QUEENHOO-HALL ; 
BEING 
A HISTORY OF TIMES PAST. 
SECTION I. . 
DESCRIPTION OF A MAY-GAME, IN THE 
FIFTEENTH CENTURY. 
" In good sooth, Gregory, you carry mat- 
ters too far," said Thomas. 
" Not in the least," answered Gregory. 
" Go to ; I am not the ass you take me to 
be." 
" That were a goodly jape indeed," re- 
torted Thomas, " to take my lord's jester for 
VOL. I. A�
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(f 
<t 
2 
an ass : but shame upon you to be so set 
askance for a word or two." 
" Word me no words," quoth Gregory; 
" I will not perform the hobby-horse ; and 
if the hobby-horse be not performed, wot ye 
well, the morris will be stark naught;  let 
Gervas look to it ; it comes of his knavery."  
But you are so choleric," said Thomas.  
Look you now," answered the Jester ; 
it is acknowledged on all hands, that no 
man can jerk the hobby, or rein him, or 
prance him, like me : I have played the horse 
with transcendant applause, before this cock- 
erel broke his egg-shell. And shall I be told 
to my beard by such an howlet, that I know 
not how to use the bells? May the foul fiend 
take me, but it were a good deed done to 
break the hilts of my dagger over the knave's 
costard !" 
" A fig for him," quoth Thomas ; " you 
know he is an idle lozel; it is ever his guise 
to be prating like a magpie ; heed him not :�
## p. 3 (#27) ###############################################
3 
for we have all agreed that you shall have 
the double bells, bought for my lord's own 
morris ; we have provided the hobby a new 
snaffle ; and Peter Lanaret has made an ad- 
dition of colt's hair to his tail, which reaches 
to the ground." 
" Say you so ?" returned the Jester : et why- 
then I will relent ; I will play the hobby-horse. 
In sooth, it would have been a sorry trick 
to have spoiled the morris for want of the 
hobby; and especially, that it should have 
been spoiled by the operations of a silken 
lackey. Certes, you all know there is not one 
among you qualified to play the beast like 
me." 
" You say true," answered Thomas ; "you 
have always been excellent at playing the 
beast.  But see yonder, our comrades are 
all of them equipped in their disguisements. 
Away, for shame ! or the morris will be ready 
before you are mounted." 
" Never fear," said Gregory ;  be but the�
## p. 4 (#28) ###############################################
bells hung at the hobby's ears, and I will be 
on horseback before they have gone through 
half their postures." 
This dialogue passed between Gregory the 
jester and Thomas the reve's son, in the court 
of Queenhoo-hall, at Tewin, in Hertfordshire ; 
the residence of Lord Edward Boteler, a ba- 
ron of great opulence in the reign of King 
Henry the Sixth, and a great favourite at the 
court of that unfortunate monarch. 
It happened on the morning of the first 
of May, that, the family being absent, the 
household servitors had engaged with the 
villagers to join in the celebration of the 
May-games ; and were now preparing to ex- 
hibit their pageant, by way of rehearsal, in 
the great hall, when a loud knocking at the 
gate announced the arrival of some person of 
consequence. There was not one of the ser- 
vants, excepting Oswald the chamberlain, 
equipped in his proper habit; and he pro- 
ceeded gravely to the gate, where, having�
## p. 5 (#29) ###############################################
performed the office of the porter, he was 
greatly astonished by the appearance of the 
Lady Matilda, daughter of Lord Boteler, 
alighting from a litter, accompanied by her 
cousin the Lady Eleanor.  He had no time 
to give information to the motley tribe with- 
in ; and the ladies, on entering the hall, were 
equally surprised at the sight of the page- 
antry. 
" Bless me !" exclaimed Matilda, but not 
with anger; " Bless me! Oswald, what may 
all this mean ?" 
The chamberlain approached, and bowing 
very obsequiously, instead of answering the 
question, attempted to welcome them home. 
" I hope," said he, " your ladyship is in 
health ; and also the Lady Eleanor, your fair 
cousin.  You are welcome home; you come 
indeed rather unexpectedly. Saint Thomas 
grant his lordship may be in perfect health ! 
Fye upon it; we are all unprepared for his 
reception .'Begone, you varlets, and make�
## p. 6 (#30) ###############################################
6 
you ready!  Is his lordship coming soon?  
The knaves, I trow, have set all things at sixes 
and sevens." 
" And on my part, I think the same," re- 
joined the lady with a smile ; " but all is well, 
I hope?" 
" Oh yes, your ladyship," answered the 
chamberlain, encouraged by her gentle man- 
ner of speaking ; " All is well ; all is excel- 
lently well." 
" And wherefore," said she, " do I see this 
confusion in the hall ?  the domestics are so 
fantastically habited, that, were not some of 
the faces familiar to me, I should have taken 
them for a troop of foreigners : I beseech you 
inform me what new livery it is they have 
taken on them to wear."  
Oswald bowed very low, and thus replied : 
" Your honour must know that this day is 
the first of the merry month of May; and the 
varlets have agreed,  not meaning the least 
harm, my lady, but simply for disport-sake, �
## p. 7 (#31) ###############################################
to join the villagers, who are about to erect 
a May-pole on the Green in the afternoon 
after the old guise : and the knaves, as you 
see, are equipped for the pageant." 
" And nothing more than a May-game is 
preparing ?" said Matilda. 
" Nothing more, by my fay !" returned the 
chamberlain ; " in good sooth, nothing more : 
but now the pageant is done. Away, away, 
ye varlets ! I weened it was an idle frolic !  
uncase in an instant ; and off with these lozel 
knackeries !  on with your proper vestments, 
and every one to his vocation !"  
" Be not so hasty, Oswald," said his mis- 
tress; " for I do not see any just cause why 
our arrival should deprive your comrades of 
any innocent amusement in which they may 
reasonably participate : and therefore I com- 
mission you to see that the sports go forward, 
and with additional splendour ; for we, my 
dear Eleanor," continued she, addressing her- 
self to her cousin, " if you have no objection,�
## p. 8 (#32) ###############################################
8 
will walk down to the Green, and see the ce- 
remonies." 
"\ know not any thing," returned the Lady 
Eleanor, " in my present humour, that could 
please me better ; I love to he merry myself, 
and am never more delighted than when I 
see all about me happy." 
Matilda ordered the chamberlain to cause 
a pavilion to be erected on the Green for 
their reception ; and then the ladies retired. 
The unexpected arrival of the baron's 
daughter had occasioned the greatest conster- 
nation among the ringleaders of the pageant; 
they concluded that all their preparations 
had been made to no purpose, and, vexed by 
the disappointment, were returning to their 
respective duties with very gloomy counte- 
nances ; but when it was known among them 
that their lovely young mistress not only per- 
mitted the exhibition of the sports, but pro- 
posed to honour their performance with her 
presence, the hall rang with acclamations of�
## p. 9 (#33) ###############################################
joy; the pageant was rehearsed with great 
glee ; and every heart was exhilarated by her 
condescension. 
The Boteler family made a great figure 
in Hertfordshire. Lord Edward Boteler, as 
already noticed, was in high favour with his 
sovereign, and held a post of importance at 
court. Queenhoo-hall, the noble family-man- 
sion, was situated about four miles from the 
town of Hertford ; it was a spacious edifice ; 
and large vestiges of it remain even to this 
day. 
Lord Edward was young when he mar- 
ried ; he had three children by his lady,  
two sons and a daughter ; the sons both died 
early in life; and his lordship was left a wi- 
dower at the age of forty-five. His lovely 
daughter, at the fatal period that robbed�
## p. 10 (#34) ##############################################
10 
him of his wife, had just reached her eigh- 
teenth year : she was exceedingly beautiful, 
elegantly formed, and, above all, possessed a 
mind superior in excellencies to her external 
endowments. On the death of her mother, 
Lord Edward had made her the superinten- 
dant of his family ; and this office she per- 
formed with such decorum, as acquired at 
once the respect and the love of the ser- 
vants. 
Well aware that it would be irksome for 
his daughter to be much alone, and fearful 
of exposing her to the boundless limits of 
the court, Lord Edward kept her much in 
retirement, but added to her enjoyment the 
company of a lively companion,  the only 
daughter of his deceased brother : her name 
was Eleanor ; and the sprightliness of her 
disposition was well calculated to stimulate 
the mind of Matilda to cheerfulness, which 
of itself was too much inclined to gravity. 
These fair companions felt for each other a�
## p. 11 (#35) ##############################################
11 
pure sisterly affection ; and as their disposi- 
tions, especially in points of love, were not 
precisely the same, there seemed to be none 
of those little jealousies prevalent in their 
minds, which are usually destructive of do- 
mestic happiness. 
It chanced that the king, in the spring of 
the year, removed his court from London to 
Saint Albans ; and as Lord Edward, by vir- 
tue of his office at court, accompanied his 
royal master, he had sent for his daughter 
and niece to meet him there. On their ar- 
rival, the ladies were introduced to the queen ; 
and their reception was such as gave great 
satisfaction to Lord Edward. The lustre of 
the court grew on Eleanor's mind; and the 
adoration of the courtiers was a sort of ho- 
mage that she found herself highly gratified 
in indulging. Matilda, on the contrary, was 
by no means satisfied with the inflated adu- 
lation of the court ; she had sense enough to 
conceive that she was not an angel ; and,�
## p. 12 (#36) ##############################################
12 
amidst the blaze of splendour, sighed for the 
tranquillity of retirement. 
A tournament had been proposed, and 
great preparations made for the display of 
the pompous pageant, when an irruption of 
the Scots in the north of England postponed 
the show ; and the king immediately set off 
from Saint Albans, in order to collect forces 
sufficient to repel the invaders. The queen 
retired to London ; and Lord Edward, who 
still accompanied his majesty, sent his daugh- 
ter and her cousin home to the family man- 
sion at Tevvin, with an attendant.  How af- 
fairs stood at Queenhoo-hall when the ladies 
arrived, has already been shewn. 
Dinner was ordered early ; and when it 
was over, the ladies were informed that all 
things were in readiness for their reception 
on the Green.�
## p. 13 (#37) ##############################################
13 
When the ladies reached the pavilion, 
they were welcomed with loud shouts by the 
rustics, who were assembled in crowds to see 
the May-games; and soon after their arrival, 
they were joined by the young Baron Fitz- 
allen of Marden, together with Fitzosborne 
of Digswell and his two sisters, who came to 
see the sports ; and, having heard the ladies 
were returned to Tewin, and meant to be pre- 
sent at the pastime, took the opportunity of 
paying their respects to them. These were 
followed by several other gentlemen and la- 
dies from the adjacent villages; who were all 
of them received with the greatest politeness 
by the Lady Matilda, and her fair cousin ; 
and when the company were seated, the sports 
began. 
In the front of the pavilion, a large square 
was staked out, and fenced with ropes, to 
prevent the crowd from pressing upon the 
performers, and interrupting the diversion; 
there were also two bars at the bottom of the�
## p. 14 (#38) ##############################################
14 
inclosure, through which the actors might 
pass and repass, as occasion required. 
Six young men first entered the square, 
clothed in jerkins of leather, with axes upon 
their shoulders like woodmen, and their heads 
hound with large garlands of ivy-leaves inter- 
twined with sprigs of hawthorn. Then fol- 
lowed, 
Six young maidens of the village, dressed 
in blue kirtles, with garlands of primroses on 
their heads, leading a fine sleek cow, deco- 
rated with ribbons of various colours inter- 
spersed with flowers; and the horns of the 
animal were tipped with gold. These were 
succeeded by 
Six foresters, equipped in green tunics, 
with hoods and hosen of the same colour ; 
each of them carried a bugle-horn attached 
to a baldrick of silk ; which he sounded as 
he passed the barrier. After them, came 
Peter Lanaret, the baron's chief falconer, 
who personified Robin Hood ; he was attired�
## p. 15 (#39) ##############################################
15 
in a bright grass-green tunic, fringed with 
gold ; his hood and his hosen were parti- 
coloured, blue and white ; he had a large 
garland of rose-buds on his head, a bow bent 
in his hand, a sheaf of arrows at his girdle, 
and a bugle-horn depending from a baldrick 
of light blue tarantine, embroidered with sil- 
ver ; he had also a sword and a dagger, the 
hilts of both being richly embossed with 
gold. 
Fabian a page, as Little John, walked at 
his right hand ; and Cecil Cellerman the 
butler, as Will Stukeley, at his left. These, 
with ten others of the jolly outlaw's atten- 
dants who followed, were habited in green 
garments, bearing their bows bent in their 
hands, and their arrows in their girdles. Then 
came 
Two maidens, in orange-coloured kirtles 
with white courtpies, strewing flowers ; fol- 
lowed immediately by 
The maid Marian, elegantly habited in�
## p. 16 (#40) ##############################################
16 
a watchet-coloured tunic reaching to the 
ground; over which she wore a white linen 
rochet with loose sleeves, fringed with silver, 
and very neatly plaited ; her girdle was of 
silver baudekin, fastened with a double bow 
on the left side; her long flaxen hair was 
divided into many ringlets, and flowed upon 
her shoulders ; the top part of her head was 
covered with a net-work cawl of gold, upon 
which was placed a garland of silver, orna- 
mented with blue violets. She was supported 
Two bride-maidens, in sky-coloured rochets 
girt with crimson girdles, wearing garlands 
upon their heads, of blue and white violets. 
After them, came 
Four other females in green courtpies, and 
garlands of violets and cowslips : Then 
Sampson the smith, as Friar Tuck, carry- 
ing a huge quarter-staff on his shoulder ; and 
Morris the mole-taker, who represented Much 
the miller's son, having a long pole with an�
## p. 17 (#41) ##############################################
17 
inflated bladder attached to one end : And 
after them 
The May-pole, drawn by eight fine oxen, 
decorated with scarfs, ribbons, and flowers of 
divers colours; and the tips of their horns 
were embellished with gold. The rear was 
closed by 
The hobby horse and the dragon. 
When the May-pole was drawn into the 
square, the foresters sounded their horns, 
and the populace expressed their pleasure by 
shouting incessantly until it reached the place 
assigned for its elevation :  and during the 
time the ground was preparing for its recep- 
tion, the barriers of the bottom of the inclo- 
sure were opened for the villagers to approach, 
and adorn it with ribbons, garlands, and 
flowers, as their inclination prompted them. 
The pole being sufficiently onerated with 
finery, the square was cleared from such as 
had no part to perform in the pageant ; and 
then it was elevated amidst the reiterated ac- 
vol. I. t?�
## p. 18 (#42) ##############################################
18 
clamations of the spectators. The woodmen 
and the milk-maidens danced around it ac- 
cording to the rustic fashion ; the measure 
was played by Peretto Cheverette, the baron's 
chief minstrel, on the bagpipes, accompanied 
with the pipe and tabour, performed by one 
of his associates. When the dance was fi- 
nished, Gregory the jester, who, as we have 
observed already, undertook to play the hob- 
by-horse, came forward with his appropriate 
equipment, and, frisking up and down the 
square without restriction, imitated the gal- 
loping, curvetting, ambling, trotting, and 
other paces of a horse, to the infinite satis- 
faction of the lower classes of the spectators. 
He was followed by Peter Parker, the ba- 
ron's ranger, who personated a dragon, his- 
sing, yelling, and shaking his wings with 
wonderful ingenuity ; and to complete the 
mirth, Morris, in the character of Much, 
having small bells attached to his knees and 
elbows, capered here and there between the 
1�
## p. 19 (#43) ##############################################
19 
two monsters in the form of a dance ; and 
as often as he came near to the sides of the 
inclosure, he cast slily a handful of meal into 
the faces of the gaping rustics, or rapped 
them about their heads with the bladder tied 
at the end of his pole. In the mean time, 
Sampson, representing Friar Tuck, walked 
with much gravity around the square, and 
occasionally let fall his heavy staff upon the 
toes of such of the crowd as he thought were 
approaching more forward than they ought 
to do ; and if the sufferers cried out from the 
sense of the pain, he addressed them in a 
solemn tone of voice, advising them to count 
their beads, say a paternoster or two, and to 
beware of purgatory. These vagaries were 
highly palatable to the populace, who an- 
nounced their delight by repeated plaudits 
and loud bursts of laughter; for this reason 
they were continued for a considerable length 
of time : but Gregory, beginning at last to 
faulter in his paces, ordered the dragon to fall�
## p. 20 (#44) ##############################################
m 
back : the well-nurtured beast, being out of 
breath, readily obeyed, and their two com- 
panions followed their example ; which con- 
cluded this part of the pastime. 
Then Thomas the reve's son, in the habit 
of a pilgrim, came to the front of the pavi- 
lion, where he was met by a party of the 
young men and maidens belonging to the 
procession; and the following dialogue, com- 
posed for the purpose by Peretto the minstrel, 
was sung; and he accompanied the voices 
with his harp :  
palmer. To the Women. 
Fair damsels, say what brings you here? 
DAMSELS. 
To celebrate the first of May. 
PALMER. 
Wherefore this day to you so dear ? 
DAMSELS. 
It is bold Robin's wedding-day. 
CHORUS. 
With sprightly dance and carols gay, 
We welcome Robin's wedding-day.�
## p. 21 (#45) ##############################################
21 
Palmer. To the Men. 
Why stand the bowmen on a row ? 
MEN. 
Prepar'd to play a skilful game.  
PiLMER. 
Some Saint to honour 'tis I trow : 
MEN. 
*Tis Robin Hood, for that's his name. 
CHORDS. 
With sprightly dance, and carols gay, 
We keep bold Robin's wedding-day. 
PALMER. 
But who is she so fair, bedight 
In tunic blue and rochet white ? 
WOMAN. 
Dost thou not know her, holy man ? 
It is the blithe maid Marian. 
palmer. 
How name ye him y'clad in green. 
With party hose and fringes sheen ? 
MAN. 
It is the prince of archers good : 
And he is hight bold Robin Hood. 
chorus. 
With merry carol, dance, and play, 
We welcome Robin's wedding-day. 
PALMER. 
I am a stranger, well ye wot, 
And much have travell'd :  I have seen 
The Lord's sepulchre, and the grot 
Where he was born of maiden clean.�
## p. 22 (#46) ##############################################
22 
The shells of Cales, in sign of grace, 
Adorn my hat;  and you may spy 
A vernicle, with His dear face 
Impress'd, who died on Calvary. 
Upon my cloak Saint Peter's keys 
Were drawn at Rome, with crosses wide : 
And reliques from beyond the seas 
I bear, or woe may me betide ! 
The snow-topp'd hills of Armony, 
Where Noe's ark may now be found, 
I've seen ;  in sooth, I do not lie ;  
Told o'er my beads, and kiss'd the ground. 
At Walsingham my vows I've paid ; 
At Waltham eke, and Coloraine; 
And to Saint Thomas 1 have pray'd, 
Who near the holy rood was slain. 
But tell me to what saint, I pray, 
What martyr, or what angel bright, 
Is dedicate this holy day, 
That brings you here so gaily dight .' 
This calendar I've search'd with care 
For saints y'bless'd and angels good ; 
The holy saints are named there, 
But no such saint as Robin Hood*�
## p. 23 (#47) ##############################################
23 
MEN. 
Dost thou not, simple Palmer, know  
What ev'ry child can tell thee here,  
Nor saint nor angel claims this show, 
But the bright season of the year ? 
WOMEN. 
The cowslips now adorn the dells ; 
On sunny banks primroses blow, 
With violets sweet and dainty bells ; 
And on the green the daisies grow : 
The birds in warbling chorus sing 
In hedge and grove and shady wood, 
Inviting us to hail the spring, 
And join the troop of Robin Hood, 
chorus. 
With merry carol, dance, and play. 
We welcome Robin's wedding-day. 
When the dialogue was concluded, the 
archers set up a target at the lower part of 
the Green, and made trial of their skill in a 
regular succession. Robin Hood and Will 
Stukeley excelled their comrades ; and both 
of them lodged an arrow in the centre circle 
of gold, so near to each other that the differ- 
ence could not readily be decided, which oc- 
casioned them to shoot again ; when Robin�
## p. 24 (#48) ##############################################
24 
struck the gold a second time, and Stuke~ 
ley's arrow was affixed upon the edge of it. 
Robin was therefore adjudged the conqueror; 
and the prize of honour, a garland of laurel 
embellished with variegated ribbons, was put 
upon his head ; and to Stukeley was given a 
garland of ivy, because he was the second 
best performer in that contest. 
The pageant was finished with the archery; 
and the procession began to move away, to 
make room for the villagers, who afterwards 
assembled in the square, and amused them- 
selves by dancing round the May-pole in pro- 
miscuous companies, according to the ancient 
custom. 
When the inclosure was nearly cleared, 
and the populace were preparing to take pos- 
session of it for the exhibition of their tumul- 
tuous gambols, the attention of the whole�
## p. 25 (#49) ##############################################
25 
assemblage was suddenly diverted to the lower 
part of the Green, where a loud shouting was 
made, and a crowd of people appeared has- 
tening towards the pavilion. Every one ap- 
peared to be surprised, because there was no 
addition to the pageantry expected ; and all 
were anxious to know what farther pastimes 
were to be exhibited. The baron's fair daugh- 
ter, turning to the chamberlain, who stood 
behind her, said, with a smile, " I thought 
the May-games were concluded." 
" By our holy-dam, my lady," said Os- 
wald, bowing, " I weened they were : but, I 
trow, the varlets have contrived some new 
knackeries." 
While he was speaking, six men entered 
the square, uncouthly habited in short tunics 
of parti-coloured say, having long yellow hose 
fastened to their jerkins, with blue and red 
points ; their mantles were skins of wild beasts, 
with the fur outwards; and their heads were 
covered with great garlands of counterfeit�
## p. 26 (#50) ##############################################
Q6 
oaken leaves : every one of them bore a large 
knotted club upon his shoulder, and had a 
ram's horn suspended at his side by a thong 
of leather. These were followed by two pages, 
habited in blue, and wearing garlands of ivy : 
one of them carried a huge quarter-staff; and 
the other, a tablet, on which was depicted 
the portraiture of a beautiful female fantasti- 
cally habited. Immediately after them came 
a tall, stout man, in a mummery disguise- 
ment, resembling a savage ; his body and 
limbs were covered with long hair ; his face 
was hidden by an unseemly vizor, to which 
was attached a large blue beard ; and his 
head was overwhelmed with a garland of oak 
and ivy leaves entwined together. 
This gigantic figure stalked round the in- 
cisure, holding in his right hand a beautiful 
chaplet of goldsmith's work, enriched with 
pearls ; which he shewed to the crowd as he 
passed.  When he came to the front of the 
pavilion, he hung it up in the presence of the�
## p. 27 (#51) ##############################################
9,7 
company there assembled, and with a deep, 
hoarse voice, addressed them in the following 
terms : 
" Be it known to all ;  This peerless chap- 
let belongs to the Sovereign of the May ; and 
I am her champion.  If you ask me who this 
lady is, I answer, The most excellent princess the 
Lady Triamore, Queen of Fairy hand, and 
the paragon of beauty.  She has sent by me 
this faint resemblance of her person, that all 
who see it may confess her charms." So 
saying, he took the tablet from the page, and 
shewed it to the assembly ; he afterwards 
hung it up beneath the chaplet; and casting 
his gauntlet on the ground, turned to the po- 
pulace, and resumed his speech : 
" In the name of the Lady Triamore, I 
here propose three separate trials of strength 
and skill, and challenge three of the stoutest 
and boldest men in this large circle to prac- 
tise man to man with me.  If I be foiled, the 
victor shall claim this costly chaplet for his�
## p. 28 (#52) ##############################################
28 
meed, to be by him bestowed on the fairest 
dame present : but if I be the conqueror, (as 
no doubt [ shall,) the vanquished man shall 
own himself my lady's slave, and, humbly 
kneeling upon his knees, kiss the ground be 
fore her picture." 
His companions then put their horns to 
their mouths, and sounded them three times. 
The mob answered them with their shouts ; 
and when silence was restored, the savage re- 
sumed his speech :  
" With the first man who meets me, I will 
try a fall at wrestling : and I rede my anta- 
gonist, that he be strong and seasoned in tire 
art, or he may rue his rashness. 
" Let the second bring with him his quar- 
ter-staff upon his shoulder, and take good 
heed I do not crack his crown, and make him 
trail it. 
" With the third, I will make trial to 
wrest the staff from him, or draw him over 
the line."�
## p. 29 (#53) ##############################################
29 
He then commanded his attendants to 
wind their horns again three times; and be- 
tween the soundings he called aloud for some 
one to come forward : but no man answered 
the challenge.  
" I weened it would be so," cried he, stalk- 
ing disdainfully backwards and forwards in the 
front of the pavilion ; " There is not a wight 
among them hardy enough to stand the gripe 
with me :  -and, by the majesty of Fairy Land, 
they are the wiser; for ill he sleeps, who 
sleeps with broken bones." 
" This swaggering blade, for all his floun- 
cing, is but a swash-buckler, in my estima- 
tion," said Fitzosborne. 
u He is at best, as you see, a perfect sa- 
vage," returned Fitzallen.  
" I hope, however," interposed the Lady 
Eleanor, smiling, " some doughty champion 
will bring him to his daring-do, and clip his 
plumes before he leaves us." 
a Certainly such a champion will come�
## p. 30 (#54) ##############################################
30 
anon, my lady," returned Fitzallen : " Justice 
to the fair sex, and especially to the Lady 
Matilda and yourself, requires the savage to 
be punished." 
Eleanor received the compliment with a 
smile, but was silent. 
In the mean time, the baron's domestics 
had assembled round Morris the mole-taker, 
who was esteemed the best wrestler at Tewin, 
being withal a man of great strength and 
courage ; and they prevailed on him to enter 
the lists against the overgrown braggadocio : 
and Sampson the smith, by way of encou- 
ragement, promised, if he proved unsuccess- 
ful, to have a bout with him at quarter-staff.  
When it was made known to the populace, 
that Morris had accepted the challenge, 
they testified their joy by shouting, and cast- 
ing their caps and bonnets into the air. Pe- 
retto with his fellow minstrels, to give the 
greater solemnity to the contest, brought 
their champion to the place of trial with�
## p. 31 (#55) ##############################################
31 
martial music, and sang a stanza from one of 
the songs of Rowland, to inspire them with 
valour. Morris entered the lists with an air 
of intrepidity, and, throwing off his super- 
tunic, would no further divest himself on ac- 
count of the ladies. 
The assailants met each other ; and, both 
having made sure of their gripe, the wrest- 
ling began. Morris exhibited much skill in 
counteracting the offers of his antagonist, 
and kept him at bay ; for more than once he 
seemed to have him at advantage, but the 
savage as constantly recovered his position ; 
when, observing that Morris became more 
eager in his attacks from these temporary 
flashes of success, he threw a temptation into 
his way ; the unfortunate mole-catcher fell 
into the snare ; when the savage, by a sudden 
shift of his standing, brought one of his legs 
beneath the other's hams, and threw him to 
the ground with such violence, that the blood 
started from his mouth and nostrils ; so that�
## p. 32 (#56) ##############################################
he was taken away sore bruised and speech- 
less from the field : the adoration of the pic- 
ture did not take place on account of the 
inability of the foiled hero to perform it. 
Sampson, seeing how roughly his compa- 
nion had been handled, repented that he 
had undertaken to succeed him : recollecting, 
however, that he could not forbear the con- 
test without injuring his honour, and ex- 
posing himself to the ridicale of his com- 
panions, he determined to try his fortune ; 
when, casting off the friar's cowl and gown, 
he appeared in a doublet of fustian, laced in 
the front with thongs of leather. The min- 
strels brought him forward with music and 
singing, as they had done the mole-taker ; 
and he passed the front of the pavilion, bear- 
ing his quarter-staff upon his shoulder. 
The savage man, seeing him approach, 
took his staff from the page who stood near 
him ; and, poising it upon the thumb of his 
right hand elevated above his head, twirled it�
## p. 33 (#57) ##############################################
33 
round like the sails of a mill ; when, tossing it 
aloft, he caught it in its fall, and, thrusting 
one end to the ground, he surveyed his anta- 
gonist with an air of contempt; saying drily 
to his companions : " If this cockerel cannot 
carry his staff more couthly, he had better 
trail it behind him, and, by giving up the 
contest, save a knave's sconce."  
To which sarcasm Sampson angrily replied ; 
" By the soul of Saint Dunstan, I am not 
awaped, though the moor-cock crow so loud- 
ly ! An' you take not good heed, good man bell- 
swaggerer, I will crack a fool's costard before 
May-day be done." 
The combat commenced ; when much dex- 
terity was manifested on both sides, and many 
sharp blows were given and received : but 
Sampson's comrades perceived from the be- 
ginning, that the savage had the advantage 
of him, and manifestly possessed not only su- 
perior strength, but superior skill : however, 
they used every endeavour to encourage him, 
vol. i. c�
## p. 34 (#58) ##############################################
34 
by their shouting and outcries. The savage, 
having struck him with much violence upon 
the left side, tossed his staff into the air, and, 
catching it by the middle as it fell, to the 
great surprise of the spectators, flung it round 
before the other could recover himself, and 
struck him upon the head. The blow was 
decisive ; for Sampson fell to the ground, co- 
vered with blood, and nearly deprived of his 
senses. His comrades flocked around him; 
and having washed the wound, and bound 
it up with a scarf, he recovered sufficiently 
to own himself conquered ; and the savage 
insisted on his paying homage to the picture ; 
which the crest-fallen smith was obliged, by 
the law of combats, to perform. 
The savage, rejoicing in his double success, 
began to deride the spectators ; saying, " Ye 
may remember, a third trial of prowess re- 
mains unachieved ; and well I ween, the dis- 
grace that two of your champions have met 
with will afford but small encouragement for�
## p. 35 (#59) ##############################################
35 
a third to risk his credit." He then com- 
manded his men to wind their horns to the 
challenge, but no one appeared to answer it ; 
they sounded again and again, but without 
effect.  
" I heard," said he, " that a bold outlaw, 
hight Robin Hood, held his revels here this 
day. I wist to meet him at this stound ; but, 
by the soul of my grand-dame, the jolly robber 
is not present ;  the knave has sent, I ween, 
some puleing wench, in man's aguisement, 
to supply his place, and wends himself else- 
where." 
The crowd now turned their eyes upon 
Peter Lanaret the falconer, in expectance 
that he would have undertaken to chastise 
the boaster's insolence ; but Peter, who was 
by no means equal in strength to Morris or 
Sampson, very prudently declined the con- 
test. In fact, there was not one of the com- 
pany who chose to come forward on the oc- 
casion.�
## p. 36 (#60) ##############################################
36 
The savage man, having littered many 
taunting gibes and reproaches to no purpose, 
walked towards the pavilion, to take down 
the chaplet and the picture ; when a clownish 
kind of man, in a loose tunic, with long traces 
of coarse borrel, came into the lists ; he had 
a thrum bonnet on his head, with a cock's 
feather stuck in the top of it ; and his face 
was concealed by a mask. The oddity of his 
appearance, and the rusticity of his deport- 
ment, excited the laughter of the spectators ; 
which he not heeding, sternly commanded 
the savage not to remove the chaplet; say- 
ing, u Hold your hand, goodman savage, and 
let the garland be:  1 stood at this stound, 
weening some one more prow would hest ye ; 
stint your prating, Sihence the swains have 
been adawed by your big bason looks, and 
wend aloof, I deem it unfit you should claim 
the guerdon without the achievement." 
The appearance of the champion did not 
promise much sport to the spectators : how-�
## p. 37 (#61) ##############################################
a 
7 
ever, they applauded his courage, and wished 
him success. The appellant surveyed him 
with great contempt, and threatened, after 
he had drawn him over the line, to bestow a 
good cudgelling upon him, as the best means 
of teaching him his proper place. 
This menace exasperated the rustic ; who 
seized the savage, and shook him violently, ex- 
claiming, at the same time, "Tongue-doughty 
lozel, make siker your own footing, or I may 
catch you at default."  The savage was an- 
gry at being attacked in such an unusual 
manner, and, the moment he had extricated 
himself from the gripe of the clown, caught 
up his staff to strike him : but the general 
voice of the people commanded him to for- 
bear; and they began to entertain a more 
favourable opinion of the defendant's abili- 
ties. 
A long crease was then cut upon the ground 
between the two assailants ; and each, grasp- 
ing an end of a quarter-staff, pushed and�
## p. 38 (#62) ##############################################
38 
tugged with all his might, to gain it to him- 
self, or pull his antagonist over the mark. 
This contest continued much longer than any 
of the former, and was maintained with great 
vigour on both sides. The parties exhibited 
unusual skill, and alternately commanded the 
applause of the spectators. Victory, how- 
ever, at last declared for the rustic, who, by 
an extraordinary exertion, drew the savage 
over the crease, threw him to the ground, 
and deprived him of his staff; when, setting 
his foot upon his breast, he elevated the wea- 
pon, saying, " Certes, Mister Scarebabe, you 
been in poor plight to apay me the blows you 
dempt my due, and may well forsay such 
deed.  Perdie, the award is mine to send you 
to the leech with a broken rib or two for 
him to mend; but your evil stower abates 
my avengement.  Algates I areed you, with- 
outen let, to wend in humble guise to yon 
gay arbour, and recant your selcouth leasings, 
craving forgiveness from the fair dames who�
## p. 39 (#63) ##############################################
39 
are seated there.  That done, get back to 
your native darkness, and take your queen 
with you; she shews herself by moonlight, 
as best becomes her : but the beauty of this 
country courts the day, and is heightened by 
the splendour of the sun." 
" If my ears deceive me not," said Fitz- 
osborne, in a whisper to the Lady Eleanor, 
" this borrel churl has changed his note on a 
sudden, and talks in the style of a polished 
gallant." 
The lady replied, " He not only speaks well, 
but he has deported himself well, by silencing 
that ill-nurtured braggart, and supporting the 
honour of our sex." 
The savage performed the task imposed 
on him by the conqueror : he recanted his 
errors upon his knees ; and, having obtained 
pardon from the ladies, he took down the 
tablet, and departed with his companions, 
stalking; down the Green amidst the taunting 
and mockeries of the populace.�
## p. 40 (#64) ##############################################
40 
When the savage man was gone, the victor 
cast the quarter-staff upon the ground, and, 
drawing forth a bugle-horn which had been 
concealed beneath his tunic, he blew it skil- 
fully, and the challenge was answered by the 
sound of trumpets from the upper part of the 
Green ; when a party of horsemen appeared, 
preceded by two heralds arrayed in rich ta- 
bards embroidered with silver and gold. As 
soon as this gay train had reached the borders 
of the inclosure, the rustic, kneeling upon one 
knee, addressed himself to the Lady Matilda, 
entreating her permission, and the permission 
of the other ladies in the assembly, for him 
and his comrades to run three courses at the 
ring in honour of the fair sex : and this gal- 
lant petition was readily granted. 
" Do you not think, my dear cousin," said 
the Lady Eleanor, addressing herself to the 
baron's daughter, " that this same stranger is 
the best-nurtured man for a borrel-dressing 
clown, that ever you saw ?"�
## p. 41 (#65) ##############################################
41 
" I trust," returned Matilda with a smile, 
" the borrel husk, when cast, will produce 
a fair grain." 
The heralds first entered the lists bare- 
headed ; and sounding their trumpets, they 
were followed by five knights apparelled in 
tilting habits; their hose and their doublets 
were of light blue velvet, branched with gold; 
their surcoats of silver baudekin, and their 
mantles of scarlet tyratine, fringed with gold ; 
their bonnets of striped satin, edged with 
pearls; and their faces were covered with 
comely masks, adorned with long beards 
of gold wire. Behind them appeared six 
esquires, bare-headed, and in one livery of 
blue velvet, with mantles of orange tawney 
satin. The knights and the esquires were 
well mounted upon caparisoned horses ; and 
the sixth esquire led a horse without the 
rider. They saluted the company as they 
passed the front of the pavilion, and when 
the horse unoccupied was brought up to the�
## p. 42 (#66) ##############################################
42 
pretended rustic, he cast aside his tunic and 
traces of borrel, and presented himself to the 
spectators in a rich habit, resembling those 
of the other five knights, saving only that his 
was more splendid, and upon the breast of the 
surcoat was wrought, in goldsmith's work, the 
cognizance of the Boteler family ; and be- 
neath it, a heart transfixed with an arrow, 
embroidered with crimson thread, surrounded 
with this motto, in letters of gold ; TRUE 
TO HER I LOVE. He leaped into the 
saddle with great agility, and kept his seat 
with so much ease and elegance, that he ex- 
cited the astonishment of the men, and the 
commendation of the ladies. Every one was 
curious to learn his name ; but no one could 
satisfy the inquiries of his companion. The 
Lady Matilda, particularly, was much sur- 
prised at seeing her family cognizance upon 
the surcoat of the stranger ; for she was well 
assured, he and his companions were not her 
father's domestics : and she beckoned to the�
## p. 43 (#67) ##############################################
43 
chamberlain, to learn from him the inten 
tion of the pageant. The old man, shrugging 
up his shoulders, assured her he was altoge- 
ther in the dark : " for certes," quoth he, 
" our knaves areed me these chevisaunees are 
no part of their May-game gambols." 
" This is passing strange," said the Lady 
Eleanor. 
" Not at all, my lady," returned Fitzallen ; 
u for beauty is never without its adorers." 
Eleanor smiled at the young baron's re- 
mark ; but Matilda blushed, and assumed an 
air of great seriousness. 
In the mean time, the heralds had dis- 
mounted, and prepared the lists for the per- 
formance about to take place.  A long thick 
rope was stretched across the square, sup- 
ported by stakes driven into the ground, and 
placed parallel to the front of the pavilion : 
at one end of the rope, a strong pole, about 
four yards high, was erected, and from it was 
suspended the ring, or small circle of brass ;�
## p. 44 (#68) ##############################################
44 
two small springs were affixed to the top 
of this ring, which, being pressed together, 
were thrust into a brazen socket, and retained 
there by the exertion of the springs, but so 
as to give way when the point of the lance 
was thrust through the ring, and permit it to 
be drawn out without risk of damaging the 
socket, or breaking the spear. 
When these matters were perfectly adjust- 
ed, the six knights took the field, and every 
one receiving his lance from his respective 
esquire, ran in rotation singly at the ring ; 
and the Knight of the Wounded Heart took 
his turn the last. 
The first course was very brilliantly per- 
formed ; for five knights bore away the ring, 
and the sixth struck it on the edge. 
In the second course, the first knight's 
horse stumbled, and threw his rider, who re- 
ceived no hurt ; but, according to the law of 
the pastime, he lost his turn. Of the other�
## p. 45 (#69) ##############################################
4.5 
five, three struck the ring, and two carried it 
awav. 
In the third course, the ring was struck 
by two, and two bore it from the socket; the 
other two were altogether unsuccessful. 
The heralds, whose office it was to register 
the success of all the candidates, declared 
that the victory was not decided, but lay 
between the Knight of the Wounded Heart 
and the fourth knight ; for both of them had 
carried the ring three times : and in such 
cases, the laws of the sport required those 
who had been equally fortunate, to obtain 
permission from the ladies, and perforin three 
additional courses. The consent of the ladies 
was obtained, and the courses achieved. The 
fourth knight struck the ring twice, and car- 
ried it once ; the Knight of the Wounded 
Heart struck it once, and earned it twice; 
and of course the victory was decreed to him. 
Tiie heralds reserving the determination of 
the prize of honour (a garland of ivy inter-�
## p. 46 (#70) ##############################################
46* 
twined with laurel) to the ladies, the garland 
was put into the hands of the Lady Matilda, 
who, with the joint approbation of her fe- 
male companions, adjudged it to their cham- 
pion, who, leaping from his horse, was con- 
ducted by the heralds, sounding their trum- 
pets, to the baron's daughter ; and, kneeling 
before her, he received from her fair hands 
the honourable prize. He then commanded 
the heralds to take down the chaplet which 
the savage man had hung up in the front 
of the pavilion, and, presenting the same to 
the Lady Matilda, he said, " Fair Excellence, 
permit me, your unworthy but devoted cham- 
pion, to solicit your acceptance of this chap- 
let ; and'humbly I intreat you to wear it in 
your own right, as the Sovereign Lady of the 
May."  The young lady blushed, and was 
exceedingly confused at this unexpected ad- 
dress : she took the chaplet in her hand, 
unconscious of what she was doing, and the 
knight withdrew before she could return it ;�
## p. 47 (#71) ##############################################
47 
but, perceiving that his esquire had taken 
his horse from the lists, and that the barriers 
were stopped by his companions, who were 
passing through them, he leaped over the 
rope, without the least hesitation, to the great 
admiration of the gaping populace, and, 
mounting his horse, rejoined the train ; and 
they rode away full speed together, not af- 
fording the least opportunity for the company 
to discover who they were, or whence they 
came. 
The baron's fair daughter looked on in 
silence ; the suddenness of the transaction 
greatly surprised her, and the adventure ap- 
peared like a vision. The greater part of the 
company, supposing that the whole of the 
pastime had been contrived by the baron's 
servants in honour of their young mistress, 
could not conceive why she should be so 
much affected by the conclusion ; and some 
of them attempted to rally her on the success 
of her champion.�
## p. 48 (#72) ##############################################
48 
" Indeed," said she, endeavouring to re- 
sume her usual cheerfulness, " I know not 
to whom I am indebted for the flattering 
compliments that have been paid to me on 
this occasion : I am sensible I do not deserve 
them;  they are, however, like the gaudy 
tinsel of this bauble, fair only while new, but 
soon fade away, and prove their own worth- 
lessness." 
" If the compliments, my dear cousin, be 
equally valuable with the chaplet," retorted 
the Lady Eleanor, taking it at the same time 
into her hand, " you have greatly under-rated 
them; for I am much deceived if this tinsel, 
as you call it, be not pure gold, and the 
embellishments true pearls and oriental dia- 
monds.  I never saw more exquisite work- 
manship than is displayed in the foliage, nor 
more elegancy of design than appears in the 
disposition and intertwining of the branches. 
Indeed my clear Matilda, this garland is a 
jewel of price, and worth the acceptance of�
## p. 49 (#73) ##############################################
49 
the queen. For my part," added she, affect- 
ing to sigh, " I wish tier Majesty or' Fairy-land 
would send another savage with another chap- 
let, and Good-Fortune another knight to win 
them for me." 
To this, the baron's daughter gravely re- 
plied : " There shall not need, my dearest 
cousin, another savage nor another knight, 
on this occasion ; -for if you be pleased with 
this gaudy ornament, you will oblige me by 
your acceptance of it from me ; and I be- 
seech you to wear it for my sake." 
" Not for the wealth of Fairy-land," re- 
plied the Lady Eleanor hastily: " this jewel 
belongs to the Lady of the May; you are 
elected Lady of the Ma}' by the fair ordeal 
of a combat, and you only ought to wear it." 
The observations made on the chaplet in- 
duced the company, who were near at hand, 
to examine it more minutely, and all of them 
agreed with ihe Lady Eleanor respecting its 
beauty and its worth.  " It would become 
VOL. I. d�
## p. 50 (#74) ##############################################
50 
you well/' said that lady to her cousin ; " per- 
mit me, I pray you, to place it upon your 
head."  This Matilda positively refused, until 
it became the general request of the company 
that she would comply with the accustomed 
ceremony, which had at least the sanction of 
ancient usage in its favour, though contrary to 
her own inclination ; and she at length gave 
way to the solicitations of her companions, 
and submitted to the inauguration. 
When the golden chaplet was adjusted to 
her forehead, the populace shouted ; and, at 
that instant, an old man, with a long white 
beard, who had entered the inclosure with the 
train of the champion, and seated himself un- 
noticed at the right hand of the pavilion, rose 
up, and, casting from him a large hyke which 
had concealed his under dress, discovered him- 
self to be a minstrel. He then produced his 
harp, and performed a prelude very skilfully : 
the attention of the people was excited by 
the music, and they were silent; when he 
2�
## p. 51 (#75) ##############################################
51 
sang the following verses with much melody, 
and accompanied his voice with the notes of 
the instrument :  
SONG. 
From hill, from dell, or lucid spring, 
Meandring through the flow"r-dight glade, 
Where elves at midnight dance the ring ;  
Or from the deepest woodland shade ;  
Thee I invoke,  thine be the hallow'd lay,  
Sweet Harmony,  To praise the Queen of May ! 
'Wake with enchanting sounds the lyre ; 
Celestial music then shall flow : 
Strike the full chord with soul-felt fire, 
And bid the rapturd bosom glow : 
'Tis Beauty, peerless Beauty, claims the lay ;  
See where she sits,  The Sov'reign of the May I 
Whateer romantic fancy traced, 
Warm from the heart, in Beauty's praise, 
With energetic wildness graced 
By bards of lore in ancient days, 
Remember now,  and tune the magic lay,  
To greet the lovely Sov'reign of the May, 
In Pagan land bright Beauty reigns, 
And claims a worship there divine ; 
Th unnui turd savage wears her chains, 
And bows devoted to her shrine ;�
## p. 52 (#76) ##############################################
62 
Wide o'er the world is spread her sov'reign sway :  
Hail, Beauty !  hail, fair Lady cf the May ! 
Yet Beauty is a fading flow'r, 
And oft untimely disappears ;  
Subject to change from hour to hour, 
It cannot bide the test of years ; 
But constant virtue blossoms ev'ry day 
In thy chaste bosom, Sov'reign of the May ! 
Virtue shall shine, the child of Truth, 
To ceaseless ages, fair and free, 
And claim eternity of-youth, 
When Time himself must cease to be :  
Let Virtue, and let Beauty, rule the day ; 
For both are thine,  Matilda,  Queen of May ! 
The old man, having finished the song, 
arose from his seat amidst the plaudits of his 
auditors ; when, bowing to the baron's lovely 
daughter, he retired hastily through the crowd, 
and, mounting a horse stationed for him near 
at hand, he rode away without soliciting any 
reward, as minstrels were accustomed to do. 
This new event heightened the surprise of 
the Lady Matilda ; and she took her cousin 
by the hand, saying, " 1 beseech you, my�
## p. 53 (#77) ##############################################
53 
dearest Eleanor, let us return to Queenhoo- 
hall ; for here we seem in truth to be in fairy 
land, where wonders multiply upon wonders : 
I am not, however, disposed at present to 
witness any more of them." 
The Lady Eleanor readily acquiesced with 
the request of her cousin ; and, having taken 
their leave of the company assembled in the 
pavilion, the two young ladies retired from 
the Green, preceded by the chamberlain, and 
followed by a large train of servitors. The 
pavilion was soon afterwards cleared by the 
departure of the gentry ; and the whole of 
the inclosure was given up to the rustics, for 
the performance of their wonted pastimes ; 
but, as it was drawing towards evening, the 
dancing round the May-pole was shortened. 
Such of the villagers as had been actors in 
the first pageant, together with the hand- 
bell ringers, went up to Queenhoo-hall, where 
a mummery was to be exhibited ; and others, 
who came from a distance, returned home.�
## p. 54 (#78) ##############################################
54 
The ladies reached Queenhoo-hall without 
any interruption ; but the whole of their dis- 
course was engrossed by the extraordinary 
adventures of the day. They canvassed over 
and over the several circumstances relative to 
the combat;  they called to memory the 
names of all the young noblemen of their ac- 
quaintance, without being able to fix upon 
any one of them, to whom they could, with 
the least degree of certainty, attribute this 
effusion of gallantry. 
The supper was served up, and removed 
again in a short time ; the ladies had not ei- 
ther of them any great inclination to par- 
take of it ; and the baron's fair daughter was 
exceedingly thoughtful : when Gregory the 
jester, being ushered into the room by the 
chamberlain, bowed obsequiously three or�
## p. 55 (#79) ##############################################
55 
four times, and addressed the Indies in a set 
speech, composed by himself, with the as- 
sistance of Gilbert the schoolmaster, to this 
effect :  
" Most illustrious and most incomparable 
ladies, transcendent paragons of beauty, and 
superlative patterns of virtue and nobleness; 
Be it known unto your honours, that the var- 
lets of the village, and your own egregious 
knaves, have prepared for your graces' amuse- 
ment a dance and a mummery, as aforetime it 
hath been customary to set forth in honour of 
the May: and I, your honours' most unworthy 
gentleman and most humble servant, am de- 
legated, in the name of our company, to 
parley for them, and to solicit your august 
ladyships to shine upon our poor perform- 
ances, and illuminate our rustic show by 
the lively emanations of the radiant beams 
from your bright countenances.  So shall we 
hold ourselves bounden to pray for the wel- 
fare and solace of your excellencies for ever."�
## p. 56 (#80) ##############################################
56 
" And amen, good Gregory/' said the 
Lady Eleanor ; " I wonder you forgot that." 
* I could not forget it, my lady," replied 
the Jester, " because I did not learn it ; and 
I did not learn it, because it was not penned 
down in my speech ; but, if your honour 
thinks it proper, I will repeat the oration, 
and add the amen with all my heart." 
" You shall not give yourself that trouble 
on my account," said Eleanor ; " and I dare 
venture to say, your lady my cousin is per- 
fectly satisfied. But, most illustrious Gregory, 
in your incomparable harangue, you tell us 
that mumming at May-tide is agreeable to 
ancient custom : on the contrary, it appears 
to me this sport has no sanction from pre- 
scription, excepting it be holden at the fes- 
tival of our Lord's nativity, and the holidays 
subsequent, and, when properly conducted, 
is under the direction of the Lord of Mis- 
rule, or the Twelfth-night King of the Bean."�
## p. 57 (#81) ##############################################
57 
" This misweening, my lady/' quoth Gre- 
gory, " arises from lack of conning in antick 
usages; but, had I one well skilled in such 
leer to hold debate with me, I would, by craft 
of rhetoric, confront him by such provings as 
he might not gainsay." 
" And whom can we find," said the Lady 
Eleanor, " more fitting to handle such an ar- 
gument than the chamberlain, who, in the 
absence of the seneschal, is master of the 
ceremonies, and well acquainted with prece- 
dents ?" 
u Gramercy, my lady," returned the Jester, 
" you will stint the debate at a word, if your 
choice shall fall upon Oswald ; for he, I trow, 
is well avised, and cannot gainsay me." 
" Hasty conclusions, friend Gregory," said 
the chamberlain, " are often false;  and such 
is that you have made at this stound; for, 
certes, I agree with the Lady Eleanor."  
" Why then," quoth the Jester, " I will 
gage my new-gilt bauble against your satin�
## p. 58 (#82) ##############################################
58 
cap and feather, (and the odds, you wot well, 
are largely in your favour,) that I will proven 
you devoid of advisement in antick glee- 
games ; and their ladyships shall award the 
mastery." 
" I shall not stoop at this time to take up 
the gauntlet," said the chamberlain gravely ; 
" for, certes, I am not in the humour for 
fooling." 
" Pardie, that is a selcouth saying," re- 
torted the Jester, " and not well worthy of 
credence. I beseech you twirl this bauble 
as I do : it will then be said you have played 
the fool once in your lifetime, and sithence 
I will proven that you have overdone me at 
my own craft." 
" That conclusion is it least paradoxical," 
said the Lady Eleanor.  
" Not a whit, my lady," quoth the Jester; 
"and I areed you to note the answer.  It 
is said he plays the fool but once in his life- 
time ; and well ye may wot, that once signi-�
## p. 59 (#83) ##############################################
59 
ties all the time he has lived, or that he is a 
fool by nature :  my occupation requires me 
to |>lay the fool, and ye say I often do so ; by 
this ye may understand L have some vaca- 
tions from folly." 
" It is shrewdly answered," said the lady. 
" The knave," quoth Oswald, " shoots at 
random ; but he shoots often, and, paravaunt, 
unwittingly may strike the mark." 
" The toad has spit its venom without no)'- 
ance," answered the Jester ; ** and if your 
pannikel, Sir Gravity, were set for a mark, I 
would 'vise you to beware of a second bolt I 
am about to discharge.  And now, my lady, 
permit me to say a word or two on the dis- 
port of mumming :  And first, we may learn 
that a mummer is a person in disguisement, 
or one who personates another ;  as thus, 
when his lordship's minstrels and playmen set 
forth their moralities, and enterlodes, they 
are in disguisements,  some like kings, some 
like great barons, some like ladies, some like�
## p. 60 (#84) ##############################################
60 
angels, some like devils, and some like wild 
beasts ; and what are these but mummers ? 
Now ye wot well, these enterlodes are per- 
formed on divers occasions, and at divers 
times, as at Easter, and at Whitsuntide, and 
other great festivals and merry-makings.  
And to-day, saw you not many mummers, 
such as jolly Robin and his bold outlaws, one 
of them in semblance of a miller, another in 
guise of a friar, myself as a hobby-horse, and 
Peter Parker like a dragon?  Those disguise- 
ments belong to the May-day pageant, and 
require the May-pole, and the May-pole re- 
quires them,  and are the disport of olden 
times ; for May-poles, I warrant, were set up 
in Paynim days :  and ancient saws set forth, 
that King Arthur, so famous for his doughty 
deeds, took upon him the part of Robin 
Hood; and his valiant comrades, the Knights 
of the Round Table, became mummers to 
dance about the May-pole. Sithence, I trow,�
## p. 61 (#85) ##############################################
61 
ye may conclude that mumming on May-day 
is of right an tick usage." 
" Bating a trifling anachronism relating to 
the celebrated British hero, you have, friend 
Gregory," said the Lady Eleanor, " well sup- 
ported your argument;"  and, taking the ba- 
ron's fair daughter by the hand, she thus ad- 
dressed herself to her : " Come, my dear Ma- 
tilda, now it has been proved that we shall 
be acting in consonance with the customs of 
our ancestors, let us, I pray you, walk into 
the hall." 
The Lady Matilda sought to excuse her- 
self, declaring that she was fatigued already, 
and had not the least relish for any addition 
to the pastimes. The Lady Eleanor would 
not admit of any excuse :  " You are grow- 
ing," said she, " more grave than usual, and 
giving way to melancholy. I promoted the 
argument which Gregory has so sagely dis- 
cussed, to make you smile, but without ef- 
fect; besides, you must go, or the perform-�
## p. 62 (#86) ##############################################
6 
crs will be most cruelly disappointed, wh 
ardently expect to be honoured by your pre- 
sence." 
" I cannot deny you any thing/' returned 
the lady with a smile; " but in truth I was 
never less disposed for merriment than at this 
moment." 
So saying, she permitted her cousin to lead 
her into the hall, preceded by the chamber- 
lain, who ceremoniously conducted them to 
their places. They were followed by Gregory, 
who, quaintly aping the state assumed by the 
chamberlain, afforded great amusement to 
the spectators. When the ladies were seated, 
six young men, clothed in light orange-co- 
loured tunics, guarded upon the sleeves with 
blue ribbons, appeared, bare-headed ; and 
every one of them held a hand-bell in each 
hand. They came into the middle of the 
hall, and rang a variety of changes ; and the 
performance was much commended by the�
## p. 63 (#87) ##############################################
6: 
ladies. At the conclusion of the peal, this 
soncr was sunc: to the music of the hells :  
When full in prime (he pulse is strong, 
And wanton youth hails mirth and song; 
Cares avaunt, and fears alarming !  
Joy abounds, with pleasures charming. 
Chorus, with the btlk. 
How sweetly then the changes ring, 
With heigh down, ho down, ding dong ding. 
But when bright youth shall fade away, 
And age transmew the black locks grey ;  
When tott'ring steps the staff demand, 
And palsies shake the head and hand ; 
The sprightly changes cease to ring, 
With heigh down, ho down, ding dong ding. 
The carol blithe and dancing gay 
No longer claim the holiday ; 
But time a doleful story tells, 
The bell-rope breaks, and cracks the bells ;  
The bells that did so cheerly ring, 
With heigh down, ho down, ding dong ding. 
The deep-ton'd tenour tolls the knell,  
A summons for departure home ; 
Of life it is the curfew-bell, 
And heavily it sounds, Boam !  Boam !  
One, one dull bell no change can ring, 
With heigh down, ho down, ding dong ding.�
## p. 64 (#88) ##############################################
64 
<c 
This song, my dear Matilda," said the 
Lady Eleanor, " is the work of a knavish 
kind of poet: the beginning was so cheerful, 
that I was almost inclined to rise and dance 
a measure ; but the close is so dismal, that 
positively it makes me melancholy." 
Before the baron's fair daughter could re- 
turn an answer, the ringers struck up again ; 
and, bowing to the ladies, retreated to the 
bottom of the hall, where they imitated the 
falling of the bells, and then withdrew. 
They were succeeded by twelve damsels, 
habited in white plaited rochets, with gir- 
dles of Coventry blue ; and their heads were 
adorned with garlands of primroses, inter- 
mixed with cowslips. After they had danced 
a short time, they were joined by a like num- 
ber of young men dressed in green tunics, 
resembling foresters, every one of them ha- 
ving a bugle-horn suspended from his left 
sboulder by a baldric of silver tissue ; their 
hose were of watchet-coloured fustian, and�
## p. 65 (#89) ##############################################
65 
their caps were of crimson taffety, ornament- 
ed with peacocks' feathers. 
At a certain period of the dance, they 
sounded their horns, and suddenly there ap- 
peared, at the bottom of the hall, six un- 
comely figures, in the form of lions, tygers, 
and bears :  the women seemed to be fright- 
ened, and, as the mummers approached, drew 
up six in a company on either side of the 
ladies ; and three of the men, drawing their 
daggers, stood on the one side, and a second 
three on the other side, as though it were 
to protect them from danger ; at the same 
time, the remaining six foresters, drawing 
also their daggers, attacked the beasts ; and 
every man, having overcome the animal he 
fought with, cast him upon the ground, and 
ripping open the disguisements, they were all 
uncased, and six pages, in their proper habits, 
arose, and joined the dance. The music was 
performed by Peretto the minstrel, with his 
associates ; and, the dance being concluded^ 
vol. I. E�
## p. 66 () ##############################################
66' 
the dancers formed themselves into two rows, 
and between them Robin Hood and his com- 
panions passed in procession, as they had 
done on the Green.  And so ended the cele- 
bration of the May -games. 
2�
## p. 67 (#91) ##############################################
67 
SECTION II. 
A SCENE AT A COUNTRY ALEHOUSE. 
Ihe reader may well suppose, that the sur- 
prising adventures that took place at the ce- 
lebration of the May-games, and the splendid 
victory achieved by the unknown champion, 
occasioned much conversation, and gave rise 
to various conjectures among the different 
ranks of spectators :  this was really the case. 
Among the ladies, some thought him of low 
degree, and said the baron's daughter affected 
prudery, in order to conceal her attachment 
to him ; others considered his conduct as an 
effusion of youthful gallantry ; others laughed, 
and whispered one to another, as though they 
knew more of the secret than the rest of the�
## p. 68 (#92) ##############################################
company; and others, again, who saw more 
beauty in their mirrors than in the counte- 
nance of the Lady Matilda, thought he had 
manifested much deficiency of discernment 
by the preference he had given to her. Many 
of the old dames of the village, who accre- 
dited the stories of witches and hobgoblins, 
took the whole of the adventure for an illusion 
of the foul fiend ; others said, the stranger 
was the wandering fairy Robin Goodfellow, 
or some such merry sprite, and that all his at- 
tendants were elves or goblins ;  these good 
souls retired from the Green, crossing them- 
selves, and counting their beads with great 
devotion, saying a paternoster or an ave- 
mary or two, and carefully conning over their 
night-spell, as the best preservative against 
the danger of enchantment, and to prevent 
their being goblin-led. But, though no one 
knew who the champion was, yet the men 
in general applauded his courage, and the 
females agreed in praising his figure, his�
## p. 69 (#93) ##############################################
69 
activeness, and the gentility of his deport- 
ment. 
Shortly after the conclusion of the May- 
day pastimes, when the evening was set in, 
certain of the inferior spectators, as Hugh 
the carrier, Pierce the potter, Wat Coulter 
the ploughman, and some others of their 
merry companions who loved the ale-can, 
agreed to go to Hob Filcher's, at the Crown, 
on the Lower Green ;  " where," says Hugh, 
" these stranger folk stopped in their way ; 
and I will wager a cross, or two if occasion 
requires, that Hob knows more of the matter 
than any of us. So be we make him mellow 
with his own ale, he will tell us all for the 
guerdon."  This said, away they went; and 
thither, with the reader's permission, we will 
follow them. 
Our jovial company, being come to the 
Crown, found Robin Tosspot the butcher's 
man, Jack the basket-maker of Wellwyn,�
## p. 70 (#94) ##############################################
70 
and some other Itisty. drinkers, already as- 
sembled there ; and in the midst of the room 
sat Bernard the blind bagpiper of Hartford,, 
who was playing a fit of music ; and when 
he had done, Giltys the juggler started up 
and said, " By the bones, my masters, but if 
you would see a sight well worth the guerdon, 
I am the man who can quit you.  Would 
you see any legerdemain or cleanly convey- 
ance, called by the learned clerks deceptio 
visas; because, my masters, if your eyes are 
not as quick as my hands, I shall put the 
changeling upon you.  There," added he, 
throwing a crab-apple upon the table, " what 
call you that, I prithee ?" 
" Out upon thee for a lozel!" said Tosspot ; 
" dost think we be such seely lobs as not to 
know a crab r" 
"To be sure; why not?" replied the jug- 
gler; " wiser men than you have been de- 
ceived.  Look ye, my masters, all fair play, 
and above board,  I will shew you, for a�
## p. 71 (#95) ##############################################
71 
tester, more craft, and as cleanly cast, as 
John Rikeil the king's tregetour will for two 
angels of gold.  You see, I cover this crab 
with this cup of latten ; and you," addressing 
himself to Tosspot, <c clap your hand upon it, 
and hold it down, for fear the apple should 
be gone."  Robin readily obeyed, looking 
slily at his comrades; and the juggler conti- 
nued his harangue :  " Hark-ye, my masters, 
if my familiar deceive me not, I will send this 
poor John a-nutting on holy-rood day to meet 
the foul fiend." 
" Ay marry," cried Robin, " you talk main 
well, master juggler; but I ben't to be cou- 
sened so easily as you think for." 
" Certainly not," said Gillys ;  " for here 
is the crab, my masters," holding it up in 
the sight of the company : 
" Then let the sot 
Uncover the pot, 
And see what a dainty fine apple he's got."�
## p. 72 (#96) ##############################################
72 
" For all your bantering," said Robin, " I 
have another crab under the cup, I trow :"  
but, raising it from the table, there appeared, 
to the great astonishment of the spectators, 
in place of the apple, a young howlet. 
" I thought how it would be, my masters," 
quoth the juggler ; " Birds of a feather flock 
together:  and the woodcock is fairly spring- 
ed." 
Robin looked very foolish, and his com- 
rades burst into a roar of laughter;  the owl, 
being frightened by the noise, flew from the 
table, and perched upon one of the shelves. 
" You shall now see," said Gillys, " that 
I can readily bring my hawk to the lure ;"  
when, imitating the hooting of an owl, the 
bird flew down to him, and he put it into a 
pouch which hung by his side. The clowns 
were wonderfully delighted with this perfor- 
mance ; but Tib the innkeeper's wife, be- 
lieving the owl to be in reality an evil spirit,�
## p. 73 (#97) ##############################################
73 
counted her beads, and crossed herself for 
security's sake. 
" And now, my good masters," continued 
the juggler, clapping a box upon the table, 
"I have here a jack-in-the-box, the greatest 
curiosity ever seen in this or any other coun- 
try.  This wonderful motion has travelled 
farther than Noah's ark. It was exhibited, 
with unspeakable applause, to Mahound, Sol- 
dan of Constantinople, when he dined with 
the Emperor Sigismund, at the palace of the 
Seneschal of Nineveh, where the Dolphin of 
France tilted with the Prince of Fess for the 
fair Sabrina, daughter to the Queen of Bo- 
hemia. The King of Spain preferred it to 
all the tricks set forth by ten select compa- 
nies of minstrels. All the crowned heads 
in Europe speak highly of its merit; and our 
own gracious Sovereign was so delighted with 
it, that he commanded me to play it over 
five times, and gave ten marks for my reward; 
and his excellency the Protector, Humphrey�
## p. 74 (#98) ##############################################
Duke of Gloucester, gave me two angels of 
gold from his own private purse." 
So saying, he handed his bonnet round 
among the rustics, to collect their donations; 
but, rinding they did not communicate very 
liberally, he added; " Maister John Rikell, 
the king's tregetour, offered me fifty pounds 
in gold, and a place next to himself in his 
company, for this admirable motion; but I 
warrant ye, my masters, I refused him, and 
would have refused him had he offered twice 
as much; for the whole world cannot pro- 
duce its fellow. Why should you, then, by 
withholding a few pence, deprive yourselves 
of a sight you never may have another op- 
portunity of seeing ?" 
He then put his bonnet about a second 
time ; and when he had collected all the 
money together that he could, he opened 
the box, and produced the puppet, dressed 
like a Moorish lady. Bernard played a tune 
appropriated to the purpose upon the jug-�
## p. 75 (#99) ##############################################
75 
rfer's vielle, and Gillys caused the figure to 
perform all the motions of a dance in such a 
manner as surprised his spectators, who ex- 
pressed their satisfaction by reiterated ap- 
plauses. The performance being ended, the 
ineeler and his companion were preparing 
to depart, when Hugh the carrier, having 
collected three-pence more, called for a song. 
Gillys took the money; and, playing himself 
upon the vielle, was accompanied by Bernard 
upon the bagpipes; and, after a short pre- 
lude, he sang the following verses : 
SONG. 
Fill to the brim this lusty can 
With double ale and stout ; 
The wight I deem not half a man 
Who dare not see it out. 
Chorus. 
Heigh ho, the ale so brown : 
Fill it here, fill it there : 
Every one shall have his share. 
The burley knight is sick, they say : 
The friar's ill at ease ;�
## p. 76 (#100) #############################################
7o 
The serving-mao is drunk to-day ; 
And all have oik dise: e. 
Heigh ho, the ale so brown, &c. 
Then, if the men who wear the hood 
No sin in drinking find, 
Let's hold, such practice must be good; 
And leave no drop behind. 
Heigh ho, the ale so brown, &c. 
But give the churl a winding-sheet, 
Who from his drink will fly :  
Let him, the hungry worms to treat, 
In yonder church-yard lie. 
Heigh ho, the ale so brown, &c. 
And o'er his carcase cast a stone, 
To keep the niggard there : 
He well deserves to lie alone, 
Who poisons joy with care. 
Heigh ho, the ale so brown, &c. 
But lightly may the green sod lie 
O'er us, with daisies dight, 
When death shall drain our last bowl dry, 
And bid us say, Good night ! 
Heigh ho, the ale so brown, &c. 
And, fellow-topers, when the wake 
Or church-ale calls you nigh, 
O'er us libations largely make, 
To greet us merrily. 
Heigh ho, the ale so brown, &c,�
## p. 77 (#101) #############################################
77 
What, though with linen shroud y-bouud, 
And on our cold bed laid, 
Our sprites may hail the welcome sound, 
And own the duty paid. 
Heigh ho, the ale so brown ; 
Fill it here, fill it there : 
Every one shall have his share. 
(( 
By Saint Runyan," cried Robin, u I 
would not give a stewed pruin for such ano- 
ther song ! it is as long as a vesper, and as 
dull as a homily : as I am a true man, it smells 
of Lent, when Sir John the curate talks of 
penance, and ends as molloncholly as a dirge. 
Go to, I'll sing you a song, my masters." 
" Ay marry, that's another matter," said 
the host ; " why, Robin, you be a very dra- 
gon at a song ;  your voice is so loud, it will 
frighten the howlets ;  it would make a rare 
second to the roaring of Grim the miller's 
water-fall." 
" The fool's bolt is shot, I trow," answered 
Robin ; " look you to your tankard, good-�
## p. 78 (#102) #############################################
man gorbelly : this ilk song, you ma\ r ween,, 
was sung in the cnderloot-play at Saint Ma- 
ry's church by one of the merry wags with a 
blue beard, who thrust the three barns into 
the fiery oven. Allen our parish-clerk penned 
it down, and I gave him a stoop of strong 
ale to con it from him. It has a burden ; 
and you raun all bear a part with me, or it 
will be stark naught.  Judge now fairly, my 
masters :  
SONG. 
Bring hither ale  both stout and stale, 
Nor let me stinted be ; 
I never think  but how to drink ; 
And drinking should be free. 
Chorus. 
Then trowl the bowl : 
Waesheal to every thirsty soul. 
The merry sprite  who walks by night, 
Good Fellow, well you know, 
Was once a man,  true to his cann, 
Like us, my hearts, I trow. 
Then trowl the bowl, &c.�
## p. 79 (#103) #############################################
79 
But when the clay  he'd wash'd away, 
That once his body fram'd ; 
All light was he,  and full of glee, 
Hobgoblin justly nam'd. 
Then trowl the bowl, &c. 
Come, drink away  both night and day ; 
Let not our throats be dry : 
And so shall we  transformed be 
To elves, and never die. 
Then trowl the bowl : 
Waesheal to every thirsty soul. 
" By the blood," cried Hob Richer, " but 
it is well done ! Robin's song for my money. 
Give's your hand, my heart: you and I are 
stanch back and edge: we shall make rare 
elves, and bask all night upon the warm 
hearth by the glowing embers of the Christ- 
mas log, and, when we fling away at the 
crowing of the cock, drop a cross of silver 
into the shoe of the cleanly house-wench: 
but, by the lord of Lincoln, we will soundly 
catterclaw the idle queans who leave us a 
dirty house to range in." The juggler, find-�
## p. 80 (#104) #############################################
80 
ing that there was no chance of drawing any 
more coin from the company, wished them 
good-night, and departed with his compa- 
nion towards Hertford. 
After they were gone, the can went mer- 
rily round ; and Hob the inn-keeper, who 
had drunk pretty freely, began to reel; when 
Hugh, clapping him upon the shoulder, said, 
" Come, my jolly host, sing us your favourite 
song, 
" Here is a pot of nappy good ale, 
As clear as crystal, neat and stale." 
tt 
A fig for the favourite," quoth Hob; 
give me a stoop of clary ; that is my fa- 
vourite." 
" In good time," returned Hugh; " but let 
us have the song first." 
" Say no more about it," cried Hob ; fori 
am as hoarse as a cuckoo in June : and, by 
the blood, I will not sing for the best king's 
son in Christendom : but an it be for drink-�
## p. 81 (#105) #############################################
81 
ing, my hearts, body of me, you shall not 
find my peer in ten parishes." 
" That's a goodly jape in sooth," quoth 
Hugh ; " do we not all know that Tosspot 
can fight vou at that weapon, and baffle ye 
by odds f 
" By the blood, thou art a false knave to 
say so," answered the host : " am I not the 
imp's master ? did I not first instruct him in 
the mysteries of the ale-pot, and teach him 
to turn off his bowl with good discretion ?" 
"Truce with your bickering," cried Robin; 
" Hob is talking of my nonage, when I was 
a puelling boy, and wore a chin unfledged ; 
but, by the lord of Lincoln, if he dare cast 
the gauntlet now, I am his man.  Look you, 
my masters, if he provoke me to my daring- 
do, I will empty his cellars before the prime 
beH rings, and marr his occupation for two 
moons to come !" 
" Many come up," quoth Hob,  the ban- 
dog bays most furiously ; but he has lost his 
VOL. 1. F�
## p. 82 (#106) #############################################
82 
teeth, my hearts : an I had the lozel foot to 
foot till cock-crowing, I'd make him stare 
worse than the juggler did after his h owlet." 
This sarcasm produced a general laugh, and 
Robin made no reply. 
The conversation afterwards turned upon 
the May-game, and Hob Filcher declared, 
that it wanted many knackeries to be com- 
plete ; " For George the pinner of Wake- 
field," said he, " was not there, nor Bettris 
his leman, nor Will Scarlet the jolly Shrop- 
shire man. When I was a boy we had an- 
other guess May-game : I have laughed till 
I cracked my sides to see Robin Hood break 
the potter boy's pipkins, and fight with the 
potter." 
" That strain," said Jack of Wellwyn, " is 
in the enterloot, and I warrant me was rarely 
enacted by the play folk at Saint Albans. 
But what say you, Hob, to the savage man, 
who so mawled poor Morris the mole-taker, 
and knocked Sampson over the sconce with 
5�
## p. 83 (#107) #############################################
83 
as little ruth as thof he'd been in the smithy, 
and smiting at the anvil; what mister wight 
was he ?" 
" Body o' me," returned the host, " he is 
a lusty revelour, I warrant me, with his merry- 
men all in a row. They called here anon be- 
fore the fight, and eat and drank like roysters; 
and when the reckoning was conned, the jolly 
savage thrust into my hand a noble more 
than the costs. He weaned I did not know 
him ; but, by the bones, I kenned him right 
well : for I noted him when he doffed his 
ugly visor to drink ; but I was as mute as a 
fish  you know my guise  and wean ye well, 
my hearts, he is no elfin wight, but a roar- 
ing blade. He wonnes not in Goblin-land, 
but in the land of abundance  in the king's 
own house I trow. Why, do ye think that I 
should forget my former playmate, Jaques 
Duseday." 
Duseday ! " cried Jack of Wellwyn with 
tc�
## p. 84 (#108) #############################################
84 
surprise. u What, Duseday the famous prize- 
fighter ?" 
" The same/' answered Hob, " and none 
other, or I am a knave, my hearts." 
" He you mean," quoth Jack, "who tur- 
neyed at chop and foyne with sharp brands 
against Mudge the cudgel-player, before the 
king at Saint Albans." 
" He is no changeling, I tell you," said the 
host. 
By the lord of Lincoln," continued Jack, 
I am nought astouned that Morris fared 
so foully ; and our comrade, Sampson, may 
well bid his beads for escaping with a broken 
coxcomb. Why this fire-drake is master-man 
in the company of jugglers belonging to John 
Rikell, the king's tregetour ; he is the scare- 
crow of the country. By the rood, I marvel 
hugely who this same borrel beetle, trans- 
mewed into a silken butterfly, might be, that 
stinted the juggler's boasting, and made his 
## p. 85 (#109) #############################################
85 
big bones cry twang ho; how bight ye him, 
mine host?" 
To this Hob replied, " I ween, my hearts, 
he was the foul fiend benemped Belzebub. 
He came, I trow, from Sathan's paradise, and 
I hope he is gone to purgatory." 
" By the lord of Lincoln," cried Jack, 
w you have said sooth for the nonce. He 
must have been the devil or Friar Rush, 
to have yshent the juggler so reproachful- 
" That same borrel knight," said Hugh, 
" benemp him how ye may, was a tall man 
and a brave " 
" He a tall man !" cried Hob ; " the foul 
fiend afray him, he is a carle, a princox.  1'Jl 
tell ye, my hearts, this tall man, with his 
gay train as crank as peacocks, passed my 
doors without giving me the good-day, or 
hansling a single cross with me for luck's 
sake." 
' Marry, that was a shrewd ill guise of�
## p. 86 (#110) #############################################
S6 
his," cried Tosspot ; ** for I hold no wight 
stalvvorth and true who passes a taverner's 
hush without tasting his wine. He is a knave, 
in my liking, who cannot trowl his bowl or- 
derly, or refuses the woesheal when the pot 
is thrust towards him." 
" By the blood, my jolly heart," quoth 
Hob, " we be both of one mind. Look at 
Jaques Duseday, he is a man at all points: 
he never refuses to pledge his fellow : he 
smacks his lips like a lusty blood after a deep 
draught, and calls out amain,  let us have no 
stinting, my masters. I warrant I lost six or 
eight marks by his downfall. I looked for 
him back again ; but he coured away like a 
fox from the hounds, or we should have been 
merry as grigs, and the ale and the clary had 
flowed as from a fountain." 
By this time the clowns began to find 
their heads well stored with the fumes of the 
liquor ; and Hugh the carrier, whose business 
required his attendance early in the morning,�
## p. 87 (#111) #############################################
87 
rose up, saying, " I ween, my masters, we 
shall learn no more at this tide respecting 
the borrel knight; he is an arrant stranger 
to us all " 
" And so let him be," quoth Robin, inter- 
rupting him ; " I care not he be an elf, a 
ghost, or the man o' the moon; he will not, I 
trow, put one cross into my pouch, nor set a 
bowl of clary upon the table.  Come, hostess, 
fill the can ; we'll take t'other bout, and let 
the right sow claim her own pig for me." 
" I'll have no more," retorted Hugh ; " the 
night wears apace, and I must be off for Lon- 
don by the prime." 
" And as I live," said Jack of Wellwyn, 
" my brains are in a maze ; the world turns 
round like a whirligig, as the stronomers 
sayen, and if I tarry much longer, I shall 
peradventure walk wide of the path, and roll 
into the gravel pit in Lochly warren." 
" I guessed how 'twould be," exclaimed 
Robin pettishly ; "it is ever your guise when.�
## p. 88 (#112) #############################################
88 
3 r ou get into the marrow of good fellowship, 
to slink off like cravens, and leave me in the 
lurch.  What, you will go ? then the foul 
fiend take you to fool's purgatory.  Here is 
Hob Filcher and I, we never flinch.  Come, 
dame, bring me a crab from the fire, and 
we'll see the bottom of this can before cock 
crowing ; and then I'll crawl home as merry 
as a cricket." 
The reckoning being paid, the company 
departed, singing as they went, excepting- 
Robin, who, with his friend Hob, were seated 
in the chimney corner with a full can of ale 
before them ; and Tit the innkeeper's wife 
fell fast asleep in the great chair.�
## p. 89 (#113) #############################################
89 
SECTION III. 
CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE LADIES. 
A MORNING WALK.  AN ADVENTURE. 
When the mummery and dancing were 
concluded, the baron's fair daughter with- 
drew to her chamber, accompanied by her 
lovely cousin; who assisted her in removing 
the chaplet from her head.  " I have hardly 
seen it," said she, taking it into her hands: 
and when she had carefully reviewed it, she 
expressed her surprise at the richness and 
elegancy of the ornaments ; and added, " In- 
deed I have been to blame for giving en- 
couragement to these May-games; this ad- 
venture, of course, will become the common 
talk of the village. Ignorance may give origin�
## p. 90 (#114) #############################################
90 
to many misrepresentations of the fact, and 
malevolence take the advantage to interpose 
its unmerited censures." 
" To none, my dearest cousin/' returned 
the Lady Eleanor, " that can cast the least 
blemish upon your character; and therefore, I 
beseech you, be not in the least uneasy upon 
that account. The world, with all its petu- 
lance, is not unreasonable enough to blame 
you for the fault, if fault there be, of your 
unknown lover." 
"Lover!" retorted the Lady Matilda; "fye, 
fye!" 
" Not in the least," answered her cousin ; 
a for every one will naturally believe the che- 
valier's own declaration ; he professed pub- 
licly his adoration ; he overcame the savage 
for your sake ; he laid the reward of his 
achievement at your feet, and hailed you the 
Sovereign of the May. In my mind now, 
my dear Matilda, this unknown wooer, for 
such I hold him to be, has deported himself�
## p. 91 (#115) #############################################
91 
like a puissant and an accomplished hero ; 
being desperately in love, as a true knight 
ought to be, and as debonair as though Sir 
Tristrem, the flower of courtesy, had been his 
tutor." 
" Your merriment, my good cousin, is al- 
together untimely; I do not wish to hear 
any more of this jack-a-lantern." 
The serious manner in which the Lady 
Matilda expressed herself, joined with the 
oddness of the concluding phrase, made her 
cousin laugh ; and, with an air of pleasantry, 
she replied, " You do the champion wrong, 
my fair lady, to confound him with a mis- 
chievous goblin. I am much deceived if he 
be not made with flesh and blood like other 
men ; and peradventure he is the heir appa- 
rent of some great king or mighty empe- 
ror; so, through his persevering spirit, the 
daughter of Lord Boteler may become a 
queen or an empress. It will, however, be 
positively necessary, according to the esta-�
## p. 92 (#116) #############################################
.92 
blished rules of chivalry, for the dear un- 
known prince to take you away by stealth, 
in the dead of the night, from Queenhoo^ 
hall,  marry you at Bramfield oratory; and, 
notwithstanding all the enquiries made after 
you by the baron your father, and all the 
outcries I of course must make upon the oc- 
casion, you and your august consort, after 
escaping ten thousand imminentdangeis, shall 
reach the capital of his vast dominions, at a 
time when all the world give him over for 
lost, and his venerable father is erecting a 
cenotaph to his memory. The grey-headed 
old man will die suddenly for joy at seeing 
his son returned ; the prince and you will de- 
luge the earth with tears for the loss of such 
an excellent parent ; and the next day your 
joint coronation will take place, with every 
due solemnity; when tournaments and justs 
will be exhibited upon the happy occasion  
the bells ringing  bonfires blazing  cresset 
lights streaming  conduits running wine �
## p. 93 (#117) #############################################
93 
and the populace rejoicing; with such pomp 
and such pageantry as never was seen be- 
fore : and will not all this, my dear Matilda, 
be mightily fine ?" 
* And mightily consistent withal," returned 
the Lady Matilda. 
" It is very unreasonable in you," said Elea- 
nor, " to expect consistency in a romance. 
The very essence of legendary chivalry is to 
exceed the bounds of congruity; for if an 
author permits his hero to eat, to drink, to 
sleep, or to perform any of the functions of 
life like a reasonable being, he degrades his 
romance to a common history, and his hero 
to a common man. Every thing in romance 
must be wild,, imaginary, and unnatural : a 
true knight will live twenty years at a stretch 
in a dark dungeon, with no other food than 
rats and mice, and without sleeping; but, 
when he takes it into his head to exert his 
strength, for wonderment sake, he will burst 
his adamantine chains asunder, beat down�
## p. 94 (#118) #############################################
94 
the prison door with his fist, beat out the 
jailor's brains with one of' the bars, and kill a 
thousand or two of Pagan kempery men, who 
are appointed to guard him, and then walk 
off in triumph, as sleek and as fresh coloured 
as Cecil his lordship's butler. The heathen 
daughter of the Soldan of Persia, who chances 
to be passing by at the time, falls instantly in 
love with this puissant hero, turns Christian 
to oblige him, and follows him through the 
world, leaving her aged father to curse his 
false gods, tear his milk-white hair, and break 
his hard heart with sorrow for her departure. 
And trust me, my dearest cousin, when you 
shall become an heroine, as the prospect be- 
fore you seems to promise, all things will 
wear a different aspect in your eyes; cottages 
will be changed into palaces  palaces into 
enchanted castles  the possessors into giants 
their wives and their daughters into ladies 
in distress  their servants into dwarfs  their 
dogs into dragons  and their hawks into�
## p. 95 (#119) #############################################
95 
griffins. And when your puissant consort 
shall think it requisite, for no possible reason 
that I can divine but to reconvince you of 
his prowess, to leave his peaceful dominions, 
and seek abroad for perilous adventures, how 
delightful will it be for you, riding upon a 
stately palfrey by his side, or mounted be- 
hind him, so be it please you better so to 
travel, as the old ditty has it  
Over bog, over mire, 
Through bush, and through briar, 
And gloomy forests far astray, 
Where never hapless wight, 
By day-tide nor by night, 
Explor'd the dark and devious way. 
I, alas ! have no such splendid fortune falling 
to my lot ! No champion, prow and full of 
hardyhood, to become my protector, and lead 
me through the wide world, killing of two- 
headed giants  or flying serpents  or fiery 
dragons  or putting to flight whole hosts of 
fearful hobgoblins  and all for my amuse- 
ment !"�
## p. 96 (#120) #############################################
96 
" If these sarcastic effusions of your gaiety, 
my dearest cousin, afford you pleasure, go on 
with them/' said the Lady Matilda; " but, 
for my part, Ido not find the least amuse- 
ment in them Indeed, my mind is ill at 
ease ; and the more I reflect upon the unto- 
ward occurrences of the day, the more my 
thoughts are bewildered, and my anxiety in- 
creased."  She paused for a moment ; when, 
taking her cousin by the hand, she, heaving 
an involuntary sigh, added ; " I sincerely 
wish I had borne no part in them   but it is 
now approaching apace to midnight, and if 
you please, my cousin, we will go to our 
beds."  The Lady Eleanor readily complied 
with her proposal, hoping that rest would be 
more conducive to the removal of the lady'3 
disquietude, than the continuation of her rail- 
leries.�
## p. 97 (#121) #############################################
97 
The next day the Lady Matilda arose at 
an early hour ; she had slept but little, her 
mind being agitated by the events of the 
preceding afternoon. Perceiving the morn- 
ing to be exceedingly serene and beautiful, 
she called to her cousin, who slept in an 
apartment which communicated with her 
own, and desired to know if a walk before 
breakfast would be agreeable.  " The sky," 
said she, " is unclouded ; the little birds 
are singing in the thickets ; and every thing 
that is charming in rural retirement invites 
us abroad." 
" With all my heart," replied the Lady 
Eleanor; " it is indeed a delightful morning, 
and I have been awake some time listening 
to the notes of a thrush that is carolling in 
the garden, not far removed from my win- 
dow." 
VOL. I. G�
## p. 98 (#122) #############################################
58 
When they were prepared for their ex- 
cursion, the baron's fair daughter proposed a 
visit to the Park Lodge.  " 1 put," says she, 
" a mantle of sendal into the hands of the 
ranger's daughters when I leftTewin, in order 
that it might be embroidered by them ; I 
do not indeed suppose they can have com- 
pleted the work by this time, but I am desi- 
rous of seeing what progress has been made : 
the border, my dear cousin, consists of a 
running sprig, embellished with foliage and 
flowers, and the pattern was designed and 
drawn by myself." 
I know," returned the Lady Eleanor, 
you draw very finely ; and as I have never 
seen this pattern, I will readily accompany 
you thither." 
" You are a flatterer, my cousin, and 
greatly over-rate my poor abilities," said Ma- 
tilda, blushing : w the design has nothing 
uncommon to recommend it ; but you shall 
see it with all its faults." So saying, they 
2 
a 
tt�
## p. 99 (#123) #############################################
99 
proceeded to Parker the ranger's habita- 
tion. 
Upon their arrival, the Lady Matilda was 
much surprised to find the embroidery upon 
the mantle not only completed, but the work 
wasexecuted inamannersuperiortotheyoung 
women's usual performances. The Lady Elea- 
nor declared, that she knew not which de- 
served the greatest praise, the elegancy of 
the pattern, or the excellency of the needle- 
work.  "This diligence ought to be reward- 
ed," said the baron's fair daughter. And 
putting her hand into a gipsire hanging 
from her girdle, she drew out an angel of 
gold, which she presented to the eldest girl, 
desiring her to share it with her sisters. 
(C Certes," quoth the damsel, courtseying 
as she received the money, " this guerdon 
exceeds our poor deservings ; the work, so 
please your ladyships, you deem so quaintly 
wrought, is purfled by one more couthful at 
the needle than we be."�
## p. 100 (#124) ############################################
100 
"Arid who is this excellent work-woman P ? 
returned the lady. 
" She is a stranger/' answered the girl.  
When Dame Alice, her mother, interfering, 
said, "And such a stranger  may our holy 
Lady protect her ! she looks like an angel 
sheen. Certes, excepting yourself and the 
Lady Eleanor, I have not seen her peregal ; 
nor shall I see it in twenty parishes, I trow." 
" You much astonish me," replied the Lady 
Matilda ; " inform me, I beseech you, who 
she is, and how she became your guest." 
Dame Alice resumed her speech with these 
words : " I remember well, upon the vigil 
of Saint Thomas the blessed martyr of Kent, 
Sir John our curate arreaded us, that evil 
hap betides the best of folks ; sithence the 
holy saints have had their tines and their 
tosts, and we ought not to be abashed by 
selcouth fortune; albe, it is a shrewd evil 
stour when so charming a rose-bud, so gent�
## p. 101 (#125) ############################################
101 
a damozel, so noble a lady, is buffeted al 
hoodman- blind by a naughty world." 
a You call her a lady, and tell us she is 
noble," said the baron's fair daughter, inter- 
rupting the old woman : " hence, I presume, 
she claims the privileges of rank and ances- 
try." 
" And soothlich to sayen," rejoined Dame 
Alice, " they are her due, and with them 
large estates ; but right is oft impeached by 
might, and so the poor chicken is pilled of 
its barley." At this instant, the sound of a 
lute was heard.  " She is going to carol," 
continued the good dame ; " her window is 
open, and your ladyships may hear her bet- 
ter in the porch." The young ladies went 
thither; and after a short prelude, the stranger 
sang the following verses to a very plaintive 
tune :  
To thee, O soul-possessing power, 
Sad Afelancholy, shall belong 
The thoughts that fill each wakeful hour, 
And day by day my hopeless song.�
## p. 102 (#126) ############################################
102 
But why  when unawares I close 
These eyelids, overpress'd with grief,- 
Am I a stranger to repose, 
And find not in my sleep relief ? 
For then terrific visions rise ; 
On precipices steep I stand ; 
And, falling, cast around my eyes 
For help,  but find no helping hand. 
In wild affright, perchance I hear, 
Arous'd from sleep, the midnight bell ; 
With horror chill*d, I drop a tear, 
And cry,  It is my Henry's knell ! 
She ceased, and the admiration of the la- 
dies was much increased ; for both of them 
declared they had never heard the lute more 
skilfully touched, nor more sweetness and 
delicacy of vocal expression exerted, than in 
the performance of this plaintive lay. Their 
curiosity was redoubled to learn her name 
and family ; but the renewal of their enqui- 
ries was interrupted by the sudden appearance 
of the fair musician herself. She came hastity 
into the room, with the intention of speaking�
## p. 103 (#127) ############################################
103 
to the Park-keeper's eldest daughter; when 
her eyes meeting those of the young ladies, 
she blushed, and, courtseying, besought them 
to pardon her intrusion ; et for indeed," said 
she, " I did not know that my good dame 
was engaged with such noble visitants." 
She was about to withdraw : but Ladv 
Eleanor prevented it, by taking hold of her 
hand : and, having assured her that no apo- 
logy was necessary, she said, " Permit me, 
my dear lady, to introduce you to the Lady 
Matilda, daughter of Lord Boteler." 
The lovely stranger courtseyed a second 
time ; and Matilda, with great affability re- 
turning her politeness, begged to be favoured 
with her acquaintance; telling her, at the 
same time, how much herself and her cousin 
had been delighted by the air and music 
they had just now overheard. 
The fair stranger blushed at the com men- 
dation, and modestly replied; " Indeed, ladies, 
I was altogether unconscious that I had any�
## p. 104 (#128) ############################################
104 
other hearers than those of this good family, 
who never interrupt me, or I should have 
forborne my complaining, and sighed in si- 
lence." 
" I am therefore exceedingly glad," re- 
turned the baron's daughter, " that our visit 
was unknown to you, not only because it 
would have deprived us of the entertainment 
we have already received, but also because it 
might have lost us the opportunity of solicit- 
ing your acquaintance." The stranger re- 
plied with great propriety, and accompanied 
her speech widi such elegancy of deport- 
ment, that the ladies were convinced the 
good Dame Alice had not by any means 
over-rated her merit ; they therefore entreat- 
ed her to accompany them to Queenhoo-hall, 
and partake of the morning refreshments She 
made some difficulty respecting her dress; 
but the ladies would admit of no excuse, and 
pressed her with so much importunity, that�
## p. 105 (#129) ############################################
105 
she was necessitated to comply with their 
request. 
The Lady Matilda and her lovely cousin 
varied the conversation, on purpose to give 
their fair visitor an opportunity of displaying 
her abilities. She answered the serious sub- 
jects proposed by the baron's daughter on the 
one hand, and as readily replied to the lively 
railleries of her more volatile cousin on the 
other ; but at intervals a gloominess over- 
spread her countenance, and, notwithstand- 
ing; the efforts she made to conceal it, mani- 
fested a mind depressed with sorrow : yet the 
excellency of her understanding, improved 
by a finished education, displayed itself upon 
every occasion that called for its exertion. 
After the little party had participated in 
the morning repast, the sports of the preced- 
ing day became the subject of their discourse; 
and the Lady Eleanor, addressing herself to 
the lovely stranger, enquired if she had been 
present at them. The young lady replied in�
## p. 106 (#130) ############################################
106 
the negative ; adding, " A long succession of 
misfortunes has alienated my mind from the 
scenes of tumultuous joy, and solitude is best 
suited to a broken spirit. I became a volun- 
tary housekeeper; my services were thank- 
fully accepted, and the whole family were 
spectators of the pastimes. I am indeed 
informed that several unexpected incidents- 
took place, and prolonged the pleasures of 
the day." 
" Your information is perfectly correct," 
returned the Lady Eleanor. " We had a sa- 
vage from Fairy-Land, an unknown chevalier 
to overthrow him, and a justing well per- 
formed in honour of the ladies." 
" [ also heard," said the stranger, " that 
the Lady Matilda was proclaimed Sovereign 
of the May, and inaugurated with a golden 
chnplet, embellished with jewels." 
" Such was in truth the fact," returned 
Eleanor; " and as you was not upon the Green�
## p. 107 (#131) ############################################
107 
at the presentation of this splendid ornament, 
you shall see it here." 
" I beseech you, my cousin," said Matilda, 
blushing, and gently retaining .her by the 
skirt of the supertunic ; " I beseech you sit 
down, and let us change the subject; such 
fooleries do not bear the repetition." 
" Say no more about it," answered Eleanor, 
withdrawing her garment ; " the lady shall 
positively see the chaplet, and I am confident 
she will agree with me that it is a very pretty 
foolery." So saying, she quitted the room, 
and returned in a few minutes, holding the 
jewel in her hand." Do you not think, my 
dear lady," said she, addressing herself to the 
guest, " that this costly garland indicates the 
munificence, at the same time that it proves 
the gallantry of the chevalier, who presented 
it to my cousin ?" 
The moment the fair stranger set her eyes 
on the chaplet, the blood forsook her cheeks, 
and she was much agitated ; but when Lady�
## p. 108 (#132) ############################################
108 
Eleanor presented it to her, she drew back 
with horror, and pushing it aside with her 
hand, exclaimed in great agony of mind, 
" Oh blessed Lady ! Mother of God, protect 
me !  The man who possessed that chaplet is 
a murderer  is Darcy's murderer !" So say- 
ing, she closed her eyes, and falling back 
upon her seat, she fainted. 
The Lady Matilda and her cousin were 
much alarmed by the effect the sight of the 
chaplet had produced on their fair visitor ; 
and their uneasiness, as well as their asto- 
nishment, was considerably augmented by the 
dreadful import of her exclamation : they 
hastened to her assistance, but life appeared 
to be totally suspended ; they summoned the 
female attendants, and ordered the house phy- 
sician to be called; no remedies usually applied 
upon such occasions were omitted, and the 
stranger was recovering from her swoon when 
the physician entered the room. He found 
the young ladies much terrified ; but after he�
## p. 109 (#133) ############################################
109 
had examined the pulse of the patient, he 
relieved them from their anxiety, by assuring 
them she was not in the least danger: find- 
ing her, however, extremely languid, which 
he thought midit arise from the depression 
of her spirits, he ordered her to be put into 
a warm bed, and kept as quiet as possible for 
a few hours. Every thing was performed in 
perfect consonance with his direction; and 
Matilda, attended by her charming cousin, 
sat by the bed-side, and watched the conva- 
lescence of the sorrowful fair one. Observing 
she was fallen into a sweet sleep, which was 
likely to prove exceedingly beneficial, they 
withdrew themselves as quietly as possible to 
the next chamber, in order that she might 
not be disturbed ; when Matilda, whose heart 
was full, burst into tears, saying, '* This glit- 
tering bauble," for the chaplet was deposited 
upon a table there, " is certainly the fabrica- 
tion of some evil-minded artificer, made un- 
der the influence of malignant planets, and�
## p. 110 (#134) ############################################
110 
contrived to diffuse a succession of troubles 
and vexations to its unfortunate possessors. 
So bless me, sweet Lady Virgin, as I wish I 
had never seen it !" 
" No doubt," answered her cousin, " there 
are some wonderful circumstances involved in 
the history of diis jewel ; but do not, there- 
fore, make yourself uneasy : whatever a future 
discovery may produce, you cannot possibly 
be thereby affected ; and perhaps the whole 
of this misadventure arises from a mistake,  
two chaplets may be made so nearly alike as 
to deceive the eye, and especially upon so 
slight a glance; for the lady had no oppor- 
tunity of examining the ornament, nor did 
she even take it into her hands." 
To this the baron's fair daughter replied, 
" Perhaps it may be so ;" and, heaving a 
deep sigh, she added, " 1 hope it will prove 
so; but, at all events, I feel myself interested 
in favour of this unfortunate stranger  her 
youth her beauty  her good sense and po-�
## p. 111 (#135) ############################################
Ill 
lished deportment, are irresistible advocates 
in her behalf. She speaks of murder, and, if 
I mistake not, mentioned the name of Darcy; 
surely her troubles are no common ones. If 
you, my dear cousin, will wait here to assure 
her of our protection when she awakes, 1 will 
return to the Lodge ; her family and connec- 
tions appear to be known to the ranger's wife, 
and I cannot sit down, with the least satis- 
faction to myself, until I am acquainted with 
them." The Lady Eleanor, equally desirous 
of knowing somewhat relative to the history 
of their visitor, approved the design of her 
cousin, and promised, on her part, not to be 
neglectful. The Lady Matilda had reached 
the hall, when a loud rapping at the gate 
called her attention thitherward, and the ar- 
rival of Lord Edward Boteler, her father, 
prevented the intended excursion.�
## p. 112 (#136) ############################################
112 
SECTION IV. 
CHAPTER I. 
In which the Story runs retrograde  The History 
of' an old Witch, and an important Adventure 
at her solitary Cell  A Wrestling Match, and 
a Ghost. 
The reader, I doubt not, will readily re- 
collect, that a character was introduced in the 
May Games, called the Maid Marian, who 
officiated as the bride of Robin Hood. This 
damsel was none other than the daughter of 
Sim Glover, a leathern jerkin maker atTewin; 
her name was Margery, and she was esteemed, 
and not unjustly, the handsomest lass on the 
Green ; and on this account she possessed no 
small portion of vanity.�
## p. 113 (#137) ############################################
113 
Now it so happened that Gregory the ba- 
ron's jester, and Ralph the tasker, were both 
of them desperately in love with this same 
Margery. She indeed seemed rather inclined 
to favour Gregory, on account of his loquacity 
and learning, in which points his rival Ralph, 
who was a man of few words, had no chance 
with him; but, on the other hand, Ralph had 
a very powerful advocate in Dame Gillian, 
the fair damsel's mother, who was his staunch 
friend. There was also another circumstance 
in his favour; Dame Tabitha, his honoured 
parent, who was a widow, and Dame Gillian, 
were on the most intimate footing, being 
rarely apart whenever the least leisure afford- 
ed them an opportunity of gossiping with 
each other; and Tabitha was also exceed- 
ingly desirous that the union should take 
place. With respect to Sim Glover, he had 
no objection ; for indeed whatever Dame 
Gillian thought proper to propose, he rarely 
contradicted: and thus Ralph seemed to stand 
VOL. I. H�
## p. 114 (#138) ############################################
114 
on a fair footing. The clay after the cele- 
bration of the May-games, Sim Glover and 
his wife were obliged to go to Hemel Hemp- 
stead, respecting a legacy that was due to 
them ; and as Tabitha had officiated as a 
witness to the codicil, her presence was also 
thought to be necessary ; and accordingly 
she agreed to go with them. Margery, not 
caring to sleep alone in the absence of her 
father and mother, solicited the company of 
her cousin Rose, daughter to Pierce the pot- 
ter ; and her desire was cheerfully complied 
with. 
Early in the morning the three good folks 
had left Tewin ; and as soon as they were 
fairly out of sight, our quondam maid Marian 
resolved on a frolic she had long wished for 
an opportunity to put in practice, and which 
at this time fairly offered itself to her ; that 
is, she determined to visit a weird woman, 
who resided upon Datchworth Green, at the 
distance of four miles, or somewhat more, in 
2�
## p. 115 (#139) ############################################
115 
order to learn of a certainty which of her two 
lovers was destined to be her husband, and 
what good fortune awaited her in future ; 
other motives also at this time impelled her 
to the execution of her scheme. She com- 
municated her design to her cousin Rose, who 
was easily prevailed on to accompany her thi- 
ther. This important undertaking being thus 
resolved on, as soon as they had finished 
their breakfast, they secured the windows, 
and, having locked the cottage door, pro- 
ceeded towards Datchworth ; but not being 
perfectly acquainted with the nearest way, 
Margery applied to Thomas, the reve's son, 
who met them accidentally in the back lane, 
for a proper direction. Upon her mention- 
ing the weird woman, Thomas smiled, and 
said, " My pretty lasses, you are going, I sup- 
pose, to have your fortunes told. May holy 
Saint Dunstan abash the foul fiend, and send 
you all the good luck your hearts can de- 
sire !"�
## p. 116 (#140) ############################################
116 
" I thank you, good Master Thomas," said 
Margery, casting her eyes upon the ground ; 
" but in sooth your bolt has fallen wide of 
the mark. Our fortunes told, say you ! No, 
no, we have other corn to grind, I trow ; for 
we be going to find out who stole our over- 
gilt spoon, which we lost yesterday : and fa- 
ther thinks that Tib, the old blind pedlar's 
leman, took it while we were chaffering for 
some bobbins." 
This said, Thomas, without any further he- 
sitation, pointed out the way to them. " It 
is not indeed," said he, " the best path." So 
he wished them a pleasant walk, and, bidding 
them good-morning, went about his business. 
They strolled on without the least molesta- 
tion, talking over the wonderful events that 
had taken place on May-day ; and Rose de- 
clared, that she was determined to enquire of 
the witch concerning the strange knight, and 
the country whence he came. It was near�
## p. 117 (#141) ############################################
117 
noon by the time they reached the old hag's 
hut, which stood by the side of a coppice, in 
a narrow dirty lane, that bore no marks of 
having been a thoroughfare for centuries 
back ; the cot itself seemed to be of great 
antiquity, half its covering was carried away 
by the devastations of the weather, and the 
deficiency of the mud-daubing upon the walls 
admitted the wind from every quarter. In 
short, the outside of this deplorable habita- 
tion was so squalid and ruinous, that our two 
adventurers hesitated awhile, and neither the 
one nor the other dared to knock at the door, 
fearing that some evil goblin, instead of a 
woman, should open it for their reception. I 
shall therefore give them time to become 
more courageous, and, before they are per- 
mitted to enter the unhallowed cell, take the 
liberty of presenting to my readers a succinct 
history of the sibyl herself. 
She was the daughter of a gentleman of 
fortune, who resided at Waltham Holy Cross,�
## p. 118 (#142) ############################################
118 
Nature had been exceedingly unkind to her, 
for she was very ill-featured, and deformed 
from her birth. Her father, however, having 
no other child, was extremely fond of her : 
he remarked, that a peculiar sharpness per- 
vaded her answers as soon as she could ar- 
ticulate them, and taking this propensity to 
be waspish for -a symptom of extraordinary 
abilities, he superintended her education him- 
self; for he was a man of letters, and endea- 
voured, by the cultivation of her understand- 
ing, to counterbalance the defects of her 
person. He had, however, mistaken pertness 
for wit, and cunning for genius. He was 
himself an ' infidel respecting religion ; and 
his lessons were merely physical lectures, cal- 
culated to amuse the head, but not to amend 
the heart. The redundancy of idle ceremo- 
nies, which abounded at that time in the 
national church, were the constant objects of 
his contempt; the pride and hypocrisy of 
the church-men, with the abuses practised�
## p. 119 (#143) ############################################
119 
by the monks, the friars, the nuns, and other 
religious votaries, afforded too mucii latitude 
for his satirical censures He derided, and 
justly, the authority assumed by the pope, 
with his army of legates and cardinals; nor 
did the indulgences and pardons, wickedly 
exposed to sale, escape his ridicule : and thus 
far he was not to be blamed. Unfortunately, 
however, he did not stop here ; but, through 
the abuses of religion, he made a desperate 
stab at religion herself ; and because too ma- 
ny, who called themselves Christians, deport- 
ed themselves altogether unworthy of their 
profession, he unreasonably condemned the 
system of Christianity on account of their 
misconduct;  not aware, that, while he at- 
tempted to disfigure the precepts of piety 
and holiness, inculcated by the gospel of 
Christ, he destroyed the soundest and most 
efficacious lessons of moral virtue. Young 
minds are apt enough to imbibe the poisonous 
disseminations of infidelity ; no wonder, there-�
## p. 120 (#144) ############################################
120 
Sore, that the daughter followed implicitly the 
dictates of her father, and readily learned to 
ridicule every sacred institution. Indeed, this 
hapless female had no fair chance for the 
exercise of her own judgment under so par- 
tial a tutor. On the contrary, her mind, the 
moment it was capable of discernment, was 
warped from the principles of rectitude, and 
deeply impressed by those of a contrary na- 
ture; so that it would have been as easy a 
task to have reduced her distorted body to 
an elegant form, as to have restored her mind 
to the simplicity and meekness which true 
religion requires. When she had reached 
the age of twenty, a dissolute young fellow, 
named John Sad, who had spent his patri- 
mony in riot and debauchery, and was fear- 
ful of being immured in a prison by his cre- 
ditors, cast his eyes upon her, and determined 
to make a desperate effort to recruit his for- 
tune, by uniting himself to an object which 
inspired him with horror. Accordingly, he�
## p. 121 (#145) ############################################
121 
found an opportunity of opening his mind to 
her; and beins; a handsome well-formed man, 
not more than four years older than herself, 
he found no difficulty in prevailing upon her 
to receive his addresses. Their meetings 
were at length made known to her father, 
who was exceedingly angry upon the occa- 
sion, and commanded her sternly, as she va- 
lued his blessing, to see Master Sad no more. 
But as obedience to her parent was no part 
of her acquirements, and his blessing of less 
value than a rush, in her estimation, she set 
his threats at defiance, and, listening to the 
solicitations of her lover, married him pri- 
vately. She then thought it necessary to 
acquaint her father with what she had done; 
and he, with great philosophic apathy, turned 
her out of his doors, and sent her clothes after 
her to her husband's apartment. She had a 
small portion independent of her father^which 
she made over to her husband, and this was 
shortly dissipated. She then felt, for the first�
## p. 122 (#146) ############################################
122 
time, the miseries of poverty, cursed herself 
for her folly, and her father for his inhuma- 
nity. Her husband also, disappointed in his 
expectations, and haunted by his creditors, 
became peevish, and treated her with con- 
tempt. The haughtiness of her disposition 
would not permit her to endure such ill usage; 
they proceeded to high words, and from words 
to blows: the poor dame was worsted in the 
encounter, and so bruised by the beating she 
had received, that' she was obliged to take to 
her bed, and two days elapsed before she was 
able to crawl down stairs. In about six or 
eight days afterwards her husband returned 
home: he came back in a better humour 
than he went away, and, by affecting to be 
sorry for what had passed, he regained her 
confidence ; but in the night he purloined 
what few jewels she had remaining, which he 
sold to support his extravagancy. Soon after 
this event, her father died, leaving the bulk 
of his fortune to some distant relations, and�
## p. 123 (#147) ############################################
123 
to his daughter a small pittance for her life,, 
to be paid her monthly, but barely sufficient 
to prevent her from absolutely starving. This 
being made known to Master Sad, he watched 
an opportunity, and one day w.iile she was 
gone to Waltham market, he hired two or 
three assistants, and packing up all the fur- 
niture that was in the house, her clothes and 
personal ornaments, with every thing that 
would bring any money, he took them away, 
leaving her in arrears for rent, without a rag 
to put on, or bed to lie upon. He disposed 
of his baggage to a broker at Enfield for 
less than half its value ; and, having paid his 
assistants, proceeded to London, where he 
entered into the army, then on the march 
towards France, and fell in the famous battle 
of Agincourt : a death too good for such a 
worthless miscreant ! His wife, on. her return 
home, found the house stripped of every 
thing that was valuable, and herself suddenly 
reduced to extreme indigence. She stamped.�
## p. 124 (#148) ############################################
124 
she screamed, and rent her hair in a paroxysm 
of raging madness; her father's memory she 
loaded with maledictions, blasphemed heaven, 
and called for destruction on her husband. 
When the fit was in some degree subsided, 
she threw herself upon the floor, and lay de- 
ploring her misfortunes till midnight. As soon 
as she heard the ringing of the bell at Ches- 
hunt Priory, she started up, unable to endure 
the torment of her own reflections any longer, 
and, impelled by her frenzy, ran down into 
the meadows, uttering execrations all the 
way, and plunged herself headlong into the 
river Lea. It happened, fortunately for her, 
that, the water being high, two of the millers 
from the town-mill were upon the banks draw- 
ing up the flood-gates ; they saw what was 
done, and, hastening to her relief, arrived time 
enough to save her life, for which she was 
not grateful enough, to thank them. This 
they attributed to her affright, and, with great 
humanity, took her into the mill-house, where�
## p. 125 (#149) ############################################
125 
they laid a faggot upon the fire ; and having 
wanned a pot of stout ale, grated a little nut- 
meg into it, and made her drink plentifully, 
which cheered her spirits. The event was 
soon bruited among the neighbours, and her 
miseries excited their compassion ; a small 
subscription was set on foot for her present 
relief, her rent was discharged, and sueh ne- 
cessaries as could not be dispensed with were 
procured for her : but her temper and her 
principles precluded her neighbours from as- 
sociating with her; she lived alone in the 
midst of her fellow creatures, loved by none 
of them, but shunned by all. An opinion 
also prevailed among the lower classes of the 
people, that she had sold herself to the devil ; 
and this story being propagated, the children 
followed her whenever she appeared abroad, 
treated her with various indignities, some hoot- 
ing, some shouting, and others bawling out, 
Here comes the old Witch. She was therefore 
obliged to quit Cheshunt; and having hired�
## p. 126 (#150) ############################################
M6 
the miserable cottage just described on Datch- 
worth Green, remote from every other habi- 
tation, she resided there by herself, and never 
went abroad, but to purchase the necessaries 
for subsistence. Her fame followed her thi- 
ther ; but the loneliness of her habitation se- 
cured her from the evil treatment she had 
experienced in a populous neighbourhood, 
and the notions which prevailed of her being 
a witch was by no means of disservice to her; 
on the contrary, she was frequently consulted 
by one or other of the rustics ; some of them 
being desirous of prying into the secrets 
of futurity, others to discover thefts, and 
others again to know what days were fortu- 
nate or unfortunate for the pursuit of their 
business : and as none of her visitors could 
obtain the least information without crossing 
her hand with a piece of silver, she found 
the trade of prediction to be exceedingly 
beneficial, and therefore did not deny her 
compact with Satan ; but in order to impress�
## p. 127 (#151) ############################################
V21 
the minds of those who waited upon her with 
stronger notions of her sagacity, she procured 
two or three old mutilated manuscripts of a 
large size, and filled the margins wit!; various 
characters, perfectly unintelligible, and as 
uncouth as any of those which the reader 
may find abounding in the four books of 
Occult Philosophy, by the celebrated necro- 
mancer Henry Cornelius Agrippa : and as all 
old witches are supposed to have a great par- 
tiality for cats, (which, by the bye, the learned 
have asserted are not real grimalkins, but fa- 
miliar spirits,) Dame Sad kept several, and 
among them three remarkably large ones, as 
black as a sloe ; to these she paid peculiar 
attention. 
We left our two damsels before the en- 
trance of the cottage, impelled by curiosity 
on the one hand, and restrained by fear on 
the other, to announce their arrival. Curio- 
sity, however, at length prevailed ; and Mar-�
## p. 128 (#152) ############################################
128 
gery, who was the most courageous of the 
two, struck gently a tap or two upon the door 
with her knuckles, when she was answered by 
a hoarse voice from within, desiring them to 
draw up the latch, and enter the dwelling. 
The sound appeared to them unlike the arti- 
culation of a human being, and Margery, 
crossing herself, retired from the door ; when 
the voice repeated the former direction, add- 
ing, " If you want me, young women, why do 
you not come in ?" 
" Saint Agnes speed us!" cried Rose, "the 
weird woman knows us already, I trow." 
" And therefore," rejoined Margery, " if 
we should attempt to run away, she will set 
her spell upon us, and keep us here till mid- 
night: we had better do as she bids us; for it 
will be a perilous matter to make her angry." 
So saying, she led her cousin by the hand, 
and pulling up the latch with caution, opened 
the door, and they presented themselves upon 
the threshold, where they stood trembling.�
## p. 129 (#153) ############################################
129 
not daring to advance beyond it. The 
gloomy horrors of the oraculous cell were 
fully exposed to their view, and the Pythoness 
herself, who was seated upon a wooden tripod 
by the side of a few expiring embers, which 
she was turning over with her stick : her 
head was wrapped about with a volupure, so 
disguised with filth that its original colour 
could not possibly be discriminated, and 
through the torn places, which were numer- 
ous enough, her white locks stood up on end, 
for she had neither a veil nor a wimple to 
cover them : her dress was an old thread- 
bare courtpie, patched with different kinds of 
cloth, and besmattered with dirt, so that it 
was perfectly rigid ; her flesh was the colour 
of smoke-dried bacon, and her ferret eyes, 
which looked askance, were bloated with ho- 
vering over the wood-embers; upon the tip 
of her nose, which was very thin and promi- 
nent, she wore a large pair of barnacles, and 
they made no small addition to the uncome- 
VOL. I. I�
## p. 130 (#154) ############################################
ISO 
iiness of her long lank visage. The moment 
the door opened, she elevated her head, which 
was shaken by the palsy, and, surveying the 
damsels, cried out, " Come in, and shut the 
door." 
They had not courage enough to obey this 
mandate, but each of them dropped a low 
courtsey to shew their good breeding; and 
Margery answered, " We thank you, dame, 
but we be very well here." 
" Did not I order you to come in t" re- 
plied the Pythoness peevishly. " What, in 
the devil's name, are the wenches afraid of?" 
At the mention of the word devil, the young 
villagers looked earnestly at each other, and 
courtseying a second time still lower than 
before, they advanced a step or two.  " Come 
nearer, I say," rejoined the witch. " But 
shut the door first, or I will call a goblin 
from the lake of brimstone to do it for me." 
As she said this, she stretched out her arm, 
and overset by accident a pot full of water�
## p. 131 (#155) ############################################
131 
upon two large black cats that were sleeping 
by the fire-side : the animals being terrified, 
and seeing strangers in the house, set up their 
backs, and began to spit and bounce about 
like furies. At last, rushing by the two dam- 
sels, they effected their escape at the door, 
just as Rose had laid her hand upon it to shut 
it.  " Benedicite!" cried she, and shrieked; 
and Margery, having crossed herself, began 
to count over her beads with great devotion, 
saying, "Help us, Lady Mary, and shield us 
from the foul fiend !" 
" Out upon you !" cried the old woman. 
" Shut the door, 1 say. What, you two Jenny 
Howlets, are you such lozels as to take the 
cats for devils r" Rose then shut the door ; 
and she and her cousin, making their obey- 
sance a third time, approached nearer to the 
table : but they could not help noticing an- 
other sooty-coloured grimalkin couched upon 
the old hag's lap, which seemed equally dissa- 
tisfied with them, and lay mewing, while it�
## p. 132 (#156) ############################################
132 
stared upon them with eyes like saucers, and 
could hardly be pacified by the caresses ol'its 
mistress. 
The old woman then, pretending to examine 
a large book which lay open upon the table 
before her, drew her finger slowly down the 
margin, pointing particularly to several of 
the strange characters therein contained; and 
afterwards, taking her barnacles from her nose, 
,she told the young women, to their great 
surprise, that they came from Tewin Lower 
Green, and that they were desirous of know- 
ing their fortunes. She then assured them, 
that her familiar spirit had informed her of 
their coming ; and added she, addressing her- 
self to Margery, " You have got two lovers ; 
you are proud at being thought handsome; 
and you are too fickle to determine in favour 
of either." 
" I hope, forsooth, you don't say so for the 
nonce," answered Margery gravely ; " but I 
had forgot," continued she, taking a milled�
## p. 133 (#157) ############################################
133 
sixpence from her gipsire, " I have not 
crossed your hand with a piece of siiver: 
there is a tester, dame." 
" Thou hast some understanding, I per- 
ceive," answered the old woman. "Go to 
then, shew me thy hand." Margery then 
wiped the palm of her left hand, and pre- 
sented it to her; she reinstated her glasses 
upon her nose, and after poring over it a 
short space, delivered the following oracu- 
lous verses : 
I'll tell thee what, thou silly chit, 
The fair-haird man will prove untrue : 
What will avail thee all his wit, 
When he, fond fool, bids thee adieu ? 
The shorter man, with hair so dark, 
Is honest-hearted, hold, and free : 
What though he be no silken spark, 
He will for aye be true to thee. 
Here she stopped short, and appeared to be 
much agitated. Alter a short silence, she 
stamped upon the ground, and said, ." Do 
vou not hear the croakinsr of a raven?"�
## p. 134 (#158) ############################################
134 
Si 
No, io good sooth/' returned the girls, 
after having listened with great attention. 
" It is a foul goblin, that means thee ill," 
said she to Margery. " Hark how it cries." 
" Mary, mercy forbid," said the girl; " but 
in sooth 1 do not hear it, in good sooth I 
do not." 
" It bids me cease to foretell," returned 
the dame, " and I must obey ; for the sprite 
is a powerful one." Here both the young 
women looked fearfully about them, and the 
witch went on, still addressing herself to 
Margery; "Be not affrighted, nothing will 
hurt thee ;  but mark my words : Are you 
determined to know of a certainty who shall 
be your husband ?" 
" Yes forsooth, dame,'* said she, * if it be 
possible." 
" It is possible," answered the hag ; " but 
have you courage " 
* Law now, I don't know," said she.�
## p. 135 (#159) ############################################
135 
" To meet hirn," (moth the dame, et afe 
twelve o'clock" 
" Yes forsooth," said the girl. 
" Ay, but at night, and in the church-yard r" 
continued the witch. " Your companion may 
go with thee." 
Rose shrunk back, but said nothing ; and 
Margery replied, " Will not the ghosts and 
hobgoblins come to scare us ?" 
u Go to, thou fool ; art thou afraid of 
thine own shadow ?" answered the dame. " I'il 
answer for it, nothing worse than thyself will 
be there." 
" Then I will go," said she, " and that is 
determined ;  but the church is a great way 
from our house." 
i( Saint Thomas's oratory is much nearer," 
said the dame, " and that will do equally as 
well ;  but can you read ?" 
" No, in troth," said Margery, " I be not 
learned." 
Why then let what I am now about to 
ft�
## p. 136 (#160) ############################################
136 
say to you/' replied the witch, u be strongly 
impressed upon your mind : 
Around the church see that you go, 
With kirtle white and girdle blue, 
At midnight thrice, and hempseed sow j 
Calling upon your lover true, 
Thus shalt thou say ; 
These seeds I sow : swift let them grow. 
Till he, who must my husband be, 
Shall follow me and mow. 
This being faithfully performed, your future 
husband shall surely appear to you." 
" But will he not hurt me ?" said she. 
" Hurt thee, indeed !" returned the hag. 
" Why, wench, thou hast no more wit than 
a woodcock. No, no, he loves thee too well 
to hurt thee, I trow." And then she made 
Margery repeat the verses, until she had 
learned them perfectly by rote. This done, 
she addressed herself to Rose, who also gave 
her a sixpence, and half hiding her face with 
her wimple, came simpering forward.  " And 
you would have your fortune told, my girl r"�
## p. 137 (#161) ############################################
137 
said the Pythoness. Rose nodded her head 
by way of assent." Show me your hand." 
She accordingly held it out, and the old wo- 
man, looking upon it, said, " The line of life, 
I see, crosses the table line." 
" Law now, that is more than I knew," said 
the girl. 
" I perceive," continued the dame, " you 
will have two husbands," 
" Oh dear," cried she, turning to Margery, 
and laughing. 
" And if my art deceive me not," added 
the hag, " you will have six  eight  ten  
yes ten children." 
" Mercy on me !" said she, blushing, and 
casting her eyes upon the floor. 
" Your first husband," continued the dame, 
" will be a fair man, tall in person, and ex- 
ceedingly good-humoured." Rose smiled, 
but said nothing. " But I much fear, by the 
intersection of the line of fortune ending in 
the line of love, that you will play him false,�
## p. 138 (#162) ############################################
138 
wiy turtle : by this line it appears, that his 
bosom friend shall put the jilt upon him, and 
poor noddy will certainly be horned." 
a Indeed but he shant though," said Rose, 
angrily withdrawing her hand ; " if you can- 
not tell fortunes better than that, I would not 
give a rush for all your art." 
" You need not be angry, my little dandy- 
pratt," retorted the witch, with a sneer; " what 
your stars have decreed must come to pass." 
"And her second husband ?" said Margery, 
smiling. 
" He will be a Tosspot," replied the old 
woman; " a choleric shrewd knave: I would 
advise her to look well about her, for if she 
offends him he will swinge her soundly." 
" Let us go, Margery," said Rose, pouting ; 
" I do not want to hear the old shrew prate 
any longer." 
*< Hush, hush, my dear Rose," answered 
Margery, astonished at her temerity ; " be-�
## p. 139 (#163) ############################################
139 
sides, you have forgotten your intention of 
enquiring concerning the strange knight." 
" I care not about him," said she; " if you 
chuse to ask any more questions, do ; for my 
part, I shall keep my breath to cool my 
pottage." 
" The history of the strange knight," said 
the old woman, " does not concern either of 
you ; it involves a mystery not proper to be 
unravelled, but which time hereafter will ex- 
plain.  And you," added she, addressing her- 
self to Margery, " remember the charge that 
I have given to you ; perform the ceremonies 
this night, and be happy ; if you fail to do so, 
either through perverseness or tearfulness, 
you will expose yourself to much difficulty, 
and never afterwards have an opportunity of 
seeing what you most desire." These words 
were uttered by the Pythoness with a pecu- 
liar energy, and made great impression upon 
the mind of Margery. She promised to per- 
form her part ; and having again repeated�
## p. 140 (#164) ############################################
140 
the incantations, she and her cousin quitted 
the squalid habitation of Dame Sad. and re- 
joiced in being restored to the sweet air and 
the sunshine. 
By the time they returned to Tewin, and 
had taken some refreshment, it drew apace 
[ towards six o'clock ; when Rose observing a 
number of villagers assembled on the Green, 
was desirous of knowing what was going for- 
ward, and Margery very readily agreed to 
accompany her thither. On their arrival, 
they learned that Ralph and Gregory had 
engaged to wrestle a fall or two, with holders, 
for a stoup of double ale. They had not 
been long there before the competitors ap- 
peared ; and Ralph seeing Margery among 
the spectators, requested her to tie the blue 
ribbons round his shirt sleeves, and permit 
him to declare himself her champion. Gre- 
gory was equally solicitous of being honoured 
by his mistress, and insisted upon Ralph with- 
drawing his claim, which he as pertinaciously�
## p. 141 (#165) ############################################
141 
refused; so that a sanguinary combat would 
inevitably have precluded the trial of skill, 
had not the company interfered, and ad- 
vised them to decide the contest by lot. 
The contending parties, after some alter- 
cation, acceded to this proposition ; and 
three thorns being procured from the next 
hedge, all of them unequal in length, they 
were, according to old custom, held in the 
hand of a person uninterested in the dispute, 
with only the larger ends exposed to view, 
and Ralph and Gregory drew each of them 
one. He who fortunately fixed upon the long- 
est thorn was the conqueror, and the longest 
thorn was drawn by Ralph. Of course the rib- 
bons were tied upon his sleeves by the lovely 
hands of fair Margery, and Ralph assumed 
the title of her champion. In the mean time, 
Margery's companion, the lovely Rose, com- 
passionately performed the same office for the 
disappointed jester. The wrestling then took 
place; and Ralph, in defiance of all the shift-�
## p. 142 (#166) ############################################
14 
ings and turnings of his antagonist, threw 
him fairly three times, without having sus- 
tained one single foil. The victory was pro- 
claimed by the reiterated shoutings of the 
clowns, who hoisted the fortunate champion 
upon their shoulders, and bore him away 
in triumph to Hob Filcher's, at the Rose 
and Crown. Ralph veiled his bonnet as he 
passed by his beloved Margery ; but for Gre- 
gory, he skulked away among the crowd crest- 
fallen, or, as Tom Tosspot observed, like a 
fox who had lost his tail. 
This incident, trifling as it was in itself, 
could not have happened at a more propitious 
moment; for Margery applying the commen- 
datory verses, uttered by the weird woman in 
favour of the dark-haired man, to her lover 
Ralph, of course the charge of inconstancy 
was referred by her to Gregory, who began to 
decline in her opinion. Upon re-examina- 
tion of their persons, she thought that Ralph 
was the best-proportioned man of the two;�
## p. 143 (#167) ############################################
143 
and though somewhat browner than his rival, 
his countenance was more comely, and bore 
much stronger marks of cheerfulness and 
o-ood humour. Those ideas were greatlv 
o 
strengthened by the proof he had now exhi- 
bited of his powerfulness and skill in manlike 
exercises ; so that, in proportion as the jester 
receded, Ralph gained ground in her good 
graces. It now became a matter of great 
importance for her to know, for a certainty, 
the event of this double courtship, and she 
conceived that her future happiness depended 
upon her obeying the mandates of the weird 
woman; for which reason, she determined that 
nothing should be wanting on her part. She 
found it, however, a very difficult task to pre- 
vail upon her companion to go with her, and 
she had not sufficient courage to undertake the 
adventure alone. Rose, who was exceedingly 
disgusted by the predictions, or rather maledic- 
tions, applied to her, abused the old dame with- 
out mercy, calling her a limb of Sathan; afalse-,�
## p. 144 (#168) ############################################
U4 
crafty, cousening qucane ; and maliciously 
added, " She is as ugly as a succubus, and 
only wants a hood of snakes to lead the dance 
of hobgohlins in a mystery play. I will have 
nothing to do," continued she, " with such a 
shrewish callat. Holy Saint Ann f'orfend ! 
Why she may send a legion of her foul imps, 
and hurry us away in a whirlwind." Margery, 
on the other hand, exerted all her eloquence 
to quiet her cousin's apprehensions, and to 
excite her curiosity ; and continued to solicit 
so long and so urgently, that she positively 
teized her into a compliance. Her impor- 
tunities being successful, she hastilv dressed 
herself in a white kirtle, over which she 
bound a girdle of Coventry blue ; and reach- 
ing a wimple to Rose, she adjusted her own, 
and, arm in arm, they proceeded towards the 
oratory. The church-clock at Tewin struck 
eleven a few minutes after they had quitted 
the cottage, and crossing the common at the 
bottom of the baron's park, went through a�
## p. 145 (#169) ############################################
145 
bye lane leading to Bram field oratory, with- 
out seeing a soul, or meeting with the least 
interruption. Entering the cemctry, they 
proceeded to the church-porch, depressed 
by involuntary sensations of terror, and there 
they seated themselves close to each other, 
and continued for some time silent. At length 
Margery, taking her companion by the hand, 
said, " My dear Rose, do you not think that 
all this is very silly f" 
" By my troth," replied Rose, fearfully, " I 
know not ; but if I were at home again, you 
should not find me silly enough to return and 
hunt goblins here." 
" I beseech you, be not scared," answered 
Margery; "as sure as eggs be eggs, there will 
not come any thing to hurt us." 
" Belike you think then," said Rose, " the 
false old trott has sent us upon a fool's er- 
rand r" 
" Speak not s o loud," returned Margery, 
hastily ; " I would as lief the fox had stolen 
VOL. I. K�
## p. 146 (#170) ############################################
U6 
half our pullain, as that Goody Sad's friends 
should overhear vou." 
At this time a cloud passing over the moon, 
cast a gloom upon the surrounding objects ; 
and the night being remarkably still, they 
heard the church clock at Tewin strike twelve, 
the solemn hour appointed for the perform- 
ance of the mystic rites. Some minutes, 
however, elapsed before our heroine found 
herself sufficiently courageous to quit the 
porch, and venture alone into the cemetry : 
and had it not been that her cousin was wit- 
ness to her timidity, she would certainly have 
returned without performing the magical cir- 
cumambulations, or repeating the charm ; 
but resolving not to expose herself to the 
future ridicule of her relation, she went forth, 
and taking some hemp-seeds from a little 
pouch attached to her girdle, she cast them 
behind her, uttering the momentous words 
which she had learned from the weird wo- 
man. She passed twice round the oratory,�
## p. 147 (#171) ############################################
147 
and nothing appeared to molest her; but 
having performed the ceremony a third tune, 
and repeated the invocation, stie saw the re- 
semblance of a man, with a scythe upon his 
shoulder, come over the stile, and he followed 
her : she was dreadfully affrighted, and, rush- 
ing into the porch, caught her cousin in her 
arms, saying, " He is come ! he is come !" 
At the same moment, the spectre, bearing 
the perfect resemblance of Ralph the tas- 
ker, saving only that his countenance was 
much paler, approached, and made a long 
stroke with his scythe at the entrance of the 
porch : the girls shrieked out, and Rose hid 
her face with her wimple. The apparition 
said nothing, but looked very wishfully at 
Margery, pointing at the same time to a 
ring of gold, which he held in his left hand, 
as the emblem of wedlock ; then, bowing 
very obsequiously, he threw his scythe over 
his shoulder, and stalked away. The damsels 
were so much terrified by what they had�
## p. 148 (#172) ############################################
148 
seen, that they dared not to quit their seats, 
until the crowing of the cock apprized them 
of the morning's approach ; when Margery 
looked out, and seeing nothing in the form 
of humanity near them, encouraged her cou- 
sin to return ; and they ventured to leave 
the porch, leaning upon each other's arms, 
and, trembling as they went, passed over 
the consecrated ground in profound silence. 
Having gained the bye lane, they quickened 
their pace, but frequently cast their eyes with 
great anxiety behind them, being fearful that 
the goblin might follow them ; nor could the 
popular tradition, which asserts that spirits 
cease to be visible the moment the cock has 
crowed, pacify their apprehensions. When 
they reached their home, they fell upon their 
knees, counted over their rosaries with great 
devotion, said several paternosters, and ave- 
mary's ; and, finally, recommending them- 
selves to the protection of the blessed Virgin, 
thev hastened to bed. When their fears had�
## p. 149 (#173) ############################################
U9 
somewhat subsided, Margery addressed her 
cousin, saying, " My dear, dear girl, was you 
not dismally abashed ?" 
Rose burst into tears ; and, sobbing violent- 
ly, replied, in broken sentences,  " Abashed, 
forsooth!  alas!  Saint Agnes ibrefend I 
should again be so aghast !  ever and anon 
I wished to have died  I was scared out of 
my five wits  I would not for a thousand an- 
gels of red gold, that the foul fiend should 
return, so I would not." 
Her tears prevented her proceeding ; and 
Margery, whose heart was nearly as full as 
her own, made answer, " I shall go wode, if 
you do not stint your sobbing and crying. 
If it was a hobgoblin, it came in the shape of 
Ralph ; and Ralph won't harm us, I trow." 
" Saint Withold quell him, and keep him 
from coming again ; and may the murrain 
take the shrewd gap-toothed beldam, and her 
wicked witchcraft !"�
## p. 150 (#174) ############################################
\5ii 
CHAPTER H. 
A developement of some important Matters  
The introduction of a new Character  And 
a whimsical instance of Rustic revenge. 
Ihe morning was advanced before our two 
adventurers found themselves inclined to close 
their eyes; when, overcome with fatigue and 
agitation of spirits, they fell asleep. Mar- 
gery awoke first, and, seeing that her cou- 
sin was resting very comfortably, arose and 
dressed herself without disturbing her. Just 
as she was opening the window-shutters, her 
gossip Cecily, the baron's milk-maid, passed 
by ; who, saluting Margery with a good-mor- 
row, observed, that she had played the slug- 
gard that morning ; " for," added she, " the 
third bell, I warrant, will ring before you can 
straw your room with rushes."�
## p. 151 (#175) ############################################
151 
" Is it so late ?" returned Margery with a 
sigh : " in sooth I rested poorly last night, 
and vast ugly dreams disturbed my rest." 
Why marry then, I trow," answered Ce- 
cily, " you are not the only one in the village 
who could not sleep for evil sweyvins ; poor 
Ralph the tasker" 
" Benedicite! and what of him?" said Mar- 
gery, hastily. 
** Why," answered Cecily, " he is at death's 
door, I warrant you : he was sorely beset last 
night by the foul fiend, and hurried over 
hedge and ditch by hobgoblins;  they say 
he has been beaten till his body is of as many 
colours as the rainbow, and so scratched and 
clapper-clawed, that he has not got whole 
skin enough upon his carcase to cover the 
top of a cream-pot." 
" The m ore's the pity," cried Margery, 
trembling. " Saint Mary save us from night 
spells ! He was goblin-led, I trow." 
" He takes on mainly, I can tell you," re-�
## p. 152 (#176) ############################################
132 
turned the milk-maid, " and if you be not 
hard-hearted you will go see him ; for you 
knows, as all the village knows, he loves you 
dearly." 
u Marry now," answered Margery, affect- 
ing to laugh, " you have been putting a seely 
jape upon me, 1 trow." 
"How, a jape!" cried Cecily. "By'rLady, 
it is a goodly jape, indeed, for a man to be 
scratched to death by evil sprites. It will be 
a shrewd ill turn of you if you laugh when 
you see him, I can tell you that ;  but I must 
not tarry carping here;  and so, good bye 
to you." This said, she left our fair damsel 
to her own cogitations, and proceeded with- 
out delay towards Queenhoo-hall. 
Margery was struck with astonishment, 
when she heard the evil consequence of her 
impertinent curiosity. She wished the old 
witch and her host of familiars had been 
overwhelmed in the Red Sea, or carried away 
upon a besom. She then blamed herself for�
## p. 153 (#177) ############################################
153 
her own temerity, and sincerely lamented the 
part she had taken towards the tormenting of 
her future husband; for she now fully be- 
lieved that it was Ralph himself, in his pro- 
per person, who had appeared to her, impelled 
to do so by the pow.erfulness of the wicked 
invocations she had been taught to use. She 
determined, however, to visit him instantly; 
and, without awaking her cousin, put on 
her wimple, and went to the habitation of 
her lover. When she entered, she found 
the poor tasker alone, wrapped up in a houp- 
land, seated in an elbow-chair ; his back 
was supported by a bolster, and his head 
closely bound about with a large kerchief 
over a white volupure. The sight moved 
her compassion ; she came to him with much 
less ceremony than she had been accustomed 
to use, and very tenderly asked him how he 
found himself. His eyes glistened at the sight 
of Margery ; and the earnestness of her enqui- 
ries made him think that he was not altogether�
## p. 154 (#178) ############################################
154 
indifferent to her. He answered her with a 
faint voice, saying, '* he had been a grievous 
sufferer ; but because it had been for her 
sake " 
" For my sake, Ralph !" cried she, affect- 
ing an air of surprise. " Why, I hope you 
do not impute the smallest part of your suf- 
ferings to me ?" 
To this he replied, " I came to see thee, 
forsooth." 
"To see me !" retorted the damsel/' Heaven 
bless thy wits ! Why, man, I fear me thou art 
wode." 
" Indeed, Mistress Margery," answered 
Ralph, " 1 shall be stark wode if you be 
cruel ;  but I did see you last night, as sure 
as I see you now." 
" And where, good Ralph ?" said she has- 
tily. 
" In the porch," quoth he, " of Brain field 
oratory." 
" You have been dreaming, I trow ;" an-�
## p. 155 (#179) ############################################
155 
jeered Margery ; " for what should have 
brought you to Bramfield oratory ?" 
" The devil, or his dam, for aught I know," 
said he. " You say I was dreaming ; but 
odds fish, it was a right earnest dream. Why 
you must know that last night, just before it 
sounded twelve upon the bell at Tewin church, 
I was seized as it were with a thousand cramps 
at once, which made me roar like a tyger; I 
was then taken up, as I thought, upon a cowl 
staff, and whisked down stairs in the twink- 
ling of an eye ; the door opened of its own 
accord, and I was hurried over the quicksets 
at the bottom of the common. I was then 
bounded above the trees in Park- lane, and 
afterwards soused into the horse-pond in old 
Wicke's cow-yard, where I was drenched 
like an howlet upon a duck's back. I was 
then drawn through the orchard hedge, and 
whirled against the holly bush on this side 
Bramfield church-yard, where, being tumbled 
ever the stile, a scythe was put, I know not�
## p. 156 (#180) ############################################
156 
how, into my hands, and I was constrained 
to come to the porch, where I saw two young 
women seated ; one of them had her face 
covered with her wimple, and the other, be- 
dight in a white kertel, was, for all the world, 
like you. Saint Thomas help me, but two 
peas in a pottle could not bear a nearer re- 
semblance to each other !" 
" This is passing strange," cried Margery ; 
" certainly you did not say your night-spell, 
or the foul fiend could not have had so much 
power over you. But what happened after- 
wards ?" 
" A very perilous adventure, I promise you," 
quoth he. " I was hurried back in the same 
guess way that I went, over hedge and ditch, 
without any mercy, so that my wits were 
upon end ; and when I came to myself, I 
was lying upon the bed, full of bruises and 
scratches, as though I had been kicked for 
an hour by Wilful, the baron's unruly horse, 
or scaiified by a clowder of wild cats."�
## p. 157 (#181) ############################################
157 
Margery, heaving a sigh, wiped away a 
tear or two which started from her eyes, and, 
looking bashfully upon the ground, returned 
for answer, " So help me, dear Lady Virgin, 
as I am sorry for your misfortunes, neigh- 
bour ! and as your mother is from home, I 
will kill one of our chickens, and make you 
a mess of white broth for your dinner, and 
bring with me a bottle of clary to raise your 
spirits. Take heart, man ; what, I warrant 
you shall not be lost for want of care." 
Here Ralph, taking her hand, pressed it 
to his lips, and kissed it with much fervency. 
He then thanked her for her courteous offer, 
which he accepted with gratitude, and gal- 
lantly added, " The pains I endure from the 
scratches and bruises I have received are of 
small account, when compared with what I 
feel in my heart for the love of you." 
" Fye now, Ralph !" said Margery, blush- 
ing, and carelessly folding and unfolding one�
## p. 158 (#182) ############################################
158 
corner of her wimple ; <( you are glossing over 
,a leasing tale." 
" I trow/' 
Here Ralph clapped his hand upon his left 
breast, by way of confirming his assertion, 
and the damsel went on : " If it be sooth as 
you say, for my 9ake look to yourself and get 
well, and let no more be said about this hob- 
goblin story ; and then, if it liketh ye, talk 
to father and mother,  if they have no ob- 
jections to our union, perhaps I may not." 
" By the holy rood," cried Ralph, " this 
bell rings sweetly!  Such music, dearest Mar- 
gery, will make me a whole man ere long !  
By'r Lady," continued he, catching her in 
his arms, and enforcing a kiss before she was 
aware, " I shall be well anon !" , 
" I did not expect this," said she, breaking 
from him, and assuming an air of pettishness ; 
" go to, you are rude, Master Tasker." 
Ralph, seeing that he had gone too far, 
pretended to have hurt himself by his exer-�
## p. 159 (#183) ############################################
15 9 
tions, and uttered a low groan or two in con- 
firmation. He then proceeded to apologize 
for his behaviour, attributing it to the excess 
of his love, and promised not to offend again 
in like manner ; concluding with a hope that 
she would not go from her word, and swear- 
ing if she did, that he would certainly put an 
end to his own existence, and that his troubled 
spirit should haunt her every night.  " If 
that be all I have to fear," answered the 
damsel, " I trow my sleep would not be much 
disturbed ;  but, however, I shall not give 
you cause of complaint unless you deserve 
it." So saying, she took her leave ; and 
Ralph comforted himself with the hope of 
her returning again with the broth and the 
wine, according to her promise. 
The exertion which Ralph had made, and 
the struggling of the damsel to free herself 
from his embraces, deranged the bandages 
from his temples, and Margery perceived 
that there was not the least appearance of�
## p. 160 (#184) ############################################
160 
the scratches he had so much complained of; 
moreover, the manner in which he pressed 
her to his bosom did not accord with that of 
a sick and languid person, but rather of a 
lusty young lover, in his full health and vi- 
gour.  " Surely," said she, as she shut the 
door after her, " I am gulled by this ousel ; 
but and it prove so, I will lead him a dance 
in earnest, to the full as shrewd as this he 
pretends to have measured." Just as she was 
turning these thoughts in her mind, she saw 
Thomas the reve's son coming towards the 
dwelling. She instantly recollected talking 
to him on the morning they went to Datch- 
worth Green, and it occurred to her that it 
was likely some juggling had been contrived 
between him and her lover. In order to 
discover the truth, she concealed herself from 
his sight behind a holly bush ; and when he 
had entered the dwelling, she drew up close 
to the window, where she overheard the 
conversation which passed between the two�
## p. 161 (#185) ############################################
161 
friends : and hence she learned, that Tho- 
mas, having met her and her cousin as afore- 
said, and finding they were going to consult 
the weird woman, pointed out to them pur- 
posely a round-about way ; and the moment 
he had parted from them, run to his friend 
Ralph, advising him to be beforehand with 
them, and, by bribing the witch, prevail up- 
on her to deliver her oracles in his favour. 
Dame Sad proposed the church-porch busi- 
ness ; and it was by her council Ralph pre- 
tended to be ill, in order to excite the com- 
passion of his mistress, and secure her affec- 
tions,  all which, excepting the mistake he 
had made at the conclusion of the scene, he 
had performed with much ingenuity. Tho- 
mas had also informed Cecily, the baron's 
milkmaid, in confidence, that Ralph had been 
goblin-led ; well knowing that she would keep 
the secret, as such good folks usually do > bv 
taking the earliest opportunity of telling it 
to her gossip Margery. And now the reader- 
VOL. I L�
## p. 162 (#186) ############################################
\6 C 2 
will not be surprised, that the damsel readily' 
accounted for all the wonderful transactions 
that had taken place ; at the same time ac- 
quitting Mother Sad from the charge of 
dealing with the devil for any part of her 
information. It was, however, a bitter por- 
tion to Margery ; for she found that she had 
been completely duped.  " But if I be not 
even with this knight-errant of mine/' said 
she, as she retired from the window, " I will 
permit him to set up my name as a silly lozel 
upon Hob Filcher's sign-post." She went 
home without the least delay; and not chusing 
to communicate the secret to her cousin, told 
her she had a message of some consequence 
to deliver to Cuthbert the barber, which had 
been forgotten, and begged of her to keep 
the house until she should return. She then 
opened a little cabinet that stood in her cham- 
ber, and took from it an angel of gold, which 
was all the money she had in her possession, 
and thrusting it into her gipsire, she pro-�
## p. 163 (#187) ############################################
163 
eeeded to Cuthbert's dwelling upon the Lower 
Green. 
This man, who exercised the functions of 
a tonsor to the village, had in his youth been 
taught to read ; and possessing some smat- 
terings of learning, without sufficient judge- 
ment to digest them, was exceedingly pe- 
dantic. He was continually prating, like a 
parrot, concerning himself and his perform- 
ances. His harangues were unconnected 
with common sense, and totally unintelligible 
to the lower classes of the people, with whom 
he passed for a person of wonderful abilities. 
To his profession as a barber, he added that 
of a cow-leech, and his practice had, in se- 
veral instances, proved successful : he was 
also skilled in phlebotomy, and drew teeth 
to admiration. In the latter part of his life^ 
(for he was far advanced in years,) he became 
acquainted with a foreign pretender to astro- 
logy and physic, and had the address to ge 
possession of some of his nostrums. Upon�
## p. 164 (#188) ############################################
164. 
the strength of this acquisition he resolved 
to commence physician, and undertake the 
cure of the human body, without possessing 
any one of the requisites for such an engage- 
ment, or even a shadow of anatomical know- 
ledge; He used, it is true, a variety of tech- 
nical terms, and spake of the muscles, the 
tendons, the ligaments, the cartilages, and 
the nerves, but never with propriety, ge- 
nerally substituting one for another, and 
constantly mistaking the uses of them all. 
He had observed, that perspiration was fre- 
quently productive of the most beneficial 
effects; and therefore he conceived, that it 
might, with the utmost propriety, be applied 
to every species of disorder which affects 
mankind. In order to facilitate the execu- 
tion of this chimerical enterprize, he actually 
expended a considerable sum of money in 
constructing of hot baths, building of sweat- 
ing rooms, and providing such things as were 
necessary for producing the operations, (for�
## p. 165 (#189) ############################################
165 
so he called the sweatings) which he im- 
posed upon his patients. His mode of rea- 
soning in defence of his practice was in this 
manner : All disorders proceed from the foul- 
ness of the blood ; but perspiration carries 
off the redundant humours, and purifies the 
blood ; and therefore perspiration is a cure 
for all disorders. Accordingly, if a man's 
finger or his toe chanced to ache, the whole 
person was put into a state of requisition, 
and sweated until the pain was withdrawn 
from the toe or the finger. Some laughed 
at the tonsor's humour ; others reprobated 
his conduct, and swore that Diggory the sex- 
ton would amass a fortune if he was per- 
mitted to continue his practice ; others, again, 
insisted upon it, that he had performed many 
wonderful cures. It must be in the moon, 
then, said a fourth party ; for we know no- 
thing concerning them upon the earth. 
To this sagacious descendant of Escula- 
pius our angry damsel had recourse. She�
## p. 166 (#190) ############################################
1 66 
ibiittcl him at home, employed in ascertain- 
ing the true altitude of the sun, with the as- 
sistance of an astrolabe. She was exccedine;- 
ly desirous of obtaining an instant hearing, 
and solicited the same with great importuni- 
ty, but in vain ; he would not return her any 
satisfactory answer before he had completed 
his calculations. This momentous matter be- 
ing settled, he gravely addressed himself to 
his fair visitor, and enquired into the cause 
of her com in 2:. 
She, on her part, without any useless in- 
terlocution, opened the subject in the fol- 
lowing manner : " You must know, Master 
Cuthbert, that poor Ralph the tasker has 
lost his wits. He is stark-staring mad ; and, 
woe the while, his mother is from home, and 
there is not a soul that dare go near him, 
to take care of him ; you cannot devise how 
much he scared me just now; he swore such 
obstropelous oaths, and looked so wildly, and 
then he talked of hanging and drowning !�
## p. 167 (#191) ############################################
167 
Now, you see as how all the village knows 
that he is in love with me, poor heart, and I 
would not have any harm come to him for 
all the king's forests." Here she wiped her 
eyes, and sobbed, as though her heart had 
been full. Proceeding, in broken accents  
" because the naughty folks might say that 
it is all along of me." 
',' I understand you," quoth Cuthbert very 
gravely. " Well, do not cry so, my fair dam- 
sel, but go on." 
" Why then," said she, counterfeiting an 
air of sorrow, " the short and the long of the 
matter is this, I would have } r ou take him 
under your care, and bleed him, and sweat 
him purely ; I know his mother will take it 
in main good part, and pay you well for your 
trouble when she returns." 
" Why, look you, my pretty lass," replied 
Cuthbert, clapping his arms behind him, "fair 
words butter no parsnips, and hawks are not 
lured with empty hands. I never praise my-�
## p. 168 (#192) ############################################
108 
self, the world knows my merits ; let any one 
go to John Fitz-Lomas, of Woolmer Green, 
and ask him, or to Hagan the Lorimer of 
Hartford, and ask him ; I snatched them hoth 
from the jaws of the grave : they were destroy- 
ed bj- the gout, torn to pieces by the rheu- 
matism, shook by palsies, lamed by cramps, 
tormented by spasms, and breathless by asth- 
mas; in short, they were walking spittals when 
they sent for me ; and what, trow yon, did 
I ?  It is well known I do not prate in my 
own praise  let them speak if they will  why, 
by thirty-nine operations, I cured the one, 
who had been ill twelve years, three months, 
and two days ; and, by forty-three operations, 
I learned the other to walk, who had gone 
upon crutches for twenty years and five 
months, bating three days, six hours. These 
are the benefits that accrue to mankind 
through me ; but I praise not myself. Can 
all the learned leeches in the king's domi- 
nions produce such cures as these ? No ! nor�
## p. 169 (#193) ############################################
169 
in the world, 1 trow ; and what did these 
men, when I had made them as sound as 
two roaches ? Why, like churlish unthanks, 
they cheated me of my fees, and swore that 
I did them no good at all : And then what is 
to he said of Michael, the coster-monger ? I 
grant you he died ; but it was because he 
would not take his bitters, nor go into the 
fiftieth operation; had the pettish knave done 
so, he would have been alive now, and as 
merry as a grig ; but what must my fool do ? 
marry, when I had set him almost right up- 
right, he went away from me, has recourse 
to Deval John, a pragmatical pretender to 
physic, and away he was whisked in a hurry 
to Tewin church-yard ; and then it was said 
that I, forsooth, killed him, by giving him 
the dropsy. Oh that Michael was a false 
lordane ! By the belt of Saint Christopher, 
I ween, the shrewd knave died to spite me, 
and so I was tricked out of all the money 
that was due to me for my trouble. Master�
## p. 170 (#194) ############################################
170 
Ralph may pay me in the same coin ; and 
therefore I think it safest and best to follow 
the old English law  touch pot, touch penny ; 
for a bird in hand outvalues two in the bush." 
" Benedicite !" cried Margery, " you take 
me, I trow, for a crazy Bessy; forsooth, I 
know better than to fish for a leech without 
a bait, and be not come empty-handed ; 
Dame Everid, I doubt not, will unbuckle, 
nor mall, if your operations do but take the 
proper effect; but sure bind, sure find, they 
say; and I will pay you for three or four be- 
fore hand :" So saying, she gave the golden 
angel into his hand. 
He cast his eyes upon the coin, and put- 
ting it into his purse, with much affected 
gravity, he replied, " Of a truth, you are 
wise beyond your years, my pretty damsel, 
and have such winning ways with you, that 
one cannot refuse you any thing. I am not 
used to praise myself, but it is certain that 
I can cure where others kill  and so you say 
the young man is mad ?"�
## p. 171 (#195) ############################################
171 
" As a hare in March," quoth Margery. 
" Why, there it is," said the barber, " you 
have done wisely in applying to me ; for all 
the village knows, if they would speak frank- 
ly, that the cures I have performed are pass- 
ing wonderful; but it is a peevish set of wit- 
lings, who regard not merit; they are such 
silly woodcocks, that they had rather be mur- 
dered by licence, than healed without it; for 
what are the licensed practitioners in physic, 
but murderers ? with all their annals, their 
gaily pots, their glasses, their ventoses, and 
boxes of lectuaries, with whole loads of wash- 
draughts, dregs, and drugs, to load the sto- 
mach, impede the operations of nature, and 
nourish diseases ?  I'll none of them  I never 
praise myself, but shall only say, the gout, 
the rheumatism, and the dropsy, are my ga- 
mut. An operation of ten hours, ten times 
tried, would send them all to Belzebub, their 
father. Consumptions I fight in their own 
way, and outsweat the sweatings concomi-�
## p. 172 (#196) ############################################
172 
tant with the disease : but, if you speak of 
the megrims, mopings, or melancholies, or 
of phrenzies, and raging madness, I can give 
them their cheek-mate ; twenty or thirty ope- 
rations may do in slight affections of the 
mind ; but, say the worst, permit me to ex- 
tend them to sixty or eighty, and barring ac- 
cidents, such as dying in the practice, or the 
like, and I will engage my life for theirs, I 
bring them out as fine, and as fresh, as an 
hawk from her moulting." 
" I do not doubt your skill," said Mar- 
gery, interrupting him ; "but, I beseech you, 
for the sake of humanity, to remember, that 
delays are dangerous ; if the foul fiend should 
tempt poor Ralph to make away with him- 
self while we are talking, I shall certainly 
pine myself to death." 
" By the mass," answered Cuthbert, " you 
are in the right ; but I am thinking how we 
shall get him hither." 
" He is vastly strong," said Margery, "when�
## p. 173 (#197) ############################################
175 
the lit is on him ; I pray take help enough : 
three or four sturdy churles must go with 
you ; I will lend you father's cart, you have 
got a horse ; for the love of the blessed Vir- 
gin, make no delay." 
" You say well," quoth the barber ; " and 
there are three soldiers, big men of brawn, 
at Hob Filcher's, I will hire them ; and when 
we have once got our patient down, myself, 
with Jenkyn the bearward, and Tom the tai- 
lor, may manage him easily enough." 
u But be sure to bind his arms," said Mar- 
gery ; " and, above all things, put a gag in 
his mouth, or he will raise the neighbour- 
hood. When you first go in, you will find 
him as quiet as a mouse ; he will tell you he 
is full of scratches and bruises, and as weak 
as a widgeon ; but when he learns your er- 
Tand, he will swear like a bellswaggerer, de- 
clare that he is as well as ever he was in his 
life, and, if not hastily prevented, he will lay 
about him like a fur v."�
## p. 174 (#198) ############################################
174 
" As for that matter," said Cuthbert, " let 
ine alone to manage him ; I'll tame him be- 
fore sunset, or eschew nry profession." 
He then sent for the soldiers, who readilv 
agreed to assist him ; swearing, that they did 
not value a madman, although he mi^ht be 
possessed with a swarm of devils. The horse 
being harnessed, was lead to Sim Glover's, 
and the cart was made ready, when the bar- 
ber, with his myrmidons, mounted, and drove 
through the back lane to Ralph's habitation, 
where they all got out, and, leaving the ve- 
hicle in the out lodge, Cuthbert, to prevent 
suspicion, proposed to go in first to the pa- 
tient, and see what could be effected by fair 
means ; but he placed the soldiers at the side 
of the door, with orders to enter the moment 
they heard him whistle. It was by this time 
somewhat turned of noon, and Ralph, having 
sent away his friend Thomas long before, was 
alone, anxiously expecting the return of Mar- 
gery with the broth, according to her pro-�
## p. 175 (#199) ############################################
175 
niise : he had caused all the handages to Le 
replaced afresh, and was in perfect readiness 
to receive her, when a gentle tap at the door 
announced the arrival of some one. Ralph's 
heart began to flutter, as he cried, with a 
faint voice, " Come in ;" the door opened, 
and, to Ralph's astonishment, not Margery, 
hut Cuthbert, entered the room. The loqua- 
cious barber seated himself upon a joint-stool 
by the side of the tasker, saying, " How now, 
friend Ralph, I am sorry to find thee in such 
a plight. One, I dare say, that loves you 
well, has sent me to visit you." 
Ralph readily comprehended that it was 
Margery he was speaking about ; and though, 
at the same time, he sincerely wished the 
barber anywhere but there, thought himself 
obliged to carry on the farce, and especially 
as he conceived that his mistress had sent 
him for pure love's sake ; and therefore he 
replied, in a faint tone of voice, " In sooth,�
## p. 176 (#200) ############################################
176 
neighhbour Cutbert, I ha' been but ill at 
ease." 
" Yes, yes, I see that," said the barber, 
shaking his head. 
" But I be better now," continued Ralph. 
Better!" cried Cuthbert, " Why then do 
I see you bound up in this manner, like a 
corpse in a winding-sheet ?" 
" O," said Ralph,  I be full of bruises and 
scratches." 
"Off then with these bandages, in the name 
of Saint Luke," iquoth the barber ; " I have 
a salve that will quell the pain in a second, 
and heal them in a couple of hours ; away 
with them, my friend, away with them." 
" By no means," cried the tasker, resist- 
ing the efforts of the barber, who had begun 
to remove them; " the wounds are new dress- 
ed, the pain is stinted, and 1 be doing well." 
" Do not tell me of doing well," returned 
the barber, catching hold of his arm ; " fye, 
what a pulse is here ! and yet you tell me you�
## p. 177 (#201) ############################################
177 
are doing well ! By the holy cross of Bron- 
holme, you was never doing worse in all your 
life!" 
" Cogs bones," exclaimed the tasker, ""you 
will persuade me I am mad." 
Here Cathbert groaned, and shook his 
head. 
u I tell you," continued Ralph, " I feel no 
pain, nor the least uneasiness, but what you 
give me by this disturbance. I want to sleep; 
I have had no rest all night, and I prithee 
leave me, for I find myself main sleepy." 
w Leave you, indeed !" cried the barber, 
" Heaven forefend ! To suffer you to sleep in 
this plight, were to give you over to Diggory 
the sexton, and make worms meat of you. 
Your blood, honest Ralph, is in a perilous 
ferment, and the morbid humours ascend to 
the brain as thick as mots in a sunbeam. 
Come, you must lose a little blood," conti- 
nued he gravely ; " I never boast of my own 
merits but I am the man shall set you to 
VOL. I. M�
## p. 178 (#202) ############################################
178 
rights in a hurry : after bleeding, we will put 
you into an operation, and then you will be 
as comfortable as if you were in paradise." 
So saying, he took from his pouch two long 
fillets, and his bleeding instruments, which he 
laid upon a table that stood before him, and 
enquired for a bason. 
The tasker's patience was now quite ex- 
hausted ; he expected Margery every minute> 
and wisely foresaw, that if he could not get 
rid of this troublesome visitor before her ar- 
rival, his dissimulation, of necessity, would 
be discovered; he therefore determined to 
change his tone, and rising up suddenly, over- 
turned the table on which the barber had de- 
posited his bleeding apparatus, clinched his 
fist, and exclaimed, " By the holy-rood, I 
will be left alone ! Away with your knacke- 
ries and your nonsence ; when I want you, I 
will send for you." 
Ah poor man," replied the barber, shrug-�
## p. 179 (#203) ############################################
179 
ging up his shoulders, " I see how it is with 
you." 
" By the mass, I am glad on't," returned 
Ralph; " and if you do not get out of the 
house, [ beseech you take a fool's advice, and 
do not oblige me to behave uncivilly." 
" As for that matter, Master Ralph," said 
the barber, f I must abide by the conse- 
quence ; I can only say I am your friend, and 
will not suffer you to be lost for the want of 
proper remedies. Come, come, stint these 
passions, choler increases your ailment; sit 
down quietly, I will not take much blood 
from you, nor hurt you so much as the prick- 
ing of a needle." 
" Art thou possessed ?" cried Ralph ; " by 
the blood of Saint Thomas, I think the king 
fiend Satan himself is in thee ! By the mass, 
Cuthbert, thou art stark wode !" 
" In your eyes, I doubt not," returned the 
barber, shaking his head.�
## p. 180 (#204) ############################################
180 
" And will you not go V continued the tas- 
ter angrily. 
" Certainly not, my friend, without per- 
forming my duty," replied Cuthbert coolly ; 
and at the same time taking up the lancets 
and fillets from the floor, he replaced the 
table, and deposited them upon it a second 
time. 
a Once more," said Ralph, " I desire you 
to quit the house." 
" And once more, my fine fellow," an- 
swered the barber, " I must tell you that I 
will not leave you." 
" Why, then, you are an obstinate old fool,'' 
quoth Ralph ; " and may the arch fiend quell 
me, if I do not turn you out of the house, 
neck and heels together :" So saying, he 
seized the barber by the collar of his tunic, 
to put his threats in execution, when he, re- 
treating towards the door, whistled aloud : 
The soldiers immediately rushed in to his as- 
sistance, and the poor tasker was presently�
## p. 181 (#205) ############################################
181 
overpowered. However, he did not submit 
without violent resistance, and struggled more 
like a Hercules than an invalid ; they pinion- 
ed his arms, and tied his legs, regardless of 
the bitter execrations he uttered, and the vows 
he made of vengeance ; but, when he began 
to bawl aloud for assistance, they thrust a gag 
into his mouth, and having laid him at full 
length in the cart, they covered him over 
with the bed-rug ; they then shut the cottage 
door, and conveyed him quietly to Cuthbert's 
habitation. The little vixen who had occa- 
sioned all this mischief, took her stand at her 
chamber-window, where she watched, with 
much anxiety, the approach of the cart. 
When it passed by, she was greatly disap- 
pointed at not seeing Ralph, who, as the 
reader has been informed, was covered over 
with a rug at the bottom ; she was therefore 
fearful that her project had failed of success ; 
but, as she was preparing herself to visit the 
barber-doctor, one of the soldiers returned�
## p. 182 (#206) ############################################
182 
with the cart, and from him she learned, 
that the enterprize had terminated, in all re- 
spects, consonant to her most sanguine wishes. 
" And now," said she to herself, as she return- 
ed to her chamber, " my loving turtle will 
have small cause to laugh at me for my sim- 
plicity ; I only lament that the shrewd Master 
Thomas, his friend and adviser,is not his com- 
panion in this fool's purgatory."�
## p. 183 (#207) ############################################
183 
SECTION V. 
JN WHICH LORD BOTELER IS INTRODUCED, 
AND THE STRANGER LADY DECLARES HER 
NAME AND HER FAMILY. PROVES THE 
BEAUTIFUL CHAPLET TO BE HER OWN. 
The Lady Matilda, hearing that her father 
was arrived, laid aside her wimple, and has- 
tened down into the hall to receive him. He 
came without company,' and having saluted 
his daughter, they passed into the refec- 
tory, where the baron took some refresh- 
ment. When the table was uncovered, he 
jocosely enquired why the Lady Eleanor did 
not make her appearance to welcome him to 
Tewin. " I thought," added he, " you had�
## p. 184 (#208) ############################################
284 
been inseparable companions ; but I hope she 
is well ?" 
" Perfectly so, my honoured lord/' re- 
plied the lady ;  and, if she had known of 
your arrival, would not have suffered me to 
come alone : but the reason of her absence 
will be best explained by a recital of several 
extraordinary adventures that have succeed- 
ed each other in the course of a few hours." 
She then related to her father all the mate- 
rial circumstances that had taken place at 
the May-games ; the occasion of her meet- 
ing with the fair stranger at the Lodge 5 and 
the manner in which that lady had been af- 
fected at the sight of the chaplet. " And 
now," said she, " my dear cousin, whose ten- 
derness is not unknown to you, my lord, is 
seated by the bed-side, and watching the 
termination of the lovely stranger's slum- 
bers." 
c< Compassion well befits the nurtured 
mind," replied the baron, " and the hallow-�
## p. 185 (#209) ############################################
185 
ed works of chanty add double lustre to all 
the other virtues ; but the events which you 
have now related, have no precedent."  Af- 
ter musing a small space, he added, " By the 
faith that I profess, they exceed my com- 
prehension ; but, in truth, my dear Matilda, 
they alarm me also. I beseech you, my child, 
to make me your confidant. I give you my 
solemn promise, that 1 will never force you 
to an union contrary to your own inclination ; 
I therefore hope, on your part, you will not 
blindly cast yourself away upon a man unwor- 
thy of you." 
" I hope," said Matilda, anxiously, while 
the tears glistened in her eyes, " I hope, my 
dearest honoured father, you do not harbour 
such a suspicion ?" 
" No," returned the baron, pressing her 
to his bosom, " no, my child ; by the saints 
we hourly supplicate, I do only," continued 
he, holding both her hands in his, " wish 
you to remember, that at all times you would�
## p. 186 (#210) ############################################
186 
consider me as a friend to advise with, rather 
than as a father to restrain." 
" You are/' said she, affectionately, " you 
are my father, my mother, and best, best 
friend." She then pressed his hands to her 
lips, and bathed them with her tears. 
At this moment the Lady Eleanor entered 
the room, and, running to her uncle, who re- 
ceived her in his arms, she welcomed him 
home. 
As soon as the mutual congratulations were 
over, Matilda enquired concerning the fair 
visitor. 
** She is still sleeping," said the Lady Elea- 
nor, " very composedly ; and I have placed 
Dorothy, your ladyship's gentlewoman, as my 
substitute, with orders to acquaint me when 
she awakes." 
The baron then caused his lovely daughter 
to repeat the greater part of the circumstan- 
ces she had previously related to him. He 
dwelt particularly upon the sudden illness of�
## p. 187 (#211) ############################################
187 
the stranger lady, in whose cause both Ma- 
tilda and her cousin had so much interested 
themselves, and the declaration she had made 
concerning the possessor of the chaplet, that 
he was a murderer ; but the whole appeared 
to bean inexplicable mystery, involving, how- 
ever, some matters of great importance. 
The baron became very thoughtful, and 
an interval elapsed of perfect silence ; when 
Dorothy, striking upon the door, informed 
the ladies that the fair visitor was awake, and 
had enquired anxiously for them, expressing 
her desire of returning to the Lodge. 
At the mention of the word return, the 
Lady Matilda cast her lovely eyes upon her 
father, without uttering a single syllable ; but 
meeting his by a kind of intuition, entreated 
permission for the lady to remain with them. 
The baron perfectly understood her mean- 
ing, and replied, " I think, my dear Matilda, 
you should use your endeavours to prevail 
upon your visitor to abide with you, at least�
## p. 188 (#212) ############################################
188 
until she is perfectly recovered from her in- 
disposition ; for the accommodations at the 
Lodge, I fear, are not sufficiently extensive 
to make her situation there so comfortable 
as it ought to be." 
" My dearest lord/' cried Matilda, kissing 
his hand, " that is exactly consonant with the 
request I was about to make ; and, with your 
permission, I will signify your invitation to 
her myself." 
" By all means," replied the baron ; " go 
both of you : and when she is able to endure 
the sight of a stranger, I pray you let me be 
introduced ; for I do not know any reason," 
continued he, with a smile, " why you should 
engross an handsome lady to yourselves. In 
the mean time, I have some letters of conse- 
quence to write, and can dispense a while 
with your attendance." So saying, he or- 
dered his writing-desk to be brought ; and 
the ladies, followed bv Dorothy, withdrew.�
## p. 189 (#213) ############################################
189 
The fair stranger had nearly adjusted even 
part of her habiliments when the ladies en- 
tered the room. She received their compli- 
ments with so much modesty and elegancy 
of manners, that her acquaintance appeared 
to be still more desirable ; and the excuse 
she made for the trouble she had occasioned, 
was couched in the most pathetic terms, and 
concluded with appropriate expressions of 
heartfelt gratitude. Her auditors were charm- 
ed with the graceful manner in which she 
delivered her sentiments, and remained silent; 
when she, having wiped away the tears that 
gushed from her eyes, the involuntary wit- 
ness of a wounded mind, heaved a gentle 
sigh, and thus resumed her speech: " It is 
now full time for me to withdraw from this 
happy mansion. Joy veils his head where I 
appear, and plainly tells me I ought not to 
interrupt the felicity of others." Alter a pause, 
she added, " I am indeed well aware, that the 
sorrows which depress my mind render me�
## p. 190 (#214) ############################################
190 
unfit for the company of all, but those who, 
like myself, are forlorn and wretched." 
" We must not hear you say so," my dear 
lady, replied the baron's fair daughter, em- 
bracing her very affectionately ; " nor in- 
deed shall we be prevailed upon to part with 
you at an easy rate." 
" By no means," added the Lady Eleanor; 
" for a mind overwhelmed with grief ought 
not to be left to itself to brood over a suc- 
cession of melancholy reflections, much less 
ought it be coupled with another mind suf- 
fering under an equal depression : such ill- 
judged conjunctions are frequently produc- 
tive of fatal consequences. But the truth is, 
both the lady my cousin, and myself, are 
agreed to insist (permit me to use that term) 
upon your remaining with us at least a few 
i 
days, if it be only by way of trial ; for we are 
determined to exert our abilities to amuse 
you." 
The lovely visitor bowed her head, and�
## p. 191 (#215) ############################################
191 
modestly replied, " Your courtesies and con- 
descension, my dear ladies, like the bounties 
of benevolent saints and angels, freely be- 
stowed upon an unfortunate stranger, claim 
my grateful acknowledgments. I feel the 
full force of an obligation conferred in so 
delicate a form, which doubles its value by 
the elegancy of its disguisement. But, alas ! 
I have learned, from woeful experience, that 
sorrow is a contagious disease ; for it not 
only affects the mind in which it takes up its 
residence, but spreads, in a degree, its bale- 
ful influence to all around it." 
" But give me leave," replied the Lady 
Eleanor, " on the other hand, to add, that 
cheerfulness is the best antidote to the con- 
tagion ; nay more, it will not only prevent 
the bystanders from infection, but will also 
communicate, though perhaps but slowly, its 
salutary effects to those who are struggling 
with the potent malady. This remedy re- 
quires y our application ; if it should prove,�
## p. 192 (#216) ############################################
192 
as we trust it will not, unsuccessful, after a 
fair trial, the loss will be our own, and may 
prove our want of skill; but I will answer for 
it, our solicitude shall not be subjected to 
the least impeachment." 
The pensive fair one bowed her head in 
token of assent, and was silent. The ladies 
then informed her, that she was going to be 
introduced to Lord Boteler : and Matilda, 
perceiving she received this intelligence with 
some degree of discomposure, added, " We 
have made my honoured parent, who is but 
lately arrived, acquainted with the principal 
circumstances relative to the chaplet ; and, 
my dear lady, you may be assured, that when 
we introduce you to him, we shall introduce 
you to a sincere friend, and I am certain he 
is impatient to see you." 
The fair stranger shook her head, and, cast- 
ing her eyes upon the ground, replied, " I do 
not, my dear benevolent ladies, in the least 
doubt the excellency of the baron's heart:�
## p. 193 (#217) ############################################
193 
the amiable qualities of the daughter lead 
me to expect all that is great and noble in 
the father. But, alas ! my spirits are de- 
jected with my fortune, and I am unfit to 
move in that rank I once thought myself 
bom to fulfil, [f I might stand excused " 
" Indeed we must not permit it to be so," 
said Eleanor, taking her by the hand : and at 
the same moment the bell was rung in the 
hall, to announce that the dinner was upon 
the table. 
The two ladies presented the fair stranger 
to the baron, who politely rose from his place 
to salute her; and himself conducted her to 
the principal seat, covered with a velvet 
cushion, bidding her welcome to Queenhoo- 
hall. She returned his compliment with so 
much sense and good breeding, that he was 
at once convinced his daughter had not over- 
rated her understanding or her quality Du- 
ring the repast, the conversation was employed 
upon divers subjects of general importance : 
VOL. I. N�
## p. 194 (#218) ############################################
. 194 
but after the table was cleared, and the ser- 
vants withdrawn, the baron gave it a more 
particular turn, and came by degrees to the 
adventures of the May-day ; and after men- 
tion had been made respecting the chaplet, 
he addressed himself to his lovely visitant, 
and begged to know, how it should have 
been possible for that jewel, the sight of 
which had so affected her, to be in the pos- 
session of a knight, who, from his splendid 
appearance, and numerous retinue, appeared 
to be a person of some considerable rank 
and opulence ? He paused ; but seeing she 
had cast her eyes upon the ground, and 
seemed not prepared to answer the question, 
he went on, " I do not wish, my dearest 
lady, to draw from you the least information 
relative to your family, or of the circum- 
stances that have made you unhappy, further 
than shall be consistent with your own good 
sense and prudence to declare ; but I cer- 
tainly must wish, as well for your sake as for 
2�
## p. 195 (#219) ############################################
195 
my daughter's, that some clue might he found 
to unravel at least so much of this mysterious 
adventure as relates to that chaplet." 
" In truth, my lord," returned the young 
lady, sighing, " it is totally inconsistent with 
justice, reason, or gratitude, that I should 
conceal from you, and these dear ladies, the 
least circumstance relating to myself and to 
my misfortunes, especially since it is those 
very misfortunes that have procured me your 
notice. You see before you the only branch 
now existing of the Darcys of Foleshunt, in 
Essex." 
" How !" exclaimed the baron, greatly sur- 
prised ; u Are you the daughter of John Lord 
Darcy ?" 
" My lord, I am," returned the lady ; "and 
perhaps your lordship knew my father?" 
" I, by the holy rood," said the baron, " I 
knew him well !  But where is then thy bro- 
ther?"�
## p. 196 (#220) ############################################
196 
" I have no brother!" cried she, bursting 
into tears.  " He is murdered !  His loss I 
deplore !  And the wretch, who murdered 
him, robbed us of that fatal garland !" 
Her tears put a stop to her discourse, and 
her auditory sat looking upon each other, 
and wondering what might be the event of 
a history, which began in so strange a man- 
ner.  " 'Fore heaven," exclaimed Lord Bote- 
ler, " I am greatly surprized !  The murder- 
er of a nobleman present a chaplet to my 
daughter!  This matter must be sifted closely: 
But," added he, recollecting himself, " per- 
chance, my dear lady, here may be some 
mistake ; is it not possible that two such 
chaplets may be made by the same artist, 
and so nearly resembling each other as to 
deceive the eye, even upon a minute inves- 
tigation, and especially when they are not 
both together, in order to be compared the 
one with the other ?"�
## p. 197 (#221) ############################################
197 
u Your objection, in any other case, my 
lord," replied the fair visitant, " would be a 
weighty one; but there is a certain peculia- 
rity attending this jewel, which will readily 
prove that I am not mistaken : the intersec- 
tion of the rose with the lily, upon the front, 
is a device of my dear brother's ; and behind 
the rose-leaf, which protuberates at the bot- 
tom, you will find his name with mine, ena- 
melled and embossed with gold." 
" Pardon me, my dearest lady," said Elea- 
nor, hastily, " but indeed there is no inscrip- 
tion upon the jewel." 
The lady answered, " I do not wonder at 
your assertion, because you do not know that 
the rose-leaf, which I have pointed out, may 
be turned back by pressing upon a small 
rose-bud towards the left hand, which com- 
municates with a spring unseen, and gives it 
liberty." 
" Where is the chaplet ?'' said Lord Bote- 
ler.�
## p. 198 (#222) ############################################
19$ 
" You shall see it instantly, my lord," re- 
turned his lovely daughter. 
And while she was gone to fetch it, his 
lordship thus addressed himself to Lady Darcy: 
" But if these marks be really wanting upon 
this jewel, the accusation of the knight falls 
to the ground, unless it shall appear that the 
inscriptions have been removed." 
fe They cannot be removed," returned the 
lady, " without destroying the device, and 
that I saw was perfect." 
The Lady Matilda now returned, and put- 
ting the jewel into her father's hand, he 
pressed the rose-bud according to the direc- 
tion given him ; the leaf fell back, and he 
saw, inscribed with letters of gold, the names 
of Henry and Emma Darcy. It was now 
evident the fair lady was not deceived ; Ma- 
tilda and her cousin were silent; while the 
baron surveyed the chaplet with great atten- 
tion.  " It is exceedingly rich," said he, " and 
elegant; but not sufficiently so, I should hope,�
## p. 199 (#223) ############################################
199 - 
to entice a nobleman, bearing the honours of 
knighthood, to forget his duty, become a 
thief, and add the crime of murder to his 
atrocities. Every circumstance relative to 
this jewel tends to excite our curiosity ; for 
which reason, I hope, we may prevail upon 
vou, Lady Darcy, to continue your history, 
and inform us by what manner it was taken 
from vou." 
" The loss of that chaplet," replied the fair 
Emma, " involves the cause of most of my 
misfortunes, at least of such of them as are the 
most aggravated and poignant : a full detail 
of them would exceed the bounds of your 
patience to hear ; and though I shall endea- 
vour to relate them as succinctly as possible, 
I fear the long succession of melancholy 
events, which of necessity must be touched 
upon, will be tiresome, if not disgusting." 
" I beseech you," said the baron, " to have 
no concern upon our account ; but favour us 
with the narrative, as circumstantially as pos-�
## p. 200 (#224) ############################################
200 
sible. Nothing can be more interesting to a 
feeling mind, than the escape of beauty and 
innocence from sorrow and oppression." The 
young lady blushed, and bowed her head. 
The baron's fair daughter, and her cousin 
Eleanor, drew their stools near to the seat of 
Lady Darcy, who began to relate the history 
of her sufferings.�
## p. 201 (#225) ############################################
01 
SECTION VI. 
emma's tale  with the sequel of 
Ralph's calamity. 
CHAPTER I. 
In which Lady Emma Dairy begins the His- 
tory of her Adventures; and as this Chapter 
contains little more than common Occurrences, 
the Reader is at liberty to hurry over it as 
hastily as possible. 
" It is, my lord, no doubt, well known to 
you, that John Lord Darcy, my father, was 
forbid the court, on account of some express 
sions uttered by him respecting the conduct 
of the ministers during the regency of Hum- 
phrey Duke of Gloucester. He retired in 
disgust to his estates at Foleshurrt Darcy, 
VOL. 3. 7�
## p. 202 (#226) ############################################
202 
near Maldon, in Essex. In this retirement, 
he married Elizabeth Saint Clere, the daugh- 
ter of Richard Baron of Saint Clere, of Gay 
Bowers " 
At the name of Saint Clere, the Lady Elea- 
nor whispered to her cousin Matilda, and the 
baron thus addressed the fair speaker : " Par- 
don me this interruption, my dear lady ; but 
there is at present a young nobleman at court, 
who is in great favour with the king, and he 
calls himself Saint Clere : we have the plea- 
sure of being acquainted with him ; and in- 
deed I expect him at Tew in in the course of 
the week. I understood he came from Es- 
sex, and I presume he may be some relation 
to you." 
" No, my lord," replied the Lady Em- 
ma, " that cannot be ; for there is but one 
descendant of that ancient family existing 
there, and that is an unworthy cousin, and 
he lives in great obscurity at Gay Bowers, 
his paternal seat.  But/' said she, having�
## p. 203 (#227) ############################################
203 
paused for a moment, " I have been informed 
that there is a younger branch of the Saint 
Cleres, who have been many years settled in 
the northern parts of England ; and probably 
the nobleman you mention may be thence 
descended." 
Lord Boteler bowed his head without re- 
turning any answer, and the lady proceeded. 
" Mv mother had five children, two sons 
and three daughters : one of the sons and 
two of the daughters died in their infancy. 
After nine years seclusion from the court, 
the baron, my father, was called upon to pay 
a heavy subsidy, which had been voted by 
the Parliament. This exaction he was bold 
enough, I dare not say imprudent, to resist ; 
and publicly, in the county court at Rum- 
ford, accused the ministry of violating the 
rights of the people, by laying heavy imposts 
upon them, which no law could justify, and 
which they ought not to bear. These speeches, 
so openly delivered, could not be passed over�
## p. 204 (#228) ############################################
204 
unnoticed ; in fact, they were represented 
with great exaggeration to the regent, who 
determined to have him attached as a traitor 
to his country, and brought to public trial. 
My father, however, had a good friend in 
the cabinet, who sent a trusty messenger to 
give him timely notice of the proceedings 
that were preparing against him. He left 
the country without delay, and had the good 
fortune to escape into Flanders. My mother 
remained behind to settle the family affairs 
in the best manner she was able ; and, having 
collected what ready money she could, she 
placed the writings of certain estates belong- 
ing to her in the hands of Eustace Saint 
Clere, her elder brother, and empowered him 
to receive her jointure. When the regent 
heard that my father had left the kingdom, 
he laid an attainder on the manors of Foles- 
hunt and Darcy ; the baron was cited to 
appear on a certain day in the courts at West- 
minster, to answer the charge of high trea-�
## p. 205 (#229) ############################################
205 
son ; and because he did not obey the sum- 
mons, a sentence of outlawry was passed 
against him, and the estates were declared 
to be forfeited to the crown. My mother 
quitted her native country with a heavy heart, 
and took with her my brother and myself; 
he was somewhat more than five years of 
age, and I not quite two. We passed the 
sea from Dover to Calais, and thence we 
travelled into Flanders, where we found my 
honoured father : he had purchased a small 
but convenient mansion from a particular 
friend and relation of his, who resided in that 
country. Our habitation was situated in a 
pleasant village, named Beaumont, near to 
Avenes, which was under the protection of 
the Duke of Burgundy. The baron thought 
himself perfectly secure in this retreat, be- 
cause the nobleman who presided there was 
at that time highly offended with the Duke 
of Glocester, on account of his marriage with 
the Lady Jaqueline of Bavaria, notwithstand�
## p. 206 (#230) ############################################
206 
ing her husband, John Duke of Brabant, was 
living : she had preferred, it is true, a bill of 
divorcement against him, but the issue of the 
suit was not determined in her favour. The 
regent passed the seas with a considerable 
army into Flanders, in order to take posses- 
sion of Hainault in rieht of his wile : but 
the Duke of Brabant, her first husband, be- 
ing powerfully assisted by the Duke of Bur- 
gundy, opposed him so vigorously, that he 
was constrained to return from the continent, 
without effecting the purpose for which he 
came.  But why do I dwell on these circum- 
stances ? they are, no doubt, much better 
known to you, my lord, than to me. 
" My father, disgusted with the manners 
of mankind at large, formed little or no ac- 
quaintance with his opulent neighbours : but, 
flying from society, he rarely went abroad, 
and was as rarely visited, except by his friend 
and relation the Chevalier John Boucmel, 
with whom he was extremely intimate; and�
## p. 207 (#231) ############################################
207 
hardly a clay passed without their seeing each, 
other : neither was it of any consequence at 
whose house they met; the welcome was 
equally candid on both sides, and given with- 
out anv frivolous ceremonies. The leisure 
that my dear parents found, from their recluse 
manner of life, afforded them greater oppor- 
tunity of superintending the education of my 
brother and myself, which they did with much 
solicitude ; calling in the assistance of tutors 
best acquainted with such branches of know- 
ledge as they judged most proper for us to 
acquire. My brother, though trained to mar- 
tial exercises, was however well grounded in 
the polite arts, and esteemed an accomplished 
scholar, It was his desire to become a sol- 
dier, and his military studies were pursued 
with much ardour. 
" At the age of eighteen, on the day ap- 
pointed for esquires to tilt, he won a rich 
suit of mail armour, by maintaining the field 
on his party against all comers, at a justing�
## p. 208 (#232) ############################################
208 
appointed by the constable of Hainault. This 
dawn of his prowess was hailed by my father 
as an omen of future glory. " Go on, my 
dear child/' said he, " in the path of honour, 
and acquire the ability to do your country 
service ; and, if I mistake not, she will have 
great need for men of valour to support her 
cause." 
'* My brother's inclination being perfectly 
consonant with this advice, he was continu- 
ally soliciting his father to procure an esta- 
blishment for him in the English army, serving 
at that time in France. Whenever a victory 
was obtained by our brave countrjnmen, in 
the midst of his acclamations of joy, he would 
lament, that he had not been present in the 
action, and a partaker of the glory. My dear 
mother exerted herself to check this military 
ardour, (for she was fearful of parting with 
him,) but in vain ; and my father was actu- 
ally arranging matters to procure him a com- 
mand under some experienced warrior : but,�
## p. 209 (#233) ############################################
209 
before his friends had succeeded to his satis- 
faction, he was seized with a violent fever, 
which the power of medicine could not re- 
strain, and in the course of a fortnight he 
died. My mother was inconsolable for his 
loss : and although my brother and myself 
used every endeavour to assuage her sorrow, 
our efforts were ineffectual ; for, in less than 
six months after the decease of our dear fa- 
ther-- we lost this excellent parent also. 
" Thus my brother and I were left to our- 
selves, at a time of life when we most needed 
the assistance of good advice : both of us 
young and unexperienced in the ways of the 
world ; he not having attained his twentieth 
year, nor I my seventeenth. Providence as- 
sisted us by the interference of my father's 
intimate acquaintance and friend, Chevalier 
John Boucmel,who humanely took upon him- 
self the management of our affairs, and ac- 
quitted himself with the greatest tenderness 
and integrity. The estate upon which we re- 
VOL. I. O�
## p. 210 (#234) ############################################
210 
sided, consisted principally of a well-built 
mansion, with no more land belonging to it 
than was necessary for the use of the family. 
Our means of subsistence depended on cer- 
tain estates that had been made over to our 
uncle, the Baron of Saint Clere, previous to 
the confiscation of the manors of Foleshunt 
and Darcy, together with the annual income 
from my mother's dowry. The monies hence 
arising had been remitted to us with great 
punctuality until the preceding year, when 
a considerable defalcation was made, with 
promise to account for it in the succeeding 
payment, which, however, came not to hand. 
" My mother, upon her death-bed, request- 
ed that her dowry might be equally divided 
between my brother and myself, and he faith- 
fully promised to fulfil her desire. He not 
only kept his word, but extended his genero- 
sity beyond the bounds of moderation ; for 
soon after the funeral ceremonies were per- 
formed, he put into my hands a deed, by 
2�
## p. 211 (#235) ############################################
211 
which he made over to me the whole of my 
mother's property ; saying, at the same time, 
" My dearest Emma, whatever may happen, 
I can never want while I wear a sword, and 
England needs a soldier." I refused to take the 
deed, and assured him that the portion assign- 
ed to me by my dear mother was sufficient. 
He would not be so answered, and I continued 
to decline his offer ; and, at last, we agreed 
to refer the matter to the Chevalier John 
Boucmel, our father's intimate acquaintance 
and friend. The good old gentleman smiled 
at the ardour of our contest, and said, " My 
dear children, the warmth of affection which 
you manifest for each other, does you both 
great credit; but the matter cannot be set- 
tled at present : You must call to mind that 
you are both minors, and therefore this in- 
strument is altogether invalid without the 
consent of your uncle, who, I understand, is 
your guardian." My brother then took the 
opportunity of laying before the chevalier a�
## p. 212 (#236) ############################################
212 
fair statement of our affairs. He was much 
surprized when he heard that our remittances 
had been deficient ; and advised us, incon- 
tinently, to part with the house in which we 
resided, to sell the furniture to the best ad- 
vantage, and go ourselves to England and 
inquire into the cause of this delay. " There/' 
said he, " you may settle yourselves advan- 
tageously in the bosom of your friends and 
relations ; and you, young gentleman," ad- 
dressing himself to my brother, " through the 
medium of your uncle's interest, will, no doubt, 
easily obtain a commission in the army, so 
be it you remain determined to give up a 
life of ease and inactivity, for a career of 
glory." My brother's eyes sparkled at the 
idea, he grasped the chevalier's hand with 
much earnestness, thanked him for his excel- 
lent advice, and pledged himself to follow it 
implicitly ; and, at the same time, begged 
his assistance in the disposal of the property. 
(t With respect to the mansion," said the�
## p. 213 (#237) ############################################
213 
chevalier, " I sold it to your father merely to 
oblige him ; and as it has lately been put 
into good repair, I will act on the same prin- 
ciple with you ; that is, L will return you the 
full purchase-money ; and you, my dear chil- 
dren, are welcome to the use that has been 
made of it.  Nay, I beseech you,, do not 
interrupt me," for my brother and I were 
both attempting to express our gratitude : 
" You know that a strict intimacy was main- 
tained between your father and myself; but 
perhaps you have yet to learn, that, in the 
early part of my life, he rendered me many im- 
portant services, which I have not forgotten : 
since, therefore, it has pleased God to take him 
from us, those claims of gratitude which be- 
longed to him, become your due; and believe 
me, my dear children, to be your sincere friend. 
I am much surprized at the failure in your re- 
mittances, and perfectly agree with you, that 
your journey to England is necessary : but, 
at the same time, when you have settled mat-�
## p. 214 (#238) ############################################
214 
ters there, if you should, for any reason, prefer 
being in this country to your own, my house 
will ever be open for your reception.  Hold," 
said he again, preventing us from speaking ; 
" I am thinking about the disposal of your 
furniture, and that I can get rid of it better 
than by public sale. A few days past, Du- 
ville, my neighbour, was desirous of enga- 
ging a house like this for a friend of his, a 
merchant of Brussels, who is retiring from 
business ; if he be not already provided, this 
house may suit him ; and as the furniture is 
exceedingly neat and appropriate, it will an- 
swer both your purposes, if he will take it at 
a fair valuation. 1 will go to him this instant, 
and, if possible, close the bargain with a 
word." So saying, he hurried out of the 
room without giving us time to express our 
thankfulness. 
" Next morning our good friend returned. 
" I give you joy, my dear children," cried 
he ; " I have been successful : my neighbour�
## p. 215 (#239) ############################################
15 
is empowered to use his discretion ; and has 
agreed to treat for the whole of the furniture as 
it now stands. He will be here presently with 
a person, who is a judge of its value, to exa- 
mine it ; and I have engaged a man of pro- 
bity to do the same on your behalf." In 
short, the parties met, the goods were valued 
perfectly to our satisfaction, and one week 
was allowed us to prepare for our removal. 
Our dear benefactor insisted on our making 
his house our home. 
" At the appointed time, we discharged 
all our servants, and quitted the venerable 
mansion ; but not without some few drops 
that involuntarily fell from my eyes. We 
resided nearly a month with our friend ; and 
when he found that he could not detain us 
any longer, he consented to our departure. 
c( But," said he, " to-morrow I shall have 
occasion to go to Amiens, and, in my way 
thither, shall pass through Landrecy and Saint 
Quinten ; I am desirous of prevailing on yon�
## p. 216 (#240) ############################################
Q\6 
to accompany me in this journey : it is in- 
deed a much wider circuit than it is needful 
for you to make, but, at the same time, it 
will afford the young lady an opportunity of 
seeing more of the country ; and, to prevent 
fatigue, the stages shall be made as easy as 
possible: it will also be more safe, if not 
more pleasant, to travel with company, espe- 
cially as the lower borders of Flanders are in- 
fested with freebooters. From Amiens, where 
I must leave you, the road is direct to Abbe- 
ville ; and thence, through Saint Omars, to 
Calais ; and all the way you will be under the 
protection of your countrymen." 
The Lady Emma had proceeded thus far, 
when suddenly a violent clamour was heard 
in the hall, which somewhat alarmed the la- 
dies, and they withdrew to their apartments; 
and the baron rang the hand-bell, and being�
## p. 217 (#241) ############################################
217 
answered by one of the pages, he enquired 
into the cause of the disturbance. 
" My lord/' said the page, ", it is Gammer 
Everid, the mother of your lordship's tasker, 
Iialph, with Sim Glover and his wife, who 
desire to speak with your lordship immedi- 
ately, upon a matter of life and death." 
" Indeed," said the baron, rising from his 
seat, " it ought to be somewhat of conse- 
quence to occasion such an outcry ; prithee 
show her in." 
The page obeyed, and the old woman, co- 
vered with blood, was ushered in between 
her two neighbours, to the baron's great sur- 
prise. 
" Holy St Anthony, my good dame," said 
he, " what mischance has happened to you !" 
" May it please your honour's grace, I am 
a poor lone woman," replied the good woman, 
sobbing, and wringing her hands ; " my hus- 
band has been dead, heaven rest his saul! 
five years, seven months, and three days, at�
## p. 218 (#242) ############################################
218 
the hour of vespers. Oh he was a rare-good 
man, ywis ; and my boy Ralph, the staff of 
my old age, takes after him to a charm ; and 
if your lordship will not take the poor boy's 
part, and cut the tramels in which he is mew- 
ed by that grey-bearded preacher, Cuthbert 
the barber, he will be murdered." 
* Murdered !" cried the baron ; " is the 
barber so desperate a man ?" 
" He will kill him as dead as a door-nail. 
Oh me, Oh me, what shall I do !" 
" Why, good woman," said the baron, " if 
you talk on in this manner, how am I to 
know your grievance ? Speak one of you," 
addressing himself to Sim Glover and his 
wife. 
Sim was about to reply ; but Dame Glover 
placed herself before him, and thus addressed 
his lordship : "May it please your nobleness, 
just two days ago, Sim Glover, your lord- 
ship's varlet, and myself, with Goody Eve- 
rid, went to Hemel Hempstead, which your�
## p. 219 (#243) ############################################
219 
grace knows is three or four leagues beyond 
Saint Alban's, because, as how Sim, your 
lordship knows, and myself, had some busi- 
ness there, and Dame Everid went along ; for 
she had set her merk to a parchment will, 
and was a witness ; so, and please your ho- 
nour, we all went together ; I and Sim rode 
upon Oldcrop, and Dame Everid upon the 
hobby, which Hob Filcher bought for ma- 
dam Rut, the doctor's wife, but was return- 
ed because it is wall-eyed." 
" Stop, good dame," cried the baron, 
" what has this to do with the barber ?" 
*" Nothing, your honour, but I was telling 
the whole truth ; and Allan, the parish-clerk, 
when I went to Master Bailey about Straw- 
berry, your honour's cow, that was stole by 
crook-nosed Dick, the rat-taker, bid me to 
tell all that I knowed." 
ft At this rate, we shall not have done till 
midnight: come, Dame Everid, cease your�
## p. 220 (#244) ############################################
220 
lamentation, and let me hear what you have 
to say respecting the barber and your son." 
u Why j 3 T our honour/' said the dame, sob- 
bing, " when I corned home from Hemel 
Hempstead, which was about nine o'clock this 
morning, I found the things in my house at 
sixes and sevens ; nay, the very house was 
turned out at the windows, as one may say, 
and Ralph taken from home by the knavish 
barber, poor lad, against his will, and car- 
ried to the Lower Green, where he has bleed- 
ed, and shaved, and sweated, till he is as thin 
as a lash, a mere walking-string, and his face 
is as gaunt as a Ian thorn." 
" And all this done against his will r" said 
the baron. 
" As sure as I be before your honour, Ralph 
told me so ; and if }-our honour does not take 
him out of the vile barber's clutches, and that 
right soon, he will be dead anon  and then 
what shall I do for my boy, my poor boy 
Ralph !" 
## p. 221 (#245) ############################################
221 
The baron knew nol well what to make of 
this discourse ; but, however, he thought it 
the best way to" send for Cuthbeit instantly, 
and hear what he had to say upon the sub- 
ject. A messenger was then dispatched, re- 
quiring his instant attendance ; in the mean- 
time, the circumstances relating to Ralph's 
sufferings were more fully explained. 
The baron could hardly refrain from smiling 
when Cuthbeit entered into the room,  his 
face covered with black patches, just over 
the parts that had been marked by the nails 
of Dame Everid : and when he was question- 
ed relative to the present state of the tasker, 
he replied, with much gravity, that he had, 
only performed his duty; for that Ralph was 
totally out of his wits, and he would prove so 
in the face of the whole world. " I have put 
him," continued he, " into a rare operation, 
and he is nearly restored to his reason ; but, 
as your lordship knows, it would not become 
me to praise myself; yet, if I be not hindered�
## p. 222 (#246) ############################################
222 
in my proceedings, I will make him as tame as 
a lamb by twenty operations more. Why, my 
lord, when I took him first, he was in a doleful 
paroxysm of madness - y the prior of Tewxbury's 
bull was never more furious ; it required the 
utmost exertions of three brawny knaves, be- 
sides what assistance 1 could give, to confine 
him  when in comes this good dame, who 
is almost as mad as her son, for she was pre- 
paring to unbind him ; and, because I pre- 
vented the endangerment of all our lives, by 
keeping her from him, she set upon me 
in my own house, beat and bruized me to a 
jelly, and scarified my face with her nails j 
moreover, she beat her own head against 
the bed-foot, and by that means her head is 
covered with blood in this unseemly man- 
ner." 
Dame Everid here lost all her patience, 
and exclaimed, " Thou art a false knave, and 
I will prove it to thy beard ; you threw me 
down, you know you did, and brought in�
## p. 223 (#247) ############################################
223 
your big-boned churles to thrust me into the 
street, and forced me from my son, who is 
nearly murdered already, and, by the blessed 
Lady Mary, he is as much in his wits as you 
are!" 
The baron then demanded from Cuthbert 
b} r what authority, or by whose orders, he 
had proceeded so far with the tasker. 
Cuthbert then related the whole of what 
had passed between Margery and himself; 
and did not forget to tell him, that she had 
paid him for the three first operations. 
Sim Glover and his wife were much asto- 
nished at this information ; it was also a mat- 
ter of equal surprize to Dame Everid. 
The baron then thought it necessary for 
Ralph to be brought, and also to have Mar- 
gery before him, in order to learn from her 
the motives for her proceedings. 
When Margery was introduced before the 
baron, and saw the bloody appearance of�
## p. 224 (#248) ############################################
224 
l)ame Everid, and the patched face of Cuth- 
bert, she was terribly frightened ; and, con- 
ceiving that some affray of a very serious 
consequence had taken place, she fell upon 
her knees, intreating forgiveness, and made 
an ample confession of every circumstance, 
from the communication with the weird-wo- 
man, to the bargain she had made with the 
barber-doctor. 
The developement of this curious transac- 
tion included so many ridiculous circum- 
stances, that the company could not refrain 
from laughter; and especially when Ralph was 
brought forward, wrapped up in a blanket, 
supported by two of the baron's domestics, 
his shaved temples appearing before the vo- 
lupure, and his countenance was so lank and 
pale, like that of an emaciated bishop ascend- 
ed from the grave. He surveyed the com- 
pany with a wild and a vacant stare, which 
would, in some measure, have confirmed the�
## p. 225 (#249) ############################################
225 
affirmation of the barber respecting the loss 
of his senses, had not the treatment he had 
endured been made known. 
The baron, finding that nothing more se- 
rious was likely to come from what had pass- 
ed, commanded that Ralph should be re- 
stored to his mother ; that the money Cuth- 
bert had received for his trouble, should be 
laid out in nourishing food to restore the 
poor tasker to his pristine vigour ; admonish- 
ing the barber, by the loss he had now sus- 
tained, to be more cautious how he proceed- 
ed in future, and not to mistake health for 
disease, nor sanity for madness. With re- 
spect to Margery, he was somewhat more se- 
vere : He admonished her not to be so anxious 
of prying into the secrets of futurity, nor to 
sport with the life or constitution of another, 
but to mind her spinning, and endeavour to 
perfect herself in the duties of a good house- 
wife. This done, he prevailed upon the dif- 
VOL. I. P�
## p. 226 (#250) ############################################
226 
ferent parties to take each other's hands, to 
disclaim all ill-will in future, and then dis- 
missed them. 
## p. 227 (#251) ############################################
SS7 
CHAPTER II. 
Lddy Emmas History continued.  A Tempest, 
and an adventure worthy the attention of the 
Reader. 
As soon as the uproar, occasioned by the in- 
vestigation of Ralph's misfortunes, had sub- 
sided, the ladies returned to the room of 
state, and earnestly requested the Lady Em- 
ma to resume her narration, which she did 
in the following words : 
fC In our road towards Abbeville, we came to 
a large plain, exceedingly dusty, and without 
any shade, so that the heat of the sun, which 
was still high, became very oppressive. To 
the right was a large wood, through which a 
feeaten path seemed to lead in the direction�
## p. 228 (#252) ############################################
%Z8 
we were travelling. My brother, conceiving 
it would fall into the main road again, was 
desirous to make the essay ; the rather as he 
saw some woodmen employed at a distance, 
from whom he might enquire concerning the 
justness of his conjecture ; accordingly, he 
entered the recess, and I followed him. When 
he came up to the rustics, they informed him 
that the path did actually lead towards Ab- 
beville, and that by pursuing it, we should 
save at least half a league of our journey. We 
were much rejoiced at this information, and 
found the cool air in the shade exceedingly 
refreshing:. We rode on several miles without 
the least interruption ; and coming at last to 
a spring of clear water, 1 entreated my brother 
to stop, that I might taste some of it, for I 
found myself exceedingly thirsty. " In good 
time, my dear Emma," said he ; and be h of 
us alighting, he fastened the horses to a tree, 
and taking a horn that hung at the end of his 
bauldric, without which he seldom travelled,�
## p. 229 (#253) ############################################
229 
he dipped some of the water, and presented 
it to me, which, at that time, seemed to pos- 
sess more desirable qualities than the most 
precious wine. He then took his huke from 
his saddle-bow, and spreading it upon a bank 
of moss, we both sat down at the foot of a 
large oak, by the side of the rivulet : the birds 
were singing among the branches of the trees, 
and every part of the scene was so truly ro- 
mantic, that I could not help smiling while 
I thus addressed my brother : " Methinks, my 
dear Henry> we are like the hero and he- 
roine of some legendary tale, seated by the 
purling stream, listening to the songs of Phi- 
lomel, and waiting for some great adventure." 
" But giants and dragons are not the cham- 
pions of the present day," said he. u I know 
it," returned I ; " yet the situation, now rea- 
lized to us, bears more analogy to the spirit 
of romance, than ever T thought likely for me 
to experience." This led to longer discourse, 
respecting the reverse of fortune that had�
## p. 230 (#254) ############################################
230 
brought us to that spot : but our conversation 
was interrupted ; for the day growing suddenly 
dark, a brisk gale of wind agitated the leaves 
of the trees, and, by its murmuring around, 
announced a change of weather. " Come, my 
dear Emma," said my brother, te let us-mount 
our horses, and make the best of our way to 
Abbeville ; for, if 1 be not deceived, we shall 
have rain before we complete our journey." 
He then assisted me to regain my saddle, and 
leaping hastily into his own, we turned the 
path with no small degree of alacrity ; hut 
the darkness increased, and we heard the 
thunder rolling at a distance. To complete 
our misfortunes, we now came to a place 
where three other paths fell into our path, 
and all of them seemed to be equally beaten. 
We had no time for consideration : the rain 
came on with great violence. " We must 
not stop," said my brother ; " I will neither 
turn to the right or the left, but take the road 
.that lies immediately before me." To this I�
## p. 231 (#255) ############################################
231 
readily assented ; and we rode on without 
making any abatement in our speed, till such 
time as it grew so dark that our horses could 
not readily find the way, and were frequently 
frightened by the lightning, which was ex- 
ceedingly fierce and tremendous. The rain 
fell in torrents, so that the thickest trees af- 
forded no shelter ; besides, my brother as- 
sured me, that it was exceedingly dangerous 
to stand under them during the thunder- 
storm. I now began to be exceedingly fa- 
tigued, which my brother perceiving, slacken- 
ed his pace. " And indeed," said he, " I doubt 
that I have mistaken the path ; for certainly 
the time that we have been riding, is more 
than was necessary for us to have reached Ab- 
beville." " I fear it is so," replied I ;.** but 
surely it will not be proper for us to return : 
without doubt, we are near the borders of the 
forest, and possibly may find some house to 
give us shelter." I had scarcely spoken, when 
we heard the sound of the vespers belL, be=�
## p. 232 (#256) ############################################
232 
longing to some distant monastery, which 
greatly rejoiced us, and in a short time we 
came to an open road. The tempest in- 
creased, and the night was dark beyond con- 
ception, excepting only when the glare of the 
lightning illuminated the objects round about 
us, which so much terrified our horses, that 
we could hardly keep them in the path ; and 
twenty times, at least, I narrowly escaped 
being thrown from mine. My brother, ap- 
prehensive for my safety, was continually 
calling upon me ; and though I was frighten- 
ed nearly to death, sinking with fatigue, and 
drenched with the rain, I answered him with 
all the cheerfulness that I was mistress of, 
and did not let him know my danger, nor 
how severe my sufferings were. At length, 
to our mutual joy, we perceived, at a small 
distance before us, a light, resembling that 
of a lamp or candle, which indicated the ha- 
bitation of some human being ; we rode up 
to it, and had the satisfaction to find that it�
## p. 233 (#257) ############################################
233 
was placed in the window of an inn, and, ap- 
parently, by no means a small one. We 
knocked at the gate, and having obtained 
admittance, enquired if we could be accom- 
modated there in such a manner as our un- 
comfortable situation required ? To which the 
innkeeper, with a low bow, replied, " No 
where better, and please your honours, in all 
Picardy." My brother then sprang from his 
horse, and caught me in his arms, as I was 
descending from the saddle, and recommend- 
ed me to the hostess and her daughter, who 
were come to receive me. I was ushered 
into a room hung with tapestry, as old, for 
aught 1 know, as the time of the Norman 
conqueror. The hostess, seeing that I was 
thoroughly wet with the rain, caused a large 
faggot of wood to be brought, which was li- 
berally cast upon the hearth, and set on fire 
in an instant. My mantle, and the other 
external parts of my clothes, were taken away 
to be dried in an outer-room, but I retained�
## p. 234 (#258) ############################################
234 
my coat-hardy, the sort of tunic I always 
used when travelling in the summer. I seat- 
ed myself before the fire, and in a little time 
the dampness was perfectly exhaled. The hos- 
tess, meanwhile, was exceedingly loquacious ; 
first boasted much of the accommodation the 
inn afforded ; and afterwards, giving her con- 
versation a different turn, she seemed ex- 
ceedingly desirous of knowing who we were, 
whence we came, and whither we were go- 
ing. I did not, however, judge it necessary 
to satisfy her curiosity any farther, than by 
acquainting her, that we came from Amiens, 
were proceeding to Abbeville, and had lost 
our way. " Blessed Mary Virgin S" cried 
she, " to Abbeville !  You have indeed lost 
your way, marry, -and in truth ; you are at this 
time as far from Abbeville, within a league 
at least, as when you was at Amiens !" My bro- 
ther now joined us, and the hostess proceed- 
ed no further. He was followed by the host, 
who came to welcome us, and to inquire what�
## p. 235 (#259) ############################################
235 
kind of refreshment we should choose, add- 
ing, that his house afforded the best of every 
kind. My brother desired him. to bring us 
some good wine, and to make it hot with 
spices, as a preventative to cold. He then 
pulled off his huke, his mantle, and his upper 
tunic, which was no sooner done than the 
hostess brought him her husband's Sunday 
cloak to throw over his shoulder^ while his 
own garments were drying, so that a second 
faggot was added to our fire ; and the host 
returning with the wine, pulled out a little 
cup from his pocket, which he filled from the 
flaggon, and drinking a waisall to us, gave a 
smack with his lips, and declared it was the 
best in all Picardy. He then filled our cups, 
and placed the flaggon upon the table, en- 
quiring what we would order for supper. 
" That order," says my brother, " must de- 
pend, my good host, upon what your larder 
will furnish." " As for that indeed," said he, 
" had you been lucky enough to have come�
## p. 236 (#260) ############################################
236 
the day before yesterday, by Saint Anthony, 
I could have furnished you with any thing, 
from an ortolan to an ox ; but, not expect- 
ing such good company to-night, I have kill- 
ed no pullen ; I have indeed got plenty of 
eggs, a couple of fine pigeons taken from the 
dove-house this morning, and a shoulder of 
red-deer, hanging up in the pantry, which 
Blasson, his lordship's ranger, gave me yes- 
terday." ** Enough," said my brother ; and 
having consulted me, we agreed that some 
eggs and the pigeons would be sufficient 
for us. That point being settled, my brother 
enquired how far we were from Abbeville ? 
The host informed us, at least four leagues. 
" Because," said my brother, " I am inclined, 
when the rain abates, to proceed towards that 
city, after having taken our supper." " By 
Saint Louis," cried the host, " but it shall not 
be with my advice ! the road is very indiffe- 
rent, and, besides, it is infested with freeboot- 
ing-soldiers,  a murrain take them !  who rob�
## p. 237 (#261) ############################################
237 
md plunder wherever they come ; aye, and do 
worse things besides.  The lady, I am sure/ 7 
continued he, looking at me, " will not be 
able to endure the fatigue, if we should leave 
the danger out of the bargain  but, suppose 
yourself there, by the truth of man, you would 
not find yourself better accommodated with 
beds, nor more convenient lodgings, than I 
have got at your service." While he was 
speaking, a tremendous clap of thunder shook 
the room, and we heard the rain falling in 
torrents from the roof of the house. These 
arguments were full as powerful as any that 
had been urged by the host to induce us to 
stay with him. Our assent being given, he 
ordered his daughter to make ready the rooms 
for our reception, and retired himself to pro- 
vide the supper. 
" Notwithstanding all the praises that our 
host had bestowed on his wine, we found it 
very indifferent; however, we made no com- 
plaint. The supper was served up ; but my�
## p. 238 (#262) ############################################
238 
mind was occupied with reflections upon the 
strangeness of our situation,  a situation en- 
tirely new to me, and not much less so to my 
brother ; so that I could not eat, and half of 
a pigeon satisfied him. We attempted to 
rally each other on our want of knowing the 
world, as we called it, but without success : 
the sallies of vivacity were rather forced than 
natural; and, for my own part, I was infinitely 
more inclined to weep than to be mirthful. 
My brother perceived that I was greatly fa- 
tigued, and therefore insisted upon my re- 
tiring to rest ; accordingly, he summoned the 
hostess to conduct me to the chamber pre- 
pared for me, declaring, that he would in- 
dulge himself upon the settle by the fire-side, 
that he might be ready, upon the approach 
of morning, to see that the horses were pro- 
perly dressed ; for his intention was to set 
out early in the morning. This resolution of 
sitting by the fire was violently opposed by 
the hostess, who assured him that the beds�
## p. 239 (#263) ############################################
239 
were well aired, and as good as any in the 
country; and'this assertion was seconded' by 
the host, who had followed his wife into the 
room. The hostess then added, "If the 
young lady be afraid to sleep alone, my 
daughter shall lie in the same chamber, upon 
a little pallet that stands by her bed-side." 
This offer my brother prevailed upon me to 
accept of, and yielded himself to their soli- 
citations; being assured that no care should 
be wanting respecting the horses, and that 
he should be called as early as he required in 
the morning: and indeed the people spoke 
with such apparent sincerity, that it would 
have been churlish to have given the denial. 
Having embraced my dear brother, we part- 
ed from each other; I following the daughter, 
and he the father, to our chambers. Though 
I had not a distant thought, that the host or 
hostess had formed any malevolent designs 
against us, yet I parted from Henry with the 
greatest reluctance ; and pardon me, ladies," 
7�
## p. 240 (#264) ############################################
240 
said she, while she heaved a deep sigh, and 
wiped away the tears that started from her 
eyes, " little did I think that I should never, 
never see my dearest Henry any more !  
But I forget myself, and my feelings lead me 
to foretel the story of my misfortunes.  The 
tempest still continued  the rain beat against 
the casement of my chamber  and the furious 
gusts of wind, to which it was exposed, kept 
it in constant agitation. The horrors of the 
night added not a little to the uneasiness of my 
mind. The inn-keeper's daughter assisted me 
to undress, and, in her way, was complaisant 
and obliging; but she was very fearful of the 
thunder, and was constantly calling upon Saint 
Agnes, repeating her ave-maries, or uttering 
some ejaculations from her Primer. This 
circumstance indeed pleased me ; and thence 
I formed a very favourable opinion of her 
piety. However, she had not long been 
in bed before she fell asleep, and I was 
not the least inclined to disturb her rest;�
## p. 241 (#265) ############################################
241 
I only wished to participate in her repose, 
but I could not sleep. I heard the midnight 
bell of a neighbouring convent calling its 
inhabitants to their devotions, and I offered 
up my fervent prayers to heaven for my bro- 
ther's safety. Some time after, I closed my 
eyes in a kind of melancholy stupor, and, 
half asleep half awake, a thousand dreadful 
imaginations crowded into my mind.  My 
garments appeared to be besoiled with blood. 
I then thought that I was walking in a strange 
place, where a heap of dead bodies obstruct- 
ed my passage. I was then labouring to 
ascend steep rocks and precipices without 
assistance, or made the spectator of pompous 
funerals. At last, however, my dear brother 
appeared to me standing by my bed-side co- 
vered with wounds, and his countenance over- 
spread with a ghastly paleness. He reached 
out his hand, and laid hold of mine,  his 
hand was as cold as ice : he then looked wish- 
fully at me, and, in a hollow tone of voice , 
VOl, I. Q�
## p. 242 (#266) ############################################
242 
said, Sister, remember me! The coldness of 
the hand, the solemnity of the address, had 
such an effect upon my mind, that I started 
upright in the bed, confused and affrighted 
to such a degree, that it was a long time 
before I could sufficiently recollect myself, or 
be convinced that these dreadful appearances 
were not the effects of reality. The thun- 
der had subsided, but the wind and the rain 
were not the least abated : the lamp, by some 
means, was extinguished, and we were in total 
darkness. While I was sitting upright in the 
bed, I thought, during an interval of tem- 
pest, that I heard a confused rumbling in an 
adjacent chamber, and a faint cry of murder. 
" Oh, blessed Lady," cried I, clasping my 
hands together, " what horrid exclamation is 
that!" A sudden gust of wind at this moment 
shook the casement so furiously, that I ex- 
pected it would have been blown in upon us. 
When the turbulence of the storm became 
less violent, I listened with the greatest atten- 
l�
## p. 243 (#267) ############################################
24S 
lion, but did not hear the rumbling noise 
within any more, nor repetition of the fearful 
cry : I then endeavoured to persuade myself, 
that the whole was merely the effect of my 
bewildered imagination. Close by my bed- 
side, the inn-keeper's daughter slept soundly; 
not being disturbed either by my restlessness, 
or the violent rattling of the window. I was 
several times tempted to awaken her ; but 
then again I considered that it could not an- 
swer any good purpose ; and for that reason 
I left her to her repose. All the efforts, how- 
ever, that I made to tranquillize my mind 
were altogether ineffectual; fresh images of 
terror floated before my eyes whenever I 
attempted to close them: I fancied that my 
hand, which my brother had grasped, was 
cold as ice; and the solemn words,  Remem- 
ber me !  sounded in my ears like a warning- 
voice from heaven. Oh, gracious saints and 
angels, what a night did I pass ! and what a 
morning followed !"�
## p. 244 (#268) ############################################
244 
Here she paused for a while ; but having 
wiped her eyes, which were bathed with 
tears, she thus resumed her discourse :  
u Upon the first appearance of the dawn 
of day, I awoke my companion, and she as- 
sisted me to dress myself ; and the moment 
I had so done, I entreated her to show me to 
my brother's room. While she was slipping 
on her juppon, I went to the casement; the 
storm, that had continued with such violence 
during the night, was passed over, and I saw 
the sun, without the intervention of a cloud, 
emerging from the horizon. I bowed my 
head in reverence to the Maker of that glo- 
rious luminary, and repeated a paternoster; 
then, turning to my companion, I entreated 
her not to delay : she yielded to my solici- 
tations, and, without having laced the bosom 
of her kirtel, quitted the room, and bid me 
follow her. " But," says she, " you will dis- 
turb the young chevalier ; for I dare say he 
is asleep." " Do not fear that," said I ; " but�
## p. 245 (#269) ############################################
245 
if it should prove so, I know that he will ex- 
cuse me: but where is the door?" " Here, 
just before us," said she, leading me through 
the return of a long gallery. " Well then," 
said I, " rap at it gently." She then stopped 
short, and replied, u This is the door, lady ; 
but it is open. Saint Genevieve protect me ! 
the chevalier sleeps with his door open." " Is 
it possible !" said I. " Yes, indeed," said she, 
drawing back : " I beseech you, lady, go in; 
for I would not have him see me thus un- 
dressed for an angel of gold." My mind 
instantly misgave me ; the terrors of the night 
returned ; the fatal words sounded in my ears; 
and I trembled while I passed by her to enter 
the chamber; calling out at the same time, 
" Brother, my dear brother, where are you r" 
Judge then  but who can judge that has not 
been involved in the same deplorable circum- 
stances ?  what I felt upon seeing the bed- 
clothes disturbed, and cast upon the floor; but 
not so as a person would have left them rising�
## p. 246 (#270) ############################################
U6 
in the usual way from his rest, and rny hrother 
not there. " Surety," said I, turning to the 
girl, who now ventured to look in, " you have 
brought me to the wrong chamber." " Indeed, 
my lady," said she, " this is the chamber I 
prepared for the chevalier; and you see that 
some one has been in the bed." A flood of 
tears prevented my returning an answer; but 
entering the room a little further, I saw a 
gisarme, stained with blood, lying upon the 
floor, which was also covered with blood in 
several places. The girl perceiving that I 
was greatly distressed, said, in a soothing tone 
of voice, " I beseech you, lady, do not cry 
so, and take on ; the chevalier has risen 
sooner than usual, and is only gone to see 
after the horses, or to refresh himself with 
the morning air." I then, unconscious of 
what I was doing, seized upon her hand, and 
drawing her further into the chamber, point- 
ed to the blood upon the floor, and the blood- 
stained gisarme ; and then clasping my hands�
## p. 247 (#271) ############################################
247 
together, exclaimed, in bitterness of soul, 
" My brother, my dear brother, is surely 
murdered !" " Murdered ! " cried the girl, 
and trembled while she spoke. " Saint Denis 
forbid !" and then, to my astonishment, started 
backwards, calling out with all her strength, 
" Thieves, thieves ! My father is robbed ! We 
are undone !" Her powerful vociferations 
soon raised the people of the house ; and the 
first that came was the inn-keeper himself, 
half undressed, and rubbing his eyes. He 
hastily enquired what was the reason for this 
outcry. " You are robbed !" said his daugh- 
ter. " Your coffer is broken open ; the plate 
is gone ; and the young chevalier is not to 
be found !" " By Saint Ursula," cried the host, 
"it is true!  The young chevalier, quotha; 
the young rogue, vagabond, knave.  Oh, I 
am ruined, I am undone ! All my money, all 
my plate!"  -I now perceived a broken cabinet 
at one corner of the room, and the drawers 
that belonged to it were thrown out upon�
## p. 248 (#272) ############################################
248 
each other : this I considered only as a con- 
certed trick, to conceal the murder of my 
brother, and throw the suspicion of the rob- 
bery on him. Blessed Virgin, how can I 
describe what I felt at this dreadful moment! 
words have not weight sufficient for the pur- 
pose.  I thought I should have sunk into the 
earth, when I was addressed with all the in- 
solence that low minds could dictate, and at 
the same time found myself entirely in the 
power of those who so cruelly insulted me. 
To remonstrate was in vain ; and at last I 
assumed sufficient courage to say, " Why do 
you use such unbecoming language to me, 
you who have murdered my brother ? I be- 
seech you, therefore, to be merciful, and kill 
me also." " We murdered your brother !" 
retorted the inn-keeper ; " no, no, we be no 
murderers ; we be as honest, ay, by my troth, 
and honester too, than many that wear sur- 
coats of cendal, and mantles lined with mi- 
never." Mrs Horteps came into the chamber�
## p. 249 (#273) ############################################
249 
soon afterwards, and joined in the accusa- 
tions ; and her reproaches seemed more bit- 
ter, because they came from one of my own 
sex. In short, I became the ridicule of the 
menial servants, and I know not what gibes 
and calumnies were not cast upon me. The 
hostler was sent to see if the horses were in 
the stable : mine, it seems, was there, but 
not my brother's ; and this circumstance they 
declared to be a full proof of his being guilty 
of the robbery. I was considered as his ac- 
complice : their contemptuous speeches were 
now multiplied, embittered with such cruel 
tauntings as were quite outrageous to the 
ears of delicacy, besides the addition of many 
bitter oaths, that made me shudder. An offi- 
cer of justice was then sent for, and the inn- 
keeper swore by his Maker, that since one 
bird was flown, the other should be mewed 
in the cage ; " We shall then see," quoth he, 
" how finely silks and sarsenets will shine in 
a prison." The mention of the word prison,�
## p. 250 (#274) ############################################
250 
added to the horrors that already possessed 
my mind, were too much for it to bear: I 
fell upon the floor, it seems, deprived of my 
senses ; for I trust to relation only for what 
became of me until I recovered my senses. 
" I well remember, when the return of rea- 
son gave me the power to discriminate the 
objects around me, I found myself in bed in 
a dark low room, and an elderly woman was 
sitting by my side, who I judged to be a 
votaiy to some religious order, by her dress, 
and by the large rosary that I saw depending 
from her girdle. A table was placed at the 
foot of the bed, upon which there stood seve- 
ral small vessels, such as are used for the 
purpose of medicine: all was quite strange 
to me. I looked round with much surprize; 
and at last, addressing myself to the lady, I 
begged her to inform me where I was ? " You 
are," said she, " under the protection of the 
convent of ******. It is now twelve hours 
and upwards since you was brought hither.'*�
## p. 251 (#275) ############################################
251 
* And where is my brother ?" said I, anxi- 
ously. Instead of answering my question, 
she turned towards the door, and ringing a 
little bell, another nun presently appeared, 
to whom she thus addressed herself : " Sister 
Agnes, the lady is now awake, and sensible ; 
bring the cordial." She disappeared for a 
moment, and returned with a small cup in 
her hand, which she instructed me to take. 
" My dear lady, you have been dangerously 
ill ; I am happy to see that your indisposi- 
tion is taking such a favourable turn : con- 
valescence will now much depend upon your 
own conduct. But you must endeavour to 
compose yourself; the physician, who has 
attended upon you, strictly forbids your talk- 
ing. The paroxysms of a violent fever, under 
which you laboured, are for the present in- 
deed in some degree subsided, but they are not 
subdued ; and the least violence of exertion 
may occasion a relapse." " Alas !" answered 
I, grasping her hand, and pressing it to my�
## p. 252 (#276) ############################################
252 
lips, " say but my brother lives. Oh no ! 
You turn away from me ;  then all my fears 
are realized." " Be pacified/' said she, ele- 
vating her voice ; " you shall know all in 
proper time :  take this composing draught* 
Hope for the best ; and give not way to 
those black melancholy thoughts that pervade 
your imagination, and obscure the prospect 
of comfort presented by reason." I blessed 
her for the ground she gave me to hope that 
my sorrows might terminate more happily 
than I expected. I took the medicine, which 
had the effect it was designed to produce ; 
for I closed my eyes, and presently fell asleep. 
For a day or two my enquiries were prevented 
in the same manner as before : rest and quiet 
were said to be absolutely necessary for my 
recovery. But when the symptoms of my 
fever had left me, and it was judged fit for 
me to know the extent of my misfortunes, 
Sister Agnes came to my bed-side, and en- 
tered into conversation more familiarly with�
## p. 253 (#277) ############################################
25S 
me than she had hitherto done ; and in a 
tender and delicate manner, informed me, by 
degrees, of all that had happened." 
CHAPTER III. 
Lady Emmas History continued. 
" It appeared, that a delirium ensued upon 
my being recovered from my fainting fit, 
and that my constant cry was for the restora- 
tion of my murdered brother. The unfeeling 
people of the inn had sent for a magistrate, 
and were actually proceeding to examine me, 
notwithstanding I was deprived of my senses; 
but at that moment the arrival of an English 
nobleman at the inn prevented the continu- 
VOL. II. A�
## p. 2 (#12) ###############################################
2 
ance of those indignities to which I had been 
exposed. He was informed of the principal 
circumstances relating to my case, and com- 
passionately interested himself in my behalf; 
procuring an admission for me into the con- 
vent of Black Nuns, where I now found my- 
self, and which is at no great distance from 
the inn ; and in order that I might be en- 
abled to procure proper vouchers in behalf 
of my character and connections, if it should 
please the Father of mercies to restore me 
to my senses, he left a sum of mone}' in the 
hands of the abbess." 
" Is it possible !" exclaimed the baron. 
" By the holy mass, but it is passing strange !" 
Emma was surprised at this interruption, 
and paused. Matilda, who had observed 
that her father was greatly affected by the 
latter part of the fair stranger's story, and 
had made several involuntary ejaculations, 
took the opportunity of this interval to en- 
quire if he was well. 
5 
## p. 3 (#13) ###############################################
The baron, awakened from his reverie by 
the questions his daughter had put to him, 
replied, " Yes, my child, perfectly well ; but 
this is wonderful." 
" What, my good lord ?" said Matilda. 
But without returning her any answer, the 
baron enquired of Emma if she had never 
heard the name of that nobleman. 
" Never, my lord," rejoined the lady, 
" though I made great enquiries. I only 
learned, that he belonged to the suit of the 
Earl of Warwick, then Regent of France, 
and residing at Abbeville. But may the 
choicest blessings of heaven reward him for 
his benevolence to an unfortunate maiden ! 
for surely some protecting saint sent him at 
that moment to rescue me from inevitable 
destruction." 
" He is happy, my dear madam, in having 
your orisons," answered the baron. " From 
the moment you entered the room, I thought 
I had seen you."  Here the fair stranger, 
with astonishment, cast her eyes upon the�
## p. 4 (#14) ###############################################
baron.  # But/' added he, " I could not call 
to my recollection when or where : the alter- 
ation of three years has not been disadvan- 
tageous to those charming features, which 
then appeared so captivating, even in the 
midst of ffrief." 
While Lord Boteler was thus speaking, 
Matilda and Eleanor sat alternately looking 
at each other, and then at him ; and the mo- 
ment he concluded, Emma threw herself at 
his feet, pressed his hand with extacy to her 
lips, exclaiming, " Was Lord Boteler, then, 
my guardian angel ! Was it you that saved 
me from disgrace and ruin ! What words 
shall I find to express my gratitude !" 
The baron raised her from the ground, 
and embracing her with the affection of a 
father, begged she would not conceive her- 
self to be under the least obligation to him. 
"I knew not," said he, " the worth of the 
object I relieved, but <lid it from the simple 
motives of common humanity; being per- 
fectly convinced, from your appearance and�
## p. 5 (#15) ###############################################
deportment, that you were suffering in a 
manner that you could not possibly have me- 
rited." So saying, he led her back to her 
seat, and she burst into tears. 
The baron thought that she would find 
relief from their effusion, and therefore did 
not attempt to interrupt her; but addressed 
himself to his daughter, and her fair cousin, 
in this manner : " You seem surprised at 
what has happened ; and, indeed, it is not 
strange that you should be so , yet this ad- 
venture will be easily developed, when you 
recollect, that about three years back, I was 
sent for suddenly to the court, and as sud- 
denly dispatched with letters of great import- 
ance to the Earl of Warwick at Abbeville. I 
was successful in my journey, and delivered 
my commission in less time than is usual upon 
such an occasion. While the Earl was pre- 
paring his answers, I obtained permission to 
visit Amiens ; and, returning to Abbeville by 
a circuitous rout, came to the inn where this 
lady had met with so uncomfortable a recep-�
## p. 6 (#16) ###############################################
tion, and upon the very morning of her mis- 
fortunes. I hud no intention of stopping at 
this place ; but, just as 1 was passing by the 
gate, the girth of my horse's saddle broke, and 
it was with much difficulty that I escaped a 
fall to the ground, being dismounted without 
any accident. I walked to the inn, in order to 
wait until a new girdle could be procured, and 
adapted to the saddle. Upon my entry, 1 was, 
with great obsequiousness, ushered into the 
best room ; but I saw the people running about 
with so much confusion, that it excited my 
curiosity to enquire into the cause ; I there- 
fore desired the servant, who was waiting my 
order, to inform his master, that I would speak 
to him. Some minutes, however, elapsed be- 
fore the innkeeper made his appearance. He 
apologized for having made me wait ; " But, 
I hope your honour will excuse me," added 
he ; " for, by the holy-rood mass, I was never 
so abashed in my life before." " You seem, 
indeed," said I x " in a state of agitation. 
Has any thing frightened you :" <e Frighted !�
## p. 7 (#17) ###############################################
your honour, ay, marry, am I, and ruined 
into the bargain ! In short, I am tricked, I 
am robbed, and by a silken butterfly." He 
then informed me, that the accident happen- 
ed the preceding night : That his suspicion 
fell upon a genteel youth, who came with a 
lady he called his sister, to shelter themselves 
there from the thunder-storm : That, in the 
morning early, the young chevalier had disap- 
peared; but that they had detained the lady, 
who was also prepared for her escape. He 
further informed me, that a bailiff of the dis- 
trict was then taking her examination; " but," 
added he, " she is perilous obstinate ; and, 
instead of confessing the truth, as your ho- 
nour knows she ought to do, she falls into 
fits, and raves like one that is stark wode." 
This harangue increased the anxiety J had to 
see her ; and I was the more especially indu- 
ced to do so, because he had dropped some 
expressions that led me to conceive, that she 
was acquainted with the English language,aiid�
## p. 8 (#18) ###############################################
8 
probably of that country. I therefore insisted 
upon his conducting me to the chamber where 
this examination was taking place ; " For if 
it should prove/' said I, " that she is an Eng- 
lishwoman, I am her countryman, and, per- 
haps, I may prevail upon her to be more ex- 
plicit with me, than she would be with a fo- 
reigner." He acquiesced with my demand 
without the least hesitation ; and I was usher- 
ed into a large sleeping-room, where I first 
saw our lovely guest. She was lying upon 
the bed ; her head raised high upon the bol- 
ster, and supported by a coarse ruddy wench, 
who, I afterwards learned, was the innkeeper's 
daughter. The hair of the fair sufferer was 
dishevelled, and fell in loose ringlets upon 
her shoulders. She then appeared to be per- 
fectly collected ; but the starting tears, in 
abundance, trembled down her cheeks. So 
interesting a scene I never witnessed before ; 
and, prejudging the event, I said to myself, 
" May cancers rot the mouth, that dare ac-�
## p. 9 (#19) ###############################################
9 
cuse this lovely innocent 1 ." At the foot of the 
bed, the magistrate had placed himself, with 
a table before him ; and, at the moment of 
my entrance, was addressing himself to her, 
and endeavouring to extort a confession from 
her. She heard him attentively ; then, heaving 
a deep sigh, she gently waved her head, say- 
ing, " Give me my brother ; or tell me that 
he is living, and I shall die contented !" An 
answer of malevolent insolence was retorted 
by the hostess, who supposed it necessary for 
her to reply in support of the credit of the 
house ; concluding her harangue with the de- 
claration, that its inhabitants were neither 
thieves nor murderers. " Look !" exclaimed 
the lady, agitated by the word murderers, 
w look upon the bloody floor ! look upon the 
gisarme stained with blood ! and, I beseech 
vou, as you hope for mercy at the bar of your 
Creator, speak the truth  say that it is not my 
brother's blood." Then clasping her hand? 
in an agony of grief, she continued, " You�
## p. 10 (#20) ##############################################
10 
cannot do that. He is dead ! he is dead ! and 
what will become of rne ?" Her discourse then 
became wild and incoherent ; and I saw that 
her removal was absolutely necessary for the 
preservation of her life. I therefore imme- 
diately interfered ; and, addressing myself to 
the magistrate, requested some private con- 
versation with him ; but, added I, in the first 
place, command the room to be cleared, and 
let no one be permitted to approach the lady, 
but those of her own sex, The magistrate, 
judging from my habit, that I was a person 
of some authority, acquiesced. The room 
was vacated, and the lady, rescued from the 
impertinence of an unfeeling multitude that 
had surrounded her, closed her eyes, and 
seemed to seek repose. When the magis- 
trate and I were in private, I took the liber- 
ty of delivering my sentiments to him in the 
following manner : " It is easily to be seen, 
that this unfortunate lady is not in a state to 
undergo a criminal examination. It is cer-�
## p. 11 (#21) ##############################################
11 
tain that her mind is much deranged ; and> 
if I be not mistaken, she is in the paroxysm 
of a high fever. In her present situation, my 
dear sir, I am thoroughly convinced, that a 
physician is a much more proper person to 
pay her a visit, than an officer of justice ; and, 
if one may be allowed to judge from her 
youth and external appearance, it is evident 
that she could never have been the associate 
of a common robber. Would such a man 
have left his companion behind him, whose 
voice might ensure his destruction ? Reason 
militates against the idea, and you, I doubt 
not, will readily grant, that even the appear- 
ance of innocency, should, in a case like this 
before us, operate very powerfully in behalf 
of the suffering object : but do not imagine," 
continued I, seeing the magistrate looked 
very grave, " I mean in the least to insinuate, 
that no restriction should be laid upon her 
person. It is necessary, for justice sake, that 
she should bring forward proper vouchers re-�
## p. 12 (#22) ##############################################
12 
specting her family and connections, and 
that the situation she now appears in should 
be developed, and her innocence properly 
established, before she is set at full liberty ; 
but, at the same time, it is equally just, that 
she should be treated with tenderness and 
delicacy. I do beseech you, therefore, for 
the sake of humanity, that you would cause 
her to be removed from this place, where the 
sight of the people, and every object around 
her, recurs to disturb her mind." " I have 
been thinking," replied the magistrate, who 
seemed to be moved by my appeal to his feel- 
ings, " how this matter can be accomplish- 
ed, so as to give satisfaction to all parties, and 
make no infringement upon the claims of jus- 
tice. I have a relation, a woman of great re- 
spectability, who is the prioress of a convent 
of Black Nuns, not more than a quarter of a. 
league from this place. If she can be pre- 
vailed upon to receive her, arid upon my re- 
commendation I have no doubt she will, every�
## p. 13 (#23) ##############################################
13 
good purpose will be answered. She will be 
properly attended by the physician belonging 
to the convent, treated with the greatest hu- 
manity, and not be conscious of confinement, 
until such time as she is perfectly able to an- 
swer for herself." " My good friend," said 
I, grasping his hand, " this is the very thing 
that I desire : they tell me she is my coun- 
trywoman, of course, her distresses are mine ; 
but, I beseech you, let the matter be settled 
with all dispatch ; for I am determined not to 
stir from this house, before I see her re- 
moved." He acceded to my entreaty, and 
set about the business with earnestness; and, 
in less than an hour returned, with the plea- 
sing information, that all things were pre- 
pared for the reception of the fair stranger 
at the convent. I then ascended the stairs, 
in order to communicate to her what had 
been done in her favour; but was informed 
by the inn-keeper's daughter, that she was in 
a state of perfect insensibility, and paid not�
## p. 14 (#24) ##############################################
24 
the least attention to what was passing about 
her. I caused a litter to be procured, and 
saw her carefully placed therein; and sent 
six of my servitors, accompanied by the pur- 
suivant, to whom the magistrate had given 
proper directions, to conduct her to the con- 
vent, where she was received with every mark 
of respect and humanity." 
At this instant, Emma clasped her hands 
together, and elevating her eyes to heaven, 
uttered an ejaculation in silence. The baron 
saw her emotion, but without taking the least 
notice of it, thus proceeded. " Being once 
more alone with the bailiff, I recalled to his 
mind the last words of coherency that were 
uttered by the lady, which, he assured me, 
had not escaped his notice ; " But," added 
he, " I saw not the gisarme, nor the drops of 
blood upon the floor." " But perhaps," said 
I, " this was not the room in which the ac- 
cident happened." He assured me it was; 
because the cabinet had been pointed out to�
## p. 15 (#25) ##############################################
15 
him that stood in the corner, and which had 
escaped my notice. We therefore summoned 
the inn-keeper, who seemed to come reluc- 
tantly before us, and not to be pleased with 
the departure of his guest. I therefore ad- 
dressed myself to him upon that subject, 
assuring him, that what had been done was 
not to protect the guilty, but to give to the 
unfortunate young lady a fair opportunity of 
proving her innocence. "Innocence, indeed!" 
said he, surlily; " I am sure that I am rob- 
bed, and how can she be innocent? but the 
weakest, I find, must always go to the wall." 
Finding that he did not properly compre- 
hend my meaning, I placed my argument 
upon another ground. " You must know," 
said I, " that nothing uttered by the young 
lady in the state of a delirium can be essen- 
tial, either to acquit or condemn her, in a 
court of justice. She is now apparently in a 
high fever; and if she should die, every hope 
must die with her, if she be guilty, of your�
## p. 16 (#26) ##############################################
16 
obtaining any information respecting the pro- 
perty you have lost. Where we have placed 
her for the present, she will be taken proper 
care of; and when she is restored to her 
right mind, will then be able to answer every 
legal question you may wish to propose. She 
is not withdrawn from justice; but rather 
secured, that justice may be done. For my 
part, I must leave the determination of this 
mysterious adventure to your own provincial 
magistrates." ** These be fine words," re- 
plied the churl, with a sneer ; w but they do 
not bring back my plate, no, nor replace my 
gold, nor mend my cabinet : yet," continued 
he, recollecting himself, and lowering his 
tone, " 1 hope your honour will not wrong a 
poor inn-keeper; for woe betide me, but it 
is a hard case !" " It is a hard case," an- 
swered I ; " but certainly the preservation of 
the life of the lady, at all events, is a matter 
that ought not to be indifferent to you :  
but this is not the reason we called for you�
## p. 17 (#27) ##############################################
17 
at present," continued I ; and without giving 
him the least cause to suspect that we were 
seeking for evidence against him, requested 
to examine the broken cabinet. He went 
with us, and while he was expatiating upon 
the heaviness of his loss, I scrutinized every 
part of the room ; but there was no appear- 
ance of blood upon the floor, or any such 
weapon as she had mentioned. I was then 
inclined to think, that this part of her decla- 
ration was the effect of a disordered imagi- 
nation, and was preparing to leave the room, 
when, turning over a piece of tapestry with 
my foot that had been laid beneath the chair 
in which the bailiff was sitting when I first 
entered the room, I perceived a dampness, 
evidently proceeding from that portion of the 
floor's having been recently washed. This 
induced me to remove the tapestry entirely, 
and then the stains of blood appeared very 
evident, hastily smeared over; and the ta- 
pestry, without doubt, had been placed there 
VOL. II. B�
## p. 18 (#28) ##############################################
18 
to hide the suspicious, marks, which time had 
not permitted to be obliterated. The inn- 
keeper seemed to be much confused at the 
discovery, which I observed, and, without 
giving him time to study any evasion, com- 
manded him, in a peremptory tone of voice, 
to produce the gisarme that had so much 
affected the lady. He changed colour upon 
hearing the weapon named ; and after some 
hesitation,  " What did your honour say?" 
replied he, with a trembling accent. I re- 
peated the demand, and sternly said I would 
not be trifled with. " Your honour speaks 
of the gisarme Yes, yes, it is true enough, 
there was a gisarme " " And it was stained 
with blood," said I. " By my fay, I know 
not that," returned the host. " But where is 
this gisarme ? I do not see it here," said I. 
" Indeed, your honour," answered he, " I am 
as innocent as the child unborn : I do not 
know what they have done with the gisarme." 
\ then insisted upon his producing it imme- 
1�
## p. 19 (#29) ##############################################
19 
diately, declaring, that I would not stir until 
I had seen it. Finding that no evasion could 
be made, he at last informed us, that it had 
been thrust under the bed, because the lady 
fell into fits at the sight of it. He then pulled 
it out, and was attempting to wipe it with the 
skirt of his tunic, saying, at the same time, 
" I do not think it is bloody, your honour." 
I prevented him from effecting his design, 
and snatching it from him, plainly perceived 
the marks of blood upon it. I then looked 
earnestly at him, and shook my head : he 
seemed much confused, and cast his eyes 
upon the ground. I then pointed to the wet 
floor; " And for what purpose was this re- 
cent washing ?" said I; " these, also, are drops 
of blood." " By the holy mass bell," exclaim- 
ed the host, " I know not of the washing! I 
suppose the women did it to make the room 
fit for the reception of his worship the bai- 
liff. By the blessed rood cross, I am as in- 
nocent as a new-born child ; and for that�
## p. 20 (#30) ##############################################
20 
axe, it is none of mine ; but it lay upon the 
floor when I entered the room this mornins:." 
" Perhaps/' said I, " it belonged to the young 
chevalier." " I do not know that ; I lighted 
him myself to this chamber last night, and I 
will make oath upon the holy Evangelists 
that he had no such weapon." This circum- 
stance induced the magistrate to think the 
host had no hand in the murder ; " for," 
says he, " it is possible, that some villains 
may have entered the house in the night, 
murdered the young gentleman, and com- 
mitted the robbery."  But what then is 
become of the body ?" said I. " The thieves 
from abroad, whose business it is to elude 
detection, by getting at a distance with all 
possible speed, would hardly have encum- 
bered themselves with the breathless body of 
a murdered man ; especially, as the booty, 
which it seems they have taken with them, 
was sufficiently burthensome." " I own," re- 
plied the magistrate, " that this part of the�
## p. 21 (#31) ##############################################
21 
transaction is inexplicable to me. I wiB, 
however, cause the strictest search to be 
made for the body of the chevalier, and keep 
the gisarme ; time may, perhaps, point out its 
owner, and lead to the developement of this 
mystery." At this moment a courier from 
the Earl of Warwick, who had been sent from 
Amiens in search of me, and who had traced, 
me to the inn, delivered me letters, which 
ordered me to return to Abbeville without 
delay. I was therefore obligated to depart 
immediately, and leave the developement of 
the adventure to the bailiff and his assist- 
ants. I, however, recommended the lady 
strongly to his protection, and begged him 
to do justice to all parties. I then took my 
leave, promising to return in the course of 
two or three days, if circumstances permitted; 
being exceedingly anxious to know what the 
event would be of so singular an incident. In 
this, however, I was disappointed ; for on my 
arrival at Abbeville, I was charged that very�
## p. 22 (#32) ##############################################
22 
evening with dispatches for England : and I 
executed my commission with such punctu- 
ality, that I reached Calais early the next 
morning, and thence proceeded to London, 
where his Majesty held his court. My de- 
parture from Abbeville was urged by the 
regent with so much importunity, that it was 
some time before I recollected my remiss- 
ness in not having engaged the bailiff to 
impart to me by letter the sequel of his exa- 
minations. I had not acquainted him with 
my name, or given him any directions, by 
which such information could have been con- 
veyed to me ; and for my part, I was equally 
ignorant how to address him. Since that 
time, I have had no opportunity of hearing 
any thing further relative to that strange 
event; and little did I expect, at this time, 
so happily to meet with the lovely object of 
my solicitude." 
Here the baron concluded his narrative; 
and a short silence evinced the effect it had�
## p. 23 (#33) ##############################################
23 
upon the ladies. Eleanor was the first thai 
resumed the conversation ; and addressed her- 
self to Enima, pressing her hand at the same 
time, and said, " My dear Lady Darcy, we 
are much interested by the history of your 
unparalleled sufferings, and, of course, ex- 
ceedingly anxious to hear the sequel. Surely 
this gloomy night of adversity will terminate 
in a cheerful and cloudless morning." 
Emma elevated her eyes, which were still 
bathed with tears, and shook her head, say- 
ing, " The night of adversity, my dearest 
lady, is by no means closed: permit me to 
mourn my woes in silence. Why should I 
make you melancholy with the needless rela- 
tion of private sorrows." 
" Indeed," said Matilda, fe we must claim 
ihe privilege of sympathizing with you ; and 
for that very reason, indulge us with the con- 
tinuation of your adventures." 
The fair Emma then heaved a sigh, and 
thus proceeded :  " As soon as it was known�
## p. 24 (#34) ##############################################
that I had recovered the use of my reason, 
the officer of justice, mentioned by his lord- 
ship, waited upon me, attended by a Fran- 
ciscan friar. The former acquainted me 
with the grounds of the accusation preferred 
against me by the inn-keeper, of which I 
had not a very perfect recollection. The 
latter recommended me to quiet my con- 
science, if I was guilty, by a full and candid 
confession. I informed the holy father, that 
I was very ready to comply with his advice ; 
and then briefly related to them my unfortu- 
nate story, and intreated that my dear friend 
at Beaumont might be applied to without de- 
lay ; who, I assured them, would give them 
perfect satisfaction respecting the truth of 
every thing that I had asserted concerning 
myself or my family. When the bailiff had 
heard that my parentage and connections 
were s respectable, he politely assured me, 
that he was sorry the forms of justice required 
him to detain me, until an attestment could�
## p. 25 (#35) ##############################################
5 
be procured from my friend at Beaumont. I 
begged him to make himself perfectly easy 
upon that subject ; " because," said I, " it 
would be highly improper for the daughter 
of a nobleman to fly from an attestment. It 
is her duty to demand it, nor to leave behind 
her the least shadow of ground for malevo- 
lence to fix a stain upon her character." I 
then earnestly requested him to make every 
possible enquiry respecting my unfortunate 
brother. " It would be," said I, weeping, " a 
satisfaction, though a melancholy one, to see 
his breathless body reposed in the sacred ce- 
metery, with those ceremonies his rank de- 
mands ; at least, with that decency which 
Christian piety will certainly afford." I then 
learned, that unremitted enquiries had been 
made, and every part of the inn most care- 
fully searched to discover the body of my dear 
brother. The bailiff also informed me, that 
the inn-keeper, with the family, and all his 
servants, had undergone a long and particular�
## p. 26 (#36) ##############################################
26 
examination respecting the gisaraie stained 
with blood ; but nothing had transpired suf- 
ficiently strong against any of them to justify 
a criminal prosecution : on the contrary, from 
their united testimony, it appeared, that the 
house had been robbed, and that the inn- 
keeper had sustained a considerable loss. The 
owner of the gisarme could not be traced ; 
but to him we must attribute both the rob- 
bery and the murder, leaving to the just 
determination of an all-wise Providence to 
develope, at his good pleasure, this myste- 
rious event."�
## p. 27 (#37) ##############################################
27 
CHAPTER IV. 
Lady Emma's History continued. 
" After an interval of three days, I was 
desired to attend the lady prioress in her own 
apartment. I was not in the least surprized 
at this summons ; for I had been indulged 
the day before with an interview. I was 
received with great politeness. The good 
lady heard my melancholy narrative with 
great compassion ; and from the tenderness 
of her expression, I conceived that she in- 
terested herself in my behalf. It was with 
pleasure, therefore, that I repeated the visit. 
On entering into her chamber, I found her 
alone.  " Approach, my dear Lady Darcy," 
said she, with great affability. " I have 
tidings for you, which, though they cannot�
## p. 28 (#38) ##############################################
28 
remove the cause of your sorrows, may yet r 
in some measure, tend to render them less 
poignant :  your innocence is established be- 
yond the reach of the most scrupulous suspi- 
cion." " Oh, my dearest lady," replied I, 
hastily," the messenger is certainly returned 
from Beaumont." " He is," replied the pri- 
oress ; " and I would advise you not to be 
greatly surprized, if you should soon see your 
good friend in person ; for it is his intention 
to wait upon you, and condole with you upon 
this melancholy occasion." Perceiving that 
I was much agitated by her address, she 
changed the discourse for a few minutes; 
and when my mind was a little more tranquil, 
returning to the same subject, she at last in- 
formed me, that my ever-respected benefac- 
tor was actually arrived, and waited to see 
me. I will not attempt to describe my feel- 
ings at our meeting. Notwithstanding the 
manner in which the lady prioress had pre- 
pared me for the interview, joy, grief, and a�
## p. 29 (#39) ##############################################
29 
variety of other conflicting passions, took pos- 
session of my mind at the same instant; and 
it was only by an effusion of tears that I could 
obtain relief. What did the good old man 
not say to soothe my sorrows! How pathetic 
was his language of condolement! How ge- 
nerous his offers of protection ! Had my dear 
father returned from the grave to my assist- 
ance, he could not have expressed his con 
cern for me with more soul-felt affection and 
delicacy. " My dear child/' said he, gently 
grasping my hand at parting, " I will see you 
again to-morrow; in the mean time, I must 
request you to turn in your mind in what 
manner I can be serviceable to you ; remem- 
bering always, that the daughter of my be- 
nefactor, Lord Darcy, is as dear to me as if 
I had myself been her parent. 
" The next day he came according to his 
promise, and seemed very anxious for me to 
go back with him to Beaumont, and wait the 
return of letters from England. " Your un-�
## p. 30 (#40) ##############################################
30 
ele," said he, " must be made acquainted with 
this melancholy accident; for that purpose I 
have written to him. He will, I doubt not, 
provide for you a safe conveyance, and suit- 
able to your rank ; and, until something of 
that sort is done, you see that it will be im- 
possible for you to go forward on your jour- 
ney, without exposing yourself to rapacity 
and insult." I received this new instance of 
his regard for my welfare with the deepest 
sense of gratitude ; but I excused myself 
from accepting his pressing invitation, " as 
every object there would incessantly recal to 
my mind the pleasing hours of childhood^ 
and renew, with aggravated misery, the accu- 
mulated sorrows that now distract it. These 
perpetual companions would be a continual 
torment, and my melancholy, my dearest be- 
nefactor, might even embitter that tranquili- 
ty, which, it is my earnest petition to heaven, 
you may ever enjoy. That well-known man- 
sion, where my dear brother and myself�
## p. 31 (#41) ##############################################
31 
danced, as it were, through the gay scene of 
early life, emulous to promote each other's 
happiness, and free from every care ;  the 
sight of that mansion would distract me. It 
would recal the horrors of that dreadful night, 
when I lost that brother;  his sufferings;  
but, all-gracious heaven ! who knows how 
extensive those sufferings may have been ?  
Oh, dearest brother ! had you expired in the 
way that nature appoints, I might have wept 
over you, and closed your eyes in death. This 
severe duty, affection would have command- 
ed me to perform. I should then have look- 
ed up to heaven with submission ; sung thy 
requiem ; and had the doleful satisfaction, at 
least, of seeing an end of all thy pain. Oh, 
my Redeemer \  yes, I trust in thee." - 
Here Emma, elevating her lovely eyes^ 
glistering with tears, was silent for a few mo- 
ments ; when, recollecting herself, she turn- 
ed to the company, and renewed her speech. 
" Pardon, I beseech you, my lord, and dear�
## p. 32 (#42) ##############################################
32 
ladies, this digressive apostrophe ; my mind 
was bewildered, and the recollection of what 
passed upon that mournful occasion led me 
from the subject unconsciously." 
" But to proceed. My friendly benefactor 
seemed somewhat chagrined at my refusal of 
his offer of protection.  u And how, my dear 
lady," said he, " will you then dispose of 
yourself?" " It w r ould surely," returned I, 
" be an instance of the highest ingratitude 
in me to conceal the least circumstance of 
my present situation from you. I was yester- 
day introduced to an English lady of distinc- 
tion, whose family residence is at Bellericay 
in Essex. This young lady's father, Sir John 
Tracy, dying about three years back, left his 
affairs in a very unsettled situation. He was 
possessed of several manors, but they were 
encumbered with high mortgages, so that 
Lady Tracy found herself involved in suits of 
the most expensive kind. She had one only 
daughter remaining, out of six children, at�
## p. 33 (#43) ##############################################
S3 
the time of the knight's decease ; and, being 
fearful that the issue of the law might prove 
unfavourable, she raised a sum of money up- 
on her own dowry, and purchased, in that 
daughter's name, a small estate, by which she 
might be enabled to live, if not with magni- 
ficence, at least with comfort : but, at the 
same time, finding that her attention to te- 
dious processes in the courts of judicature en- 
grossed so much of her time, that she could 
not properly attend to the tuition of her 
daughter, then turned of twelve, she recollec- 
ted that the lady-prioress of this convent was 
a distant relation of Sir John Tracy, and, 
therefore, thought she could not do better for 
the young lady than to send her hither, and 
here she has received such instructions as are 
necessary for her rank. Lady Tracy has set- 
tled with all the creditors of the deceased 
knight ; the termination of the suits having 
proved more favourable than had been ex- , 
pected. She is now come herself into Piear- 
VOL. II. C�
## p. 34 (#44) ##############################################
34 
dy, to conduct her daughter hack to Belleri- 
cay. She has been acquainted with my name, 
which is familiar to her; for her residence is 
not above four leagues from Gay Bowers, 
the scat of my uncle. These ladies, with 
their suite, are to take their leave of the 
prioress to-morrow, and will return to Eng- 
land without delajyand it is my desire to em- 
brace this opportunity of travelling with per- 
sons of my own sex ; therefore, I am this day 
to be introduced to Lady Tracy, who, her 
daughter assures me, will be glad of my com- 
pany. The only difficulty that remains, rests 
upon the determination of the officers of jus- 
tice, by whose order I am detained ; for I am 
uncertain if I be, at this moment, a prisoner 
or not." My benefactor expressed great sa- 
tisfaction at the prospect of my returning so 
safely, and so comfortably, to my native 
country.  " Prepare yourself, my dear child, 
said he, without the least hesitation; " I will 
take care that nothing shall occur to detain�
## p. 35 (#45) ##############################################
35 
you. 1 will see you in the morning, previous 
to your departure, and give you letters to yout 
uncle that may be of service to you ; seeing 
that you have unfortunately lost the docu- 
ments that were in your brother's possession :" 
so saying he took his leave. 
" I was soon after introduced to Lady Tra- 
cy. She was a tall well-made woman, about 
fifty years of age; her countenance was ex- 
ceedingly comely, and highly expressive of 
good-nature. She received me with great 
politeness, and seemed to be perfectly well 
acquainted with the circumstances that had 
occasioned my father to quit his native coun- 
try. She assured me also, that she had fre- 
quently been in company with my uncle, the 
Baron St Clere ; who, she told me, was much 
reserved in his manners, and possessed a cer- 
tain sternness of countenance, which com- 
manded, rather than inspired, respect. I felt 
some disquietude at this description of my�
## p. 36 (#46) ##############################################
36 
uncte, but a different turn in the conversation 
soon effaced it from my mind. 
" The next morning my kind benefactor 
came very early, having his servants with 
him, who carried a mail, which he ordered 
them to lay upon a table in the middle of the 
room ; this done, they retired. " My dear 
child," said he, u you must oblige me by ac- 
cepting these few articles. It is necessary 
that you should have a sufficient change of 
dress, to appear to be the daughter of my 
best friend, and in this mail you will find 
them ; the letters are also inclosed." I knew 
not what to say to him upon this new mani- 
festation of his benevolence, and was prepa- 
ring to answer him, when he thus proceeded : 
" I will not hear any reply, or take any de- 
nial. I owe much more than such trifling 
services to the favour of your deceased pa- 
rent ; and it is a source of great comfort to 
me, that it is in my power to mitigate, in�
## p. 37 (#47) ##############################################
37 
the smallest degree, the sufferings of so nea; 
and so dear a relative. I must, my good 
Lady Darcy, beg of you to promise me one 
thing, and that is, to deliver a small packet 
you will find in this mail according to the 
directions inscribed upon it." I promised him 
not to fail. He then seized my hand, press- 
ed it to his lips, bathed with tears, and said, 
" Adieu, my dear lady : May good angels 
protect you ! and may He, who suffered death 
upon the rood for all mankind, grant, that 
your future happiness may overbalance the 
afflictions you have undergone :" and so say- 
ing, presented me with the key of the mail. 
My heart was so full, I could not answer, 
He took the advantage of this moment, 
hasted to the door, and shut it after him ; so 
that I saw my worthy benefactor no more I 
traversed the room several times in much agi- 
tation of mind, and it was a considerable 
time before I had the resolution to unlock 
the mail; and the first thing that struck my�
## p. 38 (#48) ##############################################
38 
sight was a packet with a direction on if. 
te This/' said I to myself, " is certainly the 
packet my dear friend alluded to." I read the 
inscription, and was surprised to find it to this 
effect,  For the young Lady Darcy, and for 
her use only. Upon opening it, I found a gip- 
sire, filled with angels and a gold noble. Said 
I to myself, " This profusion of benevolence 
exceeds the bounds of moderation. It is 
painful to feel the weight of such obligations, 
and feel the total want of power to make any 
return ;" and then throwing myself upon my 
knees, I poured out my soul in prayer to God 
and the Blessed Virgin, that they would rich- 
ly reward him for his bount}'. The mail con- 
tained besides, three several suits of apparel, 
exceedingly rich, and adorned with embroide- 
ry, a chevesail of pearls, and other jewels ne- 
cessary for the decoration of a woman of qua- 
lity. 
fc I had scarcely returned them to their 
place, and taken from the gipsire as much�
## p. 39 (#49) ##############################################
39 
gold as I thought would be necessary for my 
present use, when I was told, that the ladies 
were nearly ready to depart. On my taking- 
leave of the prioress, she held out her hand 
with a purse : " This," said she, " is yours ; I 
have taken from it as much as your board 
and accommodation requires; the remainder 
is certainly your due." I refused, however, 
to accept of it, saying, " Heaven sent it in a 
time of necessity. Keep it in your hands ; 
and if the body of my dear brother should be 
found, give orders that it may be buried as 
becomes a Christian knight ; and, in the mean 
time, let there be masses and dirges perform- 
ed for the repose of his soul." Having taken 
our leave of the lady-prioress, and the holy 
sisterhood, and especially of Agnes and her 
companion, who had been so kind to me 
during my illness, I joined the ladies; and., 
the weather being remarkably fine, we pro- 
ceeded in an open carriage to Arras, and 
thence to Calais, where we took shipping for�
## p. 40 (#50) ##############################################
40 
Dover, and arrived at that port without any 
interruption. 
" I felt an inbred sensation of pleasure, 
when I remembered that I was once more 
standing upon my native land ; it was, how- 
ever, alloyed, by I know not what presages 
of troubles yet to come. I endeavoured to 
dissipate these gloomy reflections, by recom- 
mending myself to the protection of the bless- 
ed Virgin Mary ; and the vespers bell calling 
to prayers, I entered the church, and per- 
formed those duties that piety requires, with 
all the fervency that I was mistress of. 
" Having passed the night at Dover, we 
proceeded to Canterbury, where we deter- 
mined to stop a day or two, in order to see 
what was worthy of remark in that ancient 
city, and particularly to offer our devotions 
at the holy shrine of St Thomas. We were 
informed that the archbishop would himself 
preside at the holy mass upon the ensuing 
day ; we, therefore, went early to the cathe-�
## p. 41 (#51) ##############################################
41 
dral, and were fortunate enough to obtain a 
convenient situation to see the whole of the 
ceremony, which was conducted with much 
more grandeur and solemnity than I had 
ever seen before* I could not help reflecting, 
at this moment, upon the singularity of my 
present situation. Uncertain of a friendly 
reception from my own relations, and exposed 
to a thousand disappointments, my mind was 
much depressed, and I began to accuse my- 
self for flying from the invitations of calm re- 
tirement, which Providence had east in my 
way, and plunging myself into the evils and 
perplexities that are the constant and danger- 
ous attendants upon a life of secular concern. 
Had a proper opportunity at that moment 
offered, I should, I doubt not, have embraced 
it eagerly, and, in the recess of the cloister, 
have avoided those accumulating evils which 
have overtaken me. Such were the senti- 
ments of my mind, when the holy mass was 
concluded ; and my young companion, whose�
## p. 42 (#52) ##############################################
42 
name is Rosalind, recalled me, as it were, 
to this world, by telling me, they were now 
going to visit the tomb of the holy martyr. I 
was exceedingly surprised to find it so rich 
and magnificent. It absolutely was one flare 
of gold and jewels; some of which were of 
great magnitude, and inestimable respecting 
their value. It was surrounded with burning 
tapers ; and a prodigious multitude of pil- 
grims and pious votaries encircled the steps, 
and precluded all possibility of near approach. 
I, therefore, with my companions^ kneeled 
upon the pavement at a distance, and kissed 
a golden coffer, which was carried in a kind 
of procession round the shrine, and contain- 
ed a piece of the blessed martyr's skull, 
which was seen through a crystal fixed upon 
the top for that purpose. My eyes were di- 
rected to a tablet that hung over the tomb, 
and upon which was depicted the saint : He 
was officiating at the holy altar, surrounded 
by the cruel murderers, one of which, with�
## p. 43 (#53) ##############################################
43 
his basilard, was aiming his blow at his head. 
I wept much at this pitiful sight: "And per- 
haps," said 1 to myself, with a sigh, " perhaps, 
surrounded by such merciless barbarians, my 
dear unfortunate brother died." In this ca- 
thedral we also saw the tomb of Edward 
Prince of Wales, and over it displayed the 
shirt of mail that he wore under the cuirass 
in the fields of Cressy and Poictiers, where 
he obtained those celebrated victories that 
will hand clown his fame, as a soldier> to the 
latest annals of posterity. 
" From Canterbury we proceeded through 
Fevershain and Sittonburn to Rochester, and 
thence to Gravesend. The evening closed 
upon us before we reached the latter place, 
so that we did not think it prudent to cross 
the water before the morning ; for your lord- 
ship well knows, without doubt, that this is a 
small fishing town upon the banks of the 
Thames, and opposite to Tilbury Fort, in Es- 
sex. We were, however, oblige^ to put up�
## p. 44 (#54) ##############################################
44 
with very poor accommodation ; but Lady 
Tracy and her daughter endeavoured, by 
their politeness and good humour, to supply 
these defects. My mind, however, was too 
much occupied upon the approaching inter- 
view with my uncle, to enter into a full parti- 
cipation of their pleasantry. I used, indeed, 
every endeavour to disguise my sensations; 
but, I fear, I acquitted myself but awkwardly 
upon the occasion. After supper Lady Tracy 
said, " It is too soon for us at present to retire 
to rest. I will, my dear children  but excuse," 
added she, " my dear Lady Darcy, the fami- 
liarity of my address." I pressed her hand to 
my lips, and declared, that 1 thought myself 
highly honoured by so distinguishing a mark 
of her friendship. She smiled, and proceed- 
ed,  " I will then relate to you a little history 
of an adventure that happened in this town, 
the truth of which I vouch for upon my own 
knowledge."�
## p. 45 (#55) ##############################################
45 
tt 
The story being concluded, which in 
reality suspended the poignancy of my re- 
flections, I thanked her for her courtesy, and 
retired to rest. I slept but little, and rose 
early. My dear friends were not so watch- 
ful ; so that I had prepared every thing ne- 
cessary for their breakfast, before they des- 
cended from their chamber. My attention 
seemed to be particularly pleasing to them, 
and the compliments of the morning were 
interchanged with much sincerity. 
" Immediately after we had taken our re- 
freshment, we crossed the Thames. A car- 
riage was provided for us at Tilbury, and, in 
the course of two hours, reached the summit 
of Langdon hill. Here I was gratified with 
the most delightful prospect my eyes ever 
beheld ; and Lady Tracy caused the carriage 
to stop at certain intervals, that her daughter 
and I might be indulged with a full enjoy- 
ment of it ; while she, to whom it was fami- 
liar, pointed out to us the most material ob-�
## p. 46 (#56) ##############################################
46 
jects. The country before ns formed a beau- 
tiful inclosed valley, bounded, toward the 
West and south-west, by the distant hills of 
Highgate, and ELimpstead, and the Surry 
hills, within which wide circuit appeared the 
great emporium of Europe, the city of Lon- 
don; thence I could trace the beautiful me- 
anderings of the Thames, and the quantities 
of shipping passing and repassing. I saw the 
village of Tilbury below, and Gravesend, 
with the chalk cliffs of Kent, and the country 
rising like a vast amphitheatre from the marsh- 
es. Turning towards the east, we discovered 
the conjunction of the Thames with the Med- 
way, and the view was terminated by the 
blue tints of the salt sea, where it opens into 
the mouth of the British Channel; and as 
we passed the corner of a little grove, which 
shut out the northern part of the prospect, I 
saw a little hill, superior to any thing that 
was near it, and upon it a very tall spire, 
<k And that place," said 1 to the good lady,�
## p. 47 (#57) ##############################################
47 
who made me acquainted with the names of 
the different places that I had seen, " That 
distant hill with the tall spire, what is it call- 
ed ?* " That," said she, smiling, " is near the 
place to which you are going; that is Dan- 
bury." I know not why, but the word Dan- 
bury came so suddenly upon me, that my 
heart sunk within me; but, soon recovering 
myself, I said, " And how far may we be 
from that hill?" " If," replied the lady,  we 
could gain its summit in a direct line, its dis- 
tance would not, I think, exceed five or six 
leagues ; but the road, necessary to be pass- 
ed, is so full of windings, that the circumam- 
bulations, which are altogether unavoidable, 
will make it full ten leagues, saying nothing 
for the badness of the roads, which, as you 
yourself will soon witness, will add as much 
to the fatigue of the journey as the distance. 
Seeing that I looked very grave, she went on : 
" But, my dear lady, [ hope this report is not 
the occasion of your thoughtfulness. My�
## p. 48 (#58) ##############################################
48 
house is perfectly at your service ; and I pro- 
mise you, that we shall not permit you to 
leave us until you are provided with an equi- 
page proper to appear before the baron ; and, 
if you will accept of my company, I will my- 
self attend you to Gay Bowers, which is in 
reality a delightful situation." This new in- 
stance of Lady Tracy's delicacy and feeling, 
called forth the warmest expressions of gra- 
titude on my part. " But," added I, " my 
duty requires me to use all the expedition 
that lies in my power, to pay the homage that 
is due to the brother of my father, my guar- 
dian, and sole protector." She then grasped 
my hand, and, with a smile, replied, " We 
will settle that point to-morrow, and, I doubt 
not, to your entire satisfaction." I bowed, 
and was silent. The height of the enclosures 
had long shut out from us the beauties of the 
distant prospect, and the road became so ex- 
ceedingly bad, that the rest of the passage 
would have been tiresome to the last degree. 
7�
## p. 49 (#59) ##############################################
49 
had not the sprightliness of the conversation, 
kept alive by the exertions of the good Ladv 
Tracy, and supported by her lovely daughter, 
reconciled even the fatigue to me. 
u It was nearly sun-set before we reached 
Bellericay, and the carriage stopped at the 
lady's residence. It was an old mansion in 
the middle of the town : it wore, however, 
the appearance of grandeur, being ornament- 
ed in the front with a kind of cloister, bavin"- 
six painted arches on each side, supported 
by a double row of clustered pillars; the 
principal entrance was raised from the ground 
and the ascent was made by massy steps of 
stone. The apartments within, though by 
no means grandly furnished, were exceed- 
ingly neat : the hall was hung with tapestry, 
and the pavement strewed with clean rushes. 
She now, with great good nature, took mc 
by the hand, and bidding me welcome, led 
me to an inner apartment, where the table 
was covered for dinner. She intreated me 
VOL. II. T j�
## p. 50 (#60) ##############################################
50 
to be seated ; and I was accommodated with 
a carved stool, and cushion handsomely em- 
broidered. It was quite dark before the 
dinner was over ; and after the desert was 
removed, Lady Tracy, with her accustomed 
eood humour, related several diverting sto- 
ries, to amuse us until the hour was come 
for our retirement. The board, indeed, was 
spread for supper; but the dinner had been 
so late, that none of us chose to participate 
in what was set before us. It was then 
agreed upon between the young lady and 
her mother, that the former should sleep with 
me. I readily acquiesced; for there was a 
vivacity in her manner, that I was much 
taken with ; and besides, the gloominess of 
my thoughts required the cheerfulness of such 
a companion to prevent the increase of their 
influence. The good lady then summoned 
the family to prayers, and herself performed 
the office of chaplain. That duty being over, 
she took her leave of us; and my fair com- 
10�
## p. 51 (#61) ##############################################
panion, dispensing with the service of her 
gentlewoman, conducted me herself to the 
chamber prepared for our reception. Here, 
as in other parts of the mansion, I found all 
things extremely neat and convenient. We 
went to bed, and my companion, being some- 
what fatigued with her journey, soon fell 
asleep; for my part, it was a long time be- 
fore I could follow her example, and I had 
not long closed my eyes before both of us 
were awakend by a sudden cry of horror : 
the room was illuminated by an unusual glare, 
and we heard distinctly the dreadful vocifer- 
ation of Fire ! Fire !  For heaven's sake, my 
dear lady," cried I, " arise ; for the house is 
on fire, and we shall perish in the flames." 
The fright had such an effect upon her, that 
she made no attempt to move from her bed. 
I hastily, however, slipped on my kirtle, 
which I girt around me, and cast over that 
my mantle and my wimple, and then throw- 
ing her mantle over her shoulders, absolutely 
dragged her to the door, which I no sooner�
## p. 52 (#62) ##############################################
52 - 
opened than the flames burst in upon us : 
the house was in a blaze, and no hope of 
escape remained to us by that avenue. Pre- 
sently a man appeared at the window, mount- 
ed upon a ladder which had been placed 
against the house ; " Save yourself, lady," 
said he : " vou can descend this ladder.'" 
Save first," said I " Lady Tracy's daugh- 
ter." "Where is she?" said the man. "Here," 
said I, faintly, " upon the bed ; for God's 
sake, come in, and help me to convey her 
from destruction." Having prevailed upon 
him to enter the room, I wrapped her in her 
night mantle, and wound my coat hard over 
it by way of bandage, and he, with my as- 
sistance, conveyed her down the ladder, to- 
tally unconscious of what was passing. I 
followed as quickly as possible, and had not 
quitted the ladder before the floor of the 
room gave way. A volume of flames burst 
from the window; so that one minute's delay 
had rendered our destruction inevitable. I 
was terrified by the awful sight, and, jump-�
## p. 53 (#63) ##############################################
63 
mg from the ladder, missed my footing, and 
fell upon the green sward, but providentially 
without receiving any other injury than a 
slight sprain in my left ankle. I cannot 
clearly recollect in what manner I descended 
the ladder ; but from a small contusion which 
I afterwards found upon my ankle, and a 
scratch or two upon my left arm, I conceive 
I must have fallen before I reached the bot- 
tom. The effects of the fresh air had re- 
called my fair companion. She began to 
speak ; but the sentences she uttered were so 
wild and incoherent, that it was evident her 
senses were much disordered. For my own 
part, my situation was little preferable. I 
stood fixed as it were to the ground, alter- 
nately looking at her, and at the horrible 
destruction made by the devouring clement ; 
when the young man, who had saved us from 
destruction, intreated us to quit the garden, 
where he gently raised the young lady from 
the green sward, upon which she was seated.�
## p. 54 (#64) ##############################################
54 
and supporting her on the one side, while \, 
who much needed assistance myself, did the 
best I could in her behalf on the other. He 
conducted us to a neat little cottage, inha- 
bited by his mother, about a quarter of a 
mile from the town. The good old dame, 
alarmed by the dreadful disaster, was below 
in her night-clothes. My companion was 
perfectly well known to her; and when she 
learned from her son, that I appeared to be 
an intimate acquaintance in the family, she 
made no distinction between us. She cast a 
faggot upon the embers to prevent our taking 
cold, and having warmed some elder wine, 
prevailed upon us to take a small portion, 
which she assured us would be for our good. 
Jn the mean time, her son was gone back to 
the fire to s;ive what farther assistance was in 
his power, and had promised to return as soon 
as he could learn the event of the dreadful con- 
ilagration. The distance of the cottage from 
Tracy house ensured our safety; but at in-�
## p. 55 (#65) ##############################################
55 
tervals we could plainly hear the outcries of 
the people, and the cracking of the timber 
consuming in the flames, which filled my 
mind with terror; and I was exceedingly an- 
xious to learn the situation of the good lady, 
with her other daughter. After my compa- 
nion had taken a small drop of the elder 
wine, she seemed for a few moments more 
composed ; but recollecting the dangerwhence 
she had escaped, she started up before I was 
aware, and ran towards the door. It was with 
much difficulty we could prevail upon her to 
remain in the house; she insisted on retiring 
home to save her mother, or to perish with her. 
We pacified her, by the assurance, that every 
assistance was exerted in behalf of her mo- 
ther; that the young man, who had saved 
our lives, was actually there, and, we doubted 
not, would return in a few minutes with the 
joyful tidings of her dear relations welfare. 
Dame Grey, (for so the good woman was 
called, under whose friendly roof we were�
## p. 56 (#66) ##############################################
66 
now sheltered, had brought from her cham- 
ber a neat night dress, which being made 
warm, she prevailed on the young lady to 
put them on, apologizing for their homeli- 
ness, and at the same time assisting her. I 
now heard a gentle tap at the door, which I 
opened : here I met our preserver, and from 
the dejection in his countenance, presaged 
some disastrous tidings. I therefore placed 
myself between him and young Lady Tracy, 
and made a signal with my hand for him to 
retire. He conceived my meaning, and with- 
drew. I followed him as gently as possible,, 
and when we had an opportunity of speaking 
without being overheard by the young lady, 
he told me, that the event of the fire was 
inconceivably dreadful ; that Lady Tracy,, 
her daughter, and several of the domestics, 
were buried in the ruins. " Holy Saints,' r 
cried I, clasping my hands together, and 
hardly able to support myself, " how shall I 
communicate these dreadful tidings to the�
## p. 57 (#67) ##############################################
51 
daughter, and not occasion her death by the 
horrid recital !" My absence had not passed 
unnoticed by the hapless lady ; and upon 
my return she clasped me in her arms, ex- 
claiming, in such doleful accents as pierced 
me to the soul, " Where is my mother ? 
Where is my sister ? Oh, speak to me 1 Holy 
Saints, you turn away ! The horror of your 
countenance indicates too plainly that they 
are lost, and I am " Here a flood of tears 
prevented her utterance. She leaned upon 
my shoulder, and sobbed so bitterly, it would 
have unnerved the hardest heart, and melted 
it with sympathetic sorrow. This was a se- 
vere trial for me, myself an object of pity. 
My own griefs rankled in my mind, to which 
were added the honors of a friend's despon- 
dcnc} T ; and my spirits were nearly exhausted, 
when her aunt, who resided at a little dis- 
tance from the town, having heard of the 
unhappy fate of her sister and niece, and 
learning from the good dame's son, whom�
## p. 58 (#68) ##############################################
58 
the met accidentally, that the eldest daughter 
had escaped from the flames, rushed into 
the room, and in agony of sorrow pressed 
her to her breast. They bathed each others 
bosoms with heart-rending tears, and so soon 
as excess of grief allowed her the use of 
speech, the affectionate relative exclaimed, 
f< Oh, my fortunate child ! or shall I rather 
call you unfortunate in escaping! Thou livest 
indeed ; but it is to deplore the loss of a 
tender mother, and affectionate sister!" At- 
these words the hapless young lady fainted a 
second time. As soon as she recovered suf- 
ficiently to be removed with safety, her aunt 
caused her to be carried to a litter, which was 
waiting at the door for that purpose- To me, 
who of course was a perfect stranger to her, 
she returned her thanks, and the good woman 
of the house, promising that her hospitable 
assiduities should not be passed over without 
reward. 
" Till this moment, I had not reflected�
## p. 59 (#69) ##############################################
59 
upon my own share in this dreadful calamity. 
I had lost the casket containing the wealth 
which my friend had put into my hands; 
and except three angels of gold, with a few 
small pieces of silver which chanced to be in 
my gipsire, and attached to my girdle, I was 
totally destitute of money. 1 then considered 
the uncouthness of my equipment, with a 
nisrht mantle over mv kirtle, without my 
corset and under tunic. My wimple, indeed, 
was very full and long, and perfectly con- 
cealed the want of my head adornments; 
but how, thought I, shall the daughter of 
Lady Darcy make her appearance before a 
hau[rhtv uncle in such a dissruisement. I 
have no carriage to take me thither, nor 
servants to attend upon me, nor suitable 
habiliments to equip myself. I must ap- 
proach hiin like an outcast, with no one to 
introduce me; and perhaps he will spurn me 
from his door, without listening to my tale 
of sorrows. These reflections, and the fa-�
## p. 60 (#70) ##############################################
60 
tigue I had sustained, were too much for my 
exhausted spirits to support. I sunk under 
them, and was deprived of sensation for se- 
veral hours, giving the good woman of the 
house much trouble, which I was ill provided 
to repay. 
" The next morning I was totally unable to 
rise, and Dame Grey began to be seriously 
alarmed on my account. I was well con- 
vinced that my stay was inconvenient, and for 
that reason proposed to hire a horse, with a 
guide, to conduct me to Gay Bowers; but 
she, judging much better of my strength 
than 1 seemed to do for myself, would not 
permit me to think of undertaking such a 
journey that day. " You are going then, 
my lady, to the Baron Saint Clere." " I 
am," said I, " indeed ; for the Baron of Saint 
Clere is my uncle." I had no sooner uttered 
these words than Dame Grey dropped me 
a low curtsey, and replied, " I wish I had 
known that before, my dear lady; your lady-�
## p. 61 (#71) ##############################################
61 
ship may command both me and mine. You 
have had, in sooth, but a rough welcome : 
the move's the pity. In good sooth, this 
house, and the farm we occupy, belong to 
the Baron of Saint Clere's estate : I and my 
son be his tenants. If your ladyship thinks 
it proper, the boy shall go over to Gay Bowers, 
and inform the baron your uncle of the mis- 
chance which has happened ; and he will, 
no doubt, come over himself to fetch you, 
or send a more suitable equipage than can 
be provided here." I thanked her for her 
past favours, which I promised her should 
not be obliterated from my memory, but 
positively refused her offer of sending her 
son to my uncle ; adding, " I shall my- 
self, no doubt, be able to undertake the 
journey to-morrow : I am not personally 
known to him, because I have been from 
England the greater part of my life ; and I 
do not wish to apprize him of my arrival in 
this country, until 1 can do it in person ; for�
## p. 62 (#72) ##############################################
62 
he is the only near relation I have now living." 
The good old dame appeared to be perfectly 
satisfied with my objections, and sent for a 
leech to visit me, who assured me that I 
ought not to be removed for a day or two. 
After I had taken a little refreshment, he 
sent me a draught, which was to promote 
rest, and having laid myself down upon the 
bed, I fell asleep."�
## p. 63 (#73) ##############################################
CHAPTER V. 
Lady Emmas History continued. 
" Dame Grey, it seems, acquainted the 
leech with the relationship I claimed to the 
baron, and he advised her, by all means, to 
send her son over to Gay Bowers, without 
saying any thing farther to me upon the sub- 
ject; " which," says he, " the baron cannot 
help taking in good part;" and he himself 
penned the letter, by which my uncle was 
informed of my arrival at Bellericay, and of 
the misfortune which had happened to me in 
that place. When Francis, the young man 
who preserved me from the flames, being 
mounted upon a good horse, set off express 
for my uncle's mansion, with orders to re-�
## p. 64 (#74) ##############################################
C?4 
turn as speedily as possible. I did not a~ 
wake until it was nearly evening ; when, 
finding myself much revived, I dressed my- 
self in the best manner I could, and went 
down stairs. Dame Grey was seated at the 
window, but did not move herself at my ap- 
proach. I thanked her for the favours she 
had done me, and repeated my promise, 
never to forget her good services. To this 
she coolly replied, without turning her head 
towards me, " Why, as to that matter, my 
lady, as you are pleased to call yourself, it 
may be so. You are welcome to all that I 
have done, 'tis true; but, at the same time, 
one does not always know who one has to 
deal with, and charity begins at home." I 
was much astonished at this sudden alteration 
in her behaviour, and begged to know if I 
had unwittingly given her any cause of of- 
fence. " I cannot say so," replied she ; (< but 
I find that all is not gold which glitters,  he 
judges often falsely, who judges from the�
## p. 65 (#75) ##############################################
65 
outside only." 1 could not by any means 
trace out the consistency of these sarcastic 
saws, nor divine how they could be justly 
applied to n^self ; yet the cool indifference 
manifested by her behaviour, and the dry 
manner in which they were spoken, plainly 
precluded any other explication ; and there- 
fore I begged of her to speak out with plain- 
ness and sincerity. " That letter, I ain told," 
said she, "will spare me the trouble; no 
doubt, you are a scholar, and can read it." 
She then held out a folded paper superscribed, 
and which had been sealed, but was now 
broken open. I cast my eyes partly over 
the contents, without reading them ; and 
when I saw for the signature the name of 
Gaston de Saint Clere, I trembled, and felt 
the blood recoil from my cheeks. The old 
dame took these emotions for positive proofs 
of my guilt, and said, with a sarcastic sneer, 
** Adad, my fine young mistress, but now 
your wings will be clipped, I trow." Not 
VOL. II. E�
## p. 66 (#76) ##############################################
66 
heeding her apostrophe, I read the epistle, 
which was couched in these words :  
" Dame Grey, 
" If I did not conceive, that your credu- 
lity had subjected you to the imposition of 
an artful deceiver, I should suspect that you 
had leagued with her to cheat me. However, 
as a proof of your sincerity, I expect you 
will instantly, upon the receipt of these lines, 
turn her out of your doors; and at the same 
time, inform the cozening quean from me, 
that if I should hear any more about her, I 
will consign her ladyship to the care of the 
keeper of Chelmsford prison, who is the pro- 
per warder for such self-created title bearers. 
For your own satisfaction, I can assure you, 
that I have authentic documents to prove the 
death of my real cousin in Flanders two years 
back. If I am not obeyed, I shall, without 
hesitation, send a neighbour of mine to take 
possession of the farm you hold from me;�
## p. 67 (#77) ##############################################
67 
therefore/ 1 advise you not to make an ene- 
my of your friend, 
Gaston Saint Clere." 
" The language contained in this epistle 
was shocking to humanity; but I was equally 
surprised that my arrival at Bellericay should 
have been known to Gaston Saint Clere, or 
that he should have written instead of his 
father the baron. Dame Grey observed my 
perplexity, and judging, from my silence, 
that I had nothing to say in my own defence, 
was confirmed in the opinion she had formed 
of my duplicity ; and therefore addressed me 
in the following terms :  " I am very sorry, 
my pretty damsel, that you should have for- 
feited every just title to respect, and taken 
upon yourself a character which does not be- 
long to you. You see that I am under the 
necessity of fulfilling my landlord the haron's 
order." She was proceeding in her speech, 
when I interrupted her, saying, " Your land-�
## p. 68 (#78) ##############################################
68 
lord ! and Gaston de Saint Clere ! and not 
from the baron? The baron's name is Eu- 
stace." " By my fay/' said she, " my fine 
young lady, you must learn your story better 
another time : Eustace de Saint Clere has 
been dead a full twelvemonth come latter 
Lammas ; and, poor gentleman, he had been 
confined to his room many months before; 
and our lord Gaston succeeded to his estates 
and titles.  But to the purpose ; I am grieved 
to turn you from my doors, but I have no al- 
ternative : to retain you is to ruin myself; for 
the baron never threatens, but he performs. 
I can only add, that you are welcome to what 
has been done.  Go, in God's name, and, if 
my advice may be worth your listening to, 
take heed how you offend the baron again ; 
for in his justice he never looks at mercy." 
To this I answered, " Your suspicions do not 
excite my surprise ; they naturally arise from 
the appearance of the circumstances, and 
justify your conduct : but, as I have truth 
12�
## p. 69 (#79) ##############################################
m 
69 M 
and justice on my side, far other thoughts 
than those imposed by guilt occupy my mind. 
I aeain thank you for the kindness I have 
received at your hands, and on no account 
will be farther burlhensome. The dreadful 
calamity of last night has robbed me of all 
my money, excepting these few pieces of 
gold ; take them, and, believe me, I am sin- 
cerely sorry I have it not in my power to re- 
ward you more amply." So saying, I reached 
my hand with the money towards her; but, 
rising hastily, she gently put my hand aside, 
saying, " No ; by the holy rood, I will not 
touch one single cross." Here her son Francis 
entered the room, and 1 requested hiin to 
accept of the gold, as a token of my grati- 
tude, but not as a reward in any degree ade- 
quate to the important services he had ren- 
dered me. But the good dame straightly 
interfered, saying, "The knave, 1 trust, knows 
better than to take it. Mercy upon us, we 
he not hard-hearted ; and besides, we should�
## p. 70 (#80) ##############################################
I 
70 
add to your distressful situation : but know," 
added she, " there is something so soft and 
so innocent in your deportment, that I will 
not rigidly enforce the harsh command of 
my master. It is late; you are a stranger 
here, and know not where to go. You shall 
sleep here this night, and to-morrow, fare- 
well ; and may the blessed Mary, the Mo- 
ther of God, defend you." This friendly 
offer I positively refused, being determined, 
that she should not incur the baron's displea- 
sure upon my account; but begged permis- 
sion for Francis to take me to some inn in 
the town, where I might be accommodated 
with a room to myself. My request was 
rudely complied with ; and after I had taken 
leave of Dame Grey, her son conducted me 
to a small tavern at the entrance of the town, 
which was kept by a widow, an acquaintance 
of theirs ; and after having recommended 
me warmly to the care of the hostess, he 
* 
wished me good speed, and withdrew. I was�
## p. 71 (#81) ##############################################
71 
then lighted to my bed-room, and having 
dismissed the chambermaid with a strict 
charge not to permit me to be disturbed, I 
locked the door and threw myself upon the 
bed, and bathed the pillow with a flood of 
tears. Now, all the misery of my present 
situation flowed upon my labouring mind, 
and a thousand perplexing apprehensions pre- 
vailed in succession. I saw myself a sus- 
pected stranger in my own country, over- 
whelmed in poverty and disgrace ; deserted 
by every one about me, and spurned from 
the hearth of the only relation I could apply 
to, and from whom I had a right to expect 
protection. I now recollected, with horror, 
that the title deeds of my mother's jointure, 
and the letters which I had received from 
my benevolent benefactor in Beaumont, were 
consumed in the flames ; for I had- sewed 
them between the linings of my bonnet for 
safety's sake. I had, therefore, no voucher 
to bring forward in proof that I really was�
## p. 72 (#82) ##############################################
72 
the daughter of Lady Darcy ; and perhaps, 
said I, this hard-hearted relation will carry 
his threats into execution, and I may in rea- 
lity be thrown into a prison to perish there. 
How dare I, then, commit my appeal to this 
cruel relation ? and yet, I have no means of 
subsistence, but what depends upon him ; I 
have no garment to cover me, saving those 
upon my back, and they are strangely suited 
to each other ; and the small portion of coin 
which is remaining, will presently be ex- 
pended. While I was thus ruminating upon 
the miseries which surrounded me, 1 heard a 
gentle rap at my door : I raised my head from 
my pillow, and listened with attention, when 
I heard the rapping repeated. I then rose 
from my bed, and going to the door, en- 
quired if any one was there. A female voice 
replied, " It is I ;" I thought I recognized 
the voice of my uncle's tenant. I opened 
the door, and found I was not deceived. She 
in treated to speak a word or two with me ;�
## p. 73 (#83) ##############################################
I ft 
73 ft 
upon which, I desired her to walk in, and 
pointed to a stool with a cushion, while I 
seated myself upon the side of the bed. 
" I hope you will pardon my intrusion/' 
said she, " and the more particularly, as I 
was told below, that you had given orders 
not to be disturbed ; but, in very truth, I 
have been exceedingly uneasy in my mind 
ever since you left my poor dwelling. Mercy 
on me ! I fear I was too hasty, and I have 
chid myself a thousand times for showing you 
the naughty letter." " [ndeed then, my good 
dame," said I, sighing, a you have done your 
self much wrong. You have acted very pro- 
perly; every prudent person, in like circum- 
stances, would have done the same. You 
have every reason to suspect me to be an im- 
postor : I have no means at present to clear 
up my character; but, even if I had, it would 
be dangerous for you to countenance me, 
I while 1 am discountenanced by inv nearest re-�
## p. 74 (#84) ##############################################
74 
deed, my dear dame/' added I, rising, and 
taking her by the hand, " I have much to 
thank you for, but nothing to lay to your 
charge." She grasped my hand, while the 
tears stood in her eyes ; and, looking me ear- 
nestly in the face, exclaimed, ".Oh, blessed 
queen of heaven ! this innocent is wronged.  
I am, 'tis true, a poor silly woman ; yet 1 can 
see something in your countenance that speaks 
for itself.  Well, but to my business : Though 
I may not help thee openly, I can, I trow, in 
secret, do thee some service. You must know, 
that my husband's sister was nurse to the fa- 
mily at Foleshunt Darcy, and I have heard 
her speak of you, if it was you she nursed"-  
" And not of my brother," said I, hastily ; 
" for I have heard my honoured mother say, 
that one nurse attended upon us both."  " I 
have heard her mention the voung lord also," 
said the dame. " And where is this good 
woman ?" added I : " Where does she live ? 
Can I see her i Oh, tell me, I beseech you."�
## p. 75 (#85) ##############################################
75 
" One moment's patience, my dear lady, and 
I will tell you. This self-same gossip resides 
at Great Baddow, in the way to Danbery, 
and, perchance, it will be your wish to see 
her." " See her, my dear friend !" cried I ;  
I grasped her hand, and pressing it to my 
lips in an extacy of joy  " You are my good 
angel ! You have, in a few words, resuscita- 
ted my dying hope, and mitigated the poison 
of ray sorrow.  See her ! yes, certainly, this 
moment, if possible. Her testimony will be 
equal in strength to the documents I brought 
from Flanders, and which were consumed in 
the flames. There are some circumstances 
impressed upon my mind, which I have 
learned from my mother, which cannot fail 
of proof, if she was in reality our nurse." 
n Enough, enough," said the old dame ; 
" She was your nurse ; and I have heard 
her say so."  I hastily replied, " Then I am 
happy; I Oh, let me see her before I 
sleep !" " That cannot be, my dear lady/'�
## p. 76 (#86) ##############################################
76 
answered the dame ; " for, though the dis- 
tance is little more than two leagues, it is 
now late, the night is dark, and the road is 
extremely bad. Ii will be impossible to tra- 
vel it without imminent danger; to-mor- 
row  " " To-morrow, then, I will see her," 
answered I ; " her evidence will, I doubt not, 
convince my uncle, and restore me to my 
rights." 
" My good benefactor was perfectly con- 
vinced that I was no impostor, and entreated 
me to return with her to the cottage; that, 
however, I positively refused ; for whatever 
may happen," said I, " it will be imprudent 
for you to give ofTence to the baron, by dis- 
obeying his commands." She then begged 
me to take some refreshment; and, before I 
could prevent her,- positively ordered it. I 
ate part of a chicken, and drank a small cup 
of warm claret, made rich with spices; and 
then we consulted together, respecting the 
proper method of prosecuting the business of�
## p. 77 (#87) ##############################################
77 
the following day. It was first proposed, that 
Francis should bring his aunt from Baddow; 
but it occurred to me, that we should there- 
by occasion an unnecessary delay, and that it 
would be better for me to go to Baddow my- 
self, and take the nurse with me to Gay 
Bowers, without giving the baron the least 
previous notice. This step was agreed to ; 
and the good dame promised, that Francis 
should wait upon me early in the morning, 
with a safe little hobby for me to ride, and 
himself to conduct me to Baddow : " And if, 
my dear young lady," said she, " things 
should fall out unfavourably, speak not of 
him, nor of me either, but as one who turned 
you from my doors." 
" It was now late, and my benefactor ad- 
vised me to go to bed, saying, she would sit 
by the bed-side all night to keep me compa- 
ny ; and it was with much difficulty I could 
prevail upon her, to use her own term, to be 
" said, nay." After her departure I fastened�
## p. 78 (#88) ##############################################
78 
the door; and, having made my evening ori- 
sons, laid myself upon the bed, but without 
pulling off" my clothes. My mind was great- 
ly tranquillized by the prospect of success; 
for I doubted not but the evidence of the 
nurse would quiet all the scruples which had 
arisen in the mind of the baron, and compel 
him to acknowledge me; and I anxiously 
wished for the return of day. 
" In the midst of these cogitations, sleep 
stole upon me unawares; and I was not 
awakened, until by a gentle knock at the 
door, which announced the arrival of my be- 
nefactress. She held a parcel in her hand, 
which contained a pair of new hose of sey, a 
pair of cordovan shoes, that laced upon the 
instep, and a new kirtle of Samite, with a 
boddice belonging to the same. " These/' 
says she, " you must borrow of me." Seeing 
that I appeared surprised at the offer, she 
went on : " And, indeed, I must not be re- 
fused, for I know you cannot possibly do�
## p. 79 (#89) ##############################################
79 
without them. No doubt, my lady," added she, 
" you will soon change them for others more 
suitable to your rank, and then you will send 
them back." She then insisted upon assist- 
ing me in putting them on ; and I besought 
her to accept of my night-mantle, which was 
very rich and elegantly embroidered ; but she 
would not accede to any such proposal, say- 
ing, the mantle was absolutely necessary for 
my comfort, and that she had not bought 
one requisite to be returned by another equal- 
ly needful. 
" I now partook of some refreshment which 
she had ordered ; and, when I called for the 
hostler's compt, I was informed that the whole 
was discharged. This new obligation, which 
my benefactress had conferred upon me, 
brought the tears into my eyes. I grasped 
her hand, and implored the holy saints to 
bless and protect her and her son, who came 
with the horses. I was mounted upon that�
## p. 80 (#90) ##############################################
so 
which had been provided for me ; and, ha- 
ving again expressed my gratitude to the 
good dame, I parted from her,, and I much 
fear to meet no more." 
* 
C*�
## p. 81 (#91) ##############################################
g I 
CHAPTER VI. 
Lady Emmas History continued.  Her 
Interview with her Cousin. 
" Francis, by his mother's orders, took me 
down a bye-lane, by the back of the town ; 
because she justly judged, that the sight of 
the mouldering ruins of Tracy-house would 
reeal to my recollection the dreadful horrors 
of the night, and, by affecting ray spirits very 
powerfully, add much to the wearisomeness 
of my journey. 
" I learned from my guide, that the con- 
flagration made its first appearance in Lady 
Tracy's bed-chamber, and burnt with such ra- 
pidity, that it was nearly consumed before the 
flames had communicated themselves to the 
VOL. II. F�
## p. 82 (#92) ##############################################
82 
other parts of the dwelling ; so that it was 
not possible to render the unfortunate lady 
and her daughter the least assistance. Se- 
veral of the female servants, who slept in 
the adjoining apartments, were missing; and 
others, who had escaped, were scorched in a 
terrible manner. It was impossible to ascer- 
tain from what cause the calamity origina- 
ted ; but various conjectures, of course, were 
substituted in the place of positive informa- 
tion.  But I am wandering from the subject ; 
and, therefore, I will here close my observa- 
tions upon this melancholy catastrophe. 
" We reached Baddow at the third hour, 
when the matin's-bell was ringing ; and 
Francis conducted me immediately to the re- 
sidence of his aunt, who fortunately happen- 
ed to be at home. She desired her nephew 
to show me into the parlour, and followed 
presently herself. She was rather short in 
stature, and somewhat inclined to be corpu- 
lent ; but exceedingly neat and cleanly, both 
2�
## p. 83 (#93) ##############################################
83 
in her dress and person. She was turned of 
sixty, but her countenance was a mixture of 
health and good-humour. " My nephew tells 
me/' said she, " that your ladyship would 
speak with me." " I have a question or two,* 
said I, " which you will greatly oblige me by 
answering circumstantially; because your an- 
swers are likely to be of much importance to 
me." She bowed her head in token of com- 
pliance ; and I enquired, if she was the per- 
son who had usually attended Lady Darcy as 
a nurse? To which she readily answered, 
" Yes, my good lady, I am indeed. I nursed 
all madam's children ; and, woe the while ! I 
lost a kind benefactress, when her honour, 
with her dear little babes, went into foreign 
parts.  Mercy 'pon us, young lady, times 
are mainly changed since then ! That noble 
family is no more; and his honour at Gay 
Bowers has neither chick nor child; so that, 
with him, another honourable title falls to 
the ground. His honour is hugely rich ; but,�
## p. 84 (#94) ##############################################
what then ! there is many a yeoman in thh 
village that keeps a much warmer house than 
he ;  but poor folks should hear, see, and say 
nothing." " Perhaps," answered I, smiling 
at her loquacity, " it may, at times, be 
prudent for them so to do;  but I think 
Lady Darcy had but two children when she 
went abroad." " No more, my good lady. 
Three sweet babes died in their nonage, and 
my lord and madam began to think, they 
should not have any of their children to live ; 
but there came the young Lord Henry, a 
charming baby. I can assure you, he was as 
strong as a horse at six weeks old : He was 
the very simile of the baron, his father; had 
the same look with his eyes; and I warrant, 
in like manner, he would stamp with his lit- 
tle foot, when he was angry.  Never were 
two peas more like, than young Lord Henry 
and his honour the baron." 
" The mention the nurse made of my dear 
"'mfortunate brother brought a flood of tears�
## p. 85 (#95) ##############################################
85 
into my eyes : the affection with which she 
spoke of him made me love her. Seeing me 
weep, she was surprised, and, with much ap- 
pearance of solicitude, said, " Did you know 
the young lord ?" To which I answered, 
" Yes ; I knew him well.  But do you recol- 
lect the other child ?" " Recollect her!" cried 
she, hastily. " God forgive me, I should 
sooner forget my own son than that sweet 
haby! Tom was weaned that I might give 
my dear Lady Emma the breast. She was 
the sweetest lamb, and so fond of her poor 
nurse. I warrant me cried a whole week 
when I parted with her: the dear little lady 
cried to see me cry, and held out its arms to 
come to me again. O, 'twas a perilous part- 
ing! Lady Darcy obliged me to quit the 
room; for there was no standing its weeping 
while I remained there r but," added she, 
shaking her head, and wiping away the tears 
which were starting from her eyes, " old 
Gaunt, the Baron of Saint Gere's steward,�
## p. 86 (#96) ##############################################
86 
who stopped here on his way to Chelmsford 
market on Friday last, informed me, that his 
lordship had received letters from beyond 
sea, announcing the death of that dear young 
lady. It almost broke my heart to hear on't." 
" But supposing," said I, " that this report 
should be without foundation,  supposing the 
lady now living and in England, could you, 
after so long an absence, together with the 
great alteration which takes place in the fea- 
tures of an infant as it approaches to woman- 
hood,  could you, I say, at this time recog- 
nize your nursling, and distinguish her from 
another person ?" " Yes, marry, and, in good 
sooth, I can," said she. " I cannot be de- 
ceived : Heaven knows I cannot, to my sor- 
row; for I was innocently the occasion of it: 
she has a scar I am confident she will carry 
with her to the grave ; and by that scar I 
can distinguish her from a thousand, if other 
proof be not sufficient." I was astonished at 
this part of the nurse's discourse ; for I cer-�
## p. 87 (#97) ##############################################
87 
taiiily did not know I had ever received any 
wound that had left a scar behind it : and I 
began to think she had attributed to rnc 
some accident that might have befallen one 
of my sisters ; and therefore I requested her 
to tell me if she should know her, supposing 
that proof to be wanting. " In sooth, I think 
so," said she. Upon this I removed my veil, 
and threw back the wimple, so that my 
face was entirely uncovered, saying at the 
same time, " Suppose now that I should 
declare myself to be the daughter of the 
baron." She surveyed me earnestly.  J 
paused, that I might not give her any inter- 
ruption. She came nearer to me, and af- 
ter looking some time, exclaimed, " Saint 
Bridget protect me ! they are the very fea- 
tures of my Lady Darcy  the very arch of 
her eyebrow  the nose  the mouth  her 
shape too, and the fall of the shoulders  the 
very model of my lady." Here she remained 
filent, still viewing me anxiously, and I went�
## p. 88 (#98) ##############################################
88 
air:  u Suppose that I should say, on the 
morning I was committed to your care, ar 
wode-woman put into your hands a paper for 
a small piece of silver."  " By the mass, I 
well remember that naughty paper," said she, 
interrupting me , " my lady was main an- 
gry."  " And I will tell thee," continued I, 
" the cause of her anger. The woman told 
you it contained an abstract of the fortune 
which should befal the infant."  " O, 'tis as 
true as the Primer !" quoth she.  " Lady 
Darcy," added I, " considered it as idle non- 
sense ; and because it forboded much evil to 
the child, took it from thee under pretence 
of burning it, which, however, she did not 
perform. I have heard her repeat it fre- 
quently, and its contents are these r  
In foreign climes yfrowns thy fate, 
Here woe and wayment thee await, 
Forlorn must thou be ; 
Nor can thy wayward fortune mend 
Till death gives back a stoleworth friend, 
To break the chains of cark, and set thee free."�
## p. 89 (#99) ##############################################
89 
" In truth," said she, ** it was something like 
it. I wot me well it was a doleful threaten- 
ing. Heaven preserve you, my dear young 
lady ; for surely you resemble my honoured 
mistress. May I hope that smile bids me 
} 10 p e .  for the sake of heaven, permit me to 
remove your wimple; I will not discompose 
it worth mentioning." I bowed down my 
head to accommodate her the better : she 
turned back the folding from my left ear, 
and drew down the gorget beneath it, her 
hands trembling from the agitation she was 
in ; when on a sudden she gave aloud shriek, 
clasped her hands together, and exclaimed, 
" It is indeed my dear child ! It is the daugh- 
ter of Lady Darcy, her own dear self!" So 
saying, she burst into tears, fell upon her knees 
before me, kissed my hands, and threw her 
arms about me, as though she was afraid I 
should vanish from her. It was a long time 
before I could pacify her. She repeated the 
ave-marie several times, and gave thanks to�
## p. 90 (#100) #############################################
90 
almost every saint in the Litany, because 
they had permitted her to see me once more; 
and uttered a thousand tender expressions, 
which, though clothed in the garb of rusti- 
city, evinced the warm effusions of her heart. 
Her kindness greatly affected me, and I could 
not help weeping in concert with her. So 
soon as these transports had subsided, I in- 
formed her of the letter which her sister had 
sent to Gay Bowers, and the answer my cou- 
sin had returned her. She shook her head, 
and was going to speak, but I prevented her 
by going on.  " A false report," said I, " of 
my death, it appears, has been propagated 
abroad, which, by some means or another, 
has reached the baron's ears; and this will 
easily account for his angry letter. It re- 
mains for me to do away every prejudice, 
and establish my pretensions with him be- 
yond the reach of doubt. For this reason, I 
think it will be highly proper for you to ac- 
company me to Gay Bowers, if you will so�
## p. 91 (#101) #############################################
91 
far oblige me." " Oblige yon, my dear young- 
mistress !" said the nurse ; " Ay, Jbrsooth, I 
would go to Pagan-land and back again to 
do you service." I grasped her hand, and, 
with a smile, replied, " My dear nurse, I 
hope I shall not need so arduous a proof of 
your affection ; but it will be necessary for 
us to proceed without delay to my uncle's 
residence, and, if you please, I will instantly 
bespeak post horses for the purpose." To 
this she also assented ; and, having arranged 
a few domestic concerns, was presently pre- 
pared for the journey. For the accommo- 
dation of her husband when he returned 
from his labour, she left the key of the 
house with her next door neighbour. I 
would by no means permit Francis to go 
any further with me, but sent him back with 
my best thanks to his mother ; desiring him, 
at the same time, to inform her, that her 
sister was perfectly satisfied.�
## p. 92 (#102) #############################################
92 
u It was somewhat turned of noon when 
we arrived at Gay Bowers, where I was sur- 
prised by the sight of a stately manor run- 
ning hastily to ruins. The grass was growing 
upon the top of the walls, and part of them 
were already fallen into the surrounding moat. 
The outer court wore the appearance of the 
entrance to a desolated cavern, rather than 
the approach to the dwelling of a person of 
wealth. The casements of the house were 
most of them broken, and in many places 
patched with boards, to supply want of glass. 
In short, every part of the edifice indicated 
the miserable disposition of its owner. The 
steward, who attended in the hall, and acted 
also in the place of a porter, was habited 
in. the fashion of the last century. The 
embroidery upon his tunic, and the badge 
of the Saint Cleres, which was wrought up- 
on the front, appeared so imperfectly, that 
it could not readily be distinguished; and 
the tunic itself, which formerly had been�
## p. 93 (#103) #############################################
93 
blue, was so tattered and patched, and co- 
vered with grease, that the pristine colour 
was nearly obliterated. His person was as 
remarkable as his dress ; a tall, meagre fi- 
gure, with a few locks of hair upon the 
back part of his head, and those perfectly 
white ; his visage was I0112:, his eyes sunk 
deeply into the sockets, and his cheek-bones 
high and prominent. I thought, in sooth, 
he resembled an inhabitant of the charnel 
house, rather than an animated being. With 
a low and hollow voice, affecting at the same 
time great solemnity, he enquired who I was, 
and what brought me thither. I told him it 
was my wish to speak with the Bacon Saint 
Clere upon some business of great import- 
ance, lie then desired me to wait in the 
hall, and stalked away with much gravity 
through a passage which led to the interior 
part of the mansion, and took no notice of 
my companion, who seemed somewhat hurt 
upon the occasion, and said, " This walking�
## p. 94 (#104) #############################################
94 
atomy, I trow, does not remember me here ; 
but, in good sooth, he knows me passing 
well, when he takes a horn of ale or two with 
me at Baddow ; aye, and finds my house as 
readily as my pullets find their roosts." I 
could not help smiling at the good dame's 
observation, but made no reply. 
" During the absence of the steward, which 
was somewhat prolonged, I cast my eyes over 
the furniture of the hall ; and here an equal 
appearance of wretchedness displayed itself, 
with that so strikingly obvious upon the out- 
side of the mansion. The hangings of stately 
tapestry were torn in an hundred places, and 
through the lacerations exposed the naked 
walls. The suits of armour, which had an- 
ciently belonged to the heroes of the family 
of Saint Clere, celebrated for their valour in 
the Holy Wars, were covered with dust, and 
falling away piece-meal from their stands. 
The seat of state was stripped of all its orna- 
ments ; the hawks perches were broken down ; 
## p. 95 (#105) #############################################
95 
and cobwebs concealed the carvings, with 
other rich embellishments of the roof, from 
the eye of the spectator. Here, hospitality, 
as I have heard my mother say, delighted 
once to dwell ; but here, I found no vestige 
of her footsteps. 
" The steward returned, and we were for- 
mally ushered to the presence of the lord of 
this large ruin. I found him to be a dimi- 
nutive man, crooked in his person, and ill- 
favoured. His dark brows hung over his eyes 
like pent-houses ; but his eyes themselves were 
sharp and piercing. He was seated at a table, 
and several writings lay before him. As we 
approached, he cast his eyes upon me, and 
surveyed me with so much earnestness, that 
he put me to the blush. At length, he ad- 
dressed me with a shrill tone of voice, say- 
ing, " Well, woman, and what is your will 
with me?" "Sir," said I, "is your name 
Gaston de Saint Clere r" " That is my name," 
answered he ; " and what of that (" " Had�
## p. 96 (#106) #############################################
96 
you not once a sister?" To this question lie 
replied in the affirmative, and I went on :  
" That sister was married to John, Lord 
Darcy " " Hold," cried he, " I shall not 
answer thee any farther."- He then examined 
some folded papers, which were scattered 
upon the table, and having selected one, he 
opened it, saying, " Yes, this is it :" and then, 
surveying me a second time with a contemp- 
tuous air, he said, " You wrote me, I think, 
from Bellericay." I assured him I did not. 
" Well then," added he, pettishly, " the let- 
ter was written at your desire." This I also 
denied. " Do you mean to say then," quoth 
he, " that you are not acquainted with the 
contents of that letter ?" To this I answered, 
" When it was sent I did not know them, 
nor do I now but imperfectly." " Perhaps, 
then," added he, " you are equally ignorant 
respecting the answer I returned." " No, 
sir, I saw the cruel answer ; and in defiance 
of the threatenings it contained, I am come�
## p. 97 (#107) #############################################
97 
to claim my right,  a wretched female or- 
phan's right. That answer thrust me from 
the cottage where humanity had given me 
entrance ; and last night saw the defenceless 
daughter of Anna de Saint Clere, by your 
command, cast out from the residence of 
your dependant." He, nothing moved, re- 
torted with a sarcastic grin, " I'll tell thee 
what, my good daughter of Anna de Saint 
Clere, if you do not presently follow the ad- 
vice contained in that same letter"  " Well, 
what then?" cried I, hastily interrupting him. 
" Why then," continued he, " I shall send 
for the constable of this district, and put 
these threats in execution." I had no con- 
ception, previous to this interview, that I 
should have been courageous enough to sup- 
port such a debasing conversation; but this 
last insult, instead of depressing my spirits, 
roused all my soul within me. " Look you, 
sir," said 1, " the heir of the Darcics stands 
before you  she claims your protection  
VOL. II. G�
## p. 98 (#108) #############################################
98 
nature demands it from you  humanity com- 
mands it  and I will assert my right; for let 
me tell you, sir, there is but one way for you 
to secure yourself, and shut out my com- 
plaints." " And what is that?" cried he, ea- 
gerly. " To murder me."  He started back. 
" That done, perhaps," continued I, " it 
may be proper to silence this witness in my 
favour." Here I beckoned the nurse to come 
forward, and presented her to him. She had 
not much attracted his- notice: but upon her 
approach, he presently recognized her fea- 
tures ; for she was well known in the family. 
He appeared confused at the sight of her, 
and, striking his hand upon the table, ex- 
claimed, " What, in the devil's name, brings 
you here ? Oh, I perceive now, this is a plot, 
a combination !" " I beseech your honour," 
said the good dame, " not to have such hard 
thoughts of me ; I be an honest woman, and 
have served in this house, and in the noble 
house at Foleshunt Darcv, ever since I was a 
7�
## p. 99 (#109) #############################################
99 
child ; and your honour's mother, God send 
her soul ! was main fond of me, and on the. 
very day this young lady, her grand-daughter, 
was born, gave to me a fine rosary of coral- 
beads gauded with silver; and ten months  
let me see  yes, it was ten months and one 
day, I remember now, upon the eve of the 
holy Saint Michael" " Curse upon your 
prolixity!" cried he, with much impatience, 
" What is to be the upshot of all this cater- 
wauling ?" " I be telling your honour, so be it 
3'our honour will hear me.  Well, upon the 
eve of the festival, I went to hear holy mass : 
this dear little infant was then teething, and I 
warrant it was so cross, for its precious gums 
were mainly swelled, and not having the coral 
at hand, I took the cross at the end of the 
rosary to nib them withal ; and seeing it was 
pleased with the gauds, I counted them over 
and over to pacify it : at last, it grasped the 
cross in its little hand, and flourishing it 
about, as infants are wont to do with their�
## p. 100 (#110) ############################################
]00 
playthings, I warrant me it struck the joint 
at the top, which was as sharp as a thwittle's 
point, into the skin behind its left ear, and 
laid the bone bare the length of my thumb 
joint. I was beside my wits to see how it 
bled, and dared not for the world say a word 
to madam. The house-leech closed up the 
wound, and it was healed, and no one but he 
and I knew any thing of the matter; but the 
scar remained, and there it remains to this 
blessed day." " How long was this ago ?" 
said he ; " answer me without hesitation." 
She readily replied, " Why, your honour, it 
will be just nineteen years come the time." 
" Your memory is good," quoth he, musing. 
" O, your honour, I was so aghast, that I 
shall remember it to my dying day! the dear 
little innocent did so pule and cry, I warrant 
it nearly broke my heart." " I would," said he, 
angrily, " it had broken your neck." " Not 
so, your honour," quoth the dame ; u for, as 
T hope for mercy, it was unwittingly done,�
## p. 101 (#111) ############################################
101 
in sooth it was : and on that very day se'en- 
night, my husband's best cow, Wide Horns, 
died, and poor Tom fell into the horse-pond." 
* And what the devil has all this to do 
with the matter ?." cried he. * Why, your 
honour," continued she, " Tom was then thir- 
teen months old, and at Martlemas-tide next 
he will be" " Hold thy prating," said he, 
interrupting her ; " the noise of a rookery, or 
the chattering of pyes, is music compared 
with thy impertinence." To this she replied, 
" I was only doing my duty, your honour ; 
and, by my troth, I weened, that it would do 
you pleasure to hear that I could prove my 
lady to be no counterfeit." The conclusion 
of the good dame's discourse I observed 
had a striking effect upon the baron's coun- 
tenance, which was drawn out to a greater 
length than before ; and clapping his hands 
upon his forehead, he seemed to be immersed 
for a few moments in deep reflection, when re- 
covering himself, he again scrutinized my per-�
## p. 102 (#112) ############################################
102 
son; and at last, endeavouring to mould his 
features into a smile, which at best became 
them badly, he addressed himself to me in a 
mild tone of voice, saying, " If, in good 
sooth, you be my relation, and the heir of 
the Darcy family, you have undoubtedly a 
claim upon me for protection. From what 
this woman has said, I am inclined to hope 
vou have not dealt falselv with me. You 
possess, no doubt, the title-deeds of your mo- 
ther's dowry : they must be produced to sub- 
stantiate your claims to these estates." Here 
he paused ; and I, knowing they had been 
consumed in the horrid conflagration at Bel- 
lericay, was at a loss how to frame my an- 
swer. I thought it not prudent to acquaint 
him at this time with that unfortunate cir- 
cumstance, and I did not see how I could, 
consistent with the truth, evade the question. 
After some little hesitation, I replied, " I 
have not these documents now with me, and 
indeed some other vouchers may be neces-�
## p. 103 (#113) ############################################
103 
sary, which must be obtained from Flanders.'' 
" From Flanders !" cried he. " By the shrine 
of Saint Thomas, the wench has lost her wits! 
Are you aware of the sums of money which 
must be expended to send messengers to 
Flanders? Have you reckoned the time it 
will take them in going and coming? Gads 
my life, we may be dead and in our graves 
before they return, or what is more likely, 
ruined by litigious law-suits, and judgment 
obtained prior to the arrival of our justifica- 
tion. If you have left these parchments be- 
hind you in Flanders, you have, I fear, in- 
sured your ruin." " You much surprise me, 
sir, by the mention you make of law pro- 
ceedings," said I. " The estates belonging 
to my mother's jointure are in your manage- 
ment,  you have a power assigned to you for 
receipt of the rents, and no one to account 
with but myself; for I am unfortunately the 
only claimant : whence then can arise this 
formidable judgment you have been speak-�
## p. 104 (#114) ############################################
ing of: Surely a course of law cannot be re- 
quisite to decide upon what is right between 
your lordship and myself." To this he re- 
plied, " I shall take an early opportunity of 
explaining this matter to you; and God for- 
bid that the child of my father's sister should 
suffer wrong, even of a farthing!" He then 
desired me to be seated, for I had been stand 
ing all the time, and ordered the nurse to 
withdraw, which she readily did, and seemed 
overjoyed that he had owned me as his rela- 
tion. 
" When we were by ourselves, he entered 
into a more general conversation with me : 
his manner, however, was still reserved, and 
his questions, which were exceedingly multi- 
farious, resembled those of an inquisitor, ra- 
ther than such as one might have expected 
from a relation, and plainly proved, that his 
heart was very little interested in my behalf. 
The answers I returned to him respecting our 
family, and their connections, were replete�
## p. 105 (#115) ############################################
105 
with variety of incidental circumstances, ma- 
ny of which he had been well acquainted 
with, and which, from the privacy of their 
nature, could not have been well known but 
to one of the family. In that he could not 
find the least foundation for controversy, and 
therefore seemed to be perfectly satisfied that 
I was no impostor. I gave him a detail of 
my misfortunes; and at the time I related to 
him the dreadful occurrence respecting my 
brother's murder, he even affected to weep ; 
and when I came to the dreadful calamity 
which so lately had befallen me at Bellericay, 
he held out his hand, and besought me for 
pity's sake to spare his feelings, and drop 
for the present a narrative so exceedingly dis- 
tressing. He then proceeded to express much 
sorrow for having himself unwittingly added 
to my distress ; and to convince me that he 
was not so blameable as I might have con- 
ceived him to be, he put into my hands a 
letter in the hand-writing of my dear friend�
## p. 106 (#116) ############################################
106 
at Beaumont, which he assured ine he had 
recently received from Flanders, and in it 
was contained a short but formal account of 
niv death. 
" Mottling could exceed my astonishment 
at the sight of this letter. He had promised 
to me, indeed, that he would communicate 
to my uncle an account of my brother's mur- 
der; and yet, extraordinary as it may appear, 
my brother was not mentioned in it. '* Hea- 
vens, is it possible," said I to myself, " that 
so much benevolence, and so much falsehood, 
could at once inhabit the same bosom !" I 
was equally at a loss to conceive, what pur- 
pose the circulation of such an idle untruth 
could answer, or what motive stimulated him 
to promulgate the same. My cousin readily 
perceived my agitation, for I could not con- 
ceal it, and said, " Having seen this epistle, 
you will cease, perhaps, to wonder at my 
caution. M} T protection undoubtedly is due 
to the real heir of the Dairies ; but it is, on�
## p. 107 (#117) ############################################
107 
the other hand, my duty to punish an impos* 
tor." I bowed my head, and told him, it was 
the demand of justice. He then rang a 
hand-bell that stood upon the table, and the 
steward appeared. He enquired if dinner 
was ready, and was told, it Was that moment 
served up. " Well, cousin," said he," you will 
find but poor fare with me. The times are 
very hard ; the levies, for the support of the 
war, are enormous ; and money so difficult 
to get at, that I am forced to retrench, and 
live hard ;  but such as I have, you are wel- 
come to." I curtseyed, and thanked him ; 
when, taking me by the hand, he led me in- 
to a dining-parlour, preceded by the steward, 
who ushered us to our places. 
" This room, which formerly had been the 
room of state, was spacious and lofty ; having 
a large window at the end, embellished with 
beautiful painted glass, some remnants of 
which appeared, but withal so mutilated and 
misplaced, that none of the subjects could be�
## p. 108 (#118) ############################################
108 
traced with any degree of certainty. The 
hangings were of crimson bandkin, richly 
embroidered, but covered with dust, and in 
many places broken from their fastenings, 
exposed the walls, and afforded asylums with- 
out number for the spiders. The stools and 
tressels were elegantly covered, and had been 
gilt ; but most of them were broken, and the 
velvet cushions belonging to them so torn, 
that the bombast, with which they were stuff- 
ed, appeared on the outside, and, in several 
instances, hung down nearly to the floor. In 
the middle of this extensive parlour stood a 
small table, covered with a tattered carpet, 
and a diaper over it; which, I presume, from 
its threadbare state, had been in the family 
long before the present owner of the mansion 
was born. There were two covers upon the 
table ; under the one was a small piece of 
lean mutton, and under the other a large 
dish full of oatmeal pottage. The middle of 
the table was decorated with a little platter,�
## p. 109 (#119) ############################################
109 
containing some withered sallad, and near it 
was placed the remnant of a loaf of barley- 
bread. 
" My cousin kept no chaplain to give us 
the benedicite, nor carver to perform the ho- 
nours of the table ; he therefore took upon 
himself the performance of both offices. He 
helped me to a portion of the pottage; and, 
at the same time, made a long panegyric up- 
on the vvholesomeness of such kind of food. 
Leonid only eat a few spoonfuls, and refused 
to taste the mutton. " Alas, my dear cousin," 
said he, shaking his head, " I plainly perceive 
that my poor table will not satisfy your better 
taste; you have been used to much higher 
living, and cannot dine without dainties.  
Your father, coz, I have been told, used to 
keep state, disdaining to eat of common 
meats:  Twenty pounds, I warrant, expend- 
ed for one course. Fish must be had, of the 
most costly kind; strange birds, and foreign 
fowls, the more expensive the better; to�
## p. 110 (#120) ############################################
110 
say nothing of venison and red deer, with 
pasties, and rich sauces : such luxuries bred 
diseases, and lost him many of his fair es- 
tates.  Gad wot, he was to blame." Here 
I interrupted him, " Sir, he was my fa- 
ther," " Well, well," said he, * I have 
done :  he is dead, God rest his soul ! but 
you and I have much reason to blame him." 
" In truth, I know not wherein," answered I ; 
" he was a kind and tender parent." " Why, 
there it is," replied my cousin, eagerly; " for 
that very tenderness, and bringing you up 
with high notions, ill proportioned to the 
slender means which you have to support 
yourself. The wealth, which should have 
supported you, he squandered away in riot 
and luxury." " I know not," said I, " of 
the extravagance you talk of. My father, 
sir, loved hospitality; my mother superin- 
tended the provision for the family ; and 
though they lived, in some degree, as became 
the descendants of the Darcies and the St�
## p. 111 (#121) ############################################
Ill 
Cleres, it was done without superfluity on the 
one hand, or parsimony on the other." " Per- 
haps/' retorted he, " by and bye, you may 
find, I have not mis-stated this matter. I see 
you will find it a hard case to fare as I do ; 
and yet, heaven knows ! with all my parsimo- 
ny, I find it difficult to supply my table as 
you see it." " You surprise me, sir," said T. 
" No doubt," answered he ; " but, alas ! 1 have 
stood in the gap on your mother's account; 
and so, to our mutual loss, has my father be- 
fore me ; for he loved your mother, and went 
greater lengths for her than prudence war- 
ranted. The estates, committed to our ma- 
nagement, were mortgaged so heavily, that 
large remittances have been made from our 
own purses; besides repairs, and various other 
drawbacks, by which they are entirely eaten 
up.  For my part, I am ready to do all that 
lies in my power; but it is hard that the 
whole of the burden should fall upon my 
shoulders." " Surely, sir," said I, " my mo-�
## p. 112 (#122) ############################################
112 
ther's jointure, which descends to me, will 
prevent my being dependant upon any one." 
" 1 fear," answered he, drawing his hand over 
his chin, " you are not well informed upon 
this point;  but it shall be discussed hereaf- 
ter." At this moment the entrance of the 
steward put an end to the discourse. My 
cousin desired him to remove the meat and 
the pottage, and to put the fruit upon the ta- 
ble, which consisted of three or four roasted 
crab apples, some sweetings, and half a dozen 
horse-plumbs. By way of confectionary, a 
few carraways were brought in a saucer, with 
a spoonful or two of sharp capers, and a mor- 
sel of Suffolk cheese. Our drink was sour 
ale, and weak metheglin. He made several 
clums}' excuses for the poverty of his desert, 
and repeated his fears, that I should think it 
hard to fare as he did; and launched out 
afresh in praise of economy, and condemna- 
tion of the luxury to which I had been ac- 
customed. In short, I was disgusted with 
5�
## p. 113 (#123) ############################################
113 
my entertainment ; and, my heart being full, 
I burst into tears. " What the devil ails thee 
now !" cried he, pretending to be amazed. I 
begged of him to permit me to retire ; alleg- 
ing, consistent with truth, that 1 was unwell. 
He then rang the bell, and dispatched the 
steward to call Urseley, who presently appear- 
ed, and was ordered to attend me to my 
chamber. " I mean," said he, " the bed- 
room, which my cousin is to have to herself." 
He then took me by the hand, telling me, I 
might rely upon him. I thanked him for his 
promise, and withdrew. 
" My guide conducted me through the 
great hall, where, mounting a noble flight of 
stairs, which faced the entrance, we came to 
a long gallery, and passing by the doors of 
several other chambers, we came to mine, si- 
tuated at the end, and apparently the largest 
of them all. I entreated the good dame to 
send the nurse to me. The moment she re- 
tired I gave indulgence to my anxiety; and 
VOL. II. H�
## p. 114 (#124) ############################################
114 
my dear friend found me in a flood of tears, 
which greatly alarmed her. The moment I 
had sufficiently recovered myself, I made her 
acquainted with the nature of the conversa- 
tion that had passed between the baron and 
myself. " Ah, my good lady," said she, " I 
fear me, foul doings will be done. Might often 
overcomes right :  his worship is main fond 
of money ; and, Gad's m}^ life ! I fear he 
means not fairly." " Let us not prejudge 
him, my dear nurse," answered I ; " perhaps, 
as he says, the estates may be enthralled, and 
require time to set them clear :  But, what 
I chiefly mean to consult you upon is this  
He speaks of my being dependant, and, by 
that word, I think he clearly means, a burthen 
upon him ; and, in truth, so far as I can 
judge from what I have seen, my living un- 
der his roof will not be tolerable, especially 
for any length of time. A slender allowance 
will satisfy me ; and if you would enquire me 
out a proper situation in some religious house^�
## p. 115 (#125) ############################################
115 
I would make my asylum with the holy sister- 
hood. My cousin," added I, " will probably 
propose the same thing to me ; but, perhaps, 
he will also be desirous of sending me where 
his influence may have more weight than is 
consistent with the freedom I wish to enjoy." 
" Heaven fore fend," exclaimed the nurse, 
holding up her hands, " that I should stir 
myself in so naughty a cause !  By the holy 
mass-rood, I will not be the instrument to 
shut you up from the world ! Mercy forbid, 
that the daughter of my honoured Lady 
Darcy should be mured up in a cloister, like 
a fowl in a coop, and become a nun !" *f But, 
my good friend," said I, " you surely must 
know, that it is possible for me to reside in a 
cloister, and not take the veil." " Yes, yes," 
cried she ; " I have heard others say the 
same ; but, when the gate is once shut against 
them, there is such wheedling, and teizing, 
and enticing, that, I warrant, it is as easy for 
a bird caught in a trap to escape unhurt ; a�
## p. 116 (#126) ############################################
116 
piece of good that does not happen to one in 
a thousand." 
" The evening now drew on, and we were 
interrupted by the entrance of Urseley ; who, 
I afterwards found, took upon herself the of- 
fices of housekeeper, cook, and chambermaid, 
in my cousin's family, and had under her a 
poor parish girl, to do the drudgery of the 
house. This woman was rather tall than 
otherwise, exceedingly spare, and almost six^ 
ty years of age ; her face was full of wrinkles ; 
and her nose, crooked downwards like a 
hawk's bill, protuberated between two small 
ferret eyes, and nearly reached to her chin, 
which the loss of her teeth had brought to 
closer fellowship. Her wimple was wrapped 
closely about her head, and fastened by the 
gorget, which was wound round her neck in 
several small folds, and fastened with a bow 
in the front : her kirtle was of durance, patch- 
ed in many places ; and this she wore over 3�
## p. 117 (#127) ############################################
117 
stammel-petticoat, without a surcoat or tu- 
nic. 
" She came, by the baron's orders, to sum- 
mon me to supper. My nurse was then pre- 
paring to take her leave ; but I entreated her, 
with tears in my eyes, so earnestly to abide 
with me that night, that she yielded to my 
solicitations, and promised me she would not 
quit the house. 
" I followed Dame Urseley to the refecto- 
ry, where the supper was served with the same 
parsimony that had prevailed at dinner. I 
took the earliest opportunity to acquaint my 
cousin, that I had engaged the nurse to sleep 
with me that night, and hoped he would ex- 
cuse my using so much liberty without ac- 
quainting him ; a liberty which, I assured 
him, I should be cautious in exerting in fu- 
ture. He hesitated to answer, and, knitting 
his brows in silence, gave evident signs of 
displeasure ; at last, however, he replied, 
** Why, yes, for this night but no more.�
## p. 118 (#128) ############################################
118 
Every thing is clear, and these kind of people 
have so little consideration;  and, on your 
part, I should have thought, the daughter of 
Lady Darcy would have looked a step high- 
er for a companion." " Sir," said I, with 
some warmth, " the mind that feels not the 
strength of an obligation, deserves not to be 
obliged. This excellent woman was my fos- 
ter-mother; and her affection for me de- 
mands my warmest returns of gratitude."  
" Yes, yes, I see you are warm, my cousin," 
retorted he, with a contemptuous grin; " this 
excellent woman and you, whose acquain- 
tance, you tell me, is but of a few hours old, are 
united in the close bonds of romantic friend- 
ship.  Excellent mother, excellent daughter ! 
who, discovering each other's virtues by in- 
tuition, can already sing each other's panegy- 
ric ; and, well I wot, to the self-same tune 
also. By the shrine of St Thomas, I suspect 
there is some plot in all this ! but I will sift 
it to the bottom." " I beseech you, sir," said�
## p. 119 (#129) ############################################
U9 
V, " do so ; sift till you are tired." " Wh)\, 
now, you are angry/' answered he ; " and an- 
ger, my cousin, becomes you not.  Well, to 
please you, the old woman shall stay here this 
night ; it is, however, an indulgence I will 
not have repeated : The times are hard ; the 
national levies are enormous ; and money is 
gone to the devil, or beyond sea. To-mor- 
row we'll look over the accounts, as they 
stand between us ; and this we can do with- 
out the assistance of your excellent old wo- 
man: and so, my fair cousin, I wish you 
good-night." 
a So ended this unpleasant interview. I 
was, however, much rejoiced at having suc- 
ceeded in my request, notwithstanding the 
baron's consent was given with so bad a grace. 
Blessed Virgin Lady! I know not how I 
should have passed that night, had I been 
compelled to pass it by myself, shut into a 
chamber, removed from the rest of the fami- 
ly, at one end of a large and desolate man-�
## p. 120 (#130) ############################################
120 
sion, where every casement was a wind-harp, 
and mourned when beat upon by the passing 
breezes. The few and miserable inhabitants 
of this ruin were strangers to me ; and the 
lord himself of the domain, at heart, mine 
enemy. 
" But, to go on :  The nurse and I were 
conducted to the chamber, and Dame Urseley 
furnished us with an inch of candle, at the 
same time informing us, that his lordship did 
not permit the use of lamps, because the oil 
was so dear, and generally went to bed by 
day-light to render candles needless ; but this 
night, in compliment to me, he had passed 
his usual time. 
" When the woman had withdrawn herself, 
I cast my eyes round the room, which, I 
think, I have already said was the largest 
that opened into the long gallery. There 
were six high windows in it, four on the side, 
and two at the end, but not one of them per- 
-fect; some were altogether closed up with�
## p. 121 (#131) ############################################
121 
boards, others partly so ; and, where the 
squares of glass were broken, the deficiency 
was supplied with bundles of rags, or wisps 
of hay. The hangings (that is, so much as 
remained of them) were of arras, and near 
the bed there stood a chair of state, over- 
hung with the relics of a rich Venetian velvet 
cover. At a little distance there were two 
stools without cushions; and, opposite the bed, 
a large cabinet, decorated with carved work, 
the drawers of which were much broken, and 
one of the doors was altogether wanting. 
The bed itself bore the marks of former ele- 
gance; the furniture consisted of a gleaning 
from the other sleeping rooms woefully mis- 
matched, no one part bearing any resem- 
blance to the other, except in its raggedness. 
<c May holy St Bridget have mercy upon, 
me!" said the good nurse, raising the coun- 
terpane ; <c this is Joseph's coat of many 
colours, mentioned by Sir John, our curate, 
last Shrovetide ; and surely, by its appear-�
## p. 122 (#132) ############################################
122 
anee, it was his coat above an hundred years. 
My dear lady, the foul fiend has surely taken 
possession of this house, and Robin Good- 
fellow played at barley-break in this iniqui- 
tous counterpane." 1 could not help smiling 
at these comical observations, and returned 
for answer, " You, I doubt not, my dear 
nurse, remember well the time, when the 
face of hospitality made this lone mansion 
cheerful." " I warrant me, I do," cried she ; 
" but it is some time back, my lady. Lack- 
a-day ! the great hall was then full of guests ; 
such mirth, such revelry !  I remember me 
well, the very day after your ladyship was 
made a Christian, there were great doings 
here. It was, let me see, upon the nativity 
of the Blessed Virgin we came from Foles- 
hunt Darcy hither; there was feasting, and 
piping of minstrels, and juggling tricks, with 
dancing and mummeries. The horns of strong 
English huffcap were given away as though 
it had been water, and the cans of sack and�
## p. 123 (#133) ############################################
123 
daret, like wandering stars, were continualiy- 
in motion ; and after all, I warrant, a wine 
posset was presented to us before we went to 
our beds.  Benedicite, how the times are al- 
tered ! Fie upon it, lady ! 'tis a naughty world, 
and continually changing." " We must sub- 
mit ourselves, my dearest friend," said I, " to 
the decrees of Providence. While we are 
under His protection, we have nothing to 
fear; and He will not forsake us, if we call 
upon him faithfully :" so saying I fell upon 
my knees, and made my evening orisons. 
She pulled out a rosary from her gipsire, 
and, counting over the beads with great de- 
votion, joined with me in my supplications. 
She thought the bed was not so well aired as 
it ought to have been, and, for that reason, 
we only took off our upper garments, and 
laid ourselves upon it; for the weather was 
not cold. She cast, however, a. blanket over 
me; and, covering herself with the same, af- 
ter some little conversation, she fell asleep.�
## p. 124 (#134) ############################################
Ke I now turned in my mind the singular 
strangeness of my situation. The title-deeds 
of my mother's jointure, which I had lost, 
occasioned me much uneasiness ; and then I 
thought upon that mysterious letter, written 
by my benefactor ; so foreign from the truth, 
so contradictory to his professions of friend- 
ship, and so opposite to the real proofs of be- 
nevolence I had experienced from his hands, 
that I knew not what to think upon the sub- 
ject. My reflections then led me to the man- 
sion wherein I now resided. Its ruined state ; 
the squalid-appearance of the furniture; the 
protestations of poverty from the owner ; the 
miserable manner in which he lived ; partly 
inclined me to think, that some unfortunate 
circumstances had really involved my cousin 
in ruin ; and I began to pity rather than 
condemn him ; and I resolved, at no rate to 
become burthensome to him.  " But then," 
said I, " what must become of me, if my mo- 
ther's jointure is also included in that ruin ^�
## p. 125 (#135) ############################################
IZ5 
A thousand cogitations floated in my mind, 
I longed for the approach of morning ; and 
yet I dreaded the explanation I expected at 
the next interview with my cousin. I closed 
my eyes towards the morning ; but was soon 
after awakened by the first matin's-bell at 
Beckentake priory, which is situated in the 
neighbourhood."�
## p. 126 (#136) ############################################
126 
CHAPTER VIL 
Hady Emma's History continued.  Her Dis- 
tresses, and Flight from the Castle of Gas* 
ton. 
'* In less than an hour after my waking, my 
cousin, who is an early riser, sent Dame Ur- 
seley to inform me, that breakfast was ready. 
I followed her instantly, and the baron seem- 
ed pleased at my diligence in preventing his 
waiting. Our repast consisted of a dish of 
pottage ; the want of meat, to make it palate- 
able, was evident enough, though an attempt 
was made to supply the deficiency, by en- 
larging the quantity of garden-herbs, and 
thickening it with oat-meal. This dainty fare 
was accompanied by a few stale simnels up-�
## p. 127 (#137) ############################################
127 
on a platter. In dealing forth my portion, 
he harangued, as he had formerly done, up- 
on the excellency of such food; " which," 
said he, " is not only well adapted to our 
constitutions, by correcting of evil humours, 
and preventing of diseases, but it is also 
cheap, and proper for persons whose incomes 
are limited." 
" When the table was cleared, he removed 
to his writing-desk, (for we had breakfasted 
in the library,) and desired me to seat myself 
near him. After he had examined several 
parchments, he entered into conversation 
with me respecting the situation of my claims 
upon him. He prefaced his discourse with 
a lamentation upon the hardness of the 
times, which had put it out of his power to 
provide for me, in any respect, according to 
my rank ; " but," added he, " your own good 
sense will naturally suggest to you the neces- 
sity of humbling yourself; so far, at least, as 
to accommodate your mode of living to the�
## p. 128 (#138) ############################################
123 
compass of your means. Depending, there- 
fore, upon the exertion of your own under- 
standing, I shall not, I trust, have the least 
occasion to urge this part of the subject any 
farther." He then proceeded to inform me, 
that some demur had been made relative to 
the payments of the rents upon the jointure, 
which could only be recovered by a process- 
of law ; and that it was absolutely necessary 
for him to produce the title-deeds, before he 
could proceed in due form in the courts of 
judicature; " and these, unfortunately," said 
he, " if I understood you clearly yesterday, 
are now in Flanders." I was, of course, re- 
duced to the necessity of informing him, 
that they were not in Flanders, but had been 
destroyed by the flames at Bellericay. This 
intelligence affected him greatly ; he waved 
his head in silence, and leaning it upon his 
. right hand, which covered his eyes, sat seve 7 
ral minutes absorbed in meditation. At last 
he looked up, and exclaimed at the same�
## p. 129 (#139) ############################################
129 
time, " By the soul of St Becket, I fear the 
case is desperate ! But/' added he, after a 
second pause, " I will cast in my mind what 
can be done for you. I will support your 
cause, if it lie within the compass of possibi- 
lity." I was going to reply, but he prevent- 
ed me, saying, " Leave me alone ; the law is 
against us. I must turn this matter over in 
my mind.  I will send for you again present- 
ly, when I have formed my judgment upon 
the subject." 
" Agreeably to his request, I arose from 
my seat, and retired to my chamber, where 
I expected to meet the nurse, for I had not 
taken my leave. Not finding her, I rang the 
bell, and, upon inquiry, was told, that she 
had been dismissed by the baron's positive 
order ; and desired, not to give herself the 
least farther concern respecting me, nor of- 
fer to repeat her visit to Gay Bowers. I was 
exceedingly mortified at hearing that the 
good dame had been dismissed with so much 
vol. n. >�
## p. 130 (#140) ############################################
ISO 
rudeness ; I determined, however, to take an 
opportunity of seeing her again, and, if pos- 
sible, establish some method of communica- 
tion between us. I depended much upon 
her sincerity and affection ; and made no 
doubt but, through her means, I should be 
able to procure some respectable situation, in 
which, at least, I might pass my time with 
less anxiety and irksomeness than seemed to 
await me at my cousin's. 
" Dinner was served up this day at an ear- 
lier hour than usual. The baron was exceed- 
ingly thoughtful, and troubled me with very 
few comments upon the meanness or healthi- 
ness of the repast. The moment we had 
dined he caused the table to be cleared ; and 
when I arose to quit the room, he desired me 
to be seated again. I obeyed ; and he, with 
much prolixity of speech, set forth many 
great things that he had done for our family, 
many of them tending to his own detriment. 
That the regard he entertained for his father's�
## p. 131 (#141) ############################################
131 
sister, had led hiin to advance large sums of 
money; most of which he had been necessi- 
tated to borrow, and at exorbitant interest. 
To repay these sums, he found himself much 
straitened ; and, because it was not always in 
his power to keep time with his promises, 
the creditors had threatened to foreclose the 
mortgages; which, if carried into execution, 
would effect his ruin. For this reason, it was 
impossible for him to support me with the 
least degree of splendour, and he well knew 
my spirit would not permit me to become bur- 
thensome to him. u But what," said I, hastily, 
" am I to depend upon? To what limits may 
my expectances be extended ? and what steps 
are proper for me to pursue?" He shook his 
head, cast down his eyes, and, with a stifled 
sigh, replied, " I am sorry to tell you  but 
necessity requires the truth at my hands  I 
am sorry, [ say, to tell you, that your depen- 
dencies are smaller than you seem in the 
least to be aware of. The law-suit, which is�
## p. 132 (#142) ############################################
132 
inevitable, will swallow Up your expectancies ; 
for the law is a devouring vortex, which draws 
into its insatiable maw every thing that comes 
within its reach. With respect to the last 
part of your question, I can see nothing more 
proper for you to do, than go to some distant 
part of England, where, changing your name, 
and concealing your rank, you may engage 
as an attendant upon the lady of some opu- 
lent nobleman." 
" Out upon the wretch !" cried the Lady 
Eleanor ; " he is quite a barbarian." 
Lady Darcy smiled at the ejaculation, and 
continued the narrative.  " I was petrified 
with astonishment at hearing such an unex- 
pected statement of my situation, and knew 
not how to frame my answer. He perceived 
my embarrassment, and added, that the pro- 
posal he had made to me was grounded upon 
the supposition that the worst should happen ; 
and if the law-suit, contrary to his expecta- 
tion, took a favourable turn, I might, when the�
## p. 133 (#143) ############################################
133 
incumbrances were cleared from the estates, 
reassume my name, and be enabled to sup- 
port my rank, if not with splendor, at least 
with credit. " But as Jesu shall save me/' 
said he, * this must be a work of time ; and 
how it is you are to be clothed and fed while 
all these supposititious comforts are in agita- 
tion, unless my plan, or some one like it, be 
carried into execution, I cannot divine." As 
soon as I could recollect myself sufficiently 
to answer him, I said, " It is no part of my 
design to be in any manner burthensome to 
you ; and, if necessity compels me to work 
for my own support, I shall with cheerfulness 
submit myself to my allotment: but I hope 
and I trust, my exertions may be made for 
that purpose in a manner more delicate than 
that of positive servitude. I have in the early 
part of my life been taught to draw flowers 
and foliage for works of embroidery, and am 
in some degree a mistress of my needle : a 
diligent pursuit of these arts will furnish arti-�
## p. 134 (#144) ############################################
134 
cles of ready sale, and provide, at least, means 
for my support with decency." " I shall be 
glad to find it so," said he: " for my own 
part, I wish to see you settled in some per- 
manent and proper situation." At this in- 
stant the steward appeared, and announced 
to my cousin Mister Reynard, who was wait- 
ing for him in the library. On hearing this, 
he started up, saying, " He is a man deeply 
learned in the law; I have sent for him upon 
your account :"  but seeing that I was in 
tears, he took me by the hand, telling me, 
it was but folly and weakness to be weeping 
like a child, when reason told me the frowns 
of fortune were not to be avoided. 
" When I quitted my cousin, I hastened 
to my own apartment; and not having any 
one to whom I could communicate my sor- 
rows, I sat down and wept. After I had dried 
up my tears, it came into my mind that the 
good nurse would in all probability wait some 
little time at Danbury, in expectation of hear-�
## p. 135 (#145) ############################################
135 
ing from me; and although great part of the 
day was elapsed, I determined to walk out, 
and endeavour to find the inn whither the 
horses were sent upon our arrival at Gay 
Bowers ; at least, thought I, a survey of the 
country, altogether new to me, and the fresh 
air, will be reviving to my spirits. Accord- 
ingly, I threw my surcoatover my super-tunic, 
and easting my veil across my arm, went 
down to the lower court. When I catue to 
the gate, I found it fastened, and the steward 
approached, as I supposed, to open it; but, 
on the contrary, he informed me, that it was 
his lordship's strict command to prevent my 
egress thence. I made him no reply, but 
was much alarmed at finding myself a pri- 
soner; and from this moment I began seri- 
ously to believe, that the intention of Saint 
Clere was to destroy me. I therefore re- 
turned to my chamber like one doomed to 
death, but uncertain when or how the sen- 
tence should be executed. Two or three�
## p. 136 (#146) ############################################
136 
hours afterwards, the baron sent for me into 
the library; and upon my entering the room, 
I was introduced to a little swarthy-faced 
man, exceedingly ill-favoured, with a large 
pair of glasses upon his nose : he had several 
parchments spread before him, and upon one 
of them he was then writing. " This o-entle- 
man," said my cousin, " is a man eminently 
learned in the law. We have had a long 
consultation concerning your case, and he 
will read to you an accurate statement of the 
accounts between yourself and me ; by which 
he will make it clear to you, that I have been 
just to one farthing." Here the lawyer, re- 
questing me to pay attention to him, held up 
the parchment to the light, to which occa- 
sionally he referred, and pestered me with a 
long harangue replete with technical terms of 
law ; by which I was informed, that he had 
minutely examined the documents which his 
client had put into his hands, and thereby it 
appeared, that the nett monies from time to 
**�
## p. 137 (#147) ############################################
137 
time remitted beyond sea, amounted to one 
thousand four hundred and sixty-two pounds 
one shilling and sixpence three farthings more 
than per receipts had been produced from 
the estates, which additional monies client 
had raised by mortgages on the jointure ;  
said mortgages, with the interest thence aris- 
en o * 
ing, amounts to one thousand six hundred 
and ninety-eight pounds fourteen shillings 
and elevenpence farthing; which mortgages 
and interest client not being able to pay, the 
mortgagees had given notice, in proper form, 
the mortgages will be foreclosed on the eve 
of Saint M ichael next ensuing, and the estates 
seized. Client, therefore, was compelled to 
hold the said jointure to sale, or engage in a 
suit of law, which, from the want of title- 
deeds, he could not justify. The said estates, 
therefore, being fairly valued, were found to 
be worth one thousand seven hundred and 
forty-nine pounds thirteen shillings and four- 
pence halt-penny; from which the said mort-�
## p. 138 (#148) ############################################
138 
gage monies and interest being duly deducted, 
there would remain a nett sum of fifty pounds 
eighteen shillings and five-pence farthing due 
to legal heir to said estates. 
" I could hardly contain myself at hearing 
this infamous statement: however, I held my 
my peace ; lor I well knew the estates could 
not be legally sold without my concurrence, 
which I supposed it was the design of this 
confederacy to obtain : and my worthy rela- 
tion presently convinced me, that my conjec- 
tures were founded on the truth. " You see 
now, my dear cousin," said he, taking me by 
the hand, " the justness of my former obser- 
vations: this candid examination of the ac- 
counts between us must convince you how 
much you are a sufferer through the extrava- 
gancy of your family. The estates are, as 
you are told, incumbered past redemption, 
and nothing but the sale of them can secure 
to you the slender pittance which remains 
your due. On my part, it is impossible for�
## p. 139 (#149) ############################################
139 
me to supply yon with one cross more ; the 
monies I have borrowed must be paid,  but 
I have no such monies to pay : we are, there- 
fore, compelled to sell. Well, then, this 
gentleman," pointing to the lawyer, " who 
is an honest and responsible man, has pro- 
vided a purchaser for us at the valuation 
specified." I remained silent, and he went 
on : " You must, let me tell you, the offer 
is not to be refused. The est ites are in a 
disordered condition ; the tenements upon 
them are out of repair ; the fences are broken 
down, and the land worn out for want of 
manure. In fact, the bidder is a young ig- 
norant springal, just come to the possession 
of much wealth, and has got more money 
than sagacity : but that is not our encpiiry. 
Now I have caused Mister Reynard to draw 
up an instrument, which you must sign, which 
will enable ine to dispose of the said estates 
without producing the title-deeds ; and I, 
without making any charge for my own trou-�
## p. 140 (#150) ############################################
140 
ble, or for the business done by this gentle- 
man, will pay you the sum of fifty pounds 
eighteen shillings and five-penee farthing, 
which in times like these, while money is so 
scarce, will be a little fortune. You tell me 
you possess abilities to follow the profession 
of pattern-making and embroidering: go to 
then, this sum will enable you to set forward 
with credit, and establish you on a footing 
superior to most of your competitors."  I 
could hear no more ; but, instead of answer- 
ing him, burst into tears, and rising hastily, 
I quitted the room, and retired to my own 
apartment, where I gave full scope to my 
sorrows, and cast myself upon the bed in an 
agony better to be conceived than described. 
" In the evening, Urseley called me to sup- 
per; but I excused my attendance, and as- 
sured her I found myself so seriously ill, that 
it was necessary for me to go to my bed. 
The good dame expressed her sorrow for my 
indisposition, and offered her assistance. I�
## p. 141 (#151) ############################################
141 
thanked her, and told her, that rest was what 
I most wanted. She retired, but soon re- 
turned to inform me, that the baron was 
hugely angry at my refusal, and declared I 
should repent the giving myself such airs : 
on her own part, she advised me to pacify 
his fury, by complying with his request; but 
I persisted in my resolution, and began to 
prepare myself for the night; when, seeing 
me so inflexible, she shook her head, and de- 
parted. I fastened the door, and passed the 
night in severe affliction; my spirits were 
woefully dejected by the apprehensions I had 
entertained in my mind concerning my per- 
sonal safety, and every moment I expected 
to see a ruffian bursting into my apartment, 
and pointing his rapier to my bosom. The 
night, however, passed over, and I expe- 
rienced no other disturbance than what arose 
from my own imagination ; the morning sun 
illumined my chamber, and dispersed much 
f the melancholy gloom which had depressed�
## p. 142 (#152) ############################################
142 
my mind. I blamed myself for indulging- 
such unworthy suspicions on the part of my 
cousin, and determined, though I was ex- 
ceedingly unwell, to get myself ready at an 
early hour, and attend him the moment he 
called for me. When we met, he reproached 
me with haughtiness and ingratitude. I as- 
sured him, that my refusal to attend him pro- 
ceeded from ray indisposition. " I am wil- 
ling," said he, u to believe it; but the best 
proof that you can give of your respect for 
me, is to put an end to this useless alterca- 
tion, and to sign the deed." u I will not de- 
ceive you, my cousin," answered I ; " nor 
tell you falsely that I respect you more than 
I do justice. This proposal is not only unjust, 
but it is withal so contrary to reason, that I 
cannot, nay, I dare not acquiesce." He re- 
ceived this reply with more patience than I 
expected, and, instead of ordering me from 
the room, ran into a long tract of arguments 
to counteract my objections : most of then*�
## p. 143 (#153) ############################################
143 
were absolutely contradictory with each other, 
and all of them so inconclusive, that a person 
less skilled than myself in debatement must 
have discovered their flimsiness. Perceiving, 
at length, that his sophistical reasonings had 
not the power to convince me, he lost his 
temper, and, changing his mode of address, 
descended to the use of scurrilous invectives ; 
upon which I withdrew. Nearly a fortnight 
elapsed without any material changement in 
my situation at Gay Bowers. Every day I 
was pestered over and over again with fal- 
lacious arguments, tauntings, scoldings, and 
threatenings, to induce me to sign the parch- 
ment; and I constantly rejected the proposal, 
without respecting the form in which it was- 
exhibited. Our meetings continually ended 
in bickerments, and tears and fearful appre- 
hensions were the companions of my solitude. 
' In the mean time, T became more fami- 
liar with Dame Urseley, and found her to be 
a plain, simple woman, unnurtured indeed*�
## p. 144 (#154) ############################################
144 
but her heart was sincere and compassionate. 
She was well acquainted with the impetuo- 
sity of her master's temper; and, not know- 
ing the nature of the requisition, frequently 
pressed me, with tears in her eyes, to appease 
his anger by submission. She related to me 
variety of circumstances, which evinced the 
cruelty of his disposition when opposed ; and 
one in particular, which I shall relate, to the 
best of my memory, in her own words :  
" By'r Lady, I one day weened he would 
have quelled old Gaunt the reve; and wot 
ye well why ? the seely hylding medeld with 
the hosteler's business, and 'plained to Lord 
Eustace, that his favourite nag was doen to 
die for the lack of corn, and all for the best 
of the imp his son. What does me the lord- 
ling, then not passing thrice five years? mar- 
ry, he drew out his gilt dagger, and cast it 
incontinently at the reve's sconce ; and had 
not the baron his father arraught his arm, 
he would have foined the carving thwittle�
## p. 145 (#155) ############################################
145 
through his heart." " Was he so outrageous/' 
said I, " in his father's lifetime ?" " Gad's 
my life," answered the dame, " I were a dead 
woman if he were told of what I now areed 
thee !" I assured her she might depend upon 
my secrecy : and she went on to inform me, 
that he held the mastery at Gay Bowers for 
several years previous to the decease of Lord 
Eustace, who, it seems, was confined to his 
chamber, and knew but little of what was 
passing below, where the servants were dis- 
charged, the wonted good cheer abolished, 
the visitants affronted, and the mansion nearly 
forsaken. In the mean time, no repairs were 
done ; the furniture was suffered to fall to 
decay for want of care ; " and, mercy on us !" 
continued Urseley, " in a year or twain more, 
his lordship, I trow, will be buried in the 
ruins of his own dwelling." 
" Curiosity led me one day to visit the 
chapel belonging to this extensive edifice ; 
for I think I before observed tliat Gaston 
VOL. II. K�
## p. 146 (#156) ############################################
146 
kept no chaplain to bless his food, or perform 
the morning and evening services. Upon 
my entering the consecrated dome, where, 
apparently, no human beings had for some 
time presented themselves, I found every 
thing in the rudest disorder : the door was 
unhinged, the windows broken, the floor was 
covered with filth ; part of the holy rood was 
fallen to the ground, and the birds made a 
roost of the mutilated remnant; the altar was 
overthrown, its ornaments destroyed, and up- 
on its ruins lay the great missal, mouldering 
away with the damps which fell upon it ; the 
copes, the albs, the stoles, and other decora- 
tive vestments for the use of the priests and 
choristers, were sacrilegiously taken from their 
places, and only a tattered surplice or two 
of no value left behind. I bent my knee 
upon the altar-steps, and, crossing myself, 
devoutly deprecated the vengeance of God 
from falling upon the head of that unhappy 
man, who had suffered this noble edifice to 
2�
## p. 147 (#157) ############################################
147 
be so vilely polluted ; and then retired to my 
chamber. 
" One morning, some time afterwards, 
when my cousin and I were sitting at break- 
fast, he was particularly pressing for rae to 
sign the deed, and I as positively refused to 
comply. After much altercation, he flew 
into a violent passion, and, catching up a 
salver from the table, I verily thought he 
would have thrown it at me. I remem- 
bered what Urseley told me, and trembled 
for the event; but upon recollecting him- 
self, he cast it down disdainfully, saying, 
" By the blood of Saint Thomas, I will be 
revenged ! The estates shall be sold ; the 
mortgages shall be paid ; and I will thrust 
thee forth into the wide world, without one 
single cross to help thyself; or shut thee 
up in a prison as an impostor,  as a vile 
counterfeit giglet, and practiser of charms 
and sorcery." To these incivilities I made 
no answer, and was preparing to quit the�
## p. 148 (#158) ############################################
148 
room ; when he rose from his chair, and; 
placing himself before the door, swore by. 
his Redeemer, that I should not depart until 
I had signed the deed. " Then take my life 
at once, insatiate Gaston," said I, " and add 
the crime of murder to the abuses you have 
already heaped upon me !"  Here he clapped 
his hand upon his dagger hilt  " Spare not," 
continued I, "courageous cousin, spare not 
a weak, defenceless woman, thy father's sis- 
ter's orphan! for rest assured, that I will 
sooner permit thee to bury thy dagger in 
my bosom, than set my hand to that vile 
parchment, or sanction thy villanies by my 
assignment." The exertions I had made in 
this interview were beyond my strength ; and 
at the end of these last altercations, I sunk 
down into my chair, and nearly swooned. He 
saw my disorder, and withdrawing himself a 
little from me, he walked hastily backwards 
and forwards in the room, swearing great 
oaths, and devoting vengeance with horrible�
## p. 149 (#159) ############################################
149 
imprecations. Before I was sufficiently reco- 
vered to renew the conversation, his servant 
entered, and delivered a letter to him, which 
he opened immediately, and upon reading 
the same, was still more violently agitated 
than before : he stamped and raved to such 
a degree, that I actually thought he was de- 
prived of his senses. He read it a second 
time, and then striking his right hand sharply 
upon his forehead, he exclaimed, " I am 
born to be unfortunate  to be cheated ! Here 
again my fair hopes are frost-bitten in the 
blossom ;  the powers of earth and hell are 
surely united against me !" He then threw 
-down the letter, and after a short pause, cast- 
ing his eyes upon the parchment deed, which 
had occasioned so much altercation between 
us, he caught it in a fury, and having scored 
it several times across with the writing knife, 
he tore it in pieces, and throwing it with 
great indignation upon the floor, he stamped 
upon it, raving and foaming at the mouth�
## p. 150 (#160) ############################################
150 
.like a baited bear ; when turning with a con- 
temptuous air to me, he extended both his 
arms, as though he would thrust me away, 
and cried, " Out of my sight, impostor,  sor- 
ceress ! that letter  curse on the sender !  
beggars thee; it sets aside thy claim, and 
ends our controversy. Begone, I say !" con- 
tinued he, throwing back the door with much 
fury ; " begone, and let me see you no more !" 
To argue with a madman, (for such he ap- 
peared to be,) in the paroxysm of his passion, 
I thought was useless, and might be danger- 
ous : I therefore hastily obeyed his commands, 
and making the best of my way to my cham- 
ber, I fastened the door, and held myself se- 
cure for the present. 
" The more I reflected upon the conduct 
of the baron, so incompatible with reason, 
the more I was at a loss to account for it; the 
rending of the deed, which a few minutes 
before he had been so anxious for me to 
ratify; the expressions he made use of upon�
## p. 151 (#161) ############################################
151 
the occasion, and the declaration that my 
claim to the jointure was set aside by the 
contents of the letter he had received, were 
incomprehensible mysteries. " Surely," said 
I to myself, " Saint Clere has really lost his 
senses, or he is meditating some new plot to 
entrap me by artifice." And therefore I de- 
termined to proceed with caution ; for I was 
well assured it was no part of his design to 
do me justice. 
" While I was occupied with these cogi- 
tations, Urseley rapped at my door : I opened 
it to her, when she appeared with tears in 
her eyes, saying, " What have you done, 
lady, to my master? The baron, I wot me 
well, is as wode as crazy Wallis the weaver." 
She told me, that he swore I had imposed 
upon him, and made such vows of vengeance, 
that her hair stood on end to hear him. She 
then proposed, of her own accord, to excuse 
my going down to dinner, because she thought 
it might be dangerous for me to appear be-�
## p. 152 (#162) ############################################
152 
fore him while he remained unpacified. I 
readily acquiesced ; for I had previously re- 
solved, upon no account, to see Saint Clere 
any more that day. The good dame brought 
me to my chamber a small piece of veal, with 
a dish of white broth, and a simmel of wheaten 
bread : to oblige her I took a few mouthfuls; 
but in truth I was but little inclined to eat. 
Urseley was more cheerful than before, and 
informed me, that the baron had enquired 
after me, and expressed some compassion for 
my indisposition, and was in a much better 
humour than he had been. I told her I felt 
myself exceedingly unwell, and requested her 
to excuse me again on that account, if my 
cousin should desire to see me at supper. "I 
am," said I, " very low and faint for want of 
sleep, and shall therefore retire to my bed at 
an early hour." She assented, and withdrew. 
At the close of the evening, I fastened my 
door, undressed, and laid myself down to rest�
## p. 153 (#163) ############################################
153 
at the time the completory was rung at the 
neighbouring priory. 
"The inconsistent behaviour of Saint Clere 
filled my mind with new apprehensions for 
my safety; and the gloom of the night added 
strength to the powers of imagination, and 
rendered my melancholy situation doubly irk- 
some. I was weary for want of rest, yet I 
could not hastily close my eyes in sleep ; and 
when perchance I did so, the dreams of the 
night were little other than uncouth continu- 
ations of my waking visions, full of terrific 
images and baleful forebodings of disastrous 
events. I heard, or thought I heard, the 
priory bell tolling at midnight; and sometime 
afterwards I was aroused from my sleep by 
an unusual noise in my chamber. The mo- 
ment I opened my eyes I saw a great light, 
which alarmed me prodigiously, and recalled 
to my mind the calamitous accident of Bel- 
lericay. I started up instantly, and throwing 
'he curtains aside, beheld a ghastly spectre�
## p. 154 (#164) ############################################
154 
standing at the foot of the bed : it bore the 
appearance of a tall human figure, wrapped 
in a winding-sheet; its countenance, the only 
part I saw uncovered, was that of a skeleton, 
the jaws were fleshless, and the eyes corroded 
from their sockets. The light I had observed 
proceeded from a large lamp borne by this 
goblin, but in such a manner, that the band 
and arm which supported it was not visible. 
I fell back upon my pillow affrighted, and 
uttering a loud shriek, drew up the counter- 
pane over my face. Some time passed before 
I dared to look out again ; I then perceived 
that the apparition moved, and was approach- 
ing by slow degrees. I repeated my evening 
prayers, and recommended myself to the pro- 
tection of God and the blessed Virgin. It 
came yet nearer to me ; when, taking cou- 
rage, I thus addressed myself to it: " In the 
name of that blessed Lord, who suffered upon 
the holy rood for the redemption of sinners, 
vrhat art thou, and wherefore art thou comer"�
## p. 155 (#165) ############################################
155 
It stopped, adawed by the adjuration, and a 
hollow voice replied, " I am thy friend ;  be 
warned by me, and fly this place, for evil 
waits thee here." This said, before I could 
frame an answer, the spectre retreated a step 
or two, when the light was suddenly extin- 
guished. I heard a rumbling sound some- 
what resembling distant thunder, succeeded 
by a crashing noise, like the thrusting back 
of a heavy shutter; after which all was quiet. 
Recovering from my fright, so soon as I was 
able to reflect coolly upon this extraordinary 
visitation, I began to suspect that the whole 
of it was a contrivance of my cousin's. I 
had narrowly watched the figure while the 
voice was uttered, and perceived that the 
jaws were motionless, neither did the articu- 
lation appear to proceed from the mouth, 
and its movements, in approaching and re- 
ceding from me, were exceedingly awkward, 
and inconsistent with nature ; besides, the 
friendly admonition it pretended to give me�
## p. 156 (#166) ############################################
J 56 
was altogetlier useless, without the informa- 
tion by what means my escape might be ef- 
fected. I waited impatiently for the morn- 
ing, when I scrutinized my chamber most 
minutely, and, to my great surprise, I found 
every thing precisely in the same state I had 
left them, and the door was bolted upon the 
inside. I examined the hangings, but found 
no recess sufficient for a hiding-place, nor 
the least appearance of their having been 
disturbed; the casements, which were high 
up in the room, were fastened within ; a 
closet door at the foot of the bed was se- 
cured by a bar, which I had put up before I 
went to bed. In short, I began to doubt the 
evidence of my own senses, and question the 
reality of the apparition ; which, however, if 
it was no more than a dream, was the most 
wonderful one I ever experienced. 
" Urseley came to my door at least an hour 
sooner than usual; I instantly admitted her, 
but did not think it proper to communicate�
## p. 157 (#167) ############################################
157 
to her, at that time, what I had seen* Upon 
my inquiring what had occasioned so early a 
visit, she shook her head, and, entering the 
room, sat down upon the side of the bed, and 
began to sob and wring her hands, like one 
in deep affliction. I was much affected at 
seeing her in this condition, and anxiously 
intreated her to acquaint me with the cause. 
She assured me that her fears and her sor- 
rows were all upon my account ; for she ve- 
rily believed, that it was the intention of the 
baron to cause me to be murdered. Seeing 
me turn pale and tremble upon receiving this 
information, she advised me not to let my pre- 
sence of mind forsake me, because my safe- 
ty would probably depend in a great measure 
upon my courage. She then proceeded to 
tell me, he was at that moment shut up in the 
library with two ruffians, noted for their vil- 
lanies : That she had listened at the door, 
(for they had been two hours in conversa- 
tion,) and heard my name mentioned several�
## p. 158 (#168) ############################################
1,58 
times. She then advised me to go down and 
take a turn or two in the great court, as I 
had sometimes done before, for the sake of 
the air, and it was probable I might see them 
pass. " You will easily know them," said she, 
H by their ill-favouredness." 
" I approved of her proposal ; and, throw- 
ing my veil over my head, descended into 
the hall, where \ soon afterwards saw the two 
ruffians coming from the library, and follow- 
ed by St Gere, who was engaged with them 
in earnest conversation. They were both of 
them sturdy knaves, clad in thick jerkins of 
leather, girt with thongs. For reverence sake, 
they carried their thrum-caps in their hands, 
which exposed their bare heads and faces, 
overgrown with hair, not often troubled with 
a comb, and begrimed with filth. They 
had each of them a large knotted club of 
wood, and a small shield hanging upon the 
left shoulder; but he whom I took to be the 
chief, had also a long rusty sword, without a�
## p. 159 (#169) ############################################
159 
sheath, depending from a baldric of leather, 
wilh a dagger and a butcher's thwittle stuck 
in his girdle. To this man I distinctly heard 
the baron say these words, " Remember to 
make all sure." He was going to answer, 
when, turning his head suddenly, he saw me 
within hearing, and, holding his forefinger to 
his lips, he bowed in token of assent, and, 
with his comrade, withdrew. 
" Are you come !" said St Clere, somewhat 
confused ; " I did not expect to find you here 
at this early hour: But it is well ;  go with 
me into the library:" so saying, he took my 
hand and led me to a seat. When leaning 
upon his writing-desk, he made an awkward 
apology for the harsh language he had used 
the day before. He declared, that he had 
received letters from the Lord High Chan- 
cellor's office, establishing a claim to my mo- 
ther's jointure upon the part of the crown, 
and an order for the sequestration of the es-�
## p. 160 (#170) ############################################
160 
tates, and payment into the court of chance- 
ry of the monies arising from them for near- 
ly twenty years back. " These monies," con- 
tinued he, " with large surplusses, have been 
remitted to your family, and what am 1 to 
do in this case. Pay the monies I cannot ; 
and, if I resist, I involve myself in ruin by a- 
tedious chancery suit." He paused. On my 
part, I did not believe one syllable of all he 
had uttered. The story was altogether in- 
congruous with common reason ; and I real- 
ly knew not how to answer him. He saved 
me the trouble, and went on ;  " I see } r ou 
are astonished at these extraordinary pro- 
ceedings; and so, in truth, was I, until I re- 
ceived this letter from a friend of mine at 
London, in the afternoon of yesterday :" so 
saying, he put into my hands a letter, ad- 
dressed to himself; the contents of which 
^rere to the following purport :�
## p. 161 (#171) ############################################
161 
" Dear Saint Clere, 
" I remember you told me, when 1 was at 
Gay Bowers about two months back, that 
your cousin, the young Lady Darcy, was de- 
ceased in Flanders. Judge, then, how much 
I was surprized, at finding a young woman in 
town, professing herself to be the daughter 
and sole heiress of John Lord Darcy and 
Anne St Clere ! Her claim is vigorously sup- 
ported by the Baron B -, your avowed 
enemy; who has, in her name, instituted a 
suit in the court of chancery against you for 
the recovery of the Darcy estates. You 
well know, that nothing can be done in this 
court without the advance of prodigious sums 
of money; but, on the other hand, you are 
equally certain, that money has an irresistible 
power. The baron is liberal of his purse, and 
you know he is immensely rich : The advo- 
cates are fee'd to their hearts desire ; and, I 
fear, if it be not hastily prevented, a seques- 
VOL. 11. L�
## p. 162 (#172) ############################################
lfj<2 
tration will be granted. I have therefore 
taken the earliest opportunity to give you this 
information. Yours/' &c. 
To this epistle was subscribed a name total- 
ly unknown to me, and which I do not re- 
member. At the bottom was added, " I have 
seen the young woman ; she is neither hand- 
some, nor well nurtured ; but, no doubt, her 
patron has tutored her for his purpose." 
A 
As soon as I had finished reading the 
letter, St Clere resumed his speech in this 
manner : " You see, my cousin, by that let- 
ter, my meaning yesterday, when I mention- 
ed another claimant to the jointure estates. 
For my own part, I am satisfied you are the 
real heir, and, of course, your title must be 
substantiated to obviate the other's claim; 
and herein we have to lament the loss of 
those important parchments you brought from 
Flanders with you. Your appearance will 
be indispensably necessary, as a witness,�
## p. 163 (#173) ############################################
163 
when the time is ripe to bring you forward, 
and will be the only means left to us to de- 
feat our rival ; and if I must be ruined, (as, 
God shall judge me, seems inevitable either 
way !) I had better suffer for a relative, than 
for a stranger, an impostor !  But as your ap- 
pearance in England is of so recent a date, if 
you continue under my roof, the chancellor 
may suspect you also of being a deceiver in 
collusion with me, and brought forward to 
answer my own purposes, 1 have, therefore, 
carefully turned this matter in my mind, and 
will to-morrow, if it please you, send you, un- 
der the conduct of two of my tenants, to the 
dwelling of my steward's sister, upon the fo* 
rest near High Ongar, where you may live at 
ease, your own mistress, and I, from time to 
time, will send you word concerning the pro- 
gress of the law-suit. Consider this proposal 
well; and, when we meet again at dinner, I 
shall be glad to hear your determination."  
He then rose from his seat, and quitted the�
## p. 164 (#174) ############################################
164 
room. I followed; and, going to my cham- 
ber, scrutinized it a second time, in order, it 
possible, to account for the appearance of 
the goblin upon natural principles; but in 
vain. I then attempted to investigate the 
motives of my cousin's mysterious conduct, 
but without being able to afford myself the 
least satisfaction. My situation, on all sides, 
wore a most gloomy aspect ; my destruction 
seemed to be inevitable ; I could not realize 
any solid hope for escape ; and the more I 
pondered upon it, the more my imagination 
was bewildered. 
" At this moment came Urseley. I told 
her the baron and mvself were better recon- 
ciled to each other than we had formerly 
been, and that he had proposed my removal 
from Gay Bowers to the dwelling of the 
reve's sister upon the forest near Ongar, and 
that I was to be conducted thither by two of 
his tenants. Upon which the faithful crea- 
ture burst into tears, and said to this effect :�
## p. 165 (#175) ############################################
165 
" My dearest lady, the baron's smiles are 
more to be feared than his frowns. Benedi- 
cite, I warrant you he meditates your death ! 
God forbid that I should lie unto you !  Old 
Gaunt has no such sister near Ongar ; and, 
Holy Mary so save me ! the two tenants, he 
speaks of, are none other than the two cut- 
throat caitiffs you saw just now; and, in the 
forest, instead of a house, I fear me, lady, 
you will find your grave." " But, my good 
friend," cried I, grasping her hand, "if St 
Clere be resolved upon my destiuction, how 
am I to avoid it ? Should I refuse to quit this 
mansion, may he not employ those wicked 
ministers of blood to murder me here.  Tell 
me, I beseech you, if you know, what course 
T can pursue !" " I have thought of it," said 
the good dame ; " leave the matter to me.  
But, when you appear before the baron, pre- 
tend to acquiesce with his proposal : Keep 
him in the humour you find him at present; 
to irritate him may be dangerous. I will see�
## p. 166 (#176) ############################################
\66 
you again soon after dinner, but must quit 
you now ; it is not proper we should be seen 
consulting together. I will, if possible, effect 
your escape, and save your life at the hazard 
of my own." This spontaneous flow of af- 
fection, from one who was so little interested 
in my success, made a strong impression upon 
my mind ; and I rejoiced in having obtained 
the friendship of so excellent a woman. I 
could not indeed divine, by what means she 
intended to provide for my safety, or con- 
quer the fears to which my reflections gave 
birth. I embraced the shadow, as it were, of 
hope, and resolved to comply with the admo- 
nitions of my good friend. 
" At dinner St Clere was in a better hu- 
mour than I had hitherto seen him ; and, 
when I declared myself willing to comply 
with his request, he was exceedingly pleased, 
and assured me I should not want a protector 
while he breathed.�
## p. 167 (#177) ############################################
167 
" On my return to my apartment, I found 
Urseley waiting for me. "Shut the door, 
my dear lady/' said she ; " and hark, in your 
ear, I have provided the means for your es- 
cape." " As how, my dear friend ?" said I, 
hastily. " Why, you must know," replied she, 
" at the lower part of the garden, the wind 
has blown down a portion of the wall into 
the moat, and nearly filled it up ; so that, with 
the assistance of a few planks, which I have 
procured, being laid across, you may easily 
pass over; and close by the side of the 
breach is the path which leads directly to 
Danbury town." " But how shall I get into 
the garden, my dear Urseley?" said I.  
" When the doors of the house are locked," 
replied she, " and the keys carried to the ba- 
ron." She then drew forth a key from her 
pouch, saying, " This key belongs to a small 
postern which leads to the garden, and 
through the same I will conduct thee thi- 
ther." To this I replied, " But will not my�
## p. 168 (#178) ############################################
168 
escape, thus made, subject you to the anger 
of the baron. He certainly will conclude, 
that it could not have been done without 
your assistance. Such a suspicion may be 
fatal to you; and, my dear friend, though 
life and liberty are desireable objects, they 
will be too dearly purchased at such a price. 
I should never be happy in future, if your 
days are to be shortened to lengthen mine." 
a Have no such fear, my dear lady," answer- 
ed the faithful dame, " I have provided a re- 
medy for this evil also. The moment I have 
seen you safely set forward from this man- 
sion, I will tie the sheets of your bed toge- 
ther, and, fastening them to the bar of one 
of the casements, let them hang down to the 
ground. If possible, I will suffer the alarm 
to come from some one else, and it will be 
readily believed, that you have effected your 
own escape." I expressed my gratitude to 
her in the warmest terms ; but, at the same 
time, 1 was myself ashamed to have recourse�
## p. 169 (#179) ############################################
169 
to such mean subterfuges, and nothing short 
of the apprehensions of a premature and cruel 
death could have forced me to comply with 
them. 
" At supper St Clere and T met for the last 
time. He requested me to prepare myself 
for the journey in the fore part of the day, 
because he had some matters of importance 
to communicate to me ; and, in order that I 
might not be late upon the road, he had or- 
dered dinner to be provided at an early hour, 
immediately after which he thought it pro- 
per for me to be gone. " I will not," conti- 
nued he, " send you away without something 
to ensure your welcome whither you are go- 
ing. Take this purse ;"  at the same time 
putting one into my hands  " it contains the 
sum of twenty angels in gold, which, I trust, 
you will use with discretion, for, as Christ 
shall judge me, I borrowed them with much 
difficulty ;  and this is all I can do for you 
at present; for the times are hard, the subsi-�
## p. 170 (#180) ############################################
170 
dies enormous, and this law-suit, I fear, will 
ruin us both." He then changed the dis- 
course, and advised me, at all events, to im- 
prove my talents in drawing and needle-work, 
promising to lend me all the assistance that 
lay in his power ; so that, had I not been con- 
vinced of his vile duplicity, I should have 
thought his heart had been softened by the 
sensations of humanity. Nay, more, he took 
me by the hand, when he bade me good- 
night, and pressed it to his lips ; a gallantry 
he had not heretofore been guilty of, and 
which I could have readily dispensed with at 
that time. 
" When Urseley attended with my light, 
I begged of her to come to me again as soon 
as possible, because I was fearful of being 
alone, owing to some uncommon disturbance 
which broke my rest the preceding night.  
To this she replied, with a smile, " Truly, my 
lady, we often hear strange noises and voices 
in this deserted mansion. Old Gaunt says,�
## p. 171 (#181) ############################################
171 
that spirits walk in the chambers; but, in 
sooth, I never saw them." 
" After she was gone, I sat down and wept. 
What was to become of me I knew not ; nor 
whither to fly for safety. I had not sufficient 
money to carry me back to Flanders. I had 
no friend to whom I could make any appli- 
cation, excepting my nurse at Baddow, and 
to her I determined to make the best of my 
way. I then threw myself upon my knees, 
and pouring out my heart before my Maker, 
committed myself to his guidance, and made 
my orisons to the Blessed Virgin, and the 
saints in heaven. 
"It was midnight before Urseley returned, 
and I was fearful that some accident had oc- 
casioned her delay. She brought with her a 
Ian thorn ; and, with a smile, assured me that 
all was secured. I showed her the purse with 
the money which my cousin had given me, 
and pressed her to take a part of it for her 
trouble. She peremptorily refused ; saying,�
## p. 172 (#182) ############################################
172 
with tears in her eyes, * Holy Jesu forbid I 
should touch the price of innocent blood! 
for well I ween, my dear lady, that money 
was intended for the villains who were to kill 
you.  Poor dear lamb ! you were appointed 
to be the bearer of the meed for your own 
murder." Her words chilled my blood; I 
trembled, and the purse with the gold fell 
from my hand. " Is it possible," cried I ; 
'* May heaven forgive him !"  Speak lower, 
for our Blessed Lady's sake !" said the good 
dame; " Consider the jeopardy in which we 
stand. An alarm, at this moment, would dis- 
cover all our plan, and hazard the death of 
both." She took up the purse, which lay up- 
on the floor, and, thrusting it into my gipsire, 
added, with a whisper, " The gold is inno- 
cent, and requisite withal." The few things 
I had to take with me were comprised in a 
short compass, and formed a parcel by no 
means cumbersome; I was therefore very 
soon prepared for my departure. Urseley put�
## p. 173 (#183) ############################################
173 
the light into the lanthom, and we descend- 
ed cautiously, passing through the great hall, 
and along a dark narrow passage to the pos- 
tern, which she unlocked, and we entered the 
garden ; and, without meeting with any in- 
terruption, we proceeded to that part of it 
where the wall was broken down. In passing 
over the planks, either through my negli- 
gence, or one of them not being securely 
placed, I lost my foot-hold, and had not Ur- 
seley supported me, at the hazard of her own 
safety, i should inevitably have fallen into 
the water. Having escaped the danger, my 
faithful conductress put me into the path 
leading to Danbury town, through which it 
was necessary for me to pass in my way to 
Great Baddow, whither I intended to direct 
my steps, and use every exertion in order to 
reach that place before my flight should be 
discovered at Gay Bowers. I embraced my 
dear friend Urseley with much affection, and 
the good dame bade me farewell, commend-�
## p. 174 (#184) ############################################
174 
ing me to the care of God and the blessed 
Virgin Mary. 
" The night was clear, and the stars shone 
brightly ; but, as I was a stranger to the place, 
and was exceedingly fearful of mistaking the 
road, I proceeded with caution, which some- 
what retarded my progress ; however, at the 
break of day, I found myself in the midst of 
Danbury town, and near to the church, but 
not a soul was stirring excepting a person 
who opened the door of an inn, and from his 
dress I took him to be the master. He seem- 
ed surprised at seeing a person of my sex 
and appearance there so early in the morn- 
ing ; and I being fearful he might interrupt 
me with some impertinent questions, hasten- 
ed by him ; and he, on his part, permitted 
me to pass without saying a syllable to me. 
I soon afterwards came to an open green, 
with some tall elms upon the midst of it, and 
finding here two roads, I was at a loss which 
of them to take ; and here I determined to�
## p. 175 (#185) ############################################
175 
wait a little space, in hopes that some one 
might pass who could direct me. I sat 
down upon a bench erected at the bottom of 
one of the trees, and casting my eyes over 
the prospect which lay before me, saw a 
large town which appeared to be at no great 
distance. I cast my eyes presently behind 
me, and wished myself at that great town. 
" At this moment a young rustic approach- 
ed, carrying a wallet at his back, supported by 
a long staff upon his shoulder. He informed 
me, that the town I saw was five miles dis- 
tant, and called Chelmsford. I then enquired 
for Baddow. " Great Baddow I suppose you 
mean," said the lad, " it lies in your way to 
Chelmsford; you may see the spire of the 
church between the trees of yonder coppice." 
" But which of these two roads," said I," will 
lead me thither." " That," quoth he," which 
lies straight before ; this, on the left, leads 
you to Grayes: But the nearest foot-path to 
Baddow is through the park belonging to�
## p. 176 (#186) ############################################
176 
Danburv-Place, on the left hand." At the 
same time he told me, there were many deer 
in the park, which perhaps might frighten 
me, but added, that he was himself going that 
way to Haningfield, and would prevent them 
from hurting me. He seemed to be a simple 
honest lad, and I made no hesitation of pla- 
cing myself under his protection. We passed 
the park without the least interruption. I 
saw it was true that the deer were in great 
numbers, but they were at a distance from us. 
When we regained the main road, my guide 
directed me to the right, he turning to the 
left. I gave him a small piece of silver for 
his civility, with which he was well satisfied ; 
and bidding me good-morrow, went forward 
singing, as merrily as a lark. 
I now made the most of my time, and hur- 
ried on, not indeed without frequently look- 
ing behind me, expecting every minute to see 
my pursuers following my footsteps. I reach- 
ed Baddow soon after sun-rise, where enqui-�
## p. 177 (#187) ############################################
177 
ring out the habitation of the nurse, had the 
mortification to find it close shut up, and was 
informed by the neighbours, that she and her 
husband had been sent for to Hertford, by a 
special message the day before, to attend his 
sister, who lived near that town, and was dan- 
gerously ill, so that the time of their return 
was altogether uncertain. 
"This unexpected disappointment plunged 
me into a terrible dilemma. I knew not 
what steps to lake, and the exigence of the 
moment required an immediate decision. It 
was impossible for me to remain where I was 
in safety. I knew not one soul in the hamlet; 
and, of course, had no claim to protection 
from the outrages of my pursuers, who might 
readily discover where I had taken refuge. 
The first thought that occurred, suggested 
the propriety of going instantly to Bellericay ; 
but a minute's reflection set that determina- 
tion aside ; " for thither," said I to myself, 
" the ruffians will naturally follow me ; and 
VOL. II. M�
## p. 178 (#188) ############################################
178 
supposing that I might perchance escape 
their malice, through the interposition of my 
generous benefactress, her benevolence would 
certainly ensure her ruin ; for Gaston de St 
Clere is an implacable enemy." I then turn- 
ed my thoughts towards Chelmsford ; and 
finding the distance to that town did not 
much exceed a mile, I determined, at all 
events, to walk thither without delay ; for I 
saw, or thought I saw, the good people, who 
had answered my enquiries, pierced my em- 
barrassment, and was fearful they might pro- 
bably draw some unfavourable conclusions 
from it. I therefore bade them good-mor- 
row, and went forward. 
" I was somewhat alarmed, soon after quit- 
ting Baddow, by seeing the same young man, 
who had conducted me through Danbury 
park, cross the road before me. He touch- 
ed his bonnet as he passed; and, without 
saying a word, struck into a meadow, on the 
right hand, and went singing towards a mill,�
## p. 179 (#189) ############################################
179 
which stands upon the river at no great dis- 
tance. I began to fear the lad was employ- 
ed to watch me ; but the simplicity of his 
appearance soon checked that thought, and 
I blamed myself for suspecting him. 
" This circumstance, trifling as it may ap- 
pear, made me resolve to quit that part of 
the country, and follow my nurse to Hert- 
ford, where I had some hope to meet with 
her, or at least I conceived I should be more 
secure from the enquiries of St Clere. 
u On my arrival at Chelmsford, I went to 
one of the principal inns, distinguished by 
the sign of the Saracen, or Man Quintain, 
where I took some small refreshment, and 
enquired the ready way to Hertford, and was 
told, I could not do better than go through 
Duntnow or Storford. I instantly ordered 
horses and a guide, being determined to get 
as forward on my journey as I could that 
day. We left Chelmsford about nine o'clock, 
and my guide took me through Waltham to�
## p. 180 (#190) ############################################
180 
Braintree. This road, he informed me, was 
somewhat more about than another he could 
have taken me, but, at the same time, was so 
much better, that the additional distance was 
not worth consideration. We took some 
dinner at the Bugle-horn at Braintree, and 
proceeded, in the afternoon, to Dunmow, 
where we arrived before sun-set; but I had 
ridden upwards of twenty-miles. I was too 
much fatigued to go any farther that evening, 
and bespoke a bed at the inn to which my 
guide conducted me, which seemed to be the 
best in the town. 
" Upon my entering of Dunmow, a very 
young man passed by me, nearly resembling 
the lad I have before mentioned; but he was 
dressed in a riding coat, girt with a broad 
belt of leather. The difference of his dress, 
and the distance from Danbury, convinced 
me that it was another person ; and yet I 
could not help being somewhat disquieted at 
seeing him. I resolved to pursue my journey�
## p. 181 (#191) ############################################
181 
early the next day ; and accordingly, having 
provided fresh horses and another guide, we 
set forward at the time the first matin bell 
was rung, and passing over the common, by 
the side of Takely-wood, we found the road 
exceedingly bad, which occasioned so much 
delay, that we did not reach Bishops Stor- 
ford before noon, and here I dined. I can- 
not help observing, that, upon reaching the 
inn door, I saw the same young man, with 
his riding coat and broad belt, who had passed 
me at Dunmow, standing there j he looked 
earnestly at me as I descended Irom my 
horse, but not as one who had seen me be- 
fore. On examining his person and features, 
he so strongly resembled my Danbury guide, 
that 1 was almost tempted to speak to him; 
but I forbare. I found myself too much fa- 
tigued to proceed any farther on horseback ; 
and being determined to reach Hertford that 
night, I hired a calash, and gave the driver a 
piece of silver to make the more haste.�
## p. 182 (#192) ############################################
182 
" When 1 came to the entrance of the town 
of Ware, I was again surprised by the ap- 
pearance of the young man, whom I had 
seen at Dunmore and Storford. He was now 
on horseback, and riding hastily by the ca- 
lash, turned up a road to the right, which I 
since learned leads to Walton. " Surely," 
said I to myself, " this is some goblin, and 
not a man, who haunts me for some evil pur- 
pose." But after that time I saw him no more, 
and the subsequent events effaced from my 
mind the evil apprehensions his appearance 
had made ; and indeed I know not to what 
purpose I have mentioned this trifling cir- 
cumstance in the present narrative. 
" When we reached Hertford, I depended 
entirely upon my guide for the selection of 
the inn where I was to take up my temporary 
residence. I begged of him to conduct me 
to such a one as would afford me proper ac- 
commodation, and where I might be certain 
of meeting with civility. He assured me, that�
## p. 183 (#193) ############################################
183 
there was not a better house in the town 
than the Crescent in the High-street. Thi- 
ther we went, and having entered the inn- 
yard, I saw, to my inexpressible satisfaction, 
my nurse herself talking with the inn-keeper. 
The noise our horses made occasioned them 
to look round. The good dame, who in- 
stantly recognized me, was greatly surprised 
at seeing me there ; she sprang to the calash, 
and, assisting me to descend, caught me in 
her arms, and pressed me to her bosom with 
so much warmth of affection, that had I been 
her own child she could not have manifested 
more tenderness; when a moment afterwards, 
seeming to recollect herself, she excused the 
freedom she had taken. I repeated the em- 
brace, and, grasping her hand, assured her I 
delighted to meet with her there; "for in 
truth," added I, " it was you alone I came 
hither to find." She called for the hostess, 
and caused us to be shewn to a room, where 
we might be by ourselves without any inter-�
## p. 184 (#194) ############################################
184 
ruption; and scarcely was I seated before she 
expressed her anxiety to know by what means 
I had escaped from Gay Bowers, and traced 
her to Hertford. I related to her, as briefly 
as possible, the principal incidents that had 
occurred to me, from the time we parted at 
the baron's to the present meeting. : She 
heard me with great attention, but not with- 
out uttering many ejaculations to the holy 
saints. The story of the spectre particularly 
attracted her notice : she has great faith in 
preternatural appearances, and believed it to 
be in reality a goblin; and the admonition, 
the warning voice of my good angel. When 
I had concluded my narrative, she shook, and 
said, " Holy Mother of God, there is some 
rank knavery abroad ! Wot ye well, my dear 
young lady, had you not arrived this evening, 
I and my husband should have been away 
with the lark in the morning : and, would 
you believe it, we came upon a fool's errand,  
my sister is in perfect health; she sent no�
## p. 185 (#195) ############################################
18 
i> 
messenger, but wa3 herself aghast at seeing 
us in so much hurry and confusion. Gads 
my life, we have been tricked ; but who the 
traitor is, or wherefore he should have beset 
us so foully, I can't aread." I readily an- 
swered, " This deception, my dear nurse, is 
certainly one of those contrivances I may 
justly add to the enmity of my barbarous 
cousin. God forgive me if I prejudge him ; 
but I fear it was done with the view of 
depriving me of your protection, in case I 
escaped from the hands of the murderers. 
He will find me," added I, " even here. He 
will trace me from inn to inn, where I took 
horses. I must seek an asylum : I need pro- 
tection from some one powerful enough to 
vindicate the cause of injured innocence, and 
compassionate enough to do it for justice 
sake alone." " By'r Lady," said she, grasping 
my hand, " I beseech you be not adawed ; 
it shall go hard with me if I do not let the 
naughty baron in his seekings : leave it to�
## p. 186 (#196) ############################################
186 
me ; my husband and I will take you to a 
place of safety to-morrow, and lead those a 
fine wild-goose chase, who shall undertake to 
follow you." At this instant her discourse 
was interrupted by the arrival of her husband, 
who, when he entered the room, and saw me 
there, apologized for his breaking in upon us, 
and was about to withdraw ; when the good 
dame called him back, and having informed 
him who I was, he paid his respects to me 
with much civility, and more decorum than 
one might have expected from a person of 
his rank ; but in truth, upon further know- 
ledge of his character, I found him to be 
a plain, judicious man, of few words; but 
the little he did say was generally much to 
the purpose. Some refreshment was then 
proposed, which was presently served up; and 
immediately after supper was ended the nurse 
and her husband withdrew for a few mo- 
ments, and I saw him no more that night. 
She afterwards made me acquainted with the�
## p. 187 (#197) ############################################
187 
treatment she had received at Gay Bowers, 
and the uneasiness she had sustained upon 
my account. I had no sooner parted from 
her at breakfast-time, it seems, than old Gaunt 
the steward came to her and declared, that 
he had received positive orders from his mas- 
ter for her instant dismissal. She pleaded 
very importunely to have the permission of 
seeing me once again before she left the 
house ; but all her solicitations were to no 
effect. She tarried at Danbury the greatest 
part of the day, in hope that I might come 
up thither, and see her ; when she saw that 
I did not in the afternoon, she came back to 
Gay Bowers, and again solicited a conference 
with me, if it were only for a few minutes, 
but could not obtain permission ; on the con- 
trary, Gaunt, the only person she saw, treated 
her with great insolence. She now returned 
home, and having procured a letter to be 
written to me by a confidential friend, her 
husband brought it the next day; but Gaunt�
## p. 188 (#198) ############################################
188 
was inflexible, he would not deliver it to me, 
neither would he answer any question respect- 
ing my welfare. Not contented with these 
efforts, two days afterwards she came herself 
to the baron's, and having by her prayers 
and tears softened, as she supposed, the heart 
of the steward, obtained admittance; bnt in- 
stead of seeing me, she was ushered to the 
presence of the baron, who severely repri- 
manded her for the part she had taken in my 
behalf, and even threatened her with destruc- 
tion, if he heard she busied herself any fur- 
ther about the matter. On her return to 
Danbury, she made every possible enquiry 
she could, but to no effect; there was not a 
soul that knew a syllable concerning me. 
u It was now time for us to retire to rest, 
and the good dame insisted upon seeing me 
to my chamber herself; and observing that 
I was fatigued, helped me to undress, and af- 
terwards sat down by the bed-side until I fell 
asleep. She called me at day-break, saying,�
## p. 189 (#199) ############################################
189 
wilh a smile, " My dear Lady Darcy, I have 
provided for your safety, and shall give your 
enemies the cheek-mate I trow : but then 
you must, do as I say, without letting and 
contradiction, or the charm will be nought 
after all." I did not at all comprehend what 
she meant; however, I relied implicitly on 
her care, and promised obedience. When 
we came down she insisted on my taking a 
small biscuit, soaked in some mulled clary, 
which the hostess had prepared ; and while I 
was eating it she said, " The young lady, my 
good hostess, you think then can certainly be 
well accommodated in your friend's house at 
Storford, and perfectly free from all imperti- 
nent enquiries." " After what I have said to 
you," returned the hostess, " you may depend 
upon my recommendation." Hearing this 
part of the discourse related to me, I was 
about to answer, which 1113^ nurse perceiving, 
she clapped her finger upon her lip, and�
## p. 190 (#200) ############################################
&6 
called to her husband, who made his appear- 
ance in the inn-yard leading two horses ; one 
of them, being more handsomely caparisoned 
than the other, was intended for me, and I 
was mounted upon it by myself, and the 
nurse rode behind her husband on the other; 
and thus we proceeded towards Ware, on the 
road to Storford. But we had no sooner 
passed through Ware, than my guide turned 
out of the main road into a bye lane, exceed- 
ingly narrow, at the back of the town, at the 
end of which we found a mean-lookina: drink- 
ing house. Here the nurse and her husband 
alighted, and he put their horse into a kind 
of out-house, desiring that it might remain 
there until the afternoon. This circumstance 
greatly surprised me, and I was proceeding a 
second time to make enquiry, when the nurse 
again prevented me by putting her finger to 
her mouth as before, saying in a whisper, 
" Hedges have ears." Having put up their�
## p. 191 (#201) ############################################
191 
horse, the good people proceeded on foot, 
making me still continue on horseback. Wc 
passed a large park, and afterwards came 
again into several narrow lanes, leading from 
one to the other, and reached at length the 
Lodge, where you, my dear ladies, found the 
game-keeper's wife, sister to my dear nurse, 
and who possesses the same humanity and 
softness of disposition. I have been with 
her nearly three months, treated with much 
tenderness, and free from any interruption. 
This was the secret plan the good nurse had 
formed ; the departure of her husband over- 
night was to borrow the horse I rode upon 
from some one in this neighbourhood, and 
the pretence of going to Storford was to mis- 
lead those my cousin might send to enquire 
after me. I have only to add, that when the 
good people introduced me to their sister, 
they took their leave, and, as I have since 
heard, actually reached Storford that night. �
## p. 192 (#202) ############################################
192 
Such is the conclusion of my long and me- 
lancholy history." 
Lord Boteler not only gave her the strongest 
assurances of his protection, but promised, 
with her permission, to employ two or three 
of his acquaintances, eminently skilled in the 
law, to bring her cousin to severe account 
for his conduct. She thankfully accepted his 
offer, and, with becoming modesty, acknow- 
ledged the very great obligations she lay un- 
der to his lordship : but as it now grew late, 
and Emma had much exerted herself in re- 
lating the tale of her sorrows, the young 
ladies persuaded her to withdraw for the 
night : this she willingly acceded to. 
In the morning, the young Baron Fitzallen 
of Marden arrived at Queenhoo-hall to pay 
his respects to Lord Edward Boteler, whose 
return he had heard of. Marden lying about 
half a mile from the Boteler mansion, and a�
## p. 193 (#203) ############################################
193 
family intercourse having always been main- 
tained between the two lords. After some 
conversation on various matters, Fitzallen re- 
quested Lord Boteler's company to dinner 
with him, and that he would let his daughter 
and niece be of the party ; for he had not 
seen the Lady Emma, who, on notice of his 
arrival, had withdrawn, as her various suffer- 
ings had rendered her unequal to the task of 
meeting a stranger. To this request Lord 
Boteler gave his assent; though the ladies 
were unwilling to quit their new guest, which, 
after Fitzallen's departure, they mentioned 
to Lord Boteler, and he entreated them to 
persuade the young lady to accompany them. 
Emma, however, prevailed with the ladies to 
go without her, which with much difficulty 
they consented to do. 
Being dressed for the visit, the ladies, 
after taking leave of Emma, went down to 
the parlour, where Lord Boteler awaited 
VOL. II. N�
## p. 194 (#204) ############################################
194 
their coming : they informed hirn, that their 
smest wished to decline the honour of the 
visit : her reasons he easily conjectured, and 
acquiesced in her refusal. They then set out 
on their visit for Marden.�
## p. 195 (#205) ############################################
195 
SECTION VII. 
CHAPTER I, 
An Incident at Fitzallen's, and a Tale. 
The company having taken some refresh- 
ment, Fitzallen proposed a walk in his gar- 
den previously to the dinner being served up; 
which was readily acceded to, and especially 
as it was known that he had been making 
great improvements in it. 
As they passed through the great hall, their 
attention was attracted by a tall thin man, 
with a long lank visage, about fifty years of 
age, but habited in garments of the newest 
fashion, made with the finest and most ex- 
pensive stuffs that could be procured, and de- 
corated in a tawdry manner with gold and�
## p. 196 (#206) ############################################
1 96 
silver fringes, interspersed with pearls and 
gauds of gold. The points of his shoes were 
nearly a yard in length ; the upper leathers 
cut into chequer-work, and laced upon the 
insteps with bobbins of gold thread. His 
hood was of scarlet samit, slashed and pounced 
by way of ornament ; and the tippet, of blue 
and silver, reached to the ground. 
Behind him, appeared two servitors in rich 
Jiveries, with badges on their shoulders, pul- 
ling along an aged man, whose garments 
were coarse and thread-bare ; and these were 
followed by several of the villagers, of both 
sexes, who seemed to bewail the mistreat- 
ment of the old man. 
Fitzallen addressed himself to the beau, 
and desired to know the cause of this visit. 
" I comes, my lord," said he, " for justice 
against this grey-bearded flagrant." 
" And what offence hath he committed ?" 
said Fitzallen. 
" Offence, my lord !" retorted the beau. �
## p. 197 (#207) ############################################
197 
u And it please your worship, he is very 
needy and poor, and dares to upbray, as thof 
he was a squire of estate to the value of a 
hundred pounds by the year. His cloak, my 
lord, is thread-bare, and his hosen is like a 
lattice ; and therefore he must be an idle 
flagrant. He is, algates, a main saucy jack^ 
my lord, and heeds not those more better 
than himself, who be clothed in tunics and 
hosen of samit, or wear tawny satin cloaks 
guarded with gold and silver, and has money 
in their pockets to buy a whole congregation 
of such swashbucklers. Oh ! 'tis a pestilloun 
varment, and ought to be hanged !" 
" But is the man's poverty so great a fault?" 
said the baron. 
t( Why, there it i, my lord," answered the 
beau : " the raptril is poor, and ought to been 
humble, and suspect his betterers. I warrant 
me, out of your lordship's hearing, he would 
call me a fool or a dotterel, and mayhap 
laugh at me to my beard. Is these things�
## p. 198 (#208) ############################################
198 
befitting to a man of wealth and corpulence! 
shall such a crack-halter, without one cross 
in his pouch, be permitted to answer a gen- 
tleman, and make a May-game of me ? I 
trow not ; I trow your lordship will say not : 
And therefore I begs you will let the heels of 
that there sturdy beggar be laid in the stocks; 
aye, and give him a whipping into the bar- 
gain." 
" If so be," replied the young baron, " his 
offence shall be found to merit such punish- 
ment :  but, I beseech you, be more explicit, 
and acquaint me with the nature and extent 
of his fault." 
To this the beau replied, " I be sporting 
this morning, my lord, with my kestrel in my 
hand, according to the privilege of a man of 
corpulence and a gentleman. The bird, see- 
ing its game, began to bate ; and before I 
was prepared, up comes me this here lozel, 
crosses me the path without the least suspect, 
and frightened the hawk so sadly, that away�
## p. 199 (#209) ############################################
199 
she flew, and made to the wood, and I have 
lost her : and von must know, that there 
hawk was one of the true breed ; she cost 
me fifty golden angels, and her bells were 
right silver from Milhen. I called the knave 
to decount for his violence, and ordered my 
farlets to take him into jeopardy. I teld 
him, he is a scoundrel, to use such carriage' 
to a gentleman, who is able to purchase a 
thousand such fa^abonds : he returned me a 
department answer. I desires him to discover 
my hawk ; when he imprudently laughed in 
my face. I has brought him before you." 
" But did he come out of his way pur- 
posely to frighten your bird ? or was he 
merely passing on the road ?" 
" I will not kiss the Angelists upon that 
point: but sure, my lord, it boots not; he 
ought to have see, that I are a gentleman, 
and well dressed, and not one to be inter- 
rupted by a patch-cloak beggar like he. See, 
my lord, all his garments is not worth a silver�
## p. 200 (#210) ############################################
200 
thimble : and shall he dare to make his japes 
with me? Why, I can reduce a thousand 
angels of gold for every cross that he pro- 
fesses. They says as how the knave can 
read; that is a reproof of his idleness: for 
my part, I never reads, and is a franklin; while 
this here jack, with all his wit and his con- 
ning, be's as poor as a mouse in a belfry: 
and poverty smells main strong of knavery. 
<  I beseech your worship, send him to the 
stocks." 
" But surely," replied Fitzallen, " it will 
be just to hear his defence, before I punish 
him." 
" I hope," interrupted the beau, " your 
lordship will not regrade me so far as to put 
this here jack upon a gentleman. If it please 
your honour, I have purchased my franklin- 
ship and my bearings from the harald, and 
paid full fifty angels of gold for my consis- 
tance ; and should have been knighted, but�
## p. 201 (#211) ############################################
201 
in sooth I cannot endure the sight of a naked 
sword." 
" Knighted ! you knighted !" replied the 
young baron, with surprise : " Why, if I mis- 
take not, you was, time past, my father's tai- 
lor!" 
" Your lordship's memory is good," re- 
plied he. " I thought you would not have 
remembered that, now I be a gentleman; or 
would have spared the depression.  By the 
mass bell ! I made the constable of Staple- 
ford put Jack, the bellows-mender of Watton, 
into the stocks, for calling me by that lozel 
name !  I can," said he, shaking a large mo- 
ney-bag, " bring my white bears to the stake, 
and my yellow jingle-boys to the bull-ring, 
as well as the best of them ; and, marry, I 
have paid sauce for my puntillity, and am no 
more a vulgar man of trade ; for the king of 
the hornoise tells me, I may claim precedence 
of any yeoman in this here county. And look 
you, my lord, thoff I says it, there are not a�
## p. 202 (#212) ############################################
202 
man in the king's communion wears bettrer 
or more fashionality garments than I ; my 
clothing are all of the newest cut, made of 
the more better stuffs, and put together with 
the most finest silks that the Cheap can de- 
duce." 
Fitzallen smiled ; and, turning to the poor 
man, requested to know what he had to say 
in his own behalf. 
" Little or nothing, my lord ; for this gay 
gentleman has nearly told you the whole of 
the occurrence.  I was going through Bram- 
field-lane towards Hertford, and, turning 
short at Hookes-bushes, I came suddenly up- 
on him. He held his hawk upon his fist; 
my appearance frightened her, and she flew 
away : But truly, my lord, the fault was all 
his own ; he held his creance so gingerly, 
that the bird drew the bewits from the jesses, 
and, of course, could not be reclaimed. He 
then vented a whole torrent of abuse upon 
me, telling me he was a gentleman. My re-�
## p. 203 (#213) ############################################
203 
ply was, such language ill became the cha- 
racter of a gentleman. He then ordered me 
to regain his hawk. 1 told him, that was not 
in my power; I had nothing to lure it with, 
but, no doubt, he had ; for I could not sup- 
pose him to be unprovided with a bait, when 
the proverb says, Men lure not hawks with 
empty hands;  this he styles laughing at him. 
He then ordered his men to take me into 
custody : They did so ; and here I am await- 
ing your lordship's decision." 
Lord Boteler here whispered to the young 
baron ; who bowed his head in token of as- 
sent, and demanded to know of the beau, if 
he had any thing farther to say against the 
old man? 
He replied, flippantly," Nothing, my lord ; 
only that this here fellow, as I teld you, can 
read and write; and now, I thinks, these va- 
garies makes him idle, and keeps him poor. 
I never troubled my sconce with these here 
sort of things, and now I can buy every pig�
## p. 204 (#214) ############################################
204 
of his father's sow ; and I has my footmen, 
my pages, and my gentleman-usher, to walk 
before me ; and I keep my chamberlain, and 
makes my clerk read to me every night out 
of a large new book, called the Marrow of 
Mobility, I bought of the king of hornoise ; 
and so I learns all the practice of a gentle- 
man." 
" Go then, sir," replied Fitzallen ; " Pre- 
serve the character you have assumed ; and 
behave in such a manner as shall deserve re- 
spect, and, be assured, respect will follow ; 
but for this old man, leave him with me, 
and I will devise a punishment equal to his 
crime." 
The beau replied, " Let it be severe, your 
honour, for the sake of gentility ; which 
must be supported. He is a poor hound, 
and ought to be taught how to suspect his 
betterers." So saying, he withdrew, follow- 
ed by his two lackeys, to seek for his hawk.�
## p. 205 (#215) ############################################
205 
This fellow," said Fitzallen io the com- 
pany, " is the strangest composition of pride 
and meanness that ever I met with. When 
he was in business, he lived in a garret in 
London, and went to all the ordinaries that 
are in the vicinity of the metropolis for 
cheapness sake. He never made but one 
meal in a day, and sometimes in two days ; 
and the he ate so voraciously, that the 
cooks forbade him to come to their tables ; 
for, though he paid but the same as another 
man, he ate the portion of two or three. He 
has, by meanness and shifting tricks, saved 
up a considerable sum of money ; and now, 
as you see, he has purchased the privilege to 
bear arms, with the cognizance and title of a 
gentleman; and half starves himself, and 
those about him, to support the rank lie has 
had the vanity to assume. Tis the most in- 
corrigible fool in nature, and can feel the 
power of no argument that is not enforced 
by a good cudgelling.  Some time back, he�
## p. 206 (#216) ############################################
206 
affected a swaggering vein, and was desirous 
of passing for a man of courage ; but several 
sound beatings have convinced him, that his 
heart is misplaced for fighting. In short, he 
is the butt of every company with which he 
associates ; yet has not sense enough to per- 
ceive, that they admit him merely to make 
him their laughing-stock." 
" It is difficult for me, my dear," said Elea- 
nor, addressing herself to Matilda, " to de- 
termine which I think the most prominent 
feature in this tailor-man's character, his im- 
pudence or his ignorance ?" 
" They are, my dear girl," said Lord 
Boteler, who overheard her, " usually com- 
panions, and generally keep pace with each 
other ; fortunately, however, they bear their 
own antidote, and never fail to produce 
contempt in some cases, or pity in others, in 
rational minds." He then addressed himself 
to the old man in these words: " Surely, sir,�
## p. 207 (#217) ############################################
207 
I have seen your face before now : Did you 
not, some years past, reside in London ?" 
The old man, bowing, replied : " I did, 
my lord ; and my chief residence is in that 
city. I am, however, occasionally in this part 
of the country, for a week or two, as I can 
find the time, for the sake of the pure air." 
" If I mistake not," returned the baron," I 
purchased a book illuminated by you, con- 
taining the portraitures of our monarchs ?" 
" Your lordship," said he, " is not mista- 
ken ; you did me that honour." 
The baron went on : u . You are the man I 
want. 1 lost you on a sudden ; and certain- 
ly, some time back, when I made enquiry af- 
ter you, I heard that you was dead." 
" As little worth, my lord," said he, " as 
one that was dead. Lost to the world, and 
to myself, my existence hardly deserved the 
name of life." 
" Your misfortunes," returned the baron, 
" must surely have been very heavy ones, to oc-�
## p. 208 (#218) ############################################
208 
casion such an heartfelt complaining.  Your 
name, I think, is Ingold, of the family of the 
Ingolds of Essex?"  The old man bowed.  
"And I have heard, your father died in good 
circumstances : It was said that he left to 
you a fortune ; if not an ample one, sufficient- 
ly large, with prudent handling, to have se- 
cured you not only from positive distress, but 
from that dependence which you place upon 
your abilities as an artist." 
Then the old man, fetching a deep sigh, 
cast his eyes upon the ground ; and, wiping 
a tear or two from them, replied :  " I would 
fain keep the secret buried in my own bo- 
som ; but that more of blame is attached to 
my conduct, than, perhaps, it really does de- 
serve. To relate the story of my life, is but 
to expose my own imbecility. I am, in truth, 
the son of misfortune ; but the evils that I 
have to complain of, are from my own im- 
prudence : 1 am the dupe of every one who 
will take the pains to make me such : and�
## p. 209 (#219) ############################################
209 
trul}', I think, that neither time nor experi- 
ence will ever teach me sufficiency of wis- 
dom to encounter the deceptions of mankind. 
You say, my lord, my father died in good 
circumstances: it is true he did so; for he 
was possessed of several excellent freehold 
estates, which he willed to be divided be- 
tween my brother and myself. To my bro- 
ther, who was four years older than I, he de- 
vised two-thirds of his possessions; the other 
third ought to have been mine ; but this dear 
parent, not being well versed in the requisite 
diction for wording a will, and the legal forms 
of causing it to be executed, neglected a very 
material part, which rendered the instrument 
invalid, and left me altogether to the mercy 
of my brother: and, injustice to myself, I 
must say, he took the full advantage that the 
law held out to him, by depriving me of eve- 
ry penny of my patrimony ! But I have done : 
for, why should I, using the loquacity which 
age claims as its privilege, encroach on your 
VOL. II. O�
## p. 210 (#220) ############################################
210 
fair indulgence, and take up your time witli 
a tiresome tale of sorrow ? for, there are no 
uncommon incidents that mark my history ; 
but the perplexities in which I ha've been in- 
volved, are such as have possibly happened, 
and without much variation, to a thousand 
others ; yet to me, a foolish, fond old man, 
ill read in the history of the great world, and 
little knowing of men at large, and of their 
manners, these trifles appear, I doubt not, 
much magnified! I have no more to say, 
my lord." 
" Nay, nay," answered Lord Boteler, " so 
be it that 1 do not intrude on the time of my 
noble host, I shall wish you to go forward 
with your story." 
Fitzallen assured the baron, that he was 
perfectly at leisure ; and that if Saint Clere 
and the ladies would defer their garden-wally 
until the dinner was finished, he would likely 
hear the sequel of the good man's misfor- 
tunes. St Clere and the ladies were perfect- 
## p. 211 (#221) ############################################
211 
]y of the same opinion ; the walk was defer- 
red ; and, the company retiring to a summer- 
parlour. Fitzallen led in the old man ; who, 
being indulged with a seat next to Lord Bo- 
teler, proceeded in this manner :  
" The same unfortunate neglect in my fa- 
ther's will, which precluded me from the par- 
ticipation of his bounty, greatly affected my 
mother, who survived him ; her income was 
so much straitened by it, that she had barely 
sufficient to support herself; and therefore, 
very little, of course, could be spared for me ; 
and from her slender pittance alone, was I to 
be supported ! I had forgotten to say, that 
I was an infant when my father died; so 
young, that I do not remember him, and I 
owe my protection to my mother's fostering : 
she was an excellent parent, and may Christ, . 
my great Redeemer, reward her for her care ! 
" Well then, so soon as I was come to lad's 
estate, and it was thought proper to put me 
forward into the world, my dear mother al~�
## p. 212 (#222) ############################################
212 
most beggared herself, to place me with an 
artist of eminence; not considering, dear soul! 
the impossibility of supplying me in the man- 
ner my situation required. I was ill clothed, 
and altogether unfurnished with most of the 
materials necessary for the prosecution of my 
profession : my patched clothing subjected 
me daily to the ridicule of my fellow-pupils; 
I had no means of joining them in any of 
their amusements; and, in fact, I was made 
the drudge of the household. The Almighty 
Protector of mankind bestowed upon me a 
cheerful mind, which supported me through 
these difficulties; aud though I saw no fa- 
vourable prospect before me, still I trusted that 
He would not forsake me ; and I have since 
thought that it was better forme not to have 
had such supplies of money as my comrades 
had ; necessity restrained me from following 
many vicious indulgencies which they fell in- 
to : for, I fear I should indubitably have imita- 
ted their examples, if it had been in my power�
## p. 213 (#223) ############################################
213 
to have gratified my inclination ; but pardon 
me, I am wandering widely from the subject. 
" So soon as I had passed my time of ser- 
vitude, without money, and without friends 
to help me forward, I was plunged as it were 
into the world, with a mind abstracted from 
the world ; my new situation in life soon be- 
came disgusting ; and I was unreasonable 
enough to dislike the world, because I was 
not well acquainted with it. Jn the midst of 
society, I fled from society ; and sought from 
books that gratification of mind I could not 
meet with, in what is called social life : and 
though, from my assiduity, I acquired some 
reputation, and even marks of public honour 
in my profession, I had not the least proper 
idea of applying these favourable circum- 
stances, as 1 ought to have done, to my own 
advantage; my want of worldly knowledge 
made me the tool of artful and designing 
men: in short, I have laboured much, and 
others have enjoyed the fruits of my industry.�
## p. 214 (#224) ############################################
214 
" At the age of five-and-twenty, I married 
an amiable woman, one who, I trust, Joved 
me well, and one I loved.  Gracious God ! 
she deserved it, and is now a saint in hea- 
ven !"  (Here he paused a while, and wiped 
his eyes ; for, the tears flowed apace from 
them; and then he proceeded.)  " She bles- 
sed me with three dear pledges of our mutual 
love ; two sons, and one daughter : unfortu- 
nate daughter ! whose birth cost the life of 
her parent, and she herself survived but few 
months ! 
" The loss of my wife, in whom my soul 
was wrapped up, made me nearly frantic; 
and nothing but the living for my children's 
benefit, made life endurable."  (Here again 
he wiped away the tears; and, after a short 
pause, went on.) 
" The estates which should have belonged 
to me, as well as all the property my father 
left behind him, were of little service to my 
inconsiderate brother: he assumed a state�
## p. 215 (#225) ############################################
1215 
beyond his income, in order to acquire more 
consequence in the world ; his attempts, how- 
ever, were unsuccessful ; his plans were dis- 
concerted ; and, in a short time, his estates 
were sold or deeply mortgaged, his personal 
property dissipated, and, had not death be- 
friended him, by taking him from his trou- 
ble, he would most probably have spent the 
latter part of his life in misery and distress. 
" My dear mother, as I have said, was 
cruelly circumscribed in her income ; and 
that was made more strait by frequent fai- 
lures in payment, on my brother's side." 
" However," said she to me, " these defalca- 
tions are in your favour; I have carefully re- 
gistered them all ; at my death, these monies 
must be paid up, and they shall be yours : 
they are all I can leave to you, and a small 
recompenee, truly, for the losses you have 
sustained." 
" Soon after this, I lost my dear parent! 
T was, unfortunately, at a distance when she�
## p. 216 (#226) ############################################
216 ' 
died : my brother's wife was with her at the 
time; and she, God forgive her! received, 
from my expiring parent, this her last logacy 
sealed up, and directed for me ; together 
with a letter for her husband, in which was 
contained his mother's solemn order, as he 
valued her blessing, to deal justly with me,, 
and ratify her donation. 
" No sooner was the breath departed from- 
my mother, than the letters, instead of being 
delivered according to the directions, were 
cast into the fire; and so, my claim being 
made void, I was basely robbed a second 
time. 
" Three years after the death of my mo- 
ther, my brother died ; and all that remain- 
ed of his possessions, he bequeathed to hus- 
wife; and in very sooth, the bequest was re- 
duced to so narrow a compass, that she had 
little cause of boasting. I turned this cir- 
cumstance in my mind ; and, putting far 
from me the injuries I had sustained, I took her�
## p. 217 (#227) ############################################
217 
to my own house ; I shared my humble crust 
with her; and truly, I will say, while that 
crust lasted, she manifested professionally the 
appearance of affection ; she even at times 
deceived me so far, that I thought her capa- 
ble of being generous. Foolish man that I 
was! ought I have expected the sun to shine 
at midnight ? or that she, who never concei- 
ved an idea unconnected with selfishness, 
should have changed her nature ? On my 
soul, I thought so! But I forget myself. 
" This sister of mine wa9 of a gay turn, 
and certainly the most excellent economist 
in dress that I ever saw; she affected ele- 
gance, and, with little expence, maintained 
a show of finery that placed her on a footing 
with persons of opulence; and, at the same 
time, she well supported the carriage and 
deportment of a person of consequence : for, 
she really possessed strong natural talents, 
which she improved by reading elegant au- 
thors, and associating with her superiors;�
## p. 218 (#228) ############################################
218 
and I will readily acknowledge that I have 
spent many an hour in her company, not 
only with amusement, but also with improve- 
ment. 
" She had a kind of fascinating art, which 
I could not well account for, of giving conse- 
quence to the most trifling donations, and 
making such things as were intrinsically of 
little or no value seem worth much. This in 
flated shadow, as I may call it, of liberality, 
is something like the tricks of our jugglers, 
who give you a crown or an angel, inclosed 
in a box, to hold, and then tell you to take 
the coin for your pains; but, on opening the 
box, you are sure to find it empty, yet cannot 
help praising the deception by which }r u are 
cheated. And she took special care that the 
smallest present should not pass unnoticed. 
I remember well, while I was in retirement, 
she put into a parcel of my clothes, that was 
sent to me, a pair of old moth-eaten hose,�
## p. 219 (#229) ############################################
which had been my brother's, not worth a 
single cross ; and to them was attached a la- 
bel, on which was pompously inscribed  A 
Gift. 
" I have often wondered, that a mind so 
well informed could be so totally absorbed in 
meanness and selfishness, or that a female 
heart could have been so totally divested of 
tenderness, sincerity, and of justice !  But I 
must recall my words. That heart was not 
divested of feeling; it was open to the pas- 
sion of love ; which, truly, was the constant 
subject of her pen; and, if it is agreeable, I 
recollect, and can repeat to you, one of her 
sonnets on this subject: 
" I pr'ythec, why dost weep, my child ; 
And whither hast thou strayed away?"  
' Mamma whipped me;  called me wild ; 
And said I should not go to play.'  
" But whither, baby, wilt thou go? 
I* or food and clothing must be had."  
* Food thou wilt give me . that I know ; 
And am not 1 full well vclad?' �
## p. 220 (#230) ############################################
XIM\J 
" Thou wilt outgrow thy clothing soon ; 
And food is grown extremely dear. 
Co home, my child ; 'tis nearly noon ; 
We have no welcome for thee here."  
' Indeed ! no welcome !  Then I'll try 
The virtue of this potent dart; 
That breast, unkind to charity, 
I'll pierce, and wound thy frozen heart." 
" Have mercy ! for I know thee now, 
Sly God of Love ! and I obey ; 
I'll listen to my lover's vow, 
And follow where he leads the way. n .. t 
Her folly, in this point of view, was as con- 
spicuous as her selfishness in all others. 
" A spruce Hibernian, young enough to 
have passed for her son, supposing her to 
have been possessed of a large fortune, paid 
his addresses to her ; and this gay springal, 
with the assistance of a fine feather in his 
cap, and a sword by his side, (for he was a 
soldier,) soon won her heart. She affected 
all the airs of youthful levity, and made her-�
## p. 221 (#231) ############################################
221 
self a bye-word among her acquaintance ; 
and would have sacrificed every thing that 
was dear to her, even her money, for her 
dear leman's sake. But my brave spark find- 
ing, upon minute enquiry, that, notwithstand- 
ing her specious appearance, her resources 
were very much straitened, and that the lit- 
tle she possessed departed from her at her 
death, bade her good-morrow, and, without 
paying the least regard to her sighs, her tears, 
and her fainting fits, he forsook her for the 
pursuit of superior game. 
" She had been some time with me, when 
I sunk under a very heavy pressure of misfor- 
tunes, which, joined with ill health, fell upon 
me at once, and crushed me to the ground. 
I was obliged to give up my all, to satisfy the 
demands upon me; and even in this act of 
justice, my evil genius pursued me. I reposed 
my trust in a man nearly related to me ; I 
assigned over to him the power to dispose of�
## p. 222 (#232) ############################################
222 
my effects; and, shame upon me! I hid my- 
self like a coward from those who would not 
have hurt a hair of my head.  Gracious hea- 
ven ! the villain I entrusted sold my effects 
indeed, and satisfied some few trifling de- 
mands for colour sake, but converted the 
rest of the money to his own use, and then 
vilified my character with my creditors ; and, 
lest I should have come forward to defend 
myself, he frightened me with threats they 
never made, and soon after left me to my to- 
tal ruin, he himself becoming a bankrupt. 
This event proved him to have been a vil- 
lain for the sake of villainy only ; because he 
well knew, that the money he cruelly de 
frauded me of could in no wise do him the 
least good. 
" My creditors, on the other hand, were 
taught to believe, that he had paid me the 
money, and that I was spending it in idle- 
ness, instead of appropriating it to the satis-�
## p. 223 (#233) ############################################
223 
tying of their demands. Exasperated, as 
they justly might be, by such a report, they 
united against me, and used every means to 
discover my retreat. They were successful ; 
for I never disguised myself, nor changed tny 
name, but resided in this part of the country. 
Two of them, having a proper writ for the 
apprehension of my person, came to Hert- 
ford, with the intention of laying me in pri- 
son ; but Providence was pleased to prevent 
my falling into such disgrace. These men 
chanced to come late to Hertford ; and hear- 
ing, that the place where I resided was near- 
ly four miles distant, and the road a bye one, 
and exceedingly indifferent for those that 
were unacquainted with it, agreed to sleep at 
the inn, and defer the business with me to 
the morning. 
" On that very night, according to my 
usual custom, I was sitting up long after the 
family was gone to bed, and brooding over�
## p. 224 (#234) ############################################
224 
my misfortunes. Having called the different 
circumstances of my life to my remembrance, 
I took my pen, and composed the following 
lines ; * which, perhaps, will better express 
I. 
* " Who calls ?"  ' A stranger passing by ; 
Benighted, weary, and astray ; 
He asks relief, for charity, 
And shelter till return of day.'  
II. 
" What help, in such a woeful shed, 
Canst thou expect so late to find ? 
The night is cold, and I'm in bed ; 
To wake me, stranger, was unkind." 
III. 
( Forlorn, and fainting, here I lie ; 
A fellow-creatureVclaim I make; 
Permit me not for want to die, 
But help ! oh, help ! for mercy's sake !'- 
IV. 
" Hold on jour way, and you shall find 
A wealthy lordling's open gate. 
Co, friend ; and be your welcome kind ! 
He banquets oft, and revels late."  
4�
## p. 225 (#235) ############################################
225 
the melancholy turn of my mind, than I can 
do it by a simple narrative : 
I. 
What are the beauties of the opening morn ,. 
To one, whose soul is sickening with its grief! 
If the sad heart by comfort be forlorn, 
No splendor can administer relief! 
The noon-tide glories of the day 
Are lost to me, or bring dismay ; 
: 
Must I, then, perish at thy door ?'  
" Not so; the rich man's board is spread."- 
* Alas ! he spurneth thence the poor !'  
" And I have but one crust of bread ;  
VI. 
" Of barley bread, full cearse and stale; 
My children's breakfast that, and mine : 
Cheese I have none, nor beer, nor ale, 
Nor bacon-hock, nor flesh, of kine."  
VII. 
4 One crust is all that I require; 
For dainty cates are not my due;. 
'Tis cold and wet; a little fire 
Permit, and saints shall comfort you.'  
VOL. II. P�
## p. 226 (#236) ############################################
226 
Not less I dread returning night : 
My care-worn mind 
Courts darkness now, and now the light;, 
Nor ease can find ; 
Aternately 
From both I fly, 
And seek, I know not what, new remedy ! 
VIII. 
" May woe betide the churlish wight, 
Whose ruthless heart no pity knows ! 
I will arise, the fire I'll light ; Mb 
Come in, for chill the north gale blows, 
IX. 
" See, here ; 'tis all the bread I've got."  
' Enough, enough ! I ask no more : 
Hereafter be thy labours less ; 
May favouring saints increase thy store !'  
X. 
" Holy Saint Thomas, is it true ! 
The scraps of bread, both small and stale, 
Have loaves become, full large and new ; 
The pitcher foams With mantling ale -' 
XL 
" The fire, too, blazes high and free, 
Yet small of wood is its supply ; 
Nor aught consumed it seems to be, 
Although the boughs be old and dry ! 
7�
## p. 227 (#237) ############################################
0QJ 
MM I 
II. 
Nor can I find in solitude relief, 
Sequestered from the haunts of human ktnri, 
In humble life ; there is no cure for grief : 
I -fly in vain ; I fly not from my mind : 
With dire turmoil grief rankles there, 
And broods in anguish o'er despair. 
Delusive is all hope, and vain, 
In life to find 
The remedy for soul-felt pa4n : 
The troubled mind 
XII. 
" Thou art no beggar ; but, I ween, 
Some fairy elf, or favouring sprite ; 
Or, in disguise, some angel sheen, 
Descended from the realms of light."  
XIII. 
1 Enquire no farther where I dwell, 
Nor who I am. For thee to know 
Let it suffice, thou hast done well, 
And I my blessing will bestow : 
XIV. 
< Good health shall make thy labours light, 
And plenty at thy board attend ; 
Stern death shall not thy soul affrigW, 
For Charity shall thee befriend.'�
## p. 228 (#238) ############################################
328 
No soft repose 
Nor pleasure knows, 
But loDgs the tedious term of life to close,- 
in. 
Yet with untimely death comes black dismay : 
The thought pervades my agitated soul ! 
Shall I to ceaseless horror wend my way, 
And seize the fatal dagger, string, or bowl .'  
Forbid, ye guardians of mankind ! 
And saints, to mercy most inclined, 
Forbid the deed ! Unarm the hand- 
That dares rebel. 
Incited by the nefarious band 
Of fiends from hell. 
They would rejoice, 
If, by such choice, 
I fell below the reach of mercy's voice ! 
IV. 
Protecting angels ! with rebuke severe, 
Crush those rebellious thoughts that haunt my mind : 
And from my heart expel each guilty fear, 
The dregs impatience forms and leaves behind : 
My hope, now ready to expire, 
Revive, and fan the latent fire ! 
Oh, bid her live to soothe my care, 
And manifest 
A future prospect, calm and fair; 
Where, ever blest, 
From sorrow's night, 
Withdrawn to light, 
My God I shall behold in glory Bright ?�
## p. 229 (#239) ############################################
229 
* I had scarcely completed this poem, 
(which pardon me for reciting,) when I heard 
the outer-gate open, and the footsteps of a 
horse coming up the yard. The barking ot 
the dogs announced the approach of a- strati - 
er; I went immediately to the window, but 
the night was too dark for me to discover who 
it was. I had not stood there long, before I 
heard my name called twice or thrice. [ 
opened the window, and a voice, I was well 
acquainted with, requested me to come down. 
" It is my friend, Julian, the host of the Bull, 
or ray ears deceive me," said I. <( You are 
not deceived," answered he ; " Come down 
quickly, for I have something of importance 
to communicate." 
" I hastened down; when he, alighting 
from his horse, came into the parlour, and 
thus addressed me : 
w There were two strangers from .London, 
who sleep at my house this night. They 
made much enquiry after you, which led me�
## p. 230 (#240) ############################################
230 
to attend to their discourse ; and surely, if I 
am not greatly mistaken, they have a writ 
against you ; for one of them gaid, By this 
time to-morrow, the unthrift shall be cooling his 
heels m Hertford jail.  I instantly took horse, 
and came over to you ; for I really value you 
as a friend. Judge you, then, how far there 
may be foundation for such threatening, and 
act for yourself accordingly." 
" My dear friend," said I, seizing his hand, 
" you have, in good sooth, done me a most 
important service. On my soul, I have com- 
mitted no felonious action ! My misfortunes 
have made me debtor to those men ; and my 
poverty is the only cause of their grievance.  
But I beseech you, my dear friend, advise 
me how I shall act in this unfortunate situa- 
tion." 
" To this he replied, " Come to Hertford 
with me ; I will lodge you in a distant part 
of my house. You will be there in security, 
for they will never suspect that you would fly 
## p. 231 (#241) ############################################
231 
thither to avoid them ; and to-morrow, while 
they are in pursuit of you, I will convey you 
to a place of safety." 
" This proposal, however, I had not cou- 
rage enough to accede to ;  for I am ever 
more timid than wise;  but resolved to set 
off before sun-rise, and get to Hatfield with 
all the speed I could, whence I doubted not 
to find some ready conveyance to London ; 
for I determined to meet my creditors, and, 
if possible, to prevail on them to have pa- 
tience with me. My friend did not oppose 
this resolution ; but, grasping my hand, he 
recommended me to the protection of God, 
and took his leave. 
" I returned to my chamber ; and, when I 
cast my eyes upon my two sleeping infants, 
(for they slept by my side,) my courage for- 
sook me : my heart was full ; I sat down, and 
wept!  " Poor dear babes, and must I leave 
you to the protection of strangers ! Great 
God, be thou their protector!"�
## p. 232 (#242) ############################################
" As soon as I had sufficiently recovered 
myself, I sat down, and wrote a letter to the 
good people of the house, informing them as 
briefly as possible of my wretched situation ; 
and begging them to have compassion on the 
forlorn infants; promising that they should 
Certainly hear from me again in the course 
of a few days.  This letter I left upon my ta- 
ble. 
" I did not undress myself, but lay down 
a while upon the bed ; ant! {he moment I 
perceived the dawn of day, I stole from my 
room, and quitting the house with as little 
noise as possible, I crossed the orchard, the 
back way, in haste, fearing my pursuers 
should get sight of me, nor stopped until I 
reached Hatfield ; where I thought mvself 
secure for the present, and ventured to take 
some slight refreshment, while I was waiting 
in expectance of a carriage, by which I 
might get to London, and, if possible, that 
night.�
## p. 233 (#243) ############################################
233 
f< Oh, blessed Lord, what were my suffer- 
ings that dreadful morning ! Mercy forefend, 
that my enemies should feel such anguish as 
I did ! " What," thought I, " will become 
of my children !"  Well, a carriage did come ; 
-and, in the evening, I reached London. 
" Meantime, those who sought after me, 
having missed their path, did not reach the 
Jiouse until the family were all risen, and sit- 
ting at breakfast. My absence had not been 
noticed; for I used frequently to walk out 
early in -the morning, and sometimes did not 
return till noon. 
" My two children were taking their milk 
when the Londoners entered, having Giles, 
the constable of Hertford, with them to serve 
the writ. On their enquiry after me, it was 
found that I was not at home ; but they, 
suspecting some collusion, would not be pa- 
cified, swearing that they were determined to 
have me at all events, alive or dead, for they 
had a warrant against me to that purpose.�
## p. 234 (#244) ############################################
234 
My little ones, hearing this, began to cry ;  
and the whole house was in the utmost con- 
fusion. Fruitless search was made for me, 
and no hole or cranny was left unscrutinized. 
They were at length persuaded that I had 
made my escape, and the letter left upon my 
table confirmed the same ; but by what means 
I had been informed of their coming they 
could not any way divine -^unless, as one of 
them said, " I dealt with the devil." 
" Being satisfied I was not to be found 
there, they went back to Hertford, threaten- 
ing vengeance ; where, leaving the writ in 
the sheriff's office, they returned to London, 
little satisfied with the success of their jour- 
ney. At London I met them, with the rest 
of my creditors, as I had determined to do. 
I laid the whole of my situation before them 
without the least shadow of disguisement j 
and they were satisfied, that it was through 
the villainy of my relation that they had been 
defrauded of the monies arising from the sale�
## p. 235 (#245) ############################################
235 
of my effects. They blamed me, indeed, 
(and, surely, I was much blame- worthy,) for 
flying from them ; but, at the same time, 
commiserating my misfortunes, they accom- 
modated me with time to make them remu- 
neration ; and, matters being thus settled, in 
six days time I returned to my children, with 
my heart much lighter, and with some pros- 
pect of better days to come. 
" While these troubles were passing suc- 
cessively over my head, my sister-in-law had 
ingratiated herself with a widow lady of opu- 
lence. And no wonder; for the smooth tongue 
and mildness of deportment, which she could 
assume to a charm when it was her interest 
so to do, were certain passports to the favour 
of those who loved flattery.  Here she was 
upon the footing of a companion, and lived 
free from any great ex pence. 
" Soon after the settlement of my affairs, 
it became necessary for me to reside in Lon- 
don ; and on my arrival, I took an early op-�
## p. 236 (#246) ############################################
236 
porttmity of visiting her.  My reception, in- 
deed, was cool enough. We parted, however, 
without the least hreach of civility ; and, as 
I had no expectation of assistance from her, 
I could not attribute this coolness to the fear 
that I should trouble her with my solicitations, 
but imagined she had met with some casual 
disappointment that had soured her temper. 
" During my absence from town, most of 
the business that had been given to me, was 
turned into other channels, and I often found 
the greatest difficulty in procuring employ- 
ment ; and the sums of money I was neces- 
sitated, from time to time, to make good in 
favour of my former creditors, kept me in 
constant poverty. Through the assistance of 
a friend, I procured a situation for my eldest 
son, which took him from my hands, or it 
would have been impossible for me to have 
subsisted. It chanced, however, after a se- 
vere illness, and previous want of employ- 
w�
## p. 237 (#247) ############################################
237 
ment, I was reduced to my last cross, which 
necessity also required for the purchase of a 
small quantity of food, the larger part of 
which I gave to my dear child ; and my sub- 
sistence for that day was a crust of bread and 
a cup of water.  But," said I,  what shall 
be done for the morrow ?" I had then a ma- 
nuscript to illuminate; but the person who 
employed me would not advance one far- 
thing, and it was impossible for me ta com- 
plete it in less than four days. Still, as I sat 
working with a heavy heart, I said to myself, 
" And what shall be done for the morrow ? 
A noble would be sufficient-, it would save 
me from starving; and I can return it, even 
with interest, at the four days end."  Here I 
thought of my brother's wife. " Surely," 
said I, " she will readily accommodate me 
with the loan of a noble." I instantly sent 
my son to his aunt ; and pursued my work 
with more alacrity, because I was confident 
of success.�
## p. 238 (#248) ############################################
238 
" It was evening before the child returned. 
When he entered the door, I held out my 
hand to receive the noble. The child inno- 
cently unclosed his empty hand in mine, and,, 
totally unconscious of what I felt, said, " My 
aunt gives her love to you, and bids me as- 
sure you, that there is nobody to whom she 
would have sooner lent a noble ; but she has 
made a vow never to borrow nor to lend, and, 
therefore, requests, you would not, in future, 
trouble her on so unpleasant a subject." 
" The cold eastern blight is not more for- 
cibly felt by the tender blossoms just unfolded 
to the sun, than this unfeeling message was 
felt by me ;  my heart's blood was chilled, 
and I was near fainting !  The child, the lit- 
tle child, perceived my violent agitation; 
and, with tears in his eyes, exclaimed, " Are 
you not well, my father ?" As soon as I re- 
collected myself, I took him by the hand, 
and said, " Have you had any thing to eat, 
my child ?" * Oh, yes," said he, " I supped�
## p. 239 (#249) ############################################
239 
daintily, and had some hypocras made sweet 
to drink." " So far," said I,  all is well f 
and then, throwing myself upon the bed, I 
hid my face from him, and gave a loose to 
sorrow. 
" I was, as you, my noble hearers, will 
doubtless readily conclude, so much agitated 
by finding my sanguine expectations so cruel- 
ly annihilated, that I was scarcely conscious 
of what I did. A thousand thoughts, inimi- 
cal to repose, pervaded my imagination ; and 
all the horrors of poverty depressed my soul. 
I attempted to close my eyes, but to sleep 
was impossible. I anxiously wished for the 
morning; and when the morning came, though 
bright and clear, it brought with it addition- 
al tenors ; and when I saw my dear child, 
who, totally ignorant of the miseries which, 
rent my heart, was sleeping soundly, I could 
not refrain from tears; and, clasping my 
hands together in the agony of my soul, I ex- 
claimed, " And must this innocent starve al-�
## p. 240 (#250) ############################################
240 
so? Forbid it, gracious- heaven !" I uttered 
this sentence with so much energy, that I 
awakened the dear boy ; he looked up with a 
smile, and said, " Did you call me, my fa- 
ther ?"  I could not answer him ; but, gird- 
ing my tunic, I cast my mantle over my 
shoulders, and bade him sleep again, adding, 
that I should return anon. And forthwith I 
quitted the house, like one bereft of his 
senses. . 
" The way I took was merely accidental j 
nor was I in the least conscious whither I 
was going until some time after my depar- 
ture ; at length, on recollecting myself, I cast 
my eyes around me, and found myself in the 
fields near Islington. " Heaven help me !'* 
said I, looking towards the great city ; and 
then stood for a space, leaning against the 
rails before the White Conduit, whither ma- 
ny people were assembled to drink the wa- 
ters.�
## p. 241 (#251) ############################################
241 
" While I was gazing about, some one tap- 
ped me gentJy upon the shoulder ; and, on 
my turning towards him, I saw it was a per- 
son of opulence, who had formerly been an 
intimate acquaintance of mine; but we had 
not seen each other for a considerable length 
of time. He took me by the hand, and we 
expressed our mutual surprize at meeting so 
unexpectedly. He enquired with great ten- 
derness concerning my situation in life ; and 
I gave him a short detail of my misfortunes, 
which seemed greatly to affect him. I had 
no sooner ended my melancholy story, than 
he slipped two angels of gold into my hand, 
saying, " My dear friend, I am now in town 
for some days ; you will find me, any morn- 
ing, at Thomas the goldsmith's, in the Cheap. 
Call upon me as soon as you can make it 
convenient, and it shall go hard but we will 
consult upon some plan to set you forward 
once more in life." 
vot,. II. Q�
## p. 242 (#252) ############################################
242 
n I was much astonished at his generous 
conduct, and proceeding to express my soul- 
felt gratitude; when, laying his finger upon 
his lip, he said, " Let me see you; that is 
all;  adieu!" He then joined some company 
that had just arrived. 
" Ail-gracious Providence, and dare I re- 
pine !" said I to myself, as I put my treasure 
into my gipsire. I then hastened home as 
lightly as though I had borrowed the wings 
of an eagle. I sent my son to purchase such 
things as were necessary for our subsistence, 
and I sat down to my business with a cheer- 
ful heart. My undertakings were successful ; 
and, being assisted by an opulent friend in 
the prosecution of a larger work, which I 
brought before the public, and which was 
favourably received, I was enabled to satisfy 
all the demands that were made upon me ; 
and, through the interference of my patron, 
my youngest son was placed in a situation to�
## p. 243 (#253) ############################################
243 
pass through the world with credit and com- 
fort. 1 have now no one but myself to pro- 
vide for; and I hope to complete a life of 
trouble with tranquillity, and to lay down my 
grey hairs in the grave with peace."  Here 
the old man ceased. 
" There is one circumstance in your histo>- 
ry," said Lord Boteler, when the old man 
had concluded his narrative, " which strikes 
me as a very singular one. I mean, that when 
you were so sorely distressed for a small and 
merely temporary relief, you should have been 
so destitute of friends, in a city where you 
had long resided, that you could not turn to 
one who would have assisted you with the 
loan of a single noble." 
" The question naturally occurs, my lord ; 
nor was I in reality so forlorn as I thought, 
myself to be. There were several who, had�
## p. 244 (#254) ############################################
244 
they known the real situation of my circum- 
stances, would have readily assisted me with 
ten times that sum ; but I know well that I 
had in former undertakings frequently been 
obliged to solicit these friends, and had fre- 
quently disappointed them. I had made the 
calculations of monies that I wanted much 
lower than were requisite ; and, fearful of re- 
fusal, have even asked for much smaller sums. 
By this imprudence, I involved myself in dif- 
ficulties, which every day became more pres- 
sing and intricate. I have totally lost to my- 
self every advantage that I had proposed; 
and such of the monies borrowed as were re- 
turned, were not returned punctually.  I was 
therefore ashamed to make application to 
them on this occasion. I did not deserve 
their confidence, and, therefore, I did not 
dare to ask it." 
" This circumstance, surely," returned the 
baron, " if it were known to your sister-in-law, 
will plead in mitigation of her conduct. She�
## p. 245 (#255) ############################################
245 
feared you would be, as it were, a continual 
pensioner on her, had she complied with 
your request. She had but little, as you have 
owned ; and, had she opened her hand too 
widely, might have brought herself into un- 
pleasant difficulties, without perhaps afford- 
ing you any permanent service." 
" It is true, my lord : She certainly knew 
my weakness, for 1 never sought to hide it 
from her ; and, ho doubt, her reasoning was 
built upon the foundation on which you have 
placed it, and it does justice to her prudence ; 
but, as I never solicited her for a farthing 
before, and this so small a request, in sooth I 
do think, taking all things into due consi- 
deration, that what we give to her prudence 
must be deducted from her humanity." 
The company seemed very well pleased with 
the old man's history. Fitzallen ordered the�
## p. 246 (#256) ############################################
246 
reve to provide him refreshment in the refec- 
tory; and, as lie left the room, Lord Boteler 
desired to see him at Queenhoo-Hall on the 
morrow.  " i have," said he, " a manuscript 
to illuminate, for which I will pay you your 
own price ; and you shall be welcome to pro- 
per lodging, and your board at my seneschal's 
table, whenever you come into this part of 
the country." 
The old man made his most grateful ac- 
knowledgments for the favour done him, and 
withdrew, promising to be with the baron in 
the morning. 
As soon as he had' left the room,. Eleanor 
expressed herself as greatly delighted at the 
invitation of the artist; " because," said she, 
" I will improve myself in my drawing under 
his tuition ; and for that purpose I will pay 
my court to this melancholy old man. I 
particularly admire him/' added she, " for 
the love he bore to his wife ; for, as far as I�
## p. 247 (#257) ############################################
247 
can learn from his story, he has not been mar- 
ried a second time, but lives single in honour 
of tier memory." 
The seneschal now entered the parlour, 
and informed his master, that the dinner was 
on the table. 
CHAPTER II. 
A Chapter that hath no concern with the His- 
tory, and, for aught I know, may be as well 
passed over as read. 
When the company seated themselves in the 
hall, they were entertained with the splendid 
hospitality which became the owner of a large 
feudal domain. It is true, that the fastidious 
eye of modern taste might have considered 
the feast as more plentiful than elegant, and 
that even the centre dish, which was a wild 
boar roasted entire, would have demolished by 
vol. ni, a�
## p. 2 (#12) ###############################################
2 
its weight any modern set of tables, though 
clasped with brass hold-fasts, and supported by 
three-clawed pillars. It is also true, that the 
circumstance of the boar's head being deco- 
rated with fire-works, which exploded of a 
sudden, would have spread dismay, rather 
than pleasure, through a modern party of 
bons vivants. It is, moreover, certain, that an 
host of retainers, whose hands were more 
frequently exercised in military exercise than 
in the service of the table, might have ill 
supplied the place of six well drilled lac- 
queys, a butler, valet, groom of the chamber, 
page, and chasseur, whom modern taste has 
substituted in the place of the blue-coated 
serving-men of former times. Yet, if good 
cheer, much heartiness, and loud laughter, 
could make amends for the absence of such 
refinements, it was found at the lordly board 
of Fitzallen, whose guests would have perhaps 
as little understood the small talk of a mo- 
dern select party of elegantes, as the beef-fed 
2�
## p. 3 (#13) ###############################################
frequenters of his buttery would have relished 
the board-wages of a modern servants-hall. 
When the tables were removed* the story 
of tUe barber was resumed and discussed at 
length. Eleanor, especially, approved of the 
punishment which had befallen poor Ralph, 
declaring, that she did not think it at all 
more than he deserved ; Matilda, however, 
deemed he had been too severely used, espe- 
cially as it appeared, that the coquetry of 
Margery had been in part the occasion of 
Ralph's application to the sorceress. The 
major part of the company acquiesced with 
the latter, and Margery was accused of having 
something of the shrew in her composition. 
*' However," added Eleanor, with a smile, 
u the whole of it is so much like romance, 
that I admire the spirit and address of the 
little vixen." 
* You are fond then of romances, my good 
lady, I presume r" said the curate of Marden, 
who officiated as Fitzallen's chaplain.�
## p. 4 (#14) ###############################################
* Indeed I am," replied the lady ; "and I 
was, this morning, reading one that lay in 
my lord's study, which much pleased me. It 
is entitled, " The Squire of low degree^ who 
served as a Page in the Court of the King of 
Hungary." The princess, his majesty's only 
daughter, fell in love with this page, who, 
you may be sure, was young and handsome. 
The story informs us, that, supposing him to 
have been slain in attempting to visit her, 
she mourned for him incessantly for seven 
years. The king, to assuage her grief, pro- 
mises her such a world of pretty things, that 
I could not help wishing, that some of them 
might be realized in my favour." 
" Pray let us hear what he promised," said 
Matilda. 
" I must repeat it then in plain prose," 
said Eleanor ; " but the original, I assure 
you, is in poetry. 
u To-morrow," says he," my dear daughter, 
you shall hunt with me 5 you shall ride in a�
## p. 5 (#15) ###############################################
chair covered with red velvet ; your head- 
dress shall be made with cloths of fine gold, 
of damask white, sky colour, and deep blue, 
diapered with new lilies ; the fringes shall 
be ended with bosses of gold ; you shall have 
many enamelled chains of gold folding over 
each other; your mantle shall be made of 
the rich Tyrian purple, lined with ermine 
and white jennets of Spain, faced to the 
ground with bright velvet. 
u What do you say to that, my dear cou- 
sin r" said she, addressing herself to Matilda. 
** What shall I say," said Matilda, " but 
that she would be exquisitely fine." 
if And now mark," continued Eleanor, 
" what follows :  
" You shall have music of every kind to 
exhilerate the heart, as well vocal as instru- 
mental."  
" Excellent!" cried the baron. " Pray go on." 
" He then promises her a leash of hare- 
hounds, bred to the hand, for her to play�
## p. 6 (#16) ###############################################
with ; and assures her, she shall be so advan- 
tageously placed in her bower, that the hart 
and the hind shall be driven within her reach, 
and that the sweet music of the bugle-horns 
shall proclaim the conquest. Being satisfied 
with hunting," says the king, " as you ride 
homewards, you shall amuse yourself with 
hawking by the river's side, with goshawk 
and falcon, and other birds of the Menage- 
rie." " You have forgotten," said the baron, 
" the fine wines of various countries, and the 
wild fowl and baked venison that was to be 
provided for her refreshment." " In truth," 
replied the lady, " I did not think that worth 
the mentioning; but to go on. The day's 
sports being ended, when you come home," 
continues his Majesty, " your servants shall 
welcome you with pageants ; and dames, and 
children of different sexes, shall form a cho- 
rus, sweet as the notes of the nightingale. 
You shall go to your chapel to hear the even- 
ing song, composed of tenor and treble voices,�
## p. 7 (#17) ###############################################
where sixty ecclesiastics shall officiate, ha- 
bited in copes of bright damask, embroider- 
ed with pearls. The altar cloth shall be 
made of rich taffeta, and the censors of gold 
enchased with azure. The choir shall con- 
sist of famous singers, and organists of great 
skill ; to which shall be added, the harmonic 
voices of children, trained to the most sub- 
lime music. From the chapel, you shall be 
ushered to your supper ; the tables being 
spread in rich tents of arras, embroidered 
with sapphires and diamonds; the tents shall 
be pitched beneath the green arbours, with 
officers in abundance at your command, to 
bring you every thing that can afford you 
pleasure. 
" The nightingale, sitting upon a thorn, 
shall sing her sweet notes to entertain you 
night and morning. An hundred knights 
shall attend you, and play at bowls, in cool 
bowling allies, for your diversion ; and when 
you choose, you shall walk in the green ar-�
## p. 8 (#18) ###############################################
s 
bours, decked with curious flowers, and see 
the fishes wanton in the pools, and all to 
cure you of this melancholy. 
a Now, I think this exceedingly delight- 
ful," said Eleanor, " but this is not all. You 
are now to suppose the fair lady preparing 
to quit the garden, and being come to the 
draw-bridge, the one half of which, we are 
told, is made of stone, the other of wood, we 
are assured, she shall find a barge having 
twenty-four oars, with trumpets and clarions, 
to row her up and down the river ; and adds 
the good king, if you wish to go upon the 
salt water to see your distant possessions, 
fourscore large ships, with high towers, shall 
be ready to accompany you, with many others 
of smaller burden, the swiftest that swim up- 
on the sea; and when you reach the haven, 
you shall be met by galleys having eighty 
oars each, and the mariners shall merrily 
sing as they row them through the water; 
and if, my dear daughter," continues the�
## p. 9 (#19) ###############################################
good king, " you should need any refresh- 
ment during your voyage, wine with most 
excellent spices in rich cups, with dates and 
dainties of various kinds, shall be brought to 
you in abundance. At your return home, 
forty torches brightly burning, shall await at 
the draw-bridge to light you to your cham- 
ber, where every thing shall be gay and 
mirthful. The hangings of your bed shall 
be blue and white, embellished with lilies; 
the curtains of camaca, handsomely folded 
and embroidered with popinjays, white and 
red, and the rings belonging to them of gold. 
The tester shall be ornamented with precious 
stones; the coverlet shall be made with furs 
of ermine, powdered with fine gold ; the 
blankets of Persian ; the sheets of cloth of 
Rains ; and the head sheet shall be set with 
diamonds and rubies." 
" Bless me !" cried Matilda. 
" This is prodigiously fine, indeed," said 
the baron.�
## p. 10 (#20) ##############################################
10 
" I thought I should surprise you," cried 
Eleanor, " but I have not quite done yet. 
When you are laid in your soft bed, conti- 
nues the king of Hungary, a cage of gold 
shall be hung up in your chamber, with a 
long taper therein, burning with cloves, frank- 
incense, and other sweet smelling spices, and 
if, perchance, you cannot sleep so readily as 
3'ou wish, the minstrels shall wake all night 
to amuse you with their melody; and here 
his Majesty concludes." 
" Indeed," said Filzallen, " I think his pro- 
mises are sufficiently ample, but I beseech 
you, my dear lady, what answer does the 
princess make to such a profusion of kind- 
ness ?" 
" I will tell you," replied the baron, " it is 
to this purpose"  
" In truth, my dear father, you might as 
well have held your tongue, for none of these 
things please me."�
## p. 11 (#21) ##############################################
11 
This occasioned the company to laugh ; 
and Fitzallcn,, addressing himself to Elea- 
nor, declared that he thought the lady was 
very unreasonable indeed. 
Eleanor was a little disconcerted at the 
turn the baron had given to the discourse, 
and told him that he had not faithfully pro- 
phesied the first part of the lady's answer, 
which is not wanting in respect to her father; 
the latter part is tantamount to the words of 
the poet, who adds, that, so saying, she re- 
turned to her chamber to mourn over the- 
supposed body of her lover, saying : 
" And dearest squire for love of thee, 
" Fy on all worldly vanity." 
She then deplores his loss, and bids fare- 
well to all the pleasures and comforts of life, 
as they were enumerated by her father, and 
declares that she will retire from the world, 
take the veil, and become a nun, and pro- 
mises her lover that he shall every day have�
## p. 12 (#22) ##############################################
12 
five masses sung for the good of his soul, and 
that she will offer three silver pence at each 
of them, in token of the Trinity. Here, clo- 
sing her lamentation, the poet describes her 
falling into a swoon through excess of grief. 
Her father, unknown to her, had overheard 
her complaint, and finding how deeply she 
was affected by the supposition of the death 
of her lover, assured her " that he was still li- 
ving; that from a squire of low degree, he 
was become a knight, and had performed 
many worthy deeds of chivalry; {hat he, 
the king, had bestowed upon him a noble 
barony, to make him more worthy of her fair 
hand." 
This short speech had ten thousand times 
more weight than all his former promises. 
The lady expressed her gratitude in the most 
dutiful terms, recovered her health and spi- 
rits in a short time, reconciled herself again 
to the worldly vanities that she had rejected 
in her grief, and married her lover amidst�
## p. 13 (#23) ##############################################
13 
the rejoicings and acclamations of the peo- 
ple in general. 
When the curate perceived that Eleanor 
had concluded her narrative, he thus addres- 
sed her : {r Without doubt, my dear lady, 
you are well assured that the story you have 
related is founded upon falsehood, not only 
with respect to the supposed facts recorded 
in it, but also respecting the operation that 
such facts would have had upon the human 
mind, supposing them to have been literally 
true. Does it stand within the reach of pro- 
bability, may I say, of possibility, that a 
delicate young lady should have taken the 
body of her lover, embalmed it with her own 
hands, hung over it, and embraced it every 
day, until it was consumed to dust? for so I 
think the story runs. Seven years incessant 
grief, unalleviated by any comfort, and com- 
pletely alienated from hope, are circumstances 
that set even probability at defiance, and espe- 
cially when we add to it, the anxiety, lest her�
## p. 14 (#24) ##############################################
14 
father should discover the true cause of her 
sorrow, and deprive her of the melancholy 
satisfaction derived from the mouldering car- 
case of the object of her affections. Look 
then to the list of promises which are far be- 
yond what can be realized, and merely cal- 
culated to lead the mind into the pursuit of 
such pleasures, as cannot be procured. 
** The moral also, of this tale, is absolutely 
faulty ; for after the heroine had devoted her- 
self to a life of religious recluseness, she re- 
assumes her former splendour, embraces a- 
fresh the vanities she had professed to re- 
nounce, and launches without restraint into 
the turbulent ocean of public life. 
" These, and the like, or indeed still great- 
er absurdities, are continually obvious in wri- 
tings of this species ; but the imagination is 
so easily attached to what is marvellous, that 
the loss of truth is not discerned, or at least, 
it does not become, as it ought to be, a sub- 
ject of investigation j while on the other�
## p. 15 (#25) ##############################################
15 
hand, the miraculous part of the story takes 
a stronger possession of the mind, than we 
are easily aware of." 
" I much agree with you, Sir John, upon 
this subject," said Fitzallen; " and in the re- 
trospect, these compositions are altogether 
puerile, or at least, the effusions of fancy, 
unrestrained by judgment; and yet, I can- 
not help acknowledging, that I have read 
many of them with great satisfaction ; and 
even now, a passage occurs to my mind, 
which may be found in the celebrated poem, 
entitled, ' The Death of .Arthur.' The poet 
assures us, that the sword called, if I mistake 
not, Caliburn, with which the hero achieved 
a variety of wonderful exploits, was by his 
command, at the time he lay in the agonies 
of death, cast into a large lake. The cir- 
cumstances of throwing away the sword are 
largely particularized, and especially, that an 
armed hand, thrust from the lake, received 
it before it reached the water, and waved it�
## p. 16 (#26) ##############################################
16 
three times in the air, and three times re- 
sponsive thunders rolled through the atmos- 
phere. The hand and the sword then de- 
scended into the water, occasioning such a 
commotion in the laj^e, that the waves over- 
flowed their banks. I never read this pas- 
sage, without conceiving that there was some- 
thing exceedingly majestic in the idea, and 
that I stood, as it were, a silent witness of 
the tremendous scene." 
* I do not doubt it," said Fitzallen. "1 
remember also a circumstance in one of our 
popular romances, entitled, if I mistake not, 
Sir Bevy's of Southampton, that made a very 
strong impression upon my mind when I 
was a boy ; nay, in fact, it is not obliterated 
even now. 
" A champion is introduced, who had lost 
his wife in the midst of a large forest, while 
he had been searching for water to preserve 
her life. In traversing the thickets to and 
fro, he came at last lo the cell of a holy her-�
## p. 17 (#27) ##############################################
17 
lnit, and to him he related his misfortune. 
The good man having heard his complaint, 
shook his head, and wiping the tears from his 
eyes, heaved a heavy sigh, and told the 
knight, " That he feared his lady had fallen 
into the hands of a fearful necromancer, 
whose sole delight was to do evil ; and, if it be 
so," said he, " without a miracle, she will be 
lost to you for ever. This pest to society 
dwells at the end of the forest. His power 
is so great, that he can call up the spirits of 
the dead to annoy the living; and, by the as- 
sistance of a legion of foul fiends, he has built 
himself a strong castle, which is enveloped 
in a continual mist, excepting only when he 
pleases, for the destruction of mankind, to 
permit it to be seen. The gate of this castle 
is defended by a giant-like figure in the form 
of a man, not made, if report speaks truth, 
of flesh and blood, but constructed, by ma- 
gic art, of steel or adamant, so that the 
sharpest weapons are altogether useless, and 
VOL. III. B�
## p. 18 (#28) ##############################################
18 
cannot possibly inflict a wound upon him, al- 
though lie seems to possess every power and 
function of life that are common to mankind. 
Fifty brave knights, twice told, and more, 
have passed by my solitary cell towards that 
fatal habitation ; but, alas !" continued he, 
" not one of them ever returned." 
" Having said this, the hermit was silent; 
and the knight; sat musing for a few seconds, 
when suddenly drawing his dagger partly 
from the sheath, and thrusting it back with 
great force, he exclaimed, " By Him who 
suffered dole for me upon the rood, I will 
perish also, or revenge the death of these 
brave men !" " Alas, my son !" said the her- 
mit, " I beseech you, swear not so rashly. 
The attempt is not consistent with reason. It 
is absolute madness for a single man to attack 
a walking monument, aided by the machina- 
tions of a legion of foul fiends." " Holy fa- 
ther," replied the knight, " seek not to de- 
tain me; my resolution is irrevocably fixed :"�
## p. 19 (#29) ##############################################
19 
and then kneeling down, he besought him to 
shrive him of his sins, to give him absolution, 
and, further, to assist him with his prayers. 
The hermit finding that he was not to be 
moved, heard his confession; and, having 
absolved him, gave him his benediction. He 
then conducted him to the path which led 
to the castle, and grasping his hand, with 
tears in his eyes, bade him farewell for ever ; 
"unless," added he, " it should please your 
protecting saint, that the castle shall be en- 
veloped in darkness; you will then return 
to me again." 
" The knight rode forward without delay, 
and soon came to the end of the forest, and 
before him appeared the lofty building ; for 
it was this day visible. It was very extensive, 
and the roof of it shone like gold. Being 
come to the outer gate, he found it shut, and 
the bridge drawn up; but by the side of the 
postern, he saw a bugle-horn hanging by a 
chain of iron. He applied the horn to his�
## p. 20 (#30) ##############################################
20 
mouth, and blew three blasts so loud and 
shrill, that the foundations of the castle seem- 
.ed to tremble. The draw-bridge was instant- 
ly let down with great noise, the gates open- 
ed, and the tremendous giant, mentioned by 
the hermit, rushed from the castle. 
" He appeared to be about ten feet high, 
was completely cased in armour, and bore a 
mace of iron upon his shoulder. With a 
voice like thunder, issuing from the interstices 
of his helmet, for his face was not to be seen, 
he demanded, " What fool it was, who, be- 
ing tired of life, had dared to disturb his 
rest f* and when, looking round, he saw the 
knight alone, he burst into laughter, swear- 
ing by the gods of the Pagans, that he would 
hang both man and horse, to bleach in the 
sun, upon the battlements of the castle, for 
his temerity. The knight, without answer- 
ing him, spurred his horse, and ran at him 
with his lance, which broke into shivers 
against his armour, without even staggering�
## p. 21 (#31) ##############################################
21 
the owner. The knight then thought it ad- 
visable to descend from his horse; and a 
long and terrible combat ensued, in which 
the knight could only stand upon the defen- 
sive. At length the giant, impatient at be- 
ing kept so long at bay, grasped his mace 
with both his hands, and thought to dash his 
antagonist in pieces with the blow, but the 
knight, seeing his danger, nimbly leaped on 
one side, and the giant missing his aim stag- 
gered upon the bank ; the knight now seeing 
his advantage, ran against him with all his 
force, and before he could recover himself, 
overset him, and he fell into the lake which 
surrounded the castle, where he sunk in an 
instant, and rose no more. A dark mist, 
however, proceeded from the water, which 
the knight perceiving, and fearing the en- 
trance would become invisible, forced his 
way through the portal, and over the draw- 
bridge in the castle yard; but not without 
opposition from several hideous forms.�
## p. 22 (#32) ##############################################
22 
tt The darkness increased so fast, that lie 
had much difficulty to find the door which 
gave admittance into the castle. Having at 
length succeeded, he entered a large hall, in 
the midst of which was a pillar of porphyry., 
having a shield hanging on the one side, and 
a sword enclosed in a rich scabbard on the 
other, with an inscription between them, 
which a large lamp depending from the ciel- 
ing made visible. Its import was, that the 
knight ordained to dissolve the enchantment 
of the castle, must take the sword and the 
shield from the pillar, and, proceeding 
through the dark passage opposite the lamp, 
descend into the vault below, where he was 
to find a fountain of black water, and a fire 
springing from the earth beyond the foun- 
tain : he was then, in defiance of all opposi- 
tion, to take up a portion of the water, and 
to cast it upon the fire.  Beneath this in- 
scription was another in larger characters, by 
way of admonition, to this effect : Consider�
## p. 23 (#33) ##############################################
23 
well what thou art about to undertake ; if thou 
failest, death is inevitable. If the least fear per- 
vades thy mind, depart in peace, and leave to a 
braver mind the perils that await thee here. 
" Nothing abashed by the admonition, the 
knight resolutely took the sword and the 
shield from the pillar, and having read the 
uppermost inscription a second time, he en- 
tered the dark passage, which was long and 
narrow. In his progress he felt something 
like a hand that grasped him by the helmet, 
and endeavoured to restrain him from pas- 
sing any farther. He made several efforts to 
strike the power that withheld him, but his 
sword met with no opposition. At length, 
with much struggling, he forced himself from 
the grasp, and proceeded more hastily than 
before ; when, coming suddenly to a flight 
of steps, and not being in the least aware of 
them, he slipped down two or three, and had 
he not fortunately clung fast to a post that 
luckily projected from the wall, he would�
## p. 24 (#34) ##############################################
24 
have fallen from the top to the bottom, and 
probably have broken his neck by the time 
he had reached the latter. After this mis- 
carriage he descended the remainder of the 
steps, which he found to be very numerous 
and exceedingly steep, with great caution ; 
but here the same invisible power that had 
detained him in the passage, seemed to pur- 
sue him ; and he received a great number of 
severe strokes, in his descent, upon his head, 
his arms, and his shoulders, which were often 
near beating him down. His sword and his 
shield were not of the least use in this extre- 
mity; for, though he was continually changing 
the position of the one, and brandishing the 
other, he could not protect himself from the 
repetition of the blows, or annoy his unseen 
enemy. 
" At length he reached the vault, to which 
he had been directed by the inscription, and 
saw the fountain of black water falling into a 
very large bason of white marble; it appear-�
## p. 25 (#35) ##############################################
25 
ed in continual agitation, swelling to the 
brim, but did not overflow ; beyond the foun- 
tain he saw the lambent flame streaming from 
the earth like a meteor, which cast a gloomy 
light over the vast cavern, but scarcely suffi- 
cient to render its various objects distinguish- 
able. He paused a moment when he came 
near the bason, and looked round about him, 
when not perceiving any thing to oppose his 
progress, he concluded, the adventure was 
nearly accomplished ; but on his approach 
to the bason to fill the shield, the water re- 
ceded from the brim, and a huge crocodile 
rushed from the bottom of the bason, and 
attempted to seize him in its jaws; he, how- 
ever, leaped back, and struck the beast upon 
the head with his sword, but to no effect. 
Its skin was so thick and so hard, that it was 
not possible for his sword to make the least 
penetration ; seeing this, the knight ran to 
another part of the bason, "and attempted 
again to fill the shield, but a stream of fire�
## p. 26 (#36) ##############################################
26 
$ke lightning proceeded from the roof of the 
vault, and falling upon the shield, heated it 
instantaneously to such a degree, that it was 
with great difficulty he could retain his hold, 
and prevent it from falling into the bason ; 
however, he cast it upon the ground that it 
' might cool, and instantly it appeared, by some 
unseen means, to be drawn hastily towards 
a cavity beneath the bason ; to prevent 
which, the knight set his foot upon the mid- 
dle of it, and struck at random with his 
sword ; towards that end which was drawn 
forward, something resisted the blow. The 
shriek of a female in agony followed with 
loud lamentations, in a voice that pierced 
him to the soul, for it exactly resembled that 
of his beloved consort: when looking down, 
he perceived the shield stained with blood, 
and a woman's hand, with a ring upon one 
of the fingers, lay within it. He hastily 
caught the shield from the ground, and upon 
inspecting the ring, he perceived it to be the�
## p. 27 (#37) ##############################################
27 
same he had given to his lady on the day of 
their union. It is not possible to describe 
the horror with which the knight looked 
upon the bloody hand, for he doubted not 
but that it belonged to his wife. He called 
upon her by name to answer him; but the 
only answer he received was, / die, I die ! 
in a faint voice, succeeded by a groan like 
that of one expiring. He kissed the hand 
several times, and having rent a large piece 
of silk from his mantle, wrapped it carefully 
up, and laid it upon the top of a large stono 
that he found by the side of the bason. In 
a fit of desperation, and burning with the 
hopes of revenge, he repeated his essay to 
plunge the shield into the water; but the 
water, as before receded from him, and the 
crocodile a second time made its appear- 
ance, and he was again obliged to withdraw 
from the brink of the bason. He now, con- 
ceiving these attempts to be in vain, formed 
-*he bold resolution of leaping upon the edge�
## p. 28 (#38) ##############################################
28 
ef the bason, and fill the shield from the 
fountain itself; but he was instantly oppo- 
sed by a fearful spectre, which rose like a 
black fog upon the surface of the water; 
and, assuming a hideous resemblance of the 
human form, struck him with a large mace 
of iron so suddenly that he could not ward 
off the blow, but fell backwards half stunned 
upon the pavement of the vault. It was 
some time before he recovered himself; 
when, rising from the ground, and leaning up- 
on his sword, he surveyed the lake, and me- 
ditated another attempt ; and though he had 
been so unfortunate in the last, he determi- 
ned to repeat it, but with more caution. He 
therefore rolled a large stone to the place 
where he meant to mount the bason, and 
advancing gradually to make the first attack 
upon his enemy, he got upon the stone, and 
then setting his foot upon the brink of the 
bason, the spectre rose as before; but the 
knight striking into the midst of the dark�
## p. 29 (#39) ##############################################
29 
vapour before it had assimilated itself to the 
human form, it ceased to rise. He struck a 
second time, when a loud scream was heard 
behind him, but instead of turning round, he 
struck a third time, and the vapour disap- 
peared. He hastily thrust the shield beneath 
the stream, and it was instantly filled ; he 
descended with care, and being come to the 
flame, he cast the water upon it. The vault 
was instantly enveloped in total darkness; 
the gushing of waters, like mighty torrents, 
seemed to be roaring into it; loud shrieks 
were heard above, and much dreadful thun- 
der, so that the earth was shook with the re- 
verberation of the sounds. This horrid con- 
fusion continued for some time, and the 
knight now expected to be drowned in the 
waves, or overwhelmed with the downfal of 
the castle, or swallowed up by an earth- 
quake. However, by degrees, the dark clouds 
disappeared, and the kniglit upon the return 
of day-light, was exceedingly surprised to�
## p. 30 (#40) ##############################################
30 
find himself in a deep dell in the midst of a 
wood, instead of. the vault of a castle ; The 
remains of the bason, cracked and broken, it 
is true appeared, but the water was gone. 
He came, however, to the stone where he 
had laid the hand of his beloved consort ; 
and taking the wrapper to kiss it again, in- 
stead of a hand he found a small branch of 
a tree with five twigs issuing from it, and 
upon one of them a ring of woodbine. He 
ascended the dell by a great number of steps, 
which, on his coming down appeared to be 
stone ; and at certain intervals he observed 
stumps of trees, with two branches somewhat 
resembling the arms of a man, and in what 
might be called their hands) was inclosed a 
large club like a mace headed with iron, and 
these were the invisible agents that buffetted 
the knight so severely upon his descent. The 
narrow passage was formed by a close ave- 
nue of trees ; and the hand that detained 
him now appeared to be nothing more thaw�
## p. 31 (#41) ##############################################
31 
an empty gauntlet, attached to a strong 
branch from one of the trees, bent down so 
low, that it was necessary to stoop down in 
order to pass it without interruption. Being 
come to the end of the avenue, he entered 
into a spacious. glade. He looked round with 
great surprise, but could only just discover 
the least vestige of the hall, where he found 
the pillar with the inscription \. nor could he 
see any part of the castle. The outer wall of 
the moat, the draw-bridge, and gate, were all 
vanished. At the foot of a tall oak he found 
the remains of his shattered lance, and be- 
low, in the valley, he observed his horse was 
grazing very quietly. 
" Astonished to the utmost decree at the 
sudden disappearance of such an extensive 
and massy building, he began to doubt the 
evidence of his own senses; " for if," said be 
to himself, " the whole of the castle was the 
fallacious effect of necromancy, what can be 
become of the knights and other prisoners�
## p. 32 (#42) ##############################################
32 
detained by the sorcerer ? surely he did not 
murder them all." He then walked backward 
and forward upon the spot he conceived to 
be the scite of the castle, calling frequently 
aloud, that if any were prisoners, or in dis- 
tress, they would answer him ; and then lis- 
tening attentively for some response, or groan, 
or noise of any kind, that might lead to the 
discovery, if perchance they might be con- 
fined under the ground ; but receiving no an- 
swer, he determined to return to the hermit, 
and consult with him, what was necessary for 
him to do more, in order to get some tidings 
of his beloved spouse. 
" He mounted his horse, and rode on to- 
wards the old man's, but so deeply buried in 
thought that he was surrounded by a large 
company of men in armour before he was 
aware, and started like a man suddenly awaked 
from a dream ; when one of them bowing to 
him, with much politeness assured him, that 
he, and the rest of the company who were�
## p. 33 (#43) ##############################################
with him, were come to salute him, and, with 
the utmost gratitude of heart, to thank him 
for their deliverance. At the same time, they 
presented his lady to him, and told him, that 
they had all been prisoners in the enchanted 
castle, but were at liberty upon the dissolving 
of the charms by which it was upheld : That 
the noise and confusion had been so great at 
the time the castle disappeared, that they, 
with his lady and many other females who 
had been confined, made their escape with 
all haste, and assembled together at the her- 
mit's cell. He informed the lady, that it was 
her lord that had broken the enchantment; 
and we instantly agreed to accompany her 
in search of you.  And so the story ends ; 
at least so much of it as is necessary for me 
to relate upon the present occasion. The 
combat of the knight with the iron giant; 
his passage through the dark entry, and the 
hand that withheld him ; his descent into 
the vault, and the blow he received as hr 
VOL. III. C�
## p. 34 (#44) ##############################################
34 
went down ; with the perils he had to en- 
counter to obtain the enchanted water, and 
the changes subsequent, captivated my fan- 
cy, at the time they made me shudder." 
The ladies declared, that the part which 
related to the hand with the ring, resembling 
the knight's consort's, and the exclamation 
supposed to come from her as she expired, 
had particularly affected them, because it 
had been brought in so very unexpectedly. 
" And, we may add, so very absurdly, I 
presume/' said the curate. " The circum- 
stance," continued he, " that most excites 
my admiration is, that a man of lively ima- 
gination, assisted by even a moderate under- 
standing, could seriously sit down to his 
desk, and collect together such a succession 
of incongruous ideas, and promulgate such 
a monstrous assemblage of incoherent cir- 
cumstances, outraging reason, and setting 
even the smallest approach to truth at defi- 
ance."�
## p. 35 (#45) ##############################################
55 
" Without doubt," said Eleanor, smiling, 
" an iron giant, a substantial castle built with 
clouds, and trees metamorphosed into guards, 
and armed with maces, are palpable absurdi- 
ties. But, notwithstanding the general out- 
cry that is made against our romances, I do 
not recollect that I ever read one of them, 
without meeting with some passages that 
were amusing ; and, in spite of the attendant 
improbabilities" 
" Say impossibilities, my good lady," inter- 
rupted the curate. 
" Well, then," continued Eleanor, " in 
spite of the impossibilities, you have set the 
fancy afloat, and moved my mind in an irre- 
sistible manner." 
" I thank you, my dear lady," returned the 
curate, " for this candid confession ; and it is 
against this involuntary motion of the mind 
that I contend. It is the strongest reason 
that these books should never be put into 
the hands of young people ; because the in-�
## p. 36 (#46) ##############################################
36 
fant mind ought never to be misled by false- 
hood, nor frighted by non-existences. In- 
stead of complicating the primitive ideas, 
they ought to be kept as simple and as sepa- 
rate as possible, until such time as the judge- 
ment shall ripen sufficiently to appreciate 
their worth, and connect them together. To 
learn a child to read well, you must teach 
him not only to form the syllables which 
compound words require, but also previously 
acquaint him with the value and importance 
of every letter singly by itself. One of the 
greatest sources of ignorance and superstition, 
is the exposition of falsities to the minds of 
such as are too young to discriminate for 
themselves; and superstition, having once ta- 
ken possession of the mind, like the very en- 
chanters and giants with which your romances 
abound, binds its captive in chains, and not 
only prevents any future progress of science, 
but often deludes it with false appearances, 
and puts a sword in its hand to fight in the�
## p. 37 (#47) ##############################################
37 
defence of its task-master, and resist the at- 
tempts of the benevolent champion who 
comes to free it from its chains ; that is to 
say, the mind thoroughly grounded in preju- 
dices early received, will resist the voice of 
truth, and combat the very means by which 
it must be freed from the shackles of error. 
If it be true, and I declare I believe it to be 
true, that the infant mind is like a blank skin 
of fair parchment, how careful ought we to 
be, that nothing be inscribed upon it but what 
is consistent with truth, clearly, as, in all pro- 
bability, it will be indelibly written ! For the 
first inscriptions are rarely totally erased ; and 
even when they are, however strong and va- 
luable those may be which are brought for- 
ward to supply their place, they will never 
stand so fair and perfect as if no change had 
been necessary." 
" Surely," cried Eleanor, hastily, " you do 
not seriously think that I believe in these gi- 
ants, and enchanters, and spectres :"�
## p. 38 (#48) ##############################################
58 
u No, my dear lady : I am well aware that 
your good sense, and the liberal education 
you have received, has convinced you, that 
the achievements of the heroes of romance 
are mere fables. I still, however, contend, 
that they have a moral tendency to mislead 
the mind, and to fill it with inflated expecta- 
tions and sensations, that, expanding its fa- 
culties too suddenly, exert the powers of ima- 
gination to form a picture of human felicity 
that can never be realised ; which, of course, 
will cast a shade of insipidity upon real life." 
" Surely not," returned Eleanor, " where 
the stories are not believed." 
" Yes," answered the curate, " even in the 
minds that do not credit them, these stories 
have a degree of pernicious tendency, by 
showing, as I have just observed, the general 
circumstances of life through a false medium, 
and by magnifying human pride, which needs, 
in general, no stimulus to exalt itself. You will.�
## p. 39 (#49) ##############################################
39 
perhaps, agree with me, that the perusal of 
these books occasions, at least, a loss of time, 
that might have been better employed upon 
the investigation of the works of nature, or 
rather of the God of nature, and a search af- 
ter truth. In the course of this discussion, I 
have not called in the most powerful argu- 
ment against the propagation of falsehood ; 
namely, that it is contrary to the command- 
ments of religion, which requires us to search 
diligently after the truth; because, say the 
holy scriptures, " God is a spirit, and must 
be worshipped in spirit and in truth." But, 
with your permission, I will now advert to 
the evil arising from the promulgation of 
these pernicious falsehoods among the lower 
classes of the people. Few of them can 
read ; to such these stories are related by 
others, frequently from memory only, and 
seldom without additions, if possible, more 
preposterous than are to be found in the ori-�
## p. 40 (#50) ##############################################
40 
ginals themselves. They usually form a large 
pari of a winter's night's conversation, and 
are overheard by the children in the very 
dawn of life. I have seen myself the old 
gossips sealed in a semicircle, and hedging 
in the perishing embers of the fire, and so af- 
frighted by their own tales, that no one has 
had courage to fetch a faggot from the out- 
house to replenish the blaze ; while the little 
urchins, seated in the chimney corners, have 
been anxiously staring their instructors in the 
face, and shivering with affright. Hence 
arises in their minds a wild confusion of 
ideas; spectres without heads, ghosts as tall 
as the church-tower, hobgoblins with saucer 
eyes, and the whole troop of witches, devils, 
and dragons, are indelibly stamped upon 
their imaginations; for these impressions not 
only operate powerfully at the moment of re- 
cital, but remain, at best, like the scars of 
deep wounds, even when the ripened reason�
## p. 41 (#51) ##############################################
41 
and instruction shall have removed the falls* 
ey of such idle stories ; and, where neither 
reason nor instruction are called forward to 
encounter these prejudices, it naturally fol- 
lows, that the gloom of superstition will per- 
vade the whole mind, and stories, still more 
absurd than those you have recited, will be 
received as real facts. One need only refer 
to the gossips above mentioned, several of 
whom, I know, believe in the popular stories 
of witchcraft, goblins, haunted castles, and 
other trumpery of romance, as faithfully as 
they do in the sacred oracles of truth ; and 
while these are the tutors to whose tales the 
young mind first opens itself, there can be 
little chance that the evil can be remedied." 
Here concluded a conversation, which the 
reader may peradventure have thought tedi-�
## p. 42 (#52) ##############################################
42 
ous ; and, after some ceremonies of adieu, 
not necessary to be described, the baron 
mounting his steed, and the ladies their pal- 
freys, they returned, with their retinue, to 
Queenhoo-Hall. 
On the morrow, as, after their matin repast, 
the baron discoursed with the ladies on the 
subject of the former day's conversation, he 
was suddenly interrupted by the winding of a 
horn, followed by steps approaching the hall, 
the door of which was thrown wide by one 
of the baron's domestics.�
## p. 43 (#53) ##############################################
4S 
CHAPTER II. 
The Introduction of a new Character, of great 
Importance in the Piece ; and the Sequel of 
the Adventure achieved by the Knight of the 
Bleeding Heart, which produces an unexpected 
Discovery. 
1 he interruption given to the conversation, 
as noticed in the foregoing chapter, was oc- 
casioned by the entrance of a page, who ad- 
vanced towards the Lady Matilda, and on 
one knee presented to her a gipsire, richly 
embroidered with gold and silver threads on 
a blue ground, having the cognizance of the 
Boteler family on the front, and the four 
corners ornamented with tassels of gold. 
The singularity of this circumstance sur-�
## p. 44 (#54) ##############################################
44 
prised the company ; and the Lady Matilda 
enquired of the page, from whom the pre- 
sent came? "Indeed, Gervise," continued 
she, " I think there must be some mistake." 
** Truly, my lady," returned the page, " I 
know not who sent the gift: a messenger, 
richly bedight in a horseman's habit, booted 
and spurred, followed by two pages in new 
liveries of silk, edged with gold, just now en- 
tered the hall; when the messenger, taking 
the gipsire from a velvet pouch, and kneel- 
ing on one knee, put it into my hand, com- 
manding me to present it in the same man- 
ner to you, my lady; but without mentioning 
its contents, or the name of the person who 
commissioned him to deliver it." 
" You have but half performed your duty, 
then, Gervise," said Lord Boteler; <f go back 
to the hall, and make particular enquiry con- 
cerning the sender." 
The page obeyed ; but, returning an in- 
stant afterward, declared, that the messenger�
## p. 45 (#55) ##############################################
45 
and his followers were gone, without leaving 
any farther information on the subject. 
Gervise having withdrawn, the conver- 
sation turned on the extraordinary occur- 
rence. 
u Indeed," said the Lady Matilda, " I 
have no expectation of any such present; 
neither can I, in the least, conjecture, who 
Could send it to me." 
" Doubtless," said the Lady Eleanor, taking 
the gipsire into her hand, " the purse con- 
tains something of consequence; perchance 
some curious piece of needle-work. I beseech 
you open it." 
" You may, so please you, my cousin," said 
Matilda. 
" And in truth I will," said she, " if his 
lordship give me permission." 
The baron consented : when, instead of 
needle-work, as Eleanor had conjectured, she 
drew forth a small packet, sealed and super-�
## p. 46 (#56) ##############################################
46 
scribed, in letters of gold, " To the most ex- 
cellent Lady Matilda Boteler." 
" The address," exclaimed Eleanor, laugh- 
ing, " is gallant indeed: The inside, which 
in sooth I have nothing to do with, is, I 
doubt not, equally brilliant." 
Lord Boteler gravely desired Eleanor to 
give him the letter. He broke the silk 
thread, which surrounded it; and having 
perused the contents, seemed much surpri- 
sed : then, addressing his daughter, " Your 
champion, my Matilda, seems to be a lover 
in earnest. Listen to his address to you : 
" Most adorable Lady, 
" The Knight of the wounded Heart, your 
slave and professed champion, humbly sa- 
lutes you; and with the baron your noble 
father's consent, will pay his respects to you 
in person this clay." 
" Indeed I will not see him," replied the�
## p. 47 (#57) ##############################################
47 
lady ; " I hope, my good lord, (addressing 
herself to the baron,) you will cause the gates 
to be shut against him." 
" By no means, my dear child," returned 
Lord Edward ; " he shall have free admis- 
sion : his dignity as a knight demands so 
much ; besides, it is proper that we should 
see him : for through him alone can we hope 
for an explanation of the mystery relating to 
this chaplet. And I will promise you, Lady 
Emma, he shall not readily depart, without 
acquainting us by what means the jewel came 
into his possession." 
While they were thus discoursing, a loud 
knocking was heard at the gate. 
" Here comes the knight," says the ba- 
ron. 
" Then," said the Lady Emma, turning 
pale, " let me not see him : let me not see 
my brother's murderer." 
She trembled much, and the young ladies�
## p. 48 (#58) ##############################################
48 
led her out of the room, and they returned 
to the chamber. 
The baron expected to see the knight 
armed cap-a pee ; but instead of the Knight 
of the bleeding Heart, the young Saint Clere^ 
already mentioned as a favourite at court, a 
friend of the baron, and an expected visitant 
at Queenhoo-Hall, was announced and enter- 
ed. The baron caught him in his arms, and 
welcomed him to Queenhoo-Hall. 
When the compliments of greeting were 
over, the young courtier enquired after the 
ladies ; and the baron, summoning one of his 
servants, desired, that the ladies might be in- 
formed, that the Chevalier Saint Clere had 
done him the honour of a visit. Matilda 
blushed at hearing his name, which did not 
pass unnoticed by her cousin, who rallied her 
thereupon. 
" The stranger lady begs to be excused 
from going down with them, alleging the 
fright occasioned by the thought of seeing�
## p. 49 (#59) ##############################################
49 
the man who had possessed the garland had 
so much affected her, that she could only, 
by the gloominess of her appearance, cast a 
damp upon the cheerfulness of such a meet- 
ing. " Indeed, I feel myself very faint; and, 
with your permission, will lay my head upon 
the pillow for a while, perhaps I may be able 
to obtain a little rest, which will refresh me.". 
They then apologized for leaving her, and 
Matilda sent her own servants to attend upon 
her. 
When they entered the room, Saint Clere, 
rising from his seat, approached them grace- 
fully, saluted their hands, and led them to the 
upper end of the hall; and placing their seats 
beside the baron's, sat himself next to Ma- 
tilda. 
The conversation turned upon ordinary 
subjects, and especially respected the disap- 
pointments that many had met with by the 
king's sudden removal from St Alban's, which 
vol. in. D�
## p. 50 (#60) ##############################################
50 
prevented the tournament, for which great 
preparations had been made. 
" But indeed/* s^id the baron, " my 
daughter and her cousin were not so much 
disappointed as many were, for tbey had 
their tournament at home ; but the victori- 
ous knight, instead of being rewarded, be- 
stowed rewards, and then disappeared, with- 
out any one being able to discover whence 
he eame, or whither he went; or whether he 
was goblin, or flesh and blood like other 
men." 
" Why, that is marvellous ; and pray, my 
lord, what did he find to fight with r" 
" I'll assure you," cried Eleanor, " he had 
wherewithal to manifest his skill and his cou- 
rage : he vanquished a great giant sent by 
the Queen of the Fairies to proclaim her 
beauty; and made him confess, that my cou- 
sin Matilda was the sun, and her diminutive 
majesty the moon onlv: for which reason,�
## p. 51 (#61) ##############################################
51 
she ought to confine herself to her midnight 
orgies." 
" Fie, cousin," interrupted Matilda ; * you 
know that it was only a May-game." 
" The champion, however, was certainly 
in the right," said Saint Clere. 
*' Then," said Eleanor, in a whisper to her 
cousin, " is not that the very turn, the air, 
and expression of the portrait?" 
Matilda made no answer, but nodded her 
head in token of acquiescence. The cheva- 
lier, seeing how closely they watched him, 
was a little confused; but recovering himself 
speedily, the baron thus addressed him :  
" The king's sudden departure from St 
Alban's led me to suppose, that the rebellion 
in the north had been much more formidable 
than it appeared to be, and occasioned an 
alarm, which I suppose is hardly yet entirely 
subsided." 
At mid-day, the board was spread with all 
the magnificence which became the house of�
## p. 52 (#62) ##############################################
62 
Boteler; and the afternoon past in cheerful 
and delectable discourse of love and arms. 
But at the approach of evening, Saint Clere 
informed the baron, that he had some letters 
of consequence to write, and particular orders 
to give to his servants charged with the deli- 
very of them. The baron then led him into 
the library, where he assured him he should 
meet with no interruption. Saint Clere sat 
down at the writing-desk ; his servants were 
summoned, and the baron withdrew. The 
baron then took Filzallen a turn in the gar- 
den ; and, in the mean time, the ladies took 
the opportunity of visiting the fair stranger. 
At the close of the day, the attention of 
the company was diverted by the clangour of 
trumpets sounded in the outer court, answer- 
ed by the shouts of the populace. 
" No doubt," said the baron, " the un- 
known champion is now come ; he ap- 
proaches, like a man of battle, with a great 
train."�
## p. 53 (#63) ##############################################
53 
Matilda was somewhat fluttered by the 
suddenness of the blast; but soon recovered 
herself, and assumed a cheerful air, to avoid 
the raillery of her cousin ; and the baron, 
smiling, promised to protect them. Two 
pages entered the room, and ushered in the 
chief herald, who, in his master's name, the 
Knight of the bleeeding Heart, requested an 
audience with Lord Boteler and Lady Ma- 
tilda. His Lordship consented, and said, 
that he might be conducted into the great 
hall. 
The herald withdrew. The baron and the 
ladies went into the hall, where, taking their 
seats, the knight entered, habited as he had 
been upon the first of May, and masked in 
the same manner. He was followed by his 
five esquires, with a numerous retinue of 
pages. Approaching the high deas, he put 
one knee to the ground ; and bowing first 
to the ladies, and then to Lord Boteler, he 
said : �
## p. 54 (#64) ##############################################
54 
** My lord, I know not what punishment 
3'our lordship nray think due to my temerity, 
for assuming the cognizance of your nohle 
family, and declaring myself, without per- 
mission, to he your lovely daughter's cham- 
pion. I am well convinced, such honour far 
transcends my merit." 
x< Tis gallantly said," replied the baron; 
" but now the May-games are over, the pa- 
geantry that might then be the occasion of 
innocent pastime is prolonged beyond its pro- 
per limits ; and for this reason, \, as her fa- 
ther, demand of you, upon the honour of 
tine knighthood, to inform me, without dis- 
guise, what is the end and purpose of this 
untimely proceeding. You know, or ought 
to know, sir knight, I am not a man to be 
trifled with ; nor shall you be permitted to 
depart, until I liave full satisfaction upon this 
mysterious subject." 
" Lord Edward Botelcr, I know you well, 
nor am I less well known to yon; the blood�
## p. 55 (#65) ##############################################
56 
that animates these veins is noble and uncon- 
taminated by baseness. There is a reason, 
aye and a cogent one, that makes me wish to 
wave an answer now to the latter part of 
your speech. I must, however, add, that if 
it had come from the lips of another, it 
should have shut up my tongue. The heart 
unused to fear, is not easily awed by threat- 
enings. Speak, then, Lord Boteler, and I will 
truly answer you." 
" There is a freedom in your manner that 
much pleases me," returned the baron ; " and 
I sincerely wish you may so answer my in- 
terrogatories, as to remove the suspicion 
which belongs to some part of that day's ad- 
ventures." 
" Speak out, my lord, and if it shall be 
found that I flinch from the truth, let me be 
degraded from the honours of knighthood, 
and punished as a traitor." 
" I have one witness more to call, and I�
## p. 56 (#66) ##############################################
56 
beseech you have the patience for a few mi- 
nutes." 
The baron then commanded of the attend- 
ants to go, and, if possible, prevail upon the 
Lady Emma Darcy to come into the hall ; 
and while they were absent, he thus addres- 
sed the knight :  
" What made you so much signalize my 
daughter ?" 
" Because I love her." 
" But did you not know, she had a fa- 
ther?" 
** Yes, and therefore am I come : and 
though I love her dearly, as my life, I have 
not told her so. Honour required I should 
have your consent." 
" You much astonish me," replied the ba- 
ron.  
.And at this instant the young ladies re- 
turned, leading the stranger deeply veiled, 
and they seated her between them to support�
## p. 57 (#67) ##############################################
57 
her; for she trembled, and seemed very muclt 
agitated. 
The stranger eyed her with great firmness, 
but did not appear to be the least moved at 
what passed. 
The baron then caused the garland to be 
brought; and holding it to the knight, enqui- 
red, if he knew that ornament ? 
" I know it well." 
" It seems you do so. How came you by 
it ? Did you purchase it ? 
" No. 
" How came vou bv it then r" 
" By heirship. She that once owned it 
now is dead ; and in her right, 'twas mine." 
" False \ False !" exclaimed the stranger. 
" Who says 'tis false r" said the knight, 
much agitated : " By heavens, 'tis true; and 
in the foremost rose, you'll find the portrait 
of an armed man." 
"We know it well," replied the baron;�
## p. 58 (#68) ##############################################
58 
and who is that armed man there represent- 
ed r Do you know him ?" 
<* Yes." 
"Who is it?" 
" Tis myself." 
"** Thyself!" exclaimed the baron, 
u Yes/' said he, shooting up, and elevating 
the vizor; " compare the copy with the ori- 
ginal." 
" Good heavens ! Saint Clere !" cried the 
baron. 
" Saint Clere i" said Matilda and Elea- 
nor. 
The fair stranger exclaimed'.  
" Tis, 'tis my brother !" and fainted. 
All was in confusion. Saint Clere, who 
knew nothing of what had happened relative 
to the chaplet, and intended only a piece of 
mirthful gallantry, was alarmed at the tragi- 
cal issue of the pageant; and approaching the 
lady, whose veil her companions had thrown 
back for the sake of the air, cried out : �
## p. 59 (#69) ##############################################
59 
M - All gracious Heaven ! 'tis she ! 'tis my 
sister!" and clasping her in his arms, he 
brought her near to the door. 
This afforded fresh matter for astonish- 
ment. Matilda and Eleanor stood looking 
on each other, without knowing what to say; 
and the baron, rising from his seat, said :  
" By holy St George, but this is strange 
indeed; the winding this mystery may well 
match our most marvellous romances!" 
When the newly discovered relations were 
able to converse with composure, Saint Clere 
briefly related, that, being to visit Queenhoo- 
Hall, by the baron's invitation, he had con- 
trived the pageant, in which he acted, "in or- 
der," he said, " to give a romantic turn to 
the adventure; and on our coming to Tewin, 
I found every thing prepared, as it were on 
purpose, for my reception, by mere accident ; 
and that the ladies would be present at the 
May-games desired by my lord's servants. 
No sooner were they concluded, than we be-�
## p. 60 (#70) ##############################################
60 
gan, to the no small amusement of the per- 
sons assembled. In the evening, we returned 
to St Alban's, without being discerned by any 
person. I hasted after the king, and reached 
him at Warwick, where we received the 
news, that the insurrection was quelled ; and 
the court prepared the day following to re- 
turn to London." 
Nothing could exceed the contentment of 
these noble persons, at the winding up thus 
happily of these mysterious events. The 
Lady Emma hardly could credit the evidence 
of her senses, that her beloved brother was 
yet alive and in safety, and in the favour too 
of his sovereign, through which she joyfully 
anticipated (though more on his account 
than her own) the restoration of the honours 
and dignities of their family. Her wonder- 
ment at the chances which had befallen him, 
and the questions she had to ask in relation 
to every particular of his fate, since their sad 
parting, were endless; she marvelled greatly�
## p. 61 (#71) ##############################################
61 
also, why he had supposed her dead ; but to 
all queries the young Lord Henry turned a 
deaf ear, saying, " Nay, nay, sister mine, de- 
fer till to-ruorrow these kind and anxious 
inquiries. To-morrow I shall, with the good 
leave of this noble and most gracious com- 
pany, narrate the whole chain of mine ad- 
ventures; but, to-day, remember, I am the 
Knight of the bleeding Heart, and the cham- 
pion of the fair Lady Matilda ; and I shall 
not therefore divert one hour of my devoted 
service to her, nor incroach on the passing 
cheerfulness of this much wished for day, by 
the narration of any tristful adventures, for 
sucli my story will he found to contain." 
The Lady Emma's eyes filled at this termi- 
nation of the young baron's speech ; but 
wiping away a tear, and smiling playful- 
ly, she said, " Nay, brother, sure am I, if 
you are a true knight to the Lady Matilda's 
service, I shall have so much grace with that 
Lady, as to prevail on her to exert her autho-�
## p. 62 (#72) ##############################################
62 
rity, and to command you to satisfy my cvr- 
riosity ; w then turning to Matilda, " Shall I, 
sweet lady, or no ?" added she. 
The Lady Matilda, profoundly blushing, 
and casting a downward look towards Saint 
Clere and his sister, attempted to faulter a 
reply; whereat Lord Boteler, observing the 
confusion of his daughter, took up the con- 
versation, and said, u As my power over Ma- 
tilda is yet paramount, I shall interdict the 
exercise of her's over the young knight, at 
least till he hath unarmed, and tasted the 
hospitality of Queen hoo-Hall." So turning 
to the seneschal, who was in waiting, he com- 
manded him, that the young Lord Henry*s 
esquires and retinue should partake of the 
best cheer of the hall ami kitchen; and gra- 
ciously taking the Lady Emmas hand, he 
led her forth, the Lord Fitzallen accompany- 
ing the Lady Eleanor, and Saint Clere escort- 
ing the Lady Matilda. 
While the young Lord Henry was unarm-�
## p. 63 (#73) ##############################################
63 
ing, and the ladies were left alone, * I fore- 
see," said the Lady Eleanor, who, to the 
graces of innocence and simplicity, united 
an arch turn of mind ; " I foresee, fair cou- 
sin, that the events of this day, romantic as 
they doubtless are, will terminate, like all 
other romances, in love and matrimony;, un- 
less forsooth you send forth your champion 
to a seven, years probation of arms, in the 
conquest of giants, and rescue of distressed 
damsels."" 
" Thou wilt ever banter, cousin," said Lady 
Matilda. 
" Nay," cried Lady Eleanor, " I would not 
distress you ; but there is something so won- 
derous in this reciprocal attachment ! so sud- 
den ! Doth it not resemble enchantment, 
Lady Emma r" 
" I doubt," replied the gentle Emma, " the 
adventure will want one characteristic of en- 
enchantment, viz. its falsehood; as I trust, I 
may presume to hope, that my amiable bro^�
## p. 64 (#74) ##############################################
64 
ther's merits, after being duly proven, may 
entitle him to look up so high, as to the Lady 
Matilda Boteler; for I confess, from the first 
moment I saw her, I thought them formed 
for each other." 
Lady Matilda bbwed gracefully, and blush- 
ed, adding, " That it was no small recom- 
mendation to her, were any necessary to so 
accomplished a chevalier as the Lord Henry 
Saint Clere, that he was so closely connected 
with a lady so amiable as his sister." 
The bell announcing supper, now broke up 
the conversation of these ladies, who descend- 
ed mutually pleased with each other. After 
a repast, in which every circumstance which 
could be gratifying to the feelings of the noble 
parties concurred, on the ladies expressing 
fatigue, the party broke up for the evening, 
and retired to their several apartments. 
Next morning, after breakfast, Lord Henry 
Darcy commenced the narration of bis ad- 
ventures, in the following terms. 
11�
## p. 65 (#75) ##############################################
65 
CHAPTER II. 
The Adventures of Henry Darcy, Lord Saint 
Clere.  His Peril at the Inn, and Miracu- 
lous Escape. 
"In parting from my dear Emma, I expe- 
rienced an unusual depression of spirits, and, 
more than once, I repented that I had not 
insisted on sitting up with her the whole of 
the night; but the great recommendation 
given by the hostess of her beds, and the ap- 
parent candour of the host, operated very 
strongly in removing every serious suspicion 
of evil. 
" The innkeeper ushered me to my cham- 
ber, and, having lighted the lamp, he en- 
vol. in. e�
## p. 66 (#76) ##############################################
66 
quired, at what time I chose to he called in 
the morning ? I told him, if the weather 
should prove fair, my wish was to rise soon 
after day-break. Having received my answer, 
he bowed, and, committing me to the protec- 
tion of God and his saints, he withdrew. I 
then fastened the door of my room, and 
threw off my mantle, my surcoat, and my 
pourpoint; but, without displacing my hose, 
I laid myself upon the bed, and drew my 
mantle over me as a substitute for the cover- 
let, which was too thick and warm for the 
season. I endeavoured to sleep, but a strange 
foreboding of some evil accident occupied 
my mind ; the storm seemed to be increased ; 
the thunder was very loud ; and the wind, 
whistling through the crevices of the case- 
ment, extinguished my lamp ; but the reite- 
rated glare of the lightning amply supplied 
its deficiency. It was turned of midnight be- 
fore I closed my eyes in sleep, and 1 was very 
soon awakened by the drawing back of the 
4�
## p. 67 (#77) ##############################################
67 
, bolt of my door. It opened, and I saw a lan- 
thorn, with no light but in the front, approach- 
ing my bed-side. It was impossible for me 
to make an attack upon the person who car- 
ried the light without imminent danger, for 
I did not doubt his being well armed. I 
therefore resolved to counterfeit a deep sleep. 
He came up close to me, and holding the 
lanthorn in his left hand before my eyes, with 
his right he presented a sharp baselard to my 
throat, saying, at the same time, in a low 
tone of voice, Young gentleman, it is time to 
rise. I made no reply; but, seeming to sleep 
soundly, he retired from the bed, and going 
towards a cabinet, at one corner of the room, 
he essayed to force it open; but meeting 
with much resistance, and fearing that I 
should be awakened by the noise, he return- 
ed to me, and holding the light and knife in 
the manner he had done before, repeated the 
same words. I still pretended to be asleep, 
and he renewed his attack upon the cabinet�
## p. 68 (#78) ##############################################
68 
with more success. I saw him take thence 
several goblets and other vessels, apparently 
of silver ; but, in opening one of the drawers, 
he made more noise than usual, which brought 
him to me a third time as before. Receiving 
no answer, he returned ; but, as he was put- 
ting the spoils into a wallet he had brought 
with him for that purpose, the cover of one 
of the goblets fell upon the floor, and, pitch- 
ing upon its edge, it rolled round several 
times before he could stop it; and, in order 
to catch it the more readily, he laid the base- 
lard upon a stool by the side of the cabinet, 
and stooped down upon one of his knees. I 
watched the moment, and conceiving that 
my life depended upon a single effort, (for no 
doubt he was convinced, that so much noise 
must have awakened me,) I cast of my man- 
tle, sprung from the bed, and, throwing my- 
self upon his back, thrust him to the ground, 
and holding his arms down to prevent his ri- 
sing or striking me, I called out as loud as I�
## p. 69 (#79) ##############################################
69 
could for assistance, when suddenly I received 
a blow upon my head, which deprived me of 
all sensation. 
"When I came to my recollection, I found 
myself in an army-spittal, surrounded with in- 
valids ;  they were soldiers, and my country- 
men. I was prodigiously surprised at my situa- 
tion ; and, as soon as I was permitted to talk 
to my comrades, I learned from them, that 
I had been discovered, nearly naked and co- 
vered with blood, in a wood near the place, 
by a company of soldiers, who were out that 
way upon the forage, and the commanding 
officer perceiving some faint signs of life, 
had humanely caused me to be wrapped up 
in a warm houpland, and conveyed to the 
spittal. I was farther informed, that 1 had 
been there better than fourteen days, suffer- 
ing under a dreadful fever, and frequently 
delirious ; at which times I called for a young 
lady, my sister, and spake of punishing the 
murderer. The word sister, with the succeed-�
## p. 70 (#80) ##############################################
70 
ing clause, brought suddenly to my mind the 
recollection of the horrors of that dreadful 
night in which we had been separated. I 
could no longer contain myself with patience, 
but, starting upright upon my couch, exclaim- 
ed, with great energy, " All-gracious heaven ! 
where is she? where is that sister ?" 
Here Emma burst into tears ; and, turn- 
ing from the company, hid her face with her | 
kerchief. Her agitation was not unnoticed 
by St Clere ; he therefore moderated his tone 
of voice, and continued the narrative. 
" My comrades, fearing that I was relap- 
sing to my former state of delirium, begged 
of me not to exert myself so much, and 
would not answer me any farther questions. 
" The leech soon afterwards came to dress 
my wounds, and observing that I was calmer 
than usual, and that the fever was consider- 
ably abated, entered into conversation with 
me. When he found that I was an English- 
man of familv, and had heard the detail of�
## p. 71 (#81) ##############################################
71 
my misfortune, he promised to cause imme- 
diate enquiry to be made after my sister.  
" You may safely trust to me upon that ac- 
count," said he ; " but, on your own, I must 
beseech you to compose yourself. You are 
by no means past danger, and rest is abso- 
lutely necessary for you, if you wish for life ; 
and surely you ought to live, if it be only for 
your sister's sake. If she be alive, she may 
need your protection ; if she be dead, who is 
there so proper as yourself to bring the mur- 
derer to justice." His promises much quiet- 
ed my mind, and some cordials that he ad- 
ministered procured me rest; so that, in the 
course of two or three days more, I was suf- 
ficiently recovered to leave my bed, and 
walk out into the fresh air. 
" I had received, it seems, no less than 
nine wounds in the body, in addition to that 
upon my head, which was by far the most 
dangerous. The captain, to whose kindness 
I owed my preservation, hearing that I was�
## p. 72 (#82) ##############################################
72 
able to walk about, did me the honour of a 
visit. I expressed my gratitude to him in 
the most pointed terms that I was master of; 
and the politeness with which he received 
my address, proved at once the goodness of 
his heart, and the excellence of his- educa- 
tion. 
u I assumed the name of St Gere, and my 
good friend, who had heard of the family, and 
their consequence in Essex, promised to pre- 
sent me to the regent, Richard Earl of War- 
wick, who then kept his court at Abbeville. 
He was as good as his word ; and I being 
furnished, by his generosity, with a suit of 
garments becoming my rank, was introduced 
to the earl, who, having heard a brief recital 
of my misfortune, received me with every 
mark of attention. I volunteered into the 
service, and his excellency promised me the 
first company that should be vacant ; in the 
mean time, I was ranked as a lieutenant, and 
placed under his immediate inspection.�
## p. 73 (#83) ##############################################
73 
" But, my dearest Emma, I 9ee your eyes 
reproach me. They seem to say, And where 
the while was the anxiety, the solicitude, 
you ought to have entertained for the suf- 
ferings of a sister ?  In very truth, my dear 
sister, you was not forgotten ; I was not un- 
grateful. 
" You may remember, that the physician 
promised that every enquiry should be made 
concerning your situation, nor did he fail in 
the execution of his promise; for, having 
consulted with the captain, to whom he com- 
municated the information I had given to 
him, they employed for the purpose the an- 
cient, a discreet and sober man, and one who 
had frequently been entrusted with matters 
of great consequence, and he took with him 
a small party of soldiers, in order to release 
you in case they found you detained by force. 
He did not think it proper to show himself 
first at the inn, for fear of creating some 
alarm, but stopped with his party at a cot-�
## p. 74 (#84) ##############################################
74 
tage about a mile distant, where he met with 
an old lady, from whom he learned, that the 
people of the inn had been twice examined 
before the magistrates of the district, through 
the interposition of a foreign nobleman, but 
that nothing had transpired to criminate 
them respecting the loss of the young gentle- 
man, said to have been murdered in their 
house, and, of course, they were set at liber- 
ty ; but that the young lady had been re- 
moved to the convent just by ; that her 
friends had been sent for, who appeared t 
her justiBcation ; and that she herself ha 
departed thence two days previous to their 
arrival. The ancient having heard this reci- 
tal, very properly judged, that the best use 
he could make of his time, was to go to the 
convent immediately ; which he did, and, 
with some small difficulty, obtained an inter- 
view with the lady-abbess. He related to 
her the manner in which I was miraculously 
preserved from death, and begged, on my 
(1�
## p. 75 (#85) ##############################################
75 
account, to be fully informed concerning the 
lady, my sister. From her mouth he received 
a detail of the treatment you had met with; 
your dangerous indisposition ; your happy re- 
covery ; the visit you received from our dear 
friend ; and your departure for England.  
Such was the import of the good ancient's 
information. 
" You will readily imagine, that the recital 
of your sufferings made a deep impression 
upon my mind ; my anxiety, however, was 
in some degree alleviated, by the hope that 
you had safely reached England, and I doubt- 
ed not you would find an affectionate recep- 
tion at Gay Bowers. I addressed a letter 
immediately to my uncle, (for I was not thoa 
informed of his death,) in which I entreated 
him to receive you with great tenderness, 
and to acquaint you with my wonderful reco- 
very from the wounds I had received in the 
chamber of the inn.  You shake your head ; 
of course, then, you never saw that letter. �
## p. 76 (#86) ##############################################
76 
No, Gaston is But I shall have reason to 
speak concerning him anon. 
" The moment I was capable of taking the 
field, I did not let slip one single opportunity 
of exerting myself as a soldier ; and having 
been successful in several skirmishes, in which 
I had engaged by choice, I gained the good 
opinion of the regent ; and one of the com- 
panies becoming vacant, he remembered his 
promise, and I was appointed the captain. 
Soon after my promotion, my patron died, 
and the Duke of York succeeded him in his 
dignities. 
" In the celebrated attack, made by the 
English forces, upon the camp of Charles 
the Fifth of France, as the duke was pass- 
ing the Ousc, his horse was slain under 
him, and his person in great danger, which 
being seen by me, I urged my compa- 
ny to follow me. We passed the water, 
nearly up to our chins, and arrived time 
enough to assist his Excellency. The land-�
## p. 77 (#87) ##############################################
77 
mg, though obstinately opposed, was made 
good, and the enemy was defeated with great 
slaughter. The spirited, behaviour of the 
troops, under ray command, was highly com- 
mended by the Duke ; who sent for me as 
soon as the battle was over, and graciously 
attributing, to the service my men had per- 
formed, much of the success of the action, 
was pleased to knight me in the field, at the 
head of our army. 
" Charles fled with much precipitation, and 
the regent pursued him to Ponthein, which 
place was taken by the English forces. 
u The French army, meantime, stood aloof; 
and although various methods, on our part, 
were used to provoke them to battle, they 
all of them failed ; insomuch that the King 
was suspected of cowardice by his own sol- 
diers, and many of his subjects openly ex- 
pressed their disapprobation of his conduct, 
and symptoms of revolt appeared in the army 
itself. In order, therefore, to regain the�
## p. 78 (#88) ##############################################
% 7S 
confidence of the people, he returned sud- 
denly to Ponthein, at a time the regent, who 
had no suspicion of such a movement, was 
absent, and attacked the place with so much 
impetuosity, that it was carried before the 
English army could arrive to afford it suc- 
cour; and Charles himself, it is said, was 
among the first that entered the city. This 
action, which proved his valour, restored 
him to the favour of the soldiers, and his 
army daily increased by recruits, who flocked 
around the royal standard. The regent af- 
terwards retreated to Abbeville, in order to 
wait for reinforcements, which had been pro- 
mised him ; but, before their arrival, over- 
tures for a truce were proposed, and the 
terms being acceded to on both sides, the 
commissioners were appointed to meet at 
Calais, and the war was concluded for a 
time. 
" While our forces lay at Ponthein, the 
Duke of York one day sent for me, and;�
## p. 79 (#89) ##############################################
79 | 
when I appeared before him, he said, "Come jttL 
hither, Saiat Clere, I have a commission for 
you to execute ; I have promised, to a noble 
lady of our court, a present, from France, of 
some jewellery. Now, as 1 am not well versed 
in the excellency of these ornaments, and 
having heard that you have a taste for them, 
I am desirous that you should go into Pon- 
thein, and purchase for me one of the most 
elegant carcanets of goldsmith's work, em- 
bellished with oriental pearls, that you can 
meet with: let it be very rich, and exqui- 
sitely wrought ; because I am particularly 
anxious the gift should be esteemed well 
worthy of the lady's acceptance."  " But 
the price, my lord," said I.  " That," replied 
he, " I leave entirely to you : if you shall 
find a jewel that pleases you, let not that be 
an object." I then promised his Grace, that 
I would exert my utmost ability to give him 
satisfaction, but added, at the same time, I 
was very fearful he would find that my judg-�
## p. 80 (#90) ##############################################
z$ 
80 
tment bad been greatly over-rated. * Be 
not concerned upon that account," said he, 
smiling ; u I make no doubt I shall be well 
pleased with your purchase." I bowed, and 
withdrew. 
" I went into several shops where articles 
of jewellery were exposed to sale, without 
meeting with a chevesail, or carcanet, suffi- 
ciently beautiful to answer my purpose. How- 
ever, upon my return, I had a carcanet put 
into my hands, which pleased me exceed- 
ingly; and, while I was bargaining with the 
goldsmith for the purchase, in an inner-room, 
he was called forth to the shop. In a few 
minutes he returned, and, after apologising 
for his leaving me alone, he said, with a smile, 
had you enquired for a chaplet, instead of a 
chevesail, I could now supply you to your 
wish. " See, sir," said he, presenting a chap- 
let, " there is one. I think I never saw its 
equal, either for the elegancy of its orna- 
ments, the materials with which it is com-�
## p. 81 (#91) ##############################################
81 
posed, or the excellency of its workman- 
ship."  " Is it possible?" cried I, taking it 
in my hand.  " Truly, sir," returned he, " one 
would hardly think it possible. I have been 
many years in my profession, and dealt 
largely in jewels of this kind, but, in truth, I 
never saw a more rich or more beautiful 
chaplet in my life."  " In the name of Hea- 
ven," said I, impatiently, " whence had you 
this jewel !" He instantly replied, H It is but 
this moment put into my hands by a man, 
who waits without to know, if I will purchase 
it from him."  " Purchase it, my friend! 
Yes," added I, starting from my seat, <( nor 
spare for price." The goldsmith was greatly 
surprised at seeing me so much agitated at 
the sight of the chaplet, and replied, " You 
seem to know somewhat respecting this 
jewel."  " Yes," said I, " more than you 
suspect. It was my sister's: it was stolen 
from her, and I was nearly murdered by the 
thief. Perhaps the very man, who brings it, 
VOL. III. F�
## p. 82 (#92) ##############################################
m 
is the thief; it is, therefore, proper, that he 
should give a fair account how it came into 
his possession ; and,, for this purpose, I claim 
your assistance. It may prove the means of 
detecting a murder, and bringing him to jus- 
tice."  " Speak lower, sir," replied the gold- 
smith, still more astonished by my assertions, 
" or he may be alarmed, and make his 
escape. If you are positive respecting the 
jewel, I will call him hither, where you may 
have an opportunity of examining him your- 
self; for he has other jewls, and some plate 
to dispose of." I applauded his precaution, 
and, assuring him that I was not mistaken re- 
specting the chaplet, begged that he might 
be introduced* 
I placed myself behind the door, so that, 
when he entered the room, he could not 
readily perceive me, but, at the same time, 
I could easily seize upon him, if occasion re- 
quired, and prevent his escape ; but the 
jeweller, unknown to me, had taken a further 
1�
## p. 83 (#93) ##############################################
83 
precaution, and sent for two officers of justice 
to wait without the issue of the examination. 
The man very readily followed the jeweller 
into the room, who led him towards the light, 
and then enquired what other articles of this 
kind he had to sell. * None," said he, " like 
that ; but here is a broach of gold set with 
pearls, a carcanet, and a goblet of silver; but 
I have had the misfortune to lose the cover." 
" The articles you have offered to sale," 
said the goldsmith, " are certainly valuable 
ones, and I should have no objection to be- 
come a purchaser ; but x at the same time, I 
must observe, it is dangerous for me to do so 
from one who is a perfect stranger. You 
must not, therefore, be offended with me for 
wishing to know by what means they came 
into your possession."  " Not in the least," 
said he, with an air of confidence, " the 
question is a fair one.  You must know, sir, 
that I am an innkeeper at Amiens, and reside 
3t the sign of Saint Denis. It happened,�
## p. 84 (#94) ##############################################
some little time back, that several English 
officers took up their lodging with me, where 
they lived always in the stile of noblemen, 
and run up so huge a score that I was nearly 
ruined. It was impossible to bring them to 
any proper reckoning, and at last I was obli- 
ged to take these articles, with several others 
of like kind, in the stead of money. Some 
of them I sold at home, and, being obliged 
to come hither upon some business of conse- 
quence, I was desirous of knowing what these 
would bring me in a foreign market."  "And 
what may you judge they are worth?" an- 
swered the jeweller. To which he readily 
answered, " You know their worth much 
better than I. They are articles I never dealt 
in before : but a thousand crowns would not 
make me amends for the expences T have 
been at; and very possibly I may have under- 
valued them."  " Certainly," said I, coming 
forward with my face partly covered by the 
tippet of my hood, " you have greatly under- 
4�
## p. 85 (#95) ##############################################
85 
rallied them. But I desire to know how long 
you have been master of the Hotel of Saint 
Denis ? " The unexpected interruption from 
me, and the question I proposed, produced 
evident signs of confusion in his counte- 
nance. Recollecting himself, however, he 
replied, "About ten years."  " Not so many 
months past, to my own knowledge, it was 
occupied by one, who bore not the least re- 
semblance to you. But, villain ! " cried I, 
advancing closer to him, " dost thou not 
know, who slept at the inn near * * *, when 
the tempest compelled him and his sister to 
take shelter there ?" Thus saying, I threw 
back my hood ; and the moment he saw my 
face, he fell upon a beneh, which stood be- 
hind him, like one bereft of his senses : he 
stared as though his eyes would have started 
from their sockets ; and his hair stood up- 
right. As soon as he could give utterance 
to his speech, he exclaimed, " It is his ghost! 
Saints defend me! It is the chevalier's�
## p. 86 (#96) ##############################################
86 
ghost!" and was making towards the door. 
" No ! thou catif," said I, interposing and 
stopping him, " thou shalt learn, to thy con- 
fusion, that I am not a ghost." In the mean- 
time, the goldsmith had called the officers, . 
who entered the room armed with their 
hrown-bills, and, seizing upon the trembling 
culprit, eased me of my charge. 
" It may be proper to observe, that the 
moment I saw the face of this man, I recogni- 
zed the features of the hostler, who took care 
of our horses at the inn, on the night of the 
robbery. And the signs of guilt, which he 
manifested at my mentioning the circum- 
stances of that event, were sufficient proof, to 
me, that I had not been mistaken. On his 
part, when he saw himself secured, he as- 
sumed a sullen air, and would not answer 
any interrogation that I put to him. We 
therefore took him before the provost, to 
whom I briefly related the manner, in which 
I had been nearly murdered in the inn, on�
## p. 87 (#97) ##############################################
87 
the nigbl when the robbery was committed, 
and proved the identity of the chaplet, by 
describing the cognizance of our family, 
which is concealed beneath the , # rose-leaf, 
upon the front of the jewel. The robber de- 
clared, that he was altogether innocent of 
the crimes alleged against him ; that he 
never was at the inn where I asserted the 
robbery to have been committed, but, on the 
contrary, insisted upon it, that he was the 
master of the Hotel Saint Denis, of Amiens, 
and that the jewels and plate had been put 
into his possession by a party of English of- 
ficers, in the manner he had previously af- 
firmed. The circumstances, however, ap- 
peared sufficiently strong against him to in- 
validate his assertions, and to warrant his de . 
tention, and he was committed to prison. 
** It was then judged necessary to send to 
Amiens, and to * * # and confront him 
with the testimony of both the innkeepers ; 
for I assured the magistrate, that the master�
## p. 88 (#98) ##############################################
88 
of the Saint Denis, where I dined a few 
hours preceding the robbery, did not bear 
the least resemblance in person or features to 
the man ; and the other, who I now believed 
was not implicated in the guilt of his servant, 
would readily acknowledge him to have been 
such. 
" Having paid the purchase money for the 
carcanet, I took it to the Duke, who honour- 
ed my choice with his entire approbation. I 
took the liberty of relating to his grace the 
extraordinary event that had happened at the 
goldsmith's, which so far excited his curio- 
sity, that he determined himself to be pre- 
sent at the next examination of the culprit, 
which took place as soon as the two innkeep- 
ers were brought to Ponthein. 
" When the prisoner was brought into* 
court, and questioned concerning the rob- 
bery, he continued to assert his innocence, 
and still persisted in being the innkeeper at 
Amiens, notwithstanding the real master of�
## p. 89 (#99) ##############################################
89 
the Hotel of Saint Denis appeared to con- 
front him. "I am sorry, Eustace/' said the 
host, " to find myself necessitated to appear 
against yon. For the good of your soul, 
add not such falsehoods to your other of- 
fences ; confess what you know of the foul 
dealing laid to your charge, and endeavour, 
by your contrition, to assuage the anger of 
Heaven." He held down his head, hut re- 
turned no answer. " You know the prisoner, 
it seems," said the duke to the innkeeper. 
" Perfectly, my lord ; he has frequently been 
at my house, as a guide to passengers, and 
to take back their horses, when hired at his 
master's."  " And what was your opinion of 
him?"  " In sooth, my lord," replied the 
host, " I believed him to be a sober and an 
honest man." Several questions were then 
put to the culprit, but he pertinaciously re- 
fused to return any answer. The torture was 
then proposed, but his Excellency desired, 
that it might be deferred until they had heard�
## p. 90 (#100) #############################################
90 
the examination of the other innkeeper; who 
was accordingly brought into the court, and, 
being desired to look at the prisoner, instant- 
ly exclaimed, " It is Eustace ! ray faithful 
hostler. By the crown of Saint Louis, I am 
surprised to find thee here ! Poor knave, I'll 
lay my life he is innocent."  " Of that here- 
after," said the duke, hastily ; " but we have 
some questions to ask you, and shall request 
you to answer them without any comment. 
You know the man, he was your hostler ?" 
" He was, your honour," replied the host.  
" And how long has he left your service ?"  
" Some three moons back : and please your 
honour, I cannot be certain for a day or two." 
" It shall not need; but inform us why he 
quitted your house; what was his fault?"  
4t No fault, your honour; but because a rela- 
tion of his had died, and bequeathed to him 
a mort of money."  " You parted, then, 
good friends r"  " Exactly so, your honour." 
" And have you not seen him since that�
## p. 91 (#101) #############################################
91 
time ?" " Never, your honour, till this mo- 
ment" 
" His Grace then desired that I should 
stand forward ; and, ordering the innkeeper 
to survey me with attention, he enquired, if 
he had any recollection of my features. 
After looking earnestly at me, some time, he 
answered in the negative. The duke desired 
him to repeat his examination. He did so ; 
and, at last, with some degree of agitation, 
replied, " I think, .(but surety my eyes de- 
ceive me,) I think he resembles a young 
chevalier, who slept at my house the night I 
was robbed, and who, (God forgive me,) I 
really took to be the thief. To which I an- 
swered, " I am in truth that chevalier, and 
the thief himself, if I mistake not, is also 
near at hand." 
" The articles, which the prisoner had of- 
fered at the goldsmith's were now produced 
in the court; and the moment his master saw 
the goblet of silver, he declared it to be one�
## p. 92 (#102) #############################################
92 
of those taken from the cabinet, " And this 
broach," said he, * is mine ; I will swear it 
on the bible-book ; but where is the beaker, 
the tankard, and the cup r" When looking 
earnestly at the hostler, he shook his head, 
and went on :  " Oh Eustace ! how could 
you serve your master and your dame so 
foully; as God is my judge, we have been as 
good as a father and a mother to you." Eu- 
stace was silent, nor would he answer the 
magistrates. The torture was, therefore, 
brought forward ; and, as the officers of jus- 
tice were preparing to put him to the ques- 
tion, he thought proper to speak, and re- 
quested to be released from their hands, and 
made the following voluntary confession.�
## p. 93 (#103) #############################################
9$ 
CHAP. III. 
The Progress of Iniquity; or the Danger of 
associating with bad Persons, exemplified from 
the Confession of a Murderer. 
" I am," said he, " a lost man; for the proofs 
of my guilt are so manifest, that the false- 
hoods F have hitherto asserted can no longer 
answer any good purpose. Heaven help me ! 
1 am both a thief and a murderer."  " Go 
to, Eustace," said his master; " why, you 
are stark wode; a thief mayhap you be, but 
not a murderer ; for the chevalier is alive." 
The innkeeper was ordered to be silent, and 
the culprit proceeded. " About two years 
ago, there came into our neighbourhood a 
gay young man, who dressed well, and had�
## p. 94 (#104) #############################################
34 
much the air of a person who had been well 
nurtured. He used frequently to take his 
morning refreshment at our house; and, pre- 
tending to be very fond of horses, he passed 
much of his time with me, observing how I 
managed them, and inquiring concerning 
their qualities and their value. In return for 
the trouble, as he called it, that he gave me, 
he constantly made me some small present 
of money; or, if I best approved it, treated 
me with liquor. Accursed be the day and 
the hour, in which I first received his money > 
or drinked his liquor ! 
" Our attachment increased daily, inso- 
much that we were seldom asunder whenever 
a leisure hour permitted me to join his com- 
pany. 
" One day, he came into the stable to 
me, while I was rubbing down the horses, 
and, shewing me a large handful of gold 
coin, said, with a smile, " Eustace, is it not 
a pleasant thing to be master of one's time,�
## p. 95 (#105) #############################################
95 
to have plenty of money, and to live at one's 
ease, rather than to rise early, go late to rest, 
and be at the beck and call of others, to 
work and slave for them, without the least 
prospect of bettering one's own condition ?" 
f No doubt, my good young master," said 
I, " and you are happy in having such ex- 
cellent friend* to supply you so amply."  
a Go to, Eustace," answered he, " you talk 
like a fool upon these occasions. I have no 
friends but myself ; I am my own friend, and 
I will be your friend, if you will permit me. 
Here is an earnest of my regard for you ;" 
and so saying, he thrust into my hand eight 
or ten pieces of gold. " My brave lad," con- 
tinued he, " let us befriend ourselves, and 
the world will respect us. Follow my advice, 
and we will set the rich at defiance ; for we 
will always secure the power to serve our- 
selves. Are not riches diffused among the 
idlest and most unfeeling parts of mankind, 
in no respect our betters ? Do they not live�
## p. 96 (#106) #############################################
96 
in the utmost dissipation, riot, and debauch- 
ery ; and support their crimes by the wealth 
extracted from the labours of the poor: in 
return, they hold the labourer in contempt, 
and monopolize, without remorse, the good 
things of this world, which ought to be ge- 
nerally divided among the community at 
large ? None ought to be rich, none ought 
to be poor, but every one should share in the 
bounties of Providence." 
" Perceiving I listened with attention to 
his harangue, he went on. " Every one, I 
repeat it, ought to have his share in the 
common stock of wealth; and, mark me 
well, when his claim is set aside by the 
strong hand of unjustifiable oppression, it 
becomes his duty to seize upon his right, and 
plunder those who withhold it, I mean the 
rich, as we would an open and avowed ene- 
my, (for such in fact they are to us,) and 
supply our own wants, by taking what is due 
to us, and superfluous to them." In short, I�
## p. 97 (#107) #############################################
97 
found that irty gay springal was a thief, and 
I, miserable man ! fell into the snare he had 
prepared for me, and, in an evil hour, be- 
came his associate. 
*. We committed several robberies in the 
neighbouring forests ; but none of them were 
productive of any extensive booty. How- 
ever, we conducted ourselves with so much 
caution, that no one entertained the least 
suspicion of us. But, alas ! the moment I 
became guilty, my mind was depressed by a 
thousand fearful imaginations, such as I never 
experienced before. They pursued me con- 
tinually, and poisoned all the pleasures I 
miorht otherwise have derived from the in- 
crease of my income. I looked back with 
anxiety to the days of innocence, and made 
unnumbered resolutions to return to the path 
of rectitude ; but in vain : instead of pursu- 
ing them with proper resolution, and shun- 
ning all converse with my worthless compa- 
nion, I unbosomed my anxiety to him, who 
VOL. III. G^�
## p. 98 (#108) #############################################
98 
soon laughed me out of my repentant fits, as 
he called them, and confirmed me, in defi- 
ance of my own conviction, to continue in 
the road to destruction. 
" It occurred to me, that our intimacy (for 
we were now almost inseparable companions) 
might be noted, to our mutual disadvantage. 
I communicated my fears to him upon this 
subject. He concurred with me, and made 
his visits less frequent than formerly. Our 
future meetings usually took place after the 
family in the inn were retired to rest ; for I 
had the keys of a back gate, which commu- 
nicated with the stable-yard, and could go in 
and out at pleasure, without occasioning the 
least disturbance. My companion was equal- 
ly conveniently situated, having taken up his 
residence at a widow woman's, in a lone 
house upon the borders of the forest, and 
not above a quarter of a mile from the inn. 
He had constantly a master key in his pocket, 
and could command access to his chamber 
4�
## p. 99 (#109) #############################################
99 
at all times, in which he had contrived to 
make a secret closet, where we deposited 
such parts of our depredations as were pro- 
per to be concealed. 
" About six, or perhaps eight months 
hack, I called, as usual, at his residence, and 
was informed by the old lady, that he had 
not been at home the whole of the day. I 
repeated my enquiry the succeeding evening, 
and received the same answer, and more 
than three weeks elapsed without my seeing 
or hearing from him, so that I gave up all 
expectation of his returning. He is, thought 
I, fallen into the hands of justice; and am 
not I dependent upon his mercy. I began, 
therefore, to reflect seriously upon my situa- 
tion. Sometimes I determined to fly the 
country ; and then, again, I conceived, that 
it would answer no good purpose for him to 
betray me. However, at all events, I deter- 
mined to reform my life, and content myself 
with the rewards of honesty.�
## p. 100 (#110) ############################################
100 
ff I was one day in the stable, fully occu- 
pied with these thoughts, and I fell upon my 
knees to supplicate the assistance and for- 
giveness of my Creator ; and while I was in 
the midst of my devotion, the gay seducer 
entered suddenly, before I could rise or sup- 
press the sorrows of my heart. He perceived 
my embarrassment, and bursting into a loud 
laugh, he clapped his hand upon my shoulder, 
saying, " Have I caught you, coward, whin- 
ing and puling like a girl that is mother-sick. 
In the name of the great devil, are you a man 
fit to be employed .in great undertakings? 
for shame, Eustace ! Well then," continued 
he, rinding 1 made him no answer, but stood 
with my eyes fixed upon the ground, " re- 
turn to your sneaking honesty, and be a slave 
for life, equal the beast you rub down in 
drudgery; and when old age prevents the 
exertions of labour, learn, like them, to live 
hard, and end a life of misery in the next 
ditch you come to."  " What would you�
## p. 101 (#111) ############################################
101 
have me do?" cried I. " Do!" returned he 
hastily; " die like a dog; for you are con- 
tent to live like a mean, heartless, despicable, 
reptile. The devil fetch me, but I thought 
better things of you."  " My conscience," 
said I, ** accuses me, and I am fearful."  
* Indeed !" retorted he, interrupting me, " a 
thief, and talk of conscience, forsooth : for 
shame ! be a man. Summon your resolution 
to your aid ; none but fools and children are 
frightened by shadows. Let's have no more of 
conscience. But, look here, I am not return- 
ed empty handed; here is conscience enough 
to make us merry for two twelvemonths I 
trow." So saying, he pulled from his gip- 
sire a large purse full of gold, and taking 
thence as many pieces as he could well grasp 
in his hand, he put them into mine, swear- 
ing at the same time, that I was a whining 
fool. ** Take these," added he, " and enjoy 
yourself as you ought to do. When these 
are gone, the forest will furnish us with�
## p. 102 (#112) ############################################
102 
more." What shall I say! the sight of my 
companion, returned so unexpectedly, and 
the golden harvest he presented to my eyes, 
overpowered my virtuous resolutions ; and 
his upbraidings made me ashamed of the 
humble posture in which he found me. I 
engaged again with him in his nefarious 
practices, and, by degrees, my mind became 
callous to all sense of honour or remorse. 
" He had frequently proposed to me to 
quit my master, and live, like him, in perfect 
freedom, which might readily be done by 
retiring to some distant part of the country, 
where our persons and connections were al- 
together unknown ; u and, as your* master," 
said he, " is certainly much indebted to you 
for a long and faithful service, it is just, on 
your part, that you should pay yourself, by 
taking with you his plate, and such valuable 
articles as can be easily carried away." 
te I did not approve of this proposal ; it 
appeared to be replete with danger, and i�
## p. 103 (#113) ############################################
103 
had not courage enough to act the villain so 
openly as to fix the guilt upon myself, and 
place my sole dependence upon my flight 
from justice. For this reason, I resisted his 
solicitations, and waited for some convenient 
time, when the robbery might be carried 
into execution with more apparent safety. 
" This opportunity occurred soon after- 
wards, and at a moment when we little ex- 
pected it: for, on the evening in which it 
was committed, my partner and I had agreed 
to make an excursion in the forest; for which 
purpose, I had got my business done at an 
early hour, and obtained leave of absence 
for the night, under the pretence of visiting 
a relation at a neighbouring village. 
a My comrade joined me in the afternoon, 
and, at the instant we were setting out, the 
rain, with the thunder and the lightning, 
came on so suddenly and so violently, that it 
prevented our journey.�
## p. 104 (#114) ############################################
104 
" While we were discoursing together, 
this chevalier and his sister came into the 
yard. I took their horses, and concluded, 
from the richness of their habits, that they 
were persons of consequence. I also obser- 
ved the gentleman was particularly anxious 
for the safety of his mail, which was fastened 
with strong straps and buckles to his saddle- 
bow ; whence I naturally concluded, that its 
contents were very valuable. My companion 
was perfectly of the same opinion ; and our 
determination was formed, without the least 
hesitation, to get it into our possession. 
" I kept close watch in the house to learn 
what was going forward, and where the 
guests were to be lodged, without appearing 
to have the least degree of curiosity, when I 
found that the red room was appropriate 
to the use of the young gentleman, who, t 
made no doubt, would keep the mail in his 
own care; and in this room, I well knew, 
was deposited the cabinet which contain-�
## p. 105 (#115) ############################################
105 
cd my master's plate, and other articles or* 
value. 
" When I communicated this intelligence 
to my comrade, his countenance brightened 
with joy, and he exclaimed, " By the devil 
and his dam, we we are made men ! Gold ! 
Eustace, resist no longer; we will empty that 
cabinet of its precious contents : and by a mas- 
terpiece or' contrivance, throw all the suspi- 
cion of the robbery upon the chevalier."  
u Impossible," cried I." By the blood," 
quoth he, " thou art but a dotterel, friend 
Eustace ; the matter is not so difficult as you 
suppose it to be. The success of the enter- 
prise depends upon one circumstance only, 
and that is, the drawing back of the bolt be- 
longing to the door of the chamber wherein 
the chevalier is to sleep. Devise that, and 
leave the rest to me." 
" It occurred to me, that this might be 
executed by removing part of the pannel of 
the door, over which the bolt passed; but�
## p. 106 (#116) ############################################
106 
the difficulty was to effect this without being 
noticed. However, while my master, with 
my mistress and the servants Were occupied 
in the kitchen preparing the supper, and 
warming the bed-furniture, I took the op- 
portunity of examining the door; and to my 
great mortification found that the bolt slip- 
ped upon a broad plate of iron, to which it 
was strongly attached, and this plate was too 
thick to be sawn through, without taking up 
much more time than the circumstances would 
allow, and making so much noise as must in- 
evitably have occasioned a discovery. 
" 1 was upon the point of giving up the 
undertaking, when, passing my hand by ac- 
cident over the door-post, I found a stone 
loose in the wall, beneath the arras, which 
being removed, I could easily thrust my arm 
through the aperture, and slip the bolt back 
without any difficulty. Rejoiced at this dis- 
covery, I replaced the stone, and drew down 
the arras over it as it had been before, and�
## p. 107 (#117) ############################################
107 
hastened to acquaint my friend with my suc- 
cess. 
" We now waited anxiously for the time 
when we were to carry our plan into execu- 
tion. He undertook to perform the robbery, 
and I was appointed to stand at the top of 
the stairs to give timely notice in case of an 
alarm, or assist him, if help should be found 
necessary. 
" As soon as all was quiet in the house, I 
introduced my comrade, who was provided 
with a lantern, having a light in the front 
only, and even thai he could cover, if occa- 
sion required. We ascended cautiously to 
the chevalier's chamber. I took my station 
according to his direction, and he, having 
slipped back the bolt, entered the room, 
where he remained a considerable time with- 
out any kind of alarm being given. It was a 
tremendous night, the lightning flashed in- 
cessantly, and ever and anon the thunder 
shook the house. Hardened as I was in im-�
## p. 108 (#118) ############################################
108 
piety, I trembled, and was several times in- 
clined to abandon my situation, raise the 
house, and throw myself into the arms of 
justice, when I heard a violent scuffle in the 
chevalier's chamber, the cry of murder, and 
a call for assistance. I rushed in, when, by 
the light of the lantern, I saw my comrade 
upon the floor struggling with the chevalier, 
who held him down. 1 instantly struck the 
young gentleman upon the head with my gis- 
arme, when he uttered a groan, and fell appa- 
rently lifeless at my feet.  
" Spare me, my brother," cried Emma, 
casting her eyes upon him bathed in tears: 
" In mercy pass over the horrors of that tear- 
ful night; it is impossible for me to endure 
the recital.'* 
" My dearest sister," said St Clere, em- 
bracing ami kissing her, u my tale is drawing 
apace to the conclusion ; for myself, my suf- 
ferings were now at an end, for I was insen- 
sible to all that followed."�
## p. 109 (#119) ############################################
109 
<f The robber continued his recital in this 
manner:  Finding that the people of the 
house were not alarmed by the outcries 
which had been made, we put the plate and 
jewels we found in the cabinet, together 
with the mail belonging to the young cheva- 
lier, into a wallet we had prepared for the 
purpose, and conveyed them quietly into the 
stable ; whence we returned, and having 
wrapped the body of the chevalier in his 
mantle, we carried that also into the stable, 
leaving the room door open, and the things 
about it discomposed as they were. 
Before day-break the storm began to sub- 
side, when we saddled the young gentleman's 
horse, on which we laid his body and the 
wallet with the treasure we had acquired. 
We proceeded instantly to his residence, 
where we hastily examined our booty, and 
found it exceeded our most sanguine expec- 
tations. It was then agreed that I should 
instantly return home, and get to bed before�
## p. 110 (#120) ############################################
110 
any one was up in the house, and there to 
await the alarm being given. I was perfect- 
ly successful ; and in the morning, when call- 
ed from my bed, came down and joined the 
outcry, no one having the least suspicion that 
I had quitted my chamber before, or that I 
was in the most distant manner implicated 
in the robbery. 
" In the mean time, my comrade had un- 
dertaken to carry the dead body, for such we 
supposed it to be, into the deep recesses of 
the wood, to bury it there, and then to ride 
to some distance with the horse, which he 
would either sell, or make away with, as it 
should best appear to suit his purpose. What 
passed at the inn, in consequence of the rob- 
bery, does not concern my fate, and, there- 
fore, I shall omit to mention it. Three days 
passed after the commission of this deed of 
darkness, and I saw nothing of my partner, so 
that I really concluded he .had played me 
foul. In this, however, I did him wrong ;�
## p. 111 (#121) ############################################
Ill 
for, on the fourth, he came to me, and made 
me acquainted with the reasons for his ab- 
sence. 
" The moment we parted, he took the 
horse, with the body of the young chevalier, 
into the wood, and was seeking out a place 
proper to hide it, but was interrupted by the 
trampling of horses, which seemed not to be at 
any great distance. It was necessary, there- 
fore, for him to leave the body, partly cover- 
ed with leaves, in a dell near the path side; 
but he did not quit it without giving it several 
stabs with his dagger, which I blamed him 
for, because I thought it was a wanton cruel- 
ty. He then mounted the horse, and rode 
farther into the forest, in order to avoid dis- 
covery from the company, which he supposed 
to be approaching, and returned privately to 
his own residence, leaving the horse in a thic- 
ket, far removed from any beaten path. To- 
wards the evening he took a spade in his 
hand, and went to the spot where he had de-�
## p. 112 (#122) ############################################
112 
posited the body of the chevalier, designing 
to bury it; but, to his great surprise, the bo- 
dy was gone. This event alarmed him so 
much, that he dared not return to his lod- 
ging, or come to me ; but, hastening to the 
thicket where he had left the horse, jumped 
into the saddle, and made the best of his way 
towards Amiens. On the borders of the forest 
he recollected there was a deep pit, and fear- 
ing the horse should be known in the town, 
he killed him upon the brink of this pit, and 
cast him into it. He then proceeded to 
Amiens on foot, where he passed the night 
at an obscure house of public entertainment, 
where several vague reports respecting the 
robbery were bandied about among the tra- 
vellers who baited there ; but nothing trans- 
pired that could be depended upon. He left 
Amiens early the next morning, and wan- 
dering about from village to village in the 
neighbourhood, till he at last obtained full 
information of what had passed at the inn, 
10�
## p. 113 (#123) ############################################
113 
and, finding that no suspicion had fallen up 
on hi in or me, he returned on the fourth day, 
as I have stated, and we congratulated each 
other upon the success of our enterprise, and 
the next day was proposed for the division of 
the booty. 
" I accordingly met him at his chamber, 
where he had placed part of the spoils in two 
parcels, exceedingly unequal to each other 
in point of value, and the jewels were set 
aside by themselves. He then made a long 
harangue, in which he attributed the con 
trivance and success of the robbery to him- 
self, and, therefore, he claimed the privi- 
lege of making the first choice. Perceiv- 
ing that I did not appear to be well satis- 
fied with the allotment of the parcels, he 
boasted much of his honesty: " I had," said 
he, " the whole in my power, and might have 
made myself master of it all ; but my wish is 
to act uprightly with a man I esteem as my 
friend." I then took the portion set apart 
VOL. III. h�
## p. 114 (#124) ############################################
114 
for me, and said nothing in return; when he 
proceeded: "These jewels we have been 
much deceived im They are made up mere- 
ly for show ; the stones are counterfeit, and 
the gold adulterated ; to which I may add, 
the hazard of disposing of them is so mani- 
fest, that they are not worth contending 
about. Now, I will give you ten pounds in 
crowns for your share of these trinkets, 
though, by all that's sacred, I do not believe 
I ever shall return the money ! but I do this, 
because you do not seem perfectly satisfied 
with your parcel of the plate, and to convinco 
you of my fair dealing." 1 was ready to burst 
with indignation at the proposal; but, as I 
had determined to be even with him, I as- 
sumed an air of cheerfulness, and acquiesced' 
without starting the least shadow of objec- 
tion; On his part he seemed highly delight- 
ed with my docility. 
" Having thus finished our business) he 
took me by the hand, saying, " My dear 
iiiend, we must part ;. it is no longer proper�
## p. 115 (#125) ############################################
115 
for us to be seen together. This transaction 
is of too much magnitude to remain without 
further investigation. The gisarme, which 
unfortunately we left behind us, was mine ; 
and, though I do not think it can be traced to 
me, it is a circumstance that does not please 
me;  but the removal of the body has so 
much of mystery in it, that I cannot help be- 
ing alarmed. If you resolve to stay where 
you are, (and, indeed, I do not see that you 
have equal reason to depart immediately,) it 
will be rather advantageous than hurtful to 
you that I should disappear." I agreed with 
him, but, at the same time, expressed my ar- 
dent wish to know in what part of the world 
he designed to take up his residence. To 
this he answered, " It is impossible to speak 
positively to that question ; for men like us> 
who depend upon good fortune only, are 
subject to many casualties, more than the 
rest of mankind. I have, however, already 
discharged my lodging ; early in the morn-�
## p. 116 (#126) ############################################
116 
mg I mean to make my departure ; and, in 
order to escape the notice of the villagers, I 
shall assume the disguise of a pedlar. I shall 
traverse the lower part of the forest, and 
make the best of my way to Laundrecy, 
where I probably may lighten my pack, by 
disposing of part of my trinkets. I shall 
thence proceed by a circuitous rout to Paris, 
whither, if you should be inclined to follow 
me, we may again lay our heads together to 
our mutual advantage." 
" We then took leave of each- other, and 
I returned home, disgusted with the villain- 
ous dissimulation of my comrade. My first 
care was to secure the part of the booty 
which had been allotted to me, and I hid it 
in a hole I had made for that purpose in the 
ground, beneath a large corn chest in the 
stable. I now determined to sacrifice my 
comrade to my vengeance, and make myself 
master of all his riches ; and, in order that I 
might have a fair pretext for my absence, I�
## p. 117 (#127) ############################################
117 
turned a new purchased horse into the road 
adrift over night, pretending it had broken 
from the pasture, and went out early in the 
morning to seek after it. 
" I may here observe, that I am tolerably 
expert in the management of the cross-bow, 
and had a good one of my own, which I fre- 
quently used to destroy the vermin, and this 
I concealed under my cloak, with half-a-dozen 
quarrels headed with iron. 
" Thus armed, I went to the wood before 
day-break, and concealed myself in a thicket 
adjoining to the path which led to Laun- 
drecy. In less than two hours, he came dis- 
guised, as he said he should be, with a large 
pack strapped over his shoulders. As he Jtes- 
sed me, I took a sure aim, and shot him 
through the body. He fell instantly to the 
ground, and lay groaning in the agonies of 
death. When I came up to him, he cast his 
eyes upon me, and seeing the bow in my 
band, was certain that he owed his death's.�
## p. 118 (#128) ############################################
118 
wound to me, when raising himself upon one 
arm, " Is it possible!" he cried, * is it pos- 
sible that thou shouldest be my murderer! 
Justice, in truth, requires my life, but even 
justice claimed it not from thee !" " What," 
said I, "hast thou to do with justice, thou 
who first made me a thief, and then robbed 
me of the wages due to my iniquity!" ** 1 
dare not appeal to heaven," tjuoth he, " for 
heaven hears not wretches so wicked as we 
are. The vengeance of hell has overtaken 
me, and I die without hope, encumbered 
with all my foul doings ! May the curses 
of hell follow thee, thou villain ! May you 
suffer under the hands of a lingering execu- 
tioner, and die amidst the execrations and 
hootings of mankind, a shame to devils who 
hold faith with each other ! and may you be 
hated for ever by all the fearful spirits who 
inhabit the regions of the damned !" and with 
these horrid imprecations, he breathed forth 
his soul.�
## p. 119 (#129) ############################################
119 
Here he seemed much agitated, and pau- 
sed awhile; but recovering himself in a few 
minutes, he went on.  " I dragged the body 
into a dell, and covered it for the present 
with leaves, and such rubbish as I could find 
at hand : the pack with the treasure I hid 
in another place, and returned home, pre- 
tending that I had searched every where that 
I could think of for the horse, but without 
success. In the dusk of the evening, I went 
again to the forest, buried the body, to pre- 
vent its being found, and brought the pack 
unnoticed to the stable. I remained with 
my master some time after the departure of 
the young lady, but not without continual 
uneasiness, expecting every moment that 
something would happen to bring me to jus- 
tice ; besides my riches were of no service to 
me there, for I dared not offer any of the 
spoils to sale, for fear of detection. I there- 
fore determined to remove ; and the better to 
avoid suspicion, I assured my master, I had�
## p. 120 (#130) ############################################
120 
received letters from the friends of a dis- 
tant relation, who was lately dead, and had 
left me a considerable legacy, and that the 
forms of the law required my presence ; ac- 
cordingly we settled our account ; he paid me 
what wages were due to me, and we parted 
on terms of friendship." 
Here the innkeeper fetched a deep sigh, 
and shook his head ; the prisoner then hesi- 
tated a moment, and then went on.  " I had 
packed up my treasure, and removed it to a 
secret place in the Wood the evening before 
my departure. I purchased a strong horse, in 
order to travel with more expedition. I went 
to Paris, where I resided several days : here I 
spent in idleness and dissipation a large por- 
tion of my wealth, and probably should soon 
have beggared myself, had not an unsuccess- 
ful attempt \ made to cut the purse of a young 
lady of quality, occasioned me to make a 
quicker retreat from that city, than I at first 
intended* I have since that time experi-�
## p. 121 (#131) ############################################
121 
enced several changes of fortune, and it is 
now two days back since I arrived in this city, 
where I intended to have disposed of the re- 
maining part of those treasures I obtained by 
my villainy. And here, as you see, offend- 
ed justice has overtaken me. The chaplet 
is in truth the property of the chevalier, the 
plate is part of what belonged to my master, 
the broach is his, and the carcanet 1 found 
among the spoils belonging to my con]rade. ,, 
Here he ended ; and, to this confession, 
which was taken down in writing by the clerks 
of the court, he signed the cross in witness 
of the truth. His condemnation was, that 
his limbs should be broken, and his body, 
still living, exposed upon a wheel, there to 
die a dreadful and lingering death.  " But," 
continued Saint Clere, " at my intercession 
with the regent, the cruelty was remitted, 
and the wretched culprit was hanged without 
any previous torment being practised upon 
him. Thus through the disposition of Pro-�
## p. 122 (#132) ############################################
122 
vidence, the chaplet was made the instru- 
ment of detecting a robber and a murderer, 
and once more returned to my possession." 
" It is a very singular and a very interesting 
incident," said Lord Boteler;" but before you 
resume the thread of your history, my dear 
Saint Clere, permit me to make one observa- 
tion." Saint Clere bowed, and the baron 
went on : " I cannot well account for the 
proceeding of the robber, when he first en- 
tered your chamber. One would naturally 
have thought, that his first attack would have 
been upon you, rather than upon the cabinet, 
and especially as he believed you was in a 
very sound sleep." 
" The same observation, my lord, occur- 
red to me," said Saint Clere ; " and pre- 
vious to the execution of the criminal, I 
questioned him respecting that transaction $ 
and he knowing that the remittance of the 
torture had been made at my request, very 
readily made me the following reply :"  
" You may recollect that I told you my com-�
## p. 123 (#133) ############################################
123 
rade, previous to the robbery, would, by a 
master-piece of contrivance, turn the suspicion 
of the guilt upon you. Now this very pro- 
cedure, which seems so strange to you, form- 
ed a material part of his plan. " If," said he, 
f I shall be fortunate enough to catch the 
chevalier asleep, and can rifle the cabinet 
without disturbing him, we cannot fail of suc- 
cess. For having got the plate, together with 
his mail, into our possession, we will convey it 
to the foot of the stairs before we attempt 
to seize his person : our attack shall then be 
made upon him with united energy; and our 
first business must be to thrust a gag into his 
mouth to prevent his outcries : we will then 
bind him hand and foot, and convey him up- 
on his own horse into the wood, where we 
will murder and bury him, and then dispose 
of the horse as occasion may require. If, on 
the other hand, he should in the struggle 
make such an alarm as to waken the people 
of the house, we will then put out the light,�
## p. 124 (#134) ############################################
124 
and I will carry off the booty, while you may 
slink to your bed before the assistance can 
reach him, and then it will pass for a robbery 
by the foreign banditti. The design, it is 
true, did not succeed as he had planned it : 
and had your cries been heard, our safety 
would have depended upon a precipitate re- 
treat, without a possibility of our effecting 
the robbery. If you wish to know the rea- 
son why we resolved to take you so far away 
before we put you to death, the answer is 
plain ; because we were well aware that the 
bed clothes being stained with your blood, 
would be considered as a proof that you had 
been murdered. But our design was to coun- 
teract that idea, and fix the suspicion upon 
you of having committed the depredation, 
and made your escape. Yet after ail our 
caution, we did not recollect, that the blood 
which flowed from your wound remained up- 
on the floor, nor that we had left the gisarme 
behind us in the chamber ; so far through�
## p. 125 (#135) ############################################
125 
haste we failed in the execution of our plan. 
These circumstances rendered, it is true, the 
adventure more mysterious ; but, as it hap- 
pened, they afforded no light for the detec- 
tion of the authors." 
* Having no further question to ask, our 
conversation finished here. And his confes- 
sor entering the cell at the same time, I left 
him to the admonitions of the holy father, 
heartily supplicating forgiveness for him from 
the God of mercy."�
## p. 126 (#136) ############################################
126 
CHAP. III. 
Lord Henry returns to England, and becomes 
a favourite at the Court.  The warmth of' 
his temper displayed in a Dialogue between him 
and the Baron Saint Clere at Gay Bowers. 
His Adventures concluded. 
" The investigation of this horrid transaction, 
rendered it necessary for me to make known 
to my patron, the Duke of York, that I was 
really the son of Lord Darcy, and iiad assu- 
med the name of my mother's family, on ac- 
count of the disgrace which had befallen my 
father. His Excellency promised to me his 
interest at the court to obtain a reversement 
of the decree of outlawry, and put me in 
possession of the estates, which, by right of�
## p. 127 (#137) ############################################
127 
inheritance, had belonged to the Darcies; 
and this promise he faithfully performed. 
" You are anxious/' said he, " I doubt not, 
to return to your native country ; and indeed 
it is proper that you should, for your pre- 
sence may perchance be necessary. Go, 
therefore, and use all expedition; I shall 
charge you with letters of consequence to the 
king, and must desire you to deliver them to 
him as soon as possible." I assured him, I 
would exert my utmost diligence. At a late 
hour, the letters were put into my hands; 
and, early in the morning, I and my retinue, 
being provided with excellent horses, made 
the best of our way to Calais, passing the sea 
to Dover. We hired fresh horses> and, with- 
out stopping to sleep upon, the road, pro- 
ceeded to Windsor, where our gracious Sove- 
reign then held his court. Having obtained 
admission to the royal presence, I delivered 
my letters; and when his Majesty had per- 
used them, he said to me, " Your com*�
## p. 128 (#138) ############################################
128 
mander has spoken very warmly in your 
commendation, and, so far as I may judge 
from your diligence in the speedy delivery of 
these letters, you deserve his praises. Do 
not absent yourself from the court ; for it is 
my desire to speak farther with you at some 
more convenient opportunity." 
" The moment 1 was a leisure, I wrote to 
my uncle at Gay Bowers, (for I was not yet 
acquainted with his death,) informing him of 
my arrival in England, and intention of pay- 
ing him a visit in a short time. I also ad- 
dressed a letter to you, my dear Emma, not 
doubting but you was there. 
" The next day the king favoured me with 
a second interview. He questioned me con- 
cerning many things respecting the war, and 
seemed to be perfectly satisfied with my an- 
swers. He again told me, that the Duke of 
York had recommended me to his favour; 
u and 1 am resolved," said he, ** to do some- 
thing for you." In short, I had the honour 
10�
## p. 129 (#139) ############################################
VQ9 
of conversing with his majesty several days> 
when one morning taking mc into his closet, 
as usual, he put two small rolls of parchment 
into my hand's^ " One of these," said he, " is 
the reversion of a decree of outlawry passed 
upon your father, and the other is a deed for 
the restoration of the Darcy estates to you 
his heir. I would have you," continued he, 
" go directly into Essex, and take possession 
of your patrimony. You will find all things 
there accommodated for your reception." I 
fell upon my knees to thank him for h 
goodness, but he commanded me to rise, and 
said, with a gracious smile, " If the manners 
of the court are not unpleasing to you, return 
as soon as convenient ; I shall be glad to see 
you near me." What kindness, my dearest 
Emma, what condescension, from a mighty 
monarch ! 
" I joyfully obeyed the mandate of my 
sovereign, and the moment the horses could 
be made ready for me and my retinue, I de- 
vol. m. i�
## p. 130 (#140) ############################################
130 
parted from Windsor, and, passing through 
London, reached Billericay, where I slept 
that night." 
The Lady Emma turned away her head at 
the mention of the word Billericay, and wiped 
away the tears that involuntarily started from 
her eyes, which her brother observed, and 
paused for a moment ; but having nothing 
further to say respecting that place, he went 
on :  
" Early in the morning I proceeded to- 
wards Gay Bowers, and reached Danbury by 
nine o'clock. I stopped at a little inn, a 
small distance from the church, to bait the 
liorses, and afford my servants some leisure 
for refreshment; and here I first learned that 
my uncle had been dead several years ; and 
that he was succeeded in his titles and estates 
by his son Gaston, " Who," says the inn- 
keeper, " if I dare speak out, I should say, 
does not inherit the virtues of his father; 
but lives alone, as it were, and starves him-�
## p. 131 (#141) ############################################
131 
self in the midst of plenty." This unfavour- 
able account of my cousin's disposition made 
me resolve to leave my attendants at the inn, 
and, as his residence was at no great distance, 
to visit him alone, for surely, said I to 
myself, he will think I am bringing a regi- 
ment of soldiers to quarter upon him, and 
this may make him out of temper with me. 
" I found him in the midst of a large and 
noble ruin of a mansion, which had for ages 
been supported by the family of the Saint 
Cleres with splendour ; but which now was 
tumbling about its miserable owner's ears. I 
made myself known to him, and was recei- 
ved with such a petrifying coolness, as might 
well have offended one who had not the least 
claim upon his generosity. Surely, thought 
I, this wretched being thinks that I am 
come to solicit his charity. The first com- 
pliments, which in truth deserved no such 
appellation, were no sooner passed between�
## p. 132 (#142) ############################################
132 
us, than I enquired for my Emma, and re- 
quested to see her. He cast his eyes upon 
the ground, and shook his head, but return- 
ed me no answer. I repeated the question 
with some degree of impatience, and desired 
that she might be called immediately. He 
then began a tedious oration, interrupted by 
frequent pauses, and obscured by continual 
allusions to events that I was altogether un- 
acquainted with. I heard, however, that, 
gome months back, a person, calling herself 
the daughter of Lord Darcy, had imposed 
herself upon him ; that he had received her 
with great kindness; that she had repayed 
his benevolence with the basest ingratitude, 
and deported herself with so little decorum, 
that it was impossible for him to endure it; his 
remonstrances, which he had urged with so 
much tenderness tind affection, were of no 
effect; she admitted the addresses ofadis- 
colute young springal,who probably had fol- 
lowed her to Danbury, and at last disappear-�
## p. 133 (#143) ############################################
133 
ed with him, but not without robbing himy 
her benefactor, of a considerable sum of 
money. " I hope, and trust," continued he, 
" this lewd woman was some impostor. If 
she be really our relation, she has debased the 
blood of two noble families." I had not pa- 
tience to hear him any farther; his story was 
inconsistent with reason. I rose suddenly 
from my seat, and, smiting my hand violent- 
ly upon the table, exclaimed :  " You lie, 
unnurtured Gaston ; you lie, like a villain : 
and did not the noble blood of your ances- 
tors flow in your veins, I would make you eat 
this dagger, hilt and all, or recant your blas- 
phemous falsehoods. Oh my Emma ! You 
debase the blood of the Darcies ! You tar- 
nish the glory of the family of the Saint 
Gleres! Heaven grant me forbearance! If 
you have mistreated, as I suspect you have, 
this dear relation, I will take ample ven- 
geance for her wrongs. I will, by my hope 
of heaven's joys hereafter!"  " What!" cried�
## p. 134 (#144) ############################################
154 
he, starting back affrighted, and trembling, 
* dost thou come to threaten me in my own 
house; to murder me upon my own hearth!" 
" No ! perfidious Gaston," said I, thrusting 
my dagger into the sheath, which I had half 
drawn out, " your life is safe enough : I will 
not make bare my weapon upon a trembling 
coward ; but for thy tale of slander  Gracious 
heaven ! shall she, so highly born, so nurtu- 
red, so sensible of what is due to female ho- 
nour, fall from the paths of rectitude at once, 
and plunge into the gulf of infamy ! By the 
soul of my father, it is false ; it is a damned 
lie!"  "You called me unnurtured," said he, 
in a tremulous tone of voice, " and truly I 
know but little of the gay and dissipated part 
of the world. My manners are homely 
enough ; but such as they are, they serve me 
well : and tell me, fine sir, what shall I say 
of yours, who intrude yourself, unasked, upon 
me, overwhelm me with a torrent of abuse 
in my own house, and give me the lie to my�
## p. 135 (#145) ############################################
135 
beard ? Such manners ill become a gentle- 
man; such manners would disgrace a ple- 
beian. I would the tale were false, I would 
that the glory of the Saint Cleres were not tar- 
nished ; but I have a witness. It is fit you 
should first hear, and then, perchance, you 
may moderate your high tone : if not, I must 
tell you, I care not how much you shorten 
your unwelcome visit." 
" To this invective, I returned no answer ; 
and he rung the bell, which stood before 
him upon the table, when an elderly woman 
entered the parlour, to whom he addressed 
himself, and commanded her to satisfy me 
respecting the behaviour of the young lady, 
who had resided there some time back, and 
pretended to be nearly related to him. She 
obeyed, prefacing her discourse with a long 
account of his benevolence and forbearance 
to that naughty damsel, as she was pleased to 
call her. This was followed by a detail of 
her ungrateful behaviour in return for the fa-�
## p. 136 (#146) ############################################
136 
vours she had received; she then informed 
me, that the night previous to the departure 
of the lady, she had seen in her possession a 
large purse of gold, which she had endea- 
voured in vain to conceal; hut finding she 
could not, declared it was given her by the 
baron. " The next morning," added the wo- 
man, " I waited upon her to call her to 
breakfast ; but she was not to be found. 
When I entered the chamber, I saw that 
part of the bed-clothes were taken from the 
bed, and, going to the window, I discovered 
the sheets tied together, and made fast to the 
iron bar belonging to the casement. It then 
occurred to me, that she had made her escape 
in the night; and, recollecting the money I 
had seen in her possession, I hastened to my 
lord, and, with tears in my eyes, informed 
him of the lady's departure, and my fears that 
she had robbed him, which indeed I found 
were true. I have since learned," continued 
the old woman, " that the naughty lady was�
## p. 137 (#147) ############################################
137 
seen passing through Danbury early in the 
morning, in company with"  " Hold," said 
I, " there is certainly some inexplicable mys- 
tery in this transaction." I then desired the 
woman to give me a description of the lady; 
and, without the least hesitation, she descri- 
bed the person of my dear Emma so minute- 
ly and so accurately, that I was struck with 
astonishment. 
" Gaston, seeing my agitation, desired the 
woman to withdraw, and resumed his speech 
to this effect:  a You see, [ have not decei- 
ved you ; I have been the sufferer in this bu- 
siness; and let me tell you, cousin, you might 
have spared much of the harsh language 
that has passed, had you possessed patience 
enough to have waited for a proper investi- 
gation of the fact."  <c You say," returned I, 
" that she has robbed you ; the accusation 
militates against reason: she could have had 
no incentive to commit so foul a fact. The 
monies due to her;  her mother's jointure,�
## p. 138 (#148) ############################################
138 
and the estates to which she is heiress, must 
have afforded her an ample supply ; and of 
these no man knows the value better than 
you."" What talk you/' said he, " of monies 
due, of jointures, and estates ? You are not, it 
seems, aware how much your father's affairs 
were embarrassed."  " I cannot be ignorant 
of that," answered I hastily; " but I know 
also, with equal certainty, that, if they have 
been managed with the same justice by you, 
that they were in my honoured uncle's life- 
time, the incumbrances are nearly, or altoge- 
ther, done away."  " Yes," retorted he, with 
a sarcastic grin, " and so your sister said, 
and made large claims ; but God help me, I 
have not the property in hand to answer 
them ; and, believe me, my cousin, you will 
find yourself mistaken. The whole of your 
patrimony has been mortgaged for larger 
sums than it now is valued at, and the interest 
has accumulated beyond all clue proportion. 
Money was also necessary for the repairs,�
## p. 139 (#149) ############################################
139 
which my father paid from time to time, 
without obtaining any sett-off; because the 
draughts for cash from his brother were so 
large, and his importunities so pressing. 
Since my father's death, I have been obliged 
to submit to the foreclosure of the mortgage 
upon your mother's jointure, or I should have 
been ruined by his generosity."" Ruined !" 
cried I ; " you speak of things impossible. 
Exclusive of the jointure and the family estates 
which are sequestered to the crown, my father 
had made several private purchases, which 
were given over to my uncle in trust, for my 
dear Emma and myself. What is become of 
them r"  " Why, there it is," continued he, 
" gadsfish, I do not seek my own advantage, 
but as justice allows me fairly, they are sold." 
" Without our concurrence r" said I, " that 
cannot be." He answered :  " Therein you 
mistake. We had full power of sale ; and I 
was obliged to exert that power, or be my- 
self a beggar. In such case, I trow, neither�
## p. 140 (#150) ############################################
MO 
you, nor your dear sister, would have support- 
ed me."  " I cannot comprehend you/' said 
I, " be more explicit, I beseech you, if you 
expect me to be patient."  " Go to, now," 
quoth he, "you are so violent, there is no 
reasoning with you; your sister was the same. 
I received her affectionately, and welcomed 
her to my humble dwelling, and to my humble 
fire; for I am obliged to suit my expences to 
my income, and submit to hard- Irving in or- 
der to live out of debt."  " Well, and what 
then r" cried I, hastily." What then !" an- 
swered he; "Why, then, I wish every one 
would do the same. But, truly, I have found 
my slender board is ill suited to high sto- 
machs. My economy is condemned,- my 
person slighted, and my advice laughed at." 
" And who condemns your economy, who 
slights your person, who laughs at your ad- 
vice r" said I." And is it handsome," an- 
swered he, " to hear one's words repeated, 
parrot-like. Go to, I will shew you the mort-�
## p. 141 (#151) ############################################
14 i 
gages I spake of, and the deeds of sale you 
doubt the truth of, and you shall be convin- 
ced. Your own eyes shall convince you, 
that I have been your friend, and a friend to 
your family. Your warmth of temper I am 
willing to overlook, it is a family failing. 
Your father possessed the same ; but, unfor- 
tunately for you all, it was his ruin."  "Spare 
your comments, Gaston," said I, " and speak 
to the point."  " Then, to the point I will 
speak," quoth he; " and the point is this:  
You stand indebted to me two thousand 
crowns ; (seeing I was much agitated, he 
went on.) I have stated it at the lowest cal- 
culation, and am willing to acquit you of the 
whole. And, gads my life, if you will but 
hear me, for your mother, my aunt's sake, I 
am inclined to go forward as your friend, 
and lend you a trifle; for unfortunately for 
me, it is but a trifle that I can spare. I 
would advise you to go abroad, and serve your 
king and your country, as a man of courage�
## p. 142 (#152) ############################################
142 
ought to do ; for I perceive you to be a man 
of courage, and what better road to fortune 
and preferment can be chosen by a gentle- 
man of reduced circumstances, than that of 
a soldier, setting aside the glory that valour 
may acquire. In this case, I say, I will lend 
you sufficient to purchase you an ancient- 
ship, and so set open the door to future 
wealth and honour." 
" I could hear him no further, and though 
I had several other important questions to 
put to him, this last insult provoked me be- 
yond endurance. " 'Fore heaven," cried I, 
" thou art a wretch without a mind, a vile, a 
miserable reptile. As God's my judge, I am 
to blame to hold converse with thee. But I 
will find my persecuted sister. Wronged as 
she is, she shall confront thee to thy confu- 
sion. And for these deeds, these mortgages, 
they shall be examined, by those who will 
make thee tremble worse than I have done. 
I am not without friends, and powerful ones,�
## p. 143 (#153) ############################################
143 
and, if I were, thou pitiful disgrace to the 
name of manhood! I would not apply to such 
a thing as thou art for assistance." So say- 
ing, I cast my mantle over my shoulders, 
and, without waiting for his reply, hurried 
away, as though I had been flying from an 
infection, I mounted my horse, which I had 
left in the outer court, and rode back to the 
inn. 
" Thus, my lord," added Saint Clere, ad- 
dressing himself to the baron, " I have given 
you the substance of what passed at the in- 
terview between Gaston and myself. I am 
well aware, that the impetuosity of my tem- 
per laid me open to the censures of my cou- 
sin ; but I must have been as inanimate as a 
statue of marble to have heard, unmoved, 
such vile and inconsistent accusations brought 
forward asrainst mv dearest relative." 
" I see no need of apology, my good 
friend," said Lord Boteler, " falsehood and�
## p. 144 (#154) ############################################
144 
duplicity ought to be treated with contempt. 
I beseech you continue your history." 
Saint Clere bowed his head, and went on : 
" While my servants were preparing for 
our departure, I entered a second time into 
conversation with the host at the Griffin, for 
that was the sign of the inn where we stop- 
ped, and I questioned him respecting a young 
lady, who had been at Gay Bowers, some 
months back ; and what reports were circu- 
lated concerning her. He replied, " That he 
knew but very little of the matter; a young 
lady certainly was there, who passed for a re- 
lation of the baron's, exceedingly beautiful, 
and amiable in her deportment when she ap- 
peared in public ; but said to be very loose 
and dissipated in her private manners. After 
she had resided at Gay Bowers some short 
time, she departed thence clandestinely, and, 
according to report, took with her more than 
properly belonged to her. I saw her pass my�
## p. 145 (#155) ############################################
145 
door, on the morning she made her escape ; 
and, as God shall judge me, she looked more 
like an angel, than like a bad woman."  
" Did she seem to be elevated with joy, or 
depressed with sorrow ?" said I.  " Like one," 
quoth the host, " forsaken of her friends; 
for her veil blowing aside, as she went by, 
discovered the sweetest face I ever saw; and 
her eyes were full of tears, and her looks so 
modest and innocent, that I cannot help 
thinking she has been falsely accused."  
u But the young fellow who was with her ?" 
<{ Indeed, good sir," quoth he, " I saw no 
one with her. His lordship's steward circu- 
lated that report; but, by the holy-rood, I 
do not believe it."  ** No doubt, it was false," 
said I, " and so, I trust, was all the rest; but 
tell me, I pray you, which way did she go ?" 
" Towards Sandon," added he-; " but I was 
told by one, who passed her upon Elmgreen, 
,that she enquired from him the readiest way 
to Chelmsfoid, and since that time I have 
VOL. 111. K�
## p. 146 (#156) ############################################
14$ 
not heard of her."  " Holy saints !" cried I, 
in an agony of grief, " where was then your 
protecting power ? Forsaken innocent, you 
must be found !" 
" The host, alarmed at my ejaculation, 
started back, and said, " You know her, 
then?"  " Yes," said I ; " and do you think 
you should remember her again ?"  " I am 
certain," replied he, " I should."" Then," 
said I, " go you instantly to Chelmsford, use 
every diligence to enquire her out, and, if 
you should be successful, tell her her troubles 
are at an end ; for at Foleshunt Darcy she 
may find her brother."  " Her brother, sir!" 
said the host.  " Her dear, her affectionate 
brother," said I ; and at the same time put a 
purse of gold into his hands, adding, " spare 
no expence, and two of my servants shall go 
with you, and give you every necessary as- 
sistance." 
" The host promised faithfully to perform 
his commission. I caused two of my retinue�
## p. 147 (#157) ############################################
147 
to remain behind me, and, pleasing myself 
with the hope that her residence might be 
traced out, I set forward towards Maldon, 
and, passing through that town, came to the 
mansion of the Darcies early in the after- 
noon. 
" The next day, according to the king's 
orders, a court was held by the justiciaries 
for the county, and I was reinstated in the 
honours and emoluments which had former- 
ly belonged to our family. 
" The news of my good fortune was pre- 
sently known at Gay Bowers; and Gaston, 
well assured, that I would use the utmost of 
my power to develope his villainous proceed- 
ings, endeavoured, by a change of conduct, 
I as mean and servile, as his former deportment 
had been sarcastic and overbearing, to dis- 
arm my vengeance, and sent me a conci- 
liatory epistle, couched in the following 
terms : �
## p. 148 (#158) ############################################
148 
Dear Cousin, 
" I take the earliest opportunity to con- 
gratulate you upon your successful resump- 
tion of the family estates and residence, to 
which you are in justice the true heir; and, 
believe me, no one rejoices more than I do, 
at hearing of your welfare. I cannot men- 
tion, without feeling the most poignant regret, 
the unfortunate misunderstanding which took 
place between us, when you did me the ho- 
nour of visiting me at Gay Bowers. I shall 
beg of you to permit me to see you again, at 
any time you may think proper to appoint 
for that purpose, when a fair investigation of 
the papers and proceedings, relative to the 
monies due upon the several estates commit- 
ted to my care, shall be laid before you. A 
little consideration, I doubt not, my dear 
cousin, will convince you, that a mutual dis- 
advantage must arise to us, by embroiling 
ourselves in a tedious and an uncertain law- 
suit. On my own part, I wish for justice only. 
4�
## p. 149 (#159) ############################################
143 
I find, on a review of the papers,, that some 
niistatements have been made; but those I 
am ready to rectify, and, I trust, to your sa- 
tisfaction. I have also reason to believe, that 
tire misconduct of the lady, your sister, has 
been exaggerated; I have been deceived, 
and shall think it my duty to make every 
amends that are witi.in my power. From 
your most affectionate cousin, 
Gaston Saint Glere." 
" This letter was delivered to me while I 
sat at table with the court officers. I cast 
my eyes over it, and, when I saw from whom 
it came, I gave it to my secretary for him to 
copy it; and when dinner was over, I caused 
it to be refolded, and gave it again into the 
hands of the messenger, desiring him to in- 
form his master, that I would employ a per- 
son proper for the purpose to answer that 
letter. 
" The servants I had sent with the ion-�
## p. 150 (#160) ############################################
150 
keeper from Danbury to Chelmsford, follow- 
ed me to Foleshunt Darcy two days after. 
They assured me, that every possible enquiry 
had been made after the lady described by 
the innkeeper; but to no purpose. She was 
seen at Sandon and at Chelmsford the same 
day ; but they were not able to trace their 
information any further. 
" This unwelcome intelligence prevented 
my staying any longer at Foleshunt Darcy ; 
for I had no enjoyment of my new acquire- 
ments, without the participation of my Em- 
ma. I therefore resolved to seek for her 
among all the friends and distant relations of 
both our families, wherever I could find 
them, in hopes she might have sought an 
asylum with some one of them ; but my re- 
searches were in vain, and continual disap- 
pointments made me completely miserable. 
I began to suspect, that Gaston had been 
wicked enough to add murder to his other 
atrocities, and was resolved to cite him to�
## p. 151 (#161) ############################################
m 
trial, upon an indictment for that crime; but 
the judge-advocate advised me to be very 
circumspect in preferring a charge of that 
kind against a peer, except upon very cer- 
tain grounds; because I might thereby incur 
the censure of the court, and subject myself 
to much inconveniency. I have, however, 
proceeded against him for the recovery of 
our property, and cast him in several expen- 
sive suits. 
u The cause respecting our mother's join- 
ture is upon the eve of determination ; and 
your presence, my dear Emma, will be of 
much service. This, as well as those that 
have preceded it, my counsel assures me can- 
not fail of being decided in our favour." 
Here Lord Darcy bowed to the company, 
and concluded his narrative. Leaving the au- 
dience to their expressions of wonder and 
congratulation at the change of Saint Clere's 
fortune, we return to the inferior persons of 
our story.�
## p. 152 (#162) ############################################
152 
SECTION VIII. 
vjoon eating and drinking, with gentle ex- 
ercise, in a week or two restored Ralph, not 
only to his proper senses, but also to his 
bodily strength. When having attempted a 
fall with several of his pot companions, for 
practice* sake, and proved successful, he de- 
termined to wreck his vengeance upon the 
baron's jester. Ralph was not scholar enough 
to write, but applied to Thomas, the reve's 
son, to pen a letter for him. Thomas readily 
undertook the performance, and between 
them the following epistle was produced: 
" Good mister fool, or good mister knave,�
## p. 153 (#163) ############################################
153 
or both, as you shall like it,  I Ralph, the 
tasker, aread you to remember the wileful 
gibes and lewd japings you cast upon me, 
when held in durance by the craft of Cuth- 
bert the barber; and hereby I do declare you 
to be a false fay tor, and a recreant lurdane, 
and defy you to mortal combat. Moreover, 
I best you to forsay the love of Margery, my 
bonnebell, or I'll so tan your scurvy hide, 
that Sim Glover, her father, shall take it for 
a jerkin of leather. Answer this in fair guise, 
or I will rap the handle of my large Sheffield 
thwittle over your knave's costard, whenever 
I may meet you." 
This letter was superscribed  " To Gre- 
gory Jester, the baron's fool." 
Thomas took upon him to convey the chal- 
lenge to Gregory, and delivered it to him, in 
the presence of the superior domestics, while 
they were sitting at dinner. Gregory not 
being able to read it with facility, craved as-�
## p. 154 (#164) ############################################
154 
sistance from Thomas ; * For certes," said he, 
* my eyes be somewhat weak ; besides, I 
have no glasses, and here be certain selcouth 
words, I con not well." He then reached the 
epistle to Thomas, who, winking to his com- 
rades, read the whole of it aloud, and then 
addressed himself to the jester, saying, " By 
the good rood of Daynam, this churl bayeth 
fall loudly, and weens to appall us by his 
craking; but his dough tyness must be avai- 
led; say you not so, friend Gregory." 
* Say, indeed," replied the jester, " what 
should I say to such a jottemol? And wit 
ye not, the churl is besides his wits ? And 
would you have me hold parley with a mad- 
man?" 
" Certes,you do him wrong," said Thomas; 
" his wits are well enough at ease, and the 
knave is sound wind and limb, which makes 
him so haughty; but herein, if I misween 
not, your honour stands at the stake for the�
## p. 155 (#165) ############################################
155 
ban-dog to bay at ; for honour's sake, ye are 
bound to answer the challenge." 
" By the devil and hi3 dam, I will an- 
swer no challenge," cried Gregory, " ween 
ye that I be wode, or that my wits are shell- 
bound ? Is it befitting for a person of my 
elevation to take note of such a dunghill 
weed r 
u Tush man/' quoth Thomas, " it will not 
serve thy turn, at this stound, to cry Cra- 
ven, silhence it were a shame to us all for 
this derseignment to be overpassed without 
reply. How say you, my lusty compeers; 
shall we permit a hinderlin to sit at board 
with us, and brand us with the name of cow- 
ards?" 
" No, Thomas," cried they all ; " if the 
jester refuses to fight, he shall not sit at our 
board; but let him take his commons with 
the scullions and turnspits." 
" Why brawl ye thus, my masters?" said the j�
## p. 156 (#166) ############################################
M6 
page Gervice, u well did I wot, and oft have 
told ye the same, he is a ioz 1 knave, doughty 
only in impudenee; for YiU wit is as edgeless 
as Sampson's anvil, and can only serve him to 
frisk and gambol, like f fool, as he is, on a 
May-day mummery, w >-mi he boasts of prac- 
tising his paces, his galloping, curvettings, 
trottings, and amblings, with liis Canter- 
bury canters, kickings, roarings, and winn- 
ings, or prates of holding his tight rein, his 
loose rein, with his kirbs, and his snaffles, 
and his bells. I have no patience to hear 
him, nor with those who encourage such idle 
fooleries. But now the heartless sot is called 
upon to demean himself as a man, he is sore 
aghast, like a chattering pye caught in the 
trammels." 
* l Go to, fellow page," said Fabian, " yon 
are too severe upon our joke-cracker ; by the 
lord of Lincoln, I have seen you giggle, and 
throw your bonnet in the air, for pleasure, at�
## p. 157 (#167) ############################################
157 
witnessing bis vagaries; and well I ween, 
Gregory shall not be found to lack lustihood, 
but will fight, like a dragoon, when occasion 
calls." 
'* Why, what a coil ye keep," quoth Gre- 
gory, " japing, and hording. Do ye hold me 
to be such a dolt as to take a Jenny howlet 
for a Tassel gentle, or to turn your idle mer- 
riment into an earnest game f ' 
<e There went the hare away ; the fool is 
wise for once," cried Gervice, " and will save 
bis coxcomb. If he veil not his bonnet, by 
Paul's bell, the tasker will thrash him into 
stubble; but well I weened he would not 
fight." 
* How ! not fight ?" quoth Cecil, the but- 
ler, " by the martyr of Kent, if he quell not 
this carl, I'll pass his horn over, and it shall 
be filled with the washings of the pottle- 
pots !" 
" He shall fight," said Gilbert, the carver, 
-" or I will brittle his ears for him, and send�
## p. 158 (#168) ############################################
158 
him to Jenkin, the bear-ward, to carry gar- 
bage to the brutes." 
" Why look you," said Parker, the deer- 
keeper," by this broad fie ten, which has pier- 
ced the side of many a tat buck, we will all 
be on his party ; anil he shall have a shield, a 
lance, and armour of proof, with a basinet of 
steel, and a curtal axe." 
" And his brand," said Peretto, the min- 
strel, " shall be a trusty one, equal to that high 
morglay, with which King Arthur, the mirror 
of knighthood, and sovereign of the round- 
table, quelled the dragon in the fens of Es- 
sex." 
" Stint your clamour," cried Gregory, " for 
ye were born in a mill, I trow, your clacks 
be so loud ; but the brawling is to no pur- 
pose, I wot well, there is nothing soothlike in 
your areeds." 
" By the mass, but you will find them to 
be full sooth," said Thomas, " and you must 
fight, or quit our board."�
## p. 159 (#169) ############################################
159 
Here he appealed to his comrades, when 
one and all assured the jester, that there was 
no alternative. This decision made him quake 
with fear, and the reve's son, to raise his spi- 
rits, represented to him the unskilrulness of 
his antagonist. u He is a seely carl," said he, 
* who never wielded a sword, nor bore a 
shield, nor chopped at a pell, nor broke a 
lance on a wedding-day, by tilting at a quin- 
tain : he is a very flail swinger, and wots not 
""the handling of war weapons ; besides we will 
all be at hand to abet and save you in case 
of danger." 
In short, the jester was so sharply pressed 
upon by them, that, contrary to his inclina- 
tion, he was obliged to comply. And, in the 
first place, it was deemed necessary to return 
an answer of defiance suitable to the chal- 
lenge. Thomas was pitched upon as the 
scribe ; and, after some consultation, the fol- 
lowing retort was committed to writing:  
" Mister flail swinger, in order to areed 
vour churlship better portaunce, and correct�
## p. 160 (#170) ############################################
160 
your diction, when you presume to address 
your belters, I, Gregory Jester, at this stound 
will degrade my rank awhile, and condescend 
to chastise ye at your own requiring : I will 
send thee back like a base hilding to thy 
friend Cuthbert, who shall shave thee anew 
and make thee as tame as Jenkin does hi* 
lordship's bears and jackanapes; and sithence 
you pollute, with vulgar lips, the name of 
Margery, my dearest leman, and the fairest 
flower of the prime, I will make thee forego ' 
all pretensions to her love, or carven your 
knave's pelt into flail thongs." 
This counter-challenge was addressed to 
Ralph Everid the cornthrasher ; and Thomas 
undertook to deliver the same to the tasker; 
" but," said he, " if I can make up this af- 
fray withouten blood-shedding." 
" Do so," dear Thomas, interrupted the 
jester, hastily ; " for the mercy of the blessed 
Mary Virgin, do so; ye well wot this braw- 
ling is unseemly, and by the young Saint�
## p. 161 (#171) ############################################
161 
Hugh of Lincoln, slain by the cursed Jews, 
I have no mind to deluge the earth with the 
knave's blood." 
" Marry may the holy saints forefend," 
quoth Thomas, " that human blood should 
be yshed in wantonness ! and no living wight 
would outstep me lo empeach a mortal com- 
bat : but ye are well avised ; this same tasker 
is a wilful churl, as choleric as a dragon, and 
as implacable as a fiend. What wist ye, my 
comrades ; I was told the other day, some 
eight years back, this carl was in service at 
East Barnet, and, in a foul bickerment, he 
slew a stout man, and a bold one, with a sin- 
gle blow of his fist, algates his antagonist was 
armed with a double-edged glave, and a hand 
buckler." 
" The de-e-e-vil he did," exclaimed Gre- 
gory, trembling with affright; " why then 
you may fight him yourself for me, I will 
not face such a fire-drake." 
"Not face him!" answered Thomas; " but 
VOL. III. L�
## p. 162 (#172) ############################################
162 
in sooth you shall, and thai eftsoons, for ho- 
nour's sake. For, wot ye well, the wight he 
slew, had not the vantage of defensive ar- 
mour, nor such stout hearts as we, to beteem 
him from misfare." 
* Say no more about it," quoth Parker, 
" Gregory shall fight; and by my best bugle 
tipped with silver, I had leever my bow-string 
should snap in twain, when I point at a fair 
mark, than our comrade should be yshent, 
for that would be a disgrace to all serving- 
men for an age to come." 
" Certes all this is very fine talking," said 
Gregory. 
"To be sure, man," replied Peter Lanaset ; 
" if he bates, you shall reclaim him ; I war- 
rant the hawk will prove a hagard ; fear not, 
for we be all with you." 
" And for my part," said Thomas, " I will 
wend away, and seek out this swaggering 
swash buckler." 
" But I beseech you," cried Gregory, " by 
2�
## p. 163 (#173) ############################################
163 
the holy mass to make us friends. In sooth, 
I owe the churl no maltalent. In good sooth, 
I have no grudge at heart against him/' 
u Certes," answered Thomas, * I would 
speak him fair, but he is such a wayward 
churl, and wilful as a mule. Gentle speech, 
and well beseen courtesy, like crusts to curst 
cur, would only make hirn brawl the louder. 
But my hearts, this is a fair tide ; his lordship 
is from home, and there is nothing to lep us 
in the way. Gregory, like a tall man, is as 
choleric as the Prior's bull at Ted bury, and 
we will have this notable emprise atchieved 
before sun setting." 
The close of this oration was received 
with a general shout of applause, when Gre- 
gory stamped with his foot and vocifera- 
ted, " Ye are all mad ! By the hallowed rood, 
ye are possessed ! The devil himself has gain- 
ed the mastery over your wits ! Thomas, you 
are a false knave to say I am choleric ; I�
## p. 164 (#174) ############################################
164 
will not fight this afternoon ; I am not in the 
trim for fighting; nor shall a mother's son 
among you play his stales on me, nor make 
me fight till I am choleric." 
" Certes then, there is not a mother's son 
shall make you fight hastily," said Gervise ; 
" for I will gage large odds, you will not be 
choleric atvveen this tide and martlemas." 
" Have at you, Mister Page," retorted Ce- 
cil ; " there is my hand, and I will wager a 
dozen pottles of spiced wine to a silver cross, 
Gregory shall be eftsoons forthcoming, and 
shall mow down this roarer like a thistle 
stem with one flourish of his brand-iron. 
What, man ! I will have him into the pantry, 
and he shall take a full horn of sound clary, 
or two, so need it, and make him rageful as a 
lion ; then I read the carl to say his pater-nos- 
ter, and prepare his sprite for purgatory. 
Thomas took this opportunity to slip out 
of the hall unseen by the jester, who follow-�
## p. 165 (#175) ############################################
i65 
ed Cecil ; and having swallowed a large cup 
full of wine, began to talk more loudly. Fa- 
bian undertook to arm him ; but before he 
was invested with the habiliments of war, he 
desired to have a few minutes conversation in 
private with the page, and Cecil to accom- 
modate him, withdrew. " Look you now, 
Fabian," said he, " here is half an angel of 
gold, and it shall be thine, so be it, you will 
do me a service." 
" Give me but the coin," cried Fabian, 
" and conclude the service done ; softly and 
fairly will farthest go." 
" I ween, my brave page," quoth the jester, 
withdrawing his hand, " it is well fitting you 
should first learn what the service may be. 
You and I are nearly paregal in size, and, 
well I wot, ye may pass for me when cased 
in armour, and have the vizor of your bassi- 
net drawn over your face ; now 1 will give 
you this piece of gold, to guise yourself, and 
take in hand this achievement on my behalf.�
## p. 166 (#176) ############################################
166 
Certes, you are a doughty man, and apt at 
the use of arms ; so that, without let, ye may 
wightly prove your puissance upon this crake- 
ing lozel ; but as for me, so - may the holy 
saints defend me ! I have no joyance in such 
bickerments." 
a As I hope for the honour of knight- 
hood," replied Fabian, " I heed not the churl, 
and would fight him with all my heart to 
serve you ; but the deed stands not in possi- 
bility. Our comrades expect to see you arm- 
ed in their presence ; and I, who have not 
yet arrived at the degree of an esquire, am 
forbidden, by the laws of chivalry, to close 
the beever of my bassinet." 
Cecil now returned, and his comrades be- 
gan to be clamorous for Gregory to come 
forth and be armed; when the poor jester, 
perceiving that nothing but his compliance 
would appease them, went into the hall, and 
requested of Fabian to search for the strong- 
est gambason j and the page brought him�
## p. 167 (#177) ############################################
167- 
one of double fustian, stopped with silk, antl 
quilted with threads of gold. 
u This gambason," said Fabian, " whilom 
belonged to Gilbert Lord Boteler, one of the 
prowest knights that accompanied Richard 
Cceur de Lion to the Holy Land; and its 
skirts, as ye see, are stained with the blood 
of a Saracen giant, slain by him in single 
combal." 
With this gambason was the jester invest- 
ed. Over it was placed an haubergeon of 
double mail, with a chaperon of mail. The 
avauntails being fastened on either side of 
his neck, a bassinet of steel, without a vizor, 
was put upon his head, and laced beneath the 
chin. The breeches of mail were drawn over 
his legs and thighs ; but he complained they 
were too weighty, for which reason his thighs 
were protected by cuishes, and his legs by 
graves of plate armour ; a round shield, em- 
bossed with brass, was fitted to his left arm, 
and a sword of excellent temper suspended�
## p. 168 (#178) ############################################
168 
from his girdle. In this equipment, Gervise 
maliciously observed, that he resembled a 
grey howlet in a bosket of ivy. 
A wooden pell was then set up in the outer 
dourt the height of a man, and the distances 
marked upon it for the legs, the thighs, the 
body, neck, and head. Gregory was made 
to strike at this post with his sword, as if it 
had been his enemy ; sometimes aiming his 
blows at the head, then at the body, and 
again at the neck, or the thighs, or the legs ; 
his comrades calling out continually to en- 
courage him, or to advise him where to 
strike. 
" While he was thus performing the exer- 
cise of a bachelor at arms, a horn was blown 
at the gate ; which being opened, a messen- 
ger entered, and summoned the jester to the 
place of combat, where the challenger was 
waiting for him. This information made 
Gregory tremble ; and, relinquishing his em- 
ployment, he enquired if the tasker was�
## p. 169 (#179) ############################################
169 
equipped in armour. Being answered in the 
negative, he assumed something like an air 
of courage, and haughtily demanded what 
arms he had taken upon him to use ? 
* A small hand-shield," said the messen- 
ger, " and a huge flail." 
At this answer, Gregory's comrades laugh- 
ed aloud ; which somewhat angered the mes- 
senger, and he replied : " Pardy, I aread 
you to foresay your merriment ; this choice 
of arms is not unwillingly made, for these 
he weapons Ralph can handle skilfully. 
By the holy rood, he whisks his flail about 
with such craft, that the prowest of you all 
may not approach him without endanger- 
ment of his bones.  It little boots your cham- 
pion, lozel-like, to be chopping at that stick : 
I warrant, if he comes within ten yards of the 
tasker, he will dear aby his daring ; for Ralph 
will bring him down, with a single blow, as 
he broke the gate-post even now upon the 
green."�
## p. 170 (#180) ############################################
170 
* Go then," cried Gregory, " and tell the 
savage, I will not come ; he shall be bound 
over to the peace by his lordship's bailie." 
* 'Twere better so," replied the messenger, 
smiling ; " so be you are not resolved to visit 
purgatory before the moon be up." 
" Not go !" exclaimed his comrades with 
one voice, " By the blood of St Thomas of 
Kent, you shall not eat, nor drink, nor sit 
with us, for aye, if you cry craven at this 
stound ;" and so saying, they seized him ; 
some fastening upon one arm, and some up- 
on the other, and drew him forward notwith- 
standing he resisted with all his might, and 
roared as though' they had been dragging 
him to the slaughter. 
<( Stint your clamour, you heartless hild- 
ing!" said Gervise ; " for, will ye or nill ye, 
by the dragon of St George, you shall go !" 
With that he ran into the hall, and return- 
ing with a demy-lance, began goading the 
hinder parts of the jester's legs, between the�
## p. 171 (#181) ############################################
171 
ligatures of the greaves, and made him wince 
and frisk with more alacrity than the pran- 
cings of his favourite hobby-horse required ; 
when finding all resistance was in vain, and 
that no possibility of escaping remained, he 
begged to be released from his uneasy situa- 
tion, and promised to go with them without 
any farther compulsion. 
When they came to the green, (the place 
appointed for the combat,) they found Ralph 
leaning upon his flail, and waiting the ap- 
proach of his antagonist. He was very whim- 
sically harnessed for the fight. His body was 
covered with a thick quilted purpoint stuffed 
with tow, having no sleeves, but the bases 
were long, and reached to the middle of his 
thighs ; over this he wore a tunic of canvas : 
His head was covered with a strong cap of 
leather, fastened beneath the chin ; and, up- 
on the top, by way of crest, was set upright 
a peacock's feather. He had no other de- 
fensive armour, excepting a small round�
## p. 172 (#182) ############################################
173 
shield, embellished with knobs of brass ; his 
offensive weapon, as we have heard before, 
was a trusty ashen flail, but he had also a 
reaping-hook stuck in his girdle, in the place 
of a dagger. 
The moment he saw Gregory, he swung 
the flail around his head with a flourish of 
defiance, and he appeared to the jester like 
a terrible giant, wielding a huge mace of 
iron ; when, giving up all for lost, he stopped 
short, and crossed himself. He was proceed- 
ing also to repeat a paternoster, but Gervise, 
with a prick of the lance, disturbed his devo- 
tion, and obliged him to go forwards. 
When the jester entered the circle, the 
partizans of the tasker, with one voice, ob- 
jected to the body-armour worn by him. On 
the other hand, Thomas asserted, that as 
Gregory was the party challenged, he had, 
by the established laws of chivalry, the privi- 
lege of chusing his arms, offensive or defen- 
sive j " and so it is expressly declared, in the�
## p. 173 (#183) ############################################
173 
great book of knigldhood and battle in his 
lordship's library, where he of you who can, 
may read it; and Ralph," said he, " if so he 
list, may be yclad in like guise. But if he 
demean his own prowess paregal to plate or 
mail, and chuses to fight in his shirt and 
breech only, who shall say him nay ? he does 
it at his own peril." 
Another objection was then started by 
Hugh the carrier, who happened to be pre- 
sent, and asserted, that it was not lawful for 
any man, beneath the rank of an esquire, to 
wear mail armour, or helm himself with a bas- 
sinet; and declared, that he had received this 
information from a pursuivant at arms at 
London, when the last great justing was held 
in that city. Thomas, in reply, contended, 
that the hauberk, a coat of mail, with sleeves 
of the same, and helmets with vizors, were 
the only pieces of armour prohibited by the 
laws of chivalry, because they belonged to 
the knights ; but the haubergeon, a sleeve-�
## p. 174 (#184) ############################################
174 
less coat of mail, and the bassinet without a 
vizor, might be used by the esquires, and 
pages, or by any one who could procure 
them ; and referred, for his authority, to the 
great book before-mentioned. 
Several other difficulties would have been 
started, had not Ralph himself interfered ; 
who, being tired of this useless contest, de- 
clared, he was ready to abide the combat 
equipped as he was, without fearing the butter- 
fly, or heeding the advantage of his armour. 
This mark of his courage excited applause 
from both parties ; and they proceeded in- 
stantly to measure out the ground, and set 
up props for the boundaries. The comba- 
tants were then adjured to speak the truth, 
and declare, whether or not they came fair- 
ly into the field, without charm, spell, or amu- 
let, or the assistance of witchcraft, or any 
other diabolical practice for the obtainment 
of the victory ? These ceremonies being con-�
## p. 175 (#185) ############################################
175 
eluded, the lists were cleared, and the cham- 
pions were left to their own achievement. 
Gregory's friends persuaded him to bran- 
dish his sword, and put himself into a pro- 
per posture of defence, in order to intimidate 
his antagonist, which he did with much ap- 
pearance of fury, so that Ralph was startled 
for a moment ; but the clamour of his com- 
rades, who encouraged him to advance with 
intrepidity, and secure the first blow, soon re- 
called his courage, when whirling his flail 
above his head, he made it whistle in the air, 
and set forward towards the jester, who fell 
back in proportion as Ralph approached 
him, till he came to the extremity of the lists, 
when, dropping the point of his sword to the 
ground, he called upon his antagonist to stop, 
and hear him speak a few words. 
" Let thy prating be brief then, my gau- 
dy coxcomb," quoth Ralph, " for I be not in 
the humour for talking." 
" Moderate thy fury albeit for a moment/�
## p. 176 (#186) ############################################
176 
said the jester, faultering ; " There is time 
enow, I wean, for us to slayen one another, 
if malice require such a sanguinary achieve- 
ment ; but, in the name of Him who suffered 
dole for us, why should we lust for each 
others blood, or put ourselves to mortal peril, 
to afford desport for these guileful lozels, 
who are assembled to make merriment at our 
scath. Certes, man, I will take oath upon 
the vangils, I owe you no maltalent ; aud, if 
I should paravaunt be your death's-man, 
(as what shall let me, if you be wilful,) I 
shall be a wode man for aye, and lost in dre- 
riment." 
" Pardie, you be reckoning without the 
host," quoth the tasker, surlily; " if you de- 
meen this fine preachment shall pay the 
score, or hold me for so sorry a clown that I 
cannot discern between cockle and clean 
corn ; for, in sooth, if I misween not, my 
flail and your knaveship's sconce shall be 
better acquainted anon."�
## p. 177 (#187) ############################################
m 
"You are so chaffed with anger, friend 
Ralph, by the guileful workings of these false 
traitors," answered Gregory, " that yoa will 
not sickerly cast the reckoning. By the- holy 
mass-rood, I am right griefful for the mal- 
treatment you have underpassed, and am 
pressed to be friends with you withouten bick- 
erment ; and so may our Blessed Lady help 
me, as I will foresay auy wrong that I have 
done!" 
" Hark'e me," cried Ralph, interrupting 
him ; " thou art a prattling coxcomb, an in- 
solent cowardly gull ! but I have not forgot- 
ten thy lewd prancings, and thy vapouring' 
brugments, when the knavish barber had 
bound my hands. I then promised, what I 
now ween well to appay; that is, a sound 
threshing :"  so saying, he elevated his flail, 
and Gregory's comrades perceiving that he 
was retreating beyond the boundaries, called 
upon him to advance, and Ralph drew back 
a few yards to give him a fair opportunity of 
Y6L. 111. M�
## p. 178 (#188) ############################################
178 
so doing ; which the jester not readily em- 
bracing, his tormentor, the page, came 
behind him, and goading him sharply on 
the calf of one of his legs, obliged him to 
spring forward on a sudden, which Ralph 
taking as a signal for engagement, gave him 
a blow on the side of the bassinet, which 
made him stagger; and, as imminent danger 
often makes cowards courageous, so Gregory, 
having no hope of escaping death but by ex- 
erting himself, rushed towards his foe, who 
was preparing to strike him a second time, 
and aiming his blow with great fury at the 
tasker's head, had probably put an end to the 
contest in a tragical manner, but Ralph 
couring down avoided the full force ; part, 
however, of his skull-cap was cut away, and 
the peacock's feather along with it. Ralph, 
recovering himself, struck again at the jester, 
but he leaping aside, the flail glanced only 
upon his hip, without much hurling him ; on 
the other hand, Gregory seeing his enemy 
4�
## p. 179 (#189) ############################################
\79 
had overreached himself, took the advantage 
to assail him again. Ralph attempted to 
parry the stroke of the sword with his hand- 
shield ; but, not holding it firmly, it twisted 
from his grasp, and he was slightly wounded 
in the arm. The sight of his own blood re- 
doubled his fury ; he threw away the shield 
with a haughty air, and grasping the flail 
with both his hands, struck the jester with so 
much vigour upon his right arm, that he 
dropped his sword to the ground, upon which 
Ralph set his foot, and the disarmed jester 
turned about to fly, when his enraged enemy, 
taking him at default, struck him a second 
time upon the head, and brought him to the 
ground ; nor had his chastisement ended 
here, but both parties interfered at once in 
favour of the unfortunate champion, and res- 
cued him from the vengeance of the enraged 
conqueror. 
The jester's comrades found him stunned 
by the blow he had received ; and, from the�
## p. 180 (#190) ############################################
180 
effusion of blood, they judged bim to have 
been dangerously hurt. They hastily unlaced 
his bassinet, and drawing off the hood of 
mail, they discovered a large contusion neap 
his left temple, whence the blood flowed co- 
piously, which heisihtened the ghastly appear- 
ance of his pale lank visage, and frightened 
Ralph, whose good nature had now regained 
the ascendancy over his resentment. He was 
heartily sorry he had not listened in time to 
the peaceful overtures held out by his anta- 
gonist, and verily believed he had been un* 
fortunate enough to kill his foe-man ; but; 
after being sluiced with cold water, and ha* 
ving the wound well washed and bound up, 
the jester recovered his senses, and Ralph 
danced about the green for joy. Gregory 
owned that Ralph was the conqueror; and 
both of them shook hands in a friendly man- 
ner, and promised not to remember any 
thing that had passed with the least animo- 
sity.�
## p. 181 (#191) ############################################
T8I 
Gregory, assisted by two of his comrades, 
retired from the field of combat, to have his 
wound dressed by the baron's leech ; and the 
fortunate champion caused his leathern hel- 
met to be unlaced, and having disencumber- 
ed himself from the gambason, he bound a 
kerchief over his wounded arm to stop the 
bleeding, and put on his super-tunic, when 
his companions having placed a large gar- 
land of oak leaves upon his head, hoisted 
him upon their shoulders, and bore him away 
in triumph, and the shield of his antagonist 
reversed was carried before him, agreeable 
to ancient custom. 
In their way to Hob Fischer's, (for thither 
they were taking him,) the procession passed 
by Sim Glover's house, and curiosity called 
Margery, who heard the shouting, to the 
gate. The first thing that struck her eye 
was Ralph triumphant, having his brows am- 
ply adorned with the token of his victory^ 
and the moment our hero saw his fair mis-�
## p. 182 (#192) ############################################
182 
tress, he leaped from his comrades shoulders, 
and ran to her, where, making first a fair 
obeysance, he spake as follows :  
" 1 wot not well, fair mistress Margery, 
in what way you may entertake the same at 
my hands, but, certes, I have awarded to his 
lordship's silken fool a fair guerdon." 
From this address the damsel readily un- 
derstood, that a battle had taken place be- 
tween Ralph and Gregory. It also plainly 
appeared, that the former was the conqueror ; 
and though she really was not sorry fortune 
had declared herself in favour of the tasker, 
yet she did not altogether approve of the 
manner in which he announced the victory ; 
and, for that reason, pettishly replied," If 
his lordship's fool, and you, Goodman Shal- 
low-wits, are such gulls as to fall together by 
the ears, or try the stoutness of your panni- 
kells against each other like mad bulls, areed 
me, I prithee, what concern have I in what 
may betide you I certes, I see none."�
## p. 183 (#193) ############################################
183 
" Have you then no souvenance," said 
Ralph, " how I was delivered over to the 
wicked barber, nor how this vapouring jape- 
cracker was brought to worry me like a bear 
in my vile durance ? By the three kings of 
Cullaine, methinks you might have remem- 
bered that foul foolery." 
" Soothly to say," replied Margery, * I 
am not at this stound unmindful of one mat- 
ter you have set forth, and, well I wis, it was 
all your own seeking. I was beguiled ; for, 
certes, I deemed you to be a true man, who 
loved me well, and not a churlish treachor, 
hand and gauntlet, with a chriscross-row lur- 
dane, to misprize my gentle portaunce, and 
overcraw my good nature ; but may our Bles- 
sed Lady so help me in day of dome, as I wish 
for occasion to spring that letter-conning 
woodcock, Mister Thomas, and make him 
dance a-fit to the measure I would set for 
him." 
" Your smiles, my pretty lass," said Tho-�
## p. 184 (#194) ############################################
18* 
Tnas, wbo overheard her," 1 may lead me any 
nvhere ; but, certes, these frowns sit very evlk 
\y upon your fair countenance. Had I mir- 
ror to reflect them, you would be convinced, 
and forego them for aye. I am right sorry 
my intendiments failed in the performance ; 
nathless I must say, they were advised for 
the best." 
And I," retorted Margery, * should hold 
it best, for your knaveship's heels to kiss the 
stocks; a fair guerdon, in my awardment, 
for your selcouth counselling.'* 
u In sooth, my lovely eves-di-opper," an- 
swered Thomas, smiling, u your doom is 
somewhat harsh. Sithence, all would have 
gone aright, had not you played a shrewd 
trick upon us ; for, certes, we wist not you 
was so near the window." 
Here Ralph interfered, saying, u ijook you 
now, what is done cannot be fordone ; and I 
hope, Margery, ye deem me to have been 
ifull appayed for my falsing.  Give me your�
## p. 185 (#195) ############################################
18$ 
hand in a friendly way; for, as I hope for 
Paradise, I have none ill will, nor do I love 
you a whit the less sickerly for all this bick- 
erment." 
" I will cry "truce, with all my heart," re- 
plied Margery, presenting her fair hand to 
the tasker, which he received in his, and 
pressed to his lips again and again. 
4t Fye, now, you are so foolish, Ralph!" 
cried the damsel, blushing; and having, by 
a faint struggle or two, withdrawn her hand, 
she smiled, and, bidding him good-even, ran 
into the house, and shut the door. 
Ralph was then remounted upon his com- 
rades' shoulders, and the procession arrived 
in safety at the Crown.�
## p. 186 (#196) ############################################
186 
SECTION IX. 
A TALE AT THE ALE. 
At the threshold of Hob Filcher's door, 
the victorious combatant met his friend Sim 
Glover, the fair Margery's father, who took 
him very cordially by the hand, saying, " I 
wist not that the old grudge 'twixt you and 
his honour's jester would have been abroad 
with so much bickerment. I shall not twiterr 
thee for thy hardiment, but am right glad 
you have made him cry, craven. Algates, 
had I been avised o' the matter aforehand, 
I would ha' assayed to put a spoke in the 
wheel." 
"The affray is all over," said Ralph ; " and 
I thank you for your good weeten. Yet, be-�
## p. 187 (#197) ############################################
187 
cause I owed the knave a broken coxcomb, 
I should have been ill at ease to have let 
him wend away without his due. But, hark 
o' me, I have had speech with Margery, and 
wot ye well, we have shaken hands, and she 
is my bonnibell again ; for, by my hali-dam, 
I love the wench, algates she be so wilful ; 
and, if dame and you be as willing as I, we 
will be nearer related before another moon." 
" In good time, Ralph," quoth Sim; " dame 
and I have conned this lesson over before 
now. You have our liking; win but the girl 
to say aye, and we will not keep you from 
the church door." 
" By the blood, but it is well said on both 
sides," cried the host ; " Gad's bones, Ralplv 
has demeaned himself like a tall man, and 
a true. He shewed his dareindo without 
grudging, and bears no malice after ; but, by 
the bones, I am main glad your bickerings 
are at an end. You be all my customers, 
and peace and lustyhood brings most grists�
## p. 188 (#198) ############################################
T38 
to my mill. Come, come, walk in, my 
jolly hearts ; here's house-room at your ser- 
vice; tell me what you will call for. If you 
talk of my ale, a-dad you shall wend far away 
before you find its equal. It is true March 
hufF-cap, and, like the Philistines foxes, car- 
ries fire in its tail." 
The company took their seats in Hob ? * 
summer-room ; and the first stoup of ale had 
scarcely gone round, when they were joined 
by an elderly man, who was a stranger to 
them all. His dress was a long dark colour- 
ed frock, resembling that of a friar, and his 
hood was drawn up over his head. He en- 
quired of the host, if he might be accommo- 
dated there with lodging for the night; and, 
being answered in the affirmative, he ad- 
dressed himself to the assembly, in these 
words :  
u \ am so, please you my gentle masters, 
a dissour ; and that you may well ween me 
not to be of the common sort, I shall aread�
## p. 189 (#199) ############################################
m 
you before hand, that I belong to Jarrino's 
celebrated company of minstrels, who are 
now with the king at St Alban's, whither I 
am going to join them-; but being, as you 
see, somewhat aged, I cannot travel so swift- 
ly as afore tim< j s I was wont to do; and fear- 
ing to be belated before I can reach Hat- 
field, and right well tired also, I am desirous 
of abiding here this night; and, if you be 
disposed for joyance> collect among you 
money enough to pay for my harbouring, 
and reasonable refreshment, and I will re- 
hearse a fit of mirth, well worthy the meed 
of three golden-angelai* 
The rustics readily raised a contribution 
sufficient for the purpose, and Hob Fileher, 
of his own accord, swore by the mass-bell, 
he would lodge him like a knight of price, 
without charging him a single cross, if the 
story was to his gree. 
The old man put the donations he had re- 
ceived into his gipsire, and, requesting Hob�
## p. 190 (#200) ############################################
190 
not to forget his promise, related the follow- 
ing tale, singing the songs to appropriate 
tunes, accompanying his voice to the music 
of a gittera, which he bore with him. 
THE DISSOUR S TALE. 
" Whilom, as old records tellen us, on a 
night, at Christmas tide, when the north- 
east wind blew sore, and the snow lay deep 
upon the ground, two travelling priests were 
belated on their way to Oxford city. 
" At the time it began to be dark, they 
came to the gate of a small priory, where 
they knocked, and begged harbour for God's 
sake. The porter seeing their gowns wrap- 
ped about them, and their hoods ydrawn 
over their faces, weened them to be min- 
strels, or jugglers, and right glad were the 
friars of their coming; for they counted upon 
seeing some mirthful pastime.�
## p. 191 (#201) ############################################
191 
" It so chanced, that the prior and the sub- 
prior were gone to Oxford, convened thither 
by the bishop; and the sacarist, with the cel- 
lerer and the rest of the brethren, who most 
of them were lusty bloods, and enemies to 
penance, had agreed to hold a night of revel- 
ling in their absence. 
** The sacarist, being a shrewd knave, was 
elected abbot of Misrule, and, according to 
ancient customs, became the master and re- 
gulator of the sports. This jolly crack-jape, 
having his head decorated with a gilt mitre, 
presided at the head of the table, and direct- 
ed his comrades. 
* When the two priests were brought in, 
they saluted the company with a seemly be- 
nediction, and the abbot caused them to be 
placed, one at his right hand, and one at his 
left, saying, " Well ye ween, this is the tide 
in which we celebrate the festival of our 
Lord's Nativity, and make merry; take your 
seats, and join with us in the pastime, and ye�
## p. 192 (#202) ############################################
shaH be right welcome." The cellerer then 
handed to each of them a cup of spiced 
wine, for that they were cold, and the abbot 
continued his harangue :  " Ye are to learn, 
we are now at a jolly gambol, every one of 
us, withoutten any lett at all, io his turn, 
must sing a glee, song, or tellen a feale of 
merriment. The jape stands with friar Peter, 
and it will come to us anon." But these lewd 
friars sang so shrewishly, and with words so 
foul, that good manners biddeth them not be 
told, and their tales were idle jests of sinful 
lechery and naughtiness, so that when it came 
to the two strangers, they were sore abash- 
ed, and weened not what to sing. Dan John, 
whose turn was first, after casting sometime 
in his mind the kind of verses he should 
give, and, not knowing any so unseemly as 
those he had heard set forth, chose the fol- 
lowing carol, as meet for the holy tide : �
## p. 193 (#203) ############################################
1$3 
Saint Stephen was a couthly child, 
In royal Herod's hall ; 
And served him in cloth and bread, 
As should a king befal. 
Saint Stephen out of kitchen came, 
With boar's head in his hand, 
And saw a star, full fair and bright, 
O'er Beth'lem city stand. 
Adown he ca9t the boaris head, 
And went into the hall, 
Where doughty Herod sat in state 
Amidst his nobles all. 
" King Herod, lo ! I thee forsake, 
And all thy works, I wiss ; 
There is a Child in Beth'lem born, 
Shall bring us all to bliss."  
" What aileth thee, thou imp, Stephen? 
Or what is thee befal ? 
Say, dost thou lack or meat or drink 
In kingly Herod's hall ?"  
" Me lacketh neither meat nor drink 
In kingly Herod's hall ; 
But there's a Child in Beth'lem born, 
Far better than you all."  
" What aileth Stephen ? art thou wode ? 
Or 'ginnest thou to braid ? 
Say, dost thou lack or gold, or fee, 
Or any costly wede?"  
VOL. III. N�
## p. 194 (#204) ############################################
194 
** Me lacketh neither gold, nor fee, 
Nor any costly wede ; 
But there's a Child in Beth'lem born, 
Shall help us at our need. 
" Full sooth," quoth Stephen, " do I say, 
As in full sooth I wish, 
This capon, dead, to rise and crow, 
That lieth here in my dish."  
That word it was no sooner said, 
That word within the hall, 
The capon crow'd, Our Lord's yborn, 
Among the nobles all. 
a Rise, my tormentors !" quoth the king, 
And spake full angrily ; 
" Lead forth the treachor from the town, 
And stone him till he die !"  
Then mocked they Stephen as he went, 
And stoned him in tbe way ; 
And, therefore, is his evyn kept 
On Christ's own natal day. 
" By my hallo-dam, you arc a seely dis- 
sour," cried the abbot of Misrule, " thou art 
altogether beside the purpose ; for well you 
might wot this geer is suited to the Jen ten 
days, when men do penance, and not for this 
merry festival; aread you then rightly, we�
## p. 195 (#205) ############################################
\95 
shall expect another kind of saying from 
your comrade, and better mated to our jolly- 
ment; come, trowle the bowl about, and I 
will give you a virelay suited to my own 
gree: 
SONG. 
** Stop, Hoodsman, stop ! nor pass ns by, 
Counting for ay thy coral beads ; 
The iHsty bowl invites thine eye, 
And tells thee what thy belly needs. 
" Thy glowing cheeks, thy blazing nose, 
With many rich carbuncles gay, 
Are shining lights, and well disclose 
The part at table thou canst play. 
** Do not we hear the plaintive cry 
Thy belly makes, for fowl, and fish, 
For capon, ven'son, pudding, pye, 
And every other dainty dish ? 
*' Nor less it claims, from custom due, 
Large draughts of ale, and spiced wine ; 
Stint not, it cries, to me be true; 
Be all these welcome blessings mine!"  
" 'Tis three long hours, by Adam's dole! 
And three long days they seemed at lea3t; 
The mass detained me from the bowl, 
And pious orgies of the feast.�
## p. 196 (#206) ############################################
196 
** The lazy mass-priest was too long, 
In penance sharp he made me pine ; 
There was no music in his song ; 
His prayer was naught, it brought no wiue. 
" If life be short, as book-men say, 
It is our duty, well I ween, 
While shines the sun, to make our hay, 
And dance in summer o'er the green. 
" But, when our Prior he will prate 
Of shrift, at Lent, and abstinence, 
Of early mass, and vespers late, 
I hold bis sermons void of sense. 
" For why should we ourselves torment 
In vain? and, with a fretful mind, 
Tschew the blessings for us sent, 
And Be to present pleasures blind. 
" Then, nigh{ and day, to belly true, 
In revelry be blithe and brave; 
Nor flinch while one small drop is due : 
For sleeping,  leave it to the grave." 
" The song being ended, the abbot ad- 
dressed himself to the other priest, saying, 
" Whatever, mister wight, you be, if min- 
strel, juggler, or contour, it is time your mail 
should be unbuckled. The merriment stands 
at your door, and you were best not to lett�
## p. 197 (#207) ############################################
\97 
the fair game."  " In good sooth," quoth 
the priest, " I had lever you would pass me 
by; for you may wot that I am no brawler, 
nojaper; and, if I misread not, we are well 
avised by the Postle Paul not to wanton 
away our time in idle leesings, and wayward 
fables, which have nought of sooth. But, if 
ye list, I will read to you a fit or two from 
my portass ; or make, to the best of my con- 
ning, a profitable discourse against the heavy 
sin of goulardism, or glotony, and the unfit 
usance of strong drink; for look what the 
same apostle, writing to the Philippians, 
saith concerning those seely folk, who wilful- 
ly forsaking the true God, like filthy swine, 
make a god of their bellies."  " Stint thy 
preachment, and 'twere best," cried the ab- 
bot, " by the mass-bell, your clapper is too 
loud. We be not seeking for tales of dreari- 
ment; siekerly I vise you, leave your pistles 
lor the housling tide, and shew us a cast of 
your conning, so be it a sli-ht of legerde-�
## p. 198 (#208) ############################################
19& 
main, the dancing of a mawmet, or a trick 
of tumbling."  " I told you before," replied 
the stranger, " that I have no skill in these 
knackeries. I am, God wot, a poor priest, who 
with my brother here were benighted in our 
travel, and sought, for God's sake, harbour 
till the morning." " By the blood of St Be- 
nedict, our hallowed patron," exclaimed the 
cellerer, " we have given the wassell to ver- 
mins of a secular cast, I trow ! and, so help 
me Holy Mary, I weened they were minstrels, 
or jugglers, or they had found no welcome 
here. But, sithence they cannot pay their 
meed with merry glee, we will send them 
forth a-field, and keep no spies among us/* 
This ruthless conclusion was eftsoons put in- 
to execution, albe the season was right mis- 
fitting for travelling. It showered apace, and 
the poor priests were unwitting of their way. 
They begged, in the name of Him who suf- 
fered to redeem them from dole, and in the 
name of St Benedict, and every other holy�
## p. 199 (#209) ############################################
199 
saint and martyr they could call to mind, to 
have the houseing till day-break; but nothing 
might they be heard ; for the lozel friars took 
their staves, and beat them from the door, 
so that they were aghast, and dempt to have 
been slain did they not wend away ; which 
they did in piteous plight, with hearts full of 
dreariement.  Here ends the First Fit. 
" And now, my good masters, ye wot well 
it is the manner of us tale-tellers, to put the 
hood about for a trifle of coin more before 
the Second Fit be rehearsed ; but if you will 
glad my heart with a cup of spiced wine, for 
my throat is dry with talking, I will set forth 
the other part without expectance of any fur- 
ther guerdon." < 
His request was readily complied with ; 
and, having drank a hearty draught, he con- 
tinued the tale in these words :  
" The priests had not gone more than two 
or three bow-shots from the priory, when 
they espied a bevy of damosels, yclad in�
## p. 200 (#210) ############################################
200 
mummery habits, and some of them were 
wimpled and veiled like nuns. Each of them 
carried a lighted torch, and they tripped nim- 
bly along in a dancing guise, carolling as 
they went with merry glee, and little reck- 
ing of the snow that fell, because, 1 wis, their 
journey was not long. Having reached the 
priory, they beat upon the gate, and were 
eftsoons admitted. 
" Alas !" said Don John, " these lecher 
friars, I ken, must have their lemans to solace 
with them in the absence of the superiors, 
and we were thrust from the doors to make 
room for loose trundles. God and St Mary 
help us ! or the cold will do us to die misera- 
bly upon this bleak heath; for I wot not, 
(and, I trow, thou knowest no better,) which 
way we bin to go for more speedy harbour- 
ins:." " T tell thee what, brother John," said 
his companion, " certes, we be in main evil 
plight, but complaining will make none 
amends. Set the best foot forward, man ; I�
## p. 201 (#211) ############################################
201 
ween here be some footsteps : If my eyes de- 
ceive me not, 1 ken over yonder coppice the 
twinkling of a candle."  " St Thomas send 
us well thither,' answered John; " and may 
the foul fiend abash these lewd monks, and 
shorten their unseemly disport !" " Let be," 
quoth his companion ; " for, if they are clean- 
ly yshriven at Shrovetide, they shall have a 
heavy Lent for their Christmas glee." 
" This said, they held on their way uneath- 
ly towards the light, when, of a sudden, it 
was divided into many lights, disappearing 
in one part, and appearing again in another 
after a strange guise ; so that they deemed 
the foul fiend had beset them with wander- 
ing fires, yclept Jack-o'-Lanthorns, to mis- 
lead them into some swamp or pool to their 
destruction ; and, therefore, both of them 
conned over their night-spell, lo which they 
added a paternoster, with other good prayers, 
and eftsoons the lights were sjone. 
" Some time afterwards they reached the�
## p. 202 (#212) ############################################
202 
borders of a large wood, where there were 
several roads ; and while they were hesitating 
which they should chuse, the lights appear- 
ed again among the bushes, but much nearer, 
and discovered a large train of horsemen, 
with their servants bearing lighted torches ; 
and, upon their approach, our travellers per- 
ceived them to be ecclesiastics, which made 
them right glad; and humbly addressing 
themselves to him who appeared to be the 
highest in authority, besought him dearnly 
to acquaint them where they might find 
housing till the morning. t{ We are," said 
they, " God wot, two priests, who have far 
travelled, and, as you see, benighted in this 
stound, and sore amated by the cold wind 
and the snow."  " Gramercy!" returned the 
horseman, " but certes ye be in no couthly 
plight,and have unwittingly overshot the only 
place for harbour near at hand : aread me, 
my friends, how haps it you passed the priory 
to the right ? for well I wean ye have travel-�
## p. 203 (#213) ############################################
203 
led that road. It is the duty of thilk brother- 
hood to receive strangers, for godsake, and 
to fare them well."  " Certes then," said 
Dan John, " they have full foully dealt by 
us :" and with that he related to the horse- 
man what had passed there ; the manner in 
which they had been thrust from the doors ; 
and the arrival of the jolly wassellers, who 
had been admitted afterwards. u By holy 
Saint Benedict, our blessed patron!" returned 
the prior, for it was him they were speaking 
to, " if ye tell me no leesings, I will make 
them dear aby this misrule.  Ye shall go 
back with me, and my authority, I wean, will 
make sicker your welcome :" so saying, he 
caused two of the grooms to dismount, and 
having set the priests upon their horses, they 
rode together towards the priory. When 
the prior, having a crafty thought in his 
head, to be himself, unseen, a witness to the 
jolliment, and to work the more shame upon 
the lusty revellers, caused- his followers to�
## p. 204 (#214) ############################################
204 
abide at that stound, in a dell, at a short dis- 
tance from the priory, and he, with the two 
priests, went forward on foot. He had with 
him a key of a private door belonging to his 
own apartment, and afforded communication 
with a gallery, in which was a window that 
commanded a full view of the hall, and the 
company therein assembled. Here he came, 
with his two companions, and was presently 
assured, from his own kenning, that they had 
not belied the brethren. The supper was 
just serving up, and the prior desiring the 
priests to remain there, and carefully note 
where every thing should be deposited, so as 
to bear the same in memory, withdrew, and 
returned to his company, who all came for- 
ward with him; and knocking aloud at the 
gate, every thing in the hall was suddenly 
thrown into the utmost confusion, the alarm 
being given, that the prior and sub-governors 
were returned : the boards were cleared in an 
instant, the cloths removed, and the lemans.�
## p. 205 (#215) ############################################
205 
who visited the pious fraternity, were incon- 
tinently thrust into a hiding-place ; and such 
of the friars, whose duty called them not to 
wait upon their superiors, slunk into their 
cells, bestowing many a malediction upon 
their mishap, in having so fair a game so 
foully stinted. 
" When the prior entered the hall, he en- 
quired why he found so large a fire in the 
chimney; and, after some hesitation, the sa- 
crist told him, " that the night being cold, 
the brethren had met there to say their ves- 
pers."  " By my Holy Dame," said the prior, 
" here is a savory smell!  I trust their prayers 
have been well received : and as the hall is 
right warm, I hold it good to tarry here, for 
in sooth I am somewhat surbett with riding : 
lay a carpet upon the board, with napkins; 
I would fain have wherewithall to eat."  
" My Lord," quoth the cellerer, " the fire is 
znade in the refectory, and the purveyor will 
cover the board there in a short space." �
## p. 206 (#216) ############################################
206 
" Gramercy, for your diligence," answered 
the prior, * it is right commendable; but 
now 1 remember me, I have brought with me 
from Oxford a conning clerk, who deals in 
magic, and is a subtle tregetour, he has pro- 
mised to show me of his craft, and to work 
many wondrous doings ; I am not the churl 
to have this pastime to myself, but am willing 
all the brethren should, at this merry tide, be 
partakers with me." 
** He then caused all the friars to be sum- 
moned, and when they had entered the hall, 
to take their places, they were somewhat 
asterted by the hest of the prior, but when 
they saw there was no semblaunce of upbray- 
ings in his countenance, they seated them- 
selves more chearily. 
The prior then whispered to the sub-prior, 
who forthwith went privily to the gallery 
where the priests had been placed ; and ha- 
ving furnished them with disguisements, so 
that they could not readily be known again�
## p. 207 (#217) ############################################
S07 
by those who had seen them before, they were 
brought into the hall; Dan John passed for 
the joculator, and his companion for his ser- 
vant, who carried a small box under his arm, 
when the prior spake to Dan John in this 
wise :  " Certes, I am told you are a skilful 
tragetour, and well learned in pastimes of 
magic : if so be, show us of your ability at 
this merry tide, aud you shall not miss your 
meed."  " So please you, my Lord," replied 
Dan John, " I am willing to overstep my ac- 
customed practice, and sithence you have 
been long fasting upon your journey, I hold 
it right meet to have the tables covered for 
your refreshment."  *' By Saint Thomas," 
cried the prior, w that were in sooth a good 
deed done, and marry none the worse if it be 
estsoons done!"  " Your Lordship," quoth 
the pretended juggler, " need only command 
the pages to pight the carpets, and spread the 
napkins, for I am ready to make an essay of 
my craft."  The carpets were pight, and the�
## p. 208 (#218) ############################################
208 
napkins spread incontinently. The friars at 
this tide were nought inclined to mirth, but 
uneathly kept their seats, silently eyeing each 
other, and casting in their minds what sel- 
couth gambol was to follow this preparation. 
Dan John called for a chafing-dish filled with 
live coals, and taking a portion of powder 
from the box which his companion bore be- 
neath his arm, he cast the same upon the fire, 
saying, " Wend hither, ye buxom spirits of 
the night, who confessen the power of this 
spell; and bring with you capons richly stew- 
ed, doe venison ybaked in pies, with wild 
ducks, cygnets, and other water fowl."  " By 
the blessed Martyr of Kent ye have said well," 
quoth the prior ; " but so far as I can see, ou? 
supper will be an imaginary one."  " Aread 
you, my Lord," returned the juggler, " the 
spirits 1 have called upon are real spirits-, 
and wend to and fro without being kenned 
by mortal eyes, but cause the closet at your 
Lordship's right hand to be opened, and you�
## p. 209 (#219) ############################################
209 
shall be my witness the goblins have not de- 
ceived me." The closet was opened, and 
the dainties produced. " And now," con- 
tinued Dan John, " I will add some other 
dishes well accorded to the season ;" so say- 
ing, he repeated his spell, and hight his spirits 
to bring " a brave boar's head well brawned, 
chines of fat porkers, and turkies roasted :" 
these were found in the opposite closet at the 
prior's left hand, and pight upon the table. 
" The manchet, and tine bread," added the 
juggler, " will be found in abundance behind 
the high desk." By this time the tables were 
fairly covered, when the prior spoke thus : 
" In truth you are a notable artist, and have 
right well atchieved a work of wonder : if the 
whole be not an illusion of the foul fiend, we 
shall not sleep with empty stomachs ; but I 
wot, Syr, thir lacketh yet one thing, and that 
is wine."  " In sooth, my Lord, as I told you, 
mine are airy spirits, and meddle not greatly 
with that article ; beneath the stalls there are 
VOL. III. O�
## p. 210 (#220) ############################################
210 
a few pottle pots, but my familiar areads me, 
that he can find none better than in your 
Lordship's cellars." The prior laughed heartily 
at this conclusion; and having given his be- 
nediction, ordered the carvers to do their 
duty; " for I perceive," said he, " this is none 
illusion, but substantial food, well ycooked, 
and suited to the holy tide." 
" The. pious fraternity, whilom so joyous, 
now sat upon thorns, and sore abashed, fore- 
seeing that thisguileful beginning would bring 
forth a noyous ending; for they dempt well 
they had been bewrayed, but wot not by 
what malengine, unless the joculator really 
dealed with the devil : yet, in order to gloss 
over the matter as far as they might, they 
partook of the provision, though with little 
appetite, and prayed lustily that every morsel 
might choke the juggler, who, nothing reck- 
ing of their curses, with his companion, eat 
and drank chearily ; and the prior, with the 
superior officers,, were exceedingly facetious.�
## p. 211 (#221) ############################################
11 
After the supper was ended, and the viands 
taken from the tables, the prior filled a large 
cup with white Muscadel, and presented the 
same to Dan John, saying, " Sickerly, my 
friend, we have to remercy you for a fair en- 
tertainment : this is the rarest cast of jugglery 
I ever beheld. But read me now soothly, I 
pray you, are these things counterfeited by 
the craft of magic natural, or by the couthly 
workings of spirits, or fairy elves, such as old 
stories ttllen dance in the green meads by 
moon-light?"  "Wot you not, my Lord," 
said D in John, " I called my spirits by a 
charm, which magic natural teachetb, soeom- 
eth their obeisance ; for, as I told you, they 
work unseen."  " But may they not take upon 
them a bodily form, so be it you command 
them.?" quoth the prior.  " Certes they may," 
said John.  " Sithence you grant it so," an- 
swered the prior, " if you have not gone to 
the extent of your conning, I should like well 
to see some sprite, or elf, in human form.'' �
## p. 212 (#222) ############################################
fel 
" In good sooth, my Lord," returned the 
juggler, " you have proposed a deed uneathly 
to be performed : yet to do you pleasure, I 
will not stint the essayment of my art, hut I 
aread you all to be aware of harm, and to 
keep your places. The spirits I shall upraise 
are right seemly in their forms, but crafty and 
treacherous in their actions, and apt to en- 
tice men to lustful and wanton dalliance, un- 
profitable to their souls: and further I warn 
you to eschew them, for they be foul thieves 
and plunderers, and you must whip them sound- 
ly, or eftsoons they will return again, and rob 
your cellars, your kitchen, and your pantry, 
for w r ot ye well they be great gormandizers." 
" You say well," said the prior, " and I 
will order eight or ten of the most sturdy 
grooms from the stables, to stand accoiled 
with scourges in their hands, to smite when 
the time requires." The grooms were forth- 
with brought into the hall, and placed near to 
the door, the station assigned to them by the�
## p. 213 (#223) ############################################
213 
juggler. The friars, algates they were sore 
awhaped, could no longer refrain from mur- 
muring : they foresaw to what purpose this 
arrangement was made; and the sacrist, joined 
with the cellerer, made bold to address the 
prior in these words :  " My good Lord, our- 
selves, and the brethren at large, intreat you 
to bear in souvenance, that we be forsaid to 
use such cursed conjurations, or, by craft of 
necromancy ,hold communication with sathan, 
or his foul angels : we are aghast at the evil 
workings of this wicked wizard, and beseech 
you to stint him ; sithence the fiends be more 
puissant than mortal wights, and woe the while, 
if we attempt to overcraw them, they may 
raise a tempest of thunder to harrow our holy 
house, and bren us with the leven brand."  
" Be not accoyed, my brethren, "returned the 
prior; " the piety with which you performed 
the vespers this evening, and the headings 
you have made to God, the Holy Virgin, and 
all Saints, at that stound, shall abet you from�
## p. 214 (#224) ############################################
214 
danger of sorcery or enchantment : but well 
I wot the orgies now to be performed shall 
purify these walls from pollution, rather than 
endanger their downfall." Dan John now 
threw the powder a third time into the fire, 
and then ordered the grooms to open the 
closet at the bottom of the hall, and incon- 
tinently a bevy of wanton bonnibelles rushed 
out, shrieking most pitiously, when they were 
discovered. The grooms, according to the 
orders they had received, laid on the lash 
with lustihed, reckless of the cries and jang- 
les of the seely wantons. The ruthful beads- 
men, to empeach the chastisement of their dear 
lemans rose up eftsoons, and, rushing towards 
the door, attempted to burst it open ; in the 
scuffle the tables were subversed, and the 
lights at the lower end of the hall were sud- 
denly queint; the tumult became general, 
and the friars, muddled together with the 
wenches, were beat down the one over the 
other, and whipped in their turns; for, the�
## p. 215 (#225) ############################################
215 
sturdy grooms favoured none who came near 
them. The sacrist, in forcing open the door, 
struck his forehead against one of the abut- 
ments, and was nearly drent with his own 
blood : the ccllerer, hastening to his relief, fell 
over a form, and bared his shin to the bone. 
Both of them bawled aloud for relief; but 
their cries were not distinguished amidst the 
general steven, shrieking, and scathful uproar. 
" The prior withdrew to his apartment at 
the onset, and took the two priests with him; 
and when he thought the friars, and their 
lemans, were sufficiently yspent, he caused 
the chapel bell to be rung, and sent the 
sub-prior into the hall, to call away the 
grooms, and stint the riot. When the tu- 
mult was aslaked, the friars were ordered to 
take their places in the chapel, which they 
did with much reluctance; and the prior came 
thither to them, attended by the two priests, 
in their proper habits: he then upbrayed them, 
with many bitter reproaches, for their lewd�
## p. 216 (#226) ############################################
216 
deportment, and especially for their lack of 
charity : when, having suspended the sacrist 
and the cellerer from their offices for a sea- 
son, he imposed a heavy penance on the bro- 
therhood, and hight them to sing the mid- 
night service, which well yc may wot, my 
masters, was done with more dreariment than 
devotion, and every one of them was permit- 
ted to depart to his cell. 
" The two priests were fairly appayed for 
their trouble, and slept warm and quiet: 
in the morning they brake their fast well, 
and were dismissed by the prior with his be- 
nediction, for having exorcised the holy 
house, and driven thence, with their due 
guerdon, the lewd spirits which had haunted 
it in his absence. And so ends my tale." 
This simple recital gave great satisfaction 
to the rustic auditory, and every one made 
his comment upon its merit.  Hugh the 
carrier, who was not famous for his conti-�
## p. 217 (#227) ############################################
217 
tiency, thought it a shrewd evil deed to mal- 
treat the kind young wenches:  and Robin 
Tosspot blamed the prior for putting an end 
so hastily to the good drinking : u I would 
have had/' quoth he, " the two priests sit up 
all night, by a rousing tire, with two pottle 
pots of wine, at least, for each of them, and 
then, my hearts, by the Lord of Lincoln, they 
would have been in a rare guise for travelling 
in the morning, and nothing fearful of the 
cold."  Hob Filcher approved of his friend 
Robin's amendment; " but, by the bones," 
said he, " the tale is a good one, and the 
dissour shall have his gree." The ale was 
pushed merrily about, until it was nearly mid- 
night, when the company parted in good hu- 
mour with each other, and every one return- 
ed quietly to his own home.�
## p. 218 (#228) ############################################
218 
CHAPTER I. 
An Exploit of the Jester, which ends unhopp ily. 
When Gregory was cured of his wounds, 
and ventured forth abroad again, he was in- 
formed that his antagonist Ralph, and Mar- 
gery the glover's daughter, were not only re- 
conciled to each other, hut that she had con- 
sented to be his bride, and the preparations 
were actually making for their union. He 
now plainly perceived that Margery had be- 
fooled him, and counterfeited a fondness for 
him merely for the sake of punishing his ri- 
val ; this reflection made him very angry; and 
if he had dared, he would have recked his 
vengeance upon the fortunate tasker; but not�
## p. 219 (#229) ############################################
219 
holding such an attempt to be consistent with 
prudence, he turned his anger into another 
channel, and determined to direct its fury 
against the fair damsel herself, whom he 
thought was less capable of resistance ; and 
having learned that she was about to visit a 
poor relation, who was dangerously ill, he 
watched her out in the afternoon, and seeing 
she went alone, thought i t was li kely she might 
return the same. He therefore provided him- 
self with a white sheet, and hid himself in a 
hollow tree by the path side, in the warren ; 
this being the way she was most likely to re- 
turn. He wrapped himself in the sheet, and 
took his stand as soon as the evening shut in. 
He had been there upwards of an hour, with- 
out any one passing, when the moon arose, 
and he perceived a female coming over the 
stile, at the bottom of the warren, whom he 
doubted not was iiis fickle mistress; and at 
her approach he stalked with great solemnity 
from the tree, full in her sight, and mounting�
## p. 220 (#230) ############################################
2120 
a little eminence, raised himself on his tip- 
toes, and elevated his hands, in order to ap- 
pear the taller. He performed his part with 
so much skill, that the poor female, who 
took him for a real spectre, screamed out 
with affright, and fled from him with the 
greatest precipitation ; he, however, soon 
discovered, that it was not Margery, hut dame 
Evered, Ralph's mother, he had so violently 
terrified ; and as he had no quarrel with her, 
he did not pursue, but withdrew behind a 
thicket of holly, and thence returned quietly 
to his post again, where he awaited, with pa- 
tience, the arrival of mistress Margery. 
Dame Evered, who really believed she had 
seen a perfect apparition, was terribly fright- 
ened, nearly out of her wits, and made the 
best of her way to Tewin-green, without da- 
ring to look behind her, where running into 
Hob Filcher's, whose house she first came in- 
to, she threw herself into a chair, where she 
sal panting for breath, without being able to�
## p. 221 (#231) ############################################
221 
utter a single word ; her face was as pale as 
dust, and her eyes stood as though she had 
been mad. 
There were several of Hob's usual cus- 
tomers drinking in the kitchen at the same 
time, who were all of them prodigiously sur- 
prised at the deportment of the tasker's mo- 
ther. " By the death of my grandame," said 
the host, " the good dame is sore aghast ! 
she is either wode or planet-struck." 
His guests were solicitous to know what 
had happened to her; but it was several mi- 
nutes before she could utter any expressions 
that were intelligible, and these were short 
ejaculations to the saints : but after having 
crossed herself several times, and counted her 
rosary, she exclaimed  "Save me, sweet Lady 
virgin ! Save me from the foul fiend !" 
" By the Lord of Lincoln," said Robin Toss- 
pot, " Hob Filcher has hit the right nail up- 
on the head ! the silly old gammer is stark 
wode:" and to this the whole company agreed.�
## p. 222 (#232) ############################################
222 
At last, however, after she had swallowed a 
cup-full of metheglen, made hot with spices, 
which Tib the hostess had prepared for her, 
she came to herself, and assured the assembly 
that she had seen a ghastly goblin in the war- 
ren, all in white, and as tall as Tewin church- 
steeple, with flaming eyes as big as saucers : 
that it stood by the side of the crooked oak, 
crossed her path, and raised its arms a* 
though it had been to seize upon her. 
" Benedicite ! cried Tib, and kissed the crost 
of a rosary that hung from the cell of the man- 
tle-piece. Robin Tosspot, and the rest of his 
companions, made a joke of the old woman's 
story: and two cross-bowmen, who had just 
arrived from Hertford, and were drinking a 
horn or two of ale, were particularly facetious 
upon the occasion. 
The old woman was highly offended that 
her recital met with so little credence, and 
especially of the liberty the two military guests 
had taken upon the occasion, when she thus�
## p. 223 (#233) ############################################
223 
addressed herself to them :  " Without doubt 
ye be tall men, because you wear a soldier's 
badge, but there is mony a cock of the game 
that has a white feather in his tail; and let 
me tell you, if the hobgoblin had met with 
you in your way, he would have made your 
teeth chitter; for well ye may wot the fiend 
cares not for your quilted pourpoints, your 
iron skull caps, no nor for the long swords 
you carry in your belts, no nor your belts and 
your bows to boot.  In sooth you must have 
other kinds of shields to defend yourselves, 
than the round penches you carry at your 
backs." 
" Not so fast, gammer," cried one of them, 
" for you may not; and if the goblin will but 
wait in the warren for our coming, we will 
give him his errand." 
" By these ten fingers," said his compa- 
nion, " he had best begone ! for if we find 
him, we will curry his hide; let him take 
heed, or we will roast him at his own fire-"�
## p. 224 (#234) ############################################
224 
" O ! no doubt you arc tongue doughty hill 
cows," cried the old dame; " it is always the 
guise of such swaggering companions, to talk 
like tall men while tippling at an ale-stake, 
and the fumes of the ale makes valour great 
when scathe and danger is distant; but, by 
the holy cross, 1 know you will be glad to 
untruss a point, if the foul fiend should stare 
you in the face." 
" Cogs blood but we will try that," cried 
one o\ them, throwing down a groat to pay 
for what they had drank : he took his change, 
and then wishing the company good night, 
departed, singing as he went :  
Be he the foul fiend, or a ghost, 
It boots not, let him but appear ; 
He shall have little fame to boast, 
We'll send him packing, never fear. 
Let him dy'e see, the foul fiend be, 
Hobgoblin fierce, or ghost, 
It matters not, the lozel sot 
Shall have small cost to boast.�
## p. 225 (#235) ############################################
225 
If he appear, we'll make him feai 
The sea so red and wide; 
For there I trow, he soon shall go, 
To tan his ugly hide. 
" Benetlicite !" cried the hostess, " was 
ever there two such fell swaggerers ?" 
" Let be, let be," said dame Evered ; " if 
they were to the warren, they will sing an- 
other guess song, anon." 
Gregory, as before observed, having fright- 
ened the tasker's mother, returned to his 
stand, where he frequently peeped out in ex- 
pectation of seeing his fair foe appear. He 
was nearly tired with waiting, and began to 
think of returning, when he heard the voice 
of some persons coming from the upper part 
of the warren ; these were no other than the 
two soldiers from Hob Filcher's. Gregory 
looked out to observe the party, and saw them 
coming hastily down the hill; but as they 
were not the game he wanted, he stood up 
as closely in the tree as possible, expecting 
they would pass by without perceiving him 
VOL. III. P�
## p. 226 (#236) ############################################
226 
In this, however, he was mistaken, for they 
came directly to the place, when one of them 
looking into the tree, hollowed out to his 
comrade  
" By the soul of St Guy, the old woman 
lied not; here is the white thing she prated 
about ; but as I am a soldier, I know not the 
saucer eyes !" 
" No," answered the other, " nor is he so 
tall as the church-steeple. However, I will 
assay him  Well, well, my old fox, come out 
'o thy hole, or I'll ghost thee with my costard ; 
and i'faith it hath made many a ghost of 
taller knaves than thou." 
So saying, he drew his sword, and his com- 
panion did the same; and both of them 
made towards the tree. Gregory, who had 
always an unconquerable aversion to a na- 
ked sword, found his house would soon be 
too hot to hold him ; he plainly perceived 
his enemies were not easily to be foiled : 
and therefore judged it most prudent to 
8�
## p. 227 (#237) ############################################
227 
quit it, and trfist to his heels for his security. 
Accordingly, he rushed suddenly from the 
tree, and having cast off the sheet, which en- 
cumbered his flight, and had nearly thrown 
him down at the onset, he ran toward the 
bottom of the warren with great celerity; and 
the soldier who was nearest to him followed 
as speedily as he was able, while his comrade, 
laughing, swore it was the ghost of a jack- 
hare ; " however," added he, " the silly beast 
has left his hide behind him, which I shall 
Claim as my fair perquisite ;" and so saying, 
he put the sheet into his pouch. In the 
mean time, he who pursued Gregory gained 
ground upon him; which being perceived by 
the latter, he shifted his path, and, instead of 
running towards the bridge by the side of the 
house, turned short into the meadow :  the 
soldier still following close at his heels, and 
passing the dove-house, he thought, by ta- 
king the road near the fish-pond, to gain the 
bridge without any difficulty ; but the second�
## p. 228 (#238) ############################################
228 
soldier seeing the double which Gregory had 
made to effect his escape, took his station at 
the bridge, by which means the unfortunate 
jester was beset at either end of the road, 
and was-reduced to the necessity of surren- 
dering at discretion, or to leap into the river 
on the one hand, or the pond on the other. 
He preferred the river, and being near a place 
he knew was fordable, and because he could 
riot swim, he began with caution to wade 
through. When the soldier at the bridge 
saw Gregory take to the water, he crossed 
over, and running up to the bank, arrived 
time enough to prevent the jester from effect- 
ing his landing : his comrade also came up, 
at the same time, upon the opposite bank. 
Having thus completely entrapped the appa- 
rition, they called upon him to capitulate; 
threatening to have recourse to their bows in 
case of his non-compliance. Never was any 
poor ghost so terribly frightened before ; and 
being chilled with the cold, his teeth chat-�
## p. 229 (#239) ############################################
229 
tered in his head : he therefore lifted up his 
hands in token of a surrender, and begged 
to be relieved from his purgatory ; which, on 
the part of the soldiers, was agreed to. He 
then made towards the bank of the river, on 
the Tewin side ; and, because it was rather 
too steep, he entreated the soldier to assist 
him, which he readily promised to do: but 
no sooner had he got the jester's hand in his 
grasp, than he plunged him two or three 
times over head and ears into the water, and 
at last drew him out panting for breath, and 
half drowned ; and as soon as he recovered 
himself, this merciless enemy began to bela- 
bour him over the back and shoulders with 
the flat part of his sword, which he used by 
way of a cudgel, till he roared like a baited 
bull ; and falling upon his knees,besought him 
to forbear, assuring him that he was no ghost, 
but a man. 
" No ghost !  In the devil's name," cried�
## p. 230 (#240) ############################################
230 
the soldier, " what could make you take up 
the resemblance of a goblin r" 
" No-no-nothing," said Gregory, stammer- 
ing, and frightened out of his wits. 
" Nothing, thouvarlet!" replied the soldier 
surlily. 
" No-no-nothing, in soo-soo-sooth, but that 
I was a foo-foo-fool." 
" I believe thou art a fool," returned the 
soldier. 
" Yes, I am, I am," said the jester, " that 
is all." 
" No, no," answered the man of war," thou 
art a wilful knave as well as a fool, and de- 
served the maltreatment 3^0 u have met with : 
but prithee, goodman-fool, go home, and learn 
lo be wiser to-morrow." So saying, he gave 
him a kick on the breech, which honest Gre- 
gory received very quietly; and returning a 
low bow, made the best of his way toTevvin- 
green. When the soldier joined his com-�
## p. 231 (#241) ############################################
5231 
rade, both of them proceeded towards Wel- 
wyn, singing as before :  
Let him d'ye see, hobgoblin be, &c. 
Poor Gregory, dripping wet, well beaten, 
and disappointed of his intended vengeance, 
was in a deplorable taking. As soon as he 
had recovered himself from his fright, and 
was convinced that the danger was over, he 
cast in his mind what steps it would be most 
prudent for him to take  dry clothes seemed 
indispensably necessary; but how to procure 
them, without exposing himself to ridicule, 
was the difficulty; and to appear in the trim 
he was, before his fellow-servants, at Queen- 
hoo-hall, was not to be thought of. At last 
he determined to pump up a dismal story of 
spectres in the warren, to amuse the topers 
at Hob Filcher's, and dry himself by the fire 
in his kitchen. 
When the soldiers had departed from the 
kitchen, the company began to animadvert,�
## p. 232 (#242) ############################################
232 
at large upon the story related by dame 
Evered :  some believed it, and sided with 
her; others again imagined she had taken a 
horn or two more ale than usual, at Tewin- 
water great house, where it appeared she had 
been; and so, said they, being scared at her 
shadow, has transmewed one of the milk 
cows into a ghost. 
The old lady, on the contrary, asserted, 
that the goblin which had appeared to her 
had only two legs, and that his eyes were as 
large as saucers. 
While these arguments were handing about, 
in rushed Gregory  his garments drenched 
with water, his hair dishevelled about his ears, 
his teeth chattering  he ran towards the fire, 
where he stood trembling, and the first words 
he uttered were, " the ve-ve-very d-d-devil 
himself is in the war-war-warren." 
" Did not I tell you . ? " cried the old woman, 
" but you would not believe me." 
The attention of all the company was in-�
## p. 233 (#243) ############################################
233 
stantly turned towards the jester:  his wet 
condition, and frightened appearance, had 
too much of nature in it to be counterfeit. 
The story of the spectre gained credit with 
the greater part of the company, who began 
to be alarmed; and u Benedicite" was in the 
mouth of many, who had not used a word of 
such sacred import for several moons. 
In the mean time, Gregory stood shivering 
by the fire-side; and begged of Hob, for 
mercy's sake, to throw on an additional fag- 
got; and having taken a large horn of warm 
spiced wine, he appeared to be more calm. 
Every one was questioning him with re- 
spect to what he had seen ; to which he re- 
plied, " My masters, why I have seen the 
devil and his dam, I trow, with ahosi of their 
imps.  Why I fought with a score, at least, 
of goblins, at one time ; and, by'r Lady, I 
swinged them soundly with my oaken towel; 
but woe the while they sprouted up like 
mushrooms, overpowering me by numbers,�
## p. 234 (#244) ############################################
234 
and will ye, or nil ye, they tumbled me down 
to the river, sowsed me into the water, over 
head and ears, and then pulling me through 
bush and briar, and thumping me against 
the trees, at last they left me astride upon 
the stile, at the top of the warren, half dead 
with the fatigue of hard fighting, and in the 
condition you now see me." 
" Saint Bridget protect us from foul spi- 
rits!" cried Tib the hostess, crossing herself; 
" sure master Gregory }'ou was not at mass 
last Sunday, nor shrift yourself at Shrovetide. 
Bless us, 'tis a wonder sathan did not make 
away with thee at once." 
" Away, you silly sot," answered the host; 
" if the foul fiend would do me justice, he 
would silence that shrew's clac kof thine  go 
to, you fool, what should the devil have to do 
with Shrovetide, more than any other tide! 
out upon you for a widgeon, dost think he 
plays at bo-peep in a pancake r" 
"Well said, Hof," cried Robin Tosspot ;�
## p. 235 (#245) ############################################
c 255 
a for my part, I have heard much of the evil 
fiend sathan, but he always knew better than 
to meet me. I defy him and his horns, and 
his claws into the bargain." 
" Out upon thee, thou perilous pagan, thou 
seely sot! " cried dame Evered ; " the neigh- 
bours wot-weil that you are a very Jew at 
unbelief, and none of us would wonder if 
the fiend should come after cock-crowing, 
and fetch thee away in a storm of fire and 
brimstone, for your waywardness." 
Toss-pot was wonderously witty, in his 
way, upon the old dame ; still persisting in 
it, that her bewildered fancy had led her to 
mistake the squire's white cow for a spirit. 
" Ay, but," said Wat Coulter, " if dame 
Evered be mistaken, what say you to master 
Gregory, and his kennel of foul fiends r" 
" Who, Gregory r" cried Toss-pot with a 
hiccup ; " why he, I trow, got drunk at mo- 
ther Rennet's ale-stake, near Digs-w ell's 
Mill, and rolled into the river, coming back,�
## p. 236 (#246) ############################################
236 
as I did three moons ago, into the May 
pond. By the mass, I thought I was pur- 
sued by a legion of fairy spirits ; but being 
soused in the water, brought me to my senses; 
and when I paddled out of the water, I saw 
nobody, but Tom the hedger's old sow, with 
her litter of nine pigs;"  here the clowns 
laughed heartily:  " and thus it happened, 
added Toss-pot, " by me when I was drunk." 
" It did," answered Gregory ; " for who 
amongst us can bear in mind, master Swill- 
bowl, when } r ou were sober ?  not these ten 
winters, I can take upon me to swear. Out 
upon him, for he is no better than a pagan 
Turk." 
" No more he is, dame Evered," said Tib ; 
" he swears like iniquity in a mortality 
play." 
" Stintyourgossipping,you callat,"said Hol> 
to his wife ; " let us have no more of your 
caterwalling : odds-heart, let us have no more�
## p. 237 (#247) ############################################
&37 
clamour and contention. Who calls for a 
pot of ale, or a pottle of spiced wine r" 
" By the mass, my jolly host, but you say 
well," cried Toss-pot : " a cup of nice sack 
is the best spirit I ever met; and, as I am a 
true man," added he, nicking, " it never hurts 
me." 
" And that is a spirit," returned the land- 
lord, " that I am conjurer enough to raise, 
whenever I have customers to lay it." 
" Which, by the bones, I can do at all 
times," said Robin ; " not by sending it into 
the red sea, but by turning it down the red 
lane, my brave heart." Here all the clowns 
burst into a loud laugh ; the women held up 
their hands, and said their night spell ; and 
Gregory, viewing them with an eye of con- 
tempt, said they were foul-hearted Jews, and 
children of Judas. 
All this time Pierce the potter, who had 
not interfered in the preceding discourse, 
came gravely forward, and, addressing him-�
## p. 238 (#248) ############################################
238 
self to the jester, said, " I marvel much, 
good master Gregory, if you did not meet 
with two sturdy knaves of cross how-men." 
Gregory was exceedingly disconcerted at 
this question, (for lie was not at all aware 
that the soldiers had called at Hob Filcher's,) 
and it was some time before he could deter- 
mine upon an answer; at last he resolved, at 
all events, to give it in the negative. 
" Why, that is a main strange chance," 
returned Price ; " for it is not past two hours 
since two swaggering blades of soldiers (with 
their swords and bucklers, and armed in 
quilted) called in here, on their way from 
Hartford to Wellyn, and seeing dame Eve- 
red so frighted, they proposed to go through 
the Warren ; and did you not meet thern ?" 
" Meet the soldiers, say you !" returned 
Gregory, much discomposed ; " no, by the 
holy St Dunstan, not I. No-no-soldiers ; 
odds bods, I should have been glad to have�
## p. 239 (#249) ############################################
239 
done that; for if they were men, they would 
have come to my assistance." 
" That is what I mean," said the potter; 
" for they swore they would swinge the gob- 
lin soundly." 
" The devil they did !" returned the jester; 
" but if they had seen what I have seen, and 
been put to it as much as I have been put to 
it, by a whole swarm of goblins, they would 
have stinted, I trow, their big talking. I 
saw them not, and perhaps the foul fiend has 
run away with them on account of their 
swaggering manners, as he and his imps 
would have done with me, had I not found 
lime to repeat my paternoster" 
" What !" cried Toss-pot, laughing, " do 
you really trow, in sooth, that the devil has 
clapped his claws upon the two sturdy men 
of war, and carried them quick to purga- 
lory?" 
" I know not," answered the jester, surlily; 
" but I wish he had them, and you too, you�
## p. 240 (#250) ############################################
"240 
silly sot :  the fiend indeed only lets you 
alone because he is sure of you, and troubles 
himself with such as he is in doubt may es- 
cape from his griping." 
" Marry, well said, and to the purpose," 
cried Toss-pot ; " why, my lord's knave of a 
jester has played the fool so long by profes- 
sion, that he is become a natural fool, and 
dreams of elves, and ghosts, and jack-a-lan- 
terns." This occasioned another general 
laugh. 
Gregory shrugged up his shoulders, and 
made no reply ; for the subject of the soldiers 
was not at all suited to his satisfaction ; and 
he began to fear, that, through their medium, 
the whole transaction might be divulged; 
and he certainly had no desire that the true 
part he had taken in it should be brought to 
light. Dame Evered returned home ; the 
jester tarried some time longer to dry him- 
self more thoroughly.�
## p. 241 (#251) ############################################
241 
The jolly topers finding it began to grow 
late, were now about to depart, when their 
company was increased, and their appetite 
for ale and revelling renewed, by the return 
of that same aged minstrel or dissour, who 
had so well played his part upon the even- 
ing of the combat between Gregory and the 
tasker. The wassel bowl was speedily re- 
plenished at the special intimation of Robin 
Toss-pot, and under his immediate direction. 
" For look you," said Robin, " I have a feat 
above all the smiths in Nineveh. I am a phi- 
losopher, that can dispute you of the nature 
of ale ; and mark you, sir, a pot of ale con- 
sists of four parts : imprimis, the ale ; '2dly, 
the toast; 3dly, the nutmeg; 4thly, the gin- 
ger : which we clerks call the four elements 
of the tankard ; and, if you quaff him to the 
tune of a merry tale or song, why, he has n 
fellow in all the schools." 
" And a merry tale shall you have, my 
masters," quoth the dissour, addressing hkn- 
VOL. J 1 1. o�
## p. 242 (#252) ############################################
242 
self to the jolly groupe ; * collect me but 
three groats among you, to pay my lodging 
and my cheer, and you shall have one worth 
three golden eagles." 
" Marry," said Toss-pot, * let it be such 
a tale as thou told'st us last, and thy lodging 
shall be neither better nor worse than in 
mine own truckle-bed, though I should sit 
up for it all night with my friend Filcher." 
The old man thanked his quondam host 
for his courtesy ; and, putting himself in a 
proper attitude, partly recited, partly sung, 
as follows in the next chapter. 
CHAPTER IL 
The Tale. 
About a century past, there lived at Hat- 
field a merry fellow, well known in this vil- 
lage, who followed the double occupation of 
a tailor and a barber. He was usually deno- 
minated the Little Tailor  and b}^ that ap- 
pellation, so please you, I will call him. He 
was much esteemed by his neighbours, not 
only on account of his skilfulness in his pro- 
fession, but more especially for his mirthful- 
VOL. IV. A�
## p. 2 (#12) ###############################################
o 
ness ; for, he was constantly whistling or sing- 
ing, or telling merry tales to please his cus- 
tomers : and if perchance, in shaving, he drew 
blood of any one of them, he had the method 
of apologizing so archly, that he seldom fail- 
ed to send them away in a good humour.  
He had but one fault, and that was, he loved 
a full Can better than his business, and lost 
many a tester because he was not sufficiently 
sober to perform the duties of his occupa- 
tion.  
" By'r Lady," quoth Hob Filcher, " he 
was a right honest-hearted lad, and a true 
man, I warrant." 
" I hold with you there," answered Toss- 
pot; " he was one of our own kidney." 
The narrator smiled at the observations, 
and went on.  " It chanced on a time that 
the Little Tailor came over to Tewin, as he 
was accustomed to do occasionally, to work 
at the farm-houses, and make up such gar- 
ments as might be needful in the families ;�
## p. 3 (#13) ###############################################
and the story says, he never wanted for em- 
ployment : but at night he usually gave the 
good folks the slip, and stole down hither, 
where he was joined by several of his old pot- 
companions, and passed the night in mirth 
and jollity."  
" By the blood of Termagant, he was a pig 
of my father's sow ; a very lad after my own 
heart i" cried Tosspot. 
" It was now," continued the tale-teller, " a 
few days before the feast of Saint Michael ; 
and the Little Tailor having finished his bu- 
siness at Tewin, determined to purchase a 
goose, to roast on the Michaelmas-day, which 
purchase he made; and, after passing the 
evening here with his jovial comrades, he 
took up his goose under his arm, and between 
twelve and one set off by the light of the 
moon for Hattield, singing merrily, as he went, 
with a heart devoid of care, and his belly full 
of good ale. Now you all well know that the�
## p. 4 (#14) ###############################################
4 
nearest path to Hatfield is down the warren, 
and through the farm-yard at Tewinbury. 
" At that time there Uved at the farm-house 
an austere varlet, whose name was Piers; but 
he was more usually known by the mock-ap- 
pellation of Crabtree, on account of the sour- 
ness of his disposition. He was reve to the 
baron Fitzallen, of Mardon ; and assumed 
great authority over his neighbours. 
" It so happened, that his hen-roosts and 
capon-pens had been lately robbed, and seve- 
ral of his pigs and his geese were also mis- 
sing ; for this reason he determined to sit up, 
and watch for the thief: and on this very 
night, he, with two sturdy varlets of his house- 
hold, had placed themselves in a convenient 
situation to overlook the pullen, and had pur- 
posely left the geese in the yard, to give the 
alarm, in case they should fall asleep ; which 
actually happened. They had also two sharp 
dogs. with them^ to be their guard.�
## p. 5 (#15) ###############################################
The Little Tailor, as I before told you, 
came singing down the warren, and into the 
farm-yard. When he passed by the goose- 
house, the geese that were lying before the 
door, being distm-bed by him, began to 
scream  his own goose answered them  and, 
before he was aware, got loose, and ran among 
the farmer's geese. The Tailor followed his 
goose, and, after some time spent in the pur- 
suit, caught it again. The screaming of the 
geese, Avho were frightened by the Tailor's 
running about among them, awakened the 
three watchmen ; and, after the farnaer had 
rubbed his eyes, the first thing he saw was the 
Little Tailor, in the midst of his geese, tak- 
ing up a goose, which he clapped under his 
arm, and was proceeding on his journey with- 
out suspicion of harm. The farmer readily 
concluded that the Tailor had stolen one of 
his geese ; and with his men he pursued, and 
stopped him as he was about to pass the 
bridge. �
## p. 6 (#16) ###############################################
" So, so/' cried Piers, seizing liim by the 
collar, " we have caught you at last : you are 
the two-legged fox, are you, that has revelled 
of late so much among our pullen ?" 
" Why, master Piers," said the Tailor, " if 
you take me for a fox, by my fay you are 
upon a wrong scent. I have got a goose, 
'tis true : but the goose is my own ;  
I bought her to-day. 
And for her did pay. 
And from mother Bee's I brought her away." 
Tailor, thou art a false knave," said Piers, 
angrily ; " and this tuning and singing will 
not answer your purpose; I am not to be 
gulled by a song; do you think I am such a 
fool ?" 
" Marry," answered the Tailor, " I did not 
think you was a fool ; by my fay, you are as 
Heaven made you ; and Heaven may amend 
you in good time : but for my goose, I will 
ewear to her upon the Bible book."�
## p. 7 (#17) ###############################################
'' Oh, no doubt/' cried Piers, " a filching 
thief will not flinch at a lie, nor heed an oath 
into the bargain.  The goose 5^our own! 
quotha.  No doubt it would have been your 
own, as many of my cocks and hens, and 
pigs, have been heretofore: but I shall pre- 
vent that transfer of property. Go to ; you 
are a sorry knave, master Tailor, by the rood ! 
I thought better things of you ; aye, and I 
would have lent you a noble, or two, or three, 
on some good pawn, to have bought cloth 
to have helped you forward with a fair cus- 
tomer : but, marry, the time is gone over : 
and I will teach you a lesson for filching of 
poultry :  you shall kiss the stocks, my pre- 
cious knave, before you are an hour older." 
He then commanded his assistants to take 
the goose from him. 
" Soft and fair, my friends," answered the 
Tailor ; " you talk of taking away my goose ; 
but, by the lord of Lincoln, we will have a 
brush for that. Look you now, my masters.�
## p. 8 (#18) ###############################################
8 
I will defend my goose : and if you take Iier, 
you shall take me with her; for nothing but 
war and bloodshed shall part us.  
*' Sound, sound the trump,  the clarion sound. 
Away to arms  to arms away r 
Death stalks the bloody field around. 
And hurtles in the dire afl'ray." 
ft 
Go to, thou drunken knave," said Piers ; 
" stint this charm, and put down the goose." 
The Tailor answered thus : 
' Not for thy homestalf, 
Brave master gripeall : 
" And that's a new tune, I trow." 
*' What !" said Piers, '' shall I be robbed 
before my face ?  Deliver up the goose." 
" Why, what a coil you keep," answered 
the Tailor ; " have I not told you the goose 
is mine, bought with a piece of silver !" 
" Out upon you for an impudent, lying lo- 
zel," said Piers ; " did I not see you take it 
up from the other geese in the yard ?" 
I grant you that," said the Tailor. 
ee�
## p. 9 (#19) ###############################################
( 
" And yet deny that it is my goose !" re- 
torted Piers. " Go to, you are a wilful knave. 
Take the goose from him, you varlets." 
The men were proceeding to obey their 
master ; when the Tailor leaped backwards, 
and brandishing a hedge-stake which he held 
in his hand, cried, " Hold, hold I say ! for, 
by the dragon of St George, I'll rap your 
coxcombs soundly, if you touch the goose ;  
And like that sJalworth, doughty knight, 
My derring-do I'll wage in fight, 
A Tailor though I be ; 
But such derreignment, sure, you'll shun. 
Nor overmatch me three to one, 
To win the coward's fee." 
" The knave is surely possessed ; the foul 
fiend is in him," cried Piers ; *' he is either 
drunk or wode : but this pretence shall not 
serve his turn : and since he will not put down 
the goose, I will have him up to the green, 
and let his knaveship's heels kiss the stocks.'* 
" Hark-ye, master," cried che Little Tailor, 
*' I trust you are not in earnest ?"�
## p. 10 (#20) ##############################################
10 
( 
So sure as you are a filching lozel but I 
am/' returned Piers : " and that you shall 
find in a short time." 
The Tailor answered : " I rede you well to 
consider what you are doing; it will ill be- 
come you, who ought to keep the peace, to 
put an innocent man into durance vile :  
For indeed, bold bon man, I tell you true, 
I am not a rogue, for my colour is blue, 
And never, oh never will change its hue." 
" The saucy Jack laughs at us to our beards : 
away with him ; he shall be well whipped to- 
morrow ; and then, I trow, he will change his 
song." 
The Tailor clapped his hands together, 
and sang this couplet:  
" Let pity move thy ruthless heart, 
And take a fordone, wretch's part ; 
Nor let me, guiltless, feel from vengeful scourge the 
smart." 
" Adad, but you shall though, my brave 
lob-roost/' cried Piers : " and, in sooth, I�
## p. 11 (#21) ##############################################
11 
will give the bedel a new sixpence of silver 
to lay the lash upon thy knave's shoulders 
soundly.  Away with him to the stocks, where 
all such varlets ought to be!" 
On this the Tailor fell upon his knees, and, 
with a woeful countenance, placed the body 
of the goose under his left arm, and retained 
the neck in both his hands, like the note- 
pipe of the bagpipes; and moving" his fingers 
as if he were stopping and unstopping the 
sound-holes, whistled a doleful prelude, and 
then sang, with a mournful voice :  
" In doleful dumps, 
From reckless fortune's thumps, 
Your faithful Tailor see : 
Mercy I crave ; 
From foul disgrace me save ; 
Behold my woeful plight, and pity me." 
Having finished this dismal ditty, he leaped 
from the ground, and began capering and 
dancing Uke a madman; singing to a merry 
tune : �
## p. 12 (#22) ##############################################
12 
" I can dance il gingerly, 
Or leap it lustily, 
And pr.nnce it properly, 
Footing full curiously; 
What then shall be thought of me?" 
Which pleasantly, instead of making the far- 
mer merry, excited his wrath more abimdant- 
ly ; and he began storming at his men for not 
laking the Tailor away ; swearing, at the sanie 
time, that he should pay smart for all the 
poultry and pigs that he had lost for a twelve- 
month past. The two men finding their mas- 
ter so angry, laid each of them hold on one 
of the Tailor's arms, and led him up the war- 
ren, singing, as he went  
" Weep not, my father; weep not, my mother; 
For I shall be with you anon ; 
W^ith goose under my arm, beteem'd from all harm, 
When the leerless old loord shall be gone." 
When they reached the stocks, Piers, who 
had brought up the rear, fearing the Tailor 
should attempt to escape, went to the house 
of Christopher the constable, and ordered�
## p. 13 (#23) ##############################################
13 
him to rise, and bring forth the key of the 
stocks ; *'' for I have got," said he, '' the most 
wilful knave in ten parishes ; who claims the 
honour of passing the remainder of the night 
in them ; and, 'fore Heaven, I will take good 
heed he shall not be stinted of that honour." 
Christopher, knowing Piers by his voice, 
rose instantly ; and, on opening his door, was 
greatly surprised to see the little merry Tai- 
lor of Hatfield in custody, and threatened 
with the stocks ; and he exclaimed,  " Is it 
you, my brave merry man ? what mad gam- 
bols hast thou been playing, to anger master 
Piers so hugely ?" 
The Tailor instantly began singing :  
" Ask thou of him, and he shall tell. 
Who did the doleful deed : 
He saw the night-hag set the spell ; 
He saw the infant bleed.  " 
" Then merry, merry ring the bells : 
Come, trowl the bowl about : 
Here sprightly laughter ever dwells, 
And all her revel rout."�
## p. 14 (#24) ##############################################
u 
" Murrain on thee!" said Christopher: 
" you are so full of your quirks and your 
japes, there is no knowing how to take thee : 
what am I to make of this strange vire- 
layr" 
" I'll tell thee," cried Piers : " It means that 
he is a foul filching thief; he has robbed my 
capon-pens over and over ; and now you see 
that he has got a goose of mine imder bis 
arm." 
The constable made answer :  " I am sor- 
ry to hear this report of you, master Tailor : 
you were always well respected in this vil- 
lage ; and we all thought you to be an- 
other guess kind of man. Fy, now ! give up 
the goose, and entreat master Piers to par- 
don the offence ; it is not fit that every one 
should know this misbehaviour: and  " 
" Hold thee fast, master Christopher," in- 
terrupted the Tailor ; " you speak like a good 
man and true, and as a friend into the bar- 
gain, if it should be admitted that I have�
## p. 15 (#25) ##############################################
15 
stolen aught from this surly corn-hoarder; 
but, in very sooth, friend Christopher, this 
goose is my own ; and I will not part with it, 
unless I be forced to do so : and woe betide 
the hardy wight that dare abide such foul 
aifray; for he, I trow, will prove the thief : 
and as fur my asking pardon, by the mass, 
not I ; I rede him beware, or I will turn the 
tables, and play his own game back upon 
him." 
'' Do you hear how the ban-dog bays ?" 
cried Piers : " oh, 'tis a lying lozel : by holy 
St Thomas, the lord of Kent, 1 saw him 
catch the goose from my flock ; and there- 
fore I charge you whip me him into the 
stocks; for, he is such a filching one, that if 
he be permitted to depart unpunished, not 
a neighbour in the parish will be able to 
keep a hen, a pig, or a goose : and marry, I 
trow, if he might have his right, the hang- 
man and he would be better acquainted."�
## p. 16 (#26) ##############################################
16 
n 
An you go lo that/' answered tlie Tai- 
lor, *' 1 can tell you, if the arch-fiend Beel- 
zebub had his due, your worship would no 
longer be grinding the faces of the poor, 
nor be suffered to skin the flints at Tewin- 
bury." 
Piers then became furious, and command- 
ed the constable to put the Tailor into the 
stocks, or refuse at his peril ; declaring he 
was ready to make oath he saw the goose 
stolen, and would answer for the conse- 
quence : and Christopher, contrary to his in- 
clination, obeyed the mandate. 
The noise occasioned by this transaction, 
awakened most of the inhabitants of the 
Green ; who arose, and came to see what 
was going forward : and among them were 
several of the Tailor's jovial comrades. No- 
thing could exceed their surprise at seeing 
their merry friend in such an unseemly state : 
and everyone was inquiring what had brought 
him thither, �
## p. 17 (#27) ##############################################
37 
*' Hark-ye^ my hearts," said the Tailor, " if 
you all speak at once, I cannot tell which of 
ye to answer first. Go to ; and, if it be pos- 
sible, cease your clamour; and I will sing ye 
a short fit, that shall explain the whole to 
your satisfactions : but, first of all, I must re- 
quest, that all of ye do look very serious as I 
do ; and if Maud the spinster there would 
cry a little, it would be none the worse :  
" Cease, gentle wight,  to mourn for me : 
In sorry plight  What though I be. 
Bound by the legs ; my mind is free; 
And here I hold my goose. 
BURDEN'. 
Ah, well-a-day !  Oh !  alas f  ah ! well-a-day 1 
" The bargain struck,  a groat I gave ; 
It was ray luck  this goose to have : 
When, home returning, blithe and brave. 
My goose escape did make. 
Ah, well-a-day ! &c. 
" Then after her I ran full fast ;. 
Great was the stir  where-e'er we passed 
But I secur'd her at the last ; 
Nor. will I lose ray goose. 
Ah, well-a-day ! &c. 
VOL. IV. B�
## p. 18 (#28) ##############################################
18 
*' Up, up, my men,"  old Crabtrec cries; 
" In jonder glen  mj gray goose flies, 
And is become another's prize :" 
(For, I had caught my goose.) 
Ah, well-a-day ! &c. 
** To stop me soon,  It was his will, 
By light of moon  Up yonder hill 
I then was brought, the stocks to fill. 
Because I held my goose. 
Ah, well-a-day ! &c. 
*' But morning light  will soon be here : 
And then my right  full fair and clear , 
To master bailey shall appear ; 
And I will keep my goose. 
Ah, well-a-day !" &c. 
The ditty finished, the Tailor thus ad- 
dressed his auditory : 
'' And now, my brave gallants, this gere 
has gone to very sorry tune ; and all of ye 
know as much of the matter as I do. But 
prithee, now, if ye love me, let some one of 
ye go to the ale-stake, and get me a pottle 
of warmed ale, wuth a toast and nutmeg, to 
keep the chill, dank air from my stomach ; 
and, for the mercy of good fellowship, pro- 
4�
## p. 19 (#29) ##############################################
^9 
cure a truss of dry straw ; for, joking apart, 
the ground is ten times more wet than I 
wish it to be ; and these leg-ornaments are 
not of the easiest." 
His requests were instantly complied with; 
a,nd a large houpland was brought, and 
thrown over his shoulders ; and our jovial 
host's predecessor, being knocked up, and 
apprized of the matter, instead of ale, brought 
his friend a large bowl of mortified clary, 
made rich with spices. The Little Tailor 
took a copious draught ; which warmed his 
stomach ; and he began to laugh and sing, 
and crack his jests without stinting, keeping 
his auditoiy in a roar of laughter. 
In the mean time, the surly reve, having 
made inquiry from the people of the Green, 
found that the Tailor had actually purcha- 
sed a goose, which he carried away with 
him from the ale-house ; and he now began 
to think that he had carried matters too far: 
and remembering that the Tailor had told�
## p. 20 (#30) ##############################################
to 
him he boughi the goose of mother Bet 
who lived on the Upper Green, he sent for 
her, in order to be perfectly satisfied. On her 
arrival, she confirmed the Tailor's assertion ; 
and, going to him,, (for he still retained the 
goose,) declared she was ready to make oatl>> 
that it was the same goose he had purchased 
from her. 
When Piers heard this, he accommoda- 
ted his visage as well as he could to a smile ; 
and addressed himself to the Tailor in this 
manner : 
" How now, man ! Go to, my little merry 
fellow : you should have told me plainly, 
without your quirks, your japes, and your 
quiddities, that you had bought the goose : 
and gads me, dost think I would have hurt 
a hair of your head ? Holy St Thomas pre- 
serve me, but I have a great respect foi you ! 
Come, give me your hand : I am sorry for 
what has been done : and call for what von 
like ; what hinders ? I will pay for it"�
## p. 21 (#31) ##############################################
21 
On this, the Little Tailor eyed him arch- 
ly; and, holding up the goose in both his 
hands, began singing : 
" jVow, well ye wot, in wreak ful fight 
I have yshent the doughty knight, 
Revers'd his mighty shield, and quell'd his horse; 
Crest-fallen, see, aghast he stands, 
A wondrous quest 'chiev'd by my hands. 
To make sans pity lout, and feel remorse. 
" However, master Piers, I heed thee not. 
We'll talk more on this matter before the 
baron in the morn ins; : 
*' And he, I read, will no way justify 
Thy foul award, by which in stocks I lie." 
<{ 
Nay, nay," replied Piers; " think no 
more about it :  release him instantl}', Chris- 
topher : he is g, true man,  aye, I trust, and 
as meriy as any in Christendom.  Gads me, 
I was angry, because, man, I thought you 
had stolen my hogs and my pullen :  but it 
is all over ; and I will be your friend. Come 
VTith me to the Bury; I have a rare hogshead�
## p. 22 (#32) ##############################################
S2 
of stinging Imflcap abroach, and a rasher of 
bacon on the rack, to give the beer a zest : 
and, as I am a true man, yon sliall make all 
our Christmas garments.  Cio, Simkin," said 
he to one of his men, " go on before, and 
bill the wencli lay a faggot on the fire, and 
take down the bacon ; and we will be with 
her anon." 
Simkin was much delii'hted with the or- 
der : and, stepping up to the Tailor, said, 
" By the mass, my little merry man, but my 
master says well : the ale he talks of is as 
Iveen as a fox ; it was brewed, I ween, last 
October, and will make you as mellow as an 
over-ripe costard." 
" Go to ; thou art a clod-breaking fool/' 
said the Taiior; " 1 am not to be guU'd with 
a horn of petty ale;  T have nought to do 
with you, or your seely comrade there : but 
for your master,  
" Let he and T flic 'vrntful battle try : 
Tor, one or both of us are dooni'd to die ;�
## p. 23 (#33) ##############################################
23 
And deeds of chivalry achiev'd shall be. 
With thimble, sheers, and bar of steel, 
I'll take the field, and make the varlet feel 
My fury :  he shall quell or flee. 
" And now, Mr Christopher," said he, ad- 
dressing himself to the constable, *' I appeal 
to the baron, and am determined to obtain 
a hearing in the morning. I therefore charge 
you to see, that this same reve be forth- 
coming; whom I accuse of stopping me, 
his majesty's liege servant, on the highway, 
and attempting, by force of arms, to take 
from me my property ; and for falsely con- 
fining me in the stocks, contrary to the sta- 
tute." 
" By our Lady !" said Tom Skinker, " the 
Tailor deserves a full bowl of clary ; for he 
speaks like a tall man." 
" In good sooth," retorted the host, " he 
that takes my little merry man for a fool, 
hoots wide of the butts j he has made old�
## p. 24 (#34) ##############################################
24 
Skinflint look grave, and taken him do\\'H 
to the lower tdp already." 
The Tailor was forthwith set at liberty, and 
his companions manifested their joy by three 
loud shouts. Tiie company then went to the 
ale-stake, followed by the reve and his men. 
The reve finding, that, by fair speeches, the 
Little Tailor was not to be persuaded to make 
up the matter without a heiring before the 
baron, or his bailie, which he had no relish 
for, proceeded in another manner; and, by 
calling lustily for liquor, and pushing about 
the cann without restraint, endeavoured to 
make him so drunk that he might forget it, 
or, at least, be reduced to such a situation as 
to make it impossible for him to appear 
against him in the morning; in the mean 
time, he did not doubt being able to make 
his own part good. The Tailor, however, 
foreseeing, perhaps, his intention, was more 
cautiousihan usual ; and, though he laughed, 
and sang, and danced all the nigiit, he kept�
## p. 25 (#35) ##############################################
25 
himself collected, and, in the morning, in- 
sisted upon being taken with the leve, in 
proper form, to Marden, as soon as the hour 
of audience was come ; and, when they were 
ushered into the baron's presence, he told 
his tale with so much simplicity and good 
humour, that his lordship could not refrain 
from laughing heartily. 
The reve, on the other hand, in defence 
of his conduct, pleaded the circumstance of 
seeing the tailor take the goose from his 
flock, which naturally led him to conclude it 
was one of his geese : he then adverted to 
the refusal the Tailor made to let him have 
the goose, and the idle rhyming japes he 
made, instead of answering fairly and open- 
ly on the occasion, to which he certainly 
might justly impute the inconveniency he 
had suffered. 
When he had done speaking, the Tailor 
-addressed the Baron, saying, " If your ho-�
## p. 26 (#36) ##############################################
26 
hour will pardon me, I wish to put in a word 
or two, as my poor wits will permit me, by 
observing, that master Piers seems to have 
been wrong in two points; and, marry, the 
first is this, when I told him the goose was 
mine, in not counting his own geese; when, 
I trow, lie would have found the number just 
what it should be; and, secondly, when he 
had brought me to the green, in not sending 
to mother Bee, from whom 1 assured him I 
had bought the goose, to know whether I 
really had made such a purchase or not, be- 
fore he had disgraced me, and my calling 
through me, by putting my feet into the 
stocks, as though I had been a thief and a 
vagabond. The threats of the scourge (for 
1 assure your honour he promised me, in his 
bounty, a sound whipping,) I look over: he 
was angry without cause: and how tar he 
may have cause to be pleased vilh his un- 
seasonable, or rather unreasonable, proceed-�
## p. 27 (#37) ##############################################
27 
ing, must rest on the decision of your lord- 
ship." 
*' You have spoken to the purpose," said 
the Baron : " but as the matter originated 
from a mistake, I trust you will not be severe 
in your demands of justice. You," added he, 
addressing himself to the reve, " have been 
too precipitate in your proceedings, and have 
thereby disgraced an innocent man, and hin- 
dered him from proceeding where his busi- 
ness called him. The oifence is a serious one, 
and, I hope, such a one as I shall not hear of 
from you again: in the present case, you 
shall pay him two angels of gold ; the one 
for the disgrace, and the other for the delay 
you have occasioned ; on condition that, on 
his part, he will drop all contention and ani- 
mosity, and friendship shall be restored be- 
tween you." 
" With all my heart," said the Little Tailor, 
" your honour says well : by the mass, I never 
bore malice with any man : so give me your�
## p. 28 (#38) ##############################################
28 
hand, master Piers ; and though I be poor, I 
am honest.  Never look so gloom}-, master 
Piers; but in future, remember aTailor Hves 
by his goose ; and if he will not fight for it, 
he is a sorry lozel, and deserves the stocks, 
and a good whipping into the bargain." 
In the mean time, the thieves who actu- 
ally had committed the depredations in Piers's 
territories, being on the look-out, and heat- 
ing the out-cry with the Tailor, followed them 
to the green, where learning the circimistance 
that brought them thither, they conceived 
this to be a fit opportunity for robbing his 
hen-roosts again, which might be safely done 
in the absence of him and his men : accord- 
ingly they proceeded without delay to the 
Bury-yard, when they made choice of all his 
best geese, and other poultry, leaving nothing 
behind but a few old carrion, which they did 
not think worth carrying awa}-. 
The reve returned from Mardcn in a very 
evil humour, having been at a considerable�
## p. 29 (#39) ##############################################
29 
cspence at the ale stake, in plying the Tailor 
with liquor, without obtaining his purpose; 
and also obliged to pay to him two angels, 
according to the award of the baron.  On 
his entering his farm-yard, he saw his wife 
weeping and wailing, and Tib, his maid-ser- 
vant, wringing her hands,^ as though they had 
not been well in their wits : and for some 
ti-me he could not get any answer from them, 
but alas! and well-a-day ! which brought to 
his remembrance the burthen of the Tailor's 
song, and was by no means conducive to 
soften the severity of his temper. 
" What," says he, surlily, " means this 
howling and scowling ? is the grey cow dead, 
or has Strawberry cast her calf?" 
At last the old dame cried out, " we are 
undone, good-man: the ducks, and the geese^ 
and the hens are all gone." 
" Stint your noise, you fool," returned he ; 
" the Tailor took but one goose, and that was 
his own."�
## p. 30 (#40) ##############################################
30 
" The foul fiend take the Tailor," said she: 
" some other false lozels have been here in 
your absence, have stripped the hen-roosts; 
the capon- pens are empty ; and the old goose 
and gander, and a hen or two, are all they 
have left behind. And thus, forsooth, you 
have watched to good purpose, like an idle 
lout as you are." 
The conclusion of this discourse made 
Piers more angry than at the loss of his poul- 
try : he therefore set upon his wife with great 
fury, and beat her soundly : he turned Tib, 
the maid, away, for her carelessness; and 
swore at the men for not keeping watch, 
when he himself had taken them away. 
And thus, my gentle masters, ends the 
story of the Tailor and his goose. 
The tale being concluded, with the unani- 
mous applause of the rustics, the topers drop-�
## p. 31 (#41) ##############################################
31 
ped away one after another^ excepting only 
Tosspot, who having installed the dissour in 
the comforts of his truckle-bed, returned to 
finish the night over the beer can, with his 
drunken host. Hob Filcher.�
## p. 32 (#42) ##############################################
32 
CHAPTER III. 
Gregory discovered, and disgraced, 
VTREGORY, having reached Queenhoo-hall, 
had the satisfaction of finding that his ab- 
sence had not been missed ; and in order to 
escape all observation, he withdrew to his 
apartment. The first thing that occurred to 
his recollection, upon lying down in the bed, 
was the loss of the sheet; but he quieted his 
mind with the supposition that he had left it 
in the warren, where it might possibly remain 
unseen by any one until the morning. Ac- 
cordingly, he rose exceedingly early, and ha- 
ving prevailed upon the porter to unlock the 
gate sooner than usual, on pretence of having 
11�
## p. 33 (#43) ##############################################
3S 
some business of importance to transact, he 
made the best of his way to the warren, 
where he traced and retraced the whole cir- 
cuit of his perambulation, scrutinizing every 
hillock, bush, and briar, but in vain ; for the 
sheet, as the reader well knows, was not to 
be found there. 
He returned to Queenhoo-Hall with a 
heavy heart, and knew not what excuse he 
should make to the chamberlain for the de- 
ficiency of his bed-linen. When the break- 
fast-bell rung, he joined the servants in the 
hall, as though nothing had happened. His 
comrades, however, thought he was graver 
than usual ; and Gervise, who delighted in 
teasing him, observed, that his wit was aa- 
pointless as a pellet from a pop-gun ; for al- 
though it made a great sound, it did no exe- 
cution. 
The crest-fallen jester replied ;  " This, 
tlien, is nearly equal with your understand- 
voh, ly. c�
## p. 34 (#44) ##############################################
S4 
jng, which a pellet from a pop-gun can easily 
subvert." 
The men of war, having reached their 
quarters at Wehvjn, made themselves merry 
with recounting the adventure; and he who 
had taken the sheet, produced tlie same as 
a proof of the veracity of their tale. 
It happened, that Jack, the basket-maker 
who was present at the time, turning it over, 
recognized the cognisance of the Boteler fa- 
mily wrought with the needle upon it, when 
turning to the soldier, he advised him to be 
careful how he disposed of that article ; 
" for," said he, " it belongs to the baron, 
and was probably stolen by the knave, who 
counterfeited the apparition." 
The soldier was disappointed by losing the 
price, which he had considered as lawfully 
obtained ; but he did not choose to dispute 
the point, when he heard that it was the pro- 
perty of Lord Boteler, and especially as the 
liost, who had formerly been a servant in the�
## p. 35 (#45) ##############################################
$5 
baron's hoiisebold, conHrmeJ the assertions of 
the basket-maker. '^ I will, however," said 
the innkeeper, " upon my own account, give 
you a stoup of the best ale in my cellar for 
the sheet ; and I will take care that it shall 
be returned." 
The offer of the host was readily accepted 
by the man of war ; and he and his comrade 
made merry over the ale, wishing they might 
meet with such another goblin every night. 
The innkeeper, in the morning, determined 
going to Queenhoo-Hall ; but, at the same 
time, he thought it would be best to take the 
two soldiers with him; for which reason, ha- 
ving obtained leave of absence from their offi- 
cer, all three of them went together. 
Just before their arrival, the under cham- 
berlain had discovered the loss of the sheet, 
and made complaint to Oswald, supposing 
that Gregory had secreted it, by way of jest, 
to give him the trouble of seeking it. .Gre- 
gory, on his part, flatly denied any know-�
## p. 36 (#46) ##############################################
36 
ledge of it^ declaring^ that he had slept all 
night without it; and said, the under cham- 
berlain ought to be punished for putting sucii 
a trick upon him. Oswald was at a loss how 
to determine the matter; but declared, that 
the sheet should be found or replaced by one 
of them. 
At this moment, the Welwyn innkeeper 
entered the hall, followed by the two soldiers, 
whom Gregory instantly recognised. The 
sight of two real goblins could not have had 
a more powerful effect upon him : he held 
tlown his head, and stood trembling, without 
being able to say n word more in his own de- 
fence, so that Oswald thought he was seized 
with a fit on a sudden, or was besides his 
wits, and began to enquire what was the 
matter with him, when the soldier, who had 
helped him from the river, readily recollect- 
ed him, and, coming forward, thrust out his 
hand, saying, " How dost thou do, my brave 
acqiialiitance ? by the sword of St George,�
## p. 37 (#47) ##############################################
ti7 
I little thought of meeting with my friend 
the goblin in this gay company. There my 
jolly ale-drawer," continued he, turning to the 
innkeeeper, " there is the ghost we caused 
to uncase last night ; and he gives me no 
thanks for pulling him out of the river." 
Oswald, and the whole assemblage of the 
baron's domestics, were greatly astonished at 
the manner in which the man of war addres- 
sed the jester; his speech was perfectly un- 
intelligible to them, and they stood looking, 
first at the one, and then at the other, with- 
out comprehending the least of the matter. 
With respect to Gregory, he remained 
speechless, with his eyes fixed on the ground^ 
nor could he devise any way to avoid the 
disgrace, which of necessity would follow 
when the transaction became public; at last, 
however, he recollected himself a little, and 
replied to the soldier :  " I shall do other- 
wise than thank you, Mr Bell-swagger." 
The innkeeper then produced the sheet^�
## p. 38 (#48) ##############################################
38 
which, lie said, the soldiers had found in the 
warren ; and that having found tlic baron's 
cognizance marked upon it, tlicy had brought 
it. 
Oswald and the under chamberlain exa- 
mined the sheet, and both declared, that it 
was the sheet wanting upon the bed of the 
jester. The production of the sheet added 
to the surprise of the servants ; and Gregory, 
finding that nothing could prevent the story 
being made known,, making hi retreat with 
great precipitation, ran into his own room, 
where he fastened the door, and would not 
open it to any one. 
As soon as he was gone, an explanation 
took place ; the soldiers related the story, as 
far as they knew of it, to the no small diver- 
sion of the company, and especially of the 
pages : Gervise, in particular, declared the 
jester should not hear the last of it for twica 
six morns.�
## p. 39 (#49) ##############################################
59 
After the soldiers had eaten and drank to 
their hearts' content, and the innkeeper had 
finished the business which had brought him 
to Queenhoo-Hall, they returned with satis- 
faction to Welwyn. 
Tlie baron having, in the meantime, a de- 
sire to see Gregory, sent for him. The un- 
lucky jester conceiving that the page, who 
deUvered the message, was imposing on him, 
to draw him from his hiding-place like a 
bear to the baiting, refused to quit his sta- 
tion ; and in order to pacify the baron, who 
was angry at not being obeyed, Oswald rela- 
ted to him the circumstance of the sheet, 
and the reason for his self-confinement. The 
baron could not refrain from laughing at the 
ridiculous adventure, and sent Oswald with 
a positive order for him to come into his pre- 
sence; which order, after some solicitation 
on the part of the chamberlain, Gregory 
complied with ; and having learned from Os-�
## p. 40 (#50) ##############################################
40 
waklj that the baron was acquainted with the 
misadventure, he determined to set the best 
face he could upon it, and trust to his wit, 
with the assistance of some portion of im- 
pudence, to make his peace with the baron. 
When he was ushered into the room where 
Lord Boteler was seated, he bowed very low; 
and observing that he did not seem to be 
very angry, he stood back behind the cham- 
berlain, and clapped his fool's cap upon his 
Lead, and thrusting the bauble under his 
arm, imitated his voice, saying, " I have 
brought the fool before your Lordship." 
Oswald's gravity was much discomposed 
by the waggery of the jester, when casting the 
cap upon the floor, he turned round shortl}', 
and said, *' Beshrew thee. Jack Sauce, but 
thou art a knave as well as a fool." 
" Take back the knave, I prithee," quoth 
Gregory, " and leave the fool to me; we 
t)oth know our parts belter than to exchange.�
## p. 41 (#51) ##############################################
41 
I have not shrewdness to be a knave, and 
you, I trow, for lack of wit, would make ^ 
sorry fool." 
" Sirrah," said the chamberlain, " if right 
were ordered, you would be sent to the whip- 
ping-post." 
" I hope your worship there will take the 
precedency of a poor fool." 
" Well, sirrah," said the baron, " I see 
what you are aiming at; and though you 
certainly deserve chastisement for your ma- 
licious foolery, yet, in consideration of what 
you have justly suffered in the performance 
of your new character, I am willing to remit 
what more may be your due. I advise you, 
for the future, not to indulge yourself with 
the like mischievous vagaiies, which usually 
end, as they ever ought to do, in the dis- 
grace of those who pursue them. Let me, 
therefore, hear no more such complaints of 
your ill conduct, or certainly you shall have�
## p. 42 (#52) ##############################################
42 
your coat strip])ed over your ears, and under- 
go the discipline of a correction-house." 
So saying, he withdrew, followed by the 
chamberlain, and Gregory was left to him- 
self to meditate on the success of his project.�
## p. 43 (#53) ##############################################
A 
3 
CHAPTER IV. 
J[ Hunting Party  An AdDcnturer  A De 
Uverance. 
The next morning the bugles were sound- 
ed by day-break in the court of Lord Bote- 
ler's mansion^ to call the inhabitants from 
their slumbers, to assist in a splendid chase, 
with which the Baron had resolved to en- 
tertain his neighbour FilzalleUj and his 
noble visitor St Ciere. Peter Lanaret the 
falconer was in the attendance with fal- 
cons for the knights, and teircelets for the 
ladies, if they should chuse to vary their 
sport from hunting to hawking. Five stout 
Yeomen Keepers, with their attendants, call- 
ed Ragged Robins, all meetly arrayed ia�
## p. 44 (#54) ##############################################
44. 
Kendal green^ wllh bugles and short hangers 
"by their sicTeSj and quarter-staffs in their 
hands, led the slow-hounds or brachcts, by 
which the deer were to be put up. Ten 
brace of gallant greyhounds, each of which 
was fit to pluck down, singly, the tallest red 
deer, were led in leashes by as many of Lord 
Boteler's foresters. The pages, squires, and 
other attendants of feudal splendour, well at- 
tired in their best hunting gear, upon horse- 
back or foot, according to their ranks, with 
their boar spears, long bows, and cross- 
bows, were in seemly waiting. A numerous 
train of Yeomen, called in the language of 
the times Retainers^ who yearly received a 
livery coat, and a small pension for their at- 
tendance on such solemn occasions, appear- 
ed in cassocks of blue, bearing upon their 
arms the cognisance of the house of Boteler, 
as a badge of their adherence. They were 
the tallest men of their hands that the neigh- 
bouring villages could supply, with every�
## p. 45 (#55) ##############################################
45 
man his good buckler on his shoulder, and a. 
bright burnished broad sword, dangling from 
his leathern belt. On this occasion, they 
acted as rangers for beating up the thickets- 
and rousing the game. These attendants 
filled up the court of the castle, spacious as 
it was. On the green without, you might 
have seen the motley assemblage of peasantry 
convened by report of the splendid hunting, 
including most of our old acquaintances from 
Tewin, as well as the jolly partakers of good 
cheer at Hob Filchers. Gregory the jester, 
it may well be guessed, had no great mind 
to exhibit himself in public, after his recent 
disaster; but Oswald the steward, a great 
formalist in whatever concerned the public 
exhibition of his master's household state, had 
positively enjoined his attendance. " What" 
quoth he, "^ shall the house of the brave 
Lord Boteler, on such a day as this be with- 
out a fool f Certes the good Lord St Clere, 
and his fair lady sister; might think our house-�
## p. 46 (#56) ##############################################
46 
keeping as niggardly as that of their chur- 
Jish kinsman at Gay-Bowers, who sent his 
father's jester to the hospital, sold the poor 
sot's bells for hawk-jesses, and made a night- 
cap of his long-eared bonnet. And sirrah, 
let me see thee fool handsomely-speak squiba 
and crackers, instead of that dry, barren, 
musty gibing, which thou hast used of late ; 
or, by the bones ! the porter shall have thee 
to his lodge, and cob thee with thine own 
wooden sword, till thy skin is as motley as 
thy doublet." 
To this stern injunction, Gregory made no 
reply, any more than to the courteous oflex' 
of old Albert Drawslot,the chief park-keeper, 
who proposed to blow vinegar in his nose, to 
sharpen his wit, as he had done that bles- 
sed morning to Bragger, the old hound, 
whose scent was failing. There was indeed, 
little time for reply, for the bugles, after a 
lively flourish were now silent, and Peretto 
with his two ratlendant minstrels, stepping be-�
## p. 47 (#57) ##############################################
47 
neath the windows of the strangers' apart- 
ments, joined in the following roundelay, the 
deep voices of the rangers and falconers 
making up a chorus, that caused the verj 
battlements to ring again. 
Waken lords and ladies gay, 
On the mountain dawns the day, 
All the jolly chace is here. 
With hawk and horse, and hunting spear; 
Hounds are in their couples yelling, 
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, 
Merrily, merrily, mingle they, 
" Waken lords and ladies gay." 
Waken lords and ladies gay. 
The mist has left the mountain gray, 
Springlets in the dawn are streaming, 
Diamonds on the hrake are gleamijig ; 
And foresters have busy been, 
' To track the buck in thicket green; 
Now we come to chaunt our lay, 
" Waken lords and ladies gay."j 
Waken lords and ladies gay, 
To the green wood haste away ; 
We can shew you where he lies. 
Fleet of foot, and tall of size. 
We can shew the marks he made, 
When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed;�
## p. 48 (#58) ##############################################
48 
You shall sec him brought to bay, 
'* Waken lords and ladies gay." 
Louder, louder chaunt the lay. 
Waken lords and ladies gay I 
Tell them youth and mirth and glee, 
Run a course as well as we ; 
Time, stem huntsman ! who can baulk. 
Staunch as houud, and fleet as hawkj 
Think of this, and rise with day, 
Gentle, lords and ladies gay. 
By the time this lay was finished. Lord 
Boteleij with his daughter and kinsman, Fitz- 
alleii of Marden, and other noble guests, had 
mounted their palfreys, and the hunt set 
forward in due order. The huntsmen hav- 
ing caiefully observed the traces of a large 
stag in the preceding evening, were able with- 
out loss of time, to conduct the company, by 
the marks which they had made upon the 
trees, to the side of the thicket, in which, by 
the report of Drawslot he had harboured all 
night. The horsemen spreading themselves 
along, the side of the cover, waited unlill the 
keeper entered, leading his bau-dog ; a large�
## p. 49 (#59) ##############################################
49 
llood-liouncl tied in a learn or band, fioui, 
which he takes his name. But it befel thus: 
A hart of the second year, which was in the 
same cover with the proper object of their 
pursuit, chanced to be unharboured firsthand 
broke cover very near where the Lady Em- 
ma and her brother were stationed. An un- 
experienced varlet, who was nearer to them, 
instantly unloosed two tall grey-hounds, who 
sprung after the fugitive, with all the fieet- 
ness of the north wind. Gregory restored a 
little to spirits, by the enlivening scene around 
him, followed, encouraging the hounds with 
a loud tai/out, for which he had the hearty 
curses of the huntsmen, as well as of the Ba- 
ron, who entered into the spirit of the chase 
wath all the juvenile ardour of twenty. " May 
the foul fiend, booted and spur'd, ride down 
his bawling throat, with a scythe at his 
girdle," quoth Albert Dravvslot ; '^ here have 
I been telling him, that all the marks were 
those of a buck of the first head, and he has 
VOL. IV. D�
## p. 50 (#60) ##############################################
50 
hollowed the hounds upon a velvet-headed 
knobbler. By St Hubert, ifl break not his pate 
with ni}' cross-bow, may I never cast otV bound 
more! But to it, my lords and masters, 
the noble beast is here yet, and thank the 
saints we have enougb of hounds." The 
cover being now thoroughly beat by the at- 
tendants, the stag was coinpelled to abandon 
it, and trust his speed for his safety. Three 
greyhounds were slipped upon him, whom he 
threw ou'.j after running a couple of miles, 
by entering an extensive furzy brake, which 
extended aloni' the side ota hill. The horse- 
men soon came up, and casting off a sufficient 
number of slow-hounds, sent them with the 
prickers into the cover, in order to drive the 
game from his strengtii. This object being 
accomplished, afforded another severe chase 
of several miles, in a direction almost circu- 
lar, during which, the poor animal tried 
every wile to get rid of his persecutors. He 
crossed and traversed all such dusty paths 
as were likely to retain the least scent of his 
11�
## p. 51 (#61) ##############################################
51 
footsteps; he laid himself close to the ground, 
drawing his feet under his belly, and clap- 
ping his nose close to the earth, lest he 
should be betrayed to the hounds by his 
breath and hoofs. When all was in vain, 
and he found the hounds coming fast in up- 
on him, his own strength failing, his mouth 
embossed with foam, and the tears dropping 
from his eyes, he turned in despair upon his 
pursuers, who then stood at gaze, making an 
hideous clamour, and awaiting their two-foot- 
ed auxiliaries. Of these, it chanced that the 
Lady Eleanor, taking more pleasure in the 
sport than Matilda, and being a less burden 
to her palfrey than the Lord Boteler, was the 
first who arrived at the spot; and taking a 
cross-bow from an attendant, discharged a 
bolt at the stag. When the infuriated ani- 
mal felt himself wounded, he pushed frantic- 
ly towards her, from \\hom he had received 
the shaft ; and Lady Eleanor might have had 
occasion to repent of her enterprize, had 
not young Fitzallen, who liad kept near her�
## p. 52 (#62) ##############################################
62 
during tlie whole day, at thai instant galloped 
briskly in, and ere the stag could change his 
object of assault, dispatched him with his 
short hunting-sword. 
Albert Drawslot, who had just come up in 
terror for the young lady's safety, broke out 
intoloud encomiums upon Fitzallen's strength 
and gallantry. " By'i Lady/' said he, taking 
off his cap and wiping his sun-burned face 
with his sleeve, " well struck, and in good 
time !  But now, boys, doff your bonnets, 
and sound the mort." 
The sportsmen then sounded a treble mort, 
and set up a general whoop, which, mingled 
with the yelping of the dogs, made the wel- 
' I<in ring again. The huntsman then offered 
liis knife to Lord Botelcr, that he might take 
the sd'j of the deer, but the baron courteous- 
ly insisted upon Fitzailen going through that 
ceremonv. 
The Lady Matilda was now come up, with 
most of the attendants; and the interest of�
## p. 53 (#63) ##############################################
53 
the chace being ended, it excited some sur- 
prise, that neitiier St Clere nor his sister 
made their appearance. The Lord Boteler 
commanded the horns again to sound the 
lecheat, in hopes to call in the stragglers, and 
said to Fitzallen, " Methought St Clere so 
distinguished for service in war, should have 
been more forward in the chase." 
" I trow," said Peter Lanaret,'^ I know the 
reason of the noble lord's absence ; for when 
that moon-calf Gregory hallooed the dogs 
upon the knobbler, and galloped like a green 
hiiding, as he is, after them, I saw the Lady 
Emma's palfrey follow apace after that var- 
let, who should be trashed for over-running, 
and I think her noble brother has followed 
her, lest she should come to harm.  But 
here, by the rood, is Gregory to answer for 
himself." 
At this moment Gregory entered the cir- 
cle, which had been formed round the deer, 
out of breath, and his face covered witk�
## p. 54 (#64) ##############################################
54 
blood. He kept for some time uttering in- 
articulate cries of " Harrow !" and " Wella- 
wav," and other exclamations of distress and 
terror, pointing all the while to a thicket at 
some distance from the spot where the deer 
had been killed. 
" By my honour," said the Baron, " I 
vould gladly know who has dared to array 
the poor knave thus; and I trust he should 
dearly abye his outrecuidance, were he the 
best, save one, in England." 
Gregory, who had now found more breath, 
cried, " Help, an ye be men! Save Lady 
Emma and her brother, whom they are mur- 
dering in Brockenhurst thicket.'^ 
This jHit all in motion. Lord Boteler has- 
tily commanded a small party of his men to 
abide for the defence of the ladies, while he 
liimself, Fitzallen, and the rest, made' what 
speed theycouid towards the thicket, guided 
by Gregory, who for that purpose was mount- 
ed behind Fabian. Pushing through a nar-�
## p. 55 (#65) ##############################################
^5 
row path, the first object they encountered 
was a man of small stature lying on the 
ground, mastered and almost strangled by 
two dogs, which wvere instantly recognised, 
to be those that had accompanied Gregory. 
A little farther was an open space, where lay 
three bodies of dead or wounded men ; be- 
side these was Lady Emma, apparently life- 
less, her brother and a young forester bend- 
ing over and endeavouring to recover her. 
By employing the usual remedies, this was 
soon accomplished ; while Lord Botcler, as- 
tonished at such a scene, anxiously enquired 
at St Clere the meaning of what he saw, and 
whether more danger was to be expected ? 
^' For the present, I trust not," said the 
young warrior, whom they now observed was 
slightly wounded^ " but I pray you, of your 
nobleness, let the woods here be searched^ 
for we were assaulted by four of these base 
assassins, and I only see three on the sward.'* 
The attendants now brought forward tiie�
## p. 56 (#66) ##############################################
36 
person whom lliey had rescued from the 
dogs, and Henry with disgust, shame, and as- 
tonishment, recognised his kinsman Gaston 
St Ciere. This discovery he communicated 
io a whisper to Lord Boteler; who command- 
ed the prisoner to he conveyed to Queeniioo- 
HaU, and closejy guarded. Meanwhile he 
anxiously enquired of young St Clere ahout 
his wound. 
" A scratch, a trifle !" cried Henry ; " I am 
in less haste to hind it than to introduce to 
you one, without whose aid that of the leech 
would have come too late.  Where is he; 
Avhere is my brave deliverer r" 
" Here, most noble lord," said Gregory, 
sliding from the palfrey, and stepping for- 
ward, " ready to receive the guerdon which 
your bounty would heap on him." 
" Truly friend Gregory," answered the 
young warrior, " thou shall not be forgotten ; 
for thou didst run speedily, and roar manful- 
ly lor aid, without which 1 tiiink verily we�
## p. 57 (#67) ##############################################
57 
had not received it.  But the brave forester^ 
who came to my rescue when these three 
ruffians had nigh overpowered me, where is 
her 
Everv one looked around, but thouirh all 
had seen him on entering the thicket, he was 
not now to be found. They could only con- 
jecture that he had retired during the confu- 
sion occasioned by the detection of Gaston. 
" Seek not for him," said the Lady Emma, 
who had now in some degree recovered her 
composure, " he will not be found of mortal, 
unless at his own season." 
The baron convinced from this answer that 
her terror had, for the time, somewhat dis- 
turbed her reason, forbore to question her; 
and Matilda and Eleanor, to whom a mes- 
seiiger had been dispatched with the result of 
this strange adventure, arriving, they took 
the Lady Emma between them, and all in a. 
body returned to the castle.�
## p. 58 (#68) ##############################################
58 
The distance was however considerable,, 
and, before reaching it, they had another 
alarm. The prickers, who rode foremost in 
the troop, halted, and announced to the Lord 
Boteler, that they perceived advancing to- 
wards them a bod}' of armed men. The fol- 
lowers of the baron were numerous, but they 
were arrayed for the chase, not for battle; 
and it was with great pleasure that he dis- 
cerned on the pennon of the advancing body 
of men-at-arms, instead of the cognizance of 
Gaston, as he had some reason to expect, the 
friendlv bearins;3 of Fitzosborne of Oij^j^s- 
well, the same young lord who was present 
at the Mav-sames with Fitzallen of Marden. 
The knio;bt himself advanced sheathed in ar- 
niour, and, without raising his visor, inform- 
ed Lord Boteler, that having heard of a base 
attempt made upon a part of his train by ruf- 
fianly assassins, he had mounted and armed 
a small party of his retainers, to escort them�
## p. 59 (#69) ##############################################
69 
to Queenhoo-Hall. Having received and 
accepted an invitation to attend them thither, 
they prosecuted their journey in confidence 
and security, and arrived safe at home wilh- 
iit any further accident.�
## p. 60 (#70) ##############################################
(iO 
CHAPTER V. 
Investigation of the Adventure of the Hunt' 
ing  A Discovery  Gregorys Manhood  
Fate of Gaston St C/tre  Conclusion. 
So soon as they arrived at the prhicely man- 
sion of Boteler, the Lady Emma craved per- 
missioa to retire to her chamber, that she 
might compose her spirits after the terror 
she had undergone. Henry St Clere, in a 
few words, proceeded to explain the adven- 
ture to the curious audience : 
" 1 liad no sooner seen my sister's palfrey, 
in spite of her endeavours to the contrary, 
entering with spirit into tlie chase set on foot�
## p. 61 (#71) ##############################################
61 
by the worsliipful Gregory, than I rode after 
to give her assistance. So long was tlie chase, 
that when the greyhounds pulled down the 
knobbler, we were out of hearing of your 
bugles; and having rewarded and coupled 
the dogs, I gave them to ])e led by the Jester, 
and we wandered in quest of our company, 
whom it would seem the sport had led 
in a different direction. At length, passing 
through the thicket where you found us, I 
was surprised by a cross-bow bolt whizzing 
by mine head. 1 drew my sword, and rushed 
into the thicket, but was instantly assailed 
by two ruflians, while other two made to- 
wards my sister and Gregory. The poor 
knave fled crying for help, pursued by my 
false kinsman, now your prisoner; and the 
designs of the other on my poor Emma, 
(murderous no doubt,) were prevented, by 
the sudden apparition of a brave woodsman, 
who, after a short encounter, stretched the 
miscreant at his feet, and came to my assist-�
## p. 62 (#72) ##############################################
62 
ance. I was already slightly woundecl, and 
nearly over-laid with odds. The combat last- 
ed some time, for the caitiffs were both well- 
armed, strong, and desperate; at length, 
however, we had each mastered our antago- 
nist, when your retinue, my Lord Boteler, 
arrived to my relief.  So ends my story; but, 
by my knighthood, I would give an earl's 
ransom to thank the gallant forester by whose 
aid I live to tell it." 
*' Fear not," said Lord Boteler; " he shall 
be found, if this or the four adjacent coun- 
ties hold him.  And now Lord Fitzosborne 
will be pleased to doff the armour he has so 
kindly assumed for our sakes, and we will all 
bovvne ourselves for the banquet." 
When the hour of dinner approached, the 
Lady Matilda ami her cousin visited the 
chamber of the fair Darcy. They found her 
in a composed but melancholy posture. She 
turned the discourse upon the misfortunes of 
her life, and hinted, tliat having recovered�
## p. 63 (#73) ##############################################
63 
her brother, and seeing him look forwards 
to the society of one who would amply repav 
to him the loss of her's, she had thoughts of 
dedicating her remaining life to heaven, by 
whose providential interference it had been 
so often preserved. 
jMatilda coloured deeply at something in 
this speech, and her cousin inveighed loudly 
against Emma's resolution. " Ah, my dear 
Lady Eleanor," replied she, " I have to-day 
witnessed what I cannot but judge a super- 
natural visitation, and to what end can it call 
me but to give myself to the altar. That 
peasant who guided me to Baddow through 
the park of Danbnry, the same who appear- 
ed before me at different times, and in dif- 
ferent forms, during that eventful journey, 
that youth, whose features are imprinted on 
my memory, is the very individual forester 
who this day rescued us in the forest. 1 can- 
not be mistaken; and connecting these mar- 
vellous appearances with the spectre which I�
## p. 64 (#74) ##############################################
6i 
saw while at Gay Bowers, I cannot resist the 
conviction, that heaven has permitted my 
guar(Han angel to assume mortal shape for 
my relief and protection." 
The fair cousins, after exchanging looks 
which implied a fear that her mind was wan- 
dering, answered her in soothing terms, and 
finally prevailed upon her to accompany 
them to the banqueting-hall. Here the first 
person they encountered was the Baron Fitz- 
osborne of Diggswell, now divested of his 
armour; at the sight of whom the Lady Em- 
ma changed colour, and exclaiming, " It is 
the same !" sunk senseless into the arms of 
Matilda. 
" She is bewildered by the terrors of the 
day," said Eleanor; " and we have done ill 
in oblioini; her to descend." 
*' And I," said Fitzosborne, " have done 
madly in presenting before her one, whose 
presence must recal moments the most alarni- 
ino; in her lil'e."�
## p. 65 (#75) ##############################################
66 
While the ladies supported Emma from 
the hallj Lord Boteler and St Clare request- 
ed an explanation from Fitz-Osborne of the 
words he had used. 
" Trust me, gentle lords," said the Baron 
of Diggswell, " ye shall have what ye de- 
mand, when I learn that Lady Emma Darcy 
has ,not suffered from my imprudence." 
At this moment Lady Matilda returning, 
said, that her fair friend, on her recovery, 
had calmly and deliberately insisted that she 
had seen Fitz-Osborne before, in the most 
dangerous crisis of her life. 
" I dread," said she, " her disordered mind 
connects all that her eye beholds with the 
terrible passages that she has witnessed." 
" Nay," said Fitz-Osborne, " if noble St 
Clere can pardon the unauthorised interest 
which, with the purest and most honourable 
intentions, I have taken in his sister's fate, it 
VOL. IV, E�
## p. 66 (#76) ##############################################
66 
is easy for me to explain this mysterious im- 
pression." 
He proceed to say, that, happening to be 
in the hostelry, called the Griftin, near Bad- 
dovv, while upon a journey in that country, 
he had met with the old nurse of the Lady 
Emma Darey, who, being just expelled from 
Gay-Bowers, was in the height of her grief 
and indignation, and made loud and public 
proclamation of Lady Emma's wrongs. From 
the description she gave of the beauty of her 
foster-child, as well as from the spirit of chi- 
valry, Fitz-Osborne became interested in her 
fate. This interest was deeply enhanced 
when, by a bribe to old Gaunt the Reve, he 
procured a view of the Lady Emma, as she 
walked near the Castle of Gay-Bowers. The 
aged churl refused to give him access to the 
castle; yet dropped some hints, as if he 
thought the lady in danger, and wished she 
were well out of it. His master, he said.�
## p. 67 (#77) ##############################################
67 
had heard she had a hrother in hfe, and 
since that deprived him of all chance of 
gaining her domains by purchase, he in 
short, Gaunt wished they were safely sepera- 
ted. " If any injury," quoth he, " should 
happen to the damsel here, it were ill for us 
all. I tried, by an innocent stratagem, to 
frighten her from the castle, by introducing 
a figure through a trap-door, and warning 
her, as if by a voice from the dead, to retreat 
from hence ; but the giglet is willful, and is 
runnino; upon her fate." 
Finding Gaunt, although covetous and 
communicative, too faithful a servant to his 
wicked master, to take any active steps 
against his commands, Fitz-Osborne applied 
himself to Old Ur^qly, whom he found more 
tractable. Through her he learaed the dread- 
ful plot Gaston had laid to rid himself of his 
kinswoman, and resolved to effect her deli- 
verance. But aware of the delicacy of Em-�
## p. 68 (#78) ##############################################
6S 
ma's situation, he charged Ursely to conceal 
from iier the interest he took in her distress, 
resolving to watch over her in disguise, until 
he saw her in a place of safety. Hence the 
appearance he made before her in various 
dresses during her journey, in the course of 
which he was never far distant; and had al- 
ways four stout yeomen within hearing of his 
bugle, had assistance been necessaiy. When 
she was placed in safety at the Lodge, it was 
Fitz-Osborne's intention to have prevailed 
upon his sisters to visit, and take her under 
their protection ; but he found them absent 
from Diggswell, having gone to attend an 
aged relation, who lay dangerously ill in a 
distant county. They did not return until 
the day before the May-games ; and the 
other events followed too rapidly to permit 
Fitz-Osborne to lay any plan for introducing 
them to Lady Emma Darcy. On the day of 
the chase, he resolved to preserve his ro-�
## p. 69 (#79) ##############################################
69 
iiiantic disguisej and attend the Lady Emma 
as a forester, partly to have the pleasure of 
bemg near her, and partly to judge whe- 
ther, according to an idle report in the coun- 
try, she favoured his friend and comrade 
Fitz-Allen of Marden. This last motive, it 
may easily be believed, he did not declare 
to the company. After the skirmish with 
the ruffians, he waited till the baron and 
the huntsmen arrived, and then, still doubt- 
ing the fartlier designs of Gaslon, hastened 
to his castle, to arm the band which had es- 
corted them to Quecnhoo-hall. 
Filz-Osborne's story being finished, he re- 
ceived the thanks of all the company, parti- 
cularly of St Clere, who felt deeply the re- 
spectful delicacy with which he had con- 
ducted himself towards his sister. The lady 
was carefuU}'^ informed of her obligation to 
him ; and it is left to the well-judging reader, 
whether even the raillery of Lady Eleanor�
## p. 70 (#80) ##############################################
70 
made her regi'et, that heaven had only em- 
ployed natural means for her security, and 
that the guardian angel was converted into 
a handsome gallant and enamoured knight. 
The joy of the company in the hall ex- 
tended itself to the buttery, where Gregory 
narrated such feats of arms done by himself 
in the fray of the morning, as might have 
shamed Bevis and Guy of Warwick. He 
was, according to his narrative, singled out 
for destruction bv the s;i2;antic baron him- 
self, while he abandoned to meaner hands 
the destruction of St Clere and Fitz-Os- 
borne. " But certcs," said he, " the foul 
paynira met his match ; for ever as he foined 
at me with his brand, I parried his blows 
with ray bauble, and closing with him upon 
the third veny, threw him to the ground, 
and made him cry recreant to an unarmed 
man." 
" Tush, man," said Drawslot, " thou for- 
gettest thy best auxiliaries, the good grey-�
## p. 71 (#81) ##############################################
71 
hounds Help and Holdfast ! I warrant tbec, 
that when the hump-backed baron caught 
thee by the cowl, which he hath almost torn 
off, thou hadst been in a fair plight had they 
not remembered an old friend, and come in 
to the rescue. Why, man, I found them 
fastened on him myself; and there was odd 
staving and stickling to make them " ware 
haunch !" Their mouths were full of the flex, 
for I pulled a piece of the garment from 
them. I warrant thee, that when they 
brought ^him to ground, thou fledst like a 
frighted pricket." 
" And as for Gregory's gigantic paynim," 
said Fabian, " why he lies yonder in the 
guard-room, the very size, shape, and colour 
of a spider in a yew-hedge." 
" It is false !" said Gregory ; " Colbraad 
the Dane was a dwarf to him." 
" It is as true," returned Fabian, " as that 
the Tasker is to be married, on Tuesday, to�
## p. 72 (#82) ##############################################
72 
pretty Margeiy. Gregory, thy sheet hath 
brought tliem between a pair of blankets." 
" 1 care no more for such a gillflirt/' said 
Ihe Jester, " than I do for thy leasings. Mar- 
ry, thou hop o' my thumb, happy wouldst 
thou be could tby licad reach the captive 
baron's girdle." 
" By the mass," said Peter Lanaret, " I 
w\\\ have one peep at this burly gallant;" 
and, leaving the buttery, he went to the 
guard-room where Gaston St Clere was con- 
fined. A man-at-arms, who kept centinel 
on the strong studded door of the apartment, 
said, he believed he slept ; for that after ra- 
ging, stiimping, and uttering the most hor- 
rible imprecations, he had been of kite per- 
fectly still. The Falconer, gently drew back 
a sliding board, of a foot square, towards 
the top of the door, which covered a hole 
of the same size, strongly latticed, through 
whieh.the warder, without opening the door, 
could look in upon his prisoner. From�
## p. 73 (#83) ##############################################
73 
this aperture he beheld the wretched Gas- 
ton suspended by the neck, by his own 
girdle, to an iron-ring in the side of his 
prison. He had clambered to it by means 
of the table on which his food had been 
placed ; and, in the agonies of shame, and 
disappointed malice, had adopted this mode 
of ridding himself of a wretched life. He 
was found yet warm, but totally lifeless. A 
proper account of the manner of his death 
was drawn up and certified. He was buried 
that evening, in the chapel of the castle, out 
of respect to his high birth ; and the chap- 
lain of Fitzallen of Marden, who said the 
service upon the occasion, preached, the 
next Sunday, an excellent sermon upon the 
text. Radix malorum est cupiditas, which we 
have here transcribed. 
.* # # # # * # * * #�
## p. 74 (#84) ##############################################
74 
[Here the manuscript, from which we have 
painfully transcribed, and frequently, as it 
were, translated this tale, for the readers' edi- 
fication, is so indistinct and defaced, that, ex- 
cepting certain howbdts, Tiathlesses, loyts! &c. 
we can pick out little that is intelHgible, sa- 
ving that avarice is defined " a likourishness 
of heart after earthly things." A little far- 
ther, there seems to have been a gay account 
of Margery's wedding with Ralph theTasker; 
the running at the quintain, and other rural 
games practised on the occasion. There 
are also fragments of a mock sermon preach- 
ed by Gregory upon that occasion, as for 
example :] 
" My dear cursed caitiffs, there was once a 
king, and he wedded a young old queen, and 
she had a child ; and this child was sent to 
Solomon the Sage, praying he would give 
it the same blessing which he got from the�
## p. 75 (#85) ##############################################
75 
v\itch of Eudor, when she bit him by the 
heel. Hereof speaks the worthy Dr Radi- 
gundus Potator : why should not mass be 
said for all the roasted shoe souls served up 
in the king's dish on Saturday ; for true it is 
that St Peter asked father Adam, as they 
journeyed to Camelotj an high, great, and 
doubtful question, " Adam, Adam, why eat- 
edst thou the apple without paring?" 
[With much goodly gibberish to the same 
effect; which display of Gregory's ready wit, 
not only threw the whole company into con- 
vulsions of laughter, but made such an im- 
pression on Rose, the Potter's daughter, that 
it was thought it would be the Jester's own 
fault if Jack was long without his Jill. Much 
pithy matter concerning the bringing the 
bride to bed, the losing the bridegroom's 
points, the scrauible wliich ensued for them, 
and the casting of the stocking, is also omit- 
ted, from its obscurity.�
## p. 76 (#86) ##############################################
76 
The following song, which has heen since 
borrowed by the worshipful author of the fa- 
mous " History of Fryar Bacon/' has been, 
with difliculty, decyphered. It seems to 
have been sung on occasion of carrying 
home the bride. 
BRIDAL SONG. 
To the Tune of'* I Jiavc been a Pidler," Sfc. 
And did you not hear of a mirth befel 
The morrow after a wedding day, 
And carrying a bride at home to dwell ; 
And away to Tew in, away, away. 
The quintain was set, and the garlands were made,  
'Tis pity old customes should ever decay; 
And wo be to him that was hors't on a jade, 
I-'or he carried no credit away, away. 
We met a consort of fiddle de dee; 
Wc set them a cockhorse, and made them play 
The w inning of 43ullen, and Upsey-fires, 
And away to Tcwin, away, away.�
## p. 77 (#87) ##############################################
HI 
There was ne'er a lad in <all the parish 
That would go to the plough that day, 
But on his fore-horse his wench he carries. 
And away to Tew in, away, away. 
The butler was quick, and the ale he did tap, 
The maydens did make the chamber full gay; 
The servants did give me a fuddling cup, 
And I did carry't away, away. 
The Smith of the town his liquor so took, 
That he was persuaded the ground looked blew ; 
And I dare boldly be sworn on a book, 
Such smiths as he there's but a few. 
A posset was made, and the women did sip, 
And simpering said, they could eat no more ; 
Full many a maiden was laid on the lip,  
I'll say no more, but give o'er (give o'er.) 
But what our fair readers will chiefly re- 
gretj is the loss of three declarations ol love : 
the first by St Clare to Matilda; which, with 
the lady's answer, occupies 'fifteen closely�
## p. 78 (#88) ##############################################
78 
written pages of manuscript. That of FIlz- 
osboine to Eturaa is not much shorter ; but 
the amours of Fitz-allen and Eleanor, beins 
of a less romantic cast, are closed in three 
pages only. The three noble couples were 
married in Queenhoo-hall, upon the same 
day, being the twentieth Sunday after Easter. 
There is a prolix account of the marriage- 
feast, of which we can pick out the names 
of a few dishes, such as peterel, crane, stur- 
geon, swan, &c. &c. with a profusion of 
wild-fowl and venison. We also see, that a 
suitable song was produced by Peretto on 
the occasion ; and that the bishop, who 
blessed the bridal beds which received the 
happy couples, was no niggard of his holy 
water, bestowing half a gallon upon each of 
the couches. We . regret we cannot give 
these curiosities to the reader in detail, but 
we hope to expose the manuscript to abler 
antiquaries, so soon as it shall be-framed and�
## p. 79 (#89) ##############################################
79 
glazed by the ingenious artist who render- 
ed that service to Mr Ireland's Shakespeare 
MSS. And soj (being unable to lay aside 
the style to vhich our pen is habituated) 
gentle reader, we bid thee heartily farewell.] 
THE END OF OUEENIIOO-HALL.�