TRADITIONS 
 
 LANCASHIRE. 
 
 BY 
 
 J. ROBY, M.R.S.L. 
 
 " I know 1 have herein made myself subject unto a world o/ judges, and am 
 likest to receive most controulment of such as are least able to sentence me. 
 Well I wote that the works of no writers have appeared to the world in a more 
 curious age than this; and that, therefore, the more circumspection and 
 wariness is required in the publishing of any thing that must endure so many 
 sharp sights and censures. The consideration whereof, as it hath made me 
 the more heedy not to displease any, so hath it given me the less hope of 
 pleasing all." Verstegan, Best. dec. Ant. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, AND GREEN, 
 
 PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 MDCCCXXIX.
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by A. & R. Spottiswooiie, 
 
 New-Street- Square.
 
 
 
 , / 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF BALCARRES, 
 
 WHOSE KIND INTEREST AND SUPPORT 
 
 HE HAS TO ACKNOWLEDGE 
 
 DURING THE PROGRESS OF THE WORK, 
 
 THESE PAGES 
 
 ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, 
 
 BY HER LADYSHIPS 
 
 MOST OBLIGED 
 
 AND HUMBLE SERVANT, 
 
 JOHN ROBY.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 A Preface is rarely needed, generally intrusive, 
 and always tiresome, — seldom read, more seldom 
 desiderated : a piece of egotism at best, where the 
 author, speaking of himself, has the less chance of 
 being Ustened to. Yet — and what speaker does not 
 think he ought to be heard? — the Author conceives 
 there may be some necessity, some reason why he 
 should step forward for the purpose of explaining his 
 views, in connection with the character and design 
 of the following pages. 
 
 In the northern counties, and more particularly in 
 Lancashire, the great arena of the Stanleys during 
 the civil wars, — where the progress and successful 
 issue of his cause was but too confidently anticipated 
 by Charles Stuart, and the scene especially of 
 those strange and unholy proceedings in which the 
 " Lancashire Witches " rendered themselves so 
 famous, — it may readily be imagined that a number 
 of interesting legends, anecdotes, and scraps of 
 family history, are floating about, hitherto preserved 
 A 3
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 chiefly in the shape of oral tradition. The an- 
 tiquary, in most instances, rejects the information 
 that does not present itself in the form of an au- 
 thentic and well-attested fact; and legendary lore, 
 in })articular, he throws aside, as worthless and 
 unprofitable. The author of the " Traditions of 
 Lancashire," in leaving the dry and heraldic pe- 
 digrees which unfortunately constitute the great bulk 
 of those works that bear the name of county his- 
 tories, enters on the more entertaining, though some- 
 times apocryphal narratives, which exemplify and 
 embellish the records of our forefathers. 
 
 A native of Lancashire, and residing there during 
 the greater part of his life, he has been enabled to 
 collect a mass of local traditions, now fast dying from 
 the memories of the inhabitants. It is his object to 
 perpetuate these interesting relics of the past, and 
 to present them in a form that may be generally 
 acceptable, divested of the dust and dross in which 
 the originals are but too often disfiijured, so as to 
 appear worthless and uninviting. 
 
 Tradition is not an unacceptable source of his- 
 torical enquiry ; and the writer who disdains to follow 
 these glinnnerings of truth v,\\\ often find himself 
 in the dark, with nothing but his own opinions — 
 the smouldering vapour of his own imagination — 
 to guide him in the search. 
 
 The following extract from a German writer on 
 this subject, sufficiently exemplifies and illustrates
 
 PREFACE. VU 
 
 the design the author has generally had before him, 
 in the composition and arrangement of the following 
 legends : — 
 
 " Simple and unimportant as the subject may at 
 first appear, it will be found, upon a nearer view, 
 well worth the attention of philosophical and his- 
 torical enquirers. All genuine, popular Tales, ar- 
 ranged with local and national reference, cannot fail 
 to throw light upon contemporary events in history, 
 upon the progressive cultivation of society, and upon 
 the prevailing modes of thinking in every age. 
 Though not consisting of a recital of bare facts, they 
 are, in most instances, founded upon fact, and in so 
 far connected with history, which occasionally, in- 
 deed, borrows from, and as often reflects light upon 
 these familiar annals, these more private and in- 
 teresting casualties of human life. 
 
 " It is thus that popular tradition, connected with 
 all that is most interesting in human histoiy and 
 human action, upon a national scale — a mirror re- 
 flecting the people's past worth and wisdom — in- 
 variably possesses so deep a hold upon its affections, 
 and offers so many instructive hints to the man of 
 the world, to the statesman, the citizen, and the 
 peasant. 
 
 " Signs of approaching changes, no less in man- 
 ners than in states, may hkewise be traced, floating 
 down this popular current of opinions, fertilizing the 
 seeds scattered by a past generation, and marking
 
 VI II PREFACE. 
 
 by its ebbs and flows the state of the political at- 
 mosphere, and the distant gathering of the storm. 
 
 " National traditions further serve to throw light 
 upon ancient and modern mythology ; and, in many 
 instances, they are known to preserve traces of their 
 fabulous descent, as will clearly appear in some of 
 the following selections. It is the same with those 
 of all nations, whether of eastern or western origin, 
 Greek, Scythian, or Kamtschatkan. And hence, 
 among every people just emerged out of a state of 
 barbarism, the same causes lead to the production 
 of similar compositions ; and a chain of connection 
 is thus established between the fables of different 
 nations, only varied by clime and custom, sufficient 
 to prove, not merely a degree of harmony, but secret 
 interchanges and communications." 
 
 A record of the freaks of such airy beings, glanc- 
 ing through the mists of national superstition, would 
 prove little inferior in poetical interest and associa- 
 tion, to the fanciful creations of the Greek mytho- 
 logy. The truth is, they are of one family, and we 
 often discover allusions to the beautiful fable of 
 Psyche, or the story of Midas; sometimes with the 
 addition, that the latter was obliged to admit his 
 barber into his uncomfortable secret. Odin and 
 Jupiter are brothers, if not the same person ; and the 
 northern Hercules is often represented as drawing a 
 strong man by almost invisible threads, which pass 
 fiom his tongue round the limbs of the victim.
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 thereby symbolizing the power of eloquence. Several 
 incidents in the following tales will be recognised by 
 those conversant with Scandinavian literature, thus 
 adding another link to the chain of certainty which 
 unites the human race, or at any rate that part of it 
 from which Europe was originally peopled, in one 
 original tribe or family. 
 
 A work of this nature, embodying the material of 
 our own island traditions, has not yet been attempted ; 
 and the writer confidently hopes that these tales may 
 be found fully capable of awakening and sustaining 
 the peculiar and high-wrought interest inherent in 
 the legends of our continental neighbours. Should 
 they fail of producing this effect, he requests that it 
 may be attributed rather to his want of power to 
 conjure up the spirits of past ages, than to any want 
 of capabilities in the subjects he has chosen to 
 introduce. 
 
 To the local and to the general reader — to the 
 antiquary and the uninitiated — to the admirers of 
 the fine arts and embellishments of our literature, 
 he hopes his labours will prove acceptable; and 
 should the plan succeed, not Lancashire alone, but 
 the other counties may, in their turn, become the 
 subject of similar illustrations. The tales are arranged 
 chronologically, forming a somewhat irregular series 
 from the earliest records to those of a comparatively 
 modern date. They may in point of style appear 
 at the commencement stiff and stalwart, like the
 
 VHEFACE. 
 
 chiselletl warriors, whose deeds are generally t-n- 
 veloped in a rude narrative, hard and ponderous as 
 their gaunt and grisly effigies. The events, how- 
 ever, as the author has found them, gradually assimi- 
 late with the familiar aspects and every day affections 
 of our nature, — subsiding from the stern and re- 
 pulsive character of a barbarous age, into the usual 
 forms and modes of feeling incident to humanity, — 
 as some cold and barren region, where one stunted 
 blade of affection can scarce find shelter, gradually 
 opens out into the quiet glades and lowly habitudes 
 of ordinary existence. 
 
 The author disclaims all pretensions to superior 
 knowledge. He would not even arrogate to himself 
 the name of antiquary. Some of the incidents are, 
 perhaps, well known, being merely put into a novel 
 and more popular shape. The spectator is here 
 placed upon an eminence where the scenes assume a 
 new aspect, new combinations of beauty and gran- 
 deur being the result of the vantage ground he has 
 obtained. Nothing more is attempted than what 
 others, with the same opportunities, might have 
 done as well, — })erhaps better. When Columbus 
 broke the egg, — if we may be excused the arrogance 
 of the simile, — all that were present could have done 
 the same; and some, no doubt, might have per- 
 formed the operation more dexterously. 
 
 1st October, 1829.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 Page 
 
 Sir Tarquin - . _ . .1 
 
 The Goblin Builders - - . . 19 
 
 Mab's Cross - - - - - 43 
 
 The Prior of Burscough - - - 85 
 
 The Eagle AND Child - - - - 119 
 
 The Black Knight of Ashton - - - 157 
 
 Fair Ellen of Radcliffe - - - - 177 
 
 The Abbot of Whalley - - - - 189 
 
 Sir Edward Stanley - - - - 231 
 
 George Marsh, the Martyr ... 2^57 
 
 Dr. Dee, the Astrologer ... - 935
 
 SIR TARQUIN. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 " W'ithia tliis ancient British land, 
 
 In Lancashire I understand, 
 Near Alanchester there lived a knight of fame, 
 
 Of a prodigious strength and might, 
 
 AVho vanqiushed many a worthy knight ; 
 A giant great, and Tarquin was lus name." 
 
 Ballad of Sir Tarquin.
 
 SIR TARQUIN. 
 
 As it is our intention to arrange these traditions in 
 chronological order, we begin with the earliest upon 
 record, the overthrow of the giant Tarquin, near Man- 
 chester, by Sir Lancelot of the Lake, who was supposed 
 to bear rule over the western part of Lancashire. 
 
 An old ballad commemorates the achievement ; and 
 many other relics of this tradition still exist, one of 
 which, a rude carving on a ceiling in the College at 
 Manchester, represents the giant Tarquin at his morn- 
 ing's repast ; it being fabled that he devoured a child 
 daily at this meal. The legs of the infant are seen 
 sprawling out of his mouth in a most unseemly fashion. 
 Some have supposed that Tarquin was but a symbol or 
 personification of the Roman army, and his castle the 
 Roman station in this neighbourhood. 
 
 The following extract is from Dr. Hibbert's pamphlet 
 on the subject : — 
 
 " Upon the site of Castlefield, near Manchester, was 
 
 originally erected a British fortress by the Sistuntii, the 
 
 earliest possessors of Lancashire, comprising an area of 
 
 twelve acres. It would possess on the south, south-east, 
 
 B 2
 
 4 SIR TARQUIN. 
 
 and south-west, every advantage from the winding of the 
 river ^ledlock, and on its west, from the lofty banks 
 which overlooked an impenetrable morass. By the arti- 
 tificial aid, therefore, of a ditch and a rampart on its east 
 and north sides, this place was rendered a fortress of no 
 inconsiderable importance. This fell afterwards into the 
 hands of the Brigantes, the ancient inhabitants of Durham, 
 York, and Westmoreland. Upon the invasion of the 
 Romans, Cereales, their general, attacked the proper 
 Brigantes of Yorkshire and Durham, and freed the Sis- 
 tuntii of Lancashire from their dominion, but reserved 
 the former to incur the Roman yoke. In A. D. 79, this 
 British hold was changed into a Roman castrum, garri- 
 soned by the first Frisian cohort, who erected from the 
 old materials a new fort on the Roman construction, part 
 of the vallum remaining to this day. New roads were 
 made, and the British were invited to form themselves into 
 the little communities of cities, to check the spirit of in- 
 dependence kept alive in the uncivilised iabodes of deserted 
 forests. The Romans possessed the fortress for nearly 
 300 years, when they were summoned away to form part 
 of the army intended to repel the myriads of barbarians 
 that threatened to over-run Europe. 
 
 " By contributing to their refinement, and protecting 
 them from the inroads of the Picts and Scots, the Romans 
 were regarded in a friendly light by the ancient in- 
 habitants ; and their departure was much regretted. It 
 became necessary, however, that the Britons should elect 
 a chief from their own nation. Their military positions 
 were strengthened; and as the Roman model of a fortress 
 did not suit their military taste, instead of one encircled 
 with walls only seven or eight feet high, and furnishing
 
 SIR TARQUIN. 5 
 
 merely pavilions for soldiers within, they preferred erecting, 
 on the sites of stations, large buildings of stone, whose 
 chambers should contain more convenient barracks for the 
 garrison. An infinite number of these castles existed 
 within a century after the departure of the Romans, of 
 which our castle at Manchester was one, carried to a great 
 height, erected in a good taste, secured at the entrances 
 with gates, and flanked at the sides with towers. 
 
 " The Britons, however, unable of themselves to cope 
 with their foes, imprudently invited the Saxons, who, 
 after subduing the Caledonians, laid waste the country of 
 the Britons with fire and sword. The castle of Man- 
 chester surrendered A. D. 488." 
 
 We have endeavoured to preserve the character and 
 manner of the ancient chroniclers, and even their fanciful 
 etymologies, in the following record, of which the quaint 
 but not inelegant style, in some measure, almost un- 
 avoidably adapts itself to the subject. 
 
 B 3
 
 SIR TARQUIN. 
 
 Sir Lancelot of the Lake, as it is related by the older 
 chronicles, was the son of Ban, king of Benoit, in Brittany. 
 Flying from his castle, then straitly besieged, the fugitive 
 king saw it in flames, and soon after expired with grief. 
 His queen, Helen, fruitlessly attempting to save his life, 
 abandoned, for a while, her infant son Lancelot. Re- 
 turning, she discovered him in the arms of the nymph 
 Vivian, the mistress of Merlin, who, on her approach, 
 sprung with the child into a deep lake and disappeared. 
 This lake is held by some to be the lake Linius, a wide 
 B 4
 
 8 SIR TAnUUIN. 
 
 insular water near the sea coast, in the regions of Linius 
 or "The Lake;" now called Martin Mere or Mar-tai7i- 
 tnoir, " a water like the sea." 
 
 The nymph educated the infant at her court, fabulously 
 said to have been held in the subterraneous caverns of 
 this lake, and from hence he was styled Lancelot du Lac. 
 
 At the age of eighteen the fairy conveyed him to the 
 camp of King Arthur, who was then waging a fierce and 
 exterminating warfare with the Saxons. Here the young 
 warrior was invested with the badge of knighthood. His 
 person, accomplishments, and unparalleled bravery, having 
 won the heart of many a fair dame in this splendid abode 
 of chivalry and romance, his name and renown filled the 
 land, where he was throughout acknowledged as chief of 
 " the Knights of the Round Table." 
 
 The name of Lancelot is derived from history, and is 
 an appellation truly British, signifying royalty, Lane 
 being the Celtic term for a spear, and lod or lot implying 
 a people. Hence the name of Lancelot's shire, or Lan- 
 cashire. From the foregoing it is supposed that he re- 
 sided in the region of Linius, and that he was the monarch 
 of these pnrts, being ruler over the whole, or the greater 
 part, of what is now called Lancashire. 
 
 Arthur, king of the Silures, being selected by Am- 
 brosius for the command of the army, he defeated the 
 Saxons in twelve pitched battles. Four of these were 
 obtained, as related by Nennius, on the river called 
 Duglas*, or Douglas, a little stream which runneth, as 
 
 • Dii-glass, " tlic becoming, the seemly, ^rccn," described by 
 Camden as " a small i)rook, runninjr with an easy and still stream ; " 
 which conveys a good idea of the word I)u. The Du-glass empties
 
 SIR TARQUIN. 9 
 
 we are further told, in the region of Linius. On reference, 
 it will be found that this river passes through a great 
 portion of the western side of Lancashire, and pretty 
 accurately fixes the position here described. 
 
 Three of these great victories were gotten near 
 Wigan, and the other is currently reported to have been 
 achieved near Blackrod, close to a Roman station, then 
 probably fortified, and remaining as a place of some 
 strength, and in possession of the Saxon invaders. Here, 
 according to rude legends, " the river Duglas ran with 
 blood to Wigan three days." 
 
 It was during one of the brief intervals of rest that 
 sometimes occurred in the prosecution of these achieve- 
 ments, that the following incident is reported to have 
 happened. Being a passage of some note, and the earliest 
 tradition of the county upon record, we have chosen it as 
 the commencement of a work principally derived from 
 traditionary history. 
 
 Sir Tarquin, a cruel and treacherous knight of gigantic 
 stature, and prodigious strength, had, as the story is 
 currently told, his dwelling in a well-fortified castle nigh 
 to Manchester, on the site of what is yet known by the 
 name of Castle Field. It was a place of great strength, 
 surrounded by vast ramparts, and flanked at the corners 
 with high and stately towers. 
 
 itself into the estuary called by Ptolemy BeUesamii, Bell-ess-aman-e ; 
 pronounced Violish-aune*, the literal meaning of which is, that the 
 " mouth of the river only is for ships ; " i. e. that the rivers which 
 form the haven are not navigable. — Chronicles of Eri. — O'Connor, 
 
 * Ballyshannon is evidently a very slight corruption of this term.
 
 10 SIR TARQUIN. 
 
 He l»ad, by treachery, gained possession of the for- 
 tress, treating the owner, who was a British knight of no 
 mean condition, with great cruelty and rigour. This 
 doughty Saxon, Sir Tarquin, had, along with many 
 of his nation, been invited over in aid of the Britons 
 against their neighbours the Picts and Scots. These 
 being driven back, their false allies treacherously made 
 war upon their friends, laying waste the country with 
 fire and sword. Then arose that noble brotherhood, 
 " The Knights of the Round Table," who, having sworn 
 to avenge the wrongs of their country, began to harass 
 the intruders, and to drive them from their ill-gotten 
 possessions. 
 
 The Saxons were no less vigilant ; but many of their 
 most puissant knights were slain or imprisoned during 
 these encounters. 
 
 Sir Tarquin could boast of no mean success ; — three 
 score knights and four, it is said, were held in thrall 
 by this uncourteous chieftain. 
 
 Sir Lancelot having, as the ballad quaintly expresses it, 
 
 " A mighty giant, just pulled down, 
 
 Who lived near Shrewsbury's fair town, 
 With his keen sword his life away did take." 
 
 This giant knight was called Sir Carados ; and Sir 
 Lancelot, when about betaking himself to these and 
 similar recreations, did hear doleful tidings out of Lan- 
 cashire, how that Sir Tarquin was playing the eagle in 
 the hawk's ejnrie, amongst his brethren and companions. 
 From Winchester he rode in great haste, succouring not 
 a few distressed damsels, and performing many other 
 notable exploits by the way, " until he came to a vast
 
 SIR TARQUIN. 11 
 
 desert," " frequented by none save those whom ill fortune 
 had permitted to wander therein." Sir Tarquin, like the 
 dragon of yore, entailed a desert round his dwelling : 
 so fierce and rapacious was he, that no man durst live 
 beside him, save that he held his life and property of too 
 mean account, and too worthless for the taking. 
 
 The Knight was pricking on his way through this al- 
 most pathless wilderness, when he espied a damsel of 
 such inexpressible and ravishing beauty, that none might 
 behold her without the most heart-stirring delight and 
 admiration. To this maiden did Sir Lancelot address 
 himself, but she hid her face and fell a weeping. He 
 then enquired the cause of her dolour, when she bade 
 him flee, for his life was in great jeopardy. 
 
 " Oh, Sir Knight!" imcovering her face as she spoke, 
 " the giant Tarquin liveth hereabout, and thou wert as 
 good as dead, should he espy thee so near his castle." 
 
 "What!" said the Knight, "and shall Sir Lancelot 
 of the Lake flee before this false and cruel tyrant ? To 
 this purpose am I come, that I may slay and make an 
 end of him at once, and deliver the captives." 
 
 "Art thou, indeed. Sir Lancelot?" said the damsel, 
 joy suddenly starting through her tears ; " then is our 
 deliverance nearer than we hoped for. Thy fame is gone 
 before thee into all countries, and thy might and thy 
 prowess, it is said, none may withstand. This evil one. 
 Sir Tarquin, hath taken captive my true knight, who, 
 through my cruelty, betook himself to this adventiu-e, 
 and now lieth in chains and foul ignominy, without hope 
 of release, until death break oflP his fetters." 
 
 " Beshrew me," said Lancelot, " but I will deliver him
 
 12 SIH TAUUUIN. 
 
 presently, and cut ofF the foul tyrant's head, or lose mine 
 own by the attempt." 
 
 Then did he follow the maiden to a river's brink, near 
 to where, as tradition still reports, now stand the Knott 
 Mills. Having mounted her before him on his steed, 
 she pointed out a path over the ford, beyond which he 
 soon espied the castle, a vast and stately building of 
 rugged stone, like a huge crown upon the hill-top, which 
 presented a gentle ascent from the stream. 
 
 Now did Sir Lancelot alight, as well to assist his com- 
 panion as to bethink himself what course to pursue ; but 
 the damsel shewed him a high tree, about a stone's throw 
 from the ditch before the castle, whereon hung a goodly 
 array of accoutrements, with many fair and costly shields, 
 on which were displayed a variety of gay and fanciful 
 devices. These were the property of the knights then 
 held in durance by Sir Tarquin. Below them all hung 
 a copper basin, on which was carved in Latin the follow- 
 ing inscription, translated thus : — 
 
 " Who valut'tli not his life a whit, 
 Let him this magic basin hit." 
 
 This so enraged Sir Lancelot, that he drove at the 
 vessel violently with his spear, piercing it through and 
 through, so vigorous was the assault. The clangour was 
 loud, and anxiously did the knight await for some reply 
 to his summons. Yet there was no answer, nor was there 
 any stir about the walls or outworks. It seemed as 
 though Sir Tarquin was his own castellan, skulking here 
 alone, like the cunning spider watching for his prey. 
 
 Silence, with her vast and unmoving wings, appeared to 
 brood over the place ; and echo, that gave back their
 
 SIR TARQUIN. 13 
 
 summons from the walls, seemed to labour for utterance, 
 through the void by which they were encompassed. A 
 stillness so appalling might needs discourage the hot and 
 fiery purpose of Sir Lancelot, who, unused but to the 
 rude clash of arms, and the melee of the battle, did marvel 
 exceedingly at this forbearance of the enemy. But he 
 still rode round about the fortress, expecting that some 
 one should come forth to enquire his business, and this 
 did he, to and fro, for a long space. As he was just 
 minded to return from so fruitless an adventure, he saw 
 a cloud of dust, at some distance, and presently he beheld 
 a knight galloping furiously towards him. Coming nigh, 
 Sir Lancelot was aware that a captive knight lay before 
 him, bound hand and foot, bleeding and sore wounded. 
 
 " Villain ! " cried Sir Lancelot, " and unworthy the 
 name of a true and loyal knight ; how darest thou do 
 this insult and contumely to an enemy, who, though 
 fallen, is yet thine equal ? I will make thee rue this foul 
 despite, and avenge the wrongs of my brethren of the 
 Round Table." 
 
 " If thou be for so brave a meal," said Tarquin, " thou 
 shalt have thy fill, and that speedily. I will first cut off 
 thy head, and then serve up thy carcass to the Round 
 Table ; for both that and thee I do utterly defy ! " 
 
 " That is over dainty food for thy sending," replied 
 Sir Lancelot, hastily, and with that they couched their 
 spears. The first rush was over, but man and horse had 
 withstood the shock. Again they fell back, measuring 
 the distance with an eager and impetuous glance, and 
 again they rushed on, as if to overwhelm each other by 
 main strength, when, as fortune would have it, their 
 lances shivered, both of them at once, in the rebound.
 
 li SIR TARQUIN. 
 
 The end of Sir Lancelot's spear, as it broke, struck his 
 adversary's steed on the shoulder, and caused him to fall 
 suddenly, as if sore wounded. Sir Tarquin leaped nimbly 
 from oft' his back ; which Sir Lancelot espying, he cried 
 out, — 
 
 " Now will I show thee the like courtesy ; for by mine 
 honour, and the faith of a true knight, I will not slay 
 thee at this foul advantage." Alighting with haste, they 
 betook themselves to their swords, each guarding the op- 
 posite attack warily with his shield. That of Sir Tarquin 
 was framed of a bull's hide, stoutly held together with 
 thongs, and, in truth, seemed well nigh impenetrable ; 
 whilst the shield of his opponent, being of more brittle 
 stuff", did seem as though it would have cloven asunder 
 with the desperate strokes of Sir Tarquin's sword. No- 
 thing daunted, Sir Lancelot brake oft-times through his 
 adversary's guard, and smote him once until the blood 
 trickled down amain. At this sight. Sir Tarquin waxed 
 ten times more fierce ; and summoning all his strength 
 for the blow, wrought so lustily on the head of Sir Lan- 
 celot, that he began to reel; which Tarquin observing, 
 by a side blow struck the sword from out his hand, 
 with so sharp and dexterous a jerk, that it shivered into 
 a thousand fragments. 
 
 " Now yield thee. Sir Knight, or thou diest ;" and with 
 that the cruel monster sprang upon him to accomplish 
 his end. Still Sir Lancelot would not yield, nor sue to 
 him for quarter, but flew on his enemy like the ravening 
 wolf to his prey. Then were they seen hurtling together 
 like wild bulls, — Sir Lancelot holding fast his adversary's 
 sword, so that in vain he attempted to make a thrust 
 therewith.
 
 SIR XARQUIN. 15 
 
 " Thou discourteous churl! give me but the vantage of 
 a weapon like thine ovpn, and I will fight thee honestly, 
 and without flinching." 
 
 " Nay, Sir Knight of the Round Table, but this were 
 a merry deed withal, to help thee unto that wherewith 
 I might perchance mount some goodly bough for the 
 crows to peck at," replied Tarquin. Terrible and un- 
 ceasing was the struggle ; but in vain the giant knight at- 
 tempted to regain the use of his sword. Then Sir Lan- 
 celot, with a wary eye. finding no hope of his life, save 
 in the use or accomplishment of some notable stratagem, 
 bethought him of the attempt to throw his adversary 
 by a sudden feint. To this end he pressed against him 
 heavily, and with his whole might, then darting sud- 
 denly aside, Sir Tarquin fell to the ground, with a loud 
 cry, which. Sir Lancelot espying, leapt joyfully upon him, 
 thinking to overcome his enemy ; but the latter, too 
 cunning to be thus caught at unawares, kept his sword 
 firmly holden, — and his enemy was still unprovided with 
 the means of defence. Now did Sir Lancelot begin to 
 doubt what course he should pursue, when suddenly the 
 damsel, who, having bound up the wounds of the captive 
 knight as he lay, and now sate a little way off, watching 
 the event, cried out, with a shrill voice, — 
 
 " Sir Knight, the tree: — a goodly bough for the gather- 
 ing." Then did Sir Lancelot remember the weapons 
 that were there, along with the shields and the body- 
 armour of the knights Sir Tarquin had vanquished. Start- 
 ing up, ere his enemy had recovered himself, he snatched 
 a broad falchion from the bough, and again defied him 
 to the combat. But the fight was fiercer than before ; so 
 that being sore wounded, and the day exceeding hot, 
 they were, after a season, fain to pause for breath.
 
 16 SIR TARQUIN. 
 
 " Thou art the bravest knight I ever encountered," said 
 Sir Tarquin, " and I would crave thy country and thy 
 name; tor by my troth, and the honour of my gods, I. will 
 give thee thy request, on one condition, and release thy 
 brethren of the Round Table : for why should two knights 
 of such pith and prowess slay each other in one day." 
 
 " And what is thy condition ?" enquired Sir Lancelot. 
 
 " There liveth but one, either in Christendom or 
 Heathenesse, unto wliom I may not grant this parley ; for 
 him have I sworn to kill," said Sir Tarquin. 
 
 " 'Tis well," replied the other ; " but what name or 
 cognisance hath he?" 
 
 " His name is Lancelot of the Lake ! " 
 
 " Behold him ! " was the reply, — Sir Lancelot at the 
 same time brandishing his weapon with a shout of de- 
 fiance. 
 
 Wlicn Sir Tarquin heard this, he gnashed his teeth for 
 very rage. 
 
 " Now one of us must die," said he. *' Thou slewest 
 my brother Sir Carados, at Shrewsbury, and I have sworn 
 to avenge his defeat. Thou dicst. Not all the gods of 
 thy fathers shall deliver thee." 
 
 So to it they went, with more heat and fury than ever ; 
 and a marvel was it to behold, for each blow did seem as 
 it would have cleft the other in twain, so deadly was the 
 strife and hatred between them. 
 
 Sir Lancelot pressed hard upon his foe, though himself 
 grievously wounded, and, in all likelihood, would have 
 won the fight, but, as ill luck would have it, when dealing 
 a blow, mighty enough to fell the stoutest oak in Christen- 
 dom, he missed his aim, and with that stumbled to the 
 ground. Then did Sir Tarquin shout for joy, and would
 
 SIR TARQUIN. 17 
 
 have made an end of him, but that Sir Lancelot, as he 
 lay, aimed a deadly thrust below his enemy's shield 
 where he was left unguarded, and quickly turned his joy 
 into tribulation ; for Sir Tarquin, though not mortally 
 wounded, drew back, and cried out lustily for pain, the 
 which Sir Lancelot hearing, he leapt again to his feet, 
 still eager and impatient for the strife. 
 
 The contest was again doubtful, neither of them showing 
 an}'^ disposition to yield, or in any wise to abate the rigour 
 of the conflict. Night, too, was coming on apace, and 
 seemed like enough to pitch her tent over them, ere the 
 issue was decided. But an event now fell out, which, 
 unexpectedly enough, terminated this adventure. From 
 some cause arising out of the haste and rapidity of the 
 strokes, one of these so chanced, that both their swords 
 were suddenly driven from out of their right hands ; 
 stooping together, by some subtlety or mistake, they 
 exchanged weapons. Then did Sir Lancelot soon find 
 his strength to increase, whilst his adversary's vigour be- 
 gan to abate ; and, in the end, Sir Lancelot slew him, 
 and with his own sword cut off his head. He then per- 
 ceived that the giant's great strength was by virtue of 
 his sword ; and that it was through his wicked enchant- 
 ments therewith, he had been able to overcome, and had 
 wrought such disgrace on the Knights of the Round 
 Table. Sir Lancelot forthwith took the keys from the 
 giant's girdle, and proceeded to the release of the cap- 
 tive knights, first unbinding the prisoner, who yet lay 
 in a piteous swoon hard by. But there was a great 
 outcry and lamentation, when that he saw his own brother 
 Sir Erclos in this doleful case ; for it was he whom the 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 SIK TAKQUIN. 
 
 cruel Tarquin was leading captive when he met the just 
 reward of his misdeeds. 
 
 After administering to his relief, Sir Lancelot rode up 
 to the castle-gate, but found no entrance thereby. The 
 draw-bridge was raised, and he sought in vain the means 
 of giving the appointed signal for its descent. 
 
 But the damsel showed him a secret place, where hung 
 a little horn. On this he blew a sharp and ringing blast, 
 when the bridge presently began to lower, and instantly 
 to adjust itself across the moat ; whereon, hastening, he 
 unlocked the gate. But here he had nigh fallen into a 
 subtle snare, by reason of an ugly dwarf that was con- 
 cealed in a side niche of the wall. He was armed with a 
 ponderous mace ; and had not the maiden drawn Sir 
 Lancelot aside by main force, he would have been crushed 
 in its descent, the dwarf aiming a deadly blow at him as 
 he passed. It fell, instead, with a loud crash on the 
 pavement, and broke into a thousand fragments. There- 
 upon, Sir Lancelot smote him with the giants sword, and 
 hewed tlie mischievous monster asunder without mercy. 
 Turning towards the damsel, he beheld her form sud- 
 denly change, and she vanished from his sight ; then was 
 he aware that it had been the nymph Vivian who ac- 
 companied him through the enchantments he had so 
 happily subdued. He soon released his brethren, and 
 great was the joy at the Round Table when the Knights 
 returned to the banquet. 
 
 Thus endeth the chronicle of Sir T;u-(]uin, still a notiible 
 tradition in these parts, the remains of his castle being 
 shown to this day.
 
 THE 
 
 GOBLIN BUILDERS. 
 
 c 2
 
 ' By wells and rills, in meadows green, 
 We nightly dance our heyday guise ; 
 And to our fairy king and queen 
 We chant our moonlight minstrelsies. 
 When larks 'gin sing, 
 Away we fling. 
 And babes new bom we steal as we go, 
 And elf in bed 
 We leave instead. 
 And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho ! " 
 
 Ben Jonson.
 
 THE 
 
 GOBLIN BUILDERS. 
 
 The story which serves for the basis of the following 
 legend, will be easily recognised in the neighbourhood 
 where the transactions are said to have occurred, though, 
 probably, not known beyond its immediate locality. 
 
 The accessories are gathered from a number of sources : 
 and the great difficulty the author has had to encounter 
 in getting at what he conceives the real state and cha- 
 racter of the time, together with the history of contempo- 
 rary individuals and events, so as to give a natural picture 
 of the manners and customs of that remote era, can be 
 known by those only who have entered into pursuits of 
 this nature. In this and in the succeeding legends, he 
 has attempted to illustrate and portray the customs of 
 that particular epoch to which they relate, as well as to 
 detail the events on which they are founded. 
 
 It may be interesting to notice, that a similar exploit 
 is recorded in the Scandinavian Legends, and may be 
 traced, under many variations of circumstances and events, 
 in the Icelandic, Danish, and Norwegian poetry, afford- 
 ing another intimation of the source from whence our 
 popular mythology is derived, 
 c 3
 
 GOBLIN BUILDERS. 
 
 XowARDS the latter end of the reign of William, the 
 Norman conqueror, Gamel, the Saxon Thane, Lord of 
 Recedham or " Rached," being left in the quiet posses- 
 sion of his lands and privileges by the usurper, " minded," 
 — as the phrase then was, — " for the fear of God and the 
 salvation of his immortal soul, to build a chapel unto St. 
 Chadde," nigh to the banks of the Rache or Roach. For 
 this pious use, a convenient place was set apart, lying on
 
 21. THE COBI.IN BUILDERS. 
 
 the north bank of the river, in a low and sheltered spot, 
 now called " The Newgate." Piles of timber and huge 
 stones were gathered thither in the most unwonted pro- 
 fusion ; insomuch, that the building seemed destined for 
 some more ambitious display than the humble edifices, 
 called churches, then exhibited, of which but few existed 
 in the surrounding districts. 
 
 The foundations were laid. The loose and spongy na- 
 ture of the soil required heavy stakes to be driven, upon 
 and between which were laid several courses of rubble- 
 stone, ready to receive the grouting or cement. Yet in 
 one night was the whole mass conveyed, without the 
 loss of a single stone, to the summit of a steep hill on the 
 opposite bank, and apparently without any visible marks 
 or signs betokening the agents or means employed for its 
 removal. It did seem as though their pathway had been 
 the viewless air, so silently was all track obliterated. Great 
 was the consternation that spread among the indwellers 
 of the four several clusters of cabins, dignified by the ap- 
 pellation of villages, and bearing, with their appendages, 
 the names of Castletown, Spoddenland, Honorsfield, and 
 Buckland. With dismay and horror this profanation was 
 witnessed. The lord, more especially, became indignant. 
 This daring presumption — this wilful outrage, so like 
 bidding defiance to his power, bearding the lion even in 
 his den, was deemed an offence calling for signal ven- 
 geance upon the perpetrators. 
 
 At the cross in Honorsfield a proclamation was recited, 
 to the intent, that unless the offending parties were forth- 
 with given up to meet the punishment that might be 
 awarded to their misdeeds, a heavy mulct would follow, 
 and the unfortunate villains and hordarii be subject to
 
 THE GOBLIN BUILDERS. 25 
 
 such farther infliction as might still seem wanting to 
 assuage their lord's displeasure. Now this was a grievous 
 disaster to the unhappy vassals, seeing that none could 
 safely or truly accuse his neighbour. All were agreed that 
 human agency had no share in the work. The wiser part 
 threw out a shrewd suspicion, that the old deities, whom 
 their forefathers had worshipped, and whose altars had 
 been thrown down, and their sacrifices forbidden, had burst 
 the thraldom in which they were aforetime held by the 
 Christian priests, and were now brooding a fearful revenge 
 for the many insults they had endured. But the decree 
 from the lord was hasty, and the command urgent; so 
 that a council was holden for the devising of some plan for 
 their relief. 
 
 Hugh de Chadwycke and John de Spotland were sub- 
 ordinate lords, or feudataries, holding fortified dwellings, 
 castelets or peels, in the manor of Rochdale ; the former 
 had builded his rude mansion of massive timber, for the 
 double purpose of habitation and defence, on a bold 
 eminence, forming a steep bank of the river, about a mile 
 from the Thane's castle. Claiming a relationship to the 
 lord, he was, in some measure, privileged above his friend 
 de Spotland, yet was the latter a personage of consider- 
 able power and influence at the manor court. To these 
 men, when their aid was necessary, either as counsellors 
 or intercessors, did the inhabitants generally repair. 
 
 Hugh de Chadwycke was a man of mild and grave 
 deportment, but politic withal, and wary of counsel. John 
 de Spotland was of a more bold and open temper. De 
 Chadwycke suggested a submissive application to the 
 Thane, with a pledge that all possible diligence should be 
 used for the fulfilment of his demands. John urged the
 
 26 THE GOBLIN BUILDERS. 
 
 removal of the materials with all expedition to their 
 original site, a watch being set to discover the delin- 
 quents, should they again presume to lay hands on the 
 stuff. The wisdom and propriety of the latter precaution 
 was undisputed; but no one seemed willing to undergo 
 the terrible ordeal, each declining the office in deference 
 to his more privileged neighbour. No wonder at their re- 
 luctance to so unequal a contest. To be strangled or torn 
 limb from limb, was the slightest punishment that could 
 be expected for this daring profanation, yet, unless they 
 had witnesses, bodily, to these diabolical exploits, it 
 were needless to attempt excusing themselves before the 
 haughty chieftain. He would visit with fearful severity 
 all their endeavours to deceive, nor would he credit their 
 belief, unless it were confirmed by the testimony of an 
 eye-witness. How to procure this desirable source of 
 intelligence, was a question that was hourly becoming 
 more difficult to solve. 
 
 Slow and melancholy was their return, while with fear 
 and hesitation they communicated the result. 
 
 " Now, shame befall thee, Adam of Will's ! " said a stout 
 woman, to one of the speakers ; " thou wert ever a tough 
 fighter ; and the cudgel and ragged staff were as glib in 
 thine hands, as a beggar's pouch on alms-days. Show thy 
 mettle, man. I'll spice thee a jug of barley-drink, an' thou 
 be for the bout this time." 
 
 " Nay," returned Adam, " I'll fight Beelzebub if he be 
 aught I can hit ; but these same boggarts, they say, a 
 blow falls on 'em like rain-drops on a mist, or like beating 
 the wind with a corn-flail. I cannot fight with naught, as 
 it were." 
 
 " Shame on thee, Hal ! " said a shrill-tongued, crooked
 
 THE GOBLIN BUILDERS. 27 
 
 little body, arrayed in a coarse grey liood, and holding a 
 stick, like unto a one-handed crutch, of enormous dimen- 
 sions. " Shame on thee ! I would watch myself, but the 
 night-wind sits indifferently on my stomach, and I am too 
 old now for these moonshine lifts." 
 
 She cast her little bleared eyes, half shut, and distilling 
 contempt, on the cowardly bystanders. 
 
 " Now, if there be not old Cicely," — first went round in 
 a whisper ; — then a deep silence gradually pervaded the 
 assembly. 
 
 She had just hobbled down to the cross, and the 
 audience seemed to watch her looks with awe and sus- 
 picion. 
 
 " What, none o' ye ? Come, Uctred, thou shalt shame 
 these big-tongued, wide-mouthed boasters." 
 
 A short swarthy-looking boy, with a leering and un- 
 favourable countenance, here stepped forward, taking his 
 station upon one of the steps beside his mother. A notion 
 had gone abroad, that the boy was the fruit of some 
 unhallowed intercourse with an immortal of the fairy or 
 pixy kind, whose illicit amours the old woman had wickedly 
 indulged. She too, was thought to bear, in some degree, 
 a charmed life, and to hold communion with intelligences 
 not of the most holy or reputable order. The boy was 
 dumb. His lips had however, at times, a slight and 
 tremulous movement, which strongly impressed the be- 
 holders that some discourse was then carrying on between 
 " the dummy," as he was generally railed, and his in- 
 visible relatives. His whole aspect was singularly painful 
 and forbidding. No wonder, in these times of debasing 
 superstition, that his person should be looked on with ab- 
 horrence, and even a touch from him be accounted an evil
 
 28 THE C.OBLIN BUILDERS. 
 
 of no slijflit import. His mother alone liad the power 
 of communicating with him, or of understanding his 
 grimaces. 
 
 " Now, what will ye give me for the use of his pretty 
 eyes this lucky night ? The Thane will have regard to 
 his testimony, though all that have free use of the tongue 
 he holds to be liars and dishonest Never lied this youth 
 by sign or token ! " 
 
 A buzz went through the company, and the dame and 
 her boy again sat down to await the issue. All eyes were 
 directed towards them, timidly and by stealth, as the con- 
 sultation grew louder and more continuous. 
 
 A pause at length ensued. Some three or four of the 
 group drew towards the crone, who sat almost double, 
 her chin resting on the neb of her crutch. 
 
 " Now will we give thee two changes of raiment, 
 together with a mess of barley-pottage ; and every year 
 thou shalt have a penny at Easter, and a fat hen at 
 Shrovetide." 
 
 " Good," said the greedy beldame ; " but I'll have a 
 sheep-skin cap for the boy, and a horn spoon." This 
 demand was also granted ; after which she made signs to 
 the lad, who swung his head to and fro, at the same time 
 distorting his features with a wild and terrible rapidity. 
 It was evident that he understood the nature of these 
 proceedings. A glance, like that of mockery and derision, 
 he cast towards the crowd ; and, when Mother Cicely was 
 returning, he threw back upon them a look of scorn and 
 malignity which made the beholders shrink aside with 
 horror. 
 
 The people now addressed themselves to the task of 
 replacing the heavy materials, and ere night the greater
 
 THE GOBLIN BUILDEKS. 29 
 
 part were withdrawn, ready to begin with the foundations 
 again on the morrow. 
 
 A sort of rude shelter was constructed, wherein Uctred 
 was to keep watch until day-light. 
 
 The morning came, calm and beautiful over the grey 
 hills ; and the anxious inhabitants, awake betimes, did 
 each turn his first steps towards the river's brink. With 
 horror and amazement they again beheld the ground 
 bare. Not a vestige remained, nor was there any trace 
 of the boy. 
 
 " He is gone to his own," said they, as a general 
 shudder went through the crowd ; " and the fairies have 
 gotten him at last." 
 
 Every heart seemed quailing with some hidden fear ; 
 nor could any means, at that moment, be suggested for 
 their emancipation. 
 
 The stones and timber were again found, as before, on 
 the opposite hill. Fifty stout men had with difficulty con- 
 trived to fetch them from thence the day preceding, and 
 twice that number would hardly have sufficed to transport 
 them thither. It was not to be gainsayed that a power 
 superior to their own was the agent in removals so mys- 
 terious. Nothing now remained but to acquaint their 
 lord with this second interruption ; and their diligence in 
 performing this duty, they hoped, might exculpate them 
 from the heavy doom they had incurred. Some of the 
 wiser and more stout-hearted were chosen to carry these 
 tidings to the Thane, hoping to clear themselves from the 
 ban, as well as to return with commands for their future 
 proceedings. 
 
 Gamel de Rccedham, or Rochdale, had his dwelling in 
 the ancient castle built by the Romans on the verge of a
 
 [iO THE (JOBLIN BUILDERS. 
 
 Steep hill jutting into the valley of the Roach. It was a 
 place difficult of access, save on the southern side, where 
 a wide ditch formed an effectual defence, and over which 
 a narrow bridge admitted only two abreast in front of the 
 outer gate. It was now, in some places, fast going to 
 decay, but enough remained out of its vast bulk to form 
 a dwelling for the Saxon and his followers. It had been 
 once fortified throughout ; the castle, or keep, being four 
 s(]uare, flanked at the corners with stone towers. The 
 lower part of the walls was composed of large pebbles 
 mixed with brick, and held together by a firm cement. 
 Higher up, and continued to the summit, were alternate 
 rows of brick and freestone. The corners were faced 
 with stone, making a very formidable appearance when 
 guarded by slingers and throwers of darts, who were 
 stationed there only in times of great peril. 
 
 Passing the vallum, or outer defence, they ascended a 
 narrow staircase outside the keep, where the cringing 
 serfs were admitted by four of the lord's Norman bow- 
 men, who ushered them into the audience-chamber. 
 Some of the Thane's men were habited in coats of mail, 
 made of small pieces of iron, cut round at the bottom 
 and set on a leathern garment, so as to fold over each 
 other like fish-scales, the whole bending with the greatest 
 ease, and yet affording a sufficient protection to the 
 wearer. 
 
 The chamber of audience was situated at the upper- 
 most part of the keep, and great was the apprehension 
 of the intruders, whilst following their guides through 
 the winding passages and gloomy staircases leading to 
 the inner cell occupied by their chief. The disposition 
 of the armed men, — their warlike habiliments, and the
 
 THE GOBLIN BUILDERS. 31 
 
 various and uncouth weapons, which seemed to threaten 
 terror and defiance, were all objects, to them, of apprehen- 
 sion and distrust. The walls of this gloomy apartment 
 were lined with thin bricks, ornamentally disposed in 
 herring-bone work, after the fashion of the time. The 
 windows, though narrow on the outside, were broad and 
 arched within, displaying a rude sort of taste in their con- 
 struction. Round the walls were groups of weapons, 
 ostentatiously displayed ; two-edged broad swords ; long 
 spears, some barbed and others flat and broad; shields, 
 the oldest of which were large, and had a sharp point 
 projecting from the centre ; others, of the Norman and 
 more recent fashion, were smaller, and of an oval shape. 
 Battle-axes, lances, and javelins, were strewn about in 
 formidable profusion. Hauberks, or chain-mail, hung at 
 intervals from the walls, looking grim and stalwart from 
 their repose, like the headless trunks of the warriors they 
 had once encompassed. 
 
 A broad curtain, curiously embroidered, covered one 
 end of the room, from behind which crept a page or 
 henchman, in gay attire, his tunic glistening with his 
 lord's device. 
 
 The serfs bowed with the most abject submission to 
 this representative of their lord, who lived in the cus- 
 tomary style of barbarous and feudal pomp, which the 
 manners of their Norman invaders had rather contributed 
 to increase than to diminish. 
 
 " Tell thy master," said their companion, " that some 
 of the folk would speak with him, touching the matter 
 by which they are in jeopardy." 
 
 Smoothing his locks and trimming down his garments, 
 the boy departed. It was long or ere the audience was
 
 32 THE GOBLIN BUILDERS. 
 
 granted ; in the mciui time, they stood trembling and op- 
 pressed with an evil foreboding for the result, the known 
 hasty and impetuous temper of the Saxon rendering it 
 a matter of some doubt, and no small hazard, as to what 
 might be the issue of their conference. Suddenly was 
 heard the clanking of armour, and the tramp of nailed 
 feet, announcing his approach ; the heavy arras was up- 
 lifted, and Gamel the Thane stood before them. He was 
 richly attired, in a loose coat reaching down to his ancles; 
 over this was a long robe, fastened, over both shoulders 
 and on the breast, with a silver buckle. The edges were 
 trimmed with gold and knots of flowers interwoven with 
 pearls and rare stones. On his head he wore a coronet, 
 or rim of gold, enriched with jewels ; and his bushy hair 
 and grizzled beard looked still more grim and forbidding 
 beneath these glittering ornaments. His eyes were quick 
 and piercing ; his cheeks pale and slightly furrowed. 
 A narrow and retreating mouth, firmly drawn in, showed 
 the bent of his disposition to be fierce and choleric, and 
 iiis wrath not easily turned aside. He was accompanied 
 by his billmen, together with some half dozen attendants, 
 clad in shirts of chain mail and helmets fitting close to 
 the head. These bore lances after the Norman fashion 
 then prevailing over the ruder customs of their Saxon 
 predecessors. 
 
 The more polished manners of the Norman's court had 
 early pervaded the ranks of the nobles ; and even the few 
 hereditary Saxon chiefs, left in possession of their ancient 
 sovereignties, thought their domains cheaply purchased 
 by this obsequious show of homage to their king. 
 
 The Thane's chief henchman occupied the post of 
 honour, whilst a little footpage stood by his master's 
 elbow.
 
 THE GOBLIN BUILDERS. 33 
 
 The villains prostrated themselves. 
 
 " How now ! — Where are the caitiffs I commanded of 
 ye ? I vow to the Virgin and St. Chadde, your own 
 necks shall swing from the tower in their stead, should ye 
 fail in that which I require at your hands." 
 
 The trembling hearers were afraid to answer — their 
 lips quivered, and each tongue seemed to refuse its office, 
 Gamel proceeded : — 
 
 " What ! come ye to fawn and whine out my purpose ? 
 Now will I make your chastisement ten times hotter for 
 this intent. — Lodge these knaves, Nicholas, i' the further 
 dungeon, till they be replevied by the rogues who are yet 
 at large, and defying our power : — they hold it somewhat 
 cheap, methinks, when they value it less than the pamper- 
 ing of their own wantonness and sport." 
 
 Nicholas was herald, bedellus, or chief crier, to the 
 lord of the manor, his office being to make proclamations 
 at the court and the cross, where the use of his capacious 
 lungs was oft m request. He was hangman, too, upon 
 occasion, being never so well pleased as when employed 
 in the due chastisement of his master's lieges. He was, 
 moreover, a man of infinite humour, generally consoling 
 his dear unfortunates under their visitations by some 
 coarse and galling jest. 
 
 " Now, Adam of Hunersfield, art thou at thy prayers 
 already ? — I'll shrive thee quick. Master, shall I give 
 the rogues any victuals ? They'll not keep else till 
 hanging time ; — best finish now — needless to waste 
 provender." 
 
 " Give them the prison allowance. But, hark thee, no 
 stripes, Nicholas," said the chief, well aware of his flagel- 
 lant propensities. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE GOBLIN BUILDERS. 
 
 " Eh ! " replied he ; " but black cake and dried beans 
 don't mix well i' the stomach without riddling." 
 
 " Peace, sirrah ! " replied the chieftain with a frown. 
 Nicholas, though a licensed jester, and in especial favour, 
 knew there was a boundary beyond which he durst not 
 pass ; he became silent, therefore, at this command. The 
 lamentations of the unwary hostages were loud but 
 unavailing. Nicholas prepared his manacles, and was 
 leading them from the chamber, when the page whispered 
 in his master's ear. 
 
 " Stop," cried the Thane : " know ye aught of the boy 
 who was a-watching yesternight ? " 
 
 " We know nothing of the lad, as we hope for deliver- 
 ance," said the terrified rustics. 
 
 " Bring in the woman ! " 
 
 The command was followed by the entrance of Cicely. 
 Leaning on her crutch, she bent lowly before the chief. 
 
 " Hast thou any suit or accusation to prefer against 
 these men, as touching thy boy?" 
 
 " Oh ! my lord," said the dame, weeping, " I never 
 aforetime knew liim missing ; and he has slept i' the Killer 
 Dane, where the great battle was fought, below the 
 castle. He has watched i' the ' Thrutch,' where the black 
 dog haunts from sunset till cock-crow. He has leaped 
 over the fairies' ring and run through the old house at 
 Gozlewood, and no harm has befallen him ; but he is now 
 ta'en from me, — cast out, may be, into some noisome pit. 
 The timbers and stones are leapt on to the hill again, — 
 but my boy is not there ! " 
 
 She wept, and wrung her withered hands. 
 
 " Hast thou any witness against these men?" 
 
 " Oh ! my lord, they bribed me with their gifts that I
 
 THE GOBLIN BUILDERS. 35 
 
 should suffer the boy to watcli ; and I am poor, and I 
 thought he wore a charmed Hfe, and the little hoard 
 would be a comfort and a stay in my old age." 
 
 " Thou hast done wickedly in this," said the lord : 
 " howbeit, I will keep them in the stocks ; peradventure 
 it may quicken the wits of their outdoor friends, to find 
 out the mover of these scurvy pranks. The posts and 
 timbers would not go up hill unless some knave had 
 holpen to lift them." 
 
 Nicholas was departing to the indulgence of his fa- 
 vourite pastime, when a loud hubbub was heard without, 
 and presently a fellow was pushed in by the pressure of 
 the crowd upon his shoulders ; but they drew back, on 
 finding the immediate presence of their chief. 
 
 This man was accounted the most notorious idler in 
 the neighbourhood, hight " Barnulf with the nose." His 
 eyes looked red and swollen, and his senses had become 
 muddled and obtuse with long steeping. Silence was im- 
 mediately enforced, while the assembly anxiously awaited 
 the interrogation of this intolerable coveter of barley- drink. 
 
 "Art thou again at thy freaks?" said the Thane, 
 angrily : " thou hast soon forgotten the stocks and the 
 whipping-post on Easter-day. It were well that Nicholas 
 should refresh thy memory in this matter." 
 
 At this dreaded name the poor wretch fell on his face. 
 
 " Please ye, my lord," said he, hardly raising his head 
 from the floor, " I am here but for a witness beliken. I 
 am breeding of no broil, save an' my gossip o'yesternight 
 drew me into a tusle with old Split-Feet and his com- 
 pany." 
 
 He groaned, but not without considerable effort, and 
 his face puckered in a heap at the recollection. 
 D 2
 
 36 THE GOBLIN BUILDERS. 
 
 " What ! — the foul fiend helped thee to thy liquor, 1 
 
 trow?" said Gamel, hastily "Think not to foist thy 
 
 fooleries upon me. Should I find thee with a lie on thy 
 tongue, the hide were as well oft' thy shoulders. To thy 
 speech — quick, what sawest thou?" 
 
 " I will give it all, withouten a word but what the 
 blessed saints would avouch," said the terrified supplicant, 
 whose once fiery face was now blanched, or rather dyed 
 of a dull and various blue. 
 
 " I was wending home from Merland, where I had 
 been helping Dan the smith to his luckpenny, when, as I 
 took the path-road down yonder unlucky hill to the ford, 
 not thinking of the de'il's workmen that had flown off 
 M'ith the church the night before, I was whistling, or, it 
 
 mayhap, singing, — or — or I am not just particular 
 
 to know how it was, for the matter of it ; but, at any 
 rate, I was getting up, having tumbled down the steep 
 almost nigh to the bottom, and I thought my eyes had 
 strucken fire, for I saw lights frisking and frolicking up 
 and down the hill. Then I sat down to watch, and, sure 
 enough, such a puck-fisted rabble, without cloak or hosen, 
 I never beheld — all hurry-scurry up the hill, and some 
 of the like were on the gallop down again. They were 
 shouting, and mocking, and laughing, like so many stark- 
 mad fools at a May-feast. They strid twenty paces at a 
 jump, with burdens that two of the best oxen about the 
 manor had not shifted the length of my thumb-nail. 'Tis 
 some unlucky dream, said I, rubbing the corners of my 
 eyes, and tr3qng to pinch myself awake. Just then I saw 
 a crowd of the busiest of 'em running up from the river, 
 and making directly towards the steep bank, below 
 where I sat. They were hurrying a great log of timber.
 
 THE GOBLIN BUILDERS. 37 
 
 which they threw down, close beside m^, as if to rest 
 ere they mounted. ' My friends,' — what should ail me 
 to talk to 'em I cannot tell, — ' My friends, but ye seem 
 to have more work in your hands than wit in your 
 noddles — ye might have spared yourselves the labour, I 
 trow.' With that the whole rout turned upon me with a 
 shout and a chattering that would have dumb-founded 
 the shrillest tongue in the whole hundred — the mill- 
 wheel was nothing to it. I would have escaped, but my 
 feet were holden, like as they had been i'the stocks. 
 One, the foremost of the crew, — I do think he had a long 
 tail and gaping hoofs, but I was over frightened to see 
 very clear, — came with a mocking, malicious grin, his 
 tongue lolling out, and his eyes glaring and fiend-like. 
 
 " ' Pray, good friend,' said he, pulling off a little black 
 bonnet, ' be compassionate enough to help us with our 
 load to the hill-top.' Now was I terrified beyond measure, 
 insomuch that I made a desperate tug, whereby loosening 
 myself, I ran like the wind, the wicked fiends following, 
 and roaring after me with loud and bitter curses. I 
 jumped into the river, in my hurry having missed the 
 ford, and I heard 'em still shouting, and, as I thought, 
 pursuing me ; but the Virgin and St. Chadde were my 
 helpers, for, when Biddy opened the door in the morning, 
 I lay there in a great swoon, with my head bruised, and 
 a hole in my good grey cloak." 
 
 " And so thou comest here a boasting of thy drunken 
 discoveries," said the Thane. " Thou shalt wish thou 
 hadst not gotten thee so soon from the fiend's clutches. 
 A spice of old Nicholas's vocation may not be amiss, yet, 
 by way of relish to thy tale — " 
 D 3
 
 38 THE GOBLIN BUILDERS. 
 
 The agony of the culprit was loud and appalling, but 
 the chief was inexorable, until his denunciations were in- 
 terrupted by a stranger, who craved a short respite for 
 the groaning supplicant. 
 
 He was meanly clad: — a coarse cloak, stained and 
 threadbare, was thrown open, showing a close habit of the 
 most ordinary fabric ; yet a natural and graceful bearing 
 imparted a dignity even to his poor and worthless habili- 
 ments. 
 
 " I am a stranger, and sore oppressed with long travel. 
 Penury and misfortune have been my lot, and I am driven 
 from place to place without a home or a morsel of bread. 
 Last night, long after the curfew, I came hither, but no 
 hospitium or religious house being near, I sat down by 
 the hill-side yonder, until morning should enable me to 
 crave help for my hopeless journey. The morning had 
 not dawned ere I awoke — a loud trampling, and the rush 
 of many voices, had broken in upon my slumbers. I be- 
 held crowds of strange-looking men, laden with terrific 
 burdens. They seemed to be eagerly and earnestly at 
 work, under heavier loads than I thought mortal man 
 could sustain; the whole space, too, as far as the eye 
 might carry, seemed alive with them, the flickering of 
 their torches forming a scene of almost unimaginable 
 splendour. Right before me were a number of these 
 labourers, hauling up a heavy beam from the river ; others 
 were apparently crossing, laden with materials no less 
 bulky and intractable. All were in motion, wriggling 
 along like so many ants on a hillock. The party just 
 before me stayed immediately below where I sat, watch- 
 ing their proceedings with no little curiosity and amaze- 
 ment. They threw down their load, — then, pausing, ap-
 
 THE GOBLIN BUILDERS. 39 
 
 peared to view, with some hesitation, the steep bank 
 above them. The foremost of the group now came softly 
 towards me. PulHng off his bonnet, with a grave and 
 beseeching aspect he craved help to accomplish the 
 ascent. Not then dreaming of goblins and their deceitful 
 glamour, I put my shoulder to the work with a right good 
 will, and truly it were a marvel to watch the tough beam, 
 how it seemed to obey the impulse. I worked with all 
 the might I could muster, but it appeared as though little 
 were needful ; and in a trice we scrambled to the top, 
 when the whole party scampered off, leaving me to follow 
 or not, as I chose. I saw something tossed towards me, 
 which glistened as it lay at my feet. Stooping, I found a 
 silver ring, beauteously bedecked with one glowing crys- 
 tal. Round the rim is formed a quaint legend, bearing 
 a fair device, which some learned clerk may perchance 
 decipher." 
 
 The stranger drew from his finger a massy ring. A little 
 ferret- eyed monk, a transcriber of saints' legends and 
 Saxon chronicles, was immediately called. He pro- 
 nounced the writing heathenish, and of the Runic form. 
 A sort of free translation may be given as follows : — 
 
 " The Norman shall tread on the Saxon's heel, 
 And the stranger shall rule o'er England's weal ; 
 Through castle and hall, by night or by day, 
 The stranger shall thrive for ever and aye ; 
 But in Rached, above the rest, 
 The stranger shall thrive best." 
 
 Gamel was troubled and perplexed. The words were 
 prophetic, evidently pointing to his own and his country's 
 fate, as well as to the destiny of the stranger. He knit 
 D 1
 
 40 THE COBLIN BUILDERS. 
 
 liis brows, and his very beard coiled upwards with the 
 conflict. He appeared loth to allow of a supernatural 
 agency in the affair, and yet the testimony and its witness 
 were not to be gainsayed. 
 
 " I had not believed the tale, stranger, if this token had 
 not confirmed thy speech : — verily thou hast a better 
 witness than a fool's tongue to thy story. That ill- 
 omened losel may depart. See thou fall not hastily into 
 the like offence, else shalt thou smart from Childermas to 
 All-hallowtide. Hence ! to thy place." Barnulf awaited 
 not farther dismissal, glad to escape the scrutiny of 
 Nicholas with a whole skin. 
 
 A loud shriek was heard from the court-yard. 
 
 " My boy ! — Oh, my boy ! " cried the almost frantic 
 mother, as she rushed into the chamber, leading in Uctred. 
 He had been discovered on removing some of the huge 
 piles of timber again from the hill, where, under a 
 curiously-supported covering of beams and other rude 
 materials, he lay, seemingly asleep. The urchin looked 
 as malicious and froward as ever, even when standing 
 before his chief. 
 
 " And where hast thou been, my pretty bird?" said 
 the old woman, as she began her vocabulary of signs. 
 But the boy looked surly, and would not answer to the 
 signal : he drew down his black swarthy brows, looking 
 eagerly and fiercely from behind their bushy curtains. 
 Suddenly, and with a fearful yell, he sprang forward, 
 snatching the ring which Gamel was then giving back to 
 the stranger. With a wild and hideous laugh, which 
 sent a shudder through the assembly, he drew it on his 
 finger. At this moment the expression of his countenance 
 began to change, and some of the bystanders, over whom
 
 THE GOBLIN BUILDERS. 41 
 
 fear had probably waved the wand of the enchanter, saw 
 his form dilate, and his whole figure expand into almost 
 gigantic proportions. A thick haze rolled through the 
 apartment, — then was heard a wild unearthly shout, — 
 and the vision had disappeared. 
 
 " Seize him ! " cried Gamel. . 
 
 The guards, trembling, prepared to execute his com- 
 mands, but, on gaining the outworks of the castle, no 
 vestige remained of his appearance, save a slight whirl- 
 wind of dust, like a mist-wreath curling down the valley, 
 which, to their terrified apprehensions, became the chariot 
 of the departing demon. Nothing could shake this belief; 
 and, in after-ages, the boy was spoken of as a changeling, 
 left by some fairy, whose appointed sojourn had been then 
 accomplished, the means for his release being fulfilled. 
 Old Cicely became nigh crazed with the loss of her son ; 
 but Gamel, seriously pondering on these events, sought 
 counsel from the " Holy Church." It was therein re- 
 solved, that the intended site should be removed, and 
 the " unknown" by such removal appeased. The chapel 
 of St. Chadde was accordingly built on the hill-top, 
 where the church now stands, and unto which the found- 
 ations had been so marvellously conveyed. One hundred 
 and twenty-four steps were dug to accomplish the ascent, 
 and enable the good people to go to prayers. Connected 
 with these, the tradition still exists ; and unto this day it 
 is here observed, that " Strartgers prosper in the town of 
 Rochdale ; but (lie natives are generally unfortunate in their 
 undertakiiigs"
 
 MAB S CROSS.
 
 A pilgrim came from o'er the sea ; 
 
 Benedicite ! benedicite ! 
 And he brought a ring to that proud ladye. 
 His grave is wide, his grave is deep ; 
 On that bosom cold he shall quietly sleep ; 
 Benedicite / "

 
 MAB'S CROSS. 
 
 iHE following extract from the genealogical roll of the 
 Bradshaighs is the principal source from whence this tale 
 has originated : — 
 
 " Sir William Bradshaighe, 2d son to Sir John, was a 
 " great traveller and a souldger, and married to Mabell, 
 " daughter and sole heire of Hugh Norris de Haghe and 
 " Blackrode, and had issue," &c. 
 
 Of this Mabel is a story by tradition of undoubted 
 verity, '' that in Sir Wm. Bradshage absence (beinge 
 "10 years away in the holy wars), she married a Welsh 
 " knight. Sir William, returning from the wars, came in 
 " a palmer's habitt amongst the poor to Haghe, who, when 
 " she saw and congetringe that he favoured her former 
 " husband, wept, for which the knight chastised her ; at 
 " which Sir William went and made himself known to his 
 " tenants ; in which space the knight fled, but neare to 
 " Newton Parke Sir William overtook him and sleu him. 
 " The said Dame Mabell was enjoined by her confessor 
 " to doe penances by going onest every week barefout and 
 " bare legged to a crosse ner Wigan from the Haghe, 
 " wilest she lived, and is called Mabb :j; to this day ; 
 " and ther monument lyes in Wigan church, as you see 
 " them ther portry'd." 
 
 Sir William Bradshaigh was outlawed during the space 
 of a year and a day for this offence ; but he and his lady,
 
 46 mab's cross. 
 
 it is said, lived happily together afterwards until their 
 death. Their effigies on the tomb now exist but as rude 
 and unshapely masses ; time and whitewash, the two great 
 destroyers of our monumental relics, having almost obli- 
 terated their form ; the one by diminishing, and the other 
 by adding to, their substance. 
 
 That Sir William was at the " Holy Wars," must, it is 
 evident, be a corruption of the story, seeing he was 
 born about the year 1280, ten years after the last of 
 these unfortunate expeditions. The first croisade was 
 undertaken by Peter the Hermit, 1095 ; a second, by 
 Louis Vn. of France, 1145; a third, under Richard I. of 
 England, 1190; a fourth, under Philip II. of France, 1204; 
 a fifth, under Louis IX., against Egypt, 1248 ; and the last, 
 under Louis IX., against Tunis, where he lost his life, 
 1270. Consequently, the perpetration of these "Holy" 
 murders, which it is supposed were to the amount of 
 two hundred millions of human beings, without the ac- 
 quisition even of Jerusalem to the Church, must have 
 ceased ere the birth of our " pilgrim." That he was at 
 " the wars," however, is pretty certain, but they were nearer 
 home. The machinations of that powerful noble, Thomas 
 Earl of Lancaster, together with the disastrous campaign 
 of Edward II. against the Scots, are sufficiently important 
 events to account for the long absence of Sir William 
 Bradshaigh, who is supposed to have been taken prisoner 
 during these unhappy troubles. 
 
 Our engraving represents the cross as it exists at pre- 
 sent. Some attention having been drawn to it of late, we 
 may hope this interesting relic will be suffered to remain 
 uninjured, and not be subjected any more to those level- 
 ling improvements for which this age is so distinguished.
 
 MAB'S CROSS. 
 
 IN the borough of Wigan, near one of the four gates, 
 called Standishgate, — which gates are now removed, and 
 their places occupied by some undignified-looking posts 
 called " toll-bars, " — stands a ruined stone cross ; in 
 appearance, by no means either interesting or remarkable : 
 it would scarcely be noticed by a casual observer. Yet 
 to this mean-looking memorial of our faith, is attached an 
 eventful story, at which 
 
 " The sad might laugh ; the merry weep ! " 
 
 It is a tale, of which our brief limits will only allow a 
 rapid sketch. This we have thrown together in the 
 dramatic and narrative form, a combination more calcu- 
 lated than any other, we believe, to awaken attention, 
 and bring forth the subject before the mind with truth 
 and distinctness. 
 
 One stormy night, in the autumn of the year 1324, mine 
 host of the Merry ^Ia}^ole, a tavern of great resort, by 
 the market-cross, in the good borough of Wigan, was 
 awakened from a laborious slumber. The door, which 
 opened into a low porch projecting from the thatch, was 
 shaken with a vehemence that threatened some fearful 
 catastrophe. Giles, no longer able to endure these thun-
 
 4.8 MAB S CROSS. 
 
 dering appeals to his hospitality, desired his wife to as- 
 certain the cause of the disturbance. 
 
 " Gramercy ! — An' I be to unlatch for every graceless 
 unthrift that chooses to pummel at Giles Dauber's wicket, 
 I shall have but sorry bedding wi' an old husband." 
 
 " Old, quotha ! — Old ! I tell thee, dame, that I'm less 
 by a good score of winters than Dan o' the higher Wient, 
 
 when he wed old Simon's daughter Humph ! — She 
 
 was a merry and a buxom lass ; but thou " 
 
 How far this interesting dialogue between the tavern- 
 keeper and his newly-wedded spouse might have ex- 
 tended, it is impossible with any degree of accuracy to 
 set forth, inasmuch as another loud and desperate lunge, 
 extenuated to an inaudible mutter the testy rejoinder of 
 " Giles o' the Maypole ; " this being the cognomen by 
 which he was more familiarly designated. 
 
 " Anan !" shouted he; " what the . Save us !" 
 
 he continued in a low whisper, crossing himself: " I had 
 nigh slipped an ugly word over my tongue ; and if it 
 should be — Dame, I say — get up, and " 
 
 " Nay, thou hast gotten thee two as nimble legs, by 
 thine own reckoning, as any knave i' the borough. I shall 
 e'en keep to my bed, goodman, though these guzzle-throats 
 hammer till cock-crow. — They are at the right side of 
 the door, I trow." 
 
 Now, mine host of the Merry Maypole having taken 
 to himself that last and worst of all possible plagues for 
 the remnant of his days, to wit, a young and somewhat 
 handsome-looking wife, thought it no less meet than rea- 
 sonable, and no less reasonable than a duty at all times 
 incumbent, that the before-named helpmeet should, if 
 need were, get out of bed and unlatch the wicket when-
 
 MAB S CROSS. 49 
 
 ever good customers were astir ; more particularly as the 
 first Dame Dauber, having the fear of a short but tough 
 cudgel upon her, did, at certain times and seasons, when 
 there was the requisite occasion, leave her liege lord to 
 the enjoyment of his warm and luxurious couch, and 
 spread a table for the entertainment of many a night- 
 betrayed traveller. 
 
 It was the first exigency of the kind, since the mar- 
 riage of Giles Dauber to Madge Newsome of the Deer- 
 cote, in which the discussion of a point so knotty and 
 important had occurred. Giles dreamt not of the vast 
 difference that exists in the nature and docility of divers 
 women. He heard, with a sort of incredulous surprise, 
 the first incipient grumblings, in contravention of his 
 authority ; but when these had fairly shaped themselves 
 into open defiance, he started agape with wonder. Re- 
 covering himself, with a stern and portentous silence, 
 he jumped out of bed, and drew on his doublet and 
 hose. While thoughts of relentless import were brood- 
 ing, he groped his way down the ladder that com- 
 municated with the lower apartment, for the purpose of 
 ascertaining the quality and condition of the stranger. 
 The latter still manifested a noisy impatience at being 
 suffered, in so inhospitable a manner, to linger without. 
 
 The night was rainy and tempestuous Giles shivered 
 
 to the backbone as he trod on the wheezing rushes 
 strewed over the floor; they were yet damp and dirty, 
 by reason of the many visitors who had that night 
 loitered long at the Merry Maypole. 
 
 " Holloa, friend! — thy name?" shouted Giles, placing 
 his hand on the latch. 
 
 " Open the door, for the love of mercy!" cried a 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 mab's cross. 
 
 strange voice. Giles drew back ; he liked not this salu- 
 lation — more by token from the adjurement being for the 
 love of mercy, in lieu of an appeal to the tinkling angels 
 that generally lined a traveller's pouch. 
 
 " Some sturdy beggar or mendicant friar," thought he, 
 " that knocks at my door because the chantry gates are 
 shut. — I care not to open my door to every losel that 
 knocks," cried he aloud " Hence ! I know thee not." 
 
 " Goodman, give me a night's lodging, and I will 
 reward thee " — the door flew open at this intimation — 
 " with a palmer's benison," continued the stranger, ad- 
 vancing towards the wan embers that yet flickered on 
 the hearth. Had Giles awaited the finishing of this sen- 
 tence ere the latch was loosened, some other and more 
 hospitable roof had enjoyed the benefit of that night's 
 adventure. 
 
 " Thanks are not over meet for a cool stomach," 
 growled the disappointed tapster ; whilst his guest roused 
 the decaying fliggots into a faint and unsteady blaze. 
 
 Giles surveyed the new-comer with no very sanguine 
 prepossessions in his behalf. The figure that met his 
 scrutiny was clad in a dark cloak. The hood partly 
 thrown back, showed a somewhat " frosty poll," though 
 the vivacity of a wild and restless eye, peering from 
 under his dark and luxuriant brow, would scarcely have 
 betokened an age at which the coming winter of life 
 usually scatters these chill warnings of its approach. 
 His features were finely moulded. A weather-beaten 
 cheek, mingling with a complexion evidently sallow, gave 
 a rich autumnal hue to his visage : a slight furrow, ex- 
 tending from the outer angle of the nostril around each 
 corner of a narrow and retreating mouth, gave a careless
 
 mab's cross. 51 
 
 expression of scorn to the countenance, when at rest; 
 but as he smiled, this sinister aspect disappeared, and 
 the soft gleam of benevolence which succeeded, looked 
 the brighter from the portentous scowl that had just 
 passed. His beard was grey, and of a most reverend 
 equipment, well calculated to excite veneration and 
 respect. He was above the middle size : his humble 
 garb but ill concealed a majesty of deportment indicat- 
 ing a disposition rather to command than to solicit favours. 
 He seated himself on a low stool, and honest Giles, whose 
 courage did not feel sufficiently invigorated, in the pre- 
 sence of this proud palmer, to dare an open warfare, began 
 hostilities covertly, in manner as follows : — 
 
 " What ails ye, to disturb honest folks i' their beds at 
 these hours ? You might ha' tarried in your last baiting- 
 place — at any rate, till the kye were astir. I wonder 
 the guard let you pass at the gate. But since these evil 
 days have o'ershadowed the land, every braggart has 
 licence to do as he list ; and the monks and the friars, 
 with their whole crew of dubs and deputies, are the worst 
 of all. Old Cliderhow here, the parson, thought to have 
 waged war with his betters ; but he was a slight matter 
 mistaken : we whipt him up by the heels for his treason." 
 
 " Is Cliderhow alive ? " enquired the stranger. 
 
 " Save us, pilgrim ! where had you knowledge of the 
 traitor?" 
 
 " Our good king Edward," continued the guest, ap- 
 parently not attending to Giles's question in reply, " is 
 still sorely beset with his enemies. Had a score of knaves, 
 such as master CHderhow, been hanged long ago, his reign 
 had been less burdensome both to prince and people." 
 
 " It's twelve years — ay, twelve," said Giles, reckoning 
 E 2
 
 52 MABS CROSS. 
 
 the lapse on his fingers ; — " I know it by the great wind 
 that beat down Master Markland's barn wall at the 
 Meadows, since Cliderhow's sermon, inciting the whole 
 parish to rebellion." 
 
 " I know it," replied the palmer : " he was in prison 
 when I last knew of the matter." 
 
 " Ay, ay," returned Giles, knowingly ; " but three- 
 score marks, disbursed discreetly to our good and loyal 
 burgesses, made the doors as easy to open as my wicket 
 — that is, at timely hours, ye understand." 
 " Is he at large?" enquired the other. 
 " They say he bides at Haigh," answered Boniface, 
 " roistering it with that Welsh knight there. Sir Osmund 
 Neville. I warrant Sir William's substance runs gaily 
 down the old parson's throat." 
 
 Here the palmer threw the hood over his brows. Sud- 
 denly he arose : striding across the chamber with con- 
 siderable speed, he twice repeated the name of Sir Osmund 
 Neville in a subdued tone, but with a bitterness of spirit 
 that ill accorded Avith the outward habit of meekness 
 which he had assumed. 
 
 " Giles Dauber ! what keeps ye so long there a-gos- 
 siping?" shouted a shrill voice from above. It was the 
 vocal substitute of Mistress Dauber, who, resolutely deter- 
 mined not to budge at her husband's bidding, had, as she 
 lay, listened, but to little purpose. Finding it was no 
 every-day guest, she crept to the ladder-head, and gave 
 ear for a while ; but soon discovering it to be an unthrifty 
 sort of intercourse that was going on, not likely to bring 
 either gain or good will to the house, and fearing that 
 Giles might fall into some snare from his ready-mouthed 
 opinions regarding the unsettled temper and aspect of the
 
 mab's cross. 53 
 
 time, she thought fit to break abruptly on the discourse, 
 ere it should lead to some dangerous or forbidden subject. 
 He had, however, hit upon a favourite topic, in addition 
 to which, he was now evidently loth to leave his guest 
 ere he had learnt the nature of his errand to these parts. 
 An " o'er-sea pilgrim," as they were generally styled, was 
 too choice an arrival for a petty hostel, — especially in 
 those times, when newspapers and posts were not cir- 
 culating daily and hourly through the land, — to let slip 
 an opportunity of enquiring about the king of Scotland, 
 as Robert Bruce was then called, or about his majesty, 
 the Sultan Solyman — two personages who were very 
 frequently confounded with each other in mine host's 
 political hemisphere, and whose realms formed the great 
 pandemonium whence issued all that was dire and dis- 
 astrous to plague and perplex unhappy England. 
 
 " To bed ! to bed ! — Thou art ready enough to rise 
 when thou art not bidden. — To bed, I say i " angrily 
 shouted the disturbed Benedict. 
 
 " Hast thou a wife?" sternly enquired the pilgrim. 
 
 " A wife ! — marry have I ! " exclaimed Giles — " and 
 here she comes." 
 
 Finding there was no likelihood of a speedy termination 
 to this interview, our hostess of the May-pole conceived 
 it to be a matter of duty, that she should, at least, take 
 her full share in the discussions and disclosures that might 
 ensue. For this purpose she descended, making a deep 
 acknowledgment to the generally-supposed sanctity of the 
 pilgrim's vocation. So much occupied, however, did he 
 appear by other concernments that he scarcely noticed 
 her approach, but continued to pass with hasty and 
 irregular steps across the chamber. 
 E 3
 
 54- mab's cross, 
 
 *' By what quality or appearance may Sir Osmund 
 Neville be distinguished?" he abruptly enquired. 
 
 " A right goodly person, and a brave gentleman ! He 
 gave me a sousing kiss, and a pair of mittens to boot, 
 the last choosing of knights to the parliament," said the 
 Dame. 
 
 " Hold thy tongue, Madge !" angrily exclaimed Giles. 
 " Good father, heed not a woman ; they are caught by 
 the lip and the fist, like my lord's trencher-man. This 
 Sir Osmund is both lean and ill-favoured. I wonder what 
 the Lady Mabel saw above his shoe to wed with an ugly 
 toad spawned i' the Welsh marshes. Had ye seen her 
 first husband, Sir William Bradshaigh, — rest his soul ! he 
 was killed in the wars, — you would have marvelled that 
 she drunk the scum after the broth." 
 
 " Lady Mabel and Sir Osmund are now at Haigh?" 
 cautiously enquired the palmer. 
 
 "You have business there, belike?" sharply inter- 
 rogated the indefatigable host. 
 
 " I have slight matters that require my presence at the 
 hall. Does the knight go much abroad, or keeps he close 
 house?" 
 
 " Wliy, look ye, it is some three months or so, since I 
 smelt the fat from her ladyship's kitchen. Dan Hardseg 
 smutted my face, and rubbed a platterful of barley-dough 
 into my poll, the last peep I had through the buttery. 
 I'll bide about my own hearth-flag whilst that limb o'the 
 old spit is chief servitor. I do bethink me though, it is 
 long sin' Sir Osmund was seen i'the borough. Belike he 
 may have come at the knowledge of my misadventure, 
 and careth not to meet the wrath of a patient man." 
 
 Here the malicious Dame burst into a giddy laugh.
 
 mab's ckoss. 55 
 
 " Tiiee ! why Sir Osmund knoweth not thy crop from 
 thy crupper, nor careth he if thy whole carcass were 
 crammed into the dumpHng-bag. I'feck, it were a rare 
 pastime to see Sir Osmund, the brave Welsh knight, give 
 the gutter to Giles of the merry May-pole." 
 
 Giles was speechless with dismay at this aggravating 
 insult ; but the Dame continued : — 
 
 " I think, good stranger, the knight does keep house 
 of late. Grim told me that last M^eek he was a sporting 
 once only by way of the higher park ; and he appears 
 something more soured and moody than usual. If thou 
 crave speech with liim though, to-morrow being almous- 
 day at the hall, the poor have free admission, and thou 
 mayest have a sight of him there : peradventure, as thou 
 art strange in these parts, it will be needful thou hadst a 
 guide." 
 
 " And just ready for the job thyself, I'se warrant," 
 bitterly snarled the exasperated husband. The storm, 
 long threatening, was about to burst forth; but the palmer, 
 with holy and beseeching words, soothed for awhile the 
 angry disputants, at the same time intimating that a 
 guide was unnecessary, the situation of the house being 
 sufficiently obvious from whatever quarter he might direct 
 his steps. 
 
 The stranger seemed not solicitous of repose, and 
 Giles was too sulky to enquire his wants. The Dame, 
 however, drew a bundle of clean straw from a huge heap, 
 and threw it beside the hearth. A coarse and heavy 
 rug, over which was thrown a sheep-skin with the wool 
 innermost, constituted a warm but homely couch. A 
 liorn cup filled with cider and a burnt barley-cake were 
 next exhibited, of which the palmer made a healthful, if 
 E 4
 
 56 ^lAB S CROSS, 
 
 not a sumptuous repast. Giles growled off to the loft 
 above ; and the Dame, caring little for the sequel of her 
 husband's humours, soon found a resting-place by his 
 side. 
 
 iNIorning shone brightly and cheerfully through the 
 chinks and crevices of both door and lattice; but the 
 pilgrim's couch was yet unsought. His vigils had been 
 undisturbed, save when the baying of some vagrant and ill- 
 disciplined dogs, or the lusty carol of some valiant yeoman 
 reeling home after a noisy debauch, startled him from a 
 painfully-recurring thought, to which, however, the mind 
 involuntarily turned when the interruption had ceased. 
 
 It was late ere Giles awoke. Breathless with expect- 
 ation, he hastened below, anticipating a rich budget of 
 news from his guest ; but he had departed. 
 
 It was one of those fresh and glittering mornings which 
 autumn alone can produce. Keen, pure, and exhilarating, 
 the air seemed all buoyant and elastic, tinging the cheeks 
 with ruddy health, and animating the ^^ole frame with 
 renewed vigour. 
 
 A slight hoar-frost yet lay on the thatched roofs. Calm 
 and undisturbed, a gem-like brightness twinkled from 
 every object ; whilst the vapour that covered them looked 
 not as the shroud, but rather as a pure mantle of eider, 
 hiding the fair bosom to which it clung. 
 
 The pilgrim entered a narrow street leading to the 
 postern or gate, called Standish-gate. In those days it 
 was not, as now, a wide and free thoroughfare for man 
 and beast. At the accustomed fairs, toll is, to this time, 
 demanded on all cattle changing owners at the several 
 outlets, where formerly stood four gates; to wit. Wall- 
 gate, Hall-gate, Mill-gate, and Standish gate. Each gate.
 
 MAB S CROSS. j7 
 
 where the toll-bars now stand, was once, in good sooth, a 
 heavy barrier of stout beams, thickly studded with iron. 
 Through the night they were generally bolted, and 
 guarded by a company of the mayor's halberdiers. An 
 irregular wall encompassed the town, save on the eastern 
 side, where the river Douglas seemed, in the eyes of the 
 burghers, to constitute a sufficient defence, a low abbatis 
 only screening its banks. The walls were covered, or 
 rather uncovered, by a broad ditch : a bridge of rough- 
 hewn planks, at three of the entrances before named, 
 allowed a free communication with the suburbs, except 
 during seasons of hostility, which unhappily were not 
 rare in those days of rapine and rebellion. Before the 
 Mill-gate, a wider and more substantial structure, mounted 
 on huge wooden props, facilitated a passage over the 
 river. This edifice could be raised in cases of siege, 
 effectually separating the inhabitants from their enemies. 
 
 The first beams of the sun began to peep through the 
 angles of the wooden gable fronts, projecting nearly mid- 
 way across the street, streaming athwart the frosty air, 
 .and giving a beautifully variegated and picturesque ap- 
 pearance to the grotesque vista bounded by the Standish- 
 gate. 
 
 The stranger paused not ; mounting the hill with an 
 alertness and agility that scarcely seemed compatible 
 with his age and appearance. On arriving at the gate, 
 his garb was a sufficient passport, without the necessity 
 of a challenge. Three or four of the guards were loiter- 
 ing and laughing on a couple of benches built in a sort of 
 arched recess on each side of the gateway. As the pilgrim 
 passed they became silent, bowing reverently as he pro- 
 nounced the accustomed benison.
 
 58 mab's cross. 
 
 Outside the barriers, tlie road lay through an open and 
 uninclosed country. It was a matter of but slight mo- 
 ment M'hat line of direction the narrow and uneven path- 
 ways might describe, provided their termination was 
 tolerably accurate ; all traffic and intercourse, being ne- 
 cessarily limited, was mostly carried on through the 
 medium of saddles and horse-furniture. 
 
 The most inaccessible part of a hill was the site gene- 
 rally chosen ; the road ascending and descending in a mean- 
 dering S3rt of zig-zag on its side. Rarely did our timid 
 ancestors tempt the valley, often preferring a round-about 
 course over a line of hills, if by so doing the perils of 
 the lower ground could be avoided. 
 
 The pilgrim followed a narrow and beaten track : it was 
 bordered on each side by a deep ditch, nearly overgrown 
 with weeds and brambles. He traversed the intricate 
 windings of the road with considerable facility ; but an 
 hour had nearly elapsed ere he gained the brow of an 
 eminence, of no very conspicuous height^ though it com- 
 manded a pretty extensive view of the country adjacent. 
 From the east, a rich flood of glory blended the whole 
 into one broad mass of light, melting away the beauteous 
 frost-work, as the rays of morning dissipate the unreal 
 visions that have their existence only in dai'kness and 
 repose. Southward lay the borough, distinguishable only 
 by the broad tower of All- Saints rising from the mist, 
 as if baseless and suspended. A bell boomed heavily 
 through the quiet atmosphere : its long and lingering 
 echoes came on the pilgrim's soul like the voice of other 
 years — of hopes and anticipations that had for ever 
 departed. 
 
 Westward might be seen a curl of blue smoke from the
 
 mab's cross. 59 
 
 newly-dignified priory at Upholland, recently invested 
 with that honour, through the grants and intercessions of 
 Sir Robert de Holland, a proud knight in the train of 
 Thomas Earl of Lancaster. It was northward that the 
 pilgrim turned, with a look of more intense anxiety. The 
 mansion of Haigh stood at the extremity of a broad slope, 
 surmounted by shady woods, now fading into the warm 
 and luxuriant tints of autumn. Dark and cumbrous tur- 
 rets, projecting from the wings, grimly caught the first 
 gleam of the morning; whilst a tower of considerable 
 strength and elevation rose above what could only be 
 surmised as the principal gateway. It was apparently 
 designed to overlook the whole fabric, serving as a refuge 
 to the besieged, and a stronghold in case of attack. Nar- 
 row loopholes might be traced, irregularly disposed in the 
 heavy masonry ; and at the summit stood a small turret 
 resembling a large chair, from which, at stated occasions, 
 waved the richly-emblazoned escutcheon of the Norris 
 and the Bradshaigh. The staff was just visible, but unac- 
 companied by its glittering adjunct. It was this circum- 
 stance, principally, that seemed to engage the attention 
 of the stranger. He broke into a loud and involuntary 
 exclamation : — 
 
 " Sir William's birth-day is forgotten ! — That staff 
 opened a rich blossom to the breeze ten years agone. It 
 is the day — the very hour of Sir William's birth ! " 
 
 He smote his forehead, scarcely able to contain the 
 violence of his emotion. 
 
 " Let that day darken ! — let it be cursed with storms 
 and tempest ! — let the shadows of death brood over it, 
 and the teeming night bring tenfold horrors ! — Yet how 
 calm, how peacefully yonder sun approaches in his
 
 fjO mab's cross. 
 
 strength ! Nature is the same — bright, joyous, and un- 
 changing ! — Man, man alone, is mutable — his days are 
 full of mourning and bitterness ! " 
 
 He bowed his head, crouching almost to the dust, in 
 that overwhelming agony. 
 
 Suddenly he was aroused, and in a manner as uncere- 
 monious as unexpected. A smart blow on the back an- 
 nounced a somewhat uncourteous intruder, whilst a loud 
 and discordant laugh struck shrilly on his ear. Starting, 
 he beheld a figure of a low and unshapely stature, clothed 
 in a light dress, fantastically wrought. A round cap, 
 slouched in front, fitted closely to his head, from which 
 depended what the wearer, no doubt, looked upon as a 
 goodly aggregate of ornaments. These consisted of ear- 
 tassels and rings of various dimensions, that jingled oddly 
 as he twisted his head from side to side with a knowing 
 and important grin. A pair of large leathern boots, 
 slipped on for travelling purposes, with ample flaps turn- 
 ing down from the knee, formed the lower costume of 
 this strange being. Round his neck he wore an iron 
 collar: its import, whether in the shape of punishment 
 or decoration, is at this time doubtful. A visage of more 
 than ordinary size projected from between a pair of 
 shoulders that nearly overlooked the lower rim of his cap. 
 A sort of dubious leer was its predominant expression, 
 heightened, ever and anon, by a broad laugh, the eldritch 
 shout of which first announced itself to the ear of the pil- 
 grim. Matted and shaggy, the twisted locks hung wildly 
 about his brow, whilst a short and frizzled beard served 
 as a scanty covering to his chin. A " Sheffield whittle" 
 stuck in his baldi-ic; and in a pouch was deposited the 
 remnant of a magnificent pasty. From oft and o\cr
 
 MAB S CROSS. 61 
 
 replenishment this receptacle gaped in a most unseemly 
 manner, showing the shattered remains, the crumbling 
 fragments, of many a huge mountain of crust. 
 
 With arms akimbo stood this prepossessing personage 
 before the pilgrim, in all his native rudeness and disorder. 
 The latter tightened his cloak about him, and withdrew 
 some three or four paces from his companion. 
 
 " Nuncle," said the jester — for such was in fact his 
 vocation — "I wonder for what property master keeps a 
 fool ? — I bethink me 'tis for his wit : more wit and less 
 honesty, though." The palmer was silent. 
 
 " Art going to the hall ?" continued he. " The fool 
 is whipt there for being honest. Have a care, nuncle ; 
 if Sir Osmund catch thee, thou hadst as good bequeath 
 thy bones to the pope to make into saints' gear. — I'm 
 very sad, nuncle ! " 
 
 " Sad ! " said the pilgrim ; " in good troth, an' thou be 
 sad, the cock of the hall yonder is but in sorry plight." 
 
 " 'Tis more wholesome to cry to-day," said the dolor- 
 ous knave, " knowing ye shall laugh to-morrow, than to 
 laugh to-day, and to-morrow's dool somehow making your 
 mirth asthmatic. 
 
 " Be merry to-morrow ; to-day, to-day, 
 Your belly-full fill of grief ; 
 When sorrow hath supp'd, go play, go play, 
 For mirth I wot is brief. 
 
 " Ay, grandam, ye are wise ; and an old woman's wit best 
 becomes a fool : 
 
 " When sorrow hath supp'd, go play, go play, 
 For mirth I wot is brief."
 
 62 mab's cross. 
 
 He drew out the last notes into one of those querulous 
 cadences, much in vogue as an ad libitum on all fitting 
 occasions : even the sad features of the pilgrim were pro- 
 voked into a smile. 
 
 " Art bound for the hall ? " again enquired the inqui- 
 sitive hunchback. 
 
 "Yes, friend — whither else? Is it not almous-day, 
 and thinkest thou the houseless and wandering pilgrim 
 will not share of the largess?" 
 
 " Beggars and friars thrive, — treason and corruption 
 wed, and these be their children belike. Hast brought 
 the Lady Mabel her old husband's bones from heathenrie ? 
 — her new one is like to leave her nought else, poor 
 soul, for her comfort. She'll make her up a saint out 
 o' them." 
 
 " If she has gotten another husband," said the pilgrim, 
 " the old one's bones would have a rare chance of her 
 worship." 
 
 The facetious impertinent here gave a sort of incre- 
 dulous whistle. He eyed the palmer with a keen and 
 scrutinizing glance, but suddenly relapsing into his ac- 
 customed manner, he burst into a wild and portentous 
 laugh. 
 
 " I tell thee, if Sir Osmund catch thee carrying so 
 much as a thumb-nail of Sir William's carcass, he'll 
 wring thy neck as wry as the chapel weather-cock. My 
 lady goes nigh crazed with his ill humours. I warrant 
 thee, Sir William's ghost gaily snuffs up the sport. I 
 have watched him up and down the old stairs, and once 
 i' the chapel; and he told me" — whispering close to the 
 pilgrim's ear — "a great secret, nuncle ! " 
 
 " Ay — what was that, Motley?"
 
 MAB S CROSS. 63 
 
 " Why, said he, if so be Sir William comes home again, 
 he'll find his wife has got a cuckoo in her nest." Here 
 he burst from the stranger with a malicious shout, and 
 descending a by-path, was soon lost amidst the intri- 
 cacies of a deep wood, skirting the verge of an extensive 
 forest. 
 
 The traveller's brow gathered a heavier gloom. With 
 unconscious haste he soon gained a gentle ascent, which 
 led by a narrow and deep path to the mansion. Nigh 
 to the bridge over the moat stood a blacksmith's hovel, 
 conveniently situated for all job-work emanating from 
 the armoury and the kitchen, which at that time afforded 
 full exercise for the musical propensities of Darby Grim- 
 shaw's great anvil. This hut was a general resort to all 
 the idlers in the vicinity ; Grim, as he was generally 
 styled for the sake of abbreviation, discharging the office 
 of " preses," or chief moderator, in all debates held there- 
 in. He was a shrewd fellow and a bold one. A humor- 
 ous and inquisitive cunning lurked in the corner of his 
 grey and restless eye. His curiosity was insatiable; and 
 as a cross-questioner, when fairly at work, for worming 
 out a secret, he had not his fellow. His brain was a 
 general deposit for odd scraps, and a reservoir in which 
 flowed all stray news about the country. He was an 
 abstract and chronicle of the time ; and could tell ye 
 where the Earl of Lancaster mustered his forces, the 
 day of their march, and the very purposes and projects 
 of that turbulent noble. Even the secrets of my lady's 
 bower did not elude the prying of this indefatigable artist; 
 at any rate, he had the credit of knowing all that he 
 assumed, which amounted very much to the same thing 
 as though his knowledge were unlimited: a nod and a
 
 61' MABS CROSS. 
 
 wink supplying the place of intelligence, when his won- 
 dering neophytes grew disagreeably minute in their 
 enquiries. 
 
 Towards this abode did the pilgrim bend his steps. A 
 thick smoke hovered about the thatch, that appeared 
 very ingeniously adapted for the reception and nurture 
 of any stray spark that might happen to find there a 
 temporary lodgment. Several times had this Vulcan been 
 burnt out, yet the materials were easily replaced ; and 
 again and again the hovel arose in all its pristine ugliness 
 and disorder. 
 
 Darby was just kindling his fire : a merry-making over- 
 night had trenched upon morning duties, and daylight 
 found him still stretched on his pallet. Subsequent to 
 this a noisy troop from the hall had roused him from a 
 profound slumber. 
 
 " St. George and the Virgin protect thee, honest 
 friend ! " said the pilgrim, as he stood by an opening, 
 just then performing the functions of both door and 
 chimney. Darby's perceptions being much impeded by 
 the smoke, he hastily approached the door. His surprise 
 manifested itself aloud, yet did he not forget a becoming 
 reverence to the stranger, as he invited him into the only 
 apartment, besides his workshop, of which the roof could 
 boast. It served for parlour, bedchamber, and kitchen ; 
 where the presiding deity, Grim's helpmate, carried on 
 her multifarious operations. 
 
 The officious housewife fetched a joint-stool, first clear- 
 ing it from dust, whilst her husband added a billet to the 
 heap. She was just preparing breakfast. A wooden 
 porringer, filled to the brim with new milk, in which 
 oatmeal was stirred, a rasher of salted mutton, and a
 
 mab's cross. 65 
 
 large cake of coarse bread, comprised the delicacies of 
 their morning repast. To this, however, was added a 
 snatch of cold venison from the hall. " But this, you 
 see," said the old woman, " is not of our own killing ; 
 St. Gregory forbid ! — it comes from Dan there, who has 
 the care of the knight's buttery." 
 
 " Rot him for a churl ! " said the smith ; " Sir Osmund 
 grudges every mouth about him; but" — and here he 
 looked wondrous knowing — " he may happen to be 
 ousted yet, if Earl Thomas should come by the worst 
 in this cabal." 
 
 " Sir Osmund, 1 find, is no favourite with his neigh- 
 bours." 
 
 "Hang him!" replied Grim, first looking cautiously 
 into the shop ; " there's not a man of us but would like 
 to see him and his countrymen packed off to-morrow 
 upon ass-panniers. They were spawned from the Welsh 
 ditches to help that overgrown Earl against his master. 
 If Sir William had been alive, I had spoken out without 
 fear. He was a loyal knight and a true — he ever served 
 his country and his king. But I bethink me that perad- 
 venture ye may have heard of our late master's death, 
 and who knows but ye bring some token, pilgrim, to his 
 lady ?" 
 
 " Thou hast shrewdly guessed — I bear the last message 
 that Sir William sent to his lady : thinkest thou it may be 
 delivered without the knight's privity?" 
 
 " Save thee, father ! peril betides him who would 
 hazard a message to my lady without her husband's 
 leave." 
 
 " Is the lady Mabel in health? — and the children?" 
 enquired the stranger. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 mab's cross. 
 
 " Sorely did she grieve when tidings came of Sir Wil- 
 liam's death in the great battle ; but sorer still rues she 
 her wedding with Sir Osmund Neville. Poor soul ! it 
 would melt the nails out of a rusty horse-shoe to see 
 how she moans herself, when she can steal privily to her 
 chamber. They say the knight caught her weeping, once, 
 over some token that belonged to Sir William, and he 
 burnt it before her face, ill-treating her into the bargain." 
 
 " How came she to wed this churl ? " 
 
 ^' Oh, it's a sorry history!" — The speaker paused, and 
 it was at the pilgrim's entreaty that he thus continued : 
 
 " Parson Cliderhow had his paw in the mischief. She 
 was in a manner forced either to wed, or, in the end, to 
 liave found herself and her children with never a roof-tree 
 above their heads." 
 
 " How? — Sir William did not leave her portionless?" 
 
 " I know not ; but Sir Osmund had, or pretended he 
 had, got a grant from the Earl of Lancaster, for pos- 
 session of all that belonged to Sir William, as a reward 
 for his great services; and unless she wed him — why, 
 you may guess what follows, when a lone woman is left 
 in a wooer's clutches. I shall never forget their wedding- 
 day ; it should rather have been her burying, by the look 
 on't. Her long veil was more like a winding-sheet than a 
 bride's wimple." 
 
 During this recital the palmer drew his seat closer to 
 the hearth. He leant him over his staff, absorbed in that 
 conscious stupor which seems at once shut out from all 
 connexion with external objects, and yet intensely alive 
 to their impressions. Suddenly he rose, tightened his 
 sandals, and looking round, appeared as if about to 
 depart.
 
 mab's cross. 67 
 
 " It is our late master's birth-day," said the loquacious 
 informant : " ten years ago there was free commons at 
 the hall for man and beast. Now, save on almous-days, 
 when some half-dozen doitering old bodies get a snatch at 
 the broken meat, not a man of us thrusts his nose into the 
 knight's buttery but by stealth. Sir William's banner has 
 not been hoisted, as it was wont on this day, since he left, 
 with fifty armed men in his train, to help the king, then 
 hard pressed in the Scottish wars. Ye may get an alms 
 among the poor to-day, but have an eye to the Welsh 
 bowmen : these be the knight's privy -guard, and hold not 
 the quality of his guests in much respect." 
 
 Here the smith's angry garrulity was interrupted by 
 Daniel Hardseg, a sort of deputy house-steward, whose 
 duty it was to look after all business not immediately 
 connecting itself with any other department in the house- 
 hold. He was prime executive in most of the out-door 
 duty, and a particular crony at the hovel. His " Holloa !" 
 was terrific. 
 
 " Why, a murrain to thee, goodman Grim, thy fire is 
 colder than my halidome ; the sun is so high it puts it 
 out, I reckon. Here have I two iron pots, a plate from 
 my master's best greaves, and a pair of spurs that want 
 piecing, and I'm like to tinker them as I list on a cold 
 stithy — Get out, thou — " Here he became aware of an 
 additional inmate to Grim's dwelling ; and this discovery, 
 for a while, checked the copious torrent of Dan's elo- 
 quence. Shortly, Darby drew him aside, and from their 
 looks it might be gathered that some scheme was nego- 
 tiating for the pilgrim's safe admission at the hall. To an 
 entreaty, more strenuously urged on the part of our 
 diplomatist, Dan replied in a louder tone, 
 F 2
 
 68 MAB S CROSS. 
 
 " Why, look thee, gossip, it were as much as my lugs 
 were worth — but — I'll e'en try." 
 
 " We shall hear some news about Sir William, depend 
 on't, an' thou get him a word with my lady." 
 
 " And what the better shall I be of that ? — dead men 
 make no porridge hot," simply retorted Dan. 
 
 " Go to," replied the other ; " it's but setting Maude 
 on the scent — I warrant thee, she'll sharpen her wits for 
 the work. It will be a grievous pity should he depart, 
 and whisper not his message to her ladyship. Maude's 
 thin ears, as thou knowest, can catch a whisper, and thou 
 wilt soon squeeze the secret out of her ; then comes 
 Darby's turn — by to-morrow, at the latest." 
 
 The news-doting artisan rubbed his dark fists with 
 ecstacy. " Go, knave," said he ; " thou art a teasing 
 little varlet." 
 
 Here Grim seemed ready to hug his comrade in the 
 extremity of his delight ; but Dan was rather sullen, evi- 
 dently ruminating on peril and mischance, wherein the 
 tempter had no share, though participating in the profits 
 of the adventure. Eventually, the stranger was placed 
 under the patronage of Daniel Hardseg, who, to do him 
 justice, was well affected towards the enterprise he had 
 undertaken. 
 
 Passing by a low wall, to the north-east of the mansion, 
 tliey were soon hidden by a projecting terrace or plat- 
 form., which, in cases of siege, could be converted into a 
 sort of breast-work to cover the sallies of the besieged. 
 At the salient angle of this curtain stood a small postern, 
 to which Dan applied a heavy key, and beckoning to his 
 companion, they ascended a narrow stair-case. A suc- 
 cession of dark passages led to the great hall, from which
 
 mab's cross. 69 
 
 a small arched door-way communicated by a private en- 
 trance to the chapel. As they passed the half-closed 
 door, a gruff voice was heard reciting the appointed ser- 
 vice for the day. Dan stept cautiously by, and motioned 
 the stranger to tread softly. The latter paused, listening 
 with a look of anxiety, and pressed his staff across his 
 bosom ; — soon, drawing his hood closer over his brow, 
 he quickly followed the retreating footsteps of his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Praised be old Cliderhow's tough pipe ! " said Dan, 
 when fairly out of hearing. " Ha, ha ! — sit down, sit 
 down, good father" — opening a half-door, as he laughed, 
 and thrusting in the pilgrim — " nobody can hear aught 
 besides, when he's fairly agoing." 
 
 The apartment into which this unceremonious conductor 
 ushered his guest, was Dan's store-room. 
 
 A most whimsical assemblage of materials were here 
 huddled together. Pans, wooden bowls, and matters of 
 meaner import, entered into close familiarity with broad- 
 swords and helmets ; boots of home manufacture in their 
 primitive clothing ; saddles, with their housings ; knives, 
 and brown bottles of coarse pottery, were intermingled 
 with many a grim-looking weapon of blood-thirsty aspect. 
 From the walls depended a heterogeneous mass of ap- 
 parel, — cloaks, hats, and body -gear, of unimaginable 
 shape and appearance. Dan was steward of the ward- 
 robe, or furniture-keeper, to most of the retainers and 
 other idle appendages to the hall ; and as, in those days, 
 the sciences dependent on order and classification had 
 not spread their beneficial influence through society at 
 large, it frequently happened that more time was con- 
 sumed in rummaging amidst this unexplored chaos, than 
 F 3
 
 70 MAB S CROSS. 
 
 would have sufficed to transact the whole affair for which 
 any article was required. A round stool in the middle 
 of this " Thesaurus" — the only unoccupied place except 
 the ceiling — was the throne of our friend, Dan Hardseg, 
 when dispensing out his treasures with stately muni- 
 ficence ; — on this scanty perch was the stranger duly 
 installed, and favoured with a benignant and knowing 
 wink from Dan as he departed. 
 
 Waiting for the return of his patron, the pilgrim was 
 roused from a fit of reverie by the well-remembered 
 greeting of the jester, Humphry Lathom, or " daft 
 Humpy," as he was mostly called. 
 
 " Eh, nuncle ! — But if Dan catch thee, he'll be sure to 
 give thee a lift i' the stocks." 
 
 This strange creature cautiously opened the door, and 
 was speedily engulfed in all that fearful accumulation of 
 sloth and disorder. By his manner, it did not seem to 
 be his first irruption into this vast magazine ; whilst, from 
 the cautious and fearful glances he from time to time 
 cast through the door, it would appear that he had 
 been detected in his expeditions, and, in all probability, 
 punished for the offence. He was evidently in search of 
 some object from amidst the various heaps of lumber he 
 overthrew ; an inarticulate mutter, accompanying every 
 fresh attack, indicated impatience and disappointment. 
 Suddenly he exclaimed, drawing forth a large roll, with 
 ludicrous expressions of delight — 
 
 " I have thee, now ! — The buck's horns shall soon 
 butt this great Welsh goat from his pen." 
 
 He opened the banner. It was the pennon of the 
 Bradshaigh, thrown aside to rot in dust and decay.
 
 MAB S CROSS. 71 
 
 " Don't tell Dan, nuncle, and thou shalt see rare 
 sport." 
 
 He said this with his usual familiarity of tone ; but 
 suddenly putting his mouth to the stranger's ear, he 
 whispered. — The words were inaudible, save to him for 
 whom they were meant ; and in an instant he darted from 
 the spot, concealing the spoil amidst the folds of his ap- 
 parel. Shortly afterwards Dan made his appearance. 
 With wonder and dismay did he behold the ravages 
 committed in his treasure-house — " confusion worse con- 
 founded." 
 
 " Beshrew me, but thou art a restless tenant. — I did 
 not tell thee to tumble my wardrobe into haycocks." 
 
 " I was long a-watching," said the pilgrim ; " and, in 
 good troth, I became over curious to know the capacity 
 of thy sty. — What tidings from my lady's chamber?" 
 
 " A plague on her husband's humours ! — Maude says, 
 it were as much as a Jew's thumb were worth to get thee 
 privily to an audience, but she hath urged my lady to dis- 
 tribute the alms herself to-day : so betake thee to the 
 kitchen ; Maude will contrive thou shalt have some token 
 of her approach. St. Anthony ! but thou hast bestirred 
 thee bravely ; such another guest, and I might as well set 
 fire to the whole budget. If thou be'st bent on such 
 another rummage in the kitchen, the cook will whack thy 
 pate with the spit, — holy and hooded though it be." 
 
 Dan led the way to this arena of gigantic gastronomy. 
 It was a vast and smoky den, such as could only exist in 
 those days of feudal magnificence. An immense furnace 
 was fed by huge blocks of wood, which the ravening flame 
 seized, and in a moment enveloped in its embrace. Forms, 
 F 4
 
 72 mab's cross. 
 
 grisly and indistinct, flitted past this devouring blaze, by 
 the sputtering and crackling of which, mingled with the 
 hissing delicacies before it, and the shrill scream of the 
 presiding fury, a stranger might be warned of his approach 
 to this pandemonium some time ere its wonders were 
 visible. The pilgrim seated himself in an accessible 
 corner, anxiously awaiting the promised signal. 
 
 On a long stone bench lay heaps of broken meat, ready 
 for distribution to the groups of mendicants, who were now 
 clamouring without the gate. From the low and ponderous 
 rafters hung dried mutton, bacon, and deer's tongues, 
 wreathed in curls of smoke, that might seem to render an 
 introduction to the chimney unnecessary for completing 
 their flavour. 
 
 It was not long ere a pert waiting-maid approached. 
 She drew up her short linsey-woolsey garments from the 
 contaminations beneath her feet. Raising her chin, she 
 thus addressed the servitors : — 
 
 " My lady bids ye bring the dole quickly into the great 
 liall. — She attends to-day in person. When the bell 
 rings," looking towards the pilgrim as she spoke, " my 
 lady leaves her chamber." 
 
 Maude departed with the same supercilious deport- 
 ment. The bell was immediately heard, and the stranger, 
 making the best of his way into the hall, found the doors 
 wide open, and an indiscriminate assemblage of suppli- 
 cants, displaying, to the best advantage, a variety of 
 modes and manifestations of distress, unhappily not con- 
 fined to those unhallowed days of wretchedness and mis- 
 rule. Their chief attention seemed to be directed towards 
 a side wicket, in the upper part of which was a slide for 
 the more convenient distribution of the accustomed largess,
 
 MAB S CROSS. 73 
 
 when the lady Mabel did not superintend the apportioning 
 of her beneficence. 
 
 It was soon whispered amongst the crowd that she, 
 who had for a considerable time kept aloof from all inter- 
 course, would that day distribute her own bounty. 
 
 The tinkling of the bell ceased, and suddenly the door 
 flew open. Lady Mabel and her maidens entered. The 
 crowd fell back as she approached. Of a commanding 
 form and deportment, she seemed a being of some superior 
 creation ; whilst, with slow and majestic steps, she passed 
 on to the upper division of the hall, where the dais raised 
 her slightly above the multitude. 
 
 She was habited in deep mourning : her heavy train 
 swept gracefully over the dark pavement ; her veil, in 
 cumbrous folds, reached almost to her feet, effectually 
 concealing her face from the eyes of the spectators. A 
 number of servitors now entered, bearing the allotted 
 viands, together with sundry articles of winter apparel. 
 The upper table was filled, and a profound silence showed 
 the awe and respect which her presence inspired. She 
 raised her veil. Grief, long subdued, yet deep and ir- 
 remediable, hung heavily on her pallid features, but their 
 form and character was untouched by the destroyer. Not 
 a ringlet was visible. Her brow, bare and unornamented, 
 threw an air of severe grandeur on her whole countenance. 
 Around the lip fell a deeper shade of sorrow ; but sweet, 
 inexpressibly sweet and touching was the expression. 
 Though the rose had faded, yet, lovelier in decay, it 
 seemed to mingle more gracefully with the soft hues by 
 which it was surrounded. 
 
 She waved her hand: singly the mendicants approached, 
 proffering their simple tale of suffering and privation.
 
 74" MAB S CROSS. 
 
 To every one she administered comfort ; consoling the 
 wretched, and reproving the careless: but each had a 
 share of" her bounty ere he withdrew. 
 
 The hall was nearly cleared; yet the palmer sat, as 
 if £till awaiting audience, behind a distant pillar, and 
 deeply pondering, as it might seem, the transactions he 
 had witnessed. The last of their suppliants had departed 
 ere he rose, bending lowly as he approached. The eye 
 of the noble dame suddenly became riveted on him. 
 She was leaning in front of her maidens, beside a richly- 
 carved canopy of state, underneath which, on days of 
 feudal hospitality and pomp, presided the master of the 
 banquet. Behind, a long and richly-variegated window 
 poured down a chequered halo of glory around her form. 
 She seemed an angel of light, issuing from that fountain 
 of splendour, and irradiating the whole group with her 
 presence. 
 
 "Reverend pilgrim, thy behest?" She said this with 
 a shudder of apprehension, as if dreading an answer to 
 her enquiry. The pilgrim spoke not, but advanced. 
 
 The attendants drew aside. A silence, chill and un- 
 broken as the grave, pervaded the assembly. He took 
 from his vest a silver ring. The lady Mabel grasped the 
 well-known signet. With agony the most heart-rending 
 and intense she exclaimed : — 
 
 " My husband's signet! — Where? — whence came this 
 pledge ? — Speak ! — " 
 
 A pause ensued. — It was one of those short ages of 
 almost insupportable suspense, when the mind, wound up 
 to the keenest susceptibility of endurance, seems vibrating 
 on the verge of anniliilation, — as if the next pulse would 
 snap its connexion with the world for ever.
 
 mab's cross. 75 
 
 " Lady," the pilgrim answered, in a low sepulchral tone, 
 " it is a bequest from thy husband. It was his wife's last 
 pledge, — a seal of unchanging fidelity. — He bade me 
 seek his dame, and say, ' His last sigh was to her, — his 
 last wish to heaven.' " 
 
 Lady Mabel listened — every tone sunk like a barbed 
 arrow to her heart. The voice resembled not that of her 
 deceased husband, yet such was the deceptive influence 
 arising from the painful irritation which her spirits had 
 undergone, that, if reason had not forbidden, her fancy 
 would have invested it with supernatural attributes, — 
 listening to it as though it were a voice from the tomb. 
 
 " For the love I bore and yet bear to his most honoured 
 name, tell me, I conjure thee tell me, his earthly resting- 
 place. My last pilgrimage shall be thither. I will en- 
 shrine his hallowed relics, and they shall be a pledge of 
 our union where we shall no more part." 
 
 The last words were spoken with a solemnity of ex- 
 pression awful and thrilling beyond the power of language 
 to convey. 
 
 " What recks it, lady ? thou hast gotten thee another," 
 said the pilgrim. 
 
 " Another ! — O name him not. Never, never ! — 
 Most base, most cruel. He took advantage of my be- 
 reavement, — a moment of weakness and maternal terrox', 
 — by what long ages of suffering and wretchedness has it 
 been repaid ! Better I had beheld my babes wasting with 
 hunger, than have mated with this unpitying husband for 
 a home and a morsel of bread ! " 
 
 A flush of proud scorn at her own weakness overspread 
 her features. It was but momentary. She bade the 
 attendants withdraw. Looking round for this purpose.
 
 76 mab's cross. 
 
 she was aware, for the first time, of the hated presence 
 of Roger de Chderhow, watching, with considerable sur- 
 prise, for the result of this unexpected interview. He 
 departed with the retinue, leaving lady Mabel and the 
 pilgrim for a while unobserved. 
 
 " Thou art a holy and a heaven-destined man, yet 
 surely thou hast been taught to share another's sorrows — 
 to pour the oil of compassion over the wounds of the 
 penitent and broken-hearted." The lady turned aside her 
 head, — she leaned over the chair for support, whilst one 
 hand pressed her throbbing temples. 
 
 " Mabel Bradshaigh ! " It was the voice of Sir William. 
 She started as at a summons from the tomb. No other 
 form was visible but that of the pilgrim bending over his 
 staff. Her eye wandered wildly around the hall, as if she 
 expected some phantom to start from its recesses. A 
 richly-fretted screen, behind which the minstrels and 
 lookers-on occasionally sat at the festival, stood at the 
 lower end of the apartment. A slight rustling was heard ; 
 she was about to rush towards the spot, when the voice 
 was again audible, and apparently at her side. Slowly 
 the hood of the pilgrim was uplifted. He thrcAv off his 
 disguise ; — but O how changed was the once athletic form 
 of Sir William Bradshaigh ! With a wild and piercing 
 shriek she flew towards the out-stretched arms of her 
 husband; but ere they met, a figure stepped between, 
 barring their approach. It was the ungainly person of 
 Sir Osmund Neville. 
 
 " Nay, nay, seek thy leman elsewhere, thou gay palmer. 
 It were a brave honour, truly, to graft me with thy 
 favours." With this brutish speech he was proceeding to
 
 MAB S CROSS. 77 
 
 lay hands on the lady, wlio stood stupified in amaze, and 
 bereft of power to offer the least resistance. 
 
 " To me this insult ! I'll chace thee from thy lair ! " 
 exclaimed the incensed Sir William. 
 
 Roger de Cliderhow at this moment suddenly ap- 
 proached, and in great alarm. He whispered Sir Osmund. 
 
 " 'Tis Sir William ! — Thou hast no time for parley. — 
 If his coming get abroad we are undone. Call thy men 
 hither, and let him be conveyed away privily. — The 
 dungeon will tell no tales. — I'll summon them. If the 
 servants get a whisper of the matter, I'll give out he is 
 an impostor." 
 
 Fearful of encountering the glance of his injured lord, 
 this worthy withdrew in great precipitation. 
 
 It was but the work of a moment. Sir Osmimd had 
 taken the precaution to prevent all egress, so that Sir 
 William and his lady were, in fact, prisoners, at the mercy 
 and discretion of a cruel and cowardly foe. 
 
 Sir William had thrown off his cloak and the remainder 
 of his disguise. He now stood proudly erect before the 
 supplanter, who was somewhat stunned by this unexpected 
 issue. 
 
 " I defy thee to the combat — hast thou the grace to 
 give me a weapon, or art thou as cowardly as thou art 
 presuming?" tauntingly enquired Sir William. 
 
 " Impostor ! — wouldst have me believe every wish 
 that folly genders ? — To the proof! " sullenly replied Sir 
 Osmund. 
 
 " What says the lady Mabel? — Let her decide," re- 
 turned the other. 
 
 " She ! " cried the ingrate, with a contemptuous sneer ;
 
 78 mab's cross. 
 
 " her wits are so set upon it, that she would worship any 
 ill-favoured lout tliat should call himself her husband.' 
 
 " Tis false ! unblushing as thou art." The hghtning 
 kindled in the lady's eye as she spoke. Sir Osmund 
 quailed beneath her glance. 
 
 " Am I mad?" she continued; " ay, if thy wish could 
 have goaded me to it. Thou hast heaped on me tortures, 
 indisn^ities, cruel as thy relentless nature could devise: 
 but I have been spared for this ! " Her lips quivered. 
 Shuddering, she spoke with amazing energy and distinct- 
 ness. " I have repented, day and night, but they were 
 vmavailing tears. Oh. if I luive wronged thee" — she 
 covered her face with her hands — ■• it was not even in 
 thought that I grew unfaithful to thy trust. ]\Iy babes, 
 in a moment of weakness I looked on them, smiling as 
 they lay. I could not dash the cup from their lips ere 
 they had well nigh tasted. I could not behold them so 
 soon doomed to misery and want." 
 
 She made a compulsive eiFort to repress her sobs. 
 
 " Can years of suffering atone for my crime ?"' 
 
 She drew back as she conthuied. •■ I abhor, I loathe 
 the very existence I am forced to prolong. The cloister 
 alone can hide my wretchedness and my shame." 
 
 " I forgive thee : nay. shrink not from mv embrace.'* 
 cried the distracted Sir William ; '• I blame thee not in 
 my regret. Pure, and as free from guilt as when tirst 
 I knevr thee, do I now receive thee to my arms. " 
 
 Sir Osmund smiled in contempt : at the same time 
 casting a ftirtive glance towards the side entrance, where. 
 true to his word. Roger de Cliderhow had smnmoned a 
 guard of Welsh bowmen, their master's accomplices in 
 many a deed of violence and rapine.
 
 mab's cross. 79 
 
 Sir Osmund heard their approach. He cautiously un- 
 drew the bolts, and pointing to his foe, with a signal they 
 but too well understood, the latter was immediately seized, 
 and with such rapidity, that almost before Sir William 
 was aware of their design, he found himself a prisoner 
 and incapable of resistance. 
 
 " Traitor, thou wilt rue this foul despite ! I here pro- 
 claim thee a craven knight and a dastard ! " exclaimed Sir 
 William. 
 
 " False pilgrim," growled his adversary, " didst think 
 to foist thy fooleries upon me ? The dungeon walls will 
 give thee a patient hearing. Boast to them of thy de- 
 scent, and when they acknowledge thee, — so will I. — 
 Guards, to your duty. " 
 
 Lady ^label, with a loud and appalling shriek, fell 
 senseless on the pavement. 
 
 In vain did Sir William endeavour to free himself from 
 the rude grasp of his conductors. He was hurried along, 
 nor did there appear the remotest possibility of escape. 
 Just as they turned into a sort of corridor, leading to the 
 passages more immediately connected with the place of 
 their destination, they encoimtered Humphry Lathom. 
 The same half-stupid, half-knavish expression of face 
 was now lighted up by a grin of apparently inexplicable 
 amazement. 
 
 " Eh, nuncle," said he, stroking his beard, " but you're 
 in mighty grace. The Welshman always mounts his he- 
 goats for guard on them he delighteth to honour." With 
 one of his more than ordinarily elvish and malicious 
 shouts he scampered past the enraged sentinels, and was 
 heard rapidly ascending the steps of the great tower, be- 
 neath the massive foundations of which lay the dark and
 
 so NfAB's CROSS. 
 
 cheerless abode, so unexpectedly destined for the recep- 
 tion of its owner. 
 
 ^^^lilst these occurrences were passing withm the walls, 
 Grim"s curiosity was in prodigious exercise without. His 
 anxiety increased in a compound ratio with the time 
 elapsed, and inversely as the hope of intelligence was 
 decreasing. Every spare moment his eye was directed 
 towards the hall; but no tidings came, no scout, no 
 messenger from the scene of action, from whom the 
 slightest inkling of the result could be gathered. It 
 seemed as though all intercourse had ceased, all transit, 
 and communication were cut off. It was mighty strange ! 
 Some rare doings were afloat, no doubt, and not a soul 
 would remember honest Grim in his thrall. He tied and 
 untied his apron, beat the iron when it was cool, and let 
 it cool when it was hot. " It will be noon presently." 
 He looked at the sim ; it seemed to have crept backward 
 for the last half hour : at any rate he was morally certain 
 that useful appendage to this great and troublesome world 
 had stood still, if not retrograded. The mendicants were 
 all gone — no tidings to be gained from them — matters 
 were more than usually contrary and provoking — and if it 
 had not been for some recent disgrace which his prying 
 disposition had occasioned at the hall, he would long ago 
 have satisfied himself by a personal enquiry into the pre- 
 sent posture of affairs. 
 
 " Hope deferred" was just on the point of being at- 
 tended with the usual consequences, when, taking another 
 peep through a crevice, constructed for putting into effect 
 a more efficient system of examination, he beheld a pheno- 
 menon, as unlooked for as it was incomprehensible. He 
 rubbed his eyes, strongly persuaded that some rigorous
 
 mab's cross. si 
 
 discipline wa^ necessary. He pinched liis fingers, shook 
 himsell'. — was he really awake? or — He took another 
 j>eep. still it was there ; nor crossings, ejaculations, nor 
 other established contrivances had any effect. The \ision 
 that caused all this disturbance was the great banner of 
 the Bradshaigh on the tower, curhng full and stately in 
 the breeze. Wonders and misfortunes rarely come im- 
 atteuded. Grim's appetite for the marvellous was now in 
 danger of suffering as much from repletion as before from 
 inanity, and he had just summoned his dame for a special 
 council, when his ears were assailed by a furious ding- 
 dong. Stroke upon stroke, huge, heavy, and unceasing, 
 followed each other in rapid succession. It was the great 
 bell, used only on occasions of emergency and import- 
 ance, the hoarse tongue of which had been silent since 
 the day of Sir William's departure. There was no time 
 to waste in conjecture. Grim rushed from his dwelling. 
 Convinced that some catastrophe was at hand, his inten- 
 tion was to climb the hill behind his little hovel, in order 
 to reconnoitre the premises with greater flicility. Salt- 
 ing forth, he saw numbers of the peasimtry on the same 
 errand. All was bustle and enquiry : each giving his 
 neighboiu- credit for the possession of some intelligence 
 whereby the mystery might be unravelled. 
 
 •• Sir William c;uinot have returned ! " said one. 
 
 *' No," replied another. •• or the buck would soon butt 
 the Welshman out of his stall." 
 
 '• Ha. ha ! " said a neighbouring gossip. •• those horns 
 are big enough," pointing to the device upon the banner 
 — a buck passant. 
 
 As they drew nearer to the great gate, the bell had 
 ceased, when suddcnlv appeared, perched on a corner of 
 
 XOL. I. G
 
 82 mab's ckoss. 
 
 the tower, the well-known form of " daft Humpy." He 
 threw up his cap, caught it, and whirled it round his 
 head with every demonstration of joyous extravagance. 
 " Hurrah ! " shouted he, with a distinct and shrill enun- 
 ciation, which might be heard to the very extremities of 
 the crowd. <' Hurrah for Sir William Bradshaigh ! — he 
 is come again ! — hurrah, neighbours ! — In, in !" 
 
 He ran round the battlements, with unceasing vocifer- 
 ation. On hearing this news, numbers entered the gate 
 pell-mell, carrying with them some who would fain have 
 acted with more discretion, by watching the issue warily, 
 and out of harm's way. Of this class was our stout-fisted 
 friend. Darby Grhn, who, though of a well-composed 
 valour when fairly tested, was yet slow to move, and cared 
 not to thrust his fingers uselessly into a broil. 
 
 The first party that entered was met by Humphry. 
 
 " Pick-axes and spades ! " cried he, flourishing a stout 
 staff. " To the dungeon ! — come along, come along !" 
 — So far from accelerating their speed, this address 
 seemed at once to suspend all further progress. They 
 gazed at each other, — none wist what to do, naturally 
 not overburdened with confidence in the discretion of 
 their guide. Suddenly checking himself, he stood as 
 erect as the nature of his form would admit, before the 
 astonished auditors. 
 
 " Ye lazy caterpillars ! ye cowardly scum of humanity ! 
 if ye follow me not, I'll rouse the Welsh bull-dogs. Sir 
 Osmund hath ta'en him to the dungeon, I tell ye ; and 
 who is there that will not lend a hand to the rescue of 
 Sir William Bradshaigh?" 
 
 Grim was among the foremost of the invading army : 
 on hearing this news, a latent spark enkindled his courage
 
 MAB S CROSS. 83 
 
 most opportunely into a blaze. Seizing a cudgel, he bran- 
 dished it in front of his comrades, like one half-frantic, 
 crying, " It is, it is ; I have seen him this blessed day ! 
 — Hurrah for Sir William ! " 
 
 " Hurrah," shouted the crowd, whose courage, aug- 
 menting with their numbers, soon manifested itself in an 
 immediate attack on the cell, whence they speedily ex- 
 tricated their lord. Intoxicated with joy, they vowed a 
 summary vengeance on the discourteous knight who had 
 so vilely entreated him. 
 
 Sir William's first care was for the rescue of his lady. 
 She almost forgot her own sorrows on witnessing his joy 
 when once more folding the children to his embrace. A 
 short interval elapsed ere he sought his adversary ; but 
 he had fled, along with his unworthy followers. Such 
 was the wrong Sir William had suffered, that his yet un- 
 tamed spirit deemed it an oftence too foul to be expiated 
 by aught but the blood of his merciless foe. Armed, and 
 with but few attendants, he hotly pursued him, and, as 
 old chronicles tell, at a place called Newton, he overtook 
 and slew him in single combat. Returning in safety, he 
 lived happily with his lady to a good old age. They lie 
 buried in the chancel of All Saints, Wigan, where, carved 
 on the tomb, their effigies still exist, the rarest of the mo- 
 numental antiquities in that ancient edifice. 
 
 The Lady Mabel's spirit had been too sorely wounded 
 to recover its tranquillity. For the purpose of what was 
 then deemed an expiation to her unintentional offence, 
 she performed a weekly penance, going barefooted from 
 Haigh to a place outside the walls at Wigan, where a stone 
 cross was erected, which bears to this day the name of 
 " Mab's Cross." 
 
 G 2
 
 THE 
 
 PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 
 
 G 3
 
 ' Quhere are ye boun, ye bold prior, 
 
 With that ladye on your knee ? ' 
 ' I'm boun to the hills, I'm boun to the dales, 
 
 I'm boun to the grey priory.' " 
 
 Old Ballad. MS.
 
 PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 
 
 Of the once renowned priory of Burseough, only two 
 pillars, belonging to the centre arch of the church, are 
 now remaining. It is situated about two miles from Orms- 
 kirk, on the Preston road, in a level district of great com- 
 pass, renowned for its fertility. The extensive manor 
 and living of Ormskirk formerly belonged to this prior}'. 
 The charter of King Edward II., " reciting and confirming 
 the grants of the donors," with a confirmation of the 
 charter by which " the prior and convent of Burseough, 
 and their successors for ever, shall have one market every 
 week on Thursday, at their manor of Ormskirk, and like- 
 wise one fair every year, of five days' continuance," is still 
 preserved in the office of the Duchy of Lancaster. 
 
 This religious house was founded for Black Canons by 
 Robert Fitzhenry, lord of Latham or Lathom, in the reign 
 of Richard I. It was formerly the burial-place of the 
 Earls of Derby ; but many of the coffins have been re- 
 moved to their vault in the church at Ormskirk, built 
 by Edward, the third Earl, great grandson of Thomas, 
 first Earl of Derby, who had the honour of crowning 
 G 4
 
 88 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 
 
 Henry VII. at Bosworth Field with the coronet torn from 
 the brows of the slain tyrant. 
 
 The main fact of the following tradition may be found 
 in the Calend. Rotulo. Patents, fol. 155. art. 13., contain- 
 ing the free pardon granted by Edward III. to the atro- 
 cious murderer of Michael de Poininges and Thomas le 
 Clarke, after the rape he had committed on Margaret de 
 la Bech. 
 
 At the dissolution, this priory had a superior, five 
 monks, and forty servants. The last prior was John 
 Barton, who surrendered the living, and subscribed to 
 the King's supremacy. He was surviving as late as the 
 year 1553. 
 
 That curious structure, the church at Ormskirk, having 
 two steeples, a tower and spire, contiguous to each 
 other, is briefly glanced at in the tradition. This circum- 
 stance, according to some accounts, was occasioned by the 
 removal of part of the bells from Burscough at the disso- 
 lution of the monasteries, when the existing spire steeple 
 was found to be not sufficiently capacious. The tenor 
 bell, said to have been the third bell at Burscough, bears 
 some apparent proof of its translation. Round the circle, 
 below the ear, is the following inscription in black letter, 
 except the initials of the founder : — 
 
 " J. S. * de Burscough * Armig. * et * e * vr. * me 
 fecerunt in honorem Trinitatis * R. B. 1497. 
 
 About half-way down the bell is another date, 1576. 
 
 Where each asterisk is marked, are the Rose, Portcullis, 
 and Fleur de lis. Beneath the inscription a neat border 
 is cast, filled up in the centre, with the Rose, Portcullis, 
 and Fleur de lis, repeated so as to occupy the whole cir- 
 cumference of the bell. We have been thus particular in
 
 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 89 
 
 our description, as it may not be uninteresting to pursue 
 this enquiry, connected as it is with some important his- 
 torical facts, not irrelevant to the subject." 
 
 The following remarks may preclude any farther ob- 
 servations of our own : 
 
 " The Red Rose is well known to have been the fa- 
 vourite emblem of the house of Lancaster, from whom 
 Henry VII. was descended, and through whom he gloried 
 in claiming his title to the throne. 
 
 " His mother, Margaret Countess of Richmond, then 
 Countess of Derby, was sole daughter and heiress of the 
 Duke of Somerset - , who bore the Portcullis as an heral- 
 dic distinction. This nobleman was descended from John 
 of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and Henry had a right to 
 the honourable bearings of his royal ancestors. Hence 
 the ' Rose and Portcullis' were favourite badges of this 
 monarch, as peculiarly belonging to the house of Lan- 
 caster. The ' Fleur de lis ' is the emblem of France ; and, 
 independently of the arms of that kingdom being quartered 
 at that time, and till very lately, with the royal arms of 
 England, Henry had a right to assume this distinction 
 also, as being the grandson of Sir Owen Tudor and 
 Catherine of France, relict of Henry V. 
 
 " The first date, also, 1497, refers to a very important 
 period in history, as connected with the Derby family. 
 
 * Beaufort, Duke of Somerset. Somerset, Duke of Beaufort, now 
 bears the portcullis for his crest. There is an engraving by Vertue, 
 from a painting in the royal collection at Kensington Palace by 
 Maubeugius in 1496, of the three children of Henry VII. and Eliza- 
 beth his queen, Prince Hem-y, Prince Arthxn; and Princess Margaret, 
 which is ornamented at the top with the portcullis sui'mounted with 
 roses.
 
 90 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 
 
 Two short years before, the great, the brave Sir William 
 Stanley, who, of his own power and interest, raised and 
 brought 3000 horse and foot to the rescue of his prince, 
 when his life, his honour, and his hopes of a throne were 
 at stake ; who contributed to his victory, and helped to 
 crown him ' King ' in the field ; had, by that very sove- 
 reign, been sent to the block, merely on account of a 
 doubtful and unguarded expression, reported by a rebel, 
 a traitor, and an ungenerous friend. The unhappy 
 monarch, learning too late the dire effects of groundless 
 suspicion, paid a visit in the following year to his deeply- 
 wounded stepfather, the brother of the dauntless hero 
 whom he had so lately sacrificed. 
 
 " It is stated that the King arrived at Knowsley on or 
 about the 24-th June, 1496, and then went to Lathom ; 
 whence, after reiTiaining a month with his mother the 
 Countess, and the Earl her husband, he returned to 
 London. 
 
 " This brings us within one year of the date on the 
 tenor bell, and I cannot help thinking that its emblems 
 have some allusion to the royal visit to Knowsley and 
 Lathom. It becomes, however, necessary, to attempt to 
 account for the second date, 1576, on the same bell. And 
 here we can again — only — conjecture. It is not impro- 
 bable that the original bell was injured; that, prior to 
 breaking up, its inscription and emblems were carefully 
 moulded, and a new one cast, with the old metal, in the 
 year 1576, care being taken that a copy of the inscription, 
 &c. should fill the same situation in the present bell, which 
 the originals occupied in the former." * 
 
 * Glazebrook^s Southpoit.
 
 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 91 
 
 It may not be deemed irrelevant to mention here a 
 tradition which exists relative to the visit of King 
 Henry VII. at Lathom, particularly as it does not appear 
 to be generally known. 
 
 After the execution of Sir William Stanley, when the 
 King visited Lathom, the Earl, when his royal guest had 
 viewed the whole house, conducted him up to the leads 
 for a prospect of the country. The Earl's fool, who was 
 among the company, observing the King draw near to 
 the edge of the leads not guarded with a balustrade, 
 stepped up to the Earl, and pointing down to the preci- 
 pice, said, " Tom, remember Will" The King understood 
 the meaning, and made all haste down stairs, and out of 
 the house ; and the fool long after seemed mightily con- 
 cerned that his lord had not had courage to take that 
 opportunity of avenging himself for the death of his 
 brother Kennett's MSS. 1033. fol. 47.
 
 THE 
 
 PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 
 
 It was on a still and sultry evening, about the close of 
 summer, in the year of Grace one thousand three hundred 
 and forty-seven, that a solitary traveller was seen hastily 
 descending, by a woodland path, into the gloomy thickets 
 that surrounded the neighbouring priory of Burscough. 
 The rain-drops were just pattering on the dark leaves 
 above him, and the birds were fast hastening to some 
 deeper shelter. The timid rabbit, as the stranger passed 
 by, darted into its burrow, and many a quiet face gazed on 
 him from beneath a pair of rugged antlers, peeping over 
 the fences that guarded the demesne. Here and there, a 
 narrow glade opened beautifully into the woods, through 
 which might be seen green lawns and pastures, with 
 herds of dappled deer stealing silently to their covert. 
 The low growl of the distant thunder seemed to come 
 upon each living thing, like the voice of some invisible 
 spirit, subduing with its mysterious speech every power 
 and faculty, with an authority superior to all human 
 control. 
 
 The traveller hastened on. The pinnacles and stately 
 turrets of the priory were just visible through the arched
 
 94" THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 
 
 boughs, when, turning into a more sequestered path, he 
 observed a female of a wild and uncouth aspect standing 
 in the way. She showed no disposition to move as he 
 approached, nor did she seem to notice his presence. He 
 stopped, but sufficiently near to distinguish the motion of 
 her lips. An unintelligible mutter accompanied it. She 
 looked darkly towards the south, beckoning to the coming 
 thunder, and pointing, as though she would guide its 
 course towards the grey walls of the priory. 
 
 She was dressed in a dark-coloured corset fitting close 
 to the body, and a hood of the same materials. Her 
 hair was a deep jet, and fantastically twisted about her 
 face. She was of low stature, but not bowed by de- 
 crepitude or age. Her cheek was hollow, and her com- 
 plexion swarthy, but her eye grew unnaturally bright, 
 blazing out with a fierceness, intense as though the fire 
 within were visible through these chinks and crevices 
 of the soul's tenement. 
 
 Though the storm was rapidly approaching, she still 
 kept her place, unawed by the rude elements, and seeming 
 to suffer but little inconvenience from the shower, now 
 descending with great vigour. The path was narrow, and 
 a thick underwood skirted the road, so that for the stranger 
 to pass was impossible, unless his opponent chose to take 
 up a more favourable position. But the sudden burst of a 
 terrific thunder-clap, which seemed to roll in a continuous 
 peal above them, made him less ceremonious on this head 
 than the laws of gallantry might warrant. He drew nearer 
 to the female, with the intention of seeking a passage on 
 that side where the least disturbance would be given. 
 
 " Go not. — 'Tis accursed !" said she, as if preparing 
 to dispute the attempt.
 
 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 95 
 
 " I am a stranger, — and hastening for shelter. In 
 troth 'tis a narrow goit that will not let a drowning man 
 through. Prjthee, dame, let me not, in some wise, seem 
 uncourteous. Yet — " 
 
 Here he attempted to pass ; but she seized him, and 
 with so powerful a grasp, that for a moment his intention 
 was foiled, so sudden and expected was the attack. 
 Though of a stout and muscular shape, yet was he holden 
 tightly, as if she were exulting in her strength. Either 
 malice or madness had given her a vigour of body beyond 
 that of her sex. 
 
 " Michael de Poininges ! " 
 
 The stranger started at this recognition. 
 
 " I warn thee ! Thinkest thou yon fiend will forward 
 thy mission — Wilt thou tear the prey from the jaws of 
 the famished and ravening wolf? — Beware ! " 
 
 Some score of years had elapsed since De Poininges 
 was a visitor in these parts ; and he was now upon some 
 secret mission to the Prior of Burscough, Thomas de 
 Litherland, whose great power, and reckless intrepidity of 
 guilt, had won for him a name of no common note, even 
 in those ages of privileged injustice and oppression. No 
 bosom but his own, at least in that neighbourhood, could 
 have been privy to the business which brought him hither ; 
 and yet he found a woman casually crossing his path, 
 whose knowledge of his errand was but too evident, and 
 whose appearance and deportment might well excuse the 
 suspicions he entertained, as to her familiarity with the 
 
 EVIL ONE. 
 
 " Go, poor beast ! Thou art but fattened for the 
 slaughter ! " She said this, apparently addressing a stout 
 buck that was sheltering in the thicket. De Poininges
 
 96 THE PHlOIl OF BUKSCOUGH. 
 
 shuddered, as she looked on him askance, with some du- 
 bious meaning. 
 
 " I'll meet thee at supper-time." 
 
 This was said with a slow and solemn enunciation, as 
 though some terrible warning was intended, yet durst he 
 not question her further ; and ere he could reply, she had 
 disappeared in the recesses of the forest. 
 
 The rain now poured down in torrents, and De Poin- 
 inges was fain to hasten with all possible expedition 
 towards the porter's gate. 
 
 The priory of Burscough had been founded the century 
 preceding for a brotherhood of Black Canons, by Robert 
 Fitzhenry, Lord of Lathom. He endowed it with con- 
 siderable property, emoluments, and alms, and, according 
 to the weak superstition of the age, thought thereby to 
 obtain pardon and rest for the souls of Henry the Second, 
 John Earl of Moreton, himself, his wife, and all his an- 
 cestors, at the same time wishing the kingdom of heaven 
 to all persons who would increase the gifts, and consign- 
 ing to the devil and his angels all who should impiously 
 infringe on his bequests. 
 
 It was dedicated to St. Nicholas, and a rude effigy ot 
 the saint was carved over the south porch of the chapel, 
 with two or three naked children at his feet. The 
 building was not large, but the architecture was chaste 
 and beautiful, a noble specimen of the early Gothic, then 
 superseding the ponderous forms and proportions of the 
 Norman or rather Saxon era. The arches were sharply 
 pointed. The windows, narrow and lancet-shaped, were 
 deeply recessed ; the slender shafts of the columns were 
 carried in clusters to a vast height, surmounted by pin- 
 nacles of rich and elegant tracery, these gave a light
 
 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 97 
 
 and airy character to the whole, highly significant of the 
 buoyant feelings that accompanied so wonderful an escape 
 from the heavy trammels of their predecessors. 
 
 Craving shelter, De Poininges was admitted without 
 any question, as all travellers partook indiscriminately of 
 the general bounty. The religious houses in those days 
 were the constituted almonries of the rich and great ; and 
 through these overflowing channels, for the most part, 
 proceeded their liberality and beneficence. 
 
 He was ushered into one of the locutories, or parlours, 
 where, his business bemg with the prior, he was desired 
 to wait until an audience could be granted. 
 
 Prior Thomas, from some cause or other not assigned, 
 held himself at that season much estranged and secluded 
 from his brethren. He had seldom been seen from his 
 lodgings, except when performing his accustomed office 
 in the church. He had not taken his place in the re- 
 fectory of late, the duties of the day being performed 
 by one of the elder canons. 
 
 De Poininges, after a short space, was summoned to 
 the prior's chamber. In his progress, he passed the door 
 of the refectory where the brethren were at supper. It 
 was large and wainscoted, and furnished with an ample 
 dresser. Cupboards were let into the wall, and windows 
 opened into the kitchen, through which their meal was 
 served. 
 
 One of the monks was reading the appointed service 
 from a low pulpit or desk. The prior's seat was still 
 vacant. Their way now led through the cloisters, and at 
 the opposite side of the quadrangle, a portal commu- 
 nicated by a long and dark passage with the prioi 's lodg- 
 ing. This was a sort of inferior castellated mansion, with 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 
 
 a spacious hall, and a smaller dining-chamber immediately 
 adjoining. At the end was a fair chapel or oratory. 
 Ascending a flight of stone steps, they came to a low 
 door. The conductor knocked, and De Poininges soon 
 found himself in the presence of the proud prior of Burs- 
 cough. He wore a square cap of black stuff, after the 
 fashion of his order. His cloak, or upper garment, was 
 of the same colour, trimmed round the bottom with a 
 double edging. He reposed on a couch, or oaken settle, 
 and seemed, in some measure, either indisposed, or un- 
 willing to notice the homage he received. His figure 
 was strong and muscular, his complexion dull, and almost 
 swarthy. His lips were full, and his aspect rather coarse 
 than sensual. His brows were high, and unusually arched ; 
 but his eyes were downcast, and seldom raised towards 
 the speaker. In speech he was brief and interrogative, 
 but impatient under a tardy or inefficient answer. 
 
 " Thy name, stranger ? " 
 
 " Michael de Poininges." 
 
 " From whence ? " 
 
 " My business concerns you in private. I await your 
 reverence's pleasure." 
 
 The prior motioned the attendants to withdraw. 
 
 " Proceed. Thy message ? " He spoke this with 
 precipitancy, at the same time abruptly changing his 
 position. 
 
 " Mine errand is touching one Margaret de la Bech," 
 said De Poininges, seating himself opposite to the prior. 
 " And I am directed to crave your help, for the clearing 
 away of some loose suspicions regarding her concealment." 
 
 " Her concealment ! " replied De Litherland, starting 
 up angrily from the couch. " Her concealment ! They
 
 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 99 
 
 who hide may find. I know not aught of the wench, save 
 that she was mad, and drowned herself. But why not 
 enquire of Sir Thomas ? The maiden was not in my 
 keeping." He paced the chamber haughtily, but with a 
 disturbed and lurid aspect. 
 
 " Yet," replied the other, " it is well and currently 
 reported, and witnesses there be who have already testified 
 as to a fact, that some of your men were seen the night 
 of her withdrawal lurking in her path, and that screams 
 and other manifestations of the outrage then perpetrating 
 were heard in this direction. Not that we deem any 
 blemish can attach to your reverence in this matter. 
 Still " 
 
 " Why dost thou hesitate in thy speech ? " said the 
 prior, in a voice almost inarticulate with choler. 
 
 " I would say," answered De Poininges, " that it is our 
 wish, and your duty, to search into this dark question, 
 without favour or prejudice ; and, further, we do reckon, 
 that the prior of Burscough is not without the means to 
 discover, and the power to punish his offending vassals." 
 
 " And whose evil star guided thee hither with this 
 insolent message ? " enquired the prior, pale and trembling 
 with rage. 
 
 " Those whom your reverence may not lightly contemn. 
 I have here a warrant from the council to procure all 
 fitting help and suppliance for the bringing up the body of 
 Margaret de la Bech, who is suspected of being detained 
 in this neighbourhood, by persons hitherto unknown, 
 against her own proper will and consent." 
 
 The prior paused for a space. A somewhat more 
 placid expression and demeanour was the result. 
 
 " I am no stranger," said he, " to this idle and mis- 
 H 2
 
 100 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 
 
 chievous rumour. Means have been used to discover its 
 likelihood or credibility, but we find it to be utterly false, 
 and unworthy of our notice. The inventor of these tales 
 shall not long escape." 
 
 " Yet hath she been a missing ever since," said De 
 Poininges, warily ; " and in vain hath search been made 
 for the body. And furthermore, we have her own ex- 
 pressed apprehension, as it regards one she durst not 
 name, and a perilous foreboding of the evil that awaited 
 her. It is to this source, yet obscure, I must own, that 
 our enquiries are to be directed." 
 
 " Tarry here until the morning, and I will then give 
 thee some further discourse on the matter." 
 
 " Nay, sir Prior," answered De Poininges. " I thank 
 your grace's courtesy, but this night I must away to the 
 village or town hereabout, Ormschurch I think it be, and 
 there, in all likelihood, I may abide for some days." 
 
 The prior bit his lips, but sought not to oppose his 
 intent, further than by giving a hint that foul weather was 
 abroad, and of the good cheer and dry lodging the priory 
 afforded. De Poininges, however, took his way afoot, 
 returning to the town, where his horse and two trusty 
 attendants awaited him at the tavern or hostel. 
 
 The evening was fair, and the sky clear, save a broad 
 and mountainous ridge of clouds piled up towards the 
 north-east, from whence hung a black and heavy curtain 
 stretching behind the hills in that direction. The sparkling 
 of the sea was visible at intervals behind the low sand- 
 hills skirting the coast, giving out, in irregular flashes, the 
 rich and glowing radiance it received. A lucid brightness 
 yet lingered over the waves, which De Poininges stood 
 for a moment to observe, as he gained the brow of the
 
 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 101 
 
 hill near the church. To this edifice was then appended 
 a low spire, not exhibiting, as now, the strange anomaly 
 of a huge tower by its side, seated there apparently for 
 no other purpose than to excite wonder, and to afford the 
 clerk an opportunity of illustrating its origin by the follow- 
 ing tradition : — 
 
 Long time ago, two maiden sisters of the name of 
 Orme, the founders of this church, disagreed as to the 
 shape of this most important appendage. Tower against 
 spire was, in the end, likely to leave the parties without 
 a church in answer to their prayers, had not the happy 
 suggestion offered itself in the shape of a pair of these 
 campanile structures suited to the taste of each. 
 
 That the foregoing is an idle and impertinent invention 
 there is little need to show, inasmuch as both tower and 
 spire might still have been built to satisfy the whim of 
 the old ladies, though placed in the usual manner, one 
 serving as a substratum to the other. A more probable 
 solution is the following, though it may be as far from the 
 truth : At the dissolution of the priory of Burscough, in 
 the time of our great reformer Henry the Eighth, — who, 
 like many modern pretenders to this name, was more 
 careful to reform the inaccuracies of others than his 
 own, — the bells were removed to Ormskirk ; but the 
 small tower beneath the spire not being sufficiently capa- 
 cious, the present square steeple was added, and the 
 wonder perpetuated to this day. 
 
 De Poininges, on crossing the churchyard, met there a 
 personage of no less note than Thomas the Clerk, or 
 Thomas le Gierke, retiring from some official duties, 
 arrayed in his white surplice and little quaint skull-cap. 
 He was a merry wight, and in great favour with the 
 H 3
 
 102 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 
 
 parish wives. He could bleed, and shave the sconce ; 
 draw out bonds and quittances ; thus uniting three of the 
 professions in his own proper person. He was prime 
 mover in the May games, and the feast of Fools. Morris, 
 Moriscoe, or Moorish dancers, there is good reason for 
 supposing, were not then introduced, though by some 
 said to have been brought into England in the sixth year of 
 Edward IH., when John of Gaunt returned from Spain ; 
 but few traces of it are found earlier than Henry VH., so 
 that it is more probable we had them from our Gallic 
 neighbours, or even from the Flemings. 
 
 He could dance, too, and play on the rebeck and 
 citerne, this being a common amusement with the cus- 
 tomers during the time they were in waiting at the 
 barbers' shops, as newspapers were not then at hand to 
 sustain this difficult office. He was of a dainty person ; 
 clad mostly in a kirtle of light watchet-colour, thick set 
 with loose points. His hosen were grey, mingled with 
 black, and his shoes were belayed with knots and orna- 
 ments, of which, and his other stray gear, he was not a 
 little proud. 
 
 This Thomas was used to go about with a censer, on a 
 Sunday, as Chaucer hath it, 
 
 " erensing tf)e toitics of tfje pari0l) feast*" 
 
 Absalom, that pink of clerkly portraiture, seemed but a 
 fair prototype of this individual, Geoffrey Chaucer at this 
 time being a setter forth of rhymes and other matters for 
 the ticklish ears of sundry well-fed and frolicksome idlers 
 about the court of King Edward. 
 
 The meiTy knave of whom we speak was, however, in 
 happy ignorance of all courtly fashions. Provided he ob-
 
 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 103 
 
 tained his Sunday contributions, and his Christmas loaf, 
 and his eggs at Easter, little wot he how the world went 
 round. He was a frequent visitor at the tavern, and 
 De Poininges had already been distinguished by his 
 especial notice. 
 
 From his character, and the means of information 
 arising out of his multifarious occupations, De Poininges 
 expected that some of the intelligence he was in search 
 of might be gathered from this source. 
 
 The petty hostelrie was now in sight, a projecting bush 
 denoting the vintner's residence. The house was but thinly 
 attended, though clean rushes and a blazing billet bespoke 
 comfort and good cheer. De Poininges and his com- 
 panion turned aside into a smaller chamber, where mine 
 host was speedily summoned for a flagon of stout liquor. 
 This being supplied, they addressed themselves to the 
 wooden utensil with right good will ; and as the draughts 
 began to quicken, so did the clerk's tongue not fail to 
 wag the faster. De Poininges adroitly shifted the dis- 
 course upon the business of which he was in quest, when- 
 ever there was a tendency to diverge ; no rare occurrence, 
 Thomas being somewhat loth for a while to converse on 
 the subject. The liquor, however, and his own garrulous 
 propensities, soon slipped open the budget, and scraps of 
 intelligence tumbled out which De Poininges did not fail 
 to lay hold of, as hints for another line of examination. 
 
 " I reckon so, at any rate ; and so said Geoffrey," re- 
 plied the clerk, after a pause, subsequent to some close 
 question. 
 
 " Sir Thomas, the Lord of Lathom, as you may have 
 heard, he is a good-hearted soul, and this Margaret de la 
 H 4
 
 104 THE PRIOU OF BURSCOUGH. 
 
 Bech was companion to his daughter Isabel. She was ever 
 held as a dame of good family and descent, though a stranger 
 in these parts. Then she was passing fair, so that both 
 squire and gentleman, as they looked on her, were nigh 
 devoured with love. They say, too, her conditions were 
 gentle and winsome as a child ; and " 
 
 " Good," said De Poininges, who found he was slipping 
 away from the main subject. " But hath not Sir Thomas 
 made some apparent search, since her disappearance from 
 the hall?" 
 
 " Save the mark — she was drowned in the moat. So 
 say the gossips," said the clerk, looking askance. " Her 
 hood and mantle were on the brink, — but her body ! — 
 why it never jumped out again to look for them — that's 
 all." 
 
 " But did no one look for the body?" carelessly en- 
 quired De Poininges. 
 
 " The knight groped diligently in the castle ditch for 
 many days ; but light fishes make light nets, as we say. 
 There was no corpse to be found, and many an Ave-maria 
 has been said for her soul." 
 
 " What cause was then assigned for this fearful deed ? " 
 
 " 'Tis said she was in love, and went mad ! I wot she 
 was ever sighing and rambling about the house, and would 
 seldom venture out alone, looking as though she were in 
 jeopardy, and dreaded some hidden danger." 
 
 " Thinkest thou, friend, that some hidden danger might 
 not be the cause ; and this show of her drowning but a 
 feint or device, that should turn aside the cuiTcnt of tlieir 
 enquiry?" 
 
 The clerk looked anxious and uneasy, sore puzzled, as
 
 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 105 
 
 it might seem, to shape out an answer. At length, find- 
 ing that the question could not be evaded, he proceeded 
 with much hesitation as follows : — 
 
 " Safe as my Lord Cardinal at his prayers, — she is dead 
 though; for I heard her wraith wailing and shrieking up 
 the woods that night as I stood in the priory close. It 
 seemed like, as it were, making its way through the air 
 from Lathom, for the smell of consecration, I reckon." 
 
 " Go on," said De Poininges, whose wits were shrewdly 
 beginning to gather intelligence from these furtive attempts 
 at concealment. 
 
 " Well-a-day," continued the clerk, draining an ample 
 potation. " I've heard strange noises thereabout ; and the 
 big building there, men say, is haunted by the ghost." 
 " Where is the building thou speakest of?" 
 " The large granary beyond the postern, leading from 
 the prior's house towards the mill. I have not passed 
 thereby since St. Mark's vigil, and then it came." Here 
 he looked round, stealing a whisper across the bench — 
 " I heard it: there was a moaning and a singing by turns; 
 but the wind was loud, so that I could scarcely hear, 
 though when I spake of it to old Geoffrey the gardener, 
 he said the prior had laid a ghost, and it was kept there 
 upon prayer and penance for a long season. Now, stranger, 
 thou mayest guess it was no fault of mine, if from this 
 hour I passed the granary after sunset. The ghost and 
 I have ever kept ourselves pretty far apart." 
 " Canst show me this same ghostly dungeon?" 
 
 " Aye, can I, in broad daylight : — but " 
 
 " Peradventure thou canst show me the path, or the 
 clue to it ; and I warrant me the right scent will lie at 
 the end on't."
 
 106 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 
 
 " And pray, good master, wherefore may your curious 
 nose be so mightily set upon this same adventure?" said 
 the clerk, his little red and ferrety eyes peering very 
 provokingly into those of his opposite neighbour. Now 
 De Poininges was not for the moment prepared to satisfy 
 this unexpected enquiry, but his presence of mind did 
 not forsake him. Rightly guessing his friend's character, 
 — a compound in universal esteem, to wit, fool, and knave, 
 — he drew from his pouch a couple of bright ship nobles, 
 then but newly coined, which effectually diverted the 
 prying looks of Thomas le Gierke. 
 
 " Why, look ye," said the latter, as the coin jingled in 
 his bag, " I was ever held in good repute as a guide, and 
 can make my way blindfold over the bogs and mosses 
 hereabout ; and I would pilot thee to the place yonder, 
 if my fealty to the prior — that is — if — I mean, though 
 I was never a groat the richer for his bounty ; yet he may 
 not like strangers to pry into his garners and storehouses, 
 especially in these evil times, when every cur begins to 
 yelp at the heels of our bountiful mother ; and every beast 
 to bray out its reproaches at her great wealth and pos- 
 sessions." 
 
 De Poininges was more and more convinced that his 
 neighbour knew more of the matter than he durst tell ; 
 but it seemed expedient to conceal his suspicions for the 
 present. In the end it was agreed that the cunning clerk 
 should accompany him so far as to point out the situ- 
 ation ; but on no account would he consent to keep 
 watch during the absence of De Poininges. The latter 
 assented to this arrangement, secretly resolving to dictate 
 other terms, where his will should both command and 
 be obeyed.
 
 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 107 
 
 They immediately set out on horseback, followed by 
 the servants, to whom De Poininges had given a private 
 signal. 
 
 The moon had risen. One bright star hung like a 
 " jewel in an Ethiop's ear," in the dark sky above the 
 sun's track, M-hich at this season sweeps like a lucid zone, 
 dividing day from night, round the northern horizon. 
 Such a time of purity and brightness often succeeds the 
 sultry and oppressive languor of the day, especially when 
 refreshed by the passing storm ; the air so clear, that 
 objects press, as it were, upon the eye-balls, affecting the 
 sight as though they were almost palpable to the touch. 
 The dews had not descended, but the leaves were still 
 wet. Big drops glittered in the moonlight, pouring a 
 copious shower on the travellers as they passed. The 
 clerk began a low chant, humming and whistling by turns : 
 this gradually grew more audible, until the full burst of 
 the " Miserere" commenced, richly adorned with his own 
 original quavers. So enamoured was he of his qualifi- 
 cations in this respect, that he was fairly getting through 
 High Mass, when, midway in a ravishing " Benedictus,'' 
 he made a sudden halt. 
 
 "What IS that creeping behind the bushes there?" 
 enquired he, in a sort of half whisper to his companion. 
 De Poininges looked in the direction pointed out, and 
 thought he saw something, dark and mysterious, moving 
 between the boughs, on his left. He stopped, but the 
 object, whatever its nature, had disappeared. 
 
 Sore alarmed was the timid chorister ; but though his 
 melodies had ceased, a plentiful supply of Credos and 
 Paternosters were at hand to supply their place. Cross-
 
 108 THE PKIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 
 
 ing himself with a great show of sanctity, he moved 
 on witli much caution, his deep hoarse voice having sub- 
 sided into a husky and abrupt whisper, often interrupted 
 when objects the most trivial arrested his glance, and 
 aroused his suspicions. 
 
 They arrived without molestion at an inclosure about 
 a mile distant from the priory. Here they alighted, leav- 
 ing the horses to the care of their attendants. Turning 
 the angle made by a low wall, they observed a foot- 
 path, which the clerk pointed out as the shortest and 
 most convenient course to their destination. Soon the 
 east end of the priory chapel was visible, basking in the 
 broad light of the harvest-moon, then riding up full and 
 unclouded towards her zenith. Buttress and oriel were 
 weltering in her beam, and the feathery pinnacles sprung 
 out sharp and clear into the blue sky. The shadows were 
 thro^Ti back in masses deep and unbroken, more huge in 
 proportion to the unknown depths through which the eye 
 could not penetrate. 
 
 " There — again ! — 'Tis a footstep on our track ! " said 
 the clerk, abruptly breaking upon the reverie of his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " 'Tis but the tread of the roused deer ; man's bolder 
 footstep falls not so lightly," was the reply. But this did 
 not quiet the apprehensions of the querist, whose terrors 
 were again stealing upon him. Their path was up a little 
 glen, down which the mill-stream, now released from its 
 daily toil, brawled happily along, as if rejoicing in its 
 freedom. Near the mill, on a point of land formed by an 
 abrupt bend of the stream, stood the storehouse or grange. 
 It was au ample structure, serving at times for purposes
 
 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 109 
 
 not immediately connected with its original design. A 
 small chamber was devoted to the poorer sort of travellers, 
 who craved a night's lodging on their journey. Beneath 
 was a place of confinement, for the refractory vassals and 
 serfs, when labouring under their master's displeasure. 
 It was here the garrulous clerk said he had been scared 
 by the ghost, and his reluctance to proceed evidently in- 
 creased as he drew nearer. He did not fail to point out 
 the spot, but resolutely refused to budge a step farther. 
 
 " We had best return," said he ; "I have told thee 
 what I know of the matter." 
 
 " And what should scare thee so mightily, friend," said 
 De Poininges, "from out the prior's grange? Methinks, 
 these ghosts of thine had a provident eye to their bellies. 
 These haunters to the granary had less objection to the 
 victuals than to a snuff of the wind before cock-crow." 
 
 " I know not," replied Amen, rather doggedly ; " 'tis all 
 I heard, though there be more that live hereout than the 
 prior and his monks, I trow." 
 
 " Thou hast been here oft-times, o'nights ? " carelessly 
 enquired the other. 
 
 " I have, upon some chance occasion it may be, but 
 since that ugly noise got wind, to which my own ears bear 
 testimony, I was not over curious to pass within hearing, 
 though it were only the rogues, some said, that were 
 mulcting the flour sacks." 
 
 " But thou knowest there was a hint dropped a while 
 ago at the hostel, that the maiden, whom thou hast now 
 forgotten, methinks, had some connection with this mar- 
 vellous tale of thine ; and now, it seems, I am to believe 
 'tis but the knaves, or the rats, purloining the prior's corn ! 
 Hark thee, friend," said De Poininges in a stern tone ;
 
 110 THE PRIOR OF CURSCOUGH. 
 
 " no more evasion : no turn or equivocation shall serve 
 thee : out with it, and lead on, or " 
 
 A bright flash from his falchion here revealed the 
 peril that he threatened. 
 
 " Miserere mei — Oh, — Salve et ! " 
 
 " Silence, knave, and pass quickly ; but remember, if I 
 catch thee devising any sleight or shuffle, this sharp point 
 shall quicken thee to thy work. It may prove mighty 
 efficacious, too, as a restorative for a lapsed memory." 
 
 <' I'll tell thee all ! — but — hold that weapon a httle 
 back, I prithee. Nay — nay, thou wouldest not compass 
 a poor man's death in such haste." 
 
 " Lead on, then, but be discreet," said De Poininges 
 softly, at the same time pushing him forward at his 
 sword's point. 
 
 " Here is some help to mine errand, or my craft fails 
 me this bout," 
 
 After many qualms and WTy faces, De Poininges, by 
 piecemeal, acquired the following intelligence : — 
 
 One night, this honest clerk being with a friend on a 
 predatory excursion to the prior's storehouse, they heard 
 a muffled shriek and a sharp scuffle at some distance. 
 Being outside the building, and fearing detection, they 
 ran to hide themselves under a detached shed, used as a 
 depository for fire-wood and stray lumber. Towards this 
 spot, however, the other parties were evidently ap- 
 proaching. Presently, three or four men,> whom they 
 judged to be the prior's servants, came nigh, bearing a 
 female. They entered into the shed, and proceeded to 
 remove a large heap of turf. Underneath seemed to be 
 one of those subterraneous communications generally con- 
 trived as a retreat in times of peril ; at any rate, they
 
 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. Ill 
 
 disappeared through the opening, and the clerk and his 
 worthy associate effected their escape unobserved. 
 
 Fear of detection, and of the terrible retribution that 
 would follow, hitherto kept the secret undivulged. There 
 could be little doubt that this female was Margaret de la 
 Bech ; and her person, whether living or dead, had become 
 a victim to the well known lawless disposition of the prior. 
 
 They were now at the entrance to a low gateway, from 
 which a short path to the left led them directly towards 
 the spot. Entering the shed, they commenced a diligent 
 search ; but the terror and confusion of the clerk had pre- 
 vented such accuracy of observation as could enable him 
 to discover the opening, which they in vain attempted to 
 find, groping their way suspiciously in the dark. 
 
 " Softly, softly ! " said the clerk, listening. A low 
 murmur came from the opposite corner, like the mutter- 
 ing of one holding audible communion with his own spirit. 
 De Poininges listened, too, and he fancied it was a female 
 voice. Presently he heard one of those wild and uncouth 
 ditties, a sort of chant or monotonous song, which, to 
 the terrified psalm-singer, sounded like the death-wail of 
 some unfortunate ghost. 
 
 The following words only became sufficiently distinct: — 
 
 " The sunbeam came on a billow of flame, 
 But its light, like thine, is done : 
 Life's tangled coil, with all its toil, 
 Is broken ere 'tis run. 
 
 " The kite may love the timid dove, 
 The hawk be the raven's guest ; 
 But none shall dare that hawk to scare 
 From his dark and cloud-wreathed nest !
 
 112 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 
 
 " Wail on, ye fond maidens, 
 Deatli lurks in the cloud; 
 Tlie storm and the billow 
 Are weaving a shroud : 
 
 " There's a wail on the wind ; 
 Ere its track on the main 
 A light shall be quench'd, 
 Ne'er to kindle again ! " 
 
 " Surely I have heard that voice aforetime," thought 
 De Poininges. It was too peculiar for him to mistake. 
 The woman had loitered in his path a few hours before. 
 It seemed her brain was somewhat disturbed : a wan- 
 derer and an outcast in consequence, she had here taken 
 shelter oft-times for the night. He determined to accost 
 her ; a feeling of deference prompted him, a superstitious 
 notion, arising from an idea then prevalent, that a superior 
 light was granted to those individuals in whom the light 
 of reason was extinct. He approached with caution, much 
 to the terror and distress of his companion. 
 
 " It is crazy Isabel," said he, " and the dark spirit is 
 upon her ! " But De Poininges was not in a mood to feel 
 scared with this intimation. The way was intricate, and 
 he stumbled over a heap of dried fuel. The noise seemed 
 to arrest her attention for a moment ; but she again com- 
 menced her song, paying little heed to this interruption. 
 On recovering his position, he was about to speak, when, 
 to his great surprize, she thus accosted him : — 
 
 " I have tarried long for thee. Haste — equip for the 
 battle, — and then 
 
 " ' My merry men all, 
 
 Round the greenwood tree, 
 How gallant to ride 
 With a gay ladye.'
 
 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 113 
 
 " I am crazed, belike. Good wot — but I can ride o'er 
 the neck of a proud prior. 
 
 " ' And the moon shone clear 
 In the blue heavens, where 
 The stars twinkle through her veil of light ; — 
 There they gave me a merry shooting star, 
 And I roU'd round the wain with my golden car, 
 But I leap'd on the lightning's flash, beside 
 The queen of this murky night ! ' " 
 
 " Crazed, indeed ! " thought De Poininges. 
 
 " Hush," said she : " I'll tell thee a secret." She drew 
 a light from some concealed recess, and, flashing it full in 
 the face of the intruder, seemed to enjoy the effect won- 
 derfully. — On a sudden, her brow wrinkled, and the dark 
 billows came over her spirit as she exclaimed, 
 
 " But, 
 
 ♦ Thou hast work to do, 
 Or we may rue 
 
 The thieving trade.' 
 
 " Go to — I must be calm. The spirit goeth forth, and 
 I may not wander again. But, my poor head : it burns 
 here — here ! " And she put her hand tenderly on that 
 of De Poininges, raising it to her brow, which throbbed 
 violently. She started back, as from some sudden recol- 
 lection, gazing intently on his countenance. 
 
 " I know it — the vision tarrieth not. Now," she 
 said, — crossing herself with great solemnity, and with 
 apparent composure, as if all trace of her malady had 
 disappeared, — "we must away. Follow; — yet will I first 
 set yon rogue to watch." She sought the terrified man 
 of canticles, and, speaking in a low tone, raised her hand 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114- THK riUOR OF BUR.SCOUGH. 
 
 as though witli some terrible denunciation in case of dis- 
 obedience. Immediately she returned, and, pointing to 
 a heap of loose stuff, began to throw it aside. 
 
 " Here — here ! " 
 
 But De Poininges hesitated, thinking it a somewhat 
 dubious adventure to follow a mad woman, it might be, in 
 quest of her wits. Seeing his unwillingness to proceed, 
 she whispered something in his ear which wrought a 
 marvellous change : — he looked as if petrified with 
 wonder, but he followed now without shrinking. They 
 entered by a narrow door, curiously concealed. On its 
 closing after them, De Poininges and his companion 
 seemed shut out from the world, — as if the link were 
 suddenly broken which bound them to earth and its 
 connections. 
 
 The first sensation was that of chillness and damp, ac- 
 companied by a mouldering vapour, like that from the 
 charnel-house or the grave. Their way was down a 
 winding and broken staircase ; at the bottom a straight 
 passage led them on to a considerable distance. Damps 
 oozing from the walls made the path more and more 
 tiresome and slippery as they proceeded. Shortly it 
 became channelled with slime, and absolutely loathsome. 
 The bloated reptile crawled across their path; and De 
 Poininges beheld stone coffins piled on each side of the 
 vault. Passing these, another flight of steps brought 
 them to a low archway, at the extremity of which a 
 grated door, now unbarred, led into a cell seemingly 
 contrived as a place of punishment for the refractory or 
 sinning brethren, who might be doomed to darkness and 
 solitude as an expiation of their offence. The only
 
 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 115 
 
 furniture it contained was a wretched pallet, on which, 
 as the light flashed doubtfully, De Poininges thought he 
 beheld a female. He snatched the light, and eagerly bent 
 over the couch. With a shout of joy he exclaimed : — 
 
 " Be praised, ye saints, 'tis she !" 
 
 It was the wasted and squalid form of Margaret De la 
 Bech. She raised her eyes towards him, but they were 
 vacant and wandering. It was soon evident that her 
 reason was impaired, and the spirit still inhabiting that 
 lovely tenement was irrevocably obscured. Cruel had 
 been her sufferings. Crimes too foul to name — but we 
 draw a veil over the harrowing recital ! When the last 
 horrible act was consummated the light of her soul was 
 put out, and her consciousness extinguished. 
 
 To meet thus ! — A living inhumation, where the body 
 exists but as the spirit's sepulchre ! It were better they 
 had been consigned to oblivion, shut up and perishing in the 
 dark womb of the grave. The cry of vengeance had gone 
 up, — but was offered in vain for a season. The present 
 period of existence was not allotted for its fulfilment. It 
 was permitted to this monster that he should yet triumph 
 unpunished — his measure of iniquity was not yet full. 
 
 The limbs of the unconscious sufferer were pinioned : — 
 the fiend-like mercy of her tormentors prevented her own 
 hands from becoming the instruments of her release. De 
 Poininges restored her to freedom ; but, alas ! she knew it 
 not. The thick veil, which Heaven's mercy drew upon 
 her spirit, rendered her insensible to outward impressions. 
 He raised her in his arms, bearing her forth from that 
 loathed scene of darkness and disgrace ; and when the pure 
 breath of the skies once more blew upon her, it seemed 
 as though it awakened up a faint glimmer in the dying 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH. 
 
 lamp. She looked round with eagerness, and De Poininges 
 thought some ray of intelligence began to brighten, as 
 objects again appeared to develope their hidden trains of 
 association on the memory ; but the light was mercifully 
 extinguished ere she could discover the fearful realities of 
 her despair, and she again relapsed into hopeless and 
 utter inanity. 
 
 They were still loitering in the little shed, the clerk 
 groaning out a sad and mournful chant. De Poininges 
 appeared unable to arouse himself to the exigencies of the 
 moment, when Isabel, wildly waving her torch towards the 
 entrance, cried : — 
 
 " To horse — to horse ! They will be here presently. 
 Already has the raven snuflPed your carcass. 
 
 " ' But the bolt whistled through 
 The heavens blue, 
 And Sir Lionel lay on the battle-field.' " 
 
 She seemed to hearken, as though in apprehension of 
 approaching footsteps. De Poininges, roused from this 
 dangerous stupor, prepared to escape ere the prior's 
 emissaries had intelligence of her removal. 
 
 They had passed the rivulet in safety, and had just 
 gained the wood near to where the attendants lay in wait 
 with the horses, when an arrow whizzed past De Poininges. 
 For him the shaft was intended, but its destiny was other- 
 wise — the unfortunate chanter lay stretched on the 
 ground in his last agony. De Poininges flew on with 
 redoubled speed. 
 
 " Treachery ! " he cried. His men knew the signal, 
 and gallopped towards him ; but their aid was too late. A 
 shack-bolt, aimed with a sure hand, pierced him at this 
 moment.
 
 THE PIUOR OF BURSCOUGH. 117 
 
 " Take her — Margaret de la Bech ! — The prior — a 
 murderer — ravisher ! Fly to " 
 
 The remaining words fell unuttered. His faithful at- 
 tendants bore off the lifeless body, together with the 
 hapless Margaret, who was soon placed in safety, far 
 from the relentless fangs of the Prior of Burscough. 
 
 Fearful and undeniable was the testimony and accusa- 
 tion they brought — but in vain. No effort was spared to 
 bring upon this monster the just recompense of his crime; 
 yet, from the great scandal which a public execution must 
 have drawn upon the church, but more especially from 
 the great influence he possessed amongst the nobles and 
 chief dignitaries of the land, not only did he escape un- 
 punished, but he received the King's most gracious pardon, 
 in the twenty-first year of Edward the Third : so true are 
 the following words from an historian of that reign : — 
 
 " These men had so entrenched themselves in privi- 
 leges and immunities, and so openly challenged an ex- 
 emption from all secular jurisdiction, that no civil penalty 
 could be inflicted on them for any malversation in office, 
 and even treason itself was declared to be no canonical 
 offence." 
 
 I 3
 
 THE 
 
 EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 I 4
 
 " She's over the muir, 
 
 An' over the border, 
 An' ower the blue hills far awa' : 
 
 With her callant, I trow, — 
 
 On liis saddle-bow, 
 While the mist- wreaths around them fa'."
 
 THE 
 
 EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 The main facts of the following narrative, lying scattered 
 through a wide field of barren enquiry, the author has 
 been at considerable pains to collect and arrange in a 
 continuous narrative. 
 
 Little needs be said by way of introduction, the tradi- 
 tions here interwoven with the general history being 
 mostly of a trivial nature, and not at all interfering with 
 the facts developed by the historians and rhymers who 
 have illustrated the annals of the house of Stanley. These 
 accounts, exaggerated and distorted as they inevitably 
 must have been, may yet, in the absence of more au- 
 thentic testimony, afford a pretty accurate glimpse at 
 the real nature of those events, however they may have 
 been disguised by fiction and mis-statement. Where tradi- 
 tion is our only guide, we must follow implicitly, satisfied 
 that her taper was lighted at the torch of Truth, though 
 it may gleam doubtfully and partially through the mists 
 and errors of succeeding ages. 
 
 One source from whence we have derived some inform- 
 ation, though well known to the comparative few who have 
 explored these bye-paths of history, may not be thought
 
 122 THE KAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 uninteresting to the general reader, especially as it is con- 
 nected with the most eventful portion of our narrative. 
 
 An ancient metrical account of the Stanleys, Earls of 
 Derby, is contained in some uncouth rhymes, written about 
 the year 1562, by Thomas Stanley, Bishop of Sodor and 
 Man *, and son of that Sir Edward Stanley, who, for his 
 valour at Flodden, was created Lord Monteagle. There 
 are two copies of these verses in the British Museum : — 
 one amongst Cole's papers (vol. xxix. page 104.), and the 
 other in the Harleian MSS. (541.) Mr. Cole prefaces his 
 transcript with the following notice : — " The History of 
 the family of Stanley, Earls of Derby, wrote in verse about 
 the reign of King Henry the Eighth from a MS. now in 
 possession of Lady Margaret Stanley, copied for me by a 
 person who has made many mistakes, and sent to me by 
 my friend Mr. Allen, rector of Tarporley, in 1758. — 
 W. Cole." 
 
 The MS. formerly belonged to Sir John Crewe of 
 Utkinton, and was given by Mr. Ardern, in 1757, to Lady 
 Margaret Stanley. 
 
 * " Thomas Stanley, Bishop of Man, was a cadet of the noble 
 family of the Stanleys, Earls of Derby ; and, after he had spent some 
 time in this and another university abroad, returned to his native 
 country, Lancashire, became rector of Win-wick and Wigan therein ; 
 as also of Badsworth, in the diocese of York, and dignified in tlie 
 church. At length, upon the vacancy of the see of the Isle of Man, 
 he was made bishop thereof, but when, I cannot justly say ; because he 
 seems to have been bishop in the beginning of King Edward VI., and 
 was really bishop of that place before the death of Dr. Man, whom I 
 have before mentioned under the year 1556. This Thomas Stanley 
 paid his last debt to nature in the latter end of 1570, having had the 
 character, when young, of a tolerable poet of his time." — Wood's 
 AlhencB Oxonicnses.
 
 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 123 
 
 The commencement of this metrical history is occupied 
 in dilating upon the pleasure resulting from such an 
 undertaking ; and although the flow of the verse is not 
 of remarkable smoothness, yet it hardly furnishes an 
 apology for Seacome's mistake, who, in his " History of 
 the House of Stanley," printed the first fifty lines as 
 prose. The reverend versifier rehearses how Stanley 
 sprang from Audley, and then shows the manner in which 
 his ancestors became possessors of Stourton and Hooton. 
 He dwells upon the joust betwixt the Admiral of Hainault 
 and Sir John Stanley, the second brother of the house of 
 Stanley of Hooton.* Then follows the account more 
 particularly developed in our own story of the adventures 
 and moving accidents which have been liberally used to 
 adorn the " Garland" of his descendant William Earl of 
 Derby. " For many generations this was the recognised 
 chronicle of the family, until, in the time of James the 
 First, a clergyman of Chester translated the rhymes of the 
 Bishop into English, carefully retaining the mistakes of 
 the original, and adding long and dull disquisitions of his 
 own." 
 
 * This extract is from an interesting pamphlet, printed for private 
 circulation only, by Thomas Heywood, Esq. of Manchester, entitled 
 " The Earls of Derby, and the Verse Writers and Poets of the 1 6th 
 and 17th Centuries. 1825."
 
 THE 
 
 EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 In the days of our valiant King Edward, while the fame 
 of Cressy and Poictiers was fresh and stirring in all true 
 and loyal hearts, while the monarchs of two powerful 
 kingdoms were held captive in these realms, lived a 
 worthy knight, of whom we had a brief notice in the 
 preceding narrative. Sir Thomas Lathom, of Lathom, 
 was a nobleman of great wealth and possessions. Ac- 
 cording to the Calendarium Rotulorum from the Charter 
 Rolls in the Tower, he held lands, besides, in Knouselegh, 
 Childewall, Roby, and Aulusargh. In Liverpool, he was 
 proprietor of the Tower, a structure of but little note 
 until rebuilt and fortified by Sir John Stanley during his
 
 126 THE EAGLE ANU CHILD. 
 
 government in Ireland, of which we shall have more to 
 say anon. 
 
 Sir Thomas married, in the year 1343, the youngest 
 daughter of Sir Hamon Massey, of Dunham Massey, in 
 the adjoining county of Chester. Twelve years had since 
 that period elapsed at the time when our story begins ; 
 and, though earnestly desiring male issue, that his name 
 and race might be perpetuated, yet was the sole fruit of 
 their union, hitherto, a daughter, named Isabel, then just 
 entering on her tenth year. Her winning and surpassing 
 comeliness proved no solace to his disappointment. He 
 grew moodish and melancholy in the midst of his vast 
 wealth ; apprehending the utter extinction of his name, 
 and the intrusion of a stranger on his birthright. Hope- 
 less of other issue by his own lady, he had recourse to 
 unlawful means for this purpose, which procured for him 
 a sore chastisement, in the end, as our narrative will 
 show. 
 
 In that neighbourhood dwelt a comely maiden, the only 
 daughter of a substantial yeoman, of the name of Oskatell. 
 This damsel, pleasing the amorous fancy of Sir Thomas, 
 fell an easy prey to his arts and persuasions. Though 
 concealed from her friends, their too frequent intercourse 
 at length became visible in the birth of a son, greatly to 
 the joy of the father, who meditated nothing less than 
 to adopt this illegitimate babe for the perpetuation of 
 his name. Yet were there preliminaries of no mean 
 importance to be adjusted, as all men who have wives 
 may well conceive. The lady of Lathom must first be 
 consulted ; but probabilities were strongly against the 
 supposition that she would tamely submit to this infringe- 
 ment on the rights of her child by the interposition of a
 
 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 127 
 
 bastard. Nay, she had beforetime hinted that some in- 
 dividual of the name, of moderate wealth and good breed- 
 ing, might in time be found for a suitable alliance. Still 
 the success of his scheme was an object that lay deeply 
 at his heart, and he grew more and more anxious and 
 perplexed. One evening as he wandered out discon- 
 solately in the company of an old and trusty servant, 
 to whom he had imparted the secret, they came to a 
 desert place in the park, nigh to where a pair of eagles 
 had from time immemorial built their nests. A project 
 struck him, which promised fair to realise his wishes. 
 After a multitude of schemes subservient to the main 
 purpose had been thrown out and abandoned, the whole 
 plot was finally unfolded in the following manner : — 
 
 A message was conveyed to the mother overnight, that 
 betimes on the following morning the babe, richly clad, 
 should be held in readiness, and a trusty servant would 
 forthwith convey him to the hall. She was peremptorily 
 forbidden to follow ; and in her great joy at this announce- 
 ment, naturally supposing that a more favourable posture 
 of affairs had arisen between Sir Thomas and his lady on 
 the subject, she cheerfully consented to this unexpected 
 deprivation, confident that it was to the furthering of her 
 child's welfare and advancement. The infant, smiling, and 
 unconscious of the change, was taken from his mother's 
 lap, his swaddling-clothes carefully folded together, and 
 committed to the care of the aged domestic. 
 
 Little was the anxious mother aware of the great peril 
 he had to undergo, ere the goal which bounded her 
 anticipations was won. 
 
 It was the soft twilight of a summer's morning, and the 
 little birds had begun to chirp their matins, and the lark
 
 128 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 to brush the dew from her speckled breast, waiting for the 
 first gaze of the sun. The old man pressed the infant 
 closer to his bosom as he drew nigh to the steep acchvity, 
 the solitary dwelling of the eagle. He kissed the babe ; 
 then looking round, fearful of intruders, he laid the 
 wicker cradle at the foot of the precipice, and sprung into 
 a dark thicket, close by, as if to watch for the descent of 
 the rapacious bird. 
 
 Leaving the child, we turn to Sir Thomas, who on that 
 morning, as was his wont, together with his dame, awoke 
 betimes, but he was sooner a-stir, and more anxious and 
 bustling than usual. Their custom was, awaking with the 
 sun, to begin the day with a quiet stroll about the grounds ; 
 and on this eventful morning their walk chanced happily 
 towards the eagle's nest. Being something farther, and 
 more out of their common track, it was noticed good- 
 humouredly by the lady, who seemed to possess a more 
 than ordinary portion of hilarity on the occasion. Evi- 
 dently under some exciting influence, their walk was un- 
 consciously protracted. 
 
 In a gloomy dell, not far from the eyrie. Sir Thomas 
 stood still, in the attitude of listening. The lady, too, 
 was silent and alarmed, but no intimation of danger 
 was visible. Her own senses, though, seemed to gather 
 acuteness, — a circumstance by no means rare in the vici- 
 nity of an unusually timid and listening companion, 
 who braces our perceptions to the tension of his own. 
 Soon, however, the short and feeble cry of the babe was 
 heard, when the knight sprung forward, feigning great 
 astonishment at the discovery. Evidently dropped from 
 the talons of the bird, it was looked upon as a special 
 gift of Providence, a deposit direct from the skies ; to
 
 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 129 
 
 have rejected which, would have been a heinous of- 
 fence, and an awful contravention of the designs of 
 the Giver. Accordingly, the infant was taken home 
 and carefully nursed, being baptized by the name of 
 Oskatell. 
 
 The good lady became surprisingly enamoured of the 
 little foundling, believing his adoption was dictated by 
 the will of Heaven ; and to this decision its father readily 
 acceded. Sir Thomas, to give the greater sanction to 
 this supposed miracle, as well as to remove all suspicion 
 of fraud from the prying eyes of a censorious world, 
 assumed for his crest an eagle on the wing, proper, look- 
 ing round as though for something she had lost. 
 
 The child grew in years and stature, being liberally 
 furnished in all things according with the dignity he was 
 destined to receive. Sir Thomas purposed the sharing of 
 his wealth equally between his children, a measure which 
 had the entire concurrence of Lady de Lathom. Though 
 younger by some years, Oskatell was generally considered 
 by the world as the future husband of Isabella ; but Sir 
 Thomas, aware of danger on this head, early impressed 
 them with some notion of consanguinity, and intimated 
 the impossibility of their union. This prohibition, settling 
 on a womanish fancy, might naturally have been ex- 
 pected to operate in a manner the reverse of his intention. 
 Yet we do not find, from history, that Isabella ever 
 cherished for him any other sentiments than those arising 
 from a sisterly regard. 
 
 Growing up to man's estate, he sought the court of 
 King Edward, where, though of a peaceable temper, his 
 soul was stirred to participate in the gallant feats incident 
 to that scene of martial enterprise.
 
 130 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 Isabella was now in the full summer, or, it might be, 
 ripening into the rich autumn of her beauty. Her father 
 would by no means have permitted her union save with one 
 of the highest rank, to which her gentle blood and princely 
 inheritance entitled her. And though not a few, hitherto, 
 of noble birth and endowments, had sought the honour of 
 her alliance, yet her heart was untouched, and, in the 
 end, her suitors forebore their homage. 
 
 All the country was now mightily roused with the 
 news of the French champion, who, together with sundry 
 of his companions in arms, had challenged the English 
 nation to match them with the like number at a solemn 
 joust and tourney, and of the great gallantry and personal 
 accomplishments of Sir John, then Captain Stanley, who 
 had first taken up the gauntlet in his country's behalf. The 
 lists were prepared. The meeting, by the king's com- 
 mand, was appointed to be holden at Winchester, where 
 the royal court was expected to witness this splendid 
 achievement. Oskatell, returning home, strongly impor- 
 tuned his sister to accompany him to the show, it being 
 then deemed a pleasant recreation for many a fair and 
 delicate maiden to view their champions hack and hew 
 each other without mercy. Isabella, unceasingly urged to 
 this excursion, at length set out for the city of Winchester, 
 followed by a numerous train of attendants, where, in due 
 time, they arrived, mingling in the bustle and dissipation 
 incident to these festivities. 
 
 Young Stanley was the second son of Sir William Stan- 
 ley, Lord of Stanley and Stourton. As a younger branch 
 of the house, he commenced his career, it is said, under 
 the command of his relative Lord Audley ; but this ap- 
 pears something doubtful. The battle of Poictiers, in
 
 THE EAGLE AND CHILD, 131 
 
 which Captain Stanley is said to have been, was fought in 
 1357; and here he must have battled in petticoats, seeing 
 that his father was but married 26 Edward III., and, conse- 
 quently, making due allowance for accidents and irregula- 
 rities, young Stanley, as the second son, could not then 
 have proceeded beyond his third year ! a precocity un- 
 precedented, we believe, even in the annals of that fighting 
 era. The conflicting statements we meet with about this 
 time, both traditionary and recorded, we cannot attempt 
 to reconcile. Sufficient information happily exists, how- 
 ever, on which no doubt arises ; and, by the aid of that, 
 we proceed with our narrative. 
 
 Stanley, according to some, having been a great tra- 
 veller, had improved himself diligently in the art of war ; 
 and, as theold chronicles quaintly relate, — " he visited most 
 of the courts of Europe, even as far as Constantinople, 
 wherein he made such advances in the school of Mars, 
 that his superior skill in arms was generally applauded in 
 every country he passed through." So distinguished and 
 widely extended a reputation for bravery could not fail to 
 provoke the pride and envy of all Christendom, whereupon 
 the young Admiral of Hainault, one of the bravest men 
 of his time, together with divers gentlemen of the French 
 court, defied the whole kingdom to a passage of arms, the 
 result of which challenge has been shown. 
 
 Great was the confluence and resort to the city of 
 Winchester, it being noised abroad as though the King 
 would distinguish the affray by his presence ; wondrous the 
 stir and bustle of the soldiers, guards, and attendants, with 
 hordes of idlers and hangers on, from the vast array of 
 knights and nobles, who came either to see or to share in 
 the approaching trial. The splendid banners, the heraldic 
 K 2
 
 132 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 pomp and barbaric grandeur of their retinues, augmenting 
 with every fresh arrival, made the streets one ever-moving 
 pageant for many days before the conflict began. Isabella 
 had full leisure to observe, from her own lattice, the gay 
 and costly garniture, and the glittering appointments of 
 the warriors, with the pageants and puerile diversions 
 suited to the taste and capacity of the ignorant crowds by 
 which they were followed. The King's mummers were 
 arrived, together with many other marvels in the shape of 
 puppet-shows and "motions" enacting the "old vice;" 
 Jonas and the Whale, Nineveh, the Creation, and a thou- 
 sand unintelligible but equally gratifying and instructive 
 devices ; one of which, we are told, was " four giants, a 
 unicorn, a camel, an ass, a dragon, a hobby-horse, and 
 sixteen naked boys ! " 
 
 The crowds, attracted by these spectacles, were im- 
 mense, and the city nigh choked with the torrents that set 
 in from every quarter. 
 
 From the windows of the houses, where lodged the 
 knights appointed to the encounter, hung their several 
 coats, richly emblazoned, rousing forth many a shout and 
 hurrah, as one and another symbol was recognised to be 
 the badge of some favourite chief: but more than all, was 
 the young Stanley's escutcheon favoured by the fickle 
 breath of popular opinion, which made it needful that a 
 double guard should be mounted near his dwelling, — a 
 precaution, moreover, rendered needful by the many 
 tumults among the different partisans and retainers, not 
 always ending without bloodshed. The arrival of the 
 King, however, soon changed the current of the wonder- 
 ing multitude. Edward was now in his sixty-fourth year, 
 and the fiftieth of his reign. Though the decline of his
 
 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 133 
 
 life did not correspond with the splendid and noisy scenes 
 which had illustrated the earlier periods of his history, 
 yet he still manifested the same i*estless and undaunted 
 spirit, ever considered as the prevailing attribute of his 
 character. Towards the close of his career, he had the 
 mortification to endure the loss of his foreign possessions, 
 having been baffled in every attempt to defend them. He 
 felt, too, the decay of his authority at home, from the in- 
 constancy and discontents of his subjects. Though his 
 earlier years had been spent amid the din and tumult of 
 war, and the business of the camp, yet was he, at this 
 period, almost wholly given up to pleasure and the grossest 
 of sensual indulgences. Alice Pierce, to whom he w-as im- 
 moderately attached, had gained an ascendancy over him, 
 so dangerous, that the parliament remonstrated, with a 
 courage and firmness worthy of a more enlightened era ; 
 and, in the end, he was obliged to remove her from court. 
 Sometimes, the spirit of his youth awoke ; the glory of 
 past ages was stirred up within him ; and, like the aged 
 warhorse neighing to the shrill note of the trumpet, he 
 greeted the approaching tournament with something of 
 his wonted ardour, — though now but an expiring flash, 
 brightening a moment ere it was extinguished. 
 
 The day rose, calm and unclouded. The thin haze of 
 the morning had disappeared, and an atmosphere of more 
 than common brilliancy succeeded. Through a great part 
 of the preceding night, the armourers had been busily 
 employed, altering and refitting the equipments, and the 
 dawn had already commenced ere their labours were sus- 
 pended. The lists were carefully scrutinised, and all 
 chance of foul play averted. The priests, too, had blessed 
 K 3
 
 lL5t THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 the armour and weapons from magic spells and " foul 
 negromancie." 
 
 Tlie barriers were built of stout boards, firmly riveted 
 together; the royal pavilion being on the southern side, 
 richly canopied, and embroidered with costly devices. 
 Galleries were provided for the nobles, not a few of whom, 
 with their courtly dames, were expected to be present. 
 
 The lists were sixty paces in length and forty in 
 breadth, between the platforms on which the knights' 
 tents were erected. The ground within was made hard 
 and level, the loose stones and other impediments being 
 carefully removed. There were two entrances, east and 
 west, well guarded and strongly fenced with wooden bars 
 about seven feet high, so that a horse might not leap over. 
 The tents of the warriors were fancifully decorated, every 
 one having his shield newly emblazoned and hung out in 
 front, where the pages and esquires watched, guarding 
 vigilantly these sacred treasures. Nothing was heard but 
 the hoarse call of the trumpet, the clank of mail, and the 
 prancing of horses, pawing and eager for the battle. 
 
 Long before the appointed hour, the whole city was 
 in motion. Isabella, too, whose bright eyes had not closed 
 since the first gleam had visited her chamber, was early 
 astir. An ugly dream, it is said, troubled her. Though of 
 ripe years, yet, as we have noticed before, love had not yet 
 aimed his malicious shafts at her bosom, nor even tight- 
 ened his bowstring as she tripped by, defying his power ; 
 so that the dream, which in others would appear but as the 
 overflowing of a youthful and ardent imagination, seemed 
 to her altogether novel and unaccountable, raising up new 
 faculties, and endowing her with a train of feelings hereto- 
 fore unknown. No wonder that her looks were betrayers :
 
 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 135 
 
 her whole deportment manifested some hidden power con- 
 trolling her high spirit, insomuch that her favourite maiden 
 was fain to abate her morning gossip ; yet Isabella was 
 not averse to speech, though the words seemed to linger 
 heavily on her tongue, losing that lightness and exub- 
 erance which betokens the mind free from care and 
 oppression. 
 
 She had dreamed, that in her own wild woods a knight 
 accosted her : she attempted to fly, but was withheld by 
 some secret influence. He raised his visoi", smiling as he 
 bent his knee in token of homage. He was a stranger. 
 Grasping her hand, she felt the cold hard pressure of his 
 gauntlet. She awoke, — and sure enough there was the 
 impression, as of some mailed hand, upon her delicate 
 fingers ! While marvelling at this strange adventure, a 
 deep slumber again overpowered her, when a graceful 
 cavalier, unarmed, was at her side. He raised her hand 
 to his lips, and her whole soul responded to the touch. 
 He was about to speak, when her father suddenly ap- 
 peared, with a dark and forbidding aspect. He began to 
 chide, and the stranger, with a glance she could not erase 
 from her recollection, disappeared. It was this glance 
 which subdued her proud spirit to its influence. Her 
 maidenly apprehensions became aroused; she attempted, 
 but in vain, to drive away the intruder : the vision haunted 
 her deeply — too deeply for her repose ! Marks of some 
 outward impression were yet visible on her hand, whether 
 from causes less occult than the moving phantasma of 
 the mind, is a question that would resist all our powers 
 of solution. In a mood thus admirably fitted for the 
 encountering of some marvellous adventure, did she mount 
 K 4
 
 136 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 her little white palfrey, all pranked out and caparisoned 
 for the occasion. 
 
 Followed by a train of some length, with Oskatell by 
 her side, the daughter of the house of Lathom allured 
 the eyes of not a few as she passed on. Many a stately 
 knight bent his head, and many an enquiry was directed 
 to the esquires and attendants, as she drew near. 
 
 The scene of this renowned combat was a spacious 
 plain below the city, on the opposite side of the river 
 Itchen. The chalky cliffs, which obtained for it the name 
 of Caer Gwint, or the White City, were studded with gay 
 and anxious multitudes, whose hopes and fears have long 
 been swept off by the waves of passing generations. 
 
 Winchester being one of the fixed markets or staples 
 for wool, appointed by King Edward, the city had risen in 
 power and affluence above its neighbours. Yet the plague, 
 by which it was almost depopulated some years before, 
 had considerably abated its magnificence. But the favour 
 of royalty still clung to it, and Arthur's " Round Table " 
 attested its early claims to this distinguishing character, — 
 a monarch's residence. The castle, where the Round 
 Table is still shown, was then a building of great strength, 
 and, enlivened by the king's presence, displayed many a 
 staff and pennon from its stately battlements. 
 
 Isabella passed by the fortress just as the trumpets 
 announced the near approach of the king down the 
 covered way. The chains of the draw -bridge were lowered, 
 and presently issued forth the armed retinue of the mo- 
 narch. Isabella and her train were obliged to remain a 
 Avhile as idle spectators. 
 
 The king, though old and infirm, yet retained his lofty
 
 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 137 
 
 and commanding appearance. His charger was armed 
 with the chanfrons and gamboised housings, having 
 thereon the royal arms, and proudly did the conscious 
 beast paw and champ, as if rejoicing under his burden. 
 
 Edward was dressed in a glittering surcoat of crimson 
 silk, worked with lions and Jleurs-de-lis. His helmet was 
 cylindrical, surmounted by a lion as its crest. Round the 
 rim was a coronet of gold, worked with Jleurs-de-lis and 
 oak leaves. A gorget and tippet covering the shoulders 
 was fastened beneath the chin, giving the head a stiff, but 
 imposing air of command. He carried a short truncheon, 
 which he wielded with great dexterity, yet his armour, 
 though light, and of the finest temper, seemed more 
 cumbersome to him now than in former days. 
 
 The royal standard of England, thus described, was 
 borne before him : — It was from eight to nine yards in 
 length, the ground blue and red, containing, in the first 
 division, the lion of England imperially crowned. In chief, 
 a coronet of crosses pater and Jleurs-de-lis, between two 
 clouds irradiated. In base, a cloud between two coronets. 
 In the next division the charges were, in chief a coronet, 
 in base an irradiated cloud. In the third, the dexter chief 
 and sinister base was likewise an irradiated cloud; the 
 sinister and dexter chief a coronet, as before. Motto, 
 " Dieu et mon droyt." The whole of this procession was 
 one vast masquerade of pomp, little betokening the fi-ailty 
 and folly which it enveloped. Though, to all outward 
 show, fair and glistering, yet was there a heavy gloom 
 brooding over the nation. Prince Edward, the flower of 
 chivalry, usually called the Black Prince, from the colour 
 of his armour, lay then grievously sick, — and the whole 
 hope and welfare of the land seemed to hang on his re-
 
 138 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 covery. The known ambition of John of Gaunt was a 
 main source of alarm and anxiety. " Edward had, how- 
 ever," says tlie historian, " dechired his grandson heir and 
 successor to the crown, and thereby cut off all the hopes 
 of the Duke of Lancaster, if he ever had the temerity to 
 entertain any." 
 
 Not forgetting his former homage to the sex, the king's 
 eye lingered on the form of Isabella, but she drew back, 
 daunted by the ardour of his gaze. Oskatell saw the im- 
 pression she had made, in nowise displeased, hoping some 
 ray of royal favour would be reflected to him from the 
 beam that already dawned on his companion. 
 
 We now pass on to the field, where every thing was 
 in readiness for the combat. The knights had heard mass 
 and made confession, these being the requisite prepar- 
 atives to the noble deeds they had that day vowed to 
 perform. The heralds had made the usual proclamation 
 against the use of magic, unlawful charms, and other like 
 devices of the devil, when a loud flourish of trumpets 
 announced the approach of Stanley, who first entered the 
 lists, mounted on a grey charger furnished with the 
 chevron, or war-saddle, then of great use in withstanding 
 the terrific shock of the assailant, being high up in front, 
 and furnished at the back like an arm-chair. He was 
 equipped in a full suit of Italian armour, displaying a steel 
 cuirass of exquisite workmanship, deemed at that time a 
 novel, but elegant, style of defence, and destined soon to 
 supersede the purpoint or gamboised work called mail. 
 If well tempered, it was found to resist the stroke of the 
 lance without being either pierced or bent, nor was it liable 
 to be pushed through into the body, as was sometimes the 
 case with the " mailles " when the wambas or hoketon was
 
 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 139 
 
 wanting underneath. His shield was thus marshalled : — 
 Argent; on a bend azure, three stags' heads cabossed. 
 In the sinister chief, a crescent denoted his filiation ; 
 underneath was the motto " Augmenter." The shield 
 itself or pavise was large, made of wood covered with skin, 
 and surrounded with a broad rim of iron. 
 
 He looked gracefully round, first lowering his lance in 
 front of the king's pavilion, and afterwards to the fair 
 dames who crowded the galleries on each side. Wliether 
 from accident or design, his eyes rested on Isabella with 
 a strong expression of earnestness rather than curiosity. 
 Doubtless, the noble representatives of the house of 
 Lathom excited no slight interest amongst the spectators, 
 and the young hero might have formed some yet unde- 
 veloped anticipations on this head. 
 
 She blushed deeply at this public and unexpected 
 notice. The recollection of her dream made the full tide 
 of feeling set in at once in this direction, much to her 
 consternation and dismay ; but when happening to turn 
 hastily round, a silken bandage, loosened by the sudden 
 movement from some part of her dress, was carried off by 
 the wind and deposited within the lists ; she was greatly 
 embarrassed ; and her confusion was not a little increased, 
 as the young gallant with great dexterity transferred it to 
 the point of his lance. At this choice of his " Lady 
 love," a loud shout arose from the multitude ; and Isabella, 
 now the object of universal regard, would have retired, but 
 that the density of the crowd, and the inconvenient struc- 
 ture of the building, rendered it impossible. 
 
 Another flourish of trumpets announced the approach 
 of the young Admiral of Hainault. His armour was blue 
 and white, beautifully wrought and inlaid with silver. His
 
 1 to THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 steed was black, having the suit and furniture of the war- 
 horse complete. The croupiere and estival, together with 
 the chanfron, were of the most costly description. A 
 plume of white feathers decorated his casque, extending 
 his athletic form into almost gigantic proportions. 
 
 The needful ceremonies were gone through ; a deep 
 and almost breathless silence succeeded, like the stillness 
 that precedes the first swing of the storm. The trumpets 
 sounded ; the sharp click of the lances was heard falling 
 into the rest ; and the first rush was over. The noise of 
 the shock was like the burst of the tempest on the forest 
 boughs. Through the dust, the horses were seen to recoil 
 upon their haunches ; but as it blew heavily away, the war- 
 riors had regained their upright position, having sustained 
 no injury, save by the shivering of their lances with the 
 stroke. A loud shout of applause ensued ; and the 
 esquires being at hand with fresh weapons, each knight 
 was too eager for the fray to lose a moment in requesting 
 the usual signal. Again their coursers' feet seemed to 
 spurn the earth. At this onset, the French knight bent 
 back in his saddle, whether from subtilty or accident was 
 not known, but there was a loud clamour ; and the French- 
 man, recovering himself, spurred on his steed with great 
 vigour, perhaps hoping to take his adversary at unawares; 
 but the latter, darting aside with agility, the other's lance 
 ran full against the boards, and in deep vexation he came 
 back to the charge. 
 
 Trembling with choler, he hardly restrained himself until 
 the prescribed signal ; then, as if he would make an end 
 of his opponent, he aimed his weapon with a direct thrust 
 towards the heart ; but Stanley, confident in his own might, 
 was fully prepared for the blow, as the event sufficiently
 
 THE EAGLE AND CHILD, 141 
 
 proved ; for the French knight was seen to reel from his 
 saddle, the point of his enemy's lance being driven com- 
 pletely through his armour. He rolled backwards on the 
 ground, and so vigorous had been the attack, that his 
 horse's back was broken, and they lay together, groaning 
 piteously, besmeared with blood and dust, to the sore 
 dismay of his companions. Stanley suddenly alighted, 
 and helped the pages to undo his armour ; but ere his 
 beaver could be unclasped, he had fainted by loss of 
 blood ; and being borne off the field, he shortly afterwards 
 expired. 
 
 The king was mightily pleased with this great prowess 
 of the victor, insomuch, that he knighted him on the spot ; 
 and, according to the old ballad, gave him goodly manors 
 
 " For his hire, 
 Wing, Triiig, and Iving, in Buckinghamshire." 
 
 He had so won, likewise, on the hitherto impenetrable 
 disposition of Isabella, that when he came to render his 
 homage at her feet, she trembled, and could scarcely 
 give the customary reply. 
 
 Raising his visor, and uncovering his helmet from the 
 grand guard, a plate protecting the left side of the face, 
 shoulder, and breast, he made a lowly obeisance at the 
 gate of his mistress's pavilion, at the same time presenting 
 the stolen favour he had now so nobly won. With a 
 tremulous hand she bound it round his arm. 
 
 " Nay, thy chaplet, lady, " shouted a score of tongues 
 from the inquisitive spectators. Isabella untied a rich 
 chaplet of goldsmith's work, ornamented with rose-gar- 
 lands, from her hair, and threw it over his helmet. Still 
 armed with the gauntlets, which either through hurry or
 
 142 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 inadvertence, he had neglected to throw aside, as was the 
 general courtesy for the occasion, the knight seized her 
 hand, and with a grasp, gentle for any other occasion, 
 pressed it to his lips. The lady uttered a subdued shriek, 
 whether from pain or surprise, it boots not now to en- 
 quire ; mayhap, it was the remembrance of the mailed 
 hand she had felt in her dream, and to which her fingers, 
 yet tingling with the pressure, bore a sufficient testimony. 
 Sir John bent lowlier than before, with one hand on his 
 breast, in token of contrition. A thousand strange fancies, 
 shapeless and undefined, rushed by, as the maiden looked 
 on the warrior. It was the very crisis of her dream ; 
 her heart seemed as though it would have leapt the walls 
 of its tenement, — and she was fain to hide her face 
 under the folds of her mantle. 
 
 " Now on my halidome," said the king, " there be two 
 doves whose cooing would be the better for a little honest 
 speech. Poor hearts ! it were a pity their tongues had 
 bewrayed their desire. Fitz-Walter summon them hither." 
 
 The blushing Isabella was conducted to the royal pre- 
 sence, where the king was graciously pleased to impress a 
 salute on her rich and glowing cheek. No mean honour 
 from so gracious and gallant a monarch, who, though old, 
 was yet accounted a mighty adept in the discernment of 
 female beauty, he never being known to suffer contact of 
 the royal lip with aught but the fairest and most comely 
 of the sex. 
 
 " Sir John, I commend thee to thy mistress. A dainty 
 choice. She is ' The Queen of Beauty' for the day, and 
 to-night we command your presence at the banquet." 
 
 " My gracious liege," said Isabella, pointing to Oskatell,
 
 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 14<3 
 
 I have a brother, — unto his care it is but meet that I 
 entrust myself; and he — " 
 
 " His person and endowments," interrupted the king, 
 " are not unknown to us. I do honour thee by ennobling 
 him ; for though our ladies' brightness be all too dazzling 
 to receive a glory from us, yet peradventure for their 
 sakes our courtesy is vouchsafed. Rise, Sir Oskatell de 
 Lathom." 
 
 Again a flourish of trumpets proclaimed the king's 
 favour, who with many more gracious speeches won the 
 affection of all who heard him that day. 
 
 Several other jousts and " gentle passages" were held, 
 the success of which falling principally with the English 
 combatants, the boasting pride of France was agam 
 humbled before the king, who seemed to renew his 
 former victories at this memorable " Tourney of Win- 
 chesler.'^ 
 
 But Isabella had bartered years of repose for this brief 
 season of intoxicating splendour. The barbed arrow was 
 in her heart, and the more she struggled, the more irre- 
 claimable it grew. Doubtless that unlucky dream had 
 rendered her more susceptible to the wound. 
 
 Dreams have this operation ; and whether good or evil, 
 they leave an impression that no simple act of the will 
 can efface. It seems to be the work of a power superior 
 to our own, for " the less begetteth not the greater;" 
 how, then, can the mind originate a train of conceptions, 
 or rather creations, superior to itself — above its own 
 power to control ? 
 
 But Isabella was too much engrossed by her feelings to 
 attempt their solution. She lay restless on her couch, 
 but there was no escape. An unquenchable flame was
 
 144 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 kindled in her soul, that not all the cool appliances of 
 reason could subdue. To-morrow she must depart, and 
 that gay pageant vanish as a dream ; — and yet not like her 
 own dream, for that was abiding and indelible. To-morrow 
 the brave knight must withdraw, and the " Queen of 
 Beauty," homaged for a day, give place to another whose 
 reign should be as brief and as unenduring. In this dis- 
 tempered mood, with a heart all moved to sadness, did 
 the Lady Isabel pass the first hours of the following 
 night. 
 
 Suddenly the sharp twang of a citerne was heard in the 
 street below her window, — nothing new in these piping 
 times of love and minstrelsy ; but so sensitive was the ear 
 now become to exterior impressions, that she started, as 
 though expecting a salutation from the midnight rambler. 
 Her anticipations were in some measure realised, the 
 minstrel pausing beneath her lattice. A wooden balcony 
 projected from it, concealing the musician. Isabella threw 
 a light mantle around her, and, rousing one of her 
 maidens, she opened the window. The rich melody came 
 upon her senses through the balmy odour of myrtle 
 boughs and leaves of honeysuckle. The chords were 
 touched with a skilful hand, and the prelude, a wild and 
 extempore commentary on the ballad, was succeeded by 
 the following ditty : — 
 
 " My ladye love, my ladye love, 
 
 The moon through the lift is breaking ; 
 The sky is bright, and through the night 
 
 The queen of love is waking. 
 Yon little star that twinkleth so. 
 Fluttering her bright eyes to and fro, 
 How doth she chide, 
 That thou shouldest hide. 
 All joyaunce thus forsaking.
 
 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 145 
 
 My ladye love, my ladye Icrve, 
 
 The moon through the lift is breaking ; 
 
 The sky is bright, and through the night 
 The queen of love is waking." 
 
 The singer withdrew ; and Isabella was convinced, or her 
 eyes were befooled by her fancy, that, as he emerged from 
 his concealment, his form could be none other than the 
 one her imagination was too familiar with to mistake. He, 
 too, had caught a glance of the listeners, for presently a 
 folded paper was thrown over the balusters, and the min- 
 strel departed. The first light that came through the long 
 low casements revealed all that her hopes anticipated. The 
 billet was from Sir John Stanley, whose regrets, mingled 
 with vows and protestations of love, were to this pui'port, 
 that he must needs be away before daybreak, on urgent 
 business from the king. He sent a sigh and a love-token, 
 commending himself to her best thoughts, until he should 
 gain his acquittance so far as to visit Lathom. 
 
 Passing over the departure, the bustle, and the weari- 
 ness of a twelve days' journey, let us behold the maiden 
 once more in her pretty bower at Lathom. How 
 changed ! The whole assumed a fresh aspect, thus viewed 
 from a different state of the mind. Her favourite spaniel 
 licked her hand, but she did not notice his caresses : all 
 about her was as if the wand of the enchanter had been 
 there, changing its image, each object calling forth a train 
 of sensations heretofore unknown. Even the hangings 
 and figured draperies wore a grim and perturbed expres- 
 sion ; and Jeptha's daughter and the Queen of Sheba 
 looked more dismal and profuse than ever from the dusky 
 arras. 
 
 She strayed out, as beforetime, into the woods ; but their 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 gloom was more intense, and the very birds seemed to 
 grow sad with her melancholy musings. Their song, that 
 used to be so sprightly, was now subdued and mournful, 
 and all their gay and bubbling hilarity was gone. If she 
 wandered forth towards evening, the owl hooted in her 
 path, and the raven croaked above her. She heard not 
 the light matin of the lark: Fancy, stimulated alone by 
 gloomy impressions, laid hold on them only, failing to 
 recognise aught but its own image. 
 
 Sir Oskatell and her father had often taken counsel 
 together since his return. Shortly afterwards, Isabella 
 received a summons to attend Sir Thomas in pri- 
 vate. What was the precise nature of that interview 
 does not appear, save that the lady withdrew to her 
 chamber, and the brow of Sir Thomas was for a long 
 space moody and disturbed. Sir John Stanley, though 
 of gentle descent, was not endowed with an adequate 
 inheritance, at least for the heiress of Lathom, whose 
 extensive possessions, though shared by Oskatell, were 
 deemed by Sir Thomas of sufficient magnitude to com- 
 mand a connection of higher rank and importance. 
 As a younger brother, he could have slight pretensions 
 to patrimony, and, save the manors, then but a slender 
 endowment, just granted by King Edward, his profes- 
 sion as a soldier supplied his chief revenue. His ex- 
 clusive notice of the Lady Isabella at the tournament 
 was quickly conveyed to the ear of Sir Thomas ; and, it 
 was said, the latter had vowed that no portion of wealth 
 should descend to his daughter, if wedded to Sir John, 
 but that the whole should be settled on Sir Oskatell. 
 " The course of true love never did run smooth." That 
 Sir John Stanley had a watchful eye, at the time, to the
 
 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 147 
 
 fortune as well as to the person of Isabella, is by some 
 rather freely hinted. This, however, turns out to be an 
 unfounded calumny, as the events, hereafter unfolded, 
 will abundantly demonstrate. 
 
 Sir John, after vainly endeavouring to avert this cruel 
 purpose, and to win the old man's favour, entered into 
 the service of the king. He hoped that some lucky ad- 
 venture would enable him to appear with more certainty 
 of success the next time he played the suitor at Lathom. 
 
 Isabella, though sorely importuned to the contrary, 
 remained true to her first and only attachment ; and Sir 
 Oskatell was likely, in the end, to gather to himself the 
 whole of these vast possessions. A disposition to this 
 effect, she had for some time suspected. His conduct, 
 too, was less kindly of late, and he took upon himself 
 an authority more direct and unconditional. Indeed, it 
 seemed but too evident, that Sir Oskatell was looked 
 upon as the ultimate possessor. The maiden pined sorely 
 at her lot, and lack of perpetuity in the inheritance. But 
 woman's wits have compassed a sea of impossibilities, and 
 will ever continue irresistible, until their beautiful forms 
 shall no longer irradiate these dull mortalities with their 
 presence. 
 
 One day an aged minstrel craved admission. Sir 
 Thomas had just retired from the banquet. Isabella and 
 the Lady of Lathom were at their usual employment, in 
 their private chamber, plying the needle in " Antres vast, " 
 and wildernesses of embroidery, along with the maids. 
 The request was granted ; soon after which an old man, 
 bending apparently under an accuniuiation of years and 
 infirmities, entered the apartment. There was a keen 
 scrutinising restlessness of the eye, stealing through the 
 L 2
 
 148 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 silvery locks about his brow, that but ill accorded with 
 his apparent decrepitude. 
 
 After a very profound obeisance, which the lady-mo- 
 ther scarcely recognised, he addressed himself to his voca- 
 tion. A mighty indifferent prelude succeeded the arrange- 
 ment of the strings, then a sort of jig, accented by the 
 toe and head of the performer. Afterwards he broke into 
 a wild and singular extempore, which gradually shaped 
 itself into measure and rhythm, at times beautifully 
 varied, and accompanied by the voice. We shall attempt 
 a more modern and intelligible version of the sentiments 
 he expressed. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1. 
 
 " Rich round thy brow are the clusters bright, 
 
 And thy tresses are like the plume, — 
 
 The plume of the raven, glossy with light. 
 
 Or the ray on the spirit's deep gloom. 
 
 2. 
 
 " As I gaze, the dim echoes of years that are past 
 Bring their joys to my bosom in vain ; 
 For the chords, which their spell once o'er memory cast, 
 Ne'er shall waken to gladness again ! " 
 
 " I hold these minstrels now no better than the croaking 
 of your carrion crow," said the elder lady : " these are not 
 like the songs we used to hear in hall and bower at Dun- 
 ham Massey. Then — " the old lady forgetting that her 
 own ears had played her false, and her relish for these 
 dainties had departed — 
 
 " Then," raising her voice and gazing round, as past 
 scenes recurred to her fancy, " how my young heart
 
 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 149 
 
 would leap at the sound of their ditties ! and how I long 
 to hear again ' Sir Armoric ' and the ' Golden Legend,' 
 and all about the lady with the swine's snout and the 
 silver trough ! " 
 
 But Isabella heard not her mother's reminiscences. 
 The minstrel engrossed her attention, absorbing her whole 
 thoughts, it might seem, with the display of his cunning. 
 Her cheek was flushed, and her lip trembled. Some 
 mysterious faculty there was either in the song or the 
 performer. 
 
 Again he poured forth a strain more touching, and of 
 ravishing sweetness. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1. 
 
 " Smile on, my love ; that sunny smile 
 Is light and life and joy to thee ; 
 But, oh, its glance of witchery the while. 
 Is maddening, hopeless misery to me. 
 
 2. 
 " Another bosom thou may est bless. 
 
 Whose chords shall wake with ecstasy ; 
 On mine, each thrilling thought thy looks impress, 
 Wakes but the pang of hopeless destiny. 
 
 3. 
 " Smile on, my love ; that sunny smile 
 Is light and life and joy to thee ; 
 But, oh, its glance of witchery the while, 
 Is hopeless, maddening misery to me." 
 
 These were burning thoughts from the bosom of age ; 
 and had not the old lady's perceptions been somewhat 
 obtuse, she might have guessed the minstrel's purpose. 
 L 3 '
 
 150 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 His despair was not so utterly hopeless, and without re- 
 medy, as the purport of his song seemed to forebode, — for 
 the morning light saw the bower of Isabella vacant, and 
 her bed undisturbed. She was then far over the blue 
 hills into Staffordshire, where another sun saw her the 
 wife of Sir John Stanley ; immediately after which they 
 departed into Ireland. 
 
 Sir Thomas threw the reins on the neck of his choler, 
 and, as tradition reports, did then disinherit her for ever, 
 in favour of Sir Oskatell. How far the latter might be 
 privy to this resolve, or whether Sir Thomas, goaded on 
 aforetime to the aggrandisement of his name, seized the 
 present opportunity only as it served his purpose, both 
 history and tradition leave us without the means of de- 
 ciding. There does, however, seem reason to suspect 
 some unfair solicitations practised on Sir Thomas, which 
 subsequent occurrences strongly corroborate ; but parti- 
 cularly the fact, that on his death-bed he solemnly 
 revoked this injustice, appointing Sir John Stanley his 
 lawful heir, disinheriting Sir Oskatell, save a slight pro- 
 vision hereafter named, and declaring his illegitimacy. 
 We would not Hghtly throw out an accusation of this 
 nature ; but, surely, an act of retribution, so unsparingly 
 administered, would not have been put in force, had not 
 past circumstances, in some measure, rendered it just. 
 
 Let us now resume our narrative from the date of 
 the tournament ; soon after which, King Edward died, 
 and Sir Johp Stanley, in the first year of his successor, 
 Richard II., was honoured by him with a commission 
 to Ireland, for the purpose of assisting in the total re- 
 duction of that unfortunate kingdom. By his great 
 prudence and success, he brought under submission the
 
 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 151 
 
 great rebel chiefs, to wit, O'Neal, liing of Ulster; Rotherick 
 O'Connor, king of Connaught ; O'Caral, king of Uriel ; 
 O'Rurick, kingof Meath; Arthur M'Keir, king of Leinster; 
 and O'Brien, king of Thomond. In the year 1379, 
 Richard coming in person to Ireland, these chieftains did 
 homage to him as their sovereign prince. For his great 
 and eminent services on this occasion, Sir John had granted 
 to him, by patent for life, the manor and lands of Black 
 Castle in that country. 
 
 Ten years did Sir John sojourn, by the king's order, in 
 this unquiet and troublesome appendage to the English 
 crown. And it may be conceived, that if true love had 
 any hold on his affections, they were oft communing with 
 Isabella, forsaken, as she then thought, by him whom she 
 had once too surely trusted. In the tumult of war, and in 
 the adminstration of his high office, no doubt her gentle 
 form would visit his spirit, and like the star of future 
 promise, guide him on to his achievements. 
 
 About the year 1390, when the return of Henry Duke 
 of Lancaster from his banishment, without leave of the 
 king, had caused a sore dismay throughout the land, 
 Richard, harassed with the apprehension of danger, ap- 
 pointed Sir John Stanley Lord Justice of Ireland for six 
 years. He was now able, in some measure, to confer a 
 sufficient dignity on his beloved, though not yet equal, in 
 point of wealth, to the wishes of Sir Thomas. But 
 feeling desirous to know the state of her disposition 
 towards him, he set out in disguise for Lathom, where, 
 as we have before stated, he so far prevailed, that she 
 became Lady Stanley in spite of all the opposition she 
 had endured. Aware of the determination of her father, 
 he deemed her love a sufficient recompense, thus fully re- 
 L 4
 
 152 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 futing the insinuations, that her dower had more charm 
 for him than her person. 
 
 Returning to Ireland with his lady, they lived there 
 liappily for some years. 
 
 When Henry of Lancaster was crowned by the title of 
 Henry the Fourth, Sir John being still Lord Justice of Ire- 
 land, and holding the government there in favour of the 
 deposed king, the new monarch, well knowing the knight's 
 power, together with his skill and experience, as well in 
 the senate as in the field, found means to attach him to 
 the reigning interest, and, as a mark of signal favour, 
 granted to him and his heirs for ever, by letters patent, 
 many lands there named, lying in the westerly part of the 
 county of Chester. Soon afterwards occurred that me- 
 morable rebellion, when the Welsh blood, boiling to a 
 ferment by the hot appliances of one Owen Glendower, an 
 esquire of Wales, and in his youth a resident at the Inns 
 of Court in London, kindled the flames of intestine war. 
 After he had conspired with the Percies and their ad- 
 herents, together with a large body of the Scotch, these 
 malcontents threatened to overthrow the now tottering 
 dominion of King Henry. 
 
 The most prompt measures were, however, taken to 
 meet this exigency, — and Sir John Stanley was suddenly 
 called out of Ireland ; Sir William Stanley, then Lord of 
 Stanley and Stourton, being appointed his deputy. Sir 
 John soon applied himself in such earnest to the service 
 of tht> king, his master, that a large and powerful army, 
 headed by Henry himself, together with " Prince Harry," 
 his son, marched against the rebels. Near to Shrews- 
 bury the latter were overthrown ; Sir John, by his great 
 bravery and address, mainly contributing to the success of
 
 TIIK l'.A(il,K AND (1111,1). 155 
 
 (lu; cngageriuMit. His presence was ncivv lu'conie ol' cs- 
 seiitiiil service to the Iving, who in conscciutncc apjjoinlcd 
 liis second son, the l)iik(; ofClhireiue, — wiio claimed tlie 
 title of ICarl oriJlster in rigid oC his wife, — Lord IJeute- 
 nant of Ireland in his stead, the new governor landing at 
 (^arlinglord on the '2d August, 1105. 
 
 Sir John ohtained, as a favour granted hut to lew, and 
 those oCthe highest rank, license from the king to fortify 
 a si)acious house he was then huilding at Livirpool ; the 
 site wliereof was given by Sir Thomas Lathom, who, wc 
 may now suppose, hud in some measure swerved from his 
 most unjust purpose, possibly on ajjprehending the great 
 iionours and iidluence that Sir .John had already accpiired 
 without his aiti or l\irtlu'rance. 'I'his plot of land, it was 
 said, contained (i^O scjuari; yards which he held, together 
 with several hmgage hctnsis and lands in that town. 
 
 lie had full license; to build a castU; or house ol'strength, 
 embattled and machicolalcd, with lenellarc, or loop-holes 
 in the walls, and other warlike devices, which no subject 
 could undertake without special leave; from the king. 
 
 The Isle of Man was at this time, by Northumberland's 
 rebellion, forfeit to the crown. Sir .lolm the same year 
 obtained a grant of it for life, and in the year following a 
 regrant to himself and his heirs for ever, with the style 
 and title of" King of IVTan." 
 
 It were needless to enumerate all the honours and dis- 
 tinctions heaped in such unwonted prolusion upon our 
 illustrious hero. It has rarely happened that so rapid a 
 career has met with no reverse, lor the (ickle goddess 
 mostly exalts her votaries, only to make their downlid! 
 the more terrible. 
 
 Henry dying in HJfJ, was succeeded by his son
 
 I54t THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 
 
 Henry V., with whom Sir John was held in equal esteem, 
 being again appointed to the government of Ireland ; but, 
 landing in Dublin, his health was now visibly on the wane. 
 Four months afterwards he died at Ardee, to the great 
 grief of his family, and the irreparable loss of the nation. 
 He was a rare instance wherein a courtier, through four 
 successive reigns, carried himself unimpeached and un- 
 sullied by the political vices which were then too general 
 to excite reproach. He was truly a knight " sans peur et 
 sans reproc/ie." 
 
 He left two sons, John and Thomas, and one daughter, 
 whose fortunes, at this time, we shall not attempt to 
 follow. 
 
 Lady Stanley, his widow, returned to Liverpool with 
 her children, and lived there until her death, in the house 
 built by her husband. 
 
 Now did the beam of Sir Oskatell's favour, like an 
 April day, suddenly change its gaudy and suspicious 
 brightness. Sir Thomas, waning in years, and ready to 
 depart, began to consider his former misdoings. His 
 daughter and her offspring were, by the laws of nature, 
 justly entitled to his possessions, which he, reflecting 
 on the great impiety and injustice of withholding, be- 
 queathed, with some exceptions, to Lady Stanley and 
 her heirs, revealing, at the same time, the fraud which he 
 had practised, and extinguishing for ever the hopes and 
 expectations of Sir Oskatell. Yet was he not left entirely 
 destitute : to him and to his descendants were reserved, 
 by due process of law, the manors of Irlam and Urmston, 
 near Manchester, with divers other valuable inheritances. 
 At the same time was given to him the signet of his arms, 
 with the crest assumed for his sake, an eagle regardant.,
 
 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. 155 
 
 proper. It was only subsequent to the supplanting of 
 Sir Oskatell that his rivals took the present crest, " Tlie 
 Eagle and Child" where the eagle is represented as 
 having secured his prey, in token of their triumph over the 
 foundling, whom he is preparing to devour. This crest, 
 with the motto " sans changer," the descendants of Sir 
 John Stanley, the present Earls of Derby, continue to 
 hold : the foregoing narrative showing faithfully the origin 
 of that singular device.
 
 THE 
 
 BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON.
 
 O Jesu ! for thy mercies' sake, 
 
 And for thy bitter passion, 
 Save us from the axe of the Tower, 
 
 And from Sir Ralph of Assheton ! "
 
 THE 
 
 BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 
 
 It would be a curious enquiry, to trace the origin of 
 services and other customs, paid by tenants to their feudal 
 sovereign. Connected as the subject is with the following 
 tradition, it may be worth while if we attempt to throw 
 together a few notices on that head. A rose was not a 
 very unfrequent acknowledgment. Near to the scene of 
 our story, the tenant of a certain farm called Lime Hurst 
 was compelled to bring a rose at the feast of St. John 
 Baptist. He held other lands ; but they were subject only 
 to the customary rules of the lordship, such as ploughing, 
 harrowing, carting turves from Ashton-moss to the lord's 
 house, leading his corn in harvest, &c. This species of 
 service was called boon-work ; and hence the old adage, 
 " I am served like a boon-shearer. " It, however, seems 
 that some trifling present was made in return. In a MS. 
 of receipts and disbursements belonging to the Chee- 
 thams, kept in the time of Charles II., there is an item for 
 monies paid for gloves to the boon-shearers at Clayton 
 Hall, where Humphrey Cheetham, founder of the college 
 at Manchester, then resided. The acknowledgment of a 
 rose before mentioned might seem to have some allusion
 
 160 THE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 
 
 to the Knights Hospitallers. The estate of Lime Hurst 
 was called John of Jerusalem's land, and the tithes and 
 rent, in all probability, once went to the support of that 
 order. 
 
 In the Ash ton pedigree, we find a Nicholas Assheton, 
 as it was then spelt, who enrolled himself amongst these 
 warrior-monks. It seems not improbable that the profits 
 of this estate belonged to him. 
 
 The custom of heriotship, however, was the most op- 
 pressive, being paid and exacted from the parties at a 
 time when they were least able to render it. Our tradi- 
 tion will best illustrate this remnant of barbarism, to 
 which, even in the customs of the most savage tribes, we 
 should scarcely find a parallel. 
 
 In the early records of the Ashton family, we find that 
 Thomas Stavely, or Stayley, held a place called the Bestal, by 
 paying one penny at Christmas. This bestal was, perhaps, 
 a place of security or confinement. Adjoining the Hall- 
 yard, the ancient residence of the Ashtons, is an old stone 
 building facing the south, now called the Dungeon. It is 
 flanked at the east and west corners by small towers with 
 conical stone roofs. The wall is pierced by two pointed 
 windows. Judging from its appearance, it must have 
 been a place of strength ; the name Bestal, being probably 
 a corruption of bastile, basiUon, or bastilion, — all of which 
 we find appropriated to places of this description. Tradi- 
 tion, indeed, says, the ancient lords of Ashton made this 
 a place of confinement, when the power of life and death 
 were at their command. A field near the old hall, still 
 called Gallows Meadow, was then used as a place of 
 execution. 
 
 Sir John Assheton, in the fifth year of Henry VI., be-
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 161 
 
 came possessed of the manor on payment of one penny 
 annually. He is generally supposed to have founded the 
 church about the year 1420. We find him assigning the 
 forms or benches to his tenants : the names for whose 
 uses they are appointed are all females. From this it 
 may seem, that seats in our churches were first put up 
 for their convenience. Eighteen forms or benches are 
 mentioned for the occupation of one hundred wives and 
 widows, who are named, besides their daughters and ser- 
 vant wenches. Their husbands had not this privilege, 
 being forced to stand or kneel in the aisles, as the service 
 required. In the windows, there yet remains a consider- 
 able quantity of painted glass, but very much mutilated. 
 Three or four figures on the north side, represent a king, 
 saints, &c. In the chancel are the coats and effigies of 
 the Asshetons in armour, kneeling. In one part seems to 
 have been portrayed the invention of the Holy Cross by 
 St. Helen. At whatever period the church was built, 
 the steeple must either have been erected afterwards, or 
 have undergone a considerable repair in the time of the 
 last Sir Thomas Assheton ; for upon the south side are the 
 arms of Ashton impaling Stayley. There is a tradition, 
 that while the workmen were one day amusing themselves 
 at cards, a female unexpectedly presented herself. She 
 asked them to turn up an ace, promising, in case of com- 
 pliance, that she would build several yards of the steeple ; 
 upon which they fortunately turned up the ace of spades. 
 This tale may owe its origin to the following circum- 
 stance : — Upon the marriage of Sir Thomas Assheton with 
 the daughter of Ralph Stayley, a considerable accumula- 
 tion of property was the consequence. This might induce 
 him to repair the church, and perform sundry other acts 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 
 
 of charity and beneficence. Whilst the work was going 
 on, Lady Elizabeth Assheton, it is not improbable, sur- 
 prised the builders at their pastime ; and, giving a broad 
 hint that a part of her money was being employed in the 
 erection, might desire that her arms should be fixed in 
 the steeple, impaled with those of her husband. The 
 shape of an escutcheon, having a considerable resemblance 
 to a spade-ace, in all likelihood was the origin of the 
 fable. 
 
 Sir John Assheton, the founder of the church, is the 
 reputed father of Ralph, whom the following tradition 
 commemorates. The origin of " Riding the Black Lad" is 
 involved in great obscurity, — some ascribing it to the 
 tyranny of Sir Ralph, and others to the following circum- 
 stance, which may have been fabricated merely to throw 
 off the odium attached to his name : — In the reign of Ed- 
 ward III., one Thomas Assheton fought under Queen 
 Philippa in the battle of Neville's Cross. Riding through 
 the ranks of the enemy, he bore away the royal standard 
 from the Scotch king's tent, who himself was afterwards 
 taken prisoner. King Edward, on his return from France, 
 conferred on Thomas the honour of knighthood, with the 
 title of Sir Thomas Assheton of Ashton-under-Line. To 
 commemorate this singular display of valour, he instituted 
 the custom of "riding the Black Lad" upon Easter Monday 
 at Ashton ; leaving the sum of ten shillings yearly to 
 support it, together with his own suit of black velvet and 
 a coat of mail. Which of these accounts is correct we 
 cannot presume to determine. There is, however, suffi- 
 cient testimony upon record to account for the dislike 
 entertained towards the memory of Sir Ralph Assheton.
 
 THE 
 
 BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 
 
 In the town of Ashton-under-Line, or Lime, called in 
 the ancient rent-rolls Ashton-sub-Lima, a singular custom 
 prevails. On Easter Monday in every year, the ceremony 
 of " Riding the Black Lad " takes place. According to 
 some, it is a popular expression of abhorrence towards the 
 memory of Sir Ralph Assheton, commonly called The 
 Bla.ck Knight, whose character and conduct would seem 
 to warrant the odium thus attached to his name. The 
 following is a brief account of the ceremony. An effigy 
 M 2
 
 164> THE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 
 
 is made of a man in black armour, and this image is 
 deridingly emblazoned with some emblem of the occu- 
 pation of the first couple that are married in the course of 
 the year. The Black Boy is then fixed on horseback, 
 and after being led in procession round the town, is dis- 
 mounted, made to supply the place of a shooting-butt, 
 and all sorts of fire-arms being in requisition for the 
 occasion, he is put to an ignominious death. Five shillings 
 per annum is reserved from some neighbouring estate for 
 the perpetuation of this absurd custom. 
 
 Sir Ralph Assheton was sheriff of York in the reign of 
 Edward IV., and knight marshal and lieutenant of the 
 Tower under Richard III., being in great esteem with the 
 latter monarch. In the Harleian MSS. annuities are 
 mentioned as being granted to him, with divers lordships, 
 and a ton of wine yearly. So poAverful was his juris- 
 diction, that a grant was made him to the effect, that, if 
 in cases of emergency, suitable persons could not be 
 procured for the trial of delinquents, his own authority 
 should be a sufficient warrant for the purpose. Hence 
 from the nature of his office, and the powers that were 
 intrusted to him by the king, and probably, too, from the 
 natural bent of his disposition, arose the popular dislike 
 which vented itself in the well-known traditionary distich 
 we have taken as our motto. 
 
 In those days, when the gentry went little from home, 
 set times of mirth and recreation were constantly observed 
 in their spacious and hospitable mansions. Yule, or 
 Christmas, was a feast of especial note and observance. 
 The great hall was mostly the scene of these boisterous 
 festivities ; where, from the gallery, the lord of the man- 
 sion and his family might witness the sports, without
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 165 
 
 being incommoded by the uncouth and rustic manners of 
 their guests. It was the custom to invite all who were 
 in any way dependent on the proprietor, and who owed 
 him suit and service. 
 
 The mansion of Sir Ralph had, like those of the 
 neighbouring gentry, its lofty and capacious hall. At one 
 end was a gallery resting on the heads of three or four 
 gigantic figures carved in oak, perhaps originally intended 
 as rude representations of the ancient Caryatides. 
 
 The Christmas but one following the elevation of 
 Richard to the throne, in the year of our redemption 
 1483, was a season of unusual severity. Many tenants 
 of Sir Ralph were prevented from assembling at the 
 Yule feast. A storm had rendered the roads almost 
 impassable, keeping most of the aged and infirm from 
 sharing in this glorious pastime. 
 
 The Yule-log was larger than ever, and the blaze kept 
 continually on the roar. No ordinary scale of consump- 
 tion could withstand the attacks of the enemy, and thaw 
 the icicles from his beard. 
 
 The wassail-bowl had gone freely about, and the com- 
 pany, Hobbe Adamson, Hobbe of the Leghes, William 
 the Arrowsmith, Jack the Woodman, Jack the Hind, 
 John the Slater, Roger the Baxter, with many others, 
 together with divers widows, of those who owed service 
 to their lord, clad in their holiday costume, black hoods 
 and brown jackets and petticoats, were all intent upon 
 their pastimes, well charged with fun and frolic. Their 
 mirth was, however, generally kept within the bounds of 
 decency and moderation by a personage of great im- 
 portance, called the Lord of Misrule, who, though not in- 
 tolerant of a few coarse and practical jokes upon occasion, 
 M 3
 
 166 THE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 
 
 was yet, in some measure, bound to preserve order and 
 decorum, on pain of being degraded from liis office. To 
 punish the refractory, a pair of stone hand-stocks was 
 commonly used, having digit-holes for every size, from the 
 paws of the ploughman to the taper fingers of my lady's 
 maiden. This instrument was in the special keeping of 
 the dread marshal of these festivities. 
 
 The custom of heriotship, or a fine payable on the 
 death of the landholder to the feudal lord, was then, in 
 most cases, rigorously exacted. This claim fell with 
 great severity upon widows in poor circumstances, who 
 were, in too many instances, thus deprived of their only 
 means of subsistence. Then came fees and fines to the 
 holy church, so that the bereaved and disconsolate crea- 
 ture had need to wish herself in the dark dwelling beside 
 her husband. Sir David Lindsay may not be unaptly 
 quoted in illustration of this subject. His poem called 
 " The Monarch '' contains the following frightful picture 
 of the exactions and enormities committed on these de- 
 fenceless and unoffending victims of their rapacity : — 
 
 " And also the vicar, as I trow, 
 Will not fail to take a cow, 
 And uppermost cloths, though babes them an, 
 From a poor seely husbandman, 
 When he lyes ready to dy, 
 Having small children two or three. 
 And his three kine withouten mo, — 
 The vicar must have one of tho, 
 With the gray cloke that covers the bed, 
 Howbeit that they be poorly cled : 
 And if the wife die on the morn, 
 And all the babes should be forlorn, 
 The other cow he takes away. 
 With her poor cote and petycote gray :
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 167 
 
 And if within two days or three 
 The eldest child shall happen to dye. 
 Of the third cow he shall be sure, 
 When he hath under his cure ; 
 And father and mother both dead be, 
 Beg must the babes without remedy. 
 They hold the corse at the church style, 
 And there it must remain awhile, 
 Till they get sufficient surety 
 For the church right and duty. 
 Then comes the landlord perforce, 
 And takes to him the fattest horse ; 
 Poor labourers would that law were down, 
 Which never was founded by reason. 
 I heard them say, under confession, 
 That this law was brother to oppression." 
 
 As it drew on towards eventide, the mirth increased. 
 The rude legendary ballads of Sir Lancelot of the Lake, 
 Beavois of Southampton, Robin Hood, The Pindar of 
 Wakefield, and the Friar of Fountain's Abbey, Clim of 
 the Clough, Ranulph of Chester, his Exploits in the Holy 
 Land, together with the wondrous deeds of war and love 
 performed by Sir Roger of Calverly, had been sung and 
 recited to strange and uncouth music. Carols, too, 
 were chanted between whiles in a most unreverend 
 fashion. A huge Christmas pie, made in the shape of a 
 cratch or cradle, was placed on the board. This being ac- 
 counted a great test of orthodoxy, every one was obliged 
 to eat a slice, lest he should be suspected of favouring 
 the heretical tenets then spreading widely throughout 
 the land. Blindman's-bufF and hot-cockles had each 
 their turn : but the sport that seemed to afford the most 
 merriment, was a pendulous stick, having an apple at one 
 end, and on the other a lighted candle, so that the un- 
 
 M t
 
 I6S THE 15LACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 
 
 fortunate and liquorish wight, who bit at this tempting 
 bait, generally burnt his nose on the rebound, as the 
 stick bounced to and fro on its pivot. The hall was 
 now cleared for the masks. In this play, the Black 
 Knight himself generally joined, laughing heartily at and 
 hurrying on the mishaps of the revellers. Many horrible 
 and grotesque looking shapes and disguises soon made 
 their appearance ; but one, more especially than the rest, 
 excited no slight degree of distress and alarm. His antics 
 proved a continual source of annoyance to the rest of 
 the company. He singed Will the Arrowsmith's beard, 
 poured a whole flagon of hot liquor in the wide hosen of 
 Hobbe Adamson ; but the enactor of St. George in a 
 more especial manner attracted his notice ; he crept 
 between his legs, and bore Jiim right into the middle of 
 the pigsty, before he could be stayed ; from whence the 
 heroic champion of England issued, sorely shent with the 
 admixtures and impurities of the place. 
 
 This termagant was a little broad-set figure, wearing a 
 mask, intended as a representation of his Satanic majesty, 
 adorned v.ith a huge pair of horns. From it hung a black 
 cloak or shirt, out of which protruded a goodly and sub- 
 stantial tail. No one could discover this ruthless dis- 
 turber of their sports. Every attempt was unavailing ; he 
 shot through their fingers as though they had been greased, 
 and a loud and contumelious laugh was the only reward 
 of their exertions. 
 
 In the end, a shrewd conjecture went abroad, that he 
 was none other than some malicious imp of darkness, let 
 loose upon their frolics, to disquiet and perplex their 
 commemoration of the Blessed Nativitj'. Yet was it an 
 unusual occurrence upon Yule night, when these dis-
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 169 
 
 turbers were supposed to be prevented from walking the 
 earth, being confined for a space to their own kingdom. 
 But the desperate character of their lord, who was 
 thought to fear neither man nor devil, might in some sort 
 account for this unwelcome intrusion. 
 
 The guests grew cautious. Whispers and unquiet 
 looks went round, while the little devil would ever and 
 anon frisk about, to the great detriment and dismay of 
 his companions. 
 
 Their lord's presence was anxiously looked for. The ' 
 ruddy glow of their mirth had become dim. Sir Ralph, 
 they hoped, would either unmask this mischievous in- 
 truder, or eject him from the premises ; he having the 
 credit of being able to master aught in the shape of either 
 mortal or immortal intelligences. 
 
 At length he came, clad in his usual suit of black 
 velvet. A swarthy and ill-favoured wight he was, with a 
 beard, as the story goes, that would have swept off the 
 prickly gorse-bush in its progress. He was received with 
 a great show of humility, and all made their best obei- 
 sance. But this deputy, representative, or vicegerent 
 of " Old Hornie," he stood erect, among the obsequious 
 guests, in a posture not at all either respectful or be- 
 coming. 
 
 " Now, knaves, to your sport. Ye be as doleful as a 
 pack of pedlars with a full basket after the fair. I'll make 
 ye play, and be merry too : or, e' lady, ye shall taste of 
 the mittens. Dan, give these grim-faced varlets a twinge 
 of the gloves there, just to make 'em laugh." 
 
 His tyrannous and overbearing temper would even 
 make them merry by compulsion. But the terrified 
 hearers did not manifest that intense feeling of grati-
 
 170 THE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 
 
 fication which this threat was intended to produce. Each 
 looked on the face of his neighbour, hoping to find there 
 some indication of the fehcity which his own had failed to 
 exhibit. 
 
 The countenance of their chief grew more dark and 
 portentous. Just as they were expecting the full burst 
 of his fury, up trotted the merry imp, and irreverently 
 crept behind Sir Ralph. Before their almost incredulous 
 eyes, did he lay hold on the tail of the knight's cloak, and 
 twisting it round his arm, by a sudden jerk he brought 
 this dignified personage backwards upon the floor. The 
 oaken beams trembled at this unlooked-for invasion of 
 their repose. Deep, deadly, and abominable curses rung 
 through the hall. Livid and ghastly by turns, the knight's 
 features wore that ludicrous expression of rage and 
 astonishment more easy to conceive than to portray. 
 Volleys of oaths and inarticulate sounds burst out from 
 his wrath, almost too big for utterance. When reinstated 
 in that posture which is the distinctive characteristic of 
 man, he did not attempt to administer his vindicative 
 retribution by proxy. Laying hold on a tough cudgel, 
 he gave it one ominous swing, describing an arc of suffi- 
 cient magnitude to have laid an army prostrate. He then 
 pursued the luckless emissary of the Evil One, roaring and 
 foaming with this unusual exertion. There was now no 
 lack of activity. A hawk among the chickens, or a fox 
 in a farm-yard, were nothing to it. Sometimes was seen 
 the doughty Sir Ralph driving the whole herd before 
 him, like a flock of sheep ; but the original cause of the 
 mischief generally contrived to mingle with the rabble 
 rout, who in vain attempted to rid themselves of his com- 
 pany, The knight was not over nice in the just adminis-
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 171 
 
 tration of his discipline. Often, when he thought himself 
 near enough for its accomplishment, he aimed a terrific 
 blow, but shot wide of the mark, bringing down the in- 
 nocent and unoffending victims, who strewed the floor 
 like swaths behind the mower. Whenever a lucky indi- 
 vidual could disentangle himself from his comrades, he 
 darted through the door, and, in spite of the storm and 
 pitchy darkness without, thought himself too happy in 
 escaping with a few holes in his skin. Yet he of the 
 horns and tail, by some chance or another, always passed 
 unhurt ; a hideous laugh accompanying the adroit con- 
 trivances by which he eluded the cudgel. 
 
 The hall was now but scantily supplied with guests ; 
 the runaways and wounded having diminished the num- 
 bers to some half score. A parley was now sounded by 
 the victorious and pursuing enemy. 
 
 " Hold, ye lubberly rascals ! Ye scum — ye recre- 
 ment — why do ye run?" said the knight, puffing with 
 great vigour. " I say, why run ye ?" brandishing his 
 club. " Bring hither that limb of Satan, and ye shall 
 depart every one to his home. Lay hold of him, I tell 
 ye, and begone." 
 
 But these terms of capitulation were by no means so 
 easy to accept as the proposer imagined. 
 
 The first mover of the mischief had gotten himself 
 perched on a projecting ledge by the gallery, from 
 whence they were either unable or unwilling to dis- 
 lodge him. 
 
 " How!" said the knight. " Ye are afraid, cowards, I 
 trow. Now will I have at thee, for once. I'll spoil thy 
 capering ! " This threat was followed by a blow aimed at 
 the devoted representative from the infernal court ; but it
 
 172 THE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 
 
 failed to dismount him, for he merely shrunk aside, and 
 it was rendered harmless. Another, and a more con- 
 tumelious laugh, announced this failure. Even the Black 
 Knight grew alarmed. The being was surely invul- 
 nerable. He stayed a moment ere he repeated the at- 
 tack, when, to his unspeakable horror and astonishment, 
 there issued a thin squeaking voice from underneath the 
 disguise. 
 
 " The heriot, Sir Ralph — the heriot ! We'll have a 
 heriot at Easter ! " 
 
 Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, the knight could 
 not have been more terrified. He let the weapon fall. 
 His hands dropped powerless at his side. His counte- 
 nance was like the darkly rolling sea, strangely tossed by 
 some invisible tempest. The cause of this sudden and 
 unexpected termination of the assault we will now pro- 
 ceed briefly to unfold. 
 
 The morning of this day, being the eve of the Blessed 
 Nativity, had been employed by the Black Knight in 
 the laudable occupation of visiting a poor widow ; who, 
 though recently bereaved of her husband, had not ren- 
 dered the customary heriot. Unfortunately, the only 
 valuable she possessed was a cow, the produce of which 
 formed the chief support of the family ; four young chil- 
 dren, and a boy of about fourteen, whose brains were 
 generally supposed more or less oddly constructed than 
 those of his neighbours, depended on this supply for their 
 daily support. Cold, bitter cold was the season, and it 
 had set in with more than common severity. Day after 
 day the payment was delayed. Every morning the widow 
 and her son fondled the poor beast, as though it were the 
 last ; but another morning and evening succeeded. Sup-
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 173 
 
 per could not supply the place of breakfast, nor breakfast 
 contend against the wants of supper ; and how could the 
 already half-famished ones be sustained, when their only 
 resource should be taken away ? 
 
 " Go down upon your knees, Will, and thank God for 
 another morning's meal. It is the eve of our blessed 
 Lord's incarnation, and I think He will not leave us to 
 perish in this world, who has made such a bountiful pro- 
 vision for our well-being in the next. The knight has 
 not sent for the heriot, and I think that He alone who 
 succours the widow and the fatherless, can have inclined 
 his heart to mercy." 
 
 Scarcely were the thanksgivings finished, when they 
 were alarmed by the rapid approach of their persecutor. 
 The door flew open, and in thundering accents the Black 
 Knight himself came to make his demand. 
 
 " I'll have thee to the dungeon, hag, for lack of service. 
 How comes it to pass the heriot is not paid ? 
 The widow made no reply. Her heart was full. 
 " See to it," continued the pitiless churl ; " for if thy 
 quittance be not forthcoming, and that in haste, I'll turn 
 thee and thy brats into the moor-dikes, where ye may live 
 upon turf and ditch-water if it so please ye." 
 
 " Oh ha' pity ! " But the widow's prayer was vain. 
 The Black Knight was never known to hearken either to 
 pity or persuasion. 
 
 " Thy cow — thy cow ! This night let it be rendered. 
 Sir Ralph Assheton never uttered a threat that fell to the 
 ground." 
 
 " Mother," said the boy, '■'• is this Sir Ralph, our liege 
 lord?" 
 
 " Ay, fool," angrily replied the knight. " And what 
 may thy wits gather by the asking ? "
 
 174 THE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 
 
 " And will he ever die, mother ? " 
 
 " Hush, Willy," said the terrified woman. 
 
 " Nay," returned the leering half-wit, " I was but a 
 thinking, that if he does, may be his master too will want 
 a heriot." 
 
 " And what may be the name of my master ? " said Sir 
 Ralph, with a furious oath. 
 
 " The devil," replied the boy, with apparent uncon- 
 cern. 
 
 " Ay, — and what will they give him, dost think?" 
 
 " Thee!" 
 
 Whether the peculiar expression of the lad's face, or 
 the fearless indifference of his address, so unusual to that 
 of the crouching slaves he generally met with, contributed 
 to the result, we know not ; but, instead of correcting the 
 boy for his audacity, he hastily departed, finally repeating 
 his threat of punishment in case of disobedience. 
 
 When Sir Ralph got home, his ill-humour vented itself 
 with more severity than usual. On joining the sports, he 
 was at the first somewhat startled, on perceiving a repre- 
 sentation of the personage which the morning's conversa- 
 tion had by no means prepared him to recognise either 
 with admiration or respect. Still, as it was nothing out 
 of the common usage, he took no apparent notice, farther 
 than by remarking the general gloom that prevailed, con- 
 trary to the usual course of these festivities. Then came 
 the unlooked-for aggression upon his person, provoking 
 his already irritated feelings into vehement action. But, 
 when the last unfortunate blow had failed in its purpose, 
 appearing to the furious knight to have been warded 
 off by a charm, a sudden misgiving came across him, 
 which, with the speech of this supposed imp of darkness.
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT OF ASHTON. 175 
 
 SO strangely alluding to his adventure with the boy, 
 wrought powerfully upon his now excited imagination, 
 so that he stood aghast, unable to grapple with its terrors. 
 He hastily departed from the hall, leaving the enemy in 
 undisputed possession of the field. 
 
 What occurred subsequently we are not told, save that 
 on the following morning the widow's heriot was sent 
 back, with an ungracious message from the knight, show- 
 ing his unwillingness to restore what terror only had 
 wrung from him. 
 
 The person who adventured this dangerous personifica- 
 tion of the Evil One was never known. Whether some 
 bold and benevolent individual, interposing on behalf of 
 the fatherless and famishing little ones, — or some being of 
 a less substantial nature, — whether one of those immortal 
 intelligences, of a middle order between earth and heaven, 
 who at that time were supposed to take pleasure in tor- 
 menting the vicious and unworthy, — is more than our 
 limited capacities can disclose. 
 
 It is said, that on Easter Monday following the Black 
 Knight died ; and though, probably, it had no connection 
 with the circumstances we have related, yet was his 
 decease a sufficiently strange event in the mysterious 
 chapter of coincidences to warrant this memorial.
 
 I'Alli fJJJ.N OJ UAIXAJI'VE. 
 
 V'/l,. t.
 
 FAIR ELLEN OF RADCLIFFE. 
 
 In Percy's Relics, this ballad is called " The Lady Isa- 
 bella's Tragedy," and is thus introduced : — 
 
 " This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in 
 the Pepys Collection, collated with another in the British 
 Museum, H. 263., folio. It is there intitled ' The Lady 
 Isabella's Tragedy, or the Step-Mother's Cruelty ; being 
 a relation of a lamentable and cruel murther, committed 
 on the body of the Lady Isabella,, the only daughter to a 
 noble Duke, &c. To the tune of " The Lady's Fall." ' To 
 some copies are annexed eight more modern stanzas, in- 
 titled ' The Duchess' and Cook's Lamentation.' " 
 
 Dr. Whitaker says, " The remains of RadclifFe Tower 
 prove it to have been a manor-house of the first rank. It 
 has been quadrangular ; but two sides only remain." A 
 licence to kernel and embattle shows the date of its 
 erection, or rather rebuilding, to be in the fourth year of 
 Henry IV., by James Radcliffe, who, we find by the 
 pedigree, was the eldest son of William Radcliffe. He 
 married Joan, daughter to Sir John Tempest of Bracewell, 
 in the county of York. 
 
 N 2
 
 180 FAIR ELLEN OF RADCLIFFE. 
 
 " The noble old hall is forty-three feet two inches in 
 length, and in one part twenty-six feet, in another twenty - 
 eight feet in width. The two massy principals which sup- 
 port the roof are the most curious specimens of ancient 
 wood work I have ever seen. The broadest piece of timber 
 is two feet seven inches by ten inches. A wall-plate on the 
 outside of one beam, from end to end, measures two feet 
 by ten inches. The walls are finished at the square with 
 a moulded cornice of oak." " At the bottom of this room is 
 a door opening into one of the towers, the lower part of 
 which only remains, of massy grout work, and with three 
 arches, each furnished with a funnel or aperture like a 
 chimney. On the left side of the hall, are the remains of 
 a very curious window-frame of oak, wrought in Gothic 
 tracery, but square at top. Near the top of the hall, on 
 the right, are the remains of a door-way, opening into 
 what was once a staircase, and leading to a large chamber 
 above the kitchen, the approach to which was by a door 
 of massy oak, pointed at the top/" 
 
 " Over the high tables of ancient halls (as is the case 
 in some college halls at present) it was common to have 
 a small aperture, through which the lord or master could 
 inspect, unseen, what was going on below. But in this 
 situation at Radcliffe is a ramified window of oaken work, 
 opening from the apartment above mentioned, but now 
 closed up. This consists of eight arches, with trefoil- 
 pointed tops 4 and 4, with two narrower apertures 
 above. 
 
 " To this place and family are attached the tradition 
 and ballad given by Dr. Percy, under the name of Isabella, 
 but here applied to a Lord Thomas and faire Ellenor, 
 father and daughter, whose figures are supposed to be
 
 FAIR ELLEN OF RADCLIFFE. 181 
 
 graven on a slab in the church, which the common people, 
 concluding, I suppose, from its whiteness, that it was 
 meant as an emblem of the innocence it is said to cover, 
 have mutilated by breaking off small fragments, as amulets 
 for the prevention or cure of disorders. Traditions, 
 always erroneous in their circumstances, are yet rarely 
 devoid of foundation ; and though the pedigrees of Rad- 
 cliffe exhibit no failure of the family by the premature 
 death of an heiress ; though the last Richard de Radcliffe, 
 who had daughters only, certainly did not make ' a 
 scullion boy the heir of all his land,' when he settled it on 
 Radcliffe Baron Fitzwalter ; though the blood actually 
 pointed out on the kitchen floor, where this Thyestaean 
 banquet is said to have been prepared, deserves no more 
 regard than many other stories and appearances of the 
 same kind ; yet we are not to discard as incredible the 
 tradition of a barbarous age, merely because it asserts the 
 sacrifice of a young and beautiful heiress to the jealousy 
 or the avarice of a stepmother. When this is granted, 
 the story of the pie with all its horrors may safely be 
 ascribed to the inventive genius of a minstrel. On the 
 whole, Radcliffe is a place, which, not only from its antiquity 
 and splendour, but from the great families which have 
 branched out fi-om it, and the romantic tradition attached 
 to it, can scarcely be surveyed without enthusiasm, or 
 quitted without regret." 
 
 There is a story of its being haimted by a black dog ; 
 but as this apparition has never been seen by two persons 
 in company, it may safely be ascribed to the genius of 
 fear, quite as creative a power as any other faculty of 
 the imagination. 
 
 N 3
 
 182 FAIR ELLEN OF RADCLIFFE. 
 
 We have thought it best to give the ballad entire, with- 
 out any embellishments of our own. Though not in the 
 best style of these metrical romances, it is still of suffi- 
 cient interest, from its connexion, to claim a place in the 
 " Traditions " of the county.
 
 FAIR ELLEN OF RADCLIFFE. 
 
 Ihere was a lord of worthy fame, 
 And a hunting he would ride, 
 
 Attended by a noble traine 
 Of gentrye by his side. 
 
 And while he did in chase remaine, 
 To see both sport and playe, 
 
 His ladye went, as she did feigne. 
 Unto the church to praye. 
 
 This lord he had a daughter deare, 
 Whose beauty shone so bright, 
 
 She was beloved both far and neare 
 Of many a lord and knight. 
 
 fair Ellen was this damsel call'd, 
 A creature faire was she ; 
 
 She was her father's only joye, 
 As you shall after see. 
 N 4<
 
 IS-l- FAIR ELLEN OF RADCLIFFE. 
 
 Therefore her cruel stepmother 
 
 Did envye her so much, 
 That daye by daye she sought her Ufe, 
 
 Her malice it was such. 
 
 She bargain'd with the master-cook, 
 
 To take her life awaye : 
 And, taking of her daughter's book, 
 
 She thus to her did saye : — 
 
 Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye, 
 
 Go hasten presentlie ; 
 And tell unto the master-cook 
 
 These wordes that I tell thee : 
 
 And bid him dresse to dinner streight 
 That fair and milk-white doe, 
 
 That in the parke doth shine so bright, 
 There's none so faire to showe. 
 
 This ladye, fearing of no harme, 
 
 Obey'd her mother's will ; 
 And presentlye she hasted home, 
 
 Her pleasure to fulfill. 
 
 She streight into the kitchen went, 
 
 Her message for to tell ; 
 And there she spied the master- cook, 
 
 Who did with malice swell.
 
 FAIR ELLEN OF RADCLIFFE. 185 
 
 Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe, 
 
 Do that which I thee tell : 
 You needes must dresse the milk-white doe 
 
 Which you do knowe full well. 
 
 Then streight his cruell bloodye hands 
 
 He on the ladye layd, 
 Who quivering and shaking stands, 
 
 While thus to her he sayd : — 
 
 Thou art the doe that I must dresse, 
 
 See here, behold my knife ; 
 For it is pointed, presently 
 
 To ridd thee of thy life. 
 
 O then, cried out the scuUion-boye, 
 
 As loud as loud might bee, 
 O save her life, good master-cook. 
 
 And make your pyes of mee ! 
 
 For pityes sake do not destroye 
 
 My ladye with your knife ; 
 You know shee is her father's joye. 
 
 For Christe's sake, save her life. 
 
 I will not save her life, he sayd, 
 Nor make my pyes of thee ; 
 
 Yet, if thou dost this deed bewraye, 
 Thy butcher I will bee.
 
 186 FAIR ELLEN OF RADCLIFFE. 
 
 Now when this lord he did come home 
 
 For to sit downe and eat, 
 He called for his daughter deare 
 
 To come and carve his meat. 
 
 Now sit you downe, his ladye say'd, 
 O sit you downe to meat ; 
 
 Into some nunnery she is gone, 
 Your daughter deare forget. — 
 
 Then solemnlye he made a vowe. 
 
 Before the companie, 
 That he would neither eat nor drinke 
 
 Until he did her see. 
 
 O then bespake the scuUion-boye, 
 With a loud voice so hye — 
 
 If now you will your daughter see, 
 My lord, cut up that pye : 
 
 Wherein her flesh is minced small, 
 And parched with the fire ; 
 
 All caused by her step-mother. 
 Who did her death desire. 
 
 And cursed bee the master-cook, 
 
 O cursed may he bee ! 
 I profFer'd him my own heart's blood, 
 
 From death to set her free. —
 
 FAIR ELLEN OF RADCLIFFE. 
 
 Then all in blacke this lord did mourne, 
 And, for his daughters sake, 
 
 He judged her cruell stepmother 
 To be burnt at a stake. 
 
 Likewise he judged the master-cook 
 
 In boiling lead to stand ; 
 And made the simple scuUion-boye 
 
 The heire of all his land. 
 
 18:
 
 I
 
 THE 
 
 ABBOT OF WHALLEY.
 
 1 
 
 " Earl Percy there his ancyent spred, 
 The half moone sliiiiing all soe faire ; 
 The Norton's ancyent had the crosse, 
 
 And the five wounds our Lord did beare." 
 
 The Rising in the North,
 
 THE 
 
 ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 X HE Cistertian Abbey of Whalley was founded by Henry 
 Lacy, Earl of Lincoln, who, having given the advowson of 
 the parish to the abbey of Stanlaw in Cheshire, the monks 
 procured an appropriation, and removed hither in 1296, 
 increasing their number to sixty. The parish-church is 
 nearly coeval with the introduction of Christianity into 
 the north of England. This foundation now became the 
 nucleus of a flourishing establishment, " continuing," as 
 Dr. Whitaker informs us, " for two centuries and a half, 
 to exercise unbounded charity and hospitality ; to adorn 
 the site thus chosen with a succession of magnificent build- 
 ings ; to protect the tenants of its ample domains in the 
 enjoyment of independence and plenty ; to educate and 
 provide for their children ; to employ, clothe, feed, and 
 pay many labourers, herdsmen, and shepherds ; to exer- 
 cise the arts and cultivate the learning of the times ; yet, 
 unfortunately, at the expense of the secular incumbents, 
 whose endowments they had swallowed up, and whose 
 functions they had degraded into those of pensionary 
 vicars or mendicant chaplains."
 
 192 THE ABBOT OF WtiALLEY. 
 
 The ruins of WTialley Abbey are situated in a beautifully 
 sequestered spot on the banks of the Calder, presenting 
 some of the most extensive and picturesque remains of anti- 
 quity in the county ; and the site sufficiently exemplifies 
 that peculiar instinct, if it may be so called, which guided 
 the monks in their choice of situations. " Though the 
 Cistertians affected to plant themselves in the solitude of 
 woods, which were to be gradually essarted by the labour 
 of their own hands, and though they obtained an exemp- 
 tion from the payment of tithes on that specific plea, yet, 
 they were excellent judges of the quality of land, however 
 concealed, and never set about their laborious task without 
 the assurance of an ample recompense." 
 
 The following minute account of these ruins is from the 
 pen of the Historian of Whalley : — "A copious stream 
 to the south, a moderate expanse of rich meadow and 
 pasture around, and an amphitheatre of sheltering hills, 
 clad in the verdant covering of their native woods, beyond ; 
 these were features in the face of Nature which the earlier 
 Cistertians courted with instinctive fondness. Where these 
 combined, it does not appear that they ever abandoned a 
 situation which they had once chosen ; and where these 
 were wanting, it is certain they never long or willingly 
 remained." 
 
 " We now proceed to a particular survey of the remains 
 of Whalley Abbey as they exist at present. First, then, 
 the whole area of the close, containing thirty-six acres, 
 three roods, fourteen poles, is still defined by the remains 
 of a broad and deep trench, which surrounded it ; over 
 this were two approaches to the house, through two strong 
 and stately gateways yet remaining. They are con- 
 structed in that plain and substantial style which charac-
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 193 
 
 terised the Cistertian houses ; a style which approximates 
 to that of fortification, and shows that the monks did not 
 obtain a Hcence to kernel and embattel without an end 
 in view. Within this area, and on the verge of the 
 Calder, which formed the south-west boundary of the 
 close, was the house itself, consisting of three quadrangles, 
 besides stables and offices. The first and most westerly 
 of these was the cloister-court, of which the nave of the 
 conventual church formed the north side ; the chapter- 
 house and vestry, yet remaining, the east; the dormitory, 
 also remaining, the west; and the refectory and kitchens 
 the south. The cloister was of wood, supported, as usual, 
 upon corbels, still remaining : the area within was the 
 monks' cemetery, and some of the ancient gravestones here 
 are still remembered. Against the wall, on the south 
 side of this quadrangle, is a wide surbased arch, appa- 
 rently of Henry the Seventh's time, which has evidently 
 contained the lavatory. The groove of the lead pipe 
 which conveyed the water is still conspicuous, as is also 
 another for the reception of a wooden rail, on which the 
 towels hung. Beyond this court, to the east, is another 
 quadrangular area, formed by the choir of the church on 
 one side, the opposite side of the chapter-house, &c. on 
 another, a line of ruinous buildings on the third, and a 
 large distinct building, itself surrounding a small quad- 
 rangle, on the fourth. This appears evidently to have 
 been the abbot's lodgings ; for which reason, as being best 
 adapted to the habits of an ordinary family, it immediately 
 became the residence of the Asshetons, and after many al- 
 terations, and a demolition of its best apartments, particu- 
 larly a gallery nearly 150 feet in length, has still several good 
 and habitable rooms, and is now preserved with due care by 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 19+ THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 its owner. The ancient kitchen, the coquiim ahhatis of 
 the compotus, whence such hecatombs were served up, re- 
 mains, though roofless, with two huge fire-places. On the 
 southern side of this building is a small but very pictur- 
 esque and beautiful ruin mantled with ivy, which appears 
 to have been a chapel, and was probably the abbot's 
 private oratory. But the conventual church itself, which 
 exceeded many cathedrals in extent, has been levelled 
 nearly to the foundation. This work of havoc was pro- 
 bably an effect of that general panic which seized the lay- 
 owners of abbeys, on the attempt made by Queen Mary 
 
 to restore the monks to their cloisters ' For now,' says 
 
 Fuller, ' the edifices of abbeys, which were still entire, 
 looked lovingly again on their ancient owners ; in preven- 
 tion whereof, such as possessed them for the present 
 plucked out their eyes by levelling them to the ground 
 and shaving from them, as much as they could, all abbey 
 characters.' 
 
 " However, in the month of August, 1798, permission 
 having been obtained from the guardian of the present 
 owner to investigate the foundation by digging, a very 
 successful attempt was made to retrieve the whole ichno- 
 graphy of the church, of which there were no remains 
 above the surface to assist conjecture, or to guide re- 
 search, but one jamb of the west window against the wall 
 of the dormitory, a small portion of the south wall of the 
 nave, a fragment of the south transept, and another jamb 
 of one of the side chapels eastward from the last. An 
 inequality in the ground, eastward from the transept, in 
 an adjoining orchard, showed the half-pace into the choir, 
 of which the outline to the north and east was also de- 
 fined in the same manner. Upon these slender data we
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 195 
 
 proceeded, first, to investigate the foundations of the 
 columns towards the west end ; and having ascertained 
 the distance of one from the south wall, the width of the 
 south aisle, and consequently of the north, followed of 
 course ; another digging immediately to the north ascer- 
 tained the width of the middle aisle, and a third, from east 
 to west, gave one intercolumniation ; the length of the 
 nave being already given by the remains of the transept, 
 the number of columns was now proved. A right line 
 drawn along the remnant of the south wall, and continued 
 to the intersection of the nave and transept, proved the 
 length of the latter on the south side, and, consequently, 
 also on the north. The choir evidently appeared to have 
 consisted of a presbytery, with two side aisles, and four 
 other chapels ; two to the north, and as many to the 
 south. 
 
 " The site of the choir being determined, it remained to 
 investigate its contents beneath the surface : accordingly, 
 under the high altar, nothing appeared but a bed of un- 
 disturbed and native sand ; but beneath the second half- 
 pace, immediately leading up to it, were turned up many 
 broken remains of a painted pavement, consisting of small 
 glazed floor-tiles, adorned with various devices, and of 
 different forms and dimensions. At the foot of the stalls, 
 a narrow rectilinear filleting, of the same material, had 
 bounded the whole. On some was inscribed the word 
 GDSRie, in Longobardic characters. 
 
 " This pavement had been deeply bedded in mortar, but 
 was altogether displaced, and turned down from one to 
 three feet beneath the surfiice, where several skeletons 
 were found very entire, and in their original position, but 
 without any remains of coffins, vestments, or other orna- 
 o 2
 
 196 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 ments, as appeared upon a most minute investigation. 
 These, however, were, beyond a doubt, the abbots of 
 Whalley. From the confused state of the original pave- 
 ment, the whole floor of the presbytery, from the foot of 
 the stalls, appeared to have been successively covered 
 with grave-stones, all of which, however, had been re- 
 moved, excepting fragments of two : one of these had a 
 groove, once inlaid with a filleting of brass, and the other, 
 beneath which lay the skeleton of a tall and robust man, 
 had deeply cut upon it the stump of a tree raguled. 
 This I conjecture to have been a thorn, intended as a 
 rebus upon the name of Christopher Thomber, the 
 fifteenth abbot, who died in 1456. In this search we 
 narrowly missed the fragments of the grave-stone of 
 Abbot Lindley, which were casually turned up on this very 
 spot, A. D. 1813. On one, in the Longobardic character 
 of Edward the Third's time, were the letters I Op, and 
 on the other AJ p\T\\ 
 
 " From these data, slender as they may seem, I arrive 
 at my conclusion, thus : — First, None but Abbots were 
 interred in the high choir; Secondly, The characters 
 cannot be later than the latter end of Edward the Third, 
 when the old EngUsh black letter was substituted in its 
 place. From the foundation to this time, three Johns had 
 been Abbots of \\Tialley ; Belfield, Topeliffe, and Lindley. 
 The termination of the surname must have immediately 
 preceded the word hujus, but the letters A J can only 
 have formed the termination of Lindelai, the old ortho- 
 graphy of the word. 
 
 " The remains of the Lacies, wherever deposited, after 
 their removal from Stanlaw, had, undoubtedly been pre- 
 served with religious reverence, and inclosed in magnifi-
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 197 
 
 cent tombs. But in these researches there were no 
 appearances which justified even a conjecture that we had 
 discovered them." * 
 
 John Paslew, the last Abbot of Whalley, appears, by a 
 reference to his arms, to have been of the Paslews of 
 Wiswall. The first twenty years after his election were 
 passed, like those of his predecessors, in the duties of his 
 choir, in the exercise of hospitality, in attention to the 
 extensive possessions of his house, or in the improvement 
 of his buildings ; but a storm was approaching, before 
 which, either his conscience or his bigotry prevented him 
 from bending, and which precipitated his ruin and that 
 of the abbey. The religious houses in general were 
 now greatly relaxed in discipline, and many of them 
 dreadfully corrupted in morals. Wliat was the state of 
 Whalley must now be left to conjecture, though charity 
 should incline us to think no evil to those against whom 
 no specific evidence appears. The Pilgrimage of Grace 
 was now commenced, and Paslew seems to have been 
 pushed into the foremost ranks of the rebellion ; when 
 this expedition ended in the discomfiture and disgrace of 
 its promoters, every art of submission and corruption was 
 vainly employed to ward off the blow. Paslew was 
 arraigned for high treason, tried and condemned, and is 
 supposed to have been interred in the north aisle of the 
 parish church, under a stone yet remaining ; the ignomi- 
 nious part of his sentence being remitted, out of respect 
 to his order. 
 
 " The attainder of an abbot was understood, however 
 rightly, by the crown lawyers of that time, to infer a 
 
 * Whitaker's Hist. Whalley. 
 o 3
 
 198 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 forfeiture of the house ; and accordingly, without the 
 form of a surrender, the abbey of Whalley, with all its 
 appurtenances, was instantly seized into the king's hands; 
 and thus fell this ancient foundation. 
 
 " Fr. Thomas Holden, younger son of Gilbert Holden, 
 of Holden, Gent., was, in all probability, the lastsurviving 
 monk. On the dissolution, he appears to have returned 
 to his native place. In 1550, we meet with his name as 
 Sir Thomas Holden, curate of Haslingden; and in 1574' 
 he was licensed to the same cure at the metropolitical 
 visitation of Archbishop Grindall, held at Preston, by the 
 style of Thomas Holden, clerk, of sober life and com- 
 petent learning. Strange as it may seem, we find the 
 last surviving monk of Whalley a protestant minister, 
 thirty-seven years after its dissolution ! "
 
 THE 
 
 ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 It was in the dark month of November, when the brown 
 leaves are fluttering on the ground, when the wind 
 comes mournfully through the bare woods, and the hol- 
 low nooks and quiet caves respond with their mystic 
 voice, that two travellers were seen loitering up the 
 grand avenue that swept nobly through the western em- 
 battled gateway of Whalley Abbey. The foremost of them 
 wore a low-crowned cap, simply decorated with a heron's 
 plume, and a doublet of mulberry-coloured velvet, puffed 
 out capaciously at the shoulders. Trunk-hose of a goodly 
 diameter, and wide-flapped boots, decorated the lower 
 extremity of his person. On his left hand he bore a 
 hooded falcon. The jesses were of crimson and yellow 
 silk, its legs fancifully adorned with little bells fastened 
 by rings of leather. These made a jingling and dissonant 
 music as it flew, being generally tuned one semitone 
 below another, that they might be the more sonorous 
 considering their small size. The bearer wore a pair of 
 stout leathern mittens, and he carried a long pole, to aid 
 him, as it might seem, in the chase. His manner bespoke 
 o 4
 
 200 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 him above the ordinary rank ; and his garb, from the 
 minute regulations then existing in regard to dress, 
 showed at any rate his pretensions to nobihty. This 
 proud cavalier was followed by one servant only, who 
 carried a capacious wallet, not over well replenished with 
 provision, as was apparent from its long lank shape and 
 attenuated proportions. His master's cloak was slung on 
 the other shoulder; and his belt displayed some imple- 
 ments that appeared alike formidable as means of offence 
 or defence. 
 
 Eventide was then drawing on ; but it did not appear 
 that the falcon had been loosed to the game : the usual 
 tokens of success were wanting — the torn and bloody 
 carcasses that marked an abundant sport. Two or three of 
 the brethren were sitting on a bench in the gateway. In 
 passing by, the foremost of the strangers hastily addressed 
 his follower. 
 
 " Ralph Newcome, plague on thee ! hast thou had a 
 call again at the wallet ? Thou guzzling tinder -throat, 
 thy drouth is never slaked ! " 
 
 Now Ralph, having felt sore oppressed with the weight 
 of sundry leathern bottles, loaves, and wedges of cold meat, 
 had taken especial care to lighten his back, and load his 
 stomach, whenever the occasion was urgent. His en- 
 deavours had not been without success ; for the wallet, 
 as we have seen, hung from his shoulders, long, narrow, 
 and unfurnished, save with the scraps and relics of many 
 a savoury junket. 
 
 " Coming, master," was the reply, sufficiently audible 
 for his master's car ; the remainder escaped in a sort 
 of grumble, the dregs of his ill humour at the inter- 
 ruption.
 
 THE ABUOT OF VV II ALLEY. 201 
 
 The sportsman, if such he was, gained a ready ad- 
 mittance into the abbey inclosure. Passing round the 
 north transept of the church, lie made the best of his way 
 to the abbots house, where Paslew dwelt in great state, 
 keeping a separate establishment, and a numerous train 
 of domestics and officials. 
 
 Paslew was in some respects a man of parsimonious 
 habits ; and though his bounty might now be the better 
 excused, yet in the more prosperous days of his dominion 
 he had the character of a selfish and greedy priest, whose 
 charity was less than that of his predecessor, and his per- 
 sonal expenses double. 
 
 Encouraged by the " Pilgrimage of Grace," as it was 
 then called, headed by one Aske, a gentleman of but mean 
 pretensions, who yet possessed the art of making himself 
 popular with the vulgar, Paslew, though apparently taking 
 no open part in the rebellion, had with his monks repos- 
 sessed their ancient seat, from which they had been driven 
 by the decrees of Henry VIII. 
 
 The rebel army had their camp at Doncaster, where 
 the Archbishop of York and the Lord D'Arcy openly 
 espoused their cause, receiving in great state a herald 
 from the king's army, who came to negotiate with these 
 dangerous malcontents. They had formed high notions 
 of their own power and importance, and entertained san- 
 guine hopes of success, especially since the Duke of Nor- 
 folk, a supporter of the ancient religion, was appointed 
 to the command of the royal forces along with the Earl 
 of Shrewsbury. The monks made themselves certain 
 that the result would be a complete purification of heresy 
 from the land, or at least, that measures would be adopted 
 for the purpose of forcing Henry to a restitution of their
 
 202 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 rights. So fully established were they in this opinion, 
 that, as we have just seen, some of them took possession 
 of their ancient inheritances, without the tedious formality 
 of awaiting a fresh grant from the king. 
 
 The rebel army, being allured by Norfolk with vain 
 promises of satisfaction, were now dispersed, though with 
 the understanding that another assemblage should take 
 place at a given notice, for which purpose beacons were 
 erected at convenient distances throughout the north. 
 By these means their forces could again be mustered with 
 the greatest security and despatch. 
 
 Within this interval our narrative begins. Paslew had 
 received some communication from the leaders of the 
 pilgrimage ; but he seemed wishful to procrastinate, hop- 
 ing, perhaps, he should be spared the necessity of any 
 more direct treasonable demonstrations, by the timely 
 submission of the king; yet his aid was of too much 
 importance to be neglected. 
 
 The stranger, on his introduction, was received with 
 some ostentation, and not a little ceremony. They were 
 evidently unknown to each other ; but the keen glance of 
 the abbot instantly detected the signal for some secret 
 message. Paslew was habited in the Cistertian gown, and 
 scapulary of white cloth. His eye was dark, but rest- 
 less ; his lips, drawn in, were narrow and compressed, 
 showing the curbed impetuosity of his spirit. Either as 
 a churchman or a warrior, he seemed fitted for daring 
 enterprise ; yet was he of a wary and cautious bearing, a 
 characteristic which his monkish education had in all 
 probability thrown over his natural temperament. The 
 attendants having departed, the stranger drew an unsealed 
 letter from his bosom.
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 203 
 
 " A written message, my lord abbot, from the Abbot 
 of Kirkstall. 'Tis now for your reverence's private regard, 
 afterwards at your discretion." The abbot hastily glanced 
 over this piece of quaint and formal latinity, occasionally 
 darting a rapid and penetrating look at his visitor. 
 
 " He says not aught regarding so goodly a messenger," 
 said Paslew carelessly. 
 
 " I should have marvelled if he had," returned the other, 
 with a contemptuous smile. " He knew not of so im- 
 portant a personage, when that epistle was elaborated from 
 his pen." 
 
 " How?" said the abbot, his features gathering into a 
 portentous scowl. 
 
 " Nay, I beseech your reverence's grace, that you 
 throw off all such disturbed apprehensions ; for in troth 
 a messenger of my bearing and capacity were worth a 
 knight's ransom in these evil days, when the monks may 
 not abroad with safety." 
 
 " Speak out. Remember, I have yet the power to punish 
 both insolence and treachery." 
 
 The abbot's lip curled upwards, pale and quivering with 
 rage, not unmixed with apprehension. 
 
 " Gramercy," said the stranger, with a provokingly 
 careless expression of cool and contemptuous defiance — 
 " I cry you none — I am at present nameless. To work, 
 to work, lord abbot. Thou hast holden back too long; and 
 there is a shrewd suspicion abroad of thine integrity in 
 the good cause. Hold," said he, rising, as the reverend 
 prelate was on the point of summoning his attendants. 
 " I am not thy prisoner ! — Impotent, 1 would crook my 
 finger thus, and thou shouldest crouch at my bidding. 
 Nay, these be evil days, I say again ; and more strange
 
 204 THE ABBOT OF VVHALLEY. 
 
 things may come to pass than bearding a lordly abbot in 
 his den ! "' 
 
 Great was the astonishment of Paslew. The stranger 
 stood proudly erect : his arms were folded, and a wither- 
 ins dance shot from beneath his brows. Even John 
 Paslew, unused to a sense of inferiority before his fellow- 
 men, felt cowed before him. For the first time, in all 
 likelihood, he knew not how or what to answer. The 
 stranger interrupted this painful silence. 
 
 " Since the monks are forbidden to be out a-gadding, 
 the cowl and scapulary might have found some hindrance 
 over the moors from Kirkstall. With my hawk and bear- 
 ing pole, I can follow on to the sport without let or ques- 
 tion." The latter part of this speech seemed to throw 
 some light on the purpose for which this messenger had 
 been selected. Paslew was preparing for a further en- 
 quiry, when he was again interrupted. 
 
 " I tell thee, a courier of my condition may go free, 
 though nameless. But to business — Norfolk is tamper- 
 ing with our credulity. He thinks to gain our time to 
 his advantage : but the work must again be urged for- 
 ward. Yet lack we thy aid. May we depend on its being 
 faithfully rendered ? We must have no Ivdcewarm allies in 
 the rear of our camp." 
 
 The stranger drew from beneath his inner vest a cru- 
 cifix, with the representation of a chalice and of the five 
 wounds of Christ. 
 
 Paslew kissed the token, and his suspicions were at 
 rest. But still, there was a dubiety and hesitation in his 
 manner, displeasing to the stranger. He would bind him- 
 self to no distinct pledge respecting the time of his ap- 
 pearance at the rebel camp ; and altogether seemed to
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 205 
 
 display either cowardice or a want of cordiality. His 
 guest refusing to stay the night, on a pretext of urgent 
 business farther north, departed, soon after the termination 
 of their interview. 
 
 The night was fast closing when the strangers left the 
 abbey. One by one, the pale stars seemed to start out, 
 as if just lighted up in the blue vault. The dark woods 
 threw their giant arms around the sacred domain, as 
 though to guard it against unhallowed intrusion. The 
 travellers had gained the steep ascent towards the south- 
 east, from whence the river, winding down the narrow 
 valley, seemed as if here and there a spark was floating 
 on its quiet surface — the lights, gliding on the opposite 
 brink, fell distinct and unbroken upon the stream. The 
 soft voice of the current grew strangely audible, in con- 
 trast with the deep silence ; the wind rolling it round to 
 the ear at intervals startling and abrupt. 
 
 Preceded by a guide, they had taken the rough moun- 
 tain road, leading from the abbey into the forest of Pen- 
 die, the stranger and his servant still walking, or rather 
 climbing, for their journey could only be accomplished 
 on foot. Having proceeded about two miles on this 
 rugged path, they diverged to the left, where the only 
 indication to assist their guide was the turf-cutters' track 
 and a few heaps of stones, scarcely distinguishable from 
 the common mass, but by an eye accustomed to these 
 land-marks. Carefully were they sought for at times, 
 the blazing torch carried by their leader behig often 
 requisite for the search. 
 
 They now descended by a narrow and steep ravine, 
 the termination of which brought them to a small brook. 
 This they crossed, and again commenced a sharp and
 
 206 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 troublesome ascent. The mighty Pendle rose up before 
 them, huge and dark, engrossing half the hemisphere. 
 To this point, it seemed, their path was directed. The 
 guide now trimmed his torch, the smoke from which had 
 for some time been rather an accompaniment than an 
 assistance to their toil, as it caused them to loiter at an 
 inconvenient distance, thereby enhancing the difficulties 
 they had to encounter. Slow and toilsome was their 
 progress, yet a patient continuance in any path will sooner 
 or later lead to the end. The brow of the hill seemed 
 rapidly diminishing ; the abrupt steep was at length gained, 
 when the whole glorious garniture of the heavens, un- 
 interrupted, from that majestic height, was suddenly 
 revealed. True, it was a November night ; but unusually 
 clear and vivid; the stars seemed to burn rather than 
 shine, so piercing was their effulgence. The vast track of 
 the milky-way appeared to span the dark and level plat- 
 form, like the bow of some triumphal arch. They seemed 
 to stand on a huge circle, black, bare, — its verge unap- 
 proachable, contrasting deeply with the encompassing 
 splendour. Proceeding onwards, a dark speck was visible, 
 springing out abruptly from the verge of the horizon. 
 Its bulk rapidly increased, their path evidently tending in 
 that direction. A shrill whistle from the guide was now 
 answered by a corresponding signal. Presently they were 
 challenged by a sentinel. 
 
 " Vale," growled out the rough voice of their con- 
 ductor. 
 
 " Is it thou. Will?" said the guard. " And what neck 
 art thou fitting for the noose ; breeding occupation for 
 the hangsman, I trow." 
 
 " Not half so ripe as thine own gossip. Here be two
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 207 
 
 gentles that have commission, I guess, to look at the bea- 
 cons, to see they are in trim and properly watched. 'Tis 
 well the guard is set. Holloa, Nicholas Dewhurst, bring 
 the flagon. I am wheezing like an old wife's bellows, nigh 
 disinherited of my birthright, the free quaffing o' the air. 
 I shall die and be canonized." 
 
 Will, in his eagerness to attain this glorious end, left his 
 companions with the sentinel, who speedily conducted 
 them into a rude hut, erected as a temporary shelter to 
 those on the look-out for signals. In this narrow shed a 
 lamp was burning. Two of the abbot's servants, stretched 
 before a smouldering heap of turf, were scarcely roused 
 by the vociferations of Will, as he strode over them in his 
 way to the provender. A long pull, and a loud smack, 
 announced the satisfactory relish that ensued. 
 
 "Hoa, ye lozel knaves! — who sleeps when Will's awake?" 
 This reflection was accompanied by a smart blow on that 
 part of the recumbent's person where it was most conve- 
 niently administered. 
 
 " Begone, sot ! " was the abrupt reply, not over abund- 
 antly expressive of good humour at this disturbance. 
 Will looked again towards the flagon ; but great was his 
 dismay on beholding it in the very act of disemboguing 
 its precious contents into another gulf as insatiable as his 
 own. Ralph Newcome, incited thereto by his own dis- 
 crimination, together with the resistless relish of their 
 guide, as soon as the latter had partially concluded, took 
 up the subject, and long, powerful, and undeviating were 
 the requisitions that he made. 
 
 " Plague on thy civility ! — A fly will drink from any 
 body's cup, and so will a Yorkshireman," growled the un- 
 courteous churl.
 
 208 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 Ralph had, however, braced himself tightly to the task, 
 and stood with an air of dogged defiance, stoutly con- 
 fronting his accuser, — though, being a man of few words, 
 the principal weight of the argument rested upon Will, 
 whose eloquence was with difficulty interrupted on any 
 subject. 
 
 " Peace," said one of the sleepers, raising himself half- 
 way, — " I think we be like to bide here till our bones rot. 
 There's nought but the same dun sky, — black, black, 
 and unchanging. I should like to see a stiff blaze from 
 some quarter. Our bundle, here, would soon be in a 
 low." 
 
 " Hark ! " said the other, " 'Tis something creaking 
 amongst the faggots." 
 
 The sentinel rushed out — but the beacon was undis- 
 turbed. 
 
 '' St. Mary protect us! — 'Tis the same noise I heard 
 last night, and about the same hour." 
 
 The stranger here entered the hut. Enveloped in a 
 huge cloak, he sate silent, and apparently inattentive ; but 
 the conversation was now abrupt, and broken down into 
 short and interrupted whispers. 
 
 " I wish old Hal and his wives were here, with all my 
 heart," said one : " we'd have a rare bonfire. How his 
 fat paunch would swell ! But for him and his unlucky 
 women, we had been snug in the chimney corner, snoring 
 out psalmody, or helping Old Barn'by off with the tit-bits 
 in the kitchen." 
 
 " Hush ! " said his neighbour : " There be the faggots 
 talking again. I think they are bewitched. — Dan, look to 
 them." 
 
 " Nay," said Dan, " they may bide awhile for me."
 
 THE ABBOT OF VVHALLEY. 209 
 
 The words were scarcely uttered when the building 
 seemed in a blaze. Crash upon crash followed. The 
 inmates, stupified with terror, were well nigh sufiFocated 
 ere their astonishment left them the power to escape. 
 In the full conviction that the foul fiend had taken him 
 at his word, Dan was dragged from the hut, wan, speech- 
 less, and gasping with affright. Nothing less, too, than a 
 visit from his Satanic majesty in person was expected by 
 the terrified rustics. 
 
 On gaining the outside, the whole burning mass was 
 before them, one vast pyramid of flame. Flakes of blaz- 
 ing matter were hurled into the sky, with short and rapid 
 explosions. The roar of the wind through the glowing 
 furnace was awful and appalling. Huge and ignited frag- 
 ments were borne away with frightful rapidity. They rode 
 on the rolling volumes of smoke like fire-fiends armed 
 with destruction ; but the vast reservoir of flame still 
 glowed on, apparently undiminished. The curtain of 
 night seemed to be suddenly undrawn. Objects, the 
 most minute, were visible as in the broad view of day. 
 The brown heath, the grey and the mossy stone, were 
 each distinguishable, but clad alike in one bright and un- 
 varying colour, red as the roaring furnace. Soon, the 
 great magazine of inflammable matter in the interior 
 caught fire, and rolled out in a wide mass of light, like 
 the first burst of a volcano. 
 
 The stranger stood with apparent unconcern, his back to 
 the flames, looking from the brink of the mountain north- 
 ward, as if on the watch for corresponding signals. Soon, 
 a bright star hung on the heights above Sawiey. Increasing 
 in splendour, another broke out on the verge of the horizon, 
 marking the site of the camp near Romald's Moor. 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 THE ABBOT OF WIIALLEY. 
 
 Turning towards the south-west, and looking to the 
 riglit, beyond the chain of successive heights that form 
 the vale of Todmorden, he beheld a dim spark in the 
 distance, from the summit of Hades Hill, scarcely pene- 
 trating the mist which hung like a dense cloud in that 
 direction ; this place and Thieveley Pike forming the con- 
 necting links between Pendle Hill and Buckton Castle. 
 
 The terrified attendants knew too well the results 
 which would follow this unaccountable and irreparable 
 mistake. The whole country would be in commotion. 
 Hordes of zealous and fanatic idlers and malcontents 
 would repair to the appointed rendezvous, and this pre- 
 mature, and perhaps fatal movement, would be attributed 
 to their carelessness. Paslew, not over nice in dis- 
 criminating their several deserts, would, doubtless, subject 
 them to immediate and condign punishment. 
 
 These were thoughts common to each, unquestionable 
 and conclusive ; but what answer to give, or what excuse 
 to make, was far from being decided upon with the same 
 degree of certainty. 
 
 " Wc shall be hanged without mercy," was the dread 
 sum of these uncomfortable reflections. 
 
 " I know not what you may be," said Will ; " but I in- 
 tend to run for it. I've an old dame would make a sore 
 disturbance at my death, more especially if dangling from 
 the gallows-tree, which of all the trees in the wood hath 
 been my aversion ever since I saw Long Tom of the Nab 
 make so uncomfortable a shriving from thence." 
 
 " Run, then," said Nicholas, rather stoutly, and in a 
 tone of more confidence than heretofore. " I'll stay my 
 ground this bout; and, further, I do purpose to conmiit 
 yon knaves into the holy keeping of our four-cornered
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 211 
 
 crib, where they may be indulged in recreations of 
 another sort %an setting the whole country by the ears. 
 — 'Twill save our necks to slip theirs into the noose." 
 
 This happy suggestion, the whole of these honest and 
 conscientious servants of the church were prepared to obey. 
 They might with safety accuse the strangers ; indeed, it 
 was more than probable they had hit out the right source 
 of the mischief; so marching up boldly to the execution 
 of this Christian purpose, they were proceeding to lay 
 hands on the foremost of the culpi-its. At this critical 
 moment, he turned suddenly round. Perhaps from a 
 prior suspicion of their intentions, or from the knavish 
 cast of their countenances, he saw that hostilities were 
 in contemplation : at any rate, he seemed to be prepared 
 for the event. Will, being the mouthpiece of the party, 
 and accustomed, moreover, at times, to a precise and 
 methodical manner of delivery, was the chief speaker. 
 
 " Sir, we arrest you for high treason. You are charged 
 with firing off beacons without our privity or consent, 
 thereby endangering the safety of the Lord Abbot, and 
 the peaceable governing of this realm." He paused, 
 quaking even at his own eloquence ; but the stranger 
 made no reply, till, throwing aside his cloak, he drew out 
 a hagbut or demi-hague as it was sometimes called, 
 being a sort of small harquebuss, with its match ready 
 kindled. 
 
 " Tell the Abbot of Whalley that neither ye nor the 
 whole horde of drones and drivellers about his hive, shall 
 take me against my own liberty and consent. Hold back! 
 Your first step is your last, save to your grave ! I will see 
 the abbot shortly, but not by your grace or assistance." 
 Saying this, he bounded olown the steep, like the roused 
 p 2
 
 '212 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 deer, in its first pride of flight, scorning the chase. The 
 hght flashing from his weapons, marked his form rapidly 
 receding from their grasp. 
 
 But Ralph, who, as we may suppose, was minded to 
 imitate the evolutions of his master, being it seemed of a 
 more heavy and considerate demeanour, paused for a space 
 ere he leapt. 
 
 This deliberation was fatal to his enterprise. The 
 enemy, recovering from their confusion, seized him in de- 
 fault of his master, and without further ado bore him 
 away as a visible acquittance of themselves to the abbot. 
 There could be no great harm in throwing the blame of 
 this unlucky aifair on the companion of the escaped in- 
 cendiary : besides, it would be an effective lesson to him 
 on the danger of keeping bad company. 
 
 Through bog and brake, over moor and mountain, they 
 hurried on with their prisoner, who, dooming them all to 
 " clootie" and his imps, and commending himself to 
 Michael, Mary, and a number of his especial patrons in 
 the Romish calendar, was urged forward with more than 
 their usual speed. 
 
 The blaze had ceased to be visible when they came to 
 the last descent towards the village. Far and wide the 
 alarm had spread ; consternation and enquiry were on 
 every countenance. The guards were besieged with 
 anxious faces, supplicating intelligence, and much im- 
 peded thereby in their progress to the abbey. 
 
 Outside the gates, they found a dense crowd waiting 
 for the news. The abbot and his brethren were in close 
 council, expecting every moment the arrival of warders 
 from the beacon. 
 
 They were hurried into the chapter-house, together
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 213 
 
 with their prisoner, who had now taken to the sulks, re- 
 fusing any reply to the numerous enquiries made by the 
 servants who followed, eager for the final disclosure. 
 
 The room was lighted by a single lamp. Little of the 
 interior was visible, save the grim and ascetic faces of the 
 monks, who sat nearest to the centre of illumination. 
 Their features, in deep masses of alternate light and 
 shadow, looked as if carved out, hard and immoveable, 
 from the oak wainscot. Occasionally, a dull roll of the 
 eye relieved the oppressive stillness, and the gazer would 
 look out from the mystic world he inhabited, through 
 these loop-holes of sense, into the world of sympathies 
 and affections, with which he had long ceased to hold 
 communion. 
 
 Paslew was standing when they entered. His bushy 
 grey eyebrows threw a strange and almost unnatural 
 shade over the deep recesses beneath, across which, at 
 times, like the foam swept over the dark billows of the 
 spirit, a light and glowing track was visible, marking the 
 powerful conflict within. 
 
 " Nicholas Dewhurst, and Daniel Haydock." 
 
 He shaded his eyes from the light, as he thus ad- 
 dressed the foremost of the party who had just entered. 
 
 " From what quarter was the signal first visible ?" 
 
 " My lord," said Dan, " we are but unworthy of your 
 highness' grace, did we not answer truly." 
 
 " Quick ! — Thou art slower to thine answers than thy 
 words. Why tarriest thou ? " 
 
 " If your highness will pardon " 
 
 " What ? " said Paslew, in a voice that made the cul- 
 prits quake. " I pardon nothing. What means this 
 silence?" 
 
 p 3
 
 214 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 " Please your reverence," said Will, now advancing 
 from the rear, his rhetorical flourishes somewhat curtailed, 
 and his confidence thereby wonderfully abated, " the 
 first signal was our own, lighted by an incendiary, to wit, 
 and here we bring him, to your highness' reverence for 
 judgment. We ordered the rope and the broad beam to 
 be ready by daybreak." 
 
 It were idle to paint the astonishment and dismay which 
 this short narrative produced. Paslew immediately saw 
 the dangers by which he was involved. He was, by this 
 desperate and unfortunate act, at once committed to the 
 measures from which he had hitherto kept aloof, and he 
 must now stand foremost in the cause, or tamely submit 
 to the infuriate vengeance which this overt act of rebellion 
 would inevitably hasten. He had hoped, that, sheltered 
 in this quiet nook, he should escape without being made 
 a party in the contest, and rest secure until hotter heads 
 and lighter brains had fought the battles that would leave 
 him in possession of the spoil. If the king's party were 
 triumphant, he fancied, that, by seeming to take little or 
 no part in the hostilities then abroad, his house might be 
 spared in the general wreck that would ensue ; but all 
 these schemes of deep-laid policy and ambition were in a 
 moment dissipated. No time was to be lost. The whole 
 country would instantly be in array, and the beacon-light 
 of Pendle proclaim Paslew as the source and instigator 
 of this second rebellion. It would be in vain to stay the 
 rising. Some enemy of his house, or some desperate 
 adventurer, wishful to further his own schemes at another's 
 expense, was doubtless the author of this mischief. The 
 whole was but the discovery of a moment. Almost before 
 the dark thought was visible on the brow, he cried out —
 
 THE ABBOT OF VVIIALLEY. 215 
 
 " Bring forward the traitor ! " 
 
 But Ralph, on the first hearing of this accusation, strode 
 forward, even to the table, where sat the awful conclave 
 astonished at his temerity. He stood calmly erect, sur- 
 veying his judges M^ith a countenance scarcely moved 
 from its usually hard and stolid expression. 
 
 " If it be true," cried he, " as these idlers do aver, I am 
 here to answer. If it be false, they must look to it." 
 
 The abbot frowned at this presumptuous speech. 
 
 " Wlio art thou?" 
 
 " Marry, an ass ridden by fools." 
 
 " Knave, see thou be discreet and respectful in thine 
 answers. There be whipping-posts for knaves, and stocks 
 for the correction of fools." 
 
 " Why, if it be for the matter of my name, I trow, 'tis 
 of an honest christian -like and well- conditioned flavour ; 
 comes out of the mouth sharp as a beer-spigot. Men call 
 me Ralph." 
 
 " And from whence ? " said the abbot impatiently. 
 
 " These knaves of thy breeding can tell best. 'Tis a 
 road I never before travelled ; and, by your grace's favour, 
 I do not mean to jog on it again." 
 
 " He is servant to the stranger yeoman, whom your 
 worship entertained a few hours back, on some private 
 errand," said one of the auditors. 
 
 A sharp guess at the truth raised a slight quiver on 
 the abbot's lip. The conversation of the stranger, the 
 anxiety he displayed, with that of his brother of 
 Kirkstall, seemed to point out the source and cause of 
 his disaster. 
 
 " Now, varlet, answer truly, or thou diest," said Pas- 
 lew, with a significant shake of the finger. — " At whose 
 p 4
 
 216 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 instigation hast thou committed this foul treason against 
 our house, and the good prospering of this realm ? " 
 
 " The deed was not mine." 
 
 " Believe him not, my lord, — we are upon our testi- 
 mony," said the accusers. 
 
 Ralph, turning aside, met them face to face. He 
 commenced a short but shrewd examination, as follows : 
 
 " You were a watching, I suppose ? " said he, care- 
 lessly. 
 
 " Ay, were we," sharply replied three or four ready 
 tongues. 
 
 " Then, how could I fire the beacon without your 
 leave ? " A short pause evinced their dislike to this ques- 
 tion ; but Will, more ready than discreet, soon summoned 
 assurance to meet the enquiry, thus : — 
 
 " My lord, we had just taken them into the hut, think- 
 ing to show them a courtesy ; but that knave's throat 
 holds more liquor than his mother's kneading-trough, 
 or " 
 
 " If in the hut, how could I set the beacon in a low ? " 
 
 " But thou hadst a companion," hastily shouted Nicho- 
 las, finding their first position untenable. 
 
 " And how comes it to pass that ye be taking or guiding 
 thither any person, and more particularly wayfarers, whom 
 we know not ? How comes it, I say, that ye suffer this 
 without my permission ? " said the abbot sternly. 
 
 " Will was their guide ; and we cared not to refuse 
 your reverence's messenger." 
 
 " My messenger ! " returned Paslew, with a glance that 
 almost bent them to the ground. 
 
 " Please your highness," said Will, falling on his knees, 
 *' the stranger was a visiting of the beacons, so said he,
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 217 
 
 to know if they were carefully watched. He came to 
 me, as with an authority from your reverence, and I 
 mounted them up to the guard-house, unwillingly enough. 
 'Tis a sore pull for a pair of shanks like mine." 
 
 The abbot now saw plainly into the machinations by 
 which he had been betrayed, and reprimanding his men 
 for their negligence, and so careless an observance of his 
 commands, ordered them off severally to the stocks. 
 Their lamentations were loud but unavailing, especially 
 when they found that Ralph was simply dismissed, for a 
 space, to solitary confinement. 
 
 Yet was Paslew still at a loss to determine whence this 
 subtle device originated, unless from his brother of Kirk- 
 stall, and he resolved to question Ralph secretly. It was 
 owing to this purpose, probably, that the usual summary 
 process of executive justice was not more speedily ad- 
 ministered. 
 
 A great marvel and gossip, as may readily be supposed, 
 now arose throughout the whole country. Rumour, with 
 her hundred tongues, flew fast, and her wide wings over- 
 spread the land. From all quarters, conformably to the 
 signal, the levies marched with great rapidity to Don- 
 caster, where they found Lord D'Arcy, who seemed to 
 feel, or to feign, astonishment at this sudden rising 
 without his orders. One and all proclaimed that the 
 appointed signal was from the Abbot of Whalley, at 
 whose war-inciting torch the whole line of beacons had 
 been kindled. A messenger, however, was soon forwarded 
 to the camp, from Paslew, with an explanation of the 
 affair, while at the same time he demanded their aid for 
 the discovery and punishment of the offenders. But 
 D'Arcy and Aske were too well pleased to see Paslew's
 
 218 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 crafty and selfish plans frustrated, whilst he was irretriev- 
 ably committed to their cause. Tired of waiting the 
 tardy result of negotiations with their sovereign, these 
 ambitious spirits were glad to behold their army once 
 more menacing the royalist position, hoping it would 
 either quicken or terminate these dilatory proceedings. 
 But the Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of Shrewsbury, at 
 the news of this unexpected rising, were mightily amazed. 
 Their plans were at once terminated. Their emissaries 
 had failed to bring intelligence, previously, of the in- 
 tended gathering. In the midst of their dilemma, word 
 was brought that the Abbot of Whalley had first lighted 
 up the blaze of insurrection. Secretly resolving that this 
 meddling priest should sorely rue his mischievous exploit, 
 they again found themselves unwillingly obliged to enter 
 into fresh stipulations with their adversaries, though de- 
 termining on delay, if possible, in the hope of dividing 
 their leaders, and of extinguishing the rebellion in detail. 
 
 But we would crave the reader's return to the abbey, 
 where Ralph was left in strict durance, and possibly in 
 some danger from the vindictive purposes of the abbot. 
 
 Early on the following morning, he was aroused from a 
 deep-toned and laborious stertoration, by a figure that 
 shook him as he lay, in a somewhat unceremonious fashion. 
 The intruder was wrapped in a thick cloak or tunic, and he 
 stood gruffly erect, by the straw couch, whereon the pri- 
 soner's night-dreams had nestled in their first existence. 
 
 "1 marvel thou sleepest so soundly ! — Thou art the 
 first knave, I trow, that hast welcomed these walls with so 
 loud a clarion." 
 
 " And what should ail the well-earned slumbers of 
 Ralph Newcome ? His sleep may be as sound as some
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 219 
 
 of those, mayhap, that have softer beds and gayer cloth- 
 ing." 
 
 " But the gallows, man ! — Hast had no glimpse of the 
 noose in thy night visions ? " 
 
 " Peradventure the hemp is not sown that shall make 
 my collar. When the hangsman comes, 'tis time enough 
 to wake ; so, I pray thee, bereave not a poor man of the 
 only solace the rich cannot purchase from him." 
 
 " Thou art a plain-spoken varlet, and I would but ask 
 thy master's name and condition. Answer me straight — 
 no equivocation, no shuffling or evasion shall serve thee ; 
 'tis a stale device now, and will not avail." 
 
 " And who art thou, friend, that hast such a greedy 
 appetite for men's names, thou canst not rest a-bed for the 
 craving of thy stomach ? " 
 
 " I am the abbot, and thou a prisoner in this good house. 
 Fearful odds, methinks, for the strife." 
 
 " Now hark thee, most reverend abbot, my name thou 
 knowest, at a peradventure : but for the name of my mas- 
 ter, as thou callest him, seeing it be a notable secret, thou 
 mightest as well go ask his goshawk yonder, who, I guess, 
 continues an unworthy prisoner as well as myself." 
 
 " I'll have the truth wrung from thy tongue. Thumb- 
 screws and iron mittens will not be denied so easily." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Ralph, — " these be rare things for 
 cracking the shell : but, for all that, I wot, they'll not get 
 at the kernel." 
 
 " What ! defiest thou my power ? — in my own custody, 
 too ? " Paslew grew pale with anger ; but the impolicy 
 of this proceeding soon suggested itself to his wary, 
 though at times impetuous temper. Yet the stubborn
 
 220 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 disposition of his prisoner resisted alike his cajolements 
 and his threats. 
 
 In vain were offers of reward multiplied ; nor bribe nor 
 entreaty could avail. Paslew then left him, threatening 
 to extract by force what milder measures had failed to 
 elicit. He had that morning despatched a messenger 
 to the rebel chiefs at Doncaster, with an explanation of 
 the accident, likewise with an assurance of his good wishes 
 to the cause ; but still he delayed to go in person, or to 
 send his quota of levies. 
 
 True, however, to his threats, if not to his promises, 
 towards the close of the day, he again visited the dungeon. 
 He was accompanied by two grim attendants, whom he 
 ordered to wait outside, until their services should be 
 required. 
 
 Ralph was striding lustily, and with evident impatience, 
 over the damp floor ; yet he scarcely seemed to notice 
 the entrance of the abbot. 
 
 " How now ! — Hast had aught, by way of special dis- 
 covery, touching the name thou hadst forgotten this 
 morning ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have had a notable discovery therein," said 
 Ralph, still holding on his pace diagonally as heretofore. 
 
 *' And may we graciously participate in the result? — 
 Doubtless 'tis a comfortable and happy revelation," said 
 the abbot. 
 
 " 'Tis to beware of three most unlucky things, persons, 
 or properties, I trow, — to wit, a parson's maid, a prior's 
 sow, and an abbot's dinner." 
 
 " And what lack they in thy honest esteem ? " 
 
 " A parson's maid lacks honesty, — a prior's sow a 
 litter, — and an abbot's dinner lacks me ! "
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLKY. 221 
 
 " Or, rather, thou lackest it." 
 
 " WTiy, troth, I am not over nice in the disposition of 
 vain words ; nor should I be over nice in the disposal of 
 some light scraps from your reverence's buttery." 
 
 *' Thou hast not dined ? " 
 
 " Peradventure not at thy cost." 
 
 " Perchance an empty stomach may be the more apt to 
 yield. A full belly makes a stout heart." 
 
 " I know not. But hasten, I beseech thee. Thy ques- 
 tions over, we may make merry together. Nothing less 
 than a full flagon and a prime haunch will suffice." 
 
 Ralph rubbed his hands at the bare idea of these pro- 
 spective dainties. 
 
 " Wilt thou now disclose the name of thy master ? " 
 
 " No," said Ralph ; — " and now for dinner." 
 
 " Prythee, in what haste?" returned Paslew, with a grin 
 of cruel and malicious irony. " There be some slight pre- 
 liminaries to adjust, — something to season thy haunch, 
 and whet thine appetite. He stamped with his foot, and 
 the two attendants entered, bearing instruments of un- 
 couth and horrid appearance. 
 
 " Thou mayest spare my bones and thy gimcracks. 
 With all thy screwing, thou canst not yet squeeze rain- 
 drops from the rock." 
 
 " I cry thee favour. Thou hast dared the stroke, — 
 thou hast courted the vengeance thou wouldest with- 
 stand, but thou shalt yield or break. — Seize him." 
 
 " Stand back, caitiffs ! " said Ralph, with a look of 
 deep and unutterable scorn. " But to thee ! — words 
 would fail to express my contempt, my derision, my 
 defiance of thy puny power ! Read, and skulk back to 
 thy cell ! "
 
 52? 
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 He drew from his doublet a small roll of parchment, 
 which Paslew, with unfeigned astonishment and vexation, 
 recognised as a safe warranty from the Archbishop of 
 York, wherein the bearer, under whatever manner or dis- 
 tinction he might choose to adopt, was charged with a 
 secret mission from the leaders of the " Pilgrimage" 
 touching the success and well-being of the Catholic faith, 
 and the prosperity of the Holy Church, All abbots, 
 priests, and others, being true sons of the church, were 
 called on to aid and comfort him in the due exercise of 
 his mission, to furnish him with a safe passage, and to obey 
 his bidding without let or question. 
 
 " Herein fail not at your peril ! " said Ralph, eyeing the 
 abbot with a glance of cool and deliberate scorn. 
 
 " Why was not this protection from his Grace given to 
 me before?" enquired Paslew, beseechingly. 
 
 " That thy deceit and double-deaUng might be the more 
 manifest. Yesternight thou didst refuse thine aid until the 
 beacon of insurrection should be kindled. When kindled, 
 and upon thine own ground, too, still thou boldest back ! 
 But think not to escape ! — Think not to watch in safety 
 whilst others work. Whoever wins in this perilous game, 
 thou wilt lose. Marked out for destruction, thine own 
 policy will betray thee. Choose thee one party, and thou 
 hast yet one chance of safety. But double-dealers, such 
 as thou, do ever tumble into the trap baited by their own 
 cunning." 
 
 " Will his Grace of York expect my presence at the 
 camp?" 
 
 " It is needful thou make thy peace either with him or 
 with the king," said Ralph : " yet am I bold to tell thee, 
 that with Harry thine hope of reconciliation is past.
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 223 
 
 The news, ere this, hath reached Norfolk's ear, and the 
 beacon-hght of Pendle, the first blaze and signal of the 
 insurrection, denounces the Abbot of Whalley as a ring- 
 leader, and as having first kindled the torch of rebellion." 
 
 With a malicious smile, cruel as the triumph of the 
 fiend at the torments of his victim, did this mysterious foe 
 exhibit to him the toils that had been, during his un- 
 suspecting security, wound about him. 
 
 " Thine only hope is from his Grace ; go with me, and 
 thou mayest yet dwell in safety, and thme house be 
 established." 
 
 Paslew saw with dismay the dark gulf which yawned 
 on either hand, and the net so craftily prepared to 
 entangle him. His only hope of security, however, was 
 a prompt acquiescence in the plan pointed out by the 
 stranger, who accordingly engaged to conduct him, with- 
 out delay, to the appointed rendezvous. 
 
 Passing over the difficulties of the journey, the acci- 
 dents by the way, the slips and damages of sumpter-horses, 
 and their often trackless march over the hills, let us 
 behold Paslew, after some narrow escapes from the royalist 
 forces, taking up his quarters at an obscure lodging hard 
 by the town of Doncaster, and nigh to the cantonments of 
 the rebel chiefs, whose forces were once more in formid- 
 able array, occupying a conspicuous position on the left 
 bank of the river Don. 
 
 The left wing of the royalist troops was flanked by a 
 deep morass, called Potterie Car ; and their right pro- 
 tected by the walls of the town. 
 
 The morninsr that followed Paslew's arrival was the 
 time appointed for a general attack by the rebels, who
 
 224 THE ABBOT Ol- WHALLEY. 
 
 considerably outnumbered the more disciplined, but less 
 zealous army of their sovereign, D'Arcy and his asso- 
 ciates intending to cross the river by daybreak, with 
 the utmost secrecy, hoping to take the royalist forces by 
 surprise. 
 
 Paslew arrived alone, just as the consultation of the 
 chiefs was breaking up. His companion, Ralph, had left 
 him some hours before, and galloped on at full speed, 
 first giving directions as to the course he should take, and 
 the measures he was to adopt on his arrival. Conducted 
 in due form to the archbishop's presence, Paslew found 
 his grace at supper. The repast was sumptuous, and 
 served up in great state. This high dignitary seldom 
 stirred but with his kitchen-furniture and service for the 
 table, which last was of massy silver, beautifully wrought 
 and embellished. His servants were apparelled in all the 
 pomp and insignia of office ; but he aflPected great plainness 
 and simplicity, both of dress and demeanour. At his 
 right hand sat a stout, muscular figure, whom Paslew 
 immediately recognized, with unequivocal demonstrations 
 of surprise, to be his umquhile prisoner Ralph Newcome, 
 now habited in a plain suit of velvet, and looking like a 
 country gentleman, of some rank and importance. His 
 manner was, however, coarse and abrupt ; and he still 
 seemed nothing loth to sustain his full complement of 
 liquor. On the left of the archbishop sat his nameless 
 visitor at the abbey, whose personal accomplishments he 
 had good cause to remember. Below them sat several 
 chiefs of the confederacy, apparently of an inferior rank. 
 
 " Abbot Paslew," said his grace, " thou art a tardy, and 
 it may be, undutiful son. Thine homage to the church has 
 not been either freely or faithfully rendered; yet does
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 225 
 
 she now welcome thee to her embrace, with the promise 
 of a free and unconditional forgiveness." 
 
 " Ay," said he of his grace's right hand ; « Abbot 
 Paslew was of too great weight in the scale of events, to 
 be left to choose his own side of the balance. I am right 
 fain of his company, and in troth he can use the per- 
 suasions well, — the thumbscrews and tight boots upon 
 occasion." 
 
 " Master Aske," replied the archbishop, " if the sons 
 that our mother hath suckled and nourished from her 
 own grace and bounty, were every of them as true as 
 thou art, who yet receivest not of her temporal favours, 
 then would her kingdom be enlai'ged, and her arms should 
 outstretch to the utmost verge and compass of all visible 
 things. But there be evil men and seducers abroad, 
 traitors to their altar and their faith." Here he paused, 
 but presently continued, " My friends, though our religion 
 be meek and lowly, yet does it not deny to us the comforts 
 but sparingly scattered through this vain and perishing 
 world." 
 
 His grace here filled a cup of spiced sack, inviting 
 Paslew to partake of their humble entertainment. Be- 
 wildered and intimidated, he yet obeyed with all due re- 
 verence and courtesy. 
 
 " Confusion to the heretic king ! " cried he on the left 
 of the archbishop, filling his glass, and at the same time 
 taking especial note that the guests should repeat this 
 bold and startling treason. 
 
 " Lord D'Arcy," said one of the guests ; " thou hast 
 imbibed that wish so oft in thy drink, that should the king 
 catch thee, he may find it branded in thy four quarters, 
 when they are cut up to ornament his majesty's posterns," 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 
 
 " And what miglit he find on thine, Norton?" said the 
 fiery leader. 
 
 " A cook's rolling-pin and a mutton pasty." A loud 
 laugh here announced the hit, of which this sally was the 
 bearer, it being levelled directly at the well-known pro- 
 pensities of the personage to whom it was addressed. 
 
 " Come, friends all," said the archbishop ; " let not the 
 gibe and jest go round; there be matters of graver import 
 that should occupy us this night. To-morrow, let the 
 elements be propitious, and the day is won." 
 
 " Od's life," said Aske ; " surely the rain will not 
 again prevent us from passing the river, as it did in our 
 last campaign." 
 
 " If it do," cried a deep and melancholy voice from the 
 lower end of the table, " then will I say this Pilgrimage 
 of Grace is the device of man, and not of God, and the 
 work will not prosper." 
 
 This ominous anticipation seemed to strike terror into 
 the most stout-hearted. " Foul fa' the croaking raven ! " 
 said Aske. " No good comes on't, when the Lord of 
 Ravenswood breaks from his usual silence. Mischief 
 follows, safe as the bolt after the flash." 
 
 " Hush ! my son," said the archbishop to this bird of 
 ill-omen ; " thou speakest unwisely. 'Tis not for us to 
 adjudge the displeasure of Heaven upon slight testimo- 
 nies. He trieth our faith, when the dark cloud oversha- 
 doweth His mercy. But let us not dishonour this good 
 cause, and weaken our hands by indulging in such gloomy 
 anticipations. The night showeth little token of a change, 
 and when I was last abroad, the river passed on, shallow 
 and murmuring, over the ford." 
 
 The guests were fully occupied to a late hour in dis-
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLEY. 227 
 
 cussing the plan of" attack, the occupation of the town, 
 together with subsequent arrangements ; after which, 
 with mutual anticipations of success, the company de- 
 parted. 
 
 Paslew, on retiring to his chamber, though much fa- 
 tigued, found himself unable to sleep. The dark chaos of 
 events brooded heavily upon his brain. Feverish and 
 excited, the dread to-morrow seemed already pressing on 
 the past, mingling its deep and unseen flood with the full 
 tide of existence. The whirl and eddy, created by the 
 conflict, lashed his thoughts almost to madness. He grew 
 appalled. The billows blackened as they rose. He seemed 
 sinking, overwhelmed in the struggle, and the spirit qui- 
 vered as they passed. He arose, darting an anxious 
 glance through the low casement. The moon was riding 
 on the top of a huge mountain of clouds, towards the 
 north-west. As he gazed, they came rapidly athwart the 
 heavens, like the wings of some terrible demon visibly 
 unfolding. On a sudden, the door of his chamber flew 
 open. He started forward to meet the intruder, but there 
 was no footstep — no sound, save the hurrying gusts that 
 foreran the approaching tempest. Soon, like a mighty 
 deluge, it burst on, at once, in its full vigour, as though it 
 would overwhelm creation once more in immediate ruin. 
 The roll of the river answered swiftly to the tempest's 
 voice, now swollen to a huge and foaming torrent, rising 
 rapidly over its level banks, and threatening devastation 
 on every side. Paslew quaked. Gloomy forebodings 
 crept upon him. He beheld, in this strange visitation, 
 another, and a manifest interposition of Heaven, fighting 
 against the cause he had unhappily espoused. Rest was 
 Q 2
 
 228 THE ABBOT I'l' WHALLEY. 
 
 out of the question, his whole thoughts being occupied 
 in the contrivance of measures for his own immediate 
 safety. 
 
 In the morning, consternation had seized the whole 
 camp. They beheld the muddy and turbulent waters 
 before them, again frustrating their hopes, levelling their 
 proud schemes, and fighting visibly and irresistibly against 
 them, in front of their adversaries. So intimidated were 
 the troops, and so convinced that their cause was now 
 hopeless, that not all the persuasions and threatenings of 
 their leaders, nor the archbishop's promises of an eternal 
 reward, could prevent the breaking up of this vast multi- 
 tude, and the hasty dispersion of the rebel host. 
 
 Ere morning Paslew was gone. He liked not the dust 
 from a tailing house. Weary and alone, he came back to 
 his dwelling, on the tenth day after his departure. 
 
 From this time, danger and misfortune crowded fast 
 upon that devoted house. The dark course of events un- 
 folded with frightful rapidity, and Paslew, by many a vain 
 contrivance, sought to avert the king's displeasure, and 
 his own doom. A relaxation of some measures more than 
 ordinarily severe was attempted ; and we find, from exist- 
 ing records, that a pension of ten marks per annum was 
 granted to Thomas Cromwell, the king's secretary and 
 principal visitoi*, — whether in the way of bribe or fee is 
 not certain. 
 
 It shows, however, the humiliating and submissive cir- 
 cumstances to which the monks were now reduced. They 
 were indeed fallen from that high estate, when kings were 
 their tributaries, and empires too narrow for the wide 
 grasp of their ambition. The following is a copy of
 
 THE ABBOT OF WHALLfiY. 229 
 
 Thomas Cromwell's indulgence, taken from the Townley 
 MSS.: — 
 
 " To all estates due honour and reverence, and to all 
 other, commendacioun in our Lord everlastyng. Know ye 
 that we John, abbot of ye monasterie of our blessed Ladie 
 of Wlialley, in Com. Lane, by ye assente and consente of 
 ye convente, have freely granted untoeye right honourable 
 Mr. Tho. Cromwell, secretarie, general visitor, and prin- 
 cipal official to our most sovereign Lord KyngHen. VIIL, an 
 annual rent or fee of vi : xiii : iv : yerele, to be paide at ye 
 nativitie of St. John Baptist unto ye saide Maister Thomas 
 Cromwell. Wee, ye saide abbot and convent have put to 
 ye same our handes and common seale. Yeven at Whal- 
 ley 1st Jan. 28 Hen. VIIL" 
 
 But every act of submission, every stratagem and de- 
 vice, had failed to ward off the blow. Within ten weeks 
 from the date of this document, there was neither abbot 
 nor abbey of Whalley ! 
 
 After the dispersion, imprisonment, and execution of 
 the principal leaders of the rebellion, the day of reckoning 
 and retribution was at hand. Shrewsbury, by the king's 
 orders, sent a herald with a troop of horse, who, taking 
 Paslew, Eastgate, Haydock, and some others of the monks 
 prisoners, they were arraigned at Lancaster and convicted 
 of high treason. On the 12th March 1537, Paslew was 
 conveyed back to Whalley for execution, where, in a field 
 called the HolehouseS; immediately facing the house of 
 his birth, a gallows was erected, on which Paslew and 
 Eastgate suffered punishment, or martyrdom, for the story 
 varies according to the bias of the party by whom it is 
 told. Haydock was carried to Padiham, and died there 
 Q 3
 
 230 THE ABBOT OF WH ALLEY. 
 
 the same ignominious death on the day following. The 
 monks, driven from their asylum, escaped into France, 
 with the exception of a few, who lingered near the scenes 
 of their former enjoyments, hovering, like departed hopes, 
 round the ruin to which they clung.
 
 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 
 
 Q 4-
 
 " Why, then, the world's mine oyster, 
 Which I with sword will open ! " 
 
 " God never wrought miracles to convince atlieism, because his 
 ordinary works convince it." — Bacon. 
 
 " No man doubts of a Supreme Being, until, from the consciousness 
 of his provocations, it become his interest there should be none." — 
 
 GoVEKN.MENT OF THE ToNGUE. 
 
 " Men are atheistical because they are first xicious, and question the 
 inith of Cluistianity because they hate the practice." — South.
 
 I
 
 .SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 
 
 Jhe following will, perhaps, be thought misplaced as a 
 polemical subject. But in relating what may be conceived 
 as the true motive that incited Sir Edward Stanley to 
 the founding of that beautiful structure Hornby Chapel, 
 we may be allowed to show the operation as well as the 
 effect ; — to trace the steps by which his conversion from 
 an awful and demoralizing infidelity was accomplished. 
 
 We have borrowed some of the arguments from "Leslie's 
 Short Method with the Deists," condensing and illustrating 
 them as the subject seemed to require. We hope to be 
 pardoned this freedom ; the nature of the question would 
 necessarily refer to a range of argument and reply in fre- 
 quent use ; and all that we could expect to accomplish 
 was to place the main arguments in such a position as to 
 receive the light of some well-known and self-evident 
 truth. 
 
 The dark transactions to which the " Parson of Slaid- 
 burn " obscurely refers, may be found in Whitaker's 
 Whalley, p. 475, 476. 
 
 The same historian remarks in another work, — " From 
 several hints obliquely thrown out by friends as well as 
 enemies, this man appears to have been a very wicked
 
 234" SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 
 
 person, of a cast and character very uncommon in those 
 unreflecting times." " There certainly was something 
 very extraordinary about the man, which, amidst the 
 feodal and knightly habits in which young persons of his 
 high rank were then bred, prompted him to speculate, 
 however unhappily, on any metaphysical subject. Now, 
 whether this abominable persuasion were the cause or the 
 effect of his actual guilt, — whether he had reasoned him- 
 self into materialism in order to drown the voice of con- 
 science, or fell into the sin of murder, because he had 
 previously reasoned himself out of all ideas of responsibi- 
 lity, does not appear ; but his practice, as might have 
 been expected, was suited to his principles, and Hornby 
 was too rich a bait to a man who hoped for no enjoyment 
 but in the present life, and feared no retribution in ano- 
 ther. Accordingly, we find him loudly accused of having 
 poisoned his brother-in-law, John Harrington, by the 
 agency of a servant ; and he is suspected, also, of hav- 
 ing, through subornation of perjury, proved or attempted 
 to prove himself tenant of the honour of Hornby."
 
 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 
 
 ^IR Edward Stanley, the fifth son of Thomas, first 
 Earl of Derby, early received the notice and favour of his 
 sovereign King Henry the Eighth. It is said of him, 
 " The camp was his school, and his learning the pike and 
 sword." The king's greeting, when they met, was, " Ho / 
 my soldier." Honour floated in his veins, and valour 
 danced in his spirits. At the battle of Flodden, he com- 
 manded the rear of the English army, and was attacked 
 by the Earls of Lenox and Argyle, both of whom were 
 slain, together with the king of Scots, on that memorable 
 day. Through his great bravery and skill he mainly con- 
 tributed to its success. A sudden feint inducing the Scots 
 to descend a hill, their strong hold, an opening was 
 caused in their ranks, which Sir Edward Stanley espying, 
 he attacked them on the sudden with his Lancashire 
 bowmen. So unexpected an assault put them into great 
 disorder, which gave the first hopes of success, and 
 kindled fresh courage through the English ranks, end- 
 ing in the complete overthrow and discomfiture of their 
 enemies. 
 
 Upon this signal achievement, Sir Edward Stanley, be- 
 ing much advanced thereby in the king's favour, received
 
 236 SIR EDWARD STANLEY, 
 
 from the hand of his royal master a letter of thanks, 
 together with an assurance of some future reward. Ac- 
 cordingly, we are told, the year ensuing, the king keeping 
 Whitsunside at Eltham in Kent, Sir Edward being in his 
 train, he commanded that, for his valiant acts against the 
 Scots, when he won the hill, and relieved the English 
 from their distress, an achievement worthy of his an- 
 cestors, who bore an eagle on their crest, he should be 
 created Lord Monteagle; — whereupon he had a special 
 summons to parliament in the same year, by the title of 
 Baron Stanley, Lord Monteagle. 
 
 " Twice did he and Sir John Wallop penetrate, with 
 only eight hundred men, into the very heart of France, 
 and four times did he and Sir Thomas Lovell save Calais, 
 — the first time by intelligence, the second by stratagem, 
 the third by their valour and undaunted courage, and the 
 fourth by their unwearied patience and assiduity." " In 
 the dangerous insurrection by Aske and Captain Cobler, 
 his zeal for the prince's service and the welfare of his 
 country, caused him to outstrip his sovereign's com- 
 mands by putting himself at the head of his troops with- 
 out the king's commission, for which dangerous piece of 
 loyalty he asked pardon, and received thanks." By stir- 
 ring up jealousy and sedition, too, amongst the rebels, he 
 gave his majesty time, by pretended treaties, to draw off 
 the most eminent of the faction, and to overcome and 
 dissipate the rest. Yet, with all this outward show of 
 prosperity, and the bruit of noble deeds so various and 
 multiplied, that Fame herself seemed weary of rehearsing 
 them, there were not wanting evil reports and dark insi- 
 nuations against his honour. Foul surmises prevailed, 
 especially in the latter part of his life, as to the means by
 
 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 237 
 
 which he possessed himself of the estates he then held in 
 right of his lady, and those too that he enjoyed through 
 the attainder of her uncle, Sir James Harrington. He 
 acknowledged himself a freethinker and a materialist, a 
 character of rare occurrence in those ages, showing him 
 to be as daring in his opinions as in his pursuits. That 
 the soul of man was like the winding up of a watch, and 
 that when the spring was run down the man died, and 
 the soul was extinct, are still recorded as his expressions. 
 In those days of demoralizing ignorance, this open and 
 unhesitating opinion might be the means of creating him 
 many dangerous and deadly enemies, especially amongst 
 the priesthood, whose office, though tending to higher 
 and nobler ends than the mere thralling of man's spirit to 
 creeds and systems of secular ambition, was yet but too 
 often devoted to this purpose. Every power that human 
 cruelty and ingenuity could compass was tried, but hap- 
 pily in vain, to confine the free and vmfettered spirit for 
 ever in the dark cells of ignorance and superstition. 
 
 From a number of unconnected accounts respecting 
 this great, if not good man, whose virtues even would 
 have been the vices of our own age, we find as the most 
 prominent parts of his disposition, a thorough contempt 
 for the maxims and opinions of the world, and an utte • 
 recklessness of its censure or esteem. Marrying into the 
 family of the Harringtons, he resided the latter part of 
 his life at the castle of Hornby, where we find him en- 
 gaged in schemes, for the most part, tending to his own 
 ■ wealth and aggrandizement. 
 
 The chapel which he built is said to have been vowed 
 at Flodden, but this statement is evidently untrue, having 
 no foundation but the averments of those who content not
 
 238 SIR EDWAUI) STANLEY. 
 
 themselves with a phiin narrative of facts, but assume a 
 Hcence to invent motives agreeable to their own folly or 
 caprice. That Sir Edward Stanley made any such vow we 
 cannot imagine, much less would he put it into execution. 
 " Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die," was the 
 governing principle of his life, and the main spring of his 
 actions. It would be a strange anomaly in the records of 
 human opinions, to find an edifice reared to perpetuate a 
 belief which the founder thought a delusion, a mere 
 system of priestcraft and superstition. To this prominent 
 feature in his history our attention has been directed, and 
 we think the following tradition assigns a better and more 
 plausible motive for the founding of that beautiful struc- 
 ture, the chapel at Hornby : — 
 
 It was by the still light of a cloudless harvest-moon, 
 that two men appeared to be sauntering up the stream 
 that winds through the vale near Hornby. One of them 
 wore a clerical habit, and the other, from his dress, 
 seemed to attend in the capacity of a menial. They 
 rested at the foot of a steep cliff overhung with firs and 
 copsewood. The castle, upon the summit, with its tall 
 and narrow tower, like a feather stuck in its crown, was 
 not visible from where they sat. The moon threw an un- 
 clouded lustre from her broad full face far away over the 
 wide and heavy woods by which they were surrounded. 
 A shallow bend of the stream, towards the left, glittered 
 over its bed like molten silver, issuing from a dark and 
 deep pool, shaded by the jutting boughs and grim-visaged 
 rocks from whence they hung. 
 
 The travellers now ascended by a narrow and preci- 
 pitous path. Their task was continued with no little 
 difficulty, by reason of the looseness of the soil, and the
 
 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 239 
 
 huge rocks that obstructed their progress. By dint of 
 scrambHng, rather than walking, they, however, ap- 
 proached to the summit, when a hght became visible over 
 the hill, growing brighter as they ascended. It was the 
 castle turret, where Lord Monteagle generally spent the 
 greater part of the night in study. Whatever might be 
 the precise nature of his pursuits, they were not sup- 
 posed to be of the most reputable sort. 
 
 " Wizard spells and rites unholy" 
 
 were said to occupy these midnight vigils. Often, as that 
 lonely watch-tower caught the eye of the benighted pea- 
 sant did he cross himself, and fancy that shadows were 
 flitting to and fro on the trembling and distant beam. 
 
 " There it is," said the hindmost person, who was none 
 other than the parson of Slaidburn. " That lantern, I 
 think, is unquenchable. Does thy master never quit yon 
 burning pinnacle?" 
 
 " May be," replied the servant, " he careth not to be 
 oft abroad ; and who dare thwart his will ? 'Troth, he had 
 need be of a tough temper that should give him speech 
 unquestioned." 
 
 " They who hold a higher communion reck but little 
 of this frail and pitiful dust," returned the clergyman, 
 after a solemn pause. " It is enough that he hath sent 
 for me. I would fain warn him ere he depart, else yon 
 walls had not again echoed my footstep." 
 
 This confidential domestic spoke not ; he was either 
 too much attached to his master, or implicated with him, 
 to hazard a remark. 
 
 The path was now wider and less difficult of access, 
 leading over a pretty knoll, glittering like lode-stars in
 
 240 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 
 
 the dew, beyond which arose the liuge and cumbrous pile 
 then distinguished as the castle of Hornby. 
 
 The barking of some half dozen hoarse-mouthed dogs 
 announced their approach. Passing over the drawbridge, 
 the}'^ entered the court-yard, from whence a side postern, 
 at that time, opened a communication to the turret- 
 chamber, without passing through the main building. A 
 winding staircase led them directly to the summit. Soft 
 gleams of moonlight came at intervals through the narrow 
 loopholes, being the only help or direction whereby to 
 accomplish their ascent. After a tedious g}Tation, which 
 more than once made the hindmost party pause to obtain 
 a respite, the guide opened a low door. It swung heavily 
 aside, disclosing a small ante-room, destitute of all fur- 
 niture, save a large oaken chest, that seemed to be the 
 depository, or " ark," as it was usually called, for the safe 
 keeping of the family archives. 
 
 The conductor approaching an opposite door gave a 
 private signal. It flew open as if by its own impulse, dis- 
 playing a chamber of no mean dimensions, in which, by 
 the light from a gigantic lamp, was seen a figure seated 
 before a table absolutely groaning with piles of books and 
 various apparatus of unknown and wondrous import. In- 
 struments of unimaginable shape lay in heaps round the 
 apartment ; their use it were impossible to conjecture. 
 Furnaces, alembics, jars, glass urinals, and bottles of all 
 sizes, rendered the chamber perilous of access, save to 
 those who were acquainted with the intricacies of this 
 labyrinth. " Sir Edward," as he was yet generally styled, 
 looked full at his visitors as they entered. His eye was 
 large and dark, the expression fierce and commanding. 
 He was clad in a gown of black silk, covering an inner
 
 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 241 
 
 vest of sables. From a broad belt, glittering with costly 
 stones, hung a short sword and a pair of pistols richly 
 embossed. 
 
 The upper portion of his head was bald ; the hair on 
 its sides short and frizzly. His beard was of a reddish 
 tinge, trimmed square and bushy, beneath which his 
 white ruff seemed to glisten from the sudden contrast. 
 His forehead was high and retreating; his face pale, 
 and his cheek hollow and slightly wrinkled. His nose was 
 small, looking ill suited to the other features, which were 
 large and strongly marked. His mouth was full, but com- 
 pressed ; and his teeth beautifully white and well shapen. 
 Wlien he spoke, they were much exposed, projecting 
 slightly, and tending to give an air of ferocity to his 
 countenance. 
 
 In stature he was tall and well formed. Proudly up- 
 right m his gait and attitude, he appeared like one born 
 to be obeyed, — to rule in whatsoever station he occupied. 
 
 " Sir Hugh Parker. The parson of Slaidburn is wel- 
 come to Hornby," said Lord Monteagle, rising. <' It is 
 long since we have met. I claim the privilege of old fel- 
 lowship : give me thy hand." 
 
 " My lord, I am here at your request. Your wishes 
 are commands with my poor endeavours." 
 
 " Thou mayest retire, Maudsley," said the baron to his 
 servant, motioning him to depart. The minister was ac- 
 commodated with a low stool, made vacant for the 
 occasion. Lord Monteagle closing the book, abruptly 
 addressed his visitor, — 
 
 " I knew thou wast in the neighbourhood, and I would 
 unravel a few arguments with thee ; a few quiddities 
 about thy profession. I know thou art skilful at thy 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 SIR EDWARD STANLEY, 
 
 trade, which, though a vocation having its basis in fraud, 
 finding countenance through the weakness and creduhty 
 of mankind, doth yet hold the commonalty in thrall and 
 terror, a restraint which none other scheme might per- 
 adventure impose." 
 
 " You are too harsh, my lord. I minister not to 
 aught that my conscience disapproves. Being of the 
 Reformed Church, I do not mightily affect creeds and 
 opinions. The Bible is the fountain, pure and undefiled ; 
 its waters fertilise and invigorate the seed of the faith, 
 but choke and rot the rampant weeds of error and super- 
 stition." 
 
 " The Bible ! A forgery : the invention of a cunning 
 priesthood to mask and perpetuate their delusions. Prove 
 its falsehoods to be the truth. Distinguish me thy reve- 
 lation from the impostures of Mahomet, the dreams of 
 the Sibyls, and the lying oracles of Heathenrie. Oblige 
 me either to renounce my reason and the common prin- 
 ciples which distinguish truth from error, or to admit the 
 proof thou shalt allege, which proof, look thee, must be 
 such as no imposture can lay claim to, otherwise it proves 
 thy doctrine to be an imposture. If thy religion be true, 
 there must be such a proof. For if the Being, who gave 
 this revelation which he requires all men to receive, have 
 left his own truth destitute of the only proof which can 
 distinguish it from an imposture, this will be an impeach- 
 ing of his wisdom ; an error in the very outset of the 
 case, proving him not the Allwise, but liable to infirmity 
 and error. This, thou seest, will bring our debate within 
 a narrow compass." 
 
 " Nevertheless, I must own the task is hard," replied 
 the clergyman, " because of the blindness and impotency
 
 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 243 
 
 of that same reason of which thou vauntest, and the feeble- 
 ness of our mental sight ; for we cannot come at any ab- 
 stract truth whatsoever but by many inferences hanging 
 together as by a chain, one link of which, not fully appre- 
 hended or made fast, loosens the whole, and the argument 
 falls to the ground." 
 
 " Does the reformed doctrine, too, require a belief in 
 what the hearer may not comprehend ? " said the Baron, 
 scornfully. 
 
 " Nay, there is a sufficiency in the evidence, and a full- 
 ness in this testimony, of which none other history can 
 boast. — What book is that, my lord ? " 
 " The Anabasis." 
 " By whom ?" 
 
 " Surely thou art in jest. 'Tis Xenophon's." 
 " How ? Xenophon ! " said the divine, " Methinks thou 
 speakest unadvisedly. My reason or apprehension 
 knoweth not of such a man, or that he writ this book, 
 and yet thou boldly affirmest the history to be true ! " 
 
 " I know not that it was ever doubted," replied the 
 other. " The common consent and belief of mankind, 
 the transmission of the record from remote ages, are ol 
 themselves no mean evidence of its truth. But there 
 must have been a time when it was first written, and as 
 he appeals in it to facts, to matters which were then of 
 recent occurrence, and to the public knowledge and belief 
 of those facts, surely every of these statements would 
 have ensured detection, especially if put forth at or about 
 the time when the events took place. Would it not have 
 been madness to appeal to eye witnesses of transactions 
 which never happened, which witnesses were then alive, 
 and could easily have belied such an impudent and furtive 
 R 2
 
 244 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 
 
 attempt at imposture. The idea seems almost too ab- 
 surd to refute." 
 
 " Thou judgest well. It would be madness and ab- 
 surdity in the extreme to deny the existence of thy 
 historian, or the events to which he refers ; and yet a 
 record which to thee is of the greatest moment, wherein 
 thine own interests are for ever involved, and to the truth 
 of which there is much more clear and irrefragable tes- 
 timony, thou rejectest as a fraud and an imposture." 
 
 " What proof can its promulgers give me of the infalli- 
 bility of their doctrines, even supposing these events to 
 be true ? " 
 
 " Miracles, acknowledged to be such, contravening 
 and transcending the common course of nature, — these, I 
 reckon, will be a sufficient warranty that the message is 
 from the great Author of all things himself." 
 
 " I own these are the strongest evidences that I could 
 require, and I would admit them if I had witnessed their 
 performance." 
 
 " Good. Now to the proof. It is impossible that any 
 simple fact could be imposed, or that a number of persons 
 could be made to believe they had witnessed such fact 
 unless it had actually taken place. For instance, if I 
 were to assert that I had divided the waters of this river 
 here, in the presence of the inhabitants, and that I had 
 once led the whole of them over dryshod, the waters 
 standing like a wall on each side, to guard their path, 
 appealing to them at the same time in proof of my tes- 
 timony ; it would be impossible, I say, to convince those 
 people it were true, provided the event had not hap- 
 pened. Every person would be at hand to contradict me, 
 and, consequently, it would be impossible that such an
 
 SIK EDWARD STANLEY. 245 
 
 imposition could be put upon them against the direct 
 evidence of their senses." 
 
 " Granted," repUed the Baron. " But this tale I am 
 not too bold to infer might be invented when that 
 generation had passed, when the credulity of coming 
 ages might lead men to believe in such foolish and mon- 
 strous imaginings, like the labours of Hercules, the 
 amours of Jove, and the cannibal exploits of Saturn." 
 
 " Nay, but hear me. Whenever such a story was first 
 promulged, were it then stated that not only public mo- 
 numents remained to attest the event, but that public rites 
 and ceremonies were kept up for its express commemor- 
 ation, which rites were to that day continual, and to which 
 those writings appealed as evidence attesting the per- 
 formance of such miracles, then must the deceit have 
 been rendered but the more glaring and easy of detection, 
 as no such monuments could exist, no rites, no cere- 
 monies demonstrating the truth of this appeal could be in 
 observance. Thus, if I should now invent the tale about 
 something done two thousand odd years ago, a few might, 
 peradventure, be credulous enough to believe me ; but if 
 I were to say that ever after, even to this day, every 
 male had his nose slit and his ears bored in memory of 
 this event, it would be absolutely impossible that I should 
 gain credit for my story, because the universality of the 
 falsehood being manifest, and the attestation thereof 
 visibly untrue, would prove the whole history to be false. 
 Such were the rites and customs of the Jews." 
 
 " But still, rites and observances were practised by 
 
 the Heathen, which ceremonies ye acknowledge to have 
 
 been false and impious ; yet their followers worshipped 
 
 and slid their neck into the yoke as readily as thy fa- 
 
 R 3
 
 246 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 
 
 vourite Hebrews, who are proverbially rogues and cheats, 
 in the estimation even of infidels themselves." 
 
 " Ay, but impostors appeal not to facts, to eye-wit- 
 nesses of some event, confirming and attesting the autho- 
 rity of their mission. Moses could not have persuaded 
 half a million of persons that he had brought them 
 through the Red Sea, fed them forty years, with manna 
 in the wilderness, and performed many other miracles 
 during their journey, had not the facts been well known; 
 and down to this day the rites and ceremonies of the 
 Jews are, in consequence, linked to these main facts, as 
 securely as though we ourselves had formed the first 
 series of the chain, eye-witnesses to the miracles they 
 attest. Again, the books of Moses expressly represent 
 that they are the great history and transcript of the 
 Jewish law, and speak of their being delivered by him 
 and kept in the ark from his time ; likewise they are com- 
 manded to be read at stated periods, and to be taught 
 from father to son throughout all generations, to the end 
 that no imposition might be practised. In whatever age, 
 therefore, after Moses, these forgeries were committed, it 
 were impossible they should have been believed ; — every 
 one must have known they had not even heard of them 
 aforetime, much less been taught all these burdensome 
 precepts by their forefathers." 
 
 " Still the cunning and wily priests might have pre- 
 pared men's minds for the discovery, having themselves 
 deposited these writings in the ark." 
 
 " A manifest impossibility, my lord, and for this plain 
 reason ; those writings profess to be a book of statutes, the 
 standing law of the land ; a code of ordinances by which 
 the people had all along been governed. Could any person
 
 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 247 
 
 invent a body of statutes for this good realm of England, 
 and make it pass upon the nation as the only book of 
 laws which they had ever known or observed ? Could any 
 man, could any priest, or conspiracy of priests, have per- 
 suaded the Jews they had owned and obeyed these ordi- 
 nances from the time of Moses, when they had not even 
 so much as heard of them in times past?" 
 
 " These rites, it is most likely, having their origin in 
 the simplest occurrences, might still have been practised 
 prior to the forgeries ; and these books, by allusions to 
 them, deceived the nation, causing it to believe they were 
 performed in memory of some miraculous events which 
 never happened." 
 
 " What ! Is it possible to persuade men they have kept 
 laws which they have not even heard of? If I were to 
 frame some idle story of things done a long while ago, 
 and say that our Sabbath was kept holy in comme- 
 moration of these events ; — this, I think, my lord, will 
 answer to the terms of your assertion ; — suppose I made 
 an attempt to persuade the people this day was kept holy 
 in memory of Julius Caesar or Mahomet, and that every 
 body had been circumcised or baptized in their names ; 
 that, in the courts of judicature, oaths had been taken on 
 these very writings I had fabricated, and which, of neces- 
 sity, they could not have seen prior to my attempt ; and 
 that these books likewise contained their laws and reli- 
 gion — ordinances which they had always acknowledged, — 
 is it possible, I ask, that such a cheat could for one 
 moment have existed ? An impostor would not have 
 dared to make any such references, knowing they must 
 inevitably have led to the rejection of his testimony." 
 
 " But surely, if this great transaction, the passage of 
 R 4
 
 248 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 
 
 the Red Rea, had really happened, and in the way thou 
 hast pointed out, the evidence would not have been suf- 
 fered to rest solely on the frail and uncertain records to 
 which thou hast referred. Books of laws, for instance, 
 the writings of Mahomet, we know have been forged, as 
 even thou wilt acknowledge." 
 
 " True; but those books refer not to miracles and the 
 testimony of eye-witnesses, nor to laws and ordinances 
 handed down from generation to generation, even to that 
 time. That Mahomet pretended not to the working of 
 miracles, he tells us in the Koran. The ridiculous legends 
 related by his followers are rejected as spurious by the 
 scholars and expounders of the prophet; and even his 
 converse with the moon, his night journey from Mecca 
 to Jerusalem, and from thence to heaven, were not per- 
 formed before witnesses. The same may be said of the 
 absurd exploits related of the heathen deities." 
 
 " But had not the heathen their priests, their public 
 rites and sacrifices, equally with the Jews ?" 
 
 " They had. But it was not even pretended that these 
 rites commenced at the time when the things which they 
 commemorate were said to have happened. The Baccha- 
 nalia, for example, and other festivals, were established 
 long after the fabulous events to which they refer. The 
 priests of Juno and Venus were not appointed by those 
 imaginary deities, but arose in some after age, and are, 
 therefore, no evidence whatever to the truth of their 
 worship. " 
 
 " But where is thy proof in the unwritten evidence, 
 — monuments which cannot lie, bearing silent but con- 
 vincing testimony to the truth of these miracles?"
 
 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 249 
 
 « Twelve stones, it is said, were set up at Gilgal to 
 commemorate the passage over Jordan." 
 
 " Ay, in thy book we read it." 
 
 *' But mark the intention, to which no lying imposture 
 durst have referred, — to the end, it is written, that when 
 the children of those who had witnessed this miracle, 
 and their children's children, should ask their meaning, it 
 should be told them. Now the miracle for which these 
 stones were set up as a memorial by the eye-witnesses 
 themselves, could not, as before proved, have been im- 
 posed upon the people at the time it happened, had it not 
 really occurred." 
 
 " All this I can safely grant. Yet thou lackest where- 
 with to conclude thine argument." 
 
 " Bear with me, my lord, until I have made an end. 
 Let us suppose, for one moment, there was no such 
 miracle wrought as this same passage over Jordan." 
 
 " Which supposition of thine I do hold to be the truth, 
 as firmly as I believe your revelation is an imposture." 
 
 " And yet if it should be true, my lord?" The minister 
 said this in a tone that made the listener start. He bit 
 his lips. But the feeling had subsided, as, with a sharp 
 and hurried accent, he exclaimed, — 
 
 " Why this pause ? I am prepared to listen." 
 
 " These stones," continued the divine, " were, of 
 necessity, well known as public monuments existing at the 
 time when these writings were first rehearsed in the ears 
 of all the people, because they are here referred to, as tes- 
 timonials of the event. But, supposing them to have been 
 set up on some unknown occasion as you say, and that 
 designing men in after ages invented the book of Joshua, 
 aflSirming it was written at the time of that imaginary
 
 250 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 
 
 event by Joshua himself, adducing this pile of stones in 
 evidence of its truth, what is the answer which every 
 one who heard it must have made to this witless false- 
 hood ? ' We know this pile of stones,' they would say ; 
 ' but of such an origin as thou hast related we have not 
 heard, nor even of this book of Joshua. Where has it 
 been concealed, and from whence was it brought forth ? 
 Besides, it solemnly inculcates that this miraculous event, 
 our fathers' passage over Jordan, should be taught their 
 children and children's children from that day forward, 
 who were to be shown and carefully instructed as to the 
 meaning and design of this very monument ; but of this 
 we have not so much as heard, nor has thy history been 
 handed down to us from our forefathers. It is a lying 
 testimony, therefore, and we cannot receive it.' Yet do 
 we find the children of Israel commemorating, handing 
 down, and instructing their children from age to age into 
 the meaning and design of these memorials, which instruc- 
 tion must at some time or another have had a beginnmg, 
 having its commencement with the very events to which 
 they refer, which events it would then have been impos- 
 sible to make the people believe against the plain evi- 
 dence of their senses. Is the chain complete, my lord ? " 
 
 " But what has all this to do with thy religion ? — A 
 system far different, methinks, from the primitive institu- 
 tions of these remote ages." 
 
 " The self-same reasoning will apply, and in precisely 
 the same mode, to the miracles of our Lord and his 
 apostles, together with their transmission by records from 
 their times. The histories of the Old and New Testa- 
 ments could not have been received at the time they were 
 written, if they had not been true, because, the priesthoods
 
 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 251 
 
 of Levi and of Christ, — the observance of the Sabbath, 
 the passover and circumcision, — the ordinances of baptism 
 and the eucharist, are there represented as descending by 
 uninterrupted succession from the time of their respective 
 institution. It would have been as impossible to per- 
 suade men in after ages that they had been circumcised or 
 baptised, had celebrated passovers and sabbaths under the 
 ministration of a certain order of priests, if it were not so, 
 as to make them believe they had gone through the seas 
 dry-shod, seen the dead raised, and so forth. But without 
 such a persuasion neither the Law nor Gospel could have 
 been received." 
 
 " Yet, methinks, if I were the founder of a new reli- 
 gion, and had all the stores of Nature and Omnipotence 
 at my command, — those boasted attributes of thy law- 
 giver — I would not have left it liable to doubt, to the sneers 
 and cavils of any one who might question my pretensions, 
 or my right to control their belief. The truths of 
 Omnipotence should be clear as the sun's beam, and 
 unquestioned as his existence." 
 
 " ' If they believe not Moses and the Prophets, neither 
 would they believe, though one should rise from the dead.' 
 'Tis not for lack of proof; 'tis for lack of will. 'Tis not for 
 lack of testimony, one tithe of which would have gained 
 a ready assent to any of the drivelling absurdities of 
 Heathen Mythology, — 'tis for lack of inclination ; 'tis a 
 wish that these revelations may not be true ; and where 
 the heart inclines, the judgment is easily biassed." 
 
 " True, ' as the fool thinks.' The proverb is somewhat 
 stale. I marvel thou findest not its application to thine 
 own bias, perdie ! " 
 
 " At any rate, if I am fooled, I am none the worse for
 
 252 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 
 
 my belief, if my creed be not true ; but if man, as thou 
 wouklest fain hope, is hke the beasts that perish, I am 
 still at quits with thee. And if this dream of thine should 
 prove but a dream, — and thou shouldest awake — to the 
 horrors of the pit, and the torments of the worm that 
 dieth not ! " 
 
 " Peace, thou croaker ! I did not send for thee to 
 prophesy, but to prove ; I would break a lance and hold a 
 tilt at thine argument. Now, I have a weapon in reserve 
 which shall break down thy defences, — the web of thy 
 reasoning shall vanish. The fear of punishment, and the 
 hope of future reward, held out as a bait to the cowardly 
 and the selfish, shall be of no avail when the object of my 
 research is accomplished. Hast thou not heard of the 
 supreme elixir, — the pabulum of life, which, if a man find, 
 he may renew his years, and bid defiance alike to time 
 and the destroyer ? Then what will become of thy 
 boasted system of opinions, begotten by priesthood, and 
 nurtured by folly ? " 
 
 " And this phantasma. which man has never seen ; 
 which exists not upon the least shadow of evidence, — 
 which has not even the lowest dictates of sense and plau- 
 sibility in its favour. — on this ignis t'atuus, eluding the 
 grasp, and for ever mocking the folly of its pursuers, thou 
 canst build thine hopes, because it flatters thy wishes and 
 thy fears ? " 
 
 " My fears ! " said the baron, rising ; " And who speaks 
 of my^or^ ? I would chastise thee, thou insolent priest, 
 wert thou not protected by the laws of courtesy." 
 
 " Yes, thy fears, Baron Monteagle," said this undaunted 
 minister of the truth. " Thou wouldest not care to face 
 thy lady's cousin ! — His blood yet crieth from the 
 ground ! "
 
 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 253 
 
 " And wlio dares whisper, even to the walls, that I mur- 
 dered John Harrington?" cried the astonished adept, 
 trembling with ill-suppressed rage. " Methinks he hold- 
 eth his life too cheap who doth let this foul suspicion 
 even rest upon his thoughts." He drew his sword as he 
 spoke ; but the minister stood undaunted, surveying his 
 adversary- with a look of pity and commiseration. 
 
 " Put up thy sword. Thou hast enow of sins to re- 
 pent thee of without an old man^s blood added to the 
 number." 
 
 " How hast thou dared this insult ? By my " 
 
 " Nay, spare your oaths, my lord ; they are better un- 
 spoken than unkept." 
 
 " Have I sent for thee to make sport ? To gibe and 
 taunt me even to my face?" 
 
 " I'll tell thee for what cause thou didst crave my pre- 
 sence," replied the other firmly. " Thou hast misgivings 
 lest thine own hopes should not be true ; lest thou 
 shouldest perchance depart with a lie in thy right hand. 
 Thou didst send for me, an unworthy minister to the faith 
 which I profess, that by thy subtlety thou mightest de- 
 ceive thyself; that by overthrowing my arguments, thine 
 own might be strengthened, for truly 'tis a comfortable 
 thing to have our opinions confirmed through the weak- 
 ness of an opponent." 
 
 " And daredst thou, with such apprehensions upon thy 
 stomach, to commit thyself alone to my mercy and my 
 keeping? Suppose I should reward thee according to 
 thine own base suspicions. Understandest thou me ? " 
 
 " Yes, proud and guilty man, too well ! But I fear 
 thee not ! " 
 
 " What ! boldest thou a charmed life ? Thou mayest
 
 254< SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 
 
 fall into a broil as well as other men. And who shall 
 require thy blood at my hands ? " 
 
 " Ere I left," said the divine, warily, " I whispered a 
 word in your cousin Beaumont's ear. Should I not re- 
 turn, he will be here anon. Peradventure I am not 
 misunderstood. Thou hadst need be careful of my life, 
 otherwise thine own may be in jeopardy ! " 
 
 A fierce and terrible brightness, like the lurid flashes 
 from his own torment, burst from his eye. The very 
 anger and malice he strove to quell made it burn still 
 hotter. His visage gathered blackness, cloud hurrying on 
 cloud, like the grim billows of the storm across a glowing 
 atmosphere. Rapid was the transition. Rage, appre- 
 hension, abhorrence, — all that hate and malignity could 
 express, threw their appalling shadows over his features. 
 Still the dark hints uttered by his visitor seemed to hold 
 him in check. Chafed, maddened, yet not daring to exe- 
 cute the vengeance he desired, he strode through the 
 apartment with an uneasy and perturbed gait. He paused 
 at times, darting a look at the minister as if about to 
 address him. Suddenly he stood still, nerving his spirit 
 to some awful question. 
 
 " My cousin John Harrington died in his own chamber. 
 In this house, God wot. Thou didst shrive him at his 
 last shift, and how sayest thou he was poisoned r " 
 
 " I said not aught so plainly ; but thou hast spoken 
 out. Behold him ! — There!" — The divine pointed his 
 finger slowly round the apartment. " Within a short 
 space he cites thee to that bar where his presence will be 
 a swift witness to thy doom ! " 
 
 Had the spirit of the unfortunate heir of Hornby sud- 
 denly appeared, the baron could not have followed the
 
 SIR EDWARD STANLEY. 255 
 
 movement of the minister's hand with greater dismay and 
 astonishment. The strong barrier of guilt seemed break- 
 ing down. Conscience aroused, — as if at once the veil 
 that concealed his iniquities had been withdrawn, they rose 
 in all their unmitigated horror and enormity. An arrow, 
 drawn at a venture, had pierced the joints of the harness. 
 He stood powerless and without defence ; — motionless as 
 the image of despair. By a strange coincidence, a thick 
 white cloud seemed to coil itself heavily round the room. 
 Whether to the heated imaginations of the disputants this 
 appearance might not present an image of the form then 
 visible to their minds, it would be impossible to determine. 
 Suffice it to say, the efiPect was memorable, from whatever 
 cause it was produced. 
 
 An altered man was the Baron Monteagle. The argu- 
 ments of this champion of the truth had in some measure 
 prepared his mind for its reception. Under his ministra- 
 tions he felt gradually more enlightened. His terrors 
 were calmed. Soon afterwards rose that noble structure, 
 the chapel of Hornby, bearing on its front the following 
 legend : — 
 
 Edwardus Stanley miles, Dns. Monteagle, me 
 fieri fecit. 
 
 It is recorded that Sir Edward Stanley, Baron Mont- 
 eagle, died in the faith he had once despised ; and we trust 
 he has found a place at the footstool of that Mercy, whose 
 interposition was not solicited in vain.
 
 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 Heavy persecution shall arise 
 
 Of all, who in the worship persevere 
 
 Of spirit and truth." 
 
 Milton.
 
 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 
 
 Smithills or Smethells Hall is situated in a wood, 
 above a small glen, two miles and a half from Bolton. The 
 court-gate exhibits nothing remarkable in its construction. 
 On the left hand was the principal entrance, and a flight 
 of stairs leading from the court. The glass casements, 
 and greater part of the ancient front, have been removed, 
 giving place to a more comfortable if not a more pleasing 
 style of architecture. The wainscot once displayed a 
 profuse assemblage of ornaments, some of which now re- 
 main. Amongst them was formerly shown a likeness, said 
 to be of King Egbert, though from what cause it should 
 be assigned more particularly to that illustrious monarch, 
 it would be difficult to conjecture. 
 
 In a room, called the Green Chamber, it is said that 
 George Marsh, the subject of the following history, was 
 examined before Sir Roger Barton. In a passage near 
 the door of the dining-room, is a cavity, in a flag, bearing 
 some resemblance to the print of a man's foot, which is 
 supposed to be the place where the holy martyr stamped, 
 to confirm his testimony, and which is shown to this day 
 as a memorial of his good confession. 
 
 The stone was once removed for a frolic by two or 
 three young men who lived in the house. Taking ad- 
 s 2
 
 260 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 
 
 vantage of their parents' absence, they cast it into the 
 glen behind the hall. That same night, on retiring to 
 rest, the inhabitants were disturbed by many strange and 
 hideous noises. Much alarm and enquiry being excited, 
 the offenders confessed, and the stone was restored to 
 its place with great reverence and solemnity. Some 
 fragments that were broken off upon its removal were 
 carefully replaced ; after which, according to common 
 report, the noises ceased. 
 
 Another story current in the neighbourhood is as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 About the latter end of the year 1732, one Saturday 
 night, a stranger sleeping alone in the Green Chamber was 
 much terrified by an apparition. He stated that about 
 ten o'clock, as he was preparing for bed, there appeared a 
 person before him dressed like a minister, in a white robe 
 and bands, with a book in his hand. The stranger getting 
 into bed, saw it stand by his bedside for a short time. 
 It then slowly retired out of the door, as if going down 
 stairs, and he saw it no more. This person invariably 
 persisted in the same story ; and the owTier of the estate 
 immediately ordered Divine service at the chapel on a 
 Sunday, which had long been discontinued. 
 
 The vaults seem to have been strongly walled and for- 
 tified, and were most probably used as burying-places, 
 many bones having been found when digging. There is 
 a tradition, that King Egbert founded this place, and kept 
 his court here ; but no corresponding trace of it occurs 
 in history : and we may suppose, from the order of his 
 conquests, that his residence would be in the more southern 
 parts of the kingdom. 
 
 The situation is secluded, and well calculated for con-
 
 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 261 
 
 cealment, favouring the general opinion that it was the 
 retreat of the famous pirate, Sir Andrew Barton, whose 
 exploits and defeat are so beautifully told in the old 
 ballad of that name in Percy's Reliques. It is surprising 
 that so little should be known of this great and bold man, 
 whose conduct had nearly occasioned a war between Eng- 
 land and Scotland, and whose death, it is supposed, was 
 one of the grievances which led to the battle of Flodden. 
 
 " Up to the time of Henry the Seventh, it appears, the 
 Radcliffes were lords of Smethells ; but Joan, daughter 
 and sole heir of Sir Ralph Radcliffe, having married Ro- 
 bert Barton of Holme, he became in that reign seised of 
 the manor and lordship, where his posterity continued, 
 until Grace, sole daughter and heir of Thomas Barton, the 
 last male heir, was married to Henry, eldest son of the first 
 Lord Fauconberg, whose descendant Thomas, in the year 
 1721, sold the manor, which afterwards passed into thehands 
 of the Byrons of Manchester, by whom it was sold to Mr. 
 Peter Ainsworth of Halliwell, a descendant of the Ains- 
 worths of Pleasington, in this county *, the present owner." 
 
 " Smethells is dependent upon the superior manor of 
 Sharpies, the lord of which claims from the owner of this 
 place a pair of gilt spurs annually ; and, by a very singular 
 and inconvenient custom, the unlimited use of the cellars 
 at Smethells for a week in every year." f 
 
 Baines' Lancashire, p. 540 f Wliitaker's Whalley, p. 424. 
 
 s 3
 
 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 
 
 At the close of a cold keen day, about the early part of 
 spring, in the year 1554-, there came two men across a 
 bleak and barren tract of land called Dean Moor, near to 
 Bolton in the Moors. When at some distance from the 
 main path, and far from the many by-roads intersecting 
 this dreary common, they, — first looking cautiously around, 
 as though fearing intruders, — fell on each other's neck 
 and wept. The sun's light beamed suddenly through a 
 cleft in the heavy clouds near the horizon, along the 
 stunted grass and rushes, stretching far away to many a 
 green knoll in the distance, behind which the dark hills 
 and lowering sky looked in wild and terrific blackness 
 s 4
 
 264 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 
 
 over the scene. The sun, descending fast below the hills 
 towards Blackrode, beamed forth as if to cast one short ray 
 of gladness on the world of sorrow he was just quitting. 
 Rivington-Pike, and the dark chill moors stretching 
 from it eastward, were bathed in a wide and stormy burst 
 of light, like the wild and unnatural brightness that 
 sometimes irradiates even the dim shadows of despair. 
 A heavy mist lay at their feet, hiding most of the inter- 
 mediate space from the eye of the observer, so that the 
 long line of barren hills seemed to start out at once, from 
 a sea of vapour, like the grim barriers of some gigantic 
 lake. The clouds were following hard upon the sun's 
 flight, so that by the time he had disappeared, the sky 
 was covered with a dense and impervious curtain, rendered 
 dai'ker by the rapidity of the change. Chill and eddying 
 gusts rustled over the dreary heath ; the voice of nature 
 only responding to the chords of sadness and of sorrow. 
 The hollow roar of the wind was like the moaning of 
 a troubled ocean ; a few big drops from the hurrying scud 
 seeming to presage an approaching tempest. 
 
 The two friends had crept behind a stone wall, built 
 up in a hollow, by a stagnant pool, taking but little heed 
 of the darkness and the storm, so intent were they upon 
 the subject which engrossed their thoughts. 
 
 " I might flee, Ralph, but it would straightway be said, 
 not that I had left my country and my kin alone, but 
 rather that I had deserted the faith and doctrine I pro- 
 fess, after having unworthily ministered hereabout for a 
 season, which might be an occasion of much scandal, a 
 weakening of the faith of my poor flock, and a grievous 
 discouragement to those that remain." 
 
 " ' A living dog is better than a dead lion,' says the
 
 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 265 
 
 wise man. Besides, it is a presuming on His providence, 
 when he opens a way for our escape, and we, of our own 
 wilfulness and folly, neglect the blessing. ' Do thyself 
 no harm.' Provide for thine own life, and run not as the 
 horse and mule, that have no understanding, into the 
 very throat of thine enemies, and them that seek thine 
 hurt." 
 
 The first speaker was a man of plain but comely ap- 
 pearance, habited in a coarse doublet buckled about the 
 waist with a leathern girdle. A round woollen cap, from 
 beneath which a few straight-combed locks hung about 
 his face, gave a quaint and precise aspect to his figure. 
 His features, though slightly wrinkled, did not betoken 
 either age or infirmity : but his whole appearance indi- 
 cated a robust and vigorous frame, capable both of exertion 
 and endurance. The other individual exhibited a more 
 ungainly form and deportment. He had not the same 
 look of benevolence and good-will to man which irradiated 
 the features of the first, of whom it might be truly said, 
 that his inward affections did mould and constrain his out- 
 ward image into their resemblance, so that meekness and 
 benignity shone through his countenance from the ever- 
 glowing spirit of love and Christian charity within. There 
 was a sharp and shrewd intelligence in the eye of the latter 
 speaker, which showed that some considerations of selfish 
 and worldly wisdom might, by possibility, mingle with his 
 imerring notions of duty. Yet was he a man of great piety 
 and worth, and well fitted as a counsellor in times of peril 
 and distress. 
 
 " Ralph Bradshaw," replied the other, " thou hast 
 been my tried friend and my stay in this waste and 
 howling wilderness, and I have found thy counsel hitherto
 
 '266 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 
 
 wholesome and pleasant ; but," continued Marsh with a 
 heavy sigh, " I have not told thee how Sir Roger Barton's 
 servants have made diligent search for me in Bolton, and 
 have given strict charge to my brother Robert, that he 
 should, by to-morrow at the latest, appear with me at 
 Smethells, else shall he and my poor mother answer before 
 him at their peril. By God's grace, I would not leave 
 these weaklings of the flock to suffer for my sake." 
 
 " Leave this matter until thou depart; I will devise 
 some means for their relief. I would not have thy life 
 needlessly put in hazard, seeing how few men have been 
 raised up like unto thyself, privileged as thou art to 
 minister the bread of life to the hungry and famishing 
 poor in this barren corner of God's spiritual vineyard." 
 
 " And yet," replied Marsh, " I ought with all boldness 
 to confess the truth, fearing not to answer for the hope 
 that is in me ; and why should I refuse to obey the com- 
 mands of those who are in authority ? for the magistrate 
 beareth not the sword in vain." 
 
 " Truly, obedience were his right, if so be this were 
 some righteous judge raised up of God for the punishment 
 of evil-doers. But, as thou well knowest, the justice thou 
 shalt demand will not be rendered : the summons thou 
 hast received to answer on doctrinal and disputed points, 
 and to argue them before these wicked and crafty men, as 
 touching thy belief, are but manifest excuses to get thee 
 into their power, from which they mean not to liberate 
 thee but by the fire that shall consume thy body, and free 
 it for ever from their murderous gripe. Thou knowest, 
 too, that Sir Roger beareth thee a malice, and hath used 
 all subtilty that he might have wherewith to seek occa- 
 sion against thee. Didst thou not rebuke him openly for
 
 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 267 
 
 his irreverence, when that he must needs play with his 
 puppy, that had its collar full of bells, during God's holy 
 service, — that comfortable form of worship established and 
 publicly taught in the lifetime of our last good King Ed- 
 ward, and not this papistical, idolatrous mass which they 
 now use, to the eternal ruin of both soul and body ? No 
 mercy shalt thou have at their hands. And doth our 
 blessed Master require of us that we give our bodies up 
 to these wicked and malignant deceivers, that their devil- 
 ish pleasure may be glutted in torturing and spitefully 
 using us, while they go about putting innocent men to 
 cruel and shameful deaths ? As soon would He require 
 that we should yield our bodies up to Satan and his 
 angels." 
 
 " I know not how to answer thee, Bradshaw, in this 
 matter ; but my mind misgives me in taking so hasty a 
 departure from our suffering and aflHlicted realm. Yet 
 will we ask counsel of Him who guideth the weak, and 
 will not suffer us to be tempted beyond measure." 
 
 Whereat these persecuted disciples did unite in prayer 
 to that throne before which, having finished their earthly 
 warfare, they now stand with crowns of victory on their 
 foreheads, purified from this gross mortality. Marsh, 
 much comforted by the exercise, doubted not that, ac- 
 cording to his faith, wisdom and direction would be 
 granted in the way he should take. 
 
 Hereupon they separated, wishing each other " God- 
 speed." 
 
 Through the darkness and tempest of that fearful night, 
 George Marsh approached the town, where, in a narrow 
 lane leading from the brow of the hill by the church, 
 abode his mother and her youngest son. Raising the
 
 268 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 
 
 latch, he saw the old woman alone, seated by the fire, 
 weeping. 
 
 " Praised be His mercy, thou art yet safe ! " said she, 
 clasping her withered hands together. " They have again 
 been here to seek for thee, and I was fearful thou hadst 
 not escaped their power." 
 
 " Who has been here, and from whence ? " 
 
 " Divers of Justice Barton's servants were here again, 
 not an hour ago, who have charged thy brother Robert 
 and thy cousin William Marsh to seek for thee, and 
 by to-morrow, ere noon, to render thee up at Smethells. 
 They are now gone to Atherton, and elsewhere, lor aught 
 I know." 
 
 " Then may I not tarry here to-night ? " 
 
 " Nay, I beseech thee, flee for thy life. In tarrying 
 here shalt thou not escape ; for a man's enemies are now 
 truly those of his own household." 
 
 Marsh, after a pause, determined to listen to her advice, 
 and departed. 
 
 Cold and weary, he retraced his steps, going beyond 
 Dean Church, where, at a friend's house, he staid for the 
 night, '' taking ill rest," as he quaintly expresses it in his 
 journal, " and consulting much with myself of my trou- 
 ble." He expected, or at least hoped, that some intima- 
 tion would be vouchsafed from his Master, as touching the 
 way he should pursue, but none was granted ; and he lay 
 there, full of tossing and unquiet the greater part of the 
 night. On the following morning, at his first awaking, 
 which was early, being still in heaviness, and not knowing 
 what to do, came another friend to his bedside, who ad- 
 vised him that he should in no wise depart, but abide 
 boldly, and confess the faith. At these words he felt so
 
 GEOUGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 269 
 
 convinced, and, as it were, suddenly established in his 
 conscience, that he doubted not, as he says, but the mes- 
 sage was from God. He thenceforth consulted not with 
 flesh and blood, but resolved on immediately presenting 
 himself before his persecutors, and patiently bearing such 
 cross as it might please Heaven to lay upon him. 
 
 He arose betimes, and, as his custom was, recited the 
 English Litany, with other prayers, kneeling by his bed- 
 side. After which he prepared to go towards Smethells, 
 calling, as he went, at the dwellings of several whom he 
 knew, desiring them to pray for him, to commend him to 
 all his friends, and to comfort his mother and his little 
 children ; for, as he then said, he felt assured that they 
 should not see his face any more. Taking leave, with 
 many tears and much sorrow of heart, he came nigh to 
 the residence of Sir Roger Barton, a bigoted persecutor, 
 and an avowed enemy of the reformed church. 
 
 It was about nine o'clock, on a cold and bitter morning, 
 when he came in sight of the court-gate. Then surrounded 
 with trees, the mansion itself was not visible, but within a 
 short distance. This house, now ancient and decayed, 
 then existed in all its pomp and magnificence, having only 
 been erected, as tradition informs us, some fifty years 
 before, by Sir Andrew Barton, a famous pirate, or free 
 rover, who was knighted by James HI. of Scotland for his 
 great bravery. In the third year of Henry the Eighth, with 
 two stout vessels called the Lion and the Jenny Perwin, 
 he considerably interrupted the navigation on the English 
 coasts. His pretence was, letters of reprisals granted 
 him against the Portuguese by James III. Under 
 colour of this grant, he took ships of all nations, alleging 
 that they had Portuguese goods on board. Complaint
 
 270 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 
 
 being made to the privy council of England, the Earl of 
 Surrey said, " The narrow seas should not be infested 
 while he had estate enough to furnish a ship, or a son 
 capable of commanding it." Upon this, two ships were 
 immediately fitted out, and commanded by Sir Thomas 
 and Sir Edward Howard, sons to the Earl of Surrey, at 
 their own expense, when, having been some days at sea, 
 they were separated by a storm, which gave Sir Thomas 
 Howard an opportunity of coming up with Sir Andrew 
 Barton in the Lion, whom he immediately engaged. The 
 fight was long and doubtful ; for Barton, being an ex- 
 perienced seaman, and having under him a determined 
 crew, made a desperate defence, himself cheering them 
 with a boatswain's whistle to his last breath. The loss of 
 their commander, however, caused them to submit, on 
 which they received fair quarter and good usage. In the 
 mean time Sir Edward attacked and captured the Jenny 
 Perwin, after an obstinate resistance. Both these ships, 
 with as many of their crew as were left alive, about one 
 hundred and fifty, were brought into the river Thames on 
 the 2d of August, 1511, as trophies of the victory. The 
 prisoners were sent to the Archbishop of York's palace, 
 now Whitehall, where they remained for some time, but 
 were afterwards dismissed and sent into Scotland. 
 
 James the Fourth having then ascended the Scottish 
 throne, after the murder of his predecessor, exceedingly 
 resented this action, and instantly sent ambassadors to 
 Henry demanding satisfaction, on which the king gave 
 this memorable answer, " That the punishment of pirates 
 was never held a breach of peace among princes." 
 King James, however, was still dissatisfied, and from that
 
 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 271 
 
 time was never thoroughly reconciled to the English 
 nation. 
 
 Sir Andrew was descended of a good family in Scot- 
 land, and adopted a seafaring life when very young. A 
 motive of concealment might be the cause of his erecting 
 a mansion here, the roads being then almost impassable ; 
 and the extensive woods, which lay in almost every direc- 
 tion from this spot, together with its great distance from 
 the sea-side, might be additional recommendations in its 
 favour. An opinion exists, though now involved in much 
 doubt and obscurity, that his immediate descendant was 
 the Sir Roger Barton whom we have already named, and 
 unto whom this pious servant of the truth was about to 
 commit himself. 
 
 On venturing through the gate, Marsh observed several 
 men standing by a door on the left hand, being the prin- 
 cipal entrance. 
 
 " What, ho ! " said one, " art' come to morning 
 prayers ? " 
 
 " Nay," replied another, " his cap cleaves to a heretic's 
 sconce." 
 
 " 'Tis Marsh," said the foremost of the group, who 
 proved to be Roger Wrinstone, the knight's prime mi- 
 nister, constable, and entrapper of heretics. " Now, by 
 my faith," he continued, " if this wily fox do not think, 
 by his coming, to take Justice by the nose, and outface her 
 through his impudence. But he will be sore mistaken 
 if he think to outwit our master by his cunning. Good 
 friend, thy business?" said Wrinstone, cap in hand, ad- 
 dressing the minister scornfully, and thrusting his tongue 
 into his cheek, to the great diversion of his companions.
 
 272 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 
 
 who, with shouts of laughter, began to ape the buffoonery 
 of their leader. 
 
 " I would fain speak with the Justice," said the stranger, 
 meekly. 
 
 " And suppose I were he," said Wrinstone, putting 
 himself into an attitude of great authority and importance, 
 setting out his paunch, at the same time, something like 
 unto the knight himself Another laugh, or rather titter, 
 went through the court-yard at this exploit ; a suspicious 
 glance, however, was directed towards the casement 
 above, some apprehensions evidently existing lest Sir 
 Roger should have been eye-witness to the ceremony. 
 
 " Roger Wrinstone, thy mocking is ill timed," said 
 Marsh, with a severe and steadfast gaze, which seemed 
 to awe even this unblushing minion of intolerance. " If 
 thy master be not arisen, I will tarry awhile his worship's 
 leisure." 
 
 " Sir Roger is with his priest at confession," said one, 
 with a shout of derision. " Art' come to confess him too. 
 Father Marsh?" and with that they plucked him by the 
 beard, mocking and ill treating him. But, filled with 
 joy that he was accounted worthy to suffer, he passed from 
 them into the great hall, at that period a large and lofty 
 room, which, as tradition reports, would have " dined all 
 the monarchs of Europe, and all their trains." It has 
 since been much curtailed of its proportions, modern 
 improvements having appropriated it to more useful pur- 
 poses. The wainscots were enriched with choice and 
 beautiful carvings, representing bucks' heads, flowers, and 
 portraits of the most distinguished ancestors of the family. 
 So numerous and varied were these ornaments, that, it 
 is commonly reported, the artist wrought out his appren-
 
 GEORGE MAUSH, THE MARTYR. 273 
 
 ticeship in executing this grand work, which for minute- 
 ness and the astonishing number and ingenuity of the 
 devices, perhaps exceeded most of the like nature through- 
 out the reahn. Amongst other whimsical fancies was a 
 ton crossed with a bar, having the cyphers A and B above 
 and below, which worthless and absurd pun, a sort of 
 emblematic wit much cultivated by our forefathers, in- 
 dicated the name of the founder. Sir Andrew Barton. 
 
 Marsh, on his first entrance, enquired of a servitor if 
 the justice might be spoken with. The menial was bear- 
 ing off the remains of a substantial breakfast, and, having 
 a flagon of beer at hand, invited the stranger to a hearty 
 draught, saying, that he looked tired and in need of refresh- 
 ment ; but he meekly put it aside, with due courtesy, still 
 standing as he repeated his question. The man departed 
 to make the enquiry, when presently followed the con- 
 stable and his gang, who, seeing that the hall was cleared, 
 strode in, rudely seizing Marsh by the shoulder. 
 
 " Thou art my prisoner," said Wrinstone ; " I arrest 
 thee in the queen's name." 
 
 At this moment came running in a little girl, bounding 
 and frolicksome as a young fawn from its covert, who, 
 hearing the word prisoner, and seeing a man of such a 
 prepossessing and benign aspect in custody, immediately 
 came up to Wrinstone, and laid hold of the skirts of his 
 doublet, saying, 
 
 " You shan't, Wrinstone. If he has done amiss, let 
 him go, and I'll give thee some plums out of my mid- 
 lent pasty." 
 
 The meekness and peaceable demeanour of this im- 
 ofFending servant of the church had in a moment won 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 
 
 the heart of the child, and she pulled him by the hand, 
 as if to convey him from the grasp of his persecutor. 
 
 " May Heaven bless thee, my child, and make thee a 
 blessing ! " He lifted up his eyes while he thus spake. 
 " Thy nature hath not yet learnt the cruel disposition of 
 these tormentors." 
 
 It is said that his prayer was heard ; and a passage in the 
 subsequent history of this little girl may, in all likelihood, 
 find a place in another series of our Traditions. 
 
 A tear, for the first time, trembled in the poor man's 
 eye as he looked on this tender and compassionate babe. 
 He thought upon his own sufferings, and the hard fate of 
 his own httle ones. But he soon repressed the rising 
 murmur, calmly awaiting the result. 
 
 The child still clung to him ; nor would she depart, 
 though threatened with Sir Roger's displeasure by his 
 deputy. Indeed, she cared little for the issue, being fully 
 indulged in all her caprices by the knight, her grandfather, 
 who was mightily entertained with her humours. But 
 threats and cajolements failing in their effect, they were 
 glad to let this wilful creature accompany them to the 
 presence of Sir Roger as the dispenser of justice, or 
 rather of his own vindictive will ; and to his private 
 chamber they were shortly summoned. 
 
 Now this distinguished knight was heavy and well fed, 
 and of a rich and rubicund countenance. From over indul- 
 gence he had become unwieldy, being propped up in a well- 
 stufFed chair, one leg resting on a low stool, his whole frame 
 bloated by indolence and sensuality. He was short-necked 
 and full-chested. His eyes, grey and fiery, were almost 
 starting from his head, by reason of some obstruction to 
 the free current of the blood in that direction. This was
 
 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 275 
 
 accompanied by a wheezing and plethoric cough, which 
 oft troubled him. At his side sat a priest, who had a fair 
 smooth face, and a shining head, sprinkled over with a 
 kw pale-coloured locks, close cut and combed back with 
 becoming care from his temples. His eyes were small 
 and restless, scarcely for an instant keeping to one po- 
 sition. He seemed to pay a silent deference to his 
 patron, allowing Sir Roger to begin the examination as 
 follows : — 
 
 " So, thy relatives have ferreted thee forth at last. 
 Nothing like making their kindred, in some sort, answer 
 for the bodies of these heretics." 
 
 " I came of my own free consent, and alone, your wor- 
 ship," replied Marsh ; <' and hope to be honestly dealt 
 with. If I have offended the laws, I am here to answer ; 
 if not, T claim your protection." 
 
 " Peace ! Will none o' ye stop that fellow's prating ? 
 Justice thou shalt have, and that speedily, as thou sayest, 
 but not in the way thou couldst desire. Look thee ! " He 
 fumbled in his pouch as he spake. Drawing out a letter, 
 he continued — " My Lord Derby hath commanded, that 
 thou be sent to Lathom along with some others who do 
 mightily trouble us, and sow evil seed and dissension 
 among the people." 
 
 " This, please your grace, I deny ; and I would know 
 mine accusers, and what they allege against me." 
 
 " Now this is a brave answer, truly," replied the justice. 
 " These rogues be all of one tale, pretending that they 
 have done nothing amiss, and desiring to know, poor 
 innocents ! of what they are accused, as though they were 
 ignorant of their own lives and conversation hitherto. 
 Tush ! — it were a needless and an unthrifty throwing out 
 T 2
 
 276 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 
 
 of words to argue the matter — for they are wiser in their 
 own eyes than seven men who can render a reason. Do 
 thou question him, and urge him to the test," said Sir 
 Roger, turning to his conscience-keeper. 
 
 " What art thou?" said the priest, leaning forward for 
 the purpose of a more strict examination. 
 
 " I am a minister," said Marsh. " It is but a short time 
 agone since I served a cure hereabouts." 
 
 " Who gave thee orders ? Or hast thou indeed re- 
 ceived any?" 
 
 " The Bishops of London and Lincoln, after that I 
 had diligently studied and kept terms aforetime at 
 Cambridge." 
 
 " Humph ! " said SirRoger. " These bishops be of the 
 reformed sect ; and, I have a notion, will some day or 
 another answer for it before the queen's council." 
 
 " What knowledge hast thou of these men ? " 
 
 " I never saw them but at the time I received ordina- 
 tion." 
 
 After a few more questions of little moment, the priest 
 threw out the usual net, with which his fraternity were 
 wont to entangle those of heretical opinions. * 
 
 * " The common net at that time," says Sir Richard Baker, " for 
 catcliing of Protestants, was the real presence ; and this net was used 
 to catch the Lady Elizabeth. That princess showed great prudence 
 in concealing her sentiments of religion, in complying with the pre- 
 sent modes of worsliip, and in eluding all questions with regard to a 
 subject so momentous. Being asked at one time what she thought of 
 the words of Christ, ' Tliis is my body,^ — whether she thought it the 
 true body of Christ that was in the sacrament, — it is said, that after 
 some pausing she thus answered : —
 
 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 277 
 
 " What is thy belief respecting the sacrament?" 
 
 " That is a question of too general and multifarious a 
 nature for a plain and faithful answer." 
 
 " Are the bread and wine, by virtue of the words pro- 
 nounced by the priest, changed into the body and blood 
 of Christ? And is the sacrament, whether reserved or 
 received, the very body and blood of Christ?" 
 
 " I am not careful to answer such enquiries, seeing that 
 I am but unskilled and unlearned in scholastic disputes. 
 Why do ye ask me these hard and unprofitable questions, 
 to bring my body in danger of death, and to suck my 
 blood?" 
 
 " We are not blood-suckers, and intend none other than 
 to make thee a better man and a good Christian," said 
 the priest, mightily offended. Whereat Roger Wrinstone, 
 in his great zeal and affection for the holy church, smote 
 Marsh a lusty blow on the mouth, saying, 
 
 " Answerest thou the priest so ? By your worship's leave 
 I will mend his ill manners." 
 
 The little girl at this rebuke fell a crying, and her grief 
 became so loud that Sir Roger was fain to pacify her by 
 ordering Wrinstone to stand further apart. With red 
 and glistening eyes she looked up and smiled at the suf- 
 
 * Christ was the Word that spake it, 
 He took the bread and brake it ; 
 And what the Word did make it, 
 That I believe, and take it ; ' 
 
 which, though it may seem but a slight expression, yet hath in 
 it more solidness than at first sight appears ; at least, it served her 
 turn at that time to escape the net, which by a direct answer she could 
 not have done. " — Bakers Chronicle, p. 320. 
 T 3
 
 278 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 
 
 fering martyr, who, remembering his own dear babes, 
 could scarce refrain from embracing her as she clung 
 about him, to the great displeasure of Sir Roger. 
 
 " Answer this reverend and spiritual admonisher, to 
 the true purport and bearing of his question," said Sir 
 Roger, with a mighty affectation of sagacity. 
 
 " I do believe Christ to be present with his sacrament, 
 inasmuch as he is alway with his people to the end of 
 time. But as I am not skilful in matters of such nicety, 
 I would ask of this reverend casuist, who is more able to 
 answer in questions of such weight than I ; who am, as 
 I said before, unlearned in disputed points ; and truly I 
 am in nothing more wishful than to come at a right know- 
 ledge and understanding of the truth." 
 
 " Say on," said the priest, something flattered by this 
 modest appeal to his opinion. 
 
 " Our Lord took the cup and blessed it, of which he 
 then drank, and afterwards his disciples ? " 
 
 " Yes. But this doth not sanction its being sent round 
 to the laity," replied the priest, not aware of the drift and 
 true bearing of the enquiry. 
 
 " Then he took the bread and brake, and did eat like- 
 wise with his disciples ? " 
 
 " Of a truth," replied the unwary disputant. " For 
 these questions need but a plain and simple answer." 
 
 " Then," said Marsh, " of a surety he must have ate 
 and drank himself! — Nay," continued he, seeing the 
 priest turn pale with rage and vexation, " I can find 
 none other alternative. For, unlearned and unpractised 
 as I am, the absurdity of your belief is inanifest." 
 
 " Thou art a child of perdition — an impious and pes- 
 tilent heretic ! Thou eatest and drinkest damnation to
 
 GEORGE ArARSH, THE MARTYR. 279 
 
 thyself; and the holy church consigns all such to the 
 flames, and to the fire of eternal wrath hereafter !" roared 
 the infuriate priest, whose choler waxed hotter in pro- 
 portion as he felt unable to withstand the conclusion of 
 his opponent. 
 
 " For," as it has been observed, even by some of the 
 most enlightened Catholics themselves*, " theological 
 animosity, so far from being an argument of men's con- 
 viction in their opposite sects, is a certain proof that they 
 have never reached any serious persuasion with regard 
 to these sublime subjects. Even those who are most im- 
 patient of contradiction in other controversies, are mild 
 and moderate in comparison of polemical divines; and 
 whenever a man's knowledge and experience give him a 
 perfect assurance in his own opinion, he regards with 
 contempt rather than anger the opposition and mistakes 
 of others. But while men zealously maintain what they 
 neither clearly comprehend nor entirely believe, they are 
 shaken in their imagined faith by the opposite persuasion, 
 or even doubts of other men, and vent on their antagonists 
 that anger and impatience which is the natural result of 
 this state of the understanding." 
 
 " Master," cried Wrinstone, " shall I fetch the britlle, 
 that we so oft use for scolds and ill women ? " 
 
 " Ay, do, prithee run, Roger," said the child hastily, 
 and looking towards him, " for my grandfather's priest is 
 like to need it soon." 
 
 At this the worthy professor of Christian charity and 
 good-will, darting a furious look at the girl, exclaimed — 
 
 * Caixlinal Pole and others. 
 T 4
 
 ^80 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 
 
 " Sir Roger, beware lest this viper thou art hatching 
 be suffered to sting us. Look to it ! This minion of thine 
 is not too young either to work mischief or to escape its 
 punishment ! " 
 
 Whereupon Sir Roger, mightily afraid of his spiritual 
 guide and granter of indulgences, rebuked the offending 
 little one, and ordered her out of the room. With some 
 difficulty this command was executed ; but the disturbance 
 at the door became so loud, that they were fain again to 
 admit her, upon a sullen promise that she would behave 
 in a more reverent manner to the priest, and refrain from 
 interruption. 
 
 " Answer me no more with thy deep and devilish 
 subtlety," continued this champion of the Catholic faith ; 
 " for of a truth the devil doth wonderfully aid and abet 
 ye in all disputes touching this holy sacrament ; but show 
 me thy belief in regard to so wholesome and comfortable 
 a doctrine." 
 
 " 1 have answered before, as far as my weak under- 
 standing will permit, and, by God's grace, I will not swerve 
 from my profession. A doctrine pushed to an absurdity 
 is its own refutation." 
 
 Then spake one that was standing by, but who had 
 hitherto taken no part in the debate. 
 
 " Truly 'tis a pity that one so proper and well-gifted, 
 and who might doubtless gain some profitable appointment, 
 should so foolishly cast himself away by holding these 
 dangerous and heretical opinions. Thou wilt bring both 
 body and soul into jeopardy thereby. If not for thyself, 
 yet for thy children's sake, and for thy kindred, who must 
 needs suffer from thy contumacy, return to the commu- 
 nion from which thou hast cast thyself out, and to the
 
 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 281 
 
 arms of that compassionate mother who is ever ready to 
 receive back her erring but repentant children." 
 
 " Verily," replied the martyr, " life, children, bre- 
 thren, and friends, with all the other delights and com- 
 forts of this present state, are as dear and sweet unto me 
 as unto any other man, and I would be as loth to lose 
 them, if I might hold them with a good conscience. But 
 seeing I cannot do that, I trust God will strengthen me 
 with his Holy Spirit so that I may lose all for his sake. 
 For I now hold myself but as a sheep appointed to be 
 slain, and patiently to suffer whatsoever cross it may 
 please my most merciful Father to lay upon me. But, as 
 God is my witness !" — he seemed to speak with a pro- 
 phetic denunciation, — " from these vile ashes shall a fire- 
 brand come, that shall consume and destroy utterly these 
 bloody men and persecutors of God's inheritance ! " 
 
 So astonished were the bystanders at his audacity, that 
 they did not so much as attempt to stay his tongue, or to 
 lay hands upon him, whilst he continued, raising his arm 
 in a threatening attitude, 
 
 " Ye killers of the prophets, and destroyers of them 
 whom God hath sent unto you ! — Because we reproach 
 you with your evil deeds, and " 
 
 " Blasphemy ! " cried out Sir Roger, who was the first 
 to recover his speech : " we wiU have thy tongue bored 
 for its offence." 
 
 " Away with him ! " cried the priest, who seemed no- 
 thing loth to begin his torments. " Thou shalt to my 
 Lord Derby, and he will know how to deal with such a 
 bitter and foul-mouthed heretic." 
 
 All was uproar and confusion. The justice was even 
 moved from his chair, and swore out lustily, that by ten
 
 282 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 
 
 o'clock the day following, unless this blasphemer were 
 delivered at Lathom, he would imprison the whole family 
 of them ; such a pestilent fellow being fit, as he said, to 
 infect all the parish with the plague of heresy. 
 
 Roger Wrinstone and his crew were preparing to drag 
 him down stairs ; but the justice, hobbling on his crutch, 
 preceded them, leaning on the arm of his priest. The 
 party, on their entrance into the hall, found Marsh's two 
 kinsmen awaiting the event. They soon found that no 
 favour was intended. 
 
 " See to it, knaves," bellowed the knight, " that this 
 fellow is delivered up to my lord at Lathom by to-morrow, 
 or your own carcasses shall answer for his." 
 
 Then did these poor men pray and beseech their kins- 
 man that he would in some wise conform to the religion 
 of his superiors, or find some way of escape from a cruel 
 and ignominious death. 
 
 But Marsh, standing steadfast before them all, cried out 
 with a loud voice — 
 
 " Between me and them let God witness ! " Looking 
 up to heaven, he exclaimed, as if with a sudden inspir- 
 ation, — " If my cause be just, let this prayer of thine un- 
 worthy servant be heard ! " 
 
 He stamped violently with his foot, and the impression 
 of it, as the general notion is, yet remains, to attest the 
 purity of his cause, and the cruelty and injustice of his 
 persecutors. 
 
 To this day may be seen the print of a man's foot in 
 the stone, which by many is believed to exist as a memo- 
 rial of this good confession. 
 
 In shape it is much like that of a human foot, except 
 its being rather longer than common. In that part where
 
 GEORGE MARSH, THE MARTYR. 283 
 
 the sole may have rested is a small dent, as though a man 
 had stamped vehemently on the soft earth, and the weight 
 of his body had borne principally on that place. The im- 
 pression is of a dark brown or rather reddish hue, and is 
 very perceptible when damp, or moistened by cleaning. 
 
 Marsh's subsequent history is soon told. From Lathom, 
 where he was examined before Lord Derby and his 
 council, and found guilty of heretical opinions, he was 
 committed to Lancaster, and from thence to the ecclesi- 
 astical court at Chester, where, after several examinations 
 before Dr. Cotes, then bishop of this diocese, he was ad- 
 judged to the stake, and burnt, in pursuance of his sen- 
 tence, at the place of public execution near that city, on 
 the 24th April, 1555.
 
 DR. DEE, THE ASTROLOGER.
 
 " Dark was the vaulted room of gramarje 
 
 To which the wizard led the gallant knight, 
 Save that before a mirror huge and high 
 
 A hallow'd taper shed a glimmering liglit 
 On mystic implements of magic might ; 
 On cross, and character, and talisman, 
 And almagest and altar, notliing bright ; 
 For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan, 
 As watch-light by the bed of some departing man." 
 
 Lay of the Last Minstrel.
 
 (g@IL,lL3a®EA=]r^ ©MTSTECSBI, BjrjiST<s31EfJ^g^JaiS.o 
 
 l.onAoti . Xublishi'd bu LonanuuL X- CfJS29.
 
 DR. DEE, THE ASTROLOGER. 
 
 The character of Dee, our English " Faust," as he is 
 not inaptly called, has both been misrepresented and 
 misunderstood. An enthusiast he undoubtedly was, but 
 not the drivelling dotard that some of his biographers 
 imagine. A man of profound learning, distinguished for 
 attainments far beyond the general range of his contem- 
 poraries, he, like Faustus, and the wisest of human 
 kind, had found out how little he knew ; had perceived 
 that the great ocean of truth yet lay unexplored before 
 him. Pursuing his enquiries to the bound and limit, 
 as he thought, of human knowledge, and finding it 
 altogether " vanity," he had recourse to forbidden prac- 
 tices, to experiments through which the occult and hidden 
 qualities of nature and spirit should be unveiled and sub- 
 dued to his own will. 
 
 Evidently prompted to unhallowed intercourse by pride 
 and ambition, he deluded himself with the vain and wicked 
 hope, that the God, who spurned his impious requests, 
 would vouchsafe to him a new and peculiar revelation. 
 He would not bow to the plain and humbling tenets 
 already revealed, but sought another " sign," — a miracu- 
 lous testimony to himself alone. Fancying that he was
 
 288 DR- DEE. 
 
 intrusted with a divine mission, he was given up to 
 strong delusions that he should believe a lie. He aimed 
 at universal knowledge and exhaustless riches ; but he 
 died imbecile and a beggar ! 
 
 That he was deceived by Kelly there is no doubt ; and 
 that he was sincere, at least in seeking his own promotion 
 and aggrandizement, is equally certain ; but we would 
 rescue his character from the ridicule with which it has 
 been invested. His grasp was greater than his power, 
 and he fell, like heroes and conquerors in all ages, unable 
 to execute, and overwhelmed with the vastness of his own 
 conceptions. 
 
 John Dee was born July 13, 1527, in London. His 
 parents were in good circumstances. At an early age 
 (fifteen years) he studied at St. John's College, Cambridge. 
 His application was intense. For three years, by his own 
 account, he only slept four hours every night. Two hours 
 were allowed for meals and recreation, and the rest was 
 spent in learning and devotion. Five years afterwards he 
 went into the Low Countries, for the purpose of convers- 
 ing with Frisius, Mercator, and others. Returning to 
 Cambridge, he was chosen a Fellow of Ti-inity College, 
 then founded by Henry the Eighth. His reputation stood 
 very high, and his astronomical pursuits, in those days 
 generally connected with astrology, drew upon him the 
 imputation of being a conjuror, which character clung to 
 him through life. This opinion was much strengthened by 
 an accident which, he says, happened soon after his re- 
 moval from St. John's College, and his being chosen a 
 Fellow of Trinity. " Hereupon," he continues, " I did 
 set forth a Greek comedy of Aristophanes, named in 
 Greek Eiu-/j:vi, with the performance of the Scarabaeus, or
 
 DR. DEE. 289 
 
 beetle — his flying up to Jupiter's palace with a man, and 
 his basket of victuals on her back; whereat was great 
 wondering, and many vain reports spread abroad of the 
 means how that was effected." 
 
 He left England again soon afterwards, distinguishing 
 himself at several foreign universities, and attracting the 
 notice of many persons of high rank ; amongst which were 
 the Duke of Mantua and Don Lewis de la Cerda (after- 
 wards Duke of Medina Celi.) In 1551 he returned to 
 England, being well received by King Edward and his 
 court. A pension of one hundred crowns per annum was 
 granted him, which he afterwards exchanged for the 
 rectory of Upton-upon-Severn. 
 
 In Queen Mary's reign he was accused of some corre- 
 spondence with the Lady Elizabeth's servants, and of prac- 
 tising against the queen's life by enchantments. He was 
 seized and confined, but acquitted of the charge. He was 
 then turned over to Bonner, to see if heresy might not be 
 found in him. After a tedious prosecution, he was set at 
 liberty, August 19, 1555, by an order of the council. 
 
 Upon Queen Elizabeth's accession, he was consulted as 
 to a fit day for the coronation, and received many splen- 
 did promises of preferment, which were never realised. 
 
 In the spring of the year 1564<, he made another jour- 
 ney abroad, when he presented to the Emperor Maximi- 
 lian his book, entitled " Monas Hieroglyphica," printed 
 at Antwerp the same year. He returned to England in 
 the summer, producing several learned works, which 
 shewed his extraordinary skill in the mathematics. 
 
 In 1571 he went to Lorraine, where, falling very ill, he 
 was honoured with the solicitude of the queen, who sent 
 two of her physicians, and gave him many other proofs of 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 'J90 DR- DEE. 
 
 her regard. Upon his return to England, he now settled 
 himself in his own house at Mortlake in Surrey, where 
 he collected a noble library, and prosecuted his studies 
 with great diligence. His collection is said to have con- 
 sisted of more than four thousand books, nearly a fourth 
 part of them manuscripts, which were afterwards dispersed 
 and lost. This library, and a great number of mathema- 
 tical and mechanical instruments, were destroyed by the 
 fury of the populace in 1583, who, believing him to be a 
 conjuror, and one that dealt with the devil, broke into his 
 house, and tore and destroyed the fruit of his labours 
 during the forty years preceding. 
 
 On the 16th March, 1575, Queen Elizabeth, attended 
 by many of her court, visited Dr. Dee's house to see his 
 library ; but having buried his wife only a few hours be- 
 fore, he could not entertain her majesty in the way he 
 wished. However, he brought out a glass, the properties 
 of which he explained to his royal mistress, hoping to wipe 
 off the aspersion, under which he had long laboured, of 
 being a magician. 
 
 In 1578, her majesty being indisposed. Dee was sent 
 abroad to consult with some German physicians about the 
 nature of her complaint. But that part of his life in 
 which he was most known to the world commenced in 
 1581, when his intercourse began with Edward Kelly. 
 This man pretended to instruct him how to obtain, by 
 means of certain invocations, an intercourse with spirits. 
 Soon afterwards there came to England a Polish lord, 
 Albert Laski, palatine of Siradia, a person of great learn- 
 ing. He was introduced to Dee by the Earl of Leicester, 
 who was now the doctor's chief patron. Becoming ac- 
 quainted, Laski prevailed with Dee and Kelly to accom-
 
 DR. DEE. 291 
 
 pany liim to his own country. They went privately from 
 Mortlake, embarking for Holland, from whence they 
 travelled by land through Germany into Poland. On the 
 3d February, 1584, they arrived at the castle of their 
 patron, where they remained for some time. 
 
 They afterwards visited the Emperor Rodolph at Prague. 
 On the 1 7th April, 1585, Laski introduced them to Ste- 
 phen, King of Poland, at Cracow ; but this prince treating 
 them very coolly, they returned to the emperor's court at 
 Prague, from whence they were banished at the insti- 
 gation of the pope's nuncio, who represented them as 
 magicians. 
 
 The doctor and his companion afterwards found an 
 asylum in the castle of Trebona, belonging to Count 
 William of Rosenberg, where they lived in great splen- 
 dour for a considerable time. It was said that Kelly had 
 succeeded in procuring the powder of projection, by 
 which they were furnished with money in profusion ; but 
 on referring to the doctor's diary, we find the miserable 
 tricks and shifts they resorted to for the purpose of keep- 
 ing up appearances. Kelly, however, it seems, learned 
 many secrets from the German chymists, which he did 
 not communicate to his patron ; and the heart-burnings 
 and jealousies that arose between them at length ended 
 in an absolute rupture. 
 
 The fame • of their adventures was noised through 
 Europe, and Elizabeth, in consequence, invited Dee 
 home. He was now separated from Kelly, and on the 
 1st of May, 1689, he set out on his return to England. 
 He travelled with great pomp, was attended by a guard 
 of horse, and, besides waggons for his goods, had no less 
 than three coaches for the use of his family. He landed 
 u 2
 
 '^92 un. DEE. 
 
 at Gravesend on the 23d of November, and on the 9th ol" 
 December was graciously received at Richmond by the 
 Queen, He found his house at Mortlake had been pil- 
 laged, but he collected the scattered remains of his 
 library, and was so successful, by the assistance of his 
 friends, as to recover about three-fourths of his books, 
 estimating his loss at about 400/. He had many friends, 
 and received great presents, but was always craving and 
 in want. The Queen sent him money from time to time, 
 promising him two hundred angels at Christmas. One 
 half he received, but he gave a broad hint that the 
 Queen and himself were defrauded of the rest. He now 
 resolved to apply for some settled subsistence, and sent a 
 memorial by the Countess of Warwick to her majesty, 
 earnestly requesting that commissioners might be ap- 
 pointed to hear his pretensions and decide upon his 
 claims. Two commissioners were accordingly sent to 
 Mortlake, where Dee showed them a book containing a 
 distinct account of all the memorable transactions of his 
 life, except those which occurred in his last journey 
 abroad. He detailed to them the injuries, damages, and 
 indignities which he had suffered, and humbly supplicated 
 reparation at their hands. The Queen, in consequence, 
 sent 100 marks to Mrs. Dee, and promises to her hus- 
 band. At length, on December 8th, 1594, he obtained a 
 grant of the chancellorship of St. Paul's. But this did 
 not answer his expectations, upon which he applied to 
 Whitgift, Archbishop of Canterbury, giving an account 
 of all the books he had either written or published. This, 
 with other applications, led to his being presented with 
 the wardenship of Manchester College, vacant by the 
 removal of Dr. William Chaderton to the see of Chester.
 
 DR. DEE. 293 
 
 On the 14-th of February 1596, he arrived with his family 
 in that town, and on the 20th he was installed in his new 
 charge. He continued here about seven years, passing 
 his time in a very turbulent and unquiet manner. On the 
 5th of June 1 604, he presented a petition to King James, 
 earnestly desiring that he might be brought to trial and 
 delivered, by a judicial sentence, from those suspicions 
 which his astrological and other enquiries had brought 
 upon him. But the king, knowing the nature of his 
 studies, was very far from showing him any mark of his 
 favour. In November, the same year, he quitted Man- 
 chester, returning to his house at Mortlake, where he 
 died, old, infirm, and forsaken of his friends, being very 
 often obliged to sell some book or other to procure a 
 dinner. The following account of Dr. Dee's expences 
 from Trebona to London, copied from a statement in his 
 own handwriting*, we have thouglit too curious to omit. 
 " The charges of my last return from beyond seas, 
 A. 1589, being favourably called home by her Majestic 
 from Trebon Castle in Bohemia. 
 " My journey of remove homeward from Trebon 
 Castle to Staden, cost me more than 3000 dol- 
 lars, which we account ... QOO lib. 
 " Besides the cost of 15 horses wherewith I tra- 
 velled all that journey; of which the 12 which 
 drew my 3 coaches were very good and young 
 Hungarian horses, and the other 3 were Wal- 
 lachies for the saddles ; which 1 5 cost with one 
 another - - - - 120 lib. 
 " The three new coaches made purposely for my 
 
 * Johau Glaston. vol. ii. fol. 535. 
 U 3
 
 294- DK. DEE. 
 
 aforesaid journt7, with the furniture for the 12 
 coach-horses, and with the saddles and bridles 
 for the rest, cost more than 3 score pounds - 60 lib. 
 '* The charge of wains to carry my goods from 
 Trebon to Staden ; they being two and some- 
 times three (for more easy and light passage in 
 some places), cost above an hundred and ten 
 pounds, which I account (for an hundred of it) 
 under my former sum of 600 lib. Under which 
 600 lib. also I do account for the charges of 
 the 24* soldiers well appointed, which, by virtue 
 of the emperor's passport, I took up in my way 
 from Diepholt, and again from Oldenburgh : 
 the charges of the six harquebusiers and mus- 
 queteers, which the Earl of Oldenburgh lent 
 me out of his own garrison there : I gave to 
 one with another a dollar a man for the day, 
 and their meat and drink full. For at the first, 
 18 enemies, horsemen, well appointed, from 
 Lingen and Wilstrusen, had lain five days at- 
 tending thereabout, to have sett upon me and 
 mine : and at Oldeborch, a Scot (one of the 
 garrison), gave me warning of an ill-minded 
 company lying and hovering for me in the way 
 which I was to pass, as by a letter may appear 
 here present. Of the former danger, the Land- 
 grave of Hesse his letters unto me may give 
 some evidence. 
 " The charges of the four Swart Ruiters, very 
 well mounted, and appointed to attend on me 
 at Staden, from Breme, being honourably and 
 very carefully sent unto me by the noble con-
 
 DR. DEE. 295 
 
 suls and senators of Breme, and that with a 
 friendly farewell, (delivered unto me by the 
 speech of one of their secretaries at my lodg 
 ings) need not be specified here what it was. 
 For their going with me in two days to Staden, 
 their abode there, and as much homeward, 
 being in all five days' charges, 30 dollars. 
 
 " This was a very dangerous time to ride abroad 
 in, thereabouts, as the merchants of Staden can 
 well remember. The excellent learned theo- 
 logian, the superintendant of Breme, Mr. D. 
 Chrystopher Berzelius his verses, printed the 
 night before that of my going from Breme, and, 
 the morning of my departure, openly delivered 
 to me partly, and partly distributed to the com- 
 pany of students and others attending about to 
 see us sett forth, and to bid us farewell, may be 
 a memorial of some of my good credit grown in 
 that city, and of the day of my coming from it. 
 
 " I will not enlarge my lines to specific what 
 other charges I was at to further some of her 
 Majestie's servants at my lying at Breme ; as 
 70 dollars given or lent to one Conradus Justus 
 Newbrenner ; and about 40 given to gett some 
 letters of great importance brought to our sove- 
 reign's honorable privy council in due time. 
 
 " The charge of my fraught and passage from 
 Staden to London for my goods, myself, my 
 wife, children, and servants - - 10 lib. 
 
 " So that the sum total of money, spent and laid 
 
 out, in and for my remove from Trebone to 
 
 London doth amount to - - - 796 lib. 
 u 4
 
 296 DR. DEE. 
 
 " Whereby the whole sum of the 
 
 former damages and losses - 1510 lib. 
 
 " And the removing charges doth 
 
 amount (with the least) to - 796 lib. 
 
 2306 lib. 
 
 " Besides the 110 dollars disbursed 
 at Breme for dutiful love to 
 Queen and country." 
 
 One minor occurrence in the following tradition, viz. 
 the loss of the horse, is related by Lilly as happening to 
 another of the fraternity; but we claim it, — upon grounds, 
 too trivial it might be deemed by some — for the "Doctor." 
 It is not our intention to spoil a good story by rejecting 
 what we cannot verify. SuflScient for us that the tale exists; 
 though we take the liberty of telling it in our own way.
 
 DR. DEE, THE ASTROLOGER. 
 
 i. HERE came a thin spare man one evening to Dr. Dee's 
 residence in the college at Manchester, where he then 
 dwelt by permission only from the Earl of Derby, though 
 living there in the capacity of warden to the church. 
 
 The college being dissolved in the first of Edward VI. 
 (1547), the possessions fell into the hands of that noble- 
 man, who, however, kept ministers at his own charge to 
 officiate in the church. Mary refounded the establish- 
 ment, restoring the greater part of the lands, but Lord 
 Derby still kept the college-house. In 1578, Elizabeth 
 granted a new foundation to the college, appointing her 
 own wardens. Dr. Dee, being the third on the new esta- 
 blishment, was installed with great solemnity on the 20th 
 February, 1596. 
 
 The visitor we have just noticed was muffled in a dark 
 cloak, having a wide and ample collar, which he threw 
 over his head, as though anxious for concealment. The 
 Doctor, having retired into his study, was not to be dis- 
 turbed ; but the stranger was urgent for admission, while 
 Lettice Gostwich, Dee's help at all work, a pert un- 
 gracious slattern, was fully resolved not to permit his 
 access to her master.
 
 298 DR. DEE. 
 
 " Then, since nothing else will do," said the per- 
 tinacious intruder, " convey me this message, — to wit, a 
 stranger comes to him on business of great moment, re- 
 garding his own welfare and that of the matter or event 
 whose corollarium he is now studying." 
 
 Lettice, wearied through his importunity, and hoping 
 by compliance to rid herself from these solicitations, went 
 to the Doctor's private chamber, where, having delivered 
 her message through the thumb-hole of the latch, — for on 
 no account would he allow of personal intrusion — to her 
 great surprise, he bade her be gone. 
 
 " Show the stranger up stairs," said he. " Why hast 
 thou kept him so long tarrying?" 
 
 Lettice with little speed, and less good will, obeyed 
 the Doctor's behest, grumbling loud at the capricious and 
 uncertain humours of her master. 
 
 The visitor was at length ushered into the presence of 
 this celebrated scholar and professor of the celestial 
 sciences, whose predictions at one period astonished 
 Europe ; his presence, like some portentous comet threat- 
 ening war and disaster, perplexing even emperors and 
 princes, and filling them with apprehension and dismay. 
 But Dee was somewhat fallen from this high and danger- 
 ous celebrity. He was become querulous and ill-tem- 
 pered. Never satisfied with his present condition, but 
 always aiming at some greater thing, he generally con- 
 trived to lose what he already possessed. At one time, to 
 control the destinies and acquire the supreme direction 
 of affairs, either as the High Priest or the Grand Lama 
 of Europe, was not beyond the compass of his thoughts 
 or the scope of his ambition. Now, he was petitioning 
 the Queen for a small increase to his worldly pittance.
 
 DR. DEE. 299 
 
 and an opportunity of clearing himself before her ma- 
 jesty's council from the foul and slanderous accusations 
 by which he was continually assailed. Yet he had not 
 abandoned his former projects. Though failing in his 
 mission aforetime to the Emperor of Germany, the King 
 of Poland, and others, to whom he evidently went for 
 political purposes, and with offers of his aid, through the 
 foreknowledge and spiritual intercourse by which he 
 thought hhnself favoured, yet he still cherished the hope 
 of promotion by such visionary follies. That chimera of 
 the imagination, the invention of the philosopher's stone, 
 still haunted him, and he did not yet despair of one day 
 becoming a ruler among princes, the supreme arbiter and 
 depositary of the fate of nations. 
 
 The delusions imposed on him by Kelly, his seer and 
 confederate, had so impressed him with this belief, that 
 he still purposed going abroad on a divine mission, as he 
 called it, and only awaited the auspicious time when his 
 spiritual instructors should point out another seer in 
 Kelly's room, from whom he had been long separated. 
 Though now in his seventy-first year, he was not de- 
 terred from meditating another attempt to reach the goal 
 of his ambition. Such is the folly and madness of these 
 enthusiasts, that, let them be never so often foiled in their 
 inordinate expectations, yet does it in no wise hinder, 
 but, on the contrary, sets them more fully on their desire. 
 Casaubon, in his preface to the account of Dee's inter- 
 course with spirits, gives a strange instance of their infatu- 
 ation. He says, — 
 
 " In the days of Martin Luther, there lived one Michael 
 Stifelius, who, applying to himself some place of the 
 Apocalypse, took upon himself to prophesy. He foretold
 
 300 DR. DEE. 
 
 that in the year of the Lord 1533, before the 29th of 
 September, the end of the world and Christ's coming to 
 judgment would be. He did show so much confidence, 
 that, some write, Luther himself was somewhat startled at 
 the first. But that day past, he came a second time to 
 Luther, with new calculations, and had digested the 
 whole business into twenty- two articles, the effect of which 
 was to demonstrate that the end of the world would be in 
 October following. But now Luther thought he had had 
 tryal enough, and gave so little credit to him, that he 
 (though he loved the man) silenced him for a time ; which 
 our apocalyptical prophet took very ill at his hands, and 
 wondered much at his incredulity. Well, that moneth 
 and some after that over, our prophet (who had made no 
 little stir in the country by his prophesying) was cast into 
 prison for his obstinacy. After a while Luther visited 
 him, thinking by that time to find him of another mind ; 
 but so far was he from acknowledging his error, that he 
 downright railed at Luther for giving him good counsel. 
 And some write, that to his dying day (having lived to the 
 age of eighty years) he never recanted." 
 
 These air-built hopes and projects may, in some sort, 
 account for the readiness with which Dee admitted the 
 stranger after hearing his message. It seemed to be the 
 very echo of his own thoughts, floating on their dark 
 current, which it quickened by some unknown and myste- 
 rious impulse. 
 
 The Doctor was sitting in a high and curiously- wrought 
 chair, cushioned with black leather, gilt and ornamented 
 after the antique fashion. His upper garment was of 
 black serge, the neck and breast furred with sables. A 
 cap of the same materials concealed his bald and shining
 
 DR. DEE. 301 
 
 head, giving his pale shrivelled features a peculiar look of 
 learning and hard study. His face was long, and his 
 beard pointed. Age and anxiety were indelibly marked 
 upon his lank visage ; but his eye was yet undimmed : 
 small, keen, and restless, it seemed the image of his own 
 insatiable desire, consuming soul and body in the fire and 
 fervour of its inordinate and uncontrolled appetite. 
 
 " Thy name ?" said Dee sharply, as the stranger bowed 
 himself before the reputed magician. 
 
 " Bartholomew Hickman." 
 
 "And thy business?" enquired the Doctor with an 
 inquisitive glance. 
 
 " Since your reverence hath dismissed Kelly, you have 
 been but indifferently served in the capacity of seer ; 
 mine errand is to this purport : — If we agree for wages, I 
 will serve you ; and I doubt not but my faculty of seeing 
 will equal that of Master Kelly, provided you have a 
 glass whose quality and virtue shall be equivalent." 
 
 " My glass," replied the Doctor, " is not to be matched 
 throughout the world. Even Cornelius Agrippa had not 
 its like ; nor was his famous mirror fit to compare with it. 
 Hast' heard aught of its history ? " 
 
 " I would listen. Master Dee, for my knowledge thereof 
 is but gathered from the vulgar report." 
 
 " Know, then," said Dee, with an air of great pride and 
 complacency, " that my stone was brought by the minis- 
 tration of angels, in answer to fervent and oft-repeated 
 prayer. One night, as I sate with Kelly, discoursing on 
 the rise and fall of empires, the setting up and the down- 
 fall of estates, and many other matters of grave and 
 weighty import, he looked uneasy for a while, saying, 
 that he felt a strange sensation, and, as it were, a heavy
 
 302 DH. DEE. 
 
 weight on his right shoulder, as though something sat 
 there. He said a spirit, invisible at that time, was in all 
 likelihood hearkening to our discourse, and wished to com- 
 municate with us. He then spake as though to some 
 one behind him, and listened — ' Sayest thou so,' said he, 
 ' then will I speedily apprise the Doctor.' He then told 
 me it was the angel Uriel, who would bring us a won- 
 derful glass or crystal, whereby a seer, properly gifted, 
 would be enabled to see many wonderful things ; but this 
 surprising faculty I do not possess, by reason of a fiery 
 sign not occupying the cusp of my ascendant and medium 
 cceli. Edward Kelly was, however, permitted to supply 
 this defect, and I might confidently rely, he said, on the 
 truth of those revelations, which I was to note down for 
 the benefit of mankind, and the establishing of a new 
 dispensation upon the earth. None but good angels 
 could enter into this glass, and they would teach 
 me, as he then foretold, many things, whereby, gaining 
 great honour and renown, kings and princes should be 
 reproved of me, who was raised up for their sakes. At 
 this revelation I was exceeding glad, and more so on 
 finding the day following in my study this precious gem, 
 which, as I once told the Emperor Rodolph, is of such 
 value that no earthly kingdom is worthy to be compared 
 to the virtue or dignity thereof. I well remember the 
 time," said Dee, delighting to dwell on these recollections : 
 " I was at Prague, the emperor having sent for me ; I 
 went up to the castle, where, in the Hitter-stove, or guard- 
 chamber, I stayed a little ; Octavius Spinola, that was the 
 chamberlain, saluted me very courteously, having under- 
 stood that I was he whom the emperor waited for. Re- 
 turning to the privy-chamber, he came out again, leading
 
 DR. DEE. 303 
 
 me by the skirt through the dining-chamber and the privy- 
 chamber, where the emperor sat at a table with a great 
 chest and standish of silver, and my book and letters 
 before him. Then craved I pardon, at his majesty's hand, 
 for my boldness in sending him my Monas Hieroglyphica, 
 dedicated to his father; but I did it of the sincere and 
 entire good-will that I bare to his father Maximilian, and 
 also unto his majesty. He then thanked me very kindly, 
 saying, that he knew of my great endowments, and the 
 esteem I had gotten of the learned ; of this he had been 
 informed by the Spanish ambassador. He said my book 
 was i-ather too hard for his capacity ; but he heard I had 
 something to say to him. Quod esset pro sua utilitate. ' And 
 so I have,' I replied, looking back to see first that we were 
 alone. Hereupon, I began to declare how all my lifetime 
 had been spent in learning, and with great pains and cost 
 I had come to the best knowledge that man might attain 
 to in this world. I had found, too, that no man living, 
 neither any book, was able to teach me those truths that 
 I desired and longed for. Therefore, I concluded within 
 myself to make intercession and prayer to the Giver of all 
 wisdom to send unto me knowledge, whereby I might 
 know the nature of his creatures, and also enjoy means to 
 use them to his honour and glory. At length it pleased 
 God to send me his light — the angel Uriel, whereby I 
 was assured of his merciful and gracious answer. For the 
 space of two years and a half, as I told his majesty, 
 angels had not ceased to minister unto me through this 
 wonderful stone, whose history I related. Furthermore, I 
 said, that I had a message from them unto his majesty. 
 ' The angel of the Lord hath appeared unto me,' I cried, 
 ' and hath rebuked you for your sins : if you will hear, and
 
 304< ■"'• I'l'f''- 
 
 iMlicvc iric, yr)ii hIiuII triiiiiipli ; iC you will not hear, the 
 I.onl, tlic (ioil of lieaven and earth, under whom you 
 hreathc and have yotir b(;inf^, f)Uttcth his foot againHt 
 your hreaKt, and will throw you iicadlonj^ from your scat.* 
 Moreover i said, that if lie woidd listen to me, and take 
 me for his counsi^llor, his kinj^doin should Ik; cstahlishcd, 
 so that there would bt; nom; like unto it throiighout tlu; 
 world. J was eoiMniandcd, likewise, to sIkjw him the nature 
 of the holy vision, a>id the mamicr thereof, which he might 
 witness, and hear the words, though lie could fiot see the 
 fashion of the creatures in the glass. He thanked me, 
 and said, that In; would llii-ziceforward take me to his rc- 
 (■onmi(;ndation and care Some more promises he used, 
 though I could not well understand them, he spake so 
 low. I'crcciving, now, that he wished to make an end for 
 this tiini;, I made my obeisance and departed. But mark 
 the favour of j)rin<cs ! — through the cabals of sonu', and 
 the intrigues of his favourite; and physician, one Doctor 
 (Jurt/,, who was fearful of my disj)lacing him, — in the end 
 1 was not only prcvcnlcd from further access to liis ma- 
 jesty, but banished I he cinpirc ! (jo to, go to," said Dee, 
 nnicli troubled at these thoughts, " I am somi'thing too 
 nmch aflected of these vain impressions, and the j)omj) of 
 lhes(! earthly ones." 
 
 lie arose, lifting an ebony cabinet on the table, which 
 he unlocked with great solenmity. During this oj)er- 
 ation, he fell to nmttiring many prayers ; and, with an air 
 of great reverence, he look out a richly-embossed casket, 
 which being opened, then; was displayed a fair crystal of 
 an egg-shaped Ibrm, on which he gazed with a long and 
 silent delight.
 
 DU. DICE. 'M);y 
 
 " A treasure beyond till price," said Bartholomew, 
 eyeing it witli ra|)ture. 
 
 •' Even so," said Dee, " and, by the grace of the Giver, 
 I do hope to profit by it. Once it was removed from me. 
 Listen. It was in the httle chapel, or oratory, next the 
 chambers which Lord William of Jtosenberg had allotted 
 us in his castle at Trebona. I had set the stone in its 
 wonted place upon the table, or altar as we called it, when 
 Kelly saw a great flame in the stone, which thing though 
 he told me, I made no end of" my usual prayer. But 
 suddenly, one seemed to come in at the south window of" 
 the chapel, right o[)j)Osite to Kelly, while the stone was 
 heaved up without hands, and set down again; wonderful 
 to behold. After which, I saw the man who came in at 
 the window ; he had his lower parts in a cloud, and with 
 open arms flew towards Kelly. At which sight, he shrunk 
 back, and the creature took up between both hands the 
 stone with its frame of gold, and mounted up the way he 
 came. Kelly caught at it, but could not touch it ; there- 
 upon he was grievously alarmed, and had the tremor cordis 
 for a good while after. * This my angelical stone being 
 taken away, I was mightily troubled, for the other stones 
 in my possession being made through man's skill and 
 device, I had not a safe warranty of" their virtue, so that 
 I might confidently trust in what they should disclose, i 
 was afraid, too, of the intrusion of wicked s{)irits into 
 them, who might imj)ose on me with their delusions. 
 This happened on a Friday, being the 21th of" April, 
 15H7; as I find it recorded in my diary. liut mark 
 the manner of its return ! The f"ol!ovvi!ig iiiontn, on 
 the 22d day, and on the same day of the week, about 
 
 * Vidf Casauljon's Folio, conceriiiiig Dcu's iiitcrcourije witli .s|)irits. 
 VOL. I. X
 
 ,S06 DR. DEE. 
 
 four hours post meridian, as I and Kelly were walking out 
 tlirough the orchard, down the river side, he saw two little 
 men fighting there furiously with swords : and one said to 
 the other, ' Thou hast beguiled we.' As I drew near, they 
 did not abate their heat, but the fray seemed to wax even 
 hotter than before. I at length said, ' Good friends, let me 
 take up the matter betiveen you ; whereupon they stayed, 
 the elder of them saying, ' I sent a present to thy wife, and 
 this fellow hath taken it away." With this, they again 
 fought, until the other was wounded in his thigh, which 
 seemed to bleed. Being in great pain, he took out of his 
 bosom something, that I guessed to be the very treasure 
 that I had lost. " Now ivill I make tJiee return it' said the 
 first speaker ; with that, the other, who was wounded, 
 seemed to go suddenly out of sight, but came again ere I 
 could answer a word. The elder of them then asked him, 
 saying, ' Hast thou laid it under the right pillow of the bed 
 where he lay yesternight ? ' With these words, they both 
 went towards a willow tree on the right, by the new stairs, 
 which tree seemed to cleave open, and as they went in 
 it closed, and I never saw them more. With great haste 
 I returned to my chamber, where, lifting up the right 
 pillow, I found my precious stone ; being greatly rejoiced, 
 together with my wife, who joined me in thanking God 
 for its return." * 
 
 " An exceeding comfortable and gracious providence ! 
 being preserved, I doubt not, from the evil ones ; " said 
 Bartholomew Hickman. " But I would fain give you a 
 sample of my skill, if so be that you will prepare the 
 crystal, charging it with due care and attention." 
 
 Then did the Doctor betake himself to the performance 
 
 * Casaubon.
 
 DR. DEE. 307 
 
 of sundry strange rites, consisting of many absurd forms 
 and hard speeches, ever and anon ejaculating a fer- 
 vent prayer for success, and a petition against doubt and 
 deception. He spread a fair carpet on the table, dis- 
 posing the candlesticks on each side, and a little behind 
 the crystal. This was placed upon a cushion of black 
 silk, a crucifix near, and the psalter before it, open at the 
 service for the departed. After a profound silence for 
 about the space of half an hour. Dee looked towards his 
 visitor as if expecting that he should begin. The seer 
 threw off his upper garment, and kneeling down, clad only 
 in a short tunic of grey cloth, without ruff or belt, he 
 betook himself, though with some agitation, to the re- 
 peating of a few short Latin prayers, intermingled with 
 cabalistical jargon, and scraps of some unknown and 
 uncouth tongue. The Doctor gave special heed thereto, 
 hearkening as though not over-credulous in the boasted 
 skill of his visitor. Presently the latter put his face close 
 to the stone, binding it before his eyes with a white nap- 
 kin, his head still resting on the table. Dee asked him 
 softly " What seest thou ? " 
 
 " Nothing ;" said Bartholomew. 
 
 " Is the curtain not yet visible in the stone ? " 
 
 " I cannot even see the curtain," replied the seer ; " for 
 all is dark." 
 
 Then Dee began to pray earnestly that some of his 
 former friends might appear, whom he called by many 
 outlandish names, such as Ave, Nahage, Madini, and 
 others. Immediately Bartholomew cried out, 
 
 " I see a glimmer ! — Soft ! " 
 
 The Doctor scarcely durst breathe, fearing to interrupt 
 the opening of the vision. 
 
 X 2
 
 308 DR. DEE, 
 
 '' I see a golden curtain, partly drawn aside." 
 
 " The charge beginneth to work," said Dee. " 'Tis the 
 very appearance that was always vouchsafed to Kelly, ere 
 the spirits showed themselves in the glass. Note well 
 what thou seest." 
 
 " There appeareth a white cloud, as a curdly vapour 
 wreathing itself about a pillar of burning brass, but no 
 creature is visible. — I hear a voice ! " 
 
 " Mark the words, and repeat them steadily," said the 
 Doctor, who drew nearer, that he might hear the purport 
 of the revelation. 
 
 " ' Sanctum signatum et ad tempus,' said the voice." 
 
 " The sense of this may be understood diversely. By 
 which sense may we be guided?" said Dee, as though 
 speaking to some invisible thing within the glass. Pre- 
 sently the seer again repeated, 
 
 " ' Sanctum, quia hoc velle suiim ; sigillatum, quia de- 
 terminatum ad t£mpus ; the voice ceaseth : — but these be 
 hard speeches, Master Dee. I hear again, ' Ad tempus et 
 ad tempus (inquam) quia rerum consummatio — All things 
 are at hand, 
 
 ' Tlie seat is prepared. 
 Justice hath determined. 
 The time is short.'" 
 
 " Seest thou no creature ? " anxiously enquired the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " None. But the pillar openeth as though it were cleft. 
 Now a woman cometh forth out of the pedestal, covered 
 with a cloud. I can see her face dimly, at times, through 
 this veil, which seemeth to pass over as a thin cloud 
 before the dazzling sun. She standeth as though in a 
 hollow shell, glistening with such fair colours that no
 
 0R. DEE. 309 
 
 earthly brightness may be comparable to it. She now 
 seemeth to wrap the air about her as a garment. She 
 entereth into a thick cloud and disappears. There now 
 Cometh one like unto a little girl, her hair turned up 
 before, and flowing behind in long and bright curls. Her 
 raiment sparkles like unto changeable silk, green and red." 
 " 'Tis Madini" said Dee, with great delight. " Note 
 well what she sayeth, for she is my good angel." 
 
 " She sitteth down. Her lips move as though she were 
 speaking, but 1 hear nothing.'' 
 
 " I will speak to her," said Dee ; " for she will answer 
 me through thy ministry, if it really be Madini. Art thou 
 Madini, that has appeared to me beforetime ? " 
 
 " I think she answereth, ' Yes.' But her voice is very 
 feeble." 
 
 " I would thou shouldest resolve me three things," 
 said the Doctor, again addressing himself towards the 
 glass. " To wit. — Whereto shall I direct my journey, 
 and how shall I cause it to prosper ? — Secondly, I would 
 speedily be instructed in that great and heavenly mys- 
 tery, the powder of projection, which I have been oft pro- 
 mised, but never understood aright by reason of my feeble 
 apprehensions, or inability to accomplish the grand and 
 sublime arcanum. — Thirdly, How may I find the trea- 
 sure which was shown to me in a dream three several 
 times ; but where it is hidden is withheld from me." 
 
 " She says she will answer so far as the will of him that 
 sent her may permit ; but she hath a short continuance, 
 and her answer must be brief. With respect to the coun- 
 tiy, make thine own choice, and thou shalt be directed in 
 it for thy good. The other questions she says she cannot 
 solve, but will send one of the seven who bear rule over 
 X 3
 
 310 DR- DEE. 
 
 the seals of the metals and their matrix. She hath de- 
 parted, yet I saw her not. She went like a sudden stroke 
 of light ; and now there cometli a man clad in sober 
 apparel, with an inkhorn at his girdle. He holdeth a 
 pen, as though he would write, but his face is veiled." 
 
 " 'Tis a motion that I should bring my tablets," said 
 the Doctor. 
 
 " Now he is writing," continued the seer. " He 
 showeth me a roll of parchment. But the glass becometh 
 dim, and I think that evil spirits are troubling us, for the 
 whole seems to waver, like the glowing air over the 
 furnace." 
 
 The Doctor now fell to his prayers, when Bartholomew 
 assured him the glass grew brighter, gradually becoming 
 still, like the subsiding of waves after some accidental 
 disturbance. He could now see the writing distinctly, 
 and the veil was also removed. 
 
 " Give me the words, to the very letter," said Dee 
 earnestly, as he prepared to write. 
 
 " It runs thus : — ' The most noble and divine magister ; 
 the beginning and continuation of life. Watch well, and 
 gather him so at the highest ; for in one hour he de- 
 scendeth or ascendeth from the purpose. 
 
 ' Take common Audcal, purge and work it by Rlodnr, 
 of four divers digestions, continuing the last digestion for 
 fourteen days in one and a swift proportion, until it he 
 Dlasod Jixedy a most red and luminous body, the image of 
 resurrection. Take also Lulo of Red Roxtait, and work him 
 through the four fiery degrees, until thou have his Audcal, 
 aiul then gather him. Then double every degree of your 
 Rlodnr, and by the law of mixture and conjunction ivork them 
 diligently together. Notwithstanding backward through
 
 DR. DEE, 311 
 
 every degree, multiply the lower and last Rlodnr, his dtte 
 office finished by one degree more than the highest. So 
 doth it become Darr, the thing you seek for ; a holy, just, 
 glorious, red, and dignified Dlasod.' " 
 
 " Methinks I have heard this before," said Dee, " and 
 understood it not. I am truly in great perplexity for 
 want of money ; but still I understand not the purport of 
 these symbols, the which, I beseech thee, now vouchsafe to 
 thine unworthy servant." 
 
 " ' See thou take the season,' " said the voice, " ' and get 
 her while it is yet time. If ye let the harvest pass, ye 
 shall desire to gather and shall not be able.' " 
 
 " Take pity on mine infirmities, and make it plain," 
 supplicated the Doctor, who now began to fear the usual 
 evasions and disappointments. 
 
 " ' Before I go,' " replied the vision, " * I will not be 
 hidden from thee. Read thy lesson.' " 
 
 " I read, ' Take common Audcal,' and so on." 
 " ' What is Audcal ? ' enquireth the spirit." 
 " Alas ! I know not ; but thou knowest." 
 " ' It is gold, and Dlasod is sulphur.' " 
 " Take also, it says, Lulo of Red Roxtan." 
 " ' Roxtan is pure and simple wine in herself, and Lulo 
 is her mother.' " 
 
 " There is yet, in these words, no slight ambiguity." 
 " ' Lulo is tartar of red wine, and Audcal is his mer- 
 cury. Darr, in the angelical tongue, is the true name of 
 the stone.' " 
 
 " He said before that Audcal was gold," said Dee, ad- 
 dressing the seer. 
 
 " Be thankful," replied Bartholomew, " and keep what 
 thou hast received." 
 
 X 4
 
 312 DR. DEE, 
 
 The Doctor was, for the present, satisfied ; but a little 
 reflection afterwards, and another trial, left him as igno- 
 rant and as poor as ever. 
 
 He now returned thanks in the Latin tongue, it being 
 his general custom at the end of each revelation, or 
 motion, as it was called. 
 
 " Deo nostra omnipotenti sit omnis Laus, Honor, Glo- 
 ria, et Jubilatio." Unto which the seer responded, 
 " Amen." 
 
 " Now for the third question." 
 
 " He goeth to one side," said Bartholomew, " and the 
 curtain hideth him. Now he returneth, leading an old 
 man blindfolded, who answereth in manner following, as 
 though to questions put by the first : — ' It is within, and 
 by a garden belonging to the new lodge in Aldport Park. 
 It is in three parts or places.' He now seems to pause. 
 Again he speaks. ' Many roots and trees do hinder the 
 gathering of it ; but if he be wise, and understand these 
 things, he may obtain his pleasure. One part was laid by 
 Sir James Stanley, the warden, an hundred years ago. 
 Another portion was hidden by an aged nun. The re- 
 mainder was left by the Romans, and may be found under 
 the foundations of the castle in the park. The time is 
 short, and the treasure guarded ; but he shall overcome. 
 Listen : — ' Nine tvith twice seven northerly, and Acer shall 
 disappear. The mystical number added to tlie number en- 
 folding itself; this shall be added to its own towards the 
 rising sun. Then turn half round, and note well thy right 
 foot. What thou seest gather, and it shall lead thee on to 
 perfection.' " 
 
 " Ask him the amount or worth of the treasure," said 
 Dee, whose cupidity gloated over the bare thoughts of this 
 vast hoard.
 
 DR. DEE. 313 
 
 " He says, it is ' two thousand and a half, besides odd 
 money.' " 
 
 " How ? In gold or silver ? " 
 
 " ' More than three parts thereof are in gold.' " 
 
 " Most humbly and heartily do I thank thee, Oh " 
 
 Dee was opening out another form of thanksgiving, 
 when the seer interrupted his hypocritical and blasphe- 
 mous addresses. 
 
 " The old man goeth aside, groping his way as though 
 it were dark. Now all is dim, and the curtain covereth 
 the stone, by which we are warned to retire." 
 
 The needful and concluding ceremonies being gone 
 through, the crystal was returned to its place. After 
 pondering awhile, the Doctor put many questions to his 
 guest about his residence, worldly calling, and so forth. 
 He offered him 50/. yearly, besides lodging, and a fair 
 proportion of gold when the celestial and highest projec- 
 tion should be completed. Bartholomew was not hard at 
 making a bargain, and the Doctor began to hope that, by 
 a patient waiting and trust in the efficacy Oi." these strange 
 delusions, he should at length accomplish his desires. 
 
 A low tap at the door again betokened the presence of 
 Lettice, who came to announce a warm friend of the 
 Doctor's, one Master Eccleston. On being admitted, the 
 latter brought with him a low ferret-eyed personage, whose 
 leering aspect betrayed an inward consciousness of great 
 cunning, and self-satisfaction therewith. Dee received 
 his guests with becoming dignity, enquiring to what good 
 fortune he was indebted for their visit. 
 
 " Thou mayest remain, Hickman," said he to his new 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Eccleston proceeded to business as follows : —
 
 314. DU. DEE. 
 
 " You may readily remember that I once happened a 
 sore mischance, to wit, by losing a horse I had but lately 
 bought, and which, through your good offices, kindly and 
 without fee administered, I again got back, to my great 
 joy and comfort. 1 was telling of this but few days agone 
 to a friend of mine, one Barnabas Hardcastle, whom I 
 have made bold to bring before ycur reverence. He but 
 laughed at me for my pains, and would in no wise beheve 
 it ; but mark how he was served ! Within this hour, he 
 tells me, that he has lost his mare, and would fain have 
 the like help to its recovery." 
 
 " Hast thou lost thy beast ? " enquired the Doctor. 
 
 " Verily I have," said Barnabas, making a respectful 
 acknowledgment to the Doctor's dignified address. " It 
 was but this morning she was safe as Mancastle is in the 
 dirt, hard by Mr. Lever's house yonder, in the fields. 
 'Tis a grievous loss. Master Dee, seeing that 1 was offered 
 a score of pounds for the beast last Martinmas." 
 
 The Doctor opened his tables, and erected a scheme or 
 figure of the heavens, to the very minute when this com- 
 munication was made. Ere it was finished, he gave a 
 sharp and shrewd glance at the stranger, saying, 
 
 " The latter part of the sign Scorpio ascendeth, and it 
 is not safe to give judgment. Mars, lord thereof, is in 
 evil aspect with Venus, lady of the seventh and sixth 
 likewise, or house of servants. Yet is Mercury lord of 
 the tenth, and free from affliction. I will, therefore, try 
 my skill, though 1 should fail. The beast thou lackest is 
 either taken by a servant, or lost through his neglect. 
 Stay. The Dragon's Tail, which I have just placed, being 
 located in the seventh, thy mare is certainly lost, and will 
 never be recovered."
 
 DR. DEE. 315 
 
 Dee looked earnestly at the man, who, gathering his 
 features into a grin of contempt, could scarcely refrain 
 from an unmannerly burst of laughter. 
 
 " Now, o' my troth," said he, " I was but minded to try 
 the skill of your prophet, and to show your folly. The 
 roan mare is safe, and I left her but an hour ago with my 
 lad, who is walking her to and fro just out of the town- 
 fields by Withy Grove, until I have done mine errand." 
 
 " Thou art a bold man to say so," replied the Doctor 
 angrUy, and with a glance as though it were meant to 
 annihilate this contemner of the celestial art. " I tell 
 thee she is lost, and shall never be got back : a reward 
 thou hast well earned for thy folly." 
 
 With a scornful and malicious grin did Master Barnabas 
 receive this denunciation, taking his departure with little 
 ceremony, as if fearful of some mischance. Eccleston, 
 much scandalised at his friend's proceedings, followed 
 him down stairs, not caring to stay longer with the 
 Doctor. 
 
 As Bartholomew and he sate discoursing on the future, 
 and forming many projects, more particularly about the 
 hidden treasures, without which. Dee said, he could not 
 continue his search for the elixir, as he was nigh beggared, 
 they heard a swift footstep on the stairs. Presently in 
 rushed Eccleston, followed by Lettice, who strove to pre- 
 vent this intrusion. The Doctor frowned on his entrance, 
 but Eccleston, breathless and much agitated, could with 
 difficulty declare his errand. 
 
 " Hardcastle — Hardcastle— I say. He has lost his 
 beast." 
 
 " Wliy, I told him so," said the Doctor, with great com- 
 posure.
 
 316 DK. DEE. 
 
 " But he has lost her ! " 
 
 " I know it," repHed Dee. 
 
 " I have just left him in great anger, swearing by 
 thino-s both visible and invisible that he will have his own 
 again ; that we are confederate in the matter ; and that 
 he will cite us both before the chapter, or the star- 
 chamber." 
 
 " How hath it happened ? " said Dee, scrawling list- 
 lessly with his pen. 
 
 " I went with him to the boy, thinking I would see the 
 end on't. By the way he did use many taunts and ill- 
 natured speeches about my pursuit after the great arca- 
 num, and belief in the celestial sciences ; together with 
 many unpleasant hints, that the money we have expended 
 in the adventure will never be got back. Discoursing 
 thus, we came near to the place where he expected to 
 find the boy. Sure enough he was there, and fast asleep 
 on the ground : but the mare was gone ; the bridle being 
 left on the lad's arm, which his master banged about his 
 shoulders until he awaked. Pray, Master Dee, be pleased 
 to help him to his mare. I owe him monies, for which 
 he, taking advantage of the debt, may put me in prison." 
 
 " The scoffer shall not go unpunished, nor shall he that 
 revileth partake of the blessing. Go thy way, and tell 
 him he may not recover his goods." 
 
 Eccleston departed with this heavy message, and Bar- 
 tholomew was again left communhig with the Doctor. 
 
 The matter that still occupied their thoughts was the 
 treasure at Aldport Lodge. With this in their possession, 
 they might reasonably expect that great progress would 
 be made m their search for the philosopher's stone and 
 the vivifying elixir. These important articles obtained, tlie
 
 DR. DEE. 317 
 
 hidden secrets of nature would be at their command, and 
 their schemes and wishes might then be pursued with the 
 certainty of success. The night but one following, at the 
 precise time when the moon came to a trine aspect with 
 Saturn and Jupiter, was appointed for the discovery. 
 The hour of Saturn commenced five minutes before mid- 
 night, and the heavenly influences were then singularly 
 disposed in favour of their undertaking. 
 
 With dazzling anticipations of future prosperity and 
 success they separated : one, to indulge in dreams so 
 chimerical and vast, that even Fancy herself drew back, 
 dazzled with her own brightness ; the other, to an ob- 
 scure lodging in the Old Millgate, where he committed 
 himself to the keeping of a straw pallet and a coverlet, 
 of which the rats had, for some time before, held undis- 
 puted possession. 
 
 The night fixed upon for their search proved drizzling 
 and misty. Bartholomew, wrapped in a thick cloak, sallied 
 out of a low postern towards the college. The path 
 was more dangerous and uneven than at present, and 
 many a grim witness of good-fellowship with his clay had 
 the red cloth hose of Master Bartholomew Hickman, ere 
 he arrived at the arched doorway which admitted him into 
 Dee's lodging. We have no means of ascertaining with 
 any degree of certainty the musings and ruminations of 
 the seer in his progress, not having the power, or skill it 
 may be, like unto many profound and praiseworthy histo- 
 rians, who can portray the form and colour of the mind, 
 as well as the cut and capacity of the doublet. Suffice it 
 to say, that he was so fully occupied m conning over his 
 errand as not to be aware that a certain malicious per- 
 sonage was dodging his steps, to wi^, our worthy owner of
 
 318 DR. DEE. 
 
 the mare, Barnabas Hardcastle, who kept a strict watch 
 about the premises, hoping to find some clue to the dis- 
 covery of his beast. 
 
 An hour elapsed ere they came forth ; the Doctor 
 bearing a covered light, and after him the little spare form 
 of Bartholomew Hickman, carrying under his cloak sundry 
 implements for the search. 
 
 Passing through the churchyard they turned into the 
 Dean's Gate, creeping near the houses, whose overhanging 
 gables poured down a copious shower from their dripping 
 eaves. The streets echoed but to the tread of these 
 adventurers, and to the howl of a solitary watchdog 
 roused by their approach. They passed the gate without 
 difficulty. ; the Doctor was supposed to have been called 
 forth on clerical duties, and the porter accordingly per- 
 mitted their egress, merely enquiring the probable time 
 of their return. 
 
 A few straggling houses were built nigh to the ditch 
 and outworks ; beyond these the way was open towards 
 the park. Here they arrived in due time, entering in by 
 a side wicket, which led them round to the back part of 
 the house by the gardens. 
 
 The proprietorship of the Lodge had, latterly, fallen to 
 the lot of Edward Mosley, by a deed of partition between 
 his brother Oswald Mosley and himself, and a mercer of 
 great note in Manchester, one Adam Smythe ; these 
 parties having purchased, jointly, the lands of Nether and 
 Over Aldport, from Thomas Rowe of Hartford, who had 
 them of Sir Randle Brereton, the next purchaser from 
 William Earl of Derby. The house and grounds, about 
 ninety-five acres, of Nether and Over Aldport, formerly 
 belonged to the warden of the college for the time being,
 
 DR. DEE. 319 
 
 and were held, by a rent of four marks per annum only, 
 from the Lord de la Warre. It was enjoyed uninterrupt- 
 edly by them until the dissolution of this community in 
 the first of Edward VI., when it was granted to the Earl 
 of Derby along with the rest of the college lands. 
 
 Elizabeth, however, in the twenty-first year of her reign, 
 granted a new foundation to the college ; but the Earl of 
 Derby, who still kept possession of the college-house and 
 some portion of the lands, suffered the warden and 
 ministers for some time to lodge there. 
 
 The house at Aldport was moated round, and a draw- 
 bridge stood before the main entrance. The mansion was 
 built of timber and plaster, with huge projecting stone 
 chimneys, gable ends, and deep casements ; a fitting re- 
 sidence in those days for rank and nobility. 
 
 Outside the moat was an extensive garden, laid out in 
 a sumptuous style, beyond which appeared a mound of 
 considerable elevation and extent, the site of Man castle, 
 famous in history as one of the strong holds of the Ro- 
 mans, some account of which may be found in the legend 
 of " Sir Tarquin." 
 
 " I have been thinking," said Dee, after being silent 
 for a space, " that no savour of dishonesty can attach to 
 our appropriation of this great treasure, seeing the house 
 and all this fair and goodly inheritance did once appertain 
 to the wardens of our college, of which patrimony we 
 have been most unjustly deprived by the statute of King 
 Edward. My gracious mistress, our Queen, not having 
 reinstated me into this my lawful possession, I have made 
 bold to remind her majesty of our wrongs, and to sup- 
 plicate her clemency thereupon."
 
 320 J^^' ^^^' 
 
 Bartholomew felt fully satisfied of the right they had to 
 these spoils, his conscience being easily quieted on the 
 score of appropriation. 
 
 " The rain becomes heavier, and it is more chill and 
 showery than before. The mist, too, is driving north-east," 
 said the Doctor. " The clouds are cumbrous and broken, 
 coiling, as they roll, into huge masses that will ere long 
 bring some of the dark Atlantic on their tails. Seest thou 
 not, Bartholomew, as though it were a grim pile of hills 
 on the horizon ? " 
 
 " I see, as it might be, a heavy wall of clouds gathering 
 about us ; and I think the wind comes on more fitful 
 and squally. These heavy lunges betoken an angry 
 and vicious humour in the air, that will not be long in 
 bursting." 
 
 " We shall have it about our ears speedily. We must 
 to work while it is yet a brewing below." 
 
 The dark pointed roofs and chimneys of the Lodge 
 might be distinguished in grotesque masses, changeless 
 and unvarying, against the ever-shifting darkness of the 
 sky. A pale star sometimes looked out as if by stealth, 
 but was obscured almost ere its brightness could be de- 
 veloped. The wind, as it rushed by, broke into short and 
 irregular gusts, like scouts from the main body, betokening 
 its approach. The rain had ceased, save a few hasty 
 drops at intervals, plashing heavily on the moat. 
 
 " What is that ? " said Bartholomew in a whisper, 
 pointing to the water. A light had glanced on its sur- 
 face, and as suddenly had it disappeared. 
 
 " Again ! " Dee smiled as he looked upwards to a star 
 just twinkling through the cloud. Like some benignant 
 spirit, as it alighted on the dark bosom of the moat, the
 
 DR. DEE. 321 
 
 short sharp gust fluttering over, it seemed to hover there 
 for a while ere it departed. 
 
 Turning out of the path, they approached a thick yew- 
 tree, flanking one corner of the garden. 
 
 " I think we may chmb here. Master Dee, with little 
 risk; — there seems a fair gap beside its trunk." 
 
 They scrambled up a high bank, thrusting themselves, 
 with some difficulty, through the opening. The Doctor 
 now, looking round, began to recite his instructions: — 
 " ' Nine ivith twice seven northerly and Acer shall dis- 
 appear. Hie mystical number added to the number en- 
 folding itself. This shall be added to its own, towards the 
 rising of the sun. Then turn half round, and note well thy 
 right foot ; — ivhat thou seest gather, and it shall lead thee 
 on to perfection.' " " Good ; but from what point shall we 
 begin to count?" said the divine, in great perplexity. 
 
 " I know not," said Bartholomew, " unless it be from 
 the sycamore-tree at the opposite corner yonder by the 
 old wall." 
 
 " Thou knowest the ground hereabout?" said the 
 Doctor, hastily. 
 
 " Peradventure I may," replied the other. " Being 
 told aforetime of treasure that was hidden, I have wan- 
 dered often, at odd times, round the garden." 
 
 " Lead the way, then ; it may be this same Acer is the 
 tree of which thou speakest. Time passes, and I would 
 not miss this lucky hour for all my hopes of preferment." 
 
 Preceded by his guide, the Doctor soon came within 
 range of a noble sycamore, that threw out its huge 
 branches in all the pride of a long and undisturbed 
 occupation. 
 
 " ' Nine with twice seven northerly, and Acer shall dis- 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 322 Dli- DEi:- 
 
 appear.' Shall I stride the ground so many steps, or is 
 there a mystic and hidden signification couched in these 
 numbers ? " 
 
 " I know not," said Bartholomew ; " but we had best 
 make the trial." 
 
 The Doctor, with great earnestness, began to stride out 
 the number northerly, but the sycamore did not disappear : 
 its long bare boughs were still seen throwing out their 
 leafless and haggard extremities against the lowering sky. 
 
 They now took counsel, when Bartholomew suggested 
 that, as numbers were often used symbolically, they must 
 look elsewhere for a solution. It might be the exact 
 number of trees lying between the great sycamore and the 
 place signified. " And there they be," said the seer, 
 pointing to a goodly row of small twigs newly planted. 
 " Now count them northerly, beghining as at first." 
 
 This being done, the Doctor was greatly comforted on 
 finding himself fairly soused up to the knees in a deep 
 ditch or drain, from whence all appearance of the syca- 
 more was effectually excluded. 
 
 " Now," said the adept, still standing as before, " the 
 mystical number, which is three, added to the most 
 excellent number, which I take to be three times three, 
 or the number enfolding itself, will make twelve ; but 
 there be no trees eastward, or towards the rising sun." 
 
 " Then try the steps once more," said Bartholomew, 
 " and take heed they are of the right length, — proper 
 easy-going steps. Stay, I will count them myself." 
 
 Leaving his companion in the ditch, the seer counted 
 forth his number with due care, halting at the last step. 
 
 " Now stand in my place, turn half round, and gather 
 from thy right foot."
 
 DR. DEE. 323 
 
 Dee, having cleared the bog, placed himself in the 
 required position. Stooping down, he groped diligently 
 by his right foot, but was aware of nothing but a crabbed 
 stump, that resisted every attempt they could use for its 
 dislodgment. 
 
 " Bring the mattock," said the Doctor, cautiously un- 
 covering the light. But though Bartholomew tugged with 
 great energy, the Doctor helping, it was to little purpose, 
 for the stump was immovable. 
 
 " We had best try the probe." Saying this, the warder 
 drew forth an instrument, in shape something like unto a 
 large auger. He could by this means easily ascertain if 
 any thing hard were below, or any symptoms of concealed 
 treasure. As they were thus engaged, a hollow voice, to 
 their terrified apprehensions issuing from the ground, 
 cried out, 
 
 " Hold ! " 
 
 The treasure-hunters came to a full pause. The wind 
 and rain at the same time beat so heavily, they could not 
 ascertain the sequel to this injunction. 
 
 " 'Tis Nargal, the spirit who guards hidden treasures," 
 said Dee : " we can approach him only by prayers and 
 fumigations." 
 
 " Then must we return ?" said Bartholomew, apparently 
 unwilling to desist. 
 
 " Hark ! " said the Doctor, listening. 
 
 They heard a moan, as that of some one in great pain. 
 Presently a faint shriek stole through a pause in the blast. 
 
 " 'Tis like the groan of a mandrake," he continued : 
 " they do ever lament and bewail thus when gathered. 
 I doubt not but this tree is of that accursed nature " 
 
 Again the voice was articulate. 
 Y 2
 
 324- DR. DEE. 
 
 " To-morrow thou mayest return, — at this hour; — but 
 I will not yield my treasure save thou bring me gold ! " 
 « Who art thou ? " 
 " I am the guardian of the treasure ; and 
 
 Gold I have. Bring gold with thee ; 
 Or thou shall get no gold from me." 
 
 " Wliat is thy demand ? " enquired Dee, in a hollow 
 voice, like that of an exorcist. 
 
 " Prop thy purse with fifty nobles; — then dig, and I 
 will tell thee." 
 
 The two worthies were somewhat startled at this de- 
 mand. It was more than their joint forces could muster. 
 Yet, two thousand and more broad pieces, besides other 
 valuables, which lay there for the gathering, was too 
 profitable a return to make them easily give up the 
 adventure. Accordingly, after some further questions, 
 which the demon as resolutely refused to answer, they 
 departed, first replacing the earth and other matters they 
 had disturbed in their former position. 
 
 Early on the following morning the eager divine applied 
 to his friend Eccleston for another loan, assuring him it 
 was the last ; while, from the produce of the treasure, he 
 would be enabled to pay his former advances, with a 
 copious interest thereon. The needy expectant was loth 
 to furnish him with another supply, though in the end he 
 was prevailed on to borrow from his friends, at an ex- 
 orbitant interest, for one day only. 
 
 This important preliminary being arranged, the night 
 was anxiously awaited, and though more than usually 
 tardy in its approach, twilight at length threw her mantle 
 of grey over the world's cares and perplexities, and night.
 
 DR. DEE. 325 
 
 that universal coverlet of all things, whether good or evil, 
 did wrap them gently about. 
 
 And a night of more loveliness and lustre never was 
 unveiled to the eye of mortals. 
 
 The stars were walking in brightness, — so clear and 
 sparkling that each seemed a ray, or an emblem, of that 
 ineffably glorious beam whose uncreated splendour no eye 
 can see and live. Those bright clusters that we now behold 
 have been the same through all generations, and they 
 have seen " all things that are done under the sun." 
 Fixed as the everlasting hills, their bounds and their 
 habitation have been unchanged. The same lights were 
 in the heavens when Abraham looked up from the 
 plains of Mamre, as now when the Arab and the Ishmaelite 
 are in the desert. The bands of Orion are not loosed, nor 
 the sweet influences of the Pleiades unbound. The same 
 glittering groups, which the patriarch beheld, beam nightly 
 on our tabernacles. They have shone upon the world's 
 heroes and the world's demigods; — bright links in the 
 oblivion of ages. And the numerous hosts we gaze ujjon 
 will present the same glowing and immutable forms to 
 cheer and gladden the eyes and hearts of coming gene- 
 rations. 
 
 Some feeling of this nature was probably rising in the 
 Doctor's bosom, as they once more took the open path to 
 Aldport ; and he looked on the wide hemisphere about 
 him, — the heavens, with their glowing constellations, all 
 spread out without an obscurity or an obstruction. He 
 felt for one moment the folly and futility of earthly 
 things, and his heart seemed to v^ither in the immensity 
 into which it was plunged. 
 
 It was like a faint glimpse of eternity, and he shrunk 
 y 3
 
 326 DR. DEE. 
 
 back from the abyss, all his own vast world of thought, 
 feeling, and desire, lost in that immeasurable space. 
 But the dazzling dream of ambition again passed before 
 him. The portals of universal empire and immortality 
 were thrown open. He drove back the unwelcome in- 
 truder, but the phantom he pursued again fluttered from 
 his grasp. 
 
 They had marked the spot on their former visit, and 
 Dee, with the fifty gold pieces in his purse, Bartholomew 
 Hickman acting as chief workman, began his unholy pro- 
 ceedings ; not, however, without some fear of the demon 
 whom these monies were to propitiate. Bartholomew 
 laboured with great diligence, but the earth was much 
 easier to remove than before, and the old stump soon 
 gave way, making but a slight resistance. This was 
 attributed to some charm wrought by the treasure they 
 carried, and was looked upon as a favourable omen — 
 an unloosing of the fetters which guarded the deposit. 
 Every spadeful of earth was carefully examined, and the 
 probe thrust down anxiously and with great caution. 
 About a yard in depth had been taken away, when the 
 spade struck upon something hard. The strokes were re- 
 doubled, and a narrow flag appeared. Raising this obstacle, 
 they beheld a wooden coffer. Dee sung out a Latin 
 prayer as usual ; for he failed not to pour out his thanks 
 with great fervour for any selfish indulgence that fell in 
 his way, or, as he imagined, was granted to him by the 
 special favour of heaven." 
 
 " There," said Bartholomew, raising the box, which 
 from its weight and capacity promised a rich reward, 
 " I think we have now what will season our labours well. 
 What think you, Master Dee?"
 
 DR. DEE. 327 
 
 But the Doctor was absorbed in visions of future great- 
 ness, now bursting on him with a glory and rapidity 
 almost painful to contemplate. He seized the shrine, 
 scarcely giving his helpmate time to fill up and conceal 
 their depredations. 
 
 " But the fifty pieces —have you got them safe?" en- 
 quired Bartholomew. 
 
 " They are in my pouch. I do think the demon hath 
 forgotten to demand them." 
 
 " Fear not, he will be ready enough to ask for his own. 
 What comes o'er the devil's back will sooner or later go 
 under his belly ! " 
 
 " Let us pack and begone," said the Doctor, fearful of 
 losing his treasure. 
 
 The box was presently swung over the seer's shoulders. 
 Dee following to keep all safe, though not without many 
 apprehensions and misgivings of heart. He feared lest 
 the spirit might appear again for his own ; or, at least, for 
 the fifty pieces of gold, which were his right. 
 
 Just as they came to the gap by the yew-tree, and 
 Bartholomew was resting against the trunk, a voice from 
 behind them shouted 
 
 " Stop ! — What make ye here, ye villains?" 
 
 Dee turned round, and the light flashed upon two 
 armed men, masked, who evidently came towards them 
 with no friendly intent. 
 
 " Put down that box," said the foremost. 
 
 Bartholomew was proceeding to surrender at discretion, 
 but Dee first enquired their errand. 
 
 " We can tell ye that in a twinkling," said the malicious 
 intruders, " after we have stepped up to the lodge, and 
 given them a pretty guess at the quality of the knaves
 
 328 OR. bEE. 
 
 who be robbing of their garden. Nay, Doctor, we take 
 no excuse, unless we take our share of the spoil with it. 
 To work, or ye budge not hence without discovery." 
 
 This was a provoking interruption, — their all depended 
 on a favourable issue to this adventure. Dee, therefore, 
 offered terms of capitulation as follows : — 
 
 " I'll give ye five-and-twenty gold pieces on the spot, if 
 ye will let us pass." 
 
 " Five-and-twenty ! — why, that box may hold five-and- 
 twenty hundred," said the freebooter, with a whistle, by 
 way of derision. 
 
 " Perhaps not," said the Doctor warily ; " it is not yet 
 tried, and may not be opened here without risk. Come 
 to my lodgings to-morrow, and we will share in the 
 product." 
 
 " Nay," returned the rogue, sharply, " a pullet in the 
 pen is worth an hundred in the fen. Come, we will deal 
 kindly with thee : give us fifty, and pass on." 
 
 Dee willingly opened his pouch, and threw the gold into 
 the fellow's greasy cap, which he held out for the purpose. 
 Immediately they took to their heels, and departed. 
 
 " The demon was more kind, and of a different nature 
 from those that do generally haimt these hidden trea- 
 sures," said the Doctor, as he trudged along, following 
 closely at Bartholomew's heels. " If he had not warned 
 me to bring the gold, these thieves must needs have 
 opened the box. Had they seen the vast hoard which it 
 contains, I should not have been released for thrice the 
 sum." 
 
 With mutual congratulations on their good fortune, and 
 many pious thanksgivings on the part of Dee, they arrived,
 
 ])R. DEE. S29 
 
 without farther molestation, at the college, where Lettice 
 was ill-humouredly awaiting their return. 
 
 Bartholomew threw down his burden in the study, 
 where the Doctor, cautiously guarding against intrusion, 
 wrenched open the chest. His rage and agony may be 
 conceived, when he found the treasure transformed into a 
 heap of stones, bearing the following malicious doggrel on 
 their front: — 
 
 " My mare is lost, but I've the gold ; 
 My mare is better lost than sold. 
 Full fifty pieces, broad and bright, 
 My bullies bring me home to-night. 
 My trap is baited ! — Springs it well, 
 I get the kernel, thou the shell ! 
 
 " From thy loving 
 
 " Barnabus Hardcastle, Armiger." 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode, 
 
 New-Street- Square. 
 
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