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Title: Woodstock; or, The Cavalier

Author: Sir Walter Scott

Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9785]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on October 16, 2003]

Edition: 10

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WOODSTOCK; OR, THE CAVALIER

BY

SIR WALTER SCOTT


1855.




APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION.



APPENDIX NO. I.

THE WOODSTOCK SCUFFLE; or, Most dreadfull apparitions that were lately
seene in the Mannor-house of Woodstock, neere Oxford, to the great
terror and the wonderful amazement of all there that did behold them.


It were a wonder if one unites,
And not of wonders and strange sights;
For ev'ry where such things affrights
Poore people,

That men are ev'n at their wits' end;
God judgments ev'ry where doth send,
And yet we don't our lives amend,
But tipple,

And sweare, and lie, and cheat, and--,
Because the world shall drown no more,
As if no judgments were in store
But water;

But by the stories which I tell,
You'll heare of terrors come from hell,
And fires, and shapes most terrible
For matter.

It is not long since that a child
Spake from the ground in a large field,
And made the people almost wild
That heard it,

Of which there is a printed book,
Wherein each man the truth may look,
If children speak, the matter's took
For verdict.

But this is stranger than that voice,
The wonder's greater, and the noyse;
And things appeare to men, not boyes,
At _Woodstock_;

Where _Rosamond_ had once a bower,
To keep her from Queen _Elinour_,
And had escap'd her poys'nous power
By good-luck,

But fate had otherwise decreed,
And _Woodstock_ Manner saw a deed,
Which is in _Hollinshed_ or _Speed_
Chro-nicled;

But neither _Hollinshed_ nor _Stow_,
Nor no historians such things show,
Though in them wonders we well know
Are pickled;

For nothing else is history
But pickle of antiquity,
Where things are kept in memory
From stinking;

Which otherwise would have lain dead,
As in oblivion buried,
Which now you may call into head
With thinking.

The dreadfull story, which is true,
And now committed unto view,
By better pen, had it its due,
Should see light.

But I, contented, do indite,
Not things of wit, but things of right;
You can't expect that things that fright
Should delight.

O hearken, therefore, hark and shake!
My very pen and hand doth quake!
While I the true relation make
O' th' wonder,

Which hath long time, and still appeares
Unto the State's Commissioners,
And puts them in their beds to feares
From under.

They come, good men, imploi'd by th' State
To sell the lands of Charles the late.
And there they lay, and long did waite
For chapmen.

You may have easy pen'worths, woods,
Lands, ven'son, householdstuf, and goods,
They little thought of dogs that wou'd
There snap-men.

But when they'd sup'd, and fully fed,
They set up remnants and to bed.
Where scarce they had laid down a head
To slumber,

But that their beds were heav'd on high;
They thought some dog under did lie,
And meant i' th' chamber (fie, fie, fie)
To scumber.

Some thought the cunning cur did mean
To eat their mutton (which was lean)
Reserv'd for breakfast, for the men
Were thrifty.

And up one rises in his shirt,
Intending the slie cur to hurt,
And forty thrusts made at him for't,
Or fifty.

But empty came his sword again.
He found he thrust but all in vain;
An the mutton safe, hee went amain
To's fellow.

And now (assured all was well)
The bed again began to swell,
The men were frighted, and did smell
O' th' yellow.

From heaving, now the cloaths it pluckt
The men, for feare, together stuck,
And in their sweat each other duck't.
They wished

A thousand times that it were day;
'Tis sure the divell! Let us pray.
They pray'd amain; and, as they say,
---- ----

Approach of day did cleere the doubt,
For all devotions were run out,
They now waxt strong and something stout,
One peaked

Under the bed, but nought was there;
He view'd the chamber ev'ry where,
Nothing apear'd but what, for feare.
They leaked.

Their stomachs then return'd apace,
They found the mutton in the place,
And fell unto it with a grace.
They laughed

Each at the other's pannick feare,
And each his bed-fellow did jeere,
And having sent for ale and beere,
They quaffed.

And then abroad the summons went,
Who'll buy king's-land o' th' Parliament?
A paper-book contein'd the rent,
Which lay there;

That did contein the severall farmes,
Quit-rents, knight services, and armes;
But that they came not in by swarmes
To pay there.

Night doth invite to bed again,
The grand Commissioners were lain,
But then the thing did heave amain,
It busled,

And with great clamor fil'd their eares,
The noyse was doubled, and their feares;
Nothing was standing but their haires,
They nuzled.

Oft were the blankets pul'd, the sheete
Was closely twin'd betwixt their feete,
It seems the spirit was discreete
And civill.

Which makes the poore Commissioners
Feare they shall get but small arreares,
And that there's yet for cavaliers
One divell.

They cast about what best to doe;
Next day they would to wisemen goe,
To neighb'ring towns some cours to know;
For schollars

Come not to Woodstock, as before,
And Allen's dead as a nayle-doore,
And so's old John (eclep'd the poore)
His follower;

Rake Oxford o're, there's not a man
That rayse or lay a spirit can,
Or use the circle, or the wand,
Or conjure;

Or can say (Boh!) unto a divell,
Or to a goose that is uncivill,
Nor where Keimbolton purg'd out evill,
'Tis sin sure.

There were two villages hard by,
With teachers of presbytery,
Who knew the house was hidiously
Be-pestred;

But 'lasse! their new divinity
Is not so deep, or not so high;
Their witts doe (as their meanes did) lie
Sequestred;

But Master Joffman was the wight
Which was to exorcise the spright;
Hee'll preach and pray you day and night
At pleasure.

And by that painfull gainfull trade,
He hath himselfe full wealthy made;
Great store of guilt he hath, 'tis said,
And treasure.

But no intreaty of his friends
Could get him to the house of fiends,
He came not over for such ends
From Dutch-land,

But worse divinity hee brought,
And hath us reformation taught,
And, with our money, he hath bought
Him much land.

Had the old parsons preached still,
The div'l should nev'r have had his wil;
But those that had or art or skill
Are outed;

And those to whom the pow'r was giv'n
Of driving spirits, are out-driv'n;
Their colledges dispos'd, and livings,
To grout-heads.

There was a justice who did boast,
Hee had as great a gift almost,
Who did desire him to accost
This evill.

But hee would not employ his gifts.
But found out many sleights and shifts;
Hee had no prayers, nor no snifts,
For th' divell.

Some other way they cast about,
These brought him in, they throw not out;
A woman, great with child, will do't;
They got one.

And she i' th' room that night must lie;
But when the thing about did flie,
And broke the windows furiously
And hot one

Of the contractors o're the head,
Who lay securely in his bed,
The woman, shee-affrighted, fled
---- ----

And now they lay the cause on her.
That e're that night the thing did stir,
Because her selfe and grandfather
Were Papists;

They must be barnes-regenerate,
(A _Hans en Kelder_ of the state,
Which was in reformation gatt,)
They said, which

Doth make the divell stand in awe,
Pull in his hornes, his hoof, his claw;
But having none, they did in draw
---- ---- ----

But in the night there was such worke,
The spirit swaggered like a Turke;
The bitch had spi'd where it did lurke,
And howled

In such a wofull manner that
Their very hearts went pit a pat;
       *       *       *       *       *
---- ---- ----

The stately rooms, where kings once lay
But the contractors show'd the way.
But mark what now I tell you, pray,
'Tis worth it.

That book I told you of before,
Wherein were tenants written store,
A register for many more
Not forth yet,

That very book, as it did lie,
Took of a flame, no mortall eye
Seeing one jot of fire thereby,
Or taper;

For all the candles about flew,
And those that burned, burned blew,
Never kept soldiers such a doe
Or vaper.

The book thus burnt and none knew how
The poore contractors made a vow
To work no more; this spoil'd their plow
In that place.

Some other part o' th' house they'll find,
To which the divell hath no mind,
But hee, it seems, is not inclin'd
With that grace;

But other pranks it plaid elsewhere.
An oake there was stood many a yeere,
Of goodly growth as any where,
Was hewn down,

Which into fewell-wood was cut,
And some into a wood-pile put,
But it was hurled all about
And thrown down.

In sundry formes it doth appeare;
Now like a grasping claw to teare;
Now like a dog; anon a beare
It tumbles;

And all the windows battered are,
No man the quarter enter dare;
All men (except the glasier)
Doe grumble.

Once in the likenesse of woman,
Of stature much above the common,
'Twas seene, but spak a word to no man,
And vanish'd.

'Tis thought the ghost of some good wife
Whose husband was depriv'd of life,
Her children cheated, land in strife
She banist.

No man can tell the cause of these
So wondrous dreadful outrages;
Yet if upon your sinne you please
To discant,

You'le find our actions out-doe hell's;
O wring your hands and cease the bells,
Repentance must, or nothing else
Appease can't.




No. II.

THE JUST DEVIL OF WOODSTOCK;

OR,

A TRUE NARRATIVE OF THE SEVERAL APPARITIONS, THE FRIGHTS AND
PUNISHMENTS, INFLICTED UPON THE RUMPISH COMMISSIONERS SENT THITHER
TO SURVEY THE MANNORS AND HOUSES BELONGING TO HIS MAJESTIE.

[London, printed in the year 1660. 4to.]


The names of the persons in the ensuing Narrative mentioned, with
others:--

CAPTAIN COCKAINE.
CAPTAIN HART.
CAPTAIN CROOK.
CAPTAIN CARELESSE.
CAPTAIN ROE.
Mr. CROOK, the Lawyer.
Mr. BROWNE, the Surveyor.
Their three Servants.
Their Ordinary-keeper, and others.
The Gatekeeper, with the Wife and Servants.

Besides many more, who each night heard the noise; as Sir Gerrard
Fleetwood and his lady, with his family, Mr. Hyans, with his family, and
several others, who lodged in the outer courts; and during the three
last nights, the inhabitants of Woodstock town, and other neighbor
villages.

And there were many more, both divines and others, who came out of the
country, and from Oxford, to see the glass and stones, and other stuffe,
the devil had brought, wherewith to beat out the Commissioners; the
marks upon some walls remain, and many, this to testifie.


THE PREFACE TO THE ENSUING NARRATIVE.

Since it hath pleased the Almighty God, out of his infinite mercy, so to
make us happy, by restoring of our native King to us, and us unto our
native liberty through him, that now the good may say, _magna temporum
felicitas ubi sentire quoe velis, et dicere licet quoe sentias_, we
cannot but esteem ourselves engaged in the highest of degrees, to render
unto him the highest thanks we can express. Although, surpris'd with
joy, we become as lost in the performance; when gladness and admiration
strikes us silent, as we look back upon the precipiece of our late
condition, and those miraculous deliverances beyond expression. Freed
from the slavery, and those desperate perils, we dayly lived in fear of,
during the tyrannical times of that detestable usurper, Oliver Cromwell;
he who had raked up such judges, as would wrest the most innocent
language into high treason, when he had the cruel conscience to take
away our lives, upon no other ground of justice or reason, (the stones
of London streets would rise to witness it, if all the citizens were
silent.) And with these judges had such councillors, as could advise him
unto worse, which will less want of witness. For should the many
auditors be silent, the press, (as God would have it,) hath given it us
in print, where one of them (and his conscience-keeper, too,) speaks
out. What shall we do with these men? saith he; _Aeger intemperans
crudelem facit medicum, et immedicabile vulmis ense recidendum_. Who
these men are that should be brought to such Scicilian vespers, the
former page sets forth--those which conceit _Utopias_, and have their
day-dreams of the return of I know not what golden age, with the old
line. What usage, when such a privy councillor had power, could he
expect, who then had published this narrative? This much so plainly
shows the devil himself dislikt their doings, (so much more bad were
they than he would have them be,) severer sure than was the devil to
their Commissioners at Woodstock; for he warned them, with dreadful
noises, to drive them from their work. This councillor, without more
ado, would have all who retained conceits of allegiance to their
soveraign, to be absolutely cut off by the usurper's sword. A sad
sentence for a loyal party, to a lawful King. But Heaven is always just;
the party is repriv'd, and do acknowledge the hand of God in it, as is
rightly apply'd, and as justly sensible of their deliverance in that the
foundation which the councillor saith was already so well laid, is now
turned up, and what he calls day-dreams are come to passe. That old line
which (as with him) there seemed, _aliquid divini_, to the contrary is
now restored. And that rock which, as he saith, the prelates and all
their adherents, nay, and their master and supporter, too, with all his
posterity, have split themselves upon, is nowhere to be heard. And that
posterity are safely arrived in their ports, and masters of that mighty
navy, their enemies so much encreased to keep them out with. The eldest
sits upon the throne, his place by birthright and descent,

  "Pacatumque regit Patriis virtutibus orbem;"

upon which throne long may he sit, and reign in peace. That by his just
government, the enemies of ours, the true Protestant Church, of that
glorious martyr, our late sovereign, and of his royal posterity, may be
either absolutely converted, or utterly confounded.

If any shall now ask thee why this narrative was not sooner published,
as neerer to the times wherein the things were acted, he hath the reason
for it in the former lines; which will the more clearly appear unto his
apprehension, if he shall perpend how much cruelty is requisite to the
maintenance of rebellion; and how great care is necessary in the
supporters, to obviate and divert the smallest things that tend to the
unblinding of the people; so that it needs will follow, that they must
have accounted this amongst the great obstructions to their sales of his
majestie's lands, the devil not joining with them in the security; and
greater to the pulling down the royal pallaces, when their chapmen
should conceit the devil would haunt them in their houses, for building
with so ill got materials; as no doubt but that he hath, so numerous and
confident are the relations made of the same, though scarce any so
totally remarkeable as this, (if it be not that others have been more
concealed,) in regard of the strange circumstances as long continuances,
but especially the number of persons together, to whom all things were
so visibly both seen and done, so that surely it exceeds any other; for
the devils thus manifesting themselves, it appears evidently that there
are such things as devils, to persecute the wicked in this world as in
the next.

Now, if to these were added the diverse reall phantasms seen at
Whitehall in Cromwell's times, which caused him to keep such mighty
guards in and about his bedchamber, and yet so oft to change his
lodgings; if those things done at St. James', where the devil so joal'd
the centinels against the sides of the queen's chappell doors, that some
of them fell sick upon it; and others, not, taking warning by it, kild
one outright, whom they buried in the place; and all other such dreadful
things, those that inhabited the royal houses have been affrighted with.

And if to these were likewise added, a relation of all those regicides
and their abettors the devil hath entered into, as he did the Gadarenes'
swine, with so many more of them who hath fallen mad, and dyed in
hideous forms of such distractions, that which hath been of this within
these 12 last years in England, (should all of this nature, our
chronicles do tell, with all the superstitious monks have writ, be put
together,) would make the greater volume, and of more strange
occurrents.

And now as to the penman of this narrative, know that he was a divine,
and at the time of those things acted, which are here related, the
minister and schoolmaster of Woodstock; a person learned and discreet,
not byassed with factious humours, his name Widows, who each day put in
writing what he heard from their mouthes, (and such things as they told
to have befallen them the night before,) therein keeping to their own
words; and, never thinking that what he had writ should happen to be
made publick, gave it no better dress to set it forth. And because to do
it now shall not be construed to change the story, the reader hath it
here accordingly exposed.

The 16th day of _October_, in the year of our Lord 1649, the
Commissioners for surveying and valuing his majestie's mannor-house,
parks, woods, deer, demesnes, and all things thereunto belonging, by
name Captain Crook, Captain Hart, Captain Cockaine, Captain Carelesse,
and Captain Roe, their messenger, with Mr. Browne, their secretary, and
two or three servants, went from Woodstock town, (where they had lain
some nights before,) and took up their lodgings in his majestie's house
after this manner: The bed-chamber and withdrawing-room they both lodged
in and made their kitchen; the presence-chamber their room for dispatch
of their business with all commers; of the council-hall their
brew-house, as of the dining-room, their wood-house, where they laid in
the clefts of that antient standard in the High-Park, for many ages
beyond memory known by the name of the King's Oak, which they had chosen
out, and caused to be dug up by the roots.

_October_ 17. About the middle of the night, these new guests were first
awaked by a knocking at the presence-chamber door, which they also
conceived did open, and something to enter, which came through the room,
and also walkt about that room with a heavy step during half an hour,
then crept under the bed where Captain Hart and Captain Carelesse lay,
where it did seem (as it were) to bite and gnaw the mat and bed-coards,
as if it would tear and rend the feather beds; which having done a
while, then would heave a while, and rest; then heave them up again in
the bed more high than it did before, sometime on the one side, sometime
on the other, as if it had tried which Captain was heaviest. Thus having
heaved some half an hour, from thence it walkt out and went under the
servants' bed, and did the like to them; hence it walkt into a
withdrawing room, and there did the same to all who lodged there. Thus
having welcomed them for more than two hours' space, it walkt out as it
came in, and shut the outer door again, but with the clap of some
mightie force. These guests were in a sweat all this while, but out of
it falling into a sleep again, it became morning first before they spake
their minds; then would they have it to be a dog, yet they described it
more to the likeness of a great bear; so fell to the examining under the
beds, where, finding only the mats scracht, but the bed-coards whole,
and the quarter of beef which lay on the floor untoucht, they
entertained other thoughts.

_October_ 18. They were all awaked as the night before, and now
conceived that they heard all the great clefts of the King's Oak brought
into the presence-chamber, and there thumpt down, and after roul about
the room; they could hear their chairs and stools tost from one side of
the room unto the other, and then (as it were) altogether josled. Thus
having done an hour together, it walkt into the withdrawing-room, where
lodged the two captains, the secretary, and two servants; here stopt the
thing a while, as if it did take breath, but raised a hideous one, then
walkt into the bed-chamber, where lay those as before, and under the bed
it went, where it did heave and heave again, that now they in bed were
put to catch hold upon bed-posts, and sometimes one of the other, to
prevent their being tumbled out upon the ground; then coming out as from
under the bed, and taking hold upon the bed-posts, it would shake the
whole bed, almost as if a cradle rocked. Thus having done here for half
an hour, it went into the withdrawing-room, where first it came and
stood at the bed's feet, and heaving up the bed's feet, flopt them down
again a while, until at last it heaved the feet so high that those in
bed thought to have been set upon their heads; and having thus for two
hours entertained them, went out as in the night before, but with a
great noise.

_October_ 19. This night they awaked not until the midst of the night;
they perceived the room, to shake with something that walkt about the
bedchamber, which having done so a while, it walkt into a
withdrawing-room, where it took up a brasse warming-pan, and returning
with it into the bed-chamber, therein made so loud a noise, in these
captains' own words, it was as loud and scurvy as a ring of five untuned
bells rung backward; but the captains, not to seem afraid, next day made
mirth of what had past, and jested at the devil in the pan.

_October_ 20. These captains and their company, still lodging as before,
were wakened in this night with some things flying about the rooms, and
out of one room into the other, as thrown with some great force. Captain
Hart, being in a slumber, was taken by the shoulder and shaked until he
did sit up in his bed, thinking that it had been one of his fellows,
when suddenly he was taken on the pate with a trencher, that it made him
shrink down into the bed-clothes, and all of them, in both rooms, kept
their heads at least within their sheets, so fiercely did three dozen of
trenchers fly about the rooms; yet Captain Hart ventured again to peep
out to see what was the matter, and what it was that threw, but then the
trenchers came so fast and neer about his ears, that he was fain quickly
to couch again. In the morning they found all their trenchers, pots, and
spits, upon and about their beds, and all such things as were of common
use scattered about the rooms. This night there were also, in several
parts of the room and outer rooms, such noises of beating at doors, and
on the walls, as if that several smiths had been at work; and yet our
captains shrunk not from their work, but went on in that, and lodged as
they had done before.

_October_ 21. About midnight they heard great knocking at every door;
after a while the doors flew open, and into the withdrawing-room entered
something as of a mighty proportion, the figure of it they knew not how
to describe. This walkt awhile about the room shaking the floor at every
step, then came it up close to the bed-side, where lay Captains Crook
and Carelesse; and after a little pause, as it were, the bed-curtains,
both at sides and feet, were drawn up and down slowly, then faster again
for a quarter of an hour, then from end to end as fast as imagination
can fancie the running of the rings, then shaked it the beds, as if the
joints thereof had crackt; then walkt the thing into the bed-chamber,
and so plaied with those beds there; then took up eight peuter dishes,
and bouled them about the room and over the servants in the
truckle-beds; then sometimes were the dishes taken up and thrown crosse
the high beds and against the walls, and so much battered; but there
were more dishes wherein was meat in the same room, that were not at all
removed. During this, in the presence-chamber there was stranger noise
of weightie things thrown down, and, as they supposed, the clefts of the
King's Oak did roul about the room, yet at the wonted hour went away,
and left them to take rest, such as they could.

_October_ 22. Hath mist of being set down, the officers imployed in
their work farther off, came not that day to Woodstock.

_October_ 23. Those that lodged in the withdrawing-room, in the midst of
the night were awakened with the cracking of fire, as if it had been
with thorns and sparks of fire burning, whereupon they supposed that the
bed-chamber had taken fire, and listning to it farther, they heard their
fellows in bed sadly groan, which gave them to suppose they might be
suffocated; wherefore they called upon their servants to make all
possible hast to help them. When the two servants were come in, they
found all asleep, and so brought back word, but that there were no
bedclothes upon them; wherefore they were sent back to cover them, and
to stir up and mend the fire. When the servants had covered them and
were come to the chimney, in the corners they found their wearing
apparrel, boots, and stockings, but they had no sooner toucht the
embers, when the firebrands flew about their ears so fast, that away ran
they into the other room for the shelter of their cover-lids; then after
them walkt something that stampt about the room as if it had been
exceeding angry, and likewise threw about the trenchers, platters, and
all such things in the room--after two hours went out, yet stampt again
over their heads.

_October_ 24. They lodged all abroad.

_October_ 25. This afternoon was come unto them Mr. Richard Crook the
lawyer, brother to Captain Crook, and now deputy-steward of the manner,
unto Captain Parsons and Major Butler, who had put out Mr. Hyans, his
majestie's officer. To entertain this new guest the Commissioners caused
a very great fire to be made, of neer the chimneyfull of wood of the
King's Oak, and he was lodged in the withdrawing-room with his brother,
and his servant in the same room. About the midst of the night a
wonderful knocking was heard, and into the room something did rush,
which coming to the chimney-side, dasht out the fire as with the stamp
of some prodigious foot, then threw down such weighty stuffe, what ere
it was, (they took it to be the residue of the clefts and roots of the
King's Oak,) close by the bed-side, that the house and bed shook with
it. Captain Cockaine and his fellow arose, and took their swords to go
unto the Crooks. The noise ceased at their rising, so that they came to
the door and called. The two brothers, though fully awaked, and heard
them call, were so amazed, that they made no answer until Captain
Cockaine had recovered the boldness to call very loud, and came unto the
bed-side; then faintly first, after some more assurance, they came to
understand one another, and comforted the lawyer. Whilst this was thus,
no noise was heard, which made them think the time was past of that
night's trouble, so that, after some little conference, they applied
themselves to take some rest. When Captain Cockaine was come to his own
bed, which he had left open, he found it closely covered, which he much
wondered at; but turning the clothes down, and opening it to get in, he
found the lower sheet strewed over with trenchers. Their whole three
dozen of trenchers were orderly disposed between the sheets, which he
and his fellow endeavoring to cast out, such noise arose about the room,
that they were glad to get into bed with some of the trenchers. The
noise lasted, a full half hour after this. This entertainment so ill did
like the lawyer, and being not so well studied in the point as to
resolve this the devil's law case, that he next day resolved to be gone;
but having not dispatcht all that he came for, profit and perswasions
prevailed with him to stay the other hearing, so that he lodged as he
did the night before.

_October_ 26. This night each room was better furnished with fire and
candle than before; yet about twelve at night came something in that
dasht all out, then did walk about the room, making a noise, not to be
set forth by the comparison with any other thing; sometimes came it to
the bedsides, and drew the curtains to and fro, then twerle them, then
walk about again, and return to the bed-posts, shake them with all the
bed, so that they in bed were put to hold one upon the other, then walk
about the room again, and come to the servants' bed, and gnaw and
scratch the wainscot head, and shake altogether in that room; at the
time of this being in doing, they in the bed-chamber heard such strange
dropping down from the roof of the room, that they supposed 'twas like
the fall of money by the sound. Captain Cockaine, not frightened with so
small a noise, (and lying near the chimney) stept out, and made shift to
light a candle, by the light of which he perceived the room strewed over
with broken glass, green, and some of it as it were pieces of broken
bottles; he had not been long considering what it was, when suddenly his
candle was hit out, and glass flew about the room, that he made haste to
the protection of the coverlets; the noise of thundering rose more
hideous than at any time before; yet, at a certain time, all vanisht
into calmness. The morning after was the glass about the room, which the
maid that was to make clean the rooms swept up into a corner, and many
came to see it. But Mr. Richard Crook would stay no longer, yet as he
stopt, going through Woodstock town, he was there heard to say, that he
would not lodge amongst them another night for a fee of 500 L.

_October 27_. The Commissioners had not yet done their work, wherefore
they must stay; and being all men of the sword, they must not seem
afraid to encounter with any thing, though it be the devil; therefore,
with pistols charged, and drawn swords laied by their bedsides, they
applied themselves to take some rest, when something in the midst of
night, so opened and shut the window casements with such claps, that it
awakened all that slept; some of them peeping out to look what was the
matter with the windows, stones flew about the rooms as if hurled with
many hands; some hit the walls, and some the beds' heads close above the
pillows, the dints of which were then, and yet (it is conceived) are to
be seen, thus sometime throwing stones, and sometime making thundering
noise for two hours space it ceast, and all was quiet till the morn.
After their rising, and the maid come in to make the fire, they looked
about the rooms; they found fourscore stones brought in that night, and
going to lay them together in the corner where the glass (before
mentioned) had been swept up, they found that every piece of glass had
been carried away that night. Many people came next day to see the
stones, and all observed that they were not of such kind of stones as
are naturall in the countrey thereabout; with these were noise like
claps of thunder, or report of cannon planted against the rooms, heard
by all that lodged in the outer courts, to their astonishment, and at
Woodstock town, taken to be thunder.

_October_ 28. This night, both strange and differing noise from the
former first wakened Captain Hart, who lodged in the bed-chamber, who,
hearing Roe and Brown to groan, called out to Cockaine and Crook to come
and help them, for Hart could not now stir himself; Cockaine would faine
have answered, but he could not, or look about; something, he thought,
stopt both his breath and held down his eye-lids. Amazed thus, he
struggles and kickt about, till he had awaked Captain Crook, who, half
asleep, grew very angry at his kicks, and multiplied words, it grew to
an appointment in the field; but this fully recovered Cockaine to
remember that Captain Hart had called for help, wherefore to them he ran
in the other room, whom he found sadly groaning, where, scraping in the
chimney, he both found a candle and fire to light it; but had not gone
two steps, when something blew the candle out, and threw him in the
chair by the bedside, when presently cried out Captain Carelesse, with a
most pitiful voice, "Come hither, O come hither, brother Cockaine, the
thing's gone of me." Cockaine, scarce yet himself, helpt to set him up
in his bed, and after Captain Hart, and having scarce done that to them,
and also to the other two, they heard Captain Crook crying out, as if
something had been killing him. Cockaine snacht up the sword that lay by
their bed, and ran into the room to save Crook, but was in much more
likelyhood to kill him, for at his coming, the thing that pressed Crook
went of him, at which Crook started out of his bed, whom Cockaine
thought a spirit made at him, at which Crook cried out "Lord help, Lord
save me;" Cockaine let fall his hand, and Crook, embracing Cockaine,
desired his reconcilement, giving him many thanks for his deliverance.
Then rose they all and came together, discoursed sometimes godly and
sometimes praied, for all this while was there such stamping over the
roof of the house, as if 1000 horse had there been trotting; this night
all the stones brought in the night before, and laid up in the
withdrawingroom, were all carried again away by that which brought them
in, which at the wonted time left of, and, as it were, went out, and so
away.

_October_ 29. Their businesse having now received so much forwardnesse
as to be neer dispatcht, they encouraged one the other, and resolved to
try further; therefore, they provided more lights and fires, and further
for their assistance, prevailed with their ordinary keeper to lodge
amongst them, and bring his mastive bitch; and it was so this night with
them, that they had no disturbance at all.

_October_ 30. So well they had passed the night before, that this night
they went to bed, confident and careless; untill about twelve of the
clock, something knockt at the door as with a smith's great hammer, but
with such force as if it had cleft the door; then ent'red something like
a bear, but seem'd to swell more big, and walkt about the room, and out
of one room into the other, treading so heavily, as the floare had not
been strong enough to beare it. When it came into the bed-chamber, it
dasht against the beds' heads some kind of glass vessell, that broke in
sundry pieces, and sometimes would take up those pieces, and hurle them
about the room, and into the other room; and when it did not hurle the
glasse at their heads, it did strike upon the tables, as if many smiths,
with their greatest hammers, had been laying on as upon an anvil;
sometimes it thumpt against the walls as if it would beat a hole
through; then upon their heads, such stamping, as if the roof of the
house were beating down upon their heads; and having done thus, during
the space (as was conjectured) of two hours, it ceased and vanished, but
with a more fierce shutting of the doors than at any time before. In the
morning they found the pieces of glass about the room, and observed,
that it was much differing from that glasse brought in three nights
before, this being of a much thicker substance, which severall persons
which came in carried away some pieces of. The Commissioners were in
debate of lodging there no more; but all their businesse was not done,
and some of them were so conceited as to believe, and to attribute the
rest they enjoyed the night before this last, unto the mastive bitch;
wherefore, they resolved to get more company, and the mastive bitch, and
try another night.

_October_ 31. This night, the fires and lights prepared, the ordinary
keeper and his bitch, with another man perswaded by him, they all took
their beds and fell asleep. But about twelve at night, such rapping was
on all sides of them, that it wakened all of them; as the doors did seem
to open, the mastive bitch fell fearfully a yelling, and presently ran
fiercely into the bed to them in the truckle-bed; as the thing came by
the table, it struck so fierce a blow on that, as that it made the frame
to crack, then took the warming-pan from off the table, and stroke it
against the walls with so much force as that it was beat flat together,
lid and bottom. Now were they hit as they lay covered over head and ears
within the bed-clothes. Captain Carelesse was taken a sound blow on the
head with the shoulder-blade bone of a dead horse, (before they had been
but thrown at, when they peept up, and mist;) Browne had a shrewed blow
on the leg with the backbone, and another on the head, and every one of
them felt severall blows of bones and stones through the bed-clothes,
for now these things were thrown as from an angry hand that meant
further mischief; the stones flew in at window as shot out of a gun, nor
was the bursts lesse (as from without) than of a cannon, and all the
windows broken down. Now as the hurling of the things did cease, and the
thing walkt up and down, Captain Cockaine and Hart cried out, In the
name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, what are you? What would you
have? What have we done that you disturb us thus? No voice replied, (as
the Captains said, yet some of their servants have said otherwise,) and
the noise ceast. Hereupon Captains Hart and Cockaine rose, who lay in
the bed-chamber, renewed the fire and lights, and one great candle, in a
candlestick, they placed in the door, that might be seen by them in both
the rooms. No sooner were they got to bed, but the noise arose on all
sides more loud and hideous than at any time before, insomuch as (to use
the Captains' own words) it returned and brought seven devils worse than
itself; and presently they saw the candle and candlestick in the passage
of the door, dasht up to the roof of the room, by a kick of the hinder
parts of a horse, and after with the hoof trode out the snuff, and so
dasht out the fire in the chimnies. As this was done, there fell, as
from the ceiling, upon them in the truckle-beds such quantities of
water, as if it had been poured out of buckets, which stunk worse than
any earthly stink could make; and as this was in doing, something crept
under the high beds, tost them up to the roof of the house, with the
Commissioners in them, until the testers of the beds were beaten down
upon, and the bedsted-frames broke under them; and here some pause being
made, they all, as if with one consent, started up, and ran down the
stairs until they came into the Councel Hall, where two sate up
a-brewing, but now were fallen asleep; those they scared much with the
wakening of them, having been much perplext before with the strange
noise, which commonly was taken by them abroad for thunder, sometimes
for rumbling wind. Here the Captains and their company got fire and
candle, and every one carrying something of either, they returned into
the Presence-Chamber, where some applied themselves to make the fire,
whilst others fell to prayers, and having got some clothes about them,
they spent the residue of the night in singing psalms and prayers;
during which, no noise was in that room, but most hideously round about,
as at some distance.

It should have been told before, how that when Captain Hart first rose
this night, (who lay in the bed-chamber next the fire,) he found their
book of valuations crosse the embers smoaking, which he snacht up and
cast upon the table there, which the night before was left upon the
table in the presence amongst their other papers; this book was in the
morning found a handful burnt, and had burnt the table where it lay;
Browne the clerk said, he would not for a 100 and a 100 L that it had
been burnt a handful further.

This night it happened that there were six cony-stealers, who were come
with their nets and ferrets to the cony-burrows by Rosamond's Well; but
with the noise this night from the Mannor-house, they were so terrified,
that like men distracted away they ran, and left their haies all ready
pitched, ready up, and the ferrets in the cony-burrows.

Now the Commissioners, more sensible of their danger, considered more
seriously of their safety, and agreed to go and confer with Mr. Hoffman,
the minister of Wotton, (a man not of the meanest note for life or
learning, by some esteemed more high,) to desire his advice, together
with his company and prayers. Mr. Hoffman held it too high a point to
resolve on suddenly and by himself, wherefore desired time to consider
upon it, which being agreed unto, he forthwith rode to Mr. Jenkinson and
Mr. Wheat, the two next Justices of Peace, to try what warrant they
could give him for it. They both (as 'tis said from themselves)
encouraged him to be assisting to the Commissioners, according to his
calling.

But certain it is, that when they came to fetch him to go with them, Mr.
Hoffman answered, that he would not lodge there one night for 500 L, and
being asked to pray with them, he held up his hands and said, that he
would not meddle upon any terms.

Mr. Hoffman refusing to undertake the quarrel, the Commissioners held it
not safe to lodge where they had been thus entertained any longer, but
caused all things to be removed into the chambers over the gatehouse,
where they stayed but one night, and what rest they enjoyed there, we
have but an uncertain relation of, for they went away early the next
morning; but if it may be held fit to set down what hath been delivered
by the report of others, they were also the same night much affrighted
with dreadful apparitions; but observing that these passages spread much
in discourse, to be also in particulars taken notice of, and that the
nature of it made not for their cause, they agreed to the concealing of
things for the future; yet this is well-known and certain, that the
gate-keeper's wife was in so strange an agony in her bed, and in her
bed-chamber such noise, (whilst her husband was above with the
Commissioners,) that two maids in the next room to her, durst not
venture to assist her, but affrighted ran out to call company, and their
master, and found the woman (at their coming in) gasping for breath; and
the next day said, that she saw and suffered that, which for all the
world she would not be hired to again.

From Woodstock the Commissioners removed unto Euelme, and some of them
returned to Woodstock the Sunday se'nnight after, (the book of
Valuations wanting something that was for haste left imperfect,) but
lodged not in any of those rooms where they had lain before, and yet
were not unvisited (as they confess themselves) by the devil, whom they
called their nightly guest; Captain Crook came not untill Tuesday night,
and how he sped that night the gate-keeper's wife can tell if she
dareth, but what she hath whispered to her gossips, shall not be made a
part of this our narrative, nor many more particulars which have fallen
from the Commissioners themselves and their servants to other persons;
they are all or most of them alive, and may add to it when they please,
and surely have not a better way to be revenged of him who troubled
them, than according to the proverb, tell truth and shame the devil.

There remains this observation to be added, that on a Wednesday morning
all these officers went away; and that since then diverse persons of
severall qualities, have lodged often and sometimes long in the same
rooms, both in the presence, withdrawing-room, and bed-chamber belonging
unto his sacred Majesty; yet none have had the least disturbance, or
heard the smallest noise, for which the cause was not as ordinary as
apparent, except the Commissioners and their company, who came in order
to the alienating and pulling down the house, which is wellnigh
performed.



A SHORT SURVEY OF WOODSTOCK, NOT TAKEN BY ANY OF THE BEFORE-MENTIONED
COMMISSIONERS.

(This Survey of Woodstock is appended to the preceding pamphlet)


The noble seat, called Woodstock, is one of the ancient honours
belonging to the crown. Severall mannors owe suite and service to the
place; but the custom of the countrey giving it but the title of a
mannor, we shall erre with them to be the better understood.

The mannor-house hath been a large fabrick, and accounted amongst his
majestie's standing houses, because there was alwaies kept a standing
furniture. This great house was built by King Henry the First, but
ampleyfied with the gate-house and outsides of the outer-court, by King
Henry the Seventh, the stables by King James.

About a bow-shot from the gate south-west, remain foundation signs of
that structure, erected by King Henry the Second, for the security of
Lady Rosamond, daughter of Walter Lord Clifford, which some poets have
compared to the Dedalian labyrinth, but the form and circuit both of the
place and ruins show it to have been a house and of one pile, perhaps of
strength, according to the fashion of those times, and probably was
fitted with secret places of recess, and avenues to hide or convey away
such persons as were not willing to be found if narrowly sought after.
About the midst of the place ariseth a spring, called at present
Rosamond's Well; it is but shallow, and shows to have been paved and
walled about, likely contrived for the use of them within the house,
when it should be of danger to go out.

A quarter of a mile distant from the King's house, is seated Woodstook
town, new and old. This new Woodstock did arise by some buildings which
Henry the Second gave leave to be erected, (as received by tradition,)
at the suite of the Lady Rosamond, for the use of out-servants upon the
wastes of the manner of Bladon, where is the mother church; this is a
hamlet belonging to it, though encreased to a market town by the
advantage of the Court residing sometime near, which of late years they
have been sensible of the want of; this town was made a corporation in
the 11th year of Henry the Sixth, by charter, with power to send two
burgesses to parliament or not, as they will themselves.

Old Woodstock is seated on the west side of the brook, named Glyme,
which also runneth through the park; the town consists not of above four
or five houses, but it is to be conceived that it hath been much larger,
(but very anciently so,) for in some old law historians there is mention
of the assize at Woodstock, for a law made in a Micelgemote (the name of
Parliaments before the coming of the Norman) in the days of King
Ethelred.

And in like manner, that thereabout was a king's house, if not in the
same place where Henry the First built the late standing pile before
his; for in such days those great councils were commonly held in the
King's palaces. Some of those lands have belonged to the orders of the
Knights Templers, there being records which call them, _Terras quas Rex
excambiavit cum Templariis_.

But now this late large mannor-house is in a manner almost turned into
heaps of rubbish; some seven or eight rooms left for the accommodation
of a tenant that should rent the King's medows, (of those who had no
power to let them,) with several high uncovered walls standing, the
prodigious spectacles of malice unto monarchy, which ruines still bear
semblance of their state, and yet aspire in spight of envy, or of
weather, to show, What kings do build, subjects may sometimes shake, but
utterly can never overthrow.

That part of the park called the High-park, hath been lately subdivided
by Sir Arthur Haselrig, to make pastures for his breed of colts, and
other parts plowed up. Of the whole saith Roffus Warwicensis, in MS.
Hen. I. p. 122. _Fecit iste Rex Parcum de Woodstock, cum Palatio, infra
praedictum Parcum, qui Parcus erat primus Parcus Angliae, et continet
in circuitu septem Miliaria; constructus erat. Anno 14 hujus Regis, aut
parum post_. Without the Park the King's demesne woods were, it cannot
well be said now are, the timber being all sold off, and underwoods so
cropt and spoiled by that beast the Lord Munson, and other greedy
cattle, that they are hardly recoverable. Beyond which lieth Stonefield,
and other mannors that hold of Woodstock, with other woods, that have
been aliened by former kings, but with reservation of liberty for his
majestie's deer, and other beasts of forrest, to harbour in at pleasure,
as in due place is to be shewed.

       *       *       *       *       *

PREFACE.

It is not my purpose to inform my readers how the manuscripts of that
eminent antiquary, the Rev. J. A. ROCHECLIFFE, D.D., came into my
possession. There are many ways in which such things happen, and it is
enough to say they were rescued from an unworthy fate, and that they
were honestly come by. As for the authenticity of the anecdotes which I
have gleaned from the writings of this excellent person, and put
together with my own unrivalled facility, the name of Doctor Rochecliffe
will warrant accuracy, wherever that name happens to be known.

With his history the reading part of the world are well acquainted; and
we might refer the tyro to honest Anthony a Wood, who looked up to him
as one of the pillars of High Church, and bestows on him an exemplary
character in the _Athenae Oxonienses_, although the Doctor was educated
at Cambridge, England's other eye.

It is well known that Doctor Rochecliffe early obtained preferment in
the Church, on account of the spirited share which he took in the
controversy with the Puritans; and that his work, entitled _Malleus
Haeresis_, was considered as a knock-down blow by all except those who
received it. It was that work which made him, at the early age of
thirty, Rector of Woodstock, and which afterwards secured him a place in
the Catalogue of the celebrated Century White;--and worse than being
shown up by that fanatic, among the catalogues of scandalous and
malignant priests admitted into benefices by the prelates, his opinions
occasioned the loss of his living of Woodstock by the ascendency of
Presbytery. He was Chaplain, during most part of the Civil War, to Sir
Henry Lee's regiment, levied for the service of King Charles; and it was
said he engaged more than once personally in the field. At least it is
certain that Doctor Rochecliffe was repeatedly in great danger, as will
appear from more passages than one in the following history, which
speaks of his own exploits, like Caesar, in the third person. I suspect,
however, some Presbyterian commentator has been guilty of interpolating
two or three passages. The manuscript was long in possession of the
Everards, a distinguished family of that persuasion. (It is hardly
necessary to say, unless to some readers of very literal capacity, that
Dr. Rochecliffe and his manuscripts are alike apocryphal.)

During the Usurpation, Doctor Rochecliffe was constantly engaged in one
or other of the premature attempts at a restoration of monarchy; and was
accounted, for his audacity, presence of mind, and depth of judgment,
one of the greatest undertakers for the King in that busy time; with
this trifling drawback, that the plots in which he busied himself were
almost constantly detected. Nay, it was suspected that Cromwell himself
sometimes contrived to suggest to him the intrigues in which he engaged,
by which means the wily Protector made experiments on the fidelity of
doubtful friends, and became well acquainted with the plots of declared
enemies, which he thought it more easy to disconcert and disappoint than
to punish severely.

Upon the Restoration, Doctor Rochecliffe regained his living of
Woodstock, with other Church preferment, and gave up polemics and
political intrigues for philosophy. He was one of the constituent
members of the Royal Society, and was the person through whom Charles
required of that learned body solution of their curious problem, "Why,
if a vessel is filled brimful of water, and a large live fish plunged
into the water, nevertheless it shall not overflow the pitcher?" Doctor
Rochecliffe's exposition of this phenomenon was the most ingenious and
instructive of four that were given in; and it is certain the Doctor
must have gained the honour of the day, but for the obstinacy of a
plain, dull, country gentleman, who insisted that the experiment should
be, in the first place, publicly tried. When this was done, the event
showed it would have been rather rash to have adopted the facts
exclusively on the royal authority; as the fish, however curiously
inserted into his native element, splashed the water over the hall, and
destroyed the credit of four ingenious essayists, besides a large Turkey
carpet.

Doctor Rochecliffe, it would seem, died about 1685, leaving many papers
behind him of various kinds, and, above all, many valuable anecdotes of
secret history, from which the following Memoirs have been extracted, on
which we intend to say only a few words by way of illustration.

The existence of Rosamond's Labyrinth, mentioned in these pages, is
attested by Drayton in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.

Rosamond's Labyrinth, whose ruins, together with her Well, being paved
with square stones in the bottom, and also her Tower, from which the
Labyrinth did run, are yet remaining, being vaults arched and walled
with stone and brick, almost inextricably wound within one another, by
which, if at any time her lodging were laid about by the Queen, she
might easily avoid peril imminent, and, if need be, by secret issues
take the air abroad, many furlongs about Woodstock in Oxfordshire.
[Drayton's England's Heroical Epistles, Note A, on the Epistle, Rosamond
to King Henry.]

It is highly probable, that a singular piece of phantasmagoria, which
was certainly played off upon the Commissioners of the Long Parliament,
who were sent down to dispark and destroy Woodstock, after the death of
Charles I., was conducted by means of the secret passages and recesses
in the ancient Labyrinth of Rosamond, round which successive Monarchs
had erected a Hunting-seat or Lodge.

There is a curious account of the disturbance given to those Honourable
Commissioners, inserted by Doctor Plot, in his Natural History of
Oxfordshire. But as I have not the book at hand, I can only allude to
the work of the celebrated Glanville upon Witches, who has extracted it
as an highly accredited narrative of supernatural dealings. The beds of
the Commissioners, and their servants, were hoisted up till they were
almost inverted, and then let down again so suddenly, as to menace them
with broken bones. Unusual and horrible noises disturbed those
sacrilegious intromitters with royal property. The devil, on one
occasion, brought them a warming-pan; on another, pelted them with
stones and horses' bones. Tubs of water were emptied on them in their
sleep; and so many other pranks of the same nature played at their
expense, that they broke up housekeeping, and left their intended
spoliation only half completed. The good sense of Doctor Plot suspected,
that these feats were wrought by conspiracy and confederation, which
Glanville of course endeavours to refute with all his might; for it
could scarce be expected, that he who believed in so convenient a
solution as that of supernatural agency, would consent to relinquish the
service of a key, which will answer any lock, however intricate.

Nevertheless, it was afterwards discovered, that Doctor Plot was
perfectly right; and that the only demon who wrought all these marvels,
was a disguised royalist--a fellow called Trusty Joe, or some such name,
formerly in the service of the Keeper of the Park, but who engaged in
that of the Commissioners, on purpose to subject them to his
persecution. I think I have seen some account of the real state of the
transaction, and of the machinery by which the wizard worked his
wonders; but whether in a book, or a pamphlet, I am uncertain. I
remember one passage particularly to this purpose. The Commissioners
having agreed to retain some articles out of the public account, in
order to be divided among themselves, had entered into an indenture for
ascertaining their share in the peculation, which they hid in a bow-pot
for security. Now, when an assembly of divines, aided by the most strict
religious characters in the neighbourhood of Woodstock, were assembled
to conjure down the supposed demon, Trusty Joe had contrived a firework,
which he let off in the midst of the exorcism, and which destroyed the
bow-pot; and, to the shame and confusion of the Commissioners, threw
their secret indenture into the midst of the assembled ghost-seers, who
became thus acquainted with their secret schemes of peculation.

It is, however, to little purpose for me to strain my memory about
ancient and imperfect recollections concerning the particulars of these
fantastic disturbances at Woodstock, since Doctor Rochecliffe's papers
give such a much more accurate narrative than could be obtained from any
account in existence before their publication. Indeed, I might have gone
much more fully into this part of my subject, for the materials are
ample;--but, to tell the reader a secret, some friendly critics were of
opinion they made the story hang on hand; and thus I was prevailed on to
be more concise on the subject than I might otherwise have been.

The impatient reader, perhaps, is by this time accusing me of keeping
the sun from him with a candle. Were the sunshine as bright, however, as
it is likely to prove; and the flambeau, or link, a dozen of times as
smoky, my friend must remain in the inferior atmosphere a minute longer,
while I disclaim the idea of poaching on another's manor. Hawks, we say
in Scotland, ought not to pick out hawks' eyes, or tire upon each
other's quarry; and therefore, if I had known that, in its date and its
characters this tale was likely to interfere with that recently
published by a distinguished contemporary, I should unquestionably have
left Doctor Rochecliffe's manuscript in peace for the present season.
But before I was aware of this circumstance, this little book was half
through the press; and I had only the alternative of avoiding any
intentional imitation, by delaying a perusal of the contemporary work in
question. Some accidental collision there must be, when works of a
similar character are finished on the same general system of historical
manners, and the same historical personages are introduced. Of course,
if such have occurred, I shall be probably the sufferer. But my
intentions have been at least innocent, since I look on it as one of the
advantages attending the conclusion of WOODSTOCK, that the finishing
of my own task will permit me to have the pleasure of reading
BRAMBLETYE-HOUSE, from which I have hitherto conscientiously abstained.




WOODSTOCK.



CHAPTER THE FIRST.


  Some were for gospel ministers,
  And some for red-coat seculars,
  As men most fit t' hold forth the word,
  And wield the one and th' other sword.
                         Butler's _Hudibras_.

There is a handsome parish church in the town of Woodstock,--I am told
so, at least, for I never saw it, having scarce time, when at the place,
to view the magnificence of Blenheim, its painted halls, and tapestried
bowers, and then return in due season to dine in hall with my learned
friend, the provost of ----; being one of those occasions on which a man
wrongs himself extremely, if he lets his curiosity interfere with his
punctuality. I had the church accurately described to me, with a view to
this work; but, as I have some reason to doubt whether my informant had
ever seen the inside of it himself, I shall be content to say that it is
now a handsome edifice, most part of which was rebuilt forty or fifty
years since, although it still contains some arches of the old chantry,
founded, it is said, by King John. It is to this more ancient part of
the building that my story refers. On a morning in the end of September,
or beginning of October, in the year 1652, being a day appointed for a
solemn thanksgiving for the decisive victory at Worcester, a respectable
audience was assembled in the old chantry, or chapel of King John. The
condition of the church and character of the audience both bore witness
to the rage of civil war, and the peculiar spirit of the times. The
sacred edifice showed many marks of dilapidation. The windows, once
filled with stained glass, had been dashed to pieces with pikes and
muskets, as matters of and pertaining to idolatry. The carving on the
reading-desk was damaged, and two fair screens of beautiful sculptured
oak had been destroyed, for the same pithy and conclusive reason. The
high altar had been removed, and the gilded railing, which was once
around it, was broken down and carried off. The effigies of several
tombs were mutilated, and now lay scattered about the church,

  Torn from their destined niche--unworthy meed
  Of knightly counsel or heroic deed!

The autumn wind piped through empty aisles, in which the remains of
stakes and trevisses of rough-hewn timber, as well as a quantity of
scattered hay and trampled straw, seemed to intimate that the hallowed
precincts had been, upon some late emergency, made the quarters of a
troop of horse.

The audience, like the building, was abated in splendour. None of the
ancient and habitual worshippers during peaceful times, were now to be
seen in their carved galleries, with hands shadowing their brows, while
composing their minds to pray where their fathers had prayed, and after
the same mode of worship. The eye of the yeoman and peasant sought in
vain the tall form of old Sir Henry Lee, of Ditchley, as, wrapped in his
lace cloak, and with beard and whiskers duly composed, he moved slowly
through the aisles, followed by the faithful mastiff, or bloodhound,
which in old time had saved his master by his fidelity, and which
regularly followed him to church. Bevis, indeed, fell under the proverb
which avers, "He is a good dog which goes to church;" for, bating an
occasional temptation to warble along with the accord, he behaved
himself as decorously as any of the congregation, and returned as much
edified, perhaps, as most of them. The damsels of Woodstock looked as
vainly for the laced cloaks, jingling spurs, slashed boots, and tall
plumes, of the young cavaliers of this and other high-born houses,
moving through the streets and the church-yard with the careless ease,
which indicates perhaps rather an overweening degree of self-confidence,
yet shows graceful when mingled with good-humour and courtesy. The good
old dames, too, in their white hoods and black velvet gowns--their
daughters, "the cynosure of neighbouring eyes,"--where were they all
now, who, when they entered the church, used to divide men's thoughts
between them and Heaven? "But, ah! Alice Lee--so sweet, so gentle, so
condescending in thy loveliness--[thus proceeds a contemporary annalist,
whose manuscript we have deciphered]--why is my story to turn upon thy
fallen fortunes? and why not rather to the period when, in the very
dismounting from your palfrey, you attracted as many eyes as if an angel
had descended,--as many blessings as if the benignant being had come
fraught with good tidings? No creature wert thou of an idle romancer's
imagination--no being fantastically bedizened with inconsistent
perfections;--thy merits made me love thee well--and for thy faults--so
well did they show amid thy good qualities, that I think they made me
love thee better."

With the house of Lee had disappeared from the chantry of King John
others of gentle blood and honoured lineage--Freemantles, Winklecombes,
Drycotts, &c.; for the air that blew over the towers of Oxford was
unfavourable to the growth of Puritanism, which was more general in the
neighbouring counties. There were among the congregation, however, one
or two that, by their habits and demeanour, seemed country gentlemen of
consideration, and there were also present some of the notables of the
town of Woodstock, cutlers or glovers chiefly, whose skill in steel or
leather had raised them to a comfortable livelihood. These dignitaries
wore long black cloaks, plaited close at the neck, and, like peaceful
citizens, carried their Bibles and memorandum-books at their girdles,
instead of knife or sword. [This custom among the Puritans is mentioned
often in old plays, and among others in the Widow of Watling Street.]
This respectable, but least numerous part of the audience, were such
decent persons as had adopted the Presbyterian form of faith, renouncing
the liturgy and hierarchy of the Church of England, and living under the
tuition of the Rev. Nehemiah Holdenough, much famed for the length and
strength of his powers of predication. With these grave seniors sate
their goodly dames in ruff and gorget, like the portraits which in
catalogues of paintings are designed "wife of a burgomaster;" and their
pretty daughters, whose study, like that of Chaucer's physician, was not
always in the Bible, but who were, on the contrary, when a glance could
escape the vigilance of their honoured mothers, inattentive themselves,
and the cause of inattention in others.

But, besides these dignified persons, there were in the church a
numerous collection of the lower orders, some brought thither by
curiosity, but many of them unwashed artificers, bewildered in the
theological discussions of the time, and of as many various sects as
there are colours in the rainbow. The presumption of these learned
Thebans being in exact proportion to their ignorance, the last was total
and the first boundless. Their behaviour in the church was any thing but
reverential or edifying. Most of them affected a cynical contempt for
all that was only held sacred by human sanction--the church was to these
men but a steeple-house, the clergyman, an ordinary person; her
ordinances, dry bran and sapless pottage unfitted for the spiritualized
palates of the saints, and the prayer, an address to Heaven, to which
each acceded or not as in his too critical judgment he conceived fit.

The elder amongst them sate or lay on the benches, with their high
steeple-crowned hats pulled over their severe and knitted brows, waiting
for the Presbyterian parson, as mastiffs sit in dumb expectation of the
bull that is to be brought to the stake. The younger mixed, some of
them, a bolder license of manners with their heresies; they gazed round
on the women, yawned, coughed, and whispered, eat apples, and cracked
nuts, as if in the gallery of a theatre ere the piece commences.

Besides all these, the congregation contained a few soldiers, some in
corslets and steel caps, some in buff, and others in red coats. These
men of war had their bandeliers, with ammunition, slung around them, and
rested on their pikes and muskets. They, too, had their peculiar
doctrines on the most difficult points of religion, and united the
extravagances of enthusiasm with the most determined courage and
resolution in the field. The burghers of Woodstock looked on these
military saints with no small degree of awe; for though not often
sullied with deeds of plunder or cruelty, they had the power of both
absolutely in their hands, and the peaceful citizen had no alternative,
save submission to whatever the ill-regulated and enthusiastic
imaginations of their martial guides might suggest.

After some time spent in waiting for him, Mr. Holdenough began to walk
up the aisles of the chapel, not with the slow and dignified carriage
with which the old Rector was of yore wont to maintain the dignity of
the surplice, but with a hasty step, like one who arrives too late at an
appointment, and bustles forward to make the best use of his time. He
was a tall thin man, with an adust complexion, and the vivacity of his
eye indicated some irascibility of temperament. His dress was brown, not
black, and over his other vestments he wore, in honour of Calvin, a
Geneva cloak of a blue colour, which fell backwards from his shoulders
as he posted on to the pulpit. His grizzled hair was cut as short as
shears could perform the feat, and covered with a black silk scull-cap,
which stuck so close to his head, that the two ears expanded from under
it as if they had been intended as handles by which to lift the whole
person. Moreover, the worthy divine wore spectacles, and a long grizzled
peaked beard, and he carried in his hand a small pocket-bible with
silver clasps. Upon arriving at the pulpit, he paused a moment to take
breath, then began to ascend the steps by two at a time.

But his course was arrested by a strong hand, which seized his cloak. It
was that of one who had detached himself from the group of soldiery. He
was a stout man of middle stature, with a quick eye, and a countenance,
which, though plain, had yet an expression that fixed the attention. His
dress, though not strictly military, partook of that character. He wore
large hose made of calves-leather, and a tuck, as it was then called, or
rapier, of tremendous length, balanced on the other side by a dagger.
The belt was morocco, garnished with pistols.

The minister, thus intercepted in his duty, faced round upon the party
who had seized him, and demanded, in no gentle tone, the meaning of the
interruption.

"Friend," quoth the intruder, "is it thy purpose to hold forth to these
good people?"

"Ay, marry is it," said the clergyman, "and such is my bounden duty. Woe
to me if I preach not the gospel--Prithee, friend, let me not in my
labour"--

"Nay," said the man of warlike mien, "I am myself minded to hold forth;
therefore, do thou desist, or if thou wilt do by my advice, remain and
fructify with those poor goslings, to whom I am presently about to shake
forth the crumbs of comfortable doctrine."

"Give place, thou man of Satan," said the priest, waxing wroth, "respect
mine order--my cloth."

"I see no more to respect in the cut of thy cloak, or in the cloth of
which it is fashioned," said the other, "than thou didst in the Bishop's
rochets--they were black and white, thou art blue and brown. Sleeping
dogs every one of you, lying down, loving to slumber--shepherds that
starve the flock but will not watch it, each looking to his own
gain--hum."

Scenes of this indecent kind were so common at the time, that no one
thought of interfering; the congregation looked on in silence, the
better class scandalized, and the lower orders, some laughing, and
others backing the soldier or minister as their fancy dictated. Meantime
the struggle waxed fiercer; Mr. Holdenough clamoured for assistance.

"Master Mayor of Woodstock," he exclaimed, "wilt thou be among those
wicked magistrates, who bear the sword in vain?--Citizens, will you not
help your pastor?--Worthy Alderman, will you see me strangled on the
pulpit stairs by this man of buff and Belial?--But lo, I will overcome
him, and cast his cords from me."

As Holdenough spoke, he struggled to ascend the pulpit stairs, holding
hard on the banisters. His tormentor held fast by the skirts of the
cloak, which went nigh to the choking of the wearer, until, as he spoke
the words last mentioned, in a half-strangled voice, Mr. Holdenough
dexterously slipped the string which tied it round his neck, so that the
garment suddenly gave way; the soldier fell backwards down the steps,
and the liberated divine skipped into the pulpit, and began to give
forth a psalm of triumph over his prostrate adversary. But a great
hubbub in the church marred his exultation, and although he and his
faithful clerk continued to sing the hymn of victory, their notes were
only heard by fits, like the whistle of a curlew during a gale of wind.

The cause of the tumult was as follows:--The Mayor was a zealous
Presbyterian, and witnessed the intrusion of the soldier with great
indignation from the very beginning, though he hesitated to interfere
with an armed man while on his legs and capable of resistance. But no
sooner did he behold the champion of independency sprawling on his back,
with the divine's Geneva cloak fluttering in his hands, than the
magistrate rushed forward, exclaiming that such insolence was not to be
endured, and ordered his constables to seize the prostrate champion,
proclaiming, in the magnanimity of wrath, "I will commit every red-coat
of them all--I will commit him were he Noll Cromwell himself!"

The worthy Mayor's indignation had overmastered his reason when he made
this mistimed vaunt; for three soldiers, who had hitherto stood
motionless like statues, made each a stride in advance, which placed
them betwixt the municipal officers and the soldier, who was in the act
of rising; then making at once the movement of resting arms according to
the manual as then practised, their musket-buts rang on the church
pavement, within an inch of the gouty toes of Master Mayor. The
energetic magistrate, whose efforts in favour of order were thus
checked, cast one glance on his supporters, but that was enough to show
him that force was not on his side. All had shrunk back on hearing that
ominous clatter of stone and iron. He was obliged to descend to
expostulation.

"What do you mean, my masters?" said he; "is it like a decent and
God-fearing soldiery, who have wrought such things for the land as have
never before been heard of, to brawl and riot in the church, or to aid,
abet, and comfort a profane fellow, who hath, upon a solemn thanksgiving
excluded the minister from his own pulpit?"

"We have nought to do with thy church, as thou call'st it," said he who,
by a small feather in front of his morion, appeared to be the corporal
of the party;--"we see not why men of gifts should not be heard within
these citadels of superstition, as well as the voice of the men of crape
of old, and the men of cloak now. Wherefore, we will pluck yon Jack
Presbyter out of his wooden sentinel-box, and our own watchman shall
relieve the guard, and mount thereon, and cry aloud and spare not."

"Nay, gentlemen," said the Mayor, "if such be your purpose, we have not
the means to withstand you, being, as you see, peaceful and quiet
men--But let me first speak with this worthy minister, Nehemiah
Holdenough, to persuade him to yield up his place for the time without
farther scandal."

The peace-making Mayor then interrupted the quavering Holdenough and the
clerk, and prayed both to retire, else there would, he said, be
certainly strife.

"Strife!" replied the Presbyterian divine, with scorn; "no fear of
strife among men that dare not testify against this open profanation of
the Church, and daring display of heresy. Would your neighbours of
Banbury have brooked such an insult?"

"Come, come, Master Holdenough," said the Mayor, "put us not to mutiny
and cry Clubs. I tell you once more, we are not men of war or blood."

"Not more than may be drawn by the point of a needle," said the
preacher, scornfully.--"Ye tailors of Woodstock!--for what is a glover
but a tailor working on kidskin?--I forsake you, in scorn of your faint
hearts and feeble hands, and will seek me elsewhere a flock which will
not fly from their shepherd at the braying of the first wild ass which
cometh from out the great desert."

So saying, the aggrieved divine departed from his pulpit, and shaking
the dust from his shoes, left the church as hastily as he had entered
it, though with a different reason for his speed. The citizens saw his
retreat with sorrow, and not without a compunctious feeling, as if
conscious that they were not playing the most courageous part in the
world. The Mayor himself and several others left the church, to follow
and appease him.

The Independent orator, late prostrate, was now triumphant, and
inducting himself into the pulpit without farther ceremony, he pulled a
Bible from his pocket, and selected his text from the forty-fifth
psalm,--"Gird thy sword upon thy thigh, O most mighty, with thy glory
and thy majesty: and in thy majesty ride prosperously."--Upon this
theme, he commenced one of those wild declamations common at the period,
in which men were accustomed to wrest and pervert the language of
Scripture, by adapting to it modern events.

(See "Vindication of the Book of Common Prayer, against the contumelious
Slanders of the Fanatic Party terming it Porridge."

The author of this singular and rare tract indulges in the allegorical
style, till he fairly hunts down the allegory.

"But as for what you call porridge, who hatched the name I know not,
neither is it worth the enquiring after, for I hold porridge good food.
It is better to a sick man than meat, for a sick man will sooner eat
pottage than meat. Pottage will digest with him when meat will not:
pottage will nourish the blood, fill the veins, run into every part of a
man, make him warmer; so will these prayers do, set our soul and body in
a heat, warm our devotion, work fervency in us, lift up our soul to God.
For there be herbs of God's own planting in our pottage as ye call
it--the Ten Commandments, dainty herbs to season any pottage in the
world; there is the Lord's Prayer, and that is a most sweet pot-herb,
cannot be denied; then there is also David's herbs, his prayers and
psalms, helps to make our pottage relish well; the psalm of the blessed
Virgin, a good pot-herb. Though they be, as some term them,
_cock-crowed_ pottage, yet they are as sweet, as good, as dainty, and as
fresh, as they were at first. The sun hath not made them sour with its
heat, neither hath the cold water taken away their vigour and strength.
Compare them with the Scriptures, and see if they be not as well
seasoned and crumbed. If you find any thing in them that is either too
salt, too fresh, or too bitter, that herb shall be taken out and better
put in, if it can be got, or none. And as in kitchen pottage there are
many good herbs, so there is likewise in this church pottage, as ye call
it. For first, there is in kitchen pottage good water to make them so;
on the contrary, in the other pottage there is the water of life. 2.
There is salt, to season them; so in the other is a prayer of grace to
season their hearts. 3. There is oatmeal to nourish the body, in the
other is the bread of life. 4. There is thyme in them to relish them,
and it is very wholesome--in the other is the wholesome exhortation not
to harden our heart while it is called to-day. This relisheth well. 5.
There is a small onion to give a taste--in the other is a good herb,
called Lord have mercy on us. These, and many other holy herbs are
contained in it, all boiling in the heart of man, will make as good
pottage as the world can afford, especially if you use these herbs for
digestion. The herb repentance, the herb grace, the herb faith, the herb
love, the herb hope, the herb good works, the herb feeling, the herb
zeal, the herb fervency, the herb ardency, the herb constancy, with many
more of this nature, most excellent for digestion." _Ohe! jam satis._ In
this manner the learned divine hunts his metaphor at a very cold scent,
through a pamphlet of six mortal quarto pages.)

The language which, in its literal sense, was applied to King David, and
typically referred to the coming of the Messiah, was, in the opinion of
the military orator, most properly to be interpreted of Oliver Cromwell,
the victorious general of the infant Commonwealth, which was never
destined to come of age. "Gird on thy sword!" exclaimed the preacher
emphatically; "and was not that a pretty bit of steel as ever dangled
from a corslet, or rung against a steel saddle? Ay, ye prick up your
ears now, ye cutlers of Woodstock, as if ye should know something of a
good fox broad sword--Did you forge it, I trow?--was the steel quenched
with water from Rosamond's well, or the blade blessed by the old
cuckoldy priest of Godstow? You would have us think, I warrant me, that
you wrought it and welded it, grinded and polished it, and all the while
it never came on a Woodstock stithy! You were all too busy making
whittles for the lazy crape-men of Oxford, bouncing priests, whose eyes
were so closed up with fat, that they could not see Destruction till she
had them by the throat. But I can tell you where the sword was forged,
and tempered, and welded, and grinded, and polished. When you were, as I
said before, making whittles for false priests, and daggers for
dissolute G--d d--n-me cavaliers, to cut the people of England's throats
with--it was forged at Long Marston Moor, where blows went faster than
ever rung hammer on anvil--and it was tempered at Naseby, in the best
blood of the cavaliers--and it was welded in Ireland against the walls
of Drogheda--and it was grinded on Scottish lives at Dunbar--and now of
late it was polished in Worcester, till it shines as bright as the sun
in the middle heaven, and there is no light in England that shall come
nigh unto it."

Here the military part of the congregation raised a hum of approbation,
which, being a sound like the "hear, hear," of the British House of
Commons, was calculated to heighten the enthusiasm of the orator, by
intimating the sympathy of the audience. "And then," resumed the
preacher, rising in energy as he found that his audience partook in
these feelings, "what saith the text?--Ride on prosperously--do not
stop--do not call a halt--do not quit the saddle--pursue the scattered
fliers--sound the trumpet--not a levant or a flourish, but a point of
war--sound, boot and saddle--to horse and away--a charge!--follow after
the young Man!--what part have we in him?--Slay, take, destroy, divide
the spoil! Blessed art thou, Oliver, on account of thine honour--thy
cause is clear, thy call is undoubted--never has defeat come near thy
leading-staff, nor disaster attended thy banner. Ride on, flower of
England's soldiers! ride on, chosen leader of God's champions! gird up
the loins of thy resolution, and be steadfast to the mark of thy high
calling."

Another deep and stern hum, echoed by the ancient embow'd arches of the
old chantry, gave him an opportunity of an instant's repose; when the
people of Woodstock heard him, and not without anxiety, turn the stream
of his oratory into another channel.

"But wherefore, ye people of Woodstock, do I say these things to you,
who claim no portion in our David, no interest in England's son of
Jesse?--You, who were fighting as well as your might could (and it was
not very formidable) for the late Man, under that old blood-thirsty
papist Sir Jacob Aston--are you not now plotting, or ready to plot, for
the restoring, as ye call it, of the young Man, the unclean son of the
slaughtered tyrant--the fugitive after whom the true hearts of England
are now following, that they may take and slay him?--'Why should your
rider turn his bridle our way?' say you in your hearts; 'we will none of
him; if we may help ourselves, we will rather turn us to wallow in the
mire of monarchy, with the sow that was washed but newly.' Come, men of
Woodstock, I will ask, and do you answer me. Hunger ye still after the
flesh-pots of the monks of Godstow? and ye will say, Nay;--but
wherefore, except that the pots are cracked and broken, and the fire is
extinguished wherewith thy oven used to boil? And again, I ask, drink ye
still of the well of fornications of the fair Rosamond?--ye will say,
Nay;--but wherefore?"--

Here the orator, ere he could answer the question in his own way, was
surprised by the following reply, very pithily pronounced by one of the
congregation:--"Because you, and the like of you, have left us no brandy
to mix with it."

All eyes turned to the audacious speaker, who stood beside one of the
thick sturdy Saxon pillars, which he himself somewhat resembled, being
short of stature, but very strongly made, a squat broad Little John sort
of figure, leaning on a quarterstaff, and wearing a jerkin, which,
though now sorely stained and discoloured, had once been of the Lincoln
green, and showed remnants of having been laced. There was an air of
careless, good humoured audacity about the fellow; and, though under
military restraint, there were some of the citizens who could not help
crying out,--"Well said, Joceline Joliffe!"

"Jolly Joceline, call ye him?" proceeded the preacher, without showing
either confusion or displeasure at the interruption,--"I will make him
Joceline of the jail, if he interrupts me again. One of your
park-keepers, I warrant, that can never forget they have borne C. R.
upon their badges and bugle-horns, even as a dog bears his owner's name
on his collar--a pretty emblem for Christian men! But the brute beast
hath the better of him,--the brute weareth his own coat, and the caitiff
thrall wears his master's. I have seen such a wag make a rope's end wag
ere now.--Where was I?--Oh, rebuking you for your backslidings, men of
Woodstock.--Yes, then ye will say ye have renounced Popery, and ye have
renounced Prelacy, and then ye wipe your mouth like Pharisees, as ye
are; and who but you for purity of religion! But I tell you, ye are but
like Jehu the son of Nimshi, who broke down the house of Baal, yet
departed not from the sins of Jeroboam. Even so ye eat not fish on
Friday with the blinded Papists, nor minced-pies on the 25th day of
December, like the slothful Prelatists; but ye will gorge on sack-posset
each night in the year with your blind Presbyterian guide, and ye will
speak evil of dignities, and revile the Commonwealth; and ye will
glorify yourselves in your park of Woodstock, and say, 'Was it not
walled in first of any other in England, and that by Henry, son of
William called the Conqueror?' And ye have a princely Lodge therein, and
call the same a Royal Lodge; and ye have an oak which ye call the King's
Oak; and ye steal and eat the venison of the park, and ye say, 'This is
the king's venison, we will wash it down with a cup to the king's
health--better we eat it than those round-headed commonwealth knaves.'
But listen unto me and take warning. For these things come we to
controversy with you. And our name shall be a cannon-shot, before which
your Lodge, in the pleasantness whereof ye take pastime, shall be blown
into ruins; and we will be as a wedge to split asunder the King's Oak
into billets to heat a brown baker's oven; and we will dispark your
park, and slay your deer, and eat them ourselves, neither shall you have
any portion thereof, whether in neck or haunch. Ye shall not haft a
ten-penny knife with the horns thereof, neither shall ye cut a pair
of breeches out of the hide, for all ye be cutlers and glovers; and
ye shall have no comfort or support neither from the sequestered
traitor Henry Lee, who called himself Ranger of Woodstock, nor from
any on his behalf; for they are coming hither who shall be called
Mahershalal-hash-baz, because he maketh haste to the spoil."

Here ended the wild effusion, the latter part of which fell heavy on the
souls of the poor citizens of Woodstock, as tending to confirm a report
of an unpleasing nature which had been lately circulated. The
communication with London was indeed slow, and the news which it
transmitted were uncertain; no less uncertain were the times themselves,
and the rumours which were circulated, exaggerated by the hopes and
fears of so many various factions. But the general stream of report, so
far as Woodstock was concerned, had of late run uniformly in one
direction. Day after day they had been informed, that the fatal fiat of
Parliament had gone out, for selling the park of Woodstock, destroying
its lodge, disparking its forest, and erasing, as far as they could be
erased, all traces of its ancient fame. Many of the citizens were likely
to be sufferers on this occasion, as several of them enjoyed, either by
sufferance or right, various convenient privileges of pasturage, cutting
firewood, and the like, in the royal chase; and all the inhabitants of
the little borough were hurt to think, that the scenery of the place was
to be destroyed, its edifices ruined, and its honours rent away. This is
a patriotic sensation often found in such places, which ancient
distinctions and long-cherished recollections of former days, render so
different from towns of recent date. The natives of Woodstock felt it in
the fullest force. They had trembled at the anticipated calamity; but
now, when it was announced by the appearance of those dark, stern, and
at the same time omnipotent soldiers--now that they heard it proclaimed
by the mouth of one of their military preachers--they considered their
fate as inevitable. The causes of disagreement among themselves were for
the time forgotten, as the congregation, dismissed without psalmody or
benediction, went slowly and mournfully homeward, each to his own place
of abode.

       *       *        *       *        *

CHAPTER THE SECOND.


  Come forth, old man--Thy daughter's side
    Is now the fitting place for thee:
  When time hath quell'd the oak's bold pride,
    The youthful tendril yet may hide
      The ruins of the parent tree.

When the sermon was ended, the military orator wiped his brow; for,
notwithstanding the coolness of the weather, he was heated with the
vehemence of his speech and action. He then descended from the pulpit,
and spoke a word or two to the corporal who commanded the party of
soldiers, who, replying by a sober nod of intelligence, drew his men
together, and marched them in order to their quarters in the town.

The preacher himself, as if nothing extraordinary had happened, left the
church and sauntered through the streets of Woodstock, with the air of a
stranger who was viewing the town, without seeming to observe that he
was himself in his turn anxiously surveyed by the citizens, whose
furtive yet frequent glances seemed to regard him as something alike
suspected and dreadful, yet on no account to be provoked. He heeded them
not, but stalked on in the manner affected by the distinguished fanatics
of the day; a stiff solemn pace, a severe and at the same time a
contemplative look, like that of a man discomposed at the interruptions
which earthly objects forced upon him, obliging him by their intrusion
to withdraw his thoughts for an instant from celestial things. Innocent
pleasures of what kind soever they held in suspicion and contempt, and
innocent mirth they abominated. It was, however, a cast of mind that
formed men for great and manly actions, as it adopted principle, and
that of an unselfish character, for the ruling motive, instead of the
gratification of passion. Some of these men were indeed hypocrites,
using the cloak of religion only as a covering for their ambition; but
many really possessed the devotional character, and the severe
republican virtue, which others only affected. By far the greater number
hovered between these extremes, felt to a certain extent the power of
religion, and complied with the times in affecting a great deal.

The individual, whose pretensions to sanctity, written as they were upon
his brow and gait, have given rise to the above digression, reached at
length the extremity of the principal street, which terminates upon the
park of Woodstock. A battlemented portal of Gothic appearance defended
the entrance to the avenue. It was of mixed architecture, but on the
whole, though composed of the styles of the different ages when it had
received additions, had a striking and imposing effect. An immense gate,
composed of rails of hammered iron, with many a flourish and scroll,
displaying as its uppermost ornament the ill-fated cipher of C. R., was
now decayed, being partly wasted with rust, partly by violence.

The stranger paused, as if uncertain whether he should demand or assay
entrance. He looked through the grating down an avenue skirted by
majestic oaks, which led onward with a gentle curve, as if into the
depths of some ample and ancient forest. The wicket of the large iron
gate being left unwittingly open, the soldier was tempted to enter, yet
with some hesitation, as he that intrudes upon ground which he
conjectures may be prohibited--indeed his manner showed more reverence
for the scene than could have been expected from his condition and
character. He slackened his stately and consequential pace, and at
length stood still, and looked around him.

Not far from the gate, he saw rising from the trees one or two ancient
and venerable turrets, bearing each its own vane of rare device
glittering in the autumn sun. These indicated the ancient hunting seat,
or Lodge, as it was called, which had, since the time of Henry II., been
occasionally the residence of the English monarchs, when it pleased them
to visit the woods of Oxford, which then so abounded with game, that,
according to old Fuller, huntsmen and falconers were nowhere better
pleased. The situation which the Lodge occupied was a piece of flat
ground, now planted with sycamores, not far from the entrance to that
magnificent spot where the spectator first stops to gaze upon Blenheim,
to think of Marlborough's victories, and to applaud or criticise the
cumbrous magnificence of Vanburgh's style.

There, too, paused our military preacher, but with other thoughts, and
for other purpose, than to admire the scene around him. It was not long
afterwards when he beheld two persons, a male and a female, approaching
slowly, and so deeply engaged in their own conversation that they did
not raise their eyes to observe that there stood a stranger in the path
before them. The soldier took advantage of their state of abstraction,
and, desirous at once to watch their motions and avoid their
observation, he glided beneath one of the huge trees which skirted the
path, and whose boughs, sweeping the ground on every side, ensured him
against discovery, unless in case of an actual search.

In the meantime, the gentleman and lady continued to advance, directing
their course to a rustic seat, which still enjoyed the sunbeams, and was
placed adjacent to the tree where the stranger was concealed.

The man was elderly, yet seemed bent more by sorrow and infirmity than
by the weight of years. He wore a mourning cloak, over a dress of the
same melancholy colour, cut in that picturesque form which Vandyck has
rendered immortal. But although the dress was handsome, it was put on
with a carelessness which showed the mind of the wearer ill at ease. His
aged, yet still handsome countenance, had the same air of consequence
which distinguished his dress and his gait. A striking part of his
appearance was a long white beard, which descended far over the breast
of his slashed doublet, and looked singular from its contrast in colour
with his habit.

The young lady, by whom this venerable gentleman seemed to be in some
degree supported as they walked arm in arm, was a slight and sylphlike
form, with a person so delicately made, and so beautiful in countenance,
that it seemed the earth on which she walked was too grossly massive a
support for a creature so aerial. But mortal beauty must share human
sorrows. The eyes of the beautiful being showed tokens of tears; her
colour was heightened as she listened to her aged companion; and it was
plain, from his melancholy yet displeased look, that the conversation
was as distressing to himself as to her. When they sate down on the
bench we have mentioned, the gentleman's discourse could be distinctly
overheard by the eavesdropping soldier, but the answers of the young
lady reached his ear rather less distinctly.

"It is not to be endured!" said the old man, passionately; "it would
stir up a paralytic wretch to start up a soldier. My people have been
thinned, I grant you, or have fallen off from me in these times--I owe
them no grudge for it, poor knaves; what should they do waiting on me
when the pantry has no bread and the buttery no ale? But we have still
about us some rugged foresters of the old Woodstock breed--old as myself
most of them--what of that? old wood seldom warps in the wetting;--I
will hold out the old house, and it will not be the first time that I
have held it against ten times the strength that we hear of now."

"Alas! my dear father!"--said the young lady, in a tone which seemed to
intimate his proposal of defence to be altogether desperate.

"And why, alas?" said the gentleman, angrily; "is it because I shut my
door against a score or two of these blood-thirsty hypocrites?"

"But their masters can as easily send a regiment or an army, if they
will," replied the lady; "and what good would your present defence do,
excepting to exasperate them to your utter destruction?"

"Be it so, Alice," replied her father; "I have lived my time, and beyond
it. I have outlived the kindest and most princelike of masters. What do
I do on the earth since the dismal thirtieth of January? The parricide
of that day was a signal to all true servants of Charles Stewart to
avenge his death, or die as soon after as they could find a worthy
opportunity."

"Do not speak thus, sir," said Alice Lee; "it does not become your
gravity and your worth to throw away that life which may yet be of
service to your king and country,--it will not and cannot always be
thus. England will not long endure the rulers which these bad times have
assigned her. In the meanwhile--[here a few words escaped the listener's
ears]--and beware of that impatience, which makes bad worse."

"Worse?" exclaimed the impatient old man, "_What_ can be worse? Is it
not at the worst already? Will not these people expel us from the only
shelter we have left--dilapidate what remains of royal property under my
charge--make the palace of princes into a den of thieves, and then wipe
their mouths and thank God, as if they had done an alms-deed?"

"Still," said his daughter, "there is hope behind, and I trust the King
is ere this out of their reach--We have reason to think well of my
brother Albert's safety."

"Ay, Albert! there again," said the old man, in a tone of reproach; "had
it not been for thy entreaties I had gone to Worcester myself; but I
must needs lie here like a worthless hound when the hunt is up, when who
knows what service I might have shown? An old man's head is sometimes
useful when his arm is but little worth. But you and Albert were so
desirous that he should go alone--and now, who can say what has become
of him?"

"Nay, nay, father," said Alice, "we have good hope that Albert escaped
from that fatal day; young Abney saw him a mile from the field."

"Young Abney lied, I believe," said the father, in the same humour of
contradiction--"Young Abney's tongue seems quicker than his hands, but
far slower than his horse's heels when he leaves the roundheads behind
him. I would rather Albert's dead body were laid between Charles and
Cromwell, than hear he fled as early as young Abney."

"My dearest father," said the young lady, weeping as she spoke, "what
can I say to comfort you?"

"Comfort me, say'st thou, girl? I am sick of comfort--an honourable
death, with the ruins of Woodstock for my monument, were the only
comfort to old Henry Lee. Yes, by the memory of my fathers! I will make
good the Lodge against these rebellious robbers."

"Yet be ruled, dearest father," said the maiden, "and submit to that
which we cannot gainsay. My uncle Everard"--

Here the old man caught at her unfinished words. "Thy uncle Everard,
wench!--Well, get on.--What of thy precious and loving uncle Everard?"

"Nothing, sir," she said, "if the subject displeases you."

"Displeases me?" he replied, "why should it displease me? or if it did,
why shouldst thou, or any one, affect to care about it? What is it that
hath happened of late years--what is it can be thought to happen that
astrologer can guess at, which can give pleasure to us?"

"Fate," she replied, "may have in store the joyful restoration of our
banished Prince."

"Too late for my time, Alice," said the knight; "if there be such a
white page in the heavenly book, it will not be turned until long after
my day.--But I see thou wouldst escape me.--In a word, what of thy uncle
Everard?"

"Nay, sir," said Alice, "God knows I would rather be silent for ever,
than speak what might, as you would take it, add to your present
distemperature."

"Distemperature!" said her father; "Oh, thou art a sweet lipped
physician, and wouldst, I warrant me, drop nought but sweet balm, and
honey, and oil, on my distemperature--if that is the phrase for an old
man's ailment, when he is wellnigh heart-broken.--Once more, what of thy
uncle Everard?"

His last words were uttered in a high and peevish tone of voice; and
Alice Lee answered her father in a trembling and submissive tone.

"I only meant to say, sir, that I am well assured that my uncle Everard,
when we quit this place"--

"That is to say, when we are kicked out of it by crop-eared canting
villains like himself.--But on with thy bountiful uncle--what will he
do?--will he give us the remains of his worshipful and economical
housekeeping, the fragments of a thrice-sacked capon twice a-week, and a
plentiful fast on the other five days?--Will he give us beds beside his
half-starved nags, and put them under a short allowance of straw, that
his sister's husband--that I should have called my deceased angel by
such a name!--and his sister's daughter, may not sleep on the stones? Or
will he send us a noble each, with a warning to make it last, for he had
never known the ready-penny so hard to come by? Or what else will your
uncle Everard do for us? Get us a furlough to beg? Why, I can do that
without him."

"You misconstrue him much," answered Alice, with more spirit than she
had hitherto displayed; "and would you but question your own heart, you
would acknowledge--I speak with reverence--that your tongue utters what
your better judgment would disown. My uncle Everard is neither a miser
nor a hypocrite--neither so fond of the goods of this world that he
would not supply our distresses amply, nor so wedded to fanatical
opinions as to exclude charity for other sects beside his own."

"Ay, ay, the Church of England is a _sect_ with him, I doubt not, and
perhaps with thee too, Alice," said the knight. "What is a Muggletonian,
or a Ranter, or a Brownist, but a sectary? and thy phrase places them
all, with Jack Presbyter himself, on the same footing with our learned
prelates and religious clergy! Such is the cant of the day thou livest
in, and why shouldst thou not talk like one of the wise virgins and
psalm-singing sisters, since, though thou hast a profane old cavalier
for a father, thou art own niece to pious uncle Everard?"

"If you speak thus, my dear father," said Alice, "what can I answer you?
Hear me but one patient word, and I shall have discharged my uncle
Everard's commission."

"Oh, it is a commission, then? Surely, I suspected so much from the
beginning--nay, have some sharp guess touching the ambassador also.--
Come, madam, the mediator, do your errand, and you shall have no reason
to complain of my patience."

"Then, sir," replied his daughter, "my uncle Everard desires you would
be courteous to the commissioners, who come here to sequestrate the
parks and the property; or, at least, heedfully to abstain from giving
them obstacle or opposition: it can, he says, do no good, even on your
own principles, and it will give a pretext for proceeding against you as
one in the worst degree of malignity, which he thinks may otherwise be
prevented. Nay, he has good hope, that if you follow his counsel, the
committee may, through the interest he possesses, be inclined to remove
the sequestration of your estate on a moderate line. Thus says my uncle;
and having communicated his advice, I have no occasion to urge your
patience with farther argument."

"It is well thou dost not, Alice," answered Sir Henry Lee, in a tone of
suppressed anger; "for, by the blessed Rood, thou hast well nigh led me
into the heresy of thinking thee no daughter of mine.--Ah! my beloved
companion, who art now far from the sorrows and cares of this weary
world, couldst thou have thought that the daughter thou didst clasp to
thy bosom, would, like the wicked wife of Job, become a temptress to her
father in the hour of affliction, and recommend to him to make his
conscience truckle to his interest, and to beg back at the bloody hands
of his master's and perhaps his son's murderers, a wretched remnant of
the royal property he has been robbed of!--Why, wench, if I must beg,
think'st thou I will sue to those who have made me a mendicant? No. I
will never show my grey beard, worn in sorrow for my sovereign's death,
to move the compassion of some proud sequestrator, who perhaps was one
of the parricides. No. If Henry Lee must sue for food, it shall be of
some sound loyalist like himself, who, having but half a loaf remaining,
will not nevertheless refuse to share it with him. For his daughter, she
may wander her own way, which leads her to a refuge with her wealthy
roundhead kinsfolk; but let her no more call him father, whose honest
indigence she has refused to share!"

"You do me injustice, sir," answered the young lady, with a voice
animated yet faltering, "cruel injustice. God knows, your way is my way,
though it lead to ruin and beggary; and while you tread it, my arm shall
support you while you will accept an aid so feeble."

"Thou word'st me, girl," answered the old cavalier, "thou word'st me, as
Will Shakspeare says--thou speakest of lending me thy arm; but thy
secret thought is thyself to hang upon Markham Everard's."

"My father, my father," answered Alice, in a tone of deep grief, "what
can thus have altered your clear judgment and kindly heart!--Accursed be
these civil commotions; not only do they destroy men's bodies, but they
pervert their souls; and the brave, the noble, the generous, become
suspicious, harsh, and mean! Why upbraid me with Markham Everard? Have I
seen or spoke to him since you forbid him my company, with terms less
kind--I will speak it truly--than was due even to the relationship
betwixt you? Why think I would sacrifice to that young man my duty to
you? Know, that were I capable of such criminal weakness, Markham
Everard were the first to despise me for it."

She put her handkerchief to her eyes, but she could not hide her sobs,
nor conceal the distress they intimated. The old man was moved.

"I cannot tell," he said, "what to think of it. Thou seem'st sincere,
and wert ever a good and kindly daughter--how thou hast let that rebel
youth creep into thy heart I wot not; perhaps it is a punishment on me,
who thought the loyalty of my house was like undefiled ermine. Yet here
is a damned spot, and on the fairest gem of all--my own dear Alice. But
do not weep--we have enough to vex us. Where is it that Shakspeare hath
it:--

  'Gentle daughter,
  Give even way unto my rough affairs:
  Put you not on the temper of the times,
  Nor be, like them, to Percy troublesome.'"

"I am glad," answered the young lady, "to hear you quote your favourite
again, sir. Our little jars are ever wellnigh ended when Shakspeare
comes in play."

"His book was the closet-companion of my blessed master," said Sir Henry
Lee; "after the Bible, (with reverence for naming them together,) he
felt more comfort in it than in any other; and as I have shared his
disease, why, it is natural I should take his medicine. Albeit, I
pretend not to my master's art in explaining the dark passages; for I am
but a rude man, and rustically brought up to arms and hunting."

"You have seen Shakspeare yourself, sir?" said the young lady.

"Silly wench," replied the knight, "he died when I was a mere
child--thou hast heard me say so twenty times; but thou wouldst lead the
old man away from the tender subject. Well, though I am not blind, I can
shut my eyes and follow. Ben Jonson I knew, and could tell thee many a
tale of our meetings at the Mermaid, where, if there was much wine,
there was much wit also. We did not sit blowing tobacco in each other's
faces, and turning up the whites of our eyes as we turned up the bottom
of the wine-pot. Old Ben adopted me as one of his sons in the muses. I
have shown you, have I not, the verses, 'To my much beloved son, the
worshipful Sir Henry Lee of Ditchley, Knight and Baronet?'"

"I do not remember them at present, sir," replied Alice.

"I fear ye lie, wench," said her father; "but no matter--thou canst not
get any more fooling out of me just now. The Evil Spirit hath left Saul
for the present. We are now to think what is to be done about leaving
Woodstock--or defending it?"

"My dearest father," said Alice, "can you still nourish a moment's hope
of making good the place?"

"I know not, wench," replied Sir Henry; "I would fain have a parting
blow with them, 'tis certain--and who knows where a blessing may alight?
But then, my poor knaves that must take part with me in so hopeless a
quarrel--that thought hampers me I confess."

"Oh, let it do so, sir," replied Alice; "there are soldiers in the town,
and there are three regiments at Oxford!"

"Ah, poor Oxford!" exclaimed Sir Henry, whose vacillating state of mind
was turned by a word to any new subject that was suggested,--"Seat of
learning and loyalty! these rude soldiers are unfit inmates for thy
learned halls and poetical bowers; but thy pure and brilliant lamp shall
defy the foul breath of a thousand churls, were they to blow at it like
Boreas. The burning bush shall not be consumed, even by the heat of this
persecution."

"True, sir," said Alice, "and it may not be useless to recollect, that
any stirring of the royalists at this unpropitious moment will make them
deal yet more harshly with the University, which they consider as being
at the bottom of every thing which moves for the King in these parts."

"It is true, wench," replied the knight; "and small cause would make the
villains sequestrate the poor remains which the civil wars have left to
the colleges. That, and the risk of my poor fellows--Well! thou hast
disarmed me, girl. I will be as patient and calm as a martyr."

"Pray God you keep your word, sir!" replied his daughter; "but you are
ever so much moved at the sight of any of these men, that"--

"Would you make a child of me, Alice?" said Sir Henry. "Why, know you
not that I can look upon a viper, or a toad, or a bunch of engendering
adders, without any worse feeling than a little disgust? and though a
roundhead, and especially a red-coat, are in my opinion more poisonous
than vipers, more loathsome than toads, more hateful than knotted
adders, yet can I overcome my nature so far, that should one of them
appear at this moment, thyself should see how civilly I would entreat
him."

As he spoke, the military preacher abandoned his leafy screen, and
stalking forward, stood unexpectedly before the old cavalier, who stared
at him, as if he had thought his expressions had actually raised a
devil.

"Who art thou?" at length said Sir Henry, in a raised and angry voice,
while his daughter clung to his arm in terror, little confident that her
father's pacific resolutions would abide the shock of this unwelcome
apparition.

"I am, one," replied the soldier, "who neither fear nor shame to call
myself a poor day-labourer in the great work of England--umph!--Ay, a
simple and sincere upholder of the good old cause."

"And what the devil do you seek here?" said the old knight, fiercely.

"The welcome due to the steward of the Lords Commissioners," answered
the soldier.

"Welcome art thou as salt would be to sore eyes," said the cavalier;
"but who be your Commissioners, man?"

The soldier with little courtesy held out a scroll, which Sir Henry took
from him betwixt his finger and thumb, as if it were a letter from a
pest-house; and held it at as much distance from his eyes, as his
purpose of reading it would permit. He then read aloud, and as he named
the parties one by one, he added a short commentary on each name,
addressed, indeed, to Alice, but in such a tone that showed he cared not
for its being heard by the soldier.

"_Desborough_--the ploughman Desborough--as grovelling a clown as is in
England--a fellow that would be best at home like an ancient Scythian,
under the tilt of a waggon--d--n him. _Harrison_--a bloody-minded,
ranting enthusiast, who read the Bible to such purpose, that he never
lacked a text to justify a murder--d--n him too. _Bletson_--a true-blue
Commonwealth's man, one of Harrison's Rota Club, with his noddle full of
new fangled notions about government, the clearest object of which is to
establish the tail upon the head; a fellow who leaves you the statutes
and law of old England, to prate of Rome and Greece--sees the Areopagus
in Westminster-Hall, and takes old Noll for a Roman consul--Adad, he is
like to prove a dictator amongst them instead. Never mind--d--n Bletson
too."

"Friend," said the soldier, "I would willingly be civil, but it consists
not with my duty to hear these godly men, in whose service I am, spoken
of after this irreverent and unbecoming fashion. And albeit I know that
you malignants think you have a right to make free with that damnation,
which you seem to use as your own portion, yet it is superfluous to
invoke it against others, who have better hopes in their thoughts, and
better words in their mouths."

"Thou art but a canting varlet," replied the knight; "and yet thou art
right in some sense--for it is superfluous to curse men who already are
damned as black as the smoke of hell itself."

"I prithee forbear," continued the soldier, "for manners' sake, if not
for conscience--grisly oaths suit ill with grey beards."

"Nay, that is truth, if the devil spoke it," said the knight; "and I
thank Heaven I can follow good counsel, though old Nick gives it. And
so, friend, touching these same Commissioners, bear them this message;
that Sir Henry Lee is keeper of Woodstock Park, with right of waif and
stray, vert and venison, as complete as any of them have to their
estate--that is, if they possess any estate but what they have gained by
plundering honest men. Nevertheless, he will give place to those who
have made their might their right, and will not expose the lives of good
and true men, where the odds are so much against them. And he protests
that he makes this surrender, neither as acknowledging of these so
termed Commissioners, nor as for his own individual part fearing their
force, but purely to avoid the loss of English blood, of which so much
hath been spilt in these late times."

"It is well spoken," said the steward of the Commissioners; "and
therefore, I pray you, let us walk together into the house, that thou
may'st deliver up unto me the vessels, and gold and silver ornaments,
belonging unto the Egyptian Pharaoh, who committed them to thy keeping."

"What vessels?" exclaimed the fiery old knight; "and belonging to whom?
Unbaptized dog, speak civil of the Martyr in my presence, or I will do a
deed misbecoming of me on that caitiff corpse of thine!"--And shaking
his daughter from his right arm, the old man laid his hand on his
rapier.

His antagonist, on the contrary, kept his temper completely, and waving
his hand to add impression to his speech, he said, with a calmness which
aggravated Sir Henry's wrath, "Nay, good friend, I prithee be still, and
brawl not--it becomes not grey hairs and feeble arms to rail and rant
like drunkards. Put me not to use the carnal weapon in mine own defence,
but listen to the voice of reason. See'st thou not that the Lord hath
decided this great controversy in favour of us and ours, against thee
and thine? Wherefore, render up thy stewardship peacefully, and deliver
up to me the chattels of the Man, Charles Stewart."

"Patience is a good nag, but she will bolt," said the knight, unable
longer to rein in his wrath. He plucked his sheathed rapier from his
side, struck the soldier a severe blow with it, and instantly drawing
it, and throwing the scabbard over the trees, placed himself in a
posture of defence, with his sword's point within half a yard of the
steward's body. The latter stepped back with activity, threw his long
cloak from his shoulders, and drawing his long tuck, stood upon his
guard. The swords clashed smartly together, while Alice, in her terror,
screamed wildly for assistance. But the combat was of short duration.
The old cavalier had attacked a man as cunning of fence as he himself,
or a little more so, and possessing all the strength and activity of
which time had deprived Sir Henry, and the calmness which the other had
lost in his passion. They had scarce exchanged three passes ere the
sword of the knight flew up in the air, as if it had gone in search of
the scabbard; and burning with shame and anger, Sir Henry stood
disarmed, at the mercy of his antagonist. The republican showed no
purpose of abusing his victory; nor did he, either during the combat, or
after the victory was won, in any respect alter the sour and grave
composure which reigned upon his countenance--a combat of life and death
seemed to him a thing as familiar, and as little to be feared, as an
ordinary bout with foils.

"Thou art delivered into my hands," he said, "and by the law of arms I
might smite thee under the fifth rib, even as Asahel was struck dead by
Abner, the son of Ner, as he followed the chase on the hill of Ammah,
that lieth before Giah, in the way of the wilderness of Gibeon; but far
be it from me to spill thy remaining drops of blood. True it is, thou
art the captive of my sword and of my spear; nevertheless, seeing that
there may be a turning from thy evil ways, and a returning to those
which are good, if the Lord enlarge thy date for repentance and
amendment, wherefore should it be shortened by a poor sinful mortal, who
is, speaking truly, but thy fellow-worm."

Sir Henry Lee remained still confused, and unable to answer, when there
arrived a fourth person, whom the cries of Alice had summoned to the
spot. This was Joceline Joliffe, one of the under-keepers of the walk,
who, seeing how matters stood, brandished his quarterstaff, a weapon
from which he never parted, and having made it describe the figure of
eight in a flourish through the air, would have brought it down with a
vengeance upon the head of the steward, had not Sir Henry interposed.

"We must trail bats now, Joceline--our time of shouldering them is past.
It skills not striving against the stream--the devil rules the roast,
and makes our slaves our tutors."

At this moment another auxiliary rushed out of the thicket to the
knight's assistance. It was a large wolf-dog, in strength a mastiff, in
form and almost in fleetness a greyhound. Bevis was the noblest of the
kind which ever pulled down a stag, tawny coloured like a lion, with a
black muzzle and black feet, just edged with a line of white round the
toes. He was as tractable as he was strong and bold. Just as he was
about to rush upon the soldier, the words, "Peace, Bevis!" from Sir
Henry, converted the lion into a lamb, and instead of pulling the
soldier down, he walked round and round, and snuffed, as if using all
his sagacity to discover who the stranger could be, towards whom, though
of so questionable an appearance, he was enjoined forbearance.
Apparently he was satisfied, for he laid aside his doubtful and
threatening demonstrations, lowered his ears, smoothed down his
bristles, and wagged his tail.

Sir Henry, who had great respect for the sagacity of his favourite, said
in a low voice to Alice, "Bevis is of thy opinion and counsels
submission. There is the finger of Heaven in this to punish the pride,
ever the fault of our house.--Friend," he continued, addressing the
soldier, "thou hast given the finishing touch to a lesson, which ten
years of constant misfortune have been unable fully to teach me. Thou
hast distinctly shown me the folly of thinking that a good cause can
strengthen a weak arm. God forgive me for the thought, but I could
almost turn infidel, and believe that Heaven's blessing goes ever with
the longest sword; but it will not be always thus. God knows his
time.--Reach me my Toledo, Joceline, yonder it lies; and the scabbard,
see where it hangs on the tree.--Do not pull at my cloak, Alice, and
look so miserably frightened; I shall be in no hurry to betake me to
bright steel again, I promise thee.--For thee, good fellow, I thank
thee, and will make way for thy masters without farther dispute or
ceremony. Joceline Joliffe is nearer thy degree than I am, and will make
surrender to thee of the Lodge and household stuff. Withhold nothing,
Joliffe--let them have all. For me, I will never cross the threshold
again--but where to rest for a night? I would trouble no one in
Woodstock--hum--ay--it shall be so. Alice and I, Joceline, will go down
to thy hut by Rosamond's well; we will borrow the shelter of thy roof
for one night at least; thou wilt give us welcome, wilt thou not?--How
now--a clouded brow?"

Joceline certainly looked embarrassed, directed a first glance to Alice,
then looked to Heaven, then to earth, and last to the four quarters of
the horizon, and then murmured out, "Certainly--without question--might
he but run down to put the house in order."

"Order enough--order enough for those that may soon be glad of clean
straw in a barn," said the knight; "but if thou hast an ill-will to
harbour any obnoxious or malignant persons, as the phrase goes, never
shame to speak it out, man. 'Tis true, I took thee up when thou wert but
a ragged Robin," (as the keeper's followers in the New Forest are called
in popular language,) "made a keeper of thee, and so forth. What of
that? Sailors think no longer of the wind than when it forwards them on
the voyage--thy betters turn with the tide, why should not such a poor
knave as thou?"

"God pardon your honour for your harsh judgment," said Joliffe. "The hut
is yours, such as it is, and should be were it a King's palace, as I
wish it were even for your honour's sake, and Mistress Alice's--only I
could wish your honour would condescend to let me step down before, in
case any neighbour be there--or--or--just to put matters something into
order for Mistress Alice and your honour--just to make things something
seemly and shapely."

"Not a whit necessary," said the knight, while Alice had much trouble in
concealing her agitation. "If thy matters are unseemly, they are fitter
for a defeated knight--if they are unshapely, why, the liker to the rest
of a world, which is all unshaped. Go thou with that man.--What is thy
name, friend?"

"Joseph Tomkins is my name in the flesh," said the steward. "Men call me
Honest Joe, and Trusty Tomkins."

"If thou hast deserved such names, considering what trade thou hast
driven, thou art a jewel indeed," said the knight; "yet if thou hast
not, never blush for the matter, Joseph, for if thou art not in truth
honest, thou hast all the better chance to keep the fame of it--the
title and the thing itself have long walked separate ways. Farewell to
thee,--and farewell to fair Woodstock!"

So saying, the old knight turned round, and pulling his daughter's arm
through his own, they walked onward into the forest, in the same manner
in which they were introduced to the reader.

       *       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER THE THIRD.


  Now, ye wild blades, that make loose inns your stage,
  To vapour forth the acts of this sad age,
  Stout Edgehill fight, the Newberries and the West,
  And northern clashes, where you still fought best;
  Your strange escapes, your dangers void of fear,
  When bullets flew between the head and ear,
  Whether you fought by Damme or the Spirit,
  Of you I speak.

  LEGEND OF CAPTAIN JONES.

Joseph Tomkins and Joliffe the keeper remained for some time in silence,
as they stood together looking along the path in which the figures of
the Knight of Ditchley and pretty Mistress Alice had disappeared behind
the trees. They then gazed on each other in doubt, as men who scarce
knew whether they stood on hostile or on friendly terms together, and
were at a loss how to open a conversation. They heard the knight's
whistle summon Bevis; but though the good hound turned his head and
pricked his ears at the sound, yet he did not obey the call, but
continued to snuff around Joseph Tomkins's cloak.

"Thou art a rare one, I fear me," said the keeper, looking to his new
acquaintance. "I have heard of men who have charms to steal both dogs
and deer."

"Trouble not thyself about my qualities, friend," said Joseph Tomkins,
"but bethink thee of doing thy master's bidding."

Joceline did not immediately answer, but at length, as if in sign of
truce, stuck the end of his quarterstaff upright in the ground, and
leant upon it as he said gruffly,--"So, my tough old knight and you were
at drawn bilbo, by way of afternoon service, sir preacher--Well for you
I came not up till the blades were done jingling, or I had rung
even-song upon your pate."

The Independent smiled grimly as he replied, "Nay, friend, it is well
for thyself, for never should sexton have been better paid for the knell
he tolled. Nevertheless, why should there be war betwixt us, or my hand
be against thine? Thou art but a poor knave, doing thy master's order,
nor have I any desire that my own blood or thine should be shed touching
this matter.--Thou art, I understand, to give me peaceful possession of
the Palace of Woodstock, so called--though there is now no palace in
England, no, nor shall be in the days that come after, until we shall
enter the palace of the New Jerusalem, and the reign of the Saints shall
commence on earth."

"Pretty well begun already, friend Tomkins," said the keeper; "you are
little short of being kings already upon the matter as it now stands;
and for your Jerusalem I wot not, but Woodstock is a pretty nest-egg to
begin with.--Well, will you shog--will you on--will you take sasine and
livery?--You heard my orders."

"Umph--I know not," said Tomkins. "I must beware of ambuscades, and I am
alone here. Moreover, it is the High Thanksgiving appointed by
Parliament, and owned to by the army--also the old man and the young
woman may want to recover some of their clothes and personal property,
and I would not that they were baulked on my account. Wherefore, if thou
wilt deliver me possession to-morrow morning, it shall be done in
personal presence of my own followers, and of the Presbyterian man the
Mayor, so that the transfer may be made before witnesses; whereas, were
there none with us but thou to deliver, and I to take possession, the
men of Belial might say, Go to, Trusty Tomkins hath been an Edomite--
Honest Joe hath been as an Ishmaelite, rising up early and dividing the
spoil with them that served the Man--yea, they that wore beards and
green Jerkins, as in remembrance of the Man and of his government."

Joceline fixed his keen dark eyes upon the soldier as he spoke, as if in
design to discover whether there was fair play in his mind or not. He
then applied his five fingers to scratch a large shock head of hair, as
if that operation was necessary to enable him to come to a conclusion.
"This is all fair sounding, brother," said he; "but I tell you plainly
there are some silver mugs, and platters, and flagons, and so forth, in
yonder house, which have survived the general sweep that sent all our
plate to the smelting-pot, to put our knight's troop on horseback. Now,
if thou takest not these off my hand, I may come to trouble, since it
may be thought I have minished their numbers.--Whereas, I being as
honest a fellow"--

"As ever stole venison," said Tomkins--"nay, I do owe thee an
interruption."

"Go to, then," replied the keeper; "if a stag may have come to mischance
in my walk, it was no way in the course of dishonesty, but merely to
keep my old dame's pan from rusting; but for silver porringers,
tankards, and such like, I would as soon have drunk the melted silver,
as stolen the vessel made out of it. So that I would not wish blame or
suspicion fell on me in this matter. And, therefore, if you will have
the things rendered even now,--why so--and if not, hold me blameless."

"Ay, truly," said Tomkins; "and who is to hold me blameless, if they
should see cause to think any thing minished? Not the right worshipful
Commissioners, to whom the property of the estate is as their own;
therefore, as thou say'st, we must walk warily in the matter. To lock up
the house and leave it, were but the work of simple ones. What say'st
thou to spend the night there, and then nothing can be touched without
the knowledge of us both?"

"Why, concerning that," answered the keeper, "I should be at my hut to
make matters somewhat conformable for the old knight and Mistress Alice,
for my old dame Joan is something dunny, and will scarce know how to
manage--and yet,--to speak the truth, by the mass I would rather not see
Sir Henry to-night, since what has happened to-day hath roused his
spleen, and it is a peradventure he may have met something at the hut
which will scarce tend to cool it."

"It is a pity," said Tomkins, "that being a gentleman of such grave and
goodly presence, he should be such a malignant cavalier, and that he
should, like the rest of that generation of vipers, have clothed himself
with curses as with a garment."

"Which is as much as to say, the tough old knight hath a habit of
swearing," said the keeper, grinning at a pun, which has been repeated
since his time; "but who can help it? it comes of use and wont. Were you
now, in your bodily self, to light suddenly on a Maypole, with all the
blithe morris-dancers prancing around it to the merry pipe and tabor,
with bells jingling, ribands fluttering, lads frisking and laughing,
lasses leaping till you might see where the scarlet garter fastened the
light blue hose, I think some feeling, resembling either natural
sociality, or old use and wont, would get the better, friend, even of
thy gravity, and thou wouldst fling thy cuckoldy steeple-hat one way,
and that blood-thirsty long sword another, and trip, like the noodles of
Hogs-Norton, when the pigs play on the organ."

The Independent turned fiercely round on the keeper, and replied, "How
now, Mr. Green Jerkin? what language is this to one whose hand is at the
plough? I advise thee to put curb on thy tongue, lest thy ribs pay the
forfeit."

"Nay, do not take the high tone with me, brother" answered Joceline;
"remember thou hast not the old knight of sixty-five to deal with, but a
fellow as bitter and prompt as thyself--it may be a little more so--
younger, at all events--and prithee, why shouldst thou take such umbrage
at a Maypole? I would thou hadst known one Phil Hazeldine of these
parts--He was the best morris-dancer betwixt Oxford and Burford."

"The more shame to him," answered the Independent; "and I trust he has
seen the error of his ways, and made himself (as, if a man of action, he
easily might) fit for better company than wood-hunters, deer-stealers,
Maid Marions, swash-bucklers, deboshed revellers, bloody brawlers,
maskers, and mummers, lewd men and light women, fools and fiddlers, and
carnal self-pleasers of every description."

"Well," replied the keeper, "you are out of breath in time; for here we
stand before the famous Maypole of Woodstock."

They paused in an open space of meadow-land, beautifully skirted by
large oaks and sycamores, one of which, as king of the forest, stood a
little detached from the rest, as if scorning the vicinity of any rival.
It was scathed and gnarled in the branches, but the immense trunk still
showed to what gigantic size the monarch of the forest can attain in the
groves of merry England.

"That is called the King's Oak," said Joceline; "the oldest men of
Woodstock know not how old it is; they say Henry used to sit under it
with fair Rosamond, and see the lasses dance, and the lads of the
village run races, and wrestle for belts or bonnets."

"I nothing doubt it, friend," said Tomkins; "a tyrant and a harlot were
fitting patron and patroness for such vanities."

"Thou mayst say thy say, friend," replied the keeper, "so thou lettest
me say mine. There stands the Maypole, as thou seest, half a flight-shot
from the King's Oak, in the midst of the meadow. The King gave ten
shillings from the customs of Woodstock to make a new one yearly,
besides a tree fitted for the purpose out of the forest. Now it is
warped, and withered, and twisted, like a wasted brier-rod. The green,
too, used to be close-shaved, and rolled till it was smooth as a velvet
mantle--now it is rough and overgrown."

"Well, well, friend Joceline," said the Independent, "but where was the
edification of all this?--what use of doctrine could be derived from a
pipe and tabor? or was there ever aught like wisdom in a bagpipe?"

"You may ask better scholars that," said Joceline; "but methinks men
cannot be always grave, and with the hat over their brow. A young maiden
will laugh as a tender flower will blow--ay, and a lad will like her the
better for it; just as the same blithe Spring that makes the young birds
whistle, bids the blithe fawns skip. There have come worse days since
the jolly old times have gone by:--I tell thee, that in the holydays
which you, Mr. Longsword, have put down, I have seen this greensward
alive with merry maidens and manly fellows. The good old rector himself
thought it was no sin to come for a while and look on, and his goodly
cassock and scarf kept us all in good order, and taught us to limit our
mirth within the bounds of discretion. We might, it may be, crack a
broad jest, or pledge a friendly cup a turn too often, but it was in
mirth and good neighbour-hood--Ay, and if there was a bout at
single-stick, or a bellyful of boxing, it was all for love and kindness;
and better a few dry blows in drink, than the bloody doings we have had
in sober earnest, since the presbyter's cap got above the bishop's
mitre, and we exchanged our goodly rectors and learned doctors, whose
sermons were all bolstered up with as much Greek and Latin as might have
confounded the devil himself, for weavers and cobblers, and such other
pulpit volunteers, as--as we heard this morning--It will out."

"Well, friend," said the Independent, with patience scarcely to have
been expected, "I quarrel not with thee for nauseating my doctrine. If
thine ear is so much tickled with tabor tunes and morris tripping, truly
it is not likely thou shouldst find pleasant savour in more wholesome
and sober food. But let us to the Lodge, that we may go about our
business there before the sun sets."

"Troth, and that may be advisable for more reasons than one," said the
keeper; "for there have been tales about the Lodge which have made men
afeard to harbour there after nightfall."

"Were not yon old knight, and yonder damsel his daughter, wont to dwell
there?" said the Independent. "My information said so."

"Ay, truly did they," said Joceline; "and while they kept a jolly
house-hold, all went well enough; for nothing banishes fear like good
ale. But after the best of our men went to the wars, and were slain at
Naseby fight, they who were left found the Lodge more lonesome, and the
old knight has been much deserted of his servants:--marry, it might be,
that he has lacked silver of late to pay groom and lackey."

"A potential reason for the diminution of a household," said the
soldier.

"Right, sir, even so," replied the keeper. "They spoke of steps in the
great gallery, heard by dead of the night, and voices that whispered at
noon, in the matted chambers; and the servants pretended that these
things scared them away; but, in my poor judgment, when Martinmas and
Whitsuntide came round without a penny-fee, the old blue-bottles of
serving-men began to think of creeping elsewhere before the frost
chilled them.--No devil so frightful as that which dances in the pocket
where there is no cross to keep him out."

"You were reduced, then, to a petty household?" said the Independent.

"Ay, marry, were we," said Joceline; "but we kept some half-score
together, what with blue-bottles in the Lodge, what with green
caterpillars of the chase, like him who is yours to command; we stuck
together till we found a call to take a morning's ride somewhere or
other."

"To the town of Worcester," said the soldier, "where you were crushed
like vermin and palmer worms, as you are."

"You may say your pleasure," replied the keeper; "I'll never contradict
a man who has got my head under his belt. Our backs are at the wall, or
you would not be here."

"Nay, friend," said the Independent, "thou riskest nothing by thy
freedom and trust in me. I can be _bon camarado_ to a good soldier,
although I have striven with him even to the going down of the sun.--But
here we are in front of the Lodge."

They stood accordingly in front of the old Gothic building, irregularly
constructed, and at different times, as the humour of the English
monarchs led them to taste the pleasures of Woodstock Chase, and to make
such improvements for their own accommodation as the increasing luxury
of each age required. The oldest part of the structure had been named by
tradition Fair Rosamond's Tower; it was a small turret of great height,
with narrow windows, and walls of massive thickness. The Tower had no
opening to the ground, or means of descending, a great part of the lower
portion being solid mason-work. It was traditionally said to have been
accessible only by a sort of small drawbridge, which might be dropped at
pleasure from a little portal near the summit of the turret, to the
battlements of another tower of the same construction, but twenty feet
lower, and containing only a winding staircase, called in Woodstock
Love's Ladder; because it is said, that by ascending this staircase to
the top of the tower, and then making use of the drawbridge, Henry
obtained access to the chamber of his paramour.

This tradition had been keenly impugned by Dr. Rochecliffe, the former
rector of Woodstock, who insisted, that what was called Rosamond's
Tower, was merely an interior keep, or citadel, to which the lord or
warden of the castle might retreat, when other points of safety failed
him; and either protract his defence, or, at the worst, stipulate for
reasonable terms of surrender. The people of Woodstock, jealous of their
ancient traditions, did not relish this new mode of explaining them
away; and it is even said, that the Mayor, whom we have already
introduced, became Presbyterian, in revenge of the doubts cast by the
rector upon this important subject, rather choosing to give up the
Liturgy than his fixed belief in Rosamond's Tower, and Love's Ladder.

The rest of the Lodge was of considerable extent, and of different ages;
comprehending a nest of little courts, surrounded by buildings which
corresponded with each other, sometimes within-doors, sometimes by
crossing the courts, and frequently in both ways. The different heights
of the buildings announced that they could only be connected by the
usual variety of staircases, which exercised the limbs of our ancestors
in the sixteenth and earlier centuries, and seem sometimes to have been
contrived for no other purpose.

The varied and multiplied fronts of this irregular building were, as Dr.
Rochecliffe was wont to say, an absolute banquet to the architectural
antiquary, as they certainly contained specimens of every style which
existed, from the pure Norman of Henry of Anjou, down to the composite,
half Gothic half classical architecture of Elizabeth and her successor.
Accordingly, the rector was himself as much enamoured of Woodstock as
ever was Henry of Fair Rosamond; and as his intimacy with Sir Henry Lee
permitted him entrance at all times to the Royal Lodge, he used to spend
whole days in wandering about the antique apartments, examining,
measuring, studying, and finding out excellent reasons for architectural
peculiarities, which probably only owed their existence to the freakish
fancy of a Gothic artist. But the old antiquary had been expelled from
his living by the intolerance and troubles of the times, and his
successor, Nehemiah Holdenough, would have considered an elaborate
investigation of the profane sculpture and architecture of blinded and
blood-thirsty Papists, together with the history of the dissolute amours
of old Norman monarchs, as little better than a bowing down before the
calves of Bethel, and a drinking of the cup of abominations.--We return
to the course of our story.

"There is," said the Independent Tomkins, after he had carefully perused
the front of the building, "many a rare monument of olden wickedness
about this miscalled Royal Lodge; verily, I shall rejoice much to see
the same destroyed, yea, burned to ashes, and the ashes thrown into the
brook Kedron, or any other brook, that the land may be cleansed from the
memory thereof, neither remember the iniquity with which their fathers
have sinned."

The keeper heard him with secret indignation, and began to consider with
himself, whether, as they stood but one to one, and without chance of
speedy interference, he was not called upon, by his official duty, to
castigate the rebel who used language so defamatory. But he fortunately
recollected, that the strife must be a doubtful one--that the advantage
of arms was against him--and that, in especial, even if he should
succeed in the combat, it would be at the risk of severe retaliation. It
must be owned, too, that there was something about the Independent so
dark and mysterious, so grim and grave, that the more open spirit of the
keeper felt oppressed, and, if not overawed, at least kept in doubt
concerning him; and he thought it wisest, as well as safest, for his
master and himself, to avoid all subjects of dispute, and know better
with whom he was dealing, before he made either friend or enemy of him.

The great gate of the Lodge was strongly bolted, but the wicket opened
on Joceline's raising the latch. There was a short passage of ten feet,
which had been formerly closed by a portcullis at the inner end, while
three loopholes opened on either side, through which any daring intruder
might be annoyed, who, having surprised the first gate, must be thus
exposed to a severe fire before he could force the second. But the
machinery of the portcullis was damaged, and it now remained a fixture,
brandishing its jaw, well furnished with iron fangs, but incapable of
dropping it across the path of invasion.

The way, therefore, lay open to the great hall or outer vestibule of the
Lodge. One end of this long and dusky apartment was entirely occupied by
a gallery, which had in ancient times served to accommodate the
musicians and minstrels. There was a clumsy staircase at either side of
it, composed of entire logs of a foot square; and in each angle of the
ascent was placed, by way of sentinel, the figure of a Norman
foot-soldier, having an open casque on his head, which displayed
features as stern as the painter's genius could devise. Their arms were
buff-jackets, or shirts of mail, round bucklers, with spikes in the
centre, and buskins which adorned and defended the feet and ankles, but
left the knees bare. These wooden warders held great swords, or maces,
in their hands, like military guards on duty. Many an empty hook and
brace, along the walls of the gloomy apartment, marked the spots from
which arms, long preserved as trophies, had been, in the pressure of the
wars, once more taken down, to do service in the field, like veterans
whom extremity of danger recalls to battle. On other rusty fastenings
were still displayed the hunting trophies of the monarchs to whom the
Lodge belonged, and of the silvan knights to whose care it had been from
time to time confided.

At the nether end of the hall, a huge, heavy, stone-wrought
chimney-piece projected itself ten feet from the wall, adorned with many
a cipher, and many a scutcheon of the Royal House of England. In its
present state, it yawned like the arched mouth of a funeral vault, or
perhaps might be compared to the crater of an extinguished volcano. But
the sable complexion of the massive stone-work, and all around it,
showed that the time had been when it sent its huge fires blazing up the
huge chimney, besides puffing many a volume of smoke over the heads of
the jovial guests, whose royalty or nobility did not render them
sensitive enough to quarrel with such slight inconvenience. On these
occasions, it was the tradition of the house, that two cart-loads of
wood was the regular allowance for the fire between noon and curfew, and
the andirons, or dogs, as they were termed, constructed for retaining
the blazing firewood on the hearth, were wrought in the shape of lions
of such gigantic size as might well warrant the legend. There were long
seats of stone within the chimney, where, in despite of the tremendous
heat, monarchs were sometimes said to have taken their station, and
amused themselves with broiling the _umbles_, or _dowsels_, of the deer,
upon the glowing embers, with their own royal hands, when happy the
courtier who was invited to taste the royal cookery. Tradition was here
also ready with her record, to show what merry gibes, such as might be
exchanged between prince and peer, had flown about at the jolly banquet
which followed the Michaelmas hunt. She could tell, too, exactly, where
King Stephen sat when he darned his own princely hose, and knew most of
the odd tricks he had put upon little Winkin, the tailor of Woodstock.

Most of this rude revelry belonged to the Plantagenet times. When the
house of Tudor ascended to the throne, they were more chary of their
royal presence, and feasted in halls and chambers far within, abandoning
the outmost hall to the yeomen of the guard, who mounted their watch
there, and passed away the night with wassail and mirth, exchanged
sometimes for frightful tales of apparitions and sorceries, which made
some of those grow pale, in whose ears the trumpet of a French foeman
would have sounded as jollily as a summons to the woodland chase.

Joceline pointed out the peculiarities of the place to his gloomy
companion more briefly than we have detailed them to the reader. The
Independent seemed to listen with some interest at first, but, flinging
it suddenly aside, he said in a solemn tone, "Perish, Babylon, as thy
master Nebuchadnezzar hath perished! He is a wanderer, and thou shalt be
a waste place--yea, and a wilderness--yea, a desert of salt, in which
there shall be thirst and famine."

"There is like to be enough of both to-night," said Joceline, "unless
the good knight's larder be somewhat fuller than it is wont."

"We must care for the creature-comforts," said the Independent, "but in
due season, when our duties are done. Whither lead these entrances?"

"That to the right," replied the keeper, "leads to what are called, the
state-apartments, not used since the year sixteen hundred and
thirty-nine, when his blessed Majesty"--

"How, sir!" interrupted the Independent, in a voice of thunder, "dost
thou speak of Charles Stewart as blessing, or blessed?--beware the
proclamation to that effect."

"I meant no harm," answered the keeper, suppressing his disposition to
make a harsher reply. "My business is with bolts and bucks, not with
titles and state affairs. But yet, whatever may have happed since, that
poor King was followed with blessings enough from Woodstock, for he left
a glove full of broad pieces for the poor of the place"--

"Peace, friend," said the Independent; "I will think thee else one of
those besotted and blinded Papists, who hold, that bestowing of alms is
an atonement and washing away of the wrongs and oppressions which have
been wrought by the almsgiver. Thou sayest, then, these were the
apartments of Charles Stewart?"

"And of his father, James, before him, and Elizabeth, before _him_, and
bluff King Henry, who builded that wing, before them all."

"And there, I suppose, the knight and his daughter dwelt?"

"No," replied Joceline; "Sir Henry Lee had too much reverence for--for
things which are now thought worth no reverence at all--Besides, the
state-rooms are unaired, and in indifferent order, since of late years.
The Knight Ranger's apartment lies by that passage to the left."

"And whither goes yonder stair, which seems both to lead upwards and
downwards?"

"Upwards," replied the keeper, "it leads to many apartments, used for
various purposes, of sleeping, and other accommodation. Downwards, to
the kitchen, offices, and vaults of the castle, which, at this time of
the evening, you cannot see without lights."

"We will to the apartments of your knight, then," said the Independent.
"Is there fitting accommodation there?"

"Such as has served a person of condition, whose lodging is now worse
appointed," answered the honest keeper, his bile rising so fast that he
added, in a muttering and inaudible tone, "so it may well serve a
crop-eared knave like thee."

He acted as the usher, however, and led on towards the ranger's
apartments.

This suite opened by a short passage from the hall, secured at time of
need by two oaken doors, which could be fastened by large bars of the
same, that were drawn out of the wall, and entered into square holes,
contrived for their reception on the other side of the portal. At the
end of this passage, a small ante-room received them, into which opened
the sitting apartment of the good knight--which, in the style of the
time, might have been termed a fair summer parlour--lighted by two oriel
windows, so placed as to command each of them a separate avenue, leading
distant and deep into the forest. The principal ornament of the
apartment, besides two or three family portraits of less interest, was a
tall full-length picture, that hung above the chimney-piece, which, like
that in the hall, was of heavy stone-work, ornamented with carved
scutcheons, emblazoned with various devices. The portrait was that of a
man about fifty years of age, in complete plate armour, and painted in
the harsh and dry manner of Holbein--probably, indeed, the work of that
artist, as the dates corresponded. The formal and marked angles, points
and projections of the armour, were a good subject for the harsh pencil
of that early school. The face of the knight was, from the fading of the
colours, pale and dim, like that of some being from the other world, yet
the lines expressed forcibly pride and exultation.

He pointed with his leading-staff, or truncheon, to the background,
where, in such perspective as the artist possessed, were depicted the
remains of a burning church, or monastery, and four or five soldiers, in
red cassocks, bearing away in triumph what seemed a brazen font or
laver. Above their heads might be traced in scroll, "_Lee Victor sic
voluit_." Right opposite to the picture, hung, in a niche in the wall, a
complete set of tilting armour, the black and gold colours, and
ornaments of which exactly corresponded with those exhibited in the
portrait.

The picture was one of those which, from something marked in the
features and expression, attract the observation even of those who are
ignorant of art. The Independent looked at it until a smile passed
transiently over his clouded brow. Whether he smiled to see the grim old
cavalier employed in desecrating a religious house--(an occupation much
conforming to the practice of his own sect)--whether he smiled in
contempt of the old painter's harsh and dry mode of working--or whether
the sight of this remarkable portrait revived some other ideas, the
under-keeper could not decide.

The smile passed away in an instant, as the soldier looked to the oriel
windows. The recesses within them were raised a step or two from the
wall. In one was placed a walnut-tree reading-desk, and a huge stuffed
arm-chair, covered with Spanish leather. A little cabinet stood beside,
with some of its shuttles and drawers open, displaying hawks-bells,
dog-whistles, instruments for trimming falcons' feathers, bridle-bits of
various constructions, and other trifles connected with silvan sport.

The other little recess was differently furnished. There lay some
articles of needle-work on a small table, besides a lute, with a book
having some airs written down in it, and a frame for working embroidery.
Some tapestry was displayed around the recess, with more attention to
ornament than was visible in the rest of the apartment; the arrangement
of a few bow-pots, with such flowers as the fading season afforded,
showed also the superintendence of female taste.

Tomkins cast an eye of careless regard upon these subjects of female
occupation, then stepped into the farther window, and began to turn the
leaves of a folio, which lay open on the reading-desk, apparently with
some interest. Joceline, who had determined to watch his motions without
interfering with them, was standing at some distance in dejected
silence, when a door behind the tapestry suddenly opened, and a pretty
village maid tripped out with a napkin in her hand, as if she had been
about some household duty.

"How now, Sir Impudence?" she said to Joceline in a smart tone; "what do
you here prowling about the apartments when the master is not at home?"

But instead of the answer which perhaps she expected, Joceline Joliffe
cast a mournful glance towards the soldier in the oriel window, as if to
make what he said fully intelligible, and replied with a dejected
appearance and voice, "Alack, my pretty Phoebe, there come those here
that have more right or might than any of us, and will use little
ceremony in coming when they will, and staying while they please."

He darted another glance at Tomkins, who still seemed busy with the book
before him, then sidled close to the astonished girl, who had continued
looking alternately at the keeper and at the stranger, as if she had
been unable to understand the words of the first, or to comprehend the
meaning of the second being present.

"Go," whispered Joliffe, approaching his mouth so near her cheek, that
his breath waved the curls of her hair; "go, my dearest Phoebe, trip it
as fast as a fawn down to my lodge--I will soon be there, and"--

"Your lodge, indeed" said Phoebe; "you are very bold, for a poor
kill-buck that never frightened any thing before save a dun deer--_Your_
lodge, indeed!--I am like to go there, I think." "Hush, hush! Phoebe--
here is no time for jesting. Down to my hut, I say, like a deer, for the
knight and Mrs. Alice are both there, and I fear will not return hither
again.--All's naught, girl--and our evil days are come at last with a
vengeance--we are fairly at bay and fairly hunted down."

"Can this be, Joceline?" said the poor girl, turning to the keeper with
an expression of fright in her countenance, which she had hitherto
averted in rural coquetry.

"As sure, my dearest Phoebe, as"--

The rest of the asseveration was lost in Phoebe's ear, so closely did
the keeper's lips approach it; and if they approached so very near as to
touch her cheek, grief, like impatience, hath its privileges, and poor
Phoebe had enough of serious alarm to prevent her from demurring upon
such a trifle.

But no trifle was the approach of Joceline's lips to Phoebe's pretty
though sunburnt cheek, in the estimation of the Independent, who, a
little before the object of Joceline's vigilance, had been more lately
in his turn the observer of the keeper's demeanour, so soon as the
interview betwixt Phoebe and him had become so interesting. And when he
remarked the closeness of Joceline's argument, he raised his voice to a
pitch of harshness that would have rivalled that of an ungreased and
rusty saw, and which at once made Joceline and Phoebe spring six feet
apart, each in contrary directions, and if Cupid was of the party, must
have sent him out at the window like it wild duck flying from a
culverin. Instantly throwing himself into the attitude of a preacher and
a reprover of vice, "How now!" he exclaimed, "shameless and impudent as
you are!--What--chambering and wantoning in our very presence!--How--
would you play your pranks before the steward of the Commissioners of
the High Court of Parliament, as ye would in a booth at the fulsome
fair, or amidst the trappings and tracings of a profane dancing-school,
where the scoundrel minstrels make their ungodly weapons to squeak,
'Kiss and be kind, the fiddler's blind?'--But here," he said, dealing a
perilous thump upon the volume--"Here is the King and high priest of
those vices and follies!--Here is he, whom men of folly profanely call
nature's miracle!--Here is he, whom princes chose for their
cabinet-keeper, and whom maids of honour take for their bed-fellow!--
Here is the prime teacher of fine words, foppery and folly--Here!"--
(dealing another thump upon the volume--and oh! revered of the
Roxburghe, it was the first folio--beloved of the Bannatyne, it was
Hemmings and Condel--it was the _editio princeps_)--"On thee," he
continued--"on thee, William Shakspeare, I charge whate'er of such
lawless idleness and immodest folly hath defiled the land since thy
day!"

"By the mass, a heavy accusation," said Joceline, the bold recklessness
of whose temper could not be long overawed; "Odds pitlikins, is our
master's old favourite, Will of Stratford, to answer for every buss that
has been snatched since James's time?--a perilous reckoning truly--but I
wonder who is sponsible for what lads and lasses did before his day?"
"Scoff not," said the soldier, "lest I, being called thereto by the
voice within me, do deal with thee as a scorner. Verily, I say, that
since the devil fell from Heaven, he never lacked agents on earth; yet
nowhere hath he met with a wizard having such infinite power over men's
souls as this pestilent fellow Shakspeare. Seeks a wife a foul example
for adultery, here she shall find it--Would a man know how to train his
fellow to be a murderer, here shall he find tutoring--Would a lady marry
a heathen negro, she shall have chronicled example for it--Would any one
scorn at his Maker, he shall be furnished with a jest in this book--
Would he defy his brother in the flesh, he shall be accommodated with a
challenge--Would you be drunk, Shakspeare will cheer you with a cup--
Would you plunge in sensual pleasures, he will soothe you to indulgence,
as with the lascivious sounds of a lute. This, I say, this book is the
well-head and source of all those evils which have overrun the land like
a torrent, making men scoffers, doubters, deniers, murderers, makebates,
and lovers of the wine-pot, haunting unclean places, and sitting long at
the evening-wine. Away with him, away with him, men of England! to
Tophet with his wicked book, and to the Vale of Hinnom with his accursed
bones! Verily but that our march was hasty when we passed Stratford, in
the year 1643, with Sir William Waller; but that our march was hasty"--

"Because Prince Rupert was after you with his cavaliers," muttered the
incorrigible Joceline.

"I say," continued the zealous trooper, raising his voice and extending
his arm--"but that our march was by command hasty, and that we turned
not aside in our riding, closing our ranks each one upon the other as
becomes men of war, I had torn on that day the bones of that preceptor
of vice and debauchery from the grave, and given them to the next
dunghill. I would have made his memory a scoff and a hissing!"

"That is the bitterest thing he has said yet," observed the keeper.
"Poor Will would have liked the hissing worse than all the rest." "Will
the gentleman say any more?" enquired Phoebe in a whisper. "Lack-a-day,
he talks brave words, if one knew but what they meant. But it is a mercy
our good knight did not see him ruffle the book at that rate--Mercy on
us, there would certainly have been bloodshed.--But oh, the father--see
how he is twisting his face about!--Is he ill of the colic, think'st
thou, Joceline? Or, may I offer him a glass of strong waters?"

"Hark thee hither, wench!" said the keeper, "he is but loading his
blunderbuss for another volley; and while he turns up his eyes, and
twists about his face, and clenches his fist, and shuffles and tramples
with his feet in that fashion, he is bound to take no notice of any
thing. I would be sworn to cut his purse, if he had one, from his side,
without his feeling it."

"La! Joceline," said Phoebe, "and if he abides here in this turn of
times, I dare say the gentleman will be easily served."

"Care not thou about that," said Joliffe; "but tell me softly and
hastily, what is in the pantry?"

"Small housekeeping enough," said Phoebe; "a cold capon and some
comfits, and the great standing venison pasty, with plenty of spice--a
manchet or two besides, and that is all."

"Well, it will serve for a pinch--wrap thy cloak round thy comely
body--get a basket and a brace of trenchers and towels, they are
heinously impoverished down yonder--carry down the capon and the
manchets--the pasty must abide with this same soldier and me, and the
pie-crust will serve us for bread."

"Rarely," said Phoebe; "I made the paste myself--it is as thick as the
walls of Fair Rosamond's Tower."

"Which two pairs of jaws would be long in gnawing through, work hard as
they might," said the keeper. "But what liquor is there?"

"Only a bottle of Alicant, and one of sack, with the stone jug of strong
waters," answered Phoebe.

"Put the wine-flasks into thy basket," said Joceline, "the knight must
not lack his evening draught--and down with thee to the hut like a
lapwing. There is enough for supper, and to-morrow is a new day.--Ha! by
heaven I thought yonder man's eye watched us--No--he only rolled it
round him in a brown study--Deep enough doubtless, as they all are.--But
d--n him, he must be bottomless if I cannot sound him before the night's
out.--Hie thee away, Phoebe."

But Phoebe was a rural coquette, and, aware that Joceline's situation
gave him no advantage of avenging the challenge in a fitting way, she
whispered in his ear, "Do you think our knight's friend, Shakspeare,
really found out all these naughty devices the gentleman spoke of?"

Off she darted while she spoke, while Joliffe menaced future vengeance
with his finger, as he muttered, "Go thy way, Phoebe Mayflower, the
lightest-footed and lightest-hearted wench that ever tripped the sod in
Woodstock-park!--After her, Bevis, and bring her safe to our master at
the hut."

The large greyhound arose like a human servitor who had received an
order, and followed Phoebe through the hall, first licking her hand to
make her sensible of his presence, and then putting himself to a slow
trot, so as best to accommodate himself to the light pace of her whom he
convoyed, whom Joceline had not extolled for her activity without due
reason. While Phoebe and her guardian thread the forest glades, we
return to the Lodge.

The Independent now seemed to start as if from a reverie. "Is the young
woman gone?" said he.

"Ay, marry is she," said the keeper; "and if your worship hath farther
commands, you must rest contented with male attendance."

"Commands--umph--I think the damsel might have tarried for another
exhortation," said the soldier--"truly, I profess my mind was much
inclined toward her for her edification."

"Oh, sir," replied Joliffe, "she will be at church next Sunday, and if
your military reverence is pleased again to hold forth amongst us, she
will have use of the doctrine with the rest. But young maidens of these
parts hear no private homilies.--And what is now your pleasure? Will you
look at the other rooms, and at the few plate articles which have been
left?"

"Umph--no," said the Independent--"it wears late, and gets dark--thou
hast the means of giving us beds, friend?"

"Better you never slept in," replied the keeper.

"And wood for a fire, and a light, and some small pittance of
creature-comforts for refreshment of the outward man?" continued the
soldier.

"Without doubt," replied the keeper, displaying a prudent anxiety to
gratify this important personage.

In a few minutes a great standing candlestick was placed on an oaken
table. The mighty venison pasty, adorned with parsley, was placed on the
board on a clean napkin; the stone-bottle of strong waters, with a
blackjack full of ale, formed comfortable appendages; and to this meal
sate down in social manner the soldier, occupying a great elbow-chair,
and the keeper, at his invitation, using the more lowly accommodation of
a stool, at the opposite side of the table. Thus agreeably employed, our
history leaves them for the present.

       *       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER THE FOURTH.


  Yon path of greensward
  Winds round by sparry grot and gay pavilion;
  There is no flint to gall thy tender foot,
  There's ready shelter from each breeze, or shower.--
  But duty guides not that way--see her stand,
  With wand entwined with amaranth, near yon cliffs.
  Oft where she leads thy blood must mark thy footsteps,
  Oft where she leads thy head must bear the storm.
  And thy shrunk form endure heat, cold, and hunger;
  But she will guide thee up to noble heights,
  Which he who gains seems native of the sky,
  While earthly things lie stretch'd beneath his feet,
  Diminish'd, shrunk, and valueless--
                            ANONYMOUS.

The reader cannot have forgotten that after his scuffle with the
commonwealth soldier, Sir Henry Lee, with his daughter Alice, had
departed to take refuge in the hut of the stout keeper Joceline Joliffe.
They walked slow, as before, for the old knight was at once oppressed by
perceiving these last vestiges of royalty fall into the hands of
republicans, and by the recollection of his recent defeat. At times he
paused, and, with his arms folded on his bosom, recalled all the
circumstances attending his expulsion from a house so long his home. It
seemed to him that, like the champions of romance of whom he had
sometimes read, he himself was retiring from the post which it was his
duty to guard, defeated by a Paynim knight, for whom the adventure had
been reserved by fate. Alice had her own painful subjects of
recollection, nor had the tenor of her last conversation with her father
been so pleasant as to make her anxious to renew it until his temper
should be more composed; for with an excellent disposition, and much
love to his daughter, age and misfortunes, which of late came thicker
and thicker, had given to the good knight's passions a wayward
irritability unknown to his better days. His daughter, and one or two
attached servants, who still followed his decayed fortunes, soothed his
frailty as much as possible, and pitied him even while they suffered
under its effects.

It was a long time ere he spoke, and then he referred to an incident
already noticed. "It is strange," he said, "that Bevis should have
followed Joceline and that fellow rather than me."

"Assure yourself, sir," replied Alice, "that his sagacity saw in this
man a stranger, whom he thought himself obliged to watch circumspectly,
and therefore he remained with Joceline."

"Not so, Alice," answered Sir Henry; "he leaves me because my fortunes
have fled from me. There is a feeling in nature, affecting even the
instinct, as it is called, of dumb animals, which teaches them to fly
from misfortune. The very deer there will butt a sick or wounded buck
from the herd; hurt a dog, and the whole kennel will fall on him and
worry him; fishes devour their own kind when they are wounded with a
spear; cut a crow's wing, or break its leg, the others will buffet it to
death."

"That may be true of the more irrational kinds of animals among each
other," said Alice, "for their whole life is well nigh a warfare; but
the dog leaves his own race to attach himself to ours; forsakes, for his
master, the company, food, and pleasure of his own kind; and surely the
fidelity of such a devoted and voluntary servant as Bevis hath been in
particular, ought not to be lightly suspected."

"I am not angry with the dog, Alice; I am only sorry," replied her
father. "I have read, in faithful chronicles, that when Richard II. and
Henry of Bolingbroke were at Berkeley Castle, a dog of the same kind
deserted the King, whom he had always attended upon, and attached
himself to Henry, whom he then saw for the first time. Richard foretold,
from the desertion of his favourite, his approaching deposition. The dog
was afterwards kept at Woodstock, and Bevis is said to be of his breed,
which was heedfully kept up. What I might foretell of mischief from his
desertion, I cannot guess, but my mind assures me it bodes no good."

There was a distant rustling among the withered leaves, a bouncing or
galloping sound on the path, and the favourite dog instantly joined his
master.

"Come into court, old knave," said Alice, cheerfully, "and defend thy
character, which is wellnigh endangered by this absence." But the dog
only paid her courtesy by gamboling around them, and instantly plunged
back again, as fast as he could scamper.

"How now, knave?" said the knight; "thou art too well trained, surely,
to take up the chase without orders." A minute more showed them Phoebe
Mayflower approaching, her light pace so little impeded by the burden
which she bore, that she joined her master and young mistress just as
they arrived at the keeper's hut, which was the boundary of their
journey. Bevis, who had shot a-head to pay his compliments to Sir Henry
his master, had returned again to his immediate duty, the escorting
Phoebe and her cargo of provisions. The whole party stood presently
assembled before the door of the keeper's hut.

In better times, a substantial stone habitation, fit for the
yeoman-keeper of a royal walk, had adorned this place. A fair spring
gushed out near the spot, and once traversed yards and courts, attached
to well-built and convenient kennels and mews. But in some of the
skirmishes which were common during the civil wars, this little silvan
dwelling had been attacked and defended, stormed and burnt. A
neighbouring squire, of the Parliament side of the question, took
advantage of Sir Henry Lee's absence, who was then in Charles's camp,
and of the decay of the royal cause, and had, without scruple, carried
off the hewn stones, and such building materials as the fire left
unconsumed, and repaired his own manor-house with them. The
yeoman-keeper, therefore, our friend Joceline, had constructed, for his
own accommodation, and that of the old woman he called his dame, a
wattled hut, such as his own labour, with that of a neighbour or two,
had erected in the course of a few days. The walls were plastered with
clay, white-washed, and covered with vines and other creeping plants;
the roof was neatly thatched, and the whole, though merely a hut, had,
by the neat-handed Joliffe, been so arranged as not to disgrace the
condition of the dweller.

The knight advanced to the entrance; but the ingenuity of the architect,
for want of a better lock to the door, which itself was but of wattles
curiously twisted, had contrived a mode of securing the latch on the
inside with a pin, which prevented it from rising; and in this manner it
was at present fastened. Conceiving that this was some precaution of
Joliffe's old housekeeper, of whose deafness they were all aware, Sir
Henry raised his voice to demand admittance, but in vain. Irritated at
this delay, he pressed the door at once with foot and hand, in a way
which the frail barrier was unable to resist; it gave way accordingly,
and the knight thus forcibly entered the kitchen, or outward apartment,
of his servant. In the midst of the floor, and with a posture which
indicated embarrassment, stood a youthful stranger, in a riding-suit.

"This may be my last act of authority here," said the knight, seizing
the stranger by the collar, "but I am still Ranger of Woodstock for this
night at least--Who, or what art thou?"

The stranger dropped the riding-mantle in which his face was muffled,
and at the same time fell on one knee.

"Your poor kinsman, Markham Everard," he said, "who came hither for your
sake, although he fears you will scarce make him welcome for his own."

Sir Henry started back, but recovered himself in an instant, as one who
recollected that he had a part of dignity to perform. He stood erect,
therefore, and replied, with considerable assumption of stately
ceremony:

"Fair kinsman, it pleases me that you are come to Woodstock upon the
very first night that, for many years which have passed, is likely to
promise you a worthy or a welcome reception."

"Now God grant it be so, that I rightly hear and duly understand you,"
said the young man; while Alice, though she was silent, kept her looks
fixed on her father's face, as if desirous to know whether his meaning
was kind towards his nephew, which her knowledge of his character
inclined her greatly to doubt.

The knight meanwhile darted a sardonic look, first on his nephew, then
on his daughter, and proceeded--"I need not, I presume, inform Mr.
Markham Everard, that it cannot be our purpose to entertain him, or even
to offer him a seat in this poor hut."

"I will attend you most willingly to the Lodge," said the young
gentleman. "I had, indeed, judged you were already there for the
evening, and feared to intrude upon you. But if you would permit me, my
dearest uncle, to escort my kinswoman and you back to the Lodge, believe
me, amongst all which you have so often done of good and kind, you never
conferred benefit that will be so dearly prized."

"You mistake me greatly, Mr. Markham Everard," replied the knight. "It
is not our purpose to return to the Lodge to-night, nor, by Our Lady,
to-morrow neither. I meant but to intimate to you in all courtesy, that
at Woodstock Lodge you will find those for whom you are fitting society,
and who, doubtless, will afford you a willing welcome; which I, sir, in
this my present retreat, do not presume to offer to a person of your
consequence."

"For Heaven's sake," said the young man, turning to Alice, "tell me how
I am to understand language so misterious."

Alice, to prevent his increasing the restrained anger of her father,
compelled herself to answer, though it was with difficulty, "We are
expelled from the Lodge by soldiers."

"Expelled--by soldiers!" exclaimed Everard, in surprise--"there is no
legal warrant for this."

"None at all," answered the knight, in the same tone of cutting irony
which he had all along used, "and yet as lawful a warrant, as for aught
that has been wrought in England this twelvemonth and more. You are, I
think, or were, an Inns-of-Court-man--marry, sir, your enjoyment of your
profession is like that lease which a prodigal wishes to have of a
wealthy widow. You have already survived the law which you studied, and
its expiry doubtless has not been without a legacy--some decent
pickings, some merciful increases, as the phrase goes. You have deserved
it two ways--you wore buff and bandalier, as well as wielded pen and
ink--I have not heard if you held forth too."

"Think of me and speak of me as harshly as you will, sir," said Everard,
submissively. "I have but in this evil time, guided myself by my
conscience, and my father's commands."

"O, and you talk of conscience," said the old knight, "I must have mine
eye upon you, as Hamlet says. Never yet did Puritan cheat so grossly as
when he was appealing to his conscience; and as for thy _father_"--

He was about to proceed in a tone of the same invective, when the young
man interrupted him, by saying, in a firm tone, "Sir Henry Lee, you have
ever been thought noble--Say of me what you will, but speak not of my
father what the ear of a son should not endure, and which yet his arm
cannot resent. To do me such wrong is to insult an unarmed man, or to
beat a captive."

Sir Henry paused, as if struck by the remark. "Thou hast spoken truth in
that, Mark, wert thou the blackest Puritan whom hell ever vomited, to
distract an unhappy country."

"Be that as you will to think it," replied Everard; "but let me not
leave you to the shelter of this wretched hovel. The night is drawing to
storm--let me but conduct you to the Lodge, and expel those intruders,
who can, as yet at least, have no warrant for what they do. I will not
linger a moment behind them, save just to deliver my father's
message.--Grant me but this much, for the love you once bore me!"

"Yes, Mark," answered his uncle, firmly, but sorrowfully, "thou speakest
truth--I did love thee once. The bright-haired boy whom I taught to
ride, to shoot, to hunt--whose hours of happiness were spent with me,
wherever those of graver labours were employed--I did love that boy--ay,
and I am weak enough to love even the memory of what he was.--But he is
gone, Mark--he is gone; and in his room I only behold an avowed and
determined rebel to his religion and to his king--a rebel more
detestable on account of his success, the more infamous through the
plundered wealth with which he hopes to gild his villany.--But I am
poor, thou think'st, and should hold my peace, lest men say, 'Speak,
sirrah, when you should.'--Know, however, that, indigent and plundered
as I am, I feel myself dishonoured in holding even but this much talk
with the tool of usurping rebels.--Go to the Lodge, if thou wilt--yonder
lies the way--but think not that, to regain my dwelling there, or all
the wealth I ever possessed in my wealthiest days, I would accompany
thee three steps on the greensward. If I must be thy companion, it shall
be only when thy red-coats have tied my hands behind me, and bound my
legs beneath my horse's belly. Thou mayst be my fellow traveller then, I
grant thee, if thou wilt, but not sooner."

Alice, who suffered cruelly during this dialogue, and was well aware
that farther argument would only kindle the knight's resentment still
more highly, ventured at last, in her anxiety, to make a sign to her
cousin to break off the interview, and to retire, since her father
commanded his absence in a manner so peremptory. Unhappily, she was
observed by Sir Henry, who, concluding that what he saw was evidence of
a private understanding betwixt the cousins, his wrath acquired new
fuel, and it required the utmost exertion of self-command, and
recollection of all that was due to his own dignity, to enable him to
veil his real fury under the same ironical manner which he had adopted
at the beginning of this angry interview.

"If thou art afraid," he said, "to trace our forest glades by night,
respected stranger, to whom I am perhaps bound to do honour as my
successor in the charge of these walks, here seems to be a modest
damsel, who will be most willing to wait on thee, and be thy
bow-bearer.--Only, for her mother's sake, let there pass some slight
form of marriage between you--Ye need no license or priest in these
happy days, but may be buckled like beggars in a ditch, with a hedge for
a church-roof, and a tinker for a priest. I crave pardon of you for
making such an officious and simple request--perhaps you are a
ranter--or one of the family of Love, or hold marriage rites as
unnecessary, as Knipperdoling, or Jack of Leyden?"

"For mercy's sake, forbear such dreadful jesting, my father! and do you,
Markham, begone, in God's name, and leave us to our fate--your presence
makes my father rave."

"Jesting!" said Sir Henry, "I was never more serious--Raving!--I was
never more composed--I could never brook that falsehood should approach
me--I would no more bear by my side a dishonoured daughter than a
dishonoured sword; and this unhappy day hath shown that both can fail."

"Sir Henry," said young Everard, "load not your soul with a heavy crime,
which be assured you do, in treating your daughter thus unjustly. It is
long now since you denied her to me, when we were poor and you were
powerful. I acquiesced in your prohibition of all suit and intercourse.
God knoweth what I suffered--but I acquiesced. Neither is it to renew my
suit that I now come hither, and have, I do acknowledge, sought speech
of her--not for her own sake only, but for yours also. Destruction
hovers over you, ready to close her pinions to stoop, and her talons to
clutch--Yes, sir, look contemptuous as you will, such is the case; and
it is to protect both you and her that I am here."

"You refuse then my free gift," said Sir Henry Lee; "or perhaps you
think it loaded with too hard conditions?"

"Shame, shame on you, Sir Henry;" said Everard, waxing warm in his turn;
"have your political prejudices so utterly warped every feeling of a
father, that you can speak with bitter mockery and scorn of what
concerns your own daughter's honour?--Hold up your head, fair Alice, and
tell your father he has forgotten nature in his fantastic spirit of
loyalty.--Know, Sir Henry, that though I would prefer your daughter's
hand to every blessing which Heaven could bestow on me, I would not
accept it--my conscience would not permit me to do so, when I knew it
must withdraw her from her duty to you."

"Your conscience is over-scrupulous, young man;--carry it to some
dissenting rabbi, and he who takes all that comes to net, will teach
thee it is sinning against our mercies to refuse any good thing that is
freely offered to us."

"When it is freely offered, and kindly offered--not when the offer is
made in irony and insult--Fare thee well, Alice--if aught could make me
desire to profit by thy father's wild wish to cast thee from him in a
moment of unworthy suspicion, it would be that while indulging in such
sentiments, Sir Henry Lee is tyrannically oppressing the creature, who
of all others is most dependent on his kindness--who of all others will
most feel his severity, and whom, of all others, he is most bound to
cherish and support."

"Do not fear for me, Mr. Everard," exclaimed Alice, aroused from her
timidity by a dread of the consequences not unlikely to ensue, where
civil war sets relations, as well as fellow-citizens, in opposition to
each other.--"Oh, begone, I conjure you, begone! Nothing stands betwixt
me and my father's kindness, but these unhappy family divisions--but
your ill-timed presence here--for Heaven's sake, leave us!"

"So, mistress!" answered the hot old cavalier, "you play lady paramount
already; and who but you!--you would dictate to our train, I warrant,
like Goneril and Regan! But I tell thee, no man shall leave my
house--and, humble as it is, _this_ is now my house--while he has aught
to say to me that is to be spoken, as this young man now speaks, with a
bent brow and a lofty tone.--Speak out, sir, and say your worst!"

"Fear not my temper, Mrs. Alice," said Everard, with equal firmness and
placidity of manner; "and you, Sir Henry, do not think that if I speak
firmly, I mean therefore to speak in anger, or officiously. You have
taxed me with much, and, were I guided by the wild spirit of romantic
chivalry, much which, even from so near a relative, I ought not, as
being by birth, and in the world's estimation, a gentleman, to pass over
without reply. Is it your pleasure to give me patient hearing?"

"If you stand on your defence," answered the stout old knight, "God
forbid that you should not challenge a patient hearing--ay, though your
pleading were two parts disloyalty and one blasphemy--Only, be brief--
this has already lasted but too long."

"I will, Sir Henry," replied the young man; "yet it is hard to crowd
into a few sentences, the defence of a life which, though short, has
been a busy one--too busy, your indignant gesture would assert. But I
deny it; I have drawn my sword neither hastily, nor without due
consideration, for a people whose rights have been trampled on, and
whose consciences have been oppressed--Frown not, sir--such is not your
view of the contest, but such is mine. For my religious principles, at
which you have scoffed, believe me, that though they depend not on set
forms, they are no less sincere than your own, and thus far
purer--excuse the word--that they are unmingled with the blood-thirsty
dictates of a barbarous age, which you and others have called the code
of chivalrous honour. Not my own natural disposition, but the better
doctrine which my creed has taught, enables me to bear your harsh
revilings without answering in a similar tone of wrath and reproach. You
may carry insult to extremity against me at your pleasure--not on
account of our relationship alone, but because I am bound in charity to
endure it. This, Sir Henry, is much from one of our house. But, with
forbearance far more than this requires, I can refuse at your hands the
gift, which, most of all things under heaven, I should desire to obtain,
because duty calls upon her to sustain and comfort you, and because it
were sin to permit you, in your blindness, to spurn your comforter from
your side.--Farewell, sir--not in anger, but in pity--We may meet in a
better time, when your heart and your principles shall master the
unhappy prejudices by which they are now overclouded.--Farewell--
farewell, Alice!"

The last words were repeated twice, and in a tone of feeling and
passionate grief, which differed utterly from the steady and almost
severe tone in which he had addressed Sir Henry Lee. He turned and left
the hut so soon as he had uttered these last words; and, as if ashamed
of the tenderness which had mingled with his accents, the young
commonwealth's-man turned and walked sternly and resolvedly forth into
the moonlight, which now was spreading its broad light and autumnal
shadows over the woodland.

So soon as he departed, Alice, who had been during the whole scene in
the utmost terror that her father might have been hurried, by his
natural heat of temper, from violence of language into violence of
action, sunk down upon a settle twisted out of willow boughs, like most
of Joceline's few moveables, and endeavoured to conceal the tears which
accompanied the thanks she rendered in broken accents to Heaven, that,
notwithstanding the near alliance and relationship of the parties, some
fatal deed had not closed an interview so perilous and so angry. Phoebe
Mayflower blubbered heartily for company, though she understood but
little of what had passed; just, indeed, enough to enable her afterwards
to report to some half-dozen particular friends, that her old master,
Sir Henry, had been perilous angry, and almost fought with young Master
Everard, because he had wellnigh carried away her young mistress.--"And
what could he have done better?" said Phoebe, "seeing the old man had
nothing left either for Mrs. Alice or himself; and as for Mr. Mark
Everard and our young lady, oh! they had spoken such loving things to
each other as are not to be found in the history of Argalus and
Parthenia, who, as the story-book tells, were the truest pair of lovers
in all Arcadia, and Oxfordshire to boot."

Old Goody Jellycot had popped her scarlet hood into the kitchen more
than once while the scene was proceeding; but, as the worthy dame was
parcel blind and more than parcel deaf, knowledge was excluded by two
principal entrances; and though she comprehended, by a sort of general
instinct, that the gentlefolk were at high words, yet why they chose
Joceline's hut for the scene of their dispute was as great a mystery as
the subject of the quarrel.

But what was the state of the old cavalier's mood, thus contradicted, as
his most darling principles had been, by the last words of his departing
nephew? The truth is, that he was less thoroughly moved than his
daughter expected; and in all probability his nephew's bold defence of
his religious and political opinions rather pacified than aggravated his
displeasure. Although sufficiently impatient of contradiction, still
evasion and subterfuge were more alien to the blunt old Ranger's nature
than manly vindication and direct opposition; and he was wont to say,
that he ever loved the buck best who stood boldest at bay. He graced his
nephew's departure, however, with a quotation from Shakspeare, whom, as
many others do, he was wont to quote from a sort of habit and respect,
as a favourite of his unfortunate master, without having either much
real taste for his works, or great skill in applying the passages which
he retained on his memory.

"Mark," he said, "mark this, Alice--the devil can quote Scripture for
his purpose. Why, this young fanatic cousin of thine, with no more beard
than I have seen on a clown playing Maid Marion on May-day, when the
village barber had shaved him in too great a hurry, shall match any
bearded Presbyterian or Independent of them all, in laying down his
doctrines and his uses, and bethumping us with his texts and his
homilies. I would worthy and learned Doctor Rochecliffe had been here,
with his battery ready-mounted from the Vulgate, and the Septuagint, and
what not--he would have battered the presbyterian spirit out of him with
a wanion. However, I am glad the young man is no sneaker; for, were a
man of the devil's opinion in religion, and of Old Noll's in politics,
he were better open on it full cry, than deceive you by hunting counter,
or running a false scent. Come--wipe thine eyes--the fray is over, and
not like to be stirred again soon, I trust."

Encouraged by these words, Alice rose, and, bewildered as she was,
endeavoured to superintend the arrangements for their meal and their
repose in their new habitation. But her tears fell so fast, they marred
her counterfeited diligence; and it was well for her that Phoebe, though
too ignorant and too simple to comprehend the extent of her distress,
could afford her material assistance, in lack of mere sympathy.

With great readiness and address, the damsel set about every thing that
was requisite for preparing the supper and the beds; now screaming into
Dame Jellycot's ear, now whispering into her mistress's, and artfully
managing, as if she was merely the agent, under Alice's orders. When the
cold viands were set forth, Sir Henry Lee kindly pressed his daughter to
take refreshment, as if to make up, indirectly, for his previous
harshness towards her; while he himself, like an experienced campaigner,
showed, that neither the mortifications nor brawls of the day, nor the
thoughts of what was to come to-morrow, could diminish his appetite for
supper, which was his favourite meal. He ate up two-thirds of the capon,
and, devoting the first bumper to the happy restoration of Charles,
second of the name, he finished a quart of wine; for he belonged to a
school accustomed to feed the flame of their loyalty with copious
brimmers. He even sang a verse of "The King shall enjoy his own again,"
in which Phoebe, half-sobbing, and Dame Jellycot, screaming against time
and tune, were contented to lend their aid, to cover Mistress Alice's
silence.

At length the jovial knight betook himself to his rest on the keeper's
straw pallet, in a recess adjoining to the kitchen, and, unaffected by
his change of dwelling, slept fast and deep. Alice had less quiet rest
in old Goody Jellycot's wicker couch, in the inner apartment; while the
dame and Phoebe slept on a mattress, stuffed with dry leaves, in the
same chamber, soundly as those whose daily toil gains their daily bread,
and, whom morning calls up only to renew the toils of yesterday.

       *       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER THE FIFTH.


  My tongue pads slowly under this new language,
  And starts and stumbles at these uncouth phrases.
  They may be great in worth and weight, but hang
  Upon the native glibness of my language
  Like Saul's plate-armour on the shepherd boy,
  Encumbering and not arming him.
                                      J. B.

As Markham Everard pursued his way towards the Lodge, through one of the
long sweeping glades which traversed the forest, varying in breadth,
till the trees were now so close that the boughs made darkness over his
head, then receding farther to let in glimpses of the moon, and anon
opening yet wider into little meadows, or savannahs, on which the
moonbeams lay in silvery silence; as he thus proceeded on his lonely
course, the various effects produced by that delicious light on the
oaks, whose dark leaves, gnarled branches, and massive trunks it gilded,
more or less partially, might have drawn the attention of a poet or a
painter.

But if Everard thought of anything saving the painful scene in which he
had just played his part, and of which the result seemed the destruction
of all his hopes, it was of the necessary guard to be observed in his
night-walk. The times were dangerous and unsettled; the roads full of
disbanded soldiers, and especially of royalists, who made their
political opinions a pretext for disturbing the country with marauding
parties and robberies. Deer-stealers also, who are ever a desperate
banditti, had of late infested Woodstock Chase. In short, the dangers of
the place and period were such, that Markham Everard wore his loaded
pistols at his belt, and carried his drawn sword under his arm, that he
might be prepared for whatever peril should cross his path.

He heard the bells of Woodstock Church ring curfew, just as he was
crossing one of the little meadows we have described, and they ceased as
he entered an overshadowed and twilight part of the path beyond. It was
there that he heard some one whistling; and, as the sound became
clearer, it was plain the person was advancing towards him. This could
hardly be a friend; for the party to which he belonged rejected,
generally speaking, all music, unless psalmody. "If a man is merry, let
him sing psalms," was a text which they were pleased to interpret as
literally and to as little purpose as they did some others; yet it was
too continued a sound to be a signal amongst night-walkers, and too
light and cheerful to argue any purpose of concealment on the part of
the traveller, who presently exchanged his whistling for singing, and
trolled forth the following stanza to a jolly tune, with which the old
cavaliers were wont to wake the night owl:

  Hey for cavaliers! Ho for cavaliers!
  Pray for cavaliers!
    Rub a dub--rub a dub!
    Have at old Beelzebub--
    Oliver smokes for fear.

"I should know that voice," said Everard, uncocking the pistol which he
had drawn from his belt, but continuing to hold it in his hand. Then
came another fragment:

  Hash them--slash them--
  All to pieces dash them.

"So ho!" cried Markham, "who goes there, and for whom?"

"For Church and King," answered a voice, which presently added, "No,
d--n me--I mean _against_ Church and King, and for the people that are
uppermost--I forget which they are."

"Roger Wildrake, as I guess?" said Everard.

"The same--Gentleman; of Squattlesea-mere, in the moist county of
Lincoln."

"Wildrake!" said Markham--"Wildgoose you should be called. You have been
moistening your own throat to some purpose, and using it to gabble tunes
very suitable to the times, to be sure!"

"Faith, the tune's a pretty tune enough, Mark, only out of fashion a
little--the more's the pity."

"What could I expect," said Everard, "but to meet some ranting, drunken
cavalier, as desperate and dangerous as night and sack usually make
them? What if I had rewarded your melody by a ball in the gullet?"

"Why, there would have been a piper paid--that's all," said Wildrake.
"But wherefore come you this way now? I was about to seek you at the
hut."

"I have been obliged to leave it--I will tell you the cause hereafter,"
replied Markham.

"What! the old play-hunting cavalier was cross, or Chloe was unkind?"

"Jest not, Wildrake--it is all over with me," said Everard.

"The devil it is," exclaimed Wildrake, "and you take it thus quietly!--
Zounds! let us back together--I'll plead your cause for you--I know how
to tickle up an old knight and a pretty maiden--Let me alone for putting
you _rectus in curia_, you canting rogue.--D--n me, Sir Henry Lee, says
I, your nephew is a piece of a Puritan--it won't deny--but I'll uphold
him a gentleman and a pretty fellow, for all that.--Madam, says I, you
may think your cousin looks like a psalm-singing weaver, in that bare
felt, and with that rascally brown cloak; that band, which looks like a
baby's clout, and those loose boots, which have a whole calf-skin in
each of them,--but let him wear on the one side of his head a castor,
with a plume befitting his quality; give him a good Toledo by his side,
with a broidered belt and an inlaid hilt, instead of the ton of iron
contained in that basket-hilted black Andrew Ferrara; put a few smart
words in his mouth--and, blood and wounds! madam, says I--"

"Prithee, truce with this nonsense, Wildrake," said Everard, "and tell
me if you are sober enough to hear a few words of sober reason?"

"Pshaw! man, I did but crack a brace of quarts with yonder puritanic,
roundheaded soldiers, up yonder at the town; and rat me but I passed
myself for the best man of the party; twanged my nose, and turned up my
eyes, as I took my can--Pah! the very wine tasted of hypocrisy. I think
the rogue corporal smoked something at last--as for the common fellows,
never stir, but _they_ asked me to say grace over another quart."

"This is just what I wished to speak with you about, Wildrake," said
Markham--"You hold me, I am sure, for your friend?"

"True as steel.--Chums at College and at Lincoln's Inn--we have been
Nisus and Euryalus, Theseus and Pirithous, Orestes and Pylades; and, to
sum up the whole with a puritanic touch, David and Jonathan, all in one
breath. Not even politics, the wedge that rends families and friendships
asunder, as iron rives oak, have been able to split us."

"True," answered Markham: "and when you followed the King to Nottingham,
and I enrolled under Essex, we swore, at our parting, that whichever
side was victorious, he of us who adhered to it, should protect his less
fortunate comrade."

"Surely, man, surely; and have you not protected me accordingly? Did you
not save me from hanging? and am I not indebted to you for the bread I
eat?"

"I have but done that which, had the times been otherwise, you, my dear
Wildrake, would, I am sure, have done for me. But, as I said, that is
just what I wished to speak to you about. Why render the task of
protecting you more difficult than it must necessarily be at any rate?
Why thrust thyself into the company of soldiers, or such like, where
thou art sure to be warmed into betraying thyself? Why come hollowing
and whooping out cavalier ditties, like a drunken trooper of Prince
Rupert, or one of Wilmot's swaggering body-guards?"

"Because I may have been both one and t'other in my day, for aught that
you know," replied Wildrake. "But, oddsfish! is it necessary I should
always be reminding you, that our obligation of mutual protection, our
league of offensive and defensive, as I may call it, was to be carried
into effect without reference to the politics or religion of the party
protected, or the least obligation on him to conform to those of his
friend?"

"True," said Everard; "but with this most necessary qualification, that
the party should submit to such outward conformity to the times as
should make it more easy and safe for his friend to be of service to
him. Now, you are perpetually breaking forth, to the hazard of your own
safety and my credit."

"I tell you, Mark, and I would tell your namesake the apostle, that you
are hard on me. You have practised sobriety and hypocrisy from your
hanging sleeves till your Geneva cassock--from the cradle to this
day,--and it is a thing of nature to you; and you are surprised that a
rough, rattling, honest fellow, accustomed to speak truth all his life,
and especially when he found it at the bottom of a flask, cannot be so
perfect a prig as thyself--Zooks! there is no equality betwixt us--A
trained diver might as well, because he can retain his breath for ten
minutes without inconvenience, upbraid a poor devil for being like to
burst in twenty seconds, at the bottom of ten fathoms water--And, after
all, considering the guise is so new to me, I think I bear myself
indifferently well--try me!"

"Are there any more news from Worcester fight?" asked Everard, in a tone
so serious that it imposed on his companion, who replied in his genuine
character--

"Worse!--d--n me, worse an hundred times than reported--totally broken.
Noll hath certainly sold himself to the devil, and his lease will have
an end one day--that is all our present comfort."

"What! and would this be your answer to the first red-coat who asked the
question?" said Everard. "Methinks you would find a speedy passport to
the next corps de garde."

"Nay, nay," answered Wildrake, "I thought you asked me in your own
person.--Lack-a-day! a great mercy--a glorifying mercy--a crowning
mercy--a vouchsafing--an uplifting--I profess the malignants are
scattered from Dan to Beersheba--smitten, hip and thigh, even until the
going down of the sun!"

"Hear you aught of Colonel Thornhaugh's wounds?"

"He is dead," answered Wildrake, "that's one comfort--the roundheaded
rascal!--Nay, hold! it was but a trip of the tongue--I meant, the sweet
godly youth."

"And hear you aught of the young man, King of Scotland, as they call
him?" said Everard.

"Nothing but that he is hunted like a partridge on the mountains. May
God deliver him, and confound his enemies!--Zoons, Mark Everard, I can
fool it no longer. Do you not remember, that at the Lincoln's-Inn
gambols--though you did not mingle much in them, I think--I used always
to play as well as any of them when it came to the action, but they
could never get me to rehearse conformably. It's the same at this day. I
hear your voice, and I answer to it in the true tone of my heart; but
when I am in the company of your snuffling friends, you have seen me act
my part indifferent well."

"But indifferent, indeed," replied Everard; "however, there is little
call on you to do aught, save to be modest and silent. Speak little, and
lay aside, if you can, your big oaths and swaggering looks--set your hat
even on your brows."

"Ay, that is the curse! I have been always noted for the jaunty manner
in which I wear my castor--Hard when a man's merits become his enemies!"

"You must remember you are my clerk."

"Secretary," answered Wildrake: "let it be secretary, if you love me."

"It must be clerk, and nothing else--plain clerk--and remember to be
civil and obedient," replied Everard.

"But you should not lay on your commands with so much ostentatious
superiority, Master Markham Everard. Remember, I am your senior of three
years' standing. Confound me, if I know how to take it!"

"Was ever such a fantastic wrong-head!--For my sake, if not for thine
own, bend thy freakish folly to listen to reason. Think that I have
incurred both risk and shame on thy account."

"Nay, thou art a right good fellow, Mark," replied the cavalier; "and
for thy sake I will do much--but remember to cough, and cry hem! when
thou seest me like to break bounds. And now, tell me whither we are
bound for the night."

"To Woodstock Lodge, to look after my uncle's property," answered
Markham Everard: "I am informed that soldiers have taken possession--Yet
how could that be if thou foundest the party drinking in Woodstock?"

"There was a kind of commissary or steward, or some such rogue, had gone
down to the Lodge," replied Wildrake; "I had a peep at him."

"Indeed!" replied Everard.

"Ay, verily," said Wildrake, "to speak your own language. Why, as I
passed through the park in quest of you, scarce half an hour since, I
saw a light in the Lodge--Step this way, you will see it yourself."

"In the north-west angle?" returned Everard. "It is from a window in
what they call Victor Lee's apartment."

"Well," resumed Wildrake, "I had been long one of Lundsford's lads, and
well used to patrolling duty--So, rat me, says I, if I leave a light in
my rear, without knowing what it means. Besides, Mark, thou hadst said
so much to me of thy pretty cousin, I thought I might as well have a
peep, if I could."

"Thoughtless, incorrigible man! to what dangers do you expose yourself
and your friends, in mere wantonness!--But go on."

"By this fair moonshine, I believe thou art jealous, Mark Everard!"
replied his gay companion; "there is no occasion; for, in any case, I,
who was to see the lady, was steeled by honour against the charms of my
friend's Chloe--Then the lady was not to see me, so could make no
comparisons to thy disadvantage, thou knowest--Lastly, as it fell out,
neither of us saw the other at all."

"Of that I am well aware. Mrs. Alice left the Lodge long before sunset,
and never returned. What didst thou see to introduce with such preface?"

"Nay, no great matter," replied Wildrake; "only getting upon a sort of
buttress, (for I can climb like any cat that ever mewed in any gutter,)
and holding on by the vines and creepers which grew around, I obtained a
station where I could see into the inside of that same parlour thou
spokest of just now."

"And what saw'st thou there?" once more demanded Everard.

"Nay, no great matter, as I said before," replied the cavalier; "for in
these times it is no new thing to see churls carousing in royal or noble
chambers. I saw two rascallions engaged in emptying a solemn stoup of
strong waters, and dispatching a huge venison pasty, which greasy mess,
for their convenience, they had placed on a lady's work-table--One of
them was trying an air on a lute."

"The profane villains!" exclaimed Everard, "it was Alice's."

"Well said, comrade--I am glad your phlegm can be moved. I did but throw
in these incidents of the lute and the table, to try if it was possible
to get a spark of human spirit out of you, besanctified as you are."

"What like were the men?" said young Everard.

"The one a slouch-hatted, long-cloaked, sour-faced fanatic, like the
rest of you, whom I took to be the steward or commissary I heard spoken
of in the town; the other was a short sturdy fellow, with a wood-knife
at his girdle, and a long quarterstaff lying beside him--a black-haired
knave, with white teeth and a merry countenance--one of the
under-rangers or bow-bearers of these walks, I fancy."

"They must have been Desborough's favourite, trusty Tomkins," said
Everard, "and Joceline Joliffe, the keeper. Tomkins is Desborough's
right hand--an Independent, and hath pourings forth, as he calls them.
Some think that his gifts have the better of his grace. I have heard of
his abusing opportunities."

"They were improving them when I saw them," replied Wildrake, "and made
the bottle smoke for it--when, as the devil would have it, a stone,
which had been dislodged from the crumbling buttress, gave way under my
weight. A clumsy fellow like thee would have been so long thinking what
was to be done, that he must needs have followed it before he could make
up his mind; but I, Mark, I hopped like a squirrel to an ivy twig, and
stood fast--was wellnigh shot, though, for the noise alarmed them both.
They looked to the oriel, and saw me on the outside; the fanatic fellow
took out a pistol--as they have always such texts in readiness hanging
beside the little clasped Bible, thou know'st--the keeper seized his
hunting-pole--I treated them both to a roar and a grin--thou must know I
can grimace like a baboon--I learned the trick from a French player, who
could twist his jaws into a pair of nut-crackers--and therewithal I
dropped myself sweetly on the grass, and ran off so trippingly, keeping
the dark side of the wall as long as I could, that I am wellnigh
persuaded they thought I was their kinsman, the devil, come among them
uncalled. They were abominably startled."

"Thou art most fearfully rash, Wildrake," said his companion; "we are
now bound for the house--what if they should remember thee?"

"Why, it is no treason, is it? No one has paid for peeping since Tom of
Coventry's days; and if he came in for a reckoning, belike it was for a
better treat than mine. But trust me, they will no more know me, than a
man who had only seen your friend Noll at a conventicle of saints, would
know the same Oliver on horseback, and charging with his lobster-tailed
squadron; or the same Noll cracking a jest and a bottle with wicked
Waller the poet."

"Hush! not a word of Oliver, as thou dost value thyself and me. It is
ill jesting with the rock you may split on.--But here is the gate--we
will disturb these honest gentlemen's recreations."

As he spoke, he applied the large and ponderous knocker to the
hall-door. "Rat-tat-tat-too!" said Wildrake; "there is a fine alarm to
you cuckolds and round-heads." He then half-mimicked, half-sung the
march so called:--

  "Cuckolds, come dig, cuckolds, come dig;
  Round about cuckolds, come dance to my jig!"

"By Heaven! this passes Midsummer frenzy," said Everard, turning angrily
to him.

"Not a bit, not a bit," replied Wildrake; "it is but a slight
expectoration, just like what one makes before beginning a long speech.
I will be grave for an hour together, now I have got that point of war
out of my head."

As he spoke, steps were heard in the hall, and the wicket of the great
door was partly opened, but secured with a chain in case of accidents.
The visage of Tomkins, and that of Joceline beneath it, appeared at the
chink, illuminated by the lamp which the latter held in his hand, and
Tomkins demanded the meaning of this alarm.

"I demand instant admittance!" said Everard. "Joliffe, you know me
well?"

"I do, sir," replied Joceline, "and could admit you with all my heart;
but, alas! sir, you see I am not key-keeper--Here is the gentleman whose
warrant I must walk by--The Lord help me, seeing times are such as they
be!"

"And when that gentleman, who I think may be Master Desborough's
valet"--

"His honour's unworthy secretary, an it please you," interposed Tomkins;
while Wildrake whispered in Everard's ear; "I will be no longer
secretary. Mark, thou wert quite right--the clerk must be the more
gentlemanly calling."

"And if you are Master Desborough's secretary, I presume you know me and
my condition well enough," said Everard, addressing the Independent,
"not to hesitate to admit me and my attendant to a night's quarters in
the Lodge?"

"Surely not, surely not," said the Independent--"that is, if your
worship thinks you would be better accommodated here than up at the
house of entertainment in the town, which men unprofitably call Saint
George's Inn. There is but confined accommodation here, your honour--and
we have been frayed out of our lives already by the visitation of
Satan--albeit his fiery dart is now quenched."

"This may be all well in its place, Sir Secretary," said Everard; "and
you may find a corner for it when you are next tempted to play the
preacher. But I will take it for no apology for keeping me here in the
cold harvest wind; and if not presently received, and suitably too, I
will report you to your master for insolence in your office."

The secretary of Desborough did not dare offer farther opposition; for
it is well known that Desborough himself only held his consequence as a
kinsman of Cromwell; and the Lord-General, who was well nigh paramount
already, was known to be strongly favourable both to the elder and
younger Everard. It is true, they were Presbyterians and he an
Independent; and that though sharing those feelings of correct morality
and more devoted religious feeling, by which, with few exceptions, the
Parliamentarian party were distinguished, the Everards were not disposed
to carry these attributes to the extreme of enthusiasm, practised by so
many others at the time. Yet it was well known that whatever might be
Cromwell's own religious creed, he was not uniformly bounded by it in
the choice of his favourites, but extended his countenance to those who
could serve him, even, although, according to the phrase of the time,
they came out of the darkness of Egypt. The character of the elder
Everard stood very high for wisdom and sagacity; besides, being of a
good family and competent fortune, his adherence would lend a dignity to
any side he might espouse. Then his son had been a distinguished and
successful soldier, remarkable for the discipline he maintained among
his men, the bravery which he showed in the time of action, and the
humanity with which he was always ready to qualify the consequences of
victory. Such men were not to be neglected, when many signs combined to
show that the parties in the state, who had successfully accomplished
the deposition and death of the King, were speedily to quarrel among
themselves about the division of the spoils. The two Everards were
therefore much courted by Cromwell, and their influence with him was
supposed to be so great, that trusty Master Secretary Tomkins cared not
to expose himself to risk, by contending with Colonel Everard for such a
trifle as a night's lodging.

Joceline was active on his side--more lights were obtained--more wood
thrown on the fire--and the two newly-arrived strangers were introduced
into Victor Lee's parlour, as it was called, from the picture over the
chimney-piece, which we have already described. It was several minutes
ere Colonel Everard could recover his general stoicism of deportment, so
strongly was he impressed by finding himself in the apartment, under
whose roof he had passed so many of the happiest hours of his life.
There was the cabinet, which he had seen opened with such feelings of
delight when Sir Henry Lee deigned to give him instructions in fishing,
and to exhibit hooks and lines, together with all the materials for
making the artificial fly, then little known. There hung the ancient
family picture, which, from some odd mysterious expressions of his uncle
relating to it, had become to his boyhood, nay, his early youth, a
subject of curiosity and of fear. He remembered how, when left alone in
the apartment, the searching eye of the old warrior seemed always bent
upon his, in whatever part of the room he placed himself, and how his
childish imagination was perturbed at a phenomenon, for which he could
not account.

With these came a thousand dearer and warmer recollections of his early
attachment to his pretty cousin Alice, when he assisted her at her
lessons, brought water for her flowers, or accompanied her while she
sung; and he remembered that while her father looked at them with a
good-humoured and careless smile, he had once heard him mutter, "And if
it should turn out so--why, it might be best for both," and the theories
of happiness he had reared on these words. All these visions had been
dispelled by the trumpet of war, which called Sir Henry Lee and himself
to opposite sides; and the transactions of this very day had shown, that
even Everard's success as a soldier and a statesman seemed absolutely to
prohibit the chance of their being revived.

He was waked out of this unpleasing reverie by the approach of Joceline,
who, being possibly a seasoned toper, had made the additional
arrangements with more expedition and accuracy, than could have been
expected from a person engaged as he had been since night-fall.

He now wished to know the Colonel's directions for the night.

"Would he eat anything?"

"No."

"Did his honour choose to accept Sir Henry Lee's bed, which was ready
prepared?"

"Yes."

"That of Mistress Alice Lee should be prepared for the Secretary."

"On pain of thine ears--No," replied Everard.

"Where then was the worthy Secretary to be quartered?"

"In the dog-kennel, if you list," replied Colonel Everard; "but," added
he, stepping to the sleeping apartment of Alice, which opened from the
parlour, locking it, and taking out the key, "no one shall profane this
chamber."

"Had his honour any other commands for the night?"

"None, save to clear the apartment of yonder man. My clerk will remain
with me--I have orders which must be written out.--Yet stay--Thou gavest
my letter this morning to Mistress Alice?"

"I did."

"Tell me, good Joceline, what she said when she received it?"

"She seemed much concerned, sir; and indeed I think that she wept a
little--but indeed she seemed very much distressed."

"And what message did she send to me?"

"None, may it please your honour--She began to say, 'Tell my cousin
Everard that I will communicate my uncle's kind purpose to my father, if
I can get fitting opportunity--but that I greatly fear'--and there
checked herself, as it were, and said, 'I will write to my cousin; and
as it may be late ere I have an opportunity of speaking with my father,
do thou come for my answer after service.'--So I went to church myself,
to while away the time; but when I returned to the Chase, I found this
man had summoned my master to surrender, and, right or wrong, I must put
him in possession of the Lodge. I would fain have given your honour a
hint that the old knight and my young mistress were like to take you on
the form, but I could not mend the matter."

"Thou hast done well, good fellow, and I will remember thee.--And now,
my masters," he said, advancing to the brace of clerks or secretaries,
who had in the meanwhile sate quietly down beside the stone bottle, and
made up acquaintance over a glass of its contents--"Let me remind you,
that the night wears late."

"There is something cries tinkle, tinkle, in the bottle yet," said
Wildrake, in reply.

"Hem! hem! hem!" coughed the Colonel of the Parliament service; and if
his lips did not curse his companion's imprudence, I will not answer for
what arose in his heart,--"Well!" he said, observing that Wildrake had
filled his own glass and Tomkins's, "take that parting glass and
begone."

"Would you not be pleased to hear first," said Wildrake, "how this
honest gentleman saw the devil to-night look through a pane of yonder
window, and how he thinks he had a mighty strong resemblance to your
worship's humble slave and varlet scribbler? Would you but hear this,
sir, and just sip a glass of this very recommendable strong waters?"

"I will drink none, sir," said Colonel Everard sternly; "and I have to
tell _you_, that you have drunken a glass too much already.--Mr.
Tomkins, sir, I wish you good night."

"A word in season at parting," said Tomkins, standing up behind the long
leathern back of a chair, hemming and snuffling as if preparing for an
exhortation.

"Excuse me, sir," replied Markham Everard sternly; "you are not now
sufficiently yourself to guide the devotion of others."

"Woe be to them that reject!" said the Secretary of the Commissioners,
stalking out of the room--the rest was lost in shutting the door, or
suppressed for fear of offence.

"And now, fool Wildrake, begone to thy bed--yonder it lies," pointing to
the knight's apartment.

"What, thou hast secured the lady's for thyself? I saw thee put the key
in thy pocket."

"I would not--indeed I could not sleep in that apartment--I can sleep
nowhere--but I will watch in this arm-chair.--I have made him place wood
for repairing the fire.--Good now, go to bed thyself, and sleep off thy
liquor."

"Liquor!--I laugh thee to scorn, Mark--thou art a milksop, and the son
of a milksop, and know'st not what a good fellow can do in the way of
crushing an honest cup."

"The whole vices of his faction are in this poor fellow individually,"
said the Colonel to himself, eyeing his protege askance, as the other
retreated into the bedroom, with no very steady pace--"He is reckless,
intemperate, dissolute;--and if I cannot get him safely shipped for
France, he will certainly be both his own ruin and mine.--Yet, withal,
he is kind, brave, and generous, and would have kept the faith with me
which he now expects from me; and in what consists the merit of our
truth, if we observe not our plighted word when we have promised, to our
hurt? I will take the liberty, however, to secure myself against farther
interruption on his part."

So saying, he locked the door of communication betwixt the
sleeping-room, to which the cavalier had retreated, and the parlour;--
and then, after pacing the floor thoughtfully, returned to his seat,
trimmed the lamp, and drew out a number of letters.--"I will read these
over once more," he said, "that, if possible, the thought of public
affairs may expel this keen sense of personal sorrow. Gracious
Providence, where is this to end! We have sacrificed the peace of our
families, the warmest wishes of our young hearts, to right the country
in which we were born, and to free her from oppression; yet it appears,
that every step we have made towards liberty, has but brought us in view
of new and more terrific perils, as he who travels in a mountainous
region, is by every step which elevates him higher, placed in a
situation of more imminent hazard."

He read long and attentively, various tedious and embarrassed letters,
in which the writers, placing before him the glory of God, and the
freedom and liberties of England, as their supreme ends, could not, by
all the ambagitory expressions they made use of, prevent the shrewd eye
of Markham Everard from seeing, that self-interest and views of
ambition, were the principal moving springs at the bottom of their
plots.

       *       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER THE SIXTH.


  Sleep steals on us even like his brother Death--
  We know not when it comes--we know it must come--
  We may affect to scorn and to contemn it,
  For 'tis the highest pride of human misery
  To say it knows not of an opiate;
  Yet the reft parent, the despairing lover,
  Even the poor wretch who waits for execution,
  Feels this oblivion, against which he thought
  His woes had arm'd his senses, steal upon him,
  And through the fenceless citadel--the body--
  Surprise that haughty garrison--the mind.
                                            HERBERT.

Colonel Everard experienced the truth contained in the verses of the
quaint old bard whom we have quoted above. Amid private grief, and
anxiety for a country long a prey to civil war, and not likely to fall
soon under any fixed or well-established form of government, Everard and
his father had, like many others, turned their eyes to General Cromwell,
as the person whose valour had made him the darling of the army, whose
strong sagacity had hitherto predominated over the high talents by which
he had been assailed in Parliament, as well as over his enemies in the
field, and who was alone in the situation to _settle the nation_, as the
phrase then went; or, in other words, to dictate the mode of government.
The father and son were both reputed to stand high in the General's
favour. But Markham Everard was conscious of some particulars, which
induced him to doubt whether Cromwell actually, and at heart, bore
either to his father or to himself that good-will which was generally
believed. He knew him for a profound politician, who could veil for any
length of time his real sentiments of men and things, until they could
be displayed without prejudice to his interest. And he moreover knew
that the General was not likely to forget the opposition which the
Presbyterian party had offered to what Oliver called the Great
Matter--the trial, namely, and execution of the King. In this
opposition, his father and he had anxiously concurred, nor had the
arguments, nor even the half-expressed threats of Cromwell, induced them
to flinch from that course, far less to permit their names to be
introduced into the commission nominated to sit in judgment on that
memorable occasion.

This hesitation had occasioned some temporary coldness between the
General and the Everards, father and son. But as the latter remained in
the army, and bore arms under Cromwell both in Scotland, and finally at
Worcester, his services very frequently called forth the approbation of
his commander. After the fight of Worcester, in particular, he was among
the number of those officers on whom Oliver, rather considering the
actual and practical extent of his own power, than the name under which
he exercised it, was with difficulty withheld from imposing the dignity
of Knights-Bannerets at his own will and pleasure. It therefore seemed,
that all recollection of former disagreement was obliterated, and that
the Everards had regained their former stronghold in the General's
affections. There were, indeed, several who doubted this, and who
endeavoured to bring over this distinguished young officer to some other
of the parties which divided the infant Commonwealth. But to these
proposals he turned a deaf ear. Enough of blood, he said, had been
spilled--it was time that the nation should have repose under a
firmly-established government, of strength sufficient to protect
property, and of lenity enough to encourage the return of tranquillity.
This, he thought, could only be accomplished by means of Cromwell, and
the greater part of England was of the same opinion. It is true, that,
in thus submitting to the domination of a successful soldier, those who
did so, forgot the principles upon which they had drawn the sword
against the late King. But in revolutions, stern and high principles are
often obliged to give way to the current of existing circumstances; and
in many a case, where wars have been waged for points of metaphysical
right, they have been at last gladly terminated, upon the mere hope of
obtaining general tranquillity, as, after many a long siege, a garrison
is often glad to submit on mere security for life and limb.

Colonel Everard, therefore, felt that the support which he afforded
Cromwell, was only under the idea, that, amid a choice of evils, the
least was likely to ensue from a man of the General's wisdom and valour
being placed at the head of the state; and he was sensible, that Oliver
himself was likely to consider his attachment as lukewarm and imperfect,
and measure his gratitude for it upon the same limited scale.

In the meanwhile, however, circumstances compelled him to make trial of
the General's friendship. The sequestration of Woodstock, and the
warrant to the Commissioners to dispose of it as national property, had
been long granted, but the interest of the elder Everard had for weeks
and months deferred its execution. The hour was now approaching when the
blow could be no longer parried, especially as Sir Henry Lee, on his
side, resisted every proposal of submitting himself to the existing
government, and was therefore, now that his hour of grace was passed,
enrolled in the list of stubborn and irreclaimable malignants, with whom
the Council of State was determined no longer to keep terms. The only
mode of protecting the old knight and his daughter, was to interest, if
possible, the General himself in the matter; and revolving all the
circumstances connected with their intercourse, Colonel Everard felt
that a request, which would so immediately interfere with the interests
of Desborough, the brother-in-law of Cromwell, and one of the present
Commissioners, was putting to a very severe trial the friendship of the
latter. Yet no alternative remained.

With this view, and agreeably to a request from Cromwell, who at parting
had been very urgent to have his written opinion upon public affairs,
Colonel Everard passed the earlier part of the night in arranging his
ideas upon the state of the Commonwealth, in a plan which he thought
likely to be acceptable to Cromwell, as it exhorted him, under the aid
of Providence, to become the saviour of the state, by convoking a free
Parliament, and by their aid placing himself at the head of some form of
liberal and established government, which might supersede the state of
anarchy, in which the nation was otherwise likely to be merged. Taking a
general view of the totally broken condition of the Royalists, and of
the various factions which now convulsed the state, he showed how this
might be done without bloodshed or violence. From this topic he
descended to the propriety of keeping up the becoming state of the
Executive Government, in whose hands soever it should be lodged, and
thus showed Cromwell, as the future Stadtholder, or Consul, or
Lieutenant-General of Great Britain and Ireland, a prospect of demesne
and residence becoming his dignity. Then he naturally passed to the
disparking and destroying of the royal residences of England, made a
woful picture of the demolition which impended over Woodstock, and
interceded for the preservation of that beautiful seat, as a matter of
personal favour, in which he found himself deeply interested.

Colonel Everard, when he had finished his letter, did not find himself
greatly risen in his own opinion. In the course of his political
conduct, he had till this hour avoided mixing up personal motives with
his public grounds of action, and yet he now felt himself making such a
composition. But he comforted himself, or at least silenced this
unpleasing recollection, with the consideration, that the weal of
Britain, studied under the aspect of the times, absolutely required that
Cromwell should be at the head of the government; and that the interest
of Sir Henry Lee, or rather his safety and his existence, no less
emphatically demanded the preservation of Woodstock, and his residence
there. Was it a fault of his, that the same road should lead to both
these ends, or that his private interest, and that of the country,
should happen to mix in the same letter? He hardened himself, therefore,
to the act, made up and addressed his packet to the Lord-General, and
then sealed it with his seal of arms. This done, he lay back in the
chair; and, in spite of his expectations to the contrary, fell asleep in
the course of his reflections, anxious and harassing as they were, and
did not awaken until the cold grey light of dawn was peeping through the
eastern oriel.

He started at first, rousing himself with the sensation of one who
awakes in a place unknown to him; but the localities instantly forced
themselves on his recollection. The lamp burning dimly in the socket,
the wood fire almost extinguished in its own white embers, the gloomy
picture over the chimney-piece, the sealed packet on the table--all
reminded him of the events of yesterday, and his deliberations of the
succeeding night. "There is no help for it," he said; "it must be
Cromwell or anarchy. And probably the sense that his title, as head of
the Executive Government, is derived merely from popular consent, may
check the too natural proneness of power to render itself arbitrary. If
he govern by Parliaments, and with regard to the privileges of the
subject, wherefore not Oliver as well as Charles? But I must take
measures for having this conveyed safely to the hands of this future
sovereign prince. It will be well to take the first word of influence
with him, since there must be many who will not hesitate to recommend
counsels more violent and precipitate."

He determined to intrust the important packet to the charge of Wildrake,
whose rashness was never so distinguished, as when by any chance he was
left idle and unemployed; besides, even if his faith had not been
otherwise unimpeachable, the obligations which he owed to his friend
Everard must have rendered it such.

These conclusions passed through Colonel Everard's mind, as, collecting
the remains of wood in the chimney, he gathered them into a hearty
blaze, to remove the uncomfortable feeling of dullness which pervaded
his limbs; and by the time he was a little more warm, again sunk into a
slumber, which was only dispelled by the beams of morning peeping into
his apartment.

He arose, roused himself, walked up and down the room, and looked from
the large oriel window on the nearest objects, which were the untrimmed
hedges and neglected walks of a certain wilderness, as it is called in
ancient treatises on gardening, which, kept of yore well ordered, and in
all the pride of the topiary art, presented a succession of yew-trees
cut into fantastic forms, of close alleys, and of open walks, filling
about two or three acres of ground on that side of the Lodge, and
forming a boundary between its immediate precincts and the open Park.
Its enclosure was now broken down in many places, and the hinds with
their fawns fed free and unstartled up to the very windows of the silvan
palace.

This had been a favourite scene of Markham's sports when a boy. He could
still distinguish, though now grown out of shape, the verdant
battlements of a Gothic castle, all created by the gardener's shears, at
which he was accustomed to shoot his arrows; or, stalking before it like
the Knight-errants of whom he read, was wont to blow his horn, and bid
defiance to the supposed giant or Paynim knight, by whom it was
garrisoned. He remembered how he used to train his cousin, though
several years younger than himself, to bear a part in those revels of
his boyish fancy, and to play the character of an elfin page, or a
fairy, or an enchanted princess. He remembered, too, many particulars of
their later acquaintance, from which he had been almost necessarily led
to the conclusion, that from an early period their parents had
entertained some idea, that there might be a well-fitted match betwixt
his fair cousin and himself. A thousand visions, formed in so bright a
prospect, had vanished along with it, but now returned like shadows, to
remind him of all he had lost--and for what?--"For the sake of England,"
his proud consciousness replied,--"Of England, in danger of becoming the
prey at once of bigotry and tyranny." And he strengthened himself with
the recollection, "If I have sacrificed my private happiness, it is that
my country may enjoy liberty of conscience, and personal freedom; which,
under a weak prince and usurping statesman, she was but too likely to
have lost."

But the busy fiend in his breast would not be repulsed by the bold
answer. "Has thy resistance," it demanded, "availed thy country, Markham
Everard? Lies not England, after so much bloodshed, and so much misery,
as low beneath the sword of a fortunate soldier, as formerly under the
sceptre of an encroaching prince? Are Parliament, or what remains of
them, fitted to contend with a leader, master of his soldiers' hearts,
as bold and subtle as he is impenetrable in his designs! This General,
who holds the army, and by that the fate of the nation in his hand, will
he lay down his power because philosophy would pronounce it his duty to
become a subject?"

He dared not answer that his knowledge of Cromwell authorised him to
expect any such act of self-denial. Yet still he considered that in
times of such infinite difficulty, that must be the best government,
however little desirable in itself, which should most speedily restore
peace to the land, and stop the wounds which the contending parties were
daily inflicting on each other. He imagined that Cromwell was the only
authority under which a steady government could be formed, and therefore
had attached himself to his fortune, though not without considerable and
recurring doubts, how far serving the views of this impenetrable and
mysterious General was consistent with the principles under which he had
assumed arms.

While these things passed in his mind, Everard looked upon the packet
which lay on the table addressed to the Lord-General, and which he had
made up before sleep. He hesitated several times, when he remembered its
purport, and in what degree he must stand committed with that personage,
and bound to support his plans of aggrandizement, when once that
communication was in Oliver Cromwell's possession.

"Yet it must be so," he said at last, with a deep sigh. "Among the
contending parties, he is the strongest--the wisest and most moderate--
and ambitious though he be, perhaps not the most dangerous. Some one
must be trusted with power to preserve and enforce general order, and
who can possess or wield such power like him that is head of the
victorious armies of England? Come what will in future, peace and the
restoration of law ought to be our first and most pressing object. This
remnant of a parliament cannot keep their ground against the army, by
mere appeal to the sanction of opinion. If they design to reduce the
soldiery, it must be by actual warfare, and the land has been too long
steeped in blood. But Cromwell may, and I trust will, make a moderate
accommodation with them, on grounds by which peace may be preserved; and
it is to this which we must look and trust for a settlement of the
kingdom, alas! and for the chance of protecting my obstinate kinsman
from the consequences of his honest though absurd pertinacity."

Silencing some internal feelings of doubt and reluctance by such
reasoning as this, Markham Everard continued in his resolution to unite
himself with Cromwell in the struggle which was evidently approaching
betwixt the civil and military authorities; not as the course which, if
at perfect liberty, he would have preferred adopting, but as the best
choice between two dangerous extremities to which the times had reduced
him. He could not help trembling, however, when he recollected that his
father, though hitherto the admirer of Cromwell, as the implement by
whom so many marvels had been wrought in England, might not be disposed
to unite with his interest against that of the Long Parliament, of which
he had been, till partly laid aside by continued indisposition, an
active and leading member. This doubt also he was obliged to swallow or
strangle, as he might; but consoled himself with the ready argument,
that it was impossible his father could see matters in another light
than that in which they occurred to himself.

       *       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.


Determined at length to dispatch his packet to the General without
delay, Colonel Everard approached the door of the apartment, in which,
as was evident from the heavy breathing within, the prisoner Wildrake
enjoyed a deep slumber, under the influence of liquor at once and of
fatigue. In turning the key, the bolt, which was rather rusty, made a
resistance so noisy, as partly to attract the sleeper's attention,
though not to awake him. Everard stood by his bedside, as he heard him
mutter, "Is it morning already, jailor?--Why, you dog, an you had but a
cast of humanity in you, you would qualify your vile news with a cup of
sack;--hanging is sorry work, my masters--and sorrow's dry."

"Up, Wildrake--up, thou ill-omened dreamer," said his friend, shaking
him by the collar.

"Hands off!" answered the sleeper.--"I can climb a ladder without help,
I trow."--He then sate up in the bed, and opening his eyes, stared
around him, and exclaimed, "Zounds! Mark, is it only thou? I thought it
was all over with me--fetters were struck from my legs--rope drawn round
my gullet--irons knocked off my hands--hempen cravat tucked on,--all
ready for a dance in the open element upon slight footing."

"Truce with thy folly, Wildrake; sure the devil of drink, to whom thou
hast, I think, sold thyself"--

"For a hogshead of sack," interrupted Wildrake; "the bargain was made in
a cellar in the Vintry."

"I am as mad as thou art, to trust any thing to thee," said Markham; "I
scarce believe thou hast thy senses yet."

"What should ail me?" said Wildrake--"I trust I have not tasted liquor
in my sleep, saving that I dreamed of drinking small-beer with Old Noll,
of his own brewing. But do not look so glum, man--I am the same Roger
Wildrake that I ever was; as wild as a mallard, but as true as a
game-cock. I am thine own chum, man--bound to thee by thy kind deeds--
_devinctus beneficio_--there is Latin for it; and where is the thing
thou wilt charge me with, that I wilt not, or dare not execute, were it
to pick the devil's teeth with my rapier, after he had breakfasted upon
round-heads?"

"You will drive me mad," said Everard.--"When I am about to intrust all
I have most valuable on earth to your management, your conduct and
language are those of a mere Bedlamite. Last night I made allowance for
thy drunken fury; but who can endure thy morning madness?--it is unsafe
for thyself and me, Wildrake--it is unkind--I might say ungrateful."

"Nay, do not say _that_, my friend," said the cavalier, with some show
of feeling; "and do not judge of me with a severity that cannot apply to
such as I am. We who have lost our all in these sad jars, who are
compelled to shift for our living, not from day to day, but from meal to
meal--we whose only hiding place is the jail, whose prospect of final
repose is the gallows,--what canst thou expect from us, but to bear such
a lot with a light heart, since we should break down under it with a
heavy one?"

This was spoken in a tone of feeling which found a responding string in
Everard's bosom. He took his friend's hand, and pressed it kindly.

"Nay, if I seemed harsh to thee, Wildrake, I profess it was for thine
own sake more than mine. I know thou hast at the bottom of thy levity,
as deep a principle of honour and feeling as ever governed a human
heart. But thou art thoughtless--thou art rash--and I protest to thee,
that wert thou to betray thyself in this matter, in which I trust thee,
the evil consequences to myself would not afflict me more than the
thought of putting thee into such danger."

"Nay, if you take it on that tone, Mark," said the cavalier, making an
effort to laugh, evidently that he might conceal a tendency to a
different emotion, "thou wilt make children of us both--babes and
sucklings, by the hilt of this bilbo.--Come, trust me; I can be cautious
when time requires it--no man ever saw me drink when an alert was
expected--and not one poor pint of wine will I taste until I have
managed this matter for thee. Well, I am thy secretary--clerk--I had
forgot--and carry thy dispatches to Cromwell, taking good heed not to be
surprised or choused out of my lump of loyalty, (striking his finger on
the packet,) and I am to deliver it to the most loyal hands to which it
is most humbly addressed--Adzooks, Mark, think of it a moment longer--
Surely thou wilt not carry thy perverseness so far as to strike in with
this bloody-minded rebel?--Bid me give him three inches of my
dudgeon-dagger, and I will do it much more willingly than present him
with thy packet."

"Go to," replied Everard, "this is beyond our bargain. If you will help
me it is well; if not, let me lose no time in debating with thee, since
I think every moment an age till the packet is in the General's
possession. It is the only way left me to obtain some protection, and a
place of refuge for my uncle and his daughter."

"That being the case," said the cavalier, "I will not spare the spur. My
nag up yonder at the town will be ready for the road in a trice, and
thou mayst reckon on my being with Old Noll--thy General, I mean--in as
short time as man and horse may consume betwixt Woodstock and Windsor,
where I think I shall for the present find thy friend keeping possession
where he has slain."

"Hush, not a word of that. Since we parted last night, I have shaped
thee a path which will suit thee better than to assume the decency of
language and of outward manner, of which thou hast so little. I have
acquainted the General that thou hast been by bad example and bad
education"--

"Which is to be interpreted by contraries, I hope," said Wildrake; "for
sure I have been as well born and bred up as any lad of Leicestershire
might desire."

"Now, I prithee, hush--thou hast, I say, by bad example become at one
time a malignant, and mixed in the party of the late King. But seeing
what things were wrought in the nation by the General, thou hast come to
a clearness touching his calling to be a great implement in the
settlement of these distracted kingdoms. This account of thee will not
only lead him to pass over some of thy eccentricities, should they break
out in spite of thee, but will also give thee an interest with him as
being more especially attached to his own person."

"Doubtless," said Wildrake, "as every fisher loves best the trouts that
are of his own tickling."

"It is likely, I think, he will send thee hither with letters to me,"
said the Colonel, "enabling me to put a stop to the proceedings of these
sequestrators, and to give poor old Sir Henry Lee permission to linger
out his days among the oaks he loves to look upon. I have made this my
request to General Cromwell, and I think my father's friendship and my
own may stretch so far on his regard without risk of cracking,
especially standing matters as they now do--thou dost understand?"

"Entirely well," said the cavalier; "stretch, quotha!--I would rather
stretch a rope than hold commerce with the old King-killing ruffian. But
I have said I will be guided by thee, Markham, and rat me but I will."

"Be cautious, then," said Everard, "mark well what he does and
says--more especially what he does; for Oliver is one of those whose
mind is better known by his actions than by his words; and stay--I
warrant thee thou wert setting off without a cross in thy purse?"

"Too true, Mark," said Wildrake; "the last noble melted last night among
yonder blackguard troopers of yours."

"Well, Roger," replied the Colonel, "that is easily mended." So saying,
he slipped his purse into his friend's hand. "But art thou not an
inconsiderate weather-brained fellow, to set forth as thou wert about to
do, without any thing to bear thy charges; what couldst thou have done?"

"Faith, I never thought of that; I must have cried _Stand_, I suppose,
to the first pursy townsman or greasy grazier that I met o' the
heath--it is many a good fellow's shift in these bad times."

"Go to," said Everard; "be cautious--use none of your loose
acquaintance--rule your tongue--beware of the wine-pot--for there is
little danger if thou couldst only but keep thyself sober--Be moderate
in speech, and forbear oaths or vaunting."

"In short, metamorphose myself into such a prig as thou art, Mark,--
Well," said Wildrake, "so far as outside will go, I think I can make a
_Hope-on-High-Bomby_ [Footnote: A puritanic character in one of Beaumont
and Fletcher's plays.] as well as thou canst. Ah! those were merry days
when we saw Mills present Bomby at the Fortune playhouse, Mark, ere I
had lost my laced cloak and the jewel in my ear, or thou hadst gotten
the wrinkle on thy brow, and the puritanic twist of thy mustache!"

"They were like most worldly pleasures, Wildrake," replied Everard,
"sweet in the mouth and bitter in digestion.--But away with thee; and
when thou bring'st back my answer, thou wilt find me either here or at
Saint George's Inn, at the little borough.--Good luck to thee--Be but
cautious how thou bearest thyself."

The Colonel remained in deep meditation.--"I think," he said, "I have
not pledged myself too far to the General. A breach between him and the
Parliament seems inevitable, and would throw England back into civil
war, of which all men are wearied. He may dislike my messenger--yet that
I do not greatly fear. He knows I would choose such as I can myself
depend on, and hath dealt enough with the stricter sort to be aware that
there are among them, as well as elsewhere, men who can hide two faces
under one hood."

       *       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.


  For there in lofty air was seen to stand
  The stern Protector of the conquer'd land;
  Draw in that look with which he wept and swore,
  Turn'd out the members and made fast the door,
  Ridding the house of every knave and drone,
  Forced--though it grieved his soul--to rule alone.

    THE FRANK COURTSHIP.--CRABBE.

Leaving Colonel Everard to his meditations, we follow the jolly
cavalier, his companion, who, before mounting at the George, did not
fail to treat himself to his morning-draught of eggs and muscadine, to
enable him to face the harvest wind.

Although he had suffered himself to be sunk in the extravagant license
which was practised by the cavaliers, as if to oppose their conduct in
every point to the preciseness of their enemies, yet Wildrake, well-born
and well-educated, and endowed with good natural parts, and a heart
which even debauchery, and the wild life of a roaring cavalier, had not
been able entirely to corrupt, moved on his present embassy with a
strange mixture of feelings, such as perhaps he had never in his life
before experienced.

His feelings as a loyalist led him to detest Cromwell, whom in other
circumstances he would scarce have wished to see, except in a field of
battle, where he could have had the pleasure to exchange pistol-shots
with him. But with this hatred there was mixed a certain degree of fear.
Always victorious wherever he fought, the remarkable person whom
Wildrake was now approaching had acquired that influence over the minds
of his enemies, which constant success is so apt to inspire--they
dreaded while they hated him--and joined to these feelings, was a
restless meddling curiosity, which made a particular feature in
Wildrake's character, who, having long had little business of his own,
and caring nothing about that which he had, was easily attracted by the
desire of seeing whatever was curious or interesting around him.

"I should like to see the old rascal after all," he said, "were it but
to say that I _had_ seen him."

He reached Windsor in the afternoon, and felt on his arrival the
strongest inclination to take up his residence at some of his old
haunts, when he had occasionally frequented that fair town in gayer
days. But resisting all temptations of this kind, he went courageously
to the principal inn, from which its ancient emblem, the Garter, had
long disappeared. The master, too, whom Wildrake, experienced in his
knowledge of landlords and hostelries, had remembered a dashing Mine
Host of Queen Bess's school, had now sobered down to the temper of the
times, shook his head when he spoke of the Parliament, wielded his
spigot with the gravity of a priest conducting a sacrifice, wished
England a happy issue out of all her difficulties, and greatly lauded
his Excellency the Lord-General. Wildrake also remarked, that his wine
was better than it was wont to be, the Puritans having an excellent gift
at detecting every fallacy in that matter; and that his measures were
less and his charges larger--circumstances which he was induced to
attend to, by mine host talking a good deal about his conscience.

He was told by this important personage, that the Lord-General received
frankly all sorts of persons; and that he might obtain access to him
next morning, at eight o'clock, for the trouble of presenting himself at
the Castle-gate, and announcing himself as the bearer of despatches to
his Excellency.

To the Castle the disguised cavalier repaired at the hour appointed.
Admittance was freely permitted to him by the red-coated soldier, who,
with austere looks, and his musket on his shoulder, mounted guard at the
external gate of that noble building. Wildrake passed through the
underward or court, gazing as he passed upon the beautiful Chapel, which
had but lately received, in darkness and silence, the unhonoured remains
of the slaughtered King of England. Rough as Wildrake was, the
recollection of this circumstance affected him so strongly, that he had
nearly turned back in a sort of horror, rather than face the dark and
daring man, to whom, amongst all the actors in that melancholy affair,
its tragic conclusion was chiefly to be imputed. But he felt the
necessity of subduing all sentiments of this nature, and compelled
himself to proceed in a negotiation intrusted to his conduct by one to
whom he was so much obliged as Colonel Everard. At the ascent, which
passed by the Round Tower, he looked to the ensign-staff, from which the
banner of England was wont to float. It was gone, with all its rich
emblazonry, its gorgeous quarterings, and splendid embroidery; and in
its room waved that of the Commonwealth, the cross of Saint George, in
its colours of blue and red, not yet intersected by the diagonal cross
of Scotland, which was soon after assumed, as if in evidence of
England's conquest over her ancient enemy. This change of ensigns
increased the train of his gloomy reflections, in which, although
contrary to his wont, he became so deeply wrapped, that the first thing
which recalled him to himself, was the challenge from the sentinel,
accompanied with a stroke of the butt of his musket on the pavement,
with an emphasis which made Wildrake start.

"Whither away, and who are you?"

"The bearer of a packet," answered Wildrake, "to the worshipful the
Lord-General."

"Stand till I call the officer of the guard."

The corporal made his appearance, distinguished above those of his
command by a double quantity of band round his neck, a double height of
steeple-crowned hat, a larger allowance of cloak, and a treble
proportion of sour gravity of aspect. It might be read on his
countenance, that he was one of those resolute enthusiasts to whom
Oliver owed his conquests, whose religious zeal made them even more than
a match for the high-spirited and high-born cavaliers, who exhausted
their valour in vain defence of their sovereign's person and crown. He
looked with grave solemnity at Wildrake, as if he was making in his own
mind an inventory of his features and dress; and having fully perused
them, he required "to know his business."

"My business," said Wildrake, as firmly as he could--for the close
investigation of this man had given him some unpleasant nervous
sensations--"my business is with your General."

"With his Excellency the Lord-General, thou wouldst say?" replied the
corporal. "Thy speech, my friend, savours too little of the reverence
due to his Excellency."

"D--n his Excellency!" was at the lips of the cavalier; but prudence
kept guard, and permitted not the offensive words to escape the barrier.
He only bowed, and was silent.

"Follow me," said the starched figure whom he addressed; and Wildrake
followed him accordingly into the guard-house, which exhibited an
interior characteristic of the times, and very different from what such
military stations present at the present day.

By the fire sat two or three musketeers, listening to one who was
expounding some religious mystery to them. He began half beneath his
breath, but in tones of great volubility, which tones, as he approached
the conclusion, became sharp and eager, as challenging either instant
answer or silent acquiescence. The audience seemed to listen to the
speaker with immovable features, only answering him with clouds of
tobacco-smoke, which they rolled from under their thick mustaches. On a
bench lay a soldier on his face: whether asleep, or in a fit of
contemplation, it was impossible to decide. In the midst of the floor
stood an officer, as he seemed by his embroidered shoulder-belt and
scarf round his waist, otherwise very plainly attired, who was engaged
in drilling a stout bumpkin, lately enlisted, to the manual, as it was
then used. The motions and words of command were twenty at the very
least; and until they were regularly brought to an end, the corporal did
not permit Wildrake either to sit down or move forward beyond the
threshold of the guard-house. So he had to listen in succession
to--Poise your musket--Rest your musket--Cock your musket--Handle your
primers--and many other forgotten words of discipline, until at length
the words, "Order your musket," ended the drill for the time. "Thy name,
friend?" said the officer to the recruit, when the lesson was over.

"Ephraim," answered the fellow, with an affected twang through the nose.

"And what besides Ephraim?"

"Ephraim Cobb, from the goodly city of Glocester, where I have dwelt for
seven years, serving apprentice to a praiseworthy cordwainer."

"It is a goodly craft," answered the officer; "but casting in thy lot
with ours, doubt not that thou shalt be set beyond thine awl, and thy
last to boot."

A grim smile of the speaker accompanied this poor attempt at a pun; and
then turning round to the corporal, who stood two paces off, with the
face of one who seemed desirous of speaking, said, "How now, corporal,
what tidings?"

"Here is one with a packet, an please your Excellency," said the
corporal--"Surely my spirit doth not rejoice in him, seeing I esteem him
as a wolf in sheep's clothing."

By these words, Wildrake learned that he was in the actual presence of
the remarkable person to whom he was commissioned; and he paused to
consider in what manner he ought to address him.

The figure of Oliver Cromwell was, as is generally known, in no way
prepossessing. He was of middle stature, strong and coarsely made, with
harsh and severe features, indicative, however, of much natural sagacity
and depth of thought. His eyes were grey and piercing; his nose too
large in proportion to his other features, and of a reddish hue.

His manner of speaking, when he had the purpose to make himself
distinctly understood, was energetic and forcible, though neither
graceful nor eloquent. No man could on such occasion put his meaning
into fewer and more decisive words. But when, as it often happened, he
had a mind to play the orator, for the benefit of people's ears, without
enlightening their understanding, Cromwell was wont to invest his
meaning, or that which seemed to be his meaning, in such a mist of
words, surrounding it with so many exclusions and exceptions, and
fortifying it with such a labyrinth of parentheses, that though one of
the most shrewd men in England, he was, perhaps, the most unintelligible
speaker that ever perplexed an audience. It has been long since said by
the historian, that a collection of the Protector's speeches would make,
with a few exceptions, the most nonsensical book in the world; but he
ought to have added, that nothing could be more nervous, concise, and
intelligible, than what he really intended should be understood.

It was also remarked of Cromwell, that though born of a good family,
both by father and mother, and although he had the usual opportunities
of education and breeding connected with such an advantage, the fanatic
democratic ruler could never acquire, or else disdained to practise, the
courtesies usually exercised among the higher classes in their
intercourse with each other. His demeanour was so blunt as sometimes
might be termed clownish, yet there was in his language and manner a
force and energy corresponding to his character, which impressed awe, if
it did not impose respect; and there were even times when that dark and
subtle spirit expanded itself, so as almost to conciliate affection. The
turn for humour, which displayed itself by fits, was broad, and of a
low, and sometimes practical character. Something there was in his
disposition congenial to that of his countrymen; a contempt of folly, a
hatred of affectation, and a dislike of ceremony, which, joined to the
strong intrinsic qualities of sense and courage, made him in many
respects not an unfit representative of the democracy of England.

His religion must always be a subject of much doubt, and probably of
doubt which he himself could hardly have cleared up. Unquestionably
there was a time in his life when he was sincerely enthusiastic, and
when his natural temper, slightly subject to hypochondria, was strongly
agitated by the same fanaticism which influenced so many persons of the
time. On the other hand, there were periods during his political career,
when we certainly do him no injustice in charging him with a
hypocritical affectation. We shall probably judge him, and others of the
same age, most truly, if we suppose that their religious professions
were partly influential in their own breasts, partly assumed in
compliance with their own interest. And so ingenious is the human heart
in deceiving itself as well as others, that it is probable neither
Cromwell himself, nor those making similar pretensions to distinguished
piety, could exactly have fixed the point at which their enthusiasm
terminated and their hypocrisy commenced; or rather, it was a point not
fixed in itself, but fluctuating with the state of health, of good or
bad fortune, of high or low spirits, affecting the individual at the
period.

Such was the celebrated person, who, turning round on Wildrake, and
scanning his countenance closely, seemed so little satisfied with what
he beheld, that he instinctively hitched forward his belt, so as to
bring the handle of his tuck-sword within his reach. But yet, folding
his arms in his cloak, as if upon second thoughts laying aside
suspicion, or thinking precaution beneath him, he asked the cavalier
what he was, and whence he came?

"A poor gentleman, sir,--that is, my lord,"--answered Wildrake; "last
from Woodstock."

"And what may your tidings be, sir _gentleman_?" said Cromwell, with an
emphasis. "Truly I have seen those most willing to take upon them that
title, bear themselves somewhat short of wise men, and good men, and
true men, with all their gentility; yet gentleman was a good title in
old England, when men remembered what it was construed to mean."

"You say truly, sir," replied Wildrake, suppressing, with difficulty,
some of his usual wild expletives; "formerly gentlemen were found in
gentlemen's places, but now the world is so changed that you shall find
the broidered belt has changed place with the under spur-leather."

"Say'st thou me?" said the General; "I profess thou art a bold
companion, that can bandy words so wantonly;--thou ring'st somewhat too
loud to be good metal, methinks. And, once again, what are thy tidings
with me?"

"This packet," said Wildrake, "commended to your hands by Colonel
Markham Everard."

"Alas, I must have mistaken thee," answered Cromwell, mollified at the
mention of a man's name whom he had great desire to make his own;
"forgive us, good friend, for such, we doubt not, thou art. Sit thee
down, and commune with thyself as thou may'st, until we have examined
the contents of thy packet. Let him be looked to, and have what he
lacks." So saying the General left the guard-house, where Wildrake took
his seat in the corner, and awaited with patience the issue of his
mission.

The soldiers now thought themselves obliged to treat him with more
consideration, and offered him a pipe of Trinidado, and a black jack
filled with October. But the look of Cromwell, and the dangerous
situation in which he might be placed by the least chance of detection,
induced Wildrake to decline these hospitable offers, and stretching back
in his chair, and affecting slumber, he escaped notice or conversation,
until a sort of aide-de-camp, or military officer in attendance, came to
summon him to Cromwell's presence.

By this person he was guided to a postern-gate, through which he entered
the body of the Castle, and penetrating through many private passages
and staircases, he at length was introduced into a small cabinet, or
parlour, in which was much rich furniture, some bearing the royal cipher
displayed, but all confused and disarranged, together with several
paintings in massive frames, having their faces turned towards the wall,
as if they had been taken down for the purpose of being removed.

In this scene of disorder, the victorious General of the Commonwealth
was seated in a large easy-chair, covered with damask, and deeply
embroidered, the splendour of which made a strong contrast with the
plain, and even homely character of his apparel; although in look and
action he seemed like one who felt that the seat which might have in
former days held a prince, was not too much distinguished for his own
fortunes and ambition. Wildrake stood before him, nor did he ask him to
sit down.

"Pearson," said Cromwell, addressing himself to the officer in
attendance, "wait in the gallery, but be within call." Pearson bowed,
and was retiring. "Who are in the gallery beside?"

"Worthy Mr. Gordon, the chaplain, was holding forth but now to Colonel
Overton, and four captains of your Excellency's regiment."

"We would have it so," said the General; "we would not there were any
corner in our dwelling where the hungry soul might not meet with manna.
Was the good man carried onward in his discourse?"

"Mightily borne through," said Pearson; "and he was touching the
rightful claims which the army, and especially your Excellency, hath
acquired by becoming the instruments in the great work;--not instruments
to be broken asunder and cast away when the day of their service is
over, but to be preserved, and held precious, and prized for their
honourable and faithful labours, for which they have fought and marched,
and fasted, and prayed, and suffered cold and sorrow; while others, who
would now gladly see them disbanded, and broken, and cashiered, eat of
the fat, and drink of the strong."

"Ah, good man!" said Cromwell, "and did he touch upon this so feelingly!
I could say something--but not now. Begone, Pearson, to the gallery. Let
not our friends lay aside their swords, but watch as well as pray."

Pearson retired; and the General, holding the letter of Everard in his
hand, looked again for a long while fixedly at Wildrake, as if
considering in what strain he should address him.

When he did speak, it was, at first, in one of those ambiguous
discourses which we have already described, and by which it was very
difficult for any one to understand his meaning, if, indeed, he knew
himself. We shall be as concise in our statement, as our desire to give
the very words of a man so extraordinary will permit.

"This letter," he said, "you have brought us from your master, or
patron, Markham Everard; truly an excellent and honourable gentleman as
ever bore a sword upon his thigh, and one who hath ever distinguished
himself in the great work of delivering these three poor unhappy
nations. Answer me not: I know what thou wouldst say.--And this letter
he hath sent to me by thee, his clerk, or secretary, in whom he hath
confidence, and in whom he prays me to have trust, that there may be a
careful messenger between us. And lastly, he hath sent thee to me--Do
not answer--I know what thou wouldst say,--to me, who, albeit, I am of
that small consideration, that it would be too much honour for me even
to bear a halberd in this great and victorious army of England, am
nevertheless exalted to the rank of holding the guidance and the
leading-staff thereof.--Nay, do not answer, my friend--I know what thou
wouldst say. Now, when communing thus together, our discourse taketh, in
respect to what I have said, a threefold argument, or division: First,
as it concerneth thy master; secondly, as it concerneth us and our
office; thirdly and lastly, as it toucheth thyself.--Now, as concerning
this good and worthy gentleman, Colonel Markham Everard, truly he hath
played the man from the beginning of these unhappy buffetings, not
turning to the right or to the left, but holding ever in his eye the
mark at which he aimed. Ay, truly, a faithful, honourable gentleman, and
one who may well call me friend; and truly I am pleased to think that he
doth so. Nevertheless, in this vale of tears, we must be governed less
by our private respects and partialities, than by those higher
principles and points of duty, whereupon the good Colonel Markham
Everard hath ever framed his purposes, as, truly, I have endeavoured to
form mine, that we may all act as becometh good Englishmen and worthy
patriots. Then, as for Woodstock, it is a great thing which the good
Colonel asks, that it should be taken from the spoil of the godly and
left in keeping of the men of Moab, and especially of the malignant,
Henry Lee, whose hand hath been ever against us when he might find room
to raise it; I say, he hath asked a great thing, both in respect of
himself and me. For we of this poor but godly army of England, are
holden, by those of the Parliament, as men who should render in spoil
for them, but be no sharer of it ourselves; even as the buck, which the
hounds pull to earth, furnisheth no part of their own food, but they are
lashed off from the carcass with whips, like those which require
punishment for their forwardness, not reward for their services. Yet I
speak not this so much in respect of this grant of Woodstock, in regard,
that, perhaps, their Lordships of the Council, and also the Committeemen
of this Parliament, may graciously think they have given me a portion in
the matter, in relation that my kinsman Desborough hath an interest
allowed him therein; which interest, as he hath well deserved it for his
true and faithful service to these unhappy and devoted countries, so it
would ill become me to diminish the same to his prejudice, unless it
were upon great and public respects. Thus thou seest how it stands with
me, my honest friend, and in what mind I stand touching thy master's
request to me; which yet I do not say that I can altogether, or
unconditionally, grant or refuse, but only tell my simple thoughts with
regard thereto. Thou understandest me, I doubt not?"

Now, Roger Wildrake, with all the attention he had been able to pay to
the Lord-General's speech, had got so much confused among the various
clauses of the harangue, that his brain was bewildered, like that of a
country clown when he chances to get himself involved among a crowd of
carriages, and cannot stir a step to get out of the way of one of them,
without being in danger of being ridden over by the others.

The General saw his look of perplexity, and began a new oration, to the
same purpose as before; spoke of his love for his kind friend the
Colonel--his regard for his pious and godly kinsman, Master Desborough--
the great importance of the Palace and Park of Woodstock--the
determination of the Parliament that it should be confiscated, and the
produce brought into the coffers of the state--his own deep veneration
for the authority of Parliament, and his no less deep sense of the
injustice done to the army--how it was his wish and will that all
matters should be settled in an amicable and friendly manner, without
self-seeking, debate, or strife, betwixt those who had been the hands
acting, and such as had been the heads governing, in that great national
cause--how he was willing, truly willing, to contribute to this work, by
laying down, not his commission only, but his life also, if it were
requested of him, or could be granted with safety to the poor soldiers,
to whom, silly poor men, he was bound to be as a father, seeing that
they had followed him with the duty and affection of children.

And here he arrived at another dead pause, leaving Wildrake as uncertain
as before, whether it was or was not his purpose to grant Colonel
Everard the powers he had asked for the protection of Woodstock against
the Parliamentary Commissioners. Internally he began to entertain hopes
that the justice of Heaven, or the effects of remorse, had confounded
the regicide's understanding. But no--he could see nothing but sagacity
in that steady stern eye, which, while the tongue poured forth its
periphrastic language in such profusion, seemed to watch with severe
accuracy the effect which his oratory produced on the listener.

"Egad," thought the cavalier to himself, becoming a little familiar with
the situation in which he was placed, and rather impatient of a
conversation--which led to no visible conclusion or termination, "If
Noll were the devil himself, as he is the devil's darling, I will not be
thus nose-led by him. I'll e'en brusque it a little, if he goes on at
this rate, and try if I can bring him to a more intelligible mode of
speaking."

Entertaining this bold purpose, but half afraid to execute it, Wildrake
lay by for an opportunity of making the attempt, while Cromwell was
apparently unable to express his own meaning. He was already beginning a
third panegyric upon Colonel Everard, with sundry varied expressions of
his own wish to oblige him, when Wildrake took the opportunity to strike
in, on the General's making one of his oratorical pauses.

"So please you" he said bluntly, "your worship has already spoken on two
topics of your discourse, your own worthiness, and that of my master,
Colonel Everard. But, to enable me to do mine errand, it would be
necessary to bestow a few words on the third head."

"The third?" said Cromwell.

"Ay," said Wildrake, "which, in your honour's subdivision of your
discourse, touched on my unworthy self. What am I to do--what portion am
I to have in this matter?"

Oliver started at once from the tone of voice he had hitherto used, and
which somewhat resembled the purring of a domestic cat, into the growl
of the tiger when about to spring. "_Thy_ portion, jail-bird!" he
exclaimed, "the gallows--thou shalt hang as high as Haman, if thou
betray counsel!--But," he added, softening his voice, "keep it like a
true man, and my favour will be the making of thee. Come hither--thou
art bold, I see, though somewhat saucy. Thou hast been a malignant--so
writes my worthy friend Colonel Everard; but thou hast now given up that
falling cause. I tell thee, friend, not all that the Parliament or the
army could do would have pulled down the Stewarts out of their high
places, saving that Heaven had a controversy with them. Well, it is a
sweet and comely thing to buckle on one's armour in behalf of Heaven's
cause; otherwise truly, for mine own part, these men might have remained
upon the throne even unto this day. Neither do I blame any for aiding
them, until these successive great judgments have overwhelmed them and
their house. I am not a bloody man, having in me the feeling of human
frailty; but, friend, whosoever putteth his hand to the plough, in the
great actings which are now on foot in these nations, had best beware
that he do not look back; for, rely upon my simple word, that if you
fail me, I will not spare on you one foot's length of the gallows of
Haman. Let me therefore know, at a word, if the leaven of thy malignancy
is altogether drubbed out of thee?" "Your honourable lordship," said the
cavalier, shrugging up his shoulders, "has done that for most of us, so
far as cudgelling to some tune can perform it."

"Say'st thou?" said the General, with a grim smile on his lip, which
seemed to intimate that he was not quite inaccessible to flattery; "yea,
truly, thou dost not lie in that--we have been an instrument. Neither
are we, as I have already hinted, so severely bent against those who
have striven against us as malignants, as others may be. The
parliament-men best know their own interest and their own pleasure; but,
to my poor thinking, it is full time to close these jars, and to allow
men of all kinds the means of doing service to their country; and we
think it will be thy fault if thou art not employed to good purpose for
the state and thyself, on condition thou puttest away the old man
entirely from thee, and givest thy earnest attention to what I have to
tell thee."

"Your lordship need not doubt my attention," said the cavalier. And the
republican General, after another pause, as one who gave his confidence
not without hesitation, proceeded to explain his views with a
distinctness which he seldom used, yet not without his being a little
biassed now and then, by his long habits of circumlocution, which indeed
he never laid entirely aside, save in the field of battle.

"Thou seest," he said, "my friend, how things stand with me. The
Parliament, I care not who knows it, love me not--still less do the
Council of State, by whom they manage the executive government of the
kingdom. I cannot tell why they nourish suspicion against me, unless it
is because I will not deliver this poor innocent army, which has
followed me in so many military actions, to be now pulled asunder,
broken piecemeal and reduced, so that they who have protected the state
at the expense of their blood, will not have, perchance, the means of
feeding themselves by their labour; which, methinks, were hard measure,
since it is taking from Esau his birthright, even without giving him a
poor mess of pottage."

"Esau is likely to help himself, I think," replied Wildrake.

"Truly, thou say'st wisely," replied the General; "it is ill starving an
armed man, if there is food to be had for taking--nevertheless, far be
it from me to encourage rebellion, or want of due subordination to these
our rulers. I would only petition, in a due and becoming, a sweet and
harmonious manner, that they would listen to our conditions, and
consider our necessities. But, sir, looking on me, and estimating me so
little as they do, you must think that it would be a provocation in me
towards the Council of State, as well as the Parliament, if, simply to
gratify your worthy master, I were to act contrary to their purposes, or
deny currency to the commission under their authority, which is as yet
the highest in the State--and long may it be so for me!--to carry on the
sequestration which they intend. And would it not also be said, that I
was lending myself to the malignant interest, affording this den of the
blood-thirsty and lascivious tyrants of yore, to be in this our day a
place of refuge to that old and inveterate Amalekite, Sir Henry Lee, to
keep possession of the place in which he hath so long glorified himself?
Truly it would be a perilous matter."

"Am I then to report," said Wildrake, "an it please you, that you cannot
stead Colonel Everard in this matter?"

"Unconditionally, ay--but, taken conditionally, the answer may be
otherwise,"--answered Cromwell. "I see thou art not able to fathom my
purpose, and therefore I will partly unfold it to thee.--But take
notice, that, should thy tongue betray my counsel, save in so far as
carrying it to thy master, by all the blood which has been shed in these
wild times, thou shalt die a thousand deaths in one!"

"Do not fear me, sir," said Wildrake, whose natural boldness and
carelessness of character was for the present time borne down and
quelled, like that of falcon's in the presence of the eagle.

"Hear me, then," said Cromwell, "and let no syllable escape thee.
Knowest thou not the young Lee, whom they call Albert, a malignant like
his father, and one who went up with the young Man to that last ruffle
which we had with him at Worcester--May we be grateful for the victory!"

"I know there is such a young gentleman as Albert Lee," said Wildrake.

"And knowest thou not--I speak not by way of prying into the good
Colonel's secrets, but only as it behoves me to know something of the
matter, that I may best judge how I am to serve him--Knowest thou not
that thy master, Markham Everard, is a suitor after the sister of this
same malignant, a daughter of the old Keeper, called Sir Henry Lee?"

"All this I have heard," said Wildrake, "nor can I deny that I believe
in it."

"Well then, go to.--When the young man Charles Stewart fled from the
field of Worcester, and was by sharp chase and pursuit compelled to
separate himself from his followers, I know by sure intelligence that
this Albert Lee was one of the last who remained with him, if not indeed
the very last."

"It was devilish like him," said the cavalier, without sufficiently
weighing his expressions, considering in what presence they were to be
uttered--"And I'll uphold him with my rapier, to be a true chip of the
old block!"

"Ha, swearest thou?" said the General. "Is this thy reformation?"

"I never swear, so please you," replied Wildrake, recollecting himself,
"except there is some mention of malignants and cavaliers in my hearing;
and then the old habit returns, and I swear like one of Goring's
troopers."

"Out upon thee," said the General; "what can it avail thee to practise a
profanity so horrible to the ears of others, and which brings no
emolument to him who uses it?"

"There are, doubtless, more profitable sins in the world than the barren
and unprofitable vice of swearing," was the answer which rose to the
lips of the cavalier; but that was exchanged for a profession of regret
for having given offence. The truth was, the discourse began to take a
turn which rendered it more interesting than ever to Wildrake, who
therefore determined not to lose the opportunity for obtaining
possession of the secret that seemed to be suspended on Cromwells lips;
and that could only be through means of keeping guard upon his own.

"What sort of a house is Woodstock?" said the General, abruptly.

"An old mansion," said Wildrake, in reply; "and, so far as I could judge
by a single night's lodgings, having abundance of backstairs, also
subterranean passages, and all the communications under ground, which
are common in old raven-nests of the sort."

"And places for concealing priests, unquestionably," said Cromwell. "It
is seldom that such ancient houses lack secret stalls wherein to mew up
these calves of Bethel."

"Your Honour's Excellency," said Wildrake, "may swear to that."

"I swear not at all," replied the General, drily.--"But what think'st
thou, good fellow?--I will ask thee a blunt question--Where will those
two Worcester fugitives that thou wottest of be more likely to take
shelter--and that they must be sheltered somewhere I well know--than, in
this same old palace, with all the corners and concealment whereof young
Albert hath been acquainted ever since his earliest infancy?"

"Truly," said Wildrake, making an effort to answer the question with
seeming indifference, while the possibility of such an event, and its
consequences, flashed fearfully upon his mind,--"Truly, I should be of
your honour's opinion, but that I think the company, who, by the
commission of Parliament, have occupied Woodstock, are likely to fright
them thence, as a cat scares doves from a pigeon-house. The
neighbourhood, with reverence, of Generals Desborough and Harrison, will
suit ill with fugitives from Worcester field."

"I thought as much, and so, indeed, would I have it," answered the
General. "Long may it be ere our names shall be aught but a terror to
our enemies. But in this matter, if thou art an active plotter for thy
master's interest, thou might'st, I should think, work out something
favourable to his present object."

"My brain is too poor to reach the depth of your honourable purpose,"
said Wildrake.

"Listen, then, and let it be to profit," answered Cromwell. "Assuredly
the conquest at Worcester was a great and crowning mercy; yet might we
seem to be but small in our thankfulness for the same, did we not do
what in us lies towards the ultimate improvement and final conclusion of
the great work which has been thus prosperous in our hands, professing,
in pure humility and singleness of heart, that we do not, in any way,
deserve our instrumentality to be remembered, nay, would rather pray and
entreat, that our name and fortunes were forgotten, than that the great
work were in itself incomplete. Nevertheless, truly, placed as we now
are, it concerns us more nearly than others,--that is, if so poor
creatures should at all speak of themselves as concerned, whether more
or less, with these changes which have been wrought around,--not, I say,
by ourselves, or our own power, but by the destiny to which we were
called, fulfilling the same with all meekness and humility,--I say it
concerns us nearly that all things should be done in conformity with the
great work which hath been wrought, and is yet working, in these lands.
Such is my plain and simple meaning. Nevertheless, it is much to be
desired that this young man, this King of Scots, as he called
himself--this Charles Stewart--should not escape forth from the nation,
where his arrival has wrought so much disturbance and bloodshed."

"I have no doubt," said the cavalier, looking down, "that your
lordship's wisdom hath directed all things as they may best lead towards
such a consummation; and I pray your pains may be paid as they deserve."

"I thank thee, friend," said Cromwell, with much humility; "doubtless we
shall meet our reward, being in the hands of a good paymaster, who never
passeth Saturday night. But understand me, friend--I desire no more than
my own share in the good work. I would heartily do what poor kindness I
can to your worthy master, and even to you in your degree--for such as I
do not converse with ordinary men, that our presence may be forgotten
like an every-day's occurrence. We speak to men like thee for their
reward or their punishment; and I trust it will be the former which thou
in thine office wilt merit at my hand."

"Your honour," said Wildrake, "speaks like one accustomed to command."

"True; men's minds are likened to those of my degree by fear and
reverence," said the General;--"but enough of that, desiring, as I do,
no other dependency on my special person than is alike to us all upon
that which is above us. But I would desire to cast this golden ball into
your master's lap. He hath served against this Charles Stewart and his
father. But he is a kinsman near to the old knight Lee, and stands well
affected towards his daughter. _Thou_ also wilt keep a watch, my
friend--that ruffling look of thine will procure thee the confidence of
every malignant, and the prey cannot approach this cover, as though to
shelter, like a coney in the rocks, but thou wilt be sensible of his
presence."

"I make a shift to comprehend your Excellency," said the cavalier; "and
I thank you heartily for the good opinion you have put upon me, and
which, I pray I may have some handsome opportunity of deserving, that I
may show my gratitude by the event. But still, with reverence, your
Excellency's scheme seems unlikely, while Woodstock remains in
possession of the sequestrators. Both the old knight and his son, and
far more such a fugitive as your honor hinted at, will take special care
not to approach it till they are removed."

"It is for that I have been dealing with thee thus long," said the
General.--"I told thee that I was something unwilling, upon slight
occasion, to dispossess the sequestrators by my own proper warrant,
although having, perhaps, sufficient authority in the state both to do
so, and to despise the murmurs of those who blame me. In brief, I would
be both to tamper with my privileges, and make experiments between their
strength, and the powers of the commission granted by others, without
pressing need, or at least great prospect of advantage. So, if thy
Colonel will undertake, for his love of the Republic, to find the means
of preventing its worst and nearest danger, which must needs occur from
the escape of this young Man, and will do his endeavour to stay him, in
case his flight should lead him to Woodstock, which I hold very likely,
I will give thee an order to these sequestrators, to evacuate the palace
instantly; and to the next troop of my regiment, which lies at Oxford,
to turn them out by the shoulders, if they make any scruples--Ay, even,
for example's sake, if they drag Desborough out foremost, though he be
wedded to my sister."

"So please you, sir," said Wildrake, "and with your most powerful
warrant, I trust I might expel the commissioners, even without the aid
of your most warlike and devout troopers."

"That is what I am least anxious about," replied the General; "I should
like to see the best of them sit after I had nodded to them to begone--
always excepting the worshipful House, in whose name our commissions
run; but who, as some think, will be done with politics ere it be time
to renew them. Therefore, what chiefly concerns me to know, is, whether
thy master will embrace a traffic which hath such a fair promise of
profit with it. I am well convinced that, with a scout like thee, who
hast been in the cavaliers' quarters, and canst, I should guess, resume
thy drinking, ruffianly, health-quaffing manners whenever thou hast a
mind, he must discover where this Stewart hath ensconced himself. Either
the young Lee will visit the old one in person, or he will write to him,
or hold communication with him by letter. At all events, Markham Everard
and thou must have an eye in every hair of your head." While he spoke, a
flush passed over his brow, he rose from his chair, and paced the
apartment in agitation. "Woe to you, if you suffer the young adventurer
to escape me!--you had better be in the deepest dungeon in Europe, than
breathe the air of England, should you but dream of playing me false. I
have spoken freely to thee, fellow--more freely than is my wont--the
time required it. But, to share my confidence is like keeping a watch
over a powder-magazine, the least and most insignificant spark blows
thee to ashes. Tell your master what I said--but not how I said it--Fie,
that I should have been betrayed into this distemperature of passion!--
begone, sirrah. Pearson shall bring thee sealed orders--Yet, stay--thou
hast something to ask."

"I would know," said Wildrake, to whom the visible anxiety of the
General gave some confidence, "what is the figure of this young gallant,
in case I should find him?"

"A tall, rawboned, swarthy lad, they say he has shot up into. Here is
his picture by a good hand, some time since." He turned round one of the
portraits which stood with its face against the wall; but it proved not
to be that of Charles the Second, but of his unhappy father.

The first motion of Cromwell indicated a purpose of hastily replacing
the picture, and it seemed as if an effort were necessary to repress his
disinclination to look upon it. But he did repress it, and, placing the
picture against the wall, withdrew slowly and sternly, as if, in
defiance of his own feelings, he was determined to gain a place from
which to see it to advantage. It was well for Wildrake that his
dangerous companion had not turned an eye on him, for _his_ blood also
kindled when he saw the portrait of his master in the hands of the chief
author of his death. Being a fierce and desperate man, he commanded his
passion with great difficulty; and if, on its first violence, he had
been provided with a suitable weapon, it is possible Cromwell would
never have ascended higher in his bold ascent towards supreme power.

But this natural and sudden flash of indignation, which rushed through
the veins of an ordinary man like Wildrake, was presently subdued, when
confronted with the strong yet stifled emotion displayed by so powerful
a character as Cromwell. As the cavalier looked on his dark and bold
countenance, agitated by inward and indescribable feelings, he found his
own violence of spirit die away and lose itself in fear and wonder. So
true it is, that as greater lights swallow up and extinguish the display
of those which are less, so men of great, capacious, and overruling
minds, bear aside and subdue, in their climax of passion, the more
feeble wills and passions of others; as, when a river joins a brook, the
fiercer torrent shoulders aside the smaller stream.

Wildrake stood a silent, inactive, and almost a terrified spectator,
while Cromwell, assuming a firm sternness of eye and manner, as one who
compels himself to look on what some strong internal feeling renders
painful and disgustful to him, proceeded, in brief and interrupted
expressions, but yet with a firm voice, to comment on the portrait of
the late King. His words seemed less addressed to Wildrake, than to be
the spontaneous unburdening of his own bosom, swelling under
recollection of the past and anticipation of the future.

"That Flemish painter" he said--"that Antonio Vandyck--what a power he
has! Steel may mutilate, warriors may waste and destroy--still the King
stands uninjured by time; and our grandchildren, while they read his
history, may look on his image, and compare the melancholy features with
the woful tale.--It was a stern necessity--it was an awful deed! The
calm pride of that eye might have ruled worlds of crouching Frenchmen,
or supple Italians, or formal Spaniards; but its glances only roused the
native courage of the stern Englishman.--Lay not on poor sinful man,
whose breath is in, his nostrils, the blame that he falls, when Heaven
never gave him strength of nerves to stand! The weak rider is thrown by
his unruly horse, and trampled to death--the strongest man, the best
cavalier, springs to the empty saddle, and uses bit and spur till the
fiery steed knows its master. Who blames him, who, mounted aloft, rides
triumphantly amongst the people, for having succeeded, where the
unskilful and feeble fell and died? Verily he hath his reward: Then,
what is that piece of painted canvas to me more than others? No; let him
show to others the reproaches of that cold, calm face, that proud yet
complaining eye: Those who have acted on higher respects have no cause
to start at painted shadows. Not wealth nor power brought me from my
obscurity. The oppressed consciences, the injured liberties of England,
were the banner that I followed."

He raised his voice so high, as if pleading in his own defence before
some tribunal, that Pearson, the officer in attendance, looked into the
apartment; and observing his master, with his eyes kindling, his arm
extended, his foot advanced, and his voice raised, like a general in the
act of commanding the advance of his army, he instantly withdrew.

"It was other than selfish regards that drew me forth to action,"
continued Cromwell, "and I dare the world--ay, living or dead I
challenge--to assert that I armed for a private cause, or as a means of
enlarging my fortunes. Neither was there a trooper in the regiment who
came there with less of personal ill will to yonder unhappy"--

At this moment the door of the apartment opened, and a gentlewoman
entered, who, from her resemblance to the General, although her features
were soft and feminine, might be immediately recognised as his daughter.
She walked up to Cromwell, gently but firmly passed her arm through his,
and said to him in a persuasive tone, "Father, this is not well--you
have promised me this should not happen."

The General hung down his head, like one who was either ashamed of the
passion to which he had given way, or of the influence which was
exercised over him. He yielded, however, to the affectionate impulse,
and left the apartment, without again turning his head towards the
portrait which had so much affected him, or looking towards Wildrake,
who remained fixed in astonishment.

       *       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER THE NINTH.


  _Doctor_.--Go to, go to,--You have known what you should not.
   MACBETH.

Wildrake was left in the cabinet, as we have said, astonished and alone.
It was often noised about, that Cromwell, the deep and sagacious
statesman, the calm and intrepid commander, he who had overcome such
difficulties, and ascended to such heights, that he seemed already to
bestride the land which he had conquered, had, like many other men of
great genius, a constitutional taint of melancholy, which sometimes
displayed itself both in words and actions, and had been first observed
in that sudden and striking change, when, abandoning entirely the
dissolute freaks of his youth, he embraced a very strict course of
religious observances, which, upon some occasions, he seemed to consider
as bringing him into more near and close contact with the spiritual
world. This extraordinary man is said sometimes, during that period of
his life, to have given way to spiritual delusions, or, as he himself
conceived them, prophetic inspirations of approaching grandeur, and of
strange, deep, and mysterious agencies, in which he was in future to be
engaged, in the same manner as his younger years had been marked by fits
of exuberant and excessive frolic and debaucheries. Something of this
kind seemed to explain the ebullition of passion which he had now
manifested.

With wonder at what he had witnessed, Wildrake felt some anxiety on his
own account. Though not the most reflecting of mortals, he had sense
enough to know, that it is dangerous to be a witness of the infirmities
of men high in power; and he was left so long by himself, as induced him
to entertain some secret doubts, whether the General might not be
tempted to take means of confining or removing a witness, who had seen
him lowered, as it seemed, by the suggestions of his own conscience,
beneath that lofty flight, which, in general, he affected to sustain
above the rest of the sublunary world.

In this, however, he wronged Cromwell, who was free either from an
extreme degree of jealous suspicion, or from any thing which approached
towards blood-thirstiness. Pearson appeared, after a lapse of about an
hour, and, intimating to Wildrake that he was to follow, conducted him
into a distant apartment, in which he found the General seated on a
couch. His daughter was in the apartment, but remained at some distance,
apparently busied with some female needle-work, and scarce turned her
head as Pearson and Wildrake entered.

At a sign from the Lord-General, Wildrake approached him as before.
"Comrade," he said, "your old friends the cavaliers look on me as their
enemy, and conduct themselves towards me as if they desired to make me
such. I profess they are labouring to their own prejudice; for I regard,
and have ever regarded them, as honest and honourable fools, who were
silly enough to run their necks into nooses and their heads against
stonewalls, that a man called Stewart, and no other, should be king over
them. Fools! are there no words made of letters that would sound as well
as Charles Stewart, with that magic title beside them? Why, the word
King is like a lighted lamp, that throws the same bright gilding upon
any combination of the alphabet, and yet you must shed your blood for a
name! But thou, for thy part, shalt have no wrong from me. Here is an
order, well warranted, to clear the Lodge at Woodstock, and abandon it
to thy master's keeping, or those whom he shall appoint. He will have
his uncle and pretty cousin with him, doubtless. Fare thee well--think
on what I told thee. They say beauty is a loadstone to yonder long lad
thou dost wot of; but I reckon he has other stars at present to direct
his course than bright eyes and fair hair. Be it as it may, thou knowst
my purpose--peer out, peer out; keep a constant and careful look-out on
every ragged patch that wanders by hedge-row or lane--these are days
when a beggar's cloak may cover a king's ransom. There are some broad
Portugal pieces for thee--something strange to thy pouch, I ween.--Once
more, think on what thou hast heard, and," he added, in a lower and more
impressive tone of voice, "forget what thou hast seen. My service to thy
master;--and, yet once again, _remember_--and _forget_."--Wildrake made
his obeisance, and, returning to his inn, left Windsor with all possible
speed.

It was afternoon in the same day when the cavalier rejoined his
round-head friend, who was anxiously expecting him at the inn in
Woodstock appointed for their rendezvous.

"Where hast thou been?--what hast thou seen?--what strange uncertainty
is in thy looks?--and why dost thou not answer me?"

"Because," said Wildrake, laying aside his riding cloak and rapier, "you
ask so many questions at once. A man has but one tongue to answer with,
and mine is well-nigh glued to the roof of my mouth."

"Will drink unloosen it?" said the Colonel; "though I dare say thou hast
tried that spell at every ale-house on the road. Call for what thou
wouldst have, man, only be quick."

"Colonel Everard," answered Wildrake, "I have not tasted so much as a
cup of cold water this day."

"Then thou art out of humour for that reason," said the Colonel; "salve
thy sore with brandy, if thou wilt, but leave being so fantastic and
unlike to thyself, as thou showest in this silent mood."

"Colonel Everard," replied the cavalier, very gravely, "I am an altered
man."

"I think thou dost alter," said Everard, "every day in the year, and
every hour of the day. Come, good now, tell me, hast thou seen the
General, and got his warrant for clearing out the sequestrators from
Woodstock?"

"I have seen the devil," said Wildrake, "and have, as thou say'st, got a
warrant from him."

"Give it me hastily," said Everard, catching at the packet.

"Forgive me, Mark," said Wildrake; "if thou knewest the purpose with
which this deed is granted--if thou knewest--what it is not my purpose
to tell thee--what manner of hopes are founded on thy accepting it, I
have that opinion of thee, Mark Everard, that thou wouldst as soon take
a red-hot horse-shoe from the anvil with thy bare hand, as receive into
it this slip of paper."

"Come, come," said Everard, "this comes of some of your exalted ideas of
loyalty, which, excellent within certain bounds, drive us mad when
encouraged up to some heights. Do not think, since I must needs speak
plainly with thee, that I see without sorrow the downfall of our ancient
monarchy, and the substitution of another form of government in its
stead; but ought my regret for the past to prevent my acquiescing and
aiding in such measures as are likely to settle the future? The royal
cause is ruined, hadst thou and every cavalier in England sworn the
contrary; ruined, not to rise again--for many a day at least. The
Parliament, so often draughted and drained of those who were courageous
enough to maintain their own freedom of opinion, is now reduced to a
handful of statesmen, who have lost the respect of the people, from the
length of time during which they have held the supreme management of
affairs. They cannot stand long unless they were to reduce the army; and
the army, late servants, are now masters, and will refuse to be reduced.
They know their strength, and that they may be an army subsisting on pay
and free quarters throughout England as long as they will. I tell thee,
Wildrake, unless we look to the only man who can rule and manage them,
we may expect military law throughout the land; and I, for mine own
part, look for any preservation of our privileges that may be vouchsafed
to us, only through the wisdom and forbearance of Cromwell. Now you have
my secret. You are aware that I am not doing the best I would, but the
best I can. I wish--not so ardently as thou, perhaps--yet I _do_ wish
that the King could have been restored on good terms of composition,
safe for us and for himself. And now, good Wildrake, rebel as thou
thinkest me, make me no worse a rebel than an unwilling one. God knows,
I never laid aside love and reverence to the King, even in drawing my
sword against his ill advisers."

"Ah, plague on you," said Wildrake, "that is the very cant of it--that's
what you all say. All of you fought against the King in pure love and
loyalty, and not otherwise. However, I see your drift, and I own that I
like it better than I expected. The army is your bear now, and old Noll
is your bearward; and you are like a country constable, who makes
interest with the bearward that he may prevent him from letting bruin
loose. Well, there may come a day when the sun will shine on our side of
the fence, and thereon shall you, and all the good fair-weather folks
who love the stronger party, come and make common cause with us."

Without much attending to what his friend said, Colonel Everard
carefully studied the warrant of Cromwell. "It is bolder and more
peremptory than I expected," he said. "The General must feel himself
strong, when he opposes his own authority so directly to that of the
Council of State and the Parliament."

"You will not hesitate to act upon it?" said Wildrake.

"That I certainly will not," answered Everard; "but I must wait till I
have the assistance of the Mayor, who, I think, will gladly see these
fellows ejected from the Lodge. I must not go altogether upon military
authority, if possible." Then, stepping to the door of the apartment, he
despatched a servant of the house in quest of the Chief Magistrate,
desiring he should be made acquainted that Colonel Everard desired to
see him with as little loss of time as possible.

"You are sure he will come, like a dog at a whistle," said Wildrake.
"The word captain, or colonel, makes the fat citizen trot in these days,
when one sword is worth fifty corporation charters. But there are
dragoons yonder, as well as the grim-faced knave whom I frightened the
other evening when I showed my face in at the window. Think'st thou the
knaves will show no rough play?"

"The General's warrant will weigh more with them than a dozen acts of
Parliament," said Everard.--"But it is time thou eatest, if thou hast in
truth ridden from Windsor hither without baiting."

"I care not about it," said Wildrake: "I tell thee, your General gave me
a breakfast, which, I think, will serve me one while, if I am ever able
to digest it. By the mass, it lay so heavy on my conscience, that I
carried it to church to see if I could digest it there with my other
sins. But not a whit."

"To church!--to the door of the church, thou meanest," said Everard. "I
know thy way--thou art ever wont to pull thy hat off reverently at the
threshold; but for crossing it, that day seldom comes."

"Well," replied Wildrake, "and if I do pull off my castor and kneel, is
it not seemly to show the same respects in a church which we offer in a
palace? It is a dainty matter, is it not, to see your Anabaptists, and
Brownists, and the rest of you, gather to a sermon with as little
ceremony as hogs to a trough! But here comes food, and now for a grace,
if I can remember one."

Everard was too much interested about the fate of his uncle and his fair
cousin, and the prospect of restoring them to their quiet home, under
the protection of that formidable truncheon which was already regarded
as the leading-staff of England, to remark, that certainly a great
alteration had taken place in the manners and outward behaviour at least
of his companion. His demeanour frequently evinced a sort of struggle
betwixt old habits of indulgence, and some newly formed resolutions of
abstinence; and it was almost ludicrous to see how often the hand of the
neophyte directed itself naturally to a large black leathern jack, which
contained two double flagons of strong ale, and how often, diverted from
its purpose by the better reflections of the reformed toper, it seized,
instead, upon a large ewer of salubrious and pure water.

It was not difficult to see that the task of sobriety was not yet become
easy, and that, if it had the recommendation of the intellectual portion
of the party who had resolved upon it, the outward man yielded a
reluctant and restive compliance. But honest Wildrake had been
dreadfully frightened at the course proposed to him by Cromwell, and,
with a feeling not peculiar to the Catholic religion, had formed a
solemn resolution within his own mind, that, if he came off safe and
with honour from this dangerous interview, he would show his sense of
Heaven's favour, by renouncing some of the sins which most easily beset
him, and especially that of intemperance, to which, like many of his
wild compeers, he was too much addicted.

This resolution, or vow, was partly prudential as well as religious; for
it occurred to him as very possible, that some matters of a difficult
and delicate nature might be thrown into his hands at the present
emergency, during the conduct of which it would be fitting for him to
act by some better oracle than that of the Bottle, celebrated by
Rabelais. In full compliance with this prudent determination, he touched
neither the ale nor the brandy which were placed before him, and
declined peremptorily the sack with which his friend would have
garnished the board. Nevertheless, just as the boy removed the trenchers
and napkins, together with the large black-jack which we have already
mentioned, and was one or two steps on his way to the door, the sinewy
arm of the cavalier, which seemed to elongate itself on purpose, (as it
extended far beyond the folds of the threadbare jacket,) arrested the
progress of the retiring Ganymede, and seizing on the black-jack,
conveyed it to the lips, which were gently breathing forth the
aspiration, "D--n--I mean. Heaven forgive me--we are poor creatures of
clay--one modest sip must be permitted to our frailty."

So murmuring, he glued the huge flagon to his lips, and as the head was
slowly and gradually inclined backwards, in proportion as the right hand
elevated the bottom of the pitcher, Everard had great doubts whether the
drinker and the cup were likely to part until the whole contents of the
latter had been transferred to the person of the former. Roger Wildrake
stinted, however, when, by a moderate computation, he had swallowed at
one draught about a quart and a half.

He then replaced it on the salver, fetched a long breath to refresh his
lungs, bade the boy get him gone with the rest of the liquors, in a tone
which inferred some dread of his constancy, and then, turning to his
friend Everard, he expatiated in praise of moderation, observing, that
the mouthful which he had just taken had been of more service to him
than if he had remained quaffing healths at table for four hours
together.

His friend made no reply, but could not help being privately of opinion
that Wildrake's temperance had done as much execution on the tankard in
his single draught, as some more moderate topers might have effected if
they had sat sipping for an evening. But the subject was changed by the
entrance of the landlord, who came to announce to his honour Colonel
Everard, that the worshipful Mayor of Woodstock, with the Rev. Master
Holdenough, were come to wait upon him.

       *       *        *       *        *

CHAPTER THE TENTH.


                 Here we have one head
  Upon two bodies,--your two-headed bullock
  Is but an ass to such a prodigy.

  These two have but one meaning, thought, and counsel:
  And when the single noddle has spoke out,
  The four legs scrape assent to it.
                                            OLD PLAY.

In the goodly form of the honest Mayor, there was a bustling mixture of
importance and embarrassment, like the deportment of a man who was
conscious that he had an important part to act, if he could but exactly
discover what that part was. But both were mingled with much pleasure at
seeing Everard, and he frequently repeated his welcomes and all-hails
before he could be brought to attend to what that gentleman said in
reply.

"Good, worthy Colonel, you are indeed a desirable sight to Woodstock at
all times, being, as I may say, almost our townsman, as you have dwelt
so much and so long at the palace. Truly, the matter begins almost to
pass my wit, though I have transacted the affairs of this borough for
many a long day; and you are come to my assistance like, like"--

"_Tanquam Deus ex machina_, as the Ethnic poet hath it," said Master
Holdenough, "although I do not often quote from such books.--Indeed,
Master Markham Everard,--or worthy Colonel, as I ought rather to
say--you are simply the most welcome man who has come to Woodstock since
the days of old King Harry."

"I had some business with you, my good friend," said the Colonel,
addressing the Mayor; "I shall be glad if it should so happen at the
same time, that I may find occasion to pleasure you or your worthy
pastor."

"No question you can do so, good sir;" interposed Master Holdenough;
"you have the heart, sir, and you have the hand; and we are much in want
of good counsel, and that from a man of action. I am aware, worthy
Colonel, that you and your worthy father have ever borne yourselves in
these turmoils like men of a truly Christian and moderate spirit,
striving to pour oil into the wounds of the land, which some would rub
with vitriol and pepper: and we know you are faithful children of that
church which we have reformed from its papistical and prelatical
tenets."

"My good and reverend friend," said Everard, "I respect the piety and
learning of many of your teachers; but I am also for liberty of
conscience to all men. I neither side with sectaries, nor do I desire to
see them the object of suppression by violence."

"Sir, sir," said the Presbyterian, hastily, "all this hath a fair sound;
but I would you should think what a fine country and church we are like
to have of it, amidst the errors, blasphemies, and schisms, which are
daily introduced into the church and kingdom of England, so that worthy
Master Edwards, in his Gangrena, declareth, that our native country is
about to become the very sink and cess-pool of all schisms, heresies,
blasphemies, and confusions, as the army of Hannibal was said to be the
refuse of all nations--_Colluvies omnium gentium_.--Believe me, worthy
Colonel, that they of the Honourable House view all this over lightly,
and with the winking connivance of old Eli. These instructors, the
schismatics, shoulder the orthodox ministers out of their pulpits,
thrust themselves into families, and break up the peace thereof,
stealing away men's hearts from the established faith."

"My good Master Holdenough," replied the Colonel, interrupting the
zealous preacher, "there is ground of sorrow for all these unhappy
discords; and I hold with you, that the fiery spirits of the present
time have raised men's minds at once above sober-minded and sincere
religion, and above decorum and common sense. But there is no help save
patience. Enthusiasm is a stream that may foam off in its own time,
whereas it is sure to bear down every barrier which is directly opposed
to it.--But what are these schismatical proceedings to our present
purpose?"

"Why, partly this, sir," said Holdenough, "although perhaps you may make
less of it than I should have thought before we met.--I was myself--I,
Nehemiah Holdenough, (he added consequentially,) was forcibly expelled
from my own pulpit, even as a man should have been thrust out of his own
house, by an alien, and an intruder--a wolf, who was not at the trouble
even to put on sheep's clothing, but came in his native wolfish attire
of buff and bandalier, and held forth in my stead to the people, who are
to me as a flock to the lawful shepherd. It is too true, sir--Master
Mayor saw it, and strove to take such order to prevent it as man might,
though," turning to the Mayor, "I think still you might have striven a
little more."

"Good now, good Master Holdenough, do not let us go back on that
question," said the Mayor. "Guy of Warwick, or Bevis of Hampton, might
do something with this generation; but truly, they are too many and too
strong for the Mayor of Woodstock."

"I think Master Mayor speaks very good sense," said the Colonel; "if the
Independents are not allowed to preach, I fear me they will not
fight;--and then if you were to have another rising of cavaliers?"

"There are worse folks may rise than cavaliers," said Holdenough.

"How, sir?" replied Colonel Everard. "Let me remind you, Master
Holdenough, that is no safe language in the present state of the
nation."

"I say," said the Presbyterian, "there are worse folk may rise than
cavaliers; and I will prove what I say. The devil is worse than the
worst cavalier that ever drank a health, or swore an oath--and the devil
has arisen at Woodstock Lodge!"

"Ay, truly hath he," said the Mayor, "bodily and visibly, in figure and
form--An awful time we live in!"

"Gentlemen, I really know not how I am to understand you," said Everard.

"Why, it was even about the devil we came to speak with you," said the
Mayor; "but the worthy minister is always so hot upon the sectaries"--

"Which are the devil's brats, and nearly akin to him," said Master
Holdenough. "But true it is, that the growth of these sects has brought
up the Evil One even upon the face of the earth, to look after his own
interest, where he finds it most thriving."

"Master Holdenough," said the Colonel, "if you speak figuratively, I
have already told you that I have neither the means nor the skill
sufficient to temper these religious heats. But if you design to say
that there has been an actual apparition of the devil, I presume to
think that you, with your doctrine and your learning, would be a fitter
match for him than a soldier like me."

"True, sir; and I have that confidence in the commission which I hold,
that I would take the field against the foul fiend without a moment's
delay," said Holdenough; "but the place in which he hath of late
appeared, being Woodstock, is filled with those dangerous and impious
persons, of whom I have been but now complaining; and though, confident
in my own resources, I dare venture in disputation with their Great
Master himself; yet without your protection, most worthy Colonel, I see
not that I may with prudence trust myself with the tossing and goring ox
Desborough, or the bloody and devouring bear Harrison, or the cold and
poisonous snake Bletson--all of whom are now at the Lodge, doing license
and taking spoil as they think meet; and, as all men say, the devil hath
come to make a fourth with them."

"In good truth, worthy and noble sir," said the Mayor, "it is even as
Master Holdenough says--our privileges are declared void, our cattle
seized in the very pastures. They talk of cutting down and disparking
the fair Chase, which has been so long the pleasure of so many kings,
and making Woodstock of as little note as any paltry village. I assure
you we heard of your arrival with joy, and wondered at your keeping
yourself so close in your lodgings. We know no one save your father or
you, that are like to stand the poor burgesses' friend in this
extremity, since almost all the gentry around are malignants, and under
sequestration. We trust, therefore, you will make strong intercession in
our behalf."

"Certainly, Master Mayor," said the Colonel, who saw himself with
pleasure anticipated; "it was my very purpose to have interfered in this
matter; and I did but keep myself alone until I should be furnished with
some authority from the Lord-General."

"Powers from the Lord-General!" said the Mayor, thrusting the clergy-man
with his elbow--"Dost thou hear that?--What cock will fight that cock?--
We shall carry it now over their necks, and Woodstock shall be brave
Woodstock still!"

"Keep thine elbow from my side, friend," said Holdenough, annoyed by the
action which the Mayor had suited to his words; "and may the Lord send
that Cromwell prove not as sharp to the people of England as thy bones
against my person! Yet I approve that we should use his authority to
stop the course of these men's proceedings."

"Let us set out, then," said Colonel Everard; "and I trust we shall find
the gentlemen reasonable and obedient."

The functionaries, laic and clerical, assented with much joy; and the
Colonel required and received Wildrake's assistance in putting on his
cloak and rapier, as if he had been the dependent whose part he acted.
The cavalier contrived, however, while doing him these menial offices,
to give his friend a shrewd pinch, in order to maintain the footing of
secret equality betwixt them.

The Colonel was saluted, as they passed through the streets, by many of
the anxious inhabitants, who seemed to consider his intervention as
affording the only chance of saving their fine Park, and the rights of
the corporation, as well as of individuals, from ruin and confiscation.

As they entered the Park, the Colonel asked his companions, "What is
this you say of apparitions being seen amongst them?"

"Why, Colonel," said the clergyman, "you know yourself that Woodstock
was always haunted?"

"I have lived therein many a day," said the Colonel; "and I know I never
saw the least sign of it, although idle people spoke of the house as
they do of all old mansions, and gave the apartments ghosts and spectres
to fill up the places of as many of the deceased great, as had ever
dwelt there."

"Nay, but, good Colonel," said the clergyman, "I trust you have not
reached the prevailing sin of the times, and become indifferent to the
testimony in favour of apparitions, which appears so conclusive to all
but atheists, and advocates for witches?"

"I would not absolutely disbelieve what is so generally affirmed," said
the Colonel; "but my reason leads me to doubt most of the stories which
I have heard of this sort, and my own experience never went to confirm
any of them."

"Ay, but trust me," said Holdenough, "there was always a demon of one or
the other species about this Woodstock. Not a man or woman in the town
but has heard stories of apparitions in the forest, or about the old
castle. Sometimes it is a pack of hounds, that sweep along, and the
whoops and halloos of the huntsmen, and the winding of horns and the
galloping of horse, which is heard as if first more distant, and then
close around you--and then anon it is a solitary huntsman, who asks if
you can tell him which way the stag has gone. He is always dressed in
green; but the fashion of his clothes is some five hundred years old.
This is what we call Demon Meridianum--the noon-day spectre."

"My worthy and reverend sir," said the Colonel, "I have lived at
Woodstock many seasons, and have traversed the Chase at all hours. Trust
me, what you hear from the villagers is the growth of their idle folly
and superstition."

"Colonel," replied Holdenough, "a negative proves nothing. What
signifies, craving your pardon, that you have not seen anything, be it
earthly or be it of the other world, to detract from the evidence of a
score of people who have?--And besides, there is the Demon Nocturnum--
the being that walketh by night; he has been among these Independents
and schismatics last night. Ay, Colonel, you may stare; but it is even
so--they may try whether he will mend their gifts, as they profanely
call them, of exposition and prayer. No, sir, I trow, to master the foul
fiend there goeth some competent knowledge of theology, and an
acquaintance of the humane letters, ay, and a regular clerical education
and clerical calling."

"I do not in the least doubt," said the Colonel, "the efficacy of your
qualifications to lay the devil; but still I think some odd mistake has
occasioned this confusion amongst them, if there has any such in reality
existed. Desborough is a blockhead, to be sure; and Harrison is fanatic
enough to believe anything. But there is Bletson, on the other hand, who
believes nothing.--What do you know of this matter, good Master Mayor?"

"In sooth, and it was Master Bletson who gave the first alarm," replied
the magistrate; "or, at least, the first distinct one. You see, sir, I
was in bed with my wife, and no one else; and I was as fast asleep as a
man can desire to be at two hours after midnight, when, behold you, they
came knocking at my bedroom door, to tell me there was an alarm in
Woodstock, and that the bell of the Lodge was ringing at that dead hour
of the night as hard as ever it rung when it called the court to
dinner."

"Well, but the cause of this alarm?" said the Colonel.

"You shall hear, worthy Colonel, you shall hear," answered the Mayor,
waving his hand with dignity; for he was one of those persons who will
not be hurried out of their own pace. "So Mrs. Mayor would have
persuaded me, in her love and affection, poor wretch, that to rise at
such an hour out of my own warm bed, was like to bring on my old
complaint the lumbago, and that I should send the people to Alderman
Dutton.--Alderman Devil, Mrs. Mayor, said I;--I beg your reverence's
pardon for using such a phrase--Do you think I am going to lie a-bed
when the town is on fire, and the cavaliers up, and the devil to pay;--I
beg pardon again, parson.--But here we are before the gate of the
Palace; will it not please you to enter?"

"I would first hear the end of your story," said the Colonel; "that is,
Master Mayor, if it happens to have an end."

"Every thing hath an end," said the Mayor, "and that which we call a
pudding hath two.--Your worship will forgive me for being facetious.
Where was I?--Oh, I jumped out of bed, and put on my red plush breeches,
with the blue nether stocks, for I always make a point of being dressed
suitably to my dignity, night and day, summer or winter, Colonel
Everard; and I took the Constable along with me, in case the alarm
should be raised by night-walkers or thieves, and called up worthy
Master Holdenough out of his bed, in case it should turn out to be the
devil. And so I thought I was provided for the worst, and so away we
came; and, by and by, the soldiers who came to the town with Master
Tomkins, who had been called to arms, came marching down to Woodstock as
fast as their feet would carry them; so I gave our people the sign to
let them pass us, and out-march us, as it were, and this for a twofold
reason."

"I will be satisfied," interrupted the Colonel, "with one good reason.
You desired the red-coats should have the _first_ of the fray?"

"True, sir, very true;--and also that they should have the _last_ of it,
in respect that fighting is their especial business. However, we came on
at a slow pace, as men who are determined to do their duty without fear
or favour, when suddenly we saw something white haste away up the avenue
towards the town, when six of our constables and assistants fled at
once, as conceiving it to be an apparition called the White Woman of
Woodstock."

"Look you there, Colonel," said Master Holdenough, "I told you there
were demons of more kinds than one, which haunt the ancient scenes of
royal debauchery and cruelty."

"I hope you stood your own ground, Master Mayor?" said the Colonel.

"I--yes--most assuredly--that is, I did not, strictly speaking, keep my
ground; but the town-clerk and I retreated--retreated, Colonel, and
without confusion or dishonour, and took post behind worthy Master
Holdenough, who, with the spirit of a lion, threw himself in the way of
the supposed spectre, and attacked it with such a siserary of Latin as
might have scared the devil himself, and thereby plainly discovered that
it was no devil at all, nor white woman, neither woman of any colour,
but worshipful Master Bletson, a member of the House of Commons, and one
of the commissioners sent hither upon this unhappy sequestration of the
Wood, Chase, and Lodge of Woodstock."

"And this was all you saw of the demon?" said the Colonel.

"Truly, yes," answered the Mayor; "and I had no wish to see more.
However, we conveyed Master Bletson, as in duty bound, back to the
Lodge, and he was ever maundering by the way how that he met a party of
scarlet devils incarnate marching down to the Lodge; but, to my poor
thinking, it must have been the Independent dragoons who had just passed
us."

"And more incarnate devils I would never wish to see," said Wildrake,
who could remain silent no longer. His voice, so suddenly heard, showed
how much the Mayor's nerves were still alarmed, far he started and
jumped aside with an alacrity of which no one would at first sight
suppose a man of his portly dignity to have been capable. Everard
imposed silence on his intrusive attendant; and, desirous to hear the
conclusion of this strange story, requested the Mayor to tell him how
the matter ended, and whether they stopped the supposed spectre.

"Truly, worthy sir," said the Mayor, "Master Holdenough was quite
venturous upon confronting, as it were, the devil, and compelling him to
appear under the real form of Master Joshua Bletson, member of
Parliament for the borough of Littlefaith."

"In sooth, Master Mayor," said the divine, "I were strangely ignorant of
my own commission and its immunities, if I were to value opposing myself
to Satan, or any Independent in his likeness, all of whom, in the name
of Him I serve, I do defy, spit at, and trample under my feet; and
because Master Mayor is something tedious, I will briefly inform your
honour that we saw little of the Enemy that night, save what Master
Bletson said in the first feeling of his terrors, and save what we might
collect from the disordered appearance of the Honourable Colonel
Desborough and Major-General Harrison."

"And what plight were they in, I pray you?" demanded the Colonel.

"Why, worthy sir, every one might see with half an eye that they had
been engaged in a fight wherein they had not been honoured with perfect
victory; seeing that General Harrison was stalking up and down the
parlour, with his drawn sword in his hand, talking to himself, his
doublet unbuttoned, his points untrussed, his garters loose, and like to
throw him down as he now and then trode on them, and gaping and grinning
like a mad player. And yonder sate Desborough with a dry pottle of sack
before him, which he had just emptied, and which, though the element in
which he trusted, had not restored him sense enough to speak, or courage
enough to look over his shoulder. He had a Bible in his hand, forsooth,
as if it would of itself make battle against the Evil One; but I peered
over his shoulder, and, alas! the good gentleman held the bottom of the
page uppermost. It was as if one of your musketeers, noble and valued
sir, were to present the butt of his piece at the enemy instead of the
muzzle--ha, ha, ha! it was a sight to judge of schismatics by; both in
point of head, and in point of heart, in point of skill, and in point of
courage. Oh! Colonel, then was the time to see the true character of an
authorised pastor of souls over those unhappy men, who leap into the
fold without due and legal authority, and will, forsooth, preach, teach,
and exhort, and blasphemously term the doctrine of the Church saltless
porridge and dry chips!"

"I have no doubt you were ready to meet the danger, reverend sir; but I
would fain know of what nature it was, and from whence it was to be
apprehended?"

"Was it for me to make such inquiry?" said the clergyman, triumphantly.
"Is it for a brave soldier to number his enemies, or inquire from what
quarter they are to come? No, sir, I was there with match lighted,
bullet in my mouth, and my harquebuss shouldered, to encounter as many
devils as hell could pour in, were they countless as motes in the
sunbeam, and although they came from all points of the compass. The
Papists talk of the temptation of St. Anthony--pshaw! let them double
all the myriads which the brain of a crazy Dutch painter hath invented,
and you will find a poor Presbyterian divine--I will answer for one at
least,--who, not in his own strength, but his Master's, will receive the
assault in such sort, that far from returning against him as against
yonder poor hound, day after day, and night after night, he will at once
pack them off as with a vengeance to the uttermost parts of Assyria!"

"Still," said the Colonel, "I pray to know whether you saw anything upon
which to exercise your pious learning?"

"Saw?" answered the divine; "no, truly, I saw nothing, nor did I look
for anything. Thieves will not attack well-armed travellers, nor will
devils or evil spirits come against one who bears in his bosom the word
of truth, in the very language in which it was first dictated. No, sir,
they shun a divine who can understand the holy text, as a crow is said
to keep wide of a gun loaded with hailshot."

They had walked a little way back upon their road, to give time for this
conversation; and the Colonel, perceiving it was about to lead to no
satisfactory explanation of the real cause of alarm on the preceding
night, turned round, and observing it was time they should go to the
Lodge, began to move in that direction with his three companions.

It had now become dark, and the towers of Woodstock arose high above the
umbrageous shroud which the forest spread around the ancient and
venerable mansion. From one of the highest turrets, which could still be
distinguished as it rose against the clear blue sky, there gleamed a
light like that of a candle within the building. The Mayor stopt short,
and catching fast hold of the divine, and then of Colonel Everard,
exclaimed, in a trembling and hasty, but suppressed tone,

"Do you see yonder light?"

"Ay, marry do I," said Colonel Everard; "and what does that matter?--a
light in a garret-room of such an old mansion as Woodstock is no subject
of wonder, I trow."

"But a light from Rosamond's Tower is surely so," said the Mayor.

"True," said the Colonel, something surprised, when, after a careful
examination, he satisfied himself that the worthy magistrate's
conjecture was right. "That is indeed Rosamond's Tower; and as the
drawbridge, by which it was accessible has been destroyed for centuries,
it is hard to say what chance could have lighted a lamp in such an
inaccessible place."

"That light burns with no earthly fuel," said the Mayor; "neither from
whale nor olive oil, nor bees-wax, nor mutton-suet either. I dealt in
these commodities, Colonel, before I went into my present line; and I
can assure you I could distinguish the sort of light they give, one from
another, at a greater distance than yonder turret--Look you, that is no
earthly flame.--See you not something blue and reddish upon the edges?--
that bodes full well where it comes from.--Colonel, in my opinion we had
better go back to sup at the town, and leave the Devil and the red-coats
to settle their matters together for to-night; and then when we come
back the next morning, we will have a pull with the party that chances
to keep a-field."

"You will do as you please, Master Mayor," said Everard, "but my duty
requires me that I should see the Commissioners to-night."

"And mine requires me to see the foul Fiend," said Master Holdenough,
"if he dare make himself visible to me. I wonder not that, knowing who
is approaching, he betakes himself to the very citadel, the inner and
the last defences of this ancient and haunted mansion. He is dainty, I
warrant you, and must dwell where is a relish of luxury and murder about
the walls of his chamber. In yonder turret sinned Rosamond, and in
yonder turret she suffered; and there she sits, or more likely, the
Enemy in her shape, as I have heard true men of Woodstock tell. I wait
on you, good Colonel--Master Mayor will do as he pleases. The strong man
hath fortified himself in his dwelling-house, but lo, there cometh
another stronger than he."

"For me," said the Mayor, "who am as unlearned as I am unwarlike, I will
not engage either--with the Powers of the Earth, or the Prince of the
Powers of the Air, and I would we were again at Woodstock;--and hark ye,
good fellow," slapping Wildrake on the shoulder, "I will bestow on thee
a shilling wet and a shilling dry if thou wilt go back with me."

"Gadzookers, Master Mayor," said, Wildrake, neither flattered by the
magistrate's familiarity of address, nor captivated by his munificence--
"I wonder who the devil made you and me fellows? and, besides, do you
think I would go back to Woodstock with your worshipful cods-head, when,
by good management, I may get a peep of fair Rosamond, and see whether
she was that choice and incomparable piece of ware, which the world has
been told of by rhymers and ballad-makers?"

"Speak less lightly and wantonly, friend," said the divine; "we are to
resist the devil that he may flee from us, and not to tamper with him,
or enter into his counsels, or traffic with the merchandise of his great
Vanity Fair."

"Mind what the good man says, Wildrake," said the Colonel; "and take
heed another time how thou dost suffer thy wit to outrun discretion."

"I am beholden to the reverend gentleman for his advice," answered
Wildrake, upon whose tongue it was difficult to impose any curb
whatever, even when his own safety rendered it most desirable. "But,
gadzookers, let him have had what experience he will in fighting with
the Devil, he never saw one so black as I had a tussle with--not a
hundred years ago."

"How, friend," said the clergyman, who understood every thing literally
when apparitions were mentioned, "have you had so late a visitation of
Satan? Believe me, then, that I wonder why thou darest to entertain his
name so often and so lightly, as I see thou dost use it in thy ordinary
discourse. But when and where didst thou see the Evil One?"

Everard hastily interposed, lest by something yet more strongly alluding
to Cromwell, his imprudent squire should, in mere wantonness, betray his
interview with the General. "The young man raves," he said, "of a dream
which he had the other night, when he and I slept together in Victor
Lee's chamber, belonging to the Ranger's apartments at the Lodge."

"Thanks for help at a pinch, good patron," said Wildrake, whispering
into Everard's ear, who in vain endeavoured to shake him off,--"a fib
never failed a fanatic."

"You, also, spoke something too lightly of these matters, considering
the work which we have in hand, worthy Colonel," said the Presbyterian
divine. "Believe me, the young man, thy servant, was more likely to see
visions than to dream merely idle dreams in that apartment; for I have
always heard, that, next to Rosamond's Tower, in which, as I said, she
played the wanton, and was afterwards poisoned by Queen Eleanor, Victor
Lee's chamber was the place in the Lodge of Woodstock more peculiarly
the haunt of evil spirits.--I pray you, young man, tell me this dream or
vision of yours."

"With all my heart, sir," said Wildrake--then addressing his patron, who
began to interfere, he said, "Tush, sir, you have had the discourse for
an hour, and why should not I hold forth in my turn? By this darkness,
if you keep me silent any longer, I will turn Independent preacher, and
stand up in your despite for the freedom of private judgment.--And so,
reverend sir, I was dreaming of a carnal divertisement called a
bull-baiting; and methought they were venturing dogs at head, as merrily
as e'er I saw them at Tutbury bull-running; and methought I heard some
one say, there was the Devil come to have a sight of the bull-ring.
Well, I thought that, gadswoons, I would have a peep at his Infernal
Majesty. So I looked, and there was a butcher in greasy woollen, with
his steel by his side; but he was none of the Devil. And there was a
drunken cavalier, with his mouth full of oaths, and his stomach full of
emptiness, and a gold-laced waistcoat in a very dilapidated condition,
and a ragged hat,--with a piece of a feather in it; and he was none of
the Devil neither. And here was a miller, his hands dusty with meal, and
every atom of it stolen; and there was a vintner, his green apron
stained with wine, and every drop of it sophisticated; but neither was
the old gentleman I looked for to be detected among these artisans of
iniquity. At length, sir, I saw a grave person with cropped hair, a pair
of longish and projecting ears, a band as broad as a slobbering bib
under his chin, a brown coat surmounted by a Geneva cloak, and I had old
Nicholas at once in his genuine paraphernalia, by--."

"Shame, shame!" said Colonel Everard. "What! behave thus to an old
gentleman and a divine!"

"Nay, let him proceed," said the minister, with perfect equanimity: "if
thy friend, or secretary, is gibing, I must have less patience than
becomes my profession, if I could not bear an idle jest, and forgive him
who makes it. Or if, on the other hand, the Enemy has really presented
himself to the young man in such a guise as he intimates, wherefore
should we be surprised that he, who can take upon him the form of an
angel of light, should be able to assume that of a frail and peaceable
mortal, whose spiritual calling and profession ought, indeed, to induce
him to make his life an example to others; but whose conduct,
nevertheless, such is the imperfection of our unassisted nature,
sometimes rather presents us with a warning of what we should shun?"

"Now, by the mass, honest domine--I mean reverend sir--I crave you a
thousand pardons," said Wildrake, penetrated by the quietness and
patience of the presbyter's rebuke. "By St. George, if quiet patience
will do it, thou art fit to play a game at foils with the Devil himself,
and I would be contented to hold stakes."

As he concluded an apology, which was certainly not uncalled for, and
seemed to be received in perfectly good part, they approached so close
to the exterior door of the Lodge, that they were challenged with the
emphatic _Stand_, by a sentinel who mounted guard there. Colonel Everard
replied, _A friend_; and the sentinel repeating his command, "Stand,
friend," proceeded to call the corporal of the guard. The corporal came
forth, and at the same time turned out his guard. Colonel Everard gave
his name and designation, as well as those of his companions, on which
the corporal said, "he doubted not there would be orders for his instant
admission; but, in the first place, Master Tomkins must be consulted,
that he might learn their honours' mind."

"How, sir!" said the Colonel, "do you, knowing who I am, presume to keep
me on the outside of your post?"

"Not if your honour pleases to enter," said the corporal, "and
undertakes to be my warranty; but such are the orders of my post."

"Nay, then, do your duty," said the Colonel; "but are the cavaliers up,
or what is the matter, that you keep so close and strict a watch?"

The fellow gave no distinct answer, but muttered between his mustaches
something about the Enemy, and the roaring Lion who goeth about seeking
whom he may devour. Presently afterwards Tomkins appeared, followed by
two servants, bearing lights in great standing brass candlesticks. They
marched before Colonel Everard and his party, keeping as close to each
other as two cloves of the same orange, and starting from time to time;
and shuddering as they passed through sundry intricate passages, they
led up a large and ample wooden staircase, the banisters, rail, and
lining of which were executed in black oak, and finally into a long
saloon, or parlour, where there was a prodigious fire, and about twelve
candles of the largest size distributed in sconces against the wall.
There were seated the Commissioners, who now held in their power the
ancient mansion and royal domain of Woodstock.

       *       *        *       *        *

CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.


  The bloody bear, an independent beast,
  Unlick'd to forms, in groans his hate express'd--

  Next him the buffoon ape, as atheists use,
  Mimick'd all sects, and had his own to choose.
  HIND AND PANTHER.

The strong light in the parlour which we have described, served to
enable Everard easily to recognise his acquaintances, Desborough,
Harrison, and Bletson, who had assembled round an oak table of large
dimensions, placed near the blazing chimney, on which were arranged
wine, and ale, and materials for smoking, then the general indulgence of
the time. There was a species of movable cupboard set betwixt the table
and the door, calculated originally for a display of plate upon grand
occasions, but at present only used as a screen; which purpose it served
so effectually, that, ere he had coasted around it, Everard heard the
following fragment of what Desborough was saying, in his strong coarse
voice:--"Sent him to share with us, I'se warrant ye--It was always his
Excellency my brother-in-law's way--if he made a treat for five friends,
he would invite more than the table could hold--I have known him ask
three men to eat two eggs."

"Hush, hush," said Bletson; and the servants, making their appearance
from behind the tall cupboard, announced Colonel Everard. It may not be
uninteresting to the reader to have a description, of the party into
which he now entered.

Desborough was a stout, bull-necked man, of middle-size, with heavy
vulgar features, grizzled bushy eyebrows, and walleyes. The flourish of
his powerful relative's fortunes had burst forth in the finery of his
dress, which was much more ornamented than was usual among the
roundheads. There was embroidery on his cloak, and lace upon his band;
his hat displayed a feather with a golden clasp, and all his habiliments
were those of a cavalier, or follower of the court, rather than the
plain dress of a parliamentarian officer. But, Heaven knows, there was
little of courtlike grace or dignity in the person or demeanour of the
individual, who became his fine suit as the hog on the sign-post does
his gilded armour. It was not that he was positively deformed, or
misshaped, for, taken in detail, the figure was well enough. But his
limbs seemed to act upon different and contradictory principles. They
were not, as the play says, in a concatenation accordingly;--the right
hand moved as if it were upon bad terms with the left, and the legs
showed an inclination to foot it in different and opposite directions.
In short, to use an extravagant comparison, the members of Colonel
Desborough seemed rather to resemble the disputatious representatives of
a federative congress, than the well-ordered union of the orders of the
state, in a firm and well-compacted monarchy, where each holds his own
place, and all obey the dictates of a common head.

General Harrison, the second of the Commissioners, was a tall, thin,
middle-aged man, who had risen into his high situation in the army, and
his intimacy with Cromwell, by his dauntless courage in the field, and
the popularity he had acquired by his exalted enthusiasm amongst the
military saints, sectaries, and Independents, who composed the strength
of the existing army. Harrison was of mean extraction, and bred up to
his father's employment of a butcher. Nevertheless, his appearance,
though coarse, was not vulgar, like that of Desborough, who had so much
the advantage of him in birth and education. He had a masculine height
and strength of figure, was well made and in his manner announced a
rough military character, which might be feared, but could not easily
become the object of contempt or ridicule. His aquiline nose and dark
black eyes set off to some advantage a countenance otherwise irregular,
and the wild enthusiasm that sometimes sparkled in them as he dilated on
his opinions to others, and often seemed to slumber under his long dark
eyelashes as he mused upon them himself, gave something strikingly wild,
and even noble to his aspect. He was one of the chief leaders of those
who were called Fifth-Monarchy men, who, going even beyond the general
fanaticism of the age, presumptuously interpreted the Book of the
Revelations after their own fancies, considered that the second Advent
of the Messiah, and the Millenium, or reign of the Saints upon earth,
was close at hand, and that they themselves, illuminated, as they
believed, with the power of foreseeing these approaching events, were
the chosen instruments for the establishment of the New Reign, or Fifth
Monarchy, as it was called, and were fated also to win its honours,
whether celestial or terrestrial.

When this spirit of enthusiasm, which operated like a partial insanity,
was not immediately affecting Harrison's mind, he was a shrewd worldly
man, and a good soldier; one who missed no opportunity of mending his
fortune, and who, in expecting the exaltation of the Fifth Monarchy,
was, in the meanwhile, a ready instrument for the establishment of the
Lord-General's supremacy. Whether it was owing to his early occupation,
and habits of indifference to pain or bloodshed acquired in the
shambles, to natural disposition and want of feeling, or, finally, to
the awakened character of his enthusiasm, which made him look upon those
who opposed him, as opposing the Divine will, and therefore meriting no
favour or mercy, is not easy to say; but all agreed, that after a
victory, or the successful storm of a town, Harrison was one of the most
cruel and pitiless men in Cromwell's army; always urging some misapplied
text to authorize the continued execution of the fugitives, and
sometimes even putting to death those who had surrendered themselves
prisoners. It was said, that at times the recollection of some of those
cruelties troubled his conscience, and disturbed the dreams of
beatification in which his imagination indulged.

When Everard entered the apartment, this true representative of the
fanatic soldiers of the day, who filled those ranks and regiments which
Cromwell had politically kept on foot, while he procured the reduction
of those in which the Presbyterian interest predominated, was seated a
little apart from the others, his legs crossed, and stretched out at
length towards the fire, his head resting on his elbow, and turned
upwards, as if studying, with the most profound gravity, the half-seen
carving of the Gothic roof.

Bletson remains to be mentioned, who, in person and figure, was
diametrically different from the other two. There was neither foppery
nor slovenliness in his exterior, nor had he any marks of military
service or rank about his person. A small walking rapier seemed merely
worn as a badge of his rank as a gentleman, without his hand having the
least purpose of becoming acquainted with the hilt, or his eye with the
blade. His countenance was thin and acute, marked with lines which
thought rather than age had traced upon it; and a habitual sneer on his
countenance, even, when he least wished to express contempt on his
features, seemed to assure the individual addressed, that in Bletson he
conversed with a person of intellect far superior to his own. This was a
triumph of intellect only, however; for on all occasions of difference
respecting speculative opinions, and indeed on all controversies
whatsoever, Bletson avoided the ultimate _ratio_ of blows and knocks.

Yet this peaceful gentleman had found himself obliged to serve
personally in the Parliamentary army at the commencement of the Civil
War, till happening unluckily to come in contact with the fiery Prince
Rupert, his retreat was judged so precipitate, that it required all the
shelter that his friends could afford, to keep him free of an
impeachment or a court-martial. But as Bletson spoke well, and with
great effect in the House of Commons, which was his natural sphere, and
was on that account high in the estimation of his party, his behaviour
at Edgehill was passed over, and he continued to take an active share in
all the political events of that bustling period, though he faced not
again the actual front of war.

Bletson's theoretical politics had long inclined him to espouse the
opinions of Harrington and others, who adopted the visionary idea of
establishing a pure democratical republic in so extensive a country as
Britain. This was a rash theory, where there is such an infinite
difference betwixt ranks, habits, education, and morals--where there is
such an immense disproportion betwixt the wealth of individuals--and
where a large portion of the inhabitants consist of the inferior classes
of the large towns and manufacturing districts--men unfitted to bear
that share in the direction of a state, which must be exercised by the
members of a republic in the proper sense of the word. Accordingly, as
soon as the experiment was made, it became obvious that no such form of
government could be adopted with the smallest chance of stability; and
the question came only to be, whether the remnant, or, as it was
vulgarly called, the Rump of the Long Parliament, now reduced by the
seclusion of so many of the members to a few scores of persons, should
continue, in spite of their unpopularity, to rule the affairs of
Britain? Whether they should cast all loose by dissolving themselves,
and issuing writs to convoke a new Parliament, the composition of which
no one could answer for, any more than for the measures they might take
when assembled? Or lastly, whether Cromwell, as actually happened, was
not to throw the sword into the balance, and boldly possess himself of
that power which the remnant of the Parliament were unable to hold, and
yet afraid to resign?

Such being the state of parties, the Council of State, in distributing
the good things in their gift, endeavoured to soothe and gratify the
army, as a beggar flings crusts to a growling mastiff. In this view
Desborough had been created a Commissioner in the Woodstock matter to
gratify Cromwell, Harrison to soothe the fierce Fifth-Monarchy men, and
Bletson as a sincere republican, and one of their own leaven.

But if they supposed Bletson had the least intention of becoming a
martyr to his republicanism, or submitting to any serious loss on
account of it, they much mistook the man. He entertained their
principles sincerely and not the less that they were found
impracticable; for the miscarriage of his experiment no more converts
the political speculator, than the explosion of a retort undeceives an
alchymist. But Bletson was quite prepared to submit to Cromwell, or any
one else who might be possessed of the actual authority. He was a ready
subject in practice to the powers existing, and made little difference
betwixt various kinds of government, holding in theory all to be nearly
equal in imperfection, so soon as they diverged from the model of
Harrington's Oceana. Cromwell had already been tampering with him, like
wax between his finger and thumb, and which he was ready shortly to seal
with, smiling at the same time to himself when he beheld the Council of
State giving rewards to Bletson, as their faithful adherent, while he
himself was secure of his allegiance, how soon soever the expected
change of government should take place.

But Bletson was still more attached to his metaphysical than his
political creed, and carried his doctrines of the perfectibility of
mankind as far as he did those respecting the conceivable perfection of
a model of government; and as in the one case he declared against all
power which did not emanate from the people themselves, so, in his moral
speculations, he was unwilling to refer any of the phenomena of nature
to a final cause. When pushed, indeed, very hard, Bletson was compelled
to mutter some inarticulate and unintelligible doctrines concerning an
_Animus Mundi_, or Creative Power in the works of Nature, by which she
originally called into existence, and still continues to preserve, her
works. To this power, he said, some of the purest metaphysicians
rendered a certain degree of homage; nor was he himself inclined
absolutely to censure those, who, by the institution of holydays, choral
dances, songs, and harmless feasts and libations, might be disposed to
celebrate the great goddess Nature; at least dancing, singing, feasting,
and sporting, being conformable things to both young and old, they might
as well sport, dance, and feast, in honour of such appointed holydays,
as under any other pretext. But then this moderate show of religion was
to be practised under such exceptions as are admitted by the Highgate
oath; and no one was to be compelled to dance, drink, sing, or feast,
whose taste did not happen to incline them to such divertisements; nor
was any one to be obliged to worship the creative power, whether under
the name of the _Animus Mundi_, or any other whatsoever. The
interference of the Deity in the affairs of mankind he entirely
disowned, having proved to his own satisfaction that the idea originated
entirely in priestcraft. In short, with the shadowy metaphysical
exception aforesaid, Mr. Joshua Bletson of Darlington, member for
Littlefaith, came as near the predicament of an atheist, as it is
perhaps possible for a man to do. But we say this with the necessary
salvo; for we have known many like Bletson, whose curtains have been
shrewdly shaken by superstition, though their fears were unsanctioned by
any religious faith. The devils, we are assured, believe and tremble;
but on earth there are many, who, in worse plight than even the natural
children of perdition, tremble without believing, and fear even while
they blaspheme.

It follows, of course, that nothing could be treated with more scorn by
Mr. Bletson, than the debates about Prelacy and Presbytery, about
Presbytery and Independency, about Quakers and Anabaptists,
Muggletonians and Brownists, and all the various sects with which the
Civil War had commenced, and by which its dissensions were still
continued. "It was," he said, "as if beasts of burden should quarrel
amongst themselves about the fashion of their halters and pack-saddles,
instead of embracing a favourable opportunity of throwing them aside."
Other witty and pithy remarks he used to make when time and place
suited; for instance, at the club called the Rota, frequented by St.
John, and established by Harrington, for the free discussion of
political and religious subjects.

But when Bletson was out of this academy, or stronghold of philosophy,
he was very cautious how he carried his contempt of the general
prejudice in favour of religion and Christianity further than an implied
objection or a sneer. If he had an opportunity of talking in private
with an ingenuous and intelligent youth, he sometimes attempted to make
a proselyte, and showed much address in bribing the vanity of
inexperience, by suggesting that a mind like his ought to spurn the
prejudices impressed upon it in childhood; and when assuming the _latus
clavus_ of reason, assuring him that such as he, laying aside the
_bulla_ of juvenile incapacity, as Bletson called it, should proceed to
examine and decide for himself. It frequently happened, that the youth
was induced to adopt the doctrines in whole, or in part, of the sage who
had seen his natural genius, and who had urged him to exert it in
examining, detecting, and declaring for himself, and thus flattery gave
proselytes to infidelity, which could not have been gained by all the
powerful eloquence or artful sophistry of the infidel.

These attempts to extend the influence of what was called freethinking
and philosophy, were carried on, as we have hinted, with a caution
dictated by the timidity of the philosopher's disposition. He was
conscious his doctrines were suspected, and his proceedings watched, by
the two principal sects of Prelatists and Presbyterians, who, however
inimical to each other, were still more hostile to one who was an
opponent, not only to a church establishment of any kind, but to every
denomination of Christianity. He found it more easy to shroud himself
among the Independents, whose demands were for a general liberty of
conscience, or an unlimited toleration, and whose faith, differing in
all respects and particulars, was by some pushed into such wild errors,
as to get totally beyond the bounds of every species of Christianity,
and approach very near to infidelity itself, as extremes of each kind
are said to approach each other. Bletson mixed a good deal among those
sectaries; and such was his confidence in his own logic and address,
that he is supposed to have entertained hopes of bringing to his
opinions in time the enthusiastic Vane, as well as the no less
enthusiastic Harrison, provided he could but get them to resign their
visions of a Fifth Monarchy, and induce them to be contented with a
reign of Philosophers in England for the natural period of their lives,
instead of the reign of the Saints during the Millenium.

Such was the singular group into which Everard was now introduced;
showing, in their various opinions, upon how many devious coasts human
nature may make shipwreck, when she has once let go her hold on the
anchor which religion has given her to lean upon; the acute self-conceit
and worldly learning of Bletson--the rash and ignorant conclusions of
the fierce and under-bred Harrison, leading them into the opposite
extremes of enthusiasm and infidelity, while Desborough,
constitutionally stupid, thought nothing about religion at all; and
while the others were active in making sail on different but equally
erroneous courses, he might be said to perish like a vessel, which
springs a leak and founders in the roadstead. It was wonderful to behold
what a strange variety of mistakes and errors, on the part of the King
and his Ministers, on the part of the Parliament and their leaders, on
the part of the allied kingdoms of Scotland and England towards each
other, had combined to rear up men of such dangerous opinions and
interested characters among the arbiters of the destiny of Britain.

Those who argue for party's sake, will see all the faults on the one
side, without deigning to look at those on the other; those who study
history for instruction, will perceive that nothing but the want of
concession on either side, and the deadly height to which the animosity
of the King's and Parliament's parties had arisen, could have so totally
overthrown the well-poised balance of the English constitution. But we
hasten to quit political reflections, the rather that ours, we believe,
will please neither Whig nor Tory.

       *       *        *       *        *

CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.


  Three form a College--an you give us four,
  Let him bring his share with him.
  BRAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

Mr. Bletson arose and paid his respects to Colonel Everard, with the
ease and courtesy of a gentleman of the time; though on every account
grieved at his intrusion, as a religious man who held his free-thinking
principles in detestation, and would effectually prevent his conversion
of Harrison, and even of Desborough, if any thing could be moulded out
of such a clod, to the worship of the _Animus Mundi_. Moreover, Bletson
knew Everard to be a man of steady probity, and by no means disposed to
close with a scheme on which he had successfully sounded the other two,
and which was calculated to assure the Commissioners of some little
private indemnification for the trouble they were to give themselves in
the public business. The philosopher was yet less pleased, when he saw
the magistrate the pastor who had met him in his flight of the preceding
evening, when he had been seen, _parma non bene relicta_, with cloak and
doublet left behind him.

The presence of Colonel Everard was as unpleasing to Desborough as to
Bletson: but the former having no philosophy in him, nor an idea that it
was possible for any man to resist helping himself out of untold money,
was chiefly embarrassed by the thought, that the plunder which they
might be able to achieve out of their trust, might, by this unwelcome
addition to their number, be divided into four parts instead of three;
and this reflection added to the natural awkwardness with which he
grumbled forth a sort of welcome, addressed to Everard.

As for Harrison, he remained like one on higher thoughts intent; his
posture unmoved, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as before, and in no way
indicating the least consciousness that the company had been more than
doubled around him.

Meantime, Everard took his place at the table, as a man who assumed his
own right, and pointed to his companions to sit down nearer the foot of
the board. Wildrake so far misunderstood his signals, as to sit down
above the Mayor; but rallying his recollection at a look from his
patron, he rose and took his place lower, whistling, however, as he
went, a sound at which the company stared, as at a freedom highly
unbecoming. To complete his indecorum, he seized upon a pipe, and
filling it from a large tobacco-box, was soon immersed in a cloud of his
own raising; from which a hand shortly after emerged, seized on the
black-jack of ale, withdrew it within the vapoury sanctuary, and, after
a potential draught, replaced it upon the table, its owner beginning to
renew the cloud which his intermitted exercise of the tube had almost
allowed to subside.

Nobody made any observation on his conduct, out of respect, probably, to
Colonel Everard, who bit his lip, but continued silent; aware that
censure might extract some escapade more unequivocally characteristic of
a cavalier, from his refractory companion. As silence seemed awkward,
and the others made no advances to break it, beyond the ordinary
salutation, Colonel Everard at length said, "I presume, gentlemen, that
you are somewhat surprised at my arrival here, and thus intruding myself
into your meeting?"

"Why the dickens should we be surprised, Colonel?" said Desborough; "we
know his Excellency, my brother-in-law Noll's--I mean my Lord Cromwell's
way, of overquartering his men in the towns he marches through. Thou
hast obtained a share in our commission?"

"And in that," said Bletson, smiling and bowing, "the Lord-General has
given us the most acceptable colleague that could have been added to our
number. No doubt your authority for joining with us must be under
warrant of the Council of State?"

"Of that, gentlemen," said the Colonel, "I will presently advise
you."--He took out his warrant accordingly, and was about to communicate
the contents; but observing that there were three or four half-empty
flasks upon the table, that Desborough looked more stupid than usual,
and that the philosopher's eyes were reeling in his head,
notwithstanding the temperance of Bletson's usual habits, he concluded
that they had been fortifying themselves against the horrors of the
haunted mansion, by laying in a store of what is called Dutch courage,
and therefore prudently resolved to postpone his more important business
with them till the cooler hour of morning. He, therefore, instead of
presenting the General's warrant superseding their commission, contented
himself with replying,--"My business has, of course, some reference to
your proceedings here. But here is--excuse my curiosity--a reverend
gentleman," pointing to Holdenough, "who has told me that you are so
strangely embarrassed here, as to require both the civil and spiritual
authority to enable you to keep possession of Woodstock."

"Before we go into that matter," said Bletson, blushing up to the eyes
at the recollection of his own fears, so manifestly displayed, yet so
inconsistent with his principles, "I should like to know who this other
stranger is, who has come with the worthy magistrate, and the no less
worthy Presbyterian?"

"Meaning me?" said Wildrake, laying his pipe aside; "Gadzooks, the time
hath been that I could have answered the question with a better title;
but at present I am only his honour's poor clerk, or secretary,
whichever is the current phrase."

"'Fore George, my lively blade, thou art a frank fellow of thy tattle,"
said Desborough. "There is my secretary Tomkins, whom men sillily enough
call Fibbet, and the honourable Lieutenant-General Harrison's secretary
Bibbet, who are now at supper below stairs, that durst not for their
ears speak a phrase above their breath in the presence of their betters,
unless to answer a question."

"Yes, Colonel Everard," said the philosopher, with his quiet smile,
glad, apparently, to divert the conversation from the topic of last
night's alarm, and recollections which humbled his self-love and
self-satisfaction,--"yes; and when Master Fibbet and Master Bibbet _do_
speak, their affirmations are as much in a common mould of mutual
attestation, as their names would accord in the verses of a poet. If
Master Fibbet happens to tell a fiction, Master Bibbet swears it as
truth. If Master Bibbet chances to have gotten drunk in the fear of the
Lord, Master Fibbet swears he is sober. I have called my own secretary
Gibbet, though his name chances to be only Gibeon, a worthy Israelite at
your service, but as pure a youth as ever picked a lamb-bone at Paschal.
But I call him Gibbet, merely to make up the holy trefoil with another
rhyme. This squire of thine, Colonel Everard, looks as if he might be
worthy to be coupled with the rest of the fraternity."

"Not I, truly," said the cavalier; "I'll be coupled with no Jew that was
ever whelped, and no Jewess neither."

"Scorn not for that, young man," said the philosopher; "the Jews are, in
point of religion, the elder brethren, you know."

"The Jews older than the Christians?" said Desborough, "'fore George,
they will have thee before the General Assembly, Bletson, if thou
venturest to say so."

Wildrake laughed without ceremony at the gross ignorance of Desborough,
and was joined by a sniggling response from behind the cupboard, which,
when inquired into, proved to be produced by the serving-men. These
worthies, timorous as their betters, when they were supposed to have
left the room, had only withdrawn to their present place of concealment.

"How now, ye rogues," said Bletson, angrily; "do you not know your duty
better?"

"We beg your worthy honour's pardon," said one of the men, "but we dared
not go down stairs without a light."

"A light, ye cowardly poltroons?" said the philosopher; "what--to show
which of you looks palest when a rat squeaks?--but take a candlestick
and begone, you cowardly villains! the devils you are so much afraid of
must be but paltry kites, if they hawk at such bats as you are."

The servants, without replying, took up one of the candlesticks, and
prepared to retreat, Trusty Tomkins at the head of the troop, when
suddenly, as they arrived at the door of the parlour, which had been
left half open, it was shut violently. The three terrified domestics
tumbled back into the middle of the room, as if a shot had been
discharged in their face, and all who were at the table started to their
feet.

Colonel Everard was incapable of a moment's fear, even if any thing
frightful had been seen; but he remained stationary, to see what his
companions would do, and to get at the bottom, if possible, of the cause
of their alarm upon an occasion so trifling. The philosopher seemed to
think that _he_ was the person chiefly concerned to show manhood on the
occasion.

He walked to the door accordingly, murmuring at the cowardice of the
servants; but at such a snail's pace, that it seemed he would most
willingly have been anticipated by any one whom his reproaches had
roused to exertion. "Cowardly blockheads!" he said at last, seizing hold
of the handle of the door, but without turning it effectually round--
"dare you not open a door?"--(still fumbling with the lock)--"dare you
not go down a stair-case without a light? Here, bring me the candle, you
cowardly villains!--By Heaven, something sighs on the outside!"

As he spoke, he let go the handle of the parlour door, and stepped back
a pace or two into the apartment, with cheeks as pale as the band he
wore.

"_Deus adjutor meus_!" said the Presbyterian clergyman, rising from his
seat. "Give place, sir," addressing Bletson; "it would seem I know more
of this matter than thou, and I bless Heaven I am armed for the
conflict."

Bold as a grenadier about to mount a breach, yet with the same belief in
the existence of a great danger to be encountered, as well as the same
reliance in the goodness of his cause, the worthy man stepped before the
philosophical Bletson, and taking a light from a sconce in one hand,
quietly opened the door with the other, and standing in the threshold,
said, "Here is nothing!"

"And who expected to see any thing," said Bletson, "excepting those
terrified oafs, who take fright at every puff of wind that whistles
through the passages of this old dungeon?"

"Mark you, Master Tomkins," said one of the waiting-men in a whisper to
the steward,--"See how boldly the minister pressed forward before all of
them. Ah! Master Tomkins, our parson is the real commissioned officer of
the church--your lay-preachers are no better than a parcel of club-men
and volunteers."

"Follow me those who list," said Master Holdenough, "or go before me
those who choose, I will walk through the habitable places of this house
before I leave it, and satisfy myself whether Satan hath really mingled
himself among these dreary dens of ancient wickedness, or whether, like
the wicked of whom holy David speaketh, we are afraid, and flee when no
one pursueth."

Harrison, who had heard these words, sprung from his seat, and drawing
his sword, exclaimed, "Were there as many fiends in the house as there
are hairs on my head, upon this cause I will charge them up to their
very trenches!"

So saying, he brandished his weapon, and pressed to the head of the
column, where he moved side by side with the minister. The Mayor of
Woodstock next joined the body, thinking himself safer perhaps in the
company of his pastor; and the whole train moved forward in close order,
accompanied by the servants bearing lights, to search the Lodge for some
cause of that panic with which they seemed to be suddenly seized.

"Nay, take me with you, my friends," said Colonel Everard, who had
looked on in surprise, and was now about to follow the party, when
Bletson laid hold on his cloak, and begged him to remain.

"You see, my good Colonel," he said, affecting a courage which his
shaking voice belied, "here are only you and I and honest Desborough
left behind in garrison, while all the others are absent on a sally. We
must not hazard the whole troops in one sortie--that were
unmilitary--Ha, ha, ha!"

"In the name of Heaven, what means all this?" said Everard. "I heard a
foolish tale about apparitions as I came this way, and now I find you
all half mad with fear, and cannot get a word of sense among so many of
you. Fie, Colonel Desborough--fie, Master Bletson--try to compose
yourselves, and let me know, in Heaven's name, the cause of all this
disturbance. One would be apt to think your brains were turned."

"And so mine well may," said Desborough, "ay, and overturned too, since
my bed last night was turned upside down, and I was placed for ten
minutes heels uppermost, and head downmost, like a bullock going to be
shod."

"What means this nonsense, Master Bletson?--Desborough must have had the
nightmare."

"No, faith, Colonel; the goblins, or whatever else they were, had been
favourable to honest Desborough, for they reposed the whole of his
person on that part of his body which--Hark, did you not hear
something?--is the central point of gravity, namely, his head."

"Did you see any thing to alarm you?" said the Colonel.

"Nothing," said Bletson; "but we heard hellish noises, as all our people
did; and I, believing little of ghosts and apparitions, concluded the
cavaliers were taking us at advantage; so, remembering Rainsborough's
fate, I e'en jumped the window, and ran to Woodstock, to call the
soldiers to the rescue of Harrison and Desborough."

"And did you not first go to see what the danger was?"

"Ah, my good friend, you forget that I laid down my commission at the
time of the self-denying ordinance. It would have been quite
inconsistent with my duty as a Parliament-man to be brawling amidst a
set of ruffians, without any military authority. No--when the Parliament
commanded me to sheath my sword, Colonel, I have too much veneration for
their authority to be found again with it drawn in my hand."

"But the Parliament," said Desborough, hastily, "did not command you to
use your heels when your hands could have saved a man from choking. Odds
dickens! you might have stopped when you saw my bed canted heels
uppermost, and me half stifled in the bed-clothes--you might, I say,
have stopped and lent a hand to put it to rights, instead of jumping out
of the window, like a new-shorn sheep, so soon as you had run across my
room."

"Nay, worshipful Master Desborough," said Bletson, winking at Everard,
to show that he was playing on his thick-sculled colleague, "how could I
tell your particular mode of reposing?--there are many tastes--I have
known men who slept by choice on a slope or angle of forty-five."

"Yes, but did ever a man sleep standing on his head, except by miracle?"
said Desborough.

"Now, as to miracles"--said the philosopher, confident in the presence
of Everard, besides that an opportunity of scoffing at religion really
in some degree diverted his fear--"I leave these out of the question,
seeing that the evidence on such subjects seems as little qualified to
carry conviction as a horse-hair to land a leviathan."

A loud clap of thunder, or a noise as formidable, rang through the Lodge
as the scoffer had ended, which struck him pale and motionless, and made
Desborough throw himself on his knees, and repeat exclamations and
prayers in much admired confusion.

"There must be contrivance here," exclaimed Everard; and snatching one
of the candles from a sconce, he rushed out of the apartment, little
heeding the entreaties of the philosopher, who, in the extremity of his
distress, conjured him by the _Animus Mundi_ to remain to the assistance
of a distressed philosopher endangered by witches, and a Parliament-man
assaulted by ruffians. As for Desborough, he only gaped like a clown in
a pantomime; and, doubtful whether to follow or stop, his natural
indolence prevailed, and he sat still.

When on the landing-place of the stairs, Everard paused a moment to
consider which was the best course to take. He heard the voices of men
talking fast and loud, like people who wish to drown their fears, in the
lower story; and aware that nothing could be discovered by those whose
inquiries were conducted in a manner so noisy, he resolved to proceed in
a different direction, and examine the second floor, which he had now
gained.

He had known every corner, both of the inhabited and uninhabited part of
the mansion, and availed himself of the candle to traverse two or three
intricate passages, which he was afraid he might not remember with
sufficient accuracy. This movement conveyed him to a sort of
_oeil-de-boeuf_, an octagon vestibule, or small hall, from which various
rooms opened. Amongst these doors, Everard selected that which led to a
very long, narrow, and dilapidated gallery, built in the time of Henry
VIII., and which, running along the whole south-west side of the
building, communicated at different points with the rest of the mansion.
This he thought was likely to be the post occupied by those who proposed
to act the sprites upon the occasion; especially as its length and shape
gave him some idea that it was a spot where the bold thunder might in
many ways be imitated.

Determined to ascertain the truth if possible, he placed his light on a
table in the vestibule, and applied himself to open the door into the
gallery. At this point he found himself strongly opposed either by a
bolt drawn, or, as he rather conceived, by somebody from within
resisting his attempt. He was induced to believe the latter, because the
resistance slackened and was renewed, like that of human strength,
instead of presenting the permanent opposition of an inanimate obstacle.
Though Everard was a strong and active young man, he exhausted his
strength in the vain attempt to open the door; and having paused to take
breath, was about to renew his efforts with foot and shoulder, and to
call at the same time for assistance, when to his surprise, on again
attempting the door more gently, in order to ascertain if possible where
the strength of the opposing obstacle was situated, he found it gave way
to a very slight impulse, some impediment fell broken to the ground, and
the door flew wide open. The gust of wind, occasioned by the sudden
opening of the door, blew out the candle, and Everard was left in
darkness, save where the moonshine, which the long side-row of latticed
windows dimmed, could imperfectly force its way into the gallery, which
lay in ghostly length before him.

The melancholy and doubtful twilight was increased by a quantity of
creeping plants on the outside, which, since all had been neglected in
these ancient halls, now completely overgrown, had in some instances
greatly diminished, and in others almost quite choked up, the space of
the lattices, extending between the heavy stone shaftwork which divided
the windows, both lengthways and across. On the other side there were no
windows at all, and the gallery had been once hung round with paintings,
chiefly portraits, by which that side of the apartment had been adorned.
Most of the pictures had been removed, yet the empty frames of some, and
the tattered remnants of others, were still visible along the extent of
the waste gallery; the look of which was so desolate, and it appeared so
well adapted for mischief, supposing there were enemies near him, that
Everard could not help pausing at the entrance, and recommending himself
to God, ere, drawing his sword, he advanced into the apartment, treading
as lightly as possible, and keeping in the shadow as much as he could.

Markham Everard was by no means superstitious, but he had the usual
credulity of the times; and though he did not yield easily to tales of
supernatural visitations, yet he could not help thinking he was in the
very situation, where, if such things were ever permitted, they might be
expected to take place, while his own stealthy and ill-assured pace, his
drawn weapon, and extended arms, being the very attitude and action of
doubt and suspicion, tended to increase in his mind the gloomy feelings
of which they are the usual indications, and with which they are
constantly associated. Under such unpleasant impressions, and conscious
of the neighbourhood of something unfriendly, Colonel Everard had
already advanced about half along the gallery, when he heard some one
sigh very near him, and a low soft voice pronounce his name.

"Here I am," he replied, while his heart beat thick and short. "Who
calls on Markham Everard?"

Another sigh was the only answer.

"Speak," said the Colonel, "whoever or whatsoever you are, and tell with
what intent and purpose you are lurking in these apartments?"

"With a better intent than yours," returned the soft voice.

"Than mine!" answered Everard in great surprise. "Who are you that dare
judge of my intents?"

"What, or who are you, Markham Everard, who wander by moonlight through
these deserted halls of royalty, where none should be but those who
mourn their downfall, or are sworn to avenge it?"

"It is--and yet it cannot be," said Everard; "yet it is, and must be.
Alice Lee, the devil or you speaks. Answer me, I conjure you!--speak
openly--on what dangerous scheme are you engaged? where is your father?
why are you here?--wherefore do you run so deadly a venture?--Speak, I
conjure you, Alice Lee!"

"She whom you call on is at the distance of miles from this spot. What
if her Genius speaks when she is absent?--what if the soul of an
ancestress of hers and yours were now addressing you?--what if"--

"Nay," answered Everard, "but what if the dearest of human beings has
caught a touch of her father's enthusiasm?--what if she is exposing her
person to danger, her reputation to scandal, by traversing in disguise
and darkness a house filled with armed men? Speak to me, my fair cousin,
in your own person. I am furnished with powers to protect my uncle, Sir
Henry--to protect you too, dearest Alice, even against the consequences
of this visionary and wild attempt. Speak--I see where you are, and,
with all my respect, I cannot submit to be thus practised upon. Trust
me--trust your cousin Markham with your hand, and believe that he will
die or place you in honourable safety."

As he spoke, he exercised his eyes as keenly as possible to detect where
the speaker stood; and it seemed to him, that about three yards from him
there was a shadowy form, of which he could not discern even the
outline, placed as it was within the deep and prolonged shadow thrown by
a space of wall intervening betwixt two windows, upon that side of the
room from which the light was admitted. He endeavoured to calculate, as
well as he could, the distance betwixt himself and the object which he
watched, under the impression, that if, by even using a slight degree of
compulsion, he could detach his beloved Alice from the confederacy into
which he supposed her father's zeal for the cause of royalty had engaged
her, he would be rendering them both the most essential favour. He could
not indeed but conclude, that however successfully the plot which he
conceived to be in agitation had proceeded against the timid Bletson,
the stupid Desborough, and the crazy Harrison, there was little doubt
that at length their artifices must necessarily bring shame and danger
on those engaged in it.

It must also be remembered, that Everard's affection to his cousin,
although of the most respectful and devoted character, partook less of
the distant veneration which a lover of those days entertained for the
lady whom he worshipped with humble diffidence, than of the fond and
familiar feelings which a brother entertains towards a younger sister,
whom he thinks himself entitled to guide, advise, and even in some
degree to control. So kindly and intimate had been their intercourse,
that he had little more hesitation in endeavouring to arrest her
progress in the dangerous course in which she seemed to be engaged, even
at the risk of giving her momentary offence, than he would have had in
snatching her from a torrent or conflagration, at the chance of hurting
her by the violence of his grasp. All this passed through his mind in
the course of a single minute; and he resolved at all events to detain
her on the spot, and compel, if possible, an explanation from her.

With this purpose, Everard again conjured his cousin, in the name of
Heaven, to give up this idle and dangerous mummery; and lending an
accurate ear to her answer, endeavoured from the sound to calculate as
nearly as possible the distance between them.

"I am not she for whom you take me," said the voice; "and dearer regards
than aught connected with her life or death, bid me warn you to keep
aloof, and leave this place."

"Not till I have convinced you of your childish folly," said the
Colonel, springing forward, and endeavouring to catch hold of her who
spoke to him. But no female form was within his grasp. On the contrary,
he was met by a shock which could come from no woman's arm, and which
was rude enough to stretch him on his back on the floor. At the same
time he felt the point of a sword at his throat, and his hands so
completely mastered, that not the slightest defence remained to him.

"A cry for assistance," said a voice near him, but not that which he had
hitherto heard, "will be stifled in your blood!--No harm is meant
you--be wise and be silent."

The fear of death, which Everard had often braved in the field of
battle, became more intense as he felt himself in the hands of unknown
assassins, and totally devoid of all means of defence. The sharp point
of the sword pricked his bare throat, and the foot of him who held it
was upon his breast. He felt as if a single thrust would put an end to
life, and all the feverish joys and sorrows which agitate us so
strangely, and from which we are yet so reluctant to part. Large drops
of perspiration stood upon his forehead--his heart throbbed, as if it
would burst from its confinement in the bosom--he experienced the agony
which fear imposes on the brave man, acute in proportion to that which
pain inflicts when it subdues the robust and healthy.

"Cousin Alice,"--he attempted to speak, and the sword's point pressed
his throat yet more closely,--"Cousin, let me not be murdered in a
manner so fearful!"

"I tell you," replied the voice, "that you speak to one who is not here;
but your life is not aimed at, provided you swear on your faith as a
Christian, and your honour as a gentleman, that you will conceal what
has happened, whether from the people below, or from any other person.
On this condition you may rise; and if you seek her, you will find Alice
Lee at Joceline's cottage, in the forest."

"Since I may not help myself otherwise," said Everard, "I swear, as I
have a sense of religion and honour, I will say nothing of this
violence, nor make any search after those who are concerned in it."

"For that we care nothing," said the voice. "Thou hast an example how
well thou mayst catch mischief on thy own part; but we are in case to
defy thee. Rise, and begone!"

The foot, the sword's-point, were withdrawn, and Everard was about to
start up hastily, when the voice, in the same softness of tone which
distinguished it at first, said, "No haste--cold and bare steel is yet
around thee. Now--now--now--(the words dying away as at a distance)--
thou art free. Be secret and be safe."

Markham Everard arose, and, in rising, embarrassed his feet with his own
sword, which he had dropped when springing forward, as he supposed, to
lay hold of his fair cousin. He snatched it up in haste, and as his hand
clasped the hilt, his courage, which had given way under the
apprehension of instant death, began to return; he considered, with
almost his usual composure, what was to be done next. Deeply affronted
at the disgrace which he had sustained, he questioned for an instant
whether he ought to keep his extorted promise, or should not rather
summon assistance, and make haste to discover and seize those who had
been recently engaged in such violence on his person. But these persons,
be they who they would, had had his life in their power--he had pledged
his word in ransom of it--and what was more, he could not divest himself
of the idea that his beloved Alice was a confidant, at least, if not an
actor, in the confederacy which had thus baffled him. This prepossession
determined his conduct; for, though angry at supposing she must have
been accessory to his personal ill-treatment, he could not in any event
think of an instant search through the mansion, which might have
compromised her safety, or that of his uncle. "But I will to the hut,"
he said--"I will instantly to the hut, ascertain her share in this wild
and dangerous confederacy, and snatch her from ruin, if it be possible."

As, under the influence of the resolution which he had formed, Everard
groped his way through the gallery and regained the vestibule, he heard
his name called by the well-known voice of Wildrake. "What--ho!--
holloa!--Colonel Everard--Mark Everard--it is dark as the devil's
mouth--speak--where are you?--The witches are keeping their hellish
sabbath here, as I think.--Where are you?"

"Here, here!" answered Everard. "Cease your bawling. Turn to the left,
and you will meet me."

Guided by his voice, Wildrake soon appeared, with a light in one hand,
and his drawn sword in the other. "Where have you been?" he said--"What
has detained you?--Here are Bletson and the brute Desborough terrified
out of their lives, and Harrison raving mad, because the devil will not
be civil enough to rise to fight him in single _duello_."

"Saw or heard you nothing as you came along?" said Everard.

"Nothing," said his friend, "excepting that when I first entered this
cursed ruinous labyrinth, the light was struck out of my hand, as if by
a switch, which obliged me to return for another."

"I must come by a horse instantly, Wildrake, and another for thyself, if
it be possible."

"We can take two of those belonging to the troopers," answered Wildrake.
"But for what purpose should we run away, like rats, at this time in the
evening?--Is the house falling?"

"I cannot answer you," said the Colonel, pushing forward into a room
where there were some remains of furniture.

Here the cavalier took a more strict view of his person, and exclaimed
in wonder, "What the devil have you been fighting with, Markham, that
has bedizened you after this sorry fashion?"

"Fighting!" exclaimed Everard.

"Yes," replied his trusty attendant. "I say fighting. Look at yourself
in the mirror."

He did, and saw he was covered with dust and blood. The latter proceeded
from a scratch which he had received in the throat, as he struggled to
extricate himself. With unaffected alarm, Wildrake undid his friend's
collar, and with eager haste proceeded to examine the wound, his hands
trembling, and his eyes glistening with apprehension for his
benefactor's life. When, in spite of Everard's opposition, he had
examined the hurt, and found it trifling, he resumed the natural
wildness of his character, perhaps the more readily that he had felt
shame in departing from it, into one which expressed more of feeling
than he would be thought to possess.

"If that be the devil's work, Mark," said he, "the foul fiend's claws
are not nigh so formidable as they are represented; but no one shall say
that your blood has been shed unrevenged, while Roger Wildrake was by
your side. Where left you this same imp? I will back to the field of
fight, confront him with my rapier, and were his nails tenpenny nails,
and his teeth as long as those of a harrow, he shall render me reason
for the injury he has done you."

"Madness--madness!" exclaimed Everard; "I had this trifling hurt by a
fall--a basin and towel will wipe it away. Meanwhile, if you will ever
do me kindness, get the troop-horses--command them for the service of
the public, in the name of his Excellency the General. I will but wash,
and join you in an instant before the gate."

"Well, I will serve you, Everard, as a mute serves the Grand Signior,
without knowing why or wherefore. But will you go without seeing these
people below?"

"Without seeing any one," said Everard; "lose no time, for God's sake."

He found out the non-commissioned officer, and demanded the horses in a
tone of authority, to which the corporal yielded undisputed obedience,
as one well aware of Colonel Everard's military rank and consequence. So
all was in a minute or two ready for the expedition.

       *       *        *       *        *

CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.


              She kneeled, and saintlike
  Cast her eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly.
                               KING HENRY VIII.

Colonel Everard's departure at the late hour, for, so it was then
thought, of seven in the evening, excited much speculation. There was a
gathering of menials and dependents in the outer chamber or hall, for no
one doubted that his sudden departure was owing to his having, as they
expressed it, "seen something," and all desired to know how a man of
such acknowledged courage as Everard, looked under the awe of a recent
apparition. But he gave them no time to make comments; for, striding
through the hall wrapt in his riding suit, he threw himself on
horseback, and rode furiously through the Chase, towards the hut of the
keeper Joliffe.

It was the disposition of Markham Everard to be hot, keen, earnest,
impatient, and decisive to a degree of precipitation. The acquired
habits which education had taught, and which the strong moral and
religious discipline of his sect had greatly strengthened, were such as
to enable him to conceal, as well as to check, this constitutional
violence, and to place him upon his guard against indulging it. But when
in the high tide of violent excitation, the natural impetuosity of the
young soldier's temper was sometimes apt to overcome these artificial
obstacles, and then, like a torrent foaming over a wear, it became more
furious, as if in revenge for the constrained calm which it had been for
some time obliged to assume. In these instances he was accustomed to see
only that point to which his thoughts were bent, and to move straight
towards it, whether a moral object, or the storming of a breach, without
either calculating, or even appearing to see, the difficulties which
were before him.

At present, his ruling and impelling motive was to detach his beloved
cousin, if possible, from the dangerous and discreditable machinations
in which he suspected her to have engaged, or, on the other hand, to
discover that she really had no concern with these stratagems. He should
know how to judge of that in some measure, he thought, by finding her
present or absent at the hut, towards which he was now galloping. He had
read, indeed, in some ballad or minstrel's tale, of a singular deception
practised on a jealous old man, by means of a subterranean communication
between his house and that of a neighbour, which the lady in question
made use of to present herself in the two places alternately, with such
speed, and so much address, that, after repeated experiments, the dotard
was deceived into the opinion, that his wife, and the lady who was so
very like her, and to whom his neighbour paid so much attention, were
two different persons. But in the present case there was no room for
such a deception; the distance was too great, and as he took by much the
nearest way from the castle, and rode full speed, it would be
impossible, he knew, for his cousin, who was a timorous horsewoman even
by daylight, to have got home before him.

Her father might indeed be displeased at his interference; but what
title had he to be so?--Was not Alice Lee the near relation of his
blood, the dearest object of his heart, and would he now abstain from an
effort to save her from the consequences of a silly and wild conspiracy,
because the old knight's spleen might be awakened by Everard's making
his appearance at their present dwelling contrary to his commands? No.
He would endure the old man's harsh language, as he endured the blast of
the autumn wind, which was howling around him, and swinging the crashing
branches of the trees under which he passed, but could not oppose, or
even retard, his journey.

If he found not Alice, as he had reason to believe she would be absent,
to Sir Henry Lee himself he would explain what he had witnessed. However
she might have become accessory to the juggling tricks performed at
Woodstock, he could not but think it was without her father's knowledge,
so severe a judge was the old knight of female propriety, and so strict
an assertor of female decorum. He would take the same opportunity, he
thought, of stating to him the well-grounded hopes he entertained, that
his dwelling at the Lodge might be prolonged, and the sequestrators
removed from the royal mansion and domains, by other means than those of
the absurd species of intimidation which seemed to be resorted to, to
scare them from thence.

All this seemed to be so much within the line of his duty as a relative,
that it was not until he halted at the door of the ranger's hut, and
threw his bridle into Wildrake's hand, that Everard recollected the
fiery, high, and unbending character of Sir Henry Lee, and felt, even
when his fingers were on the latch, a reluctance to intrude himself upon
the presence of the irritable old knight.

But there was no time for hesitation. Bevis, who had already bayed more
than once from within the Lodge, was growing impatient, and Everard had
but just time to bid Wildrake hold the horses until he should send
Joceline to his assistance, when old Joan unpinned the door, to demand
who was without at that time of the night. To have attempted anything
like an explanation with poor dame Joan, would have been quite hopeless;
the Colonel, therefore, put her gently aside, and shaking himself loose
from the hold she had laid on his cloak, entered the kitchen of
Joceline's dwelling. Bevis, who had advanced to support Joan in her
opposition, humbled his lion-port, with that wonderful instinct which
makes his race remember so long those with whom they have been familiar,
and acknowledged his master's relative, by doing homage in his fashion,
with his head and tail.

Colonel Everard, more uncertain in his purpose every moment as the
necessity of its execution drew near, stole over the floor like one who
treads in a sick chamber, and opening the door of the interior apartment
with a slow and trembling hand, as he would have withdrawn the curtains
of a dying friend, he saw, within, the scene which we are about to
describe.

Sir Henry Lee sat in a wicker arm-chair by the fire. He was wrapped in a
cloak, and his limbs extended on a stool, as if he were suffering from
gout or indisposition. His long white beard flowing over the
dark-coloured garment, gave him more the appearance of a hermit than of
an aged soldier or man of quality; and that character was increased by
the deep and devout attention with which he listened to a respectable
old man, whose dilapidated dress showed still something of the clerical
habit, and who, with a low, but full and deep voice, was reading the
Evening Service according to the Church of England. Alice Lee kneeled at
the feet of her father, and made the responses with a voice that might
have suited the choir of angels; and a modest and serious devotion,
which suited the melody of her tone. The face of the officiating
clergyman would have been good-looking, had it not been disfigured with
a black patch which covered the left eye and a part of his face, and had
not the features which were visible been marked with the traces of care
and suffering.

When Colonel Everard entered, the clergyman raised his finger, as
cautioning him to forbear disturbing the divine service of the evening,
and pointed to a seat; to which, struck deeply with the scene he had
witnessed, the intruder stole with as light a step as possible, and
knelt devoutly down as one of the little congregation.

Everard had been bred by his father what was called a Puritan; a member
of a sect who, in the primitive sense of the word, were persons that did
not except against the doctrines of the Church of England, or even in
all respects against its hierarchy, but chiefly dissented from it on the
subject of certain ceremonies, habits, and forms of ritual, which were
insisted upon by the celebrated and unfortunate Laud with ill-timed
tenacity. But even if, from the habits of his father's house, Everard's
opinions had been diametrically opposed to the doctrines of the English
Church, he must have been reconciled to them by the regularity with
which the service was performed in his uncle's family at Woodstock, who,
during the blossom of his fortunes, generally had a chaplain residing in
the Lodge for that special purpose.

Yet deep as was the habitual veneration with which he heard the
impressive service of the Church, Everard's eyes could not help straying
towards Alice, and his thoughts wandering to the purpose of his presence
there. She seemed to have recognised him at once, for there was a deeper
glow than usual upon her cheek, her fingers trembled as they turned the
leaves of her prayerbook, and her voice, lately as firm as it was
melodious, faltered when she repeated the responses. It appeared to
Everard, as far as he could collect by the stolen glances which he
directed towards her, that the character of her beauty, as well as of
her outward appearance, had changed with her fortunes.

The beautiful and high-born young lady had now approached as nearly as
possible to the brown stuff dress of an ordinary village maiden; but
what she had lost in gaiety of appearance, she had gained as it seemed
in dignity. Her beautiful light-brown tresses, now folded around her
head, and only curled where nature had so arranged them, gave her an air
of simplicity, which did not exist when her head-dress showed the skill
of a curious tire-woman. A light joyous air, with something of a
humorous expression, which seemed to be looking for amusement, had
vanished before the touch of affliction, and a calm melancholy supplied
its place, which seemed on the watch to administer comfort to others.
Perhaps the former arch, though innocent expression of countenance, was
uppermost in her lover's recollection, when he concluded that Alice had
acted a part in the disturbances which had taken place at the Lodge. It
is certain, that when he now looked upon her, it was with shame for
having nourished such a suspicion, and the resolution to believe rather
that the devil had imitated her voice, than that a creature, who seemed
so much above the feelings of this world, and so nearly allied to the
purity of the next, should have had the indelicacy to mingle in such
manoeuvres as he himself and others had been subjected to.

These thoughts shot through his mind, in spite of the impropriety of
indulging them at such a moment. The service now approached the close,
and a good deal to Colonel Everard's surprise, as well as confusion, the
officiating priest, in firm and audible tone, and with every attribute
of dignity, prayed to the Almighty to bless and preserve "Our Sovereign
Lord, King Charles, the lawful and undoubted King of these realms." The
petition (in those days most dangerous) was pronounced with a full,
raised, and distinct articulation, as if the priest challenged all who
heard him to dissent, if they dared. If the republican officer did not
assent to the petition, he thought at least it was no time to protest
against it.

The service was concluded in the usual manner, and the little
congregation arose. It now included Wildrake, who had entered during the
latter prayer, and was the first of the party to speak, running up to
the priest, and shaking him by the hand most heartily, swearing at the
same time, that he truly rejoiced to see him. The good clergyman
returned the pressure with a smile, observing he should have believed
his asseveration without an oath. In the meanwhile, Colonel Everard,
approaching his uncle's seat, made a deep inclination of respect, first
to Sir Henry Lee, and then to Alice, whose colour now spread from her
cheek to her brow and bosom.

"I have to crave your excuse," said the Colonel with hesitation, "for
having chosen for my visit, which I dare not hope would be very
agreeable at any time, a season most peculiarly unsuitable."

"So far from it, nephew," answered Sir Henry, with much more mildness of
manner than Everard had dared to expect, "that your visits at other
times would be much more welcome, had we the fortune to see you often at
our hours of worship."

"I hope the time will soon come, sir, when Englishmen of all sects and
denominations," replied Everard, "will be free in conscience to worship
in common the great Father, whom they all after their manner call by
that affectionate name."

"I hope so too, nephew," said the old man in the same unaltered tone;
"and we will not at present dispute, whether you would have the Church
of England coalesce with the Conventicle, or the Conventicle conform to
the Church. It was, I ween, not to settle jarring creeds, that you have
honoured our poor dwelling, where, to say the truth, we dared scarce
have expected to see you again, so coarse was our last welcome."

"I should be happy to believe," said Colonel Everard, hesitating,
"that--that--in short my presence was not now so unwelcome here as on
that occasion."

"Nephew," said Sir Henry, "I will be frank with you. When you were last
here, I thought you had stolen from me a precious pearl, which at one
time it would have been my pride and happiness to have bestowed on you;
but which, being such as you have been of late, I would bury in the
depths of the earth rather than give to your keeping. This somewhat
chafed, as honest Will says, 'the rash humour which my mother gave me.'
I thought I was robbed, and I thought I saw the robber before me. I am
mistaken--I am not robbed; and the attempt without the deed I can
pardon."

"I would not willingly seek offence in your words, sir," said Colonel
Everard, "when their general purport sounds kind; but I can protest
before Heaven, that my views and wishes towards you and your family are
as void of selfish hopes and selfish ends, as they are fraught with love
to you and to yours."

"Let us hear them, man; we are not much accustomed to good wishes
now-a-days; and their very rarity will make them welcome."

"I would willingly, Sir Henry, since you might not choose me to give you
a more affectionate name, convert those wishes into something effectual
for your comfort. Your fate, as the world now stands, is bad, and, I
fear, like to be worse."

"Worse than I expect it cannot be. Nephew, I do not shrink before my
changes of fortune. I shall wear coarser clothes,--I shall feed on more
ordinary food,--men will not doff their cap to me as they were wont,
when I was the great and the wealthy. What of that? Old Harry Lee loved
his honour better than his title, his faith better than his land and
lordship. Have I not seen the 30th of January? I am neither Philomath
nor astrologer; but old Will teaches me, that when green leaves fall
winter is at hand, and that darkness will come when the sun sets."

"Bethink you, sir," said Colonel Everard, "if, without any submission
asked, any oath taken, any engagement imposed, express or tacit,
excepting that you are not to excite disturbances in the public peace,
you can be restored to your residence in the Lodge, and your usual
fortunes and perquisities there--I have great reason to hope this may be
permitted, if not expressly, at least on sufferance."

"Yes, I understand you. I am to be treated like the royal coin, marked
with the ensign of the Rump to make it pass current, although I am too
old to have the royal insignia grinded off from me. Kinsman, I will have
none of this. I have lived at the Lodge too long; and let me tell you, I
had left it in scorn long since, but for the orders of one whom I may
yet live to do service to. I will take nothing from the usurpers, be
their name Rump or Cromwell--be they one devil or legion--I will not
take from them an old cap to cover my grey hairs--a cast cloak to
protect my frail limbs from the cold. They shall not say they have, by
their unwilling bounty, made Abraham rich--I will live, as I will die,
the Loyal Lee."

"May I hope you will think of it, sir; and that you will, perhaps,
considering what slight submission is asked, give me a better answer?"

"Sir, if I retract my opinion, which is not my wont, you shall hear of
it.--And now, cousin, have you more to say? We keep that worthy
clergyman in the outer room."

"Something I had to say--something touching my cousin Alice," said
Everard, with embarrassment; "but I fear that the prejudices of both are
so strong against me"--

"Sir, I dare turn my daughter loose to you--I will go join the good
doctor in dame Joan's apartment. I am not unwilling that you should know
that the girl hath, in all reasonable sort, the exercise of her free
will."

He withdrew, and left the cousins together.

Colonel Everard advanced to Alice, and was about to take her hand. She
drew back, took the seat which her father had occupied, and pointed out
to him one at some distance.

"Are we then so much estranged, my dearest Alice?" he said.

"We will speak of that presently," she replied. "In the first place, let
me ask the cause of your visit here at so late an hour."

"You heard," said Everard, "what I stated to your father?"

"I did; but that seems to have been only part of your errand--something
there seemed to be which applied particularly to me."

"It was a fancy--a strange mistake," answered Everard. "May I ask if you
have been abroad this evening?"

"Certainly not," she replied. "I have small temptation to wander from my
present home, poor as it is; and whilst here, I have important duties to
discharge. But why does Colonel Everard ask so strange a question?"

"Tell me in turn, why your cousin Markham has lost the name of
friendship and kindred, and even of some nearer feeling, and then I will
answer you, Alice?"

"It is soon answered," she said. "When you drew your sword against my
father's cause--almost against his person--I studied, more than I should
have done, to find excuse for you. I knew, that is, I thought I knew
your high feelings of public duty--I knew the opinions in which you had
been bred up; and I said, I will not, even for this, cast him off--he
opposes his King because he is loyal to his country. You endeavoured to
avert the great and concluding tragedy of the 30th of January; and it
confirmed me in my opinion, that Markham Everard might be misled, but
could not be base or selfish."

"And what has changed your opinion, Alice? or who dare," said Everard,
reddening, "attach such epithets to the name of Markham Everard?"

"I am no subject," she said, "for exercising your valour, Colonel
Everard, nor do I mean to offend. But you will find enough of others who
will avow, that Colonel Everard is truckling to the usurper Cromwell,
and that all his fair pretexts of forwarding his country's liberties,
are but a screen for driving a bargain with the successful encroacher,
and obtaining the best terms he can for himself and his family."

"For myself--never!"

"But for your family you have--Yes, I am well assured that you have
pointed out to the military tyrant, the way in which he and his satraps
may master the government. Do you think my father or I would accept an
asylum purchased at the price of England's liberty, and your honour?"

"Gracious Heaven, Alice, what is this? You accuse me of pursuing the
very course which so lately had your approbation!"

"When you spoke with authority of your father, and recommended our
submission to the existing government, such as it was, I own I
thought--that my father's grey head might, without dishonour, have
remained under the roof where it had so long been sheltered. But did
your father sanction your becoming the adviser of yonder ambitious
soldier to a new course of innovation, and his abettor in the
establishment of a new species of tyranny?--It is one thing to submit to
oppression, another to be the agent of tyrants--And O, Markham--their
bloodhound!"

"How! bloodhound?--what mean you?--I own it is true I could see with
content the wounds of this bleeding country stanched, even at the
expense of beholding Cromwell, after his matchless rise, take a yet
farther step to power--but to be his bloodhound! What is your meaning?"

"It is false, then?--I thought I could swear it had been false."

"What, in the name of God, is it you ask?"

"It is false that you are engaged to betray the young King of Scotland?"

"Betray him! _I_ betray him, or any fugitive? Never! I would he were
well out of England--I would lend him my aid to escape, were he in the
house at this instant; and think in acting so I did his enemies good
service, by preventing their soiling themselves with his blood--but
betray him, never!"

"I knew it--I was sure it was impossible. Oh, be yet more honest;
disengage yourself from yonder gloomy and ambitious soldier! Shun him
and his schemes, which are formed in injustice, and can only be realized
in yet more blood!"

"Believe me," replied Everard, "that I choose the line of policy best
befitting the times."

"Choose that," she said, "which best befits duty, Markham--which best
befits truth and honour. Do your duty, and let Providence decide the
rest.--Farewell! we tempt my father's patience too far--you know his
temper--farewell, Markham."

She extended her hand, which he pressed to his lips, and left the
apartment. A silent bow to his uncle, and a sign to Wildrake, whom he
found in the kitchen of the cabin, were the only tokens of recognition
exhibited, and leaving the hut, he was soon mounted, and, with his
companion, advanced on his return to the Lodge.

       *       *        *       *        *

CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH.


  Deeds are done on earth
  Which have their punishment ere the earth closes
  Upon the perpetrators. Be it the working
  Of the remorse-stirr'd fancy, or the vision,
  Distinct and real, of unearthly being,
  All ages witness, that beside the couch
  Of the fell homicide oft stalks the ghost
  Of him he slew, and shows the shadowy wound.
    OLD PLAY.

Everard had come to Joceline's hut as fast as horse could bear him, and
with the same impetuosity of purpose as of speed. He saw no choice in
the course to be pursued, and felt in his own imagination the strongest
right to direct, and even reprove, his cousin, beloved as she was, on
account of the dangerous machinations with which she appeared to have
connected herself. He returned slowly, and in a very different mood.

Not only had Alice, prudent as beautiful, appeared completely free from
the weakness of conduct which seemed to give him some authority over
her, but her views of policy, if less practicable, were so much more
direct and noble than his own, as led him to question whether he had not
compromised himself too rashly with Cromwell, even although the state of
the country was so greatly divided and torn by faction, that the
promotion of the General to the possession of the executive government
seemed the only chance of escaping a renewal of the Civil War. The more
exalted and purer sentiments of Alice lowered him in his own eyes; and
though unshaken in his opinion, that it were better the vessel should be
steered by a pilot having no good title to the office, than that she
should run upon the breakers, he felt that he was not espousing the most
direct, manly, and disinterested side of the question.

As he rode on, immersed in these unpleasant contemplations, and
considerably lessened in his own esteem by what had happened, Wildrake,
who rode by his side, and was no friend to long silence, began to enter
into conversation. "I have been thinking, Mark," said he, "that if you
and I had been called to the bar--as, by the by, has been in danger of
happening to me in more senses than one--I say, had we become
barristers, I would have had the better oiled tongue of the two--the
fairer art of persuasion."

"Perhaps so," replied Everard, "though I never heard thee use any, save
to induce an usurer to lend thee money, or a taverner to abate a
reckoning."

"And yet this day, or rather night, I could have, as I think, made a
conquest which baffled you."

"Indeed?" said the Colonel, becoming attentive.

"Why, look you," said Wildrake, "it was a main object with you to induce
Mistress Alice Lee--By Heaven, she is an exquisite creature--I approve
of your taste, Mark--I say, you desire to persuade her, and the stout
old Trojan her father, to consent to return to the Lodge, and live there
quietly, and under connivance, like gentlefolk, instead of lodging in a
hut hardly fit to harbour a Tom of Bedlam."

"Thou art right; such, indeed, was a great part of my object in this
visit," answered Everard.

"But perhaps you also expected to visit there yourself, and so keep
watch over pretty Mistress Lee--eh?"

"I never entertained so selfish a thought," said Everard; "and if this
nocturnal disturbance at the mansion were explained and ended, I would
instantly take my departure."

"Your friend Noll would expect something more from you," said Wildrake;
"he would expect, in case the knight's reputation for loyalty should
draw any of our poor exiles and wanderers about the Lodge, that you
should be on the watch and ready to snap them. In a word, as far as I
can understand his long-winded speeches, he would have Woodstock a trap,
your uncle and his pretty daughter the bait of toasted-cheese--craving
your Chloe's pardon for the comparison--you the spring-fall which should
bar their escape, his Lordship himself being the great grimalkin to whom
they are to be given over to be devoured."

"Dared Cromwell mention this to thee in express terms?" said Everard,
pulling up his horse, and stopping in the midst of the road.

"Nay, not in express terms, which I do not believe he ever used in his
life; you might as well expect a drunken man to go straight forward; but
he insinuated as much to me, and indicated that you might deserve well
of him--Gadzo, the damnable proposal sticks in my throat--by betraying
our noble and rightful King, (here he pulled off his hat,) whom God
grant in health and wealth long to reign, as the worthy clergyman says,
though I fear just now his Majesty is both sick and sorry, and never a
penny in his pouch to boot."

"This tallies with what Alice hinted," said Everard; "but how could she
know it? didst thou give her any hint of such a thing?"

"I!" replied the cavalier, "I, who never saw Mistress Alice in my life
till to-night, and then only for an instant--zooks, man, how is that
possible?"

"True," replied Everard, and seemed lost in thought. At length he
spoke--"I should call Cromwell to account for his bad opinion of me;
for, even though not seriously expressed, but, as I am convinced it was,
with the sole view of proving you, and perhaps myself, it was,
nevertheless, a misconstruction to be resented."

"I'll carry a cartel for you, with all my heart and soul," said
Wildrake; "and turn out with his godliness's second, with as good will
as I ever drank a glass of sack."

"Pshaw," replied Everard, "those in his high place fight no single
combats. But tell me, Roger Wildrake, didst thou thyself think me
capable of the falsehood and treachery implied in such a message?"

"I!" exclaimed Wildrake. "Markham Everard, you have been my early
friend, my constant benefactor. When Colchester was reduced, you saved
me from the gallows, and since that thou hast twenty times saved me from
starving. But, by Heaven, if I thought you capable of such villany as
your General recommended,--by yonder blue sky, and all the works of
creation which it bends over, I would stab you with my own hand!"

"Death," replied Everard, "I should indeed deserve, but not from you,
perhaps; but fortunately, I cannot, if I would, be guilty of the
treachery you would punish. Know that I had this day secret notice, and
from Cromwell himself, that the young Man has escaped by sea from
Bristol."

"Now, God Almighty be blessed, who protected him through so many
dangers!" exclaimed Wildrake. "Huzza!--Up hearts, cavaliers!--Hey for
cavaliers!--God bless King Charles!--Moon and stars, catch my hat!"--and
he threw it up as high as he could into the air. The celestial bodies
which he invoked did not receive the present dispatched to them; but, as
in the case of Sir Henry Lee's scabbard, an old gnarled oak became a
second time the receptacle of a waif and stray of loyal enthusiasm.
Wildrake looked rather foolish at the circumstance, and his friend took
the opportunity of admonishing him.

"Art thou not ashamed to bear thee so like a schoolboy?"

"Why," said Wildrake, "I have but sent a Puritan's hat upon a loyal
errand. I laugh to think how many of the schoolboys thou talk'st of will
be cheated into climbing the pollard next year, expecting to find the
nest of some unknown bird in yonder unmeasured margin of felt."

"Hush now, for God's sake, and let us speak calmly," said Everard.
"Charles has escaped, and I am glad of it. I would willingly have seen
him on his father's throne by composition, but not by the force of the
Scottish army, and the incensed and vengeful royalists."

"Master Markham Everard," began the cavalier, interrupting him--"Nay,
hush, dear Wildrake," said Everard; "let us not dispute a point on which
we cannot agree, and give me leave to go on.--I say, since the young Man
has escaped, Cromwell's offensive and injurious stipulation falls to the
ground; and I see not why my uncle and his family should not again enter
their own house, under the same terms of connivance as many other
royalists. What may be incumbent on me is different, nor can I determine
my course until I have an interview with the General, which, as I think,
will end in his confessing that he threw in this offensive proposal to
sound us both. It is much in his manner; for he is blunt, and never sees
or feels the punctilious honour which the gallants of the day stretch to
such delicacy."

"I'll acquit him of having any punctilio about him," said Wildrake,
"either touching honour or honesty. Now, to come back to where we
started. Supposing you were not to reside in person at the Lodge, and to
forbear even visiting there, unless on invitation, when such a thing can
be brought about, I tell you frankly, I think your uncle and his
daughter might be induced to come back to the Lodge, and reside there as
usual. At least the clergyman, that worthy old cock, gave me to hope as
much."

"He had been hasty in bestowing his confidence," said Everard.

"True," replied Wildrake; "he confided in me at once; for he instantly
saw my regard for the Church. I thank Heaven I never passed a clergyman
in his canonicals without pulling my hat off--(and thou knowest, the
most desperate duel I ever fought was with young Grayless of the Inner
Temple, for taking the wall of the Reverend Dr. Bunce)--Ah, I can gain a
chaplain's ear instantly. Gadzooks, they know whom they have to trust to
in such a one as I."

"Dost thou think, then," said Colonel Everard, "or rather does this
clergyman think, that if they were secure of intrusion from me, the
family would return to the Lodge, supposing the intruding Commissioners
gone, and this nocturnal disturbance explained and ended?"

"The old Knight," answered Wildrake, "may be wrought upon by the Doctor
to return, if he is secure against intrusion. As for disturbances, the
stout old boy, so far as I can learn in two minutes' conversation,
laughs at all this turmoil as the work of mere imagination, the
consequence of the remorse of their own evil consciences; and says that
goblin or devil was never heard of at Woodstock, until it became the
residence of such men as they, who have now usurped the possession."

"There is more than imagination in it," said Everard. "I have personal
reason to know there is some conspiracy carrying on, to render the house
untenable by the Commissioners. I acquit my uncle of accession to such a
silly trick; but I must see it ended ere I can agree to his and my
cousin's residing where such a confederacy exists; for they are likely
to be considered as the contrivers of such pranks, be the actual agent
who he may."

"With reference to your better acquaintance with the gentleman, Everard,
I should rather suspect the old father of Puritans (I beg your pardon
again) has something to do with the business; and if so, Lucifer will
never look near the true old Knight's beard, nor abide a glance of
yonder maiden's innocent blue eyes. I will uphold them as safe as pure
gold in a miser's chest."

"Sawest thou aught thyself, which makes thee think thus?"

"Not a quill of the devil's pinion saw I," replied Wildrake. "He
supposes himself too secure of an old cavalier, who must steal, hang, or
drown, in the long run, so he gives himself no trouble to look after the
assured booty. But I heard the serving-fellows prate of what they had
seen and heard; and though their tales were confused enough, yet if
there was any truth among them at all, I should say the devil must have
been in the dance.--But, holla! here comes some one upon us.--Stand,
friend--who art thou?"

"A poor day-labourer in the great work of England--Joseph Tomkins by
name--Secretary to a godly and well-endowed leader in this poor
Christian army of England, called General Harrison."

"What news, Master Tomkins?" said Everard; "and why are you on the road
at this late hour?"

"I speak to the worthy Colonel Everard, as I judge?" said Tomkins; "and
truly I am glad of meeting your honour. Heaven knows, I need such
assistance as yours.--Oh, worthy Master Everard!--Here has been a
sounding of trumpets, and a breaking of vials, and a pouring forth,
and"--

"Prithee, tell me in brief, what is the matter--where is thy
master--and, in a word, what has happened?"

"My master is close by, parading it in the little meadow, beside the
hugeous oak, which is called by the name of the late Man; ride but two
steps forward, and you may see him walking swiftly to and fro, advancing
all the while the naked weapon."

Upon proceeding as directed, but with as little noise as possible, they
descried a man, whom of course they concluded must be Harrison, walking
to and fro beneath the King's oak, as a sentinel under arms, but with
more wildness of demeanour. The tramp of the horses did not escape his
ear; and they heard him call out, as if at the head of the brigade--
"Lower pikes against cavalry!--Here comes Prince Rupert--Stand fast, and
you shall turn them aside, as a bull would toss a cur-dog. Lower your
pikes still, my hearts, the end secured against your foot--down on your
right knee, front rank--spare not for the spoiling of your blue
aprons.--Ha--Zerobabel--ay, that is the word!"

"In the name of Heaven, about whom or what is he talking" said Everard;
"wherefore does he go about with his weapon drawn?"

"Truly, sir, when aught disturbs my master, General Harrison, he is
something rapt in the spirit, and conceives that he is commanding a
reserve of pikes at the great battle of Armageddon--and for his weapon,
alack, worthy sir, wherefore should he keep Sheffield steel in calves'
leather, when there are fiends to be combated--incarnate fiends on
earth, and raging infernal fiends under the earth?"

"This is intolerable," said Everard. "Listen to me, Tomkins. Thou art
not now in the pulpit, and I desire none of thy preaching language. I
know thou canst speak intelligibly when thou art so minded. Remember, I
may serve or harm thee; and as you hope or fear any thing on my part,
answer straight-forward--What has happened to drive out thy master to
the wild wood at this time of night?"

"Forsooth, worthy and honoured sir, I will speak with the precision I
may. True it is, and of verity, that the breath of man, which is in his
nostrils, goeth forth and returneth"--

"Hark you, sir," said Colonel Everard, "take care where you ramble in
your correspondence with me. You have heard how at the great battle of
Dunbar in Scotland, the General himself held a pistol to the head of
Lieutenant Hewcreed, threatening to shoot him through the brain if he
did not give up holding forth, and put his squadron in line to the
front. Take care, sir."

"Verily, the lieutenant then charged with an even and unbroken order,"
said Tomkins, "and bore a thousand plaids and bonnets over the beach
before him into the sea. Neither shall I pretermit or postpone your
honour's commands, but speedily obey them, and that without delay."

"Go to, fellow; thou knowest what I would have," said Everard; "speak at
once; I know thou canst if thou wilt. Trusty Tomkins is better known
than he thinks for."

"Worthy sir," said Tomkins, in a much less periphrastic style, "I will
obey your worship as far as the spirit will permit. Truly, it was not an
hour since, when my worshipful master being at table with Master Bibbet
and myself, not to mention the worshipful Master Bletson and Colonel
Desborough, and behold there was a violent knocking at the gate, as of
one in haste. Now, of a certainty, so much had our household been
harassed with witches and spirits, and other objects of sound and sight,
that the sentinels could not be brought to abide upon their posts
without doors, and it was only by a provision of beef and strong liquors
that we were able to maintain a guard of three men in the hall, who
nevertheless ventured not to open the door, lest they should be
surprised with some of the goblins wherewith their imaginations were
overwhelmed. And they heard the knocking, which increased until it
seemed that the door was well-nigh about to be beaten down. Worthy
Master Bibbet was a little overcome with liquor, (as is his fashion,
good man, about this time of the evening,) not that he is in the least
given to ebriety, but simply, that since the Scottish campaign he hath
had a perpetual ague, which obliges him so to nourish his frame against
the damps of the night; wherefore, as it is well known to your honour
that I discharge the office of a faithful servant, as well to
Major-General Harrison, and the other Commissioners, as to my just and
lawful master, Colonel Desborough"--

"I know all that.--And now that thou art trusted by both, I pray to
Heaven thou mayest merit the trust," said Colonel Everard.

"And devoutly do I pray," said Tomkins, "that your worshipful prayers
may be answered with favour; for certainly to be, and to be called and
entitled, Honest Joe, and Trusty Tomkins, is to me more than ever would
be an Earl's title, were such things to be granted anew in this
regenerated government."

"Well, go on--go on--or if thou dalliest much longer, I will make bold
to dispute the article of your honesty. I like short tales, sir, and
doubt what is told with a long unnecessary train of words."

"Well, good sir, be not hasty. As I said before, the doors rattled till
you would have thought the knocking was reiterated in every room of the
Palace. The bell rung out for company, though we could not find that any
one tolled the clapper, and the guards let off their firelocks, merely
because they knew not what better to do. So, Master Bibbet being, as I
said, unsusceptible of his duty, I went down with my poor rapier to the
door, and demanded who was there; and I was answered in a voice, which,
I must say, was much like another voice, that it was one wanting
Major-General Harrison. So, as it was then late, I answered mildly, that
General Harrison was betaking himself to his rest, and that any who
wished to speak to him must return on the morrow morning, for that after
nightfall the door of the Palace, being in the room of a garrison, would
be opened to no one. So, the voice replied, and bid me open directly,
without which he would blow the folding leaves of the door into the
middle of the hall. And therewithal the noise recommenced, that we
thought the house would have fallen; and I was in some measure
constrained to open the door, even like a besieged garrison which can
hold out no longer."

"By my honour, and it was stoutly done of you, I must say," said
Wildrake,--who had been listening with much interest. "I am a bold
dare-devil enough, yet when I had two inches of oak plank between the
actual fiend and me, hang him that would demolish the barrier between
us, say I--I would as soon, when aboard, bore a hole in the ship, and
let in the waves; for you know we always compare the devil to the deep
sea."

"Prithee, peace, Wildrake," said Everard, "and let him go on with his
history.--Well, and what saw'st thou when the door was opened?--the
great Devil with his horns and claws thou wilt say, no doubt."

"No, sir, I will say nothing but what is true. When I undid the door,
one man stood there, and he, to seeming, a man of no extraordinary
appearance. He was wrapped in a taffeta cloak of a scarlet colour, and
with a red lining. He seemed as if he might have been in his time a very
handsome man, but there was something of paleness and sorrow in his
face--a long love-lock and long hair he wore, even after the abomination
of the cavaliers, and the unloveliness, as learned Master Prynne well
termed it, of love-locks--a jewel in his ear--a blue scarf over his
shoulder, like a military commander for the King, and a hat with a white
plume, bearing a peculiar hatband."

"Some unhappy officer of cavaliers, of whom so many are in hiding, and
seeking shelter through the country," briefly replied Everard.

"True, worthy sir--right as a judicious exposition. But there was
something about this man (if he was a man) whom I, for one, could not
look upon without trembling; nor the musketeers,--who were in the hall,
without betraying much alarm, and swallowing, as they will themselves
aver, the very bullets--which they had in their mouths for loading their
carabines and muskets. Nay, the wolf and deer-dogs, that are the
fiercest of their kind, fled from this visitor, and crept into holes and
corners, moaning and wailing in a low and broken tone. He came into the
middle of the hall, and still he seemed no more than an ordinary man,
only somewhat fantastically dressed, in a doublet of black velvet pinked
upon scarlet satin under his cloak, a jewel in his ear, with large roses
in his shoes, and a kerchief in his hand, which he sometimes pressed
against his left side."

"Gracious Heavens!" said Wildrake, coming close up to Everard, and
whispering in his ear, with accents which terror rendered tremulous, (a
mood of mind most unusual to the daring man, who seemed now overcome by
it)--"it must have been poor Dick Robison the player, in the very dress
in which I have seen him play Philaster--ay, and drunk a jolly bottle
with him after it at the Mermaid! I remember how many frolics we had
together, and all his little fantastic fashions. He served for his old
master, Charles, in Mohun's troop, and was murdered by this butcher's
dog, as I have heard, after surrender, at the battle of Naseby-field."

"Hush! I have heard of the deed," said Everard; "for God's sake hear the
man to an end.--Did this visitor speak to thee, my friend?"

"Yes, sir, in a pleasing tone of voice, but somewhat fanciful in the
articulation, and like one who is speaking to an audience as from a bar
or a pulpit, more than in the voice of ordinary men on ordinary matters.
He desired to see Major-General Harrison."

"He did!--and you," said Everard, infected by the spirit of the time,
which, as is well known, leaned to credulity upon all matters of
supernatural agency,--"what did you do?"

"I went up to the parlour, and related that such a person enquired for
him. He started when I told him, and eagerly desired to know the man's
dress; but no sooner did I mention his dress, and the jewel in his ear,
than he said, 'Begone! tell him I will not admit him to speech of me.
Say that I defy him, and will make my defiance good at the great battle
in the valley of Armageddon, when the voice of the angel shall call all
fowls which fly under the face of heaven to feed on the flesh of the
captain and the soldier, the warhorse and his rider. Say to the Evil
One, I have power to appeal our conflict even till that day, and that in
the front of that fearful day he will again meet with Harrison.' I went
back with this answer to the stranger, and his face was writhed into
such a deadly frown as a mere human brow hath seldom worn. 'Return to
him,' he said, 'and say it is MY HOUR, and that if he come not instantly
down to speak with me, I will mount the stairs to him. Say that I
COMMAND him to descend, by the token, that, on the field of Naseby, _he
did not the work negligently_.'"

"I have heard," whispered Wildrake--who felt more and more strongly the
contagion of superstition--"that these words were blasphemously used by
Harrison when he shot my poor friend Dick."

"What happened next?" said Everard. "See that thou speakest the truth."

"As gospel unexpounded by a steeple-man," said the Independent; "yet
truly it is but little I have to say. I saw my master come down, with a
blank, yet resolved air; and when he entered the hall and saw the
stranger, he made a pause. The other waved on him as if to follow, and
walked out at the portal. My worthy patron seemed as if he were about to
follow, yet again paused, when this visitant, be he man or fiend,
re-entered, and said, 'Obey thy doom.

  'By pathless march by greenwood tree,
  It is thy weird to follow me--
  To follow me through the ghastly moonlight--
  To follow me through the shadows of night--
  To follow me, comrade, still art thou bound;
  I conjure thee by the unstaunch'd wound--
  I conjure thee by the last words I spoke
  When the body slept and the spirit awoke,
  In the very last pangs of the deadly stroke.'

"So saying, he stalked out, and my master followed him into the wood.--I
followed also at a distance. But when I came up, my master was alone,
and bearing himself as you now behold him."

"Thou hast had a wonderful memory, friend," said the Colonel, coldly,
"to remember these rhymes in a single recitation--there seems something
of practice in all this."

"A single recitation, my honoured sir?" exclaimed the Independent--
"alack, the rhyme is seldom out of my poor master's mouth, when, as
sometimes haps, he is less triumphant in his wrestles with Satan. But it
was the first time I ever heard it uttered by another; and, to say
truth, he ever seems to repeat it unwillingly, as a child after his
pedagogue, and as it was not indited by his own head, as the Psalmist
saith."

"It is singular," said Everard;--"I have heard and read that the spirits
of the slaughtered have strange power over the slayer; but I am
astonished to have it insisted upon that there may be truth in such
tales. Roger Wildrake--what art thou afraid of, man?--why dost thou
shift thy place thus?"

"Fear? it is not fear--it is hate, deadly hate.--I see the murderer of
poor Dick before me, and--see, he throws himself into a posture of
fence--Sa--sa--say'st thou, brood of a butcher's mastiff? thou shalt not
want an antagonist."

Ere any one could stop him, Wildrake threw aside his cloak, drew his
sword, and almost with a single bound cleared the distance betwixt him
and Harrison, and crossed swords with the latter, as he stood
brandishing his weapon, as if in immediate expectation of an assailant.
Accordingly, the Republican General was not for an instant taken at
unawares, but the moment the swords clashed, he shouted, "Ha! I feel
thee now, thou hast come in body at last.--Welcome! welcome!--the sword
of the Lord and of Gideon!"

"Part them, part them!" cried Everard, as he and Tomkins, at first
astonished at the suddenness of the affray, hastened to interfere.
Everard, seizing on the cavalier, drew him forcibly backwards, and
Tomkins contrived, with risk and difficulty, to master Harrison's sword,
while the General exclaimed, "Ha! two to one--two to one!--thus fight
demons." Wildrake, on his side, swore a dreadful oath, and added,
"Markham, you have cancelled every obligation I owed you--they are all
out of sight--gone, d--n me!"

"You have indeed acquitted these obligations rarely," said Everard, "Who
knows how this affair shall be explained and answered?"

"I will answer it with my life," said Wildrake.

"Good now, be silent," said Tomkins, "and let me manage. It shall be so
ordered that the good General shall never know that he hath encountered
with a mortal man; only let that man of Moab put his sword into the
scabbard's rest, and be still."

"Wildrake, let me entreat thee to sheathe thy sword," said Everard,
"else, on my life, thou must turn it against me."

"No, 'fore George, not so mad as that neither, but I'll have another day
with him."

"Thou, another day!" exclaimed Harrison, whose eye had still remained
fixed on the spot where he found such palpable resistance. "Yes, I know
thee well; day by day, week by week, thou makest the same idle request,
for thou knowest that my heart quivers at thy voice. But my hand
trembles not when opposed to thine--the spirit is willing to the combat,
if the flesh be weak when opposed to that which is not of the flesh."

"Now, peace all, for Heaven's sake,"--said the steward Tomkins; then
added, addressing his master, "there is no one here, if it please your
Excellency, but Tomkins and the worthy Colonel Everard."

General Harrison, as sometimes happens in cases of partial insanity,
(that is, supposing his to have been a case of mental delusion,) though
firmly and entirely persuaded of the truth of his own visions, yet was
not willing to speak on the subject to those who, he knew, would regard
them as imaginary. Upon this occasion, he assumed the appearance of
perfect ease and composure, after the violent agitation he had just
manifested, in a manner which showed how anxious he was to disguise his
real feelings from Everard, whom he considered so unlikely to
participate in them.

He saluted the Colonel with profound ceremony, and talked of the
fineness of the evening, which had summoned him forth of the Lodge, to
take a turn in the Park, and enjoy the favourable weather. He then took
Everard by the arm, and walked back with him towards the Lodge, Wildrake
and Tomkins following close behind and leading the horses. Everard,
desirous to gain some light on these mysterious incidents, endeavoured
to come on the subject more than once, by a mode of interrogation, which
Harrison (for madmen are very often unwilling to enter on the subject of
their mental delusion) parried with some skill, or addressed himself for
aid to his steward Tomkins, who was in the habit of being voucher for
his master upon all occasions, which led to Desborough's ingenious
nickname of Fibbet.

"And wherefore had you your sword drawn, my worthy General," said
Everard, "when you were only on an evening walk of pleasure?"

"Truly, excellent Colonel, these are times when men must watch with
their loins girded, and their lights burning, and their weapons drawn.
The day draweth nigh, believe me or not as you will, that men must watch
lest they be found naked and unarmed, when the seven trumpets shall
sound, Boot and saddle; and the pipes of Jezer shall strike up, Horse
and away."

"True, good General; but methought I saw you making passes, even now, as
if you were fighting," said Everard.

"I am of a strange fantasy, friend Everard," answered Harrison; "and
when I walk alone, and happen, as but now, to have my weapon drawn, I
sometimes, for exercise' sake, will practise a thrust against such a
tree as that. It is a silly pride men have in the use of weapons. I have
been accounted a master of fence, and have fought for prizes when I was
unregenerated, and before I was called to do my part in the great work,
entering as a trooper into our victorious General's first regiment of
horse."

"But methought," said Everard, "I heard a weapon clash with yours?"

"How? a weapon clash with my sword?--How could that be, Tomkins?"

"Truly, sir," said Tomkins, "it must have been a bough of the tree; they
have them of all kinds here, and your honour may have pushed against one
of them, which the Brazilians call iron-wood, a block of which, being
struck with a hammer, saith Purchas in his Pilgrimage, ringeth like an
anvil."

"Truly, it may be so," said Harrison; "for those rulers who are gone,
assembled in this their abode of pleasure many strange trees and plants,
though they gathered not of the fruit of that tree which beareth twelve
manner of fruits, or of those leaves which are for the healing of the
nations."

Everard pursued his investigation; for he was struck with the manner in
which Harrison evaded his questions, and the dexterity with which he
threw his transcendental and fanatical notions, like a sort of veil,
over the darker visions excited by remorse and conscious guilt.

"But," said he, "if I may trust my eyes and ears, I cannot but still
think that you had a real antagonist.--Nay, I am sure I saw a fellow, in
a dark-coloured jerkin, retreat through the wood."

"Did you?" said Harrison, with a tone of surprise, while his voice
faltered in spite of him--"Who could he be?--Tomkins, did you see the
fellow Colonel Everard talks of with the napkin in his hand--the bloody
napkin which he always pressed to his side?"

This last expression, in which Harrison gave a mark different from that
which Everard had assigned, but corresponding to Tomkins's original
description of the supposed spectre, had more effect on Everard in
confirming the steward's story, than anything he had witnessed or heard.
The voucher answered the draft upon him as promptly as usual, that he
had seen such a fellow glide past them into the thicket--that he dared
to say he was some deer-stealer, for he had heard they were become very
audacious.

"Look ye there now, Master Everard," said Harrison, hurrying from the
subject--"Is it not time now that we should lay aside our controversies,
and join hand in hand to repairing the breaches of our Zion? Happy and
contented were I, my excellent friend, to be a treader of mortar, or a
bearer of a hod, upon this occasion, under our great leader, with whom
Providence has gone forth in this great national controversy; and truly,
so devoutly do I hold by our excellent and victorious General Oliver,
whom Heaven long preserve--that were he to command me, I should not
scruple to pluck forth of his high place the man whom they call speaker,
even as I lent a poor hand to pluck down the man whom they called
King.--Wherefore, as I know your judgment holdeth with mine on this
matter, let me urge unto you lovingly, that we may act as brethren, and
build up the breaches, and re-establish the bulwarks of our English
Zion, whereby we shall be doubtless chosen as pillars and buttresses,
under our excellent Lord-General, for supporting and sustaining the
same, and endowed with proper revenues and incomes, both spiritual and
temporal, to serve as a pedestal, on which we may stand, seeing that
otherwise our foundation will be on the loose sand.--Nevertheless,"
continued he, his mind again diverging from his views of temporal
ambition into his visions of the Fifth Monarchy, "these things are but
vanity in respect of the opening of the book which is sealed; for all
things approach speedily towards lightning and thundering, and unloosing
of the great dragon from the bottomless pit, wherein he is chained."

With this mingled strain of earthly politics, and fanatical prediction,
Harrison so overpowered Colonel Everard, as to leave him no time to urge
him farther on the particular circumstances of his nocturnal skirmish,
concerning which it is plain he had no desire to be interrogated. They
now reached the Lodge of Woodstock.

       *       *        *       *        *

CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.


  Now the wasted brands do glow,
  While the screech-owl, sounding loud,
  Puts the wretch that lies in woe,
  In remembrance of a shroud.
  Now it is the time of night
  That the graves, all gaping wide,
  Every one lets out its sprite,
  In the church-way paths to glide.
    MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

Before the gate of the palace the guards were now doubled. Everard
demanded the reason of this from the corporal, whom he found in the hall
with his soldiers, sitting or sleeping around a great fire, maintained
at the expense of the carved chairs and benches with fragments of which
it was furnished.

"Why, verily," answered the man, "the _corps-de-garde_, as your worship
says, will be harassed to pieces by such duty; nevertheless, fear hath
gone abroad among us, and no man will mount guard alone. We have drawn
in, however, one or two of our outposts from Banbury and elsewhere, and
we are to have a relief from Oxford to-morrow."

Everard continued minute enquiries concerning the sentinels that were
posted within as well as without the Lodge; and found that, as they had
been stationed under the eye of Harrison himself, the rules of prudent
discipline had been exactly observed in the distribution of the posts.
There remained nothing therefore for Colonel Everard to do, but,
remembering his own adventure of the evening, to recommend that an
additional sentinel should be placed, with a companion, if judged
indispensable, in that vestibule, or ante-room, from which the long
gallery where he had met with the rencontre, and other suites of
apartments, diverged. The corporal respectfully promised all obedience
to his orders. The serving-men being called, appeared also in double
force. Everard demanded to know whether the Commissioners had gone to
bed, or whether he could get speech with them? "They are in their
bedroom, forsooth," replied one of the fellows; "but I think they be not
yet undressed."

"What!" said Everard, "are Colonel Desborough and Master Bletson both in
the same sleeping apartment?"

"Their honours have so chosen it," said the man; "and their honours'
secretaries remain upon guard all night."

"It is the fashion to double guards all over the house," said Wildrake.
"Had I a glimpse of a tolerably good-looking house-maid now, I should
know how to fall into the fashion."

"Peace, fool!" said Everard.--"And where are the Mayor and Master
Holdenough?"

"The Mayor is returned to the borough on horseback, behind the trooper,
who goes to Oxford for the reinforcement; and the man of the
steeple-house hath quartered himself in the chamber which Colonel
Desborough had last night, being that in which he is most likely to meet
the--your honour understands. The Lord pity us, we are a harassed
family!"

"And where be General Harrison's knaves," said Tomkins, "that they do
not marshal him to his apartment?"

"Here--here--here, Master Tomkins," said three fellows, pressing
forward, with the same consternation on their faces which seemed to
pervade the whole inhabitants of Woodstock.

"Away with you, then," said Tomkins;--"speak not to his worship--you see
he is not in the humour."

"Indeed," observed Colonel Everard, "he looks singularly wan--his
features seem writhen as by a palsy stroke; and though he was talking so
fast while we came along, he hath not opened his mouth since we came to
the light."

"It is his manner after such visitations," said Tomkins.--"Give his
honour your arms, Zedekiah and Jonathan, to lead him off--I will follow
instantly.--You, Nicodemus, tarry to wait upon me--it is not well
walking alone in this mansion."

"Master Tomkins," said Everard, "I have heard of you often as a sharp,
intelligent man--tell me fairly, are you in earnest afraid of any thing
supernatural haunting this house?"

"I would be loth to run the chance, sir," said Tomkins very gravely; "by
looking on my worshipful master, you may form a guess how the living
look after they have spoken with the dead." He bowed low, and took his
leave. Everard proceeded to the chamber which the two remaining
Commissioners had, for comfort's sake, chosen to inhabit in company.
They were preparing for bed as he went into their apartment. Both
started as the door opened--both rejoiced when they saw it was only
Everard who entered.

"Hark ye hither," said Bletson, pulling him aside, "sawest thou ever ass
equal to Desborough?--the fellow is as big as an ox, and as timorous as
a sheep. He has insisted on my sleeping here, to protect him. Shall we
have a merry night on't, ha? We will, if thou wilt take the third bed,
which was prepared for Harrison; but he is gone out, like a mooncalf, to
look for the valley of Armageddon in the Park of Woodstock."

"General Harrison has returned with me but now," said Everard.

"Nay but, as I shall live, he comes not into our apartment," said
Desborough, overhearing his answer. "No man that has been supping, for
aught I know, with the Devil, has a right to sleep among Christian
folk."

"He does not propose so," said Everard; "he sleeps, as I understand,
apart--and alone."

"Not quite alone, I dare say," said Desborough; "for Harrison hath a
sort of attraction for goblins--they fly round him like moths about a
candle:--But, I prithee, good Everard, do thou stay with us. I know not
how it is, but although thou hast not thy religion always in thy mouth,
nor speakest many hard words about it, like Harrison--nor makest long
preachments, like a certain most honourable relation of mine who shall
be nameless, yet somehow I feel myself safer in thy company than with
any of them. As for this Bletson, he is such a mere blasphemer, that I
fear the Devil will carry him away ere morning."

"Did you ever hear such a paltry coward?" said Bletson, apart to
Everard. "Do tarry, however, mine honoured Colonel--I know your zeal to
assist the distressed, and you see Desborough is in that predicament,
that he will require near him more than one example to prevent him
thinking of ghosts and fiends."

"I am sorry I cannot oblige you, gentlemen," said Everard; "but I have
settled my mind to sleep in Victor Lee's apartment, so I wish you good
night; and, if you would repose without disturbance, I would advise that
you commend yourselves, during the watches of the night, to Him unto
whom night is even as mid-day. I had intended to have spoke with you
this evening on the subject of my being here; but I will defer the
conference till to-morrow, when, I think, I will be able to show you
excellent reasons for leaving Woodstock."

"We have seen plenty such already," said Desborough; "for one, I came
here to serve the estate, with some moderate advantage to myself for my
trouble; but if I am set upon my head again to-night, as I was the night
before, I would not stay longer to gain a king's crown; for I am sure my
neck would be unfitted to bear the weight of it."

"Good night," exclaimed Everard; and was about to go, when Bletson again
pressed close, and whispered to him, "Hark thee, Colonel--you know my
friendship for thee--I do implore thee to leave the door of thy
apartment open, that if thou meetest with any disturbance, I may hear
thee call, and be with thee upon the very instant. Do this, dear
Everard, my fears for thee will keep me awake else; for I know that,
notwithstanding your excellent sense, you entertain some of those
superstitious ideas which we suck in with our mother's milk, and which
constitute the ground of our fears in situations like the present;
therefore leave thy door open, if you love me, that you may have ready
assistance from me in case of need."

"My master," said Wildrake, "trusts, first, in his Bible, sir, and then
in his good sword. He has no idea that the Devil can be baffled by the
charm of two men lying in one room, still less that the foul fiend can
be argued out of existence by the Nullifidians of the Rota."

Everard seized his imprudent friend by the collar, and dragged him off
as he was speaking, keeping fast hold of him till they were both in the
chamber of Victor Lee, where they had slept on a former occasion. Even
then he continued to hold Wildrake, until the servant had arranged the
lights, and was dismissed from the room; then letting him go, addressed
him with the upbraiding question, "Art thou not a prudent and sagacious
person, who in times like these seek'st every opportunity to argue
yourself into a broil, or embroil yourself in an argument? Out on you!"

"Ay, out on me indeed," said the cavalier; "out on me for a poor
tame-spirited creature, that submits to be bandied about in this manner,
by a man who is neither better born nor better bred than myself. I tell
thee, Mark, you make an unfair use of your advantages over me. Why will
you not let me go from you, and live and die after my own fashion?"

"Because, before we had been a week separate, I should hear of your
dying after the fashion of a dog. Come, my good friend, what madness was
it in thee to fall foul on Harrison, and then to enter into useless
argument with Bletson?"

"Why, we are in the Devil's house, I think, and I would willingly give
the landlord his due wherever I travel. To have sent him Harrison, or
Bletson now, just as a lunch to stop his appetite, till Crom"--

"Hush! stone walls have ears," said Everard, looking around him. "Here
stands thy night-drink. Look to thy arms, for we must be as careful as
if the Avenger of Blood were behind us. Yonder is thy bed--and I, as
thou seest, have one prepared in the parlour. The door only divides us."

"Which I will leave open, in case thou shouldst holla for assistance, as
yonder Nullifidian hath it--But how hast thou got all this so well put
in order, good patron?"

"I gave the steward Tomkins notice of my purpose to sleep here."

"A strange fellow that," said Wildrake, "and, as I judge, has taken
measure of every one's foot--all seems to pass through his hands."

"He is, I have understood," replied Everard, "one of the men formed by
the times--has a ready gift of preaching and expounding, which keeps him
in high terms with the Independents; and recommends himself to the more
moderate people by his intelligence and activity."

"Has his sincerity ever been doubted?" said Wildrake.

"Never, that I heard of," said the Colonel; "on the contrary, he has
been familiarly called Honest Joe, and Trusty Tomkins. For my part, I
believe his sincerity has always kept pace with his interest.--But come,
finish thy cup, and to bed.--What, all emptied at one draught!"

"Adszookers, yes--my vow forbids me to make two on't; but, never
fear--the nightcap will only warm my brain, not clog it. So, man or
devil, give me notice if you are disturbed, and rely on me in a
twinkling." So saying, the cavalier retreated into his separate
apartment, and Colonel Everard, taking off the most cumbrous part of his
dress, lay down in his hose and doublet, and composed himself to rest.

He was awakened from sleep by a slow and solemn strain of music, which
died away as at a distance. He started up, and felt for his arms, which
he found close beside him. His temporary bed being without curtains, he
could look around him without difficulty; but as there remained in the
chimney only a few red embers of the fire which he had arranged before
he went to sleep, it was impossible he could discern any thing. He felt,
therefore, in spite of his natural courage, that undefined and thrilling
species of tremor which attends a sense that danger is near, and an
uncertainty concerning its cause and character. Reluctant as he was to
yield belief to supernatural occurrences, we have already said he was
not absolutely incredulous; as perhaps, even in this more sceptical age,
there are many fewer complete and absolute infidels on this particular
than give themselves out for such. Uncertain whether he had not dreamed
of these sounds which seemed yet in his ears, he was unwilling to risk
the raillery of his friend by summoning him to his assistance. He sat
up, therefore, in his bed, not without experiencing that nervous
agitation to which brave men as well as cowards are subject; with this
difference, that the one sinks under it, like the vine under the
hailstorm, and the other collects his energies to shake it off, as the
cedar of Lebanon is said to elevate its boughs to disperse the snow
which accumulates upon them.

The story of Harrison, in his own absolute despite, and notwithstanding
a secret suspicion which he had of trick or connivance, returned on his
mind at this dead and solitary hour. Harrison, he remembered, had
described the vision by a circumstance of its appearance different from
that which his own remark had been calculated to suggest to the mind of
the visionary;--that bloody napkin, always pressed to the side, was then
a circumstance present either to his bodily eye, or to that of his
agitated imagination. Did, then, the murdered revisit the living haunts
of those who had forced them from the stage with all their sins
unaccounted for? And if they did, might not the same permission
authorise other visitations of a similar nature, to warn--to instruct--
to punish? Rash are they, was his conclusion, and credulous, who receive
as truth every tale of the kind; but no less rash may it be, to limit
the power of the Creator over the works which he has made, and to
suppose that, by the permission of the Author of Nature, the laws of
Nature may not, in peculiar cases, and for high purposes, be temporarily
suspended.

While these thoughts passed through Everard's mind, feelings unknown to
him, even when he stood first on the rough and perilous edge of battle,
gained ground upon him. He feared he knew not what; and where an open
and discernible peril would have drawn out his courage, the absolute
uncertainty of his situation increased his sense of the danger. He felt
an almost irresistible desire to spring from his bed and heap fuel on
the dying embers, expecting by the blaze to see some strange sight in
his chamber. He was also strongly tempted to awaken Wildrake; but shame,
stronger than fear itself, checked these impulses. What! should it be
thought that Markham Everard, held one of the best soldiers who had
drawn a sword in this sad war--Markham Everard, who had obtained such
distinguished rank in the army of the Parliament, though so young in
years, was afraid of remaining by himself in a twilight-room at
midnight? It never should be said.

This was, however, no charm for his unpleasant current of thought. There
rushed on his mind the various traditions of Victor Lee's chamber,
which, though he had often despised them as vague, unauthenticated, and
inconsistent rumours, engendered by ancient superstition, and
transmitted from generation to generation by loquacious credulity, had
something in them, which, did not tend to allay the present unpleasant
state of his nerves. Then, when he recollected the events of that very
afternoon, the weapon pressed against his throat, and the strong arm
which threw him backward on the floor--if the remembrance served to
contradict the idea of flitting phantoms, and unreal daggers, it
certainly induced him to believe, that there was in some part of this
extensive mansion a party of cavaliers, or malignants, harboured, who
might arise in the night, overpower the guards, and execute upon them
all, but on Harrison in particular, as one of the regicide judges, that
vengeance, which was so eagerly thirsted for by the attached followers
of the slaughtered monarch.

He endeavoured to console himself on this subject by the number and
position of the guards, yet still was dissatisfied with himself for not
having taken yet more exact precautions, and for keeping an extorted
promise of silence, which might consign so many of his party to the
danger of assassination. These thoughts, connected with his military
duties, awakened another train of reflections. He bethought himself,
that all he could now do, was to visit the sentries, and ascertain that
they were awake, alert, on the watch, and so situated, that in time of
need they might be ready to support each other.--"This better befits
me," he thought, "than to be here like a child, frightening myself with
the old woman's legend, which I have laughed at when a boy. What
although old Victor Lee was a sacrilegious man, as common report goes,
and brewed ale in the font which he brought from the ancient palace of
Holyrood, while church and building were in flames? And what although
his eldest son was when a child scalded to death in the same vessel? How
many churches have been demolished since his time? How many fonts
desecrated? So many indeed, that were the vengeance of Heaven to visit
such aggressions in a supernatural manner, no corner in England, no, not
the most petty parish church, but would have its apparition.--Tush,
these are idle fancies, unworthy, especially, to be entertained by those
educated to believe that sanctity resides in the intention and the act,
not in the buildings or fonts, or the form of worship."

As thus he called together the articles of his Calvinistic creed, the
bell of the great clock (a token seldom silent in such narratives)
tolled three, and was immediately followed by the hoarse call of the
sentinels through vault and gallery, up stairs and beneath, challenging
and answering each other with the usual watch-word, All's Well. Their
voices mingled with the deep boom of the bell, yet ceased before that
was silent, and when they had died away, the tingling echo of the
prolonged knell was scarcely audible. Ere yet that last distant tingling
had finally subsided into silence, it seemed as if it again was
awakened; and Everard could hardly judge at first whether a new echo had
taken up the falling cadence, or whether some other and separate sound
was disturbing anew the silence to which the deep knell had, as its
voice ceased, consigned the ancient mansion and the woods around it.

But the doubt was soon cleared up. The musical tones which had mingled
with the dying echoes of the knell, seemed at first to prolong, and
afterwards to survive them. A wild strain of melody, beginning at a
distance, and growing louder as it advanced, seemed to pass from room to
room, from cabinet to gallery, from hall to bower, through the deserted
and dishonoured ruins of the ancient residence of so many sovereigns;
and, as it approached, no soldier gave alarm, nor did any of the
numerous guests of various degrees, who spent an unpleasant and
terrified night in that ancient mansion, seem to dare to announce to
each other the inexplicable cause of apprehension.

Everard's excited state of mind did not permit him to be so passive. The
sounds approached so nigh, that it seemed they were performing, in the
very next apartment, a solemn service for the dead, when he gave the
alarm, by calling loudly to his trusty attendant and friend Wildrake,
who slumbered in the next chamber with only a door betwixt them, and
even that ajar. "Wildrake--Wildrake!--Up--Up! Dost thou not hear the
alarm?" There was no answer from Wildrake, though the musical sounds,
which now rung through the apartment, as if the performers had actually
been, within its precincts, would have been sufficient to awaken a
sleeping person, even without the shout of his comrade and patron.

"Alarm!--Roger Wildrake--alarm!" again called Everard, getting out of
bed and grasping his weapons--"Get a light, and cry alarm!" There was no
answer. His voice died away as the sound of the music seemed also to
die; and the same soft sweet voice, which still to his thinking
resembled that of Alice Lee, was heard in his apartment, and, as he
thought, at no distance from him.

"Your comrade will not answer," said the low soft voice. "Those only
hear the alarm whose consciences feel the call!"

"Again this mummery!" said Everard. "I am better armed than I was of
late; and but for the sound of that voice, the speaker had bought his
trifling dear."

It was singular, we may observe in passing, that the instant the
distinct sounds of the human voice were heard by Everard, all idea of
supernatural interference was at an end, and the charm by which he had
been formerly fettered appeared to be broken; so much is the influence
of imaginary or superstitious terror dependent (so far as respects
strong judgments at least) upon what is vague or ambiguous; and so
readily do distinct tones, and express ideas, bring such judgments back
to the current of ordinary life. The voice returned answer, as
addressing his thoughts as well as his words.

"We laugh at the weapons thou thinkest should terrify us--Over the
guardians of Woodstock they have no power. Fire, if thou wilt, and try
the effect of thy weapons. But know, it is not our purpose to harm
thee--thou art of a falcon breed, and noble in thy disposition, though,
unreclaimed and ill-nurtured, thou hauntest with kites and carrion
crows. Wing thy flight from hence on the morrow, for if thou tarriest
with the bats, owls, vultures and ravens, which have thought to nestle
here, thou wilt inevitably share their fate. Away then, that these halls
may be swept and garnished for the reception of those who have a better
right to inhabit them."

Everard answered in a raised voice.--"Once more I warn you, think not to
defy me in vain. I am no child to be frightened by goblins' tales; and
no coward, armed as I am, to be alarmed at the threats of banditti. If I
give you a moment's indulgence, it is for the sake of dear and misguided
friends, who may be concerned with this dangerous gambol. Know, I can
bring a troop of soldiers round the castle, who will search its most
inward recesses for the author of this audacious frolic; and if that
search should fail, it will cost but a few barrels of gunpowder to make
the mansion a heap of ruins, and bury under them the authors of such an
ill-judged pastime."

"You speak proudly, Sir Colonel," said another voice, similar to that
harsher and stronger tone by which he had been addressed in the gallery;
"try your courage in this direction."

"You should not dare me twice," said Colonel Everard, "had I a glimpse
of light to take aim by."

As he spoke, a sudden gleam of light was thrown with a brilliancy which
almost dazzled the speaker, showing distinctly a form somewhat
resembling that of Victor Lee, as represented in his picture, holding in
one hand a lady completely veiled, and in the other his leading-staff,
or truncheon. Both figures were animated, and, as it appeared, standing
within six feet of him.

"Were it not for the woman," said Everard, "I would not be thus mortally
dared."

"Spare not for the female form, but do your worst," replied the same
voice. "I defy you."

"Repeat your defiance when I have counted thrice," said Everard, "and
take the punishment of your insolence. Once--I have cocked my pistol--
Twice--I never missed my aim--By all that is sacred, I fire if you do
not withdraw. When I pronounce the next number, I will shoot you dead
where you stand. I am yet unwilling to shed blood--I give you another
chance of flight--once--twice--THRICE!"

Everard aimed at the bosom, and discharged his pistol. The figure waved
its arm in an attitude of scorn; and a loud laugh arose, during which
the light, as gradually growing weaker, danced and glimmered upon the
apparition of the aged knight, and then disappeared. Everard's
life-blood ran cold to his heart--"Had he been of human mould," he
thought, "the bullet must have pierced him--but I have neither will nor
power to fight with supernatural beings."

The feeling of oppression was now so strong as to be actually sickening.
He groped his way, however, to the fireside, and flung on the embers
which were yet gleaming, a handful of dry fuel. It presently blazed, and
afforded him light to see the room in every direction. He looked
cautiously, almost timidly, around, and half expected some horrible
phantom to become visible. But he saw nothing save the old furniture,
the reading desk, and other articles, which had been left in the same
state as when Sir Henry Lee departed. He felt an uncontrollable desire,
mingled with much repugnance, to look at the portrait of the ancient
knight, which the form he had seen so strongly resembled. He hesitated
betwixt the opposing feelings, but at length snatched, with desperate
resolution, the taper which he had extinguished, and relighted it, ere
the blaze of the fuel had again died away. He held it up to the ancient
portrait of Victor Lee, and gazed on it with eager curiosity, not
unmingled with fear. Almost the childish terrors of his earlier days
returned, and he thought the severe pale eye of the ancient warrior
followed his, and menaced him with its displeasure. And although he
quickly argued himself out of such an absurd belief, yet the mixed
feelings of his mind were expressed in words that seemed half addressed
to the ancient portrait.

"Soul of my mother's ancestor," he said, "be it for weal or for woe, by
designing men, or by supernatural beings, that these ancient halls are
disturbed, I am resolved to leave them on the morrow."

"I rejoice to hear it, with all my soul," said a voice behind him.

He turned, saw a tall figure in white, with a sort of turban upon its
head, and dropping the candle in the exertion, instantly grappled with
it.

"_Thou_ at least art palpable," he said.

"Palpable?" answered he whom he grasped so strongly--"'Sdeath, methinks
you might know that--without the risk of choking me; and if you loose me
not, I'll show you that two can play at the game of wrestling."

"Roger Wildrake!" said Everard, letting the cavalier loose, and stepping
back.

"Roger Wildrake? ay, truly. Did you take me for Roger Bacon, come to
help you raise the devil?--for the place smells of sulphur consumedly."

"It is the pistol I fired--Did you not hear it?"

"Why, yes, it was the first thing waked me--for that nightcap which I
pulled on, made me sleep like a dormouse--Pshaw, I feel my brains giddy
with it yet."

"And wherefore came you not on the instant?--I never needed help more."

"I came as fast as I could," answered Wildrake; "but it was some time
ere I got my senses collected, for I was dreaming of that cursed field
at Naseby--and then the door of my room was shut, and hard to open, till
I played the locksmith with my foot."

"How! it was open when I went to bed," said Everard.

"It was locked when I came out of bed, though," said Wildrake, "and I
marvel you heard me not when I forced it open."

"My mind was occupied otherwise," said Everard.

"Well," said Wildrake, "but what has happened?--Here am I bolt upright,
and ready to fight, if this yawning fit will give me leave--Mother
Redcap's mightiest is weaker than I drank last night, by a bushel to a
barleycorn--I have quaffed the very elixir of malt--Ha--yaw."

"And some opiate besides, I should think," said Everard.

"Very like--very like--less than the pistol-shot would not waken me;
even me, who with but an ordinary grace-cup, sleep as lightly as a
maiden on the first of May, when she watches for the earliest beam to go
to gather dew. But what are you about to do next?"

"Nothing," answered Everard.

"Nothing?" said Wildrake, in surprise.

"I speak it," said Colonel Everard, "less for your information, than for
that of others who may hear me, that I will leave the Lodge this
morning, and, if it is possible, remove the Commissioners."

"Hark," said Wildrake, "do you not hear some noise like the distant
sound of the applause of a theatre? The goblins of the place rejoice in
your departure."

"I shall leave Woodstock," said Everard, "to the occupation of my uncle
Sir Henry Lee, and his family, if they choose to resume it; not that I
am frightened into this as a concession to the series of artifices which
have been played off on this occasion, but solely because such was my
intention from the beginning. But let me warn," (he added, raising his
voice,)--"let me warn the parties concerned in this combination, that
though it may pass off successfully on a fool like Desborough, a
visionary like Harrison, a coward like Bletson"--

Here a voice distinctly spoke, as standing near them--"or a wise,
moderate, and resolute person, like Colonel Everard."

"By Heaven, the voice came from the picture," said Wildrake, drawing his
sword; "I will pink his plated armour for him."

"Offer no violence," said Everard, startled at the interruption, but
resuming with firmness what he was saying--"Let those engaged be aware,
that however this string of artifices may be immediately successful, it
must, when closely looked into, be attended with the punishment of all
concerned--the total demolition of Woodstock, and the irremediable
downfall of the family of Lee. Let all concerned think of this, and
desist in time."

He paused, and almost expected a reply, but none such came.

"It is a very odd thing," said Wildrake; "but--yaw-ha--my brain cannot
compass it just now; it whirls round like a toast in a bowl of
muscadine; I must sit down--haw-yaw--and discuss it at leisure--
Gramercy, good elbow-chair."

So saying, he threw himself, or rather sank gradually down on a large
easy-chair which had been often pressed by the weight of stout Sir Henry
Lee, and in an instant was sound asleep. Everard was far from feeling
the same inclination for slumber, yet his mind was relieved of the
apprehension of any farther visitation that night; for he considered his
treaty to evacuate Woodstock as made known to, and accepted in all
probability by, those whom the intrusion of the Commissioners had
induced to take such singular measures for expelling them. His opinion,
which had for a time bent towards a belief in something supernatural in
the disturbances, had now returned to the more rational mode of
accounting for them by dexterous combination, for which such a mansion
as Woodstock afforded so many facilities.

He heaped the hearth with fuel, lighted the candle, and examining poor
Wildrake's situation, adjusted him as easily in the chair as he could,
the cavalier stirring his limbs no more than an infant. His situation
went far, in his patron's opinion, to infer trick and confederacy, for
ghosts have no occasion to drug men's possets. He threw himself on the
bed, and while he thought these strange circumstances over, a sweet and
low strain of music stole through the chamber, the words "Good
night--good night--good night," thrice repeated, each time in a softer
and more distant tone, seeming to assure him that the goblins and he
were at truce, if not at peace, and that he had no more disturbance to
expect that night. He had scarcely the courage to call out a "good
night;" for, after all his conviction of the existence of a trick, it
was so well performed as to bring with it a feeling of fear, just like
what an audience experience during the performance of a tragic scene,
which they know to be unreal, and which yet affects their passions by
its near approach to nature. Sleep overtook him at last, and left him
not till broad daylight on the ensuing morning.

       *       *        *       *        *

CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.


  And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger.
  At whose approach ghosts, wandering here and there,
  Troop home to churchyard.

  MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

With the fresh air and the rising of morning, every feeling of the
preceding night had passed away from Colonel Everard's mind, excepting
wonder how the effects which he had witnessed could be produced. He
examined the whole room, sounding bolt, floor, and wainscot with his
knuckles and cane, but was unable to discern any secret passages; while
the door, secured by a strong cross-bolt, and the lock besides, remained
as firm as when he had fastened it on the preceding evening. The
apparition resembling Victor Lee next called his attention. Ridiculous
stories had been often circulated, of this figure, or one exactly
resembling it, having been met with by night among the waste apartments
and corridors of the old palace; and Markham Everard had often heard
such in his childhood. He was angry to recollect his own deficiency of
courage, and the thrill which he felt on the preceding night, when by
confederacy, doubtless, such an object was placed before his eyes.

"Surely," he said, "this fit of childish folly could not make me miss my
aim--more likely that the bullet had been withdrawn clandestinely from
the pistol."

He examined that which was undischarged--he found the bullet in it. He
investigated the apartment opposite to the point at which he had fired,
and, at five feet from the floor in a direct line between the bed-side
and the place where the appearance had been seen, a pistol-ball had
recently buried itself in the wainscot. He had little doubt, therefore,
that he had fired in a just direction; and indeed to have arrived at the
place where it was lodged, the bullet must have passed through the
appearance at which he aimed, and proceeded point blank to the wall
beyond. This was mysterious, and induced him to doubt whether the art of
witchcraft or conjuration had not been called in to assist the
machinations of those daring conspirators, who, being themselves mortal,
might, nevertheless, according to the universal creed of the times, have
invoked and obtained assistance from the inhabitants of another world.

His next investigation respected the picture of Victor Lee itself. He
examined it minutely as he stood on the floor before it, and compared
its pale, shadowy, faintly-traced outlines, its faded colours, the stern
repose of the eye, and death-like pallidness of the countenance, with
its different aspect on the preceding night, when illuminated by the
artificial light which fell full upon it, while it left every other part
of the room in comparative darkness. The features seemed then to have an
unnatural glow, while the rising and falling of the flame in the chimney
gave the head and limbs something which resembled the appearance of
actual motion. Now, seen by day, it was a mere picture of the hard and
ancient school of Holbein; last night, it seemed for the moment
something more. Determined to get to the bottom of this contrivance if
possible, Everard, by the assistance of a table and chair, examined the
portrait still more closely, and endeavoured to ascertain the existence
of any private spring, by which it might be slipt aside,--a contrivance
not unfrequent in ancient buildings, which usually abounded with means
of access and escape, communicated to none but the lords of the castle,
or their immediate confidants. But the panel on which Victor Lee was
painted was firmly fixed in the wainscoting of the apartment, of which
it made a part, and the Colonel satisfied himself that it could not have
been used for the purpose which he had suspected.

He next aroused his faithful squire, Wildrake, who, notwithstanding his
deep share of the "blessedness of sleep," had scarce even yet got rid of
the effects of the grace-cup of the preceding evening. "It was the
reward," according to his own view of the matter, "of his temperance;
one single draught having made him sleep more late and more sound than a
matter of half-a-dozen, or from thence to a dozen pulls, would have
done, when he was guilty of the enormity of rere-suppers, [Footnote:
Rere-suppers (_quasi arriere_) belonged to a species of luxury
introduced in the jolly days of King James's extravagance, and continued
through the subsequent reign. The supper took place at an early hour,
six or seven o'clock at latest--the rere-supper was a postliminary
banquet, a _hors d'oeuvre_, which made its appearance at ten or eleven,
and served as an apology for prolonging the entertainment till
midnight.] and of drinking deep after them."

"Had your temperate draught," said Everard, "been but a thought more
strongly seasoned, Wildrake, thou hadst slept so sound that the last
trump only could have waked thee."

"And then," answered Wildrake, "I should have waked with a headache,
Mark; for I see my modest sip has not exempted me from that epilogue.--
But let us go forth, and see how the night, which we have passed so
strangely, has been spent by the rest of them. I suspect they are all
right willing to evacuate Woodstock, unless they have either rested
better than we, or at least been more lucky in lodgings."

"In that case, I will dispatch thee down to Joceline's hut, to negotiate
the re-entrance of Sir Henry Lee and his family into their old
apartments, where, my interest with the General being joined with the
indifferent repute of the place itself, I think they have little chance
of being disturbed either by the present, or by any new Commissioners."

"But how are they to defend themselves against the fiends, my gallant
Colonel?" said Wildrake. "Methinks had I an interest in yonder pretty
girl, such as thou dost boast, I should be loth to expose her to the
terrors of a residence at Woodstock, where these devils--I beg their
pardon, for I suppose they hear every word we say--these merry
goblins--make such gay work from twilight till morning."

"My dear Wildrake," said the Colonel, "I, as well as you, believe it
possible that our speech may be overheard; but I care not, and will
speak my mind plainly. I trust Sir Henry and Alice are not engaged in
this silly plot; I cannot reconcile it with the pride of the one, the
modesty of the other, nor the good sense of both, that any motive could
engage them in so strange a conjunction. But the fiends are all of your
own political persuasion, Wildrake, all true-blue cavaliers; and I am
convinced, that Sir Henry and Alice Lee, though they be unconnected with
them, have not the slightest cause to be apprehensive of their goblin
machinations. Besides, Sir Henry and Joceline must know every corner
about the place: it will be far more difficult to play off any ghostly
machinery upon him than upon strangers. But let us to our toilet, and
when water and brush have done their work, we will enquire--what is next
to be done."

"Nay, that wretched puritan's garb of mine is hardly worth brushing,"
said Wildrake; "and but for this hundred-weight of rusty iron, with
which thou hast bedizened me, I look more like a bankrupt Quaker than
anything else. But I'll make _you_ as spruce as ever was a canting rogue
of your party."

So saying, and humming at the same time the cavalier tune,--

  "Though for a time we see Whitehall
  With cobwebs hung around the wall,
  Yet Heaven shall make amends for all.
    When the King shall enjoy his own again."--

"Thou forgettest who are without," said Colonel Everard.

"No--I remember who are within," replied his friend. "I only sing to my
merry goblins, who will like me all the better for it. Tush, man, the
devils are my _bonos socios_, and when I see them, I will warrant they
prove such roaring boys as I knew when I served under Lunford and
Goring, fellows with long nails that nothing escaped, bottomless
stomachs, that nothing filled,--mad for pillaging, ranting, drinking,
and fighting,--sleeping rough on the trenches, and dying stubbornly in
their boots. Ah! those merry days are gone. Well, it is the fashion to
make a grave face on't among cavaliers, and specially the parsons that
have lost their tithe-pigs; but I was fitted for the element of the
time, and never did or can desire merrier days than I had during that
same barbarous, bloody, and unnatural rebellion."

"Thou wert ever a wild sea-bird, Roger, even according to your name;
liking the gale better than the calm, the boisterous ocean better than
the smooth lake, and your rough, wild struggle against the wind, than
daily food, ease and quiet."

"Pshaw! a fig for your smooth lake, and your old woman to feed me with
brewer's grains, and the poor drake obliged to come swattering whenever
she whistles! Everard, I like to feel the wind rustle against my
pinions,--now diving, now on the crest of the wave, now in ocean, now in
sky--that is the wild-drake's joy, my grave one! And in the Civil War so
it went with us--down in one county, up in another, beaten to-day,
victorious tomorrow--now starving in some barren leaguer--now revelling
in a Presbyterian's pantry--his cellars, his plate-chest, his old
judicial thumb-ring, his pretty serving-wench, all at command!"

"Hush, friend," said Everard; "remember I hold that persuasion." "More
the pity, Mark, more the pity," said Wildrake; "but, as you say, it is
needless talking of it. Let us e'en go and see how your Presbyterian
pastor, Mr. Holdenough, has fared, and whether he has proved more able
to foil the foul Fiend than have you his disciple and auditor."

They left the apartment accordingly, and were overwhelmed with the
various incoherent accounts of sentinels and others, all of whom had
seen or heard something extraordinary in the course of the night. It is
needless to describe particularly the various rumours which each
contributed to the common stock, with the greater alacrity that in such
cases there seems always to be a sort of disgrace in not having seen or
suffered as much as others.

The most moderate of the narrators only talked of sounds like the mewing
of a cat, or the growling of a dog, especially the squeaking of a pig.
They heard also as if it had been nails driven and saws used, and the
clashing of fetters, and the rustling of silk gowns, and the notes of
music, and in short all sorts of sounds which have nothing to do with
each other. Others swore they had smelt savours of various kinds,
chiefly bituminous, indicating a Satanic derivation; others did not
indeed swear, but protested, to visions of men in armour, horses without
heads, asses with horns, and cows with six legs, not to mention black
figures, whose cloven hoofs gave plain information what realm they
belonged to.

But these strongly-attested cases of nocturnal disturbances among the
sentinels had been so general as to prevent alarm and succour on any
particular point, so that those who were on duty called in vain on the
_corps-de-garde_, who were trembling on their own post; and an alert
enemy might have done complete execution on the whole garrison. But amid
this general _alerte_, no violence appeared to be meant, and annoyance,
not injury, seemed to have been the goblins' object, excepting in the
case of one poor fellow, a trooper, who had followed Harrison in half
his battles, and now was sentinel in that very vestibule upon which
Everard had recommended them to mount a guard. He had presented his
carabine at something which came suddenly upon him, when it was wrested
out of his hands, and he himself knocked down with the butt-end of it.
His broken head, and the drenched bedding of Desborough, upon whom a tub
of ditch-water had been emptied during his sleep, were the only pieces
of real evidence to attest the disturbances of the night.

The reports from Harrison's apartment were, as delivered by the grave
Master Tomkins, that truly the General had passed the night undisturbed,
though there was still upon him a deep sleep, and a folding of the hands
to slumber; from which Everard argued that the machinators had esteemed
Harrison's part of the reckoning sufficiently paid off on the preceding
evening.

He then proceeded to the apartment doubly garrisoned by the worshipful
Desborough, and the philosophical Bletson. They were both up and
dressing themselves; the former open-mouthed in his feeling of fear and
suffering. Indeed, no sooner had Everard entered, than the ducked and
dismayed Colonel made a dismal complaint of the way he had spent the
night, and murmured not a little against his worshipful kinsman for
imposing a task upon him which inferred so much annoyance.

"Could not his Excellency, my kinsman Noll," he said, "have given his
poor relative and brother-in-law a sop somewhere else than out of this
Woodstock, which seems to be the devil's own porridge-pot? I cannot sup
broth with the devil; I have no long spoon--not I. Could he not have
quartered me in some quiet corner, and given this haunted place to some
of his preachers and prayers, who know the Bible as well as the
muster-roll? whereas I know the four hoofs of a clean-going nag, or the
points of a team of oxen, better than all the books of Moses. But I will
give it over, at once and for ever; hopes of earthly gain shall never
make me run the risk of being carried away bodily by the devil, besides
being set upon my head one whole night, and soused with ditch-water the
next--No, no; I am too wise for that."

Master Bletson had a different part to act. He complained of no personal
annoyances; on the contrary, he declared he should have slept as well as
ever he did in his life but for the abominable disturbances around him,
of men calling to arms every half hour, when so much as a cat trotted by
one of their posts--He would rather, he said, "have slept among a whole
sabaoth of witches, if such creatures could be found."

"Then you think there are no such things as apparitions, Master
Bletson?" said Everard. "I used to be sceptical on the subject; but, on
my life, to-night has been a strange one."

"Dreams, dreams, dreams, my simple Colonel," said Bletson, though, his
pale face and shaking limbs belied the assumed courage with which he
spoke. "Old Chaucer, sir, hath told us the real moral on't--He was an
old frequenter of the forest of Woodstock, here"--

"Chaser?" said Desborough; "some huntsman, belike, by his name. Does he
walk, like Hearne at Windsor?"

"Chaucer," said Bletson, "my dear Desborough, is one of those wonderful
fellows, as Colonel Everard knows, who live many a hundred years after
they are buried, and whose words haunt our ears after their bones are
long mouldered in the dust."

"Ay, ay! well," answered Desborough, to whom this description of the old
poet was unintelligible--"I for one desire his room rather than his
company; one of your conjurors, I warrant him. But what says he to the
matter?"

"Only a slight spell, which I will take the freedom to repeat to Colonel
Everard," said Bletson; "but which would be as bad as Greek to thee,
Desborough. Old Geoffrey lays the whole blame of our nocturnal
disturbance on superfluity of humours,

  'Which causen folk to dred in their dreams
  Of arrowes, and of fire with red gleams,
  Right as the humour of melancholy
  Causeth many a man in sleep to cry
  For fear of great bulls and bears black,
  And others that black devils will them take.'"

While he was thus declaiming, Everard observed a book sticking out from
beneath the pillow of the bed lately occupied by the honourable member.

"Is that Chaucer?" he said, making to the volume; "I would like to look
at the passage"--

"Chaucer?" said Bletson, hastening to interfere; "no--that is Lucretius,
my darling Lucretius. I cannot let you see it; I have some private
marks."

But by this time Everard had the book in his hand. "Lucretius?" he said;
"no, Master Bletson, this is not Lucretius, but a fitter comforter in
dread or in danger--Why should you be ashamed of it? Only, Bletson,
instead of resting your head, if you can but anchor your heart upon this
volume, it may serve you in better stead than Lucretius or Chaucer
either."

"Why, what book is it?" said Bletson, his pale cheek colouring with the
shame of detection. "Oh! the Bible!" throwing it down contemptuously;
"some book of my fellow Gibeon's; these Jews have been always
superstitious--ever since Juvenal's time, thou knowest--

  "'Qualiacunque voles Judaei somnia vendunt.'

"He left me the old book for a spell, I warrant you; for 'tis a
well-meaning fool."

"He would scarce have left the New Testament as well as the Old," said
Everard. "Come, my dear Bletson, do not be ashamed of the wisest thing
you ever did in your life, supposing you took your Bible in an hour of
apprehension, with a view to profit by the contents."

Bletson's vanity was so much galled that it overcame his constitutional
cowardice. His little thin fingers quivered for eagerness, his neck and
cheeks were as red as scarlet, and his articulation was as thick and
vehement as--in short, as if he had been no philosopher.

"Master Everard," he said, "you are a man of the sword, sir; and, sir,
you seem to suppose yourself entitled to say whatever comes into your
mind with respect to civilians, sir. But I would have you remember, sir,
that there are bounds beyond which human patience may be urged, sir--and
jests which no man of honour will endure, sir--and therefore I expect an
apology for your present language, Colonel Everard, and this unmannerly
jesting, sir--or you may chance to hear from me in a way that will not
please you."

Everard could not help smiling at this explosion of valour, engendered
by irritated self-love.

"Look you, Master Bletson," he said, "I have been a soldier, that is
true, but I was never a bloody-minded one; and, as a Christian, I am
unwilling to enlarge the kingdom of darkness by sending a new vassal
thither before his time. If Heaven gives you time to repent, I see no
reason why my hand should deprive you of it, which, were we to have a
rencontre, would be your fate in the thrust of a sword, or the pulling
of a trigger--I therefore prefer to apologise; and I call Desborough, if
he has recovered his wits, to bear evidence that I _do_ apologise for
having suspected you, who are completely the slave of your own vanity,
of any tendency, however slight, towards grace or good sense. And I
farther apologise for the time that I have wasted in endeavouring to
wash an Ethiopian white, or in recommending rational enquiry to a
self-willed atheist."

Bletson, overjoyed at the turn the matter had taken--for the defiance
was scarce out of his mouth ere he began to tremble for the
consequences--answered with great eagerness and servility of
manner,--"Nay, dearest Colonel, say no more of it--an apology is all
that is necessary among men of honour--it neither leaves dishonour with
him who asks it, nor infers degradation on him who makes it."

"Not such an apology as I have made, I trust," said the Colonel.

"No, no--not in the least," answered Bletson,--"one apology serves me
just as well as another, and Desborough will bear witness you have made
one, and that is all there can be said on the subject."

"Master Desborough and you," rejoined the Colonel, "will take care how
the matter is reported, I dare say; and I only recommend to both, that,
if mentioned at all, it may be told correctly."

"Nay, nay, we will not mention it at all," said Bletson, "we will forget
it from this moment. Only, never suppose me capable of superstitious
weakness. Had I been afraid of an apparent and real danger--why such
fear is natural to man--and I will not deny that the mood of mind may
have happened to me as well as to others. But to be thought capable of
resorting to spells, and sleeping with books under my pillow to secure
myself against ghosts,--on my word, it was enough to provoke one to
quarrel, for the moment, with his very best friend.--And now, Colonel,
what is to be done, and how is our duty to be executed at this accursed
place? If I should get such a wetting as Desborough's, why I should die
of catarrh, though you see it hurts him no more than a bucket of water
thrown over a post-horse. You are, I presume, a brother in our
commission,--how are you of opinion we should proceed?"

"Why, in good time here comes Harrison," said Everard, "and I will lay
my commission from the Lord-General before you all; which, as you see,
Colonel Desborough, commands you to desist from acting on your present
authority, and intimates his pleasure accordingly, that you withdraw
from this place."

Desborough took the paper and examined the signature.--"It is Noll's
signature sure enough," said he, dropping his under jaw; "only, every
time of late he has made the _Oliver_ as large as a giant, while the
_Cromwell_ creeps after like a dwarf, as if the surname were like to
disappear one of these days altogether. But is his Excellency, our
kinsman, Noll Cromwell (since he has the surname yet) so unreasonable as
to think his relations and friends are to be set upon their heads till
they have the crick in their neck--drenched as if they had been plunged
in a horse-pond--frightened, day and night, by all sort of devils,
witches, and fairies, and get not a penny of smart-money? Adzooks,
(forgive me for swearing,) if that's the case I had better home to my
farm, and mind team and herd, than dangle after such a thankless person,
though I _have_ wived his sister. She was poor enough when I took her,
for as high as Noll holds his head now."

"It is not my purpose," said Bletson, "to stir debate in this honourable
meeting; and no one will doubt the veneration and attachment which I
bear to our noble General, whom the current of events, and his own
matchless qualities of courage and constancy, have raised so high in
these deplorable days.--If I were to term him a direct and immediate
emanation of the ANIMUS MUNDI itself--something which Nature had
produced in her proudest hour, while exerting herself, as is her law,
for the preservation of the creatures to whom she has given existence--
should scarce exhaust the ideas which I entertain of him. Always
protesting that I am by no means to be held as admitting, but merely as
granting for the sake of argument, the possible existence of that
species of emanation, or exhalation, from the ANIMUS MUNDI, of which I
have made mention. I appeal to you, Colonel Desborough, who are his
Excellency's relation--to you, Colonel Everard, who hold the dearer
title of his friend, whether I have overrated my zeal in his behalf?"

Everard bowed at this pause, but Desborough gave a more complete
authentication. "Nay, I can bear witness to that. I have seen when you
were willing to tie his points or brush his cloak, or the like--and to
be treated thus ungratefully--and gudgeoned of the opportunities which
had been given you"--

"It is not for that," said Bletson, waving his hand gracefully. "You do
me wrong, Master Desborough--you do indeed, kind sir--although I know
you meant it not--No, sir--no partial consideration of private interest
prevailed on me to undertake this charge. It was conferred on me by the
Parliament of England, in whose name this war commenced, and by the
Council of State, who are the conservators of England's liberty. And the
chance and serene hope of serving the country, the confidence that
I--and you, Master Desborough--and you, worthy General Harrison--
superior, as I am, to all selfish considerations--to which I am sure you
also, good Colonel Everard, would be superior, had you been named in
this Commission, as I would to Heaven you had--I say, the hope of
serving the country, with the aid of such respectable associates, one
and all of them--as well as you, Colonel Everard, supposing you to have
been of the number, induced me to accept of this opportunity, whereby I
might, gratuitously, with your assistance, render so much advantage to
our dear mother the Commonwealth of England.--Such was my hope--my
trust--my confidence. And now comes my Lord-General's warrant to
dissolve the authority by which we are entitled to act. Gentlemen, I ask
this honourable meeting, (with all respect to his Excellency,) whether
his Commission be paramount to that from which he himself directly holds
his commission? No one will say so. I ask whether he has climbed into
the seat from which the late Man descended, or hath a great seal, or
means to proceed by prerogative in such a case? I cannot see reason to
believe it, and therefore I must resist such doctrine. I am in your
judgment, my brave and honourable colleagues; but, touching my own poor
opinion, I feel myself under the unhappy necessity of proceeding in our
commission, as if the interruption had not taken place; with this
addition, that the Board of Sequestrators should sit, by day, at this
same Lodge of Woodstock, but that, to reconcile the minds of weak
brethren, who may be afflicted by superstitious rumours, as well as to
avoid any practice on our persons by the malignants, who, I am
convinced, are busy in this neighbourhood, we should remove our sittings
after sunset to the George Inn, in the neighbouring borough."

"Good Master Bletson," replied Colonel Everard, "it is not for me to
reply to you; but you may know in what characters this army of England
and their General write their authority. I fear me the annotation on
this precept of the General, will be expressed by the march of a troop
of horse from Oxford to see it executed. I believe there are orders out
for that effect; and you know by late experience, that the soldier will
obey his General equally against King and Parliament."

"That obedience is conditional," said Harrison, starting fiercely up.
"Know'st thou not, Markham Everard, that I have followed the man
Cromwell as close as the bull-dog follows his master?--and so I will
yet;--but I am no spaniel, either to be beaten, or to have the food I
have earned snatched from me, as if I were a vile cur, whose wages are a
whipping, and free leave to wear my own skin. I looked, amongst the
three of us, that we might honestly, and piously, and with advantage to
the Commonwealth, have gained out of this commission three, or it may be
five thousand pounds. And does Cromwell imagine I will part with it for
a rough word? No man goeth a warfare on his own charges. He that serves
the altar must live by the altar--and the saints must have means to
provide them with good harness and fresh horses against the unsealing
and the pouring forth. Does Cromwell think I am so much of a tame tiger
as to permit him to rend from me at pleasure the miserable dole he hath
thrown me? Of a surety I will resist; and the men who are here, being
chiefly of my own regiment--men who wait, and who expect, with lamps
burning and loins girded, and each one his weapon bound upon his thigh,
will aid me to make this house good against every assault--ay, even
against Cromwell himself, until the latter coming--Selah! Selah!"--

"And I," said Desborough, "will levy troops and protect your
out-quarters, not choosing at present to close myself up in garrison"--

"And I," said Bletson, "will do my part, and hie me to town and lay the
matter before Parliament, arising in my place for that effect."

Everard was little moved by all these threats. The only formidable one,
indeed, was that of Harrison, whose enthusiasm, joined with his courage,
and obstinacy, and character among the fanatics of his own principles,
made him a dangerous enemy. Before trying any arguments with the
refractory Major-General, Everard endeavoured to moderate his feelings,
and threw something in about the late disturbances.

"Talk not to me of supernatural disturbances, young man--talk not to me
of enemies in the body or out of the body. Am I not the champion chosen
and commissioned to encounter and to conquer the great Dragon, and the
Beast which cometh out of the sea? Am I not to command the left wing,
and two regiments of the centre, when the Saints shall encounter with
the countless legions of Grog and Magog? I tell thee that my name is
written on the sea of glass mingled with fire, and that I will keep this
place of Woodstock against all mortal men, and against all devils,
whether in field or chamber, in the forest or in the meadow, even till
the Saints reign in the fulness of their glory."

Everard saw it was then time to produce two or three lines under
Cromwell's hand, which he had received from the General, subsequently to
the communication through Wildrake. The information they contained was
calculated to allay the disappointment of the Commissioners. This
document assigned as the reason of superseding the Woodstock Commission,
that he should probably propose to the Parliament to require the
assistance of General Harrison, Colonel Desborough, and Master Bletson,
the honourable member for Littlefaith, in a much greater matter, namely,
the disposing of the royal property, and disparking of the King's forest
at Windsor. So soon as this idea was started, all parties pricked up
their ears; and their drooping, and gloomy, and vindictive looks began
to give place to courteous smiles, and to a cheerfulness, which laughed
in their eyes, and turned their mustaches upwards.

Colonel Desborough acquitted his right honourable and excellent cousin
and kinsman of all species of unkindness; Master Bletson discovered,
that the interest of the state was trebly concerned in the good
administration of Windsor more than in that of Woodstock. As for
Harrison, he exclaimed, without disguise or hesitation, that the
gleaning of the grapes of Windsor was better than the vintage of
Woodstock. Thus speaking, the glance of his dark eye expressed as much
triumph in the proposed earthly advantage, as if it had not been,
according to his vain persuasion, to be shortly exchanged for his share
in the general reign of the Millennium. His delight, in short, resembled
the joy of an eagle, who preys upon a lamb in the evening with not the
less relish, because she descries in the distant landscape an hundred
thousand men about to join battle with daybreak, and to give her an
endless feast on the hearts and lifeblood of the valiant. Yet though all
agreed that they would be obedient to the General's pleasure in this
matter, Bletson proposed, as a precautionary measure, in which all
agreed, that they should take up their abode for some time in the town
of Woodstock, to wait for their new commissions respecting Windsor; and
this upon the prudential consideration, that it was best not to slip one
knot until another was first tied.

Each Commissioner, therefore, wrote to Oliver individually, stating, in
his own way, the depth and height, length and breadth, of his attachment
to him. Each expressed himself resolved to obey the General's
injunctions to the uttermost; but with the same scrupulous devotion to
the Parliament, each found himself at a loss how to lay down the
commission intrusted to them by that body, and therefore felt bound in
conscience to take up his residence at the borough of Woodstock, that he
might not seem to abandon the charge committed to them, until they
should be called to administrate the weightier matter of Windsor, to
which they expressed their willingness instantly to devote themselves,
according to his Excellency's pleasure.

This was the general style of their letters, varied by the
characteristic flourishes of the writers. Desborough, for example, said
something about the religious duty of providing for one's own household,
only he blundered the text. Bletson wrote long and big words about the
political obligation incumbent on every member of the community, on
every person, to sacrifice his time and talents to the service of his
country; while Harrison talked of the littleness of present affairs, in
comparison of the approaching tremendous change of all things beneath
the sun. But although the garnishing of the various epistles was
different, the result came to the same, that they were determined at
least to keep sight of Woodstock, until they were well assured of some
better and more profitable commission.

Everard also wrote a letter in the most grateful terms to Cromwell,
which would probably have been less warm had he known more distinctly
than his follower chose to tell him, the expectation under which the
wily General had granted his request. He acquainted his Excellency with
his purpose of continuing at Woodstock, partly to assure himself of the
motions of the three Commissioners, and to watch whether they did not
again enter upon the execution of the trust, which they had for the
present renounced,--and partly to see that some extraordinary
circumstances, which had taken place in the Lodge, and which would
doubtless transpire, were not followed by any explosion to the
disturbance of the public peace. He knew (as he expressed himself) that
his Excellency was so much the friend of order, that he would rather
disturbances or insurrections were prevented than punished; and he
conjured the General to repose confidence in his exertions for the
public service by every mode within his power; not aware, it will be
observed, in what peculiar sense his general pledge might be
interpreted.

These letters being made up into a packet, were forwarded to Windsor by
a trooper, detached on that errand.

       *       *        *       *        *

CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.


  We do that in our zeal,
  Our calmer moments are afraid to answer.
  ANONYMOUS.

While the Commissioners were preparing to remove themselves from the
Lodge to the inn at the borough of Woodstock, with all that state and
bustle which attend the movements of great persons, and especially of
such to whom greatness is not entirely familiar, Everard held some
colloquy with the Presbyterian clergyman, Master Holdenough, who had
issued from the apartment which he had occupied, as it were in defiance
of the spirits by whom the mansion was supposed to be disturbed, and
whose pale cheek, and pensive brow, gave token that he had not passed
the night more comfortably than the other inmates of the Lodge of
Woodstock. Colonel Everard having offered to procure the reverend
gentleman some refreshment, received this reply:--"This day shall I not
taste food, saving that which we are assured of as sufficient for our
sustenance, where it is promised that our bread shall be given us, and
our water shall be sure. Not that I fast, in the papistical opinion that
it adds to those merits, which are but an accumulation of filthy rags;
but because I hold it needful that no grosser sustenance should this day
cloud my understanding, or render less pure and vivid the thanks I owe
to Heaven for a most wonderful preservation."

"Master Holdenough," said Everard, "you are, I know, both a good man and
a bold one, and I saw you last night courageously go upon your sacred
duty, when soldiers, and tried ones, seemed considerably alarmed."

"Too courageous--too venturous" was Master Holdenough's reply, the
boldness of whose aspect seemed completely to have died away. "We are
frail creatures, Master Everard, and frailest when we think ourselves
strongest. Oh, Colonel Everard," he added, after a pause, and as if the
confidence was partly involuntary, "I have seen that which I shall never
survive!"

"You surprise me, reverend sir," said Everard;--"may I request you will
speak more plainly? I have heard some stories of this wild night, nay,
have witnessed strange things myself; but, methinks, I would be much
interested in knowing the nature of your disturbance."

"Sir," said the clergyman, "you are a discreet gentleman; and though I
would not willingly that these heretics, schismatics, Brownists,
Muggletonians, Anabaptists, and so forth, had such an opportunity of
triumph, as my defeat in this matter woul