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 n HISTORICAL. TALES. 
 
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 WAREHAM CHASE. 
 
 Page 141.
 
 TALES 
 
 FBOM 
 
 ENGLISH HISTORY. 
 
 I'ar Ci]ili>r£it. 
 
 Bk 
 
 AGNES STRICKLAND, 
 
 • a*7Ut Of "LI7ES OF THB QirZKNB Of E!(JLAHB 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 ftra jjrob4rijr€9 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 PORTE K & C GATES.
 
 UMVER^TV OF CAUFORNIA 
 feAMA BARBARA 
 
 3a. 8 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 rial 
 
 Quthred, the Widow's Slave ; a Story cf the TimsB of 
 
 Alfred the Great, » 
 
 The Koyai Brothers; a Story of the Times of Kichard 
 
 the Third, 45 
 
 Tl.e Chase of "Warcham ; the Story of King Edward the 
 
 Martyr, 126 
 
 The Sons of the Conqueror; a Story of the Times of 
 
 William the First, 151 
 
 Wolsey Bridge ; a Story of the Times of Henry the 
 
 Eighth, 168 
 
 The Judgment of Sir Thomas More ; in the Time of 
 
 Henry the Eighth, 201 
 
 Lady Lucy's Petition ; a Story of William the Third 
 
 and Queen Mary, 224 
 
 flistorical Summary to each Story, 238
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 HisTORT, which may be regarded as an inex- 
 haustible treasury of entertainment and informa- 
 tion, containing as it does the records of past ages, 
 and of every important event connected with the 
 rise and fall of nations, and abounding with inci- 
 dents of such extraordinary interest, that the pa- 
 ges of few works of fiction can offer any thing so 
 attractive, is seldom presented to the youthful 
 reader in an agreeable form. 
 
 A barren chronology of monarchical successions, 
 bloody wars, and dry political intrigues, comprise 
 generally speaking, the contents of the historical 
 works prepared for the use of schools, from which 
 the reluctant student turns with weariness and 
 distaste.
 
 6 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Such volumes resemble the charts iu which nav 
 igators delineate the barren ranges of hills that 
 form the leading features of a country, while the 
 soft undulations of the fertile valleys, the verdant 
 groves, flowery plains, and pleasant streams, are 
 absent from the picture. 
 
 It is the object of the present work to offer to 
 the Young a series of moral and instructive tales, 
 each founded on some striking authentic fact in 
 the annals of EngUsh History, in which royal or 
 distinguished children were engaged ; and in 
 which it is the Author's wish to convey, in a pleas- 
 ing form, useful and entertaming information il- 
 lustrative of the manners, customs, and costume of 
 the era connected with the events of every story ; 
 to which is also added, an Historical Summary, 
 which the Author recommends to the attention ot 
 the juvenile reader, as containing many interest- 
 ing particulars not generally to be met with in 
 abridged histories.
 
 
 A STORy OF THE TIMES OF ALFRED THE GREAT. 
 
 Will it be credited by the youthful reader, that in 
 this now free and happy land, slaves were once 
 bought and sold with as little remorse as cattle are in 
 the present day transferred from one master to anoth- 
 er ? Strange and revolting as it must appear to eve- 
 ry lover of his country, such was once the existing 
 practice, not only in the remote ages when the dark- 
 ness of heathen barbarism overshadowed the British 
 islands, but even in the reign of the benevolent and 
 enlightened Alfred, under whose auspices law and 
 justice were established in forms so pure and equita- 
 ble, that many of his institutions have been handed 
 down to us from our ancestors as the noblest legacy 
 ;n their power to bestow. 
 
 Civilization, it is true, made a great progress during 
 the era of this accomplished monarch, but he had so 
 many difficultit? to contend with, and so many prcju
 
 10 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 iices to overcome, that it is not to be wondered il 
 some abuses remained unreformed, and, among others, 
 this inhuman traffic. 
 
 There were few occupiers of land m those days 
 who were not possessed of thralls, or domestic slaves, 
 who were distinguished from the hired servants by 
 the degrading badge of an iron collar, on which was 
 inscribed the name of the hapless bondman, with the 
 notification that he was the purchased or the born 
 thrall, whichever it might happen to be, of such a per- 
 son, of such a place. 
 
 The tale I am about to relate, which is founded on 
 a^i authentic historical fact of this nature, is an illus- 
 trative sketch of the manners and customs of the An- 
 glo Saxons and Danes, during that glorious period of 
 our annals, the age of Alfred the Great, in whose 
 reign its events took place. 
 
 One bright autumnal morning about eleven o'clock, 
 the hour at which our Saxon ancestors usually took 
 their principal meal, just as the family and serving- 
 folk of the Saxon franklin,* Selwood, were seating 
 themselves at the well covered board, a loud barking 
 from the watch dogs that guarded the homestead, an- 
 Bweied by the low, but more angry growling of the 
 
 * A Saxon freeholder, or gentleman, who was possessed of one or man 
 kydesufland. A hjde contains 100 acics. ,
 
 GUTHRED. IJ 
 
 household curs under the table, announced the ap- 
 proach of strangers. 
 
 Selwood, who was beginning to carve for his house- 
 hold, paused to listen, and grasped his huge knife 
 with a firmer hold, as though he meditated using it as 
 a weapon of defence in case of approaching danger. 
 His serving-folk, who, according to the custom of 
 those days, sat at the same table with their master, 
 but below the salt, started from their seats on the 
 rough oaken benches that surrounded the lower end 
 of the board, laid hands on scythes, fiails, or reaping 
 hooks, and exclaimed in alarm, ' The Danes be 
 upon us ! ' 
 
 So contiguous indeed was the town of Whitting- 
 ham, near which the farm and homestead of Selwood 
 were situated, to the Danelagh, or Danish colony, 
 that had established itself in great power in Nor- 
 thumberland, that perpetual fear existed in the minds 
 of the franklin and his household, lest their danger- 
 ous neighbours should at any time think proper to 
 break the hollow truce then subsisting between the 
 Saxons and Danes, and pay him one of their predato- 
 -y visits. 
 
 The Danish settlements were, in fact, neither more 
 nor less than so many formidable hordes of rapacious 
 banditti, always ready to give and take offence, and 
 on the look out for plunder. Thev were a cruel
 
 12 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 faithless race, in whose promises no reliance could be 
 placed, and whose only occupation consisted in ra 
 pine and deeds of blood. 
 
 The industrious habits and peaceful employments 
 of the Saxons, who, having become naturalized to the 
 soil, had abandoned the warlike manners of their 
 fierce ancestors for the useful pursuits of the shepherd 
 and the husbandman, were sorely interrupted by the 
 incursions and ravages of the ' black strangers,' as 
 ihe invading Danes were emphatically styled, from 
 ihe sable hue of the vessels which brought this un- 
 welcome swarm of northern robbers to the shores of 
 England, where they first arrived in the reign of Eg- 
 bert, and from that time contrived to obtain a footing 
 in the country, and, being yearly reinforced with 
 fresh bands of adventurers from the coasts of Den- 
 mark and Norway, they continued to gain strength, 
 and at length establishing themselves, side by side as 
 it were, of the Saxons, rendered themselves the ter- 
 ror of the peacefully disposed, and the scourge of the 
 whole country. ' They are always before us,' says 
 the Saxon ch,-onicler ; ' we always see the horizon 
 reddened with flame, we always hear the tramp 
 of war.' 
 
 At the period of Alfred's accession to the throne, 
 nine pitched battles were fought in one year, between 
 the English and the Danes, besides skirmishes and
 
 GUTHRED. 13 
 
 private conflicts innumerable. Somet-anes the Danes 
 were defeated, but after each reverse they appeared 
 tG redouble their activity, and actually increased in 
 power. ' If thirty thousand are slain in one day 
 said the despairing Saxons, ' there will be double that 
 number in the field to-morrow.' Sometimes, when 
 the Saxons found themselves unable to cope with 
 their formidable opponents, they were unwise enough 
 to endeavour to purchase a shameful peace with gold; 
 but the bribe was no sooner in the possession of the 
 greedy barbarians, than they violated the dear-bought 
 treaty, and committed all sorts of violence, for the 
 sake of extorting fresh sums of money. 
 
 The appearance of a Danish holda, or chief, ap- 
 proaching the homestead of Selwood, though only at- 
 tended by a boy of tender years, who was leading a 
 brace of wolf-hounds in a leash, was sufficient to 
 spread dismay through the dwelling. 
 
 There was an immediate consultation between Sel- 
 wood and his wife, Winifred, as to whether they 
 should treat the unwelcome visitor as an enemy, by 
 refusing him admittance into the homestead, which 
 doubtless he approached in the quality of a spy, or, 
 as ne came in a peaceful guise, choose the alternative 
 of conciliating his friendship, by receiving him as a 
 guest. ' He is a stranger, and as it is meal time it
 
 14 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 would be churlish to deny him entrance,' said Se. 
 wood, ' albeit, I would with greater pleasure invite a 
 wolf to be my dinner guest.' 
 
 ' The wolf would be the less dangerous visitor of 
 the two, I trow,' said the careful Winifred, pocketing, 
 as she spoke, the silver ladle, with which she was 
 preparing to help herself from the bowl of plum por- 
 ridge which stood before her. 
 
 Swindreda, her niece, was in the very act of 
 whisking away the porridge also, muttering as she 
 did so, ' that she had never taken the trouble of com- 
 pounding such a dainty dish to tickle the palate of a 
 Danish raven, for whom swine's flesh and barley 
 broth were more than good enough,' when the holda, 
 whose quick eye had caught the manoguvre as he en- 
 tered, called out, ' Holla there, maiden ! is it your 
 Saxon fashion to remove the best part of the cheer 
 when a stranger surprises you at your meals ? Now, 
 that is the very dish whereof I mean to eat. So say- 
 ing, he snatched it from her hand, and, placing him- 
 self at the seal of honour at the table, he took a horn 
 spoon from one of the serving men, and devoured the 
 contents of the bowl in a trice, with the exception of 
 a small portion, which he left at the bottom of the 
 vessel, ar>d handed over his shoulder with a patroni- 
 zing air to his youthful attendant, who stood behind 
 his stool, still holding the hounds in leash.
 
 GUTHRED ib 
 
 Guthred, for so the Danish chief called the boy, re- 
 ceived this mark of favour willi a sullen and reluc- 
 tant air, and maintained a proud, cold demeanour, to 
 the astonishment of the Saxon servants, who knew, 
 from the iron collar, and other unequivocal badges o( 
 slavery about his person, that the boy was in a more 
 degraded condition than themselves, being the pur- 
 chased thrall or slave of Ricsiaf the Dane. 
 
 Ricsig appeared by no means an unkind master, 
 for he took some pains to supply both the cravings of 
 his hounds, and the probable wants of his young 
 slave, with the choicest provisions on the franklin's 
 table, without paying the slightest attention to the 
 feelings of the indignant host and mortified house- 
 hold ; but it was thus that the- insolent northmen con- 
 ducted themselves when they entered the dwellings 
 of the peaceful Saxons, who very seldom ventured to 
 remonstrate with their unwelcome guests, lest they 
 should draw upon themselves a still more formidable 
 visitation in the shape of fire and sword, taking it for 
 granted, that where one Dane made himself visible, 
 ten more at least were lurking within call, in readi- 
 ness to espouse any quarrel in which he might in- 
 volve himself. It was this a])prehension that with- 
 held Sehvood and his men from expelling the insolent 
 intruder, who, after astonishing all parties with his 
 voracity, laid hands on a curiously carved drinking
 
 16 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 jiorn, which Swindreda, in her anxiety to secure the 
 plum porridge, had forgotten to remove, and calling 
 for metheglin, emptied and replenished it so often 
 with this heavy beverage, that he soon got into high 
 good humour, and after bestowing great commenda- 
 tions on the beauty of the horn, he, instead of taking 
 possession of it by sticking it into his girdle, beside 
 his battle axe, as too many of his countrymen in such 
 case would have done, actually offered to purchase i 
 of Selwood. 
 
 ' It is the horn of my fathers,' said the Saxon, ' and 
 if I sell it to thee, it shall be for nought less than 
 gold.' 
 
 ' Gold,' echoed the Dane scornfully, ' dost think I 
 I am a Saxon monk, to carry coined pieces in my 
 girdle ? My wealth,' added he, significantly grasping 
 the handle of his battle axe, ' is in the purses of my 
 enemies.' 
 
 ' That is to say,' rejoined Selwood, ' that you 
 mean to carry off my cunningly-wrought drinking 
 horn, as a reward for my hospitality to thee and thy 
 thrall.' 
 
 ' Said I not that I would purchase it of thee ?' de- 
 manded Ricsig. 
 
 ' Ay, but what art thou willing to give me in ex 
 fhange ?" said the franklin. 
 
 ' Thou shal* choose whether thou wilt have mv
 
 GUTHRED. 17 
 
 houud, Snath ; his fleet-footed companion, Will, 
 biach ; or my thrall, Oulhred,' replied the holda ; 
 ' all three have displeased nie this morning : the two 
 first led me hither on a false track of deer, and the 
 latter hath perversely refused to eat of the food which 
 I flung him even now from my own trencher ; so 
 choose between them, for the horn is now more pre- 
 cious in my sight than either.' 
 
 Selwood's judgment was assisted in making his 
 election by a hint from the most prudent of house- 
 wives, the thrifty Winifred, who whispered in his 
 ear, ' Curs have we more than plenty, master mine, 
 for they only encourage the serving folk in idle pas- 
 times, and serve as a cloak to conceal their wastery 
 when the oaten cakes wax mouldy or the meat is too 
 fat for their liking ; but we are in need of a boy to 
 tend the swine and sheep, and to do many othei 
 things, so choose the young thrall, who is a stout 
 healthy lad, and, if discreetly trained, will do us 
 worthy service both in and out of doors.' 
 
 No sooner had Selwood signified his choice to 
 Ricsig, than the barter was completed by the Dane 
 iaking the boy by the collar, and transferring him to 
 his new master in these words : 
 
 ' I, Ricsig, give to thee, Selwood, Guthred my 
 elave, to be thy thrall for ever.' Then tuckir.g th«
 
 18 
 
 HISTORICAL TALES 
 
 drinking horn into his beh, he strode out of the Sax 
 on homestead, whistling to his dogs to follow. 
 
 Gulhred flung himself on the ground and wept. 
 
 'Nay, cheer up, my dainty bird,' said Winifred 
 compassionately, ' thou wilt have no cause to lament 
 thy change of masters, I promise, if thou wilt be a 
 dutiful and pains-taking slave.' 
 
 Guthred redoubled his tears, and at length sobbed 
 audibly. 
 
 ' Thou didst not seem so loving to thy Danish mas- 
 ter that thou shouldst bewail a separation from him 
 thus passionately,' observed Swindreda. 
 
 'Loving to him! ' echoed the boy indignantly, his 
 large dark eyes flashing through his streaming tears 
 as he spoke, ' loving unto a Dane, — to my born foe ? ' 
 
 ' Why then, thou shouldst rejoice in thy change ol 
 thraldom,' said Winifred. 
 
 ' If is for my thraldom that I weep,' replied Gulh- 
 red, ' for I was free born, and am no more disposed 
 to serve a Saxon churl than to be the slave of a Da- 
 nish robber.' 
 
 ' High words do oft proceed from an empty stom- 
 ach,' observed his new master, sternly ; ' but I counsel 
 th^e, boy, to stint t'.y perverse prating, which can an- 
 swer no other purpose than to bring the thong across 
 thy shoulders.' 
 
 ' Thy women folk pestered me with questictis, or I
 
 GUTHRED. IS 
 
 had only wept in silence,' replied Guthred scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 ' Women folk, indeed ! ' cried Svvindreda, giving 
 him a smart box on the ears. • I'll teach thee to use 
 more respectful language of thy betters, and let ihee 
 know, withal, that it is not the business of a thrall to 
 weep, but to work.' 
 
 ' It is well for thee that thou art a woman, though 
 an ill-favoured one, or I had returned thy hard blow 
 with usury,' retorted Guthred, clenching his hand. 
 
 Swindreda was preparing to inflict summary ven- 
 geance on the imprudent railer, but Winifred hu- 
 manely interposed to prevent the visitation of her 
 wrathful displeasure, by sending her to feed the pou. 
 try, while she herself proceeded to instruct the new 
 ly-purchased slave in some of the household duiies 
 which he would be required to perform. 
 
 On the following day, Selwood ordered his shep 
 herd, his neatherd, swineherd, and woodcutter, to put 
 him in the way of becoming a useful assistant in their 
 several vocatoins, but Guthred was sullen and refrac- 
 tory with the men, and rebellious to the women ; the 
 authority of both was, of course, enforced by harsh 
 measures, and the young thrall was compelled to yield 
 reluctant obedience after repeated chastisements ; thus 
 entailing upon himself severe personal suflerings \r, 
 addition to the hardships of servitude.
 
 20 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 Ills foreign accent and comlpexion, so difTereii 
 from tlial of his Saxon masters, had obtained foi 
 Gulhied the name of the Son of the Stranger, a des- 
 ignation by no means hkely to improve his condition 
 among the Saxon serfs and ceoris, who had suliered 
 loo deeply from the aggressions of the Danes to be 
 disposed to regard any foreigner with favourable eyes. 
 Guthrcd was exposed to many taunts from the 
 serving folk, on account of his persisting in wearing 
 his dark hair, flowing on his shoulders, in its natu- 
 ral length, and rich luxuriance of spiral ringlets. 
 Long hair was only worn by persons of noble or roy- 
 al birth; and though Gulhred had refused to declare 
 his birth and lineage, he assumed this envied distinc- 
 tion, to the infinite displeasure of his associates in la- 
 bour, who had more than once seized upon him, and 
 forcibly shorn these aristocratical honours from the 
 proud head of the youthful slave; and when their 
 mistress interposed her authority to prevent a repeti- 
 tion of the outrage, they vented their spleen in ad- 
 dressing him by the title of ' high and mighty thane,' 
 whenever they required him to perform the most ser- 
 vile offices. 
 
 Guthred once smiled in scorn at the insult, and told 
 his tormentors, ' that, like ignorant churls as they 
 were, ihcy addressed him by a title far below tha! 
 ivhich was his due.'
 
 GUTHRED. 21 
 
 But thii intimation drew upon him a toirent o, 
 such bitter mockery, tha' from that time forward he 
 preserved a contemptuous silence when assailed by 
 the taunts of the serfs. 
 
 The long weary winter, the hardest time of bon- 
 dage that Guthred had yet sustained, passed away, 
 and the sweet season of spring once more clothed the 
 Northumbrian fields with verdure, and enamelled the 
 pastures with flowers. It was some relief to the per- 
 secuted thrall of Selwood, when he was separated 
 from the rude churls, and employed in the solitary of- 
 fice of keeping the sheep on the extensive downs, 
 heath-clad hills, or pleasant meads ; but, lovely as 
 these scenes were, the sick heart of the young exile 
 fondly yearned after the wild and rugged scenery o( 
 the far distant laniof his fathers, whose eternal for- 
 ests of sombre pines and chains of barren moun- 
 tains, he preferred to the oaken glades, and the ver- 
 dant hills and dales of the fertile island of the west, 
 of which he had become an unwilling denizen. The 
 land was indeed fair; but to him who has neither 
 sympathies nor companionship, the most smiling land- 
 scape becomes a dreary desert. 
 
 Had Guthred ever felt ihe divine influence of reli- 
 gion he might have supported hi-- early sorrows with 
 resignation ; for, though companionless, he would 
 aave known that he was not alone, thai he was up-
 
 22 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 held by the everlasting arm of his Father a^id hia 
 God, and would have learned in every dispensation^ 
 however afflicting, to recognise his hand; but he had 
 neeu born in a heathen land, and the light of Chris- 
 tianity had never dawned on his benighted mind. 
 Selwood and his household, indeed, were, nominally 
 speaking, Christians ; but their creed and practice 
 were so corrupted, and interwoven with pagan super- 
 stitions and idolatries, that they were scarcely in less 
 darkness than the young heathen, whose aversion to 
 their mode of worship excited their anger and 
 contempt. 
 
 Guthred only disliked their mode of worship be- 
 cause it was theirs, for he had never deigned to ex- 
 amine into the nature of their belief; from his own 
 he drew no consolation ; it was raade up of shadowy 
 recollections of gigantic idols, before whose images 
 he had been taught by his father to bow the knee in 
 the depth of gloomy groves. His remembrance re- 
 called their terrific forms, but of their attributes he 
 retained no idea, though he was occasionally wont to 
 invoke them as the avengers of his wrongs, when in- 
 jured by his Danish or Saxon task-masters. 
 
 One day, when a war of wcrds between him and 
 Swindreda had ended in his stubborn refusal to draw 
 water at her behest, and a severe corporeal punish" 
 •nent fiom the franklin had compelled him to submis*
 
 GUTIIRED. 23 
 
 sion, he proceeded to the sheepfold with a swelling 
 heart, and throwing himself upon the ground, called 
 aloud upon Thor and Woden to bring destruction up- 
 on Selwood and his whole household. 
 
 He paused, partly exhausted by the violence of his 
 transport of fury, and partly, perhaps, from a sort of 
 undefined expectation of receiving an answer to his 
 vengeful invocation. It came ; but neither in the up- 
 roar of the elements, nor the rush of the chariot 
 wheels of the destroyer careering through the air ; 
 but in the soft low voice of compassionate expostula- 
 tion. He raif-ed his face from the earth, and perceiv- 
 ed a stranger beside him, whose majestic form and 
 mild countenance impressed him with the idea that 
 he was a being of a different order from the rude and 
 savage men with- whom he had been accustomed to 
 associate. 
 
 ' Unhappy boy ! ' said the stranger, ' upon whom 
 hast thou called ? ' 
 
 ' On the gods of my fathers,' replied Guthred. 
 ' Those whom mine own people worshipped within 
 the strong circles of their power, and on whose rough 
 hewn altars my father was wont to pour forth the 
 blood of his slaughtered foes.' 
 
 The stranger shuddered. ' Alas, poor child ! ' said 
 he, ' and canst thou believe that such inhuman sacri- 
 fi'-es could be acceptable to ihe beneficent Creator of
 
 2^ HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 this beautiful world, which he has formed for the hap 
 piness and delight, of his creatures, whom he has 
 commanded to love one another, and to worship him 
 in the beauty of holiness, not with polluted hands 
 and bloody rites ? ' 
 
 Guthred looked perplexed, for the language of the 
 stranger was incomprehensible to him. At length he 
 said, ' It was to Thor and Woden these sacrifices 
 were offered by my father. To them the savour ol 
 blood is sweet, for they are called the Destroyer 
 and the Avenger. Oh that they would bring fire 
 and sword upon the homestead of Selwood the 
 Saxon ! ' 
 
 ' Thy guilty prayer is such as might indeed be ex- 
 pected from the lips of a benighted worshipper of the 
 powers of evil,' replied the stranger ; ' but know, my 
 son, that in offering homage to Thor and Woden you 
 are acting in direct rebellion to the Lord and Giver ol 
 Life, and the Supreme Euler of the Universe, and are 
 provoking his wrath to visit you with those maledic- 
 tions which you impiously call down upon your en- 
 emies.' 
 
 ' I cannot be more wretched than I am,' replied 
 Guthred, ' nor suffer greater reverses : for I, who was 
 born a prince, am now the slave of slaves.' He bow 
 ed his face once more upon the earth, and lifting up 
 hi? "oiee, wepl aloud.
 
 GUTHRED. 25 
 
 The stranger allowed his passionate grief to vent 
 Itself, without interruption, for some moments, and 
 then drawing Guthred to him, he addressed him in 
 words of sympathy and encouragement. 
 
 The soothing tones, and language of compassion 
 and tenderness, were new to the ears of the youthful 
 slave ; but they made their way to his heart, and mel- 
 ted the obdurate pride which had always prompted 
 him to oppose violence to violence, and to return 
 wrong for wrong, and with the confiding frankness of 
 childhood, he fiung himself into the arms of his un- 
 known comforter, and wetted his bosom with his tears. 
 
 'You say you were born a prince,' observed the 
 stranger, after a pause. ' Whence come you ? ' 
 
 ' From the land of the dark forest and the snow- 
 clad mountain,' replied Guthred, with a flushing cheek 
 and kindling eye, from Lethra*, where my father, 
 Hardacanute, was a king and a warrior ; and I, his 
 heir, was brought up on the knees of the valiant, 
 served by the hands of the noble, and lulled to sleep 
 by the songs of the bards, who told of the deeds ol 
 my great forefather, the mighty Odin, whose coal- 
 black eye and raven hair, they said, resembled mine. 
 But Halfdane and Hubba, the fierce sons of Regnei 
 Lodbrok, came, like a wintry torrent, spreading wo« 
 
 • Lethrii, a p Kviiice of ancient Sweden. — Palgrav«.
 
 26 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 and desolation through my native Lethra, and having 
 slain my sire, and burned his cities, they bore me, a 
 helpless sorrowing child, from the place of my birth 
 and the kingdom I should have inherited, to their own 
 detested land of Denmark, where Halfdane, the eldest 
 of the fierce brethren, the same who now awes the 
 trembling Northumbrian Saxons with the terror of 
 his name, this Halfdane, I say, exchanged me with 
 his hunting companion, Ricsig, for a wolf-hound, and 
 Ricsig, in his turn, trucked me away to Selwood the 
 Saxon, for a paltry drinking horn, as though I had 
 been a thing of nought, a senseless utensil, or a beast 
 of the field.' 
 
 ' And how have you been treated in the household 
 of the Saxon franklin V demanded the stranger. 
 
 ' With hard words and harder blows have I been 
 driven forth to the performance of vile offices,' returned 
 Guthred indignantly.' A hewer of wood and a draw- 
 er of water have I been to sordid household queans, 
 and a drudge in field and fold to the base churls 
 who served my Saxon master, and with their injuri- 
 ous usage increased the bitterness of a prince's bon- 
 dage. Pity have I had from no one save from thy- 
 self,' added he, in a softened tone, on perceiving the 
 kindly drops which the tale of his sorrows had drawn 
 from the benign eyes of the stranger. 'And who art 
 ihou that weepest for the woes of an alien and a slave'
 
 GUTHRED. 27 
 
 ''urely thou belongest not to the race of the ui feeling 
 Saxon, or the savage Dane ! ' 
 
 ' My name is Eadred,' replied the stranger, ' and, 
 though of Saxon lineage, I am not, I trust, unfe'^Ung, 
 but the servant of One who is the friend of the 
 friendless ; who hath, in His divine wisdom, for some 
 good purpose, doubtless, brought thee hither, and hath 
 sent me to thee with tidinsfs of comfort.' 
 
 In reply to Guthred's eager inquiries, Eadred pro- 
 ceeded to reveal to him that God, of whose name and 
 attributes he had hitherto remained in profound igno- 
 rance. 
 
 Guthred listened patiently, for the manners of the 
 eloquent speaker had that mild persuasive charm 
 which appeals resistlessly to every heart. He listen- 
 ed attentively, for the subject was one of powerful in- 
 terest, conveyed as it was, in the impressive, but sub- 
 lime simplicity of truth. He listened with delight, 
 for the pure doctrines of Christianity were glad ti- 
 dings to the desolate, heart-broken captive, to whom 
 they offered better hopes of happiness in a future state 
 of existence than the savage pleasure of quaffing 
 mead and beer from the skulls of slaughtered foes, 
 m the joyless valhalla, or heaven, of Scandinavian 
 mythology; and Gilhred, the lineal descendant ol 
 
 the renowned Odin, who was honored as one of the 
 3
 
 28 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 miglitiest of the northern divinities, became a conrert 
 to the Christian faith. 
 
 Eadred frequently sought his young friend in the 
 lonely pastures, where he kept the franklin's sheep, 
 for the purpose of imparting to his powerful but un- 
 cultivated mind, the advantages of that learning which 
 he was ably qualified to communicate ; for Eadred 
 was a Saxon monk of distinguished talents and emi- 
 nent acquirements, who resided in a neighboring con- 
 vent, and employed himself in works of mercy and 
 charily, and experienced a pure delight in diffusing 
 the light of knowledge and religion, in succoring the 
 distressed, and comforting the sorrowful. As his pu- 
 pil, the hitherto fierce and intractable Guthred, became 
 mild, reflective, and intelligent, the hours that he had 
 been accustomed to waste in vain repining, listless in- 
 sanity, or stormy bursts of passion, were now employ- 
 ed in study or heavenward meditation, which enabled 
 him to correct the defects of his character, and to en- 
 dure with resignation and fortitude the toil and per- 
 secution he occasionally had to bear. He no longer 
 regretted the loss of power and dominion, for his 
 mind was lo him a kingdom, and the intercourses he 
 enjoyed with the pious and accomplished Eadred, he 
 would not have resigned for all the riches the would 
 could bestow. 
 
 Books were then rare possessions, confined to the
 
 GUTHRED. 29 
 
 ibraries of convents, and but seldom to be met wiili 
 in the cabinets of monarchs, yet Guthred, through tlie 
 favor of his learned friend, was seldom without a roll 
 of illuminated MS. in his bosom, wherewith to beguile 
 his solitary hours, and sweeten the labors of the day. 
 Nor were his studies confined to book-learning alone ; 
 he became an observer of the face of nature, and the 
 characters of his fellow men. 
 
 ' Knowledge is power,' Lord Bacon in later times 
 has said, and the enslav'ed Guthred, the servant of 
 servants, as he, in the bitterness of his soul had aptly 
 styled himself, acquired with his growing wisdom 
 such influence over the minds of those around him, 
 that he became as it were the oracle of the household 
 3nd neighborhood. His sayings were quoted, his ad- 
 vice solicited, and his judgment appealed to, in all ca- 
 ses where parties were at issue or difficulties occurred. 
 
 Like the captive Hebrew in the house of the Egyp- 
 tian lord, every thing appeared to prosper with him. 
 The flocks and herds of Selwood increased, and his 
 crops were more abundant; plenty was without, and 
 peace within the dwelling, where the master mind of 
 the young slave, as he approached to manhood, man- 
 ifested its superiority over the ignorant serfs and ceorlsi 
 by the improvements he suggested, and the good order 
 tie CGI tributed to establish and man. tain. But 'liese
 
 30 HISTOPaCAL TALES. 
 
 days of tranquillity were not to last. The gn wmg 
 wealth of Se-iwood excited the cupidity ol the Dan- 
 ish hordes in' the neighborhood, who, taking advan- 
 tage of a dispute among themseh^es, in which they 
 pretended that the inhabitants of Whitinghain had in 
 terfered, poured down upon the devoted Saxons, plun- 
 dered their dwellings, drove away their flocks and 
 herds, and put every man to the sword who dared to 
 offer resistance to their lawless rapacity. 
 
 When Guthred, who had been sent by his master 
 on a message of trust to receive a sum of money 
 from the monks of Rindisfairne for a drove of fat 
 bullocks, returned to Whitingham, he found the home- 
 stead in ashes, the lands harried, the flocks, and herds 
 gone, and his mistress sitting on her ruined hearth- 
 stone, weeping over the mangled corse of the mur- 
 dered franklin, her husband ; deserted by serfs and 
 thralls, they having taken advantage of her calamity 
 to provide for their own interests ; and even abandon- 
 ed by her niece and sole relative, Swindreda, that 
 damsel having taken a fancy to one of the Danish 
 plunderers, with whom she departed to the Danelagh. 
 
 It was then that Guthred found occasion for ihe 
 exercise of those principles of Christian benevolence, 
 which had been inculcated by the pious Eadi- J. 
 That beloved friend was indeed lost to him, for the 
 (^onvent had been plundered and burned by the fero-
 
 GUTHRED. S 
 
 S:'Ais Danes, and no trace of the mon.cs or heir peace- 
 ful and useful occupations remamed ; but ;he precepts 
 of Eadred remained indelibly impressed on the tablets 
 of Guihred's heart, whose first impulse was to bestow 
 such consolation and assistance as it was i"n his power 
 to ofTer to the broken-hearted widow. 
 
 Poor Winifred, who had not expected to receive 
 that sympathy and succour from the foreign thrall 
 which had been denied by those from whom she had 
 most reason to expect it, lifted up her voice, and bles- 
 sed him with the blessing of the widow and the des- 
 titute. 
 
 When Guthred had consigned the bleeding remains 
 of his murdered master to a grave, which he dug for 
 him beneath the umbrage of one of the noble elms 
 that had formerly overshadowed the low-roofed but 
 pleasant dwelling, he conducted his sorrowing mis- 
 tress to a miserable shieling, or cottage, that had es- 
 caped the general conflagration which had consumed 
 house, barns, and cattle sheds ; but, notwithstanding 
 all his care and consideration, Winifred must have 
 perished of want, had it not been for the sum which 
 Guthred had received from the monks of Lindisfairne 
 for his deceased master, and which he now, with scru- 
 pulous fidelity, delivered to the astonished widow. 
 
 ' Keep it, my son,' said she, ' and us(! it for our 
 mutual benefit ; surely it will be safer in thy hands
 
 i2 
 
 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 than in niine, and will prosper under thy manage 
 ment.' 
 
 Guthred applied this little store with such prudence 
 and success, and used such unremitting personal ex- 
 ertions, in improving the widow's mite, that, by de- 
 grees, her desolate dwelling began to wear an air of 
 comfort, and at length she found herself the mistress 
 of a productive little farm, with kine, sheep, swine, 
 and poultry, sufficient for her use. 
 
 Guthred, who found a sweet satisfaction in admin- 
 istering to her comforts, was repaid a thousand fold 
 by the lender affection with which he was regarded 
 by the grateful widow, who was to him as a mother. 
 
 Northumbria continued the theatre of petty intes- 
 une wars, not only between its rival population of 
 Saxons and Danes, but of fierce dissensions among 
 the Danes themselves, who, since the death of Half- 
 dane, their leader, and the overthrow and slaughter of 
 his brother Hubba (the sons of Regner Lodbrok, and 
 chief governors of the Danelagh ■>, had not been able 
 to agree among themselves respecting the choice of a 
 successor to the sovereign authority, not one of the 
 royal line of Odin remaining among their hordes. 
 
 But the wars au'* i-umors of wars, which spread 
 desolation, bloodshed, and terror, through country and 
 •own of this unfortunate district, disquieted not the 
 humble cottage where the widowed Winifred and her
 
 GUTHRED. 33 
 
 llira 11, Guthred, found shelter and contentment. There 
 were moments, perhaps, when Guthred felt disposed 
 to regret that his talents and acquirements had no no- 
 bler sphere for their exercise than the occupations of 
 a shepherd or husbandman ; but then the reflection 
 that he was engaged in the virtuous performance of 
 the duties of that state to which it had pleased his 
 heavenly Father to call him, checked the rebellious 
 susfffestions of ambition and discontent, and he re- 
 turned to his toils with the pious conviction, that, if it 
 were the will of God that the hand that ought to have 
 wielded a sceptre should be doomed to guide a plough 
 in an obscure corner of a foreign land, it was righ* 
 that it should be so. But other things were in store 
 for the royal orphan, who had been prepared in the 
 school of adversity for a better inheritance than that 
 which was his birthright. 
 
 One morning, on returning from the field to break 
 fast, he found Winifred attired in her best black kir- 
 tle, surcoat, and hood, and busily engaged in smooth- 
 ing, with an iron, the plaits and coarse embroidery on 
 the back and shoulders of his sabbath super-tunic, 
 which garment was made of coarse home-spun white 
 linen, precisely similar in all respects to the long open 
 frocks worn in the present day by wagoners. ' How 
 now, my good mother,' said Guthred with a smile, for by 
 that endearing nan.e he had long been accustomed to
 
 34 HISTORICAL TALES, 
 
 BCidress her, ' what makes you so full of business with 
 my best 'parelling to-day ? To-mojTow is neither 
 Sunday nor a saint's day, you know.' 
 
 ' No matter, my son,' replied Winifred, ' there is to 
 be a goodly show and a great festival at Oswindune, 
 for the Danes and Saxons are tired of their quarrels 
 and evil doings, and have resolved to choose a king ol 
 Northumberland by mutual agreement, this blessed 
 day, to put an end to bloodshed and deadly debate ; 
 and Ulph, the miller, of Whitingham, who hath just 
 told me the glad tidings, hath promised to lend us one 
 of his grist carts and the old pied mare, that we may 
 go thither like our neighbors to view the joyful sight.' 
 
 ' My dear mother,' said Guthred, ' those will be 
 Tisest who keep at home on such a day, especially 
 •Tomen folk and Saxons, believe me ; for such a 
 Jieeting is far more likely to create deadly debates 
 than to end them ; and then the sword and the battle- 
 axe will be the umpires that will decide any quarrel 
 that may arise : for as to the Danes and Saxons 
 agreeing in any thing, much less on a matter of such 
 importance as the choice of a king, it is not to be ex- 
 pected ; therefore, their assembly will only be the 
 cause of bloodshed, so, dear mother, be persuaded by 
 me, and go not thither to-day.' 
 
 ' Nay ! nay 1 my son, thou art, for once, mistaken 
 tn thy judgment,' said Winifred, ' for our peof/ie anJ
 
 GUTHRED. 35 
 
 iie Danes have already in the wise determination ol 
 leaving the nomination of their mutual governor to 
 our good king Alfred and the pious bishop of Lindis- 
 fairne, who will both be present, they say ; and if we 
 go not to Oswindune to-day, we may never again en- 
 joy the felicity of looking upon such a king and such 
 a prelate. Besides,' added she, on observing that 
 Guihred was about to offer some fresh objection, ' I 
 am resolved on going, whether you approve of it or 
 not ; for I have lived under the shadow of this poor 
 shieling in the depth of a wood, lo ! this seven years, 
 and seen neither feast nor festival since the day of my 
 sad widowhood, and 'tis time now, I wot, that I should 
 enjoy some pastime ; so, if thou likest not to drive 
 the pied mare, I will e'en ask Ulph the miller to give 
 me a seat in his great meal wagon, with the rest ot 
 the gossips and neighbors, who are going to see this 
 blessed sight.' 
 
 ' Well, mother,' replied Guthred, ' if you are thus 
 Dent on going, I am your thrall, you know, and bound 
 to do your bidding ; and even were that not the case, 
 I would attend you for love's sake, especially as there 
 rnav be danger.' 
 
 Winifred, in high good humor at having carried 
 her point, packed up a store of oaten cakes, cheese, 
 md diied mutton, to which she added a bottle of her 
 Dcst metheglin, as a stcre for the joum-ey, while
 
 .*6 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 Gutnred combed his long dark ringlets^ washed his 
 face and hands, and donned his snowy super-tunic 
 and fox-fur cap, in readiness to attend his mistress. 
 
 The roads were like all roads in those days, of a 
 very rough description, full of deep ruts and holes 
 here and there mended with rough blocks of stone, or 
 the trunks of trees laid side by side. The grist cart 
 was an uncouth, and, what was worse, a jolting con 
 veyance, and the miller's old pied mare a sorry jade ; 
 nevertheless, the day was so fine, and they met with 
 such abundance of good company on the road, that 
 both mistress and slave were in the best possible spi- 
 rits, and were willing to overlook all inconveniences, 
 and only to dwell on the agreeable part of the journey. 
 
 When they drew near the scene of action, Winifred 
 was greatly amused by examining the various caval 
 cades of Danish holdas in their burnished armor, over 
 which flowed silken mantles, and their long red tresses 
 braided with gems and threads of gold, — for the 
 Danes, notwithstanding their ferocious and barbarous 
 manners, affected great nicety in dress, and were the 
 fops of the ninth century ; the gallantly armed and 
 mounted Saxon thanes, with their courtly yet warlike 
 t)earing, and festal array, each attended by a train of 
 martial followers ; the bands of wealthy franklins, and 
 sturdy ceorls, with their wives and families ; even 
 the poor snrfs and craftsmen of low degree were flock«
 
 GUTHRED. 37 
 
 tng from all directions to the spot. Besides these 
 were gleemeu with harps ; travelling jugglers with 
 apes and bears ; morrice dancers ; and itinerants ol 
 various descriptions, with their tempting wares, min 
 gling in the motley groups. 
 
 The simple Winifred, who had never seen half so 
 many grand people in the whole course of her life, 
 was, in her ecstasies, ready to leap out of the grist 
 cart with delight one moment, and the next inclined 
 to rate the prudent Guthred soundly, for having en- 
 deavored to prevent her from enjoying the pleasure of 
 so brave a spectacle. 
 
 • All is well that ends well,' was his only reply to 
 her reproaches. 
 
 ' All must end well that hath so joyous a begin- 
 ning,' cried Winifred, ' for lo ! how lovingly are the 
 Danish holdas riding with our noble thanes, and their 
 grim spearsmen behave like brethren to the ceorls and 
 milk maidens. 0, it was never so seen in my time ! 
 or my poor dear Sehvood had not been barbarously 
 slain, only for withstanding the foul robbers from 
 plundering his homestead ! but the Lord hath turned 
 their wolfish hearts since then, I trow !' 
 
 ' Or rather, the victorious arm of our noble Alfred 
 haih taught them the necessity of adopting betrer 
 manners,' reji lined Guthred smiling. ' The Saxon
 
 38 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 hath the best of it now, good mother, or the Danes 
 had never consented to adopt a king of his choosing 
 but the truth of it is, Alfred's valor and Alfred's wis- 
 dom have so completely broken the power of the 
 Danelagh, that their leaders are happy to accede to 
 any terms he may choose to impose, as a condition of 
 being allowed to remain in possession of the lands 
 they have acquired in Northumbria.' 
 
 When they arrived at Oswindune, Winifred ex- 
 presed an earnest desire to obtain a sight of the holy 
 bishop of Lindisfairne ; but, as he was surrounded by 
 Saxon thanes and Danish chiefs, with whom he was 
 discussing the important business on which this as- 
 sembly had been convened, there would have been 
 little chance of her wish being gratified, had it not 
 been for the impertinence of the jester of a Danish 
 holda, who, perceiving that his master was exceeding- 
 ly amused at poor Winifred's equipage, maliciously 
 rattled his bauble about the ears of the pied mare, 
 which so terrified the animal, that, becoming perfectly 
 unmanageable, she started oflTat headlong speed, and, 
 in spite of all Guthred's efforts to restrain her, carried 
 the grist cart, with himself and Winifred, into the 
 very centre of the privileged circle that surrounded 
 the bishop of Lindisfairne. 
 
 The arrival of this unexpected addition to the na- 
 tional council appeared so thoroughly ridiculous to
 
 GUTHRKD. 39 
 
 ftll parties, that Saxons and Danes alike indulged in 
 the most immoderate bursts of laughter, while some 
 of the younger of both nations were found sufficiently 
 ill-mannered and undignified as to make sport for 
 their companions, by scornfully calling their attention 
 to the long tresses, indicative of high rank, which 
 Guthred wore flowing over the coarse array of a 
 peasant, and which ill assorted with the badge of 
 thraldom on his neck. Others, still more annoying, 
 drew near, and goaded the startled mare on every 
 side. Guthred on this, perceiving that his mistress's 
 personal safety was greatly imperilled by the kicking 
 and plunging of the enraged animal, sprang from the 
 cart, and seizing the head rein, attempted to lead the 
 mare out of the press. The rude chiefs closed around 
 the cart, to prevent the escape of the objects of their 
 amusement. 
 
 Guthred on this, mildly but boldly addressed him- 
 self to both Saxons and Danes, requesting them to 
 desist from tormenting the mare ; ' for,' said he, ' the 
 poor animal will receive some injury ; and although 
 she be but a sorry beast, it behoves us to be careful of 
 her, for, my masters, she is a borrowed one.' 
 
 This explanation was received with noisy shouts of 
 mirth, the annoyances were redoubled on every side 
 while both Saxons and Danes bade Guthred stand 
 back, and not piesume to interrupt their pastime.
 
 40 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 Guthred boldly maintained his ground, and, bram 
 dishing his oaken quarter-staff, avowed his intentioi 
 of defending his mistress and the miller's mare frora 
 all aggressions. 
 
 The imperious nobles of both nations were aston- 
 ished and enraged at the hardihood displayed by a 
 peasant's thrall, in daring singly to resist the will of 
 powerful chiefs and magnates ; and a gigantic holda, 
 whose mature years and high rank ought to have re- 
 strained him from engaging in such proceedings, was 
 preparing to deal the dauntless Guthred a blow with 
 the heavy handle of his battle-axe, which must have 
 prostrated him, had not Winifred, who perceived his 
 intention, and recognised his person at the same mo- 
 ment, called out, ' It doth ill become thee to pay in 
 such base coin, methinks, for the plum porridge and 
 metheglin with which thou wert feasted at the board 
 of my husband, Selwood.' 
 
 • Just ten years agone, good wife, I think,' returned 
 Ricsig (for it was no other). ' I remember thee now 
 by the token of that shrill voice of thine ; and, for the 
 sake of the excellent plum porridge and metheglin 
 whereof thou speakest, the like of which I have not 
 tasted since, I will now stand thy fiienc and help 
 thee and thy son to a place whence thou mayest see 
 the bishop and hear him speak '
 
 GUTHRED, 41 
 
 Winifred was profuse in her acknowledgemenls to 
 the holda ; but, with the pride Jiat formed a promi- 
 nent part of her character, sh« thought proper to in- 
 form him that the young man itVA;> not her son, but 
 her thrall. ' The very lad,' putsu^d she, ' whom 
 you gave to my poor dear husbaa^. S^lwood, for hi3 
 carved ivory drinking horn.' 
 
 Notwithstanding all Guthred's ittg.mnimity and 
 acquired philosophy, he felt mortified at the feeling of 
 littleness in his mistress, which prompted hor to make 
 this communication to the holda ; and he thought 
 from the eager manner in which his former master 
 turned about and scrutinized him from hetd to foot, 
 that it was more than probable he might think proper 
 to reclaim him. But Ricsig, clapping his hnnds to- 
 gether, shouted in a loud voice, ' He is found. Bishop ! 
 the lost son of Hardacanute, the last of the godUks 
 race of Odin, the king whom you have named anJ 
 we have chosen, is here I Behold, ye valiant Danes, 
 the dark eyes and raven hair of the royal line of thjj 
 ' kinsr of men,' whose descendants alone are meet ta 
 sway a Danish sceptre. Lo ! Ricsig, the son <*^"i 
 Kingvar, is the first to bow the knee before him i 
 homage.' 
 
 The bishop of Lindisfairne, at these words, descei 
 ded from the rude episcopal throne, which had bee
 
 42 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 raised for him on the green turf, and, revealing to the 
 astonit^hed eyes of Guthred the dearly loved and un- 
 forgotten features of his friend and instructor, Eadred, 
 folded him to his bosom for a moment ; then, amidst 
 the mingling acclamations of Saxons and Danes, con- 
 ducted him to the summit of the hill of Oswindune, 
 where the royal inaugurations of the Northumbrian 
 monarchs always took place, and, pouring the conse- 
 crated oil on his head, exchanged the iron badge of 
 thraldom for the golden bracelets and circlet of royalty, 
 and presented him to the mixed multitude of Nor- 
 thumbrian Danes and Saxons as their king. 
 
 To the enfranchised slave, so lately the sport of 
 adverse fortune, this sudden elevation appeared like a 
 strange dream ; but, when he was admitted into the 
 presence of the royal Alfred, to swear the oath of 
 fealty to him as his liege lord, he learned from his 
 lips that he had been long marked by him to fill the 
 vassal throne of Northumbria on the recommendation 
 of his friend and counsellor, the bishop of Lindis- 
 fairne, who had educated and (unknown to himself) 
 fitted him for the discharge of royal duties, while he 
 wore the iron badge of servitude. Nor did Guthred 
 when intrusted with the awful responsibility of des- 
 potic power, prove unworthy of the confidence reposed 
 in him. The illustrious Alfred found in him a 
 faithful friend, and an able coadjutor in establishino
 
 GUTHRET. 43 
 
 equitable laws, reforming abuses, and difTusing the 
 pure light of Christianity through a semi-barbarous 
 )and, and introducing the refinements and virtues of 
 civilisation among the rugged race over which he 
 reigned, in peace and prosperity, during many years. 
 Guthred's first exercise of regal authority was to 
 raise his friend and instructor, Eadred, to the bishop- 
 ric of Durham, which he richly endowed ; nor was 
 he forgetful of his old mistress, Winifred, whom he 
 cherished with the greatest tenderness, and watched 
 over her declining years with the dutiful afTection of 
 • son.
 
 fire Soiral grothrs. 
 
 A STORY OF THE TIMES OF RICHARD THE THIRD, 
 
 The fitful sunbeams of an April day of smiles arij 
 showers streamed brightly through the richly-stained 
 glass of the high arched windows of a stalely apart- 
 ment in Ludlow Castle, and cast a sort of changeful 
 glory on the mild and thoughtful features of a youth 
 apparently about twelve years old, who was seated in 
 a crimson canopied chair fringed with gold, before a 
 carved ebony reading table covered with books and il- 
 luminated writings, and was deeply engaged in the 
 perusal of a folio, printed on vellum, and bound in 
 rose-coloured velvet, clasped and studded with gold, 
 and emblazoned on either side with the royal arms of 
 England. 
 
 The youthful student was of a sweet and serious 
 aspect, the singular beauty of his person being less 
 wor\hy of observation than the noble and ingenuous
 
 46 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 expression of his countenance, which indicated hab- 
 its of reflection and intellectual graces beyond his age 
 
 He was attired in a style of regal magnificence^ 
 wearing a robs of purple velvet lined with ermine, a 
 cap of the same material turned up with a similar fur, 
 and adorned with the white rose badge of York. His 
 doublet and long hose were of white damask, em- 
 broidered with gold and fastened with jewelled studs. 
 He wore, according to the fashion of the fifteenth cen- 
 tury, boots of black velvet, with long pointed toes pro- 
 jecting several inches beyond the feet and turned 
 upwards. 
 
 The jewelled collar and glittering insignia of the 
 garter on the neck of one so young, no less than his 
 princely air and bearing, bespoke him a child of no 
 ordinary lineage — he v/as, in fact, the heir of Eng- 
 land, Edward Prince of Wales, eldest son of King 
 Edward the Fourth. 
 
 He had been sent by his royal father, under the 
 care of his maternal uncle the accomplished Earl of 
 Rivers, and other distinguished personages, on a pro- 
 gress through Wales, under the idea that his appear- 
 ance among then would have some influence in ap- 
 peasing the discontents of the disaffected inhabitants 
 of that portion of his dominions, who had always 
 been the firmest adherents of the rival house o/ 
 Lancaster.
 
 ROYAL BROT.HERS. 47 
 
 The Earl of Rivers, having succeeded in some de« 
 gree in comj)osing the disorderly and turbulent slate 
 of the country, had retired with his royal charge to 
 Ludlow Castle in Shropshire, the ancient stronghold 
 of the Prince's ancestors, the Earls of March, where 
 those powerful border lords had been accustomed, 
 from the early times of the Plantagenet dynasty, to 
 reign in a sort of feudal territory of their own, pay 
 ing a doubtful homage to the King of England, and 
 carrying terror and desolation into the dominions of 
 the Welsh princes, with whom they were almost al- 
 ways engaged in a predatory warfare. 
 
 In this fortress it was King Edward's intention tha 
 his son should keep court during the spring and sum 
 mer months, under the tutelage of his uncle Rivers ; 
 and the Prince, far from regretting an arrangement 
 which deprived him of the gay companionships of 
 his age and the splendor of his father's court, (then 
 the most magnificent in Europe), was rejoiced to avail 
 himself of the opportunity which the almost unbro- 
 ken quiet and solitude of Ludlow Castle afforded for 
 the pursuit of his studies. This unwearied applica- 
 tion to the improvement of his mind, to which h(! had 
 been trained, assisted, and encouraged, by the instruc- 
 tion and example of his learned uncle the Earl of Ri- 
 vers, was a matter of surprise to the uneducated no- 
 bles and gentlemen of his train.who had been appoin
 
 48 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 ted for the most part by King Edward to accompany 
 the prince on this expedition, on account of their war- 
 like reputation and their known attachment to his 
 House, for the purpose of holding the insurgent Welsh 
 chieftains in awe, and were not very likly to appre- 
 ciate the charms of learning, or to consider the culti- 
 vation of the mind as a matter of much importance. 
 
 ' I begin to be heartily weary of our dull sojourn 
 in this gloomy stronghold of the fierce Mortimers, 
 your ancestors. Prince Edward, do not you ? ' said a 
 handsome gaily dressed young man, who had stood 
 for some minutes at the elbow of the Prince, endeav- 
 oring, but in vain, to attract his attention from his 
 books by whistling and talking to a falcon that was 
 perched on his wrist. 
 
 ' If I could find no better pastime than feeding my 
 falcon, playing with my dogs, and occasionally visit- 
 ing my steed in his stall, or riding him forth in com- 
 pany with other youths whose best employment is 
 idlesse, perhaps I might be, Richard Grey,' replied 
 the prince, smiling archly upon the querist, who wa3 
 his half-brother, the youngest son of the queen by 
 her first husband. Sir John Grey of Groby. 
 
 ' Well, but Edward, my royal brother,' pursued he, 
 ' your health is very precious, and the king your fath- 
 er, when he did me the honour of investing me with 
 the office of your chamberlain, charged me o have
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 49 
 
 {•articular care that you injured it not by excessive 
 study, or any other intemperance, and therefore it is 
 my bounden duty to warn you against such.' 
 
 ' Seasonable occupation of the mind is good for the 
 body wiiich is never healthy in a state of sinful indo- 
 lence,' replied the prince. 
 
 ' I had as lief be in a monastery or in a prison a 
 once, as to pass my days in the dull confinement o/ 
 ponng over old chronicles and codes of laws in a si- 
 lent chamber, as you do, my fair brother,' said the 
 Lord Grey. 
 
 ' It is my duty so to prepare my mind, by storing 
 It with useful information against the time when I 
 may be too much occupied with the busy cares of a 
 public life to enjoy the leisure, that I am willing to 
 employ as you see,' replied the prince. 
 
 ' A game of tennis in the court below would be a 
 much pleasanter way of employing both mind and 
 body, my dear lord,' rejoined the other ; ' or what 
 say you of going forth with the hawks to-day?' 
 
 ' And so to disturb the pretty birds in their happy 
 season of love, and belike to deprive the helpless 
 nestlings of the cherishing care of some of their pa- 
 rents for our cruel sport : call you that pleasure, Rich- 
 ard Grey? Alack, good Richard, I trow you never 
 
 knew the true meaning of the word,' said the prince. 
 5
 
 50 ROYAL BROTHERS. 
 
 At tliat moment the shrill notes of a .rumpet were 
 heard at a distance, from the London road. 
 
 * An express ! a royal express !' cried Lord Grey 
 clapping his hands; ' now I trow we shall have some* 
 thing to think of, and something to do, better than 
 leading the lives of unfrocked monks in this gloomy 
 abode.' 
 
 ' Ah ! Richard ! Richard ! ' — began the prince — 
 • My dear lord,' interrupted the volatile youth, ' you 
 must forgive me for leaving you in the very beginning 
 of your sermon ; but I must indeed go find our uncle 
 Rivers, that there may be no needless delay in open- 
 ing the mail.' 
 
 • Why so impatient ? ' said the prince ; * the cou 
 rier is almost a mile distant, I can tell by the faint- 
 ness of the blast ;' but his companion was already 
 gone. Prince Edward's eye reverted to the page of 
 the chronicle of Sir John Froissart, which he was pe- 
 rusing previous to the interruption he had received 
 from his thoughtless relative, and in the course of a 
 few moments he was sn deeply engrossed in the live- 
 ly and chivalric details of the splendid reign of :he 
 third Edward, as to be wholly unconscious of the ar- 
 rival of the courier, whose approach indeed he had 
 wholly forgotten, till a tumultuous sound of thronging 
 footsteps, and a general buzz of eager voices in the 
 gallery leading to the apartment, announcing ihai
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 51 
 
 some extraordinary intelligence had been rjceived, re- 
 called it to his remembrance. 
 
 'May I be permitted to be the first to offer the 
 homage of the most loving of your lieges to your roy- 
 al Grace,' said the Earl of Rivers, who now entered 
 with Lord Grey, and bending his knee to his youth- 
 ful nephew, saluted him by the title of ' Edward the 
 Fifth, King of England.' 
 
 ' Your salutation, my sweet uncle, implieth heavy 
 tidings,' said the young king, bursting into tears ; 
 * and if you knew how sadly it soundeth in mine ears, 
 you would not smile upon me thus.' 
 
 'My royal nephew is to blame in taking the will 
 of God which calls him to a throne as a grievous dis- 
 pensation,' observed the Earl of Rivers to the Lord 
 Richard Grey, the king's half-brother, who stood anx- 
 iously regarding the sorrowful countenance of the 
 new monarch, and endeavoring by many caresses to 
 soothe his passionate grief. 
 
 • Marry, my lord, I think so,' replied the youthful 
 noble. ' The death of our late lord. King Edward 
 of glorious memory, albeit it was somewhat before 
 the ordinary course of nature, was after a peaceful 
 fashion, and not cut short by treason, or accident, or 
 •iny violent means, which can be said of few princes 
 in these bloody and troublous times ; and we under- 
 stand, moreover, from the letters of the queen, my
 
 5'2 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 royal mother, that he died in an odour of sanctify 
 deeply repenting him of the blood he had shed in the 
 course of the long and perilous struggle he maintain- 
 ed before he could wrest his rightful inheritance from 
 the usurping house of Lancaster ; and, therefore, we 
 doubt not that he now sleepeth in the sure hope of a 
 blessed resurrection, in which it behoveth all his true 
 friends and loving children to rejoice rather than to 
 weep.' 
 
 ' Ah, Richard V said the king sorrowfully, ' it is 
 lot so easy to reconcile an afTectionate child to the 
 less of a parent and protector. Tell me, fair brother, 
 did you, and your brother Dorset, take the death of 
 vour valiant father. Sir John Grey, so lightly ? ' 
 
 * Marry, my liege, no ; but our case was widely 
 different, for he was slain in the bloody field of Bar- 
 net, fighting against his rightful sovereign our late 
 lord King Edward, of glorious memory; and his 
 death and the ruin of his cause involved the forfeit- 
 ure of lands and heritage, leaving our mother and 
 ourselves in a state of destitution ; while you, my 
 royal lord, are called by the removal of the king, your 
 father, to the enjoyment of regal dignity, and the ful- 
 filment, as I trust, of a glorious and happy destmy 
 What say ye, my masters ? ' continued he, turning 
 to some of the knights and ncbles, who now e'ltered
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 53 
 
 kO pay their court to their sovereign, ' is it not, think 
 ye, a brave thing to be a king ? ' 
 
 The courtiers were voluble in their assurances tha\ 
 it must be a most enviable lot. 
 
 ' Did Edward the Second, Kichard the Second, and 
 Henry the Sixth, find it so?' demanded the young 
 monarch with a sigh. 
 
 ' My dear lord, why name those unhappy men ? ' 
 said the Earl of Rivers. ' The misfortunes of the 
 two first were the natural results of their follies and 
 vices, and the last was a usurper, you know.' 
 
 ' Did your brave grandfather, Sir Anthony Wood- 
 ville, consider him in that light when he lost his life 
 in the battle of St. Albans, fighting in his cause ^ 
 £aid the king, ' or did you, fair uncle, who have so 
 often worn the red rose of Lancaster in bloody fields, 
 so regard the sovereign in whose quarrel you fought?' 
 
 ' Fie ! fie ! my liege, you are too sharp in your re- 
 torts,' whispered the Earl in some confusion, on ob- 
 serving a half suppressed sigh from those around. 
 • See you not,' continued he, ' the looks which those, 
 who grudge at the advancement of your mother's 
 kindred, exchange with each other, on hearing such 
 ill-judged allusions to our former politics ? ' 
 
 ' Well, well, good uncle, I meant not to offend you 
 by my jila'nness of speech, and I :rave your pardon,
 
 54 
 
 HISTORICAL Tales. 
 
 returned the king ; thtn rising from his seat and bow- 
 ing graciously to his uncle and his little court, he 
 said, ' I pray your indulgence, my loving lieges, and 
 trust you will hold me excused for receiving in a sor- 
 rowful guise, the homage, which, however prized by 
 me, having been dearly purchased by a father's death, 
 cannot be otherwise than painful in the first moments 
 of affliction, on account of that most sorrowful be- 
 reavement.' He covered his face with his hands as 
 he concluded, and withdrew to an inner apartment. 
 
 The royal retinue left Ludlow Castle on the fol- 
 lowing day, the queen-mother having directed her 
 brother, the Earl of Rivers, to bring the young king, 
 his nephew, to London with all convenient speed, at- 
 tended by a trusty body of troops, which she begged 
 him to raise forthwith, to protect the youthful mon- 
 arch from the evil designs of Richard duke of Glouce- 
 ster, the late king's brother, who had long been at 
 enmity with all her family, and was by them suspec- 
 ted of aiming at the crown. 
 
 Meantime, that subtle politician, whose crooked 
 policy rendered him extremely eager to get the per- 
 son of the young king mto his possession, having by 
 nis aitful letters and deceitful promises succeeded in 
 beguiling the queen, who was an exceedingly weak 
 woman, into writing once more to her brother, revo- 
 king her prudent directions respecting the younjj
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. OO 
 
 Kinf['s guard, set off post haste, attended by his friend 
 the Duke of Buckingham, and a considerable body 
 of armed men, in hopes of intercepting his royal 
 nephew, and his trusty friends, on the road to London. 
 
 When the young king and his company approached 
 the town of Northampton, where they designed to 
 pass the night, they had the mortification of learning 
 that it was full of soldiers, the followers and hired 
 retainers of the Dukes of Gloucester and Bucking 
 ham. As these were the declared foes of his family, 
 the Earl of Rivers considered he had sufficient cause 
 for uneasiness at this intelligence ; but while he hal- 
 ted to deliberate on the best mode of proceeding in 
 this dilemma, the two dukes, attended by a few gen- 
 tlemen only, rode up, and, to his surprise, greeted him 
 in a very friendly manner, and after assuring him it 
 was their earnest wish to forget old grudges and ev- 
 ery cause of displeasure that had arisen during the 
 reign of the late king, they said they had rode for- 
 ward to let him know that Northampton was ill pro- 
 vided for the reception of the royal retinue, as it was 
 already occupied by their followers and retainers, and 
 almost destitute of provisions, and therefore they ad- 
 vised him to carry the king on to Stony Stratford, 
 which was twelve .niles nearer to London, and con 
 Jajned excellent accommodations of every kind. 
 
 The Earl of Rivers and his friends considered thi«
 
 56 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 a much preferable plan for their royal charge tl an nia 
 passing the night at Northampton, where he would 
 be so entirely in the power of the strong party of 
 Gloucester. He assured the two dukes ' that this ar- 
 rangement would be perfectly agreeable both to him- 
 self and the king, neither of whom had the slightest 
 wish either to deprive them of their quarters in Nor- 
 thampton, or to run the risk of a quarrel between 
 their followers about the accommodations, which might 
 arise if they resolved to pass the night in a town too 
 small to hold them all with comfort.' 
 
 ' It was the fear of such a misundersanding that 
 led me to propose the measure you have so courte- 
 ously adopted, my Lord Rivers,' said the Duke of 
 'xloucester, ' for debates between serving folk do too 
 {jft lead to deadly strife among their masters, seeing 
 iiat each party, in repeating the tale of their real or 
 maginary wrongs' doth ever pretend that the quarrel 
 oegan with injurious mention of them, by which 
 means they obtain their suffrages.' 
 
 ' In confirmation of your observation, my lor(/ 
 Duke,' said the Earl of Rivers, ' we have only to re- 
 call a circumstance, almost within the memory of 
 some present, to wit, the quarrel between the serving 
 men of the Cardinal Beaufort and his nephew, the Pro- 
 tector Duke Humphrey of Gloucester, which bre.l 
 fcuch fierce hatred between those near kinsmen and
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 57 
 
 rtiighty princes as led to the murder of the latter 
 which was, in my humble opinion, the preliminary 
 step to the downfall of the house of Lancaster.' 
 
 ' Your lordship is, of course, a belter judge of Lan- 
 casterian politics than I can pretend to be,' observed 
 the Duke of Gloucester drily, ' but we will not intro- 
 duce a topic so likely to produce differences between 
 those whose interest it is to remain friends. In sooth, 
 my lord, we now are, I trust, united in one sentiment 
 of love and duty to that precious child, who is so 
 equally near to us both in blood, our hopeful king, 
 whom I am longing to embrace, and purpose, God 
 willing, to visit at Stony Stratford, to pay my loving 
 duty unto him.' 
 
 ' You will be dearly welcome to his Grace, my 
 lord duke,' replied the Earl, ' and I will ride forward, 
 with pleasure, to advertise King Edward of your 
 approach.' 
 
 ' I will propose a better plan, my lord,' said the 
 Duke, ' which is, for you to give my friends and my- 
 self the pleasure of your company to sup with us, 
 and pass the night at Northampton, to cement our re- 
 con iliation, and in the morning we will ride together 
 3 Stratford, to pay our duty to our royal nephew.' 
 
 * Agreed,' said the Earl, who was not willing to 
 prejudice the interests of the young king by appeal- 
 ing distrustful of the Duke of Gloucester's overtures ol
 
 58 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 friendship ; and, having sent a confidential messengei 
 to imbrm Lord Grey and Sir Thomas Vaughan oi 
 the arrangement, directed them to proceed with the 
 king to Stony Stratford, and there to tarry till lie 
 should rejoin them in the morning with the Duke o,f 
 Gloucester, he accompanied the latter into the town 
 of Northampton, where he supped cheerfully, and 
 passed the greater part of the night in friendly and 
 confidential intercourse, circulating the wine cup with 
 his former enemies. At a late hour he retired to re- 
 pose at a commodious inn that had been appointed for 
 his reception in the town, suspecting no evil design 
 from those who had lavished so many marks of re- 
 gard upon him. 
 
 The sequel shows how unworthy they were of 
 his confidence, for no sooner had he retired to rest, 
 chan they secured the keys of the inn where he was 
 sleeping, and posted a number of armed men on the 
 read between Northampton and Stony Stratford, to 
 prevent any one from entering that town to give the 
 alarm to the young king and Earl Rivers's friends 
 and followers. 
 
 At break of day, when they were ready to mount, 
 the Earl was still in bed and asleep, but one of his 
 attendants finding that no ore was permitted to leave 
 the inn, suspected treachery, and came hastily to a 
 wake him, and acquaint him with the dilemma they
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 59 
 
 urere in. The fearful consequence of the imj,rudence, 
 of wliich he had been guilty, flashed upon the Earl's 
 mind, and hurrying on his clothes, he ordered one of 
 the doors to be forced open, and proceeded, in some 
 anger, to inquire of the two dukes the cause of his 
 attempted detention. He found them in the very hu- 
 mor to give and take offence. The game was now 
 in their own hands, and they only wanted a pretext 
 for coming to an open rupture with him. High 
 words presently arose on both sides, the Duke of 
 Gloucester upbraided him with endeavoring to alien- 
 ate the affections of the young king from his nearest 
 relations and most faithful subjects; and refusing to 
 listen to any explanation or justification, he concluded 
 by arresting him, and giving him into the custody of 
 some of his attendants, and without paying the slight- 
 est regard to his protestations against such treache- 
 rous usage, he, with the Duke of Buckingham, moun- 
 ted and rode off to Stony Stratford, to join the king. 
 They found the young monarch in a melancholy 
 mood, still lamenting over the recent loss of the king 
 his father. He received his uncle, the Duke of 
 Gloucester, with much respect, and courteously accep- 
 ted the homage which he an 1 the Duke of Bucking- 
 ham, with great profession of duty and loyal affec- 
 tion, offered him ; but there was a visible shade of 
 premature care and sorrow on his youthful brow, and
 
 60 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 his eyes were trequently turned towards the Joor witli 
 an expression that plainly indicated his anxious ex- 
 pectation of some one who came not. At length tlie 
 Duke of Gloucester addressed him in these words : — 
 ' Fair nephew and my lord, I have been at the 
 pains of coming hither with a goodly appointed band 
 of armed men and sundry honorable knights and gen- 
 tles, in order that I might attend your grace to Lon- 
 don, and enjoy the satisfaction of presenting you to 
 the good citizens of London as their king.' 
 
 ' I am grateful for your loving care and courtesj'-, 
 my lord,' replied the young king with a deep sigh. 
 
 ' And,' rejoined the Duke, ' as it is near unto high 
 noon, 1 hold it time for us to mount and be going.' 
 
 ' With your leave, my lord,' replied the king, ' I pur- 
 pose tarrying for my uncle Rivers, who left our com- 
 pany last night to hold conference with your lordship 
 at Northampton ; after which I received a message, 
 purporting to be from him, advertising me that it was 
 his intention to sup with you and my lord of Bucking- 
 ham, at your lodgings in that town ; but pledging 
 himself to be with me at an early hour this morning, 
 and I marvel much that he hath not kept his prom- 
 ise. I hope no misadventure hath befallen him.' 
 
 • Most probably my lord of Gloucester can best ex- 
 plain the reason of our noble uncle's delay, my royal 
 brother,' said the young lord Grey, casting a glance
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 6l 
 
 ot unequivocal meaning upon the Duke of Glouce- 
 ster. 
 
 ' The explanation you desire, my fair sir,' returned 
 the duke, ' shall be given in a very few words. 
 Your uncle Rivers is at present at Northampton, 
 in safe keeping.' 
 
 ' In safe keeping ! ' echoed Lord Grey fiercely, lay- 
 ing hand cm his sword, ' who has dared to put re- 
 straint upon his noble person ? ' 
 
 The young king, in milder language, but with 
 much emotion, repeated his brother's question : a 
 fearful suspicion of the truth flashing upon his mind, 
 and blanching his cheek to a deadly paleness as he 
 spoke. 
 
 ' I entreat of your grace to be composed,' said the 
 Duke of Gloucester, ' for, in sooth, you are much to 
 blame to agitate yourself on the account of a false 
 traitor, whom my tender concern for your weal hath 
 compelled me to place under restraint for a few days, 
 lest his evil practices should alienate the affections of 
 your loyal subjects from you, and you should be left 
 like Rehoboam, with only a remnant of the flourish- 
 ing kingdom bequeathed by your father.' 
 
 ' It is not — it cannot be my trusty, my loving uncle 
 Rivers, of whom you speak, my lord,' exclaimed the 
 king in a tone of great distress. ' Some villain hatb
 
 62 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 belied him,' continued he, ' but I will be his surety 
 and pledge my royal word on his loyalty to me and 
 mine.' 
 
 ' Tut ! tut I tut ! your g^ace is a child, and no com- 
 petent judge of such matters,' retorted the Duke ol 
 Gloucester, ' and since you are so foolishly blind to 
 the vile arts and treasonable practices of your mater- 
 nal kinsman, it is, methinks, high time that persons 
 of maturer age, and greater discretion than can be 
 expected at your tender years, should assist you in 
 guiding the helm of state for awhile ; and I, as the 
 only brother of your father, the late king, am gener- 
 ally considered, by your best friends and most faith- 
 ful subjects, as your fittest guardian, however you 
 may prefer the guidance of Rehoboam's counsellors 
 to your own ruin.' 
 
 ' As my father's honored brother, and my superior 
 in age and wisdom, I am in duty bound to listen 
 with submission to your reproofs, my lord duke,' re 
 plied the king, bursting into tears ; ' but it is not the 
 bitterness of your taunts that shall prevent me from 
 maintaining the innocence of my good uncle Rivers, 
 and demanding his instant enlargement.' 
 
 ' Spoken like a king and a Planlagenet, my royal 
 brother,' exclaimed Lord Grey, with kindling eyes. 
 
 'Like a rash inconsiderate boy, who is bent on his 
 own destruction, rather,' observed the Duke of
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 63 
 
 Gloucester, in a low stern voice. ' But come, my liege, 
 to horse ; the day wears apace, and delay is useless.' 
 
 ' But my uncle, my dear, dear uncle Eivers ! ' cried 
 the king, wringii g his hands. ' Only restore him 
 to me, and I will be obedient to all your wishes, un- 
 cle Gloucester.' 
 
 ' Nay, marry, my liege, that is the very way to 
 render you otherwise. Your uncle Rivers, that false 
 traitor, hath been too long about you for your own 
 weal. He hath taught you to distrust your real 
 friends, and, therefore, he must be removed from 
 you a season.' 
 
 ' Ah, Richard ! ' said the young monarch, turning 
 with tearful eyes to his half-brother. Lord Grey, ' you 
 told me, not three days ago, that it was a brave thing 
 to be a king, and called my followers to bear me wit 
 ness of the same. What say you to it now ? ' 
 
 'Say!' muttered Lord Grey between his shut 
 teeth, ' why, that were I a king, I would on such in- 
 jurious usage to my friends and kinsmen assert my 
 prerogative, and let yon misshapen railer know who 
 was his master.' 
 
 ' Whist, Richard, whist ! ' whispered Sir Thomas 
 Vaughan, pointing to the armed men who filled the 
 court yard, ' see you not the wild boar hath his tusKS 
 prepared to rend us. For the love of all the samts, 
 urge not the yH ang king to chafe him, for the Duke
 
 64 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 will gladly embrace any pretext for strife since he ia 
 the strongest.' 
 
 Lord Grey bit his lip, and with ill dissembled dis- 
 content prepared to follow his royal brother, when, in 
 obedience of a second impatient summons to mount 
 from the Duke of Gloucester, Edward rose and led 
 the way to the court yard. The Duke of Bucking- 
 ham, who had hitherto been a passive agent in the 
 scene, now started forward with officious haste to hold 
 the king's stirrup, and contrived to engage him in 
 conversation as they rode through the town ; and by 
 flattering him with hopes of his uncle's speedy re- 
 lease, so completely beguiled his attention from what 
 was passing in the rear of the cavalcade, that he was 
 unconscious of the fact that a brief but fierce alterca- 
 tion between the Duke of Gloucester and Lord Grey, 
 in which even the wary Sir Thomas Vaughan was 
 involved, had terminated in the arrest of these and 
 two or three others of his most devoted friends ; nor 
 was it till they halted for dinner that the king missed 
 his brother, who, in virtue of a post of honour that he 
 held about his person, always stood behind his chaij 
 during that meal. 
 
 ' Will it not please your grace to sit down to meat, 
 said the Duke of Gloucester, on perceiving the king 
 looked inquiringly round him, instead of placing him* 
 self at table.
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 65 
 
 * Where is the Lord Grey ?' demanded the king. 
 There was an ominous silence among his attendants^ 
 
 * Where is my brother Richard, Lord Grey ? ' said 
 the kmg, repeating his question, in an authoritative 
 voice. 
 
 ' Where your grace's faithful counsellors consider 
 ll their duty to dispose of all false-hearted traitors, 
 replied the Duke of Gloucester. 
 
 ' And who shall dare to class my true and loving 
 brother, Richard Grey, with traitors ?' retorted the 
 young king with a frown. 
 
 * Alack, my liege, I would that painful duty had 
 not fallen to the lot of your faithful guardian and 
 lip;htly-regarded uncle, Richard of Gloucester,' said the 
 duke with a sigh ; ' yet so it hath been ; for I grieve 
 to tell you that he and your other maternal brother, 
 Thomas Marquis of Dorset, have both been engaged 
 in a base conspiracy, to seize the Tower of London, 
 and make themselves masters of your arms, treasures, 
 and crown jewels ; and your royal person being alrea- 
 dy in possession of the said Richard and his party, 
 It was their treasonable design to govern in your 
 grace's name, and to commit all sorts of grievous 
 wrong and robbery, till the people could bear it no 
 longer.' 
 
 ' These are gra\ e assertions, my lord,' replied the 
 6
 
 66 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 'iing ; ' but fortunately the laws of this happy land 
 Arill not suffer any one to be treated as g^uijty upon 
 issertion only.' 
 
 ' And does your grace assume that I bear false wit* 
 less against your traitor brothers ? ' demanded the 
 Duke of Gloucester. 
 
 ' Uncle, I said not so,' returned the king ; ' but I 
 
 .ell you plainly, I will not hear the epithet of traitor 
 
 applied to my mother's sons and mine own brethren.' 
 
 ' Not when their vile practices have so deeply 
 
 earned it ? ' said the Duke. 
 
 ' I must first be convinced that such is the fact, 
 returned the king gravely. ' Would you, uncle 
 Gloucester, wish to be condemned on the bare accu- 
 sation of an enemy ? ' 
 
 ' Melhinks it would become your grace to treat 
 your uncle more reverentially than to bandy words 
 with him thus,' said the Duke of Buckingham, per- 
 ceiving that his friend, with all his subtlety, knew 
 not how to answer this home question. 
 
 ' Ay, my good lord,' rejoined Gloucester, 'and all 
 because his grace is willing to remain blind to the 
 -.rimes of the two false traitors, Dorset and Richard 
 Grey.' 
 
 * Respecting my brother Dorset's conduct I can say 
 nothing,,' replied the king, ' for of him, notwithstand- 
 mg our near relationship, I know little : and I am
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 67 
 
 aware withal that he has been iniplicatBd in a foul 
 deed of blood, the knowledge of which must deprive 
 him of the confidence of all good men ; I allude, my 
 lord of Gloucester, to the barbarous murder of my 
 unhappy cousin, Edward of Lancaster.' The chan- 
 ging colour and deadly glance of vengeful meaning, 
 with which the duke regarded the king, showed he 
 understood the imprudent inuendo. ' But as for Rich- 
 ard Grey,' continued the youthful monarch, 'I can and 
 will answer for his innocence, and 1 both entreat and 
 command his immediate release.' 
 
 ' Your grace, although nominally a king, would 
 be wise to refrain from issuing commands which you 
 have no power to enforce,' said the Duke of Glouce- 
 ster coldly. 
 
 The king turned away and wept ; tnen, with all the 
 eloquence which his affectionate nature taught him, 
 he implored him to restore his uncle Rivers and his 
 brother Richard Grey to him. The duke was inex- 
 orable, and the young monarch gave way to a second 
 passionate burst of grief. Without regarding his 
 sorrow, the Duke of Gloucester urged him to dine 
 in a tone that amounted to a command. 
 
 ' How can I eat when my brother is afflicted and 
 in prison, and fasting perchance ? ' said the king ; 
 then taking the golden plate (on which the Duke 
 of Gloucesier had, with an officious show of atten-
 
 68 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 lion, select(,'d several of the choicest dainties en th« 
 table, and placed before him), he gave it to his page, 
 and said, ' Commend me to my brother, the Lord 
 Grey, my good Edwin, and tell him his brother Ed- 
 ward of England weeps for his absence, and be- 
 seeches him to dine from his own plate, and to be 
 of o;ood cheer, and not to omit lo remember him in 
 his prayers who will spend this day in fasting and 
 supplications to Almighty God on his behalf.' So 
 saying, the young king rose from table, and retired 
 to a private chamber, where he poured forth the sor- 
 row of his afflicted spirit in fervent prayer to the 
 Divine Disposer of all earthly events, imploring His 
 protection for himself, and His mercy for his unfor- 
 tunate kinsmen. He was not long permitted to en- 
 joy his lonely communion with God ; for no sooner 
 had the dukes and their attendants dined, than he 
 received an imperative message from his uncle Glou- 
 cester, to make ready to mount, for it was necessary 
 to continue his journey to London with all-convenient 
 despatch. 
 
 However distasteful this mandate was to the young 
 king, he did not attempt to dispute it, but after once 
 more commending himself to the care of Him who 
 hath promised to be a father to the fatherless, he 
 meekly rejoined his new guardian, and submitted 
 himself to his direction. Ins'.ead of proceeding on the
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 69 
 
 London road, however, the Duke of Gloucester, by 
 a retrograde route, conducted the king to Northamp- 
 ton, where he detained him till he was assured that 
 the Earl of Rivers, Lord Grey, Sir Thomas Vaughan, 
 and all his approved friends and protectors, were 
 safely lodged in Pontefract Castle, the governor of 
 which was a creature of his own, and capable of 
 any work of villany. The next proceeding of the 
 Di"ke of Gloucester was to remove from the person 
 of his royal nephew every domestic and officer in 
 V nom he appeared to place the slightest confidence, 
 and the king found himself surrounded by spies and 
 incendiaries, and deprived of the society of all those 
 on whose affection and fidelity he had been accustom- 
 ed to rely. Remonstrance and complaint were alike 
 unavailing ; he perceived that he was, though treat- 
 ed with all outward marks of deference and stately 
 formality, neither more nor less than a prisoner in the 
 hands of those on whom he had too much reason 
 to look with suspicion and aversion. 
 
 The Duke of Gloucester did not attempt to conceal 
 from him that the doom of his beloved friends at Pon- 
 tefract Castle was sealed ; and he tried in vain to 
 move his obdurate heart, from day to day, with inces- 
 sant tears and entreaties in their behalf. There were 
 moments too, when yielding to the indigna'.ion which 
 ihe conduc t of the Duke of Gloucester was calculated
 
 70 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 to inspire in a generous bosom, he loaded him with 
 the most passionate reproaches, and bade him render 
 him the obedience which, as his sovereign, was hia 
 due ; but this only drew upon him cutting sarcasms 
 or was listened to with scornful contempt. 
 
 Sometimes, as a desperate resource, the unhappy 
 prince applied himself to the Duke of Buckingham, 
 and implored his protection and assistance ; but the 
 wily courtier (though hg heard him with every show 
 of attention and interest, and was lavish of soothing 
 words and professions of afTection) was, he quickly 
 perceived, no more disposed to befriend him than his 
 iron-hearted uncle Gloucester. 
 
 The very looks of the attendants and officers thai 
 ^ur^ounded him convinced the unhappy Edward that 
 it was a hopeless idea, if he had ever imagined it pos- 
 sible, to make the slightest impression on them ; and 
 feeling assured of this, he spared himself the bittei 
 humiliation of receiving a repulse, by refraining frorr. 
 addressing either of them on the subject nearest his 
 heart. 
 
 Thoughts of his distant mother, his beloved brother 
 the young Duke of York, and the princesses his 
 sisters, to whom every hour now brought him nearer 
 (for he had recommenced his journey towards the me- 
 tropolis), alone prevented him from abandoning him- 
 self to utter despair; but from those dear ones ha
 
 ROYAT, BROTHERS. 
 
 neard not, and at times his young spirit was saddened 
 *vith fears an 1 anxieties on their account. There 
 was no one by whom he could venture to send his du- 
 tiful and loving greetings to the queen his mother, 
 and the assurances of his tender renembrance to his 
 brother and sisters, and this grieved him not a little. 
 He doubted not that many affectionate letters and kind 
 messages from the queen had been intercepted by his 
 jealous guardian, therefore he did not impute her si- 
 lence to any other cause, and eagerly anticipated the 
 time when they should meet again. 
 
 The city of London, meantime, was in a complete 
 ferment, on account of the late arrests that had taken 
 place at Stony Stratford. Whispers and dark surmi- 
 ses respecting the conduct of the Duke of Gloucester 
 were in circulation. It was known that the queen, 
 with the young Duke of York and the five princes- 
 ses her daughters, had left the palace in the dead ol 
 night, and taken sanctuary at Westminster in great 
 alarm, as soon as the intelligence of the seizure of 
 the young king's person by the Duke of Gloucester, 
 and the arrest of her brother the Earl of Rivers, her 
 son Lord Grey, and their friends, reached her. 
 
 It was rumoured that evil designs were meditated 
 against the king, and that he was neither more nor 
 less tnan a prisoner in the hands of his wicked and 
 ambitious uncle, and the minds of all sorts and con
 
 4» HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 iitions of men were in a state of feverish excitemeu 
 as tc what might be the event of these thmgs. 
 
 The Duke of Gloucester, who was well informed 
 of the dissatisfaction of the people, found that the on- 
 ly way of quieting their suspicions would be by pro- 
 ducing his royal nephew before them. Accordingly, 
 on the tourlh of May he made his public entry into 
 London, accompanied by a powerful party of his own, 
 and a splendid train of nobles, who were summoned 
 in all haste to attend the king, before whom the duke 
 rode bare-headed, and bowing to the populace right 
 and left, kept perpetually exclaiming in a loud voice, 
 • Behold your prince and sovereign I ' 
 
 The beauty and reflective sweetness of the young 
 king's countenance attracted all eyes, and the manly 
 grace and spirit with which he managed his mettled 
 steed, and saluted the ladies (who showered flowers 
 upon him from the crowded windows and balconies), 
 delighted every one, and the streets resounded with 
 acclamations of ' God save King Edward and con- 
 found his enemies ! ' 
 
 Jt was a day of splendid pageantry and universal 
 joy ; but it was observed by many, that, notwithstan 
 ding the princely courtesy with which the youthful 
 monarch acknowledged and returned the lovinsf gfreet- 
 ings of his subjects, there was a sorrowful expression 
 in his eyes, and his very smile was full of sadness
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 73 
 
 He appeared to take little pleasure in the gay ai d ani- 
 mating scene in which, though he here so distinguislied 
 a part, he was too well aware he was only a gilded 
 puppet, played oft' by the hands of his guileful kins- 
 man, to suit his own ends, and to give a color to hia 
 secret plans of trea.son. 
 
 The princely boy felt tob that, amidst the throng- 
 ing multitudes that came to gaze upon him, he was a 
 lonely being, without one friend on whose affection 
 he could rely, or to whom he could breathe a single 
 word in confidence. He turned inquiring glances on 
 the faces of the nobles that surrounded him ; but they 
 were all picked men, and in the Duke of Gloucester's 
 interest. They preserved a cold formal demeanour 
 of outwari respect ; but the youthful monarch per- 
 ceived that from them it would be in vain to expect 
 sympathy or service. He thought of his beloved rel- 
 atives then in unjust confinement in their gloomy 
 prison of Pontefract Castle, and of his fond mother, 
 and the dear companions of his childhood, who had 
 been compelled to seek an asylum in the sanctuary ; 
 and in spite of his endeavours to restrain them, tears 
 filled his eyes. The pageant was joyless, the music 
 discord, and the stately ceremonials weariness and 
 vexation of spirit to him ; and when the procession 
 reached Ely House, which was appointed for his tem
 
 74 HISTORICAL TALES, 
 
 porary ros-idence, he gladly sought the privacy of his 
 chamber, that he might relieve his full heart by weep- 
 ing unobserved. 
 
 * In tears, my royal lord ?' said a soothing voice 
 near him. 
 
 The young king, who thought he had been alone, 
 hastily dashed away the sorrowful drops in great con- 
 fusion, and essayed to force s smile as he raised his 
 eyes slowly lo the face of the unknown witness or 
 his emotion. 
 
 ' It will not do. King Edward, it will not do ! ' said 
 the intruder, who was no other than his host, the 
 Bishop of Ely. ' Alas, poor child ! it is easy for thee 
 to learn the courtly lesson of covering a heart of tears 
 with a face of smiles I ' 
 
 ' You are a shrewd observer, my lord,' said the 
 young king, looking anxiously in the bishop's face. 
 
 ' I am a stranger, and your grace would fain in- 
 quire whether I may be trusted ?' said the bishop. 
 
 ' I believe, and am sure you may,' replied the king 
 to whose ear the voice of kindness had long been 
 strange, eagerly pressing his hand. 
 
 ' Your Grace's confidence is not misplaced,' sa'd 
 the prelate ; ' but beware, my son, of trusting 
 too readily to soft words and plausible appearances.' 
 
 ' Oh that my dear uncle Rivers had learned that 
 fesson, replied the king, ' then had he not been so ea-
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. i5 
 
 siiy beguiled by his subtle enemies. But tell me, my 
 lord bishop, is there no means by which his deliver- 
 ance, and that of my loving brother, the Lord Gr'^y, 
 may be efTecled ? ' 
 
 ' I fear, I fear those noble lords are in hands from 
 which no deliverance may be hoped ; Sir "Richard 
 RatclifT, the governor of Pontefract Castle, is a bold 
 bad man, who will not scruple to execute any man- 
 date of blood he may receive from his patron, the 
 Duke ' 
 
 The king looked apprehensively round, as if fear- 
 ful of the bishop's pronouncing the name of his un- 
 cle Gloucester, and softly pressing his arm, whisper- 
 ed, ' What tidings of the queen my mother, my sweet 
 brother York, and my beloved sisters. Are they all 
 well ? ' 
 
 ' They are all well, my dear lord.' 
 
 ' And safe ? ' 
 
 ' As safe as holy church privilege of sanctuary can 
 keep them, but of sorrowful cheer.' 
 
 'But will you go to them, my lord bishop?' said 
 the king, ' and will you comfort my royal mother, and 
 bear my loving and dutiful greetings to her, and as- 
 sure her of my health and present safety ; and will 
 you kiss my little brother the Duke of York, for me, 
 and commend me to all my sweet sisters, Elizabeth, 
 Cicely, Anne, Catharme, and baby Bridget, and tei'
 
 76 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 them 1 live in hopes of embracing them all once 
 more, and were I free to do so, I would hasten to 
 them, and deliver mine own greetings ; for neither 
 you, my lord bishop, however kind, nor any one be- 
 side myself, can tell half the love for them with 
 which my heart overflows.' 
 
 ' I am loth to check the sweet brea.hings of that 
 natural affection which doth so well become your roy- 
 al grace,' said the bishop : ' but remember, our con- 
 ference is too perilous to be prolonged.' 
 
 ' Well then, my kind lord, we will separate, and 
 abstain from all apparent friendship with each other,' 
 said the king ; ' nevertheless, it will be a solace to my 
 sad heart to know that I am under the roof of a good 
 man, and I shall eat of your bread, my lord of Ely, 
 with pleasure ; and if ever I am permitted to govern 
 for myself, you shall be the most honoured of my 
 counsellors.' 
 
 The bishop regarded the princely speaker with a 
 melancholy smile, and pressing the hand that was so 
 frankly extended to him to his lips, he glided from 
 the apartment through the private door of communi- 
 cation with his own study, by which he entered it. 
 
 On rejoining the company at dinner, it w^as observ- 
 ed that the young king's manner was more cheerful 
 than it had been for many days, and though he avoid- 
 ed conveising with the bishop of Ely, he could not
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 7 
 
 tefrain looking upon him at times with an expression 
 of such affectionate regard, that the suspicions of his 
 wily uncle, by whom he was narrowly watched, were 
 excited, and he instantly resolved to remove the royal 
 youth from under the roof of the worthy prelate. 
 Nor did he delay longer than the following day .na- 
 king his purpose known to the young king, whom he 
 found alone in the episcopal library, deeply engaged 
 in reading a curiously illuminated MS. work, written 
 by Alfred the Great, intitled, ' The various Fortunes 
 of-Kings.* 
 
 'I am sorry to be under the necessity of interrup- 
 ting your grace in the pleasant and profitable occupa- 
 tion of pursuing your studies,' said the duke, ' but it 
 is expedient that you should make yourself ready to 
 remove immediately from Ely House to the Tower.' 
 
 The cheek of the young king faded to the most 
 deadly paleness at this announcement, and dropping 
 the roll of vellum from his cold and trembling hand, 
 he exclaimed, 
 
 • To the Tower, uncle ! surely you do not 
 mean to send me there ! ' 
 
 • And why should you object to take up your tem- 
 porary residence in that ancient abode of royalty 
 where so many of your ancestors, the kirgs of Eng 
 laud, have kept court?' asked the duke-
 
 78 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 'Oh, my brd I ' replied the king, fixng his eyea 
 steadily upon the guilty countenan:e of his conscious 
 uncle, ' the Tower has been a place so fatal of late to 
 princes, that I cannot contemplate without horror the 
 prospect of going thither.' 
 
 ' Do you presume, ungrateful boy, to suspect me ol 
 entertaining evil designs against you?' returned the 
 duke, becoming pale with suppressed anger. 
 
 ' God forbid that I should imagine you capable, un- 
 cle, of acting so foul a part as to betray the solemn 
 trust that you have undertaken,' replied the king, burst- 
 ing into tears, ' so far as to seek the life of a help- 
 less orphan, of whom you style yourself the protec 
 tor.' 
 
 ' Why then these childish tears, and this perverse 
 reluctance to comply with my arrangements ? ' asked 
 the duke sternly. 
 
 The king continued to weep. His uncle regarded 
 him with a contemptuous expression of countenance. 
 
 ' Have pity upon me, uncle,' said the king, ' and do 
 not send me to that den of blood and midnight mur- 
 ders, the Tower. Let me remain here, and complete 
 mj' studies under the direction of the good Dr. Morton.' 
 
 ' No, no,' replied the duke, ' short as has been your 
 sojourn at Ely House, you have been under the direc 
 lion of that wily priest too long, my lord, and you go 
 hence this very day.'
 
 ROVAL BROTHERS. 79 
 
 ' Well, then, take me to Crosby House, your own 
 palace, uncle, where I shall be too immediately under 
 your own eye for you to entertain suspicions of my 
 holding intercourse with forbidden persons,' said the 
 king imploringly. 
 
 ' And why should you prefer my poor abode oi 
 Crosby House to your own royal residence, the Tow- 
 er of London ? ' demanded the duke with a scrutini- 
 zing look. 
 
 ' Because, my lord, I shall there be under the lov- 
 ing care of your noble consort, my kind aunt the 
 Duchess of Gloucester, and enjoy the society of my 
 fair young cousin Prince Edward, your son,' replied 
 the king, taking his uncle's hand caressingly, and ga. 
 zing anxiously in his face, in the vain hope of soften- 
 ing his obdurate heart by alluding to these supposed 
 objects of his affection. 
 
 ' No, no. King Edward,' returned the duke, ' you 
 have been too long under the tutelage of your moth- 
 er's traitor brother, the Earl of Rivers, to admit 
 you into mine own domicile. Why, the Duchess 
 Anne, my wife, and you, would encourage each oth- 
 er in contumacious resistance of my will, and be- 
 tween ye both, my dutiful and hopeful boy would 
 learn perversity and disobedience ; besides,' added he, 
 softening his voice on perceiving the proud flush thai 
 overspread the countenance of his royal nephew al
 
 so HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 this rude rejoinder, ' my house is meanly furnisKed, 
 und wholly unprovided for the reception of my sover- 
 eign ; therefore, my gracious liege, it is a matter of 
 necessity that you should keep court at the Tow- 
 er till after your coronation, which I propose to take 
 place very speedily.' 
 
 ' Then may I not be permitteed to see the queen 
 my mother, my dear brother, and my gentle sisters ? 
 demanded the king. 
 
 ' It is no fault of mine, that they have not been, 
 ere now, to pay their duty to your Grace,' said the 
 duke ; ' but that evil woman, the queen your mother, 
 hath perversely betaken herself to sanctuary, with 
 Prince Kichard and your sisters, with whom she con- 
 tumaciously refused to part, even for an hour.' 
 
 ' The manner of your dealing with her brother, 
 mine honoured uncle Rivers, and her son the Lord 
 Grey, hath made her suspicious of you, uncle Glouce- 
 ster,' replied the king; 'but if you will permit me 
 to visit her in the sanctuary' — 
 
 * I shall permit your grace to do no such thing,' in 
 terrupted the Duke sharply. 
 
 ' You will not, at any rate, refuse me the liberty of 
 writing to my royal mother,' said the king. 
 
 ' Not if you will endeavour to prevail upon her to 
 deliver up the Duke of York, your brother, whom she 
 hath stolen away.'
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 81 
 
 ' It would ill become me, at my tender years, to pre- 
 lume to dictate to my royal mother in any thing,' re- 
 plied the young king, grarely, ' but especially in a 
 matter that doth so nearly touch herself, and of which 
 she must of necessity be a far more competent judge 
 than myself.' 
 
 * But you have lately complained of loneliness and 
 want of meet associates, my fair nephew,' said the 
 duke, ' and who should be so suitable a companion 
 for you, both in your studies and your pastimes, as 
 the young prince your brother. Would you not wish 
 to have him with you, Edward ? ' 
 
 ' Not if I purchased that pleasure by being the 
 cause of tearing him from my mother's arms, who 
 hath sorrows enow, without being deprived of him.' 
 
 ' She cannot long withhold him from the demands of 
 the nation, whose property he is ; and therefore. King 
 Edward, you would do wisely to persuade her to yield 
 him up with a good grace,' said the duke. 
 
 ' I have already told you, my lord, that I will not 
 attempt to influence my royal mother's conduct. 
 Doubtless she hath good reasons, and prudent advi- 
 sers for what she doth,' said the king. 
 
 •Then,' said the duke, 'I will not permit you to 
 hold any intercourse with her, even by letter.' 
 
 ' You have no right, my Lord of Glijucesler, to pre* 
 rent it,' retorted the king, with a heightened colour.
 
 82 historic.il talks. 
 
 ' Ay, but I possess the power,' rejoined the duke, aa 
 h(! left the room. 
 
 The bishop of Ely entered a moment after. 
 
 ' Oh ! my dear lord,' cried the king, throwing him- 
 self into his arms, ' I appeal to you for protection and 
 deliverance from the tyrannical usage of my uncle 
 Gloucester, who refuses to allow me to see or even to 
 to write to my mother, and is about to remove me, 
 against my own consent, from your hospitable man- 
 8ion to the Tower.' 
 
 ' I grieve to learn it,' said the bishop, ' the more so, 
 because my unavailing sympathy is all that 1 can ofTer 
 to your Grace.' 
 
 ' Oh ! but my Lord,' returned the king, ' it was only 
 yesterday that you promised to be my friend,' 
 
 'And so I am, poor child, and so I will be, God 
 willing, but at present I have no power to aid you. 
 
 ' O yes, indeed you have ; you can assist me to 
 escape from my uncle's custody.' 
 
 ' And whither would you go, supposing that were 
 possible ?' asked the bishop. 
 
 ' I would join my mother in the sanctuary at W 'st- 
 minster, or I would flee to the trusty Lord Hastings 
 my Other's friend, and implore his protection, if you 
 would but permit me to pass these gates,' said the 
 king eagerly. 
 
 ' Alas ! dear child, you know not of what you are talk
 
 ROYAL BIIOTHERS 83 
 
 Ing. You flee from thecustody of your watchful uncle V 
 You break the meshes of the guileful web in which 
 that cruel spider hath entangled you ? You pass these 
 gates through my connivance, who am myself a pris- 
 oner in my own palace, and ever since your abode 
 here have been watched even more jealously than 
 your royal self? Those of mine own household are 
 spies over me, and believe me, young Planlagenet, it 
 IS at positive peril of my life that I hold conference 
 with you now.' 
 
 ' Leave me then to my unhappy fate,' said the king, 
 weeping. 'I would not requite your kindness, my 
 lord bishop, by exposing you to the malice of one who 
 appears bent on the ruin of every creature who is uni- 
 ted to me, either by blood or friendship.' 
 
 ' Alas ! my royal lord, I fear it is even so,' returned 
 the bishop, tenderly embracing the king, and mixing 
 his tears with his. ' But comfort thee, my son, though 
 . environed with dangers, thou art not forsaken, for thy 
 Heavenly Father is still present to protect thee ; and 
 if thy trust be in His mercy, by his everlasting arms 
 shalt thou be supported and upheld under every trial 
 — 'and here,' continued the good prelate, taking his 
 breviary from the folds of his gown, and putting ii in- 
 to the hand of the king, ' shalt hou find that from 
 which thou shalt draw consolation and suoport in thf 
 deepest moments of affliction.'
 
 84 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 ' May God bless and reward you for your kindnoss 
 to a friendless orphan, my good lord,' said ihe king 
 .reverently placing the splendidly bound and embroi- 
 dered volume in his bosom. ' You will not forget me 
 in your prayers, holy father,' continued he, raising 
 to the face of the bishop his soft blue eyes, on whose 
 long and shadowy fringes the tear drops still hung. 
 
 ' Nor yet in my daily thoughts, my liege,' replied 
 the prelate : ' rely upon it,' added he, lowering his 
 voice to a whisper, and pressing his hand significantly 
 on the shoulder of the royal youth, ' I shall concert 
 with Dr. Rotherham the Archbishop of York, and 
 with those powerful peers the Lord Hastings and 
 Stanley, for the appointment of a proper council of 
 regency, to act in some measure as a check upon the 
 despotic proceedings of your uncle.' 
 
 ' And you will tell the queen my mother, that you 
 have seen me, and deliver my greetings to her grace,' 
 said the king eagerly. 
 
 ' Fear not,' replied the bishop, and left him. 
 
 That evening the king was with great pomp con- 
 ducted, by the Duke of Gloucester, to the royal apart- 
 ments in the Tower. 
 
 Notwithstanding all the encouragemer t he had re 
 ceived from the worthy prelate, it was with a heavy 
 heart that King Edward left the pleasant episcopal 
 palace for a dreaded abode in that dreary fortress
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 85 
 
 where so many deeds of darkness had beeiv per- 
 petrated. 
 
 A general chill came over him as its gloomy porlalp 
 expanded to receive him, and, grasping his uncle's 
 arm in the strong revulsion which he felt against 
 crossing that fatal threshold, he exclaimed, ' ! un- 
 cle, do not compel me to enter this ill-omened place.' 
 
 ' Does this childish terror become a king and a 
 Plantagenet ?' asked the Duke of Gloucester con- 
 temptuously, ' Of what, let me ask you, are you 
 afraid ?' 
 
 ' I am not afraid, my Lord Duke,* replied the 
 young king, colouring indignantly, ' but, if the truth 
 must be spoken, I will acknowledge to you, that I 
 cannot overcome the reluctance I feel to take up my 
 abode in a place that has so recently been polluted 
 with the foul murder of my uncle Clarence.' 
 
 ' God certainly has threatened to visit the sins of 
 the father upon the children,' retorted the Duke, be- 
 coming very pale ; ' and as my unfortunate brother 
 Clarence was done to death by your father King Ed- 
 ward's order, it is not wonderful that you should feel 
 uneasy on that account.' 
 
 • Ah ! uncle, uncle !' said the king, ' report wrongs 
 you much if yo^c were not the man who moved my 
 Calher to yield a reluoiant cons*»nt to that fearfuJ 
 8
 
 86 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 deei ; which I pray may never be vioited on the 
 heads of his innocent offspring.* 
 
 The brow of the Duke of Gloucester became black 
 as midnight as he muttered, ' And am I to be twitted 
 by my brother Edward's brats with crimes of his com- 
 mitting ? I suppose I shall hear next that it was I 
 who stabbed Henry of Lancaster, as he happened to 
 die in this place !' 
 
 ' And did you not ?' asked the young king with 
 great simplicity. 
 
 ' O, I have been misrepresented to your kingship 
 in brave colours, I find,' exclaimed the Duke angrily, 
 ' thanks to the queen your mother, and your late 
 governor and counsellors, my lords Eivers and Grey, 
 but they will soon pay the penalty of their crimes, 
 which your perversity will have the effect of hastening.' 
 
 ' Oh, say not so, my lord !' exclaimed the king in 
 agony ; ' only spare my uncle Rivers and my brother 
 Grey, and I will go where you will, and become obe- 
 dient to all your wishes.' 
 
 ' Compose yourself then, and enter your royal 
 apartments here with the calm dignity that becomes a 
 king, and I shall take the case of the prisoners at 
 Pontefract into consideration,' said the Duke of 
 Gloucester, ' and if it be possible to show any lenity 
 to such vile trai'.ors, I will endeavor to do so, since 
 they are so dear to you.'
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 87 
 
 These words, however fair, were too ambiguous to 
 inspire the sad heart of his royal nephew with much 
 hope for his unfortunate relatives ; and his dejection 
 of spirit was increased by the profound solitude and 
 gloomy magnificence of the spacious suite of apart- 
 ments, into which he was introduced with great cere- 
 mony by Sir Robert Brackenbury, the lieutenant of 
 the Tower, who respectfully inquired ' if his Grace 
 required any other conveniences ? ' 
 
 ' I should be glad of writing materials and books, 
 wherewith to recreate my solitary hours,' replied the 
 king, looking round him with a melancholy air. 
 
 ' The first I am not at liberty to supply your Grace 
 with,' replied Brackenbury ; ' respecting the last 1 
 have received no prohibition from the Duke of Glou- 
 cester; and your Grace will find a goodly store of 
 learned books and rare MSS. in a closet through 
 your sleeping apartment, which is well adapted for 
 the purposes of study and meditation, if your Grace 
 delight in such occupations : these things were 
 brought hither for the divertisement of the lonely 
 hours of King Henry the Sixth, and have not been 
 removed since.' 
 
 • And was he the last tenant of these apartments? ' 
 d'jmanded Edward with a sigh. 
 
 * The last, please your royal Grace, and albeit 1 
 should not speak his praises to your royal Grace, see-
 
 88 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 ing he was accounted by your royal father as a foe— 
 and, woe worth the day ! dealt with as such in the 
 end ; yet he was the meekest, the kindest, and the 
 most heavenly-minded prince I ever had the honor of 
 serving. One, my gracious Lord, of whom the world 
 was not worthy — but I am too bold in discoursing 
 thus to your Grace of the rival House of Lancaster.' 
 
 ' Not so,' replied the king ; ' I love to hear of Holy 
 King Henry, and shall feel as if these gloomy apart- 
 ments had been sanctified by his use ; — but what are 
 yonder dark stains upon the wainscot and the floor of 
 this chamber, Brackenbury ? ' 
 
 ' Do not ask me ! ' said Brackenbury, becoming 
 very pale ; ' every prison-house hath its secrets, which 
 may not be revealed by its keeper.' So saying, he 
 withdrew. 
 
 The young king remained for a while immovable, 
 with his eyes fixed on the fatal spot where he felt as- 
 sured that blood — royal blood — had been spilt ; and 
 when one of the officers of the Tower entered to in- 
 quire whether it pleased him to have supper served 
 lip, he pointed to the stain, and asked him what it 
 was. 
 
 ' The blood of Henry of Lancaster ! ' replied the 
 man bluntly. ' Will it like your Grace to sup ? ' 
 
 'No,' replied the king, shuddering; ' I cannot ea* 
 o-night :' and the officar withdrew.
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 89 
 
 With tne conviction that he was a prisoner, cams 
 dso to Edward's mind the suspicion that he was 
 brought hither as a victim, to be immolated at the 
 jhrine of his uncle's overweening ambition ; and as 
 he from time to time glanced upon the indelible wit- 
 ness of the murder that had been perpetrated by the 
 remorseless hand of Gloucester in that very chamber, 
 he felt all the horrors of his situation, and with trem- 
 bling minuteness examined if any lurking murderer 
 were concealed behind the tapestry hangings, or be- 
 neath the rich black velvet draperies of the plumed 
 and canopied bed of state, whose heavy hearse-like 
 form and sable hue appeared as if purposely contrived 
 to increase the gloom of the chamber. Then reflec- 
 ting that however encompassed he might be with dan- 
 gers, he had done nothing to forfeit the protection oi 
 his Heavenly Father, he drew the breviary of the 
 worthy bishop from his bosom, and kneeling down, 
 composed his agitated mind to prayer and devout med- 
 itation, and after spending nearly an hour in this em- 
 ployment, he sought his lonely pillow, and tasted that 
 peaceful repose which innnocence can enjoy even 
 within the dreary walls of a prison and a slaughter- 
 house. 
 
 The next day, a council was held in the star cham- 
 ber, in which the Duke of Gloucester's master projeci
 
 90 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 of getting the young Duke of York into his own pos 
 Bes?ion, by either prevailing upon the queen his moth- 
 er to resign him, or in case of her continuing obsti- 
 nate in her refusal to give him up, to take him from 
 her perforce, was fiercely debated. The Duke oi 
 Gloucester in a long and elaborate speech, set forth 
 the ill effects that would in all probability result to the 
 nation at large, but more especially to the young king 
 and his regency, from the queen's needless precipita- 
 tion, in taking sanctuary with the royal children, and 
 her perversity in coniinuing there, and detaining the 
 young prince from the king his brother, who was so 
 desirous of his company. In short, he said it would 
 be the most impolitic thing in the world for the gov- 
 ernment to be tamely set at defiance by a weak worn 
 an, and concluded with recommending the young 
 Duke of York to be taken from the sanctuary by force, 
 if the queen refused to yield him to the demands of 
 the council. 
 
 The Bishop of Ely and the Cardinal Archbishop of 
 Canterbury replied at great length to this speech, in- 
 sisting on the privileges of sanctuaries, which even 
 the worst of tyrants had scrupled to violate ; but the 
 cardinal, tvho was a weak man, in the sequel consen 
 ted to go to the queen and demand the young prince 
 of \ier in the name of the council, and endeavor to
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 
 
 91 
 
 prevail upon her to avert the violence which was 
 threatened by giving up the child peaceably. 
 
 Accompanied by several lords and members of the 
 council, the cardinal archbishop entered the sanctuary, 
 where he found the unfortunate queen attired in the 
 deepest weeds of widowhood, and looking the image 
 of woe, sealed on the rushes which had been strown 
 on the cold stones for the accommodation of herself 
 and her helpless family, by whom she was surround- 
 ed, and who by their afTectionate endearments were 
 endeavoring to soothe the passionate sorrow of their 
 afflicted mother. 
 
 The lovely countenances of the two elder princes- 
 ses, Elizabeth and Cicely, were expressive of the 
 most touching melancholy. Grief for the recent death 
 of their royal father, the distress in which they saw 
 their mother involved, and uncertainty as to the fate ot 
 their uncle Rivers and their maternal brother, mingled 
 with some apprehensions respecting the safety of the 
 young king, together with undefined fears on their 
 own accounts, had evidently had the effect of casting 
 a temporary shade over their opening bloom of early 
 womanhood. The vivacity and gay spirits of the 
 young Duke of York and his little sisters, though 
 they did not fully comprehend the cause of the dis- 
 tress they witnessed, had been greatly subdued by 
 confinement in this dreary abode, and the grief of
 
 92 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 their mother and the elder princesses. They did noi 
 weep with them it is true, but they had a mournful 
 and dejected air very unusual in children of their ten- 
 der age, and they appeared to shrink with alarm and 
 aversion from the slightest proximity to the rude and 
 ruffian crew whose crimes had compelled them to take 
 refuge in the sanctuary. 
 
 The deep mourning, the infant innocence and un- 
 afTected sorrow, together with the distinguished beau- 
 ty of the royal children, rendered them a group of 
 such touching interest, that neither the cardinal, nor 
 the noblemen who attended him on his mission, could 
 behold them without emotion. 
 
 At the approach of strangers, the younger children 
 clung to their mother in alarm, but the eyes of the el- 
 der princesses and the young Duke of York became 
 animated with hope and expectation. The queen's 
 countenance wore a doubtful expression, on the first 
 address of the cardinal, which was couched in very 
 soothing and respectful language ; but when he went 
 on to explain the full meaning of his errand, she in- 
 terrupted him with great warmth, to enlarge on the 
 sacredness of the privilege of sanctuaries, and to as- 
 sure him she would rather die than part with her 
 children. 
 
 ' But your Grace is not required to part with any 
 out the Duke of York,' said the cardinal ; ' and sure-
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 93 
 
 Ij yoti would not wish to withhold him from the arms 
 of the king his brother, who is so desirous of his com- 
 pany that he pines for him incessantly.' 
 
 ' Then let him come hither, and he shall beholo 
 him,' said the queen. 
 
 ' The king's guardians and council do not consider 
 it proper to introduce his royal Grace into the conta- 
 gion of such a scene as this,' replied the cardinal, 
 glancing significantly at the rabble rout, who, with 
 ill-mannered curiosity had drawn as near as their lim- 
 its would allow to the royal group. ' Believe me,' 
 continued he, ' your Grace is much to blame to bring 
 your royal daughters and this tender prince into a 
 place so manifestly improper for them.' 
 
 The princesses Elizabeth and Cicely looked much 
 distressed ; but the queen replied, by pouring forth a 
 torrent of passionate invectives against the oppression 
 and cruelty of the Duke of Gloucester to herself and 
 all her family, which had compelled her to seek a 
 refuge for herself and her royal children among mur 
 derers, robbers, and outlaws of every denomination, 
 in whose neighborhood,' she concluded by saying, 
 she knew she could more safely trust them, than in 
 the keeping of their ambitious uncle.' 
 
 ' Nay, Madam, unless you will talk more reasona- 
 bly,' said the cardinal, ' I fear we must leave you to 
 the decision of the council, which is, that unless vou
 
 94 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 think proper to render up the young Duke of York 
 to their requisition, they have resolved to take him 
 from you perforce.' 
 
 ' Ay, but they dare not violate the privilege of sanc- 
 tuary to do that,' retorted the queen. 
 
 ' Your Grace's prudent compliance with the wish of 
 '.he nation, and the earnest desire of your royal som 
 shall spare the necessity of such a deed, I trust,' re- 
 plied the cardinal. ' How say you, my little lord,' 
 said he, addressing the Duke of York ; ' would you 
 not like to leave this dismal place, and go with me to 
 the king your brother ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed I should ! ' replied the young prince, 
 ' and I do not like being here at all ; for though it is 
 the merry month of May, I can neither see the flow- 
 ers nor the pleasant green fields, nor hear the song of 
 the pretty birds.' 
 
 ' But if you will go with me, my Lord,' said the 
 cardinal, ' you shall pass your time in pleasant sports 
 in the palace gardens, the live-long day, with King 
 Edward your brother, and the young lords of his 
 court ; and you shall ride forth with him on a prince- 
 ly steed, to hunt the deer with him through his royal 
 parks and pleasaunces, with cheerly sounds of hounds 
 and horns.' 
 
 ' Oh mother, mother ' ' cried the boy, clinging to
 
 ROVAL BROTHERS. 95 
 
 the queen's arm, * let me go with these ncble lords to 
 the king my gentle brother.' 
 
 ' And would you leave your tender mother, ungrate- 
 ful child ? ' said the queen. 
 
 ' Dear mother, I am weary of this dismal place, and 
 I would fain go forth to see the pleasant fields and 
 green woods, and take my pastime in the gardens 
 once more.' 
 
 ' Ah, Richard, Richard, heed not the deceitful 
 words of those who would fain win thee from my 
 sheltering arms to work thy woe, my simple child ! ' 
 said the queen, drawing him closer to her. 
 
 ' Fie, madam, what strange perversity is this, to 
 put such cruel constraint on the natural inclination of 
 this fair young prince, whose brotherly affection doth 
 so powerfully impel him to obey the mandate of the 
 king,' said the cardinal. ' Why should you wish to 
 keep those apart whom nature hath so fondly united 
 in the sweet bonds of fraternal love ? ' 
 
 ' God knoweth, my Lord,' said the queen, ' that our 
 separation from my royal Edward is my greatest 
 grief, but how shall I, who have had such bitter 
 proofs of the enmity of the Duke of Gloucester to 
 me and mine, venture to trust both these my precious 
 ones in the clutches of that ravenous wolf, who is 
 panting to destroy them ? ' 
 
 ' Hush, royal lady, we must not hear you speak
 
 96 
 
 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 thus unadvisedly of that noble prince the Duke of 
 Gloucester, who in sooth appears most lovingly dis- 
 posed to his royal nephews,' said the cardinal. 
 
 * It may be so,' replied the queen with a sigh, 'but 
 he cannot expect the mother of the Lord Eichard 
 Grey to trust another of her sons in his keeping 
 while she can withhold him.' 
 
 ' But the fair young prince is himself desirous of go- 
 ing ; are you not, my lord of York V said the cardinal 
 
 ' Ay, marry', my lord, am I,' replied the young 
 duke sturdily, ' and I will go in faith, if you can per- 
 suade the queen my mother to part with me.' 
 
 ' Her Grace will be wise to consent at once, since 
 her refusal will avail nothing, as matters stand,' said 
 the cardinal ; ' and I will be surety that no harm 
 shall befall to this sweet child.' 
 
 ' Ah York, my pretty York I and must I then part 
 with thee, my precious child ?' exclaimed the queen, 
 snatching the young prince to her bosom in a trans- 
 port of maternal grief and tenderness ; and, bursting 
 into a passion of tears, she delivered him to the car- 
 dinal, with a solemn charge to be watchful over him, 
 and telling him that if any harm befel him, she should 
 require him at his hands. 
 
 ' Richard, sweet brother Richard, will you leave 
 js?' exclaimed his sisters, weeping and hanging 
 'ound him.
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 97 
 
 Fail sisters, 1 will bring our royal brother, King 
 Edward, with all his valiant knights and nobles, to 
 take you and the queen our mother from this ugly 
 place,' responded the young prince, breaking from 
 their sorrowful embraces. 
 
 ' Nay, tarry, tarry, gentle brother, for we cannot 
 part with you thus,' cried the Lady Elizabeth, his el- 
 dest sister, fondly detaining him. 
 
 ' Oh, but, sweet sister mine, I am so longing to be 
 forth of these imprisoning walls, that I cannot stay 
 with you,' cried the impatient boy. 
 
 ' Ah, pretty York ! you know not whither you are 
 hastening, or what dark destiny you may be leaving us 
 to fulfil ,' said the princess, folding him in a parting 
 embrace. 
 
 ' Farewell, farewell, my precious child ! ' exclaimed 
 his weeping mother; ' may good angels be thy speed, 
 and guard thee from every adversity that may threat- 
 en thee.' 
 
 The younger children lifted up their voices and 
 wept aloud, when they, though happily unconscious 
 of his peril, saw their beloved brother depart with the 
 cardinal and the other lords and gentlemen, who had 
 been deputed by the council to fetch him. As for the 
 queen, ere the doors of the church had fully shut the 
 boy from her fond eyes, her heart misgave her that
 
 98 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 she had done wrong in resigning him, and she flung 
 herself upon the pavement with such a passionate 
 burst of grief, that the hearts of the most obdurate of 
 the hardened ruffians in the precincts of sanctuary 
 were melted at the sight of her distress, which her 
 sorrowful daughters vainly strove to soothe by their 
 tender caresses. 
 
 Prince Richard, meantime, with all the thoughtless 
 vivacity of childhood, skipping gaily by the cardinal's 
 side, entered the star-chamber, where the Duke of 
 Gloucester, with the other members of the council, 
 were waiting the return of the embassage to the 
 queen, and beginning to marvel at their long delay 
 
 There was a general murmur of admiration in the 
 council room at the sprightly beauty «^nd bold bearing 
 of the princely child, who had only just entered his 
 ninth year; and the Duke of Gloucester, rising from 
 his seat, eagerly advanced to meet him, and taking 
 him up in his arms several times, exclaiming, ' Now 
 welcome, my dear lord, with all my heart ! ' 
 
 ' Where is my brother. King Edward ? ' cried the 
 young duke, struggling to escap% from his urn .e's 
 arms. 
 
 * Have patience a moment, fair nephew, and I will 
 conduct you to your royal brother, who will be dearly 
 glad to see you,' said the Duke of Gloucester with 
 a smile.
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 99 
 
 ' Oh ! but I want to see him now,' rejoined the 
 prince impatiently : ' I thought I should have seen 
 him on his throne there, which you have no right to 
 be seated upon, uncle Gloucester.' 
 
 That is not a throne, you simple child,' returned 
 the duke ; ' it is only a chair of state.' 
 
 ' And pray, good uncle, what is a throne, if it be 
 not a chair of state ? ' retorted the prince. 
 
 ' Go to ! go to, Prince Richard, you are too sharp 
 for me,' replied the Duke of Gloucester, affecting to 
 join in the general laugh ; ' but we shall have no 
 business done in council to-day, if we attend to your 
 prating, so I suppose I must take you to pay your du- 
 ty to King Edward your brother.' 
 
 The young king was in a melancholy mood, en- 
 deavoring to divert his sad thoughts among the pre- 
 cious relics of the learning of past ages with which 
 he was surrounded, when the door was softly un- 
 closed, and his little brother bounded into his arms 
 and overwhelmed him with caresses. 
 
 Edward, who though he knew not how to account 
 for his appearance, was delighted to see him, returned 
 nis endearments with interest, and clasping him to his 
 bosom, laughed and wept alternately in the fulness of 
 h's heart. 
 
 ' But how came you hither, my sweet brother 
 y';rk?' exclaimed he, when the first transport of his
 
 e 
 
 100 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 surprise and pleasure would give hiM leave to 
 speak. 
 
 ' My ancle Gloucester brought me hither, dearest 
 Edward, and be careful what you say of him,' said 
 the young prince archly, ' for he is at the door listen- 
 ing to our conference, in hopes of hearing some ill of 
 himself I suppose, knowing I love him not, and belike 
 suspecting that he is not very dear unto your Grace.' 
 
 ' Fie, Richard, you will make me chide you it you 
 talk so inconsiderately,' said the king, tenderly em- 
 bracing his thoughtless brother. 
 
 ' How likes your Grace the companion I hav 
 brought you ? ' said the Duke of Gloucester, fully un- 
 closing the door which stood ajar, and advancing. 
 
 ' It would have been a difficult matter to provide 
 me with one more dear, my lord,' replied the king, 
 raising his eyes to his uncle's face with one of those 
 sunny smiles which had long been strangers to his 
 noble features. 
 
 ' Then see you use him lovingly,' rejoined the 
 duke, and left the royal brothers to themselves. 
 
 The young king then requested his brother to give 
 a particular account of all that had befallen himself> 
 the queen their mother, and the princesses, since the 
 death of the late king their father. 
 
 ' I shall never forget what a sorrowful time .t was,' 
 Baid the little prince, ' when the shrieks of my mother
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 101 
 
 and sisters, and the lamentations of their '.vomen, first 
 told r.ie the sad tidings of my father's death.' 
 
 ' Alas !' observed the young king, ' how diflferently 
 was that sorrowful event revealed to me by smiling 
 relatives and flattering courtiers, who crowded round 
 me in eager rivalry which should be the first to tell 
 me I was a king. But I interrupt you in your sad 
 relation, my sweet brother.' 
 
 ' The next thing I remember, dear Edward,' con- 
 tinued the prince, ' was being roused from my peace- 
 ful slumbers at midnight by a confused sound of sor- 
 rowful voices, and busy hurrying to and fro in the 
 palace ; and while I was yet casting about in my 
 mind what this should mean, much fearing that somt 
 new calamity had befallen us, my weeping nurse camt 
 to my bedside, and bade me rise in haste to accompa- 
 ny the queen my mother and my sisters into sanctu- 
 ary. Sleepy and frightened as I was, dear Edward, 
 I grew wayward, and told the nurse 1 would not leave 
 my bed to go abroad into the dark ugly night, for it 
 blew a heavy gale, the rain and hail pattered against 
 the windows, and I heard the sullen roaring of the 
 river, so I crept under the bed-clothes, and bade nurse 
 begone ; but the next moment my dear mother enter- 
 ed, with pale cheeks and streaming eyes, and, snatch- 
 mg me up in her arms, cried in a piercing voice of 
 distress, 
 
 T.IBUARY 
 
 UNlVERSnV OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAiN TA BARBARA
 
 102 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 • Richard ! my darling, my precious boy ! you must 
 atvay with me, for your cruel uncle Gloucester hatU 
 arrested, and I fear me slain your valiant uncle Riv- 
 ers, and your brother Richard Grey, and seized the 
 person of the young king your brother at Nonhamp- 
 ton ; and next he will seek our lives, my sweet child, 
 therefore must we to the sanctuary at Westminster 
 with what speed we may ! ' 
 
 ' She then wrapped me hastily in her mantle, and 
 bore me in her own arms, in all my night-clothes as 
 I was, across the palace yard, attended by my brother 
 Dorset, and followed by my weeping sisters, Eliza- 
 beth, Cicely, and Anne, and the nurses carrying the 
 sleeping Catherine and Bridget ; and when we came 
 to a postern door in the Abbey, my brother Dorset 
 knocked there with the hilt of his sword, and prayed 
 the porter for admittance into the sanctuary for a sor- 
 rowful widow and her orphan babes, who were en- 
 forced to flee from a wicked prince, who sought to kill 
 them for the sake of their inheritance. So, after con- 
 sulting with the good dean, we were permitted to en- 
 ter; and some of our faithful servants brought beds 
 and other conveniences from the palace for our use, 
 and we have abode in the sanctuary ever since. Now, 
 Edward, a sanctuary is a very dismal place ' 
 
 *Know you not, my fair brother, that I was born in
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 103 
 
 that same sanctuary during the tioublous wars of the 
 roses,' said the king. 
 
 ' Yes, Edward, my mother said that you were born 
 at a heavy time for our parents ; and often she has 
 told us of her affliction during the perilous rebellion 
 of Warwick the king maker, who took our royal fa- 
 ther prisoner, which enforced her to flee from this 
 Tower of London (where she then kept court), )y 
 water to Westminster, where she took sanctuary, and 
 was delivered of you in the Jerusalem chamber. We 
 had no such comfortable lodgings, I trow, during our 
 sad sojourn in the Abbey.' 
 
 ' But how came you forth of the sanctuary, my 
 fcweet brother ? ' asked the king. 
 
 ' Forsooth, because the lords o'' the council sent the 
 Cardinal Archbishop to fetch me forth.' 
 
 ' Did they violate the privilege of sanctuary, and 
 take you thence perforce 1 ' asked the king. 
 
 ' No ; for the queen my mother yielded to my en- 
 treaties, and let me go.' 
 
 * Yielded to your entreaties !' echoed the king, ' and 
 did you wish to leave her, Richard ? ' 
 
 The young prince looked down, blushed, and after 
 a moment's reflection said : ' I thought it was my du- 
 ty to obey your royal mandate, Edward, and therefore 
 I came unto you when I heard it was your desire to 
 see .'Tie, and have me with you'
 
 1U4 HISTORICAL TALFS. 
 
 ' Ah Richard ! you have been deceived,' roplied the 
 king sorrowfully. ' I sent not for you ; and, however 
 dearly I desired your company, I knew too well how 
 deeply being deprived of you would add to our royal 
 mother's afllictions to require it, and moreover, Rich- 
 ard, I will not conceal from you my sad suspicion 
 that I stand in peril of my life from the dark devices 
 of one who aspires not only to govern in my name, 
 but actually to wear my crown ; but while you were 
 safe with the queen in the sanctuary, which bold as 
 he is he dared not violate, his taking my life would 
 have availed him little, since you would have suc- 
 ceeded to my lawful title, and the people, being roused 
 to indignation by so foul a deed as shedding the blood 
 of an orphan nephew and his king, he knew would 
 espouse your cause. Thus you see, dear Richard, 
 your safety was my security ; but now he has ?!uc- 
 ceeded in getting you into his power also, it wil' be 
 easy for him to cut us both off at one blow.' 
 
 ' But, my royal brother, as you are a king, why do 
 not you attaint that false traitor, and order his head to 
 be struck off on Tower Hill hard by, and then cause 
 it to be set up on a spear over Ludgate, or on the 
 Bridge ? ' exclaimed Prince Richard fiercely. 
 
 ' Gramercy, little York ! you are for summary pro- 
 ceedings, I find. Go to, I love not to see you so 
 D'.oodily disposed against your enemies,' said the king
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 105 
 
 ' I liuve heard my royal father say that the lex tali- 
 onis was the fashion of our house. So, Edward, I 
 can quote lali.i for what I say,' replied the young 
 duke. 
 
 ' The law of retaliation is not the divine law o! 
 God, by which we are commanded to love our ene- 
 mies,' said the king. 
 
 ' I never could love any one that did me wrong, 
 observed Prince Richard. 
 
 ' Then your heart is not with God, my brother, or 
 you would endeavor to obey his precepts,' said the 
 king. ' But, with regard to that which you were so 
 earnest with me to do, even if I had the w^ish to punish 
 my ambitious uncle for his evil deeds, I have not the 
 power.' 
 
 ' Nay, Edward, you are mocking me now ! why do 
 not you call upon your trusty peers, and valiant 
 knights, to perform your royal bests ? ' said Prince 
 Richard. 
 
 * I fear they would mock me if I did,' returned the 
 youthful monarch with a sigh; ' for, Richard, lam 
 friendless and alone.' 
 
 ' Friendless and alone ! ' echoed the young prmce 
 •n surprise : ' where is your royal court ? ' 
 
 My uncle says it is here,' returned the king. 
 
 ' Here '. ' rejoined the Duke of York, looking round
 
 106 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 in some alarm ; * why this looks more like a prison 
 than a royal king's abode ! ' 
 
 ' May it not be both, my simple brother ? ' asked 
 the king with a melancholy smile. 
 
 ' But where are your brave guards, and faithful fol- 
 lowers, my liege ? ' asked the prince. 
 
 ' Here,' returned the young king. 
 
 ' I do not see any body,' rejoined the prince, look- 
 ing about in some perplexity. 
 
 ' Fido, come forth!' said the king; and a little 
 spaniel, which had followed him to the Tower, and 
 been the sole companion of his solitary hours since 
 his lesidence in that fortress, crept from beneath his 
 chair, and putting his paws on his royal master's knee, 
 looked wistfully in his face. 
 
 • There, Richard,' continued the royal youth, turn- 
 ing his moist eyes upon his little brother, ' you now 
 behold my kingly state and royal retinue ! Were not 
 you better off in the sanctuary at Westminster, with 
 your mother and sisters, dear boy ? ' 
 
 The young prince burst into a passion of tears. 
 
 ' I wish it were possible for you to return thither,' 
 said the king thoughtfully; 'but the imprudence of 
 our dear mother, in yic Iding you up, is I fear irreme- 
 diable.' 
 
 Ah, Edwarl ! it was all along of my impalieot de«
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 107 
 
 Eire to be forth of the gloomy sanctuary, sobbed the 
 prince ; — 
 
 ' Which hath, I fear, been the means of bringing 
 you into harsher restraints, and a more perilous pris- 
 on house ; where, I doubt, your innocent life will be 
 in hourly jeopardy, poor child ! ' said the king, pres- 
 sing him to his bosom, and tenderly kissing away his 
 tears. 
 
 • And do not any of your loyal lieges come hither 
 to offer homage to your Grace ? ' asked Prince Rich- 
 ard, after his first burst of sorrow had subsided. 
 
 ' None, Richard, none ! ' replied the king. ' I have 
 no loyal lieges, I suppose.' 
 
 ' But may you not ride forth to hunt the stag in 
 your royal parks and pleasaunces ? ' demanded the 
 prince. 
 
 The king shook his head. * Can you not see, 
 Richard, that I am to all intents and purposes a pris- 
 oner, and that you are brought hither to share my cap- 
 tivity — perchance my untimely death ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, that false cardinal ! to beguile me from my 
 lovins: mother with such arrant deceit ! ' cried the 
 young duke. ' Doth he not deserve to die the death 
 of a traitor, without benefit of clergy, brother Edward? ' 
 
 ' Belike, poor man, he was himself deceived by the 
 fair speech but foul devices of my guileful uncle GloU' 
 cester,' s; id the king ; ' and therefore, my brother, let
 
 108 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 US think charitably of him, and rather pity him fot 
 want of judgment, than condemn him as one capable. 
 of such base treachery.' 
 
 The unbroken solitude in which the royal brothers 
 now passed their days in the Tower, was far more 
 wearisome to Prince Richard than to the young king, 
 whose studious and reflective turn of mind, which 
 was united with fervent and unaffected piety, enabled 
 him to bear with patience and equanimity every trial 
 that was laid upon him, and to recognise the hand ol 
 his Almighty Father in the adversity that had befallen 
 him. Restraint, confinement, deprivation of regal 
 state, gay sports, and pleasant exercises, he endured 
 without repining, and endeavored to employ the lei- 
 sure they afforded him in improving his own mind 
 and cultivating that of his younger brother, who pos- 
 sessed great precocity of intellect, a sharp piercing 
 wit, united with singular powers of observation and 
 great facility in acquiring languages, and every thing 
 in which he was instructed ; but with all this he was 
 volatile, restless, and impatient of restraint. His gay 
 ardent spirits, when once depressed by confinement 
 and gloomy anticipations, lost their vivacious tone, and 
 he became dejected, listless, and sorrowful, and resis- 
 ted all his anxious brother's attempts to cheer, or rouse 
 him fron^ the morbid melancholy into which he was 
 nlunged.
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 109 
 
 At leng'.h the good bishop of Ely found means of 
 conveying to the young king the pleasing ii.telligence 
 that he, with the Cardinal Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 the lords Hastings and Stanley, and other distinguish- 
 ed persons, were organizing a parly for the purpose of 
 opposing the Duke of Gloucester's ambitious designs 
 upon the crown, (which he no longer attempted to con- 
 ceal), to concert neasures for rescuing the captive prin- 
 ces from his power, and to assert the rights of the 
 young king. The plans of these prelates and nobles 
 were but in embryo, nevertheless, the assurance that 
 he was not wholly forsaken and forgotten, was suffi- 
 cient to give comfort to the object of their solicitude ; 
 and when, in the hope of reviving the drooping spir- 
 its of the beloved partner of his captivity, he communi- 
 cated to him the friendly dispositions of these powerful 
 partisans, the lively imagination of the youthful prince 
 picturing to him his deliverance as certain, transpor- 
 ted him at once from the depths of despair to the ex- 
 tremes of joy, and he became of a sudden so full of 
 joy and animation, that his brother was compelled to 
 check his playful vivacity, lest his altered demeanor 
 should excite the suspicions of their attendants. 
 
 ' The prospect, however remote, of being restored to 
 freedom, friends, and royal dignity, is indeed a cordial 
 10 my sad heart, dearest Richard,' said the kinij ; ' tut 
 10
 
 110 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 when I consider the uncertainty of all human purpo* 
 ses, and the chances and changes to which the best 
 appointed schemes of earthly wisdom are subject, I 
 dare not reckon on the result of this, which may too 
 probably end in disappointment, if, indeed, it have not 
 the effect of precipitating our fate.' 
 
 ' Dear Edward, do not damp our present hopes by 
 moralizing thus,' said Prince Richard impatiently ; ' I 
 am sure the trusty Lord Hastings has it in his power 
 to do much ; he is a very brave and worthy nobleman, 
 bold in field and wise in council, and he will be cer- 
 tain to effect our deliverance.' 
 
 ' We had not been where we now are, Richard, had 
 not that very Hastings on whom you are placing such 
 reliance, in order to gratify his animosity against my 
 uncle Rivers and the rest of our maternal kindred, 
 countenanced the Duke of Gloucester's lawless pro- 
 ceedings at Northampton, against those noble lords 
 who are now languishing in hopeless captivity in Pon- 
 tefract Castle, if, indeed, they may yet be reckoned 
 among the living.' And here the thoughts of those 
 beloved and unfortunate friends brought tears to the 
 eyes, and anguish to the affectionate bosom of their 
 royal kinsman. 
 
 On the foUowinT: day the captive princes, who were 
 still permitted to ittend mass in the chapel, bad just 
 concluded their dt. »rotiois, when an unwonted stir in
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. Ill 
 
 uat us .ally quiel part of the fortress excited their cu 
 nosity The harsh sound of many voices engaged in 
 fierce and stormy altercation was succeeded by the 
 clash of arms, and the rush of advancing and I'ece- 
 ding feet. The confused uproar of what appeared a 
 short sharp scuffle in the council room died away, and 
 the profound silence that followed was, after the lapse 
 of a few moments, broken by the jangling discord of 
 raising the great bell, which presently began to toll, 
 in dull heavy repeated strokes, a dismal death-knell. 
 Then the portentous roll of muffled drum and the 
 measured tramp of armed men was heard in the court 
 below. 
 
 The cheeks of the captive princes became pale with 
 fearful interest at these ominous sounds. They ap- 
 proached the chapel windows, and saw that the yard 
 was filled with halbert and habergeon men, in the 
 centre of whom a hollow square was formed that en- 
 closed a large block of wood, the fragment of the 
 trunk of a tree that had been hewn up into billets for 
 the Tower fires. This one of the officers of the Tow- 
 er hastily covered with a black velvet pall. 
 
 'Oh, brother! what may these dismal preparations 
 portend ? ' cried the young Duke of York, clinging 
 fearfully to the arm of the king, as if for protection. 
 
 ' A bloody execution, I fear,' responded the youth- 
 ful monarch, becoming cold and colourless as the ma.-
 
 112 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 ble monument against which he supported his agita. 
 ted frame. 
 
 ' Oh, Edward, come away, and let us hide ourslves,' 
 cried the trembling prince. 
 
 ' Hush ! ' said the king, ' I recognise Catesby and 
 Lovel, my uncle Gloucester's wicked coadjutors in 
 nameless deeds of guilt, and there is Sir Robert 
 Brackenbury,' — 
 
 ' Ah ! ' cried Prince Eichard, with a suppressed 
 ■ihriek, ' and there is the fell headsman, with the dead- 
 ly axe in his hand,' — 
 
 ' With the edge towards the prisoner who is now 
 about to be brought forth,' murmured the young king, 
 in a voice half choked with the agonizing excitement 
 of that dread moment of suspense which intervened 
 ere the unknown victim appeared upon the scene of 
 death. 
 
 ' Oh ! Richard, Richard ! it is the Lord Hastings 
 that powerful friend upon whose assistance we had 
 built such vain hopes of deliverance ! Alas ! and hath 
 his generous regard for us brought him to this ?' he 
 exclaimed, as a gentleman of martial bearing and no- 
 ble presence advanced, bound and guarded, towards 
 the fatal block. The flush of fierce anger was upon 
 his sunburned cheek, and his haughty brow was com- 
 pressed and troubled. He looked round among the 
 ■"ijtectaiors with stern and reproachful meaning, as if to
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 113 
 
 upbraid them for their quiescence in tamely witnessing 
 the illegal execution of an unjust sentence; but all 
 appeared stunned and paralysed at the suddenness ol 
 the thing, yet, notwithstanding his outward bold de- 
 meanor, no one was more so than himself. ' He was 
 a warrior and a reveller,' invincible in his courage and 
 incorruptible in his loyalty ; yet he was a man of vin- 
 dictive passions, cruel, remorseless, and licentious iu 
 his private conduct, and, with committed murder upon 
 his conscience and meditated murder in his heart, 
 while exulting in the assurance that the executions of 
 the unfortunate prisoners at Pontefract, whom he had 
 pursued with unrelenting hatred, were to take place 
 that very day, found himself in the same hour called 
 upon to render up his own awful account to Him from 
 whom no secrets are hidden ! In the desperation of 
 that dreadful moment he demanded the assistance of 
 a priest, but that consolation was denied him by the 
 pitiless instruments of the Duke of Gloucester's ven- 
 geance, who brutally hurried the execution with the 
 unfeeling jest, ' that the Duke, who had sworn not to 
 dine before sentence was executed, was hungry, and 
 in haste to break his fast.' 
 
 Faint and sickening with horror at the scene before 
 him, the young king turned with streammg eyes from 
 the can temp lalion of the approaching work of death.
 
 114 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 lO support his terrified brother, who had swooned with 
 mortal terror. 
 
 The dull heavy crash that announced the descent 
 of the axe on the neck of the devoted nobleman, sent 
 a cold shudder through the frame of the king, which 
 for a moment checked the pulsation of his heart, and 
 suspended his respiration. Then the customary proc- 
 lamation, in the stern sonoroua voice of the execution- 
 er, ' This is the head of a traitor ! ' followed by a low 
 sullen murmur among the people, and the deafening 
 shout of ' God save the King, and Duke Richard the 
 Protector,' from the soldiers and assistants in the trag- 
 edy, declared too surely that the deed of blood wag 
 perpetrated. A minute after, the thundering dis- 
 charge of the Tower guns shook the chapel to itn 
 foundation, and startled the fainting prince from tem- 
 porary insensibility into a sudden painful conscious- 
 ness of waking horror, that appeared to his confused 
 imagination like the fantasma of a frightful dream. 
 ' Where are we ? and what has befallen us, Edward ? ' 
 cried he, starting from his brother's trembling arms, 
 and gazing fearfully round him. 
 
 ' Be calm, my sweet brother,' said the young kiii*^, 
 drawing him tenderly to his bosom ; ' we are, as be- 
 foie, under the protection of our Heavenly Father, 
 though the arm of flesh in which we confided for de- 
 liverance has just been laid low in our very sight,
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 113 
 
 which must teach us the vanity of placing our reli- 
 ance on any earthly stay.' Here a passionate burst 
 of tears relieved his full heart, and the royal brothers 
 enfolding each other in a close embrace, continued to 
 weep till the entrance of Sir Robert Brackenbury, 
 pale and agitated, who, on learning that the young 
 princes had been left alone in the chapel, by the atten- 
 dants, officers, and officiating priests and servitors all 
 hurrying to witness the execution of the unfortunate 
 Lord Hastings, had hastened thither in great alarm 
 lest they should have availed themselves of that op- 
 portunity for attempting their escape. 
 
 He uttered an ejaculation of satisfaction on finding 
 they were safe, and requested permission to attend 
 them to their apartment. 
 
 ' Oh ! Sir Robert ! ' exclaimed the king, ' tell me 
 what was the occasion of the dreadful sight I have 
 just witnessed V 
 
 ' What sight my royal liege ? ' asked Brackenbury. 
 
 ' The murder of my Lord of Hastings, at which I 
 saw you so basely assisting,' replied the king, sternly 
 regarding him. 
 
 ' I grieve that such should have been my unhappy 
 lot,' replied the lieutenant of the Tower, lowering his 
 eyes in confusion beneath the reproving glance of hia 
 youthful captive; 'but,' continued he, ' it is the paiu 
 ful duty of my office to be at times compelled to wii-
 
 116 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 ness and appear consenting unto deeds from which 
 one's inmost soul revolts.' 
 
 ' You may be called upon, ere long, t(, assist at the 
 murder of your lawful sovereign, whose gaoler you 
 have been so long,' observed the king. 
 
 ' Now God in his mercy forbid I ' said Brackenbury, 
 greatly agitated. 
 
 ' We read in holy writ, Sir Robert, that Hazael, 
 *vhen the prophet revealed to him the crimes that he 
 would commit, indignantly replied, ' Is then thy ser- 
 vant a dog, that he should do this thing ? ' And yet, 
 Sir Robert, though forewarned of the evil, he went 
 home, and took the very step that led to the fulfilment 
 of the man of God's prediction,' returned the king, 
 ' And you, in like manner, when the temptation tries 
 you, and the Duke of Gloucester asks your assistance 
 in removing the obstacles that hinder his passage to the 
 throne, will deem it your duty to be at least quiescent.' 
 
 ' Has your Grace ever experienced any lack of du- 
 tiful respect in your faithful servant, that you should 
 j/Tong him with such unkind suspicions ? ' asked Sir 
 Robert Brackenbury, much agitated. 
 
 'I can only judge of your probable conduct to my- 
 self under such circumstances, from your having com- 
 promised your conscience by becoming an accomplice 
 m the murder of my last friend, the loyal Hastings,' 
 iaid the king, coldly.
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 117 
 
 ' You- Grace .s not aware that Hastings,' (bserved 
 Brackenoury, ' was a principal agent in the downfall 
 of your noble kinsmen, my lords Rivers and Grey, 
 and that he expressed the most indecent exultation 
 this very morning, just before he attended that coun- 
 cil which proved so fatal to him, on learning that the 
 execution of those unfortunate nobles was to take 
 place to-day at noontide — at which time a fearful vis- 
 itation of retributive justice hath fallen upon his own 
 head ! ' 
 
 ' Alas ! my kind, my noble uncle ! and you, my lov- 
 ing brother ! ' exclaimed the king, clasping his hands 
 in the bitter anguish of his heart at this sad news ; 
 ' and shall I behold ye no more ! and have ye been 
 doomed to an ignominious death for your faithful love 
 to me ! Unhappy that I am ! to feel the sad con- 
 sciousness that all my friends are marked to be cut off 
 by one who misnames himself my Protector ! ' 
 
 This was the drop of bitterness that made the al- 
 ready brimming cup of misery of which the youthful 
 king had been compelled to drink overflow. After ha 
 was assured of the murder of these beloved relatives, 
 the cherishing friends of his childhood, his last hope 
 appeared to have deserted him, and he yielded to the 
 deepest despondency. The intelligence of the ar- 
 rest of the Cardinal Archbishop of Canterbury, ol 
 
 Lord Stanley, and worse than all, that of the good 
 11
 
 118 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 Bishop of Ely, all of whom had been taken into cus- 
 tody at the same time with lord Hastings, had the nai- 
 ural effect of increasing his melancholy ; with which 
 was mingled anxious apprehensions for the safety of 
 his mother and sisters, of whom he heard no other ti- 
 dings than that they continued in the sanctuary at 
 Westminster, not daring to stir thence for fear of fal- 
 ling into the power of the Duke of Gloucester, by 
 whose watchful emissaries they were surrounded on 
 every side. 
 
 • Why do the bells ring so merrily ? ' asked Prince 
 Richard one morning of the sullen attendant who 
 served them at their solitary meals. 
 
 ' It is on account of the coronation of the king,' re- 
 plied the man bluntly. 
 
 King Edward started, and the prince his brother 
 angrily rejoined, 
 
 ' The coronation of the king ! false knave ! what 
 mean you by mocking me with thy ill-mannered 
 gibes, when you see the king, wo the day, in durance ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, him whom you call the king, my little lord,' 
 replied the man ; ' but the people, who are not to be 
 ruled over by babes and sucklings, have chosen that 
 wise, mighty, and renowned prince, Richard of Glou- 
 cester, to be their sovereign, and he is this day crown- 
 ed and anointed king in Westminster Abbey.' 
 
 ' The false villain ! ' exclaimed the young prince
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 119 
 
 now, as I am a king's son and a Plantagenet, I would 
 I had been this day in the sanctuary, for then I might 
 have entered the choir, where he durst not have touch- 
 ed me, and defied him as a traitor and usurper to his 
 teeth.' 
 
 ' Belike your fiery little grace would also feel dis- 
 posed to take up the champion's glove, when he gives 
 the challenge in Westminster Hall ? ' said the man. 
 
 ' I would I were a man, and free to do him battle 
 for my brother King Edward's right,' said the prince 
 fiercely clenching his hand. ' Why, Edward, my 
 sweet brother, how calmly you hear the news of this 
 audacious treason, which robs you of your kingdom.' 
 
 ' My kingdom is not of this world, I perceive,' re- 
 plied the king meekly, raising his eyes to heaven ; 
 • nor will my portion,' he softly added, ' be long with 
 those who draw the breath of life. Those bells, that 
 ring such jocund peals to announce the successful 
 usurpation of my uncle, are my knell, and your's, 
 dear Richard, also, for we are now as one, and the 
 solemn warning they sound to us both is this, ' Set 
 thine house in order, for thou shalt die, and not live.' 
 
 ' Oh ! brother, brother ! ' sobbed the young prince, 
 ' why should we be slain ? — we have done no wrong. 
 
 ' Ought not that consideration to be our greatesN 
 tiappiness ? ' replied the king. ' Would not our guil- 
 ty uncle, think you, at this moment give the irowo
 
 120 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 tvhich he has purchased with a thousand crirLes, to be 
 able to say what you have said ? ' 
 
 ' Oh I but it is so hard tu die — and we are so 
 young ! ' said the weeping prince. 
 
 ' Would it not have been better for my uncle Glou- 
 cester, if he had been cut off like his brother Rutland, 
 whik innocent like him?' asked Edward. 
 
 ' Oh ! yes, but we should never become as wicked 
 as our uncle Gloucester.' 
 
 ' Ah ! Richard, how can you speak so confidently ? ' 
 replied the king. ' ' The heart is deceitful above all 
 ♦hings, and desperately wicked. Who can know it ? * 
 We have never experienced the temptations to which 
 that unhappy man has yielded, and doubtless it is in 
 mercy to us both that we are removed from the al- 
 lurements of pleasure, the seductions of ambition, and 
 the intoxications of power, for which perishing delu- 
 sions we might have imperilled our immortal souls, 
 and forfeited that incorruptible inheritance which fa- 
 deth not away, for the enjoyment of which I humbly 
 hope our Heavenly Father is preparing us, through 
 the chastening of many sorrows. Let us, my brother, 
 acknowledge his goodness in all his dispensations, and 
 count the loss of all earthly things as gain, for the 
 hope that is set before us ; for the light afflictions o^ 
 ibis present time tire not to be compared with the e 
 ternal weight of glory which shall be revealed.'
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 121 
 
 And now the. royal brothers appeared forgotten by 
 the whole world ; ignorant of every thing that passed 
 beyond the narrow confines of their lonely chamber 
 they passed their time in prayer and devotional exer 
 cises there, for they were no longer permitted to at 
 tend divine service in the chapel, lest their appearance 
 should continue to remind people that they were in ex- 
 istence, which their usurping uncle was desirous of 
 having wholly forgotten ; and well he calculated on 
 the fickleness of popular feeling, which, however pow- 
 erfully excited for a time, is so evanescent in its na- 
 ture, that it rarely outlives the nine days' wonder. 
 
 The mild and heavenly demeanor of the captive 
 king had created a strong interest for him in the heart 
 of Sir Robert Brackenburv, who was accustomed to 
 see him every day, and to ofTer him many little cour- 
 tesies, which were very acceptable to those deserted 
 children of royalty at a time when they felt them- 
 selves abandoned by every former friend. But his 
 visits were suddenly discontinued, and when the cap- 
 tive princes inquired of their attendant why they did 
 not see Sir Robert Brackenbury as usual, he replied, 
 
 ' He is no longer lieutenant of the Tower.' 
 
 ' And who has succeeded to his office?' demanded 
 the king. 
 
 ' One master James Tirrel has the keys now, * re-
 
 122 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 plied the man, with a look of peculiar meaning : 1 
 don't think he is called the lieutenant of the Tower, 
 though we are to obey his orders.' 
 
 A fearful suspicion of the cause for which Sir Rob- 
 ert Brackenbury had been removed, and a person of 
 no reckoning inducted into an office of such responsi- 
 bility as the control of the Tower, involving as it did 
 the charge of state prisoners of their importance, 
 flashed at once on the minds of both the princes; and 
 exchanging a look of mournful intelligence, as soon 
 as the attendant had withdrawn they enfolded each 
 other in a long and sad embrace ; then kneeling down 
 together, they solemnly prepared themselves for the 
 awful change which they felt awaited them. 
 
 The king had long been convinced of the vanity 
 and insufficiency of all earthly things ; he had expe- 
 rienced many a bitter lesson of the fickleness and 
 treachery of a world which had at first appeared in 
 such flattering colors, and as if only made for him, 
 but which had abandoned him on the first reverse of 
 changing fortune. His young heart was now weaned 
 from its delusions, and had learned to fix its hopes 
 where only true joys are to be found. Yet the im- 
 mediate prospect of death, either by open violence or 
 midnight murder, was terrible to him, and the thought 
 that his little brother would undoubtedly be involved 
 in the same dismal fate, increased the agony with
 
 ROYAL BROTHERS. 123 
 
 which shuddering nature contemplated the probability 
 of their impending doom. The anguish too with 
 wh.ch the fond heart of his afflicted mother would be 
 pierced, when the dreadful intelligence should reach 
 her, recurred to his mind, and the idea of her unpro- 
 tected desolate state, and that of his helpless sisters, 
 filled his eyes with tears, and increased in a tenfold 
 degree the bitterness of death. Yet in that hour of 
 sore distress, though sorrowful, he was not forsaken ; 
 a calm, a heavenly calm, the result of deep and fer- 
 vent prayer, succeeded in his soul to the tumultuous 
 tempest of earthly griefs and earthly cares with which 
 it had been agitated. The dove-like wings of hope 
 and faith were then expanded, and his heavenward 
 spirit appeared eager to flee away and be at rest. 
 
 His devotions, and those of his little brother, were 
 prolonged that night to a very late hour, and, after re- 
 commending themselves, their widowed mother, their 
 orphan sisters, and all friends who might still remem- 
 ber them or who suffered for their sakes, to the pro- 
 tection of that merciful God whose all-seeing eye 
 watches over the meanest of his creatures, likewise 
 entreating his forgiveness for all who had injured 
 them, not excepting their cruel uncle, in behalf of 
 whom King Edward, after some little difficulty, at 
 length prevailed upon his less placable brother to join 
 him in a solemn petition for forgiveness at the throne
 
 124 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 of grace, they both sought that bed which tvas? so soon 
 ♦,0 be their grave. 
 
 * The peace of God, which passeth all understand- 
 ing,' was in the hearts of the youthful twain. Fa- 
 tigued with the unusual length and fervency of their 
 devotions, in spite of their consciousness that the 
 snares of death encompassed them about, they soon, 
 entwined in each other's arms, sunk into a sleep so 
 calm and profound, that the entrance of the murder- 
 ous ruffians who came commissioned to cut short the 
 thread of their pure and harmless lives disturbed 
 them not. And so touching, so beautiful was the pic- 
 ture of brotherly love and holy innocence which the 
 gentle pair presented in their serene repose, their 
 heads resting on the same pillow, on which laid the 
 breviary book they had been so lately perusing, thati 
 as one of the murderers afterwards confessed, ' it 
 shook his guilty purpose,' and had it not been for the 
 taunts and threats of his more obdurate companion, 
 he could not have perpetrated the crime of crushing 
 two such sweet and hopeful blossoms in the bud. 
 Yet both the ministers of death agreed in performing 
 their barbarous commission with a comparative exer- 
 cise of mercy, for they were careful not to alarm theii 
 gentle victims by rudely startling them from that calm 
 repose, which the murderous work of one irrecovera- 
 ble moment converted into the sleep of death and dis*
 
 ROSTAL BROTHERS. 125 
 
 jxiissed the pure spirits of these royal brothers to the 
 enjoyment of that heavenly kingdom, for which the 
 perilous, and to them fatal distinctions of earthly 
 greatn^^ss, had been cheaply exchanged
 
 f |e Cljiise of Marcliitnr. 
 
 THE STORT OF KING EDWARD THE MARTY*. 
 
 On the death of Edgar the Second, sirnamed the 
 Peaceable, England was distracted by the contentions 
 of two adverse factions respecting the choice of a suc- 
 cessor to the crown. 
 
 At the head of the most powerful party, distin- 
 guished by the name of the Dunstanites, was the fa- 
 mous Archbishop Dunstan,* who supported the title 
 of Edward the Atheling, or prince royal, the eldest 
 son of the deceased monarch by his first wife. The 
 other faction, called the Anti-Dunstanites, were the 
 partizans of the queen dowager, the beautiful but 
 wicked Elfrida, who was ambitious of placing her 
 young son Ethelred on the throne, and governing in 
 his name during a long minority. But while the 
 whole nation was divided and involved in civil discord 
 en this point, and the most deadly hatred agitated the 
 minds of those who espoused the rival claims of the 
 Bons of Edgar, it is an interesting fact that the youth 
 
 * Some account of this celebrated statesman and ecclesiastK wi ) b« 
 band in the Historical Summarv.
 
 WAREHAM CHASE. 12" 
 
 ful princes, though only brothers by the half blood 
 were united in the tenderest bonds of love. 
 
 Edward, who had just completed his fourteenth 
 year, had been named by his father as his successor 
 The right of primogeniture was his also, and in the 
 Witenagemot, or great national council, the eloquence 
 and influence of the two archbishops, Dunstan and 
 Oswald, obtained a formal recognition of tho5e rights, 
 and Prince Edward was, in conformity to the will 
 of his deceased father, placed on the throne of the 
 Anglo Saxons. 
 
 At the tender age of seven years the baleful pas- 
 sion of ambition had no place in the then guileless 
 heart of the younger prince. Unconscious of the 
 charms of royalty, of which he had as yet only expe- 
 rienced the restraints, the loss of a kingdom was not 
 to him matter of either disappointment or regret. 
 The only sorrow of which the Witenagemot was pro- 
 ductive to him was his separation from that beloved 
 elder brother, in whose affectionate bosom he had, 
 from his earliest remembrance, been wont to repose 
 his childish joys and griefs, and who had been his 
 companion, his guide, and his own svA'eet familiar 
 friend. Never were the soothing kindness and fond 
 endearments he had been accustomed to receive from 
 the princely Edward so much required by the Ethel- 
 red as at this period, when all the evil passions of hi»
 
 128 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 haughty inother's nature had been roused and called 
 into baleful activity during her late attempts to sup- 
 plant her royal step-son ; and, having been foiled in 
 her endeavours to usurp the royal authority in Ethel- 
 red's name, she vented her mortification and baffled 
 rage on the unfortunate object of her maternal ambi- 
 tion and defeated machinations. 
 
 Weak in body and feeble in mind, Ethelred had 
 evidently been designed by nature for a private sta- 
 tion, and these constitutional defects frequently sub- 
 jected him to the bitterest reproaches and most inju- 
 rious treatment from the imperious Elfrida, w^hose 
 unrestrained violence of temper rendered her at all 
 times an object of terror to him, although occasionally 
 experiencing the most pernicious indulgence from her 
 when caprice inclined her to fondness. 
 
 Child as he was, Ethelred was only too painfully 
 aware of the evil traits of his mother's character, and, 
 since he had been deprived by death of his natural 
 protector, and afterwards separated from his affection- 
 ate brother, he seemed to tremble at the sound of hei 
 step, and sought at all times to avoid her presence, 
 while he beheld with jealous displeasure the caresses 
 she bestowed on her little cankered dwarf Wulstan, 
 whose droll tricks an.i impish mischief occasionally 
 possessed the power of diverting the black gloom that 
 oppressed her, after she had been compelled to resip-
 
 vvareha:\i chase. 129 
 
 ihe gaiety and splendor of the court for a solitary res- 
 dence in Corfe Castle, one of the royal demesnes in 
 Dorsetshire, which had been the favorite hunting pal- 
 ace of her late husband King Edgar, who had been 
 accustomed to spend much of his time there ; and 
 thither Elfrida had been allowed by her generous 
 step-son to retire, with her sou Prince Ethelred and 
 a train suitable to the dignity of his father's widow 
 Instead of being moved by the kindness and forbear- 
 ance of the young king, Elfrida continued in secret 
 her treasonable practices against him. She had al- 
 ready sacrificed her first husband Ethelbald to her 
 ambition, and she only waited for a suitable opportu- 
 nity of attempting the life of Edward. The Arch- 
 bishop Dunstan was, however, fully aware of her cru- 
 el and perfidious disposition, and he strictly guarded 
 his royal pupil from all her machinations and conspi- 
 racies against his person, and warned him perpetually 
 against the imprudence of either admitting her to vis- 
 it the court, or trusting himself in the vicinity of hei 
 abode. So implicitly had the cautions of Dunstan 
 been attended to by those about the young king, that 
 for a period of three years he had been prevented 
 from holding the slightest intercourse with Elfrida 
 nnd her son. 
 
 But the affectionate heart of Edward yearned to- 
 ft'ards his younger brother, whom he earnestly desired
 
 130 HISTORICAL TALKS. 
 
 to en.ibrace once more. The cares of royalty, the 
 sceptre of a divided realm, and the severe restraints 
 and self-sacrifices imposed upon him by his austere 
 out faithful guardian Dunstan, were grievous to the 
 youthful monarch, who, in addition to these, was com 
 pelled to submit to the stern discipline of a monastic 
 education ; and the mode in which learning was com- 
 municated in those days was equally fatiguing to ^he 
 preceptor and painful to the pupil. Elementary books 
 were not then written to facilitate the progress of ed- 
 ucation. There were not above three copies of a 
 meagre dictionary in existence in England, and les- 
 sons were learned from dictation, till by frequent rep- 
 etition the student committed them to memory, or, ac- 
 cording to the ancient phrase, " got them by heart." 
 
 These indispositions were distasteful to the young 
 king, and were often sadly contrasted by him with 
 the pleasures and joyous freedom of his early years, 
 before his accession to the regal dignity had burdened 
 him with the heavy fetters of state and deprived him 
 of the amusements of his age, and above all of the 
 company of his brother Ethelred, his tenderly-beloved 
 living plaything. 
 
 The royal manor and Castle of Corfe had been, as 
 I said before, the favorite residence of the deceased 
 king his father, during whosu reign it had been a con- 
 stant scene of gaiety and fer/cvity. The happy .'1«>v'J
 
 WAREIIAM CHASE. 131 
 
 of Edward's childhood had been spent there, and 
 wh'.in he compared the gloomy routine and fatiguing 
 employments of his present mode of life with the 
 sweet remembrances of that pleasant time, he felt dis- 
 posed to regard the demesne of the queen dowager 
 as a sort of Eden, contrasted with which the rest of 
 his kinsfdom was but an extensive wilderness. 
 
 This desire of revisiting the scenes of his infancy, 
 "his home," as he emphatically styled Corfe Castle, 
 became more pressing in proportion as it was resisted 
 by his inexorable guardian and the rest of the wise 
 counsellors by whose decision he, while a minor, was 
 compelled to abide, and he secretly resolved to em- 
 brace the first opportunity that might occur for the 
 gratification of his wish. 
 
 Meantime, unremitting application to the laborious 
 studies and public duties which Dunstan enjoined, 
 impatience of the restraints imposed upon him, and 
 above all, his incessant pining for the beloved scenes, 
 and companion of his childhood, produced a visible 
 change in his health. His fading cheek, heavy eye, 
 and languid appearance, at length attracted the atten- 
 tion of Dunstan, who, in common with most ecclesi- 
 astics of that period, possessed a considerable knowl- 
 edge of physic, and was desirous of administering to 
 his royal pupil a medicine which he considered migh 
 be efficacious to him.
 
 132 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 ' It is of no avail,' said Edward, rejecting as ne 
 spoke the proffered cup, ' it iy not a nauseous com- 
 pound of drugs that will restore me to heallK. It is 
 the divertisements, the relaxations, and the companion- 
 ships of my age that I require.' 
 
 ' Know you not, 0, king ! that as the lord of a 
 mighty nation you are called upon to put away child- 
 ish things, and to employ your precious time in fitting 
 yourself for the performance of the important duties 
 which pertain to your exalted station ? ' said the arch- 
 bishop. 
 
 ' Ah ! station full of sorrow ! ' exclaimed the young 
 King, ' how gladly would I exchange its gilded fetters 
 for the healthful toils and envied freedom of a shep- 
 herd boy ! ' 
 
 ' In the same sinful spirit of discontent and rebel- 
 lion against the dispensations of the Most High, thou 
 wouldst have coveted regal dignity, hadst thou been 
 doomed to bear the hardships and privations of a 
 herdsman's lot,' replied the archbishop, 
 
 ' I could endure them all patiently, yea joyfully, 
 were I permitted to breathe the fresh free air of dale 
 and down in liberty,' rejoined the youthful moriarch, 
 •and to solace myself with the company of one dear 
 fan"i]iar friend, were it but a day.' 
 
 ' Thou art a perverse boy, and knowest not the val- 
 oe of a real friend when thou hast found one,' said
 
 WAREIIAM CHASE. 133 
 
 DunsthTi repioachfuUy. ' Thou deer.iest me harsh, 
 and my counsels bitter, because, instead of dissem- 
 bling with thy folly, I labor to convince thee that a 
 king is the property of the nation that permits his au- 
 thority, and that it behoves him to sacrifice his dear- 
 est wishes where they interfere with the duty he owes 
 to his people.' 
 
 ' Nay, but, my father,' said Edward, ' my present 
 desire is so simple in its nature, that it concerneth no 
 one beside myself, or 1 would not urge it.' 
 
 ' It is, I know, of no avail to reason with thy per- 
 versity, to-day,' said Dunstan impatiently. ' What 
 wouldst thou ? ' 
 
 ' I would fain hunt the deer in my royal chase of 
 Wareham,' replied the king in a hurried voice, being 
 awed by the stern manner of his preceptor into dis- 
 sembling half his wish. 
 
 'Is that all?' demanded Dunstan, fixmg his pene- 
 trating eye upon the varying cheek of the youthful 
 king; 'thou mightest well call thine a simple wish, 
 and if thou hadst added foolish thou hadst not said 
 amiss.' 
 
 ' I knew thou wouldst call it so, my Lord Archbish- 
 op,' said the king turning away. 
 
 ' Nay, Edward, nay, this is mere childishness,' re- 
 sumed the archbishop, taking the feverish hand of hisi 
 12
 
 l34 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 royal charge, ' if hunting the deer be thy desire, far 
 be it from me to withstand thee in such a trifle, espec- 
 ially as thou ihinkest the fresh air and jocund exercise 
 of following the hound and horn will restore thy 
 health and spirits ; but why shouldst thou speak of 
 ihe distant woods of Wareham for thy divertisement, 
 when thou hast thy royal and wide extended forest 
 and chase of Waltham so close to thy loving city ot 
 London, that thou mayest enjoy goodly pastime there 
 this very day, with thy noble thanes, and earldormen 
 and trusty burgesses for thy company and guards ? ' 
 
 ' No,' replied the king, ' I love not to seek my game 
 amidst such gaping crowds of idle followers, and I 
 will not hunt at Waltham to-day.' 
 
 ' Thou shalt find goodly sport in the fair forests of 
 Windsor, if thou wilt seek it there,' said Dunstan, ' or 
 in thy chase at Sheen, or at Greenwich and the Black- 
 heath.' 
 
 ' I do not incline to hunt at Windsor,' replied the 
 King, ' nor yet at Sheen, nor Greenwich, nor the 
 Black-heath, nor any where but at Wareham, where 
 my royal father was wont to rouse the deer.' 
 
 ' Wareham is too near to Corfe Castle, the abode of 
 the bold bad woman, thy ga'''eful stepdame Elfrida,' 
 replied Dunstan. * tt is a vicinity fraught with peri 
 .0 thee, and thou shalt not go thither, Edward.'
 
 WAKEHAM CHASE. 135 
 
 Edward was sad and sullen during th( remainder 
 cf the day. 
 
 The next morning there was an evide at access ol 
 the low fever that hung about the young kirig ; he 
 was languid ana dispirited, and would neither attend 
 to his studies, nor enter into any of the little plans 
 laid out for his amusement by his courtiers at Dun 
 stall's instigation. 
 
 When Dunstan perceived this, and observed that 
 his royal pupil sickened and rejected his food from 
 day to day, he said to him again, ' Edward, what 
 wouldst thou ? ' 
 
 ' J told thee before,' replied the youth, ' but it was 
 in vain, that I did but desire to breathe the sweet air 
 of the Dorsetshire hills and downs, and to hunt the 
 deer in my pleasant woods of Wareham, and lo! thou 
 didst refuse me this little thing.' 
 
 ' Because I saw thou wert like a foolish bird, wil- 
 fully bent on falling into the snare of the cunning 
 fowler,' returned Dunstan, ' and I know thou hast now 
 only revealed a part of thy purpose, which is to visit 
 Corfe Castle.' 
 
 A deep blush overspread the pale cheek of the 
 young king, as he protested that he had no such in- 
 ienlion. 
 
 ' I fear thou dost dissemble with thy true friend, 
 King Edward,' said the archbishop. ' In troth, mv
 
 13() HISTOR CAL TALE5 
 
 son, ;t is only natural that thou shouldst desire to em 
 brace thy brother Elheh-ed ; but give up this wild 
 whim of thine, and I will send for the young prince 
 to London when a convenient season shall befall.' 
 
 A feeling of false shame withheld the king from ac- 
 Rnowledging that he had not dealt candidly in the 
 matter, and he redoubled his protestations that his 
 whole desire was simply to spend a few days in hun- 
 ting the game in Wareham forest, which thing he pray- 
 ed the Archbishop not to deny him.' 
 
 ' Thou shalt go,' said Dunstan after a long pause, 
 'but on condition that thou dost not visit Corfe Castle, 
 nor hold any intercourse with the Queen Elfrida, nor 
 any of her people.' 
 
 Edward accepted the terms, but in the secret hope 
 that accident would bring him to a sight of his broth- 
 er without a direct violation of his promise. 
 
 ' The word of a king ought to be an obligation 
 more sacred than the oath of another man,' said Dun- 
 stan when they parted ; ' as you observe yours, so be 
 vour speed, my son.' 
 
 Indisposition, languor, and melancholy, were alike 
 forgotten by Edward, when, with a gallant train of 
 nobles and gentles, attended by jolly hunters and fal- 
 coners, with hawks and hounds, he left London to fol- 
 ow the sj'van sports in the fair wolds and vales d 
 Dorsetshire.
 
 AVAREHAM CHASE. 137 
 
 They set fjrth with merry blasts of horni, baying 
 of hounds, prancing of steeds, waving of plumes and 
 brcidered scarfs and mantles, jingling of falcon bells 
 and blithesome caroling of jocund voices, so that all 
 who met them paused to admire their goodly array 
 and sprightly cheer; but Dunstan beheld the depar- 
 ture of his royal charge with a sort of prophetic fear 
 which he could neither repress nor hide. 
 
 ' Thou goest, Edward,' said he, when he bestowed 
 his parting blessing upon him — * thou goest like a fool- 
 ish bird from beneath its mother's wing ere it be fully 
 fledged for flight ; God grant that thou escape the 
 jaws of the serpent that are even now expanded to de 
 vour thee.' 
 
 Edward was touched, and indeed surprised, at the 
 pathetic tendernesss of his stern preceptor's solemn 
 farewell ; for Dunstan was an austere man, who, gen- 
 erally speaking, appeared dead to all human affections, 
 and insensible to the softer emotions of the human 
 heart. Yet now he folded the young king in his arms, 
 and wept over him like a mother over the child of her 
 bosom, who is about to be torn from her for ever. 
 
 Edward's purpose was shaken, and for a moment 
 he felt disposed to forego his long- wished and eager- 
 ly-antjcipaled journey, but the ;.e .iptation was loo 
 strong to be thus easily resign-c'/ Ii is a difTicivU
 
 138 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 matter for young people, especially piinces, to know 
 who are thdir real friends. The young king, who had 
 always been accustomed in his childhood to receive 
 deceitful flattery and caresses from Elfrida, could not 
 prevail upon himself, notwithstanding her treasonable 
 attempts to supplant him in the succession, to regard 
 her as a personal enemy. He knew her to be am- 
 bitious, but he could not believe that she was wicked ; 
 on the contrary, he excused her conspiring to exclude 
 him from the throne on the plea of her natural prefer- 
 ence for her own son, and he secretly considered Dun 
 Stan's opinions respecting her as harsh and injurious, 
 although he had never ventured in direct terms to tell 
 him so. The archbishop, though tenderly attached to 
 his pupil, and laboring incessantly to promote his in- 
 terest, was too stern and unbending a character to 
 study to please him. He had a plain and uncomprom- 
 ising manner of reproving his faults and telling him 
 unwelcome truths, which had the effect of wounding 
 his self-love and offending his pride. 
 
 It is a correct observation, that people will sooner 
 forgive a serious injury than overlook an affront, and 
 Edward, although his step-mother had endeavored to 
 deprive him of a throne, was inclined to regard her more 
 in the light of a friend than the man who had success- 
 fully vindicated his rights, and watched day and night 
 for his weal. But then, Elfrida had flattered his foibles.
 
 WAREHAM CHASE. 139 
 
 and during his father's life had procured him a thou- 
 siind improper indulgences ; while Dunstan controled 
 his inclinations wherever he considered it for his in- 
 terest so to do, and subjected him to the restraints of 
 a useful and virtuous education. 
 
 It was with feelings of the deepest regret that this 
 faithful guardian consented to the departure of his 
 royal pupil, especially as he considered it incompati- 
 ble with his sacred calling, venerable age, and high 
 vocation, to accompany the court on a hunting party. 
 To the best of his power he provided against any im- 
 prudence on the p:irt of the young king, by surround- 
 ing his person with a sufficient number of grave and 
 'ncorruptible counsellors, whose wisdom and author- 
 ity he hoped would restrain the vivacity and rash dar- 
 ing of that gay company. 
 
 The impression of his guardian's solem i warning 
 and unwonted tears at parting remained for some 
 days on the mind of the young king, and strengthened 
 his resolution of doing nothing in direct violation of 
 his promise, though he continued to indulge a secret 
 hope that some lucky chance might afford him the 
 pleasure of an interview with Prince Ethelred and the 
 Queen, for he certainly cherished a desire of seeing 
 the guileful Elfrida as well as her son. Wareham 
 Chase was only six miles distant from Corfe Castle, 
 and, contrary to the advice of the ?age monit.irs to
 
 140 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 whom the archbishop had delegated hij trust, he ion 
 tinned to follow the game in that vicinity 
 
 One day, when he had, as much by design as acci 
 dent, outridden his train in pursuit of a white doe of 
 peculiar beauty and fleetness, he perceived through a 
 forest vista the towers of Corfe Castle rising in the 
 distance, over wood and vale, like the gray crown of 
 the richly-varied landscape. 
 
 At that sight a thousand sweet and pleasant remem- 
 brances of his early days, connected with that beioved 
 spot, rushed to the mind of the youngjving, and filled 
 his eyes with tears. The boisterous excitement of 
 the chase was forgotten, and, dropping his silken bri- 
 dle on the neck of his gallant gray, he gave himself 
 up to pensive and regretful feelings on the subject of 
 its being denied him to revisit the home of his child- 
 hood. 
 
 'And thou, my fair-haired brother,' said he, 'who 
 art now perchance tossing the ball in the castle court, 
 or chasing the butterfly from flower to flower over the 
 garden lawns and gay parterres, in the thoughtless 
 glee of thine happy age, thou thinkest not, I ween, 
 that the fond brother in whose bosom thou wert won? 
 so oft to nestle when tired with playful gambols, is so 
 near, if indeed thou dost still remember him.' 
 
 While the young king was still indulging in these 
 »houghts a strange sharp cry near him caused him to
 
 WAREHAM CHASE. l4l 
 
 look round, when, to his surprise, a grotesque little 
 creature, that appeared neither like a child nor an ani- 
 mal, but something between both, sprang out of a 
 thicket near him, and coiling itself up in the form i 
 a ball, rolled down the hill before him. Edward's cu- 
 riosity was excited, and he spurred his horse forward 
 to overtake it, but when the creature perceived his in- 
 tention, he bounded up, and erecting himself to his 
 full height, which did not appear to be above two feet. 
 }ie wnirled his long lean arms aloft, and clapping his 
 hands above his head, uttered a cry so long and shrill 
 that it pierced the king's ears with a painful sensation, 
 and was answered back by a thousand echoes from 
 grot and hill, in the deep solitude of Wareham forest. 
 The tales of malign fairies and woodland imps were 
 then in common belief, and the young king thought it 
 possible that this singular creature, whom he had thus 
 unexpectedly encountered, might be one of these mys- 
 terious beings of whom he had heard so much. But 
 then he had also a shadowy remembrance of having 
 seen in his early childhood a sprightly animal that 
 bore a grotesque resemblance, both in form and face, 
 to a diminutive man, vvhich played a thousand antic 
 tricks, and was greatly caressed by the queen and her 
 ladies ; but it had either been stolen or made its es- 
 cape from the pala:e of Corfe into the neighboring 
 woods ani though a period of nine or ten years hari
 
 142 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 elapsp'i since thi? event, King Edward wis simple en 
 Dugh to believe that this was the veritaUe creature 
 whose 'oss had been so deeply lamented by all the pa^ 
 g-es and females of the royal household, and he deter- 
 mined to overtake it, if possible, whether it were mon- 
 Icey, fairy, or imp. 
 
 But the object of his pursuit, however diminutive 
 in person, was more than a match in swiftness of foot 
 for the fleet hunter on which the king was mounted, 
 and, like the goblin page in Sir Walter Scott's Lay 
 of the Last Minstrel, where Edward ' rode one mile 
 he ran four,' yet with provoking subtlety he continued 
 always to keep in sight, as if he enjoyed the race and 
 wished to continue it. Sometimes, when he had 
 climbed a hill, whose steep rugged ascent was scaled 
 with difficulty by the royal steed, he paused on the 
 brow, laughing with malicious glee, and swinging 
 himself from bough to bough among the embowering 
 trees, till the king was nearly upon him, then darting 
 forward with the speed of an arrow, he resumed his 
 flight, and in a few minutes distanced his pursuer. 
 Sometimes, when Edward thought he had entirely 
 lost all trace of the tantalizing elf, and was meditating 
 how he should recover the track from which he had 
 io widely deviated, he heard the same sharp shrill cry 
 that had first announced his appearance close to hij 
 ear, and perceived a round rough hef'd, covered with
 
 WAREHAM CHASE. 143 
 
 shaggy brown locks of t?ingled ..a r, through which 
 peered a pair of small keen black eyes, peeping ainidsi 
 the foliage or clustering ivy of some gnarled oak that 
 wreathed its low fantastic arms across the path, from 
 which, as soon as he perceived he was observed, he 
 leaped with a sudden bound, and clapping his hands 
 and shouting at the top of his voice, started away a- 
 gain down some opening glade of the forest, leaving 
 horse and rider far behind. Both were now thorough- 
 ly hot and weary ; the young king, who bad been on 
 horseback ever since daybreak, and fasting withal, 
 thought of giving up this unprofitable chase as a mat- 
 ter of necessity, on account of the jaded condition of 
 his good steed, and his own fatigue and faintness. 
 But the object of his pursuit appeared in still worse 
 plight, limped as if krrj8, and sometimes rested on the 
 green turf as if thoroughly exhausted, weeping and ut- 
 tering low moaning plaints, and King Edward thought 
 he was now secure of his prize, especially as they 
 had reached the farthest boundary of the forest, and 
 were on the verge of an open park, towards which 
 the urchin began to creep on all fours, occasionally rol- 
 ling himself over and over at a great rale. 
 
 ' This,' thouf ht the young king, ' is his last efTort, 
 'Old I shall presently overtake him on the plain when 
 nee he loses the vantage of the underwood and thick 
 ets • and lest he should alarm him into plunging i
 
 144 HISTORICAL T(lLE3. 
 
 midst Its tangled mazes once n\ore, he followed him 
 at a cautious distance till he emerged from the forest 
 shades, and proceeded at a gentle pace across the 
 park, the enclosure of -which they had entered. 
 
 Edward had been led on from glade to glade through 
 the green mead, in his eager pursuit of the wily ur- 
 chin, without pausing to examine the scenery through 
 which he rode, or he might: possibly have recognised 
 many objects familiar to him in days past ; nor was 
 it till he had leaped the enclosure of the park, and 
 looked round, that he discov^ered he was in the imme- 
 diate vicinity, almost at the gates of Corfe Castle, 
 which rose before him in all its well remembered re- 
 gal grandeur, as in the days when his father, King 
 Edgar, kept court there. The intermediate time, the 
 important events that had since befallen the youthful 
 monarch, the solemn warning of his guardian against 
 his venturing near this much loved abode of his child- 
 hood, and his own promise not to do so, were alike 
 forgotten by King Edward when he found himself so 
 unexpectedly on the spot to which he had, in fact, 
 been artfully allured by Wulstan, the queen's dwarf, 
 the mishappen little elf, who had led him such a wea- 
 ry chase through the forest, and now, uttering an imp- 
 ish yell, fled down the broad avenue of oaks that led 
 to the castle with the speed cf a lapwing, and seizing 
 the bugle that hung at the portal, blew a blast tha
 
 WAREHAM CHASE 145 
 
 drew all the inhabitants to the windows and balcories 
 to learn the meaning of the summons. 
 
 The king, perceiving that it would now be impossible 
 for him to withdraw unobserved, considered that it 
 would have a very mean appearance if, after having 
 been seen on the demesne of Queen Elfrida, he re- 
 treated without paying his respects to her ; and by no 
 means regretting that the rules of courtesy would af- 
 ford an excuse to himself for departing from a prom- 
 ise which had been so reluctantly wrung from him, he 
 advanced towards the castle. 
 
 The queen, who was perfectly aware of his ap- 
 proach, hastened to the gates to receive him, and offer- 
 ing him the homage of her knee, entreated him, ' to 
 enter and partake of the banquet which she had pre- 
 pared in anticipation of this visit, on hearing that he 
 was hunting the deer in the neighboring forest of 
 \Vareham.' 
 
 Notwithstanding the fascinating sweetness of the 
 queen's address, and the persuasive softness of her 
 voice and language, there was an expression lurking 
 in the sidelong glance of her large blue eye, and 
 something in the deceitful blandishment of her voice 
 and manner, that, in spite of his partial opinion of her 
 character, recalled the archbishop's impressive warn*
 
 146 HISTORICAL TALES, 
 
 iiig, and gave the king an idea that she meditated 
 some sinister design. 
 
 This secret misgiving induced him to decline enter- 
 ing the castle, ' on account,' he said, ' of the lateness 
 of the hour, and the expediency of his returning im- 
 mediately to Wareham, lest his court should take the 
 alarm at his protracted absence.' 
 
 ' Thou art hot and weary, my royal lord,' replied 
 the queen, respectfully kissing the hand of the youth- 
 ful monarch, ' and thou wilt not surely depart till thou 
 hast, at least, tasted a cup of spiced hippocras, if thou 
 wilt not feast with me to-day.' 
 
 Edward was not willing to offend the queen by de- 
 clining this offer, especially as he was fatigued, and 
 stood in need of refreshment, and was, moreover, too 
 much inclined to linger near the much-loved abode ot 
 his childhood; and while Eifrida took the silver gob- 
 let from her bower maiden, who stood holding it on a 
 richly chased salver, he eagerly inquired for his young 
 brother. 
 
 ' Thy servant, Ethelred, is sick within the castle, or 
 he had come with me to the gate to offer homage to 
 his lord,' replied the queen. ' He hath long pined iot 
 thy presence, like a plant that hath been Jepri\ed of 
 sunshine.' 
 
 ' Send quickly, my lady mother, and t'eiVb h' <
 
 WAREHAM CHASE. 147 
 
 f.iiher,' exclaimed the king : ' I also have panted to 
 embrace him.' 
 
 ' Brhik hael*- first, my gracious lord,' replied El- 
 frida, presenting the cup to the king. 
 
 He received it with a smile, and bowing courteous 
 !y to the queen, repeated the accustomed salutation of 
 ' Waes hael,' and raised it to his lips, but the same 
 moment he felt the stab of an assassin's dagger from 
 behind. He dropped the fatal goblet from his hand, 
 and cast a look of keen but silent reproach on his per- 
 fidious step-mother ; but ere he could recover his bri- 
 dle rein, to turn his steed for flight, the deadly thrust 
 was repeated, and his treacherous assailants closed 
 about him to prevent his escape. 
 
 Indignation at the deep-laid iniquity of the snare 
 into which he had suffered himself to fall thus easily, 
 rendered the young king insensible for a moment to 
 the smart of his wounds; but fully aware of the des- 
 peration of his situation, he struck the rowels into the 
 sides of his mettled gray, and the good steed, as if e- 
 qually conscious of his master's peril, with one gal- 
 lant bound broke through the murderous circle, and 
 dashed across the plain with the speed of an arrow 
 just discharged from the bow, and presently distanced 
 
 • The Saxon phrase for drinking health, from which expreision that onc« 
 general cuatom was derived, which means, *' Wish Iiealth," or " I wirt 
 your health."
 
 148 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 •he pursuit of the traitors, who continued to I, 'ace th« 
 course the wounded king had taken by the red Hfe- 
 drops that tracked his path through the forest. 
 
 The last sound that fell on Edward's ear was the 
 piercing cry of a child in mingled grief and terror, — 
 it was the voice of his brother Ethelred, who, on be- 
 holding the barbarous deed from a window of the cas- 
 tle, filled the air with his shrieks and lamentations. 
 The assurances of his guilty mother, that it was for 
 his sake, and to make him a king, that the crime had 
 been perpetrated, instead of consoling him, increased 
 his distress to such a passionate degree, that the queen, 
 who considered his tears a reproach to herself, becom- 
 ing infuriated at what she styled his unseasonable sor- 
 row, threw herself upon him, and beat him in so vio- 
 lent a manner* that it was for some time a matter of 
 doubt to those about her whether she had not slain her 
 own son in the ungovernable transport of her rage, — 
 that son, for whose advancement she had the moment 
 previous caused so deadly a crime to be per])etrated in 
 her very presence. 
 
 The unfortunate Edward meantime, though he had 
 succeeded in outstripping the pursuit of his ruthless 
 enemies, was sensible of the approach of a foe w^hom 
 
 ♦ " With a wax altar taper," says the Saxon chroniclerg, " that being 
 Iho first weapon that fell in the way of this furious and un easonabia 
 iroman."
 
 WAREHAM CHASE. 149 
 
 he could neither resist nor flee from. Life ebbed a- 
 pace from his unstaunched wounds, the landscape 
 reeled in confusion before his swimming eyes, he 
 struggled with the deiidly faintness that was stealing 
 over him, and labored to rally his failing powers ; but 
 the hand of death was heavy at his heart ; the reins 
 cropped from his relaxing grasp, and he fell from the 
 saddle to the ground. 
 
 It is related that the foot unfortunately catching in 
 the stirrup, the body of the king, whether dead or liv- 
 ing is not exactly known, w^as much mangled, in con- 
 sequence of being dragged at a rapid rate along the 
 ground by the terrified horse, which at length stopped 
 of his own accord, at the gate of a blind widow's cot- 
 tage. This lonely woman, notwithstanding the depri- 
 vation of sight under which she labored, ascertained 
 that some fatal accident had befallen the unfortunate 
 youth, and though ignorant of his rank, she humane- 
 ly carried the bleeding body into her humble dwelling, 
 and laid it on her own bed, while she hastened to pro- 
 cure assistance. 
 
 The wicked Elfrida, whose emissaries had tracked 
 the horse to this place, sought to conceal her crime by 
 causing the corpse of the murdered king to be thrown 
 down a deep well ; but there, in consequence of the 
 evidence of the blind widow, it was presently discov*
 
 150 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 ered by his sorrowful friends, and her guilt was pro« 
 claimed to the whole world, by the indignant Arch 
 bishop Dunstan, at the coronation of her son Ethel- 
 red, and he then predicted that a crown so obtained 
 could never prosper with the descendants of this bad 
 woman. 
 
 The high rank of the queen protected her from the 
 punishment due to her crime ; but she was regarded 
 with hatred and contempt by all mankind ; and feel- 
 ing herself an object of horror to her own son, for 
 whose advancement she had perpetrated this barba- 
 rous deed, and above all, tormented by the fearful 
 stings of her own accusing conscience, she retired to 
 the gloomy shades of a convent, where she spent the 
 residue of her days, vainly endeavoring, by constani 
 oenancw and fasts, to expiate her crime.
 
 f t|t Sons of tl)c ConqucoT. 
 
 A STORY OF THE TIMES OF WILLIAM THE FIRST, 
 
 Just on the confines of the New Forest stood a low 
 tenement, belongings to an old Saxon ceorl or chur 
 called Redwald. This cottage was not always lonely 
 though it stood the last in a long pleasant pastoral vil 
 lage, chiefly inhabited by herdsmen, who were all uni- 
 ted in the bonds of relationship in different degrees 
 being the descendants of one family, who had m times 
 gone by settled on a fruitful spot in Hampshire aboun 
 ding in pasture and water. 
 
 This happy village was a little community, linked 
 together by the strongest ties of love and neighbor- 
 hood; always ready to serve and assist each other, th3 
 affections of the inhabitants were never extended be- 
 vond their own little circle. 
 
 Such was their situation when William the Con- 
 queror issued his lawless edict to turn the most fertile 
 spot in Hampshire into a hunting ground or chase, to 
 effect which he razed and destroyed thirty-six chur
 
 152 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 ches, and d^opulated a much greater number o! 
 towns, villages, and pleasant hamlets. This spot now 
 occupies an extent of thirty or forty miles, and in those 
 fearful days was of much greater circumference. 
 From the time of the Norman conquest it has been 
 known by the name of the New Forest. 
 
 When the agents of the Norman despot drove out 
 the whole township of Redwald's kindred, and level- 
 led their pleasant and comfortable cottages with thp. 
 dust, they spared the old man's homestead, not be- 
 cause they were actuated by merciful feelings, but be- 
 cause it lay without the boundary prescribed by the 
 tyrant for the confines of his chase. Thus the dwell- 
 ing of Redwald was left standing but utterly desolate,, 
 his friends, neighbors, and kin being violently driven 
 from their birth-places, and their happy hearths laid 
 bare for wild creatures and the beasts of the forest to 
 couch upon. Some of the neighbors went one way, 
 some another ; all shunned the heart-breaking sight of 
 destruction, and dreaded to settle in the vicinity of a 
 place from which they had been so lawlessly expelled : 
 and the old Saxon, Redwald, saw himself surrounded 
 by a lonesome desert in a place which within a few 
 weeks had been a scene of cheerful industry. Red- 
 wald's heart swelled as if it would have burst when 
 he saw the last lingerer depart from the shelter ne had 
 afforded him, to seek his fortune in some distant part
 
 SONS OF THE CONQUEROR. 153 
 
 of England ; he too would have deserted a spot now 
 become hateful to him, and left the home that the ca- 
 price of the conqueror had spared, but he had those 
 around him who looked up to him for bread, the in 
 fant family of a son that had fallen in the battle o: 
 Hastings, being one of the hasty levies summoned by 
 King Harold to repel the Norman invasion. As these 
 infant children had likewise lost their mother, their 
 helplessness bound Redwald to the spot where he 
 could find provision for their wants. But the old 
 man's heart yearned after his expatriated neighbors, 
 after the old faces. He became silent and melan- 
 choly, and would pass his sabbaths sitting alone on the 
 site of the churchyard, looking on the levelled graves 
 of his ancestors and parents, for the Norman spoiler 
 had desecrated the grave-ground, and levelled the vil- 
 lage church. Without priest or service, the Saxon 
 peasant gathered his young grandchildren together, 
 under a spreading yew, which marked what had once 
 Deen holy ground, and endeavored to offer up a bro 
 ken worship, consisting of such psalms and hymns as 
 his memory furnished him with, from a long course of 
 attendance of divine service on Sundays and holidays, 
 while the parish and the parish church were in exis 
 tence. This worship generally ended with a long and 
 bitter recital of the wrongs of his family atid peopb, 
 and with a petition to Heaven to hear the cry of the
 
 154 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 oppressed, and requite the misery of the English on 
 Ihe Norman and on his seed, and, at ave all, to make 
 the very place from which William had drivt n harm- 
 less families and the service of God, the scene of the 
 destruction of those most dear to him. 
 
 ' Marry ! be these your forest homilies and Saxon 
 prayers, old churl ? ' cried a gay voice behind him, as 
 Redwald stood beneath the yew tree with his hands 
 clasped and his white hair waving in the evening 
 breeze, looking upward as he concluded his petition, 
 while his grandchildren, gazing upon him with their 
 round blue eyes expanded, earnestly echoed the cus- 
 'omary ' Amen' to a prayer that they scarcely compre- 
 hended. It was long since Redwald had heard the 
 sound of a stranger's voice, and though the words 
 were purely English, they were spoken with a foreign 
 accent that fell harshly on his ear. He looked around, 
 and saw emerging from the underwood that had al- 
 ready begun to encroach on the sacred ground, a 
 handsome youth and two boys ; the elder of the lat- 
 ter carried in his hand a broken bow, and was remark- 
 able fur his audacious demeanor, his ruddy complex- 
 ■'on, and profusion of red hair; this was the speaker, 
 as Redwald immediately recognised his voice when 
 he resumed, 
 
 • If the Conqueror heard the orisons tboii offerest 
 up in his behalf, rebellious churl, it were likely thai
 
 THE SONS OF THE CONaUEROR. 155 
 
 he left thee neither tongue to pray with, noi ej es to 
 ead thee to break his forest boundaries.' 
 
 Redwald trembled at the thought of incurring the 
 personal vengeance of that dreaded Conqueror, and 
 muttered a few words, representing that he was a poor 
 ignorant peasant, who had been deprived by the forest 
 laws of priest and church, and being an unlettered 
 man knew not what to pray on the Sabbath without 
 the aid of the holy man ; and that he never broke the 
 forest boundaries excepting on Sundays and holidays, 
 when he went to pray on the place where his church 
 once stood. 
 
 ' Tut, man ! if thou hast neither priest nor church 
 so much the better for thee : look you, this day have 
 I and my brother, and my little nephew, broke not 
 only from my priest, but from a bishop, and not only 
 from a church, but from Winchester cathedral, to play 
 the truant in the good greenwood. Lo ! I have bro- 
 ken my bow ; cut me, I pray thee, with the whittle 
 that hangeth at thy girdle, a tough straight bough of 
 yew, for men declare that the goodhest English bows 
 be ever made of that tree.' 
 
 Redwald ventured to remark that it wa? not only 
 
 Sunday eve, but the vigil of Saint Swithin. The 
 
 young scoffer mocked aloud, and declared that nevf 
 
 laws were enforced, whereby the Saxon churls were 
 
 commanded to toil the whole Sabbath, and the Nor- 
 14
 
 156 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 man noblos to sport and play ; and that Saxon saints, 
 as belonging to a conquered people, were turned ou 
 of the calendar. 
 
 Redvvald liked his company worse than ever, and 
 gathering his young grand-children together, turned 
 to depart to his cottage, when the little boy addressed 
 a few words in another language to the eldest, the 
 handsome youth, who had not before spoken, and who 
 now, in a courteous tone but such broken English as 
 hardly to be intelligible, asked Redwald whether he 
 could give them any thing to eat, as they were 
 hungry. 
 
 Before Redwald could comprehend this request, the 
 red-haired boy exclaimed — 
 
 ' Hast never a hole, or den, or sty in the forest, 
 where thee and the young boors burrow for the night? 
 If so, belike thou hast some food ; and we are weary 
 and hungry enough to eat with thee, even if it were 
 but husks.' 
 
 ' I told you before, young sir,' said Redwald, ' tha 
 my homestead was not in the forest ; and though you 
 be the most unmannerly youth I ever met withal, it 
 shall never be said that Redwald the Saxon sent the 
 hungry empty from his door.' 
 
 The young strangers expressed their surprise to 
 each other when they saw the homely dainties that 
 were heaped en the board of the Saxon farmer; ev«
 
 THE SONS OF THE CONQUEROft. 157 
 
 ery thing delicious, that could be compounded with 
 eggs, milk, and honey, was set before them, with old 
 strong cider made from redstreak apples, the produce 
 of the orchard in which the cottage was embowered. 
 The young guests paid ample respect to the good 
 cheer before them, especially the red-haired boy, who 
 ate like a wolf, and behaved like a swine. When he 
 .lad at length appeased his voracious appetite, he filled 
 and emptied the wooden cup so often with cider, that 
 his elder companion began to remonstrate in the Nor- 
 man language, but he met with a reply in the same 
 tongue, accompanied by a gesture so rude and fero- 
 cious that he did not again attempt to interfere, excep- 
 ting by removing the wine vessel out of the reach of 
 the young child, who seemed inclined to follow the 
 evil example before him. 
 
 When left to his own devices, the ferocious spirit of 
 the other youth began to grow tamer, and subside in- 
 to his usual tone of boasting and swaggering, and he 
 took it into his head to be mortified that the sturdy 
 Saxon peasant, notwithstanding the hints he had 
 thrown out, had manifested no awe at his presence, 
 nor seemed to have the slightest idea of his rank, and 
 tie was resolved that he should not for another mo- 
 ment remain in ignorance of it. So filling once more 
 the cup, he turned round with a pompous air to tne
 
 158 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 old peasant, Wiio was seated on a three-legged stJOi 
 in a corner of his cottage, shelling some beans to boil 
 for supper : — 
 
 -- * Churl,' said he, ' jou look and behave as if we 
 were fellows of no reckoning, but know that I am one 
 of the greatest personages at the Conqueror's court.' 
 
 ' All in good time, young sir,' replied Redwald, 
 coolly proceeding in his employment, ' it wnl take 
 some years before a short thick-set boy can become a 
 great personage any where.' 
 
 A little dashed at this rejoinder, the young guest 
 filled another cup, and added — 
 
 'I will now in truth inform you who I really am.' 
 
 ' I thought you had told me even now,' answered 
 Redwald dryly. 
 
 ' I am,' continued the boy, much provoked by the 
 peasant's lack of curiosity, ' Prince William, surnam- 
 ed Rufus, the third son of the Conqueror.' 
 
 ' Hum ! ' interjected Redwald, in an incredulous, 
 tone. 
 
 * And as for these in company with me,' added he, 
 ' yonder sits Prince Richard, the second son of the 
 Conqueror; and this child is no less a person than 
 tne son of Robert of Normandy, my elder brother.' 
 
 But, instead of being awe-struck at this informa- 
 tion, the Saxon peasant arose in a huff, put the siop- 
 Dle into the bottle, and carried off the cup saying, ' If
 
 SONS OF THE CDNaUEROR. 159 
 
 I let you have any more of this strong drinl I shall 
 have you commit sacrilege next, and fancy yourseL 
 the son of his Holiness the Pope !' 
 
 'Then whom think you we be?' asked Rufus, 
 much mortified at the disappearance of the good cheer 
 
 ' By your unnurtured bearing,' replied tlie Saxon, 
 * I should guess you to be some runaway Norman 
 horseboy, or peradventure a pert page who has, with 
 his playmates, truanted from the court at Winchester.' 
 
 Nothing could exceed the wrath and fury of the 
 Red Prince at this intimation ; he stamped on the ear- 
 •hen floor, and screamed unintelligibly with passion ; 
 his brother, who did not understand sufficient En- 
 glish to comprehend the passing scene, was some 
 time before he could prevail on William to explain in 
 their native tongue the conversation that had thrown 
 him into such transports ; when at last the provoca- 
 tion was translated by his brother into Norman 
 French, he laughed heartily at the peasant's mistake, 
 and wished that he had been master of sufficient En- 
 glish to carry on the joke. 
 
 At that instant a troop of forest rangers, accompa- 
 nied by Norman men at arms, dressed in hauberks or 
 chained mail, rode up to the cottage, and demanded 
 vociferously if the young princes had been seen to 
 pass that way. The appearance of Prince Richard 
 at the door quieted their alarm, bat he was forced \a
 
 160 HISTORICAL Tales. 
 
 exert all the authority of an elder brother to ai^ert the 
 lawless wrath of young William, who commanded 
 the men at arms to seize his host, and hang him on 
 the branches of the yew tree with his grand-children 
 round him ; but the better spirit of Prince Richard 
 prevailing, prevented him from making so atrocious a 
 return for the Saxon peasant's hospitality. He forced 
 his furious brother from the cottage, and then, by a 
 few words of imperfect English and a courteous ges- 
 ture, he expressed a sense of obligation to his host, 
 and bade him farewell. 
 
 Nor did the gratitude of Prince Richard stop there ; 
 the next morning he sent to Redwald by a trusty fol- 
 'ower who understood English, a purse of gold marks, 
 and his advice to leave the cottage as soon as possible. 
 
 Redwald did not neglect this warning, and before 
 noon was on his way with his grand-children to 
 Southampton, from whence he embarked for Briitany, 
 which had been, from the first northern invasions of 
 England, a place of refuge for British exiles. Red- 
 wald did not fly an hour too soon, for that very night 
 a band of forest rangers arrived at his deserted home, 
 with fire and axes, and after totally destroying the 
 peaceful dwelling under pretence that it stood too 
 near the haunts of the king's game, they sought in 
 vain for the peaceful inhabitants, in order to gratify 
 the hatred of the young tyrant, who had obtained
 
 SONS OF THE CONQUEROR. 161 
 
 Trom his despot father license to avenge his mortified 
 vanity by the destruction of a harmless family. The 
 site of the cottage, and its useful and bowery orchard, 
 was included in a wider sweep of ground, and tlie 
 whole added to the New Forest. 
 
 But few years had passed on before retributive 
 judgments fell on the family of the Conqueror in the 
 very scene of his iniquity. His second son, Richard, 
 whose abilities and chivalric qualities had caused the 
 greatest hopes to be formed of him, who was the 
 pride of his father's heart and the delight of his 
 eyes — Richard, for whose brow he had destined the 
 conquered diadem of England, was gored to death by 
 an infuriated stag, which he attacked imprudently 
 while the poor animal was standing at bay to defend 
 his life. Not long after this tragic event, the young 
 boy, who has been mentioned in this tale as the son 
 of Prince Robert, was killed by a fall from his horse 
 when hunting in the New Forest. These were the 
 most beloved objects of the Conqueror's heart, and 
 these he saw descend into untimely graves before him. 
 
 As for William Rufus, his fate is more generally 
 known. When the measure of his crimes was full, 
 the Rea King, as he was called by his miserable sub- 
 jects, was slain in the same New Forest by an arrow 
 from the bow of his favorite knight. Sir Walter Tyr- 
 le.. He was killed accidentally by the srrow that waa
 
 162 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 shot at a doe glancing against the branch of a tree 
 and from thence it rebounded to the king's bosom 
 who never spoke after he was wounded ; but perhaps 
 the dying tyrant, before the light forever left his eyes, 
 might recognise the old yew tree, under which in his 
 turbulent boyhood he had met the Saxon peasant Eed- 
 wald, although by his continued despotic encroach- 
 ments, that yew, and the neighboring cottage site, was 
 now in the heart of the New Forest.
 
 muisq Sn^ge. 
 
 A STORr OF THK TIMES OF HENRY THE E1311TH. 
 
 On the south side of the ancient passage leading from 
 the street to the churchyard of St. Nicholas, was for 
 merly situated, the commodious house of Thomas 
 Wolsey, a substantial butcher and grazier, of the 
 town of Ispwich, in the sixteenth century. 
 
 This Thomas Wolsey was one of those persons 
 with whom the acquisition of wealth appears to be 
 the so.e purpose of existence. It was his boast ' that 
 he had thrice trebled the patrimony he had derived 
 from his father,' from whom he had inherited his 
 flourishing business, besides some personal property. 
 
 Acting in direct contradiction to that ip|Unction of the 
 royal psalmist, ' If riches increase, set not your heart 
 upon them,' his very soul appeared to dwell in his 
 money bags, his well attended shamble? or the pleas- 
 ant lowland pastures where the numerous flocks and 
 herds grazed, the profits on which he calculated would 
 BO materially improve his store. He made no show
 
 164 
 
 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 no figure among his fellow townsmen ; never exchan- 
 ging his long blue linen gown, leathern girdle, and 
 coarse brown hose, for any other apparel, except on a 
 Sunday, when he wore a plain substantial suit of sad 
 colored cloth, garnished with silver buttons, and the 
 polished steel and huge sheath knife, which he usual- 
 ly wore at his side, were exchanged for a silver hiked 
 dagger and an antique rosary and crucifix. 
 
 Satisfied with the conviction that he was one of the 
 wealthiest tradesmen in Ipswich, he saw no reason for 
 exciting the envy of the poor or the ill will of the 
 rich, by any outward demonstration of the fact, but 
 continued to live in the same snug plain manner to 
 which he had been accustomed in his early days, ma 
 king it the chief desire of his heart that his only son, 
 Thomas, should tread in his steps, and succeed him 
 in his prosperous and well established business, with 
 the same economical habits and an equally laudable 
 care for the main chance. 
 
 The maternal pride of his wife Joan, who was the 
 descendant of a family that could boast of gentle blood, 
 prompted the secret hope that the ready wit and stu- 
 dious habits, together with the clerkly skill and learn- 
 ed lore which the boy had already acquired at the 
 g;rammar schoo., might qualify him for something bet- 
 ter than the greary craft of a butcher, and perhaps 
 one day elevate him to the situation of port reeve or
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 165 
 
 town clerK. Cut for the boy himself, his y.uthful am- 
 bition pointed at higher marks than the golden specu 
 Unions of trade, or the attainment of lucrative ofTicei 
 and civic honors in his native town. 
 
 From the first moment he entered the grammar 
 school, and took his place on the lowest seat there, he 
 determined to occupy the highest, and to this, in an 
 almost incredibly brief period of time, he had rapidly 
 ascended ; and, though only just entering his twelfth 
 year, he was now the head boy in the school, and in 
 the opinion of his unlearned father, ' knew more than 
 was good for him.' 
 
 As soon, indeed, as his son Thomas had learned to 
 write a 'fair clerkly hand, to cast accounts, and con- 
 strue a page in the Breviary,' he considered his edu- 
 cation complete, and was desirous of saving the ex- 
 pense of keeping him longer at school; but here he 
 was overruled by his more liberal minded wife, Joan, 
 who, out of the savings of her own privy purse, paid 
 the quarterly sum of eight-pence to the master of the 
 school, for the further instruction of her hopeful boy 
 Thomas, whose abilities she regarded as little less 
 than miraculous. Persons better qualified than the 
 good wife, Joan Wolsey, to judge of the natural ta\ 
 ents and precocious acquirements of her son, had al- 
 so spoken in high terms of his progress in the learn- 
 ed languages, and predicted great things of him
 
 166 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 These were personages of no less importance than 
 the head master of the Ipswich grammar school, and 
 the parish priest of St. Nicholas, the latter of whom 
 was a frequent visitor at the hospitable messuage of 
 master Thomas Wolsey the elder, on the ostensible 
 business of chopping Latin with young Thomas, and 
 correcting his Greek exercises for him ; but no doubt 
 the spiced tankards of flowing ale, and the smoking 
 beef steaks, cut from the very choicest part of the ox, 
 and temptingly cooked by the well skilled hands of 
 that accomplished housewife, Joan Wolsey, to reward 
 him for his good report of her darling boy's proficien- 
 cy, had some influence in drawing father Boniface 
 thither so often. 
 
 The bishop of the diocese himself had condescen- 
 ded to bestow unqualified praise on the graceful and 
 eloquent manner in which, when he visited the school, 
 young Wolsey had delivered the complimentary Lat- 
 'n oration, on that occasion. The good natured prel- 
 ate had even condescended to pat his curly head on 
 the conclusion of the address, and to say, ' Spoken 
 like a cardinal, my little man!' 
 
 From that moment young Wolsey had made up 
 his mind as to his future destiny, ft was to no pur- 
 pose that his father tried the alternate eloquence of 
 entreaties, reasoning, promises, and threats, to detach 
 him from his engrossing studies, and induce him to
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 167 
 
 turn his attention to the lucrative business of a butch- 
 er and grazier. The idea of such servilely earned 
 pelf was revolting to the excited imagination of the 
 youthful student, whose mind was full of classic im- 
 agery, and intent on the attainment of academic hon- 
 ors, the steps by which he projected to ascend to the 
 more elevated objects of his ambition. 
 
 The church was, in those days, the only avenue 
 through which talented persons of obscure birth might 
 hope to arrive at greatness, and young Wolsey re- 
 plied to all his father's exordiums urgmg him to at- 
 tend to the cattle market, the slaughter house, or the 
 shambles, by announcing his intention of becoming 
 an ecclesiastic. 
 
 The flush of anger with which this unwelcome dec- 
 laration had clouded the brow of the elder Wolsey 
 was perfectly perceptible when he returned home af- 
 ter the fatigues of the day to take his evening meal, 
 which his wife, Joan, was busily engaged in prepar- 
 ing for him over the fire with her own hands. 
 
 ' I knew how it would turn out all along of your 
 folly, mistress, in keeping the boy loitering away his 
 time and learning all manner of evil habits at the 
 grammar school, when he ought to have been bound 
 apprentice to me, and learning our honest craft, for the 
 fast two vears, muttered the malcontent butcher
 
 168 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 throwing himself into his large arm chai.', lined with 
 sheepskins. 
 
 ' What a coil the woman keeps up with her frymg 
 pan,' continued he peevishly, on perceiving that the 
 discreet Joan appeared disposed to drown the ebulli- 
 tions of his wrath in the hissing and bubbling of the 
 fat in her pan, as she artfully redoubled her assiduity 
 in shaking it over the blazing hearth. 
 
 ' Why, Joan,' pursued he, ' one cannot hear oneself 
 speak for the noise you make.' 
 
 ' The noise is all of your own making, I trow, mas- 
 ter,' replied Joan, continuing to stir her hissing sput- 
 tering pan briskly as she spoke. 
 
 ' I say, leave off that frizzling with the fat in that 
 odious pan,' vociferated he. 
 
 ' So I will, master, if you wish to have burnt col 
 lops for your supper to-night,' replied Joan meekly. 
 
 ' I don't care whether I have any supper at all,' re- 
 plied the butcher testily ; ' I am vexed, mistress.' 
 
 ' Good lack ! what should happen to vex yeu, mas 
 ter ? ' responded his wife. ' I am sure the world al- 
 ways seems to wag the way you'd have it go ; but 
 losses and crosses m business will chance, even to the 
 most prosperous, at times. Is one of your fat beasts 
 iead ? ' 
 
 'No!' 
 Some of your sheep been stolen ? '
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 163 
 
 •No!» 
 
 ' Mayhap then, some customer, who:\i yc i have 
 suffered to run up a long score, is either dead or 
 bankrupt ? ' 
 
 ' Worse than that, mistress.' 
 
 ' I prythee, good Thomas, let me hear the truth at 
 once,' exclaimed the startled Joan, upsetting the frying 
 pan into the fire in her alarm. ' The misfortune 
 must be great that hath befallen you, if it be reckon- 
 ed by you worse than the loss of money.' 
 
 ' Why, mistress, do not you reckon the perverse in- 
 clinations of one's own flesh and blood a more serious 
 calamity than loss of substance ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, master ; but that is a trial we have never had 
 the sorrow of knowing since our only son, Thomas, al- 
 beit I say it who ought not, is the most dutiful, diligent, 
 and loving lad, that ever blessed a parent's heart,' said 
 the fond mother, melting into tears of tenderness as 
 she spoke. ^ 
 
 'Hold thy peace, dame,' cried the indignant hus- 
 band, darting a look of angry reproach on the offen- 
 ding youth, who had been comfortably reposing him- 
 self on an oaken settle by the fire side, reading Vir- 
 gil's Eneid by the light of the blazing embers, during 
 the whole of the discussion, without concerning him 
 self about any thing, save to pieserve the beloved vo
 
 170 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 ume from being sprayed by tbe fat which the frying 
 pan, in falling, had scattered in all directions. ' That 
 lad, 3n whom you bestow such foolish commendations,' 
 pursued old Wolsey; ' that lad, whatever might have 
 been his former virtuous inclinations, hath now disap 
 pointed all my hopes, for he hath turned an errant 
 scape-grace, and refuseth to become a butcher, though 
 the shambles he would inherit from me are the largest, 
 the most commodious, and the best frequented with 
 ready-penny customers, of any on the market hill. 
 Moreover, it is a business in which his grandfather 
 got money, and I, following in his good steps, with 
 still better success, have become — I scorn to boast, 
 but the truth may be spoken without blame — one of 
 the wealthiest tradesmen in the borough.' 
 
 * Then the less need, my master, of enforcing such 
 a clever lad as our Thomas to follow a craft which is 
 so unsuitable for a scholar,' observed Joan. 
 
 * There,' groaned the butcher, ' was the folly of ma- 
 king him one, which hath been the means of teaching 
 him to slight the main chance, and to turn his head 
 with pagan poesies or monkish lore. Would you be- 
 lieve it, mistress Joan, — he hath had the audacity to 
 profess his desire of becoming a student at the univer- 
 Bity of Oxenford ? ' 
 
 Ar\d why should he not, master Wolsey, sine? he
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 171 
 
 prom.seth to become a learned clerk?' asked the 
 proud mother. 
 
 ' To what purpose should he go thither? ' said the 
 father. 
 
 ' Marry, master, to increase his learning, and to put 
 him in the way of becoming a great man,' responded 
 mistress Joan. 
 
 ' A great man, forsooth ! ' echoed her husband con- 
 temptuously ; ' who ever heard of a butcher's son be- 
 coming a person of distinction ? ' 
 
 ' I have heard. Sir,' said young Wolsey, closing his 
 book eagerly ; ' I have heard of a destitute swineherd 
 becoming a pope.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' ejaculated his father with an air of in- 
 credulity. 
 
 ' Yes, Sir, it was Nicholas Brekespeare, afterwards 
 Pope Adrian the Fourth, the only Englishman who 
 ever filled the papal chair, but perhaps not the last 
 whom learning, combined with persevering enterprise, 
 may conduct to that eminence.' 
 
 ' Ho ! ho ! ho ! ' cried the butcher, bursting into a 
 loud laugh ; ' I w^ist not of the high mark at which 
 your ambition ainieth, son Thomas ! Well, if ena- 
 bling you to become a servitor in Magdalen College 
 will advance your holiness one step towards the pos- 
 session of St. Peter's keys, I will not withhold my as" 
 sistance a>ad my blessing, though much I doubt wheth-
 
 172 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 er it will carry thee into the Vatican, or whatever yon 
 call it, of which you and father Boniface are always 
 talking.' 
 
 ' And what if it do not carry him quite so far, mas- 
 ter,' interposed Joan, ' didst thou never hear of vhe 
 proverb, He who reacheth after a gown of cloth ol 
 gold shall scarcely fail of getting one of the sleeves ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, mother ! ' cried young Wolsey ; ' and when 
 I am a cardinal, my father will thank you for the par- 
 able.' 
 
 ' Ah I if I ever live to see that day, son Thomas ! ' 
 observed the butcher. 
 
 ' Why should you doubt it, master ? ' asked mistress 
 Joan. 
 
 ' Because, wife, it is easy to talk of dignities and 
 honors, but to obtain them would be attended with dif- 
 ficulties, which I doubt our simple son, Thomas, will 
 find insurmountable.' 
 
 ' I shall, at least, lose nothing in making the at- 
 tempt,' observed young Wolsey. 
 
 ' There is your mistake, boy ; you will lose some- 
 thing very considerable,' replied his father. 
 
 ' Dear father, what can that be for which the learn- 
 ing I shall acquire will not make me ample amends?' 
 
 'The most flourishing butchery in Ipswich, simple- 
 ton ! which, if once lost through your inconsiderate 
 fol^y, you may study till doomsday, and acquire all
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 173 
 
 fhe learning in popedom and heathenesse into the oar 
 gain, without being able to reestablish it in its presen' 
 prosperity,' returned the mortified father with a groan. 
 A smile, which the younger VVolsey strove in vain 
 to repress, played over his features at these words. 
 
 * Ay, scorn and slight the substantial good that is 
 within your reach for the sake of the vain shadow 
 which is beyond your power to obtain, Thomas Wol- 
 eey,' said his father with great bitterness. 
 
 ' My dear father, you know little of the powers of 
 the human mind, or of the mighty things which its 
 energies, when once roused, and directed towards one 
 object, may effect.' 
 
 'I tell you, Thomas, that the end which you pro- 
 pose is impossible.^ 
 
 ' Sir,' replied young "VVolsey, ' I have blotted that 
 word out of MY dictionary.' 
 
 ' I like your spirit, young man,' said his father, ' al- 
 beit, it savoreth a little of presumption.' 
 
 ' That remains to be proved,' said his son, ' and 1 
 am quite ready that my earnestness should be tried 
 by any test you may be inclined to demand.' 
 
 • I shall hold you to your word,' replied his father, 
 and condition, that if you take up your bachelor's de- 
 gree within four years of your entering Magdalen 
 College, then shall you proceed in the course of Ufa
 
 174 HISTCRICAL TALES. 
 
 on whicn you are so determinately bent; 6ul if you 
 fail in doing this, then shall you return to my house, 
 and submit your future destiny to my disposal,' 
 
 ' If I take it not up within two years of my enter- 
 ing the college, barring accidents of sickness or death, 
 then strip me of the learned stole of a clerk of Oxen- 
 ford, and chain me to your girdle as a butcher's slave 
 for life,' replied the youth with a heightened color. 
 
 ' Thou hast pledged thyself to that which thou 
 canst not perform, son Thomas,' replied his father. 
 ' Who ever heard of a boy of fourteen taking up a 
 bachelor's degree at Oxenford ? ' 
 
 ' Thou shall hear of one, anon, mine honored fa- 
 ther,' said young Wolsey. 
 
 * I will engage that thy mother shall have the finest 
 baron of beef in my shambles to roast for dinner on 
 the day on which I hear that news,' rejoined his father.' 
 
 ' See that you keep my father to his promise, moth- 
 er,' said the youth, ' for I shall travel night and day, 
 in hopes of being the first to communicate the intelli- 
 gence, or at any rate, to arrive in time to come in for 
 a slice of the beef while it be hot.' 
 
 The important object being now accomplished ol 
 obtaining the consent of the elder Wolsey to his son's 
 entering the university of Oxfoi'd, the lad commenced 
 his journey on the following day for that ancient seaV 
 ■if learning. He was on foot, foi the sturdy butcher
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 175 
 
 his father, though well able to send him thither on a 
 stout pack-horse, attended by one of hi.5 own men, 
 was determined to afford no facilities for an enter- 
 prise to which he had so little relish. 
 
 The loving care of mistress Joan Wolsey had sup- 
 plied the youthful candidate for scarlet stockings and 
 cardinal's hat with a few silver groats for his expen- 
 ses on the road, and a needful stock of linen and oth- 
 er necessaries, which the carried in a leathern wallet 
 over his shoulder at the end of a stout oaken staff; 
 but that which young Wolsey considered more pre- 
 cious than either money or apparel, was a letter of 
 recommendation from the head master of the Ipswich 
 grammar school to the master of Magdalen College. 
 
 This credential obtained for its lonely and friend- 
 less bearer that attention which his juvenile appear- 
 ance, diminutive stature, and his coarse and travel- 
 soiled attire, would most probably have failed of at- 
 tracting. 
 
 Having passed his examination with great credit tc 
 himself, he was admitted as a servitor of Magdalen 
 College. In this novel situation young Wolsey had 
 some difficulties, and not a few hardships and priva- 
 tions to contend with ; but these, when weighed a- 
 gainst the mighty object which engrossed all his 
 thoughts, were as dust in the balance, and the only ef- 
 fect they had was to increase his persevering 4iU«
 
 176 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 gence. At the end of the first term he had made a 
 progress which astonished his masters and fellow stu- 
 dents. Before the two years had expired, within 
 which the lad had pledged himself to take up a de- 
 gree, an attempt which his father, with reason, judged 
 unattainable by a person of his tender age, the good- 
 wife Joan Wolsey, in great haste, entered the sham 
 bles, where her husband was preparing to put an un- 
 commonly fine baron of beef into the basket of a no- 
 bleman's servant, and laying hands upon it, exclaimed, 
 , Why, Thomas Wolsey, what are you about to do 
 with that meat?' 
 
 ' To send it to the house of my lord, according to 
 order, to be sure, mistress,' replied the butcher, with 
 a look of surprise. 
 
 ' An it had been ordered by King Henry himself, 
 he should not have it to-day,' said mistress Joan. 
 
 ' Is your wife delirit, master Wolsey ? ' asked the 
 servant. 
 
 * One would suppose so by her wild words,' said 
 the astonished butcher, who knew not what to think 
 of the behavior of his usually discreet spouse. 
 
 ' If I be, master, it is with joy,' replied Joan Wol 
 sey ; ' but the truth is, I came hither to claim the fi- 
 nest baron of beef in the shambles, which you said I 
 phcu.d roast for dinner on the day on which vou
 
 WOLSET? BRIDGE. 177 
 
 heard the news of our son, Thomas Wolsey, taking 
 up a bachelor's degree at Oxenford.' 
 
 ' And who brought you the intelligence, mistress?' 
 demanded her husband. 
 
 ' A joyful messenger, my good man, for it was the 
 boy himself, (blessings on him !) dressed in his bach- 
 elor's gown, and bearing the certificate of his admis- 
 sion as a fellow of Magdalen College.' 
 
 ♦ Humphrey ! ' cried the delighted father, turning to 
 his head man, ' take that baron of beef home to my 
 house, and help thy mistress to spit it, and put it down 
 to the fire, that my boy bachelor may dine off the best 
 joint in my shambles ; and do you, master Ralph,' 
 added he, turning to his lordship's servant, ' make my 
 duty to my lord, and ask him, if he will be pleased to 
 put up with rump or ribs to-day, since the baron of 
 beef, for which his housekeeper hath sent, was bespo- 
 ken nearly two years before his order came, and my 
 good dame hath come to claim my pledge in earnest.' 
 
 ' Which my lord is too strict an observer of his own 
 
 word to wish you to forfeit on his account, I am sure, 
 
 master Wolsey,' said Ralph ; ' and when I explain 
 
 the pleasant cause for which you have made bold 
 
 to disappoint his lordship of his favorite dish to-day. 
 
 he, who is himself a scholar and a patron of learning 
 
 withal, will hold you excused.' 
 
 This day being a holiday, the head master of the 
 ]6
 
 178 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 Ipswich grammar school, several of ytung Wolsey's 
 chosen friends among the scholars, ond the good-hu- 
 mored curate of St. Nicholas, were invited to partake 
 of the baron of beef whicb the young bachelor had so 
 honorably earned, and which mistress Joan Wolsey 
 cooked in her most approved style, to the great satis- 
 faction of her husband and the guests. 
 
 This was one of the long vacations, but no season 
 of idleness to young Wolsey, whose unremitting ap- 
 plication to study impaired his appetite, and rendered 
 him languid and feverish, which his anxious mother 
 perceiving, and feeling some alarm lest his incessant 
 mental toil might injure his naturally feeble constitu- 
 tion, she communicated her uneasiness to her husband, 
 and asked him if he could not contrive some little 
 pleasant employment for him, which would have the 
 effect of diverting him for a few days from his seden- 
 tary occupations. 
 
 ' Ay, ay, dame,' replied old Wolsey, ' I have a 
 choice bit of pastime for the boy ; he shall go with 
 Humphrey and Peter and Miles to buy beeves off the 
 Southwold and Reydon commons and marshes.' 
 
 ' That would do well enough, master, if the lad 
 were any judge of cattle, which I fear, with all his 
 college learning, he is not,' responded mistress Joan 
 
 ' You may well say that, mistress,' rejoined the 
 butcher, ' for though .\ie hath been born, bred, and
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 179 
 
 nourished in the midst of such matters, and he is ob 
 servant enough in other things, j-et I would answer 
 for it, he know-eth not the ditTerence between a fat 
 beast and a lean one, a Scot or a home-bred, yea 
 scarcely between a long horn or a short ; and were 1 
 to send him on this busmess of mine without ray 
 shrewd foreman, Humphrey, to instruct his ignorance 
 and detect the knavery of the sellers, he would bring 
 me home pretty bargains of beasts against the Eas- 
 ter festivals. Why these fat monks of Keydon, who 
 are far better skilled in grazing for the Ipswich and 
 Yarmouth markets than in their church Latin, would 
 be sure to palm their old worn-out mortuary cows up- 
 on him for fine young heifers, and make him pay the 
 price of three-year-old steers, for their broken-down 
 yoke oxen that had ploughed the convent lands for the 
 last ten years. But, as I said before, Humphrey shall 
 go with him, who is used to their tricks of old, and 
 will bid them half their asking price at a word, which 
 our Thomas would be ashamed of doing to men of 
 their cloth were he left to himself, so he shall only 
 have the pleasant part of the business, to wit, listen- 
 ing to the chaffering, and paying down the money 
 when the price is agreed upon by those who are wi- 
 Ber in such matters than himself.' 
 
 ' And how do you propose for him to perform '.he
 
 180 
 
 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 journey, master, for the places whereof you speak 3r« 
 many miles distant ? ' said Joan. 
 
 ' Under forty miles, wife, which will be no great 
 stretch for Miles and Peter (who are to drive the cat- 
 tle) to walk ; as for Thomas, he shall ride my grey 
 mare, and Humphrey can take the black nag, and give 
 Miles and Peter a lift behind him by turns, which will 
 ease their legs, and make it a pleasant journey for 
 them all. Ah I that part of Suffolk is a fine grazing 
 country to travel through, I am sure I shall envy 
 Thomas the prospect of so many herds and flocks aa 
 he will see on those upland meads and salt marshes ; 
 Dut he will think more of chopping Latin with the 
 monks of Blitheborough, and looking over their old 
 musty books and records, which could never give a 
 hungry man his dinner, than of all the sensible sights 
 he might see by the way.' 
 
 'Every one to his vocation, master,' replied Joan 
 Wolsey ; ' yours is to feed the bodies, and my Thom- 
 as's will be to nourish the minds of men with a more 
 enduring food than that which you have it in your 
 power to provide.' 
 
 ' Gramercy, mistress ! ' said the butcher, with a 
 grin ; ' one would think he had been feasting you on 
 some of his improving diet, for you begin to discourse 
 nke a doctor.' 
 
 The next day, by peep of dawn, the quartette sei
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 18J 
 
 forth from St. Nicholas's passage on their expedition 
 on which no one reckoned more than young Wolsey 
 who, wearing his college cap and gown, the latter ci 
 which was tucked up round his waist, lest its long full 
 skirts should impede his horsemanship, was mounted 
 on his father's easy-pacing grey mare. For the con- 
 venience of riding he was. accommodated with a pair 
 of the old man's boots, which drew up far above his 
 knees, and were wide enough to admit three pair ot 
 legs like the stripling's slender limbs. He rode cau- 
 tiously at the head of the cavalcade, taking care to 
 keep close to Humphrey, who jogged along very com- 
 fortably on the black nag, whose mettle, if ever it had 
 possessed any, was tamed by the wear and tear of 
 fifteen years of service in the butcher's cart. 
 
 Miles and Peter trudged steadily along with their 
 quarter staffs in their hands, relying on their own ex- 
 cellent pedestrianism to reach the ultimate place of 
 their destination almost as soon as the horsemen ot 
 the party, whose steeds they knew would be sorely 
 jaded before they reached St. Peter's, Wangford, 
 where their master had directed them to crave lodging 
 for the night of the monks of Clu^ni. who there oc- 
 cupied a cell dependent on the monastery of Thelford, 
 which also was the parent house of the cell atRej^don. 
 
 The tw: saucy knaves occasionally exchanged sly
 
 182 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 glances, and cracked drj jokes on the unsuitable array 
 and cautious riding of the young Oxford student, 
 their master's son, and the steady jog-trot of Ham- 
 phrey, who rode quite at his ease on a soft sheepskin, 
 which supplied the place of a saddle by being tightly 
 buckled with a broad leathern strap under the belly of 
 the black nag, whose quiet temper allowed her to be 
 ridden safely without the aid of stirrups. 
 
 The sun rose brightly in a soft April sky by the 
 time they reached Woodbridge. Young Wolsey had 
 now become familiar with the paces of the grey mare 
 and the excitement of the exercise, the beauty of the 
 morning, the invigorating freshness of the air, and 
 lovely succession of new and agreeable objects, contrib- 
 uting to raise his spirits, he soon began to assume a little 
 more of the cavalier, and occasionally used the whip 
 and the spurs, in defiance of all Humphrey's pruden- 
 tial cautions. Nature had well qualified the youthful 
 student, both in form and agility, to play the graceful 
 horseman, and before they arrived at Wickham Mar- 
 ket, the skill and boldness with which he managed 
 his steed was a matter of surprise to the whole party 
 
 At this little town they stopped, and refreshed both 
 men and beasts with a substantial breakfast, and then 
 set forward on their journey with renewed spirits. 
 Young Wols3y, who had a purpose of his own to an- 
 swer, put hi? father'? mare to her speed, and soon left
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 183 
 
 the pedestnan Peter, and the hapless rag v/ith its 
 double burden, of Humphrey and Miles, far in the 
 rear, regardless of their shouts of' Fair play, maste' 
 Thomas ! fair play ! ' and ' Alack, alack, sir, have a 
 care of master's mare ! ' 
 
 But the stripling, who liked not the repeated hints 
 which Humphrey had given him of the propriety and 
 expediency, to say nothing of the kindness, of giving 
 poor Peter a lift behind him, now they were clear of 
 the houses, was determined to ride forward, not wish- 
 ing the bachelor's cap and gown to appear in such 
 close fellowship with the butcher's blue and greasy 
 buff of his father's men. Besides, he greatly desired, 
 instead of keeping the jog-trot pace that suited their 
 convenience, to gain an hour or two to spend with the 
 monks of the Holyrood at Blitheborough, and to ex- 
 amine the antiquities, architecture, and localities of 
 that ancient and interesting place, through which the 
 route chalked out for him by his father lay ; but the 
 elder Wolsey had strictly charged Humphrey in his 
 hearing, ' not to permit his young master to delay 
 their journey, by wasting his time and theirs in pra- 
 ting Latin gibberish with the black locusts of Blithe- 
 borough,' (as he irreverently styled those worthy an- 
 chorites), ' especially a;? he did not want to deal with 
 them for sheep, the last he had bought off their walks 
 having proved a poor bargain.'
 
 184 HISTORICAL TALf.ri. 
 
 Now young Wolsey, when he heard tliis t,aiition, 
 secretly resolved to arrange matters so as to enjoy the 
 conference with the monkt without either infringing 
 his father's directions, or being pestered with the com- 
 pany of his blue-frocked retainers. So, without al- 
 lowing himself time to observe the pastoral Benhall 
 Kelsale, or the picturesque village of Yoxford, which 
 was then, as now, one of the prettiest in SufTolk, or 
 even pausing to bestow more than the tribute of a 
 passing glance of interest on Cockfield's Gothic Hall, 
 at that period newly built, and rising proudly from its 
 embowering woods, he pressed his mare on, and though, 
 as well as Ker, sorely wearied with the unwonted 
 number of miles he had traversed, his youthful spirits 
 carried him forward with unabated energy, till, on de- 
 scending the last hill after crossing the extensive 
 track of purple heath, known by the name of Blithe- 
 borough Sheep walks, that most stately structure, the 
 church of the Holy Trinity, rose before him, not ir. 
 the dilapidated grandeur which even now strikes tht 
 eye of the eastern traveller with astonishment and de- 
 light, as, grey with the mantling lichens, and crumb- 
 ling with the neglect and injuries of revolving centu- 
 ries, it bursts upon his view, amidst surrounding des- 
 olation, but in all the magnificence of the monastic 
 ages of its glory, in the elaborate richness of the flo- 
 rid gothic architecture, untouched by time and unim*
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 185 
 
 paired by accident, with the bright sur beams playing 
 ^nd flashing on the many-colored stains of its wide 
 and lofty windows. 
 
 Young Wolsey checked his horse, and gazed upon 
 this noble edifice with the enthusiasm natural to the 
 future founder of colleges and gothic buildings ; then 
 slowly, and looking often backwards, he proceeded to 
 the cell and chapel of the Holy-Rood, which indeed 
 was so contiguous to the spot that he was able still to 
 enjoy a close view of the new church, as it was then 
 called, while he partook of the good cheer which the 
 hospitable fraternitj^ produced for his refreshment, and 
 to which the hungry stripling did ample justice. As 
 the bells were chiming for vespers, monastic etiquette 
 compelled him to accompany the monks to their pret- 
 ty chapel, for which building the traveller would now 
 look in vain, as its only relics are the crumbling group 
 of broken gray arches, so thickly mantled with ivy 
 and crowned with wild flowers, that form such an in- 
 teresting feature in the landscape of the desolated vil- 
 lage of Blitheburgh. When the evening service was 
 concluded, the friendly monks gratified their visitor 
 with an anterior view uf the church of the Holy Trin- 
 ity, and pointed out to him its rich carvings, screens, 
 trellises, and magnificently sculptured and emblazoned 
 roof^ not forgetting to call his attention tc the antique 
 17
 
 186 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 tombs which, as tradition reports, once covered the 
 mortal remains of Annas, king of the East Angles, 
 and Ferminius, his son, who were slain in a bloody 
 battle with Penda, the pagan king of Mercia, which 
 was fought in the adjacent marshes of Bulcamp, or 
 BalJkemp. From the leads over the south aisle, they 
 made him observe the fine sea view of Southwold, 
 Walberswick, and the city of Dunwich, well known 
 to him in ecclesiastic history as the ancient metropol- 
 itan city of the kingdom of the East Angles, where 
 Saxon monarchs kept court in the olden time, and the 
 bishop of the two counties held his see, till the resist- 
 less waves of the German Ocean committed such rav. 
 ages as compelled the diocesan to remove his episco- 
 pal see to Thetford, and afterwards buried that time- 
 honored seat of learning and royalty (Dunwich), with 
 its walls, and brazen gates, its fifty-two churches and 
 religious houses, together with its numerous streets 
 and public buildings, beneath its raging waters. 
 
 With a sigh the young student turned from the 
 contemplation of the melancholy wreck of ancient 
 splendor, which the fallen city of the East Anglians 
 presented even in the sixteenth century, when several 
 churches and numerous vestiges of its former great- 
 ness still survived the s\orms of ages, and the assaults 
 of the hungry waves ; but what would he have 
 thought had he seen it as it now is, reduced to a few
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE 187 
 
 ruinous fishermen's huts, and of aL its churches and 
 religious houses, retaining only the roofless shell ol 
 one, in which divine service is no longer performed! 
 Doubtless he would have applied the words of the la- 
 mentation pronounced by the prophet over the desola- 
 tion of Tyre : ' Is this your joyous city, whose anti- 
 quity is of ancient date ? Who hath taken this coun- 
 sel against Tyre, the crowning city, whose mer:hants 
 are princes, whose traffickers are the honorable of the 
 earth ? ' 
 
 Young Wolsey had been too deeply engaged in the 
 contemplation of these interesting localities to em- 
 brace the opportunity of displaying his own learning 
 to the friendly monks, who had treated him with the 
 respect which his natural talents and early acquire- 
 ments were well calculated to inspire, and pressingly 
 invited him to sojourn with them durmg the rest of 
 the evening, and pass the night in their dormitory ; 
 but the importunities of Humphrey (who, with Peter 
 and Miles, had arrived while he was at vespers, and 
 having refreshed themselves and the black nag, were 
 now clamorous to proceed) prevailing over his desire 
 of accepting an invitation so agreeable to his own in- 
 clinations, he took a loving farewell of the hospitable 
 fraternity, promising to find some way of gratifying 
 his wish of passing a few hours with them on his re- 
 turn. Then mounting the grey mare, he rode for
 
 188 HISTORICAL TALES, 
 
 ward at a gentle pace with h:s weary and somewha 
 malcontent companions, who scrupled not to reproach 
 him for the want of good fellowship he had displayed 
 in deserting their company. Nor did Humphrey fail 
 to exert the privilege of an old and trusted servant, by 
 rating his young master soundly for having overheat- 
 ed the grey mare on a long journey, besides incurring 
 much peril of accidents both to himself and that val 
 uable animal, on account of his being an inexperi- 
 enced rider, and quite unacquainted with the road 
 The young student, who was of course rather impa- 
 tient of these rebukes, which he considered very de- 
 rogatory to the dignity of a bachelor of Oxford to re- 
 ceive from butchers and cattle drovers, endeavored to 
 escape from them by a repetition of his offence, name- 
 ly, outriding the party ; but that was no longer in his 
 power, for he had fairly knocked up the grey mare so 
 that she was unable to compete with the shaggy nag 
 on which Humphrey rode, and the only alternative 
 left him was to listen meekly, or to turn a deaf ear, 
 to the reproaches that assailed him right and left, and 
 amuse himself with his own reflections, or in contem- 
 plating the charms of the varied landscape before him, 
 when, on ascending the gentle hill leading from 
 Blitheburgh, he found himself among the rich woods 
 and cowslipped meads of Henham, whose castellated 
 hall thon the rt^sidence of the Brandons, rose in aU
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 189 
 
 its gothic giandeur over grove and vale, as the crown- 
 ing object of the prospect, but was soon after hidden 
 behind the intervening screen of deep embowering 
 shades, which were then almost impervious to the light 
 of day, and converted the advancing gloom of eve- 
 ning into early night. No sooner was the party in- 
 volved in this obscurity, than the offended trio, Hum- 
 phrey, Miles, and Peter, united their voices in a uni- 
 versal chorus of grumbling at their detention at 
 Blitheburgh, declaring they were benighted, and 
 should in all probability be robbed of the sum entrus- 
 ted to them for the the purchase of the cattle. 
 
 The welcome sound of the curfew bell of St. Pe- 
 ter's, Wangford, however, soon informed them that 
 their apprehensions were groundless, and put them in- 
 to better humor, by advertising them that they were 
 not more than a mile distant from the place of their 
 destination ; and presently, after emerging from be- 
 neath the sombre shadows of Henham's oaken glades, 
 they found themselves once more in daylight, and in 
 the immediate vicinity of the pretty village of Wang- 
 ford, which, with its picturesque monastery and chap- 
 el of St. Peters, crowning a gentle eminence, lay full 
 before them. 
 
 The pastoral rivulet of the Wang, from which the 
 name of this haml?t is derived, was soon forded by 
 the weary travellers, who, proceeding to the little con*
 
 190 
 
 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 vent, obtained without difficulty food and shelter foi 
 the night. The next morning, as soon as matins were 
 over, which service they of course considered them 
 selves bound to attend, they set forward on their short 
 journey to the neighboring monastery of Reydon, 
 which, as I said before, was a detached branch of the 
 cell of St. Peter's, both dependencies on the monas- 
 tery of Thetford. 
 
 Leaving its green bowery labyrinth of sylvan lanes, 
 its antique hall and park, its aboriginal forest and the 
 grey spire of its venerable church, and all that was 
 pleasing and attractive in the landscape of the Rey- 
 don, or the red hill (which its Saxon name signifies), 
 to the left, Humphrey guided the party through a 
 narrow, wet, and incommodious road, to a mean con- 
 ventual building, situated at the most desolate extiem- 
 ity of the parish, among the salt marshes. 
 
 If Wolsey had expected to find learning, piety, or 
 hospitality among this fraternity, he was certainly 
 much disappointed ; for a set of more illiterate and 
 narrow-minded men, than these Reydon monks, were 
 never congregated together. Far from expressing the 
 least interest in the acquirements of their accomplish- 
 ed young guest, they received the intelligence of his 
 proficiency in the learned languages with dismay, and 
 appeared far beUer pleased with the conversation of 
 Humphrey, Peter, and Miles, which irdeed was more
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 191 
 
 in unison with their tastes han that af the scholastic 
 VVolsey, ,vhom they entertained vvilh long disserta- 
 tions, not on the fathers or ths classics, but on the 
 most profitable breeds of cattle, and the most approved 
 mode oJ latting swme, in all which matters they were 
 very fluent, and appeared to consider it passing 
 strange that a butcher's son possessed so little knowl- 
 edge on such interesting topics. They also discussed 
 the best methods of curing white bacon, as the fat of 
 pickled pork is called in that part of Suflblk. On 
 ihis delectable article Wolsey and his party had the 
 felicity of supping ihr^t evening, which he afterwards 
 declared was the dullest h? ~"er spent in the whole 
 course of his life. 
 
 The next morning, though the bells chimed for 
 r^'itins, the monks made no movement to enter the 
 chapei, as their matin service was confined to that 
 ".eremony ; and wheu Wolsey expressed his surprise 
 at such unorthodox neglect of the prescribed offices 
 of holy church, they replied ' that it was neither a 
 sabbath nt'r a festival, and their swine must be aiten- 
 
 1P(\ to.' 
 
 When this interesting duty had been zealously per- 
 formed by the fraternity, they proceeded with their 
 g-uests to the marshes where their cattle fed wherp 3 
 long and animated discussion took place between 
 Humphrey ind the superior of the convent respecting
 
 192 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 jie price, the merits, and defects of the beasts which 
 Humphrey deemed most worthy of his attention, in 
 which so much time was wasted that the dinner bell 
 rang before they had settled the price of so much as 
 one bullock. 
 
 At this meal they were again regaled with white 
 bacon, which appeared a standing dish in this convent, 
 for it was produced at supper, breakfast, and dinner ; 
 at the latter, indeed, there was the addition of a huge 
 dish of hard dumplings, with which they devoured a 
 quantity of pork-dripping by way of sauce. 
 
 The morning had been fine but showery, in the af 
 ternoon a heavy rain set in, which rendered it impos 
 sible either to visit the cattle-marshes again, or to pro- 
 ceed homewards, which young Wolsey recommended 
 his father's men to do, on the conviction of the impossi- 
 bility of ever concluding a bargain with these frocked 
 and cowled dealers in cattle and swine. 
 
 The rain, however, continued without intermission, 
 and the malcontent student was compelled to remain 
 where he was till the ' plague of water,' as he called 
 this unwelcome downpouring, should abate. 
 
 How to pass the weary interval with men whose 
 minds and manners were so dissimilar to his own, he 
 knew not. Books they had never a one except their 
 breviaries, and their acquaintance with these v/as a 
 doubtful matter to the young student, since no per-
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 193 
 
 suasions of his could induce them to perform, vespers 
 when the bells chimed for that service, although it 
 was a wet afternoon on which nothing else could be 
 done. 
 
 Whether to attribute this to their utter disrelish lo 
 any thing of a spiritual nature, or to their fear of be- 
 traying their ignorance of latin and other deficiences 
 o one whom they feared would detect their blunders, 
 and perhaps report them to their superior at Thet- 
 ford, Wolsey knew not, but he was so heartily weary 
 of his sojourn among them, that nothing but the most 
 pathetic remonstrances and earnest protestations on 
 thn part of Humphrey against such a measure, pre- 
 vented him from retracing his steps to Blitheburgh, 
 in spite of the rain, and remaining with the monks of 
 Holy-Rood Chapel till his father's people had transac- 
 ted their business with the conventual graziers of 
 Reydon. 
 
 The following morning proving fine, they again 
 proceeded to the marshes in the hope of striking a 
 bargain, which was at length concluded ; but not till 
 after a delay that appeared to the impatient Wolsey 
 a most interminable, which time he employed, not in 
 listening to the altercations of the buyer and sellers 
 of the bullocks ; but in strolling through the marshes 
 i»nd making observations, till he obtained a view of
 
 194 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 Blitneburgli on the line of country tnat intervened 
 across which, he persuaded himself a much shorter 
 cut to that village might be made than by following 
 the usual road throufrh Wangford. Just as he had 
 come to the resolution of attempting that route, the 
 convent bell rang for dinner, and summoned him to a 
 sixth meal of white bacon, of which the monks ate 
 with as keen an appetite as if it had been the first 
 time they ever partook of that savory fare, of which 
 Wols3y was by this time almost as weary as of the 
 company of the founders of the entertainment. 
 
 The bullocks, twelve in number, were now driven 
 into the convent yard, and Humphrey called upon his 
 young master to pay down the price for which he and 
 the monks had agreed, at the average sum of one 
 pound ten shillings a head, which he pronounced an 
 unconscionable sum with a sly wink of intelligence 
 at the Oxford student, by which he gave the youth, 
 who was about to take his words literally, to under- 
 stand that he was well satisfied with the bargain. In 
 fact, the Reydon monks, shrewd and exacting as they 
 were, had met with more than iheir match in the cal- 
 culating, experienced Humphrey, who, without ma- 
 king a boast of his wisdom in this way, knew how to 
 judge of the weight of a living ox almost to an odd 
 pound. Till ihe business was concluded, the money 
 paid, and the receipt given, he had forborne to taste o
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 195 
 
 the convent mead or ale, though b.)th had been pressed 
 upon him with an earnestness passing the bounds ei- 
 ther of poHteness or hospitality by the cunning monks, 
 who hoped to overcome Humphrey 's cool clear judg- 
 ment and caution, by means of the merry browii 
 bowl ; but now fear of being overreached in his bar- 
 gain in consequence of such an indulgence was at an 
 end, Humphrey, malgre all his young master's expos 
 tulations, demanded the lately-rejected beverage, of 
 which he, with Miles and Peter, drank pretty freely, 
 though not perhaps so much as they would have done 
 had the cloistered cattle-dealers been willing to pro- 
 duce more, which they were always sparing in doing 
 after a bargain had been definitively struck. 
 
 The drauijhts which the trio had swallowed 
 f.ad however the effect of putting them all into such 
 high good humor, that when Wolsey on mounting 
 proposed to them his plan of changing the roundabout 
 route through Wangford, for a straight cut across tho 
 marshes to Blitheburgh, they offered no objection, for 
 even the prudent Humphrey was desirous of adopting 
 any expedient by which they might make up for the 
 time they had lost in drinking the convent ale after 
 the business was transacted. 
 
 The monks assured them the project was feasible, 
 since the branch of the Blithe which separated Hen- 
 ham and Reydon was fordabh, and they would save
 
 196 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 a considerable distance by crossing the ri/er, .ui their 
 hospitality did not ex.end to the civility of sending 
 one of their swine-herds or goose-boys to point ou 
 the precise spot at which the attempt might be made 
 without danger to passengers. The stream was much 
 swollen in consequence of the late heavy rains , 
 Humphrey and the drovers paused on the rushy 
 bank, each prudently declining to be the first to try 
 the ford. Wolsey, who was piqued at their doubts ol 
 his assurance 'that it was safe! perfectly safe!' 
 though he would rather have had one of the others 
 show a demonstrable proof that there was no danger, 
 urged his reluctant mare forward. 
 
 ' Hold, master Thomas, hold ! for the love of St. 
 Margaret of Rissmere,' cried Humphrey, who was 
 suddenly sobered by the sight of his young master's 
 peril, and the recollection that the stream was deep 
 and muddy. 
 
 Now this St. Margaret of Rissmere was a saint 
 for whom Wolsey had neither love nor reverence, for 
 she was the patroness of the unlearned monks of 
 Reydon : so, without heeding the adjuration so pa- 
 thetically addressed to him in her name, he boldly 
 plunged into the dark and swollen waters of the dan- 
 gerous ford. He was, as we have seen, an inexperi- 
 enced rider on dry land, but a more skilful horsemar 
 \han the str'pling-student would have f(»und it a diffi
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 197 
 
 cu.t matter to retain his seat and g-uide the terrified 
 animal, who presently lost her fooling, and began to 
 plunge and kick in the muddy slippery ooze, of which 
 the bed of the Blithe and its dependent streams are 
 composed, and which having recently been violently 
 disturbed by the heavy rains, was in a state of com 
 plete ferment and liquefaction. 
 
 Wolsey, though encumbered with his bachelor's 
 gown, which he had not this time taken the precau- 
 tionary measure of tucking up and fastening to his 
 girdle, courageously maintained his seat till the mare, 
 exhausted with her violent efforts, sunk, and left him 
 floating on the stream. He was an expert swimmer 
 in the cle-^r calm Orwell, or the pastoral Gipping, his 
 native streams, but scarcely a fish that had been used 
 to the fresh sparkling element of such rivers as these, 
 could have steered its course in the dark vortex of 
 brackish mud in which poor Wclsey was immersed. 
 
 Peter and Miles stood aghast at the accident, utter- 
 ing doleful cries for help, without venturing to make 
 a single effort to save the almost exhausted youth. 
 Humphrey, the faithful Humphrey, at the first alarm 
 had dismounted from the nag, and was preparing to 
 plunge into the stream to save his master's son or per- 
 ish in the attempt, when one ot sir Richard Bran- 
 don's wood-rangers, who had seen the accident and 
 hastened to the spot, reached the end of the long pola
 
 198 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 he had been using in leaping the marsh ditches to 
 the youth, by which assistance, the stream being nar- 
 row at that place, he was enabled, though not without 
 some difficulty, to gain the opposite bank, from which, 
 as soon as he had cleared his eyes and mouth of the 
 salt, bitter, and unsavory ooze he had been compelled 
 to swallow, he called out in an accent of distress to 
 Humphrey, ' ! Humphrey, Humphrey ! what shall 
 we say to my father about the grey mare ? ' 
 
 * St. Margaret of Rissmere take the mare ! ' sobbed 
 Humphrey who appeared to consider the patroness of 
 Reydon as somehow chargeable with their mishap : 
 * don't talk of her, my dear boy, when she had near- 
 ly been the death of you. Howsomdever, master 
 Thomas, you must never undertake to lead those who 
 are wiser than yourself short cuts any more. I hope 
 you have had enough of this precious ford, that was 
 to take you such a near way to Blitheburgh.' 
 
 ' Why so it will, you simple fellow,' said Wolsey 
 laughing, and wiping the mud from his face ; ' do not 
 you see the beautiful church over those marshes, al- 
 most at my elbow ? I shall bestir myself to get 
 there as fast as I can, now I am over the water, that 
 
 may get dry clothes, a good supper, and some pleas- 
 ant chat with the worthy monks of the Holy Rood, 
 which will console me for the drenching 1 have 
 got.'
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 190 
 
 'Alack, alack' master Thomas! what is to be- 
 come of us and the bullocks ? ' howled Miles and Pe- 
 ter from the opposite bank. 
 
 ' You may come over the river to me, an you like,' 
 responded Wolsey from the other side. 
 
 ' We durst not do that for our lives,' cried the trem- 
 bling drovers. 
 
 ' Then turn yourselves and the bullocks about, and 
 find the road to Wangford as well as ye can : Hum- 
 phrey knows the country, and he will guide ye to get 
 to Blitheburgh by that roundabout way, ye poltroons, 
 unless ye choose to stay where ye are till I am a Car 
 dinal, when it is my intention to build a bridge over 
 this sweet stream, to prevent other travellers from in- 
 curring the peril which I have done in endeavoring 
 to ford such a bottomless abyss of mud.' 
 
 We will not follow the young bachelor to Blithe- 
 burgh, where doubtless he met with agreeable enter- 
 tainment, nor will the limits of our tale admit of our 
 tracing the progressive steps by which he in the se- 
 quel attained to the eminence to which his ambition, 
 even in childhood, prompted him to aspire. By keep- 
 ing hi:, attention constantly fixed on this object, he 
 found it at last within his reach ; but was he then 
 contented ? Let me answer this query with another 
 — When was the desire of human greatness ever sat- 
 isfied ? I refer the juvenile reader to *he historical 
 18
 
 200 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 summary for further particulars of the career of this 
 extraordinary man, who, when he had attained to the 
 coveted rank of Cardinal, though he was burdened 
 with the cares of the prime minister of England 
 which ofRce he held during twenty years of Henry 
 the Eighth's reign, was not forgetful of his promise 
 of building a bridge over the stream which had so 
 nearly proved fatal to himself. The name of the 
 Dridge, and the local tradition thereunto belonging, 
 will long, I trust, exist to preserve the memory af aa 
 action of pure benevolence to future ages.
 
 Ik '^wMmwt flf ^ir f I)om:is !!Tore. 
 
 IN THE TIME OF HENRY THE EIGHTH, 
 
 1 .? the pleasant fields of Battersea, near the river side, 
 on a spot which is now covered with houses, dwelt, 
 three hundred and ten years ago, the blind widow, 
 Annice Collie, and her orphan grandchild, Dorothy. 
 These two were alone in the world, and yet they 
 might scarcely be said to feel their loneliness ; for 
 they were all the world to each other. 
 
 Annice Collie had seen better days; for she was 
 the daughter of a substantial yeoman, and her hus- 
 band, Reuben Collie, had been a gardener in the ser- 
 vice of good queen Catharine, the first wife of king 
 Henry the eighth ; and Annice had been a happy 
 wife, a joyful mother, and a liberal housekeeper, hav- 
 ing wherewithal to bestow on the wayfarer and stran- 
 ger at their need. It was, however, the will of God 
 that these blessings should be taken from her. The 
 queen fell into adversity, and, being removed from 
 her favorite palace at Greenwich, to give place to her 
 newly exalted rival, Anne Boleyn, her faithful ser
 
 202 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 vants were all lischarged ; and, among them, Reuben 
 Collie and his son Arthur, were deprived of their 
 situations in the royal gardens. 
 
 This misfortune, though heavy, appeared light, m 
 comparison with the bitter reverses that had befallen 
 their royal mistress ; for the means of obtaining an 
 honest livelihood were still in the power of the indus- 
 trious little family ; and beyond that their ambition 
 extended not. 
 
 Reuben Collie, who had spent his youth in the Low 
 Countries, had acquired a very considerable knowledge 
 of the art of horticulture, an art at that time so little 
 practised in England, that the salads and vegetables 
 with which the tables of the great were supplied, 
 were all brought, at a great expense, from Holland, 
 and were, of course, never eaten in perfection. Reu- 
 ben Collie however, whose observations on the soil 
 and climate had convinced him that these costly exo- 
 tics might be raised in England, procured seeds, of va- 
 rious kinds, from a friend of his in the service of the 
 Duke of Cleves, and was so fortunate as to rear a few 
 plants of cabbages, savoys, brocoli, lettuces, artichokes, 
 and cucumbers, to the unspeakable surprise of all the 
 gardeners in London and its environs ; and hones'; 
 Reuben narrowly escaped being arraigned as a wizard, 
 in consequence of their envy at the success of his ex- 
 periment He had hired a cottage with a small field
 
 JUDGMENT OF SIR r. MORE. 203 
 
 adjoining, and this he and his son Auliurbal, with 
 great care and toil, converted into a garden and nur- 
 sery ground, for rearing fruit-trees, vegetables, costly 
 flowers, and herbs of grace ; and this spot he flattered 
 himself would, one day, prove a mine of wealth to 
 himself, and his son after him. That golden season 
 never arrived ; for Arthur, who had, during a leisure 
 time, obtained work in a nobleman's garden at Chel- 
 sea, for the sake of bringing home a few additional 
 groats to assist in the maintenance of his wife Marga- 
 ret, and his little daughter Dorothy, who lived with 
 the old people, was unfortunately killed by the fall of 
 an old wall, over which he was training a fig-tree. 
 
 The news of this terrible catastrophe was a death- 
 blow to Reuben Collie. The aftlicted mother and 
 wife of Arthur struggled with their own grief to offer 
 consolation to him ; but it was in vain, for he never 
 smiled again. He no longer took any interest in the 
 garden, which had been before so great a source of 
 pleasure to him ; he suffered the weeds to grow up in 
 his borders, and the brambles to take root in his beds. 
 His flowers bloomed unheeded by him, and his fruit- 
 trees remained unpruned : even his darling exotics, 
 the very pride of his heart and the delight of his eyes, 
 whose progress he had heretofore watched with an 
 affection that almost savored of idolatry, were neglec- 
 ted ; and, resisting all the efforts which his wifo and
 
 204 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 Jaughter-in-law could make to rouse him from thil 
 sinful state of despair, he fe 1 into a languishing dts- 
 order, and died a few months after the calamity that 
 had rendered him childless. 
 
 And now the two widows, Annice and Margaret Col- 
 lie had no one to work for them or render them any 
 comfort in their bereavement, save the little Dorothy ; 
 nevertheless, they did not abandon themselves to the 
 fruitless indulgence of grief as poor Reuben had done ; 
 but, the day after they had with tearful eyes assisted 
 at his humble obsequies, they returned to their accus- 
 tomed occupations, or rather they commenced a 
 course of unwonted labor in the neglected garden, 
 setting little Dorothy to weed the walks and borders, 
 while they prepared the beds to receive crops, or trans- 
 planted the early seedlings from the frames. And 
 Dorothy, though so young, was dutifully and indus- 
 triously disposed, and a great comfort to them both ; 
 it was her especial business to gather the strawberries 
 and currants, and to cull the flowers for posies, and 
 carry them out to sell daily ; nor was she afraid to 
 venture, even to the great City of London, on such 
 errands, though her only companion and guard vas a 
 beautiful Spanish dog called Constant, which had been 
 given to her, when quite a little puppy, by her roj^al 
 mistress, good queen Catharine, who was wont to be- 
 stow much notice on the child • and she. in her tiru,
 
 JUDGMENT OF SIR T- MORE. 205 
 
 fondly cherished the dog for the sake of her former 
 benefactress. But Constant was, for his own sake 
 very deserving of her regard, not only for his extra- 
 ordinary sagacity and beauty, but for the faithful and 
 courageous attachment which he manifested for her 
 person, no one daring to attack or molest her while he 
 was at her side. Constant was moreover very use- 
 ful in carrying her basket of posies for her, while she 
 was loaded on either arm with those which contained 
 the fruit; and so they performed their daily peregrina- 
 tions, with kindly words on the one part, and looks 
 and gestures of mutely eloquent affection on the other. 
 Very fond and faithful friends were this guileless 
 pair; and they were soon so well known, and excited 
 so much interest, in the environs of London, that 
 they were treated and caressed at almost every gen 
 tleman's house on the road : and the little girl founa 
 no difficulty in disposing of her fruit and flowers, 
 and was as happy as a cheerful performance of her 
 duties could render her. But these pleasant days did 
 not last ; the small-pox broke out in the neighbor- 
 hood : — Dorothy's mother was attacked with this fa- 
 tal malady, and, after a few days' severe illness, died ; 
 and the very night after the melancholy and hurried 
 funeral of her beloved daughter-in-law took place 
 Annice Collie was laid upon the bed of sickness with
 
 206 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 the same cruel disease, and Dorothy was roused frcn 
 the indulgence of the 'ntense sorrow into which she 
 .vas plunged by the unexpected death of her last sur- 
 viving parent, to exert all her energies for the succour 
 of her aged and helpless grandmother. ' I know not 
 how it was that I was enabled to watch, day and 
 night, beside her bed, without sleep and almost with- 
 our sustenance,' would the weeping orphan say, when- 
 ever she referred to that sad period ; 'bnt of this I am 
 assured, that the Lord, who feedeth the young ravens 
 when they cry unto him, had compassion upon us 
 both, or I never could have been supported, at my 
 tender years, through trials like those. ' In the multi- 
 tude of sorrows that I had in my heart. His comforts 
 refreshed my soul ; ' and it was through His mercy 
 that my dear grandmother recovered: but she never 
 beheld the light of day again, the cruel disease had 
 destroyed her sight.' Yes, in addition to all her other 
 afflictions, Annice Collie was now blind, a widow, 
 childless and destitute; yet was repining far from 
 her ; and raising her sightless orbs to heaven, when 
 she was informed by the sorrowful Dorothy of the ex- 
 tent of the calamity that had befallen her, in the loss 
 of her daughter-in-law, she meekly said, with pious 
 Eli, ' It is the Lord, and shall I complain or fret my- 
 self because he lath, in his wisdnni, resumed that, 
 which, in his bo inty, he gave ? Blessed be his holy
 
 JUDGMENT (f SIR T. MORE. 20? 
 
 name for all which he hath given, and for all that he 
 hath taken away; though these eyes shall beliold his 
 glorious works no more, yet shall my lips continue to 
 praise Him who can bring light out of darkness.' 
 
 But the illness of herself and her deceased daugh- 
 ter-in-law had consumed the little reserve that poor 
 Annice had made for the payment of their rent; and 
 their landlord, a hard and covetous man, who had ev- 
 er since the death of Reuben Collie cast a greedy 
 eye on the garden, which he and his son had made 
 and planted with such labor and cost, called upon the 
 poor widow on the quarter-day, and told her, with 
 many harsh words, that unless she resigned the lease 
 of the garden to him, he would distrain her goods for 
 the rent she owed him, and turn her and her grand- 
 daughter into the street. 
 
 ' It is hard to resign the lease of the garden, which 
 has not yet remunerated us for the sum my poor hus- 
 band laid out upon it, just as it is becoming produc- 
 tive ; but I am in your debt. Master Barker, so you 
 must deal wiih me according to your conscience,' 
 said the blind widow ; on which he took the garden 
 into his own hands and made a merit of leaving the 
 two forlorn ones in possession of the cottage. 
 
 And now Dorothy betook herself to spinning, foi 
 the maintenance of herself and her helpless relative 
 but it was not much that she could earn in that way
 
 208 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 after having been accustomed to active employment in 
 the open air : and then her grandmother fell sick a- 
 gain of a rheumatic fever, and Dorothy was compelled 
 to sell first one piece of furniture then another to pur- 
 chase necessaries for her, till at length nothing was 
 left but the bed on which poor Annice lay ; and when 
 Dorothy looked round the desolate apartment th^r 
 had formerly been so neat and comfortable, she was 
 she was almost tempted to rejoice that her grand- 
 mother could not behold its present dreary aspect. 
 
 Winter again approached with more than ordinary 
 severity : quarter day came and found the luckless 
 pair unprovided with money to pay the rent ; and 
 their cruel landlord turned the blind widow and her 
 orphan grandchild into the street : and, but for the be- 
 nevolence of a poor laundress, who out of pity ad- 
 mitted them into her wretched hovel by the way-side, 
 they would have had no shelter from the inclemency 
 of the night that followed. Annice, helpless as an in- 
 fant, sunk down upon the straw, whereon her com- 
 passionate neighbor had assisted in placing her, and 
 having feebly expressed her thanks, turned her face 
 to the wall ; for she could not bear that her son's or- 
 phan should see the tears which she vainly strove to 
 repress ; but she could not hide them from the anxious 
 scrutiny of the weeping girl, Dorothy did not speaK 
 bci'; looked veiy earnestly on the pale cheek and sun
 
 JUDGMENT OF SIR T MORE. 209 
 
 ken Teatures of her venerable grandmother, wliile she 
 appeared to hold communion with her own heart on 
 some subject of painful interest. At length she rose 
 up with the air of one who has effected a mighty 
 conquest, and exclaimed, ' Yes, dearest grandmother, 
 It shall be done : the sacrifice shall be made ! ' 
 
 ' What shall be done, my child ? ' inquired Annice 
 m surprise : ' I have asked nothing of you.' 
 
 ' Not indeed with your lips, dear parent of my de- 
 parted father,' said Dorothy ; ' but your pallid cheek 
 and tearful eyes have demanded a sacrifice of me, 
 ivhich, however dearly it cost me, shall be made-- 
 I will sell Constant.' 
 
 ' Sell Constant ! ' echoed her grandmother ; ' can 
 you part with the gift of your royal mistress ? ' 
 
 ' Not willingly, believe me,' said Dorothy, throwing 
 her arms about the neck of her mute favorite, and 
 bursting into a flood of tears ; ' but how can I see you 
 want bread ? It is not long since that I was offered 
 an angel of gold for him by a servant of the Duchess 
 of Suffolk ; and this I selfishly refused at that time, 
 saying I would rathor starve than part with my dog. 
 Alas, poor fellow ! though I have shared my scanty 
 pittance with him, since your illness he has suffered 
 m'J:h for want of food; famine hath touched us all
 
 210 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 and I have reason to reproach myself for having re* 
 tained a creature I can no longer maintain.' 
 
 The next morning she rose at an early hour, and, 
 accompanied by her faithful Constant, took the road to 
 Westminster, to inquire if the Duchess of Suffolk 
 were still disposed to purchase him at the price she 
 had named ; but she returned, bathed in tears, and in 
 great distress, having encountered two ruffians, in a 
 lonely part of the road at Knightsbridge, one of whom 
 claimed Constant as his property, violently seized up- 
 on him, and, in spite of her tears and remonstrances, 
 carried him off, threatening her with very harsh usage 
 if she attempted to follow. 
 
 Poor Dorothy ! this appeared the severest trial that 
 had yet befallen her ; at any rate it was one of those 
 drops of bitterness which make a brimful cup of mis- 
 ery overflow ; and, regardless of the soothings or ex 
 postulations of her grandmother, she wept and sobbed 
 all that night, refusing to be comforted. She rose the 
 following morning with the melancholy conviction 
 that no resource now remained but the wretched one 
 of supplicating the alms of the charitably disposed in 
 the streets and highways. Nothing but the impera- 
 tive urgency of the case could have reconciled the 
 meek and timid Dorothy to a mode of life so every 
 way repugnant to her feelings. ' We wept when we 
 saw my dear mother laid in the cold and sflent grave •
 
 JUDGMENT OF SIR T. MORE. 211 
 
 but now I rej )ice that she was spared the grief of see« 
 ing this day,' said the sorrowful orphan, when she 
 commenced her unwonted vocation, and experienced 
 the bitter taunts of the pampered menials of the great,, 
 the rude repulses of the unfeeling, or the grave re- 
 bukes of the stern, but well-meaning moralists who, 
 though they awarded their charily, accompanied their 
 alms with reflections on the disreputable and lazy 
 trade she had adopted. Some there were indeed, 
 who, touched with the sweetness and modesty of her 
 manners and appearance, spake the forlorn one kind- 
 ly, relieved her present wants, and bade her call a- 
 gain ; but the number of these was comparatively 
 small : and the bread which she earned so hardly for 
 herself and her aged relative was, literally speaking, 
 steeped in her tears. While pursuing her miserable 
 occupation, she sadly missed the company and cares- 
 ses of the faithful Constant. ' He would have been 
 kind and affectionate,' she said, ' if all the world had 
 frowned upon her. Her change of circumstances 
 made no alteration in his regard ; if she were in sick- 
 ness or sorrow, and others chid or scorned her, he ap- 
 peared to redouble his endearments; and, while he 
 was by her side, she did not feel so very lonely — so 
 sweet it is to be assured of the love of one friend, 
 hovve/er humbl?.' Sometimes too she thought she
 
 212 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 should feel less sorrowful if she were assured tV.at he 
 had fallen into good hands. 
 
 Meantime days and weeks passed away, her clothes 
 grew old and her shoes were worn out, and Dorothy, 
 who was accustomed to appear so neat and nice in 
 her attire, was reduced io the garb of the most abject 
 misery; but though baiefoot and sorely pinched with 
 cold and famine, she thought less of her own suffer- 
 ings than of the privations to which her blind grand- 
 mother was exposed. 
 
 One evening, when the snow lay deep upon the 
 ground, and Dorothy had been begging all day with- 
 out receiving a singie penny in alms, neither had she 
 tasted a morsel of food since a very early hour in the 
 morning, her strength failed her; and, overcome by 
 cold, hunger, weariness, and sorrow, she sat down on 
 a heap of frozen snow by the way-side, and wept bit- 
 terly. The river Thames was then frozen over ; she 
 had walked across it on the ice, and was now in the 
 parish of Chelsea. She regretted that she had ven- 
 tured so far from her home, for she was oppressed 
 with fatigue ; and, though she saw the trees and hou- 
 ses on the opposite shores of Battersea so near, she 
 fell as if she could not reach them that night. A 
 drowsy feeling, the fatal effects of cold and hunger 
 combined, was stealing over her; she tried to rouse 
 herself, ' for ' she faintly whispered to hereslf ' m^
 
 JUDGMENT OF SIR T. MORE. 213 
 
 po.^r grandmother will be so uneasy, if I do not re- 
 turn : but then, she thought, ' how pleasantly I could 
 go to sleep here, and forget all my troubles ! I am 
 not cold now, only so very, very drowsy ; ' and, 
 ihough aware that if she did yield to these lethargic 
 feelings, her sleep -vould be the sleep of death, she re- 
 quired some slim ilus, more powerful than even that 
 conviction, to dispal the soporific influence of the 
 deadly cold which had seized her tender frame, like 
 a witherinsf bliirht, and benumbed her faculties. But 
 at the very moment when the shores of Battersea, 
 with their snow-clad trees and houses, were fading 
 before her closing eyes, and she was sinking passive- 
 ly and almost pleasingly into that slumber from which 
 she would never have awaked, she was roused by a 
 dog bounding suddenly upon hei with a joyful cry, 
 and licking her benumbed face and hands with the 
 most passionate demonstrations of aflfection. 
 
 'Ah, my dear, dear Constant! is it you?' she ex- 
 claimed in an impulsive burst of delight at this unex- 
 pected rencontre. The icy bonds of the death-sleep 
 that had enchained her were broken; she returned 
 the eao^er caresses of the faithful animal with the rap- 
 ture of one who is suddenly restored to a long-los-. 
 friend ; and, starting from the ground with renewed 
 strength ani spii its, she exclaimed, ' I shall be able to
 
 214 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 reach home now I have found you, my pretty Con 
 Btant, my own dear dog ! ' 
 
 * Your dog, hussey ? ' interposed a serving-maa, 
 rudely separating the reunited friends, ' I'd have yon 
 know that this dog belongs to my Lady More, whose 
 footman I have the honor to be.' 
 
 ' Indeed, indeed, it is my dog that was stolen from 
 me, on the Knightsbridge-road, by a hard-hearted 
 man,' sobbed Dorothy; she was going to add, 'just 
 such a one as yourself,' but she stopped short. 
 
 ' And pray, my sweet mistress, may I ask how a 
 beggar-wench, like yourself, came in possession of a 
 dog of such a rare and cosily breed ? ' demanded the 
 man with a sneer. 
 
 'He was given to me, when quite a puppy, by my 
 sovereign lady, good queen Catharine, who was ever 
 gracious unto me,' said she. 
 
 'Ho! ho! ho! was she so?' responded the man, 
 bursting into an insulting laugh ; ' a likely tale, for- 
 sooth ! you look like a queen's minion, my mistress, 
 do you not ? Well, well, it is not a small lie that 
 will choke you ! Good night, my fair courtier, 'tis 
 too cold to stand parleying with you on the matter.' 
 So saying, he laid violent hands on Constant ; and 
 In spitf of his resistance and Dorothy's tears a- d pas- 
 sionate remonstrances, he tucked him under his arm, 
 and trudged off.
 
 JUDGMENT OF SIR T. BIORE. 215 
 
 Cold, hanger, weariness, and dejection, wtre alike 
 forgotten by the bereaved mistress of Constant at the 
 prospect of a second separation from this faithful 
 friend, whose affecting remembrance of her, after so 
 long an absence, had endeared him to her more than 
 ever ; and, without a moment's hesitation, she follow- 
 ed the servant as quickly as her naked and lacerated 
 feet could carry her over the frozen snow, till he ar- 
 rived at the gates of sir Thomas More's mansion, 
 which she essayed to enter with him. 
 
 ' Why, you saucy young jade ! ' exclaimed he, 
 trusting her back ; ' this is a pass of impudence be- 
 yond any thing I ever heard of ! Don't you know 
 that I am my lady More's own footman, and sir Thom- 
 as More, my lady's husband, is the lord high Chan- 
 cellor of England ? ' 
 
 ' I pray you then to bring me to the speech of her 
 ladyship,' said Dorothy, 'for the higher she be, the 
 more will it behove her to do me justice.' 
 
 On this the serving-man, who was aware that his 
 lady was a proud worldly woman, and by no means 
 likely to resign her favorite dog to a beggar-girl, 
 laughed immoderately. Some of his fellow servants 
 who were standing by, joined in his mirth, while oth- 
 ers were sc cruel as to address many jeering remarks 
 to Dorothy on her dress and appearance, all which 
 ehe heard patiently, and meekly replied, ' the fashion
 
 216 
 
 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 of her clotnes was not of her choice, but her necessi 
 ty, to which she prayed that none of ihose who re 
 viled her might ever be exposed : ' and, when nont 
 would undertake to bring her to the speech of lady 
 More, she seated herself on a stone at the gates of 
 the court yard, to wait for the appearance of some of 
 the family, though she was exposed to the inclemency 
 of the snow-storm, which beat on the uncovered 
 head of the friendless orphan. 
 
 At length she heard the sound of wheels, and the 
 servants came hastily to throw open the gates, crying, 
 ' Eoom, room, for my lord chancellor's coach ; ' and 
 all the daughters of sir Thomas More, with their hus- 
 bands and children, came forth to welcome him, as 
 was their custom ; for that great and good man was 
 very tenderlj"^ beloved of his family, to every mem- 
 ber of which he was most fondly attached ; yet, when 
 he saw the half-naked child sitting so sorrowfully at 
 his gate, he looked reproachfully on them all, and 
 said, ' How now, have ye all learned the parable ot 
 Lazarus and Dives to so little purpose, that ye suifer 
 this forlorn one to remain without the gates in such 
 an evening that no christian would turn a dog from 
 the fire ? ' 
 
 ' Noble sir,' said Dorothy, making a lowly rever- 
 ence to sir Thomas, ' none of this good family wis* 
 of my distress nor have I applied to them for an alms
 
 JUDGMENT OF SIR T. MORE. 217 
 
 the cause of my making bold to come hither was up- 
 on another matter, on which I beseech your worship, 
 ful lordship to do me justice.' 
 
 ' Well, my little maiden, it is cold deciding on cau- 
 ses here,' said sir Thomas : ' so thou shalt step into 
 my kitchen with the servants ; and, after thou art led 
 and warmed, I will hear thee on thy matter.' 
 
 Now, though the words ' fed and warmed,' sounded 
 pleasantly enough in the ears of the cold, half-fam- 
 ished child, yet her attachment to her dog prevailed 
 jver every other consideration, and she said, ' Alack, 
 noble sir ! though I stand greatly in need of your hos- 
 pitable charity, yet it would be more satisfaction to 
 me if you would be pleased to hear me forthwith on 
 the matter of my dog, which is detained from me by 
 one of my lady More's serving-men, under the false 
 pretence that it belongeth to her ladyship.' 
 
 ' Go to, thou saucy vagrant ! hast thou the boldness 
 to claim my favorite dog before my face?' exclaimed 
 a very sour-spoken and hard- favored old gentlewoman, 
 whom Dorothy had not before observed. 
 
 ' Craving your honorable ladyship's pardon,' re 
 plied Durothy curtseying, 'I do not claim your la 
 dy.ihij)'s dog, for that would be a sin ; but I demand 
 my own to be restored to me, in which I hope 1 wrong 
 no one, seeing he is mine own lawful property, w\ii(h
 
 218 
 
 HISTORICAL- TALES. 
 
 a false caitiff took violently from me three montbs 
 agone.' 
 
 ' That agreeth well with the time when yoar dog 
 Sultan was presented to you, Mistress Alice,' observed 
 sir Thomas, significantly. 
 
 ' Tilley-valley ! tilley-valley !' ejaculated lady More 
 in a pet ; ' that is ever the way in which you cross 
 me, sir Thomas, making out withal as though I were 
 a receiver of stolen goods.' 
 
 ' Nay, patience, my lady ; I went not so far as to 
 decide the cause before I had heard both sides of the 
 question, which it is my purpose to do without farther 
 delay,' returned sir Thomas, smiling : * so follow me 
 into court, both plaintiff and defendant, and I will give 
 judgment between the parties before I sup ; ' and, with 
 a merry air, he led the way into the servants' hall, 
 where, placing himself in the housekeeper's chair, and 
 putting on his cap, he said, ' Beggar versus My lady ; 
 open the pleadings, and speak boldly.' 
 
 But poor Dorothy, instead of speaking, hung down 
 her head, and burst into tears. 
 
 ' How ! speechless ! ' said sir Thomas : ' then must 
 the court appoint counsel for the plaintiff. Daughter 
 Margaret, do you closet the plaintiff, hear her case, 
 and plead ^or her.' 
 
 Then mistress Margaret Roper, sir Thomas's el- 
 dest daughter, with a benevolent smile, took the a-
 
 JUDGMENT OF SIR T. MORE. 219 
 
 bashed, trembling girl aside ; and having with sooth- 
 ing words, drawn the particulars of her melancholy 
 story from her, she advanced to the front of sir Thom- 
 as's chair, leading the weeping orphan by the hand, 
 and attempted to humor the scene by opening her cli- 
 ent's case in a witty imitation of legal terms, after 
 the manner of a grave law-serjeant ; but, as she pro- 
 ceeded to detail the circumstances under which the dog 
 was lost, recognised, and again taken from the friendless 
 orphan, she, by imperceptible degrees, changed her 
 style to the simply pathetic terms in which the child 
 had related the tale to her — the language — the una- 
 dorned language of truth and feeling, which never 
 fails to come home to every bosom. All present, 
 save my lady More, who preserved a very aigre and 
 impenetrable demeanor, were dissolved in tears : as 
 for the poor plaintiff, she covered her face with a part 
 of her tattered garments, and sobbed aloud ; and the 
 counsel herself was compelled to pause for a moment 
 to overcome her own emotion, ere she could conclude 
 her eloquent appeal on her client's behalf. 
 
 ' Thou hast pleaded well, my good Meg,' said sir 
 Thomas, smiling through his tears on his best be- 
 loved daughter ; ' but now must we hear the defend- 
 ant's reply, for the plaintiff ever appcareth in the 
 fight till after the defendant hath spoken : so no v, 
 my lady, what hast thou to say in this matter?'
 
 220 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 ' My lady hath to repeat what she hath too ofter 
 said before, that sir Thomas More's jests are evej 
 out of place,' replied my lady in a huff. 
 
 ' Nay, many, good mistress Alice, an thou have 
 nought better to the purpose to respond, I must be 
 fain to give judgment for the plaintiff in this case.' 
 
 ' Tilley-valley, sir Thomas ! thou art enough to pro- 
 voke a saint with thy eternal quips and gibes,' replied 
 her ladyship : ' I tell you the dog is my property, and 
 was presented to me by an honorable gentleman, one 
 master Rich, whom you, sir Thomas, know well ; and 
 he said he bought him of a dealer in such gear.' 
 
 ' Which dealer probably stole him from my client,' 
 said mistress Margaret Roper. 
 
 ' Nay, but, daughter Margaret, how knowest thou 
 that Sultan was ever this wench's property ?' retorted 
 lady More sharply. 
 
 ' Well answered, defendant,' said sir Thomas : ' we 
 must call a witness whose evidence must decide that 
 matter. Son Roper, bring the dog Sultan, alias Con- 
 stant, into court.' 
 
 The eyes of Dorothy brightened at the sight of her 
 old companion ; and sir Thomas More, taking him in- 
 to his hands, said, ' Here now am I placed in as gieat 
 a strait as ever was king Solomon, in respect to the 
 memorable case in which he was called upon to de- 
 cide whose was the living child, which both mothers
 
 JUDGMENT OF SIR T. MORE. 22] 
 
 claimed, and to whom pertained the dead, which nei- 
 ther would acknowledge. This maiden saith, the dog 
 which I hold is her's, and was violently taken from 
 her three months agcne: my lady replies, ' Nay, but 
 he is mine, and was presented to me by an honorable 
 man,' (one of the king's counsellors forsooth). Now, 
 in this matter, the dog is wiser than my lord chancel- 
 lor, for he knowelh unto whom he of right pertaineth ; 
 and, therefore, upon his witness must the decision of 
 this controversy depend. So now, my lady, you 
 stand at the upper end of the hall, as befits your 
 quality, and you, my little maiden go to the lower , 
 and each of you call the dog by the name which you 
 have been wont to do : and to whichsoever of you 
 twain he goeth, that person I adjudge to be his right- 
 ful owner.' 
 
 ' Oh, my lord, I ask no other test ! ' exclaimed Dor- 
 othy joyfully. 
 
 ' Sultan 1 Sultan! come to thy mistress, my pretty 
 Sultan! ' said my lady, in her most blandishing tone, 
 accompanying her words with such actions of entice- 
 ment as she judged most hkely to win him over to 
 her ; but he paid not the slightest heed to the sum" 
 mons. Dorothy simply pronounced the word ' Con- 
 Btunl ! ' and the dog bounding from between the hands 
 Dt sir Thomas More, who had lightly held him till 
 20
 
 222 
 
 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 both claimants had spoken, leaped upon her, and over« 
 whelmed her with his passionate caresses. 
 
 ' It is a clear case,' said sir Thomas : ' the dog hath 
 acknowledged his mistress, and his witness is incon- 
 trovertible. Constant, thou art worthy of thy, name.' 
 
 ' Hark ye, wench ! ' said my lady More, whose de- 
 sire of retaining the object of dispute had increased 
 with the prospect of losing him, ' I will give thee a 
 good price for thy dog, if thou art disposed to sell him.' 
 
 ' Sell my dear, beautiful, faithful Constant I 0, nev- 
 er, never ! ' exclaimed Dorothy, throwing her arms a- 
 bout her newly recovered favorite, and kissing him 
 with the fondest aflfection. 
 
 ' I will give thee a golden angel, and a new suit of 
 clothes to boot, for him, which, I should think, a beg- 
 gar-girl were mad to refuse,' pursued lady More. 
 
 ' Nay, nay, my lady, never tempt me with your 
 gold,' said Dorothy ; ' or my duty to my poor blind 
 grandmother will compel me to close with your offer, 
 though it should break my heart withal.' 
 
 ' Nay, child, an' thou hast a blind old grandmother, 
 whom thou lovest so well, I will add a warm blanket, 
 and a linsey-woolsey gown for her wear, untc the 
 price I have already named,' said the persevering lady 
 More : — ' speak shall I have him ? ' pursued she, pres- 
 sing the bargain home. 
 
 Dorothy averted her head, to conceal the large tears
 
 JUDGMENT OF SIR T. MORE. 223 
 
 ihat rolled down her pale cheeks, as she sobbed out, 
 • Ye — s, my lady.' 
 
 ' Dear child,' said sir Thomas, ' thou hast made a 
 noble sacrifice to thy drty : 'tis pity that thou hast ta- 
 ken up so bad a trade as begging, for thou art worthy 
 of better things.' 
 
 ' It is for my poor blind grandmother, ' said the 
 weeping Dorothy : ' I have no other means of getting 
 bread for her.' 
 
 ' I will find thee a better employment,' said sir 
 Thomas, kindly : ' thou shalt be my daughter Roper's 
 waiting-maid, if thou canst resolve to quit the wander- 
 ing life of a beggar, and settle to an honest service.' 
 
 ' How joyfully would I embrace your offer, noble 
 sir, if I could do so without being separated from my 
 aged grandmother, who has no one in the world but me,' 
 replied Dorothy, looking up between smiles and tears. 
 
 ' Nay, God forbid that I should put asunder those 
 whom nature hath so fondly united in the holy bands 
 of love and duty,' said sir Thomas More, wiping a- 
 way a tear : ' my house is large enough to hold ye 
 both ; and while I have a roof to call mine own, it 
 shall contain a corner for the blind and aged widow 
 and the destitute orphan : that so, when the fnshion 
 of this world passeth away, they may witness for me 
 before Him, with whom there is no respect of persons, 
 and who judgeth every man according to his works
 
 A STORY OF WILLIAM THE THIRD AND QUEEN MAKl 
 
 ' And is my dear papa shut up in this dismal place 
 ♦o which you are taking- me, nurse ? ' asked the little 
 lady Lucy Preston, raising her eyes fearfully to the 
 Tower of London, as the coach in which she was 
 seated with Amy Gradwell her nurse, drove under 
 the gateway. 
 
 She trembled and hid her face in Amy's cloak, 
 when they alighted, and she saw the soldiers on guard 
 with their crossed partizans, before the portals of that 
 part of the fortress where the prisoners of state were 
 confined, and where her own father, lord Preston, of 
 whom she was to come to take a last farewell, then 
 lay, under sentence of death. 
 
 ' Yes, my dear child,' returned Amy, mournfully 
 my lord, your father, is indeed within these sad 
 walls. You are nr ,/ going to visit him. Shall you 
 be afraid of entering the place, my dear ? ' 
 
 ' No,' replied lau/ Lucy, resolutely, ' I am not a- 
 fraid of going to a» y place where my dear papa is.
 
 LADY Lucy's petition. 225 
 
 Yet she clung closer to the arm of her attendant, as 
 .hey were admitted within the gloomy precincts of 
 the building ; her little heart fluttered fearfully as she 
 glanced round her, and she whispered to her nurse, 
 ' Was it not here that the two young princes, Edward 
 the fifth and his brother Richard duke of York, were 
 murdered by their cruel uncle Richard, duke of 
 Gloucester ? ' 
 
 • Yes, my love, it was ; but do not be alarmed on 
 that account, for no one will harm you,' said old Amy, 
 in an encouraging tone. 
 
 ' And was not good king Henry the sixth murdered 
 here also, by that same wicked Richard ? ' continued 
 the little girl, whose imagination was full of the rec- 
 ords of the deeds of blood that had been perpetrated 
 in this fatally celebrated place, many of which had 
 been related to her by Bridget Oldworth the house- 
 keeper, since her father had been imprisoned in the 
 Tower on a charge of high treason. 
 
 ' Bu«^ io you think they will murder father, nurse ? ' 
 pursuoJ the child, as they began to ascend the stairs 
 leading to the apartment in which the unfortunate no- 
 bleman was confined. 
 
 ' Hush ! hush ! dear child ; you must not talk of 
 these things here,' said Amy, ' or they will shut us 
 both up in a room with bars and bolts, instead of ad 
 mitting us to see my lord your father.'
 
 226 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 Lady Lucy pressed closer to her nurse's side, and 
 was silent till they were ushered into the room u here 
 her father was confined, when, forgetting every thing 
 else in her joy at seeing him agam, she sprang into 
 his arms, and almost stifled him with her kisses. 
 
 Lord Preston was greatly affected at the sight of 
 his little daughter, and overcome by her passionate 
 demonstrations of fondness and his own anguish at 
 the thought of his approaching separation from her, 
 and the idea of leaving her an orphan at her tender 
 age (for she had only just completed her ninth year 
 and had lost her mother), he clasped her to his bosom, 
 and bedewed her innocent face with his tears. 
 
 ' Why do you cry, dear papa ? ' asked the little girl, 
 who was herself weeping at the sight of his distress. 
 ' And why will you not leave this gloomy place, and 
 come home to your own hall again ? ' 
 
 ' Attend to me, Lucy, and I will tell you the cause 
 of my grief,' said her father, seating the little girl on 
 his knee. ' I shall never come home again, for I have 
 been condemned to die for high treason (which means 
 an offence against the king), and I shall not leave thia 
 place till they bring me forth on Tower Hill, where 
 they will cut off my head with a sharp axe, and set 
 it up afterwards over Temple Bar or London 
 Bridge.' 
 
 At this terrible intelligence. Lady Lucy screamed
 
 LADY Lucy's petitfon. 227 
 
 nioud, and hid her face in her father's bosoni, which 
 she wetted with her tears. 
 
 ' Be composed, my dear child,' said Lord Preston 
 * for I have much to say to you, and we may never 
 meet again on this side the grave, since I am so soon 
 to die.' 
 
 ' No, no, dear father,' cried lady Lucy, ' they shall 
 not kill you, for I will cling so fast about your neck, 
 that they shall not be able to cut your head off; and 
 I will tell them all how good and kind you are, and 
 then they will not want to kill you.' 
 
 * My dearest love, this is all simple talking,' said 
 lord Preston ; ' I have offended against the law as it 
 is at present established, by trying to have king James, 
 my old master, restored to the throne, and therefore 
 I must die. Do you remember, Lucy, I took you 
 once to Whitehall, to see king James, and how kind- 
 ly he spoke to you ? ' 
 
 ' O yes, father ! and I recollect he laid his hand up- 
 on my head, and said, I was like what his daughter, 
 the princess of Orange, was at my age,' replied lady- 
 Lucy, with great animation. 
 
 ' Well, my child, very shortly after you saw king 
 James at Whitehall, the prince of Orange came over 
 to England, and drove king James out of his palace 
 and kingdom, and the people, who were displeased 
 with king Jrrnes on account of his professing 'he Re-
 
 228 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 man Ca-.holic religion, which they suspected he do 
 signed to reestablish in this country, deposed him, ana 
 made the prince and princess of Orange king and 
 queen in his stead.* 
 
 * But was it not very wicked of the princess of Or- 
 ange to join with her husband to take her father's 
 kingdom away from him ? I am very sorry king 
 James thought me like her,' said lady Lucy earnestly. 
 
 ' Hush, hush, my love ! you must not talk so of 
 the princess of Orange ; for, perhaps, she considered 
 she was doing right in depriving her father of his do- 
 minions, because it is against the law for a king of 
 England to be a catholic. Yet, I confess, I did not 
 beUeve she would have consented to sign the death- 
 warrants of so many of her father's old servants, on 
 account of their faithful attachment to him,' said lord 
 Preston with a sigh. 
 
 ' I have heard that the prmcess of Orange is of a 
 merciful disposition,' said old Amy Gradwell, who 
 had been a weeping spectator of the scene between 
 the father and child ; ' and perhaps she might be in- 
 duced to spare your life, my lord, if your pardon were 
 very earnestly entreated of her by some of your 
 friends.' 
 
 ' Alas ! my good Amy, I have no one who will un- 
 dertake the perilous office of soliciting the royal grace 
 for an attainted traitor, lest they sh 5uld be susnected
 
 LADY Lucy's petition. 229 
 
 of fortvarding the cause of king James,' said lord 
 Preston moarnfully. 
 
 * Dear father ! let me go to the queen, and entreat 
 for your pardon,' cried lady Lucy, with a crimsoned 
 cheek and sparkling eye. ' I will so beg and pray 
 her to spare your life that she will not have the heart 
 to deny me.' 
 
 ' Simple child ! ' exclaimed her father ; ' what 
 should you be able to say to the queen that would be 
 of any avail ? ' 
 
 ' God would teach me what to say,' returned lady 
 Lucy piously ; ' and he has also power to touch her 
 heart with pity for a child's distress, and to open her 
 ear to my earnest petition.' 
 
 Her father clasped her to his bosom, but said, ' Thou 
 wouldst be afraid of speaking to the queen, even it 
 thou shouldst be admitted to her presence, my Lucy.' 
 
 ' Why should I be afraid of speaking to the queen, 
 father ? for even if she should be angry with me, and 
 answer harshly at first, I should be thinking too much 
 of your peril to mind it. Or if she were to send me 
 to the Tower, and cut off my head, she could only 
 kill my body, you know; but would have no power 
 at all to hur my soul, which is under the protection 
 of One who is greater than any »{ing or oueen upon 
 earth.'
 
 230 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 * You are right, my child, to fear God, and to have 
 no other fear,' said her father. ' It is He who hath 
 perhaps put it into your young heart to plead with the 
 queen for my life, which if it be His pleasure that she 
 should grant, I shall feel it indeed a happiness for my 
 child to be made the instrument of my deliverance 
 from the perils of death which now encompass me ; 
 but if it should be otherwise. His will be done. He 
 hath promised to be a Father to the fatherless, and he 
 will not forsake my good and dutiful child when I am 
 low in the dust.' 
 
 ' But how will my lady Lucy gain admittance to 
 the queen's presence, my lord ? ' asked old Amy. 
 
 'I will write a letter to her godmother, the lady 
 Clarendon, requesting her to accomplish the matter,' 
 said lord Preston. He then wrote a few hasty lines 
 to that lady, which, together with his own petition for 
 the royal mercy, he gave to his little daughter, telling 
 her she was to go the next day to Hampton Court, 
 properly attended, and to obtain a sight of lady Clar- 
 endon, who was there in waiting upon the queen, and 
 to deliver that letter to her with her own hand. He 
 hen kissed his child, tenderly blessed her, and bade 
 ner farewell. 
 
 Though the little girl wept much at parting with 
 her father, she left the Tower with a far more com- 
 posed mind than that with which she entered it, for
 
 LADY Lucy's petition. 231 
 
 she had formed her resolution, and her young hear*. 
 was full of hope. She had silently committed Pel- 
 cause to God, and she trusted that He would dispose 
 the event prosperously for her. 
 
 The next morning, before the lark had sung her 
 matins, lady Lucy was up and dressed in a suit of 
 deep mourning, which Amy had provided, consider- 
 ing it the most suitable garb for a child whose only 
 surviving parent was under sentence of death. 
 
 The servants, who had been informed of their young 
 ladjr's intention to solicit the queen for her father's 
 pardon, were all assembled in the entrance hall, to see 
 her depart, and as she passed through them, leaning 
 on her nurse's arm, and attended by her father's con- 
 fidential secretary and the old butler, they shed tears, 
 and bade God bless her and prosper her in her pi- 
 ous design. 
 
 Lady Lucy arrived at Hampton Court, and was in- 
 troduced into the countess of Clarendon's apartment 
 before her ladyship was out of bed ; and having told 
 her artless tale with great earnestness, delivered her 
 father's letter. 
 
 Lady Clarendon, who was wife to the queen's un- 
 cle, received her young god-daughter very affection- 
 ately, but plainly told her, she must not reckon on her 
 influence with the queen, because the earl ot Claren- 
 don was in disgrace on account of being susp«{ted ot
 
 232 HISTORICAL Tales. 
 
 carrying on a correspondence with king James, hia 
 brotlier-in-law ; therefore she dared not solicit the 
 queen on behalf of her friend, lord Preston, against 
 whom her majesty was so deeply exasperated that she 
 had declared she would not show him any mercy. 
 
 ' O I ' said the little girl, ' if I could only see the 
 queen myself, I would not wish any one to speak for 
 nie, for I should plead so earnestly to her for my dear 
 father's life that she could not refuse me,-I am sure.' 
 
 ' Poor child ! what could you say to the queen ? 
 asked the countess compassionately. 
 
 ' Only let me see her, and you shall hear,' said la- 
 dy Lucy. 
 
 ' Well, my love, it were a pity but what thou 
 shouldst have the opportunity,' said lady Clarendon ; 
 'but much I fear thy little heart will fail thee when 
 thou seest the queen face to face, and thou wilt not 
 be able to utter a syllable.' 
 
 ' God will inspire me with courage, and direct the 
 words of my lips,' said the little girl, with tears in her 
 eyes. 
 
 The countess was impressed with the piety and fil- 
 ial tenderness of her young god-daughter, and she 
 hastened to rise and dress, that she might, without 
 further delay, conduct the child into the palace gal- 
 .ery, where the queen usudly passed an hour in
 
 LADV^ Lucy's peiition. 233 
 
 walking, after her return from chapel, which she at- 
 leuded every morning. 
 
 Her majesty had not left the chapel when lady 
 Clarendon and Lucy entered the gallery, and her la- 
 dyship endeavored to divert the anxious impatience of 
 her little friend, by pointing out to her the portraits 
 with which it was adorned. 
 
 ' I know that gentleman well,' said the child, point- 
 ing to a noble whole-length portrait of James the 
 second. 
 
 ' That is the portrait of the deposed king James, 
 queen Mary's father,' observed the countess sighing, 
 ' and a very striking likeness it is of that unfortunate 
 monarch ; — but hark ! here comes the queen, with 
 her chamberlain and ladies, from chapel, — now Lucy 
 is trie time ! I will step into the recess-yonder : but 
 you must remain alone standing where you are. and 
 when her majesty approaches near enough, kneel 
 down on one knee before her, and present your fa- 
 ther's petition. She, who walks a little in advance of 
 the other ladies, is the queen. Be of good courage 
 and address yourself to her.' 
 
 Lady Clarendon then made a hasty retreat. Lady 
 Lucy's heart fluttered violently when she found her- 
 self alone, but her resolution did not fail her ; and 
 whiie her lips moved silently in fervent prayer to the
 
 234 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 Almighty for his assistance in this trying moment, 
 she stood with folded hands, pile, but composed and 
 motionless as a statue, awaiting the queen's spproach, 
 and when her majesty drew near the spot, she ad- 
 vanced a step forward, knelt, and presented the 
 petition. 
 
 The extreme beauty of the child, her deep mourn- 
 ing, the touching sadness of her look and manner, 
 and above all, the fast flowing tears which bedewed 
 her innocent face, excited the queen's attention and 
 mterest ; she paused, spoke kindly to her, and took 
 the offered paper ; but when she saw the name ot 
 lord Preston, her color rose, she frowned, cast the pe- 
 tition from her, and would have passed on, but Lucy, 
 who had watched her countenance with a degree ot 
 anxious interest that amounted to agony, losing all 
 avve for royalty in her fears for her father's life, put 
 forth her hand, and grasping the queen's robe, cried 
 in an imploring tone, ' Spare my father, — my dear — 
 dear father,— royal lady I ' 
 
 Lucy had meant to say many persuasive things, 
 but she forgot them all in her sore distress, and could 
 only repeat the 'vords, ' Mercy, mercy for my father, 
 gracious queen ! ' till her vehement emotion choked 
 her voice, and throwing her arms round the queen's 
 knees, she leaned her head against her majesty's per- 
 son for support, while her rich profusion of flaxeu
 
 LADY Lucy's petition. 235 
 
 ringlet3, which partly concealed her fair face, floated 
 over the queen's dress ; she sobbed aloud in tlie un- 
 controlable anguish of her heart. 
 
 The intense sorrow of a child is always peculiarly 
 touching ; but the circumstances under which Lucy 
 appeared were more than commonly affecting. 
 
 It was a daughter not beyond the season of infan- 
 cy, overcoming the timidity of that tender age, to be- 
 come a suppliant of an offended sovereign for the life 
 of a father. 
 
 Queen Mary pitied the distress of the young peti- 
 tioner ; but as she considered the death of lord Pres» 
 ton a measure of political expediency, she told Lucy 
 mildly, but firmly, that ' she could not grant her 
 request.' 
 
 ' And will you kill my dear father, who is so good 
 and kind to every one ? ' said Lucy, raising her blue 
 eyes, which were swimming in tears, to the face of 
 the queen. 
 
 ' He may be so, my child,' returned her majesty ; 
 ' but he has broken the laws of his country, and 
 therefore he must die.' 
 
 ' But you can pardon him if jj^ou choose to do so, 
 madam,' replied Lucy ; ' and I have read that God is 
 well pleased with those who forgive, for He has said. 
 Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.' 
 
 ' It does not become a little girl like vou (o attemp.
 
 236 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 to instiuct n e,' replied the queen gravely. * I am ac« 
 qaainted with my duty, and as it is my place to ad- 
 minister justice impartially, it is not possible for me to 
 pardon your father, however painful it may be for me 
 to deny the request of so dutiful a child.' 
 
 Lucy did not reply, she only raised her streaming 
 eyes, with an appealing look to the queen, and then 
 turned them expressively on the portrait of king 
 James, opposite to which her majesty was standing. 
 
 There was something in that look which bore no or- 
 dinary meaning, and the queen, whose curiosity was 
 excited by the peculiar manner of the child, could not 
 refrain from asking her, ' wherefore she gazed so ear 
 nestly on that picture ? ' 
 
 ' I was thinking,' replied lady Lucy, • how strange 
 it was that you should wish to kill my father, only be- 
 cause he loved yours so faithfully.' 
 
 This wise, but artless reproof, from the lips of in- 
 fant innocence, went to the heart of the queen. She 
 raised her eyes to the once dear and honored counte 
 nance of a parent, who, whatever were his political 
 errors as a king, had ever been the tenderest of fa- 
 thers to her ; and when the remembrance that he was 
 an exile in a foreign land, relying on the bounty of 
 strangers for his daily bread, while she and her hus- 
 band were invested with the regal inheritance of 
 which he had been deprived, pressed upon her mind,
 
 LADY lucy's petition. 237 
 
 the thought of the contrast of her conduct as a daugh- 
 ter when compared with the filial piety of the child 
 before her (whom a sentence of her's was about to 
 render an orphan), smote her heart, and she burst in- 
 to tears. 
 
 ' Rise, dear child,' said she. ' Thou hast prevailed 
 — thy father shall not die. I grant his pardon at thy 
 entreaty, — thy filial love has saved him.'
 
 238 
 HISTO.ilCAL SUMMARY 
 
 TO 
 
 UUTHRED ; OR, THE WIDOW'S SLAVE. 
 
 Those who have not examined the map of that part of 
 Great Britian which formed the Anglo Saxon empire, will 
 be astonished to find, how large and important a portion of 
 this island was once designated by the name of Northum- 
 b'^rland. Children cast their eyes on the map, and see our 
 northernmost county, or the land lying between the Tyne 
 and the Tweed, at present so called, and must necessarily 
 form a very inadequate iiiea of the power of the Saxon 
 Northumbrian king; especially when they find from his- 
 tory that this sovereignty had two divisions, the north 
 was called the kingdom of Bernicia, and the south that of 
 Deira. It is requisite to explain, that the ancient North 
 Humber Land hterally meant all the land lying north of 
 the river Humber ; and the possessions of the monarchs 
 of this district comprised the whole of the great county of 
 York, Durham, and not only the spot now corruptly called 
 Northumberland, but Roxburghshire, Lothianshire, and 
 the north-eastern counties of Scotland as far as the Frith 
 of Forth, and as much further as the strong hand of vio- 
 lence could grasp and retain. Edinburgh, or EdwiirWor- 
 ough, was then a city and fortress belonging to the Sax- 
 ons, founded by one oi' their chiefs. 
 
 A further examination of the map of Europe will shoty 
 the youthful studer.t how conveniently Northumbria. with 
 her noble dotIs ar.i rivers, and her Ion or line of c-w*
 
 GUTHRED. 239 
 
 washed by the German Ocean, was to tiie piratical rovera 
 that swarned into England from Norway, Denmark, 
 Sweden, and the north of Germany. These were col- 
 lectively first called Saxons, then Danes, and afterwards 
 Normans, who successively supplanted each othe and 
 were originally the inhabitants of the shores of the Baltic 
 and North Sea. At the era of the tale of Guthred, or 
 the Willow's Slave, the kingdom of Northumberland was 
 the strong hold of the Danelagh, or Danish invaders, 
 from whence they harassed the rest of the island. Anoth- 
 er glance on the map of England will show our juvenile 
 reader how strongly fortified by nature Northumbria was: 
 bounded on the north by the frith of Forth ; on the west 
 by the chain of mountainous hills that divide the six nor- 
 thern counties ; and on the south by the great estuary of 
 the Humber, which is the receptacle of the Trent, with 
 her thirty arms, to the south •, and of many fine rivers on 
 the north, that traverse Yorkshire, the Aide, the Swale, the 
 Wharfe, the two Dons, and their dependencies. We may 
 aptly compare the figure of the Humber on the map to the 
 thick trunk of an oak tree, with its numerous branches ; 
 and the mischievous influence of the Danes may be im- 
 agined, when we remember that they were able to navi- 
 gate these rivers in their flat-bottomed boats, and by this 
 means pierce into the heart of South Britain. 
 
 Guthred is an historical character, and the Saxon an- 
 nals thus relate his adventures. After the death of Half- 
 dane, the 'Host' of Danes, who had conquered Northum- 
 bria, remained without a leader. The Northmen were 
 much at variance among themselves. Several years be- 
 fore the sons of Regner Lodbrok had seized upon Guth- 
 red, the son of Uardacanute, the king of Lethra, in Swe- 
 den ; they sold him as a slave or thrall, and in 803 he waa 
 the property of an old widow in Northumberland. Guth-
 
 240 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY TO 
 
 red's lineage was known, he was marked as one of the 
 royal race, and he was raised to the supreme authority in 
 a very singular manner. Eadred, bishop of Lindisfarne, 
 acting as it was said, under the direction of St. Cuthbert, 
 who had appeared to him in a dream, proceeded to the 
 host of the Danes, and persuaded them, as well as the 
 Saxons, to accept Guthred as tlieir sovereign. He waa 
 conducted to Oswin's Dune, or the hill of Oswin, and in- 
 vested with the golden bracelets, the ensigns of royal dig- 
 nity, and solemnly inaugurated as king of the Northum- 
 brians, though in vassalage to Alfred the Great as his su- 
 perior. Guthred was deeply indebted to bishop Eadred, 
 and he paid his debt of gratitude by granting and confir- 
 ming, not only the lands between the Tyne and Wear, 
 but the royal dominion over all between the Tyne and 
 Tees, now the County of Durham. Alfred assented to 
 this donation ; for he saw the great advantage that would 
 result to his country, from the wild forests of that district 
 being reclaimed by the peaceful monks. From this giant 
 the palatinate rights of the wealthy bishops of Durham 
 arise, and which are still retained, in a great measure, in 
 the present day. The bishop was a prince between the 
 Tyne and Tees. He could pardon and condemn, and e- 
 ven exercise the power of life and death ; and for this rea- 
 son, a bishop of Durham may, if he please, sit on the 
 bench in scarlet robes when tlie judges try a criminal 
 within his diocess. 
 
 We must not omit to mention that Guthred ever re- 
 mained faithful to Alfred. 
 
 The ready election of this prince by his former ene- 
 mies, the Danes, as well as the Saxons, may be account- 
 ed for, by the reverence in which the royal line of Sweden 
 was held throughout the north as the genuine descendants 
 of Odin, who was the reformer, conqueror, and laAVgiver
 
 GUTHRED. 241 
 
 of the nortli, and for several ages worshipped as a god. 
 He was said to be of Asiatic origin, and the dari< hair and 
 eyes that tradition describes his descendants to have pos- 
 sessed, make that idea probable. 
 
 In such respect was a king of Sweden held in ancient 
 times, on account of his lineal descent from this mighty 
 ruler of the north, that the rival monarchs of Denmark 
 and Norway condescended to hold his bridle and stirrup 
 when he mounted or dismounted, on solemn occasions, 
 when these pnnces met. 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY 
 TO 
 
 THE ROYAL BROTHERS. 
 
 Edwahd the fifth nominally reigned over England for two 
 months and thirteen days. His imaginary rule began 
 and ended in his thirteenth year. In that brief space rev- 
 olutions of government occurred, of which not one was 
 unstained by faithless, deliberate, and cruel murder j and 
 it was closed by a dark and bloody scene. 
 
 Scarcely had the wars of the roses been extinguished, 
 when new factions sprung up from the jealousy always 
 felt towai-ds court favorites, by the ancient nobility. 
 Such factions characterise the Plantagenet reigns, and 
 more especially those of th^ princes of York, who, having 
 been long subjects, continued thoir habits of intermarry
 
 242 HISTORICAL SUMMARY TO 
 
 ing with subjects. Edward the fourth gave g;eat offence 
 to his proud nobihty by his marriage with Elizabf.th 
 VVoo(-ville, lady Grey, whose husband, sir John Grey, lell 
 fighting for the cause of Lancaster at tlie battle of Bar- 
 net. Her father, and several of her family, had sealed 
 with their blood, both on the field and scaflbld, their devo- 
 ted attachment to the red rose. But when the beautii'ul 
 widow was raised to the English throne by her royal lov- 
 er, her brothers, uncles, and sons were ennobled, and were 
 great favorites at the court of their royal relative. The 
 earl of Rivers, the queen's brother, was one of the most 
 learned, and chivalric nobles in Europe ; he was the great 
 patron of the inf uit art of printing, an author, and a hero 
 in the field. All parties join in praising a character so ac- 
 complished, which shone with the utmost lustre in an age 
 black with crime and barbarism; yet the earl of Rivers 
 was an oliject of peculiar jealousy to the Duke of Glouce- 
 ster's party, which was reinforced by Henry duke of Buck- 
 ingham, a prince of the blood royal. The Marquess of 
 Dorset, the queen's eldest son by her first husband, and 
 lord Richard Grey, her second son, and lord Lisle, her 
 brother-in-law, were likewise obnoxious to the adverse fac- 
 tions, for there was a third party, led by lord Hastings 
 the king's favorite, and augmented by the Stanleys and 
 Howards, who were the king's personal friends, and an- 
 cient adherents of the house of York, faithful to the kmg's 
 children, but envious and hostile to the Woodvilles, be- 
 cause they were the family of the queen. Such w-re 
 the three parties at the court ol' England when Edward 
 the fourth died suddenly of a surleit, leaving the govern- 
 ment of his son's mincrity wholly unsettled. Young Ed- 
 ward w^s then at Ludlow Castle, under the tutelage ol 
 the earl of Rivers, his maternal uncle. As soon as tlie 
 duke o»' Gloucester heard the tidings of his brothej-'i
 
 THE ROVAl BIIOTUKRS. 243 
 
 deatli, he marched towards the south with all speed, in 
 consequence, as afterwards appeared, of a secret ander 
 standing with Hastings, with whom he had recently been 
 on terms of hostility. Hastings remained at court, but 
 Buckingham, the duke of Gloucester's ally, hastened with 
 a strong body of troops, ostensibly to join the young king. 
 Lord Rivers, lulled into security by the assurances and 
 professions of the dukes, made haste to meet them with 
 his royal charge. On the 29th of April, Edward the fifth, 
 accompanied by his maternal relatives, had reached Sto- 
 ny Stratford, and on the same day the Duke of Glouce- 
 ster arrived at Northampton ten miles distant. Lord Riv- 
 ers immediately went to pay a compliment to the Duke 
 of Gloucester, and to receive his orders. They, together 
 wiUi Buckingham, who appears to have arrived the same 
 day, remained in the latter town till next morning ; but 
 the suspicions of Lord Rivers were excited by the outlets 
 of Northampton being guarded during the night. This 
 circumstance occasioned an altercation, in which Glouce- 
 ster accused Rivers and Grey of having taught the young 
 monarch to distrust him. Rivers, who was an eloquent 
 man, defended himself with his accustomed abilities, but 
 as he could not prove that he was no obstacle to Richard's 
 ambition, his defence was in vain; as a chronicler says, 
 ' they took him and put him in ward.' On being ushered 
 into the presence of the kinir, at Stony Stratford, they as- 
 sured him that ' the marquis, his brother, and Rivers, his 
 uncle, had compassed to rule the king and tiie realm, and 
 tc subdue and destroy all noble blood.' The unfortunate 
 boy answered with touching simplicity, ' What my lord 
 marquis may have done in London I cannot say, but I 
 dare answer f;r my uncle Rivers and my brother here, 
 that they be innocent of any such matter.' 
 
 But his protestations were in vain ; his mother's rela
 
 244 HISTORICAL SUMMARY TO 
 
 tives were taken 'nto custody, and conveyed to Pontefiact 
 Castle. ' Gloucester and Buckingham sent away fiona the 
 king whom it pleased them, and set new servants about 
 him, and such as liked better them than him ; at which 
 dealing he wept, and was nothing content, but it booted 
 him not.' 
 
 On the advance to London, their purposes were evident 
 to those whom they most concerned. Tlie queen fled 
 with her children from her palace at Westminster, at mid- 
 night, to take sanctuary in the adjoining Westminster Ab- 
 bey. The confusion and hurry with which her furniture 
 was scattered over the floor by her aff"righted attendants, 
 afford the best proof of the extent of their fears. ' The 
 queen hersel*;' as sir Thomas More says, ' sat alone on the 
 rushes, all desolated and dismayed.' 
 
 Westminster Abbey had thirteen years before this e- 
 vent been the refuge of this unfortunate queen, when she 
 took sanctuary at the time her husband was hurled from 
 the throne by the earl of Warwick. She fled by water 
 from the Tower, where she kept court, to Westminster 
 Abbey, and the unhappy Edward the fifth was actually 
 born in sanctuary, in the Jerusalem chamber, an apart- 
 ment still in existence. 
 
 On the 4th of May, the day originally destined for the 
 coronation, which was now postponed till the 22nd of June, 
 the young prince was led by his uncle, with due state, in- 
 to his capital. On Monday, June 16th, the consent of the 
 queen to the removal of Richard duke of York, the youn- 
 gest of the princes her sons, from the sanctuary, was ex- 
 torted by the archbishop of Canterbury, under the pre- 
 text that he should not be in sanctuary among thieves and 
 murderers at the moment of so august and sacred a cere- 
 mony a« his bother's coronation, and pleaded the desire
 
 THE ROYAL BROTHERS. 245 
 
 of his rcyal brother to have his company in the yalace of 
 the Tower. 
 
 The principal part of the intermediate time was p|)t'nt 
 by the king at Ely House, the residence of Thomas ]\Jo' 
 ton, bishop of Ely. This palace, with its extensive or- 
 chards and gardens extending over a space o^ forty acres, 
 occupied the spot where Hatton Street now opens into 
 Holborn, and the ground of the adjoining streets. The 
 name of Hatton Garden is still retained in the neighbor- 
 hood. 
 
 The duke of Gloucester assumed the title of Protector 
 to the king and kingdom in virtue of his near relationship 
 to the crown ; and on the 13th of June, a council was held 
 in the Tower, under pretence of regulating the approach- 
 ing coronation, at Avhich were present the lords Stanley 
 and Hastings, together with many prelates, among whom 
 was Thomas Morton, bishop of Ely, a fai'Jiful friend ol 
 his late princely guest. Richard duke of Gloucester, af- 
 fecting an unwonted gaiety, requested the Bishop of Ely 
 to send to Hatton Garden for a dish of strawberries for 
 breakfiist. But after he had retired for breakfast, his de- 
 meanor was wholly changed. On his return to the coun- 
 cil room, he entered with a sour and angry countenance, 
 knitting his brows and gnawing his lips. After a short 
 time he broke his sullen silence, by crying out, ' Of what 
 are those worthy, who have compassed the death of me, 
 king's protector, by nature as well as by law 1 ' 
 
 ' To be punished,' said Hastings, ' as heinous traitors ! ' 
 
 'This is the doing of that sorceress, my brother's wife, 
 and her kindred,' said the Protector. 
 
 This reply was pleasing enough to Hastmgs, the mor- 
 tal enemy of the Woodvilles; he rejoined, 'that it was a 
 vile treason, if true..' U{ un which the Protector wear) 
 22
 
 246 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY Tfc 
 
 of dissimulation, cried aloud, ' Yes, I will make goofi your 
 answer jpon your body, traitor, despite of your ' ifs' a nd 
 ands.' ' Then lie strucii his fist on the board with a great 
 rap, at which token a man that stood at the door cried cut 
 'Treason!' Men in armor, as many as the room could 
 contain, suddenly rushed into it. Richard said to Has- 
 tings, ' I arrest thee, traitor ! ' 
 
 Stanley and the other obnoxious lords, with the good 
 bishop of Ely, were hurried to different dungeons. 
 
 The Protector told Hastings that ' he would not dine til! 
 he saw his head was off.' It-was bootless to ask, why 1 
 The e.xecution was murderously hurried, with the brutal 
 jest, that the duke was hungry, and wanted to dine. 
 Ha-5tings was brought down to the green by the chapel, 
 and being laid on a long log of tirr.ber, which happened to 
 be near, his head was struck off, without the form or pre- 
 tence of^ a trial, or even the specification of his alleged of- 
 fence. Those who, after such deeds, could have doubted 
 the dire designs of the merciless Protector, must surely 
 have relinquished their opinions, when they learned short- 
 ly after, that on the very 13th of June which witnessed 
 the murder of lord Hastings, a like scene was exhibited 
 near the northern frontier of the kingdom. On that day, 
 Radcliffe, one of Richard's emissaries, entering the castle 
 of Pontefract, at the head of a body of armed men, put 
 Rivers and his friends to death, with as little semblance 
 of judicial proceeding as was vouchsafed to Hastings. 
 
 These horrible transactions, which are disputed by no 
 writer, have here been related almost in the words of sir 
 Tliomas More, one of the kw historians who had the op- 
 portunity of proving their abhorrence of falsehood, by 
 choosing to suffer an ignominious death rather th'in to lit 
 ',er a lie ; he vi^as besides, if not an eye witness, a least an
 
 THE ROYAL BROTHERS. 247 
 
 ear witness to the fa^ts, as he was in existence at the time 
 the events were passing. 
 
 Having tlius removed the friends of his brother, Rich- 
 ard began openly to attack the title of his nephew to the 
 crown. The first expedient to undermine which is singu- 
 larly at variance with modern manners and opinions. 
 On Sunday, the 15th of June, 1483, he caused Shaw, a 
 noted preacher, to deliver a sermon against the lawlulnesa 
 of the king's birth, at Paul's Cross. Now this Paul's 
 Cross was a sort of pulpit, with a Gothic stone canopy, 
 that stood in St. Paul's churchyard till the middle of the 
 seventeenth century, from whence the most noted preach- 
 ers of the catholic times, and even of those of the Re- 
 formed Church, used to deliver sermons to the London 
 populace, who stood around them in the churchyard, in 
 the open air, to listen ; it was a place of great resort, and 
 whatever a favorite preacher said from this pulpit had a 
 wonderful effect with the lower classes of London citizeris, 
 and the Paul's Cross sermons often glanced at passing e- 
 vents, both in church and state. The extraordinary ser- 
 mon delivered by Dr. Shaw, who was a priest of the cath- 
 olic religion, then the established church of England, was 
 a vii-ulent attack on the title of the young sovereign, who 
 was to have been crowned that very day, but whose cor- 
 onation had been postponed through the machinations of 
 his ambitious uncle. Dr. Shaw's main argument was;, 
 that the young king's father, Edward the fourth, had con- 
 tracted to wed, or had secretly wedded, another wife, lady 
 Elizabeth Lucy, before the marriage was solemnised be- 
 tween him and Elizabeth Woodville, therefore the Jast 
 marriage was void, and the children born in it illegitimate. 
 Stillington, bishop of Bath, a false and prolligatf instru- 
 ment of the duke of Gloucester, pretended that he had 
 married Edward the fourth to lady Elizabeth Lucy, and
 
 248 HISTORICAL SUMMARY TO 
 
 this allegation was declared to the London congregation, 
 at Paul's Cross, by Dr. Shaw. To this he added an odi- 
 ous and unjust imputation against the Duchess of York, 
 whereby he insinuated that the duke of Gloucester was 
 the only son of Richard dulce of York, and that Edward 
 the fourth and the duke of Clarence, his supposed eldest 
 sons, were spurious ones that their mother had palmed on 
 her husband. To the credit of the London citizens, they 
 received this vile attack on their young king and his fam 
 ily with scorn and loathing, and from that day Dr. Shaw, 
 their favorite preacher, was regarded by them with ab- 
 horrence ; they never would hear him again, and he died, 
 a few years after, literally of grief for the detestation all 
 men felt for his unprincipled conduct. But we must return 
 to the narrative of events. 
 
 Two days after the unpopular sermon at Paul's Cross, 
 notwithstanding the sullenness with which it was evidently 
 received, the duke of Buckingham thought proper to har- 
 angue the populace on the same subject, and finished by 
 proposing for them to acknwvledge Richard duke of 
 Gloucester as their lawful king. He had previously min- 
 gled a large band of armed men in the crowd ; these shout 
 ed ' God save king Richard the Third!' and a few 'pren- 
 tice boys threw up their caps ; but an ominous silence per- 
 vaded the rest of the assembly, whose dread of the troops 
 with which the false Protector had filled the Tower and 
 the fortress of Baynard's Castle (which in those days stood 
 on the Thames wharf still called by its name), prevented 
 the citizens from a more active demonstration of their dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 After this preparation, Richard was proclaimed k.ng on 
 the 22nd of June ; on the 36th of June, he publicly pos- 
 sensed himself of tJie throne, in the palace of Westmin- 
 ster, and we-at to return thanks to God for hu accession ^t
 
 THE ROYAL BROTHERS. 249 
 
 the crown ; and early in the month after, July the 6th, ho 
 was crowned at Westmaister Abbey, having first marched 
 from the nortb five thousand fresh troops, to overawe the 
 Londoners. As he dared not to be at open enmity with 
 the church, he set at liberty Dr. Rotherham, archbishop 
 of York ; for the same reason he abstained from putting 
 to death the good and faithful Dr. Morton, bishop of Ely 
 (which he longed to do), though he still kept him in du- 
 rance, but as he did not choose to continue his imprison- 
 ment in the Tower, he committed him to the custody of 
 the duke of Buckingham, who sent him to his castle of 
 Brecknock, in Wales, where the good bishop was impris- 
 oned, a fortunate measure for him, as those who read his- 
 tory will know. This Dr. Morton was afterwards the 
 happy instrument of the union of the rival houses of York 
 and Lancaster, by proposing and carrying into effect the 
 marriage of Elizabeth, the eldest daughter of Edward 
 the fourth, become heiress to the line of York by the death 
 of her princely brothers, and Henry earl of Richmond, 
 the last remaining scion of the house of Lancaster, who, 
 by the defeat and destruction of Richard the Thir<l, at 
 B.jsvvorth, put an end to that tyrant's atrocious career, 
 August, 22d, 1485. 
 
 The particulars of the murder of the unfortunate young 
 king Edward the fifth, and his brother the duke of York, 
 were never known with historical certainty. The follow- 
 ing account was gathered from the confession of the vil- 
 lains that had been em|)loyed by Richard the Third to 
 perpetrate the deed of darkness. 
 
 Directly after his coronation, Richard left London to 
 proceed on a progress through the north, for the ostensible 
 purpose of being re-crowned at York, aid in reality to 
 give some relief to his guilty soul, by placing himself at 
 a distance from the scene of the murders he was abo\ t td
 
 250 
 
 HISTORIJAL SUMMARY TO 
 
 execute. Wliileoii his journey, he sent an order to BracK- 
 enbury, governoi- of tlie Tower of London, to murder Ed- 
 ward the fifth anti the duke of York his brother. Brack- 
 enbury, more conscientious than his master, returned a 
 very submissive answer, but withal told him, he should 
 never have the heart to execute his commands. Richard, 
 vexed to be deceived in his opinion of that officer, sent 
 him, by James Tyri-el, a written order to deliver the keys 
 of. the Tower, and the autliority, to the bearer, for one 
 night only. Brackenbury obeyed, and Tyrrel gave direc- 
 tions to his agents, Miles Forrest and John Dightoji, to ex- 
 ecute Richard's commands. That very night, whilst all 
 were asleep, they went to the apartment of the royal chil- 
 dren, and smothering them in their bed, caused them to be 
 buried under a little staircase. This is what Tyrrel af- 
 terwards confessed, when he was executed for treason, in 
 the reign of Henry the seventh. This story was likewise 
 confirmed by the two subordinate murderers, Forrest and 
 Dighton, who were circumstantial in their description of 
 the crime. 
 
 Shakspeare, whose poetry never shines brighter than 
 when it is kindled at the lamp of history, thus describea 
 the scene: 
 
 ' O thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle baoes, — 
 Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another 
 Within their innocent alahaster arms. 
 Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, 
 That in their summer beauty kissed each other.' 
 
 That these ruffians confessed 'he truth was afterwarog 
 confirmed by a chest, containing small' bones, being dis- 
 covered, two hundred years afterwards, under the stair- 
 case above mentioned. King Charles the second was so 
 niuo.h conv'nced that this chest held the remains of these
 
 THE ROYAL CHASE OP WAREHAM. 251 
 
 anhappy princes, that he caused them ti be interred in the 
 rovai vault in Henry the seventh's chapel: he likewise 
 commanded a tablet to be inscribed, commemorating theit 
 cruel deaths and the discovery of their remains. 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY 
 TO THE 
 
 THE CHASE OF WAREHAM. 
 
 When Edward, the eldest son of Edgar the Peace- 
 able, succe^<led to his father's throne, under the guardian- 
 ship, or regency, of Archbishop Dunstan, his dominions 
 were exceedingly prosperous ; besides swaying the scep- 
 tre of the united Saxon heptarchy, he was bretwalda or 
 emperor over the whole island of Great Britain, the kings 
 of Scotland and Wales paying him vassal homage for 
 their several domains; in short, he held the same rule 
 that Edward Plantagenet the First afterwards endeav- 
 ored to obtain, and succeeded only in regard to Wales. 
 The united wisdom of Edgar the Peaceable and his prime 
 minister, Dunstan, established the English sceptre in peace 
 and prosperity. During his reign the native Danes were 
 kept in bounds, and the invading ones repelled. This de- 
 sirable order of things was entirely subverted by the^ 
 crime of Elfrida, the stepmother of king Edward ; for, d i- 
 ring the weak reign of her son and pupil, Ethelrcd, the 
 Danes obtained the mastery of England, and inexpressible 
 miseries ensned to the country, which had a pause when 
 Edward the Confessor succeeded to the throne, and were 
 afterwards renewed, with ^taSoid horror, by the invasion
 
 252 HISTORICAL SUMMARY TO 
 
 of another set of Northmen, under William the Conquer 
 or. Tlie whole of this wretchedness may be traced to tha 
 personal wickedness of one woman. 
 
 Elfrida was the only child of the earl of Devonshire, 
 and was considered the greatest beauty and the richest 
 fteiress in England. The kin? Edgar, who was then a 
 A^idower, having lost his wife, Elfleda the Fair, the moth- 
 er of his eldest son Edward, thought that the heiress ol 
 Devonshire was worthy to be his consort; but, as she had 
 been brought up in great retirement, and Edgar required 
 beauty and grace in a queen, as well as riches, he thought 
 that report might have exaggerated these qualities in El- 
 frida, and sent Ethelvvold, his favorite, to visit Elfrida, and 
 give him a true account of her claims to personal beauty. 
 Ethelvvold went accordingly, and found the young lady 
 so charming that he fell in love with her, and wooed hei 
 for himself instead of his master, to whom he gave a false 
 testimony, declaring that Elfrida had no charms but in hei 
 rich inheritance. Edgar immediately relinquished the de- 
 sitm of marrying her, and his fivorite observed, that al 
 though Elfrida was not quaUfied to be the wife of a great 
 kinor, she was a wealthy match, and he should, if the king 
 would permit him, marry her himself forthwith. King 
 Edgar consented, and Ethelwold soon after wedded the 
 fair heiress, who, being unconscious of the greater honor 
 intended her, thought she had made a good match. In a 
 little time the fair wife of Ethelwold began to be malcon- 
 tent at finding that her husband kept her mewed up at her 
 own castle, instead of bringing her lo the capital, to share 
 in the festivities of the most splendid court in Europe. At 
 last a report reached Edgar's ears that he had been de- 
 ceived, and after vainly questioning his favorite, why he 
 never brought his bride to court, the king announced his 
 intention of paying a \'isit to^thelwold and his wife
 
 THE CHASE OF WAREHAM. 253 
 
 Terrified at this information, Ethelwold went to lis lady 
 and confessed his deception, imploring her to appear as ug- 
 ly and awkward as she could, and rather strive to disgust 
 the king than otherwise ; for if she seemed as lovely as 
 nature had made her, the king would never forgive him 
 the false witness he had borne. Elfrida promised all 
 things, and as her husband thought he had her heart, he 
 was a little calmed. Nevertheless, both the vanity and 
 ambition of Elfrida being mortified, she was enraged at 
 losing a crown, and sjill more so at having been so mis- 
 represented. She did her utmost to charm king Edgar, 
 who was infuriated at the falsehood of Ethelwold. The 
 unfortunate husband was soon after found murdered in a 
 wood, when on a hunting party. Whether he was assas- 
 sinated by the order of the king, or his wife, was never 
 clearly understood ; but soon after Edgar married Elfrida 
 for his queen, and she became the mother of his youngest 
 boy, Ethelred, who was seven years old Avhen his father 
 died. 
 
 At the death of Edgar the councils of the kingdom 
 were divided into Dunstanites, and Anti-Dunstanites. 
 The partisans of Dunstan were the advocates of church 
 government, as dependent on the pope; these supported 
 the claims of Edgar's eldest son Edward, and the oppo- 
 site party set up those of Ethelred, the son of Elfrida. 
 Between Dunstan and the queen the most implacable ha- 
 tred subsisted, which was not abated when that great prel- 
 ate and minister carried his point, and established his j)u- 
 pil and ward on the throne, which, it is to be noticed, al- 
 though hereditary in one family, was not confinec t-j the 
 eldest son, being rather elective in the royal family El- 
 frida retired to the royai domain of Corfe Castle, a' d pri- 
 vately meditated mischief, which, owing to the vigoroui 
 23
 
 251 HISTORICAL SUMMARY TO 
 
 government of archbishop Dunslan, and his [tower with 
 the Witenagemot, she was not, ibr three years, able to 
 carry into effect. 
 
 It is here desirable to inform the youthful leader the 
 meaning of the word Witenagemot, more than once men- 
 tioned in this tale. The Saxon word Witenagemot sig- 
 nifies a 'Meeting of the Wise.' It was the name of the 
 grand legislative assembly of the Anglo-Saxon empire, 
 bearing some resemblance to the parliaments of the pres- 
 ent day. It was originally composed of five estates, or 
 ranks of men. The king was the first estate, and the 
 head of the assembly. Next to him sat the clergy, which 
 were bishops, abbots, priests and monks, elected for their 
 superior abilities from different dioceses; the clergy being 
 the only learned men in the kingdom, and as knowledge 
 is more powerful than strength, they took precedence of 
 the nobles and warriors, and sat next the king: the clergy 
 ranked as the second estate. The great earls, or heads of 
 counties, then called aldermen, sat with the tributary prin- 
 ces of Scotland and Wales, with whom they ranked 
 equally, and, like them, wore gold collars and caps of 
 maintenance : these Avere the nobles, and were reckoned 
 the third estate. They filled the station of the present 
 house of lords, only they are mixed with the clerg}', as our 
 house of peers has bishops, or spiritual lords, among its 
 members. The fourth estate was composed of tharjes, or 
 warriors, but, as well as warriors, they were obliged to be 
 landowners. An East Anglian (or Norfolk and Suffolk 
 thane) was obliged to possess forty hydes of land to ena- 
 ble him to sit in the Witan ; but a thane from Wessex, or 
 (he south of England, only needed to possess five hydes (a 
 hyde of land is one hundred acres-). This fourth estate is 
 eimilar to our knights of the shire, or members returned 
 *br counties. The fifth estate were farmers and trades
 
 THE CHASE OF WARE HAM. 2n5 
 
 men, called in the Saxon language churls and burgesses, 
 or burgliers ; they stood at the lower end of the hall, and 
 when a law or doom was passed, seldom said more than 
 yea, yea, or nay, nay ; these were elected by their neigh- 
 bors from every town and village, four good men and the 
 reeve, or manager of the parish money, from each. It is 
 plainly to be seen that the fourth and fifth estate of the 
 Witenagemot, united together, were the origin of our 
 house of commons; but a century after the Norman Con- 
 quest, they turned out the farmers and peasants, and only 
 kept the burgesses, or representatives of towns and cities. 
 It is likewise to be noted, that the Witenagemot was held 
 in one great hall, or on a heath or common, while the 
 house of lords and the house of commons, in our days, sit 
 in council in different halls, excepting tliey meet together 
 when the king conveues or dismisses them. 
 
 Tradition says, that the Witan existed before the Sax- 
 ons or Romans conquered Britain, and was held by our 
 British ancestors at Stonehenge, that surprising circle of 
 masses of stone which is still to be seen in the midst of 
 Salisbury Plain. In the times of our Saxon ancestors, 
 when a law passed in the Witan it was called a doom, 
 instead of our modern phrase of an act of parliament, or 
 a statute. 
 
 In our days the kingdom of Sweden, which was part- 
 ly the mother country of the Anglo Saxons, still retains 
 the grand national tribunal of the five estates, and the 
 last (ihe peasants) are a grave venerable body, men of 
 few words, but of great respectability, and not withcct 
 power in the commonwealth. 
 
 It was this g-eat council of the Witenagemot that con- 
 firmed the title of young Edward, and placed him under 
 the tutelage and guardianship of archbishop Dunstan, 
 a most austere man, deserving the reprobation of uo^-
 
 256 HISTORICAL SUMMARY TO 
 
 lerily as a fanatic and persecutor: but during tlic sliorl 
 reign of Edward, and the long one of Edgar his father 
 he was a great statesman, and mo.^t able prime minister, 
 over a happy people and a flourishing country EllVida 
 and her partisans were kept in awe by his vigorous ad- 
 ministration ; but that which public rebellion dared not at- 
 tempt, accident and private malice cflected. Edward and 
 Ethelred, though their several parties might strive to ren- 
 der them enemies, were united by strong ties of brotherly 
 affection. Edward chose to hunt the deer at Wareham, 
 in the neighborhood of Corfe Castle, in Dorsetshire, 
 where Elfrida and Ethelred then resided. It is said that 
 with youthful curiosity he was purposely allured to the 
 castle by the tricks of Wulstan, tlie queen's little cankered 
 dwarf, and he advanced alone to the lofty hall of his moth- 
 er-in-law. She received him at the doorway, and kissed 
 him. Before the king alighted, a cup was offered, and as 
 he was quaffing the draught, one of Elfrida's attendants 
 (some say herself) stabbed him. The wounded prince 
 had yet strength enough to spur his horse, but fainting on 
 the road, his body was dragged in the stirrup by the af- 
 frighted animal, who stopped at the cottage of a blind 
 widow. Life was i;hen extinct in the young king, whose 
 bloody corpse was frightfully mangled by the rough roads 
 over which it had been hurried. Elfrida thus gained her 
 wicked ends, for Ethelred, the younger son of Edgar, was 
 then sole heir. So little did the boy exuit in his moiher'a 
 Buccesslul crime, that when told of his brother's dreadful 
 death, he wept most bitterly ; this conduct enraged his vi- 
 olent mother to that degree, that she seized a wax taper 
 and so belabored her child with it that she almost killed 
 him This vile woman became afterwards abjectly peni 
 entj she built a convent on the spot where Ed ward 'a 
 •ody was found, and ended her life in childish penances
 
 THE ROYAL CHASE OF WAREHAM. 257 
 
 nmong others, history records that her terror of the sup- 
 posed approach of the evil one was so great, that she 
 souglit to evade his clutch by covering her body all over 
 witli little crosses. She died in extreme horror. 
 
 There are two terms that require explanation in this* 
 tale, the expressions Drink heal and Weas heal. They 
 were the forerunners of a custom not entirely obsolete a- 
 mong us, and simply meant an invitation to drink one's 
 health, and the answer before drinking of ' Wish health.' 
 A little after this time, when the lawless Danes filled the 
 land with violence and treachery, and actions similar to 
 this murder of Elfrida's became of daily occurrence m the 
 land, the custom of pledging a companion when drinking 
 was usual; and the phrase of 'I pledge you,' still in use 
 in country places, meant originally. Your honor is pledged 
 not to stab me while the cup is at my lips. 
 
 Ethelred, who seems to have had, naturally, kindly feel- 
 ings, being brought up under the misrule of his violent, ca- 
 pricious mother, proved a weak and bad king, and his mis- 
 government laid the foundation of nearly three centuries 
 of misery to his country, which might have been averted, 
 if his brother Edward, a prince of great promise, and as- 
 Kisted by able ministers, had not been cut off by .he nau^ 
 derous Elfrida.
 
 258 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY 
 
 TO 
 
 THE SONS OF THE CONaUEROR 
 
 The extensive tract of land in Hampshire, called the 
 New Forest, from the era of the Conquest to the present 
 any, was, in the Saxon time:?, a fruitful and cultivated dis- 
 trict, called Ytew. The desecration of upwards of thir- 
 ty-six churches thereon, and the depopulation of numerous 
 towns and villages belonging thereto, with the destruction 
 of the property of the inhabitants, who were driven forth 
 from their homes, which were laid Avaste to form this hun- 
 ting ground, without the slightest compensation made to 
 the owners, rendered the Norman dynasty exceedingly 
 unpopular with their subjects. In the lifetime of the Con- 
 queror, his favorite son Richard, and his grandson, lost 
 their lives hunting in this chase. 
 
 His successor, William Rufus, continued throughout 
 his whole reign the same lawless depredations on the prop- 
 erty of his subjects, and greatly enlarged the precmcts of 
 the New Forest; according to the early chronicles, up 
 wards of fifty churches weie ultimately destroyed, besides 
 seventeen churches and towns overthrown and desolated, 
 to make anotlier New Forest of lesser extent at Winuior. 
 
 Historians affirm that the Norman princes conceale^ a 
 political motive under the pretence of a passionate love of 
 hunting, and that they depopulated these districts in order 
 to afford a freer access to the troops which they occasion- 
 ally sent from Normandy, to overawe the English. 
 
 But a violent love for the chase seems to have been the 
 Wsettirio- sin >f the Norman princes, fiom whence sprung
 
 HISTORICAL Tales. 259 
 
 Jieir cruel game laws; for instance, a man that killed a 
 Etag out of season was hanged or beheaded, and any one 
 who took a Jiawk's nest, and destroyed the eggs or young 
 was sentenced to lose his eyes. 
 
 The New Forest, which is thirty miles in circuit, is di- 
 vided into nine walks ; to each there is a keeper, two ran- 
 gers, a bow bearer, and a lord warden. On the north 
 side of Malwood Castle is an oak that buds on Christmas 
 day and always withers before night. 
 
 The bad character of William Rufus is attributed to a 
 neglected education : an historian thus describes his char- 
 acter : ' Bred up to arms from his youth, and at a cou-rt 
 where he continually beheld instances of severity and ab- 
 solute power, he became a perfect brute in his behavior 
 and manners. He was of a very ill disposition, which 
 being never corrected by education, frequently led him in- 
 to actions un*vorthy of a prince. To these ill qualities he 
 joined a great contempt for religion and principles, utter- 
 ly regardless of honor or honesty. He was as greedv of 
 money as his father, only he disposed of it, when unjust- 
 ly gained, in vain expenses, vvlierein he was guided more 
 by caprice than reason. The only good quality remarka- 
 ble in him was his great courage, which however wai 
 scarcely to be distingu'shed from a brutal fierceness.'
 
 260 
 I1IST(JRICAL SUMMARY 
 
 TO 
 
 WOLSEY BRIDGE. 
 
 Thomas WoLSiiY was the only son of Thomas anJ Jo 
 Rn vVoisey, and was bom at Ipswich, in August, 1471 
 His father was a butcher and grazier. The house in 
 which Wolsey was born is still shown, and is situated in 
 the south side of the passage leading to St. Nicholas' 
 churchyard; and in the ancient shambles, or butchery, 
 which lately stood upon the Cortdiill, at Ipswich, was a 
 stall, or stand, with the initials of Wolsey's father carved 
 thereon, and some other insignia which tradition points out 
 as belonging to him. Wolsey's father, though a man of 
 a low trade, was in opulent circumstances, afid connected 
 with some of the most respectable families at Ipswich, ei- 
 ther by descent or marriage. His will is preserved, where- 
 in it appears that he left his lands to his wife Joan, and 
 the rest of his wealth divided between his wife and son, 
 reserving however a handsome bequest to the church ot 
 St. Nicholas and the poor of the parish. 
 
 There are floating traditions in Sufiblk, which intimate 
 that the butcher Wolsey was desirous that his son should 
 follow his own trade, and in pursuance of this plan, he 
 made him assist in driving the beasts he caught at vari- 
 ous markets for sale and slaughter at Ipi wich. In one ot 
 these expeditions he nearly lost his life, at a dangerous 
 ford at Reydon, over a branch of the river Blythe, when 
 drivino- a number of bullocks which had been purchased 
 from Reydon salt marshes and Southwold common. It 
 is further said, that he promised on the spot, '• that if ever 
 he became a cardinal, he would build a bridge at that dan-
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 261 
 
 ge'ous spot.' Wolsey kept his word, and when he arrived 
 at tlie high dignity his youtliful ambition even then aimed 
 at, he built a bridge at Reydon, which is to this day called 
 Woisey Bridge. 
 
 It is a singular thing, that a though forced to join at 
 times the inconsistent occupations of a drover and student, 
 that Wolsey was admitted as a bachelor of arts at Mag 
 dalen College at the age of fourteen, from which extraor- 
 dinary circumstance he was called the Boy Bachelor. It 
 must be observed, that students were entered at the uni 
 versities much earlier in former times than is usual at this 
 era : but to take a degree at the age of fourteen, justly ex- 
 cited universal astonishment throughout the kingdom, in 
 all men who were devoted to, or interested in learning, 
 and Wolsey Avas marked as a character likely to rise in 
 the church, which was then the only path to high distinc- 
 tion. We must not forget to note here, that young Wol- 
 sey had been as promising at Ipswich school as he was as 
 a student at Magdalen College ; so says Lloyd, one of his 
 biographers. The first step to his subsequent greatness in 
 the state was his appointment to the situation of domestic 
 chaplain to Henry the Seventh, a monarch who himself 
 had received a conventual education, and was a discern 
 ing patron of learned men, knowing well how to, appro 
 ciate them. There were, as matters stood in the middle 
 ages, two roads in the church to great distinction : one was, 
 for a learned priest to practise great austerity and sanctity, 
 so that he was considered a saint and revered by all men ; 
 and the other, to devote himself regularly to business as a 
 statesman, and govern church and state as prime minister, 
 which was done in England by whoever held the office oif 
 lord chancellor. The latter path was chosen by Wolsey 
 who had a particular inclination to a jourt life, and de-
 
 262 HISTORICAL SUMMARY TO 
 
 dared, thai ' if he could set one foot in the court, he woulc 
 Boon introduce his whole body.' 
 
 The first aflliir of state in which he was concernec 
 was a mission from Henry the seventh to Maximilian, 
 Emperor of Germany, who was then at Bruges. After 
 receiving his instructions at the royal palace of Shene 
 (now called Richmond), where the king then kept court, 
 he set out on his errand. We must consider the state ol 
 the roads, and the delays of travelling at that time, which 
 were so great that a journey from Ipswich to London took 
 at least a week, and even in the memory of man, a day 
 and night was spent on the road when travelling by a 
 stage coach. Therefore, when Wolsey presented himself 
 before Henry the Seventh at the end of three days, that 
 monarch naturally supposed that his envoy had not yet 
 set out, but had returned for fresh instructions, and he be- 
 gan to reproach him for his dilatoriness, when, to his as- 
 tonishment, Wolsey declared that he had actually been at 
 Bruges, and performed his mission successfully. ' Ay,' 
 answered the king, 'but upon farther deliberation, finding 
 that something had been omitted in your instructions, I des- 
 patched a messenger after you with fuller poAvers.' Tc 
 which Wolsey replied, ' that he had indeed met the mes- 
 senger on his return, and on communicating with him, 
 found that he had anticipated the viev/ that Henry had 
 taken of the business, and performed his negotiation with 
 the emperor precisely according to Henry's second 
 theughts of the affair, so that there was no need of a sec- 
 ond journey.' Henry was highly pleased with his envoy's 
 sagacity and promptitude, and with its favorable issue: he 
 gave him pubhc thanks, and declared him in council fit te 
 be entrusted with the management of affairs of the ut- 
 most importance. He "ewarded him with the deanery ol 
 Ijincoln, and the jrebends cf Walton, Brindhold, and
 
 ■WOLSEY BRIDGE. 263 
 
 Stow , and to complete his good fortune, his graceful and 
 eloquent relation of the particulars of his embassy before 
 the council, attracted the notice of the prince of Wales, 
 afterwards Henry the eighth, who grew from that time 
 extremely fond of his company. 
 
 Such was his introduction as a statesman. From the 
 first year of the reign of Henry the eigiith, 1509, till 1529, 
 the butcher's son ruled England with absolute power, and 
 at the same time with great ability. These twenty years 
 was the happiest epoch of Henry's reign ; for, after Wol- 
 tey's fall, the sovereign commenced a career of crime, and 
 his people of misery. Wolsey filled the high offices of 
 Grand Almoner, Archbishop of York, Lord Chancellor, 
 Pope's Legate, and Cardinal. He carried personal splen- 
 dor and state higher than any subject ever did before or 
 since, and would most likely have died in possession of all 
 these honors, had he not aimed at the highest then in the 
 world, even at the Popedom; but his intrigues to reach 
 this pinnacle of a churchman's ambition lured him to such 
 imprudent steps as caused the downfall of his mighty pow- 
 er, and a few weeks after he died of grief at Leicester 
 Abbey. 
 
 The munificent public works executed by Wolsey, both 
 as prime minister and from his own private revenue, are 
 greater perhaps than any subject ever performed. He re- 
 endowed and reformed his own university of Oxford, with 
 such magnificence, that he is almost considered as its foun- 
 der, according to its present state. His love for his native 
 county of Sutfolk was great, and the college he built and 
 endowed in his mother town of Ipswich, is a proof that ha 
 had the magnanimity not to be ashamed of his origin* 
 but the rapacious tyrant, whose caprice caused his down- 
 fall, seized upon the revenues and destroyed the infant col 
 lege of w hich only one of the gateways remain. But
 
 264 HISTORK^AL SUMIMARY TO 
 
 perhapci the ir ost extraordinary work in which this greal 
 man engaged, was, that he paitly wrote and wholly re- 
 vised, LiUye's grammar, a work of such use that it was in 
 general use within the last century. Such was the love 
 of this mighty statesman for learning, that he paused in 
 his career of unbounded power and pomp to smooth the 
 way to children for the attainment of knowledge: who, 
 after such an example, need be ashamed of devoting their 
 talents to writing children's books ! 
 
 This sketch of Wolsey has not shown the dark side ot 
 his character, which was deformed with many faults, and 
 some crimes. Shakspeare has summed up the account oi 
 both good and ill, with such skill that volumes cannot im- 
 press upon the youthful mind a more accurate comprehen- 
 sion of Wolsey's character, than that given in the dia- 
 logue between Catherine of Arragon, Henry the eighth's 
 divorced queen, and GrilFith, her chamberlain. 
 
 CATHERINE. 
 
 Didst thou not tell me, Gritiith, as thou led'st me, 
 That the great child of honor, Cardinal Wolsey, 
 Was dead ? 
 Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died. 
 
 GRIFFITH. 
 
 Well, the voice goes, madam : 
 For after the stout Earl Northumberland 
 Arrested him at York, and brought him forward 
 (As a man sore tainted), to his answer. 
 He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill, 
 He could net sit his mule. 
 At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester, 
 Lodg'd in the abbey ; where the reverend abbot, 
 With all his convent, honorably received him ; 
 To VN'hom he gave these words, — ' father abbot 
 An old man. broken with the storms of state, 
 Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; 
 Give him a little earth for charitv ' '
 
 TVOLSEY BRIDGE. 268 
 
 So went to bed ; where eagerly his sickness 
 Piirt.u'd him still ; and three nights aft;r this, 
 About the hour of eight (which he himself 
 Foretold should be his last), inll of repentance, 
 Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, 
 He gave his honors to the world again. 
 His bles&ed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 
 
 CATHERINE. 
 
 So may he rest ; his faults lie gently on him ! 
 Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, 
 And yet with charity ; — He was a man 
 Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
 Himseli' with princes ; one, that by suggestion 
 Tithed all the kingdom ; simony was fair play ; 
 His own opinion was his law : I'the presence 
 He would say untruths ; and be ever double, 
 Both in his words and meaning ; He was never, 
 But where he meant to ruin, pitiful : 
 His promises were then as he was, mighty ; 
 But his performance as he now is, nothing. 
 Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
 The clergy ill example. 
 
 GRIFFITH. 
 
 Noble madam, 
 Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues 
 We write in water. Slay it please your highness 
 To hear me speak his good now ? 
 
 CATUERINS. 
 
 Yes, good Griflath, 
 I were malicious else. 
 
 GRIFFITH. 
 
 This cardinal, 
 Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
 Was fashioned to much honor. From his cradle 
 He was a good scholar, and a ripe and good one ; 
 Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading ; 
 Lofiy, and sour, to them that lovea him not ; 
 But, to tjiose men that sought him, sweet as sum/nei
 
 266 HISTORICAL SUMMARS". 
 
 And though he were unsatisfied in getting 
 (Which were a sin), yet in bestowing, madam, 
 He was most princely : Ever witness for him 
 Those twins of learning, which he raised in yon, 
 Ipswich and Oxford ! one of which fell with him, 
 Unwilling to outlive the good he did it ; 
 The other, though unfinished, yet so famous, 
 So excellent in art, and still so rising. 
 That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue 
 His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ; 
 For then, and not till then, he felt himself, 
 And found the blessedness of being little : 
 And, to add greater honors to his age 
 Than man could give him, he died, fearing Goi 
 
 CATHERINE. 
 
 After my death I wish no other herald, 
 No other speaker of my living actions, 
 To keep my honor from corruption, 
 But such an honest chronicler as Grifiith. 
 Whom I most hated living, thou hast made in«, 
 With thy religious truth and modesty. 
 Now in his ashes honor. Peace te with him !
 
 267 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY 
 
 TO 
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 
 
 Sib Thomas More was the only son of sir John More, a 
 judge of the king's bench, and was born in Milk street, 
 London, 1480. At a very early period of his life he gave 
 such indications of the talents for which he was conspicu- 
 ous, that Cardinal Morton*, archbishop of Canterbury, in 
 whose household he was placed, prophetically remarked, 
 * This child, here waiting at table, whosoever shall live to 
 see it, will prove a marvellous man !' The young reader 
 must note from this anecdote the peculiar manners of those 
 days. Sir Thomas More was then a judge's son, and yet 
 he was servitor at the cardinal's table. In ancient times 
 the tyro, either in arms or learning, let his birth or rank in 
 life be what it might, during his noviciate, ever waited on 
 his elders, and supposed betters in learning or wisdom , 
 and even at the piesent day, in all schools and establish- 
 ments of monastic institution, as Eton, Winchester, or 
 Westminster, some faint traces may still be discovered of 
 this antique system, which has now degenerated into the 
 capricious and irregular custom of fagging. 
 
 Sir Tiiomns More greatly distinguished himself at Ox- 
 ford, after which he entered the inns of court, which were 
 tiien, whatever they may be now, the finishing school of 
 moral worth and high attainment for the young nobles and 
 gentry of England, whether their intention was to devote 
 themselves to a legal profession, or to arms, or the senate, 
 
 • This excellent prelate has already been introduced to the jnxeniU 
 taller, in a pr'eceding tale, under the name of Dr Morton, Bishop of Eiy.
 
 269 HISTORICAL SUMMARY TO 
 
 Young More's destination was to the former, for we find 
 him called to the bar, when a student at Lincoln's Inn, and 
 he followed hia profession with the greatest success. In 
 1502, he became a member of parliament, and dislin- 
 guished himself in such a manner, in opposing a grant for 
 the marriage of Henry the seventh's daughter to the king 
 of Scotland, James the fourth, that the king was told, a 
 beardless boy had prevented its being passed ; in revenge 
 for which, Henry the seventh had the meanness to send 
 young More's father, the judge, to the Tower, for some 
 pretended offence, from whence he was not set at liberty 
 till he was heavily fined. When Henry the eighth as- 
 cended the throne, the fame of young More's abilities and 
 eloquence having reached his ears, his majesty persuaded 
 him to enter his service, and immediately gave him the 
 situation of master of requests, soon after knighted him, 
 and made him a member of his privy council. His wit 
 and universal talents so effectually gained the favor of his 
 sovereign, that he treated him with extraordinary conde- 
 scension and familiarity, of which many stories are told. 
 In 1518, sir Thomas became treasurer of tiie exchequer, 
 and five years afterwards was chosen speaker of the house 
 of commons ; having filled several other high offices with 
 invariable credit and success, Henry selected him, in 1529, 
 to be tiie successor to cardinal Wolsey, as lord chancellor, 
 being the first layman that had ever filled that exalted 
 office. 
 
 After executing that high charge with singular zeal 
 and impartiality, he resigned it in May, 1532, because he 
 would not countenance the destruction of a church to 
 which he was a most faithful and devoted servant. Hia 
 retirement was not attended with the security, either to his 
 person or his conscience, wliich might have been anticipa- 
 ted; for, ha\ing unitbrmly opposed Henry's divorce frora
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF SIR T. IMORE. 269 
 
 Catherine of Arragon, he rendered himself obnoxious, bcth 
 to his master and the new queen, and b)'' refusing to at- 
 tend Ann Boleyn's coronation, his doom was sealed. A 
 crisis was at hand from which no honest man of the cath- 
 olic religion could escape. In 1534, the Act of Suprem- 
 acy appeared, and sir Thomas More, sincerely attached to 
 the faith of his ancestor, refused to swerve from it. He 
 was imprisoned, arraigned of high treason, and on the 
 most scandalous testimony, pronounced guilty. The usu- 
 al penalty of being hanged, drawn, and quartered, was 
 commuted into simple decapitation, a boon which sir Thom- 
 as More acknowledged by one of those lively sallies foi 
 which he was as celebrated as for his graver talents : 
 
 ' God forbid,' said he, ' the king should use any more 
 such mercy to any of my friends; and God bless my pos- 
 terity from such pardons.' 
 
 He was beheaded at Tower Hill, on Tuesday, the 6th 
 July, 1535, being then in his fifty-fifih year, and suffered, 
 not only with fortitude, but with clieerfulness. 
 
 Sir Thomas More amidst all the cares of state, spared 
 time to devote to the superintendence of the education of 
 his children, and he was amply rewarded, since his throe 
 daughters were the pride of their sex and their country 
 for their high attainments and many virtues ; even his 
 step-daughter, likewise much beloved by him, manifested 
 great e.xcellence of character, and showed a tender regard 
 for him in his misfortunes. His great-grandson, Cresa- 
 cre More, wrote the life of his noble progenitor, which is 
 one of the most beautiful biographies ever penned. From 
 it we learn some interesting particulars of his life and 
 family. Among others, the anecdote on which the accom- 
 panying story is founded. 'It happened,' says Cresacre 
 More, ' on a time, that a beggar woman's dog, whicli she 
 24
 
 270 HISTORICAL SUMMARY TO 
 
 had lost, was presented for a jewel to my lady More, ano 
 she had kept it some seven-night very careluUy ; but at 
 last the ))eggar had notice where her dog was, and pres- 
 ently she came to complain to sir Thomas, that his lady 
 withheld her dog from her ; presently my lady was sent 
 for, and the dog brought with her: wliicli sir Thomas ta- 
 king in his hands, caused his wife, because she was the 
 woi thier person, to stand at the upper end of the hall, and 
 the beggar at the lower end, and saying that he sat there 
 to do justice, he bade each of them to call the dog, which 
 when they did, the dog went presently to the beggar, for- 
 saking my lady. When he saw this, he bade my lady be 
 contented, for the dog was none of hers ; yet she, repi- 
 ning at the sentence of my lord chancellor, agreed with 
 the beggar, and gave her a piece of gold which would 
 well have bought three dogs, and so all parties were a- 
 greed, every one smiling to see his manner of inquiring 
 out the truth.' 
 
 Let all disunited families study with care this beautiful 
 sketch of a household of love, as given by an eye witness, 
 sir Thomas's friend, the great Erasmus: 'More hath 
 built, near London, upon the Thames' side, to wit, at Chel- 
 sea, a commodious house, neither mean nor subject to en- 
 vy, and yet magnificent enough ; there he converseth af- 
 fably with his family, his wife, his son and daughter-in 
 law, his three daughters and their husbands, with eleven 
 grandchildren. 'J'here is not any man so loving to hia 
 children as he, and he loveth his old wife as well as if she 
 were a young maid ; and such is the excellency of his 
 temper, that whatsoever happeneth that could not be help- 
 ed, he loveth it as though nothing could have happened 
 more happily. You would say, there were in that place 
 Plato's acadeny; but I do the house injury in comparing 
 it »o Plato's academy, wherein there was only disputations
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF SIR T. MORa 271 
 
 Dl' members, or geometrical figures, and sometimes of mor- 
 al virtues. I should rather call his house a school of the 
 Christian religion ; their special care is piety and virtue ; 
 there is no quarrelUng, or intemperate words heard ; none 
 Been idle ; which household discipline that worthy gentle- 
 man doth not govern by proud and lofty words, but with 
 all kind and courteous benevolence. Every body perform- 
 eth, yet is there always alacrity, neither is sober mirth any 
 thing wanting. He suffereth none of his servants either 
 to be idle or to give themselves to games, but some of 
 them he allotted to look to the garden, assigning to every 
 one his separate plot ; some again he set to sing, some to 
 play on the organs ; he suffereth none of them touch cards 
 or dice. He used, before bed time, to call them together, 
 and say certain prayers with them.' This life of domes- 
 tic felicity was suddenly destroyed by the decree of a ty- 
 rant; and the mandate which consigned the most accom- 
 plished indivic'ual in the English dominions to the scaffold, 
 carried desolation to all who depended on him, gave hia 
 lands to a stranger, and his 
 
 Once fair spreading family dissolved.' 
 
 Amidst this most estimable and distinguished fiimily, 
 none shone with greater lustre than Margaret, the eldest 
 daughter and most beloved pupil of sir Thomas More. 
 She resembled him in person more nearly than the rest of 
 his children, and in the depth and acuteness of her under- 
 standing. She was the dispenser of her father's secret 
 charities, and to her alone he entrusted the knowledge of 
 the severe religious austerities to which he subjected him- 
 Belf A most affecting scene took place between the fa 
 ther and daughter on his return from the Tower after his 
 condemnation, which it would be a want of ji-dgmentto 
 Jescnbe in any ether words than those of her ixusband's,
 
 272 HISTORICAL SUMMARY TO 
 
 Mr. Roper, a most accomplished gentleman, wortliy of be- 
 ing tlui son-in-law of sir Thomas More : 
 
 ' When sir Thomas came from Westminster to the 
 Tower ward again, his daughter, my wife, desirous to see 
 her father, whom she thought slie should never see in thia 
 world after, and also to have his final blessing, gave atten- 
 dance about the Tower wharf, where she knew he would 
 pass by before he c^uld enter the Tower. Tiiere tarrying 
 his coming, as soo:; -i- -he saw him, after his blessing up- 
 on her knees reverently recei/e(i, she hasting towards him, 
 without consideration or care of herself, pressing in a- 
 mongst the midst of the throng and company of the guard, 
 that with halberds and bills went round about him, hastily 
 ran to him, who, well liking her most natural and dear 
 daughterly affection towards him, gave her his fatherly 
 blessing, and many godly words of comfort besides. From 
 whom when she turned to depart, she, not satisfied with the 
 former sight of her dear father, and like one that had for- 
 gotten herself, being all transported with the entire love of 
 her dear father, having neither heed to herself nor the 
 press of people and multitude that were there about him, 
 suddenly turned back again, ran to him as before, took him 
 about the neck, and divers times kissed him most lovingly, 
 and at last, with a full and heavy heart, was fain to de 
 part from him ; the beholding whereof was to many of 
 them that were present thereat so lamentable, that it made 
 them, for very sorrow thereof, to weep and mourn.' 
 
 The morning before he suffered, sir Thomas Avrote to 
 his dear daughter the following letter, with a piece of 
 charcoal, in the blank leaf of one of his works. Besides 
 its intrinsic excellence, the allusions it contains to the per- 
 sons composing his once happy family circle, maks it deep- 
 y interesting : 
 
 ' Our Lord bless you, good daughter, and your good
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF SIR T. MORE. 273 
 
 husband, and your little boy, and all yourp, and all my 
 children, and all my god children, and all our friends. 
 Recommend me, when ye may, to my good daughter Ce- 
 cily*, whom I beseech the Lord to comfort ; and I send 
 "ler my blessing, and to all her children, and pray her to 
 pray for me. I send her a handkerchief, and God comfort 
 my good son, her husband. My good daughter Daunceyf 
 hath the picture in parchment, that you delivered me from 
 my lady Coniers ; her name is on the back. Show her 
 that I heartily pray her, that you may send it m my name 
 to her again, for a token from me, to pray for me. I like 
 special well Dorothy CollieJ : I pray you be good to her. 
 I would wot whether this be she that you wrote me of; if 
 not, yet I pray you be good to the other as you may, in 
 her affliction, and to my daughter Joan Alleyn too||. 
 Give her, I pray you some kind answer, for she sued hith- 
 er to me this day to pray you to be good to her. I cum- 
 ber you, good Margaret, much ; but I would be sorry if it 
 should be any longer than to-morrow, for it is St. Thom- 
 as's eve, and the utas of St. Peter, and therefore to-mor- 
 row long I to go to God. It were a day meet and conve- 
 nient for me. I never liked your manners towards me better 
 than when you kissed me last, for / love when daughter- 
 ly love and dear charity hath no leisure to stay for world- 
 ly courtesy.^. Farewell , my dear child, and pray for me, 
 and I shall for j^ou and all your friends, that we may mer- 
 rily meet in Heaven. I thank you for your great cost. 
 
 * Mrs. Heron, his third daughter. 
 
 !His second daughter, Elizabeth. 
 A beloved servant in the family, who married another faithful retnio 
 er of sir TiiomaH, his secretary, John Harris. It is a redeeming trait la 
 fiuman nature that so many persons should have been affectionate and ttaa 
 ai the trying hour of adversity. 
 IJ A servant of Mrs. Ro| er, his god-daughter. 
 
 ^ In this beautiful sentence he alludes to their last interview on Towet 
 Wharf
 
 274 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 I send no\v to my god daughter ClementJ, her algormise 
 Btone, and I send her and my godson, and aK her children, 
 God's blessing and mine. I pray you, at time convenient, 
 commend me to my good son John More. I liked well 
 his natural fashion.* Our Lord bless him and his wife. 
 tny loving daughter, to whom I pray him to be good, aa 
 he hath great cause ; and if that the land of mine come 
 into his hand, he brake not my will concerning his sister 
 Dauncey: and our Lord bless Thomas and Austin (hia 
 sons), and all that they have.' 
 
 It was one of the last requests of sir Thomas More to 
 Henry the eighth, that his daughter Margaret might at- 
 tend his funeral. In defiance of the danger which atten- 
 ded the act, she bought the head of her honored parent, 
 when it was about to be thrown into the Thames ; and 
 when brought before the privy council, and harshly ques- 
 tioned concerning this act, and why slie did it, she replied 
 boldly, ' That it might not become food for fishes.' She 
 died at the early age of thirty-six ; and by her own desire 
 she was buried with her father's head on her bosom. 
 
 A fine family picture of all these interesting person- 
 ages, by Holbein, is still in existence, likewise engravings 
 from it. In this picture is introduced the portrait of the 
 beggar-girl's dog, on which the accompanying tale is 
 founded. 
 
 Alice lady More, although not a pleasant mannered or 
 sweet tempered woman, must have possessed some gjod 
 qualities, as she was an excellent stepmother to sir Tho:n- 
 as's motherless children, as we learn from some verses of 
 his translated from the Latin, in which he wrote them, by 
 
 I The wife of Dr. Clement, his waid and relative, and beloved aa • 
 
 laughter 
 
 • He li ewiso met his father at Tower Wharf,
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF SIR T. MORE. 275 
 
 arch'!eacon Wmngham. They were meant for an ept 
 taj h on Jiis first and second wives. 
 
 Wii/iiii this tomb Jane, wife of More, reclines j 
 This, More for Alice and himself designs. 
 The first, dear object of my youthful vow, 
 Gave me three daughters and a son to know ; 
 The next, — ah, virtue in a step-dame rare, — 
 Nursed my eweet infants with a mother's care. 
 With both my years so happily have pass'd. 
 Which moat my love I know not — first or last. 
 
 The worthies of sir Thomas More's family are not yet 
 enumerated. Mrs. Roper's daughter, Mrs. Bazett, was 
 one of the most accomplished and pious ladies of her time, 
 and translated from the Latin her grandfather's ' Exposi- 
 tion of our Savior's Passion,' in a style so like his own 
 that for some time many believed it to be his composition. 
 Enc^land still possesses descendants from this most illu*- 
 Vjoufl branch of the family.
 
 276 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY 
 
 TO 
 
 LADY LUCY'S PETITION. 
 
 The conspiracy against the government of William the 
 third, and to effect the restoration of his exiled father-in- 
 .aw, James the second, for which lord Preston and his 
 friend, Mr. Ashton, were condemned to death, took place, 
 m 1692. 
 
 Sir John Dalrymple relates the anecdote of the coura- 
 geous child of lord Preston, in his Memoirs. Ashton waa 
 put to death, but the presence of mind of the young lady 
 Baved lord Preston's lile. 
 
 Her name was Catherine, and not Lucy. Her broth- 
 er Edward dying young, she, with her two sisters, be- 
 came her father's co-heiresses; at seventeen she married 
 a gallant young nobleman, the son of Lord Widrington, 
 with whom she led a most happy life. Her memory ii 
 Btill greatly respected for her virtues and talents, in Lan 
 cashire, her native county. 
 
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 black and gold, per set, $4.00 ; sheep, marbled edges, $6.00. hal/ 
 calf, gilt, marbled edges, $12.00.
 
 POETER & COATES' PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 HUME'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. From the inrasion of 
 fulius Csesar to the abdication of Jaraos II, 1688. By David 
 ftuilE. Standard Edition. With the author's last correctiona 
 and improvements ; to which is prefixed a short account of 
 his life, written by himself. With a portrait on steel. A new 
 edition from entirely new stereotype plates. 5 vols., 12mo, 
 Cloth, extra, black and gold, per set, $5.00; sheep, marbled 
 edges, per set, $7.50; half imitation Eussia, $7.50; half calfc 
 gilt, marbled edges, per set, $15.00. 
 Popular Edition. 5 vols. Cloth, plain, $5.00. 
 
 C3IBB0X'S DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE, 
 By Edw.^rd Gibbon. With Notes, by Rev. H. H. Milman. 
 Standard Edition. To which is added a complete Index of 
 the work. A new edition from entirely new stereotype plates. 
 With portrait on steel. 5 vols., 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and 
 gold, per set, $5.00; sheep, marbled edges, per set, $7.50; half 
 imitation Russia, $7.50 ; half calf, gilt, marbled edges, per set, 
 $15.00. 
 Popular Edition. 5 vols. Cloth, plain, $3.00. 
 
 KNGLAND, PICTURESQUE AND DESCRIPTIVE. By Joel 
 Cook, author of ''A Holiday Tour in Europe," etc. With 487 
 finely engraved illustrations, descriptive of the most famous 
 and attractive places, as well as of the historic scenes and 
 rural life of England and Wales. With Mr. Cook's admirable 
 descriptions of the places and the country, and the splendid il- 
 lustrations, this is the most valuable and attractive book of the 
 season, and the sale will doubtless be very large. 4to. Cloth, 
 extra, gilt sidaand edges, $7.50; half calf, gilt, marbled edges. 
 $10.00 ; half morocco, full gilt edges, $10.00 ; full Turkey mo- 
 rocco, gilt edges, $15.00; tree calf, gilt edges, $1S.00. 
 
 This work, which is prep.ired ia elegant stvl?, and profusely ilhistratpd, 
 is a comprehensive description of England and Wales, arranged in conve- 
 Dient form for the tourist, and at the same time providinj; an illustrate<i 
 guide-book to a country which Americans always vi,_'w with interest. There 
 «re few saiisfaitory works about this hind which is so generously gifti d by 
 Satiire and so full of mi-raorials of the past. .Such b'^oks as there are, eith>T 
 ;over a few counties or are devoted to s|iecial localities, or are merely guide, 
 books. The present work is believed to be the first attempt to give in attrac- 
 tive form a description of the stately homes, renowned castles, ivy-clad ruins 
 of abbeys, chureh&J, aid ancient fortres.ses, delicious scenery, rock-bound 
 coasts, and celebrate! places of England and Wales. It is written by an 
 author fully competent from travl and rendin.;, and in position to prop'riy 
 describe his very interesting subject; and ilie artist's pencil h:is been calh-d 
 Into reqiisi'.ion to graphically illustrate its wel'.-writteii pages. There ar« 
 487 illustrations, prepared in the highest style of the engraver's art, while 
 tlie book its-'lf \s oue of the most atliactive ever presented to the Americau 
 public. 
 
 Its method of consfrncfion is systematic, followinsf the most conveniend 
 routes taken by tourists, and tlie letter-press irjcliides enough of tlie history 
 and legend of each of the places described to make the story higldv inter- 
 esting. Its pages fairly overflow with picture and description, tolling of 
 BTerything attractive that is presented by England and Wale-i. Executed 
 in the highest .xtyloof the printer's and engraver's art, "England, Piclur* 
 esque and Pescriptive," is one of the best American books of the year.
 
 PORTER & COATES' PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE CIVIL WAE IN AMERICA. By the Comtb 
 Dk Pakis. With Maps faithfully Engraved from the Origin- 
 als, aud Printed iu Three Colors, bvo. Cloth, per volume, 
 $0.50; red cloth, extra, Roxburgh style, uucut edges, $.3.50; 
 sheep, lil)rary style, $4.50; half Turkey morocco, $6.00. Vols, 
 I, li, aud III uow ready. 
 
 The third vohime embraces, without abiidguient, the fifth and sixth 
 rolumei >^l the tieuch editiou, and covers one of the most iuterestins ag 
 well as the most anxious periods of the war, describing thf operations of the 
 Aruay of the Foiuiuae lu Lhe' East, and the Army of the Cumberland and 
 Tennessee in the West. 
 
 It cuntains full accounts of the battle of Chancellovsville, the attack of the 
 monitors ou Fi>i t Smnter, the .sieges and fall of Vicksburg and Port Hudson ; 
 Ibe battles ol Port Gibson and Champion's Hill, and the fullest aud most 
 authentic account of the battle of Ueltysburg ever written. 
 
 "The head nf the Orleans family has put pen to paper with excellent 
 
 result Our present impression is that it will lorm by far the best 
 
 history of the Ameiicau war." — AtlicncBum, London. 
 
 "We advise all Americans to re.ad it carefnlly, and judge for themselves 
 if 'the future liistoriaii of our war,' of whom we have heard so much, be not 
 already arrived iu the Comte de Paris." — Nation, New York. 
 
 "This is incomparably the best account of our great second revolution 
 that has yet been even attempted. It is so calm, so dispassionate, so accurate 
 in detail, and at the same time so philosophical in general, that its reader 
 counts confidently on finding the complete work thoroughly satisfactory." — 
 Evening Bulletin, Philadelphia. 
 
 "The work expresses the calm, deliberate judgment of an rsperienced 
 military observer and a highly intelligent man. Many of its statements 
 ■will excite discussion, but we much mistake if it does not take high and 
 permanent ranK among the standard histories of the civil war. Jndeid 
 that place ba-s been assigned it by the most competent critics both of this 
 country and abroad." — Times, Cincinnati. 
 
 "Messrs. Porter & Coates, of Philadelphia, will publish in a few days the 
 authorized translation of the new volume of the Comte de I'aris' Histury of 
 Our Civil War. The two volumes in French— the filth and sixth— are bound 
 t*geth<;r in the translation in one volume. Or.r readers already know, 
 through a table of contents of these volumes, published in the cable columns 
 of the Herald, the period covered bv this new installment of a work remark- 
 able in sev' lal wavs. If incliub^s the most important and decisive period of 
 the war, and the two gre;it caiu|.>aigns of Gettysburg atjd Vicksburg. 
 
 "The great civil war has had no better, no abb-r historian than the French 
 prince who, emulating the example of Lafayette, took part iu tbis uhw 
 struggle for freedom, and who now writes of events, in many of which he 
 participated, as an accomplished officer, and one who, by his iiidependeut 
 position, his high character aeil eminent talents, was placed in circum- 
 stances and relations which gave him almost unequalled opportunities to 
 gain correct information aud form impartial Jmlgm-nfs. 
 
 "The new installment of a work wiiieb has already become a classic will 
 be read with increased interest by Americans because of the importance of 
 the period it covers and the stirring events it describes. In advance of a 
 careful review we present to-day some extracts from the advance sheets sent 
 us by Messrs. Porter & Coates, which will give our readers a forwaste of 
 chapters which bring back to memory so many half-forgotten and not a few 
 hitherto unviilued details of a time which Americans of this generation at 
 least cannot read of without a fresh thrill of excitement."
 
 PORTER & COATES PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 HALF-HOURS WITH THE BEST AUTHORS. With short Bi- 
 osraphical and Critical Notes. By Charles Kxigut. 
 
 New Household Edition. With six portraits on steel. 3 vols., 
 thick 12uio. Cloth, extra, black and gold, per set, $1.50; half imfe. 
 Russia, marl)led edges, $6.00; half calf, gilt, marbled edges. $l-2,O0i 
 
 Library Edition. Printed ou fine laid and tinted paper. Witb 
 twentv-four partraits on steel. 6 vols., 12mo. Cloth, e^tra, per 
 Bet, $7..50; half caif, gilt, marbled edges, per set, $18.00; half Ru.s- 
 sia, gilt t<3p, $21.00; full French morocco, limp, per set, $12.00; 
 full smooth Russia, limp, round corners, in Russia case, p r set, 
 $25.00; full seal grained Russia, limp, round corners, in Russia 
 case to match, .$25.00. 
 
 The excellent idea of the pditor of th^sr? choice yolumos lias ber-n mo^t 
 admirably carried out, as will be seen by the list of authors upoa all siit>- 
 jects. Si'loctlng some choice passages of tb'^ best standard authors, each ofsLiffi- 
 cient length to occupy half an hour in its perusal, there is hero food for 
 thought for every day in the year: so that if the purcbas'r will d n-ota but 
 one-half hour each day to its appropriate selection he will read throu'^b 
 these six vobim s in one year, and in such a l"i-nrely nianniT that the 
 noblest thoughts of many of the greatpst minds will be firmly in his mind 
 forever For ivery Sunday there is a snitahlj selection from some of the 
 most eminent writers in sacred literature. We venture to say if the editor's 
 idea is carried out the re ider will possess mor? and b tter kuowledife of tht? 
 English classics at the end of tbj year than he would by five years of desul< 
 tory readin:^. 
 
 They can be commenced at any day in the year. The variety of reading 
 is so great that uo oue will ever lire of these volumes. It is a library ia 
 itself. 
 
 THE POETRY OF OTHER LAXDS. A Collection of Transla- 
 tlons into Euglisli Verse of the Poetry of Other Languages, 
 Ancient and Modern. Compiled by N. Clemmoxs Hunt. 
 Containing translations from the Greek, LatiUj Persian, Ara- 
 bian, Japanese, Turkish, S -rvian, Russian, Bolieiuian, Polish, 
 Dutch, German, Italian, French, Spanish, and Portuguese 
 languages. 12mo. Cloth, extra, gilt edges. S2.50; half calf, gilt, 
 marbled edges, $ 1.00 ; Turkey morocco, gilt edges, $3.00. 
 " Another of the publications of Porter & Coates, called 'The Poetry of 
 Other Lands,' compiled by N. Clemmons Hunt, we most warmly commend. 
 It is one of the bc^st collections we have seen, containing n>any exquisite 
 poems and fragments of verse which have not bpfore been put into bol)k 
 form in Engli-h words. We find many of the old favoriii'S, which appear 
 in every well-selected collection of soniiets and soug<, and we miss others, 
 which seem a neoi\ssity to complete the bouquet of grasses and flowera, 
 some of which, from time to time, we hope to republish in the 'Courier. ''■— 
 Cincinnnii Courier. 
 
 "A book of rare excell 'nee, because it gives a collection of choice gems in 
 many languages not available to the general lover of poetry. It cmtaina 
 trauslatio!is from the Greek, Latin, Persian, Arabian, .Japanes;', Turkish, 
 ,Sf;rvian, Russian, Bohemian, Polish, Dutch, German, Italian, I'rench, 
 Bpanish, and Portuguese languages. The book will be an admirable com- 
 panion volume to any one of the collections of Enirlish poetry that are new 
 Jmblished. With the full index of authors immediately preceding the col- 
 ection, and the arrangetaent of the poems under headings, the re:ider will 
 find it convenient for reference. Ii is a gift that will be more valued by 
 very many than some of the transitory ones at these holiday times."— 
 i'hiladelpUia Methodist.
 
 5 PORTER & COATES' PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE FIEESIDE ENCYCLOPEDIA OF POETRY. Edited by 
 Henry T. Coates. This is the latest, aud beyond doubt the 
 best collection of poetry published. Priuted on fine paper and 
 illustrated with thirteen steel engravings and fifteen title 
 pages, containing portraits of prominent American poets and 
 fac-similes of their l»and\vriting, made expressly for tliis book, 
 8vo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, gilt edges, $5.00,- half calf. 
 gilt, marbled edges, $7.50; half morocco, full gilt edges, $7.50; 
 full Turkey morocco, gilt edges, $10.00; tree calf, gilt edges 
 $1-2.00; plush, padded side, nickel lettering, $14.00. 
 
 "Tlie editor shows a wide acquaintanoe with the most precious treasurrs 
 »f English verse, and has gathfred the ino^t admirabh' s]jeciin(iis <jf their 
 ainplo wealth. Many pieces which have been passed by in previous collec- 
 tions hold a place of honor in the present volume, and will he heartily wel- 
 CDined by the lovers of poetry as a deliRlitfiil a<iditi(in to their sources of 
 eujoyinent. It is a volume rich in solace, in enteriainnient, in inspiralion, 
 of which the possession may well be coveted by every lover of poetry The 
 pictoriallUustrations of the work are in keeping with its poeticiil contents, 
 and the beauty of the typographical execution entitles it to a jilace among 
 the choicest ornaments of the library ."—AViiw York Trihvne. 
 
 "Lovers of good poetry will find fh.is one of the richest collecMons ever 
 made. AH the best singers in our language are r; presented, and the selec- 
 tions are generally those which reveal their highest qualities The 
 
 lights and sliades, the tiner play of thought and imagination belonging to 
 individual authors, are br lught out in this way (by the arrangement of 
 poems under suliject-headinus) as tliey would not be under any other sys- 
 tem We are deepiy impressed with (he keen appreciation of poeiical 
 
 worth, and also with the good taste manifested by the coiupiler." — Church- 
 man. 
 
 "Cyclopaedias of poetry are nuni'^rous, but for >terling value of its contents 
 for the library, or as a h lok of reference, no work of the kind will compare 
 with this admirable volume of Jlr. Coates It takes the geius from many 
 volumes, culling with niro skill and judgment." — Chicago Inler-Ocean. 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. Compiled by Henrv 
 T. Coates. Containing over 500 poems carefully selected 
 from the v/orks of tlie best and most popular writers for chil- 
 dren; with nearly 200 illu.strations. The most complete col- 
 lection of poetry for chihlren ever published. 4to. Cloth, 
 extra, black and gold, gilt side and edges, $3.00; full Turkey 
 morocco, gilt edges, $7.50. 
 "This s"ems to us the best book of poetry for children in existence. We 
 have examined n:anv other collections, but we cannot name another that 
 deservi^s to be compared v/ith tliis admirable compilation." — Wtircester Spy. 
 "The special value of the book lies in the fact that it nearly or quite 
 covers the entire field. There is not a gri'at d al of jrood poetry whicli has 
 been written for children that cannot be found in this book. The collection 
 is particularly strong in ballads and tnUs, which are apt to interest children 
 more than po'^ms of other kinds; and Mr. Coates has shown good judgtiiont 
 in supplementing this department with some of the best poems of that ch.ss 
 that have been written for crown people. A surer method of forming the 
 taste-of children for good and purc^ literature than by reading to them from 
 any portion of this book can hardly be imatrined. Tlie volume is richly 
 illustrated and beautifully l)0und." — P/iiladel/ihia Evening Bulletin. 
 
 "A more excellent volume cannot he found. We have found within the 
 covers of this handsome volume, and upon its fair pages, many of the most 
 exquisite po'ms which our language contains. It mti.st become a standajsA 
 volume, and can nevjr grow old or obsolete." — Episcopal Recorder.
 
 PORTER & COATES' PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE COMPLETE WORKS OF THOS. HOOD. With enjiravinss 
 ou steel. 4 vols., 12ino., tinted paper. Poetical Works ; Up 
 the Rhine; Miscellanies and Hood's Own; Wliimsicalities, 
 Whims, and Oddities. Cloth, extra, black and gokl, Sij.OO; 
 red cloth, paper label, gilt top, uncut edges, $6.00; half calf, 
 gilt, marbled edges, $14.00; half Russia, gilt top, .$18.00. 
 Hood's v«rse, whetlier serious or comic — whether sereiio like a cloudlesg 
 autumn ereuing or sparkliug with puns litee a frosty January midnight 
 with stars — was ever pregnant with materiiUs fur tlie thought. Like every 
 Kuthor distinguished for true coiuie humor, there was a deep vein of melan- 
 choly pathos running through his mirth, and even when his sun slione 
 brightly its light seemeil often reflected as if only over the rim of a cloud. 
 
 Well may we say, in the words of Tennyson, "Would he could have 
 staved with us." for never could it be more truly recorded of any one — in 
 the words of Hamlet characterizing Yorick— thai "he was a f<lfow of in- 
 finite jest, of most excellent fancy." D. M. Moir. 
 
 THE ILIAD OF HO:\IER RENDERED INTO ENGLLSH 
 BLANK VERSE. By Edward, Eakl of Dekby. From 
 the latest London edition, with all the author's hist revisions 
 and corrections, and with a Biographical Sketch of Lord 
 Derbj', by R. Sheltox M.^ckenzie, D.C.L. With twelve 
 steel en.sravings from Flaxman's celebrated designs. 2 vols., 
 r2mo. Cloth, extra, be v. boards, gilt top, §3.50; lialf calf, gilt, 
 marbled edges, S7.00; half Turkey morocco, gilt top, .$7.00. 
 
 The same. Popular edition. Two vols, iu one. 12mo. Cloth, 
 extra, $1 50. 
 
 " It must equally he considerel a splendid performance; and for the pres- 
 ent we have no hesitation in saying that it is by far tlie best representation 
 of Homer's Iliad in the Englisli language." — London Times. 
 
 "The merits of Lord Derby's translation may be summed up in one word, 
 it is eminently attractive; it is instinct with life;- it may be read with fervent 
 interest; it is immeasurably nearer than Pope to the text of the original . 
 . . . Lord Derby has given a versiou far more closely allied to the original, 
 and superior to any that has yet been attempted in the blank verse of our 
 language." — Edi-nbwg Review. 
 
 THE WORKS OF FLAVIUS JOSEPHUS. Comprising the Anti- 
 quities of the Jews; a History of the Jewish Wars, and a Life 
 of Flavius Josephu^, written by himself. Translated from the 
 original Greek, by Willi.am Whiston, A.M. Together with 
 numerous explanatory Notes and seven Dissertations concern- 
 ing Jesus Clirist, John the Baptist, James the Just, God's com- 
 mand to Abraliam, etc., witli an Introdtietory Essay l)y Rev. 
 H. Stebbin'G, D.D. 8vo. Cloth, ext-i-a, black and .sold, plain 
 edges, $3.00; cloth, red, l)lack and gold, gilt edges, $4. ,50; sheept 
 marbled edges, $3.50; Turkey morocco, gilt edges, $8.00. 
 This is the largest type one voluiue edition published. 
 
 THE ANCIENT HISTORY OF THE EGYPTIANS, CARTHA- 
 GINIAN>^, ASSYRIANS, BABYLONIANS, MEDES AND 
 PERSIANS. GRECIANS AND MACEDONIANS. Including 
 a History of the Arts and Sciences of the Ancients. By 
 Charles Rollin. With a Life of tlie Author, by Jamks 
 3ell. 2 vols., royal 8vo. Sheep, marbled edges, per set, $6.00.
 
 PORTER & COATES' PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 COOKERY FROM EXPERIENCE. A Practical Guide for House- 
 keepers iu the Preparation of Every-day Meals, coutaining 
 more thau One Thousand Domestic Recipes, mostly tested by 
 Personal Experience, with Suggestions for Meals, Lists of 
 Meats and Vegetables in Season, etc. By Mrs. Saka T. Paul. 
 12mo. Cloth, extra, hlack and gold, $1.50. 
 Interleaved Edition. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.75. 
 
 THE COMPARATIVE EDITION OF THE NEW TESTAMENt. 
 Both Versions iu One Book. 
 
 The proof readings of our Comparative Edition have been gone 
 over ))y so many competent proof readers, that we believe the text 
 is absolutely correct. 
 
 Large 12mo!, 700 pp. Cloth, extra, plain edges, $1.50; cloth, 
 extra, bevelled boards and carmine edges, $1.75 ; imitation panelled 
 calf, yellow edges, $2.00; arabesi|ue, gilt edges, $2.50; Frencli mo- 
 rocco, limp, gilt edges, $4.00; Turkey morocco, limp, gilt edges, 
 $6.00. 
 
 The Comparative New Testament lias been pnl)b>liecl by Porter & Coates. 
 In jiarallel enliimns on eaeli page are given the old and new versions of the 
 Testament, divided also as far as practicable into conii)arative verses, >o that 
 it is almost impossible for the slightest new word to escape the notice of 
 either tlie ordinary reader or the analytical student. It is decid^^dly the 
 best edition yet published of tbe most interest-exciting lUerary production 
 of the day. No more convenient form lor compaiison could be devised 
 either for economizing time or labor. Another feature is tlie foot-notes, 
 and there is also given iu an appendix the various words and expressions 
 preferred by the American members of the Revising Commission. The 
 work is handsomely printed on excellent paper with clear, legible type. It 
 contains nearly '00 pages. 
 
 THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO. By Alexandke Dumas. 
 Complete in one volume, with two illustrations by George G. 
 White. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.25. 
 
 THE THREE GUARDSMEN. By Alexandre Dumas. Com- 
 plete in one volume, with two illustratious by George G. 
 White. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, .$1.25. 
 
 There is a magic influence in his pen, a magnetic attraction in hisdescrip- 
 tions, a fertility in his literary resources which are chara<teristic of Dumas 
 alone, and the seal of the master of light literature is set upon all his works. 
 Even when not strictly historical, his romances give an insight into the 
 habits and modes of thought and action of the people of the time described, 
 ■which are not offered in any otlier author's productions. 
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII. By Sir Edward Bulwer 
 Lytton, Bart. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and 
 gold, .$1.00. Alta edition, one illustration, 75 cts. 
 
 JANE EYRE. By Charlotte Bronte (Currer Bell). New Li- 
 brary Edition. With five illustrations by E. M. Wimpeeis. 
 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.00. 
 
 SHIRLEY. By Charlotte Bronte (Currer Bell). New Library 
 Edition. With five illustratious by E. M. WiMPERls. 12mo. 
 Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.00.
 
 PORTER & COAXES PUBLICATION'S. 
 
 VILLETTE. By Chaklotte Bronte (Currer Bell). New Library 
 Edition. Willi five illustrations by E. M. WuirEKls. 12uio. 
 Cloth, extra, black and gold, 5^1.00. 
 
 THE PROFESSOR, EMMA and POEMS. By Charlotte Bronte 
 
 (Currer Bell). New Library Edition. With live illustnitioni 
 bv E. M. WiMPERis. 1-,'nio. Cloth, extra, black and gold, -SI.OU. 
 
 Cldth, extra, black and gold, per set, $4.00; red cloth, paper 
 ]abel, gilt top, uncut edges, per set, $5.00 ; half calf, gilt, per .set, 
 $12.00! The four volumes forming the complete works of Char- 
 lotte Bronte (Currer Bell). 
 
 The wondrous power of Currer Bell's stories cousists in their fiery insight 
 into the liuman lieart, their merciless dissection of passion, and th>-ir stern 
 analysis of character and motive. The style of these productions possesses 
 incredible force, sometimes almost grim in its bare seventy, then rehvpsuig 
 into passages of melting pathos-always direct, natural, and effective ii\ its 
 unpretending strength. They exhibit tlie idemity which always belongs to 
 worlds of genius hy the same author, though without tlie slightest approach 
 to monotODV. The cliaraelers portrayed by Currer Bell all have a strongly 
 marked ind"ividualitv. Once brought before the imagination, they haunt 
 tne memory like a strange dream. The sinewy, muscular strength of her 
 writings guarantees their permanent duration,, and thus far they have lost 
 nothing o"f their intensity of interest since the period of Iheir composition. 
 
 CAPTAIN JACK THE SCOUT; or, The Indian Wars about Old 
 
 Fort Duquesne. An Historical Novel, with copious notes. 
 
 By Charles McKnight. Illustrated with eight engravings. 
 
 l-imo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.50. 
 
 A work of such rare meiit and thrilling interest as to have been repuVi- 
 
 lislied both in England and (Jermany. This genuine American historical 
 
 work has been received witli extraordinary popular favor, and has "won 
 
 golden opinions from all sorts of people" for its freshness, its forest life, and 
 
 its fidelity to truth. In many instances it even corrects History and uses 
 
 the drapery of fiction simply to enliven and illustrate the fact. 
 
 It is a universal favorite with both sexes, and with all aL'cs and condi- 
 tions, and is not only proving a marked and notable success in this country, 
 but has been eagerly taken up abroad and republished in London, England, 
 and issued iu two volumes in the far-lamed " Tauchuelz Edition " of Leipsic, 
 Germany. 
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS, FRESH AND FADED. By T. S. Arthur. 
 Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.50. 
 
 "Orange Blossoms" contains a number of short stories of society. Like 
 all of Mr. Arthur's works, it has a special moral purpose, and is especially 
 addressed to the young who have just entered the marital experience, whom 
 it pleasantly warns against those social and moral pitfalls into which they 
 may almost innocently plunge. 
 
 THE BAR ROOMS AT BRANTLEY; or, The Great Hotel Spec- 
 ulation. Bv T. S. Arthur. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, extra, 
 black and gold, $1.50. 
 
 " One of the best temperance stories recently issued."— iV. Y. Commercial 
 Adivriiser. 
 
 "Although it is in the form of a novel, its truthful delineation of charac- 
 ters is such that in every village in the land you meet the broken manhood 
 it pictures upon the streets, and look upon sad. tear-<iimmed eyes of women 
 and children. The characters are not overdrawn, hut are as truthful as an 
 artist's pencil could make tht:m."—Jnier-Oceaii, Ckicago.
 
 !0 PORTER & COATES' PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 EMMA. By Jane Austen. Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, extra. 
 $1.25. ' 
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. By Jane Austen. Illustrated. 12ma 
 Cloth, extra, $1.25, 
 
 PEIDE AXD PEEJUDICE; and Northanger Abbev. By Janb 
 Austen. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, extra, $1.25. 
 
 SEXSE AND SENSIBILITY; and Persuasion. By Jane Austen. 
 Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, extra, $1.25. 
 
 The four volumes, forminpj the complete works of Jane Austen, 
 in a neat box: Cloth, extra, per set, $5.00 ; red cloth, paper label, 
 gilt top, uncut edges, $5.00; half calf, gilt, per set, $12.00. 
 
 "Jane Austen, a woman of whom England is justly proud. In her novels 
 sh« lias given us a multitude of cliaracters, all, in a certain .sense, common- 
 place, all such as we meet everyday. Yet they are all as perfectly discrimi- 
 nated from each other as if they were the most eccentric of Iiumaii heings. 
 .... And almost all this is done hy touchrs so delicate that they elude 
 analysis, that they defy tlie powers of description, and that we know them 
 to exist only tiy the general etfect to which they have contributed." — Ma- 
 caulai/'s Essays. 
 
 AET AT HOME. Containing in one volume House Decoration, 
 by Ehoda and Agnes Garrett ; Plea for Art in the House, 
 by W. J. Loi<'TIe; Music, by John Hullah; and Dress, by 
 Mrs. Oliphant. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.50. 
 
 TOM BEOWN'S SCHOOL DAYS AT EUGBY. By Thomas 
 Hughes. New Edition, large clear type. With 36 illustra- 
 tions after Caldecott and others. 12mo., 400 pp. Cloth, extra, 
 black and gold, $1.25; half calf, gilt, $2.75. 
 Alta Edition. One illustration, 75 cents. 
 
 "It is difl5eult to estimate the amount of good which may be done by 
 'Tom Brown's School Pays.' It gives, in the main, a most faithful and 
 interesting )iicture of our puhlio schools, the most English Institutions of 
 England, and which educate the hest and most powerful elements in our 
 upper classes. But it is more tliaii tliis; it is an attempt, a very noble and 
 successful attempt, to Christianize the society of our youth, through the 
 only practicable channel — hearty and brotherly sympathy with their feel- 
 ings; a book, in short, which a father might well wish to see in the hands 
 of his son." — London Times. 
 
 TOM BEOWN AT OXFORD. Bv Thomas Hughes. Illustrated. 
 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.50 ; half calf, gilt, $3.00. 
 
 "Fairlv entitled to the rank and dignity of an English classic. Plot, style 
 and truthfulness are of the soundest British character. Racy, idiomatic, 
 mirror-like, always interesting, suggesting thought on the knottiest social 
 and religious questions, now desply moving by its unconscious iiathos, and 
 anon Inspiring uproarious laughter, it is a Work the world will not willingly 
 let die." — N. Y. Chriitian Advocate.
 
 PORTER & COATES' PUBLICATIONS. 11 
 
 8EXSIBLE ETIQUETTE OF THE BEST SOCIETY. By Mrs. 
 H. O. Wakd. Customs, mauucrs, morals, and home culture, 
 with suggestious how to word uotes and letters of invitations, 
 ai'ceptances, and regrets, and general instructions as to calls, 
 rules, for watering places, lunches, kettle drums, dinners, re- 
 ceptions, weddings, parties, dress, toilet and manners, saluta- 
 tions, introductions, social reforms, etc.. etc. Bound in cloth, 
 with gilt edge, and sent by mail, postage paid, ou receipt of 
 $2.00. 
 
 LADIES' AND GENTLEMEN'S ETIQUETTE: A Complete 
 Manual of the Manners aud Dress of American Society. Coa- 
 tainiug forms of Letters, Invitations, Acceptances, and Kegrets. 
 With a copious index. By E. B. Duffey. 12mo. Cloth, 
 extra, black aud gold, $1.50. 
 
 "It is peculiarly an American book, especially adapted to our people, and 
 its greatest beauty is found iu the fact that in every line and precept it in- 
 culcates ih? prinoipl.'S of true politeness, instead of those formal rules that 
 serve only to gild the surface without affecting the substance. It is admir- 
 ably written, the style being clear, terse, aud lorcible."— ^S. Louis Times. 
 
 THE UXDEKGROUND CITY; or. The Child of the Cavern. 
 By Jules Ykrne. Translated from the French by W. H. 
 KiXGSTOX. With 43 illustrations. Standard Edition.' 12mo. 
 Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.50. 
 
 AEOUND THE WOELD IN EIGHTY DAYS. By Jules Yerne. 
 Translated by Geo. M. Towle. With 12 full-page illustrations. 
 12mo. Cloth, extra, black aud gold, $1.25. 
 
 A.T THE NORTH POLE ; or, The Voyages and Adventures of 
 Captain Hatteras. By Jules Yeexe. With 130 illustrations 
 by Eiou. Standard Edition. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black aud 
 gold, $1.25. 
 
 THE DESERT OF ICE; or, The Further Adventures of Captain 
 Hatteras. By Jules Verne. With 126 illustrations by Riou. 
 Standard Edition. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, §1.25. 
 
 TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE SEAS; or. 
 The Marvellous and Exciting Adventures of Pierre Aronnax, 
 Conseil his servant, and Ned Land, a Canadian Harpooner. By 
 Jules Verne. Standard Edition. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, 
 extra, black and gold, $1.25. 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE CHANCELLOR. Diary of J. R. Kazallon, 
 Passenger, and Martin Paz. By Jules Verne. Translated 
 from the French by Ellen Frewer. With 10 illustrations. 
 Standard Editiou. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.25. 
 
 Jules Verne is so well known that the mere announcement of anythicg 
 from his pea is -iifBcifnt to create a demand for It. One of his chief merits 
 is the wonderful art with wWch he lays under contribution every branch of 
 science and natural history, while he vividly describes with minute exact- 
 ness all parts of the world and its iubabitaQta.
 
 12 PORTER & COATES' PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS; or, Mirth and Marvels. By 
 KicHAED Harris Barham (Thomas Ingoldsby, Esq.). New 
 edition, printed from entirely new stereotype jjlatcs. Illus- 
 trated. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.50; half calf, 
 gilt, marbled edges, $3.00. 
 
 "Of his poetical powers it is not too much to say that, for originality of 
 design and diction, for grand illustiation and musical verse, they ar« not 
 surpassed in the English language. The Witches' Fnilic is second only to 
 Tarn O'Shaiiter. But why recapitulate the titles of either prose or verse- 
 since they have been coufess^d by every judgment to be singularly rich in 
 classic allusion and modern illustration. From the days of Hudibras to our 
 time the drollery invested in rhymes has never been so amply or felicitously 
 exemplified.' — Bentley^s Miscellany. 
 
 TEN THOUSAND A YEAR. By Samuel C. Warren, author of 
 "The Diary of a Loudon Physician." Anew edition, care- 
 fully revised, with three illustrations by George G. White. 
 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1 50. 
 
 "Mr, Warren has taken a lasting place among the imaginative writers of 
 this period of English history. He possesses, in a remarkable manner, the 
 tenderness of heart and vividness of feeling, as well as powers of description, 
 whicli are essential to the delineation of the pathrtic, and which, when 
 existing in the degree in which he enjoys them, fill his pages with scenes 
 which can never be forgotten." — -Sir Archibald Alison. 
 
 THOMPSON'S POLITICAL ECONOMY; With Especial Eefer- 
 ence to the Industrial History of Nations. By Prof. R. E. 
 Thompson, of the University of Pennsylvania. 12mo. Cloth, 
 extra, $1.50. 
 
 This book possesses an especial interest at the present moment. The 
 questions of Free Trade and Protection are before the country more directly 
 than at any earlier period of our history. As a rule the works and text- 
 books used in our American colleges are either of English origin or teach 
 Doctrines of a polilical economy which, as Walter Bagehot says, was made 
 for England. Prof. Tlionipson belongs to the Nationalist School of Econo- 
 mists, to which Alexander Hamilton, Tench Coxe, Henry Clay, Matthew 
 Carey, and his greater son, Henry C. Carey, Stephen Cohvell, and James 
 Abram Garfield were adherents. He believes in that poley of Protection 
 to Auiericau industry which has had the sanction of every great Americaa 
 statesman, not excepting Thomas Jefferson and John C. Calhiuin. He makes 
 his appeal to history in defence of that policy, showing that wherever a 
 weaker or less advanced country has practiced Free Trade with one more 
 powerful or richer, the former has lost its industries as well as its money, 
 and has become econonaieally dependent on the latter. Those who wish 
 to learn what is the real source of Irish poverty and discontent will find it 
 here stated fully. 
 
 The method of the book is historical. It is therefore no series of dry and 
 abstract reasonings, such as repel readers from books of this cla-s. The 
 writer does not rid- the a priori nag, and say "this luust be so," aii<l " that 
 must bo conceded." He shows what has been true, and seeks to elicit the 
 laws of the science from the experience of the world. The book overflows 
 with facts told in an interesting manner. 
 
 THE ENGLISH PEOPLE IN ITS THREE HOMES, and the 
 Practical Bearings of general European History. By Edward 
 A. Freeman, LL.D., Author of the " Norman Conquest of 
 England." 12mo. Cloth, extra> Sl.75.
 
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