{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_15271/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_15271","id":"gutenberg_15271","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15271","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","English literature -- England -- Lancashire","Legends -- England -- Lancashire"],"text":"E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Charles Aldarondo, and the Project\nGutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 15271-h.htm or 15271-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/2/7/15271/15271-h/15271-h.htm)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/2/7/15271/15271-h.zip)\n\n\n\n\n\n\"I know I have herein made myself subject unto a world of judges, and\nam likest to receive most controulment of such as are least able to\nsentence me. Well I wote that the works of no writers have appeared to\nthe world in a more curious age than this; and that, therefore, the more\ncircumspection and wariness is required in the publishing of anything\nthat must endure so many sharp sights and censures. The consideration\nwhereof, as it hath made me all the more needy not to displease any, to\nhath it given not the less hope of pleasing all.\"\n\nVERSTEGAN, _Rest. dec. Ant._\n\n\n\n[Illustration: JOHN ROBY]\n\n\n\nTRADITIONS OF LANCASHIRE\n\nby\n\nJOHN ROBY, M.R.S.L.\n\nIllustrated by Engravings on Steel and Wood\n\nIn Two Volumes\n\nVOL. I.\n\nFifth Edition.\n\n\nLondon:\nGeorge Routledge and Sons,\nManchester: L.C. Gent.\n\n1872\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS OF VOLUME I.\n\n\nADVERTISEMENT TO FIFTH EDITION\n\nPUBLISHERS' PREFACE TO FOURTH EDITION\n\nMEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR\n\nPREFACE TO FIRST SERIES\n\nPREFACE TO SECOND SERIES\n\nINTRODUCTION TO SECOND SERIES\n\n\nTRADITIONS\n\nSIR TARQUIN\n\nTHE GOBLIN BUILDERS\n\nMAB'S CROSS\n\nTHE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH\n\nTHE EAGLE AND CHILD\n\nTHE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON\n\nFAIR ELLEN OF RADCLIFFE\n\nTHE ABBOT OF WHALLEY\n\nSIR EDWARD STANLEY\n\nGEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR\n\nDR DEE, THE ASTROLOGER\n\nTHE SEER\n\nTHE EARL OF TYRONE\n\nHOGHTON TOWER\n\nTHE LANCASHIRE WITCHES\n\nSIEGE OF LATHOM\n\nRAVEN CASTLE\n\nTHE PHANTOM VOICE\n\nTHE BAR-GAIST\n\nTHE HAUNTED MANOR-HOUSE\n\nCLITHEROE CASTLE\n\nTHE GREY MAN OF THE WOOD\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\nMAB'S CROSS, WIGAN\n\nBURSCOUGH ABBEY\n\nRADCLIFFE TOWER\n\nWHALLEY ABBEY\n\nHORNBY CASTLE\n\nCOLLEGIATE CHURCH, MANCHESTER\n\nTYRONE'S BED, NEAR ROCHDALE\n\nHOGHTON TOWER\n\nEAGLE CRAG, VALE OF TODMORDEN\n\nLATHOM HOUSE\n\nSOUTH PORT\n\nINCE-HALL, NEAR WIGAN\n\nCLITHEROE CASTLE\n\n\n\n\nADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIFTH EDITION.\n\n\nThe Fourth Edition of the \"TRADITIONS OF LANCASHIRE\" was published five\nyears ago, and the whole of the impression was ordered from the\npublishers before it had left the printers' hands. Owing to the\ndifficulty in obtaining copies, it has been suggested that a re-issue,\nin a cheap form, is a desideratum, and the present volumes are the\nresult. This is the only Complete Edition (except the Fourth, from which\nit is an unabridged reprint), of Roby's Traditions--several Legendary\nTales being incorporated which were not included in any of the earlier\ncopies of the work.\n\n_November_ 1871.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PUBLISHERS' PREFACE TO FOURTH EDITION.\n\n\nRoby's \"TRADITIONS OF LANCASHIRE\" having long been out of print--stray\ncopies commanding high prices--it has been determined to republish the\nwhole in a more compact and less costly form. This, the fourth and the\n_only complete edition_, includes the _First_ Series of twenty tales,\npublished in two volumes (1829, demy 8vo, L2, 2s.; royal 8vo, with\nproofs and etchings, L4, 4s.); the _Second_ Series, also of twenty\ntales, in two volumes (1831, 8vo, L2, 2s., &c.); and three additional\nstories from his _Legendary and Poetical Remains_, first published after\nhis death (1854, post 8vo, 10s. 6d.)[1] In the two volumes now presented\nthe reader will possess not only the whole of the contents of both\nseries, in four volumes, at one-fourth of the price of the original\npublication, but also three additional stories from the posthumous\nvolume, with a memoir, a portrait, &c.\n\nFrom deference to a strongly-expressed feeling that the work should be\nprinted without any abridgment, omission, or alteration, and the text\npreserved in its full integrity, it has been decided to reprint it\nentire; and consequently various inaccuracies in the original editions\nhave been left untouched. Two or three of the most important may be\ncorrected here.\n\nIn the tale of \"The Dead Man's Hand,\" Mr Roby seems to have been led by\nfalse information into some errors reflecting on the character and\nmemory of a devout and devoted Roman Catholic priest, known as Father\nArrowsmith. Mr Roby states that he was executed at Lancaster \"in the\nreign of William III.;\" that \"when about to suffer he desired his right\nhand might be cut off, assuring the bystanders that it would have power\nto work miraculous cures on those who had faith to believe in its\nefficacy,\" and, denying that Father Arrowsmith suffered on account of\nreligion, Mr Roby adds that \"having been found guilty of a misdemeanour,\nin all probability this story of his martyrdom and miraculous\nattestation to the truth of the cause for which he suffered, was\ncontrived for the purpose of preventing any scandal that might have\ncome upon the Church through the delinquency of an unworthy member.\"\n\nWhat, then, are the facts, as far as they have been investigated? The\nFather Edmund Arrowsmith who suffered death at Lancaster was born at\nHaydock in Lancashire[2] in 1585, and he suffered death in August 1628\n(4th Charles I.), sixty years before William III. ascended the English\nthrone. The mode of execution was not that of capital punishment for the\noffence committed, but rather that imposed by the laws for treason and\nfor exercising the functions of a Roman Catholic priest. He was hanged,\ndrawn, and quartered, and his head and quarters were fixed upon poles on\nLancaster Castle. It was in this dismemberment that the hand became\nseparated, and it was secretly carried away by some sorrowing member of\nhis communion, and its supposed curative power was afterwards discovered\nand made known.[3] Mr Roby cites no authority for this contradiction of\nthe original tradition. The judge who presided at the trial was Sir\nHenry Yelverton of the Common Pleas, who died on the 24th January 1629.\n\nIn the Tradition of \"The Dule upo' Dun,\" Mr Roby states that a\npublic-house having that sign stood at the entrance of a small village\non the right of the highway to Gisburn, and barely three miles from\nClitheroe. When Mr Roby wrote the public-house had been long pulled\ndown; it had ceased to be an inn at a period beyond living memory;\nthough the ancient house, converted into two mean, thatched cottages,\nstood until about forty years ago. But the site of the house is in\nClitheroe itself, little more than half a mile from the centre of the\ntown, and on the road, not to Gisburn, but to Waddington.[4]\n\nIt only remains to add that the illustrations to the present edition\ncomprise not only all the beautiful plates (engraved by Edward Finden,\nfrom drawings by George Pickering) of the original edition, which have\nbeen much admired as picturesque works of art, but also all the\nwood-engravings (by Williams, after designs by Frank Howard) which have\nappeared in any former edition, and which constituted the sole\nembellishments of the three-volume editions. To these is now first added\nthe fine portrait of Mr Roby from the posthumous volume.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] The First Series includes all the Traditions beginning with \"Sir\nTarquin\" and ending with \"The Haunted Manor-House;\" the Second Series\ncomprises all the Tales from \"Clitheroe Castle\" to \"Rivington Pike,\"\nboth included; and the three Tales now first incorporated are--\"Mother\nRed-Cap, or the Rosicrucians;\" \"The Death Painter, or the Skeleton's\nBride;\" and \"The Crystal Goblet.\"\n\n[2] His mother was a daughter of the old Lancashire family of Gerard of\nBryn.\n\n[3] These dates and facts will be found in the _Missionary Priests_ of\nBishop Challoner, who wrote about 1740 (2 vols. 8vo., Manchester,\n1741-2), naming as his authority a manuscript history of the trial, and\na printed account of it published in 1629. His statements are confirmed\nby independent testimony. See Henry More's _Historia-Provinciae Anglicaae\nSocietatis Jesu_, book x. (sm. fol. St Omer's, 1660). Also Tanner's\n_Societas Jesu_, &c., p. 99 (sm. fol. Prague, 1675). Neither Challoner\nnor the MS. account, nor either of the authors just quoted, says one\nword of Father Arrowsmith's alleged speech about the hand.\n\n[4] See Mr Wm. Dobson's _Rambles by the Ribble_, 1st Series, p. 137.\n\n\n\n\nMEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR.[5]\n\n\nThe late John Roby was born at Wigan on the 5th January 1793. From his\nfather, Nehemiah Roby, who was for many years Master of the\nGrammar-School at Haigh, near Wigan, he inherited a good constitution\nand unbended principles of honour and integrity. From the family of his\nmother, Mary Aspall, he derived the quick, impressible temperament of\ngenius, and the love of humour which so conspicuously marks the\nLancashire character. He was the youngest child. His thirst for\nknowledge was early and strongly manifested. Being once told in\nchildhood not to be so inquisitive, his appeal ever after was,\n\"_Inquisitive_ wants to know.\" As he grew up into boyhood, surrounded by\nobjects to which tradition had assigned her marvellous stories, they\nsank silently but indelibly into his mind. In his immediate vicinity\nwere Haigh Hall and Mab's Cross, the scenes of Lady Mabel's sufferings\nand penance--the subject of one of his earliest tales. Almost within\nsight of the windows lay the fine range of hills of which Rivington Pike\nis a spur. In after-life he recalled with pleasure the many sports in\nthat district which were the haunts of his early days, and the scenes of\nthe legends he afterwards embodied. While yet a child he regularly took\nthe organ in a chapel at Wigan during the Sunday service. He also early\nexcelled in drawing, and after he had commenced the avocations of a\nbanker the use of the pencil was a favourite recreation. His first prose\ncomposition, at the age of fifteen years, took a prize in a periodical\nfor the best essay on a prescribed subject, by young persons under a\nspecified age. Thus encouraged, poetry, essay, tale, were all tried, and\nwith success. In his eighteenth or nineteenth year he received a silver\nsnuff-box, inscribed, \"The gift of the Philosophic Society, Wigan, to\ntheir esteemed lecturer and worthy member.\"\n\nMr Roby first appeared before the public as a poet; publishing in 1815,\n\"Sir Bertram, a poem in six cantos.\" Another poem quickly followed,\nentitled \"Lorenzo, a tale of Redemption.\" In 1816, he married Ann, the\nyoungest daughter of James and Dorothy Bealey, of Derrikens, near\nBlackburn, by whom he had nine children, three of whom died in their\ninfancy. His next publication was \"The Duke of Mantua,\" a tragedy, which\nappeared in 1823, passed through three or four editions in a short time,\nand after being long out of print, was included in the posthumous volume\nof _Legendary Remains_. In the summer of that year he made an excursion\nin Scotland, visiting \"the bonnie braes o' Yarrow\" in company with James\nHogg, the Ettrick Shepherd. The literary leisure of the next six years\nwas occupied in collecting materials for the _Traditions of Lancashire_,\nand in weaving these into tales of romantic interest. In this task he\nreceived the most courteous assistance from several representatives of\nnoble houses connected with the traditions of the county; particularly\nfrom the late Earl and Countess of Crawford and Balcarres, and also from\nthe late Earl of Derby.\n\nThe _first_ series of _The Traditions of Lancashire_ appeared in 1829,\nin two volumes (including twenty tales), illustrated by plates. The\nreception of the work equalled Mr Roby's most sanguine expectations; and\na second edition was called for within twelve months. The late Sir\nFrancis Palgrave, in a letter to Mr Roby, dated 26th October 1829, thus\nestimates the work:--\n\n     \"As compositions, the extreme beauty of your style, and the skill\n     which you have shown in working up the rude materials, must entitle\n     them to the highest rank in the class of work to which they\n     belong.... You have made such a valuable addition, not only to\n     English literature, but to English topography, by your\n     collection--for these popular traditions form, or ought to form, an\n     important feature in topographical history--that it is to be hoped\n     you will not stop with the present volumes.\"\n\nThe _second_ series of the \"Traditions,\" consisting also of two volumes\n(including twenty tales), uniform with the first, was published in 1831,\nand met with similar success. Both series were reviewed in the most\ncordial manner by the leading periodicals of the day; while they were\nmore than once quoted by Sir Walter Scott, who characterised the whole\nas an elegant work. In the production of these tales, Mr Roby's practice\nwas to make himself master of the historical groundwork of the story,\nand as far as possible of the manners and customs of the period, and\nthen to commence composition, with Fosbroke's _Encyclopedia of\nAntiquities_ at hand, for accuracy of costume, &c. He always gave the\ncredit of his style, which the _Westminster Review_ termed \"a very model\nof good Saxon,\" to his native county, the force and energy of whose\ndialect arises mainly from the prevalence of the Teutonic element. \"The\nthought digs out the word,\" was his favourite saying, when the exact\nexpression he wanted did not at once occur. In these \"Traditions\" his\ngreat creative power is conspicuous; about two hundred different\ncharacters are introduced, no one of which reminds the reader of\nanother, while there is abundant diversity of both heroic and comic\nincident and adventure. A gentleman, after reading the \"Traditions,\"\nremarked that for invention he scarcely knew Mr Roby's equal. All these\ncharacters, it should be stated, are creations: not one is an idealised\nportrait. The short vivid descriptions of scenery scattered throughout\nare admirable. Each tale is, in fact, a cabinet picture, combining\nhistory and romance with landscape. Mr Roby excelled in depicting the\nsupernatural; and one German reviewer declared his story of Rivington\nPike to be \"the only authentic tale of demoniacal possession the English\nhave.\"\n\nIn 1832, Mr Roby visited the English lakes, and recorded his impressions\nin lively sketches both with pen and pencil. In the spring of 1837, he\nmade a rapid tour on the Continent, the notes and illustrative sketches\nof which were published in two volumes, under the title of _Seven Weeks\nin Belgium, Switzerland, Lombardy, Piedmont, Savoy, &c._ In 1840, Mr\nRoby again visited the Continent by a different route, making notes and\nsketches of what he saw. At the close of the year, he was engaged in\npreparing a new edition of the \"Traditions,\" in a less expensive form.\nIt was published in three volumes, as the first of a series of Popular\nTraditions of England; his intention being to follow up those of\nLancashire with similar legends of Yorkshire, for which he wrote a few\ntales, which appeared in Blackwood's and Eraser's Magazines.\n\nThe principal literary occupation of the next four years appears to have\nbeen the preparation and delivery of lectures on various subjects in\nconnection with literary and mechanics' institutions. In 1844, his\nhealth gave way, and for years he suffered severely. As a last resource\nhe tried the water-cure at Malvern in the spring of 1847, and with\ncomplete success. In the summer of 1849, he again married--the lady who\nsurvived him, and to whose \"sketch of his life\" we are largely indebted\nin this brief memoir. In the two short years following this\nmarriage--the two last of his life--he was busily engaged in writing and\ndelivering lectures, visiting places which form the scenes of some of\nhis latest legends, and in the composition of a series of tales intended\nto illustrate the influence of Christianity in successive periods, a\ncentury apart. Deferring that for the fourth century, he wrote six,\nbringing the series down to the close of the seventh century; when he\ndetermined on visiting Scotland. With his wife and daughter he embarked\nat Liverpool on board the steamer _Orion_ for Glasgow, which ill-fated\nvessel struck on some rocks about one o'clock in the morning of the 18th\nJune 1850, and went down. Mrs and Miss Roby were rescued after having\nbeen some time in the water, but of the husband and father only the\ncorpse was recovered, and his remains were laid in his family grave in\nthe burial-ground of the Independent Chapel, Rochdale, on Saturday, the\n22d of that month.\n\nMr Roby was not more remarkable for his numerous and varied talents than\nfor his warm and affectionate heart, rich imagination, great love of\nhumour, and deep and earnest piety. He was a facile versifier, an\nelegant prose writer, an able botanist and physiologist. Possessing a\nfine ear, rich voice, and great musical taste, he not only took his\nvocal share in part-song, but wrote several melodies, which have been\npublished. In one species of rapid mental calculation, or rather\ncombination of figures--giving in an instant the sum of a double column\nof twenty figures in each row, or a square of six figures--he far\nexcelled Bidder, the calculating boy. He was a skilful draughtsman, a\nclever mimic and ventriloquist, an excellent _raconteur_, an\naccomplished conversationist, ever fascinating in the select social\ncircle, and always \"tender and wise\" in that of home. He was a man of\ngenuine benevolence, a cordial friend, an affectionate husband and\nfather, and a humble and devout Christian. His family crest was a garb\nor wheat-sheaf, with the motto, \"I am ready;\" and in his case--though\nhis death was sudden and unexpected--illness and bereavement, mental and\nphysical suffering--in short, the chastenings and discipline of life,\nhad done their work. His \"sheaf\" was \"ready for the garner.\"\n\n_October_ 1866.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[5] This Memoir has been almost wholly derived from the \"Sketch of the\nLiterary Life and Character of John Roby,\" written by his widow, and\noccupying 117 pages of the posthumous volume of his _Legendary and\nPoetical Remains_.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO THE FIRST SERIES.\n\n\nA preface is rarely needed, generally intrusive, and always\ntiresome--seldom read, more seldom desiderated: a piece of egotism at\nbest, where the author, speaking of himself, has the less chance of\nbeing listened to. Yet--and what speaker does not think he ought to be\nheard?--the author conceives there may be some necessity, some reason,\nwhy he should step forward for the purpose of explaining his views in\nconnection with the character and design of the following pages.\n\nIn the northern counties, and more particularly in Lancashire, the great\narena of the STANLEYS during the civil wars--where the progress and\nsuccessful issue of his cause was but too confidently anticipated by\nCHARLES STUART, and the scene especially of those strange and unholy\nproceedings in which the \"Lancashire witches\" rendered themselves so\nfamous--it may readily be imagined that a number of interesting legends,\nanecdotes, and scraps of family history, are floating about, hitherto\npreserved chiefly in the shape of oral tradition. The antiquary, in most\ninstances, rejects the information that does not present itself in the\nform of an authentic and well-attested fact; and legendary lore, in\nparticular, he throws aside as worthless and unprofitable. The author of\nthe \"TRADITIONS OF LANCASHIRE,\" in leaving the dry and heraldic\npedigrees which unfortunately constitute the great bulk of those works\nthat bear the name of county histories, enters on the more entertaining,\nthough sometimes apocryphal narratives, which exemplify and embellish\nthe records of our forefathers.\n\nA native of Lancashire, and residing there during the greater part of\nhis life, he has been enabled to collect a mass of local traditions, now\nfast dying from the memories of the inhabitants. It is his object to\nperpetuate these interesting relics of the past, and to present them in\na form that may be generally acceptable, divested of the dust and dross\nin which the originals are but too often disfigured, so as to appear\nworthless and uninviting.\n\nTradition is not an unacceptable source of historical inquiry; and the\nwriter who disdains to follow these glimmerings of truth will often find\nhimself in the dark, with nothing but his own opinions--the smouldering\nvapour of his own imagination--to guide him in the search.\n\nThe following extract from a German writer on the subject sufficiently\nexemplifies and illustrates the design the author has generally had\nbefore him in the composition and arrangement of the following\nlegends:--\n\n\"Simple and unimportant as the subject may at first appear, it will be\nfound, upon a nearer view, well worth the attention of philosophical and\nhistorical inquirers. All genuine, popular Tales, arranged with local\nand national reference, cannot fail to throw light upon contemporary\nevents in history, upon the progressive cultivation of society, and\nupon the prevailing modes of thinking in every age. Though not\nconsisting of a recital of bare facts, they are in most instances\nfounded upon fact, and in so far connected with history, which\noccasionally, indeed, borrows from, and as often reflects light upon,\nthese familiar annals, these more private and interesting casualties of\nhuman life.\n\n\"It is thus that popular tradition, connected with all that is most\ninteresting in human history and human action, upon a national scale--a\nmirror reflecting the people's past worth and wisdom--invariably\npossesses so deep a hold upon its affections, and offers so many\ninstructive hints to the man of the world, to the statesman, the\ncitizen, and the peasant.\n\n\"Signs of approaching changes, no less in manners than in states, may\nlikewise be traced, floating down this popular current of opinions,\nfertilising the seeds scattered by a past generation, and marking by its\nebbs and flows the state of the political atmosphere, and the distant\ngathering of the storm.\n\n\"National traditions further serve to throw light upon ancient and\nmodern mythology; and in many instances they are known to preserve\ntraces of their fabulous descent, as will clearly appear in some of the\nfollowing selections. It is the same with those of all nations, whether\nof eastern or western origin, Greek, Scythian, or Kamtschatkan. And\nhence, among every people just emerged out of a state of barbarism, the\nsame causes lead to the production of similar compositions; and a chain\nof connection is thus established between the fables of different\nnations, only varied by clime and custom, sufficient to prove, not\nmerely a degree of harmony, but secret interchanges and communications.\"\n\nA record of the freaks of such airy beings, glancing through the mists\nof national superstition, would prove little inferior in poetical\ninterest and association to the fanciful creations of the Greek\nmythology. The truth is, they are of one family, and we often discover\nallusions to the beautiful fable of Psyche or the story of Midas;\nsometimes with the addition, that the latter was obliged to admit his\nbarber into his uncomfortable secret. Odin and Jupiter are brothers, if\nnot the same person; and the northern Hercules is often represented as\ndrawing a strong man by almost invisible threads, which pass from his\ntongue round the limbs of the victim, thereby symbolising the power of\neloquence. Several incidents in the following tales will be recognised\nby those conversant with Scandinavian literature, thus adding another\nlink to the chain of certainty which unites the human race, or at any\nrate that part of it from which Europe was originally peopled, in one\noriginal tribe or family.\n\nA work of this nature, embodying the material of our own island\ntraditions, has not yet been attempted; and the writer confidently hopes\nthat these tales may be found fully capable of awakening and sustaining\nthe peculiar and high-wrought interest inherent in the legends of our\ncontinental neighbours. Should they fail of producing this effect, he\nrequests that it may be attributed rather to his want of power to\nconjure up the spirits of past ages, than to any want of capabilities in\nthe subjects he has chosen to introduce.\n\nTo the local and to the general reader--to the antiquary and the\nuninitiated--to the admirers of the fine arts and embellishments of our\nliterature, he hopes his labours will prove acceptable; and should the\nplan succeed, not Lancashire alone, but the other counties, may in their\nturn become the subject of similar illustrations. The tales are arranged\nchronologically, forming a somewhat irregular series from the earliest\nrecords to those of a comparatively modern date. They may in point of\nstyle appear at the commencement stiff and stalwart, like the chiselled\nwarriors, whose deeds are generally enveloped in a rude narrative, hard\nand ponderous as their gaunt and grisly effigies. The events, however,\nas the author has found them, gradually assimilate with the familiar\naspects and everyday affections of our nature--subsiding from the stern\nand repulsive character of a barbarous age into the usual forms and\nmodes of feeling incident to humanity--as some cold and barren region,\nwhere one stunted blade of affection can scarce find shelter, gradually\nopens Out into the quiet glades and lowly habitudes of ordinary\nexistence.\n\nThe author disclaims all pretensions to superior knowledge. He would not\neven arrogate to himself the name of antiquary. Some of the incidents\nare perhaps well known, being merely put into a novel and more popular\nshape. The spectator is here placed upon an eminence where the scenes\nassume a new aspect, new combinations of beauty and grandeur being the\nresult of the vantage ground he has obtained. Nothing more is attempted\nthan what others, with the same opportunities, might have done as\nwell--perhaps better. When Columbus broke the egg--if we may be excused\nthe arrogance of the simile--all that were present could have done the\nsame; and some, no doubt, might have performed the operation more\ndexterously.\n\n_1st October_ 1829.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO THE SECOND SERIES.\n\n\nIn presenting another and concluding series of Lancashire Traditions to\nthe public, the author has to express his thanks for the indulgence he\nhas received, and the spirit of candour and kindness with which this\nattempt to illustrate in a novel manner the legends of his native county\nhas been viewed by the periodical press.\n\nTo his numerous readers, in the capacity of an author, he would say\nFarewell, did not the \"everlasting adieus,\" everlastingly repeated, warn\nhim that he might at some future time be subject to the same infirmity,\nonly rendered more conspicuous by weakness and irresolution.\n\nRochdale, _October_ 1831.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION TO THE SECOND SERIES.\n\n\nNo method has yet been discovered for preserving the recollection of\nhuman actions and events precisely as they have occurred, whole and\nunimpaired, in all their truth and reality. Time is an able teacher of\ncauses and qualities, but he setteth little store by names and persons,\nor the mould and fashion of their deeds. The pyramids have outlived the\nvery names of their builders. \"Oblivion,\" says Sir Thomas Browne,\n\"blindly scatters her poppies. Time has spared the epitaph of Adrian's\nhorse--confounded that of himself!\"\n\nFew things are so durable as the memory of those mischiefs and\noppressions which Time has bequeathed to mankind. The names of\nconquerors and tyrants have been faithfully preserved, while those from\nwhom have originated the most useful and beneficial discoveries are\nentirely unknown, or left to perish in darkness and uncertainty. We\nshould not have known that Lucullus brought cherries from the banks of\nthe Phasis but through the details of massacre and spoliation--the\nsplendid barbarities of a Roman triumph. In some instances Time displays\na fondness and a caprice in which the gloomiest tyranny is seen\noccasionally to indulge. The unlettered Arab cherishes the memory of his\nline. He traces it unerringly to a remoter origin than could be claimed\nor identified by the most ancient princes of Europe. In many instances\nhe could give a clearer and a higher genealogy to his horse. But that\nwhich Time herself would spare, the critic and the historian would\ndemolish. The northern barbarians are accused of an exterminating\nhostility to learning. It never was half so bitter as the warfare which\nlearning displays against everything of which she herself is not the\nauthor. A living historian has denied that the poems of Ossian had any\nexistence save in the conceptions of Macpherson, because he\ncondescendingly informs us, \"Before the invention or introduction of\nletters, human memory is incapable of any faithful record which may be\ntransmitted from age to age.\"\n\nThe account which Macpherson gave may be a fiction, but it is admitted\nby those who know the native Scotch and Irish tongues, and have dwelt\nwhere no other language is spoken, that there are poems which have been\ntransmitted from generation to generation (orally it must be, since\nletters are either entirely unknown or are comparatively of recent\nintroduction), the machinery of which prove them to have been invented\nabout the time when Christianity was first preached in these islands.\n\nTradition may well be named the eldest daughter of Time, and\nnursing-mother of the Muses--the fruitful parent of that very learning\nwhich would, in the cruel spirit of its pedantry and malice, make her\nthe sacrifice while it lays claim to the inheritance. What is learning\nbut a laborious, often ill-drawn, and almost invariably partial\ndeduction from facts which tradition has first collected? When we\nconsider in whose hands learning has been, almost ever since its\ncreation; the uses which have been made of it by priests and\npoliticians; by poets, orators, and flatterers; by controversialists and\ndesigning historians;--how commonly has it been perverted to abuse the\nvery senses of mankind, and to give a bias to their thoughts and\nfeelings, only to mislead and to betray! Let the evidence be well\ncompared, and a view taken of the respective amounts of doubt and\ncertainty which appertain to human history as it appears in written\nrecords; and it will be seen that, to verify any given fact, so as to\nprevent the possibility of doubt, we must throw aside our reverence for\nthe scholar's pen and the midnight lamp, which seem, like the faculty of\nspeech, only given to men, as the witty Frenchman observed, \"to conceal\ntheir thoughts.\" This comparative process is precisely what has been\nadopted by M.L. Petit Radel in his new theory upon the origin of Greece.\n\"Not satisfied with the mythological equivocation and contradictory\nstatements which till now have perplexed the question, after a residence\nof ten years this learned man returns with a new theory, which would\ndestroy all our received ideas, and carry the civilisation and cradle of\nthe Greeks much beyond the time and place that have till now been\nsupposed. It is their very architecture that M. Petit Radel\ninterrogates, and its passive testimony serves as a basis to his system.\nHe has visited, compared, and meditated on the unequivocal vestiges of\nmore than one hundred and fifty antique citadels, altogether neglected\nby the Greek and Roman authors. Their form and construction serve him,\nwith the aid of ingenious reasoning, to prove that Greece was civilised\na long time before the arrival of the Egyptian colonies. He does not\ndespair of tracing back the descent of the Greeks to the Hyperborean\nnations, always by the analogy of their structures, which, by a singular\nidentity, are found also among the Phoenicians. The Institute have\npronounced the following judgment upon his theory:--'If the developments\nwhich remain to be given to us suffice to gain the votes of the learned,\nand induce them to adopt this theory as demonstrated truth, M.L. Petit\nRadel may flatter himself with having made in history a discovery truly\nworthy to occupy a place in the progress of human genius.'\"\n\nThus the very time in which a living historian of England has chosen to\ninflict an impotent blow, from the leaden sceptre of Johnsonian\ncriticism, upon all facts which claim an existence anterior to the\ninvention of books, appears pregnant with a discovery of a method of\ninvestigating the most remote eras, which presupposes an inherent spirit\nof fallacy and falsehood in all written records of their existence.\n\nAbout three hundred years after the era of the Olympiads, the first date\nof authentic history, Herodotus astonished his countrymen by the\nwritings he brought forth. Who kept the records out of which his work\nwas elaborated ere he was ready to stamp the facts with the only seal\nwhich our modern historians will acknowledge or allow? Tradition\ndoubtless was his guide, which the learned themselves complain of as the\nsource of what they term his errors and his fables. But the voice of\ntradition has often reinstated his claims to our belief, where it had\nbeen suspended either by ignorance or pretensions to superior knowledge.\nA modern traveller found, in one of the isles of the Grecian\nArchipelago, undoubted vestiges of a state of society similar to that of\nthe Amazons. The order of the sexes was wholly inverted. The wife ruled\nthe husband, and his and her kindred, with uncontrolled and unsparing\nrigour, sanctioned and even commanded by the laws. Yet the very\nexistence of any such people as the Amazons of ancient history has not\nonly been questioned, but denied. Learning has proved it to be\nimpossible.\n\nThe Marquess of Hastings told the Rev. Mr Swan, chaplain of the\nCambrian, that he had found the germ of fact from which many of the most\nincredible tales in ancient history had grown during his stay in India.\nOne instance only we would relate. A Grecian author mentions a people\nwho had only one leg. An embassy from the interior was conducted into\nthe presence of the viceroy, and he could by no persuasion prevail upon\nthe obsequious minister to use more than one of his legs, though he\nstood during the whole of a protracted audience.\n\nBut there are other forces now drawing into the field to support the\nlong-neglected claims of tradition. Etymology, which professed to settle\ndoubts by an appeal to the elementary sounds of words, was banished from\nthe politer and more influential circles of English learning by a decree\nas arbitrary as that pronounced on the poems of Ossian. It has come back\nwith a new commission and under a new title;--Ethnography is the name\ngiven by our continental neighbours to this new science, which, in its\nfuture developments, may bring to light some of the most obscure and\nimportant circumstances affecting the human race, from its origin\nthrough every succeeding epoch of its existence. The distinguishing\nobject of this inquiry is to identify the fortunes, migrations, and\nchanges of the human family as to situation, policy, religion,\nagriculture, and arts, by comparing the terms supplied by or introduced\ninto the language of any one country with the names of the same objects\nin every other. There would be no such thing as chance in nature could\nwe know the laws which determine every separate accident. In like manner\nthere will scarcely be any doubt respecting the primitive history of man\nwhen this new science shall have accumulated and revealed all the\ntreasures which it may be enabled to appropriate. An agreement in the\nprimitive term which any object of cultivation, physical or moral, bears\namong many different tribes, spread over many and far-distant regions,\nwill be considered as the best evidence of one common origin.\nDisagreement in a similar case, accompanied with a great variety of\nterms of considerable dissonance, will be equally conclusive as to the\nobject being indigenous or of a multifarious origin.\n\nAlready has Balbi, in his Ethnographic Atlas, given us a list of names\nand coincidences to an extent truly astonishing. Yet what is this, in\nfact, but a judicious use of Bacon's old but much-neglected rule of\nquestioning nature about facts instead of theories--examining evidences\nere rhetoric had made language one vast heap of implied falsehood?\n\nIn a court of inquiry we examine witnesses as to facts, not opinions.\nBut the historian reads mankind in cities; the philosopher in the\nclouds. He who is anxious for the truth should look abroad on the plains\nor in the woods, where man's first prerogative, the giving of names, was\nexercised. His knowledge of nature must be wretchedly imperfect who\nthinks that no grand outline of truth can possibly exist in the dim\nrecords of human recollection ere the pen of the scholar was employed to\ndepict the scenes that opinion or prejudice had created. How many pages\nof Clarendon's, Hume's, or even Robertson's history would be cancelled\nif we had access to all the recollections of each event, and the\nevidence of the unlettered vulgar who had witnessed the fact brought to\nour notice, even through the mouthpiece of tradition!\n\nThere is more truth than comes to the surface in that speech put into\nthe lips of the father of lies by a late poet, where he says--\n\n     \"The Bible's your book--history mine.\"\n\nSavigny makes the same charge against one class of historians in his own\ncountry:--\"However discordant,\" says he, \"their other doctrines may\nappear, they agree in the practice of adopting each a particular system,\nand in viewing all historical evidence as so many proofs of its truth.\"\n\nWere it not for that contempt we have already noticed as the offspring\nof pride and dogmatism, and which, in the administration of the republic\nof letters, has been entertained and openly proclaimed for every kind of\nhistory except that which its own acts may have originated, we should\nhave been in possession of thousands of facts and notions now overlaid\nand lost irrecoverably to the philosopher and the historian.\n\nThe origin and the progress of nations, next after the school divinity\nof the Middle Ages, has occasioned the most copious outpouring of\nconjectural criticism. The simple mode of research suggested by the\nworks of Verstegan, Camden, and Spelman would, long before this time,\nhave made the early history of the British tribes as clear as it is now\nobscure. Analogies in the primary sounds of each dialect; similarity or\ndifference in regard to objects of the first, or of a common necessity;\nrules or laws for the succession of property, which are as various as\nthe tribes which overran the empire; the nature, agreement, or\ndissimilarity in religious worship with those vestiges of its ritual and\ncelebration which, by the \"pious frauds\" and connivance of the early\nchurch, still lurk in the pastimes of our rural districts:--the new\nscience of which we have spoken, by taking cognisance of these and all\nother existing sources of legitimate investigation, will settle the\nsource and affinities of nations upon a plan as much superior to that of\nGrotius and his school as fact and reason exceed the guess-work of the\ntheorist and the historian. Meantime we would cite a few examples that\nillustrate and bear more particularly on the subject to which our\ninquiries have been directed.\n\nNothing seems at first sight more difficult than to establish a\ncommunity of origin between the gods of Olympus and those of the\nScandinavian mythology. The attempt has often been made, and each time\nwith increased success. Observe the process adopted in this interesting\ninquiry.\n\n\"Every country in Europe has invested its popular fictions with the\nsame common marvels--all acknowledge the agency of the lifeless\nproductions of nature; the intervention of the same supernatural\nmachinery; the existence of elves, fairies, dwarfs, giants, witches, and\nenchanters; the use of spells, charms, and amulets, and all those\nhighly-gifted objects, of whatever form or name, whose attributes refute\nevery principle of human experience, which are to conceal the\npossessor's person, annihilate the bounds of space, or command a\ngratification of all our wishes. These are the constantly-recurring\ntypes which embellish the popular tale: which have been transferred to\nthe more laboured pages of romance; and which, far from owing their\nfirst appearance in Europe to the Arabic conquest of Spain, or the\nmigrations of Odin to Scandinavia, are known to have been current on its\neastern verge long anterior to the era of legitimate history. The\nNereids of antiquity, the daughters of the 'sea-born seer,' are\nevidently the same with the mermaids of the British and northern shores.\nThe inhabitants of both are fixed in crystal caves or coral palaces\nbeneath the waters of the ocean; they are alike distinguished for their\npartialities to the human race, and their prophetic powers in disclosing\nthe events of futurity. The Naiads differ only in name from the Nixen of\nGermany and Scandinavia (Nisser), or the water-elves of our countrymen.\nAElfric and the Nornae, who wove the web of life, and sang the fortunes of\nthe illustrious Helga, are but the same companions who attended Ilithyia\nat the births of Iamos and Hercules,\" the venerable Parcae of antiquity.\n\nThe Russian Rusalkis are of the same family. The man-in-the-moon has\nfound a circulation throughout the world. \"The clash of elements in the\nthunder-storm was ascribed in Hellas to the rolling chariot-wheels of\nJove, and in the Scandinavian mythology to the ponderous waggon of the\nNorwegian Thor.\"\n\nTo the above extract, which is taken from the excellent preface by the\neditor to Wharton's _History of English Poetry_, may be added the number\nof high peaks bearing the name of Tor or Thor, seen more especially on\nboth coasts of Devonshire, and which are supposed to signalise the\nplaces of his worship.[6] From the same source may be derived affinities\nequally strong between the Highland Urisks, the Russian Leschies, the\nPomeranian or Wendish Berstucs, and the Panes and Panisci who presided\nover the fields and forests of Arcadia. The mountains of Germany and\nScandinavia are under the governance of a set of metallurgic divinities,\nwho agree with the Cabiri, Hephaesti, Telchines, and Idaean Dactyli. The\nBrownies and Fairies are of the same kindred as the Lares of Latium.\n\"The English Puck, the Scottish Bogle, the French Esprit Follet, or\nGoblin, the Gobelinus of monkish Latinity, and the German Kobold, are\nonly varied names for the Grecian Kobalus, whose sole delight consisted\nin perplexing the human race, and calling up those harmless terrors that\nconstantly hover round the minds of the timid.\" \"The English and\nScottish terms, '_Puck,' 'Bogle'_, are the same as the German 'Spuk' and\nthe Danish 'Spogelse,' without the sibilant aspiration. These words are\ngeneral names for any kind of spirit, and correspond to the 'pouk' of\nPiers Ploughman. In Danish 'spog' means a joke, trick, or prank, and\nhence the character of Robin Goodfellow. In Iceland Puki is regarded as\nan evil sprite; and in the language of that country, 'at pukra' means\nboth to make a murmuring noise and to steal clandestinely. The names of\nthese spirits seem to have originated in their boisterous\ntemper--'spuken,' Germ. to make a noise: 'spog,' Dan. obstreperous\nmirth; 'pukke,' Dan. to boast, scold. The Germans use 'pochin' in the\nsame figurative sense, though literally it means to strike, beat; and is\nthe same with our _poke_.\"\n\nHowever varied in name, the persons and attributes of these immaterial\nbeings have no variance which will not readily be accounted for by the\ndifference of climate, territorial surface, and any priority that one\ntribe had gained over another in the march of mind. The relics of such a\nsystem were much more abundant half-a-century ago, and many a tale of\nlove and violence, garnished with the machinery of that _mythos_, might\nhave been gleaned from the unwritten learning of the people. Who would\nexpect to find amongst the rudest of the Irish peasantry--whose\nancestors never knew the use of letters, and by whom, even down to\nliving generations, the English tongue has not been spoken--a number of\nfictions, amongst the rest the tale of Cupid and Psyche--closely\ncorresponding to that of the Greeks?[7] Who that has been a child does\nnot recollect the untiring delight with which he listened to those\ningenious arithmetical progressions, reduced to poetry, called \"_The\nHouse that Jack built_,\" and the perils of \"_The Old Woman with the\nPig_?\" Few even of those in riper years would suspect their Eastern\norigin. In the _Sepher Haggadah_ there is an ancient parabolical hymn,\nin the Chaldee language, sung by the Jews at the feast of the Passover,\nand commemorative of the principal events in the history of that people.\nFor the following literal translation we are indebted to Dr Henderson,\nthe celebrated orientalist:--\n\n    \"1. _A kid, a kid_ my father bought,\n        For two pieces of money.\n                                             A kid, a kid.\n\n    \"2. Then came _the cat_, and ate the kid,\n        That my father bought,\n        For two pieces of money.\n                                             A kid, a kid.\n\n    \"3. Then came _the dog_, and bit the cat,\n        That ate the kid,\n        That my father bought,\n        For two pieces of money.\n                                             A kid, a kid.\n\n    \"4. Then came _the staff_, and beat the dog,\n        That bit the cat,\n        That ate the kid,\n        That my father bought,\n        For two pieces of money.\n                                             A kid, a kid.\n\n    \"5. Then came _the fire_, and burnt the staff,\n        That beat the dog,\n        That bit the cat,\n        That ate the kid,\n        That my father bought,\n        For two pieces of money.\n                                             A kid, a kid.\n\n    \"6. Then came _the water_, and quenched the fire,\n        That burnt the staff,\n        That beat the dog,\n        That bit the cat,\n        That ate the kid,\n        That my father bought,\n        For two pieces of money.\n                                             A kid, a kid.\n\n    \"7. Then came _the ox_, and drank the water,\n        That quenched the fire,\n        That burnt the staff,\n        That beat the dog,\n        That bit the cat,\n        That ate the kid,\n        That my father bought,\n        For two pieces of money.\n                                             A kid, a kid.\n\n    \"8. Then came _the butcher_, and slew the ox,\n        That drank the water,\n        That quenched the fire,\n        That burnt the staff,\n        That beat the dog,\n        That bit the cat,\n        That ate the kid,\n        That my father bought,\n        For two pieces of money,\n                                             A kid, a kid.\n\n    \"9. Then came _the angel of death_, and killed the butcher,\n        That slew the ox.\n        That drank the water,\n        That quenched the fire,\n        That burnt the staff,\n        That beat the dog,\n        That bit the cat,\n        That ate the kid,\n        That my father bought,\n        For two pieces of money.\n                                             A kid, a kid.\n\n    \"10. Then came _the Holy One_, blessed be He!\n         And killed the angel of death,\n         That killed the butcher,\n    That slew the ox,\n         That drank the water,\n         That quenched the fire,\n         That burnt the staff,\n         That beat the dog,\n         That bit the cat,\n         That ate the kid,\n         That my father bought,\n         For two pieces of money.\n                                             A kid, a kid.\"\n\nThe following is the interpretation by P.N. Leberecht, Leipzig, 1731.\n\n\"1.--The kid, which was one of the pure animals, denotes the Hebrews.\n\n\"The father, by whom it was purchased, is Jehovah, who represents\nhimself as sustaining this relation to the Hebrew people.\n\n\"The two pieces of money signify Moses and Aaron, through whose\nmediation the Hebrews were brought out of Egypt.\n\n\"2.--The cat denotes the Assyrians, by whom the ten tribes were carried\ninto captivity.\n\n\"3.--The dog is symbolical of the Babylonians.\n\n\"4.--The staff signifies the Persians.\n\n\"5.--The fire indicates the Grecian empire under Alexander the Great.\n\n\"6.--The water betokens the Roman, or the fourth of the great monarchies\nto whose dominion the Jews were subjected.\n\n\"7--- The ox is a symbol of the Saracens, who subdued Palestine, and\nbrought it under the caliphate.\n\n\"8.--The butcher that killed the ox denotes the Crusaders, by whom the\nHoly Land was wrested out of the hands of the Saracens.\n\n\"9.--The angel of death signifies the Turkish power, by which the land\nof Palestine was taken from the Franks, and to which it is still\nsubject.\n\n\"10.--The commencement of the tenth stanza is designed to show that God\nwill take signal vengeance on the Turks, immediately after whose\noverthrow the Jews are to be restored to their own land, and live under\nthe government of their long-expected Messiah.\"\n\nTo return to illustrations less remote, and of a more familiar nature:--\n\nAn ill-bred. Londoner calls a shilling a _hog_, and half-a-crown a\n_bull_. He little knows what havoc he is making with our modern\ntheorists, who assert that nothing is worthy of belief, or ought to be\nrelied upon, before the era of \"legitimate\" or written \"history.\" These\nterms corroborate and identify themselves with the most ancient of\ntraditionary customs, long ere princes had monopolised the surface of\ncoined money with their own images and superscriptions. They are\nidentical with the very name of money among the early Romans, which was\n_pecunia_, from _pecus_, a flock. Among the same people, it is well\nknown, the word _stipulatio_ signified the striking of a bargain, which\nwas done by placing two straws, _stipes_, one across the other. The same\nmode is practised to this day in the Isle of Man, existing, in all\nprobability, from a period earlier than the foundation of Rome itself.\nIs the coincidence accidental or traditional? If the latter, what a\nhistory it tells of the migration of the species!\n\nHow much might be written of amulets, cups, and horns of magical power,\nfrom the divining cup of Genesis to the Amalthean horns, and the goblet\nof Oberon, which he gave to Huon of Bordeaux, the supernatural power of\nwhich, passing into an hundred shapes of fiction, may be found in our\nbaronial halls--a pledge, to a certain extent, like the invulnerability\nof Achilles, of the good fortune of its possessor. It is wonderful that\nShakespeare, who is so happy in the verisimilitude of his fairy lore,\nand so apt to embellish his plot with its mythology, should not have\nthought of causing the king-making Earl of Warwick to lose the horn of\nthat prodigious cow--no doubt one of those guardian pledges bestowed\nupon his family--by way of presage to his fall. Deer's antlers, there\ncan be little doubt, were placed in the halls of our forefathers, a\nvotive offering to the Diana of the Scandinavian Pantheon; as it was the\ncustom in like manner to ornament the temples with the heads of\nsacrificial victims in the Greek and Roman worship. The eagerness of our\nsportsmen for the \"brush,\" as the first trophy in the chase, has in all\nprobability originated from the same propitiatory notion.\n\nFew would expect to meet with fragments of the worship of Juno in the\nracing of country girls for an inner garment, and the hunting of the pig\nwith his tail greased; yet practised, but rapidly becoming obsolete, in\nwakes and other pastimes from Scotland to the Land's End.\n\nThus far we have examined tradition by the test of positive experience.\nThere is still a gleaning of poetry which might be culled, in some few\ndistricts, from the \"lyre of the unlettered muse.\" There are songs\nscattered up and down our own and the neighbouring counties among the\npopulation least affected by the spread of literature which are of great\nantiquity, and are not to be found in any books or writings now extant.\nA few of these might be gathered in; while to some, who love the tone\nand humour of the old ballads, they would be an acquisition of great\nvalue. But the intercourse between master and man, between town and\ncountry, and even amongst the learned themselves, becomes so cold and\nrepulsive, either from increasing refinement or reserve, that there\nseems little hope of our finding any one who will take the trouble to\ncollect them, or a sufficient number of real admirers of these relics\nwho would come forward to ensure a suitable reward for the labour. We\nare sorely disgraced among foreigners for inattention to the course and\nprogress of our own learning. No work exists, like those which\nillustrate and embellish the French, Italian, and German literature,\nwhich professes to give a summary view of its history. The knowledge of\nits antiquities, its customs, manners, laws, modes of feeling, and\npursuits, except in the instances before mentioned, and a few other\npraiseworthy exceptions, have been shamefully obscured by an eagerness\nfor supporting a system, the ridiculous rivalry of pretence, and by the\ndiscredit thrown upon such labours by modern pedantry. A new version of\nCamden, rectified by all the discoveries subsequent to his time;--that\nwhich is found useless or erroneous left out, and the work enlightened\nby new researches, entered into by a number of inquirers equal in all\nrespects to the task, and exerted over every part of the country, would\nvery much aid the cause of learning and the future progress of our\nknowledge.\n\nThe following traditions, we would fain hope, will not be found quite\ndestitute of utility. They are some addition to our existing stock of\nknowledge, either as illustrating English history, manners, and customs\nnow obsolete, or as a collection of legends, having truth for their\nbasis, however disfigured in their transmission through various\nmodifications of error, the natural obscurity arising from distance, and\nthe distorted media through which they must necessarily be viewed.\nPerhaps a main source of this inaccuracy arises from the many and\nheterogeneous uses to which the breakings up, the fragments of tradition\nhave been subjected and applied. Like those detached yet beautiful\nremnants of antiquity, built up with other and absolutely worthless\nmaterials in the rude structures of the barbarian by whom they have been\ndisfigured, traditions are generally presented to us torn from their\noriginal connection with edifices once renowned for beauty and\nmagnificence. It is our wish, as it has been our aim, to rescue these\nruins from degradation and decay. Gathered from many an uninviting heap\nof chaotic matter, they are now presented in a different form, and under\na more popular aspect. We cannot pretend to say that we have invariably\nassigned to them their true origin, or that their real character and\nposition have been ascertained. Still, we would hope, that, as relics of\nthe past rescued from the oblivion to which they were inevitably\nhastening, they are not either an uninteresting or inelegant addition to\nthe literature of our country.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[6] \"They worshipped fire as the representative of the Deity,\nwhich they kept continually burning on the tops of their highest\nmountains.\"--_Foreign Quarterly Review_, No. XV.: Art. \"Popular Poetry,\"\np. 77.\n\n[7] That Ireland has not always presented so degrading and uncivilised\nan aspect as now exists in that unhappy country, there is abundant\ntestimony to convince the most incredulous. Camden, an author by no\nmeans partial on this score, says:--\"The Irish scholars of St. Patrick\nprofited so notably in Christianity that, in the succeeding age, Ireland\nwas termed '_Sanctorum Patria_.'\" Their monks so excelled in learning\nand piety, that they sent whole flocks of most holy men into all parts\nof Europe, \"who were founders of the most eminent monasteries both there\nand in Britain.\"\n\n\"A residence in Ireland,\" says a learned British writer, \"like a\nresidence now at an university, was considered as almost essential to\nestablish a literary character.\" By common consent, and as a mark of\npre-eminence, Ireland obtained the title of _Insula Sanctorum et\nDoctorum_.\n\nAt the Council of Constance, in 1417, the ambassadors from England were\nnot allowed to rank or take any place as the ambassadors of a nation.\nThe point being argued and conceded, that they were tributaries only to\nthe Germans, \"they claimed their rank from Henry being monarch of\nIreland only, and it was accordingly granted.\"--_O'Halloran_.\n\n[Illustration: SIR TARQUIN.]\n\n\n\n\nSIR TARQUIN.\n\n    \"Within this ancient British land,\n      In Lancashire I understand,\n    Near Manchester there lived a knight of fame,\n      Of a prodigious strength and might,\n      Who vanquished many a worthy knight;\n    A giant great, and Tarquin was his name.\"\n\n_Ballad of Sir Tarquin_.\n\n\nAs it is our intention to arrange these traditions in chronological\norder, we begin with the earliest upon record, the overthrow of the\ngiant Tarquin, near Manchester, by Sir Lancelot of the Lake, who was\nsupposed to bear rule over the western part of Lancashire.\n\nAn old ballad commemorates the achievement; and many other relics of\nthis tradition still exist, one of which, a rude carving on a ceiling in\nthe College at Manchester, represents the giant Tarquin at his morning's\nrepast; it being fabled that he devoured a child daily at this meal. The\nlegs of the infant are seen sprawling out of his mouth in a most\nunseemly fashion. Some have supposed that Tarquin was but a symbol or\npersonification of the Roman army, and his castle the Roman station in\nthis neighbourhood.\n\nThe following extract is from Dr Hibbert's pamphlet on the subject:--\n\n\"Upon the site of Castlefield, near Manchester, was originally erected a\nBritish fortress by the Sistuntii, the earliest possessors of\nLancashire, comprising an area of twelve acres. It would possess on the\nsouth, south-east, and south-west, every advantage, from the winding of\nthe River Medlock, and on its west, from the lofty banks which\noverlooked an impenetrable morass. By the artificial aid, therefore, of\na ditch and a rampart on its east and north sides, this place was\nrendered a fortress of no inconsiderable importance. This fell\nafterwards into the hands of the Brigantes, the ancient inhabitants of\nDurham, York, and Westmoreland. Upon the invasion of the Romans,\nCereales, their general, attacked the proper Brigantes of Yorkshire and\nDurham, and freed the Sistuntii of Lancashire from their dominion, but\nreserved the former to incur the Roman yoke. In A.D. 79, this British\nhold was changed into a Roman castrum, garrisoned by the first Frisian\ncohort, who erected from the old materials a new fort on the Roman\nconstruction, part of the vallum remaining to this day. New roads were\nmade, and the British were invited to form themselves into the little\ncommunities of cities, to check the spirit of independence kept alive in\nthe uncivilised abodes of deserted forests. The Romans possessed the\nfortress for nearly 300 years, when they were summoned away to form part\nof the army intended to repel the myriads of barbarians that threatened\nto overrun Europe.\n\n\"By contributing to their refinement, and protecting them from the\ninroads of the Picts and Scots, the Romans were regarded in a friendly\nlight by the ancient inhabitants, and their departure was much\nregretted. It became necessary, however, that the Britons should elect a\nchief from their own nation. Their military positions were strengthened;\nand as the Roman model of a fortress did not suit their military taste,\ninstead of one encircled with walls only seven or eight feet high, and\nfurnishing merely pavilions for soldiers within, they preferred\nerecting, on the sites of stations, large buildings of stone, whose\nchambers should contain more convenient barracks for the garrison. An\ninfinite number of these castles existed within a century after the\ndeparture of the Romans, of which our Castle at Manchester was one,\ncarried to a great height, erected in a good taste, secured at the\nentrances with gates, and flanked at the sides with towers.\n\n\"The Britons, however, unable of themselves to cope with their foes,\nimprudently invited the Saxons, who, after subduing the Caledonians,\nlaid waste the country of the Britons with fire and sword. The Castle of\nManchester surrendered A.D. 488.\"\n\n\nWe have endeavoured to preserve the character and manner of the ancient\nchroniclers, and even their fanciful etymologies, in the following\nrecord, of which the quaint but not inelegant style, in some measure,\nalmost unavoidably adapts itself to the subject.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSir Lancelot of the Lake, as it is related by the older chronicles, was\nthe son of Ban, King of Benoit, in Brittany. Flying from his castle,\nthen straitly besieged, the fugitive king saw it in flames, and soon\nafter expired with grief. His queen, Helen, fruitlessly attempting to\nsave his life, abandoned for a while her infant son Lancelot. Returning,\nshe discovered him in the arms of the nymph Vivian, the mistress of\nMerlin, who on her approach sprung with the child into a deep lake and\ndisappeared. This lake is held by some to be the lake Linius, a wide\ninsular water near the sea-coast, in the regions of Linius or \"The\nLake;\" now called Martin Mere or _Mar-tain-moir,_ \"a water like the\nsea.\"\n\nThe nymph educated the infant at her court, fabulously said to have been\nheld in the subterraneous caverns of this lake, and from hence he was\nstyled Lancelot du Lac.\n\nAt the age of eighteen the fairy conveyed him to the camp of King\nArthur, who was then waging a fierce and exterminating warfare with the\nSaxons. Here the young warrior was invested with the badge of\nknighthood. His person, accomplishments, and unparalleled bravery,\nhaving won the heart of many a fair dame in this splendid abode of\nchivalry and romance, his name and renown filled the land, where he was\nthroughout acknowledged as chief of \"The Knights of the Round Table.\"\n\nThe name of Lancelot is derived from history, and is an appellation\ntruly British, signifying royalty, _Lanc_ being the Celtic term for a\nspear, and _lod_ or _lot_ implying a people. Hence the name of\nLancelot's shire, or Lancashire. From the foregoing it is supposed that\nhe resided in the region of Linius, and that he was the monarch of these\nparts, being ruler over the whole, or the greater part, of what is now\ncalled Lancashire.\n\nArthur, king of the Silures, being selected by Ambrosius for the command\nof the army, he defeated the Saxons in twelve pitched battles. Four of\nthese were obtained, as related by Nennius, on the river called\nDuglas,[8] or Douglas, a little stream which runneth, as we are further\ntold, in the region of Linius. On reference, it will be found that this\nriver passes through a great portion of the western side of Lancashire,\nand pretty accurately fixes the position here described.\n\nThree of these great victories were gotten near Wigan, and the other is\ncurrently reported to have been achieved near Black rod, close to a\nRoman station, then probably fortified, and remaining as a place of some\nstrength, and in possession of the Saxon invaders. Here, according to\nrude legends, \"the River Duglas ran with blood to Wigan three days.\"\n\nIt was during one of the brief intervals of rest that sometimes occurred\nin the prosecution of these achievements that the following incident is\nreported to have happened. Being a passage of some note, and the\nearliest tradition of the county upon record, we have chosen it as the\ncommencement of a work principally derived from traditionary history.\n\nSir Tarquin, a cruel and treacherous knight of gigantic stature and\nprodigious strength, had, as the story is currently told, his dwelling\nin a well-fortified castle nigh to Manchester, on the site of what is\nyet known by the name of Castle-field. It was a place of great strength,\nsurrounded by vast ramparts, and flanked at the corners with high and\nstately towers.\n\nHe had by treachery gained possession of the fortress, treating the\nowner, who was a British knight of no mean condition, with great cruelty\nand rigour. This doughty Saxon, Sir Tarquin, had, along with many of his\nnation, been invited over in aid of the Britons against their neighbours\nthe Picts and Scots. These being driven back, their false allies\ntreacherously made war upon their friends, laying waste the country with\nfire and sword. Then arose that noble brotherhood, \"The Knights of the\nRound Table,\" who, having sworn to avenge the wrongs of their country,\nbegan to harass the intruders, and to drive them from their ill-gotten\npossessions.\n\nThe Saxons were no less vigilant; but many of their most puissant\nknights were slain or imprisoned during these encounters.\n\nSir Tarquin could boast of no mean success;--threescore knights and\nfour, it is said, were held in thrall by this uncourteous chieftain.\n\nSir Lancelot having, as the ballad quaintly expresses it,\n\n    \"A mighty giant just pulled down,\n      Who lived near Shrewsbury's fair town;\n    With his keen sword his life away did take.\"\n\nThis giant knight was called Sir Carados; and Sir Lancelot, when about\nbetaking himself to these and similar recreations, did hear doleful\ntidings out of Lancashire, how that Sir Tarquin was playing the eagle in\nthe hawk's eyrie, amongst his brethren and companions. From Winchester\nhe rode in great haste, succouring not a few distressed damsels and\nperforming many other notable exploits by the way, \"until he came to a\nvast desert,\" \"frequented by none save those whom ill fortune had\npermitted to wander therein.\" Sir Tarquin, like the dragon of yore,\nentailed a desert round his dwelling: so fierce and rapacious was he\nthat no man durst live beside him, save that he held his life and\nproperty of too mean account, and too worthless for the taking.\n\nThe knight was pricking on his way through this almost pathless\nwilderness, when he espied a damsel of such inexpressible and ravishing\nbeauty that none might behold her without the most heart-stirring\ndelight and admiration. To this maiden did Sir Lancelot address himself,\nbut she hid her face and fell a-weeping. He then inquired the cause of\nher dolour, when she bade him flee, for his life was in great jeopardy.\n\n\"Oh, Sir Knight!\" uncovering her face as she spoke, \"the giant Tarquin\nliveth hereabout, and thou wert as good as dead should he espy thee so\nnear his castle.\"\n\n\"What!\" said the knight, \"and shall Sir Lancelot of the Lake flee before\nthis false and cruel tyrant? To this purpose am I come, that I may slay\nand make an end of him at once, and deliver the captives.\"\n\n\"Art thou, indeed, Sir Lancelot?\" said the damsel, joy suddenly starting\nthrough her tears; \"then is our deliverance nearer than we hoped for.\nThy fame is gone before thee into all countries, and thy might and thy\nprowess, it is said, none may withstand. This evil one, Sir Tarquin,\nhath taken captive my true knight, who, through my cruelty, betook\nhimself to this adventure, and now lieth in chains and foul ignominy,\nwithout hope of release, until death break off his fetters.\"\n\n\"Beshrew me,\" said Lancelot, \"but I will deliver him presently, and cut\noff the foul tyrant's head, or lose mine own by the attempt.\"\n\nThen did he follow the maiden to a river's brink, near to where, as\ntradition still reports, now stand the Knott Mills. Having mounted her\nbefore him on his steed, she pointed out a path over the ford, beyond\nwhich he soon espied the castle, a vast and stately building of rugged\nstone, like a huge crown upon the hill-top, which presented a gentle\nascent from the stream.\n\nNow did Sir Lancelot alight, as well to assist his companion as to\nbethink himself what course to pursue; but the damsel showed him a high\ntree, about a stone's-throw from the ditch before the castle, whereon\nhung a goodly array of accoutrements, with many fair and costly shields,\non which were displayed a variety of gay and fanciful devices. These\nwere the property of the knights then held in durance by Sir Tarquin.\nBelow them all hung a copper basin, on which was carved in Latin the\nfollowing inscription, translated thus--\n\n    \"Who valueth not his life a whit,\n    Let him this magic basin hit.\"\n\nThis so enraged Sir Lancelot that he drove at the vessel violently with\nhis spear, piercing it through and through, so vigorous was the assault.\nThe clangour was loud, and anxiously did the knight await for some reply\nto his summons. Yet there was no answer, nor was there any stir about\nthe walls or outworks. It seemed as though Sir Tarquin was his own\ncastellan, skulking here alone, like the cunning spider watching for his\nprey.\n\nSilence, with her vast and unmoving wings, appeared to brood over the\nplace; and echo, that gave back their summons from the walls, seemed to\nlabour for utterance through the void by which they were encompassed. A\nstillness so appalling might needs discourage the hot and fiery purpose\nof Sir Lancelot, who, unused but to the rude clash of arms, and the\nmelee of the battle, did marvel exceedingly at this forbearance of the\nenemy. But he still rode round about the fortress, expecting that some\none should come forth to inquire his business, and this did he, to and\nfro, for a long space. As he was just minded to return from so fruitless\nan adventure, he saw a cloud of dust at some distance, and presently he\nbeheld a knight galloping furiously towards him. Coming nigh, Sir\nLancelot was aware that a captive knight lay before him, bound hand and\nfoot, bleeding and sore wounded.\n\n\"Villain!\" cried Sir Lancelot, \"and unworthy the name of a true and\nloyal knight, how darest thou do this insult and contumely to an enemy,\nwho, though fallen, is yet thine equal? I will make thee rue this foul\ndespite, and avenge the wrongs of my brethren of the Round Table.\"\n\n\"If thou be for so brave a meal,\" said Tarquin, \"thou shalt have thy\nfill, and that speedily. I will first cut off thy head, and then serve\nup thy carcase to the Round Table; for both that and thee I do utterly\ndefy!\"\n\n\"This is over-dainty food for thy sending,\" replied Sir Lancelot\nhastily, and with that they couched their spears. The first rush was\nover, but man and horse had withstood the shock. Again they fell back,\nmeasuring the distance with an eager and impetuous glance, and again\nthey rushed on, as if to overwhelm each other by main strength, when, as\nfortune would have it, their lances shivered, both of them at once, in\nthe rebound. The end of Sir Lancelot's spear, as it broke, struck his\nadversary's steed on the shoulder, and caused him to fall suddenly, as\nif sore wounded. Sir Tarquin leaped nimbly from off his back; which Sir\nLancelot espying, he cried out--\n\n\"Now will I show thee the like courtesy; for, by mine honour and the\nfaith of a true knight, I will not slay thee at this foul advantage.\"\nAlighting with haste, they betook themselves to their swords, each\nguarding the opposite attack warily with his shield. That of Sir Tarquin\nwas framed of a bull's hide, stoutly held together with thongs, and, in\ntruth, seemed well-nigh impenetrable; whilst the shield of his opponent,\nbeing of more brittle stuff, did seem as though it would have cloven\nasunder with the desperate strokes of Sir Tarquin's sword. Nothing\ndaunted, Sir Lancelot brake ofttimes through his adversary's guard, and\nsmote him once until the blood trickled down amain. At this sight, Sir\nTarquin waxed ten times more fierce; and summoning all his strength for\nthe blow, wrought so lustily on the head of Sir Lancelot that he began\nto reel; which Tarquin observing, by a side blow struck the sword from\nout his hand, with so sharp and dexterous a jerk that it shivered into a\nthousand fragments.\n\n\"Now yield thee, Sir Knight, or thou diest;\" and with that the cruel\nmonster sprang upon him to accomplish his end. Still Sir Lancelot would\nnot yield, nor sue to him for quarter, but flew on his enemy like the\nravening wolf to his prey. Then were they seen hurtling together like\nwild bulls--Sir Lancelot holding fast his adversary's sword, so that in\nvain he attempted to make a thrust therewith.\n\n\"Thou discourteous churl! give me but the vantage of a weapon like thine\nown, and I will fight thee honestly and without flinching.\"\n\n\"Nay, Sir Knight of the Round Table, but this were a merry deed withal,\nto help thee unto that wherewith I might perchance mount some goodly\nbough for the crows to peck at,\" replied Tarquin. Terrible and unceasing\nwas the struggle; but in vain the giant knight attempted to regain the\nuse of his sword. Then Sir Lancelot, with a wary eye, finding no hope of\nhis life save in the use or accomplishment of some notable stratagem,\nbethought him of the attempt to throw his adversary by a sudden feint.\nTo this end he pressed against him heavily and with his whole might,\nthen darting suddenly aside, Sir Tarquin fell to the ground with a loud\ncry; which Sir Lancelot espying, leapt joyfully upon him, thinking to\novercome his enemy; but the latter, too cunning to be thus caught at\nunawares, kept his sword firmly holden, and his enemy was still\nunprovided with the means of defence. Now did Sir Lancelot begin to\ndoubt what course he should pursue, when suddenly the damsel, who,\nhaving bound up the wounds of the captive knight as he lay, and now sat\na little way off watching the event, cried out with a shrill voice--\n\n\"Sir Knight, the tree:--a goodly bough for the gathering.\" Then did Sir\nLancelot remember the weapons that were there, along with the shields\nand the body-armour of the knights Sir Tarquin had vanquished. Starting\nup, ere his enemy had recovered himself, he snatched a broad falchion\nfrom the bough, and again defied him to the combat. But the fight was\nfiercer than before; so that being sore wounded, and the day exceeding\nhot, they were after a season fain to pause for breath.\n\n\"Thou art the bravest knight I ever encountered,\" said Sir Tarquin, \"and\nI would crave thy country and thy name; for, by my troth and the honour\nof my gods, I will give thee thy request on one condition, and release\nthy brethren of the Round Table; for why should two knights of such pith\nand prowess slay each other in one day?\"\n\n\"And what is thy condition?\" inquired Sir Lancelot.\n\n\"There liveth but one, either in Christendom or Heathenesse, unto whom I\nmay not grant this parley; for him have I sworn to kill,\" said Sir\nTarquin.\n\n\"'Tis well,\" replied the other; \"but what name or cognisance hath he?\"\n\n\"His name is Lancelot of the Lake!\"\n\n\"Behold him!\" was the reply; Sir Lancelot at the same time brandishing\nhis weapon with a shout of defiance.\n\nWhen Sir Tarquin heard this he gnashed his teeth for very rage.\n\n\"Now one of us must die,\" said he. \"Thou slewest my brother Sir Carados\nat Shrewsbury, and I have sworn to avenge his defeat. Thou diest. Not\nall the gods of thy fathers shall deliver thee.\"\n\nSo to it they went with more heat and fury than ever; and a marvel was\nit to behold, for each blow did seem as it would have cleft the other in\ntwain, so deadly was the strife and hatred between them.\n\nSir Lancelot pressed hard upon his foe, though himself grievously\nwounded, and in all likelihood would have won the fight, but, as\nill-luck would have it, when dealing a blow mighty enough to fell the\nstoutest oak in Christendom, he missed his aim, and with that stumbled\nto the ground. Then did Sir Tarquin shout for joy, and would have made\nan end of him, but that Sir Lancelot, as he lay, aimed a deadly thrust\nbelow his enemy's shield where he was left unguarded, and quickly turned\nhis joy into tribulation; for Sir Tarquin, though not mortally wounded,\ndrew back and cried out lustily for pain, the which Sir Lancelot\nhearing, he leapt again to his feet, still eager and impatient for the\nstrife.\n\nThe contest was again doubtful, neither of them showing any disposition\nto yield, or in any wise to abate the rigour of the conflict. Night,\ntoo, was coming on apace, and seemed like enough to pitch her tent over\nthem, ere the issue was decided. But an event now fell out which,\nunexpectedly enough, terminated this adventure. From some cause arising\nout of the haste and rapidity of the strokes, one of these so chanced,\nthat both their swords were suddenly driven from out of their right\nhands; stooping together, by some subtlety or mistake, they exchanged\nweapons. Then did Sir Lancelot soon find his strength to increase,\nwhilst his adversary's vigour began to abate; and in the end Sir\nLancelot slew him, and with his own sword cut off his head. He then\nperceived that the giant's great strength was by virtue of his sword;\nand that it was through his wicked enchantments therewith he had been\nable to overcome, and had wrought such disgrace on the Knights of the\nRound Table. Sir Lancelot forthwith took the keys from the giant's\ngirdle, and proceeded to the release of the captive knights, first\nunbinding the prisoner, who yet lay in a piteous swoon hard by. But\nthere was a great outcry and lamentation when that he saw his own\nbrother Sir Erclos in this doleful case; for it was he whom the cruel\nTarquin was leading captive when he met the just reward of his misdeeds.\n\nAfter administering to his relief, Sir Lancelot rode up to the\ncastle-gate, but found no entrance thereby. The drawbridge was raised,\nand he sought in vain the means of giving the appointed signal for its\ndescent.\n\nBut the damsel showed him a secret place where hung a little horn. On\nthis he blew a sharp and ringing blast, when the bridge presently began\nto lower, and instantly to adjust itself across the moat; whereon,\nhastening, he unlocked the gate. But here he had nigh fallen into a\nsubtle snare, by reason of an ugly dwarf that was concealed in a side\nniche of the wall. He was armed with a ponderous mace; and had not the\nmaiden drawn Sir Lancelot aside by main force, he would have been\ncrushed in its descent, the dwarf aiming a deadly blow at him as he\npassed. It fell, instead, with a loud crash on the pavement, and broke\ninto a thousand fragments. Thereupon, Sir Lancelot smote him with the\ngiant's sword, and hewed the mischievous monster asunder without mercy.\nTurning towards the damsel, he beheld her form suddenly change, and she\nvanished from his sight: then was he aware that it had been the nymph\nVivian who accompanied him through the enchantments he had so happily\nsubdued. He soon released his brethren, and great was the joy at the\nRound Table when the Knights returned to the banquet.\n\n\nThus endeth the chronicle of Sir Tarquin, still a notable tradition in\nthese parts, the remains of his castle being shown to this day.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[8] Du-glass, \"the becoming, the seemly, green,\" described by Camden as\n\"a small brook, running with an easy and still stream;\" which conveys a\ngood idea of the word _Du_. The Du-glass empties itself into the estuary\ncalled by Ptolemy _Bellesama, Belless-aman-e;_ pronounced\nViolish-anne,[9] the literal meaning of which is, that the \"mouth of the\nriver only is for ships;\" _i.e._, that the rivers which form the haven\nare not navigable.--_Chronicles of Eri.--O'Connor._\n\n[9] Ballyshannon is evidently a very slight corruption of this term.\n\n[Illustration: THE GOBLIN BUILDERS.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOBLIN BUILDERS.\n\n\n    \"By well and rills, in meadows green,\n      We nightly dance our heyday guise;\n    And to our fairy king and queen\n      We chant our moonlight minstrelsies.\n        When larks 'gin sing,\n        Away we fling,\n    And babes new-born we steal as we go,\n        And elf in bed\n        We leave instead,\n    And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho!\"--BEN JONSON.\n\nThe story which serves for the basis of the following legend will be\neasily recognised in the neighbourhood where the transactions are said\nto have occurred, though probably not known beyond its immediate\nlocality.\n\nThe accessories are gathered from a number of sources: and the great\ndifficulty the author has had to encounter in getting at what he\nconceives the real state and character of the time, together with the\nhistory of contemporary individuals and events, so as to give a natural\npicture of the manners and customs of that remote era, can be known by\nthose only who have entered into pursuits of this nature. In this and in\nthe succeeding legends he has attempted to illustrate and portray the\ncustoms of that particular epoch to which they relate, as well as to\ndetail the events on which they are founded.\n\nIt may be interesting to notice that a similar exploit is recorded in\nthe Scandinavian Legends, and may be traced, under many variations of\ncircumstances and events, in the Icelandic, Danish, and Norwegian\npoetry, affording another intimation of the source from whence our\npopular mythology is derived.\n\n\nTowards the latter end of the reign of William, the Norman conqueror,\nGamel, the Saxon Thane, Lord of Recedham or \"Rached,\" being left in the\nquiet possession of his lands and privileges by the usurper, \"minded,\"\nas the phrase then was, \"for the fear of God and the salvation of his\nimmortal soul, to build a chapel unto St Chadde,\" nigh to the banks of\nthe Rache or Roach. For this pious use a convenient place was set apart,\nlying on the north bank of the river, in a low and sheltered spot now\ncalled \"The Newgate.\" Piles of timber and huge stones were gathered\nthither in the most unwonted profusion; insomuch, that the building\nseemed destined for some more ambitious display than the humble edifices\ncalled churches then exhibited, of which but few existed in the\nsurrounding districts.\n\nThe foundations were laid. The loose and spongy nature of the soil\nrequired heavy stakes to be driven, upon and between which were laid\nseveral courses of rubble-stone, ready to receive the grouting or\ncement. Yet in one night was the whole mass conveyed, without the loss\nof a single stone, to the summit of a steep hill on the opposite bank,\nand apparently without any visible marks or signs betokening the agents\nor means employed for its removal. It did seem as though their pathway\nhad been the viewless air, so silently was all track obliterated. Great\nwas the consternation that spread among the indwellers of the four\nseveral clusters of cabins dignified by the appellation of villages, and\nbearing, with their appendages, the names of Castletown, Spoddenland,\nHonorsfield, and Buckland. With dismay and horror this profanation was\nwitnessed. The lord, more especially, became indignant. This daring\npresumption--this wilful outrage, so like bidding defiance to his power,\nbearding the lion even in his den, was deemed an offence calling for\nsignal vengeance upon the perpetrators.\n\nAt the cross in Honorsfield a proclamation was recited, to the intent,\nthat unless the offending parties were forthwith given up to meet the\npunishment that might be awarded to their misdeeds, a heavy mulct would\nfollow, and the unfortunate villains and _bordarii_ be subject to such\nfurther infliction as might still seem wanting to assuage their lord's\ndispleasure. Now this was a grievous disaster to the unhappy vassals,\nseeing that none could safely or truly accuse his neighbour. All were\nagreed that human agency had no share in the work. The wiser part threw\nout a shrewd suspicion, that the old deities whom their forefathers had\nworshipped, and whose altars had been thrown down and their sacrifices\nforbidden, had burst the thraldom in which they were aforetime held by\nthe Christian priests, and were now brooding a fearful revenge for the\nmany insults they had endured. But the decree from the lord was hasty,\nand the command urgent; so that a council was holden for the devising of\nsome plan for their relief.\n\nHugh de Chadwycke and John de Spotland were subordinate lords, or\nfeudatories, holding fortified dwellings, castelets, or peels, in the\nmanor of Rochdale; the former had builded his rude mansion of massive\ntimber, for the double purpose of habitation and defence, on a bold\neminence, forming a steep bank of the river, about a mile from the\nThane's castle. Claiming a relationship to the lord, he was in some\nmeasure privileged above his friend De Spotland, yet was the latter a\npersonage of considerable power and influence at the manor court. To\nthese men when their aid was necessary, either as counsellors or\nintercessors, did the inhabitants generally repair.\n\nHugh de Chadwycke was a man of mild and grave deportment, but politic\nwithal, and wary of counsel. John de Spotland was of a more bold and\nopen temper. De Chadwycke suggested a submissive application to the\nThane, with a pledge that all possible diligence should be used for the\nfulfilment of his demands. John urged the removal of the materials with\nall expedition to their original site, a watch being set to discover the\ndelinquents, should they again presume to lay hands on the stuff. The\nwisdom and propriety of the latter precaution was undisputed; but no one\nseemed willing to undergo the terrible ordeal, each declining the office\nin deference to his more privileged neighbour. No wonder at their\nreluctance to so unequal a contest. To be strangled or torn limb from\nlimb was the slightest punishment that could be expected for this daring\nprofanation; yet, unless they had witnesses, bodily, to these diabolical\nexploits, it were needless to attempt excusing themselves before the\nhaughty chieftain. He would visit with fearful severity all their\nendeavours to deceive, nor would he credit their belief, unless it were\nconfirmed by the testimony of an eye-witness. How to procure this\ndesirable source of intelligence was a question that was hourly becoming\nmore difficult to solve.\n\nSlow and melancholy was their return, while with fear and hesitation\nthey communicated the result.\n\n\"Now, shame befall thee, Adam of Wills!\" said a stout woman, to one of\nthe speakers; \"thou wert ever a tough fighter; and the cudgel and ragged\nstaff were as glib in thine hands as a beggar's pouch on alms-days. Show\nthy mettle, man. I'll spice thee a jug of barley-drink, an' thou be for\nthe bout this time.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" returned Adam, \"I 'll fight Beelzebub if he be aught I can hit;\nbut these same boggarts, they say, a blow falls on 'em like rain-drops\non a mist, or like beating the wind with a corn-flail. I cannot fight\nwith naught, as it were.\"\n\n\"Shame on thee, Hal!\" said a shrill-tongued, crooked little body,\narrayed in a coarse grey hood, and holding a stick, like unto a\none-handed crutch, of enormous dimensions. \"Shame on thee! I would watch\nmyself, but the night-wind sits indifferently on my stomach, and I am\ntoo old now for these moonshine lifts.\"\n\nShe cast her little bleared eyes, half-shut and distilling contempt, on\nthe cowardly bystanders.\n\n\"Now, if there be not old Cicely,\" first went round in a whisper; then a\ndeep silence gradually pervaded the assembly.\n\nShe had just hobbled down to the cross, and the audience seemed to watch\nher looks with awe and suspicion.\n\n\"What, none o' ye? Come, Uctred, thou shalt shame these big-tongued,\nwide-mouthed boasters.\"\n\nA short swarthy-looking boy, with a leering and unfavourable\ncountenance, here stepped forward, taking his station upon one of the\nsteps beside his mother. A notion had gone abroad that the boy was the\nfruit of some unhallowed intercourse with an immortal of the fairy or\npixy kind, whose illicit amours the old woman had wickedly indulged. She\ntoo, was thought to bear in some degree a charmed life, and to hold\ncommunion with intelligences not of the most holy or reputable order.\nThe boy was dumb. His lips had, however, at times a slight and tremulous\nmovement, which strongly impressed the beholders that some discourse was\nthen carrying on between \"the dummy,\" as he was generally called, and\nhis invisible relatives. His whole aspect was singularly painful and\nforbidding. No wonder, in these times of debasing superstition, that his\nperson should be looked on with abhorrence, and even a touch from him be\naccounted an evil of no slight import. His mother alone had the power of\ncommunicating with him, or of understanding his grimaces.\n\n\"Now what will you give me for the use of his pretty eyes this lucky\nnight? The Thane will have regard to his testimony, though all that have\nfree use of the tongue he holds to be liars and dishonest. Never lied\nthis youth by sign or token!\"\n\nA buzz went through the company, and the dame and her boy again sat down\nto await the issue. All eyes were directed towards them, timidly and by\nstealth, as the consultation grew louder and more continuous.\n\nA pause at length ensued. Some three or four of the group drew towards\nthe crone, who sat almost double, her chin resting on the neb of her\ncrutch.\n\n\"Now will we give thee two changes of raiment, together with a mess of\nbarley-pottage; and every year thou shalt have a penny at Easter, and a\nfat hen at Shrovetide.\"\n\n\"Good,\" said the greedy beldame; \"but I'll have a sheep-skin cap for the\nboy, and a horn spoon.\" This demand was also granted; after which she\nmade signs to the lad, who swung his head to and fro, at the same time\ndistorting his features with a wild and terrible rapidity. It was\nevident that he understood the nature of these proceedings. A glance,\nlike that of mockery and derision, he cast towards the crowd; and when\nMother Cicely was returning, he threw back upon them a look of scorn and\nmalignity which made the beholders shrink aside with horror.\n\nThe people now addressed themselves to the task of replacing the heavy\nmaterials, and ere night the greater part were withdrawn, ready to\nbegin with the foundations again on the morrow.\n\nA sort of rude shelter was constructed, wherein Uctred was to keep watch\nuntil daylight.\n\nThe morning came, calm and beautiful over the grey hills; and the\nanxious inhabitants, awake betimes, did each turn his first steps\ntowards the river's brink. With horror and amazement they again beheld\nthe ground bare. Not a vestige remained, nor was there any trace of the\nboy.\n\n\"He is gone to his own,\" said they, as a general shudder went through\nthe crowd; \"and the fairies have gotten him at last.\"\n\nEvery heart seemed quailing with some hidden fear; nor could any means\nat that moment be suggested for their emancipation.\n\nThe stones and timber were again found, as before, on the opposite hill.\nFifty stout men had with difficulty contrived to fetch them from thence\nthe day preceding, and twice that number would hardly have sufficed to\ntransport them thither. It was not to be gainsayed that a power superior\nto their own was the agent in removals so mysterious. Nothing now\nremained but to acquaint their lord with this second interruption; and\ntheir diligence in performing this duty, they hoped, might exculpate\nthem from the heavy doom they had incurred. Some of the wiser and more\nstout-hearted were chosen to carry these tidings to the Thane, hoping to\nclear themselves from the ban, as well as to return with commands for\ntheir future proceedings.\n\nGamel de Recedham, or Rochdale, had his dwelling in the ancient castle\nbuilt by the Romans on the verge of a steep hill jutting into the valley\nof the Roach. It was a place difficult of access, save on the southern\nside, where a wide ditch formed an effectual defence, and over which a\nnarrow bridge admitted only two abreast in front of the outer gate. It\nwas now, in some places, fast going to decay, but enough remained out of\nits vast bulk to form a dwelling for the Saxon and his followers. It had\nbeen once fortified throughout; the castle, or keep, being four-square,\nflanked at the corners with stone towers. The lower part of the walls\nwas composed of large pebbles mixed with brick, and held together by a\nfirm cement. Higher up, and continued to the summit, were alternate rows\nof brick and freestone. The corners were faced with stone, making a very\nformidable appearance when guarded by slingers and throwers of darts,\nwho were stationed there only in times of great peril.\n\nPassing the vallum, or outer defence, they ascended a narrow staircase\noutside the keep, where the cringing serfs were admitted by four of the\nlord's Norman bowmen, who ushered them into the audience-chamber. Some\nof the Thane's men were habited in coats of mail, made of small pieces\nof iron, cut round at the bottom, and set on a leathern garment, so as\nto fold over each other like fish-scales, the whole bending with the\ngreatest ease, and yet affording a sufficient protection to the wearer.\n\nThe chamber of audience was situated at the uppermost part of the keep,\nand great was the apprehension of the intruders, whilst following their\nguides through the winding passages and gloomy staircases leading to the\ninner cell occupied by their chief. The disposition of the armed\nmen,--their warlike habiliments, and the various and uncouth weapons\nwhich seemed to threaten terror and defiance, were all objects to them\nof apprehension and distrust. The walls of this gloomy apartment were\nlined with thin bricks, ornamentally disposed in herring-bone work,\nafter the fashion of the time. The windows, though narrow on the\noutside, were broad and arched within, displaying a rude sort of taste\nin their construction. Round the walls were groups of weapons,\nostentatiously displayed; two-edged broadswords; long spears, some\nbarbed and others flat and broad; shields, the oldest of which were\nlarge, and had a sharp point projecting from the centre; others, of the\nNorman and more recent fashion, were smaller, and of an oval shape.\nBattle-axes, lances, and javelins, were strewn about in formidable\nprofusion. Hauberks, or chain-mail, hung at intervals from the walls,\nlooking grim and stalwart from their repose, like the headless trunks of\nthe warriors they had once encompassed.\n\nA broad curtain, curiously embroidered, covered one end of the room,\nfrom behind which crept a page or henchman, in gay attire, his tunic\nglistening with his lord's device.\n\nThe serfs bowed with the most abject submission to this representative\nof their lord, who lived in the customary style of barbarous and feudal\npomp, which the manners of their Norman invaders had rather contributed\nto increase than to diminish.\n\n\"Tell thy master,\" said their companion, \"that some of the folk would\nspeak with him, touching the matter by which they are in jeopardy.\"\n\nSmoothing his locks and trimming down his garments, the boy departed.\nIt was long or ere the audience was granted; in the meantime, they stood\ntrembling and oppressed with an evil foreboding for the result, the\nknown hasty and impetuous temper of the Saxon rendering it a matter of\nsome doubt, and no small hazard, as to what might be the issue of their\nconference. Suddenly was heard the clanking of armour, and the tramp of\nnailed feet, announcing his approach; the heavy arras was uplifted, and\nGamel the Thane stood before them. He was richly attired in a loose coat\nreaching down to his ankles; over this was a long robe, fastened over\nboth shoulders and on the breast with a silver buckle. The edges were\ntrimmed with gold and knots of flowers interwoven with pearls and rare\nstones. On his head he wore a coronet, or rim of gold, enriched with\njewels; and his bushy hair and grizzled beard looked still more grim and\nforbidding beneath these glittering ornaments. His eyes were quick and\npiercing; his cheeks pale and slightly furrowed. A narrow and retreating\nmouth, firmly drawn in, showed the bent of his disposition to be fierce\nand choleric, and his wrath not easily turned aside. He was accompanied\nby his billmen, together with some half-dozen attendants, clad in shirts\nof chain mail and helmets fitting close to the head. These bore lances\nafter the Norman fashion then prevailing over the ruder customs of their\nSaxon predecessors.\n\nThe more polished manners of the Norman's court had early pervaded the\nranks of the nobles; and even the few hereditary Saxon chiefs left in\npossession of their ancient sovereignties, thought their domains cheaply\npurchased by this obsequious show of homage to their king.\n\nThe Thane's chief henchman occupied the post of honour, whilst a little\nfootpage stood by his master's elbow.\n\nThe villains prostrated themselves.\n\n\"How now!--Where are the caitiffs I commanded of ye? I vow to the Virgin\nand St Chadde, your own necks shall swing from the tower in their stead,\nshould ye fail in that which I require at your hands.\"\n\nThe trembling hearers were, afraid to answer--their lips quivered, and\neach tongue seemed to refuse its office. Gamel proceeded:----\n\n\"What! come ye to fawn and whine out my purpose? Now will I make your\nchastisement ten times hotter for this intent. Lodge these knaves,\nNicholas, i' the further dungeon, till they be reprieved by the rogues\nwho are yet at large and defying our power:--they hold it somewhat\ncheap, methinks, when they value it less than the pampering of their own\nwantonness and sport.\"\n\nNicholas was herald, bedellus, or chief crier, to the lord of the manor,\nhis office being to make proclamations at the court and the cross, where\nthe use of his capacious lungs was oft in request. He was hangman, too,\nupon occasion, being never so well pleased as when employed in the due\nchastisement of his master's lieges. He was, moreover, a man of infinite\nhumour, generally consoling his dear unfortunates under their\nvisitations by some coarse and galling jest.\n\n\"Now, Adam of Hunersfield, art thou at thy prayers already?--I'll shrive\nthee quick. Master, shall I give the rogues any victuals? They'll not\nkeep else till hanging time;--best finish now--needless to waste\nprovender.\"\n\n\"Give them the prison allowance. But, hark thee, no stripes, Nicholas,\"\nsaid the chief, well aware of his flagellant propensities.\n\n\"Eh!\" replied he; \"but black cake and dried beans don't mix well i' the\nstomach without riddling.\"\n\n\"Peace, sirrah!\" replied the chieftain with a frown. Nicholas, though a\nlicensed jester and in especial favour, knew there was a boundary beyond\nwhich he durst not pass; he became silent, therefore, at this command.\nThe lamentations of the unwary hostages were loud but unavailing.\nNicholas prepared his manacles, and was leading them from the chamber,\nwhen the page whispered in his master's ear.\n\n\"Stop,\" cried the Thane: \"know ye aught of the boy who was a-watching\nyesternight?\"\n\n\"We know nothing of the lad, as we hope for deliverance,\" said the\nterrified rustics.\n\n\"Bring in the woman!\"\n\nThe command was followed by the entrance of Cicely. Leaning on her\ncrutch, she bent lowly before the chief.\n\n\"Hast thou any suit or accusation to prefer against these men, as\ntouching thy boy?\"\n\n\"Oh, my lord!\" said the dame, weeping, \"I never aforetime knew him\nmissing; and he has slept i' the Killer Dane, where the great battle was\nfought below the castle. He has watched i' the 'Thrutch,' where the\nblack dog haunts from sunset till cock-crow. He has leapt over the\nfairies' ring and run through the old house at Gozlewood, and no harm\nhas befallen him; but he is now ta'en from me,--cast out, maybe, into\nsome noisome pit. The timbers and stones are leapt on to the hill again,\nbut my boy is not there!\"\n\nShe wept and wrung her withered hands.\n\n\"Hast thou any witness against these men?\"\n\n\"Oh! my lord, they bribed me with their gifts that I should suffer the\nboy to watch; and I am poor, and I thought he wore a charmed life, and\nthe little hoard would be a comfort and a stay in my old age.\"\n\n\"Thou hast done wickedly in this,\" said the lord. \"Howbeit, I will keep\nthem in the stocks; peradventure it may quicken the wits of their\noutdoor friends to find out the mover of these scurvy pranks. The post\nand timbers would not go up hill unless some knave had holpen to lift\nthem.\"\n\nNicholas was departing to the indulgence of his favourite pastime, when\na loud hubbub was heard without, and presently a fellow was pushed in by\nthe pressure of the crowd upon his shoulders; but they drew back, on\nfinding the immediate presence of their chief.\n\nThis man was accounted the most notorious idler in the neighbourhood,\nhight \"Barnulf with the nose.\" His eyes looked red and swollen, and his\nsenses had become muddled and obtuse with long steeping. Silence was\nimmediately enforced, while the assembly anxiously awaited the\ninterrogation of this intolerable coveter of barley-drink.\n\n\"Art thou again at thy freaks?\" said the Thane, angrily: \"thou hast soon\nforgotten the stocks and the whipping-post on Easter-day. It were well\nthat Nicholas should refresh thy memory in this matter.\"\n\nAt this dreaded name the poor wretch fell on his face.\n\n\"Please ye, my lord,\" said he, hardly raising his head from the floor,\n\"I am here but for a witness beliken. I am breeding of no broil, save\nan' my gossip o' yesternight drew me into a tussle with old Split-Feet\nand his company.\"\n\nHe groaned, but not without considerable effort, and his face puckered\nin a heap at the recollection.\n\n\"What!--the foul fiend helped thee to thy liquor, I trow?\" said Gamel,\nhastily. \"Think not to foist thy fooleries upon me. Should I find thee\nwith a lie on thy tongue, the hide were as well off thy shoulders. To\nthy speech--quick, what sawest thou?\"\n\n\"I will give it all, withouten a word but what the blessed saints would\navouch,\" said the terrified supplicant, whose once fiery face was now\nblanched, or rather dyed of a dull and various blue.\n\n\"I was wending home from Merland, where I had been helping Dan the smith\nto his luckpenny, when as I took the path-road down yonder unlucky hill\nto the ford, not thinking of the de'il's workmen that had flown off with\nthe church the night before, I was whistling, or, it mayhap,\nsinging,--or--or--I am not just particular to know how it was, for the\nmatter of it; but at any rate I was getting up, having tumbled down the\nsteep almost nigh to the bottom, and I thought my eyes had strucken\nfire, for I saw lights frisking and frolicking up and down the hill.\nThen I sat down to watch, and, sure enough, such a puck-fisted rabble,\nwithout cloak or hosen, I never beheld--all hurry-scurry up the hill,\nand some of the like were on the gallop down again. They were shouting,\nand mocking, and laughing, like so many stark-mad fools at a May-feast.\nThey strid twenty paces at a jump, with burdens that two of the best\noxen about the manor had not shifted the length of my thumbnail. 'Tis\nsome unlucky dream, said I, rubbing the corners of my eyes, and trying\nto pinch myself awake. Just then I saw a crowd of the busiest of 'em\nrunning up from the river, and making directly towards the steep bank\nbelow where I sat. They were hurrying a great log of timber, which they\nthrew down close beside me, as if to rest ere they mounted. 'My\nfriends,'--what should ail me to talk to 'em I cannot tell,--'My\nfriends, but ye seem to have more work in your hands than wit in your\nnoddles--ye might have spared yourselves the labour, I trow.' With that\nthe whole rout turned upon me with a shout and a chattering that would\nhave dumbfounded the shrillest tongue in the whole hundred--the\nmill-wheel was nothing to it. I would have escaped, but my feet were\nholden like as they had been i' the stocks. One, the foremost of the\ncrew--I do think he had a long tail and gaping hoofs, but I was over\nfrightened to see very clear--came with a mocking malicious grin, his\ntongue lolling out, and his eyes glaring and fiend-like.\n\n\"'Pray, good friend,' said he, pulling off a little black bonnet, 'be\ncompassionate enough to help us with our load to the hill-top.' Now was\nI terrified beyond measure, insomuch that I made a desperate tug,\nwhereby loosening myself, I ran like the wind, the wicked fiends\nfollowing and roaring after me with loud and bitter curses. I jumped\ninto the river, in my hurry having missed the ford, and I heard 'em\nstill shouting, and, as I thought, pursuing me; but the Virgin and St\nChadde were my helpers, for when Biddy opened the door in the morning, I\nlay there in a great swoon, with my head bruised, and a hole in my good\ngrey cloak.\"\n\n\"And so thou comest here a-boasting of thy drunken discoveries,\" said\nthe Thane. \"Thou shalt wish thou hadst not gotten thee so soon from the\nfiend's clutches. A spice of old Nicholas' vocation may not be amiss;\nyet, by way of relish to thy tale\"----\n\nThe agony of the culprit was loud and appalling, but the chief was\ninexorable, until his denunciations were interrupted by a stranger, who\ncraved a short respite for the groaning supplicant.\n\nHe was meanly clad: a coarse cloak, stained and threadbare, was thrown\nopen, showing a close habit of the most ordinary fabric; yet a natural\nand graceful bearing imparted a dignity even to his poor and worthless\nhabiliments.\n\n\"I am a stranger, and sore oppressed with long travel. Penury and\nmisfortune have been my lot, and I am driven from place to place without\na home or a morsel of bread. Last night, long after the curfew, I came\nhither, but no _hospitium_ or religious house being near, I sat down by\nthe hill-side yonder, until morning should enable me to crave help for\nmy hopeless journey. The morning had not dawned ere I awoke--a loud\ntrampling, and a rush of many voices had broken in upon my slumbers. I\nbeheld crowds of strange-looking men, laden with terrific burdens. They\nseemed to be eagerly and earnestly at work, under heavier loads than I\nthought mortal man could sustain; the whole space too, as far as the eye\nmight carry, seemed alive with them, the flickering of their torches\nforming a scene of almost unimaginable splendour. Right before me were a\nnumber of these labourers, hauling up a heavy beam from the river;\nothers were apparently crossing, laden with materials no less bulky and\nintractable. All were in motion, wriggling along like so many ants on a\nhillock. The party just before me stayed immediately below where I sat,\nwatching their proceedings with no little curiosity and amazement. They\nthrew down their load,--then pausing, appeared to view with some\nhesitation the steep bank above them. The foremost of the group now\ncame softly towards me. Pulling off his bonnet, with a grave and\nbeseeching aspect he craved help to accomplish the ascent. Not then\ndreaming of goblins and their deceitful glamour, I put my shoulder to\nthe work with a right good will; and truly it were a marvel to watch the\ntough beam, how it seemed to obey the impulse. I worked with all the\nmight I could muster, but it appeared as though little were needful; and\nin a trice we scrambled to the top, when the whole party scampered off,\nleaving me to follow or not, as I chose. I saw something tossed towards\nme, which glistened as it lay at my feet. Stooping, I found a silver\nring, beauteously bedecked with one glowing crystal. Round the rim is\nformed a quaint legend, bearing a fair device, which some learned clerk\nmay perchance decipher.\"\n\nThe stranger drew from his finger a massy ring. A little ferret-eyed\nmonk, a transcriber of saints' legends and Saxon chronicles, was\nimmediately called. He pronounced the writing heathenish, and of the\nRunic form. A sort of free translation may be given as follows:--\n\n    \"The Norman shall tread on the Saxon's heel,\n    And the stranger shall rule o'er England's weal;\n    Through castle and hall, by night or by day\n    The stranger shall thrive for ever and aye;\n      But in Rached, above the rest,\n      The stranger shall thrive best.\"\n\nGamel was troubled and perplexed. The words were prophetic, evidently\npointing to his own and his country's fate, as well as to the destiny of\nthe stranger. He knit his brows, and his very beard coiled upwards with\nthe conflict. He appeared loth to allow of a supernatural agency in the\naffair, and yet the testimony and its witness were not to be gainsayed.\n\n\"I had not believed the tale, stranger, if this token had not confirmed\nthy speech:--verily thou hast a better witness than a fool's tongue to\nthy story. That ill-omened losel may depart. See thou fall not hastily\ninto the like offence, else shalt thou smart from Childermas to\nAll-hallowtide. Hence! to thy place.\" Barnulf awaited not further\ndismissal, glad to escape the scrutiny of Nicholas with a whole skin.\n\nA loud shriek was heard from the court-yard.\n\n\"My boy!--Oh, my boy!\" cried the almost frantic mother, as she rushed\ninto the chamber, leading in Uctred. He had been discovered on removing\nsome of the huge piles of timber again from the hill, where, under a\ncuriously-supported covering of beams and other rude materials, he lay,\nseemingly asleep. The urchin looked as malicious and froward as ever,\neven when standing before his chief.\n\n\"And where hast thou been, my pretty bird?\" said the old woman, as she\nbegan her vocabulary of signs. But the boy looked surly and would not\nanswer to the signal: he drew down his black swarthy brows, looking\neagerly and fiercely from behind their bushy curtains. Suddenly, and\nwith a fearful yell, he sprang forward, snatching the ring which Gamel\nwas then giving back to the stranger. With a wild and hideous laugh,\nwhich sent a shudder through the assembly, he drew it on his finger. At\nthis moment the expression of his countenance began to change, and some\nof the bystanders, over whom fear had probably waved the wand of the\nenchanter, saw his form dilate, and his whole figure expand into almost\ngigantic proportions. A thick haze rolled through the apartment; then\nwas heard a wild unearthly shout, and the vision had disappeared.\n\n\"Seize him!\" cried Gamel.\n\nThe guards, trembling, prepared to execute his commands, but on gaining\nthe outworks of the castle, no vestige remained of his appearance, save\na slight whirlwind of dust, like a mist-wreath curling down the valley,\nwhich, to their terrified apprehensions, became the chariot of the\ndeparting demon. Nothing could shake this belief; and in after ages the\nboy was spoken of as a changeling, left by some fairy, whose appointed\nsojourn had been then accomplished, the means for his release being\nfulfilled. Old Cicely became nigh crazed with the loss of her son; but\nGamel, seriously pondering on these events, sought counsel from the\n\"Holy Church.\" It was therein resolved that the intended site should be\nremoved, and the \"_unknown_\" by such removal appeased. The chapel of St\nChadde was accordingly built on the hill-top, where the church now\nstands, and unto which the foundations had been so marvellously\nconveyed. One hundred and twenty-four steps were dug to accomplish the\nascent, and enable the good people to go to prayers. Connected with\nthese, the tradition still exists; and unto this day it is here\nobserved, that _\"Strangers prosper in the town of Rochdale; but the\nnatives are generally unfortunate in their undertakings.\"_\n\n[Illustration: MAB'S CROSS, WIGAN.\n\n_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\n\n\n\nMAB'S CROSS.\n\n    \"A pilgrim came from o'er the sea;\n        _Benedicite! benedicite!_\n    And he brought a ring to that proud ladye.\n      His grave is wide, his grave is deep;\n      On that bosom cold he shall quietly sleep:\n          _Benedicite!_\"\n\n\nThe following extract from the genealogical roll of the Bradshaighs is\nthe principal source from whence this tale has originated:--\n\n\"Sir William Bradshaighe, second son to Sir John, was a great traveller\nand a souldger, and married to Mabell, daughter and sole heire of Hugh\nNorris de Haghe and Blackrode, and had issue,\" &c.\n\nOf this Mabel is a story by tradition of undoubted verity, \"that in Sir\nWm. Bradshaghe absence (beinge 10 years away in the holy wars), she\nmarried a Welsh knight. Sir William, returning from the wars, came in a\npalmer's habitt amongst the poor to Haghe, who, when she saw and\ncongetringe that he favoured her former husband, wept, for which the\nknight chastised her; at which Sir William went and made himself known\nto his tenants; in which space the knight fled, but neare to Newton\nParke Sir William overtook him and sleu him. The said Dame Mabell was\nenjoined by her confessor to doe penances by going onest every week\nbarefout and bare legged to a crosse ner Wigan from the Haghe, wilest\nshe lived, and is called Mabb ++ to this day; and ther monument lyes in\nWigan church, as you see them ther portry'd.\"\n\nSir William Bradshaigh was outlawed during the space of a year and a day\nfor this offence; but he and his lady, it is said, lived happily\ntogether afterwards until their death. Their effigies on the tomb now\nexist but as rude and unshapely masses; time and whitewash, the two\ngreat destroyers of our monumental relics, having almost obliterated\ntheir form, the one by diminishing, and the other by adding to, their\nsubstance.\n\nThat Sir William was at the \"Holy Wars,\" must, it is evident, be a\ncorruption of the story, seeing he was born about the year 1280, ten\nyears after the last of these unfortunate expeditions. The first\ncroisade was undertaken by Peter the Hermit, 1095; a second, by Louis\nVII of France, 1145; a third, under Richard I of England, 1190; a\nfourth, under Philip II of France, 1204; a fifth, under Louis IX,\nagainst Egypt, 1248; and the last, under Louis IX., against Tunis,\nwhere he lost his life, 1270. Consequently, the perpetration of these\n\"Holy\" murders, which it is supposed were to the amount of two hundred\nmillions of human beings, without the acquisition even of Jerusalem to\nthe Church, must have ceased ere the birth of our \"pilgrim.\" That he was\nat \"the wars,\" however, is pretty certain, but they were nearer home.\nThe machinations of that powerful noble, Thomas, Earl of Lancaster,\ntogether with the disastrous campaign of Edward II. against the Scots,\nare sufficiently important events to account for the long absence of Sir\nWilliam Bradshaigh, who is supposed to have been taken prisoner during\nthese unhappy troubles.\n\nOur engraving represents the cross as it exists at present. Some\nattention having been drawn to it of late, we may hope this interesting\nrelic will be suffered to remain uninjured, and not be subjected any\nmore to those levelling improvements for which this age is so\ndistinguished.\n\nIn the borough of Wigan, near one of the four gates, called\nStandishgate--which gates are now removed, and their places occupied by\nsome undignified-looking posts called \"toll-bars\"--stands a ruined stone\ncross; in appearance, by no means either interesting or remarkable: it\nwould scarcely be noticed by a casual observer. Yet to this mean-looking\nmemorial of our faith is attached an eventful story, at which\n\n    \"The sad might laugh; the merry weep.\"\n\nIt is a tale of which our brief limits will only allow a rapid sketch.\nThis we have thrown together in the dramatic and narrative form, a\ncombination more calculated than any other, we believe, to awaken\nattention, and bring forth the subject before the mind with truth and\ndistinctness.\n\nOne stormy night, in the autumn of the year 1324, mine host of the Merry\nMaypole, a tavern of great resort by the market-cross in the good\nborough of Wigan, was awakened from a laborious slumber. The door which\nopened into a low porch projecting from the thatch, was shaken with a\nvehemence that threatened some fearful catastrophe. Giles, no longer\nable to endure these thundering appeals to his hospitality, desired his\nwife to ascertain the cause of the disturbance.\n\n\"Gramercy! An' I be to unlatch for every graceless unthrift that chooses\nto pummel at Giles Dauber's wicket, I shall have but sorry bedding wi'\nan old husband.\"\n\n\"Old, quotha!--Old! I tell thee, dame, that I'm less by a good score of\nwinters than Dan o' the higher Wient, when he wed old Simon's\ndaughter.--Humph!--She was a merry and a buxom lass; but thou\"--\n\nHow far this interesting dialogue between the tavern-keeper and his\nnewly-wedded spouse might have extended it is impossible with any degree\nof accuracy to set forth, inasmuch as another loud and desperate lunge,\nextenuated to an inaudible mutter the testy rejoinder of \"Giles o' the\nMaypole;\" this being the cognomen by which he was more familiarly\ndesignated.\n\n\"Anan!\" shouted he, \"what the---- Save us!\" he continued in a low\nwhisper, crossing himself, \"I had nigh slipped an ugly word over my\ntongue; and if it should be--Dame, I say, get up, and\"--\n\n\"Nay, thou hast gotten thee two as nimble legs, by thine own reckoning,\nas any knave i' the borough. I shall e'en keep to my bed, goodman,\nthough these guzzle-throats hammer till cock-crow.--They are at the\nright side of the door, I trow.\"\n\nNow, mine host of the Merry Maypole having taken to himself that last\nand worst of all possible plagues for the remnant of his days, to wit, a\nyoung and somewhat handsome-looking wife, thought it no less meet than\nreasonable, and no less reasonable than a duty, at all times incumbent,\nthat the before-named helpmate should, if need were, get out of bed and\nunlatch the wicket whenever good customers were astir; more particularly\nas the first Dame Dauber, having the fear of a short but tough cudgel\nupon her, did, at certain times and seasons, when there was the\nrequisite occasion, leave her liege lord to the enjoyment of his warm\nand luxurious couch, and spread a table for the entertainment of many a\nnight-betrayed traveller.\n\nIt was the first exigency of the kind, since the marriage of Giles\nDauber to Madge Newsome of the Deercote, in which the discussion of a\npoint so knotty and important had occurred. Giles dreamt not of the vast\ndifference that exists in the nature and docility of divers women. He\nheard with a sort of incredulous surprise the first incipient grumblings\nin contravention of his authority; but when these had fairly shaped\nthemselves into open defiance, he started agape with wonder. Recovering\nhimself, with a stern and portentous silence, he jumped out of bed and\ndrew on his doublet and hose. While thoughts of relentless import were\nbrooding, he groped his way down the ladder that communicated with the\nlower apartment, for the purpose of ascertaining the quality and\ncondition of the stranger. The latter still manifested a noisy\nimpatience at being suffered, in so inhospitable a manner, to linger\nwithout. The night was rainy and tempestuous--Giles shivered to the\nbackbone as he trod on the wheezing rushes strewed over the floor; they\nwere yet damp and dirty, by reason of the many visitors who had that\nnight loitered long at the Merry Maypole.\n\n\"Holloa, friend!--thy name?\" shouted Giles, placing his hand on the\nlatch.\n\n\"Open the door, for the love of mercy!\" cried a strange voice. Giles\ndrew back; he liked not this salutation--more, by token, from the\nadjurement being for the love of mercy, in lieu of an appeal to the\ntinkling angels that generally lined a traveller's pouch.\n\n\"Some sturdy beggar or mendicant friar,\" thought he, \"that knocks at my\ndoor because the chantry gates are shut. I care not to open my door to\nevery losel that knocks,\" cried he aloud. \"Hence! I know thee not.\"\n\n\"Goodman, give me a night's lodging, and I will reward thee\"--the door\nflew open at this intimation--\"with a palmer's benison,\" continued the\nstranger, advancing towards the wan embers that yet flickered on the\nhearth. Had Giles awaited the finishing of this sentence ere the latch\nwas loosened, some other and more hospitable roof had enjoyed the\nbenefit of that night's adventure.\n\n\"Thanks are not over meet for a cool stomach,\" growled the disappointed\ntapster; whilst his guest roused the decaying faggots into a faint and\nunsteady blaze.\n\nGiles surveyed the new-comer with no very sanguine prepossessions in his\nbehalf. The figure that met his scrutiny was clad in a dark cloak. The\nhood, partly thrown back, showed a somewhat \"frosty poll,\" though the\nvivacity of a wild and restless eye, peering from under his dark and\nluxuriant brow, would scarcely have betokened an age at which the coming\nwinter of life usually scatters these chill warnings of its approach.\nHis features were finely moulded. A weather-beaten cheek, mingling with\na complexion evidently sallow, gave a rich autumnal hue to his visage: a\nslight furrow, extending from the outer angle of the nostril around each\ncorner of a narrow and retreating mouth, gave a careless expression of\nscorn to the countenance when at rest; but, as he smiled, this sinister\naspect disappeared, and the soft gleam of benevolence which succeeded\nlooked the brighter from the portentous scowl that had just passed. His\nbeard was grey, and of a most reverent equipment, well calculated to\nexcite veneration and respect. He was above the middle size: his humble\ngarb but ill concealed a majesty of deportment indicating a disposition\nrather to command than to solicit favours. He seated himself on a low\nstool, and honest Giles, whose courage did not feel sufficiently\ninvigorated, in the presence of this proud palmer, to dare an open\nwarfare, began hostilities covertly, in manner as follows:--\n\n\"What ails ye, to disturb honest folks i' their beds at these hours? You\nmight ha' tarried in your last baiting-place--at any rate till the kye\nwere astir. I wonder the guard let you pass at the gate. But since these\nevil days have o'ershadowed the land, every braggart has licence to do\nas he list; and the monks and the friars, with their whole crew of dubs\nand deputies, are the worst of all. Old Cliderhow here, the parson,\nthought to have waged war with his betters; but he was a slight matter\nmistaken: we whipt him up by the heels for his treason.\"\n\n\"Is Cliderhow alive?\" inquired the stranger.\n\n\"Save us, pilgrim! where had you knowledge of the traitor?\"\n\n\"Our good king Edward,\" continued the guest, apparently not attending to\nGiles's question in reply, \"is still sorely beset with his enemies. Had\na score of knaves such as Master Cliderhow been hanged long ago, his\nreign had been less burdensome both to prince and people.\"\n\n\"It's twelve years--ay, twelve,\" said Giles, reckoning the lapse on his\nfingers; \"I know it by the great wind that beat down Master Markland's\nbarn wall at the Meadows, since Cliderhow's sermon, inciting the whole\nparish to rebellion.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" replied the palmer: \"he was in prison when I last knew of\nthe matter.\"\n\n\"Ay, ay,\" returned Giles knowingly; \"but threescore marks, disbursed\ndiscreetly to our good and loyal burgesses, made the doors as easy to\nopen as my wicket--that is, at timely hours, ye understand.\"\n\n\"Is he at large?\" inquired the other.\n\n\"They say he bides at Haigh,\" answered Boniface, \"roistering it with\nthat Welsh knight there, Sir Osmund Neville. I warrant Sir William's\nsubstance runs gaily down the old parson's throat.\"\n\nHere the palmer threw the hood over his brows. Suddenly he arose:\nstriding across the chamber with considerable speed, he twice repeated\nthe name of Sir Osmund Neville in a subdued tone, but with a bitterness\nof spirit that ill accorded with the outward habit of meekness which he\nhad assumed.\n\n\"Giles Dauber! what keeps ye so long there a-gossiping?\" shouted a\nshrill voice from above. It was the vocal substitute of Mistress Dauber,\nwho, resolutely determined not to budge at her husband's bidding, had,\nas she lay, listened, but to little purpose. Finding it was no everyday\nguest, she crept to the ladder-head and gave ear for a while; but soon\ndiscovering it to be an unthrifty sort of intercourse that was going on,\nnot likely to bring either gain or good-will to the house, and fearing\nthat Giles might fall into some snare from his ready-mouthed opinions\nregarding the unsettled temper and aspect of the time, she thought fit\nto break abruptly on the discourse ere it should lead to some dangerous\nor forbidden subject. He had, however, hit upon a favourite topic, in\naddition to which, he was now evidently loth to leave his guest ere he\nhad learnt the nature of his errand to these parts. An \"o'er-sea\npilgrim,\" as they were generally styled, was too choice an arrival for a\npetty hostel--especially in those times, when newspapers and posts were\nnot circulating daily and hourly through the land--to let slip an\nopportunity of inquiring about the king of Scotland, as Robert Bruce was\nthen called, or about his majesty, the Sultan Solyman--two personages\nwho were very frequently confounded with each other in mine host's\npolitical hemisphere, and whose realms formed the great pandemonium\nwhence issued all that was dire and disastrous to plague and perplex\nunhappy England.\n\n\"To bed! to bed!--Thou art ready enough to rise when thou art not\nbidden. To bed, I say!\" angrily shouted the disturbed Benedict.\n\n\"Hast _thou_ a wife?\" sternly inquired the pilgrim.\n\n\"A wife!--marry have I!\" exclaimed Giles; \"and here she comes.\"\n\nFinding there was no likelihood of a speedy termination to this\ninterview, our hostess of the Maypole conceived it to be a matter of\nduty that she should at least take her full share in the discussions and\ndisclosures that might ensue. For this purpose she descended, making a\ndeep acknowledgment to the generally supposed sanctity of the pilgrim's\nvocation. So much occupied, however, did he appear by other concernments\nthat he scarcely noticed her approach, but continued to pass with hasty\nand irregular steps across the chamber.\n\n\"By what quality or appearance may Sir Osmund Neville be distinguished?\"\nhe abruptly inquired.\n\n\"A right goodly person, and a brave gentleman! He gave me a sousing\nkiss, and a pair of mittens to boot, the last choosing of knights to the\nparliament,\" said the Dame.\n\n\"Hold thy tongue, Madge!\" angrily exclaimed Giles. \"Good father, heed\nnot a woman; they are caught by the lip and the fist, like my lord's\ntrencher-man. This Sir Osmund is both lean and ill-favoured. I wonder\nwhat the Lady Mabel saw above his shoe to wed with an ugly toad spawned\ni' the Welsh marshes. Had ye seen her first husband, Sir William\nBradshaigh--rest his soul! he was killed in the wars--you would have\nmarvelled that she drunk the scum after the broth.\"\n\n\"Lady Mabel and Sir Osmund are now at Haigh?\" cautiously inquired the\npalmer.\n\n\"You have business there, belike?\" sharply interrogated the\nindefatigable host.\n\n\"I have slight matters that require my presence at the hall. Does the\nknight go much abroad, or keeps he close house?\"\n\n\"Why, look ye, it is some three months or so since I smelt the fat from\nher ladyship's kitchen. Dan Hardseg smutted my face, and rubbed a\nplatterful of barley-dough into my poll, the last peep I had through the\nbuttery. I'll bide about my own hearth-flag whilst that limb o' the old\nspit is chief servitor. I do bethink me though, it is long sin' Sir\nOsmund was seen i' the borough. Belike he may have come at the knowledge\nof my misadventure, and careth not to meet the wrath of a patient man.\"\n\nHere the malicious dame burst into a giddy laugh.\n\n\"Thee! why Sir Osmund knoweth not thy crop from thy crupper, nor careth\nhe if thy whole carcase were crammed into the dumpling-bag. I'feck, it\nwere a rare pastime to see Sir Osmund, the brave Welsh knight, give the\ngutter to Giles of the Merry Maypole.\"\n\nGiles was speechless with dismay at this aggravating insult; but the\ndame continued:--\n\n\"I think, good stranger, the knight does keep house of late. Grim told\nme that last week he was a-sporting once only by way of the higher park;\nand he appears something more soured and moody than usual. If thou\ncrave speech with him though, to-morrow being almonsday at the hall, the\npoor have free admission, and thou mayest have a sight of him there:\nperadventure, as thou art strange in these parts, it will be needful\nthou hadst a guide.\"\n\n\"And just ready for the job thyself, I'se warrant,\" bitterly snarled the\nexasperated husband. The storm, long threatening, was about to burst\nforth; but the palmer, with holy and beseeching words, soothed for\nawhile the angry disputants, at the same time intimating that a guide\nwas unnecessary, the situation of the house being sufficiently obvious\nfrom whatever quarter he might direct his steps.\n\nThe stranger seemed not solicitous of repose, and Giles was too sulky to\ninquire his wants. The dame, however, drew a bundle of clean straw from\na huge heap, and threw it beside the hearth. A coarse and heavy rug,\nover which was thrown a sheep-skin with the wool innermost, constituted\na warm but homely couch. A horn cup filled with cider and a burnt\nbarley-cake were next exhibited, of which the palmer made a healthful,\nif not a sumptuous repast. Giles growled off to the loft above; and the\ndame, caring little for the sequel of her husband's humours, soon found\na resting-place by his side.\n\nMorning shone brightly and cheerfully through the chinks and crevices of\nboth door and lattice; but the pilgrim's couch was yet unsought. His\nvigils had been undisturbed, save when the baying of some vagrant and\nill-disciplined dogs, or the lusty carol of some valiant yeoman, reeling\nhome after a noisy debauch, startled him from a painfully-recurring\nthought, to which, however, the mind involuntarily turned when the\ninterruption had ceased.\n\nIt was late ere Giles awoke. Breathless with expectation, he hastened\nbelow, anticipating a rich budget of news from his guest; but he had\ndeparted.\n\nIt was one of those fresh and glittering mornings which autumn alone can\nproduce. Keen, pure, and exhilarating, the air seemed all buoyant and\nelastic, tinging the cheeks with ruddy health, and animating the whole\nframe with renewed vigour.\n\nA slight hoar-frost yet lay on the thatched roofs. Calm and undisturbed,\na gem-like brightness twinkled from every object; whilst the vapours\nthat covered them looked not as the shroud, but rather as a pure mantle\nof eider, hiding the fair bosom to which it clung.\n\nThe pilgrim entered a narrow street leading to the postern or gate,\ncalled Standish-gate. In those days it was not, as now, a wide and free\nthoroughfare for man and beast. At the accustomed fairs, toll is, to\nthis time, demanded on all cattle changing owners at the several\noutlets, where formerly stood four gates; to wit, Wall-gate, Hall-gate,\nMill-gate, and Standish-gate. Each gate where the toll-bars now stand\nwas once, in good sooth, a heavy barrier of stout beams, thickly studded\nwith iron. Through the night they were generally bolted and guarded by a\ncompany of the mayor's halberdiers. An irregular wall encompassed the\ntown, save on the eastern side, where the river Douglas seemed, in the\neyes of the burghers, to constitute a sufficient defence, a low abbatis\nonly screening its banks. The walls were covered, or rather uncovered,\nby a broad ditch: a bridge of rough-hewn planks, at three of the\nentrances before named, allowed a free communication with the suburbs,\nexcept during seasons of hostility, which unhappily were not rare in\nthose days of rapine and rebellion. Before the Mill-gate a wider and\nmore substantial structure, mounted on huge wooden props, facilitated a\npassage over the river. This edifice could be raised in cases of siege,\neffectually separating the inhabitants from their enemies.\n\nThe first beams of the sun began to peep through the angles of the\nwooden gable fronts, projecting nearly midway across the street,\nstreaming athwart the frosty air, and giving a beautifully variegated\nand picturesque appearance to the grotesque vista bounded by the\nStandish-gate.\n\nThe stranger paused not; mounting the hill with an alertness and agility\nthat scarcely seemed compatible with his age and appearance. On arriving\nat the gate, his garb was a sufficient passport, without the necessity\nof a challenge. Three or four of the guards were loitering and laughing\non a couple of benches built in a sort of arched recess on each side of\nthe gateway. As the pilgrim passed they became silent, bowing reverently\nas he pronounced the accustomed benison.\n\nOutside the barriers, the road lay through an open and uninclosed\ncountry. It was a matter of but slight moment what line of direction the\nnarrow and uneven pathways might describe, provided their termination\nwas tolerably accurate; all traffic and intercourse, being necessarily\nlimited, was mostly carried on through the medium of saddles and\nhorse-furniture.\n\nThe most inaccessible part of a hill was the site generally chosen; the\nroad ascending and descending in a meandering sort of zig-zig on its\nside. Rarely did our timid ancestors tempt the valley, often preferring\na roundabout course over a line of hills, if by so doing the perils of\nthe lower ground could be avoided.\n\nThe pilgrim followed a narrow and beaten track: it was bordered on each\nside by a deep ditch, nearly overgrown with weeds and brambles. He\ntraversed the intricate windings of the road with considerable facility;\nbut an hour had nearly elapsed ere he gained the brow of an eminence of\nno very conspicuous height, though it commanded a pretty extensive view\nof the country adjacent. From the east, a rich flood of glory blended\nthe whole into one broad mass of light, melting away the beauteous\nfrost-work, as the rays of morning dissipate the unreal visions that\nhave their existence only in darkness and repose. Southward lay the\nborough, distinguishable only by the broad tower of All-Saints rising\nfrom the mist, as if baseless and suspended. A bell boomed heavily\nthrough the quiet atmosphere: its long and lingering echoes came on the\npilgrim's soul like the voice of other years--of hopes and anticipations\nthat had for ever departed.\n\nWestward might be seen a curl of blue smoke from the newly-dignified\npriory at Upholland, recently invested with that honour through the\ngrants and intercessions of Sir Robert de Holland, a proud knight in the\ntrain of Thomas Earl of Lancaster. It was northward that the pilgrim\nturned, with a look of more intense anxiety. The mansion of Haigh stood\nat the extremity of a broad slope, surmounted by shady woods, now fading\ninto the warm and luxuriant tints of autumn. Dark and cumbrous turrets,\nprojecting from the wings, grimly caught the first gleam of the morning;\nwhilst a tower of considerable strength and elevation rose above what\ncould only be surmised as the principal gateway. It was apparently\ndesigned to overlook the whole fabric, serving as a refuge to the\nbesieged, and a stronghold in case of attack. Narrow loopholes might be\ntraced, irregularly disposed in the heavy masonry; and at the summit\nstood a small turret resembling a large chair, from which, at stated\noccasions, waved the richly-emblazoned escutcheon of the Norris and the\nBradshaigh. The staff was just visible, but unaccompanied by its\nglittering adjunct. It was this circumstance principally that seemed to\nengage the attention of the stranger. He broke into a loud and\ninvoluntary exclamation:--\n\n\"Sir William's birthday is forgotten!--That staff opened a rich blossom\nto the breeze ten years agone. It is the day--the very hour of Sir\nWilliam's birth!\"\n\nHe smote his forehead, scarcely able to contain the violence of his\nemotion.\n\n\"Let that day darken!--let it be cursed with storms and tempest!--let\nthe shadows of death brood over it, and the teeming night bring tenfold\nhorrors!--Yet how calm, how peacefully yonder sun approaches in his\nstrength! Nature is the same--bright, joyous, and unchanging!--Man, man\nalone, is mutable--his days are full of mourning and bitterness!\"\n\nHe bowed his head, crouching almost to the dust, in that overwhelming\nagony.\n\nSuddenly he was aroused, and in a manner as unceremonious as unexpected.\nA smart blow on the back announced a somewhat uncourteous intruder,\nwhilst a loud and discordant laugh struck shrilly on his ear. Starting,\nhe beheld a figure of a low and unshapely stature, clothed in a light\ndress, fantastically wrought. A round cap, slouched in front, fitted\nclosely to his head, from which depended what the wearer no doubt looked\nupon as a goodly aggregate of ornaments. These consisted of ear-tassels\nand rings of various dimensions, that jingled oddly as he twisted his\nhead from side to side with a knowing and important grin. A pair of\nlarge leathern boots, slipped on for travelling purposes, with ample\nflaps turning down from the knee, formed the lower costume of this\nstrange being. Round his neck he wore an iron collar: its import,\nwhether in the shape of punishment or decoration, is at this time\ndoubtful. A visage of more than ordinary size projected from between a\npair of shoulders that nearly overlooked the lower rim of his cap. A\nsort of dubious leer was its predominant expression, heightened ever and\nanon by a broad laugh, the eldritch shout of which first announced\nitself to the ear of the pilgrim. Matted and shaggy, the twisted locks\nhung wildly about his brow, whilst a short and frizzled beard served as\na scanty covering to his chin. A \"Sheffield whittle\" stuck in his\nbaldric; and in a pouch was deposited the remnant of a magnificent\npasty. From oft and over replenishment this receptacle gaped in a most\nunseemly manner, showing the shattered remains, the crumbling fragments,\nof many a huge mountain of crust.\n\nWith arms akimbo stood this prepossessing personage before the pilgrim,\nin all his native rudeness and disorder. The latter tightened his cloak\nabout him, and withdrew some three or four paces from his companion.\n\n\"Nuncle,\" said the jester--for such was in fact his vocation--\"I wonder\nfor what property master keeps a fool?--I bethink me 'tis for his wit:\nmore wit and less honesty, though.\" The palmer was silent.\n\n\"Art going to the hall?\" continued he. \"The fool is whipt there for\nbeing honest. Have a care, nuncle; if Sir Osmund catch thee, thou hadst\nas good bequeath thy bones to the Pope to make into saint's gear.--I'm\nvery sad, nuncle!\"\n\n\"Sad!\" said the pilgrim; \"in good troth, an' thou be sad, the cock of\nthe hall yonder is but in sorry plight.\"\n\n\"'Tis more wholesome to cry to-day,\" said the dolorous knave, \"knowing\nye shall laugh to-morrow, than to laugh to-day, and to-morrow's dool\nsomehow making your mirth asthmatic:\n\n    \"Be merry to-morrow; to-day, to-day,\n      Your belly-full fill of grief;\n    When sorrow hath supp'd, go play, go play,\n      For mirth I wot is brief.\n\n\"Ay, grandam, ye are wise; and an old woman's wit best becomes a fool:\n\n    \"When sorrow hath supp'd, go play, go play,\n      For mirth I wot is brief.\"\n\nHe drew out the last notes into one of those querulous cadences, much in\nvogue as an _ad libitum_ on all fitting occasions: even the sad features\nof the pilgrim were provoked into a smile.\n\n\"Art bound for the hall?\" again inquired the inquisitive hunchback.\n\n\"Yes, friend--whither else? Is it not almous-day, and thinkest thou the\nhouseless and wandering pilgrim will not share of the largess?\"\n\n\"Beggars and friars thrive--treason and corruption wed, and these be\ntheir children belike. Hast brought the Lady Mabel her old husband's\nbones from heathenrie?--her new one is like to leave her nought else,\npoor soul, for her comfort. She'll make her up a saint out o'them.\"\n\n\"If she has gotten another husband,\" said the pilgrim, \"the old one's\nbones would have a rare chance of her worship.\"\n\nThe facetious impertinent here gave a sort of incredulous whistle. He\neyed the palmer with a keen and scrutinising glance, but suddenly\nrelapsing into his accustomed manner, he burst into a wild and\nportentous laugh.\n\n\"I tell thee, if Sir Osmund catch thee carrying so much as a thumb-nail\nof Sir William's carcase, he 'll wring thy neck as wry as the chapel\nweathercock. My lady goes nigh crazed with his ill humours. I warrant\nthee, Sir William's ghost gaily snuffs up the sport. I have watched him\nup and down the old stairs, and once i' the chapel; and he told\nme\"--whispering close to the pilgrim's ear--\"a great secret, nuncle!\"\n\n\"Ay--what was that, Motley?\"\n\n\"Why, said he, if so be Sir William comes home again, he'll find his\nwife has got a cuckoo in her nest.\" Here he burst from the stranger with\na malicious shout, and descending a by-path, was soon lost amidst the\nintricacies of a deep wood, skirting the verge of an extensive forest.\n\nThe traveller's brow gathered a heavier gloom. With unconscious haste he\nsoon gained a gentle ascent, which led by a narrow and deep path to the\nmansion. Nigh to the bridge over the moat stood a blacksmith's hovel,\nconveniently situated for all job-work emanating from the armoury and\nthe kitchen, which at that time afforded full exercise for the musical\npropensities of Darby Grimshaw's great anvil. This hut was a general\nresort to all the idlers in the vicinity; Grim, as he was generally\nstyled for the sake of abbreviation, discharging the office of \"preses,\"\nor chief moderator, in all debates held therein. He was a shrewd fellow\nand a bold one. A humorous and inquisitive cunning lurked in the corner\nof his grey and restless eye. His curiosity was insatiable; and as a\ncross-questioner, when fairly at work, for worming out a secret he had\nnot his fellow. His brain was a general deposit for odd scraps, and a\nreservoir in which flowed all stray news about the country. He was an\nabstract and chronicle of the time; and could tell you where the Earl of\nLancaster mustered his forces, the day of their march, and the very\npurposes and projects of that turbulent noble. Even the secrets of my\nlady's bower did not elude the prying of this indefatigable artist; at\nany rate, he had the credit of knowing all that he assumed, which\namounted very much to the same thing as though his knowledge were\nunlimited: a nod and a wink supplying the place of intelligence, when\nhis wondering neophytes grew disagreeably minute in their inquiries.\n\nTowards this abode did the pilgrim bend his steps. A thick smoke hovered\nabout the thatch, that appeared very ingeniously adapted for the\nreception and nurture of any stray spark that might happen to find there\na temporary lodgment. Several times had this Vulcan been burnt out, yet\nthe materials were easily replaced; and again and again the hovel arose\nin all its pristine ugliness and disorder.\n\nDarby was just kindling his fire: a merry-making overnight had trenched\nupon morning duties, and daylight found him still stretched on his\npallet. Subsequent to this a noisy troop from the hall had roused him\nfrom a profound slumber.\n\n\"St George and the Virgin protect thee, honest friend!\" said the\npilgrim, as he stood by an opening, just then performing the functions\nof both door and chimney. Darby's perceptions being much impeded by the\nsmoke, he hastily approached the door. His surprise manifested itself\naloud, yet did he not forget a becoming reverence to the stranger, as he\ninvited him into the only apartment, besides his workshop, of which the\nroof could boast. It served for parlour, bedchamber, and kitchen; where\nthe presiding deity, Grim's helpmate, carried on her multifarious\noperations.\n\nThe officious housewife fetched a joint-stool, first clearing it from\ndust, whilst her husband added a billet to the heap. She was just\npreparing breakfast. A wooden porringer, filled to the brim with new\nmilk, in which oatmeal was stirred, a rasher of salted mutton, and a\nlarge cake of coarse bread, comprised the delicacies of their morning\nrepast. To this, however, was added a snatch of cold venison from the\nhall. \"But this, you see,\" said the old woman, \"is not of our own\nkilling; St Gregory forbid!--it comes from Dan there, who has the care\nof the knight's buttery.\"\n\n\"Rot him for a churl!\" said the smith; \"Sir Osmund grudges every mouth\nabout him; but\"--and here he looked wondrous knowing--\"he may happen to\nbe ousted yet, if Earl Thomas should come by the worst in this cabal.\"\n\n\"Sir Osmund, I find, is no favourite with his neighbours.\"\n\n\"Hang him!\" replied Grim, first looking cautiously into the shop;\n\"there's not a man of us but would like to see him and his countrymen\npacked off to-morrow upon ass-panniers. They were spawned from the Welsh\nditches to help that overgrown Earl against his master. If Sir William\nhad been alive I had spoken out without fear. He was a loyal knight and\na true--he ever served his country and his king. But I bethink me that\nperadventure ye may have heard of our late master's death, and who knows\nbut ye bring some token, pilgrim, to his lady?\"\n\n\"Thou hast shrewdly guessed--I bear the last message that Sir William\nsent to his lady; thinkest thou it may be delivered without the knight's\nprivity?\"\n\n\"Save thee, father! peril betides him who would hazard a message to my\nlady without her husband's leave.\"\n\n\"Is the Lady Mabel in health?--and the children?\" inquired the stranger.\n\n\"Sorely did she grieve when tidings came of Sir William's death in the\ngreat battle; but sorer still rues she her wedding with Sir Osmund\nNeville. Poor soul! It would melt the nails out of a rusty horse-shoe to\nsee how she moans herself, when she can steal privily to her chamber.\nThey say the knight caught her weeping once over some token that\nbelonged to Sir William, and he burnt it before her face, ill-treating\nher into the bargain.\"\n\n\"How came she to wed this churl?\"\n\n\"Oh, it's a sorry history!\"--The speaker paused, and it was at the\npilgrim's entreaty that he thus continued:--\n\n\"Parson Cliderhow had his paw in the mischief. She was in a manner\nforced either to wed, or, in the end, to have found herself and her\nchildren with never a roof-tree above their heads.\"\n\n\"How?--Sir William did not leave her portionless?\"\n\n\"I know not; but Sir Osmund had, or pretended he had, got a grant from\nthe Earl of Lancaster for possession of all that belonged to Sir\nWilliam, as a reward for his great services; and unless she wed\nhim--why, you may guess what follows, when a lone woman is left in a\nwooer's clutches. I shall never forget their wedding-day; it should\nrather have been her burying, by the look on't. Her long veil was more\nlike a winding-sheet than a bride's wimple.\"\n\nDuring this recital the palmer drew his seat closer to the hearth. He\nleant him over his staff, absorbed in that conscious stupor which seems\nat once shut out from all connection with external objects, and yet\nintensely alive to their impressions. Suddenly he rose, tightened his\nsandals, and looking round, appeared as if about to depart.\n\n\"It is our late master's birthday,\" said the loquacious informant: \"ten\nyears ago there was free commons at the hall for man and beast. Now,\nsave on almous-days, when some half-dozen doitering old bodies get a\nsnatch at the broken meat, not a man of us thrusts his nose into the\nknight's buttery but by stealth. Sir William's banner has not been\nhoisted, as it was wont on this day, since he left, with fifty armed men\nin his train, to help the king, then hard pressed in the Scottish wars.\nYe may get an alms among the poor to-day, but have an eye to the Welsh\nbowmen: these be the knight's privy guard, and hold not the quality of\nhis guests in much respect.\"\n\nHere the smith's angry garrulity was interrupted by Daniel Hardseg, a\nsort of deputy house-steward, whose duty it was to look after all\nbusiness not immediately connecting itself with any other department in\nthe household. He was prime executive in most of the out-door duty, and\na particular crony at the hovel. His \"Hilloa!\" was terrific.\n\n\"Why, a murrain to thee, goodman Grim, thy fire is colder than my\nhalidome; the sun is so high it puts it out, I reckon. Here have I two\niron pots, a plate from my master's best greaves, and a pair of spurs\nthat want piecing, and I'm like to tinker them as I list on a cold\nstithy. Get out, thou\"--Here he became aware of an additional inmate to\nGrim's dwelling; and this discovery for a while checked the copious\ntorrent of Dan's eloquence. Shortly, Darby drew him aside, and from\ntheir looks it might be gathered that some scheme was negotiating for\nthe pilgrim's safe admission at the hall. To an entreaty, more\nstrenuously urged on the part of our diplomatist, Dan replied, in a\nlouder tone--\n\n\"Why, look thee, gossip, it were as much as my lugs were\nworth--but--I'll e'en try.\"\n\n\"We shall hear some news about Sir William, depend on't, an' thou get\nhim a word with my lady.\"\n\n\"And what the better shall I be of that?--dead men make no porridge\nhot,\" simply retorted Dan.\n\n\"Go to,\" replied the other; \"it's but setting Maude on the scent--I\nwarrant thee, she'll sharpen her wits for the work. It will be a\ngrievous pity should he depart, and whisper not his message to her\nladyship. Maude's thin ears, as thou knowest, can catch a whisper, and\nthou wilt soon squeeze the secret out of her; then comes Darby's\nturn--by to-morrow, at the latest.\"\n\nThe news-doting artisan rubbed his dark fists with ecstacy. \"Go, knave,\"\nsaid he; \"thou art a teasing little varlet.\"\n\nHere Grim seemed ready to hug his comrade in the extremity of his\ndelight; but Dan was rather sullen, evidently ruminating on peril and\nmischance, wherein the tempter had no share, though participating in the\nprofits of the adventure. Eventually, the stranger was placed under the\npatronage of Daniel Hardseg, who, to do him justice, was well affected\ntowards the enterprise he had undertaken.\n\nPassing by a low wall to the north-east of the mansion, they were soon\nhidden by a projecting terrace or platform, which, in cases of siege,\ncould be converted into a sort of breastwork to cover the sallies of the\nbesieged. At the salient angle of this curtain stood a small postern, to\nwhich Dan applied a heavy key, and beckoning to his companion, they\nascended a narrow staircase. A succession of dark passages led to the\ngreat hall, from which a small arched doorway communicated by a private\nentrance to the chapel. As they passed the half-closed door, a gruff\nvoice was heard reciting the appointed service for the day. Dan slept\ncautiously by, and motioned the stranger to tread softly. The latter\npaused, listening with a look of anxiety, and pressed his staff across\nhis bosom;--soon, drawing his hood closer over his brow, he quickly\nfollowed the retreating footsteps of his companion.\n\n\"Praised be old Cliderhow's tough pipe!\" said Dan, when fairly out of\nhearing. \"Ha, ha!--sit down, sit down, good father,\" opening a\nhalf-door, as he laughed, and thrusting in the pilgrim; \"nobody can hear\naught besides, when he's fairly agoing.\"\n\nThe apartment into which this unceremonious conductor ushered his guest\nwas Dan's store-room.\n\nA most whimsical assemblage of materials were here huddled together.\nPans, wooden bowls, and matters of meaner import, entered into close\nfamiliarity with broadswords and helmets; boots of home manufacture in\ntheir primitive clothing; saddles with their housings; knives, and brown\nbottles of coarse pottery, were intermingled with many a grim-looking\nweapon of bloodthirsty aspect. From the walls depended a heterogeneous\nmass of apparel--cloaks, hats, and body-gear of unimaginable shape and\nappearance. Dan was steward of the wardrobe, or furniture-keeper to most\nof the retainers and other idle appendages to the hall; and as, in those\ndays, the sciences dependent on order and classification had not spread\ntheir beneficial influence through society at large, it frequently\nhappened that more time was consumed in rummaging amidst this unexplored\nchaos than would have sufficed to transact the whole affair for which\nany article was required. A round stool in the middle of this\n\"_Thesaurus\"_--the only unoccupied place except the ceiling--was the\nthrone of our friend, Dan Hardseg, when dispensing out his treasures\nwith stately munificence;--on this scanty perch was the stranger duly\ninstalled, and favoured with a benignant and knowing wink from Dan as he\ndeparted.\n\nWaiting for the return of his patron, the pilgrim was roused from a fit\nof reverie by the well-remembered greeting of the jester, Humphry\nLathom, or \"Daft Humpy,\" as he was mostly called.\n\n\"Eh, nuncle! But if Dan catch thee, he'll be sure to give thee a lift i'\nthe stocks.\"\n\nThis strange creature cautiously opened the door, and was speedily\nengulfed in all that fearful accumulation of sloth and disorder. By his\nmanner, it did not seem to be his first irruption into this vast\nmagazine; whilst, from the cautious and fearful glances he from time to\ntime cast through the door, it would appear that he had been detected in\nhis expeditions, and in all probability punished for the offence. He was\nevidently in search of some object from amidst the various heaps of\nlumber he overthrew; an inarticulate mutter, accompanying every fresh\nattack, indicated impatience and disappointment. Suddenly he exclaimed,\ndrawing forth a large roll, with ludicrous expressions of delight--\n\n\"I have thee, now! The buck's horns shall soon butt this great Welsh\ngoat from his pen.\"\n\nHe opened the banner. It was the pennon of the Bradshaigh, thrown aside\nto rot in dust and decay.\n\n\"Don't tell Dan, nuncle, and thou shall see rare sport.\"\n\nHe said this with his usual familiarity of tone; but suddenly putting\nhis mouth to the stranger's ear, he whispered. The words were inaudible,\nsave to him for whom they were meant; and in an instant he darted from\nthe spot, concealing the spoil amidst the folds of his apparel. Shortly\nafterwards Dan made his appearance. With wonder and dismay did he\nbehold the ravages committed in his treasure-house--\"confusion worse\nconfounded.\"\n\n\"Beshrew me, but thou art a restless tenant. I did not tell thee to\ntumble my wardrobe into haycocks.\"\n\n\"I was long a-watching,\" said the pilgrim; \"and, in good troth, I became\nover curious to know the capacity of thy sty. What tidings from my\nlady's chamber?\"\n\n\"A plague on her husband's humours! Maude says it were as much as a\nJew's thumb were worth to get thee privily to an audience, but she hath\nurged my lady to distribute the alms herself to-day; so betake thee to\nthe kitchen; Maude will contrive thou shalt have some token of approach.\nSt Anthony! but thou hast bestirred thee bravely; such another guest,\nand I might as well set fire to the whole budget. If thou be'st bent on\nsuch another rummage in the kitchen, the cook will whack thy pate with\nthe spit, holy and hooded though it be.\"\n\nDan led the way to this arena of gigantic gastronomy. It was a vast and\nsmoky den, such as could only exist in those days of feudal\nmagnificence. An immense furnace was fed by huge blocks of wood, which\nthe ravening flame seized and in a moment enveloped in its embrace.\nForms, grisly and indistinct, flitted past this devouring blaze, by the\nsputtering and crackling of which, mingled with the hissing delicacies\nbefore it, and the shrill scream of the presiding fury, a stranger might\nbe warned of his approach to this pandemonium some time ere its wonders\nwere visible. The pilgrim seated himself in an accessible corner,\nanxiously awaiting the promised signal.\n\nOn a long stone bench lay heaps of broken meat, ready for distribution\nto the groups of mendicants who were now clamouring without the gate.\nFrom the low and ponderous rafters hung dried mutton, bacon, and deer's\ntongues, wreathed in curls of smoke, that might seem to render an\nintroduction to the chimney unnecessary for completing their flavour.\n\nIt was not long ere a pert waiting-maid approached. She drew up her\nshort linsey-woolsey garments from the contaminations beneath her feet.\nRaising her chin, she thus addressed the servitors:--\n\n\"My lady bids ye bring the dole quickly into the great hall--She attends\nto-day in person. When the bell rings,\" looking towards the pilgrim as\nshe spoke, \"my lady leaves her chamber.\"\n\nMaude departed with the same supercilious deportment. The bell was\nimmediately heard, and the stranger, making the best of his way into the\nhall, found the doors wide open, and an indiscriminate assemblage of\nsupplicants, displaying to the best advantage a variety of modes and\nmanifestations of distress, unhappily not confined to those unhallowed\ndays of wretchedness and misrule. Their chief attention seemed to be\ndirected towards a side wicket, in the upper part of which was a slide\nfor the more convenient distribution of the accustomed largess, when the\nLady Mabel did not superintend the apportioning of her beneficence.\n\nIt was soon whispered amongst the crowd that she, who had for a\nconsiderable time kept aloof from all intercourse, would that day\ndistribute her own bounty.\n\nThe tinkling of the bell ceased, and suddenly the door flew open. Lady\nMabel and her maidens entered. The crowd fell back as she approached. Of\na commanding form and deportment, she seemed a being of some superior\ncreation; whilst, with slow and majestic steps, she passed on to the\nupper division of the hall, where the dais raised her slightly above the\nmultitude.\n\nShe was habited in deep mourning: her heavy train swept gracefully over\nthe dark pavement; her veil, in cumbrous folds, reached almost to her\nfeet, effectually concealing her face from the eyes of the spectators. A\nnumber of servitors, now entered, bearing the allotted viands, together\nwith sundry articles of winter apparel. The upper table was filled, and\na profound silence showed the awe and respect which her presence\ninspired. She raised her veil. Grief, long subdued, yet deep and\nirremediable, hung heavily on her pallid features, but their form and\ncharacter was untouched by the destroyer. Not a ringlet was visible. Her\nbrow, bare and unornamented, threw an air of severe grandeur on her\nwhole countenance. Around the lip fell a deeper shade of sorrow; but\nsweet, inexpressibly sweet and touching, was the expression. Though the\nrose had faded, yet, lovelier in decay, it seemed to mingle more\ngracefully with the soft hues by which it was surrounded.\n\nShe waved her hand: singly the mendicants approached, proffering their\nsimple tale of suffering and privation. To every one she administered\ncomfort; consoling the wretched and reproving the careless; but each had\na share of her bounty ere he withdrew.\n\nThe hall was nearly cleared; yet the palmer sat, as if still awaiting\naudience, behind a distant pillar, and deeply pondering, as it might\nseem, the transactions he had witnessed. The last of their suppliants\nhad departed ere he rose, bending lowly as he approached. The eye of the\nnoble dame suddenly became rivetted on him. She was leaning in front of\nher maidens, beside a richly-carved canopy of state, underneath which,\non days of feudal hospitality and pomp, presided the master of the\nbanquet. Behind, a long and richly-variegated window poured down a\nchequered halo of glory around her form. She seemed an angel of light,\nissuing from that fountain of splendour, and irradiating the whole group\nwith her presence.\n\n\"Reverend pilgrim, thy behest?\" She said this with a shudder of\napprehension, as if dreading an answer to her inquiry. The pilgrim spoke\nnot, but advanced.\n\nThe attendants drew aside. A silence, chill and unbroken as the grave,\npervaded the assembly. He took from his vest a silver ring. The Lady\nMabel grasped the well-known signet. With agony the most heartrending\nand intense she exclaimed--\n\n\"My husband's signet!--Where?--Whence came this pledge?--Speak!\"\n\nA pause ensued. It was one of those short ages of almost insupportable\nsuspense, when the mind, wound up to the keenest susceptibility of\nendurance, seems vibrating on the verge of annihilation,--as if the next\npulse would snap its connection with the world for ever.\n\n\"Lady,\" the pilgrim answered, in a low sepulchral tone, \"it is a bequest\nfrom thy husband. It was his wife's last pledge--a seal of unchanging\nfidelity. He bade me seek his dame, and say, 'His last sigh was to\nher--his last wish to heaven.'\"\n\nLady Mabel listened--every tone sunk like a barbed arrow to her heart.\nThe voice resembled not that of her deceased husband, yet such was the\ndeceptive influence arising from the painful irritation which her\nspirits had undergone, that, if reason had not forbidden, her fancy\nwould have invested it with supernatural attributes--listening to it as\nthough it were a voice from the tomb.\n\n\"For the love I bore and yet bear to his most honoured name, tell me--I\nconjure thee, tell me--his earthly resting-place. My last pilgrimage\nshall be thither. I will enshrine his hallowed relics, and they shall be\na pledge of our union where we shall no more part.\"\n\nThe last words were spoken with a solemnity of expression awful and\nthrilling beyond the power of language to convey:\n\n\"What recks it, lady? thou hast gotten thee another,\" said the pilgrim.\n\n\"Another!--Oh name him not. Never, never!--most base, most cruel. He\ntook advantage of my bereavement--a moment of weakness and maternal\nterror. By what long ages of suffering and wretchedness has it been\nrepaid! Better I had beheld my babes wasting with hunger, than have\nmated with this unpitying husband for a home and a morsel of bread!\"\n\nA flush of proud scorn at her own weakness overspread her features. It\nwas but momentary. She bade the attendants withdraw. Looking round for\nthis purpose, she was aware, for the first time, of the hated presence\nof Roger de Cliderhow, watching, with considerable surprise, for the\nresult of this unexpected interview. He departed with the retinue,\nleaving Lady Mabel and the pilgrim for a while unobserved.\n\n\"Thou art a holy and a heaven-destined man, yet surely thou hast been\ntaught to share another's sorrows--to pour the oil of compassion over\nthe wounds of the penitent and broken-hearted.\" The lady turned aside\nher head--she leaned over the chair for support, whilst one hand pressed\nher throbbing temples.\n\n\"_Mabel Bradshaigh!_\" It was the voice of Sir William. She started as at\na summons from the tomb. No other form was visible but that of the\npilgrim bending over his staff. Her eye wandered wildly around the hall,\nas if she expected some phantom to start from its recesses. A\nrichly-fretted screen, behind which the minstrels and lookers-on\noccasionally sat at the festival, stood at the lower end of the\napartment. A slight rustling was heard; she was about to rush towards\nthe spot, when the voice was again audible, and apparently at her side.\nSlowly the hood of the pilgrim was uplifted. He threw off his disguise;\nbut oh, how changed was the once athletic form of Sir William\nBradshaigh! With a wild and piercing shriek she flew towards the\noutstretched arms of her husband; but ere they met, a figure stepped\nbetween, barring their approach. It was the ungainly person of Sir\nOsmund Neville.\n\n\"Nay, nay, seek thy leman elsewhere, thou gay palmer. It were a brave\nhonour, truly, to graft me with thy favours.\" With this brutish speech\nhe was proceeding to lay hands on the lady, who stood stupefied in\namaze, and bereft of power to offer the least resistance.\n\n\"To me this insult! I'll chase thee from thy lair!\" exclaimed the\nincensed Sir William.\n\nRoger de Cliderhow at this moment suddenly approached, and in great\nalarm. He whispered Sir Osmund.\n\n\"'Tis Sir William!--Thou hast no time for parley. If his coming get\nabroad we are undone. Call thy men hither, and let him be conveyed away\nprivily. The dungeon will tell no tales. I'll summon them. If the\nservants get a whisper of the matter, I'll give out he is an impostor.\"\n\nFearful of encountering the glance of his injured lord, this worthy\nwithdrew in great precipitation.\n\nIt was but the work of a moment. Sir Osmund had taken the precaution to\nprevent all egress, so that Sir William and his lady were, in fact,\nprisoners, at the mercy and discretion of a cruel and cowardly foe.\n\nSir William had thrown off his cloak and the remainder of his disguise.\nHe now stood proudly erect before the supplanter, who was somewhat\nstunned by this unexpected issue.\n\n\"I defy thee to the combat; hast thou the grace to give me a weapon, or\nart thou as cowardly as thou art presuming?\" tauntingly inquired Sir\nWilliam.\n\n\"Impostor! wouldst have me believe every wish that folly genders? To the\nproof!\" sullenly replied Sir Osmund.\n\n\"What says the Lady Mabel? Let her decide,\" returned the other.\n\n\"She!\" cried the ingrate, with a contemptuous sneer; \"her wits are so\nset upon it, that she would worship any ill-favoured lout that should\ncall himself her husband.\"\n\n\"'Tis false! unblushing as thou art.\" The lightning kindled in the\nlady's eye as she spoke. Sir Osmund quailed beneath her glance.\n\n\"Am I mad?\" she continued; \"ay, if thy wish could have goaded me to it.\nThou hast heaped on me tortures, indignities, cruel as thy relentless\nnature could devise; but I have been spared for this!\" Her lips\nquivered. Shuddering, she spoke with amazing energy and distinctness. \"I\n_have_ repented, day and night, but they were unavailing tears. Oh, if I\nhave wronged thee\"--she covered her face with her hands--\"it was not\neven in thought that I grew unfaithful to thy trust. My babes, in a\nmoment of weakness I looked on them, smiling as they lay. I could not\ndash the cup from their lips ere they had well nigh tasted. I could not\nbehold them so soon doomed to misery and want.\"\n\nShe made a convulsive effort to repress her sobs.\n\n\"Can years of suffering atone for my crime?\"\n\nShe drew back as she continued, \"I abhor, I loathe the very existence I\nam forced to prolong. The cloister alone can hide my wretchedness and my\nshame.\"\n\n\"I forgive thee: nay, shrink not from my embrace,\" cried the distracted\nSir William; \"I blame thee not in my regret. Pure, and as free from\nguilt as when first I knew thee, do I now receive thee to my arms.\"\n\nSir Osmund smiled in contempt; at the same time casting a furtive glance\ntowards the side entrance, where, true to his word, Roger De Cliderhow\nhad summoned a guard of Welsh bowmen, their master's accomplices in many\na deed of violence and rapine.\n\nSir Osmund heard their approach. He cautiously undrew the bolts, and,\npointing to his foe with a signal they but too well understood, the\nlatter was immediately seized, and with such rapidity, that almost\nbefore Sir William was aware of their design, he found himself a\nprisoner and incapable of resistance.\n\n\"Traitor, thou wilt rue this foul despite! I here proclaim thee a craven\nknight and a dastard!\" exclaimed Sir William.\n\n\"False pilgrim,\" growled his adversary, \"didst think to foist thy\nfooleries upon me! The dungeon walls will give thee a patient hearing.\nBoast to them of thy descent, and when they acknowledge thee, so will I.\nGuards, to your duty.\"\n\nLady Mabel, with a loud and appalling shriek, fell senseless on the\npavement.\n\nIn vain did Sir William endeavour to free himself from the rude grasp of\nhis conductors. He was hurried along, nor did there appear the remotest\npossibility of escape. Just as they turned into a sort of corridor,\nleading to the passages more immediately connected with the place of\ntheir destination, they encountered Humphry Lathom. The same\nhalf-stupid, half-knavish expression of face was now lighted up by a\ngrin of apparently inexplicable amazement.\n\n\"Eh, nuncle,\" said he, stroking his beard, \"but you're in mighty grace.\nThe Welshman always mounts his he-goats for guard on them he delighteth\nto honour.\" With one of his more than ordinarily elvish and malicious\nshouts he scampered past the enraged sentinels, and was heard rapidly\nascending the steps of the great tower, beneath the massive foundations\nof which lay the dark and cheerless abode so unexpectedly destined for\nthe reception of its owner.\n\nWhilst these occurrences were passing within the walls Grim's curiosity\nwas in prodigious exercise without. His anxiety increased in a compound\nratio with the time elapsed, and inversely as the hope of intelligence\nwas decreasing. Every spare moment his eye was directed towards the\nhall; but no tidings came, no scout, no messenger from the scene of\naction, from whom the slightest inkling of the result could be gathered.\nIt seemed as though all intercourse had ceased, all transit and\ncommunication were cut off. It was mighty strange! some rare doings were\nafloat, no doubt, and not a soul would remember honest Grim in his\nthrall. He tied and untied his apron, beat the iron when it was cool,\nand let it cool when it was hot. \"It will be noon presently.\" He looked\nat the sun; it seemed to have crept backward for the last half-hour: at\nany rate, he was morally certain that useful appendage to this great and\ntroublesome world had stood still, if not retrograded. The mendicants\nwere all gone--no tidings to be gained from them--matters were more than\nusually contrary and provoking--and if it had not been for some recent\ndisgrace which his prying disposition had occasioned at the hall, he\nwould long ago have satisfied himself by a personal inquiry into the\npresent posture of affairs.\n\n\"Hope deferred\" was just on the point of being attended with the usual\nconsequences, when, taking another peep through a crevice, constructed\nfor putting into effect a more efficient system of examination, he\nbeheld a phenomenon as unlooked for as it was incomprehensible. He\nrubbed his eyes, strongly persuaded that some rigorous discipline was\nnecessary. He pinched his fingers, shook himself--was he really awake?\nor--he took another peep, still it was there; nor crossings,\nejaculations, nor other established contrivances had any effect. The\nvision that caused all this disturbance was the great banner of the\nBradshaigh on the tower, curling full and stately in the breeze. Wonders\nand misfortunes rarely come unattended. Grim's appetite for the\nmarvellous was now in danger of suffering as much from repletion as\nbefore from inanity, and he had just summoned his dame for a special\ncouncil, when his ears were assailed by a furious ding-dong. Stroke\nupon stroke, huge, heavy, and unceasing, followed each other in rapid\nsuccession. It was the great bell, used only on occasions of emergency\nand importance, the hoarse tongue of which had been silent since the day\nof Sir William's departure. There was no time to waste in conjecture.\nGrim rushed from his dwelling. Convinced that some catastrophe was at\nhand, his intention was to climb the hill behind his little hovel, in\norder to reconnoitre the premises with greater facility. Sallying forth,\nhe saw numbers of the peasantry on the same errand. All was bustle and\ninquiry; each giving his neighbour credit for the possession of some\nintelligence whereby the mystery might be unravelled.\n\n\"Sir William cannot have returned!\" said one.\n\n\"No,\" replied another, \"or the buck would soon butt the Welshman out of\nhis stall.\"\n\n\"Ha, ha!\" said a neighbouring gossip, \"those horns are big enough,\"\npointing to the device upon the banner--a buck _passant_.\n\nAs they drew nearer to the great gate the bell had ceased, when suddenly\nappeared, perched on a corner of the tower, the well-known form of \"Daft\nHumpy.\" He threw up his cap, caught it, and whirled it round his head\nwith every demonstration of joyous extravagance. \"Hurrah!\" shouted he,\nwith a distinct and shrill enunciation, which might be heard to the very\nextremities of the crowd. \"Hurrah for Sir William Bradshaigh!--he is\ncome again!--hurrah, neighbours!--in, in!\"\n\nHe ran round the battlements with unceasing vociferation. On hearing\nthis news, numbers entered the gate pell-mell, carrying with them some\nwho would fain have acted with more discretion, by watching the issue\nwarily and out of harm's way. Of this class was our stout-fisted friend\nDarby Grim, who, though of a well-composed valour when fairly tested,\nwas yet slow to move, and cared not to thrust his fingers uselessly into\na broil.\n\nThe first party that entered was met by Humphry.\n\n\"Pick-axes and spades!\" cried he, flourishing a stout staff. \"To the\ndungeon!--come along, come along!\" So far from accelerating their speed,\nthis address seemed at once to suspend all further progress. They gazed\nat each other; none wist what to do, naturally not overburdened with\nconfidence in the discretion of their guide. Suddenly checking himself,\nhe stood as erect as the nature of his form would admit, before the\nastonished auditors.\n\n\"Ye lazy caterpillars! ye cowardly scum of humanity! if ye follow me\nnot, I'll rouse the Welsh bull-dogs. Sir Osmund hath ta'en him to the\ndungeon, I tell ye; and who is there that will not lend a hand to the\nrescue of Sir William Bradshaigh?\"\n\nGrim was among the foremost of the invading army; on hearing this news,\na latent spark enkindled his courage most opportunely into a blaze.\nSeizing a cudgel, he brandished it in front of his comrades, like one\nhalf-frantic, crying, \"It is, it is; I have seen him this blessed\nday!--Hurrah for Sir William!\"\n\n\"Hurrah!\" shouted the crowd, whose courage, augmenting with their\nnumbers, soon manifested itself in an immediate attack on the cell,\nwhence they speedily extricated their lord. Intoxicated with joy, they\nvowed a summary vengeance on the discourteous knight who had so vilely\nentreated him.\n\nSir William's first care was for the rescue of his lady. She almost\nforgot her own sorrows on witnessing his joy when once more folding the\nchildren to his embrace. A short interval elapsed ere he sought his\nadversary; but he had fled, along with his unworthy followers. Such was\nthe wrong Sir William had suffered, that his yet untamed spirit deemed\nit an offence too foul to be expiated by aught but the blood of his\nmerciless foe. Armed, and with but few attendants, he hotly pursued him,\nand, as old chronicles tell, at a place called Newton, he overtook and\nslew him in single combat. Returning in safety, he lived happily with\nhis lady to a good old age. They lie buried in the chancel of All\nSaints, Wigan, where, carved on the tomb, their effigies still exist,\nthe rarest of the monumental antiquities in that ancient edifice.\n\nThe Lady Mabel's spirit had been too sorely wounded to recover its\ntranquillity. For the purpose of what was then deemed an expiation to\nher unintentional offence, she performed a weekly penance, going\nbarefooted from Haigh to a place outside the walls at Wigan, where a\nstone cross was erected, which bears to this day the name of \"MAB'S\nCROSS.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH.\n\n\n    \"Quhere are ye boun, ye bold prior,\n      With that ladye on your knee?\"\n    \"I'm boun to the hills, I'm boun to the dales,\n      I'm boun to the grey priory.\"\n\n_Old Ballad. M.S._\n\nOf the once renowned priory of Burscough, only two pillars, belonging to\nthe centre arch of the church, are now remaining. It is situated about\ntwo miles from Ormskirk, on the Preston road, in a level district of\ngreat compass renowned for its fertility. The extensive manor and living\nof Ormskirk formerly belonged to this priory. The charter of King Edward\nII., \"reciting and confirming the grants of the donors,\" with a\nconfirmation of the charter by which \"the prior and convent of\nBurscough, and their successors for ever, shall have one market every\nweek on Thursday, at their manor of Ormskirk, and likewise one fair\nevery year, of five days' continuance,\" is still preserved in the office\nof the Duchy of Lancaster.\n\nThis religious house was founded for Black Canons by Robert Fitzhenry,\nLord of Latham of Lathom, in the reign of Richard I. It was formerly the\nburial-place of the Earls of Derby; but many of the coffins have been\nremoved to their vault in the church at Ormskirk, built by Edward, the\nthird Earl, great grandson of Thomas, first Earl of Derby, who had the\nhonour of crowning Henry VII. at Bosworth Field with the coronet torn\nfrom the brows of the slain tyrant.\n\nThe main fact of the following tradition may be found in the Calend.\nRotulo. Patents, fol. 155, art. 13, containing the free pardon granted\nby Edward III. to the atrocious murderer of Michael de Poininges and\nThomas le Clarke, after the rape he had committed on Margaret de la\nBech.\n\nAt the Dissolution, this priory had a superior, five monks, and forty\nservants. The last prior was John Barton, who surrendered the living,\nand subscribed to the King's supremacy. He was surviving as late as the\nyear 1553.\n\n[Illustration: BURSCOUGH ABBEY.\n\n_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\nThat curious structure, the church at Ormskirk, having two steeples, a\ntower and spire, contiguous to each other, is briefly glanced at in the\ntradition. This circumstance, according to some accounts, was occasioned\nby the removal of part of the bells from Burscough at the dissolution of\nthe monasteries, when the existing spire steeple was found to be not\nsufficiently capacious. The tenor bell, said to have been the third\nbell, at Burscough, bears some apparent proof of its translation. Round\nthe circle, below the ear, is the following inscription in black letter,\nexcept the initials of the founder:--\n\n\"J.S. * de Burscough * Armig. * et * e * vr. * me fecerunt in honorem\nTrinitatis * R.B. 1497.\"\n\nAbout half-way down the bell is another date, 1576.\n\nWhere each asterisk is marked are the _rose, portcullis_, and _fleur de\nlis_. Beneath the inscription a neat border is cast, filled up in the\ncentre with the _rose, portcullis_, and _fleur de lis_, repeated so as\nto occupy the whole circumference of the bell. We have been thus\nparticular in our description, as it may not be uninteresting to pursue\nthis inquiry, connected as it is with some important historical facts,\nnot irrelevant to the subject.\n\nThe following remarks may preclude any further observations of our\nown:--\n\n\"The _red rose_ is well known to have been the favourite emblem of the\nhouse of Lancaster, from whom Henry VII. was descended, and through whom\nhe gloried in claiming his title to the throne.\n\n\"His mother, Margaret Countess of Richmond, then Countess of Derby, was\nsole daughter and heiress of the Duke of Somerset,[10] who bore the\n_portcullis_ as an heraldic distinction. This nobleman was descended\nfrom John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and Henry had a right to the\nhonourable bearings of his royal ancestors. Hence the '_rose and\nportcullis_' were favourite badges of this monarch, as peculiarly\nbelonging to the house of Lancaster. The '_fleur de lis_' is the emblem\nof France; and, independently of the arms of that kingdom being\nquartered at that time, and till very lately, with the royal arms of\nEngland, Henry had a right to assume this distinction also, as being the\ngrandson of Sir Owen Tudor and Catherine of France, relict of Henry V.\n\n\"The first date, also 1497, refers to a very important period in\nhistory, as connected with the Derby family. Two short years before, the\ngreat, the brave Sir William Stanley, who, of his own power and\ninterest, raised and brought 3000 horse and foot to the rescue of his\nprince, when his life, his honour, and his hopes of a throne were at\nstake; who contributed to his victory, and helped to crown him 'King' in\nthe field; had, by that very sovereign, been sent to the block, merely\non account of a doubtful and unguarded expression, reported by a rebel,\na traitor, and an ungenerous friend. The unhappy monarch, learning too\nlate the dire effects of groundless suspicion, paid a visit in the\nfollowing year to his deeply-wounded stepfather, the brother of the\ndauntless hero whom he had so lately sacrificed.\n\n\"It is stated that the King arrived at Knowsley on or about the 24th\nJune 1496, and then went to Lathom; whence, after remaining a month with\nhis mother the Countess, and the Earl her husband, he returned to\nLondon.\n\n\"This brings us within one year of the date on the tenor bell, and I\ncannot help thinking that its emblems have some allusion to the royal\nvisit to Knowsley and Lathom. It becomes, however, necessary to attempt\nto account for the second date, 1576, on the same bell. And here we can\nagain only conjecture. It is not improbable that the original bell was\ninjured; that, prior to breaking up, its inscription and emblems were\ncarefully moulded, and a new one cast, with the old metal, in the year\n1576, care being taken that a copy of the inscription, &c., should fill\nthe same situation in the present bell, which the originals occupied in\nthe former.\"[11]\n\nIt may not be deemed irrelevant to mention here a tradition which exists\nrelative to the visit of King Henry VII. at Lathom, particularly as it\ndoes not appear to be generally known.\n\nAfter the execution of Sir William Stanley, when the King visited\nLathom, the Earl, when his royal guest had viewed the whole house,\nconducted him up to the leads for a prospect of the country. The Earl's\nfool, who was among the company, observing the King draw near to the\nedge of the leads not guarded with a balustrade, stepped up to the Earl,\nand pointing down to the precipice, said, \"_Tom, remember Will_.\" The\nKing understood the meaning, and made all haste down stairs, and out of\nthe house; and the fool long after seemed mightily concerned that his\nlord had not had courage to take that opportunity of avenging himself\nfor the death of his brother.--_Kennett's MSS_. 1033. fol. 47.\n\nIt was on a still and sultry evening, about the close of summer, in the\nyear of grace one thousand three hundred and forty-seven, that a\nsolitary traveller was seen hastily descending, by a woodland path, into\nthe gloomy thickets that surrounded the neighbouring priory of\nBurscough. The rain-drops were just pattering on the dark leaves above\nhim, and the birds were fast hastening to some deeper shelter. The timid\nrabbit, as the stranger passed by, darted into its burrow, and many a\nquiet face gazed on him from beneath a pair of ragged antlers, peeping\nover the fences that guarded the demesne. Here and there a narrow glade\nopened beautifully into the woods, through which might be seen green\nlawns and pastures, with herds of dappled deer stealing silently to\ntheir covert. The low growl of the distant thunder seemed to come upon\neach living thing like the voice of some invisible spirit, subduing\nwith its mysterious speech every power and faculty, with an authority\nsuperior to all human control.\n\nThe traveller hastened on. The pinnacles and stately turrets of the\npriory were just visible through the arched boughs, when, turning into a\nmore sequestered path, he observed a female of a wild and uncouth aspect\nstanding in the way. She showed no disposition to move as he approached,\nnor did she seem to notice his presence. He stopped, but sufficiently\nnear to distinguish the motion of her lips. An unintelligible mutter\naccompanied it. She looked darkly towards the south, beckoning to the\ncoming thunder, and pointing, as though she would guide its course,\ntowards the grey walls of the priory.\n\nShe was dressed in a dark-coloured corset fitting close to the body, and\na hood of the same materials. Her hair was a deep jet, and fantastically\ntwisted about her face. She was of low stature, but not bowed by\ndecrepitude or age. Her cheek was hollow, and her complexion swarthy,\nbut her eye grew unnaturally bright, blazing out with a fierceness,\nintense as though the fire within were visible through these chinks and\ncrevices of the soul's tenement.\n\nThough the storm was rapidly approaching she still kept her place,\nunawed by the rude elements, and seeming to surfer but little\ninconvenience from the shower, now descending with great vigour. The\npath was narrow, and a thick underwood skirted the road, so that for the\nstranger to pass was impossible, unless his opponent chose to take up a\nmore favourable position. But the sudden burst of a terrific\nthunder-clap, which seemed to roll in a continuous peal above them, made\nhim less ceremonious on this head than the laws of gallantry might\nwarrant. He drew nearer to the female, with the intention of seeking a\npassage on that side where the least disturbance would be given.\n\n\"Go not. 'Tis accursed!\" said she, as if preparing to dispute the\nattempt.\n\n\"I am a stranger, and hastening for shelter. In troth, 'tis a narrow\ngoit that will not let a drowning man through. Prythee, dame, let me\nnot, in some wise, seem uncourteous. Yet\"----\n\nHere he attempted to pass; but she seized him, and with so powerful a\ngrasp that for a moment his intention was foiled, so sudden and\nunexpected was the attack. Though of a stout and muscular shape, yet\nwas he holden tightly, as if she were exulting in her strength. Either\nmalice or madness had given her a vigour of body beyond that of her sex.\n\n\"Michael de Poininges!\"\n\nThe stranger started at this recognition.\n\n\"I warn thee! Thinkest thou yon fiend will forward thy mission. Wilt\nthou tear the prey from the jaws of the famished and ravening wolf?\nBeware!\"\n\nSome score of years had elapsed since De Poininges was a visitor in\nthese parts; and he was now upon some sacred mission to the Prior of\nBurscough, Thomas de Litherland, whose great power and reckless\nintrepidity of guilt had won for him a name of no common note, even in\nthose ages of privileged injustice and oppression. No bosom but his own,\nat least in that neighbourhood, could have been privy to the business\nwhich brought him hither; and yet he found a woman casually crossing his\npath, whose knowledge of his errand was but too evident, and whose\nappearance and deportment might well excuse the suspicions he\nentertained as to her familiarity with the EVIL ONE.\n\n\"Go, poor beast! Thou art but fattened for the slaughter!\" She said\nthis, apparently addressing a stout buck that was sheltering in the\nthicket. De Poininges shuddered, as she looked on him askance, with some\ndubious meaning.\n\n\"I'll meet thee at supper-time.\"\n\nThis was said with a slow and solemn enunciation, as though some\nterrible warning was intended, yet durst he not question her further;\nand ere he could reply she had disappeared in the recesses of the\nforest.\n\nThe rain now poured down in torrents, and De Poininges was fain to\nhasten with all possible expedition towards the porter's gate.\n\nThe priory of Burscough had been founded the century preceding, for a\nbrotherhood of Black Canons, by Robert Fitzhenry, Lord of Lathom. He\nendowed it with considerable property, emoluments, and alms, and,\naccording to the weak superstition of the age, thought thereby to obtain\npardon and rest for the souls of Henry the Second, John, Earl of\nMoreton, himself, his wife, and all his ancestors; at the same time\nwishing the kingdom of heaven to all persons who would increase the\ngifts, and consigning to the devil and his angels all who should\nimpiously infringe on his bequests.\n\nIt was dedicated to St Nicholas, and a rude effigy of the saint was\ncarved over the south porch of the chapel, with two or three naked\nchildren at his feet. The building was not large, but the architecture\nwas chaste and beautiful, a noble specimen of the early Gothic, then\nsuperseding the ponderous forms and proportions of the Norman, or rather\nSaxon era. The arches were sharply pointed. The windows, narrow and\nlancet-shaped, were deeply recessed; the slender shafts of the columns\nwere carried in clusters to a vast height, surmounted by pinnacles of\nrich and elegant tracery; these gave a light and airy character to the\nwhole, highly significant of the buoyant feelings that accompanied so\nwonderful an escape from the heavy trammels of their predecessors.\n\nCraving shelter, De Poininges was admitted without any question, as all\ntravellers partook indiscriminately of the general bounty. The religious\nhouses in those days were the constituted almonries of the rich and\ngreat; and through these overflowing channels, for the most part,\nproceeded their liberality and beneficence.\n\nHe was ushered into one of the _locutories_, or parlours, where, his\nbusiness being with the prior, he was desired to wait until an audience\ncould be granted.\n\nPrior Thomas, from some cause or other not assigned, held himself at\nthat season much estranged and secluded from his brethren. He had seldom\nbeen seen from his lodgings, except when performing his accustomed\noffice in the church. He had not taken his place in the refectory of\nlate, the duties of the day being performed by one of the elder canons.\n\nDe Poininges, after a short space, was summoned to the prior's chamber.\nIn his progress, he passed the door of the refectory where the brethren\nwere at supper. It was large and wainscoted, and furnished with an ample\ndresser. Cupboards were let into the wall, and windows opened into the\nkitchen, through which their meal was served.\n\nOne of the monks was reading the appointed service from a low pulpit or\ndesk. The prior's seat was still vacant. Their way now led through the\ncloisters, and at the opposite side of the quadrangle a portal\ncommunicated by a long and dark passage with the prior's lodging. This\nwas a sort of inferior castellated mansion, with a spacious hall, and a\nsmaller dining-chamber immediately adjoining. At the end was a fair\nchapel or oratory. Ascending a flight of stone steps, they came to a\nlow door. The conductor knocked, and De Poininges soon found himself in\nthe presence of the proud Prior of Burscough. He wore a square cap of\nblack stuff, after the fashion of his order. His cloak, or upper\ngarment, was of the same colour, trimmed round the bottom with a double\nedging. He reposed on a couch, or oaken settle, and seemed, in some\nmeasure, either indisposed or unwilling to notice the homage he\nreceived. His figure was strong and muscular, his complexion dull, and\nalmost swarthy. His lips were full, and his aspect rather coarse than\nsensual. His brows were high, and unusually arched; but his eyes were\ndowncast, and seldom raised towards the speaker. In speech he was brief\nand interrogative, but impatient under a tardy or inefficient answer.\n\n\"Thy name, stranger?\"\n\n\"Michael de Poininges.\"\n\n\"From whence?\"\n\n\"My business concerns you in private. I await your reverence's\npleasure.\"\n\nThe prior motioned the attendants to withdraw.\n\n\"Proceed. Thy message?\" He spoke this with precipitancy, at the same\ntime abruptly changing his position.\n\n\"Mine errand is touching one Margaret de la Bech,\" said De Poininges,\nseating himself opposite to the prior; \"and I am directed to crave your\nhelp for the clearing away of some loose suspicions regarding her\nconcealment.\"\n\n\"Her concealment!\" replied De Litherland, starting up angrily from the\ncouch. \"Her concealment! They who hide may find. I know not aught of the\nwench, save that she was mad, and drowned herself. But why not inquire\nof Sir Thomas? The maiden was not in my keeping.\" He paced the chamber\nhaughtily, but with a disturbed and lurid aspect.\n\n\"Yet,\" replied the other, \"it is well and currently reported, and\nwitnesses there be who have already testified as to a fact, that some of\nyour men were seen the night of her withdrawal lurking in her path, and\nthat screams and other manifestations of the outrage then perpetrated\nwere heard in this direction. Not that we deem any blemish can attach to\nyour reverence in this matter. Still\"--\n\n\"Why dost thou hesitate in thy speech?\" said the prior, in a voice\nalmost inarticulate with choler.\n\n\"I would say,\" answered De Poininges, \"that it is our wish, and your\nduty, to search into this dark question, without favour or prejudice;\nand, further, we do reckon that the Prior of Burscough is not without\nthe means to discover, and the power to punish, his offending vassals.\"\n\n\"And whose evil star guided thee hither with this insolent message?\"\ninquired the prior, pale and trembling with rage.\n\n\"Those whom your reverence may not lightly contemn. I have here a\nwarrant from the Council to procure all fitting help and suppliance for\nthe bringing up the body of Margaret de la Bech, who is suspected of\nbeing detained in this neighbourhood, by persons hitherto unknown,\nagainst her own proper will and consent.\"\n\nThe prior paused for a space. A somewhat more placid expression and\ndemeanour was the result.\n\n\"I am no stranger,\" said he, \"to this idle and mischievous rumour. Means\nhave been used to discover its likelihood or credibility, but we find it\nto be utterly false and unworthy of our notice. The inventor of these\ntales shall not long escape.\"\n\n\"Yet hath she been a-missing ever since,\" said De Poininges, warily;\n\"and in vain hath search been made for the body. And furthermore, we\nhave her own expressed apprehension, as it regards one she durst not\nname, and a perilous foreboding of the evil that awaited her. It is to\nthis source, yet obscure, I must own, that our inquiries are to be\ndirected.\"\n\n\"Tarry here until the morning, and I will then give thee some further\ndiscourse on the matter.\"\n\n\"Nay, Sir Prior,\" answered De Poininges. \"I thank your grace's courtesy,\nbut this night I must away to the village or town hereabout, Ormschurch\nI think it be, and there, in all likelihood, I may abide for some days.\"\n\nThe prior bit his lips, but sought not to oppose his intent, further\nthan by giving a hint that foul weather was abroad, and of the good\ncheer and dry lodging the priory afforded. De Poininges, however, took\nhis way afoot, returning to the town, where his horse and two trusty\nattendants awaited him at the tavern or hostel.\n\nThe evening was fair, and the sky clear, save a broad and mountainous\nridge of clouds piled up towards the north-east, from whence hung a\nblack and heavy curtain stretching behind the hills in that direction.\nThe sparkling of the sea was visible at intervals behind the low\nsand-hills skirting the coast, giving out, in irregular flashes, the\nrich and glowing radiance it received. A lucid brightness yet lingered\nover the waves, which De Poininges stood for a moment to observe, as he\ngained the brow of the hill near the church. To this edifice was then\nappended a low spire, not exhibiting, as now, the strange anomaly of a\nhuge tower by its side, seated there apparently for no other purpose\nthan to excite wonder, and to afford the clerk an opportunity of\nillustrating its origin by the following tradition:--\n\nLong time ago, two maiden sisters of the name of Orme, the founders of\nthis church, disagreed as to the shape of this most important appendage.\nTower against spire was, in the end, likely to leave the parties without\na church in answer to their prayers, had not the happy suggestion\noffered itself in the shape of a pair of these campanile structures\nsuited to the taste of each.\n\nThat the foregoing is an idle and impertinent invention there is little\nneed to show, inasmuch as both tower and spire might still have been\nbuilt to satisfy the whim of the old ladies, though placed in the usual\nmanner, one serving as a substratum to the other. A more probable\nsolution is the following, though it may be as far from the truth:--At\nthe dissolution of the priory of Burscough in the time of our great\nreformer Henry the Eighth--who, like many modern pretenders to this\nname, was more careful to reform the inaccuracies of others than his\nown--the bells were removed to Ormskirk; but the small tower beneath the\nspire not being sufficiently capacious, the present square steeple was\nadded, and the wonder perpetuated to this day.\n\nDe Poininges, on crossing the churchyard, met there a personage of no\nless note than Thomas the Clerk, or Thomas le Clerke, retiring from some\nofficial duties, arrayed in his white surplice and little quaint\nskull-cap. He was a merry wight, and in great favour with the parish\nwives. He could bleed and shave the sconce; draw out bonds and\nquittances; thus uniting three of the professions in his own proper\nperson. He was prime mover in the May games, and the feast of fools.\nMorris, Moriscoe, or Moorish dancers, there is good reason for\nsupposing, were not then introduced, though by some said to have been\nbrought into England in the sixth year of Edward III., when John of\nGaunt returned from Spain; but few traces of it are found earlier than\nHenry VII., so that it is more probable we had them from our Gallic\nneighbours, or even from the Flemings.\n\nHe could dance, too, and play on the rebeck and citerne, this being a\ncommon amusement with the customers during the time they were in waiting\nat the barbers' shops, as newspapers were not then at hand to sustain\nthis difficult office. He was of a dainty person; clad mostly in a\nkirtle of light watchet-colour, thick set with loose points. His hosen\nwere grey, mingled with black, and his shoes were belayed with knots and\nornaments, of which, and his other stray gear, he was not a little\nproud.\n\nThis Thomas was used to go about with a censer, on a Sunday, as Chaucer\nhath it,--\n\n    \"Censing the wives of the parish feast.\"\n\nAbsalom, that pink of clerkly portraiture, seemed but a fair prototype\nof this individual, Geoffrey Chaucer at this time being a setter forth\nof rhymes and other matters for the ticklish ears of sundry well-fed and\nfrolicksome idlers about the court of King Edward.\n\nThe merry knave of whom we speak was, however, in happy ignorance of all\ncourtly fashions. Provided he obtained his Sunday contributions, and his\nChristmas loaf, and his eggs at Easter, little wot he how the world went\nround. He was a frequent visitor at the tavern, and De Poininges had\nalready been distinguished by his especial notice.\n\nFrom his character, and the means of information arising out of his\nmultifarious occupations, De Poininges expected that some of the\nintelligence he was in search of might be gathered from this source.\n\nThe petty hostelry was now in sight, a projecting bush denoting the\nvintner's residence. The house was but thinly attended, though clean\nrushes and a blazing billet bespoke comfort and good cheer. De Poininges\nand his companion turned aside into a smaller chamber, where mine host\nwas speedily summoned for a flagon of stout liquor. This being supplied,\nthey addressed themselves to the wooden utensil with right goodwill; and\nas the draughts began to quicken, so did the clerk's tongue not fail to\nwag the faster. De Poininges adroitly shifted the discourse upon the\nbusiness of which he was in quest, whenever there was a tendency to\ndiverge, no rare occurrence, Thomas being somewhat loth for a while to\nconverse on the subject. The liquor, however, and his own garrulous\npropensities, soon slipped open the budget, and scraps of intelligence\ntumbled out which De Poininges did not fail to lay hold of as hints for\nanother line of examination.\n\n\"I reckon so, at any rate, and so said Geoffrey,\" replied the clerk,\nafter a pause, subsequent to some close question.\n\n\"Sir Thomas, the Lord of Lathom, as you may have heard, he is a\ngood-hearted soul, and this Margaret de la Bech was companion to his\ndaughter Isabel. She was ever held as a dame of good family and descent,\nthough a stranger in these parts. Then she was passing fair, so that\nboth squire and gentleman, as they looked on her, were nigh devoured\nwith love. They say, too, her conditions were gentle and winsome as a\nchild; and\"--\n\n\"Good,\" said De Poininges, who found he was slipping away from the main\nsubject. \"But hath not Sir Thomas made some apparent search since her\ndisappearance from the hall?\"\n\n\"Save the mark--she was drowned in the moat. So say the gossips,\" said\nthe clerk, looking askance. \"Her hood and mantle were on the brink--but\nher body! why, it never jumped out again to look for them--that's all.\"\n\n\"But did no one look for the body?\" carelessly inquired De Poininges.\n\n\"The knight groped diligently in the castle ditch for many days; but\nlight fishes make light nets, as we say. There was no corpse to be\nfound, and many an Ave Maria has been said for her soul.\"\n\n\"What cause was then assigned for this fearful deed?\"\n\n\"'Tis said she was in love, and went mad! I wot she was ever sighing and\nrambling about the house, and would seldom venture out alone, looking as\nthough she were in jeopardy, and dreaded some hidden danger.\"\n\n\"Thinkest thou, friend, that some hidden danger might not be the cause;\nand this show of her drowning but a feint or device that should turn\naside the current of their inquiry?\"\n\nThe clerk looked anxious and uneasy, sore puzzled, as it might seem, to\nshape out an answer. At length, finding that the question could not be\nevaded, he proceeded with much hesitation as follows:--\n\n\"Safe as my Lord Cardinal at his prayers--she is dead though; for I\nheard her wraith wailing and shrieking up the woods that night as I\nstood in the priory close. It seemed like, as it were, making its way\nthrough the air from Lathom, for the smell of consecration, I reckon.\"\n\n\"Go on,\" said De Poininges, whose wits were shrewdly beginning to gather\nintelligence from these furtive attempts at concealment.\n\n\"Well-a-day,\" continued the clerk, draining an ample potation, \"I've\nheard strange noises thereabout; and the big building there, men say, is\nhaunted by the ghost.\"\n\n\"Where is the building thou speakest of?\"\n\n\"The large granary beyond the postern leading from the prior's house\ntowards the mill. I have not passed thereby since St Mark's vigil, and\nthen it came.\" Here he looked round, stealing a whisper across the\nbench--\"I heard it: there was a moaning and a singing by turns; but the\nwind was loud, so that I could scarcely hear, though when I spake of it\nto old Geoffrey the gardener, he said the prior had laid a ghost, and it\nwas kept there upon prayer and penance for a long season. Now, stranger,\nthou mayest guess it was no fault of mine if from this hour I passed the\ngranary after sunset. The ghost and I have ever kept ourselves pretty\nfar apart.\"\n\n\"Canst show me this same ghostly dungeon?\"\n\n\"Ay, can I, in broad daylight; but\"--.\n\n\"Peradventure thou canst show me the path, or the clue to it; and I\nwarrant me the right scent will lie at the end on't.\"\n\n\"And pray, good master, wherefore may your curious nose be so mightily\nset upon this same adventure?\" said the clerk, his little red and\nferrety eyes peering very provokingly into those of his opposite\nneighbour. Now, De Poininges was not for the moment prepared to satisfy\nthis unexpected inquiry, but his presence of mind did not forsake him.\nRightly guessing his friend's character--a compound in universal esteem,\nto wit, fool and knave--he drew from his pouch a couple of bright ship\nnobles, then but newly coined, which effectually diverted the prying\nlooks of Thomas le Clerke.\n\n\"Why, look ye,\" said the latter, as the coin jingled in his bag, \"I was\never held in good repute as a guide, and can make my way blindfold over\nthe bogs and mosses hereabout; and I would pilot thee to the place\nyonder, if my fealty to the prior--that is--if--I mean--though I was\nnever a groat the richer for his bounty; yet he may not like strangers\nto pry into his garners and store-houses, especially in these evil\ntimes, when every cur begins to yelp at the heels of our bountiful\nmother; and every beast to bray out its reproaches at her great wealth\nand possessions.\"\n\nDe Poininges was more and more convinced that his neighbour knew more of\nthe matter than he durst tell; but it seemed expedient to conceal his\nsuspicions for the present. In the end it was agreed that the cunning\nclerk should accompany him so far as to point out the situation; but on\nno account would he consent to keep watch during the absence of De\nPoininges. The latter assented to this arrangement, secretly resolving\nto dictate other terms where his will should both command and be obeyed.\n\nThey immediately set out on horseback, followed by the servants, to whom\nDe Poininges had given a private signal.\n\nThe moon had risen. One bright star hung like a \"jewel in an Ethiop's\near\" in the dark sky above the sun's track, which at this season sweeps\nlike a lucid zone, dividing day from night, round the northern horizon.\nSuch a time of purity and brightness often succeeds the sultry and\noppressive languor of the day, especially when refreshed by the passing\nstorm; the air so clear that objects press, as it were, upon the\neyeballs, affecting the sight as though they were almost palpable to the\ntouch. The dews had not descended, but the leaves were still wet. Big\ndrops glittered in the moonlight, pouring a copious shower on the\ntravellers as they passed. The clerk began a low chant, humming and\nwhistling by turns: this gradually grew more audible, until the full\nburst of the \"_Miserere_\" commenced, richly adorned with his own\noriginal quavers. So enamoured was he of his qualifications in this\nrespect that he was fairly getting through high mass, when, midway in a\nravishing \"_Benedictus_\" he made a sudden halt.\n\n\"What is that creeping behind the bushes there?\" inquired he, in a sort\nof half-whisper to his companion. De Poininges looked in the direction\npointed out, and thought he saw something, dark and mysterious, moving\nbetween the boughs on his left. He stopped, but the object, whatever its\nnature, had disappeared.\n\nSore alarmed was the timid chorister; but though his melodies had\nceased, a plentiful supply of credos and paternosters were at hand to\nsupply their place. Crossing himself with a great show of sanctity, he\nmoved on with much caution, his deep hoarse voice having subsided into a\nhusky and abrupt whisper, often interrupted when objects the most\ntrivial arrested his glance and aroused his suspicions.\n\nThey arrived without molestation at an enclosure about a mile distant\nfrom the priory. Here they alighted, leaving the horses to the care of\ntheir attendants. Turning the angle made by a low wall, they observed a\nfootpath, which the clerk pointed out as the shortest and most\nconvenient course to their destination. Soon the east end of the priory\nchapel was visible, basking in the broad light of the harvest moon, then\nriding up full and unclouded towards her zenith. Buttress and oriel were\nweltering in her beam, and the feathery pinnacles sprang out sharp and\nclear into the blue sky. The shadows were thrown back in masses deep and\nunbroken, more huge in proportion to the unknown depths through which\nthe eye could not penetrate.\n\n\"There--again! 'Tis a footstep on our track!\" said the clerk, abruptly\nbreaking upon the reverie of his companion.\n\n\"'Tis but the tread of the roused deer; man's bolder footstep falls not\nso lightly,\" was the reply; but this did not quiet the apprehensions of\nthe querist, whose terrors were again stealing upon him. Their path was\nup a little glen, down which the mill-stream, now released from its\ndaily toil, brawled happily along, as if rejoicing in its freedom. Near\nthe mill, on a point of land formed by an abrupt bend of the stream,\nstood the storehouse or grange. It was an ample structure, serving at\ntimes for purposes not immediately connected with its original design. A\nsmall chamber was devoted to the poorer sort of travellers, who craved a\nnight's lodging on their journey. Beneath was a place of confinement,\nfor the refractory vassals and serfs, when labouring under their\nmaster's displeasure. It was here the garrulous clerk said he had been\nscared by the ghost, and his reluctance to proceed evidently increased\nas he drew nearer. He did not fail to point out the spot, but resolutely\nrefused to budge a step farther.\n\n\"We had best return,\" said he; \"I have told thee what I know of the\nmatter.\"\n\n\"And what should scare thee so mightily, friend,\" said De Poininges,\n\"from out the prior's grange? Methinks, these ghosts of thine had a\nprovident eye to their bellies. These haunters to the granary had less\nobjection to the victuals than to a snuff of the wind before cock-crow.\"\n\n\"I know not,\" replied Amen, rather doggedly; \"'tis all I heard, though\nthere be more that live hereabout than the prior and his monks, I trow.\"\n\n\"Thou hast been here ofttimes o' nights?\" carelessly inquired the other.\n\n\"I have, upon some chance occasion it may be; but since that ugly noise\ngot wind, to which my own ears bear testimony, I was not over-curious to\npass within hearing, though it were only the rogues, some said, that\nwere mulcting the flour-sacks.\"\n\n\"But thou knowest there was a hint dropped a while ago at the hostel,\nthat the maiden, whom thou hast now forgotten, methinks, had some\nconnection with this marvellous tale of thine; and now, it seems, I am\nto believe 'tis but the knaves or the rats purloining the prior's corn!\nHark thee, friend,\" said De Poininges, in a stern tone, \"no more\nevasion: no turn or equivocation shall serve thee: out with it, and lead\non, or\"--\n\nA bright flash from his falchion here revealed the peril that he\nthreatened.\n\n\"_Miserere mei_--Oh,--_Salve et!_\"--\n\n\"Silence, knave, and pass quickly; but remember, if I catch thee\ndevising any sleight or shuffle, this sharp point shall quicken thee to\nthy work. It may prove mighty efficacious, too, as a restorative for a\nlapsed memory.\"\n\n\"I'll tell thee all!--but--hold that weapon a little back, I prithee.\nNay--nay, thou wouldest not compass a poor man's death in such haste.\"\n\n\"Lead on, then, but be discreet,\" said De Poininges, softly, at the same\ntime pushing him forward at his sword's point.\n\n\"Here is some help to mine errand, or my craft fails me this bout.\"\n\nAfter many qualms and wry faces, De Poininges, by piecemeal, acquired\nthe following intelligence:--\n\nOne night, this honest clerk being with a friend on a predatory\nexcursion to the prior's storehouse, they heard a muffled shriek and a\nsharp scuffle at some distance. Being outside the building, and fearing\ndetection, they ran to hide themselves under a detached shed, used as a\ndepository for firewood and stray lumber. Towards this spot, however,\nthe other parties were evidently approaching. Presently three or four\nmen, whom they judged to be the prior's servants, came nigh, bearing a\nfemale. They entered into the shed, and proceeded to remove a large heap\nof turf. Underneath seemed to be one of those subterraneous\ncommunications generally contrived as a retreat in times of peril; at\nany rate, they disappeared through the opening, and the clerk and his\nworthy associate effected their escape unobserved.\n\nFear of detection, and of the terrible retribution that would follow,\nhitherto kept the secret undivulged. There could be little doubt that\nthis female was Margaret de la Bech; and her person, whether living or\ndead, had become a victim to the well-known lawless disposition of the\nprior.\n\nThey were now at the entrance to a low gateway, from which a short path\nto the left led them directly towards the spot. Entering the shed, they\ncommenced a diligent search; but the terror and confusion of the clerk\nhad prevented such accuracy of observation as could enable him to\ndiscover the opening, which they in vain attempted to find, groping\ntheir way suspiciously in the dark.\n\n\"Softly, softly!\" said the clerk, listening. A low murmur came from the\nopposite corner, like the muttering of one holding audible communion\nwith his own spirit. De Poininges listened too, and he fancied it was a\nfemale voice. Presently he heard one of those wild and uncouth ditties,\na sort of chant or monotonous song, which, to the terrified\npsalm-singer, sounded like the death-wail of some unfortunate ghost.\n\nThe following words only became sufficiently distinct:--\n\n    \"The sunbeam came on a billow of flame,\n      But its light, like thine, is done:\n    Life's tangled coil, with all its toil,\n      Is broken ere 'tis run.\n\n    \"The kite may love the timid dove,\n      The hawk be the raven's guest;\n    But none shall dare that hawk to scare\n      From his dark and cloud-wreathed nest!\n\n    \"Wail on, ye fond maidens,\n      Death lurks in the cloud;\n    The storm and the billow\n      Are weaving a shroud:\n\n    \"There's a wail on the wind;\n      Ere its track on the main,\n    A light shall be quenched,\n      Ne'er to kindle again!\"\n\n\"Surely I have heard that voice aforetime,\" thought De Poininges. It was\ntoo peculiar for him to mistake. The woman had loitered in his path a\nfew hours before. It seemed her brain was somewhat disturbed: a wanderer\nand an outcast in consequence, she had here taken shelter ofttimes for\nthe night. He determined to accost her; a feeling of deference prompted\nhim, a superstitious notion, arising from an idea then prevalent, that a\nsuperior light was granted to those individuals in whom the light of\nreason was extinct. He approached with caution, much to the terror and\ndistress of his companion.\n\n\"It is crazy Isabel,\" said he, \"and the dark spirit is upon her!\" But De\nPoininges was not in a mood to feel scared with this intimation. The way\nwas intricate, and he stumbled over a heap of dried fuel. The noise\nseemed to arrest her attention for a moment; but she again commenced her\nsong, paying little heed to this interruption. On recovering his\nposition, he was about to speak, when, to his great surprise, she thus\naccosted him:--\n\n\"I have tarried long for thee. Haste--equip for the battle,--and then,\n\n    \"'My merry men all,\n      Round the greenwood tree,\n    How gallant to ride\n      With a gay ladye.'\n\n\"I am crazed, belike. Good wot; but I can ride o'er the neck of a proud\nprior.\n\n    \"'And the moon shone clear\n      In the blue heavens, where\n    The stars twinkle through her veil of light:--\n      There they gave me a merry shooting star,\n      And I rolled round the wain with my golden car,\n      But I leapt on the lightning's flash, beside\n    The queen of this murky night!'\"\n\n\"Crazed, indeed!\" thought De Poininges.\n\n\"Hush,\" said she: \"I'll tell thee a secret.\" She drew a light from some\nconcealed recess, and flashing it full in the face of the intruder,\nseemed to enjoy the effect wonderfully. On a sudden her brow wrinkled,\nand the dark billows came over her spirit as she exclaimed--\n\n\"But,\n\n    \"'Thou hast work to do,\n    Or we may rue\n      The thieving trade.'\n\n\"Go to--I must be calm. The spirit goeth forth, and I may not wander\nagain. But my poor head: it burns here--here!\" And she put her hand\ntenderly on that of De Poininges, raising it to her brow, which throbbed\nviolently. She started back, as from some sudden recollection, gazing\nintently on his countenance.\n\n\"I know it--the vision tarrieth not. Now,\" she said--crossing herself\nwith great solemnity, and with apparent composure, as if all trace of\nher malady had disappeared--\"we must away. Follow; yet will I first set\nyon rogue to watch.\" She sought the terrified man of canticles, and,\nspeaking in a low tone, raised her hand as though with some terrible\ndenunciation in case of disobedience. Immediately she returned, and,\npointing to a heap of loose stuff, began to throw it aside.\n\n\"Here--here!\"\n\nBut De Poininges hesitated, thinking it a somewhat dubious adventure to\nfollow a mad woman, it might be, in quest of her wits. Seeing his\nunwillingness to proceed, she whispered something in his ear which\nwrought a marvellous change. He looked as if petrified with wonder, but\nhe followed now without shrinking. They entered by a narrow door,\ncuriously concealed. On its closing after them, De Poininges and his\ncompanion seemed shut out from the world,--as if the link were suddenly\nbroken which bound them to earth and its connections.\n\nThe first sensation was that of dullness and damp, accompanied by a\nmouldering vapour, like that from the charnel-house or the grave. Their\nway was down a winding and broken staircase; at the bottom a straight\npassage led them on to a considerable distance. Damps oozing from the\nwalls made the path more and more tiresome and slippery as they\nproceeded. Shortly it became channelled with slime, and absolutely\nloathsome. The bloated reptile crawled across their path; and De\nPoininges beheld stone coffins piled on each side of the vault. Passing\nthese, another flight of steps brought them to a low archway, at the\nextremity of which a grated door, now unbarred, led into a cell\nseemingly contrived as a place of punishment for the refractory or\nsinning brethren, who might be doomed to darkness and solitude as an\nexpiation of their offence. The only furniture it contained was a\nwretched pallet, on which, as the light flashed doubtfully, De Poininges\nthought he beheld a female. He snatched the light, and eagerly bent over\nthe couch. With a shout of joy he exclaimed--\n\n\"Be praised, ye saints, 'tis she!\"\n\nIt was the wasted and squalid form of Margaret de la Bech. She raised\nher eyes towards him, but they were vacant and wandering. It was soon\nevident that her reason was impaired, and the spirit still inhabiting\nthat lovely tenement was irrevocably obscured. Cruel had been her\nsufferings. Crimes too foul to name--but we draw a veil over the\nharrowing recital! When the last horrible act was consummated the light\nof her soul was put out, and her consciousness extinguished.\n\nTo meet thus! A living inhumation, where the body exists but as the\nspirit's sepulchre! It were better they had been consigned to oblivion,\nshut up and perishing in the dark womb of the grave. The cry of\nvengeance had gone up, but was offered in vain for a season. The present\nperiod of existence was not allotted for its fulfilment. It was\npermitted to this monster that he should yet triumph unpunished--his\nmeasure of iniquity was not yet full.\n\nThe limbs of the unconscious sufferer were pinioned:--the fiend-like\nmercy of her tormentors prevented her own hands from becoming the\ninstruments of her release. De Poininges restored her to freedom; but\nalas! she knew it not. The thick veil which Heaven's mercy drew upon her\nspirit rendered her insensible to outward impressions. He raised her in\nhis arms, bearing her forth from that loathed scene of darkness and\ndisgrace; and when the pure breath of the skies once more blew upon her,\nit seemed as though it awakened up a faint glimmer in the dying lamp.\nShe looked round with eagerness, and De Poininges thought some ray of\nintelligence began to brighten, as objects again appeared to develop\ntheir hidden trains of association on the memory; but the light was\nmercifully extinguished ere she could discover the fearful realities of\nher despair, and she again relapsed into hopeless and utter inanity.\n\nThey were still loitering in the little shed, the clerk groaning out a\nsad and mournful chant. De Poininges appeared unable to arouse himself\nto the exigencies of the moment, when Isabel, wildly waving her torch\ntowards the entrance, cried--\n\n\"To horse--to horse! They will be here presently. Already has the raven\nsnuffed your carcase--\n\n    \"'But the bolt whistled through\n      The heavens blue,\n    And Sir Lionel lay on the battle-field.'\"\n\nShe seemed to hearken, as though in apprehension of approaching\nfootsteps. De Poininges, roused from this dangerous stupor, prepared to\nescape ere the prior's emissaries had intelligence of her removal.\n\nThey had passed the rivulet in safety, and had just gained the wood\nnear to where the attendants lay in wait with the horses, when an arrow\nwhizzed past De Poininges. For him the shaft was intended, but its\ndestiny was otherwise--the unfortunate chanter lay stretched on the\nground in his last agony. De Poininges flew on with redoubled speed.\n\n\"Treachery!\" he cried. His men knew the signal, and galloped towards\nhim; but their aid was too late. A shack-bolt, aimed with a sure hand,\npierced him at this moment.\n\n\"Take her--Margaret de la Bech! The prior--a murderer--ravisher! Fly\nto\"--\n\nThe remaining words fell unuttered. His faithful attendants bore off the\nlifeless body, together with the hapless Margaret, who was soon placed\nin safety, far from the relentless fangs of the Prior of Burscough.\n\nFearful and undeniable was the testimony and accusation they brought,\nbut in vain. No effort was spared to bring upon this monster the just\nrecompense of his crime; yet, from the great scandal which a public\nexecution must have drawn upon the Church, but more especially from the\ngreat influence he possessed amongst the nobles and chief dignitaries of\nthe land, not only did he escape unpunished, but he received the king's\nmost gracious pardon, in the twenty-first year of Edward the Third: so\ntrue are the following words from an historian of that reign:--\n\n\"These men had so entrenched themselves in privileges and immunities,\nand so openly challenged an exemption from all secular jurisdiction,\nthat no civil penalty could be inflicted on them for any malversation in\noffice, and even treason itself was declared to be no canonical\noffence.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[10] _Beaufort_, Duke of Somerset. Somerset, Duke of Beaufort, now bears\nthe _portcullis_ for his crest. There is an engraving by Vertue, from a\npainting in the royal collection at Kensington Palace by Maubeugius in\n1496, of the three children of Henry VII. and Elizabeth his queen,\n_Prince Henry, Prince Arthur_, and _Princess Margaret,_ which is\nornamented at the top with the _portcullis_ surmounted with roses.\n\n[11] Glazebrook's Southport.\n\n[Illustration: THE EAGLE AND CHILD.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE EAGLE AND CHILD.\n\n\n        \"She's over the muir,\n        An' over the border,\n    An' ower the blue hills far awa':\n        With her callant, I trow,--\n        On his saddle-bow,\n    While the mist-wreaths around them fa'.\"\n\nThe main facts of the following narrative, lying scattered through a\nwide field of barren inquiry, the author has been at considerable pains\nto collect and arrange in a continuous narrative.\n\nLittle needs be said by way of introduction, the traditions here\ninterwoven with the general history being mostly of a trivial nature,\nand not at all interfering with the facts developed by the historians\nand rhymers who have illustrated the annals of the house of Stanley.\nThese accounts, exaggerated and distorted as they inevitably must have\nbeen, may yet, in the absence of more authentic testimony, afford a\npretty accurate glimpse at the real nature of those events, however they\nmay have been disguised by fiction and misstatement. Where tradition is\nour only guide we must follow implicitly, satisfied that her taper was\nlighted at the torch of Truth, though it may gleam doubtfully and\npartially through the mists and errors of succeeding ages.\n\nOne source from whence we have derived some information, though well\nknown to the comparative few who have explored these by-paths of\nhistory, may not be thought uninteresting to the general reader,\nespecially as it is connected with the most eventful portion of our\nnarrative.\n\nAn ancient metrical account of the Stanleys, Earls of Derby, is\ncontained in some uncouth rhymes, written about the year 1562, by\nThomas Stanley, Bishop of Sodor and Man,[12] and son of that Sir Edward\nStanley, who, for his valour at Flodden, was created Lord Monteagle.\nThere are two copies of these verses in the British Museum: one amongst\nCole's papers (vol. xxix. page 104), and the other in the Harleian MSS.\n(541). Mr Cole prefaces his transcript with the following notice:--\"The\nHistory of the family of Stanley, Earls of Derby, wrote in verse about\nthe reign of King Henry the Eighth from a MS. now in possession of Lady\nMargaret Stanley, copied for me by a person who has made many mistakes,\nand sent to me by my friend Mr Allen, Rector of Tarporley, in 1758.--W.\nCole.\"\n\nThe MS. formerly belonged to Sir John Crewe, of Utkinton, and was given\nby Mr Ardern, in 1757, to Lady Margaret Stanley.\n\nThe commencement of this metrical history is occupied in dilating upon\nthe pleasure resulting from such an undertaking; and although the flow\nof the verse is not of remarkable smoothness, yet it hardly furnishes an\napology for Seacome's mistake, who, in his \"History of the House of\nStanley,\" printed the first fifty lines as prose. The reverend versifier\nrehearses how Stanley sprang from Audley, and then shows the manner in\nwhich his ancestors became possessors of Stourton and Hooton. He dwells\nupon the joust betwixt the Admiral of Hainault and Sir John Stanley, the\nsecond brother of the house of Stanley of Hooton.[13] Then follows the\naccount, more particularly developed in our own story, of the adventures\nand moving accidents which have been liberally used to adorn the\n\"Garland\" of his descendant William, Earl of Derby. \"For many\ngenerations this was the recognised chronicle of the family, until, in\nthe time of James the First, a clergyman of Chester translated the\nrhymes of the Bishop into English, carefully retaining the mistakes of\nthe original, and adding long and dull disquisitions of his own.\"\n\nIn the days of our valiant King Edward, while the fame of Cressy and\nPoictiers was fresh and stirring in all true and loyal hearts, while the\nmonarchs of two powerful kingdoms were held captive in these realms,\nlived a worthy knight, of whom we had a brief notice in the preceding\nnarrative. Sir Thomas Lathom of Lathom was a nobleman of great wealth\nand possessions. According to the Calendarium Rotulorum from the Charter\nRolls in the Tower, he held lands, besides, in Knouselegh, Childewall,\nRoby, and Aulusargh. In Liverpool, he was proprietor of the tower, a\nstructure of but little note until rebuilt and fortified by Sir John\nStanley during his government in Ireland, of which we shall have more to\nsay anon.\n\nSir Thomas married, in the year 1343, the youngest daughter of Sir Hamon\nMassey of Dunham Massey, in the adjoining county of Chester. Twelve\nyears had since that period elapsed at the time when our story begins;\nand though earnestly desiring male issue, that his name and race might\nbe perpetuated, yet was the sole fruit of their union hitherto a\ndaughter, named Isabel, then just entering on her tenth year. Her\nwinning and surpassing comeliness proved no solace to his\ndisappointment. He grew moodish and melancholy in the midst of his vast\nwealth; apprehending the utter extinction of his name, and the intrusion\nof a stranger on his birthright. Hopeless of other issue by his own\nlady, he had recourse to unlawful means for this purpose, which procured\nfor him a sore chastisement in the end, as our narrative will show.\n\nIn that neighbourhood dwelt a comely maiden, the only daughter of a\nsubstantial yeoman, of the name of Oskatell. This damsel, pleasing the\namorous fancy of Sir Thomas, fell an easy prey to his arts and\npersuasions. Though concealed from her friends, their too frequent\nintercourse at length became visible in the birth of a son, greatly to\nthe joy of the father, who meditated nothing less than to adopt this\nillegitimate babe for the perpetuation of his name. Yet were there\npreliminaries of no mean importance to be adjusted, as all men who have\nwives may well conceive. The lady of Lathom must first be consulted; but\nprobabilities were strongly against the supposition that she would\ntamely submit to this infringement on the rights of her child by the\ninterposition of a bastard. Nay, she had beforetime hinted that some\nindividual of the name, of moderate wealth and good breeding, might in\ntime be found for a suitable alliance. Still, the success of his scheme\nwas an object that lay deeply at his heart, and he grew more and more\nanxious and perplexed. One evening, as he wandered out disconsolately in\nthe company of an old and trusty servant, to whom he had imparted the\nsecret, they came to a desert place in the park, nigh to where a pair of\neagles had from time immemorial built their nests. A project struck him\nwhich promised fair to realise his wishes. After a multitude of schemes\nsubservient to the main purpose had been thrown out and abandoned, the\nwhole plot was finally unfolded in the following manner:--\n\nA message was conveyed to the mother overnight, that betimes on the\nfollowing morning the babe, richly clad, should be held in readiness,\nand a trusty servant would forthwith convey him to the hall. She was\nperemptorily forbidden to follow; and in her great joy at this\nannouncement, naturally supposing that a more favourable posture of\naffairs had arisen between Sir Thomas and his lady on the subject, she\ncheerfully consented to this unexpected deprivation, confident that it\nwas to the furthering of her child's welfare and advancement. The\ninfant, smiling, and unconscious of the change, was taken from his\nmother's lap, his swaddling clothes carefully folded together, and\ncommitted to the care of the aged domestic.\n\nLittle was the anxious mother aware of the great peril he had to undergo\nere the goal which bounded her anticipations was won.\n\nIt was the soft twilight of a summer's morning, and the little birds had\nbegun to chirp their matins, and the lark to brush the dew from her\nspeckled breast, waiting for the first gaze of the sun. The old man\npressed the infant closer to his bosom as he drew nigh to the steep\nacclivity, the solitary dwelling of the eagle. He kissed the babe; then\nlooking round, fearful of intruders, he laid the wicker cradle at the\nfoot of the precipice, and sprang into a dark thicket close by, as if to\nwatch for the descent of the rapacious bird.\n\nLeaving the child, we turn to Sir Thomas, who on that morning, as was\nhis wont, together with his dame, awoke betimes, but he was sooner astir\nand more anxious and bustling than usual. Their custom was, awaking with\nthe sun, to begin the day with a quiet stroll about the grounds; and on\nthis eventful morning their walk chanced happily towards the eagle's\nnest. Being something farther and more out of their common track, it was\nnoticed good-humouredly by the lady, who seemed to possess a more than\nordinary portion of hilarity on the occasion. Evidently under some\nexciting influence, their walk was unconsciously protracted.\n\nIn a gloomy dell, not far from the eyrie, Sir Thomas stood still, in the\nattitude of listening. The lady, too, was silent and alarmed, but no\nintimation of danger was visible. Her own senses, though, seemed to\ngather acuteness,--a circumstance by no means rare in the vicinity of an\nunusually timid and listening companion, who braces our perceptions to\nthe tension of his own. Soon, however, the short and feeble cry of the\nbabe was heard, when the knight sprang forward, feigning great\nastonishment at the discovery. Evidently dropped from the talons of the\nbird, it was looked upon as a special gift of Providence, a deposit\ndirect from the skies; to have rejected which would have been a heinous\noffence, and an unlawful contravention of the designs of the Giver.\nAccordingly, the infant was taken home and carefully nursed, being\nbaptized by the name of Oskatell.\n\nThe good lady became surprisingly enamoured of the little foundling,\nbelieving his adoption was dictated by the will of Heaven; and to this\ndecision its father readily acceded. Sir Thomas, to give the greater\nsanction to this supposed miracle, as well as to remove all suspicion of\nfraud from the prying eyes of a censorious world, assumed for his crest\nan eagle on the wing, proper, looking round as though for something she\nhad lost.\n\nThe child grew in years and stature, being liberally furnished in all\nthings according with the dignity he was destined to receive. Sir Thomas\npurposed the sharing of his wealth equally between his children, a\nmeasure which had the entire concurrence of Lady de Lathom. Though\nyounger by some years, Oskatell was generally considered by the world as\nthe future husband of Isabella; but Sir Thomas, aware of danger on this\nhead, early impressed them with some notion of consanguinity, and\nintimated the impossibility of their union. This prohibition, settling\non a womanish fancy, might naturally have been expected to operate in a\nmanner the reverse of his intention. Yet we do not find from history\nthat Isabella ever cherished for him any other sentiments than those\narising from a sisterly regard.\n\nGrowing up to man's estate, he sought the court of King Edward, where,\nthough of a peaceable temper, his soul was stirred to participate in\nthe gallant feats incident to that scene of martial enterprise.\n\nIsabella was now in the full summer, or, it might be, ripening into the\nrich autumn of her beauty. Her father would by no means have permitted\nher union save with one of the highest rank, to which her gentle blood\nand princely inheritance entitled her. And though not a few hitherto, of\nnoble birth and endowments, had sought the honour of her alliance, yet\nher heart was untouched, and in the end her suitors forbore their\nhomage.\n\nAll the country was now mightily roused with the news of the French\nchampion who, together with sundry of his companions in arms, had\nchallenged the English nation to match them with the like number at a\nsolemn joust and tourney, and of the great gallantry and personal\naccomplishments of Sir John, then Captain Stanley, who had first taken\nup the gauntlet in his country's behalf. The lists were prepared. The\nmeeting, by the king's command, was appointed to be holden at\nWinchester, where the royal court was expected to witness this splendid\nachievement. Oskatell, returning home, strongly importuned his sister to\naccompany him to the show, it being then deemed a pleasant recreation\nfor many a fair and delicate maiden to view their champions hack and hew\neach other without mercy. Isabella, unceasingly urged to this excursion,\nat length set out for the city of Winchester, followed by a numerous\ntrain of attendants, where, in due time, they arrived, mingling in the\nbustle and dissipation incident to these festivities.\n\nYoung Stanley was the second son of Sir William Stanley, Lord of Stanley\nand Stourton. As a younger branch of the house, he commenced his career,\nit is said, under the command of his relative Lord Audley; but this\nappears something doubtful. The battle of Poictiers, in which Captain\nStanley is said to have been, was fought in 1357; and here he must have\nbattled in petticoats, seeing that his father was but married 26 Edward\nIII., and, consequently, making due allowance for accidents and\nirregularities, young Stanley, as the second son, could not then have\nproceeded beyond his third year! a precocity unprecedented, we believe,\neven in the annals of that fighting era. The conflicting statements we\nmeet with about this time, both traditionary and recorded, we cannot\nattempt to reconcile. Sufficient information happily exists, however,\non which no doubt arises; and by the aid of that we proceed with our\nnarrative.\n\nStanley, according to some, having been a great traveller, had improved\nhimself diligently in the art of war; and, as the old chronicles\nquaintly relate, \"he visited most of the courts of Europe, even as far\nas Constantinople; wherein he made such advances in the school of Mars,\nthat his superior skill in arms was generally applauded in every country\nhe passed through.\" So distinguished and widely-extended a reputation\nfor bravery could not fail to provoke the pride and envy of all\nChristendom, whereupon the young Admiral of Hainault, one of the bravest\nmen of his time, together with divers gentlemen of the French court,\ndefied the whole kingdom to a passage of arms, the result of which\nchallenge has been shown.\n\nGreat was the confluence and resort to the city of Winchester, it being\nnoised abroad as though the king would distinguish the affray by his\npresence; wondrous the stir and bustle of the soldiers, guards, and\nattendants, with hordes of idlers and hangers-on, from the vast array of\nknights and nobles, who came either to see or to share in the\napproaching trial. The splendid banners, the heraldic pomp and barbaric\ngrandeur of their retinues, augmenting with every fresh arrival, made\nthe streets one ever-moving pageant for many days before the conflict\nbegan. Isabella had full leisure to observe, from her own lattice, the\ngay and costly garniture, and the glittering appointments of the\nwarriors, with the pageants and puerile diversions suited to the taste\nand capacity of the ignorant crowds by which they were followed. The\nking's mummers were arrived, together with many other marvels in the\nshape of puppet-shows and \"motions\" enacting the \"old vice;\" Jonas and\nthe whale, Nineveh, the Creation, and a thousand unintelligible but\nequally gratifying and instructive devices; one of which, we are told,\nwas \"four giants, a unicorn, a camel, an ass, a dragon, a hobby-horse,\nand sixteen naked boys!\"\n\nThe crowds attracted by these spectacles were immense, and the city nigh\nchoked with the torrents that set in from every quarter.\n\nFrom the windows of the houses, where lodged the knights appointed to\nthe encounter, hung their several coats, richly emblazoned, rousing\nforth many a shout and hurrah, as one and another symbol was recognised\nto be the badge of some favourite chief; but more than all, was the\nyoung Stanley's escutcheon favoured by the fickle breath of popular\nopinion, which made it needful that a double guard should be mounted\nnear his dwelling,--a precaution, moreover, rendered needful by the many\ntumults among the different partisans and retainers, not always ending\nwithout bloodshed. The arrival of the king, however, soon changed the\ncurrent of the wondering multitude. Edward was now in his sixty-fourth\nyear, and the fiftieth of his reign. Though the decline of his life did\nnot correspond with the splendid and noisy scenes which had illustrated\nthe earlier periods of his history, yet he still manifested the same\nrestless and undaunted spirit, ever considered as the prevailing\nattribute of his character. Towards the close of his career he had the\nmortification to endure the loss of his foreign possessions, having been\nbaffled in every attempt to defend them. He felt, too, the decay of his\nauthority at home, from the inconstancy and discontents of his subjects.\nThough his earlier years had been spent amid the din and tumult of war\nand the business of the camp, yet was he, at this period, almost wholly\ngiven up to pleasure and the grossest of sensual indulgences. Alice\nPierce, to whom he was immoderately attached, had gained an ascendancy\nover him so dangerous that the parliament remonstrated, with a courage\nand firmness worthy of a more enlightened era, and in the end he was\nobliged to remove her from court. Sometimes the spirit of his youth\nawoke; the glory of past ages was stirred up within him; and, like the\naged war-horse neighing to the shrill note of the trumpet, he greeted\nthe approaching tournament with something of his wonted ardour,--though\nnow but an expiring flash, brightening a moment ere it was extinguished.\n\nThe day rose calm and unclouded. The thin haze of the morning had\ndisappeared, and an atmosphere of more than common brilliancy succeeded.\nThrough a great part of the preceding night the armourers had been\nbusily employed altering and refitting the equipments, and the dawn had\nalready commenced ere their labours were suspended. The lists were\ncarefully scrutinised, and all chance of foul play averted. The priests,\ntoo, had blessed the armour and weapons from magic spells and \"foul\nnegromancie.\"\n\nThe barriers were built of stout boards, firmly riveted together; the\nroyal pavilion being on the southern side, richly canopied and\nembroidered with costly devices. Galleries were provided for the nobles,\nnot a few of whom, with their courtly dames, were expected to be\npresent.\n\nThe lists were sixty paces in length and forty in breadth between the\nplatforms on which the knights' tents were erected. The ground within\nwas made hard and level, the loose stones and other impediments being\ncarefully removed. There were two entrances, east and west, well guarded\nand strongly fenced with wooden-bars about seven feet high, so that a\nhorse might not leap over. The tents of the warriors were fancifully\ndecorated, every one having his shield newly emblazoned and hung out in\nfront, where the pages and esquires watched, guarding vigilantly these\nsacred treasures. Nothing was heard but the hoarse call of the trumpet,\nthe clank of mail, and the prancing of horses, pawing and eager for the\nbattle.\n\nLong before the appointed hour the whole city was in motion. Isabella,\ntoo, whose bright eyes had not closed since the first gleam had visited\nher chamber, was early astir. An ugly dream, it is said, troubled her.\nThough of ripe years, yet, as we have noticed before, love had not yet\naimed his malicious shafts at her bosom, nor even tightened his\nbowstring as she tripped by, defying his power; so that the dream, which\nin others would appear but as the overflowing of a youthful and ardent\nimagination, seemed to her altogether novel and unaccountable, raising\nup new faculties, and endowing her with a train of feelings heretofore\nunknown. No wonder that her looks were betrayers: her whole deportment\nmanifested some hidden power controlling her high spirit, insomuch that\nher favourite maiden was fain to abate her morning gossip; yet Isabella\nwas not averse to speech, though the words seemed to linger heavily on\nher tongue, losing that lightness and exuberance which betokens the mind\nfree from care and oppression.\n\nShe had dreamed that in her own wild woods a knight accosted her: she\nattempted to fly, but was withheld by some secret influence. He raised\nhis visor, smiling as he bent his knee in token of homage. He was a\nstranger. Grasping her hand, she felt the cold hard pressure of his\ngauntlet. She awoke, and sure enough there was the impression as of some\nmailed hand upon her delicate fingers! While marvelling at this strange\nadventure, a deep slumber again overpowered her, when a graceful\ncavalier, unarmed, was at her side. He raised her hand to his lips, and\nher whole soul responded to the touch. He was about to speak, when her\nfather suddenly appeared, with a dark and forbidding aspect. He began to\nchide, and the stranger, with a glance she could not erase from her\nrecollection, disappeared. It was this glance which subdued her proud\nspirit to its influence. Her maidenly apprehensions became aroused; she\nattempted, but in vain, to drive away the intruder: the vision haunted\nher deeply--too deeply for her repose! Marks of some outward impression\nwere yet visible on her hand, whether from causes less occult than the\nmoving phantasma of the mind, is a question that would resist all our\npowers of solution. In a mood thus admirably fitted for the encountering\nof some marvellous adventure, did she mount her little white palfrey,\nall pranked out and caparisoned for the occasion.\n\nFollowed by a train of some length, with Oskatell by her side, the\ndaughter of the house of Lathom allured the eyes of not a few as she\npassed on. Many a stately knight bent his head, and many an inquiry was\ndirected to the esquires and attendants as she drew near.\n\nThe scene of this renowned combat was a spacious plain below the city,\non the opposite side of the river Itchen. The chalky cliffs, which\nobtained for it the name of Caer Gwint, or the White City, were studded\nwith gay and anxious multitudes, whose hopes and fears have long been\nswept off by the waves of passing generations.\n\nWinchester being one of the fixed markets or staples for wool appointed\nby King Edward, the city had risen in power and affluence above its\nneighbours. Yet the plague, by which it was almost depopulated some\nyears before, had considerably abated its magnificence. But the favour\nof royalty still clung to it, and Arthur's \"Round Table\" attested its\nearly claims to this distinguishing character--a monarch's residence.\nThe castle, where the Round Table is still shown, was then a building of\ngreat strength, and, enlivened by the king's presence, displayed many a\nstaff and pennon from its stately battlements.\n\nIsabella passed by the fortress just as the trumpets announced the near\napproach of the king down the covered way. The chains of the drawbridge\nwere lowered, and presently issued forth the armed retinue of the\nmonarch. Isabella and her train were obliged to remain awhile as idle\nspectators.\n\nThe king, though old and infirm, yet retained his lofty and commanding\nappearance. His charger was armed with the _chanfrons_ and gamboised\nhousings, having thereon the royal arms, and proudly did the conscious\nbeast paw and champ, as if rejoicing under his burden.\n\nEdward was dressed in a glittering surcoat of crimson silk, worked with\nlions and _fleurs-de-lis._ His helmet was cylindrical, surmounted by a\nlion as its crest. Round the rim was a coronet of gold, worked with\n_fleurs-de-lis_ and oak leaves. A gorget and tippet covering the\nshoulders was fastened beneath the chin, giving the head a stiff but\nimposing air of command. He carried a short truncheon, which he wielded\nwith great dexterity; yet his armour, though light and of the finest\ntemper, seemed more cumbersome to him now than in former days.\n\nThe royal standard of England, thus described, was borne before him:--It\nwas from eight to nine yards in length, the ground blue and red,\ncontaining, in the first division, the lion of England imperially\ncrowned. In chief, a coronet of _crosses pater_ and _fleurs-de-lis,_\nbetween two clouds irradiated. In base, a cloud between two coronets. In\nthe next division the charges were, in chief a coronet, in base an\nirradiated cloud. In the third, the dexter chief and sinister base was\nlikewise an irradiated cloud; the sinister and dexter chief a coronet,\nas before. Motto, \"Dieu et mon droyt.\" The whole of this procession was\none vast masquerade of pomp, little betokening the frailty and folly\nwhich it enveloped. Though to all outward show fair and glistening, yet\nwas there a heavy gloom brooding over the nation. Prince Edward, the\nflower of chivalry, usually called the Black Prince, from the colour of\nhis armour, lay then grievously sick, and the whole hope and welfare of\nthe land seemed to hang on his recovery. The known ambition of John of\nGaunt was a main source of alarm and anxiety. \"Edward had, however,\"\nsays the historian, \"declared his grandson heir and successor to the\ncrown, and thereby cut off all the hopes of the Duke of Lancaster, if he\never had the temerity to entertain any.\"\n\nNot forgetting his former homage to the sex, the king's eye lingered on\nthe form of Isabella, but she drew back, daunted by the ardour of his\ngaze. Oskatell saw the impression she had made, in nowise displeased,\nhoping some ray of royal favour would be reflected to him from the beam\nthat already dawned on his companion.\n\nWe now pass on to the field, where everything was in readiness for the\ncombat. The knights had heard mass and made confession, these being the\nrequisite preparatives to the noble deeds they had that day vowed to\nperform. The heralds had made the usual proclamation against the use of\nmagic, unlawful charms, and other like devices of the devil, when a loud\nflourish of trumpets announced the approach of Stanley, who first\nentered the lists mounted on a grey charger furnished with the chevron,\nor war-saddle, then of great use in withstanding the terrific shock of\nthe assailant, being high up in front, and furnished at the back like an\narm-chair. He was equipped in a full suit of Italian armour, displaying\na steel cuirass of exquisite workmanship, deemed at that time a novel\nbut elegant style of defence, and destined soon to supersede the\npurpoint or gamboised work called mail. If well tempered, it was found\nto resist the stroke of the lance without being either pierced or bent,\nnor was it liable to be pushed through into the body, as was sometimes\nthe case with the \"_mailles_\" when the wambas or hoketon was wanting\nunderneath. His shield was thus marshalled: argent; on a bend azure,\nthree stags' heads cabossed. In the sinister chief, a crescent denoted\nhis filiation; underneath was the motto \"Augmenter.\" The shield itself\nor pavise was large, made of wood covered with skin, and surrounded with\na broad rim of iron.\n\nHe looked gracefully round, first lowering his lance in front of the\nking's pavilion, and afterwards to the fair dames who crowded the\ngalleries on each side. Whether from accident or design his eyes rested\non Isabella with a strong expression of earnestness rather than\ncuriosity. Doubtless, the noble representatives of the house of Lathom\nexcited no slight interest among the spectators, and the young hero\nmight have formed some yet undeveloped anticipations on this head.\n\nShe blushed deeply at this public and unexpected notice. The\nrecollection of her dream made the full tide of feeling set in at once\nin this direction, much to her consternation and dismay; but when,\nhappening to turn hastily round, a silken bandage, loosened by the\nsudden movement from some part of her dress, was carried off by the wind\nand deposited within the lists, she was greatly embarrassed; and her\nconfusion was not a little increased as the young gallant with great\ndexterity transferred it to the point of his lance. At this choice of\nhis \"lady love,\" a loud shout arose from the multitude; and Isabella,\nnow the object of universal regard, would have retired, but that the\ndensity of the crowd, and the inconvenient structure of the building,\nrendered it impossible.\n\nAnother flourish of trumpets announced the approach of the young Admiral\nof Hainault. His armour was blue and white, beautifully wrought and\ninlaid with silver. His steed was black, having the suit and furniture\nof the war-horse complete. The _crouptiere_ and _estival_, together with\nthe _chanfron_, were of the most costly description. A plume of white\nfeathers decorated his casque, extending his athletic form into almost\ngigantic proportions.\n\nThe needful ceremonies were gone through; a deep and almost breathless\nsilence succeeded, like the stillness that precedes the first swing of\nthe storm. The trumpets sounded; the sharp click of the lances was heard\nfalling into the rest; and the first rush was over. The noise of the\nshock was like the burst of the tempest on the forest boughs. Through\nthe dust, the horses were seen to recoil upon their haunches; but as it\nblew heavily away, the warriors had regained their upright position,\nhaving sustained no injury, save by the shivering of their lances with\nthe stroke. A loud shout of applause ensued; and the esquires being at\nhand with fresh weapons, each knight was too eager for the fray to lose\na moment in requesting the usual signal. Again their coursers' feet\nseemed to spurn the earth. At this onset the French knight bent back in\nhis saddle, whether from subtlety or accident was not known, but there\nwas a loud clamour; and the Frenchman, recovering himself, spurred on\nhis steed with great vigour, perhaps hoping to take his adversary at\nunawares; but the latter, darting aside with agility, the other's lance\nran full against the boards, and in deep vexation he came back to the\ncharge.\n\nTrembling with choler, he hardly restrained himself until the prescribed\nsignal; then, as if he would make an end of his opponent, he aimed his\nweapon with a direct thrust towards the heart; but Stanley, confident in\nhis own might, was fully prepared for the blow, as the event\nsufficiently proved; for the French knight was seen to reel from his\nsaddle, the point of his enemy's lance being driven completely through\nhis armour. He rolled backwards on the ground, and so vigorous had been\nthe attack, that his horse's back was broken, and they lay together,\ngroaning piteously, besmeared with blood and dust, to the sore dismay of\nhis companions. Stanley suddenly alighted, and helped the pages to undo\nhis armour; but ere his beaver could be unclasped he had fainted by loss\nof blood, and being borne off the field, he shortly afterwards expired.\n\nThe king was mightily pleased with this great prowess of the victor,\ninsomuch that he knighted him on the spot, and, according to the old\nballad, gave him goodly manors--\n\n                           \"For his hire,\n    Wing, Tring, and Iving, in Buckinghamshire.\"\n\nHe had so won, likewise, on the hitherto impenetrable disposition of\nIsabella, that when he came to render his homage at her feet, she\ntrembled and could scarcely give the customary reply.\n\nRaising his visor, and uncovering his helmet from the grand guard--a\nplate protecting the left side of the face, shoulder, and breast--he\nmade a lowly obeisance at the gate of his mistress's pavilion, at the\nsame time presenting the stolen favour he had now so nobly won. With a\ntremulous hand she bound it round his arm.\n\n\"Nay, thy chaplet, lady,\" shouted a score of tongues from the\ninquisitive spectators. Isabella untied a rich chaplet of goldsmith's\nwork, ornamented with rose-garlands, from her hair, and threw it over\nhis helmet. Still armed with the gauntlets, which, either through hurry\nor inadvertence, he had neglected to throw aside, as was the general\ncourtesy for the occasion, the knight seized her hand, and with a grasp\ngentle for any other occasion, pressed it to his lips. The lady uttered\na subdued shriek, whether from pain or surprise, it boots not now to\ninquire; mayhap, it was the remembrance of the mailed hand she had felt\nin her dream, and to which her fingers, yet tingling with the pressure,\nbore a sufficient testimony. Sir John bent lowlier than before, with one\nhand on his breast, in token of contrition. A thousand strange fancies,\nshapeless and undefined, rushed by, as the maiden looked on the warrior.\nIt was the very crisis of her dream; her heart seemed as though it would\nhave leapt the walls of its tenement,--and she was fain to hide her face\nunder the folds of her mantle.\n\n\"Now, on my halidome,\" said the king, \"there be two doves whose cooing\nwould be the better for a little honest speech. Poor hearts! it were a\npity their tongues had bewrayed their desire. Fitz-Walter, summon them\nhither.\"\n\nThe blushing Isabella was conducted to the royal presence, where the\nking was graciously pleased to impress a salute on her rich and glowing\ncheek--no mean honour from so gracious and gallant a monarch, who,\nthough old, was yet accounted a mighty adept in the discernment of\nfemale beauty, he never being known to suffer contact of the royal lip\nwith aught but the fairest and most comely of the sex.\n\n\"Sir John, I commend thee to thy mistress. A dainty choice. She is 'The\nQueen of Beauty' for the day, and to-night we command your presence at\nthe banquet.\"\n\n\"My gracious liege,\" said Isabella, pointing to Oskatell, \"I have a\nbrother; unto his care it is but meet that I entrust myself; and he\"----\n\n\"His person and endowments,\" interrupted the king, \"are not unknown to\nus. I do honour thee by ennobling him; for though our ladies' brightness\nbe all too dazzling to receive a glory from us, yet peradventure for\ntheir sakes our courtesy is vouchsafed. Rise, Sir Oskatell de Lathom.\"\n\nAgain a flourish of trumpets proclaimed the king's favour, who with many\nmore gracious speeches won the affection of all who heard him that day.\n\nSeveral other jousts and \"gentle passages\" were held, the success of\nwhich falling principally with the English combatants, the boasting\npride of France was again humbled before the king, who seemed to renew\nhis former victories at this memorable \"_Tourney of Winchester_.\"\n\nBut Isabella had bartered years of repose for this brief season of\nintoxicating splendour. The barbed arrow was in her heart, and the more\nshe struggled, the more irreclaimable it grew. Doubtless that unlucky\ndream had rendered her more susceptible to the wound.\n\nDreams have this operation; and whether good or evil, they leave an\nimpression that no simple act of the will can efface. It seems to be the\nwork of a power superior to our own, for \"the less begetteth not the\ngreater;\" how, then, can the mind originate a train of conceptions, or\nrather creations, superior to itself--above its own power to control?\n\nBut Isabella was too much engrossed by her feelings to attempt their\nsolution. She lay restless on her couch, but there was no escape. An\nunquenchable flame was kindled in her soul, that not all the cool\nappliances of reason could subdue. Tomorrow she must depart, and that\ngay pageant vanish as a dream; and yet not like her own dream, for that\nwas abiding and indelible. To-morrow the brave knight must withdraw, and\nthe \"Queen of Beauty,\" homaged for a day, give place to another whose\nreign should be as brief and as unenduring. In this distempered mood,\nwith a heart all moved to sadness, did the Lady Isabel pass the first\nhours of the following night.\n\nSuddenly the sharp twang of a citerne was heard in the street below her\nwindow,--nothing new in these piping times of love and minstrelsy; but\nso sensitive was the ear now become to exterior impressions, that she\nstarted, as though expecting a salutation from the midnight rambler. Her\nanticipations were in some measure realised, the minstrel pausing\nbeneath her lattice. A wooden balcony projected from it, concealing the\nmusician. Isabella threw a light mantle around her, and rousing one of\nher maidens, she opened the window. The rich melody came upon her senses\nthrough the balmy odour of myrtle boughs and leaves of honeysuckle. The\nchords were touched with a skilful hand, and the prelude, a wild and\nextempore commentary on the ballad, was succeeded by the following\nditty:--\n\n    \"My ladye love, my ladye love,\n      The moon through the lift is breaking;\n    The sky is bright, and through the night\n      The queen of love is waking.\n    Yon little star that twinkleth so,\n    Fluttering her bright eyes to and fro,\n        How doth she chide,\n        That thou shouldest hide,\n      All joyance thus forsaking.\n    My ladye love, my ladye love,\n      The moon through the lift is breaking;\n    The sky is bright, and through the night\n      The queen of love is waking.\"\n\nThe singer withdrew; and Isabella was convinced, or her eyes were\nbefooled by her fancy, that, as he emerged from his concealment, his\nform could be none other than the one her imagination was too familiar\nwith to mistake. He, too, had caught a glance of the listeners, for\npresently a folded paper was thrown over the balusters, and the minstrel\ndeparted. The first light that came through the long low casements\nrevealed all that her hopes anticipated. The billet was from Sir John\nStanley, whose regrets, mingled with vows and protestations of love,\nwere to this purport, that he must needs be away before daybreak, on\nurgent business from the king. He sent a sigh and a love-token,\ncommending himself to her best thoughts, until he should gain his\nacquittance so far as to visit Lathom.\n\nPassing over the departure, the bustle, and the weariness of a twelve\ndays' journey, let us behold the maiden once more in her pretty bower at\nLathom. How changed! The whole assumed a fresh aspect, thus viewed from\na different state of the mind. Her favourite spaniel licked her hand,\nbut she did not notice his caresses; all about her was as if the wand of\nthe enchanter had been there, changing its image, each object calling\nforth a train of sensations heretofore unknown. Even the hangings and\nfigured draperies wore a grim and perturbed expression; and Jephtha's\ndaughter and the Queen of Sheba looked more dismal and profuse than ever\nfrom the dusky arras.\n\nShe strayed out, as beforetime, into the woods; but their gloom was more\nintense, and the very birds seemed to grow sad with her melancholy\nmusings. Their song, that used to be so sprightly, was now subdued and\nmournful, and all their gay and bubbling hilarity was gone. If she\nwandered forth towards evening, the owl hooted in her path, and the\nraven croaked above her. She heard not the light matin of the lark.\nFancy, stimulated alone by gloomy impressions, laid hold on them only,\nfailing to recognise aught but its own image.\n\nSir Oskatell and her father had often taken counsel together since his\nreturn. Shortly afterwards, Isabella received a summons to attend Sir\nThomas in private. What was the precise nature of that interview does\nnot appear, save that the lady withdrew to her chamber, and the brow of\nSir Thomas was for a long space moody and disturbed. Sir John Stanley,\nthough of gentle descent, was not endowed with an adequate inheritance,\nat least for the heiress of Lathom, whose extensive possessions, though\nshared by Oskatell, were deemed by Sir Thomas of sufficient magnitude to\ncommand a connection of higher rank and importance. As a younger brother\nhe could have slight pretensions to patrimony, and save the manors, then\nbut a slender endowment, just granted by King Edward, his profession as\na soldier supplied his chief revenue. His exclusive notice of the Lady\nIsabella at the tournament was quickly conveyed to the ear of Sir\nThomas; and, it was said, the latter had vowed that no portion of\nwealth should descend to his daughter if wedded to Sir John, but that\nthe whole should be settled on Sir Oskatell. \"The course of true love\nnever did run smooth.\" That Sir John Stanley had a watchful eye at the\ntime to the fortune as well as to the person of Isabella, is by some\nrather freely hinted. This, however, turns out to be an unfounded\ncalumny, as the events hereafter unfolded will abundantly demonstrate.\n\nSir John, after vainly endeavouring to avert this cruel purpose, and to\nwin the old man's favour, entered into the service of the king. He hoped\nthat some lucky adventure would enable him to appear with more certainty\nof success the next time he played the suitor at Lathom.\n\nIsabella, though sorely importuned to the contrary, remained true to her\nfirst and only attachment; and Sir Oskatell was likely, in the end, to\ngather to himself the whole of these vast possessions. A disposition to\nthis effect she had for some time suspected. His conduct, too, was less\nkindly of late, and he took upon himself an authority more direct and\nunconditional. Indeed, it seemed but too evident that Sir Oskatell was\nlooked upon as the ultimate possessor. The maiden pined sorely at her\nlot, and lack of perpetuity in the inheritance. But woman's wits have\ncompassed a sea of impossibilities, and will ever continue irresistible\nuntil their beautiful forms shall no longer irradiate these dull\nmortalities with their presence.\n\nOne day an aged minstrel craved admission. Sir Thomas had just retired\nfrom the banquet. Isabella and the lady of Lathom were at their usual\nemployment in their private chamber, plying the needle in \"Antres vast,\"\nand wildernesses of embroidery, along with the maids. The request was\ngranted; soon after which an old man, bending apparently under an\naccumulation of years and infirmities, entered the apartment. There was\na keen scrutinising restlessness of the eye, stealing through the\nsilvery locks about his brow, that but ill accorded with his apparent\ndecrepitude.\n\nAfter a very profound obeisance, which the lady-mother scarcely\nrecognised, he addressed himself to his vocation. A mighty indifferent\nprelude succeeded the arrangement of the strings, then a sort of jig,\naccented by the toe and head of the performer. Afterwards he broke into\na wild and singular extempore, which gradually shaped itself into\nmeasure and rhythm, at times beautifully varied, and accompanied by the\nvoice. We shall attempt a more modern and intelligible version of the\nsentiments he expressed:--\n\nSong.\n\n    1.\n    \"Rich round thy brow are the clusters bright,\n      And thy tresses are like the plume--\n    The plume of the raven, glossy with light,\n      Or the ray on the spirit's deep gloom.\n\n    2.\n    \"As I gaze, the dim echoes of years that are past\n      Bring their joys to my bosom in vain;\n    For the chords, which their spell once o'er memory cast,\n      Ne'er shall waken to gladness again!\"\n\n\"I hold these minstrels now no better than the croaking of your carrion\ncrow,\" said the elder lady: \"these are not like the songs we used to\nhear in hall and bower at Dunham Massey. Then \"--the old lady forgetting\nthat her own ears had played her false, and her relish for these\ndainties had departed--\"Then,\" raising her voice and gazing round, as\npast scenes recurred to her fancy, \"how my young heart would leap at the\nsound of their ditties! and how I long to hear again _'Sir Armoric'_ and\nthe '_Golden-Legend_,' and all about the lady with the swine's snout and\nthe silver trough!\"\n\nBut Isabella heard not her mother's reminiscences. The minstrel\nengrossed her attention, absorbing her whole thoughts, it might seem,\nwith the display of his cunning. Her cheek was flushed, and her lip\ntrembled. Some mysterious faculty there was either in the song or the\nperformer.\n\nAgain he poured forth a strain more touching, and of ravishing\nsweetness:--\n\nSong.\n\n    1.\n    \"Smile on, my love; that sunny smile\n      Is light and life and joy to thee;\n    But, oh, its glance of witchery the while,\n      Is maddening, hopeless misery to me.\n\n    2.\n    \"Another bosom thou mayest bless,\n      Whose chords shall wake with ecstasy;\n    On mine, each thrilling thought thy looks impress\n      Wakes but the pang of hopeless destiny.\n\n    3.\n    \"Smile on, my love; that sunny smile\n      Is light and life and joy to thee;\n    But, oh, its glance of witchery the while,\n      Is hopeless, maddening misery to me.\"\n\nThese were burning thoughts from the bosom of age; and had not the old\nlady's perceptions been somewhat obtuse, she might have guessed the\nminstrel's purpose. His despair was not so utterly hopeless and without\nremedy as the purport of his song seemed to forebode--for the morning\nlight saw the bower of Isabella vacant, and her bed undisturbed. She was\nthen far over the blue hills into Staffordshire, where another sun saw\nher the wife of Sir John Stanley; immediately after which they departed\ninto Ireland.\n\nSir Thomas threw the reins on the neck of his choler, and, as tradition\nreports, did then disinherit her for ever in favour of Sir Oskatell. How\nfar the latter might be privy to this resolve, or whether Sir Thomas,\ngoaded on aforetime to the aggrandisement of his name, seized the\npresent opportunity only as it served his purpose, both history and\ntradition leave us without the means of deciding. There does, however,\nseem reason to suspect some unfair solicitations practised on Sir\nThomas, which subsequent occurrences strongly corroborate; but\nparticularly the fact, that on his deathbed he solemnly revoked this\ninjustice, appointing Sir John Stanley his lawful heir, disinheriting\nSir Oskatell, save a slight provision hereafter named, and declaring his\nillegitimacy. We would not lightly throw out an accusation of this\nnature; but surely an act of retribution so unsparingly administered\nwould not have been put in force, had not past circumstances in some\nmeasure rendered it just.\n\nLet us now resume our narrative from the date of the tournament; soon\nafter which King Edward died, and Sir John Stanley, in the first year of\nhis successor, Richard II., was honoured by him with a commission to\nIreland, for the purpose of assisting in the total reduction of that\nunfortunate kingdom. By his great prudence and success he brought under\nsubmission the great rebel chiefs, to wit, O'Neal, King of Ulster;\nRotherick O'Connor, King of Connaught; O'Caral, King of Uriel; O'Rurick,\nKing of Meath; Arthur M'Kier, King of Leinster; and O'Brien, King of\nThomond. In the year 1379, Richard coming in person to Ireland, these\nchieftains did homage to him as their sovereign prince. For his great\nand eminent services on this occasion Sir John had granted to him, by\npatent for life, the manor and lands of Black Castle in that country.\n\nTen years did Sir John sojourn, by the king's order, in this unquiet\nand troublesome appendage to the English crown. And it may be conceived\nthat if true love had any hold on his affections, they were oft\ncommuning with Isabella, forsaken, as she then thought, by him whom she\nhad once too surely trusted. In the tumult of war, and in the\nadministration of his high office, no doubt her gentle form would visit\nhis spirit, and, like the star of future promise, guide him on to his\nachievements.\n\nAbout the year 1390, when the return of Henry Duke of Lancaster from his\nbanishment, without leave of the king, had caused a sore dismay\nthroughout the land, Richard, harassed with the apprehension of danger,\nappointed Sir John Stanley Lord Justice of Ireland for six years. He was\nnow able, in some measure, to confer a sufficient dignity on his\nbeloved, though not yet equal, in point of wealth, to the wishes of Sir\nThomas. But feeling desirous to know the state of her disposition\ntowards him, he set out in disguise for Lathom, where, as we have before\nstated, he so far prevailed that she became Lady Stanley in spite of all\nthe opposition she had endured. Aware of the determination of her\nfather, he deemed her love a sufficient recompense, thus fully refuting\nthe insinuations that her dower had more charm for him than her person.\n\nReturning to Ireland with his lady, they lived there happily for some\nyears.\n\nWhen Henry of Lancaster was crowned by the title of Henry the Fourth,\nSir John being still Lord Justice of Ireland, and holding the government\nthere in favour of the deposed king, the new monarch, well knowing the\nknight's power, together with his skill and experience, as well in the\nsenate as in the field, found means to attach him to the reigning\ninterest, and, as a mark of signal favour, granted to him and his heirs\nfor ever, by letters patent, many lands there named, lying in the\nwesterly part of the county of Chester. Soon afterwards occurred that\nmemorable rebellion, when the Welsh blood, boiling to a ferment by the\nhot appliances of one Owen Glendower, an esquire of Wales, and in his\nyouth a resident at the Inns of Court in London, kindled the flames of\nintestine war. After he had conspired with the Percies and their\nadherents, together with a large body of the Scotch, these malcontents\nthreatened to overthrow the now tottering dominion of King Henry.\n\nThe most prompt measures were, however, taken to meet this\nexigency,--and Sir John Stanley was suddenly called out of Ireland; Sir\nWilliam Stanley, then Lord of Stanley and Stourton, being appointed his\ndeputy. Sir John soon applied himself in such earnest to the service of\nthe king, his master, that a large and powerful army, headed by Henry\nhimself, together with \"Prince Harry,\" his son, marched against the\nrebels. Near to Shrewsbury the latter were overthrown; Sir John, by his\ngreat bravery and address, mainly contributing to the success of the\nengagement. His presence was now become of essential service to the\nking, who in consequence appointed his second son, the Duke of\nClarence--who claimed the title of Earl of Ulster in right of his\nwife--Lord Lieutenant of Ireland in his stead, the new governor landing\nat Carlingford on the 2d August 1405.\n\nSir John obtained, as a favour granted but to few, and those of the\nhighest rank, licence from the king to fortify a spacious house he was\nthen building at Liverpool, the site whereof was given by Sir Thomas\nLathom, who, we may now suppose, had in some measure swerved from his\nmost unjust purpose, possibly on apprehending the great honours and\ninfluence that Sir John had already acquired without his aid or\nfurtherance. This plot of land, it was said, contained 650 square yards,\nwhich he held together with several burgage houses and lands in that\ntown.\n\nHe had full licence to build a castle or house of strength, embattled\nand machicolated, with _tenellare_, or loop-holes in the walls, and\nother warlike devices, which no subject could undertake without special\nleave from the king.\n\nThe Isle of Man was at this time, by Northumberland's rebellion, forfeit\nto the crown. Sir John the same year obtained a grant of it for life,\nand in the year following a re-grant to himself and his heirs for ever,\nwith the style and title of \"King of Man.\"\n\nIt were needless to enumerate all the honours and distinctions heaped in\nsuch unwonted profusion upon our illustrious hero. It has rarely\nhappened that so rapid a career has met with no reverse, for the fickle\ngoddess mostly exalts her votaries only to make their downfall the more\nterrible.\n\nHenry dying in 1413, was succeeded by his son Henry V., with whom Sir\nJohn was held in equal esteem, being again appointed to the government\nof Ireland; but, landing in Dublin, his health was now visibly on the\nwane. Four months afterwards he died at Ardee, to the great grief of\nhis family, and the irreparable loss of the nation. He was a rare\ninstance wherein a courtier, through four successive reigns, carried\nhimself unimpeached, and unsullied by the political vices which were\nthen too general to excite reproach. He was truly a knight \"_sans peur\net sans reproche_.\"\n\nHe left two sons, John and Thomas, and one daughter, whose fortunes, at\nthis time, we shall not attempt to follow.\n\nLady Stanley, his widow, returned to Liverpool with her children, and\nlived there until her death, in the house built by her husband.\n\nNow did the beam of Sir Oskatell's favour, like an April day, suddenly\nchange its gaudy and suspicious brightness. Sir Thomas, waning in years\nand ready to depart, began to consider his former misdoings. His\ndaughter and her offspring were, by the laws of nature, justly entitled\nto his possessions, which he, reflecting on the great impiety and\ninjustice of withholding, bequeathed, with some exceptions, to Lady\nStanley and her heirs, revealing at the same time the fraud which he had\npractised, and extinguishing for ever the hopes and expectations of Sir\nOskatell. Yet was he not left entirely destitute: to him and to his\ndescendants were reserved, by due process of law, the manors of Irlam\nand Urmston, near Manchester, with divers other valuable inheritances.\nAt the same time was given to him the signet of his arms, with the crest\nassumed for his sake, _an eagle regardant, proper_. It was only\nsubsequent to the supplanting of Sir Oskatell that his rivals took the\npresent crest, \"_The Eagle and Child_\" where the eagle is represented as\nhaving secured his prey, in token of their triumph over the foundling,\nwhom he is preparing to devour. This crest, with the motto \"SANS\nCHANGER,\" the descendants of Sir John Stanley, the present Earls of\nDerby, continue to hold: the foregoing narrative showing faithfully the\norigin of that singular device.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[12] \"Thomas Stanley, Bishop of Man, was a cadet of the noble family of\nthe Stanleys, Earls of Derby; and, after he had spent some time in this\nand another university abroad, returned to his native country\n(Lancashire), became rector of Winwick and Wigan therein; as also of\nBadsworth, in the diocese of York, and dignified in the church. At\nlength, upon the vacancy of the see of the Isle of Man, he was made\nbishop thereof, but when, I cannot justly say; because he seems to have\nbeen bishop in the beginning of King Edward VI., and was really bishop\nof that place before the death of Dr Man, whom I have before mentioned\nunder the year 1556. This Thomas Stanley paid his last debt to nature in\nthe latter end of 1570, having had the character when young of a\ntolerable poet of his time.\"--Wood's _Athenae Oxonienses_.\n\n[13] This extract is from an interesting pamphlet, printed for private\ncirculation only, by Thomas Heywood, Esq. of Manchester, entitled, \"The\nEarls of Derby, and the Verse Writers and Poets of the 16th and 17th\nCenturies.\" 1825.\n\n[Illustration: THE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON.\n\n\n    \"O Jesu I for Thy mercies' sake,\n      And for Thy bitter passion,\n    Save us from the axe of the Tower,\n      And from Sir Ralph of Assheton!\"\n\nIt would be a curious inquiry to trace the origin of services and other\ncustoms, paid by tenants to their feudal sovereign. Connected as the\nsubject is with the following tradition, it may be worth while if we\nattempt to throw together a few notices on that head. A rose was not a\nvery unfrequent acknowledgment. Near to the scene of our story, the\ntenant of a certain farm called Lime Hurst was compelled to bring a rose\nat the feast of St John Baptist. He held other lands; but they were\nsubject only to the customary rules of the lordship, such as ploughing,\nharrowing, carting turves from Ashton-moss to the lord's house, leading\nhis corn in harvest, &c. This species of service was called boon-work;\nand hence the old adage, \"I am served like a boon-shearer.\" It, however,\nseems that some trifling present was made in return. In a MS. of\nreceipts and disbursements belonging to the Cheethams, kept in the time\nof Charles II., there is an item for moneys paid for gloves to the\nboon-shearers at Clayton Hall, where Humphrey Cheetham, founder of the\ncollege at Manchester, then resided. The acknowledgment of a rose before\nmentioned might seem to have some allusion to the Knights Hospitallers.\nThe estate of Lime Hurst was called John of Jerusalem's land, and the\ntithes and rent, in all probability, once went to the support of that\norder.\n\nIn the Ashton pedigree we find a Nicholas Assheton, as it was then\nspelt, who enrolled himself amongst these warrior-monks. It seems not\nimprobable that the profits of this estate belonged to him.\n\nThe custom of heriotship, however, was the most oppressive, being paid\nand exacted from the parties at a time when they were least able to\nrender it. Our tradition will best illustrate this remnant of barbarism,\nto which, even in the customs of the most savage tribes, we should\nscarcely find a parallel.\n\nIn the early records of the Ashton family we find that Thomas Stavely,\nor Stayley, held a place called the Bestal by paying one penny at\nChristmas. This Bestal was, perhaps, a place of security or confinement.\nAdjoining the hall yard, the ancient residence of the Ashtons, is an old\nstone building facing the south, now called the Dungeon. It is flanked\nat the east and west corners by small towers with conical stone roofs.\nThe wall is pierced by two pointed windows. Judging from its appearance,\nit must have been a place of strength; the name Bestal being probably a\ncorruption of Bastile, basilion, or bastilion--all of which we find\nappropriated to places of this description. Tradition, indeed, says the\nancient lords of Ashton made this a place of confinement, when the power\nof life and death were at their command. A field near the old hall,\nstill called Gallows Meadow, was then used as a place of execution.\n\nSir John Assheton, in the fifth year of Henry VI., became possessed of\nthe manor on payment of one penny annually. He is generally supposed to\nhave founded the church about the year 1420. We find him assigning the\nforms or benches to his tenants: the names for whose uses they are\nappointed are all females. From this it may seem that seats in our\nchurches were first put up for their convenience. Eighteen forms or\nbenches are mentioned for the occupation of one hundred wives and\nwidows, who are named, besides their daughters and servant wenches.\nTheir husbands had not this privilege, being forced to stand or kneel in\nthe aisles, as the service required. In the windows there yet remains a\nconsiderable quantity of painted glass, but very much mutilated. Three\nor four figures on the north side represent a king, saints, &c. In the\nchancel are the coats and effigies of the Asshetons in armour, kneeling.\nIn one part seems to have been portrayed the invention of the Holy Cross\nby St Helen. At whatever period the church was built, the steeple must\neither have been erected afterwards, or have undergone a considerable\nrepair in the time of the last Sir Thomas Assheton; for upon the south\nside are the arms of Ashton impaling Stayley. There is a tradition, that\nwhile the workmen were one day amusing themselves at cards, a female\nunexpectedly presented herself. She asked them to turn up an ace,\npromising, in case of compliance, that she would build several yards of\nthe steeple; upon which they fortunately turned up the ace of spades.\nThis tale may owe its origin to the following circumstances:--Upon the\nmarriage of Sir Thomas Assheton with the daughter of Ralph Stayley, a\nconsiderable accumulation of property was the consequence. This might\ninduce him to repair the church, and perform sundry other acts of\ncharity and beneficence. Whilst the work was going on, Lady Elizabeth\nAssheton, it is not improbable, surprised the builders at their pastime;\nand giving a broad hint that a part of her money was being employed in\nthe erection, might desire that her arms should be fixed in the steeple,\nimpaled with those of her husband. The shape of an escutcheon, having a\nconsiderable resemblance to a spade-ace, in all likelihood was the\norigin of the fable.\n\nSir John Assheton, the founder of the church, is the reputed father of\nRalph, whom the following tradition commemorates. The origin of \"_Riding\nthe Black Lad_\" is involved in great obscurity--some ascribing it to the\ntyranny of Sir Ralph, and others to the following circumstance, which\nmay have been fabricated merely to throw off the odium attached to his\nname:--In the reign of Edward III., one Thomas Assheton fought under\nQueen Philippa in the battle of Neville's Cross. Riding through the\nranks of the enemy, he bore away the royal standard from the Scotch\nKing's tent, who himself was afterwards taken prisoner. King Edward, on\nhis return from France, conferred on Thomas the honour of knighthood,\nwith the title of Sir Thomas Assheton of Ashton-under-Line. To\ncommemorate this singular display of valour, he instituted the custom of\n\"Riding the Black Lad\" upon Easter Monday at Ashton; leaving the sum of\nten shillings yearly to support it, together with his own suit of black\nvelvet and a coat of mail. Which of these accounts is correct we cannot\npresume to determine. There is, however, sufficient testimony upon\nrecord to account for the dislike entertained towards the memory of Sir\nRalph Assheton.\n\nIn the town of Ashton-under-Line, or Lime, called in the ancient\nrent-rolls Ashton-sub-Lima, a singular custom prevails. On Easter Monday\nin every year, the ceremony of \"Riding the Black Lad\" takes place.\nAccording to some, it is a popular expression of abhorrence towards the\nmemory of Sir Ralph Assheton, commonly called _The Black Knight_, whose\ncharacter and conduct would seem to warrant the odium thus attached to\nhis name. The following is a brief account of the ceremony;--An effigy\nis made of a man in black armour, and this image is deridingly\nemblazoned with some emblem of the occupation of the first couple that\nare married in the course of the year. The Black Boy is then fixed on\nhorseback, and after being led in procession round the town, is\ndismounted, made to supply the place of a shooting-butt, and all sorts\nof fire-arms being in requisition for the occasion, he is put to an\nignominious death. Five shillings per annum are reserved from some\nneighbouring estate for the perpetuation of this absurd custom.\n\nSir Ralph Assheton was sheriff of York in the reign of Edward IV., and\nknight marshal and lieutenant of the Tower under Richard III., being in\ngreat esteem with the latter monarch. In the Harleian MSS. annuities are\nmentioned as being granted to him, with divers lordships, and a tun of\nwine yearly. So powerful was his jurisdiction, that a grant was made him\nto the effect, that if in cases of emergency suitable persons could not\nbe procured for the trial of delinquents, his own authority should be a\nsufficient warrant for the purpose. Hence, from the nature of his\noffice, and the powers that were intrusted to him by the king, and\nprobably too from the natural bent of his disposition, arose the popular\ndislike which vented itself in the well-known traditionary distich we\nhave taken as our motto.\n\nIn those days, when the gentry went little from home, set times of mirth\nand recreation were constantly observed in their spacious and hospitable\nmansions. Yule, or Christmas, was a feast of especial note and\nobservance. The great hall was mostly the scene of these boisterous\nfestivities; where, from the gallery, the lord of the mansion and his\nfamily might witness the sports, without being incommoded by the uncouth\nand rustic manners of their guests. It was the custom to invite all who\nwere in any way dependent on the proprietor, and who owed him suit and\nservice.\n\nThe mansion of Sir Ralph had, like those of the neighbouring gentry, its\nlofty and capacious hall. At one end was a gallery resting on the heads\nof three or four gigantic figures carved in oak, perhaps originally\nintended as rude representations of the ancient Caryatides.\n\nThe Christmas but one following the elevation of Richard to the throne,\nin the year of our redemption 1483, was a season of unusual severity.\nMany tenants of Sir Ralph were prevented from assembling at the Yule\nfeast. A storm had rendered the roads almost impassable, keeping most of\nthe aged and infirm from sharing in this glorious pastime.\n\nThe Yule-log was larger than ever, and the blaze kept continually on the\nroar. No ordinary scale of consumption could withstand the attacks of\nthe enemy, and thaw the icicles from his beard.\n\nThe wassail-bowl had gone freely about, and the company--Hobbe Adamson,\nHobbe of the Leghes, William the Arrowsmith, Jack the Woodman, Jack the\nHind, John the Slater, Roger the Baxter, with many others, together with\ndivers widows of those who owed service to their lord, clad in their\nholiday costume--black hoods and brown jackets and petticoats--were all\nintent upon their pastimes, well charged with fun and frolic. Their\nmirth was, however, generally kept within the bounds of decency and\nmoderation by a personage of great importance, called the Lord of\nMisrule, who, though not intolerant of a few coarse and practical jokes\nupon occasion, was yet, in some measure, bound to preserve order and\ndecorum on pain of being degraded from his office. To punish the\nrefractory, a pair of stone hand-stocks was commonly used, having\ndigit-holes for every size, from the paws of the ploughman to the taper\nfingers of my lady's maiden. This instrument was in the especial keeping\nof the dread marshal of these festivities.\n\nThe custom of heriotship, or a fine payable on the death of the\nlandholder to the feudal lord, was then in most cases rigorously\nexacted. This claim fell with great severity upon widows in poor\ncircumstances, who were, in too many instances, thus deprived of their\nonly means of subsistence. Then came fees and fines to the holy Church,\nso that the bereaved and disconsolate creature had need to wish herself\nin the dark dwelling beside her husband. Sir David Lindsay may not be\nunaptly quoted in illustration of this subject. His poem called \"The\nMonarch\" contains the following frightful picture of the exactions and\nenormities committed on these defenceless and unoffending victims of\ntheir rapacity:--\n\n    \"And also the vicar, as I trow,\n    Will not fail to take a cow,\n    And uppermost cloths, though babes them an,\n    From a poor seely husbandman,\n    When he lyes ready to dy,\n    Having small children two or three,\n    And his three kine withouten mo,--\n    The vicar must have one of tho,\n    With the gray cloke that covers the bed,\n    Howbeit that they be poorly cled;\n    And if the wife die on the morn,\n    And all the babes should be forlorn,\n    The other cow he takes away,\n    With her poor cote and petycote gray:\n    And if within two days or three\n    The eldest child shall happen to dy,\n    Of the third cow he shall be sure,\n    When he hath under his cure;\n    And father and mother both dead be,\n    Beg must the babes without remedy.\n    They hold the corse at the church style,\n    And thare it must remain awhile,\n    Till they get sufficient surety\n    For the church right and duty.\n    Then comes the landlord perforce,\n    And takes to him the fattest horse;\n    Poor labourers would that law were down,\n    Which never was founded by reason.\n    I heard them say, under confession,\n    That this law was brother to oppression.\"\n\nAs it drew on towards eventide, the mirth increased. The rude legendary\nballads of Sir Lancelot of the Lake, Beavois of Southampton, Robin Hood,\nThe Pindar of Wakefield, and the Friar of Fountain's Abbey, Clim of the\nClough, Ranulph of Chester, his Exploits in the Holy Land, together with\nthe wondrous deeds of war and love performed by Sir Roger of Calverly,\nhad been sung and recited to strange and uncouth music. Carols, too,\nwere chanted between whiles in a most unreverend fashion. A huge\nChristmas pie, made in the shape of a cratch or cradle, was placed on\nthe board. This being accounted a great test of orthodoxy, every one was\nobliged to eat a slice, lest he should be suspected of favouring the\nheretical tenets then spreading widely throughout the land.\nBlind-man's-buff and hot-cockles had each their turn; but the sport that\nseemed to afford the most merriment was a pendulous stick having an\napple at one end, and on the other a lighted candle, so that the\nunfortunate and liquorish wight who bit at this tempting bait generally\nburnt his nose on the rebound, as the stick bounced to and fro on its\npivot. The hall was now cleared for the masks. In this play, the Black\nKnight himself generally joined, laughing heartily at and hurrying on\nthe mis-haps of the revellers. Many horrible and grotesque-looking\nshapes and disguises soon made their appearance; but one, more\nespecially than the rest, excited no slight degree of distress and\nalarm. His antics proved a continual source of annoyance to the rest of\nthe company. He singed Will the Arrowsmith's beard, poured a whole\nflagon of hot liquor in the wide hosen of Hobbe Adamson; but the enactor\nof St George in a more especial manner attracted his notice; he crept\nbetween his legs, and bore him right into the middle of the pig-sty,\nbefore he could be stayed; from whence the heroic champion of England\nissued, sorely shent with the admixtures and impurities of the place.\n\nThis termagant was a little broad-set figure wearing a mask, intended as\na representation of his Satanic majesty, adorned with a huge pair of\nhorns. From it hung a black cloak or shirt, out of which protruded a\ngoodly and substantial tail. No one could discover this ruthless\ndisturber of their sports. Every attempt was unavailing; he shot through\ntheir fingers as though they had been greased, and a loud and\ncontumelious laugh was the only reward of their exertions.\n\nIn the end, a shrewd conjecture went abroad that he was none other than\nsome malicious imp of darkness let loose upon their frolics, to disquiet\nand perplex their commemoration of the Blessed Nativity. Yet was it an\nunusual occurrence upon Yule night, when these disturbers were supposed\nto be prevented from walking the earth, being confined for a space to\ntheir own kingdom. But the desperate character of their lord, who was\nthought to fear neither man nor devil, might in some sort account for\nthis unwelcome intrusion.\n\nThe guests grew cautious. Whispers and unquiet looks went round, while\nthe little devil would ever and anon frisk about, to the great detriment\nand dismay of his companions.\n\nTheir lord's presence was anxiously looked for. The ruddy glow of their\nmirth had become dim. Sir Ralph, they hoped, would either unmask this\nmischievous intruder, or eject him from the premises; he having the\ncredit of being able to master aught in the shape of either mortal or\nimmortal intelligences.\n\nAt length he came, clad in his usual suit of black velvet. A swarthy and\nill-favoured wight he was, with a beard, as the story goes, that would\nhave swept off the prickly gorse-bush in its progress. He was received\nwith a great show of humility, and all made their best obeisance. But\nthis deputy, representative, or vicegerent of \"Old Hornie,\" he stood\nerect, among the obsequious guests, in a posture not at all either\nrespectful or becoming.\n\n\"Now, knaves, to your sport. Ye be as doleful as a pack of pedlars with\na full basket after the fair. I'll make ye play, and be merry too; or,\ne' lady, ye shall taste of the mittens. Dan, give these grim-faced\nvarlets a twinge of the gloves there just to make 'em laugh.\"\n\nHis tyrannous and overbearing temper would even make them merry by\ncompulsion. But the terrified hearers did not manifest that intense\nfeeling of gratification which this threat was intended to produce. Each\nlooked on the face of his neighbour, hoping to find there some\nindication of the felicity which his own had failed to exhibit.\n\nThe countenance of their chief grew more dark and portentous. Just as\nthey were expecting the full burst of his fury, up trotted the merry\nimp, and irreverently crept behind Sir Ralph. Before their almost\nincredulous eyes did he lay hold on the tail of the knight's cloak, and\ntwisting it round his arm, by a sudden jerk he brought this dignified\npersonage backwards upon the floor. The oaken beams trembled at this\nunlooked-for invasion of their repose. Deep, deadly, and abominable\ncurses, rang through the hall. Livid and ghastly by turns, the knight's\nfeatures wore that ludicrous expression of rage and astonishment more\neasy to conceive than to portray. Volleys of oaths and inarticulate\nsounds burst out from his wrath, almost too big for utterance. When\nreinstated in that posture which is the distinctive characteristic of\nman, he did not attempt to administer his vindictive retribution by\nproxy. Laying hold on a tough cudgel, he gave it one ominous swing,\ndescribing an arc of sufficient magnitude to have laid an army\nprostrate. He then pursued the luckless emissary of the Evil One,\nroaring and foaming with this unusual exertion. There was now no lack of\nactivity. A hawk among the chickens, or a fox in a farm-yard, were\nnothing to it. Sometimes was seen the doughty Sir Ralph driving the\nwhole herd before him like a flock of sheep; but the original cause of\nthe mischief generally contrived to mingle with the rabble rout, who in\nvain attempted to rid themselves of his company. The knight was not\nover-nice in the just administration of his discipline. Often, when he\nthought himself near enough for its accomplishment, he aimed a terrific\nblow, but shot wide of the mark, bringing down the innocent and\nunoffending victims, who strewed the floor like swaths behind the mower.\nWhenever a lucky individual could disentangle himself from his comrades,\nhe darted through the door, and in spite of the storm and pitchy\ndarkness without, thought himself too happy in escaping with a few holes\nin his skin. Yet he of the horns and tail, by some chance or another,\nalways passed unhurt; a hideous laugh accompanying the adroit\ncontrivances by which he eluded the cudgel.\n\nThe hall was now but scantily supplied with guests; the runaways and\nwounded having diminished the numbers to some half-score. A parley was\nnow sounded by the victorious and pursuing enemy.\n\n\"Hold, ye lubberly rascals! Ye scum--ye recrement--why do ye run?\" said\nthe knight, puffing with great vigour. \"I say, why run ye!\" brandishing\nhis club. \"Bring hither that limb of Satan, and ye shall depart every\none to his home. Lay hold of him, I tell ye, and begone.\"\n\nBut these terms of capitulation were by no means so easy to accept as\nthe proposer imagined.\n\nThe first mover of the mischief had gotten himself perched on a\nprojecting ledge by the gallery, from whence they were either unable or\nunwilling to dislodge him.\n\n\"How!\" said the knight. \"Ye are afraid, cowards, I trow. Now will I have\nat thee, for once. I'll spoil thy capering!\" This threat was followed by\na blow aimed at the devoted representative from the infernal court; but\nit failed to dismount him, for he merely shrunk aside, and it was\nrendered harmless. Another and a more contumelious laugh announced this\nfailure. Even the Black Knight grew alarmed. The being was surely\ninvulnerable. He stayed a moment ere he repeated the attack, when, to\nhis unspeakable horror and astonishment, there issued a thin squeaking\nvoice from underneath the disguise.\n\n\"The heriot, Sir Ralph--the heriot! We'll have a heriot at Easter!\"\n\nHad a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, the knight could not have been\nmore terrified. He let the weapon fall. His hands dropped powerless at\nhis side. His countenance was like the darkly rolling sea, strangely\ntossed by some invisible tempest. The cause of this sudden and\nunexpected termination of the assault we will now proceed briefly to\nunfold.\n\nThe morning of this day, being the eve of the Blessed Nativity, had been\nemployed by the Black Knight in the laudable occupation of visiting a\npoor widow; who, though recently bereaved of her husband, had not\nrendered the customary heriot. Unfortunately, the only valuable she\npossessed was a cow, the produce of which formed the chief support of\nthe family; four young children, and a boy of about fourteen, whose\nbrains were generally supposed more or less oddly constructed than those\nof his neighbours, depended on this supply for their daily support.\nCold, bitter cold, was the season, and it had set in with more than\ncommon severity. Day after day the payment was delayed. Every morning\nthe widow and her son fondled the poor beast, as though it were the\nlast; but another morning and evening succeeded. Supper could not supply\nthe place of breakfast, nor breakfast contend against the wants of\nsupper; and how could the already half-famished ones be sustained, when\ntheir only resource should be taken away?\n\n\"Go down upon your knees, Will, and thank God for another morning's\nmeal. It is the eve of our blessed Lord's incarnation, and I think He\nwill not leave us to perish in this world, who has made such a bountiful\nprovision for our well-being in the next. The knight has not sent for\nthe heriot, and I think that He alone who succours the widow and the\nfatherless can have inclined his heart to mercy.\"\n\nScarcely were the thanksgivings finished, when they were alarmed by the\nrapid approach of their persecutor. The door flew open, and in\nthundering accents the Black Knight himself came to make his demand.\n\n\"I'll have thee to the dungeon, hag, for lack of service. How comes it\nto pass the heriot is not paid!\"\n\nThe widow made no reply. Her heart was full.\n\n\"See to it,\" continued the pitiless churl; \"for if thy quittance be not\nforthcoming, and that in haste, I'll turn thee and thy brats into the\nmoor-dikes, where ye may live upon turf and ditch-water if it so please\nye.\"\n\n\"Oh, ha' pity!\" But the widow's prayer was vain. The Black Knight was\nnever known to hearken either to pity or persuasion.\n\n\"Thy cow--thy cow! This night let it be rendered. Sir Ralph Assheton\nnever uttered a threat that fell to the ground.\"\n\n\"Mother,\" said the boy, \"is this Sir Ralph, our liege lord?\"\n\n\"Ay, fool,\" angrily replied the knight. \"And what may thy wits gather by\nthe asking?\"\n\n\"And will _he_ ever die, mother?\"\n\n\"Hush, Willy,\" said the terrified woman.\n\n\"Nay,\" returned the leering half-wit, \"I was but a-thinking, that if he\ndoes, may be _his_ master too will want a heriot.\"\n\n\"And what may be the name of my master?\" said Sir Ralph, with a furious\noath.\n\n\"The devil,\" replied the boy, with apparent unconcern.\n\n\"Ay,--and what will they give him, dost think?\"\n\n\"_Thee!_\"\n\nWhether the peculiar expression of the lad's face, or the fearless\nindifference of his address, so unusual to that of the crouching slaves\nhe generally met with, contributed to the result, we know not; but,\ninstead of correcting the boy for his audacity, he hastily departed,\nfinally repeating his threat of punishment in case of disobedience.\n\nWhen Sir Ralph got home, his ill-humour vented itself with more severity\nthan usual. On joining the sports, he was at the first somewhat\nstartled, on perceiving a representation of the personage which the\nmorning's conversation had by no means prepared him to recognise either\nwith admiration or respect. Still, as it was nothing out of the common\nusage, he took no apparent notice, farther than by remarking the general\ngloom that prevailed, contrary to the usual course of these festivities.\nThen came the unlooked-for aggression upon his person, provoking his\nalready irritated feelings into vehement action. But, when the last\nunfortunate blow had failed in its purpose, appearing to the furious\nknight to have been warded off by a charm, a sudden misgiving came\nacross him, which, with the speech of this supposed imp of darkness, so\nstrangely alluding to his adventure with the boy, wrought powerfully\nupon his now excited imagination, so that he stood aghast, unable to\ngrapple with its terrors. He hastily departed from the hall, leaving the\nenemy in undisputed possession of the field.\n\nWhat occurred subsequently we are not told, save that on the following\nmorning the widow's heriot was sent back, with an ungracious message\nfrom the knight, showing his unwillingness to restore what terror only\nhad wrung from him.\n\nThe person who adventured this dangerous personification of the Evil One\nwas never known. Whether some bold and benevolent individual,\ninterposing on behalf of the fatherless and famishing little ones, or\nsome being of a less substantial nature,--whether one of those immortal\nintelligences of a middle order between earth and heaven, who at that\ntime were supposed to take pleasure in tormenting the vicious and\nunworthy,--is more than our limited capacities can disclose.\n\nIt is said that on Easter Monday following the Black Knight died; and\nthough probably it had no connection with the circumstances we have\nrelated, yet was his decease a sufficiently strange event in the\nmysterious chapter of coincidences to warrant this memorial.\n\n\n\n\nFAIR ELLEN OF RADCLIFFE.\n\n\nIn Percy's Relics, this ballad is called \"The Lady Isabella's Tragedy,\"\nand is thus introduced:--\n\n     \"This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys\n     Collection, collated with another in the British Museum, H. 263,\n     folio. It is there entitled, 'The Lady Isabella's Tragedy, or the\n     Step-Mother's Cruelty; being a relation of a lamentable and cruel\n     murther, committed on the body of the Lady Isabella, the only\n     daughter to a noble Duke, etc. To the tune of \"The Lady's Fall.\"'\n     To some copies are annexed eight more modern stanzas, entitled,\n     'The Duchess' and Cook's Lamentation.'\"\n\nDr Whitaker says, \"The remains of Radcliffe Tower prove it to have been\na manor-house of the first rank. It has been quadrangular; but two sides\nonly remain.\" A licence to kernel and embattle shows the date of its\nerection, or rather rebuilding, to be in the fourth year of Henry IV.,\nby James Radcliffe, who, we find by the pedigree, was the eldest son of\nWilliam Radcliffe. He married Joan, daughter to Sir John Tempest of\nBracewell, in the county of York.\n\n\"The noble old hall is forty-three feet two inches in length, and in one\npart twenty-six feet, in another twenty-eight feet in width. The two\nmassy principals which support the roof are the most curious specimens\nof ancient wood-work I have ever seen. The broadest piece of timber is\ntwo feet seven inches by ten inches. A wall-plate on the outside of one\nbeam, from end to end, measures two feet by ten inches. The walls are\nfinished at the square with a moulded cornice of oak.\n\n\"At the bottom of the room is a door opening into one of the towers, the\nlower part of which only remains, of massy grout-work, and with three\narches, each furnished with a funnel or aperture like a chimney. On the\nleft side of the hall are the remains of a very curious window-frame of\noak, wrought in Gothic tracery, but square at top. Near the top of the\nhall, on the right, are the remains of a doorway, opening into what was\nonce a staircase, and leading to a large chamber above the kitchen, the\napproach to which was by a door of massy oak, pointed at the top.\n\n\"Over the high tables of ancient halls (as is the case in some college\nhalls at present) it was common to have a small aperture, through which\nthe lord or master could inspect, unseen, what was going on below. But\nin this situation at Radcliffe is a ramified window of oaken work,\nopening from the apartment above mentioned, but now closed up.\"\n\n[Illustration: RADCLIFFE TOWER.\n\n_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\nThis consists of eight arches, with trefoil-pointed tops, four and\nfour, with two narrower apertures above.\n\n\"To this place and family are attached the tradition and ballad given by\nDr Percy, under the name of Isabella, but here applied to a Lord Thomas\nand faire Ellenor, father and daughter, whose figures are supposed to be\ngraven on a slab in the church, which the common people, concluding, I\nsuppose, from its whiteness, that it was meant as an emblem of the\ninnocence it is said to cover, have mutilated by breaking off small\nfragments, as amulets for the prevention or cure of disorders.\nTraditions, always erroneous in their circumstances, are yet rarely\ndevoid of foundation; and though the pedigrees of Radcliffe exhibit no\nfailure of the family by the premature death of an heiress; though the\nlast Richard de Radcliffe, who had daughters only, certainly did not\nmake 'a scullion-boy the heir of all his land,' when he settled it on\nRadcliffe Baron Fitzwalter; though the blood actually pointed out on the\nkitchen floor, where this Thyestsean banquet is said to have been\nprepared, deserves no more regard than many other stories and\nappearances of the same kind; yet we are not to discard as incredible\nthe tradition of a barbarous age, merely because it asserts the\nsacrifice of a young and beautiful heiress to the jealousy or the\navarice of a stepmother. When this is granted, the story of the pie with\nall its horrors may safely be ascribed to the inventive genius of a\nminstrel. On the whole, Radcliffe is a place which, not only from its\nantiquity and splendour, but from the great families which have branched\nout from it, and the romantic tradition attached to it, can scarcely be\nsurveyed without enthusiasm, or quitted without regret.\"\n\nThere is a story of its being haunted by a black dog; but as this\napparition has never been seen by two persons in company, it may safely\nbe ascribed to the genius of fear, quite as creative a power as any\nother faculty of the imagination.\n\nWe have thought it best to give the ballad entire, without any\nembellishments of our own. Though not in the best style of these\nmetrical romances, it is still of sufficient interest, from its\nconnection, to claim a place in the \"Traditions\" of the county.\n\n    There was a lord of worthy fame,\n      And a hunting he would ride,\n    Attended by a noble traine\n      Of gentrye by his side.\n\n    And while he did in chase remaine,\n      To see both sport and playe,\n    His ladye went, as she did feigne,\n      Unto the church to praye.\n\n    This lord he had a daughter deare,\n      Whose beauty shone so bright,\n    She was beloved both far and neare\n      Of many a lord and knight.\n\n    Fair Ellen was this damsel call'd,\n      A creature faire was she;\n    She was her father's only joye,\n      As you shall after see.\n\n    Therefore her cruel stepmother\n      Did envye her so much,\n    That daye by daye she sought her life,\n      Her malice it was such.\n\n    She bargain'd with the master-cook,\n      To take her life awaye;\n    And, taking of her daughter's book,\n      She thus to her did saye:--\n\n    Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye,\n      Go hasten presentlie;\n    And tell unto the master-cook\n      These wordes that I tell thee:\n\n    And bid him dresse to dinner streight\n      That fair and milk-white doe,\n    That in the parke doth shine so bright\n      There's none so faire to showe.\n\n    This ladye, fearing of no harme,\n      Obey'd her mother's will;\n    And presentlye she hasted home,\n      Her pleasure to fulfil.\n\n    She streight into the kitchen went,\n      Her message for to tell;\n    And there she spied the master-cook,\n      Who did with malice swell.\n\n    Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe,\n      Do that which I thee tell:\n    You needes must dresse the milk-white doe\n      Which you do knowe full well.\n\n    Then streight his cruell bloodye hands\n      He on the ladye layd,\n    Who quivering and shaking stands,\n      While thus to her he sayd:--\n\n    Thou art the doe that I must dresse,\n      See here, behold my knife;\n    For it is pointed, presently\n      To ridd thee of thy life.\n\n    Oh then, cried out the scullion-boye,\n      As loud as loud might bee,\n    Oh save her life, good master-cook,\n      And make your pyes of mee!\n\n    For pitye's sake, do not destroye\n      My ladye with your knife;\n    You know shee is her father's joye,\n      For Christe's sake, save her life.\n\n    I will not save her life, he sayd,\n      Nor make my pyes of thee;\n    Yet, if thou dost this deed bewraye,\n      Thy butcher I will bee.\n\n    Now when this lord he did come home\n      For to'sit downe and eat,\n    He called for his daughter deare\n      To come and carve his meat.\n\n    Now sit you downe, his ladye say'd,\n      Oh sit you down to meat;\n    Into some nunnery she is gone,\n      Your daughter deare forget.\n\n    Then solemnlye he made a vowe\n      Before the companie,\n    That he would neither eat nor drinke\n      Until he did her see.\n\n    Oh then bespake the scullion-boye,\n      With a loud voice so hye--If\n    now you will your daughter see,\n      My lord, cut up that pye:\n\n    Wherein her flesh is minced small,\n      And parched with the fire;\n    All caused by her stepmother,\n      Who did her death desire.\n\n    And cursed bee the master-cook,\n      Oh cursed may he bee!\n    I proffer'd him my own heart's blood,\n      From death to set her free.\n\n    Then all in blacke this lord did mourne,\n      And, for his daughter's sake,\n    He judged her cruell stepmother\n      To be burnt at a stake.\n\n    Likewise he judged the master-cook\n      In boiling lead to stand;\n    And made the simple scullion-boye\n      The heire of all his land.\n\n[Illustration: WHALLEY ABBEY.\n\n_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\n\n\n\nTHE ABBOT OF WHALLEY\n\n\n    \"Earl Percy there his ancyent spred,\n      The half moone shining all soe faire;\n    The Norton's ancyent had the crosse,\n      And the five wounds our Lord did beare.\"\n\n--_The Rising in the North_.\n\nThe Cistercian Abbey of Whalley was founded by Henry Lacy, Earl of\nLincoln, who, having given the advowson of the parish to the abbey of\nStanlaw in Cheshire, the monks procured an appropriation, and removed\nhither in 1296, increasing their number to sixty. The parish church is\nnearly coeval with the introduction of Christianity into the north of\nEngland. This foundation now became the nucleus of a flourishing\nestablishment, \"continuing,\" as Dr Whitaker informs us, \"for two\ncenturies and a half, to exercise unbounded charity and hospitality; to\nadorn the site thus chosen with a succession of magnificent buildings;\nto protect the tenants of its ample domains in the enjoyment of\nindependence and plenty; to educate and provide for their children; to\nemploy, clothe, feed, and pay many labourers, herdsmen, and shepherds;\nto exercise the arts and cultivate the learning of the times; yet\nunfortunately at the expense of the secular incumbents, whose endowments\nthey had swallowed up, and whose functions they had degraded into those\nof pensionary vicars or mendicant chaplains.\"\n\nThe ruins of Whalley Abbey are situated in a beautifully-sequestered\nspot on the banks of the Calder, presenting some of the most extensive\nand picturesque remains of antiquity in the county; and the site\nsufficiently exemplifies that peculiar instinct, if it may be so called,\nwhich guided the monks in their choice of situations. \"Though the\nCistercians affected to plant themselves in the solitude of woods, which\nwere to be gradually essarted by the labour of their own hands, and\nthough they obtained an exemption from the payment of tithes on that\nspecific plea, yet they were excellent judges of the quality of land,\nhowever concealed, and never set about their laborious task without the\nassurance of an ample recompense.\"\n\nThe following minute account of these ruins is from the pen of the\nhistorian of Whalley:--\"A copious stream to the south, a moderate\nexpanse of rich meadow and pasture around, and an amphitheatre of\nsheltering hills, clad in the verdant covering of their native woods,\nbeyond; these were features in the face of Nature which the earlier\nCistercians courted with instinctive fondness. Where these combined, it\ndoes not appear that they ever abandoned a situation which they had once\nchosen; and where these were wanting, it is certain they never long or\nwillingly remained.\"\n\n\"We now proceed to a particular survey of the remains of Whalley Abbey\nas they exist at present. First, then, the whole area of the close,\ncontaining thirty-six acres, three roods, fourteen poles, is still\ndefined by the remains of a broad and deep trench, which surrounded it;\nover this were two approaches to the house, through two strong and\nstately gateways yet remaining. They are constructed in that plain and\nsubstantial style which characterised the Cistercian houses; a style\nwhich approximates to that of fortification, and shows that the monks\ndid not obtain a licence to kernel and embattle without an end in view.\nWithin this area, and on the verge of the Calder, which formed the\nsouth-west boundary of the close, was the house itself, consisting of\nthree quadrangles, besides stables and offices. The first and most\nwesterly of these was the cloister-court, of which the nave of the\nconventual church formed the north side; the chapter-house and vestry,\nyet remaining, the east; the dormitory, also remaining, the west; and\nthe refectory and kitchens the south. The cloister was of wood,\nsupported, as usual, upon corbels, still remaining: the area within was\nthe monks' cemetery, and some of the ancient gravestones here are still\nremembered. Against the wall, on the south side of this quadrangle, is a\nwide surbased arch, apparently of Henry the Seventh's time, which has\nevidently contained the lavatory. The groove of the lead pipe which\nconveyed the water is still conspicuous, as is also another for the\nreception of a wooden rail, on which the towels hung. Beyond this court,\nto the east, is another quadrangle area, formed by the choir of the\nchurch, on one side, the opposite side of the chapter-house, &c., on\nanother, a line of ruinous buildings on the third, and a large distinct\nbuilding, itself surrounding a small quadrangle, on the fourth. This\nappears evidently to have been the abbot's lodgings; for which reason,\nas being best adapted to the habits of an ordinary family, it\nimmediately became the residence of the Asshetons, and after many\nalterations, and a demolition of its best apartments, particularly a\ngallery nearly one hundred and fifty feet in length, has still several\ngood and habitable rooms, and is now preserved with due care by its\nowner. The ancient kitchen, the _coquina abbatis_ of the _compotus_,\nwhence such hecatombs were served up, remains, though roofless, with two\nhuge fire-places. On the southern side of this building is a small but\nvery picturesque and beautiful rain mantled with ivy, which appears to\nhave been a chapel, and was probably the abbot's private oratory. But\nthe conventual church itself, which exceeded many cathedrals in extent,\nhas been levelled nearly to the foundation. This work of havoc was\nprobably an effect of that general panic which seized the lay-owners of\nabbeys, on the attempt made by Queen Mary to restore the monks to their\ncloisters.--'For now,' says Fuller, 'the edifices of abbeys, which were\nstill entire, looked lovingly again on their ancient owners; in\nprevention whereof, such as possessed them for the present plucked out\ntheir eyes by levelling them to the ground and shaving from them, as\nmuch as they could, all abbey characters.'\n\n\"However, in the month of August 1798, permission having been obtained\nfrom the guardian of the present owner to investigate the foundation by\ndigging, a very successful attempt was made to retrieve the whole\nichnography of the church, of which there were no remains above the\nsurface to assist conjecture, or to guide research, but one jamb of the\nwest window against the wall of the dormitory, a small portion of the\nsouth wall of the nave, a fragment of the south transept, and another\njamb of one of the side chapels eastward from the last. An inequality in\nthe ground, eastward from the transept, in an adjoining orchard, showed\nthe half-pace into the choir, of which the outline to the north and east\nwas also defined in the same manner. Upon these slender data we\nproceeded, first, to investigate the foundations of the columns towards\nthe west end; and having ascertained the distance of one from the south\nwall, the width of the south aisle, and consequently of the north,\nfollowed of course; another digging immediately to the north ascertained\nthe width of the middle aisle, and a third, from east to west, gave one\nintercolumnation; the length of the nave being already given by the\nremains of the transept, the number of columns was now proved. A right\nline drawn along the remnant of the south wall, and continued to the\nintersection of the nave and transept, proved the length of the latter\non the south side, and, consequently, also on the north. The choir\nevidently appeared to have consisted of a presbytery, with two side\naisles, and four other chapels; two to the north, and as many to the\nsouth.\n\n\"The site of the choir being determined, it remained to investigate its\ncontents beneath the surface: accordingly, under the high altar, nothing\nappeared but a bed of undisturbed and native sand; but beneath the\nsecond half-pace, immediately leading up to it, were turned up many\nbroken remains of a painted pavement, consisting of small glazed\nfloor-tiles, adorned with various devices, and of different forms and\ndimensions. At the foot of the stalls, a narrow rectilinear filleting of\nthe same material had bounded the whole. On some was inscribed the word\nMARIE, in Longobardic characters.\n\n\"This pavement had been deeply bedded in mortar, but was altogether\ndisplaced, and turned down from one to three feet beneath the surface,\nwhere several skeletons were found very entire, and in their original\nposition, but without any remains of coffins, vestments, or other\nornaments, as appeared upon a most minute investigation. These, however,\nwere, beyond a doubt, the Abbots of Whalley. From the confused state of\nthe original pavement, the whole floor of the presbytery, from the foot\nof the stalls, appeared to have been successively covered with\ngrave-stones, all of which, however, had been removed, excepting\nfragments of two: one of these had a groove, once inlaid with a\nfilleting of brass, and the other, beneath which lay the skeleton of a\ntall and robust man, had deeply cut upon it the stump of a tree reguled.\nThis I conjecture to have been a thorn, intended as a rebus upon the\nname of Christopher Thornber, the fifteenth abbot, who died in 1486. In\nthis search we narrowly missed the fragments of the grave-stone of Abbot\nLindley, which were casually turned up on this very spot, A.D. 1813. On\none, in the Longobardic character of Edward the Third's time, were the\nletters IOP, and on the other AJ PVIV.\n\n\"From these data, slender as they may seem, I arrive at my conclusion,\nthus:--First, None but abbots were interred in the high choir; secondly,\nThe characters cannot be later than the latter end of Edward the Third,\nwhen the old English black letter was substituted in its place. From the\nfoundation to this time three Johns had been Abbots of Whalley;\nBelfield, Topeliffe, and Lindley. The termination of the surname must\nhave immediately preceded the word _hujus_, but the letters AJ can only\nhave formed the termination of Lindelai, the old orthography of the\nword.\n\n\"The remains of the Lacies, wherever deposited, after their removal from\nStanlaw, had undoubtedly been preserved with religious reverence, and\nenclosed in magnificent tombs. But in these researches there were no\nappearances which justified even a conjecture that we had discovered\nthem.\"[14]\n\nJohn Paslew, the last Abbot of Whalley, appears, by a reference to his\narms, to have been of the Paslews of Wiswall. The first twenty years\nafter his election were passed, like those of his predecessors, in the\nduties of his choir, in the exercise of hospitality, in attention to the\nextensive possessions of his house, or in the improvement of his\nbuildings; but a storm was approaching, before which either his\nconscience or his bigotry prevented him from bending, and which\nprecipitated his ruin and that of the abbey. The religious houses in\ngeneral were now greatly relaxed in discipline, and many of them\ndreadfully corrupted in morals. What was the state of Whalley must now\nbe left to conjecture, though charity should incline us to think no evil\nto those against whom no specific evidence appears. The Pilgrimage of\nGrace was now commenced, and Paslew seems to have been pushed into the\nforemost ranks of the rebellion; when this expedition ended in the\ndiscomfiture and disgrace of its promoters, every art of submission and\ncorruption was vainly employed to ward off the blow. Paslew was\narraigned for high treason, tried, and condemned, and is supposed to\nhave been interred in the north aisle of the parish church, under a\nstone yet remaining; the ignominious part of his sentence being\nremitted, out of respect to his order.\n\n\"The attainder of an abbot was understood, however rightly, by the crown\nlawyers of that time, to infer a forfeiture of the house; and\naccordingly, without the form of a surrender, the abbey of Whalley,\nwith all its appurtenances, was instantly seized into the king's hands;\nand thus fell this ancient foundation.\n\n\"Fr. Thomas Holden, younger son of Gilbert Holden, of Holden, gent.,\nwas, in all probability, the last surviving monk. On the Dissolution he\nappears to have returned to his native place. In 1550 we meet with his\nname as Sir Thomas Holden, curate of Haslingden; and in 1574 he was\nlicensed to the same cure at the metropolitical visitation of Archbishop\nGrindall, held at Preston, by the style of Thomas Holden, clerk, of\nsober life and competent learning. Strange as it may seem, we find the\nlast surviving monk of Whalley a Protestant minister, thirty-seven years\nafter its dissolution!\"\n\nIt was in the dark month of November, when the brown leaves are\nfluttering on the ground, when the wind comes mournfully through the\nbare woods, and the hollow nooks and quiet caves respond with their\nmystic voice, that two travellers were seen loitering up the grand\navenue that swept nobly through the western embattled gateway of Whalley\nAbbey. The foremost of them wore a low-crowned cap, simply decorated\nwith a heron's plume, and a doublet of mulberry-coloured velvet, puffed\nout capaciously at the shoulders. Trunk-hose of a goodly diameter, and\nwide-flapped boots, decorated the lower extremity of his person. On his\nleft hand he bore a hooded falcon. The jesses were of crimson and yellow\nsilk, its legs fancifully adorned with little bells fastened by rings of\nleather. These made a jingling and dissonant music as it flew, being\ngenerally tuned one semitone below another, that they might be the more\nsonorous considering their small size. The bearer wore a pair of stout\nleathern mittens, and he carried a long pole to aid him, as it might\nseem, in the chase. His manner bespoke him above the ordinary rank; and\nhis garb, from the minute regulations then existing in regard to dress,\nshowed at any rate his pretensions to nobility. This proud cavalier was\nfollowed by one servant only, who carried a capacious wallet, not\nover-well replenished with provision, as was apparent from its long lank\nshape and attenuated proportions. His master's cloak was slung on the\nother shoulder; and his belt displayed some implements that appeared\nalike formidable as means of offence or defence.\n\nEventide was then drawing on, but it did not appear that the falcon had\nbeen loosed to the game; the usual tokens of success were wanting--the\ntorn and bloody carcases that marked an abundant sport. Two or three of\nthe brethren were sitting on a bench in the gateway. In passing by, the\nforemost of the strangers hastily addressed his follower.\n\n\"Ralph Newcome, plague on thee! hast thou had a call again at the\nwallet? Thou guzzling tinder-throat, thy drouth is never slaked!\"\n\nNow Ralph, having felt sore oppressed with the weight of sundry leathern\nbottles, loaves, and wedges of cold meat, had taken especial care to\nlighten his back and load his stomach whenever the occasion was urgent.\nHis endeavours had not been without success, for the wallet, as we have\nseen, hung from his shoulders, long, narrow, and unfurnished, save with\nthe scraps and relics of many a savoury junket.\n\n\"Coming, master,\" was the reply, sufficiently audible for his master's\near; the remainder escaped in a sort of grumble, the dregs of his ill\nhumour at the interruption.\n\nThe sportsman, if such he was, gained a ready admittance into the abbey\nenclosure. Passing round the north transept of the church, he made the\nbest of his way to the abbot's house, where Paslew dwelt in great state,\nkeeping a separate establishment and a numerous train of domestics and\nofficials.\n\nPaslew was in some respects a man of parsimonious habits; and though his\nbounty might now be the better excused, yet in the more prosperous days\nof his dominion he had the character of a selfish and greedy priest,\nwhose charity was less than that of his predecessor, and his personal\nexpenses double.\n\nEncouraged by the \"Pilgrimage of Grace,\" as it was then called, headed\nby one Aske, a gentleman of but mean pretensions, who yet possessed the\nart of making himself popular with the vulgar, Paslew, though apparently\ntaking no open part in the rebellion, had with his monks repossessed\ntheir ancient seat, from which they had been driven by the decrees of\nHenry VIII.\n\nThe rebel army had their camp at Doncaster, where the Archbishop of York\nand the Lord D'Arcy openly espoused their cause, receiving in great\nstate a herald from the king's army, who came to negotiate with these\ndangerous malcontents. They had formed high notions of their own power\nand importance, and entertained sanguine hopes of success, especially\nsince the Duke of Norfolk, a supporter of the ancient religion, was\nappointed to the command of the royal forces along with the Earl of\nShrewsbury. The monks made themselves certain that the result would be a\ncomplete purification of heresy from the land, or at least that measures\nwould be adopted for the purpose of forcing Henry to a restitution of\ntheir rights. So fully established were they in this opinion, that, as\nwe have just seen, some of them took possession of their ancient\ninheritances without the tedious formality of awaiting a fresh grant\nfrom the king.\n\nThe rebel army, being allured by Norfolk with vain promises of\nsatisfaction, were now dispersed, though with the understanding that\nanother assemblage should take place at a given notice, for which\npurpose beacons were erected at convenient distances throughout the\nnorth. By these means their forces could again be mustered with the\ngreatest security and despatch.\n\nWithin this interval our narrative begins. Paslew had received some\ncommunication from the leaders of the pilgrimage; but he seemed wishful\nto procrastinate, hoping, perhaps, he should be spared the necessity of\nany more direct treasonable demonstrations, by the timely submission of\nthe king; yet his aid was of too much importance to be neglected.\n\nThe stranger, on his introduction, was received with some ostentation,\nand not a little ceremony. They were evidently unknown to each other;\nbut the keen glance of the abbot instantly detected the signal for some\nsecret message. Paslew was habited in the Cistercian gown, and scapulary\nof white cloth. His eye was dark, but restless; his lips, drawn in, were\nnarrow and compressed, showing the curbed impetuosity of his spirit.\nEither as a churchman or a warrior, he seemed fitted for daring\nenterprise; yet was he of a wary and cautious bearing, a characteristic\nwhich his monkish education had in all probability thrown over his\nnatural temperament. The attendants having departed, the stranger drew\nan unsealed letter from his bosom.'\n\n\"A written message, my lord abbot, from the Abbot of Kirkstall. 'Tis now\nfor your reverence's private regard, afterwards at your discretion.\" The\nabbot hastily glanced over this piece of quaint and formal latinity,\noccasionally darting a rapid and penetrating look at his visitor.\n\n\"He says not aught regarding so goodly a messenger,\" said Paslew,\ncarelessly.\n\n\"I should have marvelled if he had,\" returned the other, with a\ncontemptuous smile. \"He knew not of so important a personage when that\nepistle was elaborated from his pen.\"\n\n\"How?\" said the abbot, his features gathering into a portentous scowl.\n\n\"Nay, I beseech your reverence's grace, that you throw off all such\ndisturbed apprehensions; for in troth a messenger of my bearing and\ncapacity were worth a knight's ransom in these evil days, when the monks\nmay not abroad with safety.\"\n\n\"Speak out. Remember I have yet the power to punish both insolence and\ntreachery.\"\n\nThe abbot's lip curled upwards, pale and quivering with rage, not\nunmixed with apprehension.\n\n\"Grammercy,\" said the stranger, with a provokingly careless expression\nof cool and contemptuous defiance--\"I cry you none--I am at present\nnameless. To work, to work, lord abbot. Thou hast holden back too long;\nand there is a shrewd suspicion abroad of thine integrity in the good\ncause. Hold!\" said he, rising, as the reverend prelate was on the point\nof summoning his attendants; \"I am not thy prisoner! Impotent, I would\ncrook my finger thus, and thou shouldest crouch at my bidding. Nay,\nthese be evil days, I say again; and more strange things may come to\npass than bearding a lordly abbot in his den!\"\n\nGreat was the astonishment of Paslew. The stranger stood proudly erect;\nhis arms were folded, and a withering glance shot from beneath his\nbrows. Even John Paslew, unused to a sense of inferiority before his\nfellow-men, felt cowed before him. For the first time, in all\nlikelihood, he knew not how or what to answer. The stranger interrupted\nthis painful silence.\n\n\"Since the monks are forbidden to be out a-gadding, the cowl and\nscapulary might have found some hindrance over the moors from Kirkstall.\nWith my hawk and bearing-pole, I can follow on to the sport without let\nor question.\" The latter part of this speech seemed to throw some light\non the purpose for which this messenger had been selected. Paslew was\npreparing for a further inquiry, when he was again interrupted.\n\n\"I tell thee, a courier of my condition may go free, though nameless.\nBut to business--Norfolk is tampering with our credulity. He thinks to\ngain our time to his advantage: but the work must again be urged\nforward. Yet lack we thy aid. May we depend on its being faithfully\nrendered? We must have no lukewarm allies in the rear of our camp.\"\n\nThe stranger drew from beneath his inner vest a crucifix, with the\nrepresentation of a chalice and of the five wounds of Christ.\n\nPaslew kissed the token, and his suspicions were at rest. But still,\nthere was a dubiety and hesitation in his manner displeasing to the\nstranger. He would bind himself to no distinct pledge respecting the\ntime of his appearance at the rebel camp; and altogether seemed to\ndisplay either cowardice or a want of cordiality. His guest refusing to\nstay the night, on a pretext of urgent business farther north, departed\nsoon after the termination of their interview.\n\nThe night was fast closing when the strangers left the abbey. One by one\nthe pale stars seemed to start out, as if just lighted up in the blue\nvault. The dark woods threw their giant arms around the sacred domain,\nas though to guard it against unhallowed intrusion. The travellers had\ngained the steep ascent towards the south-east, from whence the river,\nwinding down the narrow valley, seemed as if here and there a spark was\nfloating on its quiet surface--the lights, gliding on the opposite\nbrink, fell distinct and unbroken upon the stream. The soft voice of the\ncurrent grew strangely audible, in contrast with the deep silence; the\nwind rolling it round to the ear at intervals startling and abrupt.\n\nPreceded by a guide, they had taken the rough mountain road, leading\nfrom the abbey into the forest of Pendle, the stranger and his servant\nstill walking, or rather climbing, for their journey could only be\naccomplished on foot. Having proceeded about two miles on this rugged\npath, they diverged to the left, where the only indication to assist\ntheir guide was the turf-cutters' track and a few heaps of stones,\nscarcely distinguishable from the common mass, but by an eye accustomed\nto these land-marks. Carefully were they sought for at times, the\nblazing torch carried by their leader being often requisite for the\nsearch.\n\nThey now descended by a narrow and steep ravine, the termination of\nwhich brought them to a small brook. This they crossed, and again\ncommenced a sharp and troublesome ascent. The mighty Pendle rose up\nbefore them, huge and dark, engrossing half the hemisphere. To this\npoint, it seemed, their path was directed. The guide now trimmed his\ntorch, the smoke from which had for some time been rather an\naccompaniment than an assistance to their toil, as it caused them to\nloiter at an inconvenient distance, thereby enhancing the difficulties\nthey had to encounter. Slow and toilsome was their progress, yet a\npatient continuance in any path will sooner or later lead to the end.\nThe brow of the hill seemed rapidly diminishing; the abrupt steep was at\nlength gained, when the whole glorious garniture of the heavens,\nuninterrupted, from that majestic height, was suddenly revealed. True,\nit was a November night, but unusually clear and vivid; the stars seemed\nto burn rather than shine, so piercing was their effulgence. The vast\ntrack of the milky way appeared to span the dark and level platform,\nlike the bow of some triumphal arch. They seemed to stand on a huge\ncircle, black, bare,--its verge unapproachable, contrasting deeply with\nthe encompassing splendour. Proceeding onwards, a dark speck was\nvisible, springing out abruptly from the verge of the horizon. Its bulk\nrapidly increased, their path evidently tending in that direction. A\nshrill whistle from the guide was now answered by a corresponding\nsignal. Presently they were challenged by a sentinel.\n\n\"_Vale_\" growled out the rough voice of their conductor.\n\n\"Is it thou, Will?\" said the guard. \"And what neck art thou fitting for\nthe noose; breeding occupation for the hangsman, I trow.\"\n\n\"Not half so ripe as thine own, gossip. Here be two gentles that have\ncommission, I guess, to look at the beacons, to see they are in trim and\nproperly watched. 'Tis well the guard is set. Holloa, Nicholas Dewhurst,\nbring the flagon. I am wheezing like an old wife's bellows, nigh\ndisinherited of my birthright, the free quaffing o' the air. I shall die\nand be canonised.\"\n\nWill, in his eagerness to attain this glorious end, left his companions\nwith the sentinel, who speedily conducted them into a rude hut, erected\nas a temporary shelter to those on the look-out for signals. In this\nnarrow shed a lamp was burning. Two of the abbot's servants, stretched\nbefore a smouldering heap of turf, were scarcely roused by the\nvociferations of Will, as he strode over them in his way to the\nprovender. A long pull, and a loud smack, announced the satisfactory\nrelish that ensued.\n\n\"Hoa, ye lozel knaves!--who sleeps when Will's awake?\" This reflection\nwas accompanied by a smart blow on that part of the recumbent's person\nwhere it was most conveniently administered.\n\n\"Begone, sot!\" was the abrupt reply, not over-abundantly expressive of\ngood humour at this disturbance. Will looked again towards the flagon;\nbut great was his dismay on beholding it in the very act of disemboguing\nits precious contents into another gulf as insatiable as his own. Ralph\nNewcome, incited thereto by his own discrimination, together with the\nresistless relish of their guide, as soon as the latter had partially\nconcluded, took up the subject, and long, powerful, and undeviating were\nthe requisitions that he made.\n\n\"Plague on thy civility!--A fly will drink from anybody's cup, and so\nwill a Yorkshireman,\" growled the uncourteous churl.\n\nRalph had, however, braced himself tightly to the task, and stood with\nan air of dogged defiance, stoutly confronting his accuser,--though,\nbeing a man of few words, the principal weight of the argument rested\nupon Will, whose eloquence was with difficulty interrupted on any\nsubject.\n\n\"Peace,\" said one of the sleepers, raising himself half-way,--\"I think\nwe be like to bide here till our bones rot. There's nought but the same\ndun sky,--black, black, and unchanging. I should like to see a stiff\nblaze from some quarter. Our bundle, here, would soon be in a low.\"\n\n\"Hark!\" said the other, \"'tis something creaking amongst the faggots.\"\n\nThe sentinel rushed out, but the beacon was undisturbed.\n\n\"St Mary protect us!--'Tis the same noise I heard last night, and about\nthe same hour.\"\n\nThe stranger here entered the hut. Enveloped in a huge cloak, he sate\nsilent, and apparently inattentive; but the conversation was now abrupt,\nand broken down into short and interrupted whispers.\n\n\"I wish old Hal and his wives were here, with all my heart,\" said one:\n\"we'd have a rare bonfire. How his fat paunch would swell! But for him\nand his unlucky women, we had been snug in the chimney-corner, snoring\nout psalmody, or helping old Barn'by off with the tit-bits in the\nkitchen.\"\n\n\"Hush!\" said his neighbour: \"there be the faggots talking again. I think\nthey are bewitched.--Dan, look to them.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Dan, \"they may bide awhile for me.\"\n\nThe words were scarcely uttered when the building seemed in a blaze.\nCrash upon crash followed. The inmates, stupified with terror, were well\nnigh suffocated ere their astonishment left them the power to escape.\nIn the full conviction that the foul fiend had taken him at his word,\nDan was dragged from the hut, wan, speechless, and gasping with\naffright. Nothing less, too, than a visit from his Satanic majesty in\nperson was expected by the terrified rustics.\n\nOn gaining the outside, the whole burning mass was before them, one vast\npyramid of flame. Flakes of blazing matter were hurled into the sky,\nwith short and rapid explosions. The roar of the wind through the\nglowing furnace was awful and appalling. Huge and ignited fragments were\nborne away with frightful rapidity. They rode on the rolling volumes of\nsmoke like fire-fiends armed with destruction; but the vast reservoir of\nflame still glowed on, apparently undiminished. The curtain of night\nseemed to be suddenly undrawn. Objects the most minute were visible as\nin the broad view of day. The brown heath, the grey and the mossy stone,\nwere each distinguishable, but clad alike in one bright and unvarying\ncolour, red as the roaring furnace. Soon the great magazine of\ninflammable matter in the interior caught fire, and rolled out in a wide\nmass of light, like the first burst of a volcano.\n\nThe stranger stood with apparent unconcern, his back to the flames,\nlooking from the brink of the mountain northward, as if on the watch for\ncorresponding signals. Soon a bright star hung on the heights above\nSawley. Increasing in splendour, another broke out on the verge of the\nhorizon, marking the site of the camp near Romald's Moor.\n\nTurning towards the south-west, and looking to the right, beyond the\nchain of successive heights that form the vale of Todmorden, he beheld a\ndim spark in the distance, from the summit of Hades Hill, scarcely\npenetrating the mist which hung like a dense cloud in that direction;\nthis place and Thieveley Pike forming the connecting-links between\nPendle Hill and Buckton Castle.\n\nThe terrified attendants knew too well the results which would follow\nthis unaccountable and irreparable mistake. The whole country would be\nin commotion. Hordes of zealous and fanatic idlers and malcontents would\nrepair to the appointed rendezvous, and this premature, and perhaps\nfatal movement, would be attributed to their carelessness. Paslew, not\nover-nice in discriminating their several deserts, would doubtless\nsubject them to immediate and condign punishment.\n\nThese were thoughts common to each, unquestionable and conclusive; but\nwhat answer to give, or what excuse to make, was far from being decided\nupon with the same degree of certainty.\n\n\"We shall be hanged without mercy,\" was the dread sum of these\nuncomfortable reflections.\n\n\"I know not what you may be,\" said Will; \"but I intend to run for it.\nI've an old dame would make a sore disturbance at my death, more\nespecially if dangling from the gallows-tree, which of all the trees in\nthe wood hath been my aversion ever since I saw Long Tom of the Nab make\nso uncomfortable a shriving from thence.\"\n\n\"Run, then,\" said Nicholas, rather stoutly, and in a tone of more\nconfidence than heretofore. \"I'll stay my ground this bout; and,\nfurther, I do propose to commit yon knaves into the holy keeping of our\nfour-cornered crib, where they may be indulged in recreations of another\nsort than setting the whole country by the ears. 'Twill save our necks\nto slip theirs into the noose.\"\n\nThis happy suggestion, the whole of these honest and conscientious\nservants of the church were prepared to obey. They might with safety\naccuse the strangers; indeed, it was more than probable they had hit out\nthe right source of the mischief; so, marching up boldly to the\nexecution of this Christian purpose, they were proceeding to lay hands\non the foremost of the culprits. At this critical moment he turned\nsuddenly round. Perhaps from a prior suspicion of their intentions, or\nfrom the knavish cast of their countenances, he saw that hostilities\nwere in contemplation: at any rate, he seemed to be prepared for the\nevent. Will, being the mouthpiece of the party, and accustomed,\nmoreover, at times to a precise and methodical manner of delivery, was\nthe chief speaker.\n\n\"Sir, we arrest you for high treason. You are charged with firing off\nbeacons without our privity or consent, thereby endangering the safety\nof the lord abbot, and the peaceable governing of this realm.\" He\npaused, quaking even at his own eloquence; but the stranger made no\nreply, till, throwing aside his cloak, he drew out a hagbut or\ndemi-hague as it was sometimes called, being a sort of small harquebuss,\nwith its match ready kindled.\n\n\"Tell the Abbot of Whalley that neither ye nor the whole horde of drones\nand drivellers about his hive, shall take me against my own liberty and\nconsent. Hold back! Your first step, is your last, save to your grave! I\nwill see the abbot shortly, but not by your grace or assistance.\" Saying\nthis, he bounded down the steep like the roused deer, in its first pride\nof flight, scorning the chase. The light flashing from his weapons\nmarked his form rapidly receding from their grasp.\n\nBut Ralph, who, as we may suppose, was minded to imitate the evolutions\nof his master, being it seemed of a more heavy and considerate\ndemeanour, paused for a space ere he leapt.\n\nThis deliberation was fatal to his enterprise. The enemy, recovering\nfrom their confusion, seized him in default of his master, and without\nfurther ado bore him away as a visible acquittance of themselves to the\nabbot. There could be no great harm in throwing the blame of this\nunlucky affair on the companion of the escaped incendiary: besides, it\nwould be an effective lesson to him on the danger of keeping bad\ncompany.\n\nThrough bog and brake, over moor and mountain, they hurried on with\ntheir prisoner, who, dooming them all to \"clootie\" and his imps, and\ncommending himself to Michael, Mary, and a number of his especial\npatrons in the Romish calendar, was urged forward with more than their\nusual speed.\n\nThe blaze had ceased to be visible when they came to the last descent\ntowards the village. Far and wide the alarm had spread; consternation\nand inquiry were on every countenance. The guards were besieged with\nanxious faces, supplicating intelligence, and much impeded thereby in\ntheir progress to the abbey.\n\nOutside the gates they found a dense crowd waiting for the news. The\nabbot and his brethren were in close council, expecting every moment the\narrival of warders from the beacon.\n\nThey were hurried into the chapter-house, together with their prisoner,\nwho had now taken to the sulks, refusing any reply to the numerous\ninquiries made by the servants who followed, eager for the final\ndisclosure.\n\nThe room was lighted by a single lamp. Little of the interior was\nvisible, save the grim and ascetic faces of the monks who sat nearest to\nthe centre of illumination. Their features, in deep masses of alternate\nlight and shadow, looked as if carved out, hard and immovable, from the\noak wainscot. Occasionally, a dull roll of the eye relieved the\noppressive stillness, and the gazer would look out from the mystic world\nhe inhabited, through these loop-holes of sense, into the world of\nsympathies and affections, with which he had long ceased to hold\ncommunion.\n\nPaslew was standing when they entered. His bushy grey eyebrows threw a\nstrange and almost unnatural shade over the deep recesses beneath,\nacross which, at times, like the foam swept over the dark billows of the\nspirit, a light and glowing track was visible, marking the powerful\nconflict within.\n\n\"Nicholas Dewhurst and Daniel Haydock.\"\n\nHe shaded his eyes from the light, as he thus addressed the foremost of\nthe party who had just entered.\n\n\"From what quarter was the signal first visible?\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said Dan, \"we are but unworthy of your highness' grace, did\nwe not answer truly.\"\n\n\"Quick!--Thou art slower to thine answers than thy words. Why tarriest\nthou?\"\n\n\"If your highness will pardon\"--\n\n\"What?\" said Paslew, in a voice that made the culprits quake. \"I pardon\nnothing. What means this silence?\"\n\n\"Please your reverence,\" said Will, now advancing from the rear, his\nrhetorical flourishes somewhat curtailed, and his confidence thereby\nwonderfully abated, \"the first signal was our own, lighted by an\nincendiary, to wit, and here we bring him to your highness' reverence\nfor judgment. We ordered the rope and the broad beam to be ready by\ndaybreak.\"\n\nIt were idle to paint the astonishment and dismay which this short\nnarrative produced. Paslew immediately saw the dangers by which he was\ninvolved. He was, by this desperate and unfortunate act, at once\ncommitted to the measures from which he had hitherto kept aloof, and he\nmust now stand foremost in the cause, or tamely submit to the infuriate\nvengeance which this overt act of rebellion would inevitably hasten. He\nhad hoped that, sheltered in this quiet nook, he should escape without\nbeing made a party in the contest, and rest secure until hotter heads\nand lighter brains had fought the battles that would leave him in\npossession of the spoil. If the king's party were triumphant, he fancied\nthat, by seeming to take little or no part in the hostilities then\nabroad, his house might be spared in the general wreck that would ensue;\nbut all these schemes of deep-laid policy and ambition were in a moment\ndissipated. No time was to be lost. The whole country would instantly be\nin array, and the beacon-light of Pendle proclaim Paslew as the source\nand instigator of this second rebellion. It would be in vain to stay the\nrising. Some enemy of his house, or some desperate adventurer, wishful\nto further his own schemes at another's expense, was doubtless the\nauthor of this mischief. The whole was but the discovery of a moment.\nAlmost before the dark thought was visible on the brow he cried out--\n\n\"Bring forward the traitor!\"\n\nBut Ralph, on the first hearing of this accusation, strode forward, even\nto the table, where sat the awful conclave astonished at his temerity.\nHe stood calmly erect, surveying his judges with a countenance scarcely\nmoved from its usually hard and stolid expression.\n\n\"If it be true,\" cried he, \"as these idlers do aver, I am here to\nanswer. If it be false, they must look to it.\"\n\nThe abbot frowned at this presumptuous speech.\n\n\"Who art thou?\"\n\n\"Marry, an ass ridden by fools.\"\n\n\"Knave, see thou be discreet and respectful in thine answers. There be\nwhipping-posts for knaves, and stocks for the correction of fools.\"\n\n\"Why, if it be for the matter of my name, I trow, 'tis of an honest\nChristian-like and well-conditioned flavour; comes out of the mouth\nsharp as a beer-spigot. Men call me Ralph.\"\n\n\"And from whence?\" said the abbot, impatiently.\n\n\"These knaves of thy breeding can tell best. 'Tis a road I never before\ntravelled; and, by your grace's favour, I do not mean to jog on it\nagain.\"\n\n\"He is servant to the stranger yeoman whom your worship entertained a\nfew hours back, on some private errand,\" said one of the auditors.\n\nA sharp guess at the truth raised a slight quiver on the abbot's lip.\nThe conversation of the stranger, the anxiety he displayed, with that of\nhis brother of Kirkstall, seemed to point out the source and cause of\nhis disaster.\n\n\"Now, varlet, answer truly, or thou diest,\" said Paslew, with a\nsignificant shake of the finger. \"At whose instigation hast thou\ncommitted this foul treason against our house, and the good prospering\nof this realm?\"\n\n\"The deed was not mine.\"\n\n\"Believe him not, my lord,--we are upon our testimony,\" said the\naccusers.\n\nRalph, turning aside, met them face to face. He commenced a short but\nshrewd examination, as follows:--\n\n\"You were a-watching, I suppose?\" said he, carelessly.\n\n\"Ay, were we,\" sharply replied three or four ready tongues.\n\n\"Then, how could I fire the beacon without your leave?\" A short pause\nevinced their dislike to this question; but Will, more ready than\ndiscreet, soon summoned assurance to meet the inquiry, thus--\n\n\"My lord, we had just taken them into the hut, thinking to show them a\ncourtesy; but that knave's throat holds more liquor than his mother's\nkneading-trough, or\"--\n\n\"If in the hut, how could I set the beacon in a low?\"\n\n\"But thou hadst a companion,\" hastily shouted Nicholas, finding their\nfirst position untenable.\n\n\"And how comes it to pass that ye be taking or guiding thither any\nperson, and more particularly wayfarers, whom we know not? How comes it,\nI say, that ye suffer this without my permission?\" said the abbot,\nsternly.\n\n\"Will was their guide; and we cared not to refuse your reverence's\nmessenger.\"\n\n\"My messenger!\" returned Paslew, with a glance that almost bent them to\nthe ground.\n\n\"Please your highness,\" said Will, falling on his knees, \"the stranger\nwas a-visiting of the beacons, so said he, to know if they were\ncarefully watched. He came to me, as with an authority from your\nreverence, and I mounted them up to the guard-house, unwillingly enough.\n'Tis a sore pull for a pair of shanks like mine.\"\n\nThe abbot now saw plainly into the machinations by which he had been\nbetrayed, and reprimanding his men for their negligence, and so careless\nan observance of his commands, ordered them off severally to the stocks.\nTheir lamentations were loud but unavailing, especially when they found\nthat Ralph was simply dismissed, for a space, to solitary confinement.\n\nYet was Paslew still at a loss to determine whence this subtle device\noriginated, unless from his brother of Kirkstall, and he resolved to\nquestion Ralph secretly. It was owing to this purpose probably that the\nusual summary process of executive justice was not more speedily\nadministered.\n\nA great marvel and gossip, as may readily be supposed, now arose\nthroughout the whole country. Rumour, with her hundred tongues, flew\nfast, and her wide wings overspread the land. From all quarters,\nconformably to the signal, the levies marched with great rapidity to\nDoncaster, where they found Lord D'Arcy, who seemed to feel, or to\nfeign, astonishment at this sudden rising without his orders. One and\nall proclaimed that the appointed signal was from the Abbot of Whalley,\nat whose war-inciting torch the whole line of beacons had been kindled.\nA messenger, however, was soon forwarded to the camp, from Paslew, with\nan explanation of the affair, while at the same time he demanded their\naid for the discovery and punishment of the offenders. But D'Arcy and\nAske were too well pleased to see Paslew's crafty and selfish plans\nfrustrated, whilst he was irretrievably committed to their cause. Tired\nof waiting the tardy result of negotiations with their sovereign, these\nambitious spirits were glad to behold their army once more menacing the\nroyalist position, hoping it would either quicken or terminate these\ndilatory proceedings. But the Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of\nShrewsbury, at the news of this unexpected rising, were mightily amazed.\nTheir plans were at once terminated. Their emissaries had failed to\nbring intelligence previously of the intended gathering. In the midst of\ntheir dilemma word was brought that the Abbot of Whalley had first\nlighted up the blaze of insurrection. Secretly resolving that this\nmeddling priest should sorely rue his mischievous exploit, they again\nfound themselves unwillingly obliged to enter into fresh stipulations\nwith their adversaries, though determining on delay, if possible, in the\nhope of dividing their leaders, and of extinguishing the rebellion in\ndetail.\n\nBut we would crave the reader's return to the abbey, where Ralph was\nleft in strict durance, and possibly in some danger from the vindictive\npurposes of the abbot.\n\nEarly on the following morning he was aroused from a deeptoned and\nlaborious stertoration, by a figure that shook him as he lay, in a\nsomewhat unceremonious fashion. The intruder was wrapped in a thick\ncloak or tunic, and he stood gruffly erect by the straw couch, whereon\nthe prisoner's night-dreams had nestled in their first existence.\n\n\"I marvel thou sleepest so soundly! Thou art the first knave, I trow,\nthat hast welcomed these walls with so loud a clarion.\"\n\n\"And what should ail the well-earned slumbers of Ralph Newcome? His\nsleep may be as sound as some of those, mayhap, that have softer beds\nand gayer clothing.\"\n\n\"But the gallows, man!--Hast had no glimpse of the noose in thy night\nvisions?\"\n\n\"Peradventure the hemp is not sown that shall make my collar. When the\nhangsman comes, 'tis time enough to wake; so, I pray thee, bereave not a\npoor man of the only solace the rich cannot purchase from him.\"\n\n\"Thou art a plain-spoken varlet, and I would but ask thy master's name\nand condition. Answer me straight--no equivocation, no shuffling or\nevasion shall serve thee; 'tis a stale device now, and will not avail.\"\n\n\"And who art thou, friend, that hast such a greedy appetite for men's\nnames, thou canst not rest a-bed for the craving of thy stomach?\"\n\n\"I am the abbot, and thou a prisoner in this good house. Fearful odds,\nmethinks, for the strife.\"\n\n\"Now hark thee, most reverend abbot, my name thou knowest at a\nperadventure: but for the name of my master, as thou callest him, seeing\nit be a notable secret, thou mightest as well go ask his goshawk yonder,\nwho, I guess, continues an unworthy prisoner as well as myself.\"\n\n\"I'll have the truth wrung from thy tongue. Thumbscrews and iron mittens\nwill not be denied so easily.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said Ralph; \"these be rare things for cracking the shell; but,\nfor all that, I wot they'll not get at the kernel.\"\n\n\"What! defiest thou my power?--in my own custody too?\" Paslew grew pale\nwith anger; but the impolicy of this proceeding soon suggested itself to\nhis wary, though at times impetuous, temper. Yet the stubborn\ndisposition of his prisoner resisted alike his cajolements and his\nthreats.\n\nIn vain were offers of reward multiplied; nor bribe nor entreaty could\navail. Paslew then left him, threatening to extract by force what milder\nmeasures had failed to elicit. He had that morning despatched a\nmessenger to the rebel chiefs at Doncaster with an explanation of the\naccident, likewise with an assurance of his good wishes to the cause;\nbut still he delayed to go in person, or to send his quota of levies.\n\nTrue, however, to his threats, if not to his promises, towards the close\nof the day he again visited the dungeon. He was accompanied by two grim\nattendants, whom he ordered to wait outside until their services should\nbe required.\n\nRalph was striding lustily, and with evident impatience, over the damp\nfloor; yet he scarcely seemed to notice the entrance of the abbot.\n\n\"How now!--Hast had aught, by way of special discovery, touching the\nname thou hadst forgotten this morning?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have had a notable discovery therein,\" said Ralph, still holding\non his pace diagonally, as heretofore.\n\n\"And may we graciously participate in the result? Doubtless 'tis a\ncomfortable and happy revelation,\" said the abbot.\n\n\"'Tis to beware of three most unlucky things, persons, or properties, I\ntrow,--to wit, a parson's maid, a prior's sow, and an abbot's dinner.\"\n\n\"And what lack they in thy honest esteem?\"\n\n\"A parson's maid lacks honesty,--a prior's sow a litter,--and an abbot's\ndinner lacks me!\"\n\n\"Or, rather, thou lackest it.\"\n\n\"Why, troth, I am not over-nice in the disposition of vain words; nor\nshould I be over-nice in the disposal of some light scraps from your\nreverence's buttery.\"\n\n\"Thou hast not dined?\"\n\n\"Peradventure not at thy cost.\"\n\n\"Perchance an empty stomach may be the more apt to yield. A full belly\nmakes a stout heart.\"\n\n\"I know not. But hasten, I beseech thee. Thy questions over, we may make\nmerry together. Nothing less than a full flagon and a prime haunch will\nsuffice.\"\n\nRalph rubbed his hands at the bare idea of these prospective dainties.\n\n\"Wilt thou now disclose the name of thy master?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Ralph; \"and now for dinner.\"\n\n\"Prythee, in what haste?\" returned Paslew, with a grin of cruel and\nmalicious irony. \"There be some slight preliminaries to\nadjust,--something to season thy haunch and whet thine appetite.\" He\nstamped with his foot, and the two attendants entered, bearing\ninstruments of uncouth and horrid appearance.\n\n\"Thou mayest spare my bones and thy gimcracks. With all thy screwing,\nthou canst not yet squeeze raindrops from the rock.\"\n\n\"I cry thee favour. Thou hast dared the stroke,--thou hast courted the\nvengeance thou wouldest withstand, but thou shalt yield or break. Seize\nhim.\"\n\n\"Stand back, caitiffs!\" said Ralph, with a look of deep and unutterable\nscorn. \"But to thee!--words would fail to express my contempt, my\nderision, my defiance of thy puny power! Read, and skulk back to thy\ncell!\"\n\nHe drew from his doublet a small roll of parchment, which Paslew, with\nunfeigned astonishment and vexation, recognised as a safe warranty from\nthe Archbishop of York, wherein the bearer, under whatever manner or\ndistinction he might choose to adopt, was charged with a secret mission\nfrom the leaders of the \"_Pilgrimage_\" touching the success and\nwellbeing of the Catholic faith, and the prosperity of the Holy Church.\nAll abbots, priests, and others, being true sons of the Church, were\ncalled on to aid and comfort him in the due exercise of his mission, to\nfurnish him with a safe passage, and to obey his bidding without let or\nquestion.\n\n\"Herein fail not at your peril!\" said Ralph, eyeing the abbot with a\nglance of cool and deliberate scorn.\n\n\"Why was not this protection from his grace given to me before?\"\ninquired Paslew, beseechingly.\n\n\"That thy deceit and double-dealing-might be the more manifest.\nYesternight thou didst refuse thine aid until the beacon of insurrection\nshould be kindled. When kindled, and upon thine own ground, too, still\nthou holdest back! But think not to escape!--Think not to watch in\nsafety whilst others work. Whoever wins in this perilous game, thou wilt\nlose. Marked out for destruction, thine own policy will betray thee.\nChoose thee one party, and thou hast yet one chance of safety. But\ndouble-dealers, such as thou, do ever tumble into the trap baited by\ntheir own cunning.\"\n\n\"Will his Grace of York expect my presence at the camp?\"\n\n\"It is needful thou make thy peace either with him or with the king,\"\nsaid Ralph: \"yet am I bold to tell thee, that with Harry thine hope of\nreconciliation is past. The news, ere this, hath reached Norfolk's ear,\nand the beacon-light of Pendle, the first blaze and signal of the\ninsurrection, denounces the Abbot of Whalley as a ringleader, and as\nhaving first kindled the torch of rebellion.\"\n\nWith a malicious smile, cruel as the triumph of the fiend at the\ntorments of his victim, did this mysterious foe exhibit to him the toils\nthat had been, during his unsuspecting security, wound about him.\n\n\"Thine only hope is from his grace; go with me, and thou mayest yet\ndwell in safety, and thine house be established.\"\n\nPaslew saw with dismay the dark gulf which yawned on either hand, and\nthe net so craftily prepared to entangle him. His only hope of security,\nhowever, was a prompt acquiescence in the plan pointed out by the\nstranger, who accordingly engaged to conduct him without delay to the\nappointed rendezvous.\n\nPassing over the difficulties of the journey, the accidents by the way,\nthe slips and damages of sumpter-horses, and their often trackless march\nover the hills, let us behold Paslew, after some narrow escapes from the\nroyalist forces, taking up his quarters at an obscure lodging hard by\nthe town of Doncaster, and nigh to the cantonments of the rebel chiefs,\nwhose forces were once more in formidable array, occupying a conspicuous\nposition on the left bank of the river Don.\n\nThe left wing of the royalist troops was flanked by a deep morass,\ncalled Potterie Car; and their right protected by the walls of the town.\n\nThe morning that followed Paslew's arrival was the time appointed for a\ngeneral attack by the rebels, who considerably outnumbered the more\ndisciplined but less zealous army of their sovereign, D'Arcy and his\nassociates intending to cross the river by daybreak, with the utmost\nsecrecy, hoping to take the royalist forces by surprise.\n\nPaslew arrived alone, just as the consultation of the chiefs was\nbreaking up. His companion, Ralph, had left him some hours before, and\ngalloped on at full speed, first giving directions as to the course he\nshould take, and the measures he was to adopt on his arrival. Conducted\nin due form to the archbishop's presence, Paslew found his grace at\nsupper. The repast was sumptuous, and served up in great state. This\nhigh dignitary seldom stirred but with his kitchen-furniture and service\nfor the table, which last was of massy silver, beautifully wrought and\nembellished. His servants were apparelled in all the pomp and insignia\nof office; but he affected great plainness and simplicity, both of\ndress and demeanour. At his right hand sat a stout, muscular figure,\nwhom Paslew immediately recognised, with unequivocal demonstrations of\nsurprise, to be his umquhile prisoner Ralph Newcome, now habited in a\nplain suit of velvet, and looking like a country gentleman of some rank\nand importance. His manner was, however, coarse and abrupt; and he still\nseemed nothing loth to sustain his full complement of liquor. On the\nleft of the archbishop sat his nameless visitor at the abbey, whose\npersonal accomplishments he had good cause to remember. Below them sat\nseveral chiefs of the confederacy, apparently of an inferior rank.\n\n\"Abbot Paslew,\" said his grace, \"thou art a tardy, and it may be\nundutiful son. Thine homage to the Church has not been either freely or\nfaithfully rendered; yet does she now welcome thee to her embrace, with\nthe promise of a free and unconditional forgiveness.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said he of his grace's right hand, \"Abbot Paslew was of too great\nweight in the scale of events to be left to choose his own side of the\nbalance. I am right fain of his company, and in troth he can use the\npersuasions well,--the thumbscrews and tight boots upon occasion.\"\n\n\"Master Aske,\" replied the archbishop, \"if the sons that our mother hath\nsuckled and nourished from her own grace and bounty were every of them\nas true as thou art, who yet receivest not of her temporal favours, then\nwould her kingdom be enlarged, and her arms should outstretch to the\nutmost verge and compass of all visible things. But there be evil men\nand seducers abroad, traitors to their altar and their faith.\" Here he\npaused, but presently continued, \"My friends, though our religion be\nmeek and lowly, yet does it not deny to us the comforts but sparingly\nscattered through this vain and perishing world.\"\n\nHis grace here filled a cup of spiced sack, inviting Paslew to partake\nof their humble entertainment. Bewildered and intimidated, he yet obeyed\nwith all due reverence and courtesy.\n\n\"Confusion to the heretic king!\" cried he on the left of the archbishop,\nfilling his glass, and at the same time taking especial note that the\nguests should repeat this bold and startling treason.\n\n\"Lord D'Arcy,\" said one of the guests, \"thou hast imbibed that wish so\noft in thy drink, that should the king catch thee he may find it\nbranded in thy four quarters, when they are cut up to ornament his\nmajesty's posterns.\"\n\n\"And what might he find on thine, Norton?\" said the fiery leader.\n\n\"A cook's rolling-pin and a mutton pasty.\" A loud laugh here announced\nthe hit, of which this sally was the bearer, it being levelled directly\nat the well-known propensities of the personage to whom it was\naddressed.\n\n\"Come, friends all,\" said the archbishop; \"let not the gibe and jest go\nround; there be matters of graver import that should occupy us this\nnight. To-morrow, let the elements be propitious, and the day is won.\"\n\n\"Od's life,\" said Aske; \"surely the rain will not again prevent us from\npassing the river, as it did in our last campaign.\"\n\n\"If it do,\" cried a deep and melancholy voice from the lower end of the\ntable, \"then will I say this Pilgrimage of Grace is the device of man,\nand not of God, and the work will not prosper.\"\n\nThis ominous anticipation seemed to strike terror into the most\nstout-hearted. \"Foul fa' the croaking raven!\" said Aske. \"No good comes\non't, when the Lord of Ravenswood breaks from his usual silence.\nMischief follows, safe as the bolt after the flash.\"\n\n\"Hush! my son,\" said the archbishop to this bird of ill-omen; \"thou\nspeakest unwisely. 'Tis not for us to adjudge the displeasure of Heaven\nupon slight testimonies. He trieth our faith, when the dark cloud\novershadoweth His mercy. But let us not dishonour this good cause, and\nweaken our hands by indulging in such gloomy anticipations. The night\nshoweth little token of a change, and when I was last abroad, the river\npassed on, shallow and murmuring, over the ford.\"\n\nThe guests were fully occupied to a late hour in discussing the plan of\nattack, the occupation of the town, together with subsequent\narrangements; after which, with mutual anticipations of success, the\ncompany departed.\n\nPaslew, on retiring to his chamber, though much fatigued, found himself\nunable to sleep. The dark chaos of events brooded heavily upon his\nbrain. Feverish and excited, the dread to-morrow seemed already pressing\non the past, mingling its deep and unseen flood with the full tide of\nexistence. The whirl and eddy, created by the conflict, lashed his\nthoughts almost to madness. He grew appalled. The billows blackened as\nthey rose. He seemed sinking, overwhelmed in the struggle, and the\nspirit quivered as they passed. He arose, darting an anxious glance\nthrough the low casement. The moon was riding on the top of a huge\nmountain of clouds towards the north-west. As he gazed they came rapidly\nathwart the heavens, like the wings of some terrible demon visibly\nunfolding. On a sudden the door of his chamber flew open. He started\nforward to meet the intruder, but there was no footstep--no sound save\nthe hurrying gusts that foreran the approaching tempest. Soon like a\nmighty deluge it burst on at once in its full vigour, as though it would\noverwhelm creation once more in immediate ruin. The roll of the river\nanswered swiftly to the tempest's voice, now swollen to a huge and\nfoaming torrent, rising rapidly over its level banks, and threatening\ndevastation on every side. Paslew quaked. Gloomy forebodings crept upon\nhim. He beheld in this strange visitation another and a manifest\ninterposition of Heaven, fighting against the cause he had unhappily\nespoused. Rest was out of the question, his whole thoughts being\noccupied in the contrivance of measures for his own immediate safety.\n\nIn the morning consternation had seized the whole camp. They beheld the\nmuddy and turbulent waters before them, again frustrating their hopes,\nlevelling their proud schemes, and fighting visibly and irresistibly\nagainst them, in front of their adversaries. So intimidated were the\ntroops, and so convinced that their cause was now hopeless, that not all\nthe persuasions and threatenings of their leaders, nor the archbishop's\npromises of an eternal reward, could prevent the breaking up of this\nvast multitude, and the hasty dispersion of the rebel host.\n\nEre morning Paslew was gone. He liked not the dust from a falling house.\nWeary and alone he came back to his dwelling on the tenth day after his\ndeparture.\n\nFrom this time danger and misfortune crowded fast upon that devoted\nhouse. The dark course of events unfolded with frightful rapidity, and\nPaslew, by many a vain contrivance, sought to avert the king's\ndispleasure and his own doom. A relaxation of some measures more than\nordinarily severe was attempted; and we find, from existing records,\nthat a pension of ten marks per annum was granted to Thomas Cromwell,\nthe king's secretary and principal visitor,--whether in the way of bribe\nor fee is not certain.\n\nIt shows, however, the humiliating and submissive circumstances to which\nthe monks were now reduced. They were indeed fallen from that high\nestate, when kings were their tributaries, and empires too narrow for\nthe wide grasp of their ambition. The following is a copy of Thomas\nCromwell's indulgence, taken from the Townley MSS.:--\n\n\"To all estates due honour and reverence, and to all other commendacioun\nin our Lord everlastyng. Know ye that we John, abbot of ye monasterie of\nour blessed Ladie of Whalley, in Com. Lanc., by ye assente and consente\nof ye convente, have freely granted untoe ye right honourable Mr Tho.\nCromwell, secretarie, general visitor, and principal official to our\nmost sovereign Lord Kyng Hen. VIII., an annual rent or fee of vi: xiii:\niv: yerele, to be paide at ye nativitie of St John Baptist unto ye saide\nMaister Thomas Cromwell. Wee, ye saide abbot and convent have put to ye\nsame our handes and common seale. Yeven at Whalley 1st Jan. 28 Hen.\nVIII.\"\n\nBut every act of submission, every stratagem and advice, had failed to\nward off the blow. Within ten weeks from the date of this document there\nwas neither abbot nor abbey of Whalley.\n\nAfter the dispersion, imprisonment, and execution of the principal\nleaders of the rebellion, the day of reckoning and retribution was at\nhand. Shrewsbury, by the king's orders, sent a herald with a troop of\nhorse, who, taking Paslew, Eastgate, Haydock, and some others of the\nmonks prisoners, they were arraigned at Lancaster, and convicted of high\ntreason. On the 12th March 1537, Paslew was conveyed back to Whalley for\nexecution, where, in a field called the Holehouses, immediately facing\nthe house of his birth, a gallows was erected, on which Paslew and\nEastgate suffered punishment or martyrdom, for the story varies\naccording to the bias of the party by whom it is told. Haydock was\ncarried to Padiham, and died there the same ignominious death on the day\nfollowing. The monks, driven from their asylum, escaped into France,\nwith the exception of a few, who lingered near the scenes of their\nformer enjoyments, hovering like departed hopes round the ruin to which\nthey clung.\n\n[Illustration: HORNBY CASTLE.\n\n_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[14] Whitaker's Hist. Whalley.\n\n\n\n\nSIR EDWARD STANLEY.\n\n\n    \"Why, then, the world's mine oyster,\n    Which I with sword will open!\"\n\n     \"God never wrought _miracles_ to convince atheism, because His\n     ordinary works convince it.\"--_Bacon_.\n\n     \"No man doubts of a Supreme Being, until, from the consciousness of\n     his provocations, it becomes his interest there should be\n     none.\"--_Government of the Tongue._\n\n     \"Men are atheistical because they are first vicious, and question\n     the _truth_ of Christianity because they hate\n     the _practice_.\"--_South._\n\nThe following will, perhaps, be thought misplaced as a polemical\nsubject. But in relating what may be conceived as the true motive that\nincited Sir Edward Stanley to the founding of that beautiful structure\nHornby Chapel, we may be allowed to show the operation as well as the\neffect--to trace the steps by which his conversion from an awful and\ndemoralising infidelity was accomplished.\n\nWe have borrowed some of the arguments from \"Leslie's Short Method with\nthe Deists,\" condensing and illustrating them as the subject seemed to\nrequire. We hope to be pardoned this freedom; the nature of the question\nwould necessarily refer to a range of argument and reply in frequent\nuse; and all that we could expect to accomplish was to place the main\narguments in such a position as to receive the light of some well-known\nand self-evident truth.\n\nThe dark transactions to which the \"Parson of Slaidburn\" obscurely\nrefers may be found in Whitaker's \"Whalley,\" pp. 475, 476.\n\nThe same historian remarks in another work,--\"From several hints\nobliquely thrown out by friends as well as enemies, this man appears to\nhave been a very wicked person, of a cast and character very uncommon in\nthose unreflecting times.\" \"There certainly was something very\nextraordinary about the man, which, amidst the feodal and knightly\nhabits in which young persons of his high rank were then bred, prompted\nhim to speculate, however unhappily, on any metaphysical subject. Now,\nwhether this abominable persuasion were the cause or the effect of his\nactual guilt,--whether he had reasoned himself into materialism in order\nto drown the voice of conscience, or fell into the sin of murder because\nhe had previously reasoned himself out of all ideas of responsibility,\ndoes not appear; but his practice, as might have been expected, was\nsuited to his principles, and Hornby was too rich a bait to a man who\nhoped for no enjoyment but in the present life, and feared no\nretribution in another. Accordingly, we find him loudly accused of\nhaving poisoned his brother-in-law, John Harrington, by the agency of a\nservant; and he is suspected also of having, through subornation of\nperjury, proved, or attempted to prove, himself tenant of the honour of\nHornby.\"\n\nSir Edward Stanley, the fifth son of Thomas, first Earl of Derby, early\nreceived the notice and favour of his sovereign King Henry the Eighth.\nIt is said of him, \"The camp was his school, and his learning the pike\nand sword.\" The king's greeting, when they met, was \"_Ho! my soldier_.\"\nHonour floated in his veins, and valour danced in his spirits. At the\nbattle of Flodden he commanded the rear of the English army, and was\nattacked by the Earls of Lennox and Argyle, both of whom were slain,\ntogether with the King of Scots, on that memorable day. Through his\ngreat bravery and skill he mainly contributed to its success. A sudden\nfeint inducing the Scots to descend a hill, their stronghold, an opening\nwas caused in their ranks, which Sir Edward Stanley espying, he attacked\nthem on the sudden with his Lancashire bowmen. So unexpected an assault\nput them into great disorder, which gave the first hopes of success, and\nkindled fresh courage through the English ranks, ending in the complete\noverthrow and discomfiture of their enemies.\n\nUpon this signal achievement, Sir Edward Stanley, being much advanced\nthereby in the king's favour, received from the hand of his royal master\na letter of thanks, together with an assurance of some future reward.\nAccordingly, we are told, the year ensuing, the king keeping Whitsuntide\nat Eltham in Kent, Sir Edward being in his train, he commanded that, for\nhis valiant acts against the Scots, when he won the hill, and relieved\nthe English from their distress, an achievement worthy of his ancestors,\nwho bore an eagle on their crest, he should be created Lord Monteagle;\nwhereupon he had a special summons to parliament in the same year by the\ntitle of Baron Stanley, Lord Monteagle.\n\n\"Twice did he and Sir John Wallop penetrate, with only eight hundred\nmen, into the very heart of France, and four times did he and Sir Thomas\nLovell save Calais,--the first time by intelligence, the second by\nstratagem, the third by their valour and undaunted courage, and the\nfourth by their unwearied patience and assiduity.\" \"In the dangerous\ninsurrection by Aske and Captain Cobler, his zeal for the prince's\nservice and the welfare of his country caused him to outstrip his\nsovereign's commands by putting himself at the head of his troops\nwithout the king's commission, for which dangerous piece of loyalty he\nasked pardon, and received thanks.\" By stirring up jealousy and\nsedition, too, amongst the rebels, he gave his majesty time, by\npretended treaties, to draw off the most eminent of the faction, and to\novercome and dissipate the rest. Yet, with all this outward show of\nprosperity, and the bruit of noble deeds so various and multiplied, that\nFame herself seemed weary of rehearsing them, there were not wanting\nevil reports and dark insinuations against his honour. Foul surmises\nprevailed, especially in the latter part of his life, as to the means by\nwhich he possessed himself of the estates he then held in right of his\nlady, and those too that he enjoyed through the attainder of her uncle,\nSir James Harrington. He acknowledged himself a freethinker and a\nmaterialist, a character of rare occurrence in those ages, showing him\nto be as daring in his opinions as in his pursuits. That the soul of man\nwas like the winding up of a watch, and that when the spring was run\ndown the man died, and the soul was extinct, are still recorded as his\nexpressions. In those days of demoralising ignorance, this open and\nunhesitating opinion might be the means of creating him many dangerous\nand deadly enemies, especially amongst the priesthood, whose office,\nthough tending to higher and nobler ends than the mere thralling of\nman's spirit to creeds and systems of secular ambition, was yet but too\noften devoted to this purpose. Every power that human cruelty and\ningenuity could compass was tried, but happily in vain, to confine the\nfree and unfettered spirit for ever in the dark cells of ignorance and\nsuperstition.\n\nFrom a number of unconnected accounts respecting this great, if not good\nman, whose virtues even would have been the vices of our own age, we\nfind as the most prominent parts of his disposition a thorough contempt\nfor the maxims and opinions of the world, and an utter recklessness of\nits censure or esteem. Marrying into the family of the Harringtons, he\nresided the latter part of his life at the Castle of Hornby, where we\nfind him engaged in schemes for the most part tending to his own wealth\nand aggrandisement.\n\nThe chapel which he built is said to have been vowed at Flodden, but\nthis statement is evidently untrue, having no foundation but the\naverments of those who content not themselves with a plain narrative of\nfacts, but assume a licence to invent motives agreeable to their own\nfolly or caprice. That Sir Edward Stanley made any such vow we cannot\nimagine, much less would he put it into execution. \"Let us eat and\ndrink, for to-morrow we die,\" was the governing principle of his life,\nand the mainspring of his actions. It would be a strange anomaly in the\nrecords of human opinions to find an edifice reared to perpetuate a\nbelief which the founder thought a delusion, a mere system of\npriestcraft and superstition. To this prominent feature in his history\nour attention has been directed, and we think the following tradition\nassigns a better and more plausible motive for the founding of that\nbeautiful structure, the chapel at Hornby.\n\nIt was by the still light of a cloudless harvest-moon that two men\nappeared to be sauntering up the stream that winds through the vale near\nHornby. One of them wore a clerical habit, and the other, from his\ndress, seemed to attend in the capacity of a menial. They rested at the\nfoot of a steep cliff overhung with firs and copse-wood. The castle,\nupon the summit, with its tall and narrow tower, like a feather stuck in\nits crown, was not visible from where they sat. The moon threw an\nunclouded lustre from her broad full face far away over the wide and\nheavy woods by which they were surrounded. A shallow bend of the stream\ntowards the left glittered over its bed like molten silver, issuing from\na dark and deep pool shaded by the jutting boughs and grim-visaged rocks\nfrom whence they hung.\n\nThe travellers now ascended by a narrow and precipitous path. Their task\nwas continued with no little difficulty, by reason of the looseness of\nthe soil, and the huge rocks that obstructed their progress. By dint of\nscrambling, rather than walking, they, however, approached to the\nsummit, when a light became visible over the hill, growing brighter as\nthey ascended. It was the castle turret, where Lord Monteagle generally\nspent the greater part of the night in study. Whatever might be the\nprecise nature of his pursuits, they were not supposed to be of the most\nreputable sort.\n\n\"Wizard spells and rites unholy\"\n\nwere said to occupy these midnight vigils. Often, as that lonely\nwatch-tower caught the eye of the benighted peasant, did he cross\nhimself, and fancy that shadows were flitting to and fro on the\ntrembling and distant beam.\n\n\"There it is,\" said the hindmost person, who was none other than the\nparson of Slaidburn. \"That lantern, I think, is unquenchable. Does thy\nmaster never quit yon burning pinnacle?\"\n\n\"May be,\" replied the servant, \"he careth not to be oft abroad; and who\ndare thwart his will? 'Troth he had need be of a tough temper that\nshould give him speech unquestioned.\"\n\n\"They who hold a higher communion reck but little of this frail and\npitiful dust,\" returned the clergyman, after a solemn pause. \"It is\nenough that he hath sent for me. I would fain warn him ere he depart,\nelse yon walls had not again echoed my footstep.\"\n\nThis confidential domestic spoke not; he was either too much attached to\nhis master, or implicated with him, to hazard a remark.\n\nThe path was now wider and less difficult of access, leading over a\npretty knoll, glittering like lode-stars in the dew, beyond which arose\nthe huge and cumbrous pile then distinguished as the castle of Hornby.\n\nThe barking of some half-dozen hoarse-mouthed dogs announced their\napproach. Passing over the drawbridge, they entered the court-yard, from\nwhence a side postern at that time opened a communication to the\nturret-chamber without passing through the main building. A winding\nstaircase led them directly to the summit. Soft gleams of moonlight came\nat intervals through the narrow loopholes, being the only help or\ndirection whereby to accomplish their ascent. After a tedious gyration,\nwhich more than once made the hindmost party pause to obtain a respite,\nthe guide opened a low door. It swung heavily aside, disclosing a small\nante-room, destitute of all furniture save a large oaken chest, that\nseemed to be the depository, or \"ark,\" as it was usually called, for the\nsafe keeping of the family archives.\n\nThe conductor approaching an opposite door gave a private signal. It\nflew open as if by its own impulse, displaying a chamber of no mean\ndimensions, in which, by the light from a gigantic lamp, was seen a\nfigure seated before a table absolutely groaning with piles of books,\nand various apparatus of unknown and wondrous import. Instruments of\nunimaginable shape lay in heaps round the apartment; their use it were\nimpossible to conjecture. Furnaces, alembics, jars, glass urinals, and\nbottles of all sizes, rendered the chamber perilous of access, save to\nthose who were acquainted with the intricacies of this labyrinth. \"Sir\nEdward,\" as he was yet generally styled, looked full at his visitors as\nthey entered. His eye was large and dark, the expression fierce and\ncommanding. He was clad in a gown of black silk, covering an inner vest\nof sables. From a broad belt, glittering with costly stones, hung a\nshort sword and a pair of pistols richly embossed.\n\nThe upper portion of his head was bald; the hair on its sides short and\nfrizzly. His beard was of a reddish tinge, trimmed square and bushy,\nbeneath which his white ruff seemed to glisten from the sudden contrast.\nHis forehead was high and retreating; his face pale, and-his cheek\nhollow and slightly wrinkled. His nose was small, looking ill suited to\nthe other features, which were large and strongly-marked. His mouth was\nfull, but compressed; and his teeth beautifully white and well shaped.\nWhen he spoke, they were much exposed, projecting slightly, and tending\nto give an air of ferocity to his countenance.\n\nIn stature he was tall and well formed. Proudly upright in his gait and\nattitude, he appeared like one born to be obeyed,--to rule in whatsoever\nstation he occupied.\n\n\"Sir Hugh Parker. The parson of Slaidburn is welcome to Hornby,\" said\nLord Monteagle, rising. \"It is long since we have met. I claim the\nprivilege of old fellowship: give me thy hand.\"\n\n\"My lord, I am here at your request. Your wishes are commands with my\npoor endeavours.\"\n\n\"Thou mayest retire, Maudsley,\" said the baron to his servant, motioning\nhim to depart. The minister was accommodated with a low stool, made\nvacant for the occasion. Lord Monteagle, closing the book, abruptly\naddressed his visitor.\n\n\"I knew thou wast in the neighbourhood, and I would unravel a few\narguments with thee; a few quiddities about thy profession. I know thou\nart skilful at thy trade, which, though a vocation having its basis in\nfraud, finding countenance through the weakness and credulity of\nmankind, doth yet hold the commonalty in thrall and terror--a restraint\nwhich none other scheme might peradventure impose.\"\n\n\"You are too harsh, my lord. I minister not to aught that, my\nconscience disapproves. Being of the Reformed Church, I do not mightily\naffect creeds and opinions. The Bible is the fountain, pure and\nundefiled; its waters fertilise and invigorate the seed of the faith,\nbut choke and rot the rampant weeds of error and superstition.\"\n\n\"The Bible! A forgery: the invention of a cunning priesthood to mask and\nperpetuate their delusions. Prove its falsehoods to be the truth.\nDistinguish me thy revelation from the impostures of Mahomet, the dreams\nof the Sibyls, and the lying oracles of Heathenrie. Oblige me either to\nrenounce my reason and the common principles which distinguish truth\nfrom error, or to admit the proof thou shalt allege, which proof, look\nthee, must be such as no imposture can lay claim to, otherwise it proves\nthy doctrine to be an imposture. If thy religion be true, there _must_\nbe such a proof. For if the Being who gave this revelation which He\nrequires all men to receive, have left His own truth destitute of the\nonly proof which can distinguish it from an imposture, this will be an\nimpeaching of His wisdom, an error in the very outset of the case,\nproving Him not the Allwise, but liable to infirmity and error. This,\nthou seest, will bring our debate within a narrow compass.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, I must own the task is hard,\" replied the clergyman,\n\"because of the blindness and impotency of that same reason of which\nthou vauntest, and the feebleness of our mental sight; for we cannot\ncome at any abstract truth whatsoever but by many inferences hanging\ntogether as by a chain, one link of which, not fully apprehended or made\nfast, loosens the whole, and the argument falls to the ground.\"\n\n\"Does the reformed doctrine, too, require a belief in what the hearer\nmay not comprehend?\" said the baron, scornfully.\n\n\"Nay, there is a sufficiency in the evidence, and a fulness in this\ntestimony, of which none other history can boast. What book is that, my\nlord?\"\n\n\"The Anabasis.\"\n\n\"By whom?\"\n\n\"Surely thou art in j'est. 'Tis Xenophon's.\"\n\n\"How? Xenophon!\" said the divine; \"methinks thou speakest unadvisedly.\nMy reason or apprehension knoweth not of such a man, or that he writ\nthis book, and yet thou boldly affirmest the history to be true!\"\n\n\"I know not that it was ever doubted,\" replied the other. \"The common\nconsent and belief of mankind, the transmission of the record from\nremote ages, are of themselves no mean evidence of its truth. But there\nmust have been a time when it was first written, and as he appeals in it\nto facts, to matters which were then of recent occurrence, and to the\npublic knowledge and belief of those facts, surely every of these\nstatements would have insured detection, especially if put forth at or\nabout the time when the events took place. Would it not have been\nmadness to appeal to eye-witnesses of transactions which never happened,\nwhich witnesses were then alive, and could easily have belied such an\nimpudent and furtive attempt at imposture? The idea seems almost too\nabsurd to refute.\"\n\n\"Thou judgest well. It would be madness and absurdity in the extreme to\ndeny the existence of thy historian, or the events to which he refers;\nand yet a record which to thee is of the greatest moment, wherein thine\nown interests are for ever involved, and to the truth of which there is\nmuch more clear and irrefragable testimony, thou rejectest as a fraud\nand an imposture.\"\n\n\"What proof can its promulgers give me of the infallibility of their\ndoctrines, even supposing these events to be true?\"\n\n\"Miracles, acknowledged to be such, contravening and transcending the\ncommon course of nature,--these, I reckon, will be a sufficient warranty\nthat the message is from the great Author of all things Himself.\"\n\n\"I own these are the strongest evidences that I could require, and I\nwould admit them if I had witnessed their performance.\"\n\n\"Good. Now to the proof. It is impossible that any simple fact could be\nimposed, or that a number of persons could be made to believe they had\nwitnessed such fact, unless it had actually taken place. For instance,\nif I were to assert that I had divided the waters of this river here, in\nthe presence of the inhabitants, and that I had once led the whole of\nthem over dryshod, the waters standing like a wall on each side, to\nguard their path, appealing to them at the same time in proof of my\ntestimony; it would be impossible, I say, to convince those people it\nwere true, provided the event had not happened. Every person would be at\nhand to contradict me, and consequently it would be impossible that such\nan imposition could be put upon them against the direct evidence of\ntheir senses.\"\n\n\"Granted,\" replied the baron. \"But this tale I am not too bold to infer\nmight be invented when that generation had passed, when the credulity of\ncoming ages might lead men to believe in such foolish and monstrous\nimaginings, like the labours of Hercules, the amours of Jove, and the\ncannibal exploits of Saturn.\"\n\n\"Nay, but hear me. Whenever such a story was first promulged, were it\nthen stated that not only public monuments remained to attest the event,\nbut that public rites and ceremonies were kept up for its express\ncommemoration, which rites were to that day continual, and to which\nthose writings appealed as evidence attesting the performance of such\nmiracles, then must the deceit have been rendered but the more glaring\nand easy of detection, as no such monuments could exist, no rites, no\nceremonies demonstrating the truth of this appeal could be in\nobservance. Thus, if I should now invent the tale about something done\ntwo thousand odd years ago, a few might, peradventure, be credulous\nenough to believe me; but if I were to say that ever after, even to this\nday, every male had his nose slit and his ears bored in memory of this\nevent, it would be absolutely impossible that I should gain credit for\nmy story, because the universality of the falsehood being manifest, and\nthe attestation thereof visibly untrue, would prove the whole history to\nbe false. Such were the rites and customs of the Jews.\"\n\n\"But still, rites and observances were practised by the heathen, which\nceremonies ye acknowledge to have been false and impious, yet their\nfollowers worshipped and slid their neck into the yoke as readily as thy\nfavourite Hebrews, who are proverbially rogues and cheats in the\nestimation even of infidels themselves.\"\n\n\"Ay, but impostors appeal not to facts, to eye-witnesses of some event,\nconfirming and attesting the authority of their mission. Moses could not\nhave persuaded half-a-million of persons that he had brought them\nthrough the Red Sea, fed them forty years with manna in the wilderness,\nand performed many other miracles during their journey, had not the\nfacts been well known; and down to this day the rites and ceremonies of\nthe Jews are, in consequence, linked to these main facts as securely as\nthough we ourselves had formed the first series of the chain,\neye-witnesses to the miracles they attest. Again, the books of Moses\nexpressly represent that they are the great history and transcript of\nthe Jewish law, and speak of their being delivered by him and kept in\nthe ark from his time; likewise they are commanded to be read at stated\nperiods, and to be taught from father to son throughout all generations,\nto the end that no imposition might be practised. In whatever age,\ntherefore, after Moses, these forgeries were committed, it were\nimpossible they should have been believed--every one must have known\nthey had not even heard of them aforetime, much less been taught all\nthese burdensome precepts by their forefathers.\"\n\n\"Still the cunning and wily priests might have prepared men's minds for\nthe discovery, having themselves deposited these writings in the ark.\"\n\n\"A manifest impossibility, my lord, and for this plain reason: those\nwritings profess to be a book of statutes, the standing law of the land,\na code of ordinances by which the people had all along been governed.\nCould any person invent a body of statutes for this good realm of\nEngland, and make it pass upon the nation as the only book of laws which\nthey had ever known or observed? Could any man, could any priest, or\nconspiracy of priests, have persuaded the Jews they had owned and obeyed\nthese ordinances from the time of Moses, when they had not even so much\nas heard of them in times past?\"\n\n\"These rites, it is most likely, having their origin in the simplest\noccurrences, might still have been practised prior to the forgeries; and\nthese books, by allusions to them, deceived the nation, causing it to\nbelieve they were performed in memory of some miraculous events which\nnever happened.\"\n\n\"What! Is it possible to persuade men they have kept laws which they\nhave not even heard of? If I were to frame some idle story of things\ndone a long while ago, and say that our Sabbath was kept holy in\ncommemoration of these events--this I think, my lord, will answer to the\nterms of your assertion. Suppose I made an attempt to persuade the\npeople this day was kept holy in memory of Julius Caesar or Mahomet, and\nthat everybody had been circumcised or baptized in their names; that in\nthe courts of judicature oaths had been taken on these very writings I\nhad fabricated, and which, of necessity, they could not have seen prior\nto my attempt; and that these books likewise contained their laws and\nreligion--ordinances which they had always acknowledged--is it possible,\nI ask, that such a cheat could for one moment have existed? An impostor\nwould not have dared to make any such references, knowing they must\ninevitably have led to the rejection of his testimony.\"\n\n\"But surely if this great transaction, the passage of the Red Sea, had\nreally happened, and in the way thou hast pointed out, the evidence\nwould not have been suffered to rest solely on the frail and uncertain\nrecords to which thou hast referred. Books of laws, for instance, the\nwritings of Mahomet, we know have been forged, as even thou wilt\nacknowledge.\"\n\n\"True, but those books refer not to miracles and the testimony of\neye-witnesses, nor to laws and ordinances handed down from generation to\ngeneration, even to that time. That Mahomet pretended not to the working\nof miracles, he tells us in the Koran. The ridiculous legends related by\nhis followers are rejected as spurious by the scholars and expounders of\nthe prophet; and even his converse with the moon, his night journey from\nMecca to Jerusalem, and from thence to heaven, were not performed before\nwitnesses. The same may be said of the absurd exploits related of the\nheathen deities.\"\n\n\"But had not the heathen their priests, their public rites and\nsacrifices, equally with the Jews?\"\n\n\"They had. But it was not even pretended that these rites commenced at\nthe time when the things which they commemorate were said to have\nhappened. The Bacchanalia, for example, and other festivals, were\nestablished long after the fabulous events to which they refer. The\npriests of Juno and Venus were not appointed by those imaginary deities,\nbut arose in some after-age, and are therefore no evidence whatever to\nthe truth of their worship.\"\n\n\"But where is thy proof in the unwritten evidence--monuments which\ncannot lie, bearing silent but convincing testimony to the truth of\nthese miracles?\"\n\n\"Twelve stones\" it is said, were set up at Gilgal to commemorate the\npassage over Jordan.\"\n\n\"Ay, in thy book we read it.\"\n\n\"But mark the intention, to which no lying imposture durst have\nreferred,--to the end, it is written, that when the children of those\nwho had witnessed this miracle, and their children's children, should\nask their meaning, it should be told them. Now the miracle for which\nthese stones were set up as a memorial by the eye-witnesses themselves,\ncould not, as before proved, have been imposed upon the people at the\ntime it happened, had it not really occurred.\"\n\n\"All this I can safely grant. Yet thou lackest wherewith to conclude\nthine argument.\"\n\n\"Bear with me, my lord, until I have made an end. Let us suppose, for\none moment, there was no such miracle wrought as this same passage over\nJordan.\"\n\n\"Which supposition of thine I do hold to be the truth as firmly as I\nbelieve your revelation is an imposture.\"\n\n\"And yet if it _should_ be true, my lord?\" The minister said this in a\ntone that made the listener start. He bit his lips. But the feeling had\nsubsided, as, with a sharp and hurried accent, he exclaimed--\n\n\"Why this pause? I am prepared to listen.\"\n\n\"These stones,\" continued the divine, \"were, of necessity, well known as\npublic monuments existing at the time when these writings were first\nrehearsed in the ears of all the people, because they are here referred\nto as testimonials of the event. But supposing them to have been set up\non some unknown occasion, as you say, and that designing men in\nafter-ages invented the book of Joshua, affirming it was written at the\ntime of that imaginary event by Joshua himself, adducing this pile of\nstones in evidence of its truth, what is the answer which every one who\nheard it must have made to this witless falsehood? 'We know this pile of\nstones,' they would say; 'but of such an origin as thou hast related we\nhave, not heard, nor even of this book of Joshua. Where has it been\nconcealed, and from whence was it brought forth? Besides, it solemnly\ninculcates that this miraculous event, our fathers' passage over Jordan,\nshould be taught their children and children's children from that day\nforward, who were to be shown and carefully instructed as to the meaning\nand design of this very monument; but of this we have not so much as\nheard, nor has thy history been handed down to us from our forefathers.\nIt is a lying testimony, therefore, and we cannot receive it.' Yet do we\nfind the children of Israel commemorating, handing down, and instructing\ntheir children from age to age into the meaning and design of these\nmemorials, which instruction must at some time or another have had a\nbeginning, having its commencement with the very events to which they\nrefer, which events it would then have been impossible to make the\npeople believe against the plain evidence of their senses. Is the chain\ncomplete, my lord?\"\n\n\"But what has all this to do with thy religion?--a system far different,\nmethinks, from the primitive institutions of these remote ages.\"\n\n\"The self-same reasoning will apply, and in precisely the same mode, to\nthe miracles of our Lord and His apostles, together with their\ntransmission by records from their times. The histories of the Old and\nNew Testaments could not have been received at the time they were\nwritten, if they had not been true, because the priesthoods of Levi and\nof Christ,--the observance of the Sabbath, the passover, and\ncircumcision,--the ordinances of baptism and the eucharist, are there\nrepresented as descending by uninterrupted succession from the time of\ntheir respective institution. It would have been as impossible to\npersuade men in after-ages that they had been circumcised or baptized,\nhad celebrated passovers and Sabbaths under the ministration of a\ncertain order of priests, if it were not so, as to make them believe\nthey had gone through the seas dryshod, seen the dead raised, and so\nforth. But without such a persuasion neither the law nor gospel could\nhave been received.\"\n\n\"Yet, methinks, if I were the founder of a new religion, and had all the\nstores of Nature and Omnipotence at my command--those boasted attributes\nof thy Law-giver--I would not have left it liable to doubt, to the\nsneers and cavils of any one who might question my pretensions, or my\nright to control their belief. The truths of Omnipotence should be clear\nas the sun's beam, and unquestioned as his existence.\"\n\n\"'If they believe not Moses and the prophets, neither would they believe\nthough one should rise from the dead.' 'Tis not for lack of proof; 'tis\nfor lack of will. 'Tis not for lack of testimony, one tithe of which\nwould have gained a ready assent to any of the drivelling absurdities of\nheathen mythology,--'tis for lack of inclination; 'tis a wish that these\nrevelations may not be true; and where the heart inclines, the judgment\nis easily biassed.\"\n\n\"True, 'as the fool thinks.' The proverb is somewhat stale. I marvel\nthou findest not its application to thine own bias, perdie!\"\n\n\"At any rate, if I am fooled, I am none the worse for my belief, if my\ncreed be not true; but if man, as thou wouldest fain hope, is like the\nbeasts that perish, I am still at quits with thee. And if this dream of\nthine should prove but a dream, and thou shouldest awake--to the horrors\nof the pit, and the torments of the worm that dieth not!\"\n\n\"Peace, thou croaker! I did not send for thee to prophesy, but to prove;\nI would break a lance and hold a tilt at thine argument. Now, I have a\nweapon in reserve which shall break down thy defences--the web of thy\nreasoning shall vanish. The fear of punishment, and the hope of future\nreward, held out as a bait to the cowardly and the selfish, shall be of\nno avail when the object of my research is accomplished. Hast thou not\nheard of the supreme elixir--the pabulum of life, which, if a man find,\nhe may renew his years, and bid defiance alike to time and the\ndestroyer? Then what will become of thy boasted system of opinions,\nbegotten by priesthood and nurtured by folly?\"\n\n\"And this phantasma, which man has never seen; which exists not upon the\nleast shadow of evidence--which has not even the lowest dictates of\nsense and plausibility in its favour--on this _Ignis fatuus_, eluding\nthe grasp, and for ever mocking the folly of its pursuers, thou canst\nbuild thine hopes, because it flatters thy wishes and thy fears?\"\n\n\"My fears!\" said the Baron, rising: \"and who speaks of my _fears_? I\nwould chastise thee, thou insolent priest, wert thou not protected by\nthe laws of courtesy.\"\n\n\"Yes, _thy_ fears, Baron Monteagle,\" said this undaunted minister of the\ntruth. \"Thou wouldest not care to face thy lady's cousin! His blood yet\ncrieth from the ground!\"\n\n\"And who dares whisper, even to the walls, that I murdered John\nHarrington?\" cried the astonished adept, trembling with ill-suppressed\nrage. \"Methinks he holdeth his life too cheap who doth let this foul\nsuspicion even rest upon his thoughts.\" He drew his sword as he spoke;\nbut the minister stood undaunted, surveying his adversary with a look of\npity and commiseration.\n\n\"Put up thy sword. Thou hast enow of sins to repent thee of without an\nold man's blood added to the number.\"\n\n\"How hast thou dared this insult? By my \"----\n\n\"Nay, spare your oaths, my lord; they are better unspoken than unkept.\"\n\n\"Have I sent for thee to make sport? To gibe and taunt me even to my\nface?\"\n\n\"I'll tell thee for what cause thou didst crave my presence,\" replied\nthe other, firmly. \"Thou hast misgivings lest thine own hopes should not\nbe true; lest thou shouldest perchance depart with a lie in thy right\nhand. Thou didst send for me, an unworthy minister to the faith which I\nprofess, that by thy subtlety thou mightest deceive thyself; that by\noverthrowing my arguments thine own might be strengthened, for truly\n'tis a comfortable thing to have our opinions confirmed through the\nweakness of an opponent.\"\n\n\"And daredst thou, with such apprehensions upon thy stomach, to commit\nthyself alone to my mercy and my keeping? Suppose I should reward thee\naccording to thine own base suspicions. Understandest thou me?\"\n\n\"Yes, proud and guilty man, too well! But I fear thee not!\"\n\n\"What! holdest thou a charmed life? Thou mayest fall into a broil as\nwell as other men. And who shall require thy blood at my hands?\"\n\n\"Ere I left,\" said the divine, warily, \"I whispered a word in your\ncousin Beaumont's ear. Should I not return, he will be here anon.\nPeradventure I am not misunderstood. Thou hadst need be careful of my\nlife, otherwise thine own may be in jeopardy!\"\n\nA fierce and terrible brightness, like the lurid flashes from his own\ntorment, burst from his eye. The very anger and malice he strove to\nquell made it burn still hotter. His visage gathered blackness, cloud\nhurrying on cloud, like the grim billows of the storm across a glowing\natmosphere. Rapid was the transition. Rage, apprehension,\nabhorrence,--all that hate and malignity could express, threw their\nappalling shadows over his features. Still the dark hints uttered by his\nvisitor seemed to hold him in check. Chafed, maddened, yet not daring to\nexecute the vengeance he desired, he strode through the apartment with\nan uneasy and perturbed gait. He paused at times, darting a look at the\nminister as if about to address him. Suddenly he stood still, nerving\nhis spirit to some awful question.\n\n\"My cousin John Harrington died in his own chamber. In this house, God\nwot. Thou didst shrive him at his last shift, and how sayest thou he was\npoisoned?\"\n\n\"I said not aught so plainly; but thou hast spoken out. Behold\nhim!--There!\"--The divine pointed his finger slowly round the apartment.\n\"Within a short space he cites thee to that bar where his presence will\nbe a swift witness to thy doom!\"\n\nHad the spirit of the unfortunate heir of Hornby suddenly appeared, the\nBaron could not have followed the movement of the minister's hand with\ngreater dismay and astonishment. The strong barrier of guilt seemed\nbreaking down. Conscience aroused, as if at once the veil that concealed\nhis iniquities had been withdrawn, they rose in all their unmitigated\nhorror and enormity. An arrow, drawn at a venture, had pierced the\njoints of the harness. He stood powerless and without defence--motionless\nas the image of despair. By a strange coincidence a thick white cloud\nseemed to coil itself heavily round the room. Whether to the heated\nimaginations of the disputants this appearance might not present an\nimage of the form then visible to their minds, it would be impossible to\ndetermine. Suffice it to say, the effect was memorable, from whatever\ncause it was produced.\n\nAn altered man was the Baron Monteagle. The arguments of this champion\nof the truth had in some measure prepared his mind for its reception.\nUnder his ministrations he felt gradually more enlightened. His terrors\nwere calmed. Soon afterwards rose that noble structure, the chapel of\nHornby, bearing on its front the following legend:--\n\nEDWARDUS STANLEY MILES, DNS. MONTEAGLE, ME FIERI FECIT.\n\nIt is recorded that Sir Edward Stanley, Baron Monteagle, died in the\nfaith he had once despised; and we trust he has found a place at the\nfootstool of that Mercy whose interposition was not solicited in vain.\n\n[Illustration: GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR.]\n\n\n\n\nGEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR.\n\n\n    \"Heavy persecution shall arise\n    Of all who in the worship persevere\n    Of spirit and truth.\"\n\n--_Milton_.\n\nSmithills or Smethells Hall is situated in a wood, above a small glen,\ntwo miles and a half from Bolton. The court-gate exhibits nothing\nremarkable in its construction. On the left hand was the principal\nentrance, and a flight of stairs leading from the court. The glass\ncasements, and greater part of the ancient front, have been removed,\ngiving place to a more comfortable, if not a more pleasing style of\narchitecture. The wainscot once displayed a profuse assemblage of\nornaments, some of which now remain. Amongst them was formerly shown a\nlikeness, said to be of King Egbert, though from what cause it should be\nassigned more particularly to that illustrious monarch, it would be\ndifficult to conjecture.\n\nIn a room called the Green Chamber, it is said that George Marsh, the\nsubject of the following history, was examined before Sir Roger Barton.\nIn a passage near the door of the dining-room is a cavity, in a flag,\nbearing some resemblance to the print of a man's foot, which is supposed\nto be the place where the holy martyr stamped, to confirm his testimony,\nand which is shown to this day as a memorial of his good confession.\n\nThe stone was once removed for a frolic by two or three young men who\nlived in the house. Taking advantage of their parents' absence, they\ncast it into the glen behind the hall. That same night, on retiring to\nrest, the inhabitants were disturbed by many strange and hideous noises.\nMuch alarm and inquiry being excited, the offenders confessed, and the\nstone was restored to its place with great reverence and solemnity.\nSome fragments that were broken off upon its removal were carefully\nreplaced; after which, according to common report, the noises ceased.\n\nAnother story current in _the_ neighbourhood is as follows:--\n\nAbout the latter end of the year 1732, one Saturday night, a stranger\nsleeping alone in the Green Chamber was much terrified by an apparition.\nHe stated that about ten o'clock, as he was preparing for bed, there\nappeared a person before him dressed like a minister, in a white robe\nand bands, with a book in his hand. The stranger getting into bed, saw\nit stand by his bedside for a short time. It then slowly retired out of\nthe door, as if going down-stairs, and he saw it no more. This person\ninvariably persisted in the same story; and the owner of the estate\nimmediately ordered divine service at the chapel on a Sunday, which had\nlong been discontinued.\n\nThe vaults seem to have been strongly walled and fortified, and were\nmost probably used as burying places, many bones having been found when\ndigging. There is a tradition that King Egbert founded this place, and\nkept his court here; but no corresponding trace of it occurs in history:\nand we may suppose, from the order of his conquests, that his residence\nwould be in the more southern parts of the kingdom.\n\nThe situation is secluded, and well calculated for concealment,\nfavouring the general opinion that it was the retreat of the famous\npirate, Sir Andrew Barton, whose exploits and defeat are so beautifully\ntold in the old ballad of that name in Percy's Reliques. It is\nsurprising that so little should be known of this great and bold man,\nwhose conduct had nearly occasioned a war between England and Scotland,\nand whose death, it is supposed, was one of the grievances which led to\nthe battle of Flodden.\n\n\"Up to the time of Henry the Seventh, it appears, the Radcliffes were\nlords of Smethells; but Joan, daughter and sole heir of Sir Ralph\nRadcliffe, having married Robert Barton of Holme, he became in that\nreign seised of the manor and lordship, where his posterity continued,\nuntil Grace, sole daughter and heir of Thomas Barton, the last male\nheir, was married to Henry, eldest son of the first Lord Fauconberg,\nwhose descendant Thomas, in the year 1721, sold the manor, which\nafterwards passed into the hands of the Byrons of Manchester, by whom it\nwas sold to Mr Peter Ainsworth of Halliwell, a descendant of the\nAinsworths of Pleasington, in this county[15], the present owner.\n\n\"Smethells is dependent upon the superior manor of Sharpies, the lord of\nwhich claims from the owner of this place a pair of gilt spurs annually;\nand, by a very singular and inconvenient custom, the unlimited use of\nthe cellars at Smethells for a week in every year.\"[16]\n\nAt the close of a cold, keen day, about the early part of spring, in\nthe year 1554, there came two men across a bleak and barren tract of\nland called Dean Moor, near to Bolton-in-the-Moors. When at some\ndistance from the main path, and far from the many by-roads intersecting\nthis dreary common, they--first looking cautiously around, as though\nfearing intruders--fell on each other's neck and wept. The sun's light\nbeamed suddenly through a cleft in the heavy clouds near the horizon,\nalong the stunted grass and rushes, stretching far away to many a green\nknoll in the distance, behind which the dark hills and lowering sky\nlooked in wild and terrific blackness over the scene. The sun,\ndescending fast below the hills towards Blackrode, beamed forth as if to\ncast one short ray of gladness on the world of sorrow he was just\nquitting. Rivington Pike, and the dark chill moors stretching from it\neastward, were bathed in a wide and stormy burst, of light, like the\nwild and unnatural brightness that sometimes irradiates even the dim\nshadows of despair. A heavy mist lay at their feet, hiding most of the\nintermediate space from the eye of the observer, so that the long line\nof barren hills seemed to start out at once from a sea of vapour, like\nthe grim barriers of some gigantic lake. The clouds were following hard\nupon the sun's flight, so that by the time he had disappeared the sky\nwas covered with a dense and impervious curtain, rendered darker by the\nrapidity of the change. Chill and eddying gusts rustled over the dreary\nheath; the voice of nature only responding to the chords of sadness and\nof sorrow. The hollow roar of the wind was like the moaning of a\ntroubled ocean; a few big drops from the hurrying scud seeming to\npresage an approaching tempest.\n\nThe two friends had crept behind a stone wall, built up in a hollow, by\na stagnant pool, taking but little heed of the darkness and the storm,\nso intent were they upon the subject which engrossed their thoughts.\n\n\"I might flee, Ralph, but it would straightway be said, not that I had\nleft my country and my kin alone, but rather that I had deserted the\nfaith and doctrine I profess, after having unworthily ministered\nhereabout for a season, which might be an occasion of much scandal, a\nweakening of the faith of my poor flock, and a grievous discouragement\nto those that remain.\"\n\n\"'A living dog is better than a dead lion,' says the wise man. Besides,\nit is apresumingon His providence, when He opens away for our escape,\nand we, of our own wilfulness and folly, neglect the blessing. 'Do\nthyself no harm.' Provide for thine own life, and run not as the horse\nand mule, that have no understanding, into the very throat of thine\nenemies, and them that seek thine hurt.\"\n\nThe first speaker was a man of plain but comely appearance, habited in a\ncoarse doublet buckled about the waist with a leathern girdle. A round\nwoollen cap, from beneath which a few straight-combed locks hung about\nhis face, gave a quaint and precise aspect to his figure. His features,\nthough slightly wrinkled, did not betoken either age or infirmity: but\nhis whole appearance indicated a robust and vigorous frame, capable both\nof exertion and endurance. The other individual exhibited a more\nungainly form and deportment. He had not the same look of benevolence\nand good-will to man which irradiated the features of the first, of whom\nit might be truly said, that his inward affections did mould and\nconstrain his outward image into their resemblance, so that meekness and\nbenignity shone through his countenance from the ever-glowing spirit of\nlove and Christian charity within. There was a sharp and shrewd\nintelligence in the eye of the latter speaker which showed that some\nconsiderations of selfish and worldly wisdom might, by possibility,\nmingle with his unerring notions of duty. Yet was he a man of great\npiety and worth, and well fitted as a counsellor in times of peril and\ndistress.\n\n\"Ralph Bradshaw,\" replied the other, \"thou hast been my tried friend and\nmy stay in this waste and howling wilderness, and I have found thy\ncounsel hitherto wholesome and pleasant; but,\" continued Marsh, with a\nheavy sigh, \"I have not told thee how Sir Roger Barton's servants have\nmade diligent search for me in Bolton, and have given strict charge to\nmy brother Robert that he should, by to-morrow at the latest, appear\nwith me at Smethells, else shall he and my poor mother answer before him\nat their peril. By God's grace, I would not leave these weaklings of the\nflock to suffer for my sake.\"\n\n\"Leave this matter until thou depart; I will devise some means for their\nrelief. I would not have thy life needlessly put in hazard, seeing how\nfew men have been raised up like unto thyself, privileged as thou art to\nminister the bread of life to the hungry and famishing poor in this\nbarren corner of God's spiritual vineyard.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" replied Marsh, \"I ought with all boldness to confess the\ntruth, fearing not to answer for the hope that is in me; and why should\nI refuse to obey the commands of those who are in authority? for the\nmagistrate beareth not the sword in vain.\"\n\n\"Truly, obedience were his right, if so be this were some righteous\njudge raised up of God for the punishment of evil-doers. But, as thou\nwell knowest, the justice thou shalt demand will not be rendered: the\nsummons thou hast received to answer on doctrinal and disputed points,\nand to argue them before these wicked and crafty men, as touching thy\nbelief, are but manifest excuses to get thee into their power, from\nwhich they mean not to liberate thee but by the fire that shall consume\nthy body, and free it for ever from their murderous gripe. Thou knowest,\ntoo, that Sir Roger beareth thee a malice, and hath used all subtlety\nthat he might have wherewith to seek occasion against thee. Didst thou\nnot rebuke him openly for his irreverence, when that he must needs play\nwith his puppy, that had its collar full of bells, during God's holy\nservice--that comfortable form of worship established and publicly\ntaught in the lifetime of our last good King Edward, and not this\npapistical, idolatrous mass which they now use, to the eternal ruin of\nboth soul and body? No mercy shalt thou have at their hands. And doth\nour blessed Master require of us that we give our bodies up to these\nwicked and malignant deceivers, that their devilish pleasure may be\nglutted in torturing and spitefully using us, while they go about\nputting innocent men to cruel and shameful deaths? As soon would He\nrequire that we should yield our bodies up to Satan and his angels.\"\n\n\"I know not how to answer thee, Bradshaw, in this matter; but my mind\nmisgives me in taking so hasty a departure from our suffering and\nafflicted realm. Yet will we ask counsel of Him who guideth the weak,\nand will not suffer us to be tempted beyond measure.\"\n\nWhereat these persecuted disciples did unite in prayer to that throne\nbefore which, having finished their earthly warfare, they now stand with\ncrowns of victory on their foreheads, purified from this gross\nmortality. Marsh, much comforted by the exercise, doubted not that,\naccording to his faith, wisdom and direction would be granted in the way\nhe should take.\n\nHereupon they separated, wishing each other \"God speed.\"\n\nThrough the darkness and tempest of that fearful night George Marsh\napproached the town, where, in a narrow lane leading from the brow of\nthe hill by the church, abode his mother and her youngest son. Raising\nthe latch, he saw the old woman alone, seated by the fire, weeping.\n\n\"Praised be His mercy, thou art yet safe!\" said she, clasping her\nwithered hands together. \"They have again been here to seek for thee,\nand I was fearful thou hadst not escaped their power.\"\n\n\"Who has been here, and from whence?\"\n\n\"Divers of Justice Barton's servants were here again, not an hour ago,\nwho have charged thy brother Robert and thy cousin William Marsh to seek\nfor thee, and by to-morrow, ere noon, to render thee up at Smethells.\nThey are now gone to Atherton, and elsewhere, for aught I know.\"\n\n\"Then may I not tarry here to-night?\"\n\n\"Nay, I beseech thee, flee for thy life. In tarrying here shall thou not\nescape; for a man's enemies are now truly those of his own household.\"\n\nMarsh, after a pause, determined to listen to her advice, and departed.\n\nCold and weary, he retraced his steps, going beyond Dean Church, where,\nat a friend's house, he staid for the night, \"taking ill rest,\" as he\nquaintly expresses it in his journal, \"and consulting much with myself\nof my trouble.\" He expected, or at least hoped, that some intimation\nwould be vouchsafed from his Master as touching the way he should\npursue, but none was granted; and he lay there, full of tossing and\nunquiet, the greater part of the night. On the following morning, at his\nfirst awaking, which was early, being still in heaviness, and not\nknowing what to do, came another friend to his bedside, who advised him\nthat he should in no wise depart, but abide boldly, and confess the\nfaith. At these words he felt so convinced, and, as it were, suddenly\nestablished in his conscience, that he doubted not, as he says, but the\nmessage was from God. He thenceforth consulted not with flesh and blood,\nbut resolved on immediately presenting himself before his persecutors,\nand patiently bearing such cross as it might please Heaven to lay upon\nhim.\n\nHe arose betimes, and as his custom was, recited the English Litany,\nwith other prayers, kneeling by his bedside; after which he prepared to\ngo towards Smethells, calling, as he went, at the dwellings of several\nwhom he knew, desiring them to pray for him, to commend him to all his\nfriends, and to comfort his mother and his little children, for, as he\nthen said, he felt assured that they should not see his face any more.\nTaking leave, with many tears and much, sorrow of heart, he came nigh to\nthe residence of Sir Roger Barton, a bigoted persecutor, and an avowed\nenemy of the reformed church.\n\nIt was about nine o'clock, on a cold and bitter morning, when he came in\nsight of the court-gate. Then surrounded with trees, the mansion itself\nwas not visible but within a short distance. This house, now ancient and\ndecayed, then existed in all its pomp and magnificence, having only been\nerected, as tradition informs us, some fifty years before, by Sir Andrew\nBarton, a famous pirate or free rover, who was knighted by James III. of\nScotland for his great bravery. In the third year of Henry the Eighth,\nwith two stout vessels called the _Lion_ and The _Jenny Perwin_, he\nconsiderably interrupted the navigation on the English coasts. His\npretence was letters of reprisals granted him against the Portuguese by\nJames III. Under colour of this grant, he took ships of all nations,\nalleging that they had Portuguese goods on board. Complaint being made\nto the Privy Council of England, the Earl of Surrey said, \"The narrow\nseas should not be infested while he had estate enough to furnish a\nship, or a son capable of commanding it.\" Upon this, two ships were\nimmediately fitted out, and commanded by Sir Thomas and Sir Edward\nHoward, sons to the Earl of Surrey, at their own expense, when, having\nbeen some days at sea, they were separated by a storm, which gave Sir\nThomas Howard an opportunity of coming up with Sir Andrew Barton in the\n_Lion_, whom he immediately engaged. The fight was long and doubtful,\nfor Barton, being an experienced seaman, and having under him a\ndetermined crew, made a desperate defence, himself cheering them with a\nboatswain's whistle to his last breath. The loss of their commander,\nhowever, caused them to submit, on which they received fair quarter and\ngood usage. In the meantime, Sir Edward attacked and captured the _Jenny\nPerwin_, after an obstinate resistance. Both these ships, with as many\nof their crew as were left alive, about one hundred and fifty, were\nbrought into the river Thames, on the 2nd of August 1511, as trophies of\nthe victory. The prisoners were sent to the Archbishop of York's palace,\nnow Whitehall, where they remained for some time, but were afterwards\ndismissed and sent into Scotland.\n\nJames the Fourth having then ascended the Scottish throne, after the\nmurder of his predecessor, exceedingly resented this action, and\ninstantly sent ambassadors to Henry demanding satisfaction, on which the\nking gave this memorable answer, \"That the punishment of pirates was\nnever held a breach of peace among princes.\" King James, however, was\nstill dissatisfied, and from that time was never thoroughly reconciled\nto the English nation.\n\nSir Andrew was descended from a good family in Scotland, and adopted a\nseafaring life when very young. A motive of concealment might be the\ncause of his erecting a mansion here, the roads being then almost\nimpassable; and the extensive woods, which lay in almost every direction\nfrom this spot, together with its great distance from the sea-side,\nmight be additional recommendations in its favour. An opinion exists,\nthough now involved in much doubt and obscurity, that his immediate\ndescendant was the Sir Roger Barton whom we have already named, and unto\nwhom this pious servant of the truth was about to commit himself.\n\nOn venturing through the gate, Marsh observed several men standing by a\ndoor on the left hand, being the principal entrance.\n\n\"What, ho!\" said one, \"art come to morning prayers?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" replied another, \"his cap cleaves to a heretic's sconce.\"\n\n\"'Tis Marsh,\" said the foremost of the group, who proved to be Roger\nWrinstone, the knight's prime minister, constable, and entrapper of\nheretics. \"Now, by my faith,\" he continued, \"if this wily fox do not\nthink, by his coming, to take Justice by the nose, and outface her\nthrough his impudence. But he will be sore mistaken if he think to\noutwit our master by his cunning. Good friend, thy business?\" said\nWrinstone, cap in hand, addressing the minister scornfully, and\nthrusting his tongue into his cheek, to the great diversion of his\ncompanions, who, with shouts of laughter, began to ape the buffoonery of\ntheir leader.\n\n\"I would fain speak with the Justice,\" said the stranger, meekly.\n\n\"And suppose I were he,\" said Wrinstone, putting himself into an\nattitude of great authority and importance, setting out his paunch, at\nthe same time, something like unto the knight himself. Another laugh, or\nrather titter, went through the courtyard at this exploit; a suspicious\nglance, however, was directed towards the casement above, some\napprehensions evidently existing lest Sir Roger should have been\neye-witness to the ceremony.\n\n\"Roger Wrinstone, thy mocking is ill-timed,\" said Marsh, with a severe\nand steadfast gaze, which seemed to awe even this unblushing minion of\nintolerance. \"If thy master be not arisen, I will tarry awhile his\nworship's leisure.\"\n\n\"Sir Roger is with his priest at confession,\" said one, with a shout of\nderision. \"Art come to confess him too, Father Marsh?\" and with that\nthey plucked him by the beard, mocking and ill-treating him. But, filled\nwith joy that he was accounted worthy to suffer, he passed from them\ninto the great hall, at that period a large and lofty room, which, as\ntradition reports, would have \"dined all the monarchs of Europe, and all\ntheir trains.\" It has since been much curtailed of its proportions,\nmodern improvements having appropriated it to more useful purposes. The\nwainscots were enriched with choice and beautiful carvings, representing\nbucks' heads, flowers, and portraits of the most distinguished ancestors\nof the family. So numerous and varied were these ornaments, that, it is\ncommonly reported, the artist wrought out his apprenticeship in\nexecuting this grand work, which for minuteness and the astonishing\nnumber and ingenuity of the devices, perhaps exceeded most of the like\nnature throughout the realm. Amongst other whimsical fancies was a ton\ncrossed with a bar, having the cyphers A and B above and below, which\nworthless and absurd pun, a sort of emblematic wit much cultivated by\nour forefathers, indicated the name of the founder, Sir Andrew Barton.\n\nMarsh, on his first entrance, inquired of a servitor if the Justice\nmight be spoken with. The menial was bearing off the remains of a\nsubstantial breakfast, and having a flagon of beer at hand, invited the\nstranger to a hearty draught, saying that he looked tired and in need of\nrefreshment; but he meekly put it aside, with due courtesy, still\nstanding as he repeated his question. The man departed to make the\ninquiry, when presently followed the constable and his gang, who, seeing\nthat the hall was cleared, strode in, rudely seizing Marsh by the\nshoulder.\n\n\"Thou art my prisoner,\" said Wrinstone; \"I arrest thee in the Queen's\nname.\"\n\nAt this moment came running in a little girl, bounding and frolicsome as\na young fawn from its covert, who, hearing the word prisoner, and seeing\na man of such a preposessing and benign aspect in custody, immediately\ncame up to Wrinstone, and laid hold of the skirts of his doublet,\nsaying,--\n\n\"You shan't, Wrinstone. If he has done amiss, let him go, and I'll give\nthee some plums out of my midlent pasty.\"\n\nThe meekness and peaceable demeanour of this unoffending servant of the\nChurch had in a moment won the heart of the child, and she pulled him by\nthe hand, as if to convey him from the grasp of his persecutor.\n\n\"May Heaven bless thee, my child, and make thee a blessing!\" He lifted\nup his eyes while he thus spake. \"Thy nature hath not yet learnt the\ncruel disposition of these tormentors.\"\n\nIt is said that his prayer was heard; and a passage in the subsequent\nhistory of this little girl may, in all likelihood, find a place in\nanother series of our Traditions.\n\nA tear for the first time trembled in the poor man's eye as he looked on\nthis tender and compassionate babe. He thought upon his own sufferings,\nand the hard fate of his own little ones. But he soon repressed the\nrising murmur, calmly awaiting the result.\n\nThe child still clung to him; nor would she depart, though threatened\nwith Sir Roger's displeasure by his deputy. Indeed, she cared little for\nthe issue, being fully indulged in all her caprices by the knight, her\ngrandfather, who was mightily entertained with her humours. But threats\nand cajolements failing in their effect, they were glad to let this\nwilful creature accompany them to the presence of Sir Roger as the\ndispenser of justice, or rather of his own vindictive will; and to his\nprivate chamber they were shortly summoned.\n\nNow this distinguished knight was heavy and well-fed, and of a rich and\nrubicund countenance. From over-indulgence he had become unwieldy, being\npropped up in a well-stuffed chair, one leg resting on a low stool, his\nwhole frame bloated by indolence and sensuality. He was short-necked and\nfull-chested. His eyes, gray and fiery, were almost starting from his\nhead, by reason of some obstruction to the free current of the blood in\nthat direction. This was accompanied by a wheezing and phlethoric\ncough, which oft troubled him. At his side sat a priest, who had a fair\nsmooth face, and a shining head sprinkled over with a few pale-coloured\nlocks close cut and combed back with becoming care from his temples. His\neyes were small and restless, scarcely for an instant keeping to one\nposition. He seemed to pay a silent deference to his patron, allowing\nSir Roger to begin the examination as follows:--\n\n\"So thy relatives have ferreted thee forth at last. Nothing like making\ntheir kindred in some sort answer for the bodies of these heretics.\"\n\n\"I came of my own free consent, and alone, your worship,\" replied Marsh;\n\"and hope to be honestly dealt with. If I have offended the laws, I am\nhere to answer; if not, I claim your protection.\"\n\n\"Peace! Will none o' ye stop that fellow's prating? Justice thou shalt\nhave, and that speedily, as thou sayest, but not in the way thou couldst\ndesire. Look thee!\" He fumbled in his pouch as he spake. Drawing out a\nletter, he continued--\"My Lord Derby hath commanded that thou be sent to\nLathom along with some others who do mightily trouble us, and sow evil\nseed and dissension among the people.\"\n\n\"This, please your grace, I deny; and I would know mine accusers, and\nwhat they allege against me.\"\n\n\"Now this is a brave answer, truly,\" replied the Justice. \"These rogues\nbe all of one tale, pretending that they have done nothing amiss, and\ndesiring to know, poor innocents! of what they are accused, as though\nthey were ignorant of their own lives and conversation hitherto. Tush!\nit were a needless and an unthrifty throwing out of words to argue the\nmatter--for they are wiser in their own eyes than seven men who can\nrender a reason. Do thou question him, and urge him to the test,\" said\nSir Roger, turning to his conscience-keeper.\n\n\"What art thou?\" said the priest, leaning forward for the purpose of a\nmore strict examination.\n\n\"I am a minister,\" said Marsh. \"It is but a short time agone since I\nserved a cure hereabouts.\"\n\n\"Who gave thee orders? Or hast thou indeed received any?\"\n\n\"The Bishops of London and Lincoln, after that I had diligently studied\nand kept terms aforetime at Cambridge.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said Sir Roger. \"These bishops be of the reformed sect; and, I\nhave a notion, will some day or another answer for it before the Queen's\ncouncil.\"\n\n\"What knowledge hast thou of these men?\"\n\n\"I never saw them but at the time I received ordination.\"\n\nAfter a few more questions of little moment, the priest threw out the\nusual net with which his fraternity were wont to entangle those of\nheretical opinions.[17]\n\n\"What is thy belief respecting the sacrament?\"\n\n\"That is a question of too general and multifarious a nature for a plain\nand faithful answer.\"\n\n\"Are the bread and wine, by virtue of the words pronounced by the\npriest, changed into the body and blood of Christ? And is the sacrament,\nwhether reserved or received, the very body and blood of Christ?\"\n\n\"I am not careful to answer such inquiries, seeing that I am but\nunskilled and unlearned in scholastic disputes. Why do ye ask me these\nhard and unprofitable questions, to bring my body in danger of death,\nand to suck my blood?\"\n\n\"We are not blood-suckers, and intend none other than to make thee a\nbetter man and a good Christian,\" said the priest, mightily offended.\nWhereat Roger Wrinstone, in his great zeal and affection for the Holy\nChurch, smote Marsh a lusty blow on the mouth, saying--\n\n\"Answerest thou the priest so? By your worship's leave I will mend his\nill manners.\"\n\nThe little girl at this rebuke fell a-crying, and her grief became so\nloud that Sir Roger was fain to pacify her by ordering Wrinstone to\nstand farther apart. With red and glistening eyes she looked up and\nsmiled at the suffering martyr, who, remembering his own dear babes,\ncould scarce refrain from embracing her as she clung about him, to the\ngreat displeasure of Sir Roger.\n\n\"Answer this reverend and spiritual admonisher, to the true purport and\nbearing of his question,\" said Sir Roger, with a mighty affectation of\nsagacity.\n\n\"I do believe Christ to be present with His sacrament, inasmuch as He is\nalway with His people to the end of time. But as I am not skilful in\nmatters of such nicety, I would ask of this reverend casuist, who is\nmore able to answer in questions of such weight than I; who am, as I\nsaid before, unlearned in disputed points; and truly I am in nothing\nmore wishful than to come at a right knowledge and understanding of the\ntruth.\"\n\n\"Say on,\" said the priest, something flattered by this modest appeal to\nhis opinion.\n\n\"Our Lord took the cup and blessed it, of which He then drank, and\nafterwards His disciples?\"\n\n\"Yes. But this doth not sanction its being sent round to the laity,\"\nreplied the priest, not aware of the drift and true bearing of the\ninquiry.\n\n\"Then He took the bread and brake, and did eat likewise with His\ndisciples?\"\n\n\"Of a truth,\" replied the unwary disputant. \"For these questions need\nbut a plain and simple answer.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Marsh, \"of a surety He must have ate and drank\nHimself!--Nay,\" continued he, seeing the priest turn pale with rage and\nvexation, \"I can find none other alternative. For, unlearned and\nunpractised as I am; the absurdity of your belief is manifest.\"\n\n\"Thou art a child of perdition--an impious and pestilent heretic! Thou\neatest and drinkest damnation to thyself; and the Holy Church consigns\nall such to the flames, and to the fire of eternal wrath hereafter!\"\nroared the infuriate priest, whose choler waxed hotter in proportion as\nhe felt unable to withstand the conclusion of his opponent.\n\n\"For,\" as it has been observed, even by some of the most enlightened\nCatholics themselves,[18] \"theological animosity, so far from being an\nargument of men's conviction in their opposite sects, is a certain proof\nthat they have never reached any serious persuasion with regard to these\nsublime subjects. Even those who are most impatient of contradiction in\nother controversies, are mild and moderate in comparison of polemical\ndivines; and whenever a man's knowledge and experience give him a\nperfect assurance in his own opinion, he regards with contempt rather\nthan anger the opposition and mistakes of others. But while men\nzealously maintain what they neither clearly comprehend nor entirely\nbelieve, they are shaken in their imagined faith by the opposite\npersuasion, or even doubts of other men, and vent on their antagonists\nthat anger and impatience which is the natural result of this state of\nthe understanding.\"\n\n\"Master,\" cried Wrinstone, \"shall I fetch the bridle that we so oft use\nfor scolds and ill women?\"\n\n\"Ay, do, prithee run, Roger,\" said the child, hastily, and looking\ntowards him, \"for my grandfather's priest is like to need it soon.\"\n\nAt this the worthy professor of Christian charity and good-will, darting\na furious look at the girl, exclaimed--\n\n\"Sir Roger, beware lest this viper thou art hatching be suffered to\nsting us. Look to it! This minion of thine is not too young either to\nwork mischief or to escape its punishment!\"\n\nWhereupon Sir Roger, mightily afraid of his spiritual guide and granter\nof indulgences, rebuked the offending little one, and ordered her out of\nthe room. With some difficulty this command was executed; but the\ndisturbance at the door became so loud, that they were fain again to\nadmit her, upon a sullen promise that she would behave in a more\nreverent manner to the priest, and refrain from interruption.\n\n\"Answer me no more with thy deep and devilish sublety,\" continued this\nchampion of the Catholic faith; \"for of a truth the devil doth\nwonderfully aid and abet ye in all disputes touching this holy\nsacrament; but show me thy belief in regard to so wholesome and\ncomfortable a doctrine.\"\n\n\"I have answered before, as far as my weak understanding will permit,\nand by God's grace I will not swerve from my profession. A doctrine\npushed to an absurdity is its own refutation.\"\n\nThen spake one that was standing by, but who had hitherto taken no part\nin the debate.\n\n\"Truly 'tis a pity that one so proper and well-gifted, and who might\ndoubtless gain some profitable appointment, should so foolishly cast\nhimself away by holding these dangerous and heretical opinions. Thou\nwilt bring both body and soul into jeopardy thereby. If not for\nthyself, yet for thy children's sake, and for thy kindred, who must\nneeds suffer from thy contumacy, return to the communion from which thou\nhast cast thyself out, and to the arms of that compassionate mother who\nis ever ready to receive back her erring but repentant children.\"\n\n\"Verily,\" replied the martyr, \"life, children, brethren, and friends,\nwith all the other delights and comforts of this present state, are as\ndear and sweet unto me as unto any other man, and I would be as loath to\nlose them if I might hold them with a good conscience. But seeing I\ncannot do that, I trust God will strengthen me with His Holy Spirit so\nthat I may lose all for His sake. For I now hold myself but as a sheep\nappointed to be slain, and patiently to suffer whatsoever cross it may\nplease my most merciful Father to lay upon me. But, as God is my\nwitness!\"--he seemed to speak with a prophetic denunciation, \"from these\nvile ashes shall a fire-brand come that shall consume and destroy\nutterly these bloody men and persecutors of God's inheritance!\"\n\nSo astonished were the bystanders at his audacity, that they did not so\nmuch as attempt to stay his tongue or to lay hands upon him, whilst he\ncontinued, raising his arm in a threatening attitude--\n\n\"Ye killers of the prophets, and destroyers of them whom God hath sent\nunto you!--Because we reproach you with your evil deeds, and\"--\n\n\"Blasphemy?\" cried out Sir Roger, who was the first to recover his\nspeech: \"we will have thy tongue bored for its offence.\"\n\n\"Away with him!\" cried the priest, who seemed nothing loath to begin his\ntorments. \"Thou shalt to my Lord Derby, and he will know how to deal\nwith such a bitter and foul-mouthed heretic.\"\n\nAll was uproar and confusion. The Justice was even moved from his chair,\nand swore out lustily that by ten o'clock the day following, unless this\nblasphemer were delivered at Lathom, he would imprison the whole family\nof them: such a pestilent fellow being fit, as he said, to infect all\nthe parish with the plague of heresy.\n\nRoger Wrinstone and his crew were preparing to drag him down-stairs; but\nthe Justice, hobbling on his crutch, preceded them, leaning on the arm\nof his priest. The party, on their entrance into the hall, found\nMarsh's two kinsmen awaiting the event. They soon found that no favour\nwas intended.\n\n\"See to it, knaves,\" bellowed the knight, \"that this fellow is delivered\nup to my lord at Lathom by to-morrow, or your own carcases shall answer\nfor his.\"\n\nThen did these poor men pray and beseech their kinsman that he would in\nsome wise conform to the religion of his superiors, or find some way of\nescape from a cruel and ignominious death.\n\nBut Marsh, standing steadfast before them all, cried out with a loud\nvoice--\n\n\"Between me and them let God witness!\" Looking up to heaven, he\nexclaimed, as if with a sudden inspiration--\"If my cause be just, let\nthis prayer of thine unworthy servant be heard!\"\n\nHe stamped violently with his foot, and the impression of it, as the\ngeneral notion is, yet remains, to attest the purity of his cause and\nthe cruelty and injustice of his persecutors.\n\nTo this day may be seen the print of a man's foot in the stone, which by\nmany is believed to exist as a memorial of this good confession.\n\nIn shape it is much like that of a human foot, except its being rather\nlonger than common. In that part where the sole may have rested is a\nsmall dent, as though a man had stamped vehemently on the soft earth,\nand the weight of his body had borne principally on that place. The\nimpression is of a dark-brown or rather reddish hue, and is very\nperceptible when damp or moistened by cleaning.\n\nMarsh's subsequent history is soon told. From Lathom, where he was\nexamined before Lord Derby and his council, and found guilty of\nheretical opinions, he was committed to Lancaster, and from thence to\nthe ecclesiastical court at Chester, where, after several examinations\nbefore Dr Cotes, then bishop of this diocese, he was adjudged to the\nstake, and burnt in pursuance of his sentence, at the place of public\nexecution near that city, on the 24th April 1555.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[15] Baines' \"Lancashire,\" p. 540.\n\n[16] Whitaker's \"Whalley,\" p. 424.\n\n[17] \"The common net at that time,\" says Sir Richard Baker, \"for\ncatching of Protestants was the real presence; and this net was used to\ncatch the Lady Elizabeth. That princess showed great prudence in\nconcealing her sentiments of religion, in complying with the present\nmodes of worship, and in eluding all questions with regard to a subject\nso momentous. Being asked at one time, what she thought of the words of\nChrist, '_This is my Body_,'--whether she thought it the true body of\nChrist that was in the sacrament,--it is said that after some pausing\nshe thus answered:--\n\n\"'Christ was the Word that spake it, He took the bread and brake it; And\nwhat the Word did make it, _That_ I believe, and take it;'\n\n\"which, though it may seem but a slight expression, yet hath in it more\nsolidness than at first sight appears; at least, it served her turn at\nthat time to escape the net, which by a direct answer she could not have\ndone.\"--Baker's _Chronicle_, p. _320_.\n\n[18] Cardinal Pole and others.\n\n\n\n\nDR DEE, THE ASTROLOGER.\n\n\n    \"Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye\n      To which the wizard led the gallant knight,\n    Save that before a mirror huge and high\n      A hallowed taper shed a glimmering light\n    On mystic implements of magic might;\n      On cross, and character, and talisman,\n    And almagest and altar, nothing bright;\n      For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan,\n    As watch-light by the bed of some departing man.\"\n\n--_Lay of the Last Minstrel_.\n\nThe character of Dee, our English \"Faust,\" as he is not inaptly called,\nhas both been misrepresented and misunderstood. An enthusiast he\nundoubtedly was, but not the drivelling dotard that some of his\nbiographers imagine. A man of profound learning, distinguished for\nattainments far beyond the general range of his contemporaries, he, like\nFaustus, and the wisest of human kind, had found out how little he knew;\nhad perceived that the great ocean of truth yet lay unexplored before\nhim. Pursuing his inquiries to the bound and limit, as he thought, of\nhuman knowledge, and finding it altogether \"vanity,\" he had recourse to\nforbidden practices, to experiments through which the occult and hidden\nqualities of nature and spirit should be unveiled and subdued to his own\nwill.\n\nEvidently prompted to unhallowed intercourse by pride and ambition, he\ndeluded himself with the vain and wicked hope that the God who spurned\nhis impious requests would vouchsafe to him a new and peculiar\nrevelation. He would not bow to the plain and humbling tenets already\nrevealed, but sought another \"sign,\"--a miraculous testimony to himself\nalone. Fancying that he was entrusted with a divine mission, he was\ngiven up to strong delusions that he should believe a lie. He aimed at\nuniversal knowledge and exhaustless riches; but he died imbecile and a\nbeggar!\n\nThat he was deceived by Kelly, there is no doubt; and that he was\nsincere, at least in seeking his own promotion and aggrandisement, is\nequally certain; but we would rescue his character from the ridicule\nwith which it has been invested. His grasp was greater than his power,\nand he fell, like heroes and conquerors in all ages, unable to execute,\nand overwhelmed with the vastness of his own conceptions.\n\nJohn Dee was born July 13, 1527, in London. His parents were in good\ncircumstances. At an early age (fifteen years) he studied at St John's\nCollege, Cambridge. His application was intense. For three years, by his\nown account, he only slept four hours every night. Two hours were\nallowed for meals and recreation, and the rest was spent in learning and\ndevotion. Five years afterwards he went into the Low Countries, for the\npurpose of conversing with Frisius, Mercator, and others. Returning to\nCambridge, he was chosen a fellow of Trinity College, then founded by\nHenry the Eighth. His reputation stood very high, and his astronomical\npursuits, in those days generally connected with astrology, drew upon\nhim the imputation of being a conjuror, which character clung to him\nthrough life. This opinion was much strengthened by an accident which,\nhe says, happened soon after his removal from St John's College, and his\nbeing chosen a fellow of Trinity. \"Hereupon,\" he continues, \"I did set\nforth a Greek comedy of Aristophanes, named in Greek [Greek: Heirene]\nwith the performance of the Scarabaeus, or beetle--his flying up to\nJupiter's palace with a man and his basket of victuals on her back;\nwhereat was great wondering, and many vain reports spread abroad of the\nmeans how that was effected.\"\n\nHe left England again soon afterwards, distinguishing himself at several\nforeign universities, and attracting the notice of many persons of high\nrank, amongst which were the Duke of Mantua and Don Lewis de la Cerda\n(afterwards Duke of Medina Celi). In 1551 he returned to England, being\nwell received by King Edward and his court. A pension of one hundred\ncrowns per annum was granted him, which he afterwards exchanged for the\nrectory of Upton-upon-Severn.\n\nIn Queen Mary's reign he was accused of some correspondence with the\nLady Elizabeth's servants, and of practising against the Queen's life by\nenchantments. He was seized and confined, but acquitted of the charge.\nHe was then turned over to Bonner, to see if heresy might not be found\nin him. After a tedious prosecution he was set at liberty, August 19,\n1555, by an order of the council.\n\nUpon Queen Elizabeth's accession he was consulted as to a fit day for\nthe coronation, and received many splendid promises of preferment, which\nwere never realised.\n\nIn the spring of the year 1564, he made another journey abroad, when he\npresented to the Emperor Maximilian his book, entitled \"Monas\nHieroglyphica,\" printed at Antwerp the same year. He returned to England\nin the summer, producing several learned works, which showed his\nextraordinary skill in the mathematics.\n\nIn 1571 he went to Lorraine, where, falling very ill, he was honoured\nwith the solicitude of the Queen, who sent two of her physicians, and\ngave him many other proofs of her regard. Upon his return to England he\nnow settled himself in his own house at Mortlake in Surrey, where he\ncollected a noble library, and prosecuted his studies with great\ndiligence. His collection is said to have consisted of more than four\nthousand books, nearly a fourth part of them manuscripts, which were\nafterwards dispersed and lost. This library, and a great number of\nmathematical and mechanical instruments, were destroyed by the fury of\nthe populace in 1583, who, believing him to be a conjuror, and one that\ndealt with the devil, broke into his house, and tore and destroyed the\nfruit of his labours during the forty years preceding.\n\nOn the 16th March 1575, Queen Elizabeth, attended by many of her court,\nvisited Dr Dee's house to see his library; but having buried his wife\nonly a few hours before, he could not entertain her Majesty in the way\nhe wished. However, he brought out a glass, the properties of which he\nexplained to his royal mistress, hoping to wipe off the aspersion, under\nwhich he had long laboured, of being a magician.\n\nIn 1578 her Majesty being indisposed, Dee was sent abroad to consult\nwith some German physicians about the nature of her complaint. But that\npart of his life in which he was most known to the world commenced in\n1581, when his intercourse began with Edward Kelly. This man pretended\nto instruct him how to obtain, by means of certain invocations, an\nintercourse with spirits. Soon afterwards there came to England a Polish\nlord, Albert Laski, palatine of Siradia, a person of great learning. He\nwas introduced to Dee by the Earl of Leicester, who was now the doctor's\nchief patron. Becoming acquainted, Laski prevailed with Dee and Kelly to\naccompany him to his own country. They went privately from Mortlake,\nembarking for Holland, from whence they travelled by land through\nGermany into Poland. On the 3d February 1584, they arrived at the castle\nof their patron, where they remained for some time.\n\nThey afterwards visited the Emperor Rodolphe at Prague. On the 17th\nApril 1585, Laski introduced them to Stephen, king of Poland, at Cracow;\nbut this prince treating them very coolly, they returned to the\nemperor's court at Prague, from whence they were banished at the\ninstigation of the Pope's nuncio, who represented them as magicians.\n\nThe doctor and his companion afterwards found an asylum in the Castle of\nTrebona, belonging to Count William, of Rosenberg, where they lived in\ngreat splendour for a considerable time. It was said that Kelly had\nsucceeded in procuring the powder of projection, by which they were\nfurnished with money in profusion; but on referring to the doctor's\ndiary, we find the miserable tricks and shifts they resorted to for the\npurpose of keeping up appearances. Kelly, however, it seems, learned\nmany secrets from the German chemists, which he did not communicate to\nhis patron; and the heart-burnings and jealousies that arose between\nthem at length ended in an absolute rupture.\n\nThe fame of their adventures was noised through Europe, and Elizabeth,\nin consequence, invited Dee home. He was now separated from Kelly, and\non the 1st of May 1589, he set out on his return to England. He\ntravelled with great pomp, was attended by a guard of horse, and\nbesides waggons for his goods, had no less than three coaches for the\nuse of his family. He landed at Gravesend on the 23d of November, and on\nthe 9th of December was graciously received at Richmond by the Queen. He\nfound his house at Mortlake had been pillaged, but he collected the\nscattered remains of his library, and was so successful, by the\nassistance of his friends, as to recover about three-fourths of his\nbooks, estimating his loss at about L400, He had many friends, and\nreceived great presents, but was always craving and in want. The Queen\nsent him money from time to time, promising him two hundred angels at\nChristmas. One-half he received, but he gave a broad hint that the Queen\nand himself were defrauded of the rest. He now resolved to apply for\nsome settled subsistence, and sent a memorial by the Countess of Warwick\nto her Majesty, earnestly requesting that commissioners might be\nappointed to hear his pretensions and decide upon his claims. Two\ncommissioners were accordingly sent to Mortlake, where Dee showed them a\nbook containing a distinct account of all the memorable transactions of\nhis life, except those which occurred in his Jast journey abroad. He\ndetailed to them the injuries, damages, and indignities which he had\nsuffered, and humbly supplicated reparation at their hands. The Queen,\nin consequence, sent 100 marks to Mrs Dee, and promises to her husband.\nAt length, on December 8th, 1594, he obtained a grant of the\nchancellorship of St Paul's. But this did not answer his expectations,\nupon which he applied to Whitgift, Archbishop of Canterbury, giving an\naccount of all the books he had either written or published. This, with\nother applications, led to his being presented with the wardenship of\nManchester College, vacant by the removal of Dr William Chaderton to the\nsee of Chester. On the 14th of February 1596, he arrived with his family\nin that town, and on the 20th he was installed in his new charge. He\ncontinued here about seven years, passing his time in a very turbulent\nand unquiet manner. On the 5th of June 1604, he presented a petition to\nKing James, earnestly desiring that he might be brought to trial and\ndelivered, by a judicial sentence, from those suspicions which his\nastrological and other inquiries had brought upon him. But the King,\nknowing the nature of his studies, was very far from showing him any\nmark of his favour. In November, the same year, he quitted Manchester,\nreturning to his house at Mortlake, where he died, old, infirm, and\nforsaken of his friends, being very often obliged to sell some book or\nother to procure a dinner. The following account of Dr Dee's expenses\nfrom Trebona to London, copied from a statement in his own\nhandwriting,[19] we have thought too curious to omit:--\n\n\"The charges of my last return from beyond seas, A. 1589, being\nfavourably called home by her Majestie from Trebon Castle in Bohemia.\n\n[Sidenote: 600 lib.]\n\n\"My journey of remove homeward from Trebon Castle to Staden cost me more\nthan 3000 dollars, which we account\n\n[Sidenote: 120 lib.]\n\n\"Besides the cost of 15 horses wherewith I travelled all that journey;\nof which the 12 which drew my 3 coaches were very good and young\nHungarian horses, and the other three were Wallachies for the saddles:\nwhich 15 cost with one another\n\n[Sidenote: 60 lib.]\n\n\"The three new coaches made purposely for my aforesaid journey, with the\nfurniture for the 12 coach-horses, and with the saddles and bridles for\nthe rest, cost more than 3 score pounds\n\n\"The charge of wains to carry my goods from Trebon to Staden, they being\ntwo and sometimes three (for more easy and light passage in some\nplaces), cost above an hundred and ten pounds, which I account (for an\nhundred of it) under my former sum of 600 lib. Under which 600 lib. also\nI do account for the charges of the 24 soldiers, well appointed, which,\nby virtue of the emperor's passport, I took up in my way from Diepholt,\nand again from Oldenburgh; the charges of the six harquebusiers and\nmusqueteers, which the Earl of Oldenburgh lent me out of his own\ngarrison there: I gave to one with another a dollar a man for the day,\nand their meat and drink full. For at the first, 18 enemies, horsemen,\nwell appointed, from Lingen and Wilstrusen, had lain five days attending\nthereabout, to have sett upon me and mine; and at Oldeborch, a Scot (one\nof the garrison) gave me warning of an ill-minded company lying and\nhovering for me in the way which I was to pass, as by a letter may\nappear here present. Of the former danger, the Landgrave of Hesse his\nletters unto me may give some evidence.\n\n\"The charges of the four Swart Ruiters, very well mounted, and appointed\nto attend on me at Staden, from Breme, being honourably and very\ncarefully sent unto me by the noble consuls and senators of Breme, and\nthat with a friendly farewell (delivered unto me by the speech of one of\ntheir secretaries at my lodgings) need not be specified here what it\nwas. For their going with me in two days to Staden, their abode there,\nand as much homeward, being in all five days' charges, 30 dollars.\n\n\"This was a very dangerous time to ride abroad in thereabouts, as the\nmerchants of Staden can well remember. The excellent learned theologian,\nthe superintendent of Breme, Mr D. Chrystopher Berzelius his verses,\nprinted the night before that of my going from Breme, and the morning of\nmy departure, openly delivered to me partly, and partly distributed to\nthe company of students and others attending about to see us set forth,\nand to bid us farewell, may be a memorial of some of my good credit\ngrown in that city, and of the day of my coming from it.\n\n\"I will not enlarge my lines to specific what other charges I was at to\nfurther some of her Majestie's servants at my lying at Breme; as 70\ndollars given or lent to one Conradus Justus Newbrenner; and about 40\ngiven to gett some letters of great importance brought to our\nsovereign's honorable privy council in due time.\n\n[Sidenote: 10 lib.]\n\n\"The charge of my fraught and passage from Staden to London for my\ngoods, myself, my wife, children, and servants\n\n[Sidenote: 796 lib.]\n\n\"So that the sum total of money, spent and laid out, in and for my\nremove from Trebon to London doth amount to\n\n[Sidenote: 1510 lib.]\n\n\"Whereby the whole sum of the former damages and losses\n\n[Sidenote: 796 lib.]\n\n\"And the removing charges doth amount (with the least) to\n\n[Sidenote: 2306 lib.]\n\n\"Besides the 100 dollars disbursed at Breme for dutiful love to Queen\nand country.\"\n\nOne minor occurrence in the following tradition--viz., the loss of the\nhorse--is related by Lilly as happening to another of the fraternity;\nbut we claim it--upon grounds too trivial it might be deemed by\nsome--for the \"Doctor.\" It is not our intention to spoil a good story by\nrejecting what we cannot verify. Sufficient for us that the tale exists;\nthough we take the liberty of telling it in our own way.\n\n\nThere came a thin spare man one evening to Dr Dee's residence in the\ncollege at Manchester, where he then dwelt by permission only from the\nEarl of Derby, though living there in the capacity of warden to the\nchurch.\n\nThe college being dissolved in the first of Edward VI. (1547), the\npossessions fell into the hands of that nobleman, who, however, kept\nministers at his own charge to officiate in the church. Mary refounded\nthe establishment, restoring the greater part of the lands, but Lord\nDerby still kept the college house. In 1578 Elizabeth granted a new\nfoundation to the college, appointing her own wardens. Dr Dee, being the\nthird on the new establishment, was installed with great solemnity on\nthe 20th February 1596.\n\nThe visitor we have just noticed was muffled in a dark cloak, having a\nwide and ample collar, which he threw over his head, as though anxious\nfor concealment. The Doctor, having retired into his study, was not to\nbe disturbed; but the stranger was urgent for admission, while Lettice\nGostwich, Dee's help-at-all-work, a pert ungracious slattern, was fully\nresolved not to permit his access to her master.\n\n\"Then since nothing else will do,\" said the pertinacious intruder,\n\"convey me this message--to wit, a stranger comes to him on business of\ngreat moment regarding his own welfare and that of the matter or event\nwhose _corollarium_ he is now studying.\"\n\nLettice, wearied through his importunity, and hoping by compliance to\nrid herself from these solicitations, went to the Doctor's private\nchamber, where, having delivered her message through the thumb-hole of\nthe latch--for on no account would he allow of personal intrusion--to\nher great surprise, he bade her be gone.\n\n\"Show the stranger up-stairs,\" said he. \"Why hast thou kept him so long\ntarrying?\"\n\nLettice, with little speed and less good-will, obeyed the Doctor's\nbehest, grumbling loud at the capricious and uncertain humours of her\nmaster.\n\nThe visitor was at length ushered into the presence of this celebrated\nscholar and professor of the celestial sciences, whose predictions at\none period astonished Europe; his presence, like some portentous comet,\nthreatening war and disaster, perplexing even emperors and princes, and\nfilling them with apprehension and dismay. But Dee was somewhat fallen\nfrom this high and dangerous celebrity. He was become querulous and\nill-tempered. Never satisfied with his present condition, but always\naiming at some greater thing, he generally contrived to lose what he\nalready possessed. At one time, to control the destinies and acquire the\nsupreme direction of affairs, either as the High Priest or the Grand\nLama of Europe, was not beyond the compass of his thoughts or the scope\nof his ambition. Now, he was petitioning the Queen for a small increase\nto his worldly pittance, and an opportunity of clearing himself before\nher Majesty's council from the foul and slanderous accusations by which\nhe was continually assailed. Yet he had not abandoned his former\nprojects. Though failing in his mission aforetime to the Emperor of\nGermany, the King of Poland, and others, to whom he evidently went for\npolitical purposes, and with offers of his aid, through the\nforeknowledge and spiritual intercourse by which he thought himself\nfavoured, yet he still cherished the hope of promotion by such visionary\nfollies. That chimera of the imagination, the invention of the\nphilosopher's stone, still haunted him, and he did not yet despair of\none day becoming a ruler among princes, the supreme arbiter and\ndepositary of the fate of nations.\n\nThe delusions imposed on him by Kelly, his seer and confederate, had so\nimpressed him with this belief, that he still purposed going abroad on a\ndivine mission, as he called it, and only awaited the auspicious time\nwhen his spiritual instructors should point out another seer in Kelly's\nroom, from whom he had been long separated. Though now in his\nseventy-first year, he was not deterred from making another attempt to\nreach the goal of his ambition. Such is the folly and madness of these\nenthusiasts, that, let them be never so often foiled in their inordinate\nexpectations, yet does it in no wise hinder, but, on the contrary, sets\nthem more fully on their desire. Casaubon, in his preface to the account\nof Dee's intercourse with spirits, gives a strange instance of their\ninfatuation. He says:--\n\n\"In the days of Martin Luther, there lived one Michael Stifelius, who\napplying to himself some place of the Apocalypse, took upon himself to\nprophesy. He foretold that in the year of the Lord 1533, before the 29th\nof September, the end of the world and Christ's coming to judgment would\nbe. He did show so much confidence that, some write, Luther himself was\nsomewhat startled at the first. But that day past, he came a second time\nto Luther, with new calculations, and had digested the whole business\ninto twenty-two articles, the effect of which was to demonstrate that\nthe end of the world would be in October following. But now Luther\nthought that he had had trial enough, and gave so little credit to him,\nthat he (though he loved the man) silenced him for a time, which our\napocalyptical prophet took very ill at his hands, and wondered much at\nhis incredulity. Well, that month and some after that over, our prophet\n(who had made no little stir in the country by his prophesying) was cast\ninto prison for his obstinacy. After a while Luther visited him,\nthinking by that time to find him of another mind; but so far was he\nfrom acknowledging his error, that he downright railed at Luther for\ngiving him good counsel. And some write, that to his dying day (having\nlived to the age of eighty years) he never recanted.\"\n\nThese air-built hopes and projects may in some sort account for the\nreadiness with which Dee admitted the stranger after hearing his\nmessage. It seemed to be the very echo of his own thoughts, floating on\ntheir dark current, which it quickened by some unknown and mysterious\nimpulse.\n\nThe Doctor was sitting in a high and curiously-wrought chair, cushioned\nwith black leather, gilt and ornamented after the antique fashion. His\nupper garment was of black serge, the neck and breast furred with\nsables. A cap of the same materials concealed his bald and shining head,\ngiving his pale shrivelled features a peculiar look of learning and hard\nstudy. His face was long, and his beard pointed. Age and anxiety were\nindelibly marked upon his lank visage; but his eye was yet undimmed;\nsmall, keen, and restless, it seemed the image of his own insatiable\ndesire, consuming soul and body in the fire and fervour of its\ninordinate and uncontrolled appetite.\n\n\"Thy name?\" said Dee sharply, as the stranger bowed himself before the\nreputed magician.\n\n\"Bartholomew Hickman.\"\n\n\"And thy business?\" inquired the Doctor, with an inquisitive glance.\n\n\"Since your reverence hath dismissed Kelly, you have been but\nindifferently served in the capacity of seer; mine errand is to this\npurport:--If we agree for wages, I will serve you; and I doubt not but\nmy faculty of seeing will equal that of Master Kelly, provided you have\na glass whose quality and virtue shall be equivalent.\"\n\n\"My glass,\" replied the Doctor, \"is not to be matched throughout the\nworld. Even Cornelius Agrippa had not its like; nor was his famous\nmirror fit to compare with it. Hast heard aught of its history?\"\n\n\"I would listen, Master Dee, for my knowledge thereof is but gathered\nfrom the vulgar report.\"\n\n\"Know then,\" said Dee, with an air of great pride and complacency, \"that\nmy stone was brought by the ministration of angels, in answer to fervent\nand oft-repeated prayer. One night, as I sate with Kelly, discoursing on\nthe rise and fall of empires, the setting up and the downfall of\nestates, and many other matters of grave and weighty import, he looked\nuneasy for a while, saying that he felt a strange sensation, and, as it\nwere, a heavy weight on his right shoulder, as though something sat\nthere. He said a spirit, invisible at that time, was in all likelihood\nhearkening to our discourse, and wished to communicate with us. He then\nspake as though to some one behind him, and listened--'Sayest thou so'\nsaid he; 'then will I speedily apprise the Doctor.' He then told me it\nwas the angel Uriel, who would bring us a wonderful glass or crystal,\nwhereby a seer, properly gifted, would be enabled to see many wonderful\nthings; but this surprising faculty I do not possess, by reason of a\nfiery sign not occupying the cusp of my ascendant and medium cosli.\nEdward Kelly was, however, permitted to supply this defect, and I might\nconfidently rely, he said, on the truth of those revelations, which I\nwas to note down for the benefit of mankind, and the establishing of a\nnew dispensation upon the earth. None but good angels could enter into\nthis glass, and they would teach me, as he then foretold, many things,\nwhereby, gaining great honour and renown, kings and princes should be\nreproved of me, who was raised up for their sakes. At this revelation I\nwas exceeding glad, and more so on finding the day following in my study\nthis precious gem, which, as I once told the Emperor Rodolph, is of such\nvalue that no earthly kingdom is worthy to be 'compared to the virtue or\ndignity thereof. I well remember the time,\" said Dee, delighting to\ndwell on these recollections: \"I was at Prague, the emperor having sent\nfor me; I went up to the castle, where, in the _Ritterstove_, or guard\nchamber, I stayed a little; Octavius Spinola, that was the chamberlain,\nsaluted me very courteously, having understood that I was he whom the\nemperor waited for. Returning to the privy-chamber, he came out again,\nleading me by the skirt through the dining-chamber and the\nprivy-chamber, where the emperor sat at a table with a great chest and\nstandish of silver, and my book and letters before him. Then craved I\npardon, at his Majesty's hand, for my boldness in sending him my '_Monas\nHieroglyphica_,' dedicated to his father; but I did it of the sincere\nand entire good-will that I bare to his father Maximilian, and also unto\nhis Majesty. He then thanked me very kindly, saying that he knew of my\ngreat endowments, and the esteem I had gotten of the learned; of this he\nhad been informed by the Spanish ambassador. He said my book was rather\ntoo hard for his capacity; but he heard I had something to say to him,\n_Quod esset pro sua utilitate_. 'And so I have,' I replied, looking back\nto see first that we were alone. Hereupon, I began to declare how all\nmy lifetime had been spent in learning, and with great pains and cost I\nhad come to the best knowledge that man might attain to in this world. I\nhad found, too, that no man living, neither any book, was able to teach\nme those truths that I desired and longed for. Therefore I concluded\nwithin myself to make intercession and prayer to the Giver of all wisdom\nto send unto me knowledge, whereby I might know the nature of His\ncreatures, and also enjoy means to use them to His honour and glory. At\nlength it pleased God to send me His light--the angel Uriel, whereby I\nwas assured of His merciful and gracious answer. For the space of two\nyears and a half, as I told his Majesty, angels had not ceased to\nminister unto me through this wonderful stone, whose history I related.\nFurthermore, I said that I had a message from them unto his, Majesty.\n'The angel of the Lord hath appeared unto me,' I cried, 'and hath\nrebuked you for your sins; if you will hear, and believe me, you shall\ntriumph; if you will not hear, the Lord, the God of heaven and earth,\nunder whom you breathe and have your being, putteth His foot against\nyour breast, and will throw you headlong from your seat.' Moreover, I\nsaid that if he would listen to me, and take me for his counsellor, his\nkingdom should be established, so that there would be none like unto it\nthroughout the world. I was commanded, likewise, to show him the nature\nof the holy vision, and the manner thereof, which he might witness, and\nhear the words, though he could not see the fashion of the creatures in\nthe glass. He thanked me, and said that he would thenceforward take me\nto his recommendation and care. Some more promises he used, though I\ncould not well understand them, he spake so low. Perceiving, now, that\nhe wished to make an end for this time, I made my obeisance and\ndeparted. But mark the favour of princes!--through the cabals of some,\nand the intrigues of his favourite and physician, one Doctor Curtz, who\nwas fearful of my displacing him,--in the end I was not only prevented\nfrom further access to his Majesty, but banished the empire! Go to, go\nto,\" said Dee, much troubled at these thoughts, \"I am something too much\naffected of these vain impressions, and the pomp of these earthly ones.\"\n\nHe arose, lifting an ebony cabinet on the table, which he unlocked with\ngreat solemnity. During this operation he fell to muttering many\nprayers; and with an air of great reverence he took out a\nrichly-embossed casket, which being opened, there was displayed a fair\ncrystal of an egg-shaped form, on which he gazed with a long and silent\ndelight.\n\n\"A treasure beyond all price,\" said Bartholomew, eyeing it with rapture.\n\n\"Even so,\" said Dee, \"and, by the grace of the Giver, I do hope to\nprofit by it. Once it was removed from me. Listen. It was in the little\nchapel, or oratory, next the chambers which Lord William of Rosenberg\nhad allotted us in his castle at Trebona. I had set the stone in its\nwonted place upon the table, or altar as we called it, when Kelly saw a\ngreat flame in the stone, which thing though he told me, I made no end\nof my usual prayer. But suddenly one seemed to come in at the south\nwindow of the chapel, right opposite to Kelly, while the stone was\nheaved up without hands, and set down again; wonderful to behold. After\nwhich I saw the man who came in at the window; he had his lower parts in\na cloud, and, with open arms, flew towards Kelly; at which sight he\nshrunk back, and the creature took up between both hands the stone with\nits frame of gold, and mounted up the way he came. Kelly caught at it,\nbut could not touch it; thereupon he was grievously alarmed, and had the\n_tremor cordis_ for a good while after.[20] This my angelical stone\nbeing taken away, I was mightily troubled, for the other stones in my\npossession being made through man's skill and device, I had not a safe\nwarranty of their virtue, so that I might confidently trust in what they\nshould disclose. I was afraid, too, of the intrusion of wicked spirits\ninto them, who might impose on me with their delusions. This happened on\na Friday, being the 24th of April 1587, as I find it recorded in my\ndiary. But mark the manner of its return! The following month, on the\n22d day, and on the same day of the week, about four hours post\nmeridian, as I and Kelly were walking out through the orchard, down the\nriver-side, he saw two little men fighting there furiously with swords;\nand one said to the other, '_Thou hast beguiled me_.' As I drew near\nthey did not abate their heat, but the fray seemed to wax even hotter\nthan before. I at length said, '_Good friends, let me take up the matter\nbetween you_;' whereupon they stayed, the elder of them saying, '_I sent\na present to thy wife, and this fellow hath taken it away_,' With this,\nthey again fought until the other was wounded in his thigh, which seemed\nto bleed. Being in great pain, he took out of his bosom something that\nI guessed to be the very treasure that I had lost. '_Now will I make\nthee return it_,' said the first speaker; with that the other, who was\nwounded, seemed to go suddenly out of sight, but came again ere I could\nanswer a word. The elder of them then asked him, saying, '_Hast thou\nlaid it under the right pillow of the bed where he lay yesternight_?'\nWith these words they both went towards a willow-tree on the right, by\nthe new stairs, which tree seemed to cleave open, and as they went in it\nclosed, and I never saw them more. With great haste I returned to my\nchamber, where, lifting up the right pillow, I found my precious stone;\nbeing greatly rejoiced, together with my wife, who joined me in thanking\nGod for its return.\"[21]\n\n\"An exceeding comfortable and gracious providence: being preserved, I\ndoubt not, from the evil ones,\" said Bartholomew Hickman. \"But I would\nfain give you a sample of my skill, if so be that you will prepare the\ncrystal, charging it with due care and attention.\"\n\nThen did the Doctor betake himself to the performance of sundry strange\nrites, consisting of many absurd forms and hard speeches, ever and anon\nejaculating a fervent prayer for success, and a petition against doubt\nand deception. He spread a fair carpet on the table, disposing the\ncandlesticks on each side, and a little behind the crystal. This was\nplaced upon a cushion of black silk, a crucifix near, and the psalter\nbefore it, open at the service for the departed. After a profound\nsilence for about the space of half an hour, Dee looked towards his\nvisitor as if expecting that he should begin. The seer threw off his\nupper garment, and kneeling down, clad only in a short tunic of gray\ncloth, without ruff or belt, he betook himself, though with some\nagitation, to the repeating of a few short Latin prayers, intermingled\nwith cabalistical jargon, and scraps of some unknown and uncouth tongue.\nThe Doctor gave special heed thereto, hearkening as though not\nover-credulous in the boasted skill of his visitor. Presently the latter\nput his face close to the stone, binding it before his eyes with a white\nnapkin, his head still resting on the table. Dee asked him softly, \"What\nseest thou?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" said Bartholomew.\n\n\"Is the curtain not yet visible in the stone?\"\n\n\"I cannot even see the curtain,\" replied the seer; \"for all is dark.\"\n\nThen Dee began to pray earnestly that some of his former friends might\nappear, whom he called by many outlandish names, such as _Ave, Nalvage,\nMadini_, and others. Immediately Bartholomew cried out--\n\n\"I see a glimmer!--Soft!\"\n\nThe Doctor scarcely durst breathe, fearing to interrupt the opening of\nthe vision.\n\n\"I see a golden curtain, partly drawn aside.\"\n\n\"The charge beginneth to work,\" said Dee. \"'Tis the very appearance that\nwas always vouchsafed to Kelly ere the spirits showed themselves in the\nglass. Note well what thou seest.\"\n\n\"There appeareth a white cloud, as a curdly vapour wreathing itself\nabout a pillar of burning brass, but no creature is visible.--I hear a\nvoice!\"\n\n\"Mark the words and repeat them steadily,\" said the Doctor, who drew\nnearer that he might hear the purport of the revelation.\n\n\"_Sanctum signatum et ad tempus_,\" said the voice.\n\n\"The sense of this may be understood diversely. By which sense may we be\nguided?\" said Dee, as though speaking to some invisible thing within the\nglass. Presently the seer again repeated--\n\n\"'_Sanctum, quia hoc velle suum; sigillatum, quid determinatum ad\ntempus_;' the voice ceaseth:--but these be hard speeches, Master Dee. I\nhear again, '_Ad tempus et ad tempus (inquam) quia rerum\nconsummatio_--_All things are at hand_--\n\n    \"'_The seat is prepared.\n    Justice hath determined.\n    The time is short_.'\"\n\n\"Seest thou no creature?\" anxiously inquired the Doctor.\n\n\"None. But the pillar openeth as though it were cleft. Now a woman\ncometh forth out of the pedestal, covered with a cloud. I can see her\nface dimly at times through this veil, which seemeth to pass over as a\nthin cloud before the dazzling sun. She standeth as though in a hollow\nshell, glistening with such fair colours that no earthly brightness may\nbe comparable to it. She now seemeth to wrap the air about her as a\ngarment. She entereth into a thick cloud and disappears. There now\ncometh one like unto a little girl, her hair turned up before, and\nflowing behind in long and bright curls. Her raiment sparkles like unto\nchangeable silk, green and red.\"\n\n\"'Tis _Madini_,\" said Dee, with great delight. \"Note well what she\nsayeth, for she is my good angel.\"\n\n\"She sitteth down. Her lips move as though she were speaking, but I hear\nnothing.\"\n\n\"I will speak to her,\" said Dee; \"for she will answer me through thy\nministry, if it really be Madini. Art thou Madini, that has appeared to\nme beforetime?\"\n\n\"I think she answereth,'Yes.' But her voice is very feeble.\"\n\n\"I would thou shouldest resolve me three things,\" said the Doctor, again\naddressing himself towards the glass. \"To wit--Whereto shall I direct my\njourney, and how shall I cause it to prosper? Secondly, I would speedily\nbe instructed in that great and heavenly mystery, the powder of\nprojection, which I have been oft promised, but never understood aright\nby reason of my feeble apprehensions, or inability to accomplish the\ngrand and sublime arcanum. Thirdly, How may I find the treasure which\nwas shown to me in a dream three several times; but where it is hidden\nis withheld from me?\"\n\n\"She says she will answer so far as the will of him that sent her will\npermit; but she hath a short continuance, and her answer must be brief.\nWith respect to the country, make thine own choice, and thou shalt be\ndirected in it for thy good. The other questions she says she cannot\nsolve, but will send one of the seven who bear rule over the seals of\nthe metals and their matrix. She hath departed, yet I saw her not. She\nwent like a sudden stroke of light; and now there cometh a man clad in\nsober apparel, with an inkhorn at his girdle. He holdeth a pen, as\nthough he would write, but his face is veiled.\"\n\n\"'Tis a motion that I should bring my tablets,\" said the Doctor.\n\n\"Now he is writing,\" continued the seer. \"He showeth me a roll of\nparchment. But the glass becometh dim, and I think that evil spirits are\ntroubling us, for the whole seems to waver, like the glowing air over\nthe furnace.\"\n\nThe Doctor now fell to his prayers, when Bartholomew assured him the\nglass grew brighter, gradually becoming still, like the subsiding of\nwaves after some accidental disturbance. He could now see the writing\ndistinctly, and the veil was also removed.\n\n\"Give me the words to the very letter,\" said Dee earnestly, as he\nprepared to write.\n\n\"It runs thus:--'The most noble and divine magister; the beginning and\ncontinuation of life. Watch well, and gather him so at the highest; for\nin one hour he descendeth or ascendeth from the purpose.\n\n\"'_Take common Audcal, purge and work it by Rlodnr, of four divers\ndigestions, continuing the last digestion for fourteen days in one and a\nswift proportion, until it be Dlasod fixed, a most red and luminous\nbody, the image of resurrection. Take also Lulo of Red Roxtan, and work\nhim through the four fiery degrees, until thou have his Audcal, and then\ngather him. Then double every degree of your Rlodnr, and by the law of\nmixture and conjunction work them diligently together. Notwithstanding\nbackward through every degree, multiply the lower and last Rlodnr, his\ndue office finished by one degree more than the highest. So doth it\nbecome Darr, the thing you seek for; a holy, just, glorious, red, and\ndignified Dlasod_.'\"\n\n\"Methinks I have heard this before,\" said Dee, \"and understood it not. I\nam truly in great perplexity for want of money; but still I understand\nnot the purport of these symbols, the which, I beseech thee, now\nvouchsafe to thine unworthy servant.\"\n\n\"'See thou take the season,'\" said the voice, \"'and get her while it is\nyet time. If ye let the harvest pass, ye shall desire to gather and\nshall not be able.'\"\n\n\"Take pity on mine infirmities, and make it plain,\" supplicated the\nDoctor, who now began to fear the usual evasions and disappointments.\n\n\"'Before I go,'\" replied the vision, \"'I will not be hidden from thee.\nRead thy lesson.'\"\n\n\"I read, '_Take common Audcal_' and so on.\"\n\n\"'What is Audcal?' inquireth the spirit.\"\n\n\"Alas! I know not; but thou knowest.\"\n\n\"'It is gold, and Dlasod is sulphur.'\"\n\n\"Take also, it says, Lulo of Red Roxtan.\"\n\n\"'Roxtan is pure and simple wine in herself, and Lulo is her mother.'\"\n\n\"There is yet in these words no slight ambiguity.\"\n\n\"'Lulo is tartar of red wine, and Audcal is his mercury. Darr, in the\nangelical tongue, is the true name of the stone.'\"\n\n\"He said before that Audcal was gold,\" said Dee, addressing the seer.\n\n\"Be thankful,\" replied Bartholomew, \"and keep what thou hast received.\"\n\nThe Doctor was for the present satisfied; but a little reflection\nafterwards, and another trial, left him as ignorant and as poor as ever.\n\nHe now returned thanks in the Latin tongue, it being his general custom\nat the end of each revelation, or motion, as it was called.\n\n\"_Deo nostro omnipotenti sit omnis Laus, Honor, Gloria, et Jubilatio.\"_\nUnto which the seer responded, \"Amen.\"\n\n\"Now for the third question.\"\n\n\"He goeth to one side,\" said Bartholomew, \"and the curtain hideth him.\nNow he returneth, leading an old man blindfolded, who answereth him in\nmanner following, as though to questions put by the first:--'It is\nwithin, and by a garden belonging to the new lodge in Aldport Park. It\nis in three parts or places.' He now seems to pause. Again he\nspeaks--'Many roots and trees do hinder the gathering of it; but if he\nbe wise, and understand these things, he may obtain his pleasure. One\npart was laid by Sir James Stanley, the warden, an hundred years ago.\nAnother portion was hidden by an aged nun. The remainder was left by the\nRomans, and may be found under the foundations of the castle in the\npark. The time is short, and the treasure guarded; but he shall\novercome. Listen:--'_Nine with twice seven northerly, and_ ACER _shall\ndisappear. The mystical number added to the number enfolding itself;\nthis shall be added to its own towards the rising sun. Then turn\nhalf-round, and note well thy right foot. What thou seest gather, and it\nshall lead thee on to perfection_'\"\n\n\"Ask him the amount or worth of the treasure,\" said Dee, whose cupidity\ngloated over the bare thoughts of this vast hoard.\n\n\"He says, it is 'two thousand and a half, besides odd money.'\"\n\n\"How? In gold or silver?\"\n\n\"'More than three parts thereof are in gold.'\"\n\n\"Most humbly and heartily do I thank thee, oh\"----\n\nDee was opening out another form of thanksgiving, when the seer\ninterrupted his hypocritical and blasphemous addresses.\n\n\"The old man goeth aside, groping his way as though it were dark. Now\nall is dim, and the curtain covereth the stone, by which we are warned\nto retire.\"\n\nThe needful and concluding ceremonies being gone through, the crystal\nwas returned to its place. After pondering awhile, the Doctor put many\nquestions to his guest about his residence, worldly calling, and so\nforth. He offered him L50 yearly, besides lodging, and a fair proportion\nof gold when the celestial and highest projection should be completed.\nBartholomew was not hard at making a bargain, and the Doctor began to\nhope that, by a patient waiting and trust in the efficacy of these\nstrange delusions, he should at length accomplish his desires.\n\nA low tap at the door again betokened the presence of Lettice, who came\nto announce a warm friend of the Doctor's, one Master Eccleston. On\nbeing admitted, the latter brought with him a low, ferret-eyed\npersonage, whose leering aspect betrayed an inward consciousness of\ngreat cunning and self-satisfaction therewith. Dee received his guests\nwith becoming dignity, inquiring to what good fortune he was indebted\nfor their visit.\n\n\"Thou mayest remain, Hickman,\" said he to his new acquaintance.\n\nEccleston proceeded to business as follows:--\n\n\"You may readily remember that I once happened a sore mischance--to wit,\nby losing a horse I had but lately bought, and which, through your good\noffices, kindly and without fee administered, I again got back, to my\ngreat joy and comfort. I was telling of this but few days agone to a\nfriend of mine, one Barnabas Hardcastle, whom I have made bold to bring\nbefore your reverence. He but laughed at me for my pains, and would in\nno wise believe it, but mark how he was served! Within this hour, he\ntells me that he has lost his mare, and would fain have the like help to\nits recovery.\"\n\n\"Hast thou lost thy beast?\" inquired the Doctor.\n\n\"Verily I have,\" said Barnabas, making a respectful acknowledgment to\nthe Doctor's dignified address. \"It was but this morning she was safe as\nMancastle is in the dirt, hard by Mr Lever's house yonder, in the\nfields. 'Tis a grievous loss, Master Dee, seeing that I was offered a\nscore of pounds for the beast last Martinmas.\"\n\nThe Doctor opened his tables, and erected a scheme or figure of the\nheavens, to the very minute when this communication was made. Ere it was\nfinished he gave a sharp and shrewd glance at the stranger, saying--\n\n\"The latter part of the sign Scorpio ascendeth, and it is not safe to\ngive judgment. Mars, lord thereof, is in evil aspect with Venus, lady of\nthe seventh and sixth likewise, or house of servants. Yet is Mercury\nlord of the tenth, and free from affliction. I will therefore try my\nskill, though I should fail. The beast thou lackest is either taken by a\nservant or lost through his neglect. Stay. The Dragon's Tail, which I\nhave just placed, being located in the seventh, thy mare is certainly\nlost, and will never be recovered.\"\n\nDee looked earnestly at the man, who, gathering his features into a grin\nof contempt, could scarcely refrain from an unmannerly burst of\nlaughter.\n\n\"Now, o' my troth,\" said he, \"I was but minded to try the skill of your\nprophet, and to show your folly. The roan mare is safe, and I left her\nbut an hour ago with my lad, who is walking her to and fro just out of\nthe town-fields by Withy Grove, until I have done mine errand.\"\n\n\"Thou art a bold man to say so,\" replied the Doctor angrily, and with a\nglance as though it were meant to annihilate this contemner of the\ncelestial art. \"I tell thee she is lost, and shall never be got back: a\nreward thou hast well earned for thy folly.\"\n\nWith a scornful and malicious grin did Master Barnabas receive this\ndenunciation, taking his departure with little ceremony, as if fearful\nof some mischance. Eccleston, much scandalised at his friend's\nproceedings, followed him down-stairs, not caring to stay longer with\nthe Doctor.\n\nAs Bartholomew and he sate discoursing on the future, and forming many\nprojects, more particularly about the hidden treasures, without which,\nDee said, he could not continue his search for the elixir, as he was\nnigh beggared, they heard a swift footstep on the stairs. Presently in\nrushed Eccleston followed by Lettice, who strove to prevent this\nintrusion. The Doctor frowned on his entrance, but, Eccleston,\nbreathless and much agitated, could with difficulty declare his errand.\n\n\"Hardcastle--Hardcastle--I say. He has lost his beast.\"\n\n\"Why, I told him so,\" said the Doctor, with great composure.\n\n\"But he _has_ lost her!\"\n\n\"I know it,\" replied Dee.\n\n\"I have just left him in great anger, swearing by things both visible\nand invisible that he will have his own again; that we are confederate\nin the matter: and that he will cite us both before the chapter or the\nStar-Chamber.\"\n\n\"How hath it happened?\" said Dee, scrawling listlessly with his pen.\n\n\"I went with him to the boy, thinking I would see the end on't. By the\nway he did use many taunts and ill-natured speeches about my pursuit\nafter the great arcanum, and belief in the celestial sciences; together\nwith many unpleasant hints that the money we have expended in the\nadventure will never be got back. Discoursing thus, we came near to the\nplace where he expected to find the boy. Sure enough he was there, and\nfast asleep on the ground; but the mare was gone, the bridle being left\non the lad's arm, which his master banged about his shoulders until he\nawaked. Pray, Master Dee, be pleased to help him to his mare. I owe him\nmoneys, for which he, taking advantage of the debt, may put me in\nprison.\"\n\n\"The scoffer shall not go unpunished, nor shall he that revileth partake\nof the blessing. Go thy way, and tell him he may not recover his goods.\"\n\nEccleston departed with this heavy message, and Bartholomew was again\nleft communing with the Doctor.\n\nThe matter that still occupied their thoughts was the treasure at\nAldport Lodge. With this in their possession they might reasonably\nexpect that great progress would be made in their search for the\nphilosopher's stone and the vivifying elixir. These important articles\nobtained, the hidden secrets of nature would be at their command, and\ntheir schemes and wishes might then be pursued with the certainty of\nsuccess. The night but one following, at the precise time when the moon\ncame to a trine aspect with Saturn and Jupiter, was appointed for the\ndiscovery. The hour of Saturn commenced five minutes before midnight,\nand the heavenly influences were then singularly disposed in favour of\ntheir undertaking.\n\nWith dazzling anticipations of future prosperity and success they\nseparated: one to indulge in dreams so chimerical and vast that even\nFancy herself drew back, dazzled with her own brightness; the other to\nan obscure lodging in the Old Millgate, where he committed himself to\nthe keeping of a straw pallet and a coverlet of which the rats had for\nsome time before held undisputed possession.\n\nThe night fixed upon for their search proved drizzling and misty.\nBartholomew, wrapped in a thick cloak, sallied out of a low postern\ntowards the college. The path was more dangerous and uneven than at\npresent, and many a grim witness of good-fellowship with his clay had\nthe red cloth hose of Master Bartholomew Hickman ere he arrived at the\narched doorway which admitted him into Dee's lodging. We have no means\nof ascertaining with any degree of certainty the musings and ruminations\nof the seer in his progress, not having the power, or skill it may be,\nlike unto many profound and praiseworthy historians, who can portray the\nform and colour of the mind as well as the cut and capacity of the\ndoublet. Suffice it to say, that he was so fully occupied in conning\nover his errand as not to be aware that a certain malicious personage\nwas dodging his steps--to wit, our worthy owner of the mare, Barnabas\nHardcastle, who kept a strict watch about the premises, hoping to find\nsome clue to the discovery of his beast.\n\nAn hour elapsed ere they came forth; the Doctor bearing a covered light,\nand after him the little spare form of Bartholomew Hickham, carrying\nunder his cloak sundry implements for the search.\n\nPassing through the churchyard, they turned into the Dean's Gate,\ncreeping near the houses, whose overhanging gables poured down a copious\nshower from their dripping eaves. The streets echoed but to the tread of\nthese adventurers, and to the howl of a solitary watch-dog roused by\ntheir approach. They passed the gate without difficulty; the Doctor was\nsupposed to have been called forth on clerical duties, and the porter\naccordingly permitted their egress, merely inquiring the probable time\nof their return.\n\nA few straggling houses were built nigh to the ditch and outworks;\nbeyond these the way was open towards the park. Here they arrived in due\ntime, entering in by a side wicket, which led them round to the back\npart of the house by the gardens.\n\nThe proprietorship of the Lodge had latterly fallen to the lot of Edward\nMosley, by a deed of partition between his brother Oswald Mosley and\nhimself, a mercer of great note in Manchester, one Adam Smythe; these\nparties having purchased, jointly, the lands of Nether and Over Aldport\nfrom Thomas Rowe of Hartford, who had them of Sir Randle Brereton, the\nnext purchaser from William, Earl of Derby. The house and grounds, about\nninety-five acres, of Nether and Over Aldport, formerly belonged to the\nwarden of the college for the time being, and were held, by a rent of\nfour marks per annum only, from the Lord de la Warre. It was enjoyed\nuninterruptedly by them until the dissolution of this community in the\nfirst of Edward VI., when it was granted to the Earl of Derby along\nwith the rest of the college lands.\n\nElizabeth, however, in the twenty-first year of her reign, granted a new\nfoundation to the college: but the Earl of Derby, who still kept\npossession of the college-house and some portion of the lands, suffered\nthe warden and ministers for some time to lodge there.\n\nThe house at Aldport was moated round, and a drawbridge stood before the\nmain entrance. The mansion was built of timber and plaster, with huge\nprojecting stone chimneys, gable ends, and deep casements--a fitting\nresidence in those days for rank and nobility.\n\nOutside the moat was an extensive garden, laid out in a sumptuous style,\nbeyond which appeared a mound of considerable elevation and extent, the\nsite of Mancastle, famous in history as one of the strongholds of the\nRomans, some account of which may be found in the legend of \"Sir\nTarquin.\"\n\n\"I have been thinking,\" said Dee, after being silent for a space, \"that\nno savour of dishonesty can attach to our appropriation of this great\ntreasure, seeing the house and all this fair and goodly inheritance did\nonce appertain to the wardens of our college, of which patrimony we have\nbeen most unjustly deprived by the statute of King Edward. My gracious\nmistress, our Queen, not having reinstated me into this my lawful\npossession, I have made bold to remind her Majesty of our wrongs, and to\nsupplicate her clemency thereupon.\"\n\nBartholomew felt fully satisfied of the right they had to these spoils,\nhis conscience being easily quieted on the score of appropriation.\n\n\"The rain becomes heavier, and it is more chill and showery than before.\nThe mist, too, is driving north-east,\" said the Doctor. \"The clouds are\ncumbrous and broken, coiling, as they roll, into huge masses that will\nere long bring some of the dark Atlantic on their tails. Seest thou not,\nBartholomew, as though it were a grim pile of hills on the horizon?\"\n\n\"I see as it might be a heavy wall of clouds gathering about us; and I\nthink the wind comes on more fitful and squally. These heavy lunges\nbetoken an angry and vicious humour in the air that will not be long in\nbursting.\"\n\n\"We shall have it about our ears speedily. We must to work while it is\nyet a-brewing below.\"\n\nThe dark pointed roofs and chimneys of the Lodge might be distinguished\nin grotesque masses, changeless and unvarying, against the ever-shifting\ndarkness of the sky. A pale star sometimes looked out as if by stealth,\nbut was obscured almost ere its brightness could be developed. The wind,\nas it rushed by, broke into short and irregular gusts, like scouts from\nthe main body, betokening its approach. The rain had ceased, save a few\nhasty drops at intervals plashing heavily on the moat.\n\n\"What is that?\" said Bartholomew in a whisper, pointing to the water. A\nlight had glanced on its surface, and as suddenly had it disappeared.\n\n\"Again!\" Dee smiled as he looked upwards to a star just twinkling\nthrough the cloud. Like some benignant spirit, as it alighted on the\ndark bosom of the moat, the short sharp gust fluttering over, it seemed\nto hover there for a while ere it departed.\n\nTurning out of the path, they approached a thick yew-tree flanking one\ncorner of the garden.\n\n\"I think we may climb here, Master Dee, with little risk;--there seems a\nfair gap beside its trunk.\"\n\nThey scrambled up a high bank, thrusting themselves, with some\ndifficulty, through the opening. The Doctor now, looking round, began to\nrecite his instructions:--\"'_Nine with twice seven northerly, and_ ACER,\n_shall disappear. The mystical number added to the number enfolding\nitself. This shall be added to its own, towards the rising of the sun.\nThen turn half-round, and note well thy right foot;--what thou seest\ngather, and it shall lead thee on to perfection_.' Good; but from what\npoint shall we begin to count?\" said the divine, in great perplexity.\n\n\"I know not,\" said Bartholomew, \"unless it be from the sycamore tree at\nthe opposite corner yonder by the old wall.\"\n\n\"Thou knowest the ground hereabout?\" said the Doctor hastily.\n\n\"Peradventure I may,\" replied the other. \"Being told aforetime of\ntreasure that was hidden, I have wandered often, at odd times, round the\ngarden.\"\n\n\"Lead the way, then; it may be this same Acer is the tree of which thou\nspeakest. Time passes, and I would not miss this lucky hour for all my\nhopes of preferment.\"\n\nPreceded by his guide, the Doctor soon came within range of a noble\nsycamore that threw out its huge branches in all the pride of a long and\nundisturbed occupation.\n\n\"'Nine with twice seven northerly, and Acer shall disappear.' Shall I\nstride the ground so many steps, or is there a mystic and hidden\nsignification couched in these numbers?\"\n\n\"I know not,\" said Bartholomew; \"but we had best make the trial.\"\n\nThe Doctor, with great earnestness, began to stride out the number\nnortherly, but the sycamore did not disappear; its long bare boughs were\nstill seen throwing out their leafless and haggard extremities against\nthe lowering sky.\n\nThey now took counsel, when Bartholomew suggested that, as numbers were\noften used symbolically, they must look elsewhere for a solution. It\nmight be the exact number of trees lying between the great sycamore and\nthe place signified. \"And there they be,\" said the seer, pointing to a\ngoodly row of small twigs newly planted. \"Now count them northerly,\nbeginning as at first.\"\n\nThis being done, the Doctor was greatly comforted on finding himself\nfairly soused up to the knees in a deep ditch or drain, from whence all\nappearance of the sycamore was effectually excluded.\n\n\"Now,\" said the adept, still standing as before, \"the mystical number,\nwhich is three, added to the most excellent number, which I take to be\nthree times three, or the number enfolding itself, will make twelve; but\nthere be no trees eastward, or towards the rising sun.\"\n\n\"Then try the steps once more,\" said Bartholomew, \"and take heed they\nare of the right length,--proper easy-going steps. Stay, I will count\nthem myself.\"\n\nLeaving his companion in the ditch, the seer counted forth his number\nwith due care, halting at the last step.\n\n\"Now stand in my place, turn half-round, and gather from thy right\nfoot.\"\n\nDee, having cleared the bog, placed himself in the required position.\nStooping down, he groped diligently by his right foot, but was aware of\nnothing but a crabbed stump, that resisted every attempt they could use\nfor its dislodgment.\n\n\"Bring the mattock,\" said the Doctor, cautiously uncovering the light.\nBut though Bartholomew tugged with great energy, the Doctor helping, it\nwas to little purpose, for the stump was immovable.\n\n\"We had best try the probe.\" Saying this, the warder drew forth an\ninstrument in shape something like unto a large auger. He could by this\nmeans easily ascertain if anything hard were below, or any symptons of\nconcealed treasure. As they were thus engaged a hollow voice, to their\nterrified apprehensions issuing from the ground, cried out--\n\n\"Hold!\"\n\nThe treasure-hunters came to a full pause. The wind and rain at the same\ntime beat so heavily they could not ascertain the sequel to this\ninjunction.\n\n\"'Tis Nargal, the spirit who guards hidden treasures,\" said Dee: \"we can\napproach him only by prayers and fumigations.\"\n\n\"Then must we return?\" said Bartholomew, apparently unwilling to desist.\n\n\"Hark!\" said the Doctor, listening.\n\nThey heard a moan, as that of some one in great pain. Presently a faint\nshriek stole through a pause in the blast.\n\n\"'Tis like the groan of a mandrake,\" he continued: \"they do ever lament\nand bewail thus when gathered. I doubt not but this tree is of that\naccursed nature.\"\n\nAgain the voice was articulate.\n\n\"To-morrow thou mayest return at this hour; but I will not yield my\ntreasure save thou bring me gold!\"\n\n\"Who art thou?\"\n\n\"I am the guardian of the treasure; and\n\n    \"Gold I have. Bring gold with thee;\n    Or thou shalt get no gold from me.\"\n\n\"What is thy demand?\" inquired Dee, in a hollow voice, like that of an\nexorcist.\n\n\"Prop thy purse with fifty nobles;--then dig, and I will tell thee.\"\n\nThe two worthies were somewhat startled at this demand. It was more than\ntheir joint forces could muster. Yet two thousand and more broad pieces,\nbesides other valuables, which lay there for the gathering, was too\nprofitable a return to make them easily give up the adventure.\nAccordingly, after some further questions which the demon as resolutely\nrefused to answer, they departed, first replacing the earth and other\nmatters they had disturbed, in their former position.\n\nEarly on the following morning the eager divine applied to his friend\nEccleston for another loan, assuring him it was the last; while from the\nproduce of the treasure he would be enabled to pay his former advances,\nwith a copious interest thereon. The needy expectant was loath to\nfurnish him with another supply, though in the end he was prevailed on\nto borrow from his friends, at an exorbitant interest, for one day only.\n\nThis important preliminary being arranged, the night was anxiously\nawaited, and though more than usually tardy in its approach, twilight at\nlength threw her mantle of grey over the world's cares and perplexities,\nand night, that universal coverlet of all things, whether good or evil,\ndid wrap them gently about.\n\nAnd a night of more loveliness and lustre never was unveiled to the eye\nof mortals.\n\nThe stars were walking in brightness--so clear and sparkling that each\nseemed a ray or an emblem of that ineffably glorious Beam whose\nuncreated splendour no eye can see and live. Those bright clusters that\nwe now behold have been the same through all generations, and they have\nseen \"all things that are done under the sun.\" Fixed as the everlasting\nhills, their bounds and their habitation have been unchanged. The same\nlights were in the heavens when Abraham looked up from the plains of\nMamre, as now when the Arab and the Ishmaelite are in the desert. The\nbands of Orion are not loosed, nor the sweet influences of the Pleiades\nunbound. The same glittering groups which the patriarch beheld beam\nnightly on our tabernacles. They have shone upon the world's heroes and\nthe world's demigods--bright links in the oblivion of ages. And the\nnumerous hosts we gaze upon will present the same glowing and immutable\nforms to cheer and gladden the eyes and hearts of coming generations.\n\nSome feeling of this nature was probably rising in the Doctor's bosom as\nthey once more took the open path to Aldport, and he looked on the wide\nhemisphere about him--the heavens, with their glowing constellations,\nall spread out without an obscurity or an obstruction. He felt for one\nmoment the folly and futility of earthly things, and his heart seemed to\nwither in the immensity into which it was plunged.\n\nIt was like a faint glimpse of eternity, and he shrunk back from the\nabyss, all his own vast world of thought, feeling, and desire, lost in\nthat immeasurable space. But the dazzling dream of ambition again passed\nbefore him. The portals of universal empire and immortality were thrown\nopen. He drove back the unwelcome intruder, but the phantom he pursued\nagain fluttered from his grasp.\n\nThey had marked the spot on their former visit, and Dee, with the fifty\ngold pieces in his purse, Bartholomew Hickman acting as chief workman,\nbegan his unholy proceedings: not, however, without some fear of the\ndemon whom these moneys were to propitiate. Bartholomew laboured with\ngreat diligence, but the earth was much easier to remove than before,\nand the old stump soon gave way, making but a slight resistance. This\nwas attributed to some charm wrought by the treasure they carried, and\nwas looked upon as a favourable omen--an unloosing of the fetters which\nguarded the deposit. Every spadeful of earth was carefully examined, and\nthe probe thrust down anxiously and with great caution. About a yard in\ndepth had been taken away when the spade struck upon something hard. The\nstrokes were redoubled, and a narrow flag appeared. Raising this\nobstacle they beheld a wooden coffer. Dee sung out a Latin prayer as\nusual; for he failed not to pour out his thanks with great fervour for\nany selfish indulgence that fell in his way, or, as he imagined, was\ngranted to him by the special favour of Heaven.\n\n\"There,\" said Bartholomew, raising the box, which from its weight and\ncapacity promised a rich reward, \"I think we have now what will season\nour labours well. What think you, Master Dee?\"\n\nBut the Doctor was absorbed in visions of future greatness, now bursting\non him with a glory and rapidity almost painful to contemplate. He\nseized the shrine, scarcely giving his helpmate time to fill up and\nconceal their depredations.\n\n\"But the fifty pieces--have you got them safe?\" inquired Bartholomew.\n\n\"They are in my pouch. I do think the demon hath forgotten to demand\nthem.\"\n\n\"Fear not, he will be ready enough to ask for his own. What comes o'er\nthe devil's back will sooner or later go under his belly!\"\n\n\"Let us pack and begone,\" said the Doctor, fearful of losing his\ntreasure.\n\nThe box was presently swung over the seer's shoulders, Dee following to\nkeep all safe, though not without many apprehensions and misgivings of\nheart. He feared lest the spirit might appear again for his own; or, at\nleast, for the fifty pieces of gold, which were his right.\n\nJust as they came to the gap by the yew-tree, and Bartholomew was\nresting against the trunk, a voice from behind them shouted--\n\n\"Stop!--What make ye here, ye villains?\"\n\nDee turned round and the light flashed upon two armed men, masked, who\nevidently came towards them with no friendly intent.\n\n\"Put down that box,\" said the foremost.\n\nBartholomew was proceeding to surrender at discretion, but Dee first\ninquired their errand.\n\n\"We can tell ye that in a twinkling,\" said the malicious intruders,\n\"after we have stepped up to the lodge, and given them a pretty guess at\nthe quality of the knaves who be robbing of their garden. Nay, Doctor,\nwe take no excuse, unless we take our share of the spoil with it. To\nwork, or ye budge not hence without discovery.\"\n\nThis was a provoking interruption--their all depended on a favourable\nissue to this adventure. Dee therefore offered terms of capitulation as\nfollows:--\n\n\"I'll give you five-and-twenty gold pieces on the spot if ye will let us\npass.\"\n\n\"Five-and-twenty!--why, that box may hold five-and-twenty hundred,\" said\nthe freebooter with a whistle, by way of derision.\n\n\"Perhaps not,\" said the Doctor, warily; \"it is not yet tried, and may\nnot be opened here without risk. Come to my lodgings to-morrow, and we\nwill share in the product.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" returned the rogue, sharply, \"a pullet in the pen is worth a\nhundred in the fen. Come, we will deal kindly with thee: give us fifty,\nand pass on.\"\n\nDee willingly opened his pouch, and threw the gold into the fellow's\ngreasy cap, which he held out for the purpose. Immediately they took to\ntheir heels and departed.\n\n\"The demon was more kind, and of a different nature from those that do\ngenerally haunt these hidden treasures,\" said the Doctor, as he trudged\nalong, following closely at Bartholomew's heels. \"If he had not warned\nme to bring the gold, these thieves must needs have opened the box. Had\nthey seen the vast hoard which it contains I should not have been\nreleased for thrice the sum.\"\n\nWith mutual congratulations on their good fortune, and many pious\nthanksgivings on the part of Dee, they arrived, without farther\nmolestation, at the college, where Lettice was ill-humouredly awaiting\ntheir return.\n\nBartholomew threw down his burden in the study, where the Doctor,\ncautiously guarding against intrusion, wrenched open the chest. His rage\nand agony may be conceived when he found the treasure transformed into a\nheap of stones, bearing the following malicious doggerel on their\nfront:--\n\n    \"My mare is lost, but I've the gold;\n    My mare is better lost than sold.\n    Full fifty pieces, broad and bright,\n    My bullies bring me home to-night.\n    My trap is baited!--Springs it well,\n    I get the kernel, thou the shell!\n\n\"From thy loving,\n\n\"BARNABUS HARDCASTLE, _Armiger_.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[19] \"Johan Glaston,\" vol. ii. fol. 535.\n\n[20] _Vide_ Casaubon's folio concerning Dee's intercourse with spirits.\n\n[21] Casaubon.\n\n[Illustration: THE SEER.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEER.\n\n\n      \"_Petruchio_. Pray, have you not a daughter\n    Call'd Katharina, fair and virtuous?\n      _Baptista_. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katharina,\"\n\n_Taming of the Shrew, Act II. Scene_ I.\n\n    \"What sudden chance is this, quoth he,\n    That I to love must subject be,\n    Which never thereto would agree,\n      But still did it defie?\"\n\n_King Cophetua and the Beggar-maid._\n\n    \"Yet she was coy, and would not believe\n      That he did love her so;\n    No, nor at any time would she\n      _Any countenance to him show_.\"\n\n_The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington_.\n\nThe wonderful exploits of Edward Kelly, one of which is recorded in the\nfollowing narrative, would, if collected, fill a volume of no ordinary\ndimensions. He was for a considerable time the companion and associate\nof John Dee, by courtesy called Doctor, from his great acquirements,\nperforming for him the office of seer, a faculty not possessed by Dee,\nwho was in consequence obliged to have recourse to Kelly for the\nrevelations he has published respecting the world of spirits. These\ncurious transactions may be found in Casaubon's work, entitled \"A true\nand faithful Relation of what passed for many Years between Dr John Dee\nand some Spirits,\"--opening out another dark page in the history of\nimposture and credulity. Dee says that he was brought into unison with\nKelly by the mediation of the angel Uriel. Afterwards he found himself\ndeceived by him in his opinion that these spirits, which ministered unto\nhim, were messengers of the Deity. They had several quarrels\nbefore-time; but when he found Kelly degenerating into the worst species\nof the magic art for purposes of avarice and fraud, he broke off all\nconnection with him, and would never afterwards be seen in his company.\nKelly, being discountenanced by the Doctor, betook himself to the\nmeanest practices of magic, in all which money and the works of the\ndevil appear to have been his chief aim. Many wicked and abominable\ntransactions are recorded of him. Wever, in his \"Funereal Monuments,\"\nrecords that Kelly, in company with one Paul Waring, who acted with him\nin all his conjurations, went to the churchyard of Walton-le-Dale, near\nPreston, where they had information of a person being interred who was\nsupposed to have hidden a considerable sum of money, and to have died\nwithout disclosing where it was deposited. They entered the churchyard\nexactly at midnight, and having had the grave pointed out in the\npreceding day, they opened it and the coffin, exorcising the spirit of\nthe deceased until it again animated the body, which rose out of the\ngrave and stood upright before them. It not only satisfied their wicked\ndesires, it is said, but delivered several strange predictions\nconcerning persons in the neighbourhood, which were literally and\nexactly fulfilled.\n\nIn \"Lilly's Memoirs\" we have the following account of him:--\n\n\"Kelly outwent the Doctor--viz., about the elixir and philosopher's\nstone, which neither he nor his master attained by their own labour and\nindustry. It was in this manner Kelly obtained it, as I had it related\nfrom an ancient minister, who new the certainty thereof from an old\nEnglish merchant resident in Germany, at what time both Kelly and Dee\nwere there.\n\n\"Dee and Kelly being on the confines of the emperor's dominions, in a\ncity where resided many English merchants, with whom they had much\nfamiliarity, there happened an old friar to come to Dr Dee's lodging,\nknocking at the door. Dee peeped down the stairs:--'Kelly,' says he,\n'tell the old man I am not at home.' Kelly did so. The friar said, 'I\nwill take another time to wait on him.' Some few days after, he came\nagain. Dee ordered Kelly, if it were the same person, to deny him again.\nHe did so; at which the friar was very angry. 'Tell thy master I came to\nspeak with him and to do him good, because he is a great scholar and\nfamous;--but now tell him, he put forth a book, and dedicated it to the\nemperor. It is called '_Monas Hieroglyphicas_.' He understands it not. I\nwrote it myself. I came to instruct him therein, and in some other more\nprofound things. Do thou, Kelly, come along with me; I will make thee\nmore famous than thy master Dee. Kelly was very apprehensive of what the\nfriar delivered, and thereupon suddenly retired from Dee, and wholly\napplied unto the friar, and of him either had the elixir ready made, or\nthe perfect method of its preparation and making. The poor friar lived a\nvery short time after; whether he died a natural death, or was otherwise\npoisoned or made away by Kelly, the merchant who related this did not\ncertainly know.\"\n\nKelly was born at Worcester, and had been an apothecary. He had a sister\nwho lived there for some time after his death, and who used to exhibit\nsome gold made by her brother's projection. \"It was vulgarly reported\nthat he had a compact with the devil, which he outlived, and was seized\nat midnight by infernal spirits, who carried him off in sight of his\nfamily, at the instant he was meditating a mischievous design against\nthe minister of the parish, with whom he was greatly at enmity.\"\n\nIt would have been easy to select a more historical statement of facts\nrespecting Kelly; but the following tale, the events of one day only,\nwill, we hope, be more interesting to the generality of readers. It\nexhibits a curious display of the intrigues and devices by which these\nimpostors acquired an almost unlimited power over the minds of their\nfellow-men. Human credulity once within their grasp, they could wield\nthis tremendous engine at their will, directing it either to good or bad\nintents, but more often to purposes of fraud and self-aggrandisement.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn the ancient and well-thriven town of Manchester formerly dwelt a\nmerchant of good repute, Cornelius Ethelstoun by name. Plain dealing and\nan honest countenance withal, had won for him a character of no ordinary\nrenown. His friezes were the handsomest; his stuffs and camlets were not\nto be sampled in the market, or even throughout the world; insomuch that\nthe courtly dames of Venice, and the cumbrous vrows of Amsterdam and the\nHague, might be seen flaunting in goodly attire gathered from the\nstore-houses of Master Cornelius.\n\nHis coffers glittered with broad ducats, and his cabinets with the\nrarest productions of the East. His warehouses were crammed, even to\nsatiety, and his trestles groaned under heaps of rich velvets, costly\nbrocades, and other profitable returns to his foreign adventures. But,\nalas!--and whose heart holdeth not communion with that word!--Cornelius\nwas unhappy. He had one daughter, whom \"he loved passing well;\" yet, as\ncommon report did acknowledge, the veriest shrew that ever went\nunbridled. In vain did his riches and his revenues increase; in vain was\nplenty poured into his lap, and all that wealth could compass accumulate\nin lavish profusion. Of what avail was this outward and goodly show\nagainst the cruel and wayward temper of his daughter?\n\nKate--by this name we would distinguish her, as veritable historians are\nsilent on her sponsorial appellation--Kate was unhappily fair and\nwell-favoured. Her hair was dark as the raven-plume; but her skin, white\nas the purest statuary marble, grew fairer beneath the black and glossy\nwreaths twining gracefully about her neck. Her cheek was bright as the\nfirst blush of the morning, and ever and anon, as a deeper hue was\nthrown upon its rich but softened radiance, she looked like a vision\nfrom Mahomet's paradise--a being nurtured by a warmer sky and fiercer\nsuns than our cold climate can sustain. She had lovers, but all approach\nwas denied, and, one by one, they stood afar off and gazed. Her pretty\nmouth, lovely even in the proudest glance of petulance and scorn, was so\noftentimes moulded into the same aspect that it grew puckered and\ncontemptuous, rendering her disposition but too manifest; and\nyet--wouldest thou believe it, gentle reader?--she was in love!\n\nNow it so fell out that on the very morning from which we date this\nfirst passage of our history, Cornelius awoke earlier than he was wont.\nHis brow wore an aspect of more than ordinary care. It was but too\nevident that his pillow had been disturbed. Thoughts of more than usual\nperplexity had deprived him of his usual measure of repose. His very\nbeard looked abrupt and agitated; his dress bore marks of indifference\nand haste. A slight, but tremulous movement of the head, in general but\nbarely visible, was now advanced into a decided shake. With a step\nsomewhat nimbler than aforetime, he made, as custom had long rendered\nhabitual, his first visit to the counting-house.\n\nThe unwearied and indefatigable Timothy Dodge sat there, with the same\ncrooked spectacles, and, as it might seem, mending the same pen which\nthe same knife had nibbed for at least half-a-century. The tripod on\nwhich rested this grey Sidrophel of accompts looked of the like hard and\nimpenetrable material, as though it were grown into his similitude,\nforming but a lower adjunct to his person. It was evident they had not\nparted company for the last twenty years. Nature had formed him awry. A\nboss or hump, of considerable elevation, extended like a huge promontory\non one shoulder; from the other depended an arm longer by some inches\nthan its fellow. As it described a greater arc its activity was\nproportionate. His grey and restless eyes followed the merchant's track\nwith unwearied fidelity; yet was he a man full sparing of words--the\never ready \"Anon, master,\" being the chief burden of his replications.\nIt was like the troll of an old ballad--a sort of inveterate drawl\ntripping unwittingly from the tongue.\n\nThe sun was just peeping through the long dim casement as Cornelius\nstepped over the threshold of his sanctuary. In it lay hidden the\nmysteries of many a goodly tome, more precious in his eyes than the\nrarest and richest that Dee's library could boast. No mean value,\ninasmuch as this celebrated scholar and mathematician, who was lately\nappointed warden of the college, had the most costly store of\nbook-furniture that individual ever possessed.\n\n\"Good morrow, Dodge.\"\n\nThe pen was twice nibbed ere the usual rejoinder.\n\n\"Are the camlets arrived from the country?\" inquired the merchant.\n\n\"Anon, master--this forenoon may be.\"\n\n\"Is the accompt against Anthony Hardcastle discharged?\"\n\n\"No,\" ejaculated the grim fixture.\n\n\"And where is the piece of Genoa velvet Dame Margery looked out\nyesterday for her mistress's wedding-suit? I do bethink me it is a good\nell too long at the measure.\"\n\n\"Six ells, three nails, and an odd inch, besides the broad thumbs,\"\nreplied Timothy.\n\n\"Right:--she reckoned on a good snip for waste; but let no more be sent\nthan the embroiderer calls for.\"\n\n\"Not a thread,\" grunted Dodge.\n\nA pause ensued. Some question was evidently hesitating on the merchant's\ntongue. Twice did his lips move, but the word fell unuttered. The affair\nwas, however, finally disposed of as follows:--\n\n\"Hast heard of aught, Timothy, touching the private matter that I\nunfolded yesterday?\" Cornelius put on as careless an aspect as the\ndisquietude of his brow could needs carry, but the inquiry was evidently\none of no ordinary interest. He twisted the points of his doublet, tied\nand untied the silk cords from his ruff, waiting Dodge's answer in a\nposture not much belying the anxiety he wished to conceal.\n\n\"Why, master, an' it were of woman's humours, the old seer himself could\nnot unriddle their pranks.\"\n\nCornelius sighed, making the following hasty reply:--\n\n\"Thinkest thou this same seer could not give me a lift from out my\ntrouble?\"\n\n\"This same seer, I wot,\" replied Dodge, \"is sore perplexed: some evil\nand mischievous aspect doth afflict the horoscope of the nation--Mars\nbeing conjunct with Venus and the Dragon's tail. Now, look to it,\nmaster, it is no light matter that will move him; but almost or ere I\nshowed him the first glimpse of the business he waxed furious, and said\nthat he cared not if all the unwed hussies in Christendom were hung up\nin a row, like rats on a string.\"\n\n\"It is Kate's birthday,\" answered the merchant, \"to-night being the\nfeast of St Bartlemy; but, as thou knowest well, the astrologer that\ncast her figure gave no hope of her amendment should this day pass and\nnever a husband. Who would yoke with a colt untamed? O Timothy! it were\nwell nigh to make an old man weep. I am a withered trunk. Better had I\nbeen childless than have this proud wench to trouble mine house.\"\n\nThe old man here wept, and it was a grievous thing to see his wrinkled\ncheeks become, as it were, but the sluices and channels of his tears.\nTimothy, too, was something moved from his common posture; and once he\nendeavoured to turn, as though he would hide his face from his master's\ntrouble.\n\nHe sought to speak, but an evil and husky sort of humour settled in his\nthroat, and he waited silently the subsiding of the sorrow he could not\nquell.\n\nCornelius raised his head: a sudden thought seemed to animate him. A ray\nhad penetrated the gloomy envelope of his mind; and he peered through\nthe casement intently eyeing the cool atmosphere.\n\n\"I'll visit the cunning man myself, Timothy. If he hear me not, then can\nI but return, weeping as I went.\" And with this speech he hastily\ndeparted.\n\nNow on this, the morrow of St Bartlemy, it so happened that Kate also\narose before the usual hour, and in a mood even more than ordinarily\nstrange and untoward. Her maiden was like to find it a task of no slight\nenterprise, the attempt to adorn Kate's pretty person. Not a garment\nwould fit. She threw the whole furniture of her clothes-press on a heap,\nand stamped on them for very rage. She looked hideous in her brown\nVenice waistcoat; frightful in her orange tiffany farthingale;--absolutely\nunbearable in her black velvet hood, wire ruff, and taffety gown. So\nthat in the end she was nigh going to bed again in the sulks, had not a\njacket of crimson satin, with slashed bodice, embroidered in gold twist,\ntaken her fancy. Her little steel mirror, not always the object of such\ncomplacency, did for once reflect a beam of good humour, which so\nbewitched Kate that for the next five minutes she found herself settling\ninto the best possible temper in the world.\n\n\"Give me my kerchief, lace scarf, and green silk hood, and my petticoat\nwith the border newly purfled. Hark! 'Tis the bell for prayers. Be quick\nwith my pantofles:--not those, wench--the yellow silk with silver\nspangles. Now my rings and crystal bracelets. I would not miss early\nmatins to-day for the best jewel on an alderman's thumb.\"\n\n\"Anon, lady,\" replied her waiting-woman, with a sort of pert affectation\nof meekness. But what should cause Kate to be so wonderfully attentive\nto her devotions was a matter on which Janet could have no suspicions,\nor at least would not dare to show them if she had.\n\nKate, being now attired, tripped forth, accompanied by her maid. As she\npassed the half-closed door of the counting-house, Timothy, with one of\nhis most leaden looks, full of unmeaning, stood edgeways in the opening,\nhis lower side in advance, with the long arm ready for action.\n\n\"Fair mistress, Master Kelly would fain have a token to-day. He hath\nsent you a rare device!\"\n\n\"And what the better shall I be of his mummeries?\" hastily replied the\nlady. Timothy drew from his large leathern purse a curiously-twisted\nribband.\n\n\"He twined this knot for your comfort. Throw it over your left shoulder,\nand it shall write the first letter of your gallant's name. A cypher of\nrare workmanship.\"\n\nKate, apparently in anger, snatched the magic ribband, and, peradventure\nit might be from none other design than to rid herself of the mystical\nlove-knot, but she tossed it from her with an air of great contumely,\nwhen, by some disagreeable and untoward accident, it chanced to fly over\nthe self-same shoulder to which Timothy had referred. He made no reply,\nbut followed the token with his little grey eyes, apparently without any\nsort of aim or concernment. Kate's eyes followed too; but verily it were\na marvellous thing to behold how the ribband shaped itself as it fell,\nand yet to see how she stamped and stormed. Quick as the burst of her\nproud temper she kicked aside the bauble, but not until the curl of the\nletter had been sufficiently manifest. Timothy drew back into his den,\nleaving the fair maid to the indulgence of her humours. But in the end\nKate's wrath was not over-difficult to assuage. With an air somewhat\ndubious and disturbed she hastily thrust the token behind her stomacher\nand departed.\n\nThe merchant's house being nigh unto the market cross, Kate's\nprettily-spangled feet were soon safely conducted over the low\nstepping-stones placed at convenient distances for the transit of\nfoot-passengers through the unpaved streets. Near a sort of style,\nguarding the entrance to the churchyard, rose an immense pile of\nbuildings, cumbrous and uncouth. These were built something in the\nfashion of an inverted pyramid; to wit, the smaller area occupying the\nbasement, and the larger spreading out into the topmost story. As she\nturned the corner of this vast hive of habitation--for many families\nwere located therein--a gay cavalier, sumptuously attired, swept round\nat the same moment. Man and maid stood still for one instant. With\nunpropitious courtesy, an unlucky gust turned aside Kate's veil of real\nFlanders point; and the two innocents, like silly sheep, were staring\ninto each other's eyes without either apology or rebuke. It did seem as\nthough Kate were not without knowledge of the courtly beau: a rich and\nglowing vermilion came across her neck and face, like the gorgeous blush\nof evening upon the cold bosom of a snow-cloud. But the youth eyed her\nwith a cool and deliberate glance, stepping aside carelessly as he\npassed by. She seemed to writhe with some concealed anguish; yet her lip\ncurled proudly, and her bosom heaved, as though striving to throw off,\nwith one last and desperate struggle, the oppression that she endured.\nIn this disturbed and unquiet frame did Kate pass on to her orisons.\n\nIt may be needful to pause for a brief space in our narrative, whilst we\ngive some account of this goodly spark who had so unexpectedly, as it\nmight seem, unfitted the lady for the due exercise of her morning\ndevotions.\n\nHis dress was elegant and becoming, and of the most costly materials.\nHis hat was high and tapering, encircled by a rich band of gold and rare\nstones. It was further ornamented by a black feather, drooping gently\ntowards the left shoulder. The brim was rather narrow; but then a\nprofusion of curls fell from beneath, partly hiding his lace collar of\nbeautiful workmanship and of the newest device. His beard was small and\npointed; and his whiskers displayed that graceful wave peculiar to the\nhigh-bred gallants of the age. His neck was long, and the elegant\ndisposal of his head would have turned giddy the heads of half the dames\nin the Queen's court. He wore a crimson cloak, richly embroidered: this\nwas lined throughout with blue silk, and thrown negligently on one side.\nHis doublet was grey, with slit sleeves; the arm parts, towards the\nshoulder, wide and slashed;--but who shall convey an adequate idea of\nthe brilliant green breeches, tied far below the knee with yellow\nribbands, red cloth hose, and great shoe-roses? For ourselves we own our\nincompetence, and proceed, glancing next at his goodly person. In size\nhe was not tall nor unwieldy, but of a reasonable stature, such as\ndenotes health, activity, and a frame capable of great endurance. He\nstepped proudly along, his very gait indicating superiority.\n\nThe town gallants looked on his person with envy, and on his light\nrapier with mistrust. In sooth, he was a proper man for stealing a\nlady's heart, either in hall or bower. Many had been his victims;--many\nwere then in the last extremities of love. But of him it was currently\nspoken that he had never yet been subjected to its influence.\n\nThere be divers modes of falling into love. Some slip in through means\nof themselves; to wit, from sheer vanity, being never so well pleased as\nwhen they are the objects of admiration. Some from sheer contradiction,\nand from the well-known tendency of extremes to meet. Some, for very\nidlesse; and some for very love. But in none of these modes had the boy\nCupid made arrow-holes through the heart of our illustrious hero; for,\nas we before intimated, no yielding place did seem visible, as the\ncommon discourse testified. How far this report was true the sequel of\nour history will set forth.\n\nNow, this gay gallant being the wonder and admiration of the whole\nplace, many were the unthrifty hours spent in such profitless discourse\nby the wives and daughters of the townsfolk, to the great discomfort and\ndiscredit of their liege lords. He was at present abiding in the\ncollege, where John Dee had apartments distinct from the warden's house,\nalong with his former coadjutor and seer, Edward Kelly. Since the last\nquarrel between these two confederates, they had long been estranged;\nbut Kelly had recently come for a season to visit his old master: when\nthe Doctor returned from Trebona, in Bohemia, whence he had been invited\nback to his own country by Queen Elizabeth, he having received great\nhonours and emoluments from foreign princes. This youth, being son to\nthe governor of the castle at Trebona, was about to travel for his\nimprovement and understanding in foreign manners. At the suit of his\nparents, Dee undertook the charge of his education and safe return.\nSince then young Rodolf had generally resided under Dr Dee's roof, and\naccompanied him on his accession to the wardenship. His accent was\ndecidedly foreign, though he had resided some years in Britain, but not\nsufficiently so for Mancestrian ears to distinguish it from a sort of\nlisping euphuism then fashionable at court and amongst the higher ranks\nof society. An appearance of mystery was connected with his person. His\nbirthplace and condition were not generally divulged, and though of an\nopen and gallant bearing, yet on this head he was not very\ncommunicative. Mystery begets wonder and excitement--a sort of interest\nusually attached to subjects not easily understood. When it emanates\nfrom an object capable of enthralling the affections, this feeling soon\nkindles admiration, and admiration ripens into love. No wonder, then, if\nall tender and compassionate dames were ready to open upon him their\ndread artillery of sighs and glances, and the more especially as it soon\nbegan to be manifest that success was nigh hopeless. The heart\nentrenched, the wearer was impenetrable.\n\nKate's oddly-assorted brain had not failed to run a-rambling at times\nafter the gallant stranger. He had heard much of her beauty, and\nlikewise of her uncertain humours. Each fancied the opposite party\nimpregnable; and this alone, if none other motive had arisen, formed a\nsufficiently strong temptation to begin the attack. Kate was\nparticularly punctual at church, and once or twice he caught an\nequivocating glance towards the warden's seat, and he really did at\ntimes fancy he should like to play at \"_taming the shrew_.\" Kate was\nsure the stranger slighted her. He treated her, and her only, with an\nair of neglect she could not altogether account for, and she was in\nmonth's mind to make the young cavalier crouch at her feet. How this was\nto be contrived could only be guessed at by a woman, and we will not let\nthe reader into all the secrets of Kate's sanctuary. Suffice it to say,\nthat in so harmlessly attempting to beguile her prey into the snare,\nthe lady fell over head and ears into it herself. In a word Kate was in\nlove! And this was the more grievous, inasmuch as her lofty bearing\nhitherto would not allow her to whisper the matter even to her own\nbosom; and the pent-up and smothering flame was making sad havoc with\npoor Kate's repose.\n\nShe had ofttimes suspected the state of her heart; but instead of\nsighing, pining, and twanging her guitar to love-sick ditties, she would\nfly into so violent a rage at her own folly that nothing might quell the\ndisturbance until fairly worn out by its own vehemency. No one suspected\nthe truth--yes, one forsooth--gentle reader, canst thou guess? It was no\nless a personage than our one-shouldered friend Timothy Dodge! How the\ncunning rogue had contrived to get at the secret is more than we dare\ntell. Sure enough he had it; and as certain too that another should be\nprivy to the fact--to wit, Edward Kelly the seer. Dodge was a fitting\ntool for this intriguer, and well able to help him out at a pinch.\n\nAffairs were in this position when our story commenced. Rodolf had\nformidable auxiliaries at hand, had he been disposed to make the attack;\nbut his stay was now short--Kate was petulant and perverse--the siege\nmight be tedious. Just on the verge of relinquishing he met Kate, as we\nhave before seen, going to church. He caught her for the once completely\noff her guard, and the rich blush that ensued set a crowd of odd fancies\njingling through his brain. It was just as the old chimes were ringing\ntheir doleful chant from the steeple, but these hindered not a whit the\nother changes that were set agoing. Not aware of the alteration in his\ncourse, he was much amazed when he found himself striding somewhat\nirreverently down the great aisle of the church, towards the choir, from\nwhence the low chanting of the psalms announced that service was already\nbegun.\n\nIt was the opening of a bright autumnal day. The softened lights\nstreamed playfully athwart the grim and shadowy masses that lay on the\nchequered pavement, like the smiles of infancy sporting on the dark\nbosom of the tomb. The screen formed a rich foreground, in half-shadow,\nbefore the east window. The first beam of the morning, clothed in\ntenfold brightness, burst through the variegated tracery. Prophets,\nsaints, and martyrs shone there, gloriously portrayed in heaven's own\nlight.\n\nRodolf approached the small door leading into the choir,\n\n[Illustration: COLLEGIATE CHURCH, MANCHESTER.\n\n_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\nwhen his vacant eye almost unconsciously alighted on a female form\nkneeling just within the recess. A ray, from her patron saint belike,\ndarting through the eastern oriel, came full upon her dark and glowing\neye. She turned towards the stranger, but in a moment her head was bent\nas lowly as before, and the ray had lost its power. Rodolf suddenly\nretreated. Passing through a side door, he left the church, directing\nhis steps towards the low and dark corridors of the college. Near the\nentrance to his chamber, on a narrow bench, sate a well-caparisoned page\ntuning his lute. His attire was costly, and his raiment all redolent\nwith the most fragrant perfume. This youth, when very young, was sent\nover as the companion, or rather at that time as the playmate of his\nmaster. He was now dignified with the honourable title of page, and his\naffection for Rodolf was unbounded.\n\n\"Boy,\" said the cavalier, something moodily, \"come into the chamber.\nStay--fetch me a sack-posset, prythee. I am oppressed, and weary with my\nmorning's ramble.\"\n\nNow the boy did marvel much at his master's sudden return, but more\nespecially at the great fatigue consequent on that short\ninterval;--knowing, too, that a particularly copious and substantial\nbreakfast had anticipated his departure.\n\n\"And yet, Altdorff, I am not in a mood for much drink. Give us a touch\nof those chords. I feel sad at times, and vapourish.\"\n\nThey entered into a well-furnished apartment. The ceiling was composed\nof cross-beams curiously wrought. On one of these was represented a grim\nhead in the act of devouring a child--which tradition affirmed was the\ngreat giant Tarquin at his morning's repast. The room was fitted up with\ncumbrous elegance. A few pieces of faded tapestry covered one side of\nthe apartment. In a recess stood a tester bed, ornamented with black\nvelvet, together with curtains of black stuff and a figured coverlet. A\nwainscot cupboard displayed its curiously-carved doors, near to which\nhung two pictures, or tables as they were called, representing the fair\nLucretia and Mary Magdalen. A backgammon-board lay on the window-seat;\nthree shining tall-backed, oaken chairs, with a table of the same\nwell-wrought material, and irons beautifully embossed, and a striped\nTurkey rug, formed a sumptuous catalogue, when we consider the manner of\nfurnishing that generally prevailed in those days.\n\nThe page sat on a corner seat beneath the window. He struck a few wild\nchords.\n\n\"Not that--not that, good Altdorff. It bids one linger too much of\nhome-longings.\"\n\nHere the boy's eyes glistened, and a tremulous motion of the lip showed\nhow his heart bounded at the word.\n\n\"Prythee, give us the song thou wast conning yesterday.\"\n\nThe page began with a low prelude, but was again interrupted.\n\n\"Nay, 'tis not thus. Give me that wild love-ditty thou knowest so well.\nI did use to bid thee be silent when thou wouldest have worried mine\nears with it. But in sooth the morning looks so languishing and tender\nthat it constrains the bosom, I verily think, to its own softness.\"\n\nThe page seemed to throw his whole soul into the wild melody which\nfollowed this request. We give it, with a few verbal alterations, as\nfollows:--\n\nSONG.\n\n1.\n\n        Fair star, that beamest\n          In my ladye's bower,\n        Pale ray, that streamest\n          In her lonely tower;\n    Bright cloud, when like the eye of Heaven\n      Floating in depths of azure light,\n        Let me but on her beauty gaze\n      Like ye unchidden. Day and night\n        I'd watch, till no intruding rays\n            Should bless my sight.\n\n2.\n\n        Fond breeze, that rovest\n          Where my ladye strays,\n        Odours thou lovest\n          Wafting to her praise;\n    Lone brook, that with soft music bubblest,\n      Chaining her soul to harmony;\n        Let me but round her presence steal\n      Like ye unseen, a breath I'd be,\n        Content none other joy to feel\n            Than circling thee!\n\n\"In good sooth, thou canst govern the cadence well. Thou hast more skill\nof love than thine age befits. But, mayhap, 'tis thy vocation, boy. Hast\nthou had visitors betimes this morning!\"\n\n\"None, good master, but Kelly.\"\n\n\"What of him?\"\n\n\"Some business that waited your return. I thought you had knowledge of\nthe matter.\"\n\n\"Are there any clients astir so early at his chamber, thinkest thou?\"\n\n\"None, save the rich merchant that dwells hard by, Cornelius\nEthelstoun.\"\n\n\"Cornelius!\" repeated the cavalier, in a disturbed and inquiring\ntone--\"hath he departed?\"\n\n\"Nay, I heard not his footsteps since I watched the old man tapping\nwarily at the prophet's door.\"\n\nRodolf hastily replaced his hat, and his short and impatient rap was\nheard at the seer's chamber.\n\nIt occupied the north-eastern angle of the building, in the gloomiest\npart of the house; overlooking, on one side, a small courtyard,\nbarricadoed by walls and battlements of stout masonry, along which were\nridges of long rank grass waving in all the pride of uncropped\nluxuriance. Another window overlooked the dark-flowing Irk, lazily\nrolling beneath the perpendicular rock on which the college was\nbuilt--the very site of the once formidable station of Mancunium, the\nheart and centre of the Roman power in that vast district.\n\nNo answer being rendered to this hasty summons, Rodolf raised the latch,\nbut marvelled not a little when he beheld the room apparently deserted.\nVoices were, however, heard in the inner apartment. Ere he could well\ndraw back the door slowly opened, nor could he avoid hearing the\nfollowing termination to some weighty conference.\n\n\"An hundred broad pieces--good! Ere night, thou sayest?\"\n\n\"Ere the curfew,\" replied Cornelius.\n\n\"Look thee--'tis but a slender space for mine art to work, and\"--The\nseer, as he uttered this with great solemnity, entered the antechamber.\nThe gallant stood there, just meditating a retreat. A flush of anger and\nconfusion passed for a moment over Kelly's visage. Quickly recovering\nhis self-possession, with a severe aspect, he stood before the intruder.\n\n\"Art come to listen or to watch?\" abruptly interrogated the seer. \"Both\nbe rare accomplishments truly for a youth of thy breeding.\"\n\n\"Nay, good Master Kelly; I came but at thy bidding, and mine ears are\nnot the heavier or the wiser for what they have heard, I trow.\"\n\n\"I thought thee safe at morning prayers.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" replied Rodolf. \"There be too many bright eyes and blushing\ncheeks for the seasoning of a man's devotions.\"\n\n\"Cornelius, thou mayest retire. What mine art can compass shall not be\nlacking at thy need.\"\n\nThe merchant, with a profound obeisance, withdrew. The seer adjusted his\nbeard, carefully brushed the down from his velvet cap, and sate for a\nwhile as if abstracted from all outward intercourse. His keen quick eye\nbecame fixed, its lustre imperceptibly waning. A cloud seemed to pass\ngradually over his sharp features, until their expression was absorbed,\ngiving place to a look of mere lifeless inanity. A spectator might have\nfancied himself gazing at a sage of some remote era, conjured up from\nhis dark resting-place. The wand of death seemed to have withered his\nshrunk visage for ages under the dim shadow of the grave.\n\nRodolf, aware that he was not to be interrupted when the gift was upon\nhim, waited patiently the result of the seer's revelations. A\nconsiderable time had elapsed when the cloud began to roll away. His\nfeatures gradually reassumed the attributes of life, as each separately\nfelt the returning animation. His eyes rested full on the cavalier.\n\n\"I have had a vision, Rodolf.\"\n\n\"To me is it not spoken?\" inquired he.\n\n\"Yea, to thee!\" The seer said this in a tone so hollow and energetic,\nand with a look of such thrilling awe, that even Rodolf shuddered. He\nseemed to feel his glance.\n\n\"Listen. The spirit warned me thus:--\n\n    \"'The stranger that hither comes o'er the broad sea\n    Shall wed on the night of St Bartlemy.'\"\n\n\"Nay, Master Kelly, thine art faileth this once, forsooth. To-night is\nthe saint's vigil, yet lurk I not in the beam of a woman's favour; and\nere another year I may be cured of the simples at my father's dwelling\nin the old castle.\"\n\n\"The vision hath spoken, and it setteth not forth idle tales. Come to me\nanon, I will anoint and prepare my beryl and my divining mirror. Thou\nshall thyself behold some of the mysteries touching which I have warned\nthee beforetime. About noon return to my chamber.\"\n\nRodolf withdrew into his own apartment. His countenance looked anxious\nand disturbed. He sat down, but his restlessness seemed to increase.\nHis posture was not the most easy and graceful that might be desired,\nnor calculated to set off his personal advantages, though now become the\nmore needful, if, as the seer predicted, he should wive ere\nnight--albeit his bride were yet unsought--nor wooed, nor won! Nothing\ncould be more destructive to that easy self-satisfaction, that seductive\nand insinuating carriage, so essential to the fine gentleman of every\nage. There was a sort of angular irregularity in his movements, neither\npleasant nor becoming; and his agitation so far overcame his better\nbreeding that he really did cram his beard between at least three of his\nfingers. His rapier had, moreover, poked its way through his cloak, and\nthe bright shoe-roses were nigh ruined, from the sudden crossings and\ndisarrangements they had undergone. A considerable time had now elapsed;\nin the meanwhile his impatience had risen to an alarming height,\ninsomuch that we would not have answered for the safety of his red cloth\nhose and silken doublet, had not noon been happily announced.\n\nRaising the latch of the seer's chamber with considerable eagerness, he\nfound the room completely dark. An unseen hand led him to a seat. Soon\nhe heard a low murmuring chant, as though from voices at a remote\ndistance. By degrees the words grew more articulate, shaping themselves\ninto the same quaint distich that Kelly had repeated,--\n\n    \"The stranger that hither comes o'er the broad sea\n    Shall wed on the night of St Bartlemy.\"\n\nThis was answered in a voice of considerable pathos; a burst of soft\nmusic filling up the interval. Gradually the eye began to feel sensible\nof the presence of surrounding objects, though in the ordinary way\nnothing could be distinguished; a faculty peculiarly sensitive with the\nloss of sight, and not quite dormant in the general mass of mankind. A\nfaint gleam was soon perceptible, like the first blush of morning,\napparently on the opposite side of the chamber. Becoming brighter,\nflashes of a dim, rainbow-coloured light crept slowly by, like the\naurora sweeping over an illuminated cloud. Suddenly he saw, or his eyes\ndeceived him, a female form shaping itself from these chaotic elements.\nBut it was observed only during the short intervals when the beams\nseemed to kindle with unusual brightness. Every flash, however, rendered\nthe appearance more distinct. Dazzled and bewildered, the heated senses\nwere become the victims of their own credulity, the mind receiving back\nits own reactions. Taking its impression probably from the occurrences\nof the morning, the eye rapidly moulded the figure into the likeness of\nKate. Her eyes were turned upon him, beaming with that soft and melting\nexpression he had so recently beheld. It was but momentary, or he could\nhave persuaded himself that she looked on him with an air the most\ntender and compassionate. Never did fancy portray her in a form so\nlovely. Deep and indelible was the impression; and though it might be\n\n    \"The imagination\n    Become impregnate with her own desire,\"\n\nyet she had performed her office well. Not all the realities, all the\nblandishments that woman ever displayed, even the most resistless, could\nhave wrought half so dexterously or gained such swift access to the\nheart. The vision faded, and a momentary darkness ensued. Suddenly a\nblaze of light irradiated the apartment. Rodolf beheld, for one short\nglimpse, a Gothic hall. Kate was there, and a lover kneeling at her\nfeet. Madness seized him, agonising and intense. In vain he sought the\nfeatures of his tormentor; the vision had departed, and with it his\nrepose.\n\nA new and overwhelming emotion had overpowered him. It arose with the\nspeed and impetuosity of a whirlwind. All just and sober anticipations,\nreflections, possibilities, and a thousand calm resolves, were swept as\nbubbles before the full burst of the torrent.\n\nHis first impulse was to seek his mistress. But--she had another lover!\nThe bare possibility of this event came o'er his bosom like the icy\nchill of the grave. He shuddered as it passed; but the pang was too keen\nto return with the same intensity.\n\nSoon a low murmur, like the distant sough of the wind, gradually\napproached. A faint light flashed through the chamber. He saw his own\nwild woods and the distant castle. It was just visible, dimly outlined\non the horizon, as he had last beheld it in the cold grey beam that\naccompanied his departure. It arose tranquilly on his spirit. The voice\nof other years visited his soul. His eyes filled--he could have wept in\nthe very overflowing of his delight. He dashed his hand across his\nforehead; but the pageant had disappeared.\n\nDaylight once more shone into the apartment; but nothing was discerned,\nsave a dark curtain concealing one extremity of the room, and the seer\nsitting at his elbow.\n\n\"Boy, what sawest thou?\" said Kelly, not raising his head as he spoke,\nbut intently poring over a grim volume of cabalistic symbols.\n\n\"In troth, I am hard put to it, Master Kelly. The maid I have just seen\nis accounted the veriest shrew in the parish, and one whom no man may\napproach with a safe warranty. I am like to lose all hope of wiving, if\nthis be the maiden I am to woo. And yet\"--The form of the comely suitor\nhe had seen kneeling at her feet just then flashed on his mind, yet\ncared he not to show the seer how much the phantom had disturbed him.\n\n\"Idle tales?\" said Kelly. \"I wot not but half the gay gallants in the\ntown would give the best jewel in their caps to have one sweet look, one\npretty smile from her cruel mouth. 'Tis but the report of those whom she\nhath slighted with loathing and contempt, that hath raised this\napprehension in her disfavour. The churls know not what is hidden\nbeneath this outward habit of her perverse nature, and she careth not to\ndiscover. Should some youth of noble bearing and condition but woo her\nas she deserves, thou shouldest see her tamed, ay, and loving too, as\nthe very idol of her worship, or I would forfeit my best gift.\"\n\n\"But she hath a lover!\" said Rodolf, gravely.\n\n\"Peradventure she hath, but not of her own choosing, or mine art fails\nme. Look, this figure is the horoscope of her birth. Thou hast some\nknowledge of the celestial sciences. The directions are so close worked\nthat should this night pass and Kate go unwed--indicated by Venus coming\nto a trine of the sun on the cusp of the seventh house, she will refuse\nall her suitors, and her whole patrimony pass into the hands of a\nstranger; but\"--he raised his voice with a solemn and emphatic\nenunciation--\"to-night! look to it! If not thine she may be another's.\"\n\nThe listener's brain seemed on a whirl; thought hurrying on thought,\nuntil the mind lost all power of discrimination. The succession of\nimages was too rapid. All individuality was gone. He felt as though not\none idea was left out of the busy crowd on which to rest his own\nidentity. He seemed a mere passive existence, unable either to execute\nthe functions of thought or volition.\n\n\"Go, for a brief space. Thou mayest return at sunset. Yet\"--the seer\nfixed a penetrating glance on the youth as he retired--\"go not nigh the\nmerchant's dwelling, unless thou wouldest mar thy fortune.\nTo-night--remember!\"\n\nIn the dim solitude of his chamber Rodolf sought in vain to allay the\nfeverish excitement he had endured. He seemed left to the sport and\ncaprice of a power he could not control. The coursers of the imagination\ngrew wilder with restraint: he recklessly flung the reins upon their\nneck; but this did not tire their impetuosity. His brain glowed like a\nfurnace; he seemed hastening fast on to the verge of either folly or\nmadness. He threw himself on the couch, when the voice of Altdorff came\nlike a winged harmony upon his spirit. The page was seated in the narrow\ncloisters,--the lute, his untiring companion, enticing a few chords from\nhis touch, playful and gentle as the feelings that awaked them; some old\nand quaint chant, scarce worth the telling, but cherished in the heart's\ninmost shrine, from the hallowed nature of its associations. A deep\nslumber crept heavily on the cavalier, but the merchant's daughter still\nhaunted him: sometimes snatched away from his embrace just as a rosy\nsmile was kindling on her lips; at others, she met him with frowns and\nmenace, but ere he could speak to her she had disappeared. Then was he\ntottering on the battlements of some old turret, when a storm arose, the\nmaiden crept to his side, but in an instant, with a hideous crash, she\nwas borne away by the rude grasp of the tempest. He awoke, with a\nmortifying discovery that the crash had been of a somewhat less\nequivocal nature. A cabinet of costly workmanship lay overturned at his\nfeet, and a rich vase, breathing odours, strewed the floor in a thousand\nfragments.\n\nThe noise brought up several of the college servitors; to rid himself\nfrom the annoyance he ascended the roof, then protected by low\nbattlements, and leaded, so that a person might walk round the building\nand pursue his meditations without interruption.\n\nOn this day, teeming with events, Dr Dee had been too closely engaged in\nparish duties to give heed to these love fancies, and even had he been\never so free to exercise his judgment in the matter, it is more than\nlikely Rodolf would not have opened to him the proceedings then afoot.\nHe well knew that the Doctor yet bore no good-will to Kelly, and might\npossibly thwart his designs, to the undoing of any good purposed by the\nstrange transactions that had already occurred; he resolved, therefore,\nto let this day pass, ere he opened his lips on the subject. But how to\nwhile away the hours until evening was a most embarrassing problem.\nSleep he had tried, but he found no wish to repeat the experiment;\nreading was just then foreign to his humour; mathematics must, that day,\ngo unstudied. After beating time to at least a dozen strange metres, he\nhit upon the happy contrivance of writing a love-song, as a kind of\nexpedient to restore the equilibrium. He was rather unskilled at the\nwork; but the pen becomes eloquent when the soul moves it. We will,\nhowever, leave him at this thrifty employment, having no design, gentle\nreader, to make the occasion as wearisome to thee as to himself. Having\nthe power to annihilate both time and space, let us watch the round sun,\nas he threw his last look, that evening, on the scene of this marvellous\nhistory. The old walls of the college, and the church tower, were\ninvested with a gorgeous apparel of light, as though illumined for some\ngay festival, some season of rejoicing, when gladness shines out visibly\nin the shape of bonfires and torches. But few moments elapsed, ere the\nlove-sick youth was again admitted into the dark interior of the seer's\ndwelling.\n\nA voice whispered in his ear--\n\n\"Not a word, hardly a breath, as thou wouldest thrive in thy pursuit.\nThere be spirits abroad, not of earth, nor air. Be silent and discreet.\"\n\nA ray suddenly darted across the room. Again the voice was at his ear:--\n\n\"Hold thine eye to the crevice when the light enters, and mark well what\nthou beholdest.\"\n\nAgain he saw his mistress, apparently in a vaulted chamber, lighted by a\nsingle lamp: she sat as if anxious and disturbed, her cheek pale and\nflushed by turns, whilst her eye wandered hurriedly around the room.\nSome one approached; it was the seer. Rodolf heard him speak.\n\n\"Maiden, hast thou a lover?\"\n\nThe sound seemed scarcely akin to that of human speech. It rose heavily\nand deep, as from the charnel-house, as if the grim and cold jaws of the\ngrave could utter a voice,--the dreary echoes of the tomb! The seer's\nlips were motionless, whilst he thus continued in the same sepulchral\ntone.\n\n\"I know thou hast. 'Tis here thy love would tend.\" He drew a richly-set\nminiature from his bosom. It was mounted in so peculiar a fashion that\nRodolf started back with the first emotion of surprise. The miniature\nwas his own; a gem newly from the artist, and which he had left, as he\nthought, in safe custody a short time ago. The voice again whispered in\nhis ear, \"Beware.\"\n\nHe subdued the expression of wonder just rising on his lip, watching the\nissue with increased interest.\n\nKate covered her face. She had just glanced at the picture, and her\nproud bosom heaved almost to bursting.\n\n\"Look, disdainful woman! and though thy bosom be formed for love, yet\nwouldest thou spurn it from thee. I _know_ thou lovest him. Nay, chide\nnot; thy brow cannot blast me with its thunders. Go to. I could, by mine\nart, so humble thee, set thy love so exquisitely on its desire, that\nthou shouldest lay thy proud womanhood aside--sue and crouch, even if\n'twere for blows, like a tame spaniel! I have thee in my power, and were\nnot the natural bent of thy dispositions kind and noblehearted, yet sore\nbeset, and, as it were, overwhelmed by thy curst humours, I had now cast\nmy spells about thee--ay, stricken thee to the dust! Shake off these\nbonds that enthral thy better spirit, and let not that beautiful fabric\nplay the hypocrite any longer. Why should so fair a temple be the\ndwelling of a demon?\"\n\nA deep sob here told that kindlier feelings were at work; that nature\nwas beginning to assert her prerogative, and that the common sympathies,\nthe tender attributes, of woman were not extinguished.\n\nThe struggle was short, but severe. With difficulty she repressed the\noutburst of her grief as she spoke.\n\n\"A woman still! 'Tis the garb nature put on. I have wrapped a sterner\ngarment about me.\" A long and bitter sob here betrayed the violent\nwarfare within. It was but for a moment. Affecting contempt for her own\nweakness, she exclaimed--\n\n\"Throw it off? Expose me defenceless to his proud contumely? Even now\nthe cold glance of indifference hath pierced it through!\"\n\nHere she arose proudly.\n\n\"And what thinkest thou, if I were to stand unarmed, uncovered, before\nhis unfeeling gaze?\"\n\n\"He loves thee,\" hastily rejoined the seer.\n\n\"Me!--as soon that bauble learn to love as\"----\n\n\"Say but one word, and I will bow him at thy feet.\"\n\n\"'Tis well thou mockest me thus. To worm out my secret, perchance.--For\nthis didst thou crave my presence? Let me be gone!\"\n\n\"Thou shalt say 'Yes,' Kate, ere thou depart!\"\n\nThe curtain which divided the apartment suddenly flew aside. The\nastonished lover beheld his mistress:--not the unreal phantom he had\nimagined, but a being substantial in quality, and of a nature like his\nown, though gentler than his fondest anticipations.\n\nThe seer departed: but in the end the lovers were not displeased at\nbeing betrayed into a mutual expression of their regard.\n\nThe operation of the heavenly influences was, in these days, a doctrine\nthat obtained almost universal credit; and it would have been looked\nupon as a daring piece of presumption to baffle the prophetic\nsignification of the stars.\n\nOn that same night, being the eve of St Bartholomew, they were\nmarried:--thus adding one more to the numerous instances on record,\nwhere a belief in the prediction has been the means of its\naccomplishment.\n\nThe remainder of Kate's history, and how she crossed the sea,\naccompanied by her husband, into the wilds of Bohemia, living there for\na space; and how she afterwards returned into her own land, will be set\nforth at some more fitting opportunity.\n\n\n\n\nTHE EARL OF TYRONE.\n\n\n    \"Still the fairest are his fuell,\n    When his days are to be cruell;\n    Lovers' hearts are all his food,\n    And his baths their warmest blood;\n    Nought but wounds his hands doth season,\n    And he hates none like to reason.\"\n\n_A Hue and Cry after Cupid_.--Ben Jonson.\n\nThe dark and romantic history of the Earl of Tyrone would of itself\noccupy a larger space than these volumes afford. The following episode,\nconnected with his concealment in the neighbourhood of Rochdale, the\nauthor does not presume to bring forward as a fact. Yet there are good\nreasons for supposing that it formed an important era in his life, and\nwas followed very soon after by the Queen's pardon. The importance of\nthis measure may be conceived, when by some Elizabeth's depression, and\nthe profound melancholy she exhibited in her latter hours, were\nattributed to this source. It is said that she repented of having\npronounced his forgiveness; that having always resolved to bring him to\ncondign punishment, she could receive no satisfaction from his\nsubmission; while the advantages of her high estate, and all the glories\nof a prosperous reign, were unable to alleviate her disappointment.\n\nThe following is a brief sketch of his life, extracted from\ngenerally-received authorities.\n\nHugh O'Neale was nephew to Shan O'Neale, or the Great O'Neale, as he was\nmore commonly called, well known for his eminent courage, a virtue much\nesteemed by the half-civilised hordes whom he commanded. He was created\nEarl of Tyrone by the Queen; but disliking this servitude, and wishful\nto liberate his country from the English yoke, he entered into a\ncorrespondence with Spain; procured from thence a supply of arms and\nammunition; and having united many of the Irish chiefs in a dependence\nupon himself, he began to be regarded as a formidable enemy.\n\n[Illustration: TYRONE'S BED, NEAR ROCHDALE.\n\n_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\nThe English found much difficulty in pursuing the rebels into the bogs,\nwoods, and other fastnesses to which they retreated. Sir John Norris,\nwho commanded the English army, was rendered thereby more willing to\nhearken to the proposals made by Tyrone, and the war was spun out by\nthese artifices for some years. Sir John dying, as was reported, of\nvexation and discontent, was succeeded by Sir Henry Bagnall. \"He\nadvanced to the relief at Blackwater, then besieged by the enemy, but\nwas surrounded in disadvantageous ground. His soldiers, discouraged by\npart of their powder accidentally taking fire, were put to flight; and\nthough the pursuit was stopped by Montacute, who commanded the English\nhorse, fifteen hundred men, together with the general himself, were left\ndead upon the spot. This victory so unusual to the Irish, roused their\ncourage, supplied them with arms and munitions of war, and raised the\nrenown of Tyrone, who was hailed as deliverer of his country and patron\nof Irish liberty.\"[22]\n\nThe unfortunate Essex was afterwards appointed to the command; but his\ntroops were so terrified at the reputation of Tyrone that many of them\ncounterfeited sickness, and others deserted, fearful of encountering the\nforces of that daring chief. Finding himself in a great measure\ndeserted, \"he hearkened to a message from Tyrone, who desired a\nconference; and a plain near the two camps was appointed for this\npurpose. The two generals met without any attendants. A river ran\nbetween them, into which Tyrone entered to his saddle-girth, but Essex\nstood on the opposite bank.\"\n\nAt this meeting where \"Tyrone behaved with great submission to the\nlord-lieutenant, a cessation of arms was agreed on.[23] Essex also\nreceived a proposal of peace, into which Tyrone had inserted many\nunreasonable and exorbitant conditions; and there appeared afterwards\nsome reason to suspect that the former had commenced a very\nunjustifiable correspondence with the enemy.\" From this time the beam of\nEssex's favour was obscured, the issue terminating in his death and\ndisgrace. In the meantime, Tyrone had thought proper to break the trace,\n\"and joining with O'Donnel and others, overran almost the whole kingdom.\nHe pretended to be the champion of the Catholic faith, and openly\nexulted in the present of a phoenix plume, which Clement VIII., in order\nto encourage him in the prosecution of so good a cause, had consecrated,\nand conferred upon him.\"[24] Essex being recalled, the Queen appointed\nMountjoy as lord-deputy. \"He found the island in a desperate condition;\nbut being a man of capacity and vigour, he immediately advanced against\nTyrone in Ulster. He penetrated into the heart of that country, the\nchief seat of the rebels. He fortified Derry and Mount Norris. He chased\nthem from the field, and obliged them again to shelter in woods and\nmorasses; and by these promising enterprises he gave new life to the\nQueen's authority throughout the island.\"\n\nTyrone, however, still boasted that he was certain of receiving the\npromised aid from Spain; \"and everything was put in condition for\nresisting the Spanish invasion, which was daily expected. The deputy,\ninformed of the danger to which the southern provinces were exposed,\nleft the prosecution of the war against Tyrone, who was now reduced to\ngreat extremities, and marched with his army into Munster.\"\n\n\"At last the Spaniards, under Don Juan d'Aquila, arrived at Kinsale;\nand Sir Richard Piercy, who commanded in the town with a small garrison\nof one hundred and fifty men, found himself obliged to abandon it on\ntheir appearance. These invaders amounted to four thousand, and the\nIrish discovered a strong propensity to join them, in order to free\nthemselves from the English government, with which they were extremely\ndiscontented. One chief ground of their complaint was the introduction\nof trials by jury,[25] an institution abhorred by that people, though\nnothing contributes more to the support of that equity and liberty for\nwhich the English laws are so justly celebrated. The Irish also bore a\ngreat favour to the Spaniards, having entertained the opinion that they\nthemselves were descended from that nation; and their attachment to the\nCatholic religion proved a new cause of affection for the invaders.\nD'Aquila assumed the title of general in this '_holy war_,' for the\npreservation of the faith in Ireland; and he endeavoured to persuade the\npeople that Elizabeth was, by several bulls of the Pope, deprived of her\ncrown; that her subjects were absolved from their oaths of religion, and\nthat the Spaniards were come to deliver the Irish from the dominion of\nthe devil.[26] Mountjoy found it necessary to act with vigour, in order\nto prevent a total insurrection of the Irish; and having collected his\nforces, he formed the siege of Kinsale by land, while Sir Richard\nLevison, with a small squadron, blockaded it by sea. He had no sooner\nbegun his operations than he heard of the arrival of another body of two\nthousand Spaniards under the command of Alphonso Ocampo, who had taken\npossession of Baltimore and Berehaven; and he was obliged to detach Sir\nGeorge Carew to oppose their progress. Tyrone, meanwhile, with Randal,\nMacSurley Tirel, Baron of Kelly, and other chieftains of the Irish, had\njoined Ocampo with all their forces, and were marching to the relief of\nKinsale. The deputy, informed of their designs by intercepted letters,\nmade preparations to receive them; and being reinforced by Levison with\nsix hundred marines, he posted his troops on an advantageous ground\nwhich lay on the passage of the enemy, leaving some cavalry to prevent a\nsally from D'Aquila and the Spanish garrison. When Tyrone, with a\ndetachment of Irish and Spaniards, approached, he was surprised to find\nthe English so well posted and ranged for battle, and he immediately\nsounded a retreat; but the deputy gave orders to pursue him, and having\nthrown these advanced troops into confusion, he followed them to the\nmain body, which he also attacked and put to flight, with the slaughter\nof twelve hundred men.[27] Ocampo was taken prisoner; Tyrone fled into\nUlster; O'Donnel made his escape into Spain; and D'Aquila, finding\nhimself reduced to the greatest difficulties, was obliged to capitulate\nupon such terms as the deputy prescribed to him. He surrendered Kinsale\nand Baltimore, and agreed to evacuate the kingdom. This great blow,\njoined to other successes gained by Wilmot, governor of Kerry, and by\nRoger and Gavin Harvey, threw the rebels into dismay, and gave a\nprospect of the final reduction of Ireland.\"\n\nThe remaining part of Tyrone's history may be gathered from the\nnarrative.\n\nAmong other memorable incidents illustrative of his character, it is\nsaid that Tyrone, appearing in person to execute a treaty, immediately\non the issue of some sanguinary engagement, was requested to sign the\nterms. \"Here is my signature,\" said he, laying his bloody hand on the\ndeed: \"'tis the mark of the Kings of Ulster.\" Hence, tradition gravely\nasserts was the origin of \"the bloody hand,\" the arms of Ulster! That\nsuch a derivation is fabulous we need not attempt to prove.\n\nWhat a paradox is love!--the most selfish and yet the most disinterested\nof the passions; the gentlest and yet the most terrible of impulses that\ncan agitate the human bosom; the most ennobling and the most humble; the\nmost enduring and the most transient; slow as the most subtle venom to\nits work, yet impetuous in its career as the tornado or the whirlwind;\nsportive as the smile of infancy, and appalling as the maniac's shriek,\nor the laugh of his tormentor. 'Tis a joy nursed in the warm glow of\nhope; but who shall reveal the depths of its despair? 'Twas given to man\nas his best boon--his most precious gift; but his own hands polluted the\nshrine--marred the beauteous and holy deposit. The loveliest image was\nthen smitten with deformity, and that passion, the highest and noblest\nthat could animate his bosom, became the bane of his happiness, the\ndestroyer of his peace, and the source whence every attribute of woe\nhath sprung to afflict and darken the frail hopes of humanity. This may\nbe the dark side of the picture; but unless the breath of heaven\nsanctify even the purest affections of our nature, they are a withering\nblast, blighting its fairest verdure--a torment and a curse!\n\nThe following narrative, floating but indistinctly on the author's\nmemory, and in all probability attached to other names in localities\nwidely apart, is yet, he believes, true as to the more important\nparticulars. The site of a few cottages in a romantic dell in the\nneighbourhood of Rochdale is still associated with the memory of the\nunfortunate Earl of Tyrone. It is yet called \"Tyrone's Bed.\" In history,\nthis noble chief is depicted in colours the most hideous and detestable;\nbut if the lion had been the painter, we should have had to contemplate\na different portrait. By his countrymen he was held in the most profound\nreverence and respect. Beloved by all, he was hailed as the expected\ndeliverer of his native land from wrong and oppression. The most\nbigoted of his persecutors cannot deny that oppression, the most foul\nand inhuman, did exist; and the men who took up arms for the rescue of\ntheir brethren may be pitied, if not pardoned, for their noble,\nelevated, and enduring spirit. Let us not be misunderstood as the\nadvocates of rebellion; but surely there are occasions when the galling\nyoke of oppression may be too heavy to sustain--when the crushed reptile\nmay, writhing, turn against him who tramples on it. Let us not do this\nwrong, even to our enemies, by refusing to admire in them the\ndisinterestedness and magnanimity which in others would have insured our\nadmiration and applause.\n\nAbout a mile from the spot we have just named stood the ancient mansion\nof Grizlehurst. Surrounded on every side by dark and almost trackless\nwoods, sprung through a long line of ancestry from primeval forests, it\nreposed in undisturbed seclusion, still and majestic as the proud swan\nthat basked upon the dark lake before it, secure from intrusion and\nalarm. Gable-ends and long casements broke the low piebald front into a\nvariety of detail--a-combination of effect throwing an air of\npicturesque beauty on the whole, which not all the flimsy and frittered\n\"Gothic\" can convey to the mansions of modern antiques. For the timber\nemployed in its erection a forest must have been laid prostrate. Huge\narched fire-places; chimney-pieces carved with armorial bearings; oak\ntables absolutely joisted to sustain their vast bulk; bedsteads that\nwould not have groaned with the weight of a Titan;--the whole intended\nto oppose a ponderous resistance to the ravages of time and fashion. Not\na vestige is left. Those laughing halls echo no more with the loud and\nboisterous revel; the music of the \"many twinkling\" feet is gone;\nscarcely a stone is left upon its fellow; a few straggling trees alone\nmark the site. The beech and willow are waving o'er its hearth! Who\nwould build for the destroyer? And yet man, with the end of these\nvanities in prospect, daily, hourly still builds on; his schemes and his\nprojects extending through the long vista of succeeding ages, as though\nhis dwelling were eternal, and his own fabric should survive the ruin\nand the doom of all!\n\nA long train of ancestors bearing the name of Holt occupied this\ndwelling as the family mansion. The manor of Spotland, forfeited by the\nrebellion of Paslew, Abbot of Whalley, was granted by Henry the Eighth\nto Thomas Holt, afterwards knighted in Scotland by Edward, Earl of\nHertford, in the thirty-sixth year of the reign of that monarch. The\npresent possessor of the same name, grandson to Sir Thomas, resided at\nGrislehurst during the latter part of Elizabeth's reign and that of\nJames. He married Constance, the daughter of Sir Edward Littleton of\nPillaton Hall, Stafford. One son, Francis, and a daughter named\nConstance, were the fruit of this union. At the commencement of our\nnarrative he had been for some years a widower, and his son was then\nabsent on foreign travel.\n\nIt was in the memorable year 1603, the last of Elizabeth. The rebellion\nin Ireland had been smothered, if not extinguished; and the great\nO'Neale, Earl of Tyrone and King of Ulster, together with many other\nchiefs, were forced to remain concealed in woods and morasses. Outlawed\nand outcast, some of them crossed over into England, remaining there\nuntil pardoned by the Queen.\n\nConstance was now in her nineteenth year. Bright as her own morn of\nlife, she had seen but few clouds in that season of hope and delight.\nSorrow was to her scarce known, save in the nursery tales and wild\nballads of the surrounding district. When the glowing morn was overcast,\nshe was unprepared, unfitted for the change. The storm came, and the\nlittle sum of her happiness, launched on this frail and perishing bark,\nwas wrecked without a struggle!\n\nOne evening, in the full glare of a dazzling sunset, the light streaming\nlike a shower through the dark foliage of the valley, she had loitered,\nalong with her old nurse, in the dell to which we have before alluded.\nThe glowing atmosphere was just fading into the dewy tint which betokens\na fair morrow. To enjoy a more extended gaze upon the clouds, those\ngorgeous vestures of the sun, Constance had ascended, by a winding path,\nto the edge of a steep cliff overhanging the river. She stood for some\nminutes looking towards the west, unconscious of the loose and slippery\nnature of the materials beneath her feet, and of her near approach to\nthe brink. On a sudden the ground gave way, and she was precipitated\nheadlong into the river! Nurse Agnes, who stood below, watching her\nyoung mistress, not without apprehension as to the consequences of her\ntemerity, was stricken motionless with horror. There seemed to be no\nhelp. Fast receding from all hope of succour, Constance was borne\nrapidly down the stream. Suddenly, with the swiftness of a deer from\nthe brake, a figure bounded from an opposite thicket. He seemed scarcely\nto leave his footmarks on the long herbage ere he gained the river's\nbrink. Plunging into the current he succeeded in rescuing the maiden\nfrom her perilous condition. He laid her gently on the bank, beckoning\nto her attendant, and was speedily out of sight. The aged Agnes, with\ntrembling hands, relieved Constance by loosening the folds from her\nthroat; and almost ere she had wrung out the water from the raven locks\nof her inanimate mistress, the stranger returned. He carried a cordial,\nwith which he moistened her lips; the old woman chafed her temples,\nresorting to the usual modes of resuscitation then in practice; and in\nthe end, Constance opened her eyes. A heavy sob accompanied this effort.\nShe looked wildly round, when she met the deep gaze of the stranger.\nWith a faint shriek, she hid her face in the bosom of her attendant,\nwho, overjoyed at her recovery, could scarcely refrain from falling at\nthe feet of her deliverer. She turned to express her thanks, but he was\ngone.\n\nIt was not long ere several domestics, alarmed at their absence, came in\nsearch; and Constance, borne gently along, was soon restored to her\nanxious parent. But he looked thoughtful and disturbed when the\nstranger's person was described, evidently averse to hold any\ncommunication on the subject. Nurse Agnes grew eloquent in his praise,\nuntil the following conversation that same evening in the kitchen turned\naside the current of her opinions.\n\n\"A rough grey cloak, gossip, thou sayest?\" again inquired a\nhard-featured hind from the chimney-corner.\n\n\"I tell thee a cloak, and a cap turned up in front. He doused it off\nnobly, and took to the water like a spaniel!\"\n\n\"Why, 'tis the wild man of the woods!\" said another listener, who had\nhitherto been silent, but whose remark seemed to strike terror into the\nwhole group. They looked round as if anticipating a visit from this\nfearful personage. Dame Agnes crossed herself, and muttered her prayers\nwith great despatch; something was at length audible and articulate, as\nfollows:--\n\n\"Mercy on me! my days are numbered. If it should indeed be this\nincarnate,--forgive the thought!--we are all dead creatures. The very\nhorses and kine stagger, and fall into fits at times, when they come\nhome, and it is all along of 'em having seen or smelt the brimstone\nfrom the pit. Davy had two died last week, and he was sure they had\neither seen the deil or his deputy,--this same grey man of the woods.\nWoe's me that I should ha' lived to behold this child of perdition!\" The\nold woman here gave way to an outburst of sorrow, that prevented any\nfurther disclosures.\n\n\"It is about a three month agone since this same wild man was first\nseen,\" said the old seneschal, whose office, though of little use, was\nstill filled up in the more ancient establishments. \"I saw him myself\nonce, but I shook until the very flesh seemed to crawl over my bones.\nThey say he neither eats nor drinks, but is kept alive in the body by\nglamour and witchcraft. He'll stay here until his time is done, and then\nhis tormentors will fetch him to his prison-house again. Ye should not\nhave tarried in the wood after sunset.\"\n\n\"That would I not,\" sharply replied Agnes; \"but the child, poor thing,\nwould look at the daylight as it lingered on the hill-top, and I thought\nno harm in't.\"\n\n\"Like enough. He dares not abroad, if so much as the value or size of my\nthumb-nail of the sun's rim were left above the hill!\"\n\n\"Come, Gaffer, strike up a merry trowl,\" said a thin, squeaking voice,\nfrom a personage almost hidden behind a copious supper of broken meat\nand pastry. But whether the party thus addressed was too much alarmed to\nlet the current of his spirit run bubbling from the spring of either\nmirth or minstrelsy, or he was too deeply buried in his own thoughts, it\nwere needless to inquire. The request for a while passed by unheeded.\n\nGaffer Gee was the ballad-monger of the whole district. He kept on a\ncomfortable and vagabond sort of existence, by visiting the different\nmansions where good cheer was to be had, and where he was generally a\nwelcome guest, both in bower and hall. His legendary lore seemed\ninexhaustible; and, indeed, his memory was like an old chest full of\nscraps continually rummaged. He knew all the scandal and family secrets\nthroughout the parish, and had a quick eye at detecting either a love\naffair or a feud. He composed a number of the wild ballads that he sang\nor recited, or at least put them into that jingling and quaint rhythm,\nacquired by habitual intercourse with the phraseology peculiar to these\npopular descants. On hearing a story he could readily shape it into\nverse, extempore, too, upon occasion; and many were the jokes that\nrebounded from his theme, whether in hall or kitchen. It was pleasant to\nwatch his little grey eye, and the twinkling lashes, as they rose and\nfell, varying the expression of his lips. A slight lisp gave an air of\nsimplicity to his ditties, which never failed to charm his auditors. He\ncould throw the simplest expression over his features, which made the\nkeen edge of his rebukes infinitely more cutting and effective. But the\nprevailing tone of feeling in him was sad and oppressive. These\nwandering minstrels had, from remote ages, been held as seers, and a\npeep into futurity was often supposed to accompany their poetical\ninspirations--a superstition not confined to any particular locality,\nbut obtaining a widely disseminated belief in all climes and nations\nwhere imagination assumes her sway, and dares to assert her power.\n\nAfter a short space, and without any invitation, the ballad-maker, like\nsome Pythian priestess on her tripod, began to exhibit manifestations of\nthe _afflatus_. The spirit of song seemed to be stealing upon him, and\nin a moment the listening auditory were still. In substance, he half\nrecited, half sung, the following ballad:--\n\n    \"'Maiden, braid those tresses bright,\n      Wreathe thy ringlets from the blast;\n    Why those locks of curling light\n      Heedless to the rude winds cast?\n\n    \"'Maiden, why that darkened brow?\n      From those eyes, once dimmed with weeping,\n    Lurid gleams are gathering now,\n      O'er their pale wan shadows creeping.'\n\n    \"Silent still the maid passed by,\n      Near nor voice nor footstep came.\n    Sudden cleaving earth and sky,\n      Flashed a brand of arrowy flame!\n\n    \"'Maiden, turn that gaze on me,\n      Onwards why so madly bent?'\n    Still no stay, no pause made she\n      Through that kindling element.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    \"Now, the midnight chant is stealing,\n      Mass and requiem breathing near;\n    Hushed the blast, as if revealing\n      Sounds to earth that Heaven might hear.\n\n    \"From yon pile, soft voices swelling\n      Dirge and anthem for the dead;--\n    Demon shrieks, their lost doom yelling,\n      Tend Lord Rudolph's dying bed.\n\n    \"Holy men, with song and prayer,\n      Fain would shrive the passing soul;\n    Fiend-like whispers, to his ear.\n      Winds, in muttering curses, roll.\n\n    \"Ere his last lone shuddering cry,\n      To his couch the maiden came;\n    On his breast she silently\n      Bent an eye of ravening flame.\n\n    \"One wild shriek the sufferer sent,\n      Ere life's last frail link might sever;\n    Laughed the maiden, as she leant\n      O'er that form, to cling for ever.\n\n    \"Closer to his heart she pressed;\n      Scorched, the quivering flesh recoiled;\n    Unconsumed his burning breast,\n      While that grim tormentor smiled.\n\n    \"'Now revenge!' the maiden cried,\n      'I have bartered heaven for this;\n    Mine thou art, proud Rudolph's bride,\n      Mine, by this last demon kiss.'\n\n    \"Tower, and battlement, and hall,\n      Scathed as with the thunder-stroke,\n    Flashed through midnight's dusky pall,\n      Twined in wreaths of livid smoke.\n\n    \"O'er that gulph of yawning flame\n      Horrid shapes are hovering;\n    Monstrous forms, of hideous name,\n      To the bridal-bed they bring.\n\n    \"'They come!--they come!' their frantic yell.\n      On a wave of billowy light\n    Sudden rose (so marvellers tell)\n      The maiden and her traitor knight.\n\n    \"The moon looks bright on Rudolph's towers,\n      The breeze laughs lightly by,\n    But dark and silent sleep the hours,\n      The lone brook murmuring nigh.\n\n    \"The lank weed waves round thy domain,\n      The fox creeps to thy gate;\n    Dark is thy dwelling, proud chieftain,\n      Thy halls are desolate!\"\n\nThe legend we have thus rendered. His own idiom and versification, as we\nhave already observed, were of a more unintelligible sort, though better\nsuited, perhaps, to the fashion of the time and the capacity of his\nhearers.\n\nBut a gloom still pervaded the once cheerful hearth, and the night wore\non without the usual symptoms of mirth and hilarity.\n\nHolt of Grislehurst held the manorial rights, and was feudal lord over a\nwidely-extended domain, the manor of Spotland descending to him by\nsuccession from his grandfather. His character was that of a quiet,\nunostentatious country gentleman; but withal of a proud spirit, not\nbrooking either insult or neglect. This night, an unaccountable\ndepression stole upon him. He strode rapidly across the chamber, moody\nand alone. The taper was nigh extinguished; the wasted billet grew pale,\na few sparks starting up the chimney, as the wind roared in short and\nhasty gusts round the dwelling. The old family portraits seemed to flit\nfrom their dark panels, wavering with the tremulous motion of the blaze.\n\nHolt was still pacing the chamber with a disturbed and agitated step. A\nfew words, rapid and unconnected, fell from his lips.\n\n\"Rebel!--Outcast! I cannot betray thee!\"\n\n\"Betray me!\" echoed a voice from behind. Turning, the speaker stood\nbefore him. It was the athletic form of the stranger, wrapped in his\ngrey cloak and cap of coarse felt, plumed from the falcon's wing.\n\n\"And who speaks the word that shall betray me? A king,--a fugitive! Yet,\nnot all the means that treachery can compass shall trammel one hair\nupon this brow without my privity or consent.\"\n\n\"Comest thou like the sharp wind into my dwelling?\" inquired Holt, in a\nvoice tremulous with amazement.\n\n\"Free as the unconfined air; yet fettered by a lighter bond,--a woman's\nlove!\" returned the intruder. \"Thou hast a daughter.\"\n\nThe Lord of Grislehurst grew pale at these words. Some terrific meaning\nclung to them. After a short pause the stranger continued:--\n\n\"Thus speak the legends of Tigernach, and the bards of Ulster, rapt into\nvisions of the future:--'_When a king of Erin shall flee at the voice of\na woman, then shall the distaff and spindle conquer whom the sword and\nbuckler shall not subdue_.' That woman is yon heretic queen. A usurper,\nan intruder on our birthright. Never were the O'Neales conquered but by\nwoman! I have lingered here when the war-cry hath rung from the shores\nof my country. Again the shout hath come, and the impatient chiefs wait\nfor my return. But\"----\n\nThe warrior seemed to writhe during the conflict. His hands were\nclenched, and every muscle stiffened with agony. Scorn at his own\nweakness, and dread, horrible undefinable dread, as he felt the\nomnipotent power mastering his proud spirit. The man who would have\nlaughed at the shaking of a spear, and the loud rush of the battle,\nquailed before a woman's hate and a woman's love.\n\n\"And what is thy request to-night?\" said Holt.\n\nThe stranger answered in a voice of thunder--\n\n\"Thy daughter!\"\n\nTyrone, for it was he, seemed nigh choking with the emotion he sought to\nsuppress.\n\n\"Nay,\" he continued, \"it must not be. Oh! did I love her less, she had\nbeen mine!\"\n\n\"Thine?\" suddenly retorted her father, somewhat scornfully. \"And who\ngave thee this power over woman's spirit? Thou hast not even had speech\nof her, much less the means to win her favour.\"\n\nAn almost supernatural expression seemed to gather on the features of\nthe chieftain. His eye, rolling through the vista of past years, began\nto pause, appalled as it approached the dark threshold of the future. He\nappeared lost to the presence of surrounding objects, as he thus\nexclaimed with a terrific solemnity--\n\n\"When the dark-browed Norah nursed me on her lap, and her eye, though\ndark to outward sense, saw through the dim veil of destiny, it was thus\nshe sung as she guarded my slumbers, and the hated Sassenach was in the\nhall:--\n\n    \"'Rest thee, baby! light and darkness\n      Mingling o'er thy path shall play;\n    Hope shall flee when thou pursuest,\n      Lost amid life's trackless way.\n\n    \"'Rest thee, baby! woman's breast\n      Thou shalt darken o'er with woe;\n    None thou lookest on or lovest,\n      Joy or hope hereafter know.\n        Many a maid thy glance shall rue,\n        Where it smites it shall subdue.'\n\n\"It was an evil hour, old man, when I looked upon thy daughter.\"\n\nHolt, though of a stout and resolute temper, was yet daunted by this\nbold and unlooked-for address. He trembled as he gazed on the mysterious\nbeing before him, gifted, as it seemed, with some supernatural\nendowments. His unaccountable appearance, the nature of his\ncommunications, together with his manner and abrupt mode of speech,\nwould have shaken many a firmer heart unprepared for these disclosures.\n\n\"What is thy business with me?\" he inquired, with some hesitation.\n\n\"To warn thee;--to warn thy daughter. She hath seen me. Ay, to-night.\nAnd how runs the prophecy? Let her beware. I have looked on her\nbeforetime. Looked on her! ay, until these glowing orbs have become dim,\ndazzled with excess of brightness. I have looked on her till this stern\nbosom hath become softer than the bubbling wax to her impression; but I\nwas concealed, and the maiden passed unharmed by the curse. To-night I\nhave saved her life. A resistless impulse! And she hath looked on me.\"\nHe smote his brow, groaning aloud in the agony he endured.\n\nIt may be supposed this revelation did not allay the apprehensions of\nthe listener. Bewildered and agitated, he turned towards the window. The\npale moon was glimmering through the quiet leaves, and he saw a dark and\nmuffled figure in the avenue. It was stationary for a while; it then\nslowly moved towards the adjoining thicket and was lost to his view.\nHolt turned to address his visitor, but he had disappeared. It was like\nthe passing of a troubled dream, vague and indistinct, but fraught with\nhorrible conceptions. A cloud seemed to gather on his spirit, teeming\nwith some terrible but unknown doom. Its nature even imagination failed\nto conjecture. His first impulse was to visit his daughter. He found the\ncareful nurse by her bedside. As he entered the room, Agnes raised one\nfinger to her lips, in token of silence. The anxious father bent over\nhis child. Her sleep was heavy, and her countenance flushed. A tremor\npassed over her features. A groan succeeded. Suddenly she started up.\nWith a look of anguish he could never forget, she cried--\n\n\"Help! O my father!\" She clung around his neck. In vain he endeavoured\nto soothe her. She sobbed aloud, as if her heart were breaking. But she\nnever told that dream, though her haggard looks, when morning rose on\nher anxious and pallid countenance, showed the disturbance it had\ncreated.\n\nDays and weeks passed by. The intrusion of the bold outlaw was nigh\nforgotten. The father's apprehensions had in some degree subsided, but\nConstance did not resume her wonted serenity. Her earliest recollections\nwere those of the old nursery rhymes, with which Agnes had not failed to\nstore her memory. But the giant killers and their champions now failed\nto interest and excite. Other feelings than those of terror and of\nwonder were in operation, requiring a fresh class of stimulants for\ntheir support--tales of chivalry and of love, that all-enduring passion,\nwhere maidens and their lovers sighed for twice seven years, and all too\nbrief a trial of their truth and constancy! As she listened, her soul\nseemed to hang on the minstrel's tongue; that erratic troubadour, Gaffer\nGee, being a welcome and frequent visitor at Grislehurst.\n\nOne night he had tarried late in the little chamber, where she was wont\nto give him audience. She seemed more wishful to protract his stay than\nheretofore.\n\n\"Now for the ballad of Sir Bertine, the famous Lancashire knight, who\nwas killed at St Alban's, fighting for the glorious red rose of\nLancaster.\"\n\nNothing loth, he commenced the following ditty:--\n\n    \"The brave Sir Bartine Entwisel\n      Hath donned his coat of steel,\n    And left his hall and stately home,\n      To fight for Englond's weal.\n\n    \"To fight for Englond's weal, I trow,\n      And good King Harry's right,\n    His loyal heart was warm and true,\n      His sword and buckler bright.\n\n    \"That sword once felt the craven foe,\n      Its hilt was black with gore,\n    And many a mother's son did rue\n      His might at Agincourt.\n\n    \"And now he stately steps his hall,\n      'A summons from the king?\n    My armour bright, my casque and plume,\n      My sword and buckler bring.\n\n    \"'Blow, warder, blow. Thy horn is shrill,\n      My liegemen hither call,\n    For I must away to the south countrie,\n      And spears and lances all.'\n\n    \"'Oh, go not to the south countrie!'\n      His lady weeping said;\n    'Oh, go not to the battle-field,\n      For I dreamed of the waters red!'\n\n    \"'Oh, go not to the south countrie!'\n      Cried out his daughter dear;\n    'Oh, go not to the bloody fight,\n      For I dreamed of the waters clear!'\n\n    \"Sir Bertine raised his dark visor,\n      And he kissed his fond lady;\n    'I must away to the wars and fight\n      For our king in jeopardy!'\n\n    \"The lady gat her to the tower,\n      She clomb the battlement;\n    She watched and greet, while through the woods\n      The glittering falchions went.\n\n    \"The wind was high, the storm grew loud,\n      Fierce rose the billowy sea;\n    When from Sir Bertine's lordly tower\n      The bell boomed heavily!\n\n    \"'O mother dear, what bodes that speech\n      From yonder iron tongue?'\n    ''Tis but the rude, rude blast, my love,\n      That idle bell hath swung.'\n\n    \"Upon the rattling casement still\n      The beating rain fell fast;\n    When creeping fingers wandering thrice\n      Across that window passed.\n\n    \"'O mother dear, what means that sound\n      Upon the lattice nigh?'\n    ''Tis but the cold, cold arrowy sleet,\n      That hurtles in the sky.'\n\n    \"The blast was still--a pause more dread\n      Ne'er terror felt--when, lo!\n    An armed footstep on the stair\n      Clanked heavily and slow.\n\n    \"Up flew the latch and tirling-pin,\n      Wide swung the grated door,\n    Then came a solemn stately tread\n      Upon the quaking floor!\n\n    \"A shudder through the building ran,\n      A chill and icy blast;\n    A moan, as though in agony\n      Some viewless spirit passed!\n\n    \"'O mother dear, my heart is froze,\n      My limbs are stark and cold.'\n    Her mother spake not, for again\n      That turret bell hath tolled.\n\n    \"Three days passed by. At eventide\n      There came an aged man,\n    He bent him low before the dame,\n      His wrinkled cheek was wan.\n\n    \"'Now, speak, thou evil messenger,\n      Thy tidings show to me.'\n    That aged man, nor look vouchsafed,\n      Nor ever a word spake he.\n\n    \"'What bringest thou?' the lady said,\n      'I charge thee by the rood.'\n    He drew a signet from his hand,\n      'Twas speckled o'er with blood.\n\n    \"'Thy husband's grave is wide and deep.\n      In St Alban's priory\n    His body lies, but on his soul\n      Christ Jesus have mercy!'\"[28]\n\nScarcely had the last solemn supplication been uttered, when the latch\nof the chamber was raised. The door flew open, and the outlaw, in his\ndark grey cap and cloak, stood before them. Constance was too much\nalarmed to utter a word. She clung to her companion with the agony of\none grasping at the most fragile support for life and safety.\n\n\"Nay, maiden, I would not harm thee,\" said the intruder, in a voice so\nmusical and sad, that it seemed to drop into the listener's ear like a\ngush of harmony, or a sweet and melancholy chime wakening up the heart's\nmost endeared and hallowed associations. His features were nobly formed.\nHis eye, large and bright, of the purest grey; the lashes, like a cloud,\ncovering and tempering their lustre. A touch of sadness rested on his\nlips. They seemed to speak of suffering and endurance, as if the soul's\ndeepest agony would not have cast a word across their barriers.\nConstance for a moment raised her eyes, but they were suddenly\nwithdrawn, overflowing with some powerful emotion. He still gazed, but\none proud effort broke the fixed intensity of his glance, and his tongue\nresumed its office.\n\n\"Maiden, I am pursued. The foe are on my track. My retreat is\ndiscovered, and unless thou wilt vouchsafe to me a hiding-place, I am in\ntheir power. The Earl of Tyrone--nay, I scorn the title--'tis the King\nof Ulster that stands before thee. I would not crouch thus for my own\nlife, were it not for my country. Her stay, her sustenance, is in thy\nkeeping.\"\n\nNever did wretchedness and misfortune sue in vain to woman's ear.\nConstance forgot her weakness and timidity. She saw not her own danger.\nA fellow-being craved help and succour; all other feelings gave place,\nand she seemed animated with a new impulse. She looked on the minstrel,\nas if to ascertain his fidelity. It was evident, however, that no\napprehension need be entertained, this personage seeming to manifest no\nslight solicitude for the safety of the unfortunate chief.\n\n\"The old lead mine, in the Cleuch,\" whispered he.\n\n\"Nay, it must be in the house,\" replied Constance, with a glance of\nforethought beyond her years. \"The pursuers will not search this loyal\nhouse for treason!\"\n\nAs was the case in most mansions belonging to families of rank and\nimportance, a room was contrived for purposes of special concealment,\nwhere persons or property could be stowed in case of danger. A heavy\nstack of chimneys was enlarged so as to admit of a small apartment,\ninconvenient enough in other respects, yet well adapted as a temporary\nhiding-place.\n\nHither, through secluded passages, the careful Constance conducted her\nguest, who had so strangely thrown himself, with unhesitating\nconfidence, upon her generosity and protection. The proud representative\nof a kingly race was rescued by a woman from ignominy and death. Some\nfeeling of this nature probably overpowered him. As he bade her good\nnight, his voice faltered, and he passed his hand suddenly athwart his\nbrow. Constance, having fulfilled this sacred duty, shrank from any\nfurther intercourse, and hastened to her chamber. It was long ere she\ncould sleep; portentous dreams then brooded over her slumbers. The\nterrible vision was repeated, and she awoke, but not to her wonted\ncheerfulness.\n\nHow strange, how mysterious, the mechanism of the human heart! The\nfeelings glide insensibly into each other, changing their hue and\ncharacter imperceptibly, as the colours on the evening cloud. Protection\nawakens kindness, kindness pity, and pity love. Love, the more\ndangerous, too, the process being unperceived, insidiously disguised\nunder other names, and under the finest sympathies and affections of our\nnature.\n\nWith a step light and noiseless as that of her favourite spaniel who\ncrept behind her, did Constance make an early visit to ascertain the\nsafety of her prisoner. His retreat was unmolested. The pursuit was for\nthe present evaded, and his enemies thrown out in their track. It was\nneedful, however, that he should remain for a few days in his present\nconcealment, prior to the attempt by which he purposed to regain his\nnative country.\n\nConstance loved the moonlight. The broad glare of day is so garish and\nextravagant. Besides, there is a restlessness and a buz no human being,\nat least no sensible human being, can endure. Everything is on the stir.\nEvery creature, however paltry and insignificant, whether moth, mote, or\natom, seems busy. Whereas, one serene soft gaze of the moon appears to\nallay nature's universal disquiet. The calm and mellow placidity of her\nlook, so heavenly and undisturbed, lulls the soul, and subdues its\noperations to her influence.\n\nConstance, we may suppose, accidentally wandered by the end of the\nbuilding, where, in the huge buttress of chimneys, a narrow crevice\nadmitted light into the chamber occupied by the fugitive. At times,\nperhaps unconsciously, her eye wandered from the moon to this dreary\nabode; where it lingered longest is more than we dare tell. She drew\nnigh to the dark margin of the pond. The white swans were sleeping in\nthe sedge. At her approach they fluttered clumsily to their element;\nthere, the symbols of elegance and grace, like wreaths of sea-foam on\nits surface, they glided on, apparently without an impulse or an effort.\nShe was gazing on them when a rustle amongst the willows on her left\narrested her attention. Soon the mysterious and almost omnipresent form\nof Tyrone stood before her.\n\n\"I must away, maiden--Constance!\" His voice was mournful as the last\nfaint sound of the evening bell upon the waters.\n\n\"Why art thou here?\" She said this in a tone of mingled anxiety and\nsurprise.\n\n\"Here? Too long have I lingered in these woods and around thy dwelling,\nConstance. But I must begone--for ever!\"\n\n\"For ever?\" cried the perplexed girl, forgetful of all but the dread\nthought of that for ever!\n\n\"Ay, for ever? Why should I stay?\"\n\nThis question, alas! she could not answer, but stood gazing on the dark\nwater, and on the silver waves which the bright swans had rippled over\nthe pool. Though she saw them not, yet the scene mingled itself\ninsensibly with the feelings then swelling in her bosom; and these\nrecurrent circumstances, in subsequent periods of her existence, never\nfailed to bring the same dark tide of thought over the soul with vivid\nand agonising distinctness.\n\n\"Maiden, beware!\"\n\nConstance turned towards him:--the moonlight fell on his brow: the dark\ncurls swept nobly out from their broad shadows twining luxuriantly about\nhis cheek. His eyes were fixed on her, with an eagerness and an anguish\nin their expression the most absorbing and intense.\n\n\"I have loved thee. Ay, if it be love to live whole nights on the memory\nof a glance,--on a smile,--on the indelible impress of thy form.\nHere,--here! But no living thing that I have loved;--no being that e'er\nlooked on me with kindliness and favour, that has not been marked out\nfor destruction. Oh, that those eyes had ne'er looked upon me! Thou wert\nhappy, and I have lingered on thy footstep till I have dragged thee to\nthe same gulph where all hope--all joy that e'er stole in upon my dark\npath, must perish.\"\n\n\"Oh! do not foretaste thy misery thus,\" cried Constance. \"The cruel\nsufferings thou hast undergone make thee apprehensive of evil. But how\ncan _thy_ fate control my destiny?\"\n\n\"How, I know not,\" said Tyrone, \"save that it shall bring the same\nclouds, in unmitigated darkness, about thy path. Dost thou love me? Nay,\nstart not. Stay not!\" cried he, making way for the maiden to pass. But\nConstance seemed unable to move,--terrified and speechless.\n\n\"Perchance, thou knowest it not, but thou wouldest love me as a woman\nloves;--ay, beyond even the verge and extremity of hope! Even now the\npoison rankles in thy bosom. Hark!--'tis the doom yon glorious\nintelligences denounced from that glittering vault, when they proclaimed\nmy birth!\"\n\nHe repeated the prediction as aforetime, with a deep, solemn\nintonation:--the maiden's blood seemed to curdle with horror. A pause of\nbewildering and mysterious terror followed. One brief minute in the\nlapse of time,--but an age in the records of thought! Constance, fearful\nof looking on the dark billows of the spirit, sought to avert her\nglance.\n\n\"Thou art an exile, and misfortune prompted me to thy succour; thou hast\nwon my pity, stranger.\"\n\n\"Beshrew me, 'tis a wary and subtle deceiver, this same casuist love.\nBelieve him not!\" said he, in a burst and agony of soul that made\nConstance tremble. \"He would lead thee veiled to the very brink of the\nprecipice, then snatch the shelter from thine eyes and bid thee leap!\nNay, 'tis not pride,--'tis the doom, the curse of my birthright that is\nupon me. Maiden! I will but strike to thine heart, and then--poor soul!\"\nHe shuddered; his voice grew tremulous and convulsed. \"The stricken one\nshall fall. Hark! the hounds are again upon my track!\" The\nwell-practised ear of the hunted fugitive could discern the approach of\nfootsteps long before they were audible to an ordinary listener:--his\neye and ear seemed on the stretch;--his head bent forward in the same\ndirection;--he breathed not. Even Constance seemed to suspend the\ncurrent of her own thoughts at this interruption.\n\n\"They are approaching. In all likelihood 'tis a posse from the sheriff.\"\nAgain he listened. \"They are armed. Nay, then, Tyrone thou must to\ncover: thou canst not flee. Point not to the hiding-place I have left.\nIf, as I suspect, they bring a warrant of search, thy father's life may\nbe in jeopardy.\"\n\n\"Where,--oh, where?\" said Constance, forgetful of all consequences, in\nher anxiety for her father's fate and that of the illustrious stranger.\n\n\"In thy chamber, lady.\"\n\nShe drew back in dismay.\n\n\"Nay,\" continued he, guessing at the cause of her alarm. \"They will not\ncare to scrutinise for me there with much exactness; and, by the faith\nof my fathers, I will not wrong thee!\"\n\nThere was a frankness, an open and undisguised freedom of manner, in\nthis address, which assured her. Her confidence returned, and she\ncommitted herself promptly to the issue. She felt her soul expand with\nthe desire of contributing to his ultimate escape. All the ardour of her\nnature was concentrated in this generous and self-devoted feeling. Too\ninnocent for suspicion she seemed to rise above its influence.\n\nSilently, and with due caution, she led the unfortunate Earl to her own\nchamber, where, in a recess opening through the bed's head into the\narras, he seemed secure from discovery.\n\nScarcely was this arrangement completed, ere a thundering knock\nannounced the visitor. It was an officer of justice, attended by some\nhalf-dozen followers, who watched every avenue to the house whilst his\nmessage was delivered within.\n\nThis official delivered into the hands of Holt a warrant for the\napprehension of O'Neale, Earl of Tyrone, a traitor, then suspected of\nbeing harboured in the mansion of Grislehurst, whom the occupier was\ncommanded, on pain of being treated as an accomplice, to deliver into\nthe hands of justice, for the due administering of those pains and\npenalties which were attached to his crime.\n\nThe loyal owner, fired with indignation at this foul charge, rebutting\nthe accusation with contempt.\n\n\"However loth,\" said the messenger, \"I must execute mine office; and,\nseeing this first mission hath failed in its purpose, I have here a\nwarrant of search. Mine orders are imperative.\"\n\n\"I tell thee I have no plotters lurking here. Search and welcome;--but\nif thou findest aught in this house that smells of treason, the Queen\nmay blot out my escutcheon. I'll dismount the _pheon_. The arrow-head\nshall return to its quiver. 'Twas honestly won, and, by our lady's\ngrace, it shall be honestly worn!\"\n\n\"We must obey,\" said the officer; \"it shall be done with all courtesy\nand despatch.\"\n\nHolt bit his lips with rage and vexation. From the suspicion of\nharbouring and aiding the traitor Tyrone, his known loyalty and good\nfaith should have protected him. He hoped, however, to throw back on the\nauthor of this foul slander the disgrace attached to it. Smothering his\nwrath, and brooding over its gratification, he accompanied the\nmessenger, who, placing an additional guard at the main entrance,\nproceeded with a wary eye to the search. He carefully scrutinised the\nshape of the rooms, striking the walls and wainscots, measuring the\ncapacity of the chambers, that no space might be left unaccounted for\neither in one way or another. The concealed apartment in the\nchimney-range did not escape his examination. Closets, cupboards,\nfolding-doors,--even the family pictures were turned aside, lest some\nstrategem should lurk behind.\n\nHolt, with a look of malicious satisfaction, beheld every fresh\ndisappointment, which he followed with undisguised expressions of\nill-will.\n\n\"Now for the women's apartments,\" said the officer.\n\n\"I have but one daughter. Dost fancy that treason may be stitched in her\npetticoat? Thinkest thou she would hide this invisible gallant in her\nbedchamber? 'Sdeath, that it should ha' come to this! But I'll have my\nrevenge.\"\n\n\"I would fain spare thee from this contumely, but\"----\n\n\"But what?\"\n\n\"I must search the house through; and though I doubt not now that our\ninformation is false, yet I may not disobey the mandate I have\nreceived.\"\n\n\"Is this thy courtesy?\"\n\n\"My courtesy must yet consist with the true and honest discharge of mine\noffice. I wait not further parley.\"\n\nA short gallery communicated from the stairhead to the private chamber\nof Constance. They met her outside the door; and the timid girl grew\npale as she beheld the officer led on by her father.\n\n\"Constance,\" cried he, \"thy chamber smacks of treason: it must be purged\nfrom this suspicion. This mousing owl will search the crannies even of a\nwoman's wits ere he sate his appetite for discovery. Hast aught plotting\nin the hem of thy purfle, or in thy holiday ruff and fardingale? Come\nwith us, wench;--the gallant Earl of Tyrone would sport himself bravely\nin thy bedchamber, pretty innocent!\"\n\n\"If my gallantry were akin to mine office,--then, lady, would I spare\nthy bosom and mine own nature this extremity. Believe me, thou shall\nsuffer no rudeness at my hands.\"\n\nThe officer bowed low, observing her confusion and distress.\n\n\"Go with, us,\" said her father, \"and leave not until our search is over.\nMayhap he may find a lover in thy shoe, or in the wrinkles of thy\nrose-tie.\" He entered the chamber as he said this. It was a little room,\ntricked out with great elegance and beauty. Indian cabinets were there,\nand other costly ornaments, inlaid with ivory and pearl, in the\narrangement of which, and of the other furniture, considerable taste was\ndisplayed. A lute lay in one corner;--tambour-work and embroidery\noccupied a recess near the window;--the clothes' presses showed their\ncontents neatly folded, and carefully set out to the best advantage.\n\n\"I'faith, wench, thy chamber seems well fitted for so goodly a brace of\nguests--not a thread awry. Everything in trim order for thy gallants,\nmayhap. Thou hast not been at thy studies of late.--I have seen its\ninterior in somewhat less orderly fashion. I marvel if it might not be\npranked out for our coming. Now, to work, sir:--where does thy grubbing\nbegin?\"\n\nConstance posted herself in a gloomy corner, where she could watch their\nproceedings almost unperceived. She hoped that in her chamber the search\nwould not be so strict as in situations of more likelihood and\nprobability for concealment. At any rate, the common feelings of\ndelicacy and respect,--not quite extinct, she observed, even in this\npurveyor of justice,--would prevent any very exact and dangerous\nscrutiny. Nor was she deceived. He merely felt round the walls, opened\nthe presses and closets, but did not disturb the bed furniture. He was\nretiring from the search, when her father scornfully taunted him with\nthe ill success of his mission.\n\n\"I wonder thou hast not tumbled the bed topsy-turvy. I am glad to see\nthou hast yet some grace and manners in thy vocation. Now, Sir\nMessenger, to requite thee for this thy courtesy and forbearance, I will\nshow thee a secret tabernacle, which all thy prying has not been able to\ndiscover.\"\n\nSaying this he approached the bed: a spring was concealed in one of the\nposts communicating with the secret door behind which Tyrone was hidden.\nAs he turned aside the drapery to ascertain precisely its situation,\nConstance, no longer able to control her apprehension of discovery,\nrushed before him. Her terror, for the time, threw her completely from\nher guard.\n\n\"Do not, my father:--he must not look there. For my sake, oh, spare\n_this_\"----\n\nShe was silent:--her lips grew deadly pale; and she leaned against the\npillar for support. The officer's suspicions were awakened, and he gave\na shrewd guess at the truth.\n\n\"Now, fair dame,\" he cried: \"it is but an ungracious office to thwart a\nlady of her will, but I must see what lurks in that same secret recess.\nMaster Holt, I prythee help me to a peep behind the curtain.\"\n\nBut Holt was too much astonished to comply. What could exist there to\nexcite his daughter's apprehensions so powerfully, puzzled him greatly.\nHe had not a thought, the most remote, that could affect her\nfidelity;--yet he hesitated. The officer, in a more peremptory tone,\ndemanded admission. Rousing from his stupor, and mortified at the folly\nof these girlish fancies, he struck the spring: in a trice, a portion of\nthe bed's head flew open, displaying a dark chasm beyond. Swift as\nthought the officer darted through the aperture; but the door was\nimmediately shut, and with great violence. A scuffle was heard within,\nbut not a word was spoken. Holt, in doubt and consternation gazed with a\nwild and terrific aspect on the devoted Constance, who, covering her\nface, sought to avoid seeing the expected result of her imprudence. Her\nfather now listened. There was a dread suspense in his look more fearful\nthan even the most violent outburst of his wrath. He seemed every moment\nto expect some irrefragable proof,--some visible and overwhelming\nconviction of his daughter's infamy. The door was still closed. Groans\nwere plainly audible, telling of some terrible strife within. Suddenly\nthese indications ceased. Holt shuddered. He fancied some foul act was\nperpetrating--perhaps even now consummated--under his own roof; and\nswift would be the vengeance required at his hands. Constance, too,\nseemed to apprehend the commission of some deadly crime, as she threw\nherself imploringly before her father.\n\n\"Save them,--oh, save them!--their strife is mortal!\"\n\nHe shook her from him with a glance of abhorrence, and the maiden fell\nheavily on the floor. He was preparing to enter when the door flew open,\nand a form rushed through in the gaudy apparel of the officer. He leaped\non the floor, and, ere Holt could utter a word, he heard him descending\nthe stairs with great precipitation.\n\n\"Whom hast thou concealed in thy bedchamber?\" inquired the almost\nfrantic father. Constance sat on the ground, her head resting on the\nchair beside which she had fallen. She wept not, but her heart was full\neven to bursting.\n\n\"What is the name of thy paramour?--Thou hast been somewhat eager,\nmethinks, to accomplish thine own and a father's disgrace?\"\n\nThis cutting address roused her. She replied, but in a firm tone--\n\n\"A stranger,--an exile. Misfortune appeals not to woman's heart\nunalleviated. He threw himself on my protection; and where the feelings\nown no taint, their purity is not sullied,--even in a lady's\nbedchamber!\"\n\nA glance of insulted pride passed over her beautifully-formed features.\nIt was but for a moment. The agony of her spirit soon drank up the\nslender rill her feelings had gushed forth, and she stood withered and\ndrooping before the angry frown of her father.\n\n\"Surely, 'tis not the rebel Tyrone that my daughter harbours in the\nprivacy of her chamber? Speak!--Nay, then hast thou indeed brought an\nold man's grey hairs to the grave in sorrow! Treason!--Oh, that I have\nlived for this,--and my own flesh and blood hath done it. Out of my\nsight, unnatural monster. Dare not to crawl again across my path, lest I\nkill thee!\"\n\n\"O my father! I am indeed innocent.\" She again threw herself at his\nfeet, but he spurned her from him as though he loathed her beyond\nendurance. Boiling and maddened with rage at the presumption of this\ndaring rebel, Holt, forgetful of his own danger, seized the light. He\nburst open the secret door; but what was his astonishment on beholding,\nnot the hated form of Tyrone, but the officer of justice himself,\ngagged, pinioned, and deprived of his outer dress. The cap and mantle of\nTyrone, by his side, told too plainly of the daring and dangerous\nexploit by which his escape had been effected.\n\nThe outlaw, soon after his enlargement, finding that the cause he had\nespoused was hopeless, and that matters were at the last extremity in\nhis own fate, and that of his unhappy country,--fearful, too, of drawing\nthe innocent Constance and her father into the deep vortex of his own\nruin,--made all haste to the capital, where, through the powerful\ninterest excited in his behalf, aided by his well-known valour and the\ninfluence he was known to possess amongst his countrymen, he received a\nfree pardon from the Queen.\n\nYet his thoughts lingered on the remembrance of her to whose heroic and\nconfiding spirit he owed his safety. Never had his proud bosom been so\nenthralled. Though nurtured in camps, amid the din of arms, and the\nshout of the battle, yet his knowledge of the female heart was almost\nintuitive. He had loved more than once, but in every case the attachment\nended unhappily, terminating either by the death of the object or by\nsome calamity his own evil fate had unavoidably brought upon its victim.\nThough fearful the same operation of his destiny would ensue, and that\nmisery and misfortune would still follow the current of his affections,\nyet he resolved to behold once more the maiden he loved with an ardour\nalmost surpassing his own belief.\n\nOne cold dull morning, towards the wane of the year, when the heavy\ndrops lay long on the rank herbage; no sunbeam yet loitering through the\ndamp chill atmosphere, but the sky one wide and unvarying expanse--a sea\nof cloud--here and there a black scud passing over, like a dim bark\nsweeping across the bosom of that \"waveless deep,\" a stranger stood by a\nlow wicket near the mansion of Grislehurst. He looked wistfully at the\ngloomy windows, unlighted by a single reflection from without, like the\nrayless night of his own soul:--they were mostly closed. A mysterious\nand unusual stillness prevailed. The brown leaves fluttered about,\nunswept from the dreary avenues. Decayed branches obstructed the paths;\nand every object wore a look of wretchedness and dilapidation. The only\nsign of occupancy and life was one grey wreath of smoke, curling heavily\nfrom its vent, as if oppressed with the gloom by which it was\nsurrounded. The melancholy note of the redbreast was the only living\nsound, as the bird came hopping towards him with its usual air of\nfamiliarity and respect. Enveloped in a military cloak, and in his cap a\ndark feather drooping gently over his proud features, the stranger\nslowly approached the house: a side-door stood partly open. He entered.\nA narrow passage led into the hall. No embers brightened the huge\nchimney. The table showed no relics of the feast,--no tokens of the past\nnight's revel. The deer's antlers still hung over the master's place at\nthe board, but the oaken chair was gone. Dust and desertion had played\nstrange antics in these \"high places.\" The busy spider had wreathed her\ndingy festoons in mockery over the pomp she degraded.\n\nHe listened, but there was no sound, save the last faint echo of his\nfootstep. Turning towards the staircase, a beautiful spaniel, a sort of\nprivileged favourite of Constance, came, with a deep growl, as if to\nwarn away the intruder. But the sagacious animal suddenly fawned upon\nhim, and with a low whine ascended the stairs, looking back wistfully,\nas though inviting him to follow.\n\nScarcely knowing why, or bestowing one thought on the nature of his\nintrusion, he ascended. The place seemed familiar to him. He entered a\nnarrow gallery, where he paused, overcome by some sudden and\noverwhelming emotion. The dog stood too, looking back with a low and\nsorrowful whine. With a sudden effort he grappled with and shook off the\ndark spirit that threatened to overpower him. A low murmur was heard\napparently from a chamber at no great distance. Without reflecting a\nmoment on the impropriety of his situation, he hastily approached the\ndoor. His guide, with a look of almost irresistible persuasion, implored\nhim to enter.\n\nIt was the chamber of Constance. A female was kneeling by the bed, too\nmuch absorbed to be conscious of his approach: she was in the attitude\nof prayer. He recognised the old nurse,--her eye glistening in the\nfervour of devotion, whilst pouring forth, to her FATHER in secret, the\nagony of soul that words are too feeble to express.\n\nBending over the bed, as if for the support of some frail victim of\ndisease, he beheld the lord of the mansion. His look was wild and\nhaggard;--no moisture floated over his eyeballs: they were glazed and\nmotionless; arid as the hot desert,--no refreshing rain dropped from\ntheir burning orbs, dimmed with the shadows of despair.\n\nStretched on the bed, her pale cheek resting on the bosom of her father,\nlay the yet beauteous form of Constance Holt. A hectic flush at times\npassed across her features. Her lip, shrunk and parched with the fever\nthat consumed her, was moistened by an attendant with unremitting and\nunwearied assiduity; her eye often rose in tenderness on her parent, as\nif anxious to impart to him the consolation she enjoyed.\n\n\"Oh, I am happy, my father!\" Here a sudden change was visible,--some\nchord of sorrow was touched, and it vibrated to her soul.\n\nHer father spoke not.\n\n\"I _have_ loved!--Oh, faithfully. But, now--let me die without a murmur\nto Thee, or one wish but Thy will, and I am happy!\" She raised her soft\nand streaming eyes towards the throne of that Mercy she addressed. The\ncloud passed, but she sank back on her pillow, exhausted with the\nconflict. Her father bent over her in silent terror, anticipating the\nlast struggle. Suddenly he exclaimed, as if to call back the yet\nlingering spirit:--\n\n\"Live, my Constance! Could I save thee, thou blighted bud--blighted by\nmy\"--His lip grew pale; he struck his forehead, and a groan like the\nlast expiring throe of nature escaped him.\n\n\"Would the destroyer of my peace were here!--'Tis too late--or I would\nnot now forbid thy love. But he was a traitor, a rebel--else\"----\n\nConstance gradually revived from her insensibility. A sudden flash from\nthe departing spirit seemed to have animated her--a new and vehement\nenergy, which strangely contrasted with her weak and debilitated frame.\n\n\"I have seen him,\" she cried. \"Oh, methought his form passed before\nme;--but it is gone!\" She looked eagerly round the apartment; other eyes\ninvoluntarily followed,--but no living object could be distinguished\nthrough the chill and oppressive gloom that brooded over that chamber of\ndeath.\n\n\"It was a vision--a shadowy messenger from the tomb. Yet, once more if I\nmight see him--ere I die.\" A deep sob, succeeded by a rapid gush of\ntears, relieved her; but it told of the powerful and all-pervading\npassion not yet extinguished in her breast.\n\n\"We shall meet!\" again she raised her eyes towards that throne to which\nthe sigh of the sufferer never ascended in vain.\n\n\"Yes, my own--my loved Constance, now!\" cried the stranger, rushing from\nhis concealment. He clasped her in his arms. A gleam, like sunlight\nacross the wave, shot athwart the shadow that was gathering on her eye.\nIt seemed the forerunner of a change. The anxious father forbore to\nspeak, but he looked on his daughter with an agony that seemed to\nthreaten either reason or existence. Constance gazed on her lover, but\nher eye gradually became more dim. Her band relaxed in his grasp, yet\nher features wore a look of serenity and happiness.\n\n\"O most merciful Father! Thou hast heard my prayer, through Him whose\nmerits have found me a place in that glory to which I come. Be merciful\nto him whose love is true as mine own, and faithful unto death. Tyrone,\nwe meet again!--Oh, how have I prayed for thee!\" Her eyes seemed to\nbrighten even in this world with the glories of another.\n\n\"Farewell!--I hear the hymns of yon ransomed ones around the throne.\nThey beckon my spirit from these dark places of sorrow. Now--farewell!\"\n\nShe cast one look towards her lover: it was the last glimpse of earth.\nThe next moment her gaze was on the brightness of that world whence\nsorrow and sighing flee away. So sudden was the transition, that the\nfirst smile of the disembodied spirit seemed to linger on the abode she\nhad left, like the evening cloud, reflecting the glories of another sky,\nere it fades for ever into the darkness and solitude of night.\n\n[Illustration: HOGHTON TOWER.\n\n_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[22] Cox, p. 415.\n\n[23] Sydney's Letters.\n\n[24] Camden.\n\n[25] Camden.\n\n[26] Camden, p. 645.\n\n[27] Winwood, vol. i. p. 369.\n\n[28] In the parish church of St Chad, Rochdale, is a marble tablet,\nerected by John Entwisle, Esquire, a descendant of Sir Bertine, on which\nis the following inscription:--\n\n\"To perpetuate a memorial in the church of St Alban's (perished by\ntime), this marble is here placed to the memory of a gallant and loyal\nman, Sir Bertine Entwisel, Knight, Viscount and Baron of Brybeke, in\nNormandy, and some time Bailiff of Constantin, in which office he\nsucceeded his father-in-law, Sir John Ashton, whose daughter Lucy first\nmarried Sir Richard le Byron, an ancestor of the Lord Byrons, Barons of\nRochdale, and, secondly, Sir Bertine Entwisel, who, after performing\nrepeated acts of valour in the service of his sovereigns, Henry V. and\nVI., more particularly at Agincourt, was killed in the first battle of\nSt Alban's, and on his tomb was recorded in brass the following\ninscription:--\n\n\"'Here lyth Syr Bertine Entwisel, Knighte, which was born in\nLancastershyre, and was Viscount and Baron of Brybeke in Normandy, and\nBailiff of Constantin, who died fighting on King Henry VI. party, 28th\nMay, 1455.\n\n\"'_On whose sowl Jesu have mercy!_'\"\n\n\n\n\nHOGHTON TOWER.\n\n\n    \"Pastime with good company\n    I love, and shall until I die;\n    Grudge so will, but none deny;\n    So God be pleased, so live will I.\n      For my pastance,\n      Hunt, sing, and dance,\n      My heart is set;\n      All godly sport,\n      To my comfort,\n      Who shall me let!\"\n\n_The Kinges Balade._\n\n    \"God gives not kings the style of gods in vain,\n      For on his throne his sceptre do they sway;\n      And, as their subjects ought them to obey,\n    So kings should feare and serve their God againe.\"\n\n_King James to his Son Prince Henry_.\n\n\"The ancient castle denominated Hoghton Tower stands on the summit of a\nhill, formerly shrouded with trees, four miles and a half west of\nBlackburn. It was erected by Sir Thomas Hoghton, in the beginning of\nElizabeth's reign. It remained for several generations the principal\nseat of the Hoghton family; and after part of it had been blown up by\naccident, when garrisoned for Charles the First, the injury was\nrepaired. The family have now removed to Walton Hall; and Hoghton Tower\nis left to decay, two poor families inhabiting the south wing only. A\nponderous gateway, immediately under the centre tower, leads to the\nquadrangular courtyard, capable of holding six hundred men. The noble\nembattled tower, forming the west front, with its two minor square\ntowers, serve as appendages to the north and south wing, and are united\nby low walls. Within the courtyard, a noble flight of steps leads to the\nmiddle quadripartite, similar in aspect to Stonyhurst College, the\nancient residence of the Sherbornes. This middle pile contains large\nstaircases, branching out to long galleries, into which the several\nchambers open. One chamber, still called James the First's room, is\nconsidered 'most worthy of notice;' it has two square windows in both\nnorth and south, is beautifully wainscoted, and contains some old\nfurniture. A fine prospect is gained from this ancient and sequestered\nabode: the pretty village of Walton-le-dale, delightfully situate in a\nvalley, the improving town of Preston, and the single-coned Nase Point\npresenting itself majestically in the distance. The gentle river Darwen\npursues its placid course among the enclosures at the base of the hill.\"\n\nThe above description, extracted from Nichols's _Royal Progresses of\nJames the First_, and likewise the particulars scattered through the\nfollowing tale, will, we hope, convey to the reader a pretty accurate\nidea of this noble but deserted mansion.\n\nA petition, which was presented here (some say at Meyerscough) to King\nJames, by a great number of Lancashire peasants, tradesmen, and\nservants, requesting that they might be allowed to take their diversions\n(as of old accustomed) after divine service on Sundays, is said to have\nbeen the origin of the _Book of Sports_, soon after promulgated by royal\nauthority. James being persuaded those were Puritans who forbade such\ndiversions, and that they were Jewishly inclined, because they affected\nto call Sunday the Sabbath, recommended that diverting exercises should\nbe used after evening prayer, and ordered the book to be read publicly\nin all churches; and such ministers as refused to obey the injunction\nwere threatened with severe punishment in the High Commission Court.\nThis legal violation of the day which is unequivocally the Christian\nSabbath, roused at the time the indignation of the seriously disposed,\nand has been frequently reprobated by historians. Foremost of its\nopposers, and eminent in example, stands the virtuous and firm\nArchbishop Abbot, who, being at Croydon the day it was ordered to be\nread in churches, flatly forbade it to be read there; which the King was\npleased to wink at, notwithstanding the daily endeavours that were used\nto irritate the King against him. The _Book of Sports_ is not, however,\nwithout its apologists among modern writers. The following are Mr\nD'Israeli's remarks on the subject:--\"The King found the people in\nLancashire discontented, from the unusual deprivation of their popular\nrecreations on Sundays and holidays after the church service: 'With our\nown ears we heard the general complaint of our people.' The Catholic\npriests were busily insinuating among the lower orders that the Reformed\nreligion was a sullen deprivation of all mirth and social amusements,\nand thus 'turning the people's hearts.' But while they were denied what\nthe King terms 'lawful recreations' (which are enumerated to consist of\ndancing, archery, leaping, vaulting, May-games, Whitsun-ales,\nmorris-dances, and the setting up of Maypoles, and other manly sports),\nthey had substituted some vicious ones. Alehouses were more frequented,\ndrunkenness more general, tale-mongery and sedition, the vices of\nsedentary idleness, prevailed, while a fanatical gloom was spreading\nover the country. The King, whose gaiety of temper instantly sympathised\nwith the multitude, being perhaps alarmed at this new shape which\nPuritanism was assuming, published the _Book of Sports_, which soon\nobtained the contemptuous name of 'The Dancing Book'\" (_Life of James_,\np. 135). In reply to this view of the subject we shall, for the present,\nconclude with Dr Whitaker's remark, that \"The King was little aware of\nthe effects which the ill-judged licence was likely to produce on the\ncommon people. The relics of it are hardly worn out to this day; and\nthere is scarcely a Sunday evening in any village of the county of\nLancaster which does not exhibit symptoms of obedience to the injunction\nof honest 'recreation.'\"--_Royal Progresses of James I_.\n\nOn the 15th of August, in the year 1617, a day memorable for its heat\nand brightness, and for the more enduring glory shed over this remote\ncorner of our rejoicing and gladdened realm, came forth King James, from\nthe southern gate of his loyal borough of Preston, in a gilded and\nunwieldy caroche, something abated of its lustre by reason of long\nservice and the many vicissitudes attending his Majesty's \"progresses,\"\nwhich he underwent to the great comfort and well-being of his dominions.\n\nIt were needless to set forth the mighty state in which this war-hating\nmonarch, this \"vicegerent of Divinity,\" departed--or the great error and\nagitation of Mr Breares, the lawyer, when he made a marvellous proper\nspeech at the town-cross--wiping his forehead thrice, and his mouth\nbarely once. Nor shall we dilate upon the distress, and dazzling silk\ndoublets of the mayor and aldermen of this proud and thrice-happy\nborough--nor how they knelt to the soft salute of his Majesty's hand.\nOur whole book were a space too brief, and a region too inglorious, for\nthe wide pomp and paraphernalia of the time; and how the bailiff rode,\nand the mace-bearer guarded the caroche, it were presumption, an\noffensive compound of ignorance and pride, to attempt the portraiture.\nSuffice it to say, they wore mulberry-coloured taffeta gowns, carried\nwhite staves and foot-cloths, and were preceded by twenty-four stout\nyeomen riding before the king, with fringed javelins, unto a place\nbeyond Walton, where they departed. Our object is to notice matters of\nless magnitude and splendour; occurrences then too trivial to guide the\npen of the chronicler, lost beneath the blaze and effulgence that\nfollowed on the track of this pageant-loving king. Scraps, which the\npomps and vanities of those days would have degraded, we thus snatch\nfrom oblivion; a preservation more worthy, and an occupation more\nuseful, we hope, than to hand down to admiring ages the colour and cut\nof taffeta or brocade.\n\nThis \"wisest\" of earthly kings was an ill-spoiled compound of qualities,\nthe types of which existed in his monitor and his preceptor; two great\nmen, whom history has not failed to distinguish--Archie Armstrong and\nGeorge Buchanan--the wit and the scholar, which in him became the\nrepresentatives of two much more useful and esteemed qualities--fool and\npedant!\n\nAttended by his favourite Buckingham and a numerous train of officials,\nhe \"progressed\" upon the road to Hoghton Tower, the spacious and\nsplendid dwelling of Sir Richard Hoghton, the first baronet of that\nfamily, whose guest he was to continue for a space, to the great envy\nand admiration of the whole neighbourhood.\n\nAs they came nigh the Tower, nothing could be conceived more beautiful\nor picturesque. Its embattled-gateway, bartizans, and battlements,\ncrowning the summit of a bold and commanding eminence, became brightly\nilluminated, flashing against grim and shapeless masses of cloud, the\nshattered relics of a storm, that was rolling away in the distance.\n\nMany of the neighbouring gentry were in attendance, not disdaining to\nwear, out of grace and courtesy to Sir Richard Hoghton, the livery of\ntheir thrice-honoured entertainer.\n\nThe king's train alone were very numerous, amongst whom appeared Lord\nZouch, Constable of Dover Castle, and Sir George Goring, Lieutenant of\nthe Gentlemen Pensioners.[29] With the latter rode Sir John Finett,[30]\nAssistant Master of the Ceremonies, but who acted the chief part in this\nimportant office during the king's journey; two worthies, of whom it\nmight be said, that for tempering of the king's humour, and aptness in\nministering to his delights, their like could scarcely have been found.\nSuch nights of feasting and dancing, such days of hawking, hunting, and\nhorse-racing, had never before gladdened the heart of \"Merry Englonde,\"\nor England's monarchs. It seemed as if the whole realm were given up to\nidolatry and dissipation. The idol pleasure was worshipped with such\nardour and devotion, that all ranks were striving to outdo each other in\ntinsel, trumpery, and deeds of worthlessness and folly.\n\nThe king loved such disguises and representations as were witty and\nsudden; the more ridiculous, and to him the more pleasant. This vain and\nfrivolous humour might seem unworthy and unbecoming in so great a\nprince, whose profundity of wisdom had well entitled him to the\nappellation of \"our English Solomon,\" did we not call to remembrance\nthat the greatest of men have not disdained to be children in their\nsports; the deepest dispositions of the mind seeming to require the\nlightest and most frivolous recreations.\n\nThese worthy purveyors to the king's pleasure were of a temper and\ncapacity widely different. Sir George Goring was caustic and severe; Sir\nJohn Finett pleasant and social, delighting in nothing so much as in the\nhappiness and gratification of his friends. But the natural disposition\nof his thoughts was wild and melancholic, taking its hue from some early\nimpression, that was now fading in doubt and disappointment.\n\nThe full burst of his hilarity floated joyously on the surface, and his\nloud mirth, blunting the keen edge of his own feelings, became the more\nexhilarating in proportion to their acuteness. He had the warm blood of\nthe Italian in his veins, being descended from an ancient family of\nSienna; and his rich brown cheek and darkly-speaking eye belied not the\nland of his origin. Goring was fat and swarthy: his nose small and\nsupercilious, and his eye grey and piercing. He cared not whom he\nwounded, provided the shafts he drew were well pointed; and his wit\nquick and well-aimed, causing the king to laugh, and his victim to\nwrithe during their operation.\n\nAs the monarch sate discoursing with the Duke of Buckingham, being sore\nheated, he threw open the windows of his coach, from whence he\noccasionally obtruded his wise head for a survey, and a visit from some\nvagrant and silly breeze, if any were abroad. The roads admitted not of\naught but the gentlest paces, and the great clamour and cloud about the\nprocession made the dust and heat excessively annoying; whereupon the\nking, it is said, did apply a very uncourteous epithet to some of his\nloving subjects, who came too close upon his person, which, though not\ngenerally averse to being gazed at, was in too warm an atmosphere at\npresent for enjoying these kingly exhibitions.\n\n\"O' my saul, that meikle stane would build a bra' chappin-block for my\nLord Provost,\" said royalty, its head again stationed at the window,\nsurveying with solemn curiosity an egg-shaped stone of the boulder sort,\nwhich, sure enough, was of a remarkable bigness, though not of that\nrarity or infrequence that should have drawn forth the wonder of a king.\nHis native dialect he generally employed on jocose and familiar\nsubjects. In affairs of importance he affected the use of the English\ntongue, which he spoke with great formality and pomp.\n\n\"Stop,\" said he. \"There be _literae_ or letters thereon. Unto what\npurport?\"\n\nBut no one could resolve him as to the use of the stone, or the purport\nof the writing. His worthy host protested that the wonder had never\nbefore been observed. It was doubtless some miracle worked for the\noccasion.\n\n\"But the _scriptum_ or writing will set forth the motive or argument\nthereto. The letters be goodly and well-shapen.\"\n\nMany voices recited the inscription, forming the following ill-spelled\nline.\n\n    \"_Torne me o're, an I'le tel thee plaine_.\"\n\nThe well-known childish curiosity of the monarch would not permit him to\ngo away unsatisfied. The day was hot, and the stone was heavy; but a\nlong and laborious toil brought to light the following satisfactory\nintelligence,--\n\n    \"_Hot porritch softens hard butter-cakes,\n    So torne me o'er again_\"[31]\n\n\"And o' my saul,\" said the king, \"ye shall gang roun' to yere place\nagain; for sa meikle as these country gowks mauna ken the riddle without\nthe labour.\"\n\nSo the \"muckle stane\" was replaced for the next comer who had strength\nand curiosity enough to unriddle the sphinx.\n\nBut James did not relish fooleries wherein he was the butt. Whether it\nwas devised by some wicked rhymester and contemner of royalty in the\nneighbourhood, or placed there by some of the wits of his own company,\nwas never ascertained, though he challenged them at random, and swore\nlustily that he would know the originator of this piece of folly and\nimpertinence.\n\nAs the king drew nigh to the avenue, there presently issued forth a\ngoodly flourish of trumpets, which made the women caper and the horses\nprance. Sir Richard Hoghton rode with the king; but his son Sir Gilbert\nmet his Majesty with a great retinue, clad mostly after the same\nfashion; many of the neighbouring gentry, as we have before observed,\nnot disdaining to put on Sir Richard's gowns and liveries, to swell the\npomp and magnificence of that memorable occasion.\n\nThe javelin-bearers rode two and two: halting at his Majesty's approach,\nthey formed an avenue, through which Sir Gilbert, sumptuously attired,\nwent forth to salute the king. His cloak and hose were all glistening\nand spangled with embroidery; his vest was cloth of gold, enriched with\nrare and costly stones; his shirt-bands and ruffles were worked in\nsilver; and his gloves, Spanish, breathing out the choicest perfume; his\nhat was of French murrey, the brims thick set with gold twist and\nspangles; round it was a band of goldsmith's work, looped with a crystal\nbutton.\n\nOn approaching the monarch he gracefully alighted; whereupon James\ncommanded that the carriage should be stayed, thrusting out his hand in\na very gracious sort to this worthy knight, who, on his knees, received\nthe blessing.\n\nHis Majesty then took horse, assisted by Buckingham, who held the\nstirrup. But the king's peculiar and unsteady vaulting was much noticed.\nMany of the bystanders, not aware of his Majesty's dislike to these\nequestrian feats, marvelled not a little at the motion of his leg, and\nthe disturbed and uneasy position he assumed. The pathway up the avenue\nwas laid with purple velvet, on which the glittering cavalcade, horse\nand foot, formed a noble pageant, whose pomp was almost dazzling to\nbehold. The carriages took another path opened for the occasion. The\nwhole area in front of the Tower teemed with multitudes, whose shouts\nand huzzas made the very hills and echoes loyal, while they rang with\nacclamations to their sovereign. Presently issued forth from the middle\ngateway two curiously-attired figures, bearing emblems to indicate\ntheir character and design. There were living allegories, represented by\nthe house-steward and Hobbe Handycap, the forester or tienman, keeper of\nvert and venison, a \"ryghte merrie knave,\" and one foremost in all\npastimes and \"honest recreations;\" a great promoter and performer of\nMay-games, morris-dancing, and the like. These figures were to be\nconceived as household gods, the tutelary deities of Hoghton. The first\nspokesman was clad in a purple taffeta mantle; in one hand was a\npalm-tree branch, on his head a garland of the like sort, and in the\nother hand he carried a dog.\n\nKing James accustomed to, and expecting these mummeries, made a full\nstop, when, forthwith, began the purple mantle as follows--\n\n    \"This day, great Kinge, for government admired,\n    Which these thy subjects have so much desired,\n    Shall be kept holy in their heart's best treasure,\n    And vowed to James, as is this month to Caesar;\"\n\nwith a good score of lines besides, of the like brevity and metre. In\nthem he was said to be greater even than the immortal gods themselves,\nseeing that they came to render their homage unto him, together with all\nthings else over which they bare rule, even as the greater doth include\nthe less.\n\nThen spake Hobbe, the deity of the chase:--\n\n\"Greatest of mortals!\"\n\nBut he was presently nonplussed, and the steward stept forth to his\nrelief, reciting how that the glorious beams from his Majesty's person\nhad stricken dumb this weaker divinity. Having finished, the heat being\nintense, and they mightily encumbered with garments, did presently turn\ntheir backs on the king's majesty, making all speed towards the gateway\nfor shelter. This breach of good manners was not unnoticed by the\nmonarch, who said, wittily, we suppose, for it was much applauded, that\nthese gods were not of High Olympus, but of the nether sort, inasmuch as\nthey had turned tail upon their subject.\n\nJames and his company, passing through the ponderous and embattled\ngateway, entered into the great quadrangle, an area, it is reported, of\nsufficient size to contain six hundred men. Here he alighted, and was\nconducted in great state to the oaken chamber, where, royalty being very\nhot, a tankard of Rhenish wine, mingled with rosewater, was handed to\nhim; of this he partook but sparingly, calling to Buckingham for a cup\nof muscadine and eggs.\n\nGoring and Finett were not idle, but each of them fully employed in\ntheir respective vocations. Sir John had been pierced by a pair of dark\neyes from the crowd upon the staircase, and Goring was making all haste\nfor the royal hunt, his Majesty having signified that he would on that\nsame evening kill a stag. James was, generally, as quick to resolve as\nhe was impotent to execute; vacillating, and without any fixed purpose,\nin matters that required decision and promptitude of action.\n\nWith his usual pusillanimity the king went through the business of the\nhunt, the deer being literally driven into the very teeth of the dogs.\nAn hour having been thus occupied, he commanded that they should return,\nhighly satisfied with his own skill and intrepidity. Ascending the hill\nwith his favourite, Goring, and discoursing pleasantly on this noble\npastime, the king turned round on the sudden, as though recollecting\nsomething he had lost.\n\n\"What! Jack Finett. Quhere? quhere, I say, is my Sienna balsam?\" said\nhe, laying a deep emphasis on the guttural. This sally was acknowledged\nwith delight by the courtiers. But \"Jack\" had not been seen or even\nremembered. Some trick or device was doubtless intended, and the king\nheld himself in readiness for the expected surprise; but none was\nforthcoming. No magazine of mirth exploded; no mine was sprung; and\nJames entered into his chamber without any visible expression of\njocoseness issuing from the fertile brains of Sir John Finett. The\nirritation produced by his absence seemed to arise, not from any need of\nhim, but from that tormenting desire which mortals universally feel for\nthe possession of objects beyond their reach. Search was commanded for\nthe truant, unsuccessfully; and supper was begun.\n\nThe eastern side of the hill on which the tower is built is bold and\nrugged, being steep and difficult of access. At its base the Darwen\nforces itself through a narrow channel, its waters tumbling over huge\nheaps of rock, and reeling in mazy eddies to the echo of their own\nvoice. The river seems to have worked itself a passage through the\nchasm; and the boiling and noisy torrent, struggling to free itself from\nobservation, foams and bellows like the gorge of a whirlpool, from\nwhence originates its name, \"The Orr,\" not unlike in sound to the effect\nthat is here produced.\n\nOn the opposite shore the rock is nearly perpendicular, the dog-rose\nand the bramble hiding its crevices, and the crawling campanula\nwreathing its bright bells about the sterile front, from which its\nsustenance was derived, like youth clinging to the cold and insensate\nbosom of age. The declivity sloping abruptly from the tower was then\ncovered with a wild and luxuriant underwood, stunted ash and hazel twigs\nthinly occupying a succession of ridges to the summit. Here and there a\nstraggling oak threw its ungraceful outline over a narrow path, winding\nimmediately under the base of the hill,--its bare roots undermined by\noozings from above, and giving way to the slow but certain operation of\nthe destroyer. From the heat and dryness of the season the torrent was\nmuch diminished, rushing into a succession of deep pools, which the full\nfree light of heaven had scarcely ever visited. Now dimly seen through\nthe hot gleams of a summer evening, they seemed wavering in the lurid\nreflection from surrounding objects.\n\nUp this narrow gorge had strayed Sir John Finett with a companion, too\nbusily engaged, it might seem, in their own converse to note the lapse\nof time, and the probable consequences of the king's displeasure.\n\n\"Fair lady,\" said the gay cavalier, \"I am not more bold than my vocation\nholdeth meet. Your cousin, at Myerscough, was so liberal of his own\nsuit, and my countenance therein, that he hath entrusted this\nlove-billet to my keeping, warning me that I should let none but\nyourself be privy to its delivery.\"\n\n\"Would that my cousin had eschewed letter-writing! I am averse to his\nsuit, and yet he ceaseth not to vex me continually with his drivelling\nditties. His ballad-mongering to these 'eyne' alone would set up one of\nyour court rhymesters for a twelvemonth.\"\n\n\"Yet may aversion cease, and your mislikings be not over difficult to\nassuage,\" said the courtier.\n\n\"I doubt not but Sir John Finett speaks of the capricious and changeable\nhumours he hath witnessed;--our country fashion holdeth not so lightly\nby its affection or disfavour.\"\n\n\"Then there be doubtless of those stout vessels that shall never leak\nout a lady's favour. That this lot were mine!\"\n\nSir John, perhaps unconsciously, threw his dark eyes full upon the lady,\nwho blushed deeply; but the gloom concealed this outward show of\nfeeling, too unformed and indefinite for thought. She spoke not; but the\nknight, under cover of his errand, continued the discourse without\nawakening her alarm. He excelled in that specious, though apparently\nheedless raillery, which is so apt to slip without suspicion into a\nlady's ear; and he could ply his suit, under this disguise, with such\nseeming artlessness and unconcern, that a lodgement in the citadel was\nsometimes effected ere the garrison was aware of the intrusion.\n\nThis fair dame, Grace Gerard, was of gentle blood, a daughter of the\nGerards of Ashton Hall, near Lancaster. At the earnest solicitations of\nthe Hoghton family, she was induced to remain a guest with them during\nthe royal visit. Of a sweet and excellent temper, her form and face were\nits very image and counterpart. The world was to her untried--fresh,\nfair, unblemished--she looked upon it as though she were newly alighted\non \"some heaven-kissing hill,\" from whence the whole round of life's\njourney was blent and mingled with the glowing beam that now encompassed\nher. Alas! that youth should so soon pluck and eat of the \"Tree of\nKnowledge!\" that a nearer approach should dissipate the illusion! that\nour path, as it winds through those scenes we have looked on from afar\nin the light of our imagination, should at every step discover the\ntracks of misery,--a world of wretchedness and of woe!\n\nSir John, with all his faults, inseparable it may be from the society\ninto which he had been thrown, was not vicious. Loving and beloved, he\nexisted but as the object of woman's regard. This foible he indulged not\nfarther. But many a bright eye waxed dim,--many a fond heart was\nwithered, in the first spring-tide of its affection.\n\n\"Now that I have granted you this audience for my cousin's sake, and\ngiven him my reply, it is needful that we return. Besides, the night is\ncoming on. The king and the feast demand your presence.\"\n\n\"Nay, thou cruel tyrant, tell me not of my chain. The king's humour I\ncan control, but\"----\n\n\"Presume not on the favour of princes; an ancient but wholesome\ncaution,\" said the maiden, laughing at Sir John, who, for the first\ntime, seemed to be aware of his duty, and was puzzling his brains for an\nexcuse.\n\nThe bell now rang out lustily from the Tower, increasing the knight's\nperplexity. The innocent cause of this delay only laughed at his\nconcern, singing, as though to herself--\n\n    \"'The bell has been rung, and the mass hath been sung,\n      And the feast eat merrily,\n                        Merrily!'\n\n\"and the king's master of the ceremonies absent.\"\n\nThe aspect of affairs was now more serious than he had anticipated.\nSupper was indeed commencing. Some scheme or witty device must be hit\nupon,--speedily too, or the king's displeasure might be difficult to\nassuage.\n\n\"But for thy bright eyes and fair speech, my lady Grace, I had not been\namissing from my duty.\" He looked thoughtful, and it was the maiden's\nturn to rally.\n\nThey ascended the hill by a short but steep path. As they approached the\nsummit, he seemed to awake from a deep reverie.\n\n\"Now have you granted me an audience for a lover's sake--to-morrow, let\nme be the ambassador for another.\"\n\n\"I have no lovers from whom I would care to be honoured with an\nembassy!\"\n\n\"None?\" said the knight, peering curiously, as if he would penetrate the\nfolds of a real Flanders scarf she had thrown carelessly about her\nhead--\n\n    \"'Then will I be thy lover true,\n      And thou my beauteous queene,'\n\n\"through these gay festivities. But mark me!\"--He became serious on the\nsudden. The expression of his eye, from its general character of assumed\ngaiety, was changed into that of tenderness and respect. \"Mark me, lady,\nI would be spared the horror of a rival. Will you be my partner in these\npageantries--my mistress unto whom I may render mine homage and my\ntrust?\"\n\n\"'Tis a brave speech, Sir John,\" cried the lady, as though wishful to\ndivert the subject. \"My cousin tells me that you are a knight of great\ncourage and renown, but he sayeth not aught of your disposition to\noutrival him in heroics. Good-bye--a promise made is a promise broken;\ntherefore, I'll offer none. I meet you not to-night at the feast, having\nobtained mine excuse.\"\n\nSaying this, she bounded from him ere he was aware, and was speedily out\nof sight.\n\nHe was not a little chagrined at her abrupt departure; yet her very\ncarelessness, and the open simplicity of her manner, only served to fix\nher the more deeply in his thoughts. But a problem of greater difficulty\nwas to be resolved than how to fix the chameleon hue of woman's\nthought. He had a king to pacify--wayward as a child, fickle as a lady's\nfavour. Unless he could acquit himself by some witty quibble or device,\nhe might bid adieu to the gaieties over which he presided. The time was\nshort, and his wit must needs be ambling. As he passed through the\ncourt, revolving many plans for his deliverance, he was aware of a loud\ndispute between the two household divinities we have before noticed.\nWords were nigh being exchanged for blows, but they were stayed out of\nrespect to the intruder.\n\nLeaving Sir John to confer with those doughty disputants, let us follow\nthe king to supper. Space forbids that we describe the wonders of this\nfeast, and the dainties that were provided--how the swans were roasted,\nand the herons eaten cold--how pies were baked of the red deer, and the\nwild boar, not a whit too small for the reception of any moderate-sized\nChristian subject of his Majesty's. There were turkeys, quails, poults,\nand plovers; but of pheasants only two, and one for the king. The\ngreatest triumph, however, was reserved for the confections; an\nartificial hen was here served of puff-paste; her wings displayed,\nsitting upon eggs of the same materials. In each of these was enclosed a\nfat lark roasted, and seasoned with pepper and ambergris.\n\nThey sat down, but the master of the ceremonies was still absent;\nwhereupon the king, much distempered thereby, called out to Sir George\nGoring--\n\n\"Our mummer and our dancer being departed--whilk thing, aforetime, we\ndid maist righteously inhibit--thinkest thou, he may not henceforth\neschew our service?\"\n\n\"My liege, your Grace's commands were to seek him a full hour agone, but\nthe scared deer hath taken to covert. He was, peradventure, afraid of\nthe hunting, and liketh his own neck better than the sport. He careth\nnot, methinks, to show his face that turns big back on his comrade's\nperil.\"\n\n\"May be,\" said Buckingham, \"your Majesty's favour is not so winsome as a\nlady's cheek. I would wager my cap, Jack Finett hath found a smoother\ntongue, but a harder service, than your Majesty's.\"\n\n\"O' my saul,--if I thought so,\" said the monarch, as he threw down a\nspoonful of buttered pease, \"I would send him to the Tower, and he\nshould write a book on Hercules his distaff.\"\n\n\"Or Omphale's spindle,\" said a voice at the lower end of the hall,\nwhich, issuing from a mask, closely fitted, sounded wondrously hollow\nand portentous. A profound silence ensued--all eyes being turned towards\nthe speaker, who was no less a personage than the first household god,\nattired in his proper suit. He approached the king's table, waving his\nhand in token of attention--\n\n    \"The knight ye speak of, mark me well,\n    I've just drawn from the castle-well!\"\n\n\"Mercy on us,\" cried Sir Richard Hoghton. \"The draw-well is more than\neighty yards deep. Thou art a lying deity, and shalt be banished from\nthis bright Olympus.\"\n\nBut the deity, nothing abashed, thus continued--\n\n    \"How came he thus, I dare not tell;\n    My brother may the mystery dispel.\"\n\nHe stooped down--rising again to the astonished eyes of the fair dames\nand nobles at the upper bench, in the forester's habit of Kendal green,\nwith cloak and doublet of the same colour.\n\n\"What's now?\" said James. \"Witchery and fause negromancie, o' my troth.\n'Tis treason, Sir Richard, to use glamour in the king's presence.\"\n\nBut the sylvan god continued in the doggerel of his predecessor--\n\n    \"Sir John to be forgiven would hope;\n    He had been drowned, but for the rope!\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said the king, chuckling at this opportunity, purposely given, for\na display of his wit--\"he'll be hanged--na doot, na doot.\"\n\n\"Prythee, Sylvanus, or whatever thou be, bring Sir John hither, that he\nmay dry his web in the hot sunshine of a lady's glance,\" said Villiers,\nwith an ill-suppressed sneer.\n\nAgain this Proteus was transformed. Doffing his habit, Sir John Finett\nstood confessed before them. He knelt penitently before the king, humbly\nassuring his Majesty that he had been preparing this device, and many\nothers, to please and surprise him; but that, through the bungling of\nsome, and the bashfulness of others, he was obliged to enact the parts\nhimself. This excuse the king was graciously pleased to accept,\ncommending him for his great diligence and zeal.\n\nThe night now wore on with much outward show of mirth and revelry; but\nthe king went early to rest, purposing to rise betimes.\n\nOn the following day he went out again with a great company, and killed\na brace of stags, which mighty achievement, by authentic record, we find\nwas accomplished before dinner--the king alone being able to bring down\nthe venison.\n\nWe willingly pass over this day's banquet; nor do we care to chronicle\nthe feats of Morris the head-cook, and his deputies of the ranges and\nthe pastries. The boiling and roasting of poults and pullets, and the\nconstruction of comfits and confections, we consign to everlasting\noblivion.\n\nWhen the king rose from table, about four o'clock, as we find it in the\nprivate journal of one present, he purposed to view the alum-mines,\nabout two miles distant from the Tower; but, being eager for the sport,\nhe went forth again a-hunting. He shot at a stag and missed. The next\nbolt broke the thigh-bone, and the dog being long in coming, Lord\nCompton despatched the poor beast, whereby his capture was effected. We\nforbear to dwell on this, and much more of the like interest, returning\nwith the king to supper, where the beauteous Grace Gerard was present,\nand Sir John Finett, her true knight and devoted slave. Dr Morton, then\nBishop of Chester, was chaplain, doling out a long Latin grace with\ngreat unction.\n\nThe music had ceased, the second course being just served, when a signal\nwas given for the king's pledge.\n\n\"Let each one pledge the fairest,\" cried the royal toast-master, moved\nto some unwonted gallantry by approximation with the fair and lusty\ndames about his person. For it hath been wittily if not wickedly said by\na popular writer in another place that James was in all things like unto\nSolomon, save in the matter of women.\n\nNow was there a brave stir throughout the assembly. Such pledging of\nmistresses and challenging of cups, that nothing could be like unto it.\n\n\"To the bright eyes and peerless grace of the lady Grace Gerard,\" said\nSir John Finett, draining his goblet to the uttermost;--and the maiden's\ncheek glowed like a furnace.\n\n\"Said I not that he could win a lady's grace sooner than a monarch's\ndisfavour? Nay, your Majesty, I but meant that Sir John conveys the\nfairest eyes and the warmest hearts into his own keeping, like an\n_Ochus-Bochus_,\" said Buckingham, looking envious at the distinction he\nhad gained.\n\n\"I see plainly that Truth is hidden in a well,\" said Goring, drily.\n\nSir John Finett, courtier and dissembler as he was, could scarcely hide\nthe truth of this sally. But he quickly recovered his self-possession\nere the king's eye could detect a change. Yet did he not escape the\nvigilance of his two friends, who suspected the real cause of his\nabsence on the preceding night.\n\n\"Thou shalt be her true knight to-morrow, and she shall be queen of our\nsports,\" said the king, graciously extending his hand to the blushing\nmaiden.\n\nBut this speech pleased not some of the courtiers, and Buckingham,\nhaving his eye on this fair flower, secretly resolved that Sir John\nshould not enjoy its fragrance unmolested.\n\nOn the following morning, being Sunday, there came a great company of\npeasants and handicraftsmen--notorious idlers about the parish--with a\npetition, wherein it was shown that the loyal and peaceable inhabitants\nof Lancashire had been long hindered of their usual diversions on\nSundays and other holidays by the rigour of Puritans, Precisians, and\nsuch like folk,[32] who, being enemies to all innocent and lawful mirth,\ndid mightily begrudge and maliciously restrain their use. These\npetitioners, therefore, prayed his Majesty, \"that he would not forbid\ntheir exercising of all honest and lawful recreation, such as dancing of\nmen and women, archery, running, leaping, and vaulting; nor prohibit the\nuse of May-games, May-poles, morris-dances, and other like lawful\nsports, so that the same should not impediment or cause neglect of\ndivine service.\"\n\nThe ground of this complaint was laid in the time of Elizabeth, who, in\norder to reform the manners of the people, instituted a high commission\nin the year 1579. The commissioners were Henry Earl of Derby, Henry Earl\nof Huntingdon, William Lord Bishop of Chester, and others. At their\nsittings, which were held in Manchester, they issued orders throughout\nthe county against \"pipers and minstrels playing, making, and\nfrequenting bear-baiting and bull-baiting on the Sabbath days, or upon\nany other days in time of divine service, and also against superstitious\nringing of bells, wakes, and common feasts; drunkenness, gaming, and\nother vicious and unprofitable pursuits.\" These restrictions the royal\npedant thought incompatible with the public weal, and graciously\nanswered the petitioners in such-wise that he would have these\nover-righteous zealots rebuked; that it was a misuse of their authority;\nand that he would not only grant the humble request of his subjects,\nbut, on that very evening he would have a masque and an allegory, with\ndancing and other like diversions, by the lords and other nobility there\npresent.\n\nSuch was the origin of the famous _Book of Sports_. His Majesty, on\nreturning to the capital, issued a proclamation,[33] stating--\n\n\"That in his progress through Lancashire he found it necessary to rebuke\nsome Puritans and precise people, and took order that the said unlawful\ncarriage should not be used by any of them hereafter, in the prohibiting\nand unlawfully punishing his good people, for using their lawful\nrecreations and honest exercises upon Sundays, after divine service.\"\n\"His Majesty further saw that his loyal subjects in all other parts of\nthe kingdom did suffer in the same kind, though not, perhaps, in the\nsame degree as in Lancashire; and he did therefore, in his princely\nwisdom, publish a declaration to all his loving subjects concerning\nlawful sports to be used on Sundays and festivals.\"--Published by his\nroyal command in the year 1618, under the title of the _Book of Sports_.\nThe royal visit to Lancashire proved ultimately of more importance to\nthe civil and ecclesiastical establishments of the kingdom than could\nhave been anticipated either by the king or his subjects. This infamous\n_Book of Sports_ formed the first link in that mysterious chain of\nevents, ending in the downfall of the Stuarts, and their exile and\nexpulsion from the throne.\n\nThe gladsome tidings having been communicated to the petitioners, with\none accord they galloped off, shouting and huzzaing, to the great\nannoyance of all peaceable and sober-minded persons, and the great\ndishonour of that holy day.\n\nThe king attended divine service at the chapel, where Dr Morton\npreached, commanding and exhorting to an obedience well pleasing to\ntheir Maker; inasmuch as it was rendered to the vicegerent of heaven,\nthe high and mighty and puissant James, defender of the Faith, and so\nforth. After this comfortable and gracious doctrine, there was a\nrush-bearing[34] and a piping before the king in the great quadrangle.\nRobin Hood and Maid Marian, with the fool and hobby-horse, were,\ndoubtless, enacted to the jingling of morris-dancers and other\nprofanities.\n\nThese fooleries put the king into such good humour that he was more\nwitty in his speech than ordinary. Some of these sayings have been\nrecorded, and amongst the rest that well-known quibble which has been\nthe origin of an absurd mistake, still current through the county,\nrespecting the sirloin. It is said to have been knighted there by his\nMajesty, who found, such were his knight-making propensities, that other\nsubjects were exhausted.\n\nThe occasion, as far as we have been able to gather, was thus:--Whilst\nhe sat at meat, casting his eyes upon a noble _surloin_ at the lower end\nof the table, he cried out--\n\n\"Bring hither that _surloin_, sirrah, for 'tis worthy of a more\nhonourable post, being, as I may say, not _surloin_ but _sirloin_, the\nnoblest joint of all;\" which ridiculous and desperate pun raised the\nwisdom and reputation of England's Solomon to the highest.\n\nGreat was the stir and preparation for the evening masque; a pageant\ncontaining many allegories and devices; dancing and merry games, with\nall other \"lawful recreations and honest amusements.\" Little heed was\ngiven, we fear, to their Maker's service, these vain follies running in\nthe heads and filling the thoughts of the few who chose to attend in the\nchapel; the greater portion were preparing for the entertainment, into\nwhich service they entered heartily, and without grudge.\n\nSir George Goring and Sir John Finett were verily indefatigable on the\noccasion, drilling and marshalling men, women, and children; conning\ntheir lessons, and correcting the awkward and ridiculous movements and\nmistakes of their pupils. Hobbe and the house steward were the foremost\nin their parts, having important functions allotted to them; one to\ngrunt and howl in the similitude of a huge bear, and the other to roar\nin lieu of a lion, before the \"_Bower of Beautie_\" for such was the\ntitle or motto of the pageant. Nor was Sir John lacking in due homage to\nhis mistress; she was appointed to enact \"The Queen of Beautie.\" It was\nafter much solicitation that she consented, receiving with great gravity\nand attention the instructions of her accomplished preceptor.\n\nThe day was nigh spent and the sun fast sinking on the ocean, now\nwaiting with a chariot of flame to conduct him to other skies.\n\nGrace was just finishing her toilet, and her maid adjusting the last\nplait in her head-dress, when a low and guarded knock announced a\nvisitor. The door was slightly opened, when a messenger threw in a gay\nbillet and departed. It was superscribed thus:--\"_To the Fairest,\nThese_.\"\n\nWith a quickened pulse and a tremulous hand, she glanced over the page,\nelaborately penned as follows:--\n\n     \"The Bower of Beautie hath a snake; beware that he come not nigh\n     thee, for his tooth has venom, and his tail a sting.\n\n     \"From the mask with the black visard and silver mantle.\n\n     \"THESE.\"\n\nShe had barely finished the perusal, when there came tripping in the\npage of Sir John Finett, carrying a sealed billet redolent with the most\ncostly perfume. The superscription was precisely similar, and nearly in\nthe same hand:--\"To the Fairest, These.\"\n\nShe hastily broke open the packet.\n\n     \"Beauteous and most matchless queen! jealous of thy coming, the orb\n     of day hasteneth to hide himself in Thetis's lap. He leaveth thee\n     our luminary in his stead, whose twin stars shall so outmimic day\n     that his brightness shall not be remembered. Truly am I in great\n     heaviness and sorrow, seeing that I cannot be with you in the\n     opening of the pageant, by reason of mine office, and my duty to\n     the king. Yet will I not leave you without a protector. My trusty\n     friend Weldon will enact your faithful knighte. He weareth a black\n     visard and mantle of spotted silver, and will accompany you to the\n     bower, from whence he delivereth the queene and her distressed\n     damsels out of durance. When the dancing begins, expect me.\n\n     \"THINE.\"\n\nLittle space was left for deliberation. The bell rang out its signal\nfor the actors to arrange themselves; hearing which, she thrust the\nbillets behind her stomacher, and hastened to the great court, where, on\na platform supported by four wheels, was builded a sort of hut,\ndecorated in a tawdry and fanciful style, and yeleped \"The Bower of\nBeautie.\"\n\nInto this bower the queen was to be conducted, but the uproar and\nconfusion was indescribable; strange and antic figures hurrying to and\nfro, seeking their companions, and crying lustily for their places. Sir\nJohn Finett and Sir George Goring fulfilled the office of whippers-in,\nattempting to establish order out of these undisciplined elements. Grace\ndrew back; but suddenly there came forth an armed knight from the bower\ntowards her, wearing a black visor and a mantle of spotted silver,\ncourteously beseeching her that she would accompany him to her station.\nA great curtain of figured arras hung in front, concealing the interior,\nwhere the queen and her maidens were supposed to be held captive. Grace\nstepped into this temporary confinement, in which were four other ladies\nmasked, who graciously saluted their queen. The black-faced visor having\nseated himself, the arras was again let down; when several men,\nbedizened with ribands and nosegays, wheeled off the vehicle to its\ndestination on the green.\n\nThe bower was garnished with roses, gilliflowers, pinks, and odoriferous\nherbs. Garlands of artificial flowers were interspersed; likewise\nimitations in satin, silk, and gold, of various trees, herbs, and\nfruits, not to be found in those parts. All this had been accomplished\nwith great pains by the ladies of the queen's mimic court, Sir John\nFinett superintending \"_The Bower of Beautie_,\" as his peculiar\nprovince. To Sir George Goring were allotted the bears, satyrs, imps,\nangels, gods, and other like rabble, who were taught with much labour\nand difficulty, in so short a space, their several parts.\n\nSir John Finett had received a mandate to be near the king during the\nacts, that he might be instructed in their several uses and designs,\nBuckingham having signified his wish to sport a mask on the occasion;\nSir John, therefore, much to his regret, was completely debarred from\napproaching his mistress.\n\nThe king's coming was announced by a flourish of trumpets, and a loud\nbray from the delighted multitude, who sent up a shout that shook the\nvery foundations.\n\nUnder a pavilion of crimson cloth, decked with fringes and valences of\ngold, walked forth the monarch. He leaned familiarly on the arm of his\nhost, who, together with Sir John Finett, was in immediate attendance.\nAfter the king's train had passed, came a troop of morris-dancers, and\nthe hobby-horse, who frolicked in a most ungainly fashion round the\nBower of Beautie, kissing hands, and making many salutations towards\ntheir enthralled queen. Next came out a bear and a lion, accompanied by\na thing intended to represent an ape, whose office it was to torment\nthese grave animals with his tricks. But so encumbered were they in\ntheir disguise,--a heavy covering of bucks' skins and long wool,--that\nthey had much ado to keep on their clothes, while attempting to resent\nthe indignities they endured.\n\n\"Hang thee, Will--keep thy paws off my tail,\" said lion: \"Dost not see I\nshall be uncovered before the king?\"\n\n\"I'll baste thine hide,\" said bear, \"if thou meddlest any more with\nmine.\"\n\nThe ape had settled himself on the back of this august-looking animal,\nfrom whence he was suddenly dislodged, much to the delight and\nentertainment of the king, who laughed heartily at his disaster. The\nravenous animals were on their way to the bower, there to watch for the\ncaptives, making great demonstrations all the while of their\nbloodthirsty intent.\n\nBear and lion accordingly squatted down before it, making as though they\nwould gladly have been at supper on the fair carcases of those within.\nAnon comes a mighty magician, with a long beard, and a wand of some ells\nin extent, purposing to effect the deliverance of the captives; but the\nbeasts rushed upon him, and in a trice brought him to the ground. At\nthis juncture the Silver Knight--showing thereby the superiority of true\nvalour over false gramarye--should have issued from the bower, rescued\nthe magician, and slain the beasts, opening a way for the escape of\nthese imprisoned damsels, who were to come forth dancing, and\nrepresenting a fair masque before the king;--but the magician remained\nunrescued, while bear and lion lay growling for a long space, not\nknowing what else to do. They looked about wistfully, not choosing to\nfeast on their prostrate victim. At last, finding no change in the\nposture of affairs, they fairly stood erect, much to the marvel and\namusement of the spectators, running off on their hind legs amid the\nshouts and derision of the assembly.\n\nSir John, apprehending some mistake, left the king for a moment to see\nhow matters stood; but Goring had lifted up the arras, and, lo! the\nknight with the black visor and mantle of silver was not there, neither\nwas the Queen of Beauty in her bower. The four disconsolate maidens\nstill sat waiting for their cue, and expecting release. This was an\nunlooked-for disaster. The pageant was at a stand. On inquiry, the\nmaidens told how that the gallant knight and the peerless queen had\ndeparted before the king's arrival, saying they would return anon.\n\nSir John was bewildered and alarmed. The Silver Knight was trusty, and\nno suspicion crossed him from that source; yet was their absence wholly\nunaccountable. The king, seeing some mistake in the unravelling or\nconception of the plot, good-naturedly commanded the minstrels to strike\nup a favourite tune; at the hearing of which a number of masks\nimmediately mustered to begin dancing in the soft and dewy twilight.\nAmongst the rest came in Buckingham, negligently attired, and without\nhis visor.\n\n\"I thought thee hidden amongst the maskers,\" said the king.\n\n\"Ay, my liege, a short space;--but the night is hot, and I am something\ndistempered and weary in this turmoil.\"\n\nBuckingham looked flushed and agitated, strangely differing from his\nusual manner. It was not unobserved by the king, who attributed the\nchange to illness.\n\n\"Thou shalt continue about our person,\" said the monarch. \"Jack, see to\nthe sports:--the pageant hath suffered greatly from thine absence. I do\nthink the Queen of Beauty hath played thee false.\"\n\nBuckingham took his usual station by the king; and Sir John Finett, in\ngreat dolour, went forth in search of his mistress. He questioned the\nguests diligently, but could gain no further tidings, save that she had\nbeen seen by many in company with the Silver Knight. Every minute added\nto his uneasiness: thoughts of a wild and terrible import haunted him.\nIn vain he tried to shake off these intruders--they came like shadows,\nhorrible and indistinct. His naturally sensitive and sanguine\ntemperament, as prone to the anticipation of evil as of delight, was a\ncurse, and not a blessing. Departed hopes may fling a deeper shadow even\non the brow of Despair!--and rayless was the night which visited his\nspirit. It was now too evident--for he was no novice in the\nscience--that his admiration had awakened one dormant but hallowed\naffection, long lulled in the soft lap of pleasure. The maiden, with\nwhom it was his sole aim to pass a few hours of pleasantry and\namusement, had enthralled him by so sudden a spell, that he was more\nthan half inclined to believe in the boasted skill and exploits of the\nsex, which has rendered Lancashire so famous. Her unaccountable absence\nimpressed itself strangely upon his thoughts. He was in love!--and he\nwrithed at the discovery; but he would have given worlds just then to\nhave proclaimed it at his mistress's feet.\n\nScarcely conscious how the night wore on, he was obliged to act his\npart. Supper was announced; and he took his station where he could see\nthe guests unmask as they entered to the banquet.\n\nThe tables were nearly filled, but the Silver Knight and his fair lady\nwere still absent. Grace Gerard is doubtless in her own chamber, was the\nhost's reply to some inquiry from Sir John:--she had craved excuse from\nsome slight indisposition. But this did not satisfy him to whom it was\naddressed: he suspected her chamber would be found unoccupied;--his\nheart felt wasted and desolate;--it was as if the whole fair face of\nnature were blotted out,--the light being gone which rendered it\nvisible.\n\n\"What ho!\" said the king, \"bring my Sienna knight a cup of hot sack and\na merry-thought, for he seems melancholic and watchful--a wary eye, but\na silent tongue. Sir John, are your wits a wool-gathering with your\nqueen?\"\n\n\"I am in my widowhood, most gracious prince,--my queen having departed.\"\n\n\"More fool thou, to fling thy heart after thy wits. Come, honest Jack,\nwe'll have some minstrelsy after the feast,--a merry troll and a short\none.\"\n\nSir John was well skilled in handling the lute and rebeck. He had been\nearly trained to their use; and many a kind glance and tender word he\nhad won thereby.\n\nThe feast was over, and those hushed halls thrilled to the following\nditty:--\n\n\nI.\n\n    \"They bade me sing, they bade me smile,\n      They bade my heart be gay;\n    They called my spirit forth, to while\n      The laughing hours away.\n    I've sung, I've smiled: where'er my path\n      Mirth's dazzling meteors shine:\n    All hearts have owned its magic power,\n      And all are glad but mine.\n\n\nII.\n\n    \"I've soothed the darkest surge of woe,\n      And many a bosom blessed;\n    Forbade the sufferer's tear to flow,\n      And brought the weary rest:\n    I've poured upon the bleeding heart\n      The balm of Hope,--the shrine\n    Where holier, happier thoughts shall dwell;--\n      But who shall gladden mine?\n\n\nIII.\n\n    \"Forgive; 'tis but one short complaint,\n      One pang I would reveal:\n    The wretch upon the torturing rack\n      Is not forbid to feel!\n    Then laugh,--let merry hearts to-night\n      Their brightest wreaths entwine:\n    The flowers that bloom on every breast\n      Will, withering, fade on mine!\"[35]\n\nMany were the bright eyes glittering on him through their long silken\nlashes; but Sir John looked downward,--diligently noting something\nextraordinary in the disposition of his shoe-roses, or in the tie of his\ngarter.\n\n\"One raven will set another croaking,\" said Sir George.\n\n\"That we may escape a concert so detestable,\" cried out Buckingham, \"let\nSir John Finett follow me, and we will reel with our fair dames, until\ncares whirl off like sling-stones.\"\n\n\"And may he that tires first fiddle the witches' jig,\" said the sapient\nking.\n\nA burst of harsh music followed, and Sir John's feebly tinkling strings\nwere thrown aside. Never had he wished so anxiously for one short hour\nof quietness; and right fain he was when the king retired to his\nchamber. His duties for that day were over, and he strolled out from the\nhot and oppressive atmosphere into a calm quiet moonlight. The cool\nbreeze came like a healing balm upon his spirit, the soft dew fell upon\nhis cheek,--but the fire in his veins burnt fiercely. His mistress's\nform, her face, the sweet influence of her smile, were fixed indelibly\non his heart. Away from the bustle and cares of office,--which, like\nwaves on the surface, for a while effaced their image,--the whole\nbeauteous impression was revealed before him in all its loveliness and\ntruth. His heart bounded at the thought:--it was but for a moment. Again\nhe stood, hopeless and desolate, gazing upon the soft mist-wreath in the\nvalley, as though expecting it would render up the form of his beloved.\n\nSuddenly the short swift steps of a steed were heard hurrying up the\navenue. A horseman approached the gateway: it was his friend, the\n_soi-disant_ knight of the silver mantle!\n\n\"How now, Weldon![36]--whither have thy unlucky familiars carried thee?\nHast thou bestridden the enchanted horse, or wert thou bidden to a\nwitch-feast?\"\n\n\"I have been to Myerscough with your message,--and the pains I have had\nfor my labour.\"\n\n\"My message!\" said Sir John, with amazement: \"I sent thee on no other\nerrand than to guard the lady, whom thou hast either made away with or\nshe hath slipped from thine hold.\"\n\n\"You are pleasant, Sir John. Your tricks are well enough in court-hours.\nCome, be serious, and tell me thou hast had a fool's errand out of me.\"\n\n\"I never was more serious in my life, Weldon, I do vouch, as my head\nshall swing safely on its pivot. But who gave thee a message--and to\nwhom?\"\n\n\"To our fair hostess at Myerscough. Thy page thrust a scrap of writing\ninto my hand after prayers. The request was, that I should see the\naccompanying billet safely delivered, and with mine own hand, without\nloss of time. It was one of your curiously-folded fantastic\nlove-billets, as I thought. Knowing I could well be spared hence, I\nimmediately took horse, and came in a bath of foam to the lady; but when\nshe opened her pretty token, she drew herself erect with great majesty.\n'Tell Sir John Finett,' said she, 'that when he next sends thee forth on\nhis fooleries, to choose another butt; to shoot his arrows where they\nwill stick, or his goose-feathers may fly back again.'\"\n\nHorror almost deprived Sir John of utterance. That some foul play had\nbeen meditated, and in all probability accomplished, was but too plain;\nbut how, or by whom, was inscrutable as ever.\n\nThe page was straitly questioned; but he merely said that his message\nwas given him by some person he did not recognise in the crowd at the\nchapel-doors, who said he was to seek Weldon forthwith, and deliver him\nthe papers from his master. What course to adopt, or where to begin\ntheir search, were questions alike embarrassing and impossible to\nanswer. In the end they determined to lay the matter before the king on\nthe morrow.\n\nIt may be needful to go back a short space to \"The Bower of Beautie,\"\nwherein the knight of the silver mantle, having safely ensconced\nhimself, as the reader may remember, the arras was let down; after\nwhich, being wheeled away to their destination, they were to await for\nthe commencement of the masque. But the Silver Knight, lifting up the\ncurtain, observed they were much too early for the performance, and\ncourteously entreated the lady that she would alight. The evening was\nhot, and the bower close and oppressive. An hour might, in all\nprobability, elapse ere their presence would be required. Grace,\ntrusting to her companion, quitted the car, strolling out amongst the\nmasks. Gradually they left the main crowd, unconsciously approaching the\nsteep brow of the hill, where, looking towards the east, they beheld the\nbroad red moon swinging out from the blue horizon. The loud hum of the\nrevellers came softly and pleasantly on the ear. It was an hour of\nquietness and delight--a few hasty, happy moments snatched from these\ngaudy hours--the pomp and circumstance of life. Would that Sir John had\nbeen here in lieu of his friend! thought Grace. No, she did not think\nso, but she felt as though such a thought might have been nursed into\nbeing with little effort. They were now stealing down the hill, and the\ndark waters of the Orr were leaping and bubbling at their feet.\n\n\"We must return,\" said the maiden, looking up, alarmed at seeing, for\nthe first time, that they were cut off from all connection and\nintercourse with their companions. Her attendant was a perfect stranger,\nexcept in name, and though counselled to rely implicity on his care by\nthe master of the ceremonies himself, she felt her situation\nembarrassing and unpleasant.\n\n\"And why must we return?\" said the mask. The tone startled her; its\nexpression was now soft and beseeching, as though he had before spoken\nin a masked voice.\n\n\"Why!\" said she, looking as though she would have pierced through his\ndisguise.\n\n\"Nay, whet not thy glance so keenly. I am not what I seem, and yet am\nnot unseemly.\"\n\n\"Your jests had been better timed had they taken a fitter season. I must\nhence.\"\n\n\"Go not, my beauteous queen,\" said the stranger, taking her hand, which\nshe dashed from her with indignation and alarm. She was darting up the\ncrag, but was again detained.\n\n\"I will worship thee:--thou shall be my star--the axle of my thoughts.\nAll\"----\n\n\"Unhand me, sir, or I'll call those who have the power to punish as well\nas to humble thy presumption!\"\n\n\"Whom wilt thou call, my pretty lamb? The wolf? The snake is scotched in\nthe bower, and I but beseech thy gratitude. How that look of scorn\nbecomes thee! Pout not so, my queen, or thou wilt indeed make an excuse\nfor my rudeness.\"\n\n\"How? Again this insult! Begone, or thou shalt rue that ever thy thought\nescaped thy tongue. I'll report thee to thy betters.\"\n\n\"My betters! and who be they, maiden? Thou knowest me not, _perdie_.\nHath not Sir John Finett shorn his love-locks and eschewed thy service\nafter leaving thy bower the other night?\"\n\nThis taunt raised her indignation to a blaze--her bosom swelled at the\nrebuke.\n\nStill he retained her hand--with the other she clung to a withered tree,\nwhose roots held insecurely by the rock. Making another effort, she\nsprang from his grasp; but the tree was rent from its hold, and she fell\nwith it to the edge of the precipice. Ere the Silver Knight could\ninterpose, a faint shriek announced her descent: a swift crash was heard\namongst the boughs and underwood--a groan and a rebound. He saw her\ndisappear behind a crag. Then came one thrilling moment of terror, one\nbrief pause in that death-like stillness, and a heavy plunge was heard\nin the gulf below! He listened--his perceptions grew more acute--eye and\near so painfully susceptible, and their sensibility so keen, that the\nmind scarcely distinguished its own reactions from realities--from\noutward impressions on the sense. He thought he heard the gurgle and\nthe death-throe. Then the pale face of the maiden seemed to spring out\nfrom the abyss. He rushed down the precipice. Entangled in the copsewood\nand bushes, some time elapsed ere he gained the narrow path below. He\nsoon found, as in most other situations, the shortest road the\nlongest--that the beaten track would have brought him quicker to his\ndestination; but these nice calculations were forgotten. All pranked out\nand bedizened as he was, the puissant knight plunged into the gulf; but\nhis exertions were fruitless, and he gave up the search. His love for\nthe maiden living and breathing did not prompt him to drown himself for\nher corpse. With hasty steps he regained the Tower, where he doffed his\ndripping garments unobserved.\n\nSir John Finett, by advice from his friend Weldon, determined on\nacquainting their host with the lady's disappearance. They had a shrewd\nsuspicion that Buckingham was the contriver of this daring outrage;\nthough from his great power, influence, and audacity, they had\neverything to fear and but little to hope from the result. Yet no time\nshould be lost in the attempt.\n\nAs they entered the hall, Sir Gilbert Hoghton and several of the guests\nwere still making merry after the feast. Calling him aside, they\ncommunicated the dismal tidings.\n\n\"Grace Gerard amissing, say ye?\"\n\n\"'Tis even so,\" said Sir John; \"we have yet no clue to the search; but\nthis night shall not pass without the attempt, at any rate. In the\nmorning we will to the king with our complaint.\"\n\n\"Boy,\" said the baronet to his little henchman, \"go to the woman's\nsuite, and rouse Grace Gerard's maid.\"\n\n\"The woman was in the kitchen some half hour agone, conveying her\nmistress a warm draught, or some such puling diet,\" said the page.\n\n\"Haste,\" cried Sir John impatiently, marvelling at this unexpected\nintelligence,--\"the lad is blinded by some misapprehension. I'll forfeit\nmy best jewel she is not in her chamber. This interlude works i' the\nplot--part of the trickery now enacting.\"\n\nBut the page made a quick return.\n\n\"What news?\" said Finett.\n\n\"The lady is gone to rest; something discomposed, though, and out of\nspirits. So says her maiden, whom I would have questioned more\nstraitly, but she rebuked me sharply for my impertinence.\"\n\n\"Pray you send and question her,\" said Sir John.\n\n\"Nay,\" returned Sir Gilbert, smiling, \"I'll be bound the lady is safe;\nand her maiden has other guess-matters to look to than letting out the\nsecrets of her mistress's chamber.\"\n\nThey were obliged to rest satisfied, or rather unsatisfied, with this\nanswer. But the mystery was more and more inexplicable. Either some\nlaughable mistake or some deep-laid villany was intended. Sir John dared\nnot pursue the subject to this extremity. He felt assured of her purity\nand honour. Her manners, so confiding and unsuspicious, showed a heart\nunacquainted with guile.\n\nAfter a sleepless night Sir John arose, feverish and unrefreshed. He\nthrew open the window of his chamber, which looked into the courtyard.\nNear a side postern stood a grey palfrey, caparisoned for a lady's use,\nand impatiently awaiting its burden. The hour was too early for morning\nrambles, but the beast was evidently equipped for a journey. Two other\nsteeds were now led forth, as if for the attendants. He caught a glimpse\nof Grace Gerard's maid, who seemed, by her dress, to be of the party\nwhose movements he was so anxious to ascertain. He suspected this sudden\ndeparture was for the purpose of escaping without his observance. He\nhurried towards the stairs: just entering the corridor, he met Grace\nGerard. She was evidently confused at his appearance. It was but for a\nmoment; her spirit grappled with the occasion; and she replied firmly,\nand with becoming dignity, to his questions.\n\n\"Whither away, our beauteous queen?\" said he, bowing almost to the\nground. \"Are you bound for some isle of the Western Ind, getting the\nstart of Phoebus in his nightly race to those gem-bearing climes?\nMethinks the sun is departing from us, though but just risen.\"\n\n\"'Tis my purpose to depart, Sir John. This clime is too bright, and its\nbeams too fervid, for a lady's eye.\"\n\n\"One word in sober speech:--Wherefore?\"\n\n\"I know your question, Sir John. Time hastens, and I reply. Your knight\nof the silver mantle I proclaim a recreant, as treacherous as he is\nbase. Sir John, for my--no, for your own sake\"----\n\n\"Another stole into his place,\" said he, interrupting her with great\neagerness. \"A base-born changeling!--some villain, who, under this\ndisguise, abused our honourable intent; but say, peerless princess, to\nwhose prowess we owe your rescue.\"\n\n\"'Tis my first venture into the unhallowed limits of your licentious\ncourt; and through the grace that hath preserved me harmless, I here\nresolve it shall be my last. By your instructions, Sir John, I relied\nimplicitly on the protection of your friend. He would fain have abused\nhis trust, but I escaped from the offered insult. Struggling to free my\nhand from his grasp, by yonder hill-side, I lost my footing. I fell down\nthe steep unhurt. Fear lent me unwonted strength, and I escaped unseen,\nround the narrow pathway. My discourteous knight thought, doubtless, I\nhad tumbled into the roaring abyss; for the night mist hung below, and I\nheard a huge fragment of rock, loosened in my descent, plunge into the\ndimly-rolling waters. Now, hear me: my resolve is taken, and no earthly\ninfluence or persuasion shall stay me. 1 was bewildered, yet flattered\nby your follies: foolish and thoughtless enough to frolic and flutter on\nthe very brink of a precipice. I was dazzled by the glittering but\ndangerous excitement. Conscience spoke, but I durst not listen. My\ncourse of life hitherto has been through scenes of gentleness and peace,\nand I could not look on your bustle and dissipation without alarm. Yet\nwas I persuaded to mingle in your sports yesterday--that day hallowed by\nthe last fiat of its Creator, wherein the soul, freed awhile from the\ncares of earth, may prostrate itself in homage before Him who said, 'It\nis mine!' Justly punished for trifling with my better thoughts, my\nescape shall not be without its acknowledgment.\"\n\nSir John was silent. She stood before him like some purer, brighter\nthing than could be deemed akin to this polluted earth.\n\n\"Those siren waves were bearing me on to the gulf where\"--She paused a\nmoment, shuddering at the dark retrospect of the past. \"Where all your\npomp and pageantry will be overwhelmed, and yourselves, for ever, in the\nsame irretrievable ruin!\"\n\nSir John looked uneasy, and his eye wandered, as if in search of some\nobject wherewith to throw off these gloomy anticipations. The maiden\nagain spoke:--\n\n\"It seemed as though a veil, invisible heretofore, were suddenly\nundrawn. The glory and the baseness, the splendour and the pollution,\nwere at once revealed. The hand unseen had drawn it aside. I would now\nshun--I hope for ever--- these paths of folly; and I bid farewell to\nyour pleasures without a murmur or a regret.\"\n\nSir John, courtier though he was, ardently and willingly rendering\nhomage at the shrine of pleasure and dissipation, was awe-struck.\nConscience echoed a fearful response; and he shrank before the reproof\nhe could not shun.\n\n\"Without regret!\" said he, faltering and abashed. \"I had hoped--perhaps\nwished--but it was too presumptuous. My purest thoughts would have\nsullied so pure a shrine.\"\n\n\"Stay, Sir John; though the confession be humbling to a maiden's pride,\nyet my heart tells me 'tis the last time we meet; and it is the only\nacknowledgment,--I render it to your honesty and good faith.\" Her voice\ngrew hesitating and tremulous. \"There was a tendril twining about my\nheart; but it is wrung off, and I am again--alone!\"\n\nHer heart was full, and her whole frame convulsed by some overpowering\nemotion. An adieu died upon her lips; but she resolutely refused any\nfurther communication. Hastening to the courtyard, she mounted her\nlittle white palfry, and quitted for ever those fascinating and\ndangerous allurements, which, having once felt, few have had the power\nto withstand.\n\nWe need scarcely add, that, amid the gaieties and splendours by which\nthe lover was enthralled, the recollection of Grace Gerard sometimes\nmingled in the revelries of this votary of pleasure. It often came as a\nwarning and a rebuke. By degrees the impression grew less powerful. Each\nsucceeding wave from the ever-tossing ocean left the traces less\ndistinct, until they were overwhelmed in the dull tide of oblivion.\n\n\nNOTE ON THE BALLAD, p. 269.\n\nThe _music_ to these words is _traditionary_, if we may be allowed the\nexpression. It is one of the many wild and characteristic melodies\nfloating about, perhaps unappropriated, on the popular breath, varied\nindefinitely according to the humour of the performer. The author has\nlistened to several of these ditties; some of them he thinks peculiar to\nthis and the neighbouring counties. They are generally sung by the\nlabouring classes, and would, in many cases, defy any attempt to commit\nthem to writing, being apparently founded upon a ratio of tones and\nsemitones at variance with our diatonic scale. From this we might almost\nbe led to imagine some truth in the theory that the ancients had\ndifferent scales peculiar to their different moods: a theory which,\nhowever impossible it may be considered, is not without its advocates,\nwho will perhaps not be displeased to find here some slight confirmation\nof their opinions. Yet in these songs the prevailing character of the\nminor key may generally be detected, which, from its being imperfect,\nand probably vitiated by the mistakes of these rustic melodists, may\ngive a colour to the notion of a change in the scale.\n\nThe great antiquity of these melodies is unquestionable, and it would be\nan interesting inquiry to trace them back through remote ages, perhaps\nto the Jewish temple and the tent of the patriarchs. The author has\nfound in them a strong resemblance to the Hebrew music, sounds which,\nsince the captivity of the Jews in Babylon, and the destruction of their\ntemple, 606 B.C., and in consequence of musical instruments being\nafterwards forbidden, they have clung to with increased tenacity,\npreserving their ancient melodies, and bequeathing them by memory from\none generation to another with the same jealous care that a miser would\nhis treasure, and as the last melancholy relics of a \"kingdom passed\naway.\"\n\nAlgarotti says, \"Those airs alone remain for ever engraven on the memory\nof the public, that paint images to the mind, or express the passions,\nand are for that reason called the speaking airs, because more congenial\nto nature, which can never be justly imitated but by a beautiful\nsimplicity, that will always bear away the palm from the most laboured\nrefinement of art.\"\n\nThe author has ventured to give the following air, which he fancies\nwould almost suggest the words of the song to which Sir John Finett is\nsupposed to have appropriated it. As we have before mentioned, the tune\nis traditionary, possessing some of the peculiar characteristics we have\ndescribed. It bears a considerable resemblance to the ancient Jewish\nmusic, and likewise to the airs generally given to the little snatches\nof old ballads in Shakespeare's plays, which are supposed to have been\nhanded down successively from the performers in his time; being then\nprobably \"household\" music more ancient than the ballads themselves.\nThis opinion seems warranted by the poet himself in that beautiful\nallusion, with which he introduces one of the songs of the _Clown_, in\nTwelfth Night--\n\n    \"Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain:\n    The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,\n    And the free maids that weave their thread with bones,\n    Do use to chant it; it is silly sooth,\n    And dallies with the innocence of love\n    Like the old age.\"\n\n[Illustration: Music]\n\nHOGHTON TOWER.\n\n    They bade me sing, they bade my smile,\n    They bade my heart be gay;\n    They called my spirit forth to while\n    The laughing hours away.\n    I've sung, I've smiled: where'er my path\n    Mirth's dazzling meteors shine;\n    All hearts have owned its magic power,\n    And all are glad but mine.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[29] \"Sir George Goring, of Hurst Pierrepoint, in Sussex, representative\nof a junior line of the respectable family of Goring, which maintains\nits importance in that county, was bred at Court, under the care of his\nfather, one of Elizabeth's Gentlemen Pensioners; was knighted May 29,\n1608; in 1610, occurs as Gentleman in Ordinary of the Bedchamber to\nPrince Henry; and now accompanied the king to Scotland as Lieutenant of\nhis Gentlemen Pensioners. He was recommended to James equally by his\nsagacity and a peculiar jocularity of humour, and became the king's\nfamiliar companion.\"--Nichols's _Royal Progresses_, vol. iii. p. 256.\n\n[30] Sir John Finett, says Anthony a Wood (Fasti by Bliss, vol. i. col,\n492), was son of Sir Robert Finett, of Soulton, near Dover, in Kent, son\nand heir of Sir Thomas, son and heir of John Finett, of Sienna, in Italy\n(where his name is ancient), who came into England in quality of servant\nto Cardinal Campegius, and married a maid of honour to Queen Katharine.\n\"Sir John was always bred in the Court, where by his wit, innocent\nmirth, and great skill in composing songs, he pleased James the First\nvery much. He was sent into France in 1614, about matters of public\nconcern, and in the year after received the honour of knighthood at\nWhitehall; about which time (or rather about 1612) he was made assistant\nto the master of the ceremonies, with the reversion of that\nplace.\"--Nichols's _Progresses_, vol. iii. p. 133.\n\n[31] This stone, the author has been told, was in existence less than a\ncentury ago, though not in the precise situation above alluded to. He\nhas heard the disappointment of the curious passers-by told with\nconsiderable humour; they, however, generally took care to replace the\nstone with its word of promise before the eye, that the next comer might\nbestow the same labour for the like result.\n\n[32] Some say this petition was presented at Myerscough, but we incline\nto the opinion here given.\n\n[33] Royal proclamation, May 21, 1618.\n\n[34] This ceremony was formerly used for the conveyance of rushes\nintended to be strewed in the church upon the clay floors between the\nbenches. It is now generally known but as an unmeaning pageant still\npractised in the northern and eastern parts of Lancashire, for the\npurpose of levying contributions on the inhabitants. An immense banner,\nof silk adorned with tinsel and gay devices, precedes the rush-cart,\nwherein the rushes, neatly woven and smooth cut, are piled up and\ndecorated with flowers and ribands, in rustic taste. The cart, thus\nladen, is drawn round to the dwellings of the principal inhabitants, by\nmorris-dancers, who perform an uncouth dance, attended by a man in\nmotley attire, a sort of nondescript, made up of the ancient fool and\nMaid Marian. This personage jingles a horse-collar hung with bells,\nwhich forms not an unsuitable accompaniment to the ceremony.\n\n[35] See Note at the end.\n\n[36] This person is supposed to be the writer of a curious satire (Harl.\nMSS. 5191), called a Description of Scotland. Welden's name is not\nattached to it in the MS., but it is duly ascribed to him by Sir Walter\nScott, in his description of Holyrood Chapel, in the _Antiquities of\nScotland_. Sir Anthony Weldon accompanied the king into Scotland; but\nthat he returned with him is not so certain, one of his letters saying\nhe should return by sea. By this, however, may be understood his return\nto the court at Edinburgh, having had leave of absence to visit his\nfriends in London.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LANCASHIRE WITCHES.\n\n\n    \"More swift than lightning can I flye\n      About this aery welkin soone;\n    And, in a minute's space, descrye\n      Each thing that's done below the moone.\"\n\n--BEN JONSON.\n\n     \"When I consider whether there are such persons as _witches_, my\n     mind is divided: I believe, in general, that there is such a thing\n     as witchcraft, but can give no credit to any particular instance of\n     it.\"--ADDISON.\n\nThe term witchcraft, says the historian of Whalley, is now \"transferred\nto a gentler species of fascination, which my fair countrywomen still\ncontinue to exert in full force, without any apprehension of the county\nmagistrates, or even of the king in council.\"\n\nFar different was the application in days of old. The common parish\nwitch is thus described by a contemporary writer, as an old woman \"with\na wrinkled face, a furred brow, a hairy lip, a gobber tooth, a squint\neye, a squeaking voice, or a scolding tongue; having a rugged coat on\nher back, a skull-cap on her head, a spindle in her hand, and a dog or\ncat by her side.\" Such was the witch of real life when this superstition\nwas so prevalent in our own neighbourhood, and even throughout England.\nFrom the beginning of the reign of James the First to the concluding\npart of the reign of James the Second, it may be considered as having\nattained the zenith of its popularity. \"Witchcraft and kingcraft both\ncame in with the Stuarts and went out with them.\" It was as if his\n_infernal_ majesty had taken a lesson from his _sacred_ majesty, and\nissued a book of sports for his loyal subjects. \"The Revolution put to\nrights the faith of the country as well as its constitution.\" \"The laws\nwere more liberally interpreted and rationally administered. The trade\nof witch-finding ceased to be reputable or profitable;\" and that silly\ncompilation, the \"Demonology\" of James, which, with the severe laws\nenacted against witchcraft by Henry the Eighth and Elizabeth, had\nconjured up more witches and familiars than they could quell, was\nconsigned to the book-worm and the dust. It is said in the Arabian\ntales, that Solomon sent out of his kingdom all the demons that he could\nlay his hands on, packed them up in a brazen vessel, and cast them into\nthe sea. But James, \"our English Solomon,\" \"imported by his book all\nthat were flying about Europe, to plague the country, which was\nsufficiently plagued already in such a sovereign.\" This sapient ruler,\nwho, it is said, \"taught divinity like a king, and made laws like a\npriest,\" in the first year of his reign made it felony to suckle imps,\n&c. This statute, which was repealed March 24th, 1736, describes\noffences declared felonious, thus:--\n\n\"One that shall use, practise, or exercise any invocation or conjuration\nof any evil or wicked spirit, or consult, covenant with, entertain or\nemploy, feed or reward, any evil or wicked spirit, to or for any intent\nor purpose; or take up any dead man, woman, or child, out of his, her,\nor their grave, or any other place where the dead body resteth; or the\nskin, bone, or other part of any dead person, to be employed or used in\nany manner of witchcraft, sorcery, charm, or enchantment; or shall\npractise or exercise any witchcraft, &c., whereby any person shall be\nkilled, destroyed, wasted, consumed, pined, or lamed in his or her body,\nor any part thereof: such offenders, duly and lawfully convicted and\nattainted, shall suffer death.\"\n\nAs might be expected, witchcraft so increased in consequence of these\ndenunciations, that, \"in the course of fifty years following the passing\nof this act, besides a great number of single indictments and\nexecutions, fifteen were brought to trial at Lancaster in 1612, and\ntwelve condemned; in 1622, six were tried at York; 1634, seventeen\ncondemned at Lancaster; 1644, sixteen were executed at Yarmouth; 1645,\nfifteen condemned at Chelmsford, and hanged; in the same and following\nyear, about forty at Bury in Suffolk; twenty more in the county, and\nmany in Huntingdon; and (according to the estimate of Ady) some\nthousands were burned in Scotland.\"\n\nPopular hatred rendered the existence of a reputed witch so miserable,\nthat persons bearing that stigma often courted death in despair,\nconfessing to crimes which they had never committed, for the purpose of\nridding themselves of persecution.\n\n\"One of the latest convictions was that of Amy Duny and Rose Cullender,\nbefore Sir Matthew Hale at Bury, in 1664. They were executed, and died\nmaintaining their innocence.\" Their execution was a foul blot upon his\nname, as it is scarcely to be doubted but that they were the victims of\nimposture. It was clearly ascertained by experiments in the judge's\npresence, that the children who pretended to be bewitched, when their\neyes were covered, played off their fits and contortions at the touch of\nsome other person, mistaking it for that of the accused, yet \"he charged\nthe jury without summing up the evidence, dwelling only upon the\ncertainty of the fact that there were witches, for which he appealed to\nthe Scriptures, and, as he said, to 'the wisdom of all nations;' and the\njury having convicted, the next morning left them for execution.\"\n\nBut we proceed with a few explanatory notices respecting that portion of\nthe history of this superstition, which will be found interwoven with\nthe traditionary matter in our text.\n\nA number of persons, inhabitants of Pendle Forest, were apprehended in\nthe year 1633, upon the evidence of Edmund Robinson, a boy about eleven\nyears old, who deposed before two of his Majesty's justices at Padiham,\nthat on All-Saints'-day he was getting \"bulloes,\" when he saw two\ngreyhounds--a black one and a brown one--come running over the field\ntowards him. When they came nigh they fawned on him, and he supposed\nthey belonged to some of the neighbours. He expected presently that some\none would follow; but seeing no one, he took them by a string which they\nhad tied to their collars, and thought he would hunt with them.\nPresently a hare sprang up near to him, and he cried \"Loo, loo,\" but the\ndogs would not run. Whereupon he grew angry, and tied them to a bush for\nthe purpose of chastising them, but instead of the black greyhound he\nnow beheld a woman, the wife of one Dickisson, a neighbour; the other\nwas transformed into a little boy. At this sight he was much afraid, and\nwould have fled; but the woman stayed him and offered him a piece of\nsilver like a shilling if he would hold his peace. But he refused the\nbribe; whereupon she pulled out a bridle and threw it over the little\nboy's head, who was her familiar, and immediately he became a white\nhorse. The witch then took the deponent before her, and away they\ngalloped to a place called Malkin Tower, by the Hoarstones at Pendle. He\nthere beheld many persons appear in like fashion; and a great feast was\nprepared, which he saw, and was invited to partake, but he refused.\nSpying an opportunity, he stole away, and ran towards home. But some of\nthe company pursued him until he came to a narrow place called \"the\nBoggard-hole,\" where he met two horsemen; seeing which, his tormentors\nleft off following him. He further said, that on a certain day he saw a\nneighbour's wife, of the name of Loynd, sitting upon a cross piece of\nwood within the chimney of his father's dwelling-house. He called to\nher, saying, \"Come down, thou Loynd wife,\" and immediately she went up\nout of sight. Likewise upon the evening of All-Saints before-named, his\nfather sent him to seal up the kine, when, coming through a certain\nfield, he met a boy who began to quarrel with him, and they fought until\nhis face and ears were bloody. Looking down, he saw the boy had cloven\nfeet, and away he ran. It was now nearly dark; but he descried at a\ndistance a light like a lantern. Thinking this was carried by some of\nhis friends, he made all haste towards it, and saw a woman standing on a\nbridge, whom he knew to be Loynd's wife; turning from her he again met\nwith the boy, who gave him a heavy blow on the back, after which he\nescaped. On being asked the names of the women he saw at the feast, he\nmentioned seventeen persons, all of whom were committed to Lancaster for\ntrial. They were found guilty, and sentenced to be executed. The judge,\nhowever, respited them, and reported the case to the king in council.\n\nThe celebrated John Webster, author of _The Discovery of Pretended\nWitchcraft_, afterwards took this young witch-finder in hand. He says:--\n\n\"This said boy was brought into the church at Kildwick (in Craven), a\nlarge parish church, where I, being curate there, was preaching in the\nafternoon, and was set upon a stall to look about him, which moved some\nlittle disturbance in the congregation for a while. After prayers, I,\ninquiring what the matter was, the people told me it was the boy that\ndiscovered witches; upon which I went to the house where he was to stay\nall night, where I found him, and two very unlikely persons that did\nconduct him, and manage the business.\n\n\"I desired to have some discourse with the boy in private; but that they\nutterly refused. Then, in the presence of a great many people, I took\nthe boy near me, and said, 'Good boy, tell me truly and in earnest,\ndidst thou see and hear such strange things of the meeting of witches as\nis reported by many that thou didst relate?'--But the two men, not\ngiving the boy leave to answer, did pluck him from me, and said he had\nbeen examined by two _able_ justices of the peace, _and they did never\nask him such a question_. To whom I replied, the persons accused had the\nmore wrong. As the laws of England, and the opinions of mankind then\nstood, a mad dog in the midst of a congregation would not have been more\ndangerous than this wicked and mischievous boy, who, looking around him,\ncould, according to his own caprice, put any one or more of the people\nin peril of tortures or of death.\"\n\nFour of the accused only were sent to London, and examined by the king\nin person. In the end they were set at liberty, but not from the\nsagacity of the examiners,--the boy Robinson having confessed that he\nwas suborned to give false evidence against them. One of these poor\ncreatures, strange to say, had confessed the crime with which she was\ncharged. In the Bodl. Lib. Dods. MSS. v.61, p.47, is the confession\nitself, wherein she gives a circumstantial and minute account of the\ntransactions which took place between her and a familiar whom she calls\nMamilian, describing the meetings, feasts, and all the usual routine of\nwitchery and possession.--(See Whitaker's _Whalley_.)\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nPART FIRST.\n\n\nThe mill went merrily round, and Giles the miller sang and whistled from\nmorning to noon, and from noon till evening, save when the mulcting-dish\nwas about to be embowelled in the best sack; a business too serious for\nsuch levity, requiring careful and deliberate thought.\n\nGoody Dickisson, the miller's wife, was a fat, round, pursy dame, of\nsome forty years' travel through this wilderness of sorrow, and a\ndecent, honest, sober, and well-conditioned housewife she was; cleanly,\nthrifty, and had an excellent cheesepress, which the whole neighbourhood\ncould testify.\n\nBut the days of man's happiness are numbered, and woman's too, as the\nfollowing narrative will set forth.\n\nThe mill had stood, for ages it may be, at the foot of a wild and steep\ncliff, forming the eastern extremity of the dreary range of\nCliviger;[37] an elevated mountainous pass, from whence the waters\ndescend both to the eastern and western seas. Upon those almost\ninaccessible crags the rock-eagle and falcon built their nests, unscared\nby the herdsmen, who in vain attempted their destruction. Through this\npass, the very gorge of the English Apennines, the Calder,[38] a rapid\nand narrow torrent, brought an unfailing supply of grist to the\never-going hopper of Giles Dickisson.\n\nNot far from this happy abode, in the innermost part of the gorge, where\nthe rocks of Lancashire and Yorkshire frown in close but harmless\nproximity, at an immense height,--the road and this narrow cleft only\nseparating their barriers,--rises a crag of a singular shape, jutting\nfar out from the almost perpendicular strata beneath. Its form is\nprecisely that of a gigantic helmet, hammered out by the fanciful artist\ninto the likeness of an eagle, its wings partly outstretched, and its\nbeak--the point of the crag--overshadowing the grim head of some gaunt\nwarrior. With but little aid from the imagination, the whole features\nmay be discerned; hence it was denominated, \"_The Eagle Crag_.\" But\nanother appellation, more awful and mysterious, might be attached to\nit--a reminiscence of those \"deeds without a name,\" which have rendered\nthis district of Lancashire so fearfully notorious--\"The witches'\nhorse-block.\"\n\nThe narrow pass we have described opens out into a succession of\npicturesque valleys, abounding in waterfalls of considerable depth and\nbeauty, and expanding towards the north in tracts of fertile\npasture-ground to the base of Pendle, well known as the reputed scene of\nthose mysteries in which \"the witches of Pendle\" acted so conspicuous a\npart.\n\nTowards the close of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth\ncentury, the fame, or rather the infamy, of witchcraft, infested this\nonce peaceful and sequestered district. The crag we have just noticed\nwas, no doubt, to the apprehensions of the simple-hearted peasant, oft\nvisited by the unhallowed feet of weirds and witches pluming themselves\nfor flight to the great rendezvous at Malkin Tower, by the side of \"the\nmighty Pendle.\"\n\n[Illustration: EAGLE CRAG, VALE OF TODMORDEN.\n\n_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\nLittle did our country deserve, in those days, the name of \"Merry\nEngland.\" Plague or the most noisome pestilence would have been a\nvisitation of mercy compared to the miseries caused by so dark a\nsuperstition. \"Even he who lived remote from the scene of this spiritual\nwarfare, though few such there could be, so rapidly was it transferred\nfrom county to county to the remotest districts;--he, in whose vicinity\nno one was suspected of dealing with the foul fiend, whose children,\ncattle, or neighbours, showed no symptoms of being marks for those fiery\ndarts which often struck from a distance, yet would he not escape a sort\nof epidemic gloom, a vague apprehension of the mischief which might be.\nThe atmosphere he breathed would come to him thick with foul fancies; he\nwould ever be hearing or telling some wild and melancholy tale of crime\nand punishment. His best feelings and enjoyments would be dashed with\nbitterness, suspicion, and terror, as he reflected that, though\nuninvaded, yet these were at the mercy of malignant fellow-mortals,\nleagued with more malignant spirits, the laws and limits of whose\noperations were wholly undefinable.\n\n\"What must have been his feelings on whom the evil eye had\nglared,--against whom the spell had been pronounced; on whom misfortunes\ncame thick and fast, by flood and field, at home and abroad, in business\nand in pleasure; whose cattle died, whose crops were blighted, and about\nwhose bed and board, invisible, unwelcome, and mischievous guests held\ntheir revels; who saw not in his calamities the results of ignorance and\nerror, to be averted by caution, nor the inflictions of Heaven to be\nborne with resignation, but was the victim of a compact, in which his\ndisasters were part of the price paid by the powers of darkness for an\nimmortal soul! He who pined in consumption supposed that his own waxen\neffigy was revolving and melting at the charmed fire; the changes of his\nsensations told him when wanton cruelty damped the flame, to waste it\nlingeringly, or roused it in the impatience of revenge: and when came\nthose sharp and shooting pains, the hags were thrusting in their\nbodkins, and their laugh rang in his ears: they sat upon his breast\nasleep,--he awoke gasping, and, as he started up, he saw them melting\ninto air. Yet more miserable was the wight whom the fiends were\ncommissioned bodily to possess;--with whose breathing frame an infernal\nsubstance was incorporate and almost identified;--whose thoughts were\nsufferings, and his words involuntary blasphemies. Can we wonder that\nall this was not borne passively;--that its authors were hunted out,\neven, if needful, by their own charms;--that suspicion grew into\nconviction, and conviction demanded vengeance;--that it was deemed a\nduty to hold them up to public hatred, and drag them to the bar of\npublic justice;--and that their blood was eagerly thirsted after, of\nwhich the shedding was often believed not merely a righteous\nretribution, but the only efficient relief for the sufferers?\n\n\"The notion of witchcraft was no innocent and romantic superstition, no\nscion of an elegant mythology, but was altogether vulgar, repulsive,\nbloody, and loathsome. It was a foul ulcer on the face of humanity.\nOther vagaries of the mind have been associated with lofty or with\ngentle feelings;--they have belonged more to sportiveness than to\ncriminality;--they are the poetry interspersed on the pages of the\nhistory of opinions;--they seem to be dreams of sleeping reason, and not\nthe putrescence of its mouldering carcase; but this has no bright side,\nno redeeming quality whatever.\"[39]\n\nThe human body is not more liable to contagion than is that faculty of\nthe mind which is called imagination. That many of the accused believed\nin their crime, we have sufficient evidence in their own voluntary\nconfessions, as well as in the traditions handed down to us on this\nsubject. Both knavery and delusion were at work, as the following\nincidents will abundantly manifest. They have been selected from a wide\nrange of materials on this important topic, as illustrating the varied\noperations of the same delusion on different orders and grades of\nmind,--the temptations warily suited to each disposition, all tending to\nthe same crime, and ultimately to the same punishment.\n\nOur lusty miller had no children: it was a secret source of grief and\nanxiety to his dame, and many an hour of repining and discontent was the\nconsequence. Yet Giles Dickisson's song was none the heavier; and if his\nwheel went merrily round, his spirits whirled with it, and danced and\nfrolicked in the sunshine of good humour, like the spray and sparkle\nfrom his own mill-race. But a change was gathering on his wife's\ncountenance: her grief grew sullen; her aspect stern and\nforbidding:--some hidden purpose was maturing: she seldom spoke to her\nhusband. When addressed, she seemed to arouse from a sort of stupor,\nunwillingly forcing a reply. \"She is bewitched,\" thought Giles. He had\nhis suspicions; but he could not confidently point out the source of the\nmischief.\n\nOne evening, as Goody Dickisson was sitting alone, pondering and\ndiscontented, there came in one Mal Spencer, a dark and scowling hag, to\nwhom Giles bore no good-will. He had beforetime forbidden his wife to\nhold any intercourse with this witch-woman, who was an object generally\nof suspicion and mistrust. If the \"evil eye\" can be supposed to inhabit\na human frame, this old woman had an undisputed claim to its possession.\nThis night, however, old Molly came hobbling in without further ceremony\nthan a \"Good e'en, thou Dickisson wife,\" and took her seat opposite the\ndame in the miller's own chair. \"Aroynt thee, witch,\" should have been\nreturned to such an ill-omened salute; but the miller's wife was either\nunwilling or unable to utter this well-known preservative against the\nmalice of the Evil Ones.\n\nThe horse-shoe had been taken down from the door, and the blessed herb,\nmoly, was incautiously thrown aside; neither had Goody Dickisson offered\nup the usual petition that evening, to be defended from the snares of\nthe devil. Her discontent was too great, and she was in a fitter mood\nfor murmuring than prayer.\n\nLeaning her long thin chin upon a little crutch, and throwing her\nbleared eyes full upon the dame, old Molly abruptly exclaimed, in a\nvoice like the croaking of a raven--\n\n\"Thou hast asked for children, but they are denied thee. What said I to\nthee, Goody Dickisson, in the clough yonder, by the hollow trunk of the\noak? Rememberest thou, when thou saidest thou wouldst pawn thy body for\nthe wish of thy soul?\"\n\nDame Dickisson waxed pale, and her knees shook; but the hag went on.\n\n\"Worship the master I serve, and thou shalt have thy desire--ay and\nmore!\"\n\n\"More!--What meanest thou?\"\n\n\"Come to the feast, as I have bidden thee. If thou likest not the savour\nof our company, thou shalt depart, and without harm.\"\n\n\"But who shall give me a safe conduct that I come back, and harmless as\nI went? Once in your possession, methinks\"----\n\n\"What!\" shouted the beldame, with a look of dark and devilish\nmalignity:--\"the word of a prince! Shall Goody Dickisson, the miller's\nwife, hold it in distrust? Go, poor fool, and chew thy bitterness, and\nbake thy bannocks, and fret thy old husband until thy writhen flesh rot\nfrom thy bones, and thou gnawest them for malice and vexation. Is it not\nglorious to ride on the wind--to mount the stars--to kiss the moon\nthrough the dark rolling clouds, when the blast scatters them in its\nmight? To ride unharmed on their huge peaks tipped with thunder? To be\nfor ever young in desire and enjoyment, though old and haggard, and bent\ndouble with age and infirmities? To have our wish and our revenge--ay,\nand the bodies of our enemies wasting before our spells, like wax to the\nflame? But go, sneak and drivel, and mind thy meal and barley-cakes, and\ngo childless to thy grave.\"\n\nShe rose as if to depart; but Goody Dickisson's evil destiny prevailed,\nand she promised to attend the feast, with this condition only, that no\nharm should befall her, nor force nor entreaty should be used to win her\nconsent to join their confederacy. But she returned not from that\nunhallowed assembly until body and soul were for ever under the dominion\nof the destroyer.\n\nThe mill went merrily on no more, and the miller's song was still. He\nlooked a heavy and a doomed man. Strange suspicions haunted him. His\nwife's ill-humour he could have borne; but her very laugh now made him\ntremble: it was as if the functions of mind and body were animated by a\nbeing distinct from herself. Her countenance showed not that her\nthoughts mingled in either mirth or misery, except at times, when\nterrible convulsions seemed to pass over like the sudden roll of the\nsea, tossed by some unseen and subterraneous tempest. The neighbours\nbegan to shun his dwelling. His presence was the signal for stolen looks\nand portentous whispers. To church his wife never came; but the bench,\nher usual sitting-place, was deserted. At the church-doors, after\nsermon, when the price of grain, the weather, and other marketable\ncommodities were discussed and settled, Giles was evidently an object of\navoidance, and left to trudge home alone to his own cheerless and gloomy\nhearth.\n\nDick Hargreave's only cow was bewitched. The most effectual and\napproved method of ascertaining under whose spell she laboured was as\nfollows:--\n\nThe next Friday, a pair of breeches was thrown over the cow's horns; she\nwas then driven from the shippen with a stout cudgel. The place to which\nshe directed her flight was carefully watched, for there assuredly must\ndwell the witch. To the great horror and dismay of Giles Dickisson, the\ncow came bellowing down the lane, tail up, in great terror--telling, as\nplain as beast could speak, of her distress, until she came to a full\npause, middle deep in his own mill-dam. This was a direct confirmation\nto his suspicions; but the following was a more undeniable proof, if\nneed were, of his wife's dishonest confederacy with the powers of\ndarkness.\n\nOne morning, ere his servant-man Robin had taken the grey mare from the\nstable, Giles awoke early, and found his wife had not lain by his side.\nHe had beforetime felt half roused in the night from a deep but uneasy\nslumber; but he was too heavy and bewildered to recollect himself, and\nsleep again overcame him ere he could satisfy his doubts. He had either\ndreamt, or fancied he had dreamt, that his wife was, at some seasons,\naway for a whole night together, and he was rendered insensible by her\nspells. This morning, however, he awoke before the usual time, probably\nfrom some failure in the charm, and he met her as she was ascending the\nstairs. Something like alarm or confusion was manifest. She had been to\nlook after the cattle, she stammered out, scolding Robin for an idle\nlout to lie a-bed so long. The stable-door was open. With an aching\nheart, he went in. The grey mare was in a bath of foam, panting and\ndistressed as though from some recent journey. Whilst pondering on this\nstrange occurrence, Robin came in. His master taxed him with dishonesty.\nAfter much ado, he confessed that his mistress had many times of late\nborrowed the mare for a night, always returning before the good man\nawoke. Giles was too full of trouble to rate Robin as he deserved,\ncontenting himself with many admonitions and instructions how to act in\nthe next emergency.\n\nNot many nights after, as Robin was late in the stable, his mistress\ncame with the usual request, and her magic bridle in her hand.\n\n\"Now, good Robin, the cream is in the bowl, and the beer behind the\nspigot, and my good man is in bed.\"\n\n\"Whither away, mistress?\" said Robin, diligently whisping down and\nsoothing the mare, who trembled from head to foot when she heard her\nmistress's voice.\n\n\"For a journey, Robin. I have business at Colne; but I will not fail to\ncome back again before sunrise.\"\n\n\"Ay, mistress, this is always your tale; but measter catched her in a\nwoundy heat last time, and will not let her go.\"\n\n\"But, Robin, she shall be in the stable and dry two hours before my old\nchurl gets up.\"\n\n\"But measter says she maunna go.\"\n\n\"Thou hast told him, then,--and a murrain light on thee!\"\n\nWith eyes glistening like witch-fires, did the dame bestow her malison.\nRobin half-repented his refusal; but he was stubborn, and his courage\nnot easily shaken. Besides, he had bragged at the last Michaelmas feast\nthat he cared not a rush for never a witch in the parish. He had an\n_Agnus Dei_ in his bosom, and a leaf from the holy herb in his clogs;\nand what recked he of spells and incantations? Furthermore, he had a\nwaistcoat of proof given to him by his grandmother.[40]\n\n\"Since thou hast denied me the mare, I'll take thee in her place.\"\n\nRobin felt in his bosom for the _Agnus Dei_ cake, but it was gone!--He\nhad thrown of his waistcoat, too, for the work, and his clogs were lying\nunder the rack. Before he could furnish himself with these\ncounter-charms, Goody Dickisson threw the bridle upon him, using these\nportentous words:--\n\n    \"Horse, horse, see thou be;\n    And where I point thee carry me.\"\n\nSwift as the rush of the wind, Robin felt their power. His nature\nchanged: he grew more agile and capacious; and without further ado,\nfound Goody upon his back, and his own shanks at an ambling gallop on\nthe high-road to Pendle. He panted and grew weary, but she urged him on\nwith an unsparing hand, lashing and spurring with all her might, until\nat last poor Robin, unused to such expedition, flagged and could\nscarcely crawl. But needs must when the witches drive. Rest and despite\nwere denied, until, almost dead with toil and terror, he halted in one\nof the steep gullies of Pendle near to Malkin Tower.\n\nIt was an old grey-headed ruin, solitary and uninhabited. The cold\nOctober wind whistled through its joints and crannies;--the walls were\nstudded with bright patches of moss and lichen;--darkness and desolation\nbrooded over it, unbroken by aught but the cry of the moor-fowl and the\nstealthy prowl of the weasel and wild cat.\n\nBut this lonesome and time-hallowed ruin was now lit up as for some gay\nfestival; lights were flickering through the crevices, and the coming of\nthe guests, each mounted on her enchanted steed, was accompanied by loud\nand fiend-like acclamations. Shrieks and howlings were borne from afar\nupon the blast. Unhallowed words and unutterable curses came on the\nhollow wind. Forms of indescribable and abominable shape flitted through\nthe troubled elements. Robin, trembling all over with fright and\nfatigue, was told by his mistress to graze where he could, while she\nwent into the feast:--\"Make good use of thy time, for in two hours I\nshall mount thee back again.\"\n\nThis was poor sustenance for Robin's stomach,--furze and heath were not\nat all to his mind, and he peeped about for a quiet resting-place. Here\nhe was kicked and bitten by others of the herd; several of them were in\nthe like pitiable condition with himself; but some were really of the\nbrute kind, and these fared the best and were better mannered than most\nof their human companions. Often did our unfortunate hero wish himself\nin their place. Having little else to do, he was prompted by curiosity\nto approach the building, from whence the loud din of mirth and revelry\ngrated harshly on his ears. A long chink disclosed to him some part of\nthe mysteries within. There sat on the floor a great company of witches,\nfeasting and cramming with all their might. An elderly gentleman of a\ngrave and respectable deportment, clad in black doublet and hosen, sat\non a stone-heap at the head, from whence he dealt out the delicacies\nwith due care and attention. This was a mortifying sight to a hungry\nstomach, and Robin's humanity yearned at the display. After the first\nemotions had a little subsided, he found himself at leisure to examine\nthe faces of the opposite guests, and he recognised several dames of\nhis acquaintance, feasting right merrily at the witches' board. Either\nhis fears and \"thick-coming fancies\" deceived him, or, as he afterwards\ndeclared, he saw nearly the whole of the neighbourhood at the assembly.\n\nPresently it seemed as if the first course were ended, and the floor\ncleared by invisible hands in a twinkling.\n\n\"Now pull,\" said the grave personage in black.\n\nMany ropes hung from the roof. These the women began to pull furiously,\nwhen down came pies, puddings, milk, cream, and rare wines, which they\ncaught in wooden bowls; likewise sweet-meats and all manner of dainties,\nwhich made Robin's mouth to water so at the sight that he could bear it\nno longer. Intending to groan, he involuntarily uttered a loud neigh,\nwhich so alarmed the company that the lights were extinguished, and the\nguests sallied out, each immediately bestriding her steed, and setting\nforth at full gallop, save Goody Dickisson, who, in attempting to mount\nRobin, met with a sore mishap. Recollecting the charm which operated\nupon him, he gave his head a sudden fling: as good luck would have it,\nthe bridle became entangled about her neck. His speech now came again,\nand he cried out--\n\n    \"Mare, mare, see thou be;\n    And where I point thee carry me.\"\n\nSuddenly she was metamorphosed, and Robin in his turn bestrode the\nwitch. He spared her not, as will readily be imagined, until he had her\nsafe in her own stable before break of day. Leaving her there with the\nbridle about her neck, he entered the house, hungry and jaded. Soon he\nheard Giles coming down-stairs in a great hurry--\n\n\"How now, sirrah!\" cried the incensed miller; \"did I not tell thee to\nforbid thy mistress the mare?\"\n\n\"Why, master,\" replied Robin, scratching his head, \"and so I have--the\nbeast hasna' been ridden sin' ye backed her on Friday.\"\n\n\"Thou art a lying hound to look me in the face and say so. Thy mistress\nhath been out again last night upon her old errands--I found it out when\nI awaked.\"\n\n\"And what's the matter of that?\" said Robin, with great alacrity. \"Ye\nmay go see, master, an' ye liken--the mare's as dry as our meal-tub, and\nas brisk as bottled ale.\"\n\nGiles turned angrily away from him towards the stable, tightening a\ntough cudgel in his grasp, with which he intended to belabour the\nunfortunate hind on his return. Nor was he long absent--Robin had\nscarcely swallowed a mouthful of hot porridge when his master thus\naccosted him--\n\n\"Why, thou hob thrust, no good can come where thy fingers are\na-meddling; there is another jade besides mine own tied to the rack, not\nworth a groat. Dost let thy neighbours lift my oats and provender?\nBetter turn my mill into a spital for horses, and nourish all the\nworn-out kibboes i' the parish!\"\n\n\"Nay, measter, the beast is yours; and ye ha' foun' her bed and\nprovender these twenty years.\"\n\n\"I'll cudgel that lying spirit out o' thee,\" said Giles, wetting his\nhands for a firm grasp at the stick.\n\n\"Hold, master!\" said Robin, stepping aside; \"she has cost you more\ncurrying than all the combs in the stable are worth. Step in and take\noff the bridle, and then say whose beast she is, and who hath most right\nto her, you or your neighbours. But mind, when the bridle is off her\nneck, she slip it not on to yours; for if she do you are a gone man.\"\n\nGiles stayed not, but ran with great haste into the stable. The tired\nbeast could scarcely stand; but he pulled off the bridle, and--as Robin\ntold the tale--his own spouse immediately stood confessed before him!\n\nHere we pause. In the next part we shall rapidly sketch another of the\ntraditions current on this strange subject. It will but be a brief and\nshadowy outline: space forbids us to dilate: the whole volume would not\ncontain the stories that tradition attributes to the prevalence of this\nunnatural and revolting, though, it may be, imaginary crime.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[37] [Illustration: Clyfrigrcype], or _the rocky district_.\n\n[38] Col-dwr, or _narrow water_. See Whitaker's etymology of the word\n(_Hist. of Manchester_).\n\n[39] See an able article on this subject in the _Retrospective Review_,\nvol. v. part i.\n\n[40] \"On Christmas daie at night, a threed must be sponne of flax, by a\nlittle virgine girl, in the name of the divell; and it must be by her\nwoven, and also wrought with the needle. On the breste or fore part\nthereof must be made, with needlework, two heads; on the head of the\nright side must be a hat, and a long beard,--the left head must have on\na crown, and it must be so horrible that it maie resemble Belzebub; and\non each side of the wastcote must be made a crosse.\"--_Discoverie of\nWitchcraft_, by Reginald Scott, 1584.\n\n\n\n\nPART SECOND.\n\n\nOn the verge of the Castle Clough, a deep and winding dingle, once\nshaded with venerable oaks, are the small remains of the Castle of\nHapton, the seat of its ancient lords, and, till the erection of Hapton\nTower, the occasional residence of the De la Leghs and Townleys. Hapton\nTower is now destroyed to its foundation. It was a large square\nbuilding, and about a hundred years ago presented the remains of three\ncylindrical towers with conical basements. It also appears to have had\ntwo principal entrances opposite to each other, with a thorough lobby\nbetween, and seems not to have been built in the usual form,--that of a\nquadrangle. It was erected about the year 1510, and was inhabited until\n1667. The family-name of the nobleman--for such he appears to have\nbeen--of whom the following story is told, we have no means of\nascertaining. That he was an occasional resident or visitor at the Tower\nis but surmise. During the period of these dark transactions we find\nthat the mansion was inhabited by Jane Assheton, relict of Richard\nTownley, who died in the year 1637. Whoever he might be, the following\nhorrible event, arising out of this superstition, attaches to his\nmemory. Whether it can be attributed to the operations of a mind just\nbordering on insanity, and highly wrought upon by existing\ndelusions,--or must be classed amongst the proofs, so abundantly\nfurnished by all believers in the reality of witchcraft and demoniacal\npossession, our readers must determine as we unfold the tale.\n\nLord William had seen, and had openly vowed to win, the proud maiden of\nBernshaw Tower. He did win her, but he did not woo her. A dark and\nappalling secret was connected with their union, which we shall briefly\ndevelop.\n\nLady Sibyl, \"the proud maiden of Bernshaw,\" was from her youth the\ncreature of impulse and imagination--a child of nature and romance. She\nroved unchecked through the green valleys and among the glens and\nmoorlands of her native hills; every nook and streamlet was associated\nwith some hidden thought \"too deep for tears,\" until Nature became her\ngod,--the hills and fastnesses, the trackless wilds and mountains, her\ncompanions. With them alone she held communion; and as she watched the\nsoft shadows and the white clouds take their quiet path upon the hills,\nshe beheld in them the symbols of her own ideas,--the images and\nreflections,--the hidden world within her made visible. She felt no\nsympathy with the realities--the commonplaces of life; her thoughts were\ntoo aspiring for earth, yet found not their resting-place in heaven! It\nwas no grovelling, degrading superstition which actuated her: she sighed\nfor powers above her species,--she aspired to hold intercourse with\nbeings of a superior nature. She would gaze for hours in wild delirium\non the blue sky and starry vault, and wish she were freed from the base\nencumbrances of earth, that she might shine out among those glorious\nintelligences in regions without a shadow or a cloud. Imagination was\nher solace and her curse; she flew to it for relief as the drunkard to\nhis cup, sparkling and intoxicating for a while, but its dregs were\nbitterness and despair. Soon her world of imagination began to quicken;\nand, as the wind came sighing through her dark ringlets, or rustling\nover the dry grass and heather bushes at her side, she thought a spirit\nspoke, or a celestial messenger crossed her path. The unholy rites of\nthe witches were familiar to her ear, but she spurned their vulgar and\nlow ambition; she panted for communion with beings more\nexalted--demigods and immortals, of whom she had heard as having been\ntranslated to those happier skies, forming the glorious constellations\nshe beheld. Sometimes fancies wild and horrible assaulted her; she then\nshut herself for days in her own chamber, and was heard as though in\nconverse with invisible things. When freed from this hallucination,\nagony was marked on her brow, and her cheek was more than usually pale\nand collapsed. She would then wander forth again:--the mountain-breeze\nreanimated her spirits, and imagination again became pleasant unto her.\nShe heard the wild swans winging their way above her, and she thought of\nthe wild hunters and the spectre-horseman:[41] the short wail of the\ncurlew, the call of the moor-cock and plover, was the voice of her\nbeloved. To her all nature wore a charmed life: earth and sky were but\ncreatures formed for her use, and the ministers of her pleasure.\n\nThe Tower of Bernshaw was a small fortified house in the pass over the\nhills from Burnley to Todmorden. It stood within a short distance from\nthe Eagle Crag; and the Lady Sibyl would often climb to the utmost verge\nof that overhanging peak, looking from its dizzy height until her soul\nexpanded, and her thoughts took their flight through those dim regions\nwhere the eye could not penetrate.\n\nOne evening she had lingered longer than usual: she felt unwilling to\ndepart--to meet again the dull and wearisome realities of life--the\npetty cares that interest and animate mankind. She loathed her own form\nand her own species:--earth was too narrow for her desire, and she\nalmost longed to burst its barriers. In the deep agony of her spirit she\ncried aloud--\n\n\"Would that my path, like yon clouds, were on the wind, and my\ndwelling-place in their bosom!\"\n\nA soft breeze came suddenly towards her, rustling the dry heath as it\nswept along. The grass bent beneath its footsteps, and it seemed to die\naway in articulate murmurs at her feet. Terror crept upon her, her bosom\nthrilled, and her whole frame was pervaded by some subtle and mysterious\ninfluence.\n\n\"Who art thou?\" she whispered, as though to some invisible agent. She\nlistened, but there was no reply; the same soft wind suddenly arose, and\ncrept to her bosom.\n\n\"Who art thou?\" she inquired again, but in a louder tone. The breeze\nagain flapped its wings, mantling upwards from where it lay, as if\nnestled on her breast. It mounted lightly to her cheek, but it felt\nhot--almost scorching--when the maiden cried out as before. It fluttered\non her ear, and she thought there came a whisper--\n\n\"I am thy good spirit.\"\n\n\"Oh, tell me,\" she cried with vehemence: \"show me who thou art!\"--a mist\ncurled round her, and a lambent flame, like the soft lightning of a\nsummer's night, shot from it. She saw a form, glorious but indistinct,\nand the flashes grew paler every moment.\n\n\"Leave me not,\" she cried; \"I will be thine!\"\n\nThen the cloud passed away, and a being stood before her, mightier and\nmore stately than the sons of men. A burning fillet was on his brow, and\nhis eyes glowed with an ever-restless flame.\n\n\"Maiden, I come at thy wish. Speak!--what is thy desire.\"\n\n\"Let thought be motion;--let my will only be the boundary of my power,\"\nsaid she, nothing daunted; for her mind had become too familiar with\ninvisible fancies, and her ambition too boundless to feel either awe or\nalarm. Immediately she felt as though she were sweeping through the\ntrackless air,--she heard the rush of mighty wings cleaving the\nsky,--she thought the whole world lay at her feet, and the kingdoms of\nthe earth moved on like a mighty pageant. Then did the vision change.\nObjects began to waver and grow dim, as if passing through a mist; and\nshe found herself again upon that lonely crag, and her conductor at her\nside. He grasped her hand: she felt his burning touch, and a sudden\nsmart as though she were stung--a drop of blood hung on her finger. He\nunbound the burning fillet, and she saw as though it were a glimpse of\nthat unquenchable, unconsuming flame that devoured him. He took the\nblood and wrote upon her brow. The agony was intense, and a faint shriek\nescaped her. He spoke, but the sound rang in her ears like the knell of\nhopes for ever departed.\n\nFor words of such presumptuous blasphemy, tradition must be voiceless.\nThe demon looked upwards; but, as if blasted by some withering sight,\nhis eyes were suddenly withdrawn.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhat homage was exacted, let no one seek to know.\n\nAfter a pause, the deceiver again addressed her; and his form changed as\nhe spoke.\n\n\"One day in the year alone thou shalt be subject to mischance. It is the\nfeast of All-Hallows, when the witches meet to renew their vows. On this\nnight thou must be as they, and must join their company. Still thou\nmayest hide thyself under any form thou shalt choose; but it shall abide\nupon thee until midnight. Till then thy spells are powerless. On no\nother day shall harm befall thee.\"\n\nThe maiden felt her pride dilate:--her weak and common nature she\nthought was no longer a degradation; she seemed as though she could\nbound through infinite space. Already was she invested with the\nattributes of immateriality, when she awoke!--and in her own chamber,\nwhither the servants had conveyed her from the crag an hour before,\nhaving found her asleep, or in a swoon, upon the verge of the precipice.\nShe looked at her hand; the sharp wound was there, and she felt her brow\ntingle as if to remind her of that irrevocable pledge.\n\nLord William sued in vain to the maid of Bernshaw Tower. She repulsed\nhim with scorn and contumely. He vowed that he would win her, though the\npowers of darkness withstood the attempt. To accomplish this impious\npurpose, he sought Mause, the witch's dwelling. It was a dreary hut,\nbuilt in a rocky cleft, shunned by all as the abode of wicked and\nmalignant spirits, which the dame kept and nursed as familiars, for the\nfulfilment of her malicious will.\n\nThe night was dark and heavy when Lord William tied his steed to a rude\ngate that guarded the entrance to the witch's den. He raised the latch,\nbut there was no light within.\n\n\"Holloa!\" cried the courageous intruder; but all was dark and silent as\nbefore. Just as he was about to depart he thought he heard a rustling\nnear him, and presently the croaking voice of the hag close at his ear.\n\n\"Lord William,\" said she, \"thou art a bold man to come hither after\nnightfall.\"\n\nHe felt something startled, but he swerved not from his purpose.\n\n\"Can'st help me to a bride, Mother Helston?\" cried he, in a firm voice;\n\"for I feel mightily constrained to wed!\"\n\n\"Is the doomed maiden of Bernshaw a bride fit for Lord William's bosom?\"\nsaid the invisible sorceress.\n\n\"Give me some charm to win her consent,--I care not for the rest.\"\n\n\"Charm!\" replied the beldame, with a screech that made Lord William\nstart back. \"Spells have I none that can bind her. I would she were in\nmy power; but she hath spell for spell. Nought would avail thee, for she\nis beyond my reach; her power would baffle mine?\"\n\n\"Is she too tainted with the iniquity that is abroad?\"\n\n\"I tell thee yea; and my spirit must bow to hers. Wouldst wed her\nnow--fond, feeble-hearted mortal?\"\n\nLord William was silent; but the beautiful form of the maiden seemed to\npass before him, and he loved her with such overmastering vehemence that\nif Satan himself had stood in the gap he would not have shrunk from his\npurpose.\n\n\"Mause Helston,\" said the lover, \"if thou wilt help me at this bout, I\nwill not draw back. I dare wed her though she were twice the thing thou\nfearest. Tell me how her spell works,--I will countervail it,--- I will\nbreak that accursed charm, and she shall be my bride!\"\n\nFor a while there was no reply; but he heard a muttering as though some\nconsultation were going on.\n\n\"Listen, Lord William,\" she spoke aloud. \"Ay, thou wilt listen to thine\nown jeopardy! Once in the year--'tis on the night of All-Hallows--she\nmay be overcome. But it is a perilous attempt!\"\n\n\"I care not. Point out the way, and I will ride it rough-shod!\"\n\nThe beldame arose from her couch, and struck a light. Ere they separated\nthe morning dawned high above the grey hills. Many rites and\nincantations were performed, of which we forbear the disgusting recital.\nThe instructions he received were never divulged; the secrets of that\nnight were never known; but an altered man was Lord William when he came\nback to Hapton Tower.\n\nOn All-Hallows' day, with a numerous train, he went forth a-hunting. His\nhounds were the fleetest from Calder to Calder; and his horns the\nshrillest through the wide forests of Accrington and Rossendale. But on\nthat morning a strange hound joined the pack that outstripped them all.\n\n\"Blow,\" cried Lord William, \"till the loud echoes ring, and the fleet\nhounds o'ertake yon grizzled mongrel.\"\n\nBoth horses and dogs were driven to their utmost speed, but the strange\nhound still kept ahead. Over moor and fell they still rushed on, the\nhounds in full cry, though as yet guided only by the scent, the object\nof their pursuit not being visible. Suddenly a white doe was seen,\ndistant a few yards only, and bounding away from them at full speed. She\nmight have risen out of the ground, so immediate was her appearance. On\nthey went in full view, but the deer was swift, and she seemed to wind\nand double with great dexterity. Her bearing was evidently towards the\nsteep crags on the east. They passed the Tower of Bernshaw, and were\nfast approaching the verge of that tremendous precipice, the \"Eagle\nCrag.\" Horse and rider must inevitably perish if they follow. But Lord\nWilliam slackened not in the pursuit; and the deer flew straight as an\narrow to its mark,--the very point where the crag jutted out over the\ngulf below. The huntsmen drew back in terror; the dogs were still in\nchase, though at some distance behind;--Lord William only and the\nstrange hound were close upon her track. Beyond the crag nothing was\nvisible but cloud and sky, showing the fearful height and abruptness of\nthe descent. One moment, and the gulf must be shot:--his brain felt\ndizzy, but his heart was resolute.\n\n\"Mause, my wench,\" said he, \"my neck or thine!--Hie thee; if she's over,\nwe are lost!\"\n\nLord William's steed followed in the hound's footsteps to a hair. The\ndeer was almost within her last spring, when the hound, with a loud\nyell, doubled her, scarcely a yard's breadth from the long bare neb of\nthat fearful peak, and she turned with inconceivable speed so near the\nverge that Lord William, in wheeling round, heard a fragment of rock,\nloosened by the stroke from his horse's hoof, roll down the precipice\nwith a frightful crash. The sudden whirl had nearly brought him to the\nground, but he recovered his position with great adroitness. A loud\nshriek announced the capture. The cruel hound held the deer by the\nthroat, and they were struggling together on the green earth. With\nthreats and curses he lashed away the ferocious beast, who growled\nfiercely at being driven from her prey. With looks of sullenness and\nmenace, she scampered off, leaving Lord William to secure the victim. He\ndrew a silken noose from his saddle-bow, and threw it over the panting\ndeer, who followed quietly on to his dwelling at Hapton Tower.\n\nAt midnight there was heard a wild and unearthly shriek from the high\nturret, so pitiful and shrill that the inmates awoke in great alarm. The\nloud roar of the wind came on like a thunder-clap. The tempest flapped\nits wings, and its giant arms rocked the turret like a cradle. At this\nhour Lord William, with a wild and haggard eye, left his chamber. The\nlast stroke of the midnight bell trembled on his ear as he entered the\nwestern tower. A maiden sat there, a silken noose was about her head,\nand she sobbed loud and heavily. She wrung her white hands at his\napproach.\n\n\"Thy spells have been o'ermastered. Henceforth I renounce these unholy\nrites; I would not pass nights of horror and days of dread any longer.\nMaiden, thou art in my power. Unless thou wilt be mine,--renouncing\nthine impious vows,--for ever shunning thy detested arts,--breaking that\naccursed chain the enemy has wound about thee,--I will deliver thee up\nto thy tormentors, and those that seek thy destruction. This done, and\nthou art free.\"\n\nThe maiden threw her snake-like glance upon him.\n\n\"Alas!\" she cried, \"I am not free. This magic noose! remove it, and my\npromise shall be without constraint.\"\n\n\"Nay, thou arch-deceiver,--deceiver of thine own self, and plotter of\nthine own ruin,--I would save thee from thy doom. Promise, renounce, and\nfor ever forswear thy vows. The priest will absolve thee; it must be\ndone ere I unbind that chain.\"\n\n\"I promise,\" said the maiden, after a deep and unbroken silence. \"I have\nnot been happy since I knew their power. I may yet worship this fair\nearth and yon boundless sky. This heart would be void without an object\nand a possession!\"\n\nShe shed no tear until the holy man, with awful and solemn\ndenunciations, exorcised the unclean spirit to whom she was bound. He\nadmonished her, as a repentant wanderer from the flock, to shun the\nperils of presumption, reminding her that HE, of whom it is written that\nHe was led up of the Spirit into the wilderness to be _tempted_ of the\ndevil,--HE who won for us the victory in that conflict, taught _us_ in\npraying to say, \"Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.\"\nShe was rebaptized as one newly born, and committed again to the keeping\nof the Holy Church. Shortly afterwards were united at the altar Lord\nWilliam and Lady Sibyl. He accompanied her to Bernshaw Tower, their\nfuture residence,--becoming, in right of his wife, the sole possessor of\nthose domains.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[41] In Lancashire these noises are called the Gabriel Ratchets,\naccording to Webster, which seem to be the same with the German\nRachtvogel or Rachtraven. The word and the superstition are still\nprevalent. Gabriel Ratchets are supposed to be like the sound of puppies\nyelping in the air, and to forebode death or misfortune.\n\n\n\n\nPART THIRD.\n\n\nTwelve months were nigh come and gone, and the feast of All-Hallows was\nagain at hand. Lord William's bride sat in her lonely bower, but her\nface was pale, and her eyes red with weeping. The tempter had been\nthere; and she had not sought for protection against his snares. That\nnight she was expected to renew her allegiance to the prince of\ndarkness. Those fearful rites must now bind her for ever to his will.\nSuch appeared to be her infatuation that it led her to imagine she was\nyet his by right of purchase, without being fully conscious of the\nimpiety of that thought. His own power had been promised to her: true,\nshe must die; but might she not, a spirit like himself, rove from world\nto world without restraint? She thought--so perilously rapid was her\nrelapse and her delusion--that his form had again passed before her,\nbeautiful as before his transgression!--\"The Son of the Morning!\"\narrayed in the majesty which he had before the world was,--ere heaven's\nRuler had hurled him from his throne. Her mental vision was perverted.\nLight and darkness, good and evil, were no longer distinguished. Perhaps\nit was a dream; but the imagination had becomed diseased, and she\ndistinguished not its inward operations from outward impressions on the\nsense. Her husband was kind, and loved her with a lover's fondness, but\nshe could not return his affection. He saw her unhappy, and he\nadministered comfort; but the source of her misery was in himself, and\nshe sighed to be free?\n\n\"Free!\"--she started; the voice was an echo to her thought. It appeared\nto be in the chamber, but she saw no living form. She had vowed to\nrenounce the devil and all his works in her rebaptism, before she was\nled to the altar, and how could she face her husband?\n\n\"He shall not know of our compact.\"\n\nThese words seemed to be whispered in her ear. She turned aside; but saw\nnothing save the glow of sunset through the lattice, and a wavering\nlight upon the floor.\n\n\"I would spare him this misery,\" she sighed. \"Conceal but the secret\nfrom him, and I am again thine!\"\n\nSuddenly the well-known form of her familiar was at her side.\n\nThe following day was All-Hallows-e'en, and her allegiance must be\nrenewed in the great assembly of his subjects held on that fearful\nnight.\n\nIt was in the year 1632, a period well known in history as having led\nto the apprehension of a considerable number of persons accused of\nwitchcraft. The depositions of these miserable creatures were taken\nbefore Richard Shuttleworth and John Starkie, two of his Majesty's\njustices of the peace, on the 10th of February 1633; and they were\ncommitted to Lancaster Castle for trial.\n\nSeventeen of them were found guilty, on evidence suspicious enough under\nordinary circumstances, but not at all to be wondered at, if we consider\nthe feeling and excitement then abroad. Some of the deluded victims\nthemselves confessed their crime, giving minute and connected statements\nof their meetings, and the transactions which then took place. Justices\nof the peace, judges, and the highest dignitaries of the realm, firmly\nbelieved in these reputed sorceries. Even the great Sir Thomas Brown,\nauthor of the book intended as an exposure of \"Vulgar Errors,\" gave his\ntestimony to the truth and reality of those diabolical delusions. But we\nhave little need to wonder at the superstition of past ages, when we\nlook at the folly and credulity of our own.\n\nIt may, perhaps, be pleasing to learn that the judge who presided at the\ntrial respited the convicts, and reported their case to the king in\ncouncil. They were next remitted to Chester, where Bishop Bridgeman,\ncertifying his opinion of the matter, four of the accused--Margaret\nJohnson, Frances Dickisson, Mary Spencer, and the wife of one\nHargreaves--were sent to London and examined, first by the king's\nphysicians, and afterwards by Charles I. in person. \"A stranger scene\ncan scarcely be perceived,\" says the historian of Whalley; \"and it is\nnot easy to imagine whether the untaught manners, rude dialect, and\nuncouth appearance of these poor foresters would more astonish the king;\nor his dignity of person and manners, together with the splendid scene\nby which they were surrounded, would overwhelm them.\"\n\nThe story made so much noise that plays were written on the subject, and\nenacted. One of them is entitled, \"The late Lancashire Witches, a\nwell-received Comedy, lately acted at the Globe on the Bank-side, by the\nKing's Majesty's Actors. Written by Thomas Haywood and Richard Broom.\n_Aut prodesse solent, aut delectare_, 1634.\"\n\nBut our element is tradition, especially as illustrating ancient manners\nand superstitions; we therefore give the sequel of our tale as tradition\nhath preserved it.\n\nGiles Dickisson, the merry miller at the Mill Clough, had so taken to\nheart his wife's dishonesty that, as we have before observed, he grew\nfretful and morose. His mill he vowed was infested with a whole legion\nof these \"hell-cats,\" as they were called; for in this shape they\npresented themselves to the affrighted eyes of the miserable\nyoke-fellow, as he fancied himself, to a limb of Satan. The yells and\nscreeches he heard o'nights from these witches and warlocks were\nunbearable; and once or twice, when late at the mill, both he and Robin\nhad received some palpable tokens of their presence. Scratches and\nbloody marks were plainly visible, and every hour brought with it some\nnew source of annoyance or alarm.\n\nOne morning Giles showed himself with a disconsolate face before Lord\nWilliam at the Tower; he could bear his condition no longer.\n\n\"T'other night,\" said he, \"the witches set me astride o' t' riggin' o'\nmy own house.[42] It was a bitter cold time, an' I was nearly perished\nwhen I wakened. I am weary of my life, and will flit; for this country,\nthe deil, I do think, holds in his own special keeping!\"\n\nThen Robin stept forward, offering to take the mill on his master's\nquittance. He cared not, he said, for all the witch-women in the parish.\nHe had \"fettled\" one of them, and, by his Maker's help, he hoped fairly\nto drive them off the field. The bargain was struck, and Robin that day\nentered into possession.\n\nBy a strange coincidence, this transaction happened on the eve of\nAll-Hallows before mentioned; and Lord William requested that Robin\nwould on that night keep watch. His courage, he said, would help him\nthrough; and if he could rid the mill of them, the Baron promised him a\nyear's rent, and a good largess besides. Robin was fain of the offer,\nand prepared himself for the strife, determined, if possible, to eject\nthese ugly vermin from the premises.\n\nOn this same night, soon after sunset, the lady of Bernshaw Tower went\nforth, leaving her lord in a deep sleep, the effect, as it was supposed,\nof her own spells. Ere she departed, every symbol or token of grace was\nlaid aside;--her rosary was unbound. She drew a glove from her hand, and\nin it was the bridle ring, which she threw from her,--when the flame of\nthe lamp suddenly expired. It was in her little toilet-chamber, where\nshe had paused, that she might pursue her meditations undisturbed. Her\nallegiance must be renewed, and revoked no more; but her pride, that\ndarling sin for which she raised her soul, must first suffer. On that\nnight she must be guided by the same laws, and subjected to the same\ndegrading influence, as her fellow-subjects. At least once a year this\ncondition must be fulfilled:--all rank and distinction being lost, the\nvassals were alike equal in subordination to their chief. On this night,\ntoo, the rights of initiation were usually administered.\n\nThe time drew nigh, and the Lady Sibyl, intending to conceal the glove\nwith the sacred symbol, passed her hand on the table where it had\nlain--but it was gone!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn a vast hollow, nearly surrounded by crags and precipices, bare and\ninaccessible, the meeting was assembled, and the lady of the Tower was\nto be restored to their communion. Gliding like a shadow, came in the\nwife of Lord William,--pale, and her tresses dishevelled, she seemed the\nvictim either of disease or insanity.\n\nUnder a tottering and blasted pine sat their chief, in a human form;\nhis stature lofty and commanding, he appeared as a ruler even in this\nnarrow sphere of his dominion. Yet he looked round with a glance of\nmockery and scorn. He was fallen, and he felt degraded; but his aim was\nto mar the glorious image of his Maker, and trample it beneath his feet.\n\nA crowd of miserable and deluded beings came at the beck of their chief,\neach accompanied by her familiar. But the lady of Bernshaw came alone.\nHer act of renouncement had deprived her of this privilege.\n\nThe mandate having been proclaimed, and the preliminary rites to this\nfearful act of reprobation performed, the assembly waited for the\nconcluding act--the cruel and appalling trial: one touch of his finger\nwas to pass upon her brow,--the impress, the mark of the beast,--the\nsign that was to snatch her from the reach of mercy! Her spirit\nshuddered;--nature shrank from the unholy contact. Once more she looked\ntowards that heaven she was about to forfeit,--and for ever!\n\n\"For ever!\"--the words rang in her ears; their sound was like the knell\nof her everlasting hope. She started aside, as though she felt a horrid\nand scorching breath upon her cheek, as though she already felt their\nunutterable import in the abysses of woe!\n\nConscience, long slumbering, seemed to awake; she was seized with the\nanguish of despair! It seemed as though judgment were passed, and she\nwas doomed to wander like some rayless orb in the blackness of darkness\nfor ever. One fearful undefined form of terror was before her; one\nconsciousness of offence ever present; all idea of past and future\nabsorbed in one ever-during NOW, she felt that her misery was too heavy\nto sustain. A groan escaped her lips, but it was an appeal to that power\nfor deliverance, who is not slow to hear, \"nor impotent to save.\"\nSuddenly she was roused from some deep and overpowering hallucination;\nthe promises of unlimited gratification to every wish prevailed no more,\nthe tempter's charm was broken. All was changed; the whole scene seemed\nto vanish; and that form, which once appeared to her like an angel of\nlight, fell prostrate, writhing away in terrific and tortuous folds on\nthe hissing earth. The crowd scattered with a fearful yell;--she heard\na rush of wings, and a loud and dissonant scream,--and the \"Bride of\nBernshaw\" fell senseless to the ground.\n\nWe leave the conscience-stricken victim whilst we relate the result of\nRobin's watch-night at the mill.\n\nHe lay awake until midnight, but there was no disturbance; nothing was\nheard but the plash of the mill-stream, and the dripping ooze from the\nrocks. His old enemies, no doubt, were intimidated, and he was about\ncommencing a snug nap on the idea--when, lo! there came a great rush of\nwind. He heard it booming on from a vast distance, until it seemed to\nsweep over the building in one wide resistless torrent that might have\nlevelled the stoutest edifice;--yet was the mill unharmed by the attack.\nThen came shrieks and yells, mingled with the most horrid imprecations.\nSwift as thought, there rushed upon him a prodigious company of cats,\nbats, and all manner of hideous things, that scratched and pinched him,\nas he afterwards declared, until his flesh verily \"reeked\" again.\nMaddened by the torment, he began to lay about him lustily with a long\nwhittle which he carried for domestic purposes. They gave back at so\nunexpected a reception. Taking courage thereby, Robin followed, and they\nfled, helter-skelter, like a routed army. Through loop-holes and windows\nwent the obscene crew, with such hideous screeches as startled the whole\nneighbourhood. He gave one last desperate lunge as a parting\nremembrance, and felt that his weapon had made a hit. Something fell on\nthe floor, but the light was extinguished in the scuffle, and in vain he\nattempted to grope out this trophy of his valour.\n\n\"I've sliced off a leg or a wing,\" thought he, \"and I may lay hold on it\nin the morning.\"\n\nAll was now quiet, and Robin, to his great comfort, was left without\nfurther molestation.\n\nMorning dawned bright and cheerful on the grey battlements of Bernshaw\nTower; the sun came out joyously over the hills; but Lord William walked\nforth with an anxious and gloomy countenance. His wife had feigned\nillness, and the old nurse had tended her through the night in a\nseparate chamber. This was the story he had learnt on finding her absent\nwhen he awoke. Early presenting himself at the door, he was refused\nadmission. She was ill--very ill. The lady was fallen asleep, and might\nnot be disturbed: such was the answer he received. Rising over the hill,\nhe now saw the gaunt ungainly form of Robin, his new tenant, approaching\nin great haste with a bundle under his arm.\n\n\"What news from the mill, my stout warrior of the north?\" said Lord\nWilliam.\n\n\"I think I payed one on 'em, your worship,\" said Robin, taking the\nbundle in his hand. \"Not a cat said mew when they felt my whittle.\nMarry, I spoilt their catterwauling: I've cut a rare shive!\"\n\n\"How didst fare last night with thy wenches?\" inquired the other.\n\n\"I've mended their manners for a while, I guess. As I peeped about\nbetimes this morning, I found--a paw! If cats are bred with hands and\ngowden rings on their fingers, they shall e'en ha' sporting-room i' the\nmill! No bad luck, methinks.\"\n\nRobin uncovered the prize, and drew out a bleeding hand, mangled at the\nwrist, and blackened as if by fire; one finger decorated with a ring,\nwhich Lord William too plainly recognised. He seized the terrific\npledge, and, with a look betokening some deadly purpose, hastened to his\nwife's chamber. He demanded admittance in too peremptory a tone for\ndenial. His features were still, not a ripple marked the disturbance\nbeneath. He stood with a calm and tranquil brow by her bed-side; but she\nread a fearful message in his eye.\n\n\"Fair lady, how farest thou?--I do fear me thou art ill!\"\n\n\"She's sick, and in great danger. You may not disturb her, my lord,\"\nsaid the nurse, attempting to prevent his too near approach;--\"I pray\nyou depart; your presence afflicts her sorely.\"\n\n\"Ay, and so it does,\" said Lord William, with a strange and hideous\nlaugh. \"I pray thee, lady, let me play the doctor,--hold out thy hand.\"\n\nThe lady was still silent. She turned away her head. His glance was too\nwithering to endure.\n\n\"Nay, then, I must constrain thee, dame.\"\n\nShe drew out her hand, which Lord William seized with a violent and\nconvulsive grasp.\n\n\"I fear me 'tis a sickness unto death; small hope of amendment here.\nGive me the other; perchance I may find there more comfort.\"\n\n\"Oh, my husband, I cannot;--I am--I have no strength.\"\n\n\"Why, thou art grown peevish with thy distemper. Since 'tis so, I must\ne'en force thy stubborn will.\"\n\n\"Alas! I cannot.\"\n\n\"If not thy hand, show me thy wrist!--I have here a match to it,\nmethinks. O earth--earth--hide me in thy womb!--let the darkness blot me\nout and this blasting testimony for ever!--Accursed hag, what hast thou\ndone?\"\n\nHe seized her by the hair.\n\n\"What hast thou promised the fiend? Tell me,--or\"--\n\n\"I have, oh, I fear I have,--consented to the compact!\"\n\n\"How far doth it bind thee?\"\n\n\"My soul--my better part!\"\n\n\"Thy better part?--thy worse! A loathsome ulcer, reeking with the stench\nfrom the pit! Better have given thy body to the stake, than have let in\none unhallowed desire upon thy soul. How far does thy contract reach?\"\n\n\"All interest I can claim. His part that created it I could not give,\nnot being mine to yield.\"\n\n\"Lost! lost! Thou hast, indeed, sold thyself to perdition! I'll purge\nthis earth of witchery;--I'll make their carcases my weapon's\nsheath;--hence inglorious scabbard!\" He flung away the sheath. Twining\nher dark hair about his fingers--\"Die!--impious, polluted wretch! This\nblessed earth loathes thee,--the grave's holy sanctuary will cast thee\nout! Yon glorious sun would smite thee should I refrain!\"\n\nHe raised his sword--a gleam of triumph seemed to flash from her eye, as\nthough she were eager for the blow; but the descending weapon was\nstayed, and by no timid hand.\n\nLord William turned, yet he saw not the cause of its restraint. The lady\nalone seemed to be aware of some unseen intruder, and her eye darkened\nwith apprehension. Suddenly she sprang from the couch; a shriek from no\nhuman agency escaped her, and the spirit seemed to have passed from its\nabode.\n\nLord William threw himself on her pale and inanimate form.\n\n\"Farewell!\" he cried: \"I had thought thee honest!--Nay, lost spirit, I\nmust not say farewell!\"\n\nHe gazed on his once-loved bride with a look of such unutterable\ntenderness that the heart's deep gush burst from his eyes, and he wept\nin that almost unendurable anguish. The sight was too harrowing to\nsustain. He was about to withdraw, when a convulsive tremor passed\nacross her features--a trembling like the undulation of the breeze\nrippling the smooth bosom of the lake; a sigh seemed to labour heavily\nfrom her breast; her eyes opened; but as though yet struggling under the\ninfluence of some terrific dream, she cried--\n\n\"Oh, save me--save me!\" She looked upwards: it was as if the light of\nheaven had suddenly shone in upon her benighted soul.\n\n\"Lost, saidst thou, accursed fiend?--Never until his power shall yield\nto thine!\"\n\nYet she shuddered, as though the appalling shadow were still upon her\nspirit.--\"Nay, 'twas but a dream.\"\n\n\"Dreams!\" cried Lord William, recovering from a look of speechless\namazement. \"Thy dreams are more akin to truth than ever were thy waking\nreveries.\"\n\n\"Nay, my Lord, look not so unkindly on me--I will tell thee all. I\ndreamt that I was possessed, and this body was the dwelling of a demon.\nIt was permitted as a punishment for my transgressions; for I had sought\ncommunion with the fiend. I was the companion of witches--foul and\nabominable shapes;--a beastly crew, with whom I was doomed to\nassociate. Hellish rites and deeds, too horrible to name, were\nperpetrated. As a witness of my degradation, methought my right hand was\nwithered. I feel it still! Yet--surely 'twas a dream!\"\n\nShe raised her hand, gazing earnestly on it, which, to Lord William's\namazement, appeared whole as before, save a slight mark round the wrist,\nbut the ring was not there.\n\n\"What can this betide?\" said the trembling sufferer. She looked\nsuspiciously on this apparent confirmation of her guilt, and then upon\nher husband. \"Oh, tell me that I did but dream!\"\n\nBut Lord William spoke not.\n\n\"I know it all now!\" she said, with a heavy sob. \"My crime is punished;\nand I loathe my own form, for it is polluted. Yet the whole has passed\nbut as some horrible dream--and I am free! This tabernacle is cleansed;\nno more shall it be defiled; for to Thee do I render up my trust.\"\n\nA mild radiance had displaced the wild and unnatural lustre of her eye,\nas she looked up to the mercy she invoked, and was forgiven.\n\nHer spirit was permitted but a brief sojourn in this region of sorrow.\nEre another sun, her head hung lifeless on Lord William's bosom;--he had\npressed her to his heart in token of forgiveness; but he held only the\ncold and clammy shrine--the idol had departed!\n\nAccording to the popular solution of this fearful mystery, a demon or\nfamiliar had reanimated her form while she lay senseless at the sudden\nand unlooked-for dissolution of the witches' assembly. In this shape the\nimp had joined the rendezvous at the mill, and fleeing from the effects\nof Robin's valour, maliciously hoped that Lord William would execute a\nswift vengeance on his erring bride. But his hand was stayed by another\nand more merciful power, and the demon was cast out.\n\nThe ring and glove were not found. It was said that Mause Helston had\ntaken them as a gage of fealty, and dying about the same period, was\ndenied the rites of Christian burial. Hence may have arisen the belief\nwhich tradition has preserved respecting the Lady Sibyl.\n\nPopular superstition still alleges that her grave was dug where the dark\n\"Eagle Crag\" shoots out its cold bare peak into the sky. Often, it is\nsaid, on the eve of All-Hallows, do the hound and the milk-white doe\nmeet on the crag--a spectre huntsman in full chase. The belated peasant\ncrosses himself at the sound as he remembers the fate of \"The Witch of\nBernshaw Tower.\"\n\n[Illustration: LATHOM HOUSE AS IT EXISTED BEFORE THE SIEGE, RESTORED\nFROM EXISTING DOCUMENTS.\n\n_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[42] \"Riggin'\" or ridging. The hills which divide the counties of York\nand Lancaster are sometimes called \"th' riggin',\" from their being the\nhighest land between the two seas forming part of what is called the\nbackbone of England. An individual residing at a place named \"The\nSummit,\" from its situation, was asked where he lived. \"I live at th'\nriggin' o' th' warld, I reckon,\" says he; \"for th' water fro' t' one\nside o' th' roof fa's to th' east sea, an' t' other to th' west sea.\"\n\n\n\n\nSIEGE OF LATHOM.\n\n\n    \"Let me no longer live, she sayd,\n      Than to my lord I true remain;\n    My honour shall not be betray'd\n      Until I see my love again.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    \"Oh! blame her not if she was glad\n      When she her lord again had seen.\n    Thrice welcome home, my dear, she said,--\n      A long time absent thou hast been:\n    The wars shall never more deprive\n      Me of my lord whilst I'm alive.\"\n\n--_Mirrour for Married Women_.\n\nNo authentic drawing or representation of Lathom House, we believe,\nexists. The author has, however, had the temerity to present a\nrestoration of this renowned edifice, as it appeared before the siege,\nand before \"the sequestrators under Cromwell, weary of the slow disposal\nof the building materials by sale, invited the peasants of the hundred\nof West Derby to take away the stones and timbers without any charge.\"\n\nThe very numerous documents to which he has had recourse were aided by\nmeasurements, and a visit to the spot, where he found that a tolerable\naccurate idea might be formed of the situation and extent of the walls\nand towers, together with the main entrance, and the \"great Eagle\nTower.\"\n\nThe accompanying view is taken from a hill above the valley or trench,\nwhere, it is said, the main army of the besiegers was encamped. It is\ncalled in the neighbourhood \"Cromwell's Trench,\" and the engraving may\nserve to convey some idea of that magnificent and princely dwelling,\nwhich, as the old ballad expresses it, would hold \"two kinges, their\ntraines and all.\" Henry the Seventh, two years after his visit to\nLathom, restored his palace at Richmond, the same authority tells us,\n\"like Lathom Hall in fashion.\" The gate-house in the engraving is drawn\nfrom the description of a carving of the Stanley legend in Manchester\nCollegiate Church, executed in the time of James Stanley, Bishop of Ely.\nFrom this it appears to have had two octagonal turrets on each side of\nan obtusely-pointed or circular archway with battlements, machicolated\nand pierced for cannon.\n\nThe Eagle Tower alone remained when part of the estate was transferred\nto John Lord Ashburnham, on his marriage, in 1714, with Henrietta,\ndaughter of William, ninth earl of Derby. Lord Ashburnham sold it to a\nFurness, and he to Sir Thomas Bootle. Not a vestige now exists, and even\nthe records of the family are destroyed. \"Golforden,\" says Mr Heywood,\nin his interesting _Notes to a Journal of the Siege of Lathom,_ \"along\nwhose banks knights and ladies have a thousand times made resort,\nhearkening to stories as varied as those of Boccaccio;--the maudlin\nwell, where the pilgrim and the lazar devoutly cooled their parched\nlips;--the mewing-house,--the training round,--every appendage to\nantique baronial state,--all now are changed, and a modern mansion and a\nnew possessor fill the place.\"\n\nThis memorable siege, and the heroic defence by Lady Derby, though among\nthe most prominent topics in the history of the county, supply but few\nmaterials which may not be found in records that already exist. Yet\nthere are incidents connected with them which the historian has left\nunrecorded; occurrences, it might be, too trivial or too apocryphal for\nhis pen. One of the main events in the following narrative, though not\nfound amongst written and authenticated records, the author has listened\nto when a child, with a vigorous and greedy appetite for wonder,--one of\nthe earliest and most delightful exercises of the imagination.\n\nWe purpose to follow briefly the order of events as they appear in the\nseveral narratives to which we have had access, interweaving such\ntraditionary matter as we have gathered in our researches, thereby\ninterrupting and relieving the tediousness of this \"thrice-told tale.\"\n\nLord Derby, from the usual unhappy fatality, or rather from the\nindecision and jealousies prevailing in his Majesty's councils, had been\ncommanded to leave the realm, and proceed instantly to the Isle of Man,\nat the precise time when his presence here would have been the most\nserviceable, not only from his great zeal, activity, and loyalty to his\nsovereign, but by reason of the influence he possessed, and the example\nwhich his noble and valiant bearing had shown throughout the county. His\nhouse, children, and all other temporal concerns, he left to the care of\nhis lady, first making provision, secretly, for their defence, supplying\nher with men, money, and ammunition, that she might not be unprepared in\ncase of attack. His lordship's opinion of this disastrous and impolitic\nremoval may be gathered from the following hasty expressions. After a\nperusal of the despatches, announcing the king's, or rather the queen's,\npleasure that he should speedily repair to the Isle of Man, where an\ninvasion was apprehended from the Scots,--speaking to the Lady Derby\nwith more than ordinary quickness, he said, \"My heart, my enemies have\nnow their will, having prevailed with his Majesty to order me to the\nIsle of Man, as a softer banishment from his presence and their malice.\"\n\nThis valiant and high-born dame was daughter to Claude, Duke of\nTremouille, and Charlotte Brabantin de Nassau, daughter of William,\nPrince of Orange, and Charlotte de Bourbon, of the royal house of\nFrance. By this marriage the Earl of Derby was allied to the French\nkings, the Dukes of Anjou, the Kings of Naples and Sicily, the Kings of\nSpain, and many other of the sovereign princes of Europe. Her father was\na staunch Huguenot, and a trusty follower of Henry IV. That she did not\nsully the renown acquired by so illustrious a descent, the following\nnarrative will abundantly prove.\n\nIt was at a special council of the Holy States,[43] held at Manchester\non Saturday the 24th of February 1644, that, after many former debates\nand consultations, the siege of Lathom was concluded upon. The\nparliament troops under Colonel Ashton of Middleton, Colonel Moore of\nBank-Hall, and Colonel Rigby of Preston, on the same day began their\nmarch, proceeding by way of Bolton, Wigan, and Standish, under a\npretence of going into Westmoreland, that the soldiers should not\npresently know of their destination.\n\nLathom, for magnificence and hospitality, was held in high reputation,\nassuming, in these respects, the attitude of a royal court in the\nnorthern parts of the kingdom; and the family were regarded with such\nveneration and esteem that the following harmless inversion was familiar\n\"as household words:\"--\"God save the Earl of Derby and the King;\" the\ngeneral feeling and opinion thereby apparent being love to their lord\nand loyalty to their prince.\n\nOn the 27th of February the enemy took up their quarters about a mile\ndistant from the house. The next day Captain Markland was the bearer of\na letter to her ladyship from Sir Thomas Fairfax, commander-in-chief of\nthe parliamentary forces, and likewise an ordinance of parliament: the\none requiring that she should surrender the house upon such honourable\nterms as he might propose; and the other setting forth and commending\nthe great mercy they had manifested by thus offering to receive the Earl\nof Derby if he would submit himself. But she indignantly refused to\nsurrender without the consent and commandment of her lord; and after\nmany interviews, to which she assented only to gain time, and to\ncomplete the provisioning and fortifying of her little garrison, they\nbegan to find her answers too full of policy and procrastination,\ndangerous to the fidelity of their troops. In the end, seeing she was\nonly amusing them by vain pretences, they sent the following as their\nfinal terms, by Colonel Morgan, commander of the engineers, who had been\nappointed by Sir Thomas Fairfax to conduct the siege:--\n\n1st. \"That the Countess of Derby shall have the time she desires, and\nthen liberty to transport her arms and goods to the Isle of Man, except\nthe cannon, which shall continue there for the defence of the house.\n\n2d. \"That her ladyship, by ten o'clock on the morrow, shall disband all\nher soldiers, except her menial servants, and receive an officer and\nforty parliament soldiers for her guard.\"\n\nMorgan is described as \"a litle man short and peremptory, who met with\nstaidnes to coole his heat; and had the honor to carry backe this last\nanswer--for her ladyshipp could scrue them to noe more delayes, viz.--\n\n\"That she refused all their articles, and was truely happy they had\nrefused hers, protesting shee had rather hazard her life than offer the\nlike again;--\n\n\"That though a woman, and a stranger, divorced from her friends, and\nrob'd of her estate, she was ready to receive their utmost vyolence,\ntrusting in God both for protection and deliverance.\"\n\nThe next morning they discovered the enemy had been at work about a\nmusket-shot from the house, in a sloping ground, where they appeared to\nbe forming a breast-work and trench to protect the pioneers--multitudes\nof country people being every day forced into this laborious service.\n\nThe situation of Lathom deserves some notice, it being admirably\ncalculated to resist any attack.\n\n\"It was encompassed by a strong wall, two yards thick; upon the walls\nwere nine towers, flanking each other, and in every tower six pieces of\nordnance, that played three one way and three another. Upon the tops of\nthese towers were placed the best and choicest marksmen, who usually\nattended the Earl in his sports, as huntsmen, keepers, fowlers, and the\nlike, who continually kept watch, with screwed guns and long\nfowling-pieces, to the great annoyance and loss of the enemy, especially\nof their commanders, who were frequently killed in the trenches. Without\nthe wall was a moat eight yards wide and two yards deep; between the\nwall and the moat was a strong row of palisadoes. A high tower, called\nthe Eagle Tower, stood in the midst, surmounting all the rest. The\ngate-house had a strong tower on each side, forming the entrance to the\nfirst court.\"\n\nThe site of the house seemed to have been formed for a stronghold, or\nplace of safety: thus described by Seacome:--\n\n     \"Before the house, to the south and south-west, is a rising ground,\n     so near as to overlook the top of it, from which it falls so quick,\n     that nothing planted against it on those sides can touch it further\n     than the front wall; and on the north and east sides there is\n     another rising ground, even to the edge of the moat.\" \"The\n     situation of it may be compared to the palm of a man's hand, flat\n     in the middle, and covered with a rising ground, about it, and so\n     near to it, that the enemy, in two years' siege, were never able to\n     raise a battery against it, so as to make a breach in the wall\n     practicable to enter the house by way of storm.\"[44]\n\nIt is said the camp of the besiegers was in a woody dell, near what is\nnow called \"The Round O Quarry,\" about half-a-mile from Lathom. This\ndell is still called \"Cromwell's Trench;\" and a large and remarkable\nstone, having two circular hollows or holes on its upper surface,\nevidently once containing nodules of iron, is called \"Cromwell's\nStone\"--the country people supposing these holes were used as moulds for\ncasting balls during the siege.\n\nThe besiegers, however, thought to reduce the place by famine, being\ndeceived through the following device of her ladyship's chaplain, the\nRev. Mr Rutter, a person whom the Earl had left to her assistance, that\nshe might be guided by his great skill and prudence:--\n\nDuring one of the conferences before-named, a captain of the\nparliamentary forces, recognising in the chaplain an old friend, with\nwhom he had been educated, and very intimate and familiar aforetime,\ntook a secret opportunity of addressing him, hoping to worm out her\nladyship's secrets; conjuring him, by reason of their former friendship,\nto tell truly upon what ground or confidence she still refused these\noffers, seeing that it was impossible to defend her house against such\na numerous and well-furnished army as was then encamped in the park.\n\nRutter, casting his eyes earnestly towards the ramparts, bade his friend\nnote their disposition and defence. Her ladyship, as commander-in-chief,\nto prevent any sudden assault, and likewise to awe the enemy by these\ndemonstrations, had disposed her soldiers in due order, so that they\nshould be seen, under their respective officers, from the main-guard in\nthe first court, down to the great hall, where they had left her\nladyship's council. The rest of her forces she had placed upon the\nwalls, and on the tops of the towers, in such manner that they might\nappear both numerous and well-disciplined.\n\n\"She is in nothing so desirous,\" said Rutter, \"as that you should waste\nyour strength and forces by a sudden assault, wherein you would not fail\nto have the worst of the battle: the place being armed at all points, as\nthou seest, and able to withstand any attack but that of famine.\"\n\nA promise of secresy was exacted, when the wary chaplain pretended to\nunfold her ladyship's plans. He said there was but little provision in\nthe place--that she was oppressed with the number of her soldiers--that\nshe would not be able to subsist more than fourteen days; and she hoped\nto dare them to a sudden onset, not from her own confidence to give them\na repulse, but knowing that, should they continue the siege, she must\ninevitably be forced to surrender.\n\nThe captain, after embracing his friend, and promising faithfully to\nmaintain the secret, revealed, as Rutter intended he should, the whole\nof his confidential story to the enemy's council; who, giving credit to\nthe tale, laid aside, for the present, all thoughts of an attack, and\nresolved to invest the place in a close and formal siege.\n\nFourteen days being expired, and they, supposing her provisions were\nnigh spent, and the garrison reduced to the last extremity, sent another\nand more peremptory summons. But during this time her soldiers were\ntraining, the walls and fortifications were undergoing a thorough\nrepair, and the cannon properly served and mounted. The fortress, too,\nwas well stocked, and even abundantly stored with provisions, in spite\nof their enemies, who kept a strict watch, but failed to detect the\nsource and manner of the supply. She was not without hope, too, of\nrelief from the king's troops, whom she daily expected to her\nassistance.\n\nThe besiegers finding themselves deceived, their confidence abused, and\ntheir schemes only serving to the advantage of the opposite party,\norders were given and preparations made for more offensive measures, by\ndrawing a line of circumvallation round the house.\n\nThe garrison consisted of 300 men, commanded by the Captains Henry Ogle,\nEdward Chisnall, Edward Rawsthorne, William Farmer, Mullineux Ratcliffe,\nand Richard Fox, assisted in their consultations by William Farrington\nof Werden, Esq., who, for executing the commission of array, and\nattending her ladyship in these troubles, had suffered the seizure of\nall his personal estate and the sequestration of his lands.\n\nThere were 150 men each night upon the watch, with the exception of\nsixteen select marksmen out of the whole, who all day kept the towers.\n\nThe besieger's army was between two and three thousand, divided into\ntertias of seven or eight hundred men, who watched every third day and\nnight. They were commanded by Colonels Egerton, Ashton, Holland, Rigby,\nMoore, and Morgan, with their captains and lieutenants.\n\nAfter many warlike demonstrations, by which they hoped to intimidate the\ngarrison, and after some days spent in fruitless endeavours to bring her\nladyship, as they said, to a due sense of her condition, they sent one\nCaptain Ashurst, \"a fair and civil gentleman, of good character,\" with\nfresh proposals. But Lady Derby, justly considering these frequent\ntreaties and debates were a discouragement to her men, implying weakness\nand a want of confidence in her resources, replied sharply--\n\n\"That no one should quit the house, but that she would keep it, whilst\nGod enabled her, against all the king's enemies; that, in brief, she\nwould receive no more messages, but referred them to her lord, scorning\ntheir malice, and defying their assaults.\"\n\nAs the sequel of a business often depends upon the manner of its\nbeginning, to second and confirm this answer the next morning she\nordered a sally, when Captain Farmer with one hundred foot and\nLieutenant Kay with twelve horse, their whole cavalry, went forth at\ndifferent gates. Captain Farmer, determining to take them by surprise,\nmarched up to the enemy's works without firing a shot; then pouncing\nupon them suddenly in their trenches, he ordered a close and well-aimed\nvolley, which quickly made them leave their holes in great disorder.\nImmediately Lieutenant Kay, wheeling round with his horse, took them in\nflank, doing great execution as they fled. There were slain of the enemy\nabout thirty men. The spoil was forty muskets, one drum, and six\nprisoners.\n\nThe retreat of this little band was skilfully secured by Captain Ogle\nand Captain Rawsthorne, so that not one of the assailants was either\nslain or wounded.\n\nThe besiegers were much annoyed with devices, ingeniously contrived by\nthe garrison to intimidate them, and hinder and injure their work.\nHitherto they had not been able to cast up a mound for their ordnance,\nso harassed and occupied were they with these incessant alarms. But\nRigby, on whom devolved the plan and conduct of the siege, seeing that\ntheir affairs were in no thriving condition, but that rather they were\nthe scoff and jest of the garrison, who daily taunted them from the\nwalls, determined at all hazards to raise his cannon. For this purpose a\nconsiderable number of the peasantry and poorer sort in the\nneighbourhood, and for miles round, were driven like beasts to their\ndaily work, labouring unremittingly at the mounds and trenches. At first\nthey were sheltered by baskets and hurdles, afterwards by a testudo, or\nwooden house running upon wheels and roofed with thick planks. Still\nmany lives were lost in this desperate service. In the end they brought\nup one piece of cannon, amusing themselves like schoolboys at a holiday,\nin practising their harmless reports. The first shot struck the outer\nwall, but it was found proof. Afterwards they aimed higher, intending to\nbeat down a pinnacle or turret, but this also passed without damage. The\nlast shot, which missed entirely, went over and beyond the buildings,\nburrowing in a field on the other side.\n\nWhen they had performed this mighty feat they sounded another parley,\nhaving, as they supposed, mightily beat down the hearts of the besieged.\nColonel Rigby's chaplain then appeared at the gate with a letter that\nSir Thomas Fairfax had received from Lord Derby, who was now at Chester,\non his return from the Isle of Man. In this epistle he desired a free\nand honourable passage for his lady and their children, if she so\npleased, being unwilling, as he said, to expose them to the uncertain\nhazard of a long siege. His lordship knew not, by reason of his long\nabsence, either how his house was provided with ammunition and\nsustenance, or in what condition it might be to withstand the attack. He\nwas desirous that the garrison alone should bear the brunt, and that a\ndefenceless woman and her children should be rescued from captivity.\n\nHer ladyship replied that she would communicate with the earl, and if he\nshould then continue in the same opinion, she would willingly submit to\nhis commands; but until this, she would neither yield up the house nor\nabate in her hostility, but would abide by the result. Immediately she\ndespatched to his lordship a messenger, conveying him from the house by\na well-executed sally. The attempt succeeded; but whether he was\nsuffered to reach his destination or not we have no means of\nascertaining. No answer was returned, though some days had elapsed,\nduring which the enemy made many fruitless attempts to batter the walls.\n\nThey had now mounted the whole of their artillery, including their great\nmortar-piece, at that period looked upon as a most destructive engine,\ncasting stones thirteen inches in diameter and eighty pounds weight;\nlikewise grenadoes--hollow balls of iron, filled with powder, and\nlighted by a fusee. These were dangerous intruders, calculated to\nproduce great alarm and annoyance, as we shall find in the sequel. The\nmortar was planted only about half a musket-shot from the walls,\nsouth-west, on a rising ground, from whence the engineer commanded a\nview of the whole buildings.\n\nThe work on which it stood was orbicular, with a rampart of two yards\nand a half broad above the ditch. To lessen the destructive effects of\nthis dangerous piece of artillery, chosen men were set as guards with\nwet hides and woollen coverlids to quench the flame, had the enemy been\nskilful enough to accomplish their purpose; it being their general\nopinion that to burn the house would be the most effectual means of\nsubduing and driving out the garrison. But finding their endeavours met\nwith no prosperous return, they bethought them to cast a show of\nreligion over these attempts at robbery and rapine, issuing out commands\nto all men well affected towards their success, to co-operate with them\nfor the overthrow of the \"Babylonish harlot,\" by which term some worthy\ndisciples of the visible church scrupled not to call the Lady of\nLathom.[45]\n\nThe following proclamation was sent forth from their headquarters at\nOrmskirk:--\n\n     \"To all ministers and parsons in Lancashire, well-wishers to our\n     successe against Lathom House, these:--\n\n     \"Forasmuch as more than ordinary obstrucc'ons have from the\n     beginning of this p'sent service ag^t Lathom House interposed our\n     proceedings, and yet still remaine, which cannot otherwise be\n     removed, nor our successe furthered, but onely by devine\n     assistance: it is, therefore, our desires to the ministers and\n     other well-affected persons of this county of Lancaster, in publike\n     manner, as they shall please, to com'end our case to God, that as\n     wee are appoynted to the s^d employment, soe much tending to the\n     settleing of our p'sent peace in theise parts, soe the Almighty\n     would crowne our weake endeavours with speedy success in the said\n     designe.\n\n     (Signed)\n\n     \"RALPH ASHTON.\n\n     \"JOHN MOORE.\n\n     \"ORMSKIRK, 5 Ap. 1644.\"\n\nThe four following days were, on their part, consumed in these unholy\nexercises; but the garrison, tired with inaction, resolved to awaken\nthem, and turn their thoughts into a more profitable channel.\n\nOn Wednesday, the 10th of April, says the MS. journal, \"about eleven\no'clock, Capt^n Farmer and Capt^n Mullineux Rattcliffe, Lieu^t Penckett,\nLieu^t Woorrale, w^th 140 souldiers, sallyed out at a postern gate,\nbeate the enemy from all theire worke and batteries, w^ch were now cast\nup round the house, nailed all theire canon, killed about 50 men, took\n60 armes, one collours, and three drumes, in which acc'on, Capt^n\nRattcliffe deserves this remembrance, that w^th 3 souldiers, the rest of\nhis squadron being scattered w^th execuc'on of the enemy, he cleared two\nsconces, and slew 7 men w^th his owne hand, Lieu^t Woorrall, ingageing\nhimself in another worke among 50 of the enemy, bare the fury of all,\ntill Capt^n Farmer relieved him, who, to the wonder of us all, came off\nwithout any dangerous wound.[46]--The sally-port was that day warded by\nCapt^n Chisnall, who with fresh men stood ready for succour of ours, had\nthey been putt to the extremity; but they bravely marched round the\nworks, and came in att the great gates, where Capt^n Ogle w^th a p'ty of\nmusketeers kept open the passage. Capt^n Rawstorne hadd the charge of\nthe musketeers upon the walls, which hee plac'd to the best advantage\nto vex the enemy in their flight. Capt^n Foxe, by a collours from the\nEagle Tower, gave signall when to march and when to retreate, according\nto the motions of the enemy, which hee observed at a distance.--In all\nthis service wee had but one man mortally wounded, and wee tooke onely\none prisoner, an officer, for intelligence. In former sallyes some\nprisoners were taken, and by exchange releast, Colonel Ashton and Rigby\npromising to sett at liberty as many of the king's freinds, then\nprisoners in Lancaster, Manchester, Preston, and other places proposed\nby her ladishipp. But most unworthily they broke condic'ons, it suiting\nwell with their religion neither to observe faith with God nor men; and\nthis occasioned a greater slaughter than either her la^pp or the\ncaptaynes desired, because wee were in no condic'on to keepe prisoners,\nand knew the co'manders wold never release 'em but upon base or\ndishonorable terms.\"\n\nThough their cannon had been injured in the spiking, yet were they not\nrendered useless; for the same night they \"played a sacre twice,\" it is\nsaid, \"to tell us they had cannon that wold speke tho' our men had\nendeavoured to steele up all their lippes.\"\n\nOn the 15th a grenado fell short of the house, in a walk near the chapel\ntower: some pieces of the shell, two inches thick, flew over the wall,\nand were gathered up by the attendants. It was a mighty achievement to\nfire this unwieldy engine, requiring great labour and exertion to fill\nup its mouth when once it had vomited forth its malice. The day after,\nthey loaded it with stones: to their great joy, Morgan and his\nbombardiers beheld one of them strike within the body of the house, it\nbeing always a matter of some uncertainty where the ball might spend\nitself. Indeed, it was said, in derision it might be, that sometimes\ntheir guns occasioned more damage to the besiegers than to the besieged.\n\nMorgan now set to work, keeping as accurately as he might the head of\nthe blatant beast to the same level, and loading it with a grenado. When\nthe gunner had finished his task and lighted the fusee, Morgan rubbed\nhis hands for joy. Retiring sharply, off went the missile with an\nexplosion that shook the whole fabric. When the smoke was gone they\nperceived some trifling damage in an old court, where the bomb, striking\nabout half-a-yard into the earth, burst as it rose, much abated of its\nviolence; yet it shook down some slight buildings near, but without\nhurting any one, save two women who had their hands scorched as a\nmemorial of their presence at the siege of Lathom.\n\nThis mortar-piece was like some mighty dragon of old, causing great\nterror in the minds of the soldiers, who knew not how to escape, but\nwere in continual fear and watchfulness, dreading the assaults of this\nterrible monster. To allay their apprehensions, and to show their own\nindifference, the captains lodged in the uppermost rooms, behind clay\nwalls, when not upon duty; and many other devices were resorted to for\nthe purpose of encouraging their troops. One circumstance, however,\nseemed to renew their courage; a gunner opposite, as he was mounting the\nramparts to see the success of his shot, was slain by a marksman from\none of the towers. The next day one of their cannoneers was slain\nthrough the porthole by a skilful hand, which made the enemy more\ncautious than formerly. Yet did they not slacken their endeavours, but\nfired almost incessantly. On the Saturday afternoon they played their\nmortar-piece five times; and in the night twice with stones, and once\nwith a grenado, which by the turning of the gunner fell short of the\nhouse.\n\nOn Easter Monday and Tuesday Colonel Rigby must needs gratify the\ncountry people with some pastime. He had already spent upwards of two\nthousand pounds, and his great pretensions were hitherto unfulfilled.\nAccordingly he ordered his batteries to be directed against the Eagle\nTower, which, as we have before seen, stood near the centre of the\nbuildings, and was the place where Lady Derby and the children usually\nlodged.\n\n\"We will strike off a horn of the beast, or level one of her hills,\"\nsaid Rigby, as he strode forth early on that morning to the enterprise.\n\n\"Which seven towers be the seven hills of Rome or spiritual Antichrist,\"\nsaid Jackson, his chaplain, who kept near his master, or rather kept his\nmaster between himself and the Babel that roused his indignation. Morgan\nwas just preparing his engines when Rigby approached, cautiously worming\nhis way along the trenches, for the marksmen were become unmercifully\nexpert by reason of continued practice.\n\nThe match was lighted,--when bounce went the shot, a four-and-twenty\npounder, against the Eagle Tower.\n\n\"We will beat the old lady from her perch: I find she hath taken to\nhigh-roosting of late,\" said Morgan, as he watched the despatch and\ndestination of his messenger.\n\nThe ball had entered into her ladyship's chamber, where she and the\nchildren were at breakfast. With as little emotion as Charles the\nTwelfth on a like occasion, she merely remarked that since they were\nlikely to have disagreeable intruders, she must e'en seek a new lodging.\n\n\"But,\" said she, rising with great dignity, \"I will keep my house while\na building is left above my head.\"\n\nThis mischievous exploit, though an occasion at the time of great\ntriumph and exultation to the besiegers, was the main cause of their\nsubsequent expulsion and defeat.\n\nWe now propose to follow out their operations with more minuteness,\ntracing the consequences of this action to its final result.\n\nThat same night some of the garrison, having permission from their\ncommanders, annoyed their enemies with strange and noisome alarms,\nduring which they contrived to steal some powder, and other necessaries\nof which they were much in want.\n\nColonels Egerton and Rigby were in close counsel before their tent when\nthey beheld a terrible appearance moving towards them,--looking in the\ndark like the leaders of some mighty army, waving their torches to light\nthem to the assault. This frightful apparition was a poor forlorn horse,\nstudded with lights fastened to cords, that shook and flickered about in\nso fearful a manner. In this plight he had been turned out of the gates,\nthe garrison looking on, with frightful shouts and yells.\n\nThe sentinels ran from their posts, crying out that the king's army was\ncoming. In an instant all was uproar and confusion, the trenches were\ncleared, and happy was he that came foremost in the rout.\n\nRigby clasped on his sword-belt which he had doffed for the night.\nSpringing on his horse, he met some of the runaways, whom he forced\nback, hoping by their means to stem the main torrent. But, lo! in the\nvery height of the panic, appeared another and more direful intruder--an\navenue of fire seemed to extend from the walls to their own trench. It\nappeared as though the enemy had by some unaccountable means formed in a\ndouble line from the fortress, illuminated rank and file as if by\nmagic--flinging their torches by one simultaneous and well-concerted\nmovement into the air with great order and regularity.\n\nHad a legion from the puissant army of Beelzebub been approaching,\ntheir terror could not have been greater. Yet fear kept many from\nescaping, while they knew not which way to run for safety. Rigby in the\nnick of time galloped up to this awful and hostile appearance, crying\nout to his troops that he would soon demolish the bugbear. This saying\nencouraged some of the runaways, who followed him to the combat.\nApproaching within a sword's length, for he was not deficient either in\nhardihood or valour, he made a furious stroke right in the face of this\nflaming apparition, when down it fell, revealing its own harmlessness\nand their cowardice.\n\nTaking advantage of the panic which followed the lighted horse, a few of\nthe garrison had thrown a cord covered with matches and other\ncombustibles round a tree, close to the enemy's camp; one end was\nfastened near the walls, and the other was quickly carried back after\nbeing passed round the tree. The whole on being lighted was swung to and\nfro, producing the terrific appearance we have described.\n\nRigby was greatly mortified at this exploit; it seemed as though they\nwere become the jest and laughing-stock of the garrison.\n\nMorgan at this moment galloped up in great dudgeon. The enemy had found\nhim a similar employment, he having twice bravely discharged his cannon,\nloaded with cartridge and chain-shot, against two lighted matches thrust\ninto balls of clay that were thrown at him from the walls.\n\nThe leaders, provoked beyond measure, speedily assembled in council.\nEgerton, who had the most influence, from the beginning had urged milder\nmeasures, thinking to starve the enemy into submission; but Morgan,\nRigby, and some others were now red-hot for mischief, smarting from\ntheir late ridiculous disaster.\n\n\"And what have we gotten by delay?\" said Rigby; \"we have wearied our\nsoldiers, wasted our powder, and emptied our purses; and this proud dame\nstill beats and baffles us, casting her gibes in our very teeth which we\ndeserve to lose for our pains.\"\n\n\"Take thine own course, then,\" said Egerton, mildly. \"We are brethren,\nserving one cause only; the which, being best served, is best won.\"\n\n\"Then be to-morrow ours,\" said Morgan, with his usual heat and\nimpatience. \"We will burn them up like a heap of dry faggots. The house,\nthough well fenced against our shot, hath yet much inward building of\nwood, and you shall see a pretty bonfire kindled by my bomb-shells--a\nroaring blaze that shall ride on the welkin between here and Beeston\nCastle!\"\n\n\"Whilst thou art plying thy vocation we will scale the walls, and the\nsword shall slay what the fire hath failed to devour,\" said Rigby.\n\n\"Fire and sword!\" cried Egerton. \"Ye are apt at a simile; but, methinks,\nthese be your own similitudes.\"\n\n\"They give their prisoners no quarter,\" said Morgan; \"and why should we\nsheath the sword when a weapon is at our own throat?\"\n\n\"Why, doubtless they have more mouths to feed than they can conveniently\nsupply,\" said the more pacific personage. \"Living men, to keep them so,\neven though prisoners, require feeding.\"\n\n\"Our vengeance is sure, though tardy,\" said Rigby, rising in great\ncholer. \"The blood of these martyrs crieth from the ground. To-morrow!\"\nand he breathed a bloody vow, looking fiercely up to heaven in the\ndaring and impious attitude of revenge.\n\n\"We had best give her ladyship another summons; which, if she refuse,\nher blood be upon her own head!\" Saying this, Egerton abruptly left the\ncouncil.\n\nOn the next morning, which was cold and drizzly, a \"pragmatical\" drummer\nwent out from the nearer trench, beating his drum for a parley, lest his\nperson should be dismissed without ceremony to the hungry kites.\n\nEarly had he been summoned to Rigby's lodging, where Ashton and Morgan\nwere contriving a furious epistle to the contumacious defenders of their\nlives and substance. A summons, couched in no very measured terms, was\ndrawn up, to the purport that the fortress should be surrendered, and\nall persons, goods, arms, and munitions therein, to the mercy of\nparliament; and by the next day, before two o'clock, her ladyship to\nreturn her answer, otherwise at her peril. Their valour grew hotter with\nthe reading of this cruel message, which they secretly hoped and\nsuspected she would refuse. The drum-major was called in, one Gideon\nGreatbatch by name--a long, straight-haired, sallow-faced personage, of\nsome note among the brethren for zeal and impiety. By this we mean that\nawful and profane use of Scripture phraseology with which many of these\ngifted preachers affected to interlard their everyday discourse,\nattaching a ludicrous solemnity to matters the most trivial and\nunimportant.\n\nIn delineating this species of character, unfortunately not extinct in\nour own days, we do not hold it up to ridicule, but to reprehension.\nIrreverence and profanity, under whatever pretext, are without excuse,\neven beneath the mask of holy zeal and ardent devotion.\n\nThe man stalked in with little ceremony and less manners. He stood stiff\nand erect, the image of pride engendered by ignorance.\n\n\"'Tis our last,\" said Rigby, folding up the message; \"and if our arms\nare blessed, as we have hoped, and, it may be, unworthily deserved, ere\nthe going down of to-morrow's sun yon strong tower wherein she trusteth\nshall be as smoke; for the hope of the wicked shall perish.\"\n\n\"Yea, their idols shall fall down; yea, their walls shall be as\nJericho,\" said the drum-major, with a sing-song whine, to sanctify his\nblasphemous allusions, \"and shall utterly fall at the sound of\"----\n\n\"Thy two drumsticks, mayhap,\" returned Morgan, sharply; for this latter\npersonage, though his presence became needful in the camp by reason of\nhis reputed skill and bravery, was a great scandal to the real and\nconscientious professors--of whom not a few had joined the ranks of the\nbesiegers--as well as the hypocritical and designing; some of whom did\nnot hesitate to liken him to Achan and the accursed thing, by reason of\nwhich they were discomfited before their enemies.\n\n\"Thine ungodly speeches, Master Morgan, I would humbly trust, may not be\nas the fuel that, when the fire cometh, shall consume the camp, even the\nrighteous with the wicked,\" said Gideon, as if shrinking from the\ncontact of so unholy a personage.\n\nMorgan replied not to this deprecation, save by swearing--covertly,\nthough it might be--at the impudence and insubordination of these\ninferior agents, whose disorderly conduct it was necessary to connive\nat, while they were looked upon as saints and prophets--men from whose\npresence was impiously expected the blessing and protection of heaven.\n\nA loud screaming was heard, and Rigby, darting a furious look through\nthe doorway, ordered it to be closed.\n\n\"Another porker!\" said he. \"I verily think she hath provision behind the\nwalls that would last out our siege till doomsday. There is treachery\nsomewhere. Have we not heard, morning by morning, the self-same cry?\"\n\n\"A whole herd of swine have been martyred in the cause,\" said Morgan,\nsneeringly.\n\n\"Every day they have slain a pig,\" said the leader of the drums. \"Two\nscore and eight,\" reckoning upon his fingers. \"Verily a drove from the\nlegion.\"\n\nThey knew not that this unfortunate swine, the only one in the garrison,\nwas made to perform so uncomfortable a duty every morning to mislead the\nbesiegers, and impress them with the idea of a plentiful supply within\nthe walls.\n\n\"Even the rabble about the garrison throw shives of bread into our\ntrenches,\" said Morgan; \"and once or twice I have thought their muskets\nwere loaden with peas instead of pellets.\"\n\n\"Then is our assault the more urgent,\" replied Rigby: \"delay doth not\nincrease her strength. Prince Rupert too, some fair morning, may jump\nbetween us and head-quarters.\"\n\n\"I have as many grenadoes,\" said Morgan, \"as will save his highness the\ntrouble. Were he here, I would make him dance the Flemish _coranto_.\"\n\n\"The Amalekites shall ye utterly destroy,\" said Gideon, with a sudden\nindrawing of the breath, as though he were suffering the pangs and\nthroes of possession. \"Neither shall ye spare the women and the little\nones nor the stuff; no, not even a kid for a burnt-offering. Your eye\nshall not spare as Saul spare Agag, whom Samuel hewed in pieces.\"\n\n\"Keep thy counsel to light thine own courage. Yon fiery-tempered woman\nwill not be over-nice in her respect to thy vocation. Peradventure she\nmay dangle thy carcase over the walls in defiance of our summons.\"\nMorgan would have rebuked him farther, had not Rigby hastily put the\nmessage into his hands, and bade him good speed.\n\nWith inward but audible murmurs at this unholy connection, for Morgan\nvalued not their prayers a rush, Gideon strode forth, his eyes twinkling\ngrievously as the drizzling rime came on his face. His long ungainly\nfigure, surmounted by a high-peaked hat, was seen cautiously stealing\nthrough the trenches. Near to the embrasure by Morgan's mortar-piece he\nmade a sudden halt. After preparing his drum, he first beat the roll to\ncrave attention. He then stepped upon the redoubt, drumming the usual\nsignal for a parley. It was soon answered from the walls, and Gideon,\nwith much ceremony and importance, arrived with his musical appendage\nbefore the gate. The requisite formalities being gone through, the\ndrawbridge was lowered, and this parliamentary representative was\nspeedily admitted through a little wicket into the Babylon which he\nabhorred. His very feet seemed in danger of defilement. He looked as if\nbreathing the very atmosphere of pollution; but when ordered to kneel\ndown that he might be blindfolded, his spirit rose indignantly at the\ncommand.\n\n\"Ye be contemners and despisers of our holy heritage. I have not bowed\nthe knee to Baal, nor will I worship the beast or they that have his\nname on their foreheads. Do with me as ye list. Ye would cover mine eyes\nthat your iniquities may be hidden;--but ye shall suddenly be destroyed,\nand none shall deliver.\"\n\nA loud laugh was the answer to this denunciation; for truly it were a\nmarvellous thing to hear an ignorant, arrogant drummer, misapply and\nprofane the words of Holy Writ, wresting the Scriptures to their\ndestruction, if not his own.\n\nIn the outer court soldiers were playing at span-counter with silver\nmoneys, which Gideon observing, again lifted up the voice of warning and\nrebuke.\n\n\"But destruction cometh upon them, even as upon a woman in\"----\n\n\"Peace, thou spirit of a drum-stick!\" cried one of them, and, as though\nhe were playing at chuck-farthing, he threw a tester between his teeth;\nfor the soldiers had about fifty pounds amongst them in silver coin, but\nit was of no use except as so many counters, which they lent one another\nby handfuls without telling. Sometimes one soldier had won the whole,\nthen another; but if they had been heaps of the rarest jewels they had\nbeen of less worth than pebble-stones.\n\nGideon's speech was marred in the delivery; thinking he had been hit\nwith a stone, he sputtered out the offending morsel; but, seeing the\ncoin with the king's image and superscription, he gathered it up again.\n\n\"This shall be to me for a prey, even a spoil, as Moses spoiled the\nEgyptians.\" Saying this Gideon thrust the king's money into his pocket,\nand consented to be blindfolded, as was customary, in order that he\nshould not act the spy in his progress. He heard many gates unbarred,\nmany sentries challenged, and the pass-words demanded. Indeed the order\nand discipline throughout was of an excellent and well-contrived\nregularity.\n\n\"Make way for the drum!\" ran along the avenues, as though he were\npassing through a numerous array of guards and soldiery. At length he\nwas safely deposited in a spacious hall used as a guard-room; where his\nconductors delivered him to Captain Ogle, the officer in waiting that\nmorning upon her ladyship. Being informed she was at prayers, for, as we\nare told, \"her first care was the service of God, which in sermons and\nsolemn prayers she daily saw performed,\" Gideon lifted up his hands and\nsaid--\n\n\"Their new moons and their fasts are an abomination.\" He then desired to\nbe conducted near the fire, for the double purpose of drying his\nthreadbare red coat, and relieving his extreme length by a change of\nposition.\n\nHe had not waited long ere the signal was given for an audience. Still\nblindfolded, he was led by a circuitous route into a little wainscotted\nchamber lighted by a single bay-window. Here the bandage was taken from\nhis eyes, and when the dimness had a little subsided, he beheld that\nheroic lady for the first time whom he had often compared, in no very\nmoderate terms, to Jezebel, and many other names equally appropriate. A\nvery different person she appeared from what his heated and morbid fancy\nhad suggested. Indeed, if she had been the personification of all evil,\nwith a demon's foot and a fiend's visage, he had been less surprised\nthan to find her with the outward form and attributes of humanity.\n\nShe was sitting with the children, before a narrow table covered with\npapers. She wore a black habit, with a white kerchief on her head, and a\nlong Flanders veil of rich open work. This she threw back, and Gideon\nbeheld a countenance not at all either commanding or heroic, but one to\nwhich smiles and good-nature would have been most congenial, though a\nshade of anxiety was now thrown over the natural expression of her\nfeatures. Her eye seemed to have forgotten its bland and benevolent\naspect, and was fixed sharply upon him. For a moment his spiritual\npride was daunted, and that natural and inherent principle, not extinct\nthough often dormant,--a deference to superiority, whether of intellect\nor station--rendered him for a while mute and inoffensive. It is even\nsaid that he made a sort of half-conscious obeisance; but his mind\nmisgiving him during the offence, which smote him on the sudden as an\nact of homage and idolatrous veneration, he breathed out a very audible\nprayer.\n\n\"Pardon thy servant in this matter, even if I have bowed in the house of\nRimmon.\" As he said this, he threw himself back, lifting his narrow eyes\ntowards the ceiling; then thrusting out his hand with the despatch at\narm's length, he was striding forward, but Ogle intervened ere he had\nmade his way to the Countess.\n\n\"With all courtesy, friend,\" said he, \"these communications must proceed\nfrom the officer on duty.\"\n\nWith great gallantry and respect the captain presented it to his\nmistress.\n\n\"Eye-service and will-worship!\" growled Gideon. \"'Tis like your vain and\npopish idolatry and the like, through the ministry of saints, even to a\nwoman, vain and sinful as yourselves. I would as soon commit my prayers\nto the angel of the bottomless pit!\"\n\nHer ladyship had broken open the seals. Her eye kindled as she spoke--\n\n\"Thou hadst thy reward were we to hang thee up at the gate.--Yet art\nthou but a foolish instrument in the hands of this traitor Rigby; and we\ndo not punish the weapon, but him that wields it.\"\n\nNow Gideon, finding himself moved by natural heat and choler, and\nmistaking this wrath for a righteous indignation, thought himself surely\ncalled upon to reprove these unrighteous ones for their iniquities. His\nbody fell into the usual disposition for a harangue. His eyes rolled\nupwards, and his whole frame swung to and fro whilst the exhortation was\npreparing. To his great mortification, however, the lady quitted the\nroom, leaving word for them to follow her to the hall.\n\nThe preacher was greatly chagrined, when his eyes resumed their office,\nto find himself almost thrust out and on his way back to the\nguard-chamber. A number of soldiers and domestics were here assembled.\nLady Derby, with her chaplain, steward, and captains, ranged on each\nside, stood at the higher end of the chamber.\n\nSilence was commanded, whilst she read aloud the despatch.\n\n\"And this,--and this, my answer!\" said she, tearing the paper as she\nspoke, and throwing the fragments indignantly from her.\n\n\"Tell that insolent rebel he shall neither have our persons, our goods,\nnor yet this house. When our strength and provision be spent, we shall\nfind a fire more merciful than Rigby; and then, if the providence of God\nprevent it not, my goods and house shall burn in his sight:--myself,\nchildren, and soldiers, rather than fall into his hands, will seal our\nreligion and loyalty in the same flame!\"\n\nA loud shout burst through the assembly, who, with one general voice,\ncried out--\n\n\"We will die for his Majesty and your honour:--God save the king!\"\n\nGideon's countenance grew terrible, and he seemed as though suffering\nunder some violent excitement. Lifting up his hand, he was about to\nthunder forth anathemas and denunciations, the dealing out of which,\nstrange to say, most parties agree in reserving to themselves. Even men\nwhose honesty and single-heartedness we cannot doubt--who have boldly\ndefended our rights and liberties against religious tyranny and\nintolerance--have still arrogated to themselves exclusively the control\nof opinions and modes of belief:--wielding the terrors of Heaven where\nthe arm of Omnipotence can alone be felt; their efforts futile and\nineffectual, as though a feeble worm were attempting to grasp the\nquiver,--to launch the bolt and the arrow from the skies.\n\nBut Gideon's purpose was again frustrated: the impious idolaters,\nrefusing to listen, blindfolded him before he was aware.\n\nBut his spirit kindled suddenly, and he cried aloud--\n\n\"Yet shut your eyes wilfully, and go blindfold to your destruction.\nTo-morrow these walls in which ye trust, this Egypt in whom your soul\ndelighteth, shall be as Sodom. Brimstone and fire shall devour you; and\nthey that flee from it shall not escape!\"\n\nGideon and his threats were, however, speedily thrust out at the gates,\nand the answer transmitted through him was faithfully reported to the\ncouncil.\n\nThough this heroic woman was not daunted, yet she saw her soldiers\nwere, at times, dispirited, by reason of the expected succours so long\ndelayed. The mortar-piece, too, which, if it had been well managed, was\nsufficient to have laid the fortress in ruins, was an object of daily\nterror and annoyance.\n\nOne of the MS. journals states,[47] \"The little ladyes had stomack to\ndigest cannon; but the stoutest souldiers had noe hearts for granadoes,\nand might not they att once free themselves from the continual\nexpectac'on of death?\"\n\nHer ladyship was well aware that inactivity is, of all things, the most\ndangerous and dispiriting to the soldier, who, used to the bustle and\narray of camps, doth fear nothing so much as a quiet home and winter\nquarters.\n\nIt was needful that something should be done, some decisive blow struck;\nfor, according to the historian, \"Chaunges of tymes are the most fitt\nfor brave attempts, and delayes they are dangerous, where softnes and\nquyetnes draweth more danger than hazarding rashly.\"\n\n\"A hard choice either to kill or be killed;\" but such was their case.\nThe Countess therefore proposed that the next morning, a little while\nafter daybreak, they should make a sortie; and though ordnance was\nplanted against every passage, yet that they should sally forth, and\nstake their all upon one desperate throw.\n\nOn the 26th April, about four o'clock, before sunrise, the action\ncommenced. Captain Chisnall and Captain Fox, with Lieutenants Brettargh,\nPenketh, Walthew, and Woorrall, were appointed for the service. Captain\nOgle had the main-guard to secure a retreat at the southern gate, while\nRawsthorne had the charge of the sally-gate to secure a retreat on the\neastern side. Captain Ratcliffe had the command of the marksmen and\nmusketeers on the walls, while Farmer, with the reserve, stood ready at\nthe parade, to relieve any of them in case of necessity. All things\nbeing ready, Captain Chisnall and two lieutenants issued out at the\neastern sally-port. The morning favoured their attempt, being wet and\nfoggy, so that before he was discovered he got completely under their\ncannon, marching immediately upon the scouts where the enemy had planted\ntheir great gun.\n\n\"It cost him a light skirmish to gain the fort; at last hee entered;\nmany slayne, some prisoners, and some escaping. Now by the command of\nthat battery, the retreate being assured, Capt Foxe seconds him w^th\nmuch bravery, beateing upon their trenches from the easterne to the\nsouth-west point, till hee came to the work w^ch secur'd the\nmorter-peece, w^ch being guarded w^th 50 men, hee found sharpe service,\nforceing his way through muskett and cannon, and beateing the enemy out\nof the sconce w^th stones, his muskett, by reason of the high worke,\nbeing unserviceable. After a quarter of an houres hard service, his men\ngott the trench and scal'd the rampier, where many of the enemy fledd,\nthe rest were slayne. The sconce, thus won, was made good by a squadron\nof musketteers, which much annoyed the enemy, attempting to come upp\nagayne. The 2 maine works thus obtained, the two captaynes w^th ease\nwalked the rest of the round, whilst Mr Broome, w^th a companye of her\nla^pps servants and some fresh souldiers, had a care to levell the\nditch, and by a present devise, with ropes lifting the morter-peece to a\nlow dragge, by strength of men drew it into the house, Capt. Ogle\ndefending the passage ag^t another companye of the enemye which play'd\nupon their retreate. The like endeavour was used to gayne theire greate\ngunnes; but lying beyond the ditch, and being of such bulke and weight,\nall our strength could not bringe them off before the whole army had\nfallen upon us; however, our men took tyme to poyson all the cannon\nround, if anything will doe the feate, Capt. Rawstorne still defending\nthe first passe ag^t some offers of the enemy to come up by the wood.\"\n\nIt was near the conclusion of this affray, as Mr Broome, the steward,\nand several of his helpers, were encompassing the great dragon which had\nso often vomited forth fire and smoke upon them, intending to carry it\naway captive, that they heard a voice from the breach below:--\n\n\"Hold, ye uncircumcised:--I will make your house desolate, and the glory\nthereof shall be turned into ashes.\"\n\nThe mortar was ready charged, and they beheld Gideon, with a lighted\nmatch, springing towards them. Several of the men drew aside in dismay;\nbut as Providence willed it, he was prevented from his purpose, the\nlight being struck from his hand, and himself tumbled backwards into a\ndeep and muddy ditch, extinguishing both light and life apparently\ntogether. But he arose, and would have run a tilt at them in this\nunsavoury condition, had he not been caught by one of his enemies, who\nwaggishly exclaimed--\n\n\"Let us yoke this great Amalekite to the gun. He'll help us well over\nthe ditch.\"\n\nThis goodly piece of advice was not neglected; and the unhappy Gideon,\nfastened between two yoke-fellows, was dragged on by main force, the\nhindmost threatening to shoot him if he made any resistance.\n\nIn vain did he cry out for vengeance upon them. His gods were deaf--no\nmiracle was wrought for his deliverance; and though he would have called\ndown fire from heaven upon his adversaries, the thunders he impiously\ndesired died harmless on his own tongue.\n\nWe again quote the words of the journal:--\n\n\"This action continued an houre, with the loss of two men on our part,\nwho, after they were mortally wounded, still fired upon the enemy, till\nall retreating. What number of the enemy were slain it is not easy to\nguesse. Besides the execuc'on done in their trenches, Capt. Farmours and\nCapt. Rattcliffes reserves, w^th the best marksmen, played upon them\nfrom the walls with much slaughter, as they quitt theire holds. Our men\nbrought in many armes, three drums, and but five prisoners, preserved by\nCapt. Chisnall to show that he had mercy as well as valour. One of\ntheese was an assistant to their engineere, Browne, who discovered to us\nthe nature of their trench, in which they had laboured two monthes to\ndraw away our water. Theire first designe was to drayne and open our\nsprings, not considering theire rise from a higher ground south-east\nfrom the house, w^ch must needs supply our deepe well, where-ever they\nsuncke their fall: this invenc'on faileing, they bringe up an open\ntrench in a worme work, the earth being indented or sawed for the\nsecuritie of their myners, and the ditch two yards wide and three deepe\nfor the fall of the water.\n\n\"But now neither ditches nor aught els troubled our souldiers, theire\ngrand terror, the morter-peece, which had frighted 'em from theire meate\nand sleepe, like a dead lyon, quyetely lying among 'em; everye one had\nhis eye and his foote upon him, shouteing and rejoiceing as merrily as\nthey used to doe w^th theire ale and bagpypes. Indeed ev'y one had this\napprehenc'on of the service, that the maine worke was done, and what was\nyet behind but a meere pastime.\n\n\"Her la^pp though not often overcarryed w^th any light expressions of\njoy, yet religiously sensible of soe great a blessing, and desirous,\naccording to her pious disposition, to returne acknowledgements to the\nrighte authour, God alone, presently commands her chaplaynes to a\npublike thanksgiving.\n\n\"The enemy, thus terrifyed with this defeate, durst not venture theire\nworkes agayne till midnight; towards morneing removeing some of theire\ncannon, and the next night stealeing away all the rest, save one peece\nfor a memorand. This one escapyt nayleing, which the colonells durst not\nventure on its owne mount, but planted att a distance, for feare of\nthe madmen in the garrison.\n\n\"One thing may not heere bee omitted: that day that our men gave Rigby\nthat shameful defeate, had hee destined for the p'secuteing of his\nutmost cruelty. Hee had invited, as it is now gen'ally confest, all his\nfriends, the holy abettors of this mischiefe, to come see the house\nyeelded or burnt, hee haveing purposed to use his morter gunne w^th\nfireballs or granadoes all afternoone; but her la^pp before two o'clocke\n(his own tyme) gave him a very skurvy satisfying answ^r, soe that his\nfriends came opportunely to comfort him, who was sicke of shame and\ndishonour, to be routed by a lady and a handfull of men.\"\n\nThis proved a sore disaster to the besiegers. The soldiers, too, began\nto cry out for their pay. The long-expected plunder of Lathom had\nhitherto kept them quiet; but they were now willing to leave this\nprecious booty to the next comers, and content themselves with their\nstated allowance.\n\nRigby, fearful of the crumbling away and dispersion of his army, made\nshift to furnish some small arrears of their pay, declaring that it had\ncost him L2000 of his own moneys during the siege; but how he got such\ngreat store of gold we are not informed, safe that \"he was once a\nlawyer, and a bad one!\"\n\nStill there were many deserters, escaping even in the open day; not a\nfew of them coming over with valuable intelligence to the garrison.\n\nWearied with duty, and sorely perplexed, Rigby sent for Col. Holland,\nfrom Manchester, to his assistance. Many days now elapsed, during which\nlittle happened worth recording on either side. On the 23d May, Captain\nMoseley brought another message to her ladyship, desiring, in terms of\ngreat courtesy and respect, that she would grant him an interview. He\nwas received with great ceremony; for she abated not a whit of the\ndignity belonging to her high birth and station.\n\n\"Captain Moseley,\" said she, having read the summons, commanding her\nthat she should yield up the house, together with the ammunition, arms,\ngoods, servants, children, and her own person too--submitting to the\nmercy of parliament, \"you are, I understand, an honourable man and a\nsoldier.\"\n\nHe bowed with great humility.\n\n\"I would not receive this from any other. But\"--and her lip curled\nproudly as she spoke. \"Here seems a slight mistake in the wording of\nyour message. They should rather have written _cruelty_ and not\n_mercy_!\"\n\n\"Nay, my lady,\" he replied, \"the mercy of parliament. Trust me, you will\nnot be evil entreated at their hands.\"\n\n\"The _mercies_ of the wicked are _cruel_,\" said she, quickly, but with\ngreat composure. \"Not that I mean,\" she continued, \"a wicked parliament,\nof which body I have an honourable and reverend esteem, but wicked\nagents and factors, such as Moore and Rigby, who for the advantage of\ntheir own interests labour to turn kingdoms into blood and ruin.\nBesides, 'tis dangerous treating when the sword is given into the\nenemies' hand.\"\n\n\"Most assuredly, madam, as our tractates on the art of war teach\nus,--which it seems you have not studied in vain,\" said Moseley, bowing\nwith an air of great deference and gallantry. \"Your ladyship is\ncommander-in-chief, we hear.\"\n\n\"My lord being absent. I am left in trust, and cannot listen to treaties\nwithout his permission.\"\n\n\"Not to dishonourable overtures, assuredly. But if we agree to your own\nconditions,--quitting the house in the way it shall seem best to your\nladyship, as was once the basis of your own propositions, I believe, it\ncannot in this case be a reproach or a breach of trust, but will prevent\nmuch damage, and be the saving of many lives.\"\n\n\"I will not treat without my lord's commands, Captain Moseley, and I\nhave listened to you longer than is expedient. It is unjust to myself,\nand these brave defenders, that I appear in any way doubtful of their\nability and courage. For their sakes, and for my own, I must end this\nparley.\"\n\nThe officer bowed low at this peremptory dismissal, wishing her\nladyship's resolutions were less firm or her means more ample.\n\n\"I can but deliver your reply. Yet\"--He hesitated awhile. \"There be\nfierce and bloody men about the camp, who would lay down their own lives\nto compass your destruction. It is not in our power to restrain them.\"\n\n\"One of these flaming zealots is already extinguished: we have him safe\nunder cover,\" said her ladyship, smiling; \"in our own custody, I trow.\nHe threatened us with all the plagues of Egypt and that of his own\ntongue to boot,--the worst that ere visited the garrison. One morning,\nan earthquake would devour us; another, we were to be visited with the\ndestruction of Sodom. Some of our men once looked out for the coming\ntempest, and buffeted him well for their disappointment. He seems either\nmalignant or insane; but in charity, of which Christian exercise he\nseems utterly ignorant, we suppose the latter. We have therefore made\nhis feet fast in the stocks, from whence, I hear, he pronounces his\nanathemas as confidently as though he were armed with the power and\nthunders of the Vatican!\"\n\n\"May I crave the name of this doughty personage?--We have but too many\nof them amongst us.\"\n\n\"Verily, 'tis your drum, by whose hands I have had a message heretofore.\nThe chances of war have again brought him hither,--but now a prisoner!\"\n\n\"Gideon Greatbatch?\"\n\n\"The same. We have heard him, with many blasphemous allusions, liken\nhimself unto that great one among the judges of Israel,--and truly he\nseems more fitted to wield the sword than the drum-stick!\"\n\n\"Your ladyship would perhaps indulge me with an interview. It might\ncomfort him to see one from the camp.\"\n\n\"Provided that no sinister design or advantage be lurking under this\nrequest. Yet am I speaking, I would fain hope, to a gentleman and a\nsoldier.\"\n\nMoseley was conducted down a dark flight of steps, damp and slippery.\nThe ooze and slime rendered his footing tedious and insecure. Soon he\nrecognised the mighty voice of Gideon bellowing forth a triumphant\npsalm. Another stave was just commencing as the door opened, and the\ntorch glared lurid and dismally on the iron features and grisly aspect\nof the captive. A pair of rude stocks, through which Gideon's long\nextremities protruded, stood in the middle of the dungeon. He scowled\nterrifically at the intruders; but suddenly resumed his exercise.\n\n\"Still at thy devotions?\" said Moseley; but the moody fanatic\nvouchsafed not to reply.\n\n\"We must wait the finishing of this duty, I fear,\" said the captain,\nknowing that interruption would be useless. Silently they awaited the\nconclusion, when Gideon abruptly cried out--\n\n\"Captain Moseley, are ye, too, cast into this den of lions?\"\n\n\"I came hither on an embassage, and I have craved this visit ere I\ndepart.\"\n\n\"Hast furnished my breakfast?\" inquired this stalwart knight from the\nenchanted wood. \"I think your garrison be short of victual, or my\"----\n\n\"Hold thy tongue, thou piece of ill-contrived impertinence,\" said the\ngaoler. \"We have victual and drink too; but for such as thou art, it\nwere an ill-bestowed morsel. I marvel what can have possessed my lady to\nkeep thee alive!\"\n\nThe gaoler drew out from his provision bag a small dark-coloured loaf,\nwhich he threw at the hungry captive, who, to say the truth, had been\nhalf-starved since his imprisonment.\n\nGideon was devouring it greedily without any further notice, when he\nsuddenly cried out to his keeper--\n\n\"Where gat ye this coarse stuff? I would not say good-morrow to my dog\nwith so crusty a meal.\"\n\n\"It was tossed over the wall,\" replied the gaoler. \"Our friends oft\nsupply us that way with provision, captain. I picked it up as I came,\nand thought it was too good for thy dainty appetite.\"\n\n\"Captain Moseley,\" said the hungry drummer, with great earnestness,\n\"take this. Break it before thy brethren, and show them how vilely these\nEgyptian task-masters do entreat us in the house of bondage.\"\n\nThere was something more than usually impressive in his manner. Moseley\ntook the loaf as requested; and the gaoler, as if the object before him\nwere beneath suspicion, exclaimed with a knowing look--\n\n\"Had I not brought the manchet myself, and watched thee narrowily, I\nshould have guessed thou hadst crammed some secret message therein to\nthe camp. But I defy thee, or any of thy batch, to cheat old Gabriel,\nthe rogue's butler!\"\n\n\"Prithee, search,\" said Captain Moseley, drawing the loaf from his\npocket; \"thou mayest, peradventure, find treachery in a toothmark, for\no' my troth they be legibly written.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Gabriel, with great self-importance, \"the knave's jaws will\nscore no ciphers. I had as lief interpret pot-hooks and ladles.\"\n\nThe captain again thrusting it beneath his belt, promised to show his\ncommanders with what coarse fare and severity the prisoners were\ntreated.\n\n\"Wilt thou that I intercede for thee before the Countess?\" he continued;\n\"if so be that she would remit thee of this durance.\"\n\nIn a voice of thunder spake the incorrigible Gideon--\n\n\"Intercede!--I would as lief pray to the saints they should intercede\nwith the Virgin Mary. I will rot from this perch piecemeal ere I pray to\nyonder ungodly woman. Yet shall I escape out of their hands, but not by\nmine own might, or mine own strength,\" said the lion-hearted captive.\n\nLeaving this indomitable Roundhead to his fate, Moseley returned to the\ncamp, reporting the ill success of his mission.\n\nGreat part of the day was spent in angry discussion, so that Moseley had\nnigh forgotten his message from Gideon; yet he remembered it ere he left\nthe council. Pulling out a coarse bannock, to the great astonishment of\nhis auditory, he brake it, relating his interview with the captive. Near\nto where the prisoner had taken his last mouthful, Moseley found a bit\nof crumpled paper. The surprise and dismay of the assembly may be\nconceived after he had read the following billet:--\n\n     \"MY DEAREST HEART,--\n\n     \"With much joy and comfort I send thee news that his Highness\n     Prince Rupert hath gotten a great victory over the rebels at\n     Newark; and I have besought his Majesty that he should march into\n     Lancashire. By two days, at farthest, these enemies who now\n     beleaguer my house shall be cut off. We purpose to come upon them\n     suddenly, so that they shall be taken in their own snare. I have\n     raised L3000 on the jewels conveyed to me from Lathom by the last\n     sally, which sum I purpose giving in largess to the soldiers, that\n     it may quicken them to thy help. My prayers and blessing for thee\n     and the children.--Thine,\n\n     \"DERBY.\"\n\nThis secret intelligence had missed its destination. The gaoler had\nunfortunately picked it up from where some friendly hand had thrown it,\nreserving the curious envelope for Gideon's breakfast, not aware of the\nimportant message it contained. But the prisoner, more wary than his\nkeeper, when he felt the paper between his teeth, rightly judged that\nit was some communication of importance to his enemies, and craftily\nconveyed it, as we have seen, into the hands of Captain Moseley.\n\nNo mean act of heroism for a starving man to wrench the food from his\nown jaws,--a deed we might in vain look for amongst the patriots of our\nown day,--persons who would sneer at the fanaticism, and, it may be, the\nsincerity of Gideon Greatbatch.\n\nConsternation was visible throughout the assembly. They had all along\nflattered themselves with the expectation that Prince Rupert's army was\ntoo urgently required for the relief of York, to have caused them any\ndisturbance; and, with inward curses on the king for his humanity,\nsecret preparations were made for raising the siege.\n\nThough ignorant of the cause, the garrison soon espied an unusual bustle\nin the camp. They were evidently preparing for some exploit. One of the\nspies brought intelligence that two squadrons had departed in the night,\nand that Colonels Moore and Ashton were on their return to Manchester.\n\nOn Monday morning, the 27th of May, it was agreed that Captains Ogle and\nRawsthorne should make a sally. But they found the enemy had been\nbeforehand with them, leaving the camp in the utmost terror and\ndisorder. Intelligence now arrived that Prince Rupert had entered\nLancashire by way of Stockport, where the Parliament army, under\nColonels Duckenfield, Mainwaring, Buckley, and others, had suffered a\ntotal route. The besiegers had commenced their retreat between twelve\nand one o'clock the preceding night.\n\nThus ended the first siege of Lathom, after the place had been closely\nbeset four months; during which time the garrison lost but six\nmen,--four in the service, and two by negligence and over-daring.\n\nThey were, in general, supplied with provisions, her ladyship seeing the\nmen's rations duly served. Yet were they not seldom pushed to a sally\nfor their dinner; their friends outside, by lights and other appointed\nsignals, directing the foragers in their operations.\n\nThe enemy shot 107 cannon-balls, 32 stones, and but four grenadoes. By\ntheir own confession near 100 barrels of gunpowder were spent, part of\nwhich was in supplies to the garrison, who often replenished their stock\nat the expense of the besiegers. They lost about 500 men, besides\nwounded and prisoners, according to their own returns.\n\nThe next day Rigby, with about 3000 men, drew up at Eccleston Green, six\nmiles only from Lathom, in great uncertainty which way to march, fearful\nof meeting with Prince Rupert. In the end, imagining that his Highness\nwould go through Blackburn or Lancaster to the relief of York, Rigby\nmarched off in great haste to Bolton, then a garrison town, and well\nfortified.\n\nThe Prince, hearing of their escape, together with Lord Derby,\nimmediately turned their forces in this direction, determined to carry\nthe place by assault, and revenge the insults and barbarity her ladyship\nhad endured. This resolution was terribly accomplished. Sixteen hundred\nof her besiegers lay dead on the place; and twenty-two colours, which\nthree days before flourished proudly before the house, were presented to\nher from his Highness by Sir Richard Crane, as a memorial of her\ndeliverance, and \"a happy remembrance of God's mercy and goodness to her\nand her family.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[43] The name assumed by a body of men who met, during the wars, in\nManchester; and who in energy and power were second only to their London\nbrethren.\n\n[44] \"Hist. of the House of Stanley,\" p.90.\n\n[45] One of these sons of violence, Bradshaw of Brazen-nose, took\noccasion, before his patrons at Wigan, to profane the 14th verse of the\n15th chapter of Jeremiah, from thence proving that Lady Derby was the\nscarlet whore and the whore of Babylon whose walls he made as flat and\nthin as his own discourse.\n\n[46] Plus animi est inferenti quam periculum propulsanti.--_Caes. Com_.\n\n[47] Harleian MSS. 2043.\n\n\n\n\nRAVEN CASTLE.\n\n\n    \"He bargained with two ruffians strong,\n      Which were of furious mood,\n    That they should take these children young,\n      And slay them in a wood.\n\n    \"Away then went these pretty babes,\n      Rejoycing at that tide,\n    Rejoycing with a merry minde,\n      They should on cock-horse ride.\"\n\n--_The Children in the Wood_.\n\nSituated amid the wild and high moorlands, at whose feet hath stood for\nages the royal and ducal capital of the county palatine of Lancaster,\nonce rose a strong border defence called Raven Castle. Its site only\nremains. This noble and castellated fortress now lies an almost\nundistinguishable heap on the barren moor; the sheep browse above it,\nand the herdsman makes his pillow where warriors and dames once met in\nchivalric pomp, and the chieftain held his feudal and barbaric court.\n\nThe point on which it stood is nearly on the line of separation between\nthe counties of York and Lancaster. From the southern declivity of the\nhill on the Yorkshire side springs one of the rills which fall into the\nHodder, a well-known stream, held in great respect by those ambulatory\ngentlemen whose love of society and amusing recreations leads them to\nlay in a stock of patience for life in the pursuit of piscatory\ndelights.\n\nThis mountainous tract forms part of the forest of Bowland, once ranged\nby numerous herds of deer, and is still under the jurisdiction of a\nmaster-forester, or bow-bearer, called _Parker_, which office has been\nheld for centuries by a family of that name.\n\nIt was in the broad and still moonlight of a spring morning, in the year\n16--, that two horsemen were ascending by a steep and difficult pass\nthrough the Trough of Bolland, along the hills and almost pathless wilds\nof the forest. They were apparently of that dubious class called\n\"Knights of the Post,\"--highway-men, deer-stealers, or cattle-harriers;\nall and every of which occupations they occasionally followed.\n\nAs they passed by the edge of a steep ravine, from which hung a few\nstunted oaks projecting over the gulf, the foremost rider--for the path\nadmitted them not abreast--turned sharply round on his saddle.\n\n\"Again!--Didst thou not see it, Michael?\" inquired he, in great alarm.\n\n\"Nothing, Anthony, as I do follow thee in this honest trade;--nothing, I\ntell thee, save thine ugly face in this clear moonshine. Prythee, make\nmore speed, and thou wilt have the fewer wry mouths to answer for. Thou\nart fool enough to make a man forswear honesty, and rid him of his\nconscience for life. Beshrew me! thou hast got a troublesome tenant;\neither less roguery, or fewer qualms; depend on 't, thou canst not keep\nfriends with both.\"\n\n\"I'll go no farther. Old Hildebrand finds some foul business on his\nhands, that he would fain thrust into our fingers. A bad business quits\nbest at the beginning; if once we get to the middle, we might as well go\non, or we may be like old Dick, who swam half-way through the mill-pond,\nand then, being faint-hearted, swam back again.\"\n\n\"Look thee now, thou art a precious ass:--thou wouldst be a wit without\nbrains, and a rogue, ay, a very wicked and unconditional rogue, without\ncourage. Tut, that same cowardly rogue, of all unparalleled villains, is\nverily the worst. Your liquorish cat, skulking and scared with a\nwindle-straw, is always the biggest thief, and has the cruellest paws,\nfor all her demure looks and her plausible condescensions.\"\n\n\"I don't care for thy jeers, Michael.\"\n\n\"What!--hast brought thy purpose to an anchor already? 'Tis well. I\nshall on to Raven Castle with all speed, if it were only to inform one\nHildebrand Wentworth of this sudden qualm. Likewise I may, peradventure,\nremember to tell him of another little qualm thou wast taken with, once\nupon a time, at the sight of a score of his fat beeves; a little bit of\nchoice roguery played off upon him by honest Anthony of the tender\nconscience! Look to it, comrade, he shall know of this before thou canst\nconvey thy cowardly carcase out of his clutches. An' it be thou goest\nforward--mum!--backward! Ha! have I caught thee, my pretty bird?\"\n\nAt the conclusion of this speech, with the malice of a fiend urging on\nhis hesitating victim to the commission of some loathed act of folly and\nof crime, the speaker lashed on his companion's beast, and they were\nsoon past the steepest part of the ascent, on their way to Raven Castle.\nIts present occupier, whom, it appears, they had befriended beforetime,\nin the way of their several callings, had sent for them in haste,\nrequiring their aid, it might seem, in some business relative to their\nprofession.\n\nFor an hour or two they travelled on as fast as the nature of their\ntrack would permit. Day was just brightening in the east, when, emerging\nfrom a more than usually intricate path, they pushed through a thick\narchway of boughs. Suddenly a bare knoll presented itself, sloping\ntowards a narrow rivulet; beyond, a dark and well-fortified mansion\nstood before them,--here and there, a turret-shaped chamber, lifting its\nmural crown above the rest, rose clear and erect against a glowing sky,\nnow rapidly displacing the grey hues of the morning. The narrow\nbattlements rose up, sharp and distinct, but black as their own grim\nrecesses, in solemn contrast with the bright and rolling masses from\nbehind, breaking into all the gorgeous tints that betoken a heavy and\nlurid atmosphere.\n\nThey crossed a narrow bridge, and the clattering of their horses' hoofs\nwere soon heard in the courtyard of the castle.\n\n\"So, masters, if it had not pleased your betters to have built hostels\nand roosting-places on the road, I might have been snug in my blanket\nsome hours ago may be.\"\n\nThe personage who thus accosted them was dressed in a plain leathern cap\nand doublet, with a pair of stout hose that would not have disgraced a\nburgher of the first magnitude; his short and frizzled beard was\ncuriously twirled and pointed, we may suppose after the fashion of those\nregions; and his manner and appearance was that of some confidential\nmenial belonging to the establishment. His whole demeanour had in it an\nair of impertinent authority; his little sharp eyes twinkled in all the\nplenitude of power, and peered in the faces of the travellers as they\nalighted to render him an unwilling salutation.\n\n\"We have made the best of our road, Master Geoffery, since we left our\nquarters in Netherdale. But, in troth, it's a weary way, and a drouthy\none into the bargain: I have not wet even the tip of this poor beast's\nnose since we started.\"\n\n\"Go to; an' the beasts be cared for, thine own muzzle may take its\nchance of a swill. Willy, see to the horses. Now for business. Master\nhas been waiting for you these three hours: make what excuse you may.\nHeigh-ho! my old skull will leak out my brains soon with these\nupsittings.\"\n\nTaking a small lamp from a recess, he commanded the strangers to follow.\nA wide staircase led to the gallery, from whence a number of low doors\ncommunicated with the chambers or dormitories. Entering a passage from\nan obscure corner, they ascended a winding stair. The huge and terrific\nspars of the intruders struck with a shrill clank on the narrow steps,\nmingled with the grumblings of Master Geoffery Hardpiece; a continual\nmuttering was heard from the latter, by way of running accompaniment to\nthe directions which, ever and anon, he found it needful to set forth.\n\n\"There--an ass, a very ass!--keep thy face from the wall, I tell thee,\nand lift up thy great leathern hoofs.\"\n\nThen came another series of murmurings, mingled with confused and\nrambling sentences.\n\n\"This stair is like old Giles's horn, it's long a-winding. Now,--thy\nspurs, is it? Aroynt thee, knave, thou art like to frighten the children\nwith their clattering. They are up, and ready for their trip. Alice will\nstitch a pillow to your pummels, and they'll ride bravely, the pretty\ndears. Stop there, I tell ye; I'll just say that you wait his pleasure,\nand return.\"\n\nOld Hardpiece tapped gently at a small door; it was opened hastily; and\na few moments only elapsed ere Master Geoffery's cunning face was\ncautiously extended out of the narrow opening. He beckoned to his\ncompanions, and at once ushered them into a low chamber. A lamp, half\nextinguished, stood on the floor; the walls were nearly bare, and\nstreaked in various colours by the moisture filtering from the roof; a\ncuriously-carved oak-table, and two or three stone benches comprised the\nfurniture of the apartment; a few rusty swords, with two large pistols\nnearly falling from their holsters, hung from the wall. In one corner,\nreposing in decayed dignity, were seen some halberds, with several\nunmatched pairs of mildewed boots; near to the window, or rather\nloop-hole, heaped up in dust and disorder, lay a score or two of rusty\nhelmets, their grim appurtenances mostly broken and disjointed.\n\nPacing to and fro in this audience-chamber appeared a figure of about\nthe middle size, attired in a loose open garment. His head was nearly\nbald; a few thin locks only hung from the lower part of his poll; and\nyet his age was not so far advanced as the scanty covering of his\nforehead might seem to intimate. He paused not as they entered; but\nduring the greater part of the succeeding interview persevered in the\nsame restless and abrupt gait, as though repose were anguish, and it was\nonly by a continued change of position that he could soothe the rising\nperturbation of his spirit.\n\n\"Is this your haste, when my commands are most urgent?\"\n\nHe turned sharply upon them as he spoke: his eyes grew wild and keen;\nbut at times a heaviness and languor, as if from long watching, seemed\nto oppress them.\n\n\"We could not\"--Michael was stammering out an apology, when thus\ninterrupted:--\n\n\"Enough! I know what thou wouldst say. Let thy comrade remain below.\nGeoffery, conduct him to the refectory; Michael abides here. Haste, and\nlet refreshments be prepared.\"\n\nWhat was the purport of the conversation that ensued may be surmised\nfrom the following history.\n\nOld Hardpiece, grumbling the greater part of the way, led his companion\nthrough a labyrinth of stairs and passages to a small room, where a huge\nflagon of ale, with cold beef and other substantial articles for\nbreakfast, were about being displayed. Anthony, nothing loth, threw\naside his cap, and unbraced his girdle, for the more capacious disposal\nof such savoury and delicious viands. A heavy pull at the tankard again\nbrought out Master Geoffery's deep-mouthed oratory. Anthony's tongue\ngrew more nimble as his appetite waxed less vigorous; he asked many\nquestions about the business which required their presence at Raven\nCastle in such haste.\n\n\"The orphan children of Sir Henry Fairfax are to be conveyed to some\nplace of concealment for a short period. Master says he has had\nintimation of a design on the part of the late Sir Henry's friends to\nseize them perforce. Which act of violence Hildebrand Wentworth, being\nleft as their sole guardian, will make all haste to prevent.\"\n\n\"The children of the late Sir Harry Fairfax who was killed in the wars?\"\ninquired Anthony.\n\n\"Ay, ay. Poor things! since their mother drowned herself\"----\n\nOld Hardpiece here looked round, as though fearing some intrusion. He\ncontinued in an undertone--\n\n\"Goody Shelton says she walks in the forest; and that her wraith so\nfrightened Humphrey's horse that it would not budge a straw's breadth,\njust beside the great oak in the Broad Holm, before you get into the\nforest on the other side towards Slaidburn.\"\n\nAnthony was, at this precise moment, cramming the last visible remains\nof a goose-pie into the same place where he had before deposited half\nthe good things on the table, anointing his beard with their savoury\noutskirts,--when suddenly his chin dropped, his face assumed a sort of\nneutral tinge, and his whole form appeared to grow stiff with terror. He\nmade several efforts to speak; but the following words only could be\ndistinguished:--\n\n\"I was sure it would be a ghost!\"\n\n\"What!--a ghost!--Where!\" anxiously inquired Geoffery.\n\n\"Just by the great oak in the Broad Holm, on the other side of the\nforest.\"\n\n\"What was it like?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell; and Michael pretended he did not see it!\"\n\n\"Thou canst surely show the appearance it put on.\"\n\n\"Something, as it might be, like unto a woman, crossed our path twice,\nand within a stone's throw. O Master Geoffery, we be dead men!\"\n\nAnother groan here interrupted their discourse. Master Hardpiece\nmuttered some unintelligible prayers, putting on a face of great\nsolemnity. Several minutes elapsed, while the following exclamations\nrapidly succeeded each other:--\n\n\"A ghost!--save us!--a very ghost! I'll not to Slaidburn again without\nhelp. Another draught, Anthony; a stiffener to thy courage, mayhap. It's\nnow daylight, though,\" said he, looking through the casement, \"and most\nof us fear only what may be felt, in the day-time at any rate.\"\n\nAnthony took the cup, and, apparently without being aware, drank off the\ncontents. He was much invigorated by the draught which seemed to invest\nhim with new courage; partly from the recollection that a long daylight\nwould intervene between the beginning and the end of his journey, and\npartly because of the sudden rush of spirits to his brain. He arose, and\nassuming a posture more erect, planted his cap in a becoming attitude,\nwhilst Geoffery was putting aside the empty vessels into a sort of\nlarge wooden chalice, for the purpose of a more convenient removal.\n\nLight footsteps were now heard bounding along the passage, and the door\nwas suddenly burst open by two rosy-cheeked children; the elder a boy of\nsome four or five years' growth, and his sister scarcely a twelvemonth\nyounger.\n\n\"Master Geoffery, Master Geoffery,\" lisped one laughing urchin, \"hide\nme; there is Alice--she'll not let me go. We are to ride on two great\nhorses; and I shall have a sword, and sister Julia a coach.\"\n\nHere nurse Alice made her appearance. She had been weeping: tears and\nentreaties were vain. She asked permission to accompany them; but with a\nfrown Hildebrand Wentworth had chidden her from his presence. Since the\nloss of her mother, and almost from the time that news had arrived of\ntheir father's death, which happened a little while before the birth of\nJulia, she had borne a mother's part to her little charge; and had it\nbeen allowed her, she would gladly have served them without reward.\n\nFearful of leaving them, she had followed hastily into the room. With a\nsearching glance she eyed the stranger for a while; then suddenly\nturning to the children, she addressed them with great seriousness and\naffection.\n\n\"Harry, you have not repeated your prayer this morning. Do you think God\nwill take care of you to-day, if you ask Him not?\"\n\nHere the rebuked boy grew silent; and with a suffused face, ran to his\nnurse. Whilst in her lap, he poured out his morning orison. It was a\nsimple but affecting request. Julia knelt also; and Alice, laying a hand\non each, blessed the children.\n\n\"God of their fathers, I commit them to Thy care!\"\n\nShe could say no more; loud sobs checked her utterance; but leaning over\nthese little ones, she convulsively clasped them in her embrace.\n\nOld Hardpiece grew unusually busy about matters of no importance, and\nthe hard-featured trooper was seen to brush his brows, as though some\nunpleasant suspicions had crossed his brain. He raised his arm as he\ngazed on the children, muttering as he clenched his hand--\n\n\"If he dare!\"--He then carelessly examined his sword, returning it\nquickly into its sheath, as the weeping Alice drew away the children to\nher own apartment. Old Geoffery now grew more talkative. Leaning his\nchin upon his hand, and his elbow on the table, he thus proceeded:--\n\n\"It's four long years come St Barnabas since Sir Harry's death; and my\nlady, rest her soul! went melancholy soon after. Everything was\nbequeathed in trust to my master, Hildebrand Wentworth, a great friend\nof Sir Harry's, and his secretary or purse-bearer, I forget which--no\nmatter--all the property, I say, was left in trust for Sir Harry's wife\nand children. Hildebrand brought a will from Sir Harry to this effect,\nand poor Lady Fairfax never looked up afterwards. She moped about, and\nwould see nobody, and then it was they said she was out of her wits. It\nwas not long before her head-gear and mantle were found by the\nriver-side just below the old bridge you crossed--but her body never.\"\n\nHere the entrance of Michael cut short the old man's discourse.\n\n\"Belike thou hast not lacked a cup of warm sack, and a whey-posset with\nmy master in the west turret,\" scoffingly cried Master Geoffery. Michael\nlooked surly as he replied--\n\n\"Old Gabergeon, let us have a draught of thy best, a stirrup-cup.\nBreakfast I have settled with above stairs.\"\n\n\"Marry take your swill, Mr Saucypate,\" tartly replied Geoffery. \"And so,\nbecause you have eaten and drunk with my master, it is 'old Gabergeon;'\nelse had it been good Master Hardpiece, or 'if you will, Master\nGeoffery!' Out upon such carrion, say I, that think themselves live meat\nwhen they are but fly-blown.\"\n\n\"Old Geoffery,\" said Michael, coolly, \"we'll settle our rank at a more\nconvenient opportunity. Just now I'll thank thee for the flagon.\"\n\n\"It's in the cupboard,\" growled Hardpiece. \"Verily these arms would\ntingle. But I am old, and that same Michael but a sorry brute--no\nbeating would mend him. An ass of most vicious propensities; he will\nbite forwards and kick backwards. Friends get the benefit of his teeth,\nand foes the favour of his heels.\"\n\nThus did the old man console himself for the rudeness he could not\nrestrain. It was not long ere a summons hurried them to the courtyard.\nThey found their beasts equipped and ready to depart; Harry and Julia\nlooking joyously on, vastly diverted with the horses' accoutrements.\nHildebrand stood by the gateway, looking moody and anxious for their\ndeparture; Alice, full of sorrow, attended with some refreshments which\nwere stowed into the wallet. The journey was but short, and an hour's\nride that fine morning, Michael said, would bring them to their\ndestination. Hildebrand forbade him to mention the place where he wished\nto conceal the children, lest it should be known to their iniquitous\nrelatives. Each horseman, with a child mounted before him, slowly passed\nthe outer court, at the entrance of which Alice disappeared. The iron\ntramp of the steeds rang shrilly from underneath the arched gateway;\nHildebrand stood by the platform; he bade them good speed. Anthony\npassed first; Michael checked his horse for a moment, when Hildebrand\ntook the hand of the boy, and pressed it; but one portentous look, as at\nthe recognition of some sinister purpose, passed between Michael and the\nold man, unobserved by his colleague. Hildebrand raised his hand above\nhis mouth, and slowly whispered--\n\n\"Remember!--the gulf underneath the waterfall.\"\n\nThe horsemen departed. Passing the bridge they were just rising over the\ngreen slope when the children recognised Alice upon her mistress's\npalfrey. They screamed out loudly to her; but she was riding in a\ncontrary direction, and soon passed out of their sight.\n\nThe narrow glades of the forest suddenly encompassed them. The morning\nwas pretty far advanced; the merry birds twittered in their dun covert,\nbrushing the dewdrops from the boughs with their restless wings. The\nthrush and blackbird poured forth a more melancholy note; whilst the\ntimid rabbit, scared from his morning's meal, rushed by and sought his\nburrow. The wood grew thicker, and the sunbeams that shot previously in\nbroad slopes across their path soon became as lines of intensely-chequered\nlight piercing the grim shadows beneath. The trees, too, put on a more\nsombre character; and the sward appeared choked with rank and noxious\nweeds. It seemed a path rarely trod, and only to be recognised by\noccasional openings through the underwood.\n\nThey travelled for some hours. Michael had taken the lead, and Anthony\nwith his prattling charge rode carelessly on. Looking round, the latter\nsuddenly checked his horse. A momentary alarm overspread his features as\nhe cried--\n\n\"Michael, you have surely mistaken the path: an hour's ride should have\nbrought us to the end of our journey, and our beasts have been footing\nit on since morning.\"\n\n\"Heed not, comrade; thou wilt soon find we have the right track before\nus. We shall be through the wood presently.\"\n\n\"Why, this is the road to Ingleton, if I mistake not; I hear the roar of\nthe Greta.\"\n\n\"Right--we shall be on our road to the old castle shortly.\"\n\nThey travelled on more silently than before, until the brawling of the\ntorrent they had heard for some time increased with rapid intensity. The\nroad now widening, Anthony spurred on his beast by the side of his\ncompanion, who slackened his pace to afford an opportunity for further\nparley.\n\n\"Whither are we bound?\" inquired Anthony.\n\n\"Where the children will be well cared for.\"\n\nA dubious expression of countenance, which Anthony but too well\nunderstood, accompanied these words; and villain was expressed by\nindications too unequivocal to be easily mistaken through every change\nand inflection of his visage. Anthony, though not of the most unsullied\nreputation, and probably habituated to crimes at which humanity might\nshudder, pressed the little victim closer to his breast. The prattle of\nthe babe had won his heart: and the morning scene with Alice had\nsoftened his spirit so that he could have wept when he thought of the\nremorseless nature of his comrade, to whose care the children were\nentrusted.\n\nThe roar of the torrent grew louder. Suddenly they entered upon a sort\nof irregular amphitheatre--woods rising above each other to the very\nsummit of the hills by which they were surrounded. A swollen waterfall\nwas visible, below which a bare and flattened trunk, whose boughs had\napparently been but just lopped, was thrown across the torrent. A ruined\nkeep or donjon was seen above a line of dark firs, crowning the summit\nof a steep crag that rose abruptly from the river.\n\n\"This is our halfway-house,\" said Michael, pointing to the grim\nfortress: \"the children are tired, and have need of refreshment. Tarry\nhere with the horses whilst I carry them over the bridge.\"\n\n\"We have refreshments in the wallet--what need we to loiter yonder?\"\nreplied Anthony, eyeing the other with an expression of distrust.\n\n\"The children want rest,\" said Michael, \"and we shall there find\nshelter from the heat.\"\n\n\"If rest be needful,\" was the reply, \"surely this dry sward and these\noverhanging leaves will afford both rest and shelter.\"\n\n\"The children are in my keeping,\" said Michael, fiercely, \"and I am not\nto account with thee for my proceedings. Alight, and give me the child.\"\n\n\"I will not!--Michael, I have watched thee, and I know that thou art a\nvillain. Ay, draw, I have weapons too, comrade.\"\n\nFast and furious grew the combat, during which the terrified children\nmade the woods echo with their shrieks. The result was not long\ndoubtful. Michael soon proved himself the better swordsman; and his\nantagonist, stumbling from fatigue, broke his own weapon in the fall.\nDefenceless and exposed, the uplifted sword of his adversary was raised\nfor his destruction, when suddenly the arm of the ruffian was arrested,\nthe weapon snatched from his grasp, and a female figure habited in a\ndark and coarse vestment stood between the combatants. Her brow was\nbare, and her dark full eye beamed on them with a look of pity and of\nanger. Her naturally pale cheek was flushed; but it betrayed not the\nagitation she endured. Erect and unbending she stood before them, and\nthe quailing miscreant crouched at her feet.\n\n\"Away to thy master!--thy blood, too worthless even for thine own\nsteel\"----\n\nShe hurled away the weapon as she spoke.\n\nBurning with revenge at his late defeat, Anthony flew after the falling\nbrand: seizing it, he renewed the attack. Michael fled towards the\nbridge. With the bound of a bereaved tiger Anthony sprung upon his prey.\nJust where the root of the trunk rested on the bank they closed, after a\ndesperate lunge parried by the unprotected arm of Michael. It was\ndisabled--but he still clung to his enemy. Anthony strove to disengage\nhimself; but the other, aware that life or death depended on the issue\nof that struggle, hung on him with a convulsive tightness that rendered\nthe advantage he had gained of no avail. The sword was useless. Anthony\nthrew it into the boiling gulf at his feet. Both hands being now free,\nwhilst one arm of his opponent hung powerless and bleeding at his side,\nhe had greatly the advantage. He wrenched the other arm of Michael from\nits hold, lifted him from his narrow footing-place, and with a malignant\nshout of triumph shook him over the abyss. One startling plunge, and the\nwretch sank in the rolling waters. An agonising yell, and but one,\nescaped him, as he hung quivering over that yawning portal to eternity;\nthe next cry was choked by the seethe of the boiling foam. The waves\nwhirled him round for a moment like some huge leviathan tossing its\nprey. He sank into its gorge, and the insatiate gulf swallowed him up\nfor ever. Anthony drew back. He turned from the horrid scene, with some\nyet lingering tokens of compunction, in the expectation of rejoining his\ncompanions; but in vain--the babes and his deliverer had disappeared!\n\nHildebrand Wentworth had passed the remainder of that day in his own\nchamber. It was a dark lone room, leading out of the turret we have\nbefore described. Often had he ascended the narrow stair communicating\nwith the parapet, and often had he watched the dark woods beneath the\ndistant mountain. It was the road taken by his guilty emissaries; and,\nwhether on the look-out for signals or for their return, he repeated his\nvisits until the blue mists were gathering on the horizon, and\nday--another day!--had passed into the bosom of eternity. It was an hour\nof holiness and peace, but heavy and disturbed was the current of his\nthoughts. He sat near a projecting angle of the turret, his head bent\nover the parapet. A female voice was heard beneath, chanting\nmonotonously a low and melancholy psalm. Soon the following words were\ndistinguished:--\n\n    \"Dark as the bounding waters\n      When storm clouds o'er them roll,\n    The face of Zion's daughters\n      Reveals the troubled soul.\"\n\nHildebrand drew his breath, as if labouring under some violent emotion.\nHis whole frame was agitated. His lip grew pale as she went on with a\nvoice of exultation--\n\n    \"But joy is sown in sadness,\n      And hope with anxious fears;\n    Yon clouds shall break in gladness.\n      And doubts dissolve in tears.\"\n\nFiends increase their torments at the sight of heaven! Hildebrand threw\nback his cloak,--with one clenched hand he struck his forehead, and with\na loud groan he rushed from the spot. He sought rest in the gloom and\nsolitude of his chamber; but hours passed on, during which the\nconscience-stricken culprit endured the horrors of accumulated guilt.\nSometimes he opened the casement, gazing on the dark heavens, until he\nthought they were peopled, and he held converse with unseen and terrible\nthings. Inarticulate murmurs broke from his lips. A few words might\noccasionally be distinguished--\"Murder!--An old man too--The\nchildren--they are at rest!\" A gleam of pleasure passed over his haggard\nfeatures.\n\n\"I am now\"--looking round--\"now master of all.\"\n\n\"All?\" breathed a low voice in the chamber.\n\nThe cringing wretch was speechless. Sense almost forsook him: horror\nfastened on his spirit, while he turned his eyes, as if by some\nresistless constraint, towards the place from whence the voice had\nissued. Near his couch was a curiously-wrought cabinet inlaid with ivory\nand gems of the most costly workmanship. An heir-loom of the house, it\nwas highly valued, and tradition reports that it was one of those spoils\non which our forefathers cast a longing glance in the wars of the Holy\nSepulchre. Be this as it may, every document of value connected with the\nfamily was here deposited. By virtue of the power given to him from the\ndying Sir Henry, though ostensibly for the benefit of his lady and her\ninfant offspring, Hildebrand guarded the trust with a jealous eye. No\none had access to it but himself, nor did he permit any other person\nthan old Geoffery, the house-steward, to visit his chamber.\n\nBefore this cabinet stood a figure enveloped in a dark robe. Pale,\ndeadly pale, were the features, though scarcely discernible in their\nform and outline. The lamp burnt dimly; but with the quickened\napprehension of guilt he recognised the wan resemblance of Lady Fairfax!\n\nA cry of exhausted anguish escaped him, and he fell senseless on the\nfloor.\n\nMorning had risen, casting its bright and cheerful rays into the\nchamber, ere Hildebrand Wentworth awoke. Consciousness but slowly\nreturned, and the events of the preceding hours came like shadows upon\nhis soul. He stamped thrice, and immediately the vapid countenance of\nGeoffery Hardpiece was before him.\n\n\"Come hither, Hardpiece. I am wondrous heavy and ill at ease.\"\n\n\"Why, master, your bed has not been disturbed these two nights.--How\nshould there be anything but an aching head, and complaining bones,\nwhen\"----\n\nHildebrand cast a hasty and confused glance towards the couch as he\nreplied--\n\n\"I have matters of moment just now that weigh heavily on my spirit. I\ncannot\"----\n\nHere was a short pause; he continued, with a slow and tremulous accent--\n\n\"I hope the children are safe.\"\n\n\"Why, master,\" said Geoffery, \"you have sent them out of harm's way, I\nhope; but--I know not what ails me--an uneasy night of it I have had\nabout them.\"\n\n\"What hast thou seen?\" eagerly demanded Hildebrand.\n\n\"Seen! I have seen nothing, but I have been haunted at all quarters by a\nvast crowd of vexatious busy dreams--about cut-throats and murderers.\"\n\n\"Who says murderer?--I will have thee in the stocks.\"\n\nHildebrand attempted to lay hold on him as he spoke; but, accustomed to\nthese outbreaks of temper, Master Hardpiece merely stepped on one side,\nstill maintaining his usual forward and self-sufficient demeanour.\n\n\"Mr Hildebrand Wentworth, when an old servant\"----\n\n\"Peace!\" interrupted his master,--\"I am chafed beyond endurance.\" He\nstruck his forehead violently, but suddenly recollecting himself, he\nseized Geoffery by the arm.\n\n\"What sawest thou last night, knave?\"\n\n\"Only dreams, master--but\"----\n\n\"Say on--what makes thee hesitate?\"\n\n\"A messenger arrived last night.\"\n\n\"A messenger!--from whence?\" eagerly demanded Hildebrand.\n\n\"Unluckily,\" said Geoffery, \"it was shortly after you had retired for\nthe night; I durst not then trouble you with the message. Marry, it's\nnot the sort of news one likes to be in a hurry to tell.\"\n\n\"Go on, varlet.\"\n\n\"Why,\" continued the provoking simpleton, looking as if he had to reveal\nunpleasant tidings, and drawing back as he spoke, \"the bearer is in the\ntrain of some herald or pursuivant, come from o'er sea to our court,\nabout exchange of prisoners and the like. This man has a message from\nSir Henry Fairfax.\"\n\n\"He lies! I'll have his tongue bored!\" furiously cried Hildebrand.\n\n\"Nay, but listen: he says Sir Henry, whom we all thought dead, is now\nalive, and a prisoner in some ugly old German fortress.\"\n\nDuring this recital the astonished Hildebrand clenched his hands, with a\nlook of awful and impotent rage. Hardpiece continued--\n\n\"This coxcomb says he was sent specially by Sir Henry to obtain from you\nsome papers of great moment, which will ensure his immediate release. He\nbears Sir Henry's signet, and the knave hath no lack of assurance.\"\n\n\"Has this fellow had any communication with the menials, Geoffery?--or\nhast thou done me the service to keep him and his message to thyself?\"\nanxiously inquired Hildebrand.\n\n\"Why, as touching that, Alice, somehow or other,--for these women are\nalways looking to anybody's business but their own,--wormed out his\nmessage in part, before I was aware of her drift.\"\n\n\"Alice!--Again has that viper crossed my path?--Bid the messenger\nattend.\"\n\nWhen Geoffery returned he was followed by a short, muscular-looking\npersonage, attired in a foreign garb. A military cloak, and slouched\nhat, garnished with a broad band and feather, gave him altogether an air\nof importance which his bare exterior had not sustained. On entering he\nmade a slight obeisance. Hildebrand watched his bearing, as if he would\nhave searched him to the heart's core. Not in the least disconcerted,\nthe soldier threw himself on a seat. Preliminaries were waived by this\nunceremonious guest, who, speaking evidently in a foreign accent, began\nthe interrogatory as follows:--\n\n\"You were the private secretary of Sir Henry Fairfax?\"\n\n\"I was,\" briefly replied Hildebrand.\n\n\"Know you this signet?\"\n\n\"I do,\" again he sullenly answered.\n\n\"It was given into my keeping,\" said the stranger, \"as a token whereby\nHildebrand Wentworth should, in the due exercise of his fealty and\ntrust, commit to my charge certain documents that shall immediately be\nset forth. But first, and briefly, it may be needful to relate the\nmanner in which Sir Henry recovered after your departure. On the day\nfollowing the skirmish, wherein Sir Henry was supposed to be mortally\nwounded, he gave unto you, as his most valued and bosom friend, those\nsolemn credentials, by which, as a dying man, he invested you with full\npowers to proceed to England, as the sole guardian and protector of his\nbeloved wife and their infant offspring. The goods and effects of which\nhe died the possessor were vested in your name, I believe, in trust for\nher benefit and the surviving children. I think I am right in this? In\ncase of her death, though, I believe the property became yours.\"\n\n\"It did.\"\n\n\"Such was the nature of the wound that his physicians believed a few\nhours only could intervene before his dissolution. He urged your\nimmediate departure. Shortly afterwards the whole camp equipage,\ntogether with the sick and wounded, fell into the hands of his enemies.\nDriven off to a considerable distance up the Rhine at full speed, and\nwithout any other comforts or necessaries than what his captors could\nsupply, his wounds bleeding afresh, and every limb racked with pain, to\nthe astonishment of all he speedily recovered; and from that time he has\nremained a close prisoner in the fortress. Not receiving any tidings\nfrom his native shores, he knows not his loss. Yesternight only I heard\nof Lady Fairfax's most lamentable decease. In a cartel lately arrived\nfor negotiating an exchange of prisoners, Sir Henry sends by me,\nsecretly, as one of the envoys, a requisition for the papers I have\nbefore mentioned. His name, by some mistake, perhaps, not being included\nin the lists for exchange, has induced him so to act. The credentials,\nwhich he will thus be enabled through me to present, will doubtless\naccomplish his release, and restore him to his family and to his home.\nThey are papers of great moment, and will set forth claims which cannot\nbe overlooked; and I have most minute and special instructions to get\nthem laid before the council.\"\n\n\"Where are these precious documents deposited?\" said Hildebrand.\n\n\"An Eastern cabinet of choice and costly workmanship, containing other\nrecords of great value, stands in Sir Henry's private chamber.\" The\nenvoy looked round, and his eyes rested on the cabinet. \"The outer doors\nbeing opened, there are seen two ranges of drawers, with their separate\nmountings and compartments, each containing materials of greater or less\nmoment. Sir Henry was minute in his directions, lest his lady might be\nbsent; and the innermost secrets of this goodly tabernacle not being\nknown, save to themselves, the object of my visit might be retarded.\nWith the permission of Hildebrand Wentworth, I will describe minutely\nwhere he may find this deposit.\"\n\nHildebrand slightly moved his head, and the speaker continued--\n\n\"From Sir Henry's description, and the tracings which he drew on the\nfloor of his cell, I should conceive that this room contains the object\nof our search. I will recount the memoranda that I made, lest memory\nshould be unfaithful. When the third cover is unclosed, in the lowest\npart of the recess on the right hand, beneath a sliding panel, is a\nspring, on touching which the whole flies back, and discovers a rare\ndevice, beautifully wrought in arabesque relief. So far, in all\nlikelihood, you being his confidential secretary, have beheld?\"\n\n\"I have seen this cunning work thou speakest of. What more?\"\n\n\"Embellishing the four corners thereof is the likeness of a hand,\ncuriously chased in silver; the second joint on the third finger of the\nlowest of them, on the left, being pressed, the whole picture, by\nmarvellous sleight and artifice, riseth up, revealing the treasure of\nwhich I am in search.\"\n\n\"Hath Sir Henry sent no written message, that we may know his will in\nthis matter?\" inquired Hildebrand.\n\n\"It is strictly forbidden to a prisoner,\" replied the other, \"to use\ntablets; but my knowledge of the secret is a sufficient safeguard\nagainst imposture.\"\n\n\"Retire: I will begin the search with all speed. But hold thyself in\nreadiness for immediate departure. Thou wilt not have the worse thrift\nfor a hasty dismissal.\"\n\nThe stranger withdrew, accompanied by Hardpiece. Hildebrand listened to\ntheir retreating footsteps; when, like unto one possessed, he stamped,\nand tore his thin grey locks, and cursed--audibly and bitterly\ncursed--his destiny.\n\n\"Hast thou escaped?--when the draught danced and bubbled over my parched\nlips. Fate--fortune, whatever thou art, I would curse thee!\"\n\nAs he spoke, he lifted up one clenched hand towards heaven, laden with\nimprecation. And why did not that power, whose vengeance he visibly\ndefied, launch a bolt against the impious?--Why not reader him, in that\nvery act, a monument of just and righteous retribution?--\"_Shall not the\nJudge of the whole earth do right?_\" is a master-key that unlocks the\nmysteries and ministrations of Divine Providence, however complicated\nin their nature and obscure in their design.\n\nAs the hoary sinner withdrew his hand, suddenly the muscles of his face\nrelaxed; a ray of hope had irradiated his spirit--a gleam of delight\npassed over his pale features. He grew calm, and with a firm step he\nstrode across the apartment. He approached the cabinet.\n\n\"Thou shalt not escape me now!\"--As he said this, he threw open the\ndoors. Hildebrand had often searched this depository, but the place of\nconcealment pointed out by the stranger had hitherto escaped his notice.\nHe soon detected the stratagem--the lid flew back; but the papers of\nwhich he was in search were gone!\n\nThe spirit of mischief was again foiled, but his evil genius did not\nforsake him. He sat down, and, for purposes of the blackest malignity,\nforged a series of evidences--a development of plans and proceedings\nthat would at once have branded Sir Henry as a coward and a traitor.\nThese letters he sealed up, and calling for the messenger, committed the\npacket into his hands.\n\n\"You have Sir Henry's orders to lay these before the king?\" said\nHildebrand.\n\n\"I have,\" replied the envoy.\n\n\"Then hasten to court, and so good speed. Stay--when you meet Sir Henry\nFairfax, offer him an old man's sympathy and condolence. Break the\nmatter to him tenderly--and when he returns--I say no more. Away, thy\nmission hath need of despatch.\"\n\nThe soldier made a slight inclination of the head as he departed.\n\nHildebrand Wentworth sat down to reap the fruits of his villany--a\nharvest of his own planting. The full fruition of it he now seemed ready\nto enjoy; but days and weeks passed by, and still found him feverish and\nanxious. The fate of the children--whether the work of destruction had\nor had not been accomplished--was still to him a matter of uncertainty.\nHe had often sent in search of the ruffians, but they had not been seen\nat their usual haunts. Guilt whispered that all was not complete.\nRestless and oppressed by undefined and terrible apprehensions, he\nresolved to end his doubts, and, if possible, procure an interview. He\nexpected to obtain some clue to their procedings by a visit to the\ntower.\n\nIt was not far from the close of a bright summer's day when he gained\nthe rude bridge below the waterfall. He shuddered as he looked on the\nnarrow trunk and the ever-tossing gulf beneath. The blackness of\ndarkness was upon his spirit, and he ran as if some demon had pursued\nhim, climbing with almost breathless haste the steep and winding\nstaircase that gave access from the bridge to the ruined fortress above.\n\nFrom the platform a narrow ledge of rock led to the ditch, now dry, and\nnearly filled with fragments from the ruins. He passed the tottering\narch of the portcullis;--long weeds choked up the entrance, waving\ndrearily as the light breeze went over them. Hildebrand heard not the\nmoan of the coming blast. Evening approached, and the thousand shadows\nhaunted him,--grim spectres that crossed his path, crowding upon him\nwith anger and menace. From a ruined doorway he ascended a narrow stair,\nand had penetrated far into the interior of that part of the castle\nwhich, in some measure, remained entire, when, for the first time, he\nseemed startled into a consciousness of his situation. It was an\nappalling scene of solitude and decay. The realities, to which he almost\ninstantaneously awoke, might have awed a less guilty spirit than that\nwhich inhabited the bosom of Hildebrand Wentworth. A long gallery,\nsupported by huge pillars, terminated in the distance by a long and\nnarrow oriel. On each side, broken but richly-variegated windows threw\ndown a many-tinted light, which, oppressed by the dark and caverned\narches, gave a strange and mysterious character to the grotesque\nreflections hovering on the floor. Narrow streams of light flitted\nacross the dense vapours, visible only in their gleam. Involuntarily did\nHildebrand pass on: impelled as if by some unseen but resistless power,\nhe durst not retrace his footsteps. His tread was slow and fearful, as\nhe traversed the long and dreary vista. Every sense was now in full\nexercise;--his faculties becoming more acute by the extremity of terror\nhe endured. His ear caught the slightest sound--his eye, the least\nmotion that glimmered across his path. Sometimes a terrific shape seemed\nto glide past: he brushed the cold and clammy damps from his brow, and\nit vanished.\n\nSuddenly a door opened at the extremity of the gallery, and a faint\nlight streamed from the crevice. Voices--children's voices--were heard\nin the chamber. He rushed onward. Rage, frantic and uncontrolled,\npossessed him, as he beheld the babes, the intended victims of his\navarice, in all the bloom of health and innocence, unconscious of\ndanger, bounding through the apartment, together with their nurse and\nprotector, Alice! Goaded by his insatiate tormentor, he drew a poniard\nfrom his vest, and rushed on the unoffending objects of his hate. Alice\nshrieked; she attempted to throw herself between them and their foe, but\nwas too far off to accomplish her purpose. His arm was too sure, and his\nstroke too sudden. But ere the steel could pierce his victims it was\narrested. He looked round, and a female figure, loosely enveloped in a\ndark cloak, had rescued them from death. It was the same form that had\nbefore interposed between them and the fangs of their remorseless enemy.\nLoosened by the sudden spring, her garment flew aside. Hildebrand gazed\nsilently, but with a look of horror, too wild and intense to be\nportrayed. He seemed to recognise the intruder--his lips moved rapidly\nwhile he spoke.\n\n\"Thee!--whom the waves had swallowed! Have the waters given up their\ndead?\"--he faintly exclaimed, almost gasping for utterance.\n\n\"Monster! canst thou look upon this form,\" she cried, \"and not wither at\nthe sight? But I have done,\" she meekly continued: \"Heaven hath yet a\nblessing for the innocent;--but thy cup of iniquity is full. Thy doom is\nat hand. I have trusted Thee, O my Father; and I trust Thee still!\"\n\nIt was the much injured and persecuted wife of Sir Henry Fairfax who now\nstood before the abashed miscreant.\n\n\"Away!\" she cried; \"to Heaven I leave my vengeance and thy crime.\nHence--to thy home! Thine, did I say? Soon, monster, shall thou be\nchased from thy lair, and the wronged victim regain his right.\"\n\nHildebrand, awed and confounded, retraced his path, brooding over some\nmore cunning stratagem to ensure his prey. He had passed the bridge,\nand, on attempting to remount his steed, his attention was directed to a\ncloud of dust, and a pale flash of arms in the evening light. Two\nhorsemen drew nigh--their steeds studded with gouts of foam, and in an\ninstant one of them alighted before the traitor. It was Sir Henry\nFairfax! \"Have I caught thee?\" cried the knight.--\"What mischief art\nthou here a-perpetrating?--Seize that villain!\"\n\nIn a moment, Hildebrand was denied all chance of escape.\n\n\"Thy machinations are defeated--thy villanies revealed, and vengeance\ndemands a hasty recompense.\"\n\nHildebrand prostrated himself on the ground in the most abject\nhumiliation, and besought mercy.\n\n\"I will not harm thee, wretch,\" exclaimed the gallant knight: \"to a\nhigher power I leave the work of retribution. The ministers of justice\nawait thee at my castle. I came hither first to seek my wife!--Lead the\nway; thou shalt be witness to our meeting--wife, children, all. Our\nbliss will to thee be misery that the most refined tortures could not\ninflict. On--on.\"\n\nHildebrand, with imbecile agony, grasped at the very stones for succour.\nHe then rushed towards the bridge, and, ere his purpose could be\nanticipated, with one wild yell, precipitated himself into the waters!\n\nA few lines will suffice by way of explanation to this unlooked-for\ntermination of their sufferings.\n\nWhen Lady Fairfax fled from the castle, in order to elude his\nsearch,--for Hildebrand had the audacity to threaten by force to make\nher his wife,--she threw off her cloak and head-dress, laying them on\nthe river's brink that it might appear as though she had accomplished\nher own destruction. To the care of the faithful Alice she had committed\nher children, and likewise the secret of her concealment. Alice was in\ncontinual correspondence with her unfortunate mistress; and great was\nthe joy and exultation with which she communicated the arrival of a\nmessenger from her lord, whom she had long mourned as dead.\nProvidentially, no interview took place between Hildebrand and the\nstranger on the night of his arrival; and sufficient time intervened to\nenable Lady Fairfax to make a desperate attempt, in the hope of gaining\npossession of the papers for which he had been sent. She well knew\nHildebrand would not relinquish the possession of credentials that might\nensure his lord's return. It was Lady Fairfax who had alarmed him the\nsame night by her appearance in his chamber. She hoped to have found him\nasleep; but was enabled to get possession of the writings through his\ntimidity and surprise. With these she met the envoy, as he was returning\nfrom the castle. Disclosing all the tortuous and daring villany of\nHildebrand, she committed the real documents to his care, instructing\nhim at the same time to lay before her sovereign the narrative of her\nwrongs. Soon was the captivity of Sir Henry terminated; and joy,\nheightened by recollection of the past, and chastened by the severity of\ntheir misfortunes, attended them through the remainder of their earthly\ncareer.\n\n[Illustration: SOUTH PORT.\n\n_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\n\n\n\nTHE PHANTOM VOICE.\n\n\n    \"He heerde a sunde but noughte he zee.\n      No touche upon his fleshe ther came;\n    Bot a swedderin witide smote heavilee,\n      And heavilee brenn'd the fleckerin' flame.\"\n\n_--Old Ballad_.\n\nThe following tradition, like some of the preceding legends, has been\nfound, under various modifications and disguises, connected with local\nscenery, and attaching itself in the mind of the hearer to well-known\nplaces and situations with which he may have been familiar.\n\nSouthport, a bathing-place of great resort on the Lancashire coast, has\nbeen pointed out as the scene of the following tragedy, which probably\noccurred long before its salubrity and convenience for sea-bathing had\nrendered this barren tract of sand the site of a populous and thriving\nhamlet. From the mildness and congeniality of the air to persons of weak\nand relaxed habits, it has been not inaptly termed, \"The Montpelier of\nEngland.\"\n\n\"But the coast is probably as dangerous for shipping as any round the\nkingdom. The sandbanks extend in a north-westerly direction for at least\nsix miles, so as to render the navigation extremely difficult even to\nthe natives, and impracticable for strangers. Hence shipwrecks are very\nfrequent;\" and \"in a coming tide, accompanied by a strong westerly wind,\nit is almost impossible for boats to put off or to live in the sea.\"\n\n\"It not unfrequently happens that these accidents occur in the\nnight-time, in very hazy weather, or at ebb tide. In the latter case it\nis necessary for boats to be taken in carts over the sands down to\nlow-water mark, before any assistance can be attempted.\n\n\"If the captain of the vessel be obstinate, and trust to his own skill,\nhe increases the danger. When the crews of the vessels take to their own\nboats, and disobey the directions of the Southport pilots, their\njeopardy is tenfold greater, and their loss almost inevitable.\"[48]\n\nNearly one hundred vessels have been wrecked on this coast within the\nlast thirty years, and more than half of them totally lost. Of these\ncalamities the particulars are upon record. Which of them may have given\nrise to the events here detailed we have no means of ascertaining.\n\nIt was at the close of a bright and memorable evening in October that I\nhad carelessly flung the reins upon the neck of my horse, as I traversed\nthe bare and almost interminable sands skirting the Lancashire coast.\n\nOn my right a succession of low sand-hills, drifted by the partial and\nunsteady blasts, skirted the horizon--their summits strongly marked upon\nthe red and lowering sky in an undulating and scarcely-broken outline.\nBehind them I heard the vast and busy waters rolling on, like the voice\nof the coming tempest. Here and there some rude and solitary hut rose\nabove the red hillocks, bare and unprotected: no object of known\ndimensions being near by which its true magnitude might be estimated,\nthe eye seemed to exaggerate its form upon the mind in almost gigantic\nproportions. As twilight drew on, the deception increased; and, starting\noccasionally from the influence of some lacerating thought, I beheld,\nperchance, some huge-and turreted fortress, or a pile of misshapen\nbattlements, rising beyond the hills like the grim castles of romance,\nor the air-built shadows of fairy-land.... Night was fast closing; I was\nalone, out of the beaten track, amidst a desert and thinly-inhabited\nregion; a perfect stranger, I had only the superior sagacity of my steed\nto look to for safety and eventual extrication from this perilous\nlabyrinth.\n\nThe way, if such it might be called, threading the mazes through a chain\nof low hills, and consisting only of a loose and ever-shifting bed of\ndry sand, grew every moment more and more perplexed. Had it been\ndaylight, there appeared no object by which to direct my course,--no\nmark that might distinguish whether or not my path was in a right line\nor a circle: I seemed to be rambling through a succession of\namphitheatres formed by the sand-hills, every one so closely resembling\nits neighbour that I could not recognise any decided features on which\nto found that distinction of ideas which philosophers term\nindividuality. In almost any other mood of the mind this would have been\na puzzling and disagreeable dilemma; but at that moment it appeared of\nthe least possible consequence to me where the dark labyrinth might\nterminate.\n\nStriving to escape from thought, from recollection, the wild and\ncheerless monotony of my path seemed to convey a desperate stillness to\nthe mind, to quench in some measure the fiery outburst of my spirit. It\nwas but a deceitful, calm--the deadening lull of spent anguish: I awoke\nto a keener sense of misery, from which there was no escape.\n\nBut it was not to lament over my own griefs that I commenced my story.\nLet the dust of oblivion cover them; I would not pain another by the\nrecital. There are sorrows--short ages of agony--into the dark origin of\nwhich none would dare to pry: one heart alone feels, hides, and\nnourishes them for ever!\n\nNight now came on, heavy and dark; not a star twinkled above me; I\nseemed to have left the habitations of men. In whatever direction I\nturned not a light was visible; all fellowship with my kind had\nvanished. No sound broke the unvarying stillness but the heavy plunge of\nmy horse's feet and the hollow moan of the sea. Gradually I began to\nrouse from my stupor: awaking, as from a dream, my senses grew rapidly\nconscious of the perils by which I was surrounded. I knew not but some\nhideous gulf awaited me, or the yawning sea, towards which I fancied my\ncourse tended, was destined to terminate this adventure. It was chiefly,\nhowever, a feeling of loneliness, a dread, unaccountable in its nature,\nthat seemed to haunt me. There was nothing so very uncommon or\nmarvellous in my situation; yet the horror I endured is unutterable. The\ndemon of fear seemed to possess my frame, and benumbed every faculty. I\nsaw, or thought I saw, shapes hideous and indistinct rising before me,\nbut so rapidly that I could not trace their form ere they vanished. I\nfelt convinced it was the mind that was perturbed, acting outwardly upon\nthe senses, rendered more than usually irritable by the alarm and\nexcitation they had undergone--yet I could not shake off the spell. I\nheard a sharp rustling past my ear; I involuntarily raised my hand; but\nnothing met my touch save the damp and chilly hair about my temples. I\ntried to rally myself out of these apprehensions, but in vain: reason\nhas little chance of succeeding when fear has gained the ascendency. I\ndurst not quicken my pace lest I should meet with some obstruction;\njudging it most prudent to allow my steed to grope out his path in the\nway best suited to his own sagacity. Suddenly he made a dead halt. No\neffort or persuasion could induce him to stir. I was the more surprised\nfrom knowing his generally docile and manageable temper. He seemed\nimmovable, and, moreover, as I thought, in the attitude of listening. I\ntoo listened eagerly--intensely; my senses sharpened to the keenest\nperception of sound.\n\nThe moan of the sea came on incessantly as before; no other sound could\nbe distinguished. Again I tried to urge him forward; but the attempt was\nfruitless. I now fancied that there might be some dangerous gulf or\nprecipice just at his feet, and that the faithful animal was unwilling\nto plunge himself and his rider into immediate destruction. I\ndismounted, and with the bridal at arm's length, carefully stepped\nforward a few paces, but I could find no intimation of danger; the same\ndeep and level bed of sand seemed to continue onwards, without any\nshelving or declivity whatever. Was the animal possessed? He still\nrefused to proceed, but the cause remained inscrutable. A sharp and\nhasty snort, with a snuffing of the wind in the direction of the sea,\nnow pointed out the quarter towards which his attention was excited. His\nterror seemed to increase, and with it my own. I knew not what to\nanticipate. He evidently began to tremble, and again I listened. Fancy\nplays strange freaks, or I could have imagined there was something\naudible through the heavy booming of the sea--a more distinct, and as it\nwere, articulate sound--though manifestly at a considerable distance.\nThere was nothing unusual in this--perhaps the voice of the fisherman\nhauling out his boat, or of some mariner heaving the anchor. But why\nsuch terror betrayed by the irrational brute, and apparently proceeding\nfrom this source? for it was manifest that some connection existed\nbetween the impulses of the sound now undulating on the wind, and the\nalarm of my steed. The cause of all this apprehension soon grew more\nunequivocal--it was evidently approaching. From the sea there seemed to\ncome, at short intervals, a low and lengthened shout, like the voice of\none crying out for help or succour. Presently the sounds assumed a more\ndistinct and definite articulation. \"Murder!--Murder!\" were the only\nwords that were uttered, but in a tone and with an expression of agony I\nshall never forget. It was not like anything akin to humanity, but an\nunearthly, and, if I may so express it, a sepulchral shriek--like a\nvoice from the grave.\n\nI crept closer to my steed: nature, recoiling from contact with the\napproaching phantom, prompted me thus intuitively to cling to anything\nthat had life. I felt a temporary relief, even from the presence of the\nterrified beast, though I could distinctly perceive him shuddering, yet\nfixed to the spot. The voice now came on rapidly; it was but a few paces\ndistant. I felt as though I was the sport and prey of thoughts too\nhorrible for utterance. Alone, I had to cope with the Evil One;--or I\nwas already, perhaps, the victim of some diabolical agency. The yell was\nclose upon my ear; I felt the clammy breath of the grave across my face,\nand the sound swept by. It slowly arose;--but the agony of the cry was\nmore intense,--more sharp and vehement the shriek of \"Murder!\" Grown\nbolder, or perhaps more desperate, I cried out, \"Where, in the name\nof----?\" I had scarcely uttered the words when a loud rushing cleft the\nair, and a crash followed, as though some heavy body had fallen at my\nfeet. The horse burst from its bonds, galloping from me at full speed,\nand I stood alone! In this appalling extremity, I approached the object\nof my fears. I bent to the ground; stretching out my hand, my fingers\nrested on the cold and clammy features of a corpse! I well remember the\ndeep groan that burst from my lips;--nature had reached the extremity of\nendurance--I felt a sudden rush of blood to the heart, and fell beside\nmy ghastly companion, equally helpless and insensible.\n\nI have no means of ascertaining the duration of this swoon; but, with\nreturning recollection, I again put out my hand, which rested on the\ncold and almost naked carcase beside me. I felt roused by the touch, and\nstarted on my feet--the moon at this instant emerging from a mass of\ndark clouds, streamed full on the dead body, pale and blood-stained, the\nfeatures distorted, as if by some terrible death. Fear now prompted me\nto fly: I ran as if the wind had lent me wings--not daring to look back,\nlest my eyes should again rest on the grisly form I had just left. I\nfled onwards for some time; the moon now enabling me to follow the\nbeaten track, which, to my great joy, brought me suddenly, at the turn\nof a high bank, within sight of a cheerful fire gleaming through a\nnarrow door, seemingly the entrance to some wayside tavern. Bursts of\nhilarity broke from the interior; the voice of revelry and mirth came\nupon my ear, as though I was just awakening from a dream. It was as if I\nhad heard the dead laugh in their cold cerements. As I stepped across\nthe threshold, the boisterous roar of mirth made me shudder; and it\nseemed, by the alarm visible in the countenances of the guests, that my\nappearance presented something as terrible to their apprehensions.\nEvery eye was fixed on me as I seated myself by a vacant table; and I\nheard whisperings, with suspicious glances occasionally directed towards\nthe place where I sat. The company, however, soon began to get the\nbetter of their consternation, and were evidently not pleased at so\nunseasonable an interruption to their mirth. I found that some\nexplanation was necessary as to the cause of my intrusion, and with\ndifficulty made them comprehend the nature of my alarm. I craved their\nassistance for the removal of the body; promising, if possible, to\nconduct them to the spot where the miserable victim was thrown. They\nstared at each other during this terrible announcement; and, at the\nconclusion, I found every one giving his neighbour credit for the\nrequisite portion of courage, though himself, at the same time,\ndeclining to participate in the hazards of the undertaking.\n\n\"Roger towed me 'at he stood i' th' churchyard, wi' shoon-bottoms\nuppermost, looking for the wench he wur to wed through the windows. Ise\nsure he'll make noa bauk at a bogle.\"\n\n\"Luk thee, Jim, I canna face the dead; but I wunna show my back to a\nlive fist, the best and the biggest o' the country-side--Wilt' smell, my\nlad?\"\n\nRoger, mortified at this test of his courage, raised his clenched hand\nin a half-threatening attitude. A serious quarrel might have ensued, had\nnot a sudden stop been put to the proceedings of the belligerents by an\ninteresting girl stepping before me, modestly inquiring where I had left\nthe corpse; and offering herself as a companion, if these mighty cowards\ncould not muster sufficient courage.\n\n\"Shame on thee, Will!\" she cried, directing her speech to a young man\nwho sat concealed by the shadow of the projecting chimney;--\"shame on\nthee, I say, to be o'erfaced by two or three hard words. I'se\nganging,--follow 'at dare.\"\n\nSaying this, she took down a huge horn lantern, somewhat dilapidated in\nthe outworks, and burnt in various devices, causing a most unprofitable\nprivation of light. A bonnet and cloak, hastily thrown on, completed her\ncostume; and, surrendering the creaking lantern to my care, she stood\nfor a moment contemplating the dingy atmosphere before she stepped forth\nto depart. During these ominous preparations, a smart sailor-looking\nman, whose fear of his mistress' displeasure had probably overcome his\ndread of the supernatural, placed himself between me and the maiden, and\ntaking her by the arm, crustily told me that if I could point out the\nway, he was prepared to follow;--rather a puzzling matter for a\nstranger, who scarcely knew whether his way lay right or left from the\nvery threshold. Thus admirably qualified for a guide, I agreed to make\nthe attempt, being determined to spare no pains, in the hope of\ndiscovering the object of our search.\n\nCompany breeds courage. Several of the guests, finding how matters\nstood, and that the encounter was not likely to be made single-handed,\nvolunteered their attendance; so that our retinue was shortly augmented\nto some half-dozen stout fellows. The vanguard was composed of myself\nand the lovers; the rest crept close in our rear, forming their rank as\nbroad as the nature of the ground would admit.\n\nLuckily I soon found the jutting bank round which I had turned on my\nfirst view of the house we had just left. We proceeded in\nsilence,--except that a whisper occasionally arose from one of the\nrearmost individuals talking to his bolder neighbour in front, when\nfinding his own courage on the wane. Following for some time what\nappeared to be the traces of recent footsteps, I hoped, yet almost\nfeared, that every moment I might stumble on the bleeding corpse. An\nattendant in the rear now gave the alarm,--something he saw moving on\nour left causing him to make a desperate struggle to get before his\ncompanions. This produced a universal uproar--each fighting for\nprecedency, and thoroughly determined not to be the last. I soon beheld\na dark object moving near, and the next minute I was overjoyed to find\nmy recreant steed, quietly searching amongst the tufted moss and\nsea-reed for a scanty supper. My associates knew not what to make of\nthis discovery. Some of them, I believe, eyed him with deep suspicion;\nand more than one glance was given at his hoofs to see if they were not\ncloven.\n\nOrder, however, being re-established, we again set forward with what\nproved a useful auxiliary to our train. We had not travelled far ere I\nwas again aware of the peculiar snort by which he manifested his alarm;\nand it was with difficulty I got him onwards a few paces, when he stood\nstill, his head drawn back, as if from some object that lay in his path.\nI knew the cause of his terror, and, giving the bridle to one of my\nattendants, cautiously proceeded, followed by the maiden and her lover;\nwho, to do him justice, showed a tolerable share of courage--at any\nrate, in the presence of his mistress. At length I recognised the spot,\nwhere, yet unmoved, lay the bleeding carcase. The girl started when she\nbeheld the grim features, horribly drawn together and convulsed, as if\nin the last agony. I was obliged to muster the requisite fortitude to\nattempt its removal; and raising it from the sand, with a little\nassistance I placed it across the horse, though not without a most\ndetermined opposition on the part of the animal. Throwing a cloak over\nthe body, we made the best of our way back; and on arriving at the house\nI found that the only vacant apartment where I could deposit my charge\nwas a narrow loft over the out-house, the entrance to which was both\nsteep and dangerous. With the assistance of my two friends, though with\nconsiderable difficulty, it was in the end deposited there, upon a\nmiserable pallet of straw, over which we threw a tattered blanket. On\nreturning, I found the guest-room deserted: the old woman to whom the\ntavern belonged--the mother, as I afterwards found, of my female\ncompanion--was hastily clearing away the drinking utensils, and\npreparing for an immediate removal to the only apartment above-stairs\nwhich bore the honours of the bedchamber. She kindly offered me the use\nof it for the night; but this sacrifice of comfort I could not allow;\nand throwing my cloak over a narrow bench, I drew it near the fire,\ndetermining to snatch a brief interval of rest, without robbing the good\nwoman and her daughter of their night's repose.\n\nIt was now past midnight; sleep was out of the question, as I lay\nruminating on the mysterious events of the few past hours. The\nextraordinary manner in which the murdered wretch had been committed to\nmy care seemed an imperative call upon me to attempt the discovery of\nsome foul and horrible crime. With the returning day I resolved to begin\nmy inquiries, and I vowed to compass sea and land ere I gave up the\npursuit. So absorbed was I in the project, that I scarcely noticed the\nstorm, now bursting forth in a continuous roll from the sea, until one\nwild gust, that seemed to rush by as if it would have swept the dwelling\nfrom its seat, put an end to these anticipations. I watched the rattling\ncasement, expecting every moment that it would give way, and the\ngroaning thatch be rent from its hold. Involuntarily I arose and\napproached the window. It was pitchy dark, and the roar of the sea,\nunder the terrific sweep of the tempest, was truly awful. Never had I\nheard so terrible a conflict. I knew not how soon I might be compelled\nto quit this unstable shelter; the very earth shook; and every moment I\nexpected the frail tenement would be levelled to its foundations. The\neddying and unequal pressure of the wind heaped a huge sand-drift\nagainst the walls, which probably screened them from the full force of\nthe blast, acting at the same time as a support to their feeble\nconsistency; sand and earthy matter were driven about and tossed against\nthe casement, insomuch that I almost anticipated a living inhumation.\nThe next gust, however, generally swept off the greater portion of the\ndeposit, making way for a fresh torrent, that poured upon the quaking\nroof like the rush of a heavy sea over a ship's bulwarks.\n\nI was not destined to be left companionless in the midst of my alarms.\nThe old woman and her daughter, too much terrified to remain quiet, came\ndown from their resting-place, which, being close within the thatch, was\nmost exposed to the tempest. A light was struck, and the dying embers\nonce more kindled into a blaze. The old woman, whom I could not but\nobserve with emotions of awe and curiosity, sat cowering over the flame,\nher withered hands half-covering her furrowed and haggard cheeks; a\nstarting gleam occasionally lighted up her grey and wasted locks, which,\nmatted in wild elf-knots, hung about her temples. Occasionally she would\nturn her head as the wind came hurrying on, and the loud rush of the\nblast went past the dwelling. She seemed to gaze upon it as though\n'twere peopled, and she beheld the \"sightless coursers of the air\"\ncareering on the storm; then, with a mutter and a groan, she again\ncovered her face, rocking to and fro to the chant of some wild and\nunintelligible ditty. Her daughter sat nearly motionless, hearkening\neagerly during the short intervals between the gusts; and as the wind\ncame bellowing on, she huddled closer into the chimney-corner, whither\nshe had crept for protection.\n\n\"Such nights are not often known in these parts,\" said I, taking\nadvantage, as I spoke, of a pause in the warfare without. The old woman\nmade no answer; but the daughter, bending forwards, replied slowly and\nwith great solemnity:--\"Mother has seen the death-lights dancing upo'\nthe black scud: some ha' seen the sun sink down upon the waters that\nwinna see him rise again fro' the hill-top.\"\n\n\"Is your mother a seer, then, my pretty maiden?\"\n\n\"Ye're but a stranger, I guess, if you know not Bridget o' the Sandy\nHolm--Save us! she's hearkening again for the\"----\n\n\"There!--Once!\" The old woman raised her hands as she spoke, and bent\nher head in an attitude of listening and eager expectation. I listened\ntoo, but could discover no sound, save the heavy swing of the blast, and\nits receding growl.\"\n\n\"Again!\" As she said this, Bridget rose from the low stool she had\noccupied, and hobbled towards the window. I thought a signal-gun was\njust then audible, as from some vessel in distress. Ere I could\ncommunicate this intelligence, another and a nearer roll silenced all\nconjecture. It was indeed but too evident that a vessel was in the\noffing, and rapidly driving towards the shore, from the increasing\ndistinctness of the signals.\n\nOld Bridget stood by the window; her dim and anxious eyes peering\nthrough the casement as if she could discern the fearful and appalling\nspectacle upon the dark billows.\n\n\"Your last!--your last, poor wretches!\" she cried, when a heavy gust\nbrought another report with amazing distinctness to the ear. \"And now\nthe death shriek!--another and another!--ye drop into the deep waters,\nand the gulf is not gorged with its prey. Bridget Rimmer, girl and\nwoman, has ne'er watched the blue dancers but she has heard the sea-gun\nfollow, and seen the red sand decked with the spoil. Wench, take not of\nthe prey: 'tis accursed!\"\n\nThe beldame drew back after uttering this anathema, and again resumed\nher station near the hearth.\n\nThe storm now seemed to abate, and as if satisfied with the mischief at\nthis moment consummating, the wind grew comparatively calm. The gusts\ncame by fitfully, like the closing sobs of some fretful and peevish\nbabe, not altogether ceasing with the indulgence of its wishes. As I\nstood absorbed in a reverie, the nature of which I cannot now accurately\ndetermine, the maiden gently touched my arm.\n\n\"Sir, will ye walk to the shore? I'se warrant the neighbours are\nhelping, and we may save a life though we canna gie it.\"\n\nShe was wrapped in a thick cloak, the hood thrown forward, and the horn\nlantern again put in requisition, fitted up for immediate service. We\nopened the door with considerable difficulty, and waded slowly through\nthe heavy sand-drifts towards the beech. The clouds, shattered and\ndriven together in mountainous heaps, were rolling along the sky, a dark\nscud sweeping over their huge tops, here and there partially illuminated\nby the moonbeams: the moon was still obscured, but a wild and faint\nlight, usually seen after the breaking up of a storm, just served to\nshow the outline of objects not too remote from our sphere of vision.\n\nMy companion soon brought me to an opening in the hills which led\ndirectly down to the beach. Immediately I saw lights before us moving to\nand fro, and the busy hum of voices came upon the wind; forms were\nindistinctly seen hurrying backward and forward upon the very verge of\nthe white foam boiling from the huge billows. Hastening to the spot, we\nfound a number of fishermen--their wives assisting in the\nscrutiny--carefully examining the fragments of wreck which the waves\nwere from time to time casting up, and throwing with a heavy lunge upon\nthe shore. Either for purposes of plunder, or for the more ostensible\ndesign of contributing to their preservation, sundry packages were\noccasionally conveyed away, subsequently to an eager examination of\ntheir contents. My associate ran into the thickest of the group,\nanxiously inquiring as to the fate of the crew, and if any lives had\nbeen preserved.\n\n\"I guess,\" cried an old hard-featured sinner, \"they be where they'll\nneed no lookin' after. Last brast o' wind, six weeks agone next St\nBarnaby, I gied my cabin to the lady and her children--an' the pains I\nwaur like to ha' for my labour--I didn't touch a groat till the parson\ngied me a guinea out o' th' 'scription;--but I may trot gaily hoam\nto-night. There's no live lumber to stow i' my loft; the fishes ha' the\npick o' the whole cargo this bout.\"\n\n\"Canna we get the boats?--I can pull an oar thou knows, Darby, wi' the\nbest on 'em,\" inquired the female.\n\n\"Boats!\" exclaimed Darby; \"ne'er a boat would live but wi' keel\nuppermost. I'se not the chap to go to Davy Jones tonight pickled i'\nbrine, my pratty Kate.\"\n\n\"Thou'rt a greedy glead;--I'se go ask Simon; but I'll warrant thou'lt be\nhankering after the reward, and the biggest share to thine own\nclutches.\"\n\nShe turned away from the incensed fisherman; and proceeding to a short\ndistance, we found a knot of persons gathered around a half-drowned\nwretch who owed his appearance again upon land to having been lashed on\nsome lumber which the sea had just cast ashore. Almost fainting from\ncold and exhaustion, he was undergoing a severe questioning from the\nbystanders--every one wishing to know the name of the ship, whither\nbound, and the whole particulars of the disaster. We just came in time\nfor his release; and I soon had the satisfaction to find the poor fellow\nin my quarters, before a comfortable fire, his clothes drying, and his\nbenumbed limbs chafed until the circulation was again pretty nigh\nrestored. After drinking a tumbler of grog he appeared to recover\nrapidly; and we found on inquiry that he was master of the vessel just\nwrecked on the coast. He shook his head on a further inquiry as to the\nfate of her crew. \"A score as good hands,\" said he, \"are gone to the\nbottom as ever unreefed a clean topsail or hung out a ship's canvas to\nthe wind; I saw them all go down as I lashed myself to the jib.\" He\ngroaned deeply; but speedily assuming a gayer tone, requested a quid and\na quiet hammock. \"My lights are nearly stove in,--my head hangs as loose\nas a Dutchman's shrouds; a night's sleep will make all taut again.\"\n\nOld Bridget was gone to bed; and unless the sailor chose to occupy the\nstraw pallet already in the possession of a guest whose mysterious\narrival seemed to be the forerunner of nothing but confusion and\ndisaster, there did not seem any chance of obtaining a berth save by\nremaining in his present situation. I told him of the dilemma, but Kate\nreplied:--\"We can just take the body fro' the bed; it winna tak' harm\nupo' the chest i' the fur nook. The captain will not maybe sleep the\nwaur for quiet company.\"\n\nHe did not seem to relish the idea of passing the night even with so\nquiet a companion; but as it seemed the least disagreeable alternative,\nwe agreed to pilot him to the chamber and help the miserable pallet to\nchange occupants. The corpse we agreed to lay on some clean litter used\nfor the bedding of the cattle. We conducted the stranger to his\ndormitory, which was formerly a hay loft, until converted into an\noccasional sleeping-room for the humble applicants who sometimes craved\na night's lodging at the Sandy Holm.\n\nThe only entrance was by a crazy ladder, and so steep, that I was\nafraid our feeble companion would find considerable difficulty in\nclimbing to his chamber. It was my intention to have prevented him from\ngetting a sight of the ghastly object that occupied his couch; but\npressing foremost, he ran up the ladder with surprising agility, gaining\nthe top ere I had made preparations for the ascent. I mounted\ncautiously, giving him the light whilst I made good my landing; and he\nwent directly to the bed. I had set my foot on the floor, and was\nlending a hand to Kate, who had still to contend with the difficulties\nof the way, when I heard a dismal and most appalling shriek. Starting\nround, I beheld the stranger gazing on the couch, his eyeballs almost\nbursting from their sockets, and his countenance distorted with horror\nand amazement. I ran to him as the light dropped from his grasp;\ncatching it ere it fell, I perceived his eyes rivetted on the livid and\nterrific features of the corpse. My limbs grew stiff with horror;\nthoughts of strange import crowded on my mind; I knew not how to shape\nthem into any definite form, but stood trembling and appalled before the\ndark chaos whence they sprung. Scarcely knowing what I said, still I\nremember the first inquiry that burst from my lips--\"Knowest thou that\nmurdered man?\"\n\nThe words were scarcely uttered when the conscience-stricken wretch\nexclaimed, in accents which I shall never forget, \"Know him!--yesterday\nhe stood at my helm. I had long borne him an evil grudge, and I brooded\non revenge. The devil prompted it--he was at my elbow. It was dark, and\nthe fiend's eyes flashed when I aimed the blow. It descended with a\nheavy crash, and the body rolled overboard. He spoke not, save once; it\nwas when his hated carcase rose to the surface. I heard a faint moan; it\nrang on my ear like the knell of death; the voice rushed past--a low\nsepulchral shout; in my ear it echoed with the cry of 'MURDER!'\"\n\nLittle remains to be told; he persisted to the last in this horrible\nconfession. He had no wish to live; and the avenging arm of retributive\njustice closed the world and its interests for ever on a wretch who had\nforfeited all claims to its protection--cast out, and judged unworthy of\na name and a place amongst his fellow-men.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[48] Glazebrook's Southport.\n\n[Illustration: THE BAR-GAIST.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE BAR-GAIST.\n\n\n    \"From hag-bred Merlin's time have I\n      Thus nightly revelled to and fro;\n    And for my pranks men call me by\n      The name of Robin Goodfellow.\n        Fiends, ghosts, and sprites,\n        Who haunt the nightes,\n    The hags and goblins do me know;\n        And beldames old\n        My feates have told--\n    So _vale, vale_; ho, ho, ho!\"\n\n--BEN JONSON.\n\n\"In the northern parts of England,\" says Brand, speaking of the popular\nsuperstitions, \"ghost is pronounced _gheist_ and _guest_. Hence\n_barguest_ or _bargheist_. Many streets are haunted by a _guest_, who\nassumes many strange appearances, as a mastiff dog, &c. It is a\ncorruption of the Anglo-Saxon [Illustration: jart], _spiritus, anima_.\"\n\nDrake, in his _Eboracum_, says (p. 7, Appendix), \"I have been so\nfrightened with stories of the barguest when I was a child, that I\ncannot help throwing away an etymology upon it. I suppose it comes from\nA.S. [Illustration: bupp], a town, and [Illustration: jart], a ghost,\nand so signifies a town sprite. N.B. [Illustration: jart] is in the\nBelgic and Teutonic softened into gheist and geyst.\"\n\nThe boggart or bar-gaist of the following story resembles the German\n_kobold,_ the Danish _nis_, and the Scotch _brownie_; but, above all,\nthe Spanish _duende_, which signifies a spirit or sprite, supposed by\nthe vulgar to haunt houses and highways, causing therein much terror and\nconfusion. \"DUENDE. _Espiritu que el vulgo cree que infesta las casas y\ntravesea, causando en ellas ruidos y estruendos_\"--LEMURES, LARVAE. \"To\nappear like a _duende_,\" \"to move like a _duende_\" are modes of\nspeaking by which it is meant that persons appear in places where they\nare least expected. \"To have a _duende_\" signifies that a person's\nimagination is disturbed.\n\nThe following curious Spanish \"Moral,\" the MS. of which has been kindly\nlent to the author by Mr Crofton Croker may not be deemed uninteresting\nas an illustration of the subject. We have accompanied each stanza with\na parallel translation of our own.\n\nDUENDE ENEMIGO DEL JUEGO.\n\nDUENDE AN ENEMY TO GAMING.\n\n    _Cuento Moral._\n\n    _A Moral Tale._\n\n      Un _Duende_, grave Senor,\n    Que estudio la astrologia,\n    Se propuso la mania,\n    De ser rico jugador.\n\n    A grave and learned Senior, who\n      Practised astrology,\n    Bethought him by his lucky stars\n      He passing rich would be.\n\n      Todos los siete planetas,\n    Formaban su gran consejo;\n    Y antes de llegar a viejo,\n    Ya no tenia calzetas.\n\n    The planets seven his council made,\n      He hugged the glozing cheat;\n    But ere the pedant's legs were old,\n      No stockings held his feet!\n\n      Aburrido y sin dinero,\n    Mui tarde se arrepintid,\n    Y en un desban se metid\n    A llorar su error primero.\n\n    Enraged and disappointed, he\n      Waxed sour and melancholy,\n    And to a vintner's garret trudged,\n      There to bewail his folly.\n\n      Por su gran sabiduria,\n    En duende se corivirtio,\n    Y la guerra declaro,\n    Al arte de fulleria.\n\n    \"I'll have revenge,\" he cried, then wrought\n      So wondrous cunningly,\n    That in a trice transformed he was,\n      A brisk _Duende_ he.\n\n      La vecindad asombrada,\n    De sus fuertes alaridos,\n    Corriendo despavoridos,\n    Abandon an la Posada.\n\n    This pedant, now a \"Boggart\" made,\n      No soul could rest in quiet;\n    Nor rogue nor bully was his match\n      For kicking up a riot.\n\n      Dueno absolute ya el duende,\n    De la espantosa mansion,\n    Se auniento la confusion,\n    Y el temor entre la gente.\n\n    At last none dared that garret drear,\n      His dwelling, to come nigh;\n    Sole master of his attic, he\n      Reigned peremptorily.\n\n      Pero siendo tan demente\n    El hombre que es codicioso,\n    No falto quien jactancioso,\n    Despreciase al senor duende.\n\n    Not so the sharpers, who this house\n      Had made their special haunt:\n    \"Senor Duende!--Humph!\"--cried they\n      \"May suck eggs with his aunt!\"\n\n      Unos cuantos jugadores,\n    Que llaman de profesion,\n    Eligieron la mansion\n    Para exercer sus primores.\n\n    They and their worthy company,\n      Of the black-limbed profession,\n    Here cheated in a lawful way,\n      By that best right--possession!\n\n      Mui luego la compania,\n    Numerosa vino a ser,\n    Y el que Ilegaba a perder,\n    Contra al duende maldecia.\n\n    The crowd increased. Some luckless wight\n      His winnings at an end, he\n    Swore by his trumps, 'twas owing to\n      That rascally _Duende_!\n\n      La confusa griteria,\n    Pronto al duende incomodo,\n    Y al complot se aparecio\n    Que apenas, cuarta tenia.\n\n    This roused him from his garret, where\n      He heard the daily squabble;\n    And lo, in human form, he stands\n      Before the shirtless rabble!\n\n    En voz, como chirimia,\n    Dijoles cortes y atento\n    _Que habitaba el aposento_\n    _Donde su amo existia_.\n\n    He squeaked, \"Your servant, gentlemen;\n      I would not thus intrude,\n    'Pon honour, but your conduct is\n      So very-very rude.\n\n      _Que en alta camara fiero,_\n    _Todo senor, reclamaba_\n    _El orden, y lo aperaba,_\n    _Aunque ageno de en fullero_.\n\n    \"My master,--he who sits up-stairs\n      I mean,--no jesting, gents,--\n    Expects that you'll be quiet, else\n      He'll scold at all events.\"\n\n      No fue poca la sorpresa,\n    Del mensage y la vision;\n    Y aun con todo, un temeron,\n    Quiso de ella hacer presa.\n\n    The gamblers stared, some tumbled down,\n      Some gaped, some told their prayers\n    But one, more daring, swore, i'fack,\n      He'd kick the brute down-stairs!\n\n      Mas el caso se fustro,\n    Sin saber como ni cuando,\n    Pues por el ayre volando\n    Nuestro duende se fugo.\n\n    But ere he felt th' uplifted foot\n      He 'scaped,--how none could tell;\n    But, sooth it was, this messenger\n      No bodily harm befell!\n\n      El suceso maldecian\n    Los unos por el temor,\n    Y gritaban con furor\n    Los que el dinero perdian.\n\n    The rogues, who saw him disappear,\n      Waxed paler than before:\n    Some said an _Ave_; some for fear,\n      And some for folly, swore.\n\n      Vuelve por segunda vez,\n    El mensajero, crecido\n    Media vara, y atrevido,\n    Les dice, menos cortes.\n\n    When suddenly amidst them all,\n      Again the demon stands;\n    A full half-yard in stature grown!\n      Their business he demands.\n\n      _Que su amo, era absoluto,_\n    _De aquella encantada casa,_\n    _Y su paciencia era escasa,_\n    _Con todo fullero astuto_.\n\n    \"I tell ye, villains, gamblers, thieves!\n      His patience is but small,\n    With such as you,--so master says,\n      Who master will you all!\n\n      _Que les mandaba salir_\n    _De aquel lugar, con presteza,_\n    _Pues de no, su gentileza,_\n    _Los haria consumir_.\n\n    \"Out of the house, ye rabble rout!\n      Out of the house! I say,\n    Or otherwise his honour will\n      Consume you utterly!\"\n\n      Del duendecito quisieron\n    Apoderarse valientes,\n    Mas se les fue entre los dientes,\n    Y sin la presa se vieron.\n\n    Thought one, \"I'll seize this varlet vile,\"\n      And speedily arose;\n    He caught him in his clutch--the sprite\n      Vanished and tweaked his nose!\n\n      Ya el temor empezo a obrar\n    Y entraron las reflexiones,\n    Apoyando con varones,\n    Que era Duende, a no dudar.\n\n    \"San Jerome, save us, we are loo'd\n      If this should be the sprite;\n    The big _Duende_, best we bid\n      His boggartship good night.\"\n\n      Como siempre al jugador,\n    Lo sostiene la esperanza,\n    Fundaron la confianza,\n    En que un Duende es vividor.\n\n    But hope, the gambler's enemy,\n      Beguiled them to their ruin;\n    \"These ugly sprites, they say, are rich,\n      Yet yield nought without wooing.\n\n      Que su ciencia atrae dinero,\n    Y medios paro adquirirlo,\n    Y era cuerdo el admitirlo,\n    Dandole el lugar primero.\n\n    \"His skill may help us to repair\n      Our cloaks, and eke our breeches;\n    Best speak him fair. We'll worship Nick\n      If he but grant us riches!\"\n\n      Mas el duende que escuchaba\n    La trama de los fulleros,\n    Quiso en tales caballeros,\n    _Vengar,_ lo que suspiraba.\n\n    The sly _Duende_, like a mouse,\n      Hearkening behind the wall,\n    Did now resolve he quickly would\n      The greedy rogues bemaul\n\n    En efecto, agigantado,\n    Con negro manto talar,\n    Cornamenta singular,\n    Ufias largas y barbado.\n\n    A mighty giant, lo he comes.\n      Wrapped in a cloak of sable;\n    With horns, hoofs, nails, and beard yclad,\n      He jumped upon the table!\n\n      Un garrote enarbolado\n    Y brotando espuma y fuego,\n    Les dijo: _Yo devo al juego_\n    _Mi desgracia y este estado._\n\n    A cudgel of some seven years' growth\n      He brandished. Fire and smoke\n    Shot from his lips, while thus he spake;--\n      \"I'll gripe you gambling folk.\n\n      _Los fulleros me han quitado_\n    _Con mi dinero, la vida,_\n    _Y pues que sois homicida_\n    _De todo hombre inocente!_\n\n    \"To gaming my disgrace I owe,\n      With money went my wife;\n    'Tis such as you the murderers be,--\n      This night shall end your life!\n\n      _No quede vicho viviente,_\n    _En toda culta nacion,_\n    _Que ejerza la profesion_\n    _De fullero y vagamundo_.\n\n    \"In every nation, called refined,\n      Or gamblers or their wives,\n    Or wealthy wight shall ne'er be found,\n      Who shakes the bones and thrives.\"\n\n      Y dando un grito profundo,\n    Su garrote descargando,\n    A todos fue despachando,\n    Sin dejar uno en el mundo.\n\n    With that a loud and horrid yell\n      He gave. And cudgel flew\n    Broadside amongst them; when, like vermin, he\n      Dispatched the hungry crew!\n\n    No extinguio, sin duda, el Duende,\n      Toda la mala semilla,\n      Pues hay muchos, como el Duende,\n      Sin camisa, y sin capilla.\n\n    But woe is me, they were not all destroyed.\n    For many still, by these cursed arts decoyed,\n    Shoeless and shirtless, miserable sinners,\n    Are seen, snuffing, with empty wind, their dinners!\n\nIn the _Dunske Folkesagen_ appear one or two circumstances relative to\nthe freaks of a _nis_, the goblin of the Danish popular creed, similar\nto the pranks detailed in our Lancashire legend. Fancy, however sportive\nand playful with materials already in her possession, is of a much less\ncreative character than is generally supposed, even by those most\nsusceptible to her influence. It is surprising how few are the original\nconceptions that have sprung from the human mind. Popular\nsuperstitions--the great mass of them spread over an immense variety of\nsurface, climate, manners, and opinions--might be supposed to exhibit a\ncorresponding difference in originality and invention. But here we find\nthe same paucity of incidents, varying only in character with the\nclimate which gave them birth; the leading features being evidently\ncommon to each. The Scandinavian and the Hindoo, the European and the\nAsiatic, construct their legends on the same basis; the same stories,\nand even the same train of events, proving their common origin.\n\nMr Crofton Croker, a name familiar to all lovers of legendary lore, has\nkindly communicated the following tale. In substituting this, in place\nof what the author might have written on the subject, he feels convinced\nthat his readers will not feel displeased at the change, and assures\nthem it is with real gratification that he presents them with an article\nfrom the pen of the writer of _The Fairy Legends_.\n\nNot far from the little-snug smoky village of Blakeley, or Blackley,\nthere lies one of the most romantic of dells, rejoicing in a state of\nsingular seclusion, and in the oddest of Lancashire names, to wit, the\n\"Boggart-hole.\" Rich in every requisite for picturesque beauty and\npoetical association, it is impossible for me (who am neither a painter\nnor a poet) to describe this dell as it should be described; and I will\ntherefore only beg of thee, gentle reader, who peradventure mayst not\nhave lingered in this classical neighbourhood, to fancy a deep, deep\ndell, its steep sides fringed down with hazel and beech, and fern and\nthick undergrowth, and clothed at the bottom with the richest and\ngreenest sward in the world. You descend, clinging to the trees, and\nscrambling as best you may,--and now you stand on haunted ground! Tread\nsoftly, for this is the Boggart's clough; and see in yonder dark corner,\nand beneath the projecting mossy stone, where that dusky sullen cave\nyawns before us, like a bit of Salvator's best, there lurks the strange\nelf, the sly and mischievous Boggart. Bounce! I see him coming; oh no,\nit was only a hare bounding from her form; there it goes--there!\n\nI will tell you of some of the pranks of this very Boggart, and how he\nteased and tormented a good farmer's family in a house hard by, and I\nassure you it was a very worthy old lady who told me the story. But\nfirst, suppose we leave the Boggart's demesne, and pay a visit to the\ntheatre of his strange doings.\n\nYou see that old farm house about two fields distant, shaded by the\nsycamore-tree: that was the spot which the Boggart or Bar-gaist selected\nfor his freaks; there he held his revels, perplexing honest George\nCheetham--for that was the farmer's name--scaring his maids, worrying\nhis men, and frightening the poor children out of their seven senses, so\nthat at last not even a mouse durst show himself indoors at the farm, as\nhe valued his whiskers, five minutes after the clock had struck twelve.\n\nIt had long been remarked that whenever a merry tale was told on a\nwinter's evening a small shrill voice was heard above all the rest, like\na baby's penny trumpet, joining in with the laughter.\n\n\"Weel laughed, Boggart, thou'rt a fine little tyke, I'se warrant, if one\ncould but just catch glent on thee,\" said Robert, the youngest of the\nfarmer's sons, early one evening, a little before Christmas, for\nfamiliarity had made them somewhat bold with their invisible guest. Now,\nthough more pleasant stories were told on that night beside the hearth\nthan had been told there for the three preceding months, though the fire\nflickered brightly, though all the faces around it were full of mirth\nand happiness, and though everything, it might seem, was there which\ncould make even a Boggart enjoy himself, yet the small shrill laugh was\nheard no more that night after little Bob's remark.\n\nRobert, who was a short stout fellow for his age, slept in the same bed\nwith his elder brother John, who was reckoned an uncommonly fine and\ntall lad for his years. No sooner had they got fairly to sleep than they\nwere roused by the small shrill voice in their room shouting out,\n\"Little tyke, indeed! little tyke thysel'. Ho, ho, ho! I'll have my\nlaugh now--Ho, ho, ho!\"\n\nThe room was completely dark, and all in and about the house was so\nstill that the sound scared them fearfully. The concluding screech made\nthe place echo again;--but this strange laughter was not necessary to\nprevent little Robert from further sleep, as he found himself one moment\nseized by the feet and pulled to the bottom of the bed, and the next\nmoment dragged up again on his pillow. This was no sooner done, than by\nthe same invisible power he was pulled down again, and then his head\nwould be dragged back, and placed as high as his brother's.\n\n\"Short and long won't match,--short and long won't match,--ho, ho, ho!\"\nshouted the well-known voice of the Boggart, between each adjustment of\nlittle Robert with his tall brother, and thus were they both wearied for\nmore than a hundred times; yet so great was their terror, that neither\nRobert nor his brother--\"Long John,\" as he ever afterwards was\ncalled--dared to stir one inch; and you may well suppose how delighted\nthey both were when the first grey light of the morning appeared.\n\n\"We'st now ha' some rest, happen,\" said John, turning on his side in the\nexpectation of a good nap, and covering himself up with the bed-clothes,\nwhich the pulling of Robert so often backwards and forwards had tumbled\nabout sadly.\n\n\"Rest!\" said the same voice that had plagued them through the night,\n\"rest!--what is rest? Boggart knows no rest.\"\n\n\"Plague tak' thee for a Boggart!\" said the farmer next morning, on\nhearing the strange story from his children: \"Plague tak' thee! can thee\nnot let the poor things be quiet? But I'll be up with thee, my\ngentleman: so tak' th' chamber an' be hang'd to thee, if thou wilt. Jack\nand little Robert shall sleep o'er the cart-house, and Boggart may rest\nor wriggle as he likes when he is by himsel'.\"\n\nThe move was accordingly made, and the bed of the brothers transferred\nto their new sleeping-room over the cart-house, where they remained for\nsome time undisturbed; but his Boggartship having now fairly become the\npossessor of a room at the farm, it would appear, considered himself in\nthe light of a privileged inmate, and not, as hitherto, an occasional\nvisitor, who merely joined in the general expression of merriment.\nFamiliarity, they say, breeds contempt; and now the children's bread and\nbutter would be snatched away, or their porringers of bread and\nmilk-would be dashed to the ground by an unseen hand; or if the younger\nones were left alone but for a few minutes, they were sure to be found\nscreaming with terror on the return of their nurse. Sometimes, however,\nhe would behave himself kindly. The cream was then churned, and the pans\nand kettles scoured without hands. There was one circumstance which was\nremarkable;--the stairs ascended from the kitchen, a partition of boards\ncovered the ends of the steps, and formed a closet beneath the\nstaircase. From one of the boards of this partition a large round knot\nwas accidentally displaced; and one day the youngest of the children,\nwhile playing with the shoe-horn, stuck it into this knot-hole. Whether\nor not the aperture had been formed by the Boggart as a peep-hole to\nwatch the motions of the family, I cannot pretend to say. Some thought\nit was, for it was called the Boggart's peep-hole; but others said that\nthey had remembered it long before the shrill laugh of the Boggart was\nheard in the house. However this may have been, it is certain that the\nhorn was ejected with surprising precision at the head of whoever put it\nthere; and either in mirth or in anger the horn was darted forth with\ngreat velocity, and struck the poor child over the ear.\n\nThere are few matters upon which parents feel more acutely than that of\nthe maltreatment of their offspring; but time, that great soother of all\nthings, at length familiarised this dangerous occurrence to every one at\nthe farm, and that which at the first was regarded with the utmost\nterror, became a kind of amusement with the more thoughtless and daring\nof the family. Often was the horn slipped slyly into the hole, and in\nreturn it never failed to be flung at the head of some one, but most\ncommonly at the person who placed it there. They were used to call this\npastime, in the provincial dialect, \"laking wi' t' Boggart;\" that is,\nplaying with the Boggart. An old tailor, whom I but faintly remember,\nused to say that the horn was often \"pitched\" at his head, and at the\nhead of his apprentice, whilst seated here on the kitchen table, when\nthey went their rounds to work, as is customary with country tailors. At\nlength the goblin, not contented with flinging the horn, returned to his\nnight persecutions. Heavy steps, as of a person in wooden clogs, were at\nfirst heard clattering down-stairs in the dead hour of darkness; then\nthe pewter and earthern dishes appeared to be dashed on the\nkitchen-floor; though in the morning all remained uninjured on their\nrespective shelves. The children generally were marked out as objects of\ndislike by their unearthly tormentor. The curtains of their beds would\nbe violently pulled to and fro,--then a heavy weight, as of a human\nbeing, would press them nearly to suffocation, from which it was\nimpossible to escape. The night, instead of being the time for repose,\nwas disturbed with screams and dreadful noises, and thus was the whole\nhouse alarmed night after night. Things could not long continue in this\nfashion; the farmer and his good dame resolved to leave a place where\nthey could no longer expect rest or comfort: and George Cheetham was\nactually following with his wife and family the last load of furniture,\nwhen they were met by a neighbouring farmer, named John Marshall.\n\n\"Well, Georgey, and soa you're leaving th' owd house at last?\" said\nMarshall.\n\n\"Heigh, Johnny, ma lad, I'm in a manner forced to 't, thou sees,\"\nreplied the other; \"for that wearyfu' Boggart torments us soa, we can\nneither rest neet nor day for't. It seems loike to have a malice again't\nyoung ans,--an' it ommost kills my poor dame here at thoughts on't, and\nsoa thou sees we're forc'd to flitt like.\"\n\nHe had got thus far in his complaint, when, behold, a shrill voice from\na deep upright churn, the topmost utensil on the cart, called out--\"Ay,\nay, neighbour, we're flitting, you see.\"\n\n\"'Od rot thee!\" exclaimed George: \"if I'd known thou'd been flitting\ntoo I wadn't ha' stirred a peg. Nay, nay,--it's to no use, Mally,\" he\ncontinued, turning to his wife, \"we may as weel turn back again to th'\nowd house as be tormented in another not so convenient.\"\n\nThey did return; but the Boggart, having from the occurrence ascertained\nthe insecurity of his tenure, became less outrageous, and was never more\nguilty of disturbing, in any extraordinary degree, the quiet of the\nfamily.\n\n[Illustration: INCE HALL, NEAR WIGAN.\n\n_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\n\n\n\nTHE HAUNTED MANOR-HOUSE.\n\n\n    \"But he was wary wise in all his way,\n      And well perceived his deceitful sleight;\n    No suffered lust his safety to hetray;\n      So goodly did beguile the _guiler_ of the prey.\"\n\n--SPENSER.\n\nInce-hall, the subject of our view, stands about a mile from Wigan, on\nthe left hand of the high road to Bolton. It is a very conspicuous\nobject, its ancient and well-preserved front generally attracting the\nnotice and inquiry of travellers.\n\nAbout a mile to the south-east stands another place of the same name\nonce belonging to the Gerards of Bryn. The manor is now the property of\nCharles Walmsley, Esq., of Westwood, near Wigan.\n\nThe two mansions are sometimes confounded together in topographical\ninquiries; and the following story, though told of some former\nproprietor of the Ince to which our plate refers, yet, by its title of\nthe \"Manor-house,\" would seem as though intended for the other and\ncomparatively less known mansion, the old \"Manor-house of Ince,\" once\ninhabited by a family of that name. But the same traditions are often\nfound connected with localities widely asunder, so that we need not be\nsurprised at the mistake which gossips have made in this particular\ninstance.\n\nIt is, after all, quite uncertain whether the event occurred here or\nnot, story-tellers being very apt to fix upon any spot near at hand on\nwhich to fasten their marvellous narratives, and to give them a stronger\nhold on the listener's imagination.\n\nThe story is supposed to be written or related by the chief actor in the\noccurrences arising out of the \"Haunted House.\" The author has thrown\nthe narrative into this form, as he hopes it will vary the style of the\ntraditions, and probably give more character and interest to the events\nhere detailed than they would retain if told by a third person.\n\nThe coach set me down at the entrance to a long and unweeded avenue. A\ndouble row of beech-trees saluted me, as I passed, with a rich shower of\nwet leaves, and shook their bare arms, growling as the loud sough of the\nwind went through their decayed branches. The old house was before me.\nIts numerous and irregularly-contrived compartments in front were\nstreaked in black and white zig-zags--_vandyked_, I think, the fairest\njewels of the creation call this chaste and elegant ornament. It was\nnear the close of a dark autumnal day, and a mass of gable-ends stood\nsharp and erect against the wild and lowering sky. Each of these\npinnacles could once boast of its admired and appropriate ornament--a\nlittle weathercock; but they had cast off their gilded plumage for ever,\nand fallen from their high estate, like the once neatly-trimmed mansion\nwhich I was now visiting. A magpie was perched upon a huge stack of\nchimneys, his black and white plumage rivalling the mottled edifice at\nhis feet. Perhaps he was the wraith, the departing vision of the\ndecaying fabric; an apparition, insubstantial as the honours and\ndignities of the ancient and revered house of----!\n\nI looked eagerly at the long, low casements: a faint glimmer was\nvisible. It proceeded only from the wan reflection of a sickly sunbeam\nbehind me, struggling through the cleft of a dark hail-cloud. It was the\nwindow where in my boyhood I had often peeped at the town-clock through\nmy little telescope. There was the nursery chamber, and no wonder that\nit was regarded with feelings of the deepest interest. Here the first\ndawnings of reason broke in upon my soul; the first faint gleams of\nintelligence awakened me from a state of infantine unconsciousness. It\nwas here that I first drank eagerly of the fresh rills of knowledge;\nhere my imagination, ardent and unrepressed, first plumed its wings for\nflight, and I stepped forth over its threshold into a world long since\ntried, and found as unsatisfying and unreal as the false glimmer that\nnow mocked me from the hall of my fathers.\n\nA truce to sentiment!--I came hither, it may be, for a different\npurpose. A temporary gush will occasionally spring up from the first\nwell-head of our affections. However homely and seemingly ill-adapted,\nin outward show and character, for giving birth to those feelings\ngenerally designated by the epithet romantic, the place where we first\nbreathed, where our ideas were first moulded, formed and assimilated, as\nit were, to the condition of the surrounding atmosphere (their very\nshape and colour determined by the medium in which they first sprung)\nthe casual recurrence of a scene like this,--forming part and parcel of\nour very existence, and incorporated with the very fabric of our\nthoughts,--must, in spite of all subsequent impressions, revive those\nfeelings, however long they may have been dormant, with a force and\nvividness which the bare recollection can never excite.\n\nThe garden-gate stood open. The initials of my name, still legible,\nappeared rudely carved on the posts--a boyish propensity which most of\nus have indulged; and I well remember ministering to its gratification\nwherever I durst hazard the experiment, when first initiated into the\nmystery of hewing out these important letters with a rusty pen-knife.\n\nNot a creature was stirring; and the nature of the present occupants,\nwhether sylphs, gnomes, or genii, was a question not at all, as it yet\nappeared, in a train for solution. The front door was closed; but, as I\nknew every turn and corner about the house, I made no doubt of soon\nfinding out its inmates, if any of them were in the neighbourhood. I\nworked my way through the garden, knee-deep and rank with weed, for the\npurpose of reconnoitring the back-offices. I steered pretty cautiously\npast what memory, that great dealer in hyperbole, had hitherto generally\ncontrived to picture as a huge lake--now, to my astonishment, dwindled\ninto a duck-pond--but not without danger from its slippery margin. It\nstill reposed under the shadow of the old cherry-tree, once the\nharbinger of delight, as the returning season gave intimation of another\nbountiful supply of fruit. Its gnarled stump, now stunted and decaying,\nhad scarcely one token of life upon its scattered branches. Following a\nnarrow walk, nearly obliterated, I entered a paved court. The first\ntramp awoke a train of echoes that seemed as though they had slumbered\nsince my departure, and now started from their sleep to greet or to\nadmonish the returning truant. Grass in luxuriant tufts, capriciously\ndisposed, grew about in large patches. The breeze passed heavily by,\nrustling the dark swathe, and murmuring fitfully as it departed.\nDesolation seemed to have marked the spot for her own--the grim abode of\nsolitude and despair. During twenty years' sojourn in a strange land\nmemory had still, with untiring delight, painted the old mansion in all\nits primeval primness and simplicity--fresh as I had left it, full of\nbuoyancy and delight, to take possession of the paradise which\nimagination had created. I had, indeed, been informed that at my\nfather's death it became the habitation of a stranger; but no\nintelligence as to its present condition had ever reached me. Being at\nL----, and only some twenty miles distant, I could not resist the\ntemptation of once more gazing on the old Manor-house, and of comparing\nits present aspect with that but too faithfully engrafted on my\nrecollections. To all appearance the house was tenantless. I tried the\ndoor of a side kitchen or scullery: it was fastened, but the rusty bolts\nyielded to no very forcible pressure; and I once more penetrated into\nthe kitchen, that exhaustless magazine which had furnished ham and eggs,\ngreens and bacon, with other sundry and necessary condiments, to the\nprogenitors of our race for at least two centuries. A marvellous\nchange!--to me it appeared as if wrought in a moment, so recently had\nmemory reinstated the scenes of my youth in all their pristine\nsplendour. Now no smoke rolled lazily away from the heavy billet; no\nblaze greeted my sight; no savoury steam regaled the sense. Dark,\ncheerless, cold,--the long bars emitted no radiance; the hearth unswept,\non which Growler once panted with heat and fatness.\n\nThough night was fast approaching, I could not resist the temptation of\nonce more exploring the deserted chambers, the scene of many a youthful\nfrolic. I sprang with reckless facility up the vast staircase. The\nshallow steps were not sufficiently accommodating to my impatience, and\nI leapt rather than ran, with the intention of paying my first visit to\nthat _cockaigne_ of childhood, that paradise of little fools--the\nnursery. How small, dwindled almost into a span, appeared that once\nmighty and almost boundless apartment, every nook of which was a\nseparate territory, every drawer and cupboard the boundary of another\nkingdom! three or four strides brought me to the window;--the broad\nchurch-tower was still visible, peacefully reposing in the dim and heavy\ntwilight. The evening-bell was tolling: what a host of recollections\nwere awakened at the sound! Days and hours long forgotten seemed to rise\nup at its voice, like the spirits of the departed sweeping by, awful and\nindistinct. These impressions soon became more vivid; they rushed on\nwith greater rapidity: I turned from the window, and was startled at the\nsudden moving of a shadow. It was a faint long-drawn figure of myself on\nthe floor and opposite wall. Ashamed of my fears, I was preparing to\nquit the apartment when my attention was arrested by a drawing which I\nhad once scrawled, and stuck against the wall with all the ardour of a\nfirst achievement. It owed its preservation to an unlucky, but\neffectual, contrivance of mine for securing its perpetuity: a\npaste-brush, purloined from the kitchen, had made all fast; and the\npiece, alike impregnable to assaults or siege, withstood every effort\nfor its removal. In fact, this could not be accomplished without at the\nsame time tearing off a portion from the dingy papering of the room, and\nleaving a disagreeable void, instead of my sprawling performance. With\nthe less evil it appeared each succeeding occupant had been contented;\nand the drawing had stood its ground in spite of dust and dilapidation.\nI felt wishful for the possession of so valuable a memorial of past\nexploits. I examined it again and again, but not a single corner\nbetrayed symptoms of lesion: it stuck bolt upright; and the dun squat\nfigures portrayed on it appeared to leer at me most provokingly. Not a\nslip or tear presented itself as vantage-ground for the projected\nattack; and I had no other resource left of gaining possession than what\nmay be denominated the Caesarean mode. I accordingly took out my knife,\nand commenced operations by cutting out at the same time a portion of\nthe ornamental papering from the wall commensurate with the picture. I\nlooked upon it with a sort of superstitious reverence; and I have always\nthought that the strong and eager impulse I felt for the possession of\nthis hideous daub proceeded from a far different source than mere\nfondness for the memorials of childhood. Be that as it may, I am a firm\nbeliever in a special Providence; and that, too, as discovered in the\nmost trivial as well as the most important concerns of life. It was\nwhilst cutting down upon what seemed like wainscoting, over which the\npapering of the room had been laid, that my knife glanced on something\nmuch harder than the rest. Turning aside my spoils, I saw what through\nthe dusk appeared very like the hinge of a concealed door. My curiosity\nwas roused, and I made a hasty pull, which at once drew down a mighty\nfragment from the wall, consisting of plaster, paper, and rotten canvas;\nand some minutes elapsed ere the subsiding cloud of dust enabled me to\ndiscern the _terra incognita_ I had just uncovered. Sure enough there\nwas a door, and as surely did the spirit of enterprise prompt me to open\nit. With difficulty I accomplished my purpose; it yielded at length to\nmy efforts; but the noise of the half-corroded hinges, grating and\nshrieking on their rusty pivots, may be conceived as sufficiently dismal\nand appalling. I know not if once at least I did not draw back, or let\ngo my hold incontinently, as the din \"grew long and loud.\" I own,\nwithout hesitation, that I turned away my head from the opening, as it\nbecame wider and wider at every pull; and it required a considerable\neffort before I could summon the requisite courage to look into the gap.\nMy head seemed as difficult to move as the door. I cannot say that I was\nabsolutely afraid of ghosts, but I _was_ afraid of a peep from behind\nthe door--afraid of being frightened! At length, with desperate\nboldness, I thrust my head plump into the chasm!\n\nBut I was more startled at the noise I had thus produced than by\nanything that was visible. As far as the darkness would permit, I\nexplored the interior, which, after all, was neither more nor less than\na small closet. From what cause it had been shut out from the apartment\nto which it had belonged, it were vain to conjecture. All that was\nreally cognisable to the senses presented itself in the shape of a\nshallow recess, some four feet by two, utterly unfurnished, save with\nsome inches of accumulated dust and rubbish, that made it a work of\ngreat peril to grope out the fact of its otherwise absolute emptiness.\nThis discovery like many other notable enterprises seemed to lead to\nnothing. I stepped out of my den, reeking with spoils which I would much\nrather have left undisturbed in their dark recesses.\n\nPreparing for my departure, and a visit to my relation in the nearly\nadjoining town, who as yet had no other intimation of my arrival than a\nhasty note, to apprise him that I had once more set foot on English\nground, and intended to visit him before my return, I stepped again to\nthe window. Darkness was fast gathering about me; a heavy scud was\ndriven rapidly across the heavens, and the wind wailed in short and\nmournful gusts past the chamber. The avenue was just visible from the\nspot where I stood; and, looking down, I thought I could discern more\nthan one dark object moving apparently towards the house. It may be\nreadily conceived that I beheld their approach with an interest by no\nmeans free from apprehension; and it was not long ere two beings, in\nhuman habiliments, were distinctly seen at a short distance from the\ngate by which I had entered. Feeling myself an intruder, and not being\nvery satisfactorily prepared to account for my forcible entry into the\npremises, and the injury I had committed on the property of a stranger,\nI drew hastily aside, determined to effect a retreat whenever and\nwherever it might be in my power. Door and window alternately presented\nthemselves for the accomplishment of this unpleasant purpose, but before\nI could satisfy myself as to which was the more eligible offer, as\ndoubters generally do contrive it, I lost all chance of availing myself\nof either. \"_Facilis descensus_\"--\"Easier in than out\"--&c., occurred to\nme; and many other classical allusions, much more appropriate than\nagreeable. I heard voices and footsteps in the hall. The stairs creaked,\nand it was but too evident they were coming, and that with a most\nunerring and provoking perseverance. Surely, thought I, these gentry\nhave noses like the sleuth-hound; and I made no doubt but they would\nundeviatingly follow them into the very scene of my labours; and what\nexcuse could I make for the havoc I had committed? I stood stupefied,\nand unable to move. The thoughts of being hauled neck and heels before\nthe next justice, on a charge of housebreaking, or what not--committed\nto prison--tried, perhaps, and--the sequel was more than even\nimagination durst conceive. Recoiling in horror from the picture, it was\nwith something like instinctive desperation that I flew to the little\ncloset, and shut myself in, with all the speed and precision my fears\nwould allow. Sure enough the brutes were making the best of their way\ninto the chamber, and every moment I expected they would track their\nvictim to his hiding-place. After a few moments of inconceivable agony,\nI was relieved at finding from their conversation that no notion was\nentertained, at present, of any witness to their proceedings.\n\n\"I tell thee, Gilbert, these rusty locks can keep nothing safe. It's but\nsome few months since we were here, and thou knowest the doors were all\nfast. The kitchen door-post is now as rotten as touchwood; no bolt will\nfasten it.\"\n\n\"Nail it up,--nail 'em all up,\" growled Gilbert; \"nobody'll live here\nnow; or else set fire to 't. It'll make a rare bonfire to burn that ugly\nold will in.\"\n\nA boisterous laugh here broke from the remorseless Gilbert. It fell upon\nmy ear as something with which I had once been disagreeably familiar.\nThe voice of the first speaker, too, seemed the echo of one that had\nbeen heard in childhood. A friendly chink permitted me to gain the\ninformation I sought; there stood my uncle and his trusty familiar. In\nmy youth I had contracted a somewhat unaccountable aversion to the\nlatter personage. I well remembered his downcast grey eye, deprived of\nits fellow; and the malignant pleasure he took in thwarting and\ndisturbing my childish amusements. This prepossessing Cyclop held a\ntinder-box, and was preparing to light a match. My uncle's figure I\ncould not mistake: a score of winters had cast their shadows on his brow\nsince we had separated; but he still stood as he was wont--tall, erect,\nand muscular, though age had slightly drooped his proud forehead; and I\ncould discern his long-lapped waistcoat somewhat less conspicuous in\nfront. He was my mother's brother, and the only surviving relation on\nwhom I had any claim. My fears were set at rest, but curiosity stole\ninto their place. I felt an irrepressible inclination to watch their\nproceedings, though eaves-dropping was a subterfuge that I abhorred. I\nshould, I am confident--at least I hope so--have immediately discovered\nmyself, had not a single word which I had overheard prevented me. The\n\"will\" to which they alluded might to me, perhaps, be an object of no\ntrivial importance.\n\n\"I wish with all my heart it were burnt!\" said mine uncle.\n\n\"The will, or the house?\" peevishly retorted Gilbert.\n\n\"Both!\" cried the other, with an emphasis and expression that made me\ntremble.\n\n\"If we burn the house, the papers will not rise out of it, depend on 't,\nmaster,\" continued Gilbert; \"and that box in the next closet will not\nprove like Goody Blake's salamander.\"\n\nI began to feel particularly uncomfortable.\n\n\"I wish they had all been burnt long ago,\" said mine honest uncle. After\na pause he went on: \"This scapegrace nephew of mine will be here\nshortly. For fear of accidents--accidents, I say,--Gilbert--it were\nbetter to have all safe. Who knows what may be lurking in the old house,\nto rise up some day as a witness against us! I intend either to pull it\ndown or set fire to it. But we'll make sure of the will first.\"\n\n\"A rambling jackanapes of a nephew!\" said Gilbert; \"I hoped the fishes\nhad supped on him before now. We never thought, master, he could be\nalive, as he sent no word about his being either alive or dead. But I\nguess,\" continued this amiable servant, \"he might ha' staid longer, and\nyou wouldn't ha' fretted for his company.\"\n\nListeners hear no good of themselves; but I determined to reward the old\nvillain very shortly for his good wishes.\n\n\"Gilbert, when there's work to do thou art always readier with thy\ntongue than with thy fingers. Look! the match has gone out twice,--leave\noff puffing and fetch the box; I'll manage about the candle.\"\n\nI began to feel a strange sensation rambling about me. Gilbert left the\nroom, however, and I applied myself with redoubled diligence to the\ncrevice. My dishonest relation proceeded to revive the expiring sparks;\nthe light shone full upon his hard features. It might be fancy, but\nguilt--broad, legible, remorseless guilt--seemed to mark every\ninflection of his visage: his brow contracted,--his eye turned\ncautiously and fearfully round the apartment, and more than once it\nrested upon the gap I had made. I saw him strike his hand upon his\npuckered brow, and a stifled groan escaped him; but as if ashamed of his\nbetter feelings, he clenched it in an attitude of defiance, and listened\neagerly for the return of his servant. The slow footsteps of Gilbert\nsoon announced his approach, and apparently with some heavy burden. He\nthrew it on the floor, and I heard a key applied and the rusty wards\nanswering to the touch. The business in which they were now engaged was\nout of my limited sphere of vision.\n\n\"I think, master, the damps will soon ding down the old house: look at\nthe wall; the paper hangs for all the world like the clerk's wig--ha,\nha! If we should burn the house down we'd rid it o' the ghosts. Would\nthey stand fire, think you, or be off to cooler quarters?\"\n\n\"Hush, Gilbert; thou art wicked enough to bring a whole legion about us,\nif any of them are within hearing. I always seemed to treat these\nstories with contempt, but I never could satisfy myself about the noises\nthat old Gidlow and his wife heard. Thou knowest he was driven out of\nthe house by them. People wondered that I did not come and live here,\ninstead of letting it run to ruin. It's pretty generally thought that I\nfear neither man nor devil; but--oh! here it is; here is the will. I\ncare nothing for the rest, provided this be cancelled.\"\n\n\"Ay, master, they said the ghost never left off scratching as long as\nanybody was in the room. Which room was it, I wonder?--I never thought\non't to inquire; but--- I don't like this a bit. It runs in my head it\nis the very place; and behind that wall, too, where it took up its\nquarters like as it might be just a-back of the paper there. Think you,\nmaster, the old tyke has pull'd it down wi' scratching?\"\n\n\"Gilbert,\" said my uncle solemnly, \"I don't like these jests of thine.\nSave them, I prithee, for fitter subjects. The will is what we came for.\nLet us dispose of that quietly, and I promise thee I'll never set foot\nhere again.\"\n\nAs he spoke he approached the candle--it was just within my view--and\nopened the will that it might yield the more readily to the blaze. I\nwatched him evidently preparing to consume a document with which I felt\nconvinced my welfare and interests were intimately connected. There was\nnot a moment to be lost; but how to get possession was no easy\ncontrivance. If I sallied forth to its rescue they might murder me, or\nat least prevent its falling into my hands. This plan could only prolong\nits existence a few moments, and would to a certainty ensure its\neventual destruction. Gilbert's dissertation on the occupations and\namusements of the ghosts came very opportunely to my aid, and\nimmediately I put into execution what now appeared my only hope of its\nsafety. Just as a corner of the paper was entering the flame I gave a\npretty loud scratch, at the same time anxiously observing the effect it\nmight produce. I was overjoyed to find the enemy intimidated at least by\nthe first fire. Another volley, and another succeeded, until even the\nsceptical Gilbert was dismayed. My uncle seemed riveted to the spot, his\nhands widely disparted, so that the flame and its destined prey were now\npretty far asunder. Neither of the culprits spoke; and I hoped that\nlittle more would be necessary to rout them fairly from the field. As\nyet they did not seem disposed to move; and I was afraid of a rally,\nshould reason get the better of their fears.\n\n\"Rats! rats!\" shouted Gilbert. \"We'll singe their tails for them.\" The\nscratching ceased. Again the paper was approaching to its dreaded\ncatastrophe.\n\n\"_Beware!_\" I cried, in a deep and sepulchral tone, that startled even\nthe utterer. What effect it had produced on my auditory I was left alone\nto conjecture. The candle dropped from the incendiary's grasp, and the\nspoil was left a prey to the bugbear that possessed their imaginations.\nWith feelings of unmixed delight, I heard them clear the stairs at a few\nleaps, run through the hall, and soon afterwards a terrific bellow from\nGilbert announced their descent into the avenue.\n\nLuckily the light was not extinct, and I lost no time in taking\npossession of the document, which I considered of the most importance.\nA number of loose papers, the contents of a huge trunk, were scattered\nabout; but my attention was more particularly directed to the paper\nwhich had been the object of my uncle's visit to the Manor-house. To my\ngreat joy, this was neither less nor more than my father's will,\nwitnessed and sealed in due form, wherein the possessions of my\nancestors were conveyed, absolutely and unconditionally, without entail,\nunencumbered and unembarrassed, to me and to my assigns. I thought it\nmost likely that the papers in and about the trunk might be of use,\neither as corroborative evidence, in case my uncle should choose to\nlitigate the point and brand the original document as a forgery, or as a\ndirect testimony to the validity of my claim. I was rather puzzled in\nwhat manner to convey them from the place, so as not to excite\nsuspicion, should the two worthies return. I was pretty certain they\nwould not leave matters as they now stood when their fears were allayed,\nand daylight would probably impart sufficient courage to induce them to\nrepeat their visit. On finding the papers removed, the nature of this\nnight's ghostly admonition would immediately be guessed, and measures\ntaken to thwart any proceedings which it might be in my power to adopt.\nTo prevent discovery, I hit upon the following expedient:--I sorted out\nthe waste paper, a considerable quantity of which served as envelopes to\nthe rest, setting fire to it in such a manner that the contents of the\ntrunk might appear to have been destroyed by the falling of the candle.\nI succeeded very much to my own satisfaction. Disturbed and agonised as\nmy feelings had been during the discovery, the idea of having defeated\nthe plan of my iniquitous relative gave a zest to my acquisitions almost\nas great as if I had already taken possession of my paternal\ninheritance.\n\nBefore I left the apartment, I poured out my heart in thanksgivings to\nthat unseen Power whose hand, I am firmly convinced, brought me thither\nat so critical a moment, to frustrate the schemes and machinations of\nthe enemy.\n\nBundling up the papers, my knowledge of the vicinity enabled me to reach\na small tavern in the neighbourhood without the risk of being\nrecognised. Here I continued two or three days, examining the documents,\nwith the assistance of an honest limb of the law from W----. He\nentertained considerable doubts as to the issue of a trial, feeling\nconvinced that a forged will would be prepared, if not already in\nexistence, and that my relative would not relinquish his fraudulent\nclaim should the law be openly appealed to. He strongly recommended that\nproceedings of a different nature should be first tried, in hopes of\nenclosing the villain in his own toils; and these, if successful, would\nsave the uncertain and expensive process of a suit. I felt unwilling to\nadopt any mode of attack but that of open warfare, and urged that\npossession of the real will would be sufficient to reinstate me as the\nlawful heir. The man of law smiled. He inquired how I should be able to\nprove that the forgery which my uncle would in all probability produce\nwas not the genuine testament; and as the date would inevitably be\nsubsequent to the one I held, it would annul any former bequest. As to\nmy tale about burning the will, that might or might not be treated as a\nstory trumped up for the occasion. I had no witnesses to prove the fact;\nand though appearances were certainly in my favour, yet the case could\nonly be decided according to evidence. With great reluctance I consented\nto take a part in the scheme he chalked out for my guidance; and, on the\nthird day from my arrival, I walked a few miles and returned to the\ntown, that it might appear as if I had only just arrived. On being set\ndown at my uncle's I had the satisfaction to find, as far as could be\ngathered from his manner, that he had no idea of my recent sojourn in\nthe neighbourhood. Of course the conversation turned on the death of my\nrevered parents, and the way in which their property had been disposed\nof.\n\n\"I can only repeat,\" continued he, \"what I, as the only executor under\nyour father's will, was commissioned to inform you at his decease. The\nproperty was heavily mortgaged before your departure; and its continued\ndepression in value, arising from causes that could not have been\nforeseen, left the executor no other alternative but that of giving the\ncreditors possession. The will is here,\" said he, taking out a paper,\nneatly folded and mounted with red tape, from a bureau. \"It is\nnecessarily brief, and merely enumerates the names of the mortgagees and\namounts owing. I was unfortunately the principal creditor, having been a\nconsiderable loser from my wish to preserve the property inviolate. For\nthe credit of the family I paid off the remaining incumbrances, and the\nestate has lapsed to me as the lawful possessor.\"\n\nHe placed the document in my hands. I read in it a very technical\ntribute of testamentary gratitude to M---- S----, Esq., styled therein\n\"beloved brother;\" and a slight mention of my name, but no bequest, save\nthat of recommending me to the kindness of my relative, in case it\nshould please Heaven to send me once more to my native shores. I was\naware he would be on the watch; guarding, therefore, against any\nexpression of my feelings, I eagerly perused the deed, and with a sigh,\nwhich he would naturally attribute to any cause but the real one, I\nreturned it into his hands.\n\n\"I find,\" said he, \"from your letter received on the 23d current, that\nyou are not making a long stay in this neighbourhood. It is better,\nperhaps, that you should not. The old house is sadly out of repair.\nThree years ago next May, David Gidlow, the tenant under lease from me,\nleft it, and I have not yet been able to meet with another occupant\nfully to my satisfaction; indeed, I have some intention of pulling down\nthe house and disposing of the materials.\"\n\n\"Pulling it down!\" I exclaimed, with indignation.\n\n\"Yes; that is, it is so untenantable--so--what shall I call it?--that\nnobody cares to live there.\"\n\n\"I hope it is not haunted?\"\n\n\"Haunted!\" exclaimed he, surveying me with a severe and scrutinising\nglance. \"What should have put that into your head?\"\n\nI was afraid I had said too much; and anxious to allay the suspicion I\nsaw gathering in his countenance--\"Nay, uncle,\" I quickly rejoined; \"but\nyou seemed so afraid of speaking out upon the matter that I thought\nthere must needs be a ghost at the bottom of it.\"\n\n\"As for that,\" said he, carelessly; \"the foolish farmer and his wife did\nhint something of the sort; but it is well known that I pay no attention\nto such tales. The long and the short of it, I fancy, was, that they\nwere tired of their bargain, and wanted me to take it off their hands.\"\n\nHere honest Gilbert entered, to say that Mr L----, the attorney, would\nbe glad to have a word with his master.\n\n\"Tell Mr L---- to walk in. We have no secrets here. Excuse me, nephew;\nthis man is one of our lawyers. He has nothing to communicate but what\nyou may hear, I dare say. If he should have any private business, you\ncan step into the next room.\"\n\nThe attorney entering, I was introduced as nephew to Mr S----, just\narrived from the Indies, and so forth. Standing, Mr L---- made due\nobeisance.\n\n\"Sit down; sit down, Mr L----,\" cried my uncle. \"You need not be bowing\nthere for a job. Poor fellow, he has not much left to grease the paws of\na lawyer. Well, sir, your errand?\"\n\nI came, Mr S----, respecting the Manor-house. Perhaps you would not have\nany objections to a tenant!\"\n\n\"I cannot say just now. I have had some thoughts of pulling it down.\"\n\n\"Sir! you would not demolish a building, the growth of centuries--a\nfamily mansion--been in the descent since James's time. It would be\nbarbarous. The antiques would be about your ears.\"\n\n\"I care nothing for the antiquities; and, moreover, I do not choose to\nlet the house. Any further business with me this morning, sir?\"\n\n\"Nothing of consequence--I only came about the house.\"\n\n\"Pray, Mr L----,\" said I, \"what sort of a tenant have you in view;--one\nyou could recommend? I think my uncle has more regard for the old\nmansion-house than comports with the outrage he threatens. The will\nsays, if I read aright, that the house and property may be sold, should\nthe executor see fit; but, as to pulling it down, I am sure my father\nnever meant anything so deplorable. Allow me another glance at that\npaper.\"\n\n\"Please to observe, nephew, that the will makes it mine, and as such I\nhave a right to dispose of the whole in such manner as I may deem best.\nIf you have any doubts, I refer you to Mr L----, who sits smiling at\nyour unlawyer-like opinions.\"\n\n\"Pray allow me one moment,\" said the curious attorney. He looked at the\nsignature and those of the parties witnessing.\n\n\"Martha S----; your late sister, I presume?\"\n\nMy uncle nodded assent.\n\n\"Gilbert Hodgon--your servant?\"\n\n\"The same. To what purpose, sir, are these questions?\" angrily inquired\nmy uncle.\n\n\"Merely matters of form--a habit we lawyers cannot easily throw aside\nwhenever we get a sight of musty parchments. I hope you will pardon my\nfreedom?\"\n\n\"Oh! as for that you are welcome to ask as many questions as you think\nproper; they will be easily answered, I take it.\"\n\n\"Doubtless,\" said the persevering man of words. \"Whenever I take up a\ndeed, for instance,--it is just the habit of the thing, Mr S----,--I\nalways look at it as a banker looks at a note. He could not for the life\nof him gather one up without first ascertaining that it was genuine.\"\n\n\"Genuine!\" exclaimed my uncle, thrown off his guard. \"You do not suspect\nthat I have forged it?\"\n\n\"Forged it! why, how could that enter your head, Mr S----? I should as\nsoon suspect you of forging a bank-note or coining a guinea. Ringing a\nguinea, sir, does not at all imply that the payee suspects the payer to\nbe an adept in that ingenious and much-abused art. We should be\nprodigously surprised if the payer were to start up in a tantrum, and\nsay, 'Do you suspect me, sir, of having coined it?'\"\n\n\"Sir, if you came hither for the purpose of insulting _me_\"----\n\n\"I came upon no such business, Mr S----; but, as you seem disposed to be\ncaptious, I _will_ make free to say, and it would be the opinion of\nninety-nine hundredths of the profession, that it might possibly have\nbeen a little more satisfactory to the heir-apparent had the witnesses\nto this, the most solemn and important act of a man's life, been any\nother than, firstly, a defunct sister to the party claiming the whole\nresidue: and secondly, Mr Gilbert Hodgon, his servant. Nay, sir,\" said\nthe pertinacious lawyer, rising, \"I do not wish to use more\ncircumlocution than is necessary; I have stated my suspicions, and if\nyou are an honest man, you can have no objections, at least, to satisfy\nyour nephew on the subject, who seems, to say the truth, much astonished\nat our accidental parley.\"\n\n\"And pray who made you a ruler and a judge between us?\"\n\n\"_I_ have no business with it, I own; but as you seemed rather angry, I\nmade bold to give an opinion on the little technicalities aforesaid. If\nyou choose, sir,\" addressing himself to me, \"the matter is now at rest.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" I replied, \"Mr S---- will be ready to give every\nsatisfaction that may be required as regards the validity of the\nwitnesses. I request, uncle, that you will not lose one moment in\nrebutting these insinuations. For your own sake and mine, it is not\nproper that your conduct should go forth to the world in the shape in\nwhich this gentleman may think fit to represent it.\"\n\n\"If he dare speak one word\"----\n\n\"Nay, uncle, that is not the way to stop folks' mouth now-a-days.\nNothing but the actual gag, or a line of conduct that courts no favour\nand requires no concealment, will pass current with the world. I\nrequest, sir,\" addressing myself to the attorney, \"that you will not\nleave this house until you have given Mr S---- the opportunity of\nclearing himself from any blame in this transaction.\"\n\n\"As matters have assumed this posture,\" said Mr L----, \"I should be\ndeficient in respect to the profession of which I have the honour to be\na member, did I not justify my conduct in the best manner I am able.\nHave I liberty to proceed?\"\n\n\"Proceed as you like, you will not prove the testament to be a forgery.\nThe signing and witnessing were done in my presence,\" said my uncle. He\nrose from his chair, instinctively locked up his bureau; and, if such\nstern features could assume an aspect of still greater asperity, it was\nwhen the interrogator thus continued:--\"You were, as you observe, Mr\nS----, an eye-witness to the due subscription of this deed. If I am to\nclear myself from the imputation of unjustifiable curiosity, I must beg\nleave to examine yourself and the surviving witness apart, merely as to\nthe minutiae of the circumstances under which it was finally completed:\nfor instance, was the late Mr---- in bed, or was he sick or well, when\nthe deed was executed?\"\n\nA cadaverous hue stole over the dark features of the culprit; their\naspect varying and distorted, in which fear and deadly anger painfully\nstrove for pre-eminence.\n\n\"And wherefore apart?\" said he, with a hideous grin. He stamped suddenly\non the floor.\n\n\"If that summons be for your servant, you might have saved yourself the\ntrouble, sir,\" said his tormentor, with great coolness and intrepidity.\n\"Gilbert is at my office, whither I sent him on an errand, thinking he\nwould be best out of the way for a while. I find, however, that we shall\nhave need of him. It is as well, nevertheless, that he is out of the way\nof signals.\"\n\n\"A base conspiracy!\" roared the infuriated villain. \"Nephew, how is\nthis? And in my own house,--bullied--baited! But I will be revenged--I\nwill.\"\n\nHere he became exhausted with rage, and sat down. On Mr L---- attempting\nto speak, he cried out--\"I will answer no questions, and I defy you.\nGilbert may say what he likes; but he cannot contradict my words. I'll\nspeak none.\"\n\n\"These would be strange words, indeed, Mr S------, from an innocent\nman. Know you that WILL?\" said the lawyer, in a voice of thunder, and at\nthe same time exhibiting the real instrument so miraculously preserved\nfrom destruction. I shall never forget his first look of horror and\nastonishment. Had a spectre risen up, arrayed in all the terrors of the\nprison-house, he could not have exhibited more appalling symptoms of\nunmitigated despair. He shuddered audibly. It was the very crisis of his\nagony. A portentous silence ensued. Some minutes elapsed before it was\ninterrupted. Mr L---- was the first to break so disagreeable a pause.\n\n\"Mr S----, it is useless to carry on this scene of duplicity: neither\nparty would be benefited by it. _You have forged that deed!_ We have\nsufficient evidence of your attempt to destroy this document I now hold,\nin the very mansion which your unhallowed hands would, but for the\ndirect interposition of Providence, have levelled with the dust. On one\ncondition, and on one only, your conduct shall be concealed from the\nknowledge of your fellow-men. The eye of Providence alone has hitherto\ntracked the tortuous course of your villany. On one condition, I say,\nthe past is for ever concealed from the eye of the world.\" Another\npause. My uncle groaned in the agony of his spirit. Had his heart's\nblood been at stake, he could not have evinced a greater reluctance than\nhe now showed at the thoughts of relinquishing his ill-gotten wealth.\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Destroy with your own hands that forged testimony of your guilt. Your\nnephew does not wish to bring an old man's grey hairs to an ignominious\ngrave.\"\n\nHe took the deed, and, turning aside his head, committed it to the\nflames. He appeared to breathe more freely when it was consumed; but the\nstruggle had been too severe even for his unyielding frame, iron-bound\nthough it seemed. As he turned trembling from the hearth, he sank into\nhis chair, threw his hands over his face, and groaned deeply. The next\nmoment he fixed his eyes steadily on me. A glassy brightness suddenly\nshot over them; a dimness followed like the shadows of death. He held\nout his hand; his head bowed; and he bade adieu to the world and its\ninterests for ever!\n\n\n\n\nCLITHEROE CASTLE;\n\nOR,\n\nTHE LAST OF THE LACIES.\n\n\n      \"By that painful way they pass\n    Forth to an hill that was both steep and high;\n      On top whereof a sacred chapel was,\n    And eke a little hermitage thereby.\"\n\n--SPENSER'S _Fairy Queen_.\n\nClitheroe, _the hill ly the-waters_, the ancient seat of the Lacies,\ncarries back the mind to earlier periods and events--to a rude and\nbarbarous age--where justice was dispensed, and tribute paid, by the\nfeudatories to their lords, whose power, little less than arbitrary, was\nheld directly from the crown.\n\nThe Lacies came over with the Conqueror; and, on the defection of Robert\nde Poictou, obtained, as their share of the spoil, sixty knights' fees,\nprincipally in Yorkshire and Lancashire. For the better maintainence of\ntheir dignity they built two castles, one at Pontefract, the principal\nresidence, and another at Clitheroe. A _great fee_, or great lordship,\nas Pontefract was a possession of the highest order; an honour, or\nseigniory, like Clitheroe, consisting of a number of manors, was the\nnext in rank; and these manors were severally held by their subordinate\nlords in dependence on the lord paramount, the lord of the fee or\nhonour.\n\n[Illustration: CLITHEROE CASTLE.\n\n_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\nWhat was the precise aspect of our county when the Normans possessed\nthemselves of the land, it might be deemed an effort of the imagination\nperhaps to portray. \"Yet,\" says Dr Whitaker, in one of his happier\nmoods, \"could a curious observer of the present day carry himself nine\nor ten centuries back, and, ranging the summit of Pendle, survey the\nforked Calder on one side, and the bolder margins of Ribble and Hodder\non the other, instead of populous towns and villages, the castle, the\nold tower-built house, the elegant modern mansion, the artificial\nplantation, the park and pleasure ground, or instead of uninterrupted\nenclosures, which have driven sterility almost to the summit of the\nfells; how great must then have been the contrast, when, ranging either\nat a distance or immediately beneath, his eye must have caught vast\ntracts of forest ground stagnating with bog or darkened by native\nwoods, where the wild ox, the roe, the stag, and the wolf had\nscarcely learned the supremacy of man--when, directing his view to the\nintermediate spaces, to the windings of the valleys, or the expanse of\nplain beneath, he could only have distinguished a few insulated patches\nof culture, each encircling a village of wretched cabins, among which\nwould still be remarked one rude mansion of wood, scarcely equal in\ncomfort to a modern cottage, yet then rising proudly eminent above the\nrest, where the Saxon lord, surrounded by his faithful cotarii, enjoyed\na rude and solitary independence, owning no superior but his sovereign.\n\n\"This was undoubtedly a state of great simplicity and freedom, such as\nadmirers of uncultivated nature may affect to applaud. But although\nrevolutions in civil society seldom produce anything better than a\nchange of vices, yet surely no wise or good man can lament the\nsubversion of Saxon polity for that which followed. Their laws were\ncontemptible for imbecility, their habits odious for intemperance; and\nif we can for a moment persuade ourselves that their language has any\ncharm, that proceeds less, perhaps, from anything harmonious and\nexpressive in itself, or anything valuable in the information it\nconveys, than that it is rare and not of very easy attainment; that it\nforms the rugged basis of our own tongue; and, above all, that we hear\nit loudly echoed in the dialect of our own vulgar. Indeed, the manners\nas well as language of a Lancashire clown often suggest the idea of a\nSaxon peasant; and prove, with respect to remote tracts like these,\nlittle affected by foreign admixtures, how strong is the power of\ntraduction, how faithfully character and propensities may be transmitted\nthrough more than twenty generations.\"\n\nThe Normans were a more polished, a more abstemious people; as scribes\nand architects they were men to whom this district was greatly indebted.\nOur only castle, our oldest remaining churches, our most curious and\nvaluable records, are all Norman.\n\n\"Such was the state of property and manners when the house of Lacy\nbecame possessed of Blackburnshire.\" The simplicity of the Saxon tenures\nwas destroyed. A tract of country, which had been parcelled out among\ntwenty-eight lords, now became subject to one; and all the intricacies\nof feodal dependence, all the rigours of feodal exaction, wardships,\nreliefs, escheats, &c., were introduced at once. Yet the Saxon lords,\nthough dependent, were not in general actually stripped of their fees.\nBy successive steps, however, the origin of all landed property within\nthe hundred, some later copyholds excepted, is to be traced to voluntary\nconcessions from the Lacies, or their successors of the house of\nLancaster; not grants of pure beneficence, but requiring personal\nservice from the owners, and yearly customs or payments, equivalent at\nthat time to their value. Their present worth grew out of the operation\nof causes little understood in these ages either by lord or\nvassal--namely, the certainty of the possession, the diminishing value\nof money, and the perpetuity of the title.\n\nIn four generations, or little more than one hundred years, the line of\nthe Lacies became extinct; Roger Fitz-Eustace, lord of Halton and\nconstable of Chester, coming into possession by right of his grandmother\nAwbrey, uterine sister of Robert de Lacy, the last of this illustrious\nrace. Fitz-Eustace, however, took the title of De Lacy; but in the\nfourth descent from him the very name was lost. Henry de Lacy, the last\nand greatest man of his line, dying the 5th February 1310, left one\ndaughter only, who had married, during her father's lifetime, Thomas\nPlantagenet, Earl of Lancaster--and carried along with her an\ninheritance even then estimated at 10,000 marks per annum. On the earl's\nattainder, the honour of Clitheroe, with the rest of his possessions,\nwere forfeited to the crown. After undergoing many changes while it\ncontinued a member of the Duchy of Lancaster--that is, until the\nrestoration of Charles II.--that prince, in consideration of the great\nservices of General Monk, whom he created Duke of Albemarle, bestowed it\nupon him and his heirs for ever. Christopher, his son, dying without\nissue, left his estates to his wife, daughter and co-heiress of Henry\nCavendish, Duke of Newcastle; by her they were bequeathed to her second\nhusband, Ralph, Duke of Montague, whose grand-daughter Mary, married\nGeorge, Earl of Cardigan, afterwards Duke of Montague. Elizabeth, his\ndaughter, married Henry, Duke of Buccleuch, in whose family the honour\nof Clitheroe is now vested.\n\nClitheroe Castle is described by Grose as \"situated on the summit of a\nconical insulated crag of rugged limestone rock, which suddenly rises\nfrom a fine vale, in which towards the north, at the distance of\nhalf-a-mile, runs the Ribble, and a mile to the south stands Pendle\nHill, which seems to lift its head above the clouds.\"\n\nIn the time of the Commonwealth it was dismantled by order of\nParliament; the chapel has totally disappeared; and nothing now remains\nbut the square keep and some portions of the strong wall by which the\nbuilding was surrounded.[49] The tower, though much undermined, remains\nfirm as the rock on which it was built, and forms the principal object\nin our engraving.\n\nIt was midnight; and the priest was chanting the service and requiem for\nthe dead in the little chapel or chantry of St Michael, which was built\nwithin the walls of Clyderhow or Clitheroe Castle. The _Dies irae_ from\nthe surrounding worshippers rose in a simple monotone, like the sound of\nsome distant river, now caught on the wing of the tempest, and flung far\naway into the dim and distant void, now rushing on the ear in one deep\ngush of harmony--the voice of Nature, as if her thousand tongues were\nblended in one universal peal of praise and adoration to the great\nPower that called her into being. Many a heart quailed with\napprehension, many a bosom was oppressed with doubtful and anxious\nforebodings. Robert de Lacy, the last of this illustrious race, fourth\nin descent from Ilbert de Lacy, on whom the Conqueror bestowed the great\nfee of Pontefract, the owner of twenty-eight manors and lord of the\nhonour of Clitheroe, was no longer numbered with the living; and here in\nthe chapel of this lone fortress, before the dim altar, all that\nremained of this powerful baron, the clay no longer instinct with\nspirit, was soon to be enveloped in the dust, the darkness, and the\ndegradation of its kindred earth.\n\nMany circumstances rendered this scene more than usually solemn and\naffecting. Robert de Lacy had died without issue to inherit these\nprincely domains, the feudal inheritance of a family whose power had so\nwide a grasp, that it was currently said the Lacies might pass from\nClitheroe Castle to their fortress at Pontefract, a journey of some\nfifty miles, and rest in a house or hostelrie of their own at every\npause during their progress.\n\nWith him ended the male line of this great family. Failing in issue, he\nhad devised all these vast estates to Awbrey, his uterine sister,\ndaughter of Robert de Lizours, married to Richard Fitz-Eustace, lord of\nHalton and constable of Chester.\n\nThus ended the last of his race; and the inheritance had passed to a\nstranger.\n\nThe surrounding worshippers were mostly domestics and retainers of the\nfamily, save Robert de Whalley, the dean of that ancient church,\nsupposed to have been founded by Augustine or Paulinus in the seventh\ncentury, and then called \"The White Church under the Leigh.\" No tidings\nhad been heard from the Fitz-Eustace at Halton, and in two days the body\nwas to be carried forth on its last pilgrimage to Kirkstall Abbey,\nfounded by Henry de Lacy, father of the deceased, about forty years\nprior to this event.\n\nThe beginning of February, in the year 1193, when our story commences,\nwas an epoch memorable for the base and treacherous captivity of Richard\nCoeur de Lion by the Duke of Austria; and for the equally base and\ntreacherous, but short-lived, usurpation of John, the brother of our\nillustrious crusader. The nation was involved in great trouble and\ndismay. The best blood of England and the flower of her nobility had\nperished on the deserts of Palestine, or were pining there in hopeless\ncaptivity. The house of Fitz-Eustace, into whose possession the estates\nof the Lacies were now merged, had themselves been shorn of a goodly\nscion or two from the family tree during these \"holy wars.\"\n\nRichard Fitz-Eustace, the husband of Awbrey, died about the 24 Hen. II.\n(1178), leaving one son, John, who founded the Cistercian Abbey of\nStanlaw in Cheshire, the present establishment of Whalley. He was slain\nat Tyre in the crusade, A.D. 1190, the second of the reign of Richard\nI., leaving issue, Richard a leper, and Roger, who followed his father\nto the Holy Land, but of whose fate no tidings had been heard since his\ndeparture thence on his return to Europe. Besides these were two sons,\nEustace and Peter, and a daughter named Alice.\n\nRoger Fitz-Eustace and his friend William de Bellamonte--from whom are\ndescended the Beaumonts of Whitley-Beaumont, in Yorkshire--had fought\nside by side at the memorable siege of Acre; but whether alive or dead\nthe certainty was not yet known, though there might be good grounds for\nthe apprehension generally entertained, that they were held in captivity\nby infidels or by princes miscalled Christian, the bitterest enemies to\nthe faith they professed.\n\nClitheroe Castle was built by Roger de Poictou, or, as he is otherwise\ncalled, Roger Pictavensis, of a noble family in Normandy, and related to\nthe Conqueror. He led the centre of William's army at the battle of\nHastings. King William having given him all the lands between the Mersey\nand the Ribble, he built several castles and fortresses therein,\nproviding largely for his followers, from whom are descended many\nfamilies who are still in possession of manors and estates originally\ngranted by this unfortunate relative of the Conqueror. He was twice\ndeprived of his honours, many of them being escheated to the crown,\nwhile Clitheroe Castle, together with the great fee of Pontefract, was\nbestowed on Ilbert de Lacy, a Norman follower of William.\n\nIn a country not abounding with strong positions, an insulated conical\nrock of limestone rising out of the fertile plain between Penhull\n(Pendle) and the Ribble would naturally attract the attention of the\ninvaders. Here, therefore, we find a fortress erected even earlier than\nthe castle at Lancaster. The summit of this rock was not sufficiently\nextensive to admit of a spacious building, and probably nothing more was\nat first intended than a temporary retreat and defence from the\npredatory incursions of the Scots. The structure was, however, gradually\nenlarged, and became one of the chief residences of the Lacies. A lofty\nflanking wall ran along the brink of the rock, enclosing the keep and\nadjoining buildings, likewise the chapel of St Michael, coeval with the\nfoundation of the castle, and forming part of it, being amply endowed by\nthe founder, and license procured from the Dean of Whalley for the\npurpose of having divine service performed and the sacraments\nadministered therein, to the household servants, foresters, and\nshepherds, who occupied these extensive and thinly-inhabited domains.\n\nIn this little sanctuary now lay the remains of its lord. The cold\nFebruary sleet pattered fitfully against the narrow panes; and the\nshivering mourners muffled themselves in their dark hoods, while they\nknelt devoutly on the hard bare pavement of the chapel. Oliver de\nWorsthorn, the old seneschal, knelt at the foot of the bier; his white\nlocks covered his thin features like a veil, hiding their intense and\nheart-withering expression. He felt without a stay or helper in his last\nhours--a sapless, worthless stem in this wilderness of sorrow.\n\nRobert, the Dean of Whalley, attended as chief mourner. Being descended\nfrom a distant branch of the Lacies, he had long thrown a covetous\nglance towards the inheritance. A frequent guest at the castle, he had\nbeen useful as an auxiliary in the management and control of the secular\nconcerns; the spiritual interests of its head were in the keeping of\nanother and more powerful agent, little suspected by the dean of\napplying the influence he had acquired to purposes of secular\naggrandisement.\n\nIt may not be deemed irrelevant that we give a brief outline of the\nconstitution or office of dean, as then held by the incumbents of\nWhalley. The beautiful abbey, now in ruins, was not as yet built. Some\nSaxon lord of [Illustration: Dpaellej] had, about the seventh century,\nfounded a parish church, dedicated to All Saints, called The White\nChurch under the Leigh. The first erection was of wood, many years\nafterwards replaced by a plain building of stone. The rectors or deans\nwere also lords of the town, and married men, who held it not by\npresentation from the patron, but as their own patrimonial estate, the\nsuccession being hereditary. In this manner the deanery of Whalley was\ncontinued until the Lateran Council, in the year 1215, which, by\nfinally prohibiting the marriage of ecclesiastics, put an end to this\norder of hereditary succession, and occasioned a resignation of the\npatronage to the chief lord of the fee, after which the church of\nWhalley sunk, by two successive appropriations, into an impoverished\nvicarage.\n\nLong before the Conquest the advowson had become far more valuable than\nthe manor, and the lords, who were also patrons, saw the advantage and\nconvenience of qualifying themselves by inferior orders for holding so\nrich a benefice; and thus the manor itself in time ceased to be\nconsidered as a lay fee, and became confounded with the glebe of the\nchurch.[50]\n\nThe office of dean, at the period in which our history commences, had\nfor centuries been considered as a dignity rather secular than\necclesiastical, and the pursuits of the incumbent had doubtless\nassimilated generally with those of his lay associates. Indeed, it is\nrecorded that Dean Liulphus, in the reign of Canute, had the name of\nCutwulph, from having cut off a wolf's tail whilst hunting in the\nforest of Rossendale, at a place called Ledmesgreve, or more properly\nDeansgreve. Like many other ancient and dignified ecclesiastics, they\nwere mighty hunters, enjoying their privileges unmolested through a vast\nregion of forest land then unenclosed, and were only inferior in\njurisdiction to the feudal lords of these domains. \"On the whole, then,\nit appears,\" says Dr Whitaker, \"that the Dean of Whalley was compounded\nof patron, incumbent, ordinary, and lord of the manor; an assemblage\nwhich may possibly have met in later times, and in some places of exempt\njurisdiction, but at that time probably an _unique_ in the history of\nthe English church.\"\n\nRobert de Whalley, the incumbent before named, was not a whit behind his\nprogenitors in that laudable exercise of worldly wisdom and forethought,\nas it regarded matters of a temporal and transitory nature. His bearing\nwas proud, and his aspect keen; his form was muscular, and more fitted\nfor some hardy and rigorous exercise than for the generally self-denying\nand peaceful offices of the Catholic Church. In his youth he had the\nreputation of being much disposed to gallantry; and the same proneness\nto intrigue was yet manifest, though employed in pursuits of a less\ntransitory nature. His disappointment was, in consequence, greatly\naugmented when these long-coveted possessions were given to another, and\nhis ambitious dreams dissipated. Yet was he not without hope that the\nsuccession of the Fitz-Eustace family might be frustrated. The leper\nwould of necessity be passed over, and, Roger being either dead or in\ncaptivity, the revenues and usurpation of this distant and almost\ninaccessible territory might still be enjoyed without molestation or\ninquiry. Such were the meditations of this plotting ecclesiastic, as he\nknelt before the altar in that solemn hour, in the chapel of \"_St\nMichael in Castro_.\"\n\nThe walls of the chapel, or rather chantry, were smeared with black; and\nin front of the screen were portrayed uncouth representations of the\narms and insignia of the deceased. A pall was thrown over the body, and\na plate of salt, as an emblem of incorruptibility, placed on the\ncorpse--a heathenish custom borrowed from the Druids. The candles burnt\ndimly at the little altar, and the cold and bitter wind threw the\nshadows in many a grotesque and startling shape on the dark bare walls\nwhich enclosed them. It was an hour and a scene that superstition might\nhave chosen for manifesting her power; and many an anxious glance was\nthrown towards the dark recesses out of which imagination was ready to\nconjure some grim spectre, invested with all the horrors that monkish\nlegends had created. The priest who officiated was an unbeneficed\nclergyman, long known as an inmate of the castle. He was of a quiet and\ninoffensive disposition, but much attached to his lord; often during the\nservice grief stayed his utterance, and he mingled his loud sobs with\nthose of the surrounding worshippers.\n\nThe _dirage_ was concluded, and vespers for the dead were now commencing\nwith the \"_Placebo Domino_.\" The priest with his loud rich voice sang or\nrecited the anthem, and the attendants gave the response in a low and\nmuttering sound. Just as he was beginning the fumigation with a sign of\nthe cross, to drive away demons and unclean spirits from the body,\nsuddenly a loud, deep, and startling blast was heard from the horn at\nthe outer gate. The whole assembly started up from their devotions, and\nevery eye was turned towards the dean, as though to watch and take the\ncolour of their proceedings from those of his reverence. He lifted his\neyes from the corpse, which lay with the face and shoulders uncovered;\nand, as if startled from some bewildering reverie, cried aloud--\n\n\"What untimely visitor art thou, disturbing the sad offices of the\ndead?\"\n\nHe paused, as though the sound of his own voice had disturbed him; while\nwrapping himself in his cloak, he hastily approached Oliver, who stood\nirresolute, not knowing how to act in this unexpected emergency. De\nWhalley pointed towards the door, and the seneschal prepared to obey,\naccompanied by the porter with a light, and one or two attendants.\n\nImmediately outside the chapel the way led down a steep angle of the\nrock, which Oliver, by dint of much use and experience, descended\nwithout any apparent difficulty, save what arose from the slippery state\nof the path, which rendered the footing more than usually precarious and\nuncertain.\n\nAgain, the blast brayed forth a louder and more impatient summons,\nstartling the echoes from their midnight slumber, while the deep woods\nanswered from a thousand unseen recesses.\n\n\"Hang thee for a saucy loon, whoever thou be! I'll warrant thee as much\nimpudence in thy face as wind i' thy muzzle,\" said the disturbed\nseneschal. \"Tarry a while, Hugo; ope not the gate without a parley,\ndespite the knave's untimely summons.\"\n\nOliver, hobbling onward, reached the wicket, just then occupied by\nHugo's broad and curious face prying out cautiously into the misty and\nunintelligible void, without being a whit the wiser for his scrutiny.\n\n\"What a plague do ye keep honest men a-waiting for at the gate,\" said a\ngruff voice from the pitchy darkness without, \"in a night that would\nmake a soul wish for a dip into purgatory, just by way of a warming?\"\n\n\"Hush,\" said Oliver, who was a true son of the Church, and moreover,\nbeing fresh from the services appointed for the recovery of poor souls\nfrom this untoward place, felt the remark of the stranger as peculiarly\nimpious and full of blasphemy--\"Hush! thou bold-faced scorner, and learn\nto furbish thy wit from some other armoury; we like not such unholy\njests--firebrands thrown in sport! Thy business, friend?\"\n\n\"Open the gate, good master priest-poke,\" said the other, in a tone of\nauthority.\n\n\"Not until thou showest thine errand,\" said the equally imperative\ninterrogator within; who, having the unequivocal and somewhat ponderous\nadvantage of a pair of stout-built and well-furnished gates to back, or\nrather face, him in the controversy, was consequently in a fair way for\nkeeping on the strong side of the argument.\n\n\"Now, o' my troth, but ye be a pair of rude curs, barking from a warm\nkennel at your betters, who are shivering in the cold, without so much\nas a bone to pick, or a wisp of straw to their tails! Well, well, 'tis\nsoon said; every dog, you know,--and 'twill be my turn soon. I come\nhither from the castle at Halton, where my Lady Fitz-Eustace would lay\nyour curs' noses to the grinding-stone; but, rest her soul, she will not\nlong be above ground, I trow. Know then, masters, I am her seneschal,\nwhom she sends with a goodly train to the burying. Quick, old goat-face,\nor we will singe thy beard to light thee to our discovery.\"\n\nThe gates were immediately unbolted at this command, opening wide before\nso dignified a personage, who, as the representative of the\nFitz-Eustace, was evidently impressed with a sufficient sense of his own\nimportance, while he and his attendants rode through the grim Norman\narch into the courtyard. The uppermost extreme of this illustrious\nfunctionary was surmounted with a sort of Phrygian-shaped bonnet or cap,\nmade of deerskin, suitably ornamented. A mantle or cloak of a dark\nmulberry colour, fancifully embroidered on the hem, was clasped upon one\nshoulder by a silver buckle. Underneath was a short upper riding-tunic\nmade of coarse woollen, partly covering an under-vest made of finer\nmaterials. A leathern girdle was buckled round his loins, having sundry\nimplements attached thereto, requisite during the performance of so long\na journey through a thinly-inhabited region. The upper garment scarcely\ncovered the knee, over which stockings of red cloth were seen, reaching\nhalf-way up the thigh; round the leg were bandages or cross-garterings\nwell bespattered with mud; low boots or buskins protected the feet and\nankles; to these spurs were fastened, the head being spear-shaped and\nsomething crooked in the shank. His beard was forked, and this\nappendage, apparently the result of a careful and anxious cultivation,\nhe occasionally twisted with one hand whilst speaking. He carried a\nlance, or rather hunting-spear, which he wielded with an air of great\nformality and display; his followers were likewise furnished each of\nthem with a cloak and tunic, and a conical cap of coarse felt tied under\nthe chin with a leathern band: a girdle of the same material was buckled\nround the waist, with a scrip and other necessaries for the journey.\nThey rode horses of the Welsh breed, small and stout-built; spoil\ncaptured, in all probability, from that rebellious and unruly nation.\n\nThe entry of this armed train was more like an act of taking possession\nthan that of a peaceable and formal embassage; and the newly-arrived\nseneschal soon began to exercise the office of governor or castellan,\nseizing the reins of government with an iron grasp. He was a square\ncarroty-headed personage, about the middle size, and of a ruddy aspect.\nHe held an office of trust under the Fitz-Eustace, and, spite of his\nsaucy garrulity, in which he indulged on most occasions, he was\nfaithful, and would have challenged and immolated any one who had dared\nto question the right of the Fitz-Eustace to precedence before any other\nbaron of the land. Long service rendered him more intrusive than would\nhave been thought becoming, or even excusable in any other enjoying less\nof his mistress's confidence.\n\n\"Now, my merry men all,\" said this authoritative personage, \"a long and\na weary path have we ridden to-day; and had we not been, as it were,\nlost in your savage wildernesses--where our guide, whom we forced before\nus by dint of blows and hard usage, could scarce keep us in the right\ntrack--we had been here before sunset. Thanks to this saint of yours,\nwhosoever he be, for we saw the watchlights at times from the chapel, as\nwe guessed, else had we been longer in hitting our mark, and might,\nperadventure, have supped with the wolves on a haunch of venison. Now\nfor the stables. What! have ye no knaves hereabout to help our followers\nwith the beasts?\"\n\nOliver, much troubled at this loquacious and unceremonious address,\nreplied with some acrimony--\n\n\"The household are in the chapel, where it had been better thou hadst\nlet us bide, and given the corpse a quiet watchnight--the vigils for the\ndead are not ended.\"\n\n\"Go to, master seneschal, for of this post I do adjudge thee, and\nreverence thine office in respect of mine own, but let dead men make\ntheir own lanterns; we must have supper anyhow, and that right\nspeedily.\"\n\nOliver, after seeing the gate secured, sent Hugo for help, whilst he led\nthe way himself into the hall of this once formidable fortress. It was\nhigh and gloomy, the fire being apparently extinguished. A step on the\nfloor showed where the higher table was placed, prohibiting those\nbeneath a certain rank from advancing upon the skirts of their\nsuperiors; an indispensable precaution, when servants and retainers of\nall sorts ate their meals with the master of the feast. Perches for\nhawks, in form like unto a crutch, were placed behind his chair; for\nthese birds were usually taught to sit hoodless in the evening among\ncompany undisturbed. Hunting-spears, jackets, chain-armour, shields, and\nhelmets, decorated the walls; and many a goodly heritage of antlers\nhung, like forest boughs stripped of their verdure. There were two\noriels furnished with leaning-stones for the convenience of loungers.\nPainted glass filled the higher portions of the windows, representing\nuncouth heads, hands, feet, and bodies of saints, in all the glowing and\ngorgeous magnificence which the beam of heaven can give to colours of\nmore than earthly brightness, though disposed in forms of more than\nchildish absurdity.\n\nThe hall, the usual rendezvous of the household, was now deserted for\nthe dread solemnities of that cheerless night. But the stranger was much\ndiscouraged by reason of the coldness and gloom, shivering audibly at\nthe comfortless appearance that was before him.\n\n\"St Martin's malison light on ye--fire, billets, and all--I've seen\nnothing like to warm my bare nose and knuckles since we left Halton, two\nlong days agone. Verily, to my thinking, there's as much timber burnt\nthere daily as ye would pile here for a winter's use.\"\n\n\"Prithee come with me into the kitchen, we may have better quarters\nperadventure among the fleshpots,\" said Oliver, leading the stranger\nthrough a small doorway on the left. This _coquinus_ of our ancestors\nwas usually placed near the hall, for the convenience of serving. Here,\nthrough a sliding aperture in the panel, the victuals were transferred\nwith safety and despatch. It was built entirely of stone, having a\nconical roof with a turret at the top for the escape of steam and smoke.\nA fire was still burning, provided with a large cauldron suspended on a\nsort of versatile gibbet, by which contrivance it could be withdrawn\nfrom the flame. Fire-rakes and fire-jacks were laid on the hearth, and\naround the walls were iron pots, trivets, pans, kettles, ladles,\nplatters, and other implements of domestic economy. Huge dressers\ndisplayed symptoms of preparation for to-morrow's necessities, and a\ncoarse kitchen-wench was piling fuel on the ever-burning fire.\n\nThe envoy, glad to be ensconced so near the blaze, quickly addressed\nhimself to the task of improving it by a dexterous use of a huge faggot\nby way of poker. He had thrown off his upper clothing; and the grim\nwalls soon reddened with the rising glow. So intent was he on an\noccupation which he evidently enjoyed, that he was not aware when Oliver\ndeparted, the latter slipping off unobserved to the chapel for the\npurpose of informing the dean of this arrival.\n\nIn one part of the kitchen was a long low-roofed recess, accessible only\nby a ladder, wherein dried meats, consisting of bacon, ham, deers'\ntongues, mutton, venison, and other dainties of the like nature, were\nstored. To this inviting receptacle was the attention of our guest more\nespecially directed. Without ceremony or invitation he ascended, and\ndrawing out a formidable weapon from his belt he commenced a furious\nattack.\n\nOliver, on his return, found this worthy usurping the functions of both\ncook and consumer of the victual with great assiduity. He was\naccompanied by the dean, who addressed the intruder as follows:--\n\n\"How is it that we have none from the noble house of Fitz-Eustace save\nthou and thy company?\"\n\nThe messenger looked askance from his occupation, disposing of a large\nmouthful of the viands with sufficient deliberation ere he vouchsafed a\nreply.\n\n\"Me and my company! As goodly a band, I trow, as ever put foot to\nstirrup or fist to crupper! yet will I resolve thy question plain as\nBeeston Castle. My lady is old, and her only son died long ago on a\ncrusade. Her third grandson, now in the office of constable, is out\namongst the Welsh--plague on their fiery blood!--by reason of the\nabsence of his elder brother, Roger, yet abroad in these Holy Wars. Of\nthe eldest born, Richard, we know not but that he is deceased. He left\nthe castle many years ago, sorely afflicted, for he was a leper. So\nthat, peradventure, my lady hath sent the best man she had, inasmuch as\nI am steward and seneschal, being appointed thereto through her\nladyship's great wisdom and discretion.\"\n\nHere he surveyed himself with an air of indescribable assurance and\nsatisfaction.\n\n\"And, saving your presence,\" continued the deputy, \"I come here as\ncastellan, or governor, until he whose right it is shall possess it.\"\n\n\"And how know we that we be not opening our gates and surrendering our\ncastle to some losel knave, whose only title may lie on the tip of his\ntongue, and his right on the end of his rapier?\"\n\n\"By this token,\" said the seneschal haughtily, at the same time drawing\nout a formal instrument, to which was appended the broad seal of the\nancient house of Fitz-Eustace.\n\nThe dean cast his eyes over the document, returning it to the messenger\nwithout either answer or inquiry, and immediately retired from the\npresence of this usurper on his long-coveted possessions.\n\nMuch chagrined by so unexpected an interference, he left the castle,\neven at this untimely hour. Yet his footsteps were not bent towards the\nshadow of his own roof, the deanery at Whalley.\n\nOutside the castle wall, and on the steepest side of the hill, was a\nlittle hermitage, wherein dwelt one of those reputed saints that dealt\nin miracles and prayers for the benefit of the \"true believers.\" Many of\nthese solitaries were well skilled in craft and intrigue; others,\ndoubtless, deceived themselves as well as others in the belief that\nHeaven had granted them the power to suspend and control the operations\nof nature. To this habitation, occupied by one of these holy santons of\nthe Church, were the steps of the dean immediately directed. He raised\nthe latch as though accustomed to this familiarity. The chamber, a high\nnarrow cell, scooped out of the rock, was quite dark; but the voice was\nheard, a deep sepulchral tone, as though issuing from the ground--\n\n\"Art thou here so soon, De Whalley?\"\n\n\"Sir Ulphilas,\" said the intruder hastily, and with some degree of\nagitation, \"canst work miracles now? The Canaanites are come into the\nland to possess it; nor will threatenings and conjurations drive them\nforth.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" said the hermit, who, though unseen, had not, it seems,\nbeen an inattentive observer of the events of the last two hours. A\nlight suddenly shot forth, enkindled as if by magic, showing the tall\ngaunt form of the \"Holy Hermit of the Rock.\" He was dressed in a long\ngrey garment of coarse woollen. It was said that he wore an iron corslet\nnext his skin, for mortification, it was thought by the vulgar; but\nwhether for this purpose, or for one of a more obvious nature, it would\nperhaps be easy to surmise. A girdle of plaited horse-hair encompassed\nhis thin attenuated form. His head was uncovered; and he seemed to have\njust risen from his couch, a board or shelf, raised only a few inches\nfrom the rock on which it lay. His eye was wild, quick, and sparkling;\nbut his cheek was deadly pale, and his features collapsed and haggard in\ntheir expression.\n\n\"I have dreamed a dream,\" said the visionary.\n\n\"And to what end?\" inquired his visitor, seating himself with great\ndeliberation.\n\n\"Nay, 'twas not a dream,\" continued the hermit: \"St Michael stood before\nme this blessed night, arrayed as thou seest him portrayed in the glass\nof his holy chapel above. His armour was all bright and glistering, and\nhis sword a devouring flame. He flapped his wings thrice ere he\ndeparted, and said unto me, 'Arise, Ulphilas, and work, for thine hour\nis come!'\"\n\n\"And what the better am I,\" said the irreverent priest, \"for this\nsaintly revelation? I must work too, or \"------\n\n\"Hold,\" said the hermit, laying his hand on the other's shoulder with\ngreat solemnity; \"speak not unadvisedly with thy lips; there be created\nintelligences within hearing that thou little knowest of.\"\n\n\"Thou didst promise; but verily the substance hath slidden from my\ngrasp: whilst I, fond fool, embraced a shadow. Cajoled by thine\nassurance, that my blood should be with the proud current that inherits\nthese domains, I forebore, and let thee work. But thou hast been a\ntraitor to my cause I do verily suspect, nay, accuse thee of this fraud.\nThy machinations and thy counsel were the cause. By thine accursed arts\nRobert de Lacy hath left his patrimony to a stranger!\"\n\n\"True, I counselled him thus. What then?\"\n\n\"I and mine are barred from the inheritance!\"\n\n\"Shall the word of the Hermit of the Rock fall to the ground? Have I not\npromised that thy blood shall be with those that inherit these domains?\"\n\n\"Promises are slender food for an hungry stomach,\" cried the unbeliever.\n\n\"If the promise fail, blame thy dastardly fears, and not my power. Thou\nshalt see the promised land thou shalt not inherit. Thy son shall\nreceive the blessing.\"\n\nThe dean looked for a moment as though he could have fawned and\nsupplicated for a reversion of the decree; but pride or anger had the\nmastery.\n\n\"And so,\" cried he, \"thou findest thy predictions run counter to thy\nschemes, perdie; for thou dost mock me in them with a double sense.\"\n\n\"How, false one? Have I not wrought for thee? Hath not he, whose corpse\nnow resteth in hope, overwhelmed thee with his favours through my\ncounsel and contrivance? I owed thee a service, for thou wast my stay\nand sustenance when driven hither an outcast from the haunts of men. But\nthoughtest thou that I should pander to thy lust, and hew out a pathway\nto thy desire?\"\n\n\"To me this!\" said the covetous intruder, his voice quivering with rage.\n\n\"Yes, to thee, Robert de Whalley,\" replied the hermit: \"because thou\nhast not leaped the last height of thine ambition, forsooth--because\nthou art not lord of these wide domains, through my interest and holy\ncommunion with the departed--and because I have not basely sold myself\nto thee, thou art offended. Beware lest the endowment be wrested from\nthy grasp, the glebe and manor pass away from thine inheritance.\"\n\n\"Thou hadst the privity and counsel of the deceased, and a whisper would\nhave made it mine,\" said the dean, with great dejection.\n\n\"Greedy and unblushing as thou art, know it was I who counselled him,\nand the deed is in my keeping. I sent a secret message unto Halton with\nthe news, and Roger de Fitz-Eustace will be here anon!\"\n\n\"Thou dreamest; he is in bondage, or slain at Ascalon.\"\n\n\"He will reappear,\" replied the hermit, \"and the banner of the\nFitz-Eustace wave on yonder turret. Hence! ungrateful member of our holy\ncommunion;--to thy house, and let an old man rest in peace.\"\n\nThe disappointed priest departed in great haste: terror, of which he\ncould not divest himself, and for which he could not account,\noverpowered him in the presence of the hermit. He durst not provoke him\nfurther; but as he crossed the courtyard again a glimpse of hope shot\nsuddenly on his soul.\n\n\"In thy keeping!\" He spoke scarcely above his breath; but the walls\nseemed to give back the sound. He started like some guilty thing at the\ndiscovery of its crime.\n\nBefore morning light on the following day the castle bell began to toll.\nPreparations were making for the conveyance of the last of the Ladies to\nthe Abbey of Kirkstall, a journey which would occupy the greater part of\ntwo successive days. The pathway over the hills was narrow, and the mode\nof conveyance difficult, if not dangerous. A sort of litter was made for\nthe corpse, and slung on a pole between two horses, covered, as in a\nbier, with the pall and trappings. A sword of ceremony was carried in\nfront; the dean rode immediately before the body, the chanters\npreceding, and a priest with the cross and censer. Behind came the male\ndomestics, and the seneschal of Halton with his train.\n\nPsalms were sung at every halting-place, and in the villages through\nwhich they passed, and torches were kept lighted during the greater part\nof the journey. These were for the purpose of being extinguished in the\nearth that should finally cover the body.\n\nThus attired, and thus attended, was this once powerful baron conveyed\nto his narrow dwelling-house in the dust.\n\nWe will not follow them further, nor detail the pomp of the funeral\nrites, that last mockery of greatness, but return to existing objects\nand events--man's ever-gnawing ambition; so vast, when living, that the\nwhole earth is too narrow for its sphere; when dead, the veriest churl\nhath as wide a possession!\n\nWeeks and months passed away, and the raw February wind grew soft in the\nwarm and joyous impulse of another spring. One night, about the hour of\nvespers, two men, habited in monkish apparel, came to the cell of the\nHermit of the Rock. After the usual salutation they entered, carrying\nwith them staff and scrip, as if bent on a long and weary travel.\n\n\"Whence come ye, and whither bound?\" said the hermit, surveying the\nintruders by the light of a solitary lamp that was burning in a niche,\nwherein stood a skull and crucifix, emblems of our faith and our\nmortality.\n\n\"We are from the Abbey of Stanlaw, on our way to Kirkstall in the\nmorning.\"\n\n\"Wherefore abide ye here? There is lodging and better cheer withal in\nthe castle above.\"\n\n\"We are under a vow, and rest not save on holy ground: we crave thy\nhospitality, therefore, and shelter for the night.\"\n\n\"Is your errand to Kirkstall hidden, or is it an open embassage?\"\n\n\"The Lady Fitz-Eustace sendeth greeting by our ministry unto the holy\nabbot through our superior at Stanlaw, beseeching that he would make\ndiligent inquiry touching the will of Robert de Lacy, once lord of this\ngoodly heritage. She hath had news of his demise, and likewise another\nmessage with an assurance that every of these possessions have been\ndevised to the Fitz-Eustace by his last will and testament. Yet this\nwriting she has not yet seen, nor knoweth she into whose custody it hath\nbeen given. Apprehending the great favours which the Cistercian house at\nKirkstall hath received from the Lacies, and the close intimacy which\nthe abbot once enjoyed, she doth conjecture that, in all likelihood, the\ntestament is in his keeping.\"\n\n\"Your journey hath need of none other reference, for the will is in my\ncustody.\"\n\n\"In thine, Sir Ulphilas?\"\n\n\"How! know ye my name already?\" said the hermit sharply, and a fierce\nglance shot from under his high and pallid brow.\n\n\"Holy St Agatha! and has not the fame and sanctity of the Hermit of the\nRock gone forth to many lands! Where the broad Mersey and the silver Dee\nroll their bright waters, thou art known by thy holiness and thy faith.\"\n\n\"And how is our good brother Roger, abbot of your monastery at Stanlaw?\"\ninquired the hermit, not deigning to notice their fulsome and flattering\nepithets.\n\n\"Holy Virgin! how knowest thou his name?\"\n\n\"And hath not the fame of your holy abbot, and the sanctity of your\nhouse, reached us even here?\" said the hermit, with a look of scrutiny\nand scorn. The visitors were silent. The hermit seized the lamp, and\nsurveyed their persons with much care and deliberation.\n\n\"Holy father,\" said the abashed intruders, \"we crave thy blessing, and\nmoreover a share of thy pittance, for our way hath been long and\ntoilsome: since yesterday our journeying hath been over hills and\nthrough deep forests, infested by wolves and noisome beasts, which we\nhad much ado to escape.\"\n\nThe hermit drew a little table from the recess, blowing the wan embers\nuntil a cheerful blaze flashed brightly through the cell. He then opened\na cupboard scooped out of the solid rock, and took thence a scrap of\nhard cheese, a barley cake, and a few parched peas, with which the holy\nmen commenced their supper. They ate their meal in silence, washing down\nthe dainties with a draught from the spring. When the repast was\nfinished, one of the brethren thus addressed his host--\n\n\"And what shall be thy message to our holy abbot? Wilt thou send the\nparchments to his grace?\"\n\n\"Nay, brethren, that is not my purpose.\"\n\nAnother and a brief pause ensued.\n\n\"But the message?\"\n\n\"Say that the will is here,\"--he looked towards his bosom as he\nspoke,--\"and at the appointed hour it shall be ready. When Roger de\nFitz-Eustace comes hither, his claim shall be duly certified.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said the wayfaring guests, in a tone of deep sorrow and\napprehension, \"he went on a warfare against the infidels.\"\n\n\"He will return,\" was the reply.\n\n\"The Virgin grant him a safe deliverance! but he tarrieth long, and a\nrumour hath lately been abroad that he fell at Ascalon.\"\n\n\"'Tis false!\" cried the hermit, roused to an unexpected burst of wrath.\nHis eyes kindled with rage, and he darted a glance at the intruders\nwhich made them cower and shrink from his rebuke. In a moment he grew\ncalm, relapsing into his usual moody and thoughtful attitude. Taking\ncourage, they again addressed him.\n\n\"Is this thy message to the abbot of Stanlaw? If so, our errand hath but\na sorry recompense.\"\n\n\"And what recompense should fall to the lot of miscreants like ye?\" said\nthe hermit, surveying them with a contemptuous glance. \"I hear the sound\nof your master's feet behind ye. Tell Robert, the proud Dean of Whalley,\nthat when he sends ye next on so goodly an errand, to see that ye con\nyour lesson more carefully, else will ye be known for a couple of errant\nknaves as ever went a-mousing into an owl's nest! Hence, begone!\" said\nthe hermit, as he drave them from his threshold; and the counterfeit\nmonks went back to Whalley in haste, reporting the ill success of their\nmission.\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" said De Whalley, \"I have some clue to the search, if\nthe glance of his eye, which these varlets have reported, do show truly\nwhere the treasure is hidden. I will foil the old fox yet with his own\nweapons.\"\n\nThis comfortable reflection, in all probability, moderated his anger at\nthe unskilful disposition of his messengers, whom he dismissed with\nlittle ceremony from his presence.\n\nIn the meantime the new castellan was exercising his power with\nunsparing and immoderate severity. Oliver de Wortshorn was almost\nheartbroken; the old man suddenly found himself reduced to the condition\nof a mere dependant on the self-will and caprice of this petty tyrant,\nhis authority having been usurped, and his office wrested from him, by\nthe hand of a stranger. Adam de Dutton[51] was the name of this new\nfunctionary, and he rode it out bravely over the necks of the servants\nand retainers, discharging some, punishing others, and making the whole\ncommunity groan beneath the iron yoke of his oppression. Had there been\na master-spirit to wield the elements of conspiracy, and unite the\nseveral members, so as to act from one common impulse, matters were just\nripe for rebellion.\n\nEarly in the morning, after a day of more than ordinary discipline,\nOliver bent his feeble steps to the hermitage. He laid his complaints\nbefore the occupier of the cell, who was ever ready to administer aid\nand comfort to the afflicted.\n\n\"Take little heed of the deputy now,\" said the holy man, \"his master\nwill be here anon. I hear the tramp of armed men, with the herald's\ntrumpet. I see the red griffin, and the banner of the Fitz-Eustace.\"\n\n\"But, holy father, Sir Ulphilas,\" replied the ejected steward, \"there is\nno peace either by night or day, and we are nigh worn out with his\nwaywardness and oppression. If it might be that your reverence would\ncome with me, peradventure the churl would grow tame at your presence.\"\n\nThe hermit, complying with this importunity, accompanied Oliver to the\ncastle.\n\nIn the hall Adam de Dutton was about consigning one of the villains,\nfor some venial offence, unto the whipping-post and the stocks. The\naccused besought his inexorable judge for some remission of the\nsentence, falling on his knees before him just as the hermit, with great\nsolemnity, entered the hall. His face was partly concealed by a large\nhood, and little of his countenance was visible above the long beard\nwhich flowed over his bosom, and the fire of his eye, which seemed to\nglow through the dark shadows beneath.\n\n\"Whom bring ye next for our disposal?\" inquired the castellan; but there\nwas no answer; every eye was directed to the hermit, who came slowly\nforward, standing opposite to, and within a very short distance from,\nthe dread arbiter of justice in the castle of the Lacies.\n\n\"What brings thee to our presence? Back to thy sanctuary; else we may\ndeal with thee as with other knaves who live by their wits and the\nwitlessness of fools.\"\n\n\"What hath this man done amiss?\" inquired the hermit, in a tone that\nshowed his meekness to be disturbed, and his wrath evidently kindling;\nnor would the thunder be long ere it followed the flash.\n\n\"It is our pleasure!\" answered Adam de Dutton, reddening with rage; \"and\nfurthermore our pleasure is, that thou get thee to thy cell, or, by the\nbeard of St Michael, my bowmen shall help thee thither when this fellow\nhath had his allowance at their hands.\"\n\n\"Fool!\" cried the hermit, in a voice which struck terror through the\nassembly; and even the judge himself started back with amazement.\n\n\"Begone, child!\" said Ulphilas to the culprit; \"I dismiss thee of the\npunishment; peradventure thou hast deserved to suffer, but I give to\nthis emissary a timely warning thereby.\"\n\nThe criminal was not loth to obey, disappearing speedily without\nhindrance, while the spectators were mute with amazement. The hermit,\ntoo, was silent before the usurper, who, almost frantic with vexation,\ncried out--\n\n\"Seize him!--help, for the Fitz-Eustace!--treason against our Lady of\nHalton!\"\n\nUttering many rapid and incoherent expressions, he approached the\nhermit, who stood unmoved, apparently the only unconcerned spectator in\nthe rising tumult. The seneschal's guards were already in motion, but\nAdam was the first who attempted the seizure.\n\nThe holy man drew back, as though from some touch of pollution.\n\n\"Hold!\" cried he, \"one touch and 'tis thy last. Rash fool, thou hast\nprovoked this rebuke!\"\n\nThe hand of the seneschal had scarcely been put forth, when, lo! the\nastonished deputy shrank back in dismay. A sudden change came over his\nangry countenance--a look of surprise mingled with horror, as though he\ncould have wished the earth to gape and hide him from the object of his\napprehensions. He stood trembling, speechless, pale as ashes, expecting\nimmediate and condign punishment. So suddenly this change was wrought\nthat the spectators fancied it to be some direct interposition from\nheaven; concluding that he was smitten for the sacreligious and profane\nhand he had dared to stretch toward this holy man. Yet was the change\nnot so sudden but that a quick-eyed observer, if such were there, might\nhave seen the hermit's outer garment loosened for a moment, and a\nsignificant whisper which the other evidently heard with such visible\ntokens of alarm.\n\nUlphilas immediately retired to his cell, and from that hour the\ncastellan discharged his official duties evidently under the control of\nsome overmastering influence or apprehension.\n\nNot long afterwards it was rumoured abroad that tidings had been heard\nfrom Roger de Fitz-Eustace, who was supposed either to be in captivity\nor to have fallen at the siege of Ascalon.\n\nThe king was still detained in prison by the Emperor Henry VI., and it\nwas only through the remonstrance of the German princes, and a threat of\nexcommunication from the Pope, that Henry, finding he could no longer\nhold him in durance, concluded a treaty for his ransom at the exorbitant\nsum of 150,000 marks, about L300,000 of our money; of which sum\ntwo-thirds were to be paid before he received his liberty, and\nsixty-seven hostages delivered for the remainder. The captivity of the\nsuperior lord was one of those cases provided for by the feudal tenures,\nand all vassals were, in that event, obliged to contribute towards his\nransom. Twenty shillings were therefore levied on each knight's fee\nthroughout England; but as this money came in slowly, and was not\nsufficient for the intended purpose, the voluntary zeal of the people\nreadily supplied the deficiency.\n\nThe churches and monasteries melted down their plate to the amount of\n30,000 marks; the bishops, abbots, and nobles paid a fourth of their\nyearly rent; the parochial clergy contributed a tenth of their tithes;\nand the requisite sum being thus collected, the queen-mother and Walter,\nArchbishop of Rouen, set out with it to Germany, paid the money to the\nemperor and the Duke of Austria at Mentz, delivered to them hostages for\nthe remainder, and freed Richard from captivity.[52]\n\nDuring these important negotiations two messengers arrived at Clitheroe,\nwho in consequence of the deputy's absence for a season, held a secret\nconference with the Dean of Whalley ere they departed. An order was left\nthat the castle should be forthwith in readiness for the reception of\nsome distinguished guest. In those days tidings travelled slowly in such\nthinly-populated districts; like the heath-fire, which extends rapidly\nwhere the fuel is thickly strewn, but is tardy in spreading where it is\nless abundant.\n\nThe dean, having received the messengers, took special care that the\nknowledge of their arrival should be kept, if possible, from the ears\nand eyes of Adam de Dutton, who happened for several days at that season\nto be hunting in the forest, where a mighty slaughter of game--wolves,\nbears, and such like--was the result; in which dangerous pastime,\nGeoffery, the dean's only son, acted a distinguished part. This bold\nadventurer was accounted the most skilful hunter in the whole range of\nthese vast forests, where the venison was so strictly kept that the life\nof a man was held in but little estimation, comparatively, with the care\nand preservation of a beast.\n\nThe Deans of Whalley, as we have before seen, were mighty hunters in\nthose days; and a wild and picturesque story is told in Dugdale's _Mon.\nAngl._. v. i., to which we have before alluded--to wit, that the\ngreat-grandfather of the present incumbent, Liwlphus Cutwolph, cut off a\nwolf's tail whilst hunting, from which he acquired this surname.\nGeoffery inherited a more than ordinary passion for the chase. With his\nbow and hunting-spear he had been known to spend many days in these deep\nand trackless recesses, where the feet of man rarely trod, and the wild\nroe and the eagle had their almost inaccessible haunts. Adam was often\nhis only companion; the seneschal's partiality for the sport having\nrendered these dissimilar spirits more akin than their nature had\notherwise permitted.\n\nOn the evening of a sultry day Ulphilas had thrown himself on his couch,\nwhen, without warning or intimation, the Dean of Whalley stood beside\nhim.\n\n\"The holy hermit hath betaken himself early to his repose. How fareth he\nin this hard cell? 'Tis long since we have met.\"\n\n\"Peradventure it might have been longer, had not news travelled to thine\near touching the safety of the Fitz-Eustace and his speedy arrival,\"\nsaid the hermit, without so much as turning his eyes toward his visitor.\nRobert de Whalley stood silent and aghast. This was a direct and\nunequivocal testimony to the prescience of the good father, for to no\nears but his own had the tidings been communicated.\n\n\"Thou knowest of his return?\"\n\n\"Yes, ere the knowledge was thine,\" said the hermit carelessly.\n\n\"There is little use in secrecy where the very walls possess a tongue;\nand seeing that the first part of mine errand is known, it may be thou\nart as well instructed in the latter, which is the true purport of my\nvisit.\"\n\n\"I am,\" replied the other quickly, now for the first time fixing his\neyes on the intruder, \"and of the issue too, I trow.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said the dean, with a long-drawn exclamation of surprise, and a\nsudden gasp as though he would have held the secret more tightly to his\nbosom; \"and who\"--\n\n\"Nay, thou art but obeying the impulse of thy nature,\" said the hermit,\nmusing. \"The brutes ye hunt obey their common instinct--and thou--Yet\nthe ravening wolf and the cunning fox ye follow, and worry to their\ndeath.\"\n\n\"Death!\" cried the dean; \"what meanest thou?\"\n\n\"Did I not counsel thee to beware? But thou wilt tumble into thine own\npitfall. The trap is laid for thine own feet!\"\n\nThe hermit sat on the low couch, and he gazed wildly round the cell as\nthough pursuing some object visible only to himself.\n\n\"Give me the parchments committed to thy trust by De Lacy, and I will\nbuild a house to thy good saint, enriching it with rare endowments.\"\n\n\"Thou wouldest drive a thrifty bargain with Heaven. Verily thou\nshouldst have the best on 't, though,\" replied the hermit, with a\ncontemptuous smile.\n\n\"Truly I could but return to Heaven the bounties that it gave; yet would\nI, peradventure, build, for His honour and glory, to whom all things\nbelong, a habitation, the like whereof hath not been seen for\nstateliness and grandeur,\" said the dean, with affected reverence and\nhumility of spirit.\n\n\"Others may do that as well as thou.\"\n\n\"But will he, whose coming is now at hand, make so costly a sacrifice\nfor the welfare of the Church? I will found an abbey, holy father,\nconsecrate to thy patron, wherein thou shalt be the ruler. I purpose to\nenrich it with half my possessions, even of those whereby, through thy\nministry, I do become entitled from the death of Robert de Lacy.\"\n\n\"Which meaneth, if I but aid thee to rob another of some large and\ngoodly inheritance, thou wilt give to Heaven, forsooth, a portion of\nwhat belongs not to thee.\"\n\n\"Once thou didst promise me thine aid.\"\n\n\"To robbery and rapine?\"\n\n\"I have not wronged _thee_!\"\n\n\"Nor I\"--\n\n\"Thou hast; the inheritance is mine; thou hast robbed me of my right,\nbut I will regain these lands or perish on them.\"\n\n\"And so thou mayest, unblushing traitor.\"\n\n\"Traitor!--ah! this word to me?\"\n\n\"Yes, to thee, Robert de Whalley!\"\n\n\"Thou art in my power, old man; ere I entered thy cell I left a trusty\nkeeper at the door,\" cried the dean, with a grin of savage exultation.\n\n\"In thy power!--never, miscreant.\"\n\n\"Give the deed to my keeping, and no harm shall happen thee; refuse, and\nthou art my prisoner. Force may accomplish my wishes without thy\ncompliance.\"\n\nThe hermit's eyes glistened like twin fires in their hollow recesses. He\nstood erect, confronting his visitor, who, bold in audacity and guilt,\nrepeated his demand.\n\n\"Never!\" said the hermit.\n\n\"Then die, fond dotard!\" cried De Whalley; and, sudden as the\nlightning-stroke, he drew a dagger from his vest, aiming a blow at the\nhermit's bosom; but, marvellous to relate, the steel hardly penetrated\nthe folds of his drapery, glancing back with a dull sound, his person\nremaining uninjured. A look of unutterable scorn curled the features of\nthe charmed, and apparently invulnerable, being before him.\n\n\"Cowardly assassin!\" he cried, \"I hold thy threats at less worth than a\nhandful of this base dust beneath my feet, and utterly defy thy power. I\nam free as the untrammelled air, and thou mayest as well attempt to\ngrasp the shadow or the sunbeam!\"\n\nSwift as the words he uttered the hermit disappeared! The effect was so\nsudden, aided, in all likelihood, by the dimness and obscurity of the\ncell, that, to the astonished apprehension of De Whalley, Ulphilas had\nmade himself more impalpable than the air he breathed, sinking like a\nshadow through the rocky floor.\n\n\"Thou hast escaped me, fiend,\" said the dean, gnashing his teeth with\nvexation; \"but I will overmatch thy spells: with the aid of this good\nhand I may yet retrieve the inheritance.\"\n\nSaying this, he left the cell, and returned to his home at Whalley.\n\nEarly on the morrow the hermit entered the hall where Adam de Dutton was\npreparing for another expedition to the forest. The seneschal looked\nuneasy and surprised, but acknowledged his presence with great respect\nand humility.\n\n\"Adam de Dutton, thou hast other work to do,\" cried the holy man, \"than\nrambling after these fools i' the forest! Thy lord will be here anon.\"\n\n\"How! whom meanest thou?\" inquired the castellan, with a vacant stare of\nastonishment.\n\n\"Roger de Fitz-Eustace. He is at hand; see thou prepare to meet him.\"\n\n\"Surely thou mockest, Roger de\"--\n\n\"Peace! The last beam of to-morrow's sun shall see the banner of the\nFitz-Eustace beneath the gate.\"\n\n\"To-morrow! Why--how cometh my lord? Surely thou dreamest--or thy\"--\n\n\"Once more I warn thee of his coming; see to his reception, or thy lord\nwill be wroth; and Roger with the ready hand was not used to be\nover-nice, or loth in the administering of a rod to a fool's back.\"\n\nThe hermit departed without awaiting the reply.\n\nBut great was the stir and tumult in the stronghold of the Lacies on\nthat memorable day. The hurrying to and fro of the victuallers and\ncooks--the clink of armourers and the din of horses prancing in their\nwarlike equipments--kept up an incessant jingle and confusion. A\nwatchman was stationed on the keep, whose duty it was to give warning\nwhen the dust, curling on the wind, should betoken the approach of\nstrangers. The guards were set, the gates properly mounted, and the\ndrawbridge raised, so that their future lord might be admitted in due\nform to his possession.\n\nThe sun went gloriously down towards the wide and distant verge of the\nforest, and the brow of Pendle flung back his burning glance. Nature\nseemed to welter in a wide atmosphere of light, from which there was no\nescape. Panting and oppressed, the hounds lay basking by the wall, and\nthe shaggy wolf-dog crept, with slouching gait and lolling tongue, from\nthe glare into the shadow of some protecting buttress. The watchman sat\nbeneath the low battlements, hardly able to direct his aching eyes\ntowards the forest path below the hill. The monotony of this dull and\nweary task was reiterated until the very effort became habitual, and he\ncould scarcely recognise or identify any change of object from the\nabsorption of his faculties by the listlessness it created. One slight\ncurl of dust had already escaped him, another waved softly above the\ntrees where the path wound upwards from the valley. Again it was\nvisible, and the watchman seemed to awaken as from a lethargy or a\ndream. Strangers were surely approaching, but without retinue, as the\nwreath of dust, from its slight continuance, would seem to intimate.\nJust as he came to this conclusion, two horsemen swept into view, where\na broad turn of the road was visible, disappearing again rapidly behind\nthe arched boughs of the forest.\n\nBounding almost headlong down the narrow stair, he ran immediately to\nthe hall, informing the deputy of what he had seen. Scarce had he\nconcluded when a hoarse blast from the horn rang at the outer gate. Adam\nde Button hurried to the postern, where he saw two horsemen, bearing\nunequivocal signs of their allegiance to the renowned constable of\nChester. They wore what was then considered a great novelty in dress,\nthe tabord or _supertotus_, a sleeveless garment, consisting of only two\npieces, which hung down before and behind, the sides being left\nopen.[53] Low-crowned yellow caps covered their heads, and the upper\ntunic was yellow, richly embroidered, reaching only to the knees. They\nwore forked beards, well pointed, and gloves and boots of beautiful\nSpanish leather. Their horses were low, but of an exquisite symmetry,\nand the beasts were pawing and champing before the gate when Adam\nhastened down into the courtyard. These were avant couriers or\nmessengers from Roger de Fitz-Eustace, whom they announced as being\nnigh, and to be expected ere nightfall, with his daughter Maud, a maiden\nmuch renowned for her beauty.\n\nAs the sun sank deeper into the gloom of the woods, and the shadows grew\nlong on the green and sunny slope of the hill, the wild shrill notes of\na clarion rung through the forest glades; a distant burst of martial\nmusic was heard, together with the roll of a drum--an instrument\nborrowed from the Saracens, and in use only after the crusades.\n\nNow went forth Adam de Dutton and his train bareheaded to meet their\nlord, whom they found riding at a slow pace, conversing familiarly, but\nattentively, with the Dean of Whalley. Behind him came the blushing Maud\non a beautiful white palfrey, and beside her a comely youth, in a fair\nhunting-suit, the son of De Whalley, who, by his fervid and impassioned\nglances, showed himself apt in other and nobler exercises than the\nupland chase and the forest cover could afford.\n\nRoger de Fitz-Eustace, the terror and scourge of the Welsh, and by them\ncalled \"Hell,\" from the great violence and ferocity of his temper, was\nthen about forty years old. He was clothed in a light suit of armour,\nthe hauberk, with the rings set edgewise, reaching down to the knees.\nHis helmet was cylindrical, the _avantaille_, or face-guard, thrown up.\nHe wore a coloured surcoat; a fashion that seems to have originated with\nthe Crusaders, not only for the purpose of distinguishing the different\nleaders, but as a veil to protect the armour, so apt to heat excessively\nwhen exposed to the direct rays of the sun. It was of a violet colour,\nwithout any distinctive mark or badge. His highly-decorated shield was\nborne behind him, the three garbs and the lions being chiefly\nconspicuous in the marshalling: the former, the original bearing of Hugh\nLupus, was often used by the constables of Chester, in compliment to\ntheir chief lord. Its shape was angular, and suspended from the neck by\na strap called guige or gige, a Norman custom of great antiquity. A huge\nbroadsword was carried by his armour-bearer, the person of the chief\nbeing without any further means of impediment or defence than a French\nstabbing sword, fastened on one side of his pommel, and a stout\nbattle-axe on the other. The horse was decorated with great and costly\nprofusion. At a short distance rode William de Bellomonte, the baron's\ninseparable companion. A small train of archers and cross-bowmen brought\nup the rear of the escort, save the baggage and sumpter horses, laden\nnot only with provisions but cooking utensils, and even with furniture\nfor the household. In those days it was a matter both of economy and\nnecessity for the occupants or lords of several castles to travel with\naccompaniments of this sort; though possessing many residences, most of\nthem had the means and even conveniences only for the furnishing of one.\n\nThe seneschal and his train alighted, doing homage to their lord, who\nwas conducted with great pomp and ceremony into the fortress, now lapsed\nfor ever from the blood and succession of the Lacies; yet Roger de\nFitz-Eustace and his descendants, probably in commemoration of the\nsource whence originated their great honours and endowments, were ever\nafterwards styled by the surname of De Lacy; and, strange as it may\nappear, his father, John, constable of Chester, who died fifteen years\npreviously to this event, and who founded the Cistercian abbey of\nStanlaw, the parent establishment of Whalley, though he had not the\nslightest pretensions to the name of Lacy, was popularly invested with\nthe name. It is still more singular that the mistake should have been\ncommitted by Henry de Lacy, the last of the line of the Fitz-Eustace,\nthird in descent from Roger, in the foundation-charter of Whalley Abbey,\nwhere he expressly styles his ancestor \"Joh. de Lacy, Const. Cest.\"\n\nAccompanied by her father and her female attendants, the \"gentle\" maiden\nentered the hall. She was stately and beautifully formed, with little\nshow of her lineage except the high forehead and well-formed nose of the\nFitz-Eustace. She was enveloped from head to foot in a long gown or\nhabit; over this was cast a richly-embroidered purple silk surcoat or\ncloak, embellished with those ephemeral absurdities called\npocketing-sleeves. These hung from the wrists almost to the ground,\nshowing an opening or pocket which might have supplied the place of a\nlady's arm-bag in our own era. A wimple or peplus was thrown over the\nhead; a sort of hood, which, instead of covering the shoulders, was\nbrought round the neck beneath the chin like a warrior's gorget, giving\nan exceedingly stiff and muffled appearance to the upper part of the\nfigure.\n\nGeoffery was unremitting in his attentions, and his father seemed as\nassiduous in his court to the fierce Crusader, who listened intently to\nsome private intelligence which the dean was evidently much interested\nin communicating. The following were the only words that could be\ndistinguished at the dismissal of the courteous De Whalley, as he\nretired a few paces ere he departed:--\n\n\"To-morrow be it,\" said Fitz-Eustace, \"after matins, and we will hear\nthee further in this matter: let him then be conveyed to our presence.\"\n\nThe dean retired, but at dawn he was again present in the chantry of St\nMichael, within the castle.\n\nFierce came the beams of the morning sun through the eastern oriel of\nthe hall, and the guards and retainers of this feudal fortress were\nwaiting the appearance of their lord. Lounging idly at the great\nentrance were those more immediately in attendance on their chief, some\nplaying at _merelles_, or nine-men's morris; others tilting with mimic\narms, and twanging the bowstring. The pikemen were drawn up in the\ncourtyard, awaiting orders from their superior. Their glittering weapons\nflung back the morning light in sharp flashes to the sky; while on the\ntower the dark pennon hung motionless and drooping in the sultry air.\n\nThe news of his arrival had drawn hither not a few of the surrounding\npeasantry to gaze upon the pomp and to pay homage at the court of their\nfeudal lord; and a crowd of idlers was accumulating beneath the walls of\nthe fortress.\n\nThe breakfast meal being over, the baron entered through a side door\nbehind a rude bench, overhung with faded drapery, which formed an\nelevation for the chief. His cheek was scorched and darkened with the\nburning suns of Palestine, while his beard seemed to have been whitened\nin that fiery clime. He was now habited in a rich purple cope or gown,\nfitting close, without sleeves or armholes, and embellished with a deep\ngold-coloured border, the Anglo-Saxon mantle being now discarded by\npersons of distinction. The tunic underneath was of scarlet, bordered\nwith real ermine, which, together with the low square cap or coronet\nthat he wore, gave him something of a regal appearance. A leash of\nhounds crouched at his feet. Before and below him the heralds and\nofficers of the household arranged themselves, amongst whom Adam de\nDutton was conspicuous by his ludicrously-solemn attitude and\nappearance. The whole scene had the aspect of a military tribunal,\nespecially when Roger de Lacy (by which name we shall now distinguish\nhim) ordered that silence should be proclaimed, and that the Dean of\nWhalley should be summoned to his presence.\n\nRobert de Whalley immediately presented himself, with arms folded, and\nan air of great ceremony in his behaviour.\n\n\"Thou hast been prompt to our bidding; the lark, I trow, had but newly\nrisen from her bed ere thou wast away from thine,\" said the baron.\n\n\"Three weary miles through this grim forest is good speed ere matins;\nbut I knew the occasion was urgent, and my lord's commands admit not of\ndelay. The palfrey which you so pleasantly noted yestereen is the sole\ncompanion of my pilgrimages to and fro for the good of this noble house.\nI did offer prayers for the soul of the deceased ere matins this\nmorning, in the chapel.\"\n\n\"Hast heard aught of, or communicated with, the traitor thou didst\ndenounce to me privily yesterday?\"\n\n\"Being holden as one of great sanctity, by common report, peradventure\nit were dangerous to lay hands on him without an express warranty from\nour chief.\"\n\n\"He shall be summoned to our court. Adam de Dutton\"--\n\n\"Stay, my lord,\" said the wily dean. \"I would, with all due submission,\nurge that caution were best in this matter.\"\n\n\"Caution, De Whalley! and to what end? Are not the Lacies able to\nexecute as well as to command? or is the lax ministration of justice now\ncomplained of throughout the realm prevailing here also? By the beard of\nHugh Lupus, I will be heard, and obeyed too!\"\n\n\"In good sooth, my lord, I see nor let nor hindrance in this matter,\nprovided that he whom we seek were of such ordinary capacities that be\ncommon to flesh and blood, and subject to the same laws; but when we\nhave to cope with the devil, we must use his subtilty. Pardon me, my\nlord,\" continued the accuser, seeing symptoms of impatience gathering on\nthe brow of the haughty chieftain, \"though I am plain of speech, yet is\nit the more easily understood. This delinquent of whom we speak hath\nnot, as the general report testifieth, the same nature and existence as\nour own. He useth magic--I have credible testimony thereto, my\nlord;--and anointeth his body so that it shall be invisible. The free\nunconfined air is not more accessible to the scared bird than rocks and\nwalls are to this impalpable mockery of our form; and yet he may be\ndealt with.\"\n\n\"Troth, a man of many faculties. How came he thus?\"\n\n\"The vulgar do imagine that by dint of great maceration and humility, by\nprayer and fasting, he hath attained communion with angels; but I\nsuspect they be those of the bottomless pit!\"\n\n\"And why should he withhold the deed?\"\n\n\"I know not, save that he purposeth by fraud and subtilty to cast these\nfair possessions into the treasury of the holy church, and build an\nabbey hereabout, the like whereof hath not been seen for glory and\nmagnificence.\"\n\n\"Doth he then deny our right to the inheritance? The Lady Fitz-Eustace\nhad a fair copy of the deed, purporting to be sent by the holy confessor\nwho shrived the testator in his extremity. But how hath this canting\nhermit gotten the writing into his possession?\"\n\n\"I know not, my lord, unless it be that the like arts have enabled him\nto appropriate it by other means than those of honesty and good faith.\nBut give me a band of men, together with leave so to deal with him as I\nshall see fit, and I trust ere long to render a good account of the\nmatter. I will come upon him unawares, ere he can render his body\ninaccessible, and lay hold of the traitor.\"\n\n\"Traitor!\" echoed a voice from behind a screen at the lower extremity of\nthe hall. Every eye was turned in that direction; when lo! the hermit\nhimself, the end and object of their deliberations, stalked forth,\nunquestioned and unobstructed.\n\nThe baron rose, and his grim eyebrows were fiercely knit and contracted.\nHe looked inquiringly towards the dean, who, for a moment, was\nconfounded by this unexpected event. Yet his presence of mind and\nfertility of expedient did not forsake him.\n\n\"Let him be instantly bound, my lord,\" whispered De Whalley, \"and holden\nby main force, or he will escape like a limed bird from the twigs. Let\nhim be led forthwith to the dungeon, where I myself will question him.\nIt is not fitting that this plotter should practise devilish devices\nupon our assembly.\"\n\nAt a signal from their chief the soldiers surrounded him; but the\nhermit, whose features were still hidden by the cowl, took hold of the\nforemost, and with an incredible strength, dashed him to the ground. The\nothers drew back intimidated.\n\n\"Treason, my lord, treason!\" cried the dean; \"you behold him even in\nyour presence exercising forbidden arts. Away with him to the dungeon!\nGuards, do your office.\"\n\n\"Miscreant, beware!\" said the hermit. De Whalley, though bold and\ngenerally undaunted, started back at the sound.\n\n\"What, this lawless intromission to our face, and in our council too?\"\ncried the baron. \"Seize that hooded kite, knaves, or I will hang every\none o' ye on the Furca ere the sun be two hours older!\"\n\nRoger de Lacy, in a threatening attitude, approached the guards, who now\nenvironed the hermit, using more caution than before. Suddenly they\nrushed upon him, and he was pinioned ere he could make the least\nresistance.\n\nAt this moment, so anxiously hoped for and expected by the dean, the\nlatter pushed towards him. Thrusting his hand into the hermit's bosom,\nthe long-coveted parchment was in his grasp, and in a twinkling it was\nconveyed to his own.\n\n\"How now!\" cried the baron, \"wherefore in such haste? I trow the deed is\nours!\"\n\nWith a great show of obedience and respect he drew the parchment again\nfrom beneath his robe, and holding it cautiously beside him, exclaimed--\n\n\"My lord, ere this be read is it not prudent that we convey the traitor\nto the dungeon, lest by his subtilty the writing be wrested from our\ngrasp?\"\n\nThe hermit, yet held in close custody of the guards, cried with a loud\nvoice--\n\n\"Who is the traitor let the walls of my cell bear witness, when they\nheard him offer a heavy bribe that this, the only evidence to the right\nof the Fitz-Eustace, might be destroyed!\"\n\n\"Fatherest thou the accursed progeny of thine avarice upon me?\" cried\nthe dean, apparently indignant at so unjust an accusation.\n\n\"Give me the roll,\" said the constable, \"and we will confront him by\nwhat he would have withheld. After we have made our own right secure, we\nadjudge him to his deserts.\"\n\nThe dean was obliged, however unwillingly, to obey; handing forward the\nparchment, which Roger de Lacy unfolded in the presence of the hermit.\nBut it would be impossible to describe the consternation of the\nchieftain when he read therein a formal grant, bequeathing the whole of\nthese vast possessions to Robert de Whalley and his heirs for ever.\n\nThe dean, apparently with surprise, and a well-feigned indignation at\nthe fraud which the hermit intended to have put upon him, exclaimed--\n\n\"I had a grievous suspicion long ago that this hoary hypocrite would\nplay me false; and indeed his great unwillingness to show the deed led\nme to think that he meditated some deadly wrong.\"\n\n\"But wherefore,\" inquired the chieftain, \"should there be messengers to\nHalton with news and credentials so explicit that the estate was left\nwithout let or encumbrance to the Lady Fitz-Eustace? A web of mystery is\nhere which we will speedily unravel. Who gave thee this deed? and\nwherefore shouldest thou conceal it?\" said he, addressing the hermit.\n\n\"Roger de Fitz-Eustace,\" replied the prisoner, \"thine honour is abused.\nThat lying instrument was never in my charge.\"\n\n\"Why hast thou refused to render up the deed?\"\n\n\"Lest it should fall into the hands of robbers, and thou shouldest be\ncheated of thine inheritance. This traitor hath long had an eye to the\npossession.\"\n\n\"'Tis his,\" returned the constable, sternly, \"by this good title.\"\n\n\"'Tis a fraud--a base attempt put forth by this cut-purse to wrest it\nfrom thee. Search him, and if thou findest not another, and of a\ndifferent tenor, hidden about his goodly person, let me die a traitor's\ndeath.\"\n\n\"I see not that our power hath need of such a pleasant exercise. Thou\nart accused by him of treachery; and verily 'tis a vain attempt to rid\nthee of the charge to throw back the accusation upon him thou hast\nwronged.\"\n\n\"My Lord de Fitz-Eustace,\" said the dean,--but Roger looked displeased\nat this style and address, reminding him so soon of the departure of his\nlately-assumed title De Lacy,--\"your ear and mine have been too long\nabused by this plotting wizard. He is now subject to my authority.\nHereby do I assume my rights, and arraign the culprit before my\ntribunal.\"\n\nThe ambitious churchman approached the judgment-seat, whereon he was\njust ascending; but the hermit, with a desperate effort, burst from his\nbonds, and ere the guards could arrest him, he had grasped his adversary\nby the throat.\n\n\"Traitor, I warned thee beforetime. Now will I unrobe thy villany to its\nvery nakedness.\"\n\nThe hermit, thrusting one hand beneath the garment of his victim, drew\nforth the real deed, which had been dexterously exchanged by the wily\npriest for his own fraudulent imposture. He then loosened his grasp, and\nplaced the real instrument in the hands of the baron.\n\n\"'Tis a forgery--- a base disposal of my rights,\" roared out the\ninfuriate and detected hypocrite.\n\nBut Roger de Lacy immediately saw that the deed was to a similar purport\nwith the copy which had been sent by some unknown hand, immediately on\nthe death of the testator, to Halton Castle.\n\nWith a look of devouring and terrible indignation he cried out--\n\n\"Though thou wert the holy pontiff himself, and all the terrors of the\nChurch were at thy command, thou shouldst not escape my vengeance, thou\ndaring priest! To the Furca!--his offence is repugnant to my\nnostrils--'tis rank with treason!\"\n\n\"Hold!\" cried the mysterious hermit; \"I have promised him protection,\nnor shall the promise be foregone.\"\n\n\"Thou!\" cried the warrior, with unfeigned astonishment; \"and who art\nthou that seemest here the arbiter of destiny, whether good or evil?\"\n\n\"A sinful but heaven-destined man,\" replied the hermit, meekly.\n\n\"Our vengeance slumbereth not,\" said the chief; \"the sentence is gone\nforth, and he dies ere sunset.\"\n\n\"Not so,\" replied the hermit, again assuming the attitude of command.\n\n\"By the beard of Hugh Lupus, he dieth.\"\n\n\"He doth, but not by thy decree.\"\n\n\"How! methinks the fever of disloyalty hath seized you all: the\ninfection hath so tainted your nature that a skilful leech, whom I\nemploy in cases of emergency, will be of service--my headsman, or\nhangman, as shall seem most fitting. He dies, I tell thee, though the\nsaints themselves were interceding.\"\n\n\"I have promised,\" said the hermit again, with the confidence of\ncareless superiority.\n\nAdam de Dutton, who had hitherto been waiting anxiously for an\nopportunity to communicate with his lord, now whispered something in his\near.\n\n\"How!\" said the bewildered chieftain; \"'tis said thou wearest the badge\nof our house, and art thyself under some surreptitious disguise.\"\n\n\"I wear no disguise,\" returned the hermit calmly; \"what thou seest is my\nbadge, and will be, Heaven permitting, until I die.\"\n\n\"Who art thou?\"\n\n\"A sinful mortal like thyself; but worn down with long vigils and\nmaceration. Lord of as wide inheritance as thou, and yet a tenant only\nin a narrow cell!\"\n\n\"Thou speakest riddles;--thy meaning?\"\n\n\"I was an outcast, though heir to a vast heritage. I vowed that if He,\nwhose prerogative it is, would cleanse me from my stains, my life should\nthenceforth be His, and consecrate to Heaven. I was a leper; but my\nprayer was heard. I washed in yonder holy well which gushes from the\nrock, whose virtues had been reported to me. Washing daily, with faith\nand prayer, I was healed. I found close by a convenient hermitage; and\nmany caverns and secret chambers, with hidden passages and\ncommunications, had been dug therefrom, by which I could pass to and\nfro, and thus visit the castle unseen. I was the confessor and companion\nof Robert de Lacy. At my desire, he left the whole of his domains to the\nFitz-Eustace. But thou art not the eldest-born of thy father.\"\n\n\"My eldest brother has long been dead. He was a leper; his cruel disease\ndrove him from the haunts of men. The last we knew of him, he went forth\nwith cup and clapper as they are wont. Soon after news arrived of his\ndecease.\"\n\n\"Was he not driven forth by rude and cruel taunts, the rather?\" said the\nhermit, gazing with unaverted eye on the haughty chieftain. \"This noble\nbirth and heritage are mine! Behold, 'tis thus I repay your injustice!\"\n\nHe threw off his cloak; underneath appeared a complete suit of proof\narmour, and a surcoat, on which was emblazoned the badge of the\nFitz-Eustace.\n\n\"I am Richard Fitz-Eustace, thine elder brother! Nay, put off that brow\nof discontent. I claim not my birthright; the vows of Heaven are upon\nme, and to thee and thine will this good inheritance devolve. One right\nonly do I claim--this prisoner is free. Was he not my stay and\nsustenance when the fiat of Heaven guided me hither? He sheltered me,\nand had pity on mine infirmity. Moreover, he had some well-founded\nexpectancy towards these domains, by reason of kindred to the Lacies,\nhad they not been devised by will to the Fitz-Eustace. His blood is\nnoble as our own. He thinks there is injustice in the deed, but not to\nhim shall the atonement come. Thou hast a daughter, and my prescience\nhath this consequence, that by her this rankling wound shall be healed.\nIf so be that he have found favour in her sight, let her and the son of\nthis ambitious priest be joined together in the bonds of holy wedlock;\nfor my word is gone forth--his blood mingles with ours.\"\n\nThe whole assembly were aghast with this thrilling discovery. The baron\nwould have embraced his brother; but the gloomy ascetic forbade. He left\nthe hall, returned to his cell, and but a short period elapsed ere the\ngrave he had prepared with his own hands was closed over his corpse--the\nperiod of his sojourn having been shortened, no doubt, by the\nausterities and mortifications he deemed himself called upon to endure.\n\nMaud was shortly afterwards united to Geoffery de Whalley, unto whom her\nfather granted the Villa de Tunley or Townley, and the manor of\nColdcoats, with Snodworth, as a marriage portion. From them is descended\nthe present owner of Townley, nephew to that celebrated scholar and\nantiquary, Charles Townley, the twenty-ninth in descent from\nSpartlingus, the first Dean of Whalley upon record. The latter was\npredecessor to Cutwulph, whose exploits in the days of Canute we have\nbefore noticed.\n\nSoon afterwards died Robert de Whalley, his departure hastened, it is\nsaid, by grief and chagrin at the loss of these long-coveted\npossessions.\n\nRoger de Lacy died 1st October A.D. 1211, after a long and active life,\nspent between his arduous wars and invasions of the Welsh, and his no\nless arduous journeyings to and fro between the castles of Clitheroe and\nPontefract, where he spent the latter part of his days. He was succeeded\nby John de Lacy, his eldest son, who, by marriage with Margaret,\ndaughter and co-heiress of Robert, son of De Quincy, Earl of Winchester,\nbecame Earl of Lincoln by patent from Henry III., the monarch having\nre-granted this title to him and his heirs for ever.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[49] Baines's _Lancashire_.\n\n[50] Whitaker's _History of Whalley_.\n\n[51] At the commencement of a list of \"_Senescalli de Blackburnshire,_\"\noccurs the name of \"_Adam de Dutton, temp. Rog. et Joh. de Lacy_.\" Dr\nWhitaker says: \"This Adam de Dutton is one of the witnesses to the\nfoundation-charter of Stanlaw, A.D. 1178; and a Dominus Adam occurs as\nsteward in the charters of John de Lacy, who succeeded Roger A.D. 1211;\nso that, if both these names design the same person, which I believe, he\nmust have held the office of seneschal at least thirty-three years.\"\n\n[52] Hume.\n\n[53] Like the knave on playing-cards, who is still depicted in this\ndress.\n\n[Illustration: THE GREY MAN OF THE WOOD; OR, THE SECRET MINE.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE GREY MAN OF THE WOOD;\n\nOR,\n\nTHE SECRET MINE.\n\n\n    \"_Humph_. Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens?\n      _K. Hen_. More than I seem, and less than I was born to;\n    A man at least, for less I should not be;\n    And men may talk of kings, and why not I?\n      _Humph_. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.\n      _K. Hen_, Why, so I am, in mind, and that's enough.\n      _Humph_. But if thou be a king, where is thy crown?\"\n\n--_King Henry VI_.\n\nWaddington Hall, the site of the following legend, says Pennant, \"is a\nstone house, with some small ancient windows, and a narrow winding\nstaircase within, now inhabited by several poor families; yet it\nformerly gave shelter to a royal guest. The meek usurper, Henry VI.,\nafter the battle of Hexham, in 1463, was conveyed into this county,\nwhere he was concealed by his vassals for an entire twelvemonth,\nnotwithstanding the most diligent search was made after him. At length\nhe was surprised at dinner at Waddington Hall, and taken near Bungerley\nHippingstones in Clitherwood. The account which Leland gives from an\nancient chronicle concurs with the tradition of the country, that he was\ndeceived--_i.e._ betrayed--by Thomas Talbot, son and heir to Sir Edmund\nTalbot, of Bashal, and John his cousin, of Colebry. The house was beset;\nbut the king found means to get out, ran across the fields below Waddow\nHall, and passed the Ribble, on the stepping-stones, into a wood on the\nLancashire side, called Christian Pightle, but being closely pursued,\nwas there taken. From hence he was carried to London, in the most\npiteous manner, on horseback, with his legs tied to the stirrups. Rymer\nhas preserved the grant of a reward for this service, of the estates of\nSir Richard Tunstall, a Lancastrian, to Sir James Harrington, by Edward\nIV., dated from Westminster, July 9th, 1465.\"\n\nAt that time Waddington belonged to the Tempests, who inherited it by\nvirtue of the marriage of their ancestor, Sir Roger, in the reign of\nEdward I., with Alice, daughter and heiress of Walter de Waddington. An\nalliance had just been made between the Tempests and the Talbots. It may\nbe presumed, that in order to save their estates (which they afterward\nwere suffered quietly to possess), they agreed with Sir James to give up\nthe saintly monarch, which was the reason that the latter had the reward\nfor what the grant calls \"his great and laborious diligence in taking\nour great traitor and rebel, Henry, lately called Henry VI.\"\n\nFar different was the conduct of Sir Ralph Pudsey, of Bolton Hall, where\nthe king was concealed for some months prior to his appearance at\nWaddington. Quitting Bolton, probably from some apprehension that his\nretreat was in danger of being discovered, he left behind him the\nwell-known relics which are still shown to the curious. These are a pair\nof boots, a pair of gloves, and a spoon. The boots are of fine brown\nSpanish leather, lined with deer-skin, tanned with the fur on; about the\nankles is a kind of wadding under the lining, to keep out wet. They have\nbeen fastened by buttons from the ankle to the knee; the feet are\nremarkably small (little more than eight inches long); the toes round,\nand the soles, where they join to the heel, contracted to less than an\ninch in diameter.\n\nThe gloves are of the same material, and have the same lining; they\nreach up, like women's gloves, to the elbow; but have been occasionally\nturned down, with deer-skin outward. The hands are exactly proportioned\nto the feet, and not larger than those of a middle-sized woman. In an\nage when the habits of the great, in peace as well as war, required\nperpetual exertions of bodily strength, this unhappy prince must have\nbeen equally contemptible from corporeal and from mental imbecility.[54]\n\nA well adjoining to Bolton Hall still retains his name. He is said to\nhave ordered it to be dug and walled round for a bath; and it is much\nvenerated by the country people to this day, who fancy that many\nremarkable cures have been wrought there.\n\nIt is not generally recorded that the science of alchemy was much\nencouraged by the royal visionary. Though he had commissioned three\nadepts to make the precious metals, and had not received any returns,\nhis credulity remained unshaken, and he issued a pompous grant in favour\nof three other alchemists, who boasted that they could not only\ntransmute metals, but could impart perpetual youth, with unimpaired\npowers both of mind and body, by means of a specific called the _Mother\nand Queen of Medicines, the Celestial Glory, the Quintessence or Elixir\nof Life._ In favour of these \"three lovers of the truth, and haters of\ndeception,\" as they styled themselves, Henry dispensed with the law\npassed by his grandfather, Henry IV., against the undue multiplication\nof gold and silver, and empowered them to transmute the precious metals.\nThis extraordinary commission had the sanction of Parliament; and two\nout of the three adepts were the heads of Lancashire families--viz., Sir\nThomas Ashton of Ashton, and Sir Edmund Trafford of Trafford. These\nworthy knights obtained a patent for changing metals, 24 Hen. VI. The\nphilosophers, probably imposing upon themselves as well as others, kept\nthe king's expectation wound up to the highest pitch; and in the\nfollowing year he actually informed his people that the happy hour was\napproaching when, by means of the _stone_, he should _be able to pay off\nhis debts_[55]\n\nWith regard to the prophecy or denunciation made by him against the\nTalbots, recorded in our legend, Dr Whitaker observes,--\"Something like\nthese hereditary alternations of sense and folly might have happened,\nand have given rise to a prophecy fabricated after the event; a real\nprediction to this effect would have negatived the words of\nSolomon,--'Yea, I have hated all my labour which I had taken under the\nsun; because I should leave it unto the man that shall be after me; and\nwho knoweth whether he shall be a wise man or a fool?'\n\n\"This, however, is not the only instance in which Henry is reported to\nhave displayed that singular faculty, the _Vaticinium Stultorum_.\"[56]\n\nIn 798, this place was noted for the defeat of Wada, the Saxon chief, by\nAldred, king of Northumberland. He was one of the petty princes who\njoined the murderers of King Ethelred. After this overthrow he fled to\nhis castle, on a hill near Whitby, and dying, was interred not far from\nthe place. Two great pillars, about twelve feet asunder, mark the spot,\nand still bear the name of \"Wada's Grave.\"\n\nIt was on a bright and glorious summer evening, in the year 1464, while\nthe red glare of sunset was still in the west, and a wide blush of\npurple passed rapidly over the distant fell and the blue and heath-clad\nmountain, that a group of labourers were returning from their daily toil\nthrough the forest glades that skirt the broad and beautiful Ribble\nbelow Waddow. Some of them were of that class called hinds, paying the\nrents of their little homesteads by stated periods of service allotted\nto each; in this respect differing but little from the serfs and\nvillains of a more remote era, their toil not a whit less irksome,\nthough their liberty, in name at least, was less under the control and\ncaprice of their lord.\n\nTwo of the peasants loitered considerably behind the rest, seemingly\nengrossed by a conversation too interesting or too important for the\nears of their companions. The elder of the speakers was clad in a coarse\nwoollen doublet; a belt of untanned leather girt his form; and on his\nhead was a cap of grey felt, without either rim or band. His gait was\nheavy and slouching. Strong, tall, and muscular, he stooped\nconsiderably; but less through age and infirmity than from the laborious\nnature of his occupations. His companion, younger and more vivacious,\nwas distinguished by a goodly and well-thriven hump, and by that fulness\nand projection of the chest which usually characterise this species of\ndeformity. His long arms nearly trailed to the ground as he walked; huge\nand sprawling, they seemed to have been originally intended as an\nattachment to a frame of much more gigantic proportions. His face had\nthat peculiar form and expression which always, more or less, accompany\nthis kind of malformation. Wide, large, angular; the chin sharp and\nprojecting, supported on the breast; the whole head scarcely rivalling\nthe shoulders in height and obliquity. His disposition was evidently\nwayward and irascible, and a keen satirical humour lurked in every line\nof his pallid visage; generally at war with his species, and ready to\nact on the defensive; snarling whenever he was approached, and always\nanticipating gibe and insult from his fellows.\n\n\"Weary, weary,--ay, as a tom-fool at a holiday feast,\" said the\nhunchback to his companion. \"Spade and axe have I lifted these twenty\nyears, and what the better am I o' the labour? A groat's worth of wit is\nworth a pound o' sweat,' as my dame says. I'll turn pedlar some o' these\ndays, and lie, and cheat, and sell.\"\n\n\"Ay, Gregory,\" interrupted the other, \"thee'd sell thy own paws, if so\nbe they'd fetch a groat i' the market; but then, I warrant, the dame at\nthe hall would lack her henchman at the churn.\"\n\n\"Tut! I care for nought living but my worthless carcase,\" replied the\nhunchback, surveying his own person. \"Why should I? there's nought\nliving that cares for me. Sure as fate, if a' waur dead beside, we'd ha'\ncurran' baws i' the pot every day. What a murrain is it to this hungry\nmaw whether Ned Talbot, or Joe Tempest, or any other knave o' the pack,\ntumbles into his berth, or is put to bed wi' the shovel, a day sooner or\nlater. He maun budge some time. Faugh! how I hate your whining--your\ncat-a-whisker'd faces, purring and mewling, while parson Pudsay says\ngrace over the cold carrion; he cares not if it waur hash'd and stew'd\ni' purgatory, so that he gets the shrift-money. Out upon't, Ralph, out\nupon it! this mattock should delve a' the graves i' the parish, if I\ncould get a tester more i' my fist.\"\n\n\"Thou murdering tyke! wouldst dig my grave?\"\n\n\"Ay,\" shouted Gregory with a grin, displaying a huge double crescent of\nwhite teeth, portals to a gulf, grim, hideous, and insatiable; \"ay, for\nSt Peter's penny.\"\n\n\"And leave me to knock at the gate, and never a doit to pay the porter?\"\n\n\"Thou shouldst cry and howl till doomsday, though my pouch had the\nkeeping of a whole congregation of angels.\n\n\"Keep out o' my way, cub--unlicked brute!\" cried the infuriate Ralph;\n\"keep back, I say, or I may send thee first on thine errand to St Peter.\nTake that, knave, and\"--\n\nBut the malicious hunchback stepped aside, and the blow, aimed with a\nhearty curse at this provoking lump of deformity, fell with a murderous\nforce upon a writhen stem, which bore witness to the willing disposition\nwith which the stroke was dealt. Gregory was laughing and mocking all\nthe while at the impotent wrath of his companion.\n\n\"A groat's worth for a penny, I'm not yet boun' for St Peter's blessing,\nthough, old crump-face!\" cried the learing impertinent, one thumb\nbetween his teeth, and the little finger thrust out in its most\nexpressive form of derision and contempt.\n\n\"Hush--softly, prithee,\" said the offended party, his anger all at once\nunder the influence of a more powerful feeling. He stood still, in the\nattitude of listening, earnestly bending forward with great solicitude\nand attention.\n\nHe pointed to some object just visible through the arches of the wood,\nin the dim twilight.\n\n\"There is the grey man o' the mine again, as I live, Gregory; we'd best\nturn back, for our companions are gone out of hearing.\" The terrified\nrustic was preparing for immediate flight, but Gregory caught him by the\nbelt.\n\n\"How now! stand to thy ground, man,\" said he; \"I've had speech at him\nnot long ago. We came upon one another suddenly, to be sure, and I could\nnot well escape, so I stood still. He did the same, shook his pale and\nsaintly face, and, with a wave o' the hand, bade me pass on.\"\n\n\"But look thee,\" replied the other, \"I'm bodily certain he walks without\na shadow at his tail. See at that big tree there; why, the boughs bend\nbefore he touches 'em, like as they were stricken wi' the wind. I\ndeclare if the very trees don't step aside as if they're afraid of him.\nI'll not tarry here, good man.\"\n\nDisengaging himself from the other's gripe, Ralph ran through the wood\nin an opposite direction, and was soon out of sight. A loud shout from\nGregory followed him as he fled, which only served to quicken his speed;\nand the hunchback was left alone. The figure which was the moving cause\nof this cowardly apprehension almost immediately disappeared behind a\nprojecting crag, at the base of which grew a thick skirting of\nunderwood; but Gregory pursued cautiously in the same direction. He had\nheard strange stories of demons guarding heaps of treasure; and it was\ncurrently reported that in former times a mine had been secretly worked\nin these parts for fear of discovery; all mines yielding gold and\nsilver, so as to leave a profit from the working, being considered as\n\"mines royal,\" and regarded as the property of the king.[57] Gregory's\nprevailing sin was avarice; and oftentimes this vice put on the\nappearance of courage, by rendering him daring for its gratification,\nthough at heart a coward. He thought that if the treasure were once\nwithin his grasp neither man nor demon should regain it.\n\nFor a short time past this part of the forest had been commonly reported\nas the haunt of a spectre, in the likeness of a man clad in grey\napparel, who by some was supposed to be an impalpable exhalation from a\nconcealed mine existing in the neighbourhood. It is well known that\nthese places are generally guarded by some covetous demon, who, though\nunable to apply the treasures to their proper use, yet strives to hinder\nany one else from gaining possession.\n\nGregory had once encountered it unexpectedly, face to face, but he did\nnot then follow--surprise and timidity preventing him. He, however,\nresolved that, should another opportunity occur, he would track the\nspectre to its haunt, and by that means find out the opening and\nsituation of the mine.\n\nHe now crept slowly towards the crag, behind which the figure had\nretired. Looking cautiously round the point, he again saw the dim\nspectral form only a few yards distant. Suddenly he heard a low whistle,\nand the next moment the mysterious figure had disappeared--not a vestige\ncould be traced. He thrust his huge head between the boughs for a more\nuninterrupted survey, but nothing was seen, save the bare escarpment of\nthe rock, and the low bushes, behind which the phantom had, a moment\nbefore, been visible. Though somewhat daunted, he crept closer to the\nspot, but darkness was fast closing around him, and the search was\nfruitless.\n\n\"Humph!\" said the disappointed treasure-hunter audibly; \"daylight and a\nstout pole may probe the mystery to the bottom. I'll mark this spot.\"\n\n\"Mark this spot,\" said another voice at some distance, repeating his\nwords like an echo. The rock was certainly within \"striking distance,\"\nand it might have been this accident which lent its aid to the delusion.\n\nGregory could not withstand so apparently supernatural an occurrence. He\ntook to his heels, driven fairly off the field; nor did he look behind\nhim until safely entrenched before a blazing fire in the kitchen at\nWaddington Hall.\n\n\"Out, ill-favoured hound!\" said a serving wench, who was stirring a\nblubbering mess of porridge for supper. But Gregory was not in the\nhumour to reply: he sat with one long lean hand under his chin, the\nother hung down listlessly to his heels, which were drawn securely under\nthe stool on which he sat. His thoughts were not on the victuals, though\nby long use and instinct his eyes were turned in that direction.\n\n\"Thee art ever hankering after the brose, thou greedy churl!\" continued\nthe wench, wishful to goad him on to some intemperate reply.\n\nBut Gregory was still silent. At this unwonted lack of discourse, Janet,\nwho generally contrived to bring his long tongue into exercise, was not\na little astonished. It needed no great wit, any time, to set him\na-grumbling; for neither kind word nor civil speech had he for kith or\nkin, for man or maid.\n\nLooking steadfastly towards him, she struck her dark broad fists upon\nher hips, and, in a loud and contemptuous laugh, abruptly startled the\ncynic from his studies. He eyed her with a grin of malice and vexation.\n\n\"Thou she-ape, I wonder what first ye'arn made for; the plague o' both\nman and beast,--the worst plague that e'er Pharaoh waur punished wi'.\nScreech on; I'll ha' my think out, spite o' thy caterwauling.\"\n\n\"Thou art a precious wonder, Master Crab. Squirt thy verjuice, when thou\nart roasting, some other way. I wonder what man-ape thy mother watch'd\ni' the breeding. She had been special fond o' children, I bethink me.\"\n\n\"And what knowest thou o' my dame's humours, thou curl-crop vixen?\" said\nGregory, unwarily drawn forth again from his taciturnity. \"How should\nher inclinations be subject to thy knowledge?\"\n\n\"She rear'd thee!\" was the reply.\n\nTwo other hinds belonging to the household, who were watching the issue\nof the contest, here joined in a loud clamour at the victory; and\nGregory, dogged with baiting, became silent, scowling defiance at his\nfoe.\n\nWaddington Hall was at that period a building of great antiquity.\nCrooks, or great heavy arched timbers, ascending from the ground to the\nroof, formed the principal framework of the edifice, not unlike the\ninverted hull of some stately ship. The whole dwelling consisted of a\nthorough lobby and a hall, with a parlour beyond it, on one side, and\nthe kitchens and offices on the other. The windows were narrow, scarcely\nmore than a few inches wide, and, in all probability, not originally\nintended to contain glass.\n\nThe chimneys and fireplaces were wide and open; the apartments, except\nthe hall, low, narrow, and inconvenient, divided by partitions of oak,\nclumsy, and ill-carved with many strange and uncouth devices. The hall\nwas, on the right of the entrance, lighted by one long low window; a\nmassy table stood beneath. The fireplace was on the opposite side,\noccupying nearly the whole breadth of the chamber. A screen of wainscot\npartitioned off the lobby, carved in panels of grotesque workmanship.\nBeyond the hall was the parlour, furnished as usual with an oaken\nbedstead, standing upon a ground-floor paved with stone. In this\ndormitory, the timbers of which were of gigantic proportions, slept\nMaster Oliver and Mistress Joan Tempest,--the latter not a little given\nto that species of uxorious domination which most wives, when they apply\nthemselves heartily to its acquisition, rarely fail to usurp.\n\n\"Here,\" says Dr Whitaker (this being the general style of building for\ncenturies, and scarcely, if at all, deviated from),--\"here the first\noffspring of our forefathers saw the light; and here too, without a wish\nto change their habits, fathers and sons in succession resigned their\nbreath. It is not unusual to see one of these apartments now transformed\ninto a modern drawing-room, where a thoughtful mind can scarcely forbear\ncomparing the past and present,--the spindled frippery of modern\nfurniture, the frail but elegant apparatus of a tea-table, the general\ndecorum, the equal absence of everything to afflict or to transport,\nwith what has been heard, or seen, or felt, within the same walls,---\nthe logs of oak, the clumsy utensils, and, above all, the tumultuous\nscenes of joy or sorrow, called forth, perhaps, by the birth of an\nheir, or the death of an husband, in minds little accustomed to restrain\nthe ebullitions of passion.\n\n\"Their system of life was that of domestic economy in perfection.\nOccupying large portions of his own domains; working his land by oxen;\nfattening the aged, and rearing a constant supply of young ones; growing\nhis own oats, barley, and sometimes wheat; making his own malt, and\nfurnished often with kilns for the drying of corn at home, the master\nhad pleasing occupation in his farm, and his cottagers regular\nemployment under him. To these operations the high troughs, great\ngarners and chests, yet remaining, bear faithful witness. Within, the\nmistress, her maid-servants, and daughters, were occupied in spinning\nflax for the linen of the family, which was woven at home. Cloth, if not\nalways manufactured out of their own wool, was purchased by wholesale,\nand made up into clothes at home also.\"[58]\n\nThis is a true picture of the simple habits of our ancestors, and will\napply, with little variation, to the scene before us.\n\nHere might be seen the carved \"armoury,\"--the wardrobe, bright, clean,\nand even magnificent. On the huge rafters hung their usual store of\ndried hams, beef, mutton, and flitches of bacon. In the store-room,\ngreat chests were filled to the brim with oatmeal and flour. All wore\nthe aspect of plenty, and an hospitality that feared neither want nor\ndiminution.\n\nIn one corner of the hall at Waddington sat Mistress Joan, her only\ndaughter Elizabeth, and two or three female domestics.\n\nThey had been spinning, trolling out the while their country ditties\nwith great pathos and simplicity.\n\nBeing nigh supper-time, the group were just loitering in the twilight\nere they separated for the meal.\n\n\"Come, Elizabeth,\" said her mother, \"lay thy gear aside; the\nstrawberries are in the bowl, and the milk is served. Supper and to bed,\nand a brisk nap while morning.\"\n\nThe dame who addressed her was a perfect specimen of the good housewife\nin the fifteenth century. She wore a quilted woollen gown, open before,\nwith pendant sleeves, and a long narrow train; a corset, fitted close to\nthe body, unto which the petticoats were attached, and a boddice laced\noutside. She wore the horned head-dress so fashionable towards the close\nof the fourteenth century, and at that time still in use, giving the\nhead and face no slight resemblance to the ace of hearts. An apron was\ntied on with great care, ornamented with embroidery of the preceding\ncentury. Her complexion, was dark but clear, and her eyebrows high and\nwell-arched. Her mouth was drawn in, raised slightly on one side,--a\nconformation more particularly apparent when engaged in scolding the\nmaids, or in other similar but indispensable occupations.\n\nHer gait was firm, and her person upright. Her age--ungallant historians\nwe must be--was verging closely upon sixty; yet her hair, turned crisp\nand full behind her head-dress, showed slight symptoms of the chill\nwhich hoar and frosty age, sooner or later, never fails to impart.\n\nElizabeth Tempest was young, but of a staid and temperate aspect, almost\napproaching to that of melancholic. Her complexion, pale and sallow; her\neye full, dark, and commanding, though occasionally more languor was on\nit than eyes of that colour are wont to express. She wore a long jacket\nof russet colour, and a crimson boddice. Her hair, turned back from her\nbrow, hung in dark heavy ringlets below the neck, which, though not of\nalabaster, was exquisitely modelled. In person she was tall and\nwell-shapen, and her whole manner displayed a mind of no ordinary\nproportions. She was well-skilled in household duties, her mother having\nan especial desire that her daughter should be as notable and thrifty as\nherself in domestic arrangements.\n\n\"Elizabeth,\" or \"Elspet,\" as she was indiscriminately called, cared\nlittle about her reputation touching these important functions. She\ncould sing most of the wild legendary ballads of the time; her rich full\nvoice had in it a sadness ravishingly tender and expressive, more akin\nto woe, and the deep untold agony of the spirit, than to lightness and\nmirth, in which she rarely indulged.\n\n\"Give us one of thy ditties ere supper,\" said the dame, who was just\nthen laying aside her implements in the work-press. \"I wonder thy father\ndoes not return. The roofs of Bashall ring with louder cheer than our\nown, I trow. He is playing truant for the nonce, which is dangerous play\nat best.\"\n\n\"Is he now at our cousin Talbot's?\" inquired the maiden, with a look of\nmore than ordinary interest.\n\n\"If he be not on the way back again,\" returned the dame, as though\nwishful to repress inquiry.\n\n\"The woods are not safe so late and alone. Comes he alone, mother?\"\n\n\"Alone! Ay,--and why spierest thou?\" The dame looked wistfully, though\nbut for a moment, on her daughter; then changing her tone, as if to\nrecommend a change of subject, she cried--\n\n\"Come, ha' done, Elspet; we will wait no longer than grace be said. Now\nto thy song.\"\n\nThe maiden began as follows:--\n\n    1.\n    \"There sits three ravens on yon tree,\n        Heigho!\n    There sits three ravens on yon tree,\n    As black, as black, as they can be.\n      Heigho, the derry, derry, down, heigho.\n\n    2.\n    \"Says the first raven to the other,\n        Heigho!\n    Says the first raven to the other,\n    'We'll go and eat our feast together.'\n      Heigho, &c.\n\n    3.\n    \"'It's down in yonder grass-grown field,\n        Heigho!\n    It's down in yonder grass-grown field,\n    There lies a dead knight just new killed.'\n      Heigho, &c.\n\n    4.\n    \"There came a lady full of woe,\n        Heigho!\n    There came a lady full of woe,\n    And her hands she wrung, and her tears did flow.\n      Heigho, &c.\n\n    5.\n    \"She saw the red blood from his side,\n        Heigho!\n    She saw the red blood from his side,--\n    'And it was for me my true love died!'\n      Heigho, &c.\n\n    6.\n    \"'Oh, cruel was my brother's sword,\n        Heigho!\n    Oh, cruel, cruel, was his sword,\n    But sharper the edge of one scornful word.'\n      Heigho, &c.\n\n    7.\n    She laid her on his bosom cold,\n        Heigho!\n    She laid her on his bosom cold,\n    While adown his cheek her tears they rolled.\n      Heigho, &c.\n\n    8.\n    \"No word she spake, but one sob gave she,\n        Heigho!\n    No word she spake, but one sob gave she:\n    Said the ravens, 'Another feast have we,\n    And long shall thy rest and thy slumbers be.'\n      Heigho, the derry, derry, down, heigho!\"\n\nAt the concluding stanza in walked Oliver Tempest, who, as if to avoid\nnotice, sat down, without uttering a word, in a dark corner at the\nopposite side of the hall. He looked moody, and wishful to be alone.\nJoan, for a while, forbore to interrupt his reverie, and the females\nfinished their evening repast in silence.\n\n\"Is Sir Thomas Talbot yet returned from the Harringtons?\" inquired the\ndame soon after, with an air of assumed carelessness.\n\n\"He returned an hour only ere I departed.\"\n\nAnother pause ensued.\n\n\"And his son Thomas, comes he back from the Pudsays of Bolton? Does the\ngentle Florence[59] look on him kindly, or is the wedding yet delayed?\"\n\n\"I know not,\" was the brief reply. After a short pause he\ncontinued--\"The wanderer has left Bolton, I learn, and, 'tis said, he\nbides at Whalley.\"\n\nHere he cast a furtive look at the domestics, and then at his wife, as\nthough wishful to ascertain if others had understood this intimation.\n\n\"Nay, some do boldly affirm that he has been seen i' these very woods,\"\ncontinued he, lowering his voice to a whisper.\n\n\"Which Heaven forefend!\" said the wary dame. \"I would not that he should\ndraw us down with him to the same gulf wherein his fortune is\no'erwhelmed. No luck that woman ever brought him from o'er sea, and now\nshe's gone\"--\n\n\"They say that she hath escaped to Flanders,\" said Oliver, hastily\ninterrupting her.\n\n\"I wish he had been so fortunate,\" said the dame; \"what says our cousin\nTalbot?\"\n\n\"Hush, dame; our plans are not yet ripe. But more of this anon.\"\n\nElizabeth listened with more interest than usual. Every word was eagerly\ndevoured, and with the last sentence she could not forbear inquiring--\n\n\"And Edmund?--surely Edmund Talbot is not\"--\n\n\"What?\" sternly inquired her father; \"what knowest thou of--? Said I\naught whereby thou shouldst suspect us?\"\n\n\"Hush, thou foolish one,\" said the more cautious dame; \"thy thought\nalone was privy to it, and so no more. There be others listening.\"\n\nThe moonbeams now crept softly into the chambers, whither, too, crept\nthe weary household; the master and his wife remaining for a short time\ntogether in the hall, apparently in earnest discussion. But Elizabeth\nretired not to her couch. She passed softly through the courtyard,\nlooking round as though in search of some individual. This proved to be\nthe hunchback Gregory, whom she found esconced behind a peat-stack in\nmarvellous profundity of thought. With a soft step, and one finger\nraised to her lips, she gently tapped him upon the shoulder.\n\nLooking round, he saw her gesture and was silent.\n\n\"Gregory, art thou honest?\" she inquired, in a whisper.\n\n\"Why, an' it be, Mistress Elspeth, when it suits with my discretion;\nthat is, if discretion be none the worse for it, eh?\"\n\n\"Thou art ever so, Gregory; and yet\"--\n\n\"If ye want honesty, eschew a knave, and catch a fool by the cap. None\nbut fools worry and distemper themselves with this same pale-faced\nwhining jade, that will leave 'em i' the lurch at a pinch, Dame Honesty,\nforsooth. More wit, more wisdom; and there is a plentiful lack of wit in\nyour honest folk,\" continued the cynic, as though pursuing a train of\nthought to its ultimate development.\n\n\"Gregory, thou art not the rogue thee seems. I think beneath that rough\nand captious speech there lurks more honesty than thou art willing to\nacknowledge. Thou hast been angered with baiting until thou wouldst run\nat every dog that comes into the paddock, though he fawned on thee, and\nwere never so trusty and well-behaved.\"\n\nGregory was silent. He looked upwards to the bright moon and the\nquenched orbs that lay about her path. Again Elizabeth whispered, first\nlooking cautiously around--\n\n\"Wilt do me a service?\"\n\n\"Ay, for hire,\" he quickly answered.\n\n\"If thine errand is done faithfully, thou mayest get more largess than\nthou dream'st of.\"\n\n\"Ye want a spoon belike, that ye soil not your delicate fingers?\"\n\n\"Ay, Gregory, an' thou wilt, we 'll first use thee.\"\n\n\"And then the spoon shall be broken, I trow. Well, if I am a spoon, I'll\nbe a golden one, and I shall be worth something when I'm done with.\nUnderstand ye this, fair mistress?\"\n\n\"Yes, knave; and thou shalt have thy reward.\"\n\n\"What! I shall swing the highest, eh?\"\n\n\"Peace; I want a messenger. Take this.\"\n\n\"Not treason, I trow,\" said Gregory, as he eyed the billet with a\ncurious but hesitating glance.\n\n\"Go by the nearer path to the wood. Where the road divides to the ford\nand the farther pastures; take the latter, then turn to the right, where\nthe old fir-tree rises above the rock. Walk carefully through the bushes\nat the base of the crag. Near unto a sharp angle of the rock thy path\nwill be stayed by a fallen tree. Grasp this with both hands, and whistle\nthrice. I know thou canst be trusty and discreet. Yet remember thy life\nis in my power shouldst thou fail.\" She paused, pointing significantly\nat the billet. \"Now hasten. Bring back, and to me only, what shall be\ncommitted to thy care. I will expect thee at my window by midnight.\"\n\nNow it so happened that this precise spot was identified to Gregory's\napprehensions with the very place where his attention had that night\nbeen directed by the mysterious disappearance of the grey man of the\nmine. He would certainly have preferred making his second visit by\ndaylight; but needs must when a woman drives, especially when that woman\nis a mistress, and gold is the goad. Besides he might perchance get a\nglimpse of the treasure; and his pockets were wide and his gripe close.\nThus stimulated to the adventure, he addressed himself to perform her\nbehest.\n\nThe night was singularly clear, and the shadows lay on his path, still\nand beautifully distinct. As he hastened onwards the wood grew darker\nand more impervious. Here and there the moonbeams crept fantastically\nthrough the boughs, like fairy lamps glimmering on his path. Sometimes,\npreternaturally bright, the wood seemed lit up as though for some magic\nfestival. He followed the directions he had received, pausing not until\nhe saw the dark fir-tree rearing its broad crest and gigantic arms into\nthe clear and twinkling heaven. It looked like the guardian genius of\nthe place,--a huge monster lifting its terrific head, as though to watch\nand warn away intruders. Beside this was the rock where his adventure\nmust terminate.\n\nWith more of desperation than courage he scrambled through the bushes.\nNot daring to look behind him--for he felt as though his steps were\ndogged, an idea for which he could not account--he made his way with\ndifficulty by the crag until he came to a fallen tree that had\napparently tumbled from the rock. Laying hold of the trunk he whistled\nfaintly. It was answered; an echo, or something even more indistinct,\ngave back the sound. His heart misgave him; but he stood committed to\nthe task, and durst not withdraw. Again he whistled, but louder than\nbefore, and again it was repeated. With feelings akin to those of the\ncondemned wretch when he drops the fatal handkerchief, he sounded the\nlast note of the signal. His breath was suspended. Suddenly he felt the\nground give way beneath his feet, and he was precipitated into a chasm,\ndark, and by no means soft at the nether extremity.\n\nThis was a reception for which he was not prepared. He had sustained a\nsevere shock; but luckily his bones were whole. Recovering from his\nalarm, he heard a low jabbering noise, and presently a light, which, it\nseems, had been extinguished by his clumsiness, was again approaching.\n\nThe intruder saw, with indescribable horror, a hideous black dwarf\nbearing a torch. He was dressed in the Eastern fashion. A soiled turban,\ntorn and dilapidated, and a vest of crimson, showed symptoms of former\nsplendour that no art could restore. This mysterious being came near,\nmuttering some uncouth and unintelligible jargon; while the unfortunate\ncaptive, caught like a wolf in a trap, looked round in vain for some\noutlet whereby to escape. The only passage, except the hole through\nwhich he had tumbled, was completely filled by the broad, unwieldy lump\nof deformity that was coming towards him. The latter now surveyed him\ncautiously, and at a convenient distance, croaking, in a broken and\nforeign accent--\n\n\"What ho! Prisoner, by queen's grace. Better stop when little door shall\nopen. Steps, look thee, for climb; hands and toes; go to.\"\n\nGregory now saw that steps, or rather holes, were cut in the sides of\nthe pit wherein he had fallen, or rather been entrapped. These he ought\nto have used when the trap-door was let down; and he remembered his\nmistress's caution, to hold fast by the tree. There were, however, no\nmeans of escape that way, as the door had closed with his descent.\n\nThe ugly thing before him was ten times more misshapen than himself; and\nat any other time this flattering consideration would have restored him\nto comparative good-humour.\n\nHe was not in the mood now to receive comfort from any source. He felt\nsore and mightily disquieted. Limping aside, he angrily exclaimed--\n\n\"Be'st thou the de'il, or the de'il's footman, sir blackamoor? I'd have\nthee tell thy master to admit his guests in a more convenient fashion.\nHang me, if my bones will not ache for a twelvemonth. My back is almost\nbroke, for certain.\"\n\nHere the other bellowed out into a loud laugh, pointing to Gregory's\nback, then surveying himself, and evidently with congratulation at his\nown more imaginary prepossessing appearance.\n\n\"Sir knight,\" said the black dwarf, \"what errand comes to our mighty\nprince?\"\n\n\"Tut! if it be his infernal kingship ye mean, I bear not messages to one\nof his quality.\"\n\n\"Thee brings writing in thy fist. Go to!\"\n\n\"From a woman, fallen in love wi' thee, belike. Well, quit me o' woman's\nfavours, say I, if this be of 'em.\"\n\n\"Well-a-day, sir page,\" cried the grinning Ethiop, whose teeth looked\nlike a double row of pearls set in a border of carnelian, \"my mistress\nbe a queen: I do rub the dust on thy ugly nose if that red tongue wag\nmore, for make bad speech of her. Go to, clown!\"\n\n\"Ill betide thee for a blackamoor ape,\" said Gregory, his courage waxing\napace when his fears of the supernatural began to subside; \"and\nwherefore? Look thee, Mahound, though my mistress sent me to such a\nlady-bird as thou art, Master Oliver shall know on't. Thou hast won her\nwith spells and foul necromancie; but I've commandment from him to catch\nall that be poaching on his lands. Thou art i' the mine, too, as I do\nverily guess; therefore I arrest thee i' the king's name, as a lifter of\nhis treasure, and a spoiler of our good venison.\"\n\nGregory, being stout-limbed, and of a more than ordinary strength for\nhis size, proceeded forthwith to execute his threat; but the dwarf, with\na short shrill scream, gave him a sudden trip, which again laid the\nofficious dispenser of justice prostrate, without either loosing the\ntorch from his hand, or seeming to use more exertion than would have\nthrown a child.\n\n\"Ah, ah, there be quits. Lie still; go to; lick thy paws. Know, dog, I'm\nbody to the queen!\"\n\n\"Body o' me, I think thee be'st liker fist and crupper. I would I had\nthee in a cart at holiday-time, and a rope to thy muzzle,\" said the\nastonished Gregory. He had dropped his billet in the scuffle, which the\ndwarf seized, opening it without ceremony.\n\n\"A message. Good; stay here, garbage; I be back one, two, t'ree,\" and\naway straddled the black monster along the passage. Turning suddenly,\nbefore he was aware, into another avenue, leading apparently far into\nthe interior, Gregory was left once more in total darkness. He heard the\nsound of retreating footsteps, but not a glimmer was visible, and he\nfeared to follow lest he might be entangled in some inextricable\nlabyrinth. He recollected to have heard a vague sort of tradition, that\na subterraneous passage once led from the hall to the Ribble bank,\nwhereby the miners had in former days kept their operations secret.\n\nThese were the haunts, too, of poachers and deer-stalkers, who made use\nof such hiding-places to screen their nocturnal depredations. He might\nbe gotten unknowingly into one of their retreats, and he knew the\ncharacter of such men too well to venture farther into their privy\nplaces without leave. But it was strange this ugly and insane thing\nshould be kept here. Its outlandish accent, too, as far as Gregory could\ndistinguish, was still more unaccountable; and that his young mistress\nshould hold any intercourse with such a misshapen mockery of the human\nform was a mystery only to be resolved by a woman! After all, his first\nconjecture might be true, and this delicate sprite the ministering demon\nto some magician who brooded over the treasure.\n\nHe grew more timorous in the dark. His own breathing startled him. He\nrevolved a thousand plans of escape; but how was it possible to climb to\nthe pit-mouth without help, and in total darkness? The door, too, would\nprobably defy his attempts to remove it. Suspense was not to be endured.\nHe would have been glad to see the ugly dwarf again, rather than remain\nin his present evil case.\n\nHe now tried to grope out his way, from that sort of undefinable feeling\nwhich leads a person to identify change of place with improvement in\ncondition.\n\nEre he had gone many yards from the spot, however, he saw a light, and\npresently the flaming torch was visible, with the ugly form he desired.\n\n\"Sir messenger, allez. Make scrape and go backward. Bah! What for make\nlady chuse ugly lout as thee for page?--not know, not inquire. Up, this\nway; now mind the steps. Bah, not that, fool!\"\n\nWith some difficulty Gregory was initiated into the mysteries of the\nascent. The torch was brandished high above his head, and with fear and\ntrepidation he prepared to obey.\n\n\"But, master sooty-paws, my mistress will be a-wanting of some token;\nsome reply. Hast thou no memory of her sweet favours?\"\n\n\"Begone, slave-dog, begone! Say we be snug as the fox that will keep in\nthe hole when dogs go hunt. We not go up again till lady sends leave. Go\nto!\"\n\nGregory mounted with great difficulty. When he approached the mouth,\nlooking upward for some mode of exit, he saw the trap-door slowly open,\nand he leapt forth into the free air; the cool atmosphere and the quiet\nmoonlight again upon his path. He soon cleared the bushes, and once more\nwas on his way to the house. Elizabeth met him at the gate.\n\n\"What ho, sirrah!\" said she, \"hast thou been loitering with my message?\nI left my chamber to look out for thee. What answer? Quick.\"\n\n\"Why, forsooth, 'tis not easy to say, methinks, for such jabber is hard\nto interpret. By my lady's leave, I think\"--\n\nHere he paused; but Elizabeth was impatient for the expected reply.\n\"Softly, softly, mistress. I but thought your worship were ill bestowed\non yonder ugly image.\"\n\n\"Tut, I'm not i' the humour for thine. What message, simpleton?\"\n\n\"None, good mistress; but that they be snug until further orders.\"\n\n\"'Tis well; to rest; but hark thee, knave, be honest and discreet; thou\nshall win both gold and great honours thereby.\"\n\n\"What! shall I ha' my share o' the treasure?\" inquired Gregory, his eyes\nglistening in the broad moonlight.\n\n\"What treasure, thou greedy gled?\"\n\n\"Why they say 'tis a mine royal, and\"--\n\n\"How! knowest thou our secret?\"\n\n\"Ay, a body may quess. I've not found the road to the silver mine for\nnought. If I get my grip on't, the king may whistle for his share\nbelike.\"\n\n\"The king! what knowest thou of the king?\" said the maiden sharply.\n\n\"Eh! lady, I know not on him forsooth. Marry it would be hard to say who\nthat be now-a-days; for the clerk towed me\"--\n\n\"Peace! whom sawest thou?\"\n\n\"Why the ugliest brute, saving your presence, lady, that my two een ever\nlippened on.\"\n\n\"None else?\"\n\n\"No, no; I warrant ye, the miners wouldna care to let me get a glint o'\nthe gowd. I only had a look at the hobgoblin, who they have set, I\nguess, to watch the treasure.\"\n\n\"Oh! I see,--ay, truly,\" said the maiden thoughtfully; \"the mine is\nguarded, therefore be wary, and reveal not the secret, lest he crush\nthee. Remember,\" said she at parting, \"remember the demon of the cave.\nOne word, and he will grind thy bones to grist.\"\n\nGregory did remember the power of this mysterious being, who, he began\nto fancy, partook more of the supernatural than he had formerly\nimagined.\n\nWearied with watching, he slept soundly, but his dreams were of wizards\nand enchanters; heaps of gold and fairy palaces, wherein he roved\nthrough glittering halls of illimitable extent, until morning dissipated\nthe illusion.\n\nSome weeks passed on, during which, at times, Gregory was employed by\nhis mistress, doubtless to propitiate this greedy monster, in conveying\nfood secretly to the mouth of the chasm. He did not usually wait for his\nappearance, but ran off with all convenient speed when his errand was\naccomplished. Still his hankering for the treasure seemed to increase\nwith every visit. He oft invented some plan for outwitting the demon,\nthereby securing to himself the product of the mine. Some of these\ndevices would doubtless have been accomplished had not fear prevented\nthe attempt. He had no wish to encounter again the hostility of that\nfearful thing in its unhallowed abode.\n\nHis mistress, however, would, at some period or another, no doubt, be in\npossession of all the wealth in the cave, and he should then expect a\nhandsome share. He had heard, in old legends, marvellous accounts of\nladies marrying with these accursed dwarfs for gold, and if he waited\npatiently he might perchance have the best of the spoil.\n\nHe brooded on this imagination so long that he became fully convinced\nof its truth; but still the golden egg was long in hatching.\n\nOne night he thought he would watch a while. He had just left a large\nbarley-cake and some cheese, a bowl of furmety, and a dish of fruit.\n\n\"This monster,\" thought he, \"devours more victuals than the worth of his\nugly carcase.\"\n\nHe hid himself behind a tree, when presently he heard a rustling behind\nhim. Ere he could retreat he was seized with a rude grasp, and the gruff\naccents of his master were heard angrily exclaiming--\n\n\"How now, sir knave?--What mischief art thou plotting this blessed\nnight? Answer me. No equivocation. If thou dost serve me with a lie in\nthy mouth I'll have thee whipt until thou shall wish the life were out\no' thee.\"\n\nGregory fell on his knees and swore roundly that he would tell the\ntruth.\n\n\"Quick, hound; I have caught thee lurching here at last. I long thought\nthou hadst some knavery agoing. What meanest thou?\"\n\nGregory pointed towards the provision which was lying hard by.\n\n\"Eh, sirrah! what have we hear?\" said his master, curiously examining\nthe dainties. \"Why, thou cormorant, thou greedy kite, is't not enough to\nconsume victuals and provender under my own roof, but thou must guttle\n'em here too? I warrant there be other company to the work, other\ngrinders at the mill. Now, horrible villain, thou dost smell fearfully\no' the stocks!\"\n\n\"O master, forgive me!--It was mistress that sent me with the stuff, as\nI hope the Virgin and St Gregory may be my intercessors.\"\n\n\"Thy mistress!--and for whom?\"\n\n\"Why, there's a hole close by, as I've good cause to remember.\"\n\n\"Well, sirrah, and what then?\"\n\n\"As ugly a devilkin lives there as ever put paw and breech upon hidden\ntreasure. 'Tis the mine, master, that I mean.\"\n\n\"The mine! What knowest thou of the mine?\"\n\n\"I've been there, and\"--\n\nHere he related his former adventure; at the hearing of which Oliver\nTempest fell into a marvellous study.\n\n\"Hark thee,\" said he, after a long silence; \"I pardon thee on one\ncondition, which is, that thou take another message.\"\n\nHere the terrified Gregory broke forth into unequivocal exclamations of\nagony and alarm.\n\n\"Peace,\" said his master, \"and listen; thou must carry it as from my\ndaughter. I suspect there's treason lurks i' that hole.\"\n\n\"Ay, doubtless,\" said Gregory: \"for the neibours say 'tis treason to\nhide a mine royal.\"\n\n\"A mine royal! Ay, knave, I do suspect it to be so. By my troth, I 'll\nferret out the foulmarts either by force or guile. And yet force would\navail little. If they have the clue we might attempt to follow them in\nvain through its labyrinths, they would inevitably escape, and I should\nlose the reward. Hark thee. Stay here and I'll fetch the writing for the\nmessage. Stir not for thy life. Shouldst thou betray me I'll have thy\ncrooked bones ground in a mill to thicken pigs' gruel.\"\n\nFearful was the dilemma; but Gregory durst not budge.\n\nThe night grew dark and stormy, the wind rose, loud gusts shaking down\nthe dying leaves, and howling through the wide extent of the forest. The\nmoan of the river came on like the agony of some tortured spirit. The\nsound seemed to creep closer to his ear; and Gregory thought some evil\nthing was haunting him for intruding into these unhallowed mysteries.\n\nHe was horribly alarmed at the idea of another visit to the cave, but he\ndurst not disobey. He now heard a rustling in the bushes by the cavern's\nmouth. He saw, or fancied he saw, something rise therefrom and suddenly\ndisappear. It was the demon, doubtless, retiring with his prey. He\nscarcely dared to breathe lest the hobgoblin should observe and seize\nhim likewise. But his presence was unnoticed. He, however, thought that\nthe blast grew louder, and a moan more melancholy and appalling arose\nfrom the river. Again Oliver Tempest was at his side.\n\n\"Take this, and do thy bidding.\" He thrust the billet into his hand,\nwhich the unfortunate recipient might not refuse.\n\nTrembling in every limb, he approached the place of concealment; but he\nwas too wary now to let go his hold of the fallen trunk.\n\nHe whistled thrice, and the ground again seemed to give way. A light\nglared from beneath, and he cautiously descended the pit.\n\nThe grim porter was waiting for him below. He fell as though rushing\ninto the very jaws of the monster, who was but whetting his tusks ere he\nshould devour him.\n\n\"Here again!\" croaked the ugly dwarf; \"what brings thy long legs back\nfrom Christendom?\"\n\n\"I know not, master; but if you are i' the humour to read, I've a scrap\nin my pouch at your high mightiness' service.\"\n\nGregory paid more deference to him now than aforetime, having conceived\na most profound respect for his attributes, both physical and mental,\nsince his former visit.\n\n\"He is himself either some wondrous enchanter,\" thought he, \"or, at any\nrate, minister or familiar to some mighty wizard, who hath his\ndwelling-place in this subterraneous abode.\"\n\n\"I have a message here to my lord,\" said he aloud, handing him the\nbillet at arm's length, with a mighty show of deference and respect. The\nuncourteous dwarf took the writing, and left Gregory in darkness again\nto await his return. He shook at every joint, while the minutes seemed\nan age. Again the light flickered on the damp walls, and the mysterious\nbeing approached. He addressed the envoy with his usual grin of\ncontempt.\n\n\"Tell the lady, my master be glad. He will leap from his prison by\nto-morrow, as she say, and appear at dinner.\"\n\n\"The dickons he will,\" said Gregory, as he clambered up the ascent, not\nwithout imminent jeopardy, so anxious was he to escape.\n\n\"This is a fearful message to master,\" thought he, as he leapt out\njoyfully into the buoyant air: \"but at any rate I'll now be quit o' the\njob.\" And the messenger gave his report, for Oliver Tempest was\nimpatiently awaiting his return.\n\n\"'Tis well,\" said he; \"and now, hark thee, should one syllable of this\nnight's business bubble through thy lips, thou hadst better have stayed\nin the paws of the hobgoblin. Away!\"\n\nGregory needed no second invitation, but scampered home with great\ndespatch, leaving his master to grope out the way as he thought proper.\n\nThere was more bustle and preparation for dinner than usual on the\nmorrow. Oliver Tempest had sent messengers to Bashall and Waddow; but\nthe guests had not made their appearance. About noon the hall-table was\nfurnished with a few whittles and well-scoured trenchers. Bright pewter\ncups and ale-flagons were set in rows on a side-table, and on the\nkitchen hearth lay a savoury chine of pork and pease-pudding. In the\ngreat boiling pot, hung on a crook over the fire, bubbled a score of\nhard dumplings, and in the broth reposed a huge piece of beef--these\ndainties being usually served in the following order--broth, dumpling,\nbeef, according to the old distich--\n\n    \"No broth, no ba';\n    No ba', no meat at a'.\"\n\nDame Joan of Waddington was the presiding genius of the feast, the\nconduit-pipe through which flowed the full stream of daily bounty,\ndispensing every blessing, even the most minute. In that golden age of\ndomestic discipline it was not beneath the dignity of a careful\nhousewife to attend and take the lead in all culinary arrangements.\n\nThe master strode to and fro in the hall, and Elizabeth was humming at\nher wheel. He looked anxious and ill at ease, often casting a furtive\nglance towards the entrance, and occasionally a side-look at his\ndaughter. She sometimes watched her father's eye, as though she had\ncaught his restless apprehensions, and would have inquired the cause of\nhis uneasiness. Suddenly a loud bay from a favourite hound that was\ndozing on the hearth announced the approach of a stranger. Oliver\nadvanced with a quick step into the courtyard, and soon re-entered\nleading in a middle-sized, middle-aged personage, slightly formed, whose\npale and saintly features looked haggard and apprehensive, while his eye\nwavered to and fro, less perhaps with curiosity than suspicion.\n\nHe was wrapped in a grey cloak; and a leathern jerkin, barely meeting in\nfront, displayed a considerable breadth of under garment in the space\nbetween hose and doublet. These were fastened together with tags or\npoints, superseding the use of wooden skewers, with which latter mode of\nsuspension not a few of our country yeomen were in those days supplied.\nHis legs were protected by boots of fine brown Spanish leather, lined\nwith deer-skin, tanned with the fur on, and buttoned from the ankle to\nthe knee. He had gloves of the same material, reaching to the elbow when\ndrawn up, but now turned down with the fur outwards. The hands and feet\nwere remarkably small, but well shapen. A low grey cap of coarse\nwoollen completed the costume of this singular visitor. There was, at\ntimes, in the expression of his eye, an indescribable mixture of\nimbecility and enthusiasm, as though the spirit of some Eastern fakir\nhad reanimated a living body. A gleam of almost supernatural\nintelligence was mingled with an expression of fatuity, that in less\nenlightened ages would have invested him with the dangerous reputation\nof priest or prophet in the eyes of the multitude.\n\nOliver Tempest led the way with great care and formality. To a keen-eyed\nobserver, though, his courtesy would have appeared over acted and\nfulsome; but the object of his assiduities seemed to pay him little\nattention, further than by a vacant smile that struggled around the\ncorners of his melancholy and placid mouth.\n\nDame Joan Tempest now came forth, bending thrice in a deep and formal\nacknowledgment. The stranger stayed her speech with a look of great\nbenignity.\n\n\"I know thy words are what our kindness would interpret, and I thank\nthee. Your hospitality shall not lose its savour in my remembrance, when\nEngland hath grown weary of her guilt,--when the cry of the widow and\nthe fatherless shall have prevailed. I am hunted like a partridge on the\nmountains; but, by the help of my God, I shall yet escape from the\nnoisome pit, and from the snares of the fowler.\"\n\nYet the look which accompanied this prediction seemed incredulous of its\npurport. He heaved a deep sigh, and his eyes were suddenly bent on the\nground. Being introduced into the hall, the seat of honour was assigned\nhim at the table.\n\nElizabeth, when she saw him, uttered an ill-suppressed exclamation of\nsurprise, and her pale countenance grew almost ghastly. Her lips were\nbloodless, quivering with terror and dismay. Agony was depicted on her\nbrow--that agony which leaves the spirit without support to struggle\nwith unknown, undefined, uncomprehended evil. Not a word escaped her;\nshe hurried out of the hall, as she thought, without observation; but\nthis sudden movement did not escape the eye of her father. Triumph sat\non his brow; and his cheek seemed flushed with joy at the result of his\nstratagem.\n\nThe servitors appeared; and the smoking victuals were disposed in their\ndue order. The joints were placed at the upper end of the board, while\nbroth and pottage steamed out their savoury fumes from the lower end of\nthe table. At some distance below the master and his dame sat the male\ndomestics, then the females, who occupied the lower places at the feast,\nexcept two, who waited on the rest.\n\nThe master blessed the meal, the whole company standing. The broth was\nserved round to the lower forms, and the meat and dainties to the\nhigher; but Elizabeth was still absent.\n\nWhen she left the hall it was for the purpose of speaking to Gregory,\nwhom she found skulking and peeping about the premises.\n\n\"Gregory, why art thou absent from thy nooning?\" inquired Elizabeth,\nwith a suspicious and scrutinising glance.\n\n\"I'm not o'er careful to bide i' the house just now. Is there aught come\nthat--that\"--Here he stammered and looked round, confirming the\nsuspicions of the inquirer.\n\n\"Gregory, thou art a traitor; but thou shalt not escape thy reward. I'll\nhave thee hung--ay, villain, beyond the reach of aught but crows and\nkites.\"\n\n\"Whoy, mistress, I'd leifer be hung nor stifled to death wi' brimstone\nand bad humours.\"\n\n\"None o' thy quiddities, thou maker of long lies and quick legs.\nConfess, or I'll\"--\n\n\"Whoy, look ye, mistress, you've been kind, and pulled me out of many an\nugly ditch.\"\n\n\"Why dost thou hesitate, knave? I'm glad thy memory is not so\ntreacherous as thy tongue.\"\n\n\"Nay, mistress, I've no notion to sup brose wi' t' old one: those that\ndinner wi' him he may happen ask to supper; and he'd need have a long\nwhittle that cuts crumbs wi' the de'il.\"\n\n\"Art thou at thy riddles again? Speak in sober similitudes, if thou\ncanst, sirrah.\"\n\n\"Your father sent me on a message to the little devilkin last night. I\nwas loth enough to the job; but he catched me as I went wi' the\nvictuals.\"\n\n\"A message!--and to what purport?\"\n\n\"Nay, that I know not. The invitation was conveyed in a scrap of\nwriting, and I'm not gifted in clerkship an' such like matters.\"\n\nA ray of intelligence now burst upon her. She saw the imminent danger\nwhich threatened the fugitive, who had been hitherto concealed\nprincipally by her contrivances. Gregory watched the rapid and changing\nhues alternating on her cheek. She saw the full extent of the emergency;\nand, though her father was the traitor, she hesitated not in that trying\nmoment.\n\nNo time was to be lost, and measures were immediately taken to\ncountervail these designs.\n\n\"What answer sent he?\" she hastily inquired.\n\n\"The de'il's buckie said his master would be at the hall by dinner-time;\nand I'll not be one o' the guests where old Clootie has the pick o' the\ntable.\"\n\n\"Thou witless runnion, haste, or we are lost! It is the king! I would I\nhad trusted thee before with the secret. Mayhap thy wit would have been\nwithout obscuration. Supernatural terrors have taken thy reason\nprisoner. Haste, nor look behind thee until thou art under the eaves of\nBashall. This to my cousin, Edmund Talbot; he is honest, or my wishes\nthemselves are turned traitors,\" said the maiden wistfully. She scrawled\nbut one line, with which Gregory departed on his errand.\n\nOliver Tempest grew uneasy at his daughter's absence. He inquired the\ncause, but all were alike ignorant. The king inquired too, with some\nsurprise; and a messenger was despatched with a close whisper in his\near.\n\nThe meal was nigh finished, when all eyes were turned towards the\nentrance. A little blackamoor page came waddling in. He made no sign nor\nobeisance, but took his station, without speaking, behind his master's\nchair.\n\n\"Why, how now, my trusty squire?\" said the disguised monarch; \"thou wast\nnot bidden to this feast.\"\n\nThe dwarf cast a scowling glance at the master of the house, and he\nreplied, while a hideous grin dilated his thick stubborn features--\n\n\"This be goodly wassail, methinks. I am weary of lurching and\ntorchlight.\"\n\n\"Tempest,\" said the king, \"I would crave grace for this follower of\nmine. He is somewhat fearsome and forbidding, but of an unwearied\nfidelity.\"\n\n\"Troth,\" said Tempest, still wishful to maintain the king's incognito,\n\"the Turks having now taken Byzantium, the great bulwark of Christendom,\nI did fear me that the first of the tribe from that great army of\nlocusts had descended upon us.\"\n\n\"Fear not,\" said the unfortunate monarch, with a smile; \"this poor\ninnocent will do no ill. His mistress brought him for me a present from\nher father's court; and, to say the truth, he has been a great solace in\nmy trouble. He hath not forsaken me when they who fattened on my\nbounty--who dipped their hands with me in the dish--have been the first\nto betray me. The knave is shrewd and playful, but of an incredible\nstrength, being, as ye may observe, double-jointed. Madoc, let them\nbehold some token of thy power.\"\n\nThe cunning rogue obeyed in a twinkling. He seized the host's chair with\none hand, lifting its occupant without difficulty from the ground. With\nthe other he laid hold on him by the throat, and would certainly have\nstrangled him but for the king.\n\nThe assault was so sudden and unexpected that the domestics stood still\na moment, as though rendered powerless by surprise.\n\nThe next instant they all fled pell-mell out of the hall, every one\nstruggling to be foremost, apprehending that the great personification\nof all evil was there, bodily, behind them, and in the very act of\nflying off with their master.\n\nIn vain Joan shouted after the cowardly villains; her threats but\nincreased their speed.\n\n\"Fly, King Henry,\" cried the dwarf, in a voice that sounded like the\nroar of some infuriated beast; \"the rascal curs are barking; the stag is\nin the net. This traitor\"--Here he became at a loss for words; but his\ngesticulations were more vehement. \"Fly!\" at length he shouted, in a\nlouder voice than before; \"I've seen sword and armour glittering in the\nforest.\"\n\nBut the king was irresolute, as much amazed as any of the rest. He saw\nthe imminent danger of his host, whose face was blackening above the\ngrip of this fierce antagonist, and he cried out--\n\n\"Leave go, Madoc; let the curs bark, we fear them not in this good\nhouse. Let go, I command thee.\"\n\nWith a look of pity and of scorn the savage loosened his hold, saying--\n\n\"Thou be'st not king now; but Henry with the beads and breviary; and\nhere come thy tormentors.\"\n\nA loud whistle rang through the hall, and in burst a band of armed men,\nled on by Sir Thomas Talbot of Bashall, and his oldest son of the same\nname, together with Sir James Harrington.\n\nTempest, recovered from his gripe, made a furious dart at the king; but\nere he had accomplished his purpose, Edmund Talbot rushed between, at\nthe peril of his life, opening a way for the terrified monarch through\nthe band that had nearly surrounded him.\n\nThe king fled through the passage made by his deliverer; and the dwarf,\nkeeping his enemies at bay, heroically and effectually covered his\nretreat.\n\n\"Edmund Talbot, art thou traitor to thy kin?\" said Sir Thomas, from the\ncrowd. \"Let me pass; 'tis thy father commands thee. 'Tis not thy king,\nhe is a coward and a usurper.\"\n\n\"I care not,\" said the retreating and faithful Edmund. \"My arm shall not\ncompass with traitors. Cowards attack unarmed men at their meals.\"\n\n\"Then take thy reward.\" It was the eldest brother of Edmund who said\nthis, whilst he aimed a terrific blow; but the dwarf caught his arm ere\nit descended, and a swinging stroke from a missile which he had picked\nup in the fray would have settled accounts between the heir of Bashall\nand posterity had he not stepped aside.\n\nThis unequal contest, however, could not long continue, though time, the\nprincipal object, was gained, and the king was fast hastening again\ntowards the cavern. In the courtyard he met Elizabeth, who implored him\nto step aside into another place of concealment; but he was too much\nterrified to comprehend her meaning. Fear seemed to have bewildered him,\nand the poor persecuted monarch sped on to his own destruction. In the\nhurry and uncertainty of his flight, he unfortunately took the wrong\npath, which led by a circuitous route to the ford; and, as he stepped\nout of the wood, two of his enemies, having broken through the gallant\ndefence of his adherents, had already gained, and were guarding, the\nstepping-stones over the river, called \"Brunckerley Hippens.\" Terrified,\nhe flew back into the wood, but was immediately followed; and again his\nevil destiny seemed to prevail. He took another path, which led him back\nto the ford. Here he crossed, and, whilst leaping with difficulty over\nthe stones, the pursuers came in full view. Having gained the Lancashire\nside, he fled into the wood, but his enemies were now too close upon him\nfor escape, and the royal captive was taken, bound, and conveyed to\nBashall. Many cruel indignities were heaped upon him; and he was\nconveyed to London in the most piteous plight, on horseback, with his\nlegs tied to the stirrups. Ere he departed, it is said that he delivered\na singular prediction--to wit, that nine generations of the Talbot\nfamily, in succession, should consist of a wise and a weak man by turns,\nafter which the name should be lost.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[54] Whitaker's _Craven_.\n\n[55] Pennant.\n\n[56] _Hist. Whalley_.\n\n[57] Webster, in his _Metallographia_, mentions a field called Skilhorn,\nin the township of Rivington-within-Craven, \"belonging to one Mr Pudsay,\nan ancient esquire, and owner of Bolton Hall, juxta Bolland; who, in the\nreign of Queen Elizabeth, did get good store of silver-ore, and convert\nit to his own use, or rather coined it, as many do believe, there being\nmany shillings marked with an escallop, which the people of that country\ncall Pudsay shillings to this day. But whether way soever it was, he\nprocured his pardon for it, and had it, as I am certified from the\nmouths of those who had seen it.\" Webster further adds: \"While old Basby\n(a chemist) was with me, I procured some of the ore, which yielded after\nthe rate of twenty-six pounds of silver per ton. Since then, good store\nof lead has been gotten; but I never could procure any more of the sort\nformerly gotten; the miners being so cunning, that if they meet with any\nvein that contains so much ore as will make it a myne royall, they will\nnot discover it.\"\n\nDr Whitaker, in his _History of Craven,_ says: \"The following papers,\nlately communicated to me from the evidences of the Pudsays, put the\nmatter out of doubt:--'Case of a myne royall. Although the gold or\nsilver contained in the base metalls of a mine in the land of a subject\nbe of less value than the baser metall, yet if gold and silver doe\ncountervaile the charge of refining, or bee of more value than the baser\nmetall spent in refining itt, this is a myne royall, and _as wel the\nbase metall_ as the gold and silver in it, belongs to the crown.\n\n\"'Edw. Herbert, Attorney-General. Oliver St John, Solicitor-General. Orl.\nBridgman. Joh. Glanvill. Jeoffry Palmer. Tho. Lane. Jo. Maynard. Hdw.\nHyde. J. Glynn. Harbottle Grimstone,' &c.\n\n\"So favourable at that time were the opinions of the most constitutional\nlawyers (for such were the greater part of these illustrious names) to\nthe prerogative. But the law on this head has been very wisely altered\nby two statutes of William and Mary.--Blackstone, iv. 295.\n\n\"The other paper is of later date:--'To the King's most excellent\nMajestie. The humble petition of Ambrose Pudsay, Esq., sheweth, that\nyour petitioner having suffered much by imprisonment, plunder, &c., for\nhis bounden loyalty, and having many years concealed a myne royall, in\nCraven, in Yorkshire, prayeth a patent for digging and refining the\nsame.'\"\n\n[58] _Hist, of Whalley_, p. 504.\n\n[59] This lady, whose attractions or good fortune must have been\nuncommon, says the historian of Craven, was daughter to Henry Pudsay of\nBolton. She married, first, Sir Thomas Talbot of Bashall, who died 13\nHenry VII.; after which she became the second wife of Henry, Lord\nClifford, the shepherd; and, after his decease, by the procurement of\nHenry VIII., gave her hand to Richard Grey, youngest son of Thomas,\nMarquis of Dorset.\n\nEND OF VOL. I.\n\nPrinted by Ballantyne and Company Edinburgh and London","title":"Traditions of Lancashire, Volume 1","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":193754}