in winter rarely admissible to 
 their paved and turfy squares ; and in 
 summer, it was only such as one might 
 be supposed to obtain at the bottom of a 
 well. It was, however, a gorgeous pile, 
 rich in all the ornaments of deep ma- 
 chicolations, sculptured parapets, nobly 
 arched windows, and bold turrets. The 
 most remarkable thing, however, was a 
 magnificent elm-tree in the centre of the 
 inner quadrangle, which soared above 
 the sombre piles that encompassed it, 
 and waved at liberty in the winds and 
 sun. A Gotliic fountain played beneath 
 it, and around this court rose two tiers j 
 of cloister eralleries, tije lower arches ! 
 
 being open, the upper latticed with deeply 
 coloured glass. These buildings have 
 been thus minutely described, as the 
 sequel of the story is connected with 
 them. 
 
 Thus, then, the high-born North 
 Trentsmen passed forth from Malvesyn 
 to join the king ; the massive towers of 
 the wide gate-arch, the broad and sullen 
 waters of the moat, were soon exchanged 
 for the luxuriant meadows, the Trent 
 flowing within a bow-shot of the man- 
 sion, and the broad oaks, beneath whose 
 shade the old anchorites, Saxe and Guth- 
 mund, liad often wandered from their 
 cells at Blythburgh. Now no longer a 
 forest, their great stems threw, at stately 
 intervals, a spacious shadow over tlie 
 thick grass, wliile, undisturbed by the 
 glistening cavalcade, the swallow started 
 hither and thiiher j the superb dragon-fly 
 sailed in the sun, the buttertiy flutteretl 
 his damask wings, and the tavvny bee 
 plodded from the pink lychnis to llie 
 golden iris, sucked deep the crimson 
 tufts of the clover flower, or sank mur- 
 muring on the lilac-tinted petals of the 
 spotless meadow-sweet. The eastern 
 screen of starthy head and style copp, 
 still rang to their bugles, when the head 
 and chief of the Hansacredom, joined by 
 many of the South Trent houses, and 
 among others, the Astons of Haunch, 
 the Corbets of Bromley, the Agardes of 
 the Hermitage, and the Biddulfs of 
 Helmhurst, were seen departing from 
 the hilly abode of sir Wilham, their pur- 
 pose of joining the ranks of Harry the 
 Hotspur being well known. 
 
 The young William had persisted in 
 refusing to accompany his father, alleging 
 the double ties which held him inactive, 
 his unransomed captivity to the knight of 
 Malvesyn, and the generosity which re- 
 leased him so freely ; had he added a third 
 reason, he might have done it, and with 
 good chance of its being deemed the best. 
 Some say, indeed, that like Aucassin in 
 the old Lai, he refused to go unless his 
 father previously consented to his union 
 with INlargaret of Malvesyn, but this we 
 deem a malicious fabrication. Certain 
 it is, that with the earliest dawn t)f that 
 eventful morning, he had risen, and after 
 a dutiful leaves taking, which .sir William 
 received with much coldness, set forth on 
 horseback, attended by the Ostrager, 
 towards the fair hills of Beaudesart.
 
 168 
 
 TALES OF CTflVA'.RY 
 
 His favourite falcon, a beautiful tartaret, 
 clasped his wrist with her long talons and 
 stretchers, every now and tlu^n unfolding 
 her long wings, and showing the red 
 plumage that lined them, while her silver 
 bells tinkled in the still air, and her velvet 
 hood shone glossy in the sun. They had 
 reached one of those wild glades of Beau- 
 desart, where the heather and the fern 
 were rarely shadowed over by a solitary 
 birch, or aged hawthorn, when William 
 stopped by the green brink of a clear 
 pool, though without any appearance of 
 game, and having rested himself, to the 
 great surprise of the practised ostrager, 
 on a sunny bank of fern, began leisurely 
 to take off the hood from his bird, and 
 stroking her feathers, hold her in the 
 sun ; the hawk immediately testified her 
 pleasure by pruning and prinking her 
 plumage, while the young Hansacre 
 seemed lost in thought; but when, at 
 length, he set her down near the gravelly 
 shallow of the tarn, old Edwin the ostrager 
 would no longer forbear. 
 
 " Now, by the saints I" he muttered at 
 first, ** he is surely distraught ; there was 
 she up to her thighs in the basin of our 
 mews yesterday, and the washed meat 
 carefully kept from her, and lo ye here, 
 ■when 1 myself know her to be fit for any 
 flight, and' when we have avoided both 
 the rookeries and pryconries of Longdon 
 and Brockton, and we come to the fairest 
 haunts of the hern, the pheasant, and the 
 hare — " 
 
 Here the bird, dipping her sails and 
 singles with evident delight in the clear 
 water, and interwining her long wings 
 over her back, made the old ostrager 
 break forth aloud — 
 
 " Why, Master William, you be not 
 going to bathe her ? Who ever heard of 
 flying a hawk the same day she hath 
 washed ? And there she is, mantling 
 and warbling as if we had come through 
 all this sun to see the jade prune herself!" 
 
 William heeded him not, but sate play- 
 ing with the silver varvels of the jesses 
 on which his name was engraved. 
 
 ** Poor bird !" he ejaculated, half 
 aloud, ** at what game should I fly thee, 
 unless thou wouldst seize the heart of 
 hare couched in this bosom ? Poor jade, 
 thou bearest with pride thy master's 
 badge, but couldst thou know the weak 
 tamed nature of him whom thou obey est, 
 my softest voice would not lure thee 
 
 back to my fist ! — ' William, the so?i of 
 M'^illiam de Hansacre ! — yes, those are 
 the characters, fairly graven. Oh, of 
 what discord, of wliat degradation, are 
 they the tokens! Shame on me! I 
 should rather say, of what bliss would 
 those idle words, * De Hansacre,' strive 
 to rob me, and how blest am I, tiiat 
 they have hitherto interposed in vain ! 
 Yet my father left me in anger, and my 
 mother wept at mine obduracy ; alas, 
 thev knew not how my heart was pledged, 
 anci deemed only mine honour con- 
 strained ! Still less can they tell my 
 pangs, or how 1 feel my very soul torn 
 between love and duty, or mine honour 
 divided between gratitude to their foe, 
 De Malvesyn, and zeal for Henry Percy." 
 
 As William spoke, a horseman — 
 "Bloody with spurring, fiery hot with haste," 
 turned an abrupt angle of one of those 
 steep hills which diversify the beautiful 
 domain of Beaudesart, and was close 
 upon them before his approacl\ was per- 
 ceived. The ostrager was interrupted 
 in his moody murmurs, William started 
 from his reverie, and with vain attempts 
 to reclaim her, saw his sacred falcon soar 
 far away till she was lost in the woody 
 regions of Cannock wood. It was his 
 father's Damoiseau, Thomas Agarde, 
 whose foaming and panting steed, as 
 well as his own bloodshot eyes and dust- 
 soiled dress, spoke matter of fearful im- 
 port. They were, indeed, the tidings of 
 an earthquake that were brought to Wil- 
 liam amidst these sublime and beautiful 
 solitudes, where the sun had only seemed 
 too bright, the turf too rich, the singing 
 birds too happy, the deer too free, the 
 woods too proud, and the waters too tran- 
 quil for his troubled thoughts ! 
 
 The rival families,with their respective 
 companies, had met in the alders or brigg- 
 meadowsjust above High-bridge. The 
 mutual hatred of both parties had become 
 ungovernable at the sight of banners 
 which each had so often defied, and which, 
 all knew, were destined soon to be more 
 violently opposed. It was in vain the 
 chieftains interfered ; a dreadful slaughter 
 ensued. Sir William Hansacre was slain 
 outright; sir Robert Malvesyn had passed 
 on towards Shrewsbury ; and the dying 
 breath of his father had committed to 
 William the charge of his pennon on the 
 approaching scene of battle. 
 
 (To be concluded in our next.)
 
 I'f-HII-S liV Ff.r)'.l> AM) FIKII). 
 
 ARGAND'S ARROW. 
 
 A MAGNIFICENT sunset WES closing in 
 a fine autumnal day, as a gallant feat 
 of archery commenced between Artolph 
 Frondemir and his numerous companions. 
 The trial took place on the border of a 
 noble wood, which partly surrounded 
 count Artolph's abode; and their task 
 was to sever the thread which fastened 
 a bird to a pole from a considerable dis- 
 tance. All, with the exception of the 
 count, had exercised their skill, and all 
 had missed. Artolph was considered the 
 first bowman of his day, and to release 
 the bird at double the distance had been 
 to him, ere now, an easy achievement. 
 Notwithstanding, however, on this occa- 
 sion, he also failed. 
 
 The whole of this performance had 
 been steadfastly contemplated by a tall, 
 swarthy figure, who, leaning against the 
 trunk of a tree, rested his folded arms on 
 his bow ; his visage wore a slight ex- 
 pression of contempt seemingly of the 
 scene he beheld. He had hitherto re- 
 mained silent ; but so soon as Artolph 
 had taken aim, he broke forth into a loud 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 VOL. I. — 22. 
 
 Page 171. 
 
 ** You deem our task a light one — 
 could you, sir bowman, shoot with better 
 skill ?" said one of the company, address- 
 ing him. 
 
 *• Ay," quoth he, " or 1 were scarce 
 worthy o' the name." 
 
 *' Come forward, then, and give us 
 proof o'nt," said Artolph, in a somewhat 
 taunting tone, which seemed greatly to 
 irritate the stranger; his eyes flashed, and, 
 stepping immediately forth, he selected 
 an arrow from his well-stored quiver, 
 which he applied to his bow, and drew 
 to the head : one moment he regarded 
 the mark, and firmly fixing his eye 
 thereon, the shaft whistled through the 
 air, and the sharp barb, severing the 
 almost imperceptible thread, released the 
 captive, which immediately soared aloof. 
 A burst of admiration ensued among the 
 beholders, which, however, was cut short 
 by the bowman exclaiming — 
 
 " And call ye that a feat to wonder at ? 
 Psha, a child might ha' won a harder 
 game. Look, see ye that tiny speck 
 moving along the sky ?" 
 
 " Ay — a vulture, doubtless," answered 
 several. 
 
 " Is there not one among ye could 
 z
 
 170 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 bring liim down ?" asked the bow- 
 man. 
 
 Artolph and his companions laughed 
 outright ; the speck was already scarcely 
 visible, and was becoming every moment 
 still less and less defined ; the bowman, 
 however, took another arrow from his 
 quiver, and pointing it directly over him, 
 whither the bird was now moving, he 
 sent it twanging through the air, and 
 presently the huge vulture, transfixed 
 with the arrow, fell down heavily among 
 them. Their wonderment was now past 
 describing ; many were fain to regard 
 him as one of another world — nay, even 
 the majority fancied him a follower, at 
 least, of the black bowman, of whose feats 
 they had heard so much. The stranger, 
 meanwhile, moved into the wood, whitlier 
 Artolph followed, and coming up with 
 him thus spake. 
 
 " I would fain have a lesson or two of 
 thee, sir stranger, in archery ; that was 
 a gallant hit thou madest e'en now." 
 
 " Psha ! nothing, count — a mere trifle 
 to what I have done, and can perform." 
 
 ** Indeed !" 
 
 ** Ay, by Saint Hans ! nay, an' ye 
 doubt it, come with me to my dwelling, 
 and I will show ye manly sport." 
 
 " 'Tis impossible now ; on the morrow 
 I will ; only tell me where ye may be 
 found. 
 
 The bowman drew round his quiver, 
 and taking a shaft therefrom, presented it 
 to Artolph. 
 
 ** Take this," said he ; " speed it whi- 
 tliersoever thou wilt — east, west, south, 
 or north, and, be assured, 'twill con- 
 duct thee in a moment to my presence. 
 Farewell." 
 
 The following day was one of extreme 
 sultriness, and saw count Artolph seated 
 alone in an apartment of his castle. 
 Opposite to him was a large painted 
 window, the casements of which were 
 tin-own open to admit the occasional 
 breeze upon his cheek : his eyes wan- 
 dered out upon the broad lands and woods 
 which surrounded his castle — now roam- 
 ing down some ferny glade, now striving 
 to penetrate the green gloom of some 
 foliaged recess, and now following the 
 mazes of a brawling stream. While he 
 was thus engaged, a noble stag came to 
 the torrent to drink ; this reminded 
 Artolph of the arrow he had given him 
 on the preceding day, which, taking from 
 
 his quiver, he now found to be composed 
 of pure gold ; he applied it presently to 
 his bow, and drawing the shaft to the 
 head, away it went, gleaming through 
 the sunsliine like a streak of Hanie, and 
 struck the antlered monarch full on his 
 broad chest. Artolph's energies were 
 now fully aroused ; he hurried forth fro in 
 tlie castle ; but no sooner had he reached 
 the torrent, than the stag evanishing, 
 gave place to a being more beautiful than 
 even a poet's wild imaginings could have 
 created. It wore the human shape, and 
 its exquisitely moulded form was sheathed 
 in a panoply of tiny gold scales, which, 
 glancing against the sun, threw a dazzling 
 and almost insufferable lustre around ; 
 on its head was a coronet composed of the 
 same costly metal, intermingled with a 
 variety of flaming gems, as also was his 
 baldrick, bow, and quiver. Notwith- 
 standing, however, this vast alteration of 
 attire, Artolph was at no loss to recog- 
 nize, in the beautiful object before him, 
 the swarthy vizage of the mysterious 
 bowman. 
 
 ** So, sir count," cried the latter ; 
 ** are ye now fain to visit the Argand's 
 dominions ? But ye are not free to choose. 
 Come." 
 
 The bowman, as we shall still term him, 
 grasped Artolph's hand ; the sohd earth 
 seemed to gape wide before them, and 
 down they both sank together, fathoms 
 deep, with the swiftness of thought. So 
 rapid was their descent, that Artolph was 
 well nigh deprived of his senses. So soon 
 however, as he returned to consciousness, 
 he found himself in a place whose stu- 
 pendous magnificence filled him with 
 amazement and awe. It seemed as if he 
 had dived to the very centre of the globe, 
 whose inexhaustible treasures were at 
 once opened to his view. He looked on 
 one hand, and lie beheld legions of gnomes 
 working amid torrents of lava, and flitting 
 to and fro in their huge vulcanic fires. 
 On another, he saw chains of gigantic 
 mountains, rearing high above him their 
 ruby sparkling forms ; rocks of pure 
 alabaster, marble and mountain crystal, 
 intersected with mineral streams, alkaline 
 waters, and torrents of molten gold, 
 gleamed on his bewildered eyes. But 
 what most amazed him was a vast and 
 magnificent palace, whose giant archi- 
 tecture was of the most singular and 
 exquisite kind. It was built apparently
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 171 
 
 of alabaster, frosted with gold and innu- 
 merable gems, that sparkled with the 
 radiancy of stars ; a vast multitude of 
 spires, glittering as if sprinkled with gold 
 dust, arose from the ample roof; and 
 behind it, and on either side, gardens, 
 waving their shrubs and flowers of per- 
 petual bloom, stretched themselves farther 
 than the eye could reach. To this costly 
 fabric he was led by his glittering com- 
 panion ; they approached it over a marble 
 bridge, which spanned a cascade of the 
 most wild and terrific grandeur. Here 
 it would seem that fancy had at once ex- 
 hausted her store of imagery ; the waters 
 had the appearance of molten silver, and 
 hurrying down anjid rocks of blazing 
 sapphire, sardine and crystal, settled 
 themselves in a basin of pure alabaster, 
 and again silently and majestically floated 
 from thence over a number of broad 
 marble steps, till they branched out at 
 last into a deep expansive pool, wherein 
 was reflected the surrounding piles of 
 gems, their own forms, and the beautiful 
 fairy bridge over which they were now 
 moving. 
 
 As they drew nearer to the magnificent 
 palace, Artolph beheld its massive en- 
 trance composed entirely of rugged gold, 
 beautifully intermingled with sparks of 
 diamond, opal, and other precious stones. 
 The count was allowed a few moments to 
 gaze on the wonders by which he was 
 surrounded ; they then both entered, and 
 passing through a succession of chambers, 
 whose vast splendour only served to 
 increase his wonderment, came at once 
 to a spacious kugelplaz, or bowling- green, 
 whose close cropped velvet sward was 
 thronged with the most grotesque objects 
 that human eyes ever gazed upon. Some 
 were bowling up the green, others were 
 engaged in feats of archery ; on the ap- 
 pearance of Artolph and his companion, 
 however, they all desisted from their 
 sports, and arranged themselves respect- 
 ively on either side the kugelplaz. At 
 the top of the lane which their movement 
 thus formed, was a superb silver throne, 
 .starred with gems, which glanced and 
 gleamed with a varied splendour in the 
 clear steady flame, arising from a myriad 
 crystal lamps of naptha, with which the 
 kugelplaz was lighted. Fronting the 
 throne, but at a considerable distance 
 down, a white dove fluttered its silver 
 wings : to this the bowman pointed, and 
 
 intimated to Artolph that his release from 
 a terrible doom could only be obtained by 
 his transfixing it as it arose. A bow and 
 shaft, meanwhile, was put into his hand 
 for the purpose. 
 
 Artolph shuddered ; he turned towards 
 his conjpanion, who now occupied the 
 throne; another alteration had taken place 
 in his person, and the dreaded metal 
 king stood confessed before him. A 
 smile of irony mantled on his cheek, which, 
 as Artolph attempted to remonstrate, 
 gave place to a grim scowl. 
 
 " Be silent," he said, ♦• and take the 
 chance that is given ye." 
 
 Artolph turned from the frowning mo- 
 narch in dismay, and fixed his eye upon 
 the now ascending bird ; he pointed the 
 shaft towards it, and shot. By some 
 strange fatality, it instantly lodged in his 
 own bosom. A wild hubbub of voices 
 rung in his ears ; the phantoms crowded 
 around him ; Artolph, however, fled from 
 their presence, and pursued by the hellish 
 crew, threaded with lightning swiftness 
 the labyrinthine rooms, and gained the 
 marble bridge ; but no sooner had he set 
 foot upon it, than it began to sink ; the 
 molten waters flashed around him, and 
 seared his frame ; Artolph uttered a shrill 
 shriek of anguish, and — awoke. 
 
 He found himself writhing on the floor 
 of his apartment, the hot sunbeams play- 
 ing upon him the while in their meridian 
 vigour. 
 
 ARMS AND AMOURS. 
 
 ( Continued from page 168.J 
 The principal part of this eventful day 
 was passed by Margaret and her sister in 
 the beautiful oratory that extended over 
 the great gateway of Malvesyn. The 
 broad groined ceiling was richly coloured, 
 and, where the sculptured arches inter- 
 sected each other, huge sunflowers hung 
 their thickly gilded disks. It was sur- 
 rounded by stalls of exquisitely carved 
 oak, the growth of the neighbouring 
 woods — a colossal angel of the same 
 material stood at each corner, and a deep 
 oriel of stained glass, representing the 
 Resurrection, and having images on brac- 
 kets on each side, mingled its gorgeous 
 light with a wide arched window opposite, 
 painted in all its tracery with the family 
 achievements ! Here the Knight of Mal- 
 vesyn, by special permission from bisjiop 
 Burghill, had service performed every day 
 z 2
 
 172 
 
 TAJ.es of CmVAI-RV 
 
 by his chaplain, on condition that he re- | 
 paired on the principal feast-days to the 
 niother-charch ; and also appointed a fit 
 confessor to give absolution from his sins 
 and enjoin penances. 
 
 The usual mass had been said, and 
 prayers put up for the safety of sir 
 Robert ; the priest had withdrawn, and 
 the two ladies were deeply absorbed in 
 private orisons, when a domestic entered, 
 and announced that Master William of 
 Hansacre had arrived in much disorder, 
 and earnestly requested an interview with 
 the Mistress Margaret. The sisters im- 
 mediately arose, and, suumioning their 
 women, descended to the great hall, where 
 they found William of Hansacre, but 
 •' So faint, so spiritless. 
 
 So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone," 
 
 that Margaret, with a faint scream, sank 
 into a chair, while EUzabeth, equally as- 
 tonished, but more composed, enquired 
 the cause of his coming, and his unwonted 
 agitation. 
 
 ** I come," he answered, in a hollow 
 voice, " 1 come for the last time, and 
 with tidings such as should either choke 
 my voice in uttering, or make these halls 
 shake in hearing them ! I come," he 
 pursued, with forced firmness, " to an- 
 nounce that my father is slain — slain by 
 the partisans of your house — and that I 
 part this very evening to join lord Percy, 
 to leave my poor mother a helpless widow 
 in her hall, and," here his voice faltered, 
 *• to fight to tlie outrance against the 
 Malvesyn and his bloody house !" 
 
 So great was the agitation of Eliza- 
 beth, that she did not perceive her sister 
 had fainted, till William had caught her 
 from her seat, and was hanging over her 
 in all the desperation of conflicting feelings. 
 Elizabeth immediately advanced, and 
 with a stateliness of manner that ill ac- 
 corded with her agitated tones, said — 
 
 " Somewhat more of caution, for the 
 sake of a poor maiden, to whose disorder 
 the House of Hansacre hath already too 
 much contributed, might have induced its 
 representative to be less abrupt in these 
 shocking tidings : permit her sister, 
 Master William, to relieve you from your 
 present cares ; the daughters of Malvesyn 
 know how to bear the threats of a Han- 
 sacre, even when they proceed from him 
 at vviiose hands harshness was the last 
 thing they expected." 
 
 But William heeded her not, and con- 
 
 tinuing to support the lifeless girl in his 
 aims, he muttered — " Ay, thus it hath 
 ever been with me ; thus do I bring dis- 
 m;iy and misery whenever 1 approach 
 this dear, this fatal form ; ah, Margaret, 
 the stroke my speech hath inflicted is 
 mercv to the searing wounds which my 
 love ibr thee hath planted in my honour 
 and my heart. My slain father, my wi- 
 dowed mother, the bloody ghosts of the 
 departed, and the mournful presence of 
 those who remain in mine unliappy house, 
 alike enjoin me to shun thee as I would 
 a fanged adder; and yet how far dearer 
 thou art than father or mother, let this 
 agonized embrace, this pressure to a heart 
 that, undone by thee, glories in being so 
 undone, testify to all who claim thy 
 kindred." 
 
 To this impassioned burst, Elizabeth 
 had no answer, and her sister, slowly re- 
 viving, and seeing in whose arms she was 
 clasped — 
 
 " Oh, William, art thou here ? sure 
 some demon hath been with ns, and made 
 thy name a musk for all that is deadly to 
 thy poor Margaret ?" 
 
 ** Fie, sister," exclaimed Elizabeth, 
 " thou art forgetful what is due to the 
 honour of thy family, and it is fit that I 
 remind thee. These old unhappy feuds 
 have terminated in the deathof the youth's 
 father, and Master William, little thank- 
 ful tliat his sire hath escaped the deadly 
 guilt of warring on his sovereign liege, 
 parts this niglit to join the rebel standard, 
 choosing to be in his own person the herald 
 both of grief to thee and shame to himself." 
 
 Margaret immediately left her lover's 
 arms, who stood covering his face with 
 his hands, his breast heaving, and unseen 
 tears trickling down his glowing cheek, 
 and exclaimed — 
 
 *' Shame ! it would cease to be shame 
 if its ensign were unfurled on William's 
 brow ? Sister, you are mine elder — you 
 are prosperous in your love — but yet have 
 mercy upon me ; — think, that if this ap- 
 proaching fight should leave Roger Chet- 
 w\ nd a bloody corpse, thou mightest have 
 need of comfort from Margaret, whom 
 thou chidest so harshly ; and think how 
 hard thou wouldst deem it if she refused 
 those tears and consolations to thy sorrows 
 which she sheds and requires so beseech- 
 ingly now ?" and then the poor girl, 
 bursting into an agony of grief, flung her- 
 self on her sister's ueck.
 
 PKRILS BY FLOOD AND FIKLD 
 
 173 
 
 Elizabeth was now much affected. 
 " What can I do ?" she exclaimed, *' or 
 what would ye have me say ? The young 
 man hath told liis fearful story — hath de- 
 clared also his immediate pui-^j^ose ! What 
 are we two defenceless females to expect 
 on either issue ? if the rebels are de- 
 feated, our father will not listen to your 
 sorrows, and if they win " 
 
 " William of Hansacre," interrupted 
 the youih passionately, ** will be the first 
 to plead his oivn cause in T/our's ; will 
 set free sir Robert, unscathed in fortune 
 or person, if living; ii' dead, will assist 
 in masses for liis soul ; and, if hereditary 
 hatred find not a place in Margaret's 
 breast, will unite in everlasting amity the 
 hostile houses of Malvesyn and Hansacre. 
 
 Elizabeth shook her head, but, with re- 
 vived colour and brightened eyes, ex- 
 claimed — '• Hear him, dearest Elizabeth ; 
 that tongue never uttered falsehood ! my 
 life for it, no ill will ensue, in spite of all 
 the imhappy mischances, from the good- 
 will he bears our father and his house." 
 
 " Ah, Margaret !" said her sister, " our 
 father and our house were little in- 
 debted to his good-will, were it not for 
 that traitor love, which Jiadi compromised 
 both !" 
 
 " Yet hear me, Mistress Ehzabeth," 
 said the young man, " for I have but a 
 plain tale to show. My purpose is fixed 
 immediately to join, with what additional 
 force I may, the allies and followers of my 
 poor father, in support of Mortimer. 
 Thou, Margaret, wilt believe me at least 
 when I say, that, if we triumph, sir Ro- 
 bert's safety shall be my first care ; and, 
 conquering or beaten, if I live, the only 
 hope I shall cherish will be to call Mar- 
 garet of Malvesyn my wife !" 
 
 The interview lasted but a short time 
 after this, and William left Malvesyn with 
 the most anxious blessings and prayers 
 from Margaret, and no small degree of 
 increased interest and complacency on 
 the part of her sister. That evening he 
 departed with about a dozen followers to 
 join the adherents on the plains of Hart- 
 field. 
 
 He had not been gone above a day or 
 two, when all that disorder and violence 
 attendant on the absence of the lords of 
 the district began to manifest themselves 
 in the domains of Malvesyn and Han- 
 sacre. Marauders on both sides mutually 
 infested the territories where women only 
 
 commanded. It was only a few days 
 before the battle of Shrewsbury, that the 
 lady of Hansacre had been compelled to 
 fly from the feudal of her husband, before 
 a band of North Trent outlaws, who iiad 
 attacked the lands of the Hansacredom, 
 and were with so much difficulty repulsed 
 from the mansion itself, that her faithful 
 but thinned garrison besought their mis- 
 tress to seek a securer refuge in the 
 secluded glens and woodlands of the vene- 
 rable Croxden Abbey. Thither accord- 
 ingly the widow of sir William repaired, 
 and was for some time a sojourner. Ever 
 of a religious tendency, her mind became 
 calmed in that calm retreat, and, as she 
 passed its echoing solitudes, wandered 
 through its long cloisters, eyed the dismal 
 light struggling through its tall lancet 
 windows, or hstened to the wind, that 
 sighed heavily up its deep glens, mingled 
 with the voices of the choir, and the sa- 
 cred swell of the organ, a heavenly quiet 
 stole upon her heart, and those tears 
 that she shed for the loss of her husband 
 were assuaged by prayers full of hope for 
 the safe return of her son. 
 
 The ladies of Malvesyn still held their 
 father's house, and though frequent at- 
 tacks of similar marauders led them to 
 anticipate danger in their stay, yet the 
 high-souled damsels had so far won the 
 hearts of their few retainers, and so 
 powerful were the defences of their abode, 
 that no material cause of alarm had 
 hitherto occurred. One night, however, 
 as Margaret and her sister were pacing 
 the cloisters round the inner quadrangle, 
 and after vain attempts at mutual en- 
 couragement, heard only the echo of their 
 footsteps, or marked the high moon scat- 
 tering its silver light through the huge elm- 
 leaves on the carved and spangled foun- 
 tain below — a sudden crash of the painted 
 windows in the upper gallery, and the 
 glare of a hundred torches, accompanied 
 by shouts and trampling of armed men, 
 roused them from their reverie. A band 
 of South Trent plunderers had corrupted 
 one of the porters ; a postern leading by 
 steps on the outside of the building to the 
 higher apartments had been forced open, 
 and the deep quadrangles now fumed 
 with smoke and glittered with the flame 
 of the invaders' torches. Numbers poured 
 down into the inner court ; and the 
 daughters of De Malvesyn only forgot 
 their own fearful situation in the groans of
 
 174 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 their faithful vassals who were perishing 
 around. 
 
 On a sudden a new tumult arose. The 
 war-cries of iMalvesyn and Hansacre, till 
 then never heard in unison, thrilled 
 through the torch-light courts. Tiie ruf- 
 fians immediately rushed to the outer 
 quadrangle, and, ere ten minutes had 
 elapsed, amidst redoubled shouts, groans, 
 and clang of arms, Elizabeth saw her 
 sister clasped in the arms of a stately 
 knight, whose curtailed pennon pro- 
 claimed him a Banneret — a rare reward, 
 conferred, in general, only for superior 
 acts of valour, for long service in the field, 
 and on leaders of a numerous train. It 
 was, however, no other than William of 
 Hansacre, who, while fighting with in- 
 credible bravery on the rebel side, had 
 the good fortune to save King Henry's 
 life by interposing between him and a 
 party of Scotchmen, at the very moment 
 when he was beaten down and lay at the 
 mercy of their uplifted battle-axes. He 
 had been subsequently taken prisoner 
 amidst the entire rout and vast slaughter 
 of the rebels. Meanw-hile, sir Robert de 
 Malvesyn, mortally wounded in the battle, 
 had been visited in his tent by the prince 
 of Wales — to him the knight had, with 
 his last breath, confided the story of the 
 family feuds, and the love passages be- 
 tween Margaret and young Hansacre, 
 and implored the gallant Harry, as the 
 sole recompense for his services and 
 death in his father's cause, to use his in- 
 fluence with the king in restoring the heir 
 of Hansacre if he survived, and healing 
 their quarrels by the union of the houses. 
 
 The rest is soon told : King Henry 
 recognized in the youthful prisoner the 
 man to whom he owed his life, and not 
 only dismissed him ransoniless, but, by 
 an unusual exercise of his prerogative, 
 immediately made him a banneret, re- 
 leased his captive followers, summoned 
 them to his presence with those of the 
 Malvesyns who survived, and presented 
 him to both parties as the preserver of his 
 sovereign, and the future bridegroom of 
 the co-heiress of Malvesyn. The corpse 
 of the slain sir Robert was committed to 
 his care, and the banners of Malvesyn and 
 Hansacre for the first time waved side by 
 side over the escort that conducted ii into 
 Stafibrdshire. Rumours of the disturb- 
 ances on the Trent banks had made them 
 proceed homeward with forced marches 3 
 
 and their united forces had slain and 
 captured the greater part of the banditti, 
 ere the dead body of the last De Malvesyn 
 was placed on his bier in the mansion 
 of his forefathers. 
 
 « « • • 
 
 On that night twelvemonth the proud 
 chambers of Hansacre Hall rang with 
 festivity ; its carved bays and porches, its 
 broad moat and ancient trees, were rud- 
 died with festive light, when sir William 
 withdrew with his bride from the gay 
 throng on the terrace wliich commanded 
 the broad vale of Trent. The moon rode 
 through a cloudless sky, the night gale 
 wafted the merry peals from the steeples 
 of Longdon, Malvesyn, Rougeley, and 
 the Hermitage. The hall clock glittered 
 in the beam that silvered at the same time 
 the banner over its tower, where the 
 chess-rooks were impaled with the bend- 
 lets. William and Margaret were pacing 
 in ' converse sweet ' the sliadowed walk 
 that looked over the lovely scene, when 
 they encountered a Blythburg monk who 
 had been summoned to the bridal, and 
 was gazing wistfully on the fair planet. 
 
 " Just as brightly," he murmured, "did 
 she shine, just as peaceful did yon land- 
 scape look on that fatal night at the 
 Briggmuln, when the tranquil orisons 
 they inspired in my soul were chased 
 away in an instant by visions of grief and 
 horror." 
 
 " And yet, father," said William, lead- 
 ing his wife towards him, " on that night 
 was first unravelled the clue that hath led 
 two families, with all their dependencies, 
 from ceaseless and bloody animosities, 
 to the league of inviolable peace. Pray 
 Heaven, father, that the dews of blood 
 which sullied that soft moonlight, may 
 produce a rich harvest of welfare and 
 good will to the reconciled antagonists 
 of Malvesyn and Hansacre !" 
 
 INTERCOURSE WITHOUT LANGUAGE. 
 
 It is surprising how people of differ- 
 ent nations and tongues, and not under- 
 standing each other's languages, con- 
 trive to make their wants known to each 
 other ; to enter into bargains or contracts 
 for their supply 5 or to fix the price or 
 remuneration for them respectively. This 
 was strongly exemplified in my own case 
 many years ago, when, at an early period 
 of my life, I was, from particular circum- 
 stances, carried in the ship in which I
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AXO FIKLD. 
 
 175 
 
 was embarked to the coast of Arabia, 
 where we anchored and remained for some 
 time. I was a lieutenant in a regiment 
 proceeding to Bombay ; and as our ships 
 were in want of refreshments, we were 
 obhged to have sailors constantly on shore, 
 and to land a subaltern's party for their 
 protection, and to preserve due order be- 
 tween them and the natives. The sub- 
 altern's party were to be relieved weekly j 
 but as my brother officers preferred re- 
 maining on board their respective ships, 
 and I infinitely preferred remaining on 
 shore, with the consent of our command- 
 ing officer I took the duty for the whole 
 six weeks that we remained there. I 
 spoke not a word of Arabic, nor of any 
 other language that the natives under- 
 slood ; and they were equally ignorant i 
 of English ; notwithstanding which, I be- 
 came remarkably intimate with some of 
 them ; and by signs, and tokens, and 
 other means, contrived to make a bargain 
 with particular persons for antelopes, 
 which they were to shoot and bring me, 
 and for which T was to pay them, and 
 supply them daily with a small quantity 
 of. powder and ball. Every morning, 
 therefore, these people came to my tent 
 to get the settled quantity of ammunition ; 
 then went otf into the interior, and gene- 
 rally returned the next day with what they 
 had killed, and, according to our contract, 
 made me the first offer at a dollar for each 
 antelope. We had no small coin to ex- 
 change ; we therefore cut our dollars into 
 triangular bits, which they readily took, 
 for it was for the metal to convert into 
 ornaments for their women that they de- 
 sired our money. Our regiment was a 
 Highland corps ; and the Arabs were 
 highly delighted with the music of our 
 bagpipes, and to see our men dance reels 
 to them ; and in return they danced to 
 us their war- dance, accompanied with 
 shouting, brandishing their swords, and 
 striking them against each other's shields ; 
 for in this manner they were armed. 
 
 CURIOUS ANECDOTE OF TURKISH 
 TREACHERY. 
 
 The intelligent author of the ** Corres- i 
 pondance d'Orient " relates the following 
 anecdote, which, as he observes, looks 
 more like a page of romance than an au- 
 thenticated fact. 
 
 Some years ago Mahmoud, already 
 dis(juieted by the growing greatness of 
 
 his vizier of the Pyramids, determined to 
 get rid of him by the following stratagem : 
 Summoning to his presence a young and 
 beautiful Georgian from his harem, he 
 thus addressed lier : " My beautiful slave, 
 you will be very happy when 1 tell you, 
 that I have chosen you as the companinn 
 of my glorious pacha of Egypt, the tirst 
 n)ari on earth next to me ; 1 am about 
 to give you a ring, a marvellous talisman, 
 by whose aid you may become the abso- 
 lute sovereign of his heart. If in any of 
 his tender interviews with you, he should 
 ask to drink, secretly slip this ring into 
 his cup, and when he shall have drunk, 
 you will see him at. your feet like a cap- 
 tive child, so powerful is the talisman f 
 am bestowing upon you." This ring 
 which the young Georgian received with 
 transport from the hands of the sultan, 
 had a small stone or composition, which, 
 when dissolved in water, produced a most 
 active poison. The girl knew nothing of 
 this, and pleased her fancy with the bril- 
 liant prospects proposed by the sultan. 
 She soon departed for Egypt, escorted by 
 a numerous suite ; she was not, however, 
 received by Mohammed Ali ; he, who 
 had then as now, spies at Constantinople, 
 in the very palace of the sultan, received 
 a warning in time. He presented the 
 beautiful Georgian to one of his principal 
 officers; the young slave wished to em- 
 ploy the talisman to secure her power 
 over her new master ; the poor officer 
 swallowed the poison, and dropped down 
 dead as if struck by a thunderbolt. The 
 ignorant girl, astonished at the event, 
 began to bewail her fate, and related 
 simply what she had done, and from whom 
 she had received the fatal talisman. All 
 was then explained without difficulty, 
 and when the news came to Mohammed 
 Ali, he returned thanks to Providence, 
 for averting from him the mortal draught. 
 
 HIS majesty's BRfG PELICAN, AND THE 
 UNITED states' BRIG ARGUS. 
 
 His Majesty's brig of war, Pelican, 
 Captain J. F. Maples, was ordered, on 
 the 12th of August, IS13, to cruise in St. 
 George's channel, for the protection of 
 the trade, and particularly for the purpose 
 of seeking an American sloop of war, 
 which had been committing serious de- 
 predations on our commerce, and which 
 had made little short of twenty captures. 
 The Pelican had only arrived at Cork at
 
 176 
 
 TNr-KS OF CniVAMtY 
 
 about six o'clock in the morning of the 
 12th ; before the sails were furled she 
 received the order, and by half-past eigjit 
 a. m. she was beating out of the harbour, 
 against a heavy head wind and sea. 
 About four o'clock a. m. on the 14th, 
 after two days' anxious search, the Peli- 
 can discovered a vessel on fire, and a 
 brig standing from her; which latter, the 
 vigilant eye of Captain Maples soon made 
 out to be* the long looked- for cruiser. 
 
 All sail was immediately set in chase ; 
 but the enemy, which proved to be the 
 United States' brig of war, Argus, made 
 no preparations for flight, but shortened 
 sail, being unable to get the weather- 
 gage, which gave Captain Maples an 
 opportunity of running alongside her, at 
 about six a. m. ; her commander, as it 
 afterwards appeared, being confident of 
 victory "in ten minutes." The American's 
 colours were now hoisted, and her lar- 
 board broadside discharged. The Pelican 
 being in a most favourable position, sa- 
 luted^ her opponent with three cheers ; 
 tile old English ensign flew up at the same 
 instant, the broadside returned, and the 
 action commenced, within the range of 
 musket-shot, with the greatest spirit on 
 both sides. At about twenty minutes 
 after the commencement of the action, 
 the American captain and first lieutenant 
 were carried below severely wounded ; 
 and the Pelican, being on the weather 
 quarter, edged off for the purpose of 
 passing under the stern of her opponent. 
 But the Argus, dexterously throwing 
 her main topsail aback, luffed close to, 
 and frustrated the altenjpt of the Pelican, 
 giving her at the same time a raking 
 broadside. The bold commander and 
 crew of the latter, not dismayed by tliis 
 failure, again attempted the manoeuvre ; 
 and having shot away the preventer main 
 brace of the Argus, she, in consequence, 
 fell off before the wind, and the Pelican, 
 passing under her stern, succeeded in 
 taking her position on her larboard beam. 
 The first lieutenant of the Argus now 
 returning to tiie deck of his shPp, found 
 hf'r most terribly mauled ; and the Peli- 
 can, profiting l)y her condition, passed 
 her broadside, and raked her for some 
 minutes longer, when the two vessels fell 
 on board each other. Captain Maples 
 iuunediately gave the signal to board, 
 and, with his gallant crew, dashed on the 
 deck of the American. A volley of mus- 
 
 ketry w^as the only o|)posi!ion they en- 
 countered, but by this fell the master's 
 mate, Mr. Young, in the moment of vic- 
 tory, and, as Ca[)tain Maples expressed 
 in his dispatch, " while animating by his 
 courage and example all around him." 
 
 All resistance now ceased, and the 
 Argus vvas taken possession of by her 
 conquerors, the action lasting forty-five 
 minutes. She lost six killed, and twenty- 
 one wounded ; six of the latter (among 
 whom was her commander) mortally. She 
 was much cut up in her hull, lower masts, 
 and rigging, though no spar of conse- 
 quence was shot away. The Pelican lost 
 her brave master's mate and one seaman 
 killed, and five seamen slightly wounded. 
 She also suffered much in her hull and 
 rigging, her sides being literally sown 
 with grape shot ; but, like the Argus, she 
 lost no spar of moment. She was rather 
 superior in size and tonnage to the Argus, 
 and also in weight of metal ; her broad- 
 side weight in pounds being 274, and 
 that of the latter 288. In complement, 
 however, that of the American brig was 
 superior, and not less in apparent quality 
 than in number ; for her crew consisted 
 of 122 picked men and three boys (so 
 called) ; total, 125. A finer set of fellows 
 than whom never was seen, few of them 
 less than six feet in height, and many of 
 them British subjects. The Pelican's com- 
 plement was 140 men, of all shapes, sizes, 
 and ages, and twelve boys ; total, 116. 
 
 ANECDOTE OF HIS LATE MAJESTY. 
 
 The following anecdote was told with 
 great glee by his late Maiesty, at a din- 
 ner given by George IV., at the Cottage, 
 Windsor Park, in 1827. It is to be ob- 
 served, that William IV., then duke of 
 Clarence, used frequently, during his 
 residence at Bushy Park, to ride out un- 
 accompanied by any servant. " I wa.s 
 riding in the park the other day," said 
 his Royal Highness, " on the road be- 
 tween Teddington and Hampton-wick, 
 when I was overtaken by a butcher's boy 
 on horseback, with a tray of meat under 
 his arm." ** J^ice pony that of yours, 
 old gentleman," said he. " Pretty fair," 
 was my reply. ** Mine's a good un', too," 
 rejoined he, '* and I'll trot you to Hamp- 
 ton-wick for a pot o' beer." L declined the 
 match, and the butcher's boy, as he struck 
 his single spur in his horse's side, exclaim- 
 ed, " 1 thought you were only a mufi'!"
 
 PERir.s iiY Froon .\yi> Firi^i). 
 
 177 
 
 RUDIF BROXDIXBEKGER. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE EHINE. 
 
 On the borders of the Rhine, a few 
 leagues below Oberwessel, aud partly hid- 
 den by the tall heathy hills which skirt 
 the river, the vestige of a rude gothic 
 tower, to which tradition assigns the fol- 
 lowing singular legend, is yet discernible. 
 
 Its earliest possessor is said to have been 
 a iiaughtv though valiant knight, named 
 Cunrad Brondinberger, unto whom it was 
 presented by the renowned Frederick 
 Redbeard, at the termination of a des- 
 perate border fray, wherein he had de- 
 fended the emperor against a band of 
 spearmen, hacking and hewing his way 
 through them with a courage worthy even 
 of Ruberzhald himself Indeed, there 
 were many who looked upon him as one 
 descended from that whimsical and mali- 
 cious sprite, and many there were who 
 scrupled not to vent their opinions pretty 
 largely upon the subject. 
 
 Now tliere dwelt not many leagues dis- 
 tant from Brondinberger hall, and in the 
 same period, a brave and generous baron, 
 called Arnold Maldenhf in, between whon) 
 
 VOL. I.— 23. 
 
 Piige 179. 
 
 and sir Conrad a very close intimacy had 
 ' long subsisted, insouiuch that one-halt" of 
 ! the year was chiefly passed by Sir Arnold 
 i at the hall, and the other by the knight 
 I of Brondinberger at Mafdenijein ; a 
 J separation, therefore, betwixt them, even 
 I for the space of a single day, was a thing 
 
 of very rare occurrence. 
 j Their friendship originated during a 
 I hunting excursion, in the adjacent forest : 
 sir Conrad Brondinberger, flushed with 
 success, had unwittingly pursued his game 
 into its dark and dismal recesses, and ere 
 he could withdraw himself from its be- 
 wildering maze, a wolf of monstrous size 
 sprang suddenly from among the brush- 
 wood which beleagured his path upon tiie 
 neck of his steed, and fastening on the 
 shoulder of its rider, bore him in an in- 
 stant to the ground. At the very mo- 
 ment a shaft came whisding through the 
 leaves, so truly aimed that it struck the 
 ravenous monster full on the forehead, 
 when he instantly relaxed his jaws, and 
 dropped dead beside his intended vic- 
 tim. This exploit was follo\ved by the 
 appearance of Sir Arnold Maldenhein, 
 who, with two or three of his attendants, 
 2 A
 
 178 
 
 TALKS OK chivalry; OR, 
 
 came to the aid of sir Conrad Bron- 
 dinberger. 
 
 " By St. Bernhald ! but thou hadst an 
 ugly foe to contend with," said the baron 
 to the knight of Brondinberger, as he 
 bound up his frightfully manglexl shoulder 
 with his scarf; "'twas well the game 
 attracted us both to the same spot, or yon 
 grisly monster would scarce have been 
 despoiled of his feast." 
 
 *' Thy assistance came most oppor- 
 tunely," answered Conrad, grasping the 
 hand of his deliverer, " I thank thee for 
 it. I have heard full oft of the gallant 
 warrior of Maldenhein, and have as often ' 
 coveted his friendship. Lead me to my i 
 castle on the river side, my hurt calls for 
 instant attention. j 
 
 Notwithstanding the strict intimacy 
 which succeeded this event, and which j 
 appeared to increase daily, it had not | 
 lasted above a year or so, ere it was sud- I 
 denly converted to the most deadly hate. ' 
 Sir Conrad Brondinberger, during his i 
 stay at Maldenhein, had become greatly I 
 enamoured with the daughter of hisfriend, I 
 insomuch that he at length besought her 
 hand in marriage. She was then in the 
 very bloom and beauty of womanhood, : 
 possessed of every charm, and endowed 
 with a nature peculiarly mild and fascina- I 
 ting. The knight of Brondinberger, as { 
 has already been stated, exercised an air j 
 of extreme haughtiness, and had, beside, 
 aseemingly inherent propensity to quarrel 
 and domineer, which oftentimes broke out 
 even upon the most frivolous occasions. 
 This, though it could not entirely escape 
 observation, was nevertheless greatly 
 diminished in the eyes of his friend com- 
 pared with those of the lady Beatrice, and 
 therefore determined the baron, at the 
 earnest desire of the latter, at once to 
 reject his suit, which he forthwith did, 
 observing all possible courtesy. Then it 
 was that the indomitable spirit of Bron- 
 dinberger showed itself at once in its true 
 colours. When the baron tendered him 
 his refusal, he stood surrounded by his 
 numerous and splendidly clad retinue, 
 whom he had assembled purposely to 
 escort their expected mistress to the hall. 
 The condition of its haughty owner on 
 receiving so unexpected an answer to his 
 proposal n)ay best be imagined : his visage, 
 naturally dark and morose, underwent 
 many frightful and menacing expressions; 
 his eyes flashed fire around him, and in a 
 
 voice deep and emphatic, which remained 
 long in the remembrance of many, he 
 exclaimed, " Woe unto that descendant 
 of mine who shall mate witii the house of 
 Maldenhein." 
 
 At sir Conrad's death his castle devolved 
 to sir Herman, his son, from him to 
 another, and so on till it fell to sir Rudif, 
 the hero of my story, and the eighth suc- 
 cessor to sir Conrad. I should, however, 
 make mention, that each preceding owner 
 had paid the most religious observation to 
 the words uttered by sir Conrad ; therefore 
 had the true spirit of inveteracy betwixt 
 the house of Brondinberger and that of 
 Maldenhein descended in regular rotation 
 from sir Conrad to sir Arnold down to 
 sir Rudif and sir Argand. 
 
 It was a remarkable coincidence that 
 an affair of a like nature to that which 
 originated the friendship of the former, 
 created also a strict and lasting intimacy 
 between the latter ; the implacable hatred 
 which had hitherto existed betwixt their 
 houses was at once and entirely forgotten ; 
 and to cement their intimacy still closer, 
 the sister of the lord of Maldenhein was 
 shortly, and with her own full concurrence, 
 to become the bride of the knight of 
 Brondinberger. 
 
 Albeit sir Rudif's predecessors had 
 every one inherited to the fullest extent 
 the haughty and insolent demeanour of 
 sir Conrad ; statues of whom, clad in 
 their heavy sable armour, decorated the 
 walls of the huge banqueting apartment. 
 Rudif himself presented a strong and 
 powerful contrast: arrogance and con- 
 tumely, the chief characteristic of his an- 
 cestors, had in his disposition no share 
 whatever ; he was mostly mild and dis- 
 passionate, though not a whit less valiant ; 
 and his features, though somewhat rugged 
 and uneven, generally wore a pleasant 
 and good-humoured expression. 
 
 Now it was rumoured among the vas- 
 sals at Brondinberger Hall, that during 
 the hunt which took place some time since 
 in the forest adjoining, a voice was sud-. 
 denly heard to exclaim in a hollow and 
 sepulchral tone, " Woe unto the Bron- 
 dinberger who shall wed with a daughter 
 of the house of Maldenhein. The knight 
 at that moment was urging his steed 
 through a heap of furze and long tangled 
 weed, which fringed a dark and deep 
 morass, and which required his utmost 
 skill to pilot his way safely through, for
 
 lY Ff.oOD AND FIEI,D. 
 
 179 
 
 the moon, which was ridifig higii in tlie 
 heavens, became repeatedly oveicai>t. As 
 those mysterious words, however, rang 
 loudly on liis ear, a brilliant stream of , 
 moonlight suddenly illuminated the j 
 swamp, and discovered a tall, grisly, figure 
 wading slowly through it, which many 
 declared to have been a perfect resem- 
 blance of sir Conrad's effigy in Brondin- 
 berger Hall. The vision, however, was 
 but momentary, and the scene became 
 again buried in profound darkness, when 
 the bugle of sir Rudif brought the lord of 
 JNlaldenhein to his assistance, for a grim 
 and gigantic wolf had fastened on his 
 steed. 
 
 It was on the evening of that day which 
 saw the nuptials of the lord of Brondin- 
 berger, that a princely assemblage of 
 knights and dames, gorgeously attired, 
 illumined with their presence the vast and 
 splendidly decorated hall of sir Rudif. 
 The laurelled goblets of rich and spark- 
 ling gold, and foaming with choice and 
 cooling beverages, were quaffed again 
 and again to the happiness of the newly 
 allied pair ; the jest careered, the pledge 
 went round, and the high vaulted roof 
 rang repeatedly with the names of the 
 brightest and fairest in Germany. The 
 minstrels, fired with wine and the praises 
 which were incessantly showered upon 
 them, sang with redoubled ardour the 
 valorous achievements of the noblest and 
 bravest in the land. 
 
 Thus sped the greater portion of the 
 night, when the festivities grew languid ; 
 the most mercurial spirit began to tire, 
 and the sunniest to diminish of its bright- 
 ness. Some proceeded to the chambers 
 allotted to them, and others whom wine 
 and wassail had rendered sluggish and 
 drowsy, slumbered in their seats ; while 
 the numerous flambeaux which had 
 hitherto blazed with unmitigated splen- 
 dour, began now to shed a dim, quivering, 
 uncertain light. The minstrels seeing 
 their services no longer required, had 
 every one departed, and a deep and 
 impressive silence shortly succeeded to 
 the late uproarious mirth. Then it was 
 that the boom of the midnight breeze, 
 heialding the storm which was expected 
 every moment to burst, might have been 
 distinctly heard among the clustering 
 foliage of the aspen, beech, and linden 
 trees, in the gardens of the tower, accom- 
 panied by tile waves of the Rhine dash- 
 
 ing with angry violence on the huge crag 
 at its base. Bright and repeated exhala- 
 tions had been observed for some time 
 playing upon the hot and turbulent horizon, 
 which oftentimes startled from his slum- 
 bers the lord of the hall, who sat beneath 
 a superb canopy at tlie head of the board 
 immediately fronting the tall lancet 
 window through which they were seen. 
 Presently the storm which threatened 
 broke forth at once with unparalleled furv, 
 accompanied in its onset by a wild and 
 searing flash, which shivered the painted 
 window to atoms, and lighted up the hall 
 with indescribable brilliancy. Sir Rudif, 
 notwithstanding his general fearlessness, 
 seemed petrified with terror; every object 
 appeared at first to dance and reel before 
 his eyes, and it was not until the lapse of 
 some moments, that he could summon 
 the least degree of composure. When 
 he did so, it was to behold the hideous 
 phantom of the swamp, dilating amid the 
 increased gloom to a most formidable size ; 
 his attitude was decidedly menacing, and 
 his large, red, grinning eyes, were fixed 
 intently on sir RudiK The latter, in 
 glancing round the walls of the apartment, 
 beheld to his surprise every recess vacated 
 of the statues of his ancestors, which had 
 recently occupied them ; another glance, 
 and he beheld them grouped on either 
 side the dark and frightful apparition, who 
 in a well remembered voice exclaimed 
 aloud, ** Woe unto the Brondinberger 
 who shall wed a daughter of the house of 
 Maldenhein ;" and in a moment the 
 ghastly assemblage disappeared. 
 
 The morning sun streaming into the 
 apartment discovered sir Rudif erect in 
 his seat, though quite dead ; his features 
 were livid and frightfully distorted, which 
 many imputed to the lightning, though 
 others confidently averred that the Demon 
 Ruberzhald had set his mark upon him, 
 the rather that they effected to trace a few 
 unintelligible characters which had the 
 appearance of being branded on the fore- 
 head, though 'twas nought in reality but 
 the encroaches of time. 
 
 ALARIC, — A ROMAN STORY. 
 
 The autumn of the year four hundred 
 and ten will ever be memorable in the 
 annals of mankind, as an epoch in which 
 was transacted a revolution in the affairs 
 of the Roman government, the effects of 
 which have been felt down even till the 
 2 a2
 
 180 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 () K , 
 
 nineteenth century. In tlie Illyrian pro- 
 vinces, the summer had just passed away 
 in all the beauty of a climate nearly un- 
 rivalled in countries north of the Bos- 
 phoius, and the wide spreading forests of 
 Dacia were imperceptibly exchanging the 
 green hues t)f July for the brown and 
 variegated tints of August, when an event 
 occurred which for awhile distracted the 
 attention of the Thracian husbandman 
 from gathering the fruits of his fields, and 
 disturbed the tranquillity of nature. 
 
 At this period the blue waters of the 
 Danube, which, before terminating its 
 long winding course from the north, and 
 ere it loses itself in the broad expanse of 
 the Euxine, breaks away into a variety of 
 embouchures, formed the visible boundary 
 of the Roman power. To strengthen 
 their frontiers more effectually against 
 the predatory incursions of barbarians, 
 Constantine and other emperors had 
 erected along the Danube a line of forts, 
 or turreted strengths, with other attributes 
 of fortification, at convenient distances 
 from, and within sight of each other, in 
 which bodies of infantry were stationed. 
 A vast number of small vessels were also 
 latterly kept cruising on the broad stream, 
 burdened with warlike crews, ready to 
 inflict death on those who had the temerity 
 to attempt a passage. 
 
 The noontide repast of the Roman 
 soldiers who were left to guard the western 
 banks of the Danube, was already some 
 time over, and the sun was slowly bending 
 in his career towards the distant moun- 
 tains of Tiansylvania, whose woody sum- 
 mits were soon to hide the luminary of 
 day from the visible hemisphere. His 
 declining rajs fell upon the broad expanse 
 of the stream ; the air was mild and 
 balmy; and nothing disturbed the quiet- 
 ness of the closing day, save the occa- 
 sional shrill blast of the trumpets of the 
 soldiers placed on the battlements of the 
 border towers. 
 
 It is in the upper apartment of one of 
 these keeps that the first scene of our story 
 opens. In this small and confined place 
 two individuals sat, or rather reclined, on 
 elongated chairs or settles, beside a table 
 in the midst of the floor. The strongly 
 marked and care-worn features of (jne of 
 these personages, his military garb, and 
 other peculiarities, indicated that he was 
 commander of that little fort. The re- 
 fined garments, the polished air, and lofty 
 
 tones of hisconjpanion, were as significant 
 that he was a young Roman patrician, 
 and an officer in one of the legions. 
 " And so you say," said the elder of these 
 individuals, " that you caught this savage 
 lurking as a spy last night in your camp." 
 " Ay, tru'y," answered he who was thus 
 addressed ; " call him spy, or any thing 
 it pleaseth thee ; he was secured by the 
 guards while evidently about no good, 
 and but for my interference he would 
 have been put to death on the instant; 
 having saved his life, I endeavoured to 
 extort from him his inientions, but he 
 declared that he would alone communi- 
 cate to you the burden of his conscience ; 
 and so, with a view of getting some infor- 
 mation relative to the barbarians, I 
 brought him hidier, to allow my good 
 friend Licinius to deal with him as seems 
 meet." " Tut, tut, why have yon brought 
 the wandering knave hither, in the midst 
 of our troubles ?" remonstrated the guar- 
 dian of the keep ; " we can but hang a 
 stone about his neck and toss him into 
 the Danube. I'll warrant me he but 
 deceived thee, and only wanted an 
 opportunity to make his escape back to 
 his savage crew. But that we shall soon 
 discover." 
 
 Licinius was on the eve of making 
 good his determination, when the apart- 
 ment was entered by a subordinate ofl[icer 
 of the cohort uiuler his trust. " Well, 
 Julius, what is it now ? — any new intel- 
 ligence ?" " My lord," answered the 
 soldier, *' I come to say, that unless some 
 strong and effective measure be adopted 
 to prevent the landing of the barbarians, 
 we shall sppedily be hemmed in by their 
 hordes. In spite of the vigilance of the 
 river guard, the Goths and other wild 
 men are pouring down in torrents on the 
 further side of the river. I but came to 
 take diine orders on the occasion. See, 
 my noble master, approach this loophole, 
 and observe how speedily matters have 
 been altered." 
 
 The governor of the fort, as well as his 
 guest, innnediately rose, and, with the 
 soldier, cast a look from a small opening. 
 The sight was alarming. The further 
 banks of the Danube were observed to 
 be covered with dense clusters of barba- 
 rians, preparing to ford the stream ; many 
 rude shafts and boats, freighted v\itii 
 portions of this portentous host, were 
 already contending with the deep blue
 
 PKRILS BY FLOOD AND FIET,D. 
 
 181 
 
 waters ; others were reaching the nearer 
 ^liore, and, on their arrival, fl.s ing in ; 
 clouds towards the woody thickets. To j 
 the watchful eye of the Roman governor, ' 
 there seemed no end to this sadden and 
 dreadful irruption. In the early part of 
 the day, a few stragglers had only been ' 
 observed and little heeded ; but now, on 
 the horizon, there appeared a moving 
 mass of human beings : every band was 
 pushed forward by that iuimediaiely be- |. 
 hind it, and it seemed impossible to say 
 from whence this extraordinary impulse 
 was derived. 
 
 " The God of the Christians protect 
 us," exclaimed the terrified Licinius, " or 
 we are lost ! Hath no account been 
 taken of these savage wretches, according 
 to our orders ?" 
 
 " Account !" replied the other, *' no j 
 we were compelled to abandon our tablets 
 in despair. Some few boatsful have been 
 sunk ; some small note of the number of 
 others who landed hath been taken ; but, 
 with our present force, it is hopeless to 
 keep reckoning, or even to capture pri- 
 soners. The task of stemming the current 
 of these barbarian tribes is alike endless 
 and impracticable." 
 
 The keeper of the fort now ordered the 
 more distant sentinels to be called in, the 
 guard to be strengtliened, and every 
 preparation made to act on the defensive, 
 until he should commuuicale the nature 
 of the irruption to the senate ; an irruption, 
 alas, which had been expected daily to 
 break forth. The young Roman ofiKcer 
 whom we have noticed, was, without any 
 difficulty, prevailed upon to lose no time 
 in setting out wilh a few Ibllowersto Rome, 
 to quicken the raising of the defences, 
 if such were intended to be made. As 
 for the unknown and daring barbarian 
 whom he had captured, he was at once 
 forgotten in the midst of the bustle ; and 1 
 as he contrived to escape from his place { 
 of confinement during the ensuing night, 
 he was no more heeded by the already 
 too much vexed and dismayed Licinius. 
 
 The flood of Gothic forces which now 
 rushed into the empire, carrying every I 
 thing before them, and pursuing a hasty | 
 march towards the capital, could be com- j 
 pared to notliing but those clouds of j 
 destroying locusts which at times cover , 
 the fertile lands of Egypt. Leaving, | 
 them, however, to pursue their onward i 
 march, we turn our attention to Rome. 
 
 Tliis proud and splendid city, long the 
 wonder of the world, was now reduced 
 to despair. What a change would the 
 stranger who had seen it in its grandeur 
 and power, now perceive in its aspect ! 
 At this dire epoch he would find the half- 
 deserted streets resounding with the 
 piercing cries of lamentation — he would 
 find the baths and other pubhc places of 
 resort empty, and their doors shut up — he 
 would here and there meet with an af- 
 frighted citizen running to and fro, not 
 knowing whither he went or what he 
 sought. Here and there, too, he would 
 meet pale faced crowds, speaking together 
 in low and subdued tones, and putting 
 questions to each other with a manner 
 which betrayed the most agonising feel- 
 ings of fear, anxiety, and suspense — he 
 would hear, amidst the deeper and graver 
 tones of sorrowing men, the loud siirieks 
 and cries of distracted women ; here cling- 
 ing to the knees of their husbands, lovers, 
 and brothers, calling upon them fur pro- 
 tection from violence ; there pressing 
 their unconscious babes to their bosoms, 
 and supplicating heaven to shield them 
 from impending danger. Let him next 
 step to the senate, the senate of Rome, 
 alas, no longer tlie Roman senate ! and 
 see what is passing there, i'here he 
 would find that the virtues, the courage, 
 the wisdom, which had distinguished that 
 august body in the better days of Rome, 
 had now forsaken the senate-house — he 
 would find that the bold and determined 
 front, the proud bearing and powerful 
 eloquence of herancient rulers, had pasted 
 away, and were now replaced by efTi- 
 minacy, cowardice, and imbecility. This 
 melancholy change he w^ould perceive, 
 and he would find it especially marked 
 at this precise juncture in the affairs of 
 the city — he would perceive that an air 
 of great alarm and terror at this moment 
 pervaded the national assembly — he 
 would perceive that the lips of the few 
 speakers who were amongst them were 
 pale and trembling, that their language 
 was marked with indecision and timidity. 
 But what was the cause of all this fear 
 and terror in Rome ? Whence all this 
 misery — whence all this appalling anii- 
 cipation ? The cry of the distracted ciii- 
 zens as they ran wildly along the streets 
 sufficiently ex[)lained it. C)ne fearful 
 monosyllable comprised the whole. This 
 cry was, " The Goth, the Goth !" It
 
 182 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY 
 
 was indeed the Goths, a vast army of 
 whom were ;;pproaching- the cily to phin- [ 
 der and despoil it, led on by the fierce 
 Alario, their king and general. [ 
 
 The panic which we have described as \ 
 pervatiiiig Home, had now continued for . 
 several days, each day bringing intelli- | 
 gence of the still nearer and nearer i 
 approacti of the barbarous hordes. At 
 length, however, the agonies of suspense 
 and dreadful anticipation terminated in 
 the consummation of the calamity which 
 had excited them. Early in the morning 
 of the 24th of August 410, the scouts and 
 others who had been stationed on the 
 high places in and around the city, gave 
 the appalling intelligence that the Gothic 
 army was in sight. Dense dark masses, 
 wiiich ever and anon sent forth huge, 
 broad, bright flashes of light, the reflected 
 rays of the rising sun, flung back from the 
 countless weapons of the barbarian host, 
 were seen slowly but steadily moving 
 towards Rome. The terror and alarm 
 which had pervaded the city was now 
 increased tenfold. There was a wild 
 running to and fro of the citizens in dis- 
 tracted and futile attempts, no sooner 
 made than abandoned in despair, to carry 
 off their valuables, and to find places of 
 security for the helpless ; for Rome 
 thought not of defence : flight or con- 
 cealment, submission and supplication, 
 and other unmanly expedients, were all 
 that were now contemplated by the 
 enervated and degenerate Romans. In 
 the meantime, Alaric and his Goths ap- 
 proached. The fierce, and proud, but 
 not ungenerous barbarian, encased in a 
 rich and glittering coat of mail, marched 
 at the head of his warlike host, his eye 
 bent on the devoted city with a look of 
 high exultation and triumph. 
 
 On arriving within a short distance of 
 the walls of the ciiy, the Gothic king was 
 met l)y a deputation from the Koman 
 senate, who had been dispatched by that 
 body to endeavour to buy off) as they had 
 done before, the hostility of the barbarians; 
 to endeavour, in place of Hghring them, 
 to bribe tliem — and by offering a sum of 
 money to their leader, to induce him to 
 wifluhaw his troops. This deputation, 
 however, although perfectly aware of the 
 utterly helpless state of the city, thought 
 proper to make Uieir proposals a matter 
 of alternative to Alaric. " If thi;n refusest j 
 us " thev i^aid, " fair and honourable 
 
 terms, we have it in command to tell 
 thee that the Romans know yet how to 
 meet their enemies otherwise than by 
 treaty and overture. The citizens are 
 well exercised in arms, great king," they 
 adtled, "and their array is unaccountable." 
 " Sayest thou so ?" exclaimed Alaric, 
 and he laughed aloud contemptuously ; 
 " so much the better that the numbers of 
 your soldiers are great, because, dost 
 thou not know, gentle sirs, that the 
 thicker the hay the easier it is mowed ?" 
 and he again laughed boisterously. "Then 
 pray," said one of the senators, none of 
 whom relished the barbarian's wit, " what 
 are the terms on which thou wilt withdraw 
 from the city ? What ransom dost thou 
 demand ?" " Why," repiierl Alaric, " not 
 more than thou canst give, nor less than 
 thou canst afford. I demand all the gold 
 and silver, and all the rich and precious 
 moveables in the city." " And what dost 
 thou intend to leave us, O king ?" asked 
 the senators, alarmed at the sweeping 
 extent of the barbarian's demand. " Your 
 lives !" thundered out Alaric, turning 
 away from them contemptuously on his 
 heel. 
 
 The scene of our little story or drama 
 now changes to the interior of the city, 
 now in possession of the Goths. Con- 
 temning all idea of treating with a people 
 whom they knew to be wholly in their 
 power, and burning with desire for the 
 wild joys of indiscriminate plundering, 
 the barbarians entered the devoted city 
 by the Salarian gate at midnight, and 
 commenced the dreadful work of violence, 
 pillage, and conflagration, in which they 
 were joined by upwards of 40,000 Roman 
 slaves, who seized on this opportunity of 
 revenging the indignities to which their 
 former masters had subjected them, and 
 thus added tenfold to the horrors of the 
 scene, for they even surpassed the Goths 
 in outrage and every species of crime. 
 While the most appalling atrocities were 
 in the course of perpetration in the open 
 streets, stili more dreadful and affecting 
 tragedies were enacting in thousands of 
 the stateliest mansions of the devoted city. 
 Tn one of these — and one of the proudest 
 and most magnificent in Rome — were 
 passing the events which form the basis 
 of our story. This was the house of the 
 .prefect Petronius, one of the noblest and 
 wealthiest of the Roman citizens. On 
 the first alarm of tlie entrance of the
 
 PERILS BV FLOOD AND KTKLD. 
 
 1«3 
 
 Goths into the city, tJie slaves of Petro- 
 nius flew to arms, not, however to de- , 
 fend their master and his household, but 
 to murder him and his family, and to j 
 plunder his well-stored mansion. With 
 wild vvboops and yells of savage exulta- 
 tion, the infuriated slaves flew from , 
 apartment to apartment, seeking their | 
 victims, and murdering tliem as they ' 
 found them. At length the work of death 
 was all but completed in the hapless 
 house of Petronius — one member on\y of 
 the ill-fated family was left alive. This 
 was Marcella, the beauteous daughter of 
 the prefect ; but it was not compassion 
 either for her youth or beauty that had 
 saved her from the daggers of tiie assassins 
 of her kindred. A crowd of ruffians who 
 were murdering and despoiling within 
 the walls of her father's mansion, headed 
 by a slave of the name of Marco, one of 
 the most athletic and fiercest of their 
 number, rushed into her apartment, with 
 the intention of adding her also to the 
 number of iheir victims. But at this ' 
 critical moment, their ferocious leader 
 seemed to be struck with a new and 
 sudden thought ; and when his comrades 
 were about to lay their murderous hands 
 on Marcella, he fiercely stept between 
 them and their intended victim, exclaim- 
 ing, " Nay, comrades, touch lier not; 
 lay not your hand on the beauteous Mar- 
 cella. 1 take her for my share of the 
 booty. Be the silver and the gold yours, 
 Marcella shall be mine. But," added 
 the ruffian, " if, after you have made up 
 your own packs, you can spare us some 
 little thing to take up house with, good 
 and well." A shout of laughter, inter- 
 mingled with promises of contributions 
 from the spoils of the house, answered 
 the appeal of Marco ; but in the face of 
 this understanding, one of the wretches 
 made a snatch at the massive gold bracelets 
 which adorned the arms of Marcella. 
 " Nay, nay," shouted out Marco, collar- 
 ing the spoiler, and Hinging him — for he 
 was a man of extraordinary muscular 
 power — to the other end of the apartment, 
 •* none of that game, friend. All fhese 
 things go to the bargain. The fair lady 
 is mine wholly a*; she stands, with all her 
 goods and chattels. Now, my masters," 
 he added, " begone to your work, and 
 see and make a clean house of it before 
 the Goth comes to divide it with you ; 
 and as for me, I mean to remain here 
 
 awhile with Marcella, to endeavour to re- 
 concile her to the change of aflairs, and 
 to accept me as her lover." 
 
 (7^0 be continued.) 
 
 A DAYS ADVENTURES IN THE INTERIOR 
 OF BRASIL. 
 
 The road between Sucuruh and the 
 Diamond Washeries, at the source of the 
 brook Calhao, was fatiguing and dan- 
 gerous. We lost our way among the 
 innumerable wood clad hillocks. Every- 
 thing around us had a very foreign as- 
 pect, and filled the mind with apprehen- 
 sion. The thick forest looked like one 
 wide grave, for the dry season had strip- 
 ped both its foliage and blossoms ; here 
 and there, indeed, some parasirical flower 
 appeared, but, in general, the huge stems 
 upreared themselves quite naked, wa\ ing 
 their giant branches amid the dark blue 
 hether. The thorny acacia grew beside 
 the capivi, with its interlaced branches ; 
 and, more striking than either, the 
 chorisia, slender where it springs from 
 the ground and at the summit, but half- 
 way up swollen like a tun, showed its 
 corky rind. Myriads of ants' nests hung 
 upon these trees, many of which were 
 several feet in thickness, their blnck 
 colour contrasting forcibly with the clear 
 grey of the leafless branches. The un- 
 wonted forms of armadillos and ant-eaters 
 met our eyes at every step, and the sloths 
 hung stupidly dreaming on the branches 
 of the ambamba. Occasionally a huge 
 snake would cross our path, and disap- 
 pear amid the underwood. The harsh 
 screams of the periquitos sounded through 
 the sun-dried wood, and herds of the 
 lowing ape were heard in the distance. 
 
 Our path led us two several times 
 across the heights, which were only 
 covered with brushwood, and whence we 
 obtained a view over the monotonous and 
 seemingly endless wilderness. When 
 we descended the second time, the sun 
 was down ; and, as the sudden darkness 
 fell upon us, we remarked, by the anxiety 
 of our guide, that he had lost his way. 
 
 At this perplexing moment, he dis- 
 covered, in a glen on one side of the road, 
 the house of a family with which he was 
 acquainted, and advised us to seek shelter 
 there during the night. He added, re- 
 luctantly, " you had better ride on before, 
 gentlemen; for if the son were to see 
 me first, he would think I came to ap-
 
 S4. 
 
 TALKS OF CJIIVALRV 
 
 OK, 
 
 nrelieiKi him for the murder of his brother, 
 iat(^ly perpetrated by him." A cold 
 siiu(ider passed tlirough our frames, as 
 we approached the house. An old man, 
 bi^nt more with prief than age, around 
 whose venerable countenance hung^ long^ 
 locks of snow-white hair, received us; 
 atfiiming, in tremulous accents, that he 
 and his maniac daughter were alone in 
 the house. As soon as we had satisfied 
 liim regarding the object of our visit, and 
 the guide had ventured to approach, he 
 broke out into passionate wailing, cursing 
 his sons, another of whom, we now 
 learned, liad, a few years before, murdered 
 his uncle in afit of jealousy. We recoiled 
 with horror from tlie idea of passing the 
 nigiit in this house of blood and grief; 
 and desired our guide to reconduct ns 
 into the unstained solitude of the forest. 
 Tile old man showed us the path which 
 led to the high-road, and after riding a 
 short way, we arrived at the hut of a 
 deserted cotton plantation. 
 
 We soon kindled a large fire. The 
 fatigues of the sultry day had exhausted 
 u«, and yet we could not sleep. The 
 image of the unhappy old man haunted 
 us. 'i'he guide, too, did his best to keep 
 us awake, by telling us stories of murders, 
 wliich, according to his account, were of 
 such frequent occurrence in the thinly 
 peopled district of Minas Novas, that in 
 oneyearhehad counted seven-and twenty 
 and in another eighteen. He observed 
 that the Portuguese emigrants more fre- 
 quently experienced depravity among 
 their children than the native Brasilians ; 
 and sought to explain this by their neg- 
 \o.ct to mipress upon them, at an early 
 age, tlie necessity of a strict morality in 
 their intercourse with the slaves. 
 
 Something was yet wanted to sum up 
 the horrors of the day. We had scarcely 
 fallen asleep when we were again roused 
 by a violent crackling in the tire, and a 
 peculiar sound, something between a 
 snort and a whistle. We seized our fire- 
 arms, and were about to leave the hut ; 
 but our more experienced guide anxiously 
 detained us, pointing to an immense 
 snake, which, with infuriated bounds and 
 vviithings, sought to hurl the firebrands 
 asunder. It wassurucucu, the strongest of 
 Brasilian poisonous snakes, and on this 
 account doubly terrible in a nightly visit. 
 We lired several times at the monster, 
 bui (lid not dare, when it became still, to 
 
 seek it in darkness. Next morning' it 
 was nowhere to be found. The horses, 
 which we had left over-night with their 
 fore-feet bound together, stood timidly 
 huddled together at the edge of the wood, 
 w^hence they had in all probability ob- 
 served the approach of our dangerous 
 visitant. 
 
 THE ELEPHANT. 
 
 The taking of this animal, in Hindoos- 
 tan, is attended with considerable diffi- 
 culty and danger. A number of the 
 natives are employed in driving them or 
 frightening them, by lighting fires, into a 
 plain which is intended to be the scene 
 of their captivity. Here there is a large 
 enclosure, leading to others of smaller 
 dimensions, till, at last, they are pushed 
 into one so narrow, that it will neither 
 admit of their turning backwards, nor 
 allow them to proceed. To facilitate their 
 progress, they make use of females al- 
 already tamed, who entice them forward 
 by signs too unambiguous to be misun- 
 derstood. The elephant is no sooner 
 secured in his narrow cell, than ropes are 
 gradually wreathed around his body and 
 legs, which preclude the possibility and 
 danger of his escape. By feeding and 
 gentle usuage, he, in a short time admits 
 his keeper, with great complacency : thus 
 the sagacity of the elephant induces him 
 to submit with a good grace to a bondage 
 which a cunning superior to his own, has 
 put it out of his power to avoid. The 
 India Company are supplied with these 
 useful animals by a contract with certain 
 individuals, who make it their business 
 to pursue and capture them. What is 
 remarkable with them is, that those 
 which are taken old are more perfectly 
 tamed than the young. The latter, from ^ 
 the smallness of their size, and the con- 
 sequent in)potence of their resentment, 
 are indulged in playful familiarities with 
 their keepers, w hich neither the sluggish- 
 ness of age, nor the maturity of their 
 faculties, can ever afterwards induce them 
 to lay aside. 
 
 The account of this animal given by 
 Abul Fazil, is founded on more ample 
 experience than that of any of our natur- 
 alists, and would have furnished M. De 
 BufTon with more accurate knowledge 
 than he seems to have possessed on this 
 subject. The price of this animal rises 
 from 100, to 1 0,000 rupees.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AXD FIELD. 
 
 185 
 
 THE HEADSMAJi^ OF MENTZ. 
 
 A GERMAN LEGEND, 
 
 At the commencement of the fifteenth 
 century, there dwelt in the famous city of 
 Mentz or Mayence, an aged man, an 
 Itahan by birth, named Castruccio. He 
 was a being of singular and eccentric 
 habits, and hved ostensibly by selling 
 siniples gatliered and classed by himself, 
 though it was whispered by many that 
 he had dealings with customers of a more 
 dubious character than the honest Bur- 
 g^hers of Mentz. Perhaps the best answer 
 to these gratuitous slanders was the quiet 
 and inoffensive habits of Castruccio, who 
 seldom went abroad, except when he 
 attended mass ; yet there were some who 
 scrupled not to say that the Italian would 
 engage to serve a customer with a drug 
 that would rid a man of his neighbour, 
 for the trifling consideration of a few 
 ducats. Report, too, said that he was 
 rich ; and this, perhaps, of all things, 
 tended to place the vender of simples in 
 a situation at once disagreeable and dan- 
 gerous. But he possessed the character- 
 istic shrewdness and cunning of his 
 
 VOL. I.--24. 
 
 Page 187. 
 
 countrymen, and avoided the many traps 
 that w^ere laid for him, to the great mor- 
 tification and disappointment of his 
 enemies. Among those who looked upon 
 the old man with an evil eye, were Franz 
 and Ruprecht, the two sons of the gover- 
 nor, whose dissolute habits had rendered 
 them needy and reckless, and they 
 mutually resolved to seize upon their 
 victim, and make him disgorge the trea- 
 sure he was supposed to be the posses- 
 sor of. 
 
 It was late on the evening of a Sep- 
 tember day, that a tall and martial looking 
 man, wrapped in a huge cloak, which 
 completely shrouded his person, strode 
 down one of the narrow and most con- 
 fined streets in Mentz. After looking 
 about him to the right and left, he knocked 
 at or rather rattled an iron ring, which 
 was affixed to a rudely constructed door 
 by means of an iron staple. Here lived 
 Cortz, the public executioner of the city, 
 a man whose dexterity in the use of that 
 tremendous weapon, the German two- 
 handed sword, had been shown on num- 
 berless occasions for many years past in 
 the market place of Mentz. The first 
 2b
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 summons was unattended, when the 
 knocking was repeated until the street 
 echoed with the noise, for he who knocked 
 apphed the toe of his boot to the purpose 
 of a knocker, and banged and rattled 
 until a heavy footstep heard within the 
 gloomy dwelling assured him that its in- 
 mate was roused. A moment after the 
 grisly head of a man protruded from the 
 ■window or loop-hole above, and a gruff 
 voice cried out — 
 
 " The fiend rive thee in tatters, thou 
 graceless bird ! what would'st thou with 
 me at this hour ?" 
 
 Gortz supposed that he was bestowing 
 this anathema upon some of his drinking 
 companions, and was therefore somewhat 
 surprised at hearing his name pronounced 
 in the voice of one of the governor's sons. 
 His bead, therefore, quickly disappeared, 
 upon discovering his mistake, and he 
 hastened to the door, half clad as he was, 
 to meet his visitor. 
 
 " Ah 1 Herr Ruprecht, is it you," ex- 
 claimed the headsman, holding his iron 
 lamp aloft to take a full survey of his 
 disturber. He was about to mutler some 
 apology for the uncourteous reception 
 when he was interrupted by Ruprecht, 
 who bade him dress with all possible 
 speed and follow him. Gortz knew too 
 well the fiery temper of his visitor to 
 offer to remonstrate, and therefore stept 
 up stairs, shpped on the remainder of his 
 clothes, took his two-handed sword from 
 the wall, and, throwing his red cloak 
 around him, departed with Ruprecht, who 
 bent his steps towards the city prison. At 
 a signal given by Ruprecht they were 
 instantly admitted, and Gortz was con- 
 ducted down into a spacious vault con- 
 taining a huge table, and a lamp which 
 cast an uncertain and flickering light 
 around, and showed that part of the tiled 
 floor was fresh strewed with saw-dust. 
 *' Ha !" cried the headsman, as his eye 
 glanced on those unequivocal prepara- 
 tions, " here is some more night practice, 
 another to be sent on his journey without 
 priest or prayer — who can this be ?" 
 
 " Hold thy peace, Gortz," said Ru- 
 precht sternly, " and wait here until I 
 return to thee." He disappeared as he 
 spoke through a small door on one side 
 of the vault, and presently the headsman 
 heard the voices of men in altercation. 
 
 ** They are wringing a confession from 
 the poor wretch," muttered Gortz, as he 
 
 moved toviards the dungeon and applied 
 his ear to the door. " Have mercy on 
 me, and I will disclose all," said a feeble 
 voice within. " Quick, then," replied 
 the voice of Ruprecht, *' for one wails 
 without who will render all thy riches 
 valueless, if thou art obstinate. Goitz 
 kept his ear still closer to the door, that 
 he might not lose a word of what the 
 prisoner should disclose, and heard the 
 same feeble voice reply thus : — *' Gentle- 
 men, I protest bt^fbre God that what 
 wealth I possess is not worth your ac- 
 ceptance ; but such as it is it shall be at 
 your disposal, so that you suffer me to 
 depart to mine own country to-morrow." 
 
 *' We have sworn it to thee," replied 
 Ruprecht and his companion, whom Gortz 
 knew to be his brother Franz. 
 
 " Then hearken to me," said the same 
 faint voice, *' ye know the ruined chapel 
 in the valley on the opposite banks of 
 the Rhine ?" 
 
 " We do !" 
 
 " Against one of the broken pillars 
 stands a tomb ; within it are placed what 
 few valuables I feared to keep in mine 
 own dwelling." 
 
 ** Good," said Franz, with bitter em- 
 phasis, ** thou hast made thy confession, 
 and thou canst not die at a better time ; 
 prepare thyself, old man, for thou hast 
 but a few moments to live." A faint cry 
 of distress, followed by a noise of strug- 
 gling, obliged Gortz to quit his station 
 and return to the middle of the vault. 
 He had hardly regained it, when the door 
 of the dungeon opened, and Franz and 
 Ruprecht appeared, each holding an arm 
 of Castruccio, the vender of simples. 
 The poor Italian's frame was palsied on 
 beholding the grim figure of Gortz, who 
 stood with his red cloak hanging over 
 one shoulder, and his hands resting on' 
 his two-handed sword. His countenance, 
 at all times fierce and unprepossessing, 
 was not improved by the glare of the 
 lamp, and the unearthly hue which 
 it received from the reflection of his 
 flame-coloured cloak. The whole scene 
 was worthy of the pencils of Rembrant 
 or Albert Durer. 
 
 *' l^own on thy knees, old drugger," 
 cried Franz, and commend thy soul to thy 
 patron saint." The Italian obeyed this 
 order ; but as he did so, he cast an im- 
 pressive look on his tormentors, and his 
 asred face was illumined bv a smile, which
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD, 
 
 187 
 
 they could not divine the meaning of; 
 for it seemed to them somewhat strange, 
 that he who had pleaded so earnestly 
 for his life but a few moments before, 
 should now meet death with apparent 
 resignation. Castruccio calmly bowed 
 his neck to receive the fatal stroke ; and 
 one of the brothers giving a signal to 
 Gortz, the headsman stepped up to the 
 side of his victim, and unsheathed his 
 tremendous weapon, which flashed bright 
 in the lamp light. Anotlier moment and 
 the headless trunk of the old man fell 
 convulsed upon the floor of the dungeon, 
 while the head itself rolled to the feet of 
 Franz, the eyes remaining open, and the 
 countenance still retaining its dubious 
 expression. 
 
 *' Psha I" said Franz, spurning the 
 miserable relic with his foot, " this old 
 rogue hath died as firmly as St. Paul 
 himself; let us away Ruprecht ; and you, 
 Gortz, get ye home — here is a purse for 
 thy work." 
 
 "I thank your honour," said the exe- 
 cutioner, taking the money, " and I hope 
 the job was done to your satisfaction." 
 
 " Shrewdly performed," said both the 
 brothers. 
 
 Gortz departed his head filled with the 
 singular confession w^hich he had over- 
 heard in the dungeon. He proceeded 
 homeward and returned to his bed, from 
 which he had been so lately roused, but 
 not to sleep, for his thoughts were bent 
 on the treasure that the Italian had spoken 
 of. He ruminated upon the subject till 
 morning, when he bethought himself that 
 by visiting the place that evening he 
 might probably anticipate the brothers, 
 who would not depart upon the expe- 
 dition until dark. But then if they should 
 detect him in the act of bearing away 
 the treasure, his life would be sacrificed 
 to their fury. Still 'twas worth some 
 risk, and if he succeeded in his enterprise 
 a few hours hard riding would carry him 
 over the frontiers, far beyond the reach 
 of their vengeance. He resolved to risk 
 every thing ; and in the evening, before 
 the city gates were shut, Gortz departed 
 upon his expedition, well armed with a 
 sword and dagger. From a peasant who 
 lived at a short distance from the city, 
 he borrowed a wheel-barrow, and an iron 
 bar to force open the tomb, together with 
 a pickaxe and a spade. He was soon 
 wafted across the Rhine, and just as the 
 
 moon was rising he ascended the hill, 
 described by the old man. The evening 
 was serene and beautiful, not a breath 
 of air rippled the clear stream of the 
 Rhine below, and the full orb of the moon 
 shed a holy light upon the waters, and 
 glinted on the damaged tombs and pillars 
 of the ruined chapel, where a long for- 
 gotten race had for many years mmgled 
 with their kindred dust. The headsman 
 knew that no time should be lost, so, 
 grasping his iron bar, he was just about 
 to commence his work of spoHation, when 
 the sound of voices in high dispute caused 
 his blood to chill and his whole frame to 
 shake like a person in an ague fit. To 
 hide his wheel-barrow^ and tools behind 
 a tomb, and to crouch himself behind 
 another, was but the work of a moment ; 
 and lucky was it for the headsman that 
 he acted so promptlj^ for he had scarcely 
 concealed himself when the figures of 
 Franz and Ruprecht appeared in the 
 moonlight. 
 
 " I tell thee, Franz," said one, "that I 
 will not part with the share I have ap- 
 pointed to myself but with my life. Am 
 I not thy elder brother ? did I not first 
 broach the scheme to thee, and did I 
 not " 
 
 " Thou art a fool, Ruprecht — ay, a 
 fool and a cheat ; one who can pick out 
 tasks of danger for others, but who fears 
 to act himself. Greedy dog, by this 
 light I shall henceforth be ashamed to 
 call thee, brother." 
 
 *' Sirrah," cried Ruprecht, passionately, 
 " I cannot brook this from thee. Silence, 
 or by the Three Kings I shall be tempted 
 to chastise thee on the spot." 
 
 " A contemptuous " Pish !" was the 
 only answer to this threat ; but ere the 
 echo of it had subsided, Ruprecht, raising 
 his hand, smote his brother to the ground 
 with great violence. Franz, however, 
 quickly raised himself, plucked his sword 
 from its scabbard, and rushed furiously 
 upon Ruprecht. Their weapons met 
 with a clash so loud that the owl, which 
 sat upon a wall above them, flew to a 
 distance with a loud scream of affright. 
 The fight continued for some moments, 
 during which Gortz kept his eye fixed 
 upon the combatants, whose figures he 
 could easily distinguish as the moon was 
 fast ascending the heavens. At length, 
 Franz fell pierced through the body, and 
 after a few struggles, lay dead at the feet
 
 188 
 
 ALES OF CIllVALRYi OR, 
 
 of his brother. Wiping his bloody sword 
 upon his brother's cloak, the fratricide 
 sheathed his weapon and proceeded to 
 force off the top of the tomb. 'I'lie iron rang 
 loudly against the head- stone, and pre- 
 sently the huge slab was thrown over by 
 the vigorous arm of Ruprecht." 
 
 " Now," thought Gortz, " if I had my 
 espadon here, I would cleave thee to the 
 chine and seize upon the treasure ; but 
 the bodkin I have with me is of no ser- 
 vice against one so well skilled in fence." 
 
 At that moment Ruprecht entered the 
 tomb, and Gortz expected to see him 
 quickly issue from it with the treasure, 
 when, lo ! a report as of a piece of heavy 
 ordnance broke the stillness of the night, 
 and a huge column of smoke ascended 
 from the tomb into the clear moonliglit, 
 while a heavy mass fell close by the ter- 
 rified Gortz. The headsman could no 
 longer remain concealed, and starting 
 from his hiding place he rushed out and 
 stumbled over a human body ; he looked 
 down and beheld the scorched and black- 
 ened carcase of Ruprecht, his apparel still 
 burning, and his features so horribly 
 mutilated, that to identify them w^ould 
 have been impossible. 
 
 Alarmed by the report, and guided to 
 the spot by the dense cloud which floated 
 over the ruins, the affrighted peasantry 
 proceeded to the scene of blood ; but no 
 one could explain the catastrophe save 
 Gortz, and he had taken care to disap- 
 pear from the spot with all possible cele- 
 rity. It will be unnecessary to add that 
 the wily Italian had deceived the brothers, 
 and obtained his revenge, by directing 
 them to this tomb, which he had charged 
 with combustibles for that purpose, either 
 himself or by means of a confidential 
 agent. The good Burghers of Mentz 
 marvelled at the strange fate of the 
 brodiers ; but the truth was not known 
 until the death of Gortz, about twenty 
 years afterwards, who in his last moments 
 gave a minute account of the whole 
 business, and with his life yielded ip to 
 another the office of Headsman of 
 Mentz. 
 
 ALARIC, — A ROMAN STORY. 
 
 (Continued from page 183.^ 
 Little of this conversation was heard 
 by the unfortunate lady wlso was the 
 subject of it. Reclining on a couch in 
 
 one corner of the apartment, in a state of 
 utter insensibility, into which the horrors 
 that were enacting around fiad thrown her, 
 she scarcely knew what had taken place, 
 until she was rudely awakened from lier 
 legarthy by Marco, who was now alone 
 with her in the apartment ; his comrades 
 having, as he had recommended, gone 
 off to complete the work of plunder which 
 they had begun. '* Fair Marcella," said 
 the ruffian, and he spake no flattery, for 
 she whom he addressed was indeed one 
 of the fairest of Rome's fair daughters ; 
 " fair Marcella," he said, kneeling beside 
 I her widi affected humility, and at the 
 ! same time violently pulling her arm, 
 I until he had succeeded in awaking his 
 ' unhappy victim to a sense at once of his 
 presence, and of all the misery with 
 which she was surrounded, " see me, 
 though now your master," here he paused, 
 for a look of proud contempt from Mar- 
 cella had replied to die insolent, though 
 too-well founded assertion — " Ay, your 
 master, proud dame," he went on ; '* see 
 me, I say, though now your master, still 
 kneeling at your feet as a slave." During 
 this insolent speech, the Roman spirit 
 was mantling high in the bosom of the 
 noble maiden ; and though encompassed 
 with horrors which might well have been 
 expected to subdue every prouder feeling 
 in the breast of an unfortunate female, 
 she yet instantly became alive to the in- 
 dignity offered lier, and to the still greater 
 indignities threatened her by her slave. 
 Spurning the fellow from her, and starting 
 to her feet, she assumed an attitude wor- 
 thy of the proud days of Roman virtue. 
 " Wretch, slave that thou art !" she ex- 
 claimed, " slave in thy passions, and in 
 thy soul, as thou must ever be, however 
 free in thy person, dost imagine that the 
 daughter of Petronius can listen to the 
 unhallowed addresses of such a base-born 
 helot as thou art, or that the power thou 
 fanciest thou hast over her can ever make 
 her thine ? — no, not while she has this 
 resource left to her ;" and she drew a 
 small stiletto, or dagger, from the folds 
 of her garment, and held the glittering 
 weapon up to the sight of her persecutor. 
 j " Approach me not, ruiiian," she added, 
 seeing the latter advancing towards her, 
 i as if to wrest the weapon from her ; " ap- 
 j proach me not, else I will lay thee wel- 
 tering in thy blood at my feet : and if 
 ' thou darest to call for aid of thy miscreant
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD- 
 
 189 
 
 fellows, then shall T lay myself in my 
 heart's blood at thine, and leave the guilt 
 of the unholy deed on thy devoted head : 
 these are the terms on which we stand." 
 Having^ said this, she retreated proudly 
 towards the door, and endeavoured to 
 open it, but it was secured. " Hah, hah, 
 where is now thy boasted defiance of my 
 power ? How canst thou now escape me, 
 proud maiden ?" ** Detested and cowardly 
 villain," exclaimed the heroic and un- 
 daunted lady, " I will yet escape thee. 
 Hearest thou not the din of the Goth 
 in the streets, burning and sacking the 
 city ? Hearest thou not their shouts of 
 triumph and wild joy ? Ruthless and re- 
 morseless as they are, I will call upon 
 them to shield and protect me fi'om thy 
 violence ; merciless as they are, I w^ll 
 rather trust to their clemency than to 
 thine." Saying this, she flew to a window 
 of the apartment which overlooked the 
 street, and ere Marco could prevent her, 
 called out loudly for aid. ** Idiot that 
 thou art," said the latter, with a fiendish 
 laugh, and at the same time dragging 
 her rudely from the window, ** dost not 
 know that the aid thou hast sought, if it 
 come, which I much doubt, will be much 
 more ready to take my side than thine ? 
 Dost not know, fool, that the cause of 
 the Goth and Roman slave is one in the 
 sack and ruin of this detested city ? How, 
 then, dost imagine that the Goth will 
 rescue Marcella, the daughter of a Roman 
 patrician, from one of themselves ? Come 
 hither," he added, now seizing his victim 
 rudely by one of her arms ; " come 
 hither, till I teach thee wisdom, and pru- 
 dence, and," — At this instant the door 
 was suddenly burst open with great vio- 
 lence, and a stout athletic man of middle 
 stature entered and walked into the middle 
 of the apartment. His presence was 
 majestic and commanding, and his coun- 
 tenance, though evidently calculated better 
 for the expression of the nobler and more 
 generous feelings of humanity, than for 
 those of a baser kind, was at this parti- 
 cular moment deeply shaded with a scowl 
 of displeasure, intermingled with indica- 
 tions of an angry curiosity. He was a 
 Goth. This was at once made e\ident 
 by his dress, which al.<o indicated that he 
 was an officer of the army which now- 
 occupied Rome. ** How is this ?' he 
 
 said, fixing his eyes sternly and gravely 
 on Marco ; *' who called for aid from this 
 house ? Was it yon, fair lady ?" he added, 
 advancing towards Marcella. " It was, 
 sir, it was, it was," exclaimed the latter, 
 flying towards him and flinging herself 
 at his feet, grasping his knees, and ear- 
 nestly imploring his protection. " Why, 
 by my good sword, fair maiden, and that 
 thou shalt have, come of it what may. 
 Sirrah," he continued, and now address- 
 ing Marco, " thy presence, I can per- 
 ceive, is no longer wanted here ; so pray 
 thee laegone, else worse may befall thee." 
 " Nay, that i will not," said Marco, at 
 the same time drawing his sword, ** al- 
 though thou wert Alaric himself. That 
 lady is my lawful prize, master, and cer- 
 tainly I shall know first at whose bidding 
 it is ere I part with her." Saying this, 
 he also advanced towards JNIarcella ; and 
 while he held his naked sword in one 
 hand, he rudely grasped her by the arm 
 with the other, as if at once to claim and 
 defend his right. ** Take that, to loosen " 
 your ruffianly hold," said the stranger, 
 suddenly stepping up to him and passing 
 his sword through the body of the wretched 
 slave, who instantly fell prostrate, a life- 
 less corpse, on the floor. " Pardon this 
 violence in thy presence, fair maiden," 
 continued the stranger, now coolly re- 
 turning his weapon to its scabbard, " but 
 the knave could not be taught manners 
 by any other means." 
 
 The violence for which the Goth apo- 
 logised was of a kind with which Marcella 
 could not reasonably be much offended, 
 and she did not affect those sentiments 
 regarding it, which she neither did nor 
 could feel. On the contrary, she a thou- 
 sand times thanked her deliverer with the 
 most earnest and affecting expressions of 
 gratitude. The tears stood in her large 
 soft blue eye as she raised it up in fervent 
 prayer for blessings on the hand that had 
 saved her. But, alas ! for the weakness 
 of human nature, and the jjower of suffer- 
 ing, supplicating beauty. The deliverer 
 of Marcella, in his turn, became her 
 lover, though a respectful and an honour- 
 able one. Struck with the surpassing 
 loveliness of the agitated maiden before 
 him, and unable to resist the strong im- 
 pulses \\hich it inspired, he dropt on one 
 knee before her, and in a tone of im-
 
 190 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY 
 
 passioned eloquence, besought her per- 
 mission to become a candidate for her 
 affections. Astonished and distressed 
 beyond measure by this new and unfore- 
 seen turn in this day's calamities — for 
 Marcella was already the betrothed bride 
 of Sempronius, a young Roman noble — 
 she earnestly but kindly besought her 
 deliverer to rise from the humble position 
 he had assumed. " Noble stranger," she 
 said, and here her voice became tremu- 
 lous with emotion, " rather pity than love 
 me, I beseech thee. Oh ! do nnt urge a 
 suit which must make me ungrateful and 
 3'ou ungenerous. I am the betrothed of 
 another, and can be bride to none but 
 Sempronius. Here, my kind deliverer," 
 she added, " take these ;" and she began 
 to divest herself of the precious jewels 
 with which her person was adorned ; 
 " take these as tokens of my eternal 
 gratitude ; and if there be any gold yet 
 left me, thou art welcome to it all ; but 
 oh ! do not press a love-suit on her whom 
 thou hast saved from more than death, 
 else thou wilt make her thankless for the 
 boon." 
 
 " Sweet maiden," said the soldier, 
 rising to his feet and smiling benevo- 
 lently on the generous-hearted but dis- 
 tracted girl, *' I desist ; but gold is not 
 the god that Alaric the Goth worships." 
 At that tremendous name, which she had 
 never been accustomed to iiear but as- 
 sociated with the most terrible achieve- 
 ments, the terror-stricken maiden fell 
 senseless to the ground. But she did 
 injustice, thougli faultlessly on her 
 part, to the character of the noble-minded 
 and magnanimous Alaric, for it was, 
 indeed, the Gothic king himself who 
 had been her deliverer, and latterly the 
 wooer of Marcella. He gently raised her 
 up, and, by kind words, endeavoured to 
 recal the affrighted maiden to her senses, 
 and, when he had succeeded in this, to 
 soothe her agitation, and to assure her of 
 safety under his protection. While the 
 generous Goth was thus humanely em- 
 ployed, a third person unexpectedly 
 rushed into the apartment. This was a 
 tall young man, fashionably attired, but 
 bearing the appearance of having come 
 from a fatiguing journey. ** Marcella ! 
 Marcella !" he exclaimed, and, regardless 
 of the presence of the stranger, he franti- 
 c;illy flung himself at the feet of the lair 
 being he had named, seized her hand, and 
 
 covered it with kisses, muttering fervent 
 thanks the while to heaven for her safety. 
 " Sempronius !" murmured Marcella, and 
 her head sunk on the shoulder of her 
 lover. Alaric was not an unmoved spec- 
 tator of this joyful meeting. In Sempro- 
 nius he beheld the Roman soldier who 
 had spared his life ; and in turn Sempro- 
 nius beheld the Gothic leader, him whom 
 his followers had captured while lurking 
 in the vicinity of his tent. A mutual 
 debt of gratitude was instantly acknow- 
 ledged ; but there was left no time for 
 ceremonious greeting. Giving the Roman 
 maiden to her lover, and promising the 
 happy pair the most ample protection, he 
 speedily departed, and vvas in a moment 
 afterwards at the head of his victorious 
 army. Neither Marcella nor Sempronius 
 saw this extraordinary man any more, 
 but they found the house surrounded by 
 a strong guard of Goths, which, on 
 inquiry, they learnt had been placed there 
 for its and their protection by the orders 
 of Alaric. The same powerful and gene- 
 rous friend, in a few days thereafter, 
 caused to be returned to Marcella all the 
 valuables of which her father's house had 
 been despoiled. And on the sixth day 
 after the occurrence of the events just 
 related, which was that on wliich the 
 barbarians evacuated Rome, the Gothic 
 king, just before commencing his march, 
 sent a magnificent ring to Marcella ,as a 
 notice at once of his departure, and a 
 token of his esteem and regard, adding 
 to the message which accompanied it, 
 that it would also protect her at any time 
 from rude treatment, in the event of her 
 ever again falling into the power of any 
 of his people. 
 
 ESCAPES FROM A DANISH PRISON. 
 
 Captain Freeman, of the ship Mox- 
 ton, of Hull, having been captured by 
 Danish gun- boats, in 1807, had been 
 confined in the prison at Helsterburgh, 
 in North Jutland, with about twenty 
 other masters of vessels, five of whom, 
 namely, John Davidson of Sunderland, 
 John Kidd of Arbroath, David Raft, and 
 Daniel Stewart of Dundee, John Millar 
 of Kirkaldy, and himself, effected their 
 escape, on June 20, 180<S, in the evening, 
 by rolling themselves down the bank of 
 the field in which they were permitted 
 to walk, and thus eluding the vigilance 
 of their guards. After two nights' Ira-
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD A\D FIELD. 
 
 191 
 
 veiling towards the westward, and hiding 
 themselves in the corn by day, they 
 reached the sea-shore near Boven- 
 bergen, where they found a boat about 
 thirty feet long by seven feet broad ; they 
 immediately put to sea in this boat, the 
 whole of their stores consisting of about 
 a gallon of water, and the small quantity 
 of bread they had brought away in their 
 pockets ; they had neither compass nor 
 sails, but they managed to supply the 
 deficiency by six spare shirts, which they 
 took to pieces, and sewed them together 
 with the yarn of their stockings. Being 
 so poorly supplied, it was necessary to be 
 very economical of their provisions, 
 which they were by limiting every man to 
 an allowance of half a penny loaf of bread 
 a day, and half a tea-cupful of water 
 night and morning. On the second day 
 they were fortunate enough to find a had- 
 dock floating on the sea, which they di- 
 vided among them. Tliey were compelled 
 to steer along at no great distance from 
 the shore, as the weather was at times 
 very foe:gy, and they intended, if possible, 
 to make for Heligoland. 
 
 " On the evening of the 26th they ran 
 within a small island, and two of them 
 landed on the continent, to endea- 
 vour to replenish their exhausted stores 
 of food and water, and for that pur- 
 pose started to a house about a mile dis- 
 tant from the shore ; but had not gone 
 far, when they were chased back by two 
 French dragoons, and were glad to regain 
 their boat, and put off from the inhospit- 
 able shore. They made for tlie island, 
 and lay-to near it during the night, but 
 in a most pitiable state, as they had not 
 tasted water for sixteen hours, and their 
 throats were so affected by intolerable 
 thirst, that they could not swallow a 
 morsel of bread ; but fortunately it began 
 to rain, when they contrived, by the help of 
 their shirts and sail, to collect about a 
 gallon of dirty water, which proved a 
 seasonable relief, and prevented them 
 from delivering themselves up to the 
 enemy, which otherwise they must have 
 been compelled to do, to save themselves 
 from peri^hingby starvation. 
 
 On the afternoon of the 27th, after 
 suffering severely from the cold and rain, 
 the weather having proved so unfavour- 
 able, and their stock of provisions being 
 nearly exhausted, tliey made Newark 
 Island, and ran past it, to within about 
 
 half-a-mile of the shore, where they laid 
 to with the intention of landing in the 
 evening, to endeavour, if possible, to 
 procure a fresh supply of water, of which 
 they stood so much in need ; but the 
 fatigues and privations they had undergone 
 had so exhausted them, that they fell 
 asleep, and were awakened by a Cux- 
 haven fisherman who had waded to them 
 from the shore ; and having heard their 
 case, advised them by all means to put 
 off again immediately, as otherwise they 
 were in imminent danger of being made 
 prisoners by the French, and recom- 
 mended their landing at Newark Island, 
 as there were no troops there. They ac- 
 cordingly landed near a single house, 
 where they replenished their bottles with 
 water, but they could not prevail upon 
 the inhabitants to supply them with a 
 morsel of bread. 
 
 On the morning of the 28th, about 
 one o'clock, they put off again from the 
 island, and proceeded on their voyage, 
 and about seven o'clock the same evening 
 they got on board a vessel which was 
 lying on the banks towards the Elbe, and 
 loading shells for Hamburg. On board 
 this vessel there were only two men, 
 who supplied them with water, about two 
 pounds of bread, and a small compass. 
 They left this vessel at about two o'clock 
 the next morning, and about seven o'clock 
 on the morning of the 30th, to their 
 inexpressible joy, they came in sight of 
 Heligoland ; and after rowing the whole 
 day against a heavy N. W. sea, and a 
 smart breeze of wind, they succeeded in 
 gaining the shore, about eight o'clock in 
 the evening, and were cordially received 
 on the beach by several hundreds of the 
 inhabitants, who heartily congratulated 
 them on their providential deliverance. 
 
 Governor Hamilton and the rest of the 
 oflScers of the council, treated them with 
 uncommon kindness, and showed them 
 every possible attention, supplying them 
 with every thing which their exhausted 
 state rendered necessary, and which con- 
 tributed to their speedy restoration to 
 health and strength. 
 
 On July 4th, Captain Freeman and 
 Captain Davidson left Heligoland in a 
 Papenburgh vessel, and in a short time 
 arrived safely off Yarmouth ; the others 
 remained till about the lOth, when they 
 departed in some vessels belonging to 
 Leith, where they subsequently arrived.
 
 192 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 with heartfelt gratitude to that Providence 
 which had so singularly delivered them 
 from captivity, and safely conducted them 
 to their homes. 
 
 INTREPIDITY OF ENGLISH SAILORS. 
 
 Lauriston told me, amongst other 
 anecdotes relative to Napoleon's sojourn 
 at the camp of Boulogne, a remarkable 
 instance of intrepidity on the part of two 
 English sailors. These men had been 
 prisoners at Verdun, which was the most 
 considerable depot of English prisoners 
 in France at the rupture of the peace of 
 Amiens. They effected their escape from 
 Verdun, and arrived at Boulogne without 
 having been discovered on the road, not- 
 withstanding the vigilance with which all 
 the English were watched. They re- 
 mained at Boulogne for some time, desti- 
 tute of money, and without being able 
 to effect their escape. They had no hope 
 of getting aboard a boat, on account of 
 the strict watch that was kept upon vessels 
 of every kind. These two sailors made 
 a boat of little pieces of wood, which they 
 put together as well as they could, having 
 no other tools than their knives. They 
 covered it with a piece of sail clot!). It 
 was only three or four feet wide, and not 
 much longer ; and was so light that a 
 man could easily carry it on his shoulders. 
 So powerful a passion is the love of home 
 and liberty ! 
 
 Sure of being shot if they were dis- 
 covered, almost equally sure of being 
 drowned, if they effected their escape, 
 tliey, nevertheless, resolved to attempt 
 crossing the Channel in their fragrile 
 skiff. Perceiving an English frigate 
 within sight of the coast, they pushed 
 off, and endeavoured to reach her. Tiiey 
 bad not gone a hundred toises from the 
 shore, when they were perceived by tiie 
 custom-house officers, who set out in 
 pursuit of them, and brought them back 
 again. The news of this adventure soon 
 spread throughout the camp, where the 
 extraordinary courage of the two sailors 
 was the object of general remark. 
 
 The circumstance reached the em- 
 peror's ear. He wished to see the men, 
 and they were conducted to his presence, 
 along with their little boat. Napoleon, 
 whose imagination was struck by every 
 thing extraordinary, could not conceal 
 his surprise at so bold a project, under- 
 taken with such feeble means of execution. 
 
 *' Is it really true," said the emperor 
 to them, ** that you thought of ciossing 
 the sea in this ?" 
 
 " Sire," said they, " ifyou doubt it, give 
 us leave to go, and you shall see us depart." 
 
 " I will. You are bold, enterprising 
 men ; I admire courage wherever I meet 
 with it. But you shall not hazard your 
 lives. You are at liberty, and more than 
 that, I will cause you to be put on board 
 an English ship. When you return to 
 London, 'tell how I esteem brave men, 
 even when they are my enemies." 
 
 Rapp, who, with Lauriston, Duroc, 
 and many others, were present at this 
 scene, were not a little astonished at the 
 emperor's generosity. If the men had 
 not been brought before him, they would 
 have been shot as spies, instead of which 
 they obtained their hberty. This cir- 
 cumstance was one of those which made 
 the strongest impression on Napoleon, 
 and he recollected it when at St. Helena, 
 in one of his conversations with M. de 
 Las Casas. 
 
 VENETIAN PATRIOTISM. 
 
 During the war of Chiozza, where 
 age or infirmity rendered personal service 
 impossible, entire fortunes were surren- 
 dered to the state ; vast debts were re- 
 mitted by creditors ; plate, jewels, and trea- 
 sure, were heaped into the public coffers ; 
 the Doge mortgaged his revenues ; the 
 ecclesiastics bore arms. One, perhaps, of 
 the most touching offers which this great 
 crisis called forth, was that made by 
 i.Iatteo Faselo, a townsman of Chiozza, 
 whom its loss had reduced from opu- 
 lence to beggary. Carrying with him 
 his two sons, he presented them to the 
 magistrates. 
 
 '* If my estate," he said ** were such 
 as I once possessed, all of it should be 
 contributed to the public exigencies ; 
 but life is now the only property which 
 is left to me, and to these. Dispose of it as 
 you think best. Employ us either by 
 land or sea, and gladden us by a con- 
 sciousness that what little we still retain 
 is devoted to our country." 
 
 The emperor Charles the Fifth, one 
 day observed very shrewdly to an ambas- 
 sador of Henry the Eighth, " Your master 
 would not give himself the airs he does, 
 were it not that his dominions are sur- 
 rounded by a herring pond."
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FrEFD. 
 
 193 
 
 Page 194. 
 
 THE FRATRICIDE. 
 
 A bloody doed, and desperately dispatch 'd ! 
 How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands 
 Of this same grevious guilty murder done ! 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 It was on a clear bleak December 
 evening in the reign of Klizabetli, while 
 the snow fell in unusually large flakes, 
 and the shrewd wintry blast came patter- 
 ing hoarse and hollow up the narrow 
 stragghng street in the little village of 
 
 S , in the west of England, that a 
 
 goodly company were assembled over a 
 comfortable flagon of March beer, in the 
 spacious kitchen of the only inn it pos- 
 sessed. A large roaring fire blazed up 
 the vast chimney, and displayed the jovial 
 features of mine host, nicely reddening 
 under the influence of his frequent and 
 liberal potations, and undergoing their 
 several requisite expressions as he enter- 
 tained his guests, 
 
 *♦ Weil, Master Martyn," quoth he, 
 addressing a well formed and gaily ap- 
 parelled youth, " to proceed with my 
 story. Know that the hatred of this 
 sir Mark Willoughbv towards his brother 
 
 VOL. 1.— 25. 
 
 daily increased, and grew at length to 
 such an extremity, that they rarely ever 
 passed each other without some affray 
 taking place. Now it so befel, that sir 
 Aubrey of HarphoUy should wend him 
 on business of moment to the distant 
 residence of a beloved and wealthy kins- 
 man, and from thence it is pretty gene- 
 rally believed that he never returned with 
 life. Great pursuits were instantly set 
 on foot, and immense rewards were held 
 out for his discovery, but all to no pur- 
 pose. Meanwhile, suspicion liglited 
 strongly upon sir Mark, who had always 
 been known to bear him the most deadly 
 hatred, Tliis man, however, not only 
 assisted in the striving to discover the 
 cause of sir Aubrey's disappearance, but 
 laid himself entirely open to the investi- 
 gation of all who took concern in his 
 fate ; as nothing, therefore, could be 
 proved to implicate him in any way 
 whatever, he became the inheritor of his 
 brother's riches, and the sole possessor of 
 Harpholly Hall. Yet, notwithstanding 
 that he had been acquitted of having had 
 aught to ilo in the murder of sir Aubrey 
 (for that he had met with some violent 
 2
 
 94 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 death was the profound behef of alJ,) he 
 was hated by those around him for his 
 fierce and crafty disposition, and, ere a 
 twelvemonth had passed over him, un- 
 happy amid his hoards of wealth, and 
 despised even by his domestics, he quit- 
 ted the mansion of his fathers for a foreign 
 land, and has never since been either 
 seen or heard of The old hall was left to 
 decay, and remains to this time in a 
 wretched and dilapidated condition. None 
 dare approach it after nightfall, and few 
 there be, even in broad daylight, bold 
 enough to venture within its gloomy and 
 silent precincts ;" 
 
 ** And for what reason, good mine host ?" 
 queried Marty n. 
 
 " Marry, fair sir, for this," and his 
 voice dwindled almost to a whisper — 
 *• some say the ghost of sir Aubrey walks 
 abroad." 
 
 " Indeed ; now I would fain betake me 
 thither, and parley with this same ghost, 
 an' there be a such thing, which in sooth 
 1 very mucli question. Know ye one bold 
 enough to accompany me, good master 
 Maurice ?" 
 
 *' Not I, in faith, sir," replied he of 
 the spigot, "and, simply to speak my 
 mind, I think ye are far from wise in 
 venturing on such an errand ; seeing it 
 is but a sorry change — a warm chimney 
 corner for tlie dark and dismal chambers 
 of Harpholly Hall." 
 
 *• Good, mine host," answered the 
 sturdy gallant, ** thy words are true, but 
 thou hast raised my curiosity ; therefore 
 I would fain wend me thither, or I shall 
 not get a wink of sleep to-night." 
 
 ** Ye shall not then lack conipany ; I, 
 sir, will on with ye," exclaimed a voice 
 whose deep and hollow cadence startled 
 the whole assembly, not even excepting 
 master Martyn himself. Every gaze was 
 instantly turned upon the speaker — a tall 
 and dignified figure, partly wrapped in a 
 dark riding mantle, and wearing his large 
 flapped hat so as to conceal his vizage. 
 He had just withdrawn himself from the 
 circle, and now stood in the midst of the 
 apartment. How he had come among 
 them was a perfect mystery to all. The 
 youth however, instantly replied to him, 
 
 *' Marry, sir, thou oflferest fairly, there- 
 fore will I along with ye." 
 
 It was in vain that mine host and the 
 rest of the company endeavoured by many 
 a meaning gesture to persuade master 
 
 Martyn off his undertaking ; the youth's 
 determination was fixed ; he was not 
 easily to be daimted : and he was some- 
 how mysteriously prepossessed in favour 
 of his strange companion. A lantern was 
 therefore procured from master Maurice, 
 and away they went together. 
 
 We shall not remain to witness the 
 various conjectures which were now 
 started by the sapient inmates of the inn 
 touching the probable fate of the adven- 
 turous gallant, but follow the immediate 
 fortunes of that worthy. 
 
 Harpholly Hall lay at about the dis- 
 tance of a mile from the village, and the 
 road leading thereto was of a most dreary 
 and desolate description. It extended a 
 great way through a black morass, and 
 afterward skirted a chain of bleak sand 
 hills, terminating finally in what had once 
 been a noble and well-wooded park, but 
 which now presented a scant and dreary 
 wilderness. A wide carriage-path, rug- 
 ged, and choked with weeds and stones, 
 perambulated it for about the distance of 
 a mile, and brought our adventurers at 
 length before a rambling pile of ruins, 
 which, whitened as they were by the snow, 
 and seen by the dim and ghostly light 
 which flickered from Martin's lantern, 
 looked not much unlike a vast sheeted 
 spectre, looming to gigantic proportions 
 against the sable back-ground of the 
 winter sky. 
 
 It was not without some secret mis- 
 givings that our friend Martyn had several 
 times noted the extreme taciturnity of 
 his companion ; during their rout, he had 
 more than once essayed to start some 
 subject of conversation, but failed in 
 every thing, except to elicit now and then 
 a brief monosyllable to his direct and 
 repeated inquiries. Another circumstance 
 which failed not to escape his notice, was 
 the stranger's studied concealment of his 
 visage ; not even the slightest glimpse 
 could he obtain of it j and now, as they 
 both stood before the gloomy and deso- 
 late ruin, another and a more startling 
 fact became apparent. The figure of 
 Martyn threw a long black shadow over 
 the glistening tract of snow, but that of the 
 stranger produced none whatever! The 
 youths hair at first began to bristle be- 
 neath his bonnet ; his innate courage, 
 however, soon mastered his momentary 
 terror, and since he had gone so far, he 
 resolved to go through with it manfully.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIKLD. 
 
 195 
 
 They both went forward and entered 
 the great archway, the gates of which, 
 partly unhinged, swung to and fro, creak- 
 ing and gibbering in the blast; from 
 thence they proceeded to the upper apart- 
 ments, all of which presented the most 
 squalid and miserable appearance ima- 
 ginable. Traversing a long and lofty 
 gallery, they turned off at length into a 
 small square room, the oak wainscoting 
 of which had been converted by neglect 
 and decay into a profound black ; the 
 ceiling was festooned with cobwebs; the 
 hollovv blast whistled through the crevices 
 of the closed shutters, and howled and 
 jabbered in the narrow chimney ; and the 
 door, as soon as they entered, slammed 
 to with a loud and echoing jar, which 
 shook the whole building. 
 
 " Here then," thought Martyn, ** I 
 may expect to have my desire gratified, 
 for never did I behold a place better fitted 
 for a ghostly visitant." 
 
 And scarcely had the words passed his 
 lips, ere a wild unearthly peal resounded 
 through the whole building, which Mar- 
 tyn afterwards declared resembled the 
 sudden discharge of a thousand pieces of 
 artillery ; the floor at the same time ap- 
 peared to rock and heave beneath his 
 feet, and the apartment was filled with 
 clouds of dust, which perhaps had lain 
 undisturbed for years : then there was a 
 noise as of drawn swords sharply encoun- 
 tering each other, which gradually died 
 off, a stifled groan or two succeeded, and 
 all was hushed. 
 
 " Foul work has been committed here," 
 said the youth, partly to himself and ! 
 partly addressed to his companion. On I 
 turning round, however, he found the latter 
 had left him : he elevated his lantern and 
 glanced over the room, buthe was nowhere 
 visible ; and Martyn, notwithstanding his ' 
 natural hardihood, then felt himself alone. I 
 Yet was he far from being discouraged, 
 and unused, beside, to give way to any- , 
 thing that wore an air of superstition, he 
 imputed at once his companion's departure 
 to terror at what he had just witnessed. 
 Still, however, there was a train of gloomy I 
 and frightful ideas that struggled in his \ 
 mind, and would not be repressed : he 
 reverted to the stranger's singular and , 
 mysterious demeanour — his hollow tone ; 
 — his shrouded vizage, and shadowless ' 
 form, till he was almost tempted to believe 
 that his late companion was indeed no ' 
 
 other than the spectre of the murdered 
 ' nobleman. 
 
 I The damp and chilling atmosphere of 
 ; the desolated chamber presently awoke 
 i him to a sense of feeling, and wrapping 
 j his mantle yet closer around him, he 
 j hurried from the ruin and sought his 
 i lodgino- in the village, determined within 
 ! himself to subject it on the following day 
 ' to a strict investigation. 
 I Tlie following day, however, was not 
 fated for it ; and the night, which was 
 bitter cold, saw our friend Martyn per- 
 ambulating at about the eighth hour the 
 already silent street of the village. The 
 clear frosty sky was illuminated with 
 stars, and the moon, in her first quarter, 
 threw a lively radiance over the snowy 
 house-tops and down the narrow street. 
 At about midway, the large lattice of 
 mine host's kitchen made itself perfectly 
 distinguishable by the strong red glare 
 by which it was irradiated — prophetic of 
 the jovial fire that roared within, and to- 
 ward this comfortable beacon the reader 
 will readily imagine our hero to be w-end- 
 ing. Long, however, before he reached 
 it, a distant cry of " Help :" mingled 
 with a violent clash of weapons, arrested 
 his attention. Martyn immediately un- 
 sheathed his rapier, and hastened to the 
 end of the street from whence the sounds 
 seemed to proceed, and there he beheld 
 three men, hard pressed, though stoutly 
 defending themselves against twice their 
 number. One of the distressed party lay 
 at the mercy of his adversary, who was 
 about to pierce him with his sword, as 
 our hero came to his relief; but strange 
 to say, in striking aside the levelled wea- 
 pon, his own became somehow entangled, 
 and glancing on the breast of him whom 
 he strove to assist, it passed through to 
 the very hilt. He was prevented from 
 falling bv our hero, who, aided by the 
 two others, his domestics, hurried him oflT 
 to the inn, where surgical aid was imme- 
 diately procured. All assistance, however, 
 proved vain ; it was evident to every 
 one present that the wounded man had 
 not many moments more to breathe. 
 
 " Stand off!" he feebly murmured to 
 the crowd that had gathered round him. 
 " And you, sir, (to Martyn) come near 
 me. I would fain confess to some holy 
 man, but it may not be — my term of 
 existence is near expired — attend to me 
 — I am Mark Willoughby."
 
 190 
 
 I'ALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 *♦ The lord of Haipholly Hall !" in- 
 terrupted Martyn. 
 
 " The murderer!" replied the stranger, 
 with startling emphasis, ** the accurst of 
 God and man ; he who like unto a second 
 Cain hath roamed the earth a l^^ratricide ! 
 and who now is fasi descending to the hell 
 he merits. Ha ! see there — see — see — 
 horrible phantom ! haunt not thus my 
 dying moments. Ha! he beckons me — 
 his bloody fingers gripe my throat, and 
 
 pull me down — down " 
 
 A friglitful yell succeeded, which curd- 
 led the blood in the veins of every one 
 present, and the wretched man, who had 
 raised himself from the seat in which they 
 had placed him, his starting eyeballs fixed 
 on vacancy, and with a sudden glide half 
 way through the apartment, fell to the 
 ground— a corpse. 
 
 The events which we have just related 
 were circulated with the rapidity of 
 thought, both far and wide j and, cer- 
 tainly widi many exaggerations, reached 
 with unaccountable speed, the ears of a 
 close and attached kinsman of the mur- 
 dered sir Aubrey of Harpholly, who, witli 
 several others, his friends, immediately 
 hastened to the spot. He arrived in the 
 course of a day or two after the death of 
 sir Mark, and took a minute investigation 
 touching the arrival and decease of that 
 nobleman, and afterwards made himself 
 acquainted from Martyn's own lips with 
 every particular relating to his recent 
 visit to Harpholly Hall. I'he following 
 morning, therefore, determined him on 
 causing a strict search to be made j 
 throughout the building. 
 
 '^h^^■ morning came, and saw the j 
 noble kinsman, accompanied by Martyn, j 
 mine host, and several others, diligently i 
 proceeding with their investigation. I 
 Martyn's suspicions, however, attached 1 
 solely to the small oak chamber in the 
 gallery, and this he hinted to tlie director 
 of their search. Accordingly, that was 
 the next object of tlieir approach, and pro- 
 j)hetic of some fearful deed concealed 
 therein — on reaching it they found the 
 ioor strongly locked and barred, though 
 Martyn positively averred that when he 
 and his mysterious companion approached 
 it, it flew open at their touch. By dint 
 of hard wrenching with a crowbar and 
 other implements, they at length suc- 
 ceeded in effecting an entrance, and 
 causing j)art of the floor to be removed, 
 
 they beheld a heap of mouldering bones, 
 among w hich they found a fragment of a 
 sword and a long steel hilted dagger, 
 both covered w ith blood and rust, the im- 
 plements, doubtless, which had aecom- 
 plished the doom of sir Aubrey. Con- 
 tinuing their search beneath the floor, 
 they discovered a heap of gold and silver 
 coin of divers value, but which amounted 
 in all to a good round sum, and this, in 
 reward for his services and dauntless be- 
 haviour, was instantly presented to our 
 hero. 
 
 Little is now left to be added — the re- 
 mains of sir Aubrey Willoughby, under 
 the direction of his kinsman, were removed 
 from their present situation, and depo- 
 sited with fitting ceremony in the vault of 
 his ancestors, while those of sir Mark 
 found a private and unhallowed grave 1 
 
 BURNING OF THE PRINCE, EAST 
 INDIAMAN. 
 
 A French Kast Indiaman, called the 
 Prince, sailed in 1752, on lier outward- 
 bound voyage from Port L'Orient. The 
 day was the 19th of February ; and, as if 
 ominous of future disaster, she got on a 
 bank, and was unable to resume her 
 voyage until the 10th of June. 
 
 They proceeded at first prosperously, 
 and had reached 8 degrees 30 minutes 
 south latitude, and 5 degrees west long- 
 itude from Paris, when the intelligence 
 was brought to the lieutenant M. de la 
 Fond, that smoke was coming up the 
 main hatchway. He immediately ordered 
 the main hatchway to be opened, to 
 ascertain the fact, whicii was found but 
 too true. The captain hastened on deck 
 from the cabin, wliere he had been sitting 
 at dinner. Some sails were dipped into 
 the sea, and the hatchways covered with 
 them, to stifle the Are as much as possible. 
 It was intended to let in the water, be- 
 ween decks, a foot deep, but clouds of 
 smoke issuing from below, and the tlames 
 increasing, prevented this fiom being 
 done. The soldiers on board w ere ordered 
 under arms to prevent confusion, and 
 their connnander exhibited great firnmess 
 in the alarming circumstances. 
 
 Backets were put in request, and the 
 pumps worked into the hold by })ipes, but 
 still the fire gained ground, and defeated 
 every effort to subdue its violence. The 
 yawl, being in the way, was hoisted out, 
 and the boatswain, widi three seamen,
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AXD FIELD. 
 
 197 
 
 took possession of it. They had no oars, 
 but were supplied with them from the 
 ship by three other hands, who leaped 
 overboard. They were desired to return 
 by those on board, but they excused 
 themselves, saying; they had no rudder, 
 and asking for a rope. The flames, 
 however, soon convinced them that their 
 only security lay in keeping away from 
 the vessel, and a breeze springing up, 
 she moved away from them. The crew 
 still courageously exerted themselves, 
 feeling there was no escape if the vessel 
 perished. The master ventured down 
 into tlie hold, but the heat was so intense, 
 he was obliged to return, and they were 
 forced to dash water over him while 
 there, to prevent him being burned. 
 Soon after, the Hames burst forth from the 
 main hatchway. 
 
 The captain now ordered the boats to 
 be got out, but the long boat was slung 
 higli up, and as they were about to put 
 her over the side of the ship the fire 
 caught the mainmast, and she fell down 
 on the guns, bottom upwards. Thus it 
 became impossible to get her out. The 
 fate of all now seemed but tuo clear. To 
 perish by tire or water, was the inevitable 
 doom of every one on board, and it was 
 so felt. Lamentations and bitter cries 
 resounded through the ship, amid the 
 crack hng of the flames. The chaplain, 
 tVom the quarter-deck, gave the crew a 
 general absolution, and then repaired to 
 tile quarter-gallery, to give it to those 
 who had plunged into the sea. The great 
 principle of self-preservation acted upon 
 every one. Yards, spars, tien-coops, every 
 thing on which there was a hope of float- 
 ing, were flung overboard. Many leaped 
 into the waves ; others swam to fragments 
 of the wreck which floated around. The 
 shrouds and yards of the vessel were 
 covered with hesitating men, who could 
 not yet determine on their mode of 
 perishing. A father folded his son in 
 liis arms, and then throwing him into the 
 sea, followed him, and both perished. 
 
 The helm was shifted, and the vessel 
 heeled to the larboard side, which afforded | 
 a few minutes of preservation longer; ' 
 while on the starboard side, the flames 
 raged from stem to stern. Lieutenant 
 de la Fond, on whom the active duty of 
 the fearful time had fallen, and who had 
 been only occupied in trying to save the 
 f^hi{), when all hope of that was over, he 
 
 I begun to contemplate the horrors of his 
 j own situation. Looking around him, 
 I he found he was alone on the deck. He 
 went to the roundhouse, and on his wav 
 he met M. de la Touche, the commandeV 
 of the military that were on board, a brave 
 French officer, who said to him, *' My 
 friend and brother, farewell !" M. de la 
 Fond, on being asked where he was 
 going, replied, " To comfort my friend 
 the captain." 
 
 M. Morin, the captain, stood overcome 
 with grief amid his passengers, among 
 whom were several female relatives. He 
 recommended them to commit themselves 
 to the sea upon hen-coops, while the sea- 
 men swimming with one hand, endea- 
 voured to support them with tlie other. 
 The floatmg masts and yards were co- 
 vered with men, who were striving for a 
 momentary existence. The guns now 
 went off shotted, and destroyed many 
 who were struggling in the waves. The 
 fire in the meantime reached the star- 
 board gallery, and was seen blazing aw- 
 fully within the window of the roundhouse 
 and great cabin. The flames approached 
 M. de la Fond, who, having long seen 
 any further attempt to save the ship ut- 
 terly useless, determined to prolong his 
 life a few hours, if possible, that he might 
 devote them to preparing himself for 
 another world. Yet did he escape, and 
 from his narration is the present account 
 compiled. 
 
 M. de la Fond stripped off his clothes, 
 intending to slip down a yard, one end 
 of which was in the sea, but it became so 
 covered with fugitives, that he rolled over 
 them into the water. A soldier, in a 
 drowning state, got hold of him. De la 
 Fond dived, but in vain, to get free of 
 the man's grasp ; he plunged a second 
 time, the man still holding firmly on, 
 until the poor wretch, having swallowed 
 much water, found his strength fail him 
 as Df. la Fond dived the third time, and 
 probably sensible he was again sinking, 
 instinctively w'ithdrew his grasp. When 
 De la Fond found himself free, he dived 
 again, and rose as far off from the spot 
 as possible. He was now cautious of ap~ 
 proaching any one ; he even avoided the 
 dead bodies, until he was forced to move 
 them aside with one hand, while he made 
 way with the other. At last his strength 
 began to fail for want of respite. He 
 first found part of the ensign-staff. He
 
 198 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY 
 
 put his arm through a loop of rope at- 
 tached to it, to secure himself, until per- 
 ceiving a yarti he seized that, but seeing 
 it scarcely supported a man who had hold 
 of it at the other end, he abandoned it as 
 too slight to afftjrd him assistance. He 
 next fell in with the spritsail yard, which 
 was covered with people, whom he feared 
 to approach. Some were quite naked, 
 others in their shirts ; yet in their own 
 miserable situation they seemed to feel 
 pity for him. 
 
 The captain and M. de la Touche, it 
 appears, remained on board the ship, 
 and perished in her. A terrible and 
 heart-rending sight presented itself every- 
 where around. The mainmast, being 
 burned below the deck, fell overboard, 
 killing many in its fall. It was soon 
 after covered with people and driven 
 about by the waves. De la Fond, seeing 
 two seamen supporting themselves on a 
 hen-coop and some planks, begged them 
 to swim to him with the latter ; this tiie 
 poor fellows did, and, accompanied by 
 others, they thus contrived to paddle 
 along, until they gained the mast where 
 so many had already secured tiiemselves. 
 There, new scenesof horror encompassed 
 the survivors. The chaplain was upon 
 the mast, and in that situation De la Fond 
 received absolution. Two young ladies 
 were also there, who seemed to await their 
 fate with pious resignation ; they were 
 the survivors of six; four had already 
 perished. Not less than eighty persons 
 were upon the mast. They were every 
 moment exposed to death from the dis- 
 charges of the cannon in the ship. The 
 chaplain loo-^ing his hold of the mast, De 
 la Fond contrived to lift him up ; " Let 
 me go," he cried, " I am already half 
 drowned, and it is only prolonging my 
 misery." De la Fond told him, that when 
 lie could support him no longer, they 
 would die together. While in this state 
 he saw one of the ladies fall from the 
 mast and perish ; she was too far off for 
 him to give her any assistance. 
 
 At length De la Fond observed the 
 yawl at no great distance. It was then 
 near five o'clock in the afternoon, He 
 called to the men that he was their lieu- 
 tenant, and requested to be taken in. 
 Tiiey were not averse to this, for they 
 were unable to steer the boat towards land, 
 from not knowing where the nearest shore 
 lav. Thev told liim if lie would swim to 
 
 the yawl, tiiey would take him in. They 
 knew that if they approached the mast, 
 the boat would be sunk by the numbers 
 who would crowd into it, and all must 
 inevitably perish. De la Fond set ofl^ 
 and, summoning every effort, reached the 
 object of his wishes. The pilot and master, 
 following his example, swam to the yawl, 
 and were taken in also. 
 
 The flames continued to rage until the 
 vessel blew up, w Inch happened when the 
 yawl was about a mile and a half distant. 
 The explosion was terrible. A vast dense 
 cloud of smoke ascended from the shi- 
 vered wreck, and obscured the sun for a 
 short time. Pieces of flaming timber 
 were hurled into the air, and falling, 
 crushed the miserable beings who were 
 struggling in the sea for their existence. 
 Even the yawl was not beyond the reach 
 of danger. The spectacle shocked them 
 dreadfully, the sea around them being 
 covered with the burned and mangled 
 bodies of their friends, some of whom re- 
 tained life enough to struggle, and be 
 sensible of the horrors around them. De 
 la Fond, who still possessed his presence of 
 mind, proposed that they should pull to 
 the spot, in the hope of finding some 
 articles of provision, and other things 
 which might be of use to them, for they 
 had nothing in the boat, and could only 
 expect a lingering death by famine if they 
 were unsuccessful in their search. They 
 discovered several barrels, but had the 
 mortification to find they contained no- 
 thing which could be of service to them. 
 Towards night they were fortunate enough 
 to pick up a cask of brandy, fifteen pounds 
 (as well as they could guess) of salt pork, 
 a piece of scarlet cloth, about twenty 
 yards of linen, a dozen pipe staves, and 
 some cordage. The night coming on, 
 they were obliged to pull away from the 
 place, lest the fragments of the wreck, 
 which were floating around them, should 
 endanger their frail boat. They rowed 
 as far as they could from the spot, and, 
 although it was night, began to get their 
 boat into the best trim practicable for 
 sailing. The inner work of the boat was 
 torn up for planks and nails. A seaman 
 fortunately had two needles, and the un- 
 ravelling of the linen supplied thread. 
 Of the piece of scarlet cloth they formed 
 a sail. An oar served for a mast, and a 
 plank made a rudder. They worked so 
 well during the night, that a good part
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIKLI). 
 
 191) 
 
 of their labour was completed by the 
 morning. 
 
 These unfortunate people were two 
 hundred leagues from the nearest land, 
 and did not know in what direction to 
 shape their course They resigned them- 
 selves to the divine will, and prayed to 
 Heaven for aid. Thev now hoisted tlieir 
 sail, and De la Fond and his companions 
 were soon borne far from the place where 
 their vessel had been lost. For eight 
 days and nights they saw no land. They 
 were, several of them, utterly naked, and 
 exposed to the heat of the sun by day, 
 and to the cold air of the night. They 
 had no water to satiate their thirst ; theii 
 mouths were parched, but they were re- 
 lieved by a shower of rain, of which they 
 tried to catch a little in their mouths, and 
 with their hands. They also sucked the 
 sail, which had been wetted by the rain, 
 but unfortunately it was bitter from hav- 
 ing been soaked in the sea, and this 
 bitterness was imparted to die rain water. 
 They bore it with the reflection, that had 
 the rain fallen heavier, the wind, which 
 was favourable, might have gone down, 
 and their progress have been arrested. 
 
 They ascertained the direction in 
 which they should sail, by a constant 
 observation of the rising and setting of 
 the sun and moon. The stars indicated 
 also the way in which they should steer. 
 They allowed themselves a small bit of 
 pork each man once in twenty four hours, 
 but they were obliged on the fourth day 
 to give up taking it, from the irritating 
 effect it produced upon their constitutions. 
 They tried the brandy, but found that it 
 inflamed their stomachs, without in the 
 slightest degree satisfying their dreadful 
 thirst, 'i'hey saw flying fish rise out of 
 the water, but they could not capture them 
 for food, which made the hunger they 
 suffered less endurable. They strove as 
 much as they could to bear up against 
 despair, and the melancholy prospect be- 
 fore them, which scarcely left hope alive 
 in their bosoms. 
 
 It was on the night of the eighth, that 
 De 1h Fond, after being for ten hours at 
 the helm, desired some one to relieve 
 him, and sunk down under his sufferings. 
 His companions were in no better state 
 than himself, and they began to resign 
 themselves to their destiny ; hunger, and 
 thirst, and exposure, having nearly com- 
 pleted their work. On the dawn of day 
 
 they saw land. Though almost in the 
 last stage of exhaustion, the sight raised 
 them to life again. They seemed as if 
 they were new-born, and made every 
 necessary exertion to prevent being 
 drifted away by the current in which tliey 
 now found themselves. They soon reached 
 the coast, which was that of Brazil, in six 
 degrees south latitude, where they en- 
 tered Tresson Bay, not far from Rio 
 Grande, and instantly returned thanks to 
 Heaven for their providential escape. 
 They even rolled themselves in the sand, 
 so transported were they with joy to 
 be safe on shore. Their appearance was 
 any thing but human ; their joy was 
 ** x\Ioody madness laughing wild amid 
 severest woe." Some were quite naked, 
 others had on only their shirts, which were 
 in rags. De la Fond fastened a piece of 
 scarlet cloth about his waist, that he might 
 appear to be chief of the party. They 
 had still to bear up against hunger and 
 thirst, nor did they know whether they 
 were landed amongst civilized men or 
 savages j yet, to have landed anywhere, 
 was the great object gained. 
 
 They were consulting together what 
 should be done, when the Portuguese 
 settled there came down to them in a 
 body of fifty, and inquired who they were 
 and \A hence they came. The moment their 
 tale of misfortune was told, they were led 
 to the dwellings of the settlers, who sym- 
 pathized with their distresses. A river 
 being near the road, they plunged into 
 it, and drank freely, to allay the thirst 
 with which they had been so long tor- 
 mented. They found afterwards that 
 bathing aided greatly in restoring them 
 to health and activity. The principal in- 
 habitant of the place came, and led De la 
 Fond and his companions to h s house, 
 being about half a league from the place 
 where they had landed. He gave them 
 clotlies, and boiled some fish for them, 
 the broth of which they found excellent. 
 Though they required sleep as well as 
 fuod, yet, when they found there was a 
 church, dedicated to St. Michael, only 
 half a league distant, they immediately 
 went thither to diank the Almighty once 
 more for preserving them in such an ex- 
 traordinary manner. They could not 
 return to the house of their kind host, 
 owing to fatigue and the badness of the 
 road, and were obliged to remain in the 
 village, close to the church, where the in-
 
 ■^■■■■■^i^ 
 
 200 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY 
 
 )iabitan(s touclietl with Iheir piety and 
 misfortunes, hastened to administer every 
 thing in their power to relieve them. 
 They did not stay longer than would 
 enable them by rest to return to their 
 former host, who at night treated them 
 with a second meal of tish. They found 
 that they wanted something of a nature 
 more nourishing, and with some brandy 
 they had saved, they bought an ox. 
 
 They weie distant fifteen leagues from 
 Paraiba, and were obliged to travel 
 thither barefooted, and without provisions 
 for their journey. They therefore dried 
 in smoke some of their ox-flesh, and added 
 a little Hour to it, and in three days set 
 off* on their march, escorted by three 
 soldiers. " They marched seven leagues 
 the first day, and were received with 
 great hospitality at the place where they 
 passed the night. The evening of the 
 following day, a serjeant, with twenty- 
 nine men under him, came and escorted 
 them to the commandant of the fortress, 
 who gave them a hospitable reception, 
 sn|)plied their wants, and sent them in a 
 boat to Paraiba, where they arrived at 
 midnight. A Portuguese captain pre- 
 sented them to the governor, vi ho treated 
 them with great kindness. In three days 
 they were conducted, at their own desire, 
 to Fernambuco, accompanied by a cor- 
 poral, in order to obtain a passage in a 
 Portuguese fleet about to sail for Europe. 
 De la Fond's feet were so bad from pre- 
 vious travelling that he could hardly 
 stand, and he was provided with a horse. 
 They reached Fernambuco in four days, 
 where De la Fond met with great at- 
 tention and kindness from the naval and 
 military officers at that place. He was 
 go fortunate as to get a passage for him- 
 self and companions as he expected, and 
 he sailed for Europe on the 5tli of Octo- 
 ber, arriving at Lisbon on the 17th of 
 Deceniber. From Lisbon, procuring a 
 passage to Morlaix, he rested there a tew 
 days, and then repaired to Port TOrient, 
 withhishealth deeply injured by his misfor- 
 tunes, and left, after twenty-eight years 
 of service, in a state of destitution, all he 
 had in the world having gone down in 
 the ship, with three hundred souls, that 
 had perished so calamitously. 
 
 SIR ROGER CURTIS. 
 
 This admiral having received orders, 
 while in London, to take command of a 
 
 I squadron at Portsmouth, tra\elled for dis 
 patch, without servants, plainl}' dressed 
 in the mail coach. As it frequently hap- 
 pens in this sort of conveyance, tjje pas- 
 sengers were unknown to each other, and 
 sir Roger found himself in company with 
 a young man, who proved, by his uniform, 
 to be a mate of one of the East Indiamen 
 then lying at the Motherbank. When 
 they had proceeded within a few miles of 
 Peiersfield, the young otficer pulled out 
 some bread and cheese from a bundle, 
 and invited his fellow travellers to eat. 
 During the repast he entertained them 
 with sea phrases, which induced the ad- 
 miral jocosely to ask him many simple 
 questions relating to nautical tactics. 
 Among others, he demanded how sailors 
 could see at night, and whether they were 
 not compelled to tie the ship to a tree or 
 post until morning ? The mate was not 
 backward in bestowinga few hearty damns 
 upon the ignorance and lubberly lingo of 
 the admiral, who laughed heartilj' at the 
 joke ; and he not only bore the rough 
 observations of the sailor with good hu- 
 mour, but the contemptuous grins of his 
 fellow passengers. On their arrival at 
 Portsmouth, the admiral shook hands with 
 the mate, and went on board his ship. 
 The same da}', sir Roger came on shore 
 j in his broad gold-laced hat and uniform ; 
 I he was attended by several of his barge- 
 i men, and while w-alking up Point street, 
 he met his late fellow passenger, the male 
 I of the Indiaman. Belore the latter could 
 j recover from his surprise, sir Roger ac- 
 costed him \utli, *' What cheer, mess- 
 j mate ; you see I am not the lubber you 
 ! took me for ; but come, as I breakfasted 
 { out of your locker this morning, you shall 
 I splice the main brace with me this 
 evening ; then you may square youryards 
 and run before the wind to the INIotlier- 
 bank." The mate, with astonishment, 
 apologised, as well as he was able, for the 
 liberty he had taken with the admiral, 
 who soon released him from his embar- 
 rassment, and advised him, over a tottle, 
 never to be decoyed in future by false 
 colours; but to look sharply at the mould 
 and trim of every vessel he met, before 
 he suffered her to surprise him. 
 
 October 3d, 16i)2. — The surrender of 
 Limerick, on the Shannon, in Ireland, on 
 this day to the forces of king William, put 
 an end to the war in that country.
 
 PERfLS BY FLOOD AND FIFXD. 
 
 201 
 
 Page 203. 
 
 A TALE OF ELD. 
 
 He's no swaggerer, hostess ; a tame cheater, 
 he : vou may stroke him as gently as a puppy 
 greyhound -.'he will not swagger with a Barbary 
 nen, if her leathers turn back in any show of re- 
 sistance. King Henry the IV, Part IV. 
 
 Faster than spring-time showers comes thought 
 
 on thought ; 
 And not a thought but thinks on dignity. 
 My brain, more busy than the labouring spider, 
 Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. 
 
 King Henr^ VI. Part II. 
 
 It was towards the close of a hot sum- 
 mer clay, in the reign of queen Bess, that 
 a couple of gallants rode into a certain 
 village some thirty miles distant from our 
 good city of London ; their pace was 
 sl(.nv, and the air of both indolent enough, 
 perhaps from the fatigue they had endured, 
 and the garniture of horses and riders 
 were plentifully laden with dust. The 
 youngest of the twain, Gilbert Mowton 
 by name, was the son of a wealthy mercer 
 o' the Chepe, an arrant co.Kcomb, and 
 a choice mark for the bullying swash 
 buckler who rode at his side, his professed 
 and inseparable friend — while his gold 
 lasted. This latter worthy displayed a 
 
 VOL. L— 26. 
 
 tall thick form, cased in a buffleather jer- 
 kin, red hose, huge tanned boots, and a 
 high sugar-loaf beaver, decorated with a 
 single cock's feather ; a dagger, and one or 
 two pistols were stuck in his broad leather 
 belt, and a long basket-hilted toledo hung 
 at his side. Tiie other was dressed in the 
 butterfly frippery which characterized the 
 coxcombs of the period : a moving heap 
 of ribbands, laces, points, silks and bau- 
 bles of hues innumerable, which, to par- 
 ticularise, would be a useless waste of 
 time and paper. This wight, the younger 
 of his companion by some thirteen or 
 fourteen years, to judge from his aspect, 
 was not altogether pleased with his present 
 enterprise, the nature of which will be 
 gleaned from the following dialogue. 
 
 " Psha !" he exclaimed, after a long 
 silence, and sundry fidgetty turnings and 
 twistings in his saddle, '* I have no 
 heart to this business after all, sith I had 
 
 I rather sit i' th' Devil and drink sack ten 
 times over, than go a wild-goose chase 
 
 [ for a girl that loves me not." 
 
 ! ** Love ye not !" cried Hector Rad- 
 
 j leigh. "S'death, lad, she shall love thee ! 
 By the mighty I'rojan whose name I 
 2 D
 
 202 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 bear, thou shall be the very apple of her 
 eye ! — she shall doat upon tliee, man. 
 Therefore, courage, I say, be not beaten 
 with a frown." 
 
 ** The chances are against me," re- 
 plied Movvton J ** report says I've a rival, 
 a favoured rival." 
 
 •* Thou art no coward ?" returned 
 Radleigh. 
 
 *' Dost deem me such ?" quoth Gilbert 
 Mowton. 
 
 " Knew I one that did, Td slit his ears, 
 ay, an' 'twere my very brother." 
 
 " Percy Wilford is a brave gallant," 
 said Gilbert musingly. 
 
 ** Not so brave as thou art," quoth his 
 companion. 
 
 " An' a proper," continued Gilbert un- 
 heeding the observation. 
 
 *' Not as thyself — psha ! — come, be not 
 thus disheartened — cheer up, be bold ! — 
 I tell ye, sir, fortune smiles on ye. The 
 lady hath not seen ye yet ; appear before 
 her, and believ't thou shall win upon 
 her i' th' instant. By the great Hector 
 thou shalt ! — s'life, thou art a very Hy- 
 perion — thy smile is irresistible ; nay, 
 think not ^flatter thee. I have seen thy 
 rival, as thou call'st him — rival no longer 
 when thou hast ta'en the field — s' blood, 
 the moon may no more be compared with 
 the bright sun, than he with thee, my 
 Adonis." 
 
 " How looks he ? — report speaks fairly 
 of him," said Mowton, whose brightening 
 aspect showed that Radleigh's flattery 
 was not bestowed in vain. 
 
 *' How looks he ? Marry, sir, like the 
 ill-favoured wight i' the fairy book — a 
 very mooncalf." 
 
 " Come, come, thou dost him wrong ; 
 he is at least valiant." 
 
 *' Ay, his legs will befriend him from 
 the cut of a sabre, or the range of a bullet, 
 and may bear him far enough from the 
 beautiful Rose, when thou hast entered 
 the lists ; therefore, spur thy jade, and let's 
 along. Marry, sir, have not I stood by 
 ye for these some half score years in 
 weal and woe ? — Have not I fought with 
 ye — fled with ye — ate with ye — drank 
 with ye! — and shall I not stand by ye 
 still ? By the vasty Trojan, mine ancestor, 
 I say thou art my noble Telemachus, thy 
 faithful Mentor J. So, once again, mon 
 cher cavaliero, forward and bravely." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" cried Radleigh, as they 
 rode further into the village, "see, yonder 
 
 swings the flying stag ; here will we rest 
 us for the night, and in the morn we'll 
 away to sir Hildob rand's. — Ho, there I 
 sirrah, varlet 1'^ shouted he, as a man 
 soa)ewhat meanly apparelled crossed the 
 stable-yard, *' lead in our horses, and, 
 d'ye hear, see them well tended." 
 
 ** The person addressed stopped short, 
 surveyed Radleigh from top to toe, and, 
 darting on him a look of contenipt, re- 
 plied — 
 
 " Why, master swashbuckler, in sooth 
 ye seem best fitted for such employment; 
 tend thy beast thyself?" 
 
 " VVhv, dost not serve here ?" inquired 
 Radleio-h. 
 
 ** Why, then, do my command, or 1 
 shall be tempted to break my rapier over 
 thy knave's pate;" 
 
 " Art so valiant ?" quoth the other, 
 tauntingly. 
 
 " S'deaih !" shouted Radleigh, grap- 
 pling his sword hilt, " shall I be braved 
 thus, and by thee ?" 
 
 " Come, come, chafe not, Portingallo, 
 nor finger that spit o' thine ; — hast not 
 courage to draw it, nor wit to use it." 
 
 ** That shall be seen — away — hold me 
 not. Master Mowton ; the blood of mine 
 ancestor boils in my veins. Give me 
 place, I say — let me come at him." 
 
 And therewith the valiant captain pro- 
 ceeded to lug his long heavy weapon 
 from its rusted scabbard, a movement 
 which he was somewhat slow in exe- 
 cuting. 
 
 " You shall not commit affi-ay here," 
 said Movvton, interposing his weapon ; 
 " by my faith you shall not— put up, Rad- 
 leigh — good, sweet Hector, I entreat — I 
 conmiand ye." 
 
 " Away, boy — hence, if you love your 
 life ; the vile coistril hath raged me past 
 endurance, and, by Hector, I will cleave 
 his brisket." 
 
 So saying, he aimed a furious blow 
 at the stranger, who, stepping nimbly 
 aside, evaded it, and making an inniie- 
 diate lunge at the captain's breast, he 
 stretched him lifeless on the ground. 
 Amid the hul)bub which now ensued of 
 persons flocking to the scene, was heard 
 a quick trampling of horses, and presently 
 tour or five horsemen, clad in halt-armour, 
 gallopped into the } ard. The foremost 
 of the party seemed to recognize Mow- 
 ton's adversary ; he suddenly leaped from
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 203 
 
 his horse, and broke through the crowd 
 towards liini. 
 
 '* Fool ! luadman," he cried, passion- 
 ately grasping his arm, "wliat, in the 
 fiend's name, brought ye here ? Fly, fly this 
 moment, or ye go not hence with life. 
 See — see — sir HiJdobrand " 
 
 " I care not," replied the stranger ; 
 •• let him take my life if he will, I'll not 
 budge a foot." 
 
 *' For thine own sake — for mine — nay, 
 then, for Eveline's," entreated the other, 
 •* away this moment." 
 
 " Eveline — 'tis %vell — for her sake I 
 will prolong this wretched existence ; but 
 how r — I am weak, almost helpless." 
 
 *' Here, here !" cried the horseman, 
 catching the reins of Radleigh's horse, 
 *' mount and get thee gone ; 1 know thy 
 retreat; ere nightfall I'll be there — Away, 
 away." 
 
 The stranger drew his tattered mantle 
 closely around him, set spurs to the steed, 
 and instantly dashed thruugh the throng 
 into the village. Meanwhile the agitation 
 of his attendant had communicated itself 
 to sir Hildobrand, who in some part com- 
 prehending the slate of things, spurred 
 eagerly towards him. 
 
 " Moncton," said he in a voice tre- 
 mulous with passion, " who wast went 
 hence so hastily ? Ha ! thy bloodless 
 cheek betrays thee ! — 'twas he — dog, thou 
 art leagued with him !" 
 
 In a frenzy of rage he clutched INIonc- 
 ton by the throat, hurled him furiously to 
 the ground, and dashing his spurs into 
 his steed, departed the stable-yard, fol- 
 lowed by the rest. Moncton arose, and 
 unheeding thewildered looks of the crowd, 
 listened (or a few moments with extreme 
 eagerness. Shortly the report of a pistol 
 was heard — it was repeated again, and 
 again, though at a considerable distance. 
 Moncton now remounted his horse, and 
 rode away, leaving the assembly to won- 
 der and confer on the scene they had 
 witnessed. 
 
 " So, master Lenton," said one, an 
 eminent clothier, who was sojourning for 
 that night at the inn, to the portly host 
 thereof^ " what may tliis evil forbode ? 
 Marry, methinks yon gallant that went 
 hence but now had more than common 
 cause for his quick retreat." 
 
 ** God's life, master Piper," answered 
 mine' host, " I know not well what to 
 make on't. Sir Hildobrand is a fearful 
 
 man, and a revengeful ; but mum — the 
 least said o' that tlie better. Let us in, 
 and see how fares the wounded man." 
 
 The first object that met their view, 
 when they entered the kitchen, was Rad- 
 leigh, who lay stretched upon a long oak 
 table, to every appearance dead. Around 
 him stood and sat the chief inhabitants of 
 the place, listening with ludicrous gravity 
 to the learned and somewhat lengthy 
 harangue of the village -^sculapius — 
 
 " A lean and slipper'd pantaloon, 
 With spectacles on nose," 
 
 who, surrounded with philters, lancets, 
 and other instruments of his profession, 
 busied himself about the body. 
 
 " Ah, ah !" said he, as he laid bare the 
 breast and proceeded to prube the wound, 
 *' had but my aid been called in some 
 five minutes sooner, I had saved him — he 
 is now past recall. Look you, friends, 
 the blade hath passed upon the vital prin- 
 ciple. Observe you this now," — he began 
 to apply a lancet to the wound ; but no 
 sooner had its point touched it, than Rad- 
 leigh, to the amazement and terror of all, 
 started from his prostrate position, and 
 aimed a blow at the man of drugs, that 
 sent him headlong to the floor. 
 
 " Ah ! thou blood-thirsty Moloch !" he 
 furiously exclaimed, while his eyes 
 gleamed vengeance on the chirurgeon ; 
 " thou fiend ! thou superannuated vampire 1 
 approach me once again witli thy danui- 
 able knives, and I will belimb thee." 
 
 •' Hold him, friends !— hold hmi back, I 
 beseech ye," cried the mediciner ; — " he 
 is in high madness, his brain is turned ; 
 alas ! poor gentleman." 
 
 " Friends ! gallants ! unhand me — I 
 am not crazed — believe me I will harm 
 none here ; but for thee, thou, cursed Al- 
 bumazar, by the ponderous Hector I will 
 dismember thee. Master Mowton, wilt 
 thou not assist me here ?" 
 
 " Is't really and in certain sooth thy 
 own bodily self, and no delusion ?" said 
 the latter person, with a look of fear and 
 incredulity. 
 
 " Ay, is't in truth thyself, fair sir ?" 
 echoed mine host, equally alarmed. 
 
 ♦• If thou art Sathanas," said the as- 
 tounded clothier, " I say unto thee, avaunt. 
 
 •*'Tis the devil hath entered into his 
 form," cried the mediciner ; " but, lo ! I 
 will cast him out." 
 
 He was a physician of the mind as well 
 as of the body, and he therewith drew
 
 204 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY- 
 
 OR, 
 
 forth a smull pocket-bible, pulled his 
 spectacles ovr;r his eyes, and commenced 
 a passage therefrom. 
 
 This was too much for Radleigh's 
 patience, and his arm was again lifted to 
 strike, despite of his wound, which it 
 afterwards appeared was but of a trivial 
 nature ; the sword of his opponent had 
 taken a sidelong direction, so that it pre- 
 sently became apparent to all that the 
 valorous captain had sustained a greater 
 fright than hurt. 
 
 Each being now pretty well satisfied 
 that it was Radleigh in his own propria 
 personcPy and no phantom usurping his 
 form, they no longer viewed him with 
 doubt and dread, but studiously aimed (o 
 propitiate his anger ; and they so far suc- 
 ceeded, that even the detestible chii urgeon 
 grew tolerable to him at length, and ap- 
 plied bindings to his wound j but lie had 
 well nigh overthrown himself again by 
 venturing to prescribe a narcotic drink. 
 
 ** By the immortal Hector !" roared 
 the captain, " I will drink no other drink 
 this goodly night but sack. Think'stthou, 
 thou vile mediciner, that I will drain thy 
 damned decoctions while we have sack i' 
 th' land, s'blood no. But come, tremble 
 not, my knight o' the pestal, give's thy 
 hand — Ha ! by my beard, now I've a 
 mind to ransack every corner o' thy den, 
 for the villainous prank thou would'st ha' 
 played me." 
 
 " By my halidome, good Hector," 
 quoth Mowton with affected archness, "I 
 am glad thou art not worms meat." 
 
 " In sooth, fair sir," spake the clothier, 
 ** I thought the villain had done for ye." 
 
 *' Look ye, gentles," said Radleigh, 
 who now, flanked with flaggon and black 
 jack, and enveloped in tobacco smoke, 
 was in paradise itself — " look ye, sirs, it 
 was not my fault o' fence that gave yon 
 springate — whom the foul fiend rive for 
 filching my steed — 1 say it was not my 
 ill sword craft that gave him the best on't ; 
 for see ye, have not I ta'en lessons from 
 the first masters o' the day, yea, and de- 
 feated the Sieure de Morabin himself, 
 w hom ye all know to be a most proper 
 gentleman at his weapon. Look ye, 'twas 
 the same rent which entangled mine arm 
 for a moment that lost me the vantage." 
 
 ** God's life, Radleigh though," uttered 
 Mowten, " I thouglit ye worse ta'en on, 
 since ye lay so long senseless." 
 
 ** Sir, it is a nature which to some few 
 
 belongs. It was my chance to be beaten 
 down once while I served in Flanders, 
 covered o'er with gashes, and in that state 
 I lay some thirty days ; at the expiration 
 of which time I awoke — invigorated and 
 refreshed." 
 
 To cut short a scene wliich, gentle 
 reader, must already have tired thy pa- 
 tience, we will leave the motley group to 
 their potations, and quit the village inn 
 lor a knightly hall. 
 
 In a lofty and spacious apartment of 
 Hildobrand Hall, sat the much dreaded 
 knight himself — a tall, powerful looking 
 man, somewhat advanced in years, though 
 his carriage was as firm and stately as it 
 had been in his earliest youth. His face 
 wore a stern and rather sinister expression 
 that instantly struck the beliolder with a 
 fear and dislike ; his head was almost 
 bald, and his brow was marked with 
 several long deep furrows, the work of 
 close and incessant study, more than the 
 trace of time. Behind die knight's chair 
 stood his favourite slave Octar, erect and 
 with his arms folded on his breast. His 
 beautiful and gigantic form, of ebon black- 
 ness, was arrayed in a buff shape, leaving, 
 however, the arms, neck, and legs bare, 
 and a small, loose jacket of crimson velvet, 
 sprinkled profusely with gold flowerings, 
 sandals, turban, heavy gold rings' clasp- 
 ing his throat and wrists, and a dagger of 
 exquisite workmanship, stuck in a belt, 
 finished his equipment. 
 
 It was the morning which succeeded 
 the events just narrated. Sir Hildobrand 
 was perusing a pamphlet, wherein lie 
 seemed deeply interested, though a close 
 observer might have seen at once that his 
 thoughts had other matters for digestion. 
 His eyes wandered occasionally round the 
 room, as if his mind was in a state of 
 deep perplexity and incertitude. He at 
 length arose, threw' the book aside, and 
 called — " What, ho I who waits ?" 
 
 A vassal appeared. 
 
 ♦' Where's Moncton ? — hath lie been 
 seen ?" 
 
 " He's below, your worship." 
 
 *' Ha ! good, send him hither. I will 
 now tax him closely, and if I find he hath 
 played me false, let him look to the con- 
 sequences. Octar — thou art true to thy 
 master !" 
 
 ** The slave replied w idi flashing eyes, 
 and an appeal to the hilt of his dagojer, 
 whicii satisfied sir Hildobrand more than
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 205 
 
 words could have done. Monctoii entered 
 and with a bold and dignified air con- 
 fronted his angry lord. The knight seated 
 himself, compressed his lips, and while 
 his visage assumed its most odious ex- 
 pression, he began thus : — 
 
 ** So, sirruh, what am I to think o' this 
 goodly work of thine ?" 
 
 " If, sir Hildobrand, you allude to the 
 occurrence of last night," said Moncton, 
 calmly, " tliink of it as you best please. 
 I rendered assistance to a man over- 
 powered by numbers, a friendship that I 
 should have rendered to any in the like 
 situation." 
 
 ** And the man ye aided — ha ! — " 
 
 " Is the foe of sir Hildobrand Wendor, 
 yet I befriended him. I could not forget 
 The honesty of my nature." 
 
 " Look ye, Moncton," said the knight 
 sternly, " ye have dealt falsely with me ; 
 that I will overlook, so ye tell me where 
 he hides." 
 
 " I know not," replied Moncton. 
 
 ** Slave, thou liest I — hark ye, sirrah, 
 tell it i' the instant — reveal to me his 
 lurking-place ; ye know I'm not to be 
 trifled with." 
 
 " Sir Hildobrand, I have said J know 
 it not." 
 
 " 'Tis well," returned his master, and 
 glanced significantly at the slave, who 
 instantly seized Moncton in his herculean 
 
 grasp. " To the Harmene's dungeon 
 
 with him ." 
 
 " Ha — hold — one moment ; send me 
 not there ; wherever else ye will — but 
 not there." 
 
 " Confess, then !" 
 
 " Malicious demon, never !" 
 
 " Hence with him j" 
 
 Moncton was dragged off*. ** So — now 
 to other matters. Gilbert Mowton halh 
 arrived ; — 'tis well, he shall have the girl, 
 and I shall be rid of her. But how to 
 dispose of this other torment — this basi- 
 lisk in my path : I tremble while he 
 breathes ; — would I knew his covert — 
 Moncton knows it ; ha ! by Heaven, the 
 slave shall tell it ! — I'll have it from him, 
 if I have him torn asunder inch by inch ! 
 Who comes ? Evelina, still so gloon)y, 
 girl ? Come, come — away with this grief : 
 look blooming ; thy husband hath arrived." 
 
 ** Husband, sir Hildobrand ?" 
 
 " Ay, girl, that is, he who shall be so — 
 I mean master Gilbert Mowton." 
 
 " Know, sir Hildobrand, that I will 
 
 welcome death sooner. Never sliall this 
 hand be given to Gilbert Mowton ! Leave 
 me the free disposal of my person, I be- 
 seech ye ! though you have usurped my 
 fortune, you have no claim to that." 
 
 ** Proud girl! beware how thou urgest 
 me," cried sir Hildobrand, passionately 
 grasping her wrist, ** I tell thee, Gilbert 
 Mowton or abject beggary is thine — take 
 which thou list." 
 
 •' Anything is welcome, rather than 
 thy savage tyranny," answered she. 
 
 The knight looked around him with 
 kindling eyes, and seemed as he could 
 have stabbed her on the spot. He threvy 
 her hand violently from him — and, in so 
 doing, a billet chanced to fall unheeded 
 from lier bosom. Sir Hildobrand quickly 
 caught it up, bade her retire, and read as 
 follows : — 
 
 " Dearest Evelina, — To-morrow night, 
 at eleven, expect me beneath thy chamber 
 window : thy rescue may be effected 
 with ease. Fail not, as you value the 
 existence, of your ever constant, 
 
 Lionel. 
 
 ** A priest awaits at the chapel-ruins, 
 to unite us for ever." 
 
 " So, so — this falls out well. To-night 
 at eleven — hum — it will be moonless j 
 master Mowton may be well taken for 
 Lionel, and so drops my prey at once 
 into my grip. Holy Mary ! this is ex- 
 cellent — I'll to Mowton straight, give 
 him most hearty welcome, and counsel 
 him of his enterprize." 
 
 ** Look ye, fair sir," said Radleigh to 
 Mowton, as they walked forth into the 
 
 farden, after their conference with sir 
 [ildobrand, *' I have had some proof o' 
 these love matters in my day, and trust 
 me, on my knowledge thereof^ that it is a 
 brainless and a witless act in a lover's 
 approaching his mistress, without he go 
 armed with a sonato, or a duetto, or the 
 like ; for what says ^V^ill Shakespe ! — ha ! 
 says he not that music is the food o' love ? 
 Wherefore I say, serenade her — and do't 
 bravely. Look you, sir, were you in 
 Spain, or in Naples, or in Venice, or in 
 many other parts beside, and there neg- 
 lected to treat your mistress with a nightly 
 serenade — yea, though it rained ven- 
 geance — 'slife ! you would offend past 
 pardon. Therefore, I advise thee, be 
 poetical — woo the muses, mine Orpheus, 
 and trust me, thou shalt thrive.
 
 206 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY; OR, 
 
 " Psha !" said Mowton, " thou well 
 know'st I have no skill in such craft." 
 
 ** Why, now, lo' you there ! Mass ! I 
 could serenade you from morn to mid- 
 night, and from midnight to morn again, 
 yea, as easily as I could drink, sack." 
 
 " [n faith, I do not think 'twill win 
 upon her — she is so heauteous." 
 
 " Out upon't, why, thou'rt a very 
 coward in the lists of beauty. Couragio, 
 man ! be bold — pluck up — look cheerly. 
 Not win upon her ? — ha ! — what said sir 
 Hildobrand ? — said he not that she doth 
 prize such wooing ? 'Sdeath ! take heart : 
 beauteous — why thou wouldst not have 
 her a Medusa — praise her, man — flatter 
 lier — say she hath charms past mortal, 
 and she is in thine arms. Flattery be 
 thine aim ; what woman can resist it — 
 ha !'• 
 
 " But in sooth, gentle Hector, I have 
 no skill in rhvming." 
 
 ** Come, come, sir, let not that affect 
 you ; an' that were all, I could fashion 
 you some score of sonatas myself — as thus 
 let me devise — it should be ardent and 
 eloquent. Aha ! I hav't — " 
 
 By the valiant Hector, larly, 
 
 By the immortal f^ods that made ye, 
 
 By thy dazzling eyes so jetty, 
 
 1 "swear thou'rt most infernal pretty ; 
 
 By thy form so straight and taper, — 
 
 Straight and taper straight and 1 
 
 Here the worthy captain paced impa- 
 tiently to and fro, now beating his brow, 
 and now halting with folded arms, vainly 
 endeavouring to hammer out a rhyme 
 with " taper." 
 
 " Psha ! psha!" he at length exclaimed, 
 " an' 'twere not for the measure, I could 
 run you on for an hour together : thus it 
 is that so many a brilliant idea must be 
 thrown away tor the sake o' rhyme. I 
 cannot cramp you up my thoughts an' 
 my life depended on it. But come, no 
 matter, I'li have you one fashioned by 
 night. So, for the present, mon cava- 
 liero, adio !" 
 
 We must now revert to the fugitive 
 Lionel, whom the reader will recollect we 
 left pursued by sir Hildobrand. He had 
 no sooner gained the end of the village, 
 than leaping a high fence he dived im- 
 mediately into a thick wood, whose large 
 and tangled branches, assisted by the 
 growing darkness, screened him at once 
 from his pursuers ; they accordingly de- 
 
 sisted from the attempt. The knight, 
 however, in the chagrin of his disappoint- 
 ment, tired his pistols at random into the 
 wood, and reluctantly returned : Lionel 
 pricked on widi unabated speed, and 
 halted not for a moment until, reaching 
 the edge of a steep declivit}-, he dis- 
 mounted, and securing his horse to a tree 
 awaited impatiently the approach of 
 Moncton. 'I'rue to his word, the latter 
 presently came, and learned from Lionel 
 that he had apprised his mistress of his 
 intendment to rescue her the following 
 night by means of a note, which having 
 fixed to an arrows he fired into her chamber. 
 Moncton well knew his guerdon, when 
 he appeared before sir Hildobrand ; but 
 then he knew again that he possessed a 
 firm and steady ally in the slave Octar. 
 It was, therefore, agreed on, that Liunel 
 should approach Hildobrand Hall the fol- 
 lowing night at eleven, as proposed in his 
 billet to Evelina. The consequence of its 
 having been found by the knight, and the 
 subsequent events, we have now to detail. 
 
 The approach of night had been looked 
 forward to by all concerned in our nar- 
 rative with feet-lings of the deepest anxiety, 
 and the approach of the eleventh hour 
 sutnmoned each to his adventure. 
 
 Radleigh had been exceedingly zealous 
 in the cause of his friend ; he had pro- 
 vided both music and musicians, and 
 marshalled them at the appointed hour 
 beneath Evelina's chamber window, 
 where Mowton shortly joined him. 
 
 *' You have keptyour promise," said he. 
 
 " Marry, have I, fair sir," answered 
 the captain, " an' you shall search me 
 England over again and again, before you 
 shall find me a choicer company. Hark 
 ye, sirrah — you wi' the the cittern or git- 
 tern, or whatever ye term it, ye have the 
 words 1 gave ye ?" 
 
 " Ay, sir," said the minstrel. 
 
 " 'I'is well — we'll hear't." 
 
 Accordingly they began, and, accom- 
 panied by the instruments, the following 
 stanzas were sung in a manner that cer- 
 tainly was well calculated to woo beauty 
 from the arms of sleep. 
 
 SERENADE. 
 Ni.^ht's pall is expanded, 
 
 The daylight is gone — 
 Hark! Philomel sings 
 
 Her farewell to the sun : 
 'Tis the moment for fleeing, 
 
 No danger is near — 
 Haste, haste, Evelma, 
 
 Thy lover is here.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 207 
 
 Haste, haste, Evelina, 
 
 All's silence and gloom, 
 No radiance is streaming 
 
 From starlight or moon : 
 Unveil thy bright eyne, love. 
 
 Haste hither to me— 
 Thy lover is waiting, 
 
 Sweet ladv, for thee. 
 
 As the song proceeded, the casement 
 above slowly opened, and Evelina looked 
 forth. Wondering in some degree that 
 music, so well calculated to create alarm, 
 should be attendant on her flight, yet not 
 doubting that those whom she saw were 
 any others than Lionel and his compan- 
 ions, she stealthily descended the rope- 
 ladder that was thrown up to her, and 
 sunk into the arms of Gilbert Mowton. 
 ISir Hildobrand was among them; he 
 had left Octar to dispose of Lionel, while 
 he himself effected the union of Mowton 
 and Evelina, tliereby to secure himself at 
 once in his designs of villany and usur- 
 pation. 
 
 Lionel, on his approach to the Hall, 
 accompanied by several whom he had 
 summoned to his assistance, was instantly 
 met and welcomed by Moncton, wliom 
 the slave had secretly released. Having, 
 therefore, made prisoners of all that had 
 adhered to sir Hildobrand, they hastened 
 to the rescue of Evelina. 
 
 To the chapel ruin, as specified in Li- 
 onel's note, they at once directed their 
 steps, doubting not that as he had in- 
 structed a friar to wait him there at the 
 eleventh hour, that it was their intention 
 to consummate the bridal. The path 
 leading unto it ranged a wild and dreary 
 wilderness of trees, stunted furze bushes, 
 swamps and stagnant pools traihng and 
 lurking amid the long rank grass and 
 weeds. It was while piloting their way 
 through this dismal chaos, that Lionel 
 and his party heard a loud plunge into 
 some morass near them, accompanied by 
 the screams of a female, and the hubbub 
 of many persons in endeavouring to ex- 
 tricate the submerged party. Their 
 pursuers were upon them before they 
 were aware, and Lionel, aided by the 
 glimmer of a few torches, was at no loss 
 to recognise sir Hildobrand and Evelina, 
 who were both in the swamp up to the 
 saddle girths of their steeds, and becom- 
 ing more and more imperilled. Lionel 
 took a hasty and careful survey of the 
 scene, spurred round to another quarter 
 of the morass, and driving at once into 
 
 it, he caught hold of the bridle reins of 
 the lady's steed, and brougiit iier in safety 
 to the land. Sir Hildobrand follow etl 
 close behind, and recognising Lionel, 
 aimed at him a violent blow with a dagger 
 as he sprung from tlie marsh. It was in- 
 tercepted, however, by the timely inter- 
 position of Octar, who forced aside the 
 knight's arm — a deed which cost liim his 
 own life, though it saved that of Lionel ; 
 for sir Hildobrand, finding himself thus 
 thwarted by one whom he deemed his 
 truest adherent, started into absolute 
 frenzy, and summoning his entire strength, 
 drove his dagger into the slave's bosom 
 up to the very hilt, and turned again upon 
 Lionel. Tiie latter, however, was now 
 prepared; he had consigned the lady 
 to the care of Moncton, and confronted 
 with ready weapon the maddened knight. 
 Scarce a pass, however, was exchanged 
 between them, ere Lionel's sword was 
 through him : sir Hildobrand reeled in 
 his saddle and tumbled headlong to the 
 earth. 
 
 " Reptile !" he groaned forth, raising 
 himself on his elbow, and gnashing his 
 teeth in disappointed vengeance, " thou 
 hast triumphed o'er me — had'st thou a 
 thousand lives, I would ha' ta'en them 
 all — my curses cling to thee and thine for 
 ever !" 
 
 ** By my faith he hath died game, 
 however," exclaimed the well known 
 voice of Radleigh, w ho now sided heart 
 and hand with the prevailing party; and 
 having at length succeeded in placing 
 himself and Mowton on a tolerable footing, 
 attended the nuptials, danced, sung, 
 brawled, and vapoured, and finally drained 
 a five-gallon flaggon of sack to the healths 
 of sir Lionel and ladv Wendor. 
 
 WAR. 
 
 Fortune and success are apt to re- 
 present things as glorious, which in their 
 nature are detestable. What millions 
 have the phantom false- glory sacrificed at 
 her altars ! The actions of great con- 
 querors, however unworthy, are often 
 vieived in distant ages and remote regions, 
 not uith wonder and amazement only, 
 but even with envy. But the prospect 
 of eternity must convince us that to die 
 for the service of our fellow creatures is 
 really glorious ; whilst those who trample 
 upon a prostrate world and violate tlie 
 laws of humanity, are but as dreadful
 
 20B 
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 storms or pestilential blasts, to execute I 
 the wrath of an offended God. Men who 
 trace the paths of glory by the lig^ht of 
 fire and sword, can iiave no right to be j 
 remembered, except it be witli horror or j 
 indignation. j 
 
 PUNISHMENT ON BOARD OF A 
 MAN-OF-WAR. 
 
 With a sound that made the flesh of 
 many a stout heart creep, the first lash of 
 nine simultaneous strokes fell on the top- 
 man's back, whizzing through the strong 
 breeze that filled the sails of the frigate, 
 and urged her dashingly on her course : 
 but beyond the sighing of the nigiitwind 
 through the straining rigging, and the 
 mournful plashing of the water thrown 
 off by the bows, not another sound seemed 
 to be produced by the wanton exhibition 
 of torture. For the stoicism with which 
 it was borne, the sufferer might almost 
 liave been deemed some flesh-coloured 
 piece of marble, saving that as the arm of 
 the scourger was raised to repeat the blow 
 there gradually stole over the seaman's 
 honest shoulders the blue livid lines 
 streaked with blood, where the flesh had 
 just been bruised and lacerated, and 
 where the kindred colours of the lantern- 
 liglit fell strongly terrible and bright. 
 
 " One !" said the master-at-arms, in a 
 deep bell-like tone, well fitted to knell 
 forth the number of those unjust stripes. 
 No other voice was heard. I'he seamen 
 seemed to gaze on the unusual spectacle 
 with awe, and the officers with a mixture 
 of surprise, concern, anger, and impotence. 
 But other human sound was there none. 
 " Whiz !" flew the second lash, and a 
 second number ofsimilarlines were scored 
 on the back of the unfortunate fellow, 
 intersecting at every angle and curve 
 those already so direfully written there. 
 
 " Two i" said the master-at-arms — a 
 third, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, fell — and 
 so on, till the dozen was complete, and 
 the blood slowly trickled down Herbert's 
 back from points more severely wounded 
 than the rest, and stood congealed by tlie 
 cold air in others, which had more escaped 
 the repeated cutting of the lash ; still not 
 a sound escaped iiim. He could not even 
 have been noticed to breathe, much less 
 sigh ; nor was Indian chief ever more 
 motionless under the tomahawk of a 
 fellow-savage. It was as if his indomit- 
 able soul disdained to give the slightest 
 
 proof that the unjust infliction could at 
 all reach the mind, however it might dis. 
 port its wantonness on the enslaved body. 
 
 As soon as the twelfth lash was com- 
 plete, the master-at-arms moved a step 
 towards the captain, and, touching his 
 hat, reported, " One dozen, sir !" 
 
 " Step forward another boatswain's 
 mate," was tiie captain's reply. The 
 man who had just given the last dozen 
 resigned his position to a brother execu- 
 tioner. The arm of the successor was 
 already raised to begin the second dozen, 
 when the captain demanded, " Will you 
 tell me now, sir, who threw that marling- 
 spike out of your top ?" 
 
 '• I would if I could, sir," replied 
 Herbert, in a coarse husky voice. 
 
 " Do your duty, boatswain's mate !" 
 said the captain, cutting off by this order 
 any fartlier explanation in this matter. 
 Another dozen followed, and again the 
 same question was put with the same re- 
 ply. A fresh boatswain's-mate, and another 
 dozen was inflicted. Still, though barely 
 able to articulate the denial, Herbert still 
 protested his utter ignorance of the whole 
 affair. After receiving these four dozen 
 lashes, he was cast off, and allowed to 
 retire below upon the doctor's hands. 
 
 THE TALISMAN OF CHARLEMAIGNE. 
 
 When the tomb of this great emperor 
 at Aix-le-Chapelle, was opened, his bones 
 were found enveloped in Roman vest- 
 ments ; his double crown of France and 
 Germany was on his fleshless brow ! and 
 his pilgrim's wallet was by Ijis side, as v^ell 
 as his good sword, Joyeuse, with which, 
 according to the monks of St. Denis, he 
 clove in two a knight clothed in complete 
 armour. His feet rested on a buckler of 
 solid gold, given to him by Pope Leo, and 
 round his neck was suspended the talisman 
 which rendered him victorious, and which 
 was formed of a piece of the true cross, 
 sent to him by the Empress Irene. It was 
 enclosed in an emerald attached to a large 
 chain of golden links. The burghers of 
 ' Aix-la-Chapelle presented it to Napoleon 
 I in 1811, when he entered that town. One 
 1 day in a playful mood he threw it over the 
 neck of queen Hortense, declaring that 
 I he wore it on his breast at the battles of 
 I Austerlitz and Wagram, as Charlemaigne 
 j had worn it for nine years. From that 
 I day the precious relic has never been se- 
 parated from the duchess de St. Leu.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIEI D. 
 
 209 
 
 
 NOTH GOTTES. 
 
 A STOaV OF THE RHEINGAU. 
 
 ApTiiR having descended from the 
 forest of Niederwald you reach Rude- 
 sheim. In approaching it by water, yon 
 enjoy one of (he most lovely views in tlie 
 whole range of the Rhine. Tiiis pretty 
 town extends its buildings all along the 
 river bank, and at the furthest end, the 
 vanes, pinnacles, and turrets of die ancient 
 family castle of the knightly Bromsers 
 add the most picturesque ornament to the 
 landscape. Tlie Rochusburg displays 
 itself on the left; in front is the town of 
 Bingen, immediately opposite which, on 
 its craggy but vine-covered cliff, appear 
 the remains of the castle of Ehrenfels — 
 while the dismal remains of the I\Jause- 
 tlunm, or Tower of Rats, are seen sul- 
 lenly mouldering on its traditionary isle. 
 Jt is on the mountain behnid Rudesheiui 
 that the vineyards are situated which 
 produce the choice wine to which it gives 
 a name. 
 
 The old castle of Rudesheim is of a 
 square form, and the interior has been re- 
 stored in admirable taste by the present 
 
 VOL. I.— 27. 
 
 Page 21;,. 
 
 possessor. It is said to [jave stood at the 
 head of a bridge which connected it wiili 
 theDrusithorof the Roman fort at Bingen, 
 on the other side of the river. Conrad 
 Bromser, who flourished somev\ here about 
 the end of the tenth centuiy, married an 
 heiress of the house of Rudeshein). In 
 the grand saloon of the castle, you find 
 portraits of numerous members of that 
 family, who are represented two and two, 
 husband and wife, on the same canvass, 
 with their titles, tlie dates, and the armo- 
 rial bearings, each with its little legend 
 in verse ; and in the state chamber is ex- 
 hibited the great bridal bed, adorned with 
 sculptures and paintings from the Old 
 Testament. With this castle is connected 
 the following history. 
 
 If ever earthly love was pure, if ever 
 earthly love was happy, it was that which 
 sprang, grew, and blossomed, in the 
 bosonis of Siegehoy of Ehrenfels, and 
 Grant he of Rudeshein). It was was at the 
 period when St. Bernard preached the 
 Crusade at Spire, ih;tt the lady's father, 
 John Bromser of Rudesheim, following 
 the example of many odier knights of the 
 Rheingau, assumed the cross and re- 
 2 E
 
 210 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 paired to Palestine. In his absence liis 
 only child Oranthe resided at Rudesheini 
 and Eliren (els alternately, under the tute- 
 lage of Siegefroy's widowed mother, j 
 The amity between the two houses of Ru- | 
 deheim and Ehrenfels niigiit be said lo be 
 traditionary — it descended from father to 
 son, and the memory of man could not 
 record its violation, \\hen John Brom- 
 ser, therefore, left the towery borders of 
 his own noble river, for the palmy wil- j 
 demesnes of Palestine, the arrangement 
 that placed Oranthe, a beautiful little 
 maiden of fifteen, under the care of the 
 widow of Ehrenfels, was considered by 
 both parties as a matter of course. To 
 the knight of Rudesheim it was a source 
 of satisfaction that, in leaving his castle 
 and domain, in order to follow wjiat he j 
 considered a summons from heaven, he 
 had provided so satisfactory a protection 
 for his beautiful child: while the matron 
 of Ehrenfels glowed with affectionate 
 pride at the artless enthusiasm of the 
 youthful Oianthe, when, after the first 
 agony of grief on her sire's departure had 
 exhausted itself, she flung her white arms 
 around her protectress, and declared that 
 while her father was absent, Rudeheim 
 should cease to be her home. 
 
 '♦ All that is left me to love is at Eh- 
 renfels," exclaimed the maiden, — " and 
 at Ehrenfels will I strive to be loved even 
 as I love!'' 
 
 When the fair Oranthe made this decla- 
 ration, she was hanging fondly on the 
 bosom of the lady of Ehrenfels, her bright 
 hair, hung in silky luxuriance, veiled her 
 cheek arid waved over her neck j but 
 when, after receiving a kiss of maternal 
 tenderness from her guardian, she shook 
 back those sunny clusters, and raised her 
 soft blue eyes that still swam with tears. 
 a sudden change of emotion appeared to 
 thrill through lier frame ; on cheeks pale j 
 with grief a rich crimson was suff*used, 
 and even the instantly drooping eye 
 could not extinguish the sudden light that 
 flashed there. Siegefroy ought not to 
 have been so near when that unguarded 
 speech was uttered, and it was still worse 
 of him to allow such a provoking smile to 
 play round his full red lips ; — true, he 
 and Oianthe had been companions from 
 children, but then love ! it is an awkward 
 thing to talk about at any time, and si ill 
 more awkward when young ladies talk of 
 it, and avvkwardest of all when they are 
 
 overheard by him they have, of all otlipr^ 
 ocupied w'ith the idea in their little hearts. 
 Siegefroy of Ehrenfels was ten years 
 older than Oranthe of Rudesheim, which 
 places him, at the period we write of, in the 
 blooming prime of five-and-twenty. Now, 
 ISiegefi oy was superb in masculine beauty, 
 in lieight, a youthful Titan, with muscu- 
 lar symmetry that Antinous might have 
 envied, united, of course, with perfect 
 elegance of maintiem ; and within this 
 goodly temple dwelt the kindest, gentlest, 
 noblest heart, that ever conferred a bene- 
 fit or forgave a wrong. 
 
 Youthful in years, and still more youth- 
 ful in appearance, the petite figure of 
 Oranthe looked fairy-like when Siegefroy 
 was near; you would never think that 
 two beings so unlike would fall in love 
 with each other; yet, or tradition foully 
 lies, they perfectly " doated !" 
 
 If Oranthe wanted to detain Siegefroy 
 from his beloved chace, it was but strik- 
 ing a '(ew chords of a Rhenish melody 
 upon her harp, and the boar-spear would 
 be instantly resigned. If Siegefroy de- 
 sired to see Oranthe's cheek catching new 
 colour in the woodland sports, he had but 
 to lead below her window the little white 
 jennet he had given her, and music, and 
 embroidery, and even thrice-loved poesy 
 itself was thrown aside, for an animated 
 gallop by the side of Siegefroy. Oranthe 
 had been taught the beautiful art of illu- 
 minating by the sisters of the Abbey of 
 St. Clement; and Siegefroy, (who would 
 have thought it derogatory to have been 
 able to write his own name,) used to lean 
 over her with much enamoured attention 
 while her little white fingers were 
 laying on the vermilion, the azure, and 
 the gold, in large flourished capitals, or 
 quaint devices, or elaborate portraitures, 
 on the yellow glossy parchment, until, in 
 time, his own great hairy hand could go 
 through all the variegated intricacies of 
 the German text, both great and small. 
 Oranthe, in return, was not slow in imi- 
 tating Siegefroy in all the mysteries oftlie 
 tournament, the chace, and the menage. 
 She could feather a shaft almost as well 
 as himself; was the best horsewoman in 
 the Rheingan ; and though she was some- 
 what tardier in acquiring the science of 
 the mews, yet, at length, it was (lis(M)vered 
 that no falconer near the Niederwald 
 had such a cast of hawks as the lady 
 Oranthe of Rudesheim. All this attractive
 
 PERILS BV FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 211 
 
 interchange of tastes was the growth of 
 daily intercourse fioin infancy, and, it 
 may be imagined, had not escaped die 
 notice of the blulf John Bromser. — He, 
 good man, saw nothing in it, however ; and 
 if he had, he would have seen more than 
 the young couple themselves ; for though 
 their liabiis, iheir studies, their amuse- 
 menis were interwoven, though their 
 voices were but eciioes of each other, and 
 their very liearts swelled into one, they as 
 little suspected the true state of affairs, as 
 they thought their castles were built on a 
 volcano. Love ! they never dreamt of it ; 
 how should they ? Every thing continued 
 to go on in such an every-day manner, 
 that the wonder would be that things 
 could be otherwise. Their happiness was 
 too much a matter of course to be an ex- 
 citement. Tiie sun shone too interupt- 
 edly on their youthful days, to let tiiem 
 reflect that it was the sun ; nor was there 
 anything to diversify their monotony of 
 bliss, save, ever and anon, the unfolding 
 of some fresh blossom in the Eden of 
 their bosoms. Love was to them a fixed 
 habit, and invested them like costly rai- 
 ment on those who, from custom, think 
 not of die splendours that enrobe them. 
 
 It was not till after the departure of 
 Bromser for Palestine, when Siege froy 
 and Oranthe became votaries of the Pe- 
 nates, that the veil was torn away, and 
 chronicles do not hesitate to. date this 
 event from the speech and look already 
 set down in this true history. Siegefroy 
 and Oranthe became declared lovers. It 
 made no great difference. Tlieir inter- 
 views, it is true, took place (oftener than 
 they used to do) in tlie presence of the 
 lady of Ehrenfels, a matrou in all the 
 glorious beauty of meridian life. Oranthe 
 did not accompany Siegefroy quite so 
 often to the chace ; and Siegefroy was 
 more frequently to be seen in the old 
 baronial rooms of Ehrenfels, with Oranthe 
 at his elbow, poring over die romaunts 
 of the Gothic and I'eutonic knights, in 
 the massy chivalric tome that lay in the 
 bay window; or listening, with her, to 
 the lay of some troubadour or Minne- 
 singer, whom accident or choice had di- 
 rected to the castle. 
 
 jVIeanwhile, the return of the (.hevalier 
 Bromser began to be anxiously sighed 
 for by the lovers ; not that the most vague 
 idea of any obstacle on his part, could 
 rationally be entertained for a moment ; 
 
 on the contrary, it almost consoled them 
 for the delay, to think on Uie satisfaction 
 the knight of Rudesheim would derive 
 from the accomplishment of, what might 
 well be deemed his proudest wishes, the 
 union of his daughter with the heir of 
 his noble and hereditary friend. And thus 
 three yeais flitted away. 
 
 One boisterous night in March, when 
 the wind, howling around the rock towers 
 of Ehrenfels, made the turret vanes creak 
 and the windows clatter, while the angry 
 water-king chafed and roared along the 
 banks of the Rhine, Siegefroy, with his 
 noble mother and the fair Oranthe, were 
 seated after supper in the great and 
 gloomy castle-hall ; the vast tapestry 
 surged solemnly to and fro, as the gusts 
 found their way under the massy hall 
 door, or whistled through crevices in the 
 high arches of the painted windows that 
 shook in the storm. But a lofty and 
 brilliant flame wavered, like a gigantic 
 plume of crimson feathers, over the huge 
 logs of wood on the hearth — every roar 
 of die blast seemed to be a challenge 
 cheerfully accepted by the huge blaze ; it 
 brightened, it curled, it leapt up the wide 
 chiamey as it, not contented with dis- 
 pelling the gloom within, it wanted to 
 tight the storm widiout. The wine and 
 spices were still on the table of Dais, but 
 the party had left it, and were seated on 
 heavy carved chairs within the magic 
 circle of the radiant hearth. There was 
 not one of the three diat had much to 
 hinder their full enjoyment of that un- 
 accountable feeling one experiences in 
 listening to the menaces of ihe tempest, 
 and the consolations of the bickering tire. 
 
 Oranthe's gentle heart, it is true, was 
 filled with anxious thoughts on her far 
 distant sire, and Siegefroy 's impatience 
 for Bromser's return began to be painful; 
 while the lady, his mother, more versed 
 in the bitter uncertainties of life, felt a 
 daily increasing anxiousness that two 
 hearts, already inseparably united, should 
 be placed beyond the power of mischance 
 to divide them. Surrounded, however, 
 as they were, with so much that was pros- 
 perous and blight, Uie few clouds that 
 now au'l then diversified, rather than de- 
 Ibrmed tlie future, were not suftered long 
 to alarm or oppress them ; and at the 
 hour we are telling of, few castle hearths 
 saw around them a group more disposed 
 to enter into the spirit of the hours, than 
 2e2
 
 212 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 the lord of Ehrenfels, his mother, and his 
 betrothed. 
 
 " Lend me thy lute, Oranthe 1 the one 
 I brought thee, the other day, from May- 
 ence ; let me see if I cannot charm away 
 the uproar of these wile winds, ere tiiey 
 dash my father's shield on the coloured 
 panes yonder, or blow down that Charle- 
 magne and his Paladins on the arras !" 
 
 " What will my father say," said 
 Oranthe, laughing, as she placed the lute 
 in her lover's hands, *' what will my 
 father think, when he finds Siegefroy of 
 Ehrenfels turned Minnesinger in his 
 absence ?" 
 
 " Why that his daughter was a witch, 
 who, not content with turning her lover's 
 head, and stealing his heart, had thrown 
 a spell upon his fingers also," was Siege- 
 froy's reply ; and after a prelude on the 
 instrument, he sang the following lay : 
 
 I said to the Nightingale, " Why, in vain 
 Is the night air hush'd for thy vt-sper strain ?" 
 And heanswer'd, " I heard thy lady's lute, 
 And its exquisite melody made me mute." 
 
 I said to the Peacock, " Unfold, unfold, 
 For the sun to emblaze it, thy purple and gold!" 
 But he said, " I have look'd ori thy lady's face. 
 And it puts all my beautiful plumes to disgrace. " 
 
 I spoke to the swan, as he floated along, 
 Why art thou singing thy death-song?" 
 And he said, " I have mark'd thy lady's mien, 
 And am going to die of despair and splven." 
 
 I ask'd the Dove, " On my lady's breast. 
 Why art so fain to make thy rest ?" 
 Bui he answer'd, " My feathers are not so fair 
 As the snow-white soul that sojourns there. 
 And therefore I come to take my rest 
 On the beautiful bosom that I love best." 
 
 " Now, out upon thee, Siegefroy ! for 
 a most hyperbolical rhymester !" said his 
 lady mother ; while Oranthe appeared to 
 be uncommonly busy about a favourite 
 hawk, which she tocjk down from its perch, 
 smoothing its feathers and arranging its 
 hood. " Can'st thou not give us some 
 stirring tale, some legend of the old lords 
 of the Rhine, or some achievements of 
 the Croisade at least." 
 
 The words iiad scarcely past the lady's 
 lips, when tiie great bell at the portal, 
 down by the river, tolled, and its loud 
 knell came iieavily floating up the rocky 
 site of the castle, borne on the hollow 
 wind into the very hall. Soon afterwards 
 the seneschal entermg announced that a 
 Carmelite monk from Palestine, who had 
 been a prisoner to the Saracens, and who 
 stated himself Icj be the bearer of tidings 
 nearly impnrfing the families Ehrenfels 
 
 and Rudesheim, stood at the castle- gate, 
 and requested his night's meal and a 
 bed. Siegefroy ordered him to be ad- 
 mitted forthwith, and directed that after 
 he had fully satisfied his hunger and thirst, 
 he should be ushered into the hall. After 
 about a quarter of an hour had elapsed, 
 which to the imagination of Siegefroy 
 and Oranthe seemed to be an age, the 
 Carmelite made his appearance. It was 
 with expectation stretched to agony that 
 Oranthe saw a a tall old man enter the 
 hall, attired in the party coloured raiment 
 of red and blue peculiar to his order, 
 leaning on a staff higher than himself, 
 and wearing in his broad slouched hat, 
 which he reverently held in his hand, that 
 emblem of the widowed Palestine, a faded 
 palm branch. A more strikingly vener- 
 able figure it would be difficult to con- 
 ceive : his hair was white as snow, and 
 fell down his cheeks till it reached his 
 thick moustache, uhich, equally white, 
 actually veiled his lips, flowing over them 
 till they mingled with a beard of the same 
 hue, which descended to his girdle, 
 
 " The dew of blessing drop from heaven 
 upon you, my children, and make you 
 flourish as the cedars of Lebanon," was 
 the salutation that issued from the mass 
 of beard, and seemed as if it spoke from 
 a sepulchre. 
 
 *' Welcome, holy father !" said Siege- 
 froy, " and doubly welcome, if thou bring 
 us tidings of the good knight of Rudes- 
 heim 1" 
 
 " And thrice welcome," echoed Or- 
 anthe, " if those tidings be happy !" 
 
 " Sit, good father !" said the lady of 
 Ehrenfels, '* sit and speak forth thy 
 tidings, good or evil : and according to 
 their colour, heaven make us thankful or 
 resigned 1" 
 
 *' Listen, then !" said the Carmelite, 
 laving aside his staff, and placing himself 
 without further entreaty on a huge i)io- 
 nacled-backed chair, by the warmest 
 corner of the capacious chimney vault: 
 " Listen, and know that my tidings are 
 good or ill only as you accept them. The 
 chevalier of Rudesheim lives !" — Oninthe 
 made a gesture of joy. — ** The valour of 
 his good right-arm hath signalized itself 
 in numerous conflicts. His name was the 
 glory of the Franks and the terror of the 
 Saracens." 
 
 •' Was !" faltered from the lips of his 
 hearers.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 213 
 
 " Oh, patience, my children ! the 
 summer's hght must sometimes dwell 
 behind the veil of the thunder-cloud, but 
 shall we say there is no sun ? — Near the 
 camp of the Crusaders, a wild and savage 
 valley, bristlmg wilh rocks, served as the 
 retreat of a monstrous dragon, which was 
 the scourge of the Christian army, either 
 strangling in his scaly folds, mangling 
 with his hellish jaws, or poisoning with 
 his pestiferous breath, all who approached 
 his den. Unhappily, his abode lay in 
 the heart of a spacious thicket, and was 
 close by a well of pure and unfailing 
 waters. It was, therefore, of necessity, 
 the constant resort of the Christians. You 
 dwell here in your towered castle, and 
 the forest waves its green leaves against 
 the windows, and the blue river rolls be- 
 neath its battlements, and you cannot 
 picture the blessing of a thicket of palm 
 trees rustling in a yellow sandy wilder- 
 ness, or a cold clear fountain bubbling up 
 under a burning sky ! — Well ! you may 
 be sure it was not till after many des- 
 perate attempts, and their ranks had been 
 fearfully thinned by this formidable ser- 
 pent, that the Crusaders abandoned this 
 their chief resource for food and water. 
 But famine and thirst were found equally 
 destructive with the breath of the dragon, 
 and all the h 1y bravery of Christendom 
 would have tailed to save the Crusaders, 
 had not the knight of Rudesheim, armed 
 with sword and buckler, voluntarily sought 
 the dragon in his covert, and, after a 
 long and severe combat, killed him in 
 the cavern's mouth. Alas ! my children, 
 joy lightens from your eyes ; but how 
 fared the castellan of old, who, from his 
 high turret lattice, hailed the distant pro- 
 cession, as it drew nigh, and lo ! a corpse 
 was in the midst thereof." 
 
 Oranthe, started from her seat, and, 
 rushing up to the Carmelite, exclaimed, 
 
 "Oh, father, tamper not thus with a 
 daughter's feelings ! — of what horrible 
 calamity art thou the herald ! Thou did'st 
 say, even now, my sire lives ; what, O 
 what worse than death, can have befallen 
 him r" 
 
 The Camielite turned away his head 
 from the beautiful young creature, and 
 in a deep-broken "tone responded the 
 word, " captivity !' 
 
 The flush of excited alarm on the cheek 
 of the fair Orantlie was succeeded by the 
 most deadly paleness ; but Siegefroy and 
 
 , his mother had now hastened up to her, 
 and, while the lady of Ehrenfels was re- 
 assuring her with all a mother's tender- 
 ness, Siegefroy addressed the Carme- 
 j lite : 
 
 I " In sooth, sir monk, thou bringest 
 J cold tidings from this burning Palestine ! 
 — But, 'sdeath man, 'tis not so hopeless, 
 neither!" 
 
 *• I know not a bondage so hard of 
 escape, save that of sin !" The Carme- 
 lite sighed, looked upwards, and crossed 
 himself. 
 
 "What then — (out with the worst!) — 
 he is a prisoner with these Turks, these 
 turbanned Pagans ? — Mahound and Ter- 
 magaunt have fastened their claws on 
 him, have they ?" 
 
 Even so ! at the very moment when, 
 breathless from his conflict with the dragon, 
 he was stooping to lave his lips and brow 
 in the cool and sparkling well, a troop of 
 infidels who had been stationed in an am- 
 buscade near the spot, now threw them- 
 selves upon him, and carried him away 
 captive !" 
 
 '* 'Tis a disastrous tale !" said Siege- 
 froy, turning to Oranthe, who wept bit- 
 terly. *' But courage, sweetest ! Bezants 
 and zecchins are as dear to the Arabian 
 as ducats and florins are to the Frank. 
 Surely the knight of Rudesheim may be 
 ransomed ?" 
 
 " He may 1" was the Carmelite's re- 
 ply, " but at such a rate as would leave 
 yon bright \irgin dowerless ; and fame 
 hath already made her known to me as 
 thy betrothed, sir knight !" 
 
 The monk, as he spoke, fixed a pierc- 
 ing earnest glance, from beneath his 
 shaggy eyebrows, on the countenance of 
 Siegefroy. The youth coloured slightly, 
 and half smiling, half frowning, replied 
 as follows — 
 
 " The common liar, then, hath, for 
 once spoken the truth. But, Carmelite, 
 a word in thine ear : thou hast repaid 
 our hospitality witli most unpalatable 
 tidings. Add not the chattering of the 
 jay to the funeral cry of the owl, lest thou 
 provoke anger as well as awaken grief! 
 Speak, old man ! and instantly, what is 
 John Bromser's ransom ?" 
 
 The Carmelite seemed, as though by 
 an extraordinary effort he repressed the 
 speech that was leaping to his lips, and 
 only said — 
 
 " The sum required will enipty every
 
 214 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 chest at Bromser, and drain all the vine- 
 yards of Iludesheim." 
 
 ** But, liaply, even while we speak, his 
 captivity," said Siegefroy, ** may have 
 been ransomed in the course of war, and 
 the castle in which he languished, stormed 
 by the Crusaders." 
 
 ♦' Then, indeed, is he lost," replied the 
 Cannehte, " fur the Emir, whose prisoner 
 he is, aware of iiis rank and prowess, hath 
 sworn by Mohammed's beard that he will 
 have his ransom or his life." 
 
 " And iiow knowest thou so exactly all 
 these particulars ?" 
 
 " I was for a year the companion of his 
 captivity ; and was permitted (on my 
 most sacred oath of returning with or 
 without the ransom) to negotiate this 
 affair with his only child." 
 
 Oranthe had now sufficiently conquered 
 her emotions ; she ceased weeping, and 
 taking Siegefroy by the hand, she said — 
 
 *• 1 will no longer lament my sire's 
 captivity j I ought rather to rejoice that 
 it gives me an opportunity of showing 
 how little I prize my heritage in compa- 
 rison with my father's safety ! Castles and 
 lands shall go for his redemption ; and," 
 here Oranthe's eyes fell, and her voice 
 changed from enthusiastic energy to pen- 
 sive sweetness, *' if Siegefroy rejects a 
 beggar for his bride, I shall bear my fate 
 the more calmly, if I can bewail it on a 
 parent's breast'" 
 
 ** And, if Siegefroy esteem not his 
 Oranthe's virtues a dower for which a 
 diadem were too poor a return, craven be 
 his crest in tournament andfightfor ever !" 
 
 Siegefroy clasped the poor girl to his 
 noble heart, and, as she yielded to his 
 embrace, Oranthe wept n)ore abundantly 
 than before. Across the countenance of 
 the Carmelite mighty emotions chased 
 each other, like pursuing and retreating 
 battalions. His ample chest dilated, his 
 eyes gleamed beneath his bushy brows 
 'till liis eyelids veiled them, to conceal a 
 softer suflusion. At length, he turned to 
 the lady of Ehrenfels, who stood with 
 clasped hands, and a face like an April 
 sunshower ; as he pointed to the em- 
 bracing lovers, he said — 
 
 " Might it not make angels weep, 
 madam, to witness such filial piety — so 
 nuicli generous love — and to know that 
 neither can save them from inevitable 
 wretchedness !" 
 
 " What meanest thou, monk," rej)jied 
 
 the frightened lady, " sure thy tongue 
 hath shot its bitterest arrows ?" 
 
 " Siegefroy and Oranthe, as if by a 
 simultaneous' impulse, turned their eyes 
 in bewildered apprehension on the Car- 
 melite. 
 
 " I know, resumed the monk, with 
 much emotion, " I know the inmost heart 
 of John Bromser ; and I know tiiat could 
 he liave witnessed the heroic self-devotion 
 these young lovers have exhibited for his 
 sake, he would have suffered the Paynim 
 gyves to have eaten into his heart, rather 
 than have returned to Rudesheim." 
 
 *' Holy saints! art come to drive us 
 all distraught with thy dark sayings !" 
 
 " Young man, the first footstep that 
 sir John Bromser plants within his an- 
 cestral hall, establishes an eternal divorce 
 between thee and thy beloved. 
 
 " It is impossible 1" 
 
 " It is TRUE ! — ransom home tliis lady's 
 father, and you buy your own despair 1" 
 
 *' If thou iiast any mercy, unriddle this 
 horrible enigma." 
 
 " Know then, that, in my presence, 
 and taking me to witness, he made the 
 most sulemn and irrevocable vow to the 
 Virgin, that, should it please her to restore 
 him to the domain of his fathers, he 
 would found an abbey to her honour, and 
 dedicate his only child to the cloistered 
 virginity of the veil !" 
 
 " Oh, could my dear father be so 
 cruel ?" shrieked Oranthe, " could he by 
 misfortune be so shocked from his noble 
 self?" 
 
 Poor Siegefroy's countenance fell, his 
 very lips turned white, and big drops 
 stood upon his livid brow. 
 
 " Reflect," continued the Carmelite, 
 ** he had been two years a slave to the 
 ferocious heathen; tlieir insults had 
 broken his spirit, as their cruelties had 
 wasted his body. Had you seen, as I did, 
 that noble form in the squalid dress of 
 slavery ; had you seen the sweat of an- 
 guish on his cheek ; had you heard tiie 
 groan of torture swelling his bosom ; had 
 you beheld the weals of the scourge upon 
 his skin " 
 
 " Oh, hold!" exclaimed Oranthe, "for- 
 bear this dreadful recital — Siegefroy ! 
 Siegefroy ! hast thou courage to endure 
 this dreadful stroke ?" 
 
 " Give me air, I cannot breathe I" cried 
 the unfortunate youth, staggering to the 
 window ; and pushing open tlie casement.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 215 
 
 lie leant out into the stormy night. — 
 Oranthe, whose own sorrows were for- 
 g;otten in the alarming grief of her lover, 
 followed liim, and gently leading him 
 back, dosed the lattice. Siegefroy threw 
 liimself into a chair j his manly heart 
 gave way, and he burst into a flood of 
 tears; when he could speak, he only fal- 
 tered out these words, " Oranthe, thy 
 father must be ransomed !" 
 
 Oranthe sank upon her knees. '* Great 
 heaven ! I bless thee for enabling him to 
 speak these words ; — oh, give me strength 
 to emulate his virtue, and to say, at any 
 price, * My father nuist be ransomed,' " 
 
 These words had scarcely escaped her 
 lips, when the Carmelite sprang from his 
 seat. 
 
 " Worse than Paynim in my unbelief, 
 to doubt them ! worse than Paynim in 
 my cruelty thus to torture them !" 
 
 He tore away his false hair and beard, 
 dashed off his monastic habit, and stood 
 before the bewildered trio, a hale man of 
 fifty, with short curly grisled hair, falcon 
 eye, and lordly port — in a word, the 
 knight of Rudesheim himself! It would 
 be hopeless to attempt describing the 
 scene that ensued. Sufficient for our 
 story, it will be to say, that Bromser had 
 been rescued from captivity by the assault 
 and capture of the castle in which he was 
 confined by the Crusaders ! that the vow [ 
 he had made refeiTed only to the building ' 
 of a convent ; and that, hearing unex- i 
 pectedly, on his arrival in the Rheingan, 
 the loves of Siegefroy and Oranthe, he 
 had resolved to put their honour and af- 
 fection to the test. But tradition says, that I 
 the marriage of Siegefroy and Oranthe, ' 
 and the birih of a glorious lad, so delighted 
 and engrossed the grandpapa, that all ! 
 thoughts of the vowed convent were for- : 
 gotten ; when, one morning, a vai^sal 
 made his appearance before the lord of , 
 Rude'iheim, carrying a small image of 
 the Virgin, which one of his cattle had 
 turned up in the field, and which tiie 
 trembling serf averred he heard cry out 
 for help. This was considered by Brom- 
 ser a suflBcient hint of his profane negli- 
 gence ; and it was not long ere a church 
 and convent covered and consecrated the 
 spot where the image had been found. 
 
 It received the title of Noth Gottes j 
 or, the Deity in Danger ;" and in the 
 church, they shew you, to this day, tiie 
 chains which Bromser wore when he was 
 
 in slavery, and the tongue of the dragon 
 which he slew in Palestine. 
 
 A SMUGGLER'S ADVENTURES. 
 
 In September I went to sea with some 
 friends to take up some kegs which we 
 had sunk ; and it being night, a preven- 
 tive boat came close up to us before we 
 saw her. One of the men then laid hold 
 of the out-rigger, but by a sudden jerk 
 I shook his hand off from it, and put our 
 boat out of dieir grasp. Having no sail, 
 they were obliged to take to their oars ; 
 they then chased and fired at us, but a 
 fine breeze springing up, the longer they 
 pursued the more we left them astern. 
 Finding their efforts useless, they gave up 
 the chase, and we got safe on shore. 
 During the remainder of the fair weather 
 this year, I was employed in assisting 
 about my house, and in attending the 
 gentleman I have before mentioned, 
 whenever he went to sea, or required my 
 services. 
 
 In the month of November I had a 
 boat which came home, and having sunk 
 her goods was driven on shore ; and just 
 after this misfortune took place, another 
 boat which belonged to me was stranded 
 on Stapen sands, \^here she was dashed 
 to pieces, and the greater part of the 
 goods became the prey of tfie inhabitants. 
 In tlie same month I went to Weymouth, 
 and took all the mont-y I could collect, 
 i and paid to my merchants. While I was 
 I there, the Lyme packet, bound for Guern- 
 ! sey, with passengers, drove in, in conse- 
 I quence of a gale of w ind ; and the cap- 
 tain getting drunk on Saturday, which 
 was the day on which he had appointed 
 to sail, all the passengers left him. 
 
 On Sunday he put to sea, and myself 
 and one of my partners went with him to 
 Cherburg, where we took a cargo on 
 board, with which we returned as pas- 
 sengers, in the same vessel. When we 
 came under Salcombe hill, wliich was 
 in about fourteen hours, we hove the 
 boat out, and a boy that was with us and 
 myself went into her to try to get on shore ; 
 but the surf was so great near the beacli, 
 that we found it impossible to land ; and 
 on going ofl^ again with the intention of 
 returning to the vessel, we could not find 
 her thruugh the haziness of the weather. 
 We then made another attempt at landing ; 
 the first sea we saved, but seeing there 
 was great danger from the second, I
 
 216 
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIETD. 
 
 jumped overboard, and swam to the shore, 
 and, upon looking- round, had tlie satis- 
 faction to find that the boy also had 
 escaped, but the boat had capsized. VA e 
 then went forward to Sidmouth as fast as 
 possible, wiiere we found some of tiie 
 men belonging to the packet who had 
 come on shore, and I sent them after the 
 boat. 
 
 The next morning, about the dawn of 
 day, we saw the packet about a mile oft' 
 the land, and 1 was informed she had sunk 
 about one hundred and twenty kegs. Soon 
 after this the captain and the crew became 
 intoxicated, in consequence of which they 
 ran along side the Scourge cutter, and were 
 taken. 
 
 When the capture took place, some of 
 the men were in the act of throwing the 
 remaining part of the cargo overboard ; 
 one lot of the kegs was picked up by the 
 people belonging to the Scourge Hoating 
 on the waves, and when they came on 
 board the packet, they found the captain 
 and two of the sailors quite drunk. The 
 crew then being promised a reward, 
 turned informers. The first lot of goods 
 consisted of about six-score kegs, which 
 the Scourge took up, and proceeded with 
 them to Exmouth. 
 
 When they got over the bar, my partner 
 and the master of the packet gave infor- 
 mation respecting the rest of the cargo, 
 which the cutter likewise took up, and 
 the captain of the Scourge then gave the 
 money which he had promised to my 
 partner and the n^.aster of the packet, 
 which they shared between them. They 
 were afterwards taken before the magis- 
 trates at Exeter, and my partner, being a 
 passenger, was set free ; but the captain 
 and one of his men were sent to gaol. 
 
 After doing me all the injury they could, 
 in the manner I have described, they then 
 swore that the goods belonged to me, 
 and that I was the sole proprietor of them, 
 although I was only a passenger (the same 
 as my partner was, who was cleared,) 
 and on shore at ihe time wlien the vessel 
 and cargo were taken. Of all these par- 
 ticulars I was afterwards informed, but 
 the information did not reach me till 
 it was too late to be of any particular 
 benefit to me as will be seen in the sequel. 
 
 About a fortnight after tiiis melancholy 
 catastrophe I went to sea in a large open 
 boat wilii another man and two of my 
 sons. Off Salterton we fell in with the 
 
 Scourge cutter, and not knowing what 
 j iiad been said of me, but l)eing suspicious 
 j that all was not right, I used my utmost 
 I endeavours to get away from her ; but 
 I as she perceived us, she gave chase, 
 and fired upon us the whole eighteen 
 cannon-shots. When we got on shore 
 we found several men from the cutter had 
 arrived there before, and were waiting 
 for us. They said that the captain had 
 given them orders to detain my boat, to 
 which I replied they should not ; and I 
 immediately took up a large stone and 
 hove it into the boat, with an intention 
 to stave her : but in consequence of their 
 superior numbers, and being armed with 
 authority, they at last, however, accom- 
 plished their point, and having taken the 
 boat they towed her into Topsham, where 
 she was laid up in the mud. By this 
 means 1 was kept out of employ till the 
 end of December, having no other boat 
 to go to sea in, which was a great injury 
 to myself and family, particularly at this 
 period, as my circumstances, through 
 the numerous and heavy losses which I 
 had met with, were now in a very declin- 
 ing state. 
 
 THE SPITHY RUHTEN. 
 
 This is a very common punishment in 
 the Russian army, and I believe it is 
 confined to Russia, as I never heard of it 
 elsewhere. The mode of inflicting it is 
 as follows: — 
 
 The regiment is drawn out and divided 
 into two ranks, the men standing facing 
 each other, at the distance of about three 
 yards, each man being supplied with a 
 willow rod or osier, which has been for 
 some time previous soaked in water. 
 The culprit, with his hands tied to the 
 spear-end of a Serjeant's halbert, is then 
 led along the front of each rank — every 
 man striking with all his force as he 
 passes. To compel the men to do this 
 disagreeable duty, the adjutant of the re- 
 giment rides slowly along by the side of 
 the prisoner, and should any man he de- 
 tected of flinching in giving his stroke, 
 he is immediately led out, and undergoes 
 the same punishment. The hands of the 
 man being tied to the spear, prevent him 
 from runnmg forward, so tliat he has 
 not the slightest chance of escape from 
 a single blow. The excess which this 
 punishment is carried to, makes it equal 
 to, if not worse than the knout.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AXD FIEl D. 
 
 217 
 
 ^ — k 
 
 
 Paiie 218, 
 
 THE YALE OF THE PHANTOMS. 
 
 A STORY OF THE KKEINGAU, 
 
 Nor wizard stem, nor goblin grim. 
 
 Nor giant huge of form and limb. 
 
 Nor heathen knight was there: 
 
 But the cressets, that odours tlung aloft, 
 
 Show'd, by thtir yellow light and soft, 
 
 A band of damsels fair ! 
 Onward they came like summer wave 
 
 That dances to the shore ; 
 An hundred voices welcome gave. 
 And welcome o'er and o'er. 
 Loud laugh'd thej' all ; — the king iu vain 
 With questions task'd the giddy train. 
 Let him entreat, or crave, or call, 4 
 'Twa.s one reply,— loud laugh'd they all. 
 
 Sir W. Scott. 
 
 Behind Lorich there is a wild and 
 nielanclioly vale, where there are only a 
 few niiserable cabins, and whose title cor- 
 responds with its desolate appearance ; — 
 ii is called the Wisperthal, or Vale of 
 Phantoms. It has remained for a long 
 time uninhabited ; for most of those who 
 had ventured to set foot therein, used to 
 be plagued and tormented in a thousand 
 diiferent ways, and many among them 
 were never seen or heard of more. 
 
 A long time ago, three young sparks 
 traversed the environs of the Rhine in 
 
 VOL. 1.— 28. 
 
 search of adventures. They were (lie 
 sons of three wealthy merchants at Nu- 
 remberg. At the inn at Lorich they heard 
 talk of divers extraordinary things that 
 had happened in the Wisperthal, and 
 they resolved immediately to make an 
 excursion. It was not widiout difficulty 
 that they succeeded in opening themselves 
 a way through the tangled thickets ; and 
 in about an liour they arrived at the foot 
 of an enormous castle, which had almost 
 the air of a mountain, moulded into a 
 baronial mansion. Spenser thus describes 
 such a pile :' 
 
 A stately palace built of squared brick. 
 Which cunningly was, without mortar, laid ; 
 
 Whose walls wore high, but nothing strong or 
 thick. 
 And golden foile all over them displaid. 
 That purest sky with brightness they dia- 
 maid. 
 
 Hie lifted up were many loftie towres. 
 And goodly galleries far overlaid. 
 
 Full of faire windows, an'l deligh ful bowres ; 
 
 And, on the top, a diall told the timely howres. 
 
 At one of the windows appeared the 
 bright faces of three yoimg girls, which 
 seemed to invite our adventurers to come 
 up to them. 
 
 " Come, come," said the last, " all this 
 2 F
 
 21S 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 is not SO mighty terrible as we imagined. 
 Tliese three fair damsels seem to be dull 
 and lonely ; let iis go in and endeavour 
 to amuse them." 
 
 The grand entrance, a vast gateway, 
 stood invitingly open ; our three com- 
 panions entered, crossed an extensive 
 court, and passed by another portal into 
 a long and sombre corridor, from whence 
 they ascended a stately staircase, which 
 opened upon a vestibule of great extent. 
 The gloom of the evening had already 
 deeply veiled the Wisperthal, and what 
 little light remained was still more ob- 
 scured in these ample apartments, either 
 by the beechwoods that waved before the 
 windows, or by the gorgeous gloom of the 
 painted glass, throi>gh which the cloudy 
 sunset so feebly found its way, that our 
 heroes were obliged to grope about for 
 another door, which, when they at length 
 opened, the blaze of brilliance that burst 
 upon their eyes almost blinded them. 
 I'hey found themselves in a great gallery, 
 whose walls were lined from the floor to 
 the cornice with prodigious mirrors, a 
 thousand flambeaux of perfumed wax re- 
 doubled their lustre without end ; while 
 the radiant features and sylphed figures of 
 the three lovely damsels ; one of whom 
 was attired in pink, another in azure, and 
 the third in green, were equally multiplied 
 to the eyes of the bewildered young 
 burghers, who, instead of meeting with 
 each his sweetheart, found about a hundred 
 young ladies gaily robed and refulgently 
 jewelled, who, as wnth one voice, bade 
 them welcome, kissed their hands to them, 
 and then burst into peals of silver-toned 
 laughter at the poor spoonies, who stood 
 gaping and staring, astounded, dazzled, 
 and dismayed, at this unexpected recep- 
 tion. All on a sudden, a door, that stood 
 in a recess of the gallery, flew open, and 
 an old man of commanding stature, and 
 dressed in black, and having a long white 
 beard, entered the saloon. Advancing 
 towards the young cits, he said to them, 
 
 " Doubtless, you are come to demand 
 my daughters in marriage ; I shall not 
 play the niggard with you, for I am not 
 a commercial man, and I will give you 
 with each of them one thousand florins of 
 gold." 
 
 Shrieks of laughter burst from the lovely 
 girls when the old man uttered these 
 words, and our city sparks knew not what 
 to make of all this. 
 
 " Well," at length cried the old man, 
 in a voice of thunder, " let every one 
 choose his lady-love." 
 
 The young citizens began sheepishly 
 to shuffle each towards a damsel, and 
 fancying that they were in the act of 
 presenting their hands, found that they 
 touched nothing but the cold surface of 
 the mirror. This seemed to be too much 
 even for the old man's gra\ ity ; he fell 
 into convulsions of laughter, and scarcely 
 able to articulate the words, " I see you 
 want my assistance !" he led up a fair girl 
 to each of them. 
 
 Disconcerted as our young tradesmen 
 were, their embarrassment and appre- 
 hensions quickly ^ave way to the power 
 of beauty, and their bosoms were inspired 
 with a violent passion for the daughters 
 of the old man. 
 
 ** J give you leave to embrace your 
 sweethearts," said the sire. 
 
 I'hey did not wait to be told twice ; but 
 the incense of those ripe lips completed 
 the conquest of their hearts, and the con- 
 fusiun of their senses. 
 
 ** And now," resumed the old man, ** it 
 is necessary that you should furnish me 
 with sufficient proofs of your love for my 
 daughters. Rosaflor, the one you see in 
 pink, has lost a starling, which was a pro- 
 digious favourite ; Celestine, she in tlie 
 azure robe, has also lost a pet, a fine 
 magpie ; while Emiral, the young lady 
 in green, equally unfortunate with her 
 sisters, laments the absence of a great 
 raven, which she cherished with great 
 care, and prized most highly." 
 
 Again the beautiful features and white 
 bosoms of the three graces of the Wisper- 
 thal seemed convulsed with laughter, 
 which they had great difliculty in sup- 
 pressing. 
 
 *' These pets," continued the sire, with 
 wonderful gravity, " have probably flown 
 to the adjacent wood ; and you will re- 
 cognise them by the following character- 
 istic marks : the starling knows an enig- 
 ma ; the raven a ballad ; and the magpie 
 relates the history of her grandmother the 
 moment you ask her. Go now, therefore, 
 look for these birds, which are not fierce, 
 and easily suffer themselves to be taken." 
 
 Our three enamoured burghers did 
 exactly as the old man directed them. — 
 About a quarter of a league from the castle 
 they found the three birds perched upon 
 the branch of an ancient oak.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 219 
 
 " Starling !" cried number one, ** read 
 me thy riddle." 
 
 The starling immediately perched him- 
 self upon his shoulder, and said — 
 
 " Tell me — what is that which you 
 have in your face, but which you cannot 
 see in the looking-glass." 
 
 " Raven, sing me thy song," exclaimed 
 number two. 
 
 The raven immediately cleared his 
 voice, and m croaking tones, sang as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 Three black priests a walking went, 
 
 In the countrj- of Cockaign ; 
 The little birds "plucked and roasted. 
 
 Fell round them like the rain. 
 But this abundance, as it seems. 
 
 Availed them not at all ; 
 For they found the little birr^ too large. 
 
 And their great mouths too small. 
 
 Then back they went to their own country, 
 
 Wora down to skin and bone ; 
 And they loudly swore the Cockaign foik. 
 
 Had little brains or none. 
 
 ' For if they had, those savoury birds, 
 ('Twas tlius the black pritsts cried) ; 
 ♦ Would have been of a more convenient size. 
 Or else their mouths more wide !' 
 
 The raven had scarcely finished his 
 ballad, when he came and perched upon 
 the head of number two. 
 
 *' Magpie, magpie, give us the history 
 of thy grandmother," shouted number 
 three. 
 
 The magpie immediately assumed an 
 air of great importance, and narrated as 
 follows : 
 
 ** Gentlemen, you must know that my 
 grandmother was a magpie ; she was in 
 the habit of laying eggf^, from whence 
 used to proceed more magpies ; and if 
 she had not died one day, she would have 
 been alive still." 
 
 The magpie flapped her wings as she 
 uttered these words, and hastened to place 
 herself upon the hand of number three. 
 
 The young tradesmen were delighted 
 at having accomplished their e.xpedition 
 so easily, and they hastened to regain the 
 castle. But when they set foot in the 
 gallery, they were astonished to see that 
 the mirrors had entirely disappeared ; and 
 still more so, that the three belles of the 
 Wisperthal were not visible in any part of 
 it. Three tables, sumptuously spread, were 
 placed in three ditferent recesses. Three 
 toothless old hags came tottering, and 
 coughing, and spitting, up to our Nu- 
 remberg youths, and holding out to them 
 tlieir tleshless hands, exclaimed — 
 
 " Ah \ here are our sweethearts !" and 
 they embraced them so tenderlv, that a 
 cold sweat oozed from every pore of their 
 bodies. 
 
 The three beldames then betook them- 
 selves to grimacing and chattering: — 
 The starling repeated his riddle ; the 
 raven sang his song, and the magpie re- 
 lated the history other grandmother ; in 
 short, they managed altogether to make 
 such a hullabaloo, that no one could make 
 out a single word that was said. Each of 
 the three witches then took her lover by 
 the arm, and led him to one of the three 
 tables, entertaining him with talk, hide- 
 ously amourous, of the many happy days 
 she hoped to pass with him at the castle. 
 The starling, the raven, and the magpie, 
 in the meantime chaunted and chattered 
 louder and louder. The luckless Nurem- 
 bergers, it may be imagined, had not 
 much appetite, but they each accepted 
 a glass of wine, which they had no sooner 
 emptied, than they sank into a profound 
 sleep. 
 
 The afternoon was far advanced when 
 they awoke. They found themselves 
 couched upon brambles at the bottom of 
 a savage rock, and it was witii no little 
 difficulty that they recovered their feet, 
 and extricated themselves. Filled with 
 confusion and chagrin, they struck into 
 the road which was to lead them out of 
 this ill-omened vale : but they heard on 
 all sides voices which seemed to call them ; 
 and thought that, in every direction, they 
 saw an old woman's head, noddmg and 
 grimacing at them. In the gorge of 
 the vale, they perceived the three birds 
 perched upon an elm The starling was 
 as usual repeating his riddle ; the raven 
 singing his song ; and the magpie relating 
 the history of her grandmother. 
 
 One of our three youths, having taken 
 courage as soon as he found himself in an 
 open country, and perceived the world 
 about him, demanded of a peasant who 
 passed near them, if he could not inform 
 them, what it was that those confoimded 
 birds meant with their histories and their 
 songs ? 
 
 " Oh, surely," replied the peasant, ** I 
 can explain it all to you quite clearly ; 
 but, gentlemen, you must not take it in 
 evil part. The starling's enigma refers 
 to that expression of folly and conceit in 
 your faces, which you will never discover 
 in the looking-glass, if you look till
 
 220 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 domesday. The raven's song means to 
 instruct you in the propriety of taking 
 roasted birds ^^ilh knife and fork, and not 
 with the mouth ; and the magjde relates 
 a history, which, one day, your grand- 
 children, perhaps, will relate of you." 
 
 Our precious trio opened their foolish 
 eyes wider than ever at these words, and 
 swore deeply never more to listen so 
 readily to the voices that called them, 
 even when they proceeded from the most 
 beautiful lips. 
 
 VAMPIRES. 
 
 In 1732, in the papers of the day, it 
 was given as an article of news from 
 Medreyga in Hungary, that certain dead 
 bodies, called vampires, had killed several 
 persons by sucking out all their blood. 
 The commander-in-chief and magistrates 
 of the place were severally examined, and 
 unanimously declared, that about five 
 years before, a certain duke, named 
 Arnold Paul, in his lifetime was heard to 
 say he had been tormented by a vampire, 
 and that for a remedy he had eaten some 
 of the earth of the vampires' graves, and 
 rubbed himself over with their blood ; 
 that twenty or thirty days after the death 
 of the said Arnold Paul several persons 
 complained they were tormented ; and 
 that he had taken away the lives of four 
 persons. To put a stop to such a calamity, 
 the inhabitants, having consulted their 
 hadnagi, took up his body ibrty days after 
 he had been found dead, and found it 
 fresh, and free from corruption 5 and he 
 bled at the nose, mouth, and ears, pure 
 and florid blood ; and that his linger and 
 toe nails were fallen off and new ones 
 grown in their room. Bv these circum- 
 stances they were persuaded he was a 
 \ampire, and, according to custom drove 
 a stake through his heart, at which he 
 gave a horrid groan. They burnt his 
 body to ashes, and threw them into his 
 grave. It was added, that those who 
 have been tormented or killed by vampires 
 become vampires wlien they die. Upon 
 which account they served several other 
 dead bodies in the same manner. 
 
 VOYAGE AND DISASTERS OF THE PIQUE 
 
 His Majesty's ship the Pique, com- 
 manded by captain Rous, and having on 
 board his excellency lord Aylmer, ex- 
 govemor of the Canadas, together with 
 lady Aylmer, and the otticers of his staff, 
 
 left Quebec for England on the 17th of 
 September, 1835, and aided by a light 
 air, and the current of the river, the city 
 was soon lost sight off. An excellent run 
 was made through all the intricacies of 
 the navigation, and on the 19th the ship 
 was off the Gaspe shore in a dead calm. 
 On the 20th the wind freshened up from 
 tlie southward and westward, with the 
 usual accompaniment of fog. On the fol- 
 lowing day, the 2lst, the weather cleared, 
 that is to say, comparatively ; there might 
 have been an horizon of five 01 six miles, 
 something not frequent in the gulf of St. 
 Lawrence. Captain Rous, foreseeing 
 that there would be difficulty in weather- 
 ing Cape Ray, the south-west extremity 
 of the Islands of Newfoundland, deter- 
 mined, after mature deliberation, on 
 making the passage through the the Straits 
 of Belleisle, and the ship's course was 
 accordingly altered. The Pique on the 
 passage out had made a dead beat through 
 this little-frequented strait, and sufficient 
 knowledge of the features of the coast had 
 been acquired, during the operation, to 
 cause a feeling of satisfaction to prevail, 
 when it was known, that instead of con- 
 tending with the heavy seas and boisterous 
 winds of the south and west of Newfound- 
 land, those on boa) d were about to renew 
 their acquaintance with a familiar channel. 
 
 For the information of those who may 
 chance to be unacquainted with the geo- 
 graphy of this part of the coast of North 
 America, may be mentioned that the straits 
 form a channel between the south shore 
 of Labrador and the north coast of 
 Newfoundland ; the western extremity, 
 or that which communicates with the Gulf 
 of St. Lawrence, at its narrowest part, 
 does not exceed twelve miles in width ; 
 the eastern, or Atlantic mouth, is much 
 wider. Commander Bayfield has recently 
 surveyed this channel, and much inter- 
 esting information to mariners may be 
 expected, when the result of his scieniitic 
 labours shall be made public. 
 
 The breeze, on Tuesday the 22nd, v\as 
 fresh and fair, the weather moderately 
 clear, and before sunset the land was seen 
 and ascertained to be the island of St. 
 John's, in a bay of the same name, on the 
 Newfoundland shore ; and in order to 
 bring the ship clear of the Newfoundland 
 coast, along which; at the western entrance 
 of the strait, shoals and rocky islets lie 
 scattered in dangerous profusion, the
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD 
 
 221 
 
 course was alteM^ed, and the Labrador shore 
 neared. At this time it was discoverable that 
 the fog was rising fast astern in a heavy 
 bank, extending along the horizon to 
 windward ; and at ten the ship was com- 
 pletely shrouded in a mist no eye could 
 penetrate, although half an hour before a 
 practised person might have discerned 
 land at a distance of two miles ; no one 
 who has not had personal experience of 
 these shores can form an idea, of the den- 
 sity, the absolute tangibility of a real New- 
 foundland particular fug. Tlie wind was 
 moderate, sail shortened, and preparations 
 for sounding were making, when a little 
 before half-past ten, breakers under the bow 
 were simultaneously discovered by the 
 look-out men forward, and the captain and 
 master on the gangway. The hehn was put 
 a- port, but too late, and the ship struck hard, 
 going at tlie time about eight knots. After 
 a short space, her head having swung to 
 the northward, she was backed off, but the 
 tide unfortunately took her, the head sails 
 filled, and she ran on again, broadside to 
 the shore, striking fearfully ; a boat was 
 lowered, and the master went on sounding, 
 who found from four to five fathoms out- 
 side the ship. 
 
 At eleven, although there was a heavy 
 sea up, yet things wore a most unpromis- 
 ing aspect; (he " masts were nodding to 
 their fall," and it seemed impossible the 
 ship could long sustain the tremendous 
 shocks she was momentarily receiving ; 
 and yet, with the masts buckling and 
 writhing at every blow, the top-gallant 
 and royal yards, with their masts, were 
 sent down and struck with a coolness and 
 presence of mind that reflects the highest 
 credit on the officers and men aloft, who 
 performed their duty under circumstances 
 of infinite peril. 
 
 All this time there was no confusion, no 
 disorganization ; the voice of the captain 
 was alone heard, and promptly obeyed. 
 One hundred tons of water were started 
 and pumped out, and the starboard after- 
 guns and shot thrown overboard ; the 
 boats were hoisted out, and the stream- 
 anchor laid out ahead, a little on the star- 
 board bow ; on this a heavy strain was 
 hove without effect. Various were the 
 conjectures as to what part of the coast 
 the ship was on ; the general opinion was 
 that she had struck on either Green Island 
 or Isle au Bois, two small i:<lands on the 
 gorge of the strait, near the Labrador I 
 
 shore ; but so thick was the haze that no- 
 j thing elucidative of her position could be 
 j discerned, save an indistinct line on which 
 I the breakers were frettino-. At midnight, 
 I however, the sky cleared, and the land 
 was made out rising over a rocky spit ap- 
 { parently parallel to the ship. 
 
 The situation of the Pique had now 
 I become serious ; the wind was freshening 
 i the leaks increasing, all efforts to get her 
 off as yet unavailing, and she seemed to 
 hold together by a miracle. How^ anx- 
 iously did the crew wish for morning. 
 Preceded by a brilliant aurora borealis, 
 day at length dawned, and the ship was 
 found to have struck on a low talus of loose 
 granitic blocks, beyond which the land 
 rose moderately high, and thickly set with 
 dwarf pines. It was evident the lives of 
 those on board might be saved, did the 
 wind not increase to a gale ; but when 
 landed, what was to become of nearly 
 three hundred pei'sons on that inhospit- 
 able coast, where winter reigns undisturbed 
 for one half the year ; where, on the pas- 
 sage out in the month of August, !he 
 snow lay undissolved in the mountain 
 hollows, without food, without fuel, with- 
 out shelter, without raiment, the autumn 
 considerably advanced, and, should the 
 boats be stove, no possible chance of 
 escape ? This was the dark side of the 
 picture. On the other could be perceived 
 the chance of saving the provisions in the 
 ship, equal, with care, to four months 
 economical distribution ; the probability 
 of finding some sort of protection from 
 the weather under the sheds erected by 
 the cod fishers for salting and curing their 
 fish, which, assisted by the sails and ma- 
 terials saved from the wreck, might be 
 converted into habitations capable of re- 
 sisting the cold winter. The dwarf pine 
 would supply fuel ; and, moreover, it was 
 not so late in the year as to make it pro- 
 bable that the fishing chaloupes had aban- 
 doned the coast. 
 
 It was now apparent that the tide had 
 made a flood; the kedge was carried out 
 broad on the starboard-bow S.E. by S., 
 the small bower-anchor suspended to the 
 launch, the cable buoyed up by the re- 
 mainingkedgeto the extent of 100 fathoms, 
 with infinite diflBculty and exertion, and 
 a heavy strain hove. A little after seven 
 the wind got slight hold of the land ; the 
 foresail was set. At eight, captain Rous 
 sent the ship's company down to break-
 
 222 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 fast. At half- past eight the ship ground 
 ahead a few feet, and struggled to free 
 herself of the rocks, striking with a vio- 
 lence that it was apparent must bilge her 
 ere long. The hands were turned up, 
 and by dint of heaving, trimming her 
 with the men on the bowsprit, and pitch- 
 ing over the two after-larboard quarter- 
 deck guns, she (to use the well-choseii ! 
 expression of the official letter) " wormed 
 herself out from her bed of rocks" at a 
 quarter-past nine. The stream and bower 
 cables were promptly cut, and, at eleven, 
 the ship was anchored in a commodious [ 
 bay, named Ance au Loup, about twelve 
 miles eastward ofthe spot where she struck, 
 which was on the west of the entrance of 
 Forteau Bay. Seventeen inches of water 
 was found to be made per hour, and, with 
 the exception of the leak, and a slight ob- 
 struction to the motion of the rudder, the 
 Pique seemed to have miraculously re- 
 sisted her eleven hours beating on the 
 rocks. 
 
 On the 24th, she was under weigh at 
 daylight, the Straits were cleared, and a 
 course shaped for England ; breeze strong 
 and fair. On the 25th, the leaks increased 
 to two feet per hour. One was got at in 
 the junk-room, under the gunner's store- 
 room, and some attempts made to stop it. 
 The cut- water bolts were found driven 
 up a foot or more : several icebergs were 
 seen. On the U6th, the wind was still 
 fair, with a heavy N.W. swell. The fore- 
 mast was discovered to work in the step, 
 or rather the step itself was loose. 
 
 On Sunday, the 27th, there was an in- 
 crease in the leaks. To remedy this, if 
 possible, by improving the ship's trim, 
 and thereby rendering her less uneasy, 
 the water was pumped from the fore inlo 
 the main hold. The result was beneficial. 
 The ship, with a press of canvass, was 
 making rapid way through the water, 
 when, between two and three, p. m., the 
 rudder — no doubt previously injured — 
 broke short off at the head, towed astern 
 a few seconds, and then parted. The ship 
 came right up to the wind — a severe trial 
 for the tottering foremast. Sail was, how- 
 ever shortened, without any injury having 
 been sustained. 
 
 Tlie Pique was now in no pleasant 
 predicament : a run of 1500 miles before 
 her, without a rudder — making two feet 
 of water an hour — the equinoctial gales 
 in all their Atlantic fury hourly to be I 
 
 looked for, over and above her crippled 
 mast ! 
 
 At this time a brig hove in sight. Guns 
 were fired, and signals of distress exhi- 
 bited fore and aft ; but, whether from ac- 
 cident or design, the strange sail, made 
 all sail, and left the Pique to her fate. 
 
 A new rudder, or, more properly speak- 
 ing, a substitute for one, was immediately 
 commenced ; a rude, undigested contri- 
 vance, to which the night was devoted by 
 the carpenter and his crew. 
 
 The 28th found the ship's leaks not in- 
 creased, the steerage contrivancecomplete, 
 and it was accordingly shipped in the 
 evening. Before noon another brig had 
 been seen, to whom signals of distress 
 were shown, and which was boarded, not for 
 any assistance supposed capable to be 
 rendered by a foreign merchant vessel of 
 200 tons or less, but with the hope of being 
 able to secure the safety of lord and lady 
 Aylmer, and others, the passengers. The 
 stranger proved to be himself in a sorry 
 condition — old and leaky, bound to Mar- 
 seilles, and resolute in not altering his 
 course for England. The project was 
 therefore abandoned. 
 
 On the 29th, the temporary rudder, 
 that had been loaded with a carronade 
 and sundry pigs of ballast, in order to in- 
 duce it to submerge, but which it contu- 
 maciously resisted, owing to the ship 
 having fresh way, was cut away, and little 
 regretted. By dint of perpetual attention 
 and skilful seamanship, the ship was kept 
 near her course by the sails. 
 
 Since the 24th, the officers, passengers, 
 and ship's company, had been sufficiently 
 uncomfortable. The Pique's main-deck 
 was of oak ; within the traverse of the 
 guns, that part ofthe deck had been leaky 
 since her first cruise, and now, with a 
 flood of water poured on it from Massey's 
 splendid pumps, with the scuppers small, 
 and, like angels' visits, " few and far 
 between," the lower-deck became uninha- 
 bitable, although inhabited. 
 
 The morning of the 30th was ushered 
 in by a heavy gale from the northward. 
 An attempt was made to steer the ship 
 by veering a cable out abaft. The baro- 
 meter fell, and the wind and sea increased 
 at noon. The ship had got near the wind, 
 and the day was passed in vain efforts to 
 place her head the right way : these prov- 
 ing unsuccessful, she was laid-to for the 
 night, during which the leaks increased
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FI^tD. 
 
 223 
 
 to thirty inches ; and, to make her easier, 
 the top-gallant- masts were sent on deck, 
 the best bower cut away, two main- deck 
 guns thrown overboard (making twenty- 
 six,) and all the weight cleared out from 
 forward. 
 
 On Thursday, the 1st of October, the 
 weather became more moderate ; ship's | 
 head still W. and by N. No chance of 
 reaching England on that course. Pa- i 
 kenham's rudder, on which the carpenter ; 
 had been employed since die failure of its \ 
 predecessor, was conrplete ; yet the sea j 
 ran too high to attempt tixing it. 
 
 A brig was seen standing towards the ! 
 ship ; and on nearing, the weather having 
 moderated, a boat was lowered, and a ; 
 hawser sent on board of her, which parted \ 
 in an attempt to wear the ship by it She i 
 was, however, wore round at length, by 1 
 sending the ships company aft. The ^ 
 friendly-disposed brig proved to be the ; 
 SuftVein, of St. Maloe, from Cape Rouge, j 
 in the Straits of Belleisle, in ballast, having ' 
 men on board employed in the cod- fishery 
 carried on by the i^>ench on the coasts of 
 British America, to the injury of the com- 
 merce of the mother country. 
 
 On the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th, the ship 
 was steered by the sails, assisted by the 
 cable astern, and had run so far as to be 
 within 500 miles of the Scilly Islands. 
 On the morning of the 6th, when the wind 
 being light, and so far to the eastward as 
 to be foul, Pakenham's rudder was ship- 
 ped, and found to answer. On the 8th, 
 the wind came from N.W., and gradually 
 increased to a storm. 
 
 On the night of the 9th, and morning 
 of the 10th, when the temporary rudder 
 was carried away, the ship came to the 
 wind with her head tothe westward. There 
 was great room for anxiety at this time. 
 The land not far distant — ship immanage- 
 able — and no reliance to be placed vn the 
 chronometers, after the severe shaking 
 they had experienced. At two, p.m., the 
 gale had moderated, and she was kept in 
 her course as best she might. Conscious, 
 by observation and dead reckoning, even 
 supposing the chronometers in error, that 
 the Scilly Islands were to be passed, 
 the night of the 10th was anxiously spent 
 by all who knew the danger. It blew 
 fresh from the N. on the Uth, and ob- 
 servation showed the ship to be in the 
 latitude of Guernsey. Al half-past seven 
 P.M. the Caskets light was seen, and at 
 
 eight the ship was anchored off the island 
 of Guernsey, in forty-one fathoms water, 
 where she rode out the night. The next 
 day, the 12th, at two, p.m., with a slant 
 of wind, she got under weigh, and 
 anchored at St. Helen's on the morning 
 of the 13th, having run one thousand 
 five hundred miles without a rudder ! 
 
 To the admirable coolness and decision 
 of captain Rous, and the discipline dis- 
 played by his officers and ship's company, 
 ample testimony has been paid by com- 
 petent judges ; nor must it be omitted 
 that among the passengers, even those of 
 the softer sex confronted terror without 
 shrinking, and bore hardship without re- 
 pining 
 
 ADVENTURE WITH A PIRATE. 
 
 A NOBi.E ship of 600 tons was on her 
 outward passage to India, with a valuable 
 cargo of specie and American goods. — 
 Before doubling the Cape, a suspicious- 
 looking vessel was discovered dead to 
 windward, under a press of canvas, bear- 
 ing down upon the Indiaman. The ex- 
 perienced eye of the captain, instantly 
 enabled him to deternrine that she was a 
 small light schooner, acquaintance with 
 which would not be desirable. He had 
 few arms, and although his crew were 
 true as steel, they could not contend with 
 a well-armed pirate. The ship was there- 
 fore put away before the wind, and every 
 rag of canvas packed upon her that she 
 could bear. The eye of the captain rested 
 for a time upon his bending masts, covered 
 with canvas to the very trucks — was then 
 turned upon his gallant crew, who col- 
 lected, having entii-e confidence in his 
 skill and courage — and atlast settled long 
 and stedfastly upon the chase. She gains, 
 she gains — and there are many hours yet 
 of daylight. A ship has the advantage of 
 a small sharp craft with a floating sheet, 
 but yet she gains. Tlie danger is press- 
 ing — is eminent — when, lo ! a new and 
 terrible enemy appears, far to leeward — a 
 black cloud rises slowly from the horizon, 
 and gives but too surely an intimation 
 
 ! of what may shortly be apprehended. The 
 ship cannot shorten sail, for the chase will 
 
 ! be upon her — and the captain's plan was 
 
 j instantly laid. Every man was ordered 
 to his post. The heavens grew more 
 
 I portentous every moment — but the pirate 
 did not start a tack or sheet, as the cap- 
 
 ' tain hoped he would, and allow him to
 
 224 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 pain a Utile before the hurricane came on. 
 The wind freshens — the masts yield to 
 the tremendous pressure (hey have to 
 sustain — the teeth of the stoutest seamen 
 are set firm in the apprehension that they 
 will go by the board. The steady eye of 
 the captain is fixed upon the tornado. At 
 last it comes — the ocean in the distance 
 is white with foam, and he who was be- 
 fore so quiet and unmoved is now ani- 
 mated to tremendous exertion. 
 
 " Let all go fore and aft," was sung out, 
 clear and loud ; " clew up and clew down," 
 " lay alofi" — were orders which followed 
 each other, in quick succession, and were 
 as quickly obeyed. The flapping sails 
 are rapidly secured — the wind lulls — the 
 tornado is upon them, taking them aback. 
 The ship falls off— she bends to the gale, 
 until her yard-arms are in the waves — she 
 begins to move through the water with a 
 constantly accelerated motion. 
 
 The pirate, with the quickness of per- 
 ception so common among men of their 
 class, instantly comprehended his advan- 
 tage. He was near two miles dead to 
 leeward of the Indiaman, which made 
 greater headway under her bare poles 
 than he did. The hurricane could not 
 last long ; he would therefore be close on 
 board of her when it passed over, and 
 she must then fall an easy prey to him. 
 
 The captain of the noble merchantman 
 saw it all. There was but one fearful 
 way to escape. He had a gallant and 
 staunch ship under him — she had not yet 
 sprung a spar, nor split a sail — he had an 
 extremely valuable cargo ; and his men, 
 he could not see them strung up to the 
 yard-arm, on the principle that " dead 
 men tell no tales." He therefore set his 
 fore-topsail and close reefed main-topsail, 
 which urged his ship through the water 
 with great velocity. The little black 
 pirate saw the plan, and attempted to 
 make sail ; but all would not do, and he 
 saw that his only chance for safety was, 
 if possible, to elude the shock at the very 
 moment of its expected concussion. 
 
 The ship came down upon him with 
 terrific precision. 
 
 " Hard to port !" shouted the pirate to 
 the hehnsman. 
 
 " Hard to port !" echoed the merchant- 
 man to his. One tremendous crash — one 
 wild, frantic shriek of despair — and all 
 was hushed in death. 
 
 A CRUSADE OF CHILDREN. 
 
 The spirit of an age may be indicated 
 by the turn of the infantine mind ; in a 
 country engaged in popular war, the 
 children will always be found playing at 
 soldiers. But the religious duty of the 
 crusades had taken such universal hold 
 of men's minds, that it produced a move- 
 ment, even among the children of Europe, 
 of a kind unparalleled in the history of 
 the world. In the year 1212, many 
 thousands of boys and girls abandoned their 
 homes, not only in France, but in Ger- 
 many and Italy, giving out that they were 
 bent upon dehvering the Holy Land. Tiie 
 eldest were not more than eighteen years 
 of age. It was in vain that their parents 
 attempted to restrain them. I'hey 
 watched opportunities of escape, and got 
 away by making holes in the walls, and 
 sallied forth from the paternal mansion 
 with as much joy, as if they had been 
 going to a festival. The fate of these 
 unhappy children, as may be supposed, 
 was most unfortunate ; they were entrap- 
 ped in numbers by merchants of Venice, 
 Genoa, and Marseilles, who were at the 
 time engaged in the infamous trafllic of 
 supplying the seraglios of the East with 
 children. A great number were shipped 
 in the Mediterranean ports, and many died 
 of hunger and fatigue in the long journeys 
 to which they had voluntarily devoted 
 themselves, but for which their strength 
 was utterly inadequate. 
 
 RUSSIAN POLICE. 
 
 The following occurrence, says a re- 
 cent writer on Russia, " witnessed one 
 day in the street, at St. Petersburgh, by a 
 friend of mine, serves to instance the dread 
 entertained by the lower classes of getting 
 under the power of the police. As he 
 was passing the Isaac Bridge, a drooshka 
 suddenly stopped before him, when the 
 driver leaped down, and with every 
 symptom of consternation took his pas- 
 senger off the seat of the vehicle, and laid 
 him on the road ; he then hastily re- 
 mounted his box, and drove away with all 
 possible speed. The passenger had been 
 seized with a fit, when, thinking he must 
 die, the affrighted, but prudent Russian, 
 took this method of getting rid of him, in 
 order to avoid the trouble and expence 
 the police would have imposed upon 
 him, had he been found with the dead 
 body."
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 225 
 
 Pa^e 228. 
 
 CULAC THE ENCHAXTER. 
 
 AN EASTERN TALE. 
 
 The sun had long sunk benentli the 
 western horizon, and the moon tinged with 
 dehcioiis softness the spires and minarets 
 of mighty Bagdad. Tlie industrious my- 
 riads that had thronged the streets, tlie 
 busy artizan, the venerable dervise, were 
 now hushed in repose — the din of com- 
 merce, and the songs of praise that were 
 chanted in her mosques, long had ceased. 
 The blue clear vault of heaven ran on its 
 course rejoicing, and spread forth its ce- 
 rulean canopy with celestial beauty. In 
 the east " night's faerie queen," in all her 
 commanding loveliness, sailed through 
 the spacious firmament, whilst the other 
 planets, fair as the houris of Mahomet, 
 lent their partial light to sublunary mor- 
 tals. 'I'he Tigris, with herbosom covered 
 with countless ships, freighted with the j 
 produce of every clime, rolled on with | 
 sluggish motion, as if fearing to break , 
 the deep and awful quietude that reigned i 
 
 supreme. 
 
 Such was the glorious scene that burst 
 on the eves of the vouthful Alassar. 
 VOL.'l.— 29. 
 
 FaMgued with the cares of the day, he had 
 sought in the voluptuous sweetness and 
 rose- fed love songs of his national poets, 
 a resj)ite from the toils of merchandize; 
 and now, when night had spread her 
 radiant hues over the emjjctrium of the 
 universe, he courted relief in the open air 
 from the hot and fa;tid atmosphere of his 
 abode. Busied with the thoughts and 
 recollections that so voiceless a scene would 
 naturally suggest, he walked on, uncon- 
 scious of the hour, until he found himself 
 some distance beyond the suburbs of 
 Bagdad. He paused, and determined, by 
 a circuitious route, to enter the city from 
 another quarter. 
 
 Scarcely had he resolved, when a rust- 
 ling noise, and the interch;)nge of voices, 
 stole on his ear ; directing his eyes to the 
 spot whence they issued, he perceived a 
 door in the wall suddenly throv\n open, 
 and there came forth four persons, bearing 
 a covered litter, preceded by an appa- 
 rently old man. There appeared to be so 
 nmii) mystery in their proceedings, that, 
 contrary perhaps to what his own feelings 
 dirtated, lie determined to wat( h ihesn. 
 Willi stealthy step he hastened to screen 
 2 a
 
 22Cy 
 
 TALES OF C'HIVALRV; OR, 
 
 liiniself from ol)servation, l)ehind one of 
 the trees that shadowed the river's banks. 
 The moon shot her resplendent rays full 
 on the group, and enabled Alassar to view 
 them distinctly — the old man's counten- 
 ance, he remarked, was peculiarly strik- 
 ing; his aspect was majestically terrific ; 
 gloomy and scowling was his biow, and 
 his dark grey eye glistened with unearthly 
 grandeur. He v/ore a large turban, loose 
 vest, with wide sleeves ; and a sash, 
 bearing on it mysterious hieroglyphical 
 characters, was wrapped in many folds 
 around his waist. In a language with 
 which the young merchant was unac- 
 quainted, he addressed the Numidian 
 slaves, they immediately halted, and placed 
 on the ground the litter which they car- 
 ried. One presented a square box, from 
 which the old man took forth his tablets, 
 and made some calculations apparently 
 satisfactory. He then drew from beneath 
 his vest a silver poignard or sword, and 
 placing around his neck a girdle of pre- 
 cious stones, proceeded to the litter, and 
 led forth a figure of supernatural beauty, 
 a form faultless — perfect. 
 
 With eager eye did Alassar scan those 
 features, which he thought lived only for 
 the poet's lay — but in vain did he attempt 
 to trace the breath of life on her coral lips, 
 or the shade of joy or sorrow on her pal- 
 lid countenance — her cheek betrayed no 
 fear, no apprehension, and her eye looked 
 on the vacant strand with fixed and steady 
 gaze. Alassar started, doubted, trembled : 
 should he step forth and aid the beauteous 
 fair, or remain a spy on the conduct of 
 the group? but what would his single arm 
 avail against so strong a force ? He there- 
 fore determined to remain enshrouded by 
 the tree — but his blood congealed in his 
 veins, his respiration became oppressed, 
 his heart palpitated more rapidly, and a 
 cold sweat bedewed his temples, as he 
 perceived the old man, supporting the 
 female on his left arm, plunge the poig- 
 nard into her breast, and tear forth her 
 bleeding heart. In a deep unearthly 
 voice, he pronounced some cabalistical 
 words, and threw it into the bosom of the 
 mighty Tigris. No sooner was the hor- 
 rible rite performed by the sorcerer, than 
 a thick grey cloud spread itself over the 
 spot — quickly it rose into the air, and 
 when it dispersed, the group no longer 
 was visible. Alassar searched the bank — 
 no trace was left behind — no print of 
 
 footsteps : he returned to his home dis- 
 pirited and sad. 
 
 On the morrow lie determined to lay 
 the affair before the chief cadi ; but on 
 maturer reflection, he conceived he should 
 only be treated as an enthusiast or vision- 
 ary ; and therefore resolved to further 
 examine that part of the city by day. To 
 his enquiries he ascertained that the pa- 
 lace adjoining the river belonged to an 
 old merchant, who seldom resided there. 
 Night after night did the youth pace the 
 Tigris bank, to satisfy his insatiable curi- 
 osity, and in proportion as the probability 
 of doing so became gradually less, so did 
 his ardour increase. No longer did he 
 rise with the glowing sun, and watch tiie 
 glorious orb at the gate of the mosque, as 
 it shot forth from the east — no longer 
 found he joy in his harem — no longer did 
 he perform his accustomed ablutions — 
 and Alassar, the first of merchants, whose 
 care was the theme of Bagdad — whose 
 navies, laden with merchandize, covered 
 the seas, abandoned himself to despair — 
 the thoughts of that night gnawed like a 
 cankerous worm his heart, and the angel 
 of death expanded his wings over him. 
 
 Within the precincts of Bagdad there 
 lived a venerable dervise, who was sup- 
 posed to be blessed by holy Mahomet with 
 a knowledge of the secret sciences, and 
 to hold communion with spirits of a higher 
 sphere. Alassar sent for him, and un- 
 burdened the secret which so heavily op- 
 pressed his heart. The sage listened with 
 looks of astonishment ; he drew forth his 
 geomantic romb of sand, and pen of steel, 
 and began to calculate. 
 
 " Youth," said he, "the knowledge that 
 he who dwells in the thiid heaven has 
 vouchsafed to grant me, I will comnmni- 
 cate. Righteous Allah, for reason un- 
 known to mortals, has permitted spirits 
 to roam the earth ; to some have been 
 given the power to bless mankind, and who 
 breathe around the breath of happiness ; 
 wherever they turn, they diffuse gladness, 
 like the lustre of the morning ; others, of 
 equal power, maintain continual war with 
 the children of men, and but to heaven 
 we must look for a confirmation of this 
 mysterious scene." 
 
 A fire was kindled in a golden chafing- 
 dish, which stood in the middle of the 
 apartment, and into which, at intervals, 
 he cast perfumes, and various ingredients 
 of magic efficacy. He read and prayed
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 227 
 
 frequently for a few moments, and held 
 communings, in a strange tongue, with in- 
 visible beings. His whole frame trembled 
 as he started from his knees. 
 
 *• Gracious Allah ! the being thou didst 
 see was the genius Culac, tiie fiercest and 
 boldest spirit that wars against the throne 
 of heaven. Within certain limits he roams 
 the earth, possessed with supernatural 
 power, with which like the vampires of the 
 western world, he tempts the fairest vir- 
 gins of the earth to his embrace, and 
 yearly is bound to immolate one as an 
 offering to the genius of the deep, from 
 whom he holds his tenure. Cast your 
 eyes on this mystic mirror ; in whatever 
 part of the ethereal sphere this daring 
 genius has fixed his seat, herein may he be 
 seen !" 
 
 Alassar looked ; all was darkness and 
 obscurity ; but, as the dervise pronounced 
 the spell, the scene gradually became 
 bright, and a vision shone forth with ce- 
 lestial pageantry. He observed a pavi- 
 lion supported by massive pillars, inlaid 
 with gold, and at the extremity rose a 
 throne resplendent with gems of a thou- 
 sand different hues. The ruby, sapphire, 
 diamond, and emerald, were interwoven 
 in the brilliant work. On this reclined 
 the miglity being, in oriental pomp — my- 
 riads of lesser spirits crowded the space 
 beneath, with their eyes bent on the 
 ground, and their hands crossed on their 
 breasts. The panoply of embroidered 
 silk behind the throne was suddenly drawn 
 back, and there entered a richly-attired 
 female of commanding presence, and ex- 
 ceeding beauty. 
 
 *' O Allah ! whom do I see ?" cried 
 the merchant, *' my own — my beautiful 
 Zutulbe 1 Can she, too, be a victim of his 
 sav:iffe fury ?" He clasped his hands to- 
 gether in fearful agony, looked up to 
 heaven, and uttered dreadful shrieks, 
 mingled with prayers. *' She, too, doomed ! 
 could not his wasting eye blast some 
 other flower than this ? Oh for a seraph's 
 wing to waft her hence in safety ! Would 
 that mortal aid could reach thee ! But 
 see," cried he, fixing his swollen and 
 blood-shot eyes firmly on the mirror, 
 *' Holy Prophet of Mecca ! he smiles upon 
 her widi that basilisk's eye, whom no one 
 views unmoved-look, in sportive dalliance 
 he clasps his hands around her slender 
 neck. O Allah ! Allah ! 'tis too mudi for 
 human sight — is she thus to perish !" 
 
 In the distraction of grief and despair, 
 he fell on the floor, and lay for some 
 minutes insensible. Tiie dervise applied 
 the remedies which his art suggested for 
 his recovery, when suddenly the object of 
 his anxious solicitude began to revive ; 
 but it was to dash the cup of consolation 
 from his lips, heap coals of living fire upon 
 his liead, and curse, in the bitterness of 
 ' his heart, the day on which he first beheld 
 the light. 
 
 ** Unfortunate Alassar !" said the der- 
 vise, " mitigate thy grief. Implore the 
 intercession of the prophet — gird up thy 
 loins, and take to thyself the staff of con- 
 solation. Zutulbe, thy betrothed, still 
 liveth — still may be saved." 
 
 " She liveth," groaned the wretched 
 youth, "but it is in the eagle's claw — 
 she liveth — oh ! better that she were 
 dead, and received by Mahomet into the 
 highest heaven, ere she had met so dire 
 a fate !" 
 
 His tender frame, entirely exhausted, 
 was unable any longer to bear up against 
 nature j he fell back in a death- like swoon; 
 his face assumed a ghastly paleness, his 
 lips quivered, and a few sighs or whis- 
 pers only escaped them, breathing the 
 name of Zutulbe. The dervise gave 
 proper directions to the domestics, and 
 left with them a cordial to be administered 
 to their sorrowing master, when he should 
 revive ; and, promising to return shortly, 
 he set out to obtain some confirmation of 
 the scene that had been presented in the 
 magic mirror. He hastily bent his steps 
 to that quarter of the city where the friends 
 of Zutulbe resided; but on his way thither, 
 meeting with one of her slaves, he found 
 that the tale was but too true ; she had 
 that morning left her home, but under 
 what circumstances, no one could surmise. 
 The dervise returned to his grotto, and 
 spent the night in fasting and prayer 
 for assistance from above to oppose the 
 rebellious spirit ; fatigued with his vigils, 
 sleep, ere the sun had risen from his 
 saffron bed, bedewed his eyelids, and the 
 hand of him who dwells in the third 
 heaven rested upon him, and ordained 
 that sleep should be the minister of in- 
 struction. 
 
 The dervise, glowing with delight and 
 joy at the wondrous goodness and mercy 
 of his j>rophet, arose in an ecstacy of de- 
 votion and gratitude, and hastened to 
 Alassar's house, where he found his charge
 
 •228 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 weak and pallid, reclining on li's couch. 
 On the entrance of the old man, Alassar 
 hastened to embrace him, but his knees 
 tofteied, and his feeble body refused to 
 obey tlie wishes of his heart. 
 
 " Bear up awhile — all may yet be well. 
 Hast thou the heart, my son, to strike a 
 deej) — a deadly blow for thy Zutulbe ?" 
 
 " Have I ? — point out the way — no 
 labour — no danger will I shun !" 
 
 *♦ Tarry, youth ; that hollow eye — thy 
 wasted frame — too plainly tell how useless 
 is thy aid — but still for three moons hence 
 I shall not see thee — I journey into a far 
 country — meanwiiile daily perform the 
 rites of devotion with fervour and ex- 
 actness — strengthen thy body, and of thy 
 plenty give alms to the needy. In prayer 
 and penitence pass the time until we meet 
 again. May Mahomet watch over and 
 protect his son. Farewell." 
 
 Time, rolling quickly on, brought in his 
 course the conclusion of the three months, 
 the anniversary of the fatal night that had 
 robbed Alassar of his heart, and it found 
 the merchant improved in health and 
 vigour, though pale and wan. As night 
 drew in, he endeavoured to conceal the feel- 
 ings that were uppermost in his thoughts — 
 he paced his room in feverish anxiety — 
 mounted the terraced roof, and breathed 
 beneath the shady trees the evening dews; 
 but on the approach of midnight, he al- 
 most distrusted the aged hermit, and 
 thought of going forth alone. As Alassar 
 was about to execute his intention, the 
 sage entered the apartment, covered with 
 dust, worn out with fatigue — his gar- 
 ments soiled and torn. He beckoned to 
 the merchant, who immediately followed 
 him. With a quick step they hurried on, 
 and shortly reached their destined spot. 
 
 " But a few minutes remain," said the 
 dervise, " and the despiser of Allah will 
 be here. Draw back, my son ; the trunk 
 of this tree will screen us from observa- 
 tion. Behold," placing his hand in the 
 folds of his vest, " the signet of blessed 
 Mahomet — 'tis for this I have been to 
 holy Mecca — this will aid and defend the 
 favoured flock of heaven, though the scof- 
 fers of the prophet may for a time prevail. 
 Strengthened by so precious a relic, boldly 
 plunge your dagger into the sorcerer's 
 heart — at this precise period he is con- 
 trolled by a higher power, and the bold 
 and rebellious Culac, until the sacrifice 
 
 has been offered, is dispossessed of his 
 potent art. Zutulbe is his victim for to- 
 night : all remembrance of the past was 
 taken from her when she entered his pa- 
 lace, and now she is under the powerful 
 influence of magic spells, depriving her 
 of all consciousness of the horrid fate 
 sne is doomed to. Good must conquer 
 evil, and Zutulbe's estrangement from 
 earth will be to her but as a dreauj — she 
 will again meet your embrace, innocent, 
 chaste, and spotless. But see — the fell 
 monster, Culac, approaches. Courage 
 my son — to Allah bend the knee, that he 
 and his prophet may be our defence, our 
 shield, and buckler." 
 
 Already had Culac taken the motion- 
 less Zutulbe from the litter— already had 
 he lifted his murderous poignard — when 
 Alassar, like a mountain lioness, started 
 from his covert, fastened on his foe, and 
 with one terrific plunge buried his dagger 
 in the enchanter's heart ! A vivid flash of 
 lightning streaked through the sky, peals 
 of thunder rolled in wild conhision — and 
 the winds poured forth their fury, deafen- 
 ing the sound of pealing thunder. Culac, 
 feehng himself overpowered by the blow, 
 and that the messenger of death had 
 seized him, raised his voice against the 
 din of elements, cursing aloud with his 
 dying breath both Allah and his prophet : 
 but his wicked spirit soon departed from 
 his body, when his countenance and en- 
 tire form became changed. The fearhil 
 lustre of his eye was now deadened, his 
 forehead and temples were relaxed with 
 wrinkles, his mouth had fallen in, and 
 age, extreme old age, was marked on 
 every feature. 
 
 Alassar turned from the withered spec- 
 tacle, and embraced his beloved Zutulbe, 
 now released from the enchanter's power: 
 in place of words, tears flowed down their 
 cheeks ; blessings and sobs were mixed 
 together. Happy, indeed, was their 
 meeting ! — and for years afterwards the 
 release of Zutulbe, and the destruction of 
 the enchanter Culac, was the theme of 
 Bagdad. 
 
 RISE OF THE AUSTRIAN EMPIRE. 
 
 Vienna, with its ramparts, which seem 
 to guard the city, and its vast suburbs, 
 which surrounds it at the distance of six 
 hundred yards, is not unlike the Aus- 
 trian Empire, whose vast kingdom and 
 provinces surround the small ArLhduke-
 
 PERILS BY H.OOI) AND FiKLD. 
 
 229 
 
 dom of Austria Proper. Its very palaces 
 its intricate mazes, and its crooked, nar- 
 row, and winding streets, bear the cha- 
 racter of lameness, and of that shifting 
 policy for which the reigning family is so 
 justly notorious, far more than that of the 
 different nations whose head this capital 
 has become. This imperial family is a 
 true specimen how often the greatest 
 events are the offspring of accidental 
 causes. A count of Switzerland meets, 
 during one of his sporting excursions, a 
 poor priest on his way to administer the 
 sacrament to a dying parishiuner. His 
 progress is arrested by a brook, just at 
 the moment when the count with his re- 
 tinue arrives. Respectfully he offers his 
 own horse to the priest, humbly it is ac- 
 cepted, and the next day returned. " God 
 forbid !" exclaims the count to the mes- 
 senger, " that I should ride a horse again 
 which carried my Saviour : I bestow it on 
 the church and priest." This poor priest 
 becomes the chaplain and the confidant of 
 the prince elector of Mentz, and his in- 
 fluence prevails on the first spiritual prince 
 of Germany, to propose the pious horse- 
 lender to the assembled electors of this 
 empire. As his military prowess pro- 
 mised to be useful at a time when Ger- 
 many was infested by numberless petty 
 waylaying knights, and his want of power 
 gave no reason for jealousy, he was ac- 
 cepted, and thus Kudolph, count of Haps- 
 burgh, became the first though least 
 powerful monarch of Christendom. 
 
 Though a wealthy count, he was a poor 
 prince ; he had, however, a treasure in 
 his daughters, which he disposed of in 
 tliat prudent way, which enabled him, 
 with the assistance of his princely sons- 
 in-law, to deprive Ottocar, the king of Bo- 
 hemia, of Austria. Tijis dukedom had been 
 seized, after the decease of the last duke 
 of tiie house of Babensburg, by Ottocar, 
 and was in vain re-demanded by Rudolph. 
 Ottocar was twice defeated ; and his death 
 on the field of battle secured tlie family 
 of Hapsburg in that first possession, the 
 archdukedom of Austria. His successors 
 pursued the same prudent and marrying 
 way, and acquired by these means the 
 kingdoms of i3jhemia, Hungary, a num- 
 ber of smaller provinces, and finally the 
 vast Spanish monarchy, till Charles the 
 Fifth, the most powerful monarch of Eu- 
 rope, dared to aspire, three hundred years 
 afterwards, to universal monarchv. With- 
 
 out a distinguished character, without 
 even the love of those nations, and in 
 spite of continual revolts, this family not 
 only extricated itself from imminent'dan- 
 gers, but rose from its frequent downfalls 
 more powerful than before. While we 
 see the foundations of other empires 
 shaken where sovereign and people are 
 intimately blended, and liberal ideas are 
 spreading every day, there is in this vast 
 monarchy, till the present time, scarcely 
 a movement perceptible towards emanci- 
 pation, which none of the nations under 
 this government seem to require. Where 
 the greatest genius would have failed, the 
 monarchs of Austria have succeeded by 
 the very want of genius ; and by merely 
 resorting to such common means as lie 
 nearer to the level of common under- 
 standings, are neither visionary nor fan- 
 tastic, and therefore seldom fail in their 
 intended success. — Austria as it is. 
 
 PIRATES OF THE ARCHIPELAGO. 
 
 A FEW years ago a band of desperate 
 pirates swarmed all the ports of the Ar- 
 chipelago. Reports were constantly being 
 received of some new example of their 
 daring and success, and too often of their 
 cruelty. They had sprung up suddenly, 
 and had appeared in several quarters at 
 the same time ; and it was conjectured, 
 from their numbers and extraordinary 
 audacity, that they must be supported by 
 some high authority, and acting under 
 express directions. They were composed, 
 as far as could be discovered, of individuals 
 of all nations, chiefly Syriac, Egyptian, 
 and Greek. They attacked vessels of all 
 sizes, and bearing all flags. 
 
 The following narrative of the capture 
 of a Venetian brig by the pirates, and 
 sufferings of the crew, is by an actor in 
 the scenes he has so ably described : — 
 
 Not lung since, I had occasion to pass 
 in a Venetian brig from Alexandria to 
 Smyrna, and as I was desirous to take 
 this opportunity of becoming acquainted 
 with the ^gean, the captain, at my re- 
 quest, visited a few of the more interest- 
 ing islands. One day in May, we were 
 lying oft' the north-east coast of the island 
 of Naxos, enjoying the freshening softness 
 of the evening air after a day of excessive 
 sultriness. At sunset the wind gradually 
 died away, and gave place to one of those 
 dead, motionless calms, so common in 
 these uncertain seas. We had watched
 
 230 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 witli melancholy interest the last gleams 
 of the departing snn, as lie disappeared 
 behind the wooden liills of Antiparos, and 
 were now enjoying (lie soft dim lustre of 
 the moon, as she rose upon the lovely 
 scene before us. Syra, Delos, and other 
 isles, dimly discernible in the distance, 
 formed the chief features of the landscape, 
 while the rich moonlight softly gUmmered 
 on the almost motionless bosum of the 
 waters. 
 
 Occasionally a slight ripple against the 
 sides of the vessel awoke the slumbering 
 phosphorescence of the ocean, and elicited 
 a liglit which had something of enchant- 
 ment both in its delicacy and evanescence. 
 There was a stillness — a calmness — a 
 surpassing beauty — a sacred purity — in 
 the scene, wliich inspired one with the 
 thoughts and the language of another 
 world ; and as I gave way to the reveries 
 and remembrances it awakened, I almost 
 lost the recollection of our meaner nature, 
 and forgot that I was still on earth. 
 
 In this mood of mind I was leaning 
 over the side of the vessel, when the cap- 
 tain came and tapped me gently on the 
 shoulder, and with a look of peculiar sig- 
 nificance, pointed to an abrupt promontory 
 about two miles ahead of us. I followed 
 his eye, and could distiiiguish with dilR. 
 culty two long narrow boats, with three 
 small masts in each, and impelled ap- 
 parently by nearly twenty oars, making 
 straight for our vessel. iVs they came 
 more distinctly into view, and we could 
 discern their form, it was such as to leave 
 us no doubt of their nature or intentions. 
 We had heard them described too often, 
 and too minutely, not to recognize them 
 at a glance ; they were a band of those 
 terrible pirates who were then infesting 
 the ^gean, and whose daring and cruelty 
 had struck terror into all the sailors who 
 frequent those seas. I looked at the cap- 
 tain. He was a brave man, I knew, for 
 I had seen him tried; yet now his lip 
 quivered, and a shuddering came over 
 his whole frame, as he saw, in all its 
 horrors, the fate which was probably in store 
 for us. We knew that our chance of a 
 successful resistance was but small ; but 
 weak as it was, we had learned enough 
 of the brutality of these wretches in otlier 
 cases to be aware it was our only hope. 
 Outrage, ignominy, and massacre, had 
 been inflicted, according to the varying 
 caprice of the hour ; and, in particular, 
 
 their treatment of the crews of two vessels 
 which had lately fallen into their hands, 
 determined stis to light to the last plank, 
 and then take what fate it might please 
 Providence to send us. 
 
 Escape was impossible. There was 
 not a breath of air sufficient to stir a hand- 
 kerchief : and these pirates always profit 
 by a calm, which enables them to attack 
 an unwieldy vessel to great advantage. 
 We got all our arms on deck, and each 
 man stood ready at his post. 1 had laid 
 my sword and pistols on the gunwale 
 before me, and was leaning on my car- 
 bine, watcliing the advance of the enemy. 
 There was a dead silence through the ship, 
 till we could distinctly hear the splashing 
 of their oars, as they gradually neared us ; 
 it was horrible to be thus deserted by the 
 elements at our greatest need. There 
 was not breeze or motion sufficient to 
 enable us to turn the vessel ; and there 
 was not one of us who would not thank- 
 fully have exchanged our helpless, motion- 
 less condition, against the wildest hurri- 
 cane that ever blew over a tropical sea. 
 We were delivered up to our enemies, as 
 it were, bound hand and foot. This feel- 
 ing of paralysis grew upon us momently, 
 like the horrors of night- mare. Every 
 man seemed afraid to breathe, and we 
 might have heard a pin drop, at the 
 furthest extremity of the ship. We were 
 looking death in the face — and I felt that 
 he was indeed the king of terrors. 
 
 The boats at length came within hail. 
 I counted thirty men in one boat, and 
 twenty in the other ; we did not muster 
 twenty-five in all. They rowed close 
 alongside, one at one side, the other at 
 the other, and summoned us to surrender. 
 The captain returned no answer, but took 
 a deliberate aim with his musket at the 
 summoner, and shot him through the 
 heart. We all followed his example, and 
 our fire was eminently successful. They 
 returned it in haste, and then, without 
 waiting to reload, began to climb the sides 
 of our vessel. We offered them no re- 
 sistance, but retired to the quarter-deck, 
 where our two small cannon had been 
 ))laced, and ranged ourselves before them. 
 As soon as the pirates had clambered upon 
 deck, without waiting to form, they drew 
 their heavy cimetars and yataghans, and 
 rushed tumultuously upon us. In a mo- 
 ment we drew a little to either side, and at 
 the same instant our two guns poured
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 231 
 
 tlieir grape-shot, tlirough our ranks, upon 
 the confused mass of our assailants. Tlie 
 effect was tremendous : for a moment we 
 thought the victory was ours, and we 
 rushed upon them to complete our w'ork. 
 But they rallied too quickly, and then 
 began the real contest : it was man to 
 man — hand to hand — sabre to sabre. The 
 pirates were desperate by character — we 
 were rendered so by situation ; and the 
 combat was one of such deep and concen- 
 trated fury as I trust never to witness 
 again. Two of the combatants, who were 
 firmly grappled, and were slashing each 
 other with their daggers, missed their 
 footing on the quarter-deck, and fell over- 
 board together. But even in the water, 
 I could observe that they did not quit 
 their hold ; each grasped his antagonist 
 with the frenzy of a dying man, and they 
 sank in each other's arms. How long 
 the battle lasted I know not : it might be 
 five minutes — it might be ten ; but I 
 was brought to the ground I scarce knew 
 how, and when I recovered my senses, it 
 was all over. 
 
 Myself and six of my companions were 
 the sole survivors : they were all wounded 
 and tied with ropes to the side of our 
 vessel. The captain was among them. 
 His arms were pinioned behind him, and 
 he was lashed to the mainmast. He was 
 evidently weak from loss of blood, and 
 his pale countenance expressed a sort of 
 hopeless resignation, interrupted at times 
 by a transient shudder of unconquerable 
 horror, as the thought of the fate in store 
 for us rushed across his mind. The pirates, 
 whose numbers had been greatly thinned 
 during the action, were lying on the 
 quarter-deck, some sleeping, others watch- 
 ing. The first faint streak of morning 
 light was just appearing along the horizon, 
 and our conquerors took advantage of a 
 breeze which sprung up, to direct our 
 vessel towards tlieir port. Just then a 
 ship of considerable size came in sight 
 round the corner of the is^land, and passed 
 us within a few hundred yards. Our 
 captain, regardless of the consequences, 
 hailed the strange sail, and claimed the 
 assistance of her crew, and at the same 
 moment received a shot which silenced 
 him for ever. The pirates sprung to their 
 feet, and prepared to receive those we 
 had called upon to save us. They had 
 seen our situation, but they turned a deaf 
 ear to our entreaties ; they spoke not — 
 
 turned not — staid not. The ship of safety 
 speeded on its way ; and as it gradually 
 lessened in the distance, our excited hopes 
 sunk into despair, and our hearts died 
 away within us. 
 
 I am an observer, both by habit and 
 disposition, even in times of the deepest 
 anxiety and danger ; and as a faint gleam 
 of hope, in the shape of an accepted ran- 
 som, had already flashed across my mind, 
 I began to look out, with a sort of tlirob- 
 bing curiosity, mingled with alarm and 
 doubt, for the pirates' den, whither our 
 course was evidently directed. It was 
 not long before we arrived. Six of the 
 pirates immediately proceeded southward 
 with our captured ship, for the purpose, 
 as we afterwards found, of selling her at 
 Rhodes, wdth the inhabitants of which 
 island they kept up a regular traffic of 
 this nature. The remainder of our victors 
 got into their two boats, whither we were 
 compelled to follow them, and pulled 
 towards shore. I despaired of being able 
 to delineate, otherwise than with the 
 pencil, the extraordinary scene we now 
 approached. It was a bold, craggy, almost 
 perpendicular coast ; and we soon dis- 
 covered a vast chasm or fissure, which 
 extended the whole height of the rock, 
 and to a considerable depth inland. Into 
 this chasm we entered, and, after rowing 
 about fifty yards, another considerable 
 fissure opened at right angles with the 
 first. Though at least sixty yards broad 
 at the level of the water, this second 
 chasm gradually diminished in breadth, 
 till at the surface of the island its exist- 
 ence was only discernible by a narrow 
 crack, over which an active man might 
 leap with ease. At the end of this extra- 
 ordinary natural vault, and about twenty 
 feet above the sea, was a cave, narrow at 
 its entrance, but widening considerably 
 as it penetrated deeper into the rock, and 
 by no means dissimilar to the subter- 
 ranean gallery underneath the citadel of 
 Argos. As the pirates moored their boats 
 at the extremity of this vast cavern, for 
 such, notwithstanding the narrow opening 
 above, it might be called ; two of their 
 associates appeared at the mouth of the 
 cave to welcome them, and enquire of 
 their success. A few words were inter- 
 changed between them, and my compa- 
 nions, and we were then ordered to mount 
 into the cave by means of a ladder of 
 ropes, which was let down to the boat's
 
 232 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 edge. To one of these unfortunate 
 wretches, the moment seemed to offer a 
 last chance of safety. When his turn 
 came to ascend, he pretended to lose his 
 hold, slipped into the water, dived under 
 the nearest boat, and swam vigorously 
 away. But the effort proved a desperate 
 one ; the pirates were too vigilant to be 
 thus deceived ; three firelocks were dis- 
 charged at the unhappy man, too deli- 
 berately to miss his mark ; he gave a 
 horrid shriek, which is still ringing in my 
 ears — stretched forth his hands wildly and 
 imploringly to heaven — then slowly sunk 
 beneath the surface ; and the bubbles 
 which ascended one by one from his last 
 suffocating gasp, alone indicated the spot 
 where he had disappeared. 
 
 We were all struck with horror. It 
 seemed to us a foreboding of our own fate, 
 and we shuddered as we entered this dark 
 cavern of iniquity. There seemed to be 
 manv recesses, in different directions ; 
 but f he part of the cave where the pirates 
 were assembled was nearly circular, and 
 a rude lamp, which was suspended from 
 the damp vault, served to show the drear- 
 iness and discomfort of the chamber, and 
 the mats and weapons which formed its 
 only furniture. 
 
 I will not detail to you the horrors of 
 our situation, nor the ignominous treat- 
 ment to which we were subjected, during 
 our abode in the pirates' den. It was 
 living with the devil and his angels. My 
 four remaining companions were taken 
 out of the cave at midnight, about a week 
 after our arrival, and put on board one of 
 the pirates' boats, and I had afterwards 
 reason to believe that they were sold as 
 slaves in some of the ports of Syria. I 
 only escaped their fate from having been 
 able to persuade the pirates, by producing 
 my papers, that if my friends at Smyrna 
 were informed of my situation, they would 
 willingly advance whatever ransom might 
 be demanded ; and pledged myself, at the 
 same time, that I would never attempt to 
 make known their residence. I wrote to 
 Smyrna, and an answer soon arrived. The 
 pirates, impatient for their promised ran- 
 som, immediately conveyed me to Scala 
 Nuova, the port of the ancient Ephesus, 
 where my friends met me, and I was de- 
 livered up to them on payment of the 
 stipulated sum. It was two thousand 
 dnjlars. 
 
 As I rode towards Smrvna, the world 
 
 seemed to have opened afresh before me : 
 I was disposed to look upon every thing 
 with a favourable eye. Even the miser- 
 able village of Aiasaluck appeared rich 
 and beautiful ; and nature was bright 
 and laughing : and I felt that 1 had taken 
 out a new lease of life. 
 
 'J'he same pirates are now infesting the 
 Archipelago ; but I remember my pro- 
 mise, and not even a robber shall have 
 to reproach me with a breach of trust. 
 
 FILIAL DEVOTION. 
 
 This virtue is more practised by the 
 Chinese than by any other people. The 
 following is an instance: — 
 
 A formidable leader of the Ladrones 
 had dispatched the greater part of his force 
 down the river, and proceeded afterwards 
 himself almost unattended. Of this the 
 officers of government were informed ; 
 but so great was the dread he had inspired 
 that they were afraid to attack him. J'hey 
 seized the whole of his family, from the 
 grandfather downwards ; on which the 
 robber, finding his family in the power of 
 the government, voluntarily went to the 
 house where they were, saying, '* It was 
 unnecessary that so many should die for 
 one ;" but as the soldiers still hesitated 
 to advance, he came from the house, and, 
 placing himself between them and his 
 family, drew the knife which he wore, and 
 stabbed himself, telling the officers " they 
 were now vs'elcome to seize him." 
 
 MILITARY JUSTICE. 
 
 The following story gives a lively idea 
 of the Russian rule of Poland : 
 
 A Jew met a Cossack in the forest ; 
 the latter robbed him of his horse. On 
 returning to the town he lodged a com- 
 plaint with the major in command, who 
 was, with what truth we shall see, reputed 
 to be a most rigid disciplinarian. 
 
 The Cossacks were paraded, the robber 
 was pointed out, when, with the utmost 
 effrontery, he declared that he had found 
 the horse. " How ?" replied the Jew, •' I 
 was on his back." " Yes," returned the 
 Cossack, '* I found you too; but having 
 no use for a Jew, I did not keep you." 
 
 The excuse was deemed sufficient, and 
 the Jew lost his steed. 
 
 REWARDS TO SOLDIERS, 
 
 UxD.R Germanicus, were — a chain, a 
 bracelet, a spear, and a branch of oak.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 233 
 
 Page 234. 
 
 THE WANDERERS. 
 
 It was on a very tempestuous night . 
 that the heroine of this Httle history, anx- 
 iously anrl alone in her poor and soUtary 
 cottage, awaited the return of her aged 
 father, who she feared had lost himself 
 among the intricate recesses of the adja- 
 cent forest, or been struck with lightning 
 while ascending the rocky path which led 
 to his isolated dwelling. Had a Christian 
 been placed in similar circumstances, she 
 would, probably, have been surrounded 
 by condoling friends, but none came to 
 solace Rachel, for she was a Jewess ! and 
 not one cared to peril his immortal soul 
 by conversing with an excommunicated 
 intidel. Ti)is could have been the only 
 rea>;on, for the maiden was young and 
 beautiful, and her venerable parent was 
 viituous and charitable. They had not 
 long resided in England ; driven by per- 
 secuiiun fri)m their native land, they had j 
 fled hither for refuge a few months before j 
 the night on which tliis narrative begins. 
 Their dwelling was planted on the brow 
 of a lofty cliff^ which hung over a little 
 hamlet, consisting of a few scattered 
 
 VOL. 1.— 30. 
 
 hovels. Further off stood the venerable 
 priory of a fraternity of Dominican friars. 
 All else was one dense forest, while here 
 and there a craggy rock reared its grey 
 head above the green, expanse beneath. 
 Its loneliness and romantic beauty had 
 induced the wanderers to select this al- 
 most inaccessible solitude, where they 
 hoped to remain secure from the taunt's 
 and malice of their Christian brethren. 
 
 The fearful height of the little hovel 
 exposed it in a full degree to the violence 
 of every tempest, and on the night in 
 question it had nearly shared the fate of 
 a neighbouring fir, which had been shi- 
 vered by the lightning into a thousand 
 fragments. Rachel heard the crash, but 
 her fortitude did not forsake h^r ; she fell 
 upon her knees, and, with many tears, 
 addressed her simple orisons to her hea- 
 venly father; and he wliom her nation 
 crucified accepted her prayer. When she 
 arose, she felt much comforted, and 
 placing fresh billets upon the decaying 
 embers, that the light might direct her 
 parent, she hurried to the threshold, 
 hoping to descry his form amid the thick 
 gloom, which was broken only at inter- 
 2 H
 
 234 
 
 TALES OF CHIVAT.RY 
 
 vals by the sulpliurous flashes which shed 
 a momentary and knid glare on the sur- 
 rounding scenery. A brief interval 
 elapsed ; and now sounds as of some per- 
 son approaching awoke in the distance, 
 and as they drew nearer she distinctly 
 Iieard the clang of a horse's hoof. Her 
 fears increased. She knew that her father 
 was no horseman, and that if he hud 
 been, he would scarcely have dared to as- 
 cend that rugged and precipitous path ; 
 and she thought that his must be a fearful 
 errand, who would ride along so danger- 
 ous a tract at such a time. She called to 
 mind the hatred with which her people 
 were every where regarded, and she 
 shuddered, " lest having slain her aged 
 parent, the ruthless assassin was coming 
 to crown his infamy by imbruing his 
 hands in her innocent blood. Her alarm, 
 liowever, greatly subsided when a sudden 
 flash discovered a youth of commanding 
 and prepossessing appearance, apparelled 
 in a suit of Kendal green, richly embroi- 
 dered, and partly enveloped in the folds 
 of a large mantle of the same material; 
 his steed was gaily caparisoned, and both 
 horse and rider were thickly bespattered 
 with clay and mud. 
 
 The stranger, when he reached the 
 cottage, immediately dismounted ; *' God 
 be thanked !" vs'as his first exclamation ; 
 when, seeing Rachel, he started back with 
 surprise, then fell on one knee, and taking 
 her delicate hand in his, he pressed it to 
 his lips. 
 
 " Lady," he enquired, *• why art thou 
 here — where I expected to n)eet but the 
 outlaw or peasant at best ?" 
 
 The compassionate heart of woman 
 never permits her to forget the vioes of 
 others, albeit herself distressed. The 
 maiden beckoned the youth to rise, and 
 pointed to the glowing embers. 
 
 " I crave pardon, mysterious fair one, 
 for intruding myself upon your hospita- 
 lity," resumed the stranger, in reply to 
 these gestures ; *' losing myself while 
 hunting, night overtook me, and had not 
 this fire directed me, I might probably 
 have perished in the wilderness." 
 
 " Hast thou seen an aged man on thy 
 way hither ?" enquired iiachel, her anx- 
 iety for her father's welfare overcoming 
 her natural bashfulness. 
 
 *' Thou art not alone, and in this 
 place ?" exclaimed the huntsman, still 
 standing without the entrance. 
 
 " I am alone, awaiting my parent," 
 was the reply. 
 
 At this moment a thrilling shriek rang 
 wildly through the air, the stranger grasp- 
 ed his sword, and the damsel trembled. 
 
 " It is my father's voice !" she cried, 
 " save him 1 save him !" 
 
 The youth sprung upon his steed, for 
 he was already deeply interested in the 
 fortunes of the maiden, and the law's of 
 chivalry required him to succour the dis- 
 tresseti virgin. The tempest raged with 
 unabated fury. His horse foamed and 
 shook with the violence of his exertions. 
 All was dark, save the glimmering light 
 of the cottage hearth, which faded away 
 as he descended. Another piercing shriek 
 mingled with the roar of contending ele- 
 ments ; he dashed his spurs into his cour- 
 ser's flanks and loosened the rein: on- 
 ward, downward, rushed the maddened 
 steed over the thick brushwood and every 
 obstacle, till, missing his footing, he fell 
 with his gallant rider. 
 
 Bruised and bleeding, the young man 
 quitted his dying hunter ; and, undiscou- 
 raged by his late peril, hurried forward on 
 foot, in the direction from whence tlie 
 cries proceeded, and in another moment 
 he stood at the gate of the Priory ; the 
 v\icket yielded to his pressure, and he 
 entered the court-j^ard. Here all was 
 confusion. The monks who were stand- 
 ing together beneath the cloisters, sepa- 
 rated as the youth advanced, and he per- 
 ceived the body of the aged Jew lying 
 lacerated on the pavement and senseless. 
 At a little distance, at the edge of a 
 newly-made grave, stood one of the fra- 
 ternity, holding a spade and pickaxe ; and 
 the huge torches, which were held by 
 several others, shed a ruddy light upon 
 the v\hole company. The Prior was 
 standing by his victim, and retreated not 
 at the stranger's entrance; his counten- 
 ance was ashy pale, and his e}es glowed 
 furnace-like from beneath his lowering 
 brows. 
 
 " Thy business here ?" were his words 
 of salutation. 
 
 " I am here to demand the cause of this 
 man's death." 
 
 " He is not dead — he breathes," re- 
 plied the Prior, kicking the body. 
 
 " Wretch!" shouted the stranger, seiz- 
 ing the friar with an herculean grasp, 
 ♦' tell me instantly the cause of this man's 
 murder, or by " The churchman
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 235 
 
 shook him off disdainfully, and recoiling 
 a few paces, interrupted his wrathful as- 
 sailant : 
 
 " Would ye have had this sanctuary 
 destroyed by this knave's incantations ? 
 would ye have had us shelter an accursed 
 Jew ?" 
 
 The blood forsook the huntsman's 
 cheek ; he knew not till now whose 
 cause he was defending ; but his love for 
 the fair girl who had so marvellously 
 fascinated him, stifled every other feeling, 
 and he sternly replieil — 
 
 " If he had relied upon thy hospita- 
 lify~" 
 
 " We thought not this," proudly re- 
 turned the monk ; and he dashed his 
 torch into the face of the dying man. 
 
 The stranger's choler boiled within 
 him ; his sword flashed from its sheath, 
 and he was about to punish the ecclesi- 
 astic, when a blow from the spade of the 
 grave-digger felled him to the earth. 
 When he recovered, he found himself in- 
 carcerated in a dark and dreary dungeon ; 
 the light was admitted by an iron grating, 
 and through it he perceived that the 
 storm liad died away, and that the stars 
 were shining beautifully in the calm blue 
 sky. His mind was torn with anxiety, 
 not for his own sake, but for hers, whom 
 he had left alone in a state of terrible 
 suspense on the mountain's brow. The 
 sight which he had so lately witnessed, 
 together with his ghastly wound, from 
 which the blood still flowed, made him 
 weak and faint, and he leaned against the 
 wall of his cell in a state of indescribable 
 alarm. Hours glided away — the sun rose 
 and set — tlie stars peeped out, and the 
 sun rose again — and the prisoner began 
 to suspect that he had received the ter- 
 rific doom of the dave in pace. He 
 lamented liis own rashness, and more the 
 deserted state of the lovely orphan, for 
 whom he had already risked so much. 
 
 He was the youngest of three brothers, 
 sons of a Scottish chief j but like many 
 other junior branches of great families, 
 he inherited but a slender portion at his ' 
 fatlier's decease. His eldest brother had 
 been long absent studying at Salamanca; 
 a report of his death had gone forth, and 
 the next heir seized the property, and such 
 was his selfish villany, that he refused 
 our hero even his little due. In those 
 days power was law ; and grieved and 
 angered, he resolved to seek his eldest 
 
 brother, to the report of whose death he 
 gave but little credit, and trusted with his 
 society to balm his wounded spirit. VV ith 
 this intention, he repaired to England, 
 and there encounteiiug Robin Hood and 
 his gallant company, at that time the 
 bravest and best part of the English na- 
 tion, he was captivated by their noble 
 demeanour and their leader's courtesy, 
 and consented to join their band. It is 
 in this relation that he is first introduced 
 to our readers. 
 
 On the third morning of his captivity, 
 he was roused from a feverish and broken 
 slumber by the door of his cell grating 
 harshly on its rusty hinges, and the clang 
 of chains, and the next moment two 
 savage looking miscreants entered the 
 dungeon. The prisoner instinctively felt 
 for his sword, but it was gone, and un- 
 able to support himself, he measured his 
 length upon the damp tloor. A malig- 
 nant laugh proceeded from the friars ; 
 and, seizing the unconscious youth, they 
 dragged him along through several de- 
 vious passages into the open air. Tlie 
 breath of heaven presently restored him 
 to consciousness, and he observed a rack 
 and other instruments of torture standing 
 near him ; a moment had scarcely elapsed, 
 when, to his horror and astonishment, he 
 beheld Rachel proceed from another part 
 of the building, attended by the prior and 
 a masked ruffian, wlio from time to time 
 lacerated her bleeding bosom ; her raven 
 tresses flowed loosely upon her shoulders, 
 her eyes were raised in prayer, and her 
 mind seemed elevated above all earthly 
 objects ; but the instant she beheld the 
 huntsman, her composure vanished, and 
 stretching out her lily hands, she de- 
 manded, in thrilling tones, to see her 
 father. 
 
 Mocking her entreaties, the callous 
 hearted monks were preparing to stretch 
 her upon the accursed wheel, when the 
 youdi, nerved with a desperate frenzy — 
 forgetting his situation — his wounds — 
 every thing, rushed to the maiden's side, 
 and seizing her hand, half running, half 
 flying, he dragged her forward a few 
 paces, and overcome by his exertions, fell 
 upon the pavement. The friars antici- 
 pated the result, and shouted with savage 
 exultation ; but now the tramp of horses 
 and the silver melody of bells were heard; 
 the gates flew open, and, attended by ^ 
 numerous retinue of priests and vassals.
 
 236 
 
 TALES OF CHJVALKV 
 
 OR, 
 
 that active soldier and apostle of the 
 church militant, archbishop Baldwin, en- 
 tered the sacred precints. His venerable 
 countenance beamed with charity anil 
 benevolence ; but when he saw the bloody 
 spectacle which now presented itself, he 
 recoiled with horror. 
 
 The prior trembled with rage as he 
 strode Ibrward tu receive his superior, 
 and answered his harsh interrogations 
 tirmly and proudly. He asserted that 
 his prisoners were damnable heretics, and 
 was about to allege some other sophistries 
 in defence of his cruelty, when, summon- 
 ing all his energies for the effort, the 
 youth inteirupted him. 
 
 '* Priest," lie cried, " I am no heretic, 
 and he lies most foully who says so. 
 Hear me, father! These sainted mis- 
 creants have murdered one man — vene- 
 rable as tliou art — who craved their shel- 
 ter but for one night. They have drag 
 ged that old man's daughter from her 
 secluded home, that every torture she en- 
 dured might increase my mental agony ; 
 and now, tbrsooth, they plead their zeal 
 for the God of love, and would persuade 
 thee, father, that tliis was their only mo- 
 tive, h this be true — if it be proved that 
 Christ's creed — of whici), doubtless, I wot 
 but very little — sanctions such barbarity, 
 then would I heretically renounce my 
 faith ; but not till then !" 
 
 *• Would'st th(ju risk all for the cause 
 of God in Palestine?" eagerly demanded 
 the prelate. 
 
 " Of a troth would 1 — but this lady — " 
 
 ** What hath she done ?" enquired the 
 bishop, sternly. 
 
 *' She is a Jewess ?" groaned the monk, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " Cowards and cruel," returned Bald- 
 win, "think ye that torture will avail 
 aught in such a case ? Fiends and cruel, 
 it is such as ye who bring contemjit upon 
 our holy church, and your crimes form 
 the burden of every wild and idle theme. 
 Would to God that I sat on the throne of 
 Saint Peter, then would I wet this fearful 
 sword, and having iirst locked the gates 
 of heaven upon you, sweep ye, like a nest 
 of hornets, from the earth !" 
 
 " Are we not of the family of Saint 
 Dominic?" replied the prior, fiercely; 
 *' is zeal for holy church thus to be repaid ? 
 Scarcely did I tliink the anger which thou 
 bearest towards the Moslem would tempt 
 thee to cherish Messiah's murderers!" 
 
 "Are not the infidels taken in actual 
 sin — in open resistance to Christ's cross ? 
 Ha\e they not trampled under foot the 
 true believers, and denied the sanctuary, 
 and shall nijt the sword exterminate them ? 
 But ye Would destroy the helpless father 
 with the guileless child, — would torture 
 the innocent with the guilty. Get thee 
 behind me, thou })riestl\- assassin, and ex- 
 piate thy crime in Palestine ; nor return 
 again till thou hast visited Jerusalem, and 
 knelt at thy Saviour's sepulchre. This 
 shall be thy penance — 1 have said it." 
 
 The prior's cheek was flushed with 
 enthusiasm : he believed lie was serving 
 God. 
 
 "Father," he replied, " if a house be 
 divided against itself, how shall that house 
 stand ? If the infallible church be cor- 
 rupted wiih heresy, and if her rulers de- 
 fend that heresy, well may we chaunt our 
 71U71C deniitte^, and weep salt tears of 
 vain regret on the ruins." 
 
 *' Upbraid not me," interrupted the 
 archbishop, sternly. 
 
 " I will meet thee again, thou child of 
 Sathanas," resumed the prior, darting a 
 furious glance at the young huntsman. 
 
 " And I will encounter thee again, thou 
 demon!" replied the youth. "Take this 
 gage," said he, dashing down a glo\e, 
 " wear it with thy palmer's shell; by that 
 shall 1 know thee." 
 
 " And take you this pledge," retorted 
 the monk, hurling a dagger in the direc- 
 tiora of the breast of his foe, which, fortu- 
 nately for him, missed its aim. 
 
 " Christians, fellow-men, stay your 
 hands!" exclaimed Baldwin; "if my 
 presence deters ye not, priest, remember 
 thy vows. Boy, he is a servant of the 
 church — albeit unworthy — therefore, 1 
 charge you, respect his oihce. Surely 
 this cannot be fitting time for broil, and 
 the spilling of blood belbre a feeble and 
 defencelos female !" 
 
 Shift we the scene and time, and haste 
 we to the camp of the allied armies be- 
 fore Acre. 
 
 For two years the ex-king of Jerusa- 
 lem had besieged that city when the cru- 
 sading forces arrived, and two months 
 longer had their continued energies been 
 vainly directed against the " Key of 
 I-*alestine." Many of llichaid's choicest 
 warriors iiad perished in the struggle, and 
 the jealousy of the king of France, and 
 the enmity existing among several of the
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 237 
 
 leaders, threatened to make the expedi- 
 tiun both bloody and unsuccessful. 
 
 The young huntsman, now perfectly 
 recovered, had nut yet joined the camp j 
 he formed one of the gallant band of 
 Robert earl of Leicester. These rein- 
 forcements were daily expected ; but days 
 and weeks passed on, and none arrived, 
 and the troops, despairing of success, and 
 overcome by heat and pestilence, were 
 scarcely prevented from returning home- 
 wards. Apart from the otlier tents stood 
 one decorated neither hy blazoned ban- 
 ner nor silken pennon ; it was skirted on 
 one side by a gentle acclivity, and so sit- 
 uated, that, during the dead of night, a 
 party of the enemy might glide unseen 
 to the outpass, and pass from thence into 
 the heart of tlie unsuspicious army. Its 
 owner was a tall, dark man, \vho, dis- 
 charging the twofold duties of a monk and 
 warrior, was regarded with a supersti- 
 tious awe by his military associates. His 
 beard and coal-black hair nearly concealed 
 his features ; his w ell-worn gown was 
 usually confined by a rusty corslet ; his 
 rosary and sword hung from the same 
 belt ; and, in his general appearance, he 
 bore no unapt resemblance to Peter the 
 Hermit. 
 
 'i'hat was a gloomy evening which im- 
 mediately preceded the conquest of Pto- 
 lemais ; dark clouds obscured the face of 
 the moon, and the stars were likewise con- 
 cealed by ihem. The camp was hushed 
 in silence. The monk reclined within his 
 tent, and by the light of a small lan)p, 
 which was suspended from the awning, 
 attentively perused a manuscript, in which 
 cabalistic figures were fairly depicted. A 
 momentary pang of mental or bodily an- 
 guish distorted his countenance, and he 
 closed the book, rose from his hard couch, 
 and, folding his arms upon his breast, 
 hurriedly paced backward and forward. 
 
 " Oh, this wonderful east country !" he 
 mentally exclaimed, " little did I think 
 when I journeyed hitherward that the 
 Mighty Slcrft — the prize for which 1 
 once dared and suffered so much — would 
 be placed wiiliin my reach. Days and 
 years of dark remorse and fearful penance 
 have followed my early crime. Wiien 
 the piecious elixir eluded me then, al- 
 though I had bartered my soul for it, and 
 disease and death appalled my spirit, I 
 did well to pray ; but now one deadly sin 
 will restore me to eternal youth, and I 
 
 need ne\er fear the judgment. Whv, 
 then, should I hesitate ?" 
 
 While these thoughts were passino- 
 through his mind, he extinguished the 
 lamp, stole silently out of the camp, an 1 
 glided ra})idly along m the direction of 
 the city, till the hill before mentioned 
 concealed him from observation. A Mo- 
 slem here exjjected him. He was a short, 
 slight man, richly apparelled ; his eyes 
 were red and fiery, and the silken folds of 
 an immense turban were purposely drawn 
 down over the upper part of his face. 
 
 "Friar," he enquired, "hast thou yet 
 decided ?" 
 
 " 1 have," replied the monk ; " give me 
 but the precious elixir, and wert thou 
 Sathanas himself, my soul and body should 
 be thine for ever !" 
 
 " And thou wilt keep my secret invio- 
 late ?" 
 
 " God is my witness !" 
 
 "Allah be thanked," returned the 
 ]\Ioslem, with a look which belied his 
 words, "that by rendering one other, like 
 myself, immortal, I was fated to save my 
 country. Little did I think," he con- 
 tinued, " when I came a prisoner into 
 thy presence, that I should become a de- 
 liverer ; but I marked thy visage, and 
 read therein thy most secret wishes. Ye 
 believed my promises, and burst my 
 thraldom — by Allah ! thou art well re- 
 warded." 
 
 " I have drugged the sentinels, and 
 wait to conduct thy company into the 
 heart of the encampment." 
 
 The Moslem uttered a low but pecu- 
 liar sound, and presently a small chosen 
 band crept stealthily to his side, and 
 thence to the friar's tent; anoHier and 
 another followed, till five hundred Sara- 
 cens, completely armed, under the monk's 
 guidance, had penetrated to the pavilion 
 of Richard, — having, as they passed 
 along, slain the sleeping Christians, and 
 fired their tents. At this critilal moment 
 a faint sound, as of advancing forces, ar- 
 rested the steps of the assassins, — the 
 noise increased, till the neighing of horses 
 and the clangour of military music vvere 
 distinctly heard. A shout which roused 
 the slumbering army rent the air, and the 
 troop of cavalry so long expected spurred 
 gallantly into the camp. 
 
 All was confusion, — each crusader 
 sprung from his hard couch, and seizing 
 the weapon which came first to hand, at-
 
 238 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 tacked tlie perfidious assailants. A panic 
 spread through (he camp, for none knew 
 the extent of their dnnger. The Turks, 
 unable to retreat, and frenzied with de- 
 spair, fought with hellish fury — man strove 
 wMth man, neither expecting nor giving 
 quarter. Richard, roused by the din of 
 arms, flung himself on his Arabian charger, 
 shouted " Saint George for merry Eng- 
 land !" and did uu^st glorious deeds that 
 night. Pliilip fought by his side. The 
 huntsman (as we will still continue to call 
 him, albeit he was cased in mail, and 
 wore gilded spnrs) charged the infidels 
 with resistless fury, and now, for the first 
 time, did he perceive his ancient enemy, 
 and mowing down all opposition, he hur- 
 ried to meet him. The priest awaited 
 him with the intrepidity of desperation, — 
 the miscreant whom he once believed im- 
 mortal had perished by his side, — hell 
 stared him in the face, for he knew that 
 his hour was come, and that no place was 
 left him for repentance ; his cheek was 
 ashy pale, a contemptuous scowl sat on 
 his gloomy brows, and his countenance 
 was like a fiend's. 
 
 The huntsman dismounted, and felling 
 two Paynims with one stroke of his wea- 
 pon, he confronted his antagonist. 
 
 ** Demon !" he cried, " was it for this 
 that thou earnest hither — prepare to die." 
 
 "Spirit of evil— thou son of Belial, 
 prepare thou to die '." replied the monk, 
 and suiting his action with his words, he 
 aimed so fearful a blow at the skull of his 
 enemy, that his helm was cleft in twain 
 and fell off, leaving his head defenceless. 
 
 " Tliy hour is come !" replied the 
 youth, returning the friar's stroke with a 
 deadly thrust, and his steel broke against 
 the shattered rib of his antagonist. Both 
 fell, — the prior seized him with an iron 
 gripe, and fearful was that struggle ; but 
 the huntsman's strength prevailed ; he 
 freed himself from the dying man, and 
 planting his knee upon his breast, shouted 
 with a triumphant smile, 
 
 *' Rachel is well avenged ! Priest ! ac- 
 knowledge the superior power of Henry 
 Vyvian !" 
 
 " Henry Vyvian, thou art a fratri- 
 cide ! Would I had known this on the 
 night of our last meeting — I am thine 
 elder brother !" 
 
 The monk said true ! During his so- 
 journ in foreign climes he had perpetrated 
 the most atrocious crimes, (for why hath 
 
 j been already darkly hinted,) and in a fit 
 I of remorse he made a solemn vow that 
 he would renounce his dignities and never 
 again visit his ancestral halls. Stung 
 with guilt, and fearing discovery, he fled 
 to England, and entered a Dominican con- 
 vent. There his commanding intellects, 
 his severe penances, which passed for su- 
 perior sanctity, advanced him to the 
 highest place. — Reader, you know the 
 rest. 
 
 Henry was thunderstruck, — he spake 
 not, moved not, — a mist came over his 
 eyes, and he fell senseless to the earth. 
 VVhen he awoke from his lethargy, he 
 shuddered, for he was covered with putrid 
 carcasses, — the sun was shining in its 
 strength, and the whole forces of Cliris- 
 tendom were contending with the Puy- 
 nim armies. He seizes the weapons of 
 the fallen — his arm is nerved with a des- 
 perate energy ; he resolves to perish for 
 Christ's cause, and in a manner not un- 
 worthy of his royal ancestry, and with a 
 maniac's fury, he rushed" to the spot 
 where the fight raged fiercest. His head 
 was bare, his auburn hair clotted with 
 blood and dust. The spirits of his few 
 remaining followers are nerved with his 
 intrepidity ; he leads them to the charge ; 
 the scaling ladder yields beneath the 
 weight of ascending multitudes. He 
 rises, alone preserved of all his followers; 
 he mounts the embankment formed by 
 their dying bodies J he stands on the ram- 
 parts, attacked on all sides by the infuri- 
 ated Saracens. A moment more, and 
 the foremost of his assailants are hurled 
 headlong into the city. The warrior was 
 severely wounded, L)ut he thought that 
 among the Turkish leaders he beheld 
 Caracos, the master of the garrison, and 
 Saladin'sown instructor in the art of war. 
 He dares hitn to the combat; their wea- 
 pons flash and are shivered, and, closing, 
 the Mussulman wriths within the iron 
 grasp of the Christian, and unable to sup- 
 port themselves, both fell into the gulph 
 beneath. At tl)e same time a flag of 
 truce was reared on the walls of Acre. 
 
 In the midst of the most dreadful car- 
 nage, before the walls of INIessour, the 
 count of Soissons, jeering and laughing, 
 addressed himself to Joinville, " You and 
 I," said he, " shall talk over this day's ex- 
 ploits hereafter among the ladies."
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 239 
 
 DREADFUL SUFFERINGS OF CAPTAIN 
 BACK AND HIS CREW. 
 
 The ship put in at Lough Swilly in an 
 almost sinkino^ condition, the men inces- 
 santly labouring- at the pumps, and the 
 hull of the vessel secured by chains and 
 cables to keep her together. It appears 
 that she was encompassed by the ice 
 at the latter end of August, IS36, at 
 which time the crew consisted of sixty 
 souls, including officers, who were at 
 various times exposed to tiie most immi- 
 nent perils from the constant concussion 
 of huge masses of ice, which were dashed 
 against the vessel with tremendous vio- 
 lence, threatening either violent and sud- 
 den death, or, in the event of escape 
 from this danger, to await slow but cer- 
 tain destruction by the appalling means 
 of famine and cold. Deprived of fresh 
 provisions or vegetables of any kind, 
 disease spread amongst them with a 
 rapidity only equalled by its virulence : 
 twenty-five of the crew were together 
 afflicted by the well-known scourge of 
 that latitude, the scurvy, to which three 
 of them fell victims : Donaldson, the gun- 
 ner, a seaman named James Walker, and 
 Alexander Young, a marine. No efforts 
 on the part of the medical gentlemen 
 who were on board could avert the con- 
 sequences ; and oppressed by an accumu- 
 lation of suffering, which they were un- 
 able to endure, they died under the dis- 
 ease. The vessel lay in that perilous 
 situation for four months, drifting to and 
 fro near Cape Comfort; then driven by 
 the current of ice along Southampton 
 Island, as far as Sea- Horse Point, off 
 Baffin; then, at the mercy of the wind 
 and tide, through Hudson's Straits, by 
 Charles' Island, along the Labrador coast. 
 On the 6th of August they passed Reso- 
 lution Island. From the 20th of Sep- 
 tember they lay surrounded, exposed to 
 all the horrors of the arctic climate, with 
 the thermometer 40 degrees below zero, 
 until the ice commenced breaking in 
 February, 1837. On the 1 5th of March 
 they experienced the greatest shock they 
 had yet encountered, a mountain of ice 
 striking the ship with the utmost violence, 
 and rending away every intermediate 
 barrier, without the slightest perceptible 
 effort. The decks were obliged to be 
 lashed to each other to prevent their sepa- 
 rating, and the planks rising from their 
 
 fastenings ; the stern posts, dead wood, 
 and part of the keel, were knocked away. 
 In consequence of the repeated collisions, 
 the water gained on the ship, and she was 
 shaken from stem to stern ; a chain-cible 
 was passed round her to keep her to- 
 gether, the men constantly at the pumps 
 to keep out the water, which at one time 
 rose seven feet in the hold. Every exer- 
 tion was made at this time to prevent her 
 falling to pieces — men and officers all 
 emulous, and working laboriously as they 
 could, knowing their safety depende;l on 
 the result of their exertions. So unre- 
 mitting and fatiguing were the toils they 
 endured, that all were excoriated more or 
 less. The ship was built purposely for 
 the expedition, being eight feet in depth 
 tlirough the bow and stern, two feet seven 
 inches in the sides, with dve additional 
 bulkheads athwart-ships, of four-inch oak 
 planks; and two extra fore-and-aft ones 
 of the same thickness, two feet from the 
 side, each side filled up with twenty-five 
 tons of coal, for further strength and secu- 
 rity. By the impetus of the ice, the bow 
 was lifted clean out of the water as far aft 
 as the main-mast ; her stern, as far as the 
 seven-foot mark, was placed in the same 
 predicament. In this condition she con- 
 tinued for one hundred days. At the ex- 
 piration of that time, they got a thirty- 
 five-foot ice-saw, w^orked by shears, and 
 commenced the fatiguing operation of 
 cutting through the bulk of the ice under 
 her, measuring in thickness more than 
 thirty feet. On the 11th of July they had 
 ' completed so much of their task as but 
 two or three feet at the stern remained, 
 when she righted. Immediately on this, 
 they made sail on the vessel, but a tre- 
 mendous wedge remained stuck to her 
 starboard side, between her fore and main 
 ! chains, and they were compelled to have 
 I recourse to the saw again, not being able 
 to free themselves by any other method. 
 By means of purchases applied to the vast 
 ' lump, it rose from under the bottom as it 
 was freed, and, according to the laws of 
 gravitation, floated above the water, being 
 the lighter body, throwing the vessel on 
 her beam ends, heeling her over fully 27 
 degrees, the water pouring in, in alarming 
 quantities, and with frightful rapidity. 
 All hands, without distinction, were im- 
 mediately called in requisition ; some 
 I proceeded to saw- through the piece of ice, 
 the cause of this fresh misfortune, and
 
 240 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 some ran to the pumps. With unremit- 
 ting labour they continued these fatigu- 
 ing:, but indispensable operations, till ti\ e 
 o'clock on the Htli, when the men were 
 so exhausted and dispirited by their in- 
 cessant exertions, that they could work no 
 longer, having to this period cut through 
 to within ten feet. They were then called 
 in for rest and refreshment. They had 
 not been more than a quarter of an hour 
 removed from the work, when a sudden 
 disruption of the ice took place, and the 
 mass, separated from its bed, crushed with 
 terrific violence against the ship's side, 
 tearing to pieces the laslies and spars 
 placed to protect her against this casualty, 
 w hich had, in some degree, been foreseen. 
 The shores or logs, and three-and-a half- 
 inch ropes, were snapped like pack-thread, 
 and, but for the merciful interposition of 
 Providence, not a single being out of the 
 entire ship's crew would have lived to 
 narrate the circumstance ; for, had they 
 not been called in but a few minutes 
 before, all inevitably would have been 
 crushed by tlie mass of ice on which they 
 had just been labouring. As the ice 
 separated from her, she righted and drifted 
 along. A temporary rudder was fixed 
 up, her stern-posts having been carried 
 away from the six-foot mark, as w"ell as 
 the dead wood broken off, her stern-frame 
 so shaken that her run had to be secured 
 by two-and-a-half and three-and-a-half- 
 inch ropes, shores, and screw bolts, and, 
 when fairly got to sea, a stream chain 
 was passed round her three feet before the 
 mizen-mast, and another abaft the mizen- 
 mast. In the early part of the passage 
 home, across the Atlantic, they fortunately 
 experienced mild weather, but subse- 
 quently it became rather unfavourable, 
 and the ship began to leak very fast. At 
 one period, uhen it became necessary to 
 take the men from the pimips for about 
 twenty minutes, during which they were 
 occupied in shortening sail, the carpenter 
 rej)orted six to seven feet water in the 
 hold. In an instant theie was a rush to 
 the pumps, and ail hands were br.sily en- 
 gaged at them until they arrived at (heir 
 destination. At first they directed their 
 course to the Orkneys, but the wind prov- 
 ing adverse, they bore up for Lough 
 Sv\i!ly, where they arrived alter hardships 
 and dangers almost unparalleled. They 
 had but twice seen the natives — once on 
 their entrance to the Frozen Straits, and 
 
 once at their departure. On both occa- 
 sions they trafficked with them, and to 
 profitable account it would seem, an old " 
 piece of iron producing skins in abund- 
 ance ; and those who had not this com- 
 modity to offer, were willing to barter 
 their children for even a less article of 
 value, it possible. When first immured 
 up in the ice, they got up some pla\s and 
 masquerades, but the cold and dangers 
 which momentarily threatened them with 
 destruction put all idea of amusement out 
 of the question j and as the ship was hourly 
 exposed to shocks that left her continued 
 satety a matter of the utmost surprise, 
 the provisions were kept on deck, and the 
 boats lowered ready for every emergency. 
 On entering the harbour of Lough Swilly, 
 the exhausted crew could scarcely remain 
 one moment longer at the pumps, their 
 unremitting labour at which had secured 
 their safety. The coast-guard immedi- 
 ately boarded the vessel, and atfbrded 
 timely relief to the worn-out mariners. 
 
 A SUBSTITUTE FOR THE COMPASS. 
 
 The author of the " Annals of Com- 
 merce " recites a curious use to which 
 crows, and probablj^ many other birds, 
 (indeed, we read of Noah's dove,) were 
 put when navigation was in its earliest 
 infancy. "Amgrim Johas tells us that 
 when Flok, a famous Nurv/egian naviga- 
 tor, was going to set out from Shetland 
 for Iceland, then called Gardarsholm, he 
 took on board some crows, because the 
 mariner's compass was not yet in use. 
 When he thought he had made a consi- 
 derable progress, he threw up one of his 
 crows, which, seeing land astern, flew to 
 it; when Flok, concluding that he was 
 nearer to Shetland (perhaps then Feroe) 
 than any other land, kept on his course for 
 some time, and then sent out a.ioiher 
 crow, which seeing no land at all, re- 
 turned to the vessel. At last, having run 
 the greate>t part of his way, a third crow 
 was sent out, which, seeing land a-head, 
 immediately flew for it, and Flok, follow- 
 ing his guide, fell in with the east end of 
 the island. Such was the simple mode of 
 steering their course practised by these 
 boKl navigators of the storn)y northern 
 ocean. '1 he ancient natives of Tapro- 
 bane (Ceylon) used the same expedient 
 when skiuHuing along the tranquil sur- 
 face of the Indian ocean."
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 241 
 
 THE CASTLE OF CLAIRMARAIS; 
 
 on, THE FIEKD OUTDONE. 
 
 The Sire of Clairmarais, was a great 
 hunter, and his lady the most beautiful in 
 the province of Artois ; but she was proud 
 and little beloved by her servants and 
 vassals. One evening- towards the close 
 of the autumn, she sat in her chamber 
 embroidering a scarf destined to adorn the 
 altar of the blessed St. Bertin. Her 
 waiting-women were placed around her 
 in silence ; for she was too haughty to 
 converse with them, or permit them to 
 speak, unbidden, in her presence. 
 
 The curfew had tolled from the belfry 
 of St. Omer, and her husband had been 
 at the chace since the gray of morning. 
 Suddenly a horn sounded at the gate of 
 the castle. There was something so wild 
 and strange in its tone, that it made the 
 lady and her women start from their seats. 
 A page went to enquire the cause of this 
 interruption, and returned, saying, tliat a 
 knight of noble mien, calling himself the 
 sire of Brudemer, demanded hospitiility. 
 If some poor wretched traveller in danger 
 of his lile, had stood beside the castle 
 
 VOL. I. — 31. 
 
 Page 243. 
 
 moat, it would have been long ere the 
 drawbridge had descended to afford him 
 refuge ; but here was a noble and high- 
 born cavalier, and the lady gave orders 
 instantly, that he should be received and 
 brought into her presence. According 
 to the custom of the time, she employed 
 herself in preparing the cup of wine, of- 
 fered to all guests, as a mark of welcome ; 
 and she had scarcely filled it when the 
 page announced and introduced the sire 
 of Brudemer in person. He advanced, 
 and thanked her for the reception given 
 to him, with that prepossessing courtesy 
 then only to be found in the manners of 
 men of noble lineage. 
 
 *' The swiftness of my horse," said he, 
 *' separated me from my companions in 
 the chace. Having lost my way, I wan- 
 dered among the marshes and ravines of 
 yonder forest, until a light which I saw 
 at a distance led me hither. The fatigue 
 and danger to which I have been exposed 
 I shall never regret, since they have ter- 
 minated in conducting me to the presence 
 of a lady so noble and so fair." 
 
 There was something severe and extra- 
 ordinary in the appearance of the stran- 
 2 I
 
 242 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 ger ; but the grace and gallantry of his 
 manner soon made it pass oft" unremarked. 
 The waiting women, who, according to 
 the fashion of those days, had retired to 
 the extremity of the chamber, where all 
 might be seen, yet not all heard, failed 
 not to remark tlie richness of his dress, 
 the elegance of his form, the regularity of 
 his features, and, alx)ve all, the wild and 
 fiery expression of his eyes. If the lady 
 felt an inexpressible charm in the society 
 of her guest, it was not to be wondered 
 at ; for she was accustomed to converse 
 chiefly with persons who could amuse her 
 with little else than the tifty-times told 
 feats of their old lord, her husband, whom 
 nature had formed rather for the field of 
 battle, than for a lady's bower. 
 
 Profiting by the advantages of his situa- 
 tion, Brudemer hesitated not to throw into 
 his conversation more of flattery than even 
 the chivalrous manners of the period per- 
 mitted. The lady, commonly so proud 
 and disdainful, was subdued by an un- 
 known power, and listened to him without 
 anger, and with a continually increasing 
 emotion. Placing himself in a position 
 that hid the lady Clairmarais from lier 
 \Aomen, he possessed himself of her hand, 
 and pressed it ardently to his lips. It 
 would bedifiicult to express her sensations. 
 A fierce and supernatural fire circulated 
 painfully through her veins. She felt 
 nothing of that soft languor — of that un- 
 speakable delirium — which are so often ( 
 the symptoms of an unfortunate attach- | 
 ment ; it was rather the mental anguish — j 
 the cold sweat and shuddering — of a con- | 
 scions sinner. In her agitation she let 
 fall the scarf which she was embroidering. I 
 
 *' Oh, if it were my lot to possess such j 
 a scarf!" said Brudemer. " If tlie lady | 
 by whose fair hands it w^as wrought would ! 
 but accept me as her knight, wliat store j 
 of lances would 1 break in her honour, at i 
 tourney and in battle !" | 
 
 With a convulsive movement she lifted i 
 it up and placed it in his hands. Brude- j 
 mer pressed the gift to his lips, to conceal 
 a horrid smile, which he could not repress ; 
 then suddenly let it fall with a start of j 
 pain and terror, like that of a man touched 
 by fire. The chaplain had examined it j 
 that very evening, before the holy water i 
 had dried on his hands. Conquering his ! 
 emotion, Brudemer approachecl close to 
 the lady, and said, in a low tone of voice, 
 
 " An old man conducted me to vour 
 
 castle. He was in great haste to meet 
 with the sire of Clairmarais, and waits 
 even now at tlie postern, to reveal to him 
 an important secret, in which you are 
 nnich concerned." 
 
 The lady grew pale. 
 
 ** He told me," continued Brudemer, 
 " the motives which led him to seek your 
 husband with so much eagerness. * It 
 is,' said he, * that I may discover to him 
 a mystery — a mystery, too, that will work 
 a wondrous change in the manor of Clair- 
 marais. She who calls herself mistress 
 of it has chased me ignominously from her 
 castle ; she has threatened to drown me 
 in the moat should I return to it. The 
 thankless wretch ! — I will spoil her of her 
 very titles and riches, of which she is so 
 very proud !' As I hesitated to believe 
 him, he told me further, that his wife had 
 been foster-mother to the count d'Erin ; 
 that the infant died unknown to any one 
 but himself, and that he had placed yon, 
 his own daughter, in the cradle of the 
 young deceased countess ; and that you 
 liad been educated and married as the 
 child of the count her father. He fur-* 
 nished me with numerous and unanswer- 
 able proofs of his fraud. Let this mystery 
 be once known to the sire of Clairmarais, 
 and he will not fail to repudiate a vassal, 
 whom he will regard merely as the 
 daughter of the serf by w hom he has been 
 duped." 
 
 The lady wrung her hands in despair. 
 
 " Listen," cried Brudemer, in a low 
 tone of voice, but yet so that not one 
 word he said was lost j "listen ! — the old 
 man is still at the postern : take this po- 
 niard — come !" 
 
 "But my father !" 
 
 ** JNo, you are right," said Brudemer, 
 with a cold and cutting irony ; " who 
 knows they may not take pity on you, 
 among the waiting-women, of the new 
 lady of Clairmarais ? At the very worst, 
 they can but shave your head, and shut 
 you up in a convent." The lady rose up, 
 motioned to her women not to follow, and, 
 giving her hand to Brudemer, went with 
 him towards the postern. 
 
 The sire of Clairmi/rais, after having 
 hunted all the day, returned fatigued to 
 his manor, longing to find himself before 
 a good fire, by the side of his beautiful 
 wife. He made such haste to gain his 
 home, that he arrived there before any of 
 his huntsmen : when all at once his horse
 
 Pr.RiL.-^ BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 Stopped short at the gate of liij; castle, re- 
 fused to go on, and began to siiew signs 
 of great terror. The rider was ohhged 
 to dismount. What was his sllrpri^eand 
 grief to find the foster latiier of liis wife 
 motionless on the ground, and deeply 
 wounded in the breast. The attendants 
 of the old seigneur at length arrived, and 
 assisted him in trying to restore his vassal. 
 Their attentions were not wholly useless. 
 The wounded man made a dying effort to 
 rise, and inclining his lips towards the 
 ear of his master, whispered something 
 which made him spring back witii horror. 
 Without losing a moment, or speaking a 
 word, the sire of Clairmarais went directly 
 to the chamber of his lady. There she 
 sat, pale as death, before a narrow table ; 
 and, to disguise her agitation, pretended 
 to play at chess with Brudemer. The 
 latter, at the sight of the master of the 
 castle, uttered a triumphant burst of 
 laughter. The lady joined in it, but her's 
 was the laugh of despair. To hear it \^ as 
 enough to convince the husband of his 
 misfortunes, and of the truth of what he 
 had heard from his dying serf. 
 
 ** Satan," cried lie, in a paroxysm of 
 horror and indignation, " take thou the 
 parricide — the adulterous wife ; to thee I 
 abandon her, and the castle which she pol- 
 lute? with her presence." 
 
 ** I accept them," said Brudemer ; and 
 at the same moment, a crown of fire 
 sparkled around his temples, and he 
 stretched forth on the shoulders of the lady 
 two terrible hands, which suddenly became 
 armed with the talons of a demon. The 
 sire of Clairmarais entered into areligious 
 house, and died in the odour of sanctity, 
 at the abbey of St. Berlin. More than 
 two hundred years afterwards, a monk of 
 the order of St. Bennet, asked a citizen 
 of St. Omer what castle it was, the towers 
 of which he saw rising in the midst of a 
 neighbouring wood, surrounded b}^ an 
 immense marsli. 
 
 " May our Lady, and the saints protect 
 us !" said the citizen, crossing himself 
 with devotion ; "that is the castle of Clair- 
 marais ; the place is accursed — haunted 
 by the evil one 1 Every night it is illu- 
 minated by a sudden glare of light ; and 
 the devil, and 1 know not how many 
 spectres, appear there in chari(jts of fire. 
 it' any one may believe the old people of 
 the country, the demon who dwells in that 
 castle is called Brudemer ; and he forces 
 
 243 
 
 all those who are bold enough to enter his 
 habitation to play at chess with him, and 
 stake their souls against the castle and 
 tlie treasure it contains. Up to the pre- 
 sent time the devil has been constantly 
 victorious, so that no one has returned 
 from Clairmarais." 
 
 The monk listened to the citizen in si- 
 lence, bade him adieu, and after some 
 moments of reflection walked towards the 
 ^ castle. He entered it without obstacle, 
 j and at length found himself in a sjjlendidly 
 I furnished chamber. In the middle of it 
 I stood a narrow table, and on it a chess- 
 ; board and men, ready for play. Whilst 
 he examined these objects, which the in- 
 creasing obscurity of the evening began 
 to render indistinct, a brilliant light 
 spread itself suddenly through the apart- 
 ment, which was at the same moment 
 crowded with ladies in waiting, pages, and 
 servants, all dressed after a fashion long 
 since gone by. A knight richly clad now 
 slowly entered the room. On his doublet 
 was blazoned a shield bearing two tridents 
 sable, with this device — Brudemer. He 
 supported on his arm a lady young and 
 beautiful, but pale as a corpse. These 
 were followed by eight pages, bending 
 under the weight of four heavy coffers 
 filled with gold. Brudemer placed himself 
 at the chess board, and made a sign that 
 the monk should do the same. The monk 
 obeyed, and both began to play, without 
 speaking a word. By a skilful combina- 
 tion the monk thought that he had mated 
 his adversary, when the pale lady who 
 stood behind Brudemer, leaning on the 
 back of his chair, bent towards him, and 
 pointed with her finger to a particular 
 pawn. The move she indicated was 
 made, the face of the game changed, and 
 the monk found himself on the point of 
 being mated. Brudemer and the lady 
 broke out into a triumphant fit of laughter, 
 and all the attendants grouped themselves 
 around the players, and took part in the 
 infernal merriment. The monk now be- 
 gan to repent of his boldness; cold per- 
 spiration dropped from his forehead, and 
 he would have given tlie world, at that 
 moment, to have been safe in his convent. 
 But he did not resign himself to despair. 
 He saw that a miracle alone could save 
 him, and so he prayed mentally to his 
 patron St. Bennet, for assistance. Sud- 
 denly, and as if by heavenly inspiration, 
 a new combination suggested itself to his
 
 244 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 mind. He moved forward the piece on 
 which it depended. The laugh which 
 rung around liini was changed into howl- 
 ings, and the moment afterwards all was 
 dark and silent as the grave. The monk 
 passed the niglit in prayer, and saw the 
 day break with a joy that may easily be 
 conceived. In the place where the lady 
 liad stood on the preceding evening was 
 a skeleton, clad in the rich but tattered 
 vestments of a woman of quality. Pos- 
 sessor of the castle and its treasures, he 
 built a monastery on the si)Ot, and was 
 appointed superior o-f it. This religious 
 house was destroyed during the Revolu- 
 tion, but some slight vestiges of it still 
 remain. 
 
 A DREADFUL MUTINY. 
 
 It takes a great deal to make a sailor 
 mutiny : it is not done by merited pun- 
 ishment. A sailor knows as well as his 
 officers do, when he deserves flogging ; 
 but if he knows he does not deserve it, 
 every lash cuts deeper than the flesh, and 
 leaves a scar which it takes a long time 
 to wear out, if it is ever effaced. Men in 
 our ship, were expected to do what was 
 impossible : a whole watch of fore-topmen 
 would sometimes be flogged, for being a 
 few seconds after the main-topmen, and 
 the last man on the topsail-yard was sure 
 of it. John Simmonds was second-captain 
 of the top, and as smart a sailor as ever 
 hauled out a reef-earing. One evening, 
 some time after my being disrated, I was 
 aft at the lee helm, as there was a fresh 
 breeze of wind. The captain came upon 
 deck, and I could see by his detested lace, 
 that the devil was in him : his nostrils 
 were compressed, and his upper lip curled 
 up in a scroll. He took two or three short 
 and hurried turns — looked aloft, and swore 
 at the officer of the watch, for having 
 slacked offthe lee foretopsail brace— called 
 the quarter-master an old lubber, and 
 gave symptoms of the return of bis mad- 
 ness. He tlien roared out, " Turn the 
 hands up, reef topsails, and Til flog the 
 last half-dozen on ihe lower deck." 
 
 The men then came rushing up from 
 below, as if the devil himself had been 
 driving tiiem. 
 
 " Now," said he, taking out his watch, 
 
 ** I'll allow you one minute, and I'll Hog 
 
 every man of you if you are not in time ; 
 
 'way aloft, lower away the topsails." 
 
 The men flew up the rigging like light- 
 
 ing, and die command, " trice up, lay 
 out, take in two reefs," was hardly given, 
 when it seemed the sail was reefed, the 
 men off the yards, and the sail at the 
 mast-head again. It was done within the 
 time allotted ; but, on looking up, a point 
 was discovered untied, in both fore and 
 main-topsails. The captain very humanely 
 gave them another trial, and the reefs 
 were shaken out, and the sail reefetl as 
 quickly and as well as before ; but poor 
 John, who was at the lee yard arm, in his 
 anxiety not to be the last man on the yard, 
 made a spring at the lee rigging •, he 
 missed his hold, and fell upon deck ! — 
 Poor fellow, every bone in his skin was 
 broken ! 
 
 *' What lubber is that ?" demanded 
 
 the captain of the forecastle officer. 
 
 " The second-captain of the fore- top, 
 sir," said the lieutenant. 
 
 " Pitch him overboard, and be 
 
 then," returned the captain. 
 
 This horrid mandate was not obeyed ; 
 the doctor was aft, and ran forward, to 
 see what could be done ; but his prompti- 
 tude was useless : poor John was dying. 
 When he fell I was close by him, and ran 
 to him, and raising his head gently from 
 the deck, supported it on my arm. The 
 doctor wished him to be removed to the 
 sick-bay, but he said, faintly, *' Don't 
 touch me — good bye, shipmates — God 
 bless you all ;" and as the glaze was 
 coming over his eyes, he recognized me, 
 and his last whisper was, " Poor Jane — 
 give — give " his head fell back power- 
 less on my arm, and he yielded up his last 
 breath. 
 
 " Shipmates," murmured a hollow se- 
 pulchral voice close at hand, " Eeniem- 
 ber." 
 
 Had you witnessed the countenances 
 of the men on the lower-deck, at supper 
 that night, you would never have for- 
 gotten it: r never have; and, although 
 jieifectly ignorant of what was in con- 
 templation, I saw they were in the highest 
 pitch of desperation. That night, poor 
 John Simmonds was sewed up in his 
 hammock ; the oflicer of the watch read 
 the funeral service over him, by the light 
 of a lantern ; and as the awlu! words, 
 " We therefore conunit his body to the 
 deep," pealed upon my ears, and the 
 : sullen roar of the waves, as iliey received 
 I the corpse, which followed, the same voice 
 before mentioned, in a still more awful
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FJELD. 
 
 245 
 
 manner, called out, " Remember." The i 
 officer of the watch looked round him 
 before he recommenced reading- the latter 
 part of the burial service ; but all the men , 
 near him appeared to be as ignorant as 
 to whom the sound came from, as him- 
 self. A sulemn " Amen" was pronounced, ' 
 echoed by the same voice, which con- i 
 eluded this melancholy ceremony. " I 
 think it was the next day, a man-of-war 
 brig, the D was in company, I ob- 
 served several of tlie men going from one 
 mess to anotlier, whispering something. 
 One in particular, a man who had been 
 a boatswain's-mate, but disrated and flog- j 
 ged, because the captain diought he was 
 not laying on the lash as he ought to have 
 done, was very active. It was his voice, 
 I am almost certain, that I heard repeat 
 the word " remember ;" but every thing 
 was so conducted that I knew notliing of 
 what was brewing. It was the night for 
 scrubbing and washing clothes, always 
 done in the middle watch. I was between 
 two of the guns abaft on the main-deck, i 
 scrubbing a pair of trousers. I thought 
 there was an unusual noise with the wash 
 deck buckets, and, looking up, I saw 
 several of the men apparently larking, 
 throwing the buckets at one another. The 
 captain sent word out of his cabin for the 
 men to make less noise, but they took no 
 notice of what was said ; on the contrary, 
 they made more noise than before, taking 
 the shot out of the racks, and throwing 
 them about the deck. At last the first- 
 lieutenant came up, to enquire into the 
 cause of the disturbance, when one of the 
 men insulted him. He returned to his 
 cabin, and brought up a sword, with 
 which he went forward amongst the men, 
 and endeavoured to restore order. He 
 was knocked down, run through the body 
 with his own sword, and thrown out of a 
 port. Seeing this horrid murder, I left 
 my trousers unfinished, ran on deck, and 
 aloft to the main-top. From this place I 
 heard the shouts of the infuriated muti- 
 neers, and the groans of the dying ; and 
 every now and then the splash of some 
 mangled victim, committed to the waves. 
 The men had broken open the gunner's 
 store-room, and possessed themselves of 
 arms and ammunition. The captain hearing 
 the uproar increase, opened the cabin 
 door, and came out. He was no sooner 
 seen, than one of the men gave him a 
 blow with a handspike, and he retreated 
 
 to his cabin. Four or five of the men 
 rushed in after him, armed with cutlasses, 
 boarding pikes, and muskets with fixed 
 bayonets. The captain endeavoured to de- 
 fend himself with a short sword, and for a 
 time kept them at bay. So much did they 
 dread him, that they shrunk back, and 
 were afraid to strike, when one of then), . 
 John Morris, called out, " What do you 
 
 fear, men ? spike the ," and gave 
 
 them an e.^ample, by running him through 
 with a bayonet. They all followed his 
 example, each one seemed anxious to sa- 
 tiate his bloody vengeance. He was 
 covered with a hundred wounds ; and 
 after cutting and hacking the body, and 
 treating it with every possible indignity, 
 they threw him out of the cabin window. 
 My late antagonist — if it was done on my 
 account, I am very sorry — was another 
 of their victims, and only two or three of 
 the officers were exempted from the car- 
 nage : among them was a midshipman, 
 and at the time sick in his cot ; his life 
 was saved by one of the mutineers, who 
 fortunately was his countryman. I was 
 soon joined by two or three others of the 
 peaceably disposed, who, like me, were 
 horror-struck at the bloodshed going on 
 below; and we did not quit our station, 
 until day broke. I'he main-deck was 
 covered with blood : it was the blood of 
 our officers, many of whom were as good 
 men as ever lived. I have often, since 
 that time, stood upon a bloody deck, and 
 thought light of it, for it was blood shed 
 in our country's cause, and in fair fight. 
 As to the captain, if he had possessed a 
 thousand lives, he deserved to have lost 
 them ; but bloodthirsty cruelty alone called 
 for the murder of the rest. 
 
 A boatswain's-mate now took the com- 
 mand, and called a council of war. Some 
 were for cruising for prizes as a pirate ; 
 some wished to leave the West Indies, 
 and take the ship into a French port ; 
 but the greatest number voted to run her 
 into the first port they came to on the 
 Spanish main, and give her up to the 
 Spaniards. The latter plan was carried 
 into effect, and the next day found us at 
 anchor under the guns of a heavy bat- 
 tery. — The Greenwich Pensioner. 
 
 THE JEWS. 
 
 During the siege of Jerusalem, it is 
 recorded that upwards of two millions of 
 that people psrished.
 
 246 
 
 TALFS OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 THE COSSACKS. 
 
 This singular people were oviginallj' 
 deserters from the armies maintained by 
 the republic, near the baidis of ihe Bor\ s- 
 thenes, to arrest the incursions of the 
 Tartars. The almost inaccessible isles of 
 that river, and tlie vast steppes of the 
 Ukraine, served for secure places of re- 
 treat. As their numbers increased by 
 propagation, and desertion, and they 
 opened their arms to the people of every 
 nation who arrived among them, they 
 made frequent predatory incursions into 
 the Ottoman territories ;' they sometimes 
 ventured as far as the suburbs of Con- 
 stantinople, and in rude boats, consisting 
 merely of trees hollowed out, they did not 
 hesitate to trust themselves on the Black 
 Sea, every shore of which they visited and 
 ravaged. * Their soil — the richest in corn 
 of any in Europe, required little culti- 
 vation, and they were consequently at 
 liberty to pass most of their time in 
 plunder, piracy, or open war. 
 
 As they were Christians in their origin, 
 they preserved a sort of Christianity 
 among themselves, but so mingled, in 
 time, with idolatrous and Mahommedan 
 notions, that its fair characters were almost 
 lost. The Polish gentleman, whom in- 
 famy had branded, or justice threatened ; 
 the Polish serf, who fled from the iron 
 despotism of a haughty rapacious master ; 
 the Greek schismatic, the persecuted Lu- 
 theran, either imperfectly remembered or 
 but negligently practised, the rites of 
 their respective churches; hence a sort 
 of mongrel worship prevailed, of which 
 the leading features more resembled the 
 eastern than the western church. But 
 they did not much trouble themselves 
 with eidier the doctrines or the duties of 
 Christianity. Robbers by profession, and 
 cruel by liabit, they were the terror of 
 surrounding countries. Strong, hardy, 
 of indomitable courage, fond of war, even 
 more for the dangers which attended it, 
 than for the plunder it procured them, 
 their alliance was eagerly sought by the 
 Lithuanians, Poles, Muscovites, Tartars, 
 and Turks, To the former people, as the 
 stock whence the majority were derived, 
 they long bore sentunents of affection ; 
 indeed, they acknowledged themselves 
 vassals of the republic, though their chief 
 obedience was owing to their own grand 
 iietman. 
 
 RIOTS IN LONDON. 
 
 In the year 17^0, an incident occurred 
 during the trials at the Old Bailey of 
 the ricjters in lord George Gordon's mob, 
 vvhicli left, an indelible effect on Holcroft's 
 mind. A young man was biought to the 
 bar, the witnesses against whom swore 
 that, as he was standing in a shop where 
 he had taken refuge, he saw the prisoner 
 coming down Holborn Hill, at the head 
 of a body of rioters, flourisliing a drawn 
 sword. Holcroft, who was taking notes 
 of the evidence, recollected the prisoner's 
 face, and, when the evidence was over, 
 he addressed tlie judge, and requested 
 that he might be examined. Being ad- 
 mitted, he then declared that he had been 
 present at t''e real transaction ; that lie 
 was standing at the bottom of Hulborn 
 when the mob passed : that the prisoner 
 was not among them, but that some time 
 after they were gone by, he had seen the 
 prisoner, walking quietly along the street, 
 pick up a sword and carry 11 away with 
 him. This, said he, was the whole of the 
 transaction, and the circumstance of his 
 marching at the head of the rioters, and 
 brandishing the weapon, are utterly false. 
 The prisoner was, in consequence, ac- 
 quitted. 
 
 EDWARD THE FOURTH AND THE W^lDOVV, 
 OR A GOLDEN KISS ! 
 
 Edward the Fourth, to raise money 
 for a war with France, sat himself sundry 
 hours every day to receive contributions 
 from his subjects, who subscribed pretty 
 liberally, in consequence of their animo- 
 sity to the enemy. Among others, a rich, 
 yet niggardly old widow, brought £20, 
 (a large sum in those days,) to him. This 
 so pleased the king, " that he not only 
 returned her thanks," but told her, " for 
 her kindness, she should kiss a king,'' 
 which being done, the old woman pulled 
 out another bag, saying, ** Odsbodikins, 
 if kings sell their kisses so cheap, give 
 me 
 anoth 
 
 at this, took her at her word, and thought 
 his kisses well sold. 
 
 'tother touch of the lips, and iiere is 
 ther £20 fur you !" The king smiled 
 
 THE QUEEN CHARLOTTE. 
 
 This splendid vessel, which carried HO 
 guns, was blown up off the iiarbour of 
 Leghorn, on the 1 7th of March 1800, 
 when the captain and above 800 of the 
 crew perished.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 247 
 
 THE POLISH ORDER OF THE KNIGHTS 
 OF OUR LADY OF MOUNT SION. 
 
 Jn its origin this order was distin- 
 guished for humihty. In the siege of 
 Acre eight Germans, seeing the number 
 of wounded Christians who daily perished 
 for the lack of assistance, formed them- 
 selves into a voluntary association, for the 
 purpose of mitigating, by their personal 
 attendance, the agonies of which they 
 were the spectators. For the victims left 
 to expire under a burning sun, or amidst ' 
 the deadly dews of night, they constructed 
 tents made of the sails of ships ; tiieir 
 acts of mercy were, to wash the wounds 
 and to relieve the wants of the sufferers. 
 Their zeal, so honourable to humanity, 
 and their valour, which was exalted, drew 
 on them the admiration of their generals. 
 On the reduction of Acre, an hospital 
 and a church were built for them in that 
 town, and subsequently at Jerusalem. 
 Their numbers soon increased ; their time 
 was divided between the field and the 
 bed of sickness ; and their services were 
 of such acknowledged utility, that the king 
 of Jerusalem formed them into an order, 
 to be called The Knights of our Lady 
 of Mount Sion. It was approved in 1191 
 by the emperor Henry VI. and pope Ce- 
 lestine 111. By the statutes the knights 
 were to be of noble descent, bound by 
 tlieir vows to celibacy, to the defence of 
 the Christian church, and the holy land, 
 and to the exercise of liospitality towards 
 pilgrims of their own nation ; their habit 
 was a black cross on a white mantle ; their 
 rule that of St Augustine. Their original 
 number, besides their first grand master, 
 Henry of Waelfort, was twenty-four lay- 
 men, and seven priests ; the latter had 
 permission to celebrate mass, clothed in 
 complete armour, with swords at their 
 sides. 
 
 They were soon raised to forty, ex- 
 clusive of numerous attendants. For 
 some time their discipline was sufficiently 
 rigorous; among other things they suffered 
 their beards to grow, and slept on the 
 ground. Under their fourth grand master, 
 Herman of Salsa, when their revenues 
 had prodigiously increased, they relaxed 
 from their austerity. On their expulsion 
 from the holy land, Herman, with his 
 knights, retired to Venice, ignorant in 
 what country they might obtain a settle- 
 ment, but resolved to oppose the enemies 
 of the cross, and northern Europe had 
 
 yet many, wherever their services might 
 be required. 
 
 THE FLAGELLANTS. 
 
 During the reign of Casimir III. called 
 the great, who was the last male prince 
 of the house of Piast, the Flagellants, a 
 numerous sect of enthusiasts, so called 
 from the rigour of their self inflictions, 
 entered Poland from Hungary : they 
 went naked to the waist, wore crosses on 
 dieir lower garments, and entered every 
 town, t\^o by two, with caps descending 
 to their eyes, and exhibiting on their 
 breasts and backs the wounds caused by 
 their merciless whippings. Twice a day, 
 and once during the night, did they in- 
 flict upon themselves this horrible penance, 
 sometimes in the churches, sometimes in 
 the public cemeteries, vociferating the 
 whole time, Mercy ! After which, joining 
 in a song alluding to our Saviour's pas- 
 sion, they would suddenly throw them- 
 selves on the ground, regardless of stones, 
 flint, or mud ; one of their lay preachers 
 would then pass from one to another, 
 saying, " God forgives thee thy sins !" 
 Thirty days' continued suffering they con- 
 sidered a full atonement for sin : hence 
 they dispensed with the sacraments, which 
 they taught were abrogated, grace being 
 obtained, and guilt removed, by this pen- 
 ance alone. They took in a strange sense 
 that most Christian of truths, " without 
 shedding of blood there can be no re- 
 mission." The success of these madmen 
 in making proselytes would appear in- 
 credible, had we not instances enough in 
 our times how easily heresy and fanati- 
 cism — and those too of the worst kind — 
 may be propagated among the vulgar, 
 Hungary, Poland, German v, Italy, 
 France, and even England, were overrun 
 by the Flagellants. They were long 
 treated with respect, even by those who 
 considered them as displaying more zeal 
 than knowledge ; but in the end, it was 
 found that their vices were superior to 
 both. ]Men and women roamed together 
 from kingdom to kingdom ; and while 
 thus publicly enduring so severe a disci- 
 pline, made ample amends for it in secret : 
 they lived in the worst species of fornica- 
 tion. Until their knavery was discovered, 
 and they were scouted by the very popu- 
 lace, pope and prince vamly endeavoured 
 to repress them.
 
 248 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRV; OR, 
 
 SrEGE OF ANCONA. 
 
 The misery to which this town was 
 reduced, may be estimated from tlie re- 
 turns made by commissioners instructed 
 to search for food, in order that it might 
 be apphed to the pubHc service. Their ut- 
 most exertions, after carefully exploring 
 tlie most secret hiding-places, in which 
 tlie avarice of want might be supposed to 
 treasure up its hoards, produced no more 
 than five pecks of various grain. Yet, 
 the city at that moment, contained no 
 less than twelve thousand souls within its 
 circuit. Food, the most disgusting at 
 other times, had been greedily coveted, 
 and was exhausted. Even the skins of 
 animals, whose very flesh is commonly 
 rejected as unclean, the wild herbs which 
 grew on the ramparts, the seaweed which 
 was reputed poisonous — all these had 
 been tried, and all had now failed. What- 
 ever may be the constancy of his endur- 
 ance, there is still a limit to the physical 
 powers of man ; and it cannot be a matter 
 of wonder, if nature sometimes gave way 
 under this accumulated and hourly in- 
 creasing wretchedness. 
 
 A sentinel, worn with hunger, fatigue, 
 and watching, had sunk upon the ground 
 at his post, when a young and lovely 
 woman, of the noblest class in the city, 
 and bearing an infant at her breast, ob- 
 served, and rebuked his neglect. 
 
 He replied that he was perishing from 
 famine, and already felt the approach 
 of death. " Fifteen days," answered the 
 more than Roman matron, " have passed 
 during which my life has been barely 
 supported by loathsome sustenance, and 
 a mother's stores are beginning to be 
 dried up from my babe : place your lips, 
 however, upon this bosom, and, if aught 
 yet remains there, drink it, and recover 
 strengtli for the defence of our falling 
 country !" 
 
 The soldier, shamed, and animated by 
 her words, and recognising and respecting 
 the dignity of her birth,no longer required 
 the proflfered nutriment. He sprang 
 from the ground, seized his arms, and, 
 rushing into the enemy's lines, proved 
 his vigour, by slaying no less than four 
 combatants with his single hand. 
 
 One other, and a yet more touching 
 instance, of the self-devotion of female 
 affection, may be produced in striking 
 contrast with the unnatural deed recorded 
 of the frenzied n\other of Jerusalem, under 
 
 circumstances of similar destitution and 
 horror. A woman of Ancona, heart- 
 broken by the exhaustion of her two sons, 
 and hopeless of other relief, opened a vein 
 in her left arm ; and having prepared 
 and disguised the blood which tlowed from 
 it with spices and condiments (for these 
 luxuries still abounded, as if to mock the 
 cravings of that hunger, which had slight 
 need of any further stimulant than its 
 own sad necessity,) presented them with 
 the beverage : thus prolonging the exist- 
 ence of her children, like the bird of which 
 similar tenderness is fabled, even at the 
 price of that tide of life by which her own 
 was supported. 
 
 COURT JOCULARITY IN COLD WEATHER. 
 
 King Henry H. lived on terms of fa- 
 miliarity and merriment with his great 
 officers of state. In cold and stormy 
 weather, as he was riding through the 
 streets of London, with his chancellor, 
 Thomas a Becket, afterwards archbishop 
 of Canterbury, the king saw coming 
 towards them a poor old man, in a thin 
 coat, worn to tatters. ** Would it not be 
 a great charity," said he to the chancellor, 
 *' to give this naked wretch, who is so 
 needy and infirm, a good warm cloak ?" 
 
 " Certainly," answered the minister ; 
 " and you do the duty of a king, in turn- 
 ing your eyes and thoughts to such sub- 
 jects." 
 
 While they were thus talking, the man 
 came nearer ; the king asked him if he 
 wished to have a good cloak, and, turning 
 to the chancellor, said, " You shall have 
 the merit of this good deed of cliarity ;" 
 then, suddenly laying hold on a fine new 
 scarlet cloak, lined with fur, which Becket 
 had on, he tried to pull it from him ; and 
 after a severe struggle, in which they had 
 both nearly fallen from their horses, the 
 king prevailed, the poor man had the 
 cloak, and the courtiers laughed, like 
 good courtiers, at the pleasantry of the 
 kmg. 
 
 DISCRETION. 
 
 A SOLDIER flying in battle, was called 
 to by his comrades, " How can'st thou 
 be so infamous ? All thy fellows are wit- 
 ness to thy disgrace, and curse thee for a 
 coward !" 
 
 " That may be," said the fugitive, " but 
 I would rather be cursed as a livmg sol- 
 dier, than blest as a dead hero.''
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 249 
 
 
 Page 230. 
 
 ASSIGNATIONS. 
 
 A TALE OF VENICE. 
 
 Now rest thee here, my gondolier ; hush, hush, 
 
 for up I go. 
 To climb yon light balcony's height, while thou 
 
 keep'st watch below. 
 Ah ! (lid we take for heaven above but half such 
 
 pains as we 
 Take day and night for woman's love, what 
 
 angels we should be ! Moore. 
 
 Help, masters, help 
 
 my master is mad ! 
 
 Taming the Shrew. 
 
 It was on a clear, cool, and balmy 
 evening in the lieiglit of summer, that a 
 .•splendid fete was given by the count de 
 Villadino, to celebrate the birth-day of 
 his chfirming daughter the signora Ro- 
 salia, who had completed her seventeenth 
 year. The count's gardens, u hich stretched 
 from the illuminated chateau to the mar- 
 gin of the Adriatic, displayed a numerous 
 assemblage of gRV and gallant cavaliers, 
 both young and old, and an equal pro- 
 portion of the gentler sex. The spacious 
 terraces were thronged, the broad shelter 
 of the citrons, and pomegranates, the 
 groves, the thickets — all, all were filled : 
 some with amorous couples, breathing 
 their ardent protestations ; some recalling 
 
 VOL. I. —32. 
 
 their days of happiness gone by ; while 
 others, less lovingly, and less lonely in- 
 clined, perambulated the open walks, and 
 gazed upon the beautiful marble fountains, 
 which threw up from the mouths, nostrils 
 and fingers of satyrs, bacchanals, and 
 other fanciful forms, their diamond waters 
 in the brilliant moonshine, or listened to 
 the wild, sweet strains, that ever and anon 
 arose from the waters, and thick foliage 
 of the gardens. 
 
 In the course of the evening, a party 
 of some three or four, in cloaks and vi- 
 zards, landed from a gondola, and passing 
 rapidly through the gardens, disappeared 
 again round an angle of the chateau. 
 Their movement passed unnoticed to all, 
 except Rosalia, who, leaning on the arm 
 of the old baron Torrada, her detested 
 suitor, had caught the significant gesture 
 of one of the masked party, and who was 
 all in fear lest he should discover her 
 agitation. 
 
 " Eternal health, and never-ending 
 felicity, attend the noble baron de Torrada, 
 and the sweet signora Rosalia de Villa- 
 dino," pompously exclaimed a tall, slender, 
 apish personage, approaching them with 
 2 K
 
 250 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY j OR, 
 
 doffed bonnet, and congeeing to the very 
 earth. 
 
 The lady curtsied gracefully ; the 
 baron received the homage as his due, 
 elevated his person, deigned the sycophant 
 a smile, and turned on his heel ; the 
 other seized the opportunity to place a 
 billet in the lady's hand, who immedately 
 disengaging herself, hasted into the cha- 
 teau, and read as follows : 
 
 " Dearest Rosalia, — All is prepared — 
 a boat awaits by the grotto at the end of 
 the gardens. Seize the earliest moment 
 for flight. Thine, eternally, 
 
 Alfiero." 
 
 Rosalia, without a moment's hesitation, 
 drew forth her pencil, and wrote beneath : 
 
 " To-niglit, dearest Altiero, at eleven, 
 I will not fail thee. 
 
 Your's, Rosalia." 
 
 She then returned to the gardens; 
 took the baron's arm ; apologised for her 
 sudden departure; and, seeing Alfiero's 
 attendant watching her, she dropped the 
 billet, which was speedily in her lover's 
 possession. 
 
 Fortunately for their escape, the moon 
 had not yet illuminated the spot where 
 the grotto was situated ; all there was 
 enfolded in perfect gloom. The eleventh 
 hour arrived, and Altiero hastened to 
 his post. As he drew near the cavern, 
 however, he was greatly surprised to 
 behold a female, whose form strongly re- 
 sembled Rosalia's, already there, supported 
 by the arm of a sturdy gallant, to whom 
 she lovingly clung. On they went, and, 
 reaching the cavern where the gondola 
 lay, the cavalier signed to the boatmen, 
 who instantly sprung up, and proceeded 
 to assist them on board. 
 
 Alfiero had gazed thus far, with feelings 
 that may be easier conceived than de- 
 scribed. To behold her whom he loved thus 
 borne from his arms without a struggle, 
 without a word, was more than he could 
 well endure. In a towering rage, there- 
 fore, he approached his rival. 
 
 " Turn back, sir villain," cried he, 
 ** you depart not thus — draw and defend 
 yourself." 
 
 The lady shrieked — the gallant remon- 
 strated — but all would not do ; the sword 
 of Altiero was at his breast. 
 
 " Impetuous fool !" exclaimed the 
 stranger, " take, then, thy desert ;" and, 
 striking aside the weapon of his adver- 
 
 sary, he speedily wrenched it from his 
 grasp, and would have ran iiim through, 
 had not Alfiero's attendant interposed 
 between them. 
 
 ♦* HoUl !" cried he, " hold, gentles, I 
 beseech ye — here is some mistake, which, 
 with your patience, I will speedily clear 
 up." 
 
 Assuming a consequential and pompous 
 demeanour, llie merry wight turned to- 
 wards the vanc[uished Altiero, and thus 
 began : 
 
 " Ahem — ^ ahem Monseigneur le 
 
 comte Despardo de Alfiero, 1 charge 
 thee with the crime of inconstancy — in- 
 constancy to thy first love, which crime 
 thou hast aggravated by attempting die 
 life of this noble, don de Montevino, that 
 thou may'st possess the charms of this most 
 peerless lady, Bianca de Villadino, cousin 
 of thy once beloved Rosalia." 
 
 " And my beloved Rosalia still," cried 
 Alfiero, " why, how is this ? — how have I 
 been deceived ? I see, I see. Ignorant of 
 any assignation on this spot except our 
 own, I took thy cousin Bianca, my beau- 
 teous Rosalia, for thee, and this noble gen- 
 tleman, whose pardon I implore " 
 
 " For thy rival, most patient count," 
 interrupted Montevino, " whom, but for 
 thy blind fury, thou wouldst speedily have 
 laid i' the dust; well, well, 'tis a foolish 
 matter, so let's ha' done with it ; and, 
 now that we understand each other, haste 
 we along, and our marriage over, we'll 
 laugh at our sapient guardian's schemes 
 to mar our assignations." 
 
 EMMANUEL SOSA AND WIFE. 
 
 Emmanuel Sosa de Sepulveda, de- 
 scended from one of the most ancient and 
 distinguished families of Portugal, ob- 
 tained great reputation in the Indies by 
 his courage and talents. About the middle 
 of the sixteenth century he obtained the 
 government of the citadel of Diu, • post 
 given only to ofhcers of merit and tried 
 valour. This situation he held several 
 vears, till conceiving an irresistible desire 
 to revisit his native land, he embarked at 
 the port of Cochin. The vessel in which 
 he sailed, had on board the wealth he had 
 amassed, together with the property of 
 the officers and passengers who accom- 
 panied him. Sosa likewise took with 
 him his wife, Eleonora Garcia, the 
 daughter of Sala, at that time general of 
 the Portuguese in the Indias ; his children,
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 251 
 
 his brother-in-law, don Pantaleon Sala, 
 together with several officers and gentle- 
 men. The number of sailors, servants, 
 and slaves, was very great ; the whole 
 of the crew and passengers amounting to 
 about six hundred. 
 
 An acquaintance with the sea and 
 winds has proved that the month of Jan- 
 uary is the most favourable season for 
 the passage from India to Kurope. Sala 
 stopped to make some purchases at Coulan, 
 by v\hich he was detained till February. 
 On the i3th of April they discovered the 
 coast of Caflfraria ; from thence they pro- 
 ceedetl, without accident, to the Cape of 
 Good Hope, vvhen a north wind that arose 
 produced the most tremendous hurricane 
 that had ever been experienced in those 
 seas. The sky was suddenly overcast ; 
 the waves, rising to the clouds, threatened 
 every moment to enguipli tlie vessel : the 
 darkness was interrupted only by the 
 lightning's blaze, and the pealing thunder, 
 which struck terror into the hearts of the 
 most resolute. The pilot and sailors 
 deliberated whether they should strike the 
 yards and wait at sea till the tempest was 
 over; but being terrified by its continu- 
 ing with redoubled fury, and deprived of 
 all hope of being able to double the Cape, 
 on account of the season, they unani- 
 mously agreed to steer their course back 
 to India, In this design they were not 
 more fortunate than in the other, and the 
 unrelenting winds seemed to have con- 
 spired the destruction of the wretched 
 vessel, which was already considerably 
 injured : in vain the pilot and sailors em- i 
 ployed their utmost efforts to save her 
 from their fury. The sides were so rudely 
 shaken by the waves, that at length the ; 
 planks gave way, and the ship made n;iore ' 
 water than the pumps were able to dis- ' 
 charge. The goods were thrown overboard ] 
 to lighten the vessel, but this measure did ! 
 not lessen the danger. Their condition 
 was hopeless, and every wa\e threatened 
 them with inevitable destruction ; but 
 after the tempest had continued several 
 days, without intermission, a south wind 
 decided their fate, and drove the ship 
 aground, which was the least misfortune 
 that could happen to them. 
 
 The anchor was immediately thrown 
 out, and the boats, which were their last 
 resource, were hoisted overboard. Sosa, 
 his wife, and children, and the principal 
 persons of his suite, snatching up in haste 
 
 their most valuable effects, threw them- 
 selves into the boats. INew dangers 
 attended them ; the waves, impelled by 
 the force of the wind, dashed against the 
 shore, and formed mountains that ap- 
 peared ready to overwhelm their feeble 
 bark. At length, after much difficulty 
 and danger, they reached the shore. AH 
 could not effect their escape in the boats, 
 for after the second or third voyage, they 
 were dashed to pieces upon hidden rocks ; 
 at the same time the cable parted, and 
 those who remained in the vessel, had no 
 other method of saving their lives than to 
 throw themselves overboard, and en- 
 deavour to gain the shore. Some seized 
 hold of casks, or boxes, while others 
 trusted to their strength and expertness 
 in swimming. Very few, however, were 
 so fortunate as to arrive without accident, 
 and by this disaster, three hundred men, 
 Portuguese and foreigners, lost their lives. 
 Those who escaped had scarcely reached 
 the shore, when the vessel foundered. 
 This loss overwhelmed the Portuguese 
 with despair ; from the fragments of the 
 ship they might have constructed a brig-, 
 antine, and have gone to seek some relief 
 at Sofala, and Mozambique ; but from 
 this hope they were completely cut off. 
 
 The country on which they were 
 wrecked was in the latitude of 31 deg. 
 south. Sosa directed large fires to be 
 made in order to dry and warm his people, 
 who suffered exceedingly frou) cold and 
 hunger, and their wounds. He distributed 
 among them, with great economy, a 
 small quantity of flour picked up from the 
 wreck, but half spoiled by the salt water. 
 Their situation was dreadful. The shore 
 presented to their view nothing but desert 
 sands and rocks. After a long search they 
 discf)vered some springs of fresh water, 
 which were extremely serviceable, and 
 then began to form an entrenchment of 
 boxes and large stones that they might 
 pass the night, in safety. Sosa, on this 
 occasion, forgot none of the duties of a 
 good citizen and a benevolent master. 
 Here he remained with his people till they 
 had recovered from the fatigues of the 
 sea, and as long as he entertained any 
 hope of being able to subsist upon the 
 provisions thrown on shore from the 
 vessel. It became necessary, however, to 
 think of removing, and they deliberated 
 upon the course they ought to pursue : 
 all were in favour of proceeding along the
 
 252 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 coast till they found the river, to which 
 Marchesez had given tlie name of Santa 
 Spiritu, and where the Portuguese of So- 
 fala and Mozambique carried on a con- 
 siderable traffic. 
 
 That river was about one hundred and 
 eighty leagues distant from their post. 
 Sosa, after adopting the resohilion, en- 
 couraged his troop, and exiiorted them, 
 by his words and example, not to lose 
 their courage. " Before a person exposes 
 himself (said he) to the dangers of the 
 sea, he ought to be resolved to bear thirst, 
 hunger, hardships, and inconvenience of 
 every kind. Far from being dejected at 
 their approach, lie ought to meet tiiem as 
 if he expected them, and substitute those 
 transitory evils instead of the eternal 
 misery due to the crimes he has committed. 
 In our present misfortune (added he) we 
 ought less to consider what we have lost 
 than what we have saved ; the loss of our 
 property is a small object when compared 
 with the preservation of our lives. I can 
 give you no better advice than to resign 
 all private claims, and relinquish all per- 
 sonal and individual interests in favour of 
 the public weUare. If we are split into 
 parties, we can never be secure; butwhile 
 united, we have nothing to fear." He 
 concluded with a prayer, extorted by love, 
 in behalf of his wife and children, and 
 entreated hi-; companions in misfortune 
 to pay some respect, on the way, to the 
 sex of the one and the age of the others. 
 All replied, that it was but just that the 
 strongest and most robust should assist 
 the weakest, that he migiit lead them 
 wherever he pleased, and that they would 
 never withdraw themselves from his com- 
 mand. 
 
 Tiiey immediately set off. This cara- 
 van was composed of Sosa, his wife, Eleo- 
 nora, a woman of masculine courage, their 
 children, as yet too young to know the 
 dangers of their situation, Andrew Vasez, 
 the master of the vessel, and eighty Por- 
 tuguese. This first troop was followed 
 by about one hundred servants, who al- 
 ternately carried the children on their 
 backs, and their mistress on a rude kind 
 of chair. These were succeeded by the 
 sailors, and the female servants ; and 
 Pantaleon, with a number of Portuguese 
 and slaves, closed the rear. 
 
 Aftm- proL-eeding several days through 
 a very dangerous countr\', they were 
 stopped by inaccessible rocks, and torrents, 
 
 swelled by the rains that had recently 
 fallen. By endeavouring to discover the 
 easiest roads, they had made a circuit of 
 above one hundred leagues, while they 
 would have had to go al)out thirty if they 
 had kept along the sea coast. Their provi- 
 sions were soon consumed, and they were 
 obliged tulive upon apples and wild fruits, 
 and even upon herbs, of wiiich the animals 
 of that country are very fond. 
 
 After a progress of tour months, they at 
 length arrived at the river Santa S[)iritu, 
 but without recognizing it, ibr the country 
 is traversed by three different branches, 
 which unite before they discharge them- 
 selves into the sea. 
 
 Their doubts were removed by the king 
 of the district, who was the more favour- 
 ably disposed towards the Portuguese, be- 
 cause he had, some time before, traded 
 peaceably with Lorenzo Marchesez and 
 Antonio Caldera. That prince gave a kind 
 reception to Sosa and his people, and in- 
 formed them, that the king of the country 
 contiguous to his dominions was a crafty 
 and rapacious man, of whom they ought to 
 beware. The desire of speedily reaching 
 some place inhabited by Europeans, ren- 
 dered them blind to the misfortunes that 
 were predicted ; but they soon had reason 
 to repent having passed the second arm of 
 the river. 
 
 The following day they perceived two 
 hundred Caffrees coming towards them. 
 Though exhausted with hardships and fa- 
 tigue, they prepared their arms, and put 
 tliemselves in a posture for defence ; bui 
 seeing that the Caffrees a[)proached them 
 peaceably, and rather showed a desire of 
 forming an acquaintance with them than 
 of doing them an injury, their fears were 
 dissipated, and they endeavoured to ob- 
 tain provisions, either for money or in' ex- 
 change for implements of iron, which those 
 people highly value. A mutual confidence 
 appeared to be established, and the wants 
 of the Portuguese encouraged their good 
 opinion of the nati\ es; but the opportunity 
 of stripping the strangers of all they pos- 
 sessed was too favourable for the barba- 
 rians to be neglected. In order to accom- 
 plish their design with the greater facility, 
 they gave the Portuguese to understand, 
 that if they would proceed to the habita- 
 tion of their king, they would experience a 
 gracious reception. Their excessive weari- 
 ness, their joy at having found the river 
 they were in search of, and a still more
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 253 
 
 powerful motive, the want of provisions;, 
 induced tlieiu to embrace tlie proposal of 
 theCaffrees. They followed them towards 
 the habitation of their chief; but the 
 latter directed them to stop on the way, 
 in a j)lace shaded by trees. Here they 
 remained several days, during wiiich 
 they purchased various kinds of coarse 
 provisions, with the effects they had saved 
 from the wreck. Deceived by the air of 
 sincerity of those people, Sosa conceived 
 he might wait at this place for the arrival 
 of some merchants from Sofala, and de- 
 manded permission of the king to erect 
 huts for himself, his wife, and all his people, 
 whose number had been much diminished 
 by the fatigues of their long peregrina- 
 tion. 
 
 The king, with more artifice than he 
 could be suspected of, told S(»sa, that two 
 circumstances retarded the favourable re- 
 ception which he wished to give them j 
 the first was, the dearness and scarcity of 
 provisions ; and the second, the fear which 
 his subjects entertained of the swords and 
 fire-arms of the Portuguese ; that if thi^y 
 were sent to him as a pledge of their peace- 
 able disposition, he would agree to their 
 request. 
 
 The hope of arriving at the end of their 
 harilships, induced the Portuguese to com- 
 ply with these conditions, to which i)ru- 
 dence ought to have dictated a refusal. 
 In vain tleonora reminded Sosa of the un- 
 favourable account given of this sovereign 
 by the otlier king ; deaf to the entreaties 
 of his wife, he accepted with fatal credu- 
 lity the subtle offers of this prince. The 
 rest of the troop followed their captain's 
 example, and the arms were delivered to 
 the perfidious monarch. They, however, 
 soon repented of this step, for the Caffiees 
 immediately seized upon the treasures they 
 had brought.with them with such fat'gue, 
 and stripped them of all their clothes. 
 Those who attempted to make any resist- 
 ance were massacred by the merciless 
 barbarians. 
 
 Eleonora alone resisted with courage; 
 but of what avails are the elForts of a fe- 
 male against men of a disposition so fero- 
 cious ! They stripped her likewise of all 
 her clothes. Ashamed to be exposed stark 
 naked to the view of those wretches, and 
 of her own servants, she threw herself into 
 a ditch a few paces distant, and buried her- 
 self as it were, in the sand, resolving not 
 to leave tliat situation. Overwhelmed with 
 
 fatigue and chragrin she could not forbear 
 saying to Andrew Vasez, and others of the 
 Portuguese who would not leave her, 
 '* There, my friends, you see the conse- 
 quence of your silly contidence. Go : I 
 want nothing more ; think only of your- 
 selves ; and should iieaven permit you to 
 revisit your native laud, tell tliose wiio 
 , inquire af'.er the unfortunate Eleonora and 
 1 her husband, that our sins have drawn 
 j upon us the indignation of heaven." Here 
 i sighs choked her utterance, but she casta 
 j tender look at her children and her hus- 
 I band. The latter, overcome with grief for 
 j his imprudence, and its fatal consequences, 
 remained motionless. The CafFrees had, 
 by this time, retired with all their booty ; 
 his companions had dispersed to avoid the 
 fate that inipended over them, and not one 
 was to be seen. At length the sentiments 
 of tenderness were again excited in his 
 breast, and he ran about, in every direc- 
 tion, in quest of fruit, of any kind, by 
 which he might prolong the existence of 
 his wife and wretched infants. But, naked 
 and unarmed, Sosa was unable to find 
 any thing in a country ravaged by barba- 
 rians, and burned up by the sun. He fre- 
 quently returned exhausted with fatigue, 
 and the last time he returned, he found 
 that his wife and children had expired 
 with hunger and thirst. He had suthcient 
 strength to perform the rites of interment, 
 after which, fleeing from this scene of 
 horror, he roved about the deserts, where, 
 doubtless, he died, as he was never heard 
 of afterwards. The miserable remains of 
 this troop, reduced to twenty-six per- 
 sons, by the fatigues and miseries they 
 endured, wandered about a long time, and 
 were, at length, treated as slaves. Tiiey 
 would all have finished th-eir career in this 
 state of hardship and humiliation, had not 
 a Portuguese merchant, who repaired from 
 Mozambique to tliis part of tlie country to 
 purchase ivory, ransomed tijem at lour 
 piastres a-piece. Of these Pantaleon Sala 
 was one ; he died at Lisbon, of an apo- 
 plexy, at a very advanced age. 
 
 The disaster of Sosa excited great com- 
 passion among his countrymen, but did 
 not correct tiieir imprudence. The fol- 
 lowing year, five more vessels sailed from 
 the port of Cojhin for Portugal, under the 
 command of Ferdinand Alvarez Capral. 
 Only one of these ships arrived at Lisbon, 
 after encountering a thousand dangers. 
 It is not known what became of any of the
 
 254 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 others, excepting the St. Benedict, which 
 was so deeply laden that the sailors could 
 hardly work her. A violent tempest over- 
 took her in the middle of her course, near 
 the Cape of Good Hope ; a gale of wind 
 drove her ashore, and destroyed her on a 
 desert coast called Natal. Two hunch-ed 
 men, who endeavoured to save themselves 
 by swimming, perished on this occasion. 
 Mesquita Perestrella, who survived this 
 disaster, and has left a very accurate ac- 
 count of it, exaggerates the terrors which 
 his companions underwent by the appari- 
 tion of demons in the air, and the noise of 
 the wandering spirits of the sailors, which 
 he declares that he both saw and heard. 
 The unfortunate wretches who escaped 
 from the wreck experienced the same hard- 
 ships as Sosa and his company ; lor having 
 pursued almost the same course, they had 
 to endure the greatest extremity of hunger 
 and thirst. In short, from three hundred, 
 they were reduced to twenty-three, who, 
 half dead with famine and fatigue, were at 
 length made slaves. A few months after- 
 wards, some merchants, who visited that 
 part of the country for the purposes of 
 trade, ransomed and conveyed them to 
 Sofala and Mozambique, where they ar- 
 rived after suffering almost incredible 
 misery. 
 
 THE CARMATHIANS AND ASSASSINS. 
 
 The Carmathians were a powerful sect 
 of Arabian schismatics, who began to ap- 
 pear about the end of the ninth century, 
 and before the conclusion of the following, 
 had made themselves masters of some of 
 the finest provinces of Babylonian Irak. 
 About the year D30, after ravaging the ter- 
 ritory of Mecca, plundering the city, de- 
 filing the temple, and destroying nearly 
 forty thousand people, their prince, Abu 
 Thaher, had the boldness to appear before 
 Baghdad with only five hundred horse. 
 The khalif's general marched out to seize 
 him, at the head of thirty thousand men ; 
 but before he attacked him, he sent an 
 officer to summon him to surrender. 
 
 " How many men has the khalif's 
 general ?" says Abu Thaher. 
 
 " Thirty thousand men," answers the 
 ofificer. 
 
 " Amongst them all," returns the Car- 
 madiian chief, " has he got three hke 
 mine ?" 
 
 Ordering his fellows then to approach, 
 lie commanded one to stab himself" a se- 
 
 cond to throw himself from an eminence, 
 a tliird to leap into the Tigris. He was 
 instantly obeyed, and all of them perished. 
 
 Turning to the officer, he then said, 
 "He that has such troops, values not the 
 number of his enemies." 
 
 The khalif's army, who, over-confident 
 in their numbers, had kept no guard, were 
 that night surprised by those resolute 
 horsemen ; when numbers were slain, the 
 rest dispersed, and the general, falling 
 alive into the hands of Abu Thaher, he 
 chained him among his dogs. 
 
 There is not an historian of the crusades, 
 European or Asiatic, who does not men- 
 tion the Sheiku 1 jebel, or the Old Man 
 of the Mountain. This was a name given 
 to a dynasty of princes, who reigned in 
 Persian Irak, from about the year 1090 
 to 1255. The subjects of those chiefs were 
 so entirely devoted to them, that they put 
 themselves to death, like the Carmathians, 
 without the least hesitation ; an instance 
 of which, similar to the former, is related 
 by several of the Mahommedan writers. 
 
 W hen Hassan Sabah, the founder of 
 this d}'nasty, had become formidable, the 
 sultan Maleksha Jelaleddin, Emiru' 1' 
 Omra to the klialif of Baghdad, sent an 
 ambassador to require his submission. 
 Hassan, without making an immediate 
 reply, desired one of his attendants to 
 poniard himself, and another to leap from 
 the battlements of the tower. He was in- 
 stantly obeyed ; when, turning to the am- 
 bassador, he said, " Seventy thousand are 
 thus attentive to my commands. Let 
 this be my answer." 
 
 These chiefs, from the devoted enthu- 
 siasm of their followers, became the terror 
 of all the neighbouring princes, whom they 
 laid under contribution ; for death was 
 generally the consequence of their dis- 
 pleasure. Their subjects would assume 
 any disguise, and penetrate into anyplace, 
 fearless of the consequences, provided they 
 could succeed in the murder they were 
 sent to execute. Amongst many great 
 men who fell by these assassins were Amer 
 Billah, khalif of Egypt; Mostarshed, 
 khalif of Bagdad ; and the vizier Nezam 
 ul Mulk. The great Saladin very nar- 
 rowly escaped. He was attacked by three 
 of them in his tent, and was wounded ; 
 but, having great strength of arm, he 
 seized them, and, calling to his guards, 
 they were soon dispatched. 
 
 The murder of the marquis of Mont-
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 255 
 
 ferrat, by two of those men, makes a great 
 figure in the history of the crusades. They 
 had disguised themselves hke Christian 
 monks, and stabbed him in tlie streets of 
 Tyre, when returning from dining with 
 the bishop of Beauvais. They were im- 
 mediately seized, and put to the most ex- 
 cruciating torture j but they suffered death 
 without making any confession. As our 
 Richard I. was then at open variance with 
 the marquis, the suspicion of many of the 
 princes of the crusades fell heavy upon 
 him, which, reaching the ears of the Old 
 Man of the Mountain, he addressed the 
 following curious letter to Leopold, duke 
 of Austria : 
 
 " To Leopold, duke of Austria, the 
 Ancient of the Mountains wisheth health. 
 
 ** Since many kings and princes beyond 
 seas blame Richard, king and lord of 
 England, concerning the death of the 
 marquis of Montferrat, I swear, by the 
 eternal God, and the laws which we hold, 
 that Richard is no way to blame in this 
 respect, and that the death of the marquis 
 happened as follows. 
 
 " One of our brotherhood was coming 
 in a ship from Saltelia to our territories, 
 and happened to be forced into Tyre in a 
 storm. Upon this, the marquis ordered 
 him to be put to death, and then he seized 
 all his money. Thereupon we sent our 
 ambassadors to the marquis, witli orders 
 to demand the money of our brother, and 
 satisfaction for his death, which he laid 
 upon Reginald, the prince of Sidon ; 
 whereas we had information ourselves by 
 friends, whom we could trust, that the 
 marquis himself had ordered the murder 
 to be committed, and the money to be 
 taken away. 
 
 *' We therefore sent another ambassador, 
 and him he was going to throw into the 
 sea J but our friends hurrying him out of 
 Tyre, he came back to us in all haste, and 
 told us how he had been treated. We 
 from that hour determined to kill the 
 marquis, and we sent two of our brethren 
 for that purpose to Tyre, who killed him 
 openly, almost in the sight of all the people 
 of that city. 
 
 " Such were our motives for the death 
 of the marquis; and we assure you, with 
 great truth, that Riciiard, king of "England, 
 was no ways blameable for the death of 
 tile marquis ; and they who have done 
 harm to Richard on that account, do it 
 without justice and without reason. 
 
 " Be assured, we will kill no man in 
 this world, for reward or money, unless he 
 first injures us." 
 
 The examples which might be brought 
 of the desperate obedience of those men 
 are innumerable. Almost every eastern 
 potentate, in self-preservation, found him- 
 self under the necessity of making mag- 
 nificent presents to the Sliikhu' T jebel. 
 The knights' hospitallers, and templars, 
 alone set liim at defiance, and even com- 
 pelled him in turn to pay them an annual 
 tribute ; for he well knew that those re- 
 publican orders could never want a head, 
 and that the assassination of one or more 
 grand masters might serve only to ex- 
 asperate, without weakening, those for- 
 midable bodies. 
 
 Yet it may be observed, that the im- 
 portance of those princes could never have 
 rested alone on their own strength. De- 
 voted and fearless as their subjects might 
 be, the power of many of the neighbour- 
 ing potentates could soon have crushed 
 them. But their private views, jealousies, 
 and resentments, seem to have operated 
 with them in a manner nearly similar to 
 that which has long actuated the states of 
 Europe, and given a consequence to the 
 Barbary pirates, to which their own force 
 alone could never have afforded them the 
 least pretensions. Even Saladin, who, 
 in revenge for their attempt against his 
 life, laid waste the country of the Assas- 
 sins, was induced, from some personal 
 consideration, not only to pardon, but even 
 to protect them. 
 
 They subsisted, with more or less power, 
 till the year 1255, when they were exter- 
 minated by the Tartar prince, Houlagon, 
 grandson of Jengiz Khan. A few, how- 
 ever, who had been trained up to the trade 
 of murder, escaped the general ruin, and 
 established themselves in the province of 
 Mazenderan, on the Caspian sea, where 
 they were destroy^ed by Tamerlane, to- 
 wards the end of tlie thirteenth century. 
 
 In the year 1247, Edward L, who had 
 taken the cross whilst lieir-apparent, was 
 dangerously wounded by one of those 
 wretches in his own apartment at Aeon. 
 I'he assassin, it was supposed, had been 
 hired by the Mahommedan governor of 
 Joppa, by whom he was sent to Edward, 
 under pretence of negociating a truce ; 
 in consequence of which, having free 
 access to the prince's person, lie suddenly 
 assaulted and stabbed him in his shoulder;
 
 256 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 hat Edward, grappling with the \illain, 
 threw iiim down, and dispatclied him w ith 
 his own dagger. 
 
 AN INDIAN EXECUTION. 
 
 The flat-head tribe of Nortii American 
 Indians, having made a prisoner of one 
 of the Black- feet tribe, proceeded in their 
 usual wa3% to inflict the punishment of 
 deatli on him. The man was tied to a 
 tree ; after which they heated an old bar- 
 rel of a gun until it became red hot, with 
 which they burned him on the legs, thighs 
 neck, cheeks and belly. They tlien com- 
 menced cutting the flesh from about the 
 nails, which they pulled out, and next 
 separated the fingers, joint by joint. 
 
 During the performance of these cruel- 
 ties, the captive never winced ; and, 
 instead of suing for mercy, he added 
 fresh stimulants to their barbarous ingen- 
 uity, by the most irritating reproaches, 
 part of which our interpreter translated as 
 follows: ♦' My heart is strong. You do 
 not hurt me. You can't hurt me. You 
 are fools. You do not know how to torture. 
 Try it again. I do not feel any pain yet. 
 We torture your relations a great deal 
 better, because we make them cry out 
 loud, like children. You are not brave ; 
 you have small hearts, and you are always 
 afraid to tight." Then addressing one in 
 particular, lie said, *' It was by my arrow 
 you lost your eye." Upon which the flat- 
 head darted upon him, and with a knife, 
 in a moment scooped out one of his eyes, 
 at the same time cutting the bridge of 
 his nose nearly in two. This did not stop 
 him : with the remaining eye he looked 
 sternly at another, and said, " I killed 
 your brother, and I scalped your old fool 
 of a father." The warrior to whom this 
 was. addressed, instantly sprung at him, 
 and separated the scalp from his head. 
 He was then about to plunge a knife in 
 his heart, but was told by his chief to de- 
 sist. The raw skull, bloody socket, and 
 mutilated nose, now presented a horrid 
 appearance, but by no means changed his 
 tone of defiance. " It was 1," he said to 
 the chief, " that made your wife a prisoner 
 last tall; we put out her eyes; we tore 
 out her tongue ; we treated her like a dog. 
 Forty of our young warriors — " The 
 ciiiertain became incensed the moment 
 h's wife's name was mentioned ; he seized 
 his gun, and before the last sentence was 
 ended, a ball passed through his heart. 
 
 PERILS OF AMERICAN JUDGES. 
 
 I WAS acquainted with the judge to 
 which the following anecdote refers, and 
 have no reason to doubt its truth. It is 
 an instance of intrepidity, as well as of 
 that ferocious violence which occurs but 
 too frequently in America ; but which is by 
 no means, a specimen of the judicial cha- 
 racter. A few years ago, before he was 
 advanced to his present dignity, the fore- 
 man of a grand jury insulted him out- 
 rageously, out of court, of course. The 
 man had a large knife in his hand, such as 
 Ijunters always carry about them, and well 
 know the use of ; but the enraged barrister, 
 with a hand-whip, or cow-hide as they are 
 called, laid on so keenly, that he actually 
 cut his jacket to ribbons, in defiance of his 
 knife ; and when the beaten and bleeding 
 juryman made his piteous case known to 
 his brethren, they fined him a dozen of wine 
 for his cowardice. 
 
 Another anecdote. A notorious of- 
 fender had escaped from confinement, and 
 mounted on a capital horse, paraded the 
 town where the judge presided, with a 
 brace of loaded pistols, calling at the stores 
 and grog shops, and declaring he would 
 shoot any man who should attempt to 
 molest him. The judge hearing of it, 
 loaded a pistol, walked deliberately up to 
 the man to apprehend him, and, on his 
 making a show of resistance, shot him 
 immediately. The bull entered the breast, 
 and came out behind, but did not prove 
 mortal. He fell, was reconducted back 
 to gaol, escaped a second time, and was 
 drowned crossing the Ohio. 
 
 THE CHAMPION CHALLENfiED. 
 
 A LUDICROUS circumstance occurred 
 at the coronation of king William and 
 queeen Mary. Charles Dymockesq. who 
 then exercised the right of being cham- 
 pion, cast his gauntlet on the pavement 
 in the iisual form, and the challenge was 
 proclainied, when an old woman, w ho had 
 entered the hall on crutches, immediately 
 took it up, and quitted the spot with ex- 
 traordinary agility, leaving her crutches 
 behind her, and a female glove, with a 
 challenge in it, to meet the champion the 
 next day in Hyde Park. Accordingly, 
 the old woman, or, as was generally sup- 
 posed, a good swordsman in that disguise, 
 attended at the hour and place named in 
 the challenge ; but the champion did not 
 make his appearance.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 257 
 
 Page 259. 
 
 IDA ROSEXHEEM. 
 
 A TALE OF THE CONTINENTAL CHOLERA. 
 
 And the sins of the fathers shall be visited on 
 the children. Holy Writ. 
 
 The pestilence was spreading widely 
 at Berlin, and liourly were new victims 
 offered up at the altar of despair ; but in the 
 palace of Rosenheim all was still the same 
 uninterrupted festivity. Guests disap- 
 peared from the banquet, and revellers 
 from the wassail board ; but Herman of 
 Rosenheim blanched not at their absence, 
 and the laugh and the wine-song were 
 heard echoing through the lonely square 
 long after the midnight chimes. Ida, the 
 beautiful Ida, was ever the splendid mis- 
 tress of the feast, till the revel began to 
 grow warmer and wilder, and she fled 
 away to her chamber, and casting aside 
 her glittering robes and braiding pearls, 
 wept long and sadly for the coming ruin 
 of her house ; every festal exclamation of 
 her father struck harshly on her, for she 
 knew the Demon of Gaming was in his 
 heart, and in every laugli there seemed to 
 her a tone that sounded like the echo of 
 its fiendish mockery ; vet she silently bore 
 
 VOL. I.— 33 
 
 the loss of the ancestral jewels of her race, 
 thougli she knew the diamonds and sap- 
 phires, the opal and jacinths, which had 
 adorned the departed beauties of Rosen- 
 heim, were nightly cast away by her father 
 as lightly as her own fair hands would 
 shake off the dewdrops from a rosebud, 
 one string of pearls (a rosary of the 
 Virgin) alone remaining to deck the last 
 daughter of the house of Rosenheim, when 
 she presided at her fadier's table; but many 
 there thought the rich gleam of her ring- 
 lets, pouring like a veil of golden silk over 
 her brow and bosom, and the violet light 
 of her modest eyes, were lovelier in their 
 unadorned beauty, than when pearls were 
 gathered in her hair like snow amid sun- 
 shine, and diamonds clasped her robe from 
 ancle to bosom. Ida had remarked that 
 Otto of Wolfstein, to her the most dis- 
 agreeable of her father's associates, had 
 lately become peculiar in his attentions, 
 and distressing in his assiduities ; she saw 
 her father smile as her white hand trem- 
 bled in the eager grasp of Otto's, as he 
 led her to her seat, or knelt before her as 
 she touched her lute, with an air of ro- 
 mantic gallantry. 
 
 2 L
 
 258 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVAI.RV; OR, 
 
 Love, the lost Elysium of the soul, the 
 true Paradise whicii fled our first parents 
 as they shrunk beneath the primal curse, 
 had never yet touched the pure heart of 
 Ida ; it was the theme of all around her, 
 the burthen of the songs her own sweet 
 sighing voice poured forth to the responses 
 of her lute, but to her it was as yet the 
 ideal of the passion — a word of enchant- 
 ment, having no master power over the 
 talisman of her thoughts. Count Otto 
 had a face and form calculated at the first 
 glance to call forth a feeling of admiration ; 
 his courtly address and easy gaiety, seemed 
 as if they might win him the world ; but 
 a careful observer of his faultless face could 
 see that all was not bright beneath, and his 
 large and singularly radiant eyes, had an 
 indescribable meaning in tiieir glance, at 
 times, from which the gazer shrunk, and 
 knew not why ; his addresses soon became 
 too pointed to be mistaken even by the 
 simplicity of Ida ; but Love, the angel of 
 Eden, came not to brighten her heart with 
 his celestial visiting. 
 
 She was seated alone one night, listen- 
 ing with an evil divining spirit, to the 
 frantic mirth of the group in the banquet- 
 ting room, when hurried steps were heard 
 in the corridor, and her father suddenly 
 entered the chamber, and closing the door 
 looked upon her in silence ; — he was pale, 
 and his high and haughty features had a 
 strange sternness in them : the thick 
 heavy curls were shaken back from his 
 lofty forehead, and Ida trembled as she 
 met his fixed and fearful glance. Pushing 
 aside her embroidery frame, she rose to 
 meet him, but with a rapid step he ap- 
 proached, and, seizing her hands, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Ida ! — my daughter, tremble not ; 
 thou art my only child ; thy beauty is my 
 pride ! My idol ! born to preserve thy 
 father, should 1 not triumph when I look 
 upon thee ?" 
 
 " Thou art my fate, father," murmured 
 Ida ; " I understand thee not — thy looks 
 are strangely altered." 
 
 " Looks, girl ? I tell thee my destiny 
 is changed. The lord of Rosenheim is 
 a beggar ! and thou and I are outcasts ; 
 to-night we must go forth alone and un- 
 attended ; — thou hast no longer a home, 
 Ida, but in a father's heart ! Shrink not, 
 maiden, thou hast taken pearls from thy 
 hair, and rubies from thy bosom at my 
 bidding, knowest thou for what purpose ? 
 
 they were offerings to ruin, to that de- 
 struction which has reached us both : — to- 
 night I have lost all, name, tame, home, 
 and honour ! I saw my last possession 
 fall from me, and when I looked upon the 
 smile of my destroyer, the fiend awoke 
 in my heart. What hell has the gambler 
 to fear ? he can bear that of his own heart, 
 and how could the malice of a demon in- 
 vent a subtler torture ? I sought by fraud, 
 nay, sink not, girl — thy father, Herman 
 Rosenheim, sought by fraud to win again 
 what he had lost — was detected — and yet 
 he lives !" 
 
 As he spoke thus, he cast aside the dark 
 folds of his cloak and drew a pistol sud- 
 denly from his belt, his daughter sunk 
 with a faint shriek upon her knees, and, 
 catching his arm, looked up into his face 
 with the wild helplessness of terror ; her 
 fair hair, breaking from its sUken fillet, 
 streamed over her white garments to the 
 very floor of the chamber, and as the clear 
 light of the silver lamp shone upon the 
 pale and sculpture-like beauty of Ida, and 
 the dark, convulsed featuresof her father, 
 they seemed like the impersonations of 
 Pity and Revenge. 
 
 There was a moment's pause, and Ro- 
 senlieim, throwing aside his pistol, sud- 
 denly raised his daughter from the ground, 
 clasped her passionately to his heart, bury- 
 ing his face in the profusion of her tresses, 
 as he wept upon her shoulder. " Ida ! 
 Ida !" he whispered, ** my daughter, wilt 
 thou not save thy father ? my fate is in 
 thy hands — Otto of Wolfstein — he alone 
 knows my guilt — he alone is the possessor 
 of mine inheritance, and he asks but thy 
 hand, Ida — thy love, Ida ! answer me — 
 What, am I the murderer of my child !" 
 he exclaimed, as her head fell powerless 
 on his arm, and her cold white hands re- 
 leased their clasping hold. Calling loudly 
 for help, he laid her on a couch near him, 
 and pouring curses on himself, he knelt 
 by her side till, by the assistance of her 
 maidens, the blue eyes of the devoted girl 
 once more opened to consciousness, and 
 bursting into tears, she threw herself fondly 
 into his trembling arms. 
 
 Some days passed away, and Ida, whose 
 sweet and lovely nature could not resist 
 her father's pleadings, faintly gave her 
 consent to receive Otto as her future hus- 
 band ; but she soon found there must be 
 no delay, and the ardent lover himself 
 fixed the day and hour — to Ida, whose
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 259 
 
 nameless apprehensions of her future lord 
 increased «very moment, it came too 
 soon. 
 
 On the eve of the bridal, as she sat at- 
 tired for the banquet, awaiting her father's 
 summons, the death bell struci^ upon her 
 ear, and from her attendant she lieard it 
 was for the baroness Theresa, the cousin 
 of count Otto, who had that day sunk in 
 the freshness of her youth, beneath the 
 destroying pestilence. Ida felt a cold chill 
 at her heart as she listened to these words, 
 and in the splendour of the festival they 
 w^ere not fogotten. Count Otto presented 
 her to the assembled guests as his in- 
 tended bride, and, with courtly grace, as 
 she entered, he knt^lt at her feet, and 
 clasping a diamond bracelet on her white 
 arm, murmured, *' Ida, may this bridal 
 gift be with thee even in death, unchang- 
 ing as the love of Otto !"' She smiled, and 
 the accompanying blush gave to her in- 
 nocent beauty a radiance with which it 
 seldom sparkled ; as soon as she reached 
 her chamber, she unclasped the bracelet, 
 to examine its gorgeous yet delicate work- 
 manship, and amid the rich tillagreed gold 
 of its enamelled clasp, read the name of 
 Theresa Wolfstein ! 
 
 Morning came, bright and glorious, 
 and early was the hour when Ida of Ro- 
 senheim was to plight her faith to the 
 gallant Otto, and her tire maidens en- 
 tered her chamber with smiles and eager 
 steps, bearing the bridal garments, and 
 aerial veil ; the lady sat upon a low couch, 
 seemingly asleep, her head resting on her 
 arm ; she still wore the white satin robe in 
 whicli she had been attired the preceding 
 evening, but its full and graceful folds were 
 much disordered, the jewelled clasps of 
 her boddice were torn asunder, and the 
 delicate lace which shielded her fair neck 
 seemed as if rent from it in a convulsive 
 struggle, her hair had fallen from its con- 
 finement, and hid her face as she lay ; her 
 favourite maiden gathered up the long 
 curls, and looking down uttered one shrill- 
 ing shriek, and fell senseless on the ground. 
 Decay and death were on the features 
 then disclosed, and the angel of the pesti- 
 lence had poured forth the vial of its wrath 
 on tlie last descendant of the House of 
 Rosenheim. 
 
 THE RISE OF A PACHA. 
 
 A Story of Damascus. 
 
 The annals of no other country on the 
 face of the earth, present us with such 
 examples of men springing at once from 
 poor estate to the summit of wealth and 
 power, as those of the Ottoman empire. 
 Tiie manners and the institutions of the 
 Turks, favour these sudden alterations of 
 fortune ; so much so, indeed, that the 
 majority of the pachaliks attached to the 
 Porte, and of all its high offices of state, 
 have been for the most part filled, from 
 time immemorial, by able adventurers, 
 emancipated slaves, and men of the hum- 
 blest origin. Of all the instances of rapid 
 elevation, ho\vever,which the history of the 
 empire exhibits, none perhaps was so re- 
 markable in its character, and attended 
 with so many strange circumstances, as 
 that of Mohammed-Pacha-el-Adme, go- 
 vernor of Damascus for twenty-five years 
 of the last century. 
 
 Mohammed and Mourad were the two 
 sons of a rich merchant of Constantinople, 
 who died when they had just arrived at 
 manhood. Tlie youths inherited consi- 
 derable wealth, and, with his individual 
 portion, Mourad continued the commer- 
 cial business of his father, which prospered 
 in his hands, to the great increase of his 
 means. Mohammed, on the other hand, 
 devoted his heritage to the pursuit of 
 pleasure. He assembled around him a 
 band of youths like himself, and plunged 
 with them into follies, and extravagancies 
 of every kind. The prodigious expences 
 consequent on such a way of life, swal- 
 lowed up the fortune of Mohammed in a 
 single year, and then the prodigal youth 
 found his associates drop from his side by 
 degrees. Even his brother, under the 
 plea of having forewarned him of ruin, 
 closed his doors against Mohammed, and 
 refused to see him. Although this was 
 but the usual and natural course of tilings, 
 the unfortunate young man was at first 
 shocked and stupitied by the treatment he 
 had met with ; but, being of a buoyant 
 disposition, he soon recovered from the 
 lethargy into which he had been thrown, 
 and nerved himself to bear his reverses 
 with patience. He saw no w^ay of sus- 
 taining himself but by accepting the alms 
 of the mosques, and this accordingly he 
 did for some time, always hoping that 
 chance would turn up something better 
 in his favour. And ere long, circumstances
 
 260 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 did occur, which led to a striking revo- 
 lution in his condition. 
 
 On every Friday, at that time, the sul- 
 tan went to perform his usual devotions 
 at midday, in one of the chief mosques of 
 Constantinople. He was accompanied 
 by all his principal otficers of state, dressed 
 in their richest costumes, and by his side 
 marched two officers bearing large bags 
 of money, whicli it was customary for the 
 sultan to scatter with hisowu hands among 
 the people. 'J'lie contents of these bags, 
 nevertlieless, were not wliolly composed 
 of money. Besides the ordinary gold and 
 silver coins of the country, which were all 
 folded up in pieces of paper, there were also 
 small bits of glass wrapped up in the same 
 way, but with this difference, that the 
 envelopes of the bits of glass, were one and 
 all marked by short sentences, in the sul- 
 tan's own hand- writing. These sentences 
 were usually maxims in the praise of 
 poverty, or short sayings, in which riches 
 were decried. It may readily be believed 
 that the precious metal was much more 
 coveted by the crowd that followed at 
 the sultan's heels, than the moral bits of 
 glass. One day after his redaction to 
 poverty, Mohammed joined the needy 
 train of attendants on the royal cavalcade. 
 He eagerly watched the sultan's move- 
 ments, saw his hand inserted into the 
 bags, and, when the desired shower fell 
 around, pounced upon one ofthe folded bits 
 of paper. JVIahommed did not open iiis prize 
 immediately, but allowed the crowd to pass 
 on, and then looked at it. His mortitica- 
 tion was unspeakable, when, in place of 
 gold, he found a rounded piece of glass. 
 He was about to dash it on the stones at 
 his feet, when the writing caught his eye. 
 The words were, ** Artijice and address 
 loill often lead men to dignities.'''' Tliis 
 maxim, by some accident, was most unlike 
 those usually selected for the same pur- 
 pose. Mohammed reflected long upon 
 the words before his eyes, and he then 
 caiefully put the paper and glass into his 
 dress. 'J'his done, he moved away with 
 a firm and determined step. He had con- 
 ceived a project. 
 
 In Constantinople there are merchants 
 who make a practice of hiring out all sorts 
 of dresses, from that of a vizier, glittering 
 with precious stones, to the modest robe 
 of the dervise. Stores of this kind seem 
 as if intended to no other purpose than 
 to aid men to accommodate themselves to 
 
 the rapid changes of fortune common to 
 the land. Nor do these men contine their 
 trafRcings to the changes of garments. 
 Tiiey will procure, at an hour's notice, 
 horses, domestics, guards, household offi- 
 cers, and every conceivable appendage of 
 a great establishment, whicli they let out 
 to be paid for by the week or month. To 
 one of these dealers, Mohammed applied 
 himself, and, having a noble figure and 
 commanding air, he induced the merchant 
 to furnish him on the instant with the 
 richest dress of a pacha, with a beautiful 
 horse, and with a suite of splendidly dressed 
 domestics. One hour sufficed to trans- 
 form the mendicant into a magnificent 
 dignitary, who charmed all eyes by his 
 gracious physiognomy, and the ease of his 
 manners. 
 
 All tliese rich furnishings were to be 
 paid for within a very brief period. Mo- 
 hammed had no money, but he had an in- 
 ventive genius. Attended by a portion 
 of his suite, he directed his course to the 
 house of his brother. Arrived there, he 
 stopped his horse at the threshold, and 
 dispatched one of his attendants to say to 
 Mourad that his brother wished to see 
 him. Mourad was about to give a harsh 
 reply, when he chanced to get a glimpse 
 of Mohammed and his train through the 
 window. To his astonishment, everything 
 bespoke the presence of a great pacha. 
 Mohammed, sparkling with jewels, and 
 Mohammed, a beggar, were two very 
 diflferent beings, and Mourad made all 
 possible haste to reach the threshold of his 
 house. " Mourad," said Mohammed, sa- 
 luting his brother without leaving his 
 horse, " our lord, the sultan, has named 
 me pacha of Damascus. I have need of 
 a large sum of money, to establish me 
 creditably in my government. Have this 
 money ready for me by to-morrow. I will 
 reimburse you as a brother and a pacha 
 should do." 
 
 " May heaven prolong the days, and 
 increase tlie glory, of our lord and luasler 
 the sultan !" replied Mourad. "Moham- 
 med, you were born to do honour to our 
 family. My fortune belongs to you hence- 
 forth ; take it all, if you desire. Pacha (jf 
 Damascus ! may Allah reward you accord- 
 ing to your merit !" 
 
 Mohammed employed the night in com- 
 pleting his arrangements. He enrolled 
 fifty men as a body-guard, and added a 
 number of Tartar couriers to his suite.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD 
 
 261 
 
 In the morning he sent his treasurer to 
 his brother's liouse, to request twenty 
 thousand pieces of gold. On receiving 
 this sum, Mohammed paid all that was 
 absolutely necessary at the moment to 
 pay, and soon after he crossed the Bos- 
 phorus with his train, and took the way — 
 whitlier does the reader think ? — to Da- 
 mascus. 
 
 Moliammed was no common scheming 
 swindler. The lofty, confident bearing, 
 whicli he assumed, together wiih the fre- 
 quency of such hasty elevations, had per- 
 suaded his train, as well as every one with 
 whom he came in contact, of the reality 
 of his appointment to the pachalik of Da- 
 mascus. Mohammed, however, kept him- 
 self very quiet, until he was fairly at a 
 distance fromStamboul. As he approached 
 the Damascene territory, he began to 
 distribute presents in the towns through 
 which he passed. He was every where 
 received with honours due to a pacha, and 
 exchanged gifts with the various gover- 
 nors in his way, who, remembering the 
 great power of the Damascene pacha, did 
 not allow the new possessor of that title to 
 be the losing party in these exchanges, 
 ^^'hen Mohammed came at length within 
 three days' journey of Damascus, he or- 
 dered his party to stop and erect their 
 tents. He then called his secretary, and 
 dictated to him a letter to the principal 
 emirs of Damascus, in which it was an- 
 nounced to them that the sultan, having 
 great cause to be displeased witli liis grand 
 vizier at Constantinople, had disgraced 
 and beheaded him, and that the son of the 
 vizier, the pacha of Damascus, having 
 shared in his father's guilt, was doomed to 
 the same punishment. INIohammed wrote 
 this letter in his own name, and concluded 
 it by stating, that, being appointed the 
 new pacha, he had come to fulfil the sul- 
 tan's orders, and now commanded the 
 emirs to seize the vizier's son, and detain 
 him to await his fate. 
 
 Before dispatching this letter, however, 
 Mohammed sent off a trusty and active 
 courier, with orders to introduce himself 
 into the palace of the pacha of Damascus, 
 and there privately inform the vizier's son 
 that his father was beheaded, and that he 
 himself was about to undergo the same 
 doomi at the hands of a successor to the 
 pachalik, then on his way to the city. The 
 courier arrived before the bearer of the 
 letter to the emirs, and such was the effect 
 
 of his disclosures, that the poor pacha, 
 believing death odierwise inevitable, and 
 knowing himself to be very unpopular, left 
 the palace in secret, mounted his fleetest 
 horse, and was soon in full flight from 
 Damascus, leaving treasures, wives, and 
 all behind him. As for the emiis, as soon 
 as they received the letter addressed to 
 them, they met to deliberate upon the 
 course to be adopted. While thus engaged, 
 a second courier reached them, with mis- 
 sives of similar import. A third and 
 fourth messenger followed from Moham- 
 med, each new one bearing mandates 
 more imperious than the preceding. At 
 length, seriously alarmed for the conse- 
 quences of a refusal, the emirs gathered 
 their followers, and roused the citizens to 
 seize the old, and receive the new pacha. 
 Having got the citizens together, the 
 emirs proceeded with a great crowd to the 
 palace, and, no one presenting any oppo- 
 sition, they soon penetrated to every 
 corner of the vice-regal dwelling. But 
 what was their consternation to find that 
 the bird was flown — no pacha there ! 
 
 The now excited crowd blamed the 
 emirs for their dilatoriness, and riot and 
 pillage would certainly have ensued, had 
 not the sound of loud acclamations been 
 heard at a little distance. In a minute 
 or two Mohammed appeared in the midst 
 of his train, splendidly attired, and scat- 
 tering gold on all sides among the people. 
 The first words which Mohammed spoke 
 when he sprang from his horse in front 
 of the palace were, *' My prisoner ! where 
 is he ?" 
 
 The emirs were alarmed at the firm, 
 stern tone of the speaker. " May it please 
 your excellency," said one of them, "he 
 had doubtless received private news from 
 Constantinople ; for vvhen we forced the 
 palace he was gone !" 
 
 ** Gone ! Escaped !" cried Moliammed. 
 " Unhappy emirs, know that my orders 
 were the orders of the sultan himself, our 
 master. You shall answer to me for the 
 fugitive with your heads. Retire! you 
 shall soon know the doom reserved for 
 those who fail to execute the will of the 
 sultan !" 
 
 This last menace filled the emirs with 
 fear and consternation. Already had the 
 new pacha conciliated the favour of the 
 people by his liberality. Resistance to 
 [lis auUiority seemed impossible. While 
 thoughts of this nature oppressed the
 
 262 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 minds of the Damascene emirs, Moham- 
 med sent for them one by one, and, lav ing 
 aside his anger entirely, gave each a most 
 gracious reception, dismissing them all 
 with rich presents (from the late pacha's 
 treasury,) after consulting tliem on the 
 condition and wants of the country. Their 
 fear thus changed into joy, the emirs did 
 not think of asking, or did not dare to ask, 
 the new pacha to go through the usual 
 form of exhibiting his firman or commis- 
 sion, from the sultan to the great nobles 
 and office-bearers of the place. Glad to 
 have their dilatoriness witli respect to the 
 late pacha overlooked, they would not risk 
 a new offence. Meanwhile, Mohammed, 
 who was really a man of powerful talents, 
 and endowed with many good qualities, 
 spent the commencement of his adminis- 
 tration in relieving the burdens of the peo- 
 ple, in reforming abuses, and in establish- 
 ing new and wise rules for the protection 
 of commerce and agriculture. Winning 
 thus the esteem of the good, he perfected 
 his popularity by giving splendid fetes, 
 and by a generous disbursement of his 
 predecessor's funds. He behaved with 
 the utmost liberality to the late pacha's 
 family, and raised all the chief emirs to 
 new dignities. 
 
 There was comparatively little inter- 
 course in those days between Damascus 
 and Constantinople, and a considerable 
 time elapsed, partly through the care of 
 Mtihommed, ere any information respect- 
 ing these extraordinary events reached 
 the capital of the sultan. The pacha so 
 strangely deposed was the person through 
 whom the truth was at length made known. 
 On leaving Damascus, the pacha had 
 passed by weary stages across tiie desert, 
 and finally arrived at Bagdad. At first 
 he was obliged to subsist on the charity 
 of the mosques, but afterwards hired him- 
 self as assistant to a pastry-cook, conceal- 
 ing his name and history, through the fear 
 of yet meeting the fate which he believed 
 his father the grand vizier, to have under- 
 gone at Constantinople. Familiar with 
 sudden rises, the Turks are equally ac- 
 customed to rapid falls, and the poor pacha 
 toiled away in peace and resignation for 
 some months, never daring to let his father's 
 nanie cross his lips, and avoiding all 
 public society for fear of some chance re- 
 cognition. At length a secret agent of 
 the Ottoman government met the pastry- 
 cook's assistant. 
 
 ** How, my lord 1" cried the agent, 
 
 "your excellency here, and thus !" Surely, 
 surely, you are the pacha of Damascus :•" 
 
 " You are deceived, sir," was the re- 
 ply, delivered with visible tremour ; " I 
 am a poor artizan, a pastry-cook of this 
 city," 
 
 " Oh, no !" said the other ; *' I recog- 
 nise you perfectly. You are the son of 
 my master, the grand vizier. What would 
 your father say could he see you here in 
 this miserable disguise ?" 
 
 *' In the name of Allah !" whispered 
 the poor ex-pacha, *' if you have been 
 my father's friend, by his shade I conjure 
 you to be silent, and not to betray me !" 
 
 " Shade, do you say, my lord !" was the 
 agent's answer ; "your father is not dead. 
 I had letters but yesterday from him." 
 
 This led to a full explanation, and the 
 overjoyed son gladly consented to go to 
 the agent's dwelling, where he was clothed 
 in garment's worthy of his rank. After 
 consulting together respecting the now 
 obvious imposture which had deprived 
 him of his government, the ex-pacha re- 
 solved to set out immediately with the 
 agent for Constantinople, and there de- 
 mand justice from the sultan himself. 
 The journey was undertaken without de- 
 lay. On their arrival at Constantinople, 
 nothing could exceed the astonishment 
 with which the old vizier listened to the 
 recital of his son's misfortunes. The matter 
 seemed utterly mysterious to the vizier, 
 as it did also to the sultan, when his 
 minister demanded an audience, and re- 
 lated the circumstances. Nevertheless, 
 the sultan promised redress, and imme- 
 diately dispatched a capdjibachi o^ oSice 
 to Damascus, with orders to bring the 
 usurping pacha to Constantinople. Four 
 hundred guards accompanied the messen- 
 ger of the sultan. 
 
 During the eight months that Moham- 
 med had ruled in Damascus, he had made 
 his administration a blessing to the inha- 
 bitants, who found in him a father rather 
 than a pacha. When the officer of the 
 sultan arrived, Mohammed kissed the im- 
 perial mandate, placed it on his brow in 
 token of submission, and demanded only 
 a few hours to prepare for the journey en- 
 joined upon him. In this interval he con- 
 voked the emirs, told them that the sultan 
 had called him to Constantinople, and took 
 an affecting farewell of them. Scarcely 
 had he left the city with his guards, when
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 263 
 
 when the emirs took the resolution of 
 addressing a petition to the sultan, to pre- 
 serve Moliammed in the pachalik of Da- 
 mascus. They sent this off', but as it did 
 not appear strong enough to them, on 
 second consideration, they wrote another 
 document, in which they detailed the bene- 
 fits conferred on the pachalik by ^loham- 
 med, and declared firmly that they could 
 not receive any other gDvernor. As if 
 Mohanmied's own example at his arrival 
 had inspired them, the emirs sent yet 
 other letters, in some of which they held 
 out no very unintelligible threats of re- 
 volt. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mohammed pursued his 
 journey to Constantinople, and was taken 
 to the presence of the sultan. 
 
 " What art thou, unhappy wretch?" 
 cried the sultan. 
 
 " One of your pachas," replied Mo- 
 bammed, with respect, but without fear. 
 
 *' Who signed thy firman of investi- 
 ture, thou miserable impostor ?"' 
 
 " Your highness," answered Moham- 
 med firmly. 
 
 This is too much!" cried the sultan; 
 ** show it, show it to me, if thou would'st 
 not die on the spot !" 
 
 "Behold it !" cried ■Mohammed, taking 
 from his bosom the piece of paper that, 
 enveloped the bit of glass found in the 
 street. The sultan took the scrap held 
 out to him, examined the words, and re- 
 cognised his own hand-writing. He sat 
 buried for some moments in reflection, 
 while the vizier stood a little apart, hope- 
 ful of revenge, and Mohammed bent his 
 knees, hopeful of pardon. 
 
 At this moment the first courier arrived 
 from the emirs. Representing his mis- 
 sives as of the first importance, they were 
 instantly delivered to the sultan. They 
 saved the live of Mohammed, or at least 
 decided the sultan's mind on that point. 
 Ere long, courier after courier arrived, 
 with letters to the same purport, r.nd 
 always increased in urgency. The issue 
 was, that the sultan addressed these words 
 to the vizier and INIohammed, both stand- 
 ing before him : — 
 
 " Vizier ! I cannot inflict any punish- 
 ment on this man without endangering 
 the tranquiUity of the empire. I \\ ill give 
 your son another pachalik. Mohammed, 
 I restore you to your government ; but 
 remember, that if it is by artifice you have 
 raised yourself to the rank of a pacha, it 
 
 is because you have shown great abilities 
 and a good disposition that 1 ratify your 
 title and grant your pardon. It is well 
 that so bad a maxim has not fallen into 
 worse hands. Retire." 
 
 Mohammed ruled wisely and happily 
 in Damascus for twenty-five years. 
 
 DREADFUL COMBATS WITH MALAYS. 
 
 Most naval men have heard or read of 
 the desperate affair on board the Sama- 
 rang, sloop of war, in which captain Bell, 
 by his cool bravery, saved his ship, at a 
 moment when tiiey had fearful odds of 
 those infuriated Malays against them. 
 What led to the overhauling and bring- 
 ing two or three large prows full of men 
 alongside, I never distinctly understood — 
 probably some suspicion or proof of their 
 being pirates. At any rate they were 
 detained — some of them, I believe, were 
 brought on board as momentary prisoners. 
 In the mean time the prows were veered 
 astern or on the quarters, while the ship's 
 company were piped to dinner. In the 
 midst of all this there could have been no 
 very declared or open hostility — nothing 
 of the nature in which ordinary pirates 
 are treated when taken, but just, as I have 
 endeavoured to show. With these people 
 captains knew not well what to do or how 
 to consider them, even when they did de- 
 tain them ; hence the numbers on the 
 quarter-deck were but slightly guarded or 
 looked after. They were at anchor, I 
 believe, (I am telling all this in a loose 
 rambling way : those who would know 
 exact particulars can easily refer to the 
 dispatches of the time,) the men all at 
 dinner, except a few- about by accident; 
 the quarter-master, lieutenant, and mate 
 of the watch — tiie captain and officers 
 generally below — when the prows on each 
 quarter, from some signal from their men 
 on board, hauled up close, and their crews 
 rushed armed on board. Those in their 
 immediate way, aft, were stabbed and 
 speared indiscriminately. Tliere was no 
 time to warn anybody, or even to make it 
 known below; but the noise of the rush 
 and stir on deck told plainly enough of 
 uhat was going on. The men, arming 
 themselves as they could, got up the 
 hatchways as fast and as well as they 
 could — she was a low, flush, fore-and-aft 
 corvette. Each having to lay about him 
 with his cutlass, tomahawk, pike, or what- 
 ever he could snatch up, and fight for his
 
 2C4 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 life, three or four stabbing at him at once; 
 so, too, with the captain and officers, who 
 had to fight their way up the after-cabin 
 ladder. The captain himself, a powerful 
 man, with a trusty, sharp, and heavy 
 sword, cleared his way and cut down all 
 before him, with the additional good luck 
 of parrying or escaping most of the cuts 
 and thrusts aimed at him, surrounded by 
 the Malays, each more furious and blood- 
 thirsty than the other. The poor first 
 lieutenant, on attempting to follow, was 
 almost literally cut in two by a blow from 
 (that deadly weapon) a creese, and fell on 
 the combing or down the ladder ; other 
 officers were either killed at this moment 
 or badly wounded, as well as sixteen or 
 eighteen of the men killed The captain, 
 fighting his way forward, till joined by his 
 own men and an officer or two, rallied 
 back ; and after some minutes of the most 
 desperate hand-to-hand fighting it is well 
 possible to conceive, worse than can be 
 conceived by any that do not know that 
 those people never think of quarter, or 
 cease to strike while they have life in 
 them, though down and possibly wounded 
 to the death over and over again : after 
 some minutes' such work as this, they 
 succeeded in either killing or driving 
 over-board all opposed to them. The 
 dead, as may be imagined, lay in heaps 
 — how many they killed, I know not; 
 numbers were drowned in trying to reach 
 their own boats; still numbers got back, 
 and, cutting the hawsers, they got offi 
 Hiniself badly wounded, his officers and 
 most of his men, besides those killed out- 
 right — of course the captain was glad to 
 get rid of them. 
 
 At another time, by dint of desperate 
 fighting, one of the Malay boats was at 
 length cleared — most of those that sur- 
 vived jumping overboard and swimming 
 to other boats Still it was known that one 
 or two of these desperadoes were still 
 alive below, hid away in some of the little 
 cribs or cabins under the deck. The boat 
 was towed alongside, and nobody sent 
 into her, lest they should be speared from 
 below, from this de\ ilisli invisible agency. 
 How to root this devil or two out nobody 
 knew — offering quarter, or kindness of 
 any sort, was hopeless; the officers did 
 not like to send any man to almost certain 
 death — and more than one at a time could 
 hardly creep through the labyrinth to get 
 at him. They did not wish to destroy tlie 
 
 vessel; and, above all, they particularly 
 wished to save tlie man — it turned out 
 there was only one — the la^t man 1 He 
 would not be saved. I believe nothing 
 was left untried by fair means — even to 
 getting some one of the people who un- 
 derstood a little Malay to try and speak 
 to him — but he gave no answer; at last 
 this sort of suspense grew intolerable — a 
 defiance to the whole frigate 1 It could 
 be borne no longer. Several men volun- 
 teered to turn him out, and three or four 
 jumped on board — one went below to 
 look after him, taking every precaution it 
 was possible — the others walked and 
 watched above. I should here observe — 
 what I forgot to mention in its proper 
 place — that this wretched Malay had 
 already desperately wounded one of our 
 men, who, as it was supposed none re- 
 mained alive or below, had gone under 
 the deck for some purpose or other rather 
 unguardedly, and had been struck at by 
 him. This led to his detection. The 
 men, of course, were well armed ; the 
 great difficulty, and, indeed, danger, was 
 their not knowing how or where to use 
 them : those above, every moment ex- 
 pecting a spear stab from below — and the 
 one who went down to poke him out in 
 a kind of darkness visible, had an un- 
 certain and awkward game to play. The 
 whereabout of the ambush of this two- 
 legged tiger, however, being tolerably 
 ascertained, he moved towards him — 
 hailed every moment by the men above 
 with, "I say. Bill, do you see him? — 
 mind your eye — look more forward — be 
 
 awake, or ." At this instant he was 
 
 made out crouching in a corner of the 
 hold, or partition of bamboos and mats, 
 as these vessels were generally arranged 
 under their semi-aerial decks. As Bill 
 advanced, the Malay struck at him with 
 his creese, and wounded him in the arm 
 only ; on the first blow they grasped eacli 
 other; at this instant the other men got 
 down below to his assistance — but not in 
 time to save the first poor fellow's life, 
 whose blunt cutlass was no match at close 
 quarters for the short, sharp knife of the 
 native — he was mortally wounded, before 
 they could fire at his antagonist, who was 
 hit' in two places — still he got up, and 
 rushed on his new assailants, who were in 
 turn both wounded, before they succeeded 
 in despatching him. Thus ended this 
 episode to the morning's tragedy.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 265 
 
 THE re^t:xge of hugolixe. 
 
 " Does do one approach, Ethelwulph ? 
 Is there no spear or pennon in sight ? — 
 Alas ! mine old eyes ache with watching : 
 pray heaven the Norman has not gained 
 tlu? day !" 
 
 Thus spoke Redwald the Saxon, as he 
 sat in one of the turrets of his ca-tle, 
 which stood on an almost inaccessible 
 rock on the coast of Sussex. The sun 
 was fjist sinking in the west, and poured 
 a flood of golden light on the waters of 
 tlie channel ; but the scene had no charms 
 for the aged chief: his four brave sons 
 hrid joined Harold, tiieir king, and this 
 was the day on which the Norman's 
 power would be tried. For three hours 
 had Redwald sat in torturing suspense, 
 awaiting the issue of the combat. Twi- 
 light had spread its thin veil over the sur- 
 rounding countr}% when, as the chief 
 descended in despair from the turret, the 
 clattering of horses' hoofs was heard, and 
 four horsemen rode into the court-yard. 
 Their steeds were jaded, and their ar- 
 mour was hacked and splashed with blood. 
 " Ah ! Hugoline, my brave boy !" 
 VOL. 1.— 34. 
 
 Page 268. 
 
 cried the aged Redwald, as he received 
 in his arms the foremost horseman, who 
 had dismounted with all haste. "Art 
 thou returned scathless ? — is the Norman 
 driven back, or slain, or — " 
 
 " Harold is down !" cried the youth, 
 wildly, ♦* and the blood of Gurth and 
 Leofwyune crimson the turf! Father, we 
 are lost — the Norman lion triumphs ! — 
 And, ho, my brethren are — " 
 
 ♦' Ha !" cried Redwald, eagerly, "what 
 would'st thou say ? — Not dead — no, thy 
 tongue dares not utter that word. Thou 
 would'st not tell me that, and stand here 
 unharmed." 
 
 " Father," replied the youth, " they are 
 dead ; my kinsmen here saw them fall. 
 The Norman host has scattered all our 
 force ; but there is time to save thee from 
 their vengeance." 
 
 "Away with theel" shrieked the old 
 chief — "Away, or bring me back thy 
 brothers ! Where's Edwm, Kenrick, and 
 Ella ? Coward, hast thou deserted them 
 in the hour of peril? Hence with thee 1 
 — Oh! that ] could wield weapon again!" 
 
 " This is madness, my father," replied 
 Hugohne j " I did all that man could do 
 2 M
 
 266 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 for them: the shaft that slew Edwin 
 grazed my fiice. See you this hacked 
 buckler ? it opposed a vain resistance to 
 the axe of a Norman knight, who, with 
 his followers, slew Kenrick and Ella." 
 
 *' 'Tis false ! dastard as thou art," cried 
 the old chief. " By the soul of Hengist ! 
 thou art no son of mine — hence with ihee. 
 Now, now the Norman may con:ie, and do 
 his worst, for all 1 loved is lost. My mon- 
 arch slain, and my brave boys too I" 
 
 "Father," said Hugoline, "I am no 
 coward ; as^k my kinsman here if I 
 flinched from the fight till my brethren 
 fell. King Harold thought me no craven 
 when I struck my javelin through the 
 giant Dane, who' kept the bridge at 
 Stamford. I left the field to save thee, 
 for the Norman's cry is up, and woe to 
 the armed Saxon that escapes not his 
 clutch. Quick, let me convey you to the 
 water's edge, a boat lies behind yon 
 rock." 
 
 At this moment a horn was sounded at 
 a short distance, and loud shouts were 
 heard. 
 
 " Ah !" cried the gallant youth, " the 
 blood hounds have followed at our heels. 
 Look to the gate, Waltheof— we will die 
 here 1 — Then, turning to his aged sire, he 
 continued — "Father, I have not deserved 
 this; had it not been for thee, I would 
 never have left that bloody fatal field 
 alive." 
 
 In obedience to the command of Hu- 
 goline, his kinsmen and serfs had secured 
 the gate, and prepared the engines on the 
 walls, determined to resist their pursuers 
 to the last. The aged Redvvald, some- 
 what appeased by the protestations of his 
 son, encouraged his followers to hold out 
 the castle against the Norman soldiers, 
 who were now arrived at the gate. They 
 were headed by a knight of gigantic sta- 
 ture, mounted on a horse corresponding 
 in size with its rider, whose surtout of 
 azure, on which was embroidered a wolf's 
 head, erased, now splashed with blood, 
 gave evident token that the wearer had 
 not been idle in the day's strife. 
 
 "Saxon," said the knight, addressing 
 Hugoline, who stood on the ramparts 
 with his follows, " resistance is vain ; 
 open your gates, or, by the light of hea- 
 ven, ye shall all swing in the night air!" 
 "Norman dog!" shouted Hugoline, 
 " we fear thee not — do thy worst, we can 
 but die!" 
 
 " Boy," replied the knight, calmly, 
 " thou art working thine own destruction; 
 once more I command thee to admit us, 
 or thou shalt see that Lupus keeps his 
 word." 
 
 " Thy word, base plunderer !" said 
 Hugoline. "Tlie men thou see'st around 
 me shrink not from the swords of your fol- 
 lowers ; think ye then that idle threats 
 will fright them ?" 
 
 The Norman's countenance lowered, 
 and it was sometime before he replied to 
 this speech ; at length he spoke, not 
 however to Hugoline, but to his fath r, 
 who had been an attentive listener to the 
 colloquy. 
 
 " Old man," said he, " has this mala- 
 pert boy thy countenance ? Bethink 
 thee of thy peril, and give us entrance. 
 Woe to him who provokes the vengeance 
 of the duke of Normandy, now your 
 king!" 
 
 " Norman !" replied the old chief, as 
 his dim eye kindled with ire, " think ye 
 that in one battle the force of England 
 can be crushed ? No 1 kinsmen of the 
 slain Harold yet live, and will avenge his 
 death — for me, I can die here !" 
 
 " Lupus ground h's teeth with rage, 
 and replied, fiercely — 
 
 "'Tis well for thee, grey-beard, to 
 vaunt thus; but know, that if your castle 
 be not rendered up ere moon-rise, thou 
 and thy kinsmen shall be consumed in it." 
 
 He pointed to the horizon as he spoke, 
 which was beginning to brighten, though 
 the moon had not yet appeared. A pale 
 light glimmered on the channel, wliich 
 served to distinguish the sails of those 
 fugitives who had quitted their native 
 shore, after escaping from the disastrous 
 conflict. 
 
 The Norman soldiers, in the mean 
 time, kindled a fire, and lit several 
 torches. Hugoline watched them in- 
 tently, and perceived that they were 
 bringing forward a quantity of dry un- 
 derwood from a neighbouring copse. 
 They advanced to the gates, against 
 which they placed the wood, and appeared 
 to be only waiting for the signal from 
 their leader. The moon rose above the 
 horizon, and threw her red glare on the 
 scene. Lupus advanced, and, in a threat- 
 ening tone, demanded instant admittance. 
 Hugoline replied by loosening his bow 
 at the knight, whose hauberk of proof 
 protected its wearer : the arrow snapped,
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 267 
 
 and fell to the ground harmless. Lupus 
 calniiy seized a torch, and threw it into 
 the midst of the wood, which blazed 
 fiercely, and the gates were instantly in 
 flames, when the aged Hedwald, at the 
 higijest pitch of his voice, cried — 
 
 " Hold, Norman ! hold, for the blessed 
 Virgin's sake have mercy, and the place 
 shall be given up — but spare my boy !" 
 
 *' Fear not, my father," said Hugoline, 
 ** let us die in the flames which consume 
 our hall, for they are more merciful than 
 the Norman who has kindled them." 
 
 " Oil ! for our lady's sake, take pity !" 
 cried the aged chief, who heeded not his 
 son's remonstrance — " Have mercy, and 
 all we have is yours !" 
 
 "Then quickly open thy gates, or thou 
 and all thy household shall perish !" 
 
 Lupus, as he spoke, perceived the old 
 chief giving orders to unbar the gates, 
 when Hugoline spoke, 
 
 ** Are we," said he, " to pass free ? or 
 do'st thou purpose keeping us to make 
 sport for thy tierce leader ?" 
 
 "Boy," replied Lupus, "'tis witless to 
 parley thus — open your gates, or, by my 
 father's soul, I'll have thee flayed ahve, if 
 the flames should spare thee." 
 
 "Never!" shouted Hugoline. "None 
 but cravens fear to die. Hence with thee, 
 dog, or wait and see us perish •, for, by 
 the soul of Hene:ist, whose blood runs in 
 my veins, I will not yield to thee, or twice 
 thy force." 
 
 *' Then die in thine obstinacy," said 
 the knight. "Behold the flames are 
 kindling round your gates, another mo- 
 ment makes you ours." 
 
 A loud yell of despair arose from the 
 Saxon followers, in the midst of which the 
 Norman soldiers let fly a shower of arrows, 
 which killed three of them, and wounded 
 several others. The rest, seeing the hope- 
 lessness of their case, flew to the gates, 
 w hich they threw open, and tlie Normans, 
 rushing forward with a shout, entered tlie 
 castle, and disarmed the feel)le garrison. 
 Redwald was instantly seized. His son, 
 springfi ng forward, slew the foremost of 
 the Norman soldiers ; but the rest closing 
 round him, lie was struck to the ground 
 and seemed. 
 
 "Away witli him to the next tree," 
 said Hugh Lupus; when Redwald threw 
 himself at the feet of Uie knight. 
 
 "Oil, Norman," he cried, "thou hast 
 not heart to do a deed so v'.le — spare him, 
 
 or let me suffer first, but do not kill my 
 only boy 1" At this moment the eye of 
 the old chief rested on a youth splendidly 
 dressed, who stood by the side of Lupus. 
 "Oh," continued Redwald, "if thou 
 would'st not have that child meet as 
 dreadful a death, spare Hugoline, whose 
 only crime is that he has this day fought 
 for his king and country !" 
 
 " Saxon," replied the knight, " thy son 
 has sougiit his own death : bears he sword 
 or lance, and knovv not that to defend an 
 untenable place, is to forfeit the lives of 
 the garrison ? He shall die !" 
 
 "Nay, nay," cri^-d Redwald, "say not 
 so — revoke yoiu* sentence ! Here at thy 
 feet 1 entreat ihee to spare him [" and he 
 clasped the kneos of the knight, while the 
 perspiration stood in large drops on his 
 aged brow. 
 
 'J'he countenance of Lupus lowered. — 
 "Old man," he said, "ye plead in vain; 
 by my father's soul he shall die! What! 
 shall a Norman knight be bearded by a 
 wretched Saxon slave like him ? Hence ! 
 or I may forget thy grey hairs, and do 
 thee violence." 
 
 " Tlien take thy quittance, fierce Nor- 
 man !" cried the old chief. He started 
 on his feet, and quick as thought plucked 
 a small dagger from his bosom, and struck 
 with all his force at the breast of the 
 knight ; but one of the soldiers with a 
 pole-axe struck Redwald a blow on the 
 head, wliich stretched him lifeless at the 
 feet of his conqueror. 
 
 Hugoline beheld it ; a groan of agony 
 burst from his overcharged bosom, and 
 the cords with wiiich he was bound snap- 
 ped as though they had been rushes. In 
 an instant lie sprung forward, and seized 
 in his arms the youth who stood by the 
 side of Lupus, and rushed up the stairs of 
 one of the towers. Several of the Norman 
 soldiers followed him ; but he quickly 
 closed an iron door upon his pursuers, and 
 the next moment appeared on the top of 
 the tower. A dozen bows were bent, but 
 he held before him as a shield his inno- 
 cent victim. 
 
 " Norman," he cried, or rather shrieked 
 out, " my revenge is complete ! Look on 
 thy darling boy ! — thy hen- ! — Hast thou 
 no prayer," he continued, as he watched 
 the speechless agony of the knight, "no 
 entreaty for the life of thy child ?" 
 
 "Oh, Saxon," cried die knight, "spare 
 my boy, and thou shalt not be harmed,"
 
 268 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY; OR, 
 
 "All!" shouted Hugoline, " dost tliou 
 offer terms now ? — Give me back then my 
 father and my brothers — raise up that old 
 man, whom your followers have murdered 
 — restore him, I say, and thy boy is free ; 
 What ! do'st thou hesitate ?— Nay," look- 
 ing at his victim, "struggle not, child, I 
 will not torture thee," he clutched the 
 throat of the boy as he spoke, and the 
 stifling breath and convulsive struggle 
 told that deatli was nigh. 
 
 " Shoot, shoot the Saxon dog," screamed 
 Lupus ; but at the same moment the body 
 of his chilfl, hurled from the fearful height, 
 fell into the court-yard a mutilated mass; 
 while a dozen shafts transfixed the Saxon, 
 who leaped convulsively from the tower, 
 widi a shout of triumph quivering on his 
 tongue. The crash of his armour, as he 
 fell, echoed the fall of the unfortunate 
 child. 
 
 THE KIiNG'S RETURN; OR, THE JEW'S 
 RESCUE. 
 
 It was on the afternoon of a bright 
 summer's day, that a stranger of athletic 
 proportions, armed somewhat in the man- 
 ner of the poorer knights of the twelfth 
 century, and mounted on a powerful coal 
 black steed, was trotting leisurely down 
 the high road leading to the town of 
 Faversham. About a bowshot before him, 
 a man, riding on a mule, and leading 
 another loaded with a large pack, was 
 proceeding in the same direction. In a 
 few minutes the knight came up with the 
 traveller, whose garberdine of dusky hue, 
 olive complexion, and dark hair, pro- 
 claimed him one of the proscribed and 
 persecuted children of Israel. 
 
 "Make way, Jew!" cried the knight, 
 *' or by my beard I will ride over thee 
 and thy cattle." 
 
 The Israelite made no reply, but imme- 
 diately proceeded to lead his dimib com- 
 panions on to (he green sward by die road 
 side, and the knight passed on. He had 
 not, however, proceeded many paces, 
 when a crow-bow bolt, whistling over his 
 head, fixed itself in a large oak on the 
 opposite side of the road ; and at the 
 same moment three savage-looking men, 
 rushing from a thicket, attacked him with 
 great fury. The. sword of the knight 
 quickly gleamed in the noon-day sun, and 
 the first stroke of the biighl blade cleft 
 the foremost ruffiian to the teeth ; but the 
 force with which the blow was gi\en 
 
 threw the resolute horseman off his guard, 
 and he was well nigh overpowered, when 
 one of his assailants was suddenly felled 
 to the ground by the blow of a staff. 
 The other outlaw fled precipitately, and 
 the knight, tuining to his deliverer, per- 
 ceived that it was the wandering and 
 despised Jew whom he had just passed. 
 
 " Thanks, Moses," cried the knight — 
 " thou wilt find me grateful for this ser- 
 vice. By my halidame, thou laids't about 
 thee as David did amongst the Amale- 
 kites. Whither art thou bound, my valiant 
 Isiaelite ?" 
 
 ** To Faversham, sir knight," was the 
 reply. " I have some valuables here, 
 which I am anxious to get there with be- 
 fore night- fall." 
 
 "Then I will be thy escort, and woe 
 to him wlio dare molest thee. But say, 
 what could have tempted thee to peril thy 
 life for the sake of one whose creed teaches 
 him to ablior thy race ?" 
 
 " I'he God whom I serve," replied the 
 Jew, " says, ' Love thy neighbour as thy- 
 self,' — mine own heart prompted me to 
 fly to thy rescue." 
 
 " And thou shalt find me grateful : 
 trust me, Jew, I may be able to do tliee 
 service — I had once a strong voice at 
 court." 
 
 " Alas," replied the Iraelite, with a 
 deep sigh — " I have been wronged and 
 persecuted by that very court, — thy inter- 
 ference, good sir, would be the warrant 
 for my execution." 
 
 "Ha !" cried the knight, his sun- burnt 
 cheek assuming a deeper shade, — " who 
 has wronged thee ? — point out the villain, 
 
 and " He checked himself suddenly, 
 
 and in a milder tone continued — "I have 
 sworn to see the righted ; but first let me 
 hear thy tale. Let us haste from this 
 spot, and leave this carrion for the kites 
 and crows." So saying, the knight leaped 
 upon his powerful steed, and the Jew 
 having again perched himself upon one of 
 his mules, they proceeded towards the 
 town. 
 
 The knight learnt from his companion 
 that he had been plundered by a troop of 
 mercenaries in the pay of prince John, at 
 the town of Sandwich, and that he had 
 escaped with the remnant of his property, 
 and was hurrying to Faversham to meet 
 Ills sister, whom he had conmiiited to the 
 care of an elderly niatron of his race. — 
 The knight put many questions to his
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 companion, as to the state of the kingdom 
 and the acts of the prince, during the ab- 
 sence of his brother Richard in tlie Cru- 
 sades 5 to all of which the Jew gave ready, 
 but cautious answers. At nightfall the 
 travellers entered the town of Faversham, 
 when the knight, drawing a ring of curi- 
 ous workmanship from his finger, placed 
 it in the hand of the Jew, with these 
 words — 
 
 ** Friend, receive this bauble from one 
 who was ever a lover of bravery, even 
 though it were shewn by Jew or Paynim. 
 Proceed to London, and on this day se'en- 
 night hie thee at noon to Aldgate, and 
 wait till thou seest a knight enter the city 
 with a goodly train. Then step boldly 
 forward — greet him well in the name of 
 Richard Fitz Roy, and give him this ring. 
 He will see thee redressed, and get thee 
 back thy merchandize." 
 
 So saying, ere the Jew could mutter 
 forth his thanks, the horseman gave the 
 spur to his lusty steed, and was quickly 
 out of sight. The Israelite gazed for a 
 moment on the jewel, and then on the 
 receding figure of his late companion ; 
 but recalled lo recollection by the approach 
 of evening, he proceeded in search of his 
 sister, to whom he unfolded his strange 
 tidings; for it seemed to him somewhat 
 more than wonderful, that a man, having, 
 as he professed, influence at court, should 
 stoop to befriend one who belonged to a 
 race in that day more detested by the 
 Chiisiians than their powerful foes the 
 Saracens. 
 
 Not to tire our readers with a detail of 
 the Jew's journey to London (one of great 
 liardsliip and peril in those rude days) we 
 shall briefly inform them that the Hebrew 
 and his dark-eyed sifter stood amongst 
 the crowd at Aldgate, in eager expecta- 
 tion of the knight's appeal ance to redeem 
 his pledge. To have asked why such a 
 concourse of people had assembled, would 
 have exposed the Jew to all the contumely 
 that the 'prentices and holiday folks had 
 ever ready for his persecuted race. They 
 puslied against and jostled him in every 
 possible way; but the firm and compact 
 figure, and determined look of Reuben, , 
 plainly told that violence to him or his 1 
 sister would be repelled at the hazard of i 
 liis life. At length a flourish of trumpets, j 
 and a loud roll of drums, mingled with I 
 the shouts of the populace, announced the J 
 approach of a gorgeous cavalcade, at the 
 
 head of which, mounted on a cream- 
 coloured palfrey, rode a gallant figure, 
 arrayed in a suit of mail, curiously 
 wrought in steel and gold. The Hebrew 
 shook with excessive fear ; for he beheld 
 the athletic figure of the knight whom he 
 had succoured on the road to Faversham. 
 Yes, it was the long lost king of England 
 about to enter the city in triumph. Tlie 
 sight almost overpowered Keuben, who 
 was about to hasten from the spot. 
 
 " Away, Judith," he exclaimed, in a 
 voice which disappointment and alarm had 
 rendered almost inarticulate. "Away, 
 my sister, — I will not be a butt for the 
 jests even of England's monarch." 
 
 " Stay, I entreat ye, Reuben," said his 
 sister, imploringly, — "the God of our 
 fathers will not desert us. Give me the 
 ring." 
 
 She took the jewel, and made her way 
 through the crowd, followed by the trem- 
 bling Reuben ; then, holding it up, she 
 essayed to address the monarch — but her 
 voice failed her. Luckily, however, the 
 quick eye of Richard glanced on the 
 figure of his late valiant companion. 
 
 " Ha ! my right valourous Hebrew 
 friend," he cried, *' thou art punctual." 
 Then speaking to the captain of the men- 
 at-arms who rode in his train, he conti- 
 nued — " Fitz Maurice, T charge thee see 
 that this good Israelite, and iiis fair com- 
 panion, have safe conduct to our palace; 
 they demand justice, and our lips shall 
 know no food nor kiss flagon, until it be 
 dealt out to them — Forward." 
 
 And he kept his word ; for, ere the sun 
 went down, Reuben was fully indemnified 
 for the loss he had sustained from the 
 reckless followers of prince John, and 
 lived long to tell of the gratitude of the 
 generous Coeur de Lion. 
 
 LOSS OF THE FRANCIS SPAIGHT, DECEM- 
 BER, 1856. 
 
 The Francis Spaight, a fine vessel of 
 345 tons burthen, laden with timber, 
 sailed from St. John's, Newfoundland, on 
 the 24th of November, 1836. The crew 
 amounted to fourteen men, with the cap- 
 tain and mate, many of wliom were in- 
 different hands. They were mostly Irish 
 boatmen, trained on the Shannon — some 
 from Kilrush, a few from the Tarbert, and 
 one or two from Foynes. Nothing could 
 be finer than the weather, for the first 
 eight or ten days of the voyage ; but it
 
 270 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 afterwards came on to blow so hard, tliat 
 they were obHged to drive before the 
 wind under a mizen- topsail. 
 
 At three o'clock in the morning of 
 December 3, an alarm was raised by a 
 cry and confusion on deck. The vessel, 
 it appeared, either steering wild, through 
 the carelessness of the hehnsman, or per- 
 haps from her bad trim, suddenly broached- 
 to, and lay like a log in the trough of the 
 sea. The day had not dawned at the 
 time ; it was still very dark, and the waves 
 broke so frightfully over her, that the cap- 
 tain nor mate could not get the men to 
 obey their directions; nor even when she 
 was tilling rapidly with water, could he 
 get them to the pumps. In less than an 
 liour she lay on her beam- ends, the greater 
 part of her crew saving themselves by 
 climbing on her side, and clinging to the 
 rigging. Pat. Cusack and Pat. Behane, 
 however, were drowned in the forecastle, 
 and William Grifiith, the mate, in the 
 after- cabin, into which he had gone acci- 
 dentally only a few minutes before. The 
 captain, and a man named Murville, now 
 got to the fore and mainmasts, and cut 
 them away ; the mizen-topmast went with 
 them over the side, and the ship almost 
 immediately righted. As soon as she 
 righted, being already filled with water, 
 slje settled down in the sea, and there 
 was scarcely any portion of her to be 
 seen, except the poop and bulwarks. No 
 situation could be more hopeless or miser- 
 able than that of the unfortunate crew, 
 standing ancle deep on the wreck, in the 
 depth of a winter's night, and clinging 
 in the darkness to whatever was nearest, 
 as sea after sea rolled successively over 
 them ; but they knew not the full horror 
 of their condition, until the dawn of 
 morning, for wiiich all were looking east- 
 ward with intense anxiety. They then 
 discovered that their provisions had been 
 washed overboard, and as the hold was 
 filled by the sea, they had no means of 
 commg at any fresh water. 'I'he gale 
 continued unabated through the morning, 
 and the dreadful swell every now and then 
 swept over the decks, so that for safety, as 
 well as for shelter, they gathered into the 
 cabin under the poop. Even here, she 
 was so deep with water, that a dry plank 
 could not be found on which they might 
 lie ; their only rest was by standing close 
 together, huddled up, and leaning against 
 one another. At about ten o'clock in the 
 
 forenoon, a vessel was suddenly described 
 to the westward, and for some time it was 
 thought possible her course might be near 
 them, but she stood far away beyond the 
 reach of signal, and was soon out of sight. 
 That day and the next passed away with- 
 out the slightest change in the weather. 
 On the third it began to moderate, during 
 the whole of which period they remained 
 standing in the cabin, leaning against one 
 another, or against the ship's sides, unable 
 to fake rest or sleep. 
 
 The greatest suffering was hunger, or 
 rather a sinking at the stomach, from thirst, 
 and neither of which had they any con- 
 ceivable means of allaying. There were 
 fifteen hands alive, and of these, not one 
 had tasted a morsel of food since the 
 wreck ; and for drink, they had only three 
 botdes of wine, which were found in the 
 cabin ; this was served out in wine-glasses 
 at long intervals. There was some occa- 
 sional rain, which they were not prepared 
 at first for saving, getting but a scanty 
 supply by holding the cover of a tureen 
 under the mizenmast. Horrible as thi-; 
 situation was, it was made yet worse by 
 the conduct of the crew towards one 
 another. As their sufferings increased, 
 they lost all command of temper, and be- 
 came cross and selfish in the extreme — 
 such as were strong, securing a resting 
 place on the cabin floor, and pushing aside 
 those that were ueak, to shift for them- 
 selves as they could in the wet and cold. 
 
 On the I9th of December, the six- 
 teenth day since the wreck, and since they 
 had tasted food, many of the men were 
 gathering together m groups, and some- 
 thing seemed to be in agitation amongst 
 them. Tlie mystery was cleared up in 
 the course of the day. \A'hen they all 
 happened to be assembled in the cabin, 
 the captain came off deck, and seriously 
 addressed them about their desperate con- 
 dition. His opinion was, that one should 
 suffer for the rest, anti that lots should be 
 drawn between the four boys, as they had 
 no fiimilies, and could not be considered 
 so great a loss to their friends as tjiose 
 who had wives and children depending on 
 them. The lot having been cast, it fell 
 upon a boy named O'Brien. The poor 
 fellow heard the annoimcement without 
 uttering a word. His face was very pale, 
 but not a feature of it w as changed. Tlie 
 men now told him he must prepare fur 
 death, and the captain said it was better
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 271 
 
 it should be done by bleeding him in the 
 arm, to which O'Brien made no objection. 
 'I'he captain then directed the cook, John 
 Gorman, to do it, telling him it was his 
 duty; but Gorman strenuiiusly refused. 
 He was, however, threatened with death 
 himself by the men if he continued obsti- 
 nate; and he at last consented. O'Brien 
 then look off his jacket without waiting 
 to be desired, and, after teiling the crew, 
 if any of them ever reached home, to tell 
 his poor mother what liad happened to 
 him, bared his right arm. The cook cut 
 his veins across twice w ith a small knife, 
 but could bring no flow of blood, upon 
 which there seemed much hesitation 
 among the men as to what could be done. 
 They were relieved by the boy himself, 
 who immediately desired the cook to give 
 him the knife, as he could not be looking 
 at them putting him to pain. When he 
 got the knife, and was about to cut the 
 vein, the captain recommended him to try 
 his left arm, which he accordingly did. 
 He attempted to open the vein at the 
 bend of the elbow, with the point of the 
 knife, as a surgeon would, but, like the 
 cook, he failed in bringing blood. A dead 
 consternation now fell upon all ; but in a 
 minute or two the captain said, "This is 
 all of no use ; 'tis better to put him out of 
 pain by at once bleeding him in the 
 throat," and some of them said it was 
 true. At this O'Brien, for the first time, 
 looked terrified, and begged hard that 
 they would not do so, but give him a little 
 time. He said he was cold and weak, but 
 if they would let him lie down and sleep 
 for a little time, lie would get warm, and 
 then he should bleed freely. To this wish 
 there was some expression of dissent from 
 the men, and the captain shortly after said 
 to them, "that it was useless leaving the 
 boy this way in pain, 'twas best at once to 
 lay hold of him, and let the cook cut his 
 throat!" O'Brien, now roused and driven 
 to extremity, seemed working himself up 
 for resistance, and declared he would not 
 
 let th 
 
 the first man, he said, who laid 
 
 hands on him, 'twould be worse for him ; 
 tiiat he'd app<.>ar to him at another time — 
 that he'd haunt him after death. The poor 
 youth, was, however, among so many, 
 soon overcome, and the cook was once 
 again called upon to put him to death. 
 Tlie horror-stricken man over and over 
 again endeavoured to summon up hardi- 
 hood for the deed; but when he caught 
 
 the boy's eye, his heart always failed him, 
 and then he looked supplicatingly to the 
 men again. Their cries and threats were, 
 however, loud for death — he made a des- 
 perate effort — there was a short struggle, 
 and O'Brien was no more ! 
 
 As soon as this horrid act was perpe- 
 trated, the blood was served to the men ; 
 but a few of them, among whom was 
 Mahony, refused to partake of it. They 
 afterwards laid open the body, and sepa- 
 rated the limbs ; the latter were hung over 
 the stern, while a portion of the former 
 was allotted for immediate use. Shocked, 
 as for the sake of human nature it is to be 
 hoped many were, at the scene they had 
 just witnessed, a gnawing hunger came 
 upon them all when they saw even this 
 disgusting meal put out for then), and al- 
 most every one, even the unwilling boys, 
 partook more or less of it. This was the 
 evening of the IGth day. They ate again 
 late at night, and some greedily ; but the 
 thirst, which was before at least endurable, 
 now became craving, and, as there was no 
 more blood, they slaked it with salt water. 
 They then lay down to rest, but several 
 were raving and talking wildly through 
 the night ; and in the morning the cook 
 was observed to be quite insane — his eyes 
 inflamed and glaring, and his speech ram- 
 bling and incoherent ; he threw his clothes 
 about restlessly, and was often violent. 
 His raving continued during the succeed- 
 ing night, and in tlie morning, as his end 
 seemed to be approaching, the veins of 
 his neck were cut, and the blood drawn 
 from him. This was the second deathv 
 On the night of that day Michael Behane 
 was mad, and the boy George Burns on 
 the following morning ; they were both 
 so violent that they were obliged to be 
 tied by the crew, and the latter was even- 
 tually bled to death, like the cook, by cut- 
 ting his throat. Michael Behane died un- 
 expectedly, or he would have suffered the 
 same fate. Next morning the captain 
 came off deck, and feeling tec weak and 
 exhausted to keep a look out any longer, 
 desired some one to take his place above. 
 Harrington and Mahoney went up very 
 soon after : the latter thought he could 
 distinguish a sail, and raised a shout of joy, 
 upon which those below immediately came 
 up. A ship was clearly discernible, and, 
 apparently, holding her course towards 
 them. Signals were hoisted w ith as much 
 alacrity as the weakness of the survivors
 
 272 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 would allow, and when she approached, 
 and was almost within hail, their appre- 
 hension of her passing by, like the former 
 vessel, was so great, that they held up the 
 hands and feet of O'Brien to excite com- 
 miseration. 
 
 " IIow did we lon^, as memor}' roso. 
 
 And our very heart-strings yearned 
 For a sight, or'a sound, from that dear land 
 
 To which our thoughts were turned. 
 As on the waves we spied a sail 
 
 In the distance, blue and clear ; 
 And we fondly gazed on the stranger ship. 
 
 As though our home was there. 
 
 The vessel proved to be the Agenoria, an 
 American. Slie put off" a boat to their 
 assistance, without any hesitation, al 
 thouo^h the weather was so rough at the 
 time, and there seemed to be such an ap- 
 prehension of its swamping, that the crew 
 came out in their shirts. The survivors 
 of the Francis Spaight were all at length 
 safely got on board the American, wliere 
 they'^were treated with the utmost kind- 
 ness. 
 
 ACCIDENT TO HIS MAJESTY'S SHIP THE 
 ELEPHANT, WHICH WAS STRUCK BY 
 LIGHTNING, NOVEMBER, 21, 17^0. 
 
 On November 21, tiie evening was 
 very tempestuous, the rain fell in heavy 
 showers, accompanied with prodigious 
 kirge hail; there were many very loud 
 claps of thunder, and the lightning was 
 particularly vivid. At a time when two 
 of the midshipmen and a quarter-master 
 were looking out on the quarter-deck, and 
 a marine sentry standing at the cabin- 
 door, a heavy 'shower of rain and hail 
 caused them to take shelter under the 
 poop-deck till the rain was over. This 
 was about lialf-past eleven, when a teirific 
 loud thunder- clap seemed to break over 
 the ship, and which was plainly heard by 
 all onboard. The midshipmen and quarter- 
 master rushed to the quarter-deck almost 
 at the same instant, when they distinctly 
 saw what appeared to be a ball of fire com- 
 ing down from the elements right on the 
 ship-, it took its direction to the brass 
 sheaves in the keel of the main-topmast, 
 which was then unrigged and struck, and 
 hanging in the top-rope; the brass sheaves 
 attracting the lightning, it shivered the 
 topmast to pieces, from the keel tvvenly- 
 feet upwards, forcing out the sheaves, and 
 sending them as far as the galley ; the 
 top-rope going right up the midsliips as 
 far as it was shivered, as the top- mast 
 
 came down, but luckily the top-rope was 
 not cut or burnt, or the topmast must have 
 come down on the deck by the run. The 
 lightning, being attracted by the iion 
 hoops on tlie mainmast, struck it about 
 twelve feet below the bounds, and pene- 
 trating into the centre of the mast, it 
 opened it and shivered it downwards for 
 nearly sixty feet, bursting off* eight large 
 iron hoops, and cutting otF several of the 
 mouldings of the masi, as if it had been 
 done with an axe, drawing out also all the 
 nails. It went also to the liand and chain 
 pumps, which it rendered entiiely unser- 
 viceable, as they were broken to pieces 
 It left a very strong sulphureous smell all 
 over the ship, but particularly on the orlop- 
 deck and on the gun-deck, where the 
 smoke was so thick as almost to cause 
 suffocation; and the ship appeared as if 
 on fire in several parts, which w as occasi- 
 oned by the electric matter running about 
 the deck for a considerable time after the 
 ship was struck. As the night was so very 
 dark and rainy, it was impossible for them 
 to see the damage that the ship had sus- 
 tained until the morning, when they found 
 the mainmast entirely gone, being sup- 
 ported only by two {)ieces, which were 
 partly shivered. The cap, top, and main- 
 shroud being still on the mast, made them 
 apprehensive every minute that it would 
 go l)v the board. The decks were com- 
 pletely covered with the splinters and 
 chips of the mast ; they also found five of 
 tlie iron hoops of the mast on the poop, 
 forecastle and booms; the rest went over- 
 board. Fortunately, no lives were lost. 
 They got the Prince \\'illiam sheer hidk 
 alongside, to unrig and get out the masts, 
 which was done without anv accident. 
 
 PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF FREDERICK 
 THE GREAT. 
 
 I examined, with strong curiosity, this 
 man ; great in genius, small in stature, 
 almost bent down under the weight of 
 his laurels and his long labours. His 
 blue coat, worn out like his body, his long 
 boots that went higher than his knees, his 
 waistcoat stained with snuff, formed a sin- 
 gular and yet noble appearance. The 
 fire of his looks showed that his mind had 
 not decayed with age; in spite of his in- 
 valided apj)earance, it was seen that he 
 could still fight like a young soldier ; in 
 spite of his small size, the mind still saw 
 him greater than all other men.
 
 PERILS BV FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 2/3 
 
 CASTLE OF ALTENBURGH; 
 
 OK, 
 
 THE ^TN'E-ORESSER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Turn face to face, and bloody point to point ; 
 Then, in a moment, fortune shall call forth. 
 Out of one side her haupj miuion ; 
 To whom in favour she shall give the day, 
 And kiss him with a glorious victory. 
 
 King John. 
 
 The canker tooth of time, which eats 
 away centuries and their works, crum- 
 bles the " gorgeous palaces, and leaves 
 scarcely a wreck behind," had slowly con- 
 sumed tlie beauteous portions of the castle 
 of Rudesbourne ; the ruins of which, with 
 the crypts of three gothic arches, a few- 
 square feet of marble flooring, and a 
 cluster of velvet cypress trees, only re- 
 mained in the shelving strata, that, from 
 its utmost height of mountainous pinnacle, 
 stood in the clouds, and gradually, with 
 side-armed rocks, descended into the 
 bosom of the blue-eyed Rhine, almost 
 hidden in the luxuriant fancies of uncon- 
 trolled weeds and young scions stretching 
 their limbs,like the progenies of Hercules, 
 in the golden rays of the sun, the silver 
 moonbeams and nightly wanderings of 
 VOL. 1. — 35. 
 
 Page 277. 
 
 the stars — the upper fragments of monu- 
 ments departed and slackened beneath 
 the blossoms of native loveliness. The 
 heraldic orders, the emblazoned coats and 
 ancestral inscriptions, were too far gone 
 into oblivion to be restored ; yet, in an 
 almost untrodden path, a cross leant in 
 sacred silence, and outlived the stronger 
 texture of surrounding objects. 
 
 Along family feud had existed between 
 the representative barons of the houses of 
 Altenburgh and Cobletzen. Each suc- 
 cessor had met and fought in each gene- 
 ration, without effecting a reconciliation. 
 At tiiis time, when the scroll of their 
 genealogy were nearly obliterated by the 
 blood winch had been shed in the many 
 rencontres to recover the supposed right 
 on either side of the hereditary line, a 
 new plea was urged by these young 
 heroes in contending for the loveliest 
 maiden of the whole dominions, Elthrida, 
 the only daughter of a vine-dresser, that 
 lived half-way between the ruins of Ru- 
 desbourne (in the clefts of which Dorft 
 Cobletzen held his temporary sway) and 
 the castle of Altenburgh, the contested 
 residence of Albert. 
 
 2n
 
 2/4 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 These heroes possessed manly courage, 
 intrepi(hty in the field, athletic persons, 
 ajid well-formed proportions. They wore 
 the exterior of their ancestors in helmet 
 plumes and cumbroiis armorial trappings. 
 But though each boasted of agreeable 
 personation, Dorft Cobletzen, when he 
 pleased, could give his dark features a 
 terrific expression. Tliis indicated a fine 
 contrast when brought into view in the 
 presence of the fairer nature and niilder 
 expression of Albert Altenburgh. 
 
 Aware of the strife likely to ensue be- 
 tween Dorft and Albert in respect of his 
 dear and amiable daughter, Elthrida, her 
 aged father, whose years increased his 
 inHrmities, but who had saved a little 
 purse by the success of his management 
 in his earlier days, took care to lay the 
 hand of restriction on Klthrida, and cul- 
 tivate her confidence and esteem for him, 
 which added consolation to his reflections. 
 Albert had frequently loitered about the 
 vine-dresser's little wooden habitation, 
 and hung many a time over tlie gate that 
 divided his simple gardens. He had made 
 overtures of love to Elthrida, and de- 
 clared the strongest afl^ection for her. 
 The father, too, had more than once seen 
 her steal her hand away from Albert's 
 lips, and appearing on the threshold, cut 
 down the interview into a short parting. 
 Wiien Albert sued her consent to cement 
 his happiness, the reply of Elthrida was, 
 " Ask my father !" and then she would 
 hang her sweet face aside, and add — 
 " but I cannot marry and leave him. I 
 am but young ; wait till my next birth- 
 day, and " 
 
 " Then some happier rival will step in 
 and replace your affection," Albert would 
 reply. 
 
 "May, not replace it, Albert," Elthrida 
 would rejoin. 
 
 In one of those inauspicious moments, 
 when the smooth stream of affection is 
 gliding along the valves of human hope 
 towards the wider current of halcyon 
 lands, an incident occurred wliich raised 
 the heart's emotions into wild exertion 
 for the completion of its innate purpose 
 that would bring Albert and his deadly 
 foe, Dorft Cobletzen, into contact. It 
 appears Dorft had watched, with constant 
 vigilance, the motions of Albert and El- 
 thrida, and, by stratagem, succeeded in 
 many instances in thwarting tlie designs 
 anticipated by the lovers. Under colour. 
 
 he had intercepted the vine-dresser, and 
 advised him "to beware of a serpent that 
 crossed his path, to blunt the sting that 
 glittered in his daughter's face, and in 
 tlie person of Albert, to keep her on the 
 guard." 
 
 " Albert is that serpent," said Dorft, 
 as he pressed the vine-dresser's Imnd — 
 " he crosses your path ; his tongue is the 
 sting ; he will betray Elthrida." 
 
 The weak and doubting old man lis- 
 tened to Dorft with tremulous interest. 
 Dorft, no novice in tracing character, 
 continued — 
 
 " Jf, however, you will make me your 
 friend, I will add happiness to your store, 
 and become the sincere protector of your 
 daughter." 
 
 "Store I have little; Elthrida is my 
 only comfort," said the vine-dresser; " I 
 must consult her. Come when the sun is 
 down ; come when the moon is up; come 
 when the evening's grown ; come when 
 I fill my cup." 
 
 To this Dorft agreed. Elthrida, how- 
 ever, who had been on tip-toe, concealed 
 near the spot in which the interview had 
 taken place, apprised Albert of it as he 
 was returning from the chase, and gave 
 him the key-verse — to 
 
 " Come, •when the sun is down, 
 Come, when the moon is up, 
 Come, when the evening's grown, 
 When her sire fills his cup." 
 
 Dorft, high in the satisfaction of having 
 poured poison into the ear of Elthrida's 
 father, lost no time in seeking his own 
 secret place of abode. Under the " Ruins 
 of Rudesbourne," wliich required but 
 little excavation, two large apartments, 
 paved and preserved from injury, were 
 possessed of by Dorft, in the extremity of 
 his being necessitated to take refuge from 
 the iron grasp of his pursuers. For, though 
 not arrived to tlie prime of life, his years 
 were not passerl without deeds of crime. 
 In one of these confines two stone coffins 
 were placed. As Dorft lived partlj- by 
 plunder, he and one of his confidential 
 vassals slept in them. Thus, eluding the 
 search of those he plundered, his retreat 
 was a safe one ; and hence it was called 
 Coflin Cave. He gave instructions to 
 his men to aid him at niglit in the plan 
 of effecting Elthrida's abduction. 
 
 The moon had nearly faded into the 
 western glory of the gilded waters. The 
 boatmen pulled into the strandy nooks
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD 
 
 275 
 
 their day-earned treasures, hailed their 
 wives, who came down the banks to meet 
 them, and embraced their laughing and 
 prattling children as they held forth iheir 
 hands fur tokens of their love. Night 
 birds were growing lively in the grey 
 mist, that, slumbering, thickened over 
 moist places, and the stars rose in brighter 
 directions studding the space, tVom which 
 the winds, from the higher interstices of 
 motion, fanned every vaporous substance. 
 A clearer evening had never been 
 awakened into hemispheric beauty ; the 
 very shadows produced scenes of no com- 
 mon interest. 
 
 The castle of Altenburgh reflected gi- 
 gantic forms far from its turretted limbs, 
 the moat glittered with starlight, and em- 
 bedded in its black liquid in^iitative gems 
 of much richness. Albert was thoughtful 
 — he loved Elthrida. He made prepara- 
 tion, and with singleness of hand rode 
 down the passes from his feudal throne. 
 His plumes were large and white — his 
 costume in band and belt. A cuirass 
 shone before and behind him, and his 
 horse was finely girt in bridled gait and 
 costly caparison. His favourite hound had 
 stole from the watch and ward, and scent- 
 ed its way quietly after him. 
 
 The vine-dresser had been musing in- 
 tently on the liberal advice, tended with 
 a substantial token (which he had con- 
 cealed from Elthrida), given him by Dorft, 
 and considered the flattering unction, 
 which lie might gain in future by the aid 
 of his patron, would promote a mutual 
 feeling. The flask and cup were on the 
 table — the fire gently glimmered a few 
 faint shadows on the casement and ceil- 
 ing of his dwelling. Elthrida rose from 
 one side, and her father from the other, as 
 a vine-boy opened the door at the sound 
 of a horn. Dorft pulled off" in's helmet, 
 as, making a slight obeisance, he entered, 
 and flung the baldrick of his horn over 
 his shoulders. Elthrida started back ; for, 
 by the hound of Albert having run in 
 from the back part of the premises, she 
 anticipated the arrival of Albert. The 
 hound had gained in advance. The vine- 
 dresser leant on his staff, and looked agi- 
 tated at his daughter. Dorft stepped 
 nearer to her, and essayed to speak ; but, 
 just as his sentence broke forth from his 
 lips, Albert, dismounting at the door, 
 made his appearance. On seeing Dorft 
 already with his arm round Elthrida, who. 
 
 struggling to be rcieasea, fainted, (and 
 she was loveliness, indeed, even in this 
 critical moment, for her hair, arms, feet, 
 bosom, bodice, and tout-ensemble^ were of 
 the most proportioned class of dainty and 
 feminine perfection,) Albert rushed to- 
 wards her. Dorfi's large, long sword 
 was already drawn, and glittering like 
 the boa's sting. Albert drew his also, 
 and crossed that of his rival. The old 
 man raised his staff between them, and 
 prayed for mercy that the swords siiould 
 be sheathed, and the dispute settled with- 
 out blood shed. They obeyed his in- 
 junctions. 
 
 " But," said Dorft, as he changed 
 countenance, " now, Albert, we are met, 
 this feud cannot be settled but with the 
 shedding of blood." 
 
 The door was half open. Some of 
 Dorft's men rushed in with spears and 
 habergeons. Albert laid his hand on the 
 hilt of his weapon ; but the ruflfians 
 clenched one on each side his wrists, and 
 grinned ghastly at his being rivetted in 
 their grasp. The vine-dresser, and the 
 bo_y that hved with him, looked unutter- 
 able dismay. 
 
 *' Monster I" said Albert. 
 
 *' Monster !" said the vinedresser, and 
 attempted to rescue his girl. 
 
 *' Malice !" said Dorft. 
 
 '* I'he day of reckoning shall arrive, 
 and that right quickly," reiterated Albert. 
 
 " Fasten the foolish old man, and the 
 tiresome boy," said Dorft to his vassals. 
 
 More of them came in, and obeyed the 
 imperious mandate. Dorft laughed amid 
 the confusion of distress, and bore away 
 the drooping lily-flower, Elthrida, in ma- 
 lignant triumph. After a {evi moments 
 the summoning horn-call was heard, and 
 the vassals, releasing Albert, the old man, 
 and the boy, precipitately departed in the 
 d^dier paths of woods and night. 
 
 ■^ Farewell, Albert !" said the vine- 
 dresser ; •' my days are nearly at an end. 
 My beloved Elthrida, she is lost for ever." 
 
 '* Not for ever lost !" said Albert. 
 " Think her not lost while this hand can 
 wield a weaptjn. Live till I return: then, 
 and not till then, give Elthrida up as lost !" 
 
 The old man tottereti to the door, and 
 watched Albert ride like fire in a whirl- 
 wind off, till he was lost in the gloom of 
 darker objects, and repaired immediately 
 to tlie castle for reinforcements to assist 
 in following up Albert's pursuit.
 
 276 
 
 TALES OF CHlVALUy 
 
 When Dcrft reached Coffin Cave, liis 
 rendezvous, one of his men held the 
 bridle of his fiery steed, another held a 
 torch, and a third gently took Klthrida, 
 shrieking and fainting alternately. He 
 dismounted, parted her long locks, kissed 
 her, wiped her forehead, and carried her 
 in liis arms into the cave, the better parts 
 of which were lighted, but gloomy. 
 
 He tried all his skill to restore her to 
 animation. When her sense returned, 
 she suddenly arose, and looking wildly 
 round, said, 
 
 " Where am 1 ? Albert, where art thou? 
 My father ! art thou with me ?" 
 
 Dorft imitated first Albert, and then 
 her father, saying, " We are all here, 
 Elthrida. Be happy, we will not leave 
 or forsake you. Pacify yourself, you are 
 only dreaming." Then he half knelt, 
 and caught her as she was once more 
 falling in swoons, and said, " Oh ! beau- 
 tiful ! divinely beautiful 1" 
 
 One of the outer watch, interrupting 
 his soliloquy, ran in, and hurriedly gave 
 intimation that Albert was in search after 
 Eltlirida ; " for," said he, ** his dog has 
 been here, and, tempting him to a meal, 
 I strangled him ere he could lead to a 
 discoveiy." 
 
 *' Say ye so ? Strangle the master next," 
 rejoined Doift, in an under tone. "Mind 
 }e, the master. And, d'ye hear ? keep 
 sleepless out-scouts to-night, at your 
 peril !" 
 
 The watch and his comrades resumed 
 their post, and Dorft carried the pale 
 Elthrida into the sleeping apartment, and 
 laid her insensibly down in one of the 
 stone coffins, adjoining the other, in which 
 he himself sometimes slept. The sides 
 and under parts, thickly lined with skins, 
 and, to all appearance, unrepulsive beds 
 for the living; and fatigued, were quaintly 
 disposed. 
 
 As she lay insensibly breathing, Dorft 
 sat watching her in nurse-like and intense 
 anxiety. He hymned his voice into a 
 kind of maniac ecstasy, and knelt and 
 kissed her ; then raised his niajestic neck, 
 and listened in half fancy and feasible 
 reality. His ear was quick, his eye like 
 the eagle's — he clasped his armour, 
 braced on his weapons. By the clatter 
 without, he was conscious of a skirmish. 
 The balls whistled by the side of the cave; 
 tlie contest was commenced, and his ire 
 burned with lava temperature. His con- 
 
 science smote him, but he would ratht^r 
 Elthrida should suffer by his hand than 
 be the happy guest of the house of Alien- 
 burgh. He first gained on Elthrida, then 
 lowered the lamp suspended from the 
 upper cone of the Gothic structure. 
 
 ** One more kiss, Elthrida," said he, in 
 maiidened fantasy. " Thou and I must 
 part — another minute thou slialt cease to 
 breathe, I will draw a lid over thy beauty, 
 and place thy ill-fated Albert by thy side. 
 Then the feud of our houses shall cease. 
 I will repossess Altenburgh — tliis place 
 shall be hallowed — and hereafter ages 
 shall gaze with curious eye as they see 
 inscriptions of the lion and lamb incased 
 in • Coffin Cave !' — Ah ' my foes ap- 
 proach," continued Dorft j " I must be 
 prompt." 
 
 " What foes ?" inquired Elthrida, wildly 
 raising herself. " Oh I no, I'm sure you 
 will not do me any harm, Albert." 
 
 " Albert !" said Dorft, ironically. Then 
 suddenly, as if recollecting himself, he 
 chastened his tones, and prevailed with 
 Elthrida to take a little repose, and she 
 would soon be better. But, on perceiving 
 her strange situation, she still raised her- 
 self higher, and shrieked luitil the echoes 
 rung in all the nooks of the cave. Dorft 
 tried to hush her ; but he was now almost 
 dispossessed of his wonted tact. The 
 swords hacked and flashed as one f^f his 
 men stepped back and back, till forced by 
 his resolute antagonist into the very space 
 in which Dorft and Elthrida were. 
 
 *' Not so fast, proud scion of Alten- 
 burgh," said Dorft, placing himself before 
 Elthrida and between his man. "Thou 
 art not far off the sepulchre of Rudes- 
 bourne." 
 
 "Dorft," rejoined Albert, "strike fast 
 and strike hard." 
 
 He pierced the man, and ere the curse 
 of hate could go forth from Doift's mouth, 
 his best and valiantest vassal fell across 
 one of the coffins, and, heaving a deep 
 groan, expired. Elthrida recovered her 
 consciousness, and rushed towards Albert, 
 who clung his left arm as fast as a bar of 
 gold round her waist, and fought Dorft 
 with his right. Dorft would ha\ e grasped 
 a pistol, but Albert's blows were repeated 
 with too much skill and rapidity. Dorft, 
 though a good swordsman, could scarcely 
 ward them from wounding him, or giving 
 him his death-blow. 
 
 During this action, and almost doubtful
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 277 
 
 fray which should possess Elthrida, a horn 
 was heard sounding against the walls of 
 Coffin Cave. The vine dresser's voice 
 was also heard enquiring for his daughter, 
 and he was dimly beheld in the pass. 
 Albert fought and retreated backward 
 out of the cave ; and just as he had 
 reached the old man at the outer door, 
 left Dorft creeping, wounded, along the 
 ground, uttering the imprecations of a 
 hardened and implacable foe, and wit- 
 ne:-sing, by the light of tlie moon v^ith- 
 out, Albert bearing Elthrida away with 
 her father and attendants. 
 
 After the lapse of an hour, he, though 
 weak by the loss of blood, staunched tiie 
 wound and gathered slow strength ; but 
 when he was strong enough to traverse 
 the range of his frail heritage, how his 
 mind was afflicted to find his few fiithful 
 followers in n)isery slain, and lying, un- 
 conscious of his survivorship, in different 
 places. The first duty which devolved 
 on him was to drag them into one com- 
 mon heap in the cave. Casting on them 
 a hopeless look, he leaned on his sword, 
 and breathed a long farewell. He wrap- 
 ped his mantle round him, caparisoned in 
 all l)is instruments of mischief, and taking 
 a flask, determined to seek revenge. 
 
 Instead of repairing to the vine-dres- 
 ser's, Albert, on his way, obtained the 
 consent of Elthrida and her father to 
 journey on to Altenburgh for safety and 
 for succour. By the speed of the horses, 
 and the art of his men, Albert soon found 
 himself with his treasured charge in a 
 large long room inside the gates, and 
 resting Elthrida on a couch at one end, 
 wiili the old nurse of his family attending 
 her, sat at a table with the vine-dresser, 
 and took refreshment. 
 
 The morning was dawning, and the 
 orb of day rismg beautifully over the 
 waters, and glancing in through the 
 stained glass of the windows on their 
 fac's, and the glossy black furniture. 
 The vine-dresser now asked leave to put 
 a few questions, to which Albert replied 
 satisfactorily ; and rising to Elthrida, who 
 appeared rather composed, he took her 
 hand, and led her to the table near her 
 father. The scene was one of much in- 
 terest. Affection rose in pleasing accents 
 to their utterance, and the bridal day w as 
 fixed. Elthrida now, after saluting her 
 father, retired with the nurse. Albert 
 and the old man mounted their horses, 
 
 and rode out towards the spot which had 
 the previous night given their lives such 
 hazard. It now being agreed upon that 
 the vine-dresser's habitation should be 
 occupied by one of Albert's trusty men, 
 they rode tliither to effect their plan, and 
 sent across the country for a priest to ce- 
 lebrate the approaching nuptials; then 
 returned to the barony to tend Elthrida 
 and repose. 
 
 Dorft had neither slumbered nor slept. 
 He knevv the track of the country, and 
 arrived very near to the barony of Alten- 
 burgh. As he sat resting himself the fol- 
 lowing day on the moss-gathered cushion 
 on a broken wail, he hailed the priest, clad 
 like a pilgrim, who was on his sojourn to 
 Altenburgh. 
 
 *' Stay, good servant of ancestral piety," 
 said Dorft ; " w hy so fast ? A drop from 
 this flask will help ye on your way." 
 
 The priest replied, " Thy ofl^er, good 
 friend, is liberal ; water from the rock is 
 not always invigorating ; I accept the 
 draught." 
 
 He diink till he reeled, and took a 
 seat by Dorft's side. Dorft, who studied 
 human nature to perfection, elicited the 
 priest's business at Altenburgh. He re- 
 plenished his thirsty throat, obtained from 
 him the credentials for the marriage, and 
 taking his staffs, and cowl, and gown, put 
 them over his own attire. Leaving the 
 flask in the good father's hand, Dorft 
 paced his steps on, and further on, pant- 
 ing and cogitating, till he gained his jne- 
 sence in the banquet-room. Albert was 
 waiting. Elthrida, as beautiful as she 
 could be — her father — the nurse, and a 
 harper, were all in expectation of the ej)i- 
 theme. Every preparation was briglit 
 and splendid. Dorft, being now an- 
 nounced as the minister of connubial 
 justice, marched haughtily up the room 
 — attendants stood round in state. Dorft 
 burnt with wrath — his feelings would not 
 let him remain longer concealed. He 
 threw his disguise off^ — drew his sword — 
 snapped his pistol — it missed fire. The 
 attendants rushed forward, and held his 
 arms back. A knocking was heard at the 
 door. Albert supported Elthrida; and her 
 father's knees shook with trepidation. 
 The priest, though something wiser for 
 deception and experience, advanced and 
 confronted Dorft, and the nuptials were 
 realised. When these were concluded, 
 Albert offered Dorft the hand of forgive-
 
 278 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 ness, which he scorned to accept. He 
 was then thrust out of the banquet-hall, 
 taken down the steps, forced out at the 
 moat-gate with unarmed feebleness, and 
 left in the wide world to work out his own 
 repentance, rather than his blood should 
 disturb the tranquilHty which pervaded 
 the union between Albert and Elthrida, 
 the vine-dresser's daughter. 
 
 A GALLANT CHASE. 
 
 We were within a few days of our 
 destination, and were rolling down the 
 trades, when, at six in the morning, a 
 strange sail was discovered on our star- 
 board quarter, apparently in chase of us ; 
 we immediately hauled to the wind. 
 This manoeuvre disenchanted the golden 
 visions of the stranger, and tinding us 
 likely to prove an awkward customer, he 
 likewise hauled upon a bow- line. The 
 chase now began. The lower yards of 
 the pursued (evidently a man-of-war 
 brig) could only be seen from the main- 
 top ; but her manoeuvres, and the cut of 
 her sails, at once announced hyr nation. 
 As the sun rose in the heavens, tiie wind 
 increased, and we had already gained 
 considerably on the chase, when she was 
 under the necessity of reeling in conse- 
 quence of the strong squalls and fiery 
 wind. This w^as just the weather in 
 which the old Pompee shone to the great- 
 est advantage, and we hailed the increas- 
 ing gusts with pleasure. All hands were 
 kept upon deck ready to shorten sail at 
 an instant's notice. The brig being to 
 windward was a certain guide to us as to 
 the strength of the squalls, and we were 
 prepared to act accordingly. By noon we 
 had her hull up from the deck ; she carried 
 on most nobly ; her spars bent like bows 
 before she yielded to the blast. As soon 
 as her topsails were observed coming 
 down, every man was on the alert, and 
 the instant the squall struck us, the top- 
 gallanfsails were furled, and the topsails 
 down in a trice. The moment its force 
 was expended, up they flew to the mast- 
 heads, and the upper sails were again ex- 
 panded to the breeze. It was one of the 
 most beautiful and soul-stirring chases it 
 has been my fortune to witness. 
 
 The little craft was clearly overpressed ; 
 not the vantage ground of a hair's breadth 
 was lost on our side. In one of the heavy 
 squalls her lee main-top-sheet was carried 
 awav, and the sail fluttered in ribbons. 
 
 We made sure of our prey — ** She is 
 our's to a certainty," — when that certainty 
 vanished by the smartness of the French- 
 man, who, in double-quick time, bent 
 another main-topsail. The Ponipee's men 
 had scarcely taken in another reef, when 
 our skilful foe was observed sheeting home 
 and hoisting away again. It required no 
 great sagacity to discover that her com- 
 mander was a practically good seaman, 
 who knew full well how to manage his 
 dashing little barky. In a short tinie 
 aviay went both his fore-topsail-sheets. 
 " She cannot escape now — it is impossi- 
 ble." — " By heavens ! he has secured his 
 canvas this time. There, he is hauling 
 home his sheets again." — "Well done — 
 gallantly done, Johnny Crapaud ; the 
 devil favours his own offspring." — "Blow, 
 good breezes, blow," (the wind was be- 
 ginning to lull). " Shake out a reef of 
 the topsails." 
 
 And now the fears of losing the brig 
 began to assume a palpable form, as she 
 was observed to hold her own course. No 
 sooner were our men laid out upon the top- 
 sail-yards, than the brig's men appeared to 
 be occupied with the like duty. " He is 
 determined to give us a run for it." 
 " Blow breezes, blow," was again heard 
 murmuring around ; and, by way of coax- 
 ing the airs of heaven, the master and 
 first-lieutenant were whistling to the 
 wind, in tune something similar to that 
 adopted by ostlers to their horses. All 
 our whistling and coaxings failed in pro- 
 pitiating the wind deities. The sun de- 
 clined, the wind dropped, and the French- 
 man remained upon the gaining side ; 
 there was no moon, and the distance was 
 too great between us to admit of the hope 
 of keeping him in sight when night 
 should close in. The ship was kept wrapt 
 full to get on her beam, as affording us 
 the best chance of seeing her with the 
 night-glasses. Not a vestige of the chase 
 could be discovered an hour afier sunset. 
 A further pursuit w-as considered both 
 hopeless and unprofitable by the disap- 
 pointed officers. 
 
 We expected the hammocks to be 
 piped down, and the ship to be kept on 
 
 her course again; but captain C had 
 
 acquired too nmcli experience of our cun- 
 ning adversary's shiftings and doublings 
 to resign, prematurely, a quarry in every 
 way worth our attention. The plan he 
 pursued displayed the sound judgment
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 279 
 
 that always guided his conduct in case 
 of difficulty and uncertainty, at once in- 
 spiring hope, security, and confidence in 
 those around him. He noted the spot 
 where he had first fallen in with the brig, 
 and iier precise situation, when last seen j 
 and concluded that the wary Frenchman 
 would stand on under all sail till nine 
 o'clock, then tack, and bear up before the 
 wind to take his original position. Ac- 
 cordingly, at the hour he expected the 
 chase to tack, we went about, and short- 
 ened sail to the topsail. The wind had 
 previously fallen to a light breeze. In 
 due time we edged away to meet him, on 
 tiie supposed hne of his course. All hands 
 were ready stationed to make sail in an 
 instant ; the main-deck guns were cleared 
 away ; officers and men were peering in 
 all directions, endeavouring to penetrate 
 the darkness that surrounded tlie vessel. 
 Meanwhile the captain, who had retired 
 for a few minutes to consult the chart, 
 upon which he had marked the expected 
 point of meeting, returned to the quarter- 
 deck. " Keep a sharp look-out on the 
 weather bow," said he ; and turning 
 round to the officers, added, ** if my con- 
 jectures are correct, we ought to be close 
 on board of her." 
 
 " Take the night-glass forward, Mr. 
 
 B , and keep sweeping the horizon 
 
 about four points on the bow." 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir." — But before that officer 
 had reached the forecastle, the welcome 
 cry of a strange sail to windward was 
 heard from the cat-head. In an instant 
 the outlines of her extended canvas were 
 visible, standing forth in strong relief from 
 the d.irk back-ground of a mass of vapoury 
 clouds. The top-gallantsails and fore- 
 sail were speedily set, and the Pompee in 
 a line with the stranger. The enemy 
 was thus brought immediately under the 
 muzzle of our guns. At the first shot he 
 prudently let fly every tack and sheet, 
 and hove to; we were equally expediti- 
 ous, and both vessels were laying so close 
 that any attempt on the part of the brig 
 to escape would have subjected her to cer- 
 tain destruction. The first boat brought 
 on board the captain, who was minus an 
 arm by our countrymen on a former occa- 
 sion. The prize was a fine man-of-war 
 brig Le Pylade, carrying sixteen thirty- 
 two-pound carronades, and one hundred 
 and nine men. She had run successfully 
 the whole of the war, had just left Mar- 
 
 tinique, and was an excellent siiler, of 
 which qualification we had incontestibie 
 proof. She had afl^orded us a chase that 
 might have inspired and interested the 
 most fastidious amateur in these matters. 
 Both vessels were so admirably managed, 
 the possible loss and probable advantages 
 so nicely balanced on both sides, that I 
 do not think either of them could be said 
 to win upon the other in point of skill 
 during the whole of the morning's man- 
 oeuvres. Stratagem eventually favoured 
 as, and the neat finale to the pursuit was 
 sagaciously planned and successfully exe- 
 cuted. 
 
 The under-writers at Lloyd's had paid 
 dearly for the various depredations of this 
 industrious little brig. The poor French- 
 man, it appeared, did not perceive us till 
 we were actually alongside of him, and 
 the whistlino- of the shot between his 
 masts dispelled his dreams of security. 
 At the very moment they fell into our 
 power, they were congratulating them- 
 selves upon their escape. On looking 
 over a log-book belonging to one of the 
 officers, in which his hopes and fears 
 during the day had been carefully regis- 
 tered, 1 observed that at five o'clock, when 
 the wind had fallen and the brig appeared 
 to have rather gained upon us, the French- 
 man had written down, " Dieu merci, 
 nous ne serons pas pris aujourd'hui. 
 Adieu, Jean Boull ! — adieu, ros bif !" 
 
 SHIPWRECK OF THE CCEUR DE LION, ON 
 THE COAST OF DUNDRUM, SEPTEMBER, 
 
 1837. 
 
 The Coeur de Lion, of Liveq:)Ool, 
 bound for Quebec, with a general cargo, 
 was completely wrecked atTyrella watch- 
 house, during a violent storm. As soon 
 as the inhabitants along the coast observ- 
 ed the vessel in distress, they assembled 
 for the pui-pose of rendering any assist- 
 ance in their power to the unfortunate 
 crew, who were at this time to be seen 
 here and there clinging to the rigging. 
 The vessel was not more than about a 
 quarter of a mile from the shore, and 
 though the wind was not so high, yet the 
 agitation of the sea after the storm was 
 such, that any attempt to reach the un- 
 fortunate vessel in safety was considered 
 hopeless. By this time the sad news had 
 reached St. John's Point, a life-boat sta- 
 tion, when Mr. P. R. M. Browne, justice 
 of the peace, directed the life-boat to be
 
 280 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 taken out ; but as the crew were absent 
 at the herring fishery, the boat had to be 
 manned by four of the coast-guard, and 
 two of Captain Browne's labouring ser- 
 vants, who were humanely taken charge 
 off by Mr, Strain, cliief officer of the 
 coast-guard, this gentleman having liand- 
 somely volunteered his services on the oc- 
 casion, at the same time representing the 
 attempt as hopeless, and dangerous in the 
 extreme. Tliey put off, however, with 
 much courage, and after the laborious ex- 
 ertions of upwards of an hour, they got 
 within a few yards of the unfortunate ves- 
 sel, when the boat upset, and every man 
 in it was precipitated into the sea ; they, 
 however, with the assistance of the masts 
 and rigging floating about a vessel, pro- 
 videntially succeeded in getting on board 
 the Cceur de Lion. Some of them were 
 very much exhausted. When Mr. Strain, 
 to whom the highest meed of praise is 
 due for his gallant conduct in thus peril- 
 ing his hfe, had recovered a little, he 
 found a great lack of exertion manifesting 
 itself on the part of the captain ; for in 
 stance, not an anchor had been cast, 
 which he immediately recommended to 
 be done. On seeing the life-boat ap- 
 proach the wreck, two Clanmaghery boats 
 made an effort to gain the vessel when 
 one of them was upset, but no lives lost: 
 the other reached the vessel, but on 
 her returning with some of the crew, 
 was upset also, when, unhappily, seven 
 persons perished, five belonging to the 
 vessel, and two of the brave fellows who 
 went out under the hope of rescuing their 
 fellow-creatures from a watery grave. 
 Their names were George Starkey and 
 Patrick M'Goolaghan; the latter leaving 
 a wife and five children to deplore his 
 loss. But for the exertions of Mr. John 
 Hogg, son of Mr. J. Hogg, of Rath- 
 mnllen, who had by this time got his 
 boat in readiness, several of those who 
 had been upset in the first boat would 
 have certainly perished also. After pick- 
 ing them up, he brought them ashore, 
 and again put off with his four men, and 
 in the most courageous and praiseworthy 
 manner, succeeded in landing a number 
 of the crew safely on shore. As un- 
 daunted as ever, he a second time re- 
 turned, and with an intrepidity truly 
 astonishing, reached the vessel in safety, 
 and took another cargo on board, all of 
 whom he succeeded in landing:. His 
 
 courage seemed only to acquire strength 
 with his unparalleled success ; and, con- 
 trary to the wish of some of his relatives 
 and others present, this young gentleman 
 ventured his life a third time ; and though, 
 on his return, his boat was half-filled with 
 water, and all the oars gone but one, he 
 brought his last cargo triumphantly to 
 land, amidst the cheers of all present. The 
 Coeur de Lion was 350 tons register, and 
 was, on this occasion, freighted with a 
 valuable cargo. Several chests of tea, 
 boxes of soap, and casks of brandy and 
 rum were washed ashore. The vessel 
 was the property of Messrs. Fisher and 
 Son, of Liverpool. The nephew of Mr. 
 Fisher unhappily perished. 
 
 THE STUARTS. 
 
 Whatever may be alleged to the con- 
 trary, it is evident that mildness and 
 mercy were not predominating qualities 
 in the Stuarts. When the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham fell beneath the knife of Felton, 
 Charles would have had the assassin 
 racked, or the Duke of Ormond lied in 
 telling the prisoner, that " it was his 
 majesty's pleasure " that he should suffer 
 that punishment. The horrible mutilation 
 of Prynne, could not have been sanc- 
 tioned by " the best husband, best father, 
 best gentleman," &c., &c., as Charles has 
 been termed. The sensual monarch 
 Charles the Second, was as unrelenting 
 as his father, and every body knows that 
 James the Second never forgave an in- 
 jury. It was a happy riddance for Eng- 
 land when this family was expelled. 
 
 SPARTAN' HEROINE. 
 
 Pyrrhus, a warlike king, attempted the 
 liberty of the Spartans, and, advancing 
 to the gates of the city with a powerful 
 army, the inhabitants were struck with 
 such terror, that they proposed sending 
 off their women to a place of safety ; but 
 Archidamia, who was delegated by the 
 Spartan ladies, entered the Senate-house 
 with a sword in her hand, and exclaimed, 
 '* Think not, O men of Sparta, so meanly 
 of your country-women, as to imagine 
 that we will survive the ruin of the 
 state ; deliberate not, then, whither we 
 are to fly, but what we are to do." In 
 consequence of this harangue, the citizens 
 exerted themselves with such courage, that 
 Pyrrhus failed in all his attenjpts to de- 
 stiov the citv.
 
 PERILS BV FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 2Sl 
 
 Pa^^e 2Sb\ 
 
 REUBEN REMPLACE. 
 
 There are some persons with whom, 
 at first sig-ht, we form a desire to be- 
 come intimately acquainted, and in whose 
 society we feel as much at ease after an 
 hour's conversation, as if we were know n 
 to them for the whole of our life. I am, 
 generally speaking, a solitary person, de- 
 lighting in long rambles without any com- 
 panion but my own thoughts; and yet, I 
 do not know how it was, after meeting 
 my friend Remplace but once or twice in 
 one of my favourite walks, we conmienced 
 an intimacy which time ripened into 
 friendship. I first met him in my ram- 
 bles in the neighbourhood of Penzance, 
 where I had been induced to settle for 
 the recovery of my health, which had 
 been much impaired by a continued resi- 
 dence in the West Indies, and though 
 this reason no longer existed, yet the 
 salubrity of tlie climate, the beauty of 
 the surrounding scenery, the fine bay, 
 with its undulating shores, the romantic 
 walks, and remains of antiquity in the 
 vicinity, with a few friends, in whose 
 society I passed my time very agreeably, 
 
 VOL. I. — 3(5. 
 
 determined my remaining where so many 
 things combined to make my sojourning 
 in the land a continual source of plea- 
 sure. 
 
 Of all my friends, Mr. Remplace held 
 the station nearest my heart ; his man- 
 ners and appearance were niost impres- 
 sive, and calculated to rivet the attention 
 of even a casual observer ; he was a tall, 
 sun- burnt man, apparently above fifty, 
 labouring under a ' settled melanclioly, 
 and yet (here was something in his eye 
 which indicated a soul of fire, though now 
 reduced to sober sadness. His dwelling 
 was a little mansion which almost over- 
 hung tlie clift' on the western side of the 
 Mount's Bay, and his whole family con- 
 sisted of himself, his daughter, a young 
 lady about twenty, and a female domestic. 
 If ever love formed a part of existence, it 
 did with Mr. Remplace ; and if any being 
 seemed deserving such love, it was his 
 daughter, for I never saw a child more 
 attached to a parent than Miss Remplace 
 was to her father. I have often looked 
 with delight on them, as they sat side by 
 side on a little seat in their garden ; the 
 father would sometimes gaze intently on 
 2 o
 
 282 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 his daughter for a few moments, as if to 
 recall some other being to his thoughts, 
 and then, gently pressing her to his 
 bosom, murmur blessings on her head : 
 and then her quiet, dutiful attentions ! 1 
 never left the liouse but impressed with 
 the scene, and my mind was ever more 
 open to love for my neighbour and good 
 will towards men, after a visit to Bevoir 
 Cot, than when I entered it; for love 
 sheds a halo of light through the soul, 
 which refines and drives away the grosser 
 spirits, and makes it more approach the 
 perfection of the Deity. 
 
 Month after month passed, and I was 
 still a daily visitor at Bevoir ; in fact, J 
 never wished for any earthly enjoyment 
 greater than I possessed at this time ; but 
 man is the creature of circumstance — I 
 was compelled to leave my quiet domi- 
 cile, to bid farewell to the shores of the 
 Mount's Bay, and once more enter into 
 all the noise and bustle of the world. 
 Though removed from my friends, we still 
 kept up a correspondence, and in our let- 
 ters talked over again the events which 
 at former periods had formed subjects of 
 conversation ; those who are habituated to 
 converse with their friends by letter, can 
 immediately discover, by the manner of 
 writing, and many other little circum- 
 stances, the state of the mind and body 
 of their correspondent, though, by the 
 words which are contained in the epistle, 
 those things may be studiously concealed. 
 My old friend had said nothing to me, in 
 any of his letters, of the gradual weak- 
 ness which was creeping over him ; yet, 
 by the tremour of the hand, the want of 
 energy and connexion in the subject, the 
 same circumstances repeated over and 
 over again, as if ideas were slow in con- 
 ception, and the current of thought ob- 
 structed, — I was not long in discovering 
 that he was fast approaching the tomb, the 
 goal where time ends, and eternity begins. 
 
 I had not heard from him for three 
 months, and began to be really uneasy, 
 lest my suspicions should be verified ; I 
 wrote to know the reason of his silence 
 — in a few posts I received a packet 
 sealed with black ; it was from his daugh- 
 ter, and informed me of his death — he had 
 fallen, like a full sheaf of corn, ripe for the 
 sickle, into the hands of his Maker. May 
 his memory be blessed, and his name re- 
 main in the hearts of his friends, long, 
 many long years after his body has min- 
 
 gled with its parent clay, and become one 
 of the clods of the valley. 
 
 A short time since, his daughter (who 
 is married, and residing at Bevoir Cot,) 
 transmitted me a littfe packet; it was 
 directed by my old friend, and remained 
 among his papers in his little study, till, 
 on examination of a box containing some 
 of my letters, it was discovered and sent 
 me, according to a request written on a 
 little billet attached to it ; on opening it, 
 I found it contained the principal events 
 of his life, written, as he said, for his own 
 amusement, and with permission to give 
 it to the world if I thought proper. Avail- 
 ing myself of his permission, I have sent 
 it forth ; and, if it serves to make an hour 
 pass away less tedious, or conveys in- 
 struction or amusement in any form, my 
 desire will be accomplished. 
 
 MY LIFE. — FOR MY FRIEND C. 
 
 To our parents, and those immediately 
 connected with us, the time of childhood 
 is a season of great interest and anxiety ; 
 the boy in his actions frequently indicates 
 the spirit by which he will be actuated 
 when he attains manhood, and from 
 thence judgment may be formed of his 
 future conduct. To ordinary observers 
 this time of life has little to interest, and 
 to you, my dear friend, this period of my 
 existence is not worth relating. It con- 
 sisted of the usual round of boyish trou- 
 bles and pleasures, forgotton at night 
 when I laid myself down to rest, and 
 when the morning sun awoke me, dis- 
 posed to enjoy whatever fell in my way, 
 without much ceremony or enquiry as to 
 the means by which it was attained. At 
 fifteen years of age, imagine me a stub- 
 born, head-strong, self-willed young 
 rogue, the darling of my parents, who 
 hardly ever suffered a wish to be unsatis- 
 fied, and fondly hoped, when arrived at 
 manhood, to be repaid for the care and 
 love they had lavished on me in my youth. 
 W orldly riches they had plenty, and never 
 for a moment did they imagine that one, 
 situated as I was, would be tempted to 
 leave the certain enjoyment of every 
 comfort which wealth could command, for 
 a life of hazardous employment and ad- 
 venture. 
 
 As I was the only child of my parents, 
 I had to seek abroad for companions of 
 my own age : among my most favoured 
 ones were some lads belonging to the 
 little fishing-town of Newlyn, and fre-
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 2S3 
 
 quently would I steal away of an evening 
 to enjoy their society. There, in little 
 groups collected round some old seaman, 
 would we listen, with attentive ears, to 
 tales of adventure, and of the daring ex- 
 ploits of the narrator, when engaged in 
 the free trade, or smuo^gling, then so 
 general on the coast of Cornwall. 
 
 By degrees, the quiet life I led became 
 irksome to me ; I longed to become a 
 partner in those wild dee()s of daring — 
 and, one evening, regardless of conse- 
 quences, I secreted myself in a smug- 
 gling lugger, bound to Guernsey for a 
 cargo of contraband goods. In the hurry 
 of getting under weigh, I escaped notice j 
 but, in a short time, the motion of the 
 vessel, to which I was totally unused, 
 caused such a nauseous sensation, that I 
 was obliged to crawl to the deck for air ; 
 enquiries were immediately made as to 
 my unexpected appearance, which were 
 satisfied as soon as my sickness would 
 permit, and as we were at that time at 
 some distance from land, they were of 
 necessity obliged to permit my proceed- 
 ing. I had taken the precaution to get a 
 lad to inform my friends of the step I had 
 taken, for though bent on the scheme 
 planned to see the world, yet my heart 
 would not allow my parents to remain in 
 suspense as to my proceedings. 
 
 Smuggling at that time was not con- 
 sidered a crime ; indeed, scarcely one in 
 fifty but had some part in the traffic, 
 wliich, in defiance of governnient officers 
 and cruisers, was carried on to a large 
 extent along the whole line of the Cor- 
 nish coasts, with the Isles of Guernsey 
 and Jersey. Though at first much alarmed 
 at my absence, for my agent was not to 
 give information until I was some dis- 
 tance from land, when my parents dis- 
 covered the cause of it, they sufTered very 
 little uneasiness, considering it as a boyish 
 freak, which, when the novelty of it was 
 worn (jflfj would induce me to relish with 
 greater zest the quiet pleasures and occu- 
 pations of a farm, than if I had not 
 tasted the rough as well as smooth parts 
 of a smuggler's life. 
 
 The voyage v.as pleasant, and was an 
 inducement for me to try anotlier, and 
 others followed ; still no change in my 
 mind had taken place, and my parents 
 were much grieved at the predilection I 
 had discovered for such a mode of living. 
 My mind was then young and buoyant, 
 
 and there was a stirring spirit within 
 which hurried me forward ; the tempest 
 and storm, the wild whistling of the wind, 
 were to me music, and lulled my mind 
 as much as the softest strains. 1 would 
 sit for hours watching the rude huge roll- 
 ing billows of the ocean, and when one, 
 larger than the rest, broke in white foam, 
 and our little vessel was manfully breast- 
 ing the waves, my spirit would rise with 
 it, and glory in combating the mighty 
 monster. 
 
 Three years rolled on : I was con- 
 stantly engaged in the same pursuit ; and 
 many were the narrow escapes we had 
 from capture, and the storms we weatliered 
 in our litde lugger. It was near Christ- 
 mas, and we were returning home vvitli 
 a full cargo. With what delight did I 
 anticipate the pleasures of the season : 
 this is the carnival of the western part 
 of Cornwall ; independent of the visit of 
 friends, the song, the dance and merry 
 frolics, common in most places, here the 
 old Christmas plays of days gone by, 
 though almost forgotten in other parts of 
 England, are retained in their former 
 splendour, and with them a custom, evi- 
 dently of antiquity, which I have never 
 seen but in this western extremity, called 
 *' Guise Dancing." In earlier days, the 
 resemblance to the Italian carnival must 
 have been very great, when at night the 
 rich and great came out masked and dis- 
 guised, going through the streets, and 
 into the houses, which were left purposely- 
 open ; where, in their assumed characters, 
 a conversation frequently highly humour- 
 ous and piquant, was carried on with the 
 inmates. Like many other ancient cus- 
 toms, it had fallen off, but in my youthful 
 time it was sustained with great spirit by 
 the middle and lower classes. Jews, 
 Turks, and travelling merchants, with 
 their boxes, containing any thing but jewel- 
 lery and oriental spices and perfumery, 
 paraded the streets, praising the virtues of 
 their pretended merchandize ; whimsical 
 nondescript personages met you in every 
 direction, and the rich old holiday dresses 
 of grandmothers and great-grandmothers 
 were ludicrously assumed by young men, 
 and with them tlie manners suitable to 
 the garb, burlesqued in a most admirable 
 manner. I had frequently performed a 
 part in this masquerading exhibition, (the 
 recollection of it is still fresh in my 
 memory,) and, with my messmates, had 
 2 o 2
 
 284 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRV 
 
 arranged dresses, and a dialogue suitable 
 to the characters we intended to figure in. 
 The wind blew fresh, and the nigfit (for 
 the moon was past full, and had not yet 
 risen) was very dark, \Yhen we ran into 
 the bay; the water appeared of a pitchy 
 blackness, and was only relieved by the 
 fringe of white foam made by the ground 
 sea among the rocks in shore ; sometimes 
 a little glimmering light issued from some 
 of the cottages near the cliff, and occasi- 
 onally we heard the sound of voices from 
 the strand ; but with us every thing was 
 mute and silent as the grave, every one 
 knew his post, and we did our duty more 
 like living statues than men. 
 
 In a short time we were off the little 
 creek we usually put into ; presently our 
 friends, who had been expecting us, and 
 were on the look out, seeing our signal, 
 came on board, and we prepared to begin 
 our landing. Every thing seemed favour- 
 able ; we had taken measures for imme- 
 diately securing (he cargo, and a few hours 
 vvould have placed all in safety, when, 
 darting like an eagle from the rock, the 
 revenue cutter, the Dove (alas ! how mis- 
 named), was on us. Some one had trea- 
 cherously given information of our intend- 
 ed proceedings, and the king's officers had 
 planned how to entrap us when in fancied 
 security. Maddened and enraged at 
 being thus foiled, without thinking of the 
 snare into which we threw ourselves, we 
 answered fire with fire, and prepared to 
 dispute the possession of the prey with 
 the spoilers ; twice we beat them off, and 
 would have effectually prevented any far- 
 ther interference (at least for this time), 
 when by the light of the moon which had 
 just risen, we saw another party coming 
 to their assistance. There was no time 
 to be lost, it was now impossible to effect 
 a landing, and taking advantage of some 
 damage in the rigging of the cutter 
 which prevented pursuit, we availed our- 
 selves of it and a slant of wind to run 
 out of the bay. The whole affair, from 
 our first making the land to our leaving 
 it, did not occupy four hours, but that 
 short interval entirely changed the face of 
 my fortunes ; full of life and spirit we 
 nailed the appearance of our homes, and 
 had pictured out many scenes of fancied 
 happiness, but now silent and sad we were 
 leaving the land of our fathers, perhaps 
 for ever ; we looked nmtely on each other 
 as if to read the thoughts which were 
 
 within, and then turned off as if afraid (o 
 ask the question, " what was best to be 
 done ?" In the action, one of our men 
 had been killed, and several wounded ; 
 the deck was slippery with blood, and the 
 cries of the wounded men, to whom we 
 could render very little succour, pierced 
 my heart ; for a time energy seemed fled, 
 and a stupid apathy usurped the souls of 
 those who just before had been animated 
 with the spirit and fury of lions, but when 
 the mind re-assumed its sway, then the 
 tender feelings of humanity urged every 
 one to exert himself to relieve the misery 
 of his comrade ; the deck was cleared, the 
 injured men were put below, and all were 
 busy in endeavouring to alleviate the 
 sufferings of their friends. Fortunately, 
 the wind continued to keep up, and 
 spreading every sail to the breeze, we 
 made Guernsey by the next morning; 
 here our wounded men were landed and 
 taken care of. 
 
 So well known were we on the Cornish 
 coast, it would be madness in us to at- 
 tempt returning to it in our vessel: we, 
 therefore, determined to dispose of her 
 immediately. As she was a remarkable 
 fast sailer, and in excellent order, we had 
 very little difficulty in effecting our wishes, 
 and then every one prepared to force his 
 way through the world in foreign climes, 
 since fortune had made us exiles from 
 Britain. 
 
 As my experience in seamanship had 
 made me a perfect master of that profes- 
 sion, I had no trouble to get employed, 
 and was soon shipped on board a vessel 
 bound to the West indies; ever restless, 
 and with a mind not at ease, I left her at 
 the end of the voyage, and remained 
 trading in a little vessel among the 
 islands. 
 
 In a few years I might have niade a 
 fortune by this traffic, had it not been 
 for my headstrong passions ; I was never 
 satisfied to remain long in one situation, 
 and after little more than two years, I de- 
 termined, at all risks, to revisit my home, 
 and see once more the scenes of my 
 childhood. 
 
 It was autumn when I returned to Eng- 
 land, and having settled my little busi- 
 ness with the owners of the vessel, I in- 
 stantly set out for the well-remembered 
 place of my birth. Time, the great school- 
 master, had a little curbed my wild fan- 
 cies, the world now appeared to me as it
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD- 
 
 285 
 
 really i-s and not what I had pictured to 
 myself some few years before. Truly, 
 might it be said this was the return of the 
 prodigal to his home; I had visited other 
 climes, 1 had tasted the wild pleasures of 
 the thoughtless, and laid no bounds to my 
 desires ; my mind had turned from these 
 scenes with disgust, that inward peace 
 was wanting which constitutes happiness ; 
 I wished to fly from the world and from 
 myself; then, the quiet pleasures which 
 were in my pouer at home came to my 
 mind ; I determined, if possible, to enjoy 
 them, and turn my thoughts to iiigher 
 subjects than those by which they were 
 formerly occupied. 
 
 Eagerly 1 pressed forward until widiin 
 a few miles of my home. 'Twas evening 
 when I arrived at the end of my journey, 
 and then I paused a few minutes to note 
 what change had taken place in my ab- 
 sence ; every thing seemed to wear a dif- 
 ferent aspect than formerly, and yet, on 
 examination, all stood nearly as when I 
 left it; but revelling in the luxuriance of 
 a tropical climate, the fair, sunny, ever- 
 green isles of the west, accustomed to 
 immense forests, the tall cane, the palm, 
 the cocoa, and the riches of an Indian 
 vegetation, the brown bare hedges, the 
 little fields, and the few trees (whose 
 leaves already shewed signs that summer 
 was past), suffered much from comparisons 
 which involuntarily came into my mind ; 
 yet it was home. I could see my father 
 and mother through the little window; 
 they were, apparently, conversing on a 
 subject of much interest ; I drew near and 
 listened, — 'twas of myself, the wayward 
 lost one. I could no longer command my 
 feelings, and hurrying into the house, was 
 in their arms in a moment. 
 
 That night I slept again in the same 
 room, and on the little bed I had occupied 
 when a boy : I had the same warm bless- 
 ing, the same kind attention; and the last 
 lingering looks which my mother had for- 
 merly bestowed on me before I had wan- 
 dered from her roof, and that night had I 
 tasted more real happiness than for years 
 before. But 1 was not permitted to taste 
 the sweets of repose : I had been recog- 
 nised as one of the party who was en- 
 gaged with the Dove, denounced and de- 
 voted to punishment: only tiie timely notice 
 of a friend saved me from imprisonment, 
 perhaps death; fortimately, there was a 
 vessel lying loaded at Newlyn for the 
 
 Mediterranean ; sne sailed in the night, 
 and my friend put me on board just as she 
 cleared the land. I was now once more 
 on the world of waters, a miserable wretch, 
 outcast from home, and shut out from 
 every thing that was dear to me ; I had 
 seen, possibly for the last time, my pa- 
 rents and friends ; before, when I had 
 parted from them, 'twas with the hope to 
 meet again, but now, as the bold head- 
 lands became obscure, and the last part of 
 Britain faded away, there was a desola- 
 tion in my heart, a withering sensation, 
 which d: ied up the kindly feelings of man 
 to man, and made me savage with de- 
 spair. 
 
 In former days I should have enjoyed 
 this voyage, for the passage out was very 
 pleasant ; we arrived safe at Messina, biit 
 I landed to gaze around me in a foreign 
 land, a stranger, without friends, or any 
 one to bid me welcome ; wretched and 
 miserable, seeking rest and finding none; 
 to add to my distress, I was attacked by a 
 fever, the result of the late changes and 
 anxiety of mind I had suffered ; 1 cursed 
 God in my heart, and begged for death to 
 release me; yet here providence blessed 
 me, and from this illness may be dated 
 the dawn of that happiness, which, gra- 
 dually rising to its meridian, has left, even 
 now in its setting, a glorious reflection — 
 a foretaste of that which 1 wish to enjoy 
 when life is past and the grave covers me. 
 As 1 v.as a total stranger in Messina, 
 the captain I came out with placed me 
 under the care of signor Capello, the 
 merchant to whom his cargo belonged. 
 From his family I received great kind- 
 ness, but none so assiduously attended to 
 my wants as Antonina, his daughter. 
 Antonina Capello was one of nature's 
 finest children ; her fine features were 
 perfectly Italian, clear as the sky of her 
 own beauiiful country, and soft as its 
 breezes. When I was stretched on a bed 
 of sickness, how cautioui;iy would she 
 creep info the chamber and enquire if 
 any th.ing could be done to inciease my 
 comforts, and see that every order of the 
 physician was carefully attended to. In 
 the feverish state of mind I was in when 
 she came to my bedside to ask of my 
 health, and express her wishes for my 
 speedy recovery, I almost fancied her an 
 angel sent to support and comfort me in 
 my affliction. When perfectly recovered, 
 she would still visit me, and with a
 
 286 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 woman's curiosity (for she had heard some- 
 thing of my story), ask me to relate the 
 different adventures I liad witnessed, and 
 describe the places I had seen ; of my 
 home, my native land, she would enquire ; 
 did not my mind still linger about its 
 favourite haunts, and my heart longed to 
 behold the friends of my youth ; she could 
 not forget hers; and if it pleased heaven, 
 she would never leave the land of her 
 birth for that of the stranger. 
 
 Weeks and months passed away ; I 
 was still an inmate of the house of Ca- 
 pello; I hourly saw Antonina, was a par- 
 ticipator in ahher little pleasures, and ini- 
 tiated into the different plans she had 
 formed for the good of her poor neigh- 
 bours, many of whom were pensioners 
 on lier bounty. Was it possible I could 
 be thus engaged, daily seeing her good- 
 ness of heart, and experiencing her kind- 
 ness without loving her ? No! 1 loved her 
 with a devotion and fervour, perhaps too 
 much for earth ; she was every thing to 
 me, my friend, my benefactress, the bless- 
 ing sent from heaven to restore me to 
 health and happiness. Could 1 hope to 
 obtain this treasure ? Her family was rich 
 and powerful, I was an outcast and in 
 poverty ; yet I determined to prove my- 
 self worthy of the prize, and her affection ; 
 as Jacob worked for his beloved Rachel, 
 so I toiled for Antonina. With a remit- 
 tance I received from my father, I began 
 trade ; morning, noon, and evening, was 
 I to be seen at my post ; every nerve was 
 stretched, every * means tried ; fortune 
 smiled on me, and the English merchant 
 (for so 1 was called) soon rose to respect 
 and opulence. — Then I solicited the boon 
 long cherished, long wished for ; I asked 
 not in vain, and Antonina became my 
 wife, the beloved of my heart, the friend 
 of my bosom. Years were passed in hap- 
 piness, Antonina had blessed me with a 
 daughter (you know her, my friend, and 
 can appreciate the gift I received), and 1 
 looked forward to a long series of plea- 
 sures ; I saw not the cloud which was 
 impending over my head. One day I 
 had left the city to go on board an English 
 sliip, which was to sail that morning for 
 Britain ; to my countrymen I had always 
 shewn kindness, and next to my own little 
 domestic circle, they afforded nje the 
 greatest enjoyment I possessed. She 
 sailed from the port, and I went a short 
 distance in her, intending to return in a 
 
 small pleasure boat I used on these occa- 
 sions ; the weather was most beautiful, 
 the sky serene, and nature was in her 
 gayest'garb ; all seemed bright and joy- 
 ous, nodiing indicated the great convul- 
 sion about to take place ; suddenly, 
 though there was scarcely a breath of 
 wind stirring, the sea became most vio- 
 lently agitated, the vessel reeled to and 
 fro like a drunken man, the sea-birds 
 screamed aloft, and the air became hot 
 and sulphury. I looked towards the shore, 
 and saw the houses shaken to their very 
 foundations. I heard (for there was an 
 unnatural stillness) the crash of buildings 
 and the cries of distress ; the sea roared 
 and foamed like a lion for its prey, and 
 a tremendous wave rushed onwards to- 
 wards the shore ; it swept away the houses 
 and their inhabitants nearest the beach, 
 receded, and another followed with the 
 same effect ; anxiously I turned my little 
 vessel to the land, and reaching the mole, 
 leaped on the sand; I looked for my 
 house, 'twas a heap of ruins — my father- 
 in-law was looking on it with despair ; I 
 asked for my wife and child, they were 
 buried under the fallen mass. I could not 
 speak, utterance was denied me, my 
 tongue clave to the roof of my mouth ; 
 like a marble figure I gazed on the de- 
 vastation, and saw my friends endeavour- 
 ing to get the rubbish removed, so as, if 
 possible, to recover my lost ones. In all 
 this I was useless ; 1 heard not, I saw 
 not, but the place where my wife was 
 suj)posed to be entombed ; every sound 
 went to my heart, the life-blood ebbed 
 and flowed with each stroke of the pick, 
 and the noise made in removing the tim- 
 bers of which the house was principally 
 composed ; then there was a cry, and I 
 rushed forward ; my wife was discovered 
 crushed under the beams of the apart- 
 ment she had been sitting in ; but the 
 child — the child was alive ! I had some- 
 thing to love — something to cherish. 
 That moment I fell to the earth deprived 
 of sense ; I was removed and placed in a 
 bed, which for three months I left not, 
 neither in that time had I recollection of 
 w hat had passed ; by degrees this lethargy 
 left ; 1 awoke as it were from an uneasy 
 dream, and discovered the loss I had sus- 
 tained ; the hand of the Lord had been 
 heavy upon me, but it pleased him to 
 give me strength to bear up against my 
 afflictions. INlesisina had now become
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 287 
 
 liateful ; my friends who came in kindness, 
 by their presence, renewed tlie thoughts 
 ot" my loss, and I determined on return- 
 ing to England ; closing up my commer- 
 cial affairs, I came once more to this 
 country ; my family I found were dead, 
 n)y friends were all removed, or gone 
 down to the grave ; the old house in 
 which I had passed my early days was 
 demolished, the trees cut down, and every 
 thing had a new face. I, too, was for- 
 gotten, the smuggler was considered in 
 an infamous light, and every one re- 
 garded me as a stranger. Still I loved 
 to linger round the spots where I had 
 passed my time when a boy, and seeing 
 the little cot unoccupied in which I now 
 reside, I applied, and became its owner. 
 From that time you have known me, you 
 have seen my manner of life, and the 
 hopes I have of a glorious eternity. God 
 in his goodness has been pleased to give 
 me in religion every good thing I can 
 desire for comfort to my mind, and in my 
 daughter I am blessed beyond measure ; 
 in her love and kindness I see the angel- 
 spirit of her mother, and from her I re- 
 ceive the most sincere affection and re- 
 spectful submission ; though to part from 
 her will be painful to me, I know that 
 God looks on the fatherless, and she will 
 not want protection ; and to the benefi- 
 cent Almighty's care I leave her, when 
 the world and me are become strangers 
 to each other, and I am numbered with 
 the departed — farewell. 
 
 THE CHELSEA PENSIOXER. 
 
 Can any thing be more gratifying, or 
 can there be a sight offering more real 
 pleasure, than that of old, tanned, weather- 
 beaten soldiers at Chelsea, with the smile 
 of plenty upon their countenances, the 
 appearance of cleanliness and comfort, the 
 jocular face, the knowing turn of the quid, 
 the short pipe, the hat on one side, tlie 
 old trunk erect, keeping step with the 
 cheerful smile of rest and peace ? Such 
 a spectacle redounds to the honour of the 
 founders of Chelsea Hospital, and of the 
 country that supports it. 
 
 One day, seeing an old grey veteran 
 pacing up and down before a public-house, 
 I said, •' Why, you cannot forget your 
 old practices." He seemed surprised at 
 my address, and said, with a salute, " I 
 don't know what you mean.'' " On sen- 
 try, I perceive." " Why, sir, if you will 
 
 believe me, I had a strict eye on the 
 enemy, whom I saw lurking about my 
 post, and if you had not taken off my 
 attention, I should have shot the rascal j 
 and he is fled, I see ; and I hope your 
 honour will stand something for permit- 
 ting it." "Certainly; what will you 
 have ?" " What your honour pleases." 
 We went into the house, where we had 
 two glasses of brandy-and-water. I said, 
 " You seem to have few cares here," 
 meaning the hospital. He shook his sil- 
 very locks, that carelessly dangled over 
 his shoulder, and replied, ** Many, sir," 
 and sighed heavily. "Indeed," said I, 
 '* I always understood this to be the best 
 asylum in the universe. What are your 
 cares ?" ♦* Why, sir, my great care is, 
 that I am now too old to serve that coun- 
 try I so dearly love. My second care is, 
 that I should be an encumbrance on my 
 nation ; and my third, that I have these 
 ten years sheathed my bayonet in the 
 scabbard of peace. As for the institution, 
 it is as noble as the government is re- 
 nowned for its liberty ; but, sir, my mind, 
 old as it is, and I have seen seventy-four, 
 is all alive like a flying rocket, here and 
 there and everywhere; and when I read 
 of wars, my fingers itch to participate in 
 the boon of glory with my countrymen. 
 A few days ago, getting on the theme of 
 fighting with one of my comrades, we 
 worked our minds up to such a pitch, that 
 we actually fell foul of each other, and I 
 got this black eye for my zeal ; but, bless 
 your honour, it was all in fun and friend- 
 ship : and if it was not for a skirmish of 
 this kind now and then, to keep our 
 limbs in tune, we should forget that we 
 were soldiers." 
 
 Having said he was at Waterloo, I 
 asked, *' What did you get by that ?" 
 Cocking up his timber toe, he smilingly 
 said, *' This badge of honour, a soldier's 
 legacy ; and I am so fond of it, that I 
 sometimes make it my bedfellow — that is, 
 your honour, when 1 get a little fuddled 
 on pay-day, and forget to take it off; by- 
 the-bye, the other night, being a little in 
 the wind, and having occasion to go down 
 stairs, I seized the leg — I mean the wooden 
 leg — of another man, and buckled it on ; 
 but the first step I took, down went Jamey 
 (for that's my name), and on getting a 
 hght, 1 found that I had got the leg of a 
 grenadier, some six feet three inches high, 
 when I am only five feet three ; conse-
 
 288 
 
 TALES OF CFIIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 quently it was a foot loo long:, wliidi was 
 tlie causo of my falling." The brandy 
 and water being ont, and my friend, the 
 Chelsea pensioner, having pee})ed some 
 dozen times into the empty glass. I bade 
 him " Good morning," muttering to my- 
 self — I wish I was as comfortable and 
 happy as a Chelsea pensioner. 
 
 MILITARY DISCIPLINE. 
 
 A POOR fellow of the 9th regiment, 
 said to be a farmer's son in Suffolk, had 
 the misfortune to be found asleep on his 
 post, at Chatham. General Sir J. Moore 
 had the command of the Chatham divi- 
 sion at the time ; he was a severe disci- 
 plinarian. The soldier was tried by a 
 court-martial, and sentenced to be flog- 
 ged ; all the troops were paraded to wit- 
 ness the punishment. It was a very 
 stormy morning ; the frost, which had 
 continued for some days, gave way during 
 the night, and the wind and sleet drove 
 most piteously : it was a severe punish- 
 ment to stand clothed looking on, how 
 much more so to be stripped to the waist, 
 and tied up to the halberts. The soldier 
 was a fine-looking lad, and bore an ex- 
 cellent character in his regiment : his 
 officers were much interested in his be- 
 half; and made great intercession for him 
 to the general. But all their pleading 
 was in vain, the general remained inflexi- 
 ble ; and made a very long speech after 
 the punishment, in which he reflected in 
 very severe terms on the conduct of the 
 othcers and non-commissioned officers 
 present, observing, that if they did their 
 duty as strictly as they ought, the men 
 would also do theirs; and if they had 
 any regard for their men, they ought 
 never to report them to him, for he would 
 pardon no man vihen found guilty. The 
 poor fellow got two-hundred and twenty- 
 nine lashes, but uncommonly severe. I 
 saw the drum-major strike a drummer to 
 the ground for not using his strength suf- 
 ficiently. General Sir John .Moore was 
 present all the time. At length the sur- 
 geon interfered ; the poor fellow's back 
 was black as the darkest mahogany, and 
 dreadfully swelled. 'I'he cats being too 
 thick, they did not cut, which made the 
 punishment more severe. He was in- 
 stantly taken down and carried to the 
 hospital, where he died in eight days 
 afterwards, his back having mortified. 
 
 ELEPHANT AND TIOER FIGHT. 
 
 In tlie midst of a grassy plain, about 
 half a mile long, and nearly as much in 
 breadth, about seventy fine elephants were 
 drawn up in ranks, each animal being 
 provided with a mahawat and a hauda, 
 which was empty. Seats were placed on 
 one side ; the governor, mandarins, and a 
 numerous train of soldiers, being also 
 present at the spectacle. A crowd of 
 spectators occupied the side opposite. 
 The tiger was bound to a stake in the 
 centre of the plain, by a stout rope round 
 his loins. We soon perceived how un- 
 equal was the combat. The claws of the 
 poor tiger had been torn out, and a strong 
 stitch bound the lips together, and pre- 
 vented him from opening his mouth. On 
 being turned loose from his cage he at- 
 tempted to bound over the plain, but 
 finding all attempts to extricate himself 
 useless, he threw himself at length upon 
 the grass, till, seeing a large elephant 
 with long tusks approach, he got up and 
 faced the coming danger. Tlie elephant 
 was by his attitude and the horrid growl 
 of the tiger too much intimidated, and 
 turned aside, while the tiger pursued him 
 heavily, and struck him with his fore-paw 
 upon the hind quarter, quickening his 
 pace not a little. 
 
 The mahawat succeeded in bringing 
 tlie elephant to the charge again before 
 he had gone far, and this time he rushed 
 on furiously, driving his tusks into the 
 earth under the tiger, and, lifting him 
 fairly up, gave him a clear cast to the 
 distance of about thirty fe^^t. I'his was 
 an interesting point in the combat. The 
 tiger lay along tlie ground as if he were 
 dead, yet it appeared that he had sus- 
 tained no material injury, for on the 
 next attack he threw himself into an atti- 
 tude of defence, and, as the elephant was 
 again about to take him up, he sprung 
 upon his forehead, fixing his hind- feet 
 upon the elephant's long trunk. 
 
 The elephant was wounded in this at- 
 tack, and so much frightened, that no- 
 thing could prevent him from breaking 
 through every obstacle, and fairly running 
 oIK 'J'he mahawat was considered to 
 have failed in his duty, and soon after 
 was brought up to the governor, with 
 his hands bound behind his back, and on 
 the spot received a hundred lashes of the 
 rattan.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 2S9 
 
 Page 290. 
 
 BLAUXCHEFLOR. 
 
 A TALE OF HAMSTAL. 
 
 PoLYO. By those dead princes. 
 
 From wliose descents you stand a star admired. 
 Lav not so base alloy upon jour virtues! 
 Take heed — for honour s sake, take heed I — The 
 
 bramble 
 No wise man ever planted by the rose, — 
 It cankers all her beauty ; nor the vine. 
 When her lull blushes court the sun, dares any 
 Choke up with wanton ivy. Good, my lord, 
 Wlio builds a monument, the basis jasper. 
 And the main body brick ? 
 
 Lord. You wronj^ your worth. 
 
 Bealsiont and Fletcher. 
 
 This legend pretends to be nothing 
 more than the old-fashioned and highly 
 painted romaunt of the chivalric period, 
 when some such a story maybe imagined 
 to have been told in tlie winter, after 
 supper, in a castle, when the family of a 
 rich man, as was the custom with the great, 
 were sitting round the fire, and recounting 
 antique transactions. 
 
 Our ancestors, shut up by winds and 
 storms in their great and gloomy bat- 
 tlehouses, wanted something, besides the 
 festal table and the roaring chimney-vault, 
 to overpower the melancholy drifting of 
 the gusty snow again^^t the windows. 
 
 VOL. 1. — 37. 
 
 The interminable diversions that these en- 
 lightened times afford to relieve the mo- 
 notony of a tedious evening, they knew 
 not. Consequently, whenever a company 
 was assembled, if a jangleur or minstrel 
 were not present, they made it a practice, 
 either in the castle hall, or by detached 
 groups in their several bedchambers, to 
 entertain each other with a mutual reci- 
 tation of the romantic, the terrible, and 
 the strange. 
 
 In the glorious reign of king Edward 
 the Third, the lady Blauncheflor de Rid- 
 ware became, by the death of her father, 
 at Crecy, the mistress of Hamsfal Hall in 
 Staffordshire, as well as of several feudal 
 dependencies in other counties. 
 
 Even in those golden days of pictorial 
 building, when England was one vast 
 treasure-house of proudly fortified cities, 
 — of pinnacled monasteries nestled by 
 the river's meadowy marge — of towered 
 castles guttering over their forests from 
 the hill brou — and of ample hostelries, 
 with their red lattices and open galleries 
 basking in the sun — a fairer mansion 
 than the Kidware Hamstal was rarely to 
 be seen. 
 
 2p
 
 2yu 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 It stood on a gentle green acclivity, 
 laved by the blue abounding Blythe, on 
 the same spot where the widely scattered 
 remains of a much later manor hall still 
 exhibited their bay-windows dim with 
 stained glass, their porches, their pools, 
 their gateway, and their watch tower, 
 a great mass of brick-work grey with 
 lichens and mirffled with ivy, the whole 
 occupying, with wall and court, upwards 
 of two acres. 
 
 At the time of our tale, however, a very 
 cUfterent building occupied that situation. 
 It was a majestic and mighty fabric, 
 adorned with towers and battlements, 
 and enriched with all those new decora- 
 tions which so beautifully distinguish the 
 architecture of that period, intermingled 
 with and overshadowed by woods and 
 groves. Such a house Chaucer loved to 
 describe : 
 
 With m;iny siibtill compassings. 
 As barbicans and pinnacles. 
 Imageries and tabernacles, 
 1 saw, and lull eke m iiulowis, 
 As flak is fallen iu gretc show is 
 And ofa sute were al the towris, 
 
 Siiljtily earven after tiowris. 
 The township, ful plesaiitc shal ye finde, 
 With fannis fresh turninge with everie wiiide, 
 The chambris and parlirs of a sorte. 
 With bay wiudowes goodlie as may be thoughte, 
 As for daunsing or otherwise disporte. 
 The galeries be all right wel y w rought. 
 
 The knightly house of De Ridware had 
 ever been celebrated for a display of hos- 
 pitality remarkable even in those days, 
 worthy of their opulence, and far tran- 
 scending their rank in S(,ciety. The bread 
 and tlie ale of Hamstal were for ever in 
 requisition. Nowhere were vaults so 
 stored w ith w ines. The house w as always 
 steaming wilh the savoury odours of baked 
 meats, venison, fish, and fowl of every 
 description ; so that, to use a contempo- 
 rary plirase, "it snewed in that house of 
 mete and drink, and of all deinf ees ;" and 
 to give the last touch to the picture of a 
 baronial hon)eslal in the fourteenth cen- 
 tin-y, a mighty board stood in the great 
 hall, which was termed the Table Dor- 
 mant, and remained covered night and day 
 w ith supplies of provisions. 
 
 The slain sir Bertram had signalized 
 himself in the wars of the barons, and 
 long before his heroic death, which of 
 course had considerably strengthened the 
 connection, both he and his family were 
 in high favour with Edward and Philippa. 
 The lady de Ridware had been nurse 
 and foster-mother to the young prince of 
 
 Wales ; and various members of the royal 
 family liad not unfrequently been lodged 
 and leasted at Hamstal. 
 
 Of this noble abode was Blaunclieflor 
 de Ridware left at the age of nineteen 
 sole mistress, under the wardship of her 
 widowed mother. Born, as it were, in 
 the meridian of royal favour, and edu- 
 cated in all the high toned ideas of the 
 chivalric court of the Plantagenets, it 
 neeil scarcely be said, that the beautiful 
 Blaunclieflor, added to all the softest 
 affections of a very woman, a romantic 
 grandeur and resolution of heart, that in 
 those days was exalted as heroic, and in 
 ours would be ridiculed as enthusiastic, 
 or rejected as false. Thus much it was 
 needful to premise, that our story may not 
 be deemed extravagant. 
 
 The noontide meal was finished at 
 Hamstal Hall. Blaunclieflor and her 
 lady mother had retired to the bower, 
 a pleasant chamber in one of the highest 
 towers, wainscotted in minute pannels of 
 cedar and cypress wood ; the cornice being 
 a deep ribwork painted with scarlet, olive- 
 green, and gold. Each pannel contained 
 a highly coloured landscape or portrait 
 painted by an artist from Brabant, who 
 had been sent from the court, as a mark 
 of especial favour by queen Philippa her- 
 self. The richly wrought muUions of a 
 narrow^ tall, and extremely deep oriel 
 were filled up with the flushed enamel of 
 painted glass, except where the open 
 lattice admitted flakes of May sunshine, 
 far milder than the coruscant splendours 
 that gushed upon the floor through the 
 robes of prelates or the canopies of kings. 
 The pavement, in small glazed quarries 
 of crimson and white, each emblazoned 
 with an armorial coat, was only paitially 
 covered with fresh and large rushes. 
 
 The lady de Ridware, a noble-looking 
 dame of the house, of Waldeshef, was at- 
 tired in widow's weeds, and sate on a 
 high selle of elaborate carvings, resem- 
 bling the tabernacle work we see in old 
 shrines; — she had a faldstool of embroi- 
 dery ; and, over her head, projecting from 
 the back of her chair, was a square tester 
 variegated with stripes of red and blue, 
 having in its centre, azure an eagle dis- 
 played argent, the arms of Ridw are. She 
 was looking affectionately on her only 
 child, who, also in deep mourning, with 
 an air of much respect, seemed listening ; 
 her lovely face was half averted towards
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 291 
 
 the window ; but the crimson mantling on 
 her cheek, the ghstening of her eye, and 
 the compression of her hp, shewed that 
 some speech of more than ordinary in- 
 terest hail just proceeded from her parent. 
 At lengtli, turning on her mother's 
 eyes, where the mists of anguish seemed 
 dried up by the splendour of high resolve, 
 and with a smile tliat overcame the pain- 
 ful hectic amidst which it played — 
 
 *' Urge me not, my beloved mother ! 
 mother, tempt me not," she said, " thy 
 Blauncheflor will neither be loolish enough 
 to let her hopes soar so near the sun, that 
 they be blasted, nor greedy enough to 
 grasp at more than her due." 
 
 " Ah ! my child ! reflect — it is no every 
 day difficulty, to relinquish is often as 
 liard as to achieve, and royalty haih a 
 power to command, even though love 
 hath no voice to plead." 
 
 *' Love has a voice," replied Blaun- 
 cheflor, in a very low but clear tone ; 
 *' love has a voice, but not unanswer- 
 able. Mother, the prince, you tell me, 
 loves your poor child honourably — of tliat 
 I am assured ; for he never knew dis- 
 honour. You say his love amounts to 
 dotage ; that too I can believe, since mine 
 for him is adoration !" 
 
 " Why, then, avoid him, and whence 
 this mighty difficulty with which you have 
 permitted him to visit you once more in 
 the castle of your ancestors ?" 
 
 "Oh, m.other! is there not cause? — 
 would you provoke the anger, and wound 
 the royal pride of two such sovereigns ? 
 and, when men ask 'what is the cause 
 that the king veils his helm from the 
 battle, and the queen sits weeping in her 
 bower?' — vvoukl ye have them answer 
 that Blauncheflor of the Hamstal liad, 
 like a churl plundering the palace whirh 
 she was admitted to admire, inveigled the 
 affections of their princely heir, and con- 
 fined to a peakish grange — what was 
 meant for Europe!" 
 
 •* The House of Ridware !" haughtily 
 replied the knightly widow, "is not wont 
 to produce scions unworthy of graftage 
 on the loftiest tree. And thou, untrue 
 to thy dignity, unjust to thy deserts, — art 
 thou not lady of the broad woods of Ham- 
 stal and Seil ? — is it not for thee that the 
 Mease waslies the fairest meadows of 
 Edinghale ? Think of the fertile vales of 
 Rossington and Boyleston — of Reteli^er- 
 stone ! A knight's daughter, a comely 
 
 virgin, with vassals in five provinces, 
 might exchange rings methinks with any 
 prince in Christendom !" 
 
 " But Christendom contains not a prince 
 that is Edward's pheere I and mother, had 
 I a dukedom at my girdle, know that I 
 would not presume to barter it with the 
 surpassing qualities, and the world's 
 hopes of the prince of Wales." 
 
 " Blauncheflor ! thou art eitlier too 
 proud, or too mean-hearted I" 
 
 " Both ! beloved mother, both — too 
 mean- hearted to be wooed by the heir of 
 my Suzerain— too proud to dare permit 
 myself to be vvon." 
 
 " At least, child, if thine own interests 
 stir thee not in this matter, shew compas- 
 sion on thy royal lover. His highness is 
 even now pining with his concealed pas- 
 sion. The change it has produced in his 
 cheer — the effects it betrays in his person, 
 have astonished the court, and penetrated 
 the king and queen with the most lively 
 grief. When I left Tntbury yesterday, 
 the prince's melancholy was the theme of 
 every tongue. Marry, but when he 
 poured his tale into the ears of his old 
 foster-mother, she gave him an opiate." 
 
 " And that was !" said Blauncheflor, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " \^ "hy, what should it be, but the truth ? 
 
 — that, in spite of all your coyness, you 
 
 loved his highness, and tliat so well, that 
 
 you would not loncj know how to con- 
 
 1 • 
 ceal it.' 
 
 "The lady of Hamstal did not surely 
 say that of sir Bertram's daugliter ?" said 
 Blauncheflor, her maiden honour kind- 
 ling the colour and tone of grave dis- 
 pleasure, which her habitual respect could 
 not altogether controul. 
 
 "By our lady of Lapley but she did !" 
 — rejoined the dame, slightly blushing; 
 "nay, Mignon, look not such reproach on 
 your motlier? If I said you loved him, 
 I hid not from his view all that fine co- 
 loured tissue of romance, forsooth, which 
 makes true love treason :" 
 
 " xlnd the prince ?" faltered Blaun- 
 cheflor. 
 
 "Changed from the rosy hue of glit- 
 tering hope, to the wan ashiness of blank 
 despair ? but by all the saints," ejacu- 
 lated lady Joanna, starting from her 
 stately siege, "'I'hou art following his 
 exam[»le." Blauncheflor had turned deal hy 
 white, and tottering against the window, 
 caught at a cluster of wild roses to prevent
 
 292 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 her falling ; for, during this dialogue, she 
 had continued standing, in strict accoid- 
 ance with the respectful usage of the 
 peiiod, in the presence of her lady mother. 
 Starting, we say, from her stately 
 siege, lady de Ridware caught Blaun- 
 cheflor as she was sinking, and her eyes 
 involuntarily glancing out of the open 
 window, a share of the daughter's emotion 
 (but, as heralds say, with a difference), 
 immediately communicated itself to the 
 mother. 
 
 Unless one had lived in that refulgent 
 i^era of romance, it would be impossible to 
 image forth the extent to which it coloured 
 over the kingdom with its ambrosial tints. 
 It hung over the country like a gorgeous 
 canopy, from cliff to vale. 
 
 Speaking of the multifarious glitter and 
 solemn pomps of the chivahic age, thus 
 ^vrites a Benedictine monk of Ely mo- 
 nasteiy : 
 
 Some men delighteth beholding to fight. 
 Or goodly knightes in pleasaunt apparayle. 
 Or sturdie souluiers in bright harness and mail, 
 A number of people appoynted in like wise, 
 Jn costly clothing alter the newest guise ; 
 Spoites disguising ; fayre coursers mount and 
 
 praunce, 
 Or goodly ladies aud knightes sing and dauace ; 
 To see fayre houses and curious pictures. 
 Or pleasant hanging, or sumptuous vesture. 
 Of silke, of purpnre, or golde moste orient 
 And other clotliing divers and excellent. 
 High curious buildings, or palaces royall. 
 Or chapels, temples fayre substaatiaU ; 
 Images graven, or vaultes curious ; 
 Gardeyns and meadow es, or places delicious. 
 Forests and parkes well furnished with dere, 
 Cold pleasaunt stremes, or welles fair and 
 clere. 
 
 If a man sat forth from his home in the 
 morning, his road led him through noble 
 forests, over glades and uplands of deep 
 luxuriance, wtiose distances of misty sun- 
 light glimmered the castle vane, in whose 
 green holmes the brown buttresses of 
 the abbey, or the dignified steeple of the 
 Minster, courteously revealed their ve- 
 nerable piles ; or in whose sequestered 
 villages, the wide hostel nestled under its 
 cluster of sycamores on the edge of the 
 green. 
 
 If he chose to shelter in the monastery, 
 there were the stately Abbatic hospitali- 
 ties, the decorous abundance of the re- 
 fectory, and the enlightened society of 
 the UKjnks, who, lliemselves the deposi- 
 tories of art and science, iuiparted of their 
 stores wiUi liberality to the stranger. If 
 lie preferred tlie place where knight or 
 nobleman resided, 
 
 Building royally. 
 
 Their mansions curiously. 
 
 AVith turrettes and toures, 
 
 "With halles and with boures, 
 
 Streching to the starres ; 
 
 With glasse windowes and barres; 
 
 Hangyng about the wailes. 
 
 Clothes of guide and palles ; 
 
 Arras of ryc-he arraye, 
 
 Freshe as 'floures in Maye : 
 
 there he found the festive hall, the gal- 
 lery of minstrels, the jester, the trouba- 
 dour, the chess-board wiUi its regal, pon- 
 tifical, and chivalrous appurtenances, 
 itself an epitome of the time ; while pro- 
 mises of hawk and hound, tilting-match, 
 or perhaps a tournament, were all urged, 
 to induce the stranger to prolong his stay. 
 Or if the hostel, with its enormous chim- 
 ney-alcove, blazing in ruddy light, its 
 raftered roof laden with rustic stores, its 
 savoury messes, itsale-amberedflaggons, 
 and its red-bodied Dorcas received his 
 weary feet, he was sure of enjoying the 
 long siories and loquacious merriment 
 of mine host, with almost a certainty of 
 encountering some wandering palmer 
 or disour, a walking cabinet of bahads 
 and traditions. 
 
 Before the lady Joan had time to sum- 
 mon a domestic to her daughter, the great 
 bell vvas heard jangling over the lofty 
 pile, then thundered the gateway and 
 jarred the drawbridge, and last of all, 
 horses' hoofs clattered over the pavement 
 of the Bas-court. On the bridge close by 
 the mill, leading over the Blythe from the 
 woody hamlets of Sandburgh andMarhay, 
 the cause other sudden eniotion had first 
 caught the eye of Blauncheflor. That 
 cause had now penetrated into her verv 
 castle — ah ! had it not reached her heart 
 itself ? 
 
 It was a young man apparently abou 
 seventeen, bravely attired, and mounted 
 on a large and beautiful red roan, whose 
 caparisons were cloth of gold, embroi- 
 dered with scarlet and purple raised-work. 
 His surcoat was of that costly cloth called 
 Tartarian, on which were emblazoned the 
 lilies of France, quartering the leopards 
 of England, with a label of three points, 
 thickly powdered with pearls of extraor- 
 dinary size antl whiteness. As he halted 
 in the quadrangle, the bustling servitors 
 noted that his saddle was of burnished 
 gold, and the bridle a broad tissue of 
 goldsmith's work on a blue ground fringed 
 with small silver bells, that tingled melo- 
 diously at every proud movement of the 
 noble courser's arching neck. His mantle
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 293 
 
 was of olfray, with a collar of rubies that 
 glowed like Hve coals ; and he wore a 
 short tunic, with long wide sleeves deeply 
 scalloped and brocaded like a meadow 
 with many coloured flowers. Two white 
 alauns of distinguished size, with collars 
 of crimson velvet purpled with pome- 
 granates and roses, tlie turreties and pen- 
 dants being silver and gold, couched 
 themselves at the foot of die long flight 
 of steps, leading under an arch up the 
 great hall-tower, their lolling tongues, de- 
 pressed ears, and dewy flanks, testifying 
 their recent exertions. His right hand, 
 protected by a glove of red morocco, 
 whose sumptuous branch-work of gold 
 reached to his elbow, bore a young eagle, 
 white as lily, and hooded with bright green 
 velvet. 
 
 If every other token, however, were 
 wanting, the eflfects of his violent and 
 misplaced affection, as betrayed by his 
 countenance, were sufficient to proclaim 
 the youthful prince of Wales, — the first 
 and perhaps the last, who was to woo and 
 be rejected by a subject who loved him ; 
 his aspect and demeanour contrasted 
 strongly with his magniricent attire, and 
 he looked the very prototype of Chaucer's 
 unhappy lover — 
 
 His slepe, his mete, his drink, is him berefte, 
 That lene he wex, and drie as is a shef t ; 
 His eyne holowe, and grisly to behold. 
 His hewe fa! we, and pale as" ashen cold ; 
 And if he herde soiige or instrument. 
 Then wold hewepe, he might not be stent. 
 So feeble wore his spirites and so low, 
 And changed so that no man cdlde know 
 His speche, ne his voice, though men it herd. 
 
 His highness was only attended by a 
 yeoman, attired in a green hood and coat, 
 a sheaf of peacock arrows under his bal- 
 dric, whicii, excellently feathered, spoke 
 him skilful in his tackle ; a large bow in 
 his hand, and on his arms the defensive 
 armour called 'bracers gaily wrought.' 
 On his breast he wore a silver image of 
 St. Christopher, the saint who presided 
 over the w eather, and a green scarf sup- 
 ported his horn handsomely gilt and tas- 
 seled. They had, that morning, left Tut- 
 bury Castle, the palace of Henry earl of 
 Derby, from whom their majesties were 
 then receiving a series of magnificent en- 
 tertainments. 
 
 The lady de Ridw^are, with all her 
 anxiety to secure so dazzling an alliance 
 for her daughter, and all her desire to 
 indulge her royal foster-child, had too 
 much riglit feeling to interfere beyond 
 
 persuasion; and the honest representation 
 she had made to the prince, both of Blaun- 
 cheflor's affection for him, and her high- 
 principled resolution to subdue it, liad 
 agitated the youth's mind with such con- 
 flicting emotions, that when, to avail 
 himself of Blauncheflor's hardly extorted 
 consent to receive him, he set forth that 
 morning for Hamstal, he scarcely knew 
 whether he was most excited by tlie con- 
 viction of her love, or daunted by his 
 knowledge of her immoveable self-con- 
 troul. 
 
 We must leave the lady of Ridware 
 (after she had dutifully welcomed the 
 prince), in deep conference with the 
 seneschal, respecting the evening ban- 
 quet ; the red deer to be dished up in 
 his own blocd; the pheasants to be 
 drenched with ambergris, together with — 
 
 The rumney and malespine. 
 Both ypocrasse and verrage wine ; 
 Wine of Greek and Muscadel, 
 Both Clary, Piment, and Rochelle, 
 
 which were to adorn the table of Dais ; 
 though there was a long discussion of tlie 
 spices, good and fine — the dates and other 
 deserts ; together with the number of 
 torches to be lighted, and the various ap- 
 pointments of the prince's bed-chamber ; 
 the fustian blankets, the sheets of cloth of 
 Rennes, the counterpane of damask and 
 peryj and the golden cage hungup in 
 the state room, for burning the long 
 pepper-cloves and frankincense; all these, 
 and a hundred other matters of equal 
 importance, we must leave to the lady- 
 hostess, and betake ourselves to the two 
 embarrassed lovers. 
 
 (To be continued.) 
 
 THE DEATH OF ADMIRAL VILLENEUVE. 
 
 It is Still a questionable circumstance 
 whether the opponent of Nelson at Tra- 
 falgar died by his own hand, or by the 
 hand of an assassin. Indeed, we confess 
 our opinion to be in favour of the latter 
 supposition. 
 
 His amanuensis states that the admiral, 
 himself and a servant (Prieur), came to 
 England as prisoners ; that the admiral, 
 being accused in France of not having 
 done his duty at Trafalgar, applied to the 
 English government, and ultimately ob- 
 tained leave, on a parole of honour, to go 
 to France to demand a court martial in 
 vindication of his character. He had been 
 depressed in spirits while in England ; 
 but on entering his native country he be-
 
 2'J4 
 
 TALES OF CHJVAI.RY; OR, 
 
 came cheerful, and wrote to hiss friends to 
 desiie admiral Lucas to stay, if possible, 
 for a few days, until he, Villeneuve, 
 should reach the capital. These letters 
 were written from Rennes, and certainly 
 did not seem as if he contemplated suicide. 
 Besides, the number of the death wounds 
 did not seem to justify a belief in self-de- 
 struclion. Tlie niost interesting part of 
 the doubt is, now, who committed the 
 crime of assassination, and by whom were 
 the villains abetted in committing it ? 
 The narrator says : 
 
 The admiral intended to remain only 
 two days in Rennes, and to set out on 
 the third day fur Paris, where 1 was to 
 accompany him. These two days passed 
 without any incident occuring worthy of 
 notice. The admiral went out little, re- 
 flected a great deal, and I scarcely ever 
 left him. The few arrangements required 
 for our journey were made, the trunks 
 were put on a post-chaise the admiral 
 bought, and at day-break, the next morn- 
 ing, we were to set out. 
 
 On the afternoon of the same day, there 
 arrived at the hotel four individuals with 
 moustachios, in very decent plain clothes, 
 which they did not seem accustomed to 
 wear; in other respects, their accent and 
 manners, and, above all, their copper com- 
 plexion, did not allow me to think for a 
 njomenttliat they were Frenchmen. One 
 of tliem asked me a host of questions, of 
 an indifleient nature at first, and then con- 
 nected with the admiral. He seemed 
 greatly surprised when I said that we 
 v.ere to set out next morning, and in- 
 quired very minutely about the admiral's 
 habits, and the arrangements of his apart- 
 ment. This circumstance struck me after- 
 wards ; at the moment I saw nothing in 
 his inquiries, but the natural curiosity 
 which n)akes a man desirous of learning 
 the smallest particulars connected with an 
 individual, vviiose actions have been dis- 
 tinguished ; and I answered all his ques- 
 tions, \^hich, as I said before, I thought 
 wholly without consequence. 
 
 When this indi\ idual had no more ques- 
 tions to ask me, he left me immediately, 
 returned to the hotel about half an hour 
 afterwards, and brought with him an 
 individual, whose appearance struct me 
 forcibly. The latter was a Frenchman ; 
 at least a strongly marked pronunciation 
 indicated that lie belonged to our southern 
 provinces, and I even thought I could 
 
 distinguish the accent of Ronergue. He 
 seemed to be about forty-five ; short, rough, 
 with a grey powdered head, a short and 
 pointed queue, mean features, a sharp 
 and piercing look, a complexion indicative 
 of the habit of drinking to excess, and 
 spindle legs — such was the man whom I 
 saw afterwards, but whose repulsive and 
 vulgar look I should, independent of other 
 circumstances, have never forgotten. He 
 surveyed me at first from top to toe, then 
 asked me, in a commanding tone, the 
 sanie questions put to me by the first indi- 
 vidual, and added a number of his own. 
 He asked me if I was very sure that the 
 admiral would set out next day ? I said I 
 was. He then left me, walked for a mo- 
 ment with the man who iiad brought him, 
 and spoke to iiim in a low tone with much 
 gesticulation. They were joined by the 
 other three, who all showed him the ut- 
 most deference and respect. They left 
 the hotel together, returned in an hour 
 after, went up to their rooms, had long 
 conferences, and finally separated. 
 
 As the admiral was to rise at day-break, 
 he w'ent to bed at ten o'clock. Prieur 
 slept at the post-house, where the car- 
 riage was, and he was to come for us in 
 the morning, so as to prevent delay. I 
 assisted the admiral in undressing ; he re- 
 tained me a few minutes, and finally dis- 
 missed me, by telling me to keep a light 
 in my room, to draw the door on me only, 
 and call him in the morning as soon as 
 Prieur came. I retired to a chamber in 
 the story above, where I was lodged ; 
 and ten minutes afterwards was in a pro- 
 found sleep. 
 
 I was suddenly awakenetl by a loud 
 noise, which I thought came "from tiie 
 admiral's apartment. It increased, the 
 noise of voices was heard, and then came 
 cries of pain, tiiat left no doubt of the oc- 
 currence of some catastrophe. I sprung 
 from my bed, and only taking time to 
 snatch the light, and a sabre the admiral 
 had bougi)t me at IMorlaix, I rushed in a 
 moment along the staircase that led to his 
 room, and heard very distinctly the pre- 
 cipitate steps of several persons running 
 off". I doubled my speed, and immediately 
 untler me })erceived the individual who 
 had spoken to me the evening l)efore, 
 skulking off towards the ground Hoor. I 
 have since reflected that there was no 
 change in his dress, and that he had not 
 been in bed. Something urjred me to
 
 i'ERILS Bl FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 295 
 
 pursue him, but my first impulse led me 
 to the admiral's room, the door of which 
 I found open. I advanced a few steps, 
 and saw the unfortunate man whom the 
 balls of Trafalgar had respected, stretched 
 pale and bloody on his bed, with the co 
 verlids scattered on the floor. He was 
 pale and livid, breathed hard, and strug- 
 gled with the agonies of death. He re- 
 cognised me, attempted in vain to rise, 
 tried to speak some broken phrases, but 
 the only words I could make out were 
 those of commissary or secretary, and he 
 breallied his last before I could even think 
 of procuring him the smallest assistance. 
 Fi\ e deep wounds pierced his breast, yet 
 no weapon, or arms of any kind, were near 
 him. I called, and rung the bell with all 
 my force. In a moment the master of the 
 hotel, and the travellers who occupied it, 
 filled the apartment ; the confusion was 
 very great, and at first, the only idea en- 
 tertained was that the admiral was assas- 
 sinated. Yet the same day I saw, with 
 as much surprise as sorrow, the admiral 
 interred without pomp or ceremony ; and 
 what was strangely inconsistent with the 
 language of the night before, I heard 
 every one say that he had himself short- 
 ened' his days, and terminated his life by 
 five stabs of a poignard. Every time that 
 I wished to express what I thought on the 
 subject, they refused to listen to me, or 
 talked of something else. I could not 
 obtain any intelligence when I inquired 
 about the little man and his four attend- 
 ants. The people of the house refused to 
 give me any information concerning them, 
 and would never pay the smallest atten- 
 tion to my suspicions. I have myself 
 been nuich astonished since, that I did 
 not push my inquiries further, and that I 
 did not attempt to give notice to the pub- 
 lic magistrate ; but if the reader reflects 
 on the little experience I had acquired at 
 this period, and the suddenness of my de- 
 parture from Rennes, he will easily ac- 
 count for my neglect. Besides, the deatii 
 of vice-admiral Villeneuve affected me so 
 deeply, that I was incapable of reflection 
 for several days. I deplored him as the 
 victim of a crime for which I could imagine 
 no adequate motive. I regretted him as 
 a benefactor ; 1 am persuaded that he 
 would have been mine, and I am at least 
 indebted to him for not being detained 
 ten years on board the English guard- 
 ships. This event would have had great 
 
 influence on my future fortune; but I am 
 persuaded that I owed my life, or at least 
 my liberty, to the idea that was formed 
 of my want of importance. 
 
 On the day of the admiral's death, the 
 seals were placed on his effects and papers, 
 which were sent I know not where. For 
 myself, 1 next day received from the com- 
 missary an order to join the depot of my 
 regiment, which happened to be at Paris. 
 I sat out the same day, and reached my 
 destination on the 19tli of May. 
 
 Some days after my arrival, at the roll- 
 call at ten o'clock, the serjeant-major or- 
 dered me to leave the ranks and go with 
 him to the major's. I saw there a colonel, 
 who, after ascertaining that my name was 
 Guillemard, told me to follow him. He 
 entered a very handsome carriage at the 
 gate of the barracks, but he found it ne- 
 cessary to give me a formal order, as well 
 as to make me a sign, before I mounted 
 also. I was not without anxiety about 
 the consequences of an adventure that 
 began in such an extraordinary manner, 
 and the rigorous silence which the officer 
 observed was not fitted to tranqudlize 
 me. The rapidity of our motion increased 
 my agitation still more, for, to tell the 
 truth, this was the first time in my life I 
 had been in such a splendid carriage, and 
 I did not even know the conveniences of 
 a hackney coacli, except by report. Bat 
 I had no time to make long reflections. 
 After traversing a spacious square, we 
 stopped in front of a vast palace, guarded 
 by several military posts. This was the 
 Tuilleries, which t did not yet know. We 
 alighted, and the colonel made me enter 
 into a guard-house, where he told me to 
 stay. The vague fears I felt at first, in- 
 creased every moment. I waited in this 
 way for more than two hours, not knowing 
 whether I was free or under the charge 
 of the post, consisting of soldiers belong- 
 ing to the guards, who in fact paid very 
 little attention to me. At last, a young 
 colonel of engineers entered hastily and 
 cried out, " Guillemard ;" I replied, 
 "here," and followed him. After pass- 
 ing through various apartments, we en- 
 tered a hall, where my guide told me to 
 wait. In about half an hour (I am not 
 very certain of the exact time, for I con- 
 fess I was quite out of my element) he 
 half opened the door by which he had dis- 
 appeared, made me a sign, and I entered 
 a cabinet, where he remained standing
 
 296 
 
 TALES OF CniVALRV : OR, 
 
 and uncovered, a few paces behind an- 
 other individual busily writing. I was 
 also standing and much embarrassed with 
 my looks, but nobody thought of these but 
 myself. After several minutes, the per- 
 son who was seated rose abruptly, and 
 said to the officer, " leave us." He re- 
 tired with a profound bow. This word, 
 and the gesture that accompanied it, with 
 the respect shown by the officer, instantly 
 struck me with the idea that I was in the 
 emperor's presence. He turned towards 
 me, and, notwithstanding my confusion, I 
 recognized a countenance whose features 
 and expression were then deeply engraved 
 in every soldier's thoughts. After casting 
 a rapid glance at me," what is your name," 
 said he. At the moment I had almost 
 forgotten my own name, and was so con- 
 founded that I opened my mouth without 
 being able to articulate a word. He re- 
 peated his question in a tone of kindness 
 that gave me the force of stammering 
 out — " Robert Guillemard." — *' Were 
 you at Rennes with admiral Villeneuve ?" 
 — '* Yes, general." I did not then know 
 that he was styled sire. " What do you 
 know about his death ?" " A great deal," 
 replied I, with a confidence that increased 
 every moment. He was struck with sur- 
 prise, and ordered me to relate all the 
 particulars of that event. The account I 
 gave was doubtless not very eloquent, but 
 it was authentic and very circumstantial. 
 W^hilst I spoke, the emperor walked 
 slowly up and down the cabinet, with his 
 arms folded. He several times stopped 
 abruptly when 1 spoke of the five indi- 
 viduals whom I thought guilty of the ad- 
 miral's death, and when I attempted to 
 describe the man who seemed to be their 
 director, he suddenly stopped me, and in- 
 quired : *' Should you be able to know him 
 again ?" " Yes, general." The emperor 
 stamped on the floor, and walked over the 
 room with an angry aspect. He rung 
 the bell, and said to the officer who came, 
 *' Call Decres." I was then taken to the 
 hall in front of the emperor's cabinet. In 
 about a quarter of an liour I saw a rear 
 admiral enter, who was inunediately in- 
 troduced. I was soon after introduced 
 myself, and saw that it was the minister 
 of the marine. 
 
 The emperor, whose physiognomv had 
 assumed a more sombre expression, or- 
 dered me to repeat my account ; the mo- 
 ment I had finished he turned to the 
 
 minister, and said : ** You have heard 
 what lie says; let an inquiry be instantly 
 made ; see Fouche, and let these men be 
 tried." The minister began to urge that 
 official documents proved that I wiis mis- 
 taken. But the emperor would not let 
 him conclude, and said to him : " It is 
 enough — do as I tell you." The minister 
 withdrew, and the emperor made me a 
 sign that I might retire. Wlien I had 
 reached the door, he said : " From what 
 part of the country are you ?" I stopped 
 and answered: " From Sixfour." "Pvear 
 Toulon ?" — *' Yes, sire," said I this time, 
 for I heard the minister. "Ah — ah, I 
 went there during the siege, to observe 
 (he English positions. It is quite a signal 
 post, a complete eagle's nest. What is 
 your father ?" " He is the notary and 
 mayor of the village," said I, assuming a 
 look of importance. "How long have 
 you been in the service?" "Thirteen 
 months." " That is not much — but it's 
 no matter — you may go." I retired en- 
 chanted. I had no doubt but I should be 
 made a corporal the same day, a serjeant 
 the next, and should be pushed from rank 
 to rank, by the last look of the emperor. 
 The only advantage, however, that 1 de- 
 rived from this interview, is the recollec- 
 tion of it that I retain. The brilliant 
 hopes with which I flattered myself for a 
 few days were overthrown by the em- 
 peror's occupations, when he was on the 
 eve of entering into a war with the fourth 
 coalition. 
 
 It is not long since I read the works of 
 Dr. O'Meara. He relates that in his con- 
 versations with Napoleon at St. Helena, 
 the latter spoke very fully of the admiral's 
 death, and explained how he had killed 
 himself by five stabs of a poignard. 1 am 
 far from contesting the veracity of the 
 Irish doctor; but certainly Napoleon had 
 greatly ciianged his mode of thinking, or 
 had totally forgotten the particulars of my 
 narrative, which, however, seemed to con- 
 vince him at the time, and produced the 
 strongest impression on his mind. 
 
 THE WOODEN LER. 
 
 An officer had a wooden leg so exceed- 
 ingly well made, that it could scarcely be 
 distinguished from a real one. A can- 
 non bullet carried it off. A soldier, who 
 saw him fall, called out, " Quick, run for 
 tlie surgeon." "No," replied the officer, 
 coolly, "it is the joiner I want."
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD ANT) FIELD. 
 
 297 
 
 Page 300. 
 
 BLAUNCHEFLOR. 
 
 A TALE OF HAMSTAL. 
 
 (Coiitviued from page 302.^ 
 
 The sun was softly slopino: his yellow 
 rays over the orchards that half-smothered 
 the old grange of Hartmere, and the 
 weathercocks on the tall hunting tower at 
 Rough Park were beginning to glimmer 
 above its long woods, when the prince and 
 Blauncheflor traversed together the field 
 path on the hill top, overlooking the hall 
 on the south-west, to the beautiful terrace 
 of Cowley Bank. 
 
 It was now the very high and palmy 
 prime of May — the reign of spring looked 
 so superbly flourishing, that sunmier al- 
 ready began to cast glowing and impa- 
 tient glances on her sister's throne. Forest 
 and field emulated each other in the most 
 delicious freshness and luxuriance of ver- 
 dure. — Flowers of a thousand hues be- 
 sprinkled the turf; soft vagrant airs were 
 felt, not heard 5 and sun and sky seemed 
 in that balmy silence to be wooing the 
 beautiful and blooming earth. Remem- 
 
 voL. I.— 3S. 
 
 ber those exquisite lines of Massinger, in 
 " The Great Duke of Florence,"-^ 
 
 The silent giovis, and hear the amorous birds 
 Warbhng their wanton notes ; here a sure shade 
 
 They unattended walk, into 
 ent gro 
 ng tliei 
 Of barren sycamores, which the all-sreinj? sun 
 Could not pierce tlirough; near that an 'arbour 
 
 hung 
 With spreading eglantine ; a bubbling spring 
 W atering a bank of hyacinths and lilies; 
 
 and then picture our lovers in as fair a re- 
 gion on Cowley Bank ; — and lo ! the lady 
 Blauncheflor, with a deep obeisance, and 
 a countenance, where, like the moon 
 governing the sea in which her image is 
 agitated, an inalienable firmness of pur- 
 pose predominates over softer, not weaker 
 feelings, addresses the prince : — 
 
 " I am grieved, your highness, deeply 
 grieved," she began. 
 
 " Oh Blauncheflor !" interrupted the 
 princely boy, "you call me nothing but 
 your highness ; unkind Blauncheflor, have 
 we not been brought up together ? — 
 were not my father and your's more 
 than sovereign and subject ? — remember 
 how blest we have been in each other 
 since life began j and do not, oh, do 
 noi, by this perverse resolve, overcloud 
 2 Q
 
 298 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY J OR, 
 
 the many years that may be ours before 
 its close." 
 
 Blauncheflor had, for some time, been 
 trembling with those sensations she felt 
 it so sweet to indulge, so hard, yet so 
 necessary, to controul ; but at this speech 
 the weaker side had very nearly prepon- 
 derated ; she blu!<hed, she wavered, she 
 wept, but she spoke not ; while the young 
 prince, enchanted at the new feature in 
 her behaviour, grasped her hand, and his 
 eye and cheek kindled with revived hope, 
 pursued the advantage he appeared to 
 have obtained uith such impassioned 
 pleading as might have subdued a heart 
 less habituated to self-controul. Tliis, 
 however, gave Blauncheflor time to rally, 
 and then her decision was confirmed. 
 
 Cowley Bank supports a majestic es- 
 planade, circUng round the extensive plat- 
 form of an abrupt hill. They were now 
 standing under a group of twenty huge 
 firs, whose black boughs formed a thick 
 roof over their heads ; w hile, behind them, 
 waved a lordly asseniblage of oaks, man- 
 tled with delicate foliage of sunny green ; 
 and at their feet a prodigious scaur de- 
 scended abruptly to a great depth, whose 
 red and purple strata harmonized richly 
 with the gay verdure of the thicket that 
 waved over it. Between the pillared stems 
 of the fir trees they overlooked, as from a 
 tapestried scaffold at a pageant, the entire 
 vale of Trent. There the regal river 
 heaved his broad bosom to the sun, glitter- 
 ing among ten thousand meadows, proud 
 towns, bowered villages, church spires, 
 towered castles, picturesque manor halls, 
 and warm-sheltered granges, the stately 
 spires of Lichfield cathedral, and the dun 
 battlements of Beautlesart, rising para- 
 mount over the magic scene ; w hile, so- 
 lemnly upheaving his surgy bulk, and 
 varied by the successive eminences of 
 Gentleshaw, Castlering, Startley Head, 
 Chetwynd's Coppice, and Stilecopp — 
 Cannock Heath closed with gigantic ram- 
 part this lovely valley. It was a gallant 
 prospect, worthy the gaze of its royal heir. 
 " Princely Edward 1" — it was thus the 
 young mistress of Hamstal spoke ; ** be- 
 hold this glorious vale ! wealthy as thou 
 see'st it — all its magnificence forms but 
 one jewel in that wreath which one day 
 waits thy wearing." 
 
 " 'Tis nothing, Blauncheflor, less than 
 nothing, compared with the towers this 
 envious thicket hides from my view, and 
 
 which, in calling thee mistress, transcends 
 
 them all." 
 
 " Yet hear me, my lord," persisted 
 Blauncheflor ; " if, indeed, our poor Ham- 
 stal be so dear to you, would you make it 
 a wonder and a reproach to all England ?" 
 
 " How mean you, fairest ?" 
 
 *' Would you have the prelate, the no- 
 ble, the knight, the yeoman, when they 
 thronged to the courtly halls of Windsor, 
 think with envy, with disgust, with scorn, 
 on the Staffordshire Homestal, which had 
 presumed to mate with them ?" 
 
 *' And let them think with envy if they 
 u-i'lly with disgust if they dare, with scorn 
 if they can." 
 
 *' No, Edward, no, my more than bro- 
 ther ! be not so cruelly kind to poor 
 Blauncheflor, to make her, a homely, 
 but respected, country dame, to be flouted, 
 traduced, and, perhaps, destroyed as an 
 upstart queen !" 
 
 " Unjust to thyself — to thy countrymen 
 — to thy lineage ! Are Englishmen so 
 blind to beauty and to worth, because it is 
 ' native ?' Are they so arbitrary with 
 their prince, that they will constrain him 
 to wed some painted poppet, because she 
 may call a king her sire, rather than a 
 paragon of excellence, the daughter of a 
 hundred warriors ?" 
 
 " My prince," said Blaunchflor gravely, 
 " urge me not ! I am but a simple girl, 
 young and vain, God wot ! but 1 had a 
 father who strove as zealously to strengthen 
 my mind with the masculine virtues of 
 honour and sound judgment, as if, in- 
 stead of a weak maiden, I had been a 
 hopeful son, to transmit, through a long 
 line, the hereditary renown of his house." 
 
 *' So much the fitter thou to be the im- 
 perial consort of this great reaulme." 
 
 " While that father lived," pursued the 
 maiden, " he was to thine as his own 
 heart ; my poor mother is still, both to 
 his grace and the queen, as a dear sister. 
 But since her affection for your highness, 
 more than her desire to see her child a 
 queen, hath herein beguiled her from her 
 customary wisdom, it remains with me, at 
 whatever price, to prevent her becoming 
 odious to her confiding sovereigns." 
 
 " I am to understand then," said the 
 youth, deeply mortified, '* I am to under- 
 stand that the lady heiress of Hamstal 
 takes a high flight in her self-denial ! she 
 would lead the prince of Wales, like some 
 stray alaun in a leash, to the next royal
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 299 
 
 palace, and would say, ' Behold the folly 
 of your heir, and the magnanimity of the 
 maid he stooped to woo ! Keep him in 
 safer durance, my liege ! for, if he prove 
 such a haggard in his amours, it is not 
 every knight's daughter will reject a Plan- 
 tagenet' " 
 
 Edward had relinquished the hand of 
 Blauncheflor as he spoke, and like a pet- 
 tish, thwarted schoolboy, stood half avert- 
 ed from her. Her blood mounted to her 
 temples one moment, till every blue vein 
 seemed bursting, and the next it left her 
 countenance pale as sepulchral marble. 
 Had the habitual command, wonderful in 
 one so young, ever deserted her, it would 
 have been then, while, throbbing with 
 the consciousness of her hardly mastered 
 love, her heart was suddenly wrung by 
 the most cruel taunt that could fall from a 
 lover's lips. 
 
 Her first impulse was to fling herself 
 upon that dear, but injured bosom, and 
 at once abandoning herself to her feel- 
 ings, avow that she was his through good 
 report or evil report, his only, and for 
 ever. This dangerous temptation was, 
 however, resisted and overcome, and 
 Blauncheflor felt her security, if not her 
 power, as she thus addressed her offended 
 suitor : — 
 
 " God forgive you, prince, that hard 
 speech ! I have not deserved it, and you 
 know I have not ; but you can never know 
 how bitter it was to bear ; could you read 
 this poor heart, your generous nature 
 would not have wounded it with such 
 poisoned words." 
 
 The youthful Plantagenet turned to 
 lier, fell on her neck, and hid his face in 
 her clustered tresses. Blauncheflor felt 
 his warm tears. She was the first to 
 speak. 
 
 " This must not be, my lord ! thank 
 heaven, these woody solitudes hide us 
 from all eyes ! What would tlie chivalry 
 of France and England say, to see the 
 noblest prince that ever belted a knight, 
 turned childish with passion ! Though 
 his orphan," she continued, in a solenm 
 voice, her eyes glistening and her cheeks 
 blushing with enthusiasm, "Though his 
 orphan, the spirit of my dead father 
 speaks ! Think of Crecy, Edward ! Think 
 of thy sire's transport, when, clasping thee 
 to his bosom, lie exclaimed, ' My dear 
 son ! you have this day shewn yourself 
 worthy of the knighthood you have lately 
 
 received, and the crown for which you 
 have so bravely fought !' Prince of Wales, 
 how would that father's heart be humbled 
 if he saw, if he heard thee now ?" 
 
 Edward was greatly moved at this 
 speech, blushes covered his pale face, as, 
 throwing himself on bis knees before his 
 mistress, 
 
 "And thou!" he cried, "who cans't 
 feel, who can'st counsel thus, art still so 
 wrongful to thy desert, as to deem thy- 
 self unworthy of a throne. Oh more than 
 kingly heart ! Rebuke me, admonish me 
 as thou wilt! 1 will obey thee, even 
 against m\self! Only in one point yield 
 to me ; forbid me not ! oh, Blauncheflor, 
 forbid me not to hope, while I am striving 
 to deserve." 
 
 One pang more, thought poor Blaun- 
 cheflor, and then the bitterness of death 
 is surely past ! She paused a moment, 
 and then, though her frame shook, she 
 firmly spoke : — 
 
 ** My mother's partiality your highness 
 has won to be your advocate. My father, 
 whose loyalty would have stood as a 
 mailed warrior in the gap, is dead ; and 
 the task has devolved on a weak girl, who, 
 with no aid but his Spirit at her side, and 
 his heart in her bosom, dares to affirm, 
 that Blauncheflor of the Hamstal will 
 never be the mate of Edward Plantagenet. 
 Prince ! I would swear this, did I for a 
 moment distrust my resolution ! 
 * * * * ♦ 
 
 The twilight of this eventful day was 
 imperceptibly approaching, with a change 
 of atmosphere, not unusual at this season, 
 when a pilgrim entered St. Michael's 
 churchyard, at Hamstal, and was soon 
 observed in devotion, on the steps of the 
 great cross, in its southern portion. It 
 was one of the splendid structures distia 
 guishing that period, octagonally shaped, 
 throned on a broad and lofty 'flight of 
 steps, and enriched with all the minute 
 decorations of niches, tabernacles, images, 
 turricles, sphes, and vanes, usual in such 
 erections. This, however, was rendered 
 more picturesque by the neighbourhood 
 of a yew tree, whose monstrous bulk and 
 sable hue were strikingly contrasted with 
 the graceful architecture, white stone, and 
 gilded weathercocks of the cross. Shoot- 
 ing far and wide its extravagant branches, 
 and laboriously poising its massive foliage 
 the trunk opened into such numerous ori- 
 fices, as to gi\ e you the idea of an elabo- 
 2q 2
 
 300 
 
 TALES OF CFIIVAT.RY : OR, 
 
 rate latticework ; there was not a point 
 at vvliicli the hght did not stream coldly 
 through the clefts, palely severing the 
 many-coloured stains concealed by age 
 upon its gorgeous bark. 
 
 The pilgrim was of stature approach- 
 ing the colossal, his robe swept in dusky 
 volume round his giant limbs, and his 
 hood or cowl entirely veiled his features. 
 
 The weather, we say, had completely 
 changed ; the gloomy sky had anticipated 
 twilight. Sullen intermitted gusts hissed 
 through the yew tree. The evening bell 
 was sounding drearily from the campa- 
 nile. The waters of the Blythe, splashing 
 over the mill-dam, swelled on the uncer- 
 tain air. A lagging rook uttered now 
 and then a weariful cry, as he winged 
 his slow way to the great grove behind 
 the castle, where his comrades, with sub- 
 dued murmurs, were rustling tranquilly 
 to their rest. Lights began to glance 
 from the deep porch and stone transoms 
 of the mill, and the buttresses and arches 
 of the bridge beside it, were lost in the 
 distant shades ; while, close at hand, the 
 castle with its grand agglomeration of 
 towers and ramparts, the church steeple, 
 and the trees that overshadowed the pile, 
 soared in sublime and silent gloom. 
 
 The stranger had not long been ab- 
 sorbed in his devotion, when a postern 
 gate, communicating by the Beacon 
 Tower with the church-yard, was hastily 
 opened, and the prince of Wales, enter- 
 ing the grassy precinct, began to pace to 
 and fro under its embattled wall (appa- 
 rently without observing the pilgrim), 
 v;ith all the unequal step, and distracted 
 gesture of passion. At length his mental 
 anguish broke forth into groans, so loud 
 and deep that they disturbed the orisons 
 of the kneeling devotee, who, slowly 
 rising from the steps of the cross, stalked 
 solemnly down towards the young man 5 
 his height looking unearthly in the grow- 
 ing gloom, his face completely lost in his 
 liood, and his drapery floating in the gust 
 that waved over the long grass of the 
 graves. 
 
 ** Is it a man ?" he said, as, encounter- 
 ing the prince under the shadow of the 
 yew tree, he planted himself full in front 
 of him. " Is it a man that disturbs this 
 hour and place, with the wailings of a 
 woman ?" He paused, and receiving no 
 answer, he continued, " Is there a child 
 of earth, so new to its history, that these 
 
 tombs cannot teach him he is but dust, or 
 these evening shades, that hfe cannot be 
 all sunshine ?" 
 
 " Away, father !" exclaimed Edward, 
 " away ! tell thy beads, and intrude not 
 on the sorrow tliou can'st not console !" 
 
 " It is not I who intrude," rejoined the 
 pilgrim, "it is the disturbed and di.-turb- 
 ing children of men, who intrude upon 
 me ; who rouse me from my repose, by 
 bewailing the sorrows they have forged 
 for themselves. Edward of Woodstock ! 
 what dost thou here ?" 
 
 I'he prince started, less from the unex- 
 pected recognition than the unceremoni- 
 ous and almost stern manner in which it 
 was announced. He rallied, however, 
 and with assumed haughtiness replied : — 
 
 "Methinks that name should win me 
 more worship than I am likely to receive 
 from a beggarly pilgrim." 
 
 The form of the stranger seemed to 
 dilate at these insulting words, but, with 
 grandeur impassive as the majestic yew 
 above them, he answered in the same 
 cold deep tone, 
 
 *' If the prince of Wales needs the ad- 
 monition of a ' beggarly pilgrim,' let him 
 feel shame for the folly that has brought 
 him so low." 
 
 The full May moon, that had been fluc- 
 tuating amidst fantastic piles of clouds, 
 now shone forth efFulgently, dashing her 
 lustre along the livid blazonries in the 
 church windows, and enfolding in sparkles 
 the signorial vanes of the castle. The 
 prince, in whom this extraordinary en- 
 counter had gone far towards assuaging 
 the wildness of his passion, gazed earn- 
 estly on the gigantic figure which had 
 thus strangely crossed him ; but he in vain 
 endeavoured to distinguish tlie lineaments 
 of his countenance, for the cowl was so 
 large, and so deeply drawn over it, that 
 all was blank within j the very voice 
 seemed to issue from a vault. 
 
 " [f I have wronged thy sanctity by my 
 hasty speech," said Plantagenet, submis- 
 sively, ** I pray thee, holy pilgrim, par- 
 don me ; for at this present, my spirit is 
 so wrung, I wist not if I be altogether in 
 my perfect mind." 
 
 " If thou doubtest on that point, T will 
 resolve thee. Thou art mad, Plantagenet, 
 mad as the winds and waves; but, an' 
 thou steer not thy course the better, thou 
 wilt more resemble the noble Argosy 
 their madness overwhelms !"
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 301 
 
 He drew the royal boy under the sha- 
 dows of the yew, and stooping his cowled 
 head, whispered in his ear. 
 
 Edward sprang backward like a stricken 
 stag, and, with clasped hands, and frame 
 trembling with ineffable emotion, was 
 about to speak. 
 
 " Hush !" said the unknown, " answer 
 me not here, but follow me." 
 
 He led the way through a door in the 
 north wall, into a broad walk overshadow, 
 ed by an avenue of sycamores. This 
 avenue flanking the churchyard, descended 
 a gentle slope to the Pleasaunce, situated 
 at the foot of the hill on which the mano- 
 rial buildings arose, and about a bowshot 
 from the outer ramparts. 
 
 Tlie Pleasaunce, an inseparable ap- 
 pendage to the towered halls of antiquity, 
 would, to a modern taste, exhibit few at- 
 tractions. Oblong pools, balustraded with 
 stone, intermixed with marble cisterns, 
 were separated from each other by 
 straight turf terraces, whose only variety 
 consisted in some being bare and level, 
 and adorned with statues ; while others 
 formed pleached allies of mulberry, quince, 
 fig, and various fruit trees. In the centre, 
 where the green walks met, a conspicuous 
 ornament was the labyrinth ; an intricate 
 concentring of hedges massy with dipt 
 hornbeam, holly, and yew, in the midst 
 of which a magnificent sundial enamelled 
 and gilded, with a spread eagle on each 
 side, supporting a shield for a dial plate, 
 stood in glitter or gloom as the moon im- 
 parted or withheld her light. 
 
 The long-broken line of Hamstal Hall, 
 stretching from the south with its spiky 
 enfilade of turret and chimney, closed its 
 feudal array in the towers of the great 
 gateway on the north. And with this 
 magnificent object brooding over them, as 
 it were to shut out all intrusion, the quaint 
 allies and glimmering ponds of the Plea- 
 saunce were witness to a conference be- 
 tween Plantagenet and the devotee, of 
 which tradition has furnished a very vague 
 account. 
 
 It was currently reported among the 
 vassals (and with what truth the sequel of 
 this story will shew) that then and there 
 the veil of the future was torn away, and 
 t[)at the various scenes of his career, with 
 the early death that closed their splen- 
 dours, were revealed to the eye of the 
 young prince. But, that unanswerable 
 dissuasives from his passion for Blaun- 
 
 cheflor of the Hamstal were at the same 
 time enforced on his attention, was only 
 evident from his abrupt departure for 
 Tutbury before the dawn, with a hasty 
 note of excuse to his lady hostess, assign- 
 ing as its cause soaie disturbances in his 
 duchy of Aquitaine. 
 
 The warder, however, and the senti- 
 nels, one and all, declared that, as they 
 looked into the night, from the battle- 
 ments and towers, they had noticed two 
 figures for some time in the Pleasaunce 
 below ; that the gestures of both were ex- 
 traordinary, and that the one, whom, by 
 his white plume streaming in the fitful 
 moonshine, they had recognised as the 
 prince of Wales, seemed to listen with 
 much agitation to his companion, whom 
 they had described as of supernatural 
 height, in flowing robes like a magician, 
 and using the most solemn and awful ges- 
 ticulations. Whether the pilgrim had 
 quitted Hamstal with the prince was un- 
 known : — of him the morrow shewed no- 
 thing more. 
 
 Over the castle, which, as the residence 
 of two mourning females, was at no time 
 remarkably lively, a redoubled gloom 
 seemed to gather after this remarkable 
 day. On a sudden, stories of an appari- 
 tion began to be transmitted, and caught 
 from pallid lip to startled eye, among the 
 domestics. The age and place consi- 
 dered, there was nothing very uncommon 
 in this ; but loud was the outcry in the 
 castle, lady de Ridware giving way to 
 undisguised terror, while even Blaun- 
 cheflor's heart beat thick, upon the follow- 
 ing occurrence. In the great hall of the 
 Hamstal there was a gallery traversing 
 the east end of the apartment at mid 
 height ; it was of ponderous stonework, 
 and arose on Saxon pillars of barbaric 
 richness. In the centre of this gallery 
 had recently been erected, as a mournful 
 trophy, the splendid suit of armour in 
 which the gallant sir Bertram had fallen 
 at Crecy. 
 
 The armour of Edward III.'s reign, bor- 
 rowed from the Italians, was magnificent 
 to excess, and tliere are many instances of 
 knights being killed solely for the sake of 
 these gorgeous insignia. It was, indeed, 
 conjectured that something like this had 
 been the lot of sir Bertram, as his corpse 
 had been found by his followers, dread- 
 fully mangled, and stript of his splendid 
 armour, which a body of marauders, whom
 
 302 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY: OR, 
 
 they interrupted, were compelled to leave 
 upon the field. The harness was set up 
 in the minstrel's gallery of the old man- 
 sion at Ridware. It consisted of the coni- 
 cal cerveillere, superbly inlaid with gold 
 foliature, the hood, gorget, and tippet, all 
 of Vermillion silk ; the cyclas of azure vel- 
 vet thickly powdered with silver eagles, 
 the gauntlets and genouilleres of plate 
 splendidly bordered, and the mighty pa- 
 vise emblazoned with the white eagle on 
 a blue field. The damasque work of gold, 
 silver, and brass, all over this burnished 
 panoply, for variety and luxuriance, could 
 not be exceeded. 
 
 ( To be concluded in our next.) 
 
 THE GHOST. 
 
 ** The carpenter of the ship, old Hawk- 
 ington, fell sick one day, and, after a short 
 illness, died. He was a man very much 
 respected on board, and every one was 
 sorry for him. As the sliip was ordered 
 into port, where we expected to arrive in 
 a few days, the captain allowed him to be 
 kept, so that he might be buried on shore ; 
 and a sentry was placed, as usual, over the 
 cabin-door in the cockpit. The old gen- 
 tleman had been dead tlnee or four days, 
 I do not rightly remember which; but, as 
 contrary winds had kept us out longer 
 than we expected, it was decided that he 
 should be committed to the deep on the 
 following day. It so happened that I was 
 sentry over the dead body, the night be- 
 fore it was to have been buried. * * 
 — My lanthern was hanging to a beam, 
 through the discoloured horn of which a 
 purser's dip was throwing a very poor 
 light, and I stopped to endeavour to im- 
 prove it by snuffing, or lighting a new 
 candle, as might be necessary. — While I 
 was thus employed, not having finished 
 my job, the door of the dead man's cabin 
 was thrown back with a loud bang, which 
 could only have been effected by a very 
 powerful hand, and I distinctly heard a 
 gruffi hollow voice roar out, * Give us a 
 light, sentry !' The horrid voice and noise 
 so startled me, that I clutched hold of the 
 lanthern — when the nail on which it was 
 hung gave way — the lanthern fell from 
 my grasp, the light was extinguished, and 
 with two long strides and a spring I 
 reached the upper step of the cockpit 
 ladder » * * * 
 
 — At length the noises and some rather 
 lieavy footsteps approached the foot of the 
 
 ladder whereon I had been standing for 
 some considerable time, without moving 
 hand or foot. It now appeared to me 
 only prudent to move on, and I accord- 
 ingly walked a litttle forward on the lower 
 deck. I had sufficient courage to look 
 behind me, and distinctly saw— it's quite 
 true, I assure j^ou — I distinctly saw, as 
 plain as I see you now — * I believes you,* 
 said Tim, in whose countenance the most 
 painful interest was manifest, — * the 
 ghost !' continued the serjeant, * that is, 
 the tall, gaunt figure of the carpenter, 
 (he was near seven feet high, I'm sure) 
 rising slowly up out of the cockpit, and 
 then he walked forward after me. So I 
 walked faster, and so did Mr. Hawking- 
 ton's ghost ; I went up the fore ladder, 
 and the ghost followed me ; so I walked 
 aft, and it seemed I doubled upon the 
 apparition, for I saw it go up the ladder 
 on to the forecastle.' — * And did the men 
 on the forecastle see it too ?' — * O yes,' 
 answered the serjeant. * The weather was 
 warm, and the watch on deck were lying 
 about the forecastle and gangways, some 
 asleep, and some looking at the moon, 
 that was shining as bright as could be. 
 The ghost appeared to take no notice of 
 any of them, but took the walk the old 
 gentleman, Mr. Hawkington, was accus- 
 tomed to take when alive, and still kept 
 his hands behind him, and his chin upon 
 his breast, like as if he was in deep 
 thought. So presently one of the men 
 makes him out, and he roused his nearest 
 watchmate, and pointed out the ghost to 
 him, saying, *I say, Tom, I'm blest if 
 there ain't the old carpenter ! here he comes, 
 I shall be off,' and he got up and walki d 
 aft. Tiie whisper went the round rapidly, 
 and in a few minutes the forecastle was as 
 clear as if it had been raining, or the 
 men had heard the pipe, * wash decks,' 
 and the carpenter's ghost had it all to him- 
 self." "Did any body speak to it?" 
 asked Tim again. — " You shall hear pre- 
 sently," said the serjeant. — " * What do 
 you all want here ?' said the officer of the 
 watch to the men, as they crowded aft to 
 the quarter-deck. No one seemed in- 
 clined to answer this question at first; but 
 on the question being repeated, accompa- 
 nied with an order to go forward again, 
 the captain of the forecastle, a sturdy old 
 tar, who used to say 'he would sooner 
 face the devil himself any time than his 
 ghost,' muttered something about the
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 303 
 
 carpenter's ghost. — * \A' hat ! Whaf s that 
 you say ?' asked the Heutenant, — * The 
 carpenter's ghost ! the carpenter's ghost !' 
 reiterated half-a-dozen voices at once. — 
 
 * What about the carpenter's ghost, you 
 blockheads ?' rephed the lieutenant ; * be 
 off" forward, and don't be stopping up the 
 gangway in this manner.' * He's walk- 
 ing the forecastle,' exclaimed the men, still 
 keeping their station, notwithstanding the 
 orders of the officer of the watch. * Non- 
 sense, men, nonsense!' said the officer; 
 
 * Mr. Hawkington's dead ; I am aston- 
 ished at you.' * He is walking the fore- 
 castle now^ sir,' again urged one of the 
 half-dozen of voices. * He has got on the 
 very same hat as I covered for him,' re- 
 joined another. * And the same old mon- 
 key-jacket,' added a third. * With the 
 end of the chalk-line hanging out of his 
 pocket,' continued a fourth. * Only go 
 forward and see,' exclaimed a fifth. * Par- 
 cel of fools !' said the lieutenant, enraged ; 
 
 * make a lane there, and let me go for- 
 ward.' A lane was speedily made, and 
 the lieutenant went on very boldly until 
 he got to the bow of the barge, and there, 
 sure enough, as the men had said, he saw 
 the apparition taking his ease, walking 
 backwards and forwards. The lieuten- 
 ant's courage then began to fail him — " 
 "I don't wonder at that," said Tim. "And 
 he did not think it prudent to go any 
 nearer," continued the serjeant. ** I 
 thought how it would turn out," said Tim 
 again. *' So he stood still at the boat," 
 resumed the serjeant, " and after a great 
 effort, he managed to call out, * M-i-s-t-e-r 
 H-a-w-k-i-n-g-t-o-n, i-s i-s i-s i-s tha-tha- 
 tha-t yo-yeu?' * Sir,' replied the appari- 
 tion, raising his head." " The devil he 
 didl" exclaimed Tim. "Yes," continued 
 the serjeant, " and he touched his hat, and 
 advanced towards the heutenant. ' Tha- 
 that w^ill d-do, M-i-s-t-e-r Hawk-Hawk- 
 Hawking-ton,' ejaculated the perfectly 
 satisfied lieutenant, retreating a few steps 
 as the ghost advanced, as though unwill- 
 ing to lessen the distance between them ; 
 and he walked very briskly aft to the 
 quarter-deck, and went into the captain's 
 cabin, to report the remarkable circum- 
 stance to the captain. * The carpenter is 
 on the forecastle, sir,' said the lieutenant 
 to the captain. The captain, just awaken- 
 ed out of a sound sleep, did not appear to 
 hear what was said. * Well, sir,' re- 
 sponded the captain, rubbing his eyes, and 
 
 waiting for further particulars. * Mr. 
 Hawkington, sir, is walking the deck, 
 sir,' said the lieutenant again. * Oh, is 
 that all, sir ?' said the captain, turning 
 himself in his cot, and resuming his slum- 
 bers, * then, sir, let him walk, and be 
 d — .' " It appears," continued the ser- 
 jeant, " that the old carpenter had been 
 all the time in a trance ; the doctor only 
 considered hirn dead — " ** Pshaw !" ex- 
 claimed the mortified old Tim, who evi- 
 dently had not made up his mind to such 
 a conclusion ; " and so it was no ghost 
 after all?" "No, no," rephed the ser- 
 jeant appeasingly. " He came to his 
 senses in time to prevent being drowned. 
 It seems he was quite unmindful of the 
 time which had passed away, and waking 
 and hearing two bells strike, he thought 
 it was in the morning watch, and time for 
 him to turn out, and so he roused out, 
 called for a light as usual, fumbled about 
 and found his clothes, and giving a curse 
 or two to me for putting out the light, 
 bundled on deck as was his custom" 
 
 A mate's adventures. 
 When I was mate of a Greenland ship, 
 I recollect once I was very nearly eaten 
 alive by foxes, and that in a very singular 
 manner. We had been on the fishing 
 ground for three months, and had twelve 
 fish on board. Finding we were doing 
 well, we fixed our ice-anchors upon a very 
 large ice berg, drifting up and down with 
 it, and taking fish as we fell in with them. 
 One morning we had just cast loose the 
 carcase of a fish which we had cut up, 
 when the man in the crow's nest, on the 
 look-out for another " fall," cried out that 
 a large polar bear and her cub were swim- 
 ming over to the iceberg, against the side 
 of which, and about half a mile from us, 
 the carcase of a whale was beating. As 
 we had nothing to do, seven of us imme- 
 diately started in chase ; we had intended 
 to have gone after the foxes, which had 
 gathered there also in hundreds, to prey 
 upon the dead whale. It was then quite 
 calm ; we soon came up with the bear, 
 who at first was for making off" ; but as 
 the cub could not get on over the rough 
 ice as well as the old one, she at last turned 
 round to bay. We shot the cub to make 
 sure of her, and it did make sure of the 
 dam not leaving us till either she or we 
 perished in the conflict. I never shall for- 
 get her moaning over the cub, as it lay
 
 304 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 bleedings on the ice, while we fired bullet 
 after bullet into her. At last slie turned 
 round, gave a roar and a gnashing snarl, 
 which you might have heard a mile, and, 
 with her eyes flashing fire, darted upon 
 us. We received her in a body, all close 
 together, with our lances to her breast ; 
 but she was so large and so strong, that 
 she beat us all back, and two of us fell ; 
 fortunately, the others held their ground, 
 and as she was then on end, three bullets 
 were put into her chest, which brought 
 her down. I never saw so large a beast 
 in my life. I don't wish to make her out 
 larger than she really was, but I have seen 
 many a bullock at Smithfield which would 
 not weigh two-thirds of her. Well, after 
 that, we had some trouble in dispatching 
 her ; and while we were so employed, the 
 wind blew up in gusts from the northward, 
 and the snow fell heavy. The men were 
 for returning to the ship immediately, 
 which certainly was the wisest thing for 
 us all to do ; but I thought that the snow- 
 storm would blow over in a short time, 
 and not wishing to lose so fine a skin, re- 
 solved to remain and flay the beast ; for I 
 knew that if left there a few hours, as the 
 foxes could not get hold of the carcase of 
 the whale, which had not grounded, they 
 would soon finish the bear and cub, and 
 the skins be worth nothing. Well, the 
 other men went back to the ship, and as 
 it was, the snow-storm came on thick, that 
 they lost their way, and would never have 
 found her, had not the bell been kept toll- 
 ing on board for a guide to them. I soon 
 found that I had done a very foolish thing ; 
 instead of the storm blowing over, the 
 snow came down thicker and thicker ; and 
 before I had taken a quantity of the skin 
 oflT, I was benumbed, and then I was un- 
 able to regain the ship, and with every 
 prospect of being frozen to death before 
 the storm was over. At last, I knew what 
 was my only chance ; I had flayed all the 
 belly of the bear, but had not cut her 
 open. I ripped her up, and tore out all 
 her inside, and then contrived to get into 
 her body, where I lay, and having closed 
 up the entrance hole, was warm and com- 
 fortable, for the animal heat had not yet 
 been extinguished. This manceuvre, no 
 doubt, saved my life ; and I have heard 
 that the French soldiers did the same in 
 their unfortunate Russian campaign, kill- 
 ing their horses, and getting inside to pro- 
 tect themselves from the cold. Well, I 
 
 had not lain more than half an hour, when 
 I knew by sundry jerks and tugs at my 
 new invented hurricane house, that the 
 foxes were busy — and so they were, sure 
 enough. There must have been hundreds 
 of them, for they were at work in all 
 directions, and some pushed their sharp 
 noses into the opening where 1 had crept 
 in ; but I contrived to get out my knife 
 and saw their noses across whenever they 
 touched me, otherwise I should have been 
 eaten up in a very short time. There 
 were so many of them, and they were so 
 ravenous, that they soon got through the 
 bear's thick skin, and were tearing away 
 at the flesh. Now I was not so much 
 afraid of their eating me, as I thought 
 that if I jumped up and discovered my- 
 self, they would have all fled. No saying, 
 though ; two or three hundred ravenous 
 devils take courage when together ; but 
 1 was afraid that they would devour my 
 covering from the weather, and then I 
 should perish with the cold ; and I also 
 was afraid of having pieces nipped out of 
 me, which would, of course, oblige me to 
 quit my retreat. At last daylight was 
 made through the upper part of the car- 
 case, and I was only protected by the ribs 
 of the animal, between which every now 
 and then their noses dived and nipped my 
 seal-skin jacket. I was just thinking of 
 shouting to frighten them away, when I 
 heard the report of half-a-dozen muskets, 
 and some of the bullets struck the car- 
 case, but fortunately did not hit me. I 
 immediately hallooed as loud as I could, 
 and the men hearing me, ceased firing. 
 They had fired at the foxes, little thinking 
 that I was inside of the bear. I crawled 
 out, the storm was over, and the men of 
 the ship had come back to look for me. 
 My brother, who was also a mate on 
 board of the same vessel, but had not 
 been with the first party, had joined them 
 in the search, but with little hopes of 
 finding me alive. He hugged me in his 
 arms, covered as I was with blood, as soon 
 as he saw me. He's dead now, poor 
 fellow ! 
 
 Admiral Duncan's address to the oflH- 
 cers of his fleet, previous to the memora- 
 ble engagement with Admiral De Winter, 
 was as follows : — " Gentlemen of my flee^ 
 you see a very severe Winter fast ap- 
 proaching ; and I have only to advise you 
 to keep up a good fire."
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FJELD. 
 
 305 
 
 Page 305. 
 
 THE NEAPOLITAN LOVERS. 
 
 IsANA DE Valdicini, a Neapolitan lady 
 of remarkable beauty, was beloved by the 
 rich and haughty count Friedman, inso- 
 much, that failing to secure her affec- 
 tions, he resolved to destroy his more for- 
 tunate rival, count Isnmnd, and bear the 
 lady away to his castle. Friedman was 
 a man of fierce and violent passions, and 
 any scheme that suggested itself to his 
 dark imagination he rarely failed to carry 
 into execution. 
 
 It was on one of those exquisitely briglit 
 and balmy evenings, common enough in 
 Ttaly, but which are of rare occurrence in 
 this dull clime of ours, that the senora de 
 Valdicini perambulated the delightful gar- 
 dens of lier chateau ; the sun was setting 
 in full effulgence, and the cool evening 
 breeze, fraught with a thousand odours, 
 wafted hghtly on her cheek. Sunset was 
 rapidly succeeded by twilight ; the sha- 
 dows of evening gradually deepened 
 around, and the clear blue heavens, with 
 its multitude of stars, lay quietly reflected 
 in the bricjht waters of the bay. I'he 
 
 VOL. I.— 39. 
 
 gardens terminated in a handsome ter- 
 race, partly shaded by a range of stately 
 cedar trees, while the blossoms and ten- 
 drils of numerous luxuriant and odorifer- 
 ous plants sported over the carved balus- 
 trade, and swung their dazzling foliage 
 on its tesselated pavement. At one end 
 of the terrace stood a little alcove, which 
 commanded a fine view seaward •, here it 
 was Isana's custom to resort, and await 
 the approach of her lover, who was wont 
 of an evening to row his gondola in that 
 direction. The lady accordingly moved 
 towards the terrace, and gazed for some 
 moments across the waters ; at length, 
 however, she retired to her little bower| 
 and touching the strings of a lute which 
 it contained, she accompanied herself to 
 the following words: — 
 
 Ascend, effulgent lamp of night. 
 
 From yonder dimpling sea. 
 And lend thy rays of heavenly light 
 
 To guide my love to me. 
 
 Thy herald star hath kissed the wa.ve. 
 
 And gleams on tower and tree, 
 And bids thee leave Endymiun's cave, 
 
 To light my love to me". 
 
 Towards the conclusion of her song, 
 2 R
 
 306 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 the planet whom she had invoked arose, 
 bright and beaming from the waters, and 
 bathed the luxuriant foliage of the gar- 
 dens, the rich and fragrant groves of 
 orange, citron, and myrtle trees, the ter- 
 race, with its mantle of dew-weeping 
 flowers, the festooned alcove, and the 
 lovely nymph it contained, with its mild 
 and silvery splendour. At this moment 
 Isana beheld her lover's boat, and hastily 
 throwing her lute aside, she hurried forth 
 to welcome him ; but, instead of meeting 
 count Ismnnd, she found herself in the 
 grasp of a tall, ruffianly figure, cloaked 
 and masked, who, without waiting a mo- 
 ment's parley, hurried her down the steps 
 of the terrace, and leaping into the boat 
 which awaited him, he gave his com- 
 mands in a rough tone to five or six 
 others, who were stationed at the oars, 
 and the vessel shot across the waters with 
 the rapidity of lightning. 
 
 So suddenly was the capture of Isana 
 effected, that all chance of resistance was 
 entirely cut off, though it would have 
 been vain, and even dangerous, had she 
 offered any, for the villain, with a fearful 
 execration, threatened, if she made the 
 least alarm, to plunge his stiletto into her 
 bosom ; the instrument, as he spoke, 
 gleamed in his uplifted hand, and she be- 
 beheld its point already tarnished with 
 blood, a drop of which drizzled upon her 
 neck — it was blood then newly spilt — 
 good God ! could it be Ismund's ? — had 
 he been entrapped and assassinated ? The 
 idea was too probable, and so paralyzing 
 was its effect on Isana, that she fell into a 
 swoon, from which she did not recover 
 until the lapse of several hours. 
 
 So soon as she returned to conscious- 
 ness, she found herself in a spacious apart- 
 ment, powerfully illuminated by a huge 
 iron lamp, which hung from the ceiling; 
 beside her stood a tall, grim visaged 
 figure, in whom she at once recognised 
 her detested suitor. 
 
 " Isana de Valdicini," he exclaimed, in 
 a voice of ill-suppressed rage, " thou seest 
 before thee count Iniedman de Valenquez 
 ■ — him, haughty lady, whom thou hast 
 treated with scorn and contempt, — behold 
 him still a suppliant at thy feet. Nay, 
 frown not, recollect thou art in my power ! 
 Swear to renounce count Isniuiul, and ac- 
 cept the hand that will not be offered thee 
 again." 
 
 "Never," answered Is,.na, fiiM-ly, — i 
 
 " never will I renounce my love ! Vil- 
 lain, I fear thee not, my Ismund lives, 
 and will shortly reccue his Isana from thy 
 tyranny." 
 
 "Thou art deceived, proud minion," 
 shouted Friedman, chafing with rage ; 
 •' thy Ismund — ha ! ha ! ha ! the raven 
 hath scented him ere this, and gorges on 
 his bloody corse. Once more I offer thee 
 my hand — reject it, and, by hell, this dag- 
 ger, red with count Ismund's blood, shall 
 quickly mingle with thine own." 
 
 " Strike then, ruffian," cried Isana, 
 throwing herself back in her seat, — *' 'tis 
 the only kindness thou canst yield me." 
 
 At this moment a wild outcry, mingled 
 with a violent clashing of weapons, was 
 heard in the lower apartments of the 
 castle, while a deep clear voice, which 
 made itself plainly lieard above the din, 
 commanded a party of men up the turret 
 stairs ; the door which the count had 
 slightly fastened was quickly beaten down, 
 and a party of soldiers, led on by a tall 
 and stately figure in half armour, rushed 
 sword in hanti into the apartment; Isana 
 started up in amazement, and fell with a 
 scream of joy into the arms of her beloved 
 Ismund ; meanwhile, the count, who at 
 first seemed paralyzed with terror, shook 
 off those who had seized him, and leaping 
 with the fury of a tiger on his hated 
 rival, he struck at him with his full ven- 
 geance; the next moment saw him dashed 
 from the window of the apartment into 
 the tide, which lay glittering in the moon- 
 light at a tremendous distance beneatii. 
 
 In conclusion, it is necessary to inform 
 the reader, that a page of Isana's, who 
 had been absent on some excursion, and 
 happening to return about the time when 
 Ismund chiefly visited th e chateau, was 
 accordingly taken for the count himself, 
 and received the dagger of Friedman in 
 his breast, as he was about to land. Isana's 
 capture was immediately succeeded by the 
 arrival of Ismund, who learnt from the 
 dying page the fate of his mistress. With- 
 out a moment's delay, the count procured 
 a sufficient force, and sought the dwelling 
 of his savage rival, from whose power, as 
 we have already recorded, he efl^ected the 
 rescue of the senora de Valdicini, tlmugli 
 not without receiving a slight wound 
 from Friedman's dagger, which, had it 
 not been for his steel breast-plate, would 
 have proved fatal.
 
 PKRILS IJY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 307 
 
 BLAUNCHEFLOR. 
 
 (Concluded frovi p. 302. J 
 One (lay soon after the circumstances 
 vve have narrated, the central ^pace in the 
 front of the gallery, distinguislied by this 
 stately harness, and to which the widow, 
 \\'\\\\ weeping eyes, and the heiress, with 
 a heart emulous of heroism, so frequently 
 looked, was discovered to be vacant 1 And 
 scarcely had the astonishment and fruit- 
 less investigation caused by its disappear- 
 ance begun to subside, when lo ! afresh 
 source of terror manifested itself in the 
 castle and its adjacent hamlets. The ar- 
 mour, or rather, as they asserted, the 
 dead corse of sir Bertram usurping it, 
 had been seen by the servants, sometmies 
 in tiie castle-chapel, by his own tomb, on 
 which the identical suit was chiselled, co- 
 loured, and gilt in marble ; sometimes in 
 the garden, whence it was said to vanish 
 into the old buttresses that, clad in rai- 
 ment of vines and roses, frowned over its 
 turf walks. The vassals had also encoun- 
 tered it. The miller had seen it in the 
 Lighthurst croft, and in Robertsholme, by 
 the willowy banks of the Blythe : the 
 Reeve had met it at Nethertown, near 
 his house, 
 
 " Whose wonnygne was ful fair upon a heath, 
 With greue trees yshadowed was the place." 
 
 And mine host of the Golden Gauntlet had 
 seen it in the glades of Kough Park, as he 
 was coming from a fimeral at Yoxall. 
 
 The lady of Hamstal, deeply tinctured 
 with the supeistitions of the age, did not 
 hesitate in attributing the reappearance 
 of her dead lord to his disapproval of that 
 suit which she was conscious she had been 
 led to promote, in opposition to her better 
 judgment, by her blind partiality towards 
 her foster, son, no less than by her dazzled 
 views of aggrandi/:ement from her daugh- 
 ter. And if Blauncheflor's reflections 
 had a less poignant tinge of self-reproach, 
 her ingenuous spirit could not conceal 
 from herself that, even while her tongue 
 most resisted Plantagenet'ssuit, her heart 
 too warmly advocated it ; nor could she 
 deny that, day and night, since Edward's 
 departure, she had abandoned herself to 
 tlie bitter indulgence of regretful affec- 
 tion. 
 
 Mearlya fortnight had elapsed in this 
 dreary manner ; the prince of Wales had 
 parted for Aquitaine, and an invitation, 
 or rather a command, had arrived from 
 the sovereign, who still held court at Tut- 
 
 bury, which was promptly obeyed bv the 
 lady de Ridvvare ;— Blaunchefior, plead- 
 ing illness, remained at Hamstal. The 
 employments of her solitude were melan- 
 choly enough, being only varied from 
 ori.-ons in the chapel, and the superintend- 
 ence of alms-giving at the travellers' 
 gate, to the never-ending web of embroi- 
 dery, or lonely rambles into the romantic 
 neiglibourhood. The remains of an old 
 hermitage in one of the deepest ravines 
 in the forest of Rough Park, which had 
 long ago been tenanted by an anchorite 
 of great sanctity, was a favourite object 
 in her woodland strolls. It was a deep 
 circular dell, carpetted with the most de- 
 licate herbage and mosses. Summer and 
 winter one eternal green surrounded and 
 overshadowed this area from the gigantic 
 pines, that like a vast wall encircled it, 
 save that one vista disclosed the old wea- 
 ther-stained tower of the lodge. Five or 
 six great apjjle-trees waved their carmine 
 blossoms over the remains of the cell; 
 and its little clear well still bubbled under 
 its rude stone crucifix; while, thickly 
 enamelled on the short turf, constellations 
 of pale primroses looked meekly up at the 
 majestic darkness of their lofty canopy. 
 Tile melancholy boom of the wood- pigeon, 
 and the flippant notes of the cuckoo, me- 
 lodized well with the May wind, which 
 brushed over the high tree tops, like the 
 sound of a distant ocean. It was one 
 evening, while her feet were listlessly 
 pacing among fragrant bg^s of wild lilies 
 of the valley, for which the woodlands of 
 Rough Park were once remarkable, that 
 she heard a deep voice pronounce her 
 name : she turned hastily. To recognize 
 the formidable armour of sir Bertram in 
 that sequestered dell, might alone have 
 terrified Blauncheflor: what, then, must 
 have been her sensations, when the raised 
 aventail disclosed to her view the features 
 of her father ! 
 
 «•*♦*** 
 
 King Edward held high festival at 
 Tutbury Castle, on the occasion of his 
 creating his noble host duke of Lancas- 
 ter. This beautiful baronial palace, en- 
 wreathed, with its towery diadem, ttie 
 brows of a steep green mound, thrown up 
 as it were out of the very heart of Need- 
 wood Forest ; bannered halls, tapestried 
 chambers, lofty turrets, and yawning gate- 
 way, throwing their manifold grandeur 
 i around an area of three acres. Emerg:- 
 2 R 2
 
 308 
 
 TALES OF CniVAIRY ; OR, 
 
 ing majestically from the great woodlands, 
 it sweeps downwards into the brave pas- 
 tures and meadows of the Dove and the 
 Trent. Tradition says, that, on a clear 
 day, the warder, from the donjon rampart 
 commanded a view of several counties. 
 The castle itself, long the residence of the 
 powerful and wealthy Lancasters, earls of 
 Derby, had ever maintained a degree of 
 pouip" and circumstance, whose bold ex- 
 hibition aw^akened the jealous eye of 
 royalty itself. With Edward the Third, 
 however, the family were in high favour: 
 he had not only raised its representative, 
 Henry * The good," (as he was popularly 
 termed) to the ducal rank, but by affianc- 
 ing his daughter to the young prince John 
 of Gaunt, rendered him the sire of a 
 lineage of kings. To give some idea of 
 the splendid maintenance displayed at 
 Tutbury Castle, there is an old cofferer's 
 account extant, which estimates the ex- 
 pences of the pantry, buttery, and kitchen, 
 alone, at the yearly cost of 4000/. ; while 
 other items, consisting in purchases of 
 silver cups, dishes, coffers, &c. ; with Ver- 
 million and wax for torches j and, chiefly, 
 the wardrobe expenditures for quantities 
 of minever and other furs, cloths, velvets, 
 and silks for the bishops, barons, and 
 knights frequenting this princely re- 
 sidence, together with gifts to the queen 
 of England, French knights, countess 
 Warine's nurses, minstrels, esquires, &c., 
 complete the annual expenditure of 8000/. 
 a prodigious sum, when we consider the 
 difference between those times and ours. 
 Night leaned over the romantic thickets 
 of Needwood, when two horsemen were 
 seen in successive and earnest parleys 
 with mine host of the Flaggon, in the 
 lovely village of Yoxall ; with the grey 
 porter of Longcroft by the torcii-light 
 w-aters of its mote ; with an old wood- 
 cutter at Hadley ; with a fisherman whom 
 they encountered by the forest streams of 
 Linbrook ; and, lastly, with the seneschal 
 of Kyrkley Lodge. The deep disappoint- 
 ment they testified at the answers their 
 enquiries received, and the speed at which 
 they renewed their course along the wood- 
 land path, might have bespoken them to 
 be strangers repulsed in their endea- 
 vours to gain an asylum for the night ; 
 but as, through the opening thickets, the 
 lights of Tutbury glistened over the gloom, 
 the first speech of the taller horseman de- 
 clared otherwise. 
 
 '* We will to the court — to the court, 
 De Hanbury ! — Edward will make a wil- 
 derness of the whole country, but he will 
 aid me to reclaim her !" 
 
 *' There w ill be no need," said his com- 
 panion, soothingly, " surely the lady 
 Blauncheflor " 
 
 *' Oh, the lady Blauncheflor — the lady 
 Blauncheflor !" interrupted the other ; 
 " fool that I was to urge her so far ! Had 
 I but contented myself with praising her 
 rejection of the prince, all had been well, 
 but I so hotly pressed her on the subject 
 of thy suit, sir Hugh, so insisted on the 
 Los thou hast acquired in France ; and 
 the avowal of my obligations to thee, so 
 nearly made me command her to wed thee, 
 that 1 fear some rash word of mine has 
 driven my dove to flight !" 
 
 The younger horseman sighed deeply, 
 and said — 
 
 ** It cannot be that the prince hath 
 lured her away ; though young and fiery, 
 he is too honourable." 
 
 "He is honour's minion," rejoined the 
 other, " and, though mad in descending 
 from his own orbit to her's, will nought 
 that savours of ill-faith. But, see ! the 
 castle already glares upon us with its hun- 
 dred eyes; weshallcarrytidingsof wonder 
 and of dole into its chambers [ " 
 
 Like some colossal lantern hung be- 
 tween earth and sky, the mighty circle 
 of Tutbury Castle revealed itself to their 
 view, pierced with a thousand loops of 
 ruddy lustre radiating in every direction, 
 from the hill, upon the massy darkness, 
 ami by its interminable illumination pro- 
 claiming its extent. As, riding up the 
 street that wound round the waist of the 
 hill to the grand gateway on the north, 
 they passed the deep Norman porch of the 
 Priory Church, the belfry strOck up a 
 loud and merry peal. The taller horse- 
 man, as if stung to the quick, dashed the 
 rowels into his steed, and followed by his 
 companion, galloped round to the tur- 
 retted gateway. Proud over the rest of 
 the pile soared the imperial keep ; but 
 though its stately strength was entire, 
 and the barbaric ornaments of window, 
 pillar and arch, still remained, it was in 
 a later building, profuse in more delicate 
 and luxuriant sculptures, that the royal 
 festival was held. The approach to it lay 
 by many a tower, through many a painted 
 chamber, to a broad stone stair, with ban- 
 nisters wrought in arches and foUage of
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 309 
 
 pranite, from whence a pair of studded 
 oak doors, twenty feet high, poured, on 
 opening, a golden flood of festal light 
 through the vast archway of the hall, a 
 mighty room, one hundred and ten feet 
 long, and proportionately broad. The 
 roof, rising to eighty feet, was one mag- 
 niticent vault of Irish oak, laboured into 
 huge ribs, that spanned the chamber in a 
 succession of arcs, whose spandrils were 
 pierced with the most elaborate carve- 
 work, terminating in a cornice that was 
 composed entirely of heraldic coats, and 
 from whence, in cumbrous grandeur, 
 down rolled the voluminous pageantry of 
 arras, impictured with the story of Aha- 
 suerus and Esther. The rare luxury of 
 thick and gaudy turkey carpets, and gold 
 broidered cushions of taffeta and damask, 
 was every where seen ; and of all the 
 countless lights that flamed from gold 
 and silver candlesticks upon the dazzling 
 array of the guest tables, there was not 
 one which was not in the hand of an at- 
 tendant. 
 
 On the feast it were idle to enlarge; in- 
 deed, such terms as * Fylettes in Galen- 
 tyne ; ' ' Vyaund Ryall ; ' * Signeltes ;' 
 * Capon of haute grece ;' * Stew Lum- 
 barde ;' ' Purpayes in frumente :' and so 
 forth, might puzzle the greatest proficient 
 in the French cuisine. Tiie raiment of 
 the guests displayed so much of the magic 
 of colour, that the eye wandered till it 
 was bewildered over the peacock varie- 
 gation of violet, silver, rose-colour, pale 
 green, and gold ; but here and there the 
 paragon glow of the auriphrygiate, re- 
 cently introduced, claimed a splendid dis- 
 tinction ; the new-fashioned armilace, or 
 short cloak, of superb dyes, was every 
 where to be seen ; and you might notice 
 around the flowing hair of the young 
 nobles a garland of goldsmiths' work, en- 
 riched with emeralds, pearls, and rubies, 
 so as to represent flowers : and, if we add 
 that most displayed great cost of orna- 
 ment on their broad golden girdles, and 
 wore shoes crooking upwards, with crack- 
 owes (as they were called) or claw-buckles, 
 fastened with gold and silver ciiains to 
 their knees, we shall have said enough 
 for this sketch of a festival, at a period 
 when banquetting was carried to such an 
 excess as to require sumptuary laws. 
 
 King Edward had quitted his canopied 
 state, and was courteously addressing the 
 duke of Lancaster's little daughter, who 
 
 was engaged in childish play with her 
 boyish betrothed ; and Philippa of Hain- 
 ault, whose preposterous crescent of head 
 gear was more than emulated by the 
 subordinate divinities of the banquet 
 hall, had joined herself to the lady de 
 Ridware, when the seneschal suddenly 
 entered, and in some haste whispered the 
 noble host. 
 
 ** Let some of you take horse forthwith 
 and see to it," was duke Henry's reply ; 
 and the seneschal vanished as he came. 
 Lancaster then turned to the king, and 
 addressed a few words in a low tone, at 
 which his highness seemed much moved, 
 and going up to the lady de Ridware, 
 who was in converse with the queen, an- 
 nounced that the warder, while on his 
 nightly post, had observed a strong light 
 westward, and from his experience in the 
 neighbouring halls and castles, had as- 
 certained that the beacon on the great 
 watch-tower of the Ridware Hamstal 
 (never lighted but on emergence) was 
 now a blaze, and tossing its fiery plumage 
 far and wide. 
 
 Language can but faintly image the 
 frame of lady Joanna ; forgetful of the 
 royal presence, and tliinking only of the 
 defenceless Blauncheflor, she was rushing 
 from the hall, when Philippa, hastening 
 after her, used the most gracious endea- 
 vours to pacify her alarm. The startling 
 intelligence, whispered from one to an- 
 other, had now pervaded every part of 
 the vast hall ; the noble company had 
 arisen and crowded towards the king ; tiie 
 harps of the minstrels were hushed ; and, 
 amidst this most admired disorder, in a 
 moment, and as if dropped from the vault- 
 ed roof, or bursting from the floor below, 
 a colossal figure, sheathed in the superb 
 harness of sir Bertram de Ridware, ap- 
 peared under the vast arch of the hall 
 door. Then might you see the groups of 
 richly attired ladies recoil with cries of ter- 
 ror, e ither flutering together like startled 
 swans, or fainting on the rich cushions and 
 carpets ; while the lady Joanna, with a 
 harrowing exclamation, ** It is my dead 
 husband !" was borne in frightful convul- 
 sions from the hall. 
 
 Edward and Philippa alone stood un- 
 blenching; whether it were the gallant 
 pride of their princely hearts, or the high 
 necessity they felt, of at least assuming 
 the superiority of kings, a slight start was 
 all the outward sign Philippa shewed,
 
 310 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 while the king even advanced towards tiie 
 mailed apparition, and in a dignified tune 
 he said, 
 
 *• The arms and cognizance sir Bertram 
 of the Hamstal hath so often signalized, 
 can never be unwelcome to king Edward, 
 if he come in the flesh ; and if not," (here 
 his voice lowered but faltered not), " brave 
 spirit ! wherefore art thou here ?" 
 
 "Great king, and gracious master!" 
 said the knight, taking off his cerveillere, 
 and disclosing the war-bronzed features 
 and grizzled hair of sir Bertram, " thy 
 soldier and servant hath been restored 
 from the dead, only to lose all that made 
 life lovely ; and to have that restored, he 
 now kneels to him, who, under the King 
 of kings, and Mary the Mother of God, 
 can alone achieve it," 
 
 Our story must, however, quit reluc- 
 tantly this extraordinary scene, leaving to 
 imagination the sorrow and the joy, the 
 condolence and congratulation, attendant 
 on such unhoped re-union; and, merely 
 premising that all search after tiie lovely 
 Blauncheflor (though expedited by every 
 exertion of the royal prerogative), proved 
 unavailing, and that a solemn disavowal 
 of all participation or even knowledge of 
 her flight, was given in by the prince of 
 Wales, then warring in France, we must 
 proceed to the tediously brief task of re- 
 capitulation. The body of sir Bertram de 
 Ridware had been found after the fight of 
 Crecy (still bleeding, and most severely 
 wounded, and overwhelmed in his heavy 
 harness), by a party of plunderers, who 
 v/ere roaming the field with the purpose 
 of despoiling English and French indis- 
 criminately. The eminent beauty of sir 
 Bertram's armour particularly attracted 
 them, and having entirely stripped him, 
 they were even disputing its possession, 
 when they were disturbed by a body of 
 English, headed by lord Reginald (Job- 
 ham and lord Stafford, who had been dis- 
 patched by king Edward with three 
 heralds to examine the blazons of the slain, 
 and two secretaries to write down their 
 names. One of the marauders, however, 
 despairing of tlie aimour, and surmising 
 that its owner must be a captive of no 
 mean ransome, liad seized the naked 
 body ofsir Bertram, and, flinging it across 
 his strong backed destrier, i'airly galloped 
 ofi'with hisn from the field. Sir Bertram's 
 armour was soon distinguished by his 
 friends J a naked corpse found near it, but 
 
 too horribly mangled to admit the pos- 
 sibility of rec(<gnit!on, was naturally 
 enough concluded to be his, and as sucli 
 honoured, mourned, and interred. Mean- 
 while, sir Bertram's captor fell in with a 
 knight, a friend of his, a nephew of tiie 
 Grand Prior of France, who had fallen in 
 the battle. This knight, who had dearly 
 loved his uncle, and burned with ven- 
 geance for his death, offered the marauder 
 S) tempting a sum for the still insensible sir 
 Bertram, that he surrendered him at 
 once. By this knight, de Ridware was 
 conveyed to a strong hold in Picardy, 
 where his w^ounds were carefully tended, 
 with the savage purpose of enabling him 
 to bear all the rigours of a hopeless cap- 
 tivity. After a whole year spent in the 
 sufferance of every insult and hardship, 
 his brother in arms, sir Hugh de Hanbury, 
 had by chance discovered his captivity, 
 and at great personal risque accomplished 
 his deliverance. During his imprison- 
 ment, De Ridware had, in accordance 
 with the superstition of the age, made a 
 solemn vow that if he might recover his 
 freedom, he would, on reaching his do- 
 main, wander for a certain time about 
 the precincts of his castle by way of pen- 
 ance for his sins, neither sleeping under a 
 roof, nor eating at a board. In the ac- 
 complishment of this vow, he was much 
 assisted by sir Hugh de Hanbury ; and, 
 little dreaming of Blauncheflor's love 
 embarrassments, had listened with high 
 satisfaction to the knight's declaration of 
 attachment to his only child, and even pro- 
 mised him lier hand. 
 
 In his extraoidinary interview with the 
 prince of Wales, under the yew tree in 
 Hamstal churchyard, and the subsequent 
 conference in the moonlight pleasaunce, 
 he had learned, with high approbation, 
 Blauncheflor's magnanimous conduct to- 
 wards her royal wooer ; and the result of 
 the argument which sir Bertram himself 
 added, was the immediate departure of 
 Edward (under a promise of secresy) for 
 his dominions in Aquitaine, 
 
 Delighted at his daughter's heroic 
 self-denial, sir Bertram would not wait 
 for the expiration of his vow, ere lie 
 sought an interview with Blauncheflor. 
 Both with a view to his personal safety, 
 and also to deter intruders from his 
 haunts, he had availed himself of his ex- 
 perience in the secret passages of his 
 caslle, to abstract his splendid harness
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 311 
 
 from the gallery, and soon found that it 
 procured liiin a free path wherever he 
 wished to wander. The result of liis in- 
 terview with Blauncheflor we have partly 
 seen ; after thetirst alarm and rapture had 
 subsided, he urged her on the subject of 
 sir Hugh de Hanbury's attachment, so 
 strongly employing her own weapons 
 against her, by shewing that her espous- 
 ing another would at once render hope- 
 less any further advances from the prince, 
 that poor Blauncheflor, in the distraction 
 of her feelings, saw no resource from her 
 father's affectionate importunity, but the 
 execution of a design she had long enter- 
 tained. 
 
 Many years afterwards, the prince of 
 Wales, on marrying his beautiful cousin 
 Jane, daughter of Edmund Plantagenet, 
 and better known by the name of the 
 Fair Maid of Kent, received the following 
 letter at Bordeaux, the capital of jiis 
 French domain, where he had established 
 a splendid court. 
 
 " Royal Highness, 
 
 ** If 1 liave delayed thus long the hour 
 when I might have the woeful pleasure of 
 bidding him I love best farewell in this 
 world, it was that I did not dare make 
 trial of my soul's strength, until time and 
 circumstance, and God's high grace 
 (strong mediciners), had certified me I 
 might do so, without prejudice to my re- 
 solution, and (what I prize higher), with- 
 out stain to your highness's honour. 
 Your highness hath now most worthily 
 wedded ; may all good angels pour the 
 fulness of their golden vials on you and 
 your generous spouse ! I now dare to tell 
 (and sure, if I blush it is not with shame), 
 tliat it was the fear of proving an usurper 
 to my country, in yielding to your suit, or 
 becoming false to your highness in wed- 
 ding another, that has forced me to fill with 
 sorrow and displeasure the breasts of two 
 tender parents (one now received from 
 the dead), and to carry to the sanctuary 
 of the Most High, a heart more than di- 
 vided between earth and heaven. But 
 heaven hath been kinder to me than I de- 
 serve. Ere you receive this, I am once 
 more with my father and mother; and 
 trust for their permission to spend my time 
 at Hamstal in blameless maidenhood, or if 
 they will otherwise, to become a votary 
 of the convent that hath sheltered me so 
 long. 
 
 " So, with her hearty commendations 
 and prayers, writes, 
 
 " Your highness's poor handmaiden, 
 "Blauncheflor deRidware. 
 
 " From my humble Cell, at 
 St. Agatha's on the Swale." 
 
 A TYNESIDE ANECDOTE. 
 
 Upon the occasion of the visit paid by 
 the allied sovereigns of Russia and Prus- 
 sia to London, after the overthrow of (he 
 man to whom they had so long cringed, a 
 distinguished individual, in the suite of 
 the emperor Alexander, proceeded to the 
 north of England, for the purpose of hav- 
 ing ocular proof of the subterranean won- 
 ders of the far-famed collieries of the 
 Tyne. Being provided with letters to 
 the head viewer of Wallsend colliery, a 
 gentleman of the name of Buddie, who 
 had instructions to take the necessary 
 measures to ensure the prince's object 
 being safely and satisfactorily accom- 
 plished, the illustrious stranger was con- 
 ducted to the residence of the viewer, 
 situated in the immediate vicinity of the 
 principal pit. Before descending to the 
 coal seams in the bowels of the earth, it is 
 necessary to throw off every article of 
 usual dress, and to put on, instead, the 
 attire worn by the pitmen or miners, con- 
 sisting of thick flannel trousers and jacket. 
 This metamorphosis the Russian prince 
 underwent, and casting aside his glitter- 
 ing uniform and orders, he appeared in 
 the uncouth and soiled garments of a 
 common collier. In this garb he was 
 escorted to the mouth of the pit, down 
 which he was to be lowered, followed by a 
 considerable number of the sooty denizens 
 of the place. 
 
 It will be known to almost all of our 
 readers, that pits are round holes, of 
 about ten feet in diameter, sunk into the 
 earth to the depth in some cases of three 
 hundred fatljoms, nearly one third of a 
 mile, and divided by a wooden partition 
 the whole way down, so as to form two 
 shafts. I'he mode of descending a shaft is 
 either by entering a basket used for haul- 
 ing up the coals, or by putting one leg 
 through a large iron hook at the end of 
 the rope, and clinging by the hands to the 
 chain to which it is appended. The latter 
 mode, contrary to what might be ima- 
 gined, is the best and safest, and for this 
 reason, that the basket is liable to catch 
 the sides of the pit, and be thus turned
 
 312 
 
 TALES OF CmVAT.RY ; OR, 
 
 upside down. Each person is provided 
 wilh a short stick to keep liimself from 
 grazing the black and dripping walls as 
 he proceeds downwards, and the rapidity 
 of the descent is such as to render this 
 precaution highly expedient. To a per- 
 son who views this dark hole, and the 
 rough apparatus for a dive down it, for 
 the first time, nothing can be perliaps 
 more frightful; and when, to the con- 
 templation of the actual horrors, is added 
 the recollection of all the disasters of which 
 pits have been so frequently the scene, 
 the whole is doubtless sufficient to appal 
 a very stout heart. So much so indeed 
 is this the case, that hundreds of the in- 
 habitants of the coal districts, with that 
 daily exhibition before them which ren- 
 ders the mind careless and indifferent to 
 danger, have never summoned up the 
 requisite courage to encounter the perils 
 of a coal mine, or if piqued by shame or 
 curiosity to advance to the margin of the 
 gloomy cavern, and cast an eye down its 
 gi im jaws, they have recoiled with a shud- 
 der from entering it. 
 
 The pit to which the Russian magnate 
 was lea at Wallsend, was one of the 
 deepest and narrowest on the Tyne. It 
 was at that period in the full enjoyment 
 of its fame as sending up the finest coals 
 in the world, and offered certainly good 
 cause of astonishment, that out of such a 
 small black hole an individual was reaping 
 an income of £50,000 a-year. On tliis 
 account the Wallsend cohiery was gene- 
 rally visited by the cuiious, aUhougli the 
 mode of working the mine was not at all 
 different from the one adopted in all the 
 other collieries. What idea the prince 
 bad formed in his own mind of a coal pit, 
 it is impossible to say, but it is to be pre- 
 sumed that he had either thought little 
 about the matter, or been very wrongly 
 informed on the subject. When Mr. 
 Budtlle, the viewer, conducted him up the 
 ladder leading to the platform of the pit 
 mouth, and introduced him to the scene 
 of operations, he stopped suddenly short, 
 and asked with alarm whether that was 
 really the place to which he had been re- 
 commended to come. Upon being as- 
 sured that such was actually the case, he 
 went forward to the very edge of tlie pit, 
 at sight of which, however, he stepped 
 precipitately back, and holding up his 
 hands, exclaimed, in French, " Ah ! my 
 God, it is the mouth of hell ! — none but 
 
 a madman would venture into it !" Upon 
 uttering these words, he hastily retreated, 
 and, slipping out of his flannels as quickly 
 as he could, again assumed his splendid 
 uniform of a Russian general, and soon 
 left the Wallsend colliery far behind him. 
 The person who thus displayed so in- 
 firm a purpose, or a mind so easily cowed, 
 was one upon whose impulses for good or 
 bad at this present moment rests the des- 
 tinies of a large proportion of the human 
 race. It was Nicholas the First, Autocrat 
 of all the Russias. 
 
 NAVAL ANECDOTE. 
 
 A circumstance of a singular nature oc- 
 cured during the action between the Vir- 
 ginie and Guelderland. It was observed 
 from the Dutch frigate that the Virginie 
 was prepared to board her whenever an 
 opportunity offered for that purpose, and 
 a part of the crew were consequently ready 
 to repel the attempt. The purser of the 
 Dutchman, a brave fellow, stood on the 
 gangway, sword in hand, animating the 
 men to resistance, and with his arm raised, 
 in expectation of the effort. While in 
 this attitude, a cannon-ball from the Vir- 
 ginie took his arm off" within a few inches 
 of the shoulder ; the dismembered limb 
 fell into the hold unheeded, and the poor 
 fellow was put under the care of the sur- 
 geon. In two days afterwards, when the 
 hold was examined and clearing out, the 
 arm was found, with the sword so firmly 
 grasped in the hand, that no common 
 force could disengage it ; and it therefore 
 became necessary to cut off" the fingers to 
 separate the sword and hand. It was, 
 however, previously shown to a number 
 of persons, in order that so extraordinary 
 a fact should be confirmed by strong and 
 indisputable testimony. The gallant 
 purser was afterwards taken on board the 
 Trent flag- ship, and though at first de- 
 spaired of, skill and attention changed his 
 condition to convalescence, and he soon 
 recovered. 
 
 NEW SYSTEM OF WARFARE. 
 
 It is said that an ingenious fellow near 
 Erfurth, has invented a musket without 
 touch-hole or ramrod, the construction of 
 which is so much approved, that it is likely 
 to be adopted by the Prussian army. Tlie 
 only method of opposing such a formid- 
 able engine, will be to adopt nmskets 
 without either barrels or stocks !
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 313 
 
 THE DOOM OF L'ESPEC: 
 A LEGEND OF RIEVAULX ABBEY. 
 
 Oh ! she who graced his nuptial rite 
 Shall mourn for him ere come to night ! 
 
 From Kirkby steep 
 His steed will take a sanguine leap. 
 His hinds for him shall search the wood, 
 His vassals duly drag the flood ; 
 The niateless wife will wildly call, 
 Through soundless grove and silent hall. 
 And sh»'d the bitter, burning tear, 
 For him who never more will hi ar ! 
 
 The Wizard's Prophecy. 
 
 It was early on a calm and dewy morn- 
 ing in May, that the Anglo-Norman castle 
 of Upsal, in one of the northern wapen- 
 takes of Yorkshire, echoed the joyous 
 greetings of the inmates ; for their young 
 mistress Adeline, daughter of the lord 
 Scroop, hud just been led to the marriage 
 altar by the gallant youth L'Espec, son 
 and heir of sir Walter L'Espec. The 
 wassail bowls were on the oaken tables 
 of the hall •, the bride and bridegroom, 
 with their splendid retinue, had left the 
 castle chapel ; the solemn priest of Kilf 
 vingtun chantry had divested himself of 
 his sacerdotal robes, and the jolly retainers 
 of lord Scroop had relinquished tlieir 
 
 VOL. I. — iO. 
 
 Page 316. 
 
 battle-axes, doffed their morions and coats 
 of mail, and were giving life and soul to 
 the carousal, when Quintin Thornbo- 
 rough, the household minstrel, sallied forth 
 from the merry company, to pass a soli- 
 tary hour in the gardens ! an estrange- 
 ment for which he could only excuse 
 himself by pleading an unusual and ex- 
 cessive fit of dejection which had that 
 morning overcome him. 
 
 Tile gardens of Upsal castle exhibited 
 neither snmptuousness in their display 
 nor costliness in their construction, if we 
 confine these terms to their ordinary- 
 meaning : but what art had omitted, 
 nature had amply supplied ; and the rarity 
 and diversity of the plants and shrubs, 
 made up for their lack of more flaunting 
 quality. The gardiner of Upsal had ori- 
 ginally been attached to the monastic fra- 
 ternity ; and it was mainly owing to his 
 knowledge and skill in his vocation, and 
 to a privileged selection from the garden 
 of the distant priory, that the grounds of 
 the castle were enriched with plants 
 which, in those days, were gems of botanv, 
 and which were the cause of the gar- 
 dener's preferment to the rank of family 
 2 s
 
 314 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 physician. The crowded beds of valuable 
 balsamic and restorative roots, however, 
 were heedlessly, atid with bail taste, over- 
 shadowed by upple, ciierry, and chesnut 
 trees, grotesquely intermixed with labur- 
 nums and some species of the minor oak. 
 The low broad walls encircling the gar- 
 dens* had in them, at intervals, raised 
 recesses, with rude seats ; the exterior of 
 these gloomy alcoves being flanked by 
 clusters of tremendous evergreens. 
 
 It was in one of these stony arbours 
 that Quintin Thornborough had seated 
 liimself, slowly and thouglitfuUy con.^um- 
 ing his frugal breakfast, a hunch of bread 
 smeared with honey, and moistened by a 
 horn of wassail. The untiring bee, 
 awakened from its w intry trance, was re- 
 velling from bud to bud, 
 
 " Where hung 
 Frondiferous boughs o'er fragrant flowers," 
 
 the honied scents of which were mingled 
 with the balmy breezes wafted from the 
 surrounding meads of eowslips and vio- 
 lets : herds of cattle, well-bred and well- 
 conditioned, were grazing in the rich ox- 
 gangs of land surrounding the moat : the 
 distant view, on one side, consisted of the 
 crags terminating the rocky ridge of 
 Hambleton; beyond, the unproductive ex- 
 panse of naked Cleveland presented itself; 
 on the other side the distant prospect dis- 
 played the turrets of Thirsk castle, the 
 property of the Mowbrays, proudly ele- 
 vated over the low roof of the neighbour- 
 ing chantry of St. Mary's ; intermediately 
 lay the valley of Upsal, diversified by va- 
 riously sized knolls of earth, interspersed 
 with fine woods of liazel-trees, growing 
 in the wildest spontaneity ; these being 
 again overtopped in places by patches of 
 forest, some of them of great extent and 
 almost unexplorable intricacy. The sun 
 shone brightly on the fairy lamps of dew 
 suspended from leaf and blade and stem, 
 and the morning was such an one as, at 
 any other time, would have made the 
 heart of the prophetic minstrel leap for 
 joy ; but now not the glad scene around 
 him, nor the merry voices of the revelling 
 menials from the castle, could eliaseaway 
 that foreboding sadness which told him 
 that, ere long, the lady Adeline should be 
 transformed from a laughing bride to a 
 weeping widow. 
 
 Having somewliat assuaged his feeling 
 in the composition of some portentous 
 verse, he returned to the lively assembly 
 
 in doors. At tjie head of the old oak table, 
 on raised seats, covered wiUi crimson \ «'l- 
 vet, and t()j)ped by a sumptuous dais, 
 edged vvidi a festoon bearing the arms of 
 Scroop, sat the bride and bridegroom, a 
 step below the portly and warlike father 
 of the former, supported by the barons 
 and their ladies, relations by blood of the 
 house of Scroop. On each side of the long 
 table were seated the vassals and retainers 
 of his lordship, and at their head his 
 trustworthy henchman : their arms and 
 accoutrements were hung on the wall, 
 and glittered in the sunlight streaming 
 through the circular windows, reaching 
 nearly to the massy rafters of the roof. 
 
 'J'he lady Adeline, the betrothed of 
 L'Espec, was tall and stately, uniting in 
 her features the Norman courage and de- 
 cision of her father to the Roman sweet- 
 ness and beauty of her deceased mother ; 
 and to say she was revered and beloved 
 by all who knew her, from the peer to the 
 peasant, will pourtray her better than the 
 most laboured descriptions of her person. 
 Her accomplished bridegroom was like 
 the vigorous though immature oak, fed by 
 the dews of forty springs, in the seclusion 
 of a mountain wood ; his limbs possessing 
 the pliancy of the most active juvenility, 
 and his face beaming with the winning 
 expression of approaching manhood. In 
 the laudatory words of ^Ired, the third 
 abbot of Rievaulx, " he was a goodly 
 youth, exceeding in sweetness of carriage, 
 witli a voice like a trumpet, yet graced 
 moreover with the soft and endearing 
 ciiarms of eloquence." 
 
 Quintin Thornborough took a vacant 
 seat, and placed his harp exactly oppo- 
 site to L'Espec. His master, tlie lord 
 Scroop, immediately perceiving him, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Why, how now, Quintin ? this is the 
 first I have beheld of ye since the greet- 
 ing — you are quite a laggard this morn." 
 
 " I have been somewhat sick, your lord- 
 ship ; and obliged the now to walk about 
 in the garden." 
 
 *' Ah, ah ! I see how it is with you; 
 my daughter has been pledged so deeply, 
 that you have passed the merry pin, and 
 seen the bottom of the cup, Quintin. 
 Well, well, give us one of your lively 
 ditties, for all tongues have wagged 
 themselves into weariness with talk- 
 ing." 
 
 The minstrel, with a gloomy smile at
 
 PllRlLS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 315 
 
 his master's pleasanfry, obeyed, and, pro- 
 verbial for not disguising iiis feelings, 
 touched his harp to the following ron- 
 deau : — 
 
 Hi^li-bom heir of Kirkham dale ! 
 
 False the bliss that buoys tiii'e now 
 Pause to hear a prophet's tale; 
 
 Tale to see his dark'ning brow ! 
 
 Thou art green, and I am grey ; 
 
 Thou art witty, I am dull : 
 Years have ta'en my strength away, — 
 
 Cure has fiU'd my goblet full. 
 
 I have seen the flower-edged rill 
 Stain'd by gore, and stopp'd with mire ; 
 
 I have seen the blooming hill 
 Blacken' d by the beacon- fire. 
 
 Though the lightning often smite 
 
 To its core the hardy oak. 
 It the sapling, too, may blight. 
 
 Dreading least its direful stroke. 
 
 L'Espec, canst thou war with doom? 
 
 Don the mail and draw the sword ; 
 Bear the helm of triple plume. 
 
 Vassal, to thy valorous lord ! 
 
 Boots it not to battle death ! 
 
 Beauty's pleadings cannot save, 
 Nor prolong thy passing breath 
 
 'Yond that hour which scoops thy grave ! 
 
 The tones of this incoherent aad mys- 
 terious ditty died away, and a marveling 
 silence followed, which pervaded the 
 whole assembly ; L'Espec waxed pale, 
 and Adeline trembled. Lord Scroop at 
 last rose from his seat, and, looking sternly 
 at Quintin, exclaimed, 
 
 *' Art thou bewitched, and so bereft of 
 tliy shallow senses ; or hast thou signed 
 thy name in blood to a compact with the 
 wizard of the frith, and art giving us thy 
 maiden prophecy ?" 
 
 " I hope," ventured Quintin, " that for 
 speaking in the sincerity of a troubled 
 heart, and from the confidence of a law- 
 ful divination, which naturally belongs to 
 my office, as your lordship's unworthy 
 minstrel and poor poet, that you will not 
 impute to me a league with the devil, or 
 any of his children." 
 
 ** Go to, then, old dotard," replied the 
 angry lord ; *' thy face is like the black 
 and troublous sky which heralds a thim- 
 der storm ; and to look at thee, I cannot 
 but conceit that our marriage breakfast is 
 an arvil-supper. Put on some better 
 visage, or thy absence will be desirable. 
 Adeline, why so wan ? and you my noble 
 son-in-law, I cannot divine the cause of 
 your grieved look. Perdition seize that 
 grey-headed driveller, and his meddle- 
 some verses !" 
 
 *' Speak thus not harslily, dear father !" 
 said the lady Adeline ; "good Quintin is 
 sorely put out of his 'customed mood with 
 something: I am sure that no one would 
 offend with greater unwillingness than 
 he." 
 
 "A murrain upon your wandering wits, 
 Master Quintin !" cheerfully said the 
 young L'Espec: "come, cheer up, my 
 rhyming seer 1" Turning to nis father in- 
 law, " Will your lordship please to put an 
 end to the revel for the present," said he, 
 " and let us all to horse, for our intended 
 hawking ? I know, from the aspect of the 
 morn, that we shall have right good 
 sport." 
 
 His suggestion w-as attended to; the 
 attendants were ordered to equip, and the 
 whole train were quickly on horsebacK, 
 and issuing from the court-yard of the 
 castle, each with a hawk, either furnished 
 them from the superior training of Roger 
 Knayton, falconer to lord Scroop, or which 
 had accompanied its owner for a tem. 
 porary sojournment at Upsal castle. 
 
 L'Espec's was a falcon of the first coat, 
 in beautiful feather ; and never was hawk 
 so cherished and doted upon by her mas- 
 ter. Trained under the judicious watch- 
 fulness of his own eye, and schooled 
 occasionally by Roger Knayton, she was 
 unmatched in the field, whether for beauty 
 of plumage or certainty in striking her 
 prey. Her fine and glossy coat, from 
 the downy garbefeeders of her beak to 
 the thick mantling of her legs, was in- 
 comparable. From the drawing of the 
 rufFter-hood she had never been known 
 as a haggard on the one hand, or to ruff 
 on the other. The elaborately-engraved 
 verveiles encircling her ancles, bearing 
 the initials of her owner, bore some testi- 
 mony to the esteem in which she was 
 held ; an esteem which could only be sur- 
 passed by that which L'Espec entertained 
 for the lady Adeline herself. 
 
 The lady Adeline's falcon was a gentle, 
 given, nevertheless, to play the bowess 
 occasionally — a fault for which the lady 
 had to endure the jokes and jibes of her 
 merry loitl, as they rode through the 
 woods of Kirkby-Knowle, his heart danc- 
 ing like the arching plume which nodded 
 over his brows ; whilst the lady's counte 
 nance seemed to outrival in lustre the 
 snowy satin which formed a part of her 
 costly dress. They were considerably in 
 the rear of the haw king train, who hau,
 
 316 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 gained the neighbouring acclivities, and 
 had partially commenced the sport, when 
 L'Espec and his lady, for a trial of speed, 
 spurred on their horses across the velvet- 
 like sward of an adjoining wood, which 
 was divided by a wide and miry stream ; 
 which the horse of the jibing L'Espec 
 cleared without hesitation, leaving the 
 lady Adeline on the fearful side, no little 
 piqued at being outdone by her jovial 
 consort. After considerable bantering, 
 he turned his steed in a direction onwards, 
 and throwing himself round on the saddle, 
 he gave a laughing look to his bride, play- 
 fully exclaiming — 
 
 " Adieu 1 my love, Adeline ; follow me 
 now, and trust me you will earn praise for 
 your horsemanship." 
 
 It was the last time she beheld him 
 living: he was speedily involved in the 
 hiding intricacy of the wood ; and the 
 lady Adeline, reining back her palfrey, 
 sought to join him at a proximate and 
 more accessible part of the thicket. 
 
 L'Espec, gradually remitting his pace, 
 cantered on until his career was arrested 
 by the fatal espial of an amorous gorcock 
 from an adjacent clump. Loosing the 
 jesses of, and unhooding his falcon, she 
 made a beautiful rise, and was consider- 
 ably higher than her prey, when, making 
 a fine stoop, the bird bore away, and the 
 falcon, not hearing the whistle of her 
 masti^r, got down the wind. In vain 
 were the eyes of L'Espec strained upon 
 the flight of his falcon ; he could but con- 
 sole himself with gazing upon the sunny 
 gleaming of her speckled back, and the 
 glittering of her silver verveiles. 
 
 " May I die unhouzzled !" said he, " if 
 the jade is not possessed !" and again he 
 whistled with a loudness that rang through 
 the surrounding coppices j but it was to 
 no purpose, for the falcon flew onwards, 
 unconscious of the piteous call of her re- 
 gretful owner. 
 
 " The tiend stop her T' exclaimed he, 
 wiping away a tear ; " for, by the rood, 
 it would take one of the toughest ur- 
 synes of Gilbert Knayton to foil her 
 speed !" 
 
 Still keeping his aching eyes fixed on 
 the regretted object, he goaded on his 
 impetuous horse, and rode down the wood- 
 l;aui siiie, across the main road, and over 
 the iiiaishy lands at the foot of the rocks, 
 with the rapidityofa torrent : he increased 
 his speed, until the perspiration rained 
 
 from the sides, and the foam dropped from 
 the chafed mouth, of his spirited beast. 
 Dashing forwards, he attempted to bear 
 across a deceiving quag, in striving to 
 accomplish which his liorse slipped, and it 
 was with the greatest difficulty he main- 
 tained his seat, the animal extricating 
 himself only after the severest efforts. 
 The lily plume which adorned the cap of 
 the young sportsman was soiled with mud, 
 and his galoslied doublet of green and 
 gold was lamentably bemired. He next 
 struck into a wood, the extended line of 
 which was parallel with the route his bird 
 had taken, the latter of which, to appear- 
 ance, had then dwindled to a speck in the 
 lucid blue. His headlong course became 
 partially impeded by the unevenness of 
 the hilly forest before him. Now the feet 
 of his horse aroused the hissing hagworm ; 
 then they were dealh to the croaking 
 toad. Sometimes his way was upon the 
 briery height, at others it was the over- 
 shadowed and dried-up bed of a consider- 
 able rivulet, which had once meandered 
 through the patriarchal trees of the ancient 
 wood, and was shrouded in the boughs 
 of over-arching elms, beneath whose um- 
 brage L'Espec fiercely rode until a pro- 
 truding branch struck him forcibly on the 
 forehead, and for a few moments slack- 
 ened his pace. The blood trickled down 
 his cheek, mingling with a few tears ex- 
 torted by pain and vexation. Arrived at 
 a glade, he tightened his horse's rein, 
 and gazed during the panting pause, at 
 the minute and receding ouiline of the 
 feathered fugitive j then, suddenly emerg- 
 ing from the patch of dreary and unlevel 
 forest, and still fixing his eyes on the far- 
 off and atomic figure of the flying falcon, 
 he plunged forwards up the acclivity 
 leading to Kirkby Heath, which lay above 
 the precipitous scaur called Kirkby 
 Steep. This perpendicular crag com- 
 menced abruptly, and had no wall on its 
 margin, to guide the day traveller, or 
 check the benighted horseman. Just as 
 L'Espec had reached the summit of the 
 towering hill adjacent to Kirkby Steep, 
 he beheld the hawk make a sudden wheel, 
 and continue her flight in another direc- 
 tion, that, unfortunately, which led to 
 Kirkby Steep. 
 
 " Ah ! foul haggard !" cried he, *'I will 
 clutch thee yet, though my soul be in jeo- 
 pardy 1" 
 
 Thus exclaiming, he gave the rein,
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 317 
 
 and clapping spurs to the side of liis 
 reeking steed, set off at full speed in the 
 line described. His attention being fully 
 absorbed by looking upwards, with one 
 hand held over his eyes, to shield them 
 from the glare of the noonday sun, he saw 
 not the death to which he was hurrying : it 
 was, both to him and his courser, the 
 most pleasant and facile path they had 
 ever traversed ; the dry and light earth, 
 overlaid with smooth turf, returned a 
 drum-Hke echo to the hoofs of L'Espec's 
 horse. Anon they neared the steep, over 
 the edge of which opened the bewitching 
 view of the wild and uncultivated valley, 
 bordered by a horizontal line of beautiful j 
 azure ; but L'Espec saw it not — his eyes 
 were upturned to track the stayless course 
 of the ominous hawk : nearer, nearer grew 
 the steep — another bound, and a cloud of 
 dust, and a rattle of loosened stones from 
 the top, with a crash of breaking bones, 
 and a smothered death-cry at the bottom, 
 proclaimed that the noble heir of Kirkham, 
 the espouser of Adeline Scroop, had found 
 a rocky bier amidst the huge and pointed 
 fragments of the terrible rock of Kirkby 
 Steep ! 
 
 The different vassals sent in pursuit of 
 L'Espec had wearied themselves with the 
 search; the day was waning apace, and 
 the many visitors of Upsal were wending 
 their way back to the castle, when the lady 
 Adeline, frantic with grief and despair, 
 had retired with her sorrows to the apart- 
 ment which had wont to be occupied by 
 her husband. Her loud and piteous wail- 
 ing bad exhausted its energy, and with a 
 more calm and melancholy air she was 
 contemplating the furniture and orna- 
 ments of the room, which so vividly, 
 though painfuUy, reminded her of her 
 hapless bridegroom, when her attention 
 was attracted towards a portion of the 
 tapestry wliicii represented the youthful 
 L'Espec on horseback, with the identical 
 falcon, and which liad been worked by her 
 own direction : she endeavoured to trace 
 with her eye the cherished design, as it 
 was being enveloped in the twilight, but 
 failed in so doing. The setting sun sud- 
 denly threw its lambent rays upon the 
 embroidery, and discovered to her the 
 picture. Holy Virgin ! what did she see ! 
 not the plumed and sprightly L'Espec 
 on his peerless courser, but "the bloody 
 scene of his death ! Had the tapestry 
 changed by magic, or did she dream ? 
 
 There, unhorsed and struggling in his 
 blood, lay her beloved lord, his feathered 
 lielm caught by the furze, and his sable 
 locks falling over his death-like visage: 
 beside, and partially upon him, was his 
 mangled horse, his jaws distended by the 
 tremors of the last gasp. Was it the work 
 of some hellish necromancy, or the more 
 potent indication of human fatality, su- 
 pernaturally revealed by Heaven to human 
 ken ? The colours of the silken device were 
 the same, though the representation \\as 
 changed. It was the figure of L'Espec, 
 though cruelly mangled, distorted, and 
 bloody. She made an attempt to rise, 
 resolving, by a courageous examination 
 of the tapestry, to fathom the delusion ; 
 but her steps tottered, her senses reeled, 
 and, fainting, she fell before she could 
 retrograde to her relinquished seat. 
 
 The lady Adeline was recalled to ani- 
 mation and consciousness by the paternal 
 solicitude of the lord Scroop and the at- 
 tentions of his bustling domestics. The 
 first object to which she directed her 
 opening eyes was the mystic tapestry, 
 which had resumed its pristine appear- 
 ance, and again showed forth the dauntless 
 idol of her affection, the efflorescence of 
 life mantling on his features. With re- 
 newed lamentations did the bereaved 
 Adeline protest against her cheating 
 senses, and account for the shadowy trans- 
 formation. She was removed to a seat by 
 the window, which was thrown open to 
 admit the air, and through which the 
 varied valley of Upsal could be seen to 
 nearly its extent. The sun had left the 
 woody scene, and his valedictory beams 
 were fading on the verdurous hills beyond 
 the western moors, as the dead body of 
 Jj'Espec was being removed to Upsal 
 castle. The appalling sight wasbeheld by 
 lady Adeline, and she was lifted senseless 
 to her chamber. 
 
 Alas for love ! the bridal chamber of the 
 husband was doomed to contain iiis life- 
 less body ! — A few months elapsed, and 
 Adeline was on her way to Normandy, 
 having formed the resolution of taking the 
 veil. The baron L'Espec, in order to 
 perpetuate the memory of so mournful an 
 event, devoted his estates to the erection 
 of Kirkham priory, and the founding of 
 Rievaulx abbey ; in the latter of which 
 elapsed the remainder of his davs, and 
 before the high altar of which he was in- 
 terred.
 
 318 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 
 
 WRECK OF TllK BATAVIA, 1 fi28. 
 
 The lollowing is a remarkable ship- 
 wreck, both for tlie dreadful atrocities 
 committed by some of the crew, and for 
 the scene being upon the shores of New 
 South Wales, at a time when it was very 
 little known. Nor is the escape of the 
 survivors the least extraordinary circum- 
 stance attending the accident. The place 
 of the shipwreck must have been only a 
 few degrees north of (he present Swan 
 River settlement. 
 
 The Dutch East India Company, ani- 
 mated by the return of five ships iinder 
 general Carpenter, richly laden, in 1628, 
 sent the very same year eleven vessels to 
 be equipped for another voyage : amongst 
 them was one called the Batavia, com- 
 manded by captain Francis Pelsart. They 
 sailed from the Texel on the twenty- 
 eighth of October. It would be tedious 
 to narrate the occurrences that happened 
 in their passage to the Cape of Good 
 Hope; it suffices, that on the 4th of June, 
 in the following year, the Batavia, being 
 separated from the fleet in a storm, was 
 driven on the abrolles, or shoals, which 
 lie in the latitude of 28d. south, and which 
 have been since called by the Dutch the 
 Abrolloes of Frederick Houtman. Captain 
 Pelsart, who was sick in bed when the ac- 
 cident happened, perceiving that his ship 
 had struck, ran immediately upon deck. 
 It was night, but the weather was fair, 
 and the moon shone very bright. The 
 sails were up ; the course they steered 
 was north-east by north, and the sea ap- 
 peared, as far as they could behold it, 
 covered with foam. The captain called up 
 the master, and charged him with the loss 
 of the ship. He excused himself by say- 
 ing he had taken all the care he could ; 
 that having discerned the foam at a dis- 
 tance, he asked the steersman what he 
 thought of it, who told him that the sea 
 appeared white by its reflecting the rays 
 of tile moon. The captain then asked 
 him what was to be done ; and in what 
 part of the world he thought they were. 
 The master replied, God only knew that; 
 for the ship was fast upon a bank hitherto 
 undiscovered. Upon this they threw the 
 lead, and found they had about forty- 
 eight feet of water a-head, and much less 
 aft. They threw their cannon overboard, 
 in hopes that when the ship was lightened, 
 she might tloat again. They let fall an 
 anchor; but while they were thus em- 
 
 ployed, a dreadful storm came on, both of 
 wind and rain, \\ hich soon convinced them 
 of the danger they were in, for being sur- 
 rounded by rocks and shoals, the ship w as 
 constantly striking. 
 
 They then resolved to cut away the 
 mainniast. This but augmented the dan- 
 ger, as tliey could not get clear of it, 
 though they cut it tlirough, because it was 
 entangled with the rigging. Tliey could 
 see an island, which seemed about the 
 distance of three leagues, and two smaller 
 isles, or rather rocks, which lay nearer. 
 They inmiediately sent the master to ex- 
 amine them, who returned about nine in 
 the morning, and reported, that the sea 
 at high water did not cover them, but that 
 the coast was so rocky and full of shoals, 
 that it would be very ditiicult to land upon 
 them. Still they resolved to run the risk, 
 and to send most of their company on 
 shore, to pacify the women, children, sick 
 people, and such as were almost out of 
 their senses w ith fear ; their shrieks and 
 cries serving only to disturb the attention 
 of the crew, if any thing could be done 
 for the vessel. About ten o'clock they 
 embarked them in the shallop and skitt". 
 Perceiving that the vessel began to break 
 up as they put off', they doubled their dili- 
 gence. They likewise endeavoured to 
 get the bread up ; but they did not take 
 the same care of the water, not reflecting, 
 amid their fears, that they might be dis- 
 tressed for want of it, should they meet 
 with none on shore. The worst part of 
 the scene arose from the brutal behaviour 
 of some of the crew, who got drunk with 
 the wine, of which no care was taken. 
 Such vvas the confusion, that they made 
 but three trips that day, carrying over to 
 the island a hundred and eighty j)ersons, 
 twenty barrels of bread, and some small 
 casks of water. The master returned on 
 board towards the evening, and told the 
 captain that it was to no purpose to send 
 more provisions on shore, since the peo- 
 ple only wasted those they had already 
 taken. Upon this, the captain went in 
 the shallop to put things in better order, 
 and then found that there was no water 
 upon the island. He endeavoured to re- 
 turn to the ship, in order to bring otF a 
 supply, together with the most valuable 
 part of her cargo, but a storm suddenly 
 rising, he was forced to return. 
 
 Tlie next day was spent in removing 
 their water and most valuable goods on
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 31fr 
 
 shore; and afterwards, the captain in the 
 skiff, and the master in the shallop, en- 
 deavoured to return to the vessel again, 
 but they found the sea ran so high that it 
 was impossible to get on board. The 
 carpenter then threw himself out of the 
 ship, and swam to the boat, in order to 
 mform the captain to what hardships those 
 left in the vessel were exposed. They 
 sent him back with orders to make rafts 
 by tying the planks togetJier, and endea- 
 vour on these to reach the shallop and 
 skiff. Before this could be done the 
 weather became so rough that the captain 
 was obliged to return, leaving, with the 
 utmost grief, his lieutenant and seveufy 
 men on board the vessel. Those who 
 had been landed on the little island were 
 not in a much better condition; for upon 
 taking an account of the water they found 
 they had not above forty gallons for forty 
 people ; and on the larger island, where 
 there were a hundred and twenty souls, 
 their stock was still less. Those who 
 were on the smaller island now began to 
 murmur, and to complain of their officers, 
 because they did not go in search of 
 water to the islands that were in sight of 
 them. They represented the necessity 
 of this to captain Pelsart, who agreed to 
 their request, but insisted first on commu- 
 nicatmg his design to the rest of his peo- 
 ple. They all consented, but not till the 
 captain declared, that, without the com- 
 pany on the large island agreed, he would, 
 rather than leave them, go and perish on 
 board the ship. When they got pretty 
 near the shore the sailors told the captain 
 if he had any thing to say he must call 
 out to the people, for that they would not 
 suffer him to get out. The captain im- 
 mediately attempted to throw himself 
 overboard, in order to swim to the island. 
 Those who were in the boat prevented 
 him, and all that he could obtain of them 
 was to throw on shore his table-book, in 
 which he wrote a line or two, to inform 
 them that he was gone in the skiff to look 
 for water in the adjacent islands. 
 
 He accordingly coasted them all with 
 the greatest care, and found in most of 
 them considerable quantities of water in 
 holes in the rocks, but so mixed with that 
 of sea that it was unfit for use, and there- 
 fore they were obliged to go farther. The 
 first thing they did was to make a deck 
 for their boat, because they found it im- 
 practicable to navigate those seas in an 
 
 open vessel. Some more of the crew 
 joined by the time the work was finished, 
 and the captain having obtained a paper[ 
 signed by all his men, importing that it 
 was their desire that he should go in 
 search of water, he put to sea, having first 
 taken an observation of 28d. 13m. south. 
 They had not been long at sea before they 
 had sight of the continent, which appeared 
 to them to lie about sixteen miles north- 
 by-west from the place where they had 
 suffered shipwreck. They found about 
 twenty-five or thirty fathom water, and as 
 night drew on they kept out to sea, and 
 after midnight stood in for the land, that 
 they might be near the coast in the morn- 
 ing. On the 9th of June they found 
 themselves, as they reckoned, about three 
 miles from the shore, along which they 
 plied all day, sailing sometimes north, 
 sometimes west, the country appearing 
 low, naked, and the coast excessively 
 rocky. They thought it resembled the 
 country near Dover. At last thev saw a 
 little creek, into which they were" willing 
 to put, because it appeared to have a 
 sandy bottom, but when thev attempted 
 to enter it the sea ran so high that they 
 were forced to desist. 
 
 On the 1 0th they remained on the same 
 coast, endeavouring to land, as thev had 
 done the day before, but the weather 
 growing worse and worse, they were 
 obliged to abandon their shallop, and even 
 to throw a part of their bread overboard 
 because it hindered them from clearinc^ 
 themselves of the water, which their ves"! 
 sel made very fast. The night came on, 
 and It rained heavilv, which, tlion<^h it 
 gave them much trouble, afforded them 
 hopes that it would prove a great relief to 
 the people they had left behind them on 
 the islands. The wind began to abate on 
 the II th, and, as it blew from the west- 
 south-west, they continued their course 
 to the north, the sea running still so high 
 that it was impossible to approach the 
 shore. On the 1 2th they had an obser- 
 vation, by which thev found themselves 
 in the latitude of 27d. They sailed with a 
 south-east wind all that day along the 
 coast, which they found so steep thatlhere 
 was no landing, inasmuch as there was 
 no creek or low ground without the rocks 
 as IS commonly observed on sea coasts! 
 1 his gave them the more sorrow, because 
 within land the country appeared ex- 
 tremely fruitful and pleasant. They found
 
 32() 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 themselves on the 13th in the latitude of 
 25d. 40m., by which they discovered that 
 the current sat to the north. They were at 
 this time over against an opening of the 
 coast, lying to the north-east : they con- 
 tinued a north course, but found the coast 
 one continued rock of a red colour, all of 
 a height, against which the waves broke 
 with sucli fury that it was impossible for 
 them to land. 
 
 The wind blew very fresh in the morn- 
 ing of the 14th, but towards noon it fell 
 calm : they were then at the height of 24d., 
 with a light gale at east, but the tide car- 
 ried them further north than they desired, 
 because their design was to make their 
 descent as soon as possible. With this 
 view they sailed slowly along, till per- 
 ceiving a great smoke at a distance, they 
 rowed towards it as fast as they were able, 
 in hopes of finding men, and water of 
 course. However, wiien they came near 
 the shore, it was so steep and covered 
 with rocks, and the sea beat over them 
 with such fury, that it was impossible to 
 land. Six of the men, trusting to their 
 skill in swimming, threw themselves into 
 the sea, and resolved to get on shore at 
 any rate, which, with great difficulty and 
 danger, they at last effected, the boat re- 
 maining at anchor in twenty-five fathom 
 water. The men on shore spent the whole 
 day in looking for water ; and while they 
 were thus employed they saw four men, 
 who came up very near, but one of the 
 Dutch sailors advancing towards them, 
 they ran away as fast as they were able. 
 They were distinctly seen by those in the 
 boat. These people were black savages, 
 quite naked. The sailors finding no hopes 
 of water on all the coast, swam on board 
 again, being much hurt and wounded from 
 being beaten about by the waves upon the 
 rocks. As soon as they were on borird 
 they weighed anchor, and continued their 
 course along the shore, in hopes of find- 
 ing some better landing-place. 
 
 On the 15th, in the morning, they dis- 
 covered a cape, from the point of which 
 there ran a ridge of rocks. They ven- 
 tured between them, as the sea was pretty 
 calm, but finding there was no passage 
 they soon returned. About noon they 
 saw another opening, and the sea being 
 still smooth they entered it, though the 
 passage was very dangerous, inasmuch as 
 they had but two feet water, and the bot- 
 tom was full of stones, the coast appear- 
 
 ing a flat sand for about a mile. As soon 
 as they got on shore they fell to digging 
 in the sand, but the water that came into 
 their wells was so brackish that it could 
 not be drank, although they were on the 
 point of choking for thirst. At last, in 
 the hollows of the rocks, they met with 
 considerable quantities of rain water, 
 which was a great relief to them, since 
 they had been for some days at no better 
 allowance than a pint a piece. They fur- 
 nished themselves in the night with about 
 eighty gallons, perceiving, where they 
 landed, that the savages had been lately, 
 by a large heap of ashes, and the remains 
 of" some cray-fish. 
 
 On the 16th, in the morning, they re- 
 turned on shore, in hopes of getting more 
 water, but were disappointed ; and having 
 time to observe the country, it gave them 
 no great hopes of better success, even if 
 they had travelled farther inland. It ap- 
 peared a thirsty barren plain, covered 
 with ant-hills, so iiigh that they looked 
 afar off like the huts of negroes ; and at 
 the same time they were plagued with 
 flies, in such multitudes, that they were 
 scarce able to defend themselves from 
 their attacks. They saw at a distance 
 eight savages, with each a staff in his 
 hand, who advanced towards them within 
 musket-shot, but as soon as they perceived 
 these Dutch sailors, they fled as fast as 
 they were able. It was by this time about 
 noon, and finding no likelihood either of 
 getting water or entering into any cor- 
 respondence with the natives, they resol- 
 ved to go on board, and continue their 
 course towards the north, in hopes, as they 
 were already in the latitude of 22d. 17m., 
 they might be able to find the river of 
 Jacob Remmeseens : but the wind veer- 
 ing about to the north-east, they were not 
 able to continue longer on the coast. Re- 
 flecting they were now above one hun- 
 dred miles from the place where they 
 were shipwrecked, and had scarce as much 
 water as would serve them in their pas- 
 sage back, they Ciuiie to a settled resolu- 
 tion of making the best of their way to 
 Batavia, in order to acquaint the go- 
 vernor-general with their misfortune, and 
 to obtain such assistance as was necessary 
 to get their people off the coast. 
 
 (To be concluded m our next.)
 
 TERiLS EV Fl.OOr) AND FlF.T.l). 
 
 321 
 
 Page 322. 
 
 THE CASTLE OF STRAXKALLi^. 
 
 About the beginning of the sixteenth 
 century, the castle of Strankally was pos- 
 sessed by one of the Fitzgeralds of Decies 
 (a powerful subdivision of the Geraldine 
 race) ; a man dreaded for his power, hated 
 for his crimes, and by all who could avoid 
 him, shunned for his morose and tyranni- 
 cal habits. To use the words of the nar- 
 rator, •' his hand was red, his heart was 
 black, he was the divel intirehjy God save 
 us !" (crossing himself.) His life would 
 more than once have paid the forfeit of 
 his crimes but for the potent protection of 
 the Desmond, who valued him as a brave 
 soldier, having frequently derived great 
 advantage from his services in the wars 
 with the Butlers. 
 
 At length, the consequences of his ca- 
 reer began to assume a formidable aspect. 
 Although the Butlers drove booty from 
 his land, an insult too deep to remain un- 
 revenged, and the Le Poers hunted over 
 his grounds without his permission, none 
 of the Geraldines would assist him in ex- 
 acting satisfaction. Moreover, the neigh- 
 bouring abbot of the Holy Island having 
 
 VOL. I.— 41. 
 
 put him under ban, the sum lie was com- 
 pelled to pay for absolution was greater 
 than that priest had before been known to 
 exact from a man of the sword. Warned 
 by these symptoms of declining greatness, 
 he resolved to strengthen himself by new 
 alliances, and therefore proposed to unite 
 his son in marriage with the heiress of the 
 Roches (a powerful Irish family). Here 
 he met with an unexpected obstacle. His 
 son rejected the alliance with the most 
 determined obstinacy ; averring that he 
 would not disgrace his Norman descent by 
 a union with the degraded natives. The 
 father threatened violence, and confined 
 the young Geraldine to the castle. Pro- 
 jecting from the rock over the river, a tur- 
 ret had been built, so constructed that its 
 floor might fall in the manner of a trap- 
 door, which had often been the means of 
 unsuspected murder. Through this the 
 young man, having let himself down into 
 the river, soon escaped beyond his father's 
 reach. The fierce Fitzgerald, now com- 
 pletely at a loss, resolved, in order to de- 
 termine the course of his future proceed- 
 ings, to consult the attendant spirit of his 
 race. 
 
 2 T
 
 322 
 
 TALES OF CniVALRV ; OR, 
 
 The native Irish believed that the spi- 
 rits who watched over the fortunes of their 
 own chiefs, were niilii and beneficent 
 beings, sympathizing m every change of 
 their fortunes, and ever ready to oder their 
 aid upon the slightest summons ; but that 
 the spirits attendant on the chiefs of the ! 
 Saxon invaders, were dark and malignant 
 beings, the ghosts of victims treacherously 
 sacriliced, coining unbidden in the midst 
 of misfortune, and aggravating calamity 
 by insulting peals of fiendish laughter. 
 Spells of the most impious and fearful na- 
 ture could alone command the aid of the 
 latter. If the terror excited by their ap- 
 pearance caused the summoner for an in- 
 stant to forget the spell which they obeyed, 
 his death paid the forfeit of his rashness. 
 These fearful beings were only to be in- 
 voked in some spot which they had ca- 
 priciously selected. That chosen by the 
 Geraldine spirit was the valley of Glen- 
 dyne. 
 
 It was two hours before midnight when 
 a small boat left the castle of Strankally, 
 and proceeded down the river towards the 
 a!)bey in the island of Ballinatray ; signs 
 of terror were abroad : the dog howled 
 piteously in the court-} ard of the castle, 
 owls- hooted on the battlement, and the 
 wind that swept round the towers gave a 
 moaning mournful sound. The boat, con- 
 taining Fitzgerald and two stout kernes, 
 soon passed the Holy Island, and stopped 
 near the mouth of the Glendyne river. 
 The lord of Strankally sprung to the 
 shore, and entered alone the narrow val- 
 ley of Glendyne. Tlie place of the spirit's 
 presence was a natural basin, formed out 
 of the living rock, whicli a small cascade 
 keeps constantly full, and fn^m the sides 
 of which the water overllov.ing, collects 
 again below, and unites with the Glen- 
 dyne. The cliffs at this part of the valley 
 are of great height, and nearly perpen- 
 dicular. At mid-day even, they shed a 
 sombre gloom over the waters, but at the 
 dead hour of night, their effect is fearfully 
 awful. 
 
 The lord of Strankally having uttered 
 the words of the spell, the waters of the 
 cascade immediately began to dash with 
 tierce force into the basin, and the spray 
 ascended high in the air. Soon the mist 
 began to assume an indistinct form. Half 
 revealed by their own light, the linea- 
 ments of a l)eautiful woman l)ecame dimly 
 visible, while the fiendish peal of laughter 
 
 with which she saluted the lord of Stran- 
 kally, belied the loveliness of her form. 
 " \Vorst of a bad race, what wouldst 
 thou ?" was the inquiry with which Fitz- 
 gerald was saluted. *' To know the fate 
 of my son, and the fortunes of my race," 
 was the reply. The spirit, slowly ascend- 
 ing until it was more than a man's height 
 above the smooth surface of the water, 
 pointed to it with expressive gesture. The 
 surface of the water becoming smooth, 
 and the cascade ceasing to flow, there rose 
 on the level surface of the basin the por- 
 traiture of a castle. The lord of Stran- 
 kally recognized the residence of his mor- 
 tal foe, Butler, lord of Cahire. On one of 
 its turrets sat a youth and maiden; they 
 seemed to live only in each other's pre- 
 sence. Muttered threats declared that the 
 Geraldine knew that he was his own son, 
 while slie was the daughter of the Butler. 
 The vision changed to a beleaguered cas- 
 tle, which the Geraldine knew to be his 
 own Strankally. Its strongest hold was 
 already won by the beleaguering force. 
 A dark body fell from its projecting tower 
 into the water. It had the form of a man, 
 but the rapidity of the fall prevented his 
 features from being recognized. Again 
 the scene changed to the chapel of a mo- 
 nastery, where, extended on a litter, lay a 
 form, wasted to the extreme of attenua- 
 tion, in which sorrow, having anticipated 
 time, had engraved the appearance of old 
 age, though its features still retained some 
 traces of the proud Geraldine race. Be- 
 side the litter knelt several priests, per- 
 forming those ceremonies which the church 
 proposes for the consolation of the depart- 
 ing spirit. At the very moment the lord 
 of Strankally recognized his son, the 
 spirit disappeared with a fiendish and ter- 
 rible laugh ; the picture was effaced from 
 the waters ; and the cascade returned its 
 wonted play. 
 
 The dawn of the next day beheld a 
 select troop of Fitzgerald's most devoted 
 followers proceeding from the castle to- 
 wards the magnificent mountain gorge, 
 through which the road between Clog- 
 heen and Lismore now winds, and which 
 at that time formed the boundary of the 
 Geraldines and Butlers. To course the 
 red deer, then numerous on these moun- 
 tains, though now almost extinct, was a 
 favourite amusement of the Norman no- 
 bility who had obtained grants in Ireland. 
 As there was a truce between the Geral-
 
 FERII.S BY FLOOD AND FIELD 
 
 :j23 
 
 dines and the Butlei^s, the cliase was this i 
 day followed by tlie members of both 
 families, equally heedless of ihose precau- 
 tions which, under other circumstances, 
 would iiave been considered necessary. 
 During tliis hunting party, held near the 
 foot of these mountains, tlie lady Butler, 
 being accidentally separatetl from her 
 family, was seized by the vassals of the 
 Geraldine, and hurried through secret 
 mountain-paths to a hovel on the side of 
 a hill that overhangs tt)e Blackwater, 
 whence she was brought, under the cover 
 of the night, to the castle of Strankally, 
 and dragged, half-dead with terror and 
 fatigue, into the formidable presence of 
 its owner. He designed to marry the un- 
 fortunate girl to one of his own menials, 
 and thus, at the same moment, wound the 
 pride of his enemy, and prevent the mar- 
 riage of his own son. Agatha Butler, 
 hitherto a weak and timid girl, felt her 
 spirit rise at the approach of danger. The 
 pride of her noble race glowed within her 
 bosom as she spurned the base proposal, 
 and defied her oppressor to his teeth. He 
 ordered her to be confined in the tower 
 projecting over the river, and to be depri- 
 ved of all power of communicating with 
 Iter friends. Some assert, that the girl, 
 endeavouring to escape through a window, 
 fell into the river ; others aver that the 
 Geraldine, coming to her in the night, 
 was irritated at the r.^proaches with which 
 he was received, drew the fatal bolt in a 
 moment of uncontrollable emotion, and 
 precipitated the unfortunate young lady 
 into the stream. All agree that on the 
 night on which she was brought into the 
 tower, the wailings of spirits terrified the 
 warder on the battlement ; — that at a late 
 hour of the night he heard a piercing 
 scream, a slight rush, and a deep, heavy 
 splash, which died into a chilling echo. 
 
 Four days after this event, the body of 
 a female was found lying upon the beach, 
 near the abbey in the Holy Island, and re- 
 cognized by one of the monks for the lady 
 Butler's. Inquiries that were set on foot, 
 terminated in fixing the guilt of the mur- 
 der on the lord of Strankally. The Butlers 
 prepared to revenge this atrocious out- 
 rage, and the heads of all the neighbour- 
 ing septs offered their assistance, partly 
 from their hatred of Fitzgerald, an;l partly 
 from that chivalrous regard for female 
 honour, which even to this day peculiarly 
 distinguishes the southern Irish. The earl 
 
 of Desn^ond refused to interfere ; but the 
 allied chieftains soon formed the siege of 
 Strankally. The situation of the castle 
 seemed to set their efforts at defiance ; 
 two attacks were defeated with great 
 slaughter, and on the evening of the third 
 day, which found them deliberating on 
 the expediency of raising the siege, it was 
 announced that a stranger desired to be 
 admitted to their council. Permission 
 being granted, the warden introduced a 
 young man, clothed in plain but complete 
 armour, with his vizor dou n. He apolo- 
 gized for retaining his helmet, alleging 
 that he was bound by a vow (no unusual 
 circumstance at that time), and offered to 
 put them in possession of the castle, pro- 
 vided the life of its owner might be spared. 
 The confederates very unwillingly con- 
 sented to this stipulation, and prepared 
 for a night assault, under the direction of 
 the stranger. The night was peculiarly 
 favourable for the attempt; it was daik 
 and rainy, and the wind blowing in hol- 
 low gusts from the distant mountains, kept 
 up that mixture of uncertain sounds in 
 the confusion of which all other sounds are 
 merged. 
 
 A boat, containing the stranger and 
 eight stout followers, drifted down the 
 ri\er, until they came beneath that turret 
 of Strankally which projects over the 
 stream. A rope was suspended from the 
 trap-door, and by this dangerous ascent 
 the stranger first reached the tower, and 
 assisted by a person in the castle, with 
 whom he appeared to have acted in con- 
 cert, drew up the rest of iiis followers. In 
 the mean time, the confederates assaulted 
 the gate and castle wall ; not with any 
 hope of success, but to favour the attempt 
 of their detachment. When the stranger 
 and his followers had made good their en- 
 trance, they waited for a few moments, 
 until the shouts at the gate, and the l)us- 
 tle of the garrison, announced that their 
 friends were near, then rushed from the 
 chamber of the turret towanls the gate, 
 which they threw open, before the garri- 
 son were well aware of their presence j 
 and being joined by their friends from the 
 outside, soon established themselves in 
 the great hall and lower apiirtments of 
 the castle. There a fierce and uncertain 
 fight was maintained until the dawn; for 
 amid-t the darkness and confusion, they 
 feared lo get entangled in the staircase 
 and pass.iges. Morning had scarct-.lv ap- 
 2 T 2
 
 324 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 peared, when the battle was renewed. 
 The garrison, hopeless of pardon, fought 
 with all the fury inspired by despair ; and 
 every step made by the assailants was 
 dearly purchased. At length, they won 
 their way to the second story, where the 
 lord of Strankally gallantly maintained 
 his post; but being driven back, he en- 
 tered into the turret, whence there was a 
 narrow passage leading to a part of the 
 castle whither the assailants had not yet 
 penetrated ; the trap-door was still open, 
 and as the lord of Strankally rushed heed- 
 lessly on, he fell through, and was soon 
 overwhelmed in the waters beneath. 
 
 A few months after these events a stran- 
 ger sought an interview with the abbot of 
 the Holy Island, and was by him admitted 
 to take the vows, without passing through 
 his noviciate. He persevered in the prac- 
 tice of austerities too powerful for human 
 nature to support, and soon came to the 
 brink of dissolution. When the hour of 
 mortal agony drew near, he requested to 
 be borne into the chapel, and placed near 
 the tomb of the lady Butler. His request 
 was granted ; the monks were assembled 
 to pray for a departing soul ; and, for the 
 first time, recognised in their dying bro- 
 ther the last heir of the lords of Strankally. 
 
 WRECK OF THE BAT AVI A, 1628. 
 
 (Continued from 2^age 320.J 
 
 On the lUth they continued their course 
 to the north-east, with a good wind, and 
 fair weather ; the next tw o days it blew 
 hard, and they had much rain. On the 
 20th they found themselves in 19d. 22m. ; 
 on the 22nd they had another observation, 
 and found themselves at the height of I6d. 
 10m.,which surprised them very much, and 
 was a plain proof that the current carried 
 them northwards at a very great rate. On 
 the 27th it rained very hard, so that they 
 were not able to take an observation ; but 
 towards neon they saw, to their great sa- 
 tisfaction, the coasts of Java, in the latitude 
 of 8d., at the distance of about four or five 
 miles ; they altered their course to west- 
 north-west, and towards evening entered 
 the gulf of an island very full of trees, 
 where they anchored in eight fathoms 
 water, and passed the night. 
 
 On the 2Sth, in the morning, they 
 v^eighed, and rowed with all their force, 
 in order to make tb.e land, tiiat they might 
 search for water, being now again at the 
 
 point of perishing for thirst. Very hap- 
 pily for them, they were no sooner on 
 shore, than they discovered a fine rivulet, 
 at a small distance, where having com- 
 fortably quenched their thirst, and filled 
 all their casks with water, they about noon 
 continued their course for Batavia. 
 
 On the 29th, about midnight, in the 
 second watch, they discovered an island, 
 which they left on their starboard. About 
 noon they found themselves at the height of 
 6d. 48m. ; and about three o'clock passed 
 between two islands, the westernmost of 
 which appeared full of cocoa-trees. In the 
 the evening they were about a mile from 
 the south point of Java ; and in the second 
 watch exactly between Java and the Isle 
 of Princes. 
 
 On the 30th, in the morning, they found 
 themselves on the coast of the last-men- 
 tioned island, not being able to make above 
 two miles that day. On the 1st of July, 
 the weather was calm ; and about noon 
 they were three leagues from Dwers-in- 
 denwegh, i. e., Thw art-the-way Island ; 
 but towards the evening they had a pretty 
 brisk wind at north-west, which enabled 
 them to gain that coast. On the 2nd, in 
 the morning, they were right against the 
 Island of Topers-hoetien, and were obli- 
 ged to lay at anchor till eleven o'clock, 
 waiting for the sea-breeze, which, how- 
 ever, blew so faintly, that they were not 
 able to make above two miles all day. 
 About sunset they perceived a vessel be- 
 tween them and Thwart-lhe-way Island ; 
 upon which they resolved to anchor as 
 near the shore as they could that night, 
 and there wait the arrival of the ship. In 
 the morning they went on board her, in 
 hopes of procuring arms for their defence, 
 in case the inhabitants of Java were at 
 war with the Dutch. They found two 
 other ships in company, on board of one 
 of which was Mr. Rambury, counsellor of 
 the Indies. Captain Pelsart went imme- 
 diately on board his ship, when he ac- 
 quainted him with the nature of his mis- 
 fortune, and went with him afterwards to 
 Batavia. 
 
 The captain having gone to solicit suc- 
 cour from the governor-general, in order 
 to return to the crew, who were left upon 
 the islands, it is necessary to return to 
 them. There, transactions, such as, in 
 their condition, were little creditable, liad 
 taken place. It is necessary to premise, 
 that captain Pelsart had for supercargo
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 325 
 
 one Jerom Cornelis, who had been for- 
 merly an apothecary at Harlem. This 
 man, when they were on the coast of 
 Africa, had plotted with the pilot and 
 some others to run away with tlie vessel, 
 and either to carry her into Dunkirk, or 
 to turn pirates in her on their own account. 
 This supercargo had remained ten days on 
 board the wreck, not being able all that 
 time to get on shore. Two days he spent 
 on the mainmast, floating to and fro, till 
 at last, by the help of one of the yards, he 
 got to the land. When he was once on 
 shore, the command, in the absence of 
 captain Pelsart, devolved of course upon 
 him. His former intentions immediately 
 revived in his mind, insomuch, that he 
 resolved to lay hold of the opportunity to 
 make himself master of all that could be 
 saved out of the wreck, conceiving that 
 it would be easy to surprise the captain 
 on iiis return, and determining to turn 
 pirate in the captain's little vessel. In 
 order to carry this design into execution, 
 he thought it necessary to be rid of such 
 of the crew as were not likely to come 
 into their scheme ; but before he proceeded 
 to dip his hands in blood, he obliged all 
 the conspirators to sign an intsrument, by 
 which they engaged to stand by each 
 other. 
 
 The whole ship's company were on 
 shore in the three islands, the greater part 
 of them in that where Cornelis was, 
 which island, from their melancholy state, 
 they had named, singularly enough, the 
 *'Burying-place of Batavia." An indi- 
 vidual, named Weyhhuys, was sent with 
 a party into an adjacent island to look for 
 water, which, after twenty days' search, 
 he found, and made the appointed signal, 
 by lighting three fires, which, however, 
 were not seen, or not taken any notice of 
 by those under the command of Cornelis, 
 because they were busy in butchering, 
 their companions, of whom they had mur- 
 dered between thirty and forty. Some 
 few, however, got oft" upon a raft of planks 
 tied together, and went to the island 
 where Weyhhuys was, in order to ac- 
 quaint him with the dreadful scene that 
 had happened. Mr. Weyhhuys having 
 with him forty-five men, they resolved to 
 stand upon their guard, and to defend 
 themselves to the last man, in case they 
 should be attacked. This, indeed, was 
 the design of the supercargo, for he was 
 apprehensive both of this party and of 
 
 those who were on the third island giving 
 notice to the captain on his return, and 
 preventing their intention of running 
 away with the vessel when it came back. 
 As the third company was by much the 
 weakest, tiiey began with them first, and 
 cut them all ofl^, except five women and 
 seven children, not in the least doubting 
 that they should be able to do as much bv 
 Weyhhuys and his company. In the 
 mean time, having broken open the mer- 
 chants' chests which had been saved from 
 the wreck, they converted the contents to 
 their own use. 
 
 Jerom Cornelis was so elevated with 
 their success, that he immediately began 
 to fancy all difficulties were over, and 
 gave a loose to his vicious inclinations. 
 He ordered clothes to be made of rich 
 stuff" that had been saved for himself and 
 his troop ; and, having chosen out of them 
 a company of guards, he ordered them to 
 have scarlet coats, with a double lace of 
 gold or silver. There were two minis- 
 ter's daughters among the women, one of 
 whom he took for his own mistress, and 
 gave the second to a favourite of his, 
 whom he made lieutenant, and ordered 
 that the other three women should be 
 common to the whole troop. He after- 
 wards drew up a setof regulations, which 
 were to be the laws of his new principality, 
 taking to himself the style and title of 
 captain-general, and obliging iiis party to 
 sign an act or instrument, by which they 
 acknowledged him for such. These points 
 settled, he resolved to carry on the war. 
 He first of all embarked on board two 
 shallops, twenty-two men, well armed, 
 with orders to destroy Mr. Weyhhuys and 
 his company, and, on their miscarrying, 
 he undertook a like expedition with thirty- 
 seven men j in which, however, he had 
 no better success, for Mr. U'eyhhuys, with 
 his people, though armed only with staves, 
 with nails drove into their heads, advanced 
 even into the water to meet them, and, 
 after a brisk engagement, compelled these 
 murderers to retire. 
 
 Cornelis then thought fit to enter into 
 a negociation, which was managed by the 
 chaplain, who remained with Mr. Weyh- 
 huys ; and after several comings and go- 
 ings from one party to the other, a treaty 
 was concluded upon the following terms : 
 namely, that Mr. Weyhhuys and his com- 
 pany should for the future remain undis- 
 turbed, provided they delivered up a little
 
 326 
 
 TALES OF chivalry; OR, 
 
 boat, in which one of the sailors had made 
 his escape from the island, in which Cor- 
 nells was with his gang to where Weyh- 
 huys was with his company. It was also 
 agreed that the latter should have a part 
 of the stuffs and silks given them for 
 clothes, of wliich they stood in great want. 
 But while this affair was in agitation, Cor- 
 nelis took the opportunity of the corre- 
 spondence between them'being restored, 
 to write letters to some French soldiers 
 that were in Weyhlmys' company, promis- 
 ing them six thousand livres a piece if 
 they would comply with his demands, not 
 doubting but by this artifice he should be 
 able to accomplish his end. 
 
 His letters, however, had no effect ; on 
 the contrary, the soldiers to whom they 
 were directed carried them iunnediately 
 to Mr. Weyhhuys. Cornelis, not know- 
 ing tfiat this piece of treachery was dis- 
 covered, went over the next morning, 
 with three or four of his people, to carry 
 to Mr. Weyhhuys the clothes that jiad 
 been promised him. As soon as they 
 landed, Weyhhuys attacked them, killed 
 two or three, and made Cornelis himself 
 prisoner. One Wonterloss, who was the 
 only man that made his escape, went im- 
 mediately back to the conspirators, put 
 himself at their head, and came the next 
 day to attack Weyhhuys, but met with 
 the same ill success as before, that is to 
 say, he and the villains that were with 
 him were beaten off*. 
 
 Things were in this situation when cap- 
 tain Pelsart arrived intheSaardam frigate. 
 He sailed up to the wreck, and saw, with 
 great joy, a cloud of smoke ascending 
 from one' of the islands, by which he knew 
 that all his people were not dead. He came 
 immediately to an anchor, and, having 
 ordered some wine and provisions to be 
 put into the skiff", resolved to go in person 
 with these refreshments to one of the 
 islands. He had hardly quitted the ship 
 before he was boarded by a boat from the 
 island to which he was going. There were 
 
 lops appeared, upon which the captain 
 rowed as fast as he could, and was hardly 
 on board before he arrived at the ship's 
 side. The captain was surprised to see 
 men in red coats, laced with gold and 
 silver, with arms in tlieir hands. He de- 
 manded what they meant by coming on 
 board armed. They told him he should 
 know when they were on board the ship. 
 The captain replied, that tiiey should come 
 on board, but that they must first throw 
 their arms into the sea, which if they did 
 not do immediately he would sink them 
 as they lay. As they saw that disputes 
 were to no purpose, and that they were 
 entirely in the captain's power, they were 
 obliged to obey. They accordingly threw 
 their arms overboard, and were then taken 
 into the vessel, where they were instantly 
 put into irons. One of them, whose name 
 was John Bremen, and who was first ex- 
 amined, owned that he had murdered 
 with his own hands, or had assisted in 
 murdering, no less than twenty-seven per- 
 sons. The same evening Weyhhuys 
 brought his prisoner Cornelis on boar(], 
 where he was put in irons, and strictly 
 guarded. 
 
 On the 18th of September, captain Pel- 
 sart, with the master, sailed to take tiie 
 rest of the conspirators in Cornelis's 
 island. They went in two boats. The vil- 
 lains, as soon as they saw them land, lost 
 all their courage, and fled from tliem. 
 They surrendered without a blow, and 
 were instantly put in irons. The cap- 
 tain's first care was to recover the jewels 
 which Cornelis had dispensed among his 
 accomplices. They were all of them soon 
 found, except a gold chain and a diamond 
 ring ; the latter was foimd at last, but the 
 former could not be recovered. They 
 went next to examine the wreck, which 
 they found staved into an hundred pieces ; 
 the keel lay upon a bank of sand, on one 
 side ; the forepart of the vessel stuck fast 
 on a rock, and the rest of her here and 
 there, as tlie pieces had been driven by 
 
 four men in the boat, of wiiom Weyhhuys^'the waves, so that captain Pelsart had 
 
 very little hopes of saving any of the 
 merchandise. One of the people belong- 
 ing to Weyhhuys's company told him that 
 one fair day, wiiich was the only one they 
 had in a month, as he w-as fishing near 
 the wreck, he had struck the pole in his 
 hand against one of the chests of silver, 
 which revived the captain a little, as it 
 gave him reason to expect that SDmeihing 
 
 was one, wiio immediately ran to the cap- 
 tain, told him what had happened, and 
 begged him to return to his ship immedi- 
 ately, for Uiat the conspirators intended to 
 surprise her ; that they had already mur- 
 dered one hundred and twenty five per- 
 sons, and that they had attacked him that 
 very morning with two shallojjs. 
 
 While they were talking the two shal-
 
 PERILS BV FLOOD AND FIELD, 
 
 327 
 
 might still be saved. They spent all the 
 lUth in examining the rest of tl,e prison, 
 ers, and in confronting them with those 
 tljat escaped from the massacre. 
 
 On the 20th they sent several kinds of 
 refreshmenlsto Weyhhuys's company, and 
 cai ried a good quantity of water from the 
 isle. There was something very singular 
 in their finding this water ; the people 
 who were on shore there iiad subsisted 
 fur nearly three weeks on rain water, and 
 on what lodged in the clefts of the rocks, 
 uiiht'Ut thinking that the water of two 
 wells which weie on the island could be 
 of any use, because they saw them con- 
 stantly ri>e and fall with the tide, from 
 whence they fancied they had a commu- 
 nication with the sea, and consequently 
 that the water must be brackish ; but 
 upon trial they found it to be very good, 
 and so did the ship's company, who filled 
 their casks with it. 
 
 On the 2l>t the tide was so low, and 
 an east-soudi-east wind blew so hard, that 
 during the wliole day the boat could not 
 get out. On the 22nd they attempted to 
 tish up the wreck, but the weather was so 
 bad that even those who could swim very 
 v,e\[ durst not approach it. On the 25th 
 the master and pilot, the weather being 
 fair, went oft" again to the wreck ; and 
 those who were left on shore, observing 
 that they wanted hands to get any thing 
 out of her, sent ofT some to assist them. 
 The captain went also himself, to encou- 
 rage the men, who soon weighed one 
 cljest of silver, and some time after ano- 
 ther. As soon as these were safe ashore 
 they returned to their work. The weather 
 now grew so bad, they were quickly obli- 
 ged to desist, though some of their divers 
 from Guzarat, whom they had brought 
 from Batavia for the purpose, assured 
 them that they had found six more, which 
 might easily be weighed. 
 
 On the 26th, in the afternoon, the 
 weather being fair and the tide low, the 
 master returned to the place where the 
 chests lay, and weighed three of them, 
 leaving an anchor, with a gun tied to it, 
 and a buoy to mark the place where the 
 fourth was ; which, notwithstanding their 
 utmost efforts, they were not able to re- 
 cover. 
 
 On the 27th, the south wind blew very 
 cold, and the next day the same wind 
 blew stronger. As there was no possi- 
 bility of fishing on the wreck for the pre- 
 
 sent, cnptain Pelsart called a council to 
 consider what they should do with their 
 prisoners, that is to say, whether it would 
 be best to try them on the spot, or carry 
 them to Batavia, in order to their beino- 
 tried by the company's officers. After 
 mature deliberation, reflecting on the 
 number of the prisoners, and the tempta- 
 tion that might arise from the quantity 
 of silver on board the frigate, they came 
 to a resolution to try and execute them 
 there, which was accordingly done. The 
 survivors from the ship then embarked 
 immediately afterwards for Batavia. 
 
 THE STORY OF WELZHEIM, THE CHARCOAL 
 BURNER. 
 
 In the time of the emperor Frederick, 
 surnamed Red Beard, there dwelt on a 
 lonely heath in the Harz district, a soli- 
 tary being, who earned a scanty subsist- 
 ence in charring wood f(-r the smelters. 
 This, however, it was weil known, occu- 
 pied but a small portion of his time ; how 
 the rest was spent ur.s a matter of uncer- 
 tainty. Some say it was devoted to the 
 study of alchemy, and swear to have 
 found him seeking the philosopher's stone. 
 Some having seen him wandering at a 
 late hour round his miserable hut, with 
 his face upturned to the starry firmament, 
 set him down for an astrologer: while 
 others proclaimed him a necromancer, and 
 protest having seen him in confabulation 
 with the devil. Be this, however, as it 
 may, certain it is that he possessed some 
 familiar or other. 1^1 ow it befel on one 
 black gusty starless night, that the solitary 
 charcoal burner was aroused from a deep 
 reverie over his scanty fire by a loud 
 knocking on the door of his hut. He suf- 
 fered the alarm, however, to be repeated 
 again and again ere he arose, so pro- 
 foundly was he buried in thought. At 
 length he bestirred himself, unbarred and 
 threw open the door, and a tall mantled 
 figure entered the dwelling. 
 
 " Why did you keep me so long wait- 
 ing ?" was his immediate address to the 
 charcoal burner. 
 
 " And why, sir stranger, let me ask, 
 disturbed ye the solitude of a wretch like 
 me ?" 
 
 " Hush !" said the stranger, *'' be wretch- 
 ed no longer ; here is the boon I promised 
 thee ;" — and he forthwith drew from be- 
 neath his mantle a small silver lamp. 
 
 *'Ha! Rhe ," exclaimed Welzheim,
 
 32S 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY; OR, 
 
 who now recognised his companion ; he 
 was interrupted, however, from proceed- 
 ing, by the latter, who thus continued — 
 ** this magic beacon will Hght thee to tlie 
 deepest recesses of the forest, where shall 
 be revealed to thee the mighty treasures 
 of the earth ; the palace of the gnome will 
 appear to thee — enter boldly and fearlessly 
 — and while the spirit sleeps, grasp thou 
 his magic sceptre, and thou art lord of all 
 the earth contains. Away — yet mark me 
 — while thou retainest that mystic lamp, 
 no harm can approach thee ; suffer it to 
 pass from thee, and be assured tiiy life 
 passes with it — follow thy fortunes then — 
 away !" 
 
 Obedient to the injunction, Welzheim 
 instantly set forth, and found himself 
 shortly threading the intricate labyrinths 
 of the' Harz Forest, under the sole guid- 
 ance of the mysterious lamp. More tiian 
 once he was fain to halt in his progress, 
 and listen to the strange hubbub of voices, 
 minglinof with the loud yelling of hounds, 
 the winding of horns, and the neighing 
 and trampling of steeds, that ever and 
 anon came ringing in his ear, and which 
 dying gradually away in the extreme dis- 
 tance, would presently give place to the 
 wild melody of the bugle. At one time 
 the words of the Jager chorus, 
 
 " Over heath and over hollows !" 
 chaunted apparently by a thousand un- 
 earthly voices, were rendered fearfully dis- 
 tinct, and they had scarce ceased when a 
 dazzling blaze of light shooting athwart 
 the profound gloom of heaven, revealed 
 some object darting with almost equal 
 rapidity amid the trees and copses of Uie 
 sable wood — 'twas the skeleton Wildgrave. 
 
 Welzheim still went boldly on, and 
 presently the stupendous Blockberg rose 
 dark and vast upon his view, and as he 
 drew nearer towards it, a ponderous por- 
 tal, to his utter astonishment, presented 
 itself; he was most familiar with the spot, 
 bat never had he beheld that massive en- 
 trance before. — The radiance, however, 
 streamed through it, and lie entered ; — 
 all was profound gloom till he had reached 
 the further end, and then it was that a 
 scene of dazzling magnificence smote 
 upon his view. Here a torrent of molted 
 gold was seen flashing over a huge rock 
 of blazing sapphire into a seemingly un- 
 fathomable gulf; here the topaz, the opal, 
 the ruby, and the diamond, sent forth 
 their blaze of splendour, while streams of 
 
 boiling lavas and alkaline waters, catch- 
 ing and reflecting their myriad hues, 
 poured in almost every direction ; mil- 
 lions and millions of tiny globules gUttered 
 in the dewy atmosphere, and all around, 
 far as the eye could reach, rocks of pre- 
 cious stones and ores stretched tliemselves 
 away, till distance rendered them indis- 
 tinct. 
 
 A most insignificant thing amid that 
 scene of mighty vastness, Welzheim pass- 
 ed on uninterrupted, and scarce noticed 
 by the tribes of gnomes that were there 
 busied in their task of gold washing, and 
 extracting the minerals and ores from 
 their strata, until a ponderous portal of 
 rugged gold opened on his view. He 
 entered, and the blaze of splendour which 
 immediately presented itself was so over- 
 powering, that he had well-nigh fallen to 
 the ground. So soon, however, as he 
 could gaze around him, he found himself 
 in a vast hall, the gigantic architecture of 
 which terrified and amazed him ; huge 
 pillars composed alternately of crystal, 
 sapphire, jasper, and lapis lazuli, support- 
 ing a lofty gallery, extended down either 
 side of the stupendous hall, till the eye 
 could no longer follow them. Welzheim 
 passed on, and having reached the further 
 end, his eyes fell upon a beautiful silver 
 diadem and sceptre, which reposed to- 
 gether on a gorgeous crystal tablet ; he 
 instantly ascended the high flight of mar- 
 ble steps which led to them, grasped un- 
 hesitatingly the magic sceptre, and encir- 
 cled his brows with the silver diadem ; 
 immediately it changed to flame, and 
 seared his temples through to the bone ; 
 in the agony which it occasioned, both 
 lamp and sceptre fell from his grasp, a 
 burst of unearthly laughter was heard, and 
 a shivering groan announced the fate of 
 the presumptuous charcoal burner. 
 
 Tiie morning at length dawned ; and 
 in searching through the forest, the body 
 of Von Schloppenhausen, horribly muti- 
 lated, was discovered ; whether a similar 
 fate to that of Welzheim had befallen 
 him, we are unable to say ; but certain it 
 is, that the palm of his right hand was 
 bmnt through to the bone, and his face 
 and body was rent and torn as if he liad 
 been beset by a legion of wild cats. 
 
 Pride is as true a beggar, very often, 
 as poverty can be, but a good deal more 
 saucv.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 329 
 
 
 Pase 332. 
 
 THE 'S'EIL AND THE DIADEM. 
 A STORY OF ALSACE. 
 
 No ! thou proud dream, 
 That play'st so subtilly with a king's repose, 
 I am a king that find thee, and 1 know 
 'Tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball. 
 The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, 
 The iatertissued robe of j^old and pearl, 
 The farced title running 'fore the king. 
 The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp 
 That beats upon the high shore of this world, — 
 No ! not all these (thrice gorgeous ceremony)— 
 Not all these, laid in bed majestical, 
 Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave ! 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 On the extinction of tlie Carlo\ ingian 
 dynasty, Germany was for some time in 
 the most deplorable state of anarchy. Tlie 
 whole country was distributed into inde- 
 pendent sovereignties and factions, and, 
 on every opportunity of aggression, such 
 as the death of a prince or baron, the in- 
 vasion of his territory by another poten- 
 tate, the internial organisation of his 
 dominions, or (above all) the vacancy of 
 the imperial throne, the Germanic Mag- 
 nates were always ready to afford a 
 practical illustration of Rob Roy's good 
 old rule — 
 
 That they should take who have the power, 
 And they should keep who can. 
 
 VOL. I. — 42. 
 
 It was near the close of tlie thirteenth 
 century, that the emperor Adolf of Nassau 
 was engaged in a war with Philip the 
 Fair of France ; it having been long the 
 policy of that crafty and cruel monarch to 
 foment dissensions in the empire, with a 
 view to his individual aggrandisement. 
 
 Adolf had entered Alsace at the head 
 of a division of his troops, for the purpose 
 of attacking the bishop of Strasburgh, who 
 arlhered to the French interests. It hap- 
 pened that he was severely wounded in a 
 skirmish near the village of Schwarzach, 
 distinguished, even to the present day, by 
 the magnificent edifice of its ancient Be- 
 nedictine Abbey. Found by some of the 
 sisterhood on the field, he was carried in- 
 sensible into the convent, where the com- 
 passionate nuns left no means untried for 
 his recovery. I'he manly beauty of his 
 person, and the mild and melodious tones 
 of his voice, when he became able to thank 
 his kind leeches for their care, quite won 
 the hearts of the simple nuns. None of 
 them, however, for a moment, imagined 
 the illustrious rank of the handsome pa- 
 tient ; and many a wliite hand, that now 
 so skilfully removed and replaced the 
 2 u
 
 330 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 dressings from his wounded bosom, would 
 have trembled at the thought that it was 
 the emperor it was seeking to heal ; — 
 many a gentle eye, tliat mingled pity for 
 the ghastly wound with admiration of the 
 white skin that it disfigured, would have 
 been downcast in submissive awe; — many 
 a hooded cheek, that lost its conventual 
 paleness in the blush which the wounded 
 monarch's ardejnt gratitude awakened, 
 would have grown thrice pale, to have 
 known that the sovereign of the holy 
 Roman empire — the Germanic Ciiesar 
 himself — was receiving his life again from 
 a lowly Benedictine sisterhood. Mean- 
 while, Adolf himself w^as in a very perplex- 
 ing situation : his wound, though at first 
 highly alarming, had yielded to the phar- 
 macy of the amiable Benedictines ; but, 
 among those Benedictines there was one, 
 who, from the moment the emperor had 
 begun to recover his senses, had gone far 
 towards depriving him of them again, and 
 who, w})ile closing the gash in his 
 anointed body, had effected a monstrous 
 breach in his heart. Amidst the many fair 
 faces that gleamed, like stars, successively, 
 or in constellations, through the curtains 
 of his sick couch, there was one the Diana 
 of the rest. Such a majestic stature I — 
 such an imperial gait! — eyes, whose lustre 
 lightened along her clear olive cheek, 
 like watch-fires to the shipwrecked, and 
 full coral lips that seemed loath to leave 
 offkissingeachother, even when the voice, 
 a note of music, gushed through them, re- 
 dolent of kindness and encouragement. 
 Sister Imagine was of a noble family, 
 whose chateau elevates its white towers 
 over the wildly- forested mountains of the 
 Vosges, — a great chain extending nearly 
 parallel to the course of the Rhine, from 
 Bale to Spires. She had been a professed 
 nun about tvro years ; and though 
 Warm with youth, she bade the world farewell. 
 She had never yet experienced the pas- 
 sion of love. Now, we would appeal to 
 any man who happens to be about his 
 imperial majesty's age and our own — 
 namely, thirty, who finds himself gradu- 
 ally emerging from the cavern of death, 
 in which he had reason to suppose him- 
 self shut up for ever, and who, with re- 
 viving consciousness and strength, per- 
 ceives that he is led thence by an escort 
 of fair gentle girls, and, amongst them, a 
 sloled queen, as pre-eminent in her 
 beauty as she is distinguished by her un- 
 
 wearied watch over his recovery, — what 
 could the emperor do ? What he did, tra- 
 dition hath ascertained : — he had been 
 nearly a month confined to his monastic 
 sick room, and, his wound rapidly heal- 
 ing, the return of health brought with it 
 its usual concomitants ; the lusty blood 
 bounded merrily from the heart to the 
 w rist ; and, when the taper fingers of 
 Imagine pressed that broad wrist to as- 
 certain the patient's pulse, it could not 
 stop the tide from tingling to the very ends 
 of a large white hand, that suddenly closed 
 upon the little ivory palm, and as sud- 
 denly transported it to a pair of mous- 
 tached lips, stopping thereby a murmured 
 jargon of admiration and delight. No.v, 
 sister Imagine was certainly astounded 
 at this proceeding par vote de fait ; but 
 it seemed such a very natural ebullition 
 of gratitude, that she knew not how ex- 
 actly to reprove him, so she e'en said 
 nothing ; but, doubtless, the kindling of 
 her large black eye, and the flushing of 
 her majestic brow, answered the same 
 purpose that the levin flash of artillery 
 and the unfurled balzon of the banner 
 does on an assaulted fortress, shewing 
 that it is prepared to defend and repulse. 
 When, however, a few days afterwards, 
 those imperial moustaches, grown saucy 
 with success, dared to invade the very lips 
 that had breathed a vestal's vow, Imagine, 
 though no prude, thought it high time to 
 keep her distance ; she neither exclaimed 
 nor scolded ; but, giving him a glance 
 that might have melted every jewel in the 
 Caesarean diadem, she quietly but state- 
 lily marched out of the room. Adolf was 
 in despair ; his own imperial soul recog- 
 nised the glow of kindred majesty in that 
 offended eye, and he felt as if he had in- 
 sulted the sanctity of an archangel. Oh ! 
 how impatiently did he endure the pre- 
 sence of the other nuns, as they came in 
 turn to take their watch in his chamber. 
 How ardently did he expect the reappear- 
 ance of Imagine, that he might express 
 the lowliest contrition for his offence, and 
 atone for it by the most delicate and re- 
 spectful conduct. The hour had long past, 
 and three nuns had successively taken 
 their place as his nurses, ere Adolf trusted 
 his lips with the question, " why sister 
 Imagine came not?" It was the out-cast 
 idolater seeking after the desecrated shrine 
 of his deity ! " Sister Imagine was indis- 
 pospil !"
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 331 
 
 The reply brought the heart of Adolf to 
 his throat; his lips became parched, Lis 
 tongue clave to the roof of his mouth ; if 
 it had been to save his life he could not 
 have uttered another word. His thoughts, 
 however, forthwith commenced a stormy 
 parley, the result of which was a deter- 
 mination to reveal, at the first opportunity, 
 his actual rank to Imagine, which he 
 fondly trusted would diminish the hein- 
 ousness of the hberty he had taken, even 
 if it did not tempt her to listen to his love. 
 He was spared the trouble. 
 
 Three days had now passed without his 
 seeing anything of his idolized nun. The 
 young emperor's disposition seemed ut- 
 terly changed ; he became absent, moody, 
 and even stern to his kind Benedictine 
 nurses. He could hardly bring himself 
 to speak a civil word to them ; in short, 
 there was no bearing his ill-temper ; and 
 the sisterhood had already resolved on 
 hinting to him the propriety of liis chang- 
 ing his quarters with his manners, when 
 an unexpected incident anticipated their 
 purpose, and filled the noble Abbey of 
 Scliwarzach with astonishment and dis- 
 may. 
 
 On the third night after Imagine's dis- 
 appearance from his chamber, Adolf was 
 tossing on his bed, a mental malady hav- 
 ing succeeded to the bodily anguish which 
 the Benedictines had so skilfully healed. 
 It was about ten o'clock ; the nightly 
 watches in the emperor's chamber had 
 been discontinued, on the score of his 
 amended health, and he was left with no 
 other company, save the gorgeous dames 
 and barons bold impictuied on the tapes- 
 try liangings, and which glared in the 
 lamp light till they produced a disgust, 
 which would have little gratified the ori- 
 ginal embroiderer of that parti-coloured 
 web. His eye, wakeful and weariful, 
 was counting the innumerable little fanns 
 which the embroiderer had crowded into 
 the arras on every sharp spire and round 
 turret of a pillared building, full of doors 
 and windows, which the worsted legend 
 declared to be " Der Ehrensthurm," or 
 the Tower of Honour, wiien suddenly he 
 heard his chamber door softly open, and 
 (sight of rapture:) the well-known ma- 
 jestv of Imagine's figure, carrying a 
 lighted cresset, but covered from liead to 
 foot wiih the black veil of her order, dis- 
 closed itself to the eyes of the delighted 
 emperor. 
 
 Adolf had not thrown off his clothes, 
 but, without thinking of repose, had flung 
 himself on the settee, from which at tius 
 unexpected vision, he sprang with rap- 
 ture. 
 
 " Fair and noble lady J" he exclaimed, 
 throwing himself on his knees before Ima- 
 gine, " I am now a bankrupt indeed j 
 since, how can my gratitude repay that 
 vigilant kindness wliich has not suffered 
 itself to be repulsed even by presumption 
 and rudeness." 
 
 "Most dread sir!" the nun began. 
 Adolf started from his kneeling posture. 
 
 *' You know me, then ?" he exclaimed, 
 and, as he spoke, a beautiful wolf hound, 
 snowy white, and of immense size, leaped 
 into the apartment, and leaping upon the 
 emperor, testified his delight by the most 
 extravagant caresses; but still with that 
 extraordinary exertion of instinct which 
 one sees in those animals, his caresses 
 were accompanied by low whimpers, as if 
 he felt the necessity of repressing the bark 
 of transport. 
 
 "Ha, Wolfric! hsiSt thou discovered 
 thy master? Nay, then, concealment 
 were hopeless ; — down, my poor knave, 
 and on thy life be silent." 
 
 *' INIy hege, the most precious life in 
 Germany depends upon his silence. The 
 imperial eagle," continued the nun, point- 
 ing to the hound's silver collar, embossed 
 with the cognizance of the German 
 Caesars, "has, a second time, found the 
 recreant, and betrayed its liege lord. Tlie 
 dog, thus decorated, has for two days been 
 inseparable from the great abbey gate; 
 he has been identified with your majesty, 
 from these circumstances, by those whom 
 (if his handmaiden may speak) the im- 
 prudence of Adolf hath made hostile to 
 the Emperor /" 
 
 " Ha ! then those tiresome women, to 
 whom I suppose I spoke not sufficiently 
 in the strain of a wounded cavalier to 
 
 tickle their saintly vanity " 
 
 " Nay, lord emperor, scoff not at 
 those, but for whom thou mightest have 
 perished." 
 
 " And nay, my lady nun, or rather my 
 tutelary angel ! chide not at him, whom 
 thy charms made discourteous !" 
 
 " At least, sire, you sliould have veiled 
 your feelings." 
 
 " Lady, I was looking for the violet ; 
 what marvel that I chafed at seeing no- 
 thing but primroses /"
 
 332 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY j OR, 
 
 " Oh ! break we off this idle talk ; the 
 moments are diamonds that we are wast- 
 ing. My liege, you are in the most im- 
 minent danger !" 
 
 ♦* Danger hath done its worst," inter- 
 rupted the impassioned monarch. " I was 
 defenceless when the danger came ; Ima- 
 gine, my bosom was bleeding and bare, 
 yet the danger spared me not ! it glided 
 into my veins, and it has stormed the 
 citadel of my heart ! But, oh ! Imagine, it 
 wore no veil till its conquest was com- 
 plete !" 
 
 " Oh, hear me, gracious sire ! the ab- 
 bess hath dispatched missives to thebishop 
 of Strasburgh, apprising him of her sus- 
 picions that his deadly enemy is a wounded 
 inmate of her abbey." 
 
 " And the generous, the devoted Ima- 
 gine, comes to tell her Adolf to fly like a 
 felon to save his life — that life which was 
 never dear till he saw her .'" The young 
 monarch's cheek was flushed, his tones 
 inexpressibly mournful and tender, and 
 his majestic eyelight beamed with irresist- 
 ible softness as he spoke. 
 
 *' I come," hesitated Imagine, "I come, 
 my liege — I— I," and here she stopped, 
 and Adolf felt her hand tremble violently 
 in his. The emperor saw his triumph and 
 pursued it. 
 
 " Beautiful lady ! counsel me not to 
 fly ! it is in vain ! let them take my life, 
 let them usurp my crown ! I will fight for 
 tiiem no longer, — unless," he added, in a 
 low faltering tone, *' unless my lovely 
 Benedictine add a jewel to them worth 
 fighting for." 
 
 Imagine remained silent a moment, 
 and then faintly uttered, **Oh, emperor! 
 what have you said ?" 
 
 "Imagine! what I will never recall! 
 Do you liate me. Imagine ?" 
 
 The Benedictine answered not. 
 
 " Imagine, you love me ! and now that 
 envious veil has for once been useful, in 
 hiding those innocent bhishes — Imagine, 
 discard it for ever! — Start not, deliberate 
 not ! The Holy Father esteems me dear ; 
 he shall unbind thine unnatural vows. 
 The church shall resign its votary to 
 Caesar's nuptial bed ; thou shalt bean em- 
 press. Imagine, and yet, no where in all 
 the realms of the Danube and the Rhine, 
 so absolute as in Adolf's heart i" 
 
 A faint sob, accompanied by a gush of 
 tears, was perceptible under the veil, — 
 another moment, and that veil was thrown 
 
 aside, and Imagine's cheek lay tearful and 
 glowing on the breast of Adolf. Thelovely 
 Benedictine was the first to break the silent 
 transport that ensued. 
 
 " We must delay no longer ! — even 
 while we linger, the bishop's forces may 
 be thundering at the abbey gates. There 
 is a postern rarely used, and almost hid- 
 den under the old linden trees at the bot- 
 tom of the convent garden ; it opens into 
 the forest, uhere there is a footpath little 
 known, leading down to the Rhine, whose 
 banks we may reach in half an iiour. 
 Speed, speed, my sovereign ! and, in 
 after days, when Imagine's tears flow for 
 her fault, never make her repent that she 
 robbed heaven for t/om." 
 
 The lovers fled, and reached in safety 
 the Germanic territory. A dispensation 
 was, with some difficulty, procured from 
 pope Boniface the Eighth ; and the im- 
 perial bridal was celebrated at the princely 
 castle of Adolfseck, built expressly for tire 
 bride, amidst the most beautiful and ro- 
 mantic scenery of the Rhine. Here the 
 generous- hearted Adolf forgot, for a space, 
 in the arms of Imagine, the cares and 
 vicissitudes which had accompanied him 
 through life. But, alas ! brief was the 
 interval of repose ; nor was it merely the 
 cares of royalty and the concerns of vast 
 empire that disturbed the imperial con- 
 sorts in their bridal paradise. 
 
 Albert of Austria, surnamed " The Tri- 
 umphant," had long ambitioned the Ger- 
 man throne, and he was powerfully 
 assisted in his designs by the elector 
 archbishop of Mayence, a nobleman of 
 the siegnorial house of Eppenstien, nearly 
 related to Adolf of Nassau, but at the 
 same time his mortal enemy. It was 
 during that magnificent ceremonial, the 
 coronation of Wenceslaus,at Prague, that 
 a confederacy was formed for the depo- 
 sition of Adolf, which was afterwards ma- 
 tured at Vienna. • At length the Diet, 
 summoned at Mayence (at which ihe 
 electors of Mayence, Saxony, and Bran- 
 denburg, and the ambassadors of Bohemia 
 and Cologne, were present), drew up a 
 long list of grievances against the empeior 
 Adolf, among which his sacrilegious abduc- 
 tion of a nun from her convent, and her 
 subsequent elevation to the imperial pur- 
 ple, formed a conspicuous charge. He was 
 ciied to answer these accusations before 
 the august tribunal of the empire ; but, 
 secure in his resources, Adolf continued
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD ASB FIELD- 
 
 333 
 
 to indulge in his passion for his newly- 
 crowned empress, in the peaceable seclu- 
 sion of Adolfseck ; and, peremptorily re- 
 fusing to obey the mandate, was formally 
 deposed, and Albert of Austria raised to the 
 imperial throne. Not even the charms of 
 his fascinating empress, and the stately 
 tranquillity of liis Rlienish castle, could ren- 
 derhim insensible to this astounding blow. 
 He started like a war-horse from his igno- 
 ble iepose,and set on foot the most prompt 
 and \ igorous measures for the defence of 
 his crown. He had powerful auxiliaries 
 in Rhodolph, the elector palatine, the 
 duke of Lower Bavaria, and the elector 
 of Cologne, whom he had succeeded in 
 detaching from the formidable confede- 
 racy against him ; besides many princes 
 and states of the empire. Thus supported, 
 Adolf was not slow in marching to encoun- 
 ter his Austrian rival, at the head of a 
 vast amiy ; and Imagine, the faithful Ima- 
 gine, after bidding him farewell, followed 
 iiim in male attire. It was on the eve of 
 the decisive engagement of Gelheim, that 
 Adolf recognised the empress in her dis- 
 guise ; and it required all his authority, 
 as well as persuasion, to induce her to re- 
 sume the female habit, and to await in 
 the cloisters of Rosenthal, near Worms, 
 the event of the battle. In the great church 
 of ihe monastery, on her knees, at the 
 foot of the high altar, dissolved in tears, 
 and pouring forth the most agonised ori- 
 sons for the success and safety of her lord, 
 the lovely em press remained the whole day. 
 The sun had now poured his evening 
 glories through the great painted win- 
 dows of the church ; the rainbows of the 
 coloured lattices had ceased to stain the 
 pavement with their magic tints; deeper 
 and darker shadows every moment stole 
 along the dusky aisles, and hovered over 
 each ancestral sepulchre ; yet no tidings 
 of the emperor or of the fight! Complete 
 darkness at length sank down upon the 
 solemn pile ; still the ardently breathed 
 murmurs of Imagine's prayers might be 
 heard, interrupted only by occasional sobs 
 of agony, that soon died amidst the echoes 
 of tlje church ; — at last the tranquil moon 
 poured her pallid illumination upon the 
 gloom, and once more the monarchs, the 
 confessors, the martyrs, and the monks, 
 emljlazoned upon the storied panes, 
 gleamed (but like ghosts of themselves) 
 wiih wan and livid lustre in their wide 
 goliiic arches. 
 
 At this moment the white wolf-hound, 
 which always followed the emperor, and 
 had not quitted him even in the fury of 
 the combat, bounded into the choir. Ima- 
 gine's heart throbbed tumultuously at his 
 appearance. 
 
 "It is the herald of Adolf!" she ex- 
 claimed — " He comes triumphant ! — 
 Adolf! Adolf! tarry not! Thou art mock- 
 ing thy Imagine !" 
 
 Here the huge animal approached her 
 with a low whimpering howl, and going 
 back two or three steps every now and 
 then, seemed anxious to draw the atten- 
 tion of the empress towards tlie door. 
 But Imagine was lost in her ecstatic 
 hopes. 
 
 *' Hark !" she exclaimed, " 'tis his shout 
 of victory ! Towered abbey, why does 
 thy belfry delay to shr.ke its jangled thun- 
 der over the provinces in reply ? ^Vhy do 
 not the festal fires ruddy these high win- 
 dows, instead of that pale, sickly, moon- 
 light ? Or, rather, why doth the empress 
 tarry to welcome the triumph of her lord ? 
 Peace, Wolfric ! I will not heed thee ; he 
 must, he shall be, he is victorious! Aus- 
 tria is humbled ! — the Anti-Caesar is 
 trampled into dust !" 
 
 A tread of many steps was now lieard 
 without the choir. Imagine hurried down 
 the steps of the high altar, and Wolfric 
 rushed towards tiie archway with loud 
 and piteous bark. A mingled group of 
 soldiers and monks entered the church; 
 Imagine tottered up to them, — a red mass 
 of torchlight formed a canopy over their 
 sombre figures, disclosed the white and 
 scarlet plumes of the Austrian uniform, 
 and, in the midst of them, shed down a 
 livid glow upon the blood-stained corpse of 
 the emperor ! 
 
 The Anti-Caesar had encountered him 
 in the battle, and slain him with his own 
 hand. This took place in the year 126S. 
 Albert, the Triumphant, was elected 
 emperor of Germany; and, ten yeais 
 afterward, met with a more deplorable 
 end than his rival, being assassinated in 
 the neighbourhood of Brugh by his ne- 
 phew, John, duke of Suabia, and four 
 young barons, — Walter de Eschenbaoh, 
 Rhodolfde Balm, Conrad de Tagersfeld, 
 and Rhodolfde Wart — as he was setting 
 out on his expedition against the revolted 
 Swiss cantons. 
 
 Tiie miserable empress refused all 
 nourishment from the day of Adolf's
 
 334 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 death ; — his dead body was interred in the 
 abbey of Rosenthal, and on his tomb 
 was the beautiful Imagine found, extended 
 lifeless and cold. 
 
 Traveller ! when thou visitest the ro- 
 mantic castles rock-throned upon the 
 Rhine, pause at the gray portal of Adolf- 
 seek — think of its ill-starred lovers, and 
 bless heaven thou art not a king. 
 
 A DROLL STORY — BUT NO JOKE. 
 
 A GALLANT rifleman relates the follow- 
 ing droll incident, which occurred during 
 the Peninsular campaign: — My business 
 is with a youth who had the day before 
 joined the division. Mr. Rogers bad, the 
 day before, arrived from England, as an 
 officer of one of the civil departments at- 
 tached to the light division, and, as might 
 be expected, on finding himself all at once 
 up with the outposts of the army, he was 
 full of curiosity and excitement. Equipped 
 in a huge cocked hat, and a scarlet coat, 
 half military and half civil, he was dancing 
 about with his budget of inquiries, when 
 chance threw him in the way of the gal- 
 lant and lamented Jock M'Culloch, at 
 the time a lieutenant in the rifles, and 
 wlio was in the act of marching off a com- 
 pany to relieve one of the picquets for the 
 nigiit. 
 
 M'Culloch, full of humour, seeing the 
 curiosity of the fresh arrival, said, " Come, 
 Rogers, my boy, come along with me ; 
 you shall share my beefsteak, you shall 
 share my boat-cloak, and it will go hard 
 with me but you shall see a Frenchman, 
 too, before we part in the morning." The 
 invitation was not to be resisted, and 
 away went Rogers on the spur of the mo- 
 ment. 
 
 The night turned out a regular Tarn o' 
 Shanter's night, or, if the reader pleases, 
 a Wellington night, for it is a singular 
 fact, that almost every one of his battles 
 was preceded by such a night ; the thun- 
 der rolled, the lightning tlashed, and all 
 the fire-engines in the world seemed play- 
 ing upon the lightning and the devoted 
 heads of those exposed to it. It was a 
 sort of night that was well calculated to 
 be a damper to a bolder spirit than the 
 one whose story 1 am relating j but he, 
 nevertheless, sheltered himself as he best 
 could under the veteran's cloak, and put 
 as good a face upon it as circumstances 
 would permit. 
 
 As usual, an hour before daybreak, 
 
 M'Culloch, resigning the boat-cloak to 
 his dosing companion, stood to his arms, 
 to be ready for whatever changes daylight 
 might have in store for him ; nor had he 
 to wait long, for day had just begun to 
 dawn when the sharp crack from the rifle 
 of one of the advanced sentries announced 
 the approach of the enemy, and he had 
 just time to counsel his terrified bedfellow 
 to make the best of his way back to the 
 division, vvhile he himself waited to do 
 battle. Nor had he much time for pre- 
 paration, for, as Napier says, "Ney, see- 
 ing Crawfurd's false dispositions, came 
 down upon them with the stoop of an 
 eagle. Four thousand horsemen, and a 
 powerful artillery, swept the plain, and 
 Loison's division coming up at a charging 
 pace, made towards the centre and left of 
 the position." M'Culloch, almost instantly, 
 received several sabre wounds, and, with 
 five-and-twenty of his men, was taken 
 prisoner. 
 
 Rogers, it may be believed, lost no 
 time in following the salutary counsel he 
 had received with as clever a pair of heels 
 as he could muster. The enemy's artil- 
 lery had by this time opened, and the can- 
 non-balls were travelling the same road, 
 and tearing up the ground on each side 
 of him almost as regularly as if it had 
 been a ploughing- match. Poor Rogers 
 was thus placed in a situation which fully 
 justified him in thinking, as most young 
 soldiers do, that every ball was aimed at 
 himself. He was half distracted : it was 
 certain death to stop were he was ; neither 
 flank offered him the smallest shelter, and 
 he had not wind enough left in his bellows 
 to clear the tenth part of the space between 
 him and comparative safety ; but, where 
 life is at stake, the imagination is fertile, 
 and it immediately occurred to him, that, 
 by dousing the cocked hat, he would make 
 himself a less conspicuous object ; clap- 
 ping it, accordingly, under his arm, he 
 continued his frightful career, with the 
 feelings of a maniac and the politeness of 
 a courtier, for to every missile that passed 
 he bowed as low as his racing attitude 
 would permit, in ignorance that the dan- 
 ger had passed along with it, performing, 
 to all appearances, a continued rotatory 
 sort of evolution, as if the sails of a wind- 
 mill had parted from the building, and 
 continued their course across the plain, to 
 the utter astonishment of all who saw him. 
 At length, when exhausted nature could
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 335 
 
 not have carried him twenty yards farther, 
 he found himself among some skirniisliers 
 of the 3d Cacadores, and within a few yards 
 of a rociiy ridge, rising out of the ground, 
 the lear of which seemed to offer him tiie 
 long-hoped-for opportunity of recovering 
 his wind, and he sheltered himself accord- 
 ingly 
 
 This 
 
 'liis happened to be the first occasion 
 in which the Cacadores liad been under 
 fire ; they had the highest respect for the 
 bravery of their British officers, and had 
 willingly followed where their colonel iiad 
 led •, but JKuing followed him into the 
 field, they did not see why they should not 
 follow another out of it; and when they 
 saw a red-coat take post behind a rock, 
 they all immediately rushed to take ad- 
 vantage of the same cover. Poor Rogers 
 had not, therefore, drawn his first breath, 
 when he found himself surrounded by 
 these Portuguese warriors, nor had he 
 drawn a second before their colonel (sir 
 George Elder,) rode furiously at him with 
 his drawn sword, exclaiming, "Who are 
 you, you scoundrel, in the uniform of a 
 British officer, setting an example of 
 cowardice to my men ? — get out of that 
 instantly, or I'll cut you down !" 
 
 Rogers's case was desperate ; he had no 
 breatli left to explain that he had no pre- 
 tentions to the honour of being an officer, 
 for he would have been cut down in the 
 act of attempting it; he was, therefore, 
 once more forced to start for another heat 
 with the round shot, and, like a hunted 
 devil, got across the bridge, he knew not 
 how : but he was helm up for England the 
 same day, and the army never saw him 
 more." 
 
 THE THREE BROTHERS OF GALLOWAY, 
 
 Bruce, being defeated by the English 
 in Carrick, retired to the wilds at the 
 head of Loch Dee, accompanied by the 
 remnants of his broken party. Lodging 
 during the night in the cottage of a poor 
 widow at Craigencallie, he was suspected 
 in the morning of being a person of su- 
 perior rank, on account of certain orna- 
 ments which he wore upon his dress and 
 armour. The old woman modestly in- 
 quired if he was her liege lord. He 
 answered in the affirmative, and enjoined 
 her not to be surprised at his visit. He 
 asked if she had any sons who would se«*ve 
 him in his distress. Her answer was, 
 that she had three sons by three several 
 
 husbands, all of wliom would be at his 
 service, provided they were assured that 
 he really was their sovereign. He then 
 asked if she could give him anything to 
 eat. She answered that there was little 
 in tlie house but a gust of meal and goat's 
 milk, which, however, should immediately 
 be prepared for him. While she was en- 
 gaged in her cookery, the three young 
 men appeared, and the king was })leased 
 to find them " lusty men." He asked if 
 they would engage in his service, and 
 they cheerfully consented. When he had 
 finished his meal, he enquired what wea- 
 pons they had. They informed him that 
 bows and arrows were the only weapons 
 with the use of which they were acquainted. 
 The king and the three youths then step- 
 ped out to the green, where M*Kie, the 
 eldest, observing two ravens perching 
 upon the pinnacle of a rock above the 
 house, let fly an arrow, and transfixed 
 both the birds through the head. ** Faith !" 
 observed the Bruce, "1 would not wish 
 you aimed at me." Murdoch, the second 
 son, directed an arrow at a raven which 
 that moment flew over the house, and 
 brought it down. M'Lurg, the third of 
 the brothers, made a similar attempt, but 
 not with the same success. 
 
 Meanwhile, the English, in quest of 
 their illustrious enemy, were encamped 
 upon a great flow [quick morass] on the 
 other side of the Dee, called Moss Rap- 
 loch. The king, becoming aware of diis 
 fact, took the counsel of his young friends 
 as to the course he should pursue, at the 
 same time introducing them to his party, 
 which, in number about three hundred, 
 had spent the night in a neighbouring 
 glen. The three youths advised that all 
 horses, wild and tame, and all the goats 
 that could any where be found, should be 
 collected and kept by the soldiers during 
 the ensuing afternoon and night. This 
 was done ; when the English, hearing so 
 much neighing and prancing in their 
 neighbourhood, conceived that they were 
 surrounded by a prodigious force, and 
 durst not venture out beyond tiie limits 
 of their camp. After a night of appre- 
 hension and dismay, the unfortunate 
 southrons, though in reality much more 
 than a match for Bruce's small party, 
 were, at the break of day, attacked and 
 driven from their entrenchments with 
 great slaughter. The flight was })recipi- 
 tate, and therefore bloody. There still
 
 336 
 
 TALES OF CIUVVLRY; OR, 
 
 stands in the centre of the flow a large 
 isolated boulder, called the King's Stone, 
 against which he is said to have leant his 
 back while his men were gathering np 
 the spoil j and fragments of swords and 
 lances have been dug up at the spot in 
 modern times. 
 
 The three brave youths followed Bruce 
 in all his subsequent wars. After com- 
 pletely expelling the English, and when 
 he had made his throne fast, their royal 
 master remembered them in the division 
 which then took place of the property left 
 by the English. On asking them what 
 reward they expected for all their services, 
 they answered that ** they had never en- 
 tertained any prospect of great things, 
 but if his majesty would bestow upon 
 them the thirty-pund lands of the Has- 
 sock and Comfoddan, they would be very 
 thankful." To tliis he cheerfully assented ; 
 and they and their desce.idants possessed 
 the lands for many centuries. The family 
 of the man who had spitted tlie two ravens 
 with his arrow, assumed for a coat of arms, 
 two ravens proper, with an arrow through 
 both their heads, upon a field argent. The 
 second son had for his armorial bearings 
 a raven volant pierced by an arrow. 
 
 INTREPIDITY OF ENGLISH SAILORS. 
 
 Lauriston told me, amongst other 
 anecdotes relative to Napoleon's sojourn 
 at the camp of Boulogne, a remarkable 
 instance of intrepidity on the part of two 
 English sailors. These men had been 
 prisoners at Verdun, which was the most 
 considerable depot of English prisoners 
 in France at the rupture of the peace of 
 Amiens. They effected their escape 
 from Verdun, and arrived at Boulogne 
 without being discovered on the road, 
 notwithstanding the vigilance widi which 
 all the English were watched. They re- 
 manied at Boulogne for some time, desti- 
 tute of money, and without being able to 
 effect their escape. They had no hope of 
 getting aboard a boat, on account of the 
 strict watch that was kept upon vessels 
 of every kind. These two sailors made 
 a boat of little pieces of wood, which they 
 put together as well as they could, having 
 no other tools than their knives. They 
 covered it with a piece of sail-cloth. It 
 was only three or four feet wide, and not 
 much longer ; and was so light that a 
 man could easily carry it on his shoulders. 
 
 So powerful a passion is the love of home 
 and liberty ! Sure of being shot if they 
 were discovered, almost equally sure of 
 being drowned if they effected their es. 
 cape, they, nevertheless, resolved to at- 
 tempt crossing the Channel in their fragile 
 skiff. Perceiving an English frigate 
 within sight of the coast, they pushed ofl^ 
 and endeavoured to reach her. They had 
 not gone a hundred toises from the shore, 
 when thev were perceived by the custom- 
 house officers, who set out in pursuit of 
 them, and brought them back again. The 
 news of this adventure spread through the 
 camp, where the extraordinary courage 
 of the two sailors was the subject of gene- 
 ral remark. The circumstance reached 
 the emperor's ears. He wished to see 
 the men, and they were conducted to his 
 presence along with their little boat. Na- 
 poleon, whose imagination was struck 
 with every thing extraordinary, could not 
 conceal his surprise at so bold a project, 
 undertaken with such feeble means of exe- 
 cution. *' Is it really true," said the em- 
 peror to them, *• that you thought of cross- 
 ing the sea in this?" " Sire," said they, 
 ** if you doubt it, give us leave to go, and 
 you shall see us depart." "I will. You 
 are bold and enterprising men : I admire 
 courage wherever 1 meet with it. But 
 you shall not hazard your lives. You are 
 at liberty, and, more than that, I will cause 
 you to be put on board an English ship. 
 When you return to London, tell how I 
 esteem brave men, even when they are 
 my enemies." Rapp, who, with Lauriston, 
 Duroc, and many others, were present at 
 this scene, were not a little astonished at 
 the emperor's generosity. If the men 
 had not been brought before him, they 
 would have been shot as spies, instead of 
 which they obtained their liberty. This 
 circumstance was one of those which made 
 the strongest impression on Napoleon, 
 and he recollected it when at St. Helena, 
 in one of his converstions viidi M. de 
 Las Casas. — Bourriennes Life of Bona- 
 parte. 
 
 A naval anecdote. 
 So late as 1802, the king of Sweden 
 engaged some British surgeons to serve 
 in his ships of war : their perplexity and 
 mortification may be imagined, on find- 
 ing that they were expected to shave the 
 whole ship's company, as a duty belong- 
 in": to their station.
 
 I»F«IT.S HY FLOOn AND FIELD. 
 
 337 
 
 Pa-e 340. 
 
 NOBLES AND ARBLASTEUS. 
 
 A TALE OF FAIR WELL. 
 
 Daylight was deserting the old weeds 
 and sulenin spires of Fairwell priory, 
 afier a golden sunset in August, 1527-'^. 
 The heavens, gorgeously enamelled with 
 those streaky colours which follow, like a 
 pageant of courtiers, the sovereign who 
 has entered his palace gates, dwelt in se- 
 date splendour over the secluded scene, 
 — a glouing dewy brillance soon to be 
 enveloped in the gay weeds of twilight. 
 The venerable convent-tower reflecteri the 
 tranquil glories of the west, which fell in 
 softer lights and deeper shadows over the 
 aisles, the quadrangle, the nuns' cells 
 and the buildings appropriated to the 
 prioress, that stretched away in the dis- 
 tance, a gloomy though picturesque con- 
 fusion of turrets, gables, and pillared 
 cloisters. A gentle air just stirred the 
 loaded plum and pear trees in the or- 
 chard, whilst the ancient groves of beech 
 and ash, intermingled with huge black 
 pines, cedars, and cypresses, partially illu- 
 mined by the glowing skies, and sighing 
 ho low to the evening breeze, invested 
 VOL. I. — 43. 
 
 the sacred precincts vvidi the solemnity, 
 without the gloom, of night, the lovefi- 
 ness without the glare of day. Star after 
 star burst trembling on the blue vault, as 
 if intruders on the magnificent wake of 
 sunset. The tierce deep scream and the 
 sailbroad wings flapping from amidst the 
 boughs, proclaimed the presence of seve- 
 ral tamed eagles. Gold and silver phea- 
 sants, in a perfectly domestic state, might 
 be seen on elm and fir, over whose dark 
 foliage their long feathered-trains hung 
 glittering down, and their beautiful red 
 eyes glanced tranquil and undisturbed 
 on two females, who now entered the 
 richly turfed enclosure. It was a wide, 
 smooth lawn, sloping to the east ; a deep 
 girdle of various kinds of trees encircled 
 it, forming, with their lofty trunks and 
 arched boughs, a spacious pleached walk. 
 
 And for to kepe out wcl the sunne, 
 The croppis were so thick iroiine, 
 And every braunche in other knitte, 
 Aud full of grene levis sitte, 
 That sunne might there none discende, 
 Lest that the tendir grasses shende ; 
 There might men does and roes ise. 
 And of squirels ful grete pleute 
 ^TOm bow to bow alwaie leping ! 
 Counts there were also playing. 
 That comin out of ther clapers 
 2 X
 
 333 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 Of sondry colours and manors. 
 And madin many a tourni'yin«? 
 Upon the fresh grass springing. 
 
 ROMALNT OF THE RoSE. 
 
 Girdling the exterior of this leafy bar- 
 rier, a broad embattled wall of grey stone 
 rose to a vast height, reniituiing the un- 
 happy votaress that this paradise was but 
 a prison. Dotted at intervals in the area 
 of this lovely lawn, arose magnificent 
 fruit-trees — the quince, the chesnut, the 
 walnut, the mulberry, and the medlar — 
 each claiming for their broad trunks and 
 sweeping branches a proud space of the 
 velvet turf, and disclosing amongst their 
 superb foliage the various colours of their 
 ripening fruit. Exactly in the centre, the 
 sparkling tide of a large well, or rather 
 fountain, leapt from a carved stone basin, 
 and hurrying hither and thither amidst the 
 rich grass, Hoated, under an arch in the 
 wall, into the pool that supplied the priory 
 mill. A great pair of folding gates opened 
 at the bottom of this enclosure, upon the 
 tall and ample ront of the mill, whose 
 various casements, large and small, 
 pierced up and down in its Flemish- 
 fashioned buildings, were intermingled 
 with doors of all sizes, some as high up 
 as the second, some as the third story, 
 soiue with long flights of steps, others 
 with rollers over their sill ; a dark green 
 jessamine, with its silver stars, and a holy 
 hawthorn, with its scarlet tufts, almost hid 
 the lower branches of a noble vine and 
 jargonelle tree, whose amber pears and 
 crimson grapes hung aloft even to the 
 very eaves and chimnies of the steep 
 gables. Through tljis leafy matwork the 
 iozenged windows glistened like dia- 
 monds in the golden west ; and at this 
 hour,the colossal master-wheel, revolving 
 its black disk on the side of the wall, 
 shewed like some infernal power put in 
 motion by the necromancer; while the 
 sullen boom and ghastly clatter of the 
 multifarious machinery mingled in the 
 shady groves with the evening lays of 
 the blackbird and thrush. A transient 
 view of this old building, with its willowy 
 pool lying blue and tranquil, and the soft 
 verdure of the hills beyond, placidly 
 bright, was revealed to the two females 
 already mentioned by the opening of the 
 great gates as they passed them, in order 
 to admit the capellane of Crossinhand, 
 confessor to the sisterhood and brother to 
 the prioress ; he passed them with a slow 
 step, scarcely raising his cowled head to 
 
 return their obeisance, with a muttered 
 " Salvete Filio .'" and taking an opposite 
 direction, was lost in the gloom of the 
 groves, till his black robes were seen at 
 the upper end, as he emerged from the 
 covered walk and entered the wicket 
 leading into the priory quadrangle. 
 
 The sisters paused in their walk to 
 gaze on the fair landscape beyond the 
 walls, till the rigidly revolving gates once 
 more recalled them to their melancholy 
 circuit, and to the conversation which 
 this trivial circumstance liad interrupted. 
 They were both in the sable Benedictine 
 garb, both young, and both beautiful, but 
 distinguished from each other, not less by 
 the dillerent character of their beauty than 
 by the full and fair tresses that decked the 
 sunny countenance of the one, and the 
 hood, plaited frontlet and long veil, that 
 sate gloomily round the clear cheek and 
 dark eye of the other. 
 
 The fiancels of Endymion Arblaster 
 and Cornelia Noble — tlie former being 
 the only son of the dame Maud Arblaster, 
 sister to sir Lewis Bagot, of BHthfield, 
 and the latter sole heiress of the Nobles, 
 of Chorley — had taken place some time 
 back, during the lifetime of his father, 
 Hichard Arblaster, of Arblaster Hall, near 
 Lichfield. Soon after that gentleman's 
 decease, however, much matter of amaze- 
 ment was furnished to the neighbourhood 
 by the sudden and extraordinary cliange 
 which affairs exhibited between the be- 
 trothed couple. On the very eve, as men 
 thought, of his bridal, Endymion found 
 himself sentenced to a complimentary 
 banishment, by being appointed secretary 
 to the great VVilliam Paget, on his well- 
 known mission into Germany, to foment 
 the discords existing between the em- 
 peror and the Protestant princes of the 
 Diet, — a negociation requiring so much 
 prudence and delicacy, that it was to be 
 performed in a disguised habit. This 
 took place about a year and a half before 
 the opening of our tale ; and he had been 
 scarcely gone a third of that time, ere 
 Arblaster Hall and its dependencies were 
 once more plunged in mourning ; fresh 
 tears streamed down the cheeks of widow 
 Maud ; and Cornelia Noble buried her- 
 self for life in the woody cloisters of Fair- 
 well priory, — for tidings had come that 
 Endymion was dead of a malignant fever, 
 at Paris, where they had stopped to re- 
 ceive the directions of the French king,
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 339 
 
 Francis the First. Tlius, at tiie age of 
 eighteen, in spite of her parents' opposi- 
 tion, Cornelia had assumed the \eil. Sir 
 Augustine and lady Cicely Noble had 
 witnessed this measure with grief too 
 affectionate to be termed displeasure ; but 
 they were naturally strengthened in their 
 long growing attachment to the new 
 learning (as the doctrines of the refurmers 
 were called), and entertained propurtiun- 
 able aversion to the sullen superstitions 
 that had thus bereft them of their only 
 child. 
 
 " Cornelia, then, will no longer deem 
 harshly of her poor Blanche," said the 
 light-haired girl, throwing her arms 
 fondly round her companion's neck, and 
 speaking in low sweet tones as the monk 
 disappeared in the gloomy groves — '* will 
 no longer think that any thing less than 
 strict prohibition and severe restraint 
 could have withheld her so long from one 
 she loves so well ?" 
 
 Cornelia replied by an affectionate ca- 
 ress, but the bright smile that accompa- 
 nied it was succeeded by a sigh, and she 
 remained silent. 
 
 " I can interpret that sigh," continued 
 Blanche, ** and it was a kind one ! It arose 
 for me, did it not ?" 
 
 ** Even so, sweet Blanche, even for 
 grief that this rugged cage should lure 
 such a bright bird as thou art, because it 
 contains such a melancholy turtle as 
 Cornelia 1" 
 
 " 'Twere pity of my heart," exclaimed 
 Blanche, cheerfully, " if it could be merry 
 while thou wert moping ; and for the 
 matter of the cage, good sooth ! though 
 the walls of Fairwell be grim and high, 
 there be fair bowers within, and I saw 
 no more at Arblaster ; and if the prioress, 
 I wot, be somewhat stern, my lady mother 
 was no less; and, in short, Cornelia, if 
 dame Elizabeth Hilshaw hath caged me, 
 it was not until dame Maud Arblaster had 
 dipt my wings !" 
 
 ** Fie, tie, thou wild girl ; speakest thou 
 thus of thy widowed parent ? Ah ! would 
 (hat mine had been as willing to immure 
 me ; I had not then incurred the guilt of 
 disobedience, and the pain of their dis- 
 pleasure i But tell me, Blanche, how 
 chanced it that thou, a merry girl, with 
 a broad heritage, and a bright life before 
 thee, canst resign all, nay, smile as thou 
 resignest them, for a life-long penance in 
 a cloister ?" 
 
 "Nay," said Blanche Arblaster, "give 
 me not such credit for smiles ; remember 
 this is the first evening that I have seen 
 the sun set behind these grey spires, and 
 I have not had time to be melancholy ; 
 think that this is the first converse 1 have 
 had for years with you, and how can I 
 choose but feel glad ? yet heaven knows, 
 had my mother been but kinder, even my 
 love for you, Cornelia, would not " — here 
 the poor girl's voice faltered, her sunny 
 countenance was overcast, and her blue 
 eyes brimmed with tears, — "ever since 
 my brother Endymion went," she con- 
 tinued in a lower tone, " I have been 
 forbidden to see or speak to you ; you 
 know that the intercourse between our 
 houses ceased about the same time." 
 
 " Alas, yes 1" said Cornelia, "and the 
 obstinate silence that the lady Maud 
 maintained to all our overtures, incensed 
 my father so iiighly, that the dreadful 
 tidings which reached Chorley soon after- 
 wards, seemed rather to relieve than 
 aflSict him ; and though my mother shew- 
 ed both anguish and alarm at the state 
 into which I was plunged, it was yet evi- 
 dent that both considered Endyniion's 
 death as releasing them from an engage- 
 ment with which the dame Arblaster's in- 
 exphcable conduct had rendered them 
 n)Ost unwilling to comply. Unriddle, 
 then, my sweetest Blanche, whence 
 sprang this sudden aversion of your 
 mother, so unexpected, and, surely, so 
 unprovoked ?" 
 
 "All that I can I will," replied Blanche, 
 " but that all is little. Since my father's 
 death, and even for a^pace before it, the 
 capellane of Crossinhand has exercised 
 a daily increasing influence over my 
 mother, and long before Endymion went 
 abroad, I partly conjectured, and partly 
 knew, that something adverse to the com- 
 pletion of your fiancels was from time to 
 time agitated between them." 
 
 " Holy saints 1" exclaimed Cornelia, 
 "came it from that quarter? nay, then, no 
 wonder all gave way ! A bigot to his 
 religion, he would view with hatred my 
 parents' predeliction lor the new learning; 
 a sordid devotee to the interests of his 
 order, he would gladly alienate the broad 
 acres of Arblaster to the cloisters of Fair- 
 well." 
 
 " Oh !" resumed Blanche, "you know- 
 not the monkish enginery, the warnings, 
 the dark sayings, the visions, with every 
 2x2
 
 340 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 subtle device and sleight, by which he 
 won over my mother to his views, views 
 to which an alliance with your family 
 offered an insurmountable obstacle. Of 
 course I knew as little as possible of 
 these operations, nor was I otherwise 
 affected by them than the gloom they 
 threw over the house, my mother's in- 
 creased austerity, Endymion's departure, 
 and the interdict on your society." 
 
 "But how," exclaimed CorneHa, "how 
 could I be an obstacle ? Blind that I am ! 
 it must be that the heiress of Chorley 
 was too likely to be tainted by her heretic 
 parents, ever to encourage benefactions 
 to Fairwell priory." 
 
 " I can but conjecture, like yourself," 
 said Blanche; " all I know is, that sup- 
 posing me heartily weary of the gloom of 
 Arblaster-hall, and the mummery of fa- 
 ther Robert, (who, by the way, not un- 
 frequently introduced my poor father's 
 ghost as having appeared to him, to pro- 
 mote some of his holy purposes,) finding 
 me wearied, as in sooth ] was, with his 
 perpetual presence, and my beloved Cor- 
 nelia's absence, my mother, with the 
 monk, suggested my entering his sister's 
 priory, holding out to me the prospect of 
 your society, and promising that if, at the 
 end of my noviciate, I felt a repugnance 
 to the monastic vows, I should be at full 
 liberty to return to my family and the 
 world." 
 
 "And yon consented ?" 
 
 " With eagerness— I might say, with 
 rapture ; and from this day I am to enjoy, 
 at least for a year, the society of my long 
 alienated friend." 
 
 "And thiit friend will be all she may to 
 thee, sweet Blanche — all she was she can- 
 not be. They have made me sub-prior- 
 ess, and, empty as is the compliment, and 
 gross as are their designs on my patri- 
 mony, this rank gives me exemptions and 
 privileges ; of the one, these keys of the 
 convent committed to my care, are a to- 
 ken ; and that we are permitted to be here 
 walking and conversing in these twilight 
 groves, after the hour of complin, is an 
 instance of the other." 
 
 While Blanche and Cornelia, in this 
 and similar conversations, were pacing 
 and repacing the high and gloomy grove, 
 the attention of the former was arrested 
 by a piece of parchment, folded like a let- 
 ter ; on stooping to raise it, she found 
 that it was directed to the sister Cornelia ; 
 
 the seal had been broken, and the con- 
 tents were these : — 
 
 " If it be not yet too late to disentangle 
 the snares that have been woven around 
 you and your betrothed, the votaress shall 
 be made free, and the dead alive ; other- 
 wise the convent is not so sure a prison 
 to Cornelia Noble as the grave shall be to 
 "Endymion Arblaster." 
 
 Any attempt to describe the violent 
 emotions that chased each other in the 
 bosoms of the two damsels, as they perused 
 this strange scroll, would be utterly 
 futile; Blanche, after glancing rapidly 
 over it, sprang to her friend, clasping her 
 with one arm for support, and Cornelia, 
 eagerly taking hold of the letter, they 
 stood some time in this posture, the eyes 
 of both ri vetted on its contents, both 
 equally pale, trembling, and silent. It 
 was Endymion's hand and seal ; of his 
 existence, then, a rapturous certainty 
 filled their bosoms : — but then arose per- 
 plexing and conflicting surmises — had the 
 (lame Maud been herself imposed upon 
 by false intelligence ? — or had she forged 
 the report ? — a frightful idea, opening a 
 field of bewildering suspicions and alarms, 
 that made their hearts sicken, and their 
 thoughts whirl. But one terrible truth at 
 last broke upon them, absorbing in itself 
 every other reflection — the letter had been 
 opened — and by whom ? The capellane 
 of Crossinhand had lately been traversing 
 that very grove : whose hand but his, 
 from whom they would have most wished 
 to have concealed its contents, could have 
 violated the letter ? 
 
 The huge red globe of the harvest 
 moon had now sailed up in solemn mag- 
 nificence over the high gables of the 
 grange, and glared through the clustered 
 foliage of the groves, wlien the clang of 
 a closing gate, echoing through the clois- 
 ters, startled the young recluses from their 
 trance of surprise and suspicion. It was 
 the gate of the quadrangle by which the 
 capellane had lately entered from the 
 arched walk into the priory. Neither 
 spoke, but Blanche, whose trembling in- 
 creased violently, wondered to find her 
 friend become suddenly quiet; her in- 
 creased weight on Blanche's encircling 
 arm soon told the cause — she had fainted. 
 The young novice, instantly forgetting 
 her own cause of alarm in anxiety for her 
 companion, placed her on a stone seat in 
 the grove, and hastening across the lawn
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 341 
 
 to the well, filled a small vessel with water. 
 On her return, slie found Cornelia revived 
 and sitting- upright, while, at her side, the 
 dark, tall figure of the capellane stood 
 partiall}' revealed by the moonlight as it 
 fell in murky gleams through the ancient 
 trees. He was conversing, or raiher ad- 
 dressing her, for she listened with mute 
 l)ewilderment : in his hand he held the 
 If^tter, and, as Blanche approached, she 
 heard him say, 
 
 " The prioress has consented that you 
 shall pause at my oratory in Crossinhand 
 to-morrow, when the Benedictine sisters 
 move in procession to the cathedral at 
 Lichfield. Fail not, daughter!" 
 
 With these words, and without noticing 
 Blanche, the capellane paced down the 
 grove to the great gates, whose sotmding 
 valves soon proclaimed that he had quitted 
 tlie priory. To her friend's enquiring 
 glance, Cornelia replied, in hoarse, hasty 
 tones, 
 
 " He knows it — he knows it all — yet 
 his \\ ords, though few and dark, seem not 
 hostile, and if he hath not revealed it to 
 his sister, the prioress! — but to-morrow 
 will tell us more. Let us in, dear Blanche, 
 I am faint and chill, and would fain seek, 
 from prayer and repose, some strength for 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Fairwell priory was originally appro- 
 priated to canons regular, or hermits, but 
 at the request of Roger, Geoffrey, and 
 Robert, three of its brethren, and by the 
 consent of the chapter of Lichfield, Roger 
 Clinton, bishop of Lichfield and Coventry, 
 converted it into a house for Benedictine 
 nuns, endowing it with a grange, a mill, 
 extensive lands, and numerous vassals. 
 Henry the Second was also a liberal bene- 
 factor to them j bestowing on them no 
 inconsiderable portion of his Assart, or j 
 land cleared from wood in the forest of \ 
 Cannock. This monastery had property 
 in Lichfield, Rougeley, Brereton, King's 
 Bromley, Hamsacre, Cannock, Burnt- 
 wood, and various other towns and vil- 
 lages. Its situation was a rich specimen 
 of that delicious seclusion which monas- 
 tics uniformly selected for their letreat ; a 
 small green valley of great fertility, 
 watered by a clear stream, sheltered by 
 slopes waving in corn and grass, or 
 clothed with ancient woods, — while to the 
 north the huge bosom of Cannock-heath 
 rose like a protecting barrier behind its 
 vane-crested pinnacles and shady cloisters. 
 
 The present prioress, Elizabeth Hilsliaw, 
 v\ as a woman of good family, and her dis- 
 position, in any other situation, would 
 have displayed many excellent points ; 
 but, as prioiess of Fairwell, tier religious 
 bigotry, and the zeal, even to fanaticism, 
 which she displayed for the inviolable 
 maintenance of her convent's reputation 
 and discipline, so completely superseded 
 every other motive and feeling, that they 
 might be said exclusively to form her 
 character. Her charity to the poor and 
 her hospitality to the stranger were un- 
 failing, but she would have thrust a here- 
 tic from her gates, though famine had 
 worn him to the bone, or tlie tempest that 
 suspended its thunder over her towers, 
 threatened to overwhelm him. She was 
 gentle, and even kind, while unfailing 
 the daily round of duties ; but the omis- 
 sion of the least trifle excited her indig- 
 nation, and, for any higher offence, she 
 would not have hesitated a moment, if 
 need were, to inflict the last terrible pe- 
 nalty — privation of existence. 
 
 Such was the Benedictine mother, who, 
 attired in ample robes of flowing black, 
 her hood sitting close and square round 
 her pale and serious, but most dignified, 
 countenance, ascended (on the morning 
 after the adventure just related) a large 
 and stately litter, whose curtains of black 
 velvet had been embroidered by the skill 
 of the sisterhood with gorgeous embla- 
 zonries, displaying the arms of the see 
 and of the founder and benefactors of the 
 priory. Her hands, whose delicate hue 
 and taper fingers were contrasted with the 
 rutilant gems of several superb gold rings, 
 were occupied by a large rosary of ivory, 
 set in gold, and a tall gilded crucifix, 
 thickly embossed with precious stones ; 
 several banners of great splendour, pre- 
 sented by devout ladies to the priory, were 
 borne before the litter ; the nuns arranged 
 themselves in order, the younger on foot, 
 the elder and more infirm on solemnly 
 trapped mules and asses ; — an escort of 
 about a dozen sturdy vassals of the priory, 
 m liveries of black and grey, formed 
 the escort; and after Cornelia had taken 
 her place in the litter, a seat to which her 
 rank as sub-prioress entitled her, the pro- 
 cession commenced, in a stately pace, its 
 progress towards Lichfield, a distance of 
 about two niiles. 
 
 It was the festival of the assumption of 
 our lady, on which, as on other high days
 
 342 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 of the calendar, the black ladies of Fair- 
 well, as they were popularly called, were 
 used to proceed to the cathedral, and 
 there attend high mass, as an acknow- 
 ledgement of respect due to the mother 
 church. Arrived at the bridge, whose 
 moulded arches spanned the bright peb- 
 bly brook of the priory, the train paused, 
 witii crosses and genuflections, before a 
 small shrine and effigy of St. Peter, 
 covered, as well as the bridge, with tapes- 
 try, always displayed on such occasions. 
 Then winding up and down tlie steep 
 rocky lanes, they felt and acknowledged 
 the pleasant pathway. The grassy carpet, 
 for it was a rarely trodden path, lay all 
 cool, green, and rich, beneath a thick 
 arcade of bowery trees, through whose 
 matted boughs the high sun sparkled, or 
 slept here and there in soft glimmer on 
 the smooth sward. Thick festoons of lus- 
 cious woodbine bourgeoning on all sides, 
 with their pale and waxy clusters, wafted 
 their odours on a soft south wind, which 
 bore from the sunny distance the merry 
 peals of the minster belfry, mingling with 
 the nearer melody of the blackbird in the 
 huge witch-elms, and the cheerful prattle 
 of the clear brown rivulet that glided 
 near. 
 
 Passing the great barns and moated 
 grange of Aspenbrooke, from whose steep 
 and vine-clad porch the gaffer and gam- 
 mer, in holyday attire, hastened to obtain 
 a blessing from the prioress, the proces- 
 sion soon gained the steep hill in whose 
 bosom lay the nestling hamlet and oratory 
 of Crossmhand. A small garden, par- 
 tially scooped out of the red banks that 
 rose above it, and which was devoted to 
 the cultivation of medicinal and culinary 
 herbs, spread before a small but graceful 
 fabric, with pointed and moulded door and 
 windows. Two gigantic yew-tress reared 
 their red and twisted trunks at the portal, 
 and at a vast height waved their black 
 and matted foliage over the yoof of the 
 oratory of St. James. A statue of the 
 saint rose beneath the one, and a little 
 crystal well glittered at the roots of the 
 other of these herculean trees. A row 
 of bee-hives occupied the sunniest angle 
 of the deep sand-stone bank, and a patch- 
 work of blue lavender and red marygolds, 
 mingled with thyme, rosemary, and mar- 
 joram, mantled in dewy fragrance before 
 them. 
 
 Here Cornelia was informed by (he 
 
 prioress that she was to alTglit, adding 
 that they would call for her on their re- 
 turn, and the capellane himself appearing 
 at this moment, assisted the hapless girl 
 to descend and enter the oratory. Tiie 
 prioress had been unusually reserved and 
 stately during their journey, and Corne- 
 lia, not knowing what to say, or even 
 think, had abandoned herself to a reverie 
 of the profoundest melancholy and wildest 
 apprehension; yet, as she passed the deep 
 porch of the oratory, and heard the tink- 
 ling of the silver mule-bells, announcing 
 that the procession had set on to Lich- 
 field, she felt lor the moment a sensation 
 of bereavement more acute than when 
 quitting for ever her parents and her 
 home. 
 
 The first apartment they entered was 
 apparently the chapel ; it was supported 
 on four pillars, whose intersections formed 
 the rich yet simple groining of the ceil- 
 ing ; two lancet windows of stained glass 
 threw a checquered light upon the pave- 
 ment, whose tiles were arranged in various 
 heraldic shields ; a large ebony crucifix 
 hung over the altar, which was covereti 
 with purple cloth, embroidered with crim- 
 son ; near it was a fluted stoup for iioiy 
 water, while a recess let into the wall dis- 
 played the ceremonial habits, with divers 
 silver vessels appropriated to sacred uses. 
 
 The capellane guided Cornelia down 
 a short flight of steps into a narrow vaulted 
 passage, and opening a door to the left, 
 he led the way into a small but very lofty 
 room, lighted by a single window larger 
 and longer than those in the chapel, 
 amidst whose delicate tracery was painted 
 the martyrdom of St. James ; an arched 
 doorway appeared to open from hence 
 into other apartments. Here the capellane, 
 after carelessly pointing out a seat to Cor- 
 nelia, placed himself in a large high- 
 backed chair of dark polished wo(jd, whose 
 arms were supported by tv.o eagles, while 
 its back, wrought into roses, acorns, and 
 grapes, intermixed with various birds and 
 animals, terminated into a sort of spire, 
 surmounted by a cross. Regardless of his 
 mute invitation, Cornelia Noble stood in 
 the centre of tlie rush-strewn chamber, 
 as if incapable of obeying any volition of 
 her own, and it would have been a study 
 for a painter to have seen the tall, shadowy 
 figure of the capellane seated erect and 
 rigid in hi*; chair, volumes of dusky dra- 
 pery floating nround hi'.)), a lurking gleam
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD A\D FIFXD. 
 
 343 
 
 of his eye only occasionally indicating 
 that a countenance did exist under the 
 black muffling cowl ; while opposite to him 
 stood the youthful nun, her sable attire 
 painted in rubies, topazes, emeralds, and 
 amethysts, by the sunlight windows, — 
 her tall, graceful figure slightly bent, — 
 her white hands elapsed, — and beautiful 
 features so exquisite in their downcast ex- 
 pression, that you scarcely wished those 
 long-lashed eye-lids to be raised, lest it 
 should displace the tear that glistened on 
 their silken fringe. 
 
 •* Daughter," at length the capellane 
 commenced, '* how^ long have you been 
 vowed the spouse of heaven ?" 
 
 The poor girl started slightly at his 
 voice, and, after a pause, replied in falter- 
 ing accents — 
 
 " Alas ! father, 'tis nearly three 
 months !" 
 
 " You sigh as you speak, daughter ; 
 springs it from resignation or regret ?" 
 
 The long imprisoned tear rolled down 
 the young Benedictine's marble cheek. 
 
 '* Is it a sinful tribute to the carnal 
 pleasures of a world you have abjured ; 
 or may I hope it is a blessed aspiration 
 after the self-denying temper that is to fit 
 you for another ?" 
 
 ** Hope not for me," faintly articulated 
 the nun, without lifting her eyes, — " hope 
 nothing for me, father — I have ceased 
 hoping for myself!" 
 
 The capellane replied not immediately, 
 and then, in an altered tone, he said — 
 
 •* That is to say, since yesternight, the 
 peaceful repose of the votaress of St. 
 Mary has been disturbed by visions of the 
 
 exchange the affection of indulgent pa- 
 rents for their displeasure, and resign the 
 enjoyments of an affluent home for the 
 privations of a severe monastery, it knew 
 (he source of my sorrows, but it could 
 never know their intensity ; you, holy 
 father, have received the unfeigned out- 
 pourings of a subdued spirit, but you 
 could not, you cannot now, conceive the 
 rebellious tumults to which that spirit hath 
 been excited, by last night's strange 
 tidings. Love — earthly love — Endymi- 
 on's love — dead only while I deemed him 
 so — hath with him revived, and repos- 
 sessed my heart ; and yet, you wrong me, 
 faiher; not the woody hills and heaths of 
 Cliorley, not the basking meadows of Ar- 
 blaster, but Endymion, Endymion — " 
 
 Here the lovely Benedictine paused ; 
 her face crimsoned with blushes, and, 
 after an interval of strong emotion, she 
 threw herself on her knees before the chair 
 on which the capellane was seated, and 
 with clasped hands and beautiful beseech- 
 ing eyes, upturned to his face, or rather 
 his cow 1, she exclaimed, in accents so pite- 
 ously melting as to have pierced a heart 
 of stone, 
 
 " Oh, father, father ! if ever your heart 
 throbbed with human passions — if ever 
 your spirit sunk under human afflictions, 
 — aid, oh ! aid one so matchlessly miser- 
 able in both!" 
 
 The capellane, stony as his nature w^as, 
 could not but be somewhat moved at this 
 appeal ; he raised Cornelia from her 
 knees, and himself led her to a chair. 
 
 " Compose yourself, daughter," he said, 
 " and listen to me : Endymion Arblaster 
 
 lieiress of Chorley, and the gray walls of i is alive — is returned — I have seen h 
 
 Fairwell priory are become hateful as soon 
 as they appear the only barriers to the 
 broad lands of Arblaster ?" 
 
 At the tone and import of this speech — 
 so unwonted in the capellane, from whom 
 she had been accustomed to hear only the 
 grave language of advice or expostula- 
 tion — Cornelia raised her eyes and fixed 
 them in the enquiring gaze of astonish- 
 ment on the confessor ; but slie might as 
 well have spared the effort, so completely 
 were his features veiled by the cowl. At 
 all events she gathered courage, without 
 knowing why, from his words, and replied 
 with more firmness than she had hitherto 
 been able to muster, 
 
 *' Father ! w hen the world beheld me 
 quit its blandishments, — when it saw me 
 
 I have even consorted with him ! How 
 I gained possession of his letter it matters 
 not ; I had the means, and I employed 
 them." 
 
 ** Where, father, didst thou see him ? — 
 how looked he ? — w hat said he ? — aught 
 of his poor Cornelia ?" 
 
 " Patience, daughter ; be satisfied that 
 he is returned — returned, too, in high 
 favour with master William Paget, to 
 whose successful negociations in Germany 
 his skill hath not a little contributed." 
 
 '• Praised be the saints for that," said 
 Cornelia; then mournfully added, " Al], 
 father ! what gladness will it cause to 
 those who may yet fold his loved form to 
 the bosom of affection ; how boundless 
 will be his mother's joy !"
 
 344 
 
 TALES OF CmVAl.RV , OR, 
 
 " It will exceed her surprise, then," 
 said the capellane, drily. 
 
 " Oh, heavens ! my secret misgivings 
 then were true ; she forged the tale of his 
 death ?" 
 
 The confessor remained silent. 
 
 " Oh, wilful, reckless folly !" continued 
 the hapless nun, " I deserve all my misery. 
 Oh, must it be only in my prayers that I 
 bless his existence— only in my grief that 
 I can welcome his return. Cruel, cruel !" 
 and here the ill-fated Cornelia burst into 
 a passion of hysterical tears. 
 
 The capellane at length broke a long 
 silence, interrupted only by the poor girl's 
 sobs and sighs. 
 
 *' If you will be guided by me, your 
 prayers and your welcome shall both be 
 of gratitude and joy. My sister, the 
 prioress, knows of his letter through me — 
 start not ! — and to me she committed the 
 task of schooling you on the subject. She 
 expects to find you, after this interview, 
 as much resigned to yonder living tomb at 
 Fairwell, as if a tomb in Notre Dame had 
 in sooth closed over Endymion Arblaster. 
 She will not trust herself to mention the 
 subject to you, and so far you are safe 
 from her displeasure. But I will go farther. 
 I have compassion on you, daughter Cor- 
 nelia; you shall have an interview with 
 young Arblaster, and if aught can be 
 done, he hath friends, and high friends. 
 Only bear in mind, as is most fitting, 
 that* the humble capellane of Crossinhand 
 looks for no personal reward for his good 
 offices. He looks only to acquire to his 
 sister's priory a portion of those fair lands, 
 of which otherwise he may seem to have 
 robbed it !" 
 
 The look of unreprest, but imprudent 
 disdain with which Cornelia received this 
 sordid suggestion, convinced the sordid 
 capellane, no less than the answer which 
 accompanied it, that he had grossly mis- 
 calculated on the excited feelings of the 
 young love-sick nun, 
 
 "Father, on that head I pledge not 
 Endymion, nor even myself. Whatever 
 offerings we may make to holy church, 
 they shall be the consequences, not the 
 conditions, of my freedom." 
 
 The capellane hastened to profess the 
 purity of his motives, while he inwardly 
 cursed the artless uprightness that had 
 baffled him ; and while he arranged with 
 Cornelia the promised interview, he re- 
 solved to make her saf!tr for her temerity. 
 
 The tinkling mule-bells soon afterwards 
 announced the return of the procession, 
 and Cornelia, having resumed her seat 
 in the litter, they alighted ere long at the 
 turretted gateway of the priory. 
 
 We must now retrace our steps, and 
 carry back our story a few days previous 
 to the adventure of the letter in tlie priory 
 grove. 
 
 It was on the evening of one of those 
 days in August, when bleak skies and 
 moaning gales remind us of approaching 
 autumn, that four horsemen were seen 
 traversing a broad turf pathway winding 
 amidst yellow gorse and purple heather, 
 over the abrupt swells and hollows of 
 Cannock-heafh, now, for the most part, 
 disforested. The two foremost, though 
 attired, the one in the plain habit of a 
 citizen, and the other in a pilgrim's gown 
 and hood, were evidently of a dignity 
 superior to their dress ; and this was indi- 
 cated no less by their general bearing, 
 than by the respectful distance which 
 their followers observed. 
 
 "Faith! master Endymion," said the 
 elder of the two, who seemed somewhat 
 between thirty and forty, " I am not ill- 
 pleased that this freak of thine to surprise 
 thy mistress in the quaint mummery that 
 hath done such good service abroad, fits 
 in so well with mine own scheme of appris- 
 ing, with secresy, my revered neighbour, 
 the prioress of Fairwell, of the visitation 
 she is to expect." 
 
 "The cardinal-archbishop comes in 
 person, does he not ?" asked his com- 
 panion, whose slouched hat and false 
 beard still showed glimpses of a juvenile 
 complexion. 
 
 " Both of them, man ; both the legates, 
 I Wolsey and Campeggio, will, ere long, 
 fill the green valleys and secluded clois- 
 I ters of Fairwell with all the pomp of their 
 i priestly retinue. The papal bull is just 
 received, empowering the two legates to 
 examine the state of the monasteries, to 
 suppress such as they think fit, and to con- 
 vert them into bishoprics, cathedrals, or 
 colleges." 
 
 " I heard no talk of it," repdied he of 
 the scalloped hat, " when we were at 
 court; — but you, master Paget, were, 
 doubtless, admitted to more intimate con- 
 fidence." 
 
 (To be continued in our 7iext.)
 
 FKRILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 345 
 
 See page 346. 
 
 THE DEATH OF DA VIXCI. 
 
 AN HISTORICAL SKETCH OF THE SIX- 
 TEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 The morning sun was breaking brightly 
 over the woods of Fontainbleau ; the dew- 
 drops were glittering on the pendant 
 branches, as if each trembling bough was 
 jewelled like the tiara of a monarch ; and 
 the matin-song of the little birds was 
 sounding merrily in the green woods : 
 but brighter lar shone the eyes of the fair 
 n)aidens of France, and sweeter sang the 
 minstrels who were assembled in the 
 glades of the forest. Francis, the " king 
 of gentlemen," was holding high festival 
 at Fontainbleau, with the noblest and 
 brightest of his court. 
 
 Certes it was a noble and a stirring 
 sight to view the gallant array of war- 
 riors and princes, of spearmen and ar- 
 balisters, with their banners and their 
 pennons, waving and flashing their many- 
 coloured liues to the full blaze of the 
 morning. All of every degree, from the 
 proud noble in his furred gown and golden 
 chain, to the shouting peasant with his 
 thrum cap and leathern jerkin, were 
 
 VOL. I.— 44. 
 
 thronging round their sovereign. Here 
 rode the portly citizen on his sober pacing 
 steed — there ambled the court maiden on 
 her playful jennet, jingling the milan bells 
 of her hooded merlin in the ear of the 
 citizen's horse, to the no small discom- 
 fiture of his rider. Here stood the vete- 
 ran cavalier, stiff and straight as the old 
 elm against winch he leant, casting a 
 wrathful eye upon the wayward cara- 
 colings of the lady's palfrey, — and there 
 the bashful country damsel, half smiling, 
 half pouting at the plumed gallant, who, 
 bending from his pawing Arabian, is 
 whispering the newest romaunt of the 
 troubadouis in her ear. The beautiful, 
 the brave, were gathering round their 
 king. 
 
 Beneath a splendid canopy, erected in 
 the court of the palace, stood Francis, his 
 bright joyous eye glancing with pleasure 
 on the gay scene around him, — not so 
 much distinguished by the richness of his 
 habit as by the beauty of his person and 
 graceful deportment, which so justly 
 gained him the title of " Le Roi de 
 Geiitil-hommey He was surrounded by 
 those whose names rank high in the annals 
 2 Y ^
 
 346 
 
 TALF.S OK CHIVA1,RY 
 
 of chivalry, — Bonnivet, Fleuis, Bolange; 
 and tliere stood Bayard, the good knight, 
 *' sa7is peur suns- reprocJie.'"' But there 
 is a sudden silence amongst the multitude, 
 — the siiouts of the peasants and the clan- 
 gor of the trumpets are hushed, — the 
 laughing maiden has stilled the bells of 
 her falcon, and the gallant has turned his 
 palfrey from the side of his blushing com- 
 panion. And for what? To gaze on an 
 aged man, whose feeble form is hardly 
 supported in his saddle by the men-at- 
 arms, who are leading his sure-paced 
 mule through the throng. He descends, 
 and his trembling steps are guided to 
 where the youthful monarch is standing, 
 encircled by chivalry and beauty. He 
 bends his knees and bows his gray hairs 
 before the throne ; it is but for an instant 
 — the hand of Francis has raised him from 
 his suppliant posture, and he stands on 
 the right hand of the king. There is no 
 coronet upon his brow, its only covering 
 are the sihcn- locks which wave around 
 Ills temples ; there are neither chains nor 
 jewels on his breast, — the flov^ing beard, 
 wiiite as the driven snow, which descends 
 over his dark robe, is its only ornament : 
 — yet every eye is turned upon him — peer 
 and peasant are pressing forward to look 
 upon t1iat aged form, — the name of Da 
 Vinci is whispered among the courtiers — 
 it is carried from mouth to mouth ; the 
 cry rises louder and louder, and the shout 
 of "Live Francis! the patron of learning," 
 is joined with *' Honour to Da Vinci, le 
 sage chevalier. Honour to the noble 
 Italian : may his stay be long at the court 
 he hns at length visited." It was, in- 
 deed. Da Vinci, tlie venerable Leonardo, 
 who ]:ad left his ungrateful country, to 
 visit the court of one who never failed to 
 respect wisdom and virtue. Da Vinci, 
 the man who united the niost wonderful 
 talents with a pure and guileless heart. 
 The accou)plished gentleman, tlie skilful 
 knight, the mathematician, the poet, the 
 artificer, the musician, and the painter. 
 Such was the man who stood, like one of 
 the patriarchs of old, stern and simple 
 in his attire, amid the gay and glittering 
 
 throng. 
 
 * • ♦ * « « 
 
 The scene is changed ; it is no longer 
 the busy splendid assemblage of warriors 
 and courtiers without the walls of Fontain- 
 bleau, — it is the soleam stillness of the 
 chamber of deaili ! 'I'he dark fretted roc)f 
 
 of one of the chambers of the palace 
 spreads its carved work above, in lieu of 
 the clear and cloudless canopy of heaven; 
 and the faint glimmer of a single lamp 
 falls on two figures, the sole inmates of 
 the apartment. The one is Da Vinci ; 
 he is dying, but still glorious even in 
 death, like the last bright flash of an ex- 
 piring flame before it sinks into the socket. 
 Leonardo has raised himself in his bed, — 
 his face is pale, but his eye is still bright, 
 his countenance still calm and serene. — 
 There is a slight quiver on his lips, as if 
 he would iiave spoken, — it passes away, 
 and his head dropping gently on his 
 bosom, he sinks back in the arms of the 
 person who kneels beside the couch. It 
 is the monarch of France who supports 
 the dying man, on whose bosom Da 
 Vinci has breathed his last sigh. 
 
 Thus died the learned, the good Da 
 Vinci, the wonder of his age, — of whom 
 it might be justly said — " take him for all 
 in all, we ne'er shall look upon his like 
 again." 
 
 NOBLES AND ARBLASTERS. 
 
 (Continued from page 344.^ 
 
 " Troth was I, friend Arblaster ; and 
 reason good ; my old head," (and here he 
 raised his broad flat cap, and displayed a 
 short glossy cross of sable hair cuiling 
 closely round a most majestic forehead,) 
 *' my old head, though not yet gray in 
 court service, has known enough of that 
 court to count its hours into summers and 
 winters, I am highly trusted." 
 
 *' And well you deserve it!" said long- 
 beard, laughing ; " when here is an im- 
 portant measure, contemplated in the pe- 
 netralia of the cabinet — nay, hardly peep- 
 ing from under the cardinal's red cap — 
 and, lo ! his highness's ambassador extra- 
 ordinary, new flushed with the honours of 
 a successful secret negociati(jn, rides me 
 some hundreds of miles, by lanes and 
 heaths, and out-o'-the-way hamlets, to bid 
 a Benedictine prioress busk her black 
 stole, lock up her nuns, and sweep her 
 house from turret to cellar, lest the Piiilis- 
 tines be upon her unawares, forsooth !" 
 
 *' Not so, Endymion," said the other, 
 gravely ; " I am, and ever shall be, a 
 iailhful and inalienable son of holy church, 
 and though full fain to see a redress of 
 those abu.^es which have made her such 
 numerous and fatal foes, I cannot but con.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND Fr..LI) 
 
 347 
 
 template, in these visitations and suppres- 
 sions of monasteries, the preliminary step 
 to her decline and downfall 1" 
 
 " But how," said the uther, ** will your 
 warning avail the priory of Fairwell?" 
 
 " It may be in no wise ; — but, at all 
 events, there is much to hope from the 
 prioress Elizabeth's strict discipline, and 
 she shall have every advantage that pre- 
 caution can afford her." 
 
 " Be it so ! — but, melhinks, we shall 
 scarcely reach your man-^ion of Beaude- 
 sart to-night ; mark you huw the evening 
 winds are rising, and how dark and heavy 
 the clouds become ; hark how yon bittern 
 clanjoars from the swamp : in suoth, master 
 Paget, we shall have a tempest !" 
 
 The elder horseman observed the 
 threatening signs, and both quickening^ 
 their pace, they ceased for awhile furtlier 
 converse. The wind had now assumed 
 the wilder and deeper tones of an autum- 
 nal gust. After tracing for some time 
 tiie banks of a brawling stream, they en- 
 tered an old thicket of oak and pine, where 
 tJje gush of the water was heard mingling 
 with the wind that rushed through the 
 heavy foliage. Emerging once more upon 
 the heath, they found that the twilight had 
 deserted them ; large heavy drops began 
 to fall, and as they passed the scattered 
 groupes of cottages, each witii its huge 
 tree tossing in the wind, and the lattices 
 ruddy with the evening blaze, master 
 William Paget could not help wishing 
 himself nearer to his own lordly halls of 
 Beaudesart. 
 
 ** We shall be fain to shelter at the old 
 raven's tower for the night," said Paget, 
 as they descended a hollow, in whose 
 bosom a large pool reflected the ghastly 
 skies, while on its further slope a huge 
 round tower, apparently almost ruinous, 
 arose amidst a scattered circle of seven or 
 eight enormous trees, — the outlines of 
 rugged branches and broken ramparts 
 being dimly defined against the labour- 
 ing sky. It was the abode of a ranger 
 of Beaudesart, and, as the tempest began 
 now to pom- piteously down, the party 
 urged their horses to lull speed, and were 
 soon ushered through the massive portal, 
 and by a steep flight of stone steps, into a 
 rude but cheerful hall, illuminated by a 
 monstrous fire. 
 
 Paget having recommended his friend 
 Endyiuion to liie care of a (lecentlof)king 
 woman, who, with her husband, failcU to 
 
 I recognise their lung-absent master, took 
 the ranger aside, and discloseil himself to 
 him, enjoining secresy for the present. 
 The man's joy at seeing his lord again 
 seemed, however, mingled with some un- 
 easiness ; and at length he informed 
 master Paget that the capellane of Cross- 
 inhand, who had been visiting tlie neigh- 
 bouring hamlet, had, a short time before, 
 requested shelter in the tower, and was 
 then in an upper chamber retired to rest. 
 
 " The last part of thy tale makes me 
 less careful touching its iirst. I would ill 
 like to meet that same capellane — ihou 
 kiiowest I love him not; he is a sordid 
 soul, and hath much evil influence over 
 the prioress, his sister; but if he be gone 
 10 rest, — why, sound sleep to him ! And, 
 hark ye, Ralph,— let us have the best 
 cheer w« may at short notice !" 
 
 Tlie table was soon spread, and homely, 
 but savory, viands quickly hissed and 
 smoked upon the board, not a little en- 
 hanced by a huge flaggon of potent 
 Burton ale. The storm now rose to its 
 height ; the wind boomed around the 
 ponderous walls of the tower ; the rain 
 spatted upon the narrow tinkling lattices, 
 and the voices of the tossing trees were 
 heard like groaning monsters on the 
 stormy heath. But the bright hearth 
 flame, and the cheerful burden of the sup- 
 per table, soon did their good v. ork on our 
 drenched travellers ; the attendants, at 
 master Paget's direction, joined the circle. 
 Hasty and rude preparations were made 
 for their repose : supper was concluded, 
 and Endymion, receiving a small ghittern 
 from a valise of his follower, commenced 
 the recitation of the following ballad, 
 with a sort of accompaniment from the 
 chords: — 
 
 The wind assails the painted pane. 
 
 And stirs the storied pall. 
 That with their courtly colours deck 
 
 Ferrara's palace-hall. 
 
 The duchess at her tambour plies 
 
 The variegated toil. 
 And by her side the silver lamp 
 
 Fiames with its fragrant oil. 
 
 When, hark ! her watchful damsels hear 
 
 A low and piteous moan ; 
 On the porch-steps a knight they find. 
 
 Faint, bleeding, and alone. 
 
 "Tlie duke two days hath been away. 
 
 And haih not yi't returned; 
 But he woHld chaf", if wou; ded wight 
 
 Were from his portal spurned." 
 
 2y2
 
 348 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 Rich cordials to his lips thoy plii'd. 
 His wounds Iho duchess (lress»d, 
 
 And in their stateliest bed-chamber 
 They laid his limbs to rest. 
 
 Scarce to his gorgeous couch he sped, 
 
 Scarce from his swimming eve 
 Faded the bright hearth's flickering flame. 
 
 And umbered tapestry, 
 
 When loud the portal bell was rang, 
 Arm'd men and steeds were heard ; 
 
 And, trampling up the stately steps. 
 The ducal train appeared. 
 
 " Welcome, my lord ! — From festal hall. 
 
 Or sainted shrine art thou ? 
 Or from the well-fought field, where fame 
 
 Wreathes the glad hero's brow !" 
 
 " I sought no wine from festal hall. 
 
 No grace from holy rood, 
 But hungry vengeance gnawed my heart ; 
 
 I've glutted her with blood. 
 
 •* But why this gul<len posset-cup 
 
 Display"'d upon tlie board ? 
 W hy do fresh rushi-s strew the stair ? 
 
 Didst thou expect thy lord ?" 
 
 " A knight, too sorely hurt to speak, 
 
 Hath found a shelter here !" 
 The duke's dark cheek grew red with rage. 
 
 His lady's pale with fear. 
 
 " What armour wore that wounded knight ? 
 
 His cognizance — what hue ?" 
 *' His red shield bore a golden tower, 
 
 His scarf aud plume were blue." 
 
 Calm slept the knight : his damask couch 
 
 Did pleasant dreams impart, 
 What steel-clad footstejjs climb the stairs ? 
 
 He wakens with a start. 
 
 " I sank to sleep 'mid rustling silks. 
 
 Soft tones, light steps around ; 
 Alas ! why storms my waking ear 
 
 The clanging weapon sound ? 
 
 " When slumber closed my weary eye. 
 
 An angel by me sate ; 
 Oh, God ! I only wake to see 
 
 My foemen and my fate !" 
 
 Endymion was here interrupted by a 
 loud exclamation from William Paget, 
 and looked up in surprise to discover its 
 cause. They had each occupied a com- 
 fortable seat within the huge chimney 
 range, which formed an arch of great 
 height and width, above which, and sup- 
 ported on florid pillars, arose the chimney 
 itself, over a heavy architrave, in the shape 
 of a half pyramid, nearly to the top of the 
 hall ; behind young Arblaster, at the far- 
 ther end of the room, a narrow door-way, 
 whose billets and chevrons, as well as its 
 round arch, bespoke its Norman structure, 
 disclosed in imperfect liglit the lower steps 
 of a winding stone staircase ; this, though 
 hidden from Endymion, was fully dis 
 played to master Paget, wljo sat opposite, 
 
 and who now asserted tliat he had several 
 times, in the course of the ballad, fancied 
 he saw somctliing indistinctly figured in 
 llie gloomy archway, that he caught the 
 glare of eyes revealed by a sudden Hash 
 of fire-light, and that, on his exclamation, 
 he could have sworn that he saw the dark 
 floating shadow disaj)pear up the siairs. 
 
 There appeared little doubt that the 
 capellane had been disturbed by the min- 
 strelsy, and hid descended with the view 
 of reconnoitring the party. Endymion 
 was for following up the stairs, in order 
 to ascertain this point, but Paget dis- 
 suaded him ; and, congratulating them- 
 selves that they had not been conversing 
 on any momentous topic, they soon re- 
 tired to be lulcd to their slumbers by the 
 yet howling storm. 
 
 A cool, still, cloudless sunrise, printing 
 on the flo'.r the bars and panes of the 
 dewy windows of the tower, aroused them 
 early the next morning ; and the flrst 
 thing they heard was that the capellane 
 had proceeded homewards at the earliest 
 streak of dawn. Their plan now was to 
 visit Chorley Hall forthwith ; Endymion 
 without a thought, save the delight of 
 meeting Cornelia once more, and the kind 
 and sagacious master of Beaudesart pro- 
 mising himself a frolic in thus coming 
 disguised to his old friends, together with 
 the satisfaction of witnessing the reunion 
 of the young betrothed ; he was then to 
 repair on his friendly office to the priory 
 of Fairwell. 
 
 As Endymion sprang to his saddle, and 
 drew his pilgrim disguise close around 
 his person, the ranger, who held his stir- 
 rup, placed in his hand, with an air of 
 great mystery, mingled with deference, 
 the following letter : — 
 
 " You wish to be concealed, but I have 
 penetrated your disguise ; you deem me 
 unfriendly to you — but t can and will as- 
 sist you, and you will need it. You term 
 my holy zeal covetise — but what I re- 
 quire I. can also requite. Meet me after 
 vespers, bv the spring under the great 
 holly in the glen of Greenladies ; and 
 you shall find good counsel in 
 
 " The capellane of Crossmhandy 
 
 After perusing this strange billet, which 
 he did as they moved slowly on, Endy- 
 mion handed it to his friend Paget, who 
 read it carefully once or twice, and then, 
 returning it to young Arblaster, said, 
 
 '• Now will I be sworn the holy fox has
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 349 
 
 some plan of the old leaven, some scheme 
 upon the acres of Arblaster, which the 
 ro^ue (that I should speak so of a servant 
 of the church!) deems certain of success. 
 CEdipus hath not crept into the Benedic- 
 tine cowl for nothing." 
 
 ** Yet," said Endymion, "I am minded 
 to prove him ! his juggling tricks cannot 
 hurt me now, since (thanks to the merry 
 month of September) I shall soon be of 
 age; and my poor mother can then no 
 longer lend her sanction to his priestly 
 oppression. By my father's spirit, I will 
 meet him after I have kissed Cornelia out 
 of the swoon into which I intend to sur- 
 prise her : I will meet him, if it be but to 
 show him how clearly I penetrate his 
 shallow knavery." 
 
 " At all events," said master Paget, 
 " not a word must be breathed to him of 
 the legate's visitation. Marry ! he would 
 be begging Wolsey's silver pillars, or 
 some such trinketry, for his oratory at 
 Crossinhand, or his sister's priory." 
 
 And thus merrily chatting, they ambled 
 on towards Chorley Hall. 
 
 Situated on a broad platform, at the 
 summit of one of those bold, abrupt hills, 
 that once rose crowned with foliage in 
 the now disforested regions of Cannock, 
 Chorley Hall displayed for miles its ample 
 and lofty buildings. These were chiefly 
 of a rude and romantic complexion, con- 
 sisting of broad porches, steep and spread- 
 ing gables, and chimneys whose lozenged 
 funnels were linked at the cornice five or 
 six together ; one tall, square turret, how- 
 ever, of ashler stone, where the great 
 manor- bell was hung, did, by its majestic 
 form and bold crenelled parapet, confer a 
 sort of dignity on the huddled clusters of 
 quaint timbered buildings, over which it 
 soared into the air. The mansion was 
 adorned by magnificent trees, which had 
 been suffered to survive the devastation 
 of their wood-mates, and which now 
 stood in bulky singleness of trunk, or in 
 pictures(jue groups of two or three ; the 
 fantastic and multiform windows looked 
 over fair vales, glittering with spiry towns, 
 and studded with warm villages, over 
 castles and churches, over woods and 
 rivers, over upland and champain, till the 
 haughty Needwood on the north, and 
 purple Charnwood to the east, closed the 
 checquered view with their gigantic fo- 
 rests. In the immediate neighljourhood, 
 the wild cannock was tamed down bv cul- 
 
 tivation ; there were deep, delly lanes, 
 sparkling with wells, carpetted with short 
 greensward, overhung by thickets of holly, 
 hazle, birch, and hawthorn, and tapestried 
 by deep, mossy banks, where the fox- 
 glove shot up its tiers of crimson bells 
 amongst the vast feathered fern, and the 
 azure hare-bell trembled over the matting 
 of wild strawberry-leaves and ground ivy. 
 
 The surface of the Chorley domain, 
 thus beautifully varied, was cleft by nu- 
 merous roads, crossing and re-crossing 
 each other up and down hill, amidst their 
 woody windings ; now forming the street 
 of a hilly hamlet, now descending to a 
 shady brook, they divided broad slopes of 
 pasture and arable land, which were 
 whitened with flocks, or waving in golden 
 grain ; while the vast wilderness from 
 which they had been reclaimed, filled, 
 with its sullen surgy ridge, the whole line 
 of the eastern horizon, frowning, in spite 
 of its party-coloured raiment of gorse 
 and heather, like some tyrant, from whose 
 teiritory a monstrous cantle has been cut 
 out. Such was the scene where the vene- 
 rable family of Noble had set up the staff 
 of their rest. 
 
 Perhaps a greater contrast to this manor 
 of the moor could not be imagined, than 
 the view that its upper windows admitted 
 of the abode which was once to have been 
 united with it— Arblaster Hall. Disclosed 
 in the distant valley of Longdon, nestling 
 under an eastern hill, its grandly archi- 
 tectural front was broken by old lime- 
 trees, warm and glowing as the rich walls 
 and windows they screened. Wide velvet 
 lawns, grouped with deer, were laced by 
 a winding rivulet : 
 
 For from an hill that stood there near. 
 
 Come doun the streme full stiffe and bold; 
 
 Cleie was the water, and as cold 
 
 As any welle is, sothe to saine ; 
 
 The botome ipaved everidle, 
 
 \\ ilh gravell ful of stonis shene ; 
 
 The merlowis softe, sole, and grene, 
 
 Beet right upon the watir side. 
 
 ROMAUNT OF THE RoSE. 
 
 This water spread itself in a great pool, 
 well stocked with perch, carp, and tench, 
 and displayed a noble game of silver white 
 swans, sailing over its surface ; the gar- 
 dens, whose massy gray walls glowed 
 with basking fruitage, the turf terraces, 
 with their stone balustradt^s, the arbours, 
 the alcoves, with their gilded vanes, the 
 dark rookery, the turretted pigeon-house, 
 nay, the huge barn, rick-yard, and grange 
 themselves, looked soft, sunny, and luxu-
 
 350 
 
 TALES OP CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 rious. The pretty village of T.angdon lay 
 on a level with the hall, the church of St. 
 James's rising amongst its yew-trees on 
 a soft hill to the north. But Ihe principal 
 feature of the village was its green, an 
 ample level lawn of that short bright turf, 
 whose verdure harmonized so well with 
 the gaudy gardens and variegated forms 
 of tlie rural mansions that encircled it. 
 
 These last exhibited every diversity of 
 site, shape, and colour, red, white, or 
 gray, retiring under old trees, or pushing 
 forward to the sun ; their roofs of scarlet 
 tiles, golden thatch, or blue slate, some- 
 times extending a low range only one 
 story high, sometimes narrow and tall, 
 with the door in the upper story, to which 
 a square staircase led up over a porch ; 
 some showing their shady rick-yards, 
 others their orchards, but all nested in 
 truly Arcadian beauty. But it is time we 
 relinquished this description of the two 
 houses, and entered upon the transactions 
 in which their owners were so deeply in- 
 terested. 
 
 Wlien Paget and Arblaster alighted at 
 the inner porch of Chorley Hall, their 
 steeds were taken by two sturdy serving- 
 men, and they weVe ushered into the 
 great hall, garnished with all the rude 
 ornaments of baronial antiquity, and 
 thence by a corner door into an extensive 
 chamber^ lighted by a broad oblong win- 
 dow of six lights, and a smaller lattice 
 perched near the ceiling. The stories of 
 Theseus and Ariadne, Solomon and Sheba, 
 Hector and Andromache, and other le- 
 gends of monkish or classical lore, were 
 brightly depicted on the tapestry. 
 
 The'deferential silence on the part of the 
 attendants was unbroken till refreshments 
 had been spread before the strangers, 
 and then they were informed that sir 
 Augustine and lady Cicely had been on a 
 hawking-parfy the preceding day, with 
 their neighbours, the Werdons of Long- 
 don Hall, and were almost momentarily 
 expected at Chorley. Chuckling at the 
 success of his disguise, master Paget re- 
 arranged the close cloth cap that concealed 
 his rechmdaat hair, gathered up his coarse 
 and high-collared mantle, so as to increase 
 the concealment of his features, and, in a 
 tone of suppressed mirth, 
 
 *' By the faith of my fathers," he said, 
 ** the unstinted hospitality of thy lady's 
 sire, master Arblaster, hath stood us in 
 some stead ! I know not the house be- 
 
 tween Trent and Tyne, that would have 
 opened to such uncouth-looking vaga- 
 bonds. Never trust me, if even here the 
 fellows looked not as tiKJugh they woultl 
 have pitched us into the moat, if they 
 durst !" 
 
 The youthful Endymion, fluttered with 
 joyful expectation, leaned against the man- 
 telpiece, a bulky structure, consisting of 
 an arch supporting a deep cornice of rich 
 sculpture, in whose centre was the es- 
 cutcheon of Noble, — or, on a fess gules, 
 three bezants between two lions passant, 
 azure. 
 
 *• It was against this very pillar," he 
 said, without answering his friend, "it 
 was against this very pillar, that, hasten- 
 ing once to meet me, Cornelia fell and 
 wounded her temple ; and it was while 
 she washalf fainting with the pain in my 
 arms, that I first ventured — " 
 
 " A truce to thy first ventures, and 
 look to the last ; — respice Jinem, as the 
 old motto hath it. Credit me, master 
 Endymion, thy romance of love hath 
 reached its last chapter ; after wedlock, 
 thou wilt find Cupid's but a work-day 
 world at best. But hark ! I hear the 
 tramp of horses and the clink of the 
 hawk-bells j they are opening the court- 
 gates ; how they swarm from every pas- 
 sage and stair in the old straggling build- 
 ings. I marvel if my rogues will be as 
 prompt to greet me at old Beaudesart. 
 Mufl[le up, Endymion ! be overcast, my 
 rising sun of Arblaster. In prances the 
 burly knight on his gallant roan, and my 
 lady Cicely's jennet curvets prettily at 
 his side. Mercy ! what a troop of green- 
 coats are about them. But, ha ! a mule, 
 and with gorgeous trappings ? some eccle- 
 siastic of rank. Oh, spite, Endymion ! our 
 sport is spoiled ; 'tis the abbot of Per- 
 shore, the Suffragan Stonivvell himself 1" 
 
 ** We counted not to have played be- 
 fore such an audience," said Endymion ; 
 " but we must bide the brunt." 
 
 *' Ay, must we," replied Paget, still 
 gazing through the window. " Now they 
 have alighted ; the knaves that let us in 
 are addressing their lord : he speaks to 
 the bishop, wlio smiles; and, by Heaven ! 
 the knight and his lady laugh outright! 
 But, peace ; they ascend the porch steps : 
 a proper interview this is like to be be- 
 tween a bi.'"hop and a court ambassador 1" 
 
 As he spoke this, sir Augustine and 
 lady Noble, in their riding attire, and
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 351 
 
 their falcons on their fists, ushered with 
 solemn deference bishop Stonivvell into 
 the room where Paget and Arblaster were 
 standing;. 
 
 Sir Augustine Noble showed, in iiis 
 stalwart figure and ruddy cheek, the to- 
 kens of health, which his white beard 
 floating over his doublet of green, and 
 grisled locks peering below his broad vel- 
 vet cap. showed to be the health of au- 
 tumnal age. His mantle was short ; his 
 doublet, puckered and distended to a 
 great breadth, was slashed with scarlet, 
 the sleeves swelled into large ruffs, and 
 the trausses, or breeciies, also slashed with 
 red, were bolstered about the hips to 
 about the middle of the thigh, from 
 whence they descended to the feet close 
 and tight, so as to display the minute 
 sy:nmetry of the limbs. On his nchly 
 embroidered glove sat a very laige sacre, 
 her long train (for which that species of 
 falcon is remarkable) drooping over her 
 master's fist, and her hood of blue and 
 scarlet, surmounted by a tuft of similar 
 colours, and the embroidered bevvits, with 
 two well-toned Dordrecht bells, buttoned 
 about her legs. 
 
 The lady Cicely wore a velvet coif, be- 
 neath which her gray locks were gathered 
 into tufts or tussocks, a small deep ruff", a 
 long boddice, buckled and braided with 
 gold, and close-fitting gown, with a falling 
 cape : she carried a marl) on, a busy and 
 unruly bird, now pecking her leash, now 
 iier talons, and attracting her lady's per- 
 petual attention. The bishop, who ap- 
 peared to have only just encountered the 
 knight and his lady, was at once simply 
 and richly attired in a sad- coloured riding- 
 vest of fine cloth, lined with silk, and a 
 close-fitting cap of purple velvet on his 
 silvery tonsure. 
 
 Sir Augustine advanced at once to 
 master Paget, who, thus caught in tlie 
 manner, seemed irresolute huvv to act. 
 
 " May the poor knight of Chorley," 
 said the old man, dofEng his plumed cap 
 with ludicrous solemnity, ** presume to 
 enquire what secret service hath brought 
 hither his majesty's ambassador extraor- 
 dinary, whose fame and favour hath al- 
 ready preceded him in these wilder- 
 nesses e" And then, changing his tone, 
 added, laughing, "Art not ashamed now, 
 master Paget, to mock ni)' old eyes with 
 tliese munnnings ?" 
 
 "So far ashamed," replied Paget, rally- 
 
 ing, "* that, since I am found out, I will 
 disown all intercourse with my old friend, 
 disguise, for deserting me at a pinch," — 
 and he pulled off the skull-cap, dashed 
 away the cumbrous cloak, and stood be- 
 fore the company in all the symmetry of 
 limb, and fire of eye, curled glossy locks, 
 and glowing cheeks, that mark the prime 
 of life; and, after returning cordially the 
 knight's grasp of welcome, hastened to 
 pay his respects to lady Cicely and the 
 bishop. 
 
 " Master Paget," said the suffragan, 
 witii a quiet smile, "must not quarrel 
 rashly with disguise, since it betrayed 
 him at a moment when he deemed that 
 he least needed it." 
 
 " I know your meaning, holy father : 
 the tower on the heath, and — " 
 
 " The capellane of Crossinhand," in- 
 terrupted Stonivvell, " was with me soon 
 after prime this morning, full of the 
 tidings of your arrival ; and J was even 
 now passing on to Beaudesart, when sir 
 Augustine Noble and his honoured dame 
 prayed me to turn in hither." 
 
 " Was my arrival the only news he 
 boasted ?" 
 
 "Nothing more; but there was an 
 eager restlessness about him, that made it 
 clear he suspected there was more lliat he 
 knew not of." 
 
 While Paget was stating, in subdued 
 tones, the important intelligence of the 
 legate's visitation, and the motive which 
 had led him to continue his disguise so 
 long, Endymion stood in the dusky cham- 
 ber, unnoticed by any of the parly, whose 
 attention was wholly absorbed by master 
 William's communication. The leaves 
 and fruit of a huge old pear tree, whose 
 boughs flapped in the moontide gale 
 against the high lattice already men- 
 tioned, added to the obscurity of that part 
 of the large chamber in which Endymion, 
 folded in his pilgrim's drapery, was buried 
 in contemplation. A tambour-frame, on 
 which was fastened a large piece of un- 
 finished tapestry, he had immediately re- 
 cognised as belonging to Cornelia: it 
 might have been thought, indeed, that 
 she had but recently left her broider-work, 
 had it not been for tiiat mute, but most 
 strikingly eloquent evidence of long neg- 
 lect, a large cobweb, whose filmy texture 
 was seen heavy with dust, overspreading 
 the unfinished story of the Fall of Phae- 
 ton ; as if Arachne had been still emulous
 
 352 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 of the skill she once possessed, as the ro- 
 mance tells us — 
 
 " Et antiquas exercet aranea telas." 
 Musing over this strange circumstance, 
 yet without a suspicion of its real cause, 
 young Arblaster was disturbed in his re- 
 verie by the heightened tones of Paget 
 and the others, now in earnest parley. 
 
 " His majesty," exclaimed the former, 
 *'hath even promised parliament, that, 
 if the monasteries are suppressed, and 
 their house-lands and goods granted to 
 the crown, there shall be created forty 
 earls, sixty barons, three thousand knights, 
 and forty thousand soldiers, with skilful 
 captains, and competent maintenance for 
 them all." 
 
 " Then," said the bishop, " sooner or 
 later, (he venerable fabrics must fall : 
 Heaven send they do not drag down the 
 church with them !" 
 
 "No fear, no fear!" cried sir Augus- 
 tine, who had listened to Paget with un- 
 repressed satisfaction, "let the diseased 
 part be cut away, and the rest will be 
 preserved sound and healthy." 
 
 " There is hope, then, that our poor 
 Cornelia may be restored to us," said 
 lady Cicely : " alas ! that sh.e could be re- 
 stored to herself! but her heart is buried 
 in young Arblaster's grave !" 
 
 " What say you, lady," asked Paget, 
 sharply, "of young Arblaster and the 
 grave ?" 
 
 " What I should have said earlier," re- 
 plied lady Noble, " had I not been occu- 
 pied by your stirring news. What sir 
 Augustine wouUl join me in saying, 
 namely, — that our grief for the youth's 
 untimely death in a foreign land hath 
 been bitterly enhanced by the loss of our 
 only child, who hath taken the veil at 
 Fair well for his sake." 
 
 A burst of astonishment from Paget, at 
 the conclusion of this speech, was echoed 
 by a groan of unspeak.ible anguish from 
 the further end of the room, that imme- 
 diately attracted the notice of all present ; 
 Endymion, in the act of sinking, was 
 caught by William Paget, who had hast- 
 ened to his assistance, and his hood fall- 
 ing back, disclosed at once to the knight 
 and his trembling dame those well-known 
 features, and gave, at the same time, the 
 outlines of the hideous deceit that had 
 been practised against them. 
 
 It would be vain to attempt describing 
 the scene (hat followed. Respect for the 
 
 feelings of Endymion repressed their re- 
 proaciies of his mother's cruel conduct; 
 but upon the capellane (whom they justly 
 considered as having fomented, if not in- 
 stilled, the dame Maud's prejudices) they 
 all agreed in bestowing the most unquali- 
 fied indignation. Alter the long and 
 mournful explanation had taken place, 
 Endymion, becoming somewhat calmer, 
 suffered himself to indulge the hopes 
 which even Paget and the bishop, rigidly 
 attached as they were to the old religion, 
 held out to him from the visit of the 
 lagates. A consultation was then hek\ 
 to which the lady Cicely willingly lent 
 her woman's wit, as to the most effectua> 
 means of at once foiling and retaliating 
 upon the capellane. His ambiguous let- 
 ter from the Raven-tower was produced ; 
 and the bishop having assured them that 
 the monk had given him no hint of having 
 seen Endymion, though the letter evi- 
 dently showed it, they came to the con- 
 clusion that the wily priest designed to 
 favour the young man's wish of conceal- 
 ment, for the purpose of resuming his old 
 influence over him. It was also deemed 
 necessary to the development of his ulti- 
 mate views, that Arblaster should keep 
 the tryste at the well of the Greenladies, 
 and sliould remain at his pleasure, incog- 
 nito, at Chorley Hall. Nothing had as yet 
 transpired to implicate the prioress of 
 Fairvvell in this nefarious plot, and it was 
 with a view to her interests, as well as to 
 Cornelia's deliverance from her rash vows, 
 that the excellent suffragan, who was well 
 loved by Wolsey, undertook to set forth 
 southward immediately, to explain this 
 affair, and to obtain a favourable adjust- 
 ment. 
 
 Meanwhile Endymion, with youthful 
 impatience, if not imprudence, secretly 
 dispatched the note alluded to in the be- 
 ginning of the story ; how it fared is 
 already known ; but this, as well as the 
 interview in Greenladies glen, we shall 
 explain rather than relate, by carrying 
 the tale to Arblaster hall, at the period of 
 a few days after Cornelia's visit to the 
 oratory at Crossinhand. 
 
 (To be continued in our next.) 
 
 Power and liberty are like heat and 
 moisture : when they are well mixed, 
 every thing prospers ; when (hey are 
 single, they ever do mischief.
 
 FKRILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 353 
 
 Page 354. 
 
 THE FALL OF MOWBRAY. 
 
 " Brave chief ! thy mansion 'neath the tumuli 
 Huth loug been buried ; and where once was 
 hoard 
 
 The clash of swords and all-victorious cry 
 or battle-legions fighting lor their lord. 
 
 All issenne, except the sounds that tly 
 Ahmg its vaults, proceeding from the horde 
 
 Of playful children, or the village bell — 
 
 Its Sabbath chime, or deeper-sounding knell," 
 
 " A STRANGER, wlio avers himself a 
 poor sinner of the Cistertian brotherhood 
 at Hode, desires audience with sir Roger 
 de Mowbray," said the henchman of the 
 northern chieftain, addressing his master. I 
 
 " Award him welcome," replied De 
 Mowbray ; " he may come, I trow% to re- i 
 port hearsay of the approach of Henry's 
 troops: yet, I suspect not their encamp- i 
 nient in that quarter." 
 
 *' The blessing of the Virgin rest upon ! 
 ye !" ejaculated the professed monk, as 
 entering he made his obeisance to De ! 
 Mowbray. "A brother of the faithful 
 fraternity of St. Fehx requests conference 
 with ye for awhile." 
 
 " Wilt thou first refresh thyself, holy 
 father ? it is now verging towards supper- 
 
 voL. I. — 45. 
 
 time, and thine hath been a rough ana 
 unkindly path." 
 
 " I thank ye, courteous knight ; but 
 when spears are sharpening on the rocks 
 in Sutton Hold, and burnished bucklers 
 gleaming in Thirlliy Fell, it is vexatious 
 to talk of rest or refreshment." 
 
 " So Henry hath faced me at last ! — 
 But why tarry his forces in Sutton Hold ? 
 By the high altar of St. Felix! fairer spot 
 for defeat they could not have chosen ! — 
 They are strange to the fastnesses of the 
 cliffs ; we might drive them to their ex- 
 tremity, and destroy them as we list 1 — 
 But, pray rest thee, reverend father." 
 
 At this invitation, the tall and cowled 
 personage, who had hitherto rendered 
 dubious the altitude of his figure by a 
 partial stoop, forgetting his assumption, 
 strode martially across the stony floor, 
 and the tread of his heavy foot rang 
 loudly through the sounding audience* 
 room, as he proceeded to the massy board- 
 where he seated himself opposite to and 
 facing De Mowbray. 
 
 The wine-cup was borne to the lordly 
 baron, out of which, as was the feudal 
 custom, he pledged his monkish guest, 
 2z
 
 354 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 who, when the g-oblet was passed to him, 
 took a deeper draught than beseemed Wa 
 sanctimonious garb, — a drauglit, too, be- 
 lyingthat proverbial abstemiousness which 
 report assigned the confreres of St. FeHx. 
 To a question put by De Mowbray, re- 
 garding the welfare of his mother Gim- 
 dreda, who had taken temporary sanc- 
 tuary in the monastery at Hode, the pre- 
 tended Cisterfian remained silent for a 
 moment, and then stammered out a spe- 
 cious message from the lady Gundreda, 
 apologising for previously omitting to de- 
 liver it. He threw over his spurious 
 statements a masterly gloss of words, 
 completely lulling the suspicion of De 
 Mowbray, while he made enquiries of the 
 defensive state of the castle, and what 
 support might be expected from the sur- 
 rounding lords, as belligerent auxiliaries. 
 •* My castle is guarded by one thousand 
 soldiers," said De Mowbray ; — " Egre- 
 mcnt has offered me help ; the Roos, of 
 Helmsley, alibrd me fair countenance ; 
 and my kinsman Scroop is ready with five 
 hundred of his Upsal retainers. Then I 
 have promise from the abbies : Fountains, 
 though needy, will muster me a few vil- 
 lunes, for which I award them ten caru- 
 cates of land ; Mountgrace, in more pros- 
 perous plight, will give their succour ; 
 and Rievaulx also, — for I went forth 
 against the plundering Scots, when they 
 attacked their church and burnt its goodly 
 lil)rary. I will send messages to my 
 friends forthwith. But how strong in num- 
 bers seem the enemy ?" 
 
 The stranger, whilst pondering upon 
 the reply he should make to this interro- 
 gatory, incautiously turned him on the 
 chair on which he was silting, and the 
 spur on his heel becoming entangled in 
 the long cowl, dragged open the loop 
 which secured it at the neck, and the 
 sable disguise dropped at his feet, reveal- 
 ing to De Mowbray the mailed and im- 
 posing figure of sir Ingram Chesterton, 
 hitherto the coadjutor of, and commanding 
 with him in their sovereign's expeditions 
 against the marauding Scots, but who 
 now appeared in the character of spy, to 
 connive at the downfall of the refractory 
 chief. 
 
 De Mowbray rose from his seat, and, 
 sword in hand, stood wildly gazing on sir 
 Ingram Chesterton, who crouched before 
 him, overcome by shame rather than by 
 fear : the amazement of tlic former some- 
 
 what subsiding, he furiously exclaimed 
 — "Traitor! — liar! this night's deceit 
 shall be at a dear purchase to thee ; for, 
 ere to-morrow wakes, the ravens of Row- 
 ston Scaur shall peck thy head on the 
 highest turret of Tliirsk Castle !' 
 
 " Not while this loyal hand can wield 
 a weapon, De Mowbray. Cast me into 
 thy deepest dungeons, rack me with thy 
 most ingenious tortures ; but say not 
 that my shame shall be blazoned to the 
 day, or that my head shall be set up for 
 every base-bred churl to flout." 
 
 *' What have I done to thee," resumed 
 De Mowbray, '* that thou shouldest con- 
 spire to work me evil ? Have I not 
 fougiit by thee, stirrup to stirrup, against 
 Henry's and our common foe ? I struck 
 down the Scottish trooper at the battle of 
 the Standard, when his axe was raised to 
 cleave thee in twain ; and did I ever de- 
 port myself to thee in any shape warrant- 
 ing such requital ? I seek but to defend 
 my castle and my lands, and to assert my 
 domination, against the inroads of Henry j 
 and what should this concern sir Ingram 
 Chesterton ?" 
 
 " I come not, gallant Mowbray, to 
 bandy reproaches with you ; either give 
 me safe egress from your mansion, like a 
 warrior of honour and credit, or put me 
 in fetters, as your caprice may settle 
 upon." 
 
 The promptings of mercy triumphed 
 over those of justice in the breast of De 
 Mowbray, and he conducted sir Ingram 
 Chesterton to the barbican of the castle, 
 assuring him, that tliough he bid him not 
 God speed, such omission should not de- 
 tract from the reception he should meet 
 with on his next appearance before the 
 walls of Thirsk Castle. 
 
 The spy, sir Ingram Chesterton, had 
 scarcely departed, and the drawbridge of 
 the castle was but just drawn up, when 
 De Mowbray was called to hear the rela- 
 tion of Blind Dan, an eccentric wanderer, 
 a poor kinsman of the seneschal of the 
 castle, who had been met by sir Ingram 
 on Carlton Moor, and persuaded to give 
 him conduct to the castle ; which having 
 done, he himself entered, and told to the 
 warden his suspicions respecting the 
 polished monk who had spoken him so 
 fairly. Though blind, Dan's powers of 
 recognition, and his familiarity with the 
 surrounding localities, were unrivalled. 
 A child of the mountain and the forest,
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 355 
 
 Ins nights were mostly spent in wander- 
 ing ; and when occasionally he sought 
 refreshment in sleep, bis couch was the 
 rough hay-rick, or the sheaves of the 
 thrashing-floor, as chance threw such re- 
 ceptacles in his way ; and it uas in one 
 of those nocturnal rambles that he met 
 with sir Ingram Chesterton. 
 
 " Saddle me my horse," commanded 
 De Mowbray ; *'I will fathom this trea- 
 chery, and repay sir Ingr;^m with his own 
 coin. Lead the way to Carlton Moor, 
 Dan ; and stop thee where thou thinkest 
 it was that this monk met thee. I will 
 test his lionour, since he hath clamoured 
 for the maintaining of mine." 
 
 Wrapped up in his cloak, De Mowbray 
 slowly rode along the outer walls of the 
 castle, and entered on the dreary moor- 
 lands of Carlton, accompanied by Blind 
 Dan as his guide. The latter walked 
 boldly on, without once stopping or deviat- 
 ing in the least from the right track. 
 They arrived at the charmed row of the 
 seven elms, where Dan, after passing the 
 sixth, paused midway between it and the 
 seventh, and raising his hand in the air, 
 pronounced that to be the exact spot 
 where he had encountered the leader of 
 the royal forces. De Mowbray mused for 
 a while in mute astonishment, and then 
 wonderingly demanded of his sightless 
 guide how it was that he had conducted 
 him so minutely to the place; which 
 Dan explained, — asserting that he was 
 conscious of having passed the six elms, 
 though he had not ascertained it by touch- 
 ing them (as De Mowbray and himself 
 h;id halted full ten yards from them) ; but 
 he accounted for the apparent phenome- 
 non, by describing the cessation of move- 
 ment in the air of which he was sensible 
 when passing buildings or trees; and 
 counting the times of such cessations, he 
 acquired a knowledge of the precise num- 
 ber of elms they had passed, and which 
 he had previously enumerated on meeting 
 with sir Ingram Chesterton. 
 
 It was after a long and tediotis pause 
 by the seven elms on Carlton Moor, that 
 De Mowbray was enabled to form some 
 conjecture of the probable situation of his 
 enemy, the remote hum of whose en- 
 camped battalions he distinctly heard on 
 the north-west of the moor. The state- 
 ment of the disguised sir Ingram respect- 
 ing their encampment beneath the hills, 
 in the vicinity of Sutton, being but a 
 
 ruse de guerre, intended to mislead the 
 ingenuous Mowbray. Despatching Dan 
 to the castle, he took the route of Sand- 
 button, and passed its isolated cross, the 
 pallid figure of which gleamed solemnly 
 in the rays of moonlight, extorting from 
 the warrior a devout appeal to the Virgin, 
 to prosper his cause. It was here that the 
 barren moorland became diversified with 
 patches of brushwood and hazel, and im- 
 mediately beyond these was a hilly wood 
 of some magnitude, bordering the more 
 fertile valley of Sandhutton. In this val- 
 ley were the royal forces encamped, and 
 from the lofty wood alluded to, De Mow- 
 bray had a commanding view of the as- 
 sailers, whose tents were disposed in two 
 long lines distinctly visible in the light of 
 the cloudless moon. From that cursory 
 inspection even, he discovered that the 
 foe were double the number of his own 
 retainers. Tying his steed to a tree in 
 the wood, he descended into the valley, 
 and approached the tent of sir Ingram 
 Chesterton, on which he saw hoisted 
 the royal standard. Tlie sentinels were 
 pacing to and fro at its entrance, and he 
 studiously kept himself in the shade, lest, 
 though he had luckily evaded the enemy's 
 outposts, he might at last pay dearly for 
 his temerity. Sleep, at last, overpowered 
 their watchfulness, and eventually De 
 Mowbray beheld them prostrated upon 
 the grass. He entered the tent, and 
 stood before the couch of sir Ingram, 
 who, sleepless and studious, had but just 
 thrown himself upon it. Fierce and re- 
 vengeful was the glance with which he 
 recognised De Mowbray ; and, forgetting 
 the generous example which that chief- 
 tain bad but so recently set him, he voci- 
 ferated — 
 
 " Mowbray ? — madman ! by this inso- 
 lence hast thou dared tiiy death 1 By n)y 
 father's fame, the whole of the rebellious 
 estates conjoined cannot now save thee 
 from my vengeance !" 
 
 Saying which, the impetuous and un- 
 armed sir Ingram sprang on De Mow- 
 bray, and closing with him, strove reso- 
 lutely to give him the fall. But his own 
 anger, which had subdued his voice, was 
 his greatest opponent, and De Mowbray 
 shook him off with the same ease as that 
 with which he could have thrown the 
 veriest stripling, and, retreating from the 
 tent, passed the alarmed, yet drowsy, sen- 
 tinels, and made speed to the hill-seated 
 2 z 2
 
 356 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY j OR, 
 
 thicket where was his steed. While re- 
 leasing him, De Mowbray received a 
 startling proof of the malignity of his 
 dishonourable enemy : an arrow, shot from 
 sir In^rim's (enf, whirled past De Mow- 
 bray's head, and tore a splinter from the 
 tree adjoining. Thus admonished, he 
 pressed his charger hotly forward, and 
 stayed not his pace till he had passed the 
 gigantic portals of his own castle. 
 
 Cut off from all communication with his 
 surrounding friends, and confident of the 
 immediate movenient and consequent at- 
 tack of the besiegers, sir Roger bestirred 
 himself with that defensive alacrity which 
 so well became one placed in his perilous 
 circumstances. He disposed of his soldiers 
 to the best advantage •, two hundred good 
 bowmen occupying each of the three most 
 vulnerable points of attack in the stately 
 edifice, and De Mowbray himself assum- 
 ing the direct command on the main 
 bastion. The body of reserve occupied 
 the quadrangular court of the interior, 
 prepared to act in extremity. Though 
 debarred the co-operation of his allies, 
 De Mowbray had fortunately availed him- 
 self of supplies of the murderous missiles 
 ia requisition for the defence of the noble 
 pile. Ten horses' loads of arrows had 
 been received, a day or two before, from 
 the forest of Sutton, in Galtres ; and the 
 armoury of the castle was replenished bv 
 some of the best artificers in France. 
 
 The morning broke over the broad 
 liills, and showed the gray walls of Thirsk 
 Castle, bristling with spears and battle- 
 axes, and shining with helmets and 
 shields. The sun arose, and gilded with 
 its beams the embattled turrets of the fort- 
 ress ; from the highest of them streamed 
 the banner of De Mowbray, the crimson 
 cross and escallop shells on which were 
 honourable records of the baron's crusad- 
 ing prowess. The pleasant dew adorned 
 the grassy turf, which before nightfall was 
 wet with the blood of many a warrior. 
 Tliroughout the whole valley an imposing 
 stillness prevailed, broken only by the 
 occasional lowing of the grazing ox, or 
 sounds of axe and hammer, heard from 
 the castle. This silence was a preface to 
 the enemy's approach, who were espied 
 advancing from the west. Sir Ingram 
 had not calculated upon a fierce resist- 
 ance, as he had baffled De Mowbray's 
 plans of reinforcement, and his move- 
 ments were lax accordingly. His centre 
 
 I line took up its position on the south, in 
 I the meadow called the Flatte, and tlie 
 right and left lines filed off obliquely from 
 them, so as in part to compass the eastern 
 and western walls of the castle. A corps 
 of reserve were placed in the rear, with 
 the miners, engineers, &c. ; and another 
 was divided to constitute the two out- 
 posts, in order to guard against any re- 
 prisal from the neighbouring barons. A 
 few moments" delay, and the herald de- 
 spatched by sir Ingram approached the 
 walls, sounded a parley, and demanded 
 of De JMowbray the surrender of himself 
 and his castle to their sovereign liege 
 and lord, Henry, a requisition which the 
 noble sir Roger flouted in the most con- 
 temptuous language. Sir Ingram, now 
 finding that the contest would be long 
 and bloody, immediately commanded his 
 miners to advance, under cover of their 
 mantelets, to the dry fosse boundmg the 
 moat, part of which they proceeded to 
 throw up as a considerable redoubt, level- 
 ling the rest, so as to make way for the 
 beleaguerers to cross the moat on rafts, at 
 whatever point the first breach in the 
 walls might be made. At the same junc- 
 ture the front line commenced the attack 
 by a smart shower of arrows, which were 
 directly acknowledged by a corresponding 
 retiu-n from the beleaguered. For nearly 
 two hours the battle went sorely against 
 sir Ingram, owing to the strong rays of 
 the mounting sun, which fell upon the 
 faces of his men with almost blinding in- 
 fluence. The Flatte was strewed with 
 their carcasses : here the impetuous horse 
 pawed the bloody turf in the agonies of 
 his last gasp — 
 
 " And there lay the rider, distorted and pale. 
 With blood on his brow, and with dust ou his 
 mail." 
 
 The waters of the moat had become dyed 
 with gore, and the budding beauty of the 
 verdant meadows was trampled and torn 
 by the feet of the assailants and their 
 horses. They had suffered severely, as 
 had also De Mowbray ; but he sustained 
 the hopes of his soldiers, by expressing 
 his expectations of the aid he should re- 
 ceive from his uncle, who was at North- 
 allerton with reinforcements, hut deterred 
 from marching through fear of the supe- 
 rior numbers of the enemy. Sir Ingram, 
 in like manner, comforted his soldiers, by 
 communicating to them that he had assu- 
 rances from Henry, who was at York, of
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 357 
 
 additional men, should the rebels hold out 
 beyond sunset. 
 
 Suddenly the sun became overcast, 
 though but three o'clock in the day, and 
 its hue changed to that of a blood-red — 
 an omen wliich struck fear into the re- 
 tainers of De Mowbray. The enemy 
 now concentrated, and a loud shuut frt-m 
 them announced a breach in the walls, 
 effected by the propelling of huge stones 
 from tlieir ballists. The remainder of the 
 lines on the flank, commanded by some 
 of sir Ingram's bravest bannerets, made 
 their way to the moat, which, covered 
 with rafts, was now fordable ; and here 
 the carnage w as appalling. The besieged, 
 rallying with the desperation of despair, 
 directed their united fury on the raftsmen, 
 who, though well covered, fell in immense 
 masses, partially obstructing the breach. 
 But the moment of victory was at hand : 
 a fatal stone struck sir Roger de Mow^bray 
 on the temple, and he fell, enjoining his 
 soldiers, with liis last groan, to hold out 
 to a man — an injunction which was fore- 
 stalled ; for, ere the eyes of the expiring 
 chieftain were closed, the besiegers, v\ith 
 three victorious cheers, had scaled the 
 breach and taken possession of the castle, 
 the few remaining retainers having relin- 
 quished a warfare which it would have 
 been madness to continue. 
 
 The commanding fortress of Thirsk 
 Castle, which, as report affirms, was so 
 lofty and extensive as to be " a guide to 
 the northern abbies round about," was 
 levelled with tlie silent mound, by com- 
 mand of stern Henry II. — a fortress where, 
 as Camden says, '* began that rebellion 
 which was quencht in blood." 
 
 " Hark ! the loud engines tear its trembling 
 
 walls. 
 And from its base the massive fabric falls : 
 
 And all at once its ancient honours fade. 
 These lofty towers, and all these noLle spoils. 
 Sink into silence 'midst intestine broils — 
 
 In prostrate luin lost, and dark oblivion laid!'' 
 
 NOBLES AND ARBLASTERS. 
 
 (Continued from page 352.^ 
 The dame Maud Arblaster sate in a 
 noble chamber, whose roof and walls 
 were covered with a wainscotting of 
 richly grained chesnut, carved with ela- 
 borate imagery, and studded with the 
 brilliant blazonry of nun)erous armorial 
 shields ; a thick Turkey carpet, partially 
 covering the polished oak floor, and glossy 
 Indian cabinets, richly gilded, groaning 
 
 I beneath the monstrous porcelain of Pekin 
 I or Nankin, proclaimed the wealth that 
 I had procured these vain luxuries. It was 
 lighted by a deep oriel, reaching from the 
 floor to the ceiling, gorgeously dim with 
 heraldry. The dame Maud was attired 
 in deep mourning. A hood of black vel- 
 vet, its borders stiffened with wire, so as 
 to sit w ide in a graceful undulation round 
 her face, hung down its ample folds as low 
 as her elbows ; falling open in front, it dis- 
 closed a deep, stiffened bandeau, that, 
 covering her chin to her very lips, de- 
 scended in straight plaits over her bosom ; 
 a robe and vest of sable silk completed 
 her habiliments. She appeared in pro- 
 found and agitating thought — which, after 
 exhibiting itself in her changing counte- 
 nance and restless variation of posture, 
 at length burst its bounds as follows : — 
 " So far, at least, we have succeeded ! 
 Endymion hath been separated from tills 
 child of heretic parents, and, thanks to 
 our skill, and the love-sick moppet's rash- 
 ness, that separation is become eternal. 
 Yet the -doubt sometimes comes over me, 
 whether it be lawful thus to tear their 
 young hearts asunder. No matter : 'tis 
 a sinful doubt — the capellane hath assured 
 me that saints and confessors look down 
 with approbation on this sacrifice of 
 nature to religion. Nay, even if it were 
 not so, I have given largely, and purpose 
 to give more, to holy church ; she hath 
 power to absolve ; and heaven be my 
 witness, that, fondly, proudly as I love 
 Endymion, I would see him a cowled 
 monk, — ay% a shrouded corse — ere he 
 should run further risque of being tainted 
 in his faith by those pestilent Nobles ! 
 Daily, hourly, I expect his return 5 the 
 capellane tells me Paget is already at 
 Beaudesart. Where can Endymion lin- 
 ger ? I dread and desire I know not 
 what ; the capellane may be playing false 
 — he hath governed me too long : yet, 
 but for him, they would have wedded: he 
 suggested the cloister for Blanch — iia ! 
 can he be aiming at Endymion's heritage? 
 if so, he little knows a mother's feelings 
 to an only son. With all I possess — all 
 Blanch might have inherited, let liis own 
 oratory, lei his sister's priory be enriched ; 
 but for one acre of my son's heritage, 
 they shall totter to their foundations, ere 
 they touch it! I will sound him on this 
 point." 
 
 Lady Arblaster had arisen from her
 
 358 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY; OR, 
 
 chair, and paced the room disturbetlly, 
 while she thus thought aloud 5 but her 
 stately form had relaxed from its agita- 
 tion, her proud features had softened into 
 the milder cast of thought, and she had 
 for some space of time resumed a superbly 
 illuminated missal, which, with a rosary 
 and crucifix, lay on a carved stand at her 
 elbow, when the capellane of Crossinliand 
 was announced, and ushered into her 
 presence. 
 
 The meeting of these guilty confede- 
 rates developed the peculiar temper, 
 views, and situation of each. On the 
 lady Maud's imperious countenance the 
 traces of recently subsided emotion began 
 rapidly to exhibit again their forceful ex- 
 pression, like the storm-stream of the 
 mountain, hurried by some fresh flood 
 into its scarcely dry channels. There was 
 the pride of conscious rank and wealth, 
 there was the sense of guilt, w Inch, though 
 unacknowledged, no sophistry could shake 
 off; there was a mother's haughty love 
 for an only son, anxiety for his spiritual 
 welfare balanced by apprehension re- 
 specting his temporal interests ; and, over 
 all, the veil of conscientious zeal for Catho- 
 licism, and habitual deference to the 
 capellane — true, it might be but a veil, 
 yet a prudent tactician would hesitate to 
 remove it. But the capellane's was vulgar 
 cunning, not tact. On the present occa- 
 sion, there was an extraordinary mixture, 
 in his mien and manner, of assumed com- 
 posure and real agitation ; his step was 
 staid and slow, as he appeared before the 
 dame Arblaster, but a close observer 
 would perhaps have compared it to the 
 curbed pace of an eager horse ; his face 
 was calm, and, as far as its lineaments 
 revealed, devoid of worldly feelings ; but 
 there was the hectic spot on his cheek and 
 brow, that even he could not controul, and 
 his accents faltered with a subdued emo- 
 titjn, far foreign from the meek and en- 
 gaging tone to which he endeavoured to 
 modulate his salutation. At first he seemed 
 to hesitate whether the semblance or the 
 reality of his feelings should direct his 
 speech ; but, in effect, it partook of both. 
 
 " What tidings, holy father ?" was 
 dame Maud's first question ; " our poor 
 abode haih lacked your saintly presence 
 these three days j sure you have gathered 
 news that ever grows cold and dies ere 
 it reach our secluded bowers : what tid- 
 ings ?" 
 
 " Stirring ones, lady ! Master William 
 Paget returned, as J said, with added 
 honours from Germany." 
 
 " Oh, I reck not of him ! It is of my son 
 I would hear; of my Endymion, who 
 should share his honours, as he hath mi- 
 nistered to his success !" 
 
 " Report, lady, says that he does." 
 
 " Report — only report ? that might have 
 sufficed me when he was beyond the sea ; 
 but now 1 will no longer live upon report, 
 though it come from the cabinet of Henry 
 himself." 
 
 ** And yet, madam, there hath issued a 
 report from that quarter, to which it be- 
 hoves us all to listen and look well." 
 
 The lady Arblaster's attention now 
 seemed to await the capellane's words, 
 as he continued — 
 
 " JNIaster Paget, whom all true Catho- 
 lics acknowledged as a firm and zealous 
 champion of the church, hath had a pri- 
 vate interview with the prioress of Fair- 
 well — and what, tliink you, was its sub- 
 ject ?" 
 
 " I am no prophetess, father." 
 
 ** But you are a Catholic, daughter ; 
 and one who hath promised and done 
 much for our sainted houses. What deem 
 ye of the immediate approach of the two 
 legates, with full power to visit, examine, 
 and (if they think fit) to suppress the 
 priory of Fairvvell ?" 
 
 The dame stood aghast in speechless 
 astonishment, and she actually ga^^ped 
 for breath, ere, in thick, panting accents, 
 she cried, 
 
 *' Visit ? — by what power ? Suppress ? 
 — they dare not !" 
 
 *' 'I'hey both have dared, and will," 
 
 " But the thunders of the Vatican." 
 
 •' It is from the Vatican they derive their 
 authority. Paget hath seen the decretal 
 bull." 
 
 •* But surely, father, thy sister's priory, 
 — so humble in its rank, — so rigid in its 
 discipline, — so spotless in its fame, — " 
 
 *' Hath yet revenues that may conve- 
 niently be appropriated to the choir at 
 Lichfield. Marry ! they have clamoured 
 lately touching some stipend which my 
 lord cardinal archbishop should have paid 
 them out of his college at Oxford." 
 
 Lady Arblaster remained silent, while 
 her countenance betrayed the rapid revo- 
 lutions of thought ; the capellane remain- 
 ed silent also, but his features evinced 
 nothing except vigilant observation of
 
 FKRILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 359 
 
 his companion. At length slie said, as 
 thougi) she dreaded an anj^wer, 
 
 " The sisterhood, then — what is to be- 
 come of them, if this priory be actually 
 suppressed ?" 
 
 " They will then be drafted into larger 
 monasteries, if such be their choice — if 
 otherwise, they are permitted to return to 
 their families." 
 
 "You mean not what you say, father ?" 
 exclaimed the lady, in accents of alarm. 
 
 " I repeat only what the prioress, my 
 sister, hath imparted tome. Master Paget 
 hath furnislied lier wiih the list of interro- 
 gatories. Amongst them is this item, 
 " Whether any sister of this house were 
 professed for any manner of compulsion 
 of her friends and kinsfolk, or by the ab- 
 bess or prioress." 
 
 " She cannot plead that," muttered 
 dame Arblaster ; " her heretic parents 
 would iiave fired the priory if they durst, 
 ere she should have entered it 1" 
 
 " Yet bethink thee, gracious dame," 
 insinuated the capellane, in his softest 
 tones, " bethink thee, if thy son, who, 
 t is feared, shared not his mother's sa- 
 cred zeal, should return, or Cornelia 
 Noble—" 
 
 Lady Maud started at the name, as if 
 it had not been stinging her at every syl- 
 lable the capellane uttered, and she broke 
 out passionately — 
 
 "Ay, Cornelia INoble ! Cornelia Moble ! 
 She wants but such a motive and opportu- 
 nity to become as rank an apostate as her 
 sire and dame tiiemselves! Oh, father ! 
 write instantly to Endymion ; nay, speed 
 thyself to London : obstruct, delay, detain 
 him, if possible, send him abroad again : 
 say his mother implores, commands him 
 not to come yet into Staffordshire ; say 
 there is a lion in the path : if nothing else 
 will do, have him arrested, accuse him ; 
 anything thou canst, rather than he 
 should come here to his undoing !" 
 
 The capellane had never seen his 
 patroness so excited : he began to appre- 
 hend he had gone too far ; at all events, 
 he perceived it was time he applied an 
 emollient to the wound he had cauterized, 
 and, as a nurse would pacify a tetchy child, 
 
 "You are too hasty, daughter," he 
 said : " had you waited, I could have im- 
 parted that which supersedes further mea- 
 sures on our part." 
 
 " Oh, give it me, then, ere I go wild 
 with apprehension !" 
 
 *' The sister Cornelia hath been de- 
 tected in the act of attempting her escape 
 from the priory." 
 
 "Hath she in truth ?" exclaimed Maud, 
 exultingly ; " why, how the wayward girl 
 plays into our hands !" 
 
 " Her doom is indeed sealed ! for the 
 prioress, ever relentless in her discipline, 
 and already excited to the utmost by the 
 offensive consequences of the expected 
 visitation, has, by this flagrant stain upon 
 the fondly cherished reputation of her 
 convent, been aroused to such ungovern- 
 ed indignation, that she hath vowed, not 
 even the legates themselves shall save 
 the offender from the penalty of her 
 crime." 
 
 " And that is ?" 
 
 " Death !" replied the capellane, com- 
 posedly J " she will be immured alive ! 
 Your face shows horror, lady," he con- 
 tinued, after a pause, " but joy is in your 
 heart. Your son is now secured from 
 this heretic family: my sister is resolved 
 to proceed forthwith to doom and execu- 
 tion I" 
 
 " Alack !" said lady Arblaster, " will 
 nothing short of death suffice ?" 
 
 " For your son's security, — little ; and, 
 for the satisfaction of broken vows, — 
 nothing !" 
 
 Tlie capellane little thought that this 
 intelligence, instead of raising his claims 
 on her gratitude, combined uith the sus- 
 picions she had begun to entertain of his 
 designs on her son's estates, would Hll lady 
 Arblaster with feelings of aversion to- 
 wards him. The conviction that she had 
 already more than satisfied his claims, 
 was now (such is human nature) rein- 
 forced by the discovery that she no longer 
 wanted his aid. \^ hen, therefore, the 
 monk ventured to suggest that her influ- 
 ence with Endymion might be service- 
 able to the priory, either by increasing 
 its revenues, if preserved from dissolution, 
 or providing for his sister, if suppressed, 
 — she answered coldly, 
 
 " He must act as his own piety and 
 judgment shall dictate; he is of age next 
 month, and will then be beyond my con- 
 troul." 
 
 The capellane's face displayed no emo- 
 tion at this broad and abrupt intimation 
 of the disappointment he might antici- 
 pate, save that his eye contracted and 
 glimmered like a snake's, as, with the gen- 
 tlest voice and blandest smile, he rejoined.
 
 360 
 
 TALES OP CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 "Doubtless his piety and gratitude 
 will teach him how much is due to that 
 church, whose humblest minister has 
 tended so effectually to save him from 
 the hazard of an alliance with heretics. 
 Who, think ye, promoted this purposed 
 escape ?" 
 
 *' Oh ! haply her heretic parents ?" 
 
 *'No other than her Catholic confes- 
 sor !" 
 
 " You !" screamed dame Maud, "you, 
 father Robert ? you sanction such a sacri- 
 lege ?" 
 
 " Even I, lady ! 'twas I who brought 
 them to a secret — " 
 
 " Them, them ? she had a companion, 
 then ?" 
 
 " She had ! and that companion was 
 the heir of Arblaster, — was your son, 
 madam !" 
 
 " Cowled villain !" exclaimed the lady, 
 ** repeat those words, and 1 will summon 
 my people, who shall antedate the punish- 
 ment the legates will award to thy crime, 
 by hanging thee on the tallest tree in the 
 rookery. Oh !" she added, after a pause, 
 " speak to me ! — leave off" that horrible 
 smile, and say — thus — swear that you 
 have not dared to act thus — swear that 
 thou hast lied, and it shall be better for 
 thee than the mitre itself." 
 
 " Rash woman !" resumed the capel- 
 lane, " it is better for us bodi that I should 
 have spoken the truth ! Hear me ! — 
 Endymion Arblaster hath been some days 
 in the neighbourhood — he came in dis- 
 guise — I discovered him by chance, even 
 ere he attained his journey's end." 
 
 " False priest ! and concealed it from 
 me ?" 
 
 " With your pardon, I had reasons for 
 dreading your vehemence, lady, which 
 your present demeanour convinces me 
 were just. We had a conference in the 
 glen of Greenladies— but the youth as- 
 sumed so lofty a tone, and spoke so loudly 
 of interference from a high quarter, that, 
 had his mother stood by the fountain, in- 
 stead of the poor monk of Crossinhand, 
 there would have been an open rupture, 
 the consequences of which I need not de- 
 monstrate." 
 
 " At least," said the lady, impatiently, 
 " tell me how those consequences were 
 arrested ?" 
 
 " Simply by waiting till hi^ very youth- 
 ful flights had exhausted themselves, and 
 then commencing my operations ; the first 
 
 step was to possess him with the belief of 
 my sincerity. " 
 
 ** The lady Arblaster laughed an indig- 
 nant and scornful laugh ; but the capel- 
 lane proceeded: 
 
 " This point was somewhat hardly at- 
 tained. I then urged the uncertain period 
 of the cardinal's visitation, painted highly 
 the rigours and privations of a convent ; 
 worked on his feelings by picturing their 
 effect on the mind and frame of the sister 
 Cornelia, — placed in a strong light the 
 dubious result of an appeal to the legates, 
 — in a word, I convinced his young pas- 
 sions so plainly of the advantages of an 
 elopement — " 
 
 " Now, by all that is inexf)licable, what 
 advantages couH even that wild-brain boy 
 expect in eloping with a nun from her 
 convent ?" 
 
 " What advantages ? by the halidome ! 
 had I suffered him to effiict the design, 
 you would have seen what advantages, 
 though with small thanks to me, I trow. 
 What would have been the result ? In 
 the good times of our church, it would 
 have been, him to the gallows, and her 
 to the vault — but now, a short imprison- 
 ment, perhaps a fine ; nay, who knows 
 but that this Henry, who is pope and con- 
 clave to boot in England, would have 
 praised the darling, and smiled at the 
 sacrilege ! Of course," said the capel- 
 lane, *' this formed no portion of my 
 plan : I brought down the prioress upon 
 them ; Cornelia was arrested at her order, 
 and Endymion, finding the priory gates 
 closed, when I had promised they should 
 be open, hath retired to vent his disap. 
 pointment in the woods and wilds of 
 Chorley or Beaudesart." 
 
 " Hast seen him since ?" 
 
 ** 1 have ; do not make me tell how 1 
 set my wits to delude the boy once more 
 — how he believes me innocent, and even 
 in peril for my kindness." 
 
 " He dreams not, then, of the severity 
 that awaits his mistress ?" 
 
 "On the contrary, he comforts himself 
 by fancying that every hour will bring 
 the legates to Fairwell, and emancipate 
 his betrothed from the priory." 
 
 Soon afterwards, these evil-designing 
 persons separated. 
 
 ( To be concluded in our next,)
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD, 
 
 361 
 
 Page 364. 
 
 OLD STORIES OF THE EHINE 
 CASTLES. 
 
 There is not, in all Germany, a dis- 
 trict where there exist so many ruins of 
 old castles and monasteries, as in that 
 tract which extends from Mount Taunus 
 to the Seven Mountains. For me, the 
 allurements which the Rhenish provinces 
 exhibit, were always too congenial to my 
 long-cherished tastes to resist ; from the 
 time of my childhood, Germanic scenery 
 and Germanic traditions never failed to 
 arrest and absorb my interest. 
 
 I was the spoilt child of romance, and 
 especially of Gothic romance, 
 
 " For long enamoured of a barbarous age, 
 
 A fdithkss truant to the classic page, 
 
 Long have I loved to catch the simple chime 
 
 Of minstrel harps, and spell the fabling rhyme: 
 
 To view the festive rites, the knightly play 
 
 That decked heroic Albion's elder day. 
 
 To mark the mouldering halls of barons bold, 
 
 And the rough castle cast in giant mould ; 
 
 \Yith Gothic manners Gothic arts explore. 
 
 And muse on the magnificence of yore. 
 
 But chief enraptured have I loved to roam, 
 A lingering votary, the vaulted dome, 
 Wliere the tall shafts that mount in massy pride, 
 Their mingling branches shoot from side to side; 
 Where elfin sculptors, with fantastic clew. 
 O'er the long roof their wild embroidery drew ; 
 
 VOL. I. — 46. 
 
 Where superstition, with capricious hand. 
 
 In many a maze the wreathed window pkinn'd, 
 
 With hues romantic tinged the gorgeous pane, 
 
 To till with holy light the wond'rous fane. 
 
 To aid the builder's model, richly rude. 
 
 By no Vitruvian symmetry subdued. 
 
 To suit the genius of the mystic pile ; 
 
 Whilst, as around the far reUring aisle. 
 
 And fretted shrines, with hoary trophies hung, 
 
 Her dark illumination wide she* flung. 
 
 With new solemnity the nooks profound. 
 
 The caves of death, and the dim arches frowned." 
 
 The early part of my life was, indeed, 
 the most unreal that can be imagined ; 
 the very Utopia of chivalry. I lived in 
 ancient castles, saw spectres in tapestried 
 galleries, heard supernatural clashes in 
 the armoury, signalised my banner in the 
 tilt-yard, made love in the arbours and 
 terraces, and discovered treasures in the 
 vaults. 1 have told my beads with the 
 dying anchorite in his woody hermitage, 
 and listened, shuddering, to his awful 
 confession. The solemn crimes of clois- 
 ters, the more unmasked iniquities of 
 baronial halls, the boasted bloodshed of 
 banditti's caves, have all, and each, been 
 " household words" with me. 
 
 1 would not advise any other young gen- 
 tleman to embark in this painted shallop 
 so eagerly as I did, for, credit me, it is apt 
 3 A
 
 362 
 
 TAtES OF CHIVALKY ; OR, 
 
 to steer far wide of the " flood that leads 
 on to fortune," — well if it does not be- 
 come stranded on the shallovvs! But 
 neither Italian bandits, nor Spanish in- 
 qui>itors, nor (shame to my patriotism !) 
 even old English barons, had such charms 
 for me as the stories of 'I'he Father 
 Land. 
 
 The Germans were the nursing fathers 
 and nursing mothers of my marvellous 
 mania ; and they were as indulgent as 
 such gossips generally are. They refused 
 me nothing ! Their barons were so 
 grandly tyrannical; their knights so ro- 
 mantically amorous; their ladies such 
 magnanimous victims ; their robbers such 
 vampires for bloodshed ; their sorcerers 
 sold themselves so sublimely to the devil ; 
 and their culprits were so sentimental on 
 the very scaffold, brawny ruffians that 
 stripped themselves for the wheel as gaily 
 as for their bridal bed, and ended a life 
 of unmentionable wickedness, with a 
 prayer for their country, an embrace for 
 their wives, and a kiss for their little 
 ones ! 
 
 In the district I have mentioned, there 
 was a vast number of illustrious families, 
 who, in otiier days, flourished there in 
 their most high and palmy state, but 
 which are now extinct, and there are 
 more than one of whom not even the 
 name remains. 
 
 But it is the glorious garland of ro- 
 mances (which, woven by the red fingers 
 of tradition around their dismantled cas- 
 tles, graces, like an amaranthine crown, 
 every shrubby rampart and ivied tower,) 
 that maintains to the present day the an- 
 tique memory of these Rhenish land- 
 graves. It is the traditionary lore, re- 
 plete with marvels which the inhabitants 
 of those regions are always reciting, that 
 imparts to a tour on the Rhine poetic 
 tints, as fascinating as they are brilliant. 
 And, no wonder, since they are identified, 
 all of them, with the monuments of an 
 epoch, which, with the waves of their own 
 glorious river, hath rolled majestically 
 away ; and the imagination lends itself 
 the more willingly to legends whose mar- 
 vellous attributes are so closely connected 
 with history, that you indulge belief, lest 
 incredulity should entrench upon truth. 
 
 THE MINE OF SAINT MARGARET. 
 
 One sees, in the environs of Frankfort, 
 cwo very high mountains, that far surpass 
 
 all the others, in the two chains which 
 extend from Wetteran to Wiesbaden, and 
 from the Rheingan to Oberlahnstein. 
 These are the Feldberg and the Altkonig. 
 It was on the summit of the Altkonig, 
 that the infamous queen Brunhault (im- 
 morlalized in the Thierry and I'heodoret 
 of our Beaumont and Fletcher) caused a 
 splendid pavilion to be constructed, for 
 the purpose of feasting her eyes on the 
 prospect of her vast empire, as it caught 
 the first rays of the rising sun. Not far 
 from Mount Altkonig, and behind the 
 little town of Kronenberg, that nestles in 
 a thicket of old chesnuts at its foot, the 
 traveller beholds, on the apex of a steep 
 rock, the solitary ramparts of Falkenstein 
 Castle. Melancholy reigns around these 
 ruins, that re-echo only the lusciously 
 plaintive notes ofthe throstle, which has 
 established its abode in the rich cool trees 
 that rustle greenly over its haggard walls 
 in the soft gales of sunset. In ancient 
 times this chateau was almost inaccessi- 
 ble ; and there was merely a craggy foot- 
 path that led to the principal gate. It 
 was inhabited, in those days, by a knight 
 of a very saturnine temperament, and 
 whose manners were little short of brutal. 
 He had an only daughter, who was ex- 
 cessively beautiful, and whose every tone 
 and look breathed the amiability that 
 characterised her disposition. Men com- 
 pared her father to the rock of the wilder- 
 ness, and her to the vesper star that illu- 
 mines it with trembling light. All those 
 who saw the lovely Irmengard, left her 
 presence with hearts full of love and hope ; 
 this was the case with the young knight, 
 Kuno de Sayn, who happened to be visit- 
 ing the castle of Falkenstein on some 
 public business. The soft eyes of Irmen- 
 gard, and her sweet accents, had quickly 
 vanquished the heart of the young cheva- 
 lier, and when he left the castle, he said 
 to himself, " It shall go hard with thee, 
 Kuno, but thou shalt win this star of the 
 wilderness!" 
 
 It was with this design that our friend, 
 some days afterwards, arrived on a second 
 visit at the castle of Falkenstein. The 
 old chatelain received him coolly enough. 
 They were standing in the broad recess 
 of an enormous oriel, which, projecting 
 far from the castle walls, was extended 
 still more boldly out by a balcony, carved 
 in 'he most fantastic woodwork, supported 
 by two great faulcons of stone, holding
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 363 
 
 between them the huge family sliield. 
 From hence they surveyed the superb 
 tableau, which stretched below them in 
 the four picturesque vallies of Fischbach, 
 Lorsbach, Fokenhawsen, and Bremthal. 
 
 " I know of no castle, which, by any 
 possibility, could be so finely situated as 
 your's," said Kuno ; "but it is a thousand 
 pities that the road leading to it should be 
 so difficult." 
 
 " Has any one hitherto compelled you 
 to take that road, sir knight ?" asked the 
 chatelain, drily. 
 
 "Only my heart," replied Kuno : "your 
 daughter charms me, and I come to de- 
 mand her in marriage !" 
 
 The old man began to smile, and with 
 him that was always a sign of evil 
 augury. 
 
 "Young man!" said he, after a few 
 moments' silence, " I will give you my 
 daughter, but upon one condition !" 
 
 "I accept it beforehand !" eagerly ex- 
 claimed our lover. 
 
 " 'Tis mighty well !" said the lord of 
 Falkenstein, with another grim smile ; 
 " you will then merely have the goodness 
 to cause a commodious road to be paved 
 over these crags, by which my friends 
 may come to see me on horseback ; but," 
 he added (his withered features pucker- 
 ing with spite,; " remember, it is an in- 
 dispensable part of the bargain, that this 
 road be completed in a single night, — do 
 you understand ? — a single night!" 
 
 Poor Kuno was thunderstruck. The 
 old baron laughed outright with satisfied 
 malice ; and they parted, without either 
 seeming particularly delighted with the 
 other. But the chevalier de Sayn was 
 a lover, and, looking upon matters with 
 a lover's eye, it did not appear to him 
 hopeless that he should succeed in an en- 
 terprise so chimerical. He repaired, with- 
 out loss of time, to one of his mines, and 
 having summoned the master miner, and 
 laid before him the matter in question, 
 
 " Ah !" said the miner, shaking his 
 head, " well do I know that confounded 
 castle : why, my lord, you might employ 
 three thousand miners, and (hey would 
 not be able to finish the work in six 
 nights, much less in one !" 
 
 Sir Kuno sat himself dow^n at the en- 
 trance of the mine, and abandoned him- 
 self to a most woeful reverie, in which he 
 remained absorbed till the grey mists of 
 evening began to silver over the glowing 
 
 landscape. At length, raising his eyes, 
 which had, till then, been rivetted to'the 
 earth, he saw before him a little old man 
 with white hair, who thus addressed 
 him : — 
 
 "Knight of Sayn! I have heard all 
 the conversation you have had with the 
 master of the mines. The man is honest 
 enough ; but I know the trick better than 
 he !" 
 
 " Who art thou ?" 
 
 "Why, the creatures of thy species 
 call us subterranean demons, and moun- 
 tain sprites ; but what's in a name ? The 
 fact is, we are a little more active and 
 clever than you mere mortals ; and it 
 would be but a trifle to us to make in an 
 hour a road which should conduct to the 
 castle of Falkenstein." 
 
 " Ah ! if thou could'st do that !" 
 
 " I am not only able, but willing, to do 
 it," said the little man, interrupting him, 
 " but mind, it is upon one condition !" 
 
 " I thought as much !" muttered poor 
 Kuno, " some such condition as his lord- 
 ship of Falkenstein was pleased to offer. 
 If you come to mock me, old gentleman, 
 you had better spare your pains; I am 
 in no mood for mummery, and Gnome 
 though you be, you may come off worse 
 than you expect." 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! ho !" shouted the Gnome, 
 " to see what fools these earthclods be. 
 Here is a great baby in the dumps for a 
 toy he wants ; yet ready to quarrel with 
 the first that offers it to him ! Now an' it 
 were not that I pity the poor lad, and 
 have a special grudge against yon churl 
 of Falkenstein, it were not amiss to leave 
 him to his bargain ! Well, sir knight of 
 the New Road! wilt deign to hear my 
 terms ?" 
 
 Kuno answered by a sort of * humph !' 
 and the Gnome proceeded. 
 
 " Cause the works in the mine of Saint 
 Margaret to be suspended : for if your 
 people push them much farther, they will 
 touch upon my domain, and I and mine 
 shall be obliged to quit the mountain. 
 You will lose nothing by it. The moun- 
 tain you see to the left is equally rich in 
 metals, and I will give you a divining 
 rod, which will enable you to discover the 
 mines. They run from the west to the 
 east ; and we folk will remain on the north 
 side." 
 
 The rapture of our lover at this speech 
 was as extreme as his previous despond* 
 3 A 2
 
 364 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALHYj OR, 
 
 ence; he was going to embrace the 
 Gnome, but — 
 
 "Hands off!" said Number IS ip (for 
 it was that humourous sprite himself,) 
 " hands off is fair play ; I have no wish to 
 feel those brawny arms either in love or 
 wrath. Swear to observe my conditions, 
 and consider your wishes accomplished." 
 
 Kuno swore that he would resign to 
 him all the mines of gold and silver that 
 the earth contained, for the fair Irmen- 
 gardj and the Gnome promised that the 
 road should be completed by the earliest 
 crimson of the dawn. 
 
 The knight returned to his abode full 
 of joy and hope ; but it was far otherwise 
 with the amiable Irmengard. She was 
 plunged in profound grief, for her father 
 had apprised her of sir Kuno's proposals, 
 and the conditions on which they were to 
 be accepted. The night was already far 
 advanced, and the poor girl was sitting 
 on the window-seat of her chamber, with- 
 out attempting to seek repose. Eleven 
 o'clock had scarcely struck, when she 
 thought she heard, all on a sudden, a 
 noise that seemed to proceed from people 
 working with spades and pickaxes; terror, 
 mingled with joy, thrilled her frame, but 
 she had not courage enough to look out 
 at the window. It was not long ere her 
 father burst into the apartment : the noise 
 had broken his rest. 
 
 "I think," said he, "the knight of 
 Sayn has lost his wits, and is going to 
 make me such a hole in the path leading 
 to my castle, that we shall be obliged to 
 let ourselves down by panniers !" 
 
 It was in uttering this speech (which 
 the old fellow intended to be vastly witty) 
 that he opened the window ; but a whirl- 
 wind immediately mounted the air ; the 
 patriarchal oaks of the neighbouring 
 forest tossed their gigantic boughs as 
 though in menace ; the doors and windows 
 clattered and banged throughout the 
 whole castle; the jackdaws flew widi 
 screams from their turret nests ; the owls 
 flapped against the lattices ; the old wolf- 
 dog in the court howled and bayed like 
 mad ; and the lashed Rhine below tossed 
 up its waves till they looked like spec- 
 tres ; but, clear above all this infernal 
 hurly-burly, peals of derisive laughter, 
 again and again repeated, shook the 
 midnight air. 
 
 Irmengard, half dead with terror, flew 
 for refuge into the arms of her father, 
 
 who, closing the window, or rather suffer- 
 ing it to be slammed in his face, made 
 the most portentous grimaces, and ended 
 by singing a psalm most awfully out of 
 tune. Meantime the uproar ceased by 
 degrees. The moon gleamed fortii on the 
 white walls of the castle ; and the oak 
 trees submissively waved, and the Rhine 
 meekly rippled beneath her mantling 
 glory. The old baron, having taken 
 breatli, began to tranquillize his daughter, 
 without perceiving that he was himself in 
 an uncommon flurry. He demonstrated 
 to her, as clear as the nose upon his facn; 
 (and a red one it was), that all they had 
 happened to see and hear was nothing in 
 the world but the Wilde Jager, who was 
 passing by in the air with his infernal 
 pack, and that he had himself often heard 
 the same noises in his youth. 
 
 The beautiful Irmengard easily suffered 
 herself to be persuaded by her sire ; her 
 pure and dove-like bosom, too fair a man- 
 sion for troubled thoughts to occupy, wel- 
 comed back the angel of peace that loved 
 its innocent recesses ; and it was not long 
 ere sleep breathed upon her blue-veined 
 eyelids, and veiled with silvery pinions 
 her softly heaving breast. Whether, how- 
 ever, this happy result were not to be as- 
 cribed to a tremendous dissertation on 
 supernatural appearances, edited by the 
 vocal organ of her much-respected sire, 
 tradition saith not. As for the old chate- 
 lain himself, he was, just as such a he 
 dragon ought to be, greatly discomfited. 
 The figures in the tapestry that waved 
 along the sides of the chamber seemed to 
 glare, to nod, and to threaten him ; the 
 clicking of the great clock in the neigh- 
 bouring turret became insufferable ; and 
 the ponderous clang of the bell, whenever 
 it struck, made him jump ; by and by the 
 red embers of the hearth, after present- 
 ing to his fancy every possible variation 
 in pictures of Pandemonium, thought 
 proper to expire ; the flickering lamp, un- 
 der whose kindly auspices every nook of 
 the dusky chamber had seemed to the con- 
 science striken baron swarming with 
 phantoms, now decided on the propriety 
 of making itself air, into which it van- 
 ished ; and, after shivering, starting, and 
 grumbling in the dark, it was not till the 
 morning bird announced the first streaks 
 of daylight, that the old gentleman dozed 
 in his easy chair. 
 
 The sun had scarcely burnished with
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD- 
 
 365 
 
 its dewy rays the towers of Falkenstein, 
 ere the knight of Sayn, mounted on a 
 superb courser, passed at full gallop over 
 the drawbridge. The old baron was 
 awakened by the neighing and pawing 
 of the steed on the pavement of the echo- 
 ing court below. Bewildered and confused 
 he started from his chair, and ran to the 
 window ; and his first notion, on seeing 
 a horseman under the archway of the 
 castle-yard, was that he had fallen from 
 the skies. Kuno bade him good-morrow, 
 and added, with a smile — 
 
 " It is easy, now-a-days, to visit your 
 castle on horseback, lord of Falkenstein." 
 
 The old chatelaiu could hardly yet de- 
 cide whether he was awake, or whether 
 all this was any thing but a dream ; for 
 at this moment he saw a part of the noble 
 road which was hewn in zigzag over the 
 rock, and which led boldly and gracefully 
 to the grand gateway of the castle. The 
 baron, though a crosspatch, was a man 
 of honour; he kept his word, and so did 
 Kuno. The mine of St. Margaret was 
 consigned to the moles and the bats ; and 
 the territories of ]N umber JNip were, 
 thenceforth, secured from even tlie appre- 
 hension of invasion; while the beautiful 
 Irmengard made a point of presenting to 
 her husband every year a young candi- 
 date for the productions of the other mines 
 which the Gnome had promised. 
 
 THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN. 
 
 The following is the description of the 
 feelings of a young middy on witnessing 
 an action for the iirst time. It was in 
 the battle of Trafalgar, when one of our 
 ships being much crippled, lay between 
 two of the enemy's ships. 
 
 Our captain, seeing her in such a dan- 
 gerous situation, bore up to take her in 
 low ; at the same time one of our ships 
 of the hne opened a heavy fire on one of 
 the French line of battle ships, unluckily 
 situated in a right line between us, so 
 that the shot which missed the enemy 
 sometimes came on board of us. I was 
 looking out of the bow port at the moment 
 that a shot struck our ship on the stern 
 between wind and water. It was the first 
 time I had ever seen the eflfect of a heavy 
 shot ; it made a great splash, and to me, 
 as I then thought, a very unnatural noise, 
 throwing a great deal of water in my face 
 — I very naturally started back, as I be- 
 lieve many a brave fellow has done. Two 
 
 of the seamen quartered at my gun laugh- 
 ed at me. I felt ashamed, and resolved 
 to show no more such weakness. This 
 shot was very soon succeeded by others 
 not quite so harmless ; one came into the 
 bow port, and killed two men who had 
 witnessed my trepidation. My pride 
 having been hurt that these men should 
 have seen me flinch, I will own that I was 
 secretly pleased when I saw them re- 
 moved beyond the reach of human inter- 
 rogation. 
 
 It would be difficult to describe my feel- 
 ings on this occasion. Not six weeks be- 
 fore, I was the robber of hen-roosts and 
 gardens — the hero of a horse-pond duck- 
 ing an usher — now suddenly, and almost 
 without any previous warning or reflec- 
 tion, placed in the midst of carnage, and 
 an actor in one of those grand events by 
 which the fate of the civilized world was 
 to be decided — a quickened circulation of 
 blood, a fear of immediate death, and a 
 still greater fear of shame, forced me to 
 an involuntary and frequent change of 
 position ; and it required some time, and 
 the best powers of intellect, to reason my- 
 self into that frame of mind in which I 
 could feel as safe and as unconcerned as 
 if we had been in harbour. To this state 
 I at last did attain, and soon felt ashamed 
 of the perturbation under which I laboured 
 before the firing began. I prayed, it is 
 true ; but my prayer was not that of faith, 
 of trust, or of hope — I prayed only for 
 safety from imminent personal danger ; 
 and my orisons consisted of one or two 
 short pious ejaculations, without a thought 
 of repentance for the past or amendment 
 for the future. But when we had once 
 got fairly into action, I felt no more of 
 this, and beheld a poor creature cut in 
 two by a shot, with the same indifference 
 that at any other time I had seen a butcher 
 kill an ox. Whether my heart was bad 
 or not, I cannot say ; but I certainly felt 
 my curiosity was gratified more than my 
 feelings were shocked, when a raking shot 
 killed seven, and wounded three more. I 
 was sorry for the men, and for the world 
 would not have injured them, but I had 
 a philosophic turn of mind ; I like to 
 judge of causes and effects, and I was 
 secretly pleased at seeing the eflfect of a 
 raking shot. 
 
 Religion would have no enemies if it 
 were not an enemy to vice.
 
 36G 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 NOBLES AND ARBLASTERS. 
 
 (Continued from page 360 J 
 
 In the priory of Fairvvell all wore the 
 aspect of bustle and preparation for the 
 expected visit of the legates. The prior- 
 ess issued her directions, the sisterhood 
 bustled hither and thither, eagerly offici- 
 ous, delighted at this interruption of con- 
 ventual monotony ; — and, but for the ab- 
 sence of the two fairest faces among 
 them, Cornelia Noble and Blanch Ar- 
 blaster — you might have deemed that 
 nothing had transpired in the nunnery of 
 higher interest than the object of all these 
 preparations. But they little knew the 
 prioress, who saw nothing in her strongly- 
 lined countenance but anxiety for the ap- 
 proaching inspection. A sense of dis- 
 grace, such as those alone can feel whose 
 very heart-strings are interwoven with 
 the idol, reputation, was only shared with 
 that determination of vengeance, which, 
 reckless as it was of all consequences 
 to herself, would, in a worthier cause, 
 have assimilated lier to tliose heroines of 
 old, who washed off their dishonour in the 
 blood of others or of themselves ; and 
 which, even with her present motives, 
 might distinguish her as a martyr to mo- 
 nastic sanctity. She was resolved that 
 Cornelia should die — die, too, that horrid 
 and unimaginable death, which our very 
 fancy recoils from scanning — burial alive ! 
 
 The eventful scrutiny of the cardinal- 
 legates, now so near at hand, instead of 
 intimidating, confirmed her resolution ; 
 and she absolutely gloried in the thought, 
 that the first stain her priory had in- 
 curred was also its last ; and that she had 
 avenged its honour, even while its towers 
 were menaced with destruction. Appre- 
 hensive of the slightest obstacle to her 
 terrible design, she endured not the cus- 
 tomary formalities of convening a chapter 
 of her order, — but, after several secret 
 conferences wi!h some of the elder nuns 
 — beldames, whom interest, bigotry, or 
 cankered spite, rendered fit ministers of 
 her fatal purposes, she summoned two of 
 the priory vassals, who owed to supersti- 
 tion the only intellect w hich divided them 
 from brutes, and that, of course, moulded 
 them into servile ruffians. These wretches 
 received the directions of the prioress, 
 not only without compunction, but with 
 the persuasion that their instrumentality 
 in this horrible execution would be re- 
 
 ceived by heaven as an acceptable ser- 
 vice. 
 
 A deep ribbed vault, opening out of a 
 
 labyrinth of soutterains under the priory, 
 was the appointed spot ; and a niche was 
 unbricked in the wall, of depth and 
 height just sufficient to admit the human 
 figure. 
 
 Cornelia and Blanch (who had been 
 seized as an accomplice) were shut up in 
 separate cells; their religious habits had 
 been taken from them, and they were 
 both shrouded in white linen dresses, 
 which, concealing even their features, 
 gave them the most corpse-like appear- 
 ance. At the appointed hour, the two 
 ruffians were despatched on their office 
 by the prioress, who, lacking courage to 
 witness the execution of her sentence, 
 had yet the bigot daring to kneel in her 
 private oratory, praying heaven for the 
 soul of the sinner, and entreating that her 
 convent might be preserved, now that the 
 accursed thing was removed ! It was her 
 intention that, when the living tomb had 
 closed upon Cornelia Noble, Blanch Ar- 
 blaster should be sent home, after a rigid 
 imprisonment, to her mother. Fearless 
 fanatic as she was, she disdained the sor- 
 did arts of her grasping brother; and, 
 while the tortuously wicked capellane re- 
 garded her severity to Cornelia as a 
 means of advancing his views of self- 
 aggrandisement, the prioress, by her pro- 
 ceedings as to Blanch, was striking at 
 the root of all his expectations. 
 
 When Endymion, yielding to the per- 
 nicious suggestions of the capellane, 
 came to the resolution of inducing Cor- 
 nelia to elope from Fairvvell priory, he 
 was easily persuaded by him to conceal 
 his design from sir Augustine and lady 
 Cicely Noble, as well as from his friend 
 and patron Paget. It may well be ima- 
 gined, therefore, that on his tailure, his 
 inclination for secresy was not lessened, 
 particularly as he had not the most re- 
 mote appieliension of any serious evil to 
 Cornelia ; and now, trusting everydiing 
 to bishop Stoniwell's interview with the 
 legates, he compelled himself to be pa- 
 tient till their arrival. He had not sum- 
 moned calmness enough to visit his 
 mother, nor, indeed, was he aware that 
 she knew of his arrival, so simply did he 
 confide in the artful capellane. 
 
 On the third morning after the failure 
 of his adventure at Fairvvell, young Ar-
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 367 
 
 blaster was riding with his friend Paget, 
 in the wilder parts of the domain of 
 Beaudesart, and master William was 
 learnedly engaged in pointing out the 
 different embankments, fosses, and por- 
 tals of a large Roman encampment, called 
 Castle Ring, when Endyraion was mform- 
 ed that sir Edward Brocton, of Brocton 
 Hall, a near neighbour of his mother's, 
 had arrived at Beaudesart, and was now 
 wailing at the great hall porch, earnestly 
 desiring to have immediate speech with 
 young Arblaster — the attendant who 
 brought the intelligence, stated, that such 
 was his haste, that he would not even 
 alight from his horse. Paget and Ar- 
 blaster immediately returned with the 
 messenger, and found that sir Edward 
 had good cause for his haste. The le- 
 gates, with a vast and superb cavalcade, 
 were arrived, — were now at Arblaster 
 Hall, where they had rested previously to 
 their solemn visit to Fairwell priory. 
 Somewhat of high moment had appa- 
 rently transpired, for the lady Arblaster 
 had summoned him from Brocton, and 
 entreated him to bring her son immedi- 
 ately to Arblaster, pointing out Beaude- 
 sart as the probable place of his abode. 
 
 Upon this message, Paget and Endy- 
 mion immediately prepared to accompany 
 sir Edward Brocton, much perplexed at 
 the unexpected summons, but both natu- 
 rally connecting it with the subject that 
 each had so greatly at heart. 
 
 It was under the green and snake- 
 coiled branches of a majestic oak, called 
 by his family name, and whose sublime 
 trunk and widely-shadowing foliage might 
 have tempted the idolater of old, that 
 Endymion once more came in close view 
 of his paternal domain. His young heart 
 swelled (in spite of his anxiety) at its 
 beauty and fertility. Far as the eye 
 could stretch, it encountered groves, 
 clumps, and avenues, of enormous growth, 
 the turf that mantled at their roots deli- 
 cately relieving their gloomy verdure 
 with its golden green ; while the softness 
 of the blue sky, and the radiance of the 
 broad sun, lost themselves in the coloured 
 distance of corn-field, lawn, and wood. 
 Occasional vistas disclosed, between their 
 massive trunks, regions of profound and 
 cooling shade — where the flashing stream, 
 after heaving its sultry waters in the sun- 
 shine, hurried them into the heart of the 
 cavernous thickets, resounding to their 
 
 cascades. But in the more open grounds 
 in front of the hall, gay and stirring 
 groupes of men and steeds might be seen 
 from the hill brow, restlessly glittering 
 amongst the scattered trees, or arranged 
 in many-coloured masses on the sunny 
 grass. 
 
 Pacing their steeds down the descent 
 that wound to the warm hollow in which 
 the hall was built, they passed through a 
 gorgeous multitude, whose numbers, ap- 
 pointments, stately paraphernalia, and 
 splendour of costume, announced at a 
 glance the retinue of the all but regal 
 Wolsey. Pompous litters, horsemen, and 
 led horses, — ambling palfreys and sump- 
 ter mules, and trains of yeomen, pages, 
 esquires, and knights, mingled their glo- 
 rious colours and liveries with the various 
 habits of the ecclesiastics ; while not a 
 k\v seigniors, both spiritual and tempo, 
 ral, were there, with each his separate 
 suite, at once to dilate the grandeur of 
 the cardinal-archbishop, and to dazzle the 
 eyes of the Italian legate. 
 
 Entering the outer court, hung round 
 with gigantic beeches and lime-trees, 
 whose lemon blossoms breathed heavy 
 odours in the noontide sun, and whose 
 foliage flung broad ebon shadework on 
 the crisp green grass-plat, Endymion 
 and his companiorri beheld the entire and 
 extended front of his ancestral house de- 
 veloping before them its solemn stateli 
 ness. The screen of open archwork- 
 marking off the inner coiirt, whose turf 
 shone richly between its gray shafts, the 
 broad porch, the range of gables, with 
 their picturesque indentures and gilded 
 vanes, the arched windows, with florid 
 tracery, the magnificent oriels projecting, 
 at intervals, with their painted glass, like 
 embroidered seams on the surface of the 
 building, and extending unbroken from 
 the top to the bottom, and the tower-like 
 chimnies, with their fantastic parapets, 
 arose at once to the ardent gaze of En- 
 dymion, a beloved and venerable pile, 
 that seemed sedately to welcome its long 
 absent lord. 
 
 Young Arblaster and his companions 
 had dismounted from th^-ir steeds, and 
 were passing under a tall archway, em- 
 bellished with the shield of Arblaster, — 
 ermine, a crossbow bent in pale gules, 
 impaling Bagot, ermine, two chevronets 
 azure, and surmounted by a feather in 
 i pale, enfiled with a ducal coronet; when
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 the great hall doors were flung open, a 
 loud flourish of trumpets and cornets took 
 place, answered by others from without 
 the courts, mingled with cries, " To horse, 
 to horse ! their eminences are coming 
 forth !" 
 
 Two vergers, with short silver wands, 
 nuw descended the porch steps from the 
 hall ; they were followed by sundry doc- 
 tors of the law ; after whom came gentle- 
 men bearing the purse, the great seal, and 
 the archiepiscopal mitre, — then four eccle- 
 siastics, each with a silver cross, succeeded 
 by gentlemen ushers bareheaded, accom- 
 panied by two serjeants-at-arms with their 
 silver maces, four gentlemen, bearing four 
 enormous silver pillars, immediately pre- 
 ceded the two legates, who descended 
 side by side into the court. Each wore 
 the broad cardinal's hat, with its embroi- 
 dered lappets, a large scarlet velvet tippet 
 lined with ermine, and a symar of pur- 
 ple silk reaching to the knees ; while only 
 the sleeves and skirt of the rochet were 
 seen — of flowered white satin, with deep 
 cuffs, and borders of orphray. 
 
 Their countenances seemed discom- 
 posed ; and the archbishop in particular, 
 seemed, for once, impatient of the proud 
 formalities that marshalled his movements. 
 Endymion threw himself on his knees be- 
 fore the cardinals, and Wolsey, after a 
 hasty •' Benedicite I" which his emi- 
 nence repeated to Paget and Brocton, 
 who had resumed similar postures of hu- 
 miliation, deigned himself to raise young 
 Arblaster from the turf, and led him aside, 
 detaining him in private converse j which, 
 though of brief continuance, seemed, by 
 the violent emotions that Endymion's face 
 and gestures betrayed, to have excited 
 earthquakes in his bosom. Forgetful of 
 the presence in which he stood, he broke 
 abruptly from the cardinal, and was fran- 
 ticly rushing to his horse, when a piercing 
 cry' from behind — ** My son, my son, he 
 will not speak — he will not look at his un- 
 natural mother !" arrested him for an in- 
 stant ; he turned and saw lady Arblaster 
 on the hall steps ; her dark robed figure 
 violently agitated, her hands clasped, her 
 cheeks ghastly with conflicting feelings, 
 and her eyes strained in compunctious 
 yearning on her son. — Endymion was 
 turning away with a look of mute horror, 
 but his better feelings conquered, and 
 hurrying up to his wretched parent, he 
 flung himself into her arms. 
 
 "Mother," he said, in hollow, trem- 
 bling accents, **you have broken my 
 heart ! — Have I deserved this at your 
 hands ?" 
 
 His mother could not reply ; she had 
 clasped him to her bosom with agonising 
 energy, kissed his burning cheek, and 
 then sank senseless from his arms on the 
 steps. 
 
 Wolsey and Campeggio had now as- 
 cended a magnificent litter, drawn by four 
 white horses. Paget and Brocton, after 
 summoning the attendants to the assist- 
 ance of dame Maud, hurried off Endy- 
 mion ; and the vast cavalcade being set 
 in motion, soon led its many-coloured 
 pageantry of crosses, crosiers, banners, 
 and gorgeous raiment, through the green 
 winding lanes to Fairwell priory ; arcades 
 of mighty hollies forming walls of eternal 
 glossy-green on either side of the road : 
 we need not be very diffuse in accounting 
 for the sensation that Endymion both en- 
 countered and participated at Arblaster. 
 
 The legates, after lending an attentive 
 and gracious ear to the excellent suffra- 
 gan, who, as we have seen, undertook to 
 plead for the unfortunate lovers, arrived 
 at Arblaster} and, by their authority and 
 arguments, so wrought on the better feel- 
 ings of dame Maud, that she not only 
 ceased to consider the Chorley alliance in 
 the dangerous light with v^hich the crafty 
 capellane so sedulously strove to invest it, 
 but also, as the prejudices that fortified 
 her heart gave way, her conscience 
 awoke, like some tyrant, who has been 
 lulled in fancied security, and is aroused 
 by the voice of the foe breaking into his 
 chamber. 
 
 In the ears of the astounded legates, 
 she made a full disclosure of all that had 
 been done or designed against Endymion 
 and Cornelia, mingled with such fervent 
 expressions of self-condemnation, as added 
 great weight to her charges against the 
 capellane of Crossinhand, whom she im- 
 peached as the main instigator of her own 
 criminality, and at once the tempter and 
 the betrayer of the two young betrothed. 
 
 (To he concluded in our next*) 
 
 An upstart was boasting that he had 
 travelled a great deal : ** Then you ought 
 to know geography well." "I have never 
 been there," said he, "though I have been 
 verv near it."
 
 PKRILS BY FLOOD AXD FIELD. 
 
 369 
 
 THE CONQUEST OF NORMANDY; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE MONK'S THREE VISITS. 
 
 The result of the fatal victory of Hast- 
 ings was for a long time severely felt and 
 iatnented by the English. The flower of 
 the native nobility perished in that dis- 
 astrous battle : of those who survived, the 
 majority were driven into exile, while a 
 few who were induced to accept the terms 
 offered by the conqueror, soon found that 
 their destruction was only postponed until 
 a more convenient opportunity, and were 
 very speedily conducted to the dungeon 
 or the block. The common people, too, 
 experienced tlieir full share of the tyranny 
 of the two Williams. The Norman 
 barons, who became lords of the soil, 
 looked upon them as their property, and 
 thought themselves justified in the exer- 
 cise of any act of oppression or cruelty 
 towards them. Resistance was vain, com- 
 plaint was useless, and the once high- 
 minded people of England, by degrees, 
 sunk into a state of tame and passive 
 submission. 
 
 Nearly half a century had elapsed since 
 
 VOL. 1.-47. 
 
 Page 370. 
 
 the battle of Hastings was fought, al- 
 though the wounds of the nation were as 
 grievously painful as if they had been in- 
 flicted but yesterday, when one general ex- 
 pression of joy pervaded the whole realm, 
 on receiving the intelligence of the death 
 of William Rufus. This monarch had suc- 
 ceeded to all tlie hatred inspired by his 
 father, without attaining any of that re- 
 spect which the military talents of the 
 conqueror extorted from his bitterest ene- 
 mies. His profaneness, and open and 
 avowed contempt for the Scriptures and 
 the ordinances of the church, had also 
 alienated the clergy from him, so that his 
 death was considered, both by the ecclesi- 
 astics and the people, as a judgment 
 which he had drawn upon his own head, 
 in the opinion of the former by his pro- 
 faneness, and in tliat of the latter by his 
 tyranny. The minds of all were now oc- 
 cupied with the question of who should 
 be his successor. The Normans were anx- 
 ious to place the crown on the brows of 
 his elder brother, Robert Curt-hose,<luke 
 of Normandy, who, indeed, as far as pri- 
 ority of birth went, had a better title to 
 it even than the late king, while tlie 
 3 B
 
 370 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 English eagerly turned tlieir eyes to- 
 wards the young prince Henry Beanclerc, 
 who was born in England, was one of the 
 first scholars of the age, was accomplished 
 both in mind and person, and had ever 
 shown more sympathy and respect for 
 the sufferings of the people, than his 
 father or either of his brothers. 
 
 Prince Henry had followed in the train 
 of his brother to the chase in the New 
 Forest ; but not being so expert in the 
 sport, or not having so great a taste for 
 it, he had, with one or two attendants, 
 loitered considerably in the rear of the 
 king. He had seen much in the conduct 
 of his brother, and the disposition of the 
 people towards him, which led him to 
 fear that, however submissive the latter 
 might then appear to be, they could not 
 long patiently endiu-e the yoke under 
 which they laboured, and would seize the 
 first favouiable opportunity of throwing 
 it off. As he rode along, occasionally 
 talking to an attendant, some one grasped 
 his horse's reins, and a deep solemn voice 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Hail ! Henry, king of England !" 
 
 The prince started, and turning his 
 head, beheld an aged man in an ecclesi- 
 astical liabit, standing before him. His 
 cowl had fallen from his head, and dis- 
 played a face deeply furrowed with 
 wrinkles; but even now, at his advanced 
 age, it beamed with a singular expression 
 of intelligence and majesty. His bright 
 blue eye appeared to flash fire ; and his 
 lip was wreathed with a smile, which 
 seemed to betoken a feeling of imperious- 
 ness and triumph. 
 
 Henry had grasped his sword; but on 
 seeing the old man, he let it fall again 
 into its scabbard. 
 
 *• What meanest thou, bold traitor ?" 
 said the prince. ** How darest thou call 
 me king of England, while WiUiam Rufus 
 lives ?" 
 
 " He lives now," rephed the monk ; 
 " but, mark me, Henry Beauclerc," he 
 added, pointing to the west, where the 
 sun vias rapidly declining, " ere yonder 
 orb has sunk beneath the horizon, the sun 
 of his life will have set for ever." 
 
 ** Cease, cease this idle prattle," said 
 the prince, endeavouring to extricate his 
 horse's reins from the grasp of the monk, 
 but without success. 
 
 "Hail! Henry Beauclerc," reiterated 
 the latter ; " thou shalt speedily be king 
 
 of England ; thou shalt restore the ancient 
 Saxon line to the throne of these reahns ; 
 and, with English hearts and hands, thou 
 shalt conquer the country of the con- 
 queror I" 
 
 At that moment a dreadful shriek rang 
 through the forest; and the monk, seizing 
 Henry's arm, again pointed to the west. 
 The sun was on the very verge of the 
 horizon, and in an instant afterwards sunk 
 beneath it. The prince turned vvonder- 
 ingly towards the monk, but the myste- 
 rious monitor had disappeared. 
 
 " 'Tis passing strange," said he to his 
 attendants ; '* know ye aught of this 
 person ?" 
 
 " 'Tis the mad monk of St. John's," 
 said a page. *' He fought on the side of 
 the Saxons at Hastings, and was left for 
 dead on the field. Some benevolent 
 brothers of Waltham, who went over the 
 field after the battle, in the hope that they 
 might be of service to the wounded, dis- 
 covered some signs of life in this person, 
 and bore him to the abbey. There they 
 succeeded in healing his wounds ; but 
 could never prevail upon him to reveal 
 his name or rank. From the richness of 
 his dress, and the value of the jewels 
 which were found upon him, he is sup- 
 posed to have been a Saxon lord of dis- 
 tinction. He afterwards became a brother 
 of the order of St. John, at Chester, and 
 has rendered himself remarkable by his 
 acts of piety and penitence ; but his mis- 
 fortunes are supposed to have disordered 
 his intellect." 
 
 ** His voice sounded prophetically in 
 my ears," said the prince, *' and that 
 shriek was strangely coincident with the 
 setting of the sun. Heaven shield our 
 royal brother ! Let us scour the forest in 
 search of him." 
 
 The monk's words proved to be pro- 
 phetic. ^^'illiam Rufus was found dead 
 in the forest ; and within a few hours 
 afterwards, Henry Beauclerc was pro- 
 claimed king of England at Winchester. 
 Such were the extraordinary events which 
 followed the monk's first visit to that 
 prince. 
 
 Henry's elevation to the throne was 
 hailed with the acckmations of the whole 
 nation. A few of his brotiier's partizans 
 endeavoured to advance the interests of 
 the duke of Normandy, but that prince 
 was then engacred in the crusade in the 
 H<'lv Land. He liud left his dr.kedom a
 
 PEIMLS BT FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 371 
 
 prey to civil dissen>ion ; and during the 
 whole time that he had been the ruler of 
 that province, his conduct had been re- 
 markable for nothing but slothfulness and 
 indecision. On his return from the cru- 
 sade, however, be resolved to make an 
 effort to win the crown which his father 
 had won, and accordingly landed at 
 Portsmouth with a formidable army. The 
 English began to fear a renewal of the 
 fatal scenes at Hastings. They rallied 
 round their native monarch, and exhibited 
 throughout the country such a spirit of 
 resistance to the invaders, that duke 
 Robert paused in his enterprise before a 
 blow was struck, and at length deter- 
 mined to leave his brother in quiet pos- 
 session of the crown, and to return to 
 INormandy. 
 
 Henry, in the meantime, continued 
 to endear himself to his people by his 
 vigour, wisdom, and justice. He re- 
 pressed violence, abolished the prevalent 
 system of rapine, interposed between the 
 tyrannous barons and their oppressed 
 vassals, and by his decision and injparti- 
 ality acquired the epithet of the *' Lion 
 of Justice." He moreover abolished that 
 odious institution of William the Con- 
 queror, the curfew ; granted his subjects 
 a charter, in which he confirmed to them 
 the privileges \Ahich they had enjoyed 
 under their Saxon kings ; and proclaimed 
 bis intention of marrying Matilda, the 
 daugliter of the king of Scotland, by 
 Margaret, the sister of Edgar Atheling, 
 and lineally descended from the ancient 
 Saxon monarchs of England. 
 
 The words of the monk of St. John 
 Ijad made a deep impression on his mind. 
 One part of his prophecy had been ful- 
 filled — he was king of England ; but the 
 other part, that he should restore the an- 
 cient Saxon race to the throne, seemed 
 utterly inconsistent with the former, fuc 
 he was himself of Norman origin, and it 
 was only by virtue of his father's con- 
 quest that he could claim any title to the 
 crown of England. It was not until the 
 very morning of his intended nuptials, 
 when he was walking in solemn proces- 
 sion from his palace at Westminster to 
 the abbey, for the purpose of celebrating 
 them, that the truth flashed upon his 
 mind, that by the act which he was then 
 about to perform, he was accomplishing 
 the monk's prediction. 
 
 *• 'Tis strange," he said to Anselm, 
 
 archbishop of Canterbury, who walked on 
 his right hand, " but by this marriage I 
 shall confirm the prophetic intimation 
 which I received from the monk of St. 
 John, in the New Forest, on the evening 
 of the death of the red king ; whom God 
 assoil !" he added, crossing himself. 
 
 " It grieves me, my liege," said the 
 archbishop, " to find that the ravings of a 
 fanatic and an impostor have sunk so 
 deep into your grace's memory. The 
 events which have come to pass accord- 
 ing to his prediction, w ere in the ordinary 
 course of things. The red king's violent 
 and heedless course of life promised a 
 speedy termination to it ; and that the 
 wisest and most accomplished prince in 
 Europe sliould espouse a princess whose 
 virtues and talents so nearly resembled his 
 own, might surely have happened, al- 
 thougli this cowled dreamer had never 
 existed." 
 
 " True, true, good Anselm," said the 
 king ; but he said it in a tone which in- 
 duced the archbishop to believe that iiis 
 heart did not yield that acquiescence to 
 his arguments which his lips professed. 
 
 ** The monk," resumed the archbishop, 
 " also promised that your grace should, 
 with English hearts and hands, conquer 
 the countrv of the conqueror. This is an 
 event which is surely not within the verge 
 of probability, for your grace and the 
 duke of Normandy have concluded a 
 peace (which heaven keep inviolate !) by 
 which you have guaranteed to each other 
 the integrity of your respective domi- 
 nions, and a free enjoyment of their rights 
 in both realms to your subjects." 
 
 The king answered not ; but the pro- 
 ject which he iiad long formed of subject- 
 ing to his sway the hereditary dominions 
 of his father he could not easily part with, 
 and the feeling of the English people, 
 who were eager for an opportunity to re- 
 taliate upon Normandy the injury which 
 William and his followers had inflicted 
 upon England, would, he knew, second 
 him in any attack which he might make 
 upon the territories of his brother. The 
 acclamations with which the multitude 
 now greeted him as he passed on to tiie 
 abbey, confirmed him in the estimate 
 which he had made of their willingness 
 to support him ; and with a proud step 
 and an exulting spirit, he crossed the 
 threshold of the sacred edifice. 
 
 The princess Matilda had arrived be- 
 3 E 2
 
 372 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 fore liim. She was surrounded by the 
 Scottish barons who had escorted her from 
 her father's court, and by several beauti- 
 ful females, who were in attendance upon 
 her. On her progress she had been 
 greeted witli the enthusiastic cheers of 
 the populace. Some invoked St. Edward's 
 blessing on her head ; some exclaimed 
 that the disasters of Hastings had now 
 terminated ; and others traced a wonder- 
 ful resemblance in her features to the effi- 
 gies of her illustrious ancestor, the great 
 Alfred. 
 
 The king and the princess had both 
 entered the abbey, amidst the benedic- 
 tions and applauses of all who beheld 
 them. The barons and official dignitaries 
 then followed them to the altar, and the 
 archbishop was about to perform the 
 ceremony, when a stentorian voice from 
 a remote part of the church exclaimed, 
 ** Forbear !" All eyes were turned to- 
 wards the quarter w'hence the interrup- 
 tion proceeded, and an ecclesiastic, with 
 his features closely shrouded in his cowl, 
 was seen slowly pacing down the eastern 
 aisle. He approached the altar, and, re- 
 moving his cowl, the king and his attend- 
 ants immediately recognised the monk of 
 St. John's. 
 
 "Wliat new vagary is this, reverend 
 father ?"' said the king, forcing a smile, 
 but evidently feeling more respect for 
 the intrusive monk than he chose to ac- 
 knowledge. 
 
 "I say," cried the monk, "to yon 
 !Norman "priest, forbear ! This is not an 
 occasion on which, when an English-born 
 prince weds the last heiress of the ancient 
 and illustrious Saxon race, a Neustrian 
 ecclesiastic should mar, by his officious- 
 ness, the auspicious ceremony." 
 
 A tumult of applause followed the 
 monk's address. The archbishop and the 
 ISorman barons frowned, but the official 
 persons about king Henry, who were, for 
 the most part, chosen from among the 
 Saxons, and the Scottish nobles who 
 attended the princess, evidently partici- 
 pated in the pleasurable feelings ex- 
 pressed by the multitude. 
 
 •' And where," said the archbishop, 
 proudly, " if a Norman priest must not 
 perform this august ceremony, shall we 
 find one of rank and honour sufficient to 
 perform it ?" 
 
 A loud and bitter laugh burst from the 
 lips of the monk, which resounded through 
 
 the aisles of the abbey for several seconds, 
 •* Where 1" he said, *' thou puling priest ! 
 where shall such an one be found ?" and 
 he thrust his hand towards his side, and 
 seemed to be seeking a weapon ; but as 
 his eye glanced on his sacerdotal habit, a 
 cloud' gathered on his brow, and his cheek 
 grew pale. " Peace ! peace ! my heart, 
 be still," he muttered, half audibly ; *• it 
 is not yet the lime : but, sir king, I say 
 to thee, let these Saxon hands tie the in- 
 dissoluble knot between thee and yon 
 fair princess, and so, perchance, may one, 
 who has been the cause of all his country's 
 evils, make some atonement by becoming 
 the instrument of the cure and solace of 
 those evils." 
 
 The populace renewed tlieir acclama- 
 tions as the monk spake; the Norman 
 archbishop drew back from him abashed, 
 and the king gazed upon him with an ex- 
 pression of mingled awe and wonder. ** I 
 know not who or what thou art, mysteri- 
 ous man," said the monarch, ** but I have 
 good cause for believing that thou art in 
 some way more and better than thy garb 
 proclaimeth. Be it, therefore, as tliou de- 
 sirest ; wed me to this fair princess ; and 
 may heaven grant that this union may be 
 as thou sayest — the cure and solace of 
 this nation's evils!" 
 
 The monk united the hands of the two 
 royal lovers, and breathed his benediction 
 with a fervour and enthusiasm which 
 seemed to affect even archbishop Anselm 
 and his partisans. The king and queen 
 knelt before the altar, the populace pro- 
 strated themselves on the ground, and at 
 the conclusion the organ pealed forth a 
 solemn strain of blended exultation and 
 devotion. 
 
 " And now, O king," said the monk, 
 *' thou rememberest what passed at our 
 last interview ?" 
 
 " Most distinctly do I remember," said 
 the king, '* and not easily shall I forget it." 
 
 "Then did I predict," added the monk, 
 " that three things should happen to thee, 
 Henry Beauclerc : that thou shouldest be 
 king of England ; that thou sliouldest re- 
 store the ancient Saxon line to the 
 throne ; and that witii English hearts and 
 hands thou shouldest conquer the country 
 of the conqueror. Did not the first event 
 happen almost at the moment that I said 
 it, at my first visit ? — has not the second 
 prediction been accomplished even now, 
 at my second visit, by the instrumentality
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 373 
 
 of his hands whose hps uttered it ? — and 
 wlien I visit thee for the third time, king 
 Henry, the third event sliall come to pass 
 before we part, and then w e shall part for 
 ever." 
 
 Tile monk uttered tiiese words in a 
 tone of great energy and solenmity ; then, 
 drawing his robes closely round him, and 
 grasping Ins staff, he proceeded slowly 
 down tile aisle by which he had entered ; 
 and in this way, with downcast head and 
 measured step, he departed from the 
 abbey. 
 
 " What say you now, my lord arch- 
 bishop ?" asked the king, turning towards 
 the astonished and mortified Anselm. 
 
 " My liege," said the prelate, " he is, 
 doubtless, an impostor ; albeit, when I 
 tried to rebuke him, there was something 
 in his eye and brow which deprived me 
 of the power of utte'-ance. It irks me to 
 see your grace so worked upon by the 
 arts of gramarye, in which this Saxon 
 monk is, 1 doubt not, but too well versed. 
 The faith of your grace and your princely 
 brother Robert, are too deeply pledged 
 to each other to allow of the possibility of 
 what this dreamer has predicted ever 
 coming to pass." 
 
 While the archbishop was speaking, a 
 horn was heard sounding outside the 
 walls of the abbey ; and immediately a 
 horseman, whose dress and accoutrements 
 proclaimed him to be a herald, entered 
 and rode up towards the spot on which 
 the king stood. 
 
 •' How now 1" said Henry, who imme- 
 diately recognised the Norman king-at- 
 arms; "what says our loving brother r" 
 
 " I must crave your royal pardon," said 
 the herald, " for what I am commissioned 
 to utter, before I venture to use language 
 which will sound but ill in your grace's 
 ears." 
 
 ** Speak out," said the king : *• thou 
 knowest that thy character and thy office 
 sufficiently protect thee." 
 
 " Then," said the herald, throwing down 
 his gage, "I am commanded by king 
 Robert, thy king and mine, thy father's 
 eldest son, to hurl his defiance at thee, 
 and to bid thee immediately resign to hiiu 
 the crown of this fair realm, wiiich thou 
 hast wrongfully and traitorously usurped. 
 What answer shall I bear to thy loving 
 brother ?" 
 
 "Nay," said the king, while a bitter 
 smile writhed his lip, " first answer me, I 
 
 pray thee, where our loving brother is so- 
 journing at {jiesent ?" 
 
 ♦' He is at Tinchebray, in Normandy," 
 said the herald, ** where he has collected 
 forces, who wait but tlie signal of his up- 
 lifted finger, to pour themselves upon the 
 coasts of this kingdom, for the purpose of 
 enforcing his just and reasonable de- 
 mand." 
 
 "Say you so?" answered tiie king; 
 " then methinks it would be treating king 
 Robert, as thou callest him, uncivilly, see- 
 ing he is so near us, to send an answer to 
 his so courteous communication by a 
 messenger. We will ourselves wait upon 
 him in person at Tinchebray ; and if the 
 arguments which we shall bring v\ith us 
 shall not convince him that his claim is 
 untenable, we must e'en dofT the diadem 
 from these poor brows of ours, and place 
 it on his own. What say ye, lords and 
 knights, and ye, not least in our esteem, 
 our gallant yeomen, — will ye accompany 
 us to Tinchebray ?" 
 
 "God save king Henry!" shouted a 
 thousand voices ; " God save queen Ma- 
 tilda ! Death to the Normans ; victory 
 and vengeance !" 
 
 " You have our answer, sir knight," 
 said the king, addressing the herald. 
 " Bear it speedily to our brother, and as. 
 sure him that we shall lose no time in 
 confirming your intelligence by our pre- 
 sence. — What, ho ! there, attend him, and 
 show him such respect as is befitting his 
 rank and office, — What say you now, my 
 lord archbishop r" said the king, again 
 addressing the primate, and smiling — l)ut 
 the archbishop Iield his peace, and accom- 
 panied the royal party back to the palace 
 in silence. 
 
 (To be concluded in our next, J 
 
 NOBLES AND ARBLASTERS. 
 
 (Concluded from page 368. J 
 
 When the procession reached Stoni- 
 well, Endymion became too ill to pro- 
 ceed, and he was carried in a piteous 
 state into the bishop's house ; who, having 
 caused him to be conveyed to a bed, 
 requested Paget to bring the earliest 
 intelligence of what transpired at the 
 priory ; and then commenced an anxious 
 and affecting vigil in the poor youth's 
 chamber. 
 
 Startling as the tale was that they had 
 heard at Arblaster, the legates, aware of
 
 374 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 the dignity and importance of their com- 
 mission, deemed it unbecoming, by any 
 premature or violent measures, either to 
 derogate from its solemnity, or to com- 
 promise its equity. The atrocious deed 
 might not be perpetrated, — nay, might 
 not even be designed ; dame Arblaster 
 had only the capellane's autliority, and he 
 had been proved tiirice false. It was, 
 therefore, with as much grave and courte- 
 ous formality as if nothing had occurred, 
 that the legates acknowledged the greet- 
 ings of the prioress, who, in her ceremo- 
 nial attire, attended by the sisterhood, 
 met the unwelcome visitors at the con- 
 vent gates. The two cardinals, with the 
 ecclesiastics and laymen of rank, were 
 alone admitted ; the others were to be 
 lodged in the neighbouring granges and 
 hamlets. The largest and most ponder- 
 ous bell of the priory (which had tolled 
 solemnly and incessantly, from the mo- 
 ment that the van of the procession was 
 descried from the battlements of the cam- 
 panile,) now ceased its thundering clang ; 
 the gates were closed, and the concourse 
 of preasantry, which had flocked to wit- 
 ness the spectacle, began to stream off in 
 every direction towards their homes, by 
 hill and heatli, by rivulet and glen ; and 
 delighted with the gossiping marvels of 
 their temporary guests, soon forgot the 
 pomp, the mystery, and the gloom of 
 Fairwell priory and its mitred visitors. 
 
 The room to which Endymion was con- 
 veyed, at Stoniwell, was the bishop's own 
 bedchamber, but, in its furniture, partook 
 of the character both of library and ora- 
 tory. The mantel-piece emblazoned with 
 various arms, supported several niches, 
 in which were placed massy candlesticks, 
 vases, &c. ; the windows contained flower- 
 pots, in full blow ; the ceiling was deeply 
 ribbed and carved, having the shield of 
 Stoniwell (sable, on a chevron azure, 
 three leaves proper, between three billets,) 
 pourtrayed in the centre. The walls were 
 oak-panelled and tapestried ; a large and 
 ponderous stand of shelves, loaded with 
 books (whose gilded vellum leaves and 
 massy covers, velvet or leather, red, black, 
 or blue, richly figured, were confined by 
 tremendous brazen clasps,) occupied one 
 side of the bed ; and on the other was a 
 wide seat, highly ornamented, fitted up 
 with silk palls and hangings. The bed 
 itself was an enormous structure : the 
 head and tester were of oak, with fluted 
 
 and flowered panels, divided by images 
 of great delicacy; the posts were large, 
 and most elaborately sculptuied ; and the 
 whole highly painted and gilded ; the 
 hangings being vermilion-coloured cloth 
 of gold, lined with azure silk. A spacious 
 recess formed a kind of oratory, adorned 
 with reliefs, coloured in blue and gold on 
 a blood-red ground, representing the chief 
 events of our Saviour's sufferings, with 
 this label beneath — 
 
 O vos omnes qui trahitis per viam, attendite et 
 Tidete, si est dolor secut dolor meus ! 
 
 In this recess, lighted by a deeply stained 
 lattice, was an alrar covered with embroi- 
 dered cloth, a silver crucifix, chalices and 
 holy water vases, together with superb 
 albs, copes, and other ecclesiastical vest- 
 ments, which the good bishop always be- 
 queathed to his new chapel at the parish 
 church of Longdon ; the rare luxury of a 
 carpet spread its gay pattern on the floor ; 
 a tall reading-desk of ebony, inlaid with 
 mother of pearl, and a great carved chest 
 of walnut tree, with a latticed cupboard, 
 gay in plate and porcelain, completed the 
 furniture of this bedchamber of the six- 
 teenth century. 
 
 Endymion was now a good deal reco- 
 vered ; and it is to be doubted whether 
 even the prohibition of the bishop would 
 have sufficed to detain him from proceed- 
 ing fordiwith to Fairwell, had not the 
 arrival of the capellane been announced. 
 The bishop had sent from Arblaster to 
 have him arrested ; this was achieved at 
 Crossinhand, and on the road to Stoniwell 
 he had partly learned and partly surmised 
 the posture of affairs. Endymion sprang 
 from the seat by the bed as the capellane 
 was brought into the room, and was with 
 difficulty prevented seizing him by the 
 throat. 
 
 " Devil 1" exclaimed the young man, 
 glaring like a baffled tiger on the monk, 
 " what end, what motive stirred thee to 
 the hellish mischief thou hast brought 
 upon us ?" 
 
 "Thou should'st ask often ere I an- 
 swered thee," replied the capellane, rage 
 and malice predominating over shame 
 and fear, ** had I not good hopes that the 
 mischief, as thou term'st it, is, ere this, 
 accomplished." 
 
 Endymion writhed as the bishop held 
 him back, and spoke for him : 
 
 " Wretched man ! what evil spirit sug-
 
 PF.RILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 O^O 
 
 g-esfed thy cruel and detestable machina- 
 tions ?'' 
 
 " If our holy mother, the church, cen- 
 sure me for wishing to build up and 
 Ciidow her towers and shrines, from coffers 
 that would else have been drained by the 
 thriftless luxury of laymen, I confess the 
 design ; if tliat design was not to be ac- 
 complished but by measures seemly harsh 
 and unlawful, the means were sanctified by 
 the end." 
 
 " Hypocrite !" exclaimed the bishop, in- 
 censed as much by the canting tone as by 
 the drift of this speech — '* Hypocrite and 
 shameless! darest thou pollute the church 
 by sheltering thy atrocity under her 
 name ?" 
 
 " Hypocrite !" retorted the capellane, 
 " and thus my zeal is rewarded ! At 
 least, then, I will bear the name no longer. 
 Know, then, my master-motive was 
 
 HATRED 1" 
 
 *' Hatred !" exclaimed Endymion and 
 the suffragan at once. 
 
 " Hatred of you and of your minion — 
 aye, the hoarded hatred of years." 
 
 *• Merciful heaven ! what cause ?" 
 
 " Cause ! — when you were children it 
 began. Malapert imps i was it not your 
 delight — your pastime, to mock me ?— to 
 call me black-beggar— trudge-rag — bald- 
 pate ? I waited for heaven's judgment to 
 fall on ye both, — but in vain. I appealed 
 to your parents, also, without effect ; and 
 then I vowed to take vengeance unto 
 myself. It hath succeeded — but by your 
 own aid. The objects of my anger were 
 its tools ; and, if it can add a sting to 
 your bosoms, know that, as I have 
 punished, so I despise you !" 
 
 At this moment one of the bishop's 
 chaplains entered, announcing that master 
 William Paget was returned from the 
 priory, and requested an interview. En- 
 d\ mion's face flushed, and then became 
 white as ashes ; he attempted to move 
 towards the door, but sunk down on the 
 settee, trembling violently : the bishop, 
 intreating him to be composed, ordered 
 tiie capellane away into close custody, to 
 abide the judgment of the legates ; and 
 Paget was then admitted. But, leaving 
 him to impart his tidings, we shall allow 
 the reader full scope for imagining the 
 effect they produced, by laying the last 
 scene of our story in the subterranean 
 vaults of Fairwell priory. 
 
 The collation in the great refectory had 
 
 passed with dull and cumbrous solemnity : 
 the prioress, with pride that under present 
 circumstances partookof defiance, paraded 
 the legates and their noble suite over 
 every part of the convent, the church, 
 chapel, cloisters, and chapter-house ; the 
 library, the dormitory, the hostelry, the 
 infirmary, the great kitchen, were exhibit- 
 ed, with all their appointments, in high 
 order. But they had been interrupted by 
 the sudden entrance of sir Augustine and 
 lady Noble, w ho, throwing them.selves on 
 their knees before the legates, related the 
 circumstances imder which Cornelia had 
 taken the veil, and implored their inter- 
 cession with the pope, that her vows 
 might be dispensed with. The counte- 
 nance of the prioress had, from the mo- 
 ment the cardinals entered the nunnery, 
 been the troubled index of some perilous 
 stuff with which her bosom was labouring. 
 The presence and the speech of the No- 
 bles at once fired the train. After accusing 
 sir Augustine and lady Cicely as noto- 
 rious favourers of the new learning, she 
 laid before the legates and their company 
 a highly inflamed account of Cornelia's 
 delinquency ; and then, with swelling 
 port, flashing eye, and heightened voice, 
 she added : — 
 
 "Judge, all of you, what was left for 
 me to do! — Condemn me, if \ou will, 
 when you hear what I have dune !— She 
 hath expiated iier crime with her life !" 
 
 A groan of horror thrilled through the 
 assembly. Sir Augustine, however, loudly 
 proclaimed the assertion false ; and lady 
 Cicely, who had left the apartment during 
 the prioress's speech, at this moment re- 
 turned, leading in Cornelia herself, — pale 
 indeed, and in the ghastly white raiment 
 we have alluded to, but still no tenant of 
 the tomb. — The effect of this apparition 
 on the prioress was electric ; slie rushed 
 up to Cornelia, removed the hood that 
 mufl9ed her features, then staggered back, 
 and clasping her hands, — 
 
 ** The just heavens," she cried, " have 
 at once reproved my severity, and punish- 
 ed those who were its abettors ! — Follow 
 me 1" she continued, franticly ; " follow 
 me to the vaults — for, as sure as there is 
 a judgment hereafter, the punishment of 
 the guilty hath fallen on the innocent, and 
 Blanch Arblaster hath been immured 
 alive." 
 
 The ruflBans had, in fact, mistaken the 
 cell, and after gagging the unhappy Blanch
 
 376 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 SO as to prevent her crying, or even speak- 
 ing, had performed, on the preceding 
 niglit, their dreadful work. The mistress 
 of the novices (one of the old nuns, who 
 had participated the horrible design of the 
 prioress) on descending, that morning, to 
 the subterranean cells, with scanty food for 
 the supposed Blanch, discovered, in lier 
 stead, Cornelia Noble. Looking upon 
 this as the immediate interposition of 
 providence, she was smitten with com- 
 punction, and, without informing Cornelia 
 of her friend's dreadful fate, the mistress 
 of the novices concealed the astonished 
 nun in her own cell ; and making her 
 way to Chorley Hall, unperceived amidst 
 the bustle and confusion of the morning, 
 she dispatched from thence sir Augustine 
 and lady Cicely to the priory, giving 
 them, however, only vague intimations of 
 the doom their daughter had escaped, 
 with directions where to find her ; she 
 herself purposed to take refuge with her 
 family, who resided in a distant part of the 
 kingdom. 
 
 The prioress, after her vehement avowal, 
 was followed, with hasty steps, by the le- 
 gates, into a small court, almost buried in 
 the towering fabric, from whence a low 
 passage led down to the priory garden. 
 In a retired part of it, thickly shaded with 
 ancient filbert trees, and called by the 
 nuns the Wilderness, the monastic build- 
 ings descended into a narrow dell. A 
 gloomy inauspicious tower here lurked 
 in the most secluded corner of the pile. 
 The portal, whose black gulf yawned like 
 the descent of Avernus itself, was senti- 
 nelled by the bulky trunks, and umbered 
 by the funereal foliage, of great old yews 
 and pines. The moment you entered, the 
 genial light of the summer noon was ex- 
 changed for thick darkness, — the odours 
 of the rich garden flowers and aromatic 
 herbs for stifling vapours, and the tepid 
 gales for chill hissing gusts, that, after 
 struggling through the dismal boughs at 
 the entrance, rushed wailing along the 
 hollow galleries and rough staircases, 
 which the torches of a few hastily sum- 
 moned vassals tinged with smoky and 
 lurid light. After ascending and descend- 
 ing several flights of steps, and winding 
 in various directions through the laby- 
 rinths of this horrible souterrain, the 
 prioress paused and groaned as the torch- 
 light flashed upon the open doors of two 
 cells on opposite sides of the passage. 
 
 Turning round to the two cardinals, she 
 said, wildly, — 
 
 "Your eminences, doubtless, marvel at 
 the narrow partition between justice — 
 (here slie shewed Cornelia's dungeon) — 
 and murder" — (pointing to the prison of 
 the ill-fated Blanch) — and then hastening 
 forward at a rate with which the shudder- 
 ing ecclesiastics could hardly keep pace, 
 she led them into an apparently intermi- 
 nable range of vaults, muttering to her- 
 self, as her conflicting passions gradually 
 swelled into insanity, " Necessarium erit 
 visitatori circumire Monasterium ac videre 
 et rimare dispositionem ^dificiorum, et 
 an sint aliqua loca pervia per quae secrete 
 intrari possit ; etunasecum habeat Abba- 
 tissam." Here she laughed, and address- 
 ing the legates, '* You see, my lords, I have 
 well conned your instructions. But there 
 is one thing you have forgotten," — here 
 she lowered her voice to a confidential 
 whisper, — "youhave never asked whether 
 the gates of the monastery were kept 
 locked every night, and which of the old 
 nuns had the keys in custody ; for you 
 know how the sentence goes, ' Non est 
 tutum clavium custodium Junioribuscom- 
 mittere ?' — Mea culpa ! mea culpa !" con- 
 tinued the unhappy prioress ; •' she was 
 trusted, young as she was, and all unfit : 
 she betrayed her trust, — and yet— (that 
 I should breathe to say it !) — she lives 
 to triumph with her paramour ; while I, 
 who would have punished perjury, have 
 done murder !" Here she stopped, looked 
 fearfully around, and striking violently on 
 a hollow sounding place in tlie wall, damp 
 with fresh mortar, added, in faint, sepul- 
 chral accents, " Blanch Arblaster hath 
 perished here !" 
 
 Gipsies. — In the reign of James II. 
 of Scotland, a company of gipsies came 
 from Ireland, and infested Galloway. 
 James issued a proclamation, that who- 
 ever would disperse them, and bring their 
 captain, dead or alive, should have the 
 barony of Bomby. In this attempt the 
 laird of Bomby's son succeeded, and 
 brought the head of the captain upon a 
 spear to the king ; wherefore he obtained 
 the promised barony, and assumed the 
 crest he afterwards bor6, with the motto 
 — " Think on !" 
 
 It is the universal practice in South 
 Wales to strew roses and other flowers 
 over the graves of departed fi lends.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIFLD. 
 
 377 
 
 rage 378. 
 
 THE NFMPH OF THE LUELEI 
 BERG. 
 
 O syrens, beware of a fair young knight, 
 He loves and he rides away. 
 
 A GROUP of armed men were sitting 
 cheerlessly round a naked and ill-furnished 
 board, in one of those rugged castles that 
 overhang the Rhine — they looked at the 
 empty bowl, and they looked at the un- 
 tempting platter — then they shrugged 
 their shoulders, and looked foolishly at 
 each other. A young knight, of a better 
 presence than the rest, stalked gloomily 
 into the hall. 
 
 *' Well, comrades," said he, pausing in 
 the centre of the room, and leaning on his 
 sword, " I grieve to entertain ye no bet- 
 ter — my father's gold is long gone — it 
 bought your services while it lasted, and 
 with these services, I, Rupert the Fear- 
 nought, won this castle from its lord — 
 levied tolls on the river — plundered the 
 burgesses of Bingen — and played the 
 chieftain as nobly as a robber may. But, 
 alas ! wealth flies — luck deserts us — we 
 can no longer extract a doit from traveller 
 or citizen. We must separate." 
 
 VOL. I. — i8. 
 
 The armed men muttered something 
 unintelligible — then they looked again at 
 the dishes — then they shook their heads 
 very dismally, and Rupert the Fearnought 
 continued — 
 
 " For my part, I love every thing that 
 wealth purchases — T cannot live in poverty 
 — and when you have all gone, I propose 
 to drown myself in the Rhine." 
 
 The armed men shouted out very 
 noisily their notions on the folly of such a 
 project of rehef ; but Rupert sunk on a 
 stone seat, folded his arms, and scarcely 
 listened to them. 
 
 " Ah, if one could get some of the 
 wealth that lies in the Rhine !" said an 
 old maraudet ; "that would be worth 
 diving for !" 
 
 " There cannot be much gold among 
 the fishes, 1 fancy," growled out another 
 marauder, as he played with his dagger. 
 
 ** Thou art a fool," quoth the old man ; 
 " gold there is, for I heard my father say 
 so ^ and it may be won, too, by a hand- 
 some man, if he be brave enough." 
 
 Rupert lifted his head — "And how?" 
 said he. 
 
 " The water spirits have the key of the 
 3 c
 
 378 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY , OR, 
 
 treasure, and he who wins their love may 
 perhaps win their gold." 
 
 Rupert rose and took the old robber 
 aside ; tliey conversed long and secretly, 
 and Rupert, returning to the hall, called 
 for the last hogshead of wine the cellar 
 contained. 
 
 " Comrades," said he, as he quaffed off 
 a bumper — " Comrades, pledge to my 
 safe return : I shall leave ye for a single 
 month, since one element can yield no 
 more, to try the beings of another ; I may 
 perish — I may return not. Tarry for me, 
 therefore, but the time I have mentioned ; 
 if ye then see me not, depart in peace. 
 Meanwhile, ye may manage to starve on ; 
 and if the worst come to the worst, ye can 
 eat one another." 
 
 So saying, the young spendthrift (by 
 birth a knight, by necessity a robber, and 
 by name and nature Rupert the Fear- 
 nought) threw down the cup, and, walk- 
 ing forth from the hall, left his companions 
 to digest his last words with what appe- 
 tite they might. 
 
 Among the spirits of the water, none 
 were like Lurline ; she was gentle as the 
 gentlest breeze that floats from the realms 
 of spring over the bosom of the Rhine, 
 and wherever at night she glided along 
 the waves, there the beams of the love- 
 star lingered, and lit up her path with 
 their tenderest ray. Her eyes were of 
 the softest azure of a southern heaven, and 
 her hair hke its setting sun. But above all 
 her charms was the melody of her voice ; 
 and often, when she sat upon the Lurlei 
 Rock by the lonely moonlight, and sent 
 her wild song above the silent waters, the 
 nightingale paused from her wail to listen, 
 and the winds crept humbled round her 
 feet, as at a sorcerer's spell. 
 
 One night, as she thus sat, and poured 
 forth her charmed strains, she saw a boat 
 put from the opposite shore, and, as it ap- 
 proached nearer and nearer towards her, 
 she perceived it was guided by one soli- 
 tary mariner ; the moonlight rested upon 
 . his upward face, and it was the face of 
 nianhood's first dawn — beautiful, yet 
 stern, and daring in its beauty — the light 
 curls, surmounted by a plumed semi- 
 casque, danced above a brow that was al- 
 ready marked by thought ; and something 
 keen and proud in the mien and air of the 
 stranger, designated one who had learnt 
 to act no less than to meditate. The water 
 spirit paused as he approached, and gazed 
 
 admiringly upon the fairest form that had 
 ever yet chanced upon her solitude ; she 
 noted (hat the stranger, too, kept his eyes 
 fixed upon her, and steered his boat to the 
 rock on which she sat. And the shoals 
 then, as now, were fraught with danger, 
 but she laid her spell upon the wave and 
 upon the rock, and the boat glided securely 
 over them, — and the bold stranger was 
 within but a few paces of her seat, when 
 she forbade the waters to admit his nearer 
 approach. The stranger stood erect in 
 the boat, as it rocked tremulously to and 
 fro, and still gazing upon the water nymph, 
 he said — 
 
 *' Wlio art thou, O beautiful maiden ! 
 and whence is thine art ? Night after 
 night I have kept watch among the wild 
 rocks that tenanted the sacred Goar, and 
 listened enamoured to thy lay. IN ever 
 before on earth was such minstrelsy heard. 
 Art thou a daughter of the river ? and 
 dost thou — as the grey-beards say — lure 
 us to destruction ? Behold, I fender my- 
 self up to thee I Sweet is death, if it 
 cradle me in thine arms ! Welcome the 
 whirlpool, if it entomb me in thy home !" 
 
 " Thou art bold, young mortal," said 
 the water spirit, with trembling tones, for 
 she felt already the power of love. *' And 
 wherefore say thy tribe such harsh legends 
 of my song ? Who ever perished by my 
 art ? Do 1 not rather allay the wind, and 
 smooth the mirror of the waves ? Return 
 to thine home safely and in peace, and 
 vindicate, when thou hearest it maligned, 
 the name of the water spirit of the 
 Rhine." 
 
 " Return !" said the stranger, haughtily, 
 "never, until I have touched thee — knelt 
 to thee — felt that thy beauty is not a 
 dream. Even now my heart bounds as 
 I gaze on thee ! Even now I feel that thou 
 shalt be mine ! Behold ! I trust myself 
 to thine element ! 1 fear nothing but the 
 loss of thee !" 
 
 So saying, the young man leapt into 
 the water, and in a minute more he knelt 
 by the side of Lurline. 
 
 It was the stillest hour of night; the 
 stars were motionless in the heavens : 
 the moonlight lay hushed on the rippling 
 tide : from cliff to vale, no living thing 
 was visible save them, the spirit and her 
 human wooer. 
 
 *' Oh !" said he, passionately, "never 
 did I believe that thy voice was aught 
 but some bodily music from another world j
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 379 
 
 in madness, and without hope, I tracked 
 its sound homeward, and I have found 
 thee. 1 touch thee ! — thou livest I — the 
 blood flows in thy form I— thou art as 
 woman, but more lovely I Take me to thy 
 blue caverns and be my bride 1" 
 
 As a dream from the sleeper, as a va- 
 pour from the valley, Lurline glided from 
 the arms of the stranger, and sunk into 
 the waters ; the wave closed over her, 
 but, beneath its surface, he saw her form 
 gliding along to the more shadowy 
 depths; he saw, and plunged into the 
 waves ! 
 
 The morning came, and the boat still 
 tossed by the Lurlei Berg, without a 
 hand to steer it. The Rhine rolled bright 
 to the dewy sun, but the stranger had re- 
 turned not to its shores. 
 
 The cavern of the Water Spirit 
 stretches in many chambers beneath the 
 courses of the river, and in its inmost re- 
 cess, several days after the stranger's 
 disappearance, Lurline sat during the 
 summer noon ; but not alone. Love 
 lighted up those everlasting spars, and 
 even beneath the waters and beneath the 
 earth, held his temple and his throne. 
 
 ** And tell me, my stranger bride- 
 groom," said Lurline, as the stranger lay 
 at her feet, listening to the dash of the 
 waters against the cavern, " tell me of 
 what country and parentage art thou ? 
 Art thou one of the many chiefs w-hose 
 castles frown from the opposite cliffs ? — 
 or a wanderer from some distant land ? 
 What is thy mortal name ? " 
 
 " Men call me Rupert the Fearnought," 
 answered the stranger. *' A penniless 
 chief am I, and a cheerless castle do I 
 hold ; my sword is my heritage ; and as 
 for gold, the gold which my sire be- 
 queathed me, alas! on the land, beautiful 
 Lurline, there are many more ways of 
 getting rid of such dross than in thy 
 peaceful dominions beneath the river. 
 Yet, Lurline," and the countenance of 
 Rupert became more anxious and more 
 earnest — '* is it not true tliat the spirits 
 of thy race hoard vast treasures of gems 
 and buried gold within their caves ? Do 
 ye not gather all the wind and tempest 
 have sunk beneath the waves in your 
 rocky coffers ? And have ye not the 
 power to endow a mortal with the forgot- 
 ten wealth of ages ?" 
 
 "Ah, ves !" answered the enamoured 
 Water Spirit. ** These chambers con- 
 
 tain enough of such idle treasures, dull 
 and useless, my belovedy to those who 
 love." 
 
 " Eh, em 1" quoth the mortal, ** what 
 thou sayest has certainly a great deal of 
 truth in it ; but, but just to pass away 
 the next hour or two, suppose thou 
 showest me, dearest Lurline, some of 
 these curiosities of thine. Certes I am 
 childishly fond of looking at coins and 
 jewels." 
 
 '♦ As thou wilt, my stranger," answered 
 Lurline, and, rising, she led the way 
 through the iDasalt arches that swept in 
 long defiles through her palace, singing 
 with the liglit heart of contented love to 
 the waves that dashed around. The 
 stranger follow^ed, wondering, but not 
 fearing, with his hand every now and 
 then, as they made some abrupt turning, 
 mechanically wandering to his sword, 
 and his long plume waving lightly to the 
 rushing air that at times, with a hollow 
 roar, swept through their mighty prison. 
 At length the Water Spirit came to a 
 door, before which lay an enormous shell, 
 and, as the stranger looked admiringly 
 upon its gigantic size, a monstrous face 
 gradually rose from the aperture of the 
 shell, and with glaring eyes and glis- 
 tening teeth gloated out upon the mor- 
 tal. 
 
 Three steps backward did Rupert the 
 Fearnought make, and three times did 
 he cross himself with unwonted devotion, 
 and very irreverently, and not in exact 
 keeping with the ceremony, blurted he 
 forth a northern seafarer's oath. Then 
 outflashed his sword ; and he asked Lur- 
 line if he were to prepare against a foe. 
 The Water Spirit smiled, and murmur- 
 ing some words in a language unknown 
 to Rupert, the monster slowly wound it- 
 self from the cavities of the shell and, 
 carrying the shell itself upon its back, 
 crept with a long hiss and a trailing slima 
 from the door, circuitously approaching 
 Rupert the Fearnought by the rear. 
 " Christe beate .'" ejaculated the lover, 
 veering round with extreme celerity, and 
 presenting the point of his sword to the 
 monster ; " what singular shell fish 
 there are at the bottom of the Rhine !" 
 Then gazing more attentively on the 
 monster, he perceived that it was in the 
 shape of a dragon, substituting only tlie 
 shell for wings. 
 
 "The dragon race," said the Water 
 3c2
 
 380 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY; OR, 
 
 Spirit, " are the guardians of all treasure, 
 whether in the water or in the land. And 
 deep in the very centre of the earth, the 
 hugest of the tribe lies coiled around the 
 loadstone of the world." 
 
 The door now opened. They entered 
 a vast vault. Heavens ! how wondrous 
 was the treasure that greeted the Fear- 
 nought's eyes I All the various wrecks 
 that from the earliest ages of the world 
 had enriched the Rhine or its tributary 
 streams, contributed their burthen to this 
 nighty treasury; there was the first rude 
 coin ever known in the north, cumbrous 
 and massive, teaching betimes the moral 
 that money is inseparable from the em- 
 barrassment of taking care of it. There 
 were Roman vases and jewels in abund- 
 ance ; rings, and chains, and great neck- 
 laces of pearl : there, too, were immense 
 fragments of silver that from time to time 
 had been washed into the river, and hur- 
 ried down into this universal recipient. 
 And, looking up, the Fearnought saw that 
 the only roof above was the waters, which 
 rolled black and sullenly overhead, but 
 were prevented by a magic charm, or the 
 wonderful resistance of the pent air, from 
 penetrating farther. But wild, and loud, 
 and hoarse was the roar above, and the 
 Water Spirit told him that they were 
 then below the Gewirre or Whirlpool 
 which howls along the bank opposite to 
 the Lurlei Berg. 
 
 *• I see," quoth the bold stranger, as 
 he grasped at a heap of jewels, '* that 
 wherever there is treasure below the sur- 
 face, there is peril above!" 
 
 *' Rather say," answered the Water 
 Spirit, *' that the whirlpool betokens the 
 vexation and strife which are the guar- 
 dians and parents of riches." 
 
 The Fearnought made no answer ; 
 but he filled his garments with the most 
 costly gems he could find, in order, 
 doubtless, to examine them more atten- 
 tively at his leisure. 
 
 And that evening, as his head lay upon 
 the lap of the Water Spirit, and she 
 played with his wreaihy hair, Rupert 
 said, "Ah, Lurhne ! ah, that thou wouldst 
 accompany me to the land. Thou know- 
 est not in these caves (certainly pretty in 
 their way, but, thou must confess, placed 
 in a prodigiously dull neighbourhood) 
 — thou knowest not, dear Lurline, how 
 charming a life it is to live in a beautiful 
 castle on the land ;" and with that Ru- 
 
 pert began to paint, in the most eloquent 
 terms, the modes of existence then most 
 approvedly in fashion. He dwelt with a 
 singular flow of words on the pleasures 
 of the chace ; he dressed the water-nymph 
 in green — mounted her on a snow-white 
 courser — supposed her the admiration of 
 all who flocked through the green wood 
 to behold her. Then he painted the gor- 
 geous banquet, the lords and dames that, 
 glittering in jewels and cloth of gold, 
 would fill the halls over which Lurline 
 should preside — all confessing her beauty, 
 and obedient to her sway ; harps were for 
 ever to sound her praises; minstrels to sing 
 and knights to contest for it ; and, above 
 all, he, Rupert himself, was to be eternally 
 at her feet — "Not, dearest love, (added 
 he, gently rubbing his knees,) "on these 
 rocky stones, but upon the softest velvets 
 or, at least, upon the greenest mosses." 
 The Water Spirit was moved, for the 
 love of change and the dream of ambition 
 can pierce even below the deepest beds 
 of the stream ; and the voice of flattery 
 is more persuasive than were the melodies 
 of the syren herself. 
 
 By degrees, she allowed herself to par- 
 ticipate in Rupert's desire for land ; and, 
 as she most tenderly loved him, his evi- 
 dent and growing ennui, bis long silences, 
 and his frequent yawns, made her anxious 
 to meet his wishes, and fearful lest other- 
 wise he should grow utterly wearied of 
 her society. It was settled then that they 
 should go to the land. 
 
 " But, oh, my beloved," said Rupert 
 the Fearnought, "I am but a poor and 
 mortgaged knight, and in my hall the 
 wiijds whistle through dismantled case- 
 ments, and over a wineless board. Shall 
 I not go first to the shore, and with some 
 of the baubles thou keepest all uselessly 
 below, refit my castle among yonder 
 vine-clad mountains, so that it shall be a 
 worthy tenement for the daughter of the 
 Rhine ? Then I shall hasten back for thee, 
 and we will be wedded with all the pomp 
 that befits thy station." 
 
 The poor Water Spirit, having lived 
 at the bottom of the Rhine all her life, 
 was not so well read in the world as 
 might have been expected from a singer 
 of her celebrity. She yielded to the pro- 
 position of Rupert; and that very night 
 the moon beheld the beautiful Lurline 
 assisting Rupert to fill his boat (that lay 
 still by the feet of the Lurlei Berg) with
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 381 
 
 all the largest jewels in her treasury. 
 Rupert filled and filled, till he began to j 
 fear the boat would hold no more without 
 sinking; and then, reluctantly ceasing, 
 he seized the oars, and every now and 
 then kissing his hand at Lurline with a 
 melancholy expression of fondness, he 
 rowed away to the town of St. Goar. 
 
 As soon as he had moored his boat in 
 a little creek, overshadowed at that time 
 by thick brambles, he sprang lightly on 
 land ; and seizing a hunting horn that he 
 wore round his neck, sounded a long 
 blast. Five times was that blast echoed 
 from the rock of the Lurlei Berg by the 
 sympathising dwarf who dwelt there, 
 and who, wiser than Lurline, knew that 
 her mortal lover had parted from her for 
 ever. Rupert started in dismay, but 
 soon recovered his native daring. " Come 
 fiend, sprite, or dragon," said he, ** 1 will 
 not give back the treasure I have won !" 
 He looked defyingly to the stream, but 
 no shape rose from its depths — the moon- 
 light slept on the water — all was still, 
 and without sign of hfe, as the echo died 
 mournfully away. He looked wistfully 
 to the land, and now crashing through 
 the boughs came the armed tread of men 
 — plumes waved — corslets glittered, and 
 Rupert the Fearnought was surrounded 
 by his marauding comrades. He stood 
 with one foot on his boat, and pointed 
 exultingly to the treasure. *' Behold," 
 he cried, to the old robber who had sug- 
 gested the emprize, •' I have redeemed 
 my pledge, and plundered the coffer of 
 the spirits of the deep !" 
 
 Then loud broke the robbers' voices 
 over the still stream, and mailed hands 
 grasped the heavy gems, and fierce eyes 
 gloated on their splendour. 
 
 " And how didst thou win the trea- 
 sure ? With thy good sword, we'll war- 
 rant," cried the robbers. 
 
 " Nay," answered Rupert, ** there is a 
 weapon more dangerous to female, whe- 
 ther spirit or flesh, than the sword — a soft 
 tongue and flattering words ! — Away ; 
 take each what he can carry — and away, 
 I say, to our castle!" 
 
 Days and weeks rolled on, but the 
 mortal returned not to the maiden of the 
 waters ; and night after night Lurline 
 sat alone on the moonlight rock, and 
 mourned for her love in sucii wild and 
 melancholy strains, as now at times the 
 fisherman starts to hear. Tlie dwarf of 
 
 the Lurlei Berg sometimes put forth hts 
 shaggy head, from the little door in his 
 rock, and sought to solace her with wise 
 aphorisms on human inconstancy : but 
 the soft Lurline was not the more con- 
 soled by his wisdom, and still not the 
 less she clung to the vain hope that Ru- 
 pert the Flatterer would return. 
 
 And Rupert said to his comrades, as 
 they quafl^ed the wine, and carved the 
 meat at his castle board — 
 
 *' I hear there is a maiden in the cas- 
 tle of Lorchausen, amidst the valleys, on 
 the other side of the Rhine, fair to see, 
 and rich to wed. She shall be the bride 
 of the Fearnought." 
 
 The robbers shouted at the proposal, 
 and the next day, in their sheenest ar- 
 mour, they accompanied their beautiful 
 chief in his wooing to the lady of Lor- 
 chausen. But Rupert took care not to 
 cross by the lairlei Berg ; for Fearnought 
 as he was, he thought a defrauded dragon 
 and a betrayed spirit were hard odds for 
 mortal chief. They arrived at the castle, 
 and Rupert wooed with the same flattery 
 and the same success as before. But as 
 one female generally avenges the wrongs 
 of anotlier, so Rupert was caught by the 
 arts he practised, and loved no less ar- 
 dently than he was loved. The chief of 
 Lorchausen consented to the wedding, 
 and the next week he promised to bring 
 the bride and her dowry to the Fear- 
 nought's castle. 
 
 " But, ah ! dearest Unna," said Ru- 
 pert to his betrothetl, '* take heed, as you 
 pass the river, that your bark steer not by 
 the Lurlei Berg, for there lurks a dragon 
 ever athirst for beauty and for gold ; and 
 he lashes with his tail the waters when 
 such voyagers as thou pass, and whirls 
 the vessel down into his cave below." 
 
 The beautiful Unna was terrified, and 
 promised assent to so reasonable a re- 
 quest. 
 
 Rupert and his companions returned 
 home, the castle was set in order for the 
 reception of his bride, and festivities on 
 a grand scale were projected. Rupert, 
 however, was not permitted to enjoy his 
 ill-gotten gains ; for, in attempting to 
 pass the Lurlei Berg with his consort, 
 the waters became dreadfully agitated, 
 the efforts of the boatmen were in vain, 
 and the whole party fell a sacrifice to the 
 vengeance of Lurline, the Spirit of the 
 Waters.
 
 38-3 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY; OR, 
 
 THE CONQUEST OP NORMANDY. 
 
 (Concluded from p. 3/3 J 
 
 It was on the I4th of October, 1 107, 
 that the English army, under tlie com- 
 mand of the king, sat down before the 
 castle of Tinchebray, then held by Ro- 
 bert de Belesme for the duke of Nor- 
 mandy. This was the fortieth anniver- 
 sary of the battle of Hastings, and of the 
 day (his last birth-day) on which king 
 Harold had lost his kingdom and his lile. 
 The sun had not risen above an hour 
 when the kmg's forces came in sight of 
 the castle, and found that the fortress 
 was not left to its own resources, but 
 that duke Robert had arrived before 
 them to its relief with a numerous army, 
 which occupied a strong position in ad- 
 vance of it. 
 
 **Seest thou this?" said a knight in 
 black armour, riding up to the king, and 
 showing him his shield, which bore the 
 marks of many a lance and arrow upon 
 its disk. 
 
 " Who art thou, friend," asked the 
 king, " who hast so many times intruded 
 thyself upon my notice, since our em- 
 barkation from England ? I would not 
 willingly disparage thy prowess, although 
 I know thee not ; but I doubt not that 
 there are five hundred in my army who 
 are as good as thou, and who are as 
 much entitled to assume these airs of 
 familiarity with me." 
 
 ** It matters not," replied the knight ; 
 "but this shield guarded this arm at 
 Hastings, and neither arm nor shield 
 has since, until this day, been again ex- 
 hibited in the field : then I fought against 
 the Normans, and they conquered Eng- 
 land j now, I fight against them again this 
 day, and, by God's good grace, will as- 
 sist thee in conquering Normandy." 
 
 *• Thou seemest a stalwart and vigor- 
 ous knight," said the king, '* and thy 
 appearance but ill accords with thy asser- 
 tion, that thou borest arms nearly half a 
 century ago. However, Heaven pardon 
 thee if thou utterest untruths, and visit 
 not our cause with the punishment due to 
 thy falsehoods! There are now other mat- 
 ters that demand my attention too im- 
 periously to allow me to listen any longer 
 to thy prating." 
 
 The centre of the Norman army was 
 commanded by the duke in person, the 
 right wing by the earl of Mortaigne, and 
 the left wing by Robert de Belesme. 
 
 Their cavalry was not quite so numerous 
 as that of the English, but in their infan- 
 try they had greatly the superiority. 
 Robert never appeared to greater advan- 
 tage than on that day ; and before the 
 commencement of the engagement, he 
 was seen in every part of his army ani- 
 mating his soldiers, inciting them to at- 
 tack, and reminding them that they must 
 this day prove themselves worthy of wear- 
 ing the laurels which were won at Hast- 
 ings, or submit to become the vassals 
 of that people who had then been so 
 heroically conquered. The earl of Mor- 
 taigne, and Robert de Belesme also, who 
 were the inveterate enemies of Henry, 
 and had nothing to hope from his cle- 
 mency in the event of his proving victo- 
 rious, were indefatigable in their efli)its 
 to kindle the martial energies of their 
 followers. The whole army participated 
 in the spirit of their leaders ; and chant- 
 ing, like their ancestors at Hastings, the 
 song of RoUo, they rushed furiously upon 
 the advanced guard of the English. The 
 assault was irresistible : the ranks of the 
 English were broken ; and ihe Norman 
 assailants, shouting victory, advanced 
 upon that part of the main body of the 
 English which was commanded by king 
 Henry himself. Robert de Belesme 
 cut his way through the ranks of the 
 enemy, shouting the name of Henry, 
 and defying him, if he had a particle of 
 honour and valour, to meet him and give 
 him battle. This man, who had the re- 
 putation of being an incarnate fiend, ex- 
 cited so much terror by his presence, that 
 all fled before him, and left the king, 
 almost alone, exposed to the assault of 
 Belesme and his myrmidons. The mo- 
 narch, however, at the head of a small band 
 of friends, defended himself vahantlyj 
 but his strength was evidently failing 
 him, and his friends were falling one by 
 one at his side. " Englishmen, to the 
 rescue, lioh !" he shouted, and renewed 
 his efforts with increased vigour. "Nor- 
 mans, remember Hastings !" exclaimed 
 de Belesme, and made another furious 
 assault, by which the king was unhorsed. 
 *' Remember Hastings !" echoed a sten- 
 torian voice ; " aye. Englishmen, forget 
 it not !" and immediately the knight in 
 black armour, whom we have already 
 mentioned, rode up at the head of a party 
 of about a liundred men, and, smiting de 
 Belesme with his sword on the helmet.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 383 
 
 he sliook him from liis saddle. "On, 
 sire," he said, assisting the king to re- 
 mount ; •• the earl of Mortaigne's division 
 has been repulsed by the earl of Mayne ; 
 duke Robert is contending at fearful odds 
 with the earl of Mellent ; and now, could 
 we but drive back the followers of De 
 Belesme, the victory and Normandy are 
 ours. Once more, Englishmen, remember 
 Hastings [" 
 
 Thus saying, the unknown knight put 
 spurs to his steed, couched iiis lance, and 
 rushed into the thickest ranks of the 
 enemy. The king and his followers imi- 
 tated his example, and the forces of Helias, 
 earl of Mayne, who had driven Mortaigne 
 from the field, speedily joining them, they 
 carried all before them. The slaughter 
 was immense. The English arrows dark- 
 ened the air, and every English lance 
 was red to the hand-staff with blood. The 
 black knight, in particular, traversed the 
 field like the angel of destruction •. where- 
 ever he appeared, the enemy sunk beneath 
 his blow, or fled before him. " Remember 
 Hastings !" he shouted at every step that 
 his good steed took ; and this cry, which 
 had originally been set up by the Norman 
 leaders, to remind their followers of their 
 ancient triumph, now eagerly spread from 
 rank to rank in the English army, and 
 seemed to give Herculean force to their 
 arms, as they hurled their javelins or 
 twanged their bows against the enemy. 
 When a part of their forces seemed wa- 
 vering and dismayed, the shout was, 
 " Remember Hastings !" and they rushed 
 on again, as if invigorated with wine ; — 
 when the English warrior felt the death- 
 wound in his heart, he spent his remain- 
 ing breath in saying, " Remember Hast- 
 ings !" to his comrades, and died with a 
 smile upon his lip ; — when the Norman 
 captive sued for quarter, the answer was, 
 " Remember Hastings !" and his head 
 rolled in the dust. 
 
 In the meantime, the duke of Normandy 
 and his forces were resisting, with unequal 
 strength, but undiminished gallantry, the 
 attack of the earl of Mellent. The two 
 (hvisions of his army were broken and 
 dispersed, and the main body of the 
 English was advancing against him, under 
 the conduct of king Henry. He, never- 
 theless, fought on with incredible valour, 
 and had even cut himself a passage 
 through the ranks of his assailants, and, 
 being well mounted, was leaving his pur- 
 
 suers behind him, when he found himself 
 surrounded by the black knight and a 
 select band of warriors, who had kept 
 close to him during the whole engage- 
 ment. 
 
 *' Yield thee, duke of Normandy !" said 
 the knight j "yield thee — or thy days are 
 numbered." 
 
 " I yield to no one," said the duke, 
 " merely because he bids me do so. I 
 yield to no one but to him whose right 
 hand can subdue me." 
 
 " Say you so," said the knight ; " then 
 yield to me ;" and directing his sword 
 furiously at the breast of his opponent, 
 the latter reeled from the saddle ; and the 
 shouts of the spectators, which were 
 speedily re-echoed over the whole field, 
 proclaimed that the duke of Normandy 
 was taken prisoner. 
 
 The clamour of the battle instantly 
 ceased. The Normans threw down their 
 arms — some fled, some were butchered 
 upon the spot, and four hundred knights 
 and ten thousand soldiers were taken pri- 
 soners. 
 
 " Brother," said king Henry, approach- 
 ing the place were the duke stood in the 
 custody of his captors ; "you have put us 
 to some cost and trouble in coming over 
 here to answer your courteous message ; 
 nevertheless, it were ungrateful in us, 
 seeing the result, to grudge either. Since, 
 however, it may not be quite as conve- 
 nient in future to answer your messages, 
 we have resolved to place you nearer our 
 royal person; Cardiff Castle is not so 
 troublesome a distance from our palace as 
 Tinchebray." 
 
 " I am your prisoner, Henry," said the 
 duke, moodily, " and must submit to the 
 will of Heaven. Do with me as you 
 please : the curse which our father pro- 
 voked, when he invaded a peaceful king- 
 dom, is upon me." 
 
 " But where is the black knight?" asked 
 the king ; " our gallant deliverer, to whom 
 the glorious success of this day is so mainly 
 attributable?" 
 
 " He stands yonder," said a page, 
 pointing to the left of the king, " and is, 
 1 fear me, grievously hurt, for he pants 
 for breath, and seems scarcely able to sup- 
 port his tottering weight." 
 
 " Approach, valiant sir," said the king ; 
 " I trust that you have sustained no hurt 
 which a skilful leech will not know how to
 
 334 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY: OR, 
 
 " I am not hurt," said the knight, 
 " but my days are numbered. I have 
 lived to see this day ; it is enough,— and 
 now would I depart in peace." 
 
 The knight's voice seemed strangely 
 altered : during the battle its stentorian 
 tones had been heard all over the field, 
 but now it was feeble and tremulous. 
 ** Unbar his visor," said the king ; "surely 
 I have heard that voice before." 
 
 The knight's visor was unbarred, and 
 revealed to the wondering eyes of the 
 king and his attendants the features of the 
 monk of St. John. 
 
 " Did I not tell thee, O king ! that at 
 my third visit the third event which I had 
 prophesied, the conquest of Normandy, 
 .should come to pass before we parted ?" 
 
 "True, holy father," said the king; 
 ** and thou hast proved thyself the apostle 
 of truth." 
 
 " I said, too," added the monk, and his 
 features changed, and his voice grew 
 more tremulous than ever, as he spake, 
 ** that when we did part, we should part 
 for ever. Yet I have something for thy 
 ear, and for the ears of the knights and 
 barons who surround thee, which I would 
 not willingly leave the world without dis- 
 closing." 
 
 *• Support him," said the king, " lie is 
 falling !" and two pages hastened to the 
 assistance of the monk, whose strength 
 was gradually failing him. 
 
 " Speak out, old man !" said the king ; 
 •* wiio and what art thou ?" 
 
 *' This," said the monk, "is the eightieth 
 anniversary of my birth, and the fortietli 
 of my perilous fall and the fall of my 
 country ; but, blessed be Heaven ! my 
 country has retrieved that fall j and I at 
 last can die in peace." 
 
 " Reveal thy name," said the king, 
 " for as yet thou speakest riddles." 
 
 " My name!" said the old man, and the 
 stentorian strength of his voice seemed to 
 return as he uttered it, " is Harold — 
 Harold the Saxon — Harold the king — 
 Harold the conquered !" 
 
 A bitter groan burst from his heart 
 as he pronounced the last epithet ; and he 
 hung down his head for a moment. 
 
 The king and his attendants gazed with 
 the intensest interest on the man who 
 they had thought had been so long num- 
 bered with the dead. Even the captive 
 Robert forgot his own misfortunes in the 
 presence of his father's once powerful 
 
 opponent. Harold at length seemed to 
 overcome his emotion, and gazed once 
 more on the assembled princes and 
 barons. 
 
 " King of England !" he said, rearing 
 up his stately form, and extending his 
 hands over the monarch's head, " be thou 
 blessed ! thou hast restored the ancient 
 race to the throne; and thou hast con- 
 quered the country of the proud con- 
 queror. Thy reign shall be long and 
 prosperous ; thou shalt beget monarclis, in 
 whose veins shall flow the pure stream of 
 Saxon blood : and ages and generations 
 shall pass away, yet still that race shall 
 sit upon the throne of England." 
 
 His voice faltered — his eyes grew dim 
 — his uplifted arms fell powerless to his 
 sides — and he sunk a lifeless corse into 
 the arms of the attendants. 
 
 BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 
 
 The following strange relation is from 
 an account of the battle of Waterloo, by 
 captain Kincaird : — 
 
 *' Two of our men, on the morning of 
 the 19th, lost their lives by a very me- 
 lancholy accident. They were cutting up 
 a captured ammunition waggon for fire- 
 wood, when one of their swords striking 
 against a nail, sent a spark among the 
 puwder. When I looked in the direction 
 of the explosion, I saw the two poor fel. 
 lows about twenty or thirty feet up in 
 the air. On falling to the ground, though 
 lying on their backs or bellies, some ex- 
 traordinary effort of nature, caused by the 
 agony of the moment, made them spring 
 from that position, five or six times, to 
 the height of eight or ten feet, just as a 
 fish does when thrown on the ground after 
 being newly caught. It was so unlike a 
 scene in real life, that it was impossible 
 to witness it without forgetting, for a mo- 
 ment, the horror of their situation. I 
 ran to the spot along with others, and 
 found that every stitch of clothes had been 
 burn off, and they were black as ink all 
 over. They were still alive, and told us 
 their names, otherwise we could not have 
 recognised them, and, singular enough, 
 they were able to walk off the ground 
 with a little support, but died shortly 
 after." 
 
 Envy is a mean and despicable vice, 
 because it confesses that the envier is not 
 so able or excellent as the person envied
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIFLD. 
 
 385 
 
 THE DEATH OF WARAVICK: 
 
 A LEGEND OF GLADMORE UKATH. 
 
 Warwick. These eves, that now are dimmed 
 
 ■with death's black veil. 
 Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun. 
 To search the secret treasons of the world : 
 The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with 
 
 blood, 
 "Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres ; 
 For who lived king, but I could dig his grave ? 
 And who durst smile when Warwick bent his 
 
 brow ? 
 Lo, now my glory, smear'd in dust and blood ! 
 Mv parks, my walks, my manors that I had. 
 Even now forsake me ; and of all my lands. 
 Is nothing left me but my body's length ! 
 
 Thikd Part of K. Henry VI. 
 
 It will be necessary to inform those 
 who have not read the ** Rhyming of the 
 Monk Lydgate," that, two or three cen- 
 turies since, East Cheape, or, as it was 
 then called, the "East Cheaping," was 
 celebrated for the number of its cook- 
 shops, where meats of all kinds, boiled, 
 roasted, stewed, and braized, were ready 
 for the palate of the hungry traveller at 
 all hours of the day. 
 
 It was on the 12th of April, in the year 
 1471, about mid-day, that a stranger, of 
 gallant mein, but soberly clad, entered 
 
 VOL. I. — 49. 
 
 Page 388. 
 
 the house of ISicliolas Longstrofher, who 
 kept one of the before-mentioned shops, 
 " over against'' the never-to-be-forgotten 
 " Bowre's Heade," in the East Cheaping. 
 Honest Nicholas never lacked business, 
 but on this particukr day his house was 
 literally crammed. This unusual influx 
 of customers was owing to the arrival of 
 Edward the Fourth, who had that day 
 made his public entry into London, at the 
 head of a powerful army. Not having 
 succeeded in provoking the earl of War- 
 wick, who, from the facility with which he 
 alternately set up and plucked down the 
 heads of the two factions, was not unaptly 
 termed "the king-maker," Edward deter- 
 mined to proceed to London, the friend- 
 ship of whose citizens, being a desidera- 
 tum in those rude times, when all classes, 
 from the sober merchant and his 'prentice, 
 even to the aldermen and sheriffs, were 
 ready to sacrifice their lives in defence of 
 the city and its rights. 
 
 The preaching of the archbishop of 
 York (the earl's brother), and the proces- 
 sion of the deposed king, with a miser- 
 able retinue, through the city, had made 
 but little impression upon the Londoners, 
 3 D
 
 386 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY; OR, 
 
 and Edward, entering a few days after- 
 wards, was received with the most joyful 
 shouts of acclamation, and promises of 
 help on every side. Philip de Commines 
 says that the reason why Edward was so 
 well received, was, first, in consequence 
 of his being greatly in debt with the 
 citizens, who feared, 'that if they opposed 
 him, they should never get paid ; and, 
 secondly, because of his being in great 
 favour with their wives. Baker treats 
 this slightly, but does not give us any 
 reason to discredit the assertion. Be this 
 as it may, there was not a single hand or 
 voice raised to oppose him, while the un- 
 fortunate Henry, neglected and despised, 
 was left to deplore the loss of a kingdom 
 he was never fitted to govern. 
 
 But, to return to the larder of Nicholas 
 Longstrother. His guests consisted partly 
 of soldiers belonging to Edward's army, 
 and partly of boatmen and watermen 
 from the river, made up with a sprinkle 
 of the lower class of citizens, who, if they 
 had not seen such service as the spearmen 
 and archers in their company, did equal 
 execution upon the viands of the portly 
 cook, who, as well as his unwieldly frame 
 would allow him, waddled to and fro, and 
 glanced hastily over the tables, to see that 
 his guests lacked not of the good things 
 he had provided for them. Tiiere was the 
 huge buttock of beef, the seasoned gam- 
 mon, haunches of mutton, and collars of 
 brawn in profusion ; a fact hardly to be 
 credited by those who have not read the 
 acts of parliament of those days, that were 
 passed to restrain the people from luxuri- 
 ous feeding. 
 
 The entrance, however, of a stranger, 
 whose mien was somewhat superior to 
 that of most of his customers, caused 
 honest Nicholas to neglect them for a 
 moment, that he might attend to the new 
 comer, who required to be served with a 
 dinner immediately. He was placed at 
 a separate table, on which was set a 
 goodly sirloin of beef, with a brown loaf, 
 and a black jack full of beer of moderate 
 strength. The stranger, as we have said, 
 was soberly, though not meanly clad. His 
 dress consisted of a jerkin or short frock, 
 scarcely reaching to the knee, sleeves of 
 red cloth, and leggings of a grave colour. 
 His only arms was a long knife or dagger, 
 which he wore at his girdle. His hair, of 
 a dark brown colour, was long and thick, 
 particularly on the temples and round the 
 
 ears, and his small cap was drawn over 
 his head, and the lappets tied under his 
 chin, after the fashion of the figures re- 
 presented in the wood cuts of Albert 
 Daurer, or the "vera effigies'' of that 
 prodigy of learning, Cornelius Agrippa. 
 His age appeared to be about tive-and- 
 tliirty, but an attentive observer might 
 have taken him for a much younger man, 
 for traces of deep thought were \ isible on 
 his countenance. Having ended his re- 
 past, the stranger thrust his trencher to 
 the other end of the table, and folding 
 his arms, let his head fall upon his breast, 
 and appeared to be ruminating on some- 
 thing which affected him deeply, which 
 was indicated by the nervous tap of his 
 foot on the tiled floor of the room. 
 
 This was not unnoticed by the rude 
 boatmen, who were washing down their 
 meal with some of portly Nicliolas's 
 double beer ; and it was not long before 
 one of them quitted his seat, and strode 
 to that side of the room on which the 
 stranger was sitting. 
 
 *' What ails thee, good sir ?" he en- 
 quired, in a half serious, half bantering 
 tone ; " has your father died and left you 
 an empty coffer, after fifteen years' patient 
 waiting for his gold ? — or are ye married, 
 and has your dame used ye scurvily ? — 
 April is an ugly month for your married 
 folks ; the cuckoo sings — " 
 
 " Peace, fellow," said the stranger, 
 raising his head and glancing sharply on 
 the speaker; "peace, I say, or ye may 
 find me in a mood to curb your rude 
 tongue !" 
 
 " Your pardon, gentle sir, I meant not 
 to offend. — I see how 'tis; your lady hath 
 a hard heart — well, as for me, I never 
 vex for such trifles." 
 
 " Begone, knave, and trouble me not," 
 cried the stranger, starting on his feet. — 
 " Begone, thou whoreson sot ; or, by St. 
 Thomas of Canterbury, I'll spoil thy prat- 
 ing!" 
 
 A loud ha I ha ! was the boatman's 
 only reply, and, quick as lightning, he lay 
 stretched on the floor by a blow which 
 threatened to destroy the whole of his 
 front teetli. Instantly the room was in an 
 uproar, and all crow'ded round the fallen 
 man, who rose with some difficulty, and 
 tmsheathing a long knife, rushed upon 
 the stranger. But he had encountered 
 one who was in every respect more than 
 a match for him, for his antagonist, quickly
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AXD FIELD. 
 
 387 
 
 seizing liis short staff, bestowed such a 
 blow upon his wrist, that the weapon fell 
 from his grasp, and he gnashed his teeth 
 with pain ; nevertheless, being a hardy 
 fellow, he was determined not to relin- 
 quish the combat, and grappling with 
 his enemy, a desperate struggling com- 
 menced. 
 
 Though the boatman was a man of 
 great muscular power, yet it availed him 
 but little in the struggle, for he was 
 quickly thrown on the floor with tremen- 
 dous violence, while his comrades rushed 
 upon the young man with loud vocifera- 
 tions of revenge. He was grappled by 
 about half a dozen pair of hands, some of 
 which seized him by the throat, others by 
 the collar, while one grasped liim by the 
 small hat or half hood we have endea- 
 voured to describe, and tore it from his 
 head, when, lo ! all present gazed with 
 astonishment at the stranger, who ap- 
 peared overwhelmed with confusion. The 
 ears of the unfortiuiate man had been cut 
 off close to his head, and, spite of his long 
 locks, all the company saw how fright 
 fully he had been mutilated. The sight 
 was grateful to the eyes of the iiisolent 
 boatman ; he had recovered from the 
 effect of his fall, and now stood lau2:hing 
 at his antagonist, who seemed completely 
 paralyzed at the discovery ; when one of 
 the soldiers, who had remained a passive 
 spectator of tlie scene, suddenly inter- 
 posed, and thrusting them aside, whisper- 
 ed in the ear of the youth, who stared at 
 him Willi surprise, then turning to the 
 boatman, he said in a fierce tone: — 
 
 " Get thee gone, rascal, or b}- my beard 
 I'll so belabour th\ shoulders, that thou 
 shall not be able to hoist sail, or pull oar, 
 for a month to come." 
 
 " Ah ! ah !" laughed the boatman, ** so 
 thou hast found one of thy jail acquaint- 
 ance, aye? Some Newgate bird !" 
 
 The soldier's hand was upon the hilt of 
 his sword, and the ruffian's weapon was 
 half drawn, when Nicholas Longslrolher 
 got between tljem. 
 
 " For our Lady's sake, gentlemen," said 
 he, imploringly, "make not my house the 
 scene of your combat : should one of you 
 fall, 'twill be my ruin. Prilhee, gentlemen, 
 put up your weapons, or 1 mubt bring in 
 the beadle." 
 
 '* You need not trouble yourself about 
 it," said the soldier, relinquishing the 
 grasp of his sword-pummel. " Sir Bully 
 
 there dare not venture a bout with me ; 
 God's death, master cook, I should soon 
 prepare him for your neighbour, the sex- 
 ton." Then turning to the youth whom 
 he had thus stepped in to protect, he 
 spoke to him in an under-lone, and they 
 left the house, amidst the jeers and taunts 
 of the boatman and his companions. 
 
 On gaining the street, the young man 
 grasped the hand of the soldier, and in a 
 faliering tone, said, " Tlianks, many 
 thanks, good Ralph, for thy assistance." 
 
 " I want not thanks," replied the sol- 
 dier ; " 1 should have done as much for a 
 stranger, against such odds, but for the 
 son of my old master, what would I not 
 dare ?" 
 
 **I know thee, Ralph, but thou art 
 shielding a proscribed man. Did'st thou 
 not see the marks of my horrible punish- 
 ment ?" 
 
 *' I did, master Launcelot, and my 
 blood boiled in my veins when I beheld 
 it ; but the time may be at hand when 
 you may revenge yourself upon the 
 author of your wrongs." 
 
 *' Ah, Ralph 1" exclaimed the other, 
 with great vehemence, " thou hast antici- 
 pated me. I know the earl is on his way 
 to this city, and my hour of revenge is 
 approaching. — Warwick, thy days are 
 numbered : the dagger of one deadly foe 
 is more terrible than a thousand hired 
 lances !" 
 
 '* But you would not venture it with 
 your single arm ? The earl is always 
 well attended, and your life would be 
 sacrificed in the attempt j trust me, master 
 Elvaston, 'tis a mad project, and your life 
 would be the forfeit." 
 
 *' My life ! and what is that? think you 
 that I prize my existence now ? No: and 
 I should have shown how 1 loathe the 
 world, and all that it contains, by burying 
 this steel in my aching heart, but that I 
 lived to revenge mine, and my dear 
 father's, and my still dearer sister's, 
 wrongs. I tell thee, Ralph Okebrook, I 
 would not forego my revenge even to gain 
 the crown that York and Lancaster now 
 battle for ; so prithee attempt not to turn 
 me from my purpose." 
 
 " Well, as ye will have your own way, 
 I will assist you : I have not heard your 
 sad story, but we will first leave this 
 neighbourhood." 
 
 "Good," said Elvaston, moving on; 
 " follow me, Ralph, and you shall hear 
 3 D -2
 
 388 
 
 TALES OV CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 all. You must know that when my father 
 made his journey to London, he was ac- 
 companied by me and my poor sister. 
 We arrived here just as the dispute be- 
 tween the protector Somerset and the 
 haughty Warwick had commenced, and 
 it chanced that, as we were proceeding 
 along the Strand, on a visit to our friends 
 at Charing, we encountered a party of 
 men bearing the badge of the bear and 
 staff, and headed by a nephew of the 
 earl's. No sooner had this ruffian cast his 
 eyes upon my fair sister, than, struck 
 with her rare beauty, he rudely tore the 
 hood from her head, and attempted to 
 salute her. Thou know'st my father was 
 a man easily angered : this roused him to 
 frenzy ; lie' drew his sw^ord, and rushed 
 upon the villain, but was felled to the 
 earth by a blow of a parlizan, while I 
 was instantly surrounded, my sv\ord 
 struck from my grasp, and my arms 
 pinioned. In vain ditl I endeavour to 
 tear myself from their iron grasp, though 
 the sight I beheld gave me the strength 
 of a lion. I saw my father he bleeding 
 on the ground from a deep wound in his 
 head, wiiile my sister was borne off by the 
 leader of the band up one of the lanes in 
 the direction of Old Bourne. The villains 
 who held me then followed in the same 
 direction ; I turned to my father, who lay 
 insensible, and with the assistance of 
 some people who were passing, and who 
 witnessed the cruel outrage, I raised him 
 from the ground ; but life was gone ! the 
 weapon had penetrated to the brain — a 
 cold damp dew had settled on his fore- 
 head — his clenched hand, stiff and rigid, 
 still grasped his sword, but his spirit had 
 fled for ever ! 
 
 " Rage, fierce and ungovernable rage, 
 alone supported me in that dreadful hour. 
 I dipped my fore-finger in my father's 
 blood, and swore by all our blessed saints 
 to take vengeance upon his murderers. I 
 conveyed the body to our lodgings in 
 Cornhill, and then went in search of my 
 sister. Having learnt that her ravisher 
 was a kinsman of the earl of Warwick, I 
 proceeded to the house of the haughty 
 earl, when, on entering the court-yard, I 
 met tiie murderer as he was passing out 
 — the guilty wretch knew my errand, and 
 stepping back a few paces, he drew his 
 sword. In an instant, mine was bared, 
 and our weapons clashed smartly together. 
 I felt my arm nerved with a giant's 
 
 strength, and, pressing my foe vigorously, 
 I forced him back, and disarmed him ; 
 but, ere 1 could bury my blade in his 
 heart, he closed and grappled with me, 
 and, in the struggle, we both fell to the 
 ground, but, as I was uppermost, I soon 
 contrived to raise myself, and starting on 
 my feet, I regained my sword ; then> 
 placing my foot on the breast of my foe, 
 I raised my arm to dispatch him, when I 
 was suddenly seized from behind by seve- 
 ral of the earl's retainers, who entered 
 the court-yard at tlie moment. Resist- 
 ance was vain ; unable to disengage my- 
 self, I was forced into the hall, where I 
 beheld the earl of Warwick, with several 
 gentlemen of liis suite. 
 
 " ' What means this ruffle, Ned ?' en- 
 quired the earl of his kinsman. 
 
 " * Marry, nothing less than this, my 
 lord : — This springald charges me with 
 having stolen his leman, or his sister, I 
 know not which, and because I opposed 
 his entrance here, he thought to carry it 
 at point of fox.' 
 
 " ' 'Tis false, villain !' cried I, ♦ thou 
 hast robbed me of my sister ; but I 
 charge thee with a heavier crime. The 
 weapon of one of your brutal followers 
 has tliis day made me fatherless.' 
 
 " * Tliese are high words in my pre- 
 sence,' said the haughty earl ; ' bridle thy 
 tongue, young man, or we may find a 
 way to make you more courteous.' 
 
 *' At these words I lost all patience, 
 and, after a fruitless struggle to release 
 myself, I thus addressed the earl : — 
 
 *' * My lord of Warwick, does a noble- 
 man of your high blood give license to 
 your followers to rob and murder the sub- 
 jects of your king ? Have the retainers 
 of an earl become like the cut-throats in 
 the pay of some German baron ? I de- 
 mand justice on your villainous kinsman, 
 and my life shall be sacrificed ere I cease 
 to pursue him,' and bounding from those 
 who held me, I sprung upon the ruffian, 
 and seized him by the throat. 
 
 " * Drag the madman out !' cried the 
 earl, * and let the cook crop his ears from 
 his head.' 
 
 " His commands were obeyed ; his 
 ruffian followers forced me out of the 
 
 hall, and thou knowest the rest — the 
 
 savages, spite of my struggles, cut my 
 ears close to my head ; then thrust me 
 out with shouts of laughter and brutal 
 jests at my sufferings. But I will not
 
 PKRJI.*? BY FLOOD ANE> FiW-D. 
 
 389 
 
 dwell upon my wrongs: — I seek revenge 
 upon all who assisted in that horrible 
 scene — and, harkee in your ear, Ralph 
 Okebrooke, — that all, is the earl alone — 
 the others sleep the long sleep of the 
 dead ! Aye, his ruffian kinsman and his 
 savage band have long been sent to their 
 account. When the earl was in the north, 
 I tracked him like a sleuth hound, and, in 
 one night, destroyed his nephew and the 
 company he led. They were sleeping in 
 a cottage, and dreamed not that the 
 avenger was nigh. 'Twas my hand that 
 hurled the lighted brand into the powder- 
 cask. The blast was as music to my ears, 
 for with it rose the cry of my enemies. 
 Aye, their last shout of horror cheered my 
 soul. I heard the drums roll, and the 
 trumpets bray alarm, but my swift steed 
 bore me away in safety, and the hand 
 tliat destroyed them is still unknown. 1 
 returned to London, and sought again 
 for my sister, but I beheld only her grave. 
 Abandoned by her brutal ravisher, she 
 had wandered about, houseless, friendless, 
 and witless ! Yes, a miserable maniac, 
 she presented herself to the nuns of 
 Saint Mildred, who, pitying her forlorn 
 condition, gave her shelter in their con- 
 vent ; but, alas 1 the good sisters' help 
 came too late — she died four days after- 
 wards. Tell me, Ralph, have I not 
 suffered ? Have I not cause for re- 
 venge ?" 
 
 *' Aye, indeed, sir," replied the soldier, 
 while a tear stood in his eye. " Your's is 
 a sad story ; and much do 1 marvel to see 
 my old master's son suffer thus. I little 
 wot to see his once happy family rooted 
 up and cast forth on the world ; yet God 
 is just, and will not fail to punish your 
 enemies, master Launcelot. But see, we 
 have reached Saint Paul's, and I must 
 join my company at Castle Baynard, — 
 whither would ye wend, sir ?" 
 
 " I would to Saint Albans, Ralph," re- 
 plied Elvaston. " The earl is advancing 
 upon that town, and a battle must be 
 fought anon. I have not returned from 
 France more than ten days, but though 
 tired with travel, I would not lose this 
 chance of destroying the last of my ene- 
 mies." 
 
 " And you shall have my best assist- 
 ance, should we meet at the fight," said 
 Ralph ; •* but, in the meantime, 'twould 
 be well to look out sharply against the 
 earl's fore-riders, who may be now near 
 
 the town ; and, therefore, look ye, sir — 
 my fcjther is park-keeper to a gentleman 
 who lives near to St. Albans, and his 
 cottage stands on the confines of the 
 chase. Hasten thither, and make your- 
 self known to iiim ; you may from thence 
 see all, and prepare yourself for what 
 may happen. Greet him well in my 
 name, and give him this chain, which I 
 won at Towton ; and, forgive me, master 
 Launcelot, should your purse be not over- 
 well stocked, a link or two from this 
 bauble will replenish it." — He slackened 
 his brigandine as he spoke, and drew 
 from his bosom a gold chain, which he 
 placed in the hand of Elvaston. " And 
 now farewell, sir," continued he, ** God 
 speed ye, — forget not to ask for Walter 
 Okebrooke." He wrung the hand of 
 Elvaston as he spoke, and, with tears in 
 his eyes, took his way to Castle Baynard, 
 then a place of great strength, and capa- 
 ble of containing a good garrison. 
 
 Deeply afl^ected by the kindness and 
 generosity of the young soldier, Launce- 
 lot Elvaston stood for some moments in 
 deliberation, but a sun-dial against the 
 gable of a neighbouring building, warned 
 him to depart. Starting from his reverie, 
 he bent his steps towards Alders Gate, 
 and soon, by hasty strides, left the city 
 behind him. 
 
 Reader, if thou hast ever cast thine 
 eye over a map of England's metropolis, 
 even in the reign of Elizabeth, thou wilt 
 remember that the countless number of 
 streets which now bewilder those who 
 visit London, were then unknown ; and 
 that without Alders Gate, green fields 
 and a range of hills met the view, while 
 the distant spires of the churches in the 
 villages which now form a part of London 
 herself, added to the beauty of the land- 
 scape. It is not our purpose to describe 
 the exact route of Launcelot Elvaston : 
 about half an hour after sunset, he arrived 
 in sight of St. Albans. Fearing that if 
 he entered the town he might meet with 
 some of the advanced guard of Warwick's 
 army, he determined to rest for the night 
 at an inn on the road-side. Here he 
 found an obliging landlord, and superior 
 accommodation for a hostelry in those 
 rude days. Having retired to rest early, 
 he rose refreshed; and after settling with 
 his host, walked out in search of the cot- 
 tage of Walter Okebrooke. 
 
 Having enquired for the chase spoken
 
 390 
 
 TALKS OF CHIVALRY 
 
 OR, 
 
 of by the soldier Ralph, he was informed 
 by a peasant that it lay about a quarter 
 of a mile distant. Thither he proceeded, 
 and having arrived there, he leapt an 
 hedge, and endeavoured to trace out the 
 cottage by the smoke. The sun shone 
 out, but the air was raw and cliilly, and 
 Elvaston, \a rapping his mantle around 
 him, strode forward with a rapid pace. 
 He had not gone far, when the deep voice 
 of a man was heanl singing some rude 
 snatches of a hunting song. He paused 
 for a moment, when the same voice, 
 which gradually approached nearer and 
 nearer, sung the following stanzas : — 
 
 'Tis morn ! the lark, with tuneful throat, 
 Trills on hish his matin song ; 
 The merry hunter's bugle-note 
 Blithely echoes the woods among. 
 
 From fern and brake the startled deer. 
 Affrighted, leave their mossy beds. 
 Indignant at the hunter's cheer. 
 They proudly toss their antler'd heads. 
 
 Now, bounding quickly from his mates, 
 The monarch of the herd 
 
 At this moment the singer came in siglit, 
 as he turned the corner of a coppice. He 
 was a stout, hale old man, attired in the 
 gear of a woodman, and he bore a cross- 
 bow in his hand. As soon as he espied 
 Elvaston, he cried out, while lie presented 
 his cross-bow, 
 
 " Stand, my master, or ye are but 
 worms' meat 1" Then adding, in a sharp 
 tone — " Who are ye — what's your name 
 and your business here — are ye a thief or 
 a true man ?" 
 
 " My walking staff," replied Elvaston, 
 ** should speak to tliat upon your costard, 
 were it not for the gray hairs that cover 
 it. Trust me, old man, they protect it 
 better than sallet or burgonet." 
 
 " The ash doesn't grow in England 
 that shall break the sconce of Walter 
 Okebrooke," said the old woodman, with 
 a sneer. Elvaston was rejoiced to hear 
 this avowal, and, extending his hand, as- 
 sumed a milder tone and look. 
 
 ** A truce with this, good friend," said 
 he ; "I was proceeding to your cottage, 
 where, with your leave, I intend to spend 
 the day with you. 1 bring you tidings of 
 your son, Walter Okebrooke, who charged 
 me to deliver you this goodly chain." 
 
 " I crave your pardon, sir," said the 
 old keeper, " I wot not that you brought 
 such good tidings — trust me, these are 
 ticklish times, and hontsty is a rare jewel 
 
 just now ; we have missed many deer of 
 late. But come, sir, if it please ye, 1*11 
 finish my round, and then we'll home and 
 have a bowl of milk and a slice of broiled 
 venison. Elvaston consented, and first 
 accompanying the old man in his round, 
 he proceeded with him to his cottage, 
 wliere, after a hearty breakt'ast, he learnt 
 thai the earl of Warwick was within five 
 miles of St. Albans. 
 
 Leaving Elvaston for awliile, we must 
 turn to the king, who was still in London, 
 and who was duly informed of the ap- 
 proach of his powerful foe. Fearing that 
 if the mighty earl arrived before the city, 
 some sudden and unfavourable change 
 miglit take place amongst the citizens, 
 Edward called together his army on the 
 eve of Easter, (having taken with him 
 the unfortunate Henry, to prevent the 
 possibility of a rising in favour of the de- 
 posed king, during his absence,) and 
 marched out to meet his rival, who was 
 advancing upon Barnet, having halted 
 near St. Albans, and refresiied his men 
 by a few hours' rest. 
 
 Night had closed around, and a thick 
 fog almost prevented the soldiers from 
 seeing each other, and it was not till long 
 after Edward had pitched his tent, that he 
 discovered, by his scouts, that Warwick 
 had encamped scarcely a bow-shot off. 
 This was no sooner known than several 
 field-pieces were discharged in the direc- 
 tion of the earl's camp ; and Warwick, in 
 return, bestowed many shots upon the 
 Yorkists, but, from the darkness of the 
 night, they were rendered harmless, for 
 Warwick's friends knew not that their 
 enemies were so near, and, consequently, 
 overshot their army. 
 
 It was about midnight that three sol- 
 diers of Edward's army were standing 
 round a watch-fire in the left division of 
 the camp. The dense fog was cold and 
 chilly, and the sentinels, wrapped in their 
 coarse hykes or cloaks, leaning on their 
 spears, conversed in whispers. The still- 
 ness of the night was alone broken by the 
 occasional report of the cannon on eitlier 
 side, or the neighing of the horses of the 
 knights and men-at-arms. 
 
 *' A plague take your night -watching," 
 exclaimed one of the sentinels, sliaking 
 the dew from his cloak ; " I would as soon 
 receive the charge of Montacutes' bull- 
 dog men-at-arms, as stand here till my 
 limbs are benumbed. The fiend take
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 391 
 
 this Bungey to his own keeping, for rais- 
 ing such a fog." 
 
 '* An' 1 could find the kennel of the old 
 fox in Baraet, I'd flea him aUve," said 
 anotiier. 
 
 *' Pshaw !" said the third soldier, *• he 
 would turn thy spear into a mercer's 
 measuring yard, and thy jack into a beg- 
 gar's jerkin, ere tiiou could's«t lay hand on 
 him — your conjuror ever fights with a 
 long weapon." 
 
 At this moment, the sound of approach- 
 ing footsteps was lieard, and the sentinels, 
 clutching their arms, stood prepared for 
 the event. 
 
 " Advance a few paces. Will," said one 
 of them to his comrade, who bore a 
 caliver or match-box, a weapon just then 
 introduced, and not at all admired by the 
 English, though, perhaps, it was con- 
 sidered a good thing to give the alarm to 
 tlie camp ; "step out and fix your match 
 — your weapon will reach further than 
 ours." 
 
 The soldier who bore the caliver seemed 
 not at all disposed to act upon this advice, 
 when his comrade snatched the weapon 
 from his hands, and having blown the 
 match, advanced a few paces ; — then rais- 
 ing his voice, he cried out, *' Who goes 
 there ?" 
 
 " A friend !" was the reply. 
 
 " What seek ye here?" rejoined the 
 sentinel. 
 
 *' Shelter and protection," continued 
 the voice ; and Launcelot Elvaston ap 
 proached. His appearance was viewed 
 with suspicion by the sentinels, who put 
 many questions to him, all of which he 
 readily answered ; still he was watched 
 closely ; upon perceiving which, he en- 
 quired if Ralph Okebrooke was in their 
 company. To his great joy, he found that 
 he was one of their troop. Ralph soon 
 came, every thing was explained to their 
 satisfaction, and Elvaston was led by him 
 to a rudely constructed tent, where, on a 
 bundle of straw, he found that rest and 
 repose which his long walk, and the great 
 fatigue lie had endured, so much re- 
 quired. 
 
 Long ere the sun had risen above the 
 surrounding hills, the loud hum of voices 
 and the clanking of armour, told that 
 either army was preparing for the bloody 
 and unnatural strife. At length, the god 
 of day arose from the horizon, and threw 
 liis beams upon the plain. A thick mist 
 
 still rendered every object indistinct, 
 though the sun strove to dispel the 
 vapour which floated over the scene of 
 the approaching combat. Spears and 
 pennons rose like a forest over the dense 
 bodies of men, who were now beginning 
 to take up their position. There flashed 
 the bright sharp blade of the brown-bill, 
 that terrible weapon of the English 
 heavy-armed infantry, while the banners 
 of the various knights and nobles fluttered 
 in the morning breeze, amidst ranks of 
 bright spears, pikes, and halberds, soon 
 to be dipped in the blood of England's 
 best and bravest. 
 
 No sooner had the two armies began 
 to stir, than Ralph Okebrooke roused 
 Elvaston from his slumber. " Up, up, 
 master Launcelot," said he, ** the earl's 
 army is not a bow-shot off"; — I must join 
 my company." 
 
 Elvaston sprung from his straw bed, 
 and was on his feet in an instant. His 
 bloodless cheek and hollow eye told what 
 had been passing within him, but he con- 
 cealed, as well as he could, the mental 
 depiession under which he laboured. 
 
 " Wliat would ye counsel me to do, 
 good Ralph ?" he enquired. 
 
 "Do ? — an' ye would take mv advice, 
 venture not into the battle until ye know 
 how the current runs. There is a wood, 
 as you see yonder, in which you may lay 
 hidden; and should the victory be given 
 to us, you may, when the earl is sore 
 pressed, advance and see him die, for 
 no quarter will be given to him or his 
 friends." 
 
 *' 1 would be one to strike the blow, 
 Ralph." 
 
 " And you may have your will, master 
 Elvaston : long ere it come to that pass, 
 many a shirt of mail, and many a sword, 
 w ill lay awaiting a new master ; arm 
 yourself with the first, but be wary — the 
 dav may not be ours — and now, f must 
 aw'ay, and join our troop ; see, the earl 
 has displayed iiis banner. — To the wood, 
 and wait the issue of the battle^ Fare- 
 well !" 
 
 (To he concluded m our next. J 
 
 James I. observed, *' that he never 
 knew a modest man make his way at 
 court." David Floyd, upon this, bluntly 
 asked, ** Pray, whose fault is that ?" His 
 majesty was r.ilent.
 
 392 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY; OR, 
 
 THE PIKE. — A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE. 
 
 Soon after the rebellion of ninety- 
 eight, an English merchant was obliged, 
 by urgent business, to visit the kingdom 
 of Connaught. Having provided himself 
 with a servant who professed an acquaint- 
 ance with the language of the country, 
 he made his will, and took a place in the 
 Westport mail. He reached the port 
 
 town of in safety, and from it he 
 
 proceeded to cross that wild and pictu- 
 resque mountain-chain which bounds the 
 beautiful shores of Lough Corrib. 
 
 It was late in autumn : the weather had 
 been wet, and, owing to the difficulty of 
 the bridle roads, the traveller was be- 
 nighted some miles distance from the 
 house he had calculated upon reaching. 
 Unable to proceed farther, he reluctantly 
 took up his quarters at a sheebiene house. 
 It was but a sorry carravansera — but no- 
 thing could surpass the apparent kind- 
 ness of the family. Supper was prepared ; 
 the best bed wes sheeted, and when the 
 belated stranger had sufficiently refreshed 
 himself, he was conducted to an inner 
 room, where, at his own request, the 
 servant was also accommodated with a 
 pallet. 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding the marked civility 
 of the family, the stranger could not over- 
 come a secret apprehension of impending 
 danger. Midnight came ; the outer door 
 was opened cautiously — several men en- 
 tered the kitchen with stealthy pace — they 
 conversed in their native language, his 
 name was mentioned, and himself was, 
 beyond doubt, the subject of this noc- 
 turnal conversation. Crawling, in an 
 agony of apprehension, to the pallet where 
 his attendant lay, he awoke the sleeper, 
 intimating his suspicions in a whisper, 
 and desired him to report faithfully the 
 midnight colloquy in the outer chamber. 
 
 '* What's that they say ?" quoth the 
 traveller. 
 
 *' They want another pint, for they have 
 not had such a prize for the last twelve- 
 month." 
 
 ** That's me !" groaned the querist. 
 
 " They have five pikes already, and 
 expect more before morning," continued 
 the valet. 
 
 " Truculent scoundrels !" 
 
 " The largest is intended for your- 
 self." 
 
 " Lord, defend me !" ejaculated the 
 stranger. 
 
 "They wonder if you are sleeping." 
 
 ** Cold-blooded monsters ! they want 
 to dispatch me quietly." 
 
 *' The owner swears that nobody shall 
 enter this room till morning." 
 
 *• Aye, then they will have daylight 
 and no difficulty." 
 
 '* And now he urges them to go to 
 bed." 
 
 *• Heaven grant they may ! for then, 
 escape from this den of murder might be 
 possible." 
 
 Listening, with a trembling heart, until 
 unequivocal symptoms of deep sleep were 
 heard from the kitchen, the unhappy 
 Englishman, leaving his effects to fortune, 
 crawled through the window half-dressed, 
 and, with a world of trouble and perilous 
 adventure, managed, early next morning, 
 to reach his original place of destination. 
 
 Never, however, was a man more mor- 
 tified than he, when he related his fearful 
 story. His tale was frequently interrupt- 
 ed by a laugh, which politesse vainly en- 
 deavoured to control. 
 
 *' Zounds !" cried the irritated English- 
 man, no longer able to conceal his rage, 
 ♦' is my tin-oat so valueless, that its cutting 
 should merely raise a horse-laugh ?" 
 
 " My dear friend," replied the host, 
 " you must excuse me — it is so funny, I 
 cannot, for the life of me, be serious. The 
 cause of all your fears lies quietly in the 
 outer hall. Come, you shall judge upon 
 what good grounds you absconded through 
 a window, and skirmished half the night 
 over hill and dale, with but the nether 
 portion of your habiliments." 
 
 As he spoke, he uncovered a large 
 basket, and pointed to a huge pike, of 
 some thirty pounds' weight, which was 
 coiled around the bottom. 
 
 *' The stormy weather," continued the 
 host, "having interrupted our supply of 
 sea- fish, the peasants who alarmed you 
 had been setting night-lines for your es- 
 pecial benefit. The peika more (large 
 pike), which you heard devoted to your 
 services in the sheebiene house, was not 
 an instrument of destruction, but, as you 
 shall admit at six o'clock, as good a white 
 fish as ever true Catholics, like you and 
 I, were doomed wherewithal to mortify 
 the flesh upon a blessed Friday." 
 
 Wishes are but the idle blossoms of 
 the tree of human life, seldom bearing 
 fruit.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AM) FIFLD. 
 
 393 
 
 THE FLAME-GIRT BARK OF THE 
 BLRXIXG SEA. 
 
 A sailor's legend. 
 
 During the war between the Ame- 
 ricans and England, the access between 
 tlie two countries, by ordinary means, 
 becoming impracticable, several small 
 ves.^els were htted out by private indi- 
 viduals, to effect communication — facili- 
 tating the removal of those whom in- 
 terest or fear prompted to leave a land to 
 whose cause they were disaffected, or who 
 were prisoners escaped from confinement 
 — by both of which classes of emigrants 
 immense sums were paid to the unscru- 
 pulous commanders of the passage-barks. 
 The wealth thus accumulated in their 
 short and frequent passage, rendered the 
 interior of these vessels receptacles of un- 
 bounded luxury, while their exteriors 
 were fantastically decked with die and 
 ornament, both from the whim, and to 
 display the recklessness, of their lawless 
 commanders, in making them as appa- 
 rent as they were obnoxious to the cruis- 
 ers of either side, whom their almost in- 
 
 voL. I. — 50. 
 
 Page 395. 
 
 I credible speed and press of canvass en- 
 abled them always to escape. Of the loss 
 of one of them, commanded by no less a 
 personage than the son of the naval 
 Washington, the following tale is told, 
 and believed, among the roving sons of 
 the broad, broad sea. But how indefinite, 
 vague, and incorrect, is the landsman's 
 idea of that element, the grandest work 
 of God's creation ! He thinks of it as a 
 w ide, monotonous, listless waste of brine, 
 and acquainted with it only from the 
 miserable comments contained in the 
 packet-journal of some soulless tourist, 
 who, to collect, for sale, observations ori 
 man's folly, crosses a scene of God's 
 glory unobserved, and almost unnoticed ; 
 its awful frown and transcendant smile, 
 recorded by minutes of " sea-sickness " 
 and " fair weather ;" no conception can 
 he form of the wild love, awe, and admi- 
 ration of the strange element, that fills the 
 soul of him whose home is on the rush- 
 ing waters, and at whose will a bounding 
 bark speeds over the beaming billow; or, 
 with stinted sail, dares the gathered surge 
 that, piled in moving pyramids, roars 
 round his frail but buovant home I 
 3 E
 
 394 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 It was noon upon tlie living waters ; 
 above was the sky, with its spread of 
 blue, and its ball of fire ; below, tlie sea 
 was clothed in its richest robe of beauty ; 
 the azure of each billow, as it rose to 
 sport with the playful breeze that gam- 
 bolled over it, was tinged with the golden 
 light of the sun, and, as it broke into 
 snoviy, sparkling foam, seemed to roll 
 into the sunlight, a mingled treasure of 
 pearls and diamonds. From the gorgeous 
 surface sprang the playful fish, with their 
 golden scales and silver fins. As if joyed 
 at the sight, rocking on her pillows of 
 tinted crystal, a gay bark danced over the 
 sunlit sheet — a bark seemingly built for 
 such a halcyon sea. She was a beauti- 
 fully formed brigantine ; her long, low 
 hull was of a deep sea-blue, relieved by 
 a bright gold belt ; her masts and yards, 
 taught and square almost to danger, were 
 also gilt and painted ; and, in the bent of 
 each sail, a diamond of blue extended 
 from the head to the foot. As she tra- 
 versed the surface, she seemed some form 
 summoned by fancy to compete with 
 nature's rich display. Inboard, where 
 the same colours predominated, the deck 
 was spotless, and free from obstruction, 
 save where her brass guns, and a capstan, 
 almost covered with the same metal highly 
 polished, gleamed in the sunlight. Around 
 were from ten to fifteen sailors, whose 
 weather-beaten faces told of freezing 
 storm and burning calm suffered and for- 
 gotten. An awning was spread over the 
 after-part of the quarter-deck, and under 
 it stood a splendid sofa, covered with 
 blue velvet, upon which lay a young 
 man, of apparently twenty years of age, 
 intently engaged in reading, whose dress 
 appeared to denote him an officer in some 
 service, but the material was velvet, 
 and the button bore the impress of the 
 American mint. His face was oval ; a 
 few chestnut curls were surmounted by a 
 moderately high forehead, beneath which 
 two mellow, hazel eyes sparkled ; his nose 
 was Grecian, and his mouth was deli- 
 cately chiselled, and a dark complexion 
 had been somewhat deepened by expo- 
 sure. Such was Aubrey, the far-famed 
 and dreaded commander of his splendid 
 brigantine, " The Sea-breeze ;" swift and 
 terril)le when she fought or flew, as the 
 roused blast, whose name she bore, when 
 plumed for strife. At present, bound for 
 the shores of liberty, she bore but two 
 
 passengers, colonel Claude, an officer in 
 the American service, and an only 
 daughter, beauteous as the rose-grafted 
 lily. Aubrey was still occupied, when a 
 flap of the huge fore and aft mainsail 
 startled him — giving notice that the 
 breeze had died away. He rose, and 
 looked around, smiling as his eye passed 
 over the sunbrightened scene, where the 
 wave still rose and fell, as if to woo back 
 the departed breeze to romp with it 
 again. Perceiving that the wind had 
 died away, for the^day in all probability, 
 he ordered the men to be summoned to 
 their mid-day meal, and all to leave the 
 deck but himself. Again he threw himself 
 upon the sofa, but not to read ; his eye, 
 wandering towards the conipanionvvay, 
 told that his thoughts roved to some more 
 enticing subject. 
 
 Reader, saw you ever a sunny face ? 
 Beneath an arched Isrow of perfect white, 
 like the brightening half circlet that pre- 
 cedes the sun, now sleep, now sparkle, 
 two blue eyes — the sunny indexes of a 
 sunny soul ; a cheek like the silken leaf 
 of the breeze-waven lily, over which the 
 sun wanders, but cannot rest; lips crowned 
 with the blush of evening, the god's bright 
 promise of a return, surmounting a bosom 
 like the swelling sea, when it blushes be- 
 neath the first ardent kiss of its ruddy 
 lover — a form that would seem woven in 
 the sun of its most pliant beams, and to 
 have slid down on a sunbeam to the as- 
 tonished world — a being faultless as the 
 sun, and lovely as his light. Such greeted 
 the sailor's eyes, as Anna Claude rose 
 from the companion-way — smiles hang- 
 ing on her beauteous countenance^, as a 
 wreath of sunbeams on a rose. She was, 
 indeed, a lovely creature ; the sea had 
 lent its blue for her eye, and the dazzling, 
 snowy hue of its foam for her cheek and 
 brow ; and the pale, flickering blush of 
 the heaven-girdling bow roved beneath 
 it ; but the language of that eye — it was 
 not of earth. A smile also gathered on 
 Aubrey's face as he rose, and, touching 
 his laced cap respectfully, proflfered her, 
 as Miss Claude, the sofa. 
 
 " Thank you, captain Aubrey," said a 
 voice like music's richest notes ; ** pray, 
 whose production do you honour with 
 your attention ? Nay, sir, a scholar as 
 well as sailor ! Homer, in his native 
 tongue !" 
 
 He trembled with emotion' as she
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 395 
 
 touched the book, and his eye grew fire 
 as she opened it where a card divided the 
 leaves. For nearly a minute, with a 
 heaving bosom, and a face alternately fire 
 and snow, her gaze was fixed, and then, 
 bursting into tears, she dropped the book ; 
 from which the card fell, exposing to view 
 her own features traced on it by no un- 
 skilful hand ; and beneath, written in 
 French, "En bonheur la fidelite, en nial- 
 heur r esperance ; mais pour bonheur ou 
 pour malheur j' aime, j' aime." But the 
 book had not reached the deck before the 
 sailor had folded his arms, and drawn his 
 splendid form to its full height ; and, while 
 his dark eye danced in lightning, and his 
 proud lip curled like the wave before the 
 storm, he spoke : 
 
 ** Miss Claude will do me the justice 
 to acknowledge that unintentional, on my 
 part, was this disclosure. But well may 
 she receive as an insult, the witness of 
 the adoration of one so much her inferior, 
 who, an hour ago, had only valued the 
 wave-girdled earth in his possession, that 
 it bore her form ; for the appearance of 
 that alone has, thank heaven, prevented 
 her from smiling on the love of the son of 
 Paul Jones !" 
 
 One meek glance the lovely girl cast 
 towards him, as he stood towering in his 
 pride and passion ; and she rose, and, 
 with tottering step, descended into the 
 cabin. Hardly had her form disappeared, 
 when shriek after shriek, from her apart- 
 ment, startled Aubrey, and he bounded 
 down the short staircase, and in an in- 
 stant reascended, his face painted with 
 horror, and, rushing to the hatchway, 
 called aloud for his crew ; his only answer 
 was a groan ; below the deck he sprung. 
 A moment, and another, and he reap- 
 peared, and alone, the horror planted in 
 his eye telling of some awful sight, and 
 again descended into the cabin ; that in- 
 stant, from the deck state-room, a man 
 emerged, with a glittering knife in his 
 hand ; quick as lightning, he drew it 
 across the tucker-rope that supported the 
 quarter and stern-boat, and, dropping a 
 round shot into each, they sunk into the 
 blue water, as Aubrey bore to the deck 
 the beauteous form that had just left it, 
 senseless as death. Drawing some water, 
 with which he sprinkled her face pro- 
 fusely, he dissipated her faintness ; the 
 man walked toward him, and his face dis- 
 torted with demoniac rage, threw off his 
 
 jacket, and presented to Aubrey's view 
 his under vesture, striped to tatters, and 
 saturated with blood. 
 
 ** Capitaine," said he, grinding his 
 teeth with fury, and a gnarled smile, that 
 a fiend might have envied, gleaming in 
 his sunburnt face, ** dat very pretty flog- 
 ging for give poor devil like Lorenzo. 
 But, for Mr. Fender flog me, I feed him. 
 Colonel Claude, and de men, too, joke 
 me ; I play de fair trick on dem. When 
 I complain, you tell me be dam. 1 tell 
 you, dat going widout eat, no save you 
 from de Italian's revenge — de key of de 
 magazine I" and he threw it overboard, 
 and shouted in his hellish joy, " Ha ! ha! 
 in five minute, de grand capitaine Aubrey 
 
 ;" but he said no more — a stroke of 
 
 a brass belaying-pin, torn from its station 
 by Aubrey's hand, laid him a corse on 
 the deck. 
 
 The girl had sunk upon the sofa and 
 buried her face in her hands, against one 
 arm of it. Aubrey stood near it, with 
 an eye as haughty, and a brow as calm, 
 as ever his patriot father bore, when he 
 trod, among his cheering crew, the deck 
 of his country's foe his arm had prostrated. 
 He looked around ; he scanned the tower- 
 ing masts, extended arms, and the gay 
 wings of his gallant craft, that now hung 
 idly against the mast ; and he thought of 
 the days when he had flung out their 
 folds to the sweeping blast, and sped, 
 like the sighing arrow, from his less 
 daring pursuers ; or, with them, lashed 
 to the spar, had dared the wrath of a 
 superior, or the force of the dreadful 
 blast. 
 
 ** Aubrey," murmured a voice at his 
 side ; and pride and daring were forgot- 
 ten, and the rich blood mounted to his 
 sun-kissed cheek, as he turned toward 
 her ; but her face again was hid. 
 
 " Anna !" For his life he could not 
 have called her otherwise : she looked up 
 — her eye dimmed with tears, and her 
 face like the clouded heavens — an instant 
 she faltered, but her eye caught his; then 
 rushed the bright blood to her beaming 
 cheek ; then joy was gathered in those 
 curtained gems. 
 
 •' Aubrey !" and the sailor caught her 
 to his bosom ; for the thought thrilled his 
 soul, that joy's brightest tale can be told 
 by tears alone ; and, upon the brink of 
 eternity, their daring love was sealed by 
 the pressure of hand and lip, when the 
 3e2
 
 396 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 vaulted roof of the sky echoed to a burst 
 that stayed the buoyant wave in its foam- 
 ing course for miles around ; and the 
 bri^ht-hued fragments of the splendid 
 bark, and the ghastly corses of her gallant 
 crew, strewed the blue sea 1 
 
 And now, when the wild sea rolls and 
 roars, tormented by the wanton wind, 
 and the blue lightning gilds the blackened 
 sky, the affrighted seaman oft has seen 
 the lover's bark, manned by her crew of 
 corses, careering over the deep ; but her 
 line of gold is a belt of fire, and the blue 
 is rent from the midnight sky, and her 
 spar and sail are of northern mist, and 
 her rigging is twined of the stars' faint 
 beams ; and around her dash waves of 
 blue, gleaming flame, that show like a 
 sunbright sea. Then the storm is hushed, 
 and the waves are calmed, and the hardy 
 mariner breathes a prayer for the lovers, 
 who loved on eternity's brink. 
 
 THE DEATH OF WARWICK. 
 
 (Concluded from page 391.^ 
 
 Ralph Okebrooke ran off to join his 
 comrades, while Elvaston hurried to the 
 wood, which he gained in safety, and 
 from which he beheld the advance of the 
 two hostile armies. Gladmore Heath lay 
 before him, and half of it was covered by 
 the army of Warwick. On the left w«ng 
 appeared a large body of knights and 
 men-at-arms, led by the earl and the 
 duke of Exeter. Another body of horse 
 formed the right wing, at the head of 
 which were perceived the earl's brother 
 and the earl of Oxford, over whose head 
 waved a banner, splendidly embroidered 
 with his arms, quarterly gules and or, 
 upon the first a mullet argent. The 
 main body was composed of sturdy bow- 
 men and billmen, to the number of many 
 thousands ; in the centre of which were 
 seen two or three field- pieces, mounted 
 on heavy and unwieldy carriages. The 
 Yorkists pushed forward to meet their 
 enemies, their main body led by Edward 
 himself, the van by his brother Glo'ster, 
 and tlie rear by lord Hastings. The 
 archers on either side advanced, and in- 
 stantly a shower of arrows, thick as snow 
 flakes, darkened the air, the cannon roared 
 defiance, and the shouts of both parties 
 rose on the gale. Suddenly the shower 
 of arrows slackened, and the combafanis 
 mingled in close and deadly stiife. Blous 
 
 and shouts of " An Edward ! an Edward \ 
 St. George for York ! strike for the red 
 rose !" were answered by loud cries of 
 '* A Warwick ! a Warwick 1" w hen sud- 
 denly the van of the earl retreated in 
 disorder, and fled precipitately, followed 
 by their implacable foes. Clouds of ar- 
 rows were showered upon the fugitives, 
 who fled from the field in wild disorder; 
 when Warwick, with a body of horse, in- 
 terposed, and again the flght raged furi- 
 ously. Elvaston strained his eyes in 
 watching the issue of this encounter, 
 when suddenly a banner, bearing the 
 arms of lord Cromwell, sunk amidst the 
 conflict. "Edward's best friend is down," 
 he mentally exclaimed j but, at the same 
 moment, the banner rose again, and ad- 
 vanced upon the opposite party ; this re- 
 vived his hopes, and he gazed anxiously 
 upon the furious conflict. He was about 
 to venture nearer, when a horseman, 
 quitting the ranks, rode towards the 
 wood. Unarmed, save only his dagger, 
 Elvaston was somewhat alarmed ; he re- 
 treated into the wood, and waited the 
 approach of the soldier, who, by the red 
 cross on his breast, he knew to be a fol- 
 lower of lord Cromwell's, and, as the 
 rider came nearer, he perceived that he 
 was wounded. Anxious to render him 
 assistance, Elvaston stepped from his con- 
 cealment, and ran towards him ; but ere 
 he could arrive in time, the soldier fell 
 heavily from his horse on to the green- 
 sward, his foot hanging in the stirrup. 
 Quickly seizing the horse's bridle, Elvas- 
 ton extricated the rider by cutting the 
 stirrup leather with his dagger ; then 
 fastening the bridle to a tree, he gently 
 raised the wounded man from the ground, 
 and perceived that an arrow had passed 
 tlirough his throat. He endeavoured to 
 draw the shaft from the wound, but it re- 
 sisted all his efforts. 
 
 *' 'Tis of no use, good stranger," said 
 the soldier, writhing with pain, "prithee 
 let me die, thou dost but torment me. I 
 would that we had a priest here, for all 
 my sins rise up against me at this mo- 
 ment." 
 
 " Quiet yourself," said Elvaston, " we 
 may get help anon." 
 
 " Help, did'st thou say ? why not help 
 our master, the lord Cromwell ? But no," 
 he added, feebly, " he is sped j I saw 
 him struck down by a bill-man, and 
 could not save him — they fight like
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AXD FIELD 
 
 397 
 
 wolves. Sir Humplirey Bourcliier is 
 wounded to death — ah, my brain is dizzy, 
 give me thy hand, Sancta Maria." Tlie 
 remainder of his prayer was inaudible, 
 for it was lost in the death-rattle which 
 announced that the strugg^le was over. 
 
 Elvaston gazed for a moment on the 
 corpse of the soldier, whose countenance 
 yet retained its fierceness. The glazed 
 eye remained open, and the brow seemed 
 still to frown defiance. But such scenes 
 were not new to him. This opportunity 
 must not be slighted, thought he ; and, 
 kneeling down, he, with some difficulty, 
 loosened tlie dead soldier's corslet and 
 iron cap, which he transferred to his own 
 head and breast. Then seizing his sword, 
 and mounting his horse, he dashed for- 
 ward to join the strife. 
 
 Directed by the saltier argent on the 
 earl's banner, Elvaston made towards 
 that part of the field where Warwick was 
 contending against his foes. Edward's 
 friends, though they had by this time lost 
 the lords Cromwell and Say, and the stout 
 sir Humphrey Bourchier, were now gain- 
 ing ground ; and the earl, like a lion 
 when hemmed in by ihe hunters, fought 
 with all the fury that his desperate situa- 
 tion inspired. Elvaston soon mingled in 
 the strife, and his arm, nerved by the 
 desire to revenge himself upon the author 
 of his wrongs, did fearful execution upon 
 the vassals of Warwick : twice he stood 
 within sword's length of the earl, and 
 twice was he beaten back by the two 
 henchmen who fought by the side of the 
 king-maker. When suddenly a cry of 
 *' Treason I treason I we are betrayed !" 
 arose on the other side of the field. 
 Each party paused for a moment upon 
 hearing this alarm, which was m conse- 
 quence of Warwick's archers mistaking 
 the badges of the earl of Oxford's men 
 for those of Edward's, and believing tiiem 
 to be enemies, shooting at them accord- 
 ingly. Oxford and his men instantly fled, 
 and the sight cheered the soldiers of 
 Edward's army, while it tilled with dis- 
 may and consternation the minds of 
 Warwick's followers, whose numbers were 
 every minute decreasing. Several knights 
 whofought round his banner were slain, 
 and his brother, the marquis of Monta- 
 cute, quickly shared the same fate. The 
 earl's banner-bearer was overthrown, and 
 the banner wrenched from his grasp. All 
 was now confusion and flight ; the earl 
 
 would have been slain upon the spot, had 
 not those wiio pressed forward to take 
 him alive rendered it impossible for a 
 blow to be struck. Warwick took ad- 
 vantage of this, and backing his steed 
 out of the melee, he rode off the field, 
 though not unperceived by Elvaston, 
 whose eagle eye quickly discovered his 
 flight. He pursued him at full gallop 
 across the heath, which was strewed with 
 the dead and the dying. The groan and 
 the death-gasp of the wounded were lost 
 in the roar of victory. Edward's reserve 
 of archers and men-at-arms was now 
 ordered to charge the scattered and flying 
 army, and a horrible slaughter of War- 
 wick's troops was made. Groans, shrieks, 
 and imprecations were mingled with cries 
 for quarter, which the pursuers, heated 
 with conquest, and burning for revenge, 
 would not extend to their miserable 
 countrymen. The earl still held on his 
 way to the wood alone, bare headed, and 
 armed only with his sword. Elvaston 
 followed, and, as he entered, shouted 
 loudly to Warwick, who applied his spurs 
 to the flanks of his jaded war-horse, and 
 continued his course ; but finding that he 
 was tracked by only one man, he w heeled 
 about, and suddenly faced his pursuer. 
 
 *' Who art thou, base groom ?" he 
 cried, in a voice loud and fearful. 
 
 Elvaston laughed aloud, but it was so 
 wild and unearthly, that its sound rung 
 in the ears of Warwick, and blanched 
 his cheek, which was sprinkled with the 
 blood of his foes. His enemy marked 
 his alarm, and, in a voice of exultation, 
 replied — 
 
 " Who am I, proud earl ? one whom 
 you have doubtless thought long since 
 numbered with the dead. Look on me, 
 thou once mighty one, — dost thou know 
 me now ?" he raised his iron cap as he 
 spoke, and showed to the wondering and 
 alarmed earl his earless head. Warwick 
 shuddered, while Elvaston continued — 
 " Earl, thy hour is come : my sword shall 
 revenge me." 
 
 " Thou would'st not murther me, good 
 fellow ?" said Warwick. 
 
 " Oh, no," with a bitter smile, ** 'twould 
 not be murther if I stabbed thee in the 
 dark ; but ye shall have a fair field, and 
 may heaven give me strength to destroy 
 thee. The shades of my father and my 
 sainted sister hover near me and nerve 
 my arm. Are ye prepared to 6ght, proud
 
 398 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY, OR, 
 
 man ? If not, down on your knees, and 
 make your peace with " 
 
 This taunt enraged the earl, who was 
 before somewhat awed by the stern and 
 impressive manner of his antagonist. 
 
 **Unmannered slave !" he cried, ♦* dare 
 to follow me, and I will give thy base 
 carcase to the birds of the air." 
 
 *• Base, dost thou say ?" replied Elvas- 
 ton, clutching his sword, " my name was 
 once as noble as thine own, though not so 
 powerful : fortune has this day made us 
 equals : look to thyself." 
 
 He rushed upon the earl as he uttered 
 this, and a fierce combat ensued. War- 
 wick had thrown away his helmet, but 
 he still sat cased in steel from the throat 
 to the instep. His head alone was vul- 
 nerable. His rich surtout, in which his 
 arms were emblazoned, was dabbled in 
 blood, and his huge sword was hacked 
 like a saw. His eye was sunken and 
 hollow, but his countenance still bore a 
 frown of defiance, though his pitiable 
 condition would have moved the com- 
 passion of a common enemy. 
 
 The combat for some time continued 
 doubtful. The earl was a man of re- 
 doubtable courage, and was moreover an 
 excellent swordsman ; and it was not 
 until after he had desperately wounded 
 Elvaston in the throat, that he began to 
 feel that the strength and quickness of his 
 adversary was more than a match for him. 
 Enraged at receiving this wound, and 
 feeling himself growing faint from loss of 
 blood, Elvaston followed up his blows in 
 quick succession, and forced Warwick to 
 rein backwards several paces; then col- 
 lecting all his strength, he smote his 
 enemy on the head. The stroke was 
 mortal, the sharp steel divided the skull 
 with a fearful crash, and the earl's life- 
 blood crimsoned the ground ; he uttered 
 one long, deep groan, and falling from 
 his liorse, expired. 
 
 Elvaston stood for some moments lean- 
 ing on his sword, and regarding the body 
 of the earl, when a sudden tremor passed 
 through his frame, his head grew dizzy, 
 and he fell exhausted by the side of his 
 enemy. 
 
 He was recalled to recollection by the 
 voices of men near him, and opening his 
 eyes, he beheld the king with his brother 
 Glo'ster, and several noblemen, who were 
 viewing the body of the earl. 
 
 ** There lies the lion whose roar was 
 erst so terrible," said Edward. ** War- 
 wick, I forgive thee 1 England never had 
 a better soldier or a more politic states- 
 man. Can'st thou not tell us who de- 
 stroyed thee ? — who struck the last blow 
 at thy noble figure ?" 
 
 Elvaston raised his head at these words, 
 and gazed with dim eye upon the king. 
 
 " Ah," cried Edward, " here is one of 
 his henchmen ; yet no, he could not be so 
 wretchedly armed, — see, the poor knave 
 makes signs." 
 
 Elvaston at this moment attempted to 
 speak, but his tongue moved without 
 noij-e, and, with an effort, he raised the 
 iron cap from his head, and threw it on 
 the ground ; then drawing aside his long 
 hair, he showed the scars of his frightful 
 wounds. 
 
 Edward started back, "By our blessed 
 Lady," he exclaimed, " this is strange !" 
 then addressing Elvaston, he continued, 
 *' was the earl thy foe, good fellow ?" 
 
 At this moment Ralph Okebrooke came 
 up, and perceiving Elvaston, he threw 
 himself by his side, and wiped the blood 
 from his sword. ** How is't with ye, 
 master Launcelot ?" he enquired, bending 
 over him. "No answer to your poor 
 Ralph, — speak but one word before ye 
 die." 
 
 , ** He is already dead, knave," said the 
 king. 
 
 He spoke truly, Elvaston's soul had 
 fled, and not a groan or a sigh announced 
 its flight ! 
 
 THE THIN GENTLEMAN. 
 
 The remains of the castle of Yberg 
 consist of two grey towers, one of them 
 shattered from top to bottom by thunder. 
 The family to which the building be- 
 longed has been long extinct ; and the 
 last of the race, by his crimes and im- 
 piety, is said to have drawn down the 
 vengeance of heaven even upon the roof 
 which sheltered his sacrilegious head. 
 
 It appears, from the tradition, that he 
 had ruined his fortune by excess and de- 
 bauchery, and then lived — like other 
 knights of the time, who had strong 
 towers and sharp swords — by strife and 
 robbery. Chancing, however, to lose one 
 of his arms in an encounter, his success 
 was no longer proportioned to his daring ; 
 and his followers at length, disgusted with
 
 PERIL'S BY FLOOD AND FIELD- 
 
 399 
 
 bare walls and short commons, deserted 
 tiieir chief. The latter, left alone in his 
 castle, amused himself with cursing the 
 world and its want of virtue, and with 
 taking a purse now and then, when 
 nights were dark, and travellers few and 
 unwarlike. 
 
 One evening, when sitting in his porch, 
 on the walls of which the ivy and wall- 
 flower were already mingling with the 
 vine, a pilgrim approached the den of the 
 robber. 
 
 " You are poor, sir knight," said he ; 
 " you would be rich ?" 
 
 *• Certes," answered the knight, surlily, 
 but with the kind of bastard hope which 
 springs up when rational expectations are 
 at an end. 
 
 ** Ha ! ha !" laughed the pilgrim, '* that 
 is strange ; but no stranger than to see a 
 man moping in poverty and misery, wiien 
 gold and jewels may he had for gathering, 
 even under his own roof." 
 
 " If I knew but how to gather !" ex- 
 claimed the knight, bitterly, as he again 
 ^unk into despondency : " You allude, I 
 perceive, to a tradition which is known to 
 every peasant-serf in the country-side — 
 that my great-grandfather, when this 
 castle was about to be taken by assault, 
 buried his treasures before giving himself 
 up to the knife." 
 
 " 1 do," answered the pilgrim ; " I was 
 by at the time." 
 
 The knight jumped upon his feet. 
 
 ** You 1" said he, " you ! Why, that is 
 a hundred and fifty years ago !" and he 
 looked suspiciously at the stranger. 
 
 The latter was a man about the ordi- 
 nary height, but marvellously thin. His 
 legs had no more calf than the tongs ; he 
 was as grey as a rat ; and his skin looked 
 as if it had been drawn wet over his bones, 
 and then left, in the course of years, to 
 dry, and harden, and bleach, and seam, 
 and crack. 
 
 " I was by, I tell you," repeated the 
 stranger. " Where is the harm ? What 
 have you to do with that ? Having been 
 present at the when, I of course know all 
 about the where ; and as 1 perceive you 
 are a regular chip of tlie old block, who 
 was always a great friend of mine, I will 
 tell you the secret, if you have a mind to 
 hear it." 
 
 " Say on, then," said the knight; " only 
 I wish you were not so thin, and that you 
 had come to me in the forenoon." 
 
 " The forenoon would not answer our 
 purpose," said the stranger ; "things must 
 be done according to rule. Thin! 1 
 would have you to know I have turned 
 the head of many a pretty girl before 
 now !" and he cut a caper with so much 
 agility, that the other knew not what to 
 think. 
 
 "Well, well," said the knight, a little 
 enviously, perhaps, "my dancing days 
 are over, if your's are not. Tell me the 
 secret, and to pick and shool with us at 
 once ! Where is the treasure buried ?" 
 
 "In the grave of your ancestors ; who 
 have it in as safe keeping as if it was 
 under lock and key." 
 
 The knight started and grew exceed- 
 ing pale. 
 
 " Wliat is the matter ? Are they not 
 your ancestors ? Is it not your money ? 
 However, these dead folks — who can 
 make no use of riches themselves — are 
 too apt to play the dog in the manger, 
 and keep them from those who can. It 
 will be needless to dig in the graves so 
 long as a bone of one of them is there. 
 You must bring up your relations, one by 
 one, apron-full by apron-full, and lay them 
 here, in the moonlight, all round the 
 porch. It is a fine night, and they will 
 not be the worse of the airing." 
 
 The knight trembled — he was about to 
 cross himself. 
 
 " Hollo ! No nonsense !" cried the 
 stranger, hastily staying his hand. "If 
 you do not like the adventure, say so at 
 once without mummery, and I shall carry 
 my advice to men of more sense and 
 courage." 
 
 As he spoke, he threw his doak in 
 dudgeon upon his shoulders, and was 
 turning away, when the knight caught 
 hold of the garment (which felt like a 
 blanket made of spiders' webs), and be- 
 sought him to have patience. 
 
 " I cannot starve," said he, " I am not 
 strong enough to rob, and I must have 
 money. Sacrilege or no sacrilege, I will 
 do your bidding !" The stranger accom- 
 panied him to the door of the chapel; but 
 when the knight besought him to enter 
 and assist — 
 
 " I beg you to excuse me," said he, 
 with a strange chuckling laugh ; " they 
 are no kinsfolk of mine : 1 have no right 
 to lay a finger on them ; and I confess I 
 am punctilious in matters that touch my 
 honour."
 
 400 
 
 TALrS OK CHIVAIRV ; OR, 
 
 ** At least come in, then, if it is only 
 across the threshold, that 1 may know 
 there is something living near me in this 
 dismal vault, where the moonbeams are 
 gliding like spectres among the pillars." 
 
 " I really would oblige you if I could j 
 but I dare not." 
 
 " How, dare not ?" 
 
 "No; I have got such a cold; it 
 would be the dea^h of me ;" and the 
 stranger, by way of a specimen, emitted 
 a dry hollow cough, so oddly mingled 
 with chuckling laughter, that the knight 
 felt his hair rising upon his head as he 
 entered the chapel alone. His strength 
 seemed increased, however, rather than 
 diminished, by his terror; and, with the 
 aid of a pickaxe, he speedily raised the 
 stone from every grave in the place. It 
 was an awful thing to see the effect of 
 the moonlight as it fell quiveringly upon 
 tile skeletons. One seemed to stir its 
 foot — another to point with its finger — 
 and a third to grin and leer ; but when 
 the knight seized upon some of the 
 bones in desperation, and found that the 
 pieces of the skeleton fell asunder in his 
 hand, he had nearly fainted with horror. 
 It was like committing parricide ! 
 
 ** It is sacrilege !" said he to himself 
 — " it is sacrilege 1" Nevertheless, he 
 filled an apron with bones from one of the 
 graves, and carried them out into the 
 moonlight. He then returned for another 
 load ; and so on till he had emptied all 
 the graves, except the last and newest. 
 
 When he came to this one, it was not 
 alone from fatigue that he paused, or 
 from fear that he trembled. In the grave 
 was buried a little child, the only one who 
 liad ever called him father — the only 
 being he had ever loved. This had been 
 the single bond of connexion between 
 him and the sympathies of his species : 
 and when the child died (many years 
 ago), there fell upon its pale cold face tiie 
 only virtuous tears its father had ever 
 shed. The child was now lying in the 
 grave — 
 
 As if he had not been dead a day. 
 
 The little body had not even shrunk in 
 the grasp of death. It was like an image 
 of virgin wax, which (itself being formed 
 of dead matter) imitated sleep. The 
 father felt a film come over his eyes as he 
 knelt beside the grave, and took up his 
 child. He laid it tenderlv in his arms and 
 
 against his bosom, like a living infant ; 
 and, forgetting for the moment the pur- 
 pose he had in view, carried it out un- 
 consciously into the moonlight. 
 
 Loud and long laughed the stranger as 
 he appeared. 
 
 " Set it down here," said he, " and the 
 circle will be complete ; then step over 
 the line of bones to me, and I shall 
 whisper the remaining secret in your 
 ear." The knight, as he was about to 
 set down his gentle burthen, fancied that 
 the infant stirred. 
 
 " Make has e, make haste 1" cried the 
 stranger, bending over the circle, and 
 curving his long, lean hand to take hold 
 of the knight's. The infant opened its 
 eyes. 
 
 " Make haste !" cried the stranger 
 again, and his voice rose to an unearthly 
 shriek. "Throw down the bantling, and 
 follow me, or you are lost 1" 
 
 ** My father shall not follow you," said 
 the dead child. " Hence, mocking fiends, 
 for this place is mine. You have no final 
 power where a single holy affection re- 
 mains, as a bond of union between the 
 soul of man and its Creator 1" At these 
 words the stranger vanished, with shrieks 
 of mingled laughter and agony ; the earth 
 shook, and a peal of thunder broke over 
 the building, which laid it in ruins. 
 
 Unarmed, bare-headed, wrapped in 
 hair- cloth, and with a pilgrim's staff in 
 his hand, the old robber that night left 
 the castle of his ancestors, never more to 
 return. 
 
 ANECDOTE OF VISCOUNT DE TURENNE. 
 
 It is reported of the famous viscount 
 de Turenne, that when he was a young 
 officer, and at the siege of a fortified 
 town, he had no less than twelve chal- 
 lenges sent him ; all of which he put in 
 his pocket, without further notice ; but 
 being soon after commanded to a despe- 
 rate attack on some part of the fortifica- 
 tions, he sent a billet to each of the 
 challengers, acquainting them " that he 
 had received their papers, which he de- 
 ferred answering till a proper occasion 
 offered both them and himself, to exert 
 their courage for the king's service ; that, 
 being ordered to assault the enemy's 
 works the next day, he desired their com- 
 pany, when they would have an oppor- 
 tunity of signalizing their own bravery, 
 and of being witnesses of his."
 
 PERILS r,Y rLOOIJ AXn FIELD. 
 
 401 
 
 
 HERMAN THE FREE-LANCE 
 
 OR, THE RESCUE AT AXNF.'S CROSS. 
 
 At d hurrj-skurry forth they go, 
 
 Uuheed'ing wet* or dry : 
 And horse and rider snorte and blowe, 
 
 And spaiklinjj pebbles flie. 
 
 Burger's Leonora. 
 
 The violent struggles for the crown, 
 which took place between Stephen, earl 
 of Blois, and prince Henry, are well 
 known to the reader of English history. 
 This the former at last obtained, not, how- 
 ever, without much bloodshed, and Henry 
 ao-reed to quit England, with an under- 
 st'anding that he should succeed to the 
 crown on the death of Stephen, which 
 took place not long after the cessation of 
 hostilities. It is well known that Stephen, 
 fearing to trust his cause entirely in the 
 hands of the English, brought over many 
 bands of foreign mercenaries, of almost 
 every nation, but principally Flemings, 
 whose insolence and violence soon ren- 
 dered them objects of hatred and exerca- 
 tion to the English people. On Henry's 
 ascending the throne, his first act was to 
 
 VOL I. — 51. 
 
 Page 405. 
 
 demolish the many caslles which had been 
 raised throughout the kingdom during the 
 short reign of liis predecessor, and to dis- 
 band the before-mentioned troops of fo- 
 reign soldiers. This was carried into effect 
 with such vigour and promptitude, that 
 in a short time the refractory English were 
 subdued, and the aliens driven from the 
 kingdom. 
 
 These mercenaries were men of daring 
 and reckless character, and their courage 
 and experience in war rendered them de- 
 sirable instruments in the hands of the 
 ambitious and violent. Owning no coun- 
 try nor master, save those in whose pay 
 they were, their swords and lances were 
 ever at the service of those who could offer 
 most. The latter weapon was much in 
 repute in those days, and these men were 
 particularly dexterous in the use of it; 
 hence the name of ** free-lance," which 
 was given, without distinction, to those 
 restless spirits. Besides their pay, which 
 was always considerable, there was with 
 them another consideration, namely, plun- 
 der, which they seldom failed to get, 
 even though the party they had joined 
 should have been worsted in the fight ; for, 
 3 F
 
 40-2 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 being mounted on fleet horse?, they defied 
 pursuit. 
 
 Amongst those who had distinguished 
 themselves in the late contests was one 
 Herman von Wernigerode, a captain of a 
 band of German free-lances, who liad done 
 good service in the pay of Stephen, during 
 his struggle for the sovereignty. He and 
 liis band had been well paid for their as- 
 sistance ; but calculating on the possibility 
 of a renewal of hostilities, he stilUingered 
 in England, and in the month of Octo- 
 ber, A. D. 1154, he and his fellows had 
 taken up their abode at a hostelry in the 
 city of Lincoln, which was then a place of 
 considerable strength. One fine evening, 
 towards the latter end of October, two 
 soldiers were observed under the walls of 
 the cathedral, from which they had an 
 extensive view of the country round. 
 Their dress, and their arms, which they 
 carried with them, shewed that they be- 
 longed to Herman's band. They were 
 engaged in earnest conversation as they 
 walked to and fro. 
 
 As a literal version of their colloquy 
 would be quite unintelligible to most of 
 our readers, and interesting only to the 
 antiquary, it will be necessary to render 
 it into English. 
 
 " Well, Bernhard," said he who ap- 
 peared to be the youngest of the two, 
 *' think ye this Henry, when he succeeds 
 to the crown, will order us home again ?" 
 
 " T know not," vvas the otiier's reply ; 
 " but he is said to entertain no good will 
 towards us, for having helped his rival to 
 the seat which by good right belongs to 
 him." 
 
 ♦• Whist, man !— the walls of this ca- 
 thedral have ears. Wliat if some of the 
 sleek monks within should hear thy words 
 and report them to the king ? Thy head 
 would tly from thy shoulders in the turning 
 of a die." 
 
 "Tut, I fear it not; king Stephen 
 knows I have helped him in the hour of 
 need. See'st thou that broad tree in yon 
 meadow to the right ?" 
 
 •' Aye, — what of it ?" 
 
 " Why, 1 will tell thee. Where that 
 tree flings its shadow, king Stephen, in 
 the late battle, stood it manfully against a 
 host of his enemies, even though his men 
 had fled from him. Earl Ranalpli ad- 
 vanced upon him, and bore the king to 
 the ground ; but at the same moment I 
 cast the earl out of liis saddle with my 
 
 lance, and should have made him prisoner 
 had not his fellows rescued him. Tiie 
 king then gave me that goodly cliain 
 which I lost at play with Casper Hend- 
 ricksen." 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! ah !" lauglied the yoimger 
 soldier ; " by my halidame, thou hast set a 
 proper value on a king's bounty ! Why, 
 there was enough to keep thee at home all 
 thy life, without ever setting foot in the 
 stirrup again." 
 
 "At home !" replied the other, with a 
 sneer ; ** think'st thou I can live at home 
 when broad pieces can be won so easily? 
 The free-lance has no liome. May the 
 fiend rive me, if I hold the plough while 
 I can grasp a lance or rein a good steed." 
 " Well, chafe it not, man ; I meant not 
 to offend thee. See, who rides so fast up 
 yonder road ?" 
 
 As he spoke, a horseman was descried 
 at some distance, advancing towards the 
 city at a rapid pace. He bore a long 
 lance, wore a jacket of linked mail, and 
 a basenet, and rode a strong bony horse, 
 which seemed much jaded. The two 
 worthies continued their colloquy. 
 
 " Who owns yonder castle ?" inquired 
 Bernhard, pointing to a strongly em- 
 battled building, on which the sun, fast 
 sinking towards the horizon, threw its 
 departing rays. 
 
 *' Dost thou not know ?" answered his 
 companion ; " 'tis sir Mathew Witherne's, 
 an old knight, who promised our captain 
 his fair daughter, in reward for his having 
 saved his life in a skirmish with the earl's 
 men some short time since. But see, 
 yonder horseman approaches. By this 
 light, 'tis Conrade Braquemart ! What 
 the fiend makes him ride so fast ?" 
 
 The object which had occasioned this 
 remark arrived at the city gates, and, on 
 being admitted, rode hastily up the street. 
 In a few moments a trumpet sounded 
 from below, which startled the two sol- 
 diers, and interrupted their conversation. 
 " Ah !" exclaimed Carl, the younger 
 one, " that's our trumpet ! What means 
 this sudden summons ? it bodes no good, 
 methinks." 
 
 "Peace," muttered Bernhard, sullenly, 
 *' let us go at once, or we shall be wel- 
 comed with a few of Herman's round 
 oaths. Sathan himself cannot curse more 
 heartily. Corne to the hostelry." 
 
 They immediately left tiie spot and re- 
 paired to the iiostelry, \Ahere Herman and
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 403 
 
 the rest of his followers were assembled in 
 council. The arrival of Conrade Braque- 
 mart caused a great ferment amongst 
 them : from him they learnt that Stephen 
 had paid that debt which even kings 
 must discharge, and had bequeathed the 
 crown to Henry, who had been pro- 
 claimed king, and had issued orders for 
 the disbanding of all the foreign troops 
 throughout the kingdom. This intelli- 
 gence was by no means pleasing to the 
 ears of these desperadoes. 
 
 ** 'Twould be witless to resist this 
 mandate," said Herman to his followers, 
 who were assembled around him, " for 
 'tis well known we are not liked by the e 
 raw-boned islanders ; we must proceed 
 to the coast at once." As he uttered this, 
 his eye glanced hastily round the room. 
 "How is this?'" cried he, " where are 
 those two louts, Carl and Beruhard ?" 
 They entered at this moment, and ap- 
 proached the table where Herman was 
 sitting. His inflamed eyes and unsteady 
 hand plainly told that he had drank 
 deeply of the liquor before him. " How 
 now," he cried, or rather roared out, 
 " where the fiend have ye been loitering ? 
 Look to my horse instantly, and see that 
 3t has but a spare measure of corn and no 
 water ; we must ride hard to-night, do ye 
 hear ? Get ye hence, knaves, and look 
 to your beasts. You, Carl, remain here, 
 1 have something for your ear alone." 
 
 Herman's followers immediately re- 
 paired to the stables, for the purpose of 
 getting their horses in readiness, w^onder- 
 ing what could be the occasion of his 
 giving such peremptory orders, which 
 greatly perplexed them. 
 
 Ere twilight had spread its veil over the 
 city, Herman and his band quitted the 
 hostelry, and passing through one of the 
 gates soon reached the high road, along 
 which they proceeded at a rapid rate. 
 
 Leaving Herman and his companions 
 on their way, we must proceed to describe 
 the castellated building referred to by 
 Bernhard. It was a massive structure of 
 Saxon origin, flanked with circular towers 
 of a great height. Its walls were im- 
 pregnable. At this time it was held 
 by an old knight, named sir Matheu- 
 Witherne, who had in the late contest 
 rendered Stephen great assistance. De- 
 clining an offer from that monarch of a 
 place near the throne, the old knight had 
 retired to his castle, to enjoy, undisturbed, 
 
 the society of his beautiful daughter, 
 whose personal and menial charms were 
 tile tlieme of all the neighbouring youths. 
 It should be mentioned, that in a battle 
 between Stephen and his rival near Lin- 
 coln, the old knight was unhorsed by a 
 spearman, who would have slain him had 
 not Herman arrived in time to strike 
 down the soldier with his mace. In a 
 transport of gratitude for this timely ser- 
 vice, sir Mathew grasped the hand of the 
 free-lance, and swore to repay him with 
 the hand of his only child. As Herman 
 was at the time clad in a rich suit of mail, 
 and unknown to him, sir Mathew doubted 
 not but that he had made this promise to 
 no other than a belted knight ; but how 
 great was his vexation and sorrow, on 
 hearing shortly after that his word was 
 pledged to a daring mercenary, whose 
 services were at the disposal of the highest 
 bidder. 
 
 On prince Henry's relinquishing his 
 claim to the crown, upon the conditions 
 before stated, hostilities ceased, and the 
 old knight hastened to his castle, hoping 
 that Herman might quit the country with- 
 out pressing his claim. The free-lance 
 and his band, shortly after the battle near 
 Lincoln, removed to a distant part of 
 England, which in some degree allayed 
 the old knight's fears ; but not long 
 after he was both perplexed and alarmed 
 on hearing that Herman and his fierce 
 companions were sojourning in that city. 
 Though it grieved him to reflect that in 
 refusing the demand of the free-lance, he 
 should be breaking his knightly word, 
 yet the prospect of his only child be- 
 coming the wife of such a man banished 
 his scruples, and he determined to seek 
 some noble youth whom he might think 
 worthy of such a lovely partner. This 
 was a task of no difficulty, for the wealth 
 and beauty of the lady Blanche had al- 
 ready procured her many admirers. Sir 
 Mathew was not long in finding one, 
 whose noble birth, gallant bearing, and 
 comely person, led tiie knight to suppose 
 that his daughter could not be averse to 
 the match. His fondest hopes were rea- 
 lized. Sir Guy de Mettbrd was intro- 
 duced to the lovely Blanche ; and ere 
 many weeks had passed, the lovers were 
 daily seen on the ramparts of the castle, 
 enjoying -the cool evening breeze, and 
 indulging in those fond endearments 
 whicli those of riper years may smile at, 
 3f2
 
 404 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 but true lovers alone can fully appreciate. 
 The old knight was rejoiced at the suc- 
 cess of his plan : it was settled that the 
 marringe should take place wiilioiit de- 
 lay, and sir Guy departed for his own 
 castle to make preparation for the ap- 
 proaching ceremony. 
 
 'I'he evening on which von Wernige- 
 rode and his band had left Lincoln was 
 fast drawing in, when tlie lady Blanche 
 sat in her chamber, attended by her fa. 
 vourite waiting maid, who was completing 
 her bridal dress. Sir Guy was hourly 
 expected. But few of the old knight's 
 men were at the castle, several of them 
 having attended the young sir Guy for 
 the purpose of assisting in the removal of 
 many necessaries for the wedding to sir 
 Mathevv's castle ; for in those days good 
 cheer was not forgotten upon such occa- 
 sions. There weie, at this time, only five 
 or six servants remaining at the castle, 
 who were busily engaged in making 
 preparations for the morrow. Blanche 
 looked eagerly over the country, intently 
 watching every part of the road which 
 was not obscured by tall trees and hedges, 
 for the approach of lier lover, sir Guy, 
 sometimes directing her attention to the 
 cathedral of Lincoln, visible in the ex- 
 treme distance, which reared its tall white 
 spires majestically above the city, now 
 shewn in fine relief by the dark and 
 heavily charged clouds which lowered 
 beliind it. I'lie maiden looked in vain 
 for the glittering train other lover ; for no 
 figures were seen, except that of a rustic 
 returning from his labour, or a solitary 
 strolHng spearman satmtering along the 
 road. There was a stillness unbroken by 
 any sound, save the cawing of the rooks 
 and daws that winged their hasty flight 
 to tlie forest, warning the traveller to 
 seek shelter from the coming storm. The 
 reigning silence which pervaded the even- 
 ing v\ell accorded with the spirits of the 
 anxious maiden •- it was a feeling which 
 those who have loved can well remember; 
 a languor which, though it oppresses 
 the heart, we are unwilling to dismiss. 
 Blanche heeded not the gabble of her 
 maid Maud, who, with a freedom from 
 time immemorial allowed to such persons, 
 ran on in a strain of raillery, which might, 
 in a moment of less anxiety, have revived 
 the drooping spirits of her niistress, who 
 gazed intently on the murky clouds, whose 
 edges catciiing the last rays of the setting 
 
 sun, assumed that deep brassy hue which 
 generally portends a thunder-storm. At 
 length their dark masses began to be 
 illumined by an occasional Hash, or a 
 quivering stream of light, which shooting 
 upwards, played in fantastic lines across 
 the heavens, and, as they died away, tlie 
 deep prolonged rumble of the thunder 
 told that the storm was commencmg. 
 
 The lady Blanche would have viewed 
 this warring of the elements with uncon- 
 cern, had it not been for the frequent 
 exclamations of Maud, who, as every suc- 
 ceeding flash quivered on the floor of the 
 chamber, screamed with terror, and be- 
 sought her mistress to descend into the 
 hall. Maud was a plump, round, rosy- 
 cheeked lass, a coquette in the sphere in 
 which she moved, and liad caused much 
 bickering between sir Mathew's park- 
 keejier and falconer, who had both been 
 smitten with her charms. Yielding to the 
 entreaties of her maid, Blanche quitted 
 her chamber, and repaired to the hall, 
 where her father, the old knight, was sit- 
 ting, playing with a valuable hawk, which 
 was perciied on his first, and talking to 
 his falconer about a new hood for his 
 favourite bird, which, bv the glance of its 
 quick bright eye, seemed almost conscious 
 of the intended arrangement. Blanche 
 drew near her father, who observed her 
 agitation with a smile, 
 
 " Aye, aye," said he, " 111 warrant thou 
 hast been looking for sir Guy, and art 
 chafed because he has not arrived; but 
 do not vex thyself, he will doubtless be 
 here anon : no doubt the storm has obliged 
 him to seek shelter on the road. Ralph, 
 prithee bring lights." A servant left the 
 hall, and sir JNIathevv continued — " Come 
 hither, Blanche, and seat thyself by my 
 side : how pale thou look'st !" 
 
 At this moment the horn windows of 
 the hall were illumined with a vivid flash 
 of lightning, which rendered every object 
 in the apartment visible. The several 
 pieces of armour which hung against the 
 walls threw back the strong glare of light, 
 and a peal of thunder burst over the castle, 
 which shook to the foundation. Blanche 
 clung to her father in speechless terror, 
 while the red cheeks of Aland, who stood 
 near, assimied an ashy paleness. She 
 kept crossing herself, and ejaculating 
 prayers to the Virgin, while the two \^ait- 
 ing men attempted, by smiling at her 
 fears, to conceal their own ; but it was.
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 405 
 
 easy to perceive, by their bewildered 
 looks, that they partook of the general 
 alarm, which extended even to the large 
 mastiff that lay at the feet of the old 
 knight, and whined piteously. Torches 
 were brought, and fixed in the iron sta- 
 ples against the wall ; but they only served 
 to show the contrast of their own faint 
 light with the vivid glare of the lightning, 
 which still continued to illumine the hall, 
 while loud peals of thunder burst in quick 
 succession over the castle. On a sudden, 
 between one of the pauses of the storm, 
 the shrill sound of a horn was heard with- 
 out, 
 
 " Ah," cried the old knight, " here is 
 sir Guy at last ! Run, knaves, open gate, 
 and lower drawbridge ! Quick, varlets I" 
 
 The servants left the hall, and a smile 
 lit up the pale countenance of the lady 
 Blanche, whose joy at the supposed re- 
 turn of her lover, made her forget the 
 storm which still continued to rage with 
 unabated fury. At length the heavy 
 tramp of feet was heard without. Blanche 
 rose, and, prepared with a few words of 
 gentle reproof for his absence, flew to the 
 door, expecting to be clasped in the arms 
 of sir Guy ; but she recoiled on perceiving 
 the tall herculean figure of a man who 
 entered at the moment. With some dif- 
 ficulty she staggered to a seat, almost 
 overpowered with mingled disappoint- 
 ment and alarm. 
 
 He who entered was clad in a com- 
 plete suit of mail, over which he wore an 
 aketon of tough leather, on which was 
 emblazoned a red grifUn. He bore in his 
 hand a long lance, and wore a sword and 
 dagger. One glance sufficed to show sir 
 Mathew that Herman, the free-lance, 
 stood before him. With an effort to sub- 
 due his emotion, he asked what had done 
 him the honour of a visit, at the same 
 time handing a seat to Herman. 
 
 " That ye shall know quickly," replied 
 the free-lance, seating himself ; "but first 
 let your knaves wipe the rain from my 
 harness, for the wet will rust it." 
 
 This request was complied with, and 
 Herman, bending a scrutinizing glance 
 on Blanche, continued — 
 
 " So, this is the fair lady, your daughter, 
 who is to reward me for having knocked 
 your enemy's basenet over his eyes in the 
 ruffle near Lincoln ? By my Halidame 
 and St. Antliony to boot, 'tis a rich guer- 
 don ! What say ye, fair lady, will ye 
 
 become the bride of a free-lance ?" — 
 Here he addressed a coarse remark to 
 Blanche. The withered cheek of sir Ma- 
 thew reddened with rage, which he could 
 ill conceal. 
 
 ** Sir," said he, sharply, " this is not 
 fitting language for a maiden's ear, pri- 
 thee cease, and " 
 
 " Ha 1" cried Herman, in a fierce tone, 
 " is it so, sir knight ? is she not mine ? 
 did'st thou not pledge thy word, aye, thy 
 oath, that she should be my bride ? Look 
 that ye attempt not to deceive me, or woe 
 to thy grey head ?" 
 
 The old knight dreaded the worst con- 
 sequences in this visit ; Herman's words 
 almost deprived him of the power of utter- 
 ance, and he groaned bitterly. 
 
 " Aye, groan on," continued the free- 
 lance, •' while I shall read thy treachery 
 to thee. Know, then, that I am come to 
 claim my bride, of whom thou would'st 
 rob me. I am acquainted with thy base 
 treachery, and will maintain my right to 
 the death!" 
 
 These words struck to the heart of the 
 old knight, who wrung his hands and 
 remained silent. Herman observed his 
 anguish with a grin. 
 
 " Come," said he to Blanche, " come, 
 fair lady, you must away with me." Then 
 raising his voice, he cried, *' What ho ! 
 Conrade, Bernhard, Carl, where loiter ye 
 knaves ?" 
 
 They entered at this summons, followed 
 by several of their comrades, Herman 
 approached his victim, when the old 
 knight, starting up, threw himself at the 
 feet of the free-lance. 
 
 " Oh, slay me here," cried he, " lay 
 my grey hairs in the dust, but spare my 
 child ; take not the prop of my old age, 
 the solace of my lonely widowhood, fiom 
 me ; forego your claim, and half my 
 wealth is your's." 
 
 " Ay," replied the free-lance, ** half 
 thy broad lands, which thou knowest I 
 cannot inherit. Know, sir knight, that 
 I must bid you and your countrymen 
 farewell " 
 
 " But hear me !" cried sir Mathew, 
 imploringly, " I ne'er till now knelt to 
 mortal man, save to his grace. On my 
 knees I implore thee to take pity !" 
 
 *• Peace, sir Mathew," replied the 
 free-lance, coolly ; " thy daughter is mine 
 were she twenty times thy child ; rise, 
 therefore, and disgrace not thy knight-
 
 406 
 
 TALES OF CIUVAl.RY : OR, 
 
 Ijood, for, by beaven and all its saints, I 
 will not part witb lier but with my life !" 
 
 " For our lady's sake, take pity '." 
 cried the old knight ; '* you are a soldier, 
 and have behaved manfully in many a 
 gallant encounter. You would nut rob 
 an old man of his only child ?" 
 
 " Sir Mathew," calmly replied the free- 
 lance, " 1 came prepared to meet such 
 humble words, for 1 well knew your knaves 
 were absent, else should I have met with 
 taunts and reproaches : but you are in 
 my power ; your daughter is mine, and I 
 would not lose my reward for a prince's 
 ransom." 
 
 The old knight sighed deeply as lie 
 thought on his utter incapability of resist- 
 ing the free lance and his band. He 
 knew he was in von Wernigerode's power, 
 and, in the fury of despair, he started on 
 his feet, drew his dagger, and struck at 
 the breast of the free-lance with all his 
 force ; but the latter, without any appa- 
 rent exertion, caught in his iron grasp 
 the wrist of the old knight as the blow 
 descended, and wresting the dagger from 
 him, threw it to the other end of the hall. 
 
 " By the rood 1" exclaimed Herman, 
 " I would requite your courtesy, sir 
 knight, but it would not be fitting to 
 receive my bride with a red hand." 
 
 Sir Matlievv struggled to free himself 
 from the grasp of the free-lance, when 
 the large mastiff suddenly sprung up and 
 seized Herman by the throat. The bite 
 would have been mortal, had it not been 
 for a gorget of linked mail which he wore. 
 With some difficulty he shook off the 
 faithful animal, wliich w'as instantly de- 
 spatched by his companions. 
 
 " Bind the old dotard and his knaves, 
 and follow mel" cried Herman, who threw 
 his mailed arm round the waist of the 
 fainting Blanche, and bore her out of the 
 hall. His companions quickly secured 
 sir Mathew and his men, by binding 
 them back to back, and were preparing 
 to follow their leader, when Conrade 
 Braquemart espying Maud, who stood 
 in one corner of the hall almost petrified 
 with terror, cried — 
 
 " So, comrades, here is my prize ; by 
 my beard, we shall have a merry night 
 on't I Come, wench, thou shall ride with 
 me." 
 
 As he spoke, he raised Maud in his 
 arms and hurried to the court-yard, where 
 his couirades liad aheadv assembled with 
 
 their leader, who was lifting the almost 
 lifeless body of the lady Blanche on his 
 own horse. Conrade, spite of hrr screan)s, 
 placed Maud before him, when the whole 
 troop pushed over liie drawbridge, and 
 soon left the castle far behind them. 
 
 The storm still raged, the thunder 
 rolled, the rain poured in torrents, and 
 the lightning, as it descended, rolled along 
 the ground in waves of fire. Such a 
 night would have calmed the evil work- 
 ings of ordinary minds ; but to Herman 
 and his band, with the exception of one, 
 it had no terrors. The lightning, at- 
 tracted by their armour, formed a halo 
 round the helmets of the troop, who, 
 nothing daunted at a circumstance they 
 were accustomed to, cracked their impious 
 jokes between the pauses of the storm, as 
 freely as if they had been quietly seated in 
 a hostelry. Tiiere was one, however, 
 who could not think of the night's ad- 
 venture, and its probable temination, 
 without shuddering: this was Carl, the 
 youngest of the band, who, for having 
 saved the life of Herman in some battle, 
 had obtained that desperado's confidence 
 — he, alone, saw the iniquity of their pro- 
 ceeding. Tlie two females, roused by 
 the louds peals of thunder to a state of 
 consciousness, entreated for mercy, but 
 were only laughed at by the savage baud, 
 who still proceeded at a furious pace. 
 
 Herman rode in advance of his troop, 
 and frequently called to his companions, 
 at the lop of his voice, to increase their 
 speed ; but the horse he rode was superior 
 in strength and swiftness to any of their's. 
 Vexed at what he considered to be their 
 tardiness, he fiercely rebuked them, 
 adding a volley of oaths too frightful to 
 be recorded. "Almost at the same instant, 
 a thunder-bolt fell near, and striking a 
 large tree, hurled it, withered and blasted, 
 across the road. With some ditliculty 
 they surmounted this impediment, and 
 proceeded on then- way. Carl, who rode 
 by the side of Braquemart, endeavoured 
 to persuade the rutiian to leave the girl 
 at the next village, but Conrade replied 
 only with a laugh. He again urged him 
 to abandon his intention, when the ruf- 
 fian answered with an oath, 
 
 " Think ye," said he, fiercely, " that 
 I am to lose so fair a prize, because the 
 thunder rolls a little louder than it is 
 wont, and the lightning flashes quicker 
 and stronger than usual ? No, no, Carl,
 
 PERILS BY FLdOD AND FIELD. 
 
 407 
 
 keep thy sermon for fools and doddy 
 pates !" 
 
 A peal of thunder drowned the re- 
 mainder of the ruffian's speech, and a 
 vivid flash of hghtning glared over the 
 country ; by its light the rough uneven 
 road was shown, and at a little distance 
 a small cross of free-stone was perceived. 
 
 *' Yonder is St. Anne's Cross," said 
 Carl, " leave the girl here ; there is an 
 abbey not more than an arrow's flight 
 from the spot, where she may shelter for 
 the night." 
 
 *• Peace, ninny !" roared Braquemart, 
 ** the wench is mine ; if thou troublest 
 me much longer, I may make " 
 
 Here he was again interrupted by a 
 bright flash, descending in the midst of 
 the band, followed by a tremendous peal 
 of thunder, which brought Herman, his 
 horse, and the lady Blanche, violently 
 to the ground. The troop, perceiving 
 what had happened to their leader and 
 his prize, instantly halted, and several of 
 the band dismounted. " Our leader is 
 dead !" exclaimed one of them, as he 
 lifted up the lifeless body of Herman, 
 which, scorched and horribly disfigured, 
 presented an appalling spectacle. His 
 helmet had been melted by the intense 
 heat of the electric fluid, and the metal 
 had run in streams down his shoulders; 
 his beard and thick mustachios were singed, 
 and not a single feature of his face was 
 distinguishable. Even some of the free- 
 lances, daring and hardened as they were, 
 shuddered with horror on beholding the 
 disfigured and blackened corpse of him 
 who had so often led them to battle and 
 conquest. They turned to the lady 
 Blanche, who appeared to have shared 
 the same fate ; but on lifting her from the 
 ground, they disco\ ered that she had re- 
 ceived no external injury. 
 
 On a sudden lights were seen advancing, 
 and voices were distinctly heard; for the 
 storm, as is often the case, after venting 
 its fury in one departing peal, gradually 
 hushed, while the lights still continued to 
 advance rapidly. In a few moments a 
 party of armed men were observed ap- 
 proaching, preceded by four, who rode 
 in advance and carried torches. The free- 
 lances were not men to fly ; indeed, es- 
 cape was impossible. They were instantly 
 in their saddles, and awaited with couched 
 lances the approach of the party. Carl 
 endeavoured to restore the lady Blanche, 
 
 but finding his attempt proved fruitless, 
 yet unwilling to leave her in danger of 
 being trodden under the horses' feet 
 during the anticipated skirmish, he bore 
 her to a bank by the road-side, and left 
 her in the care of Maud, who, with the 
 help of some water, which she procured 
 from a small spring which run near the 
 stone cross before-mentioned, succeeded 
 in restoring her mistress. 
 
 At this m.oment the party in pursuit 
 came up ; they halted about twenty yards 
 ofl^, and sir Guy de Metford, advancing, 
 demanded the lady Blanche. Well know- 
 ing that they could not trust to the 
 knight's clemency, the free-lances replied 
 with a torrent of abuse. Sir Guy, per- 
 ceiving that it was of no use to parley 
 with such ruflfians, rode back, and putting 
 himself at the head of his party, advanced 
 with the fury of a whirlwind upon them. 
 The old knight had, spite of sir Guy's en- 
 treaties, accompanied the party in pursuit 
 of Herman and his band. 
 
 I'he free-lances, on perceiving that their 
 pursuers w-ere resolute, determined to 
 meet them with that obstinacy which a 
 hopeless case like their's generally in- 
 spires. 
 
 ** Now," cried Braquemart, " a firm 
 hand, a well girted saddle, and another 
 fling at these whoreson islanders ere we 
 part !" 
 
 "Peace," interrupted Bernhard, (who, 
 perceiving their pursuer's form, had or- 
 dered his companions to set forward when 
 he shouhl give the word,) "here will be 
 bloody work of it anon," said he. " Ah ! 
 by heaven, they come 1 Now, if ye be 
 true Almans, flinch not ; set on ! — upon 
 'em charge !" 
 
 In an instant the two parties closed, at 
 about midway, with a dreadful shock. 
 Nearly a score of lances were shivered to 
 pieces, and more than half that number 
 of saddles were emptied ; and while those 
 who were less fortunate ihan their fellows 
 lay sprawling in their gore, the shouts of 
 those above them engaged in the deadly 
 conflict seemed more like the j-ells of 
 demons than of mortal men. " A With- 
 erne ! a De IMetford !" shouted one party ; 
 while the other answered with loud cries 
 of—" Down with the dull islanders ! — 
 One blow for the free companions ! — 
 Strike for the Red Giiflfin!" 
 
 Twelve of the free-lances, in a short 
 time, lay on the ground horribly muti-
 
 408 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY 5 OR, 
 
 lated, while sixteen of the knight's men 
 were either killed or disabled. In one 
 place might be seen two, who, unhorsed, 
 were engaged in a deadly struggle, deal- 
 ing blows with their daggers in the blind 
 furv of bitter enmity ; while in another 
 lay a mangled wretch, unable to crawl 
 out of the melee, trampled on by the 
 horses, and imploring his comrade to end 
 his agony by a friendly thrust. Horses 
 snorted, men yelled and swore, and 
 swords and maces clashed on the armour 
 of the combatants, who fought with all 
 the fury that revenge and hatred could 
 inspire. Sir Guy laid about him with a 
 desperate valour ; two of his adversaries 
 had already fallen beneath his powerful 
 strokes, when Bernhard spurred against 
 him. The athletic free-lance showered 
 his blows upon the knight, and though 
 many were parried, nought but his hel- 
 met and hauberk of proof would have 
 saved liim. Sir Guy, with his mace, re- 
 turned the blows of his adversary with 
 such effect, that Bernhard's sword was 
 shivered to pieces ; but ere the knight 
 could strike him down, the free-lance 
 closed and grasped him tightly by the 
 throat. Sir Guy dropped his mace, and 
 a desperate struggle ensued, which was 
 maintained for a few moments, when 
 the knight, disengaging his right hand, 
 quickly drew his dagger, and struck 
 his adversary on the face with all his 
 force. I'he blade glanced from the hard 
 forehead of the free-lance, who struggled 
 hard to force the knight from his horse ; 
 but it was a vain effort — sir Guy held him 
 tightly with his left hand, and dealt his 
 adversary several succe>sive strokes, till 
 Bernhard's hands relaxed their grasp ; a 
 convulsive tremor shook his whole frame, 
 and with a half- muttered curse upon his 
 destroyer, he drojjped lifeless from his 
 horse. Quickly wlieeiing round, sir Guy 
 beheld the old knight stoutly contending 
 against two of the free-lances, who had 
 slain his horse. In an instant one of the 
 assailants was stretched lifeless on the 
 ground ; he then engaged the second, 
 but in the rush \Ahich took [)lace at the 
 same moment they were parted. Sir 
 Guy assisted the old knight to remount, 
 and then heading his men, rushed again 
 upon the free companions. The charge 
 was decisive. Unable to contend any 
 longer against such a superiority of num- 
 bers, they broke giound, and fled. 
 
 Conrade Braquemart, thougli generally 
 the foremost in the fray, was in this in- 
 stance the first to set the example of 
 Hight: this rufEan, seeing all was lost, 
 had fallen back, unperceived by his com- 
 panions, as far as the fountain, from 
 whence Maud and the lady Blanche had 
 watched the furious contlict by the light 
 of the few remaining torches, which 
 scarcely served to distinguish friend from 
 enemy. Conrade spurred up to the 
 fountain, and dismounting, spite of her 
 struggling and screaming, placed Maud 
 on his horse's back, then quickly remount- 
 ing, he rode furiously along the road. At 
 the same moment his companions fled, 
 but, being without incumbrance, they 
 soon passed Conrade, and left him far be- 
 hind them. He, of course, was the first 
 overtaken by the knight's party. The 
 park-keeper and falconer both perceived 
 ins flight with Maud, and, eager to prove 
 their devotion and readiness to serve her, 
 pursued the ruffian with couched lances. 
 But the park-keeper's horse soon out- 
 stripped that of the falconer : he came up 
 with the ruffian, and, heedless of the con- 
 sequences, leveUed his lance at Conrade. 
 The weapon, piercing his tough jerkin, 
 passed through his body, and cast him 
 and Maud to the ground. With a groan 
 of agony, the soul of Conrade took its 
 flight, while Maud was raised from the 
 ground (unhurt, save a few bruises) by 
 her lover, who bore her in safety back to 
 the spot where her mistress was already 
 in the arms of sir Guy. 
 
 * * * » 
 
 Need the sequel be added ? — The next 
 day's sun smiled on the union of the 
 knight and the fair lady Blanche ; and, 
 eie the week was out, the buxom Maud 
 became the wife of the happy park- 
 keeper. Whether the less fortunate fal- 
 coner stabbed or hung himself in despair, 
 or sought a watery grave, is not recorded ; 
 and, indeed, were we in possession of the 
 facts, we should question the propriety of 
 dwelling on a subject which would tear 
 the bandage from the healing wounds of 
 those who have experienced the tortures 
 of liopeless love. 
 
 MOROSENESS. 
 
 A MOROSE n)an is a very troublesome 
 companion, and a stranger to the si^eet- 
 est thing on earth, viz., the pleasure of 
 p'HUsing.
 
 PFUILS BY FLOOD A\I) FIELD. 
 
 409 
 
 ORDEAL BY CATTLE. 
 A LEGEND OF AALLBROOK. 
 
 Perhaps no spot in tlie metropolis of 
 England has undergone so many trans- 
 formations as that in the neighbourhood 
 of the far-famed London Stone. Dow- 
 Gate has long vanished, with its fellows ; 
 the rapid Wallbrook has for many cen- 
 turies been covered over, and London 
 Stone, that object of never-ending dis- 
 pute and conjecture among the learned 
 and curious, has crept into the wall of 
 the church of St. Svvithin. Where, 1 pray 
 you, are those magnificent cliurches of 
 which the old city historian, Stowe, speaks 
 with such allowable pride ? Where is 
 the splendid palace which once stood in 
 this neighbourhood ? — not forgetting the 
 stronghold. Tower Royal, at no great 
 distance, and of which nothing now re- 
 mains but the name. They are gone, like 
 those who raised and inhabited them, and 
 only he who delights in dwelling on 
 things long gone by, can trace out their 
 various scites. 
 
 In the reign of Richard the First, 
 Wallbrook was not, as it is now, hidden 
 
 VOL. I.— 52. 
 
 Page 416. 
 
 from view. It was then a rapid stream, 
 which passed over the scite of the present 
 street, and, rushing down Dowgate Hill, 
 flowed through Dow-Gate, and emptied 
 itself into the Thames. 
 
 It was on the evening preceding the 
 day on which he of ihe lion heart en- 
 tered London in triumph, after his return 
 from captivity in Austria, long after the 
 vesper-bell had rung, that two ruffianly 
 looking men were standing under the 
 shade of a penthouse on the banks of this 
 stream, engaged in earnest conversation. 
 Their gait and air were those of retainers, 
 or armed vassals. Their jerkins were of 
 coarse green serge, over which they wore 
 jacks or actons of tough bull's liide, at 
 that time the only defensive armour for 
 the body worn by the common soldiers ; 
 their legs were bare from the middle of 
 the thigh nearly to the ankle, and their 
 feet were covered in short buskins of 
 leather. Their arms consisted of a sword 
 and long knife, or dudgeon dagger, and 
 they carried with them bucklers of a dimi- 
 nutive size, studded with nails, and orna- 
 mented at the edges with a sort of fringe 
 or hair. 
 
 3 G
 
 410 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 *• The fiend rive this tardy knlglit !" 
 exclaimed one of the worthies, stamping 
 with impatience; " by St. Erkenwald, we 
 shall be distured by the city watch, an' 
 he come not soon." 
 
 " Wist, Leof,' replied his comrade, 
 *' keep a guard on thy tongue, or if ye 
 must talk, let it be in a somewhat gentle 
 tone, or we may have a greeting from 
 some of the citizens' windows, perhaps 
 from old Bouvrie yonder, who is a shrewd 
 hand at the cross-bow, and bears us 
 Saxons no good will, as you know." 
 
 " I fear not his shafts," replied Leof, 
 with an oath, " and I will take care that 
 he shall not show his skill much longer j 
 n)y dagger and his costard shall be ac- 
 quainted ere many days be past." 
 
 "You must swear that to-morrow," 
 said the other, ** for you may not go home 
 scathless to-night : he whom we have to 
 do with is a proper man-at-arms, and 
 carries a sharp sword and a heavy ; thou 
 wilt find him no child's play, by my hali- 
 dame !" 
 
 " Tut, I fear it not," replied Leof, "my 
 hand is steady, and " 
 
 As he spoke a figure was observed ad- 
 vancing cautiously towards them, under 
 the shadow of the houses, and in a few 
 minute.-, a man, clad in complete armour, 
 but enveloped in a large dark mantle, 
 stood before them. His height and size 
 far exceeded that of ordinary men, and 
 his step was calm and dignified. The 
 sword pommel of silver, and the richly 
 chased dagger, the massy chain of gold 
 around his neck, and the gilt spurs which 
 clanked on his heels, showed that he was 
 a knight, while the deep scar on his fore- 
 head indicated that he had performed some 
 service in the field. 
 
 " Well, my trusty fellows," said he, 
 " have you seen aught of mine enemy 
 yet ?" 
 
 " No," replied one of the ruffians, in a 
 surly tone, " and we have waited your 
 coming almost since nightfall." 
 
 " Tut, chafe it not, Leof," said the 
 knight, " but prepare thyself, for he will 
 pass this way anon." 
 
 " I am ready, sir Radulf," said Cedric, 
 the other worthy, touching the hilt of his 
 dagger ; " my basilard here is sharp, and 
 my arm is firm." He half unsheathed 
 the weapon as he spoke, and its bright 
 blade gleamed in the moonlight, for the 
 queen of heaven was struggling through 
 
 the dark and murky clouds, and as Ikt 
 edge now and then appeared above them, 
 her beams were poured over the ancient 
 Dowgate, and (ell in an uninterrupted 
 line on the gingling stream as it rushed 
 along. The spire ot the \enerable church 
 of St. Mary Bothavve raised its gray head 
 high above the surrounding houses, and 
 the faint sound of the evening service 
 reached the ears of the guilty trio, who 
 retired under the pent-house, and con- 
 versed in low whispeis. Various plans 
 were proposed for putting their victim to 
 death without alarming the neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 " I would advise," said Leof, ** that he 
 be strangled. I have a stout coil of hemp 
 in my pouch ; 'twould make no noise." 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! ah !" laughed Cedric, but in 
 an under tone, — '* why, thou wouldst be 
 playing at bell-the-cat, ay ! 1 am fur treat- 
 ing him to sharp steel, like a soldier. 
 What say ye, sir Radulf?" 
 
 ** Thou art much of my mind," replied 
 the knight, "but we have no time left for 
 parley — here comes mine enemy ; back 
 and conceal yourselves awhile, and when 
 I give the word, rush out and strike." 
 
 The ruffians instantly obeyed, and sir 
 Radulf, stepping forward, gained the 
 small wooden bridge which crossed the 
 brook at that spot, and waited the approach 
 of his victim. He came on at a leisure 
 pace, followed by a serving-man, and 
 prepared to cross the brook ; when the 
 knight, throwing aside his mantle, and 
 extending his arm, said, in a fierce tone — 
 " Geofl^ery Meryl, thou art in my 
 power ; commend thyself to God, for 
 this night thou shalt lie in Abraham's 
 bosom." 
 
 " Radulf de Bracy," replied the young 
 man, " why dost thou seek to murther 
 one who never wronged thee? Away with 
 thee, thou fierce man, or I will raise the 
 watch." 
 
 " Slave !" cried the knight, " dost thou 
 taunt me at this hour, and in this place ? 
 — Down, down on thy knees, and mutter 
 a prayer for thy soul's safe passage to 
 heaven, for no earthly power can save 
 thee." A bell at this moment tolled out, 
 and the moon was entirely shrouded in a 
 mass of thick and murky clouds. " Hear'st 
 thou that bell?" cried sir Radulf, "it 
 sounds thy passing knell. Die, presump- 
 tuous boy!" and, unsheathing his sword 
 as he spoke, he made a furious lunge at
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 411 
 
 his enemy. The sword struck the young 
 man on the chest, but he wore a s^hirt of 
 steel under his jerkin, and the weapon 
 was rendered harmless ; nevertheless, it 
 was given with such violence, that 
 Geoffery Meryl staggered back several 
 paces, and would have lallen, but for his 
 serving-man, who, rushing up, supported 
 his master with his left arm, while with 
 his right he drew his sword, and dealt the 
 knight a blow on the head, which the 
 mailed hood he wore alone prevented from 
 being fatal ; but sir Radulf instantly re- 
 covered himself, and shouting to his vil- 
 lainous associates, they immediately ap- 
 peared and joined in the strife. With such 
 odds in favour of the assassins, it could 
 not be expected that the combat would be 
 of long duration, for even the giant 
 strength of sir Radulf was more than a 
 match for ordinary men, even at that 
 rude period, when effeminate habits had 
 not made such inroads upon the physical 
 strength of the English people. Ere a 
 dozen blows had been exchanged, Geof- 
 fery 's follower fell at his feet with a gasp, 
 and rolling over the side of the bridge, 
 fell with a heavy splash into the brook j 
 at the same moment liis master's sword 
 was dashed from his grasp by the power- 
 ful arm of sir Radulf de Bracy ; yet ere 
 the giant knight could strike him down, 
 he grappled with his enemy, and seized 
 him by the throat, but it was a hopeless 
 struggle j he reeled and fell, pierced by 
 the daggers of the ruflfians, and sir Radulf, 
 half choked, sliook himself, wiped the 
 blood from his armour, and resuming iiis 
 mantle, bade the ruffians cast the body 
 into the stream. His commands were 
 obeyed, and the corpse of the ill-fated 
 youth was thrown into the brook; the 
 bubbles which rose upon its surface 
 sparkled for a moment in the moonbeams, 
 then burst, and the stream resumed its 
 wonted smoothness, though it swept over 
 tbe corpse of one of the fairest youtlis in 
 England. 
 
 There are few persons who have not 
 heard or rrad of the splendid entry of 
 Richard the First into London, after he 
 had been liberated by his implacable foe, 
 Leopold of Austria. This has been so 
 often described, that any attempt of ours 
 to detail the gorgeous spectacles with 
 which the royal citizens had prepared to 
 welcome him, would, we fear, be con- 
 
 sidered presumption on our part ; ne\ er- 
 theless, we must dwell for a moment on 
 the scene. 
 
 It was a clear and beautiful day on 
 which the lion-hearted king made his en- 
 try into London, and as he rode through 
 I the Chepe, thousands of loyal voices 
 greeted his return. The trappings of the 
 horse he rode glittered with the most 
 splendid ornaments, and tlie dress of ihe 
 king himself was magnificent in the ex- 
 treme. He bowed gracefully to the peo- 
 ple, whose shouts filled the air; and his 
 broad and open features were lit up with 
 rapture as he looked on the smiiing coun- 
 tenances of those who surrounded him. 
 Troops of armed citizens followed in his 
 train ; bills, pikes, lances, and rich ar- 
 mour, flashed in the morning sun ; the 
 windows werehung with rich tapestry and 
 cloth of gold, and the beauties of London 
 graced each terrace and balcony ; indeed, 
 so great was the display made by the 
 citizens of their wealth, that some of the 
 German barons, who had accompanied 
 the king to England, were heard to sav, 
 that had the arch-duke known of it, be 
 would not have parted with his prisoner 
 for so moderate a ransom. 
 
 The procession moved on towards the 
 Guidhall, where a splendid repast was 
 prepared. The king sat aloft on the 
 dais, surrounded by his nobles. On his 
 right sat Henry Fitz-Alwaine, the mayor, 
 (the first who bore that title in London) 
 and over against him, De Antiloche and 
 Durant, the sheriflTs, in their rich dresses 
 and golden chains. In the body of the 
 hall were tables for the citizens, who were 
 all clad in their best, and many of them 
 in armour. In the galleries were min- 
 strels stationed, whose fingers and lungs 
 were exerted to the utmost for the grati- 
 fication of their sovereign. The most 
 costly wines were dealt out by the gene- 
 rous Londoners, who were mad with joy 
 for the return of their brave monarch. 
 
 It was during the height of these revel- 
 ries that a female form, closely veiled, 
 followed by a young man of a gallant 
 figure, was observed to enter the hall by 
 a side door. Onward she came, unheed- 
 ing the looks of surprise and astoni;«h. 
 ment which greeted her appearance, and 
 having passed the row of men-at-arms 
 that stood on the steps of tbe dais, and 
 who made room for her, she advanced 
 towards the king. 
 
 3 (i 2
 
 412 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY ; OR, 
 
 At this moment a kniglit stepped for- 
 ward, and was about to interfere, wlien 
 Ric'liard spolve— " Let lier advance, sir 
 Kadnlf," said he. 
 
 " My hege," replied the wily villain, 
 ** might it not be some treasonable de- 
 sign against your grace's life ?" 
 
 " Tut ! tut ! good sir Radulf," exclaim- 
 ed the king, impatiently,— "shall we, who 
 never shrunk from the scymetars and 
 lances of the Paymin, tremble at the ap- 
 proach of a timid woman ? Come hither, 
 damsel ; we will do thee justice, though in 
 the midst of wassail." 
 
 "May heaven reward your grace!" 
 said the maiden, withdrawing her veil, 
 and discovering a countenance of daz- 
 zling beauty, though disfigured by weep- 
 ing. Then kneeling down, she continued, 
 in^scarcely audible accents, *' My liege, 
 I claim justice on a villain knight, who 
 stands in your highness's presence— he 
 has treaclierously slain my only brother." 
 Sir Radulfs frame quivered with impa- 
 tience, but the dared not speak, and con- 
 tented himself by scowling fiercely on the 
 young knight who had accompanied the 
 maiden into the hall. 
 
 «♦ Rise, gentle maiden," said the king, 
 extending his hand to the suppliant, " and 
 name the villain who has robbed you of 
 your kinsman." 
 
 ** He stands on your grace's right- 
 hand," replied the mourner; "that dark 
 swarthy one, whom men call sir Radulf 
 de Bracy,— on him I charge this deed !" 
 Sir Radulf sprung forward with a vio- 
 lence which seemed as though he would 
 have annihilated his accuser, — when he 
 was checked by the king, who, in a stern 
 voice, demanded what he had to say to 
 the charge. 
 
 "My liege," replied De Bracy, en- 
 deavouring to stifle his emotion, " 'tis a 
 vile plot to rob me of my life, or my 
 still dearer good name. I do deny the 
 charge — by my knighthood, 'tis false ! 
 Who supports this accusation ?" 
 
 All pressed forward to hear the answer 
 to this demand, when the yoimg knight 
 before mentioned drew from his bosom a 
 gold chain. 
 
 " Your grace shall hear the particulars 
 of this bloody story," said he, addressing 
 the king. " Last night, some two hours 
 after moon-rise, this lady's brother and 
 my intimate, master Geoffrey Meryl, was 
 returning home from his kinsman's house. 
 
 in the East Cheaping, attended only by 
 his serving-man, when they were most 
 savagely slain on their way home. Their 
 bodies were tl)is morning found at the 
 grating under Dowgate, by the sentinel, 
 who gave me this gold chain, which he 
 found clutched in the death-grasp of my 
 murdered friend ; there is a medal attach- 
 ed to it which bears the arms of sir 
 Radulf de Bracy ! from whose neck the 
 chain was doubtless torn in the deadly 
 struggle." 
 
 l)e Bracy's dark countenance grew 
 black as a thunder-cloud, and then 
 changed to a livid hue, while he fiercely 
 replied — 
 
 " This is a well-hatched conspiracy ; 
 but am I to be condenmed because, for- 
 sooth, a chain thus marked has been found 
 upon the murdered man ? — I lost it in a 
 ruffle at the Conduit, in the Chepe, some 
 eight months since." 
 
 " 'Tis false !" said the young knight, 
 " thou had'st it round thy neck but yes- 
 terday — yet why need 1 argue with thee ? 
 — Bring forward his partner — here is one 
 of thy accomplices." As he spoke, a 
 man-at-arms led forward the ruthan Leof, 
 strongly bound. 
 
 " Ah, villain !" cried sir Radulf, while 
 every nerve quivered with rage, " art 
 thou, too, leagued against me ?" 
 
 "Aye, sir knight," growled the ruf- 
 fian, in reply, "you deceived me, but I 
 have now my revenge by cheating thee ; 
 nay, never chafe it, I have looked on a 
 sterner face than thine, and quailed not. 
 Did you not tell us that the men we slew 
 were Normans ? else should not my dag- 
 ger have been drawn against them." 
 
 " Peace, slave," said the king, inter- 
 rupting Leof ; " what ho 1 a guard there j 
 — take this villain to the Chepe, and let 
 him be hung forthwith. — And thou, sir 
 Radulf, what hast thou to say to this 
 charge ?" 
 
 "My liege," replied De Bracv, kneel- 
 ing before the king, " I am innocent, so 
 help me heaven and St. George ! and I 
 claim the combat against any knight who 
 shall gainsay ine." He rose as he spoke, 
 and unfastening the jewelled clasp which 
 confined his hood at the throat, he drew 
 it from his head, and threw it on the floor, 
 crying out, in a voice of thunder, " Here 
 is my g'^ge !" 
 
 All eyes were turned on the young 
 knight who had made the accusation, —
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 413 
 
 while he, striding forward, flung down 
 his hood, seized the hand of s-ir Radulf, 
 and in a firm and solemn tone, using the 
 customary forms npon those occasions, 
 said, 
 
 " Radulf de Bracy, whom I hold by the 
 hand, I do here charge thee that thou hast 
 treacherously slain my dear friend, Geof- 
 frey Meryl; and this 1 am ready to main- 
 tain by my body as a lawful man and a 
 true knight ; and that my appeal is true, 
 so help me God and his saints '" 
 
 He rung the hand of De Bracy as lie 
 spoke, and flung it from him with disdain ; 
 the guilty knight smiled darkly, and 
 taking the hand of his accuser, said — 
 
 " Walter of Wallington, wliom 1 hold 
 by the hand, I do here charge thee th;it 
 thou hast lied in thy throat ; for that I did 
 not slay thy friend, as thou hast alleged ; 
 and this I am ready to aver by my body 
 as a true knight." 
 
 " 'Tis well," said the king; "sheriffs, 
 see that they be delivered into the custody 
 of our marshal ; and let lists be prepared 
 for the combat in Smithfield, by sunrise 
 to-morrow." 
 
 The sheriflTs left the hall, having in 
 custody the two knights, whose looks in- 
 dicated their impatience at Ihe delay, but 
 not until Walter of Wallington found 
 means to speak a few words of comfort 
 to Agnes, who dreaded the issue of his 
 encounter with the giant sir Radulf. 
 
 *'We would fain know what has caused 
 this feud," said the king to Fitz-Ahvaine ; 
 " we thought our subjects had forgotten 
 their differences, and that the Norman 
 and Saxon were brothers." 
 
 " My liege, I grieve to say 'tis not so," 
 replied the mayor, with great reverence : 
 *•' we have had many sad frays since your 
 grace left England. On Lammas- day 
 there were six citizens slain in a ruffle at 
 the Conduit, in tiie Chepe. Your grace 
 has heard, too, of the arch-traitor, Fitz- 
 Osbert, wliom we took in the church of 
 Sf. Mary-le-Bow ; — but here comes De 
 Antiloche and Durant, who can, perhaps, 
 explain this matter unto your grace." 
 
 As he spoke, the sheriffs approached, 
 and resumed their seats ; w hen, in answer 
 to the king's enquiries, De Antiloche 
 spoke, — 
 
 " My liege," said he, " yon dark and 
 stalwart knight, as I am told, is smitten 
 with the beauty of Mistress Agnes Meryl, 
 whom he hath assailed with man} pieces 
 
 of gallantry, but without avail. 'Tis said 
 she looks with a more kindly eye upon 
 the fair- haired knight, sir Walter'of W'a\- 
 lington, who was a bosom- friend of the 
 murdered gentleman, bir Radulf de Bracy 
 thought that this preference was si]o\^n at 
 the persuasion of her brother, and has 
 often been heard to mutter revenge 
 against the young Saxon (whom God as- 
 soilize). Sir Radulf was seen last night 
 by the watch hastening from the spot 
 where the murder was committed — pray 
 Heaven he may clear himself of this 
 charge !" 
 
 "Amen," said the king ; ** we would 
 not, for the brightest jewel in our crown, 
 that De Bracy be the vanquished. We 
 have known him as a brave knight — he 
 did noble work by our side upon the Pay- 
 nim at Ascalon. They shall have a fair 
 field — and may God defend the right!" 
 
 Nothing further occurred to disturb the 
 harmony of that evening, and it was late 
 before the wassaders quitted the festive 
 board, and sought their various homes, 
 many of them, to all appearance, totally 
 disqualified for business on the following 
 day, though some were sober enough to 
 bet upon the issue of the approaching 
 combat. 
 
 "I'll wager a butt of Malvoisey," said 
 Ralph de ^Iorden, the rich mercer of the 
 Westcheap, to his neighbour and gossip, 
 as they reeled home; "Aye, a butt of 
 the best, FU wager that sir Radulf comes 
 off imhurt. I have heard many say that 
 he fought like a Sampson at the taking 
 of Ascalon, where he slew nine Saracens 
 with the good sword he now wears." 
 
 " He is a doughty knight, in good 
 sooth," replied the other, " but master 
 Walter is a man of a strong frame, and 
 though more fair and comely than De 
 Bracy, he hath thews and sinews that are 
 well nigh a match for his adversary." 
 
 " Pish !" ejaculated a voice, so near that 
 it made the two citizens start, and a man 
 of spare habit advanced from behind 
 tliem. " Ye talk folly, goodman mer- 
 chant," said he, addressing the one who 
 had thus spoken, "sir Radulf, my master, 
 is a man for two such springalds as 
 Walter of Wallington." 
 
 " I cry your mercy, master Argentine," 
 said the first citizen, "and will allow that 
 you, being a man of war, and a follower 
 of the stout knight we speak of, are 
 better able to judge of his prowess than
 
 414 
 
 TAI LS (;F CHIVALRY j OR, 
 
 US merchants, though, trust me, I have 
 seen some knightly service done ere 
 now." 
 
 " That may be, citizen Morden," re- 
 plied the roUuvver, "hut ye have notsef^n 
 the fields that I have looked over. There 
 are men of might among the Paynims, 
 and beshrevv uie if they deal not in hard 
 knocks, as my sconce liath ere now testi- 
 fied. By the mass, their maces make 
 helm and burgonet ring like a kettle in a 
 tinker's hand, and their arrows are of the 
 sharpest !" 
 
 " I doubt it not, master Argentine," 
 said the merchant : *' may I ask what 
 brings ye into vintry ward at this hour, 
 when sir Radulf dwells nigh unto Moor- 
 Gate ?" 
 
 " I am going to Kynulph, the ar- 
 mourer's house hard-by here, he has a 
 hood of mail to mend for our knight, and 
 I must bear it home and get it in order 
 for the combat to-morrow. Give you 
 good even, my masters." As he spoke 
 he turned on his heel, and striding down 
 Thames-street, entered a dark alley, which 
 led to the river side. Here dwelt Kynulph, 
 the Saxon. The red glare seen through 
 the clefts of the closed door, with the 
 heavy ring of the anvil, told that his 
 labours had not yet ceased. Argentine 
 pushed open the door, and entered the 
 smithy, where he found the Saxon and 
 two of his men busily employed on a 
 suit of harness. The appearance of 
 Kynulph was that of a Cyclops, his 
 frame and his height perfectly herculean, 
 and the expression of his countenance had 
 not been improved by the loss of an eye, 
 which had been struck out in one of the 
 frequent frays between the Saxons and 
 their still inveterate foes, the Normans. 
 Kynulph, under an assumed appearance 
 of reckless boldness, disguised the com- 
 bined qualities of crafi and dissimulation : 
 his hatred to the Normans was the most 
 deeply rooted, and towards sir Radulf de 
 Bracy he nourished the most implacable 
 revenge, for some injuries, real or sup- 
 posed, which he had inflicted on his 
 countrymen. It was not, then, with 
 pleasurable feelings that he beheld Ar- 
 gentine, but dressing his coarse and 
 dingy features in a smile, he extended 
 his huge paw to his visitor, who returned 
 the grasp with which he was greeted, 
 though not with the same degree of 
 pressure, which could be compared to that 
 
 of the armourer's own vices. Argentine 
 grinned with pain under the salute, but 
 courtesy forbade him to complain, and 
 after l)is palm had been released, he en- 
 quired for the hood of mail. 
 
 *' Ye might have had it at even-song 
 yesterday, an' ye had liked," said the ar- 
 mourer, taking it from a chest. 
 
 " Have ye tempered it well, gossip ?" 
 enquired Argentine. 
 
 " Aye," replied the other, " it is tem- 
 pered bravely ^ sir Radulf will need no 
 other." 
 
 This was uttered in a peculiar tone, and 
 was noticed by Argentine. 
 
 " What mean ye, gossip ?" said he. 
 " I mean," replied the other, " that it 
 will bear thy master through twenty 
 battles." 
 
 *• 'Tis well ; and now I must away and 
 get all in order for to-morrow. Goodeven, 
 master Kynulph." 
 
 And so saying, he quitted the smithy, 
 with the head-piece, little dreaming that, 
 like another Lychas, he was carrying the 
 means of the knight's probable destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 " Fool, thou art deceived as well as 
 thy master," said the armourer, fastening 
 the door after him — " that hood is the last 
 he will wear : he will need no other — 
 'twill not bear the blow of a churl's quar- 
 ter-staff: the first stroke of a mace or a 
 pole-axe will shiver it to pieces 1" 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! ah !" laughed his two men, 
 " how the Norman villains will be hum- 
 bled when they see their doughty knight's 
 skull beaten in by our brave country- 
 man." 
 
 *' Whist ! — some one may be abroad," 
 said Kynulph. " Would that I could let 
 Walter of Wallington know where to 
 strike his enemy : that steel is so temper- 
 ed, that a child might dash it to pieces." 
 " I marvel whether he would take the 
 'vantage of De Bracy, an he knew it," 
 said Gurth, one of the men, " for he hath 
 such notions of honour and honesty, that, 
 beslirew me, if he would play false even 
 with a Norman." 
 
 " Thou sayest true," replied the ar- 
 mourer, ** and, as it is, we had better 
 leave it to chance, for if they come to 
 hand blows, it will be all over with Radulf 
 de Bracy ere you could say an Ave or a 
 Pater Noster." 
 
 • •««** 
 
 Before morning dawn workmen were
 
 PERILS BY FI.OOU AND FIELD. 
 
 415 
 
 employed in preparing the lists for the 
 approaching combat. Kre the .sun's beams 
 had gilded the spires and towers of Lon- 
 don, thousands were on the spot, eager 
 to witness the fight. The king shortly 
 appeared, and, as the east began to 
 brighten, all was in readiness. At the 
 appointed hour, Walter of Wallington's 
 trumpet sounded, and, sliortly after, the 
 usual ceremony having been gone through, 
 that champion entered the lists, armed at 
 all points, and mounted on a strong but 
 graceful war-horse. His challenge having 
 been answered, sir Raduli de Bracy ap- 
 peared, and, after the customary charge, 
 the marshals delivered them their lances. 
 A breathless silence pervaded the asseni- 
 bled multitude as the combatants reined 
 back their snorting steeds, to take full 
 room for their career ; and while the 
 Normans openly proclaimed their con- 
 fidence in their champion, the Saxons 
 offered up secret and fervent prayers for 
 the success of theirs. 
 
 At length the signal was given — the 
 trumpet brayed loudly, and, with levelled 
 lances, the combatants flew to meet each 
 other : they encountered about mid-way, 
 and Walter of Wallington's horse stum- 
 bling at that moment, his aim was lost, 
 and the lance of the Norman hurled him 
 to the ground with tremendous violence. 
 Here the heralds interposed, and raised 
 "the fallen champion from the ground. 
 His hauberk of proof had protected him; 
 and, after draining a bowl of wine, he 
 stood unhurt, and ready to renew the 
 combat. 
 
 " Saxon," said sir Radulf, who still 
 kept on horseback, ** the lance is treacher- 
 ous to thee — let us try the battle on foot." 
 
 ** Agreed," said Walter. 
 
 De Bracy leapt from his horse and un- 
 sheathed his sword ; the heralds retired, 
 and the horses were led away, wlien the 
 combat was renewed with great fury. — 
 Although nature had given a powerful 
 frame to the Saxon champion, yet this 
 would have availed him but little, for sir 
 Radulf's strength was greater than that 
 of ordinary men ; Walter was, therefore, 
 obliged to observe the utmost caution, for 
 the blows of his adversary were showered 
 in tremendous succession ; but they were 
 all parried, and De Bracy, losing breath 
 by the great exertion he had made, de- 
 sisted for a moment, and contented him- 
 self with warding off the blows aimed at . 
 
 him ; for Walter of Wallington did not 
 neglect to avail himself of this opportu- 
 nity, and dealt his strokes with great 
 skill and force. In the midst of the com- 
 bat, (he sword of De Bracy broke at the 
 hilt, and he was left at the mercy of his 
 antagonist. 
 
 " Strike, Saxon," said sir Radulf, look- 
 ing sternly upon him — " Radulf de Bracy 
 asks not mercy at thy hands." 
 
 "Nay," replied Walter, "I scorn such 
 'vantage, and will continue the fight with 
 mace or pole-axe, as the other weapons 
 have failed." 
 
 De Bracy's dark countenance bright- 
 ened as he heard this proposal, for it 
 ofl^ered him an advantage, the mace being 
 a weapon which his great strength so ad- 
 mirably qualified him to wield ; he there- 
 fore replied, eagerly, — 
 
 ** Well, as ye list ;" then speaking to 
 the soldiers, " a mace for myself and the 
 Saxon," and they were brought and de- 
 livered to them. 
 
 They took their stand opposite to each 
 other, about twelve yards distant, with 
 flashing eyes and lowered brows. On the 
 signal being given, they advanced, De 
 Bracy flourishing the ponderous weapon 
 round his head, while Weaker, keeping 
 his left arm across his breast, carried his 
 mace in his right hand, resting it on his 
 shoulder. They stood for several mo- 
 ments regarding each other with fixed 
 looks, each apparently unwilling to strike 
 the first blow. At length the Norman's 
 huge weapon descended with frightful 
 rapidity, and threatened destruction to his 
 enemy. The blow would have felled a 
 giant, had it taken effect; but it was 
 avoided by Walter of Wallington, who, 
 leaping on one side, escaped the danger. 
 A loud shout broke from the multitude on 
 witnessing this dexterous shift, which irri- 
 tated the choleric Norman, who was, per- 
 haps, besides disconcerted at missing his 
 aim. It cost him his life ; fur Waiter, 
 springing forward, smote him on the head 
 with such violence, that his hood of mail 
 was shivered to pieces, and his skull was 
 crushed like an egg-shell ! — He fell to 
 the ground as if struck by a thunder-bolt. 
 Immediately the lists were broken in, in 
 spite of the threats and blows of the men- 
 at-arms who kept the field ; and all ranks 
 crow ded round the fallen champion, w hose 
 head was now supported on the knee of 
 Ins follower, Argentine. His face pre-
 
 416 
 
 TALES OF CFilVAl.RV ; OR, 
 
 sented a hideous spectacle, tlie forehead 
 being- completely destroyed, and a stream 
 of blood flowing in such profusion, that 
 every feature was disguised. A monk 
 pushed his way through the crowd, cruci- 
 fix in hand, and knelt by the side of the 
 dying man. 
 
 " Radulf de Bracy," said he, ** look on 
 this blessed emblem of redemption, and 
 say, after me — ." He was about to re- 
 peat the Latin prayer for sinners in ex- 
 tremis, when he was interrupted by Ar- 
 gentine — 
 
 " He hears thee not, priest," said the 
 follower, *' he is gone — speak, sir Radulf; 
 my master, how is it with thee ?" 
 
 At that moment the dying man's mailed 
 hands were raised, as if in prayer, but it 
 was only for a moment •, they fell listless 
 to the ground — his head bowed — and 
 Radulf de Bracy slept with his fathers. 
 
 Without dwelling on the customary 
 mutilation of the body of the vanquished, 
 we have only to add, that, ere the month 
 was out, Walter of Wallington became 
 the husband of Agnes Meryl ; — and, as 
 courage was then the greatest recom- 
 mendation at court, he did not long re- 
 main unnoticed by the lion-hearted mo- 
 narch, who advanced him to great favour 
 and preferment. 
 
 DANIEL IN THE LION'S DE\. 
 
 At the time when sir David Baird 
 took the Cape of Good Hope from the 
 Dutch, who were in possession of it 
 about the year 1808, a large dog — some- 
 what resembling our English mastiflf — 
 was destined by the owner, for the amuse- 
 ment of our English soldiers and resi- 
 dents there, to become the prey of a very 
 large lion and lioness, having two whelps, 
 which were confined in an area, enclosed 
 by iron railing. A strong feeling of curi- 
 osity — not accompanied by the more 
 humane one of compassion and sympathy 
 for the fate of the unfortunate animal — 
 was excited, which led immense crowds 
 of spectators to be witnesses to a scene 
 where they expected a momentary de- 
 fence would be attempted by the animal, 
 he being of known courage when opposed 
 to his own species. The crowd, amongst 
 whom were sir David Baird, and all the 
 military of rank at the Cape, with breath- 
 less expectation, saw the unfortunate 
 victim led forth, and the onlv entrance to 
 
 the den being at the top, he was thrown 
 down a considerable height, and in the 
 fall one of his legs were broken. With 
 the quickness of lightning, the furious 
 lion pounced on his prey. The dog, at 
 this moment, was seen in an attitude of 
 supplication, lying on his back. The 
 lion stopped, and tor a moment contem- 
 plated him, and walked away. The 
 lioness, whose natural passions were more 
 than ordinarily excited, from her solici- 
 tude for the cnbs, at this moment made a 
 spring at the prostrate object, but the 
 noble animal which first showed such 
 generous forbearance, at the same moment 
 intercepted her with a growl of command 
 — she, however, determined on the de- 
 struction of the trembling wretch, took a 
 circuitous route round the cage, and 
 made another dreadful spring at the dog; 
 but the noble animal, her companion, 
 again foiled her in the attempt. The lion 
 lay crouched between the dog and lion- 
 ess, and after a lapse of ten minutes, a 
 rope and noose were lowered down from 
 the top, and a few moments saw him 
 lifted up from his perilous situation — the 
 lion looked on calmly, evidently pleased 
 when he got out of danger. Sir David 
 Baird placed the dog under the care of a 
 surgeon, who, in a short time, had him 
 on his four legs again, and he became 
 the favuorite of his master, who after- 
 wards brought him to England, and 
 bestowed on him the name of Daniel. 
 
 CANADIAN GALLANTRY. 
 
 A PARTY of officers at Montreal pre- 
 sented the lady of William Prevost with 
 a large snuff-box. In addressing her, 
 one of them said, *' In conclusion, we beg 
 to re-assure you, madam, that it is our 
 most fervent wish that the Giver of all 
 good may be graciously pleased to bless 
 you with a numerous family of heroes." 
 The lady thanked them, and said she 
 hoped so too : she wished to have children, 
 and would rather have them all heroes 
 than Neroes. 
 
 Pope Clement the Sixth raised wars 
 against Lewis of Bavaria, and was the 
 death of 20,000 Frenchmen, by the king 
 of England. Afterwards he poisoned 
 Lewis ; but shortly after, himself was 
 stifled to death.
 
 PERILS RY FLOOD AXD FXKLD. 
 
 417 
 
 RETRIBUTION. 
 
 In tlie early part of the reign of Charles 
 the Fifth of Spain, there lived an old 
 nobleman of the name of Alonzo, a per- 
 son of much repute in his day, who 
 secured the daughter of an alcaid, or 
 chief magistrate, for a wife, by whom he 
 had two sons ; the elder of which, in his 
 second year, was decoyed away from his 
 parents by banditti, who infested the 
 vicinity of his father's time-honoured 
 dwelling (it was supposed), and never 
 heard of afterwards. The younger son, 
 Sforza, having arrived at an age which 
 fitted him for professional pursuits, fired 
 with the ardour of his countrymen, and 
 panting to signalize himself in the annals 
 of his nation, entered the army, — a call- 
 ing for which he was admirably adapted 
 by person, fortune, and energy ; and a 
 few da^s only elapsed before he received 
 notice to report himself to his command- 
 ing officer, whose regiment was under 
 orders for a distant land. 
 
 Before quitting his paternal roof, the 
 secret which had long held dominion over 
 him was disclosed by him to his father, 
 
 VOL. I. — 53. 
 
 Page 419, 
 
 who, approving of his choice, not only 
 engaged to comply with the wishes of his 
 son, with regard to the charge entrusted 
 to him, but gave her an asylum in his 
 castle, and already considered her in the 
 light of a daughter ; with an assurance 
 that she should remain as retired as her 
 health would admit of, until Sforza's re- 
 turn from the wars, where it was hoped 
 he would achieve those honours that 
 might make him worthy of her hand and 
 heart. 
 
 Mutual promises of constancy were in- 
 terchanged, and Sforza took an affec- 
 tionate farewell of his affianced bride. 
 
 The necessity of Imoinda's secluding 
 herself from public notice so(jn became 
 apparent, for she was importuned on 
 every side. The youths of Seville had 
 no sooner heard of the departure of 
 Sforza than they commenced their pro- 
 fessions of love, and overtures of mar- 
 riage. Many were repulsed at the first 
 assault, and, one by one, they retired 
 from the field, crest-fallen and vanquished, 
 to brood over their defeat, and envy the 
 situation of their more fortunate rival. 
 
 Imoinda remained unmolested for a 
 H 3
 
 418 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY: OR, 
 
 time,— the example afforded by the suc- 
 cess of those who had importuned in 
 vain, serving as a check to the advances 
 of others, who, though captivated with 
 the beauty of the lady, were constrained 
 from making it known to her, in the an- 
 ticipation of a repulse. 
 
 Imoinda, having experienced the ill 
 effects of the constraint of necessity im- 
 posed on her, was prevailed on by don 
 Alonzo, the father of Sforza, to appear in 
 public ; and one evening, while walking 
 with him, leaning on his arm, and listen- 
 ing to the tales of her country, which he 
 was relating to her, her fair features vary- 
 ing in expression from pleasure to a 
 voluptuous sadness, as her hopes were 
 realized, or her fears excited, — she looked 
 so enchantingly lovely that she attracted 
 all eyes, and some in mute wonder gazed 
 after her. Bitterly did she afterwards 
 rue the possession of those charms, and 
 the magic influence they possessed at 
 that hour ; for it was then she enslaved the 
 heart of a new admirer, in the person of 
 one Sebastian, who was a year or two 
 the elder of Sforza. 
 
 He was a man of whom little was 
 known, save that it was thought his asso- 
 ciates did not much enhance his reputa- 
 tion. Like those who had preceded him 
 in soliciting Imoinda's hand, he was re- 
 jected ; but being of an impetuous dispo- 
 sition, and not easily deterred from any 
 pursuit in which he had once embarked, 
 and wrought upon by his failure to a 
 pitch of frenzy bordering on despair, he 
 openly avowed his passion for the fair 
 one to her protector, demanding her at 
 his hands, and threatening to be revenged 
 in case of the non-compliance to his 
 wishes ; but received such a rebuff from 
 the virtuous old man, that he shrunk be- 
 fore him like a withered leaf, abashed and 
 confounded at the proud determination of 
 look, tone, and action, with which his 
 temerity was rewarded. Feeling himself 
 despised, conquered, and dismayed, with 
 a curl of his lip, clenched hand, and a 
 grasp at his sword, he breathed forth 
 bitter vows of vengeance on the destroyer 
 of his happiness. 
 
 With this feeling acting upon a mind 
 in which all the passions were full and 
 high, and, by the above circumstance, 
 concentrated into one focus, his only 
 thought now was by what means, and 
 through whose agency, his designs were 
 
 to be accomplished. This, with him, was 
 not a labour of time, for he reckoned 
 among his companio-ns men of the most 
 depraved habits, such as set truth, reli- 
 gion, and all social ties, at defiance; the 
 principal of whom were Amanza and 
 Antonio, who had both escaped the ven- 
 geance of the laws, which they had vio- 
 lated, by the defective wording of an 
 indictment against them ; presuming 
 upon which, they had pursued a reckless 
 career, turning the law and its authorities 
 into subjects for ribald jest and ridicule. 
 These were the persons in whom Sebas- 
 tian relied for the assistance he required. 
 He met them, made known his designs, 
 and, with a seasonable reward, secured 
 iheir services. Don Alonzo was subse- 
 quently arrested, arraigned for high 
 treason, and, on the evidence adduced 
 against him, convicted, and suffered death 
 on the wheel. 
 
 Imoinda was now left without a pro- 
 tector ; but, still adhering to her former 
 resolution, she rejected the addresses of 
 Sebastian (which became more urgent 
 every hour) with scorn — he became furi- 
 ous-^and finding entreaties of no avail, 
 had recource to threats — and then, as a 
 last resource, made his appeal to the king 
 — spoke of the services he had rendered 
 the state, by prosecuting a felon to con- 
 viction ; and not only received (by the 
 artful manner in which he urged his case) 
 the hand of Imoinda, who was command- 
 ed to acquiesce in his suit, but the gover- 
 norship of the island of Ivica, which be- 
 came vacant just at this period ; and a 
 few weeks only found him in possession 
 of his new appointment, and his heart- 
 broken bride at the castle of St. Eustatia. 
 The wars were done ; and, full of hope 
 and high excitement, Sforza returned to 
 the desolate home of his fathers. The 
 first being he encountered on his return 
 was Amanza. Dissipation, and a long 
 career of crime, had done their work on 
 him ; and remorse, with all its horrors, 
 was committing its ravages on a broken 
 spirit and an emaciated frame : it was 
 his time of repentance, for dissolution 
 was at hand, and the cold grasp of death 
 was tightening at his heart. This was 
 his only opportunity for confession ; he 
 betrayed all that could be known of the 
 false accusation upon which his loved 
 father was doomed — of Sebastian's trea- 
 chery, and the forced alliance he had
 
 FERLLS BY FLOOD ASD FILLI) 
 
 419 
 
 formed with Imoinda — and died. Tliis 
 was terrible news for Sforza — his heart 
 was ahiiost broken with the tidings ; but 
 his resolution to iijflict summary ven- 
 geance on the despoiler of his home and 
 iiopes, engrossed every other feeling, and 
 he anticipated its consummation in the 
 silence of mute despair — which exhibits 
 in man the terrible sublimity of the deep 
 pause which precedes the earthquake. 
 
 Sforza, having summoned together the 
 old and trusty vassals of his deceased 
 father, engaged a ship, and set sail for 
 the island of Ivica ; but 
 
 •' A mighty contest 'twixt the wind and waves, 
 Ensuingi in the strife the ship was wreck'd." 
 
 But Sforza, and many of his followers, 
 after a severe struggle, reached the shore, 
 and were received and entertained by 
 the monks of a monastery close to the 
 sea-side. Here Sforza learned, for the 
 first time, that he was on the island of 
 Ivica, within a short distance of his foej 
 and he thanked fate, who had so ordain- 
 ed it. 
 
 Just at this period, one of the witnesses 
 against don Alonzo — Antonio, who had [ 
 followed Vargas (a vassal and instrument j 
 of Sebastian) to Ivica, to revenge some 
 wrong he had done him — was slain by ; 
 Vargas, in the porch of the convent, i 
 This news could not fa:! of being wel- \ 
 come to Sebastian, for in him he had lost ] 
 one evidence of his own iniquities; and j 
 his only fears now were that Amanza (of' 
 whom mention has before been made) 
 would, if the opportunity occurred, dis- 
 close secrets that would be his ruin. 
 
 Sforza's arrival became known, and 
 Sebastian, dreading the consequences 
 likely to ensue, prevailed on Vargas, by 
 promises of large reward, to put poison 
 in the way of Sforza, in the convent 
 where he dwelt. He did so — was dis- 
 covered in the fact, and stabbed by 
 Sforza; and had no sooner reached the 
 castle, and disclosed to Sebastian the 
 author of his death, than he died. 
 
 Sebastian summoned his vassals — the 
 followers of Sforza were instantly seized, 
 and, with a stone attached to the neck of 
 each, they were hurled into the ocean, 
 where they perished. In the interval, 
 Sfurza had obtained an interview with 
 Imoinda ; and having heard the story of 
 her wrongs, and that her affection to- 
 wards him remained unchanged, he im- 
 plored her to tell him where Sebastian 
 
 wa''. She disclosed the secret: when 
 Sforza exclaimed, " Ere the convent bell 
 tolled, the deed would be done !" and 
 rushed from her presence. The instant 
 he had departed, Imoinda, stung with re- 
 morse, was about to follow, and prevent 
 the deed of blood, when the fatal signal 
 struck on her ear : she shrieked, and was 
 falling to the floor, when Sebastian ap. 
 peared, and caught her in his arms. Re- 
 covering, she flung him from her, deeming 
 it was Sforza, with his hands imbrued in 
 the blood of his victim ; but on discover- 
 ing it to be her husband, in a frantic 
 manner she proclaimed herself an acces- 
 sory in the design of murdering him. 
 On hearing this, and that Sforza was 
 waiting without to effect his purpose, he 
 drew his sword, and made after him — a 
 clashing of swords was heard — a severe 
 struggle — a groan — and all was silent ! 
 In a moment nt'terwards, Sforza appeared, 
 grasping the fatal weapon, and exclaimed, 
 " Behold it 1 — I have done the deed — the 
 retribution blow is struck !"' Imoinda 
 fell senseless ; and in the midst of the 
 confusion, Sforza escaped. 
 
 A strict inquiry was made, but Sforza 
 was no where to be found ; until Gon- 
 salvo, who had formerly been the chief of 
 a banditti, and who had known Sebastian 
 from his infancy, was, with a party of 
 islanders, dfsp<itched in search of the 
 fugitive. He was well acquainted with 
 every part of the island ; and to show 
 how just an estimate was formed of his 
 prowess, he very soon discovered the re- 
 treat of Sforza, who was found standing 
 on a rock, against which the ocean waves 
 sullenly dashed. The moon was rising 
 in all her beauty behind him — his hands 
 were crossed, and his eyes intently fixed 
 on the sky, as though he were watching 
 the star of his destiny. Gonsalvo called 
 to him, and commanded him to yield — he 
 remained silent and immoveable, until a 
 shriek aroused him from his reverie, and 
 he became conscious of his mortality, 
 and the perilous situation to which his 
 passions had reduced him. He quitted 
 the rock, and stood in the midst of his 
 pursuers — when Imoinda appeared, her 
 hair dishevelled — distraction in her looks, 
 and uttering a few incoherent words, 
 breatlied out her spirit so calmly and so 
 gently, in the arms of Sforza — him slie 
 tirst loved — him to whom she had been 
 betrothed in the days of her jov and giil- 
 3 H -J
 
 420 
 
 TALES OF CHIVALRY : OR, 
 
 hood ; and looking so gentle, so beauti- 
 ful, and so fair — a flower too delicate for 
 the rough winds to fan — that no one 
 knew, at the moment, that her soul had 
 taken its flight to the abode of spirits, 
 until she fell from the listless arm of 
 Sforza, as motionless as the dark waters 
 of a slumbering lake, around which nature 
 has reared a zone of rocks. 
 
 Sforza's grief, on discovering that Imo- 
 inda was no more, was agonizing and 
 despairing. He soon, however, recovered 
 from the shock, and resumed his previous 
 apathy of deportment. Gonsalvo, desir- 
 ous that he should not yield to the death 
 which awaited him, unprepared, exhorted 
 him to pray; but finding his efforts to 
 work such a change of no avail, he dis- 
 closed to him a secret, which would have 
 gone with him to the grave had it not 
 been for the obduracy of Sforza, — which 
 was, that Sebastian was his long-lost 
 brother ! Sforza, at the news, fell pros- 
 trate, and exclaiming, '* Retribution re- 
 tribution ! I have secured thee at last!" — 
 wrought upon by powerful affliction — its 
 cause, and fatal termination, fell dead — a 
 wretched victim to misfortune, misery, 
 and crime ! 
 
 NARRATIVE OF AN ESCAPE FROM A NIGHT 
 WATCH. 
 
 We were not more than three-quarters 
 of a mile from a rocky and barren island, 
 and I determined to risk every thing to 
 gain it, and get on board one of the mer- 
 chant-ships in the morning. 
 
 The first thing was to get my money 
 from my bag of clothes, which was snugly 
 tied up over my hammock, on the lower 
 deck. I stole quietly down, and was in 
 the act of searching the bag, when the 
 Serjeant of marines, and master-at-arms, 
 who were going their rounds, nearly 
 caught me ; but springing unobserved 
 into my hammock, I lay covered till they 
 passed, and was not a liitle alarmed to 
 find that I vi'as the subject of their con- 
 versation. 
 
 " Do you know the number of the 
 pressed man's berth ?" said the serjeant ; 
 ** I heard the officers say he was worth 
 keeping, and it would be well to keep an 
 eye on him." 
 
 " I don't know his number," replied 
 the master-at-arms, " but I saw him on 
 the forecastle, just after the watch was 
 mustered." 
 
 So soon as they were on the ladder, I 
 untied my bag, and pocketed my purse. 
 You know, Harold, how soundly men 
 sleep after having been well trounced in 
 a gale, and I got both in and out of my 
 hammock without a question from my 
 snoring neighbours. I then mounted the 
 forecastle again, and made a point of 
 being seen by the serjeant; after which I 
 skulked through one of the port-holes un- 
 der the main-channels, as the island lay 
 astern. 
 
 Having buttoned my jacket tight round 
 me, and tied the bottom of my trousers, 
 I fastened a rope's end, which was hang- 
 ing overboard from the channels (a thing 
 almost unknown in the frigate) to the 
 irons below, and slid without the least 
 splash into the water ; but when my head 
 was just above the surface, I found my 
 legs pressed, as it were, against the bot- 
 tom of the ship, and it was not till I let 
 go the rope, and struck off a little from 
 the side, that I was disentangled from 
 this effect. I scarcely breathed on the 
 water, and moved my arms and limbs as 
 little as possible ; but my heart beat 
 within me as I found myself floating with 
 the tide past the quarter of the ship. I 
 was beginning to feel fresh vigour at ob- 
 serving myself distancing the frigate, 
 when 1 heard the hoarse voice of an owl 
 of a quarter-master say to the officer of 
 the watch, " I'here is something in the 
 water, sir." 
 
 The voice acted upon me like electri- 
 city ; and I do believe that I bounded 
 two-thirds out of the water. 
 
 " 'Tis a man, by all that's holy, sir !" 
 said the old fellow. 
 
 " Ahoi ! come back, you rascal 1" cried 
 the officer. " Fire, sentinel, fire." And, 
 as it seemed to me, the very moment I 
 saw the gleam on the water, I felt a sharp 
 cut on my left heel. Another and another 
 ball followed, but not with the same suc- 
 cess. 
 
 " Away there, black cutters of the 
 watch, away !" halloed the boatswain's 
 mate. 
 
 Luckily for me, the boats had been 
 secured for sea, in consequence of which 
 they took more time in being cleared 
 away, and I was half-way to the shore 
 before I heard the running crackling of 
 tlie tackles, and the boat go splash into 
 the water. The noise seemed so near to 
 me, that 1 looked round, but saw nothings
 
 PERILS BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 421 
 
 soon, however, I heard the rolhng of the 
 oars in the rullocks, and my hopes began 
 to fail me, when a sight of the freting 
 surf of the rocks cheered and saved me 
 from sinking with despair. I plied every 
 nerve, and in a few minutes more was 
 close to the breakers. 
 
 None but swimmers can conceive the 
 narrow limits of the view when the head 
 only is above the surface : every wave is 
 a boundary, and to a person pursued as I 
 was, and in search of a landing-place, 
 mountains could not have been a mure 
 agonising barrier. 
 
 I at last perceived a black shelving 
 point of rock, on which the surf was roll- 
 ing heavily on one side, wiiile on the 
 other the water appeared smoother. For 
 this point I immediately swam, as a for- 
 lorn hope. On approaching, I found my- 
 self between two white ridges of foaming 
 water, and occasionally sunk in the hol- 
 low abyss of the waves, and sometimes 
 dashed about amidst the foam on their 
 tops. 
 
 When about to pass the shelving rock, 
 I was thrown head-foremost on to its 
 margin by one of those sovereign waves 
 which seem to lord it over all the rest, and 
 left in a kind of niche, which prevented 
 its recoil sweeping me back. On recover- 
 ing from the stun I had received, I found 
 that my head was cut and bleeding, but 
 that the wound on my heel was of no 
 consequence. 
 
 Soon the noise of oars and voices as- 
 sailed my ears, and I distinctly heard the 
 midshipman of the boat say, "The fellow 
 never could land here ; he must have 
 been dashed to pieces on the rocks, or 
 drowned in the surf, and we shall find his 
 body in the morning." 
 
 This conversation convinced me I was 
 not discovered ; and the dawning sun 
 found me safely stowed on board of a 
 merchantman. 
 
 LOSS OF THE SHIP AMICUS, FROM PETERS- 
 BURG, CAPTAIN SIMPSON, COMMANDER, 
 WHICH STRUCK ON THE HOLDERNESS 
 COAST, DECEMBER 8, 1807. 
 
 Though we cannot give the particulars 
 of the commencement of this unfortunate 
 event as fully as we wish, yet tiie subse- 
 quent preservation of the crew, and the 
 heroism of the spectators, as prompted 
 by humanity, will, it is presumed, render 
 
 this narrative, though it is short, ex- 
 tremely interesting to our readers. 
 
 At four o'clock on Tuesday morning, 
 December 8, 1807, it blowing'a tremend- 
 ous gale of wind, with a heavy snow, the 
 ship Amicus, captain Simpson, of Hull, 
 from Petersburg, with hemp, flax, tallow, 
 &c., struck on the Holderness coast, half 
 a mile to the south of the Sister Churches. 
 
 At 12 o'clock, the captain, wlio was an 
 excellent swimmer, committed himself to 
 the waves, with a rope, hoping to be able 
 to gain the shore, but was overwhelmed 
 by the breakers, and perished in the at- 
 tempt. The mate and another of the 
 crew followed his example, and met with 
 a similar fate. The remaining part of 
 the ship's company were seen clinging to 
 the rigging and wreck, by numerous 
 spectators. 
 
 After several ineffectual attempts to 
 assist the unhap[)y sufferers, Mr. Giles 
 had recourse to the following : he pro- 
 cured a leaden half pound weight, and 
 making a hole through it, he fastened it 
 to a long piece of whip-cord, and selected 
 from the spectators the most athletic man 
 to cast it at the wreck. After many fruit* 
 less trials, the man, following a receding 
 wave, succeeded in throwing it across the 
 vessel. The carpenter, fastening the cord 
 round his arm, was dragged through the 
 surf to the shore, apparently lifeless, but 
 he afterwards recovered. The cord was 
 again cast, and a boy was rescued from 
 the vessel in the same manner. 
 
 After this, a person, named John Green- 
 sides, notwithstanding the heavy surf, 
 rushed through it to the vessel ; and 
 though he was hidden repeatedly by the 
 tremendous waves, and could not swim, 
 he succeeded in gaining the wreck, and 
 brought to land another boy. In his pas- 
 sage to the shore he was twice thrown 
 down by the violence of the back-water. 
 He again returned to the wreck, and at 
 the hazard of his own, saved the life of 
 another seaman. 
 
 At six o'clock, four persons ventured 
 through the waves to the ship, and brought 
 away two others, who died shortly after 
 their gaining the shore. The bodies of 
 the captain and the mate were afterwards 
 washed ashore. 
 
 Serenity of temper is the mind's 
 good health, which we should always as- 
 siduously endeavour to preserve.
 
 422 
 
 TALES OK CmVAI.RY 
 
 ANECDOTES OF NAPOI.EOX. 
 
 The evening preceding the batlle of 
 Weimar, Napoleon disposed his forces in 
 order of battle, and bivonaced in the 
 centre of his guard. He had ordered a 
 passage for his artillery to be hollowed in 
 the \vc]i, and towards two o'clock in the 
 morning set out on foot to ascertain how 
 the work was proceeding. Having re- 
 mained an hour on tlie spot, he resolved 
 to make a rapid survey of the nearest 
 outposts, before returning to his bivouac. 
 This solitary excursion nearly cost the 
 emperor his life. The night was so dark 
 that the sentries were unable to see the 
 slightest object at the distance of ten 
 paces. One of them, hearing footsteps, 
 challenged, and immediately presented 
 his piece. The emperor, who was pre- 
 vented from hearing tlie qui vive by one 
 of his fits of absence, made no answer, 
 and was speedily aroused from his reverie 
 by a ball whizzing past his ear. Instantly 
 aware of his danger, he threw himself flat 
 on the ground. No sooner had he adopt- 
 ed this precaution than a shower of bul- 
 lets passed over his head, the first sentry's 
 fire liaving been repeated through the 
 whole line. The momentary danger past, 
 the emperor rose and walked straigtit to 
 the nearest outpost, where he was imme- 
 diately recognised. In a few minutes, 
 the sentry, who had first challenged and 
 fired, was relieved from his post, and 
 brought before Napoleon ; the soldier 
 was a young grenadier in one of the 
 regiments of the line. " You young 
 rascal !" said the emperor, familiarly 
 pinching his cheek, " it seems you took 
 me for a Prussian : the dog does not 
 waste his powder — nothing less than an 
 empenn- serves him for a mark." The 
 poor soldier, in the utmost consternation 
 at the idea that he might have killed the 
 emperor, whom he idolized not less than 
 the rest of the army, could only stammer 
 out a few broken sentences : — " Pardon, 
 sire, but I had orders to fire ; if you will 
 not answer, I am not to blame ; another 
 time you must put in the orders, that you 
 do not choose to answer." The emperor 
 laughed, and, to reconcile the poor fellow 
 with himself, said, as he withdrew, " My 
 brave lad, it was not your fault : for a 
 random shot in the dark, your's was not 
 amiss: it will soon be da\ light; take 
 better aim, and I will provide for you." 
 
 Napoleon, on the evening preceding 
 the memorable battle of Austeilitz, visited 
 the bivouacs of the army. He wished to 
 keep the most strict incognito, but was 
 soon identified; and, as it was also the 
 eve of the anniversary of his coronation, 
 the soldiers saluted him by a general 
 burst of ac(-lamali()n. Napolean advanced 
 in front of the colours of the 57tii regi- 
 ment, and addressed the men, saying, 
 " Remember that I have, for a length of 
 time, distinguished you by the name of 
 le terrible.'' An old grenadier approach- 
 ed the emperor, and said, " There is no 
 necessity for you to expose your person ; 
 I pledge myself, in the name of the grena- 
 diers in the army, that you need only 
 look on ; to-morrow we will bring you 
 the cannons and colours of the Russian 
 army, to celebrate the anniversary of 
 your coronation." Napoleon, who was 
 affected to tears, said, on returning, 
 " This night would be the happiest of my 
 life, if it was not embittered by the 
 thought, that to-morrow I shall lose 
 many of these brave men." 
 
 ON CHESS- PLAYING. 
 
 During the war in Incha, by which the 
 Company's territories were extended so 
 far beyond their hopes, by the talents of 
 the extraordinary men who conducted 
 their affairs, the number of adventurers 
 to the east vvas enormous; but as the fa- 
 tigue of military duties destroyed a great 
 part, and as India vvas really at that time 
 an advantageous lottery to those who 
 could bear the climate, cadets frequently 
 returned in a few years with fortunes of a 
 considerable amount, and recruits in 
 abundance were always to be found ready 
 and willing to serve the company and 
 themselves. Among others, ]\Ir. S., a 
 gentleman of the north of Ireland, started 
 as a surgeon in the army, and after vari- 
 ous mishaps and disappointments, found 
 himself, soon after his arrival, attached to 
 
 the regiment of foot, then forming 
 
 part of an encampment in the Carnatic. 
 By some means he became acquainted 
 with general W., the second in com- 
 mand, who had the reputation of being a 
 first-rate chess-player. In India chess is 
 a favourite game ; and no sooner was it 
 discovered that S. was a good player, 
 than he received an invitatipn to a trial 
 of skill. The first evening he obtained a
 
 PERILS B\ Fl.Oan ANL FIF.I.D. 
 
 423 
 
 slight advantage ; but, thougli probably a 
 little chagrined at the result, nothing 
 could be more cordial than the manner in 
 which general W. repeated his invitation. 
 Tiiey soon became constant players, es- 
 pecially as the officers and aid-de-camps 
 of t!ie general's staff appeared to ha\e 
 little knowledge of the game, and were 
 glad to be relieved from the disagreeable 
 duty of playing with the certainty of being 
 beaten. Whether it was that S. had been 
 out of practice before, or whether he got 
 into the general's mode of play, it so hap 
 pened, that after a time the account of 
 winning and losing stood considerably in 
 his favour ; but this appeared rather to 
 excite and animate his opponent, who de- 
 clared, in the true spirit of chess philo 
 sophy, that the interest of the game was 
 greatest when the opponent v\as most for- 
 midable. At length S. thought he per- 
 ceived a slight change in the general's 
 manner — he was less friendly and social 
 — to chess he seemed to have become 
 quite indifferent — seldom expressing a 
 wish to play ; and when reminded of an ex- 
 change, for which Mr. S. was anxious, and 
 to etiect which general W. had assured 
 him he would use his interest, he now re- 
 turned a vague and evasive answer, as if 
 it were merely a matter of official routine. 
 It was quite evident that Othello's occu- 
 pation was gone : and it was natural to 
 suppose that the general, who was a proud 
 man, with something of the old school 
 about him, felt that he had carried liis 
 familiarity with so young an offi'cer rather 
 too far, and took this njethod of showing 
 him he was to fall back into the ranks. 
 
 S. was not a man to thrust hisaquaint- 
 ance on any one : he had the sensitive 
 pride which an adventurer, without for- 
 tune or connections, so naturally feels, 
 and met the newly- assumed stateliness of 
 his commanding officer with the formal 
 deference of military discipline. The 
 distance between them increased every 
 day ; they never met except on duty, and 
 then as perfect strangers, until at length 
 the feeling on the general's part appeared 
 to have deepened into inveterate dislike. 
 Whatever reports S. made, he invariably 
 neglected : he spoke slightingly of him 
 before the odier officers : and once, on 
 giving a general invitation to the regi- 
 ment, he omitted his name in the most 
 marked manner. 
 
 At length a circumstance occiirrod, 
 
 which S. could not overlook. The rainv 
 season being at an end, the troops were 
 put on active service ; an attack was 
 planned on a neighbouring town of some 
 consequence, and the command of the de- 
 tachnjent entrusted to general W. It 
 was in expeditions of this kind tliat the 
 great prizes of the Indian lottery most 
 
 frequently turned up; and the I'^gi- 
 
 ment considered it a fortunate circum- 
 stance that they formed part of the troops 
 destined for this service. At the mess it 
 was a never-ending theme : from morn- 
 ing to night nothing else was talked of; 
 and S., in common wiUi other officers, was 
 indulging in sanguine expectations of suc- 
 cess, when, the very day before starting, 
 the adjutant read a regunental order, that 
 
 surgeon S., of the regiment, should 
 
 remain in camp, in charge of the hospital, 
 and assistant-surgeon Taylor accompany 
 the forces. 
 
 Now the season had been remarkably 
 healthy ; the sick-list was smaller than 
 usual, and certainly afforded no ground 
 for such a departure from the common 
 routine. On inquiry, it turned out that 
 this alteration had taken place by the ex- 
 press order of general W. ; and Mr. S. im- 
 mediately posted off to his quarters, sur- 
 prised at this new proof of dislike and 
 prejudice towards him. Tlie general was 
 in his tent, and, as it happened, pla\ing 
 at chess when S. entered. " I have come, 
 sir," said he, *' in consequence of an order 
 that I should not accompany njy regiment 
 to Bh , which, I understand, was is- 
 sued by you." General W. bowed stiffly. 
 •' xMay 1 ask, sir, the reason of so unusual 
 a proceeding ?" 
 
 " I am not in the habit of giving ex- 
 planations, sir ; it is my order." 
 
 " 1 am at a loss, general W., to under- 
 stand on w hat grounds. The number of 
 patients in hospital is remarkably small, 
 and the assistant quite capable of attend- 
 ing them." 
 
 " It is my order, sir," replied the ge- 
 neral, in that cold and obstinate tone 
 which shows all remonstrance to be hope- 
 less. 
 
 "Then, sir," said S., irritated by his 
 supercilious manner, " I shall apply to the 
 commander-in-chief to do me justice." 
 
 " You will do as you please, sir," was 
 the contemptuous reply ; and Mr. S. im- 
 mediately hastened to head-quarters. 
 
 Here he laid his case before the com-
 
 424 
 
 TALES OF CmVALRV, ScC. 
 
 mander-in-chief; and after clearly showing 
 that there was no necessity for his stay, 
 coupled wilh the fact that the order was 
 not issued until a few hours before march- 
 ing, together with hints of the gi-neral's 
 unaccountable aversion towards liimself, 
 he succeeded in obtaining a written com- 
 mand to accompany the detachment. It 
 was late at night when he entered general 
 W.'s tent, and presented his credentials. 
 •' It is well, sir," said the general, in his 
 liaughtiest manner, and throw ing the paper 
 on the table. *' It is well," replied S. 
 firmly, as he left the tent to complete his 
 preparations for the morning. 
 
 After a fatiguing march of four days, the 
 troops reached their destination. The ar- 
 tillery could not arrive for some days ; but 
 it was generally thought the place would 
 be attempted by storm. Next morning, 
 S., in company with other idlers, went to 
 get a look at the fortifications. They ad- 
 vanced close to the out-works, and remain- 
 ed for some time unmolested : at length a 
 party of the garrison pointed a wall-piece 
 at tliem — a hint which induced them to 
 keep at a more respectful distance, behind 
 some broken ground in the rear. These 
 wall-pieces are guns fixed on a pivot, with 
 a sight to them — in fact, regular fowling- 
 pieces, except that, instead of snipe-shot, 
 they carry balls of a pound weight or more ; 
 — and no doubt S. and his friends made 
 their observations more coolly, from having 
 a trifling hillock between them and these 
 pop guns. They had scarcely made good 
 their retreat, when a party of mounted 
 ofRcers rode up to the very spot they had 
 quitted. It was the general liimself, with 
 his aid-de-camp, and two or three of the 
 staff. The gunners on the walls imme- 
 diately brought their wall piece to bear on 
 the new covey. S. and his comrades 
 called to the party, to warn them of their 
 danger; and one of the aid-de-camps was 
 observed pointing to the ramparts; but 
 whether from obstinacy of disposition, or 
 contempt of the garrison engineers, the 
 general took no notice ; and of course 
 the rest of the party follov\ed his example. 
 
 But this confidence was fatal : the very 
 first shot was fired with so good an aim, 
 that it knocked general W. from his horse. 
 It had struck him on the left shoulder, and 
 when S. hurried up to give his professional 
 assistance, he saw at a e-lance that the blow 
 
 was mortal. 'J'hey removed him immedi- 
 ately out of reach of the enemy, and sent for 
 a litter to convey him to the camp ; but be- 
 fore it arrived, he breathed his last in Mr. 
 S.'s arms. The next in connnand suc- 
 ceeded him ; and two days after the town 
 
 of Bh was taken b} storm, and given 
 
 up to pillage; and Mr. S. had the good 
 fortune to realize money to the amount of 
 several thousands. 
 
 Shortly after the capture of the town, 
 S. was walking with one of general W.'s 
 aid-de-camps, and remarked to him, that 
 he could never account for the sudden 
 and inveterate dislike which that officer 
 had displayed towards him. " Oh," re- 
 plied the aid-de-camp, ** I can tell you 
 the reason: you played chess with him. 
 That was the reason, and the only one. 
 I knew him well, and never would play 
 with him. He always de>pised the man 
 he beat, and hated the man who beat 
 him." 
 
 JACK IN A LAND STORM. 
 
 A PARTY of sailors having landed at 
 Portsmouth, were on a cruise of obser- 
 vation in the town, when they were 
 overtaken by a severe storm ; the wind 
 blew a hurricane, and files, slates, and 
 chimney-pots, came rattling down. One 
 of the latter fell down among them, but 
 (\\d no injury. Eyeing the shattered 
 fragments which had threatened them 
 witii danger, one of them exclaimed — 
 " My eyes, brother shipmates, here's a 
 pretty rig ; shiver my timbers if ever 
 you catch me ashore again in a gale of 
 wind." 
 
 There was formerly a monk of the 
 name of Bonaventure Buonaparte, who 
 lived and died in a cloister. The poor 
 man reposed peaceably in his grave, until 
 Napoleon mounted the throne of France. 
 The courtiers then found out that the de- 
 ceased possessed virtues which were 
 never before known, and proposed to the 
 emperor to have him canonized. "For 
 the love of God," replied Napoleon, 
 *' spare me this ridicule : as the sove- 
 reign pontiff is now in my power, the 
 world would not fail to say that I have 
 compelled him to make a saint of one vf 
 the members of my family."
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Adventcke with a Bear, 47 
 
 Alaric, a Roman Storv, 179, 188 
 
 Alexander Severus, Great Victory of, 160 
 
 Aloys Reading, 56 j 
 
 Alva, Story of the Duke of, 55 
 
 Ancona, Siege of, 248 
 
 Arms and Aniom's, 145, 157, 165 
 
 Array of Armour, 78 
 
 Assignations, a Tale of Venice, 249 
 
 Austrian Empire, Rise of the, 228 
 
 Babingtons, the, a Tale of Chadstow, 105, 
 
 115, 124, 132 
 Back, dreadful Sufferings of, and his Crew, 
 
 239 
 Batavia, Wreck of the, 318 
 Battle between two Snakes, 47 
 
 Bear and an Alligator, 87 
 
 Bear-IIunting, 38 
 Blauncheflor, 280, 297, 307 
 Brazil, a Day's Journey in, 183 
 Buckingham, Assassination of the Duke of, 25 
 Buonaparte and the Monk, 424 
 
 Canadian Gallantry, 416 
 
 Candour in a Prisoner, 104 
 
 Carmathans and Assassins, 254 
 
 Castle of Altenberg ; or, the Vine-Dresser's 
 
 Daughter, 273 
 Castle of Clairmarais, 241 
 
 Baynard, 81, 94 
 
 Champion* Challenged, the, 256 
 
 Character of the Saxons, 136 
 
 Charles V. and Henry VIII., 192 
 
 Chelsea Pensioner, 287 
 
 Chess-Playing, 422 
 
 Clement VI., Anecdote of, 416 
 
 Compass, Substitute for the, 240 
 
 Conquest of Normandy ; or, the Monk's 
 
 Three Visits, 369, 382 
 Cceur de Lion, Shipwreck of, 279 
 Cossack, the, 246 
 Crusade of Children, a, 224 
 Culac the Enchanter, a Tale of Bagdad, 225 
 Curtis, Sir Roger, 200 
 
 Daniel in the Lion's Den, 416 
 Danish Prison, an Escape from, 190 
 Death of Da Vinci, 345 
 of Wai-wick, 385, 396 
 
 Desman tlie Dane, 58 
 
 Demon's Victim, 17 
 
 Dethroned, a Tale of Lichfield, 41, 49, 60, 
 
 6S, 77, 84 
 Discretion the better part of Valour, 248 
 Doom of Morven, 9 
 Dreadful :\[utiny, 244 
 Droll Story, but no Joke, 334 
 Duncan's Address, 304 
 
 Elephant, the, 184 
 
 , Wreck of the, 272 
 
 and Tiger Fight, 272 
 
 Emanuel Sosa and his Wife, 2.50 
 Eifergetic reasoning, 40 
 Entrance into Fort D'Usson, 22 
 Envy, 38 
 Escape from a Xight Watch, 420 
 
 Fate of Mowbray, 353 
 
 Filial Affection, &c., 232 
 
 Flagellants, 247 
 
 Flame-Girt Barque of the Burning Sea, 393 
 
 Fortunate Escape, 8 
 
 Francesca Sforza, 112 
 
 Frances Spr.aight, Loss of the, 269 
 
 Fratricide, the, 193 
 
 Frederick II., 272 
 
 Gallant Chase, 278 
 Geography, 368 
 Ghost, the, 302 
 Gipsies, 376 
 Gladiatorial Combat, 70 
 
 Headsman of Mentz, 185 
 
 Herman the Free-Lance ; or. Rescue at St. 
 
 Anne's Cross, 401 
 Highland Tradition, 96 
 Honour, 104 
 Honible Catastrophe, 8 
 Humphrey the Homicide, 1, 10, 19, 27, 35 
 
 Ida Rosenheim, 257 
 Imperial Anecdote, 144 
 Indian Eloquence, 152 
 
 Chief, Anecdote of a, 1 44 
 
 Indians, Anecdotes of, 14 
 
 Intrepidity of English Sailors, 192, 236
 
 Jack in a Land Storm, 421 
 
 James I., oi)! 
 
 Jews, 245 
 
 Jocularity at Court, 248 
 
 Joking, strange pUice for, 238 
 
 Judges, Perils of American, 2y& 
 
 Justice, Kussian, 232 
 
 King and the Widow, oi- Edward IV., 246 
 King's Return, or Jew's Rescue, 268 
 
 Last Trial, 31 
 
 Last of their Race, 73 
 
 Legion of Honour, 39 
 
 Limerick, Surrender of, 200 
 
 Lion and Tiger Combat, 30 
 
 Lone Tower, or the Warning Fulfilled, 97 
 
 ?.iagnanimity, 32 
 
 Malays, Dreadful Combats of the, 263 
 
 Mate, Adventures of a, 303 
 
 Military Discipline, 281 
 
 Miseries of a Sea Yoyage^ 152 
 
 I\loroseiiess, 408 
 
 Napoleon's Address to his Soldiers, 40 
 
 a Bad Horseman, 136 -» 
 
 Naval Anecdotes, 312, 336 
 
 Neapolitan Lovers, the, 305 
 
 Nobles and Arblasters, 337 , 346 . 357 , 366 . 373 
 
 Noth Gottes, a Story of the Rheingau, 209 
 
 Nymphs of the Lurlei Berg, 377 
 
 Ordeal by Battle, 409 
 
 Old Stories of Rhine Castles, 361 
 
 Pearl of Brabant, 121 
 
 Perilous Situation, 95 
 
 Phemie IVIackenzie, 33 
 
 Pike, a Midnight Adventure, 392 
 
 Pique, Voyages and Disasters of the, 220 
 
 Pirates, Adventures with, 223 
 
 , Action with, in the Archipelago, 229 
 
 Polish Revolution, 24 
 
 Power and Liberty, 352 
 
 Prince East Indianian, Burning of the, 196 
 
 Punishment on board a Man-of-War, 208 
 
 Queen Charlotte, Anecdote of, 246 
 Quin, Anecdote of, 72 
 
 Religion, 365 
 Retribution, 417 
 Reuben Remplace, 28/ 
 Rewards to Soldiers, 232 
 Rooke, Sir George, 56 
 Rudif Brondinberger, 177 
 Russian Police, 224 
 
 Sailor and the Bear, 88 
 Seotch Military Bishop, 65 
 Shape, the, 57 
 Silver Bell, the, 137 
 Smugglers, Adventures witb, 215 
 Soldiers of Fortune, 79 
 Soldier's Funeral, 48 
 Solitary Huntsman, the, 16 i 
 Spanish Execution, 16 
 Spartan Heroine, 280 
 
 Combat, the, 153 
 
 Spectre Mask, the, 113 
 Spithy Richter, 216 
 Stuai-ts, the, 280 
 
 Tale of Eld, a, 201 
 
 Talisman of Charlemagne, 208 
 
 Tender Stomach, 144 
 
 Thin Gentleman, the, 398 
 
 Three Brothers of Galloway, 335 
 
 Tiger-Hunt, 103 
 
 Tregurtha, 129 
 
 Turenne, Anecdote of, 400 
 
 Tyneside Anecdote, 311 
 
 Vale of the Phantoms, 217 
 Vampires, 220 
 Vardarelli Band, the, 72 
 Venetian Patriotism, 192 
 Veil and the Diadem, 329 
 Villeneuve, Death of, 293 
 
 Wanderers, the, 233 
 
 ^Var, 297 
 
 Washington, Death of, 7 
 
 AVaterloo, the Battle of, 384 
 
 White Lady, the, 89 
 
 Wishes, 392 
 
 Witch Harp, the, 65 
 
 Wooden Leg, the, 296 
 
 Young Midshipman^ 365 
 
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