 Introduction of Kenilworth. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Kenilworth by Sir Walter Scott. Introduction. A certain degree of success, real or supposed, in the delineation of Queen Mary, naturally induced the author to attempt something similar respecting her sister and her foe, the celebrated Elizabeth. He will not, however, pretend to have approached the task with the same feelings, for the candid Robertson himself confesses having felt the prejudices with which a Scottishman is tempted to regard the subject. And what so liberal a historian avows, a poor romance writer dares not to zone. But he hopes the influence of a prejudice, almost as natural to whom as his native heir, will not be found to have greatly affected the sketch he has attempted of England's Elizabeth. I have endeavored to describe her as, at once, a high-minded sovereign and a female of passionate feelings, hesitating betwixt the sense of her rank and the duty she owed her subjects on the one hand, and on the other, her attachment to a nobleman, who, in external qualifications at least, amply merited her favour. The interest of the story is thrown upon that period when the sudden death of the first Countess of Lester seemed to open the ambition of her husband, the opportunity of sharing the crown of his sovereign. It is possible that slander, which very seldom favours the memories of persons in exalted stations, may have blackened the character of Lester, with darker shades than really belonged to it. But the almost general voice of the times attached the most foul suspicions to the death of the unfortunate Countess, more especially as it took place so very opportunely for the indulgence of her lover's ambition. If we trust Ashmole's antiquities of Berkshire, there was but too much ground for the traditions which charged Lester with the murder of his wife. In the following extract of the passage, the reader will find the authority I had for the story of the romance. At the west end of the church are the ruins of a manor, anciently belonging, as a cell or place of removal, as some report, to the monks of Abington. At the dissolution, the said manor or lordship was conveyed to one, Owen I believe, the possessor of God-style, then. In the hall over the chimney, I find Abington arms cut in stone, namely a petuny between four martlets, and also another a sketching, namely a lion-rampant, and several mitres cut in stone about the house. There is also in the said house a chamber called Dudley's Chamber where the Earl of Lester's wife was murdered, of which this is the story following. Robert Dudley, Earl of Lester, a very goodly personage, and singularly well-featured, being a great favorite to Queen Elizabeth, it was thought, and commonly reported, that had he been a bachelor or widower, the Queen would have made him her husband. To this end, to free himself of all obstacles, he commands, or perhaps with fair flattering entreaties, desires his wife to repose herself here, at his servant Anthony Worcester's house, who then lived in the aforesaid manor house, and also prescribes to Sir Richard Varney, a prompter to his design, at his coming hither, that he should first attempt to poison her, and if that did not take effect, then by any other way whatsoever, to dispatch her. This, it seems, was proved by the report of Dr. Walter Bailey, some time fellow of New College, then living in Oxford, and professor of physics in that university, whom, because he would not consent to take away her life by poison, the Earl endeavored to displace him the court. This man, it seems, reported for most certain, that there was a practice in Cumner, among the conspirators, to have poisoned this poor innocent lady, a little before she was killed, which was attempted after this manor. They, seeing the good lady sad and heavy, as one that, while new, by her other handling, that her death was not far off, began to persuade her that her present disease was abundance of melancholy and other humours, etc., and therefore would needs counsel her to take some potion, which she absolutely refusing to do, as still suspecting the worst. Whereupon they sent a messenger on a day, unawares to her, for Dr. Bailey, and entreated him to persuade her to take some little potion by his direction, and they would fetch the same at Oxford, meaning to have added something of their own for her comfort, as the doctor upon, just cause and consideration, did suspect, seeing their great importunity, and the small need the lady had of physics, and therefore he preptorily denied their request. Miss Doubting, as he afterwards reported, lest if they had poisoned her under the name of his potion, he might after have been hanged for a colour of their sin, and the doctor remained still well assured that this way, taking no effect, she would not long escape their violence, which afterwards happened thus. For Sir Richard Barney, above said, the chief projector in this design, who, by the Earl's order, remained that day of her death alone with her, with one man only, and forced her, who had that day forcibly sent away all her servants from her to Abington Market, about three miles distant from this place. They, I say, whether first stifling her, or else strangling her, afterwards flung her down a pair of stairs and broke her neck, using much violence upon her. But, however, though it was vulgarly reported that she by chance fell downstairs, but still without hurting her hood that was upon her head, yet the inhabitants will tell you there that she was conveyed from her usual chamber where she lay, to another where the bed's head of the chamber stood close to a privy poster and door, where they in the night came and stifled her in her bed, bruised her head very much broke her neck and, at length, flung her downstairs, thereby believing the world would have thought it a mischance, and so have blinded their villainy. But behold the mercy and justice of God in revenging and discovering this lady's murder, for one of the persons that was a co-adjuder in this murder was afterwards taken for a felony in the marches of Wales, and offering to publish the manner of the aforesaid murder was privately made away in the prison by the Earl's appointment. And Sir Richard Barney, the other, dying about the same time in London, cried miserably and blasphemed God, and said to a person of note, who hath related the same to other since, not long before his death, that all the devils in hell did tear him in pieces. Forster likewise, after this fact, being a man formerly addicted to hospitality, company, mirth, and music, was afterwards observed to forsake all this, and with much melancholy and pensiveness, some say with madness, pined and drooped away. The wife also of Bald Butter, kinsman, to the Earl, gave out the whole fact a little before her death. Neither are these following passages to be forgotten, that as soon as ever she was murdered, they made great haste to bury her before the coroner had given in his inquest, which the Earl himself condemned as not done advisedly, which her father, or Sir John Roberset, as I suppose, hearing of, came with all speed hither, caused her corpse to be taken up, the coroner to sit upon her, and further inquiry to be made concerning the business to the fool. But it was generally thought that the Earl stopped his mouth, and made of the business betwixt them, and the good Earl, to make plain to the world the great love he bear to her while alive, and what a grief the loss of so virtuous a lady was to his tender heart, caused, though the thing, by these and other means, was beaten into the heads of the principal men of the University of Oxford, her body to be reburied in St. Mary's Church in Oxford, with great pomp and solemnity. It is remarkable, when Dr. Babington, the Earl's chaplain, did preach the funeral sermon, he tripped once or twice in his speech, by recommending, to their memories, that virtuous lady, so pitifully murdered, instead of saying, pitifully slain. This Earl, after all his murders and poisonings, was himself poisoned by that which was prepared for others, some say by his wife at Cornbury Lodge, before mentioned, though Baker and his chronicle would have it at Killingworth. Anno, 1588. Ashmole's antiquities of Berkshire, Volume I, page 149, the tradition as to Lester's death, was thus communicated by Ben Johnson to drummen of Hawthorndon. The Earl of Lester gave a bottle of liquor to his lady, which he willed her to use in any faintness, which she, after his return from court, not knowing it was poison, gave him, and so he died. Ben Johnson's information to drummen of Hawthorndon. Manuscript Sir Robert Sibould's copy. The same accusation has been adopted and circulated by the author of Lester's Commonwealth, a satire written directly against the Earl of Lester, which loaded him with the most horrid crimes, and, among the rest, with the murder of his first wife. It was alluded to in The Yorkshire Tragedy, a play erroneously ascribed to Shakespeare, where Baker, who determines to destroy all his family, throws his wife downstairs, with this allusion to the supposed murder of Lester's lady. The only way to charm a woman's tongue is break her neck, a politician did it. The reader will find that I have borrowed several incidents as well as names from Ashmole and the more early authorities. But my first acquaintance with the history was through the more pleasing medium of verse. There is a period in youth when the mere power of numbers has a more strong effect on ear and imagination than in more advanced life. At this season of immature taste, the author was greatly delighted with the poems of Mikkel and Langhorn. Poets who, though by no means deficient in the higher branches of their art, were eminent for their powers of verbal melody, above most, who have practiced this department of poetry. One of those pieces of Mikkel, which the author was particularly pleased with, is a ballon, or rather a species of elegy, on the subject of Cummner Hall, which with others by the same author was to be found in Evans's ancient ballons, Volume 4, page 130, to which work Mikkel made liberal contributions. The first stanza especially had a peculiar species of enchantment for the youthful ear of the author, the force of which is not even now entirely spent. Some others are sufficiently prosaic. Cummner Hall. The dues of summer night did fall, the moon, sweet region of the sky, silver the walls of Cummner Hall, and many an oak that grew thereby. Now not was heard beneath the skies, the sounds of busy life were still, save an unhappy lady's sighs that issued from that lonely pile. Lester, she cried, is this thy love that thou so oft has sworn to me to lead me in this lonely grove, a mirrored and shameful privity? No more thou comest was lover's speed, thy once beloved bride to see, but be she alive or be she dead, I fear stern earl, it's the same to thee. Not so the usage I received when happy in my father's hall, no faithless husband then me grieved, no chilling fears did me appall. I rose up with the cheerful morn, no lark more blithe, no flower more gay, and like the bird that haunts the thorn, so merrily sung the live long day. If that my beauty is but small, among court ladies, all despised, why did thou rend it from the hall, where scorned for earl, it well was prized. And when you first to me made suit, how fair I was, you oft would say, and proud of conquest plucked the fruit, then left the blossom to decay. Yes, now neglected and despised, the roses pale, the lilies dead, but he that wants their charms so prized, is sure the cause those charms are fled. For no, when sickening grief doth pray, and tender loves repay with scorn, the sweetest beauty will decay, what flower it can endure the storm. I court am told is beauty's throne, where every lady's passing rare, that eastern flowers, that shame the sun, are not so glowing, not so fair. Then earl, why did thou leave the beds where roses and where lilies lie, to seek a primrose, whose pale shades must sicken when those gods are by. Among rural beauties I was one, among the fields while flowers are fair. Some country swaying, might me of one, and thought my beauty passing rare, but lester, or I much am wrong, or tis not beauty lures thy vows, rather ambition's gilded crown makes thee forget thy humble spouse. Then lester, why again I plead, the injured surely may repine, why did thou wed a country maid, when some fair princess might be thine? Why did thou praise my humble charms, and oh, then leave them to decay? Why did thou win me to thy arms, then leave to mourn the live long day? The village maidens of the plain salute me lowly as they go, envious they mark my silken train, nor think accountants can have woe. The simple nymphs, they little know how far more happy their estate, to smile for joy, than sigh for woe, to be content, than to be great. How far less blessed am I than them, daily to pine in waste with care, like the poor plant that, from its stem divided, fills the chilling air. Nor cruel earl can I enjoy the humble charms of solitude, your minions proud my peace destroy, by sullen frowns or prattings rude. Last night, as sad I chanced to stray, the village death-bell smote my ear. They winked aside, and seemed to say, Countess, prepare, thy end is near. And now, while happy peasant sleep, here I sit lonely and forlorn, no one to soothe me as I weep, say Philamel, on yonder thorn. My spirits flag, my hopes decay. Still that dread, death-bell smites my ear. And many abotings seems to say, Countess, prepare, thy end is near. Thus soaring sad that lady grieved, in Cumnerhall, so lone and drear. And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved, and let fall, many a bitter tear. An air of the dawn of day appeared, in Cumnerhall, so lone and drear. Full many a piercing scream was heard, and many a cry of mortal fear. The death-bell thrice was heard to ring. An aerial voice was heard to call. And thrice the raven flapped its wing, around the towers of Cumnerhall. The mast of Hald at village door, the oaks were shattered on the green. Woe was the hour, for nevermore, that hapless Countess, air was seen. And in that manner now no more is cheerful feast and sprightly ball, for ever since that dreary hour has spirits haunted Cumnerhall. The village maids, with fearful glance, avoid the ancient moss-grown wall, nor ever lead the merry dance among the groves of Cumnerhall. Full many a traveller off tath side, and pensive wept the Countess's hall. As wandering onward, they the spine, the haunted towers of Cumnerhall. I am an innkeeper, and know my grounds, and study them. Bray no man, I study them. I must have jovial guests to drive my plows, and whistling boys to bring my harvest home, or I shall hear no flails thwack. The new inn. It is the privilege of tail-tellers, to open their story in an inn. The free rendezvous of all travellers, and where the humour of each displayed thyself without ceremony or restraint. This is specially suitable when the scene is laid during the old days of merry England, when the guests were in some sort, not merely the inmates, but the mess-mates and temporary companions of mine-hosts, who was usually a personage of privileged freedom, cumbly presence, and good humour. Patronised by him, the characters of the company were placed in ready contrast, and they seldom failed during the emptying of a six-hooped pot to throw off reserve, and present themselves to each other and to their landlord with the freedom of old acquaintance. The village of Cumner, within three or four miles of Oxford, boasted during the eighteenth of Queen Elizabeth, an excellent inn in the old stamp, conducted, or rather ruled, by Giles Gosling, a man of goodly person, and of somewhat round belly. Fifty years of age and upwards, moderate in his reckonings, prompt in his payments, having the seller of sound liquor, a ready wit, and a pretty daughter. Since the days of old Harry Bailey, of the Tavern and Southwork, no one had excelled Giles Gosling in the power of pleasing this guest of every description, and so great was his fame, that to have been in Cumner without winning a cup at the Monty Black Bear would have been to avouch oneself utterly indifferent to reputation as a traveller. A country fellow might as well return from London without looking in the face of majesty. The men of Cumner were proud of their host, and their host was proud of his house, his liquor, his daughter, and himself. The courtyard of the inn, which called this honest fellow landlord, that a traveller alighted in the close of the evening, gave his horse, which seemed to have made a long journey to the Hossler, and made some inquiry, which produced the following dialogue betwixt the murmidons of the Bonnie Black Bear. What ho! John tapster! At hand, will Hossler reply the man of the spigot, showing himself in his costume of loose jacket, linen britches, and green apron, half within and half without a door, which appeared to descend to an outer cellar. Here is a gentleman asked if you draw a good ale, continued the Hossler. The shrew my heart else, answered the tapster, since are about four miles betwixt us and Oxford. Mary, if my ale did not convince the heads of the scholars, they would soon convince my paint with the pewter-flagon. Call you that Oxford logic, said the stranger, who had now quitted the reign of his horse, and was advancing towards the inn door, where he was encountered by the goodly form of Giles Gosling himself. Is it logic you talk of, sir guest, said the host, why then, have at you with a downright consequence, the horse to the rack, and fire with the sack? Amen. With all my heart, my good host, said the stranger. Let it be a quart of your best canaries, and give me your good help to drink it. Nay, you are but in your accidents yet, sir traveller, if you call on your host for help for such a sippy matter as a quart of sack. Word a-gallon, you might lack some neighbouring aid at my hand, and yet call yourself a toper. Fear me not, said the guest, I will do my devoir as becomes a man who finds himself within five miles of Oxford, for I am not come from the field of Mars to discredit myself amongst the followers of Minerva. As he spoke thus the landlord, with much semblance of hearty welcome, ushered his guest into a large, low chamber, where several persons were seated together in different parties, some drinking, some playing at cards, some conversing, and some whose business called them to be early risers on the morrow, concluding their evening meal and conferring with the chamberlain about their night's quarters. The instruments of the stranger procured him that general and careless sort of attention, which is usually paid on such occasions, from which the following results were deduced. The guest was one of those who, with a well-made person, and features not in themselves unpleasing, are nevertheless so far from handsome, that whether from the expression of their features, or the tone of their voice, or from their gate and manner, there arises on the whole a disinclination to their society. The stranger's address was bold, without being frank, and seemed eagerly and hastily to claim for him a degree of attention and deference, which he feared would be refused, if not instantly vindicated as his right. His attire was a riding-cloak, which, when open, displayed a handsome jerkin overlaid with lace, and belted with a buff girdle, which sustained a broadsword and a pair of pistols. "'You ride while provided, sir,' said the host, looking at the weapons as he placed on the table, the mold sack which the traveller had ordered. "'Yes,' my host, I have found the use-aunt in dangerous times, and I do not, like your modern grandies, turn off my followers the instant they are useless. "'Hi, sir,' said Giles Gosling. "'Then you are from the Low Countries, the land of Pike and Calaver.' "'I have been high and low, my friend, broad and wide, far and near. "'But here is to thee in a cup of thy sack. Fill thyself another to pledge me, and, if it is less than superlative, even drink as you have brewed.' "'Less than superlative?' said Giles Gosling, drinking off the cup and smacking his lips with an air of ineffable relish. "'I know nothing of superlative, nor is there such a wine at the three cranes in the ventry, to my knowledge. "'But if you find better sack than that in the Sherries, or in the Canaries either, I would I may never touch either pot or penny more. "'Why, hold it up betwixt you in the light. "'You shall see the little moats dance in the golden liquor, like dust in the sun-beam. "'But I would rather draw wine for ten clowns than one traveller. "'I trust your honour likes the wine.' "'It is neat and comfortable, my host, but to know good liquor you should drink where the vine grows. "'Trust me, your Spaniard is too wise a man to send you the very soul of the grape. "'Why, this now, would you account so choice? "'We're counted but as a cup of bastard at the groin, or at Point St. Mary's. "'You should travel, my host, if you would be deep in the mysteries of the but, and pot or pot.' "'In truth,' said your guest,' said Giles Gosling, "'if I were to travel only that I might be discontented with that which I can get at home. "'Me thinks I should go, but a fool's errand. "'Besides, I warn you, there is many a fool can turn his nose up at good drink without ever having been out of the smoke of Old England. "'And so, ever, Gramercy, my own fireside.' "'This is but a mean mind of yours, my host,' said the stranger. "'I warn me, all your townsfolk do not think so basely. "'You have gallants among you, I dare undertake, that have made the Virginia voyage, or taken a turn in the low countries at least. "'Come, cuddle your memory. "'Have you no friends in foreign parts that you would gladly have tidings of?' "'Troats, sir, not I,' answered the host. "'Since Rantine Moblin of Driesenforn was shot at the siege of the Brill, the devil take the caliber that fired the ball, for a blighter lad never filled a cup at midnight. "'But he is dead and gone, and I know not a soldier, or a traveler, who is a soldier's mate, that I would give a peeled codling for.' "'By the mass, that is strange. "'What? "'So many of our brave English hearts are abroad, and you, who seem to be a man of mark, have no friend, no kinsmen among them.' "'Nay, if you speak of kinsmen,' answered Gosling, I have one wild slip of a kinsman, who left us in the last year of Queen Mary. "'But he is better lost than found.' "'Do not say so, friend, unless you have heard ill of him lately. "'Many a wild colt has turned out a normal steed. "'His name, I pray you.' "'Michael Lamborn,' answered the landlord of the black bear, "'a son of my sisters. "'There is little pleasure in recollecting either the name or the connection.' "'Michael Lamborn,' said the stranger, as if endeavoring to recollect himself, what, no relation to Michael Lamborn, the gallant cavalier, who behaved so bravely at the siege of Benlow, that grave morris thanked him at the head of the army. Men said he was an English cavalier, and of no high extraction. "'It could scarcely be my nephew,' said Giles Gosling, for he had not the courage of a hen-partridge forot but mischief. "'Oh, many a man finds courage in the wars,' replied the stranger. "'It may be,' said the landlord, but I would have thought our Mike more likely to lose the little he had.' The Michael Lamborn, whom I knew, continued the traveller, was a likely fellow, when always gay and well attired, and had a hawk's eye after a pretty wench. "'Our Michael,' replied the host, had the look of a dog with a bottle on its tail, and wore a coat every rag of wench was bidding good day to the rest. "'Oh, men pick up good apparel in the wars,' replied the guest. "'Our Mike,' answered the landlord, was more like to pick it up in a frippery warehouse, while the broker was looking another way. "'And for the hawk's eye you talk of.' His was always after my stray spoons.' He was Tapster's boy, here in this blessed house for a quarter of a year. And between misreconyms, miscarriages, mistakes, and misdemeanors, had he dwelt with me for three months longer. I might have pulled down sign, shut up house, and given the devil the key to keep.' "'You would be sorry, after all,' continued the traveller, were I to tell you poor Mike Lamborn was shot at the head of his regiment, at the taking of the sconce near Maastridge. "'Sorry!' It would be the blithest news I ever heard of him, since it would ensure me he was not hanged. Buzz let him pass. I doubt his end will never do such credit to his friends.' "'Were it so, I should say. Taking another cup of sack. Here's God rest him, with all my heart.' "'Tush, man,' replied the traveller. Never fear but you will have credit by your nephew yet, especially if he be the Michael Lamborn who I knew, and loved very nearly or altogether as well as myself. "'Can you tell me no mark by which I could judge whether they be the same?' "'Faith, none that I can think of,' answered Giles Gosling, unless that of Mike had the gallows branded on his left shoulder for stealing a silver coddle-cup from Dame Snort of Hogstinch. "'Nay, there you lie like a nave, uncle,' said the stranger, slipping aside his ruff and turning down the ruff of his doublet from his neck and shoulder. By this good day my shoulder is as unscarred as thine own.' "'One, Mike, boy, Mike,' exclaimed the host. "'And is it thou in good earnest?' "'Nay, I have judged so for this half hour, for I knew no other person would have taken half the interest in thee.' "'But, Mike, and thy shoulder be unscathed as thou must own, that good man thong, the hangman was merciful in his office, and stamped thee with a cold iron.' "'Tou, shunkel, truce with your jests. Keep them to season your soul ale, and let us see what hearty welcome thou wilt give a kinsman, who has rolled the world around for eighteen years, who has seen the sunset where it rises, and has traveled till the west has become the east.' "'Thou has bought back one traveller's gift with thee, Mike, as I will see. And that was what thou least instanced, need to travel for. I remember well among thine other qualities. There was no credit in a word which came from thine mouth.' "'Here is an unbelieving pangan for you gentlemen,' said Michael Mamborn, turning to those who witnessed this strange interview betwixt uncle and nephew, some of whom, being natives of the village, were no strangers to his juvenile wildness. This may be called slaying a comner fatted calf for me with a vengeance. But, uncle, I came not from the hus and the swine trough, and I care not for thy welcome, or no welcome. I carry that with me, will make me welcome. Wend where I will.' So sane he pulled out a purse of gold, indifferently while filled, the side of which produced a visible effect upon the company. Some shook their heads and whispered to each other, while one or two of the less scrupulous speedily began to recollect him as a school companion, a townsman, or so forth. On the other hand, two or three grave, sedate-looking persons shook their heads and left the inn, hinting that if Giles Gosling wished to continue to thrive he should turn, his thriftless, godless nephew, a drift again, as soon as he could. Gosling demeaned himself as if he were much of the same opinion, for even the side of the gold made less impression on the honest gentleman than it usually doth upon one of his calling. Kinsman Michael, he said, put up thy purse. My sister's son shall be called to no reckoning in my house for supper or lodging, and I reckon that thou wilt hardly wish to stay longer, where there aren't even but too well known. For that matter, uncle, replied the traveller, I shall consult my own needs and conveniences. Meantime I wish to give the supper and sleeping-cup to those good townsmen who are not too proud to remember Mike Lamborn, the tapster's boy. If you will let me have entertainment for my money, so, if not, it is but a short two minutes' walk to the Heron Tabor. And I trust our neighbors will not grudge going thus far with me. Nay, Mike, replied his uncle, as eighteen years have gone over thy head, and I trust thou art somewhat amended in thy conditions, thou shalt not leave my house at this hour, and shalt even have whatever and reason, useless to call for, but I would I knew that that purse of thine, which thou vaporist of, were as well come by, as it seems, well filled. Here is an infantile for you, my good neighbors, said Lamborn, again appealing to the audience. Here's a fellow who will rip up his kinsmen's follies of a good score of year standing. And for the gold, wise sirs, I have been where it grew, and was to be had for the gathering. In the new world have I been, man, in the El Dorado, where urchins play at cherry-pit with diamonds, and country-wunches thread rubies for necklaces, instead of row-and-tree berries, where the pantillies are made of pure gold and the paving-stones of virgin silver. By my credit, friend Mike, said young Laurence Goldthrun, the cutting-mercer of Abenden, that were a likely coast to trade to, and what man lawns, cypresses, and ribbon-stretch were gold is so plenty. Oh, the Prophet were unutterable, replied Lamborn, especially when a handsome young merchant bears the pack himself. For the ladies of that climb are Mona Robas, and being themselves somewhat sunburned, they catch fire like tinder, and a fresh complexion like mine, with a head of hair inclining to be run. I would I might trade thither, said the Mercer, chuckling. Why, and so thou mayest, said Michael, that is, if thou art the same brisk boy who was partnered with me at robbing the Abbot's orchard, tis but a little touch of alchemy to decock thy house, and land into ready money, and that ready money into a tall ship, with sails, anchors, cordage, and all things conforming, then clap thy warehouse of goods under hatches, put fifty good fellows on deck, with myself to command them, and so hoist top sails and hay for the new world. Thou has taught him a secret kinsman, said Giles Gosling, to decocked, and, that be the word, his pound into a penny, and his webs into a thread. Take a fool's advice, neighbor, gold thread. Tempt not the sea, for she is a devour. Let cards and cockatrices do their worst. Thy father's bails may bind, a banging for a year or two ere thou comest to the spittle. But the sea hath a bottomless appetite. She would swallow the wealth of Lumberd Street in a mooring, as easily as I would a poached egg and a cup of clary. And for my kinsman's al Dorado. Never trust me if I do not believe he is founded in the pouches of some such goals as thyself. But take no snuff in the nose about it. Fall to and welcome, for here comes the supper, and I heartily bestow it on all that will take share in honor of my hopeful nephew's return, always trusting that he has come home another man. In faith, kinsman, thou art as like my poor sister as ever was son to mother. Not quite so, like old Benedict to Lamborn. Her husband, though, said the Mercer, nodding and winking. Does thou remember, Mike, what thou saidest when the school-masters, for rule, was over three for striking up the father's crutches? It is a wise child, saidest thou, that knows its own father. Dr. Bircham laughed till he cried again, and his crying saved yours. Well, he made it up to me many a day after, said Lamborn. And how is the worthy pedagogue? Dad, said Giles Gosling, this many a day since. That he is, said the clerk of the parish. I sat by his bed the waltzed. He passed away in a blessed frame. Morrier, more to you assume, well-fewy. Morrie, these words languished words. And he just added, my last firm is conjugated. Well, peace be with him, said Mike. He owes me nothing. No truly replied gold-thread, and every lash which he laid on thee he always was wont to say he spared the hangman a labour. One would have thought he left him little to do then, said the clerk, and yet Goodman Thong had no sign of cure of it with our friend, after all. Bodo adios, is claimed Lamborn. His patience appearing to fail him, as he snatched his brawn, slouch-tat, from the table and placed it on his head, so that the shadow gave the sinister expression of a Spanish brave to eyes and features, which naturally boated nothing pleasant. Harky, my masters, all is fair among friends and under the rose. And I have already permitted my worthy uncle here, and all of you, to use your pleasure with the phallics of my knowledge. But I carry sword and dagger, my good friends, and can use them lightly, too, upon occasion. I have learned to be dangerous upon points of honour, ever since I served the Spaniard, and I would not have you provoke me to the degree of falling foul. Why, what would you do, said the clerk? Aye, sir, what would you do, said the Mercer, bustling up on the other side of the table? Slit your throat, and spoil your Sunday's quavering, sir clerk. Said Lamborn, fiercely. Cuddle you, my worstiful dealer in flimsy, sarsenance, into one of your own bails. Come, come, said the host, interposing. I'll have no swaggering here. Nephew, it will become you best to show no haste to take offence, and you, gentlemen, will do well to remember that if you are in and in, still you are the innkeeper's guest, and should spare the honour of his family. I protest your silly broils make me as oblivious as yourself, for Yonder sits my silent guest, as I call him, who hath been my two days inmate and hath never spoken a word, safe to ask for his food and his reckoning, gives no more trouble than a very peasant, pays his shot like a Prince Royal, looks but at the sum total of the reckoning, and does not know what day he shall go away. Oh, tis a jewel of a guest, and yet, hang-dog than I am, I have suffered him to sit by himself, like a castaway, and yonder obscure nook, without so much as asking him to take by and or sup along with us. It were, but the ride-girding of my incivility, were he to set off to the hair and taper before the night grows older. With his white napkin, gracefully ranged over his left arm, his velvet cap laid aside for the moment, and his best silver flag in his right hand, my host walked up to the solitary guest whom he mentioned, and thereby turned upon him, the eyes of the assembled company. He was a man aged between 25 and 30, rather above the middle size, dressed with plainness and decency, yet bearing an air of ease which almost amounted to dignity, and which seemed to infer that his habit was rather beneath his rank. His countenance was reserved and thoughtful, with dark hair and dark eyes. The last, upon any momentary excitement, sparkled with uncommon luster, but on other occasions had the same meditative and tranquil cast, which was exhibited by his features. The busy curiosity of the little village had been employed to discover his name and quality, as well as his business at Cumner, but nothing had transpired on either subject which could lead to its gratification. Giles Gosling, head borough of the place and a steady friend to Queen Elizabeth and the Protestant religion, was at one time inclined to suspect his guest of being a Jesuit or a seminary priest, of whom Rome and Spain sent at this time so many to grace the gallows in England. But it was scarce possible to retain such a pre-possession against a guest who gave so little trouble, paid his reckoning so regularly, and who proposed, as it seemed, to make a considerable stay at the Bonnie Black Bear. Papus, argued Giles Gosling, are a pinching, close-fisted race, and this man would have found a lodging with the wealthy squire at Besselsea or with the old knight at Wooten or in some other of their Roman dens instead of living in a house of public entertainment as every honest man and good Christian should. Besides, on Friday, he's stuck by the salt-beef and carrot, though there were as good spitch cocktails on the board as ever were taken out of the Isis. Honest Giles, therefore, satisfied himself that his guest was no Roman, and with all, cumbly courtesy, besought the stranger to pledge him a draft of the cool tankern and honour with his attention a small collation which he was giving to his nephew in honour of his return and, as he verily hoped, of his reformation. The stranger at first shook his head as if declining the courtesy, but mind-host proceeded to urge him with arguments founded on the credit of his house and the construction which the good people of Cumbner might put upon such an unsocial humour. By my faith, sir, he said, it touches my reputation that men should be merry in my house and we have ill tongues amongst us at Cumbner as were be there not. Who put an evil mark on men who pull their hat over their brows as if they were looking back to the days that are gone instead of enjoying the blithe, sun-shiny weather which God has sent us in the sweet looks of our sovereign mistress, Queen Elizabeth, whom heaven long bless and preserve. Why, mind-host, answered the stranger, there is no treason, sure, and a man's enjoying his own thoughts under the shadow of his own bonnet. You have lived in the world twice as long as I have and you must know there are thoughts that will haunt us in spite of ourselves and to which it is in vain to say, be gone and let me be merry. By my sooth, answered Giles Gosling, if such troublesome thoughts haunt your mind and will not get them gone for plain English, we will have one of Father Bacon's pupils from Oxford to conjure them away with logic and with Hebrew or would say you delaying them in a glorious red sea of Claret, my noble guest. Come, sir, excuse my freedom. I am an old host and must have my talk. This peevish humor, melancholy sits ill upon you. It suits not with a sleek boot, a hat of trimmed lock, a fresh cloak and a full purse, a pies on it. Send it off to those who have their legs swayed with a hay-whisp, their heads thatched with the felt bonnet, their jerkin as thin as a cobweb and their pouch, it's out over a cross to keep the fiend melancholy from dancing in it. Cheer up, sir, or by this good liquor we shall banish thee from the joys of blithesome company into the midst of melancholy and the land of little ease. Here be a set of good fellows willing to be merry. Do not scowl on them, like the devil looking over Lincoln. You say, well, my worthy host, said the guest, with a melancholy smile, which, melancholy as it was, gave a very pleasant expression to his countenance. You say, well, my jovial friend, and may that our moody like myself should not disturb the mirth of those who are happy. I will drink around with your guests, with all my heart, rather than be termed a mar-feast. So sane, he arose and joined the company, who, encouraged by the precept and example of Michael Lamborn, and consisting chiefly of persons much disposed of profit by the opportunity of a merry meal at the expense of their landlord, had already made some inroads upon the limits of temperance, as was evident from the tone in which Michael inquired after his old acquaintances in the town and the burst of laughter with which each answer was received. Jaws gossing himself was somewhat scandalized at the obstreperous nature of their mirth, especially as he involuntarily felt some respect for his unknown guest. He paused, therefore, at some distance from the table occupied by these noisy revelers and began to make a sort of apology for their license. You would think, he said, to hear these fellows talk that there was not one of them who had not been bred to live by stand and deliver, and yet tomorrow you will find them a set of, as painstaking mechanics, and so forth, as ever cut an inch short of measure, or paid a letter of change and light crowns over a counter. The Mercer there wears his hat awry over a shaggy head of hair that looks like a curly water-dog's back, goes unbraced, wears his cloak on one side, and affects a ruffianly, vaporing humor. When in the shop at Aminden, he is, from his flat cap to his glistening shoes, as precise in his apparel as if he was named for Mayor. He talks of breaking parks and taking the highway in such fashion that you would think he haunted every night between Hunsloe and London. When, in fact, he may be found sound asleep on his feather-bed, with a candle placed beside him on one side and a Bible on the other to fright away the goblins. And your nephew, my host, the same Michael Lamborn, who is Lord of the Feast, is he too such a would-be ruffler as the rest of them? Why, there you push me hard, said the host. My nephew is my nephew, and though he was a desperate dick of your, yet Mike may have mended like other folks you want. And I would not have you think all I said of him, even now, was strict gospel. I knew the wag all the while, and wished to pluck his plumes from him. And now, sir, by what name shall I present my worshipful guest to these gallants? Mary, my host, replied the stranger, you may call me Tressylian. Tressylian, answered my host of the bear, a worthy name and, as I think, of Cornish lineage. For what says the south proverb? By pole, tray, and pen, you may know the Cornish men. Shall I say the worthy master Tressylian of Cornwall? Say no more than I have given you more in form, my host, and so shall you be sure you speak no more than is true. A man may have one of those honorable prefixes to his name, yet be born far from St. Michael's Mount. My host pushed his curiosity no further but presented master Tressylian to his nephew's company, who, after exchange of salutations and drinking to the health of their new companion, pursued the conversation in which he found them engaged, seasoning it with many an intervening pledge. End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 of Kenilworth This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Kenilworth, by Sir Walter Scott. Chapter 2 Talk You of Young Master Lancelot? Merchant of Venice After some brief interval, master Goldthread, at the earnest instigation of my host and the joyous concurrence of his guest, indulged the company with the following morsel of melody. Of all the birds on bush or tree, commend me to the owl, since he may best in sample be to those the cup that trowel. For when the sun hath left the west, he chooses the tree that he loves the best, and he whoops out a song, and he laughs at his jest. Then, though hours be late and mother foul, we'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl. The lark is but a bunk and foul, he sleeps in his nest till morn. But my blessing upon the jolly owl, that all night blows his horn. Then up with your cup, till you stagger in speech, and match me this catch till you swagger in screech, and drink till you wink, my merry-men each. For, though hours be late and weather be foul, we'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl. There is savor in this, my hearts, said Michael, when the Mercer had finished his song, and some goodness seems left among you yet. But what a bed-roll you have read me, of old comrades, and to every man's name, taxon ill-omined motto. And so swashing will of Wallingford hath put us good night. He died the death of a fat buck, said one of the party, being shot with a crossbow bolt by Old Thatcham, the Duke's stout park-keeper at Donington Castle. Aye-aye, he always loved Venison well, replied Michael, and a cup of claret to boot. And so here's one to his memory. Do me right, my masters. When the memory of this departed worthy had been duly honoured, lamb-born proceeded to inquire after a prance of Padworth. Pranced off, made immortal ten years since, said the Mercer, Mercer, Oxford Castle, and Goodminton Thong, and a ten-penny worth of corn, best know how. What, so they hung poor prance high and dry, so much for loving to walk by moonlight? A cup to his memory, my masters, all merry fellows, like moonlight. What's become of how, with the plume, he who lived near Yannington, and wore the long feather? I forget his name. What, how have seen? replied the Mercer. Why, you may remember he was a sort of a gentleman, and would mellow in state manner as in, so he got into the mire about the Duke of Norfolk's affair, these two were three years since, fled the country with the persuievence warrant at his heels, and has never since been heard of. Nay, after these bulks, said Michael Amborn, I need hardly inquire after Tony Foster. For when ropes and crossbow shafts and persuievence warrants, and such like gear, were so rife, Tony could hardly escape them. Which Tony Foster mean you? said the innkeeper. Why him they called Tony Fire the Faggot, because he brought a light to Kindle, the pile round Latimer and Rindley. When the wind blew out Jack Thong's torch, and no man else would give him light for love or money. Tony Foster liens and thrives, said the host. But, Kingsman, I would not have you call him Tony Fire the Faggot if you would not brook the stab. How is he grown ashamed on, said Lamborn. Why, he was wont to boast of it, and say he liked as well to see a roasted heretic as a roasted ox. I, but, Kingsman, that was in Mary's time, replied the Lamborn, when Tony's father was Reeve here to the Abbot of Abbingdon. But since that, Tony married a pure, persistent, and is as good a Protestant, I warn you, as the best. And looks grave, and holds his head high, and scorns his old companions, said the Mercer. Viniath Prosperne, I warn him, said Lamborn. For ever when a man hath got nobles of his own, he keeps out of the way of those whose ex-checkers lie in other men's purchase. Prosperne, Quotha, said the Mercer. Why, you remember in Covenor Place, the old mansion house beside the churchyard? By the same token, I wrought the orchard three times. What of that? It was the old Abbot's residence, when there was plague or sickness in Abbingdon. I, said the host, but that has been long over, and Anthony Foster hath a right in it, and lives there by some grant from a great courtier, who had the churchlands from the crown. And there he dwells, and has as little to do with any poor white in Covenor, as if he were himself a belted knight. Nay, said the Mercer. It is not altogether pride in Tony, neither. There is a fair lady in the case, and Tony will scarce let the light of day look on her. How? said Tresselian, who now for the first time interfered in their conversation. Did you not say this Foster was married, and to her Precision? Married he was, and to his bitterer a Precision as ever ate flesh and light. And a cat and dog life she'd like with Tony, as men said. But she is dead, rest be with her, and Tony hath but a slip of a daughter. So does thought he means to wed this stranger that men keep such a coil about. And why so? I mean, why do they keep a coil about her? said Tresselian. Why I want not, answered the host, except that men say she is as beautiful as an angel, and no one knows when she comes, and everyone wishes to know why she is kept so closely mewed up. For my part, I never saw her. You have, I think, Master Goldthread. That I have, old boy, said the Mercer. Look you, I was riding hither from Abingdon. I passed under the east oil window of the Old Mansion, where all the old saints and histories and such like are painted. It was not the common path I took, but one through the park. For the poster endure was upon the latch, and I thought I might take the privilege of an old comrade to ride across through the trees, both for shaving, as the day was somewhat hot, and for avoiding the dust, because I had on my peach-coloured doublet pinked out with cloth of gold. Which garment, said Michael Lamborn, thou wouldst willingly make twinkle in the eyes of a fair dame? Ah, villain, thou wilt never leave thy old tricks. Not so, not so, said the Mercer, with a smirking laugh, not altogether so, but curiosity, thou knowest, and a strain of compassion withal. For the poor young lady sees nothing from mourn to even, but Tony Foster, with his scouting black brows, his bullseye, and his bandy legs. And thou wouldst willingly show her a dapper-body in a silken jerkin, a limb like a short-legged hens in a cordovan boot, and a round, simpering, what do you lack, sort of accountants, set off with a velvet bonnet, a turkey feather, and a gilded brooch? Ah, jolly Mercer, you have good wares are fond to show them. Come, gentles, let not the cup stand. Here's to long spurs, short boots, full bonnets, and empty skulls. Nay, now you are jealous of me, Mike, said gold thread, and yet my luck was but what might have happened to thee, or any man. Mary confound thine impudence, retorted Lamborn, thou wouldst not compare thy pudding face arsonant manners to a gentleman and a soldier. Nay, my good sir, said Tresselian, let me beseech you, will not interrupt the Gowen citizen, me thinks he tells his tale so well I could hearken to him till midnight. It's more of your favor than of my dessert, answered master gold thread. But since I give you pleasure, worthy master Tresselian, I shall proceed. Mager all the jives and quips of this valiant soldier, who, per adventure, have had more cuffs than crowns in the Low Countries. And so, sir, as I passed under the great painted window, leaving my rain-loose on my ampling palfrey's neck, partly for my knees, and partly that I might have the more leisure to peer about, I hears me the lattice open, and never credit me, sir, if there did not stand there as a person of as fair a woman as ever crossed mine eyes. And I think I have looked on as many pretty wenches, and with as much judgment as other folks. May I ask her appearance, sir, said Tresselian. Oh, sir, replied master gold thread, I promise you, she was, in gentle woman's attire, a very quaint and pleasing dress, that might have served the queen herself. She had a four-part with body and sleeves, of ginger-colored satin, which, in my judgment, must have cost by the yard some thirty shillings, lined with Murray taffeta, and laid down and guarded with two broad laces of gold and silver. And her hat, sir, was truly the best fashion thing that I have seen in these parts, being of Tawny taffeta embroidered with scorpions of Venice gold, and have been a border garnished with gold fringe. I promise you, sir, an absolute and all-surpassing device. Touching her skirts, they were in the old, past avant fashion. I did not ask you of her attire, sir, said Tresselian, who had shown some impatience during this conversation, but of her complexion, the color of her hair, her features. Touching her complexion, answered the Mercer, I'm not so special-certain, but I marked that her fan had an ivory handle, curiously inlaid, and then again, as to the color of her hair, why, I can warrant, be it to you what it might, that she wore above it a net of green silk, parcel twisted with gold. A most Mercer-like memory, said Lamborn, the gentleman asked him of the lady's beauty, and he talks of her fine clothes. I tell thee, said the Mercer, somewhat disconcerting, I had little time to look at her, for just as I was about to give her the good time of day, and for that purpose had puckered my features with a smile, like those of a jack-and-ape simpering into chestnut, said Michael Lamborn. Up-started of the sudden, continued gold-thread, without heeding the interruption, Tony fostered himself with a cudgel in his hand, and broke thy head across thy home, for thine impertinence, said his entertainer. That were more easily said than done, answered gold-thread, indignantly. No, no, there was no breaking of heads. It's true he advanced his cudgel, and spoke of laying on, and asked why it did not keep the public road and such like, and I would have knocked him over the paint handsomely for his pains, only for the lady's presence, who might have swooned for what I know. Now, out upon thee for a faint-spirited slave, said Lamborn, what adventurous night ever thought of the lady's terror when he went to thwack giant, dragon, or magician in her presence, and for her deliverance. But why talk to thee of dragons, who would be driven back by a dragonfly? There that has missed the rarest opportunity, take it thyself then, bully-like, answered gold-thread. Yonder is the enchanted manor, and the dragon, and the lady, all at thy service, if thou darest venture on them. Why, so I would for a quarter of sack, said the soldier. Or stay, I am foully out of linen. Wilt thou bet a piece of hollands against these five angels that I go not up to the hall tomorrow, and force Tony Foster to introduce me to his fair guest. I accept your wager, said the Mercer, and I think, though thou hast even the impudence of the devil, I shall gain on thee this bout. Our landlord here shall hold steaks, and I will stake down gold till I send the linen. I will hold steaks on no such matter, said Gosling. Good now, my kinsmen, drink your wine, and quiet, and let such ventures alone. I promise you, Master Foster, hath interest enough to lay you up in lavender in the castle at Oxford, or to get your legs made acquainted with the town's stocks. That would be but renewing an old intimacy, for my shins and the town's wooden pinfold have been well known to each other ere now, said the Mercer. But he shall not budge from his wager, unless he means to pay forfeit. Forfeit, said Lamborn, I scorn it. I value Tony Foster's wrath, no more than a shelled pecan, and I will visit his Lindebrides, by St. George, be he willing or no. I would gladly pay your halves of the reserve, said Tressylian, to be permitted to accompany you on the adventure. In what would that advantage you, sir? answered Lamborn. In nothing, sir, said Tressylian, unless to mark the skill and valor with which you conduct yourself. I am a traveller, who seeks for strange encounters and uncommon passages, as the knights of your did after ventures and feats of arms. Nay, if it pleasures you to see a trout tickled, answered Lamborn, I care not how many witnessed my skill, and so here I drink success to my enterprise, and he that will not pledge me on his knees is a rascal, and I will cut his legs off by the garters. The draft which Michael Lamborn took upon this occasion had been preceded by so many others that reasoned Tottern on her throne. He smore one or two incoherent oaths at the Mercer, who refused, reasonably enough, to pledge him to a sentiment over the loss of his own wager. Wilt thou chop logic with me, said Lamborn, thou knave, with no more brains than are in a scan of ruffled silk? By heaven, I will cut thee into fifty yards of galloom lace. But as he attempted to draw his sword, for this dowdy purpose, Michael Lamborn was seized upon by the tapster and the chamberlain and conveyed to his own apartment there to sleep himself sober at his leisure. The party then broke up and the guest took their leave much more to the contentment of mine-hosts than of some of the company who were unwilling to quit good liquor when it was to be had for free cost, so long as they were able to sit by it. They were, however, compelled to remove and go at length they did, leaving Gosling and Tresselian in the empty apartment. By my faith, said the former, I wonder where our great folks find pleasure when they spend their means in entertainment and in playing mine-host without sending any reckoning. It is what I but rarely practice, and whenever I do, by St. Julian, it greaves me beyond measure. Each of these empty stoops now, which my nephew and his drunken comrades have swirled off, should have been a matter of profit and I must set them down a dead loss. I cannot, for my heart can see the pleasure of noise and nonsense and drunken freaks and drunken corals and smut and blasphemy and so forth, when a man loses money instead of gaining by it. And yet many a fair estate is lost in upholding such a useless course, and that greatly contributes to the decay of publicans. For who the double do you think would pay for drink at the black bear, when he can have it for nothing at my lords or the squires? Tressillian perceived that the wine had made some impression even on the seasoned brain of mine-host, which was chiefly to be inferred from his reclaiming against drunkenness. As he himself had carefully avoided the bowl, he would have availed himself of the frankness of the moment to extract from Gosling some further information upon the subject of Anthony Foster and the lady whom the Mercer had seen in his mansion-house. But his inquiries only set the host upon a new theme of declamation against the wiles of the fair sex, in which he brought, at full length, the whole wisdom of Solomon to reinforce his own. Finally, he turned his admonitions, mixed with much abrogation upon his tapsters and drawers, who were employed in removing the mellocks of the entertainment and restoring order to the apartment and, at length, joining an example to precept, though with no good success, he demolished a salver with half a score of glasses in attempting to show how such service was done at the three cranes in the ventry, then the most-topping tavern in London. So far recalled him to his better self, that he retired to his bed, slept sound, and awoke a new man in the morning. End of Chapter 2 Chapter 3 of Kenilworth The sleeper-box recording is in the public domain. Kenilworth by Sir Walter Scott Chapter 3 Nay, all hold touch. The game shall be played out. It ne'er shall stop for me, this merry wager. That which I say, when gamesome, all avouch in my most sober mood, ne'er trust me else. The hazard table. And how doth your kinsmen, good-mind-host, sent Tressylian, when Giles Gosling first appeared in the public room, on the morning following the rubble, which we described in the last chapter. Is he well, will he abide by his wager? For well, sir, he started two hours since and has visited I know not what perluse of his old companions. Hath but now returned. And is at this instant breakfasting on new laid eggs and musketting. And for his wager I caution you as a friend to have little to do with that, or indeed with ought that Mike proposes. Wherefore I counsel you to warm a breakfast upon a colis, which shall restore the tone of the stomach. And let my nephew, Master Goldthread, swagger about their wager as they list. It seems to me, mind-host, said Tressylian, that you know not well what to say about this kinsmen of yours, and that you can neither blame nor commend him without some twinge of conscience. You have spoken truly, Master Tressylian, Giles Gosling. There is natural affection whimpering into one ear. Giles, Giles, why wilt thou take away the good name of thy own nephew? Wilt thou defame thy sister's son, Giles Gosling? Wilt thou defal thine own nest, dishonor thine own blood? And then again comes justice and says, Here is a worthy guest as ever came to the Bonnie Black Bear, who never challenged a reckoning. As I say to your face, you never did, Master Tressylian, not that you have had cause. One who knows not why he came, so far as I can see, or when he is going away. And wilt thou, being a publican, having paid Scott and Lott these thirty years in the town of Comner, and being at this instant head borough. Yes, this man of men, this six-hooped pot, as I may say, of a traveller, to fall into the meshes of thy nephew, who is known for a swasher and a desperate tick, a carter and a dicer, a professor of the seven damnable sciences, if ever man took degrees in them. No, by heaven, I might wink and let him catch such a small butterfly as gold-thread, as shall be forewarned, forearmed, so thou wilt but listen to thy trusty host. Why, my host, thy counsel shall not be cast away, replied Tressylian. However, I must uphold my share in this wager, having once passed my word to that effect. But let me, I pray, some of thy counsel, this foster, may wait. Troth, replied Gossing, I can add but little to what you heard last night. He was one of Queen Mary's papers, and now he is one of Queen Elizabeth's Protestants. He was an on-hanger of the Abbot of Abbingdon, and now he lives as master of the Manor House. Above all, he was poor and is rich. Folk talk of private apartments but disin fine enough to serve the Queen. God bless her. Some men think he found a treasure in the orchard, some that he sold himself to the devil for treasure, and some say that he cheated the Abbot out of the church plate, which was hidden in the old Manor House at the Reformation. Rich, however, he is, and God and his conscience with the devil perhaps besides only know how he came by it. He has sulky ways, too, breaking off intercourse with all that are of the place, as if he had either some strange secret to keep, or held himself to be made of another clay than we are. I think it likely, my kinsman and he will quarrel if Mike thrust his acquaintance on him. And I am sorry that you, my worthy master, Treselyan, will still think of going in my nephew's company. Treselyan again answered him that he would proceed with great caution, and that he should have no fears on his account. In short, he bestowed on him all the customary assurances with which those who are determined on a rash action are want to parry the advice of their friends. Meantime the traveller accepted the landlord's invitation and had just finished the excellent breakfast, which was served to him and Gosling by Pretty Cisley, the beauty of the bar. When the hero of the proceeding night, Michael Lamborn, entered the apartment, his toilet had apparently cost him some labour for his clothes, which differed from those he wore on his journey were of the newest fashion and put on with great attention to the display of his person. By my faith, Uncle, said the gallant, you made a wet night of it, and I feel it followed by a dry morning. I will pledge you willingly in a cup of bastard. How, my pretty co-s, Cisley, why, I left you but a child in the cradle, and there thou standest in thy velvet waistcoat as tight a girl as England's son shines on. Know thy friends and kindred, Cisley, and come hither, child, that I may kiss thee and give thee my blessing. Concern not yourself about, Cisley, kinsmen, said Jehal's Gosling, and even let her go her way, a God's name, for although your mother were her father's sister, yet that shall not make you and her, Cater Cousins. Why, Uncle, replied Lamborn, thinkest thou I am an infidel and would harm those of my own house? It is for no harm that I speak, Mike, answered his Uncle, but a simple humor and precaution which I have. True, thou art shielded as a snake when he casts his old slough in the springtime, but for all that, thou creepest not into my Eden. I will look after mine, Eve, Mike, and so content thee. But how brave thou be slot! To look on thee now and compare thee with Master Tresillion here in his sad-colored riding suit who would not say that thou were the real gentleman and he, the topster's boy. No one would say so, but one of your country-breeding that knows no better. I will say, and I care not who hears me. There is something about the real gentry that few men come up to that are not born and bred to the mystery. I would not where the trick lies, but although I can enter an ordinary with as much audacity, rebuke the waiters and drawers as loudly, drink as deep a health, there is round an oath, and fling my gold as freely about is any of the jingling spurs and white feathers that are around me. Yet hang me if I can ever catch the true grace of it, though I have practiced a hundred times. The man of the house sets me lowest at the board and carves me the last, and the drawer says, coming friend, without any more reverence or regardful addition. Let it pass. Care killed a cat. I have gentry enough to pass the trick on Tony, fire the faggot, and that will do for the matter in hand. You hold your purpose, then, of visiting your old acquaintance, said Treselyan to the adventurer. I, sir, replied Lamborn. When stakes are made, the game must be plain. That is, game-ster's law, all over the world. Unless my memory fails me, for I didn't steep it somewhat too deeply in the sack, but took some share in my hazard. I propose to accompany you in your adventure, said Treselyan, if you will do me so much grace as to permit me, and I stake my share of the forfeit in the hands of our worthy host. That he hath, answered Giles Gosling, in his fair hairy nobles as ever remelted in the sack by a good fellow. So, luck to your enterprise, since you will need's venture on Tony Foster. But, by my credit, you had better take another draft before you depart, for your welcome at the hall yonder will be somewhat of the driest. And if you do get into peril, beware of taking to cold steel. But send for me, Giles Gosling, the head borough, and I may be able to make something out of Tony yet, for as proud as he is. The nephew dutifully obeyed his uncle's hint by taking a second powerful pull at the tankern, observing that his wit never served him so well as when he had washed his temples with the deep morning's draft, and they set forth together for the habitation of Anthony Foster. The village of Cumner is pleasantly built on a hill, and in a wooded park, the village adjacent was situated the ancient mansion occupied at this time by Anthony Foster, of which the ruins may be still extant. The park was then full of large trees, and in particular of ancient and mighty oaks, which stretched their giant arms over the high wall surrounding the domain, thus giving it a melancholy, secluded and monastic appearance. The entrance to the park lay through an old-fashioned gateway in the outer wall, the door of which was formed of two huge, oaken leaves thickly studded with nails, like the gate of an old town. We shall be finally helped up here, said Michael Lamborn, looking at the gateway and gate if this fellow's suspicious humor should refuse us admission altogether, as it is like he may. In case this fancy, wooly fellow of our mercers, visit to his premises, has disquieted him. But no, he added, pushing the huge gate, which gave way. The door stands, inviting the open, and here we are within the forbidden ground, without other impediment than the passive resistance of a heavy oak door moving on rusty hinges. They stood now in an avenue overshadowed as we have described, and which had been bordered at one time by high hedges of you and Holly. But these, having been untrimmed for many years, had run up into great bushes or rather dwarf trees, and now encroached with their dark and melancholy boughs upon the road which they once had screened. The avenue itself was grown up with grass, and in one or two places, there were piles of withered brushwood which had been locked from the trees cut down in the neighboring park and was here stacked for drying. Formal walks and avenues which at different points crossed this principal approach were in like manner choked up and interrupted by piles of brushwood and billets and in other places by underwood and brambles. Besides the general effect of desolation which is so strongly impressed whenever we behold the contrivances of man wasted and obliterated by neglect and witnessed the marks of social life effaced gradually by the influence of vegetation. The size of the trees and the outspreading extent of their boughs diffused a gloom over the scene even when the sun was at the highest and made a proportional impression on the mind of those who visited it. This was felt even by Michael Lamporn. However, Ailey and his habits were to receiving any impressions accepting from things which addressed themselves immediately to his passions. This wood is as dark as a wolf's mouth, said he in Atresilien as they walked together slowly along the solitary and broken approach and had just come inside of the monastic front of the old mansion with its shafted windows walls overgrown with ivy and creeping trumps and twisted stalks of chimneys of heavy stonework. And yet, continued Lamporn, it is fairly done on the part of Foster, too, for since he chooses not visitors it is right to keep his place in a fashion that will invite few to trespass upon his privacy. But had even the Anthony I once knew him, these sturdy oaks had long since become the property of honest woodmonger and the manor clothes here had looked lighter at midnight than it now does at noon. While Foster played fast and loose with the price in some cunning corner in the perluse of white friars, was he then such an unthrift, asked Atresilien. He was, answered Lamporn, like the rest of us no saint and no saver. But what I liked worst of Tony was that he loved to take his pleasure by himself and grudged as men say, every drop of water that went past his own meal. I have known him too with such measures of wine when he was alone as I would not invention on with any of the best toper in Berkshire. That and some sway toward superstition which he had by temperament rendered him unworthy the company of a good fellow. And now he is earth himself here in a den just befitting such a sly fox as himself. May ask you, Master Lamporn, said Atresilien, since your old companion's humor jumps so little with your own wherefore you are so desirous to renew acquaintance with him. And may ask you in return, Master Atresilien, answered Lamporn, wherefore you have shown yourself so desirous to accompany me on this party. I told you my motive, said Atresilien, when I took share in your wager. It was simple curiosity. Law, you there now. Answer Lamporn. See how you civil and discreet gentlemen think to use us who live by the free exercise of our wits. And I answered your question by saying that it was simple curiosity which led me to visit my own comrade, Anthony Foster. I warned you it set it down for an evasion and a turn of my trade. But any answer, I suppose, must serve my term. And wherefore should not bear curiosity, said Atresilien, be a sufficient reason for my taking this walk with you. O, content yourself, sir, replied Lamporn, you cannot put the change on me so easy as you think, for I have lived among the quick-stirring spirits of the age too long to swallow chafe for grain. You are a gentleman of birth and breathing. Your bearing makes it good. Of civil habits and fair reputation. Your manner declares it. And my uncle avouches it. And yet you associate yourself with a sort of scant of grace, as men call me, and knowing me to be such, you make yourself my companion in a visit to a man whom you are a stranger to. You are all out of mere curiosity for sooth. The excuse, if curiously balanced, would be found to want some scruples of just weight, or so. If your suspicions were just, said Atresilien, you have shown no confidence in me to invite or deserve mine. O, if that be all, said Lamporn, my motives lie above water. While this gold of mine lasts, taking out his purse, chucking it into the air, and catching it as it fell, I will make it by pleasure. And when it is out, I must have more. Now, if this mysterious lady of the manner, this fair Lindebryde's of Tony Fire the Faggot, be so admirable a piece, as men say, why, there is a chance that she may aid me to mount my nobles into grotes. And again, if Anthony be so wealthy a chop as report speaks him, he may prove the philosopher's stone to me, and convert my grotes into fair rose-nomes again. A comfortable proposal, truly, said Atresilien, but I see not what chance there is of accomplishing it. Not today, or per chance tomorrow, answered Lamporn, I expect not to catch the old Jack till I have disposed my ground-baits handsomely. But I know something more of his affairs this morning this night, and I will so use my knowledge, that he shall think it more perfect than it is. Nay, without expecting either pleasure or profit, or both, I had not stepped to stride within this manner, I can tell you. For I promise you, I hold our visit not altogether without risk. But here we are. And we must make the best on it. While he best spoke, they had entered a large orchard surrounded the house on two sides, though the trees, abandoned by the caravan, were overgrown and messy, and seemed to bear little fruit. Those which had been formerly trained as espaliers, had now resumed their natural mode of growing, and exhibited grotesque forms, partaking of the original training which they had received. The greater part of the ground, which had once been partiers and flower gardens, was suffered in like manner to run to waste, accepting a few patches which had been dug up and planted with ordinary pot herbs. Some statues, which had ornamented the garden in its days of splendor, were now thrown down from their pedestals and broken in pieces. And a large summer house, having a heavy stone front, decorated with carving representing the life and actions of Samson, was in a dilapidated condition. They had just traversed this garden of the sluggard, and were within a few steps of the door of the mansion, when Lamborn had ceased speaking. A circumstance very agreeable to Treslion, as it saved him the embarrassment of either commenting upon or replying to the Frank of Al, which his companion had just made of the sentiments and views which induced him to come hither. Lamborn knocked roundly and boldly at the huge door of the mansion, observing at the same time he had seen a less strong one upon a county jail. It was not until they had knocked more than once that an age, sour visage domestic, reconordered them through a small square hole in the door, while secured with bars of iron, and demanded what they wanted. To speak with Master Foster instantly on pressing business of the State, was the ready reply of Michael Lamborn. We think she will find difficulty to make that good, said Treslion, in a whisper to his companion, while the servant went to carry the message to his master. Tush, replied the adventurer, no soldier would go on were he always to consider when and how he should come off. Let us once obtain entrance, and all will go well enough. In a short time the servant returned, and drawing with a careful hand both bolt and bar, opened the gate, which admitted them through an archway into a square court surrounded by buildings. Opposite to the arch was another door, which the serving man in like manner unlocked, and thus introduced them into a stone-paved parlor, where there was but little furniture, and that of the rudest and most ancient fashion. The windows were tall and ample, reaching almost to the roof of the room, which was composed of black oak. Those opening to the quadrangle were obscured by the height of the surrounding buildings, and as they were traversed with massive shafts of solid stonework, and thickly painted with religious devices, and scenes taken from scripture history, by no means admitted light in proportion to their size, and what did penetrate through them partook of the dark and gloomy tinge of the stained glass. Trislyan and his guide had time enough to observe all these particulars, for they waited some space in the apartment, ere the present master of the mansion, at length, made his appearance. Prepared as he was to see an auspicious and ill-looking person, the ugliness of Anthony Foster considerably exceeded what Trislyan had anticipated. He was of middle stature, built strongly, but so clumsily as to border on deformity, and to give all his motions the ungainly awkwardness of a left-legged and left-handed man. His hair, in a range in which men at that time, as at present, were very nice and curious, instead of being carefully cleaned and disposed into short curls, or else set up on end, as is represented in old paintings, in a manner resembling that used by fine gentlemen of our own day, escaped in sable negligence from under a furred bonnet and hung in elf-locks which seemed strangers to the comb over his rugged brows and around his very singular and unprepossessing countenance. His keen, dark eyes were deep-set beneath broad and shaggy eyebrows, and as they were usually bent on the ground, seemed as if they were themselves ashamed of the expression natural to them and were desirous to conceal it from the observation of men. At times, however, when more intent on observing others, he suddenly raised them and fixed them keenly on those with whom he conversed. They seemed to express both the fiercer passions and the power of mind which could at will suppress or disguise the intensity of inward feeling. The features which corresponded were irregular, and marked so as to be indelibly fixed on the mind of him who had once seen them. Upon the whole as Tressilien could not help acknowledging to himself the Anthony Foster, who now stood before them, was the last person judging from personal appearance upon whom one would have chosen to intrude an unexpected and undesired visit. His attire was a doublet of russet leather like those worn by the better sort of country folk, gird with a buff belt in which was stuck on the right side a long knife, or dudgeon dagger, and on the other a cutlass. He raised his eyes as he entered the room and fixed a keenly penetrating glance upon his two visitors. They cast them down as if counting his steps while he advanced slowly into the middle of the room and said in a low and smothered tone of voice, let me pray you gentlemen to tell me the cause of this visit. He looked as if he expected the answer from Tressilien. So true was Lamborn's observation that the superior era of breeding and dignity shown through the disguise of an inferior dress. But it was Michael who replied to him with the easy familiarity of an old friend and a tone which seemed unembarrassed by any doubt of his cordial reception. Ha! my dear friend and Engle, Tony Foster, he exclaimed, seizing upon the unwilling hand and shaking it with such emphasis as almost to stagger the sturdy frame of the person whom he addressed. How fair is it with you for many a long year! What! have you altogether forgotten your friend, gossip, and playfellow, Michael Lamborn? Michael Lamborn said foster, looking at him a moment, then dropping his eyes and with little ceremony extricating his hand from the friendly grasp of the person by whom he was addressed. Are you Michael Lamborn? I sure as you are Anthony Foster replied Lamborn. Tis well, answered a sullen host. And what may Michael Lamborn expect from his visit hither? Bodo adios answered Lamborn. I expected a better welcome than I am like to meet, I think. Why thou gallows burn, thou jail-rat, thou friend of the hangman and his customers, replied Foster. Has thou the assurance to expect countenance from anyone whose neck is beyond the compass of a tie-burned tippant? It may be with me, as you say, replied Lamborn, and suppose I grand to be so for argument's sake, I were still good enough society for my ancient friend Anthony fire the faggot, though he be, for the present, by some indescribable title, the master of Cumner Place. Hark you, Michael Lamborn, said Foster, you are a gambler now, and live by the counting of chances. Compute me the odds that I do not on this instant, throw you out of that window into the ditch there. Twenty to one that you do not answer the sturdy visitor. And wherefore, I pray you, demanded Anthony Foster, sending his teeth and compressing his lips, like one who endeavors to suppress some violent internal emotion. Because, said Lamborn Cooley, you dare not, for your life, lay a finger on me. I am younger and stronger than you, and have in me a double portion of the fighting devil, though not it may be quite so much of the undermining fiend that finds an underground way to his purpose. Who hides, halters, under folk's pillows, and who puts rats' vein into their porridge, as the sage-place says. Foster looked at him earnestly, then turned away, and paced the room twice with the same steady and considerate pace with which he had entered it. Then suddenly came back, and extended his hand to Michael Lamborn, saying, Be not wrought with me, good Mike. I did but try whether thou hadst parted with on of thine old and honorable frankness, which your endears and back-writers called saucy impudence. Let them call it what they will, said Michael Lamborn. It is the commodity we must carry through the world with us. Uns daggers. When I was a healthy man, my own stock of assurance was too small to trade upon. I was feign to take in a ton or two more of brass in every port where I touched in the voyage of life, and I started overborn what modesty and scruples I had remaining in order to make room for the stowage. Nay, nay, replied Foster. Touching scruples and modesty you sailed hence and ballast. But who is this gallant on his mic? Is he a Corinthian? A cutter, like thyself. I prithee, no master Tresillian, bully Foster, replied Lamborn, presenting his friend in answer to his friend's question. Know him and honor him, for he is a gentleman of many admirable qualities. And though he traffics not in my line of business, at least so far as I know, he has nevertheless just respect and admiration for the interests of our class. He will come to in time as seldom fails. But as yet he is only a neophyte, only a proselyte, and frequents the company of cocks of the game, as a puny fencer does the schools of the masters to see how a foil is handled by the teachers of defense. If such be his quality, I will pray your company in another chamber on his mic, for what I have to say to thee is for thy private ear. Meanwhile, I pray you, sir, to alight us in this apartment, and without leaving it. There be those in this house who would be alarmed by the sight of a stranger. Tresillian acquiesced, and the two worthy's left the apartment together, in which he remained alone to await their return. Note one to Chapter 3 Foster, Lamborn, and the Black Bear If faith is to be put in epitaphs, Anthony Foster was something the very reverse of the character represented in the novel. Ashmole gives this description of his tomb. I copy from the Antiquities of Berkshire, Volume 1, Page 143. In the north wall of the chancel at Cumber Church is a monument of Grey marble, whereon his plates are engraved a man in armor, and his wife in the habit of her times, both kneeling before a false stool, together with the figures of three sons kneeling behind their mother. Under the figure of the man is this inscription, Antonius Forster, Generus Generosa Hopago, Cumnirai Dolmenus, Berkariensis Erot, Armagur Armigaro, Pornatus Potter Riccardo, Quiquondum Inflati, Salopiensis Erot, Quattro Existo, Luxurant Stamati Nati, Exist Antonius, Stamata Quartus Erot, Menta Segox, Animo Prekellens, Corporal Prontus, Eloquii Tulkis, Menta Segox, Animo Prekellens, Corporal Prontus, Eloquii Tulkis, Ora Dessertis Erot, In factis Probatos, Puit in Cermona Winustas, In Wiltu Gravatos, Religione Fides, In Patrium Piatos, In Aginos Grata Voluntos, Accedunt Relichis, Anumeranda Bonis, Ciquad Cuntum, Aginos Grata Voluntos, Accedunt Relichis, Anumeranda Bonis, Ciquad Cuntum, Rapit, Rapuit Non Omnia Lentum, Ciquad Mors Rapuit, Wuita Falandedit, These verses following are written length two by two in praise of him, Arguta Rezonas, Keith Aray, Prendendra Kordas, Nuit et Aonia, Con Crepe Wisa Lira, Gaudabad Tere Teneras, De Figura Plantas, Et Mira Pulcros, Construir Arta Domos, Composita Varias, Lingua Formare Lokelas, Doctus et Educta, Scribara Multimonu, The Arms Over at Thas, Court One, Scribara Multimonu, Scribara Multimonu, Scribara Multimonu, The Arms Over at Thas, Court One, Three Hunters' Horns, Stringed, Two, Three Pinyons, With Their Points Upwards, The Crest is a Stag, Cotient, Vulnerated through the neck by a broad arrow. On his stride is a Martlet for a Difference. From this monumental inscription, it appears that Anthony Foster, instead of being a vulgar, low-bred, puritanical troll, was in fact a gentleman of birth and consideration, distinguished for his skill in the arts of music and horticulture, as also in languages. In so far, therefore, the Anthony Foster of the Romance has nothing but the name in common with the real individual. But notwithstanding the Charity, the Nebulance, and religious faith imputed by the Monument of Grey marble to its tenet, tradition as well as secret history, namesome as the active agent in the death of the Countess. And it is added that from being a jovial and convivial gallant, as we may infer from some expressions in the epitaph, he sunk after the fatal deed into a man of gloomy and retired habits, whose looks and manners indicated that he suffered under the pressure of some atrocious secret. The name of Lamborn is still known in the vicinity, and it is said some of the clan partake the habits as well as name of the Michael Lamborn of the Romance. A man of this name lately murdered his wife, outdoing Michael in this respect, who only was concerned in the murder of the wife of another man. I have only to add that the jolly black bear has been restored to its predominance over mole and bottle in the village of Cumner. End note. Chapter 3