Maid /Harian 
 
 Crotchet 
 Castle 
 
 Illustrated by 
 F. HTownsend
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 FROM THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 JOHN F. ROSS
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 AND 
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE
 
 .m^
 
 Maid Marian, of Sherwood Forest. 
 
 p. 84.
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 AND 
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY F. H. TOWNSEND 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY GEORGE SAINTSBURY 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND LONDON 
 
 189s 
 
 All rights reserved
 
 Copyright, 1895, 
 By MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 J. S. Cashing & Co. - Berwick & Smith 
 Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
 
 College 
 
 rW^ Li"""* 
 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 During many years' reading, with ever fresh enjoyment, 
 of Peacock's novels, I had until quite the other day — in- 
 deed until a time later than that at which I undertook 
 the pleasant duty of writing this preface — been unable to 
 understand what special model the author had had before 
 him in these unique performances. Lord Houghton had 
 noticed, and nobody who had any knowledge of the subject 
 was likely to gainsay, the obvious indebtedness of Peacock 
 to the French tale-tellers of the eighteenth century from 
 Anthony Hamilton to Pigault-Lebrun — though, by the way, 
 Lord Houghton's attribution of the Cojnpere Mathieu to 
 Pigault-Lebrun was a mistake, or more probably a slip of 
 memory. But in the model which Hamilton set, which 
 Voltaire borrowed, and which others imitated from Voltaire, 
 there was a very great deal which is quite different from 
 Peacock — different not merely in the details (where differ- 
 ence was necessary, considering the time and country of the 
 writers), but in other ways much more important. I had 
 not solved the problem when, some nine years since, I first 
 wrote about Peacock in Alacinillan'' s Magazine y and I have 
 not noticed that anybody has ever solved it. But a montii 
 or two ago I happened to be reading for a different purpose 
 the old English version of INLirmontel's Co?ites Moraux — a 
 book which in the original I had not read since a period 
 
 vii 
 
 156963S
 
 MAID MARIAN AND CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 before that at which I 'commenced Peacockian.' And 
 it so happened that one of the first things I hit upon was 
 the phrase 'the beautiful Cephalis ' in the English version 
 of Les Manages Samnites. 
 
 It would be an insult to any practised reader of Peacock, 
 and will be unnecessary when in a later volume of this 
 series Headlong Hall has reappeared, to explain to others 
 how and why the train at once caught fire. 'Cephalis ' is 
 not a common name: the adjective attached to it in the 
 two writers alike as a sort of perpetual epithet connects the 
 pair still closer; and though in Peacock the name itself has 
 a special propriety, though in Marmontel it is perfectly 
 general, this, the Englishman being the later writer of the 
 tAvo, does not invalidate, but, on the contrary, strengthens 
 the coincidence. 
 
 Nor have I any doubt that these famous Moral Tales^ 
 which were immensely popular in England exactly at the 
 time when Peacock was a boy and a very young man, give 
 the line between the Hamiltonian-Voltairian conte and 
 Peacock. In them the fantastic-sarcastic story is brought 
 more home to the actual society of the day than is the 
 case in Voltaire's own. In them, though Marmontel sub- 
 mitted more than Peacock ever did to the 'philosophical ' 
 fads and crazes of his own day, the undercurrent of 
 satirical criticism on these fads is distinctly apparent. In 
 both a slightly (not by any means more than slightly) pagan 
 disposition to blink positive doctrines is made up by a 
 vigorous advocacy of good fellowship and the general moral 
 virtues, which stops a good deal short of the all-pervading 
 depreciation of 'The Patriarch.' In both there is a quasi- 
 romantic touch. And in both, let me add, there is 
 evidence of that latent conservatism which made the 
 philosophe Marmontel in his later days a stout reactionary, 
 
 viii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 and which causes little quivers (very delightful to behold) 
 in English advocates of Progress who try to excuse and 
 belittle at the same moment the senile delinquencies of 
 Peacock. 
 
 This, however, is only a curiosity of literature which 
 happens to have come from the accident of studying two 
 authors, both known, but one long neglected, at the same 
 time. It seemed worth mentioning, but need not be fur- 
 ther pursued. For there is much more in Peacock, espe- 
 cially for an Englishman, and an Englishman of our day, 
 than his indebtedness to the French conteurs, and the main 
 interest of the juxtaposition of them is that it supplies 
 one more of those literary filiations which are the most 
 interesting things in literary study. Nothing comes of 
 nothing; and though there is absolutely no more foolish 
 and useless style of criticism than that which would fain 
 make out that somebody copied somebody else, there 
 is none more sage and more fruitful than that which en- 
 deavours to find out what somebody had in his mind, con- 
 sciously or unconsciously, when he wrote something. 
 
 That Thomas Love Peacock, who was born at Weymouth 
 on the i8th of October 1785, and who did not begin novel- 
 writing till he was past thirty, had at any rate the famous 
 French philosophe writers of the eighteenth century in his 
 mind when he began to write is not probable, but certain. 
 His father was a London glass-merchant of St. Paul's 
 Churchyard; and it is a little amusing, considering the son's 
 most reprehensible attacks on the Scottish Nation, that he 
 was himself baptized, not at the place of his birth, but at 
 the Scotch Kirk, London Wall. His second name was de- 
 rived from his mother's family, who seem to have been mostly 
 naval in profession, and counted representatives in those 
 famous days of the English fleet ranging in rank from
 
 MAID MARIAN AND CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 Master to Admiral. The Master, Thomas Love, Peacock's 
 maternal grandfather, had a leg shot off in the great battle 
 off Dominica when Rodney brought back victory to the 
 flag of Britain. And with this grandfather (for his father 
 died when he was only three years old) Peacock and his 
 widowed mother had their headquarters from 1788 to the 
 end of the century at Chertsey: where Peacock himself 
 would seem to have begun that worship of 'the genius of 
 the Thames ' which never left him. 
 
 The history of Peacock's education is peculiar and 
 almost unique. For six years and a half according to his 
 own account — for five according to that of his grand- 
 daughter — by both for a period which ended before he was 
 thirteen — he was at a private school at Englefield Green, 
 kept by a certain Mr. Wicks. It is perhaps necessary to 
 impress on the present generation that before the enormous 
 reorganisation of public and 'grammar ' schools and their 
 endowments which the last fifty, and especially the last 
 thirty, years have seen, the private school occupied a much 
 higher place than it has done since. But it is tolerably 
 certain that at no time could any school communicate to a 
 boy between seven and thirteen such a grounding of scholarly 
 acquirement, in tongues both ancient and modern, as Pea- 
 cock possessed, unless the boy was himself an extremely 
 exceptional person. It appears quite certain that from this 
 mature age of thirteen Peacock never had any pastor or 
 master at all; and it is equally certain that however he 
 may have missed some niceties of scholarship (he certainly 
 had a bad habit of writing his Greek without accents) he 
 was in point of metric and of archaeology generally no 
 mean scholar in the strictest sense, while he was altogether 
 exceptionally well read in Greek, Latin, Italian, and French. 
 It is possible that like many irregularly educated men he
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 gave himself some airs, and was a little paradoxical in his 
 display of classical lore. I own that I am quite unable to 
 share his admiration for Nonnus, though, to give that 
 Panopolitan his last chance, I once took him with me on a 
 solitary holiday as sole literature. And it is certain that 
 he indulged in many foolish and hurtful gibes at the 
 Universities, forgetful that though a fox with his tail on may 
 gracefully dwell on the superfluity of that implement, a fox 
 with his tail off had very much better not do so. But he 
 did know classical literature and modern, as far as Italian 
 and French are concerned (Italian in all the great authors, 
 French chiefly in those of the sixteenth and eighteenth 
 centuries), as very few men of his own day and, I fear, still 
 fewer now knew or know them. He was in fact soaked in 
 all these; their matter was to him what hardly anything can 
 be said to be to men of letters of our own day. He had it all 
 at his fingers' ends, thought in it, adjusted it to everything 
 that he did, read, and wrote of. He might really have 
 been made Doctor of Letters — a degree at which, however, 
 I very much fear he would have scoffed. 
 
 We do not know what happened between his leaving 
 school at thirteen and his leaving Chertsey with his mother 
 for London three years later; and, indeed, our knowledge 
 of no part of his life can be said to be very full. He began 
 to read at the British Museum as soon as he got to 
 London, and in 1804 he began to publish (poetry of 
 course) with Hookham, his life-long friend. Peacock's 
 verse, it is universally allowed, may be divided into two 
 parts — the poems which he published independently, and 
 the songs in his novels. Although it would be false and 
 uncritical to say that the two might have been written by 
 two different persons, the difference of character and merit 
 between them is extraordinary. The best of the novel 
 
 xi
 
 MAID MARLON AND CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 pieces — and nearly all of these are of the best — defy 
 improvement and securely challenge competition. No 
 Englishman has ever written such drinking songs as 
 Peacock's drinking songs, not merely of the thick-headedly 
 or furiously jovial, but of the higher kind. No man who has 
 written three such pieces in three such different styles as 
 'The War-Song of Dinas Vawr ' in The Misfortunes of Elphin, 
 'The Pool of the Diving Friar ' in Crochet Castle, and 
 'Love and Age ' in Gryll Grange, need fear to hold up his 
 head in any session of the poets. But the mass of his 
 poetical work is emphatically minor — emphatically of the 
 same kind which the reviewer meets in scores of volumes 
 — generally worse, sometimes as good, very seldom better — 
 every year now, which is sometimes wildly extolled, some- 
 times made the subject of cheap sarcasm, generally ignored. 
 As almost invariably happens in such cases, the occasional 
 things are often good. Of the more serious attempts, the 
 chief of which are Rhododaphne and The Genius of the 
 Thames, it is impossible to say more than that they are 
 estimable, and show that the poet had his ears open and 
 his tongue not tied. 
 
 After five or six years in London, Peacock seems to have 
 retired once more to Chertsey, and there he fell in 
 love; which love being crossed by some malign agency, 
 the young lady married somebody else and shortly died. 
 She was never forgotten by Peacock, whose best serious 
 verses except ' Love and Age ' — those on 'Revisiting Newark 
 Abbey ' — she inspired five-and-thirty years later, while he 
 is said to have dreamt of her just before his death after 
 nearly five-and-twenty more. His pecuniary circumstances 
 are not accurately known, but from the history of his life 
 up to this point it would appear that he had some small 
 independence, as he was bred to no profession. Now, 
 
 xii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 however, either to relieve his disappointment, or for some 
 other reason, he undertook the rather unexpected duty 
 (suggested, it may be supposed, by his ancestral connections 
 with the navy) of an under-secretaryship to Admiral Sir 
 Home Popham on board the Venerable. But he did not like 
 it at all, and seems to have held the appointment but a few 
 months. Solitary pedestrian tours and poetry {The Genius 
 of the Thames appeared in 1810) now occupied him chiefly. 
 On one of his walks in Wales he met his future wife. Miss 
 Griffith, and on another the Shelleys — a meeting which 
 resulted in his becoming Shelley's intimate friend, his 
 executor, and — though the statement seems to annoy some 
 fanatics — his best and most trustworthy contemporary 
 biographer by far, albeit the biography is only scrappy 
 and partly in the form of fiction. His headquarters seem 
 still to have been Chertsey, and he did a great deal of 
 m.iscellaneous literary work — of the kind called hack-work 
 when a man does it because he obliged. Peacock appar- 
 ently did it for his amusement, composing dramas (he was 
 always fond of the stage) which were never acted, and are 
 said not to have deserved acting, translating French novels, 
 and executing newspaper work of various kinds. 
 
 An end was put to this dissipation of his powers, or to 
 this period of maturing them, whichever phrase be preferred, 
 by the appearance in 1816 of Headlong Hall, the first 
 of his charateristic performances in fiction; and though by 
 no means the best, a fully sufficient indication of the new 
 and original talent which had been added to English 
 literature. He was now living at Marlow (he was the 
 cause of the Shelleys coming there), and for three or 
 four years his pen was distinctly active, Melincourt fol- 
 lowing Headlong Hall in 181 7, while the next year saw 
 the delightful whimsy of ISlightmare Abbey in prose, and
 
 MAID MARIAN AND CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 Rho do daphne, Peacock's most elaborate and last formal 
 attempt in verse, as well as the odd and not uninteresting 
 Ballad of Sir Ho7-nbook. 
 
 The incident which changed Peacock's career and 
 fortunes in 1819 will probably ser\-e, as long as there are 
 men of letters, as a basis for the unavailing wish that the 
 directors of the East India Company in that year could 
 have been taken and cut into little stars and made to rain 
 good influence from the firmament for ever. Nothing 
 to the merely average or business man, who dispenses 
 patronage as a director or a minister, could seem less of a 
 testimonial for a clerkship in a public or semi-public ofifice, 
 than the absence of any regular education or professional 
 training, the pursuance up to nearly 'the middle of the road ' 
 of a perfectly idle life, and the production of three novels, 
 instinct with mischievous cynicism, and a handful of 
 verse. Yet we are authoritatively informed that these 
 and no others were the qualifications which, apparently 
 without even his own application, procured for Peacock 
 the offer of a post which in a very short time brought him 
 in ;£8oo a year, and ultimately ;£25oo, with heavy gratuities 
 at different times, and a very large pension after (it is true) 
 very long and very good service. 
 
 For the Company had beyond question as good a 
 bargain in Peacock as Peacock had good luck in being 
 selected by the Company. His duties appear to have 
 been multifarious, if not oppressive, and sometimes of a 
 very important nature, — as when, the old naval blood 
 coming out in him, he on the one side brought about steam 
 navigation to India, and on the other started flotillas of 
 heavily-armed gunboats with light draught for river service 
 in the East. His work and some domestic troubles (for he 
 had married after obtaining his clerkship, and his wife soon
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 became a confirmed invalid) seem for many years to have 
 checked his literary exercises; perhaps also his peculiar 
 style was thought ill suited to an official; but he by no 
 means gave novel-writing up either suddenly or entirely. 
 Maid Mariafi came out in 1822, and was very popular both 
 in itself and as the basis of Planch^'s operetta with Bishop's 
 music. It was immediately after this that Peacock took 
 the cottage at Halliford, which was his chief, and latterly 
 his only home. But seven years passed before The 
 Misfortimes of Elphin (which is read by some with a 
 keener pleasure than anything else of his) appeared in 
 1829; and though this relapse was followed in 1831 by 
 another in Crotchet Castle, which opens the present series 
 with Alaid Afarian, and is by general consent the completest 
 and urbanest product of the author's genius, more than 
 twenty years passed after this without anything of conse- 
 quence appearing from him, and nearly thirty before his 
 last novel, Gryll Grange, came (in i860) to show such a 
 maintenance of power, of a kind seldom preserved in age, 
 as hardly any other writer of seventy-five has exhibited. For 
 some years before this later date Peacock had been a con- 
 tributor of articles (but a few of which have as yet been 
 reprinted) to Fraser's Magazine, and it was there that Gryll 
 Grange first appeared. He died on the 23rd of January 
 1816. 
 
 Although of late years diligent attempts have been 
 made to increase the rather scanty store of direct personal 
 knowledge about Peacock, it cannot be said that they have 
 been very successful; nor is this surprising. He died 
 nearly thirty years ago, a very old man, who had for many 
 years lived in almost complete retirement; he had at no 
 time been given to miscellaneous society, and he had a 
 dislike to writing letters. Almost his only constant cor- 
 
 XV
 
 MAID MARIAN AXD CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 respondent was Lord "Broughton (better known as Byron's 
 friend Hobhouse), and his letters to Lord Broughton 
 are sealed up for another half-dozen years with the rest of 
 the Broughton correspondence. Even at the time when he 
 mixed in the Shelley circle — which, whatever its merits 
 or demerits, cannot be accused of a churlish refusal to take 
 posterity into its confidence — the references to Peacock by 
 Hogg, Leigh Hunt, and others are not numerous, and give 
 us the idea of a man who was not given to ^communicate 
 himself, ' as the French say. That he was a pretty boy, a 
 handsome youth, and a man both in middle and old age 
 of extremely striking presence, all agree, and the portraits 
 confirm it. That his hair 'grew all from the top of his 
 head,' as his granddaughter says, was peculiar rather to his 
 generation than to him — this 'tously * growth, the reaction 
 from generations of shaven polls and wigs or queues, being 
 traceable in all portraits of the period from those of Lock- 
 hart, the great exemplar of the style, to Thackeray's sketches 
 of his handsome young men in the forties. It would seem 
 that he had a rather irascible temper, but was in most 
 respects an 'Epicurean animal,' as the poet has it, as little 
 indifferent to creature comforts as we should expect from 
 his books, kind rather because the pleasure of others is a 
 pleasure and the pain of others a pain than from pure 
 unselfishness, certainly not indifferent to the honestiwi^ 
 but very distinctly preferring the dulce to the utile (which 
 latter he ranked the lowest of all), and a little careless of 
 abstract truths. 
 
 Such a character, if we add to it an extraordinarily keen 
 faculty of humorous and ironic observation and expression, 
 a youth of learned and varied leisure, wide reading, and 
 latterly no small experience in practical affairs, is quite 
 sufficiently comprehensible in the author of the novels; and 
 
 xvi
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 the interests of these latter is certainly not by any means 
 diminished either in quality or quantity by the fact that a 
 little — nay, that a good deal — remains unexplained in Pea- 
 cock. We know his tastes well, but we are left considerably 
 in the dark as to his opinions, not merely in politics, where 
 Lord Houghton, no obtuse inquirer, complained of 'ob- 
 scurity,' but in regard to almost all the greater subjects 
 and many lesser ones. Albany Fonblanque certainly did 
 not justify what some people are inclined to think a vastly 
 over-rated reputation for intellectual alertness by attempt- 
 ing what Dr. Garnett, a sympathiser with Fonblanque here, 
 calls an apology for the satirist, 'from the Liberal point 
 of view certainly not superfluous. ' It may perhaps be per- 
 mitted to doubt whether Peacock had any definite opinions 
 of the reasoned and closely connected kind, and that he 
 was at any time a 'Liberal ' is from his earliest novels, as 
 from his latest, unbelievable. A man of his type always 
 laughs at the most prevailing and, therefore, the most 
 irritating absurdities of his day. When Peacock first wrote, 
 these follies were still, though they were ceasing to be, on 
 the side of Toryism and opposition to Progress. By the 
 time of Crotchet Castle they were mainly, by the time of 
 Gryll Grange almost entirely, on the other side — on the 
 side of Progress itself. The battery had not shifted its 
 position, but the battalions that exposed themselves to its 
 fire were different. And it must seem a little curious that 
 while some reactionaries are quite ungalled by its earlier 
 discharges, considerable discomfort should be exhibited by 
 those of different opinion at the execution effected by the 
 later. Nobody who cannot stand raillery in respect of his 
 own private opinions can expect thoroughly to enjoy Pea- 
 cock; but it is surprising that any one's opinions should be 
 so tender as to shrink from him. 
 
 xvii
 
 MAID MARIAN AND CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 Most of what has to be said as to the contents and char- 
 acter of Peacock's novels will find most appropriate place in 
 prefatory observations to the respective novels themselves; 
 but some general remarks on the character which pervades 
 tliem all may be fitly given here. The remarks made 
 above as to Peacock's relations to Marmontel, and the 
 French tale-tellers generally, will have prepared the reader 
 who is a newcomer for the general class of novel which he 
 is here to expect. It is not in strictness either a novel or 
 a nouvelle^ either a romance or a roman ; it is most properly 
 and strictly a 'tale' in the sense which that English word 
 only indicates in common with nmnerous other senses, but 
 which is distinctly and definitely designated by the French 
 coiite. There is in all the books, or at least in all but 
 Headlong Hall (which can hardly be said to have any), 
 some kind of a story; but it is a story of the very simplest 
 kind, and so destitute of complicated plot that some have 
 been in the habit of denying Peacock plot at all, which is 
 excessive. It is mostly very short; and the two exceptions, 
 Melincoiirl and Gryll Grange^ cannot be said to be long. 
 It has for the most part (for the exceptions here, Maid 
 Marian and The Misfortunes of Elphin, are rather appar- 
 ent and accidental than essential and real) a single stage 
 and almost a single scene with a few excursions — to wit, a 
 country house in which a party of more or less representa- 
 tive and pretty generally eccentric persons are assembled. 
 The obligatory love-interest is never neglected, but it can 
 hardly be said ever to constitute great part of the appeal, 
 and is, as a rule, made subsers'ient to the general ironic 
 intent. 
 
 As for the characters, they begin by being almost purely 
 representative and almost allegorical, except that they have 
 the lively personality which allegorical figures seldom, save
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 in the hands of Bunyan, attain. Some of them are used to 
 symbolise — and to be bombarded with the author's wit as 
 substitutes for — prominent personages in politics or litera- 
 ture whom he disliked. The Lake Poets — of whom, as is 
 obvious from the very manner of attack, he can have had 
 no personal knowledge, but whom he disliked partly as 
 political deserters and partly as literary enemies of his own 
 friends — do a great deal of severe duty in this respect in 
 the first three novels, and are not entirely spared till the 
 last of all; while Canning and other Tory chiefs receive in 
 the earlier the attacks which Lord Brougham, Lord John 
 Russell, and other Liberals have to bear in the later. 
 Occasionally, but very rarely, as in Scythrop of Night- 
 niare Abbey j Peacock transforms a fanciful caricature of an 
 actual person (in this case Shelley) into a lifelike and 
 abiding creation; twice, in the Brother Michael of Maid 
 Marian and the Seithenyn of Elphin, he makes fantastic 
 personages of the highest merit; once at least, in the Dr. 
 Folliott of Crotchet Castle^ he draws a real and possible 
 figure of his own time with extraordinary verve and success. 
 
 At the other and worse end of the scale he is rather 
 fond of bringing in doleful creatures with nicknames, who 
 are, as it were, mere labelled dummies, set up to receive 
 shots at their various fads and follies. But the majority of 
 his characters stand between these extremes, and if seldom 
 reaching the highest level of fictitious reality, have a toler- 
 ably firm footing upon a level a little lower, and do their 
 work, especially in conversation, excellently. 
 
 Conversation, indeed, is one of Peacock's very strongest 
 points. At first he was rather too apt to bolster it out 
 with elaborate dissertations, which, though written with too 
 much liveliness to be dull to any instructed taste, were 
 doubtfully in keeping, and sure to annoy and perplex a
 
 MAID MARIAN AND CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 large number of readers. But by the date of even the 
 earliest novel contained in the present volume he had 
 shaken this off, and attained a style of piquant talk, with 
 the irony and the epigram never over-done, but always 
 present, which stands almost by itself in English, and helps 
 more than anything else to communicate to his novels the 
 singular relish which they have for certain palates. This 
 style extends to the narrative part and framework of the 
 novels as well, while these also contain some set passages 
 of description, etc., which have very high merit as examples 
 of the older-fashioned — but not, I hope, even yet, old- 
 fashioned — style of proportion and order, as yet untouched 
 by the neo-classicism of Landor, the exuberance of De 
 Quincey and Wilson, the daring innovations of Carlyle, and 
 the word-painting of Mr. Ruskin. 
 
 One of the chief attractions remains to be mentioned, 
 though it has been alluded to. This is the interspersing of 
 the prose with a considerable quantity of almost always 
 good, and sometimes extraordinarily original and brilliant, 
 verse in the forms of drinking songs, ballads, epigrams, 
 casual snatches and catches, pieces of sentiment, and occa- 
 sional verse in very great variety. 
 
 The general idea which all these means are employed to 
 illustrate and enforce cannot be better put than in the 
 motto of the novel with which, somewhat out of chrono- 
 logical order, but with advantages of other kinds to com- 
 pensate, we open this issue of Peacock — 
 
 * Le monde est plein de fous, et qui n'en veut pas voir 
 Doit se tenir tout seul, et casser son miroir.' 
 
 It is a point of view to which the brighter kind of wits 
 takes very readily; but when the point of view is translated 
 into a point of action and production, a 'basis of opera-
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 tions,' then these wits are put to their mettle. Nothing 
 more dubious and ephemeral than second-rate, nothing 
 more insipid and intolerable than third-rate or lower satire 
 of humanity puts in an appearance among the kinds of 
 literature. Nothing more absolutely sure of survival and of 
 constant reception by the fittest exists than the first-rate 
 variety of such satire. It would be too much to say — it 
 would be a piece of that fulsome assentation which only 
 mistaken opinion expects from editors and introducers — 
 that Peacock always attains to this first rank. He does 
 not; and his oscillation bet\veen that rank and a lower one 
 may be set down as due partly to a certain indolence — a 
 defect in the highest union of capacity and endeavour — 
 partly to the eccentricity of his education and career. But 
 he is sometimes at almost the highest level, and with the 
 rarest exceptions he is never very far below it. From the 
 temptation of 'pot-boiling,' which is never so fatal as in 
 this kind of work, he was at all times removed by fortune; 
 and his extreme fastidiousness saved him from the rarer 
 and more incomprehensible fault of those who, having no 
 temptation to write at all, have written too much. Som.e 
 special traps into which he fell will be noticed in the 
 following and in other pages. But on the whole, his 
 appeal to those who see 'the humour of it,' to whom 
 (slightly to alter his own words) 'nothing is too good to be 
 laughed at, and few things so bad that they may not be 
 laughed at ' from certain points of view, is strong and 
 almost unique. It has been, or might have been, said that 
 the highest possible compliment is the phrase ^ He's no 
 fool,' with an italic stress on the 'he,' which we sometimes 
 speak and hear. There are few pages of Peacock at the 
 foot of which this might not be written as a criticism, with 
 the little touch of reflected self-congratulation at perceiving 
 
 xxi
 
 MAID MARIAN AND CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 the absence of folly, which, perhaps, gives the phrase some 
 of its zest. And are there very many writers of the nine- 
 teenth or any century on whose pages, even to give our- 
 selves this titi nation, we could write as much? 
 
 The two novels with which this issue of Peacock's work 
 in fiction opens, though neither the first in order nor the 
 longest, are perhaps those which 'divide the least' (as a 
 famous phrase has it) the admirers of the author. Night- 
 mare Abbey has for some a more piquant flavour of sustained 
 Rabelaisian farce which attains to true comedy; The Mis- 
 forttmes of Elphin must always carry the suffrages of those 
 who appreciate intense ironic presentation of mankind; and 
 Gryll Grange has a more extensive and varied interest, 
 a fresher modernity of subject, a milder and more mellow 
 presentation of Peacock's view of life. But the first of 
 these has still some crudity of method; the second, like 
 the Tale of a Tt^b and Jonathan Wild (the captains of the 
 company in which it is so admirable a lieutenant), shocks 
 and disgusts some tastes by its austerity; and the third 
 annoys many estimable persons by its irreverent satire of 
 things which they have been brought up to respect. In all 
 these ways no work of Peacock's can be exactly pain benit 
 to weak brethren. But the two which we now re-edit 
 exhibit fewer stumbling-blocks to weak knees, fewer choke- 
 pears to difficult swallows, than any of the others. Crotchet 
 Castle is very frequently, and perhaps not erroneously, 
 taken to be, all things considered. Peacock's most perfect 
 work in his special vocation of modern satirist; Maid 
 Marian is certainly his most charming essay in handling 
 ancient themes. 
 
 The scheme which, as has been said, gives a common 
 form to all Peacock's novels, except Maid Marian and 
 Elphin, appears at perhaps its best in Crotchet Castle. 
 
 xxii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 This scheme is a sufficiently simple one, though the origin- 
 ality of it is shown by the fact that nobody had exactly hit 
 on it before, and the success of it by the fact that many 
 people have more or less exactly followed it since. A 
 company of folk representing partly general characteristics 
 of mankind, partly special fads and crazes of the day, 
 assemble in a country house and play each other off by 
 provocation and competition. This playing off is assisted 
 throughout the novels by the orthodox romantic interest of 
 love-making — very faint in Headlong Hall; enhanced in 
 Melincourt, after an old-fashioned kind, by rivalry and ab- 
 duction; enlivened in Night7jia7-e Abbey by a Germanic or, 
 as we should say now, Ibsenic outlining of a 'double arrange- 
 ment ' ; and much later extended to something like an 
 ordinary novel plot in Gryll Grange. Here in Crotchet 
 Castle the old love-or-money problem is brought in to 
 perform this office; and it is illustrated in a criss-cross 
 fashion by the suit of Captain Fitzchrome to Lady Clarinda, 
 and the reparation made by Mr. Chainmail to the willow- 
 wearing damsel, Susannah Touchandgo. 
 
 But Peacock, little as he cared for plot, was not (at least 
 after Headlong Hall, where it appears chiefly in embryo) 
 satisfied with this, and was wont to bring in a more or less 
 independent appeal of some sort or sorts, which is provided 
 in Melincourthy the Oran Haut-ton business and the journey 
 to One-Vote; in Nightfnare Abbey, short as it is, by the 
 intervention of Mr. Cypress; and in G?yll Grange by the 
 Aristophanic Comedy. Here the canal voyage to North 
 Wales does most of this business. 
 
 In the present book, however, and in G^yll Grange, he 
 has added yet a third ingredient, which unquestionably 
 adds not a little to the flavour of the whole. In the earlier 
 books he had only indicated his own opinion, or, without
 
 MAID MARIAN AND CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 exactly indicating it, had criticised his characters by direct 
 remarks in text or note, which were sometimes a little 
 inartistic, and always a little inurbane. In this book (and he 
 followed the practice up through the personages of Dr. 
 Opimian and Mr. MacBorrowdale in Gryll Grange) he has 
 provided much more interesting choruses, so to speak, in 
 Lady Clarinda and Dr. Folliott, expressing partly the 
 author's own sentiments (which are not always quite 
 judicial), and partly what may be called the common sense 
 of impartial mankind. This latter gift is Lady Clarinda's 
 peculiar excellence. It may perhaps be thought that in 
 this lies the special value of the book; and it is certainly 
 in this point that Peacock's followers have mostly failed. 
 They have either forgotten the necessity of such personages, 
 or they have attempted them maladroitly. 
 
 There are several minor beauties in Crotchet Castle 
 which never fail to strike an accustomed reader. For 
 instance, there is a sentence not far from the beginning of 
 Chapter X. which shows how much Peacock had learnt. 
 He says, speaking of the word-combats of Mr. MacQuedy 
 and Dr. Folliott, ' We would print these dialogues if we 
 thought any one would read them; but the world is not 
 yet ripe.' He had printed them in Headlong Hall and 
 Mellncourt, with the result of nearly swamping the first book, 
 and in some judgments, though not in mine, quite swamp- 
 ing the second. He now knew better. 
 
 The singular prejudices, of vv'hich something has been 
 said already, and more will have to be said later, are not, 
 indeed, quite put to rest in Crotchet Castle. The discredit- 
 able and almost unintelligible illiberality towards the Lake 
 Triad is much softened in the portraiture of Mr. Skionar 
 (Coleridge), but reappears in a flash of spite at 'his friends 
 Mr. Wilful Wontsee (Wordsworth) and Mr. Rumblesack
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Shantsee (Southey).' The Scotch, or rather anti-Scotch, 
 craze manifests itself in the attack on the Edinburgh 
 instead of the Quarte?'ly, in the outrageous and only partly 
 humorous depreciation of Scott. Paper money as such is 
 still a sore point with Peacock, and he cannot refrain from 
 noting that the party 'found nobody reading ' at Oxford (in 
 July!). But, on the whole, there is a distinct improvement 
 in these respects; while the book can scarcely, especially 
 when we consider the lively attacks on Brougham and the 
 diffusion of knowledge ' people, be said to lack pungency. 
 It is, in fact, in this meeting of the ways, in the discarding 
 of a personality which went near to bad taste, and the 
 acquisition of an equity which is never merely insipid, that 
 the charm of the work consists. 
 
 It has, moreover, the general Peacockian attractions of 
 character, dialogue, and interspersed verse in nearly, if not 
 in quite, the highest degree. Dr. Folliott would probably 
 hold the top of the poll in a ballot of Peacock's admirers for 
 his best character, and I should split what votes I might 
 have on the cumulative system for Lady Clarinda to accom- 
 pany him. Slightly as she is painted, there are few better 
 outline portraits of one of the most charming types of 
 women. Miss Touchandgo, though a little too 'sensible ' 
 in the eighteenth-century sense, is a great advance on 
 Anthelia in Melincoiirt, and for her date not inferior to 
 Miss Niphet in Gryll Grange. The rapid succession of 
 the different scenes and the brisk rapier-play of the conver- 
 sation cannot be surpassed anywhere even in Peacock, who 
 had now thoroughly acquired practice in it, and who seems, 
 on the point of dropping literature altogether for twenty, 
 and prose fiction for thirty, years, to have mustered his 
 whole skill for the occasion. 
 
 And some of the verses are sublime. * The Pool of the
 
 MAID MARIAX AND CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 Diving Friar ' is not so mucii of a comparative favourite 
 with me as it is with some people; but its positive merit is 
 beyond dispute. The satire on Brougham (not inchided 
 in the first edition) is good, but not first-rate, and the 
 versions of old. fabliaux do not please me very much either 
 as versions, or in themselves. Peacock, with all his origin- 
 ality, could not get out of the eighteenth-century habit of 
 'namby-pambyfying ' the ^liddle Ages as soon as he left off 
 simply abusing them. But 
 
 ' If I drink water while this doth last ' 
 
 is perfection; and it is a strange addition to its interest that 
 it was a swan-song. Peacock, I trust, and indeed partly 
 know, drank good wine for nearly forty years more. He 
 celebrated it in prose. But he never sang it again. The 
 days of melodious conviviality were even then approaching 
 their close. 
 
 The attractions of Maid Marian are different, but cer- 
 tainly not inferior. Peacock was a younger and probably 
 a merrier man when he wrote it; and though his own 
 crotchets were in a less mellow condition than when he 
 built the Castle of that same, it so happened that the 
 scheme of the story gave comparatively little opportunity 
 for questionable indulgence in them. He must needs have 
 a fling at a servdle and immoral Laureate in Harpiton, but 
 it is the merest of flings. On the other hand, the delightful 
 story which has inspired so many writers from the unknown 
 ballad-mongers to Lord Tennyson, and which by an odd 
 though not uncommon coincidence was furnishing a subject 
 to Sir Walter Scott at the very same time (for Ivanhoe and 
 Maid Mariaii are independent contemporaries), has never 
 been interpreted with more zest and freshness than here. 
 Nor could it perhaps have been anticipated that a mediaeval
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Story could be told by an extremely modern satirist with 
 such a happy blending of irony and romance. But the 
 fact is that for all his Voltairian tone and all his classical 
 taste there was a very strong romantic vein in Peacock 
 from first to last. 
 
 It is well known that Planche and Bishop — the former 
 with complimentary expressions, but without Svith your 
 leave or by your leave, ' and in a manner which might have 
 brought him into trouble with the law, turned Maid Marian 
 into a comic opera which was extraordinarily popular, and 
 made many of the delightful snatches of verse which the 
 novel contained familiar in the mouths of singing men and 
 women. The liberty was to a certain extent atoned for by 
 a reflected popularity for the novel itself, and Maid Marian 
 might probably have been found a generation ago in 
 many libraries (as my own childish recollection enables 
 me to say that it certainly was in one) which contained no 
 other work of the author's. Peacock did not resent the 
 proceeding, though his publisher was rather inclined to do 
 so; indeed, like other disappointed playwrights in history 
 or fiction, he was probably too delighted to appear on the 
 boards at last to quarrel much with the manner of his 
 appearance or the distribution of the profits thereof. 
 
 These songs are indeed among the most charming of 
 their kind, and they possess a quality of 'snatch ' and un- 
 forced, natural, ballad-like lyrical movement, which even 
 Scott himself never in the lighter way far surpassed, and 
 which the very greatest poets of the day, Shelley, Coleridge, 
 Keats, did not hit often. This quality appears at once in 
 
 'The bramble, the bramble, the bonny forest bramble,' 
 
 which is said to have been the great hit of the opera; and 
 it is well maintained in the graceless fragment beginning 
 
 xxvii
 
 MAID MARIAN AND CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 *The rose.' The 'Ballad of Kingslea Mere ' anyone might 
 have written; hardly so the exquisite pair of stanzas which 
 close the second chapter, and are for meaning and music 
 combined Peacock's best work in verse, which is neither 
 merely Anacreontic nor distinctly sentimental. The scraps 
 of song by which Matilda and the Friar arouse (I own I 
 think not unjustly) the baron's wrath have more of that 
 prepared impromptu style which the comic opera itself 
 depends upon, and almost necessitates; but 
 
 * A staff, a staff, of the young oak-graff ' 
 
 (which was once pleasingly varied from oral recitation 
 
 * A staff, a staff, for the young 0'' Graff ^ ' 
 
 rises much higher. 'O bold Robin Hood' has obtained 
 a wider and more durable fame than even the 'Bramble,' 
 and the three songs that turn in different ways on the cry of 
 'Over! Over!' and its revelation of Brother Michael's 
 peccadillo have still greater verbal, if less musical, merit. 
 Nor is the finale, though in eighteenth-century conventional 
 style, to be despised either on that score or on its own 
 merits. 
 
 And the prose is quite worthy of the verse. The 
 gradual clearing and fining of Peacock's style which is 
 noticeable in his successive novels had come almost to 
 perfection (it did not, I think, quite reach that point till 
 The Misforiimes of Elphhi) in Maid Marian. We shall 
 not find the crisp, quaint, and yet not in the least affected 
 phrase of such a passage as — 'I am very much obliged to 
 you, sir,' said the baron, 'very exceedingly obliged. Your 
 solicitude for my daughter is truly paternal; and for a 
 young man and a stranger very singular and exemplary. 
 And it is very kind, withal, to come to the relief of my 
 inefficiency and inexperience, and concern yourself so 
 
 xxviii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 much in that which concerns you not ' ; — we shall not 
 find it at all, or hardly at all, before Nightmare Abbey, 
 and not with a quite certain sound in Nightmare Abbey 
 itself. Also in less technical points than these of style 
 Maid Marian shows immense improvement. There are 
 no otiose characters like Mr, Asterias in Night??iare Abbey, 
 like one or two even in Crotchet Castle; there is little 
 digression and haranguing; the incidents of the legend 
 are neither lugged in with too ceremonious fidelity nor 
 omitted and altered with too cavalier license. The whole 
 moves with the nimblest and most agreeable combination 
 of conversational and narrative 'business.' And always in 
 the midst of the movement is the admirable figure of 
 Brother Michael, perhaps the very best presentment of the 
 'Goliardic ' friar whom the Middle Age loved and the 
 Renaissance in its very satire did not wholly hate. If only 
 those three ghostly friars — Brother Michael, his double the 
 Clerk of Copmanhurst, and their spiritual father in Rabe- 
 lais — could meet together! It is delightful but almost 
 terrible to think of the cracking of bottles, of jests, and of 
 crowns that would celebrate that symposium. 
 
 GEORGE SAINTSBURY. 
 
 XXIX
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Chapter I 3 
 
 Chapter II 13 
 
 Chapter III 21 
 
 Chapter IV 26 
 
 Chapter V 35 
 
 Chapter VI 41 
 
 Chapter VII 52 
 
 Chapter VIII 60 
 
 Chapter IX 68 
 
 Chapter X 74 
 
 Chapter XI 81 
 
 Chapter XII 88 
 
 Chapter XIII 97 
 
 Chapter XIV loi 
 
 Chapter XV 109 
 
 Chapter XVI 114 
 
 Chapter XVII 126 
 
 Chapter XVIII 132 
 
 xxxi
 
 MAID :^IARIAN AND CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Villa 143 
 
 CHAPTER n 
 The March of Mind 150 
 
 CHAPTER HI 
 The Roman Camp 161 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 The Party 174 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 Characters 182 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 Theories 192 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 The Sleeping Venus 205 
 
 xxxii
 
 CONTENTS 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Science and Charity 217 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 The Voyage 228 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 The Voyage (^continued') 237 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 Correspondence 247 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 The Mountain Inn 257 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 The Lake — The Ruin 261 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 The Dingle 266 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 The Farm 275 
 
 xxxiii
 
 MAID MARIAN AND CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Newspaper 282 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 The Invitation 297 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 Chainmail Hall 303 
 
 XXXIV
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Frontispiece 
 7 
 
 Maid Marian, of Sherwood Forest 
 
 * A rolling chaos of animated rotundities ' . 
 ' He spurred up his four-footed better half 
 ' Whirled it like a coit over the head of the friar ' 
 ' The forester led Matilda to the dance ' 
 Friar Tuck ....... 
 
 * ** Ay ! ay ! if you can ; very true : watch and ward, Mawd 
 * " What do you mean, bully friar, by calling me hacked and 
 
 thwacked?"' ........ 
 
 ' Little John ' 
 
 ' The second rebounded with the hollow vibration of a drum 
 
 stick from the shaven sconce of the Abbot of Rubygill ' 
 ' " But you know, father, a sharp arrow in the same place would 
 
 have killed you " ' . 
 
 * Her spirit pined in the monotonous inaction to which she was 
 
 condemned '..... 
 
 * The devil in the likeness of a tall friar ' 
 ' " Whither go you? " said little John ' 
 '"Whither go you, my masters? there are 
 
 direction " ' 
 
 * Plunged him over head and ears in the water ' 
 ' " Fine fellow, fine fellow," said the friar, " now will I pay thee 
 
 thy cracked sconce " ' 
 
 XXXV 
 
 18 
 
 32 
 44 
 49 
 56 
 
 58 
 60 
 
 62 
 
 65 
 
 70 
 77 
 93 
 
 104 
 116 
 
 119
 
 MAID MARIAN AND CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 * " I say," answered the knight, " that if this be indeed a lady, 
 
 man never yet held me so long " ' . . . . .130 
 ' Vanished without saying, God give you good day ' . . -135 
 Tail Piece 140 
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 *The young stranger rose up, and hoped he was not trespassing' 160 
 ' The captain offered his left arm to Lady Clarinda, and followed 
 
 at a reasonable distance ' 
 
 ' " God bless my soul, sir ! " ' 
 
 ' " Mercy, rascal ! what mercy were you going to show me ? " 
 
 ' The divine went down over head and ears into a thicket of 
 nettles' 
 
 ' And were towed merrily, by strong trotting horses ' . 
 Mr. Trillo taking the opinion of the young ladies on the progress 
 of his opera ........ 
 
 * The captain omitted no opportunity of pressing his suit ' . 
 
 A fairy purse of gold in her slipper 
 
 ' Passing many hours in sitting on rocks ' . 
 
 ' He saw her land at the farther extremity ' . . . 
 
 ' To the black hat she added a black feather ' . 
 
 ' Proposed to " keep company " with her ' . 
 
 ' He sat down on the rock, and placed his feet on the stem. 
 
 securing her ankles between his own ' . . . , 
 
 ' Burst into a flood of tears, and blubbered till the rocks re 
 
 echoed' .......... 
 
 ' The diving friar '......,. 
 
 ' Harry retreated with backward steps, and tumbled over a cur 
 
 which immediately fastened on his rear ' . . . 
 
 An old butler ..,......, 
 
 ' Seized a long lance, and tilted out on the rabble ' 
 
 • Picking him out of his shell ' 
 
 xxxvi 
 
 168 
 215 
 219 
 
 223 
 229 
 
 241 
 245 
 249 
 256 
 264 
 268 
 269 
 
 273 
 
 277 
 285 
 
 290 
 
 307 
 312 
 
 315
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 First published in 1822 
 
 £
 
 Yet thanks I must you con, that you work not 
 In holier shapes : for there is boundless theft 
 In hmited professions.' 
 
 Timon of Athens.
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ' Now come ye for peace here, or come ye for war ? ' 
 
 Scott. 
 
 ' The abbot, in his alb arrayed,' stood at the altar in the abbey- 
 chapel of Rubygill, with all his plump, sleek, rosy friars, in 
 goodly lines disposed, to solemnise the nuptials of the beautiful 
 Matilda Fitzwater, daughter of the Baron of Arlingford, with 
 the noble Robert Fitz-Ooth, Earl of Locksley and Huntingdon. 
 The abbey of Rubygill stood in a picturesque valley, at a 
 little distance from the western boundary of Sherwood Forest, 
 in a spot which seemed adapted by nature to be the retreat 
 of m.onastic mortification, being on the banks of a fine trout- 
 stream, and in the midst of woodland coverts, abounding 
 with excellent game. The bride, with her father and attendant 
 maidens, entered the chapel ; but the earl had not arrived. 
 The baron was amazed, and the bridemaidens were dis- 
 concerted. Matilda feared that some evil had befallen her 
 lover, but felt no diminution of her confidence in his honour 
 and love. Through the open gates of the chapel she looked 
 down the narrow road that wound along the side of the hill ; 
 and her ear was the first that heard the distant trampling of 
 horses, and her eye was the first that caught the glitter of 
 snowy plumes, and the light of polished spears. ' It is strange,' 
 thought the baron, ' that the earl should come in this martial 
 array to his wedding'; but he had not long to meditate on 
 the phenomenon, for the foaming steeds swept up to the 
 gate like a whirlwind, and the earl, breathless with speed, 
 and followed by a few of his yeomen, advanced to bis smiling 
 bride. It was then no time to ask questions, for the organ 
 was in full peal, and the choristers were in full voice. 
 
 3
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 The abbot began to intone the ceremony in a style of 
 modulation impressively exalted, his voice issuing most canoni- 
 cally from the roof of his mouth, through the medium of a very 
 musical nose newly tuned for the occasion. But he had not 
 proceeded far enough to exhibit all the variety and compass 
 of this melodious instRunent, when a noise was heard at the 
 gate, and a party of armed men entered the chapel. The 
 song of the choristers died away in a shake of demisemi- 
 quavers, contrary to all the rules of psalmody. The organ- 
 blower, who was working his musical air-pump with one hand, 
 and with two fingers and a thumb of the other insinuating a 
 peeping -place through the curtain of the organ -gallery, was 
 struck motionless by the double operation of curiosity and 
 fear ; while the organist, intent only on his performance, and 
 spreading all his fingers to strike a swell of magnificent chords, 
 felt his harmonic spirit ready to desert his body on being 
 answered by the ghastly rattle of empty keys, and in the 
 consequent agitato furioso of the internal movements of his 
 feelings, was preparing to restore harmony by the segue siibito 
 of an appoggiatura co?t foco with the corner of a book of 
 anthems on the head of his neglectful assistant, when his 
 hand and his attention together were arrested by the scene 
 below. The voice of the abbot subsided into silence through 
 a descending scale of long-drawn melody, like the sound of 
 the ebbing sea to the explorers of a cave. In a few moments 
 all was silence, interrupted only by the iron tread of the 
 armed intruders, as it rang on the marble floor and echoed 
 from the vaulted aisles. 
 
 The leader strode up to the altar ; and placing himself 
 opposite to the abbot, and between the earl and Matilda, in 
 such a manner that the four together seemed to stand on 
 the four points of a diam^ond, exclaimed, ' In the name of 
 King Henry, I forbid the ceremony, and attach Robert, Earl 
 of Huntingdon ^ as a traitor ! ' and at the same time he held 
 his drawn sword between the lovers, as if to emblem that 
 royal authority which laid its temporal ban upon their contract. 
 The earl drew his own sword instantly, and struck down the 
 interposing weapon ; then clasped his left arm round Matilda, 
 who sprang into his embrace, and held his sword before her 
 
 1 The real Earl of Huntingdon at this period was David, brother of 
 William, King of Scotland.— G.
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 with his right hand. His yeomen ranged themselves at his 
 side, and stood with their swords drawn, still and prepared, 
 like men determined to die in his defence. The soldiers, 
 confident in superiority of numbers, paused. The abbot took 
 advantage of the pause to introduce a word of exhortation. 
 ' My children,' said he, ' if you are going to cut each other's 
 throats, I entreat you, in the name of peace and charity, to 
 do it out of the chapel.' 
 
 'Sweet Matilda,' said the earl, 'did you give your love 
 to the Earl of Huntingdon, whose lands touch the Ouse and 
 the Trent, or to Robert Fitz-Ooth,i the son of his mother ? ' 
 
 ' Neither to the earl nor his earldom,' answered Matilda, 
 firmly, ' but to Robert Fitz-Ooth and his love.' 
 
 ' That I well knew,' said the earl ; ' and though the ceremony 
 be incomplete, we are not the less married in the eye of my 
 only saint, our Lady, who will yet bring us together. Lord 
 Fitzwater, to your care, for the present, I commit your daughter. 
 Nay, sweet Matilda, part we must for a while ; but we will soon 
 meet under brighter skies, and be this the seal of our faith.' 
 
 He kissed Matilda's lips, and consigned her to the baron, 
 who glowered about him with an expression of countenance 
 that showed he was mortally wroth with somebody ; but 
 whatever he thought or felt he kept to himself. The earl, 
 with a sign to his followers, made a sudden charge on the 
 soldiers, with the intention of cutting his way through. The 
 soldiers were prepared for such an occurrence, and a desperate 
 skirmish succeeded. Some of the women screamed, but none 
 of them fainted ; for fainting was not so much the fashion in 
 those days, when the ladies breakfasted on brawn and ale at 
 sunrise, as in our more refined age of green tea and muffins at 
 noon. Matilda seemed disposed to fly again to her lover, but 
 the baron forced her from the chapel. The earl's bowmen at 
 the door sent in among the assailants a volley of arrows, one 
 of which whizzed past the ear of the abbot, who, in mortal fear 
 of being suddenly translated from a ghostly friar into a friarly 
 ghost, began to roll out of the chapel as fast as his bulk and 
 his holy robes would permit, roaring ' Sacrilege ! ' with all his 
 monks at his heels, who were, like himself, more intent to go 
 
 1 Stukely's pedigree deducing the descent of Robin Hood from Fitz- 
 Ooth, a companion of the Conqueror, is dismissed by the Dictionary of 
 National Biography as ' absurd. ' — G. 
 
 5
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 at once than to stand upon the order of their going. The 
 abbot, thus pressed from behind, and stumbhng over his own 
 drapery before, fell suddenly prostrate in the doorway that 
 connected the chapel with the abbey, and was instantaneously 
 buried under a pyramid of ghostly carcasses, that fell over 
 him and each other, and lay a rolling chaos of animated 
 rotundities, sprawling and bawling in unseemly disarray, and 
 sending forth the names of all the saints in and out of heaven, 
 amidst the clashing of swords, the ringing of bucklers, the 
 clattering of helmets, the twanging of bow-strings, the whizzing 
 of arrows, the screams of women, the shouts of the warriors, 
 and the vociferations of the peasantry, who had been assembled 
 to the intended nuptials, and who, seeing a fair set-to, contrived 
 to pick a quarrel among themselves on the occasion, and 
 proceeded, with staff and cudgel, to crack each other's skulls 
 for the good of the king and the earl. One tall friar alone 
 was untouched by the panic of his brethren, and stood stead- 
 fastly watching the combat with his arms akimbo, the colossal 
 emblem of an unarmed neutrality. 
 
 At length, through the midst of the internal confusion, the 
 earl, by the help of his good sword, the staunch valour of his 
 men, and the blessing of the Virgin, fought his way to the 
 chapel-gate — his bowmen closed him in — he vaulted into his 
 saddle, clapped spurs to his horse, ralHed his men on the first 
 eminence, and changed his sword for a bow and arrow, with 
 which he did old execution among the pursuers, who at last 
 thought it most expedient to desist from offensive warfare, and 
 to retreat into the abbey, where, in the king's name, they 
 broached a pipe of the best wine, and attached all the venison 
 in the larder, having first carefully unpacked the tuft of friars, 
 and set the fallen abbot on his legs. 
 
 The friars, it may be well supposed, and such of the king's 
 men as escaped unhurt from the affray, found their spirits a 
 cup too low, and kept the flask moving from noon till night. 
 The peaceful brethren, unused to the tumult of war, had 
 undergone, from fear and discomposure, an exhaustion of 
 animal spirits that required extraordinary refection. During 
 the repast, they interrogated Sir Ralph Montfaucon, the leader 
 of the soldiers, respecting the nature of the earl's offence. 
 
 *A complication of offences,' repHed Sir Ralph, 'superin- 
 duced on the original basis of forest -treason. He began with 
 
 6
 
 ■ A rolling chaos 0/ animated rotundities.*
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 hunting the king's deer, in despite of all remonstrance ; followed 
 it up by contempt of the king's mandates, and by armed resist- 
 ance to his power, in defiance of all authority ; and combined 
 with it the resolute withholding of payment of certain moneys 
 to the Abbot of Doncaster, in denial of all law ; and has thus 
 made himself the declared enemy of church and state, and all 
 for being too fond of venison.' And the knight helped himself 
 to half a pasty. 
 
 ' A heinous offender,' said a little round oily friar, appropriat- 
 ing the portion of pasty which Sir Ralph had left. 
 
 'The earl is a worthy peer,' said the tall friar whom we 
 have already mentioned in the chapel scene, ' and the best 
 marksman in England.' 
 
 ' Why, this is flat treason. Brother Michael,' said the little 
 round friar, 'to call an attainted traitor a worthy peer.' 
 
 ' I pledge you,' said Brother Michael, The little friar smiled 
 and filled his cup. ' He will draw the long-bow,' pursued 
 Brother Michael, 'with any bold yeoman among them all.' 
 
 ' Don't talk of the long-bow,' said the abbot, who had the 
 sound of the arrow still whizzing in his ear : ' what have we 
 pillars of the faith to do with the long-bow ? ' 
 
 ' Be that as it may,' said Sir Ralph, ' he is an outlaw from 
 this moment.' 
 
 ' So much the worse for the law then,' said Brother Michael. 
 ' The law will have a heavier miss of him than he will have 
 of the law. He will strike as much venison as ever, and 
 more of other game. I know what I say ; but basia : Let us 
 drink.' 
 
 ' What other game ? ' said the little friar. ' I hope he 
 won't poach among our partridges.' 
 
 ' Poach I not he,' said Brother Michael : ' if he wants your 
 partridges, he will strike them under your nose (here's to you), 
 and drag your trout-stream for you on a Thursday evening.'- 
 
 ' Monstrous ! and starve us on fast-day,' said the little friar. 
 
 ' But that is not the game I mean,' said Brother Michael. 
 
 ' Surely, son Michael,' said the abbot, ' you do not mean 
 to insinuate that the noble earl will turn freebooter ? ' 
 
 ' A man must live,' said Brother Michael, ' earl or no. If 
 the law takes his rents and beeves without his consent, he 
 must take beeves and rents where he can get them without 
 the consent of the law. This is the lex talionis?
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' Truly,' said Sir Ralph, ' I am sorry for the damsel : she 
 seems fond of this wild runagate.' 
 
 ' A mad girl, a mad girl,' said the little friar. 
 
 ' How a mad girl ? ' said Brother Michael. ' Has she not 
 beauty, grace, wit, sense, discretion, dexterity, learning, and 
 valour ? ' 
 
 ' Learning ! ' exclaimed the little friar ; ' what has a woman 
 to do with learning } And valour ! who ever heard a woman 
 commended for valour } Meekness, and mildness, and softness, 
 and gentleness, and tenderness, and humility, and obedience to 
 her husband, and faith in her confessor, and domesticity, or, 
 as learned doctors call it, the faculty of stay-at-homeitiveness, 
 and embroidery, and music, and pickling, and preserving, and 
 the whole complex and multiplex detail of the noble science of 
 dinner, as well in preparation for the table, as in arrangement 
 over it, and in distribution around it to knights, and squires, 
 and ghostly friars, — these are female virtues : but valour — why 
 who ever heard ? ' 
 
 ' She is the all in all,' said Brother Michael, ' gentle as a 
 ring-dove, yet high -soaring as a falcon: humble below her 
 deserving, yet deserving beyond the estimate of panegyric : an 
 exact economist in all superfluity, yet a most bountiful dispenser 
 in all liberality : the chief regulator of her household, the fairest 
 pillar of her hall, and the sweetest blossom of her bower : 
 having, in all opposite proposings, sense to understand, judg- 
 ment to weigh, discretion to choose, firmness to undertake, dili- 
 gence to conduct, perseverance to accomplish, and resolution to 
 maintain. For obedience to her husband, that is not to be tried 
 till she has one : for faith in her confessor, she has as much as 
 the law prescribes : for embroidery an Arachne : for music a 
 Siren: and for pickling and presendng, did not one of her jars of 
 sugared apricots give you your last surfeit at Arlingford Castle ? ' 
 
 ' Call you that preservmg ? ' said the little friar ; ' I call 
 it destroying. Call you it pickling .? Truly it pickled me. My 
 life was saved by miracle.' 
 
 ' By canary,' said Brother ]\Iichael. ' Canary is the only life 
 preser\'er, the true auru?n potabile, the universal panacea for all 
 diseases, thirst, and short life. Your life was saved by canary.' 
 
 ' Indeed, reverend father,' said Sir Ralph, ' if the young 
 lady be half what you describe, she must be a paragon : but 
 your commending her for valour does somewhat amaze me.' 
 
 10
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' She can fence,' said the httle friar, ' and draw the long- 
 bow, and play at single-stick and quarter-staff.' 
 
 'Yet, mark you,' said Brother Michael, 'not like a virago or 
 a hoyden, or one that would crack a serving-man's head for 
 spilling gravy on her ruff, but with such womanly grace and 
 temperate self-command as if those manly exercises belonged to 
 her only, and were become for her sake feminine.' 
 
 'You incite me,' said Sir Ralph, 'to view her more nearly. 
 That madcap earl found me other employment than to remark 
 her in the chapel.' 
 
 ' The earl is a worthy peer,' said Brother Michael ; ' he is 
 worth any fourteen earls on this side Trent, and any seven on 
 the other.' (The reader will please to remember that Ruby- 
 gill Abbey was north of Trent.) 
 
 ' His mettle will be tried,' said Sir Ralph. 'There is many 
 a courtier will swear to King Henry to bring him in dead or 
 alive.' 
 
 'They must look to the brambles then,' said Brother 
 Michael. 
 
 ' The bramble, the bramble, the bonny forest bramble, 
 
 Doth make a jest 
 
 Of silken vest, 
 That will through greenwood scramble : 
 The bramble, the bramble, the bonny forest bramble.' 
 
 ' Plague on your lungs, son Michael,' said the abbot ; ' this 
 is your old coil : always roaring in your cups.' 
 
 ' I know what I say,' said Brother Michael ; 'there is often 
 more sense in an old song than in a new homily. 
 
 The courtly pad doth amble, 
 When his gay lord would ramble : 
 
 But both may catch 
 
 An awkward scratch, 
 If they ride among the bramble : 
 The bramble, the bramble, the bonny forest bramble,' 
 
 ' Tall friar,' said Sir Ralph, ' either you shoot the shafts of 
 your merriment at random, or you know more of the earl's 
 designs than beseems your frock.' 
 
 ' Let my frock,' said Brother Michael, ' answer for its own 
 sins. It is worn past covering mine. It is too weak for a 
 shield, too transparent for a screen, too thin for a shelter, too 
 
 II
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 light for gravity, and too threadbare for a jest. The wearer 
 would be naught indeed who should misbeseem such a 
 wedding garment. 
 
 But wherefore does the sheep wear wool ? 
 
 That he in season sheared may be, 
 And the shepherd be warm though his flock be cool : 
 
 So ril have a new cloak about me.'' 
 
 t 
 
 12
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ' Vray moyne si oncques en feut depuis que le monde moynant 
 moyna de moynerie. ' — Rabelais. 
 
 The Earl of Huntingdon, living in the vicinity of a royal 
 forest, and passionately attached to the chase from his infancy, 
 had long made as free with the king's deer as Lord Percy 
 proposed to do with those of Lord Douglas in the memorable 
 hunting of Cheviot. It is sufficiently well known how severe 
 were the forest-laws in those days, and with what jealousy the 
 kings of England maintained this branch of their prerogative ; 
 but menaces and remonstrances were thrown away on the earl, 
 who declared that he would not thank Saint Peter for admission 
 into Paradise, if he were obliged to leave his bow and hounds 
 at the gate. King Henry (the Second) swore by Saint Botolph 
 to make him rue his sport, and, having caused him to be duly 
 and formally accused, summoned him to London to answer 
 the charge. The earl, deeming himself safer among his own 
 vassals than among King Henry's courtiers, took no notice of 
 the mandate. King Henry sent a force to bring him, vi et 
 armis, to court. The earl made a resolute resistance, and put 
 the king's force to flight under a shower of arrows, an act 
 which the courtiers declared to be treason. At the same time, 
 the Abbot of Doncaster sued up the pa>Tnent of certain moneys, 
 which the earl, whose revenue ran a losing race with his 
 hospitality, had borrowed at sundry times of the said abbot : 
 for the abbots and the bishops were the chief usurers of those 
 days, and, as the end sanctifies the means, were not in the 
 least scrupulous of employing what would have been extortion 
 in the profane, to accomplish the pious purpose of bringing a 
 blessing on the land by rescuing it from the frail hold of 
 
 13
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 carnal and temporal into the firmer grasp of ghostly and 
 spiritual possessors. But the earl, confident in the number 
 and attachment of his retainers, stoutly refused either to repay 
 the money, which he could not, or to yield the forfeiture, which 
 he would not : a refusal which in those days was an act of 
 outlawry in a gentleman, as it is now of bankruptcy in a base 
 mechanic ; the gentleman having in our wiser times a more 
 liberal privilege of gentility, which enables him to keep his 
 land and laugh at his creditor. Thus the mutual resentments 
 and interests of the king and the abbot concurred to subject the 
 earl to the penalties of outlawry, by which the abbot would gain 
 his due upon the lands of Locksley, and the rest would be 
 confiscate to the king. Still the king did not think it advisable 
 to assail the earl in his own stronghold, but caused a diligent 
 watch to be kept over his motions, till at length his rumoured 
 marriage with the heiress of Arlingford seemed to point out an 
 easy method of laying violent hands on the offender. Sir 
 Ralph Montfaucon, a young man of good lineage, and of an 
 aspiring temper, who readily seized the first opportunity that 
 offered of recommending himself to King Henry's favour by 
 manifesting his zeal in his service, undertook the charge : and 
 how he succeeded we have seen. 
 
 Sir Ralph's curiosity was strongly excited by the friar's 
 description of the young lady of Arlingford ; and he prepared 
 in the morning to visit the castle, under the very plausible 
 pretext of giving the baron an explanation of his intervention 
 at the nuptials. Brother Michael and the little fat friar pro- 
 posed to be his guides. The proposal was courteously ac- 
 cepted, and they set out together, leaving Sir Ralph's followers 
 at the abbey. The knight was mounted on a spirited charger ; 
 brother Michael on a large heavy-trotting horse ; and the little 
 fat friar on a plump soft-paced Galloway, so correspondent with 
 himself in size, rotundity, and sleekness, that if they had been 
 amalgamated into a centaur, there would have been nothing 
 to alter in their proportions. 
 
 ' Do you know,' said the little friar, as they wound along 
 the banks of the stream, ' the reason why lake-trout is better 
 than river-trout, and shyer withal ? ' 
 
 ' I was not aware of the fact,' said Sir Ralph. 
 
 'A most heterodox remark,' said Brother Michael; 'know 
 you not, that in all nice matters you should take the implication
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 for absolute, and, without looking into the fact whether^ seek 
 only the reason why ? But the fact is so, on the word of a 
 friar : which what layman will venture to gainsay who prefers 
 a down bed to a gridiron ? ' 
 
 ' The fact being so,' said the knight, ' I am still at a loss 
 for the reason ; nor would I undertake to opine in a matter of 
 that magnitude : since, in all that appertains to the good things 
 either of this world or the next, my reverend spiritual guides 
 are kind enough to take the trouble of thinking off my hands.' 
 
 ' Spoken,' said Brother Michael, ' with a sound Catholic 
 conscience. My little brother here is most profound in the 
 matter of trout. He has marked, learned, and inwardly 
 digested the subject, twice a week at least for five-and-thirty 
 years. I yield to him in this. My strong points are venison 
 and canary.' 
 
 ' The good qualities of a trout,' said the little friar, ' are 
 firmness and redness : the redness, indeed, being the visible 
 sign of all other virtues.' 
 
 ' Whence,' said Brother Michael, ' we choose our abbot by 
 his nose : 
 
 The rose on the nose doth all virtues disclose : 
 For the outward grace shows 
 That the inward overflows, 
 When it glows in the rose of a red, red nose. ' 
 
 * Now,' said the little friar, ' as is the firmness so is the 
 redness, and as is the redness so is the shyness.' 
 
 'Marry why?' said Brother Michael. 'The solution is not 
 physical-natural, but physical-historical, or natural-superinduc- 
 tive. And thereby hangs a tale, which may be either said or 
 sung: 
 
 The damsel stood to watch the fight 
 By the banks of Kingslea Mere,i 
 And they brought to her feet her own true knight 
 Sore wounded on a bier. 
 
 She knelt by him his wounds to bind, 
 
 She washed them with many a tear ; 
 And shouts rose fast upon the wind, 
 
 Which told that the foe was near. 
 
 ^ Probably one of the small meres in Delamere Forest, Cheshire, most 
 of which are now dried up. — G. 
 
 15
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 " Oh ! let not," he said, "while yet I live. 
 
 The cruel foe me take ; 
 But with thy sweet lips a last kiss give, 
 
 And cast me in the lake." 
 
 Around his neck she wound her arms. 
 
 And she kissed his lips so pale ; 
 And evermore the war's alarms 
 
 Came louder up the vale. 
 
 She drew him to the lake's steep side, 
 Where the red heath fringed the shore ; 
 
 She plunged with him beneath the tide, 
 And they were seen no more. 
 
 Their true blood mingled in Kingslea Mere, 
 
 That to mingle on earth was fain ; 
 And the trout that swims in that crystal clear 
 
 Is tinged with the crimson stain. 
 
 ' Thus you see how good comes of evil, and how a holy 
 friar may fare better on fast-day for the violent death of two 
 lovers two hundred years ago. The inference is most 
 consecutive, that wherever you catch a red-fleshed trout, love 
 lies bleeding under the water : an occult quality, which can 
 only act in the stationary waters of a lake, being neutralised 
 by the rapid transition of those of a stream.^ 
 
 ' And why is the trout shyer for that ? ' asked Sir Ralph. 
 
 'Do you not see?' said Brother Michael. 'The virtues of 
 both lovers diffuse themselves through the lake. The infusion 
 of masculine valour makes the fish active and sanguineous : 
 the infusion of maiden modesty makes him coy and hard 
 to win : and you shall find through life, the fish which is most 
 easily hooked is not the best worth dishing. But yonder are 
 the towers of Arlingford.' 
 
 The little friar stopped. He seemed suddenly struck with 
 an awful thought, which caused a momentary pallescence in 
 his rosy complexion ; and after a brief hesitation he turned his 
 Galloway, and told his companions he should give them good- 
 day. 
 
 ' Why, what is in the wind now, Brother Peter ? ' said Friar 
 Michael. 
 
 ' The Lady Matilda,' said the little friar, ' can draw the long- 
 bow. She must bear no goodwill to Sir Ralph ; and if she 
 
 i6
 
 He spm-red 7ip his four-footed better half^
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 should espy him from her tower, she may testify her recog- 
 nition with a clothyard shaft. She is not so infalHble a 
 markswoman, but that she might shoot at a crow and kill a 
 pigeon. She might peradventure miss the knight, and hit me, 
 who never did her any harm.' 
 
 ' Tut, tut, man,' said Brother Michael, ' there is no such 
 fear.' 
 
 ' Mass,' said the little friar, ' but there is such a fear, and 
 very strong too. You who have it not may keep your way, 
 and I who have it shall take mine. I am not just now in the 
 vein for being picked off at a long shot.' And saying these 
 words, he spurred up his four-footed better half, and galloped 
 off as nimbly as if he had had an arrow singing behind him. 
 
 ' Is this Lady Matilda, then, so very terrible a damsel ? ' 
 said Sir Ralph to Brother Michael. 
 
 ' By no means,' said the friar. ' She has certainly a high 
 spirit ; but it is the wing of the eagle, without his beak or his 
 claw. She is as gentle as magnanimous ; but it is the gentle- 
 ness of the summer wind, which, however lightly it wave the 
 tuft of the pine, carries with it the intimation of a power, that, 
 if roused to its extremity, could make it bend to the dust.' 
 
 ' From the warmth of your panegyric, ghostly father,' said 
 the knight, ' I should almost suspect you were in love with 
 the damsel.' 
 
 ' So I am,' said the friar, ' and I care not who knows it ; 
 but all in the way of honesty, master soldier. I am, as it 
 were, her spiritual lover ; and were she a damsel errant, I 
 would be her ghostly esquire, her friar militant. I would 
 buckle me in armour of proof, and the devil might thresh me 
 black with an iron flail, before I would knock under in her 
 cause. Though they be not yet one canonically, thanks to 
 your soldiership, the earl is her liege lord, and she is his liege 
 lady. I am her father confessor and ghostly director : I have 
 taken on me to show her the way to the next world ; and 
 how can I do that if I lose sight of her in this ? seeing that 
 this is but the road to the other, and has so many circum- 
 volutions and ramifications of bye-ways and beaten paths 
 (all more thickly set than the true one with finger-posts and 
 milestones, not one of which tells truth), that a traveller has 
 need of some one who knows the way, or the odds go hard 
 against him that he will ever see the face of Saint Peter.' 
 
 19
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' But there must surely be some reason,' said Sir Ralph, 
 ' for Father Peter's apprehension.' 
 
 'None,' said Brother Michael, 'but the apprehension itself: 
 fear being its own father, and most prolific in self-propagation. 
 The lady did, it is true, once signaHse her displeasure against 
 our little brother, for reprimanding her in that she would go 
 hunting a-mornings instead of attending matins. She cut short 
 the thread of his eloquence by sportively drawing her bow- 
 string and loosing an arrow over his head ; he waddled off with 
 singular speed, and was in much awe of her for many months. 
 I thought he had forgotten it : but let that pass. In truth, 
 she would have had little of her lover's company, if she had 
 liked the chaunt of the choristers better than the cry of the 
 hounds ; yet I know not ; for they were companions from the 
 cradle, and reciprocally fashioned each other to the love of 
 the fern and the foxglove. Had either been less sylvan, the 
 other might have been more saintly ; but they will now never 
 hear matins but those of the lark, nor reverence vaulted aisle 
 but that of the greenwood canopy. They are twin plants of 
 the forest, and are identified with its growth. 
 
 For the slender beech and the sapling oak 
 
 That grow by the shadowy rill, 
 You may cut down both at a single stroke, 
 
 You may cut down which you will. 
 
 But this you must know, that as long as they grow, 
 
 Whatever change may be, 
 You never can teach either oak or beech 
 
 To be aught but a greenwood tree.' 
 
 20
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 'Inflamed wrath in glowing breast.' — Butler. 
 
 The knight and the friar arriving at Arlingford Castle, and 
 leaving their horses in the care of Lady Matilda's groom, 
 with whom the friar was in great favour, were ushered into a 
 stately apartment where they found the baron alone, flourishing 
 an enormous carving-knife over a brother baron — of beef— 
 with as much vehemence of action as if he were cutting down 
 an enemy. The baron was a gentleman of a fierce and 
 choleric temperament : he was lineally descended from the 
 redoubtable Fierabras of Normandy, who came over to 
 England with the Conqueror, and who, in the battle of 
 Hastings, killed with his own hand four-and-twenty Saxon 
 cavaliers all on a row.i The very excess of the baron's 
 internal rage on the preceding day had smothered its external 
 manifestation : he was so equally angry with both parties, 
 that he knew not on which to vent his wrath. He was 
 enraged with the earl for having brought himself into such a 
 dilemma without his privity ; and he was no less enraged with 
 the king's men for their very unseasonable intrusion. He 
 could willingly have fallen upon both parties, but he must 
 necessarily have begun with one ; and he felt that on which- 
 ever side he should strike the first blow, his retainers would 
 immediately join battle. He had therefore contented himself 
 with forcing away his daughter from the scene of action. 
 In the course of the evening he had received intelligence that 
 the earl's castle was in possession of a party of the king's 
 men, who had been detached by Sir Ralph Montfaucon to 
 seize on it during the earl's absence. The baron inferred 
 
 ^ A somewhat apocryphal exploit, for the English fought on foot. — G. 
 
 21
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 from this that the earl's case was desperate ; and those who 
 have had the opportunity of seeing a rich friend fall suddenly 
 into poverty, may easily judge by their own feelings how 
 quickly and completely the whole moral being of the earl was 
 changed in the baron's estimation. The baron immediately 
 proceeded to require in his daughter's mind the same summary 
 revolution that had taken place in his own, and considered 
 himself exceedingly ill-used by her non-compliance. The 
 lady had retired to her chamber, and the baron had passed 
 a supperless and sleepless night, stalking about his apart- 
 ments till an advanced hour of the morning, when hunger 
 compelled him to summon into his presence the spoils of the 
 butter>', which, being the intended array of an uneaten 
 wedding feast, were more than usually abundant, and on 
 which, when the knight and the friar entered, he was falling 
 with desperate valour. He looked up at them fiercely, with 
 his mouth full of beef and his eyes full of flame, and rising, as 
 ceremony required, made an awful bow to the knight, inclining 
 himself forward over the table and presenting his carving- 
 knife £71 jnilitaire^ in a manner that seemed to leave it doubt- 
 ful whether he meant to show respect to his visitor, or to 
 defend his provision : but the doubt was soon cleared up by 
 his politely motioning the knight to be seated ; on which the 
 friar advanced to the table, saying, ' For what we are going 
 to receive,' and commenced operations without further prelude 
 by filling and drinking a goblet of wine. The baron at the 
 same time offered one to Sir Ralph, with the look of a man in 
 whom habitual hospitality and courtesy were struggling with 
 the ebullitions of natural anger. They pledged each other in 
 silence, and the baron, having completed a copious draught, 
 continued working his hps and his throat, as if trying to 
 swallow his wrath as he had done his v>'ine. Sir Ralph, not 
 knowing well what to make of these ambiguous signs, looked for 
 instructions to the friar, who by significant looks and gestures 
 seemed to advise him to follow his example and partake of 
 the good cheer before him, without speaking till the baron 
 should be more intelligible in his demeanour. The knight 
 and the friar, accordingly, proceeded to refect themselves 
 after their ride ; the baron looking first at the one and then 
 at the other, scrutinising alternately the serious looks of the 
 knight and the merry face of the friar, till at length, having 
 
 22
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 calmed himself sufficiently to speak, he said, ' Courteous 
 knight and ghostly father, I presume you have some other 
 business with me than to eat my beef and drink my canary ; ^ 
 and if so, I patiently await your leisure to enter on the topic' 
 
 ' Lord Fitzwater,' said Sir Ralph, ' in obedience to my royal 
 master. King Henry, I have been the unwilling instrument of 
 frustrating the intended nuptials of your fair daughter ; yet 
 will you, I trust, owe me no displeasure for my agency therein, 
 seeing that the noble maiden might otherwise by this time 
 have been the bride of an outlaw.' 
 
 ' I am very much obliged to you, sir,' said the baron ; 
 ' very exceedingly obliged. Your solicitude for my daughter 
 is truly paternal, and for a young man and a stranger very 
 singular and exemplary ; and it is very kind withal to come to 
 the relief of my insufficiency and inexperience, and concern 
 yourself so much in that which concerns you not.' 
 
 'You misconceive the knight, noble baron,' said the friar. 
 ' He urges not his reason in the shape of a preconceived intent, 
 but in that of a subsequent extenuation. True, he has done 
 the Lady Matilda great wrong ' 
 
 ' How, great wrong ? ' said the baron. ' What do you mean 
 by great wrong ? Would you have had her married to a wild 
 fly-by-night, that accident made an earl and nature a deer- 
 stealer.? that has not wit enough to eat venison without 
 picking a quarrel with monarchy ? that flings away his own 
 lands into the clutches of rascally friars, for the sake of hunting 
 in other men's grounds, and feasting vagabonds that wear 
 Lincoln green, and would have flung away mine into the 
 bargain if he had had my daughter ? What do you mean by 
 great wrong ? ' 
 
 ' True,' said the friar ; ' great right, I meant.' 
 
 ' Right ! ' exclaimed the baron ; ' what right has any man 
 to do my daughter right but myself? What right has any 
 man to drive my daughter's bridegroom out of the chapel in 
 the middle of the marriage ceremony, and turn all our merry 
 faces into green wounds and bloody coxcombs, and then come 
 and tell me he has done us great right ? ' 
 
 ' True,' said the friar ; ' he has done neither right nor 
 wrong.' 
 
 ^ This is a manifest anachronism, the Canaries having been unknown 
 to the mediaeval world until their rediscovery in 1334. — G. 
 
 23
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' But he has,' said the baron, ' he has done both, and I will 
 maintain it with my glove.' 
 
 ' It shall not need,' said Sir Ralph ; ' I will concede any- 
 thing in honour.' 
 
 ' And I,' said the baron, ' will concede nothing in honour ; 
 I will concede nothing in honour to any man.' 
 
 ' Neither will I, Lord Fitzwater,' said Sir Ralph, ' in that 
 sense ; but hear me. I was commissioned by the king to 
 apprehend the Earl of Huntingdon. I brought with me a 
 party of soldiers, picked and tried men, knowing that he would 
 not lightly yield. I sent my lieutenant with a detachment to 
 surprise the earl's castle in his absence, and laid my measures 
 for intercepting him on the way to his intended nuptials ; but 
 he seems to have had intimation of this part of my plan, for 
 he brought with him a large armed retinue, and took a circuit- 
 ous route, which made him, I believe, somewhat later than his 
 appointed hour. When the lapse of time showed me that he 
 had taken another track, I pursued him to the chapel ; and I 
 would have waited the close of the ceremony, if I had thought 
 that either yourself or your daughter would have felt desirous 
 that she should have been the bride of an outlaw.' 
 
 ' Who said, sir,' cried the baron, ' that we were desirous of 
 any such thing ? But truly, sir, if I had a mind to the devil 
 for a son-in-law, I would fain see the man that should venture 
 to interfere.' 
 
 ' That would I,' said the friar ; 'for I have undertaken to 
 make her renounce the devil.' 
 
 ' She shall not renounce the devil,' said the baron, ' unless 
 I please. You are very ready with your undertakings. Will 
 you undertake to make her renounce the earl, who, I believe, 
 is the devil incarnate ? Will you undertake that ? ' 
 
 'Will I undertake,' said the friar, 'to make Trent run 
 westward, or to make flame bum downward, or to make a tree 
 grow with its head in the earth and its root in the air ? ' 
 
 'So then,' said the baron, 'a girl's mind is as hard to 
 change as nature and the elements, and it is easier to make 
 her renounce the devil than a lover. Are you a match for the 
 devil, and no match for a man ? ' 
 
 ' My warfare,' said the friar, ' is not of this world. I am 
 militant, not against man, but the devil, who goes about seeking 
 what he may devour.' 
 
 24
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' Oh : does he so ? ' said the baron ; ' then I take it that 
 makes you look for him so often in my buttery. Will you 
 cast out the devil whose name is Legion, when you cannot cast 
 out the imp whose name is Love ? ' 
 
 ' Marriages,' said the friar, ' are made in heaven. Love is 
 God's work, and therewith I meddle not.' 
 
 * God's work, indeed ! ' said the baron, ' when the ceremony 
 was cut short in the church. Could men have put them 
 asunder, if God had joined them together ? And the earl is 
 now no earl, but plain Robert Fitz-Ooth : therefore, I'll none 
 of him.' 
 
 ' He may atone,' said the friar, ' and the king may mollify. 
 The earl is a worthy peer, and the king is a courteous king.' 
 
 ' He cannot atone,' said Sir Ralph. ' He has killed the 
 king's men ; and if the baron should aid and abet, he will lose 
 his castle and land.' 
 
 'Will I?' said the baron; 'not while I have a drop of 
 blood in my veins. He that comes to take them shall first 
 serve me as the friar serves my flasks of canary : he shall 
 drain me dry as hay. Am I not disparaged ? Am I not out- 
 raged ? Is not my daughter vilified, and made a mockery ? 
 A girl half-married ? There was my butler brought home with 
 a broken head. My butler, friar : there is that may move 
 your s>Tiipathy. Friar, the earl-no-earl shall come no more to 
 my daughter.' 
 
 ' Very good,' said the friar. 
 
 ' It is not very good,' said the baron, ' for I cannot get her 
 to say so.' 
 
 ' I fear,' said Sir Ralph, ' the young lady must be much 
 distressed and discomposed.' 
 
 ' Not a whit, sir,' said the baron. ' She is, as usual, in 
 a most provoking imperturbability, and contradicts me so 
 smilingly that it would enrage you to see her.' 
 
 ' I had hoped,' said Sir Ralph, ' that I might have seen 
 her, to make my excuse in person for the hard necessity of 
 my duty.' 
 
 He had scarcely spoken, when the door opened, and the 
 lady made her appearance. 
 
 25
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 'Are you mad, or what are you, that you squeak out your catches with- 
 out mitigation or remorse of voice ? ' — Twelfth Night. 
 
 Matilda, not dreaming of visitors, tripped into the apartment 
 in a dress of forest green, with a small quiver by her side and 
 a bow and arrow in her hand. Her hair, black and glossy as 
 the raven's wing, curled like wandering clusters of dark ripe 
 grapes under the edge of her round bonnet ; and a plume of 
 black feathers fell back negligently above it, with an almost 
 horizontal inclination, that seemed the habitual effect of rapid 
 motion against the wind. Her black eyes sparkled like 
 sunbeams on a river : a clear, deep, liquid radiance, the 
 reflection of ethereal fire, — tempered, not subdued, in the 
 medium of its living and gentle mirror. Her lips were half 
 opened to speak as she entered the apartment : and with a 
 smile of recognition to the friar and a curtsey to the stranger 
 knight she approached the baron and said, 'You are late at 
 your breakfast, father.' 
 
 ' I am not at breakfast,' said the baron ; ' I have been at 
 supper — my last night's supper, for I had none.' 
 
 ' I am sorry,' said Matilda, ' you should have gone to bed 
 supperless.' 
 
 I did not go to bed supperless,' said the baron ; ' I did not 
 go to bed at all ; and what are you doing with that green 
 dress and that bow and arrow ? ' 
 
 ' I am going a-hunting,' said Matilda. 
 
 *A-hunting,' said the baron. 'What, I warrant you, to 
 meet with the earl, and slip your neck into the same noose.' 
 
 * No,' said Matilda, * I am not going out of our own woods 
 to-day.' 
 
 26
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' How do I know that ? ' said the baron. ' What surety 
 
 have I of that ? ' 
 
 ' Here is the friar,' said Matilda. ' He will be surety.' 
 
 ' Not he,' said the baron ; ' he will undertake nothing but 
 
 where the devil is a party concerned.' 
 
 * Yes, I will,' said the friar : ' I will undertake anything for 
 the Lady Matilda.' 
 
 ' No matter for that,' said the baron : ' she shall not go 
 hunting to-day.' 
 
 ' Why, father,' said Matilda, ' if you coop me up here in 
 this odious castle, I shall pine and die like a lonely swan on a 
 pool,' 
 
 * No,' said the baron, ' the lonely swan does not die on the 
 pool. If there be a river at hand, she flies to the river, and 
 finds her a mate ; and so shall not you.' 
 
 ' But,' said Matilda, ' you may send with me any, or as 
 many, of your grooms as you will.' 
 
 ' My grooms,' said the baron, ' are all false knaves. There 
 is not a rascal among them but loves you better than me. 
 Villains that I feed and clothe.' 
 
 ' Surely,' said Matilda, ' it is not villainy to love me : if it 
 be, I should be sorry my father were an honest man.' The 
 baron relaxed his muscles into a smile, ' Or my lover either,' 
 added Matilda. The baron looked grim again. 
 
 ' For your lover,' said the baron, ' you may give God thanks 
 of him. He is as arrant a knave as ever poached.' 
 
 ' What, for hunting the king's deer ? ' said Matilda. ' Have 
 I not heard you rail at the forest laws by the hour ? ' 
 
 * Did you ever hear me,' said the baron, 'rail myself out of 
 house and land ? If I had done that, then were I a knave.' 
 
 ' My lover,' said Matilda, ' is a brave man, and a true man, 
 and a generous man, and a young man, and a handsome man ; 
 ay, and an honest man too.' 
 
 ' How can he be an honest man,' said the baron, ' when he 
 has neither house nor land, which are the better part of a man .? ' 
 
 ' They are but the husk of a man,' said Matilda, ' the worth- 
 less coat of the chestnut : the man himself is the kernel.' 
 
 ' The man is the grape stone,' said the baron, * and the 
 pulp of the melon. The house and land are the true 
 substantial fruit, and all that give him savour and value.' 
 
 'He will never want house or lands,' said Matilda, 'while 
 27
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 the meeting boughs weave a green roof in the wood, and the 
 free range of the hart marks out the bounds of the forest.' 
 
 ' Vert and venison ! vert and venison ! ' exclaimed the 
 baron. ' Treason and flat rebelHon. Confound your smihng 
 face ! what makes you look so good-humoured ? What ! you 
 think I can't look at you and be in a passion ? You think so, 
 do you ? We shall see. Have you no fear in talking thus, 
 when here is the king's liegeman come to take us all into 
 custody, and confiscate our goods and chattels ? ' 
 
 ' Nay, Lord Fitzwater,' said Sir Ralph, ' you wrong me in 
 your report. My visit is one of courtesy and excuse, not of 
 menace and authority.' 
 
 ' There it is,' said the baron : ' every one takes a pleasure 
 in contradicting me. Here is this courteous knight, who has 
 not opened his mouth three times since he has been in my 
 house except to take in provision, cuts me short in my story 
 with a flat denial.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I cry you mercy, sir knight,' said Matilda ; 'I did 
 not mark you before. I am your debtor for no slight favour, 
 and so is my liege lord.' 
 
 ' Her liege lord ! ' exclaimed the baron, taking large strides 
 across the chamber. 
 
 ' Pardon me, gentle lady,' said Sir Ralph. ' Had I known 
 you before yesterday, I would have cut off my right hand ere 
 it should have been raised to do you displeasure.' 
 
 * Oh, sir,' said Matilda, ' a good man may be forced on an 
 ill office : but I can distinguish the man from his duty.' She 
 presented to him her hand, which he kissed respectfully, and 
 simultaneously with the contact thirty -two invisible arrows 
 plunged at once into his heart, one from every point of the 
 compass of his pericardia. 
 
 ' Well, father,' added Matilda, ' I must go to the woods.' 
 
 ' Must you ? ' said the baron ; ' I say you must not.' 
 
 ' But I am going,' said Matilda. 
 
 ' But I will have up the drawbridge,' said the baron. 
 
 ' But I will swim the moat,' said Matilda. 
 
 ' But I will secure the gates,' said the baron. 
 
 ' But I will leap from the battlement,' said Matilda. 
 
 ' But I will lock you in an upper chamber,' said the baron. 
 
 ' But I will shred the tapestry,' said Matilda, ' and let 
 myself down.' 
 
 28
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' But I will lock you in a turret,' said the baron, ' v.here 
 you shall only see light through a loophole.' 
 
 ' But through that loophole,' said Matilda, ' will I take my 
 flight, like a young eagle from its aerie ; and, father, while 1 
 go out freely, I will return willingly ; but if once I slip out 
 
 through a loophole ' She paused a moment, and then 
 
 added, singing, — 
 
 The love that follows fain 
 
 Will never its faith betray ; 
 But the faith that is held in a chain 
 Will never be found again, 
 If a single link give way. 
 
 The melody acted irresistibly on the harmonious propensities 
 of the friar, who accordingly sang in his turn, — 
 
 For hark ! hark ! hark I 
 The dog doth bark, 
 
 That watches the wild deer's lair, 
 The hunter awakes at the peep of the dawn, 
 But the lair it is empty, the deer it is gone, 
 
 And the hunter knows not where. 
 
 Matilda and the friar then sung together, — 
 
 Then follow, oh follow ! the hounds do cry ; 
 The red sun flames in the eastern sky ; 
 
 The stag bounds over the hollow. 
 He that lingers in spirit, or loiters in hall, 
 Shall see us no more till the evening fall, 
 And no voice but the echo shall answer his call ; 
 
 Then follow, oh follow, follow ; 
 
 Follow, oh follow, follow ! 
 
 During the process of this harmony, the baron's eyes 
 wandered from his daughter to the friar, and from the friar to 
 his daughter again, with an alternate expression of anger 
 differently modified ; when he looked on the friar, it was anger 
 without qualification ; when he looked on his daughter it was 
 still anger, but tempered by an expression of involuntary 
 admiration and pleasure. These rapid fluctuations of the 
 baron's physiognomy — the habitual, reckless, resolute merri- 
 ment in the jovial face of the friar, — and the cheerful, elastic 
 spirits that played on the lips and sparkled in the eyes of 
 
 29
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 Matilda, — would have presented a very amusing combination 
 to Sir Ralph, if one of the three images in the group had not 
 absorbed his total attention with feelings of intense delight 
 very nearly allied to pain. The baron's wrath was somewhat 
 counteracted by the reflection that his daughter's good spirits 
 seemed to show that they would naturally rise triumphant over 
 all disappointments ; and he had had sufficient experience of 
 her humour to know that she might sometimes be led, but 
 never could be driven. Then, too, he was always delighted 
 to hear her sing, though he was not at all pleased in this 
 instance with the subject of her song. Still he would have 
 endured the subject for the sake of the melody of the treble, 
 but his mind was not sufficiently attuned to unison to relish 
 the harmony of the bass. The friar's accompaniment put him 
 out of all patience, and — ' So,' he exclaimed, ' this is the way 
 you teach my daughter to renounce the devil, is it ? A 
 hunting friar, truly ! Who ever heard before of a hunting friar ? 
 A profane, roaring, bawling, bumper -bibbing, neck -breaking, 
 catch-singing friar ? ' 
 
 ' Under favour, bold baron,' said the friar ; but the friar 
 was warm with canary, and in his singing vein ; and he could 
 not go on in plain unmusical prose. He therefore sang in a 
 new tune, — 
 
 Though I be now a grey, grey friar, 
 
 Yet I was once a hale young knight ; 
 The cry of my dogs was the only choir 
 
 In which my spirit did take delight. 
 
 Little I recked of matin bell, 
 
 But drowned its toll with my clanging horn ; 
 And the only beads I loved to tell 
 
 Were the beads of dew on the spangled thorn. 
 
 The baron was going to storm, but the friar paused, and 
 Matilda sang in repetition, — 
 
 Litde I reck of matin bell, 
 
 But drown its toll with my clanging horn ; 
 And the only beads I love to tell 
 
 Are the beads of dew on the spangled thorn. 
 
 And then she and the friar sang the four lines together, and 
 rang the changes upon them alternately. 
 
 30
 
 
 wmww^=^~ 
 
 ^^^^^ 
 
 Whirled it like a coit over the head of the friar. 
 Cofyri^ht 1895 by Mao.iuian & Co.
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 Little I reck of matin bell, 
 sang the friar. 
 
 'A precious friar,' said the baron. 
 
 But drown its toll with my clanging horn, 
 
 sang Matilda. 
 
 ' More shame for you,' said the baron. 
 
 And the only beads I love to tell 
 
 Are the beads of dew on the spangled thorn, 
 
 sang Matilda and the friar together. 
 
 ' Penitent and confessor,' said the baron : ' a hopeful pair 
 truly.' 
 
 The friar went on, — 
 
 An archer keen I was withal, 
 
 As ever did lean on greenwood tree ; 
 And could make the fleetest roebuck fall, 
 
 A good three hundred yards from me. 
 Though changeful time, with hand severe, 
 
 Has made me now these joys forgo, 
 Yet my heart bounds whene'er I hear 
 
 Yoicks ! hark away ! and tally ho ! 
 
 Matilda chimed in as before. 
 
 ' Are you mad ? ' said the baron. ' Are you insane ? Are 
 you possessed ? What do you mean ? What in the devil's 
 name do you both mean ? ' 
 
 Yoicks ! hark away ! and tally ho ! 
 
 roared the friar. 
 
 The baron's pent-up wrath had accumulated like the waters 
 above the dam of an overshot mill. The pond-head of his 
 passion being now filled to the utmost limit of its capacity, and 
 beginning to overflow in the quivering of his lips and the 
 flashing of his eyes, he pulled up all the flash-boards at once, 
 and gave loose to the full torrent of his indignation, by seizing, 
 like furious Ajax, not a massy stone more than two modern 
 men could raise, but a vast dish of beef more than fifty ancient 
 yeomen could eat, and whirled it like a coit, m terrorem^ over 
 the head of the friar, to the extremity of the apartment, 
 
 Where it on oaken floor did settle, 
 With mighty din of ponderous metal. 
 
 D 33
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' Nay, father,' said Matilda, taking the baron's hand, ' do 
 not harm the friar : he means not to offend you. My gaiety 
 never before displeased you. Least of all should it do so now, 
 when I have need of all my spirits to outweigh the severity of 
 my fortune.' 
 
 As she spoke the last words, tears started into her eyes, 
 which, as if ashamed of the involuntar}' betraying of her feelings, 
 she turned away to conceal. The baron was subdued at once. 
 He kissed his daughter, held out his hand to the friar, and 
 said, ' Sing on, in God's name, and crack away the flasks till 
 your voice swims in canary.' Then turning to Sir Ralph, he 
 said, ' You see how it is, sir knight. Matilda is my daughter : 
 but she has me in leading-strings, that is the truth of it.' 
 
 34
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ' 'Tis true, no lover has that power 
 To enforce a desperate amour, 
 As he that has two strings to his bow, 
 And bums for love and money too. ' 
 
 Butler. 
 
 The friar had often had experience of the baron's testy 
 humour ; but it had always before confined itself to words, in 
 which the habit of testiness often mingled more expression of 
 displeasure than the internal feeling prompted. He knew the 
 baron to be hot and choleric, but at the same time hospitable 
 and generous ; passionately fond of his daughter, often thwarting 
 her in seeming, but always yielding to her in fact. The early 
 attachment between Matilda and the Earl of Huntingdon had 
 given the baron no serious reason to interfere with her habits 
 and pursuits, which were so congenial to those of her lover ; 
 and not being overburdened with orthodoxy, that is to say, not 
 being seasoned with more of the salt of the spirit than was 
 necessary to preserve him from excommunication, confiscation, 
 and philotheoparoptesism,^ he was not sorry to encourage his 
 daughter's choice of her confessor in brother Michael, who had 
 more jollity and less hypocrisy than any of his fraternity, and 
 was very little anxious to disguise his love of the good things 
 of this world under the semblance of a sanctified exterior. The 
 friar and Matilda had often sung duets together, and had been 
 accustomed to the baron's chiming in with a stormy capriccio^ 
 which was usually charmed into silence by some sudden turn 
 in the witching melodies of Matilda. They had therefore 
 naturally calculated, as far as their wild spirits calculated at all, 
 on the same effects from the same causes. But the circumstances 
 
 ^ Roasting by a slow fire for the love of God. 
 
 35
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 of the preceding day had made an essential alteration in the 
 case. The baron knew well, from the intelligence he had 
 received, that the earl's offence was past remission, which would 
 have been of less moment but for the awful fact of his castle being 
 in the possession of the king's forces, and in those days 
 possession was considerably more than eleven points of the 
 law. The baron was therefore convinced that the earl's 
 outlawry was infallible, and that Matilda must either renounce 
 her lover, or become with him an outlaw and a fugitive. In 
 proportion, therefore, to the baron's knowledge of the strength 
 and duration of her attachment was his fear of the difficulty of 
 its ever being overcome. Her love of the forest and the chase, 
 which he had never before discouraged, now presented itself to 
 him as matter of serious alarm ; and if her cheerfulness gave 
 him hope, on the one hand, by indicating a spirit superior to 
 all disappointments, it was suspicious to him, on the other, as 
 arising from some latent certainty of being soon united to the 
 earl. All these circumstances concurred to render their songs 
 of the vanished deer and greenwood archery and Yoicks and 
 Hark-away extremely inal a propos^ and to make his anger boil 
 and bubble in the cauldron of his spirit, till its more than 
 ordinary excitement burst forth with sudden impulse into 
 active manifestation. 
 
 But as it sometimes happens, from the might 
 Of rage in minds that can no farther go, 
 
 As high as they have mounted in despite 
 In their remission do they sink as low, 
 To our bold baron did it happen so.^ 
 
 For his discobolic exploit proved the climax of his rage, and 
 was succeeded by an immediate sense that he had passed the 
 bounds of legitimate passion ; and he sunk immediately from 
 the very pinnacle of opposition to the level of implicit acqui- 
 escence. The friar's spirits were not to be marred by such 
 a little incident. He was half inclined at first to return the 
 baron's compliment, but his love of Matilda checked him ; 
 and when the baron held out his hand, the friar seized it 
 cordially, and they drowned all recollection of the affair by 
 pledging each other in a cup of canary. 
 
 1 Of these lines, all that is not in italics belongs to Mr. Wordsworth : 
 Resolution and Independence. 
 
 36
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 The friar having stayed long enough to see everything 
 replaced on a friendly footing, rose and moved to take his 
 leave. Matilda told him he must come again on the morrow, 
 for she had a very long confession to make to him. This the 
 friar promised to do, and departed with the knight. 
 
 Sir Ralph on reaching the abbey drew his followers together, 
 and led them to Locksley Castle, which he found in the 
 possession of his lieutenant, whom he again left there with a 
 sufficient force to hold it in safe keeping in the king's name, 
 and proceeded to London to report the results of his enter- 
 prise. 
 
 Now, Henry, our royal king, was very wroth at the earl's 
 evasion, and swore by St. Thomas k Becket (whom he had him- 
 self translated into a saint by having him knocked on the head), 
 that he would give the castle and lands of Locksley to the 
 man who should bring in the earl. Hereupon ensued a process 
 of thought in the mind of the knight. The eyes of the fair 
 huntress of Arlingford had left a wound in his heart which 
 only she who gave could heal. He had seen that the baron 
 was no longer very partial to the outlawed earl, but that he 
 still retained his old affection for the lands and castle of 
 Lqcksley. Now, the lands and castles were very fair things 
 in themselves, and would be pretty appurtenances to an 
 adventurous knight ; but they would be doubly valuable as 
 certain passports to the father's favour, which was one step 
 towards that of the daughter, or at least towards obtaining 
 possession of her either quietly or perforce ; for the knight 
 was not so nice in his love as to consider the lady's free grace 
 a sine qua nonj and to think of being, by any means whatever, 
 the lord of Locksley and Arlingford, and the husband of the 
 bewitching Matilda, was to cut in the shades of futurity a vista 
 very tempting to a soldier of fortune. ^ He set out in high 
 spirits with a chosen band of followers, and beat up all the 
 country far and wide around both the Ouse and the Trent ; 
 but fortune did not seem disposed to second his diligence, for 
 no vestige whatever could he trace of the earl. His followers, 
 who were only paid with the wages of hope, began to murmur 
 and fall off; for, as those unenlightened days were ignorant 
 
 ^ ' I open to myself many vistas in the great forest of mind, and 
 reconnoitre the tracts of territory which in the winter I propose to acquire.' 
 — Peacock to Shelley, Aug. 30, 181 8. — G. 
 
 37
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 of the happy invention of paper machinery, by which one 
 promise to pay is satisfactorily paid with another promise to 
 pay, and that again with another in infinite series, they would 
 not, as their wiser posterity has done, take those tenders for 
 true pay which were not sterling ; so that, one fine morning, 
 the knight found himself sitting on a pleasant bank of the 
 Trent, with only a solitary squire, who still clung to the shadow 
 of preferment, because he did not see at the moment any better 
 chance of substance. 
 
 The knight did not despair because of the desertion of his 
 followers : he was well aware that he could easily raise recruits 
 if he could once find trace of his game ; he, therefore, rode 
 about indefatigably over hill and dale, to the great sharpening 
 of his own appetite and that of his squire, living gallantly from 
 inn to inn when his purse was full, and quartering himself in 
 the king's name on the nearest ghostly brotherhood when it 
 happened to be empty. An autumn and a winter had passed 
 away, when the course of his perlustrations brought him one 
 evening into a beautiful sylvan valley, where he found a number 
 of young women weaving garlands of flowers, and singing over 
 their pleasant occupation. He approached them, and court- 
 eously inquired the way to the nearest town. 
 
 'There is- no town within several miles,' was the answer. 
 
 'A village, then, if it be but large enough to furnish an 
 inn?' 
 
 ' There is Gamwell just by, but there is no inn nearer than 
 the nearest town.' 
 
 ' An abbey, then ? ' 
 
 ' There is no abbey nearer than the nearest inn.' 
 
 * A house, then, or a cottage, where I may obtain hospitality 
 for the night ? ' 
 
 * Hospitality ! ' said one of the young women ; ' you have 
 not far to seek for that. Do you not know that you are in 
 the neighbourhood of Gamwell Hall ? ' 
 
 ' So far from it,' said the knight, ' that I never heard the 
 name of Gamwell Hall before.' 
 
 ' Never heard of Gamwell Hall ? ' exclaimed all the young 
 women together, who could as soon have dreamed of his never 
 having heard of the sky. 
 
 'Indeed, no,' said Sir Ralph ; 'but I shall be very happy 
 to get rid of my ignorance.' 
 
 38
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 'And so shall I,' said his squire ; 'for it seems that in this 
 case knowledge will for once be a cure for hunger, wherewith 
 I am grievously afflicted.' 
 
 ' And why are you so busy, my pretty damsels, weaving 
 these garlands ? ' said the knight. 
 
 ' Why, do you not know, sir,' said one of the young women, 
 ' that to-morrow is Gamwell feast ? ' 
 
 The knight was again obliged, with all humility, to confess 
 his ignorance. 
 
 ' Oh, sir,' said his informant, * then you will have something 
 to see, that I can tell you : for we shall choose a Queen of 
 the May, and we shall crown her with flowers, and place her 
 in a chariot of flowers, and draw it with lines of flowers, and 
 we shall hang all the trees with flowers, and we shall strew all 
 the ground with flowers, and we shall dance with flowers, and 
 in flowers, and on flowers, and we shall be all flowers.' 
 
 ' That you will,' said the knight ; ' and the sweetest and 
 brightest of all the flowers of the May, my pretty damsels.' 
 On which all the pretty damsels smiled at him and each other. 
 
 'And there will be all sorts of May-games, and there will 
 be prizes for archery, and there will be the knight's ale, and 
 the foresters' venison, and there will be Kit Scrapesqueak with 
 his fiddle, and little Tom Whistlerap with his fife and tabor, 
 and Sam Trumtwang with his harp, and Peter Muggledrone 
 with his bagpipe, and how I shall dance with Will Whitethorn ! ' 
 added the girl, clapping her hands as she spoke, and bounding 
 from the ground with the pleasure of the anticipation. 
 
 A tall athletic young man approached, to whom the rustic 
 maidens courtesied with great respect ; and one of them 
 informed Sir Ralph that it was young Master William Gamwell. 
 The young gentleman invited and conducted the knight to the 
 hall, where he introduced him to the old knight his father, 
 and to the old lady his mother, and to the young lady his sister, 
 and to a number of bold yeomen, who Avere laying siege to 
 beef, brawn, and plum pie, around a ponderous table, and 
 taking copious draughts of old October. A motto was inscribed 
 over the interior door, — 
 
 EAT, DRINK, AND BE MERRY : 
 
 an injunction which Sir Ralph and his squire showed remark- 
 able alacrity in obeying. Old Sir Guy of Gamwell gave Sir 
 
 39
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 Ralph a very cordial welcome, and entertained him during 
 supper with several of his best stories, enforced with an 
 occasional slap on the back, and pointed with a peg in the 
 ribs ; a species of vivacious eloquence in which the old gentle- 
 man excelled, and which is supposed by many of that pleasant 
 variety of the human species, known by the name of choice 
 fellows and comical dogs, to be the genuine tangible shape of 
 the cream of a good joke. 
 
 40
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ' What ! shall we have incision ? shall we imbrue ? ' — Henry IV. 
 
 Old Sir Guy of Gamwell, and young William Gamwell, and 
 fair Alice Gamwell, and Sir Ralph Montfaucon and his squire, 
 rode together the next morning to the scene of the feast. 
 They arrived on a village green, surrounded with cottages 
 peeping from among the trees by which the green was 
 completely encircled. The whole circle was hung round with 
 one continuous garland of flowers, depending in irregular 
 festoons from the branches. In the centre of the green was a 
 May-pole hidden in boughs and garlands ; and a multitude of 
 round-faced bumpkins and cherry-cheeked lassies were dancing 
 around it, to the quadruple melody of Scrapesqueak, Whistle- 
 rap, Trumtwang, and Muggledrone ; harmony we must not 
 call it ; for, though they had agreed to a partnership in point 
 of tune, each, like a true painstaking man, seemed determined 
 to have his time to himself; Muggledrone played allegretto^ 
 Trumtwang allegro^ Whistlerap ^resto^ and Scrapesqueak 
 prestissimo. There was a kind of mathematical proportion in 
 their discrepancy ; while Muggledrone played the tune four 
 times, Trumtwang played it five, Whistlerap six, and Scrape- 
 squeak eight ; for the latter completely distanced all his com- 
 petitors, and indeed worked his elbow so nimbly that its out- 
 line was scarcely distinguishable through the mistiness of its 
 rapid vibration. 
 
 While the knight was delighting his eyes and ears with 
 these pleasant sights and sounds, all eyes were turned in one 
 direction ; and Sir Ralph, looking round, saw a fair lady in 
 green and gold come riding through the trees accompanied by 
 a portly friar in grey, and several fair damsels and gallant 
 
 41
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 grooms. On their nearer approach, he recognised the Lady 
 Matilda and her ghostly adviser, Brother Michael. A party 
 of foresters arrived from another direction, and then ensued 
 cordial interchanges of greeting, and collisions of hands and 
 lips, among the Gamwells and the newcomers, — ' How does 
 my fair coz, Mawd ? ' and ' How does my sweet coz, Mawd ? ' 
 and ' How does my wild coz, Mawd ? ' And ' Eh ! jolly friar, 
 your hand, old boy' ; and ' Here, honest friar' ; and 'To me, 
 merry friar,' and ' By your favour, mistress Alice ' ; and ' Hey ! 
 cousin Robin ' ; and ' Hey ! cousin Will ' ; and ' Od's life ! 
 merry Sir Guy, you grow younger every year,' — as the old 
 knight shook them all in turn with one hand, and slapped 
 them on the back with the other, in token of his affection. A 
 number of young men and women advanced, some drawing, 
 and others dancing round, a floral car ; and having placed a 
 crown of flowers on Matilda's head, they saluted her Queen of 
 the May, and drew her to the place appointed for the rural 
 sports. 
 
 A hogshead of ale was abroach under an oak, and a fire 
 was blazing in an open space before the trees to roast the fat 
 deer which the foresters brought. The sports commenced ; 
 and, after an agreeable series of bowling, coiting, pitching, 
 hurling, racing, leaping, grinning, wrestling or friendly 
 dislocation of joints, and cudgel-playing or amicable cracking 
 of skulls, the trial of archery ensued. The conqueror was to 
 be rewarded with a golden arrow from the hand of the Queen 
 of the May, who was to be his partner in the dance till the 
 close of the feast. This stimulated the knight's emulation : 
 young Gamwell supplied him with a bow and arrow, and he 
 took his station among the foresters, but had the mortification 
 to be outshot by them all, and to see one of them lodge the 
 point of his arrow in the golden ring of the centre, and receive 
 the prize from the hand of the beautiful Matilda, who smiled 
 on him with particular grace. The jealous knight scrutinised 
 the successful champion with great attention, and surely 
 thought he had seen that face before. In the meantime the 
 forester led the lady to the station. The luckless Sir Ralph 
 drank deep draughts of love from the matchless grace of her 
 attitudes, as, taking the bow in her left hand, and adjusting 
 the arrow with her right, advancing her left foot, and gently 
 curving her beautiful figure with a slight motion of her head 
 
 42
 
 The forester led Matilda to the dance.
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 that waved her black feathers and her ringleted hair, she drew 
 the arrow to its head, and loosed it from her open fingers. 
 The arrow struck within the ring of gold, so close to that of 
 the victorious forester that the points were in contact, and the 
 feathers were intermingled. Great acclamations succeeded, 
 and the forester led Matilda to the dance. Sir Ralph gazed on 
 her fascinating motions till the torments of baffled love and 
 jealous rage became unendurable ; and approaching young 
 Gamwell, he asked him if he knew the name of that forester 
 who was leading the dance with the Queen of the May. 
 
 * Robin, I believe,' said young Gamwell, carelessly ; ' I 
 think they call him Robin.' 
 
 ' Is that all you know of him ? ' said Sir Ralph. 
 
 ' What more should I know of him ? ' said young Gamwell. 
 
 ' Then I can tell you,' said Sir Ralph ; ' he is the outlawed 
 Earl of Huntingdon, on whose head is set so large a price.' 
 
 'Ay, is he?' said young Gamwell, in the same careless 
 manner. 
 
 ' He were a prize worth the taking,' said Sir Ralph. 
 
 ' No doubt,' said young Gamwell. 
 
 'How think you.?' said Sir Ralph; 'are the foresters his 
 adherents ? ' 
 
 * I cannot say,' said young Gamwell. 
 
 ' Is your peasantry loyal and well disposed ? ' said Sir 
 Ralph. 
 
 ' Passing loyal,' said young Gamwell. 
 
 'If I should call on them in the king's name,' said Sir 
 Ralph, ' think you they would aid and assist ? ' 
 
 ' Most likely they would,' said young Gamwell ; ' one side 
 or the other.' 
 
 ' Ay, but which side ? ' said the knight. 
 
 * That remains to be tried,' said young Gamwell. 
 
 ' I have King Henry's commission,' said the knight, ' to 
 apprehend this earl that was. How would you advise me to 
 act, being, as you see, without attendant force ? ' 
 
 ' I would advise you,' said young Gamwell, ' to take 
 yourself off without delay, unless you would relish the taste of 
 a volley of arrows, a shower of stones, and a hailstorm of 
 cudgel-blows, which would not be turned aside by a God save 
 King Henry.' 
 
 Sir Ralph's squire no sooner heard this, and saw by the 
 
 45
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 looks of the speaker that he was not likely to prove a false 
 prophet, than he clapped spurs to his horse and galloped off 
 with might and main. This gave the knight a good excuse to 
 pursue him, which he did with great celerity, calling, ' Stop, 
 you rascal' When the squire fancied himself safe out of the 
 reach of pursuit, he checked his speed, and allowed the knight 
 to come up with him. They rode on several miles in silence, 
 till they discovered the towers and spires of Nottingham, 
 where the knight introduced himself to the sheriff, and 
 demanded an armed force to assist in the apprehension of the 
 outlawed Earl of Huntingdon. The sheriff, who was willing 
 to have his share of the prize, determined to accompany the 
 knight in person, and regaled him and his man with good 
 store of the best ; after which, they, with a stout retinue of 
 fifty men, took the way to Gamwell feast. 
 
 ' God's my life,' said the sheriff, as they rode along, ' I had 
 as lief you would tell me of a service of plate. I much doubt 
 if this outlawed earl, this forester Robin, be not the man they 
 call Robin Hood, who has quartered himself in Sherwood 
 Forest, and whom in endeavouring to apprehend I have fallen 
 divers times into disasters. He has gotten together a band 
 of disinherited prodigals, outlawed debtors, excommunicated 
 heretics, elder sons that have spent all they had, and younger 
 sons that never had anything to spend ; and with these he 
 kills the king's deer, and plunders wealthy travellers of five- 
 sixths of their money ; but if they be abbots or bishops, them 
 he despoils utterly.' 
 
 The sheriff then proceeded to relate to his companion the 
 adventure of the abbot cf Doublefiask (which some grave 
 historians have related of the abbot of Saint Mary's, and 
 others of the Bishop of Hereford) : how the abbot, returning 
 to his abbey in company with his high selerer, who carried in 
 his portmanteau the rents of the abbey lands, and with a 
 numerous train of attendants, came upon four seeming 
 peasants, who were roasting the king's venison by the king's 
 highway : how, in just indignation at this flagrant infringement 
 of the forest laws, he asked them what they meant, and they 
 answered that they meant to dine : how he ordered them to 
 be seized and bound, and led captive to Nottingham, that they 
 might know wild-flesh to have been destined by Providence for 
 licensed and privileged appetites, and not for the base hunger 
 
 46
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 of unqualified knaves : how they prayed for mercy, and how 
 the abbot swore by Saint Charity that he would show them 
 none : how one of them thereupon drew a bugle-horn from 
 under his smock-frock and blew three blasts, on which the 
 abbot and his train were instantly surrounded by sixty bowmen 
 in green : how they tied him to a tree, and made him say 
 mass for their sins : how they unbound him, and sate him 
 down with them to dinner, and gave him venison and wild-fowl 
 and wine, and made him pay for his fare all the money in his 
 high selerer's portmanteau, and enforced him to sleep all night 
 under a tree in his cloak, and to leave the cloak behind him 
 in the morning : how the abbot, light in pocket and heavy in 
 heart, raised the country upon Robin Hood, for so he had 
 heard the chief forester called by his men, and hunted him 
 into an old woman's cottage : how Robin changed dresses with 
 the old woman, and how the abbot rode in great triumph into 
 Nottingham, having in custody an old woman in a green 
 doublet and breeches : how the old woman discovered herself : 
 how the merrymen of Nottingham laughed at the abbot : how 
 the abbot railed at the old woman, and how the old woman 
 out-railed the abbot, telling him that Robin had given her food 
 and fire through the winter, which no abbot would ever do, but 
 would rather take it from her for what he called the good of 
 the church, by which he meant his own laziness and gluttony ; 
 and that she knew a true man from a false thief, and a free 
 forester from a greedy abbot. 
 
 ' Thus, you see,' added the sheriff, ' how this villain perverts 
 the deluded people by making them believe that those who 
 tithe and toll upon them for their spiritual and temporal benefit 
 are not their best friends and fatherly guardians ; for he holds 
 that in giving to boors and old women what he takes from 
 priests and peers, he does but restore to the former what the 
 latter had taken from them ; and this the impudent varlet calls 
 distributive justice. Judge now if any loyal subject can be 
 safe in such neighbourhood.' 
 
 While the sheriff was thus enlightening his companion con- 
 cerning the offenders, and whetting his own indignation 
 against them, the sun was fast sinking to the west. They rode 
 on till they came in view of a bridge, which they saw a party 
 approaching from the opposite side, and the knight presently 
 discovered that the party consisted of the Lady Matilda and 
 
 47
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 Friar Michael, young Gamwell, cousin Robin, and about half-a- 
 dozen foresters. The knight pointed out the earl to the sheriff, 
 who exclaimed, 'Here, then, we have him an easy prey' ; and 
 they rode on manfully towards the bridge, on which the other 
 party made halt. 
 
 * Who be these,' said the friar, ' that come riding so fast 
 this way ? Now, as God shall judge me, it is that false knight 
 Sir Ralph Montfaucon, and the Sheriff of Nottingham, with a 
 posse of men. We must make good our post, and let them 
 dislodge us if they may.' 
 
 The two parties were now near enough to parley ; and the 
 sheriff" and the knight, advancing in the front of the cavalcade, 
 called on the lady, the friar, young Gamwell, and the foresters, 
 to deliver up that false traitor, Robert, formerly Earl of 
 Huntingdon. Robert himself made answer by letting fly an 
 arrow that struck the ground between the fore -feet of the 
 sheriff's horse. The horse reared up from the whizzing, and 
 lodged the sheriff in the dust ; and, at the same time, the fair 
 Matilda favoured the knight with an arrow in his right arm, 
 that compelled him to withdraw from the affray. His men 
 lifted the sheriff carefully up, and replaced him on his horse, 
 whom he immediately with great rage and zeal urged on to the 
 assault with his fifty men at his heels, some of whom were 
 intercepted in their advance by the arrows of the foresters and 
 Matilda ; while the friar, with an eight-foot staff, dislodged the 
 sheriff a second time, and laid on him with all the vigour of 
 the church militant on earth, in spite of his ejaculations of 
 ' Hey, Friar Michael ! What means this, honest friar ? Hold, 
 ghostly friar ! Hold, holy friar ! ' — till Matilda interposed, and 
 delivered the battered sheriff to the care of the foresters. The 
 friar continued flourishing his staff among the sheriff's men, 
 knocking down one, breaking the ribs of another, dislocating 
 the shoulder of a third, flattening the nose of a fourth, cracking 
 the skull of a fifth, and pitching a sixth into the river,i till the 
 few, who were lucky enough to escape with whole bones, 
 clapped spurs to their horses and fled for their lives, under a 
 farewell volley of arrows. 
 
 Sir Ralph's squire, meanwhile, was glad of the excuse of 
 
 ^ Imitated from Rabelais, liv, i. ch. 27, ' Ez uns escarbouilloit la 
 cervelle, ez aultres rompoit bras et jambes, ez aultres des lochoit les 
 spondyles des col,' etc. — G. 
 
 48
 
 Friar Tuck. 
 Copyri£ht 1895 by Macmillan &■ Co.
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 attending his master's wound to absent himself from the battle ; 
 and put the poor knight to a great deal of unnecessary pain by 
 making as long a business as possible of extracting the arrow, 
 which he had not accomplished when Matilda, approaching, 
 extracted it with great facility, and bound up the wound with 
 her scarf, saying, ' I reclaim my arrow, sir knight, which struck 
 where I aimed it, to admonish you to desist from your enter- 
 prise. I could as easily have lodged it in your heart.' 
 
 ' It did not need,' said the knight, with rueful gallantry ; 
 ' you have lodged one there already.' 
 
 ' If you mean to say that you love me,' said Matilda, ' it is 
 more than I ever shall you : but if you will show your love by 
 no further interfering with mine, you will at least merit my 
 gratitude.' 
 
 The knight made a wry face under the double pain of heart 
 and body caused at the same moment by the material or 
 martial, and the metaphorical or erotic arrow, of which the 
 latter was thus barbed by a declaration more candid than 
 flattering ; but he did not choose to put in any such claim to 
 the lady's gratitude as would bar all hopes of her love : he 
 therefore remained silent ; and the lady and her escort, leaving 
 him and the sheriff to the care of the squire, rode on till they 
 came in sight of Arlingford Castle, when they parted in several 
 directions. The friar rode off alone ; and after the foresters 
 had lost sight of him, they heard his voice through the 
 twilight, singing — 
 
 A staff, a staff, of a young oak graff, 
 
 That is both stoure and stiff, 
 Is all a good friar can needs desire 
 
 To shrive a proud sheriffe. 
 And thou, fine fellowe, who has tasted so 
 
 Of the forester's greenwood game, 
 Wilt be in no haste thy time to waste 
 
 In seeking more taste of the same : 
 Or this can I read thee, and riddle thee well, 
 Thou hadst better by far be the devil in hell, 
 
 Than the sheriff of Nottinghame. 
 
 51
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 ' Now, master sheriff, what's your will with me? ' — Henry IV. 
 
 Matilda had carried her point with the baron of ranging at 
 hberty whithersoever she would, under her positive promise 
 to return home ; she was a sort of prisoner on parole : she 
 had obtained the indulgence by means of an obsolete habit 
 of always telling the truth and keeping her word, which our 
 enlightened age has discarded with other barbarisms, but 
 which had the effect of giving her father so much confidence 
 in her, that he could not help considering her word a better 
 security than locks and bars. 
 
 The baron had been one of the last to hear of the rumours 
 of the new outlaws of Sherwood, as Matilda had taken all 
 possible precautions to keep those rumours from his know- 
 ledge, fearing that they might cause the interruption of her 
 greenwood liberty ; and it was only during her absence at 
 Gamwell feast, that the butler, being thrown off his guard by 
 liquor, forgot her injunctions, and regaled the baron with a 
 long story of the right merry adventure of Robin Hood and 
 the Abbot of Doubleflask. 
 
 The baron was one morning, as usual, cutting his way 
 valorously through a rampart of cold provision, when his ears 
 were suddenly assailed by a tremendous alarm, and sallying 
 forth, and looking from his castle wall, he perceived a large 
 party of armed men on the other side of the moat, who were 
 calling on the warder in the king's name to lower the draw- 
 bridge and raise the portcullis, which had both been secured 
 by Matilda's order. The baron walked along the battlement 
 till he came opposite to these unexpected visitors, who, as 
 
 52
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 soon as they saw him, called out, ' Lower the drawbridge, in 
 the king's name.' 
 
 * For what, in the devil's name ? ' said the baron. 
 
 'The Sheriff of Nottingham,' said one, Mies in bed 
 grievously bruised, and many of his men are wounded, and 
 several of them slain ; and Sir Ralph Montfaucon, knight, is 
 sore wounded in the arm ; and we are charged to apprehend 
 William Gamwell the younger, of Gam well Hall, and Father 
 Michael of Rubygill Abbey, and Matilda Fitzwater of Arling- 
 ford Castle, as agents and accomplices in the said breach of 
 the king's peace.' 
 
 ' Breach of the king's fiddlestick ! ' answered the baron. 
 ' What do you mean by coming here with your cock and bull 
 stories of my daughter grievously bruising the Sheriff of 
 Nottingham ? You are a set of vagabond rascals in disguise ; 
 and I hear, by the bye, there is a gang of thieves that has 
 just set up business in Sherwood Forest ; a pretty pretence, 
 indeed, to get into my castle with force and arms, and make 
 a famine in my buttery, and a drought in my cellar, and a 
 void in my strong box, and a vacuum in my silver scullery.' 
 
 ' Lord Fitzwater,' cried one, ' take heed how you resist 
 lawful authority ; we will prove ourselves ' 
 
 ' You will prove yourselves arrant knaves, I doubt not,' 
 answered the baron ; * but, villains, you shall be more grievously 
 bruised by me than ever was the sheriff by my daughter (a 
 pretty tale truly !), if you do not forthwith avoid my territory.' 
 
 By this time the baron's men had flocked to the battle- 
 ments, with long-bows and cross-bows, slings and stones, 
 and Matilda with her bow and quiver at their head. The 
 assailants, finding the castle so well defended, deemed it 
 expedient to withdraw till they could return in greater force, 
 and rode off to Rubygill Abbey, where they made known 
 their errand to the father abbot, who, having satisfied himself 
 of their legitimacy, and conned over the allegations, said that 
 doubtless Brother Michael had heinously offended ; but it was 
 not for the civil law to take cognisance of the misdoings of 
 a holy friar ; that he would summon a chapter of monks, and 
 pass on the offender a sentence proportionate to his offence. 
 The ministers of civil justice said that would not do. The 
 abbot said it would do and should ; and bade them not 
 provoke the meekness of his catholic charity to lay them 
 
 53
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 under the curse of Rome. This threat had its effect, and 
 the party rode off to Gamwell Hall, where they found the 
 Gamwells and their men just sitting down to dinner, which 
 they saved them the trouble of eating by consuming it in the 
 king's name themselves, having first seized and bound young 
 Gamwell ; all which they accomplished by dint of superior 
 numbers, in despite of a most vigorous stand made by the 
 Gamwellites in defence of their young master and their 
 provisions. 
 
 The baron, meanwhile, after the ministers of justice had 
 departed, interrogated Matilda concerning the alleged fact of 
 the grievous bruising of the Sheriff of Nottingham. Matilda 
 told him the whole history of Gamwell feast, and of their 
 battle on the bridge, which had its origin in a design of the 
 Sheriff of Nottingham to take one of the foresters into 
 custody. 
 
 ' Ay ! ay ! ' said the baron, ' and I guess who that forester 
 was ; but truly this friar is a desperate fellow. I did not 
 think there could have been much valour under a grey frock. 
 And so you wounded the knight in the arm ? You are a wild 
 girl, Mawd, — a chip of the old block, Mawd. A v/ild girl, 
 and a wild friar, and three or four foresters, wild lads all, to 
 keep a bridge against a tame knight, and a tame sheriff, and 
 fifty tame varlets ; by this light, the like was never heard ! 
 But do you know, Mawd, you must not go about so any more, 
 sweet Mawd : you must stay at home, you must ensconce ; 
 for there is your tame sheriff on the one hand, that will take 
 you perforce ; and there is your wild forester on the other 
 hand, that will take you without any force at all, Mawd : your 
 wild forester, Robin, cousin Robin, Robin Hood of Sherwood 
 Forest, that beats and binds bishops, spreads nets for arch- 
 bishops, and hunts a fat abbot as if he were a buck : excellent 
 game, no doubt, but you must hunt no more in such company. 
 I see it now : truly I might have guessed before that the 
 bold outlaw Robin, the most courteous Robin, the new thief of 
 Sherwood Forest, was your lover, the earl that has been : I 
 might have guessed it before, and what led you so much to 
 the woods ; but you hunt no more in such company. No 
 more May games and Gamwell feasts. My lands and castle 
 would be the forfeit of a few more such pranks ; and I think 
 they are as well in my hands as the king's, quite as well.' 
 
 54
 
 
 -m^ 
 
 ' "Ay! ay! if you can: very true: -watch and ward, Mawd." 
 Copyrisht 1895 by Macmillan &• Co.
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' You know, father,' said Matilda, ' the condition of keeping 
 me at home : I get out if I can, and not on parole.' 
 
 * Ay ! ay ! ' said the baron, ' if you can ; very true : watch 
 and ward, Mawd, watch and ward is my word : if you can, is 
 yours. The mark is set, and so start fair.' 
 
 The baron would have gone on in this way for an hour ; 
 but the friar made his appearance with a long oak staff in his 
 hand, singing, — 
 
 Drink and sing, and eat and laugh, 
 
 And so go forth to battle : 
 For the top of a skull and the end of a staff 
 
 Do make a ghostly rattle. 
 
 ' Ho ! ho ! friar ! ' said the baron, — < singing friar, laughing 
 friar, roaring friar, fighting friar, hacking friar, thwacking 
 friar ; cracking, cracking, cracking friar ; joke-cracking, bottle- 
 cracking, skull-cracking friar ! ' 
 
 * And ho ! ho ! ' said the friar, — ' bold baron, old baron, 
 sturdy baron, wordy baron, long baron, strong baron, mighty 
 baron, flighty baron, mazed baron, crazed baron, hacked 
 baron, thwacked baron ; cracked, cracked, cracked baron ; 
 bone-cracked, sconce-cracked, brain-cracked baron ! ' 
 
 'What do you mean,' said the baron, 'bully friar, by 
 calUng me hacked and thwacked ? ' 
 
 ' Were you not in the wars ? ' said the friar, ' where he who 
 escapes unbacked does more credit to his heels than his 
 arms. I pay tribute to your valour in calling you hacked and 
 thwacked.' 
 
 ' I never was thwacked in my life,' said the baron ; ' I 
 stood my ground manfully, and covered my body with my 
 sword. If I had had the luck to meet with a fighting friar 
 indeed, I might have been thwacked, and soundly too ; but I 
 hold myself a match for any two laymen ; it takes nine fight- 
 ing laymen to make a fighting friar.' 
 
 ' Whence come you now, holy father ? ' asked Matilda. 
 'From Rubygill Abbey,' said the friar, 'whither I never 
 return : 
 
 For I must seek some hermit cell, 
 Where I alone my beads may tell, 
 And on the wight who that way fares 
 Levy a toll for my ghostly pray'rs, 
 
 57
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 Levy a toll, le\7 a toll, 
 
 Levy a toll for my ghostly pra/rs. ' 
 
 'What is the matter, then, father?' said Matilda. 
 
 < This is the matter,' said the friar. ' My holy brethren 
 have held a chapter on me, and sentenced me to seven years' 
 privation of wine. I therefore deemed it fitting to take my 
 departure, which they would fain have prohibited. I was 
 enforced to clear the way with my staff. I have grievously 
 
 " What do you 7nean, bully friar, by calling ?nc hacked and thwacked i 
 
 beaten my dearly beloved brethren. I grieve thereat : but 
 they forced me thereto. I have beaten them much. I 
 mowed them down to the right and to the left, and left them 
 like an ill-reaped field of wheat, ear and straw pointing all 
 ways, scattered in singleness and jumbled in masses : and so 
 bade them farewell, saying. Peace be with you. But I must 
 not tarry, lest danger be in my rear ; therefore, farewell, sweet 
 Matilda, and farewell, noble baron; and farewell, sweet 
 
 58
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 Matilda again, the alpha and omega of Father Michael, the 
 first and the last.' 
 
 ' Farewell, father,' said the baron, a little softened ; ' and 
 God send you be never assailed by more than fifty men at a 
 time.' 
 
 'Amen,' said the friar, 'to that good wish.' 
 
 ' And we shall meet again, father, I trust,' said Matilda. 
 
 ' When the storm is blown over,' said the baron. 
 
 ' Doubt it not,' said the friar, ' though flooded Trent were 
 between us, and fifty devils guarded the bridge.' 
 
 He kissed Matilda's forehead, and walked away without a 
 song. 
 
 59
 
 Little John. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ♦ Let gallows gape for dog : let man go free.' 
 
 Henry V. 
 
 A PAGE had been brought up in Gamwell Hall, who, while he 
 was little, had been called Little John, and continued to be 
 so called after he had grown to be a foot taller than any other 
 man in the house. He was full seven feet high. His 
 latitude was worthy of his longitude, and his strength was 
 worthy of both ; and though an honest man by profession, 
 he had practised archery on the king's deer for the benefit of 
 his master's household, and for the improvement of his own 
 eye and hand, till his aim had become infallible within the 
 range of two miles. i He had fought manfully in defence of 
 his young master, took his captivity exceedingly to heart, and 
 fell into bitter grief and boundless rage when he heard that 
 he had been tried in Nottingham and sentenced to death. 
 
 ^ See page 74. The average range of a bow-shot is estimated by a writer 
 in the Antiquary at 250 yards, and Sir Walter Scott is contented with 
 
 two-thirds of this : 
 
 ' Well could he hit a fallow-deer 
 Five hundred feet him fro. ' 
 
 -G. 
 
 60
 
 
 
 r2y ^1 
 
 T/ie second rebounded with the hollow vibration of a dru7?istick/rotf: the shaven 
 sconce of the Abbot o/RubygilL' 
 Copyright 1895 by Macmillan &• Co.
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 Alice Gamwell, at Little John's request, wrote three letters of 
 one tenour ; and Little John, having attached them to three 
 blunt arrows, saddled the fleetest steed in old Sir Guy of 
 Gamwell's stables, mounted, and rode first to Arlingford 
 Castle, where he shot one of the three arrows over the battle- 
 ments ; then to Rubygill Abbey, where he shot the second 
 into the abbey garden ; then back past Gamwell Hall to the 
 borders of Sherwood Forest, where he shot the third into the 
 wood. Now the first of these arrows lighted in the nape of 
 the neck of Lord Fitzwater, and lodged itself firmly between 
 his skin and his collar ; the second rebounded with the hollow 
 vibration of a drumstick from the shaven sconce of the Abbot 
 of Rubygill : and the third pitched perpendicularly into the 
 centre of a venison pasty in which Robin Hood was making 
 incision. 
 
 Matilda ran up to her father in the court of Arlingford 
 Castle, seized the arrow, drew off the letter, and concealed 
 it in her bosom before the baron had time to look round, 
 which he did with many expressions of rage against the 
 impudent villain who had shot a blunt arrow into the nape of 
 his neck. 
 
 * But you know, father,' said Matilda, ' a sharp arrow in 
 the same place would have killed you ; therefore the sending 
 a blunt one was very considerate.' 
 
 ' Considerate with a vengeance,' said the baron. ' Where 
 was the consideration of sending it at all .'' This is some of 
 your forester's pranks. He has missed you in the forest, 
 since I have kept watch and ward over you, and by way of a 
 love-token and a remembrance to you takes a random shot 
 at me.' 
 
 The Abbot of Rubygill picked up the missile-missive or 
 messenger arrow, which had rebounded from the shaven 
 crown, with a very unghostly malediction on the sender, which 
 he suddenly checked with a pious and consolatory reflection 
 on the goodness of Providence in having blessed him with 
 such a thickness of skull, to which he was now indebted for 
 temporal preservation, as he had before been for spiritual 
 promotion. He opened the letter, which was addressed to 
 Father Michael ; and found it to contain an intimation that 
 William Gamwell was to be hanged on Monday at Notting- 
 ham. 
 
 63
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 * And I wish,' said the abbot, ' Father Michael were to be 
 hanged with him : an ungrateful monster, after I had rescued 
 him from the fangs of civil justice, to reward my lenity by 
 not leaving a bone unbruised among the holy brotherhood of 
 Rubygill.' 
 
 Robin Hood extracted from his venison pasty a similar 
 intimation of the evil destiny of his cousin, whom he deter- 
 mined, if possible, to rescue from the jaws of Cerberus. 
 
 The Sheriff of Nottingham, though still sore with his 
 bruises, was so intent on revenge, that he raised himself from 
 his bed to attend the execution of William Gamwell. He 
 rode to the august structure of retributive Themis, as the 
 French call a gallows, in all the pride and pomp of shrievalty, 
 and with a splendid retinue of well-equipped knaves and 
 varlets, as our ancestors called honest serving-men. 
 
 Young Gamwell was brought forth with his arms pinioned 
 behind him ; his sister Alice and his father. Sir Guy, attending 
 him in disconsolate mood. He had rejected the confessor 
 provided by the sheriff, and had insisted on the privilege of 
 choosing his own, whom Little John had promised to bring. 
 Little John, however, had not made his appearance when the 
 fatal procession began its march ; but when they reached the 
 place of execution, Little John appeared, accompanied by a 
 ghostly friar, 
 
 ' Sheriff,' said young Gamwell, ' let me not die with my 
 hands pinioned : give me a sword, and set any odds of your 
 men against me, and let me die the death of a man, like the 
 descendant of a noble house, which has never yet been stained 
 with ignominy.' 
 
 'No, no,' said the sheriff; 'I have had enough of setting 
 odds against you. I have sworn you shall be hanged, and 
 hanged you shall be.' 
 
 ' Then God have mercy on me,' said young Gamwell ; ' and 
 now, holy friar, shrive my sinful soul.' 
 
 The friar approached. 
 
 ' Let me see this friar,' said the sheriff : ' if he be the friar 
 of the bridge, I had as lief have the devil in Nottingham ; but 
 he shall find me too much for him here.' 
 
 'The friar of the bridge,' said Little John, 'as you very 
 well know, sheriff, was Father Michael of Rubygill Abbey, and 
 you may easily see that this is not the man.' 
 
 64
 
 ' " But yon know, father, a sharp arrow in the saine place 
 would have killed you." '
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 'I see it,' said the sheriff; 'and God be thanked for his 
 absence.' 
 
 Young Gamwell stood at the foot of the ladder. The friar 
 approached him, opened his book, groaned, turned up the white 
 of his eyes, tossed up his arms in the air, and said ' Dominus 
 vobiscuin.^ He then crossed both his hands on his breast 
 under the folds of his holy robes, and stood a few moments 
 as if in inward prayer. A deep silence among the attendant 
 crowd accompanied this action of the friar ; interrupted only 
 by the hollow tone of the death-bell, at long and dreary 
 intervals. Suddenly the friar threw off his holy robes, and 
 appeared a forester clothed in green, with a sword in his right 
 hand and a horn in his left. With the sword he cut the bonds 
 of William Gamwell, who instantly snatched a sword from one 
 of the sheriff's men ; and with the horn he blew a loud blast, 
 which was answered at once by four bugles from the quarters 
 of the four winds, and from each quarter came five-and-twenty 
 bowmen running all on a row. 
 
 ' Treason ! treason ! ' cried the sheriff. Old Sir Guy 
 sprang to his son's side, and so did Little John ; and the four 
 setting back to back, kept the sheriff and his men at bay till 
 the bowmen came within shot and let fly their arrows among 
 the sheriff's men, who, after a brief resistance, fled in all 
 directions. The forester who had personated the friar, sent an 
 arrow after the flying sheriff, calling with a strong voice, ' To 
 the sheriff's left arm, as a keepsake from Robin Hood.' The 
 arrow reached its destiny ; the sheriff redoubled his speed, 
 and, with one arrow in his arm, did not stop to breathe till he 
 was out of reach of another. 
 
 The foresters did not waste time in Nottingham, but were 
 soon at a distance from its walls. Sir Guy returned with Alice 
 to Gamwell Hall ; but thinking he should not be safe there, 
 from the share he had had in his son's rescue, they only 
 remained long enough to supply themselves with clothes and 
 money, and departed, under the escort of Little John, to 
 another seat of the Gamwells in Yorkshire. Young Gamwell, 
 taking it for granted that his offence was past remission, deter- 
 mined on joining Robin Hood, and accompanied him to the 
 forest, where it was deemed expedient that he should change 
 his name ; and he was rechristened without a priest, and with 
 wine instead of water, by the immortal name of Scarlet. 
 
 67
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 ' Who set my man i' the stocks ? — 
 I set him there, sir : but his own disorders 
 Deserved much less advancement. ' 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 The baron was inflexible in his resolution not to let Matilda 
 leave the castle. The letter, which announced to her the 
 approaching fate of young Gamwell, filled her with grief, and 
 increased the irksomeness of a privation which already preyed 
 sufficiently on her spirits, and began to undermine her health. 
 She had no longer the consolation of the society of her old 
 friend Father Michael ; the little fat friar of Rubygill was sub- 
 stituted as the castle confessor, not without some misgivings in 
 his ghostly bosom ; but he was more allured by the sweet 
 savour of the good things of this world at Arlingford Castle, 
 than deterred by his awe of the Lady Matilda, which neverthe- 
 less was so excessive, from his recollection of the twang of the 
 bow-string, that he never ventured to find her in the wrong, 
 much less to enjoin anything in the shape of penance, as was 
 the occasional practice of holy confessors, with or without 
 cause, for the sake of pious discipline, and what was in those 
 days called social order, namely, the preservation of the privi- 
 leges of the few who happened to have any, at the expense of 
 the swinish multitude who happened to have none, except that 
 of working and being shot at for the benefit of their betters, 
 which is obviously not the meaning of social order in our more 
 enlightened times ; let us therefore be grateful to Providence, 
 and sing Te Deiini laudamiis in chorus with the Holy Alliance. 
 The little friar, however, though he found the lady spotless, 
 found the butler a great sinner ; at least so it was conjectured, 
 
 68
 
 ' Her spirit pined in the monotonous inaction to which sJie was condemned* 
 Copyright 1895 by Macmillan Gr Co,
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 from the length of time he always took to confess him in the 
 buttery. 
 
 Matilda became every day more pale and dejected ; her 
 spirit, which could have contended against any strenuous 
 affliction, pined in the monotonous inaction to which she was 
 condemned. While she could freely range the forest with her 
 lover in the morning, she had been content to return to her 
 father's castle in the evening, thus preserving underanged the 
 balance of her duties, habits, and affections ; not without a 
 hope that the repeal of her lover's outlawry might be eventually 
 obtained, by a judicious distribution of some of his forest spoils 
 among the holy fathers and saints-that-were-to-be, — pious 
 proficients in the ecclesiastic art equestrian, who rode the 
 conscience of King Henry with double-curb bridles, and kept 
 it well in hand when it showed mettle and seemed inclined to 
 rear and plunge. But the affair at Gamwell feast threw many 
 additional difficulties in the way of the accomplishment of this 
 hope : and very shortly afterwards King Henry the Second 
 went to make up in the next world his quarrel with Thomas 
 a Becket ; and Richard Coeur de Lion made all England re- 
 sound with preparations for the crusade, to the great delight 
 of many zealous adventurers, who eagerly flocked under his 
 banner, in the hope of enriching themselves with Saracen 
 spoil, which they called fighting the battles of God. Richard, 
 who was not remarkably scrupulous in his financial operations, 
 was not likely to overlook the lands and castle of Locksley, 
 which he appropriated immediately to his own purposes, and 
 sold to the highest bidder. Now, as the repeal of the outlawry 
 would involve the restitution of the estates to the rightful owner, 
 it was obvious that it could never be expected from that most 
 legitimate and most Christian king, Richard the First of 
 England, the arch-crusader and anti-jacobin by excellence — 
 the very type, flower, cream, pink, symbol, and mirror of all 
 the Holy Alliances that have ever existed on earth, excepting 
 that he seasoned his superstition and love of conquest with a 
 certain condiment of romantic generosity and chivalrous self- 
 devotion, with which his imitators in all other points have 
 found it convenient to dispense. To give freely to one man 
 what he had taken forcibly from another was generosity of 
 which he was very capable ; but to restore what he had taken 
 to the man from whom he had taken it, was something that 
 
 71
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 wore too much of the cool physiognomy of justice to be easily 
 reconcilable to his kingly feelings. He had, besides, not only 
 sent all King Henry's saints about their business, or rather 
 about their no-business — their faineaiitise — but he had laid 
 them under rigorous contribution for the purposes of his holy 
 war ; and having made them refund to the piety of the 
 successor what they had extracted from the piety of the pre- 
 cursor, he compelled them, in addition, to give him their 
 blessing for nothing. Matilda, therefore, from all these 
 circumstances, felt little hope that her lover would be anything 
 but an outlaw for life. 
 
 The departure of King Richard from England was suc- 
 ceeded by the episcopal regency of the Bishops of Ely and 
 Durham. Longchamp, Bishop of Ely, proceeded to show his 
 sense of Christian fellowship by arresting his brother bishop, 
 and despoiling him of his share in the government ; and to set 
 forth his humility and loving-kindness in a retinue of nobles 
 and knights who consumed in one night's entertainment some 
 five years' revenue of their entertainer, and in a guard of fifteen 
 hundred foreign soldiers, whom he considered indispensable to 
 the exercise of a vigour beyond the law in maintaining whole- 
 some discipline over the refractory English. The ignorant 
 impatience of the swinish multitude with these fruits of good 
 living, brought forth by one of the meek who had inherited 
 the earth, displayed itself in a general ferment, of which 
 Prince John took advantage to make the experiment of getting 
 possession of his brother's crown in his absence. He began 
 by calling at Reading a council of barons, whose aspect 
 induced the holy bishop to disguise himself (some say as an 
 old woman, which, in the twelfth century, perhaps might 
 have been a disguise for a bishop), and make his escape 
 beyond sea. Prince John followed up his advantage by 
 obtaining possession of several strong posts, and, among 
 others, of the castle of Nottingham. 
 
 While John was conducting his operations at Nottingham, 
 he rode at times past the castle of Arlingford. He stopped 
 on one occasion to claim Lord Fitzwater's hospitality, and 
 made most princely havoc among his venison and brawn. 
 Now, it is a matter of record among divers great historians 
 and learned clerks that he was then and there grievously 
 smitten by the charms of the lovely Matilda, and that a few 
 
 72
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 days after he despatched his travelling minstrel, or laureate, 
 Harpiton i (whom he retained at moderate wages, to keep a 
 journal of his proceedings, and prove them all just and 
 legitimate), to the castle of Arlingford, to make proposals to 
 the lady. This Harpiton was a very useful person. He was 
 always ready, not only to maintain the cause of his master 
 with his pen, and to sing his eulogies to his harp, but to 
 undertake at a moment's notice any kind of courtly employ- 
 ment, called dirty work by the profane, which the blessings 
 of civil government, namely, his master's pleasure, and the 
 interests of social order, namely, his own emolument, might 
 require. In short, 
 
 II eut I'emploi qui certes n'est pas mince, 
 Et qu'a la cour, ou tout se peint en beau, 
 On appelloit etre I'ami du prince ; 
 Mais qu'a la ville, et surtout en province, 
 Les gens grossiers ont nomme maquereau. 
 
 Prince John was of opinion that the love of a prince actual 
 and king expectant, was in itself a sufficient honour to the 
 daughter of a simple baron, and that the right divine of 
 royalty would make it sufficiently holy without the rite divine 
 of the church. He was, therefore, graciously pleased to fall 
 into an exceeding passion, when his confidential messenger 
 returned from his embassy in piteous plight, having been, by 
 the baron's order, first tossed in a blanket and set in the 
 stocks to cool, and afterwards ducked in the moat and set 
 again in the stocks to dry. John swore to revenge horribly 
 this flagrant outrage on royal prerogative, and to obtain 
 possession of the lady by force of arms ; and accordingly 
 collected a body of troops, and marched upon Arlingford 
 Castle. A letter, conveyed as before on the point of a blunt 
 arrow, announced his approach to Matilda : and Lord Fitz- 
 water had just time to assemble his retainers, collect a hasty 
 supply of provision, raise the drawbridge, and drop the 
 portcullis, when the castle was surrounded by the enemy. 
 The little fat friar, who during the confusion was asleep in the 
 buttery, found himself, on awaking, inclosed in the besieged 
 castle, and dolefully bewailed his evil chance. 
 
 ^ Harp-it-on ; or, a corruption of 'EpTreroi/, a creeping thing. 
 
 73
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 ' A noble girl, i' faith. Heart ! I think I fight with a familiar, or the 
 ghost of a fencer. Call you this an amorous visage ? Here's blood that 
 would have served me these seven years, in broken heads and cut fingers, 
 and now it runs out altogether.' — Middleton, Roaring Girl. 
 
 Prince John sat down impatiently before Arlingford Castle 
 in the hope of starving out the besieged ; but finding the 
 duration of their supplies extend itself in an equal ratio with 
 the prolongation of his hope, he made vigorous preparations 
 for carrying the place by storm. He constructed an immense 
 machine on wheels, which, being advanced to the edge of the 
 moat, would lower a temporary bridge, of which one end 
 would rest on the bank and the other on the battlements, and 
 which, being well furnished with stepping -boards, would 
 enable his men to ascend the inclined plane with speed and 
 facility. Matilda received intimation of this design by the 
 usual friendly channel of a blunt arrow, which must either 
 have been sent from some secret friend in the prince's camp, 
 or from some vigorous archer beyond it : the latter will not 
 appear improbable, when we consider that Robin Hood and 
 Little John could shoot two English miles and an inch point- 
 blank. 
 
 Come scrive Turpino, che non erra. 
 
 The machine was completed, and the ensuing morning 
 fixed for the assault. Six men, relieved at intervals, kept 
 watch over it during the night. Prince John retired to sleep, 
 congratulating himself in the expectation that another day 
 would place the fair culprit at his princely mercy. His 
 anticipations mingled with the visions of his slumber, and he 
 
 74
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 dreamed of wounds and drums, and sacking and firing the 
 castle and bearing off in his arms the beautiful prize through 
 the midst of fire and smoke. In the height of this imagmary 
 turmoil, he awoke, and conceived for a few moments that 
 certain sounds which rang in his ears were the continuation 
 of those of his dream, in that sort of half-consciousness between 
 sleeping and waking, when reality and phantasy meet and 
 mingle in dim and confused resemblance. He was, however, 
 very soon fully awake to the fact of his guards calling on him 
 to arm, which he did in haste, and beheld the machme m 
 flames, and a furious conflict raging around it. He hurried to 
 the spot, and found that his camp had been suddenly assailed 
 from one side by a party of foresters, and that the barons 
 people had made a sortie on the other, and that they had 
 killed the guards, and set fire to the machine, before the rest 
 of the camp could come to the assistance of their fellows. 
 
 The night was in itself intensely dark, and the firelight 
 shed around it a vivid and unnatural radiance. On one side, 
 the crimson light quivered by its own agitation on the waveless 
 moat, and on the bastions and buttresses of the castle, and 
 their shadows lay in massy blackness on the illuminated walls : 
 on the other, it shone upon the woods, streaming far withm 
 among the open trunks, or resting on the closer foliage. The 
 circumference of darkness bounded the scene on all sides ; and 
 in the centre raged the war ; shields, helmets, and bucklers 
 gleaming and glittering as they rang and clashed against each 
 other ; plumes confusedly tossing in the crimson light, and the 
 massy light and shade that fell on the faces of the combatants, 
 giving additional energy to their ferocious expression. 
 
 John, drawing nearer to the scene of action, observed two 
 young warriors fighting side by side, one of whom wore the 
 habit of a forester, the other that of a retainer of Arlmgford. 
 He looked intently on them both ; their position towards the 
 fire favoured the scrutiny; and the hawk's eye of love very 
 speedily discovered that the latter was the fair Matilda. The 
 forester he did not know ; but he had sufficient tact to discern 
 that his success would be very much facilitated by separating 
 her from this companion, above all others. He therefore 
 formed a party of men into a wedge, only taking especial care 
 not to be the point of it himself, and drove it between them with 
 so much precision, that they were in a moment far asunder. 
 
 75
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' Lady Matilda,' said John, 'yield yourself my prisoner,' 
 
 ' If you would wear me, prince,' said Matilda, ' you must 
 win me ' : and without giving him time to deliberate on the 
 courtesy of fighting with the lady of his love, she raised her 
 sword in the air, and lowered it on his head with an impetus 
 that would have gone nigh to fathom even that extraordinary 
 depth of brain which always by divine grace furnishes the 
 interior of a head-royal, if he had not very dexterously parried 
 the blow. Prince John wished to disarm and take captive, 
 not in any way to wound or injure, least of all to kill, his fair 
 opponent, Matilda was only intent to get rid of her antagonist 
 at any rate : the edge of her weapon painted his complexion 
 with streaks of very unloverlike crimson, and she would prob- 
 ably have marred John's hand for ever signing Magna Charta, 
 but that he was backed by the advantage of numbers, and 
 that her sword broke short on the boss of his buckler, John 
 was following up his advantage to make a captive of the lady, 
 when he was suddenly felled to the earth by an unseen 
 antagonist. Some of his men picked him carefully up, and 
 conveyed him to his tent, stunned and stupefied. 
 
 When he recovered, he found Harpiton diligently assisting 
 in his recovery, more in the fear of losing his place than in that 
 of losing his master ; the prince's first inquiry was for the 
 prisoner he had been on the point of taking at the moment 
 when his habeas corpus was so unseasonably suspended. He 
 was told that his people had been on the point of securing the 
 said prisoner, when the devil suddenly appeared among them 
 in the likeness of a tall friar, having his grey frock cinctured 
 with a sword-belt, and his crown, which whether it were shaven 
 or no they could not see, surmounted with a helmet, and 
 flourishing an eight-foot staff, with which he laid about him to 
 the right and to the left, knocking down the prince and his men 
 as if they had been so many nine-pins : in fine, he had rescued 
 the prisoner, and made a clear passage through friend and 
 foe, and in conjunction with a chosen party of archers, had 
 covered the retreat of the baron's men and the foresters, who 
 had all gone off in a body towards Sherwood Forest. 
 
 Harpiton suggested that it would be desirable to sack the 
 castle, and volunteered to lead the van on the occasion, as the 
 defenders were withdrawn, and the exploit seemed to promise 
 much profit and little danger : John considered that the castle 
 
 76
 
 ' The devil in the likeness of a tall friar. 
 Copyright 1895 by Mactnillan &• Co,
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 would in itself be a great acquisition to him as a stronghold in 
 furtherance of his design on his brother's throne ; and was 
 determining to take possession with the first light of morning, 
 when he had the mortification to see the castle burst into 
 flames in several places at once. A piteous cry was heard 
 from within, and while the prince was proclaiming a reward to 
 any one who would enter into the burning pile, and elucidate 
 the mystery of the doleful voice, forth waddled the little fat 
 friar in an agony of fear, out of the fire into the frying-pan ; 
 for he was instantly taken into custody and carried before 
 Prince John, wringing his hands and tearing his hair. 
 
 'Are you the friar,' said Prince John, in a terrible voice, 
 ' that laid me prostrate in battle, mowed down my men like 
 grass, rescued my captive, and covered the retreat of my 
 enemies ? And, not content with this, have you now set fire to 
 the castle in which I intended to take up my royal quarters ? ' 
 
 The little friar quaked like a jelly : he fell on his knees, 
 and attempted to speak ; but in his eagerness to vindicate 
 him.self from this accumulation of alarming charges, he knew 
 not where to begin ; his ideas rolled round upon each other 
 like the radii of a wheel ; the words he desired to utter, instead 
 of issuing, as it were, in a right line from his lips, seemed to 
 conglobate themselves into a sphere turning on its own axis in 
 his throat : after several ineffectual efforts, his utterance totally 
 failed him, and he remained gasping, with his mouth open, his 
 lips quivering, his hands clasped together, and the whites of 
 his eyes turned up towards the prince with an expression most 
 ruefully imploring. 
 
 * Are you that friar ? ' repeated the prince. 
 
 Several of the bystanders declared that he was not that 
 friar. The little friar, encouraged by this patronage, found 
 his voice, and pleaded for mercy. The prince questioned him 
 closely concerning the burning of the castle. The little friar 
 declared, that he had been in too great fear during the siege 
 to know much of what was going forward, except that he had 
 been conscious during the last few days of a lamentable 
 deficiency of provisions, and had been present that very 
 morning at the broaching of the last butt of sack. Harpiton 
 groaned in sympathy. The little friar added, that he knew 
 nothing of what had passed since, till he heard the flames 
 roaring at his elbow. 
 
 79
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' Take him away, Harpiton,' said the prince ; ' fill him with 
 sack and turn him out.' 
 
 ' Never mind the sack,' said the little friar, ' turn me out 
 at once.' 
 
 ' A sad chance,' said Harpiton, ' to be turned out without 
 sack.' 
 
 But what Harpiton thought a sad chance the little friar 
 thought a merry one, and went bounding like a fat buck 
 towards the abbey of Rubygill. 
 
 An arrow, with a letter attached to it, was shot into the 
 camp, and carried to the prince. The contents were these : — 
 
 ' Prince John — I do not consider myself to have resisted 
 lawful authority in defending my castle against you, seeing 
 that you are at present in a state of active rebellion against 
 your liege sovereign Richard : and if my provisions had not 
 failed me, I would have maintained it till doomsday. As it 
 is, I have so well disposed my combustibles that it shall, not 
 serve you as a stronghold in your rebellion. If you hunt in 
 the chases of Nottinghamshire, you may catch other game 
 than my daughter. Both she and I are content to be houseless 
 for a time, in the reflection that we have deserved your enmity, 
 and the friendship of Coeur de Lion. Fitzwater.' 
 
 80
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 — Tuck, the merry friar, who many a sermon made 
 In praise of Robin Hood, his outlaws, and their trade.' 
 
 Drayton. 
 
 The baron, with some of his retainers, and all the foresters, 
 halted at daybreak in Sherwood Forest. The foresters quickly 
 erected tents, and prepared an abundant breakfast of venison 
 and ale. 
 
 'Now, Lord Fitzwater,' said the chief forester, 'recognise 
 your son-in-law that was to have been, in the outlaw Robin 
 Hood.' 
 
 'Ay, ay,' said the baron, ' I have recognised you long ago.' 
 
 'And recognise your young friend Gamwell,' said the 
 second, ' in the outlaw Scarlet.' 
 
 'And Little John, the page,' said the third, 'in Little 
 John the outlaw.' 
 
 'And Father Michael, of Rubygill Abbey,' said the friar, 
 ' in Friar Tuck, of Sherwood Forest. Truly, I have a chapel 
 here hard by, in the shape of a hollow tree, where I put up 
 my prayers for travellers, and Little John holds the plate at 
 the door, for good praying deserves good paying.' 
 
 ' I am in fine company,' said the baron. 
 
 ' In the very best of company,' said the friar ; ' in the high 
 court of Nature, and in the midst of her own nobility. Is it 
 not so ? This goodly grove is our palace : the oak and the 
 beech are its colonnade and its canopy : the sun and the 
 moon and the stars are its everlasting lamps : the grass, and 
 the daisy, and the primrose, and the violet, are its many- 
 coloured floor of green, white, yellow, and blue ; the may- 
 flower, and the woodbine, and the eglantine, and the ivy, are 
 G 8i
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 its decorations, its curtains, and its tapestry : the lark, and 
 the thrush, and the linnet, and the nightingale, are its unhired 
 minstrels and musicians.^ Robin Hood is king of the forest 
 both by dignity of birth and by virtue of his standing army : 
 to say nothing of the free choice of his people, which he has 
 indeed, but I pass it by as an illegitimate basis of power. 
 He holds his dominion over the forest, and its horned multi- 
 tude of citizen-deer, and its swinish multitude or peasantry 
 of wild boars, by right of conquest and force of arms. He 
 levies contributions among them by the free consent of his 
 archers, their virtual representatives. If they should find a 
 voice to complain that we are " tyrants and usurpers to kill 
 and cook them up in their assigned and native dwelling-place," 
 we should most convincingly admonish them, with point of 
 arrow, that they have nothing to do with our laws but to obey 
 them. Is it not written that the fat ribs of the herd shall be 
 fed upon by the mighty in the land ? And have not they 
 withal my blessing ? my orthodox, canonical, and archi- 
 episcopal blessing ? Do I not give thanks for them when they 
 are well roasted and smoking under my nose ? What title 
 had William of Normandy to England, that Robin of Locksley 
 has not to merry Sherwood ? William fought for his claim. 
 So does Robin. With whom, both ? With any that would 
 or will dispute it. William raised contributions. So does 
 Robin. From whom, both ? From all that they could or 
 can make pay them. Why did any pay them to William ? 
 Why do any pay them to Robin ? For the same reason to 
 both : because they could not or cannot help it. They differ 
 indeed, in this, that William took from the poor and gave to 
 the rich, and Robin takes from the rich and gives to the poor : 
 and therein is Robin illegitimate : though in all else he is 
 true prince. Scarlet and John, are they not peers of the 
 forest ? lords temporal of Sherwood ? And am not I lord 
 spiritual ? Am I not archbishop ? Am I not pope ? Do I 
 not consecrate their banner and absolve their sins ? Are not 
 they state, and am not I church ? Are not they state mon- 
 archical, and am not I church militant ? Do I not excom- 
 municate our enemies from venison and brawn, and by 'r 
 
 ^ ' How does Nature deify us with a few cheap elements ! Give me 
 health and a day, and I will make the pomp of emperors ridiculous." 
 Emerson. — G. 
 
 82
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 Lady, when need calls, beat them down under my feet ? The 
 State levies tax ; and the Church levies tithe. Even so do 
 we. Mass, we take all at once. What then ? It is tax by 
 redemption and tithe by commutation. Your William and 
 Richard can cut and come again, but our Robin deals with 
 shppery subjects that come not twice to his exchequer. What 
 need we then to constitute a court, except a fool and a laureate ? 
 For the fool, his only use is to make false knaves merry by 
 art, and we are true men and are merry by nature. For the 
 laureate, his only office is to find virtues in those who have 
 none, and to drink sack for his pains. We have quite virtue 
 enough to need him not, and can drink our sack for our- 
 selves.' 
 
 * Well preached, friar,' said Robin Hood ; ' yet there is one 
 thing wanting to constitute a court, and that is a queen. And 
 now, lovely Matilda, look round upon these sylvan shades 
 where we have so often roused the stag from his ferny covert. 
 The rising sun smiles upon us through the stems of that 
 beechen knoll. Shall I take your hand, Matilda, in the 
 presence of this my court ? Shall I crown you with our wild- 
 wood coronal, and hail you queen of the forest ? Will you be 
 the Queen Matilda of your own true King Robin ? ' 
 
 Matilda smiled assent. 
 
 ' Not Matilda,' said the friar : ' the rules of our holy alliance 
 require new birth. We have excepted in favour of Little John, 
 because he is great John, and his name is a misnomer. I 
 sprinkle, not thy forehead with water, but thy lips with wine, 
 and baptize thee Marian.' 
 
 ' Here is a pretty conspiracy,' exclaimed the baron. ' Why, 
 you villainous friar, think you to nickname and marry my 
 daughter before my face with impunity ? ' 
 
 ' Even so, bold baron,' said the friar ; ' we are strongest 
 here. Say you, might overcomes right ? I say no. There 
 is no right but might : and to say that might overcomes right 
 is to say that right overcomes itself — an absurdity most 
 palpable. Your right was the stronger in Arlingford, and ours 
 is the stronger in Sherwood. Your right was right as long as 
 you could maintain it ; so is ours. So is King Richard's, 
 with all deference be it spoken ; and so is King Saladin's ; 
 and their two mights are now committed in bloody fray, and 
 that which overcomes will be right, just as long as it lasts, and 
 
 83
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 as far as it reaches. And, now, if any of you know any just 
 
 impediment ' 
 
 ' Fire and fury,' said the baron. 
 
 * Fire and fury,' said the friar, ' are modes of that might 
 which constitutes right, and are just impediments to anything 
 against which they can be brought to bear. They are our 
 good allies upon occasion, and would declare for us now if 
 you should put them to the test.' 
 
 ' Father,' said Matilda, ' you know the terms of our compact. 
 From the moment you restrained my liberty, you renounced 
 your claim to all but compulsory obedience. The friar argues 
 well. Right ends with might. Thick walls, dreary galleries, 
 and tapestried chambers, were indifferent to me while I could 
 leave them at pleasure, but have ever been hateful to me since 
 they held me by force. May I never again have roof but 
 the blue sky, nor canopy but the green leaves, nor barrier but 
 the forest bounds ; with the foresters to my train. Little John 
 to my page, Friar Tuck to my ghostly adviser, and Robin 
 Hood to my liege lord. I am no longer Lady Matilda Fitz- 
 water, of Arlingford Castle, but plain Maid Marian, of Sher- 
 wood Forest.' 
 
 ' Long live Maid Marian ! ' re-echoed the foresters. 
 
 * Oh, false girl,' said the baron, ' do you renounce your 
 name and parentage ? ' 
 
 ' Not my parentage,' said Marian, ' but my name indeed. 
 Do not all maids renounce it at the altar ? ' 
 
 ' The altar ? ' said the baron. ' Grant me patience ! what 
 do you mean by the altar ? ' 
 
 ' Pile green turf,' said the friar ; ' wreathe it with flowers, 
 and crown it with fruit, and we will show the noble baron 
 what we mean by the altar.' 
 
 The foresters did as the friar directed. 
 
 * Now, Little John,' said the friar, ' on with the cloak of 
 the Abbot of Doubleflask. I appoint thee my clerk : thou art 
 here duly elected in full mote.' 
 
 ' I wish you were all in full moat together,' said the baron, 
 * and smooth wall on both sides.' 
 
 ' Punnest thou ? ' said the friar. ' A heinous anti-Christian 
 offence. Why anti-Christian ? Because anti-Catholic. Why 
 anti - Catholic ? Because anti- Roman. Why anti - Roman ? 
 Because Carthaginian. Is not pun from Punic? punica fides : 
 
 84
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 the very quint-essential quiddity of bad faith : double-visaged, 
 
 double-tongued. He that will make a pun will I say 
 
 no more. Fie on it. Stand forth, clerk. Who is the bride's 
 father ? ' 
 
 ' There is no bride's father,' said the baron. ' I am the 
 father of Matilda Fitzwater.' 
 
 ' There is none such,' said the friar. ' This is the fair 
 Maid Marian. Will you make a virtue of necessity, or will 
 you give laws to the flowing tide ? Will you give her, or shall 
 Robin take her ? Will you be her true natural father, or shall 
 I commute paternity ? Stand forth, Scarlet.' 
 
 ' Stand back, sirrah Scarlet,' said the baron. ' My 
 daughter shall have no father but me. Needs must when the 
 devil drives.' 
 
 ' No matter who drives,' said the friar, ' so that, like a well- 
 disposed subject, you yield cheerful obedience to those who 
 can enforce it.' 
 
 ' Mawd, sweet Mawd,' said the baron, ' will you then for- 
 sake your poor old father in his distress, with his castle in 
 ashes, and his enemy in power ? ' 
 
 ' Not so, father,' said Marian ; ' I will always be your true 
 daughter : I will always love, and serve, and watch, and 
 defend you : but neither will I forsake my plighted love, and 
 my own liege lord, who was your choice before he was mine, 
 for you made him my associate in infancy ; and that he con- 
 tinued to be mine when he ceased to be yours, does not in any 
 way show remissness in my duties or falling off in my affections. 
 And though I here plight my troth at the altar to Robin, in 
 
 the presence of this holy priest and pious clerk, yet 
 
 Father, when Richard returns from Palestine, he will restore 
 you to your barony, and perhaps, for your sake, your daughter's 
 husband to the earldom of Huntingdon : should that never be, 
 should it be the will of fate that we must live and die in the 
 greenwood, I will live and die Maid Marian.' i 
 
 ' A pretty resolution,' said the baron, ' if Robin will let you 
 keep it' 
 
 ' I have sworn it,' said Robin. ' Should I expose her 
 
 1 * And therefore is she called Maid Marian, 
 Because she leads a spotless maiden life, 
 And shall till Robin's outlaw life have end.' 
 
 Old Play. 
 
 85
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 tenderness to the perils of maternity, when life and death may 
 hang on shifting at a moment's notice from Sherwood to Barns- 
 dale, and from Barnsdale to the seashore ? And why should 
 I banquet when my merry men starve ? Chastity is our 
 forest law, and even the friar has kept it since he has been 
 here.' 
 
 ' Truly so,' said the friar ; ' for temptation dwells with ease 
 and luxury ; but the hunter is Hippolytus, and the huntress is 
 Dian. And now, dearly beloved ' 
 
 The friar went through the ceremony with great unction, and 
 Little John was most clerical in the intonation of his responses. 
 After which, the friar sang, and Little John fiddled, and the 
 foresters danced, Robin with Marian, and Scarlet with the 
 baron ; and the venison smoked, and the ale frothed, and the 
 \\dne sparkled, and the sun went down on their unwearied 
 festivity ; which they wound up with the following song, the 
 friar leading and the foresters joining chorus : 
 
 Oh ! bold Robin Hood is a forester good, 
 
 As ever drew bow in the merry greenwood : 
 
 At his bugle's shrill singing the echoes are ringing, 
 
 The wild deer are springing for many a rood : 
 
 Its summons we follow, through brake, over hollow, 
 
 The thrice-blown shrill summons of bold Robin Hood. 
 
 And what eye hath e'er seen such a sweet Maiden Queen, 
 
 As Marian, the pride of the forester's green ? 
 
 A sweet garden-flower, she blooms in the bower, 
 
 Where alone to this hour the wild rose has been : 
 
 We hail her in duty the queen of all beauty : 
 
 We will live, we will die, by our sweet Maiden Queen. 
 
 And here's a grey friar, good as heart can desire, 
 To absolve all our sins as the case may require : 
 Who with courage so stout, lays his oak-plant about, 
 And puts to the rout all the foes of his choir ; 
 For we are his choristers, we merry foresters, 
 Chorusing thus with our militant friar. 
 
 And Scarlet doth bring his good yew-bough and string. 
 Prime minister is he of Robin our king ; 
 No mark is too narrow for Little John's arrow, 
 That hits a cock sparrow a mile on the wing : 
 Robin and Marion, Scarlet and Little John, 
 Long with their glory old Sherwood shall ring. 
 86
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 Each a good liver, for well-feathered quiver 
 
 Doth furnish brawn, venison, and fowl of the river : 
 
 But the best game we dish up, it is a fat bishop : 
 
 When his angels we fish up, he proves a free giver : 
 
 For a prelate so lowly has angels more holy, 
 
 And should this world's false angels to sinners deliver. 
 
 Robin and Marion, Scarlet and Little John, 
 Drink to them one by one, drink as ye sing : 
 Robin and Marion, Scarlet and Little John, 
 Echo to echo through Sherwood shall fling : 
 Robin and Marion, Scarlet and Little John, 
 Long with their glory old Sherwood shall ring. 
 
 87
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 ' A single volume paramount : a code : 
 A master spirit ; a determined road,' 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 The next morning Robin Hood convened his foresters, and 
 desired Little John, for the baron's edification, to read over the 
 laws of their forest society. Little John read aloud with a 
 stentorophonic voice. 
 
 'At a high court of foresters, held under the greenwood 
 tree, an hour after sunrise, Robin Hood, President ; William 
 Scarlet, Vice-President ; Little John, Secretary : the following 
 articles, moved by Friar Tuck in his capacity of Peer Spiritual, 
 and seconded by Much the Miller, were unanimously agreed to. 
 
 ' The principles of our society are six : Legitimacy, Equity, 
 Hospitality, Chivalr>^, Chastity, and Courtesy. 
 
 ' The articles of Legitimacy are four : 
 
 * L Our government is legitimate, and our society is 
 founded on the one golden rule of right, consecrated by the 
 universal consent of mankind, and by the practice of all ages, 
 individuals, and nations : namely, To keep what we have, and 
 to catch what we can. 
 
 ' H. Our government being legitimate, all our proceedings 
 shall be legitimate : wherefore we declare war against the 
 whole world, and every forester is by this legitimate declara- 
 tion legitimately invested with a roving commission, to make 
 lawful prize of everything that comes in his way. 
 
 ' n L All forest laws but our own we declare to be null and 
 void. 
 
 * IV. All such of the old laws of England as do not in any 
 way interfere with, or militate against, the views of this honour- 
 
 88
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 able assembly, we will loyally adhere to and maintain. The 
 rest we declare null and void as far as relates to ourselves, in 
 all cases wherein a vigour beyond the law may be conducive 
 to our own interest and preservation. 
 
 ' The articles of Equity are three : 
 
 ' I. The balance of power among the people being very 
 much deranged, by one having too much and another nothing, 
 we hereby resolve ourselves into a congress or court of equity, 
 to restore as far as in us lies the said natural balance of power, 
 by taking from all who have too much as much of the said too 
 much as we can lay our hands on ; and giving to those who have 
 nothing such a portion thereof as it may seem to us expedient 
 to part with. 
 
 'II. In all cases a quorum of foresters shall constitute a 
 court of equity, and as many as may be strong enough to 
 manage the matter in hand shall constitute a quorum. 
 
 'III. All usurers, monks, courtiers, and other drones of 
 the great hive of society, who shall be found laden with any 
 portion of the honey whereof they have wrongfully despoiled 
 the industrious bee, shall be rightfully despoiled thereof in 
 turn ; and all bishops and abbots shall be bound and beaten,^ 
 especially the Abbot of Doncaster ; as shall also all sheriffs, 
 especially the Sheriff of Nottingham. 
 
 ' The articles of Hospitality are two : 
 
 ' I. Postmen, carriers and market - folk, peasants and 
 mechanics, farmers and millers, shall pass through our forest 
 dominions without let or molestation. 
 
 'II. All other travellers through the forest shall be 
 graciously invited to partake of Robin's hospitality ; and if 
 they come not willingly they shall be compelled ; and the rich 
 man shall pay well for his fare ; and the poor man shall feast 
 scot free, and peradventure receive bounty in proportion to his 
 desert and necessity. 
 
 1 These byshoppes and these archbyshoppes 
 Ye shall them bete and bynde, 
 
 says Robin Hood, in an old ballad. Perhaps, however, this is to be 
 taken not in a literal but in a figurative sense, from the binding and 
 beating of wheat : for as all rich men were Robin's harvest, the bishops 
 and archbishops must have been the finest and fattest ears among them, 
 from which Robin merely proposes to thresh the grain when he directs them 
 to be bound and beaten : and as Pharaoh's fat kine were typical of fat ears 
 of wheat, so may fat ears of wheat, mutatis mutandis, be typical of fat kine. 
 
 89
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' The article of Chivalry is one : 
 
 ' I, Every forester shall, to the extent of his power, aid and 
 protect maids, widows, and orphans, and all weak and 
 distressed persons whomsoever : and no woman shall be 
 impeded or molested in any way ; nor shall any company 
 receive harm which any woman is in. 
 
 ' The article of Chastity is one : 
 
 * I. Every forester, being Diana's forester and minion of 
 the moon, shall commend himself to the grace of the Virgin, 
 and shall have the gift of continency on pain of expulsion : 
 that the article of chivalry may be secure from infringement, 
 and maids, wives, and widows pass without fear through the 
 forest. 
 
 ' The article of Courtesy is one : 
 
 ' I. No one shall miscall a forester. He who calls Robin 
 Robert of Huntingdon, or salutes him by any other title or 
 designation whatsoever except plain Robin Hood ; or who 
 calls Marian Matilda Fitzwater, or salutes her by any other 
 title or designation whatsoever except plain Maid Marian ; 
 and so of all others ; shall for every such offence forfeit a 
 mark, to be paid to the friar. 
 
 ' And these articles we swear to keep as we are good 
 men and true. Carried by acclamation. God save King 
 Richard. Little John, Secretary.' 
 
 ' Excellent laws,' said the baron ; ' excellent, by the holy 
 rood. William of Normandy, with my great great grand- 
 father Fierabras at his elbow, could not have made better. 
 And now, sweet Mawd ' 
 
 ' A fine, a fine,' cried the friar, ' a fine, by the article of 
 courtesy.' 
 
 * Od's life,' said the baron, ' shall I not call my own 
 daughter Mawd ? Methinks there should be a special excep- 
 tion in my favour.' 
 
 ' It must not be,' said Robin Hood. ' Our constitution 
 admits no privilege.' 
 
 ' But I will commute,' said the friar ; ' for twenty marks 
 a year duly paid into my ghostly pocket, you shall call your 
 daughter Mawd two hundred times a day.' 
 
 ' Gramercy,' said the baron, ' and I agree, honest friar, 
 when I can get twenty marks to pay ; for till Prince John be 
 
 90
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 beaten from Nottingham, my rents are like to prove but 
 scanty.' 
 
 'I will trust,' said the friar, 'and thus let us ratify the 
 stipulation ; so shall our laws and your infringement run 
 together in an amiable parallel.' 
 
 ' But,' said Little John, ' this is a bad precedent, master 
 friar. It is turning discipline into profit, penalty into per- 
 quisite, public justice into private revenue. It is rank 
 corruption, master friar.' 
 
 ' Why are laws made ? ' said the friar. ' For the profit 
 of somebody. Of whom ? Of him who makes them first, 
 and of others as it may happen. Was not I legislator 
 in the last article, and shall I not thrive by my own 
 law?' 
 
 ' Well then, sweet Mawd,' said the baron, ' I must leave 
 you, Mawd. Your life is very well for the young and the 
 hearty, but it squares not with my age or my humour. I 
 must house, Mawd. I must find refuge : but where ? That 
 is the question.' 
 
 ' Where Sir Guy of Gamwell has found it,' said Robin 
 Hood, ' near the borders of Barnsdale. There you may dwell 
 in safety with him and fair Alice, till King Richard return, 
 and Little John shall give you safe conduct. You will have 
 need to travel with caution, in disguise and without attendants, 
 for Prince John commands all this vicinity, and will doubtless 
 lay the country for you and Marian. Now, it is first ex- 
 pedient to dismiss your retainers. If there be any among 
 them who like our life, they may stay with us in the green- 
 wood ; the rest may return to their homes.' 
 
 Some of the baron's men resolved to remain with Robin 
 and Marian, and were furnished accordingly with suits of 
 green, of which Robin always kept good store. 
 
 Marian now declared that as there was danger in the way 
 to Barnsdale, she would accompany Little John and the baron, 
 as she should not be happy unless she herself saw her father 
 placed in security. Robin was very unwilling to consent to 
 this, and assured her that there was more danger for her than 
 the baron ; but Marian was absolute. 
 
 ' If so, then,' said Robin, ' I shall be your guide instead of 
 Little John, and I shall leave him and Scarlet joint-regents 
 of Sherwood during my absence, and the voice of Friar Tuck 
 
 91
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 shall be decisive between them if they differ in nice questions 
 of state policy.' Marian objected to this, that there was more 
 danger for Robin than either herself or the baron ; but Robin 
 was absolute in his turn. 
 
 ' Talk not of my voice,' said the friar ; ' for if Marian be a 
 damsel errant, I will be her ghostly esquire.' 
 
 Robin insisted that this should not be, for number would 
 only expose them to greater risk of detection. The friar, after 
 some debate, reluctantly acquiesced. 
 
 While they were discussing these matters, they heard the 
 distant sound of horses' feet. 
 
 ' Go,' said Robin to Little John, ' and invite yonder horse- 
 man to dinner.' 
 
 Little John bounded away, and soon came before a young 
 man, who was riding in a melancholy manner, with the bridle 
 hanging loose on the horse's neck, and his eyes drooping 
 towards the ground. 
 
 ' Whither go you 1 ' said Little John. 
 
 ' Whithersoever my horse pleases,' said the young man. 
 
 ' And that shall be,' said Little John, ' whither I please to 
 lead him. I am commissioned to invite you to dine with my 
 master.' 
 
 ' WTio is your master ? ' said the young man. 
 
 ' Robin Hood,' said Little John. 
 
 ' The bold outlaw ? ' said the stranger. ' Neither he nor 
 you should have made me turn an inch aside yesterday ; but 
 to-day I care not.' 
 
 ' Then it is better for you,' said Little John, ' that you came 
 to-day than yesterday, if you love dining in a whole skin : for 
 my master is the pink of courtesy : but if his guests prove 
 stubborn, he bastes them and his venison together, while the 
 friar says mass before meat.' 
 
 The young man made no answer, and scarcely seemed to 
 hear what Little John was saying, who therefore took the 
 horse's bridle and led him to where Robin and his foresters 
 were setting forth their dinner. Robin seated the young man 
 next to Marian. Recovering a little from his stupor, he looked 
 with much amazement at her, and the baron, and Robin, and 
 the friar ; listened to their conversation, and seemed much 
 astonished to find himself in such holy and courtly company. 
 Robin helped him largely to numble-pie and cygnet and 
 
 92
 
 ' " WhWier go you ? " said Little John.^
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 pheasant,^ and the other dainties of his table ; and the friar 
 pledged him in ale and wine, and exhorted him to make good 
 cheer. But the young man drank little, ate less, spake nothing, 
 and every now and then sighed heavily. 
 
 When the repast was ended, ' Now,' said Robin, ' you are 
 at liberty to pursue your journey : but first be pleased to pay 
 for your dinner.' 
 
 ' That would I gladly do, Robin,' said the young man, ' but 
 all I have about me are five shillings and a ring. To the five 
 shillings you shall be welcome, but for the ring I will fight 
 while there is a drop of blood in my veins.' 
 
 'Gallantly spoken,' said Robin Hood. 'A love-token, 
 without doubt : but you must submit to our forest laws. Little 
 John must search ; and if he find no more than you say, not a 
 penny will I touch ; but if you have spoken false, the whole is 
 forfeit to our fraternity.' 
 
 ' And with reason,' said the friar ; ' for thereby is the truth 
 maintained. The Abbot of Doubleflask swore there was no 
 money in his valise, and Little John forthwith emptied it of 
 four hundred pounds. Thus was the abbot's perjury but of 
 one minute's duration ; for though his speech was false in the 
 utterance, yet was it no sooner uttered than it became true, 
 and we should have been participes crimiiiis to have suffered 
 the holy abbot to depart in falsehood : whereas he came to us 
 a false priest, and we sent him away a true man. Marry, we 
 turned his cloak to further account, and thereby hangs a tale 
 that may be either said or sung : for in truth I am minstrel 
 here as well as chaplain ; I pray for good success to our just 
 and necessary warfare, and sing thanksgiving odes when our 
 foresters bring in booty : 
 
 Bold Robin has robed him in ghostly attire, 
 And forth he is gone like a holy friar, 
 
 Singing hey down, ho down, down, derry down : 
 And of two grey friars he soon was aware, 
 Regaling themselves with dainty fare, 
 
 All on the fallen leaves so brown. 
 
 ^ It is somewhat doubtful whether Robin could have helped his guest 
 to pheasant, largely or sparingly, though the bird is said to be mentioned 
 in an English charter of the eleventh century. The first mention of it in an 
 English book is stated to be in The Forme of Curie, 1381. — G. 
 
 95
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 *' Good morrow, good brothers," said bold Robin Hood, 
 *' And what make you in good greenwood. 
 
 Singing hey down, ho down, down, derry down ! 
 Now give me, I pray you, wine and food ; 
 For none can I find in the good greenwood, 
 
 All on the fallen leaves so brown." 
 
 " Good brother," they said, "we would give you full fain, 
 But we have no more than enough for twain. 
 
 Singing hey down, ho down, down, derry down." 
 "Then give me some money," said bold Robin Hood, 
 *' For none can I find in the good greenwood, 
 
 All on the fallen leaves so brown." 
 
 "No money have we, good brother," said they : 
 "Then," said he, " we three for money will pray : 
 
 Singing hey down, ho down, down, derry down : 
 And whatever shall come at the end of our prayer, 
 We three holy friars will piously share. 
 
 All on the fallen leaves so brown." 
 
 "We will not pray with thee, good brother. God wot : 
 For truly, good brother, thou pleasest us not, 
 
 Singing hey down, ho down, down, derry down " : 
 Then up they both started from Robin to run. 
 But down on their knees Robin pulled them each one, 
 
 All on the fallen leaves so brown. 
 
 The grey friars prayed with a doleful face, 
 
 But bold Robin prayed with a right merry grace, 
 
 Singing hey down, ho down, down, derry down ; 
 And when they had prayed, their portmanteau he took, 
 And from it a hundred good angels he shook. 
 
 All on the fallen leaves so brown. 
 
 "The saints," said bold Robin, "have hearkened our prayer, 
 
 And here's a good angel apiece for your share ; 
 
 If more you would have, you must win ere you wear ; 
 
 Singing hey down, ho down, down, derry down " : 
 Then he blew his good horn with a musical cheer. 
 And fifty green bowmen came trooping full near. 
 And away the grey friars they bounded like deer. 
 
 All on the fallen leaves so brown. ' 
 
 96
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 ' What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, 
 What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? ' 
 
 Burns. 
 
 'Here is but five shillings and a ring,' said Little John, 'and 
 the young man has spoken true.' 
 
 'Then,' said Robin to the stranger, 'if want of money be 
 the cause of your melancholy, speak. Little John is my 
 treasurer, and he shall disburse to you.' 
 
 ' It is, and it is not,' said the stranger ; 'it is, because, had 
 I not wanted money I had never lost my love ; it is not, 
 because, now that I have lost her, money would come too late 
 to regain her.' 
 
 ' In what way have you lost her ? ' said Robin : ' let us 
 clearly know that she is past regaining, before we give up our 
 wishes to restore her to you.' 
 
 'She is to be married this day,' said the stranger, 'and 
 perhaps is married by this, to a rich old knight ; and yesterday 
 I knew it not.' 
 
 ' What is your name ? ' said Robin. 
 
 ' Allen,' said the stranger. 
 
 * And where is the marriage to take place, Allen ? ' said Robin. 
 
 'At Edwinstow church,' said Allen, 'by the Bishop of 
 Nottingham.' 
 
 ' I know that bishop,' said Robin ; ' he dined with me a 
 month since, and paid three hundred pounds for his dinner. 
 He has a good ear and loves music. The friar sang to him to 
 some tune. Give me my harper's cloak, and I will play a 
 part at this wedding.' 
 
 ' These are dangerous times, Robin,' said Marian, ' for 
 playing pranks out of the forest.' 
 H 97
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' Fear not,' said Robin ; ' Edwinstow lies not Nottingham- 
 ward, and I will take my precautions.' 
 
 Robin put on his harper's cloak, while Little John painted 
 his eyebrows and cheeks, tipped his nose with red, and tied 
 him on a comely beard. Marian confessed, that had she not 
 been present at the metamorphosis, she should not have 
 known her own true Robin. Robin took his harp and went to 
 the wedding. 
 
 Robin found the bishop and his train in the church porch, 
 impatiently expecting the arrival of the bride and bridegroom. 
 The clerk was observing to the bishop that the knight was 
 somewhat gouty, and that the necessity of walking the last 
 quarter of a mile from the road to the churchyard probably 
 detained the lively bridegroom rather longer than had been 
 calculated upon. 
 
 'Oh! by my fay,' said the music-loving bishop, 'here 
 comes a harper in the nick of time, and now I care not how 
 long they tarry. Ho ! honest friend, are you come to play at 
 the wedding ? ' 
 
 ' I am come to play anywhere,' answered Robin, ' where I 
 can get a cup of sack ; for which I will sing the praise of the 
 donor in lofty verse, and emblazon him with any virtue which 
 he may wish to have the credit of possessing, without the 
 trouble of practising.' 
 
 ' A most courtly harper,' said the bishop ; ' I will fill thee 
 with sack ; I will make thee a walking butt of sack, if thou 
 wilt delight my ears with thy melodies.' 
 
 ' That will I,' said Robin ; ' in what branch of my art shall 
 I exert my faculty ? I am passing well in all, from the anthem 
 to the glee, and from the dirge to the coranto.' 
 
 ' It would be idle,' said the bishop, ' to give thee sack for 
 playing me anthems, seeing that I myself do receive sack for 
 hearing them sung. Therefore, as the occasion is festive, thou 
 shalt play me a coranto.' 
 
 Robin struck up and played away merrily, the bishop all 
 the while in great delight, noddling his head, and beating 
 time with his foot, till the bride and bridegroom appeared. 
 The bridegroom was richly apparelled, and came slowly and 
 painfully forward, hobbling and leering, and pursing up his 
 mouth into a smile of resolute defiance to the gout, and of 
 tender complacency towards his lady-love, who, shining like 
 
 98
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 gold at the old knight's expense, followed slowly between her 
 father and mother, her cheeks pale, her head drooping, her 
 steps faltering, and her eyes reddened with tears. 
 
 Robin stopped his minstrelsy, and said to the bishop, ' This 
 seems to me an unfit match.' 
 
 ' What do you say, rascal ? ' said the old knight, hobbling 
 up to him. 
 
 ' I say,' said Robin, ' this seems to me an unfit match. 
 What, in the devil's name, can you want with a young wife, 
 who have one foot in flannels and the other in the grave ? ' 
 
 ' What is that to thee, sirrah varlet ? ' said the old knight ; 
 ' stand away from the porch, or I will fracture thy sconce with 
 my cane.' 
 
 * I will not stand away from the porch,' said Robin, ' unless 
 the bride bid me, and tell me that you are her own true love.' 
 
 ' Speak,' said the bride's father, in a severe tone, and with 
 a look of significant menace. The girl looked alternately at 
 her father and Robin. She attempted to speak, but her voice 
 failed in the effort, and she burst into tears. 
 
 ' Here is lawful cause and just impediment,' said Robin, 
 ' and I forbid the banns.' 
 
 ' Who are you, villain ? ' said the old knight, stamping his 
 sound foot with rage. 
 
 ' I am the Roman law,' said Robin, ' which says that there 
 shall not be more than ten years between a man and his wife ; 
 and here are five times ten ; and so says the law of nature.' 
 
 * Honest harper,' said the bishop, ' you are somewhat over- 
 officious here, and less courtly than I deemed you. If you 
 love sack, forbear ; for this course will never bring you a 
 drop. As to your Roman law and your law of nature, what 
 right have they to say anything which the law of Holy Writ 
 says not ? ' 
 
 ' The law of Holy Writ does say it,' said Robin ; ' I ex- 
 pound it so to say ; and I will produce sixty commentators to 
 establish my exposition.' 
 
 And so saying, he produced a horn from beneath his cloak, 
 and blew three blasts, and threescore bowmen in green came 
 leaping from the bushes and trees ; and young Allen was the first 
 among them to give Robin his sword, while Friar Tuck and Little 
 John marched up to the altar. Robin stripped the bishop and 
 clerk of their robes, and put them on the friar and Little John ; 
 
 99
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 and Allen advanced to take the hand of the bride. Her 
 cheeks grew red and her eyes grew bright, as she locked her 
 hand in her lover's and tripped lightly with him into the 
 church. 
 
 ' This marriage will not stand,' said the bishop, ' for they 
 have not been thrice asked in church.' 
 
 * We will ask them seven times,' said Little John, ' lest 
 three should not suffice.' 
 
 ' And in the meantime,' said Robin, ' the knight and the 
 bishop shall dance to my harping.' 
 
 So Robin sat in the church porch and played away merrily, 
 while his foresters formed a ring in the centre of which the 
 knight and bishop danced with exemplary alacrity ; and if they 
 relaxed their exertions. Scarlet gently touched them up with 
 the point of an arrow. 
 
 The knight grimaced ruefully, and begged Robin to think 
 of his gout. 
 
 ' So I do,' said Robin ; ' this is the true antipodagron ; you 
 shall dance the gout away, and be thankful to me while you 
 live. I told you,' he added to the bishop, ' I would play at 
 this wedding ; but you did not tell me that you would dance at 
 it. The next couple you marry, think of the Roman law.' 
 
 The bishop was too much out of breath to reply ; and now 
 the young couple issued from church, and the bride having 
 made a farewell obeisance to her parents, they departed 
 together with the foresters, the parents storming, the attendants 
 laughing, the bishop puffing and blowing, and the knight 
 rubbing his gouty foot, and uttering doleful lamentations for 
 the gold and jewels with which he had so unwittingly adorned 
 and dowered the bride. 
 
 lOO
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 ' As ye came from the holy land 
 Of blessed Walsinghame, 
 Oh met ye not with my true love, 
 As by the way ye came ? ' 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 In pursuance of the arrangement recorded in the twelfth 
 chapter, the baron, Robin, and Marian disguised themselves as 
 pilgrims returned from Palestine, and travelling from the sea- 
 coast of Hampshire to their home in Northumberland. By dint 
 of staff and cockle-shell, sandal and scrip, they proceeded in 
 safety the greater part of the way (for Robin had many sly 
 inns and resting-places between Barnsdale and Sherwood), 
 and were already on the borders of Yorkshire, when, one 
 evening, they passed within view of a castle, where they saw a 
 lady standing on a turret, and surveying the whole extent of 
 the valley through which they were passing. A serv^ant came 
 running from the castle, and delivered to them a message from 
 his lady, who was sick with expectation of news from her lord 
 in the Holy Land, and entreated them to come to her, that she 
 might question them concerning him. This was an awkward 
 occurrence : but there was no pretence for refusal, and they 
 followed the servant into the castle. The baron, who had 
 been in Palestine in his youth, undertook to be spokesman on 
 the occasion, and to relate his own adventures to the lady as 
 having happened to the lord in question. This preparation 
 enabled him to be so minute and circumstantial in his detail, and 
 so coherent in his replies to her questions, that the lady fell 
 imphcitly into the delusion, and was dehghted to find that her 
 lord was alive and in health, and in high favour with the king, 
 and performing prodigies of valour in the name of his lady,
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 whose miniature he ahvays wore in his bosom. The baron 
 guessed at this circumstance from the customs ^ of that age, and 
 happened to be in the right. 
 
 ' The miniature,' added the baron, ' I have had the felicity 
 to see, and should have known you by it among a million.' 
 The baron was a little embarrassed by some questions of the 
 lady concerning her lord's personal appearance ; but Robin 
 came to his aid, observing a picture suspended opposite to 
 him on the wall, which he made a bold conjecture to be that 
 of the lord in question ; and making a calculation of the 
 influences of time and war, which he weighed with a com- 
 parison of the lady's age, he gave a description of her lord 
 sufficiently like the picture in its ground-work to be a true 
 resemblance, and sufficiently differing from it in circumstances 
 to be more an original than a copy. The lady was completely 
 deceived, and entreated them to partake her hospitality for the 
 night ; but this they deemed it prudent to decline, and with 
 many humble thanks for her kindness, and representations of 
 the necessity of not delaying their homeward course, they 
 proceeded on their way. 
 
 As they passed over the drawbridge, they met Sir Ralph 
 Montfaucon and his squire, who were wandering in quest of 
 Marian, and were entering to claim that hospitality which the 
 pilgrims had declined. Their countenances struck Sir Ralph 
 with a kind of imperfect recognition, which would never have 
 been matured, but that the eyes of Marian, as she passed him, 
 encountered his, and the images of those stars of beauty 
 continued involuntarily twinkling in his sensorium to the 
 exclusion of all other ideas, till memory, love, and hope con- 
 curred with imagination to furnish a probable reason for their 
 haunting him so pertinaciously. Those eyes, he thought, were 
 certainly the eyes of Matilda Fitzwater ; and if the eyes were 
 hers, it was extremely probable, if not logically consecutive, 
 that the rest of the body they belonged to was hers also. 
 Now, if it were really Matilda Fitzwater, who were her two 
 companions ? The baron ? Ay, and the elder pilgrim was 
 something like him. And the Earl of Huntingdon ? Very 
 probably. The earl and the baron might be good friends 
 again, now that they were both in disgrace together. While 
 
 ^ Miniatures worn in bosoms and portraits suspended on walls seem to 
 us to savour of the customs of a later age than Robin Hood's. — G. 
 
 I02
 
 Whither go you, my masters ? there are rogties in that direction. 
 Copyright 1895 by Macniilla)i Gr Co.
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 he was revolving these cogitations, he was introduced to the 
 lady, and after claiming and receiving the promise of hospi- 
 tality, he inquired what she knew of the pilgrims who had just 
 departed. The lady told him they were newly returned from 
 Palestine, having been long in the Holy Land. The knight 
 expressed some scepticism on this point. The lady replied, 
 that they had given her so minute a detail of her lord's pro- 
 ceedings, and so accurate a description of his person, that she 
 could not be deceived in them. This staggered the knight's 
 confidence in his own penetration ; and if it had not been a 
 heresy in knighthood to suppose for a moment that there could 
 be in rerum naticrd such another pair of eyes as those of his 
 mistress, he would have acquiesced implicitly in the lady's 
 judgment. But while the lady and the knight were conversing, 
 the warder blew his bugle-horn, and presently entered a con- 
 fidential messenger from Palestine, who gave her to understand 
 that her lord was well : but entered into a detail of his 
 adventures most completely at variance with the baron's 
 narrative, to which not the correspondence of a single incident 
 gave the remotest colouring of similarity. It now became 
 manifest that the pilgrims were not true men ; and Sir Ralph 
 Montfaucon sate down to supper with his head full of cogi- 
 tations, which we sha 
 pheasant and canary. 
 
 Meanwhile our three pilgrims proceeded on their way. 
 The evening set in black and lowering, when Robin turned 
 aside from the main track, to seek an asylum for the night, 
 along a narrow way that led between rocky and woody hills. 
 A peasant observed the pilgrims as they entered that narrow 
 pass, and called after them : ' Whither go you, my masters ? 
 there are rogues in that direction.' 
 
 * Can you show us a direction,' said Robin, ' in which there 
 are none ? If so, we will take it in preference.' The peasant 
 grinned, and walked away whistling. 
 
 The pass widened as they advanced, and the woods grew 
 thicker and darker around them. Their path wound along 
 the slope of a woody declivity, which rose high above them in 
 a thick rampart of foliage, and descended almost precipitously 
 to the bed of a small river, which they heard dashing in its 
 rocky channel, and saw its white foam gleaming at intervals in 
 the last faint glimmerings of twilight. In a short time all was 
 
 105
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 dark, and the rising voice of the wind foretold a coming storm. 
 They turned a point of the valley, and saw a light below them 
 in the depth of the hollow, shining through a cottage-casement 
 and dancing in its reflection on the restless stream. Robin 
 blew his horn, which was answered from below. The cottage 
 door opened ; a boy came forth with a torch, ascended the 
 steep, showed tokens of great delight at meeting with Robin, 
 and lighted them down a flight of steps rudely cut in the rock, 
 and over a series of rugged stepping-stones, that crossed the 
 channel of the river. They entered the cottage, which exhibited 
 neatness, comfort, and plenty, being amply enriched with pots, 
 pans, and pipkins, and adorned with flitches of bacon and 
 sundry similar ornaments, that gave goodly promise in the 
 firelight that gleamed upon the rafters. A woman, who seemed 
 just old enough to be the boy's mother, had thrown down her 
 spinning wheel in her joy at the sound of Robin's horn, and 
 was bustling with singular alacrity to set forth her festal ware 
 and prepare an abundant supper. Her features, though not 
 beautiful, were agreeable and expressive, and were now lighted 
 up with such manifest joy at the sight of Robin, that Marian 
 could not help feeling a momentary touch of jealousy, and a 
 half-fonned suspicion that Robin had broken his forest law, 
 and had occasionally gone out of bounds, as other great men 
 have done upon occasion, in order to reconcile the breach of 
 the spirit, with the preservation of the letter, of their own 
 legislation. However, this suspicion, if it could be said to 
 exist in a mind so generous as Marian's, was very soon dis- 
 sipated by the entrance of the woman's husband, who testified 
 as much joy as his wife had done at the sight of Robin ; and 
 in a short time the whole of the party were amicably seated 
 round a smoking supper of river-fish and wild wood-fowl, on 
 which the baron fell with as much alacrity as if he had been a 
 true pilgrim from Palestine. 
 
 The husband produced some recondite flasks of wine, which 
 were laid by in a binn consecrated to Robin, whose occasional 
 visits to them in his wanderings were the festal days of these 
 warm-hearted cottagers, whose manners showed that they had 
 not been born to this low estate. Their story had no mystery, 
 and Marian easily collected it from the tenor of their conversa- 
 tion. The y6ung man had been, like Robin, the victim of an 
 usurious abbot, and had been outlawed for debt, and his nut- 
 
 io6
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 brown maid had accompanied him to the depths of Sherwood, 
 where they hved an unholy and illegitimate life, killing the 
 king's deer, and never hearing mass. In this state, Robin, 
 then Earl of Huntingdon, discovered them in one of his 
 huntings, and gave them aid and protection. When Robin 
 himself became an outlaw, the necessary qualification or gift of 
 continency was too hard a law for our lovers to subscribe to ; 
 and as they were thus disqualified for foresters, Robin had 
 found them a retreat in this romantic and secluded spot. He 
 had done similar service to other lovers similarly circumstanced, 
 and had disposed them in various wild scenes which he and 
 his men had discovered in their flittings from place to place, 
 supplying them with all necessaries and comforts from the 
 reluctant disgorgings of fat abbots and usurers. The benefit 
 was in some measure mutual ; for these cottages served him 
 as resting-places in his removals, and enabled him to travel 
 untraced and unmolested ; and in the delight with which he 
 was always received he found himself even more welcome than 
 he would have been at an inn ; and this is saying very much 
 for gratitude and affection together. ^ The smiles which sur- 
 rounded him were of his own creation, and he participated in 
 the happiness he had bestowed. 
 
 The casements began to rattle in the wind, and the rain to 
 beat upon the windows. The wind swelled to a hurricane, 
 and the rain dashed like a flood against the glass. The boy 
 retired to his little bed, the wife trimmed the lamp, the husband 
 heaped logs upon the fire : Robin broached another flask ; 
 and Marian filled the baron's cup, and sweetened Robin's by 
 touching its edge with her lips. 
 
 * Well,' said the baron, ' give me a roof over my head, be 
 it never so humble. Your greenwood canopy is pretty and 
 pleasant in sunshine ; but if I were doomed to live under it, 
 I should wish it were water-tight.' 
 
 * But,' said Robin, ' we have tents and caves for foul weather, 
 good store of wine and venison, and fuel in abundance.' 
 
 ' Ay, but,' said the baron, ' I like to pull off my boots of a 
 
 ^ ' Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round, 
 Where'er his stages may have been, 
 May sigh to think he still has found 
 The warmest welcome at an Inn.' 
 
 Shenstone. — G. 
 
 107
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 night, which you foresters seldom do, and to ensconce myself 
 thereafter in a comfortable bed. Your beech -root is over- 
 hard for a couch, and your mossy stump is somewhat rough 
 for a bolster.' 
 
 ' Had you not dry leaves,' said Robin, ' with a bishop's 
 surplice over them ? What would you have softer ? And had 
 you not an abbot's travelling coat for a coverlet ? What 
 would you have warmer ? ' 
 
 ' Very true,' said the baron, ' but that was an indulgence to 
 a guest, and I dreamed all night of the Sheriff of Nottingham. 
 I like to feel myself safe,' he added, stretching out his legs to 
 the fire, and throwing himself back in his chair with the air of 
 a man determined to be comfortable. ' I like to feel myself 
 safe,' said the baron. 
 
 At that moment the woman caught her husband's arm, and 
 all the party following the direction of her eyes, looked simul- 
 taneously to the window, where they had just time to catch a 
 glimpse of an apparition of an armed head, with its plumage 
 tossing in the storm, on which the light shone from within, 
 and which disappeared immediately. 
 
 io8
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 • O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary. When did I see thee so put 
 down ? '—Twelfth Night. 
 
 Several knocks, as from the knuckles of an iron glove, were 
 given to the door of the cottage, and a voice was heard en- 
 treating shelter from the storm for a traveller who had lost his 
 way. Robin arose and went to the door. 
 
 ' What are you ? ' said Robin. 
 
 ' A soldier,' replied the voice ; ' an unfortunate adherent of 
 Longchamp, flying the vengeance of Prince John.' 
 
 ' Are you alone ? ' said Robin. 
 
 ' Yes,' said the voice : * it is a dreadful night. Hospitable 
 cottagers, pray give me admittance. I would not have asked 
 it but for the storm. I would have kept my watch in the 
 woods.' 
 
 'That I believe,' said Robin. *You did not reckon on 
 this storm when you turned into this pass. Do you know 
 there are rogues this way ? ' 
 
 'I do,' said the voice. 
 
 ' So do I,' said Robin. 
 
 A pause ensued, during which Robin, listening attentively, 
 caught a faint sound of whispering. 
 
 'You are not alone,' said Robin. 'Who are your com- 
 panions ? ' 
 
 ' None but the wind and the water,' said the voice, ' and I 
 would I had them not.' 
 
 'The wind and the water have many voices,' said Robin, 
 ' but I never before heard them say, " What shall we do ? "' 
 
 Another pause ensued ; after which, 
 
 'Look ye, master cottager,' said the voice in an altered 
 109
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 tone, ' if you do not let us in willingly, we will break down the 
 door.' 
 
 ' Ho ! ho ! ' roared the baron ; ' you are become plural, are 
 you, rascals ? How many are there of you, thieves ? What, 
 I warrant, you thought to rob and murder a poor harmless 
 cottager and his wife, and did not dream of a garrison ? You 
 looked for no weapon of opposition but spit, poker, and bast- 
 ing ladle, wielded by unskilful hands : but, rascals, here is 
 short sword and long cudgel in hands well tried in war, where- 
 with you shall be drilled into cullenders and beaten into 
 mummy.' 
 
 No reply was made, but furious strokes from without re- 
 sounded upon the door. Robin, Marian, and the baron threw 
 by their pilgrim's attire, and stood in arms on the defensive. 
 They were provided with swords, and the cottager gave them 
 bucklers and helmets, for all Robin's haunts were furnished 
 with secret armouries. But they kept their swords sheathed, 
 and the baron wielded a ponderous spear, which he pointed 
 towards the door ready to run through the first that should 
 enter, and Robin and Marian each held a bow with the arrow 
 drawn to its head and pointed in the same direction. The 
 cottager flourished a strong cudgel (a weapon in the use of 
 which he prided himself on being particularly expert), and the 
 wife seized the spit from the fireplace, and held it as she saw 
 the baron hold his spear. The storm of wind and rain con- 
 tinued to beat on the roof and the casement, and the storm of 
 blows to resound upon the door, which at length gave way 
 with a violent crash, and a cluster of anned men appeared 
 without, seemingly not less than twelve. Behind them rolled 
 the stream, now changed from a gentle and shallow river to a 
 mighty and impetuous torrent, roaring in waves of yellow foam, 
 partially reddened by the light that streamed through the open 
 door, and turning up its convulsed surface in flashes of shifting 
 radiance from restless masses of half- visible shadow. The 
 stepping-stones, by which the intruders must have crossed, 
 were buried under the waters. On the opposite bank the light 
 fell on the stems and boughs of the rock-rooted oak and ash 
 tossing and swaying in the blast, and sweeping the flashing 
 spray with their leaves. 
 
 The instant the door broke, Robin and Marian loosed their 
 arrows, Robin's arrow struck one of the assailants in the 
 
 no
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 juncture of the shoulder, and disabled his right arm : Marian's 
 struck a second in the juncture of the knee, and rendered him 
 unserviceable for the night. The baron's long spear struck on 
 the mailed breastplate of a third, and being stretched to its 
 full extent by the long-armed hero, drove him to the edge of 
 the torrent, and plunged him into its eddies, along which he 
 was whirled down the darkness of the descending stream, 
 calling vainly on his comrades for aid, till his voice was lost 
 in the mingled roar of the waters and the wind. A fourth 
 springing through the door was laid prostrate by the cottager's 
 cudgel : but the wife being less dexterous than her company, 
 though an Amazon in strength, missed her pass at a fifth, and 
 drove the point of the spit several inches into the right hand 
 door-post as she stood close to the left, and thus made a new 
 barrier which the invaders could not pass without dipping 
 under it and submitting their necks to the sword : but one of 
 the assailants seizing it with gigantic rage, shook it at once 
 from the grasp of its holder and from its lodgment in the post, 
 and at the same time made good the irruption of the rest of 
 his party into the cottage. 
 
 Now raged an unequal combat, for the assailants fell two 
 to one on Robin, Marian, the baron, and the cottager ; while 
 the wife, being deprived of her spit, converted everything that 
 was at hand to a missile, and rained pots, pans, and pipkins 
 on the armed heads of the enemy. The baron raged like a 
 tiger, and the cottager laid about him like a thresher. One of 
 the soldiers struck Robin's sword from his hand and brought 
 him on his knee, when the boy, who had been roused by the 
 tumult and had been peeping through the inner door, leaped 
 forward in his shirt, picked up the sword and replaced it in 
 Robin's hand, who instantly springing up, disarmed and 
 wounded one of his antagonists, while the other was laid 
 prostrate under the dint of a brass cauldron launched by the 
 Amazonian dame. Robin now turned to the aid of Marian, 
 who was parrying most dexterously the cuts and slashes of her 
 two assailants, of whom Robin delivered her from one, while 
 a well-applied blow of her sword struck off the helmet of the 
 other, who fell on his knees to beg a boon, and she recognised 
 Sir Ralph Montfaucon. The men who were engaged with the 
 baron and the peasant, seeing their leader subdued, immedi- 
 ately laid down their arms and cried for quarter. The wife 
 
 III
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 brought some strong rope, and the baron tied their arms 
 behind them. 
 
 ' Now, Sir Ralph,' said Marian, ' once more you are at my 
 mercy.' 
 
 ' That I always am, cruel beauty,' said the discomfited 
 lover. 
 
 ' Odso ! courteous knight,' said the baron, ' is this the 
 return you make for my beef and canary, when you kissed my 
 daughter's hand in token of contrition for your intermeddling 
 at her wedding ? Heart, I am glad to see she has given you 
 a bloody coxcomb. Slice him down, Mawd i slice him down, 
 and fling him into the river.' 
 
 ' Confess,' said Marian, ' what brought you here, and how 
 did you trace our steps ? ' 
 
 ' I will confess nothing,' said the knight. 
 
 ' Then confess you, rascal,' said the baron, holding his 
 sword to the throat of the captive squire. 
 
 ' Take away the sword,' said the squire, ' it is too near my 
 mouth, and my voice will not come out for fear : take away 
 the sword, and I will confess all.' The baron dropped his 
 sword, and the squire proceeded : ' Sir Ralph met you, as you 
 quitted Lady Falkland's castle, and by representing to her 
 who you were, borrowed from her such a number of her 
 retainers as he deemed must ensure your capture, seeing that 
 your familiar the friar was not at your elbow. We set forth 
 without delay, and traced you first by means of a peasant who 
 saw you turn into this valley, and afterwards by the light from 
 the casement of this solitary dwelling. Our design was to 
 have laid an ambush for you in the morning, but the storm 
 and your observation of my unlucky face through the casement 
 made us change our purpose ; and what followed you can tell 
 better than I can, being indeed masters of the subject.' 
 
 'You are a merry knave,' said the baron, 'and here is a 
 cup of wine for you.' 
 
 ' Gramercy,' said the squire, ' and better late than never ; 
 but I lacked a cup of this before. Had I been pot-valiant, I 
 had held you play.' 
 
 ' Sir knight,' said Marian, ' this is the third time you have 
 sought the life of my lord and of me, for mine is interwoven 
 with his. And do you think me so spiritless as to believe 
 that I can be yours by compulsion ? Tempt me not again, for 
 
 112
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 the next time shall be the last, and the fish of the nearest 
 river shall commute the flesh of a recreant knight into the 
 fast-day dinner of an uncarnivorous friar. I spare you now, 
 not in pity but in scorn. Yet chall you swear to a convention 
 never more to pursue or molest my lord or me, and on this 
 condition you shall live.' 
 
 The knight had no alternative but to comply, and swore, 
 on the honour of knighthood, to keep the convention in- 
 violate. How well he kept his oath we shall have no 
 opportunity of narrating : Di lui la nostra istoria pin non 
 parla. 
 
 "3
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 ' Carry me over the water, thou fine fellowe.' 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 The pilgrims, without experiencing further molestation, arrived 
 at the retreat of Sir Guy of Gamwell. They found the old 
 knight a cup too low ; partly from being cut off from the 
 scenes of his old hospitality and the shouts of his Notting- 
 hamshire vassals, who were wont to make the rafters of his 
 ancient hall re-echo to their revelry ; but principally from 
 being parted from his son, who had long been the better half 
 of his flask and pasty. The arrival of our visitors cheered 
 him up ; and finding that the baron was to remain with him, 
 he testified his delight and the cordiality of his welcome by 
 pegging him in the ribs till he made him roar. 
 
 Robin and Marian took an affectionate leave of the baron 
 and the old knight ; and before they quitted the vicinity of 
 Barnsdale, deeming it prudent to return in a different disguise, 
 they laid aside their pilgrim's attire, and assumed the habits 
 and appurtenances of wandering minstrels. 
 
 They travelled in this character safely and pleasantly, till 
 one evening at a late hour they arrived by the side of a river, 
 where Robin, looking out for a mode of passage, perceived a 
 ferry-boat safely moored in a nook on the opposite bank ; near 
 which a chimney sending up a wreath of smoke through the 
 thick-set willows, was the only symptom of human habitation ; 
 and Robin naturally conceiving the said chimney and wreath 
 of smoke to be the outward signs of the inward ferryman, 
 shouted ' Over ! ' with much strength and clearness : but no 
 voice replied, and no ferryman appeared. Robin raised his 
 voice, and shouted with redoubled energy, ' Over, Over, 
 0-o-o-over ! ' A faint echo alone responded ' Over I ' and 
 
 114
 
 Plunged him cmer head and ears in the water' 
 Copyright 1895 by Macmillan &■ Co.
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 again died away into deep silence ; but after a brief interval a 
 voice from among the willows, in a strange kind of mingled 
 intonation that was half a shout half a song, answered : 
 
 Over, over, over, jolly, jolly rover. 
 Would you then come over ? Over, over, over ? 
 Jolly, jolly rover, here's one lives in clover : 
 Who finds the clover ? The jolly, jolly rover. 
 He finds the clover, let him then come over. 
 The jolly, jolly rover, over, over, over. 
 
 ' I much doubt,' said Marian, ' if this ferryman do not 
 mean by clover something more than the toll of his ferry-boat.' 
 
 ' I doubt not,' answered Robin, 'he is a levier of toll and 
 tithe, which I shall put him upon proof of his right to receive, 
 by making trial of his might to enforce.' 
 
 The ferryman emerged from the willows and stepped into 
 his boat. ' As I live,' exclaimed Robin, ' the ferryman is a 
 friar.' 
 
 ' With a sword,' said Marian, * stuck in his rope girdle.' 
 
 The friar pushed his boat off manfully, and was presently 
 half over the river. 
 
 ' It is Friar Tuck,' said Marian. 
 
 ' He will scarcely know us,' said Robin ; ' and if he do not, 
 I will break a staff with him for sport.' 
 
 The friar came singing across the water : the boat touched 
 the land : Robin and Marian stepped on board : the friar 
 pushed off again. 
 
 ' Silken doublets, silken doublets,' said the friar : ' slenderly 
 lined, I trow : your wandering minstrel is always poor toll : 
 your sweet angels of voices pass current for a bed and a 
 supper at the house of every lord that likes to hear the fame 
 of his valour without the trouble of fighting for it. What 
 need you of purse or pouch ? You may sing before thieves. 
 Pedlars, pedlars : wandering from door to door with the small 
 ware of lies and cajolery : exploits for carpet-knights ; honesty 
 for courtiers ; truth for monks, and chastity for nuns : a good 
 saleable stock that costs the vendor nothing, defies wear and 
 tear, and when it has served a hundred customers is as 
 plentiful and as marketable as ever. But, sirrahs, I'll none of 
 your balderdash. You pass not hence without clink of brass, 
 or I'll knock your musical noddles together till they ring like 
 
 117
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 a pair of cymbals. That will be a new tune for your minstrel- 
 ships.' 
 
 This friendly speech of the friar ended as they stepped on 
 the opposite bank. Robin had noticed as they passed that the 
 summer stream was low. 
 
 'Why, thou brawling mongrel,' said Robin, 'that whether 
 thou be thief, friar, or ferryman, or an ill-mixed compound of 
 all three, passes conjecture, though I judge thee to be simple 
 thief, what barkest thou at thus ? Villain, there is clink of brass 
 for thee. Dost thou see this coin ? Dost thou hear this music ? 
 Look and listen ; for touch thou shalt not. My minstrelship 
 defies thee. Thou shalt carry me on thy back over the water, 
 and receive nothing but a cracked sconce for thy trouble.' 
 
 ' A bargain,' said the friar : ' for the water is low, the 
 labour is light, and the reward is alluring.' And he stooped 
 down for Robin, who mounted his back, and the friar waded 
 with him over the river. 
 
 'Now, fine fellow,' said the friar, 'thou shalt carry me back 
 over the water, and thou shalt have a cracked sconce for thy 
 trouble.' 
 
 Robin took the friar on his back, and waded with him into 
 the middle of the river, when by a dexterous jerk he suddenly 
 flung him off, and plunged him horizontally over head and ears 
 in the water. Robin waded to shore, and the friar, half 
 swimming and half scrambling, followed. 
 
 ' Fine fellow, fine fellow,' said the friar, ' now will I pay thee 
 thy cracked sconce.' 
 
 ' Not so,' said Robin, ' I have not earned it : but thou hast 
 earned it, and shalt have it.' 
 
 It was not, even in those good old times, a sight of every 
 day to see a troubadour and a friar playing at singlestick by 
 the side of a river, each aiming with fell intent at the other's 
 coxcomb. The parties were both so skilled in attack and 
 defence that their mutual efforts for a long time expended 
 themselves in quick and loud rappings on each other's oaken 
 staves. At length Robin, by a dexterous feint, contrived to score 
 one on the friar's crown : but in the careless moment of triumph 
 a splendid sweep of the friar's stafT struck Robin's out of his 
 hand into the middle of the river, and repaid his crack on the head 
 with a degree of vigour that might have passed the boundsof a jest 
 if Marian had not retarded its descent by catching the friar's arm. 
 
 ii8
 
 ' Fine fellow, fine fellow^'' said the friar, " now will I pay thee thy cracked 
 sconce."' 
 
 Co fy right 1895 by Macmillan &• Co.
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' How now, recreant friar/ said Marian ; ' what have you to 
 say why you should not suffer instant execution, being detected 
 in open rebellion against your liege lord ? Therefore kneel 
 down, traitor, and submit your neck to the sword of the 
 offended law.' 
 
 ' Benefit of clergy,' said the friar : * I plead my clergy. And 
 is it you indeed, ye scrapegraces ? Ye are well disguised. I 
 knew ye not ; by my flask, Robin, jolly Robin, he buys a jest 
 dearly that pays for it with a bloody coxcomb. But here is balm 
 for all bruises, outward and inward. (The friar produced a flask 
 of canary.) Wash thy wound twice and thy throat thrice with 
 this solar concoction, and thou shalt marvel where was thy 
 hurt. But what moved ye to this frolic ? Knew ye not that 
 ye could not appear in a mask more fashioned to move my bile 
 than in that of these gilders and lackerers of the smooth surface 
 of worthlessness, that bring the gold of true valour into dis- 
 repute, by stamping the baser metal with the fairer impression ? 
 I marvelled to find any such given to fighting (for they have an 
 old instinct of self-preservation) : but I rejoiced thereat, that I 
 might discuss to them poetical justice : and therefore have I 
 cracked thy sconce : for which, let this be thy medicine.' 
 
 'But wherefore,' said Marian, 'do we find you here, when 
 we left you joint lord warden of Sherwood ? ' 
 
 ' I do but retire to my devotions,' replied the friar. * This 
 is my hermitage, in which I first took refuge when I escaped 
 from my beloved brethren of Rubygill ; and to which I still 
 retreat at times from the vanities of the world, which else 
 might cling to me too closely, since I have been promoted to 
 be peer-spiritual of your forest-court. For, indeed, I do find 
 in myself certain indications and admonitions that my day has 
 past its noon ; and none more cogent than this : that daily of 
 bad wine I grow more intolerent, and of good wine have a 
 keener and more fastidious relish. There is no surer symptom 
 of receding years. The ferryman is my faithful varlet. I send 
 him on some pious errand, that I may meditate in ghostly 
 privacy, when my presence in the forest can best be spared : 
 and when can it be better spared than now, seeing that the 
 neighbourhood of Prince John, and his incessant perquisitions 
 for Marian, have made the forest too hot to hold more of us 
 than are needful to keep up a quorum, and preserve unbroken 
 the continuity of our forest-dominion ? For, in truth, without 
 
 121
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 your greenwood majesties, we have hardly the wit to live in a 
 body, and at the same time to keep our necks out of jeopardy, 
 while that arch-rebel and traitor John infests the precincts of 
 our territory.' 
 
 The friar now conducted them to his peaceful cell, where he 
 spread his frugal board with fish, venison, wild-fowl, fruit, and 
 canary. Under the compound operation of this materia inedica 
 Robin's wounds healed apace, and the friar, who hated 
 minstrelsy, began, as usual, chirping in his cups. Robin and 
 Marian chimed in with his tuneful humour till the midnight 
 moon peeped in upon their revelry. 
 
 It was now the very witching time of night, when they heard 
 a voice shouting, ' Over ! ' They paused to listen, and the 
 voice repeated ' Over ! ' in accents clear and loud, but which, 
 at the same time, either were in themselves, or seemed to be, 
 from the place and the hour, singularly plaintive and dreary. 
 The friar fidgeted about in his seat : fell into a deep musing : 
 shook himself, and looked about him : first at Marian, then at 
 Robin, then at Marian again ; filled and tossed off a cup of 
 canary, and relapsed into his reverie. 
 
 ' Will you not bring your passenger over ? ' said Robin. 
 The friar shook his head and looked mysterious. 
 
 'That passenger,' said the friar, 'will never come over. 
 Every full moon, at midnight, that voice calls " Over ! " I 
 and my varlet have more than once obeyed the summons, and 
 we have sometimes had a glimpse of a white figure under the 
 opposite trees : but when the boat has touched the bank, 
 nothing has been to be seen ; and the voice has been heard no 
 more till the midnight of the next full moon.' 
 
 ' It is very strange,' said Robin. 
 
 ' Wondrous strange,' said the friar, looking solemn. 
 
 The voice again called 'Over!' in a long, plaintive, musical cry. 
 
 ' I must go to it,' said the friar, ' or it will give us no peace. 
 I would all my customers were of this world. I begin to think 
 that I am Charon, and that this river is Styx.' 
 
 * I will go with you, friar,' said Robin. 
 
 ' By my flask,' said the friar, ' but you shall not,' 
 
 ' Then I will,' said Marian. 
 
 ' Still less,' said the friar, hurrying out of the cell. Robin 
 and Marian followed : but the friar outstepped them, and 
 pushed off the boat. 
 
 122
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 A white figure was visible under the shade of the opposite 
 trees. The boat approached the shore, and the figure gHded 
 away. The fi'iar returned. 
 
 They re-entered the cottage, and sat some time conversing 
 on the phenomenon they had seen. The friar sipped his wine, 
 and after a time, said : 
 
 ' There is a tradition of a damsel who was drowned here 
 
 some years ago. The tradition is ' 
 
 But the friar could not narrate a plain tale : he therefore 
 cleared his throat, and sang with due solemnity, in a ghostly 
 voice : 
 
 A damsel came in midnight rain, 
 
 And called across the feriy ; 
 The weai-y wight she called in vain, 
 
 Whose senses sleep did bury. 
 At evening, from her father's door 
 
 She tmned to meet her lover : 
 At midnight, on the lonely shore, 
 She shouted, * Over, over ! ' 
 
 She had not met him by the tree 
 
 Of their accustomed meeting, 
 And sad and sick at heart was she, 
 
 Her heart all wildly beating. 
 In chill suspense the hours went by, 
 
 The wild storm burst above her : 
 She turned her to the river nigh, 
 
 And shouted, * Over, over ! 
 
 A dim, discoloured, doubtful light 
 
 The moon's dark veil permitted. 
 And thick before her troubled sight 
 
 Fantastic shadows flitted. 
 Her lover's form appeared to glide, 
 
 And beckon o'er the water : 
 Alas ! his blood that morn had dyed 
 
 Her brother's sword with slaughter. 
 
 Upon a little rock she stood. 
 
 To make her invocation : 
 She marked not that the rain-swoll'n flood 
 
 Was islanding her station. 
 The tempest mocked her feeble cry : 
 
 No saint his aid would give her : 
 The flood swelled high and yet more high, 
 
 And swept her down the river. 
 123
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 Yet oft beneath the pale moonlight, 
 
 When hollow winds are blowing, 
 The shadow of that maiden bright 
 
 Glides by the dark stream's fioM-ing. 
 And when the storms of midnight rave, 
 
 While clouds the broad moon cover, 
 The wild gusts waft across the wave 
 
 The cry of ' Over, over ! ' 
 
 While the friar was singing, Marian was meditating : and 
 when he had ended she said, ' Honest friar, you have misplaced 
 your tradition, which belongs to the estuary of a nobler river, 
 where the damsel was swept away by the rising of the tide, for 
 which your land-flood is an indifferent substitute. But the 
 true tradition of this stream I think I myself possess, and I 
 will narrate it in your own way : 
 
 It was a friar of orders free, 
 
 A friar of Rubygill : 
 
 At the greenwood tree a vow made he, 
 
 But he kept it very ill : 
 
 A vow made he of chastity, 
 
 But he kept it very ill. 
 
 He kept it, perchance, in the conscious shade 
 
 Of the bounds of the forest wherein it was made : 
 
 But he roamed where he listed, as free as the wind, 
 
 And he left his good vow in the forest behind : 
 
 For its woods out of sight were his vow out of mind. 
 
 With the friar of Rubygill. 
 
 In lonely hut himself he shut, 
 
 The friar of Rubygill ; 
 
 Where the ghostly elf absolved himself, 
 
 To follow his own good will : 
 
 And he had no lack of canary sack, 
 
 To keep his conscience still. 
 
 And a damsel well knew, when at lonely midnight 
 
 It gleamed on the waters, his signal-lamp light : 
 
 " Over ! over ! " she warbled with nightingale throat. 
 
 And the friar sprang forth at the magical note. 
 
 And she crossed the dark stream in his trim ferry-boat, 
 
 With the friar of Rubygill.' 
 
 ' Look you now,' said Robin, ' if the friar does not blush. 
 Many strange sights have I seen in my day, but never till this 
 moment did I see a blushing friar.' 
 
 124
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 < I think,' said the friar, ' you never saw one that blushed 
 not, or you saw good canary thrown away. But you are 
 welcome to laugh if it so please you. None shall laugh in my 
 company, though it be at my expense, but I will have my 
 share of the merriment. The world is a stage, and life is a 
 farce, and he that laughs most has most profit of the 
 performance. The worst thing is good enough to be laughed 
 at, though it be good for nothing else ; and the best thing, 
 though it be good for something else, is good for nothing 
 better.' 
 
 And he struck up a song in praise of laughing and quaffing, 
 without further adverting to Marian's insinuated accusation ; 
 being, perhaps, of opinion, that it was a subject on which the 
 least said would be the soonest mended. 
 
 So passed the night. In the morning a forester came to 
 the friar, with intelligence that Prince John had been com- 
 pelled, by the urgency of his affairs in other quarters, to 
 disembarrass Nottingham Castle of his Royal presence. Our 
 wanderers returned jo>fully to their forest-dominion, being thus 
 relieved from the vicinity of any more formidable belligerent 
 than their old bruised and beaten enemy the Sheriff of 
 Nottingham. 
 
 125
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 ' Oh ! this hfe 
 Is nobler than attending for a check, 
 Richer than doing nothing for a bribe, 
 Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk. ' 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 So Robin and Marian dwelt and reigned in the forest, ranging 
 the glades and the greenwoods from the matins of the lark to 
 the vespers of the nightingale, and administering natural justice 
 according to Robin's ideas of rectifying the inequalities of 
 human condition : raising genial dews from the bags of the 
 rich and idle, and returning them in fertilising showers on the 
 poor and industrious : an operation which more enlightened 
 statesmen have happily reversed, to the unspeakable benefit of 
 the community at large. The light footsteps of Marian were 
 impressed on the morning dew beside the firmer step of her 
 lover, and they shook its large drops about them as they 
 cleared themselves a passage through the thick tall fern, with- 
 out any fear of catching cold, which was not much in fashion 
 in the twelfth century. Robin was as hospitable as Cathmor ; 
 for seven men stood on seven paths to call the strangers to 
 his feast. It is true, he superadded the small improvement of 
 making the stranger pay for it : than which what could be 
 more generous ? For Cathmor was himself the prime giver of 
 his feast, whereas Robin was only the agent to a series of 
 strangers, who provided in turn for the entertainment of their 
 successors ; which is carrying the disinterestedness of hospitality 
 to its acme. Marian often killed the deer. 
 
 Which Scarlet dressed, and Friar Tuck blessed, 
 While Little John wandered in search of a guest. 
 
 Robin was very devout, though there was great unity in his 
 
 126
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 religion : it was exclusively given to our Lady the Virgin, and 
 he never set forth in a morning till he had said three prayers, 
 and had heard the sweet voice of his Marian singing a hymn 
 to their mutual patroness. Each of his men had, as usual, a 
 patron saint according to his name or taste. The friar chose 
 a saint for himself, and fixed on Saint Botolph, whom he 
 euphonised into Saint Bottle, and maintained that he was that 
 very Panomphic Pantagruelian saint well known in ancient 
 France as a female divinity by the name of La Dive Bouteille, 
 whose oracular monosyllable, ' Trincq,' is celebrated and 
 understood by all nations, and is expounded by the learned 
 Doctor Alcofribas,! who has treated at large on the subject, to 
 signify 'drink.' Saint Bottle, then, was the saint of Friar 
 Tuck, who did not yield even to Robin and Marian in the 
 assiduity of his devotions to his chosen patron. Such was 
 their summer life, and in their winter caves they had sufficient 
 furniture, ample provender, store of old wine, and assuredly no 
 lack of fuel, with joyous music and pleasant discourse to charm 
 away the season of darkness and storms. 
 
 Many moons had waxed and waned, when on the afternoon 
 of a lovely summer day a lusty, broad-boned knight was riding 
 through the Forest of Sherwood. The sun shone brilliantly on 
 the full green foliage, and afforded the knight a fine opportunity 
 of observing picturesque effects, of which it is to be feared he 
 did not avail himself. But he had not proceeded far before he 
 had an opportunity of observing something much more inter- 
 esting, namely, a fine young outlaw leaning, in the true 
 Sherwood fashion, with his back against a tree. The knight 
 was preparing to ask the stranger a question, the answer to 
 which, if correctly given, would have relieved him from a doubt 
 that pressed heavily on his mind, as to whether he was in the 
 right road or the wrong, when the youth prevented the inquiry 
 by saying : ' In God's name, sir knight, you are late to your 
 meals. My master has tarried dinner for you these three hours.' 
 
 * I doubt,' said the knight, ' I am not he you wot of. I am 
 nowhere bidden to-day, and I know none in this vicinage.' 
 
 ^ Alcofribas Nasier : an anagram of Fran9ois Rabelais, and his 
 assumed appellation. 
 
 The reader who desires to know more about this oracular divinity may 
 consult the said Doctor Alcofribas Nasier, who will usher him into the 
 adytum through the medium of the high priestess Bacbuc. 
 
 127
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' We feared,' said the youth, ' your memory would be 
 treacherous : therefore am I stationed here to refresh it.' 
 
 ' Who is your master ? ' said the knight ; ' and where does 
 he abide ? ' 
 
 ' My master,' said the youth, ' is called Robin Hood, and he 
 abides hard by.' 
 
 ' And what knows he of me ? ' said the knight. 
 
 ' He knows you,' answered the youth, ' as he does every 
 wayfaring knight and friar, by instinct.' 
 
 ' Gramercy,' said the knight ; ' then I understand his 
 bidding : but how if I say I wdll not come ? ' 
 
 ' I am enjoined to bring you,' said the youth. ' If per- 
 suasion avail not, I must use other argument.' 
 
 ' Say'st thou so ? ' said the knight ; ' I doubt if thy stripling 
 rhetoric would convince me.' 
 
 ' That,' said the young forester, ' we will see.' 
 
 ' We are not equally matched, boy,' said the knight. ' I 
 should get less honour by thy conquest, than grief by thy 
 injury.' 
 
 ' Perhaps,' said the youth, ' my strength is more than my 
 seeming, and my cunning more than my strength. Therefore 
 let it please your knighthood to dismount.' 
 
 ' It shall please my knighthood to chastise thy presumption,' 
 said the knight, springing from his saddle. 
 
 Hereupon, which in those days was usually the result of a 
 meeting between any two persons anywhere, they proceeded to 
 fight. 
 
 The knight had in an uncommon degree both strength and 
 skill : the forester had less strength, but not less skill than the 
 knight, and showed such a mastery of his weapon as reduced 
 the latter to great admiration. 
 
 They had not fought many minutes by the forest clock, the 
 sun ; and had as yet done each other no worse injury than 
 that the knight had wounded the forester's jerkin, and the 
 forester had disabled the knight's plume ; when they were inter- 
 rupted by a voice from a thicket, exclaiming, ' Well fought, 
 girl : well fought. Mass, that had nigh been a shrewd hit. 
 Thou owest him for that, lass. Marry, stand by, I'll pay him 
 for thee.' 
 
 The knight turning to the voice, beheld a tall friar issuing 
 from the thicket, brandishing a ponderous cudgel. 
 
 12S
 
 / say" ans^vered the knight, " that if this be indeed a lady, man never 
 yet Jield me so long." ' 
 
 Copyright 1893 by Macmillatt &■ Co.
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' Who art thou ? ' said the knight. 
 
 ' I am the church mihtant of Sherwood,' answered the friar. 
 ' Why art thou in arms against our lady queen ? ' 
 
 * What meanest thou ? ' said the knight. 
 
 ' Truly, this,' said the friar, ' is our liege lady of the forest, 
 against whom I do apprehend thee in overt act of treason. 
 What sayest thou for thyself?' 
 
 ' I say,' answered the knight, ' that if this be indeed a lady, 
 man never yet held me so long.' 
 
 ' Spoken,' said the friar, ' like one who hath done execution. 
 Hast thou thy stomach full of steel ? Wilt thou diversify thy 
 repast with a taste of my oak-graff ? Or wilt thou incline 
 thine heart to our venison, which truly is cooling ? Wilt thou 
 fight ? or wilt thou dine ? or wilt thou fight and dine ? or wilt 
 thou dine and fight ? I am for thee, choose as thou mayest.' 
 
 ' I will dine,' said the knight ; ' for with lady I never fought 
 before, and with friar I never fought yet, and with neither will 
 I ever fight knowingly : and if this be the queen of the forest, 
 I will not, being in her own dominions, be backward to do her 
 homage.' 
 
 So saying, he kissed the hand of Marian, who was pleased 
 most graciously to express her approbation. 
 
 ' Gramercy, sir knight,' said the friar, ' I laud thee for thy 
 courtesy, which I deem to be no less than thy valour. Now 
 do thou follow me, while I follow my nose, which scents the 
 pleasant odour of roast from the depth of the forest recesses. 
 I will lead thy horse, and do thou lead my lady.' 
 
 The knight took Marian's hand, and followed the friar, who 
 walked before them, singing : 
 
 When the wind blows, when the wind blows 
 From where under buck the dry log glows, 
 
 What guide can you follow, 
 
 O'er break and o'er hollow, 
 So true as a ghostly, ghostly nose ? 
 
 131
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 ' Robin and Richard were two pretty men.' 
 
 Mother Goose's Melody. 
 
 They proceeded, following their infallible guide, first along a 
 light elastic greensward under the shade of lofty and wide- 
 spreading trees that skirted a sunny opening of the forest, then 
 along labyrinthine paths, which the deer, the outlaw, or the 
 woodman had made, through the close shoots of the young 
 coppices, through the thick undergrowth of the ancient woods, 
 through beds of gigantic fern that filled the narrow glades and 
 waved their green feathery heads above the plume of the 
 knight. Along these sylvan alleys they walked in single file ; 
 the friar singing and pioneering in the van, the horse plunging 
 and floundering behind the friar, the lady following ' in maiden 
 meditation fancy-free,' and the knight bringing up the rear, 
 much marvelling at the strange company into which his stars 
 had thrown him. Their path had expanded sufficiently to 
 allow the knight to take Marian's hand again, when they 
 arrived in the august presence of Robin Hood and his court. 
 
 Robin's table was spread under a high overarching canopy 
 of living boughs, on the edge of a natural lawn of verdure, 
 starred with flowers, through which a swift transparent rivulet 
 ran, sparkling in the sun. The board was covered with 
 abundance of choice food and excellent liquor, not without the 
 comeliness of snow-white linen and the splendour of costly 
 plate, which the Sheriff of Nottingham had unwillingly contri- 
 buted to supply, at the same time with an excellent cook, 
 whom Little John's art had spirited away to the forest with 
 the contents of his master's silver scullery. 
 
 An hundred foresters were here assembled, over-ready for 
 132
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 their dinner, some seated at the table and some lying in groups 
 under the trees. 
 
 Robin made courteous welcome to the knight, who took his 
 seat between Robin and Marian at the festal board ; at which 
 was already placed one strange guest in the person of a portly 
 monk, sitting between Little John and Scarlet, with his rotund 
 physiognomy elongated into an unnatural oval by the conjoint 
 influence of sorrow and fear : sorrow for the departed contents 
 of his travelling treasury, a good-looking valise which was 
 hanging empty on a bough ; and fear for his personal safety, 
 of which all the flasks and pasties before him could not give 
 him assurance. The appearance of the knight, however, 
 cheered him up with a semblance of protection, and gave him 
 just sufficient courage to demolish a cygnet and a numble- 
 pie, which he diluted with the contents of two flasks of canary 
 sack. 
 
 But wine, which sometimes creates and often increases joy, 
 doth also, upon occasion, heighten sorrow : and so it fared now 
 with our portly monk, who had no sooner explained away his 
 portion of provender, than he began to weep and bewail him- 
 self bitterly. 
 
 ' Why dost thou weep, man ? ' said Robin Hood. ' Thou 
 hast done thine embassy justly, and shalt have thy Lady's 
 grace.' 
 
 ' Alack ! alack ! ' said the monk : ' no embassy had I, 
 luckless sinner, as well thou wottest, but to take to my abbey 
 in safety the treasure whereof thou hast despoiled rne.' 
 
 ' Propound me his case,' said Friar Tuck, ' and I will give 
 him ghostly counsel.' 
 
 ' You well remember,' said Robin Hood, 'the sorrowful knight 
 who dined with us here twelve months and a day gone by ? ' 
 
 ' Well do I,' said Friar Tuck. ' His lands were in jeopardy 
 with a certain abbot, who would allow no longer day for their 
 redemption. Whereupon you lent to him the four hundred 
 pounds which he needed, and which he was to repay this day, 
 though he had no better security to give than our Lady the 
 Virgin.' 
 
 * I never desired better,' said Robin, ' for she never yet 
 failed to send me my pay ; and here is one of her own flock, 
 this faithful and well-favoured monk of St. Mary's, hath 
 brought it me duly, principal and interest to a penny, as Little 
 
 133
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 John can testify, who told it forth. To be sure, he denied 
 having it, but that was to prove our faith. We sought and 
 found it.' 
 
 ' I know nothing of your knight,' said the monk : ' and the 
 money was our own, as the Virgin shall bless me.' 
 
 ' She shall bless thee,' said Friar Tuck, ' for a faithful 
 messenger.' 
 
 The monk resumed his wailing. Little John brought him 
 his horse. Robin gave him leave to depart. He sprang with 
 singular nimbleness into the saddle, and vanished without 
 saying, God give you good day. 
 
 The stranger knight laughed heartily as the monk rode off. 
 
 ' They say, sir knight,' said Friar Tuck, ' they should 
 laugh who win : but thou laughest who are likely to lose.' 
 
 ' I have won,' said the knight, * a good dinner, some mirth, 
 and some knowledge : and I cannot lose by paying for them.' 
 
 * Bravely said,' answered Robin. ' Still it becomes thee to 
 pay : for it is not meet that a poor forester should treat a rich 
 knight. How much money hast thou with thee ?' 
 
 ' Troth, I know not,' said the knight. ' Sometimes much, 
 sometimes little, sometimes none. But search, and what thou 
 findest, keep : and for the sake of thy kind heart and open 
 hand, be it what it may, I shall wish it were more.' 
 
 ' Then, since thou sayest so,' said Robin, ' not a penny will 
 I touch. Many a false churl comes hither, and disburses 
 against his will : and till there is lack of these, I prey not on 
 true men.' 
 
 ' Thou art thyself a true man, right well I judge, Robin,' 
 said the stranger knight, ' and seemest more like one bred in 
 court than to thy present outlaw life.' 
 
 ' Our life,' said the friar, ' is a craft, an art, and a mystery. 
 How much of it, think you, could be learned at court ? ' 
 
 ' Indeed, I cannot say,' said the stranger knight : ' but I 
 should apprehend very little.' 
 
 'And so should I,' said the friar : 'for we should find very 
 little of our bold open practice, but should hear abundance of 
 praise of our principles. To live in seeming fellowship and 
 secret rivalry ; to have a hand for all, and a heart for none ; 
 to be everybody's acquaintance, and nobody's friend ; to 
 meditate the ruin of all on whom we smile, and to dread the 
 secret stratagems of all who smile on us ; to pilfer honours and 
 
 134
 
 d^w^J-^'^ 
 
 Vanished without saying, God give you good day.'
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 despoil fortunes, not by fighting in daylight, but by sapping in 
 darkness : these are arts which the court can teach, but which 
 we, by 'r Lady, have not learned. But let your court minstrel 
 tune up his throat to the praise of your court hero, then come 
 our principles into play : then is our practice extolled : not by 
 the same name, for their Richard is a hero, and our Robin is a 
 thief: marry, your hero guts an exchequer, while your thief 
 disembowels a portmanteau ; your hero sacks a city, while your 
 thief sacks a cellar : your hero marauds on a larger scale, and 
 that is all the difference, for the principle and the virtue are 
 one : but two of a trade cannot agree : therefore your hero 
 makes laws to get rid of your thief, and gives him an ill name 
 that he may hang him : for might is right, and the strong 
 make laws for the weak, and they that make laws to serve 
 their own turn do also make morals to give colour to their laws.' 
 
 * Your comparison, friar,' said the stranger, ' fails in this : 
 that your thief fights for profit, and your hero for honour. I 
 have fought under the banners of Richard, and if, as you 
 phrase it, he guts exchequers, and sacks cities, it is not to win 
 treasure for himself, but to furnish forth the means of his 
 greater and more glorious aim.' 
 
 ' Misconceive me not, sir knight,' said the friar. * We all 
 love and honour King Richard, and here is a deep draught to 
 his health : but I would show you, that we foresters are 
 miscalled by opprobrious names, and that our virtues, though 
 they follow at humble distance, are yet truly akin to those of 
 Cceur de Lion. I say not that Richard is a thief, but I say 
 that Robin is a hero : and for honour, did ever yet man, 
 miscalled thief, win greater honour than Robin ? Do not all 
 men grace him with some honourable epithet ? The most 
 gentle thief, the most courteous thief, the most bountiful thief, 
 yea, and the most honest thief. Richard is courteous, bounti- 
 ful, honest, and valiant, but so also is Robin : it is the false 
 word that makes the unjust distinction. They are twin spirits, 
 and should be friends, but that fortune hath differently cast 
 their lot ; but their names shall descend together to the latest 
 days, as the flower of their age and of England ; for in the 
 pure principles of freebootery have they excelled all men ; and 
 to the principles of freebootery, diversely developed, belong all 
 the quahties to which song and story concede renown.' 
 
 ' And you may add, friar,' said Marian, ' that Robin, no 
 
 137
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 less than Richard, is king in his own dominion ; and that if 
 his subjects be fewer, yet are they more uniformly loyal.' 
 
 ' I would, fair lady,' said the stranger, ' that thy latter 
 observation were not so true. But I nothing doubt, Robin, that 
 if Richard could hear your friar, and see you and your lady as I 
 now do, there is not a man in England whom he would take 
 by the hand more cordially than yourself 
 
 ' Gramercy, sir knight,' said Robin But his speech 
 
 was cut short by Little John calling, ' Hark 1 ' 
 
 All listened. A distant trampling of horses was heard. 
 The sounds approached rapidly, and at length a group of horse- 
 men glittering in holiday dresses was visible among the trees. 
 
 ' God's my life ! ' said Robin, ' what means this ? To arms, 
 my merrymen all.' 
 
 ' No arms, Robin,' said the foremost horseman, riding up 
 and springing from his saddle. ' Have you forgotten Sir 
 William of the Lee ? ' 
 
 ' No, by my fay,' said Robin ; ' and right welcome again 
 to Sherwood.' 
 
 Little John bustled to rearray the disorganised economy of 
 the table, and replace the dilapidations of the provender. 
 
 * I come late, Robin,' said Sir William, ' but I came by a 
 wrestling, where I found a good yeoman wrongfully beset by a 
 crowd of sturdy varlets, and I stayed to do him right.' 
 
 ' I thank thee for that, in God's name,' said Robin, ' as if 
 thy good service had been to myself 
 
 ' And here,' said the knight, ' is thy four hundred pounds ; 
 and my men have brought thee an hundred bows and as many 
 well-furnished quivers ; which I beseech thee to receive and to 
 use as a poor token of my gratefiil kindness to thee : for me 
 and my wife and children didst thou redeem from beggary. ' 
 
 ' Thy bows and arrows,' said Robin, ' will I jo>^ully receive : 
 but of thy money, not a penny. It is paid already. My Lady, 
 who was thy security, hath sent it me for thee.' 
 
 Sir William pressed, but Robin was inflexible. 
 
 ' It is paid,' said Robin, ' as this good knight can testify, 
 who saw my Lady's messenger depart but now.' 
 
 Sir William looked round to the stranger knight, and 
 instantly fell on his knees, saying, ' God save King Richard.' 
 
 The foresters, friar and all, dropped on their knees together, 
 and repeated in chorus ; ' God save King Richard,' 
 
 138
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 ' Rise, rise,' said Richard, smiling : ' Robin is king here, as 
 his lady hath shown. I have heard much of thee, Robin, both 
 of thy present and thy former state. And this, thy fair 
 forest-queen, is, if tales say true, the Lady Matilda Fitzwater.' 
 
 Marian signed acknowledgment. 
 
 * Your father,' said the king, ' has approved his fidelity to 
 me, by the loss of his lands, which the newness of my return, 
 and many public cares, has not yet given me time to restore : 
 but this justice shall be done to him, and to thee also, Robin, 
 if thou wilt leave thy forest-life and resume thy earldom, and 
 be a peer of Coeur de Lion : for braver heart and juster hand I 
 never yet found.' 
 
 Robin looked round on his men. 
 
 * Your followers,' said the king, ' shall have free pardon, 
 and such of them as thou wilt part with shall have maintenance 
 from me ; and if ever I confess to priest, it shall be to thy 
 friar.' 
 
 ' Gramercy to your majesty,' said the friar ; ' and my 
 inflictions shall be flasks of canary ; and if the number be (as 
 in grave cases I may, peradventure, make it) too great for one 
 frail mortality, I will relieve you by vicarious penance, and 
 pour down my own throat the redundancy of the burden.' 
 
 Robin and his followers embraced the king's proposal. A 
 joyful meeting soon followed with the baron and Sir Guy of 
 Gamwell : and Richard himself honoured with his own 
 presence a formal solemnisation of the nuptials of our lovers, 
 whom he constantly distinguished with his peculiar regard. 
 
 The friar could not say farewell to the forest without 
 something of a heavy heart : and he sang as he turned his 
 back upon its bounds, occasionally reverting his head : 
 
 Ye woods, that oft at sultry noon 
 
 Have o'er me spread your massy shade : 
 Ye gushing streams, whose murmured tune 
 
 Has in my ear sweet music made, 
 While, where the dancing pebbles show 
 
 Deep in the restless mountain-pool 
 The gelid water's upward flow, 
 
 My second flask was laid to cool : 
 
 Ye pleasant sights of leaf and flower : 
 
 Ye pleasant sounds of bird and bee : 
 Ye sports of deer in sylvan bower : 
 
 Ye feasts beneath the greenwood tree :
 
 MAID MARIAN 
 
 Ye baskings in the vernal sun : 
 
 Ye slumbers in the summer dell : 
 Ye trophies that this arm has won : 
 
 And must you hear your friar's farewell ? 
 
 But the friar's farewell was not destined to be eternal. He 
 was domiciled as the family confessor of the Earl and Countess 
 of Huntingdon, who led a discreet and courtly life, and kept 
 up old hospitality in all its munificence, till the death of King 
 Richard and the usurpation of John, by placing their enemy 
 in power, compelled them to return to their greenwood 
 sovereignty ; which, it is probable, they would have before 
 done from choice, if their love of sylvan liberty had not been 
 counteracted by their desire to retain the friendship of Coeur 
 de Lion. Their old and tried adherents, the friar among the 
 foremost, flocked again round their forest-banner ; and in merry 
 Sherwood they long lived together, the lady still retaining her 
 former name of Maid Marian, though the appellation was then 
 as much a misnomer as that of Little John. 
 
 ---^^^ A-
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE
 
 ' Should once the world resolve to abolish 
 All that's ridiculous and foolish, 
 It would have nothing left to do, 
 To apply in jest or earnest to. ' 
 
 Butler.
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE VILLA 
 
 ' Captain J amy. I wad full fain hear some question 'tween you tway.' — 
 Henry V. 
 
 In one of those beautiful valleys, through which the Thames 
 (not yet polluted by the tide, the scouring of cities, or even the 
 minor defilement of the sandy streams of Surrey) rolls a clear 
 flood through flowery meadows, under the shade of old beech 
 woods, and the smooth mossy greensward of the chalk hills 
 (which pour into it their tributary rivulets, as pure and pellucid 
 as the fountain of Bandusium, or the wells of Scamander, by 
 which the wives and daughters of the Trojans washed their 
 splendid garments in the days of peace, before the coming of 
 the Greeks) ; in one of those beautiful valleys, on a bold round- 
 surfaced lawn, spotted with juniper, that opened itself in the 
 bosom of an old wood, which rose with a steep, but not pre- 
 cipitous ascent, from the river to the summit of the hill, stood 
 the castellated villa of a retired citizen. Ebenezer Mac 
 Crotchet, Esquire, was the London-bom offspring of a worthy 
 native of the ' north countrie,' who had walked up to London 
 on a commercial adventure, with all his surplus capital, not 
 very neatly tied up in a not very clean handkerchief, suspended 
 over his shoulder from the end of a hooked stick, extracted 
 from the first hedge on his pilgrimage ; and who, after having 
 worked himself a step or two up the ladder of life, had won 
 the virgin heart of the only daughter of a highly respectable 
 merchant of Duke's Place, with whom he inherited the honest 
 fruits of a long series of ingenuous dealings. 
 
 Mr, Mac Crotchet had derived from his mother the instinct, 
 
 143
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 and from his father the rational principle, of enriching himself 
 at the expense of the rest of mankind, by all the recognised 
 modes of accumulation on the windy side of the law. After 
 passing many years in the alley, watching the turn of the 
 market, and playing many games almost as desperate as that 
 of the soldier of Lucullus,i the fear of losing what he had so 
 righteously gained, predominated over the sacred thirst of 
 paper- money ; his caution got the better of his instinct, or 
 rather transferred it from the department of acquisition to that 
 of conservation. His friend, Mr. Ramsbottom, the zodiacal 
 mythologist, told him that he had done well to withdraw from 
 the region of Uranus or Brahma, the Maker, to that of Saturn 
 or Veeshnu, the Preserver, before he fell under the eye of 
 Jupiter or Seva, the Destroyer, who might have struck him 
 down at a blow. 
 
 It is said, that a Scotchman returning home, after some 
 years' residence in England, being asked what he thought of 
 the English, answered : ' They hanna ower muckle sense, but 
 they are an unco braw people to live amang ' ; which would be 
 a very good story, if it were not rendered apocryphal by the 
 incredible circumstance of the Scotchman going back. 
 
 Mr. Mac Crotchet's experience had given him a just title to 
 make, in his own person, the last-quoted observation, but he 
 would have known better than to go back, even if himself, and 
 not his father, had been the first comer of his line from the 
 North. He had married an English Christian, and, having 
 none of the Scotch accent, was ungracious enough to be 
 ashamed of his blood. He was desirous to obliterate alike the 
 Hebrew and Caledonian vestiges in his name, and signed him- 
 self E. M. Crotchet, which by degrees induced the majority of 
 his neighbours to think that his name was Edward Matthew. 
 The more effectually to sink the Mac, he christened his villa 
 Crotchet Castle, and determined to hand down to posterity the 
 honours of Crotchet of Crotchet. He found it essential to his 
 dignity to furnish himself with a coat of arms, which, after the 
 proper ceremonies (payment being the principal), he obtained, 
 videlicet : Crest, a crotchet rampant, in A sharp ; Anns, three 
 empty bladders, turgescent, to show how opinions are formed ; 
 three bags of gold, pendent, to show why they are main- 
 
 ^ ' Luculli miles,' etc. — HoR. Ep. ii. 2, 26. ' In Anna's wars, a soldier 
 poor and bold,' etc. — Pope's Imitation. 
 
 144
 
 THE VILLA 
 
 tained ; three naked swords, tranchant, to show how they are 
 administered ; and three barbers' blocks, gaspant, to show 
 how they are swallowed. 
 
 Mr. Crotchet was left a widower, with two children ; and, 
 after the death of his wife, so strong was his sense of the 
 blessed comfort she had been to him, that he determined never 
 to give any other woman an opportunity of obliterating the 
 happy recollection. 
 
 He was not without a plausible pretence for styling his villa 
 a Castle, for, in its immediate vicinity, and within his own en- 
 closed domain, were the manifest traces, on the brow of the 
 hill, of a Roman station, or castellum, which was still called 
 the Castle by the country people. The primitive mounds and 
 trenches, merely overgrown with greensward, with a few patches 
 of juniper and box on the vallum, and a solitary ancient beech 
 surmounting the place of the prsetorium, presented nearly the 
 same depths, heights, slopes, and forms which the Roman 
 soldiers had originally given them. From this castellum Mr. 
 Crotchet christened his villa. With his rustic neighbours he 
 was of course immediately and necessarily a squire : Squire 
 Crotchet of the Castle : and he seemed to himself to settle 
 down as naturally into an English country gentleman, as if his 
 parentage had been as innocent of both Scotland and Jerusalem 
 as his education was of Rome and Athens. 
 
 But as, though you expel nature with a pitchfork, she will 
 yet always come back ; ^ he could not become, like a true-born 
 English squire, part and parcel of the barley-giving earth ; he 
 could not find in game-bagging, poacher-shooting, trespasser- 
 pounding, footpath -stopping, common -enclosing, rack-renting, 
 and all the other liberal pursuits and pastimes which make a 
 country gentleman an ornament to the world, and a blessing 
 to the poor ; he could not find in these valuable and amiable 
 occupations, and in a corresponding range of ideas, nearly 
 commensurate with that of the great King Nebuchadnezzar 
 when he was turned out to grass ; he could not find in this 
 great variety of useful action, and vast field of comprehensive 
 thought, modes of filling up his time that accorded with his 
 Caledonian instinct. The inborn love of disputation, which 
 the excitements and engagements of a life of business had 
 
 ^ ' Naturam expellas furc^, tamen usque recurret. ' 
 
 HoR. Ep. i. lo, 24. 
 
 L 145
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 smothered, burst forth through the calmer surface of a rural 
 life. He grew as fain as Captain Jamy ' to hear some airgu- 
 ment betwixt ony tway,' and being very hospitable in his 
 establishment, and liberal in his invitations, a numerous de- 
 tachment from the advanced guard of the ' march of intellect ' 
 often marched down to Crotchet Castle. 
 
 When the fashionable season filled London with exhibitors 
 of all descriptions, lecturers and else, Mr. Crotchet was in his 
 glory ; for, in addition to the perennial literati of the metropolis, 
 he had the advantage of the visits of a number of hardy 
 annuals, chiefly from the North, who, as the interval of their 
 metropolitan flowering allowed, occasionally accompanied their 
 London brethren in excursions to Crotchet Castle. 
 
 Amongst other things, he took very naturally to political 
 economy, read all the books on the subject which were put 
 forth by his own countrymen, attended all lectures thereon, 
 and boxed the technology of the sublime science as expertly 
 as an able seaman boxes the compass. 
 
 With this agreeable mania he had the satisfaction of biting 
 his son, the hope of his name and race, who had borne off 
 from Oxford the highest academical honours ; and who, tread- 
 ing in his father's footsteps to honour and fortune, had, by 
 means of a portion of the old gentleman's surplus capital, 
 made himself a junior partner in the eminent loan-jobbing firm 
 of Catchflat and Company. Here, in the days of paper pros- 
 perity, he applied his science-illumined genius to the blowing of 
 bubbles, the bursting of which sent many a poor devil to the 
 jail, the workhouse, or the bottom of the river, but left young 
 Crotchet rolling in riches. 
 
 These riches he had been on the point of doubling, by a 
 marriage with the daughter of Mr. Touchandgo, the great 
 banker, when, one foggy morning, Mr. Touchandgo and the 
 contents of his till were suddenly reported absent ; and as the 
 fortune which the young gentleman had intended to many 
 was not forthcoming, this tender afiair of the heart was nipped 
 in the bud. 
 
 Miss Touchandgo did not meet the shock of separation 
 quite so complacently as the young gentleman : for he lost 
 only the lady, whereas she lost a fortune as well as a lover. 
 Some jewels, which had glittered on her beautiful person as 
 brilliantly as the bubble of her father's wealth had done in the 
 
 146
 
 THE VILLA 
 
 eyes of his gudgeons, furnished her with a small portion of 
 paper currency ; and this, added to the contents of a fairy 
 purse of gold, which she found in her shoe on the eventful 
 morning when Mr. Touchandgo melted into thin air, enabled 
 her to retreat into North Wales, where she took up her lodging 
 in a farmhouse in Merionethshire, and boarded very comfort- 
 ably for a trifling payment, and the additional consideration of 
 teaching English, French, and music to the little Ap-Llymrys. 
 In the course of this occupation she acquired sufficient know- 
 ledge of Welsh to converse with the country people. 
 
 She clim_bed the mountains, and descended the dingles, with 
 a foot which daily habit made by degrees almost as steady as 
 a native's. She became the nymph of the scene ; and if she 
 sometimes pined in thought for her faithless Strephon, her 
 melancholy was anything but green and yellow : it was as 
 genuine white and red as occupation, mountain air, thyme-fed 
 mutton, thick cream, and fat bacon could make it : to say 
 nothing of an occasional glass of double X, which Ap-Llymry,^ 
 who yielded to no man west of the Wrekin in brewage, never 
 failed to press upon her at dinner and supper. He was also 
 earnest, and sometimes successful, in the recommendation of 
 his mead, and most pertinacious on winter nights in enforcing 
 a trial of the virtues of his elder wine. The young lady's 
 personal appearance, consequently, formed a very advantageous 
 contrast to that of her quondam lover, whose physiognomy the 
 intense anxieties of his bubble-blowing days, notwithstanding 
 their triumphant result, had left blighted, sallowed, and crow's- 
 footed, to a degree not far below that of the fallen spirit who, 
 in the expressive language of German romance, is described 
 as ' scathed by the ineradicable traces of the thunderbolts of 
 heaven ' ; so that, contemplating their relative geological 
 positions, the poor deserted damsel was flourishing on slate, 
 while her rich and false young knight was pining on chalk. 
 
 Squire Crotchet had also one daughter, whom he had 
 christened Lemma, and who, as likely to be endowed with a 
 very ample fortune, was, of course, an object very tempting to 
 many young soldiers of fortune, who were marching with the 
 march of mind, in a good condition for taking castles, as far 
 as not having a groat is a qualification for such exploits. ^ She 
 
 1 Llymry. Anglic^, flummery. 
 2 • Let him take castles who has ne'er a groat. ' 
 
 Pope, ubi supra. 
 
 147
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 was also a glittering bait to divers young squires expectant 
 (whose fathers were too well acquainted with the occult signifi- 
 cation of mortgage), and even to one or two sprigs of nobility, 
 who thought that the lining of a civic purse would superinduce 
 a very passable factitious nap upon a threadbare title. The 
 young lady had received an expensive and complicated educa- 
 tion ; complete in all the elements of superficial display. She 
 was thus eminently qualified to be the companion of any 
 masculine luminary who had kept due pace with the ' astounding 
 progress' of intelligence. It must be confessed that a man 
 who has not kept due pace with it is not very easily found : 
 this march being one of that ' astounding ' character in which 
 it seems impossible that the rear can be behind the van. The 
 young lady was also tolerably good-looking : north of Tweed, 
 or in Palestine, she would probably have been a beauty ; but 
 for the valleys of the Thames, she was perhaps a little too much 
 to the taste of Solomon, and had a nose which rather too pro- 
 minently suggested the idea of the tower of Lebanon, which 
 looked towards Damascus. 
 
 In a village in the vicinity of the Castle was the vicarage of 
 the Reverend Doctor FoUiott, a gentleman endowed with a 
 tolerable stock of learning, an interminable swallow, and an 
 indefatigable pair of lungs. His pre-eminence in the latter 
 faculty gave occasion to some etymologists to ring changes on 
 his name, and to decide that it was derived from Follis Optimus, 
 softened through an Italian medium into Folle Ottimo, con- 
 tracted poetically into Folleotto, and elided Anglice into 
 Folliott, signifying a first-rate pair of bellows. He claimed to 
 be descended lineally from the illustrious Gilbert Folliott, the 
 eminent theologian, who was a Bishop of London in the twelfth 
 century, whose studies were interrupted in the dead of night 
 by the devil ; when a couple of epigrams passed between 
 them ; and the devil, of course, proved the smaller wit of 
 the two.i 
 
 ^ The devil began (he had caught the bishop musing on politics) : 
 
 O Gllberte FolHot ! 
 Dum revolvis tot et tot, 
 Deus tuus est Astarot. 
 
 O Gilbert Folliott I 
 
 While thus you muse and plot, 
 
 Your god is Astarot. 
 
 148
 
 THE VILLA 
 
 This reverend gentleman, being both learned and jolly, 
 became by degrees an indispensable ornament to the new 
 squire's table. Mr. Crotchet himself was eminently jolly, 
 though by no means eminently learned. In the latter respect 
 he took after the great majority of the sons of his father's land ; 
 had a smattering of many things, and a knowledge of none ; 
 but possessed the true Northern art of making the most of his 
 intellectual harlequin's jacket, by keeping the best patches 
 always bright and prominent. 
 
 The bishop answered : 
 
 Tace, daemon : qui est deus 
 Sabbaot, est ille meus. 
 
 Peace, fiend ; the power I own 
 Is Sabbaoth's Lord alone. 
 
 It must be confessed, the devil was easily posed in the twelfth century. 
 He was a sturdier disputant in the sixteenth. 
 
 Did not the devil appear to Martin 
 Luther in Germany for certain ? 
 
 when ' the heroic student,' as Mr. Coleridge calls him, was forced to pro- 
 ceed to ' voies de fait. ' The curious may see at this day, on the wall of 
 Luther's study, the traces of the ink-bottle which he threw at the devil's 
 head. 
 
 149
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE MARCH OF MIND 
 
 ' Quoth Ralpho : nothing but the abuse 
 Of human learning you produce. ' 
 
 Butler. 
 
 * God bless my soul, sir ! ' exclaimed the Reverend Doctor 
 Folliott, bursting, one fine May morning, into the breakfast- 
 room at Crotchet Castle, ' I am out of all patience with this 
 march of mind. Here has my house been nearly burned 
 down, by my cook taking it into her head to study hydro- 
 statics, in a sixpenny tract, published by the Steam Intellect 
 Society, and written by a learned friend who is for doing all 
 the world's business as well as his own, and is equally well 
 qualified to handle every branch of human knowledge. I have 
 a great abomination of this learned friend ; as author, lawyer, 
 and politician, he is triforinis^ like Hecate : and in every one 
 of his three forms he is bifrojis^ like Janus ; the true Mr. 
 Facing-both-ways of Vanity Fair. My cook must read his 
 rubbish in bed ; and as might naturally be expected, she 
 dropped suddenly fast asleep, overturned the candle, and set 
 the curtains in a blaze. Luckily, the footman went into the 
 room at the moment, in time to tear down the curtains and 
 throw them into the chimney, and a pitcher of water on her 
 night-cap extinguished her wick : she is a greasy subject, and 
 would have burned like a short mould.' 
 
 The reverend gentleman exhaled his grievance without 
 looking to the right or to the left ; at length, turning on his 
 pivot, he perceived that the room was full of company, consisting 
 of young Crotchet and some visitors whom he had brought from 
 London. The Reverend Doctor Folliott was introduced to Mr. 
 
 ISO
 
 THE MARCH OF MIND 
 
 Mac Quedy,! the economist ; Mr. Skionar,^ the transcendental 
 poet ; Mr. Firedamp, the meteorologist ; and Lord Bossnowl, 
 son ot the Earl of Foolincourt, and member for the borough of 
 Rogueingrain. 
 
 The divine took his seat at the breakfast-table, and began 
 to compose his spirits by the gentle sedative of a large cup of 
 tea, the demulcent of a well-buttered muffin, and the tonic of a 
 small lobster. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 You are a man of taste, Mr. Crotchet. A man of taste is 
 seen at once in the array of his breakfast- table. It is the foot 
 of Hercules, the far-shining face of the great work, according 
 to Pindar^s doctrine : apyoixkvov 'ipyov TT/DocrcoTrov XPV ^^H-^^ 
 T-qXavyks.'^ The breakfast is the irpocriiiTrov of the great work 
 of the day. Chocolate, coffee, tea, cream, eggs, ham, tongue, 
 cold fowl, all these are good, and bespeak good knowledge in 
 him who sets them forth : but the touchstone is fish : anchovy 
 is the first step, prawns and shrimps the second ; and I laud 
 him who reaches even to these : potted char and lampreys are 
 the third, and a fine stretch of progression ; but lobster is, 
 indeed, matter for a May morning, and demands a rare com- 
 bination of knowledge and virtue in him who sets it forth. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Well, sir, and what say you to a fine fresh trout, hot and 
 dry, in a napkin ? or a herring out of the water into the fr^dng 
 pan, on the shore of Loch Fyne ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Sir, I say every nation has some eximious virtue ; and your 
 country is pre-eminent in the glory of fish for breakfast. We 
 have much to learn from you in that line at any rate. 
 
 ^ Quasi Mac Q. E. D., son of a demonstration. 
 ^ SKIas ONAP. UmbrcB somnium. 
 
 2 ' Far-sliining be the face 
 Of a great work begun. ' 
 
 Find, 01. vi.
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 And in many others, sir, I believe. Morals and meta- 
 physics, politics and political economy, the way to make the 
 most of all the modifications of smoke ; steam, gas, and paper 
 currency ; you have all these to learn from us ; in short, all 
 the arts and sciences. We are the modern Athenians. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 I, for one, sir, am content to learn nothing from you but 
 the art and science of fish for breakfast. Be content, sir, to 
 rival the Boeotians, whose redeeming virtue was in fish, touch- 
 ing which point you may consult Aristophanes and his scholiast 
 in the passage of Lysistrata, aA/V a<^eAe ras eyx^-^^^^,-^ and 
 leave the name of Athenians to those who have a sense of the 
 beautiful, and a perception of metrical quantity. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Then, sir, I presume you set no value on the right principles 
 of rent, profit, wages, and currency ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 My principles, sir, in these things are, to take as much as I 
 can get, and to pay no more than I can help. These are 
 every man's principles, whether they be the right principles or 
 no. There, sir, is political economy in a nutshell. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 The principles, sir, which regulate production and consump- 
 tion are independent of the will of any individual as to giving 
 or taking, and do not lie in a nutshell by any means. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Sir, I will thank you for a leg of that capon. 
 
 ^ Calonice wishes destruction to all Boeotians. Lysistrata answers, 
 ' Except the eels.' — Lysistrata, 36.
 
 THE MARCH OF MIND 
 
 LORD EOSSNOWL 
 
 But, sir, by the bye, how came your footman to be going 
 into your cook's room ? It was very providential to be sure, 
 but 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Sir, as good came of it, I shut my eyes, and asked no 
 questions. I suppose he was going to study hydrostatics, and 
 he found himiself under the necessity of practising hydrauHcs. 
 
 MR. FIREDAMP 
 
 Sir, you seem to make very hght of science. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Yes, sir, such science as the learned friend deals in : ever>'- 
 thing for everybody, science for all, schools for all, rhetoric for 
 all, law for all, physic for all, words for all, and sense for none. 
 I say, sir, law for lawyers, and cookery for cooks : and I wish 
 the learned friend, for all his life, a cook that will pass her 
 time in studying his works ; then every dinner he sits down to 
 at home, he will sit on the stool of repentance. 
 
 LORD EOSSNOWL 
 
 Now really that would be too severe : my cook should read 
 nothing but Ude. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 No, sir ! let Ude and the learned friend singe fowls 
 together ; let both avaunt from my kitchen. Qvpa<s 8' eVt^eo-^e 
 ^e^rjAots.^ Ude says an elegant supper may be given with 
 sandwiches. Horresco refere7is. An elegant supper. Di 
 ineliora piis. No Ude for me. Conviviality went out with 
 punch and suppers. I cherish their memory. I sup when I 
 can, but not upon sandwiches. To offer me a sandwich, when 
 I am looking for a supper, is to add insult to injury. Let the 
 learned friend, and the modern Athenians, sup upon sandwiches. 
 
 ^ ' Shut the doors against the profane.' — Orphica, passim.
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Nay, sir ; the modem Athenians know better than that. A 
 literary supper in sweet Edinbroo' would cure you of the 
 prejudice you seem to cherish against us. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Well, sir, well ; there is cogency in a good supper ; a good 
 supper in these degenerate days, bespeaks a good man ; but 
 much more is wanted to make up an Athenian. Athenians, 
 indeed ! where is your theatre ? who among you has written a 
 comedy ? where is your Attic salt ? which of you can tell who 
 was Jupiter's great grandfather .'' or what metres will success- 
 ively remain, if you take off the three first syllables, one by 
 one, from a pure antispastic acatalectic tetrameter ? Now, sir, 
 there are three questions for you ; theatrical, mythological, and 
 metrical ; to every one of which an Athenian would give an 
 answer that would lay me prostrate in my own nothingness. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Well, sir, as to your metre and your mytholog}^, they may 
 e'en wait a wee. For your comedy, there is the Gentle 
 Shepherd of the divine Allan Ramsay. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 The Ge7itle Shepherd! It is just as much a comedy as 
 the Book of Job. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Well, sir, if none of us have written a comedy, I cannot 
 see that it is any such great matter, any more than I can 
 conjecture what business a man can have at this time of day 
 with Jupiter's great-grandfather. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 The great business is, sir, that you call yourselves 
 Athenians, while you know nothing that the Athenians thought 
 
 154
 
 THE MARCH OF MIND 
 
 worth knowing, and dare not show your noses before the 
 civilised world in the practice of any one art in which they 
 were excellent. Modern Athens, sir ! the assumption is a 
 personal affront to every man who has a Sophocles in his 
 library. I will thank you for an anchovy. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Metaphysics, sir ; metaphysics. Logic and moral philo- 
 sophy. There we are at home. The Athenians only sought 
 the way, and we have found it ; and to all this we have added 
 political economy, the science of sciences. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 A hyperbarbarous technology, that no Athenian ear could 
 have borne. Premises assumed without evidence, or in spite 
 of it ; and conclusions drawn from them so logically, that they 
 must necessarily be erroneous. 
 
 MR. SKIONAR 
 
 I cannot agree with you, Mr. Mac Quedy, that you have 
 found the true road of metaphysics, which the Athenians only 
 sought. The Germans have found it, sir : the sublime Kant, 
 and his disciples. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 I have read the sublime Kant, sir, with an anxious desire 
 to understand him, and I confess I have not succeeded. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 He wants the two great requisites of head and tail. 
 
 MR. SKIONAR 
 
 TranscendentaHsm is the philosophy of intuition, the de- 
 velopment of universal convictions ; truths which are inherent 
 in the organisation of mind, which cannot be obliterated, 
 though they may be obscured, by superstitious prejudice on the 
 one hand, and by the Aristotelian logic on the other. 
 
 155
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Well, sir, I have no notion of logic obscuring a question. 
 
 MR. SKIONAR 
 
 There is only one true logic, which is the transcendental ; 
 and this can prove only the one true philosophy, which is also 
 the transcendental. The logic of your Modern Athens can 
 prove everything equally ; and that is, in my opinion, tanta- 
 mount to proving nothing at all. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 The sentimental against the rational, the intuitive against 
 the inductive, the ornamental against the useful, the intense 
 against the tranquil, the romantic against the classical ; these 
 are great and interesting controversies, which I should like, 
 before I die, to see satisfactorily settled. 
 
 MR. FIREDAMP 
 
 There is another great question, greater than all these, 
 seeing that it is necessary to be aHve in order to settle any 
 question ; and this is the question of water against human life. 
 Wherever there is water, there is malaria^ and wherever there 
 is 7?ialaria, there are the elements of death. The great object 
 of a wise man should be to live on a gravelly hill, without so 
 much as a duck-pond within ten miles of him, eschewing 
 cisterns and water-butts, and taking care that there be no 
 gravel-pits for lodging the rain. The sun sucks up infection 
 from water, wherever it exists on the face of the earth. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Well, sir, you have for you the authority of the ancient 
 mystagogue, who said : 'Ecrrtv v^iop ^''^XV ^o.varo<s.^ For my 
 part I care not a rush (or any other aquatic and inesculent 
 vegetable) who or what sucks up either the water or the 
 
 1 Literally, which is sufficient for the present purpose, ' Water is death 
 to the soul.' — Orphica, Fr. xix. 
 
 156
 
 THE MARCH OF MIND 
 
 infection. I think the proximity of wine a matter of much more 
 importance than the longinquity of water. You are here within 
 a quarter of a mile of the Thames, but in the cellar of my 
 friend, Mr. Crotchet, there is the talismanic antidote of a 
 thousand dozen of old wine ; a beautiful spectacle, I assure 
 you, and a model of arrangement. 
 
 MR. FIREDAMP 
 
 Sir, I feel the malignant influence of the river in every part 
 of my system. Nothing but my great friendship for Mr. 
 Crotchet would have brought me so nearly within the jaws of 
 the lion. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 After dinner, sir, after dinner, I will meet you on this 
 question. I shall then be armed for the strife. You may 
 fight like Hercules against Achelous, but I shall flourish the 
 Bacchic thyrsus, which changed rivers into wine : as Nonnus 
 sweetly sings, Ocvcp KVfxaToevTt fxeXas KeXdpv^ev ^YSdcnrrjS'^ 
 
 MR. CROTCHET JUN. 
 
 I hope, Mr. Firedamp, you will let your friendship carry 
 you a little closer into the jaws of the lion. I am fitting up a 
 flotilla of pleasure-boats, with spacious cabins, and a good 
 cellar, to carry a choice philosophical party up the Thames 
 and Severn, into the Ellesmere canal, where we shall be among 
 the mountains of North Wales ; which we may climb or not, 
 as we think proper ; but we will, at any rate, keep our floating 
 hotel well provisioned, and we will try to settle all the 
 questions over which a shadow of doubt yet hangs in the world 
 of philosophy. 
 
 MR. FIREDAMP 
 
 Out of my great friendship for you, I will certainly go ; but 
 I do not expect to survive the experiment. 
 
 ^ ' Hydaspes gurgled, dark with billowy wine.' 
 
 Dionysiaca, xxv. 280.
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Alter erit turn Tipkys, et altera qucE vchat Argo Delectos 
 Heroasy I will be of the party, though I must hire an 
 officiating curate, and deprive poor dear Mrs. Folliott, for 
 several weeks, of the pleasure of combing my wig. 
 
 LORD BOSSNOWL 
 
 I hope, if I am to be of the party, our ship is not to be 
 the ship of fools : He ! He ! 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 If you are one of the party, sir, it most assuredly will not : 
 Ha! Ha! 
 
 LORD BOSSNOWL 
 
 Pray, sir, what do you mean by Ha ! Ha ! ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Precisely, sir, what you mean by He ! He ! 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 You need not dispute about terms ; they are two modes of 
 expressing merriment, with or without reason ; reason being 
 in no way essential to mirth. No man should ask another 
 why he laughs, or at what, seeing that he does not always 
 know, and that, if he does, he is not a responsible agent. 
 Laughter is an involuntary action of certain muscles, developed 
 in the human species by the progress of civilisation. The 
 savage never laughs. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 No, sir, he has nothing to laugh at. Give him Modern 
 Athens, the ' learned friend,' and the Steam Intellect Society. 
 They will develop his muscles. 
 
 ^ ' Another Tiphys on the waves shall float, 
 And chosen heroes freight his glorious boat.* 
 
 ViRG. Eel. iv. 
 
 158
 
 1\^ -. I . "^^-^• 
 
 „/'' '~\. 
 
 The young stranger rose up, and hoped that he was not trespassifig.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE ROMAN CAMP 
 
 ' He loved her more then seven yere, 
 Yet was he of her love never the nere ; 
 He was not ryche of golde and fe, 
 A gentyll man forsoth was he. ' 
 
 The Squyr of Lowe Degre. 
 
 The Reverend Doctor Folliott having promised to return to 
 dinner, walked back to his vicarage, meditating whether he 
 should pass the morning in writing his next sermon, or in 
 angling for trout, and had nearly decided in favour of the latter 
 proposition, repeating to himself, with great unction, the lines 
 of Chaucer : 
 
 And as for me, though that I can but lite, 
 On bokis for to read I me delite, 
 And to 'hem yeve I faithe and full credence, 
 And in mine herte have 'hem in reverence, 
 So hertily, that there is game none, 
 That fro my bokis makith me to gone, 
 But it be seldome, on the holie daie ; 
 Save certainly whan that the month of Male 
 Is comin, and I here the foulis sing, 
 And that the flouris ginnin for to spring, 
 Farwell my boke and my devocion : 
 
 when his attention was attracted by a young gentleman who 
 was sitting on a camp-stool with a portfolio on his knee, taking 
 a sketch of the Roman camp, which, as has been already said, 
 was within the enclosed domain of Mr. Crotchet. The young 
 stranger, who had climbed over the fence, espying the portly 
 divine, rose up, and hoped that he was not trespassing. ' By 
 no means, sir,' said the divine, ' all the arts and sciences are 
 M i6i
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 welcome here ; music, painting, and poetry ; hydrostatics, and 
 political economy ; meteorology, transcendentalism, and fish 
 for breakfast.' 
 
 THE STRANGER 
 
 A pleasant association, sir, and a liberal and discriminating 
 hospitality. This is an old British camp, I believe, sir? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Roman, sir ; Roman : undeniably Roman. The vallum is 
 past controversy. It was not a camp, sir, a castruin^ but a 
 castellufH, a little camp, or watch-station, to which was attached, 
 on the peak of the adjacent hill, a beacon for transmitting 
 alarms. You will find such here and there, all along the range 
 of chalk hills, which traverses the country from north-east to 
 south-west, and along the base of which runs the ancient 
 Ikenild road, whereof you may descry a portion in that long 
 straight white line. 
 
 THE STRANGER 
 
 I beg your pardon, sir : do I understand this place to be 
 your property ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 It is not mine, sir : the more is the pity ; yet is it so far 
 well, that the owner is my good friend, and a highly respectable 
 gentleman. 
 
 THE STRANGER 
 
 Good and respectable, sir, I take it, mean rich ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 That is their meaning, sir. 
 
 THE STRANGER 
 
 I understand the owner to be a Mr. Crotchet. He has a 
 handsome daughter, I am told. 
 
 162
 
 THE ROMAN CAMP 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 He has, sir. Her eyes are like the fish-pools of Heshbon, 
 by the gate of Bethrabbim ; and she is to have a handsome 
 fortune, to which divers disinterested gentlemen are paying 
 their addresses. Perhaps you design to be one of them. 
 
 THE STRANGER 
 
 No, sir ; I beg pardon if my questions seem impertinent ; 
 I have no such design. There is a son too, I believe, sir, a 
 great and successful blower of bubbles ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 A hero, sir, in his line. Never did angler in September 
 hook more gudgeons. 
 
 THE STRANGER 
 
 To say the truth, two very amiable young people, with whom 
 I have some little acquaintance. Lord Bossnowl, and his sister, 
 Lady Clarinda, are reported to be on the point of concluding 
 a double marriage with Miss Crotchet and her brother ; by 
 way of putting a new varnish on old nobility. Lord Foolin- 
 court, their father, is terribly poor for a lord who owns a 
 borough. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Well, sir, the Crotchets have plenty of money, and the old 
 gentleman's weak point is a hankering after high blood. I 
 saw your acquaintance, Lord Bossnowl, this morning, but I 
 did not see his sister. She may be there, nevertheless, and 
 doing fashionable justice to this fine May morning, by lying in 
 bed till noon. 
 
 THE STRANGER 
 
 Young Mr. Crotchet, sir, has been, like his father, the 
 architect of his own fortune, has he not ? An illustrious 
 example of the reward of honesty and industry ? 
 
 163
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 As to honesty, sir, he made his fortune in the city of London, 
 and if that commodity be of any value there, you will find it 
 in the price current. I believe it is below par, like the shares 
 of young Crotchet's fifty companies. But his progress has not 
 been exactly like his father's. It has been more rapid, and 
 he started with more advantages. He began with a fine 
 capital from his father. The old gentleman divided his fortune 
 into three not exactly equal portions ; one for himself, one for 
 his daughter, and one for his son, which he handed over to 
 him, saying, ' Take it once for all, and make the most of it ; 
 if you lose it where I won it, not another stiver do you get from 
 me during my life.' But, sir, young Crotchet doubled, and 
 trebled, and quadrupled it, and is, as you say, a striking 
 example of the reward of industry ; not that I think his labour 
 has been so great as his luck. 
 
 THE STRANGER 
 
 But, sir, is all this solid ? is there no danger of reaction ? 
 no day of reckoning to cut down in an hour prosperity that 
 has grown up like a mushroom ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Nay, sir, I know not. I do not pry into these matters. I 
 am, for my own part, very well satisfied with the young gentle- 
 man. Let those who are not so look to themselves. It is 
 quite enough for me that he came down last night from London, 
 and that he had the good sense to bring with him a basket of 
 lobsters. Sir, I wish you a good morning. 
 
 The stranger having returned the reverend gentleman's 
 good morning, resumed his sketch, and was intently employed 
 on it when Mr. Crotchet made his appearance, with Mr. Mac 
 Quedy and Mr. Skionar, whom he was escorting round his 
 grounds, according to his custom with new visitors ; the 
 principal pleasure of possessing an extensive domain being that 
 of showing it to other people. Mr. Mac Quedy, according 
 also to the laudable custom of his countr)TOen, had been 
 
 164
 
 THE ROMAN CAMP 
 
 appraising everything that fell under his observation ; but, on 
 arriving at the Roman camp, of which the value was purely 
 imaginary, he contented himself with exclaiming : ' Eh ! this 
 is just a curiosity, and very pleasant to sit in on a summer 
 day.' 
 
 MR. SKIONAR 
 
 And call up the days of old, when the Roman eagle spread 
 its wings in the place of that beechen foliage. It gives a fine 
 idea of duration, to think that that fine old tree must have 
 sprung from the earth ages after this camp was formed. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 How old, think you, may the tree be ? 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 I have records which show it to be three hundred years old, 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 That is a great age for a beech in good condition. But 
 you see the camp is some fifteen hundred years, or so, older ; 
 and three times six being eighteen, I think you get a clearer 
 idea of duration out of the simple arithmetic, than out of your 
 eagle and foliage. 
 
 MR. SKIONAR 
 
 That is a very unpoetical, if not unphilosophical, mode of 
 viewing antiquities. Your philosophy is too literal for our 
 imperfect vision. We cannot look directly into the nature of 
 things ; we can only catch glimpses of the mighty shadow in 
 the camera obscura of transcendental intelligence. These six 
 and eighteen are only words to which we give conventional 
 meanings. We can reason, but we cannot feel, by help of 
 them. The tree and the eagle, contemplated in the ideality 
 of space and time, become subjective realities, that rise up as 
 landmarks in the mystery of the past. 
 
 i6s
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Well, sir, if you understand that, I wish you joy. But I 
 must be excused for holding that my proposition, three times 
 six are eighteen, is more intelligible than yours. A_ worthy 
 friend of mine, who is a sort of amateur in philosophy, criticism, 
 politics, and a wee bit of many things more, says : ' Men never 
 begin to study antiquities till they are saturated with civilisa- 
 tion.' 1 
 
 MR. SKIONAR 
 
 What is civilisation ? 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 It is just respect for property. A state in which no man 
 takes wrongfully what belongs to another, is a perfectly civilised 
 state. 
 
 MR. SKIONAR 
 
 Your friend's antiquaries must have lived in El Dorado, to 
 have had an opportunity of being saturated with such a state. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 It is a question of degree. There is more respect for 
 property here than in Angola. 
 
 MR. SKIONAR 
 
 That depends on the light in which things are viewed. 
 
 Mr. Crotchet was rubbing his hands, in hopes of a fine 
 discussion, when they came round to the side of the camp 
 where the picturesque gentleman was sketching. The stranger 
 was rising up, when Mr. Crotchet begged him not to disturb 
 himself, and presently walked away with his two guests. 
 
 Shortly after. Miss Crotchet and Lady Clarinda, who had 
 breakfasted by themselves, made their appearance at the same 
 spot, hanging each on an arm of Lord Bossnovvl, who very 
 much preferred their company to that of the philosophers, 
 
 1 Edinburgh Review, somewhere. 
 i66
 
 The captain offered his left arm to Lady Ciarinda, ami/oUowed at 
 
 a reasonable distance' 
 
 Copyright 1893 by Macmillan &■ Co.
 
 THE ROMAN CAMP 
 
 though he would have preferred the company of the latter, or 
 any company, to his own. He thought it very singular that so 
 agreeable a person as he held himself to be to others, should 
 be so exceedingly tiresome to himself: he did not attempt to 
 investigate the cause of this phenomenon, but was contented 
 with acting on his knowledge of the fact, and giving himself as 
 little of his own private society as possible. 
 
 The stranger rose as they approached, and was immediately 
 recognised by the Bossnowls as an old acquaintance, and 
 saluted with the exclamation of ' Captain Fitzchrome ! ' The 
 interchange of salutation between Lady Clarinda and the 
 captain was accompanied with an amiable confusion on both 
 sides, in which the observant eyes of Miss Crotchet seemed to 
 read the recollection of an affair of the heart. 
 
 Lord Bossnowl was either unconscious of any such affair, or 
 indifferent to its existence. He introduced the captain very 
 cordially to Miss Crotchet ; and the young lady invited him, 
 as the friend of their guests, to partake of her father's hospitality, 
 an offer which was readily accepted. 
 
 The captain took his portfolio under his right arm, his camp- 
 stool in his right hand, offered his left arm to Lady Clarinda, 
 and followed at a reasonable distance behind Miss Crotchet 
 and Lord Bossnowl, contriving, in the most natural manner 
 possible, to drop more and more into the rear. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 I am glad to see you can make yourself so happy with 
 drawing old trees and mounds of grass. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Happy, Lady Clarinda ! oh no ! How can I be happy 
 when I see the idol of my heart about to be sacrificed on the 
 shrine of Mammon ? 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Do you know, though Mammon has a sort of ill name, I 
 really think he is a very popular character ; there must be at 
 the bottom something amiable about him. He is certainly one 
 of those pleasant creatures whom everybody abuses, but with- 
 
 169
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 out whom no evening party is endurable. I daresay, love in 
 a cottage is very pleasant ; but then it positively must be a 
 cottage ornee : but would not the same love be a great deal 
 safer in a castle, even if Mammon furnished the fortification ? 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Oh, Lady Clarinda ! there is a heartlessness in that 
 language that chills me to the soul. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Heartlessness ! No : my heart is on my lips. I speak 
 just what I think. You used to like it, and say it was as 
 delightful as it was rare. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 True, but you did not then talk as you do now, of love in a 
 castle. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Well, but only consider : a dun is a horridly vulgar 
 creature ; it is a creature I cannot endure the thought of : and 
 a cottage lets him in so easily. Now a castle keeps him at 
 bay. You are a half-pay officer, and are at leisure to command 
 the garrison : but where is the castle ? and who is to furnish 
 the commissariat ? 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Is it come to this, that you make a jest of my poverty? 
 Yet is my poverty only comparative. Many decent families are 
 maintained on smaller means. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Decent families : ay, decent is the distinction from 
 respectable. Respectable means rich, and decent means poor. 
 I should die if I heard my family called decent. And then 
 your decent family always lives in a snug little place : I hate 
 a little place ; I like large rooms and large looking-glasses, and 
 large parties, and a fine large butler, with a tinge of smooth red 
 
 170
 
 THE ROMAN CAMP 
 
 in his face ; an outward and visible sign that the family he 
 serves is respectable ; if not noble, highly respectable. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 I cannot believe that you say all this in earnest. No man 
 is less disposed than I am to deny the importance of the 
 substantial comforts of life. I once flattered myself that in our 
 estimate of these things we were nearly of a mind. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Do you know, I think an opera-box a very substantial 
 comfort, and a carriage ? You will tell me that many decent 
 people walk arm in arm through the snow, and sit in clogs and 
 bonnets in the pit at the English theatre. No doubt it is very 
 pleasant to those who are used to it ; but it is not to my taste. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 You always delighted in trying to provoke me ; but I 
 cannot believe that you have not a heart. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 You do not like to believe that I have a heart, you mean. 
 You wish to think I have lost it, and you know to whom ; and 
 when I tell you that it is still safe in my own keeping, and 
 that I do not mean to give it away, the unreasonable creature 
 grows angry. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Angry ! far from it : I am perfectly cool. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Why you are pursing your brows, biting your lips, and 
 lifting up your foot as if you would stamp it into the earth. I 
 must say anger becomes you ; you would make a charming 
 Hotspur. Your every-day-dining-out face is rather insipid : 
 but I assure you my heart is in danger when you are in the 
 
 171
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 heroics. It is so rare too, in these days of smooth manners, 
 to see anything Hke natural expression in a man's face. There 
 is one set form for every man's face in female society : a sort 
 of serious comedy, walking gentleman's face : but the moment 
 the creature falls in love, he begins to give himself airs, and 
 plays off all the varieties of his physiognomy from the Master 
 Slender to the Petruchio ; and then he is actually very 
 amusing. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Well, Lady Clarinda, I will not be angry, amusing as it may 
 be to you : I listen more in sorrow than in anger. I half 
 believe you in earnest : and mourn as over a fallen angel. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 What, because I have made up my mind not to give away 
 my heart when I can sell it ? I will introduce you to my new 
 acquaintance, Mr. Mac Quedy : he will talk to you by the hour 
 about exchangeable value, and show you that no rational being 
 will part with anything, except to the highest bidder. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Now, I am sure you are not in earnest. You cannot adopt 
 such sentiments in their naked deformity. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Naked deformity ! Why Mr. Mac Quedy will prove to you 
 that they are the cream of the most refined philosophy. You 
 live a very pleasant life as a bachelor, roving about the country 
 with your portfolio under your arm. I am not fit to be a poor 
 man's wife. I cannot take any kind of trouble, or do any one 
 thing that is of any use. Many decent families roast a bit of 
 mutton on a string ; but if I displease my father I shall not 
 have as much as will buy the string, to say nothing of the 
 meat ; and the bare idea of such cookery gives me the horrors. 
 
 By this time, they were near the Castle, and met Miss 
 Crotchet and her companion, who had turned back to meet 
 
 172
 
 THE ROMAN CAMP 
 
 them. Captain Fitzchrome was shortly after heartily welcomed 
 by Mr. Crotchet, and the party separated to dress for dinner, 
 the captain being by no means in an enviable state of mind, 
 and full of misgivings as to the extent of belief that he was 
 bound to accord to the words of the lady of his heart. 
 
 173
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE PARTY 
 
 ' En quoi cognoissez-vous la folie anticque ? En quoi cognoissez-vous la 
 sagesse prdsente ? ' — Rabelais. 
 
 * If I were sketching a bandit who had just shot his last 
 pursuer, having outrun all the rest, that is the very face I 
 would give him,' soliloquised the captain, as he studied the 
 features of his rival in the drawing-room, during the miserable 
 half-hour before dinner, when dulness reigns predominant over 
 the expectant company, especially when they are waiting for 
 some one last comer, whom they all heartily curse in their 
 hearts, and whom, nevertheless, or indeed therefore-the-more, 
 they welcome as a sinner, more heartily than all the just 
 persons who had been punctual to their engagement. Some 
 new visitors had arrived in the morning, and, as the company 
 dropped in one by one, the captain anxiously watched the 
 unclosing door for the form of his beloved : but she was the 
 last to make her appearance, and on her entry gave him a 
 malicious glance, which he construed into a telegraphic com- 
 munication that she had stayed away to torment him. Young 
 Crotchet escorted her with marked attention to the upper end 
 of the drawing-room, where a great portion of the company 
 was congTCgated around Miss Crotchet. These being the only 
 ladies in the company, it was evident that old Mr. Crotchet 
 would give his arm to Lady Clarinda, an arrangement with 
 which the captain could not interfere. He therefore took his 
 station near the door, studying his rival from a distance, and 
 determined to take advantage of his present position, to secure 
 the seat next to his charmer. He was meditating on the best 
 
 174
 
 THE PARTY 
 
 mode of operation for securing this important post with due 
 regard to bienseance, when he was twitched by the button by 
 Mr. Mac Quedy, who said to him : ' Lady Clarinda tells me, 
 sir, that you are anxious to talk with me on the subject of ex- 
 changeable value, from which I infer that you have studied 
 political economy, and as a great deal depends on the definition 
 of value, I shall be glad to set you right on that point.' ' I am 
 much obliged to you, sir,' said the captain, and was about to 
 express his utter disqualification for the proposed instruction, 
 when Mr. Skionar walked up and said : ' Lady Clarinda informs 
 me that you wish to talk over with me the question of subjective 
 reality. I am delighted to fall in with a gentleman who duly 
 appreciates the transcendental philosophy.' ' Lady Clarinda is 
 too good,' said the captain ; and was about to protest that he 
 had never heard the word transcendental before, when the 
 butler announced dinner. Mr. Crotchet led the way with Lady 
 Clarinda : Lord Bossnowl followed with Miss Crotchet : the 
 economist and transcendentalist pinned in the captain, and 
 held him, one by each arm, as he impatiently descended the 
 stairs in the rear of several others of the company, whom they 
 had forced him to let pass ; but the moment he entered the 
 dining-room he broke loose from them, and at the expense of 
 a little brusguerie, secured his position. 
 
 ' Well, captain,' said Lady Clarinda, ' I perceive you can 
 still manoeuvre.' 
 
 ' What could possess you,' said the captain, ' to send two 
 unendurable and inconceivable bores, to intercept me with 
 rubbish about which I neither know nor care any more than 
 the man in the moon ? ' 
 
 'Perhaps,' said Lady Clarinda, 'I saw your design, and 
 wished to put your generalship to the test. But do not con- 
 tradict anything I have said about you, and see if the learned 
 will find you out.' 
 
 < There is fine music, as Rabelais observes, in the cliquetis 
 d'assiettes, a refreshing shade in the ombre de salle d manger, 
 and an elegant fragrance in the fumee de roti,' said a voice at 
 the captain's elbow. The captain turning round, recognised 
 his clerical friend of the morning, who knew him again im- 
 mediately, and said he was extremely glad to meet him there ; 
 more especially as Lady Clarinda had assured him that he was 
 an enthusiastic lover of Greek poetry. 
 
 175
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 * Lady Clarinda,' said the captain, ' is a very pleasant young 
 lady.' 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 So she is, sir : and I understand she has all the wit of the 
 family to herself, whatever that totum may be. But a glass of 
 wine after soup is, as the French say, the verre de sante. The 
 current of opinion sets in favour of Hock : but I am for Madeira ; 
 I do not fancy Hock till I have laid a substratum of Madeira. 
 Will you join me ? 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 With pleasure. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Here is a very fine salmon before me : and May is the very 
 point nomme to have salmon in perfection. There is a fine 
 turbot close by, and there is much to be said in his behalf: 
 but salmon in May is the king of fish. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 That salmon before you, Doctor, was caught in the Thames 
 this morning. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 IlaTraTrat ! Rarity of rarities ! A Thames salmon caught 
 this morning. Now, Mr. Mac Quedy, even in fish your 
 Modem Athens must yield. Cedite, Graii. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Eh ! sir, on its own ground, your Thames salmon has two 
 virtues over all others ; first, that it is fresh ; and, second, that 
 it is rare ; for I understand you do not take half a dozen in a 
 year. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 In some years, sir, not one. Mud, filth, gas-dregs, lock- 
 weirs, and the march of mind, developed in the form of 
 poaching, have ruined the fishery. But, when we do catch a 
 salmon, happy the man to whom he falls. 
 
 176
 
 THE PARTY 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 I confess, sir, this is excellent : but I cannot see why it 
 should be better than a Tweed salmon at Kelso. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Sir, I will take a glass of Hock with you. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 With all my heart, sir. There are several varieties of the 
 salmon genus : but the common salmon, the salmo salar^ is 
 only one species, one and the same everywhere, just like the 
 human mind. Locality and education make all the difference. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Education 1 Well, sir, I have no doubt schools for all are 
 just as fit for the species sabno salar as for the genus homo. 
 But you must allow that the specimen before us has finished 
 his education in a manner that does honour to his college. 
 However, I doubt that the sabno salar is only one species, 
 that is to say, precisely alike in all localities. I hold that 
 every river has its own breed, with essential differences ; in 
 flavour especially. And as for the human mind, I deny that it 
 is the same in all men. I hold that there is every variety of 
 natural capacity from the idiot to Newton and Shakspeare ; 
 the mass of mankind, midway between these extremes, being 
 blockheads of different degrees ; education leaving them pretty 
 nearly as it found them, with this single difference, that it gives 
 a fixed direction to their stupidity, a sort of incurable wry neck 
 to the thing they call their understanding. So one nose points 
 always east, and another always west, and each is ready to 
 swear that it points due north. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 If that be the point ot truth, very few intellectual noses 
 point due north. 
 
 N 177
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Only those that point to the Modern Athens. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Where all native noses point southward. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Eh, sir, northward for wisdom, and southward for profit. 
 MR. CROTCHET JUN. 
 
 Champagne, Doctor ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Most willingly. But you will permit my drinking it while 
 it sparkles. I hold it a heresy to let it deaden in my hand, 
 while the glass of my compotaior is being filled on the opposite 
 side of the table. By the by, captain, you remember a 
 passage in Athenasus, where he cites Menander on the subject 
 of fish-sauce: oxf/dpiov €7rt t'x^vos. (T/ie captain was aghast 
 for an answer that would satisfy both his neighbours^ when he 
 was relieved by the divi?ie contimii7tg.) The science of fish- 
 sauce, Mr. Mac Quedy, is by no means brought to perfection ; 
 a fine field of discovery still lies open in that line. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Nay, sir, beyond lobster-sauce, I take it, ye cannot go. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 In their line, I grant you, oyster and lobster sauce are the 
 pillars of Hercules. But I speak of the cruet sauces, where 
 the quintessence of the sapid is condensed in a phial. I can 
 taste in my mind's palate a combination, which, if I could give 
 it reality, I would christen with the name of my college, and 
 hand it down to posterity as a seat of learning indeed. 
 
 178
 
 THE PARTY 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Well, sir, I wish you success, but I cannot let slip the 
 question we started just now. I say, cutting off idiots, who 
 have no minds at all, all minds are by nature alike. Education 
 (which begins from their birth) makes them what they are. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 No, sir, it makes their tendencies, not their power. Caesar 
 would have been the first wrestler on the village common. 
 Education might have made him a Nadir Shah ; it might also 
 have made him a Washington ; it could not have made him a 
 merry-andrew, for our newspapers to extol as a model of 
 eloquence. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Now, sir, I think education would have made him just any- 
 thing, and fit for any station, from the throne to the stocks ; 
 saint or sinner, aristocrat or democrat, judge, counsel, or 
 prisoner at the bar. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 I will thank you for a slice of lamb, with lemon and pepper. 
 Before I proceed with this discussion, — Vin de Grave, Mr. 
 Skionar, — I must interpose one remark. There is a set of 
 persons in your city, Mr. Mac Quedy, who concoct every three 
 or four months, a thing which they call a review : a sort of 
 sugar-plum manufacturers to the Whig aristocracy. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 I cannot tell, sir, exactly, what you mean by that ; but I 
 hope you will speak of those gentlemen with respect, seeing 
 that I am one of them. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Sir, I must drown my inadvertence in a glass of Sauteme 
 
 with you. There is a set of gentlemen in your city 
 
 179
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Not in our city, exactly ; neither are they a set. There is 
 an editor, who forages for articles in all quarters, from John 
 o' Groat's House to the Land's End. It is not a board, or a 
 society : it is a mere intellectual bazaar, where A, B, and C 
 bring their wares to market. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Well, sir, these gentlemen among them, the present 
 company excepted, have practised as much dishonesty as, in 
 any other department than literature, would have brought the 
 practitioner under the cognisance of the police. In politics, 
 they have run with the hare, and hunted with the hound. In 
 criticism, they have, knowingly and unblushingly, given false 
 characters, both for good and for evil : sticking at no art of 
 misrepresentation, to clear out of the field of literature all who 
 stood in the way of the interests of their own clique. They 
 have never allowed their own profound ignorance of anything 
 (Greek, for instance) to throw even an air of hesitation into 
 their oracular decision on the matter. They set an example of 
 profligate contempt for truth, of which the success was in 
 proportion to the effrontery ; and when their prosperity had 
 filled the market with competitors, they cried out against their 
 own reflected sin, as if they had never committed it, or v/ere 
 entitled to a monopoly of it. The latter, I rather think, was 
 what they wanted. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Hermitage, Doctor? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Nothing better, sir. The father who first chose the soli- 
 tude of that vineyard, knew well how to cultivate his spirit in 
 retirement. Now, Mr. Mac Quedy, Achilles was distinguished 
 above all the Greeks for his inflexible love of truth : could 
 education have made Achilles one of your reviewers ? 
 
 1 80
 
 THE PARTY 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 No doubt of it, even if your character of them were true to 
 the letter. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 And I say, sir — chicken and asparagus — Titan had made 
 him of better clay.i I hold with Pindar : ' All that is most 
 excellent is so by nature.' To Se (fiva KparLcrrov airav.^ Educa- 
 tion can give purposes, but not powers ; and whatever purposes 
 had been given him, he would have gone straight forward to 
 them ; straight forward, Mr. Mac Quedy. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 No, sir, education makes the man, powers, purposes, and 
 all. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 There is the point, sir, on which we join issue. 
 
 Several others of the company now chimed in with their 
 opinions, which gave the divine an opportunity to degustate 
 one or two side dishes, and to take a glass of wine with each 
 of the young ladies. 
 
 ^ Juv. xiv. 35. 2 Qi^ ix. 152. 
 
 181
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 ' Ay impute a honte plus que mediocre etre vu spectateur ocieux de tant 
 vaillans, disertz, et chevalereux personnaiges. ' — Rabelais. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA {to the Captain) 
 
 I DECLARE the creature has been listening to all this rigmarole 
 instead of attending to me. Do you ever expect forgiveness ? 
 But now that they are all talking together, and you cannot 
 make out a word they say, nor they hear a word that we say, 
 I will describe the company to you. First, there is the old 
 gentleman on my left hand, at the head of the table, who is 
 now leaning the other way to talk to my brother. He is a 
 good-tempered, half-informed person, very unreasonably fond 
 of reasoning, and of reasoning people ; people that talk non- 
 sense logically : he is fond of disputation himself, when there 
 are only one or two, but seldom does more than listen in 
 a large company of illumines. He made a great fortune in 
 the city, and has the comfort of a good conscience. He is 
 very hospitable and is generous in dinners ; though nothing 
 would induce him to give sixpence to the poor, because he 
 holds that all misfortune is from imprudence, that none but the 
 rich ought to marry, and that all ought to thrive by honest 
 industry, as he did. He is ambitious of founding a family, 
 and of allying himself with nobility ; and is thus as willing as 
 other grown children to throw away thousands for a gew-gaw, 
 though he would not part with a penny for charity. Next to 
 him is my brother, whom you know as well as I do. He has 
 finished his education with credit, and as he never ventures to 
 oppose me in anything, I have no doubt he is very sensible. 
 
 182
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 He has good manners, is a model of dress, and is reckoned 
 ornamental in all societies. Next to him is Miss Crotchet, my 
 sister-in-law that is to be. You see she is rather pretty, and 
 very genteel. She is tolerably accomplished, has her table 
 always covered with new novels, thinks Mr. Mac Quedy an 
 oracle, and is extremely desirous to be called 'my lady.' 
 Next to her is Mr. Firedamp, a very absurd person, who 
 thinks that water is the evil principle. Next to him is Mr. 
 Eavesdrop, a man who, by dint of a certain something like 
 smartness, has got into good society. He is a sort of book- 
 seller's tool, and coins all his acquaintance in reminiscences 
 and sketches of character. I am very shy of him, for fear he 
 should print me. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 If he print you in your own likeness, which is that of an 
 angel, you need not fear him. If he print you in any other, I 
 will cut his throat. But proceed. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Next to him is Mr. Henbane, the toxicologist, I think he 
 calls himself. He has passed half his life in studying poisons 
 and antidotes. The first thing he did on his arrival here, was 
 to kill the cat ; and while Miss Crotchet was crying over her, 
 he brought her to life again. I am more shy of him than the 
 other. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 They are two very dangerous fellows, and I shall take care 
 to keep them both at a respectful distance. Let us hope that 
 Eavesdrop will sketch off Henbane, and that Henbane will 
 poison him for his trouble. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Well, next to him sits Mr. Mac Quedy, the Modem 
 Athenian, who lays down the law about everything, and there- 
 fore may be taken to understand everything. He turns all the 
 affairs of this world into questions of buying and selling. He 
 is the Spirit of the Frozen Ocean to everything like romance 
 
 183
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 and sentiment. He condenses their volume of steam into a 
 drop of cold water in a moment. He has satisfied me that I 
 am a commodity in the market, and that I ought to set myself 
 at a high price. So you see, he who would have me must bid 
 for me. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 I shall discuss that point with Mr. Mac Quedy. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Not a word for your life. Our flirtation is our own secret. 
 Let it remain so. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Flirtation, Clarinda ! Is that all that the most ardent 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Now, don't be rhapsodical here. Next to Mr. Mac Quedy 
 is Mr. Skionar, a sort of poetical philosopher, a curious com- 
 pound of the intense and the mystical. He abominates all 
 the ideas of Mr. Mac Quedy, and settles everything by senti- 
 ment and intuition. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Then, I say, he is the wiser man. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 They are two oddities, but a little of them is amusing, and 
 I like to hear them dispute. So you see I am in training for 
 a philosopher myself. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Any philosophy, for Heaven's sake, but the pound-shilling- 
 and-pence philosophy of Mr. Mac Quedj. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Why they say that even Mr. Skionar, though he is a great 
 184
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 dreamer, always dreams with his eyes open, or with one eye 
 at any rate, which is an eye to his gain : but I beHeve that in 
 this respect the poor man has got an ill name by keeping bad 
 company. He has two dear friends, Mr. Wilful Wontsee and 
 Mr. Rumblesack Shantsee, poets of some note, who used to 
 see visions of Utopia, and pure republics beyond the Western 
 deep : but, finding that these El Dorados brought them no 
 revenue, they turned their vision-seeing faculty into the more 
 profitable channel of espying all sorts of virtues in the high and 
 the mighty, who were able and willing to pay for the discovery. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 I do not fancy these virtue-spyers. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Next to Mr. Skionar sits Mr. Chainmail, a good-looking 
 young gentleman, as you see, with very antiquated tastes. He 
 is fond of old poetry, and is something of a poet himself. He 
 is deep in monkish literature, and holds that the best state of 
 society was that of the twelfth century, when nothing was going 
 forward but fighting, feasting, and praying, which he says are 
 the three great purposes for which man was made. He laments 
 bitterly over the inventions of gunpowder, steam, and gas, 
 which he says have ruined the world. He lives within two or 
 three miles, and has a large hall, adorned with rustic pikes, 
 shields, helmets, swords, and tattered banners, and furnished 
 with yew-tree chairs, and two long old worm-eaten oak tables, 
 where he dines with all his household, after the fashion of his 
 favourite age. He wants us all to dine with him, and I believe 
 we shall go. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 That will be something new at any rate. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Next to him is Mr. Toogood, the co-operationist, who will 
 have neither fighting nor praying ; but wants to parcel out the 
 world into squares like a chess-board, with a community on 
 
 i8s
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 each, raising everything for one another, with a great steam- 
 engine to serve them in common for tailor and hosier, kitchen 
 and cook. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 He is the strangest of the set, so far. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 This brings us to the bottom of the table, where sits my 
 humble servant, Mr. Crotchet the younger. I ought not to 
 describe him. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 I entreat you do. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Well, I really have very little to say in his favour. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 I do not wish to hear anything in his favour ; and I rejoice 
 to hear you say so, because 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Do not flatter yourself. If I take him, it will be to please 
 my father, and to have a town and country-house, and plenty 
 of servants, and a carriage and an opera-box, and make some 
 of my acquaintance who have married for love, or for rank, or 
 for anything but money, die for envy of my jewels. You do 
 not think I would take him for himself. Why he is very 
 smooth and spruce, as far as his dress goes ; but as to his face, 
 he looks as if he had tumbled headlong into a volcano, and 
 been thrown up again among the cinders. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 I cannot believe that, speaking thus of him, you mean to 
 take him at all. 
 
 i86
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Oh ! I am out of my teens. I have been very much in 
 love ; but now I am come to years of discretion, and must 
 think, hke other people, of settling myself advantageously. He 
 was in love with a banker's daughter, and cast her off on her 
 father's bankruptcy, and the poor girl has gone to hide herself 
 in some wild place. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 She must have a strange taste, if she pines for the loss of 
 him. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 They say he was good-looking, till his bubble-schemes, as 
 they call them, stamped him with the physiognomy of a 
 desperate gambler. I suspect he has still a pe7icha7it towards 
 his first flame. If he takes me, it will be for my rank and con- 
 nexion, and the second seat of the borough of Rogueingrain. 
 So we shall meet on equal terms, and shall enjoy all the 
 blessedness of expecting nothing from each other. 
 
 CAPTAIN FiTZCHROME 
 
 You can expect no security with such an adventurer. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 I shall have the security of a good settlement, and then if 
 andare cd diavolo be his destiny, he may go, you know, by 
 himself. He is almost always dreaming and distrait. It is 
 very likely that some great reverse is in store for him : but 
 that will not concern me, you perceive. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 You torture me, Clarinda, with the bare possibility. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Hush! Here is music to soothe your troubled spirit. Next 
 to him, on this side, sits the dilettante composer, Mr. Trillo ; 
 
 187
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 they say his name was O' Trill, and he has taken the O from 
 the beginning, and put it at the end. I do not know how 
 this may be. He plays well on the violoncello, and better on 
 the piano ; sings agreeably ; has a talent at verse-making, and 
 improvises a song with some felicity. He is very agreeable 
 company in the evening, with his instruments and music-books. 
 He maintains that the sole end of all enlightened society is to 
 get up a good opera, and laments that wealth, genius, and 
 energy are squandered upon other pursuits, to the neglect of 
 this one great matter. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 That is a very pleasant fancy at any rate. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 I assure you he has a great deal to say for it. Well, next 
 to him again is Dr. Morbific, who has been all over the world to 
 prove that there is no such thing as contagion ; and has inocu- 
 lated himself with plague, yellow fever, and every variety of pesti- 
 lence, and is still alive to tell the story. I am very shy of him, 
 too ; for I look on him as a walking phial of wrath, corked full 
 of all infections, and not to be touched without extreme hazard. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 This is the strangest fellow of all. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Next to him sits Mr. Philpot,^ the geographer, who thinks 
 of nothing but the heads and tails of rivers, and lays down the 
 streams of Terra Incognita as accurately as if he had been 
 there. He is a person of pleasant fancy, and makes a sort of 
 fairyland of every country he touches, from the Frozen Ocean 
 to the Deserts of Zahara. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 How does he settle matters with Mr. Firedamp ? 
 ^ ^lAoIIOTa^os. Fluviorum avians. 
 
 i88
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 You see Mr. Firedamp has got as far as possible out of his 
 way. Next to him is Sir Simon Steeltrap, of Steeltrap Lodge, 
 Member for Crouching-Curtown, Justice of Peace for the county, 
 and Lord of the United Manors of Springgun-and-Treadmill ; a 
 great preserver of game and public morals. By administering 
 the laws which he assists in making, he disposes, at his pleasure, 
 of the land and its live stock, including all the two-legged 
 varieties, with and without feathers, in a circumference of 
 several miles round Steeltrap Lodge. He has enclosed com- 
 mons and woodlands ; abolished cottage-gardens ; taken the 
 village cricket -ground into his own park, out of pure regard 
 to the sanctity of Sunday ; shut up footpaths and ale-houses 
 (all but those which belong to his electioneering friend, Mr. 
 Quassia, the brewer) ; put down fairs and fiddlers ; committed 
 many poachers ; shot a few ; convicted one -third of the 
 peasantry ; suspected the rest ; and passed nearly the whole 
 of them through a wholesome course of prison discipline, which 
 has finished their education at the expense of the county. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 He is somewhat out of his element here : among such a 
 diversity of opinions he will hear some he will not like. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 It was rather ill-judged in Mr. Crotchet to invite him to-day. 
 But the art of assorting company is above these parvenus. 
 They invite a certain number of persons without considering 
 how they harmonise with each other. Between Sir Simon and 
 you is the Reverend Doctor Folliott. He is said to be an 
 excellent scholar, and is fonder of books than the majority of 
 his cloth ; he is very fond, also, of the good things of this 
 world. He is of an admirable temper, and says rude things in 
 a pleasant half-earnest manner, that nobody can take offence 
 with. And next to him again is one Captain Fitzchrome, who 
 is very much in love with a certain person that does not mean 
 to have anything to say to him, because she can better her 
 fortune by taking somebody else. 
 
 189
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 And next to him again is the beautiful, the accomplished, 
 the witty, the fascinating, the tormenting Lady Clarinda, who 
 traduces herself to the said captain by assertions which it 
 would drive him crazy to believe. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Time will show, sir. And now we have gone the round of 
 the table. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 But I must say, though I know you had always a turn for 
 sketching characters, you surprise me by your observation, 
 and especially by your attention to opinions. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Well, I will tell you a secret : I am writing a novel. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 A novel ! 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Yes, a novel. And I shall get a little finery by it : trinkets 
 and fal-lals, which I cannot get from papa. You must know 
 I had been reading several fashionable novels, the fashionable 
 this, and the fashionable that ; and I thought to myself, why 
 I can do better than any of these myself. So I wrote a 
 chapter or two, and sent them as a specimen to Mr. Puffall, 
 the bookseller, telling him they were to be a part of the 
 fashionable something or other, and he offered me, I will not 
 say how much, to finish it in three volumes, and let him pay 
 all the newspapers for recommending it as the work of a lady 
 of quality, who had made very free with the characters of her 
 acquaintance. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Surely you have not done so ? 
 190
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Oh no ! I leave that to Mr. Eavesdrop. But Mr. Puffall 
 niade it a condition that I should let him say so. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 A Strange recommendation. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Oh, nothing else will do. And it seems you may give 
 yourself any character you like, and the newspapers will print 
 it as if it came from themselves. I have commended you to 
 three of our friends here, as an economist, a transcendentalist, 
 and a classical scholar ; and if you wish to be renowned 
 through the world for these, or any other accomplishments, 
 the newspapers will confirm you in their possession for half-a- 
 guinea apiece. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Truly, the praise of such gentry must be a feather in any 
 one's cap. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 So you will see, some morning, that my novel is ' the most 
 popular production of the day.' This is Mr. Puffall's favourite 
 phrase. He makes the newspapers say it of everything he 
 publishes. But 'the day,' you know, is a very convenient 
 phrase ; it allows of three hundred and sixty-five * most popular 
 And in leap-year one more. 
 
 191
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THEORIES 
 
 ' But when they came to shape the model, 
 Not one could fit the other's noddle. ' 
 
 Butler. 
 
 Meanwhile, the last course, and the dessert, passed by. 
 When the ladies had withdrawn, young Crotchet addressed 
 the company. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET JUN. 
 
 There is one point in which philosophers of all classes 
 seem to be agreed : that they only want money to regenerate 
 the world. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 No doubt of it. Nothing is so easy as to lay down the 
 outlines of perfect society. There wants nothing but money 
 to set it going. I will explain myself clearly and fully by 
 reading a paper. {Produd?tg a large scroll.) ' In the infancy 
 of society ' 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Pray, Mr. Mac Quedy, how is it that all gentlemen of your 
 nation begin everything they write with the ' infancy of society ' ? 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Eh, sir, it is the simplest way to begin at the beginning. 
 * In the infancy of society, when government was invented to 
 
 save a percentage ; say two and a half per cent ' 
 
 192
 
 THEORIES 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 I will not say any such thing. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Well, say any percentage you please. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 I will not say any percentage at all. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 ' On the principle of the division of labour ' 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Government was invented to spend a percentage. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 To save a percentage. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 No, sir, to spend a percentage ; and a good deal more than 
 two and a half per cent. Two hundred and fifty per cent : 
 that is intelligible. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 * In the infancy of society ' 
 
 MR. TOOGOOD 
 
 Never mind the infancy of society. The question is of 
 society in its maturity. Here is what it should be. {Producing 
 a paper.') I have laid it down in a diagram. 
 
 MR. SKIONAR 
 
 Before we proceed to the question of government, we must 
 nicely discriminate the boundaries of sense, understanding, and 
 
 reason. Sense is a receptivity 
 
 o 193
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 MR. CROTCHET JUN. 
 
 We are proceeding too fast. Money being all that is wanted 
 to regenerate society, I will put into the hands of this 
 company a large sum for the purpose. Now let us see how to 
 dispose of it. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 We will begin by taking a committee -room in London, 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 If the money is to go in deliberative dinners, you may set 
 me down for a committee man and honorary caterer. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Next, you must all learn political economy, which I will 
 teach you, very compendiously, in lectures over the bottle. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 I hate lectures over the bottle. But pray, sir, what is 
 pohtical economy ? 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Political economy is to the State what domestic economy 
 is to the family. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 No such thing, sir. In the family there is 2. paterfa7nilias, 
 who regulates the distribution, and takes care that there shall 
 be no such thing in the household as one dying of hunger, 
 while another dies of surfeit. In the State it is all hunger at 
 one end, and all surfeit at the other. Matchless claret, Mr. 
 Crotchet. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Vintage of fifteen, Doctor. 
 
 194
 
 THEORIES 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 The family consumes, and so does the State. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Consumes, sir ! Yes : but the mode, the proportions : there 
 is the essential difference between the State and the family. 
 Sir, I hate false analogies. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Well, sir, the analogy is not essential. Distribution will 
 come under its proper head. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Come where it will, the distribution of the State is in no 
 respect analogous to the distribution of the family. The 
 paterfamilias^ sir : the paterfamilias. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Well, sir, let that pass. The family consumes, and in order 
 to consume, it must have supply. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Well, sir, Adam and Eve knew that, when they delved and 
 span. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Very true, sir. {Reproducing his scroll.') ' In the infancy of 
 society ' 
 
 MR. TOOGOOD 
 
 The reverend gentleman has hit the nail on the head. It 
 is the distribution that must be looked to : it is the pater- 
 familias that is wanting in the State. Now here I have 
 provided him. {Reproducing his diagram.)
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 MR. TRILLO 
 
 Apply the money, sir, to building and endowing an opera 
 house, where the ancient altar of Bacchus may flourish, and 
 justice may be done to sublime compositions. {Producing a 
 part of a manuscript opera.) 
 
 MR. SKIONAR 
 
 No, sir, build sacella for transcendental oracles to teach 
 the world how to see through a glass darkly. {Producing a 
 scroll.) 
 
 MR. TRILLO 
 
 See through an opera-glass brightly. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 See through a wine-glass, full of claret : then you see both 
 darkly and brightly. But, gentlemen, if you are all in the 
 humour for reading papers, I will read you the first half of my 
 next Sunday's sermon. {Produci7ig a paper.) 
 
 OMNES 
 
 No sermon ! No sermon ! 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Then I move that our respective papers be committed to 
 our respective pockets. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Political economy is divided into two great branches, 
 production and consumption. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Yes, sir ; there are two great classes of men : those who 
 produce much and consume little ; and those who consume 
 much and produce nothing. The fj'uges consumer e nati have 
 
 196
 
 THEORIES 
 
 the best of it. Eh, captain ! You remember the character- 
 istics of a great man according to Aristophanes : oorrts ye 
 TTLveiv olSe Kal /Slvclv fiovov. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Well, captain, 
 even in these tight-laced days, the obscurity of a learned 
 language allows a little pleasantry. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Very true, sir : the pleasantry and the obscurity go together : 
 they are all one, as it were ; — to me at any rate {aside). 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Now, sir 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Pray, sir, let your science alone, or you will put me under 
 the painful necessity of demolishing it bit by bit, as I have 
 done your exordium. I will undertake it any morning ; but it 
 is too hard exercise after dinner. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Well, sir, in the meantime I hold my science established. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 And I hold it demolished. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET JUN. 
 
 Pray, gentlemen, pocket your manuscripts ; fill your glasses ; 
 and consider what we shall do with our money. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Build lecture-rooms, and schools for all. 
 
 MR. TRILLO 
 
 Revive the Athenian theatre ; regenerate the lyrical drama. 
 197
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 MR. TOOGOOD 
 
 Build a grand co-operative parallelogram, with a steam- 
 engine in the middle for a maid-of-all-work. 
 
 MR. FIREDAMP 
 
 Drain the country, and get rid of malaria^ by abolishing 
 duck-ponds. 
 
 DR. MORBIFIC 
 
 Found a philanthropic college of anti-contagionists, where 
 all the members shall be inoculated with the virus of all known 
 diseases. Try the experiment on a grand scale, 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Build a great dining-hall : endow it with beef and ale, and 
 hang the hall round with arms to defend the provisions. 
 
 MR. HENBANE 
 
 Found a toxicological institution for trying all poisons and 
 antidotes. I myself have killed a frog twelve times and 
 brought him to life eleven ; but the twelfth time he died. I 
 have a phial of the drug which killed him in my pocket, and 
 shall not rest till I have discovered its antidote. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 I move that the last speaker be dispossessed of his phial, 
 and that it be forthwith thrown into the Thames. 
 
 MR. HENBANE 
 
 How, sir ? my invaluable, and, in the present state of human 
 knowledge, infallible poison ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Let the frogs have all the advantage of it. 
 198
 
 THEORIES 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Consider, Doctor, the fish might participate. Think of the 
 salmon. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 Then let the owner's right-hand neighbour swallow it. 
 
 MR. EAVESDROP 
 
 Me, sir ! What have I done, sir, that I am to be poisoned, 
 
 sir ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Sir, you have published a character of your facetious friend, 
 the Reverend Doctor F., wherein you have sketched off me — 
 me, sir, even to my nose and wig. What business have the 
 public with my nose and wig ? 
 
 MR. EAVESDROP 
 
 Sir, it is all good-humoured : all in bonhommie : all friendly 
 and complimentary. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Sir, the bottle, la Dive Boiiteille^ is a recondite oracle, 
 which makes an Eleusinian temple of the circle in which it 
 moves. He who reveals its mysteries must die. Therefore, 
 let the dose be administered. Fiat experimentum in anitna 
 vzlz. 
 
 MR. EAVESDROP 
 
 Sir, you are very facetious at my expense. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Sir, you have been very unfacetious, very inficete at mine. 
 You have dished me up, like a savoury omelette, to gratify the 
 appetite of the reading rabble for gossip. The next time, sir, 
 I will respond with the argiimentiim baculifiton. Print that, 
 
 199
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 sir : put it on record as a promise of the Reverend Dr. F., 
 which shall be most faithfully kept, with an exemplary bamboo. 
 
 MR. EAVESDROP 
 
 Your cloth protects you, sir. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 My bamboo shall protect me, sir. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Doctor, Doctor, you are growing too polemical, 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Sir, my blood boils. WTiat business have the public with 
 my nose and wig ? 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Doctor ! Doctor ! 
 
 MR. CROTCHET JUN. 
 
 Pray, gentlemen, return to the point. How shall we 
 employ our fund ? 
 
 MR. PHILPOT 
 
 Surely in no way so beneficially as in exploring rivers. 
 Send a fleet of steamboats down the Niger, and another up 
 the Nile. So shall you civilise Africa, and establish stocking 
 factories in Abyssinia and Bambo. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 With all submission, breeches and petticoats must precede 
 stockings. Send out a crew of tailors. Try if the King of 
 Bambc will invest inexpressibles. 
 
 200
 
 THEORIES 
 
 MR. CROTCHET JUN. 
 
 Gentlemen, it is not for partial, but for general benefit, that 
 this fund is proposed : a grand and universally applicable 
 scheme for the amelioration of the condition of man. 
 
 SEVERAL VOICES 
 
 That is my scheme. I have not heard a scheme but my 
 own that has a grain of common sense. 
 
 MR. TRILLO 
 
 Gentlemen, you inspire me. Your last exclamation runs 
 itself into a chorus, and sets itself to music. Allow me to 
 lead, and to hope for your voices in harmony. 
 
 After careful meditation, 
 
 And profound deliberation, 
 On the various pretty projects which have just been shown, 
 
 Not a scheme in agitation, 
 
 For the world's amelioration. 
 Has a grain of common sense in it, except my own. 
 
 SEVERAL VOICES 
 
 We are not disposed to join in any such chorus. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Well, of all these schemes, I am for Mr. Trillo's. Re- 
 generate the Athenian theatre. My classical friend here, the 
 captain, will vote with me. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 I, sir ? oh ! of course, sir. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 Surely, captain, I rely on you to uphold political economy. 
 
 20I
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Me, sir ! oh, to be sure, sir. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Pray, sir, will political economy uphold the Athenian 
 theatre ? 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Surely not. It would be a very unproductive investment. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Then the captain votes against you. What, sir, did not 
 the Athenians, the wisest of nations, appropriate to their 
 theatre their most sacred and intangible fund ? Did not they 
 give to melopoeia, choregraphy, and the sundry fomis of 
 didascalics, the precedence of all other matters, civil and 
 military ? Was it not their law, that even the proposal to 
 divert this fund to any other purpose should be punished with 
 death ? But, sir, I further propose that the Athenian theatre 
 being resuscitated, the admission shall be free to all who can 
 expound the Greek choruses, constructively, mythologically, 
 and metrically, and to none others. So shall all the world 
 learn Greek : Greek, the Alpha and Omega of all knowledge. 
 At him who sits not in the theatre, shall be pointed the finger 
 of scorn : he shall be called in the highway of the city, ' a 
 fellow without Greek.' 
 
 MR. TRILLO 
 
 But the ladies, sir, the ladies. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Every man may take in a lady : and she who can construe 
 and metricise a chorus, shall, if she so please, pass in by 
 herself. 
 
 MR. TRILLO 
 
 But, sir, you will shut me out of my own theatre. Let 
 there at least be a double passport, Greek and Italian. 
 
 202
 
 THEORIES 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 No, sir ; I am inexorable. No Greek, no theatre. 
 
 MR. TRILLO 
 
 Sir, I cannot consent to be shut out from my own theatre. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 You see how it is. Squire Crotchet the younger ; you can 
 scarcely find two to agree on a scheme, and no two of those 
 can agree on the details. Keep your money in your pocket. 
 And so ends the fund for regenerating the world. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Nay, by no means. We are all agreed on deliberative 
 dinners. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Very true ; we will dine and discuss. We will sing with 
 Robin Hood, ' If I drink water while this doth last ' ; and while 
 it lasts we will have no adjournment, if not to the Athenian 
 theatre. 
 
 MR. TRILLO 
 
 Well, gentlemen, I hope this chorus at least will please 
 you : 
 
 If I drink water while this doth last, 
 
 May I never again drink wine : 
 For how can a man, in his life of a span, 
 
 Do anything better than dine? 
 We'll dine and drink, and say if we think 
 
 That anything better can be, 
 And when we have dined, wish all mankind 
 
 May dine as well as we. 
 And though a good wish will fill no dish 
 
 And brim no cup with sack, 
 Yet thoughts will spring, as the glasses ring. 
 
 To illumine our studious track. 
 203
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 On the brilliant dreams of our hopeful schemes 
 
 The light of the flask shall shine ; 
 And we'll sit till day, but we'll find the way 
 
 To drench the world with wine. 
 
 The schemes for the world's regeneration evaporated in a 
 tumult of voices. 
 
 204
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE SLEEPING VENUS 
 
 ' Quoth he : In all my life till now, 
 I ne'er saw so profane a show.' 
 
 Butler. 
 
 The library of Crotchet Castle was a large and well-furnished 
 apartment, opening on one side into an ante-room, on the 
 other into a music-room. It had several tables stationed at 
 convenient distances ; one consecrated to the novelties of 
 literature, another to the novelties of embellishment ; others 
 unoccupied, and at the disposal of the company. The walls 
 were covered with a copious collection of ancient and modem 
 books ; the ancient having been selected and arranged by the 
 Reverend Doctor Folliott. In the ante-room were card tables ; 
 in the music-room were various instruments, all popular operas, 
 and all fashionable music. In this suite of apartments, and 
 not in the drawing-room, were the evenings of Crotchet Castle 
 usually passed. 
 
 The young ladies were in the music-room ; Miss Crotchet at 
 the piano. Lady Clarinda at the harp, playing and occasionally 
 singing, at the suggestion of Mr. Trillo, portions of Matilde di 
 Shabran. Lord Bossnowl was turning over the leaves for 
 Miss Crotchet ; the captain was performing the same office 
 for Lady Clarinda, but with so much more attention to the 
 lady than the book, that he often made sad work with the 
 harmony, by turning over two leaves together. On these 
 occasions Miss Crotchet paused. Lady Clarinda laughed, Mr. 
 Trillo scolded, Lord Bossnowl yawned, the captain apologised, 
 and the performance proceeded. 
 
 In the library, Mr. Mac Quedy was expounding political 
 205
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 economy to the Reverend Doctor Folliott, who was^rc* more 
 demolishing its doctrines seriatim. 
 
 Mr. Chainmail was in hot dispute with Mr. Skionar touching 
 the physical and moral well-being of man. Mr. Skionar was 
 enforcing his friend Mr. Shantsee's views of moral discipline ; 
 maintaining that the sole thing needful for man in this world 
 was loyal and pious education ; the giving men good books to 
 read, and enough of the hornbook to read them ; with a judicious 
 interspersion of the lessons of Old Restraint, which was his 
 poetic name for the parish stocks. Mr. Chainmail, on the 
 other hand, stood up for the exclusive necessity of beef and 
 ale, lodging and raiment, wife and children, courage to fight 
 for them all, and armour wherewith to do so. 
 
 Mr. Henbane had got his face scratched, and his finger 
 bitten, by the cat, in trying to catch her for a second experi- 
 ment in killing and bringing to hfe ; and Doctor Morbific was 
 comforting him with a disquisition to prove that there were 
 only four animals having the power to communicate hydro- 
 phobia, of which the cat was one ; and that it was not 
 necessary that the animal should be in a rabid state, the nature 
 of the wound being everything, and the idea of contagion a 
 delusion. Mr. Henbane was listening very lugubriously to 
 this dissertation. 
 
 Mr. Philpot had seized on Mr. Firedamp, and pinned him 
 down to a map of Africa, on which he was tracing imaginary 
 courses of mighty inland rivers, terminating in lakes and 
 marshes, where they were finally evaporated by the heat of the 
 sun ; and Mr. Firedamp's hair was standing on end at the 
 bare imagination of the mass of malaria that must be en- 
 gendered by the operation. Mr. Toogood had begun explain- 
 ing his diagrams to Sir Simon Steeltrap ; but Sir Simon grew 
 testy, and told Mr. Toogood that the promulgators of such 
 doctrines ought to be consigned to the treadmill. The philan- 
 thropist walked off from the country gentleman, and proceeded 
 to hold forth to young Crotchet, who stood silent, as one who 
 listens, but in reality without hearing a syllable. Mr. Crotchet 
 senior, as the master of the house, was left to entertain himself 
 with his own meditations, till the Reverend Doctor Folliott 
 tore himself from Mr. Mac Quedy, and proceeded to expostulate 
 with Mr. Crotchet on a delicate topic. 
 
 There was an Italian painter, who obtained the name of // 
 206
 
 THE SLEEPING VENUS 
 
 Bragaiore^ by the superinduction of inexpressibles on the naked 
 Apollos and Bacchuses of his betters. The fame of this 
 worthy remained one and indivisible, till a set of heads, which 
 had been, by a too common mistake of nature's journeymen, 
 stuck upon magisterial shoulders, as the Corinthian capitals of 
 'fair round bellies with fat capon lined,' but which nature her- 
 self had intended for the noddles of porcelain mandarins, pro- 
 mulgated simultaneously from the east and the west of London 
 an order that no plaster-of-Paris Venus should appear in the 
 streets without petticoats. Mr. Crotchet, on reading this order 
 in the evening paper, which, by the postman's early arrival, 
 was always laid on his breakfast-table, determined to fill his 
 house with Venuses of all sizes and kinds. In pursuance of 
 this resolution came packages by water-carriage, containing an 
 infinite variety of Venuses. There were the Medicean Venus, 
 and the Bathing Venus ; the Uranian Venus, and the Pan- 
 demian Venus ; the Crouching Venus, and the Sleeping 
 Venus ; the Venus rising from the sea, the Venus with the 
 apple of Paris, and the Venus with the armour of Mars. 
 
 The Reverend Doctor Folliott had been very much 
 astonished at this unexpected display. Disposed, as he was, 
 to hold that whatever had been in Greece was right, he was 
 more than doubtful of the propriety of throwing open the 
 classical adytum to the illiterate profane. Whether, in his 
 interior mind, he was at all influenced, either by the considera- 
 tion that it would be for the credit of his cloth, with some of 
 his vice-suppressing neighbours, to be able to say that he had 
 expostulated ; or by curiosity, to try what sort of defence his 
 city-bred friend, who knew the classics only by translations, 
 and whose reason was always a little ahead of his knowledge, 
 would make for his somewhat ostentatious display of liberality 
 in matters of taste ; is a question on which the learned may 
 differ : but, after having duly deliberated on two full-sized casts 
 of the Uranian and Pandemian Venus, in niches on each side 
 of the chimney, and on three alabaster figures, in glass cases, 
 on the mantelpiece, he proceeded, peirastically, to open his 
 fire. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 These little alabaster figures on the mantelpiece, Mr. 
 207
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 Crotchet, and those large figures in the niches, — may I take 
 the hberty to ask you what they are intended to represent ? 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Venus, sir ; nothing more, sir ; just Venus. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 May I ask you, sir, why they are there ? 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 To be looked at, sir ; just to be looked at : the reasons for 
 most things in a gentleman's house being in it at all ; from the 
 paper on the walls, and the drapery of the curtains, even to the 
 books in the library, of which the most essential part is the 
 appearance of the back. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Very true, sir. As great philosophers hold that the esse 
 of things is perdpt, so a gentleman's furniture exists to be 
 looked at. Nevertheless, sir, there are some things more fit 
 to be looked at than others ; for instance, there is nothing more 
 fit to be looked at than the outside of a book. It is, as I may 
 say, from repeated experience, a pure and unmixed pleasure to 
 have a goodly volume lying before you, and to know that you 
 may open it if you please, and need not open it unless you 
 please. It is a resource against enmti^ if e?iiiui should come 
 upon you. To have the resource and not to feel the efi?iui, to 
 enjoy your bottle in the present, and your book in the indefinite 
 future, is a delightful condition of human existence. There is 
 no place, in which a man can move or sit, in which the outside 
 of a book can be otherwise than an innocent and becoming 
 spectacle. Touching this matter, there cannot, I think, be two 
 opinions. But with respect to your Venuses there can be, and 
 indeed there are, two very distinct opinions. Now, sir, that 
 little figure in the centre of the mantelpiece, — as a grave pater- 
 familias^ Mr. Crotchet, with a fair nubile daughter, whose eyes 
 are like the fish-pools of Heshbon, — I would ask you if you 
 hold that figure to be altogether delicate .'^ 
 
 208
 
 THE SLEEPING VENUS 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 The Sleeping Venus, sir ? Nothing can be more delicate 
 than the entire contour of the figure, the flow of the hair on the 
 shoulders and neck, the form of the feet and fingers. It is 
 altogether a most delicate morsel. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Why, in that sense, perhaps, it is as delicate as whitebait 
 in July. But the attitude, sir, the attitude. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Nothing can be more natural, sir. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 That is the very thing, sir. It is too natural : too natural, 
 
 sir : it lies for all the world like I make no doubt, the 
 
 pious cheesemonger, who recently broke its plaster facsimile 
 over the head of the itinerant vendor, was struck by a certain 
 similitude to the position of his own sleeping beauty, and felt 
 his noble wrath thereby justly aroused. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Very likely, sir. In my opinion, the cheesemonger was a 
 fool, and the justice who sided with him was a greater. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Fool, sir, is a harsh term : call not thy brother a fool. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Sir, neither the cheesemonger nor the justice is a brother 
 of mine. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Sir, we are all brethren. 
 
 P 209
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Yes, sir, as the hangman is of the thief ; the squire of the 
 poacher ; the judge of the Hbeller ; the lawyer of his chent ; 
 the statesman of his colleague ; the bubble -blower of the 
 bubble - buyer ; the slave-driver of the negro; as these are 
 brethren, so am I and the worthies in question. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 To be sure, sir, in these instances, and in many others, the 
 term brother must be taken in its utmost latitude of interpreta- 
 tion : we are all brothers, nevertheless. But to return to the 
 point. Now these two large figures, one with drapery on the 
 lower half of the body, and the other with no drapery at all ; 
 upon my word, sir, it matters not what godfathers and god- 
 mothers may have promised and vowed for the children of this 
 world, touching the devil and other things to be renounced, if 
 such figures as those are to be put before their eyes. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Sir, the naked figure is the Pandemian Venus, and the 
 half-draped figure is the Uranian Venus ; and I say, sir, that 
 figure realises the finest imaginings of Plato, and is the 
 personification of the most refined and exalted feeling of which 
 the human mind is susceptible ; the love of pure, ideal, 
 intellectual beauty. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 I am aware, sir, that Plato, in his Symposium^ discourseth 
 very eloquently touching the Uranian and Pandemian Venus : 
 but you must remember that, in our Universities, Plato is held 
 to be little better than a misleader of youth ; and they have 
 shown their contempt for him, not only by never reading him 
 (a mode of contempt in which they deal very largely), but even 
 by never printing a complete edition of him ; although they 
 have printed many ancient books, which nobody suspects to 
 have been ever read on the spot, except by a person attached 
 to the press, who is therefore emphatically called ' the reader.' 
 
 2IO
 
 THE SLEEPING VENUS 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 Well, sir ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Why, sir, to ' the reader ' aforesaid (supposing either of our 
 Universities to have printed an edition of Plato), or to any one 
 else who can be supposed to have read Plato, or indeed to be 
 ever likely to do so, I would very willingly show these figures ; 
 because to such they would, I grant you, be the outward and 
 visible signs of poetical and philosophical ideas : but, to the 
 multitude, the gross carnal multitude, they are but two 
 beautiful women, one half undressed, and the other quite so. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Then, sir, let the multitude look upon them and learn 
 modesty. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 I must say that, if I wished my footman to learn modesty, 
 I should not dream of sending him to school to a naked Venus. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Sir, ancient sculpture is the true school of modesty. But 
 where the Greeks had modesty, we have cant ; where they had 
 poetry, we have cant ; where they had patriotism, we have 
 cant ; where they had anything that exalts, delights, or adorns 
 humanity, we have nothing but cant, cant, cant. And, sir, to 
 show my contempt for cant in all its shapes, I have adorned my 
 house with the Greek Venus, in all her shapes, and am ready 
 to fight her battle, against all the societies that ever were 
 instituted for the suppression of truth and beauty. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 My dear sir, I am afraid you are growing warm. Pray be 
 cool. Nothing contributes so much to good digestion as to be 
 perfectly cool after dinner.
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Sir, the Lacedaemonian virgins wrestled naked with young 
 men ; and they grew up, as the wise Lycurgus had foreseen, 
 into the most modest of women, and the most exemplary of 
 wives and mothers. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Very likely, sir ; but the Athenian virgins did no such thing, 
 and they grew up into wives who stayed at home, — stayed at 
 home, sir ; and looked after their husbands' dinner, — his dinner, 
 sir, you will please to observe. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 And what was the consequence of that, sir ? that they were 
 such very insipid persons that the husband would not go home 
 to eat his dinner, but preferred the company of some Aspasia, 
 or Lais. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Two very different persons, sir, give me leave to remark. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 Very likely, sir ; but both too good to be married in Athens. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 Sir, Lais was a Corinthian. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Od's vengeance, sir, some Aspasia and any other Athenian 
 name of the same sort of person you like 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 I do not like the sort of person at all : the sort of person I 
 like, as I have already implied, is a modest woman, who stays 
 at home and looks after her husband's dinner. 
 
 212
 
 THE SLEEPING VENUS 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Well, sir, that was not the taste of the Athenians. They 
 preferred the society of women who would not have made 
 any scruple about sitting as models to Praxiteles ; as you 
 know, sir, very modest women in Italy did to Canova : one 
 of whom, an Italian countess, being asked by an English 
 lady, ' How she could bear it ? ' answered, ' Very well ; there 
 was a good fire in the room.' 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Sir, the English lady should have asked how the Italian 
 lady's husband could bear it. The phials of my wrath would 
 
 overflow if poor dear Mrs. Folliott : sir, in return for 
 
 your story, I will tell you a story of my ancestor, Gilbert 
 Folliott. The devil haunted him, as he did Saint Francis, 
 in the likeness of a beautiful damsel ; but all he could get 
 from the exemplary Gilbert was an admonition to wear a 
 stomacher and longer petticoats. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Sir, your story makes for my side of the question. It 
 proves that the devil, in the likeness of a fair damsel, with 
 short petticoats and no stomacher, was almost too much for 
 Gilbert Folliott. The force of the spell was in the drapery. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 Bless my soul, sir ! 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Give me leave, sir. Diderot — 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Who was he, sir ? 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Who was he, sir ? the sublime philosopher, the father of 
 213
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 the encyclopaedia, of all the encyclopaedias that have ever 
 been printed. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Bless me, sir, a terrible progeny : they belong to the tribe 
 of Iftcubi. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 The great philosopher, Diderot 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Sir, Diderot is not a man after my heart. Keep to the 
 Greeks, if you please ; albeit this Sleeping Venus is not an 
 antique. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Well, sir, the Greeks : why do we call the Elgin marbles 
 inestimable ? Simply because they are true to nature. And 
 why are they so superior in that point to all modern works, 
 with all our greater knowledge of anatomy ? Why, sir, but 
 because the Greeks, having no cant, had better opportunities 
 of studying models ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Sir, I deny our greater knowledge of anatomy. But I 
 shall take the liberty to employ, on this occasion, the 
 argwnenticm ad hojnine^n. Would you have allowed Miss 
 Crotchet to sit for a model to Canova ? 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 ' God bless my soul, sir ! ' exclaimed the Reverend Doctor 
 Folliott, throwing himself back into a chair, and flinging up 
 his heels, with the premeditated design of giving emphasis 
 to his exclamation : but by miscalculating his impetus^ he 
 overbalanced his chair, and laid himself on the carpet in a 
 right angle, of which his back was the base. 
 
 214
 
 ' "God bless my soul, sir I " ' 
 Copyright 1895 by Macmillan &■ Co.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 SCIENCE AND CHARITY 
 
 ' Chi sta nel mondo un par d'ore contento, 
 N6 gli vien tolta, ovver contaminata, 
 Quella sua pace in veruno momento, 
 Puo dir che Giove drittamenle il guata. ' 
 
 FORTEGUERRI. 
 
 The Reverend Doctor Folliott took his departure about ten 
 o'clock, to walk home to his vicarage. There was no moon, 
 but the night was bright and clear, and afforded him as 
 much light as he needed. He paused a moment by the 
 Roman camp, to listen to the nightingale ; repeated to him- 
 self a passage of Sophocles ; proceeded through the park 
 gate, and entered the narrow lane that led to the village. 
 He walked on in a very pleasant mood of the state called 
 reverie ; in which fish and wine, Greek and political economy, 
 the Sleeping Venus he had left behind, and poor dear Mrs. 
 Folliott, to whose fond arms he was returning, passed as 
 in a camera obscura^ over the tablets of his imagination. 
 Presently the image of Mr. Eavesdrop, with a printed sketch 
 of the Reverend Doctor F., presented itself before him, and 
 he began mechanically to flourish his bamboo. The move- 
 ment was prompted by his good genius, for the uplifted 
 bamboo received the blow of a ponderous cudgel, which was 
 intended for his head. The reverend gentleman recoiled two 
 or three paces, and saw before him a couple of ruffians, who 
 were preparing to renew the attack, but whom, with two 
 swings of his bamboo, he laid with cracked sconces on the 
 earth, where he proceeded to deal with them like com 
 beneath the flail of the thresher. One of them drew a 
 
 217
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 pistol, which went off in the very act of being struck aside 
 by the bamboo, and lodged a bullet in the brain of the 
 other. There was then only one enemy, who vainly struggled 
 to rise, every effort being attended with a new and more 
 signal prostration. The fellow roared for mercy. ' Mercy, 
 rascal ! ' cried the divine ; ' what mercy were you going to 
 show me, villain ? What ! I warrant me, you thought it 
 would be an easy matter, and no sin, to rob and murder a 
 parson on his way home from dinner. You said to yourself, 
 doubtless, " We'll waylay the fat parson (you irreverent 
 knave) as he waddles home (you disparaging ruffian) half- 
 seas-over" (you calumnious vagabond).' And with every 
 dyslogistic term, which he supposed had been applied to 
 himself, he inflicted a new bruise on his rolling and roaring 
 antagonist. ' Ah, rogue ! ' he proceeded, ' you can roar now, 
 marauder ; you were silent enough when you devoted my 
 brains to dispersion under your cudgel. But seeing that I 
 cannot bind you, and that I intend you not to escape, and 
 that it would be dangerous to let you rise, I will disable 
 you in all your members, I will contund you as Thestylis 
 did strong-smelling herbs,i in the quality whereof you do 
 most gravely partake, as my nose beareth testimony, ill weed 
 that you are. I will beat you to a jelly, and I will then 
 roll you into the ditch, to lie till the constable comes for 
 you, thief.' 
 
 ' Hold ! hold ! reverend sir,' exclaimed the penitent 
 culprit, * I am disabled already in every finger, and in every 
 joint. I will roll myself into the ditch, reverend sir.' 
 
 ' Stir not, rascal,' returned the divine, ' stir not so much as 
 the quietest leaf above you, or my bamboo rebounds on your 
 body, like hail in a thunder-storm. Confess, speedily, villain ; 
 are you simple thief, or would you have manufactured me into 
 a subject, for the benefit of science ? Ay, miscreant caitiff, 
 you would have made me a subject for science, would you ? 
 You are a schoolmaster abroad, are you ? You are m^arching 
 with a detachment of the march of mind, are you ? You are a 
 member of the Steam Intellect Society, are you ? You swear 
 by the learned friend, do you ? ' 
 
 1 'Thestylis . . . 
 
 . . . herbas contundit olentes.' 
 
 ViRG. Eel. ii. lo, II. 
 
 2l8
 
 ' Mercy, rascal ! what mercy ivere you going to show me /' ' 
 Copyright 1895 by Macmillan &• Co.
 
 SCIENCE AND CHARITY 
 
 ' Oh no, reverend sir,' answered the criminal, ' I am 
 innocent of all these offences, whatever they are, reverend sir. 
 The only friend I had in the world is lying dead beside me, 
 reverend sir.' 
 
 The reverend gentleman paused a moment, and leaned on 
 his bamboo. The culprit, bruised as he was, sprang on his 
 legs, and went off in double quick time. The Doctor gave 
 him chase, and had nearly brought him within arm's length, 
 when the fellow turned at right angles, and sprang clean over 
 a deep dry ditch. The divine, following with equal ardour, 
 and less dexterity, went dov^^n over head and ears into a thicket 
 of nettles. Emerging with much discomposure, he proceeded 
 to the village, and roused the constable ; but the constable 
 found, on reaching the scene of action, that the dead man was 
 gone, as well as his living accomplice. 
 
 ' Oh, the monster ! ' exclaimed the Reverend Doctor 
 Folliott, ' he has made a subject for science of the only friend 
 he had in the world.' ' Ay, my dear,' he resumed, the next 
 morning at breakfast, ' if my old reading, and my early 
 gymnastics (for as the great Hermann says, before I was 
 demulced by the Muses, I \w2iS ferocis in genii puer^ et ad arma 
 qua)7i ad literas paratior i), had not imbued me indelibly with 
 some of the holy rage of Frere Jean des Ento?nmeures^ I should 
 be, at this moment, lying on the table of some flinty-hearted 
 anatomist, who would have sliced and disjointed me as un- 
 scrupulously as I do these remnants of the capon and chine, 
 wherewith you consoled yourself yesterday for my absence at 
 dinner. Phew ! I have a noble thirst upon me, which I will 
 quench with floods of tea.' 
 
 The reverend gentleman was interrupted by a messenger, 
 who informed him that the Charity Commissioners requested 
 his presence at the inn, where they were holding a sitting. 
 
 ' The Charity Commissioners ! ' exclaimed the reverend 
 gentleman, ' who on earth are they ? ' 
 
 The messenger could not inform him, and the reverend 
 gentleman took his hat and stick, and proceeded to the inn. 
 
 On entering the best parlour, he saw three well-dressed and 
 bulky gentlemen sitting at a table, and a fourth officiating as 
 clerk, with an open book before him, and a pen in his hand. 
 
 ^ ' A boy of fierce disposition, more inclined to arms than to letters.' — 
 Hermann's Dedication of Homer s Hymns to his Preceptor Ilgen. 
 
 221
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 The churchwardens, who had been also summoned, were 
 already in attendance. 
 
 The chief commissioner politely requested the Reverend 
 Doctor Folliott to be seated, and after the usual meteorological 
 preliminaries had been settled by a resolution, Jiein. co?t., that 
 it was a fine day but very hot, the chief commissioner stated, 
 that in virtue of the commission of Parliament, which they had 
 the honour to hold, they were now to inquire into the state of 
 the public charities of this village. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 The state of the public charities, sir, is exceedingly simple. 
 There are none. The charities here are all private, and so 
 private, that I for one know nothing of them. 
 
 FIRST COMMISSIONER 
 
 We have been informed, sir, that there is an annual rent 
 charged on the land of Hautbois, for the endowment and repair 
 of an almshouse. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Hautbois ! Hautbois ! 
 
 FIRST COMMISSIONER 
 
 The manorial farm of Hautbois, now occupied by Farmer 
 Seedling, is charged with the endowment and maintenance of 
 an almshouse. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 {to the Churchwarden) 
 How is this, Mr. Bluenose ? 
 
 FIRST CHURCHWARDEN 
 
 I really do not know, sir. What say you, Mr. Appletwig ? 
 
 MR. APPLETWIG 
 
 {parish-clerk a7id schoolmaster j a7i old man) 
 
 I do remember, gentlemen, to have been informed, that 
 there did stand, at the end of the village, a ruined cottage, 
 
 222
 
 
 ' The divine went dcnvn over head and ears into a thicket o/nettles.' 
 Copyright 1895 by Macmillan &• Co.
 
 SCIENCE AND CHARITY 
 
 which had once been an almshouse, which was endowed and 
 maintained, by an annual revenue of a mark and a half, or one 
 pound sterling, charged some centuries ago on the farm of 
 Hautbois ; but the means, by the progress of time, having 
 become inadequate to the end, the almshouse tumbled to pieces. 
 
 FIRST COMMISSIONER 
 
 But this is a right which cannot be abrogated by desuetude, 
 and the sum of one pound per annum is still chargeable for 
 charitable purposes on the manorial farm of Hautbois. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Very well, sir. 
 
 MR. APPLETWIG 
 
 But, sir, the one pound per annum is still received by the 
 parish, but was long ago, by an unanimous vote in open vestry, 
 given to the minister. 
 
 THE THREE COMMISSIONERS 
 {u?id voce) 
 The minister I 
 
 FIRST COMMISSIONER 
 
 This is an unjustifiable proceeding. 
 
 SECOND COMMISSIONER 
 
 A misappropriation of a public fund. 
 
 THIRD COMMISSIONER 
 
 A flagrant perversion of a charitable donation. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 God bless my soul, gentlemen ! I know nothing of this 
 matter. How is this, Mr. Bluenose ? Do I receive this one 
 pound per annum ? 
 
 Q 225
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 FIRST CHURCHWARDEN 
 
 Really, sir, I know no more about it than you do. 
 
 MR. APPLETWIG 
 
 You certainly receive it, sir. It was voted to one of your 
 predecessors. Farmer Seedling lumps it in with his tithes. 
 
 FIRST COMMISSIONER 
 
 Lumps it in, sir ! Lump in a charitable donation ! 
 
 SECOND AND THIRD COMMISSIONERS 
 
 Oh-oh-oh-h-h ! 
 
 FIRST COMMISSIONER 
 
 Reverend sir, and gentlemen, officers of this parish, we are 
 under the necessity of admonishing you that this is a most 
 improper proceeding ; and you are hereby duly admonished 
 accordingly. Make a record, Mr. Milky. 
 
 MR. MILKY {writing) 
 
 The clergyman and churchwardens of the village of 
 Hm-m-m-m- gravely admonished. Hm-m-m-m. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Is that all, gentlemen 1 
 
 THE COMMISSIONERS 
 
 That is all, sir ; and we wish you a good morning. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 A very good morning to you, gentlemen. 
 
 ' What in the name of all that is wonderful, Mr. Bluenose,' 
 said the Reverend Doctor Folliott, as he walked out of the inn, 
 
 226
 
 SCIENCE AND CHARITY 
 
 ' what in the name of all that is wonderful, can those fellows 
 mean ? They have come here in a chaise and four, to make a 
 fuss about a pound per annum, which, after all, they leave as 
 it was : I wonder who pays them for their trouble, and how 
 much.' 
 
 MR. APPLETWIG 
 
 The public pay for it, sir. It is a job of the learned friend 
 whom you admire so much. It makes away with public 
 money in salaries, and private money in lawsuits, and does no 
 particle of good to any living soul. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Ay, ay, Mr. Appletwig ; that is just the sort of public 
 service to be looked for from the learned friend. Oh, the 
 learned friend ! the learned friend ! He is the evil genius of 
 everything that falls in his way. 
 
 The Reverend Doctor walked off to Crotchet Castle, to 
 narrate his misadventures, and exhale his budget of grievances 
 on Mr. Mac Quedy, whom he considered a ringleader of the 
 march of mind. 
 
 227
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE VOYAGE 
 01 /xeu iireLT dva^avres eireTrXeov vypa KeXevda. 
 
 ' Mounting the bark, they cleft the watery ways.' 
 
 Homer. 
 
 Four beautiful cabined pinnaces, one for the ladies, one for 
 the gentlemen, one for kitchen and servants, one for a 
 dining-room and band of music, weighed anchor, on a fine 
 July morning, from below Crotchet Castle, and were towed 
 merrily, by strong trotting horses, against the stream of the 
 Thames. They passed from the district of chalk, successively 
 into the districts of clay, of sand-rock, of oolite, and so forth. 
 Sometimes they dined in their floating dining-room, sometimes 
 in tents, which they pitched on the dry smooth-shaven green 
 of a newly-mown meadow ; sometimes they left their vessels to 
 see sights in the vicinity ; sometimes they passed a day or two 
 in a comfortable inn. 
 
 At Oxford, they walked about to see the curiosities of 
 architecture, painted windows, and undisturbed libraries. The 
 Reverend Doctor Folliott laid a wager with Mr. Crotchet * that 
 in all their perlustrations they would not find a man reading,' and 
 won it. 'Ay, sir,' said the reverend gentleman, 'this is still 
 a seat of learning, on the principle of — once a captain, always 
 a captain. We may well ask, in these great reservoirs of 
 books whereof no man ever draws a sluice, Qiwrsiun perti7iiiit 
 stipere Plato7ia Me?zandro f ^ What is done here for the 
 classics ? Reprinting German editions on better paper. A 
 
 1 ' Wherefore is Plato on Menander piled ? ' 
 
 HoR. Sat. ii. 3, 11. 
 
 228
 
 ■And were towed vien-ily, hy strong trotting horses:
 
 THE VOYAGE 
 
 great boast, verily ! What for mathematics ? What for 
 metaphysics ? What for history ? What for anything worth 
 knowing ? This was a seat of learning in the days of Friar 
 Bacon. But the Friar is gone, and his learning with him. 
 Nothing of him is left but the immortal nose, which, when his 
 brazen head had tumbled to pieces, crying ' Time's Past,' was 
 the only palpable fragment among its minutely pulverised 
 atoms, and which is still resplendent over the portals of its 
 cognominal college. That nose, sir, is the only thing to which 
 I shall take off my hat, in all this Babylon of buried literature. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 But, Doctor, it is something to have a great reservoir of 
 learning, at which some may draw if they please. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 But, here, good care is taken that nobody shall please. If 
 even a small drop from the sacred fountain, TrlSaKOs i^ te/ov)? 
 oXiyrj ki/Sas, as Callimachus has it, were carried off by any 
 one, it would be evidence of something to hope for. But the 
 system of dissuasion from all good learning is brought here to 
 a pitch of perfection that baffles the keenest aspirant. I run 
 over to myself the names of the scholars of Germany, a glorious 
 catalogue : but ask for those of Oxford, — Where are they ? 
 The echoes of their courts, as vacant as their heads, will 
 answer. Where are they ? The tree shall be known by its 
 fruit : and seeing that this great tree, with all its specious 
 seeming, brings forth no fruit, I do denounce it as a barren fig. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 I shall set you right on this point. We do nothing without 
 motives. If learning get nothing but honour, and very little of 
 that ; and if the good things of this world, which ought to be 
 the rewards of learning, become the mere gifts of self-interested 
 patronage, you must not wonder if, in the finishing of educa- 
 tion, the science which takes precedence of all others should be 
 the science of currying favour. 
 
 231
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Very true, sir. Education is well finished, for all worldly 
 purposes, when the head is brought into the state whereinto I 
 am accustomed to bring a marrow-bone, when it has been set 
 before me on a toast, with a white napkin wrapped round it. 
 Nothing trundles along the highroad of preferment so trimly 
 as a well-biassed sconce, picked clean within and polished 
 without ; totiis teres atqiie rotimdiisy The perfection of the 
 finishing lies in the bias, which keeps it trundling in the given 
 direction. There is good and sufficient reason for the fig 
 being barren, but it is not therefore the less a barren fig. 
 
 At Godstow, they gathered hazel on the grave of Rosamond ; 
 and, proceeding on their voyage, fell into a discussion on 
 legendary histories. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 History is but a tiresome thing in itself: it becomes more 
 agreeable the more romance is mixed up with it. The great 
 enchanter has made me learn many things which I should never 
 have dreamed of studying, if they had not come to me in the 
 form of amusement. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 What enchanter is that "t There are two enchanters : he 
 of the north, and he of the south. 
 
 MR. TRILLO 
 
 Rossini ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Ay, there is another enchanter. But I mean the great 
 enchanter of Covent Garden : he who, for more than a quarter 
 of a century, has produced two pantomimes a year, to the 
 delight of children of all ages ; including myself at all ages. 
 That is the enchanter for me. I am for the pantomimes. 
 All the northern enchanter's romances put together would not 
 furnish materials for half the southern enchanter's pantomimes. 
 
 1 All smooth and round. 
 232
 
 THE VOYAGE 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Surely you do not class literature with pantomime ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 In these cases, I do. They are both one, with a slight 
 difference. The one is the literature of pantomime, the other 
 is the pantomime of literature. There is the same variety of 
 character, the same diversity of story, the same copiousness of 
 incident, the same research into costume, the same display of 
 heraldry, falconry, minstrelsy, scenery, monker}', witchery, 
 devilry, robbery, poachery, piracy, fishery, gipsy-astrology, 
 demonology, architecture, fortification, castrametation, naviga- 
 tion ; the same running base of love and battle. The main 
 difference is, that the one set of amusing fictions is told in 
 music and action ; the other in all the worst dialects of the 
 English language. As to any sentence worth remembering, 
 any moral or political truth, anything having a tendency, 
 however remote, to make men wiser or better, to make them 
 think, to make them ever think of thinking ; they are both 
 precisely alike : 7mspiam^ nequaquaiii^ nullibi^ 7iullimodis. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Very amusing, however. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Very amusing, very amusing. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 My quarrel with the northern enchanter is, that he has 
 grossly misrepresented the twelfth century. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 He has misrepresented everything, or he would not have 
 been very amusing. Sober truth is but dull matter to the 
 reading rabble. The angler, who puts not on his hook the 
 
 233
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 bait that best pleases the fish, may sit all day on the bank 
 without catching a gudgeon.^ 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 But how do you mean that he has misrepresented the twelfth 
 century ? By exhibiting some of its knights and ladies in the 
 colours of refinement and virtue, seeing that they were all no 
 better than ruffians, and something else that shall be nameless ? 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 By no means. By depicting them as much worse than 
 they were, not, as you suppose, much better. No one would 
 infer from his pictures that theirs was a much better state of 
 society than this which we live in. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 No, nor was it. It was a period of brutality, ignorance, 
 fanaticism, and tyranny ; when the land was covered with 
 castles, and every castle contained a gang of banditti, headed 
 by a titled robber, who levied contributions with fire and sword ; 
 plundering, torturing, ravishing, bur>ang his captives in loath- 
 some dungeons, and broiling them on gridirons, to force from 
 them the surrender of every particle of treasure which he 
 suspected them of possessing ; and fighting every now and 
 then with the neighbouring lords, his conterminal bandits, for 
 the right of marauding on the boundaries. This was the 
 twelfth century, as depicted by all contemporary historians 
 and poets. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 No, sir. Weigh the evidence of specific facts ; you will 
 find more good than evil. Who was England's greatest hero ; 
 the mirror of chivalry, the pattern of honour, the fountain of 
 generosity, the model to all succeeding ages of military glory ? 
 Richard the First. There is a king of the twelfth centur>'. 
 
 ^ ' Eloquentiae magister, nisi, tamquam piscator, earn imposuerit hamis 
 escam, quam scierit appetituros esse pisciculos, sine spe prasdas moratur 
 in scopulo.' — Petronius Arbiter, 
 
 234
 
 THE VOYAGE 
 
 What was the first step of liberty ? Magna Charta. That was 
 the best thing ever done by lords. There are lords of the 
 twelfth century. You must remember, too, that these lords 
 were petty princes, and made war on each other as legitimately 
 as the heads of larger communities did or do. For their system 
 of revenue, it was, to be sure, more rough and summary than 
 that which has succeeded it, but it was certainly less searching 
 and less productive. And as to the people, I content myself 
 with these great points : that every man was armed, every man 
 was a good archer, every man could and would fight effectively, 
 with sword or pike, or even with oaken cudgel ; no man would 
 live quietly without beef and ale ; if he had them not, he fought 
 till he either got them, or was put out of condition to want 
 them. They were not, and could not be, subjected to that 
 powerful pressure of all the other classes of society, combined 
 by gunpowder, steam, and Jiscality^ which has brought them 
 to that dismal degradation in which we see them now. And 
 there are the people of the twelfth century. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 A.S to your king, the enchanter has done him ample justice, 
 even in your own view. As to your lords and their ladies, he 
 has drawn them too favourably, given them too many of the 
 false colours of chivalry, thrown too attractive a light on their 
 abominable doings. As to the people, he keeps them so much 
 in the background, that he can hardly be said to have repre- 
 sented them at all, much less misrepresented them, which 
 indeed he could scarcely do, seeing that, by your own showing, 
 they were all thieves, ready to knock down any man for what 
 they could not come by honestly. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 No, sir. They could come honestly by beef and ale, while 
 they were left to their simple industry. When oppression 
 interfered with them in that, then they stood on the defensive, 
 and fought for what they were not permitted to come by 
 quietly. 
 
 235
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 If A, being aggrieved by B, knocks down C, do you call 
 that standing on the defensive ? 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 That depends on who or what C is. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Gentlemen, you will never settle this controversy till you 
 have first settled what is good for man in this world ; the great 
 question, de finibus^ which has puzzled all philosophers. If 
 the enchanter has represented the twelfth century too brightly 
 for one, and too darkly for the other of you, I should say, as an 
 impartial man, he has represented it fairly. Tvly quarrel with 
 him is, that his works contain nothing worth quoting ; and a 
 book that furnishes no quotations is, me judice, no book, — it is 
 a plaything. There is no question about the amusement, — 
 amusement of multitudes ; but if he who amuses us most is to 
 be our enchanter Kar e^oxrjVj then my enchanter is the 
 enchanter of Covent Garden. 
 
 236
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE VOYAGE {continued) 
 
 ' Continuant nostre routte, navigasmes par trois jours sans rien 
 descouvrir. ' — Rabelais. 
 
 ' There is a beautiful structure/ said Mr. Chainmail, as they 
 glided by Lechlade church ; ' a subject for the pencil, captain. 
 It is a question worth asking, Mr. Mac Quedy, whether the 
 religious spirit which reared these edifices, and connected with 
 them everywhere an asylum for misfortune, and a provision for 
 poverty, was not better than the commercial spirit, which has 
 turned all the business of , modern life into schemes of profit, 
 and processes of fraud and extortion. I do not see, in all 
 your boasted improvements, any compensation for the religious 
 charity of the twelfth century. I do not see any compensation 
 for that kindly feeling which, within their own little com- 
 munities, bound the several classes of society together, while 
 full scope was left for the development of natural character, 
 wherein individuals differed as conspicuously as in costume. 
 Now, we all wear one conventional dress, one conventional 
 face ; we have no bond of union, but pecuniary interest ; we 
 talk anything that comes uppermost, for talking's sake, and 
 without expecting to be believed ; we have no nature, no 
 simplicity, no picturesqueness : everything about us is as 
 artificial and as complicated as our steam - machinery : our 
 poetry is a kaleidoscope of false imagery, expressing no real 
 feeling, portraying no real existence. I do not see any com- 
 pensation for the poetry of the twelfth century.' 
 
 MR. MAC quedy 
 
 I wonder to hear you, Mr. Chainmail, talking of the 
 237
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 religious chanty of a set of lazy monks, and beggarly friars, 
 who were much more occupied with taking than giving ; of 
 whom, those who were in earnest did nothing but make them- 
 selves, and everybody about them, miserable, with fastings, and 
 penances, and other such trash ; and those who were not, did 
 nothing but guzzle and royster, and, having no wives of their 
 own, took very unbecoming liberties with those of honester men. 
 And as to your poetiy of the twelfth century, it is not good for 
 much. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 It has, at any rate, what ours wants, truth to nature, and 
 simphcity of diction. The poetry, which was addressed to 
 the people of the dark ages, pleased in proportion to the truth 
 with which it depicted familiar images, and to their natural 
 connexion with the time and place to which they were 
 assigned. In the poetry of our enlightened times, the 
 characteristics of all seasons, soils, and climates, may be 
 blended together, with much benefit to the author's fame as an 
 original genius. The cowslip of a civic poet is always in 
 blossom, his fern is always in full feather ; he gathers the 
 celandine, the primrose, the heath-flbwer, the jasmine, and the 
 chrysanthemum, all on the same day, and from the same spot; 
 his nightingale sings all the year round, his moon is always full, 
 his cygnet is as white as his swan, his cedar is as tremulous as 
 his aspen, and his poplar as embowering as his beech. Thus 
 all nature marches with the march of mind ; but, among 
 barbarians, instead of mead and wine, and the best seat by 
 the fire, the reward of such a genius would have been, to be 
 summarily turned out of doors in the snow, to meditate on the 
 difference between day and night, and between December and 
 July. It is an age of liberality, indeed, when not to know an 
 oak from a burdock is no disqualification for sylvan minstrelsy. 
 I am for truth and simplicity. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Let him who loves them read Greek : Greek, Greek^ Greek. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 If he can, sir. 
 
 238
 
 THE VOYAGE 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Very true, sir ; if he can. Here is the captain who can. 
 But I think he must have finished his education at some very 
 rigid college, where a quotation, or any other overt act, 
 showing acquaintance with classical literature, was visited with 
 a severe penalty. For my part, I make it my boast that I was 
 not to be so subdued. I could not be abated of a single 
 quotation by all the bumpers in which I was fined. 
 
 In this manner they glided over the face of the waters, 
 discussing everything and settling nothing. Mr. Mac Quedy 
 and the Reverend Doctor Folliott had many digladiations on 
 political economy : wherein, each in his own view, Doctor 
 Folliott demolished Mr. Mac Qued^s science, and Mr. Mac 
 Quedy demolished Doctor Folliott's objections. 
 
 We would print these dialogues if we thought any one would 
 read them : but the world is not yet ripe for this haute sagesse 
 PantagrueU?te. We must therefore content ourselves with an 
 echa7ttillon of one of the Reverend Doctor's perorations. 
 
 ' You have given the name of a science to what is yet an 
 imperfect inquiry : and the upshot of your so-called science is 
 this : that you increase the wealth of a nation by increasing 
 in it the quantity of things which are produced by labour : 
 no matter w^hat they are, no matter how produced, no matter 
 how distributed. The greater the quantity of labour that has 
 gone to the production of the quantity of things in a com- 
 munity, the richer is the community. That is your doctrine. 
 Now, I say, if this be so, riches are not the object for a 
 community to aim at. I say, the nation is best off, in 
 relation to other nations, which has the greatest quantity of 
 the common necessaries of life distributed among the greatest 
 number of persons ; which has the greatest number of 
 honest hearts and stout arms united in a common interest, 
 willing to offend no one, but ready to fight in defence 
 of their own community, against all the rest of the world, 
 because they have something in it worth fighting for. The 
 moment you admit that one class of things, without any 
 reference to what they respectively cost, is better worth having 
 than another ; that a smaller commercial value, with one mode 
 of distribution, is better than a greater commercial value, 
 with another mode of distribution ; the whole of that curious 
 
 239
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 fabric of postulates and dogmas, which you call the science of 
 political economy, and which I call politiccE cecono7nice in- 
 scientia^ tumbles to pieces.' 
 
 Mr. Toogood agreed with Mr. Chainmail against Mr. 
 Mac Quedy, that the existing state of society was worse than 
 that of the twelfth century ; but he agreed with Mr. Mac Quedy 
 against Mr. Chainmail, that it was in progress to something 
 much better than either, — to which ' something much better ' 
 Mr. Toogood and Mr. Mac Quedy attached two very different 
 meanings. 
 
 Mr. Chainmail fought with Doctor Folliott the battle of the 
 romantic against the classical in poetry ; and Mr. Skionar 
 contended with Mr. Mac Quedy for intuition and synthesis, 
 against analysis and induction in philosophy. 
 
 Mr. Philpot would lie along for hours, listening to the 
 gurgling of the water round the prow, and would occasionally 
 edify the company with speculations on the great changes that 
 would be effected in the world by the steam-navigation of 
 rivers : sketching the course of a steam-boat up and down 
 some mighty stream which civilisation had either never visited, 
 or long since deserted ; the Missouri and the Columbia, the 
 Oroonoko and the Amazon, the Nile and the Niger, the 
 Euphrates and the Tigris, the Oxus and the Indus, the Ganges 
 and the Hoangho ; under the overcanopying forests of the 
 new, or by the long-silent ruins of the ancient, world ; through 
 the shapeless mounds of Babylon, or the gigantic temples of 
 Thebes. 
 
 Mr. Trillo went on with the composition of his opera, and 
 took the opinions of the young ladies on every step in its 
 progress ; occasionally regaling the company with specimens ; 
 and wondering at the blindness of Mr. Mac Quedy, who could 
 not, or would not, see that an opera in perfection, being the 
 union of all the beautiful arts, — music, painting, dancing, 
 poetry, — exhibiting female beauty in its most attractive 
 aspects, and in its most becoming costume, — was, according 
 to the well-known precept, Ingemias dzdicisse, etc., the most 
 efficient instrument of civilisation, and ought to take precedence 
 of all other pursuits in the minds of true philanthropists. The 
 Reverend Doctor Folliott, on these occasions, never failed to 
 say a word or two on Mr. Trillo's side, derived from the 
 practice of the Athenians, and from the combination, in their 
 
 240
 
 'f^^^^ 
 
 Mr. Trillo taking the opinions of the young ladies on the progress of his opera. 
 Copyrizht iSgS by Macmillan Cr Co.
 
 THE VOYAGE 
 
 theatre, of all the beautiful arts, in a degree of perfection 
 unknown to the modern world. 
 
 Leaving Lechlade, they entered the canal that connects the 
 Thames with the Severn ; ascended by many locks ; passed 
 by a tunnel three miles long, through the bowels of Sapperton 
 Hill ; agreed unanimously that the greatest pleasure derivable 
 from visiting a cavern of any sort was that of getting out of it ; 
 descended by many locks again, through the valley of Stroud 
 into the Severn ; continued their navigation into the Ellesmere 
 canal ; moored their pinnaces in the Vale of Llangollen by the 
 aqueduct of Pontycysyllty ; and determined to pass some days 
 in inspecting the scenery, before commencing their homeward 
 voyage. 
 
 The captain omitted no opportunity of pressing his suit on 
 Lady Clarinda, but could never draw from her any reply but 
 the same doctrines of worldly wisdom, delivered in a tone of 
 badinage^ mixed with a certain kindness of manner that induced 
 him to hope she was not in earnest. 
 
 But the morning after they had anchored under the hills of 
 the Dee, — whether the lady had reflected more seriously than 
 usual, or was somewhat less in good humour than usual, or the 
 captain was more pressing than usual, — she said to him : * It 
 must not be. Captain Fitzchrome ; " the course of true love 
 never did run smooth " : my father must keep his borough, and 
 I must have a town-house and a country-house, and an opera- 
 box, and a carriage. It is not well for either of us that we 
 should flirt any longer : " I must be cruel only to be kind." 
 Be satisfied with the assurance that you alone, of all men, have 
 ever broken my rest. To be sure, it was only for about three 
 nights in all ; but that is too much.' 
 
 The captain had le coeurnavre. He took his portfolio under 
 his arm, made up the little valise of a pedestrian, and, without 
 saying a word to any one, wandered off at random among the 
 mountains. 
 
 After the lapse of a day or two, the captain was missed, 
 and every one marvelled what was become of him. Mr. 
 Philpot thought he must have been exploring a river, and 
 fallen in and got drowned in the process. Mr. Firedamp had 
 no doubt he had been crossing a mountain bog, and had been 
 suddenly deprived of life by the exhalations of marsh miasmata. 
 Mr. Henbane deemed it probable that he had been tempted in 
 
 243
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 some wood by the large black brilliant berries of the Atropa 
 Belladonna, or Deadly Nightshade ; and lamented that he 
 had not been by, to administer an infallible antidote. Mr. 
 Eavesdrop hoped the particulars of his fate would be ascer- 
 tained ; and asked if any one present could help him to any 
 authentic anecdotes of their departed friend. The Reverend 
 Doctor Folliott proposed that an inquiry should be instituted 
 as to whether the march of intellect had reached that neighbour- 
 hood, as, if so, the captain had probably been made a subject 
 for science. Mr. Mac Quedy said it was no such great 
 matter, to ascertain the precise mode in which the surplus 
 population was diminished by one. Mr. Toogood asseverated 
 that there was no such thing as surplus population, and that 
 the land, properly managed, would maintain twenty times its 
 present inhabitants : and hereupon they fell into a disputation. 
 Lady Clarinda did not doubt that the captain had gone 
 away designedly : she missed him more than she could have 
 anticipated ; and wished she had at least postponed her last 
 piece of cruelty, till the completion of their homeward voyage. 
 
 244
 
 The captain omitted no opportunity of pressing his suit.'
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 ' Base is the slave that pays. ' 
 
 Ancient Pistol. 
 
 The captain was neither drowned nor poisoned, neither 
 miasmatised nor anatomised. But, before we proceed to 
 account for him, we must look back to a young lady, of whom 
 some little notice was taken in the first chapter ; and who, 
 though she has since been out of sight, has never with us been 
 out of mind ; Miss Susannah Touchandgo, the forsaken of the 
 junior Crotchet, whom we left an inmate of a solitary farm, in 
 one of the deep valleys under the cloudcapt summits of 
 Meirion, comforting her wounded spirit with air and exercise, 
 rustic cheer, music, painting, and poetry, and the prattle of the 
 little Ap Llymrys. 
 
 One evening, after an interval of anxious expectation, the 
 farmer, returning from market, brought for her two letters, 
 of which the contents were these : — 
 
 dotandcarryonetown, 
 
 State of Apodidraskiana, 
 1st April 1 8 — 
 
 My dear Child — I am anxious to learn what are your 
 present position, intention, and prospects. The fairies who 
 dropped gold in your shoe, on the morning when I ceased 
 to be a respectable man in London, will soon find a 
 talismanic channel for transmitting you a stocking full of 
 dollars, which will fit the shoe, as well as the foot of 
 Cinderella fitted her slipper. I am happy to say, I am 
 
 247
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 again become a respectable man. It was always my 
 ambition to be a respectable man, and I am a very respect- 
 able man here, in this new township of a new state, where 
 I have purchased five thousand acres of land, at two dollars 
 an acre, hard cash, and established a very flourishing bank. 
 The notes of Touchandgo and Company, soft cash, are now 
 the exclusive currency of all this vicinity. This is the land 
 in which all men flourish ; but there are three classes of 
 men who flourish especially, — methodist preachers, slave- 
 drivers, and paper-money manufacturers ; and as one of the 
 latter, I have just painted the word Bank, on a fine slab 
 of maple, which was green and growing when I airived, and 
 have discounted for the settlers, in my own currency, sundry 
 bills, which are to be paid when the proceeds of the crop 
 they have just sown shall return from New Orleans ; so that 
 my notes are the representatives of vegetation that is to be, 
 and I am accordingly a capitalist of the first magnitude. 
 The people here know very well that I ran away from 
 London ; but the most of them have run away from some 
 place or other ; and they have a great respect for me, 
 because they think I ran away with something worth taking, 
 which few of them had the luck or the wit to do. This 
 gives them confidence in my resources, at the same time 
 that, as there is nothing portable in the settlement except 
 my own notes, they have no fear that I shall run away with 
 them. They know I am thoroughly conversant with the 
 principles of banking, and as they have plenty of industry, 
 no lack of sharpness, and abundance of land, they wanted 
 nothing but capital to organise a flourishing settlement ; and 
 this capital I have manufactured to the extent required, at 
 the expense of a small importation of pens, ink, and paper, 
 and two or three inimitable copper plates. I have abundance 
 here of all good things, a good conscience included ; for I 
 really cannot see that I have done any wrong. This was 
 my position : I owed half a millon of money ; and I had a 
 trifle in my pocket. It was clear that this trifle could never 
 find its way to the right owner. The question was, whether 
 I should keep it, and live like a gentleman ; or hand it over 
 to lawyers and commissioners of bankruptcy, and die like a 
 dog on a dunghill. If I could have thought that the said 
 lawyers, etc., had a better title to it than myself, I might 
 
 248
 
 A fairy purse of gold in her slipper. 
 Copyright 1895 by Mannillan &• Co.
 
 CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 have hesitated ; but, as such title was not apparent to my 
 satisfaction, I decided the question in my own favour ; the 
 right owners, as I have already said, being out of the 
 question altogether. I have always taken scientific views of 
 morals and politics, a habit from which I derive much 
 comfort under existing circumstances. 
 
 I hope you adhere to your music, though I cannot hope 
 again to accompany your harp with my flute. My last 
 andante movement was too forte for those whom it took by 
 surprise. Let not your allegro vivace be damped by young 
 Crotchet's desertion, which, though I have not heard it, I 
 take for granted. He is, like myself, a scientific politician, 
 and has an eye as keen as a needle, to his own interest. 
 He has had good luck so far, and is gorgeous in the spoils 
 of many gulls ; but I think the Polar Basin and Walrus 
 Company will be too much for him yet. There has been a 
 splendid outlay on credit, and he is the only man, of the 
 original parties concerned, of whom His Majesty^s sheriffs 
 could give any account. 
 
 I will not ask you to come here. There is no husband 
 for you. The men smoke, drink, and fight, and break more 
 of their own heads than of girls' hearts. Those among 
 them who are musical, sing nothing but psalms. They are 
 excellent fellows in their way, but you would not like them. 
 
 Au reste, here are no rents, no taxes, no poor-rates, no 
 tithes, no church-establishment, no routs, no clubs, no rotten 
 boroughs, no operas, no concerts, no theatres, no beggars, 
 no thieves, no king, no lords, no ladies, and only one 
 gentleman, videlicet, your loving father, 
 
 Timothy Touchandgo. 
 
 P.S. — I send you one of my notes ; I can afford to part 
 with it. If you are accused of receiving money from me, 
 you may pay it over to my assignees. Robthetill continues 
 to be my factotum ; I say no more of him in this place : 
 he will give you an account of himself. 
 
 DOTANDCARRYONETOWN, ETC. 
 
 Dear Miss — Mr. Touchandgo will have told you of our 
 arrival here, of our setting up a bank, and so forth. We 
 came here in a tilted waggon, which served us for parlour, 
 
 251
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 kitchen, and all. We soon got up a log-house ; and, un- 
 luckily, we as soon got it down again, for the first fire we 
 made in it, burned down house and all. However, our 
 second experiment was more fortunate ; and we are pretty 
 well lodged in a house of three rooms on a floor ; I should 
 say the floor, for there is but one. 
 
 This new state is free to hold slaves; -all the new states 
 have not this privilege : Mr. Touchandgo has bought some, 
 and they are building him a villa. Mr. Touchandgo is in 
 a thriving way, but he is not happy here : he longs for 
 parties and concerts, and a seat in Congress. He thinks it 
 very hard that he cannot buy one with his own coinage, as 
 he used to do in England. Besides, he is afraid of the 
 Regulators, who, if they do not like a man's character, wait 
 upon him and flog him, doubling the dose at stated intervals, 
 till he takes himself off". He does not like this system of 
 administering justice : though I think he has nothing to fear 
 from it. He has the character of having money, which is 
 the best of all characters here, as at home. He lets his 
 old English prejudices influence his opinions of his new 
 neighbours ; but I assure you they have many virtues. 
 Though they do keep slaves, they are all ready to fight for 
 their own liberty ; and I should not like to be an enemy 
 within reach of one of their rifles. WTien I say enemy, I 
 include bailiff" in the term. One was shot not long ago. 
 There was a trial ; the jury gave two dollars damages ; the 
 judge said they must find guilty or not guilty ; but the 
 counsel for the defendant (they would not call him prisoner) 
 off"ered to fight the judge upon the point : and as this was 
 said literally, not metaphorically, and the counsel was a 
 stout fellow, the judge gave in. The two dollars damages 
 were not paid after all ; for the defendant challenged the 
 foreman to box for double or quits, and the foreman was 
 beaten. The folks in New York made a great outcry about 
 it, but here it was considered all as it should be. So you 
 see. Miss, justice, liberty, and everything else of that kind, 
 are different in different places, just as suits the convenience 
 of those who have the sword in their own hands. Hoping 
 to hear of your health and happiness, I remain, dear Miss, 
 your dutiful servant, 
 
 Roderick Robthetill. 
 252
 
 CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 Miss Touchandgo replied as follows, to the first of these 
 letters : — 
 
 My dear Father — I am sure you have the best of 
 hearts, and I have no doubt you have acted with the best 
 intentions. My lover, or I should rather say, my fortune's 
 lover, has indeed forsaken me. I cannot say I did not feel it ; 
 indeed, I cried very much ; and the altered looks of people 
 who used to be so delighted to see me, really annoyed me so, 
 that I determined to change the scene altogether. I have 
 come into Wales, and am boarding with a farmer and his wife. 
 Their stock of English is very small ; but I managed to agree 
 with them, and they have four of the sweetest children I ever 
 saw, to whom I teach all I know, and I manage to pick up 
 some Welsh. I have puzzled out a little song, which I think 
 very pretty ; I have translated it into English, and I send it 
 you, with the original air. You shall play it on your flute at 
 eight o'clock every Saturday evening, and I will play and sing 
 it at the same time, and I will fancy that I hear my dear papa 
 accompanying me. 
 
 The people in London said very unkind things of you : 
 they hurt me very much at the time ; but now I am out of 
 their way, I do not seem to think their opinion of much con- 
 sequence. I am sure, when I recollect, at leisure, everything 
 I have seen and heard among them, I cannot make out what 
 they do that is so virtuous, as to set them up for judges of 
 morals. And I am sure they never speak the truth about any- 
 thing, and there is no sincerity in either their love or their 
 friendship. An old Welsh bard here, who wears a waistcoat 
 embroidered with leeks, and is called the Green Bard of Cadair 
 Idris, says the Scotch would be the best people in the world, 
 if there was nobody but themselves to give them a character : 
 and so I think would the Londoners. I hate the very thought 
 of them, for I do believe they would have broken my heart, if 
 I had not got out of their way. Now I shall write you another 
 letter very soon, and describe to you the country', and the 
 people, and the children, and how I amuse myself, and every- 
 thing that I think you will like to hear about : and when I seal 
 this letter, I shall drop a kiss on the cover. — Your loving 
 daughter, 
 
 Susannah Touchandgo. 
 
 253
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 ^•-S*. — Tell Mr. Robthetill I will write to him in a day or 
 two. This is the little song I spoke of: — 
 
 Beyond the sea, beyond the sea, 
 
 My heart is gone, far, far from me ; 
 
 And ever on its track will flee 
 
 IVIy thoughts, my dreams, beyond the sea. 
 
 Beyond the sea, beyond the sea, 
 The swallow wanders fast and free : 
 Oh, happy bird ! were I like thee, 
 I, too, would fly beyond the sea. 
 
 Beyond the sea, beyond the sea. 
 Are kindly hearts and social glee : 
 But here for me they may not be ; 
 My heart is gone beyond the sea. 
 
 254
 
 Passing t)iany hours in sitting- on rocks. 
 Copyright 1895 by Macmillan &• Co.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN INN 
 
 'Qs Tjdi) TcJ; ixiaovvri tov% (paij\ov$ rpoTrovt 
 'Eprj/xia. 
 
 ' How sweet to minds that love not sordid ways 
 Is solitude ! ' 
 
 Menander. 
 
 The captain wandered despondingly up and down hill for 
 several days, passing many hours of each in sitting on rocks ; 
 making, almost mechanically, sketches of waterfalls, and 
 mountain pools ; taking care, nevertheless, to be always before 
 nightfall in a comfortable inn, where, being a temperate man, 
 he whiled away the evening with making a bottle of sherry into 
 negus. His rambles brought him at length into the interior 
 of Merionethshire, the land of all that is beautiful in nature, 
 and all that is lovely in woman. 
 
 Here, in a secluded village, he found a little inn, of small 
 pretension and much comfort. He felt so satisfied with his 
 quarters, and discovered every day so much variety in the 
 scenes of the surrounding mountains, that his inclination to 
 proceed farther, diminished progressively. 
 
 It is one thing to follow the high road through a country, 
 with every principally remarkable object carefully noted down 
 in a book, taking, as therein directed, a guide, at particular 
 points, to the more recondite sights : it is another to sit down 
 on one chosen spot, especially when the choice is unpremedi- 
 tated, and from thence, by a series of explorations, to come 
 day by day on unanticipated scenes. The latter process has 
 many advantages over the former ; it is free from the disap- 
 pointment which attends excited expectation, when imagina- 
 S 257
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 tion has outstripped reality, and from the accidents that 
 mar the scheme of the tourist's single day, when the valleys 
 may be drenched with rain, or the mountains shrouded 
 with mist. 
 
 The captain was one morning preparing to sally forth on 
 his usual exploration, when he heard a voice without, inquiring 
 for a guide to the ruined castle. The voice seemed familiar to 
 him, and going forth into the gateway, he recognised Mr. 
 Chainmail. After greetings and inquiries for the absent ; ' You 
 vanished very abruptly, captain,' said Mr. Chainmail, 'from 
 our party on the canal.' 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 To tell you the truth, I had a particular reason for trying 
 the effect of absence from a part of that party. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 I surmised as much : at the same time, the unusual melan- 
 choly of an in general most vivacious young lady made me 
 wonder at your having acted so precipitately. The lady's 
 heart is yours, if there be truth in signs. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Hearts are not now what they were in the days of the old 
 song : ' Will love be controlled by advice .'* ' 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Very true ; hearts, heads, and arms have all degenerated, 
 most sadly. We can no more feel the high impassioned love 
 of the ages, which some people have the impudence to call 
 dark, than we can wield King Richard's battle-axe, bend Robin 
 Hood's bow, or flourish the oaken graff of the Pindar of Wake- 
 field. Still we have our tastes and feelings, though they deserve 
 not the name of passions ; and some of us may pluck up spirit 
 to try to carry a point, when we reflect that we have to contend 
 with men no better than ourselves. 
 
 25S
 
 THE MOUNTAIN INN 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 We do not now break lances for ladies. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 No, nor even bulrushes. We jingle purses for them, 
 flourish paper-money banners, and tilt with scrolls of parch- 
 ment. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 In which sort of tilting I have been thrown from the saddle. 
 I presume it was not love that led you from the flotilla. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 By no means. I was tempted by the sight of an old tower, 
 not to leave this land of ruined castles, without having collected 
 a few hints for the adornment of my baronial hall. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 I understand you live en fainille with your domestics. You 
 will have more difficulty in finding a lady who would adopt 
 your fashion of living, than one who would prefer you to a 
 richer man. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Very true. I have tried the experiment on several as 
 guests ; but once was enough for them : so, I suppose, I shall 
 die a bachelor. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 I see, like some others of my friends, you will give up 
 anything except your hobby. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 I will give up anything but my baronial hall. 
 259
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 You will never find a wife for your purpose, unless in the 
 daughter of some old-fashioned farmer. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 No, I thank you. I must have a lady of gentle blood ; I 
 shall not marry below my own condition : I am too much of a 
 herald ; I have too much of the twelfth century in me for that. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Why then your chance is not much better than mine. A 
 well-bom beauty would scarcely be better pleased with your 
 baronial hall, than with my more humble offer of love in a cottage. 
 She must have a town house, and an opera-box, and roll about 
 the streets in a carriage ; especially if her father has a rotten 
 borough, for the sake of which he sells his daughter, that he 
 may continue to sell his country. But you were inquiring for 
 a guide to the ruined castle in this vicinity ; I know the way, 
 and will conduct you. 
 
 The proposal pleased Mr. Chainmail, and they set forth on 
 their expedition. 
 
 260
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE LAKE — THE RUIN 
 
 ' Or vieni, Amore, e qui meco t'assetta.' 
 
 Orlando Innamorato. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Would it not be a fine thing, captain, you being picturesque, 
 and I poetical ; you being for the lights and shadows of the 
 present, and I for those of the past ; if we were to go together 
 over the ground which was travelled in the twelfth century by 
 Giraldus de Barri, when he accompanied Archbishop Baldwin 
 to preach the crusade ? 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Nothing, in my present frame of mind, could be more 
 agreeable to me. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 We would provide ourselves with his Itinerarium; compare 
 what has been, with what is ; contemplate in their decay the 
 castles and abbeys, which he saw in their strength and 
 splendour; and, while you were sketching their remains, I 
 would dispassionately inquire what has been gained by the 
 change. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Be it so. 
 
 But the scheme was no sooner arranged, than the captain 
 261
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 was summoned to London by a letter on business, which he 
 did not expect to detain him long. Mr. Chainmail, who, like 
 the captain, was fascinated with the inn and the scenery, 
 determined to await his companion's return ; and, having 
 furnished him with a list of books, which he was to bring with 
 him from London, took leave of him, and began to pass his 
 days like the heroes of Ariosto, who — 
 
 . . . tutto il giorno, al bel oprar intenti, 
 Saliron baize, e traversar torrenti. 
 
 One day Mr. Chainmail traced upwards the course of a 
 mountain stream, to a spot where a small waterfall threw itself 
 over a slab of perpendicular rock, which seemed to bar his 
 farther progress. On a nearer view, he discovered a flight of 
 steps, roughly hewn in the rock, on one side of the fall. 
 Ascending these steps, he entered a narrow winding pass, 
 between high and naked rocks, that afforded only space for a 
 rough footpath, carved on one side, at some height above the 
 torrent. 
 
 The pass opened on a lake, from which the stream issued, 
 and which lay like a dark mirror, set in a gigantic frame of 
 mountain precipices. Fragments of rock lay scattered on the 
 edge of the lake, some half-buried in the water : Mr. Chainmail 
 scrambled some way over these fragments, till the base of a 
 rock sinking abruptly in the water, effectually barred his 
 progress. He sat down on a large smooth stone ; the faint 
 murmur of the stream he had quitted, the occasional flapping 
 of the wings of the heron, and at long intervals, the solitary 
 springing of a trout, were the only sounds that came to his ear. 
 The sun shone brightly half-way down the opposite rocks, 
 presenting, on their irregular faces, strong masses of light and 
 shade. Suddenly he heard the dash of a paddle, and, turning 
 his eyes, saw a solitary and beautiful girl gliding over the lake 
 in a coracle : she was proceeding from the vicinity of the point 
 he had quitted, towards the upper end of the lake. Her 
 apparel was rustic, but there was in its style something more 
 recherchee^ in its arrangement something more of elegance and 
 precision, than was common to the mountain peasant girl. It 
 had more of the contadi?ta of the opera, than of the genuine 
 mountaineer ; so at least thought Mr. Chainmail ; but she 
 passed so rapidly, and took him so much by surprise, that he 
 
 262
 
 it -V^/^" ',; 
 
 "\lfff 
 
 
 ' He saw her latui at 
 
 thefartJicr extretnity.
 
 THE LAKE — THE RUIN 
 
 had little opportunity for accurate observation. He saw her 
 land, at the farther extremity, and disappear among the rocks : 
 he rose from his seat, returned to the mouth of the pass, 
 stepped from stone to stone across the stream, and attempted 
 to pass round by the other side of the lake ; but there again 
 the abruptly sinking precipice closed his way. 
 
 Day after day he haunted the spot, but never saw again 
 either the damsel or the coracle. At length, marvelling at 
 himself for being so solicitous about the apparition of a peasant 
 girl in a coracle, who could not, by any possibility, be anything 
 to him, he resumed his explorations in another direction. 
 
 One day he wandered to the ruined castle, on the seashore, 
 which was not very distant from his inn ; and sitting on the 
 rock, near the base of the ruin, was calling up the forms of 
 past ages on the wall of an ivied tower, when on its summit 
 appeared a female figure, whom he recognised in an instant for 
 his nymph of the coracle. The folds of the blue gown pressed 
 by the sea-breeze against one of the most symmetrical of figures, 
 the black feather of the black hat, and the ringleted hair 
 beneath it fluttering in the wind ; the apparent peril of her 
 position, on the edge of the mouldering wall, from whose 
 immediate base the rock went down perpendicularly to the sea, 
 presented a singularly interesting combination to the eye of the 
 young antiquary. 
 
 Mr. Chainmail had to pass half round the castle, on the 
 land side, before he could reach the entrance : he coasted the 
 dry and bramble-grown moat, crossed the unguarded bridge, 
 passed the unportcullised arch of the gateway, entered the 
 castle court, ascertained the tower, ascended the broken stairs, 
 and stood on the ivied wall. But the nymph of the place was 
 gone. He searched the ruins within and without, but he found 
 not what he sought : he haunted the castle day after day, as 
 he had done the lake, but the damsel appeared no more. 
 
 265
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE DINGLE 
 
 ' The stars of midnight shall be dear 
 To her, and she shall lean her ear 
 In many a secret place, 
 Where rivulets dance their wajn^'ard round, 
 And beauty, born of murmuring sound. 
 Shall pass into her face. ' 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 Miss Susannah Touchandgo had read the four great poets 
 of Italy, and many of the best writers of France. About the 
 time of her father's downfall, accident threw into her way Les 
 Reveries du ProDieneur Solitaire; and from the impression 
 which these made on her, she carried with her into retirement 
 all the works of Rousseau. In the midst of that startling 
 light, which the conduct of old friends on a sudden reverse 
 of fortune throws on a young and inexperienced mind, the 
 doctrines of the philosopher of Geneva struck with double 
 force upon her sympathies : she imbibed the sweet poison, as 
 somebody calls it, of his writings, even to a love of truth ; 
 which, every wise man knows, ought to be left to those who 
 can get anything by it. The society of children, the beauties 
 of nature, the solitude of the mountains, became her consola- 
 tion, and, by degrees, her delight. The gay society from 
 which she had been excluded, remained on her memory only 
 as a disagreeable dream. She imbibed her new monitor's 
 ideas of simplicity of dress, assimilating her own with that 
 of the peasant -girls in the neighbourhood : the black hat, 
 the blue gown, the black stockings, the shoes, tied on the 
 instep. 
 
 Pride was, perhaps, at the bottom of the change : she was 
 266
 
 To t/u black hat she 
 
 added a black /eathei^.
 
 THE DINGLE 
 
 willing to impose in some measure on herself, by marking a 
 contemptuous indifference to the characteristics of the class of 
 society from which she had fallen. 
 
 And with the food of pride sustained her soul 
 In solitude. 
 
 It is true that she somewhat modified the forms of her 
 rustic dress : to the black hat she added a black feather, to 
 the blue gown she added a tippet, and a waistband fastened 
 in front with a silver buckle ; she wore her black stockings 
 
 ' Proposed to " keep company " with her' 
 
 very smooth and tight on her ankles, and tied her shoes in 
 tasteful bows, with the nicest possible ribbon. In this apparel, 
 to which, in winter, she added a scarlet cloak, she made 
 dreadful havoc among the rustic mountaineers, many of whom 
 proposed to ' keep company ' with her in the Cambrian fashion, 
 an honour which, to their great surprise, she always declined. 
 Among these, Harry Ap- Heather, whose father rented an 
 extensive sheepwalk, and had a thousand she-lambs wandering 
 in the mountains, was the most strenuous in his suit, and the 
 most pathetic in his lamentations for her cruelty. 
 
 Miss Susannah often wandered among the mountains 
 alone, even to some distance from the farmhouse. Sometimes 
 
 269
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 she descended into the bottom of the dingles, to the black 
 rocky beds of the torrents, and dreamed away hours at the 
 feet of the cataracts. One spot in particular, from which she 
 had at first shrunk with terror, became by degrees her favourite 
 haunt. A path turning and returning at acute angles, led 
 down a steep wood -covered slope to the edge of a chasm, 
 where a pool, or resting-place of a torrent, lay far below. A 
 cataract fell in a single sheet into the pool ; the pool boiled and 
 bubbled at the base of the fall, but through the greater part 
 of its extent, lay calm, deep, and black, as if the cataract had 
 plunged through it to an unimaginable depth, without disturbing 
 its eternal repose. At the opposite extremity of the pool, the 
 rocks almost met at their summits, the trees of the opposite 
 banks intermingled their leaves, and another cataract plunged 
 from the pool into a chasm, on which the sunbeams never 
 gleamed. High above, on both sides, the steep woody slopes 
 of the dingle soared into the sky ; and from a fissure in the 
 rock, on which the little path terminated, a single gnarled and 
 twisted oak stretched itself over the pool, forming a fork with 
 its boughs at a short distance from the rock. Miss Susannah 
 often sat on the rock, with her feet resting on this tree : in 
 time, she made her seat on the tree itself, with her feet hanging 
 over the abyss ; and at length, she accustomed herself to lie 
 along upon its trunk, with her side on the mossy bole of the 
 fork, and an arm round one of the branches. From this 
 position a portion of the sky and the woods was reflected in 
 the pool, which, from its bank, was but a mass of darkness. 
 The first time she reclined in this manner, her heart beat 
 audibly ; in time, she lay down as calmly as on the mountain 
 heather ; the perception of the sublime was probably heightened 
 by an intermingled sense of danger ; and perhaps that indiffer- 
 ence to life, which early disappointment forces upon sensitive 
 minds, was necessary to the first experiment. There was, in 
 the novelty and strangeness of the position, an excitement 
 which never wholly passed away, but which became gradually 
 subordinate to the influence, at once tranquillising and elevat- 
 ing, of the mingled eternity of motion, sound, and solitude. 
 
 One sultry noon, she descended into this retreat with a 
 mind more than usually disturbed by reflections on the past. 
 She lay in her favourite position, sometimes gazing on the 
 cataract ; looking sometimes up the steep sylvan acclivities, 
 
 270
 
 THE DINGLE 
 
 into the narrow space of the cloudless ether ; sometimes down 
 into the abyss of the pool, and the deep bright-blue reflections 
 that opened another immensity below her. The distressing 
 recollections of the morning, the world and all its littlenesses, 
 faded from her thoughts like a dream ; but her wounded and 
 wearied spirit drank in too deeply the tranquillising power of 
 the place, and she dropped asleep upon the tree like a ship- 
 boy on the mast. 
 
 At this moment Mr. Chainmail emerged into daylight, on a 
 projection of the opposite rock, having struck down through 
 the woods in search of unsophisticated scenery. The scene 
 he discovered filled him with delight : he seated himself on 
 the rock, and fell into one of his romantic reveries ; when 
 suddenly the semblance of a black hat and feather caught his 
 eye among the foliage of the projecting oak. He started up, 
 shifted his position, and got a glimpse of a blue gown. It 
 was his lady of the lake, his enchantress of the ruined castle, 
 divided from him by a barrier, which, at a few yards below, he 
 could almost overleap, yet unapproachable but by a circuit 
 perhaps of many hours. He watched with intense anxiety. 
 To listen if she breathed was out of the question : the noses 
 of a dean and chapter would have been soundless in the roar 
 of the torrent. From her extreme stillness, she appeared to 
 sleep : yet what creature, not desperate, would go wilfully to 
 sleep in such a place ? Was she asleep then ? Nay, was she 
 alive ? She was as motionless as death. Had she been 
 murdered, thrown from above, and caught in the tree ? She 
 lay too regularly, and too composedly for such a supposition. 
 She was asleep then, and, in all probability, her waking would 
 be fatal. He shifted his position. Below the pool two beetle- 
 browed rocks nearly overarched the chasm, leaving just such a 
 space at the summit as was within the possibility of a leap ; 
 the torrent roared below in a fearful gulf. He paused some 
 time on the brink, measuring the practicability and the danger, 
 and casting every now and then an anxious glance to his 
 sleeping beauty. In one of these glances he saw a slight 
 movement of the blue gown, and, in a moment after, the black 
 hat and feather dropped into the pool. Reflection was lost 
 for a moment, and, iDy a sudden impulse, he bounded over 
 the chasm. 
 
 He stood above the projecting oak ; the unknown beauty 
 271
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 lay like the nymph of the scene ; her long black hair, which 
 the fall of her hat had disengaged from its fastenings, drooping 
 through the boughs : he saw that the first thing to be done, was 
 to prevent her throwing her feet off the trunk, in the first move- 
 ments of waking. He sat doAvoi on the rock, and placed his 
 feet on the stem, securing her ankles between his own : one of 
 her arms was round a branch of the fork, the other lay loosely 
 on her side. The hand of this arm he endeavoured to reach, 
 by leaning forward from his seat ; he approximated, but could 
 not touch it : after several tantalising efforts, he gave up the 
 point in despair. He did not attempt to wake her, because 
 he feared it might have bad consequences, and he resigned 
 himself to expect the moment of her natural waking, determined 
 not to stir from his post, if she should sleep till midnight. 
 
 In this period of forced inaction, he could contemplate at 
 leisure the features and form of his charmer. She was not 
 one of the slender beauties of romance ; she was as plump as 
 a partridge ; her cheeks were two roses, not absolutely damask, 
 yet verging thereupon ; her lips twin-cherries, of equal size ; 
 her nose regular, and almost Grecian ; her forehead high, and 
 delicately fair ; her eyebrows symmetrically arched ; her eye- 
 lashes long, black, and silky, fitly corresponding with the 
 beautiful tresses that hung among the leaves of the oak, like 
 clusters of wandering grapes. ^ Her eyes were yet to be seen ; 
 but how could he doubt that their opening would be the rising 
 of the sun, when all that surrounded their fringy portals was 
 radiant as ' the forehead of the morning sky ' ? 
 
 ^ 'A\ri/xova pbrpw ideipas. 
 
 NONNUS. 
 
 272
 
 
 
 ' //e sat down on the rock, and placed his feet on the stem, securing her 
 ankles between his own.'
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE FARM 
 
 'Da ydyw'r gwaith, rhaid d'we'yd y gwir, 
 
 Ar fryniau Sir Meirionydd ; 
 Golwg oer o'r gwaela gawn 
 
 Mae hi etto yn llawn llawenydd. ' 
 
 ' Though Meirion's rocks, and hills of heath, 
 Repel the distant sight, 
 Yet where, than those bleak hills beneath, 
 Is found more true delight?' 
 
 At length the young lady awoke. She was startled at the 
 sudden sight of the stranger, and somewhat terrified at the 
 first perception of her position. But she soon recovered her 
 self-possession, and, extending her hand to the offered hand 
 of Mr, Chainmail, she raised herself up on the tree, and 
 stepped on the rocky bank. Mr. Chainmail solicited per- 
 mission to attend her to her home, which the young lady 
 graciously conceded. They emerged from the woody dingle, 
 traversed an open heath, wound along a mountain road by the 
 shore of a lake, descended to the deep bed of another stream, 
 crossed it by a series of stepping-stones, ascended to some 
 height on the opposite side, and followed upwards the line of 
 the stream, till the banks opened into a spacious amphitheatre, 
 where stood, in its fields and meadows, the farmhouse of Ap- 
 Llymry. 
 
 During this walk, they had kept up a pretty animated 
 conversation. The lady had lost her hat, and, as she turned 
 towards Mr. Chainmail, in speaking to him, there was no 
 envious projection of brim to intercept the beams of those 
 radiant eyes he had been so anxious to see unclosed. There 
 
 275
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 was in them a mixture of softness and brilliancy, the perfec- 
 tion of the beauty of female eyes, such as some men have 
 passed through life without seeing, and such as no man ever 
 saw, in any pair of eyes, but once ; such as can never be 
 seen and forgotten. Young Crotchet had seen it ; he had 
 not forgotten it ; but he had trampled on its memory, as the 
 renegade tramples on the emblems of a faith, which his 
 interest only, and not his heart or his reason, has rejected. 
 
 Her hair streamed over her shoulders ; the loss of the 
 black feather had left nothing but the rustic costume, the blue 
 go\\m, the black stockings, and the ribbon-tied shoes. Her 
 voice had that full soft volume of melody which gives to 
 common speech the fascination of music. Mr. Chainmail 
 could not reconcile the dress of the damsel, with her conversa- 
 tion and manners. He threw out a remote question or two, 
 with the hope of solving the riddle, but, receiving no reply, 
 he became satisfied that she was not disposed to be com- 
 municative respecting herself, and, fearing to offend her, fell 
 upon other topics. They talked of the scenes of the 
 mountains, of the dingle, the ruined castle, the solitary lake. 
 She told him, that lake lay under the mountains behind her 
 home, and the coracle and the pass at the extremity, saved a 
 long circuit to the nearest village, whither she sometimes 
 went to inquire for letters. 
 
 Mr. Chainmail felt curious to know from, whom these letters 
 might be ; and he again threw out two or three fishing 
 questions, to which, as before, he obtained no answer. 
 
 The only living biped they met in their walk was the 
 unfortunate Harry Ap-Heather, with whom they fell in by the 
 stepping-stones, who, seeing the girl of his heart hanging on 
 another man's arm, and, concluding at once that they were 
 ' keeping company,' fixed on her a mingled look of surprise, 
 reproach, and tribulation ; and, unable to control his feelings 
 under the sudden shock, burst into a flood of tears, and 
 blubbered till the rocks re-echoed. 
 
 They left him mingling his tears with the stream, and his 
 lamentations with its murmurs. Mr, Chainmail inquired who 
 that strange creature might be, and what was the matter with 
 him. The young lady answered, that he was a very worthy 
 young man, to whom she had been the innocent cause of 
 much unhappiness. 
 
 276
 
 jl -- -^ ^^ > <^ 
 
 ■^,.,> 
 
 'Burst into ajloodo/iears, and blubbered till tlie rocks re-echoed.' 
 Copyright 1895 by Mactnillan &• Co.
 
 THE FARM 
 
 ' I pity him sincerely,' said Mr. Chainmail ; and, never- 
 theless, he could scarcely restrain his laughter at the exceed- 
 ingly original figure which the unfortunate rustic lover had 
 presented by the stepping-stones. 
 
 The children ran out to meet their dear Miss Susan, 
 jumped all round her, and asked what was become of her hat. 
 Ap-Llymry came out in great haste, and invited Mr. Chainmail 
 to walk in and dine : Mr. Chainmail did not wait to be asked 
 twice. In a few minutes the whole party. Miss Susan and 
 Mr. Chainmail, Mr. and Mrs. Ap-Llymry, and progeny, were 
 seated over a clean home-spun tablecloth, ornamented with 
 fowls and bacon, a pyramid of potatoes, another of cabbage, 
 which Ap-Llymry said 'was poiled with the paeon, and as 
 coot as marrow,' a bowl of milk for the children, and an 
 immense brown jug of foaming ale, with which Ap-Llymry 
 seemed to delight in filling the horn of his new guest. 
 
 Shall we describe the spacious apartment, which was at 
 once kitchen, hall, and dining-room, — the large dark rafters, 
 the pendent bacon and onions, the strong, old, oaken furniture, 
 the bright and trimly arranged utensils ? Shall we describe 
 the cut of Ap-Llymry's coat, the colour and tie of his neck- 
 cloth, the number of buttons at his knees, — the structure of 
 Mrs. Ap-Llymry's cap, having lappets over the ears, which 
 were united under the chin, setting forth especially whether 
 the bond of union were a pin or a ribbon ? We shall leave 
 this tempting field of interesting expatiation to those whose 
 brains are high-pressure steam engines for spinning prose by 
 the furlong, to be trumpeted in paid-for paragraphs in the 
 quack's corner of newspapers : modern literature having 
 attained the honourable distinction of sharing with blacking 
 and Macassar oil, the space which used to be monopolised 
 by razor-strops and the lottery ; whereby that very enlightened 
 community, the reading public, is tricked into the perusal of 
 much exemplary nonsense ; though the few who see through 
 the trickery have no reason to complain, since as ' good wine 
 needs no bush,' so, ex vi oppositi^ these bushes of venal 
 panegyric point out very clearly that the things they celebrate 
 are not worth reading. 
 
 The party dined very comfortably in a comer most remote 
 from the fire ; and Mr. Chainmail very soon found his head 
 swimming with two or three horns of ale, of a potency to 
 
 279
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 which even he was unaccustomed. After dinner, Ap-Llymry 
 made him finish a bottle of mead, which he wiUingly accepted, 
 both as an excuse to remain, and as a drink of the dark 
 ages, which he had no doubt was a genuine brewage, from 
 uncorrupted tradition. 
 
 In the meantime, as soon as the cloth was removed, the 
 children had brought out Miss Susannah's harp. She began, 
 without affectation, to play and sing to the children, as was 
 her custom of an afternoon, first in their own language, and 
 their national melodies, then in English ; but she was soon 
 interrupted by a general call of little voices for 'Ouf! di 
 giorno.' She complied with the request, and sang the ballad 
 from Paer's ' Camilla ' : U7t dl carco il midinaro?- The children 
 were very familiar with every syllable of this ballad, which 
 had been often fully expla'ned to them. They danced in a 
 circle with the burden of every verse, shouting out the chorus 
 with good articulation and joyous energy ; and at the end 
 of the second stanza, where the traveller has his nose pinched 
 by his grandmother's ghost, every nose in the party was 
 nipped by a pair of little fingers. Mr. Chainmail, who was 
 not prepared for the process, came in for a very energetic 
 tweak, from a chubby girl that sprang suddenly on his knees 
 for the purpose, and made the roof ring with her laughter. 
 
 So passed the time till evening, when Mr. Chainmail moved 
 to depart. But it turned out on inquiry, that he was some 
 miles from his inn, that the way was intricate, and that he 
 must not make any difficulty about accepting the farmer's 
 hospitality till morning. The evening set in with rain : the 
 fire was found agreeable ; they drew around it. The young 
 lady made tea ; and afterwards, from time to time, at Mr. 
 Chainmail's special request, delighted his ear with passages 
 of ancient music. Then came a supper of lake trout, fried 
 
 1 In this ballad, the terrors of the Black Forest are narrated to an 
 assemblage of domestics and peasants, who, at the end of every stanza, 
 dance in a circle round the narrator. The second stanza is as follows : 
 
 Una notte in un stradotto 
 lln incauto s'inoltro ; 
 E uno strillo udi di botto 
 Che I'orecchio gl'introno : 
 Era I'ombra di sua nonna, 
 Che pel naso lo piglio._ 
 
 Ouf ! di giorno ne di sera, 
 Non passiam la selva nera. 
 
 [BaUatw in giro. 
 
 280
 
 THE FARM 
 
 on the spot, and thrown, smoking hot, from the pan to the 
 plate. Then came a brewage, which the farmer called his 
 nightcap, of which he insisted on Mr. Chainmail's taking his 
 full share. After which, the gentleman remembered nothing, 
 till he awoke, the next morning, to the pleasant consciousness, 
 that he was under the same roof with one of the most fascinat- 
 ing creatures under the canopy of heaven. 
 
 281
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE NEWSPAPER 
 
 Uoias 5' airoaTraadeiffa. (pvrXas 
 'Opi(av KevdfiQvas exet aKioivTiav ; 
 
 ' Sprung from what line, adorns the maid 
 These valleys deep in mountain shade ? ' 
 
 PiND. Pyth. ix. 
 
 Mr. Chainmail forgot the captain and the route of Giraldus 
 de Barri. He became suddenly satisfied that the ruined castle 
 in his present neighbourhood was the best possible specimen 
 of its class, and that it was needless to carry his researches 
 further. 
 
 He visited the farm daily : found himself always welcome ; 
 flattered himself that the young lady saw him with pleasure, 
 and dragged a heavier chain at every new parting from Miss 
 Susan, as the children called his nymph of the mountains. 
 What might be her second name, he had vainly endeavoured 
 to discover. 
 
 Mr. Chainmail was in love : but the determination he had 
 long before formed and fixed in his mind, to marry only a 
 lady of gentle blood, without a blot in her escutcheon, repressed 
 the declarations of passion which were often rising to his 
 lips. In the meantime, he left no means untried, to pluck 
 out the heart of her mystery. 
 
 The young lady soon divined his passion, and penetrated 
 his prejudices. She began to look on him with favourable 
 eyes ; but she feared her name and parentage would present 
 an insuperable barrier to his feudal pride. 
 
 Things were in this state when the captain returned, and 
 unpacked his maps and books in the parlour of the inn.
 
 THE NEWSPAPER 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Really, captain, I find so many objects of attraction in 
 this neighbourhood, that I would gladly postpone our purpose. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Undoubtedly, this neighbourhood has many attractions ; 
 but there is something very inviting in the scheme you laid 
 down. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 No doubt, there is something very tempting in the route 
 of Giraldus de Barri. But there are better things in this 
 vicinity even than that. To tell you the truth, captain, I 
 have fallen in love. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 What ! while I have been away ? 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Even so. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 The plunge must have been very sudden, if you are already 
 over head and ears, 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 As deep as Llyn-y-dreiddiad-vrawd. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 And what may that be ? 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 A pool not far off: a resting-place of a mountain stream 
 which is said to have no bottom. There is a tradition con- 
 nected with it ; and here is a ballad on it, at your service. 
 
 283
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 LLYN-Y-DREIDDIAD-VRAWD 
 
 THE POOL OF THE DIVING FRIAR 
 
 GwENWYNWYN withdrew from the feasts of his hall : 
 He slept very little, he prayed not at all : 
 He pondered, and wandered, and studied alone ; 
 And sought, night and day, the philosopher's stone. 
 
 He found it at length, and he made its first proof 
 By turning to gold all the lead of his roof : 
 Then he bought some magnanimous heroes, all fire, 
 Who lived but to smite and be smitten for hire. 
 
 With these, on the plains like a torrent he broke ; 
 He filled the whole country with flame and with smoke ; 
 He killed all the swine, and he broached all the wine ; 
 He drove off the sheep, and the beeves, and the kine ; 
 
 He took castles and towns ; he cut short limbs and lives ; 
 He made orphans and widows of children and wives : 
 This course many years he triumphantly ran, 
 And did mischief enough to be called a great man. 
 
 When, at last, he had gained all for which he had striven, 
 He bethought him of buying a passport to heaven ; 
 Good and great as he was, yet he did not well know, 
 How soon, or which way, his great spirit might go. 
 
 He sought the grey friars, who, beside a wild stream, 
 Refected their frames on a primitive scheme ; 
 The gravest and wisest Gwenwynwyn found out, 
 All lonely and ghostly, and angling for trout. 
 
 Below the white dash of a mighty cascade. 
 Where a pool of the stream a deep resting-place made. 
 And rock-rooted oaks stretched their branches on high, 
 The friar stood musing, and throwing his fly. 
 
 To him said Gwenwynwyn : ' Hold, father, here's store, 
 For the good of the church, and the good of the poor ' ; 
 Then he gave him the stone ; but, ere more he could speak, 
 Wrath came on the friar, so holy and meek : 
 
 He had stretched forth his hand to receive the red gold. 
 And he thought himself mocked by Gwenwynwyn the Bold ; 
 And in scorn of the gift, and in rage at the giver, 
 He jerked it immediately into the river. 
 284
 
 ' The diving Jriar.' 
 Copyright 1893 *> Macmillan Gr Co.
 
 THE NEWSPAPER 
 
 Gwenwynwyn, aghast, not a syllable spake ; 
 
 The philosopher's stone made a duck and a drake : 
 
 Two systems of circles a moment were seen, 
 
 And the stream smoothed them off, as they never had been. 
 
 Gwenwynwyn regained, and uplifted his voice : 
 
 * O friar, grey friar, full rash was thy choice ; 
 
 The stone, the good stone, which away thou hast thrown, 
 
 Was the stone of all stones, the philosopher's stone ! ' 
 
 The friar looked pale, when his error he knew ; 
 The friar looked red, and the friar looked blue ; 
 And heels over head, from the point of a rock, 
 He plunged, without stopping to pull off his frock. 
 
 He dived very deep, but he dived all in vain. 
 The prize he had slighted he found not again : 
 Many times did the friar his diving renew, 
 And deeper and deeper the river still grew. 
 
 Gwenwynvi^n gazed long, of his senses in doubt. 
 To see the grey friar a diver so stout : 
 Then sadly and slowly his castle he sought, 
 And left the friar diving, like dabchick distraught. 
 
 Gwenwynwyn fell sick with alarm and despite. 
 Died, and went to the devil, the very same night : 
 The magnanimous heroes he held in his pay. 
 Sacked his castle, and marched with the plunder away. 
 
 No knell on the silence of midnight was rolled. 
 For the flight of the soul of Gwenwynwyn the Bold : 
 The brethren, unfeed, let the mighty ghost pass. 
 Without praying a prayer, or intoning a mass. 
 
 The friar haunted ever beside the dark stream ; 
 
 The philosopher's stone was his thought and his dream : 
 
 And day after day, ever head under heels 
 
 He dived all the time he could spare from his meals. 
 
 He dived, and he dived, to the end of his days. 
 As the peasants oft witnessed with fear and amaze : 
 The mad friar's diving-place long was their theme. 
 And no plummet can fathom that pool of the stream. 
 
 And still, when light clouds on the midnight winds ride. 
 If by moonlight you stray on the lone riverside. 
 The ghost of the friar may be seen diving there. 
 With head in the water, and heels in the air. 
 287
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Well, your ballad is very pleasant : you shall show me the 
 scene, and I will sketch it ; but just now I am more interested 
 about your love. What heroine of the twelfth century has 
 risen from the ruins of the old castle, and looked down on you 
 from the ivied battlements ? 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 You are nearer the mark than you suppose. Even from 
 those battlements, a heroine of the twelfth century has looked 
 down on me. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Oh ! some vision of an ideal beauty. I suppose the whole 
 will end in another tradition and a ballad. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Genuine flesh and blood ; as genuine as Lady Clarinda. I 
 will tell you the story. 
 
 Mr. Chainmail narrated his adventures. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Then you seem to have found what you wished. Chance 
 has thrown in your way what none of the gods would have 
 ventured to promise you. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Yes, but I know nothing of her birth and parentage. She 
 tells me nothing of herself, and I have no right to question 
 her directly. 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 She appears to be expressly destined for the light of your 
 baronial hall. Introduce me : in this case, two heads are 
 better than one. 
 
 288
 
 Harry retreated with backward steps, and ttimbled^ cmer a ctir, 
 which immediately fastened on his rear.' 
 Copyright 1895 by Macmillan &• Co
 
 THE NEWSPAPER 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 No, I thank you. Leave me to manage my chance of a 
 prize, and keep you to your own chance of a 
 
 CAPTAIN FITZCHROME 
 
 Blank. As you please. Well, I will pitch my tent here, 
 till I have filled my portfolio, and shall be glad of as much of 
 your company as you can spare from more attractive society. 
 
 Matters went on pretty smoothly for several days, when an 
 unlucky newspaper threw all into confusion. Mr. Chainmail 
 received newspapers by the post, which came in three times 
 a week. One morning, over their half- finished breakfast, the 
 captain had read half a newspaper very complacently, when 
 suddenly he started up in a frenzy, hurled over the breakfast- 
 table, and, bouncing from the apartment, knocked down Harry 
 Ap-Heather, who was coming in at the door to challenge his 
 supposed rival to a boxing-match. 
 
 Harry sprang up, in a double rage, and intercepted Mr. 
 Chainmail's pursuit of the captain, placing himself in the 
 doorway, in a pugilistic attitude. Mr. Chainmail, not being 
 disposed for this mode of combat, stepped back into the 
 parlour, took the poker in his right hand, and displacing the 
 loose bottom of a large elbow chair, threw it over his left arm, 
 as a shield. Harry, not liking the aspect of the enemy in 
 this imposing attitude, retreated with backward steps into the 
 kitchen, and tumbled over a cur, which immediately fastened 
 on his rear. 
 
 Mr. Chainmail, half- laughing, half- vexed, anxious to over- 
 take the captain, and curious to know what was the matter 
 with him, pocketed the newspaper, and sallied forth, leaving 
 Harry roaring for a doctor and tailor, to repair the lacerations 
 of his outward man. 
 
 Mr. Chainmail could find no trace of the captain. Indeed, 
 he sought him but in one direction, which was that leading to 
 the farm ; where he arrived in due time, and found Miss 
 Susan alone. He laid the newspaper on the table, as was his 
 custom, and proceeded to converse with the young lady : a 
 conversation of many pauses, as much of signs as of words. 
 
 291
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 The young lady took up the paper, and turned it over and 
 over, while she listened to Mr. Chainmail, whom she found 
 every day more and more agreeable, when, suddenly, her eye 
 glanced on something which made her change colour, and 
 dropping the paper on the ground, she rose from her seat, 
 exclaiming : ' Miserable must she be who trusts any of your 
 faithless sex ! never, never, never, will I endure such misery 
 twice.' And she vanished up the stairs. Mr. Chainmail was 
 petrified. At length, he cried aloud : ' Cornelius Agrippa 
 must have laid a spell on this accursed newspaper ' ; and was 
 turning it over, to look for the source of the mischief, when 
 Mrs. Ap-Llymry made her appearance. 
 
 MRS. AP-LLYMRY 
 
 What have you done to poor dear Miss Susan .'' She is 
 crying ready to break her heart. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 So help me the memor}' of Richard Cceur de Lion, I have 
 not the most distant notion of what is the matter. 
 
 MRS. AP-LLYMRY 
 
 Oh, don't tell me, sir ; you must have ill-used her. I 
 know how it is. You have been keeping company with her, 
 as if you wanted to marry her ; and now, all at once, you have 
 been trying to make her your mistress. I have seen such 
 tricks more than once, and you ought to be ashamed of 
 yourself. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 My dear madam, you wrong me utterly. I have none but 
 the kindest feelings, and the most honourable purposes towards 
 her. She has been disturbed by something she has seen in 
 this rascally paper. 
 
 MRS. AP-LLYMRY 
 
 Why, then, the best thing you can do is to go away, and 
 come again to-morrow. 
 
 292
 
 THE NEWSPAPER 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Not I, indeed, madam. Out of this house I stir not, till I 
 have seen the young lady, and obtained a full explanation. 
 
 MRS. AP-LLYMRY 
 
 I will tell Miss Susan what you say. Perhaps she will 
 come down. 
 
 Mr. Chainmail sate with as much patience as he could 
 command, running over the paper, from column to column. 
 At length, he lighted on an announcement of the approaching 
 marriage of Lady Clarinda Bossnowl with Mr. Crotchet the 
 younger. This explained the captain's discomposure, but the 
 cause of Miss Susan's was still to be sought : he could not 
 know that it was one and the same. 
 
 Presently, the sound of the longed-for step was heard on 
 the stairs ; the young lady reappeared, and resumed her seat : 
 her eyes showed that she had been weeping. The gentleman 
 was now exceedingly puzzled how to begin, but the young 
 lady relieved him by asking, with great simplicity : ' What do 
 you wish to have explained, sir .? ' 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 I wish, if I may be permitted, to explain myself to you. 
 Yet could I first wish to know what it was that disturbed you 
 in this unlucky paper. Happy should I be if I could remove 
 the cause of your inquietude ! 
 
 MISS SUSANNAH 
 
 The cause is already removed. I saw something that 
 excited painful recollections ; nothing that I could now wish 
 otherwise than as it is. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Yet, may I ask why it is that I find one so accomplished, 
 living in this obscurity, and passing only by the name of Miss 
 Susan ? 
 
 293
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 MISS SUSANNAH 
 
 The world and my name are not friends. I have left the 
 world, and wish to remain for ever a stranger to all whom I 
 once knew in it. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 You can have done nothing to dishonour your name. 
 
 MISS SUSANNAH 
 
 No, sir. My father has done that of which the world 
 disapproves, in matters of which I pretend not to judge. I 
 have suffered for it as I will never suffer again. I\Iy name is 
 my own secret : I have no other, and that is one not worth 
 knowing. You see what I am, and all I am. I live accord- 
 ing to the condition of my present fortune, and here, so living, 
 I have found tranquillity. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Yet, I entreat you, tell me your name. 
 
 MISS SUSANNAH 
 Why, sir ? 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Why, but to throw my hand, my heart, my fortune, at your 
 feet, if 
 
 MISS SUSANNAH 
 
 If my name be worthy of them. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Nay, nay, not so ; if your hand and heart are free. 
 
 MISS SUSANNAH 
 
 My hand and heart are free ; but they must be sought from 
 myself^ and not from my name. 
 
 294
 
 THE NEWSPAPER 
 
 She fixed her eyes on him, with a mingled expression of 
 mistrust, of kindness, and of fixed resolution, which the far-gone 
 innamorato found irresistible. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Then from yourself alone I seek them. 
 
 MISS SUSANNAH 
 
 Reflect. You have prejudices on the score of parentage. 
 I have not conversed with you so often, without knowing what 
 they are. Choose between them and me. I too have my own 
 prejudices on the score of personal pride. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 I would choose you from all the world, were you even the 
 daughter of the executeiir des hautes cettvres^ as the heroine of 
 a romantic stor)' I once read, turned out to be. 
 
 MISS SUSANNAH 
 
 I am satisfied. You have now a right to know my history, 
 and if you repent, I absolve you from all obligations. 
 
 She told him her history ; but he was out of the reach of 
 repentance. ' It is true,' as at a subsequent period he said to 
 the captain, ' she is the daughter of a money-changer ; one 
 who, in the days of Richard the First, would have been plucked 
 by the beard in the streets : but she is, according to modern 
 notions, a lady of gentle blood. As to her father's running 
 away, that is a minor consideration : I have always understood, 
 from Mr. Mac Quedy, who is a great oracle in this way, that 
 promises to pay ought not to be kept ; the essence of a safe 
 and economical currency being an interminable series of broken 
 promises. There seems to be a difference among the learned 
 as to the way in which the promises ought to be broken ; but 
 
 295
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 I am not deep enough in their casuistry to enter into such nice 
 distinctions.' 
 
 In a few days there was a wedding, a pathetic leave-taking 
 of the farmer's family, a hundred kisses from the bride to the 
 children, and promises twenty times reclaimed and renewed, 
 to visit them in the ensuing year. 
 
 296
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE INVITATION 
 
 ' A cup of wine, that's brisk and fine, 
 And drink unto the leman mine.' 
 
 Master Silence. 
 
 This veridicous history began in May, and the occurrences 
 already narrated have carried it on to the middle of autumn. 
 Stepping over the interval to Christmas, we find ourselves in 
 our first locality, among the chalk hills of the Thames ; and 
 we discover our old friend, Mr. Crotchet, in the act of accepting 
 an invitation, for himself, and any friends who might be with 
 him, to pass their Christmas Day at Chainmail Hall, after the 
 fashion of the twelfth century. Mr. Crotchet had assembled 
 about him, for his own Christmas festivities, nearly the same 
 party which was introduced to the reader in the spring. Three 
 of that party were wanting. Dr. Morbific, by inoculating him- 
 self once too often with non-contagious matter, had explained 
 himself out of the world. Mr. Henbane had also departed, on 
 the wings of an infallible antidote. Mr. Eavesdrop, having 
 printed in a magazine some of the after-dinner conversations 
 at the castle, had had sentence of exclusion passed upon him, 
 on the motion of the Reverend Doctor Folliott, as a flagitious 
 violator of the confidences of private life. 
 
 Miss Crotchet had become Lady Bossnowl, but Lady 
 Clarinda had not yet changed her name to Crotchet. She had, 
 on one pretence and another, procrastinated the happy event, 
 and the gentleman had not been very pressing ; she had, how- 
 ever, accompanied her brother and sister-in-law, to pass 
 Christmas at Crotchet Castle. With these, Mr. Mac Quedy, 
 Mr. Philpot, Mr. Trillo, Mr. Skionar, Mr. Toogood, and Mr. 
 
 297
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 Firedamp, were sitting at breakfast, Avhen the Reverend Doctor 
 Folliott entered and took his seat at the table. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Well, Mr. Mac Quedy, it is now some weeks since we have 
 met : how goes on the march of mind ? 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Nay, sir ; I think you may see that with your ovm eyes, 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Sir, I have seen it, much to my discomfiture. It has 
 marched into my rickyard, and set my stacks on fire, with 
 chemical materials, most scientifically compounded. It has 
 marched up to the door of my vicarage, a hundred and fifty 
 strong ; ordered me to surrender half my tithes ; consumed all 
 the provisions I had provided for my audit feast, and drunk 
 up my old October. It has marched in through my back- 
 parlour shutters, and out again with my silver spoons, in the 
 dead of the night. The policeman who has been down to 
 examine, says my house has been broken open on the most 
 scientific principles. All this comes of education. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 I rather think it comes of poverty. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 No, sir. Robbery perhaps comes of poverty, but scientific 
 principles of robber}^ come of education. I suppose the learned 
 friend has written a sixpenny treatise on mechanics, and the 
 rascals who robbed me have been reading it. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Your house would have been veiy safe. Doctor, if they 
 had had no better science than the learned friend's to work 
 with. 
 
 298
 
 THE INVITATION 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Well, sir, that may be. Excellent potted char. The Lord 
 deliver me from the learned friend. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 Well, Doctor, for your comfort, here is a declaration of the 
 learned friend's that he will never take office. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Then, sir, he will be in office next week. Peace be with 
 him. Sugar and cream. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 But, Doctor, are you for Chainmail Hall on Christmas Day ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 That am I, for there will be an excellent dinner, though, 
 peradventure, grotesquely served. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 I have not seen my neighbour since he left us on the canal. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 He has married a wife, and brought her home. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Indeed ! If she suits him, she must be an oddity : it will 
 be amusing to see them together. 
 
 LORD BOSSNOWL 
 
 Very amusing. He ! He ! 
 
 299
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 MR. FIREDAMP 
 
 Is there any water about Chainmail Hall ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 An old moat. 
 
 MR. FIREDAMP 
 
 I shall die of malaria. 
 
 MR. TRILLO 
 
 Shall we have any music .'' 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 An old harper. 
 
 MR. TRILLO 
 
 Those fellows are always horridly out of tune. What will 
 he play ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Old songs and marches. 
 
 MR. SKIONAR 
 
 Amongst so many old things, I hope we shall find Old 
 Philosophy. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 An old woman. 
 
 MR. PHILPOT 
 
 Perhaps an old map of the river in the twelfth century. 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 ^o doubt. 
 
 300
 
 THE INVITATION 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 How many more old things ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Old hospitality ; old wine ; old ale ; all the images of old 
 England ; an old butler. 
 
 MR. TOOGOOD 
 
 Shall we all be welcome ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Heartily ; you will be slapped on the shoulder, and called 
 Old boy. 
 
 LORD BOSSNOWL 
 
 I think we should all go in our old clothes. He ! He ! 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 You will sit on old chairs, round an old table, by the light 
 of old lamps, suspended from pointed arches, which, Mr. 
 Chainmail says, first came into use in the twelfth century; 
 with old armour on the pillars, and old banners in the roof. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 And what curious piece of antiquity is the lady of the 
 mansion } 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 No antiquity there ; none. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Who was she ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 That I know not. 
 
 301
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Have you seen her ? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 I have. 
 
 LADY CLARINDA 
 
 Is she pretty? 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 More, — beautiful. A subject for the pen of Nonnus, or the 
 pencil of Zeuxis. Features of all loveliness, radiant with all 
 virtue and intelligence. A face for Antigone. A form at once 
 plump and symmetrical, that, if it be decorous to divine it by 
 externals, would have been a model for the Venus of Cnidos. 
 Never was anything so goodly to look on, the present company 
 excepted, and poor dear Mrs. Folliott. She reads moral 
 philosophy, Mr. Mac Quedy, which indeed she might as well 
 let alone ; she reads Italian poetry, Mr, Skionar ; she sings 
 Italian music, Mr. Trillo ; but, with all this, she has the 
 greatest of female virtues, for she superintends the household, 
 and looks after her husband's dinner. I believe she was a 
 mountaineer : Trapdevos ovpecrtcfiOLTOs, ipijfxadi (TvvTpo(f)os vXrjy^ 
 as Nonnus sweetly sings. 
 
 ^ A mountain-wandering maid, 
 Twin-nourished with the solitary wood. 
 
 302
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 CHAINMAIL HALL 
 
 • Vous autres dictes que ignorance est mere de tous maulx, et dictes 
 vray : mais toutesfoys vous ne la bannissez mye de vos entendemens, et 
 vivez en elle, avecques elle, et par elle. C'est pourquoy tant de maulx 
 vous meshaignent de jour en jour.' — Rabelais, 1. 5, c. 7. 
 
 The party which was assembled on Christmas Day in Chain- 
 mail Hall comprised all the guests of Crotchet Castle, some 
 of Mr. Chainmail's other neighbours, all his tenants and 
 domestics, and Captain Fitzchrome. The hall was spacious 
 and lofty ; and with its tall fluted pillars and pointed arches, 
 its windows of stained glass, its display of arms and banners 
 intermingled with holly and mistletoe, its blazing cressets and 
 torches, and a stupendous fire in the centre, on which blocks 
 of pine were flaming and crackling, had a striking effect on 
 eyes unaccustomed to such a dining-room. The fire was open 
 on all sides, and the smoke was caught and carried back, 
 under a funnel-formed canopy, into a hollow central pillar. 
 This fire was the line of demarcation between gentle and 
 simple, on days of high festival. Tables extended from it on 
 two sides, to nearly the end of the hall. 
 
 Mrs. Chainmail was introduced to the company. Young 
 Crotchet felt some revulsion of feeling at the unexpected sight 
 of one whom he had forsaken, but not forgotten, in a condition 
 apparently so much happier than his own. The lady held out 
 her hand to him with a cordial look of more than forgiveness ; 
 it seemed to say that she had much to thank him for. She 
 was the picture of a happy bride, rayoniiante de joie et 
 d^amour. 
 
 Mr. Crotchet told the Reverend Doctor Folliott the news of
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 the morning. ' As you predicted/ he said, ' your friend, the 
 learned friend, is in office ; he has also a title ; he is now Sir 
 Guy de Vaux.' 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Thank Heaven for that ! he is disarmed from further 
 mischief It is something, at any rate, to have that hollow 
 and wind-shaken reed rooted up for ever from the field of 
 public delusion. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 I suppose. Doctor, you do not like to see a great reformer 
 in office ; you are afraid for your vested interests. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Not I, indeed, sir ; my vested interests are very safe from 
 all such reformers as the learned friend. I vaticinate what 
 will be the upshot of all his schemes of reform. He will make 
 a speech of seven hours' duration, and this will be its quint- 
 essence : that, seeing the exceeding difficulty of putting salt on 
 the bird's tail, it will be expedient to consider the best method 
 of throwing dust in the bird's eyes. All the rest will be — 
 
 IcTLTtTlTL/XTrpO. 
 
 noTToiroi, irOTTOTToL 
 
 TlOTLOTLOTLOTLOTlOTLy^, 
 
 Ki/c/ca/SaO, KiKKa^av. 
 TopoTopoTopoTopoXiXiXiy^. ^ 
 
 as Aristophanes has it; and so I leave him, in Nephelococcygia.- 
 
 Mr. Mac Quedy came up to the divine as Mr. Crotchet left 
 him, and said : ' There is one piece of news which the old 
 gentleman has not told you. The great firm of Catchflat and 
 Company, in which young Crotchet is a partner, has stopped 
 payment.' 
 
 ^ Sounds without meaning ; imitative of the voices of birds. From the 
 "Opvides of Aristophanes. 
 
 - ' Cuckoo-city-in-the-clouds. ' From the same comedy.
 
 CHAINMAIL HALL 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Bless me ! that accounts for the young gentleman's melan- 
 choly. I thought they would overreach themselves with their 
 own tricks. The day of reckoning, Mr. Mac Quedy, is the 
 point which your paper-money science always leaves out of 
 view. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 I do not see, sir, that the failure of Catchflat and Company 
 has anything to do with my science. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 It has this to do with it, sir, that you would turn the whole 
 nation into a great paper-money shop, and take no thought of 
 the day of reckoning. But the dinner is coming. I think 
 you, who are so fond of paper promises, should dine on the 
 bill of fare. 
 
 The harper at the head of the hall struck up an ancient 
 march, and the dishes were brought in, in grand procession. 
 
 The boar's head, garnished with rosemary, with a citron in 
 its mouth, led the van. Then came tureens of plum-porridge ; 
 then a series of turkeys, and, in the midst of them, an enormous 
 sausage, which it required two men to carry. Then came 
 geese and capons, tongues and hams, the ancient glory of the 
 Christmas pie, a gigantic plum-pudding, a pyramid of minced 
 pies, and a baron of beef bringing up the rear. 
 
 ' It is something new under the sun,' said the divine, as he 
 sat down, ' to see a great dinner without fish.' 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Fish was for fasts, in the twelfth century. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Well, sir, I prefer our reformed system of putting fasts and 
 feasts together. Not but here is ample indemnity. 
 
 X 305
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 Ale and wine flowed in abundance. The dinner passed off 
 merrily : the old harper playing all the while the oldest music 
 in his repertory. The tables being cleared, he indemnified 
 himself for lost time at the lower end of the hall, in company 
 with the old butler and the other domestics, whose attendance 
 on the banquet had been indispensable. 
 
 The scheme of Christmas gambols, which Mr. Chainmail 
 had laid for the evening, was interrupted by a tremendous 
 clamour without. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 What have we here ? Mummers ? 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Nay, I know not. I expect none. 
 
 ' Who is there ? ' he added, approaching the door of the 
 hall. 
 
 ' Who is there ? ' vociferated the divine, with the voice of 
 Stentor. 
 
 * Captain Swing,' replied a chorus of discordant voices. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Ho, ho ! here is a piece of the dark ages we did not bargain 
 for. Here is the Jacquerie. Here is the march of mind with 
 a witness. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Do you not see that you have brought disparates together ? 
 the Jacquerie and the march of mind. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Not at all, sir. They are the same thing, under different 
 names. TLoWiov ovo/xartov fJiopcfir) yoita.^ What was Jacquerie 
 in the dark ages, is the march of mind in this very enlightened 
 one — very enlightened one. 
 
 1 ' One shape of many names.' 
 
 ^SCHYLUS, Prometheus. 
 
 306
 
 An old butler.
 
 CHAINMAIL HALL 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 The cause is the same in both ; poverty in despair. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Very likely ; but the effect is extremely disagreeable. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 It is the natural result, Mr. Mac Quedy, of that system of 
 state seamanship which your science upholds. Putting the 
 crew on short allowance, and doubling the rations of the 
 officers, is the sure way to make a mutiny on board a ship in 
 distress, Mr. Mac Quedy. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Eh ! sir, I uphold no such system as that. I shall set you 
 right as to cause and effect. Discontent increases with the 
 increase of information.^ That is all. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 I said it was the march of mind. But we have not time 
 for discussing cause and effect now. Let us get rid of the 
 enemy. 
 
 And he vociferated at the top of his voice, * What do you 
 want here ? ' 
 
 * Arms, arms,' replied a hundred voices. * Give us the arms.' 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 You see, Mr. Chainmail, this is the inconvenience of 
 
 ^ This looks so like caricature (a thing abhorrent to our candour), that 
 we must give authority for it. ' We ought to look the evil manfully in the 
 face, and not amuse ourselves with the dreams of fancy. The discontent 
 of the labourers in our times is rather a proof of their superior information 
 than of their deterioration.' — Morning Chronicle, 20th December 1830.
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 keeping an armoury, not fortified with sand bags, green bags, 
 and old bags of all kinds. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Just give them the old spits and toasting irons, and they 
 will go away quietly. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 My spears and swords ! not without my life. These 
 assailants are all aliens to my land and house. My men will 
 fight for me, one and all. This is the fortress of beef and ale. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Eh ! sir, when the rabble is up, it is very indiscriminating. 
 You are e'en suffering for the sins of Sir Simon Steeltrap, and 
 the like, who have pushed the principle of accumulation a little 
 too far. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 The way to keep the people down, is kind and liberal usage. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 That is very well (where it can be afforded), in the way of 
 prevention ; but in the way of cure, the operation must be more 
 drastic. {Taking down a battle-axe.^ I would fain have a 
 good blunderbuss charged with slugs. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 When I suspended these arms for ornament, I never dreamed 
 of their being called into use. 
 
 MR. SKIONAR 
 
 Let me address them. I never failed to convince an 
 audience that the best thing they could do was to go away. 
 
 310
 
 Seized a long lance ^ and tilted out on the raible^
 
 CHAINMAIL HALL 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Eh ! sir, I can bring them to that conclusion in less time 
 than you. 
 
 MR. CROTCHET 
 
 I have no fancy for fighting. It is a very hard case upon 
 a guest, when the latter end of a feast is the beginning of a 
 fray. 
 
 MR. MAC QUEDY 
 
 Give them the old iron. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Give them the weapons ! Pessimo^ viedms Jidzus, exemplo?- 
 Forbid it the spirit oi Fr ere Jean des Entotnmeures / No ! let 
 us see what the church militant, in the armour of the twelfth 
 century, will do against the march of mind. Follow me who 
 will, and stay who list. Here goes : Pro aris et focis ! that is, 
 for tithe pigs and fires to roast them ! 
 
 He clapped a helmet on his head, seized a long lance, threw 
 open the gates, and tilted out on the rabble, side by side with 
 Mr. Chainmail, followed by the greater portion of the male 
 inmates of the hall, who had armed themselves at random. 
 
 The rabble-rout, being unprepared for such a sortie, fled in 
 all directions, over hedge and ditch. 
 
 Mr. Trillo stayed in the hall, playing a march on the harp, 
 to inspirit the rest to sally out. The water-loving Mr. Philpot 
 had diluted himself with so much wine, as to be quite hors de 
 combat. Mr. Toogood, intending to equip himself in purely 
 defensive armour, contrived to slip a ponderous coat of mail 
 over his shoulders, which pinioned his arms to his sides ; and 
 in this condition, like a chicken trussed for roasting, he was 
 thrown down behind a pillar, in the first rush of the sortie. 
 Mr. Crotchet seized the occurrence as a pretext for staying 
 
 ^ • A most pernicious example, by Hercules ! ' 
 
 Petronius Arbiter. 
 
 313
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 with him, and passed the whole time of the action in picking 
 him out of his shell. 
 
 ' Phew ! ' said the divine, returning ; * an inglorious victory : 
 but it deserves a devil and a bowl of punch.' 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 A wassail-bowl. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 No, sir. No more of the twelfth century for me. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Nay, Doctor. The twelfth century has backed you well. 
 Its manners and habits, its community of kind feelings between 
 master and man, are the true remedy for these ebullitions. 
 
 MR. TOOGOOD 
 
 Something like it : improved by my diagram : arts for arms. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 No wassail-bowl for me. Give me an unsophisticated bowl 
 of punch, which belongs to that blissful middle period, after 
 the Jacquerie was down, and before the march of mind was up. 
 But, see, who is floundering in the water ? 
 
 Proceeding to the edge of the moat, they fished up Mr. 
 Firedamp, who had missed his way back, and tumbled in. He 
 was drawn out, exclaiming, ' that he had taken his last dose of 
 malaria in this world.' 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Tut, man ; dry clothes, a turkey's leg and rump, well devilled, 
 and a quart of strong punch, will set all to rights. 
 
 * Wood embers,' said Mr. Firedamp, when he had been ac- 
 commodated with a change of clothes, ' there is no antidote to 
 
 314
 
 liM/iliikliil 
 
 ' Picking him out of his shell.'
 
 CHAINMAIL HALL 
 
 malaria like the smoke of wood embers ; pine embers.' And 
 he placed himself, with his mouth open, close by the fire. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 Punch, sir, punch : there is no antidote like punch. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 Well, Doctor, you shall be indulged. But I shall have my 
 wassail-bowl, nevertheless. 
 
 An immense bowl of spiced wine, with roasted apples hissing 
 on its surface, was borne into the hall by four men, followed 
 by an empty bowl of the same dimensions, with all the materials 
 of arrack punch, for the divine's especial brev/age. He ac- 
 cinged himself to the task, with his usual heroism, and having 
 finished it to his entire satisfaction, reminded his host to order 
 in the devil. 
 
 THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT 
 
 I think, Mr. Chainmail, we can amuse ourselves very well 
 here all night. The enemy may be still excubant : and we had 
 better not disperse till daylight. I am perfectly satisfied with 
 my quarters. Let the young folks go on with their gambols ; 
 let them dance to your old harper's minstrelsy ; and if they 
 please to kiss under the mistletoe, whereof I espy a goodly 
 bunch suspended at the end of the hall, let those who like it 
 not, leave it to those who do. Moreover, if among the more 
 sedate portion of the assembly, which, I foresee, will keep me 
 company, there were any to revive the good old custom of 
 singing after supper, so to fill up the intervals of the dances, 
 the steps of night would move more lightly. 
 
 MR. CHAINMAIL 
 
 My Susan will set the example, after she has set that of 
 joining in the rustic dance, according to good customs long 
 departed. 
 
 After the first dance, in which all classes of the company 
 mingled, the young lady of the mansion took her harp, and 
 following the reverend gentleman's suggestion, sang a song of 
 the twelfth century. 
 
 317
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 FLORENCE AND BLANCHFLORi 
 
 Florence and Blanchflor, loveliest maids, 
 
 Within a summer grove, 
 Amid the flower-enamelled shades 
 
 Together talked of love. 
 
 A clerk sweet Blanchflor's heart had gain'd ; 
 
 Fair Florence loved a knight : 
 And each with ardent voice maintained. 
 
 She loved the worthiest wight. 
 
 Sweet Blanchflor praised her scholar dear, 
 
 As courteous, kind, and true ; 
 Fair Florence said her chevalier 
 
 Could every foe subdue. 
 
 And Florence scorned the bookworm vain, 
 Who sword nor spear could raise ; 
 
 And Blanchflor scorned the unlettered brain 
 Could sing no lady's praise. 
 
 From dearest love, the maidens bright 
 
 To deadly hatred fell, 
 Each turned to shun the other's sight, 
 
 And neither said farewell. 
 
 The king of birds, who held his court 
 
 Within that flowery grove. 
 Sang loudly : ' 'Twill be rare disport 
 
 To judge this suit of love. ' 
 
 Before him came the maidens bright, 
 
 With all his birds around. 
 To judge the cause, if clerk or knight 
 
 In love be worthiest found. 
 
 The falcon and the sparrow-hawk 
 
 Stood forward for the fight : 
 Ready to do, and not to talk. 
 
 They voted for the knight. 
 
 And Blanchflor's heart began to fail, 
 Till rose the strong-voiced lark, 
 
 And, after him, the nightingale, 
 And pleaded for the clerk. 
 
 ^ Imitated from the Fabliau, De Florance et de Blanche Flor, alias 
 Jugement d' Amour. 
 
 318
 
 CHAINMAIL HALL 
 
 The nightingale prevailed at length, 
 
 Her pleading had such charms ; 
 So eloquence can conquer strength, 
 
 And arts can conquer arms. 
 
 The lovely Florence tore her hair. 
 
 And died upon the place ; 
 And all the birds assembled there, 
 
 Bewailed the mournful case. 
 
 They piled up leaves and flowerets rare 
 
 Above the maiden bright, 
 And sang : ' Farewell to Florence fair, 
 
 Who too well loved her knight.' 
 
 Several others of the party sang in the intervals of the 
 dances. Mr. Chainmail handed to Mr. Trillo another ballad 
 of the twelfth century, of a merrier character than the former. 
 Mr. Trillo readily accommodated it with an air, and sang — 
 
 THE PRIEST AND THE MULBERRY TREE^ 
 
 Did you hear of the curate who mounted his mare, 
 
 And merrily trotted along to the fair ? 
 
 Of creature more tractable none ever heard ; 
 
 In the height of her speed she would stop at a word, 
 
 And again with a word, when the curate said Hey, 
 
 She put forth her mettle, and galloped away. 
 
 As near to the gates of the city he rode, 
 
 "While the sun of September all brilliantly glowed. 
 
 The good priest discovered, with eyes of desire, 
 
 A mulberry tree in a hedge of wild briar. 
 
 On boughs long and lofty, in many a green shoot. 
 
 Hung large, black, and glossy, the beautiful fruit. 
 
 The curate was hungry, and thirsty to boot ; 
 
 He shrunk from the thorns, though he longed for the fruit ; 
 
 With a word he arrested his courser's keen speed, 
 
 And he stood up erect on the back of his steed ; 
 
 On the saddle he stood, while the creature stood still. 
 
 And he gathered the fruit, till he took his good fill. 
 
 * Sure never,' he thought, ' was a creature so rare, 
 So docile, so true, as my excellent mare. 
 
 1 Imitated from the Fabliau, Du Provoire qui mengea des Mores,
 
 CROTCHET CASTLE 
 
 Lo, here, how I stand ' (and he gazed all around), 
 ' As safe and as steady as if on the ground, 
 Yet how had it been, if some traveller this way, 
 Had, dreaming no mischief, but chanced to cry Hey ? ' 
 
 He stood with his head in the mulberry tree, 
 
 And he spoke out aloud in his fond reverie : 
 
 At the sound of the word, the good mare made a push, 
 
 And down went the priest in the wild-briar bush. 
 
 He remembered too late, on his thorny green bed. 
 
 Much that well may be thought, cannot wisely be said. 
 
 Lady Clarinda, being prevailed on to take the harp in her 
 turn, sang the following stanzas : — 
 
 In the days of old, 
 Lovers felt true passion, 
 Deeming years of sorrow 
 By a smile repaid. 
 Now the charms of gold. 
 Spells of pride and fashion. 
 Bid them, say good-morrow 
 To the best-loved maid. 
 
 Through the forests wild, 
 O'er the mountains lonely, 
 They were never weary 
 Honour to pursue : 
 If the damsel smiled 
 Once in seven years only, 
 All their wanderings dreary. 
 Ample guerdon knew. 
 
 Now one day's caprice 
 Weighs down years of smiling, 
 Youthful hearts are rovers. 
 Love is bought and sold : 
 Fortune's gifts may cease, 
 Love is less beguiling ; 
 Wiser were the lovers, 
 In the days of old. 
 
 The glance which she threw at the captain, as she sang 
 the last verse, awakened his dormant hopes. Looking round 
 for his rival, he saw that he was not in the hall ; and, approach- 
 ing the lady of his heart, he received one of the sweetest smiles 
 of their earlier days. 
 
 320
 
 CHAINMAIL HALL 
 
 After a time, the ladies, and all the females of the party, 
 retired. The males remained on duty with punch and wassail, 
 and dropped off one by one into sweet forgetfulness ; so that 
 when the rising sun of December looked through the painted 
 windows on mouldering embers and flickering lamps, the 
 vaulted roof was echoing to a mellifluous concert of noses, 
 from the clarionet of the waiting-boy at one end of the hall, to 
 the double bass of the Reverend Doctor, ringing over the 
 empty punch-bowl, at the other. 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 From this eventful night, young Crotchet was seen no more 
 on English mould. Whither he had vanished, was a question 
 that could no more be answered in his case, than in that of 
 King Arthur, after the battle of Camlan. The great firm of 
 Catchflat and Company figured in the Gazette^ and paid six- 
 pence in the pound ; and it was clear that he had shrunk from 
 exhibiting himself on the scene of his former greatness, shorn 
 of the beams of his paper prosperity. Some supposed him to 
 be sleeping among the undiscoverable secrets of some barbel- 
 pool in the Thames ; but those who knew him best were more 
 inclined to the opinion that he had gone across the Atlantic, 
 with his pockets full of surplus capital, to join his old acquaint- 
 ance, Mr. Touchandgo, in the bank of Dotandcarryonetown. 
 
 Lady Clarinda was more sorry for her father's disappoint- 
 ment than her own ; but she had too much pride to allow 
 herself to be put up a second time in the money-market ; and 
 when the captain renewed his assiduities, her old partiality for 
 him, combining with a sense of gratitude for a degree of 
 constancy which she knew she scarcely deserved, induced her, 
 with Lord Foolincourt's hard-wrung consent, to share with him 
 a more humble, but less precarious fortune, than that to which 
 she had been destined as the price of a rotten borough. 
 
 321 
 
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