EVENINGS OF A WORKING MAN, 
 
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EVENINGS 
 
 A WOE KING MAN, 
 
 BEING THE OCCUPATION OF 
 
 HIS SCANTY LEISURE: 
 Bv JOHN OVERS. 
 
 WITH A PREFACE RELATIVE TO THE AUTHOR, 
 
 By CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 T. C. NEWBY, 72, MORTIMER STREET, 
 
 CAVENDISH SQUARE. 
 
 1844. 
 
 
Printed by J. & H. COX, BROTHERS (late COX & SONS), 
 74 & 75, Great Queen Street, Lincoln's-Inn Fields. 
 
€f)fe iltttlf toOOtt 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
 TO 
 
 DOCTOR ELLIOTSON, 
 
 BY ONE 
 
 WHO HAS FELT HIS KINDNESS 
 
 TO THOSE 
 
 WHO HAVE NO OTHER CLAIM UPON HIM 
 
 (and on such a man can have no higher claim) 
 
 THAN 
 SICKNESS AND OBSCURE CONDITION. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The indulgent reader of this little book — 
 not called indulgent, I may hope, by courtesy 
 alone, but with some reference also to its title 
 and pretensions — may very naturally inquire 
 how it comes to have a preface to which my 
 name is attached ; nor is the reader's right or 
 inclination to be satisfied on this head, likely 
 to be much diminished, when I state, in the 
 outset, that I do not recommend it as a book 
 of surpassing originality or transcendent merit. 
 That I do not claim to have discovered, in hum- 
 ble life, an extraordinary and brilliant genius. 
 That I cannot charge mankind in general, with 
 having entered into a conspiracy to neglect the 
 author of this volume, or to leave him pining 
 in obscurity. That I have not the smallest 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 intention of comparing him with Burns, the 
 exciseman; or with Bloomfield, the shoemaker ; 
 or with Ebenezer Elliott, the worker in iron ; 
 or with James Hogg, the shepherd. That I 
 see no reason to be hot, or bitter, or lowering, 
 or sarcastic, or indignant, or fierce, or sour, or 
 sharp, in his behalf. That I have nothing to 
 rail at ; nothing to exalt ; nothing to flourish 
 in the face of a stony-hearted world ; and 
 have but a very short and simple tale to tell. 
 
 But, such as it is, it has interested me; and I 
 hope it may interest the reader too, if I state 
 it, unaffectedly and plainly. 
 
 John Overs, the writer of the following pages, 
 is, as is set forth on the title-page, a working 
 man. A man who earns his weekly wages (or 
 who did when he was strong enough) by 
 plying of the hammer, plane, and chisel. He 
 became known to me, to the best of my recol- 
 lection, nearly six years ago, when he sent me 
 some songs, appropriate to the different months 
 of the year, with a letter, stating under what 
 circumstances they had been composed, and in 
 what manner he was occupied from morning 
 until night. I was, just then, relinquishing the 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 conduct of a monthly periodical : or I would 
 gladly have published them. As it was, I 
 returned them to him, with a private expres- 
 sion of the interest I felt in such productions. 
 They were afterwards accepted, with much 
 readiness and consideration, by Mr. Tait, of 
 Edinburgh ; and were printed in his Magazine, 
 Finding, after some further correspondence 
 with my new friend, that his authorship had not 
 ceased with these verses, but that he still oc- 
 cupied his leisure moments in writing, I took 
 occasion to remonstrate with him seriously 
 against his pursuing that course. I pointed out 
 to him a few of the uncertainties, anxieties, 
 and difficulties of such a life, at the best. I 
 entreated him to remember the position of 
 heavy disadvantage in which he stood, by 
 reason of his self-education, and imperfect at- 
 tainments; and \ besought him to consider 
 whether, having one or two of his pieces ac- 
 cepted occasionally, here and there, after long 
 suspense and many refusals, it was probable that 
 he would find himself, in the end, a happier or a 
 more contented man. On all these grounds, I 
 told him, his persistance in his new calling 
 
V1U PREFACE. 
 
 made me uneasy ; and I advised him to abandon 
 it, as strongly as I could. 
 
 In answer to this dissuasion of mine, he 
 wrote me as manly and straightforward, but 
 withal, as modest a letter, as ever I read in my 
 life. He explained to me how limited his am- 
 bition was : soaring no higher than the estab- 
 lishment of his wife in some light business, and 
 the better education of his children. He set 
 before me, the difference between his evening 
 and holiday studies, such as they were; and the 
 having no better resource than an alehouse 
 or a skittle-ground. He told me, how every 
 small addition to his stock of knowledge, made 
 his Sunday walks the pleasanter ; the hedge- 
 flowers sweeter ; every thing more full of inte- 
 rest and meaning to him. He assured me, that 
 his daily work was not neglected for his self- 
 imposed pursuits; but was faithfully and ho- 
 nestly performed ; and so, indeed, it was. He 
 hinted to me, that his greater self-respect was 
 some inducement and reward : supposing every 
 other to elude his grasp ; and shewed me, how 
 the fancy that he would turn this or that acqui- 
 sition from his books to account, by-and-by, 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 in writing, made him more fresh and eager to 
 peruse and profit by them, when his long day's 
 work was done. 
 
 I would not, if I could, have offered one 
 solitary objection more, to arguments so unpre- 
 tending and so true. 
 
 From that time to the present, I have seen 
 him frequently. It has been a pleasure to me 
 to put a few books in his way ; to give him a 
 word or two of counsel in his little projects 
 and difficulties ; and to read his compositions 
 with him, when he has had an hour, or so, to 
 spare. I have never altered them, otherwise 
 than by recommending condensation now and 
 then ; nor have I, in looking over these sheets, 
 made any emendation in them, beyond the 
 ordinary corrections of the press : desiring 
 them to be his genuine work, as they have 
 been his sober and rational amusement. 
 
 The latter observation brings me to the 
 origin of the present volume, and of this my 
 slight share in it. The reader will soon com- 
 prehend why I touch the subject lightly, and 
 with a sorrowful and faltering hand. 
 
 In all the knowledge I have had of John 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 Overs, and in all the many conversations I have 
 held with him, I have invariably found him, in 
 every essential particular, but one, the same. I 
 have found him from first to last a simple, 
 frugal, steady, upright, honourable man ; espe- 
 cially to be noted for the unobtrusive independ- 
 ence of his character, the instinctive propriety 
 of his manner, and the perfect neatness of his 
 appearance. The extent of his information : 
 regard being had to his opportunities of ac- 
 quiring it : is very remarkable ; and the discri- 
 mination with which he has risen superior to 
 the mere prejudices of the class with which he 
 is associated, without losing his sympathy for 
 all their real wrongs and grievances — they have 
 a few — impressed me, in the beginning of our 
 acquaintance, strongly in his favour. 
 
 The one respect in which he is not what he 
 was, is in his hold on life. 
 
 He is very ill; the faintest shadow of the man 
 who came into my little study for the first time 
 half-a-dozen years ago, after the correspondence 
 I have mentioned. He has been very ill for a 
 long, long period ; his disease is a severe and 
 wasting affection of the lungs, which has inca- 
 
PREFACE. XI 
 
 pacitated him, these many months, for every 
 kind of occupation. " If I could only do a 
 hard day's work," he said to me the other day, 
 " how happy I should be ! " 
 
 Having these papers by him, amongst others, 
 he bethought himself that if he could get a 
 bookseller to purchase them for publication 
 in a volume, they would enable him to make 
 some temporary provision for his sick wife and 
 very young family. We talked the matter over 
 together ; and that it might be easier of accom- 
 plishment, I promised him that I would write 
 an introduction to his book. 
 
 I would to Heaven that I could do him better 
 service ! I would to Heaven it were an intro- 
 duction to a long, and vigorous, and useful 
 life ! But Hope will not trim her lamp the less 
 brightly for him and his, because of this im- 
 pulse to their struggling fortunes; and trust 
 me, reader, they deserve her light, and need it 
 sorely. 
 
 He has inscribed this book to one whose 
 skill will help him, under Providence, in all 
 that human skill can do. To one who never 
 could have recognized in any potentate on 
 
Xll PREFACE. 
 
 earth, a higher claim to constant kindness and 
 attention, than he has recognized in him. 
 
 I have little more to say of it. While I 
 do not commend it, on the one hand, as a 
 prodigy, I do sincerely believe it, on the other, 
 to possess some points of real interest, how- 
 ever considered ; but which, if considered with 
 reference to its title and origin, are of great 
 interest. 
 
 If any delicate readers should approach the 
 perusal of these " Evenings of a Working 
 Man," with a genteel distaste to the principle of 
 a working-man turning author at all, I may 
 perhaps be permitted to suggest that the best 
 protection against such an offence will be 
 found in the Universal Education of the peo- 
 ple ; for the enlightenment of the many will 
 effectually swamp any interest that may now 
 attach in vulgar minds, to the few among them 
 who are enabled, in any degree, to overcome 
 the great difficulties of their position. 
 
 And if such readers should deny the immense 
 importance of communicating to this class, at 
 this time, every possible means of knowledge, 
 refinement and recreation ; or the cause we 
 
PREFACE. Xlll 
 
 have to hail with delight the least token 
 that may arise among them of a desire to 
 be wiser, better, and more gentle; I ear- 
 nestly entreat them to educate themselves in 
 this neglected branch of their own learning 
 without delay; promising them that it is the 
 easiest in its acquisition of any : requiring only 
 open eyes and ears, and six easy lessons of an 
 hour each in a working town. Which will 
 render them perfect for the rest of their lives. 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 London, June, 1844. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Leaves from the Register of the Lady Abbess of 
 
 Godstow . . . . . . . . . . Page 1 
 
 The Dodder-Weed 57 
 
 Theology ; or, the Point at Issue . . . . . . 59 
 
 Good-bye ! good-bye ! . . . . . . . . 60 
 
 A Legend of Runna Mead and Magna Charta . . . . 61 
 
 Woman's Faithfulness .. .. .. .. ..114 
 
 Norris and Anne Boleyn . . . . . . . . . . 115 
 
 A Day-dream . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 76 
 
 The Costar' monger .. .. .. .. .. 184 
 
 Ring-a-tingle-dingle-ingle-ing-in-'n; Rap ! "Ba--ker!" 193 
 
 The Carpenter 199 
 
) 
 
LEAVES FROM THE REGISTER 
 
 THE LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Darkness, and solitude, and sighs, and tears, 
 And all th' unspeakable train of grief, 
 Attend my steps for ever. 
 
 Dry den. 
 
 The spiritual domination of the seven hills having 
 already (Anno 1175) usurped the right of disposing 
 of kingdoms, our own countryman, Nicholas Break - 
 speare, then Pope Adrian IV. presented Ireland to 
 our second Henry. The better to avail himself of the 
 generosity of his holiness, Henry sent Robert Fitz- 
 stephen and Earl Strongbow to conquer the Irish, and 
 to take possession of the emerald ; which, through the 
 treachery and cowardice of the native princes, was 
 
 B 
 
2 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 easily done. Thereupon Henry proceeded to Dub- 
 lin to receive the homage exacted by a conqueror, 
 leaving the Saint of Godstow — (" For," says the 
 Lady Abbess in her register, " lett ye Princys or 
 Posterrite saye quhat thay whil, Rosamonde de Clif- 
 ford hadde as pure a soule as ever inn ye breaste of 
 Confessore should there abode") — in her mortal 
 illness, with many protestations of a quick return. 
 
 The time, however, had been long ; and the cor- 
 roding touch of ever- waking grief : the secret feast- 
 ing of a troubled mind upon its source and parent : 
 was visible in the face of Rosamond. The hectic 
 of her cheeks had given place to an ashy paleness, 
 her eyes waxed dim, and every symptom told of com- 
 ing dissolution. But neither word of desire, com- 
 plaint, nor doubt had ever passed her lips. Her 
 grief was all her own. And so the summer wore 
 away. 
 
 On Lammas eve the sufferer was much worse, 
 but the grandeur of the setting sun as it glanced in 
 glad and parting radiance through the latticed win- 
 dow of her chamber; the serenity and hush there 
 was about the sky and the air, and the stealing river 
 in the distance ; the slumbering of the winds ; and the 
 repose of the leaves and often dancing grass ; gave 
 such a heavenly breath and presence to the scene, that 
 Rosamond, forgetting her sufferings and weakness, 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 3 
 
 desired to be raised in her bed, that she might look 
 through the open casement once more upon the 
 flowery fields, the gladsome heath that basked in 
 sunlight before the river, and the shadowy trees that 
 lay beyond. 
 
 Reclining on her couch, so pale and deathly, old 
 scenes came upon her ; and she once more related 
 the history of her first and only love to the eagerly- 
 listening nuns. From that sprung purer thoughts, 
 ending in a request that they would perform a solemn 
 song which she might accompany in silence, a desire 
 with which they were ready to comply for its own 
 sake, independently of obliging one whose influence 
 with the king had been of great advantage to their 
 house. They accordingly commenced the "Diesirce, 
 dies ilia ; " which was symphonised with the instru- 
 ments they had used at vespers. Never was pure 
 and rapt devotion so truly felt and pictured as it 
 was then, by Rosamond. Never did voices pass 
 from earth's confines with a sweeter cadence, rising 
 like incense before the throne of God ! Never — 
 no, never ! — had listener such a spell-bound soul, 
 nor performers such a heart- felt pleasure. 
 
 " Peace to all here," cried the king, stepping 
 abruptly into Rosamond's chamber. " And peace to 
 thee here, and hereafter," he said to her, as stooping 
 down he kissed her sweet pale lips. 
 b 2 
 
4 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 The presence of a man among the virgin sister- 
 hood creating some consternation, they all retired : 
 except a devoted attendant of Rosamond's, whose 
 name was Geraldine. 
 
 " From the empty pomp of state, and the heavy 
 care of conquest, I came, Rosamond, hoping against 
 hope, to find you better," said the king. " This 
 pale cold brow, and these poor, weak, attenuated 
 hands dash down the chalice of my desire ; and 
 now I only wish to die, that our poor dust may 
 mingle." 
 
 The melancholy of the king brought tears into the 
 sufferer's eyes, but, having snatched her hand to 
 his lips, he hid his face, and did not see them. 
 There was feeling enough, however, in that cold 
 hand to tell of mutual scalding drops that trickled 
 through its fingers. 
 
 " Oh, Rosamond!" the king resumed in the bit- 
 terest anguish, "it is cruel that the hell of em- 
 pire, and that curse of kings, ambition, should tie 
 us to the thing the heart abhors, ere it has found 
 the haven of all its aspirations. Heaven was too 
 niggard of its happiness, or I had lived and died, 
 alone for thee." 
 
 " Your Grace is but a solemn comforter to-night," 
 said Rosamond, attempting to beguile his thoughts 
 with assumed cheerfulness. " Forbear these old 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 5 
 
 regrets I pray you. Hope comes ever with your 
 presence. You will not scare the sylph away ? " 
 
 " How fares it with you then ? I thought not to 
 see you smile, and hear these cheerful words. I have 
 heard that where Death has set his seal, his bond is 
 never cancelled : how is it with you ? " 
 
 She felt that she had done her heart sad wrong and 
 violence, and answered, " Even as your Grace fore- 
 sees. But I shall pass as tranquil to the tomb as 
 yonder orb declines behind the hills. You will spare 
 me these few moments for the past ; you have served 
 me much, and loved me more ; I thank your Grace, 
 and feel the honour. But we have children — " 
 
 Henry sat down on the side of her bed, and, 
 clasping her hands between his own, mournfully 
 uttered, "Go on j what of them ?" 
 
 " When I am gone," she answered, " spare them 
 from the taunts of legitimate sons — of princes — and 
 for the sake of Rosamond de Clifford, whom you 
 once called fair, place them above the world " 
 
 What she would have added, was suppressed by her 
 emotion ; fair Rosamond had swooned. 
 
 " My heaven ! my hope !" exclaimed the king, as 
 he bent over her. " Hear my assurance. Another 
 word for your poor disconsolate lover ; only another 
 word — only one to summon me. Then heaven, 
 strike ! that our two souls may mingle." And he 
 
D REGISTER OF THE 
 
 pressed his lips to hers with a murmur of feelings 
 too great for utterance. 
 
 While so doing, the window was darkened for a 
 moment, and queen Eleanor, springing in, struck at 
 them with a poniard ; but the blow was warded by 
 Geraldine. 
 
 Aroused by the well-known step, Henry turned 
 in sufficient time to see the attempt, and the cause of 
 its failure ; which good service he soon rewarded, by 
 snatching Geraldine from the upraised arm of his 
 disappointed and furious queen. 
 
 " How now ?" he cried, placing himself between 
 her and the objects of her hate. " How came you 
 here ? Are we to be dogged about and hunted like 
 a thief?" 
 
 u Like the thief you are," returned Eleanor; 
 '* stealing away, for ever, into this, your famous bower 
 of Woodstock, to which I could not find the clue ! 
 This is the cage of the fairy bird which rumour fixed 
 in that romantic mansion ! Thank heaven, I have 
 your secret ; the rest is easy." 
 
 " Cease your taunting tone and hasten your de- 
 parture, queen, ere we be pushed to worse ex- 
 tremities," said Henry, with stifled rage. 
 
 " When I depart, king, you go with me ; for, 
 until you go, my foot budges not. You made the 
 enfeoffing of John into the lordship of this new 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 7 
 
 conquest : this barbarous Ireland : the plea for such 
 a hurried progress to the Court of Oxford ; but, 
 as I never knew you hasten yet to benefit my sons, 
 and heard your frequent sighs withal — Oh, those 
 fierce furnace sighs ! — I followed you ! And, praise 
 to God ! I have your secret. Beneath that window 
 I heard almost your first remark. Go to, sir king." 
 
 A long-drawn inspiration and a slight shudder of 
 the limbs proclaimed the returning consciousness of 
 Rosamond, and softened the tone of Henry. 
 
 " Well, Eleanor, you have listened," he said, " but 
 you are a woman. You have some lingering ten- 
 derness in your nature. You see the scene is 
 closing here ; you will depart and spare us this one 
 night to assoil our souls together, and indulge in old 
 and cherished memories ?" 
 
 Rosamond, having opened her eyes, discovered the 
 queen, whose glance was full upon her. Uttering 
 a faint cry of alarm, she held up her hands to shut 
 out the vision. 
 
 "Aye, basilisk! I am here at last," exclaimed 
 Eleanor. " Usurper of a wife's affections ! Destroyer 
 of her happiness ! Guilty thing ! I come to see 
 you die at last. And yet, not so : I will not see it. 
 No, you shall die alone! Your paramour, the king 
 my husband, returns with me to-night." 
 
REGISTER OF THE 
 
 " Not to-night, Eleanor ; not to-night/' said he, 
 imploringly. 
 
 " To-night, sir king, to-night ! What, in the name 
 of heaven ! would you have me sit down like a green 
 young girl, and weep, while my rival has her favours ? 
 No, Henry Plantagenet, you go with me to-night. 
 I will not even stay to mock you, o'er her closing 
 eyes." 
 
 "Farewell, your grace," sighed Rosamond, " fare- 
 well ; and Heaven be with you. Methinks I could 
 not even die, in presence of that dreadful lady. Go, 
 dear king, and only think of my request." 
 
 " To forget his queen !" said Eleanor. " But that 
 I know it would delight the king to linger here, we 
 both would stay and see if you could die. As it is, 
 he goes with me to-night." 
 
 " I will not, Eleanor ! on my soul I will not," ex- 
 claimed Henry. 
 
 " Then, on my soul ! ere morning dawns, this 
 poniard finds a sheath. I know your disregard of 
 me, so we are best apart ; better that worlds should 
 separate us. And on my soul it shall be so." 
 
 u Wretch !" exclaimed the king. " Aye, wretch , 
 for I have no gentler word to bestow ; give me the 
 weapon, and then do as you list." 
 
 So saying, he grasped at the poniard, but the 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. i) 
 
 queen evaded him, and held it in a threatening 
 attitude. 
 
 "Another step, sir king," she cried, " and it shall 
 find its home. Or come with me, or rush upon your 
 fate." 
 
 Rosamond again swooned with her fears ; which 
 Henry perceiving, withdrew his jealous wife from 
 the scene, purposing a quick return. 
 
 As they passed from the chamber together, he still 
 kept between his wife and Geraldine ; a precaution 
 that Eleanor observed, and said, " For you another 
 fate is prepared. You seem to love a mistress, and, 
 if as a superior you admire one so, how much you 
 would be pleased to reach her level ! I have gallant 
 sons." With which significant words to the tremb- 
 ling maid, she went forth, accompanying the king. 
 
10 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 She reigns more fully in my soul than ever ; 
 She garrisons my breast, and mans against me 
 Ev'n my own rebel thoughts with thousand graces, 
 Ten thousand charms, and new discovered beauties. 
 
 Lee. 
 
 The sun arose on the following morning with the 
 same serene and glad aspect it had worn on the 
 preceding night. Not a cloud was visible, not a 
 wind stirred. The air was redolent of perfume from 
 fruit and flowers; and the dew that headed every twig 
 and blade of grass was only shaken to the earth by 
 the uprising of the lark, and the fluttering song-birds 
 of the thicket. The earth looked as if it were no 
 place for suffering or wrong : it was so bright and 
 beautiful. But there were ten thousand eyes open- 
 ing that morning wearily upon it, whose owners 
 sighed that it was so. 
 
 Among them was Rosamond de Clifford. Racked 
 by a thousand fears for Henry after she had recovered 
 from her swoon, she had passed the night in grief 
 and wakefulness, till, worn down by suffering, her 
 eyes closed just before dawn : exhibiting to the 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 11 
 
 watchful Geraldine, as she stood over her couch, the 
 breathing semblance of the house of death. 
 
 Matins had commenced in the convent before 
 Rosamond awoke, but when she did so, the nuns 
 adjourned from the little oratory to her chamber. A 
 solemn and imposing spectacle the sick chamber 
 was. Passing to her bed-side with burning tapers in 
 their hands, the nuns knelt down and sang the part- 
 ing hymn. 
 
 God of the fatherless, shield Thou our sister ; 
 
 God of the righteous, give peace to her soul ; 
 God of the weak and the lowly, assist her 
 
 To pass from earth's shadows to Heaven, the goal. 
 
 Ease the pangs of her parting, dry the tears of her sorrow, 
 
 Call her spirit to rest in an infantile sleep, 
 Make her heart socontrite, that, ere dawns the world's morrow, 
 
 Face to face with Thee, God, she no longer may weep ! 
 
 The pious strain being ended, they arose and gave 
 her the kiss of peace : at the same time extinguishing 
 their tapers, as emblems of the extinction of her life. 
 This done, they were warned of the approach of the 
 king with the sons of Rosamond, and hastily with- 
 drew. 
 
 During a night of conflict and recrimination with 
 his queen, Henry had found means to apprise Wil- 
 liam and Geoffrey (his sons by Rosamond) of their 
 mother's approaching dissolution, commanding them 
 
12 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 to meet him at Godstow when the morning dawned. 
 It was at once a glad and a grievous announcement 
 to them. Separated from their mother almost from 
 infancy, her fame, which filled every mouth, had 
 reached them in their boyhood ; and no pride of 
 legitimate right or rank could equal what they felt in 
 being the offspring of so much romance and un- 
 doubted love. And differing as they did in constitu- 
 tion — for while William was decided, choleric, and 
 martial in his ideas, Geoffrey was meek, enthusiastic, 
 and reflective — yet they agreed, not only in marked 
 brotherly love from boyhood upwards, but in the 
 high and irrepressible pride they felt in their origin. 
 Often, indeed, had they made secret pilgrimages to 
 Godstow, watching the nunnery 
 
 " From morn to noon, from noon to dewy eve, 
 A summer's day," 
 
 to catch a glimpse of their mother, voluntarily im- 
 mured there. But these excursions had produced 
 nothing but disappointment ; they had always but 
 once returned wearily to their far-distant abode . 
 
 Once, and once only, they imagined they had seen 
 their mother. 
 
 It was after a tedious watching at the convent 
 gate, disguised in the garb and carriage of Pilgrim 
 Penitents, doomed for a time to wear the badges of 
 perdition, and to live on alms, for penance. The 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 13 
 
 wicket had been opened in answer to their knocking, 
 but no alms came. The abbess was a precisian, and 
 herself performed the menial duty of porter at the 
 gate. Seeing that they w r ere wicked men, she was deaf 
 to their solicitations for shelter and food : considering 
 it equally good for their souls and for hers. The day 
 was stormy and the wind was keen, yet they remained 
 assailing the gate continually. Noon came and went, 
 the evening wore, and night was at hand ; still 
 beneath the gate they crouched, beseeching for alms 
 or shelter. Nevertheless, the abbess was incorrigible. 
 
 The dusk of night came ; and with it gentle voices, 
 and tones of pity ; and the wicket creaked again. 
 A lovely girl presented herself, with bowls of broth 
 and flasks of wine, and cakes of the finest flour. 
 She wore no veil, not even a nun's habit ; she ex- 
 hibited neither surprise nor terror ; she studied no 
 effect ; but gentleness was on her tongue and in her 
 manners, and her features were a transcript fresh 
 from heaven. It was Geraldine. Behind her, was a 
 lovely form in middle life ; pale and melancholy ; but 
 beautiful as an angel's visit to a dying saint. In her 
 deportment, there was an indescribable grace and 
 dignity that seemed full meet to mate with any king ; 
 and the young men's hearts fluttered in their bosoms 
 in a most unwonted manner. 
 
 More to prolong the interview than to satisfy their 
 
14 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 hunger : though that would have furnished not a 
 slight excuse : the pilgrims took the bowls with many- 
 benedictions. From the hall of the convent, bright 
 and languishing eyes were glancing over the shoulders 
 of the abbess, who stood as sentinel over a dangerous 
 and inflammable magazine, but the young men had 
 no eyes for them. One, indeed, had almost forgotten 
 his mother in the frenzy of his heart for Geraldine, 
 from whom they learnt that the patroness of the con- 
 vent had listened to their prayers, and saw their 
 wants relieved. They felt that they stood in the pre- 
 sence of their mother. The wind banged-to the wicket, 
 and she was shut at once from their eyes and their 
 purposed claim of kindred. When Geraldine opened it 
 again, she was alone ; and when it was finally closed, 
 she took with her the heart of the susceptible Geoffrey. 
 
 Often did the brothers wander there again, but 
 never more did face come to the wicket except that 
 of the starched old abbess. It was, therefore, with 
 no ordinary feelings that they received the commands 
 of the king. 
 
 The scene that followed their arrival at the con- 
 vent was one of those which cannot be described. 
 They were alone in Rosamond's chamber, from 
 which nothing came, save sobs, and wailing, and 
 the hum of whispered words. When admission 
 was given, the young men were locked hand in hand, 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 15 
 
 supporting their mother in a raised position. Their 
 eyes were bent upon her poor pale face, while tears 
 trickled from them to her pillow. The king was 
 bowed in grief, with his lips pressed to the thin cold 
 hands he held in his ; and his body was shaken with 
 his heavy sighs. The fountains of the great deep 
 were broken up — the fathomless wells of love and 
 devotion which lie hidden in the human heart beyond 
 all sounding — and those holy and unutterable feel- 
 ings which are repudiated by the heartless worldling, 
 and are put down by a sneer, were in their spring- 
 tide and fruition. Yet, supremely blest as Rosa- 
 mond was, in the events of that hour, she was the 
 first to feel the necessity of its abridgment, and 
 summoned her attendant. 
 
 Twice did Geraldine approach and twice retire, 
 before she could address her mistress. But words 
 came at length, and when they came, no fancied 
 voice that calls one from the dead: no dismal 
 boom of passing knell that tells a mother's gone : 
 has ever shook the startled soul as that sweet 
 whispering voice aroused young Geoffrey. 
 
 " Mother ! whose voice is that ?" he asked, when 
 the spell was broken. 
 
 " A voice like thine was once," said the king, 
 kissing the marble brow of Rosamond. 
 
16 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 M Fit for a knight to fight for, throughout Christen- 
 dom," added William. 
 
 "Whose was it, mother; was it yours? There 
 is no one here beside, but I have heard that voice 
 before. Explain it to me, mother." 
 
 The thrilling appellation which Geoffrey had thrice 
 applied to Rosamond, threw back life's sluggish cur- 
 rent on her heart — it was so dear — so strange — so 
 true — but so unwonted. She strained the speaker in 
 her feeble arms to her maternal bosom, while they 
 who wept for grief before, now wept anew for joy. 
 
 Geraldine had passed into and out of the chamber 
 unseen by any but Rosamond ; and she waited with- 
 out the door, the blushing and unwilling listener to 
 her own praise, until Rosamond again called her to 
 her presence. 
 
 The king and his sons gave place at her approach, 
 but she heard the suppressed sigh of Geoffrey 
 as his eyes met hers, and uttered things to which 
 no language has a parallel ; the freemasonry of love, 
 which all understand ; and which, added to the hand- 
 some person of Geoffrey, seemed not unacceptable 
 to her, if a tremulous voice, an agitated manner, and 
 a mantling cheek, as their eyes met again, be any crite- 
 rion. Geoffrey was speechless, but gazed upon her, 
 with a charmed, bright, burning glance, that asto- 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 17 
 
 nished his brother. Meanwhile the king was too 
 subdued in soul to see any thing except the wasting 
 form before him ; the shadow of the thing which 
 had formed the pith of his entire devotion. 
 
 The dying Rosamond, well versed in love and all 
 its mysteries, failed not to comprehend the feelings 
 of the young people, and lighting up her expressive 
 countenance — fair and intellectual even at the gate 
 of death — with a languid smile, she took the hand 
 of Geraldine, and beckoned to her son. 
 
 " Geoffrey/ ' she said, M your mother is no nun, 
 neither is this gentle creature here." 
 
 The next moment saw him kneeling at her feet, 
 partaking of what seemed a common sympathy and 
 mutual consent, for Rosamond was about to join 
 their hands. 
 
 " Stop ! dearest, stop I " cried the king, stepping 
 between them. " Delay this hasty pledge ; Geoffrey 
 belongeth to the church; was vowed to it long since. 
 It was a portion of our penance for stern Becket's 
 death. Add not, dear Rosamond, to our other sins, 
 the sacrilegious breaking of a vow." 
 
 The faltering voice of Henry told plainly and 
 clearly what mental agony he endured. 
 
 " Does towering Becket haunt us after death, and, 
 coming athwart our hopes, mar all our inclinations ?" 
 Rosamond timidly inquired. 
 
18 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 " Even so," replied the king. H He does." 
 
 " Then defend our mother's gift and blessing with 
 your sword, Geoffrey. I will stand beside you though 
 a thousand Beckets gathered on our path," exclaimed 
 the choleric William. 
 
 " So let it be, mother," Geoffrey rejoined. " Orders 
 were forced upon me against my will; and for 
 that which our father cannot control, he cannot 
 suffer." 
 
 " Well said, my son," returned Rosamond. M This 
 is a union I have thought of often, but never dared 
 to hope for. Geraldine has been to me, most kind 
 and faithful ; the world much needs admixture with 
 the good ; and she is good. May heaven unite and 
 sanctify your hearts as I join your hands !" 
 
 " But never till heaven has sanctified, may that 
 betrothment be," said Geraldine : and withdrew her 
 hand. " Oh that a curse on nature's truth should 
 lurk within the garb of holy orders, which, not con- 
 tent with making me an orphan, disturbs and poisons 
 all the after-current of my life." 
 
 Various amazement seized on all who listened to 
 her words. Geoffrey was looking reproachfully 
 into her eyes, when the abbess hurried in, wring- 
 ing her hands, and crying in terror, " Fly, king ! 
 fly ! Armed men are coming, escorted by the 
 princes, and followed by a mingled host of hermits, 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 19 
 
 monks, and young ecclesiastics. Oh, the honour of 
 my house ! Fly, king ! fly ! " 
 
 The excitement of the abbess was instantly caught 
 by William, who drew his sword, and exclaimed, 
 " Let them come on ! let them come on !" as he 
 rushed forth : followed by his brother and the king. ? 
 
 c2 
 
20 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 He's a blessed man ! 
 
 He shall see Thebes again, and call to arms 
 
 The bold young men, that, when he bids 'em charge, 
 
 Fall on like fire. 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 " Glory to the ever-living God and a sword for 
 His sepulchre ! Seats by the waters of eternal life ! 
 Crowns and precedence before the prophets and the 
 thrones and the elders in heaven, to those who shall 
 rescue the grave of the God-head and His holy city 
 from the Paynim ! Henry of England, I call on you 
 for succour. " 
 
 Such were the words that reached the ears of the 
 astounded king and his sons as they crossed the 
 threshold of the Convent into the midst of a dense 
 mass, congregated in the court-yard. 
 
 " Who calls the king?" demanded Henry, " And 
 what is all this tumult ? " 
 
 "It is the Spirit of God moving on the face of 
 Christendom," answered the speaker, St. Bernard, 
 who was thus preaching the second crusade. " It 
 is the Spirit of God moving on the face of Christen- 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 21 
 
 dom, commanding it to cut down the Moslem and 
 resume the inheritance of His people. Here be suf- 
 ferers from Tyre and Sidon, and from Joppa and 
 the Holy City; some without their ears or eyes, 
 and some without their tongues ; whose silent elo- 
 quence withal shall rouse up kings and warriors to 
 win back the sepulchre. While they fight for God, 
 slaves shall be free ! While they war for heaven, 
 debtors' bonds shall all be cancelled ! outlaws shall 
 have rights ! yea, murderers be forgiven ! So saith 
 the Spirit/ - 
 
 " It is the will of God ! It is the will of God !" 
 was then the cry, as of old, from the excited mul- 
 titude. 
 
 " To you, O king ! I come for succour/' resumed 
 Bernard. " Blessed be they who listen to the 
 Spirit! Blessed be they who shall trample and 
 crush the infidel! Thrice blessed by the Mother 
 of God be he who cometh freely ! God giveth his 
 foes to vengeance in these later times : justifying 
 priests in taking up the sword, for which they are 
 released by holy church from vows. The advent 
 cometh, and the judgment is at hand. On to Pales- 
 tine ! on ! On for God and for His sepulchre ! " 
 
 The fanatical spirit he had aroused was not to be 
 controlled. The king, unable longer to restrain his 
 
22 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 sons, saw them kneeling at the feet of Bernard, soli- 
 citing his blessing for the enterprise. 
 
 " Let them come, and forbid them not," exclaimed 
 the saint, as he forcibly withheld them from Henry, 
 who tried to beguile them from the resolution. The 
 brothers inclined to Bernard, though their thoughts 
 were quite distinct and different; — for while William 
 gloried in the anticipation of valourous deeds, Geof- 
 frey was more intent on taking Geraldine than that 
 same Holy City. So, both received the cross. 
 
 Then again arose the loud acclaim and the banner- 
 cry, " It is the will of God ! it is the will of God ! " 
 while the devotees who had suffered under the Mos- 
 lem thronged upon and about them, dinning their 
 ears with recitals of their tortures, and crying for 
 revenge and the dear love of God ; the unarmed fub- 
 bing their hands violently together in their excite- 
 ment ; the armed lifting their shields aloft and beating 
 them with their blades; while the churchmen present 
 rent their vestments into shreds which they flung 
 among the multitude : demanding swords : and re- 
 iterating, each with the gesticulations of a maniac, 
 " It is the will of God ! It is the will of God ! " 
 
 As these cries subsided, a more fearful one was 
 heard of, " Help ! help ho ! help ! Geoffrey ! Sir 
 king! Crusaders! Help ho! help!" in the shrill 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 23 
 
 voice of a woman. And the king for the first time 
 remembered the assurance of the abbess, that the 
 princes were there. 
 
 Moved by his intense love and fears for Rosa- 
 mond, he rushed like a frantic man in the direction 
 whence the voice proceeded, followed by Geoffrey 
 and William, of whom one knew too well the music 
 of the tongue, even in agony, to have any fears for 
 the safety of his mother. Scarcely less dilatory to 
 the rescue were the numerous followers of Bernard, 
 who, with the king, immediately surrounded the 
 fugitives. 
 
 These were the princes Henry, Richard, and John : 
 bearing along the terrified Geraldine. 
 
 " Stop, caitiffs ! " thundered William as he sprung 
 before them and opposed them with his sword. 
 
 At the same moment, Geoffrey snatched Geraldine 
 from the arms of John, and holding her in his em- 
 brace, left himself open to the attack of the princes. 
 William thrust and warded for his brother, well ; but 
 the ponderous strokes of Richard beat down his 
 arm, and broke his weapon through : an accident 
 which had proved fatal to their hopes, had not a 
 hermit — a fitful, grave, wild-looking man, with hair- 
 cloth shirt and flowing beard, and savage girdle 
 that ate into his loins — extended before them the 
 sacred symbol of salvation, made of the cedars 
 
24 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 of Lebanon, and carried by his own hands from the 
 Holy Land. 
 
 The king was not a witness to this opportune 
 relief. Judging that Eleanor was the grand projec- 
 tor of the scheme, he left his sons in mortal conflict, 
 while he hastened to the chamber of Rosamond. 
 
 " If I could clothe these shrunk and withered 
 limbs with health and vigour ; I should believe the 
 fair Dalilah of my early life now stood before me;" 
 cried the hermit, who had fixed his widely opened 
 eyes on Geraldine ; and suddenly waving his cru- 
 cifix above his head as his eyes brightened with the 
 wandering fires of insanity, he cried, " Off with the 
 disguise! Off with it ! Off!" 
 
 Geraldine clung to her lover pale and panting 
 with alarm ; while the devotees, believing in the her- 
 mit's sanctity, and the awe-stricken princes stood, 
 wondering and inert spectators. 
 
 "Of what lineage are you?" he resumed in a 
 more rational manner. " Whose blood is it dances in 
 your veins and paints those rounded cheeks ? " 
 
 " Her silence declares plainer than her tongue 
 could speak, that she is base born," cried Richard. 
 
 " And is our mother's slave," added John. 
 
 ?• Wherefore we claim her," said Henry, attempt- 
 ing to seize her. 
 
 " I will defend her nobility," returned William, 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 25 
 
 snatching a battle-axe from a by-stander. But the 
 rising passions of the young man were again con- 
 trolled, as it would seem, by accident, for the hermit 
 again waved his cross before them, uttering the cogi- 
 tations of his unsteady mind. 
 
 " I question God in the wilderness/' said he, M and 
 the winds come into my ears, laden with prophecies. 
 Before my cave among the mountains I inquire aloud 
 of heaven's host, - Who hateth Satan, angels?' and 
 a hundred voices speak distinct : and answer, ' Satan ? 
 Angels ! Angels ! ■ Now what am I ? I ask of Jeza- 
 bel her name ; she hears me not ! Is the adder coiled 
 behind those dead deaf ears ? What is your lineage ?" 
 he angrily demanded. 
 
 Aroused to a sense of dignity, Geraldine stood 
 before him and replied, " This is my lineage, Hermit. 
 My mother was a Saxon, descended from King Ed- 
 mund ; my father was a priest. Before the church 
 tore those apart whom God had joined together, they 
 were wedded ; but when the church stept in, he wan- 
 dered forth to the Holy Land : leaving a charge to his 
 forbidden wife to tell her child, I, then unborn, that 
 this broad ring — an old heir-loom of all his fathers — 
 would, ever when 'twas shewn, claim the paternal 
 care of Jocelyn le Gascon." 
 
 " Is it amethyst, with a lance poised so ? Look ! " 
 cried the hermit, throwing his cross into the position. 
 
26 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 " It is," was the brief reply. 
 
 " My God ! my God ! then I have found my child/' 
 he cried ; and the malady of his mind recurring, he 
 crouched down to peer into her eyes : and caught 
 her hand in his, while he twirled his other fingers 
 in her hair. 
 
 "Jocelyn le Gascon and Edmund the Martyr," 
 Geoffrey communed with himself, " why there 
 throbs the purest blood of France and England." 
 
 " What, ho ! my gallant sons !" said Queen Elea- 
 nor, ironically, as she stood of a sudden in the midst. 
 " Do you suffer your father's bastards and a silly 
 dotard to rob you of your prize ? Shame on such 
 degenerate manhood ! Take a lesson from your 
 mother, striplings !" And again the familiar poniard ' 
 was brandished over Geraldine. 
 
 u Do you hear her, Geoffrey ? Do you hear our 
 mother's enemy ? Take a lesson from a bastard's 
 arm. Why not!" cried the irascible William. 
 
 "Death!" exclaimed Prince Henry; "Strike 
 Dick ! Strike John ! strike !" And suiting the action 
 to the word, he made a furious lunge at William. 
 
 Meanwhile Geoffrey took the proffered weapon 
 of a soldier ; and nobly defended his brother and his 
 charge. 
 
 Crimson with rage, the queen exhibited even more 
 activity than her sons in the strife : stimulating the 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 27 
 
 attack, now against Geoffrey, and now against Wil- 
 liam, with increased vigour and fury; when some 
 of the followers of Bernard becoming interested in 
 their success, raised the cries of M Help for the young 
 crusaders !" " Swords for our brothers of the cross !" 
 These again were answered by, " Succour for the 
 queen !" " True men for the princes \" and a fu- 
 rious battle ensued. 
 
 After some time the voice of Bernard was heard at 
 the convent gate, crying, " Come forth, ye brawlers ! 
 Come on and follow me to Palestine ; for God, and 
 for His sepulchre ! " 
 
 As he bounded onward with the banner, the whole 
 multitude pressed after him. The princes and the 
 sons of Rosamond were separated by the rushing 
 men, and hurried forward with the rest. Each looked 
 round in vain for Geraldine. She was not to be seen ; 
 though still the human tide rolled on. 
 
28 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Before my fancy, still the furious queen appears. 
 
 Elizabeth Rowe. 
 
 Receiving the pass- word from the king, after he 
 had fled from his conflicting sons and the Crusaders, 
 the abbess opened the convent door in silence : mo- 
 tioning him, as she dried her eyes, to Rosamond's 
 apartment ; whither he proceeded, with a soft and 
 cautious step. All was silent, as he listened for a 
 moment with breathless fear ; no moan gave evidence 
 that the sufferer lived ; and the tears of the abbess 
 came into his mind like the recollection of a funeral 
 dirge. Then, a gentle murmur reached his ears, 
 like one awaking from a sleep ; anon it came again, 
 followed by an outburst from his wife. 
 
 " I have waited till you breathed again," she said, 
 " that you may know who strikes the blow, and deals 
 the death which shall no longer be delayed ; for thus 
 I probe the heart that holds Plantagenet's love." 
 
 Henry had stood paralysed at the voice ; but now , 
 hearing the sound of feet, he burst into the room. 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 29 
 
 Foiled in her purpose, but nowise disconcerted, 
 Eleanor struggled resolutely with him. 
 
 " This is a death-wrestle if I quell you, Harry," 
 she exclaimed, quite wild with rage, " Revenge like 
 mine devours any prey." By a sudden and dexterous 
 jerk, she released herself from his grasp, and rushed 
 at him with her weapon. 
 
 The king had certainly fallen before her rage, had 
 not the sinewy arm of Bernard snatched her from her 
 victim. 
 
 The saint had followed Henry into the convent 
 unperceived. Having effected his delivery, he re- 
 marked with a tone of assumed calmness ; " That 
 blow were well aimed at a Saracen : do ye practice 
 for the holy wars ?" 
 
 " Bernard, we owe you much for this prompt inter- 
 vention," the king rejoined. " And we will take the 
 cross : no less for the good of holy church than for 
 riddance of this termagant." 
 
 " Glory to God !" ejaculated Bernard, " glory to 
 God!" 
 
 " Glory in hell, and boundless joy ! For the tens 
 of thousands ye will hurry thither," added Eleanor, 
 with a scornful curl upon her lip. 
 
 u When the fig-tree casteth untimely figs, know 
 ye then that the end is nigh," Bernard audibly 
 
 
30 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 muttered in a solemn and reflective manner; "what 
 are these heretical doctrines but untimely figs ?" 
 
 " What is this sanguinary mockery which you 
 charge on Heaven ?" returned Eleanor. "It is 
 revenge ! revenge ! What do I seek for injured 
 rights ? Revenge ! If your revenge be blessed on 
 the Saracen, for a fancied wrong ? how much more 
 should mine, upon my husband and his mistress 
 there, be favoured ? Answer me that, most holy man ; 
 and leave us to ourselves. " 
 
 " Under malediction, depart from this presence !" 
 commanded the excited saint ; " that shall be your 
 only answer." And he waved his hand to the 
 door. 
 
 " I defy you, priest ! I defy you all ! I, and my 
 gallant sons, found entrance to this royal harem. 
 One they bear away ; who stood between me and 
 my vengeance. The other " 
 
 '* Save Geraldine ! — save her ! — save her, for the 
 love of heaven !" said Rosamond faintly. 
 
 " She is saved, dearest ; our sons preserve her," 
 replied the king. 
 
 " How ! Are my purposes crossed again, and by 
 those accursed bastards ? Then, Eleanor must act in 
 spite of priests and fulminations." 
 
 " Away, then, and act out of my sight and hear- 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 31 
 
 nig," exclaimed the Saint, angrily snatching her 
 forth from the chamber. 
 
 Having taken the precaution to make fast the door, 
 the saint then returned to the king, whom he found 
 bending over Rosamond : breathing her breath : and 
 reading dim visions of heaven in her eyes ; for her 
 thoughts and imaginings had passed from the present 
 into the dread confines of the future, where she held 
 a whispering discourse with angels. 
 
 The enthusiastic Bernard was touched by the 
 scene, which his constant excitement predisposed him 
 to feel. Kneeling down, he poured out such a torrent 
 of eloquent prayer, that the king was beguiled from 
 his sorrow ; and listened with as much awe as he 
 would have done, to the angels, with whom Rosamond 
 seemed to converse. 
 
 And with her returning sense, the prayer reached 
 her ears : as he closed it with assurance of the 
 merciful judgment, and the fulfilment of hope ; saying, 
 " Come, ye blessed of my Father, enter into the king- 
 dom prepared for you from all eternity !" 
 
 The "Amen," was lost in the rapt delight of 
 Rosamond, who cried, " I come ! I come !" Then, 
 turning to the king, with heaven beaming in her eyes, 
 she clasped his hand, and told him all was over; 
 and how, even while he stood present there, she was 
 translated to the verge of Heaven ; where angels held 
 
32 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 a snow-white robe, awaiting her : and beckoned to the 
 mansions of the blest. " Did you not hear them call 
 me ?" she concluded. 
 
 Henry made no answer to her phantasies except 
 by tears ; he saw, and felt, that they were the usual 
 indications of the fluttering soul, as it plumes its 
 pinions for the final flight ; now catching glimpses of 
 the sunlight in another world ; and now recurring to 
 the pain and darkness that remains in this. He hung 
 his head, and wept. 
 
 During the silence that ensued, thoughts of the 
 queen again came upon Rosamond. " Where is that 
 vengeful woman who deals reproaches on my dying 
 hour ?" she asked in an eager whisper. 
 
 " Where the eaves shoot off* the torrents of the 
 clouds, and the convent sinks discharge their refuse,'* 
 replied Bernard. 
 
 " Then, mercy ! she will be here again,*' gasped 
 Rosamond, trembling with fear. " Guard me that 
 window, I beseech you !'* 
 
 Bernard closed the casement ; and stood by it as a 
 sentinel. 
 
 " Twice she has entered there, to wreak her fell 
 designs/' Rosamond resumed ; " and there, she 
 brought the princes through, who assailed me with 
 coarse and brutal jests, while she laughed, and en- 
 couraged them to further outrage.'' 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 33 
 
 "Death!" exclaimed the king, his lips quivering 
 with passion, and his hands seeking his sword, " have 
 they dared so far !" 
 
 "And thence they bore away fair Geraldine," 
 Rosamond added. 
 
 H Bernard ! " cried the king, "lam mad ! Hea- 
 ven's lightning on their heads and souls ! But we 
 will punish them for this ! " and he hurried through 
 the door. 
 
 Desirous to turn the fiery spirit of family feud and 
 private vengeance against what he was pleased to con- 
 sider the common enemy ; Bernard immediately fol- 
 lowed him. 
 
34 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 His love was passion's essence — as a tree 
 On fire by lightning ; with etherial flame 
 Kindled he was, and blasted. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 With the skill and promptitude of a general, the 
 hermit, Jocelyn le Gascon, withdrew Geraldine from 
 the fray so soon as she was released from the arm 
 of Geoffrey ; and snatching her up, hurried her away 
 to a place of concealment. From the convent-yard, 
 he proceeded towards the hills in the distance : ex- 
 hibiting an endurance and energy that would have 
 worn down the most vigorous and robust youth ; for 
 he halted not his rapid foot until he had reached 
 the shelter of the umbrageous trees with which they 
 were covered. 
 
 There, he set his burden down ; and disposing of 
 his cross beneath the underwood, that it might not 
 impede his progress ; he hurried her by the hand, 
 through the tangled branches, to a kind of cavern, 
 or grot : which, though hidden now, seemed quite 
 familiar to him. Here, Geraldine paused : unwilling 
 to enter ; but again suddenly taking her in his arms 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 35 
 
 he plunged through the boughs that partly screened 
 its entrance ; and uttered not a word. 
 
 In the darkness of the grot, the danger and uncer- 
 tainty of her position flashed on the mind of Geral- 
 dine with redoubled power. She was about to fly j 
 when the hermit, who had absented himself from 
 her side, returned with the materials for kindling a 
 light. This restored her, somewhat, to equanimity. 
 
 " You see I am no stranger here," he said, as he 
 suspended the lamp from the roof; but, turning to 
 survey the grot, his look became embarrassed. Fol- 
 lowing his eyes, Geraldine observed that the cavern 
 was furnished with elegance ; and that its rocky sides 
 were hidden with tapestry. 
 
 " Hands have been here since mine/' resumed the 
 hermit, when he had completed the survey. "- His 
 hands who drove me hence to suit his purposes ? 
 Things like it, have been done. No, no. Angels 
 have made it their abiding-place, for her sake." 
 
 His mind was in its bewilderment again, when his 
 eyes suddenly rested on Geraldine. 
 
 " Ha I" he continued, " are you there again ? 
 You demon in an angel's form ! I know thee, 
 Satan. O cruel fiend, to furnish, thus my cell, and 
 come in such a tempting shape. Aroynt thee ! 
 aroynt thee ! Are not the sacred groves of Lebanon 
 d 2 
 
36 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 free from the evil spirit ? O unsubstantial devil ? 
 would that I could clutch you." 
 
 Shrinking back from his approaching step, Geral- 
 dine felt her heart beat and nutter like an imprisoned 
 bird ; but when, with his concluding words, he caught 
 her by the arm, she shrieked aloud, and thought that 
 she would die indeed. 
 
 " Why, what is this ?" he exclaimed, with a 
 glimpse of sanity, " it is warm ! it throbs ! it speaks ! 
 Oh, iElgiva ! I have had a dream, made up of deso- 
 late days and years ; where you and I were torn 
 apart by something diabolical which said it was the 
 church, and all infallible. I thought you were my 
 wife : as now ; and I a gentle priest : as I remain : 
 filled with the milk of human charity ; and because 
 I was a priest and you my wife, I thought it said 
 we were lost eternally, unless we suffered it to violate 
 our mutual bond and vows before High Heaven. 
 Thereto, I thought we did demur ; and then this 
 huge, unholy Church did make a mockery of all our 
 love, and curse it. Next, I thought we met clan- 
 destinely, and in great fear, though we had never 
 broken the laws of God, and had, indeed, complied 
 with them, with warrant from his altar. Withal, the 
 Church discovered, and condemned, and thrust us 
 wide asunder; never, as it made us swear, to meet 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 37 
 
 again ! And then methought, iElgiva, that I went 
 mad in solitude, while you gave birth to what should 
 be our pride, but which that Church denounced. 
 This overwhelming you with shame, you died, I 
 heard, ere long, the victim of a broken heart ; and 
 I — I cursed heaven ! Why repeat this to me, spirit ! 
 You have told me this before. Why do you pluck 
 my beard, and mock at me, and sink down there ! " 
 
 His volubility ceased ; but still the frenzy was 
 strong upon him, for he flung himself down on the 
 floor of the cave, and grappled at the earth : watched 
 by the tearful eyes of Geraldine, who had escaped 
 from his relaxing grasp to a distance, while he ap- 
 pealed to vacancy. 
 
 It was strange that amidst all the darkness of his 
 wandering, Jocelyn had a knowledge of the primary 
 causes of his malady; curiously blent and min- 
 gled, to be sure, with vague supernatural creations ; 
 and often confounded, under terror of the Church, 
 with the temptations and machinations of the evil 
 one. Yet the demented man ever felt, when sanity 
 returned, that it was true and real. And so it 
 was. When Archbishop Anselm endeavoured to 
 correct the debauched lives of the unbeneficed 
 clergy, who were a scandal to society, he insisted 
 strongly on the necessity of celibacy and continence. 
 Paschal II., who was then pope, was too strongly 
 
38 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 imbued with the spirit of his predecessors not to see 
 that human affections were stronger, even, than 
 superstitious reverence for the Establishment and its 
 aggrandizement ; and he comprehended at a glance, 
 that if the ties of family, and the sympathies of 
 nature, were denied and destroyed in priests, the 
 Church would secure a host of zealots : bound only 
 to exercise their thoughts and energy for its splen- 
 dour and dominion. Therefore he fell into the views 
 of Anselm. 
 
 Jocelyn had but just married when the bull was 
 issued which commanded all ecclesiastics to be sepa- 
 rated from their wives ; and enjoined celibacy and 
 continence, under pain of excommunication. He 
 and iElgiva were two victims among ten thousand 
 others, whose hopes, whose happiness, and whose 
 lives, were thus embittered by an impious and un- 
 natural decree. But the great end was attained ; 
 the cruel, hard, unfeeling, desolating, hideous end. 
 
 Some such thoughts as these, though failing in 
 that strength of indignation and abhorrence with 
 which succeeding time has invested them, occurred 
 to Geraldine, as she stood watching the prostrate 
 body of her father in its pitiable distortions, and 
 in his graspings at a phantom. They were whole- 
 some thoughts ; and she thanked Heaven that she 
 was unfettered by vows and monastic obligations. 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 39 
 
 Then they recurred to Geoffrey ; and she sighed 
 that he was bound up in the system. 
 
 Meantime, the reason of Jocelyn had returned ; and 
 he arose, oblivious of all that had latterly occurred. 
 
 " You say you are my daughter ? That is impos- 
 sible. I am a priest/' he said. " Priests have no 
 daughters. The evil one, comes, tempting me, some- 
 times, and prompting me ; and sets a vision before 
 my eyes of a fair form like thine : which he informs 
 me is my wife. I have no wife. I am a priest. 
 The Church forbids a priest to have a wife." 
 
 This chaos of his brain was suddenly enlight- 
 ened ; for, starting, as if his ears caught some 
 sound, and, catching her by the arm, he darted 
 with her further into the cavern : crying in an im- 
 petuous whisper, " They come ! they come ! the 
 savage horde of Saracens. I hear their feet ; hark 
 you ! Here, Mary of the Desert, here ! Hide you 
 in my cell, till they have passed. Do you hear 
 them ?" 
 
 Geraldine fancied she did recognise the tramp of 
 feet, and the buzz of voices. 
 
 Still, slowly and silently retreating to the interior 
 of the cave, the hermit came against a couch, which 
 recalled his thoughts to the actual things of the past. 
 " Yes !" he whispered, M here was the place of assig- 
 nation after we were forbidden to meet. Here, in this 
 
40 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 cavern, girl, your mother hallowed my bright hours 
 of life ; for days and nights we lingered here, blest in 
 the society of each other, while the curse of Heaven 
 was out against us ! " With the closing thought his 
 aberration came on ; his look grew wild ; his thoughts 
 were wandering. 
 
 But he caught the sounds again ; and cried, under 
 his breath, " Hark ! Do you hear them ? Do you 
 hear the Saracens ? Do you hear them ?" 
 
 Distinct sounds really reached the ears of Geral- 
 dine, by this time ; and among them, were the voices 
 of her captors, and the voice of Geoffrey. 
 
/ 
 
 LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 41 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 And now I will unclasp a secret book, 
 And to your quick -conceiving discontents 
 I'll read you matter deep and dangerous ; 
 As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit, 
 As to o'er -walk a current, roaring loud, 
 On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Running, they scarce knew why ; and halting, like 
 the rest, from sheer exhaustion ; the sons of Rosamond 
 and Eleanor had arrived with Bernard and his fol- 
 lowers at the hill where Jocelyn and Geraldine were 
 concealed. Of all the assemblage, only two persons 
 had noticed the departure of the latter from the con- 
 vent-yard ; and they were the queen and Geoffrey. 
 Each was intent upon pursuit — the one to preserve, 
 the other to destroy ; and each felt that, from the 
 retired habits of Jocelyn, the wooded hills were no 
 unlikely resting-place for him to have sought. So 
 soon, therefore, as Bernard had planted the banner 
 of the crusade, Geoffrey issued forth in search of his 
 
42 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 object : while Eleanor, with her sons Richard and 
 Henry, pursued the same course to attain hers. 
 
 After much anxious listening and curious search, 
 they accidently met together, before the mouth of 
 the cavern. 
 
 u Ha ! by the rood, here comes a bastard, Harry," 
 exclaimed the queen, " leave him to tell no tales of 
 capture." 
 
 The princes needed no incentive ; for both were 
 upon him, while she uttered the words. 
 
 For some time, Geoffrey withstood the combined 
 attack : his agility enabling him to avoid and parry 
 the blows of both. Often, indeed, he put them on 
 the defensive ; and once, making a desperate lounge 
 at Richard with his sword, the latter was thrown to 
 the ground by a tangled briar, into which he set his 
 foot in stepping back. 
 
 Eleanor, who had been looking on like a vulture, 
 struck at Geoffrey from behind. Her dagger missing 
 his breast, passed through the muscles of his arm ; 
 and his sword dropped from his hand. 
 
 Jocelyn had espied what was passing, from the 
 interior of the cave. Rushing out, he caught the 
 queen and Henry in either hand, and cast them with 
 such violence from him, that they dropped, stunned 
 and motionless, to the earth. 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 43 
 
 In the meanwhile, Richard had recovered; and 
 with one blow of his battle-axe, he cleft the hermit's 
 skull to the shoulders. 
 
 At sight of this fatal catastrophe, every sentiment 
 of fear and care for her own security departed from 
 Geraldine. She flew from her concealment, to pros- 
 trate herself on his lifeless body. 
 
 As she thus indulged her grief, Richard planted 
 himself between her and Geoffrey ; and, with that 
 arrogance which became his characteristic in after- 
 life, dared him to approach, and menaced him with 
 his weapon. Ever and anon turning a watchful eye 
 upon the weeping and unconscious Geraldine, while 
 the queen and his brother were slowly recovering 
 from the effects of the stalwart hermit's wrath. 
 
 '1 Are you hurt, mother ? " he inquired, as she be- 
 came sensible to his attentions. 
 
 "lam hurt," she answered, " but I am hurt more, 
 here, than outwardly," and she put her hand to her 
 breast. " There is a wound made here, which leech 
 may never heal. Who was't assaulted us, — your 
 father ?" 
 
 " It was that scare- crow hermit there," Richard 
 answered : pointing to the body. 
 
 " It is well," she returned. P Look yonder, Harry. 
 What gallant men ye are to see a maid unmated ! 
 
44 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 Did your father ever do so ? Shame on you ! 
 who are content to blush and to be flogged like boys, 
 while you are full of fiery blood ; who boast that 
 ye are men, yet suffer your old father to outliber- 
 tine you ! It is like your crouching, craven spirits. 
 You are a crowned and anointed king, Harry, why 
 not have the realm ? Why not have this throne 
 of England or assume your Norman dukedom ? 
 I could not be less happy at your Court than I am 
 here, at my own. Why, Richard, have not you 
 Anjou, Poictou, and fairer still, King Louis' daughter 
 Alice : whom your father smiles upon ? Poor pitiful 
 boys, be ye obedient, or be whipt. But I forget. 
 You are princes ! ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 "It was those cursed nimble shanks that brought 
 us to this pass," exclaimed Henry, as he ran up to 
 Rosamond's son, and gashed his legs with his sword 
 in very wantonness. " They shall not follow, this 
 time, on our track." . 
 
 '* I told you I had gallant sons," said Eleanor 
 tauntingly : as she lifted Geraldine from the body, 
 " It was kind of you to meet them here." 
 
 " O save me ! save me, Geoffrey ! " she cried in 
 piteous accents. 
 
 " Geoffrey first must learn to save himself," said 
 Richard. " When you recover, bastard, you will 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 45 
 
 want an occupation. Take this ; and fell tim- 
 ber/ ' and he flung his battle-axe towards him as he 
 spoke. 
 
 And so : laughing in their brutal mirth : the 
 queen and the princes took Geraldine away between 
 them. 
 
 During these events, the methodical enthusiasm 
 of Bernard had been developing itself in the midst 
 of his followers. None knew better than he, that 
 the best and holiest cause will sleep with the multi- 
 tude, if it be not kept awake by constant agitation. 
 Therefore, he proceeded to harangue them on his 
 favourite topic, before they had well come to a halt. 
 
 H Ye men of the Redemption ! " he began, " Even 
 as the Moabites were given to the swords of Israel, 
 so shall the Moslem be destroyed by you. The 
 end cometh ; the day of wrath is at hand ; the second 
 trumpet is sounding ; and a great mountain of fire is 
 falling into the deep, which is the power and the 
 wrath of the Saracen. It shall be destroyed; and 
 the sea shall become as blood, by reason of the great 
 slaughter of the Paynim. The fall of the Antichrist 
 is come; when he and his followers shall be given to 
 the pit. The time, and times, and half a time, 
 which were to precede the end, have arrived and are 
 expiring, even now. Blessed are they who remain 
 
46 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 faithful, and waver not ; blessed are they ! And 
 here, behold ! is sent an elucidation and a sign of 
 the Infidel. This glistening snake which glide th 
 now between my feet, post- shadows their insinua- 
 tion into church and sepulchre. Lo ! he has found 
 a refuge. So have they; but thus shall each be 
 dragged away, and trampled to the death." 
 
 As Bernard stooped to pluck forth the unfortunate 
 reptile, he drew out with a startled air the cross 
 of Jocelyn; round which the snake was coiled. 
 Instantly recovering his self-possession, he proceded 
 to turn the incident to his advantage. 
 
 " Honour to the cross for ever and ever !" he ex- 
 claimed : holding it up. " See ! The reptile coils 
 about the cross for mercy ; so must the Moslem. 
 Glory to Heaven and to our Saviour ! It is the sign 
 of healing and of triumph in the wilderness and the 
 Promised Land. So we receive it. But this sym- 
 bol ? this miraculous cross ? Surely it belongs to 
 Jocelyn, the holy Hermit of Lebanon. How came 
 it here ? Where is he ?" 
 
 Amidst the buzz of voices that ensued armed 
 men came hurrying towards Bernard : bearing the 
 dead body of the hermit ; the axe with which he had 
 been slain ; and the wounded Geoffrey. 
 
 " Christ's passion!'' exclaimed the saint, aghast 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 47 
 
 at the frightful spectacle, " what have we here? 
 The slain, the slayer, and his instrument ? Glory- 
 to Heaven who hath given him into our hands ! Out 
 with his eyes while we devise some torture ! The 
 blood of the saints crieth to Heaven for vengeance ; 
 out with his eyes !" 
 
 Geoffrey heard the dreadful command without 
 a word ; for, from loss of blood, and astonish- 
 ment at his position, his tongue clave to his 
 mouth! With his silence construed into evidence 
 of guilt, he was instantly bound with his back to 
 a tree, while the instruments were prepared for 
 the ferocious operation. Still he uttered no word ; 
 his lips and his tongue moved, but emitted no 
 sound. The followers of the saint closed round 
 in a circle : while he looked on with a stern and 
 thoughtful visage. 
 
 " Come, then, and kneel ! You pitiful craven ! " 
 cried Geoffrey's brother William, as he burst through 
 the circle with a huge two-handed sword across his 
 shoulder ; and the Prince John dragging by his other 
 hand. " Kneel, and swear to serve against the 
 infidel; on that condition I have spared your life, 
 and on no other will I release you;" with which 
 words, he flung him into the centre, before Bernard. 
 They had met by accident in the wood, and renewed 
 
48 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 the conflict of the Convent : in which John had 
 been totally vanquished. 
 
 Struck by the universal silence, and the anxious 
 countenances of the assembly, William glanced 
 round and beheld the cause. 
 
 " My brother!" he exclaimed: bounding to his 
 side, " who dares maltreat my brother ? Against 
 saint or Saracen, I will defend him." The long 
 sword soon severed the cords that bound Geoffrey 
 to the tree ; and seating him at its foot, William 
 again stood on his defence. 
 
 Clamours of disapprobation arose, but William 
 only wielded his weapon in reply. 
 
 "Hew them down for the glory of Heaven!" 
 thundered Bernard. A hundred blades flashed in the 
 morning beams. But they were arrested by the 
 cry of Geoffrey. 
 
 " It was England's princes, and not I, who slew 
 the hermit," he exclaimed. 
 
 "Hold!" cried Bernard, as the probable truth 
 impressed itself upon him. The soldiers paused at 
 the brother's feet. 
 
 M Save the Crusader ! Save the Crusader !" cried 
 a voice ; and one ran into the midst, followed by 
 panting soldiers. " We have found this blood- 
 stained dagger where the hermit fell," continued the 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 49 
 
 speaker as he held it up to Bernard ; " it is the same 
 that I saw aimed against the young man's heart, at 
 yonder convent, by a woman ; I know it by the 
 blazing gems upon its hilt." 
 
 "Enough; I know it also," Bernard rejoined. 
 " Glory to Heaven for giving us mercy and forbear- 
 ance ! Lead on, to the spot !" 
 
 And on they went : their savage spirit subdued 
 as suddenly as it had been aroused ; bearing Geoffrey 
 tenderly in their arms, and listening to his tale, 
 while William was caressed as a brave and worthy 
 brother of the cross. 
 
 The obsequies of Jocetyn were performed in haste 
 before the entrance to the cavern : Bernard planting 
 the cross he had borne, at the head of his grave, and 
 giving forth the " DeProfundis," which was sung by 
 the wild assembly under the green canopy of trees, 
 while the sun shone brightly through them, with 
 an unshadowed radiance on the last low cell of the 
 hermit. 
 
 The wood was searched in vain for Geraldine; and 
 the whole party were diverging in pursuit ; when a 
 trumpet was heard proclaiming the advent of roy- 
 alty. Then, came the flashing rays from burnished 
 helmets ; and a body of troops, headed by the king, 
 appeared in view. 
 
 E 
 
50 REGISTER OP THE 
 
 The monarch bent his head at sight of Geoffrey ; 
 and prayed for maledictions on Eleanor and the 
 princes, when he heard his tale. 
 
 " But cheer up," said he. "We will make peace 
 with the pontiff and the church, to gain a dispensa- 
 tion for you, and to win this maid. Bear up, Geoffrey, 
 she shall be found ; and whoso harms her, wife or son, 
 have seen their last of sunshine, fields, and liberty. 
 Failing to find her in the precincts of the convent, 
 we came forth in search, and fell in with these our 
 loyal troops, marching on to Oxford. Soldiers ! a 
 horse here, and a litter. " 
 
 While Geoffrey's seat was being prepared, his 
 brother ran across the heath where they had met, to 
 the ruins of one of those baronial castles which the 
 king had demolished for his own security. Tracing 
 footsteps in the dew, over the heaps of dismantled 
 stones which had once formed tower and buttress, 
 he came to a vault, which was part of what had been 
 the dungeon of the stronghold. Listening there, 
 he heard the sound of voices, which he soon distin- 
 guished were those of the princes : quarrelling for 
 the possession of Geraldine. 
 
 " Come forth, dishonourable caitiffs/' he cried, 
 " come forth ! And answer this to me!" 
 
 The echoes of his words were still reverberating in 
 the vault, when Eleanor made at him from the dark 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 51 
 
 interior, with the fury of a tigress. She was armed 
 with a broken spear ; and she thrust and struck at 
 Longsword (as William was now called by the cru- 
 saders) with the desperation that only revenge in- 
 spires. He, scorning to strike, held his two-handed 
 weapon across his body by its hilt and point : and 
 so warded off each blow she aimed, until the princes, 
 leaving Geraldine in their hiding-place, came forth 
 to the queen's assistance : when William's defence 
 was changed into a furious attack. 
 
 The clank of weapons being faintly heard by the 
 crusaders, the king struck spurs into the horse he 
 rode, with so much fierceness, that the animal 
 bounded several yards in its pain, and reached 
 the sceue just as William was sinking under the ex- 
 haustion of the combat. 
 
 " Hold ! you murdering crew," exclaimed the 
 king. u Will your thirst remain unsatiated until you 
 have spilled the blood of ours and ourself ?" 
 
 " Strike ! Harry, for your mother's honour/ ' re- 
 turned the queen. " These noxious bastards and 
 their virtuous mother are all that he considers his. 
 Richard ! Strike ! or give your sword to me." 
 
 As the king descended from his horse, prince 
 
 Henry strove to do his mother's bidding; but William 
 
 brought down his heavy sword with such huge force 
 
 upon his head, that it laid him low. Snatching his 
 
 e 2 
 
52 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 weapon as he fell, Eleanor put the king on his 
 defence ; while Richard sprung upon the exhausted 
 William in a deadly wrestle. The troops coming up, 
 stayed the unnatural conflict. 
 
 One of the soldiers, breaking from his comrades, 
 rode briskly up to Eleanor ; and, bending his head 
 down to her ear, informed her that he was her second 
 son, Geoffrey of Anjou, who had so long been in 
 tacit rebellion against his father, to obtain additional 
 possessions to his wife's dower of Bretagne ; and 
 that the soldiers then present, though part of the 
 king's levy for the conquest of Ireland, were merce- 
 naries in his pay : then at her service. 
 
 Eleanor kissed his hand for joy, and directed him 
 to place a guard over the dungeon, that Geraldine 
 might not escape : while the rest helped her against 
 the king, who had just succeeded in separating 
 Richard and Longsword. 
 
 " What ho ! Harry of England ! " she cried to her 
 first-born; "here be soldiers, waiting to do you 
 homage. Guards ! secure that old man, and bear him 
 to the court of your new monarch, Henry the Third. 
 Yet stay ; first rid me of that carrion there !" 
 
 A dozen weapons were lifted at once against 
 Longsword: when Bernard and the crusaders, who 
 had followed, poured in, and saved him from de- 
 struction. 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 53 
 
 " Heaven be praised ! " exclaimed the king. 
 "Heaven be praised for this assistance! Seize 
 yonder queen and those rebellious princes ; not one of 
 them shall be at large within our realm." 
 
 The crusaders, still led by Bernard, made a rush 
 at them ; and a battle ensued. Meanwhile the king 
 caught sight of Geraldine, who stood trembling on 
 the verge of a tottering tower which had been left 
 standing to mark the site of the castle ; and within 
 whose wall was concealed a stair, leading to the dun- 
 geon : which she had ascended. 
 
 The king rode up to .the tower at once; and Geral- 
 dine sprung into his arms. He put his steed upon 
 his mettle without delay ; they were off at full speed 
 towards Godstow. Glancing round as they flew, 
 the king perceived horsemen in pursuit. He turned 
 his horse's head to the wood from which she had 
 been abducted. 
 
 w Fear not !*• he said, as he dismounted with her at 
 the edge of the wood. Scarcely had he uttered the 
 words, when the horse plunged in among the trees, 
 with an arrow buried in his flank. 
 
 " By the rood ! " exclaimed the king again, " but 
 the danger closes on us still. There is a cave at 
 hand, known only to ourself and Rosamond, from 
 which there runs a secret passage to the cloisters of 
 the convent. Once there, we are secure." 
 
54 REGISTER OF THE 
 
 And in they hurried, hand in hand; the voices 
 of those in pursuit growing louder in their ears at 
 every step. The terrified Geraldine passed the her- 
 mit's grave with a faultering foot ; and was hurried 
 into the cavern, suffused with tears. Startled by 
 the burning lamp, the king drew his sword, and 
 paused ; but striking it down as he heard the sound 
 of feet without, he lifted the tapestry from the floor, 
 and struck into a subterranean passage. When he 
 listened again for a moment as the tapestry fell, all was 
 silent ; and they went their way. 
 
 Fighting with the courage of lions, the crusaders 
 soon defeated the queen and the Bretons, though 
 they failed to capture either her or the princes. 
 These latter, with their mercenaries, fled in the 
 greatest disorder ; the crusaders, keeping up a hot 
 pursuit, still hung upon their rear ; and passed far 
 from the neighbourhood of Godstow. William 
 Longsword, in the meantime, conducted his brother 
 back to the convent. 
 
 When the king and Geraldine emerged from the 
 passage, into the silent precincts of the religious 
 house, they were again confronted by Eleanor : who 
 had just dismounted from her steed. 
 
 " Well met, Harry ! " she cried. " If Rosamond, 
 thy dear love, were not so far spent that life is hope- 
 less, I had provided that which would have spoiled 
 
LADY ABBESS OF GODSTOW. 55 
 
 her beauty, and helped to make my husband-king 
 remember me. I saw it would be thrown away on 
 her, and so preserved it. It is here ; and thus I try 
 its power !" 
 
 With these words, she flung the contents of a phial 
 into the face and eyes of Geraldine ; and, vaulting 
 again into her saddle, gallopped off, as Geoffrey and 
 William came in view. 
 
 Writhing and senseless, Geraldine was borne into 
 the convent by the king, where he was immediately 
 joined by the sons of Rosamond. 
 
 She had died without a relative to press her hand in 
 the parting hour; without a word of comfort or of con- 
 solation from her other self — her blood and her affec- 
 tions. Her eyes were fixed on the door of her 
 chamber : looking, though glazed in death, as if they 
 sought some dear object, a faint vision of which they 
 might bear to the tribunal of another world. But 
 the vision came not, until they were unconscious of 
 its presence ; when the king and her sons knelt down, 
 and wept before them. 
 
 There is nothing more to be extracted. How 
 Eleanor and the princes fled into Normandy, where 
 she was captured, and afterwards imprisoned during 
 
56 REGISTER OF THE LADY ABBESS. 
 
 the life of the king ; while her sons quarrelled with 
 each other, and warred simultaneously upon their 
 father till they broke his heart. How Bernard 
 awakened Europe to another holy war ; and William 
 Longsword grew into the dignity of Earl of Salis- 
 bury, while Geoffrey, his brother, became Arch- 
 bishop of York — is all inscribed on the tablets of 
 history. The subtle poison, which Eleanor had thrown 
 into the face of Geraldine, robbed her of the sight of 
 her eyes, and blighted and withered her features ; 
 knowing it, she steadily refused to unite herself with 
 Geoffrey, and, devoting her life to piety, ultimately 
 became abbess of Godstow ; a meek and holy nun ; 
 who, between the time spent at her devotions, and 
 her frequent visits to the hermit's grave, beguiled her 
 blameless life with the compilation of this register. 
 
THE DODDER-WEED. 
 
 As I mused in the forest, I fancied there passed 
 From a sad blighted tree, a proud voice to the blast ; 
 And listening, attent if it were so indeed, 
 I heard, " Life's all prey to the brave dodder- weed." 
 " A most rascally creed," 
 Quoth I, wroth, 
 " And base boasting ; come ! prove it, thou vile dod- 
 der-weed." 
 
 " I spring from the earth: from the meanest of 
 
 mould : 
 And I grovel and grasp till I 've strength to be bold, 
 For I creep and caress till the noblest must feed 
 The prime love of self in the brave dodder-weed." 
 " So most scoundrels proceed," 
 Quoth I, wroth, 
 
 " O prolific and wide grows the vile dodder-weed." 
 
58 THE DODDER WEED. 
 
 " Adroitly I twine round some nourishing bole, 
 To feast on his riches and worm to his soul. 
 In sunshine and shadow still scatter my seed, 
 And suck out his life to make more dodder- weed/* 
 " Thou 'ft a villain indeed !" 
 Quoth I, wroth, 
 " But no taunt can affect thee, thou vile dodder- 
 weed. ,, 
 
 " At length when the forester marks the decay 
 Of the vigourous oak, and turns sadly away, 
 I laugh at the ruin ; I know 'tis my deed ; 
 His loss was my gain. I am fat dodder- weed." 
 " O infamous greed ! " 
 
 Quoth I, wroth, 
 " Gorging honour and life ! O thou vile dodder- 
 weed ! " 
 
 " And who looks so fair as the dodder- weed now, 
 As I shut out the sunshine and dew from his brow ? 
 What is left but to throw forth my husks to a creed, 
 And be dubbed a pure saint, and a brave dodder- 
 weed ?" 
 
 " What else were thy meed," 
 Quoth I, wroth, 
 " Most fair and unspotted and good dodder- weed ?" 
 
THE DODDER-WEED. 59 
 
 " Yet to crush thee, base fibre, in city and soil, 
 Ere thy villany creeps to the heart it would spoil, 
 I would labour for ever — but who shall succeed 
 Where good honest principle's certain to bleed ? 
 Worth and virtue take heed," 
 Quoth I, wroth, 
 
 " For the world is a jungle of vile dodder- weed." 
 
 THEOLOGY : OR, THE POINT AT ISSUE. 
 
 u Put trust in Con" quoth pious Doctor Pusey, 
 " By Con, the fact, will heaven hold or lose ye." 
 " I say 'tis Tran" cries learned Doctor Wiseman ; 
 " Tran is the truth, wherein salvation lies man." 
 Thus — cunning prigs — they mystify the nation, 
 While Con and Tran both want substantiation. 
 
GOOD-BYE! GOOD-BYE! 
 
 Hark, hark ! The battle's clangor comes, 
 
 Farewell, dear Ellen ! Time may be, 
 When trumpet's cry nor rolling drums 
 
 Shall have a charm to call from thee. 
 Hark, hark ! My anxious war-steed neighs, 
 
 Come, Ellen, dry that tearful eye, 
 We meet again in other days, 
 
 Though now I say, Good-bye ! Good-bye ! 
 
 Nay, cling not thus unto my arm, 
 Nor soil the badge my country gave, 
 
 Nor rob me by some new-born charm 
 Of honour, or a glory- grave. 
 
 Again, again, War's 'larum shrieks, 
 
 A kiss must stop that rising sigh, 
 
 My heart, my soul, bright honour seeks ! 
 
 Once more, dear girl, Good-bye ! Good-bye ! 
 
A LEGEND 
 
 RUNNA MEAD AND MAGNA CHARTA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 
 ****** 
 
 The graves stood tenantless. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Environed and oppressed by superstition, tyranny, 
 and famine ; in the year of God 1211, our dear Eng- 
 land was but a desolate isle and a wilderness. The 
 scanty crops were ungathered : the rich earth was 
 untilled. Pope Innocent III. had exercised the 
 power confided to him by his church, and had laid 
 our fathers and our land prostrate under an interdict, 
 in retaliation for the individual actions of King John. 
 Every temple of religion was closed ; every church- 
 yard was forbidden alike to the dead and the devout.* 
 
 * The priests were enjoined to perform the rites of sepulture 
 and baptism, but very commonly refused both. 
 
62 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 The rank grass and brambles which bound the hum- 
 ble graves, had stretched themselves across the paths 
 and obliterated them. The church steps were green 
 with moss ; and from the interstices of the stones 
 had sprung up a nourishing vegetation, creeping be- 
 neath the very doors of the churches. No public 
 prayer was heard : no wedding peal : no passing 
 knell. The curfew was untolled; men looked terror- 
 stricken and woe-begone. The boisterous mirth of 
 childhood sank to a timid whisper; the garrulity 
 of age had ceased. The glad old Sabbath was a day 
 of gloom and discontent. The serf and the husband- 
 man neglected the seasons ; and the artisan forsook 
 his handicraft. The alehouses and the market- 
 crosses were untenanted ; unattended : and nothing 
 throve but the monks. In London, and other cities, 
 weeds accumulated on the house-thatch, which fell 
 to decay ; while " toad- stools" and fungus sprung 
 up from the rotting beams and timbers of the tene- 
 ments beneath. The public crosses were disman- 
 tled ; the shrines of the saints were locked up ; and 
 their effigies thrown down. Morals were driven 
 mad ; the sexes cohabiting like beasts of the field, 
 because priests would not administer the rites of 
 marriage, the confessional, or sepulture. Every 
 ditch and vacant place was crowded with unburied 
 dead, sweltering and filling the air with pestilence, 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 63 
 
 which hourly increased the already frightful calamity. 
 Despair and murder stalked openly abroad; every 
 man looked upon his fellow as an enemy and com- 
 mon prey. His holiness our father the Pope, and 
 our holy mother the Church, had blighted nature, 
 and brutalized mankind. 
 
 Just within that portal of the city of London, 
 called the Cripples' Gate ; between a leper covered 
 with his loathsome disease, and a wretch shivering 
 with palsy, and surrounded by persons maimed in 
 body and limb, who exposed their frightful contor- 
 tions to excite alms ; sat a young woman on a bier, 
 beside the corpse of a beautiful boy, whose dead and 
 tiny hand she held in hers. 
 
 A storm had come on, which gradually became 
 more and more violent. The thunder roared and 
 rolled incessantly, and the livid lightning hissed upon 
 the earth like a serpent. Here and there, individuals 
 crouched in door-ways, and beneath the projecting 
 stories of the houses ; but not one ventured to run 
 through the cataract to a more kindly shelter. Be- 
 neath the gate, the maimed and the diseased, for- 
 getting their lesser calamities, huddled closer toge- 
 ther : and sought security in mutual support. 
 
 The young mother: for such she was to the 
 dead child : hastily arose on feeling the pressure. 
 " Stand off!" she cried. " Pray crowd not on my 
 
64 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 beautiful child. Have I borne him, dead, so many- 
 miles to have him crushed by lepers? Pray stand off !" 
 
 Her vehemence only encreased tbe pressure, which 
 was accompanied by some angry muttering. 
 
 " Room here, I entreat you ! " she again ex- 
 claimed, pushing away the nearest persons. ".Would 
 you irritate a frantic and most miserable woman? 
 Why have I saved my beauty from the wolves but 
 to give him Christian sepulture ? Would ye devour 
 him ?" 
 
 " Is he fresh ?" a voice demanded. "Before the 
 storm came on, there were wretches prowling among 
 the thousands on yonder fen, where all is putrid and 
 black; they could not get a mouthful. Is he fresh? 
 They will make him into food. Mind me ! They 
 will make him into food, for they are starving." 
 
 With which words the speaker came forward, and 
 lifted the covering from the smiling corpse. The 
 very cripples shuddered with fear as they looked upon 
 the man, who was well known in London by the 
 name of Ruffo, the Red ; and who, in his turn, was 
 considered to be a cannibal by the populace, from 
 his continual wandering among the dead ; whom he 
 was in reality solicitous to bury, that he might pre- 
 vent the horrid climax of their want and desperation. 
 
 The young mother gazed at him for a moment, 
 wonder-stricken. Then assuming a fearful calm- 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 65 
 
 ness, and laying her finger on his arm, she said, 
 " Have you been made a wretch by this bad king ; 
 yet have you some common ties of nature which he 
 has not destroyed ?" 
 
 " I have/' he answered. " I was a true man 
 once ; and though now I seem a loathed wretch, I 
 am as harmless as your child." 
 
 Marking his glistening eye, she doubted his sanity, 
 but exhibited her purse. " Look here/' she cried, 
 M I could not give my offspring to the earth, without 
 the holy rite. From priest to priest I have borne 
 him many, many, weary miles, and none would pray 
 over him ; no holy word would any utter for his 
 soul. I seek good Anselm now, who serveth neither 
 church nor king, but God and His humanity. Bring 
 him to me ; here is gold for your reward." 
 
 Ruffo looked at the money, and started into the 
 storm. Suddenly altering his mind, he turned again 
 and gazed upon the child, as if afraid to leave him. 
 Then withdrawing his glance, he turned upon her, 
 and holding out his hand, demanded one of the coins. 
 
 Terrified again, by his looks and manner, she 
 threw herself upon the corpse while she proffered 
 the money. 
 
 " Nay, come with me," he cried. " You have 
 put trust in me, and I will not betray you. Come 
 with me ! I know where to find him." 
 
66 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 " I cannot relinquish my child. — Away ! — Help me 
 people ! Hear you not, how heaven thunders through 
 its fires, forbidding you ?" she replied. 
 
 " Come along fool ! or you will see his bones 
 flung into the sweltering ditch that stretches from 
 yonder Barbican," said Ruffo. 
 
 At this moment the vespers of the brotherhood of 
 Corpus Christi reached them from the neighbouring 
 church of St. Giles. 
 
 " Come on ! " cried Ruffo again, " or Anselm will 
 be gone his round to relieve the sick and needy. 
 Follow me. " And snatching up the corpse, he broke 
 through the crowd into the city. 
 
 Through many a narrow lane and narrower alley 
 he hurried on with the child, closely followed by the 
 panting mother. Regardless of the streams con- 
 tinually poured upon them from the monster-heads 
 that formed the spouts, and over-shot the pavement, 
 they proceeded direct to the house of Anselm the 
 Good, which crouched beneath the church of St. John 
 Zachary. 
 
 Entering, they found Anselm just ready to go forth 
 with the viaticum to a dying man, whose son waited 
 to accompany him. 
 
 " Here, father ; bury this child with Heaven's 
 blessing/' said Ruffo, setting down the corpse. 
 
 Anselm and the young man stood aghast at the 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 67 
 
 spectre before thern, with his lank red hair and beard 
 dropping with rain : his body emaciated : and his thin 
 and attenuated fingers stretched forth imploringly. 
 But, the young man's anxiety over- coming his 
 fear, he rushed past him to the door, and quickly 
 returning, apprised the priest that the storm was 
 abating. 
 
 "Then, I must go, friend," said he to Ruffo. 
 M A sinful soul struggles and slides upon the brink of 
 eternity, and needeth help." 
 
 " Nay, good father !" exclaimed the woman, pros- 
 trating herself at his knees, " suffer not my offspring 
 to be cast forth like a dog. For many a weary hour 
 I have borne him to obtain the rite which shall admit 
 him to the company of the blessed. In all that time 
 he is the only friend that I have found." 
 
 " He ! What, RufFo the Red ?" quoth Anselm. 
 " He, who is the terror of the city, and of whom 
 men say that he is a cannibal !" 
 
 u A mildew on the souls of king and churchmen, 
 for the character," returned the condemned. '* There 
 was a time when I was loved and gentle. Then — 
 'fore God ! — they wronged, and robbed, and made 
 a wretch of me, and now they wonder at my being 
 one. Well — 'fore God ! — it gives me strength. 
 Will you bury that child ?" 
 
 " Your threatening aspect, son, with me has no 
 f 2 
 
68 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 intimidation. What have I to fear ? I have braved 
 the curses of the Pontiff, backed by all the terrors of 
 the Church, here and hereafter : I remain in opposi- 
 tion to the king and his malignity ; and what have I 
 to fear ? I can pity, but think not I can fear you. 
 The quick before the dead. I will bless and bury 
 the child, but first let me save a soul." And taking 
 up the host, he crossed the threshold. 
 
 For the first time since her bereavement the woman 
 enjoyed the luxury of tears : tears of joy, that the 
 hopes of her woeful pilgrimage were about to be ac- 
 complished. From these she was aroused by the 
 rude voice of Ruffo, summoning her to the church- 
 yard. 
 
 " Bring me the child," said he. "A score of 
 bodies fester on the graves, uncovered, rotting upon 
 holy ground. Bah ! More holy are the maws of the 
 ban -dog and the wolf, than those of men ; so, come ! 
 I have scooped a grave, and Anselm will be here 
 anon." 
 
 He came. And when the solemn office was per- 
 formed, and the child was laid in his earthy bed, 
 Ruffo the Red knelt down and wept. Yes; the 
 touching words and fervent aspirations which the 
 good Anselm had uttered over his " departed brother," 
 had touched the chord of his humanity ; and the for- 
 lorn man who was called a cannibal : for whom there 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 69 
 
 was no voice of sympathy nor love : no prayer, nor 
 home, nor kindred : thrilled and throbbed with pity. 
 And he wept. Before they left that mansion of the 
 dead, each naked corpse that had been flung over the 
 walls since Anselm last was there, had found a grave, 
 a prayer, and a covering. 
 
 Ruffo appeared to the mother now, another being ; 
 and, in the flood of awakened feeling, he looked with 
 affection where he had refused reward. So they 
 came forth together. 
 
 Turning from the church-yard gate, which Anselm 
 locked behind them, they heard the tramp of horses ; 
 and presently men in armour galloped up, and were 
 upon them. There was a simultaneous recognition 
 between the woman and the principal horseman, who 
 was distinguished by a plume on his helmet, and a 
 saddle-cloth of cloth of gold. 
 
 " Ha ! by my halidom ! but you escape me no 
 more," he exclaimed ; and spurring his horse, he 
 caught her by the arm, and snatched her to his 
 saddle. 
 
 After an ineffectual struggle to release herself from 
 his grasp, she flung her purse to RufFo. As the 
 haggard man was about to take it, he was stricken 
 down by the sword of one of the horsemen, who 
 dismounted at the same moment, and, having 
 
70 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 snatched it from the earth, vaulted again on his 
 steed. 
 
 "Well done! Black Hugh," shouted their chief ; 
 and the whole party quickly passed through the 
 Alder's Gate with their prize. 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 71 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Ruin seize thee ! ruthless king. 
 
 Gray> 
 
 When the storm broke over London, King John 
 was holding a council at his palace in South wark. 
 Information had been given to him that the Pope had 
 granted an indulgence to all who would make war on 
 him, and had made a present of his realm to the King 
 of France, who, prepared to take possession, was 
 then about to invade it. An angry debate ensued on 
 the expediency of the king giving way, or giving battle. 
 The Poitevins were for making terms with Philip : 
 the Anglo-Normans for appeasing the Pope. But 
 neither suggestion pleased the monarch. Vacillating 
 and cowardly as he naturally was, he still could make 
 a great resolve, although he lacked the nerve to sup- 
 port it. In this instance he determined to resist both 
 powers ; and commanded his adherents to proceed with 
 him to inspect the royal fortresses, and to visit all 
 such places as were favourable to him : to raise sub- 
 sidies : and arouse the barons to arm their vassals. 
 While the thunder of heaven was rolling above them, 
 
72 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 everything was prepared for an instant march ; and 
 they only awaited its abatement to proceed. 
 
 It was the period, of all others, in England's history 
 when God's own image and likeness, man's soul, was 
 smothered and defaced ; and when the man-beast was 
 predominant in his might and vengeance. Most of 
 the chivalry of the realm had emulated Richard of the 
 Lion Heart, in zeal for the crusade ; and after the 
 splendid achievements and romantic fortune of that 
 monarch, it had become a degradation to a house and 
 name, if its proprietor had not fleshed his sword in 
 the Saracen. Thus, every year saw fresh hordes 
 proceeding to Palestine to propagate " Peace on earth, 
 and good will toward men," by the gentle reasoning 
 of sword and spear. The " kingdom which is not 
 of this world," was supported by the most horrible 
 atrocities that ever disgraced the human annals. 
 But it was Papal doctrine, and, necessarily, imma- 
 culate. 
 
 Godfrey Bohun was amongst the last who joined 
 the enterprise before the Pope's curse was denounced 
 against England. The younger son of a noble 
 house, he eschewed arms for minstrelsy : deserting 
 the sword and battle-axe, to dally with the lyre and 
 sweet song. In the character of a troubadour, he 
 was a constant inmate of the palace, and gave many 
 a lesson to his sovereign. But Richard threw aside 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 73 
 
 the arts of peace ; and while he was astonishing the 
 confederated princes with his prowess in Pales- 
 tine, Godfrey continued his quiet occupation under 
 John. 
 
 The enthusiasm of the crusade affected even him at 
 last, and stirred him up to war. From singing songs 
 in its praise, he acquired a love for its glory, and a 
 desire to obtain it. Taking the badge of the broad 
 Red Cross, he prepared for his pilgrimage : and, com- 
 plying with the common custom of the time, previous 
 to his departure made Editha Langton his bride. 
 King John saw her and was enamoured, not only of 
 her beautiful form and features, but likewise of her 
 accomplished mind. To him, a woman's honour was 
 nothing, a woman's feelings less. He encouraged a 
 dishonourable passion, and urged the departure of 
 his minstrel. 
 
 Nothing loth to part with her lord, in what she 
 conceived such a dutiful and holy cause, Editha re- 
 tired to the castle of William de Sancta Maria, bishop 
 of London (and a distant kinsman), to await tidings 
 of Godfrey's valour. A greater anxiety, however, 
 soon presented itself; she was about to become a 
 mother. Yet the king took occasion to urge his suit, 
 till, tired with her fidelity and rebukes, he feigned 
 news of the death of her husband, supposing, by such 
 means, to accomplish his designs. But his stratagem 
 
74 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 had an opposite tendency. From the moment she 
 received the intelligence, the king was forbidden her 
 presence. 
 
 At this juncture Archbishop Hubert died, and 
 William de Sancta Maria was an active pioneer of 
 the church militant on the occasion, by throwing 
 every available obstacle in the way of the king, who 
 was for presenting the Archbishoprick to Simon de 
 Gray, Bishop of Norwich. Meanwhile, the Bene- 
 dictines of St. Augustine's Abbey, at Canterbury, 
 elected Reginald, their sub-prior, to the archiepiscopal 
 chair ; but subdued by the threats of the king, the 
 monks ultimately abandoned their prior, and installed 
 the bishop. To this arrangement, Pope Innocent 
 gave a decided negative, and raised Cardinal Stephen 
 Langton, an English doctor of the Sorbonne, to the 
 spiritual throne. The monks, changing again, du- 
 tifully forsook the king at the Pope's command, and 
 received the Cardinal. Whereupon, John expelled 
 the fraternity from their hive. For this resistance, 
 Innocent afflicted the country with his interdict; 
 thereby forbidding to a whole nation communion 
 with its God, whom in those days all men sought 
 through the mediation of a priest. William de 
 Sancta Maria was one of the three bishops who, 
 by the pope's appointment, published and pro- 
 nounced the curse. The raging monarch imme- 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 75 
 
 diately proclaimed sentence of banishment against all 
 the clergy; and for three years the gates of heaven 
 (through the church) had been closed against our 
 fathers at the time when thi3 history commences. 
 
 The bishop had already fled, when John sur- 
 rounded his castle with troops, and commanded it to 
 surrender. In answer to the summons Editha ap- 
 peared on the ramparts. 
 
 " What is the meaning of that trumpet's call?" 
 she asked. " Whoever makes that bold demand, 
 'twere well that he should learn no vassal dwelleth 
 here. Why come ye, sirs ?" 
 
 " To release the queen of beauty from the tyrant 
 ogre/' answered the king. 
 
 " If you jest with me, I know no tyrant saving 
 John the King of England, cursed of God and of his 
 church," she replied. " Who are you ?" 
 
 " Even he, the accursed whom you wot of. Let 
 De Sancta know, lady, that his king demands an 
 audience with him." 
 
 " The bishop is not here, my liege. Already an 
 exile, he seeks the pontiff's further orders for his 
 conduct to your grace." 
 
 " A ruse I a ruse ! Unfurl our banner, Hugh. 
 Our kingdom to a cowl, but there be surpliced 
 traitors here ! Down with the drawbridge, and up 
 
76 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 with those barriers, lady, or John of England will 
 use arms uninjured by a shaven dotard's curse/' 
 
 " Nay, impious king ! Whom Heaven bans, the 
 sister of Stephen Langton shall never obey. By the 
 souls of your murdered nephew, and my husband ; 
 by the wrongs of your divorced and imprisoned 
 wives; the relict of Godfrey Bohun defies you! 
 From this moment I make the church, and Heaven, 
 my protectors." 
 
 Ere she had uttered the words, Black Hugh had 
 snatched an arrow from his sheaf, and rested it with 
 fatal aim upon his bow, when the king struck it 
 down with his sword. Meanwhile Editha was kneel- 
 ing on the ramparts with her eyes and hands turned 
 towards heaven. 
 
 "Luke's face! Hugh! What would you do?" 
 cried the monarch. " By the immaculate mother ! 
 that stern proud dame delights us much ; she must 
 be ours. Knights, invest the walls. Let not a living 
 thing escape. Forward to the assault V* 
 
 A shout of exultation arose from the troops as 
 they deployed ; but Editha was heard above the din 
 of the movement, as, waving her hand in defiance, 
 she made the woods echo, crying, " Farewell, false 
 king ! ere we meet again, your brow shall kiss the 
 dust, and your stubborn neck be broken to the 
 yoke." 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 77 
 
 " On, soldiers ! on ! Bewray the knave who spares 
 the shaven traitor ; but trebly beshrew him that 
 strives not for yonder lady. An abbey's land for 
 yonder lady !" Such were the exclamations of the 
 king as Editha disappeared. 
 
 To scale the castle wall had been but the work of 
 a few moments, if the king had not dreaded an am- 
 buscade within, and proceeded cautiously in his de- 
 sign. There was no need. Hastily summoning 
 together the few remaining domestics of the bishop, 
 Editha briefly explained their situation ; and, securing 
 a small casket of gold, proceeded, with her child, to 
 a secret subterranean passage beneath the castle, in 
 the charge of a faithful servant. Threading their 
 way with much difficulty through the dark and 
 dripping road, they emerged, at length, far in the 
 forest of Stratford-le-Bow, 
 
 From hall to chamber : from dungeon to turret of 
 the castle : King John sought for the fugitives. The 
 bishop had indeed already departed, but John be- 
 lieved that Editha and he were still concealed 
 together. Hideous tortures were applied to the few 
 unfortunate servants to make them divulge their 
 hiding-place, until at last, raging with disappoint- 
 ment, he closed them up in a room together, and set 
 fire to the edifice ; so working, as he imagined, a 
 double revenge. 
 
78 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 Knowledge came to him, soon after, that the bishop 
 was indeed in Rome; but he had no tidings of Editha. 
 Their next meeting — as we have seen — was at the 
 churchyard gate of St. John Zachary. 
 
 Forgetting the precarious condition of his king- 
 dom, he continued to urge on his horses ; taking 
 neither food nor rest for the live long night, nor 
 till he reached Nottingham Castle. Drenched as 
 Editha was, with the storm, she was kept in the 
 same condition ; suffering in mind and body, nature 
 gave way ; and for some hours the king bore a 
 senseless form at his saddle-bow. Yet, despite 
 her fatigue and grief, as she reclined there in that 
 sleep of stupor which is the closest approximation 
 to death, the carnation came to her lips, and the 
 roses returned to her cheeks, while the blue veins 
 which were just indicated on her fair neck and eye- 
 lids, disclosing themselves occasionally through her 
 golden hair which floated in the wind, gave to her 
 beauty that empyrean stamp which men call 
 spiritual. Twice or thrice as he gazed on her, 
 his heart smote him with his perfidy; twice or 
 thrice, he grieved to think how he had deceived 
 her with the death of Godfrey Bohun, and Mm 
 with the rumour that she had become his sove- 
 reign's mistress; and deserted, had died of shame 
 and grief. But thoughts like these, were soon 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 79 
 
 stifled by the reality of possessing her, and the ex- 
 citement attending on it. 
 
 Having secured her in his fortress : he promoted 
 her recovery by every possible means, watching by 
 her during the delirium of her fever : and growing 
 more enamoured of her even in her frenzy. Earnestly 
 pressing his suit when she recovered ; he was sub- 
 jected to a thousand disappointments ; and despairing 
 of success, he determined that force should supply 
 the place of persuasion. 
 
 One night, the Castle of Nottingham betrayed 
 its impregnable trust. King John had commanded 
 every individual to leave it except Black Hugh, who 
 was for the nonce to be the warder, and see the 
 strict performance of the king's command. That 
 night the monarch and Editha were alone in a tapes- 
 tried chamber. There was a dead silence within 
 and without ; the walls reverberating the sound of 
 their voices with a hollow ringing. There were 
 rich meats before them, and wine. Passion was in 
 the king's eyes, and persuasion on his lips ; but 
 Editha was cold, constrained, and obdurate. 
 
 At the gate of the castle, there was a low, and 
 timid, and oft-repeated knocking, succeeded by an 
 effeminate voice calling, " Warder ! warder, love!" 
 and other endearing names. Black Hugh listened 
 for some time unaffected, when a thought flashed 
 
80 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 across him that he might turn it to his advantage ; 
 and as it was evidently intended to be a silent and 
 clandestine meeting, he conceived he could well sup- 
 ply the warder's place even there. Having brought 
 his cogitations to this agreeable point, he again 
 heard the knocking, followed by the words, " War- 
 der, love ! Pray let me in. I will not speak indeed." 
 Rejoicing within himself he gently unbarred the 
 postern to the applicant ; and the next moment 
 he fell to the earth, with a dagger in his heart. 
 
 There was a loud noise in the tapestried chamber. 
 King John had risen from his seat and was strug- 
 gling with Editha. The massive oaken table was 
 overset, and the thunder of its fall echoed with 
 many a repetition through the rooms of the castle. 
 
 "Hugh! Black Hugh ! Attend, here, help !" 
 cried the king. 
 
 But no Hugh came. The struggle was renewed. 
 Editha grew faint and powerless. At length she 
 fell on the floor. 
 
 N God and my saints, preserve me now !" she 
 gasped ; and swooned. 
 
 The monarch was seized by a powerful hand ; and, 
 hurled to a distance, his head struck on the fallen 
 table ; and he lay as still and senseless as his res- 
 cued victim. When she recovered her conscious- 
 ness she was in a champagne country, where there 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 81 
 
 were few traces of man ; the stars were twinkling 
 from their distant spheres, upon the path ; and she 
 was encircled by the arms of Ruffo the Red. 
 
 Being recovered from the stunning blow he had 
 received at the gate of St. John Zachary's, by the 
 meagre people who had followed the king with their 
 execrations ; he had obtained a knowledge of the 
 perpetrators of the cruelty ; and, nerved and strength- 
 ened by revenge, had followed them on to Notting- 
 ham, where with such acuteness and sagacity as the 
 circumstances suggested and enabled him to exert, 
 he had effected the liberation of Editha. 
 
82 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends, 
 
 Where rolTd the ocean, thereon was his home, 
 Where a blue sky and glowing clime extends, 
 He had the passion and the power to roam ; 
 The desert, forest, cavern, breakers' foam, 
 
 Were unto him companionship ; they spake 
 A mutual language, clearer than the tome 
 Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake 
 For nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lake. 
 
 But in man's dwellings he became a thing 
 Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 By easy marches and unfrequented routes, the 
 delivered and the deliverer wended their glad and 
 grateful way towards London. 
 
 A daily visitor to the last resting-place of her 
 child, she might afterwards have been found inhabit- 
 ing a wooden house at the corner of Huggin Lane, 
 with no friend save Ruffo the Red, who never failed 
 to salute her with his " Good den," and u Good 
 even," at the break and close of day. Since their 
 first meeting, he had become a different being ; and 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 83 
 
 much men marvelled at the change. Fitzalwyn, 
 the mayor, had given him employment, in the humble 
 occupation of cresset-bearer to the watch. 
 
 One evening, in the balmy time of spring, when 
 the thoughts of Editha were far and deep in the past 
 and all its holy memories, she was startled from her 
 reverie by a loud halloo, and the entrance of a wild 
 worn man into her dwelling. 
 
 She was dressed in the close and muffled habit of 
 the period : with a long cloak dragging on the floor : 
 and a head-dress consisting of several folds of linen. 
 This, by being brought down low on the forehead, 
 and ornamented with a hanging whimple, effectually 
 concealed the features of the wearer if she so desired. 
 Editha, living in constant fear of another outrage 
 from the king, had ample reason for concealing hers ; 
 which she had done completely. 
 
 The intruder belonged to the new order of monks, 
 called Carmelites, as was evident from his white 
 habit. There was a peculiar expression of gentleness 
 about his mouth and eyes, which might have pre- 
 disposed observers in his favour ; but his black hair 
 fluttering behind him as he walked, or hanging in 
 striking contrast on his garment, gave him a strange, 
 and doubtful character. Yet Editha s heart yearned 
 to him at once. It might be, because she had suf- 
 fered wrong and learnt to pity, or it might be because 
 g 2 
 
84 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 the promptings of some undiscovered instinct of na- 
 ture ; — whatever it was, she concealed him, as he 
 besought her earnestly to do. Presently his pursuers 
 came past, panting and hooting, as if in pursuit of a 
 thief. Editha proceeded to her door and was thus 
 questioned by the populace : — 
 
 M Mistress, have you seen the new St. John pass 
 by your house ?" 
 
 " I have seen no one pass my house," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 Away went the querists in another direction, hal- 
 looing as before. 
 
 " Did you see people seeking Cedron, the monk of 
 the Holy Land, mistress ?" inquired a fresh troop of 
 tormentors, who came running up immediately after. 
 
 " I did. They are gone round by the Grande," 
 she replied ; and closing her door retired within. 
 
 Thereupon the monk issued from his refuge. Af- 
 ter looking on her with a lively gratitude, he said, 
 " Come forth with me, kind spirit. Leave the pes- 
 tiferous city for the woods and wilds of Nature. 
 Your voice recalls to me, fond thoughts and cruel 
 recollections. But no perfidy comes with the dawn 
 to the breezy hill- tops ; no treachery is hidden in the 
 summer flowers ; no wrong glares in the vesper- star. 
 I am a lone, lorn man, with cause to hate mankind ; 
 I only pity them. Will you come with me ?" 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 85 
 
 Editha felt an uncontrollable emotion at his voice 
 and words, followed by a sense of suffocation which 
 relieved itself in tears. Cedron was moved at the 
 sight, and lifted the latch to depart. 
 
 " Will you leave this crammed and fetid atmos- 
 phere, and come with me ?" he inquired again. 
 M Through the sand of the desert and the shingle of 
 the coast; through the tangled underwood of the 
 forest and the briars of the wilderness ; I have passed 
 unheeded and unseen, to avoid the human kind, and 
 seek for peace where all my peace has been destroyed. 
 Will you come with me to the valleys and the wilds, 
 and make peace for me ?" 
 
 Again she sobbed and lost her utterance, but shook 
 her head for answer and denial. 
 
 H Ever so has it been with me," he continued. 
 "Hope smiles invitingly on before me, and passes from 
 me like the mirage. The breaking day of happiness — 
 of bliss — is ever darkened by a threatening cloud, 
 which, if it do not burst in outrage (as it seldom 
 does), still leaves me disappointed, gloomy, and 
 despairing. And must I bear it still ? I go then 
 alone. What is the midnight storm and hurtling 
 tempest to this spirit -conflict ? What place have I, 
 what friend, what home, what haven, amidst these 
 stifling dens of wrong — these savage wolves ? Fare- 
 well ! farewell ! " Closing her door, he was gone 
 in an instant. 
 
86 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 Often, when the city slept, the same voice came 
 with its complainings and entreaties beneath the 
 window of Editha ; but morning never dawned upon 
 him in the dwellings of men, nor did his figure ever 
 darken their thresholds. He was too great an 
 enthusiast to be barred up in the styes which he 
 detested ; but in her thoughts he was often present ; 
 and a strange feeling of sympathy was growing up 
 in her breast towards him. 
 
 Meanwhile King John submitted to the pope. 
 Cunning and cautious, Innocent had given the realm 
 of an anathematized and apostate king to Philip. 
 The kingdom of a penitent and a Christian was quite 
 a different matter. He had received Avignon as a 
 douceur from France ; and, expecting nothing further 
 from that quarter, had, with a duplicity which not 
 unfrequently characterized the proceedings of the 
 holy see, proposed on the part of the Church, an 
 intervention to John : whereby the invasion of 
 England might be prevented. John accepted the 
 offer, and was summoned to meet Pandulph, the 
 legate, at Dover : proceeding whither, he arrived in 
 London with an army of sixty thousand men. 
 
 Favoured by the intense darkness of the night, and 
 accompanied by his old and steadfast friend, the Earl 
 of Pembroke, they went round the city with the 
 picquet, to ascertain the amount of disaffection 
 among the troops. Rounding the corner of Foster 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 87 
 
 lane, they discovered a twinkling light in the church 
 of St. John Zachary, and found the gate open. Pro- 
 ceeding noiselessly, over the newly- turned graves, to 
 the porch, they saw that the edifice was full of people, 
 attending a midnight mass. There was only one 
 light ; and that burnt upon the altar for the perform- 
 ance of the mysteries. The priest was Anselm the 
 Good. 
 
 The king paused midway in his step as he dis- 
 covered a solitary communicant at the rails ; and 
 grasped the arm of Pembroke as he scrutinized 
 the figure. It was Editha. 
 
 Waiting till she had received, the king whispered 
 into the ear of his companion ; and as she returned 
 down the aisle, she was snatched up between them, 
 and borne out of the church. It was so suddenly 
 done, that the congregation were ignorant of the 
 circumstance. 
 
 Hurrying through the dismal streets wherever 
 chance happened to take them, they saw a cresset 
 bearer of the watch. " Cresset ! cresset : Light here ! 
 light!" cried the king, as they ran on towards it. 
 At the sound of the king's voice, Editha had fainted. 
 Throwing their mufflers over her head for conceal- 
 ment, they came up with the light. 
 
 "What gate is nearest, watch ?" asked Pem- 
 broke. " Here is a lady, dead, whom we must bury 
 
88 KUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 somewhere before the dawn. Direct us to the 
 suburbs : where is the nearest gate ?" 
 
 " That by the alders," quoth the cresset bearer ; 
 "you are upon it now. It is at the next corner's 
 turn/' 
 
 " Then forward with the light/ ' commanded the 
 king. 
 
 They were just at the corner; but the man stopped, 
 and attempted to flash his light upon the speaker, 
 which Pembroke prevented by beating it down. "Now, 
 Pembroke, for the Holy Ghost his sake ! forward 
 with her to Bedford Castle/' the king whispered, 
 as they hurried through the postern. 
 
 The cresset heard the words, and was confirmed 
 in his suspicions of the speaker ; but the clatter of 
 horses' feet from among those which constantly 
 plied outside the city gates for hire informed him 
 as truly that they were past his pursuit or ven- 
 geance. 
 
 With an oppressive and harrowing presentiment of 
 the truth, Ruffo the Red — for he it was who bore 
 the light — turned himself to the house of Editha ; 
 but, meeting groups of the midnight congregation 
 on his way, his fears were confirmed before he 
 reached it. 
 
 The next time he heard of the king was on the 15th 
 of May, 1213, when he knelt before Pandulph, the 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 89 
 
 legate, in the church of the Templars, in the presence 
 of his barons, prelates and knights ; and taking the 
 crown from his head, laid it at the feet of the pope's 
 representative, who, holding up the king's hands be- 
 tween his own, dictated that craven oath — the very 
 same oath which vassals took to their lords — whereby 
 he bound himself and his heirs to hold the kingdoms 
 of England and Ireland as fiefs of the Roman see. 
 Not satisfied with this, the most monstrous degrada- 
 tion ever inflicted on a king, the insolent churchman 
 demanded an annual sum of one thousand marks, as an 
 acknowledgment of the dependance. The bond being 
 given, Pandulph trampled it and the crown together 
 beneath his feet. 
 
 Shortly afterwards, the treacherous, tyrannous, 
 cowardly king, who had furtively sought the aid of 
 Mohammed-al-Nassir, the conquering Moor of Gra- 
 nada, against the Church, was compelled to repeat his 
 oath of fealty to Cardinal Nicholas ; whom it pleased, 
 as the pope's representative, to return the crown 
 to John, and to remove the interdict from England. 
 
90 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought 
 Reigns solely in the breast of every man : 
 They sell the pasture now to buy the horse ; 
 
 ****** 
 
 For now sits expectation in the air ; 
 
 And hides a sword, from hilt unto the point, 
 
 With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 In heaven, the purest essence was father to the 
 blackest devil. On earth, from the sweltering of 
 tyranny and revenge, sprang forth the beautiful 
 spirit of liberty. 
 
 There were but few barons who had not some 
 injury or indignity to resent on the king ; and the 
 old pride of nobility rose indignantly above the cope 
 and the cassock. The feudal lords entered into a 
 confederacy, and mustered their retainers at Stamford 
 to enforce their demands. 
 
 John was cognizant of the gathering tempest. 
 He took the most cruel and unscrupulous measures to 
 resist it; and to pursue his revenge in France. 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 91 
 
 Among the Jews and Christians who had already- 
 been the victims of his rapacious cupidity, he had 
 had recourse to Anselm the Good. Editha he had 
 been obliged to leave in the care of the Earl of Pem- 
 broke, while he returned himself to attend to the 
 emergencies of his situation. From the church of 
 St. John Zachary, Anselm was conveyed to the palace 
 in Southwark, where, for declaring he was poor, he 
 was stripped of his priestly robes ; spat upon, and 
 abused by the guards ; and thrust into the oozy 
 vaults underground, to ruminate at his leisure. 
 Shortly after, with that coarse and brutal mirth for 
 which he was so famous, the king took him a cope 
 of lead, with guards to fix it on his person. When 
 the reverend man was enveloped in it from head 
 to foot, John caused it to be soldered down the 
 back : with the sarcasm, that having lost his own 
 vestments he w needed something to keep him 
 warm." A greedy incumbent pounced upon St. 
 John Zachary's ; but its aisles were vacant ; and 
 its porch and its altar, thenceforth, were deserted. 
 
 Ruffo the Red had lost his friends; but he 
 was a reclaimed, though a desolate man. Sunk 
 into a lethargy of feeling, which deadened his sense 
 and destroyed his energy, he still lingered about the 
 house of Editha with that uncertainty of purpose 
 which sometimes results from affectionate remem- 
 
92 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 brance and regret. Pausing one night, on his duty ; 
 and leaning within the door-way of the deserted 
 house ; he was aroused from his reverie by the 
 melody of a voice near him : chaunting, to a plaintive 
 tune, thus. 
 
 " Spirit of tenderness ! come from the babel 
 
 Of cities and discord and treachery ; — come. 
 Heaven scatters its bounty, earth spreads her free table, 
 And nature invites us ; — come, sweet spirit, come. 
 Come ; sweet spirit, come ! ,f 
 
 RufFo listened to the mysterious words with inte- 
 rest. The voice proceeded : — 
 
 " Though my home's in the desert, the cavern, and wild wood, 
 To be from mankind and their perfidy free ; 
 Fond memories come like the dreams of my childhood, 
 And link nature's truth and her beauty to thee. 
 
 Come ; sweet spirit, come V* 
 
 Curious to see the singer, the red man passed to 
 the corner, and beheld Cedron. 
 
 " Man of the watch," said he, ceasing from his 
 song, " guarding the doors, within which some count 
 out dishonest gold wrung from confiding men and 
 orphans ; some toss in their sleep and dream of 
 wrongs and sufferings which are too prone to come ; 
 guarding the doors within which, others, watching 
 all the long night through, wear out their years and 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 93 
 
 brains (already seared and shortened by the toil and 
 drudgery of life) to catch the in grate, fame ; who, 
 carping at their living hopes, will dance upon their 
 coffin-lids, and thrust their very bones into some 
 charnel-house, beneath a mocking monument ; among 
 these and the thousand other kindred things you 
 guard and watch, within the frightful, stifling city ; 
 know you any thing of a tender spirit who resided 
 here ?" 
 " I do." 
 
 " Has she left the earth's contamination for the 
 pleasures of the saints ?" 
 " No." 
 
 "Is she gone to the mountains and the caves? 
 Strolls she by the river's margin ? Does she find dear 
 brothers in the torrents, and the forests, and the 
 rocks ?" 
 
 •< No, 'fore God ! She pines in Bedford Castle : a 
 prisoner of the king." 
 
 " Accursed, false king ! God speed the barons' 
 league, to punish him and succour innocence." 
 
 The last words barely reached the ears of Ruffo, 
 for the Carmelite had started at his words, and 
 uttered the aspiration in his flight. Ruminating on 
 their import, Ruffo decided on joining the adventure, 
 and forthwith proceeded to Brackley, where the 
 barons then were. 
 
94 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 Defeated and morose, King John had returned 
 from Bouvines and Bretagne (whither he had con- 
 ducted a hundred thousand men to subdue Philip, 
 at the instigation of the perfidious pope) ; and found 
 his barons up in arms against him. Surrounded 
 thus by anxiety and peril, his passion for Editha had 
 given place to vengeance ; and amidst his perpetual 
 terror, when he found time to be cruel, he failed not 
 to remember the prisoner of Bedford Castle. 
 
 An utter stranger to human society, she had long 
 been shut up in the donjon of the keep, where the 
 roaring of the wind through the ancient trees by 
 which it was surrounded, kept her in constant re- 
 membrance of Cedron the Carmelite. Indeed, she 
 often attempted, in her solitude, to picture to herself 
 the content he would feel in such a situation : and 
 even began to love it better for his sake. 
 
 While watching, late one night, at her devotions, 
 which she never forgot ; as she still remained upon 
 her knees, gazing, through the arrow- slit which 
 formed her only window, at the stars ; she fell into 
 the old train of reflection. Anon, the hooting of an 
 owl, from some of the crevices of the castle, echoed 
 through the night ; and, all unearthly as it was, it 
 gave an agreeable variation to the solitude and 
 silence. 
 
 Again and again it came, as it had often done be- 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 95 
 
 fore, but followed now, as she thought, by a human 
 voice : distant and indistinct at first : but gradually- 
 growing nearer and more defined. Again the owl 
 hooted ; and these words intermingled with her mid- 
 night song : 
 
 " Beneath the owl's wild cry shall be 
 
 Teu-fhwit ! Too-hoo ! Teu-fhwit ! Too-hoo ! 
 A cautious friend to succour thee. 
 
 Teu-fhwit I Too-hoo I Teu-fhwit ! Too-hoo ! 
 
 One from the green and flowery glen, 
 Abhorrent of the haunts of men, 
 Will nightly traverse round and round, 
 By turret-donjon, and by ground. 
 
 Teu-fhwit ! Too-hoo ! Teu-fhwit I Too-hoo ! 
 
 Seeking some sign of where thou art, 
 
 Some benizon to grace the deed ; 
 Then, then ! to bear thee, ne'er to part, 
 
 Where never tender hearts may bleed. 
 
 Teu-fhwit! Too-hoo! Teu-fhwit! Too-hoo! 
 
 Give sign of whereabout to do." 
 
 Teu-fhwit ! Teu-fhwit ! Too-hoo ! 
 
 The voice was Cedron's, and her heart leaped for 
 joy. After many an effort, made while the repeated 
 words were dying away in the distance, she succeeded 
 in flinging her mantle partly through the loop-hole, 
 where it fluttered in the wind. 
 
 Now, fresh sounds reached her ears. Shock — 
 shock — shock — shock — like the well-timed march of 
 
96 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 many men. These again were overborne by the tramp 
 of many horses ; and then she heard the sound of a 
 distant trumpet. This was answered by the warder ; 
 and the castle became all bustle and activity. Voices 
 hallooing to each other ; words of command and of 
 submission ; footsteps running along the battlements ; 
 and the lumbering sounds of heavy engines and imple- 
 ments of war; were now mingled in wild confusion. 
 
 She trembled for the safety of the Carmelite, and 
 commended him to heaven in her prayers. 
 
 Presently a trumpet sounded a parley, and then she 
 heard the words, "I, Robert Fitz waiter, Marshal of 
 the army of God and holy Church, hereby command 
 the constable of Bedford to surrender his fortress, 
 with all his stores, forthwith, into the hands of the 
 confederated barons of England, till John the king 
 shall sign and grant the Charter of our liberties and 
 rights, with those of holy Church. " 
 
 In answer, the right of the barons was rejected, 
 and their power was defied. 
 
 Then followed the cry of " God and our right 1" 
 and the roar and thunder of furious onslaught. 
 Spurred on by their failure at Northampton, the 
 forces of the confederacy emulated their feudal lords, 
 and warred with desperate valour : which the besieged 
 repelled with unflinching courage. Now, a storm of 
 arrows whistled through the air, succeeded by the 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 97 
 
 battering of battle-axes on the gate, and the planting 
 of scaling ladders against the walls. The mantle of 
 Editha was just distinguishable in the breaking dawn, 
 and invited a thousand shafts to seek its folds. Its 
 owner witnessed its destruction from her donjon ; and 
 more than once wished it had been the heart of the 
 king. As she listened, forming vague ideas of her 
 fortune and final destination, the groans of the 
 wounded and dying arose from the fosse ; some in 
 their death agonies cheering on their comrades ; 
 others commending their last remembrance to the 
 dear ones of home. And as this brought back bleed- 
 ing memories, she regretted the stern necessities of 
 war ; bad, even for liberty, but detestable for con- 
 quest and aggression. 
 
 Then, arose a shout of triumph from the forlorn 
 hope ; and, ere the sound had well ceased, the daring 
 troop was dashed down, ladders and all, by some 
 tremendous missive. The retreat of the besiegers 
 before the desperate sortie followed, mingled with 
 clashing of arms, imprecations, and crying for quarter. 
 After this, came the reflux of the mailed men, and the 
 proud but savage roar of conquest, as they rushed 
 back on the daring few, and, passing through the 
 breach, reached to the heart of the citadel. And so 
 till morning broke, the strife continued. Then, the 
 
 H 
 
9S RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 besieged capitulated, and ceased from the hopeless 
 struggle. 
 
 The loop-hole of Editha's dungeon had not re- 
 mained unattempted. Scaling ladders had been 
 reared, but it was too narrow to admit the ingress of a 
 man, though they had ascertained that an occupant 
 was within. Vainly did they seek an entrance after- 
 wards through the castle : no door nor opening .was 
 to be found. Editha had been admitted by a sub- 
 terranean passage and a trap- door. 
 
 Quiet had reigned for a couple of hours during the 
 fruitless search, only occasionally broken by the 
 neighing of a steed, or the clank of the armourer's 
 hammer : when a breach was made in the donjon ; 
 and Editha was taken to the presence of the con- 
 querors. 
 
 Surrounded by warriors, the barons sat on an ele- 
 vated bench in the court-yard. Eminent above 
 them all, was Robert Fitzwalter. After the conquered 
 had been examined and admitted to the league, or 
 unceremoniously executed ; as they swore fealty to the 
 confederates, or remained faithful to the king : Editha 
 was confronted with the marshal. Her towering 
 beauty, despite her suffering, obtaining for her 
 marked attention. 
 
 " Heaven's light ! but I should remember some- 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 99 
 
 what of that face, exclaimed Fitzwalter, after a 
 rapid glance. " Have I seen it in my dreams, or is 
 it of my youthful fancies ? What is your condition ? 
 Whence come you ? What is your name ?" 
 
 " I will answer you," said Editha. M The relict 
 of a soldier of the cross, I am now a prisoner at the 
 dishonourable suit of the king. 
 
 "Another victim !" said Fitzwalter, with an ap- 
 pealing look at the barons. 
 
 u My name is Editha Bohun. 
 
 "And was Langton ?" exclaimed Fitzwalter. 
 
 " The same," answered Editha. 
 
 " Unloose her gyves," exclaimed the marshal. 
 " Heaven's will be done ! here is new strength 
 given to our cause. This, my peers, is the only 
 daughter of my kinsman, Lord de Birmingham. 
 When he was banished by the treachery of John, in 
 the regency of Longchamp, I took charge of his two 
 children : son and daughter. The estate being con- 
 fiscate, I saved them from a sense of degradation, and 
 placed the boy with a strict brotherhood at Rouen. To 
 keep this lady, who was then a handsome girl, from 
 the iniquity of John, I found her an asylum with the 
 Langtons, parents of our friend Stephen, the primate. 
 They never knew their benefactor; but you knew 
 that harp-twanging, mild, peace-loving man, Godfrey 
 Bohun : and the sequel." 
 
 h 2 
 
100 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 "Death and perdition to the king !" shouted the 
 indignant lords. 
 
 M Amen ! and Amen ! M added the rest. 
 
 " But, I remember, Editha," pursued the marshal, 
 gravely, as with some sudden recollection, " when we 
 lay before the walls of Ascalon, a report came to the 
 camp that you had submitted to the king. Is it true, 
 or did he force you, as he did my daughter ?" 
 
 "Neither, my lord. The flames of Stratford, and 
 the treason of Nottingham, were signals of my escape. 
 Latterly, hatred : welcome hatred : has supplied the 
 place of his detested love." 
 
 " Heaven's will be done ! Nobles, you hear ! 
 Soldiers ! march on ! Our confederate citizens of 
 London, are waiting to receive us." 
 
 And so, encircled by the barons of the league, 
 Editha was borne on a litter : inflaming their minds, 
 and exciting their pity, by the relation of her ad- 
 ventures. 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 101 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Yet hence Britannia sees 
 
 Her solid grandeur rise ; hence she commands 
 
 TV exalted stores of every brighter clime ; 
 
 The treasures of the sun, without his rage ; 
 
 Hence, fervent all with culture, toil, and arts, 
 
 Wide glows her land ; her dreadful thunder hence 
 
 Rides o'er the waves sublime, 
 
 ****** 
 
 Hence rules the circling deep, and awes the world. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 Bonfires were lighted in every street of London 
 as the sun went down ; and tables laden with flagons 
 and viands were set before the houses : the doors 
 whereof were embowered " with greene birch, long 
 fennel, St. John's wort, orpin, white lilies, and such 
 like, garnished upon with garlands of beautifull 
 flowers." V The army of God and of Holy Church" 
 had entered the city, and received a hearty welcome. 
 In Cheapside : which was then a broad and open 
 road, between gardens and orchards, away from the 
 bustle of the city, with here and there a church, 
 a few scattered houses, crosses, and conduits, ex- 
 tending on one side to the city wall, and on the 
 
02 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 other, to the banks of the river ; in Cheapside were 
 displayed the various feudal banners and armorial 
 bearings of the different lords assembled. The re- 
 tainers of Robert Fitzwalter were lodged at his 
 castle, Baynard, on the river, opposite the palace of 
 the king. Lord Mountsiquit, who had openly re- 
 turned from his banishment in France to join the 
 league, had located his men in his castle of Mount- 
 siquit. The Earl of Shrewsbury was at the Herber 
 with his horsemen ; and at his huge mansion in 
 Warwick Lane, the Earl of Warwick had harboured 
 his serfs. The Earl of Oxford occupied his hall, 
 near London Stone ; and, in like manner, were dis- 
 posed the other confederates at their different 
 houses. 
 
 That afternoon they had held a council of de- 
 termination on a letter received from the Archbishop 
 of Canterbury, then residing with the king at Ox- 
 ford; wherein he had informed them that the 
 monarch suspected his secret instructions ; and that 
 he had intimated the possibility of a renewal of the 
 terrors of the church, as a punishment for the in- 
 sinuation : adding that then was the time for them 
 to move boldly on their sovereign, and to give him 
 battle if he refused their demands. Enforcing, again, 
 the prior claim of the church, and its confirmation, 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 103 
 
 as the price of his adherence or otherwise, he con- 
 cluded by bestowing the blessing of the Most High 
 on those who should procure for the altar its due 
 share of the oil and the wine ; which, in English, sig- 
 nified supreme dominion and legal battening grounds 
 for the monks and clergy. 
 
 Such was Cardinal Stephen Langton and his di- 
 plomacy. A faithful servant to his creed, he sacri- 
 ficed his temporal to his spiritual allegiance, and 
 treacherously betrayed his king into the hands of his 
 powerful and rebellious subjects. John was detest- 
 able, both as a man and a king ; but, had he been 
 blameless as, Socrates and just as Aristides, still, if 
 he had also been in opposition to the church, Langton, 
 as a churchman, was bound to the course that he 
 pursued. Whatever tended to strengthen that 
 establishment; though it weakened the monarchy, 
 gave more arbitrary power to the barons, or inflicted 
 greater cruelty on the people ; it was his ecclesiasti- 
 cal business to promote ; and he did it ; with the aid 
 of a little farce of opposition got up between the 
 Pope and himself. M The Charter of Liberties" was 
 principally drawn up by him from grants of Edward 
 and Henry, and it gave to Englishmen an acknow- 
 ledged title and position in society — that of unmi- 
 tigated slavery and bondage. Yet, undesignedly, he 
 
104 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 had laid the foundation of legal rights and distinc- 
 tions within this monstrous fabric of spiritual and 
 feudal supremacy ; and the temple of civil freedom 
 overtopped the structure which has gone down to 
 the dust of the barbarous age that bowed before it 
 and acknowledged it. 
 
 Well weighing the cardinal's communication, the 
 barons unanimously determined to proceed forthwith 
 to Runna Mead, there to await the issue. Mean- 
 while they suffered themselves to be regaled by the 
 citizens. 
 
 Morris dances and pageants enlivened the night, 
 which was illuminated by thousands .of lamps and 
 torches hanging from every house. Here, revelled 
 the retainers of the Earl of Warwick, in their red 
 jackets, embroidered, before and behind, with his cog- 
 nizance of the bear and ragged- staff. There, the 
 mayor on horseback, with his giant and his sword- 
 bearer before him ; " footmen and the like torch- 
 bearers about him ; henchmen twain, upon great 
 stirring horses following him ;" and constables " in 
 bright harness, some over-gilt, and every one ajornet 
 of scarlet thereupon, and a chain of gold ;" three 
 pageants, minstrels, and cresset-lights. Next, might 
 be seen the serfs of the Earl of Oxford, in their livery 
 of Reading-tawney, with his cognizance of the blue 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 105 
 
 boar on the left shoulder. And so, in succession, the 
 forces of every baron passed and repassed before the 
 assembled lords, as they sat feasting in West Cheap 
 during the serenity of a night in June. 
 
 Only one lady graced the assembly of these warlike 
 men ; and she was Editha. Under the joint care of 
 Fitzwalter and her old friend William de Sancta 
 Maria, she sat at the head of the board : again and 
 again recounting her story to the excited listeners. 
 Feeling more at ease, now, than when she was released 
 from Bedford castle, she expatiated on the assistance 
 about to be afforded to her there, by Cedron, till, in 
 their excitement, they swore to discover and reward 
 the man. At this period, an uproar of threatening 
 voices was heard approaching them. 
 
 " A spy ! a spy !" was the cry ; at which every 
 angry baron sprung from his seat, prepared to wreak 
 his vengeance. Presently men-at-arms came running 
 up ; pikemen, billmen, archers, axemen, macemen, 
 pillagers, and bearers of every conceiveable weapon ; 
 jealously surrounding the unresisting Cedron. 
 
 " A spy ! a spy !" they shouted again in concert, 
 as they presented him to their leaders. 
 
 "He is no spy !" shouted Ruffo, who had created 
 the uproar ; and had already received many blows for 
 persisting in the denial. 
 
106 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 " I say he is no spy, my lords/' said Ruffo again 
 stepping boldly to the front. " He is a hermit of" 
 the woods and dells, too innocent of guile to practice 
 as a spy. Speak to him, my lords. I have crossed 
 him whilome in the city when the bats were out, and 
 men were barred within their dwellings ; and he 
 pitied them ; and spake such gentle words, that had 
 I not a quarrel to avenge upon the king, I would 
 have passed with him into the solitudes of earth and 
 been an eremite myself." 
 
 Editha had caught a glimpse of Ruffo and the 
 Carmelite ; and she would have spoken, but some- 
 thing struggled at her throat, and grew, and grew, 
 and rose to choke her words and stop her breath, 
 until at last she fell powerless to the ground, without 
 uttering a word. Many of the rude soldiers now 
 inclined to the side of Ruffo : and a dispute ensued 
 while the barons were recovering Editha: of which 
 Cedron took advantage, and started off at the top 
 of his speed. Being fleet of foot, he soon distanced 
 his armed pursuers. 
 
 The recovery of Editha was the signal for the 
 breaking up of the party. 
 
 Shortly after this, cities and streets of tents might 
 have been seen by the Thames between Staines and 
 Windsor. On one side, flaunted the emblazonments 
 
MAGNA. CHARTA. 107 
 
 which had appeared together in West Cheap ; on 
 the other, the pavilion of King John and the es- 
 cutcheons of his adherents. The men and officers 
 were resting on their arms in martial array, with 
 their vision concentrated on the plain of Runna Mead, 
 where the powerful estates of the kingdom were 
 assembled. On a throne surrounded by his loyal 
 lords, sat King John with a table before him, on 
 which was a fair manuscript of vellum. Beside it, 
 stood Stephen Langton, William de Sancta Maria, the 
 bishop of Ely, and other ecclesiastics, as mediators. 
 Opposite, were the warlike figures of the stern-browed 
 barons of the League: with guards. The manuscript 
 had been read; and the king had demurred to its 
 provisions. To this, they had not replied ; they 
 meant not to reply. A general amnesty for the past 
 had been demanded as a contingent ; and John de- 
 murred again. 
 
 " Will your Grace receive us loyal, or must we 
 vindicate our rights and honour with our swords ?" 
 demanded Fitzwalter boldly. 
 
 "Luke's face!" cried the furious king, "why 
 stop to parley ? Why not demand our kingdom 
 and share it among you ?" 
 
 " We only want our right," replied the marshal 
 firmly. 
 
108 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 " And if we sign this deed, we are to hang no 
 rebels ? We will not sign it." 
 
 " We accept no other terms/ ' exclaimed Fitz- 
 walter. And he unsheathed his sword. 
 
 A hundred hands were on their hilts at the 
 same instant, but Langton arrested the marshal's 
 arm. 
 
 " Hold !" cried the king, cowering at the menace, 
 " We will insist upon but one omission. Reginald 
 de Birmingham shall remain in banishment/ ' 
 
 " He shall not ! " exclaimed a reverend man, com- 
 ing forward. u Recognise in me, the Baron whom 
 you would disclaim. Reginald de Birmingham/ ' 
 
 The king appeared incredulous ; and Fitzwalter 
 astonished. 
 
 " Do you know me?" demanded the Baron as 
 he shuffled off his mail, and exhibited Anselm the 
 Good, in his priestly vestments. 
 
 The monarch trembled at the apparition. 
 
 u My peers and friends," said Anselm, addressing 
 the confederates. " You all remember that for an 
 open insult, I struck down this man who has since 
 become your king. He banished me. I took upon 
 me orders ; and when he had brought down the 
 curse of God upon his country, I returned, officiat- 
 ing at St. John Zachary. It was against the orders 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 109 
 
 of our holy Father ; so be it ; it is done. Let 
 alms-deeds cover it. I gave the whole I gathered 
 to the poor ; and consolation to sad souls. Even 
 the vessels of the altar, and its ornaments, I 
 sacrificed for them. I saw no reason why the 
 senseless temples should abound in riches : and 
 living temples of the Holy Spirit should lack them. 
 He seized me for my wealth ; but I was no usurer ; 
 I was no Jew ; I had no riches, save the poor 
 man's blessing. Then he incarcerated me, and 
 would have tortured; but mark how Heaven has 
 foiled him. One of my own retainers : one whom I 
 had snatched from my own moat when he was a 
 boy and drowning : was my guard. To him 
 I divulged myself; and here I will defend my 
 liberty." 
 
 The old man panted and paused with his emotion, 
 and stepping up to the very footstool of the king ; 
 cried out, " I had children — twain. Strange vil- 
 lanies came to my ears about my daughter, which, 
 when your power was paramount, I could not seek 
 explained. Now, where is my daughter ?" 
 
 Fitzwalter had Editha near him, with intent to 
 confront her with the king ; but he now presented 
 her to her father. 
 
 " Take her, noble kinsman. A widow truly ; 
 
110 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 but, by her own courage and address, untainted : 
 undefiled. She has a strange history to tell you." 
 
 Editha fell at the old man's feet. She had 
 loved him as her spiritual father, but how much 
 more as her natural parent ! 
 
 The baron raised her up ; and gazing in her face, 
 exclaimed exultingly, " What ! my last communi- 
 cant ! Then I know all ! She has confessed to me, 
 and I am happy I" 
 
 The father pressed her to his heart, while his hot 
 tears rained down upon her hair. 
 
 While they were thus engaged, another scene was 
 passing before the confounded king. Cedron the 
 Carmelite was there ; and he had seen, and heard 
 it all. 
 
 "Poor pitiable king!" he said, standing like a 
 prophet before the throne, " I have touched my harp 
 often, when your soul was sad, to charm away your 
 care. I have brought in the cowslip from the mea- 
 dow, and the hyssop from the wall, to scent your 
 sick apartment. I gathered lilies from the brook to 
 deck your mistress' raven hair ; sought out the glow- 
 worm for your courting-lamp when the hour came ; 
 gave you songs and similes to win her favour ; 
 and thus I am requited ! Thus I, Godfrey Bohun : 
 who, having my ears abused to the effect that my dear 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. Ill 
 
 wife was dissolute and dead, joined Aimeric upon 
 Mount Carmel, to wander on the borders of mis- 
 antrophy, and become a monomaniac. Blush, 
 wretched king! and let this be your punishment. 
 Behold my wife ; and my revenge !" 
 
 He rushed into the arms of Editha : who having 
 heard his voice, forsook her father to receive him. 
 
 A loud shout of acclaim burst from the confede- 
 rate barons. The glad shout was echoed by the 
 " Army of God ;" and many of the outstanding lords 
 came over to the League. King John trembled at 
 this desertion ; he sought the pen, but his hand 
 shook too much to grasp it ; and fixing his eyes on 
 the ground, he panted for breath. 
 
 The barons were variously affected ; some smiled 
 in contempt ; others became more grave ; and some 
 were moved to tears. Taking advantage of the pause, 
 Ruffo the Red drew Fitzwalter and Anselm into 
 conversation. 
 
 After awhile, he exclaimed aloud, '• I have suf- 
 fered worse than death. I have been an outcast 
 wretch. I was a pious monk, but suffered yonder 
 king to make me drunk, my greatest sin. It was 
 not I, Fitzwalter, 'fore God ! it was not I. I always 
 thought and feel 'twas he. Aye ! and I will wring it 
 from him now ! " And breaking from them, he 
 faced the now deserted king. 
 
112 RUNNA MEAD AND 
 
 " Do you know me?" he demanded. John raised 
 his eyes, and started with confusion. 
 
 " Who did the deed within my cell at Rouen ? 
 The damning proof was there : the violated nun 
 was dead — murdered! — and I lay by her drunk. 
 But who did the deed ! who did the deed ?" 
 
 The conscience- stricken king was secretly sup- 
 ported on his throne by Langton. 
 
 " Men said 'twas I," shouted Ruffo again, " and 
 I was hunted like a hideous thing, till I became the 
 thing indeed. But do me justice, king, at last • 
 clear me of the supposition, and I will not harm 
 you. Say now, was it I ?" 
 
 " No ! No ! Death ! for a hole to hide my head 
 in," was the king's reply. 
 
 " Father accept your son," said Ruffo, stagger- 
 ing into the embrace of Anselm. When he un- 
 locked his arms he looked into his father's face, but 
 the eyes were set ; and the spirit was in eternity. 
 
 King John saw the result, and the barons, grown 
 fierce with stifled feeling, closed in upon him. 
 
 " Take all," he tremulously uttered, M take all 
 that you require. We grant the pardon." 
 
 At these words, Langton placed the pen in his 
 hand, and he signed the parchment. The cardinal 
 immediately affixing the great seal thereunto, the 
 king hastily departed. 
 
MAGNA CHARTA. 113 
 
 And so was obtained 
 
 The Great Charter of England. 
 
 Recumbent behind the door of St. Martin's church 
 in Birmingham, the mutilated " effigies" of Anslem 
 the Good may be seen to this day. 
 
WOMAN'S FAITHFULNESS! 
 
 Sigh not for me, my heart is brave ; 
 
 Like thine, 'twill never yield, 
 But risk with thee the foaming wave, 
 
 Or dare the battle field : 
 Will shrink not in the jungle drear, 
 
 Nof in the desert wide : 
 Her heart must neither fail nor fear 
 
 Who once becomes a bride. 
 
 Content were I in dungeon deep, 
 
 If captive thou should'st be, 
 So on my bosom thou could'st sleep 
 
 And dream of liberty. 
 In pain and fever, weal and woe, 
 
 Whatever may betide, 
 My heart will cling to thine, and glow 
 
 As best becomes a bride. 
 
NORMS AND ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The course of true love never did run smooth. 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 Ever foremost, among the relics of barbaric pomp 
 and idle pageantry which descended from the feudal 
 age to the era of the Reformation, were the romps 
 and revels of Christmas : with its feasting, mum- 
 ming, masques, and gatherings. It was an un- 
 bending time : an annual holiday for all estates. The 
 castle halls of the barons and the mansions of the 
 gentry were flung open to their tenantry ; and the 
 wayfarer was bidden to halt, to feast, and to be glad. 
 Such was the Yule-tide of 1525 — 6. 
 
 The portcullis was up, in the frowning gateway of 
 Hever Castle ; and great fires blazed on the summits 
 of the round towers which flanked the entrance : to 
 serve the double office of beacons and ministers of 
 comfort to the warders who were stationed there on 
 i2 
 
116 NORRIS AND 
 
 the look-out. Huge torches and splinters of pine 
 threw their increasing light along the crisp snow 
 of the court-yard, as the eve of the new year closed 
 into night, and fresh gusts of wind and drifting snow 
 came on with the dark. The shouts and laughter of 
 revelry which echoed from the hall between whiles, 
 and the constant flitting of shadows across the lancet 
 windows : emblazoned with the arms of the Howards, 
 Warrens, Mowbrays, Hoos, St. Legers, Malmains, 
 Ormonds, and various others : gave evidence of 
 jollity and roystering within. The castle-moat had 
 become a pathway with the intense frost ; and huge 
 icicles depended from the Gothic turrets and battle- 
 ments. A large shed had been erected in the keep, 
 to litter down the homely horses of the humble 
 guests : the castle- stables being filled with steeds 
 belonging to visitors of gentle blood. 
 
 The day was flitting westward in its shroud 
 of mist, when a party of horsemen were descried 
 galloping toward the castle. The warders wound 
 their horns with a note of apprisal, which echoed far 
 away over the weald of Kent, and reverberated again 
 to the castle walls. The party dismounted at the 
 shed ; and having left their horses, came forth in the 
 garb of pilgrims. In this altered guise, they passed 
 into the court-yard ; and night having fallen, the port- 
 cullis was let down behind them. 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 117 
 
 Still adjusting the barrier, the warders were 
 alarmed by the dashing of a steed against the iron- 
 coated defence : and by an imperative voice, demand- 
 ing help and admission. Instantly plying the levers, 
 they hoisted the ponderous slide, and, with many 
 awkward apologies, admitted the knight, who was 
 full mailed and armed. Having again secured the 
 entrance, they hastened to join the more fortunate 
 retainers in the hall. 
 
 In Hever Castle, observances were continued in 
 emulation of the holidays of still earlier times. On 
 the dais, which stretched across the hall at the end 
 opposite the entrance, sat Sir Thomas Boleyn, with 
 his daughter Anne, and the rest of his family and 
 noble guests. An immense fire, which glowed on the 
 ample hearth in the centre, flung its ruddy light 
 down the whole length of the great apartment : and 
 brought out the persons who surrounded it, in high 
 relief. From the lofty cope, hung several massive 
 lamps, in which glared the superabundant fat of the 
 feast ; but their light was dimmed by the blazing logs 
 which were burning in two chimneys, surrounded by 
 glowing embers, which emitted a fierce blue flame. 
 Suits and fragments of arms and armour hung against 
 the wall between the windows, which were surmounted 
 with great bows of holly and ivy ; and a little forest 
 of misletoe hung from the roof-tree in the centre. 
 
113 
 
 NORRIS AND 
 
 Beneath this, on one side, was ranged the long 
 table, covered with substantial fare, which some of 
 the guests were perpetually assailing. Opposite, a 
 stage had been erected, under the direction of the 
 master of the revels, for the purposes of the interlude 
 and mummeries. In the spacious centre, a motley, 
 grotesque, and animated assembly was pursuing the 
 intricacies of Sellenger's round : to the sounds of the 
 tabret, the dulcimer, and rebeck ; stopping, often, to 
 snatch a kiss beneath the misletoe. Regardless of 
 all ; and crouched within the hearths ; tumblers, 
 jugglers, old men, priests, and jesters roasted their 
 apples, and splashed them, hissing hot, into the 
 drinking-horns and tankards of their fellows: who 
 kept the ale-flagons for ever a- tilt, and laughed and 
 roared till the roof rung again. 
 
 Seeking light and inspiration at her eyes, a host of 
 noble youths and gallants moved like satellites round 
 Anne Boleyn, who, then in her eighteenth year, was 
 extremely handsome in person, and was especially 
 distinguished by the exquisite ease and gracefulness, 
 which she had acquired in the court of Francis I. 
 These attentions and all this merriment were a cruel 
 satire to her now. Her first love, which had been 
 freely given to young Lord Percy, the heir of North- 
 umberland, whom she had met while in attendance on 
 queen Catherine, was blighted by the connivance of 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 119 
 
 Wolsey, at the command of the king. The fond pair 
 were forbidden all intercourse, and exiled from court. 
 
 A strong veneration for those whose sandals had 
 trodden the dust of the Holy Land, and lain at the 
 door of the sepulchre, remained predominant with 
 the people. On the entrance of the pilgrims, whom 
 we left at the castle-gate, the revellers ceased from 
 their dance and merriment : and encircled the stran- 
 gers with the whispering of awe. The belted knight 
 followed them with a dignified tread ; after a few 
 words with Sir Thomas Boleyn, the latter arose ; and 
 the knight occupied the chair of state. 
 
 The pilgrims had grouped themselves at the foot of 
 the dais, to sing carols — as was the wont of such per- 
 sons — and, with some obscure reference to the Na- 
 tivity, one of them poured forth a stream of verses, 
 bewailing the forced pilgrimage that separated him 
 from his idol, and his willingness to forsake all, even 
 hope and life, for the repossession of that which he 
 loved so devotedly. There was a melancholy persua- 
 sion in his mysterious ditty, which seemed to be 
 comprehended by Anne Boleyn alone. Blushes came 
 up in her cheeks, her eyes glanced uneasily, and her 
 sighs were audible, as she listened to the allegory, 
 whose every stanza iterated the mournful burden, 
 
 Exiled from all I love, I spurn 
 
 The stern command, and thus return. 
 
120 NORMS AND 
 
 The stranger knight watched the gestures of Anne 
 and the pilgrim ; and the workings of angry passion 
 within were visible on his countenance. Beckoning 
 Sir Thomas Boleyn to his side, an earnest conversa- 
 tion ensued in whispers : after which the sons of Sir 
 Thomas and some of the guests were called to the 
 conference. The face of Anne grew suddenly pale ; 
 and, rising from her seat, she thus, in a low voice, 
 improvised the singer in a sweet melody. 
 
 Ah ! wherefore come you, pilgrim dear, 
 For death to spread your gentle bier ? 
 Hope trims the lamp that lights regret 
 And breathes the words — forgive, forget : 
 
 Not yet. — Return. Ere long : not yet. 
 
 There was evidently a concealed sentiment in the 
 words, understood by the pilgrim, but which appeared 
 not in the delivery ; for that only seemed to advise 
 him not to return to his forbidden love, whatever it 
 might be : till he had learnt the Christian lesson 
 of pardoning an inflicted injury. 
 
 The pilgrim went on with his carol, which further 
 deplored his inability to carry his idol with him into 
 some one of the beautiful solitudes of the earth : there 
 to serve and worship it until his dying day. 
 
 Meanwhile, the excitement of the knight and his 
 host had become intense ; their whispered words 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 121 
 
 broke into sounds hasty and confused. Anne's 
 manner was likewise anxious ; she plainly struggled 
 with strong emotions ; and, starting from her seat, 
 again took up her melody. 
 
 I hear a bird ill-omened, sing, 
 
 Swords shall from sheathing scabbard's spring. 
 
 Fly, pilgrim dear ; dear anchoret, 
 
 For truth and love. — Forgive, forget. 
 
 Not yet. — Return. Ere long : not yet. 
 
 " Ho ! retainers to your post," cried her father, 
 ere she had closed the sentence. " Prevent all 
 egress from the castle. A Percy is here, the 
 traitor ! " 
 
 This announcement was like a thunder- clap to the 
 intoxicated servants and tenantry : who rushed to 
 the door at the behest, so that the general wedge per- 
 mitted none to escape. The supposed pilgrims as 
 suddenly divested themselves of their weeds, and, 
 fully armed as they were, leaped on to the dais : where 
 their swords clashed with those of the sons and 
 guests of Boleyn, even over the head of Anne, for 
 her possession. The stranger knight singled out 
 Lord Percy for his attack ; with a vengeance that 
 was only equalled by the cool skill with which his 
 thrusts were parried. Catching up his daughter in 
 his arms, Sir Thomas Boleyn bore her to her 
 chamber. 
 
 Lord Percy and the knight fought with unyielding 
 
122 NORRIS AND 
 
 valour from dais to hall ; from hall to antechamber ; 
 and back again among the revellers ; who, being pot- 
 valiant, scuffled and bayed like so many angry dogs. 
 Many of them had gone to the assistance of their 
 hereditary lords : and numbers had overpowered the 
 companions of Percy : when Sir Thomas Boleyn 
 again made his appearance among them. 
 
 " Where is the king ? Heaven protect the king !" 
 he cried, missing him from the dais. " A thousand 
 marks for him who saves the king I" 
 
 Amazement and inquiry were on every face. 
 
 " What king, sir ?" inquired the heir of Hever 
 Castle, scrutinizing the defeated pilgrims. 
 
 " His grace of England ! The knight who sat by 
 me but now. Henry, my liege 1" 
 
 The revellers had enclosed him and Percy, whose 
 youthful agility more than counterbalanced the 
 strength and weight of the king, then on the point 
 of being beaten by fatigue. A rush was made at 
 once to his rescue, and capturing hands were laid on 
 Percy ; but he passed from them like a phantom. 
 He was gone ere they could close their grip. 
 
 Among the persons engaged by the master of the 
 revels was one Harry Norris, a mechanist. Norris 
 had been constructing a secret passage for Beel- 
 zebub : who, after being directed by Vice, in the 
 interlude, to some offenders, his legitimate property, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 123 
 
 then boozing in the hall : was to appear among them, 
 and shrink with them, suddenly, through a secret 
 door ; then, before they could recover from their ter- 
 ror, his infernal majesty was to drop them from the 
 ramparts into the moat : the ice whereof was to be 
 broken for their especial benefit and reformation. 
 It was through this door that Norris snatched Lord 
 Percy. Beside the strong sympathy of youth, for 
 they were nearly of an age, there was a remarkable 
 affinity of personal appearance and chivalrous feeling 
 between them. Norris had been a concealed spec- 
 tator of the proceedings ; and, early in the carol, had 
 formed a shrewd opinion of the real state of affairs. 
 Subsequently, when his suspicions were confirmed, 
 he resolved to assist the young lord, if need were for 
 assistance. 
 
 The need came ; and Norris rendered efficient aid. 
 Dropping a bar across the inside of the door, they 
 were on the battlements long before any in the hall 
 could conceive where Percy was gone : for it was 
 important to the grand aim of the interlude, that 
 the secrecy of this contrivance should be preserved. 
 
 Clinging by the ancient ivy which. had long scaled 
 the highest stone of the wall, to which Norris led 
 him, Lord Percy descended in safety to the moat : 
 exactly opposite the shed where his horse was littered. 
 This gained, to mount his steed and scour north- 
 
124 NORMS AND 
 
 ward over the wolds was but the work of an instant. 
 He was miles away before they could have commenced 
 a pursuit. 
 
 Harry Norris stayed to catch the last sounds of 
 his horse's hoofs on the frozen ground, when he was 
 aroused by the warder's horn and a numerous party 
 creeping from the castle-gate, with burning torches, 
 in the direction of the shed. Placing in his bosom a 
 small packet which Percy had entrusted to him to 
 convey to Anne at a fitting opportunity, he again 
 sought the hall, where he marvelled with the rest at 
 the mysterious escape. The circumstance having 
 disorganised the merriment, and deferred the inter- 
 lude, the master of the revels kept his suspicions to 
 himself. 
 
 King Henry was already deeply in love with Anne. 
 For this, he had really made his present visit to Hever. 
 For this, he had separated Percy and her, by pro- 
 curing each to be withdrawn from court by parental 
 authority; and, finding he had to contend with a 
 vigorous and daring rival on one side, and with a 
 deeply devoted love on the other, he shortly after- 
 wards destroyed all the hopes she entertained, by 
 compelling Percy to marry Lady Mary Talbot — a 
 painful connection to both. 
 
 Policy of course dictated the withholding of all 
 knowledge of the king's share in this act from Anne : 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 125 
 
 who attributed it to the perfidy of Percy. Indifference, 
 therefore, or rather pride, effaced the impression of 
 that love which would otherwise have cost her many 
 a pang. Yet memory frequently presented to her the 
 scene of New Year's eve, and the kind words and 
 gallantry with which Norris had delivered the packet 
 on the morrow. 
 
 The manner of Percy's escape remained a com- 
 plete mystery to the king, until it was related to him 
 by the old Earl of Northumberland. Conceiving a 
 partiality for the youth who had effected it, he sought 
 Norris out and privately retained him in his service. 
 
126 NORMS AND 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Love, justice, nature, pity, and revenge. 
 
 Spanish Friar. 
 
 May morn of the year 1528 was as bright, warm, 
 and beautiful, as the first opening of Eve's eyes in 
 Paradise. London was up and a- Maying; the 
 stithies were cold; the butcher had forsaken the 
 fetid ordure of the shambles ; dust gathered on 
 the looms ; and the saw and hammer were at rest. 
 All the inhabitants were abroad, save the miserable 
 huckster ; he remained at home, in the hope of ex- 
 •ercising his beggar-making occupation to the unfor- 
 tunate bed-ridden. Work there was none, except 
 the bustle and plash of watermen on the river ; and 
 the perpetual running of publicans to their cellars. 
 The larks were aloft at their matins ; the blackbirds 
 trilled from the hedge ; and the sun looked down like 
 a fond father on his family. A little while, and the 
 streets were all replete with life. Groups of maids 
 and children, grandfathers and matrons, passed joy- 
 ously along, laden with huge blossomy boughs, and 
 garlands of spring-flowers. Then, came parties of 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 127 
 
 citizens and 'prentices, overburdened with the spoil 
 of suburban gardens and hedges, to decorate the 
 May-pole on Corn-hill. Here and there, a cluster of 
 these merry idlers — arrested by the passing of some 
 steed in his trappings of white velvet and burnished 
 steel, proceeding in charge of a groom to the tilting 
 and jousts which were that day to be holden at York 
 House, by Cardinal Wolsey, in honour of the king — 
 would pause to look, admire, and wonder. And then 
 remembering that the king was coming from Green- 
 wich, they hurried on to prepare the May-pole, and 
 watch his progress. It was the migration of the 
 royal household to Richmond for the summer ; and 
 the king chose to pass up the river with his jester. 
 
 The queen and Henry had met, neither at bed nor 
 board, for some time. The delicacy of the king's 
 conscience (king's consciences are very scrupulous at 
 time's) had thus divorced them. Still, he affected to 
 love her ; but to regret the sinful life they had lived 
 together. For Wolsey, to be revenged on the Em- 
 peror Charles for obstructing his attainment of the 
 Popedom, had filled Henry's mind with scruples con- 
 cerning the legality of his marriage with Katherine 
 (who was aunt to the emperor) ; and his pride and 
 passions being fed and flattered thereby, he was fully 
 determined to cast her off. She had some suspicion 
 or intimation of this ; and determined to proceed in 
 
128 NORRIS AND 
 
 privacy, with the household, direct to Richmond : 
 leaving the Princess Mary to attend the pageant of 
 Wolsey with the king. 
 
 Fully aware of her dignity, Mary passed slowly 
 and in state on her litter, amidst the clamours of the 
 people, attended by her confidante, Mabel Smeton. 
 
 This was a little mis-shapen being, who, exercising 
 considerable unseen influence in this history, it is 
 necessary to describe. 
 
 Her origin was obscure, but, by cunning, 
 she had ingratiated herself into the favour of the 
 princess, whose character was somewhat congenial to 
 her own. In person, she was little more than a 
 dwarf. Above her head, she wore a steel frame-work, 
 to which was attached a band, which, passing under 
 her chin, prevented her face from dropping on to her 
 breast : the main shaft of the machine passing down 
 her back, and being fast bound to her person. She 
 had a sharp, austere visage ; little ferret eyes ; and 
 great pretensions to sanctity — some even, to prophecy. 
 In her mistress' service, she was almost ubiqui- 
 tous. Mary regarded these offensive qualities as so 
 many recommendations favourable to her designs and 
 secret inquisitions; and she cherished her accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 This amiable creature and her companion were pre- 
 vented from passing direct through Lud Gate, by 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 129 
 
 a crowd of people congregated before the Black Friars' 
 Monastery : whose door was assailed with a violent 
 knocking. Inquiring the cause, they learnt that the 
 old wooden bridge over the Fleet ditch, being loaded 
 with people anxious to catch a glimpse of the king, 
 had broken down ; and that one poor creature had had 
 a long, sharp splinter forced into her side. The 
 woman had been snatched up by a young man, who 
 had hurried with her to the Black Friars, to obtain 
 medical aid (for to succour the sick and unfortunate 
 was a part of the Friars' profession) : the crowd still 
 clinging at his heels. 
 
 A cry now reached their ears, " Ho ! friars within ! 
 help ! the woman is dying ! " And the knocking was 
 repeated. 
 
 M Press not on her, people. Be more charitable 
 than these surly friars," was uttered by a female 
 voice. 
 
 u Hear you that, my lady ?" asked Mabel Smeton 
 of Mary. M There is a deadly viper hereabout, and 
 it is either she or I. Detect you not the voice of 
 Anne Boleyn ?" 
 
 The knocking again commenced, with the addition 
 of blows from some 'prentices' cudgels ; at length 
 a slide was drawn from an iron grating in the gate, 
 which divulged the flushed face of Forest, Queen 
 Katherine's confessor. 
 
130 NORRIS AND 
 
 " Who thunders at our gate, so boldly and dis- 
 respectfully ?" he inquired, with evident choler. 
 
 " I ! — I thunder at your gate. Here is a woman, 
 dying for a leech's aid. Perhaps you will attend 
 her ? " exclaimed Harry Norris ; for it was he ; still 
 holding the woman in his arms. 
 
 " Haste, friar, for sweet Jesu's sake ! The death- 
 damp is gathering on her forehead, " cried Anne 
 Boleyn : as she wiped the brow, and staunched the 
 side, of the insensible woman. 
 
 A supercilious smile played about the friar's lips, 
 but he opened not the gate. 
 
 "Will you open your door ?" shouted Norris 
 in the friar's face : his legs trembling under their 
 burden. 
 
 " Spend your fury, fool, upon the wind. By 
 Mistress Boleyn's interest there, I suspect you bear 
 a heretic." « 
 
 A deep sigh from the sufferer gave the first indi- 
 cation of life ; immediately afterwards, she opened her 
 eyes to light and consciousness. 
 
 " Brereton ! Brereton ! Husband ! Where is my 
 husband ?" she cried, in a wild but feeble manner. 
 
 " Good people, will you force this door, and gain 
 the woman help ?" asked Norris. 
 
 " You see, citizens, how these heartless monks and 
 friars ; forbidden all domestic ties, and shut from 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 131 
 
 natural sympathies; you see how they can treat 
 your wives and their sufferings/ ' observed Anne, in 
 an impassioned manner. 
 
 " Those words decide me," said Forest, who now 
 had several shaven heads behind him. M We will not 
 admit her, till she makes the holy symbol, and repeats 
 her creed. We give no aid to accursed Luthe- 
 rans." 
 
 The poor woman shook her head, and cried in 
 scarcely articulate sounds, " Heaven have mercy on 
 me ! Brereton ! Oh, my husband V 
 
 " There is nothing more to interest us here, my 
 lady," said Mabel to her companion. " The friars 
 know their duty and their dignity. Ho, guards ! 
 proceed.' ' 
 
 An impious curse upon religion almost rose to the 
 lips of Harry Norris, as he laid down his burden ; 
 when, recollecting that it was not religion, but its 
 perverters, who did the wrong, he snatched a cudgel 
 from a bystander, and dealt a blow at the friar, 
 which fell harmless on the grating. 
 
 Some one had apprised Brereton of his wife's con- 
 dition, and now he pushed the people aside like 
 straws, exclaiming, " Where is my wife ? Where 
 is my angel ? Where is my dear wife ? " 
 
 He fell on his knees at her side ; and took her 
 k 2 
 
132 NORMS AND 
 
 hands in his, and kissed her. Life seemed to return 
 at his touch, and she recognized him. 
 
 A tear dropt on the manly cheek of Harry Norris, 
 as he looked upon the scene, and turning again to 
 the grating, he said, " We want but a mouthful of 
 wine to revive her." 
 
 " Then get it at the vintners/' was the churlish 
 reply. The slide was closed, and the friars disap- 
 peared. 
 
 " Here is my purse/' said Anne to Brereton, who 
 gave her an imploring and grateful look. " Take 
 her home, man, and Heaven speed you. If there be 
 further need, inquire for Anne Boleyn, at court. I 
 will befriend you. 
 
 He took the purse, but he had no words to thank 
 her. " Help, my masters ; help a bereaved man/' 
 he said in a sorrowful tone to the by-standers, who 
 perceived with him that her heart was well nigh at 
 its last pulsation. 
 
 " Help, my masters," echoed Norris. " Aye, help 
 me ! Let us beat these barbarous hounds within their 
 kennel." And he again plied the cudgel at the 
 door. 
 
 A cry was raised that the king was in sight, 
 which passed from mouth to mouth with the rapidity 
 of lightning, till it reached St. Paul's. Thence 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 133 
 
 rushed a mob of 'prentices and others, from the 
 supposed tomb of the good Duke Humphrey — at 
 which it was their annual custom, on May- day, to 
 pay their devoirs — expecting to catch a sight of the 
 king from the Black Friars : whose garden commanded 
 an extensive view of the river. Finding they were 
 barred therefrom, and claiming entrance as a right, 
 they made a clamorous demand for admission. 
 
 Harry Norris had been privately commissioned to 
 escort Anne Boleyn to the joust; but seeing Sir 
 Thomas Wyatt ride up to her, he left him to con- 
 duct her. The populace having forced the barrier, 
 the friars offered a fierce resistance to their pro- 
 gress within ; and Harry was soon in the midst of 
 the turmoil. 
 
134 NORMS AND 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 What's he, who with contracted brow, 
 
 And sullen port, glooms downward with his eyes ? 
 
 Mourning Bride. 
 
 The booming of ordnance from York Gardens, 
 answered by the gunners of the Tower and the 
 Knights of the Temple, announced the disembarka- 
 tion. As the king was landing, Wolsey walked to 
 the water-gate to receive him. Sir Thomas More 
 arrived at the same moment from his house at Chel- 
 sea, with Pater son, his fool. 
 
 " Good morrow ! my lord cardinal. Good mor- 
 row, our worthy councillor/' exclaimed Henry, 
 holding out a hand to each. And heartily shaking 
 theirs, he stept within the cardinal's garden. 
 
 u God save you my liege ! " cried both courtiers 
 together, in reply. 
 
 " Good morrow, Peacock ! Good morrow, Zany ! " 
 squeaked Patch, the king's jester, to Lawrence Laitch- 
 bury, the cardinal's Abbot of Unreason, and to Henry 
 Paterson ; as he leapt ashore, and hugged them both. 
 " Be not we the three wise men of Goshem ? and 
 those, three most foolish masters, quotha?" 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 135 
 
 " Who be they, sirrah ? " demanded the king, as 
 he turned sharply round and grasped at the jester's 
 ear ; but he slipped away like a shadow. 
 
 " Pride, concupiscence, and wit ! " shouted Pater- 
 son promptly : bounding at once to his motley 
 brother. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Excellently well shot 1 th' 
 centre," observed Lawrence, just as Henry's foot 
 reached his cope and lifted him into the Thames. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Excellently well shot indeed," 
 echoed a merry ringing laugh and a musical voice 
 immediately behind the king; who, turning, dis- 
 covered Anne Boleyn at his elbow. 
 
 " My poor abbot is a pleasant foot-ball for your 
 grace," remarked the cardinal with the utmost gra- 
 vity. 
 
 Henry laughed. 
 
 u Yet he has been used your highness, as a com- 
 panion at board and hearth " 
 
 Henry affected to laugh again. 
 
 " He must think the king is rude, or he him- 
 self transformed into an eel-pot : your highness 
 being but a boor to kick him in," pursued the car- 
 dinal, aside. 
 
 But a party of spiritual and lay lords now sur- 
 rounding the cardinal, he ushered the king to the 
 banqueting-hall in silence. 
 
136 NORRIS AND 
 
 Meanwhile, the Abbot of Unreason had been 
 snatched from his peril by the king's watermen : 
 his motley cowl and cope being all dank and sullied. 
 When he was placed ashore, the royal jester and 
 Henry Paterson shook him by the hand, and laughed, 
 and slapped him on the back : congratulating him on 
 the very marked manner in which his highness had 
 noticed him : and assuring him that from beginning 
 to end, it was a most excellent joke. Lawrence, 
 however, persisted that he could not see that it was 
 any joke at all ; not a bit. 
 
 " A fool made by immersion/' quoth Paterson. 
 
 " Nay, that's wrong," said Patch ; " immersion 
 made by a fool." 
 
 " Good, again," quoth Laitchbury. " To please 
 two fools made by nature." 
 
 And so they parried and thrust, by the hour : to 
 the great amusement of the spectators. 
 
 Shields and banners were brought forth by pages 
 and esquires, as the cardinal's guests issued from 
 his hall to hasten to the jousts. Suits of mail inlaid 
 with gold ; cloaks of velvet and crimson damask ; 
 fancy doublets, and bonnets waving with many a 
 plume of ostrich and kingfisher's feathers ; ladies in 
 brocaded, jewelled, minivered, and spangled robes ; 
 and priests in sacred vestments ; were crowded toge- 
 ther in elegant confusion. The people, who had 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 137 
 
 been amused during the repast with some old aquatic 
 sports upon the river, hurried to disembark : which 
 produced a pantomime of fun and accident. Amidst 
 the general joy, Henry alone seemed grave and 
 thoughtful : retiring to a private court to indulge in 
 a few moment's meditation. 
 
 His abstraction had not escaped the watchful eyes 
 of Wolsey, who mentally exclaimed, " I have brought 
 him to his knees. Let him beg pardon of his ghostly 
 father." Exulting thus, he busied himself in the 
 court, but the king paid him no regard. Writhing 
 beneath the contempt, he boldly turned upon his 
 sovereign. 
 
 " Your highness sinks beneath the burden of the 
 state to-day. There was a time when the Chan- 
 cellor of England was fully competent to ease a 
 monarch's shoulders. He has some power even 
 now." 
 
 " Then get us our divorce ; we must have our 
 divorce," answered Henry. 
 
 " The Church is to be sued, your Highness, not 
 commanded," retorted the cardinal. 
 
 " God's death ! my Lord Chancellor, perhaps your 
 wisdom can inform us, whether it be the duty of a 
 subject to obey or to rebel ?" 
 
 u It is but a step, your grace, to the golden tiara 
 
138 NORMS AND 
 
 from this red hat : whose colour, as you know, impels 
 us to pursue, through blood, its power and attain- 
 ment. That one step taken, he who stands upon its 
 eminence has the proud right to call him subject, 
 who calls others rebels." 
 
 " Aha ! By St. Bennet we will not be half a king 
 in this dear realm of ours ; as he shall learn, whoever 
 be the traitor." 
 
 " And Sampson called unto the Lord, and said, O 
 Lord God, remember me, I pray thee, only this once, 
 O God ! that / may be at once avenged of the 
 Philistines." Such was the cardinal's audible com- 
 muning with himself, in studied unconsciousness of 
 Henry's presence : to whom he deigned no other 
 answer. 
 
 " God's face !" shouted the choleric king, " has 
 the son of the butcher of Ipswich forgotten the 
 hatchet and the block ?" 
 
 He had forgotten them, and liking not the manner 
 of this obtrusion of them on his memory, evaded the 
 point by calmly observing, " A shepherd of the flock 
 has need to remember everything." 
 
 " Yea ! even that a butcher and a wolf is dis- 
 guised in a shepherd's doublet," said a sepulchral 
 voice. They both looked round, but nothing was 
 to be seen, save a glance of sunlight from polished 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 139 
 
 steel, and the stunted figure of Mabel Smeton pass- 
 ing through a distant doorway. 
 
 But, now, a flourish of trumpets called the knights 
 to the lists; and the spectators to their seats. A 
 long train of courtiers, who had been searching 
 for the king and the cardinal, entered the court 
 simultaneously; so terminating, for a time, their 
 mutual defiance. 
 
 Anne Boleyn was the grand attractor of the court 
 gallants, many of whom surrounded her, with every 
 demonstration of devotion ; when she caught the 
 glance of the king. Quick, intelligent, and pos- 
 sessing that power of comprehending a man's cha- 
 racter at once; which most women enjoy in a re- 
 markable degree ; she already knew that she had made 
 a conquest. Believing too — as most of the nobility 
 and doctors of the time believed, under the seal and 
 assurance of Warham and the bishops — that Henry's 
 marriage with Catherine, his brother's relict, was 
 void and adulterous ; she naturally enough felt high 
 ambition stirring in her breast; and resolved to 
 improve her advantage. ^ 
 
 Another flourish of trumpets was heard. Wolsey 
 approached the king, saying, M The king- at- arms 
 waits to conduct your highness to your seat at the 
 lists, if it be your grace's pleasure. The jousting 
 has commenced." 
 
140 K ORRIS AND 
 
 " But it is our pleasure to decline," replied Henry. 
 " When York grows traitorous, we covet not his 
 feats of arms." 
 
 " Will your highness to the park, and see the 
 rustic sports and pastimes ?" asked Anne Boleyn, 
 with eager delight. 
 
 " We will anywhere with thee," answered Henry, 
 with his blandest smile. 
 
 The cardinal, who had looked angrily on, without 
 venturing to reply, bent a malicious frown on Anne ; 
 and, bowing, departed with his retinue. Mabel 
 Smeton ran screaming with delight ; everywhere 
 announcing the quarrel ; and prophecying Wolsey' s 
 immediate disgrace. 
 
 Passing through the garden, the king and his 
 court observed Wolsey and his adherents in violent 
 altercation with the citizens, at the river's edge. 
 Seeing the king approach, the royal Jester ran to- 
 wards him, shouting, "Behold the fruition of philoso- 
 phy, good Nuncle ! Here be fifty bloody coxcombs 
 come of fifty staves, demanding judgment of your 
 grace. Set 'em to't again, good Nuncle ! Set 'em 
 to't again." 
 
 " I appeal from your judgment, my lord cardinal, 
 to the king." " And I." " And I." " And so do 
 we," cried a score of persons. 
 
 " I will decide, I tell you ; and punish too," said 
 Wolsey, sternly. 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 141 
 
 " We will decide ourself," said Henry, stepping 
 into the midst. 
 
 Half-a-dozen burley friars instantly dragged a 
 young man before him : whom he recognized as 
 Harry Norris. 
 
 " Bring forward father Forest," said one of the 
 custodians. 
 
 Supported between two friars, the father was led 
 forward in most deplorable condition. His skull was 
 muffled in wrappers and bandages, which were va- 
 riegated, here and there, with a touch of crimson. 
 Scarcely a feature of his face was visible. 
 
 Henry laughed heartily at the sight : much to the 
 discomfiture of the Dominicans. 
 
 " Flattered by the appeal, the king is merry at the 
 battery of a religious," muttered Wolsey. " Away 
 with the culprit to your dungeons." 
 
 " He shall to no dungeon till his king be there, 
 proud churchman. We know the city's grievances 
 with these friars ; and we commend the youth for his 
 retaliation." 
 
 A loud shout from the surrounding citizens ex- 
 pressed their satisfaction. 
 
 " Neither do we hear complaints or pleas to-day. 
 What do they call you, youth ?" 
 
 " Harry Norris, an't please your highness," said 
 he : catching the king's policy. 
 
142 NORRIS AND 
 
 " Then, Harry Norris, keep you near our person 
 for to-day ; we will provide you in our household. 
 You could serve a gentle lady as esquire, now ?" 
 
 The youth bowed low, and laid his hand upon his 
 breast. 
 
 " Humph !" said the monarch, eyeing his manly and 
 well-favoured figure. " Keep you in our train. For- 
 ward, gentlemen !" 
 
 And so the royal retinue departed : leaving the 
 haughty cardinal, mute with rage and disappointment. 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 143 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The colour of the king doth come and go, 
 Betwixt his purpose and his conscience, 
 Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles sent ; 
 His passion is so ripe it needs must break. 
 
 King John. 
 
 At a window, overlooking the magnificent garden 
 of Richmond Palace ; with the beautiful river stealing 
 on beyond ; the king sat one morning in the summer, 
 thoughtful and alone. The rolling away of the 
 stormy morning clouds, exposing vast tracks and 
 patches of clear blue sky, bright with the sunlight ; 
 the carol of the birds ; the tremulous motion of 
 leaves and flowers, glistening with their watery 
 diamonds, produced no holy thoughts or grati- 
 tude in him. He was too deeply gone in love and 
 passion's whirlpool, to feel the calm delight of na- 
 ture's smiles and bounty. The ambitious cardinal, 
 the deserted queen, and the fairy form and laughing 
 eyes of Anne Boleyn, mingled curiously and dis- 
 tractingly before him. Near the door of the apart- 
 ment stood Harry Norris, and Mark Smeton — a 
 musician, and brother to Mabel — careless of each 
 other, neither knew how important his commission 
 was to their mutual future fate. 
 
144 NORMS AND 
 
 Norris had been regularly installed in the office of 
 esquire to Anne Boleyn ; in which capacity he had 
 come and gone on many missions to and from the 
 king. Anne had been created Countess of Pem- 
 broke ; and, in her honour, her father had been 
 made Earl of Wiltshire. She had left the Court 
 to pass a few weeks at the paternal estate ; at- 
 tacked by severe illness. To make this unwel- 
 come announcement, Norris had arrived that 
 morning. 
 
 Summoning him again to the presence, Henry 
 drew a resplendent ring from his finger, saying, 
 " Take that, Sir, to your mistress. Tell her it 
 bound the king's heart-finger. It is a ring worn by 
 St. Bruno ; and was attached for many years to the 
 chalice on the high altar of St. Peter. There is a 
 talisman of life about it. There is, in it, a fragment 
 of stone chipped from the Holy Sepulchre ; it has 
 been thrice dipped in the Jordan ; and was conse- 
 crated by an apostle. The holy father, Clement, 
 presented it to us with our title ; since which time 
 it has never left our finger. We made a vow it 
 never should ; but take it — its value is as nothing to 
 her life. Preserve it as you would your own. Do 
 our behest faithfully, and we will reward you." 
 
 Norris placed his hand on his breast ; and bowed, 
 on receiving the ring. 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 145 
 
 " Haste now, faithful Harry. And tell her, that 
 our life hangs upon hers." 
 
 As he departed, the king held him by the sleeve ; 
 still increasing the message, until they reached the 
 door. "Fly now!" he added, "and bring us 
 information twice a day." 
 
 Shortly after, Smeton was called to beguile the 
 monarchy thoughts with his dulcimer. 
 
 Day after day passed on ; still Anne's recovery 
 remained doubtful. Mabel Smeton publicly attri- 
 buted her illness to the vengeance of Heaven ; and 
 threatened the dissolution of the king if he pre- 
 sumed to cling to her, and to continue estranged 
 from Katharine : a threat, which was fostered and 
 believed by Forest, Fisher of Winchester, and many 
 other fanatics. 
 
 Thus, shaken in his nerves by the dread of 
 death ; in his love by the uncertainty of Anne's 
 recovery ; and in his superstition by the harangues 
 and denunciations of the priests ; the energy of his 
 character forsook him. He humiliated himself before 
 Wolsey ; fled again to his queen, with whom he 
 apparently lived in contented conjugality ; " de- 
 voutly confessed his sin* every day ; and received the 
 Sacrament on every Sunday and festival."* 
 
 * Lingard's History of England. 
 
146 NORRIS AND 
 
 Nevertheless, on the arrival of a legate from 
 Rome, and the recovery of Anne Boleyn, a court 
 was hold en to try the question of the divorce. At 
 its second meeting, evidence was taken, touching the 
 consummation of the marriage between Katharine 
 and Prince Arthur. The court was extremely 
 crowded ; and as propriety forbade the Princess to 
 be present in person, she deputed Mabel Smeton to 
 attend : who accordingly ensconced herself in an 
 obscure corner, to note such particulars as might 
 give her mistress satisfaction. Harry Norris was 
 likewise ordered by Anne to attend ; and watch the 
 progress of the suit. The young man soon saw that 
 every thing was favourable to his mistress ; and dis- 
 covering Mabel at her task, determined to withdraw 
 her attention from the proceedings. The better to 
 conceal herself, the little woman wore a long cloak 
 and hood, which she had drawn over the machine 
 which remedied her deformity ; and which, adding 
 to her height, gave her somewhat the appearance of 
 a clerk of the law, engaged in his profession. Harry 
 took advantage of this, to annoy her. 
 
 " What is the business before the Court, most 
 learned clerk ? " he inquired, over her shoulder. 
 
 " My business is to mind what I am about," an- 
 swered Mabel tartly. 
 
 " Sage, and of sufficient brevity," said Norris; 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 147 
 
 " to what great doctor of laws am I indebted for 
 the aphorism ?" and stooping down, he looked into 
 her face. After gazing a moment with feigned 
 astonishment, he cried, " A woman, by Jupiter ! 
 nay, a she divinity ! Beautiful Iris, with her 
 bow!" 
 
 " I command you to leave me, impertinent Sir," 
 said Mabel with the greatest chagrin. 
 
 " Say not so, sweet Constellation. I would fain 
 learn the law from wise Minerva. Do you under- 
 stand the point before the Court?" 
 
 " I understand that you are a saucy fool!" she 
 answered, rising in wrath. 
 
 " In taking you for a clerk, I presume ; and, 
 finding you a woman, in doubting your knowledge 
 of the point," he observed, laughing. 
 
 The diminutive creature made no reply, but 
 attempted to listen to the depositions, which, at that 
 moment, were none of the most delicate. 
 
 n An' I were a little woman, now, methinks that 
 that would make me blush," Norris whispered in her 
 ear, as he caught the evidence. 
 
 The remark called up a blush to the leathern 
 cheeks of Mabel ; and her eyes glanced fire at her 
 tormentor. Finding that she could neither shake 
 him off, nor continue her notes while he remained, 
 she folded up her papers and departed. Harry 
 l2 
 
148 NORRIS AND 
 
 politely offering to escort her through the populace 
 without. 
 
 Cardinals Campegio and Wolsey coming to no 
 decision, the Court was adjourned. 
 
 Irritated beyond measure at the result, Henry sent 
 the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, to demand from 
 Wolsey, the great seal : which he gave to Sir Thomas 
 More ; with orders to Cromwell to form a new minis- 
 try, favourable to his wishes. He even quarrelled 
 with Anne Bole)m, because she would not accede 
 to his desires ; and submit to a clandestine marriage. 
 
 " Once more, dear Anne !" he said at the close of 
 a persuasive conversation, " will you grant me this 
 request ? We are not prone to sue, who have but to 
 command ; on the truth of a king and a lover, we 
 would not do violence to thy simplest wish ; but, 
 an' thou wilt consent to be our loving wife awhile, 
 in secret ; by heaven and earth ! thou shalt be our 
 fair queen anon." 
 
 " Your Highness knows my mind. I cannot, and I 
 will not, do it. An' it be judged by learned and holy 
 men that poor unfortunate Katharine — whom from 
 my soul I pity — is not a wife indeed ; then will 
 I plight my troth to thee, as a humble and 
 obedient consort ; till then, my liege, howeverso 
 my heart incline — and that I love you, you have 
 wrung confession from me — I must keep my pur- 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 149 
 
 pose and mine honour. Perhaps Anne Boleyn still 
 may find a corner in your Grace's favour. If so, and 
 your Grace love me, O dearest Henry, pursue me not. 
 Farewell ! " and with the proud dignity of conscious 
 innocence, she essayed to withdraw. 
 
 "Nay, light of my soul! we cannot part thus," 
 said Henry : catching her arm and imprinting a kiss 
 upon her cheek. " What is the sacrifice of which 
 you speak, but the nectar of the flower, sweeter in 
 the taking, than the dull possession ? A sacrifice of 
 selfishness to share the bliss of gods and all love's 
 essences. Behold me suppliant — if you love me, 
 grant me this request ; I have a supple priest, at call, 
 will knit us twain in one." His heart palpitated as 
 he knelt, and marked her hesitation ; and he added 
 in a persuasive tone, " Say, shall it be ?" 
 
 " Urge me not, dear Prince, I must not consent," 
 said Anne. 
 
 u Then go, faithless ! for you love me not," he 
 replied, as he gently flung her hand from his. 
 
 She went : with the big tears gathering in her 
 eyes. It was the critical moment of her life, for 
 he had believed she would give way beneath the 
 taunt ; and, returning, fling her arms about his 
 neck, and so accomplish his desire. A moment's 
 reflection, after she was gone, increased his love and 
 admiration. 
 
150 . NORRIS AND 
 
 Wolsey having, at this time, become utterly ob- 
 noxious to him by the impediments he had put in the 
 way of his possession of Anne, was banished from 
 his court and councils. Being afterwards attainted 
 of high treason, the king seized his effects, and sum- 
 moned him to London to take his trial ; an indig- 
 nity which never befel the fallen cardinal, for, being 
 taken ill on his journey, he stopped and died at Lei- 
 cester Abbey. 
 
 Cromwell, in the meantime, was active and ener- 
 getic in the service of his master. After following 
 out the suggestion of Cranmer to obtain the judg- 
 ment of the various European universities, he ap- 
 plied himself to the digestion of the mass of evidence 
 so furnished ; and finding it in favour of the divorce, 
 he sent to the Pope : upbraiding his tergiversation, 
 and demanding an adjudication in the spirit of those 
 learned decisions. He held out a threat too, that if 
 his Holiness did not accede, the end would be ac- 
 complished without his aid. 
 
 During these negotiations ; namely, on the 15th 
 of July, 1531 ; Queen Katharine was ordered to 
 leave Windsor Castle, and convey herself from the 
 presence of the king. In answer to the command, 
 she said, " Go where I may, I shall still be his law- 
 ful wife." 
 
 After resting for awhile at two or three of the 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 151 
 
 royal manors, she took up her permanent abode at 
 Ampthill, near Dunstable. They never met again. 
 
 One and twenty months afterwards ; at the olden 
 holiday of Easter, 1533 ; the citizens of London 
 excelled themselves in magnificent display. Wreaths 
 and garlands of evergreens were stretched from house 
 to house, on opposite sides of the way ; and festoons 
 of flowers were suspended, one over another, on the 
 projecting stories from the ground floor to the roof. 
 Blazing flambeaux were attached to the gable coignes 
 and cornices ; the balconies were piled with plate ; and 
 the porches hung with pictures. Here, was a dwell- 
 ing covered with the most exquisite tapestry and 
 cloth of gold ; and there, another, hidden by flags, 
 devices in arms, and heraldic blazonry. Each one 
 vied with his neighbour to produce something grand 
 and novel, by way of show; and the halls of the 
 various companies were decorated with all their 
 wealth and insignia. Ordnance reverberated every 
 moment on the ear; bells clanged, or rung out a 
 merry peal; and the conduits streamed with wine. 
 King Henry and Anne Boleyn were passing through 
 the city in state, after having been privately married ; 
 the divorce remaining incomplete ; on the 25th of 
 January preceding : which event had been proclaimed 
 on Easter eve. Handsome youths and maidens, in 
 fancy attire danced, hand in hand, before the proces- 
 
152 NORRIS AND 
 
 sion : strewing the way with flowers. Old fathers 
 smiled, and bowed ; and snatching their caps from 
 their bald heads, waved them about for joy. Women 
 thrust themselves forth from the windows, waving 
 their kerchiefs in the air ; and the young men ran, 
 and strove, and fought, and struggled in the press ; 
 and all shouted at intervals, 
 
 " Long live the King and Anne Boleyn !" 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 153 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Envy at last crawls forth from Hell's dire throng, 
 Of all the direfull'st. 
 
 Cowley. 
 
 Numbers of ecclesiastics were opposed to the 
 king and his measures ; some for principle ; more for 
 prejudice ; more for pelf. Queen Katharine was of 
 this party, independent of her domestic reasons. 
 She purchased relics, endowed priests, and founded 
 chantries ; one, in particular, beyond the Charter 
 House : which, with a huge straining after effect, 
 she christened Mount Calvary. 
 
 Anne Boleyn did none of this. An act had been 
 passed, called the Law of Succession, securing the 
 throne to her descendants, and excluding the Princess 
 Mary. This act gave great offence to the church- 
 men, and many of them, led on by Mabel Smeton, 
 harboured and promulgated sedition. Of this mal- 
 content body, Father Forest was a prominent mem- 
 ber ; and when Henry subsequently threw off the su- 
 premacy of the pope, and established his own ; Forest, 
 among many others, stubbornly refused to take the 
 required oath. For this offence, nominally, he was 
 
154 NORMS AND 
 
 tried and condemned; though, being suspected of 
 conspiring against the life of the king, his guilt was 
 really of a much earlier date. 
 
 On a new gallows, erected in Smithfield ; in the 
 presence of two-thirds of the denizens of London ; 
 he was hanged by his middle and armpits alive ; and, 
 a fire being kindled beneath him, was so burnt to a 
 cinder. 
 
 Just as the flames had enveloped the body of the 
 friar, Harry Norris arrived at the scene, catching 
 the words : 
 
 " There passed my good and worthy friend !" 
 
 Turning to look at the speaker, he discovered it 
 to be Lawrence Laitchbury. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! most sentimental Lachrymal, 
 and no crocodile ! " exclaimed Patch, who was 
 standing near. " Did your friend weep in the cal- 
 dron, when Bishop Fisher boiled John Roose, his 
 cook, to death ; did he Jeremiah ? He was foremost 
 at the cooking. * There passed my good and worthy 
 friend/ quotha, eh ? Thy good and worthy friend 
 had influence at the stews that harbour mendicants : 
 else wouldst thou have found it hard, brother, to get 
 a belly-full. Out upon thee ! thou dost smell of 
 lewdness." 
 
 " Who's this talks of lewdness ? " answered 
 Laitchbury. " Silenus's fool, transmuted to a saint ! 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 155 
 
 tempora ! mores ! When the master quits his 
 wife, and robs the church, and roasts the clergy ; 
 when his most obtuse and chamber- swel ting fool 
 reads homilies on chastity ; when he himself, the 
 master again, is bedded with a hot, voluptuous 
 mistress " 
 
 Unable to bear the slander of his lady, Harry 
 Norris stepped suddenly between them, and vigor- 
 ously applied his hand with great good will and 
 precision, to Laitchbury's cheek. " Take that, 
 sirrah," said he, " for your slander of the queen ; 
 were you a man of mark, I would truss you with my 
 rapier !" 
 
 " A valiant threat for a chamber gallant, truly ; 
 and well worthy of a favoured suitor,' \ maliciously 
 exclaimed a woman's voice. 
 
 " But, my Lady Rochford," cried the brother of 
 Mabel; who fostered the malignity of his sister, 
 and was a convenient communicator to her of what 
 passed between the king and Anne Boleyn ; " my 
 dear Lady Rochford ! If favours received be a 
 warrant to give chastisement, Master Harry Norris 
 is not the only chamberer who is authorized to ad- 
 minister it, as I, Mark Smeton, can boast of my 
 familiarities. So take you that, on my account, my 
 blab-tongued motley ; and that — and that " 
 
 Mark gave the unfortunate Lawrence two or three 
 
156 NORRIS AND 
 
 apparently very fierce and indignant, but, in reality, 
 very gentle and treacherous, blows, to illustrate and 
 establish his calumny ; but Lawrence, being in high 
 dudgeon, repaid him with considerable interest. 
 
 " I won't fight any more ; I won't ; I won't for any- 
 body," whined the musician after he had had a good 
 drubbing. And, holding down his head, he ran 
 round the ring : attempting to bore it through that 
 impenetrable barrier. 
 
 " Give way, people, for a favourite of the queen, 
 Anne Boleyn," cried Mabel, echoing the lie. 
 
 " Upon him again, Lawrence ; upon him again ! 
 and you shall join my household," cried Lady Roch- 
 ford : who was imposed upon both by brother and 
 sister ; and believed that he was indeed a favourite of 
 Anne's. u Why not help the craven, Master Norris ? 
 You have a common cause." 
 
 "He is a poltroon and a liar ! " replied the indi- 
 vidual appealed to. "I care not, if he be pummelled 
 to death." 
 
 " Reasoned like a rival, Sir ; go to," she responded. 
 
 " I say it here before the base and lying hound," 
 Norris answered warmly, M whoso thinks him 
 treacherous, in this wise, to the queen, does my mis- 
 tress wrong ; yet he is, most treacherous, in another 
 wise. Oh ! It is well to go about with whispering 
 innuendoes, and rancorous malice, as do these, and 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 157 
 
 you, my Lady Rochford : who, being expelled from 
 court for your carriage to the king, seek to destroy 
 the reputation which you most abhor !" 
 
 " Stop, stop, Sir Boy ; that is but a poor reputa- 
 tion which needeth help from you. A dainty repu- 
 tation ! To draw her brother to her arms, for what on 
 his part should be mine; on hers, the king's, I trow." 
 
 " O here be secrets for my nuncle ! • Here be 
 refreshments, and congratulations, and enjoyments, 
 and honey- moons, and antlers, and marriage- unction ! 
 Bauble and sceptre ! but I will tease my nuncle ! " 
 cried Patch ; spinning round, and laughing like a 
 mad creature. 
 
 Norris gazed into the face of Lady Rochford with 
 astonishment. " Base and abandoned woman ! " at 
 length he exclaimed, " I detect no blush upon the 
 face that uttered that foul calumny, atrocious and 
 false as hell ! Would you were a man. This 
 moment, you should bite the dust for that un- 
 natural falsehood. I cannot breathe the common 
 air with so much turpitude ; but, — mark me ! — this 
 wrong shall return to your own threshold." Pale 
 with his indignation, he strode proudly away. 
 
 u Most delectable sir, it returneth not to me until 
 you are visited; mark you that," she said: looking 
 after him ; " mark you that ! " 
 
 " Truly not. While Mabel Smeton has power or 
 
158 ' NORRIS AND 
 
 cunning, my Lady, I will help you," whispered that 
 little deformity into her ear ; a feat which she accom- 
 plished by hanging her whole weight on the arm, and 
 so bringing down the head of her ladyship. In her 
 eagerness to ruin Anne, she regarded not her brother's 
 extra beating. 
 
 Smeton having received the additional allowance 
 provided for him, sneaked pitifully away, followed by 
 his sister and Patch : who amused himself by dwelling 
 sorrowfully on the misery of the musician, and point- 
 ing out his bruises by way of condolence. Lawrence 
 and Lady Rochford departed together.* 
 
 * This infamous woman was subsequently executed with 
 Catharine Howard, Henry's fifth wife, for introducing gallants 
 to that lady's chamber. She died, as she deserved : at once 
 despised and detested. 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 159 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I must speak ere I die. Were all your greatness 
 
 Doubled upon you, you're a perjured man, 
 
 And only mighty in your wickedness 
 
 Of wronging women ! Thou art false, false prince ! 
 
 ****** Thou art all 
 
 That all good men must hate ; and if thy story 
 
 Shall tell succeeding ages what thou wert, 
 
 Oh, let it spare me in it, lest true lovers, 
 
 In pity of my wrongs, burn thy black legend, 
 
 And with their curses shake thy sleeping ashes ! 
 
 A King and no King. 
 Gentle, liberal, and confiding ; conscious of her 
 own rectitude, and prone to forgive, rather than to 
 resent ; Anne Boleyn exclaimed against the cruel tor- 
 tures and violent deaths which Henry inflicted, alike 
 on friend and foe, Protestant and Papist. So she fell 
 under his displeasure. 
 
 By her firm adherence to the principles of the 
 Reformation, that displeasure was greatly aggravated. 
 She not only treated the pope's assumption of supre- 
 macy, with scorn ; but failed to discover the infalli- 
 bility of the same assumption in the king. Her 
 character had changed; the volatile and laughing 
 nymph had become a sedate and thoughtful woman. 
 She had already given birth to the Princess Elizabeth ; 
 
160 NORRIS AND 
 
 and was then heavy with the burden of a mother. 
 The scandalous and frequent amours of the king had 
 somewhat dashed the entire and pure devotion so 
 necessary to conjugal felicity. She was a woman, 
 and felt the wrong. 
 
 Shadows came over her ; misgivings of her posi- 
 tion ; fears that the formal divorce pronounced by 
 Cranmer : her own public marriage and coronation : 
 were but acts of a farce on which the curtain would be 
 suddenly dropped, at the will of a tyrant. The reli- 
 gious consolations offered to her by the archbishop 
 weighed but little against these impending evils : she 
 saw too plainly that, though he coincided with the 
 views of the Protestants, he had not yet sufficiently 
 thrown off his papal prejudices, openly to avow his 
 convictions and abide by them. Amidst these things, 
 the faithful and chivalrous devotion of Norris was a 
 pure source of gratification to her ; and frequently 
 occupied her thoughts. 
 
 Impelled by her natural benevolence, and the hope 
 of obtaining peace hereafter, she gave liberally to the 
 poor; in nine months expending, in such donations, 
 £14,000 — the lavish bounty of Henry in the first 
 transports of his passion. Her private hours were 
 passed in devotional exercises and the study of the 
 Scriptures, which were read to her, alternately, by her 
 brother and Norris. These religious observances 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 161 
 
 brought their blessings and regrets ; the calm assur- 
 ance of virtue and good intent ; and the sorrow of 
 having been lifted from her quiet sphere, to the 
 dangerous pre-eminence on which she tottered then. 
 She might possibly have lived to pass into a quiet 
 solitude, similar to that in which Katharine had been 
 influenced by the same feelings ; had not the death 
 of the latter brought on the crisis of her fate. 
 
 In January, 1536, the recluse of Ampthill shook 
 off her mortal coil. Marked funeral honours were 
 paid to her remains. The virtuous monarch even 
 tricked his face with tears ; and ordered the court 
 into solemn mourning. 
 
 Anne Boleyn was too elated to weep. A cloud had 
 passed from her existence. " Thank heaven \" she 
 cried, " I am now indeed a queen." With the rap- 
 ture and ecstacy of a child, after her long depression, 
 her joy knew no bounds ; she decked herself in her 
 gayest apparel ; old feelings in some measure returned ; 
 she " laughed and was glad." 
 
 Futile hope ! Empty mockery ! Deceitful pros- 
 pects ! Despair and death were in the dregs of the 
 sweet cup. In the fulness of her heart she sought 
 the king; she found him caressing her maid, Jane 
 Seymour ; and intoxicated with her charms ! Jane 
 released herself from his embrace, abashed; but 
 Anne fainted at the discovery. When nature rallied, 
 
162 NORRIS AND 
 
 no word passed between them ; she gave the king an 
 upbraiding look, which was returned in anger ; and 
 they passed to separate apartments. 
 
 Apprised of these things, "Every court sycophant," 
 in the language of Burnett, " now became her ene- 
 my ;" and she was subjected to open insult and con- 
 tumely. The Duke of Norfolk, urged on by the 
 clergy and the unhoused monks, and to pursue his 
 own family aggrandisement; undertook to head a 
 conspiracy against her. To complete her destruction, 
 every despicable agent was employed. Mary, Mabel 
 Smeton, and Mark; Lady Rochford, Lawrence 
 Laitchbury, and Weston, an old servant of Katha- 
 rine's, who had returned to court ; appearing most 
 conspicuous. Harassed and annoyed : a prey to the 
 corroding fever of jealousy : and grieving at her 
 altered state: Anne gave premature birth to a prince. 
 In this, by destroying the king's hopes and expec- 
 tations, she increased his rancour and her own 
 danger. 
 
 Resolved, again to release himself from his wife, 
 and indulge in a new passion, Henry listened with 
 avidity to the conspirators ; and encouraged their 
 plot by instituting a secret commission of inquiry 
 into Anne's conduct. 
 
 Pending these proceedings, a joust was proclaimed 
 to be holden on May-day, 1536 : to which the gal- 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 163 
 
 lants of the time repaired in great numbers. No one 
 was more delighted by the opportunity of exhibiting 
 his skill and prowess than Harry Norris, who en- 
 tered the lists incognito. His cognizance was a lady's 
 glove, fixed upon his buckler. Having, by the favour 
 of the king, been made groom of the stole ; he pre- 
 pared to support his new dignity with true knightly 
 bearing. 
 
 He had procured a suit of mail in anticipation 
 of some such occasion as this, when, appearing with- 
 out a name, he hoped to win one as a reward. Con- 
 cealing the armour in a closet of his chamber, he re- 
 joiced over his secret ; but what was his surprise on 
 May morning, at finding a particularly small and ele- 
 gant glove, thrust into the breast of his haubergeon ! 
 Encouraging and discarding a thousand thoughts con- 
 cerning it, he resolved to display it to advantage, 
 and wait until time should reveal the mystery of its 
 appearance. 
 
 The king and queen sat at opposite sides of the 
 centre of the lists, with their attendants : to watch 
 the sport. Many a horse and rider had rolled toge- 
 ther in the dust, before Harry Norris made his 
 essay. At length he broke a lance with the victor; 
 and the superiority of either being undecided, they 
 proceeded to fight at the barriers. There, the issue 
 was for a long time doubtful. Striving together like 
 m 2 
 
164 NORMS AND 
 
 two giant oaks in a tempest, neither could strike nor 
 bear the other to the ground. The monarch fre- 
 quently cheered them on ; and the courtiers (strange 
 in courtiers too !) echoed his plaudits. As they 
 approached the barrier, sparks flew in gleaming 
 showers from their swords ; and their mail rang with 
 many a dint. The strife was fearful ; inch by inch 
 the ground was contested ; but Harry's onward foot 
 was too firmly planted to be turned, and grappling 
 his antagonist, by a desperate effort, he hurled him 
 over the barrier : bringing down the pennon flaunting 
 there, with its lord. Staggering some paces from 
 the force of his exertion, Harry Norris sunk ex- 
 hausted beneath the balcony of the queen. 
 
 " Well, and boldly fought, knight of the baby's 
 mitten/ ' cried Henry. " God's glory ! but that were 
 a sturdy rival for a lady's love. Bring the young 
 lion to us here." Then, the knights and nobles 
 tossed their caps into the air with shouts ; and the 
 ladies clapped their hands, and waved their kerchiefs 
 in very love. 
 
 Norris had lifted his vizor, and removed his 
 casque : which steamed like a boiling cauldron : 
 to obtain a draft of cooler air. Noticing his distress, 
 Anne Boleyn dropped her handkerchief upon his 
 face. It was a kind and innocent act ; but eyes 
 glanced at each other as it was performed: and 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 165 
 
 then at the jealous and infuriated king, who had 
 likewise witnessed it. 
 
 "Aha! Christ's blood! Is it so?" he cried in 
 his wrath. " Drag me the traitor here ! Seize me 
 the queen ! By the face of the mother of God ! 
 heads shall fall for this. Have I no loyal hearts nor 
 arms to rest upon ? Traitors ! seize me that gallant 
 and the queen ! " 
 
 Astounded by the fury of the irascible monarch, 
 no foot had stirred to do his bidding ; but now a 
 hundred eager individuals rushed at the behest. 
 The queen made light of the proceeding; while 
 Harry Norris confronted the monarch : firmly and 
 composed : to learn his pleasure. 
 
 "Vile traitor!" he cried, "would you pass to 
 dalliance in our sight? 'Twas a shrewed device, 
 that glove. What gallant would play false beneath 
 his lady's favour ! Who are you ?" 
 
 " Your grace's servant, Sir Harry Norris." 
 
 "Sir Harry Norris?" echoed Henry; and the 
 blood for a moment left his lips. He remembered 
 his long intimacy with Anne. Pausing to conceal 
 his emotion, his eye again caught the young knight's 
 cognizance. " What device is that you bear?" he 
 pursued. " Whose glove may it be ?" 
 
 The conspirators exchanged significant glances. 
 
 " Indeed, my liege, I know not." 
 
166 NORMS AND 
 
 " Liar ! We will proclaim it, if you will not tell. 
 Hand us that favour." And snatching it fiercely from 
 the hand that proferred it, he proceeded. 
 
 "We will probe him with the pang of jealousy, and 
 teach him what it is. Yes, we will find the owner of 
 the mitten. Henry Tudor is betrayed !"he exclaimed 
 under his breath. " This glove, with tiny sandals, 
 was sent to me by a dame of France : the specimen 
 and proffer of her form and fealty. I gave them to 
 Anne Boleyn : deeming them, till I saw her, as only 
 fitting for a child. Now, she hawks them to her 
 gallant, who wears them here in open triumph! 
 Confine her ! Fool that I have been ! Break up 
 this mockery, and assemble our council. But first, 
 secure this base, ungrateful traitor. He shall to 
 the block. The king is betrayed!" After uttering 
 this angry exclamation, he hastily withdrew. 
 
 Vainly did Anne demand an audience with him, 
 and protest her innocence. She was closely guarded 
 in her chamber that day ; and on the next, was con- 
 veyed to her prison in the Tower. 
 
 Sir Harry Norris ; with Smeton, Weston, and 
 Brereton : whom she had raised to the dignity of 
 a gentleman in waiting ; were cited to their trial in 
 Westminster Hall, for certain traitorous familiari- 
 ties with the queen. Norris, indignant at the ac- 
 cusation, made an impassioned and eloquent appeal 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 167 
 
 to the court, in her behalf and his own : declaring 
 himself not guilty, even in idea. Smeton, infa- 
 mously boasted of familiarities, several times repeated : 
 charging Weston — whose foolish vanity gave it some 
 colour — and Brereton, with the same act, at her soli- 
 citation ; and on that plea, he sued for pardon. 
 
 The evidence was, in every case, inadequate, un- 
 satisfactory, and contemptible. Anne was never con- 
 fronted with her accusers, nor had she any one to 
 plead her cause in the court, except Norris. Yet, idle 
 and preposterous as the charges were, such was the 
 truckling spirit of the times, that the whole four were 
 found guilty by the disgraceful panders who formed the 
 tribunal; and they were condemned to suffer death. 
 
 Lord Rochford and Anne were tried by their peers, 
 in the king's hall in the Tower. So certain was 
 Rochford of acquittal, that he contented himself with 
 simply denying the monstrous charge ; relying on the 
 several characters of himself, the queen, and his un- 
 principled wife. Amidst a mass of shameful and 
 shameless insinuations, the only real fact elicited 
 was, that he had several times leaned upon the 
 queen's bed — his sister's bed — in a familiar manner ; 
 and that, in the presence of several persons ! 
 
 Anne ; better understanding the ferocious nature of 
 the king, and the treachery of her judges ; replied to, 
 and repelled, every charge. When an attempt was 
 
168 NORRIS AND 
 
 made to extort a confession from her : in sincere and 
 eloquent language, she defended her conduct, both as 
 a wife and a queen : adding — 
 
 " I could, some good while since, have pointed out 
 her, for whom I now am, as I am. But let that pass. 
 If that the king, my husband, has predetermined me 
 to die, let it not be with this foul slander clinging to 
 my memory. Once more, my lords, several and 
 particular : I am not guilty. Respecting Smeton ; 
 who . as I hear, accuses me ; there is malice — fierce, 
 plotted, poisonous malice, somewhere. And for that 
 glove, of which so much is made, I know no more, 
 my lords, than you — perhaps not so much. Albeit 
 I have done. I pray to God, that He will forgive the 
 king this cruelty to me, with mine enemies, his in- 
 struments. However you decide, my lords, may He, 
 at that general judgment- seat at which both I and ye 
 must soon appear, pardon their conspiracy against 
 Anne Boleyn. I am entirely innocent of all these 
 accusations, so that I cannot ask pardon of God for 
 them." 
 
 Notwithstanding this moving appeal, the Duke of 
 Norfolk pronounced her guilty. Her sentence was, 
 that she should be burnt or beheaded, according to 
 the king's pleasure. Overwhelmed by the cruelty of 
 the decree, she cried out in the most pathetic and 
 impassioned manner, "Oh, Father ! Oh, Creator ! 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 169 
 
 Thou who art the way, the truth, and the life ! 
 Thou knowest that I have not deserved this fate !" 
 and again proceeded to make the most solemn 
 asseverations of her innocence. They were of no 
 avail. She was reconducted to the Tower, to await 
 her execution. 
 
 Cranmer owed her much, and immediately sent an 
 expostulatory letter to the king in her behalf; praying 
 of him : but in a tame and parasitical manner ; to 
 rescind the judgment. Only two days after, he pro- 
 nounced sentence of divorce between them. 
 
 Anne yet had hope. She likewise wrote a letter 
 to the king " from her doleful prison in the Tower :" 
 reiterating her innocence : and praying that " if ever 
 the name of Anne Boleyn had been pleasing in his 
 ears, his displeasure might not touch those poor 
 gentlemen who were likewise in strait imprison- 
 ment." It was disregarded. On the day Cranmer 
 pronounced judgment, they were led to the scaffold. 
 
 Shedding tears for their doom, which never ap- 
 peared for her own, she heard of their fate with 
 dismay. Of the fidelity of Norris, she was kept 
 ignorant ; and, mentally labouring with her sorrow, 
 she cried, M And hast thou, too, Norris, accused me ? 
 And we shall die together ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, Henry was greatly dissatisfied with 
 the perjury of Smeton. His charges had fallen 
 
170 NORRIS AND 
 
 pointless to the ground. Longing to whet his rage 
 upon a certainty of guilt, he sought the dungeon of 
 Norris : to obtain the paltry satisfaction. 
 
 The injured man bowed, with his old attachment 
 and devotion, as the king entered. The manner of 
 the act so softened him : even him, king Henry the 
 Eighth : that he felt unwilling such a servant should 
 die. "We come, Harry," he said, " to offer you life 
 and liberty ; nay, honours and dignity." 
 
 Norris clasped his master's knee ; and tears trickled 
 down his cheeks. He would fain have concealed or 
 prevented them ; but he could do neither. 
 
 " How long has this criminality with our late wife 
 continued ?" pursued the king. "Explicitly condemn 
 her ; and all is yours." 
 
 Norris arose from his knees with dignity and 
 evident indignation. Calmly folding his arms, he 
 looked steadily into Henry's face, and said, " My 
 liege, the queen is innocent. I am about to die ; 
 but I would rather suffer a thousand deaths than 
 conspire to wrong that innocent woman." 
 
 " And die you shall ! to fill the measure of our 
 revenge !" the king replied. With those words, he 
 passed at once from the dungeon. 
 
 The multitude at the execution was immense ; and 
 the people were excited, in no common degree. After 
 his condemnation, the wretched Smeton was unceas- 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 171 
 
 ing in his lamentations for having perjured himself. 
 When they appeared on the scaffold, each solemnly- 
 declared that he was wrongfully adjudged ; and the 
 populace felt that they were the victims of Henry's 
 lust. 
 
 In the midst of the hush immediately preceding 
 the decapitation, Mark Smeton recognized his sister 
 standing near. " She is there ! " he suddenly cried, 
 " My murderess ! There is the fiend who drew 
 me on : first to insinuate : and then to swear ! 'Twas 
 I who put the glove in Master Norris's corse- 
 let, by her direction ! I never pranked it with the 
 queen, never ! so help me Heaven ! She persuaded 
 me to swear that I did ! She ! my sister there. 
 Help me, people, help ! help ! Oh ! I would tear 
 her heart from her false, malicious body ! Help me ! 
 help !" 
 
 The guards arrested him in the midst of his 
 paroxysm, under the impression that he was mad. 
 Harry Norris heard it not ; his thoughts and ears 
 were far away, in higher mansions, and with happier 
 society. 
 
 The people pressed, to see the sister-fiend whom 
 Mark had pointed out to them. But she was not to 
 be found. Beaten down in the crush, her groans 
 were stifled by the tramp of men ; her breast was 
 trodden in ; and, crunching her beneath their heels, 
 
172 NORMS AND 
 
 they scattered her brains upon the pavement. Im- 
 mediately afterwards, one by one, from the violent 
 hands of the executioner, the condemned passed into 
 eternity. 
 
 But two days more had elapsed, when Anne Boleyn 
 followed them; which time she spent in the most 
 devout and exemplary manner. Indeed, so serene 
 was her conscience, and so calmly had she come to 
 look on death, that she sent to the king, thanking 
 him " for sending her to be a saint in heaven." 
 The night preceding her execution, the 15th of May, 
 1536, she obtained permission of Kingston, the 
 keeper of the Tower, to take a walk on the ram- 
 parts, and hold her last communion with Nature ; 
 with Nature, in the dim and twilight state in which 
 we see her, at her best, in this poor world. 
 
 As she stept forth, she stood to listen for a 
 moment to that busy hum of life from which she 
 was shut out for ever ; but not a sound reached her 
 ears, save the footfalls of the sentinels as they paced 
 their measured watch. With a heavy sigh, she turned 
 for sympathy to the distant skies. 
 
 The stars were bright and many ; and the wind 
 was moaning solemnly around the moat and bastions 
 of the fortress : a rusty vane on one of the towers 
 ever and anon creaking a doleful requiem. The 
 frowning walls of the massive pile ; its armoury, its 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 173 
 
 altars, and its dungeons ; were all inhabited by mild 
 and melancholy moonlight : marking the shadow on 
 the dial as distinctly as a summer noon. The placid 
 river, stealing on beneath her feet, whispered his- 
 tories of its conflicts with the gothic bridge above ; 
 and the calm sense of loneliness and solitude made 
 such a powerful impression on her soul, that she 
 desired to be dissolved, and at rest. 
 
 While meditating thus, light flocks of clouds sailed 
 on beneath the moon, and passing in quick succes- 
 sion, imaged her own thoughts. Being of mortal 
 mould, she had many things to regret, but few to 
 lament ; and when the shadow passed, the subsequent 
 brightness was more pure and vivid. And so she 
 paced, and thought, and prayed, until the stars grew 
 dim : when she retired again to her prison. 
 
 Morning dawned ; and a vast concourse assembled 
 on Tower-hill. Many,' and loud, were the execra- 
 tions uttered by the people, mingled with some cries 
 of " Rescue I" but Kingston had taken the precau- 
 tion to erect the scaffold on the green, within the 
 fortress. 
 
 As the sounds reached Anne's ears, and were 
 echoed by the few spectators, she turned to them, 
 saying, " Forbear, good people, forbear ! I trust I 
 have made my peace with God, and I come here to 
 die, according to the law : therefore, I pardon my 
 
174 NORMS AND 
 
 enemies, and hope to depart in peace. To Jesus 
 Christ I commend my soul." 
 
 A murmur of compassion ran through the crowd, 
 as the signal gun boomed out the intelligence that 
 she had bowed her head to the block. In the same 
 moment, the executioner of Calais struck it off at a 
 blow. 
 
 He struck deep into the souls of the people ; even 
 of the people of that day. They held down their 
 heads, and wept. 
 
 When the spectators looked again, the body was 
 lifted into an old arrow-chest, which served it for a 
 coffin. And there it lay, like a desolate city, within 
 its walls. The fires of the soul were out; the 
 hearths of the affections cold. The fountains of the 
 heart had ceased to play ; the senses had lost their 
 tone ; the pulses had stopped their dance ; and the 
 sweet mystic music of the brain was still for ever. 
 
 The sound of the gun which was fired as the axe 
 fell reached Henry's anxious ear at Richmond, as he 
 lay on the river's brink, and listened for its roar. A 
 smile passed over his features as it went echoing 
 along ; and, rising, he saw the black flag, which had 
 been hoisted by telegraph. 
 
 The next day this Defender of the Faith : God's 
 anointed and appointed upon earth : was married to 
 Jane Seymour. And who has not heard and read of 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 175 
 
 " bluff King Hal ?" — the merry, roystering monarch 
 — nothing more ! with a roving taste for beauty, per- 
 haps ; but great customs curtsey to great kings : 
 and to this hour you shall see paintings of him, as he 
 looked when graciously accepting Bibles from the 
 hands of pages. A most religious king ! 
 
 On that great day, when sea and land give up their 
 dead ; and a long train of ghostly phantoms shall cry, 
 with more than human wail, " We are from the 
 block, the rack, the gibbet, and the stake !" on that 
 great day, the Faith will defend its bluff defender. 
 Do not doubt it. 
 
A DAY-DREAM. 
 
 I love among old legends wild, 
 Of sunny mead, or haunted spot, 
 Or castle's gloom, or dripping grot, 
 Or prelate swinging incense high, 
 Or knight in jousting panoply, 
 To wander like a truant child. 
 I love to furbish forth a name 
 
 Oblivion's rust has fastened on, 
 Where monkish walls fail to proclaim 
 The man who gave their towers to fame ; 
 And like sepulchral watch-lights, fling 
 Sad mockery o'er the mouldering ; 
 
 Lighting the tomb whose tenant's gone. 
 I love them ; for they all relate 
 How life is not so desolate 
 But that the darkest times may give, 
 Reasons for man to hope and live ; 
 Joys that the poorest slave may feel, 
 Balm, better than the grave, to heal. 
 
 And oft, while they my soul allure, 
 My fancy hears a troubadour, 
 
A DAY-DREAM. 177 
 
 Who sings ajl day of the greenwood bower, 
 Or warder watch in the turret-tower, 
 Where waited a lady at grey-eyed morn 
 For the welcome sound of the distant horn, 
 
 And the hurrying clatter of armour and hoof ; 
 
 For all night she kept from her chamber aloof, 
 To broider a scarf by the glow-worm's light 
 And the moon's, in the mystic depths of night ; 
 
 While light fairies danced on the emerald mead 
 Where none of the shades of the mountains fell ; 
 
 And the music of night through the jointed reed, 
 Was sweet as the dew in the asphodel. 
 
 There the winds in the depths of the forest lay 
 
 As serene as they sleep on a sultry day ; 
 
 And the night-loving bat spread his plumeless wing, 
 
 And the grasshopper ceased from his chirruping ; 
 
 And each daisy enfolded its pink eye-lash, 
 
 While the meadow-sweet stooped to the brook to 
 wash. 
 Nought else was awake, save that lady fair, 
 And the stars, who kept watch like young lovers 
 
 there. 
 Fast and fondly she plied her busy hand, 
 
 As the leaves on the tremulous aspen -shook; 
 And fearful she looked at the lessening sand, 
 
 As a ripple appeared on the gentle brook ; 
 
178 A DAY-DREAM. 
 
 But long ere the lark sang his morning hymn, 
 And before the stars in the west grew dim ; 
 While the vassal was dreaming of hopeless toil, 
 And the child at his elbow awoke with a smile, 
 She finished the scarf she hoped would be 
 The love- spell of her destiny ; 
 Awaiting the dawn, whose dewy feet 
 Should find the charm, with prayer com- 
 plete. 
 
 Meekly she knelt, at matin hour, 
 
 To breathe the matin hymn ; 
 And ? Ave mare stella ' 'woke 
 
 Music to mate with seraphim. 
 But songs of angels o'er the earth, 
 In fervency were utter dearth, 
 
 To her dear hope for him. 
 Who charmed the camp, and courtly train, 
 With minstrel's harp and poet's brain. 
 But not the pomp of regal might 
 When gathered for a country's right, 
 Nor conquest for sweet Jesu's rood 
 Over the ireful Moslem brood, 
 Nor minstrel's fame 'neath castle-tower, 
 Could urge his soul to use its power 
 Like Geraldine within her bower. 
 
A DAY-DREAM. 179 
 
 His were the gentle arts of love, 
 
 The simile and sigh ; 
 No batter' d casque his brow above, 
 
 No glaive upon his thigh : 
 Never had he laid lance in rest, 
 
 For tournament or fray ; 
 Never desired he, shield nor crest, 
 
 But twanged his lyre away ; 
 Yet now, when Geraldine's hot sire : 
 A haughty knight with soul of fire : 
 Swore Geraldine should ne'er be bride 
 To one in warlike lists untried ; 
 He buckled on the helm and plume, 
 
 The corselet and the shield. 
 What charms, 'gainst hers, could fame assume? 
 What star, like Geraldine, illume 
 
 The castle or the field ? 
 
 Fleet as a stag from beagles' bark ; 
 
 Swift as a falcon from his height ; 
 Or tempest o'er a drifting barque, 
 
 Or rocket in its fiery flight ; 
 He sought the lists — distinction — bride — 
 With heart of love, and brow of pride. 
 And low, to her, on bended knee, 
 
 His fond and fervent prayers did plight : 
 While she that zone of gramarye 
 n2 
 
180 A DAY-DREAM. 
 
 Bound featly round her minstrel knight. 
 Potent its broidered almagest, 
 In cabalistic forms imprest 
 
 And Memphian mazes, many ; 
 Armour and strength for every pore 
 She dreamed 'twould give to him that wore, 
 
 With conquest over any. 
 Equipped, he gazed upon her charms, 
 
 Then in mute prayer did bow, 
 Then, rising, round her clasped his arms, 
 
 And thrice did kiss her brow. 
 So, looking in each other's eyes, 
 
 They lingered, hand in hand, 
 Like those who hear strange mysteries 
 
 They may not understand. 
 So parted. Wherefore did they part ? 
 
 Unblest, unblessing, bride ! 
 Alas ! that necromance should fail ! 
 The minstrel's courage did not quail ; 
 But 'gainst fierce knight, and heavier mail, 
 
 What boots a faithful heart ! 
 First to engage, but first to yield : 
 
 The earliest conquest of the field : 
 Breathing her name, he died ! 
 The conflict raged ; the field grew red ; 
 As horse and rider groaned and bled ; 
 
A DAY-DREAM. 181 
 
 But she, O woman's love sincere ! 
 She spake not ; sighed not ; shed no tear ; 
 Her eyes no more knew rest. 'Twas sad 
 To see them roll so wild and mad ; 
 But thus it was : — with hope destroyed, 
 Quick heart half burst, and soul all void, 
 The prize of that old knightly day, 
 An idiot thing was borne away. 
 
 So sung chivalric minstrels rare, 
 
 On whom life's sunshine fitful shone, 
 Yet, looking round, they spurned despair, 
 
 And sighed, and smiled, and chanted on. 
 Like us, they knew, care, death, and woe, 
 
 Must come to all who here sojourn, 
 Like clouds in sunshine : — be it so, 
 
 Man was not made, alone to mourn ; 
 Who sleeps may feel, who wakes may learn, 
 How hearts can thrill, rejoice, and burn. 
 For nature builds a happy bower 
 
 In life's entangled web : 
 Where man can dream in honied flower 
 
 And wait the tidal ebb. 
 Watching, when the stars are bright 
 Upon the vestal crown of night, 
 Apart from the homes and haunts of men, 
 In dingle, mead, or lonely glen ; 
 
182 A DAY-DREAM. 
 
 Or pressed by a city's hurrying throng 
 All those who will bend an inquiring ear 
 And listen in love, shall be gladdened to hear 
 
 Life sing them a sweet and a holy song. 
 
 Thus, stringing memory's pearls together 
 In camp or castle, hall or heather ; 
 In courts of love, or murderous fight, 
 In chivalry, and love's delight ; 
 
 Is rich reward, and an ample spoil 
 
 For many a weary hour of toil. 
 
 Yet on the fair illumined page 
 Of chronicler and monkish sage, 
 
 A startling tale is sometimes told, 
 How maiden young, with eyes all light, 
 And lips like fire, and hair like night, 
 And cheeks (full many such there be) 
 Like blossoms on an apple-tree ; 
 And with a soul that could not brook 
 An unkind word, or scornful look, 
 
 Was chaffered for a lecher's gold ! 
 
 Such is the store of olden time ; 
 Bearing some charm from every clime! 
 In song or lesson, still 'twill bless 
 The student's labour with largesse ; 
 
A DAY-DREAM. 183 
 
 Still feed the soul, and fill the hour 
 With spells ; still, by its wizard pow'r, 
 Resuscitating buried years, 
 To which the bygone scene adheres ; 
 The hopes of many a mouldered heart ; 
 The joys and sadness that depart ; 
 The heavy cares which still have flown ; 
 The feelings, kindred to our own. 
 Kindred, but not the same, I ween, 
 When such strange centuries intervene. 
 
THE COSTAR'MONGER. 
 
 xThe costar* monger is of either gender. 
 
 The feminine is commonly distinguishable by a 
 brazen face beneath a crushed and flattened bonnet ; 
 a cable of coral about her neck, set off by a flashy 
 bandanna ; large pendants in her ears ; and petti- 
 coats that make rather an ostentatious display of her 
 legs — an excusable vanity, perhaps, for she has capital 
 legs for her own walk in life. 
 
 The masculine carries his nose over a short pipe ; 
 his hair in " Newgate drops ;" his gullet in a shawl ; 
 his corpus in fustian ; his toes in " crabs ;" and his 
 honesty in private. 
 
 The neuter gender is wrinkled with age — has 
 petticoats and an old hat ; a man's coat ; and a 
 standing in the street, over a sewer grating. It likes 
 "bakkey," and abhors gin — out of its reach; and 
 knowing how to give change for nothing, it " don't 
 care for nobody." 
 
 If society were constructed on architectural prin- 
 ciples, the costar'monger would be an important part 
 of the foundation ; almost the first stone, for he lies 
 
the costar'monger. 185 
 
 at the lowest depths of the base. Extremely igno- 
 rant of every thing beyond his circle, he stands as a 
 cipher in the body politic. His companions, his 
 enjoyments, his places of resort, are all exclusive. 
 When he goes to the theatre ; and he does very 
 often go ; his " pals" are always with him. One of 
 them is the visible bearer of their concentrated wk : 
 which he carries in the shape of a three-gallon bottle 
 of veritable " heavy." 
 
 They are rough fellows ; and, consequently, esta- 
 blish themselves in the front row of the gallery, where 
 they sling their ladies' bonnets, and their own hats 
 and coats over the rail, for the admiration of the pit : 
 which they also accommodate, according to their 
 supreme pleasure, with personal compliments, and 
 orange-peel. Meanwhile, the bottle becomes empty : 
 when " Bunting Sail" proposes to " Hoppy Jack" to 
 M goo an* fetch a drain o* gin." 
 
 Hoppy Jack, first making a collection for the pur- 
 pose, disappears ; the others getting up a screech 
 and a whistle that rival the music of Pandemonium. 
 
 The spirit is brought ; and, the bottle passing from 
 mouth to mouth, is soon imbibed : when they conde- 
 scend to countenance the play. " Ancore com-bat!" 
 " Bravo scenery !" " Go it Scarrots !" (Scarrots being 
 a spouter to their taste) are the first manifestations 
 of their wisdom. This is generally seconded by a 
 
186 the costar'monger. 
 
 fight with some simple liege who is foolish enough to 
 expostulate. Rag fair is broken down in the scuffle, 
 and descends into the pit : whereupon the costar'- 
 mongers spin a yarn of varieties, and lower the same, 
 to recover the precious property. 
 
 The first link of this tether is a dirty cotton 
 shawl, perfectly odoriferous with red herrings ; the 
 next a ragged handkerchief; succeeding this, is a 
 frowsy flannel, a costar'monger's dress waistcoat. 
 Then comes another shawl ; then a blue apron, fra- 
 grant with onions ; then a bright silk handkerchief, 
 purchased at a tally-shop ; then a mangey boa, reek- 
 ing with turpentine. And so the chain reaches to 
 the pit at last. Watched by a thousand eyes, it coils 
 its folds about the lights and cushions of the boxes : 
 fascinating the ladies with its elegance, and refresh- 
 ing them with its breath : while the costar'mongers 
 —amidst frequent allusions to various component 
 parts of their bodies, such as their eyes, and limbs ; 
 and their souls, too, sometimes ; — angrily demand, 
 M Why nobody don't tie on the toggery ?" 
 
 Peep we now into the sanctum of the bye-house 
 where he " spends his browns," and which is patro- 
 nised, almost exclusively, by his order. There ; 
 crowded so close together that the ladies furnish 
 the gentlemen with seats in their laps ; enveloped in 
 an atmosphere of tobacco smoke ; and soddened with 
 
the costar'monger. 187 
 
 beer and smuggled gin (for it is a beer- shop) ; the 
 costar'monger is to be seen, in all his glory. We 
 must shut our eyes to certain tender scenes that 
 are passing around us ; and suffering our ears to 
 be tortured by the painful jerks of " the fiddler" 
 who is perched up at the other end of the room ; at- 
 tend to the couple, male and female, who are danc- 
 ing a jig in the centre. She is a great powerful girl 
 of eighteen ; he is a person with the bump of lo- 
 cality strongly developed : also is capable of mi- 
 nutely describing some of the passages and wards 
 in the House of Correction. They have their re- 
 spective partisans in the room ; and, as it is a chal- 
 lenge on the lady's part against a noted foot, both 
 are doing their best. 
 
 " Do that flash step wot yer done at Grinidge, 
 Poll/' says one. 
 
 " Eyes an' lims ! goo it Tom. There's a shuffle," 
 exclaims the opposition. 
 
 " Semitater ! wot der yer think o' that ? Braa-vo 
 Poll ! Larther away," responds an admirer of Poll's 
 style. 
 
 " Don't he toe an' heel it scrummy ! Jist hark 
 ut his tabbor ! It's o* no use Poll, you aint o' no 
 ekount," returns a female from the other side. 
 
 Poll meets this remark with renewed exertions ; 
 
188 the costar'monger. 
 
 Tom developes still greater powers of leg and foot ; 
 a perfect rapture of double- shuffling ensues. 
 
 A general laugh follows ; and Poll's admirer, 
 charmed to excess, lifts her in his arms, and bears 
 her off, exclaiming, " Sir Sniggerme Peter ! if yer 
 aint both reglar flicks. " 
 
 Tom "tabbers his crabs" a moment longer, when 
 his duck puts her arm about his neck with, " What 
 d' yer think o' my lad ? Come an' sit down my dear, 
 she can't shuffle like you nowheres." 
 
 The ambiguous compliment sinks into Tom's sus- 
 ceptible soul, and he subsides at once into her lap 
 and his pint pot. 
 
 A noisy dispute as to their respective merits en- 
 sues; when Poll's " duck" allays the storm by prepar- 
 ing himself, at her request, to sing. 
 
 "Hold yer nises!" Poll exclaims to every body. 
 " Now chaunt, Billy." 
 
 And Bill chaunts either something of the Roches- 
 ter school, or of this : — 
 
 They told me in the gaol 
 
 I should die. 
 They told me in the gaol, 
 That the candles that I stole, 
 Should light me to the hole 
 
 Where I lie. 
 
the costar'monger. 189 
 
 I sailed up Holborn-hill 
 
 In a cart. 
 I sailed up Holborn-hill, 
 At St. Giles's drunk my fill, 
 And at Tyburn made my will, 
 In a cart, 
 and so forth. 
 
 Then Tom solicits his lady for a favour, and thus 
 chaunts Caroline : 
 
 Jemmy is the lad wot I do admire, 
 
 Jemmy is the lad wot I do adore, 
 Now for him his love is a dying, 
 
 For fear as how she never shall see him no more — 
 
 and so, to the end of the ditty ; with a great many 
 helping voices ; broken and rather harsh, to be sure, 
 from their susceptibility to the pathos ; but yet 
 lustily exercised, and with right good will. 
 
 And so the game is kept up till they retire in pairs 
 to their lodgings or the fields : as the case may be. 
 
 There is a more favourable point of view for the 
 costar'monger. It is a May morning, in London. 
 The shops are closed ; and those who keep them, 
 and whom they keep, are still coiled up in their beds, 
 though the sun is gilding tower and steeple ; gable- 
 ends of houses ; tall chimneys ; prisons ; and murky 
 factories ; from their bases to their summits. Oblique 
 rays are dancing on the river : now beneath the keel 
 of the shell-like wherry: now round the spiteful- 
 
190 the costar'monger, 
 
 looking teeth of the steamer's funnels : and now upon 
 the fluttering streamer at the mast-head of a huge 
 East-Indiaman ; while hawks are sailing and hovering 
 above, in quest of the pigeons of Spitalfields. The 
 clock of St. Paul's points to five ; and the costar'- 
 mongers are hurrying from the markets, along and 
 across the squares, and streets, and avenues, and 
 alleys, of London's multitudinous thoroughfares and 
 dwellings : bearing with them that poetry of earth 
 — the flowers. The dirty dens of St. Giles ; the 
 crowded abodes of pestilence that abound between 
 Gray's Inn and St. John Street: Barbican and 
 St. Luke's Church : Finsbury and the Mint ; and 
 the hundred other residences of squalor, depravity, 
 disease, and misery ; are made fragrant with blos- 
 soms. The costar'monger is the temporary angel 
 of health : diffusing his blessings among the pest- 
 houses of the City. On his basket you shall find 
 the ranunculus, the peony, the wall-flower, the nar- 
 cissus, the cowslip, the lilac, the tulips with their 
 thousand dyes; the labernum, with its clusters of 
 blossoms dancing like golden flies in the air; the 
 beautiful pyramids of the horse-chesnut ; the odorous 
 May-bough ; and a hundred others ; backed by a 
 forest of sweet-briar, which makes the pestiferous 
 places through which he passes redolent with the 
 scented air of Eden. 
 
THE COSTAr'mONGER. 191 
 
 Indeed, to us pent-up dwellers in the sweltering 
 City, the costar' monger is the poet of the seasons : 
 telling us, in his peculiar way, the history of the 
 months and of the country ; and bringing their spoil 
 and their produce to our very doors. 
 
 In his cries, mysterious and unintelligible though 
 many of them are, there is more food for reflec- 
 tion, than in the prosings of many a matter-of-fact 
 philosopher. " Two a pinny sw r eet smellin* bower- 
 pots, two fura pinny!" and, "Lublewin, lugrowin, 
 flow'r- roots furyer gard'ns !" brings to our me- 
 mory the morning of life, with the progress of 
 Spring ; while, " Tupence a pottle, obise," and 
 M Tupence apound cherries, all ripe cherries/ ' tell 
 us of prolific gardens, summer-bowers, and our own 
 midway in life. Then come, u Tolorompo ! ugraut 
 apeck !" and, " Green ayeskins, fresh gather'd I" 
 which, pertain to whatever they will, insure to us 
 the flowery fields and sunny lanes of Midsummer ; 
 not without some vague idea of a gastronomical 
 relish into the bargain. Next follow Autumn and 
 " Melerpears ;" and, " Auripe plumbs thripence a 
 nalehouse quart here ;" with U Upinny a rope here, 
 sound keepin' inguns." Then steals on November 
 with a rapid foot, and, M Stevin' mussels;" when 
 we grow grave on our old age, and gather wisdom 
 from the passing costar'monger. 
 
192 the costar'monger. 
 
 Nevertheless he is low, decidedly ; and there is 
 no help for it. We can but sketch him as he is. 
 Hogarth was compelled to paint Bridewell with all 
 its abominations : to convey a correct idea of Bride- 
 well. Teniers, to portray his boors in their ease 
 and indecencies : to prove them boors. We can- 
 not cover the costar'monger with a poetic veil, and 
 then trace his profile ; we must have him in his 
 common garb and every- day expression. We need 
 only add to his present appearance and accomplish- 
 ments, that he dispenses generally with the services 
 of the Church when he takes a wife ; their chief 
 ceremony being, by mutual consent, a random jump 
 over a broomstick. 
 
RING-A-TINGLE-DINGLE-INGLE-ING-IN-'N; 
 
 RAP ! 
 
 "BA-KER!" 
 
 Having announced himself as is his wont, we 
 proceed to sketch the baker's profile. 
 
 The man stands about five feet seven (bakers have 
 a knack of running up thereabouts). He has a 
 pale, cadaverous face ; his hair is of no recognizable 
 colour ; his clothes — considering he is a baker — are 
 " none so dusty ; " his hat is felt — and so is his 
 bondage. His character partakes of various anoma- 
 lies. He is a marriageable meal-worm — floury is 
 his path, and crumby are his prospects ; who forbids 
 the banns ? He is a vampyre — the incarnation of 
 that horrible conceit — and lives upon " dead men." 
 He is an animated mummy, prone to nocturnal 
 noises in his subterreanean catacombs, where he has 
 for companions in his devilries, crickets, cock- 
 roaches, and rats. Like his faggots, he has become 
 
194 THE BAKER. 
 
 sapless, and is always " dry" — a shocking stick for 
 anything but an oven. To the fervid fires of love 
 and glory he is incombustible as asbestos, the 
 fabled salamander, or M. Chaubert. Making bread 
 daily he is daily kneading it, and though a pale and 
 constant watcher by the midnight lamp, his wisdom 
 is all pro — " crusty-un." Like July, he is at the 
 highest point of evaporation, but, unlike July, he 
 can produce no " chink." Throughout his life he 
 is haunted by his shadow, which fashions itself from 
 other men's unction, for the fat he pours from 
 u the bakings" supports the flame of his bakehouse 
 lamp. In short he is a lifeless, soulless, marrowless 
 man ! 
 
 Were all men at the same low ebb of intelligence 
 as the baker, mankind would soon revert to bar- 
 barism. What is to be done for him ? There he is, 
 bottled up in limbo for fourteen or fifteen hours out 
 of every twenty-four. Dull and sleepy, he passes at 
 once from his bakehouse to his bed, from his 
 bed to his bakehouse, without pleasure, change, 
 or acquirements ; for fresh air, daylight, and the 
 hum and chaffering of life are things which, to him, 
 scarcely exist. The march of intellect never found 
 him in its way. His care-worn face was never seen 
 at a mechanics' institute. His thumbs have left no 
 
THE BAKER. 195 
 
 stains on the leaves of a circulating library. Of 
 the great world and its fevers he knows nothing. 
 And among all the changes which affect the different 
 classes of society, none ever care to know what the 
 bakers may think ! Who, indeed, ever heard of a 
 petition or a memorial emanating from them ? When 
 the times are hissing and boiling like a Geyser, where 
 are they ? 
 
 " — Dropping buckets into empty wells 
 And growing old in drawing nothing up." 
 
 Our baker was fortunate enough in his boyhood to 
 be taught the regular school-hopscotch, for, passing 
 out of the Testament, he entered the Bible, and then 
 went to pot. Yet, even that gives him some advan- 
 tage over his fellows. For, daily taking out his 
 loaded panniers to " deliver/' he is enabled to write 
 in books and give receipts against door- jambs and 
 area-railings, where he looks fancy bread and talks 
 sweet biscuits to the housemaids, and stale to John 
 the footman. Who, nevertheless, manages to pick 
 up some tender crumbs. 
 
 The mine — the sheep-cote — the barber's -block — 
 the plough — the hackle-teeth — the forge — the osier- 
 cellar — the cobbler's- stall, and workshops of almost 
 every description have each given us one or more 
 o2 
 
196 THE BAKER. 
 
 men to teach us lessons of wisdom and fortitude ; 
 but what ever came from the bakehouse save a sod- 
 dened man, a noisome smell, and short weight? 
 And here, in London, there are six thousand bakers 
 dreaming through this frightful lethargy ! Can it be 
 reformed ? 
 
 And yet, in his own way, every week the baker 
 has a carnival. 
 
 On Saturday night he puts him on a clean face, 
 and, carefully dusting his beaver, goes forth to his 
 " house of call" and his gin- an' -water. For that 
 night he is liberated from his torrid den. His sacks 
 are deserted. His trough is empty. His bread is 
 baked. For that night he transforms himself into a 
 roysterer ; his man gets the better of his baker ; he 
 assumes the droll and tortures the Queen's English. 
 Yes ; the baker very much aspires to cant phrases 
 and current slang, or, indeed, any slang he can get 
 hold of. If he wants a cigar he asks the waiter for 
 "A small lettuce." If he prefers a pipe and tobacco, 
 he demands " A truss of hay and a yard of clay." 
 And, being a deep drinker, he soon forgets that he 
 is a baker, and assumes the carriage of " a jovial 
 king." Whereupon, finding, from some affinity of 
 ideas, that the yeast of a little melody is fermenting 
 within him, and knowing that harmony makes all 
 
THE BAKER. 197 
 
 things very pleasant, he breaks out in the dulcet 
 manner of a steam-engine, 
 
 " In my homely cottage bred," 
 
 wherein he rolls and twists his fancies to a baker's 
 pitch, and they (his companion bakers) u hammer 
 applause like bricks." At this the singer is so 
 elated, he laughs himself into hysterics and finally 
 falls asleep. Early on the Sunday morning he 
 awakes to repentance, the careful calculation of no- 
 thing in his pockets, and the grim necessity of igni- 
 ting faggots to prepare for the " Sunday bakings." 
 
 When the baker is married, he affords in his 
 family a complete specimen of upstairs back-room 
 London life. In nineteen cases out of twenty his 
 wife has been a domestic servant, surrounded by the 
 abundance of luxury. Now, she is cooped up in a 
 single room, full of 
 
 " — Looped and window' d wretchedness." 
 
 where, by contrasting her former profusion with her 
 present penury, she " takes to fretting," gossiping, 
 and gin. His home being thus made miserable, the 
 baker grows morose and " glumpish," caring neither 
 to improve it nor complain. Disregarding and dis- 
 regarded, he proceeds to nightly gambling with his 
 
198 THE BAKER. 
 
 mate, and passes to his grave unheard of and un- 
 missed. 
 
 Undoubtedly there are many exceptions — it would 
 be bad indeed if there were not — particularly among 
 the Scotch and German bakers that we have ; many 
 of these are frugal and intelligent men. Our speci- 
 men is English : Metropolitan : 
 
 Pure Unadulterated Country Bread. 
 
THE CARPENTER. 
 
 " Lord Bateman he was a noble lord, 
 A noble lord of a high degree, 
 And he shipped himself all in a wessel, 
 For to go to seek some foreign coun-ty-ree." 
 
 That is the carpenter's ditty, who sings where 
 he pleases and whistles when he likes. No man so 
 jaunty as the carpenter. No washerwoman readier 
 for a gossip. And not a Creole on the earth more 
 capable of winding the sun down with perfect grace 
 and effrontery. Yet he administers largely to our 
 comforts and necessities. The baby's cot, the crutch 
 for old age ; the throne and the gibbet ; the toilet- 
 table and the coffin ; are all the productions of his 
 ingenuity, and without them what were we ? While 
 he is putting an edge on your teeth and those of his 
 saw at the same time, linking the past to the future 
 by the alterations he is making in your mansion, do 
 you ever mentally inquire how fares the man himself ? 
 Heartily glad as you will be when he quits your house, 
 will you know one atom more about him, or enter- 
 tain one kindlier sympathy for him, than you knew 
 
200 THE CARPENTER. 
 
 and felt when he first entered ? Heaven grant you 
 may ! For fear you should not, we will state what 
 we know of him. 
 
 " Halloa here ! My pot's as good as any body's ; 
 who's up agin me for a pot ? Five and four." 
 
 That is the carpenter in the tap-room of " The 
 Gate : House of Call for Carpenters." 
 
 Recognized by the muzzy fraternity who lounged 
 on and about the table, half-a-score of pewter-pots 
 were thrust toward him at once, and the difficult 
 inauguration of drinking from some half-dozen was 
 accomplished amidst a confused gabble about work, 
 in which the new-comer immediately joined. 
 
 " Fve just done at Botchem Hall," quoth he, 
 " where I had to do a job as they'd been waiting 
 for a man nine months to do, and nobody couldn't 
 do it. But me an' my mate done more than any 
 other three in the buildin'. An' here. I'll bet any 
 man a gallon o' beer as I'll lay more corner stairs ; 
 box a set o' shutters ; frame a centre ; build a pulpit, 
 or a bull's parlour, — to do 'em well, in less time ner 
 any other man in the trade. Here, I'll shew yer 
 what we done." 
 
 And straightway the table was cleared in its half 
 length of sundry pots, pipes, and slops ; which last 
 were swobbed off by the edge of the speaker's hand 
 to the floor. 
 
THE CARPENTER. 201 
 
 " Hark at Jemmy Bounce again," exclaimed 
 
 another of the craft, " an' I'm if ever he was 
 
 fit to hold a candle to any body." 
 
 Playing old gooseberry with Euclid and Vitruvius, 
 " bouncing Jemmy" was totally abstracted by his 
 chalk. With eyes intent ; ears deaf ; and tongue 
 thrust out and wagging as a rudder to his ideas ; 
 totally guiltless of the giggle of his fellows ; one of 
 them softly approached him and performed the very 
 agreeable operation of bonneting him, with such 
 force, that his chin came in sharp collision with the 
 table. Now, his tongue, not being in the other's 
 secret, had a very serious impression on it ; in which, 
 by reason of his eyes being eclipsed beneath his 
 hat, he could see no pleasure, though his " mates" 
 laughed most boisterously. His w pot" had come 
 in. Perhaps that gave a greater zest and relish to 
 them. 
 
 Having enough of such practical fun — the car- 
 penters' highest heaven — we beat a departure, leaving 
 them engaged with their everlasting topic — work. 
 In truth, the carpenter is the egotist of the crafts. 
 In the alehouse he will do more work in ten minutes 
 than he would do at his bench in ten weeks. So, 
 always a boaster, and often a sot — truth must be 
 told — he is vulgar and obscene in his habits and his 
 jokes. 
 
202 THE CARPENTER. 
 
 Yet his nature is not dead to purer pleasures. No 
 man whistles a blither tune, or knows more snatches 
 of old songs than he does. He has a fancy too for 
 singing-birds — particularly larks, they are often his 
 sole morning companions — and he decks his button- 
 hole with a choice flower in spring and summer. He 
 also remembers old country stories of carpenters 
 having to repair beaureaus, and how, after much 
 knocking and shaking, out tumbled a guinea; and 
 how, more being sought after, several hundred were 
 found, which the carpenter put in his pocket and 
 didn't talk in his sleep about, like a sensible man as 
 he was (he says). And others of a similar kind he 
 has, how one who was believed to be an old hunks 
 died suddenly and left his heirs to the pleasant dis- 
 covery of — nothing but the fact. And how, when 
 the house was repaired some years after, the master- 
 carpenter suddenly left the job and retired to his 
 native place, independent. And, on the credit of 
 these traditions, hope never forsakes the carpenter — 
 he is curious everywhere. Do not wonder at it. 
 
 These are but casualties, however, and he has had 
 palmy days. Yet they were casualties also. His 
 harvest was during the invasion fever of the last war, 
 when barracks and forts were to be erected every- 
 where. The carpenter, however, may tell the story 
 for himself ; we commend him to it. 
 
THE CARPENTER. 203 
 
 The besetting evil of the carpenter lies in the un- 
 certain tenor of his work. On this point the winter 
 is always his inveterate enemy, — only day-light work 
 when working at all. At all times a day's rain may 
 deprive him of a day's wages. And his resources — 
 what are they ? The alehouse for his present pas- 
 time ; the pawnshop to make up his deficiency at the 
 week's end. Thus he is always impoverished, and, 
 being generally a Benedict, he becomes a nucleus of 
 misery. 
 
 " He had some tidy sticks once," he says, '• but 
 his landlord distressed him, an* ever since he's bin 
 thinkin' he'd mek some more ; an' he 'sposes he 
 must : he dun know." 
 
 And so he apologizes, and determines, and pro- 
 crastinates, though his chairs have long been guiltless 
 of bottoms, and are sorely afflicted with disease of 
 the back. His table — it is a chance if he has more 
 than one — is in the same ricketty condition, and 
 his bedstead has fallen into a most deplorable state 
 of atrophy: its head is beside itself; its joints dis- 
 located ; and its intestines ruptured and decayed : 
 the back- ground being all in the strictest keeping. 
 
 Think of these things, young woman, before you 
 marry a carpenter. Educate him, taxman, before you 
 mulct him. And learn you, importunate creditor, 
 when the wintry winds chill you on your well- 
 
204 THE CARPENTER. 
 
 blanketed couch, and his few worthless rags are 
 piled on groaning shelves among thousands of other 
 remnants of poverty, with certain cabalistic documents 
 attached, and to be regained only by paying the 
 usurer's fee : whether it be misfortune or misappli- 
 cation that has caused him to neglect you. If the 
 last, teach him better ; put your shoulder to the great 
 wheel which will draw the next generation out of the 
 slough. If the first, pity him. Bear in your minds, 
 all of you, that he and his family are probably starv- 
 ing : stay your proceedings ; withhold your rapacity ; 
 or, by giving him prudence, forecast, and employ- 
 ment, let him have the means to pay you, and live. 
 If you are a professor, remember, He of Galilee was 
 a carpenter. 
 
 Depend upon it in some such way only can 
 you eradicate his bad habits — for bad habits he cer- 
 tainly has : a meanness which is unmanly. For 
 certain reasons, indicated by the phrase " cupboard 
 love," when he is in an inhabited house, he will duck 
 to the master most obsequiously, — woo the serving 
 women most devotedly, — swear with the men most 
 valiantly, — eat in the larder most voraciously, — drink 
 with any one most joyfully, — and make the job last 
 for ever and a day. There is also a strong objection 
 in him to pay rent, if he can possibly shuffle out of 
 it ; and a mighty desire to quit civilized society al- 
 
THE CARPENTER. 205 
 
 together, and squat in some American forest where 
 he may build him a log-house of his own, free from 
 all demands. 
 
 And no wonder he should do so, when we know 
 his case. No wonder ; when he sees his wife a 
 drudge ; his family half naked, the tallyman feasting 
 on him, the huckster robbing him, and the pawn- 
 broker ruining him, because evil custom and the 
 publican have half brutalized him. 
 
 Withal he is of a cheerful nature, and capable of 
 being improved. Hope for him heartily ; and ever as 
 you recognize his familiar figure — as strongly marked 
 as the Medusa's head on your knocker or your 
 Rumford — the many - crumpled hat — the flannel 
 jacket — the flying fringed apron — and the rush 
 basket borne over the shoulder on a strip of deal : 
 whenever you see these, think how he may be 
 rescued from his many disadvantages, and do your 
 best to make him a happier man. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed by J. & H. Cox, Brothers, (late Cox & Sons), 
 74 & 75, Great Queen Street. 
 
To be completed in Twenty Monthly Parts, price Is each, 
 
 WITH TWO ILLUSTRATIONS BY R. CRUIKSHANK, 
 
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