MEMOIRS

; SiR ROGER DE CLARENDON,

VOL, t.

MEMOIRS

OF

SIR ROGER DE CLARENDON,

THE NATURAL SON OF

Edward Prince of Wales,

COMMONLY CALLED

THE BLACK PRINCE^

WITH

ANECDOTES OF MANY OTHER EMINENT PERSONS
OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY,

BY CLARA REEVE.

Tn every xvo\k regard the writer's end,

ii,nce none can compafs more than they intend ;

And if the means are juft, tke purpofe true,

Applaufe in fpite of trivial faults is due.

Negleft the rules each verbal critic lays,

For aot to-know fome trifles is a praife. POPE.

LONDON:

Printed for HOOKHAM and CARPENTER,
Bond-Street, 1793.

P R E F A C E.

us now praife famous men,
" even our fathers who begat us :

" Such as bare rule in their king-
M doms, men renowned for their power,
* f giving counfel by their underftand-
" ings :

" Leaders of the people by their
" counfels, and by their learning and
" wifdom, meet for [governing] the
" people, wife and. eloquent in their in-
"ftruaions.

A 3 ^ All.

C ti 3

" All thefe were honoured in their
cc generations, and were the glory of their
" times; and have left their names be-
" bind them/'

of the Son of Siract*

The excellent Plutarch, the prince of
hiftorians, in the fipft page of the Life
of Paulus Emilius, made this valuable
remark :

" I firft undertook to write the lives
" of great men for the fervice of others,
" but I perfevere in this defign for my
" own benefit.

" The virtues of thefe illuftrious men
" are .to me as a mirror, by which I
* c learn to regulate my own life and con-

"

By

C Yii' ]

"'By this means I enjoy the greatest
"familiarity with thefe great men ; I am-
" converfant with them all in turn, as'
" if the fame honfe and board were;
"common to us-. When I read .their
" hiftories, every particular virtue and
" excellence makes> a deep imprefliorv
" upon my mind ;, from thence I infer
" how truly great and eftimable their
" owners mud needs have been ; and
" careftilly transcribe the moft beautiful
" and remarkable palfages of their
"lives into my own memory, as pat-
" terns for my imitation.

" A greater pleafure than this the gods
" can fcarcely grant us ; nor a more cer-
" tain way to teach us virtue."

This exemplary man fliowed by hi?

own conduft the effects of this noble

A 4 rule

f viii J

rule which he recommends to others;
and fuch will he produced in every vir-
tuous and ingenuous mind, in all times
and countries: but there are; a fet of
men in our days, 'who- take delight in
jreprefenting the defeats and deformities
of nature. They reprefent mankind as
the moft worthlefs, wicked, and mife-
rable creatures in the whole fyftem" o
treated beings. Their doftiines alfo
produce the effe&s that may naturally be
expected to flow from fuch a fource,
They render men weak and timid, indo-
lent and unhappy, and fometimes drive
ibern to defpondency.

Thofe who attempt to inform and in*
ilrudt men, mould give them fuch a de-
gree of confidence in themfelves, as is
neceflary to encourage them to exert

their

. C ix J-

.
their abilities, and urge them to preft-

forward to obtain the prize of their la-
bours , for virtue requires induftry and
activity in her difciples; they muft per-
fevere in fpite of dangers and difficulties,,
and go on till they reach, the fummit of
perfedion. The man who thinks himfelf
unable and unworthy to climb this hill
that leads to trie -tern pie of virtue, will
Bardly have the courage necefiary to
climb it ; after a few ineffectual attempts
and difcouragements-, he will fink into
indolence and defpondency, and remain
at the bottom of the hill all the remain-
der of his life.

When we contemplate the great ac^

tions which men like onrielves, with the

fame paflions and weakneffes> were able

to perform, we fay to ourfelves, furely

A 5 we

C ^ 3

we ought not to defpair of equalling,
them ! No, we will endeavour to fur-
pafs them.

If the courage of Alexander, the
continence of Scipio, the clemency of
Titus, the truly royal virtues of Trajan,
and the two firft Antonines, had had the
power to ftimulate the youth of all times
and countries, to imitate their great ex-
amples, how much more do the actions
of great men of their own country
work upon their tender and flexible minds,
and infpire them with a more ardent
defire to imitate, and excel them ! We
refpect the climate, the air, the foil, and
every thing that contributed to produce
and fofter fuch men ; we believe that
they muft of neceffity produce a fuccef-
on of them, and that ourfelves fhall

place

C *i 3

place our names in the rolls of fame>
among thofe who have done honour to
our country.

If by fome men this fhould be called
a prejudice, I anfwer, happy are the
dates where fuch prejudices remain !
where they are not done away by falfe
philofophy, and falfe ; refinements :
where that is the cafe, it may fairly be
concluded, that nation's glory and hap-
pinefs is on the decline.

We know that heaven is impartial in
its difpenfations, that it has given blef-
fings peculiar to every nation upon the
face of the earth. We know that there
have been illuftrious men of all times
and countries, whofe names have de-
fcended to us, wherever there were men
able to record their actions ; for this is
A 6 the

L 1

the true sera of hiftory, and thefe men arc
equally neceflary to each other.

Britain may juftly boaft of the great
men (he has produced ; fhe may vie
with any nation under the cope of hea-
ven. When we read of our glorious
anceftors, their actions ought to ftimu*
late us to equal them, to fupport and
maintain the honour of our country :
to be afliamed to degenerate from our
forefathers, to lit down in indolence and
effeminacy, and bring reproach upon
them.

This earth of majefty, this feat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradife ;
This fortrefs built by nature for herfelf,
Again ft infection and the hand of war j
This happy breed of men, this iittle world.
This precious ftone fet in the filver fea,

Which

[ xiii ]

Which ferves it in the office of a wall ;-

Or as a moat defensive- to aa houfe,-

Againft the envy of lefs happy lands.

This land of noble fouls, this dear, dear land^,

Dear for her reputation through the world ; ,

Britain bound in with the triumphant liege-

Of watery Neptune* Let it not be faid,.

That Britain, which was wont to conquer others',

Hath made a fhameful conqueft of herfelf.

SHAKESPEARE,

Our warriors, our ftatefmen, our
poets, our philofophers, make of them-
felves a lift of famous men, worthy the
ftudy of all the world, and they are tranf-
lated into all languages.

While other countries do honour to
the worthies of our's, it is more particu-
larly the duty of every fon of Britain to
know them well, to be thoroughly in-
formed

C *iv I

formed in the annals of his country.
This fhould enforce the leflbn of the ex-
cellent Plutarch, and produce the fame
effects that fuch reading did upon his
mind.

In the hiftory of mankind, there have
been certain seras, remarkable for the pro-
duction of great men. Whether thefe
have been owing to natural or accidental
caufes remains a problem, and we can
only raife conjectures concerning it,

Princes* of eminent virtues and abili-
ties have always drawn great men around
them ; and this is a criterion of their
characters.

But again ; republics have at leaft
as frequently brought individuals into
notice and celebrity. The many petty
ftates into which ancient Greece was di-
vided.

[ xv J

vickd, produced a number of men wor
thy to be immortalized by the pen of
the incomparable Plutarch. The Ro-
man hiflory is a feries of the lives and
actions of great men. Rome was never
greater than in the interval between the
firft Triumvirate, and the final eftablifh^
ment of the Imperial (late ; me pro-
duced more great men in a fhorter fpace
of time.

There will always be found men to
contemplate and admire the lives and
actions of great men, as they ftiil refpect
the ftatues and pictures of them, though
they no longer afpire to imitate them.

The age of King Edward Hid was
one of thofe mod fruitful of eminent
men, not only in England, but in all
the countries of Europe ; it is an sera
deferving our refpect and admiration.

The

[ xvi ]

The writer of the following (heets-
ence afpired to write a hiftory of all the
great men that lived in this reign ; fhe
filled feverai (beets with names only ;
fhe found the undertaking too great for
her ftrengtb, and gave over the defigru
Still there remained a wi(h to fnatch the
'names of the principal worthies of this
age from oblivion, and to give a new
impreffion of them to the prefent times.

She had befide this another flimulus,
to give a faithful picture of a well-go-
verned kingdom, wherein a true fubor-
dination of ranks and degrees was ob-
ferved, and of a great prince at the head
of it.

The new philofophy of the prefent
day avows a levelling principle, and de-
clares that a date of anarchy is more
3 beauti*

J

beautiful than that of order and regula-
rity. There is nothing more likely to
convince mankind of the errors of thefe
men, than to fet before them examples-
of good government, and warnings of
the mifchievous eonlequences of thei*
own principles.

For forms of government let fools conteft^
Whatc'er is beft adminifter'd is beft. POPE*

AU human fyftems are imperfect, all
forms of government are defective, lia-
ble to fall into error and miftake, bus
capable of being rectified. That is the
beft government and moft likely to be
permanent, that makes different ranks
and degrees of men neceflary to each
other, and leads them to co-operate to-
gether

[ xviii ]

gether in order to promote the good of
the whole.

May defpotifm be for ever abolifhed !
May a juft and benevolent fyltem rife
upon its ruins-!- But a form of govern-
ment founded upon levelling principles,
never did, nor ever can continue.
Rome had a gradation of ranks during
her republican ftate ; (he had her pa-
tricians, her equites, her plebeians, be-
fide the fub-divifion of the public of-
fices, which were equivalent to a mi-?
nuter gradation,.

If the populace are allowed to over-
turn the government, and by their wif-
dom frame a new conftitution, they wilt
foon find it defective, and' by the fama
right fet afide the firft, and fabricate a
fecond, and a third, and fo on: how can

there.

C * ]

there be any thing permanent in fuch a
flare ?

Who deferves greatnefs,
Deferves your hate, for your affe&ions are
A fick man's appetite, who defines moft
What would increafe his evil. He that depends
Upon your favours, fwims with fins of lead,
And hews down oaks with nifties. Hang ye

truft ye !

With every minute you do change your mind,
And call him noble that was now your hate,
Him vile that was your garland.

SHAKESPEARE.

We have feen lately fuch a fucceflion
of favourites of the public in a neigh-
bour country, fo have they pafled away
like fmoke, new ones have fucceeded,
a general diftruft has taken place, and

thofe

tfcofe who fcrve them beft, are liable ta
their mod fevere refentment and cru-
elty. Let Britain fhudder at the fcene
before her, and grafp her bleilings the
clofer.

I have endeavoured to {how princes
and heroes as men, not a$ angejs ; com-
pofed of great qualities mixed with hu-
man infirmities, capable of virtue, but
liable to error, yet upon the whole mert
worthy of our refpect and imitation.

Many attempts have been made of
late years to build fictitious (lories upon
hiftorical names and charafters ; the
foundations were bad, and the ftructures
have fallen ddwn.

To falfify hiftorical facts and charac-
ters is a kind of facrilege again ft thofe
great names upon which, hiftory has af-
fixed

I xxt ]

Jlxed the feal of truth. The confe-
<quences are mifchievous ; it mifleads
young minds eager in the fearch of
truth, and enthufiafU in the purfuit of
thofe virtues which are the objects of
their admiration, upon whom one true
character has more effect than a thou-
fand fictions.

It is to thefe young and ingenuous
minds that I write; minds yet uncon-
taminated by the vile mdolence, efFemi-
nacy, and extravagance of modern life
and manners. For them have I framed
a flory that does not in any refpecl: con-
tradict the annals of hiftory ; which may
entertain their minds without corrupting
their hearts.

Thofe characters with whom I have
taken fome liberties, are fuch as are

;barely

[ xxii ]

*barely named in hiflory, and have left
room to fay juft what I pleafed. Such
is that of Sir Roger de Clarendon, who,
though he gives name to the work, is by
-no means the principal .character.

Who fpoke in parables I need net fay,
But fure he knew it was a pleafant way,
Sound fenfe by plain examples to convey.
Alfo in Heathen authors we may find,
That pleafure with inftruction fhould be join'd;
*So take the 1 grain, and leave the chaff behind.

If reflecting upon thefe faint Sketches
of illuftrious characters Ihould Simu-
late a few readers to imitate thofe virtues
they can admire; if comparing anci-
ent manners with modern ones they
fhould perceive the defects of both,

and

I xxiii ]

and that the boaftings of the prefent
times of their fuperiority, are not fo well
founded as many believe: if furveying
both with candour and impartiality,
they mould felect the good and reform
the evil this will be a noble reward for
;the labour and induftry of the author :-
then will fhe take leave of the public
with the fentence of the Roman actor :

ValeteetPlauditci

HIS-

xxrv

HISTORIANS confuted In Ms WORK.

FROISSART WALSINGHAM HOXLINSHED
HALL STOW HARDING- SPEE
BAKER JOSHUA BARNES

SMOLLET. '

THE

MEMOIRS

OF

SIR ROGER DE CLARENDON,

VJTREAT and good princes referable the fun
in all its glory, which warms and brightens
every object within the circle of its attrac-
tion : the rays extend on all fides : they dry
up the noxious vapours that hover under-
neath, and, by a powerful kind of magne-
tifm, attract merit of all kinds, and bring it
within their own vortex.

When the great King Edward the Third
kept his court at London, and his renowned
fon Edward, Prince of Wales and Aquitain,
kept his court at Bourdeaux, men of fuperior
abilities in all arts, fciences, and profefEons^

V0L. I. B came

came from all parts of Europe to ferve under
their banners^ and to enjoy a fhelter from the
itorms of fortune under their glorious patro-
nage and prote&ion, and they refle&ed hack
again the fplendor they derived from their
illuftrious protectors, Princes of mean abi-
lities and narrow hearts are jealous of thofe
who have greater underftandings and know-
ledge than themfelves ; but it is the glory of
a good king to be furrounded by a circle of
eminent men, fome who can affift him in all
his fchemes for the good of his people, and
others who can record his virtues, and both
together will compofe for him a wreath of
immortality. The Prince of Wales was at-
tended by a band of gentlemen of all coun-
tries, who were called Knights-companions ;
they were his defence in war, and the orna-
ment of his court in peace ; they amounted
to between five and fix thoufand men. Sir
Hugh de Calverly was one of thefe knights;
he was of undaunted courage and fidelity,
and was well acquainted with all the arts of
peace : he was high in favour with both the
King and the Prince of Wales. In the latter
end of th,e reign of King Edward he was go-
vernor of- Calais, and defended it gallantly

again ft

t 3 ]

againft open force and fecret treachery; he
continued in this office till the death of the
King.

Edward the Black Prince, fo called from
the terror his arms infpired, died before his
father, to the irreparable grief and lofs of
the English nation : he was equally lament-
ed by his fubjects in Guienne, and both
countries united in making his eulogy. He
was the hero of his age ; no man fo terrible
in war, none fo generous and gentle in his
own court, and to his friends and followers.
He never fought a battle he did not win, yet
his modefty and courtefy excelled even his
valour.

He pofTefTed all the focial and domefUc
virtues; he was fober, continent, and tem-
perate in all things : the only blemifh in his
character was too great a fondnefs for military
glory, which he {hewed in aftifting Don Pe-
dro the Cruel to recover the crown of Caf-
tile and Leon, a man truly deteftable for his
cruelty and injuflice. He effected this de-
jlgn, but the heats of Spain affected his con-
ftitution, and he caugh| the diftemper there
that brought him to his grave.

Ba En*

[ 4 3

England embraced in her arms, and in her
heart, the only furviving fon of this beloved
prince, Richard of Bourdeaux. The Com-
mons petitioned the King to grant him all
the honours of his father, and he was imme-
diately created Prince of Wales, Duke of
Cornwall, and Earl of Chefter. Within a
year after, he fucceeded his grandfather, be-
ing but in the twelfth year of his age.

This young prince afcended the throne
with the warmed affection and wifhes of all
the people. He was beautiful in his perfon,
courteous in his manners, and his fubjecls
believed they faw in him the heir of his fa-'
ther's virtues and fine qualities : but time
and experience <fhowed them the contrary,
and deftroyed all their hopes and expecta-
tions, and their Fefpecl and confidence in
him. During the minority of the king,
his government was refpedtable, from the
abilities of hi-s uncks, John of Ghent duke of
Lancafler, Edmund of Langley duke of
York, and Thomas of Wodeftock duke of
Gloucefter. The young King was impatient
to hold the reins of government, but as
foon as he was in poflerJion of them, his
wcaknefs and infufficiency became apparent

[ 5 1

to all men. He was light and vain -glorious,,
fickle and inconftant v fond of {hews, and
pageants, and vanities of every kind. His
uncles endeavoured to reftrain his youthful
follies, hut he rejected their counfels, de-
fpifed their admonitions, and a6ted in defi-
ance of them. He drew about him a fet ot
venal and profligate favorites, and fquander-
ed away upon them the revenues of his king-
dom. His fubjecls, at the beginning, were
fond of him to excefs ; they readily gave
him an increafe of revenue, and iupplied
him with the means to fupport his dignity*
He was always- in want of money, and con-
triving new means to obtain it. Whenever
he had wheedled or exacted new fubfidies
from his parliament, under promifes of re-
formation and ceconomy, no fooner was the
money received, than the promifes were
broken, and he plunged again into the fame
courfe of diffipation and prodigality. By
this abfurd and foolifh conduct he loft, by
degrees, the confidence and affe6Hons of his
people. After a long feries of contefts with
the barons, who were then the guardians of
the people's liberties, and perpetual difputes
with his parliament, he became the object
B 3 of

C 6 ]

of their hatred and contempt. They invited
his kinfman, Henry of Bolinghroke, whom
Richard had injured in the higher!: degree,
by driving him into exile and ieizing on his
inheritance^ to come to their afliilance.
They got the perfon of Richard into their
power, they exhibited a folemn charge againft
him in a free and full parliament, they
obliged him to flgn the inftrument of his
own depofition, and placed Henry duke of
Lancafter upon the throne, who was the- next
male heir of the houfe of Plantagenet. This
is an awful leifon to princes, how they abufe
the confidence of their people.

The fubjedl of the following ftory bears
frequent reference to the hiftory of this un-
fortunate reign, and will afford matter for
remarks on paft times, and comparifons with
the prefent.

During the firft contefts between King-
Richard and his people, Sir Hugh Calverly
was one of the moft faithful and moft re-
fpectable adherents to the King. He loved
him for the fake of his illuftrious father and
grandfather ; he hoped that time and experi-
ence would teach him to correct his errors,
and that the latter part of his reign would

make

L 7 ]

make atonement for the former : in this hope
he withftood the ailbciation of the barons,
and Iteadily adhered to the King. Sir Hugh
commanded the Englifli army in the only
action that did honour to this inglorious
reign. He aflifted the Bifhop of Norwich
in his abfurd campaign againft the Count of
Flanders ; he defeated the Count in the field,
and fupported the Bi{hop with credit and
fuccefs : but their triumph was fhort ; fortune
foon after declared againft them ; the French
came to the Count's afliftance. The Eng-
lifh, weakened by repeated lofles, were
obliged to retreat to Calais, from whence
they wrote to afk a fpeedy re-inforcement
from the King, or elfe they muft fhortly re-
turn home. -Richard talked highly ; he
threatened revenge again ft the Count of
Flanders, and the King of France his ally.
He promifed to fend an army immediately,
under the command of his uncle, the Duke
of Lancafter, but his valour evaporated in
words. He was fo tardy in his preparations,
that before they were ready to embark, the
truce was expired. The Bifhop and his par-
ty were obliged to accept the terms offered
by the King of France ; they returned to
6 En,

[ 8 ]

England with the wreck of their army, co-
vered with difgrace, in lieu of their former
glory. Sir Hugh Calverly was afhamed of
his party and fituation ; he refolved from
that time to refide in his native country,
and to limit his fervices to the perfon of his
King, and to fupport him againft his ene-
mies at home. Sir Hugh Calverly from this
time lived at Calverly-hall, in the bofom of
his family, with his beloved wife and chil-
dren. He had married a lady of the JBour-
chier family, endowed with many virtues
and fine qualities. She had brought him fe-
ven children, five of which lived to the age
of maturity, two fons and three daughters,
which were all promifing children at this
time we are fpeaking, of. The cldeft foa
was already knighted by the King, whofc
caufehehad efpou fed again ft the party of the
barons. Thi young gentleman often jour-
neyed between London and Calverly-hall;
he was endowed with many noble qualities,,
dutiful to his parents, and affectionate to all
his family. Lionel, the younger fon, was
yet a boy, and the darling of his parents, and
all the reft of the family. The daughters
were young, virtuous, and amiable; we {hall

ipeak

[ 9 ]

fpeak of their peculiar, qualities hereafter*
Sir Hugh was a moft tender hufband and af-
fectionate father ; he was beloved and re-
fpefted by his neighbours, .tenants, and de-
pendents; he was an exemplary landlord,
friend* and'mafter. After a youth of mili-
tary fervice, and glory dearly earned, he
hoped to enjoy an old age of honour and re-
pp fe in his native country, with his wife and
children. This noble and renowned knight
was taken =away from his family at the age of
fifty and five years, by an epidemical fever,
which raged in the year 1386. He died too
foon for his family, but, perhaps, not foe
himfelf; he efcaped the troubles of his coun-r
try, which he muft have fhared, and in which,
he * might have fuffered in his perfon, ho~
nours, and fortune.

His eldeft fon, Sir John Calverly, inhe-
rited hrc father' & fortune, and his virtues*
He was loyal to his king and country, affec-
tionate to his mother and family, and looked.,
upon his brother and- fitters as his. children
whom he was hound to protel and fupport.-.

As foon as the funeral duties were per-r
formed, and the firft poignancy of grief was
abated, Lady Calverly propofcd to leave the.,
B 5 family

'family feat, and to retire to a fmaller houfe
upon her own paternal eftate, which flie had
preferved for herfelf in cafe {he fhould be left
a widow ; or for her daughters, whenever
her eldeft fon fliould marry.

Sir John befought her earneftly to ftay at
Calverly-hall, faying, he wiflied to enjoy
her company and that of his fitters, and alfo
he hoped to receive much benefit from her
refidence there, and from her advice and af-
fiftance in regulating and governing his fa-
mily.

The good lady confented to ftay with her
fon fome time longer, upon condition that
he fliould be looking out for a wife in the
mean time; faying, it was his duty to pre-
ferve and continue a family that was an ho-
nour to its country, and a blefling to its de-
pendents.

Sir John agreed to this condition, and my
Lady faid, fhe would not leave him till that
happy period jfhould arrive.

Lady Calverly educated her daughters In
that retired and virtuous referve, which in
thofe days was thought a duty. It was be-
lieved necefTary for the guard and protection
of female virtue. In thofe times young
I maid-

C I

maidens were feldom feen out of their mo-
ther's prefence : it would have been thought
a breach of virgin modefty.

The filent and retired virtues were culti-
vated, modefty, humility, and complacency ;
virtues that were in due time to be a blelTing
to the men who /hould be their hufbands ;
they were likewife taught thole ufeful quali-
ties which mould render them capable of fu-
perintendtng a well-governed family.

Madam I label, the eldcft daughter, was
generally reckoned handfome ; me was tall
and. well made, but proud and (lately, vain
of her beauty and family. She was ambit4-
ous of making a great alliance, that fnould
refleft honour upon her family, and render
herfelf the firft perfon in it. The brave and
gentle, the modeft and deferving Clement
Woodville, fighed in fecret for this haugh-
ty beauty* He was the moft intimate and
beloved friend and companion of Sir John
-_ Calverly k His father was an officer of great
courage and reputation, who had faved the.-
life of Sir Hugh Calverly in the field, and
loft his own in performing that gallant ac-
tion. From that day Sir Hugh adopted his
children for his own, and took them into
B 6 his

[ 12 3

his own family. This brave gentleman left
two fons and a daughter; the Jaft-named
was placed in a convent, Lady Calverly de-
fjgned her for the veil, for {he had particu-
lar objections to receiving her into her fa-
mily.

The fecond daughter of Lady Calverly
was called Edith ; fhe was not generally
thought ib handfome as Ifabel ; it was ne-
ceflary that fhe fhould be known before fhe
was admired ; hut then her virtues and graces
leemed to illuminate her perfon, and the be-
holders wondered that they had not always
perceived her to be beautiful : the oftener
{he was feen, the more charming fhe appear-
ed ; and thole who once loved her, were fur$
to love her always.

Edith faw and heard the fighs of Clement
"Woodville for her fifter; fhe was fenfible of
his merits ; fhe felt for him the pride and
difdain with which he was treated, and
thrown to the utmoft diftance : fhe endea-
voured by her gentlenefs and courtefy to
comfort him for the mortifications he re-
ceived from Ifabel. Thus, while fhe thought
fhe was only doing juflice to injured merit,
the fair Edith, unawares to herfelf, pointed

the

[ '3 3

the dart of love againft her own tender and
generous heart. She felt an intereft in eve-
ry thing that related to Clement, and, in-
deed, all the cares and anxieties of a lover,
always implied but never expreiTed.

Clement's firft attentions to Edith were
di&ated by pure gratitude and refpeft; he
never dreamed that love was ftealing into his
heart under the guife of generous friendship,,
which he might fafely admit and indulge.

Thefe characters will in due time unfold
themfelves more fully ; let us now fpeak of
the youngeft daughter of Lady Calverly :
flic was baptized by the name of Amabel,
but by her mother and family called by the
diminutive of Mabel; fhe was feven years
younger than liabel, and three than Edith;
fhe was at the time we fpeak of, juft entered
into her fourteenth year. Mabel was the
bud of beauty, which promifed to expand
hereafter; fhe was lively, ingenuous, and
engaging ; fhe knew no reafon for conceal-
ing her thoughts, therefore fhe uttered them
without referve,

In thofe days, mothers thought it their
duty to check their daughters, when they
difcovered an over-lively difpofition ; levity

of

of temper was thought to indicate fomething
wrong in the head or the heart ; they feared
it would lead them into error from mifcon-
du6t, and finally to punifhment.

Mabel was talkative, curious, and inquifi-
tive ; fhe was defired to liften more, and to
fpeak lefs. Urfula, an old fervant of Lady
Calverly's, was appointed governefs to Ma-
bel; flie inftrucled her in all kinds *of needle-
work, and fhe was ordered to reftrain her
immoderate love of talking. Urfula defired
her to wear in her heart a certain proverb ;
" Maids fhould be feen, but not heard."
Mabel thought this a hard faying, but {he
had no refource ; flie was obliged to bury
her thoughts in her own bofom till night fet
her tongue at liberty. She flept with her
fifter Edith, whole gentlenefs and affection
permitted her to unburden her mind, and to
prattle as much as fhe pleafed, which was tilt-
deep locked up all her faculties, and laid her
tongue^ to reft. Mabel ufed to dream fre-
quently, which proved that her mind was
not idle while her body repofed ; fhe always
told her fitter her dreams as foon as fhe
waked ; this was her amufement till Urfula
called her to rife, and Edith fometimes fuf-

pedted

[ '5 ]

pe&ed fhe dreamed waking as well as fleep-
ing. Mabel ufed to dream of fine houfes,
delightful gardens full of flowers and fruits,
fhady bowers full of fmging birds, and mur-
muring ftreams ; fometimes fhe dreamed of
ftricl: mothers, proud fitters, and crofs go-
vernefles ; fhe had not yet begun to dream
of knights or 'fquires ; but we fhall find,
that in due time her reveries wanted no kind
of embellifhmerit.

Edith frequently advifed her to leave off
telling her dreams and fancies; but, fhe faid,
(he could not forbear doing it, it relieved her
mind, and, in fhort, it was thegreateft plea-
fure of her life.

Sir John Calverly was fond of his fitters
and brother ; Mabel and Lionel were his fa-
vourites ; he would fet them upon his knees,
and carefs them like a father, and they loved
him as if he was really fo. He liked to hear
Mabel prattle, and fhe was happy in the in-
dulgence, till my lady was tired of hearing
her; fhe ufed then to fend Mabel to her
governefs, and reproved Sir John for indul-
ging her propenfity to talk overmuch.

Sir John ufed frequently to make jour-
neys to and from London; he had recom-
mended

[ 16 ]

mended Richard Woodville, Clement's elder
brother, to the notice of the Earl of Suffolk,
one of the King's greateft favourites ; by his
intereft he was appointed one of the King's
houfehold fervants, and he was afterwards
promoted to be one of his attendants on the
King's perfon.

Clement Woodville frequently attended
Sir John in his journeys; he faw and con-
verfed with his brother, who wifhed to place
him near himfelf, and to keep him at court.,
Clement's opinions were different; he was
more inclined to take the fide of the Barons
than that of the King. Richard was a warm .
royalift ; he thought the King could do no^
thing wrong: he looked upon him as the
landlord of the kingdom, and that the lives,
liberties, and properties of the fuhjecls, were .
all at his difpofal. He afked his brother,
whether he expe&ed to gain preferment by.
joining with thofe who prefumed to check
the King and to limit his expences, I would
fooner do fo, replied Clement, than join,
with thofe who flatter and miflead him, to
his own ruin, and that of the kingdom. Go
to them, faid Richard, but expe6t neither
friendfhip nor preferment from me, unlefs

you

[ '7 ]

you alter your opinions, and confent to fail
with the tide of the times.

The following year the Earl of Suffolk
was impeached in parliament of high crimes
and mifdemeanors againft the ftate ; he was
convicted of them in the preience of the
King, who publicly reproved him, and COTT-
fented to his imprifonment. He was com-
mitted to the cuftody of the Duke of Glou-
cefter, who, as high conftable of the king-
dom, fent him prifoner to Windfor-caftle.
The parliament appointed a committee of
eleven noblemen to infpecl the revenue of
the crown ever fince the King's acceflion to
the throne, and to reform all the abufes of
the late adminiftration, and the King fwore
folemnly to abide by their decifion.

Sir John Calverly was of the King's coun-
cil at this time ; he advifed him to endeavour
to recover the confidence and affection of
his people, and to agree to what the parlia-
ment propofed ; he hoped by this meafure
that peace and harmony would be reftored
between the King and his people. The parlia-
ment, fattsfied with this redrefs of grievances,
hoped to fee better days in future ; they con-
fided in the new adminiftnuion ; they broke

up,

[ .8 ]

up, and returned to their refpe&ive homes,
fatisfied and happy. Sir John fent Clement
Woodville to Calverly-hall, to defire his
mother to make preparations for the recep-
tion of feveral gentlemen his friends, whom
he fhould bring home with him to celebrate
the feftival of Chriftmas, which was juft ap-
proaching.

In thole days, Chriftmas was kept as fo
folemn a feftival ought to be. The nobility
and gentry of this land entertained their
friends, neighbours, and tenants, with great
munificence and hofpitality, though, perhaps,
not fo much luxury, as has been feen in later
times, when every day in the week is kept as
a feftival, not indeed to God, or to man, but
to certain pagan deities, called Bacchus and
Venus.

In the good old times, Charity extended
her hands, fhe fed the hungry, fhe clothed
the naked, fhe fent firing and bedding to all
thofe that flood in need of them, fhe cheered
the afflidted heart, and bade all her children
rejoice at that facred commemoration, which
proclaimed, " Glory to God in the higheft, and
" on earth peace, and good will towards men."
The ladies of the family of Calveriy thought

them-

[ '9 ]

tliemielves well employed in making prepa-
rations to receive their guefts, and providing
for their entertainment and accommodation.

Sir John and his friends came to Calverly-
hall three days before Chriftmas ; I will only-
mention the names of the principal guefts.
Sir Oliver de Marney, Sir Michael Bretten-
ham, Sir William TrufTel, Sir Reginald Cob-
ham, eldeft fon to the Lord Cobham, with
feveral other young gentleman of family and
fortune. Sir John Calverly defired the com-
pany of his mother and fitters at his table.
The good lady was fcrupulous about bring-
ing her daughters into men's company, but
her fon infifted on it. He told her, that he
was proud of his fillers ; that he wLfhed them
to be feen, as a ftep to their being married in
due time; that he brought with him a fet of
gallant bachelors, out of which fhe might
choofe a fon-in-law, or, perhaps, more, and
fuch as would do honour to the family.

My Lady made objections to introducing
her daughters, left it fhould be fufpecleJ fhe
tiad any fuch expectations. Sir John faid,
he would take all that imputation upon him-
felf ; he laughed at her fcruples. My Lady

retired,

[ 20 J

retired, faying, it was not fo in her young
days.

They celebrated the feflival with becoming
folemnity ; the day after, La<ly Calverly in-
vited a neighbouring family to meet her
guefts, Sir Hugh Burleigh and his Lady,
wkh two fons and four daughters; (he
thought the other young ladies' company
would lefTen the 'impropriety of that of her
daughters : fhe wifhed one of them might
captivate her fon, and. (he had laid her eye
upon, the eldert fon for one of her daughters.
Thefe thoughts proceeded from the beft of
motives ; fhe wifhed that her children might
fettle near her,, that ftie. might fee them fre-
quently.

They had a fumptuous dinner in the great
hall, without any carpet under their feet,
or lifting upon the doors; but they had a no-
ble fire, with part of the body of an old tree,
behind, and logs of all fizes piled round it,.
There was no noify or diforderly mirth, but
there was cheerfulnefs and decoruiru Af-
ter dinner the ladies retired into ajarge par-
lour, wainfcotted with Englifh. oak, and or^
namented with the portraits of the anceftor^
o.f the Calverly family. The gentlemen

foQ.a.

foon followed them ; they rofe from table
with cool heads, warm hearts, and light
heels ; they thought themfelves honoured
to touch the hands of a fair lady, and to lead
her into the dance. They had neither tea
nor coffee, but cakes and comfets, with light
and pleafant wines, chiefly made at home,
and plenty of good Englifh beer.

This noble company dined at twelve
o'clock, fupped at fix, and danced till twelve,
which in thofe days was called midnight;
and it was only at Chriftmas holidays that
they ever fet up fo late.

They rofe by candle light the next morn-
ing, they were fummoned to breakfaft at eight
o'clock ; there were cold parties, hams, and
tongues, with cold roafled meats, and good
beer ; afterwards they met in the family cha-
pel and worshipped God, after which they
had converfation parties at home, or riding
parties abroad. There were neither coaches,
nor chaifes, nor phaetons, nor curricles ;
but every lady had her palfrey, and eveuy
one a gentleman, who called himfelf her
fervant, to attend and protect her ; they rode
with wind, rain, or fnow in their faces, and
were not afraid of the air of their owu coun-
try.

[ a* J

try. The family of Burleigh (laid two nights
at Calverly-hall ; on the third day they re-
turned home, after inviting all the company
to return their vifit in the following week.

After their departure, in one of the inter-
vals between breakfaft and dinner, as the
young ladies were fitting in my Lady's
apartment, and amufing themfelves with
their needlework, Lady Calverly ipoke of
the gentlemen who honoured Calverly-hall
with their company; fhe found fomething
to commend in alt of them ; flie afked her
eldeft daughter her opinion of the perfons
and merits of feveral of them. <c If, Ifa-
" be], you were to choofe an hufband from
" among them, tell me which you would
" prefer." The young lady blufhed after
fome minutes' filence fhe fpoke : " Why,
" really IViadam, I have not thought of any
" fuch thing ; but, I believe, if I were to
" choofe one, it would be him who is heir
" to a title and a great fortune." " Oh fie,
" Ifabel ! I am forry to hear that ambi-
" tion governs you; it is a man's merit ra-
" ther than his rank, that fhould entitle
" him to a young lady's favour." ** So I
"think," faid Edith. Yes," faid my

Lady,

C *3 ]

Lady, " but I mean always that he muft be
" a gentleman who pretends to a lady of fa-
" mily." I underftand it fo," faid Edith.
u Madam," faid Ifabel, " you have raifed
" my curioiity, will you not gratify it ?"
" I will in part ; there is a gentleman in this
" company at our houfe, who has carl an
" eye of partiality upon you, Ifabel; but it
" is not he that is heir to a Baron's title : he
" does you and the family honour; but I
<c will not at this time tell you who he is,
" to mortify your vanity." - u That is ra-
" ther cruel of you, Madam ; but I will en-
" deavour to correct my curiofity, fmcc you
" are notdifpofed o indulge it."

Ifabel flood corre&ed : the two younger
ladies looked earneftly at their mother; they
feemed defirous to know farther particulars.
" My dear girls," faid my Lady, " you
" fhall know every, thing in proper time.
" Mabel, your eyes fparkle with curiofity,
" mind your work, and learn to fupprefs it ;
<c for it is not neceflary that you fhould be
<c the firft to know every thing of confe-
" quence in the family." Mabel thought it
very hard that her eyes might not afk quef-
tions when her tongue was quiet. Edith

fmiled

C *4 ]

fmiled but was filent ; but {he thought on
fomething that was not unpleafmg to her.

My Lady fuffered foine days to pals with-
out gratifying the curiofity ihe had raifed.
Sir John was impatient to prefent a fervant
to his fifter ; he inquired whether fhe was
informed of the important conqueft flie had
made. She anfwered, that her mother had
told her enough to make her wifli to know
more, but had refufed to explain it at that
time. Sir John broke the ice at once, and
told her it was Sir William TrufTel. He
expatiated upon his family, fortune, and me-
rit, and faid, flie ought to think herfelf ho-
noured by the propofal. Ifabel referred to
her mother, and Sir John went diredlly to
her apartments, where he learned the reaibns
of my Lady's delay, and was fatisfled of the
caufe of it. The day following he intro-
duced Sir William Trnf&l to his fifter, whs
received him in a ftately manner, and feemed
to expecl the homage due to a princefs.
The lover was not pleafed with his reception ;
he<omplained of the difdain and cruelty of
the lady. Sir John encouraged him to per-
fift. My Lady was defired to ufe her influ-
ence* Another .interview paiTed; ftill flie

was

t 'S ]

was high and fcornful. The mother interroga-
ted her; had fhe any particular diflike to Sir
William ? No. : Why then did fhe behave
fo proudly to him ? Ifabel faid, he was al-
moft a ftranger to her, and that he ought to
wait her time : that fhe might, perhaps,
have better offers, and fhe was not in a hur-
ry. My Lady checked this idea; fhe told
her, that woman did not deferve a worthy
hufband, who could keep a gentleman in
fufpenfe from fuch a motive ; that fhe would
not allow fuch principles to govern any
child of her's ; and finally, that flie muft ei-
ther accept Sir William, or elfe give him a
proper denial and difmifs him entirely.-
Ifabel laid, that men were unreafonable crea-
tures ; that if fhe had accepted him at the firfl
offer, he might have thought her too for-
ward, and that wasworfe than being thought
too coy. My Lady defired her to confider
well before fhe rejected him, that fhe' was
not likely to have a better offer, and if fhe
had no diflike to him, gratitude fhould in-
fpire her with affecYion for the man who had
diftinguifhed her from all other women, and
offered her hie hand, heart, and fortune.
VOL, I. C Ifa-

Ifabel confidered the matter again ; fhe
thought better of it {he reflected that huf-
*t>ands were not offered every day, and that a
prefent good was preferable to a future con-
tingency. At the next interview with Sir
William fhe was more gracious to him, and
in every fucceeding interview fhe became
-more compilable. In ten days after. Sir
William declared his wifhfts and his hopes to
all the company* The report circulated
through every part of the family, it reached
the ear of Clement Woodville, and" from
thence ftruck his heart like the feathered ar-
row of a crofs-bow. He pined inwardly,
he loft his appetite and reft, and took to his
bed. The family were fo engrofled by their
company, and the defired match, that his
iicknefs was not fo much obferved as it would
have been .at any other time. Edith foon
had knowledge of it : fhe felt his forrows,
and guefled the caufe of his illnefs; fhe dai-
ly inquired after his health, and fent him
friendly meflages.

The family and their guefts returned the
.vifit of the Burieigh family, Mabel was
thought too young to be one of the party.
Jpdith complained of the tooth-ach and de-
fired

[ *7 3 9

fired to be left at home. How far it wag
real is not eafy tb determine, but fhe certain- -
ly preferred flaying at home to all the pro-
pofed pleafures of the vifit to Burleigh-
houfe. The heir of that family had made
feme advances towards her; had paid her
very pointed attentions. She difliked him,
and was glad^to avoid his company. After
the company were let out, Edith fent her
maid to inquire after the health of Mafter
Clement, for fo he was called in the family,
jane had every day received and returned
meffages between thele two friends. Edith
wiflied to fee him, but would not be guilty
of the impropriety of going to his apartment.
She ordered Jane to afk whether he was well
enough to walk down into the parlour,
where the family ufed to meet when alone.

Edith and her fitter Mabel walked in the
garden ; it was a clear frofty day, a fine
blue iky, and the fun deigned to illuminate
the fcene. Thefe young ladies had no idea
of being afraid of the cold ; they walked
above an hour, and came in warm and re-
frefhed.

As they entered the hall Clement met

them ; he looked pale and fickly, but endea-

C 2 voured

C 2 8 ]

voured to appear cheerful. Edith was
doubtful how to addrefs him, Mabel faved
her the trouble. " Oh dear, how glad I
f( am to fee you well enough to leave your
" room ! how do you, Mr. Clement ?"
Clement bowed and thanked her. " I am
" better, 1 hope, and I am defirous to pay
<c my acknowledgements to you, Jadies, for
*' your very kind inquiries after a man, who
" has almoft thought himfelf forgotten by
" all befide .you*'" That is impoflible;"
faid Edith, " every body has been concerned
<c for you ; but Sir John has -been fo much
*< engaged that he could .not fee you fo often
" as he wifhed ; but he loves and pities you."
" I ought not to doubt it, Madam. I am,
(< indeed, comforted by your goodnefs to me,
" and J will ftrive to deferve it." Then
< ftrive to be well, -Sir ; I wi/h I knew of
t( any thing that would do you good."
<{ Your companion, Madam, is a powerful
" medicine ; 1 feel the effects of it. How
< c can a man be entirely wretched when the
" fair Edith pities and relieves him ?"
" And pray," fays Mabel, " does not my
" pity do you as much good as my fitter's?"
" You are very good, my dear young lady,

" I am

" I am inexpreffibly obliged to you both.*'
" If you defire to oblige us in return," faid
Edith, " caft away care and melancholy, be
"well and cheerful. Do yourfelf the juf-
u tice to believe, that if there are fome peo-
" pie that neglect and flight your merit,
(( there are others who regard you more for
< c this very reafon." u That is mod fweetly
" faid, Madam ; I will make your friendfhip
" my only remedy ; I will wear it next my
" heart, and I believe, I truft it will cure
" me." Edith bluflied and felt confufed, me
feared (he had fpoken too freely ; fhe took
her fitter's hand, curtfied, and withdrew.
She left Clement with an improved afpecl:,
his eye was brightened, and his heart cheered.
She heard him fay, as we went from him,
" I will no more defpair of peace and hap-
" pinefs, fince an angel deigns to be my com-
forter."

u It feems to me," faid Mabel, " that
" your pity does him more good than mine,
u and I cannot find out the reafon of it."
" There is no reafon to be found, my dear;
" his gratitude is equal to us both, and he
" only names me firft as being the elder fif-
ter." " Oh, that is it then ! I hope I
C $ " fhall

[ 3 3

" /hall in time have my /hare of people's
tft gratitude and politenefs, but at prefent
" my elder fitters feem to take it all to them-
" felves; all the gentlemen how, and com-
<* pliment, and make fine fpeeches to you and
" IfaUel, but they treat me like a child.
" Well, perhaps one day it may be my turn."
Edith fmiled ; fhe begged her to have pa-
tience, and it would come to her turn foon
enough. They went to their own apart-
ment ; they plied their needles with Urfula
till they were caMed to dinner. Clement
did not come down to dinner that day ; they
walked again in the afternoon till it grew
duiki/h. Edith's tooth-ach was finely abated :
Mabel prattled as much as /he pleafed, and
they went to reft in perfect health and cheer-
fulnefs.

The next morning Jane was fent with her
ufunl meiTage to Matter Clement. She
brought word that he had a good night's. reft,
and was finely to-day ; that he wi/hed to
fpe'ak with Madam Edith alone; and he
would meet her in the dining parlour an hour
before dinner. Edith had fome difficulty to
amufe Mabel, and to make her go another
way ; Ihe fixed her at laft, and was more

than

C 3' 1

than punctual to her appointment. She
waited a quarter of an hour before Clement
arrived, he apologized for lofing fo many
minutes of her company ; fhe excufed herlelf
for coming before the time, fearing they
fhould be interrupted by Mabel.

Clement begged pardon for the liberty he-
was about to take, but her goodnefs had en-
couraged him to open his heart to her. He
confefTed that he had loved Madam Ifabel too-
much for his peace, but he had never made
her any pofitive declaration of it. He knew
fhe^had perceived the fecret of his heart, by
the difdain fhe had {hewn him, which before
time flie was not wont to do, for of late fhe
had not behaved with common civility, but
had treated him like a (lave, not worthy of
her notice : he confefled that his folly had
deferved the punifhment, and that when he
heard of the propofed marriage, it quite
.overcame him, but that he was now refolved
to get the better of it : that he begged to
know whether the match was certainly to-
take place, and how foon. Edith replied,
that fhe had always efteemed him as a moft
deferving friend, and that fhe wifhed to do
him every fervice in her power. She told
C 4 him

[ 3* ]

him the marriage was concluded on, but fhe
could not tell the time certainly ; as foon as
ihe was informed of it, fhe would let him
know it. He faid, that was the favour he
meant to afk of her ; he faw that he was not
defpifed by her, that ihe had generous pity for
his paft fufFerings, and that his gratitude
would not end but with his life. She faid,
that her friendfhip for him could not be
fhaken, unlefs by his mifconducl:, which file
was perfuaded could never happen. He
wifhed for an opportunity to fhow his fenfe
of her merit, and wifhed her to command
him upon all occafions as the moil humble of
her fervants. They * repeated profeflions of
friendfhip on one fide, and fervice on the
other ; the time puffed away unperceived, till
Mabel entered the room, and the fervants
prepared fo* dinner.

Edith hoped that Clement would give
them his company at table, he declared his
readinefs to attend her. Father Michael,
the chaplain, made the fourth per.fon at the
table ; they had a cheerful meal, and an
agreeable converfation afterwards, till the
young ladies chofe to retire to their apart-
ments, and Clement to his own.

The

[ 33 3

The next morning, the fervant that ilept
in Clement's apartment told Jane, that Maf-
ter Clement had a bleffcd night, that he
ilept quietly, hut fometimes talked in his
fleep ; that he talked of Madam Edith, and
faid fhe had cured him. Jane charged him
not to fay a word of this kind to any body
but herfelf ; fhe took care to convey this in-
telligence to the ear of her young lady, who
gave her the fame injunctions.

The next day the family returned home.
Sir John reproached himfelf with neglect
towards his friend- Clement; he vifited him
directly, and was agreeably furprifed to find
him recovered of his illnefs. Lady Calver-
Iy was pleafed to hear it, they all rejoiced
at it except Madam I label, who took pleafure
in giving him continual mortifications.

Clement defired that he might in future
(when company were in the houfe eat in the
Reward's apartment ; Lady Calverly imputed
this requeft to his modefty, but Sir John re-
luctantly gave way to it.

At length the time came for this noble

company to feparate. Edith kept her word

to her friend ; flie told him that the marriage

was not to be celebrated immediately, that Sir

C 5 Wil-

I 34 ]

William was gone to make preparations for
his approaching nuptials, and was to return
at the end of a month to receive his bride ;
the family of Calverly were to prepare for
the folemnity at that time. Clement thank-
ed her for the intelligence ; he afked permif-
fion of his patron to vifit fome relations at
that time : he departed foon after, but not
without taking a leave of Madam Edith, that
was rather too tender for the ttyle of friend-
fliip.

The whole family were now engaged in
preparing for the approaching marriage. Sir
John was attentive to his fitter's intereft ; he
made a handfome addition to her fortune,
and obtained an increafe of fettlement for
her ; he declared that it would be his pride
and pleafure to fee all his fitters well married
before he fhould engage himfelf.

Lady Calverly wifhed him to be married
fooner: fhe propofed Sir Hugh Burleigh's
eldett daughter to him, he declined it re-
fpe&fully ; flie propofed the fecond and the
third, but he put them by. My Lady afked,
did he like any other lady better ? He an-
fwered yes, maoy others. Who are they ?
He begged to be excufed at this time ; when-
ever

C 35 ]

ever he was difpofed to enter the ftate of ma-
trimony, he would certainly acquaint his
mother : this was all the anfwer Lady Cal-
verly could get from her fon.

The month foon rolled round. Sir Wil-
liam Truffel returned to claim his promifed
bride. He brought with him a fitter and an
aunt to do honour to his lady, and to attend
her home to his own feat : they were efcorted
by feveral gentlemen, his relations and
friends. Sir John invited others on his part,
and the houfe was again filled with com-
pany.

Mabel's mind was engaged in the parade
and buftle of the time. She told Edith (he
thought a wedding made a great deal of con-
fufion and trouble in a family, and yet there
was fomething very pleafant in the prepara-
tions : that it gave a great deal of confe-
quence to the bride, who was* paid as much
refpect as if flie was a princefs. Edith
fmiled at her remarks; flie faid, there was-
but one circumftance in it that would give
her any pleafure, and that was, being united
to the man whom fhe could prefer to all
others. " But," faid Mabel, " they fay
" one muft be in love firft; I wifli I knew
C 6 what

C 36 ]

" what is meant by being in love ?" <c Why
" being married, to be fure," faid Urfula,
who had heard their converfation. " What !"
faid Mabel, " muft one be married firft ?"
"Oh yes;" faid Urfula, " people marry
" firft, and love comes afterward, for then
" it becomes a duty." " That is very
" ftrange," faid Mabel, " I do not under-
ftand it."" No matter," faid Urfula,
" you will know it when it is neceflary, at
" prefent there is no occafion for you to talk
" or to think about it." " Ffow can I help
it ?" faid Mabel, " when I fee and hear of
" it every day of my life." u That is very
" true," faid Edith, " and I think Urfula
" requires too much of you, Mabel." Ur-
fula muttered, that " Little pitchers had
" wide ears," and many fuch good proverbs ;
but Mabel could not undcrfbnd the reafon of
her prohibitions.

The nuptial rites were celebrated with all
the refpedl, pomp, and feftivity, that became
the two families that day united. There
was feafting, mufic, dancing, and every ex-
preffion of mirth and happinefs.

While the company fat at dinner, anhar-

per of the Weft country came in, and per-

< formed

C 37 ]

formed fome of his fineft airs. He fung the
noble acts of Arthur King of Britain, and
of his knights of the round table ; the vali-
ant actions of Sir Gawaine his nephew ; the
ftory of Sir Triftram and the fair Ifotta; of
Sir Lancelot du Lake; Sir Lukyn, and Sir
Kaye : the treafon of the bafe Sir Mordred,
nnd the death of the great Arthur : the pro-
phecy of Merlin, that Arthur himfelf, or
one of his name, fhould one day reftore the
honour of Wales, and the glory of Britain,
and that this Staffing fhall long be expected
before it {hall arrive.

Madam Ifabel feemed to enjoy her own
confequence ; fhe was the queen of the day,
and every one paid homage to her : healths
to her honour and happinefs were circulated
brilkly, and all the company took part in the
family joy. After dinner they retired to
dancing, and continued it till the evening
was far advanced ; the bride, and her mother,
and fitters retired, and the company did not
tarry long afterwards.

The next morning early, Mabel awakened
Edith to tell her her dream. Edith chid her,
and defired her to go to fleep again. " Pray,
" my dear lifter, hear me ! you cannot think

what

C 38 ]

c< what a ftrange and curious dream I have-
" had to-night." " You never confider,
" Mabel, that you fpoil my dreams and my
" reft too ; he quiet, I will not hear you."
" Oh, my dear Edith, hear me only this one
<c time ! it is not a common one; let me tell
" you now left I fhould forget it." u If
" you do I will forgive you." " Now that
" is very crofs; it is not like my own Edith,
cc but like Ifabel. I have been frightened
" very much ; my heart beats fo that you
<c may hear it if you liften, and I want you
" to hear and to comfort me." " Well, if it
" gave you pain, you had better go to fleep
<c and forget it." <c Yes, it gave me pain,,
<e that is fure, but then it gave me fome
" pleafure too. Oh, my fweet fifter, I never
" felt the like before !" So, then, this
cc muft have been a ftrange dream ; I do not
C( know whether I ought to liften to it."
<( Oh, yes, you muft, indeed ; I am fure
" there is no harm in it." " Well, then,
" tell it at once, and let me hear no more of
it."

" Sifter, I was adreamed that I was walk-
" ing in the midft of a wood, the birds fung
" fweetly, the water murmured, the flowers

** grew

t 39 1

" grew round me, and the fun flione fo bright
" that it dazzled my eyes, fo that I retired
<s into the wood for to fhade me from its
" beams. So I went on and on, in a very
" narrow path, till I heard fornebody groan
" fadly, fo I went on to fee where the groans
ic came from." Here Edith laughed : " Fine
" fluff to talk of, Mabel ; I wonder you are
" not afhamed of it." Why fhould I be
" afhamed, Edith ? You have not heard it
Cc yet, and I allure you it is nothing to laugh
" at." " You muft even run on, for it js to
" no purpofe to oppofe you." Mabel pro-
ceeded u I went to the place from whence
<e the groans came, and there I faw laid at
" his length upon the earth, thefineft young
" knight that ever my eyes beheld." Edith
laughed again ; Mabel went on " So he
" faid he was wounded, and like to die, un-
" lefs I would cure him." <e Better and bet-
<c ter," faid Edith ; " I wonder where this
" dream will end !" " So I kneeled down
" befide him ; I wept for him, and I prayed
" for him, but all woufd not do him any
" good. He faid his enemy had wounded
<c him, and his friend only could cure him.
" 1 alked him what I could do for him ? he

" faid,

C 40 ]

" faid, I muft kneel down by him and kifs
" his wounds; fo I kneeled down, put my
" lips to his, and kifled him."" Oh, fie,
" fitter Mabel ! I protefl you make me blufh;
I am afhamed for you." Well, and fo
" do I blufh, but I do not know why,
" and yet I muft tell you the reft of
it." " Pray hafte then, to conclude."
" I thought the knight revived by degrees ;
" he afked me to help him to rife, I did fo,
" and he told me I had made him well ; juft
" as Clement told you the other day."
" So, then, you are a fhrewd obferver, Ma-
" bel ; nothing efcapes you." " Well, he
" told me all his wounds were cured except
<6 one in his bofom, which he fliewed me,
" but faid he knew a way to cure that. I
" felt fo eafy and happy, that I thought I
" could have flown away like a bird. I curt-
" fled to him, and made a motion to leave
" him he frowned and looked fternly at me,
" I went a little way from him, on a fudden
<c he feized me and held me faft ; he took a
" penknife out of his bofom, he cut open
<c my breaft and took out my heart, he took
" his own heart and put it into my heart'*
" place, and put mine into his own bofom.

I felt

u I telt fuch a pain as I cannot defcribe ; I
" kneeled, wept, and prayed him to rcftore
" me my heart again ; he fiiewed me the
'* wound in his bofom perfectly healed, but
" mine was in the fame pain as before. He
** went away from me in anger, yet ftill me-
" thought I loved him. I ftrove to follow
" him, but could not overtake him : I pray-
" ed to the blefTed Virgin and to all the
" faints in the Calendar, but none took
t pity on me. I wandered through nar-
" row paths full of briars and thorns that
" fcratched and wounded me, but ftill I
" minded nothing but the pain in my heart,
" I could evn now weep to think of it."
" Oh, my poor Mabel ! this is a fad ftory,
" indeed ; but it was only a dream, and you
" ought not to think any more of it."
" Oh, but this is not all ! I went through a
" thoufand perils and dangers ; I was pur-
" fued by wild beafts and by venomous crea-
tc tures ; I ran till all my ftrength was gone,
" and then I fell down and fainted away.
< 4 When 1 opened my eyes again, I faw my
" knight coming to my afliftance ; he took
a me up and embraced me ; he faid he was
" forry to leave me in fuch a fituation, but

" that

C 4* ]

" that he could not help it ; that my prefent
" fuffering was over, but he feared there
" was more trouble in {lore for us. He led
" me through many ugly paths, but I feared
u nothing when he was with me. At length
<c we got into a better path, which opened
u upon a fine profpel : we faw a goodly
" manfion houfe, we went towards it ; as
" we came near it, we heard the found of
" mufic and rejoicing. He led me into a
" great hall where many people were toge-
4< ther. They came and welcomed me as
" the miftrefs of that houfe, and faid that
" the gentleman was mafter of it. All my
" relations were there to meet me, an enter-
<c tainment was prepared, I was placed under
<( a canopy wth my knight by my fide, and
" he called me his charming bride. I felt
* myfelf fo happy as I cannot defcribe; I
" thought nothing of my paft fufferings, but
" that now they were well rewarded. All
" on a fudden methought the canopy fell
" down upon our heads, and crufhed us both
< c to death. I flarted, fhrieked, and awaked
" in fuch a terror as is paft all defcription.
" My poor heart beat as if it would come
* through my body, and I could hardly fetch

C 43 J

" my breath ; this made me waken you, frt
" hopes you would comfort me : I aik your
cc pardon for difturbing you, but really I
" could not help it." '' My dear Mabel I
" forgive you with all my heart : I am not
" furpriled that you fhould be terrified at fo
" alarming a dream, I am affected by it my-
" felf; but, indued, my filler, you give too
16 much attention to dreams; if you were to
" endeavour to fupprefs them, and not talk
Ct or think of them, I verily believe you
f< would not dream fo much."

" Well, my dear Edith, I will flrive to
" follow your advice henceforward, for truly
" I do not wifli to have any more fuch
( < dreams as this laft." C6 Then, my dear,
if you will make a wife ufe of it, and, per*
<e haps, avoid fuch in future.

" It is time for us to rife ; let us rejoice
* c and be thankful for the bleffings that fur-
round us, and not fuffer idle dreams to in.*
<e terrupt our happinefs."

The young ladies arofe, they were nearly
dreft when the fervant entered the room.
Edith begged her filler not to tell her dream,
to the maid fervant, nor to talk with her
upon fuch fubjedtsj nor be too familiar with

her*

C 44 ]

her. " May I not tell Urfula ? She tells rne
" her's fometimes." u You may if you
" choofe it; hut believe me {he will chide
** you for it." " What for dreaming r"
" Yes, and for talking about it too"-*-
" Well, you are all fo much wifer than I,
" that 1 find I muft either keep iilence or be
<e corrected,"---" Correct yourfelf, my dear
" Mabel, and you will want no other moni-
tor." Mabel fighed, You will either
" chide me or laugh at what I am going to
" fay ; but my heart feels now as if it had
" been removed out of its place." " Conv
<e pofe yourfelf, my fitter ; have a little pa-
" tience, keep your own fccret, and all will
" come right again." This dream made an
impreflion oh Mabel's mind which fhe could
not foon get rid of.

The family was fummoned to breakfaft
at a later hour than ufual ; the ladies met*
in the eating parfour, the gentlemen in the
great hall. The old harper was fummoned
to attend them. He fung the blefllngs of
holy marriage, examples of conjugal fidelity
and happinefs, and the punishments that fuc-
ceedthe violation of the marriage vow. He
fung the chafte and noble Love of the fair

prin-

[ 45 ]

princefs Eleanor to her lord Edward, the firfl
of that name fince the conqueft; how ihe
fucked the poifon from his wound to the ex-
treme hazard of her own precious life ; but
Providence infpired the injured prince of
Joppa to vindicate his honour, and reftore
her to her defpairing lord. He fung the
loves of Henry the fecond 1 and the fair Ro-
famond ; the jealous rage of an incenfed
queen, and the deplorable end of that beauti-
ful lady. A warning to princes as well as
private mea. How Henry, with all his
great and kingly qualities, loft the duty and
affedtion of his queen, and of his children,
by his incontinence, and was forfaken in his
old age by thofe who fhould have made his
latter days honourable and happy. He fung
of the long, happy, and unihaken union
of the illuftrious king Edward the third, and
his excellent lady the queen Philippa; he
grayed for the profperity of their generous off-
fpring, and wifhed there might never be want-
ing one of the race of Plantagenet to fit
upon the throne of England.

The harper was generoufly rewarded for
his pains ; he was noticed t>y all the compa-
ny ; Sir John Calverly entertained him, and
l paid

C 46 ]

paid him the ufual fees, and the bridegroom
made him an handfome prefent befide.

The gentlemen divided into parties ; fome
walked in the garden, fome rode out on
horfeback ; they all returned to dinner,
where they met the ladies, and fpent the
evening in dancing, or in agreeable conver-
fation.

Mabel was ordered to fpend fome hours
with Urfula, and though forewarned, {he
could not forbear telling her dream. Urfula
made very ferious remarks " It feems to
* ( me," &id ftie, " that you will fall into
" trouble from your own mifconduft, and
" towards men efpecially." " Then you do
" believe in dreams after all that you -have
ts faid againft them ?" u No, not in every
<c idle fancy ; but fometimes they may be
" fent as warnings, to prepare us for great
" events,- and to put us upon guarding
" againft the confequences of our faults.
" Thus, for inftance, you fhould fupprefs
" your love for talking, your exceflive curi-
" oiity, and your freedom of behaviour to-
" wards men, left fome one fhould take ad-
* vantage of your imprudence,' and make
you feel that pain in your heart .that was

"fa

[ 47 ]

" fo grievous to you : thus you may makeli
*' wife ufe of your dreams, as well as of eve-
* c ry other method of inftrudtion." - " Is
" love always attended with a pain in the
" heart, Urfula ?" " Yes, my child, except
" when people are fo wife as to wait for the
" commands of their parents, and accept the
" hufband they recommend ; in that cafe
" they need apprehend neither pain nor trou-
pe ble." " Nor yet plsafure I fuppofe, Ur-
<c fula ?" " That is a very impertinent fup-
" pofition ; you fhould hear more and fpeak
ie lefs ; you fhould not fuffer your mind to
* run upon ftories of knights, and 'fquires,
" and fmehoufes and gardens, and fuch idle
" fancies. Pray to the bleffed Virgin to af-
" fift you and to guard you againft the dan-
<c gers of your fex." " Ah, but how can I
" help it, Urfula, when I fee them every
" day before me, when the houfe is full of
c< gay company, and there is feafting every
" day, and dancing every evening r" lt Well,
<c that is true, I cannot deny it : thefe
" things are likely to put idle thoughts into
" young heads ; however you muft ftrive
" againft them : thefe frolics will foon be
" over, the company will foon leave us, the
.2 " houfe

[ 48 ]

" houfe will be quiet again, and I {hall be very
glad when it is." <c Ah, but^ Urfula, I
w am afraid I (hall be very forry when they
" go away, and how rnuft 1 do to help it r"
u Mind your leflbns, and your works, and
" your prayers, and they will cure all vain,
idle thoughts and wiflies." " Well, I

will try all I can, Urfula."

The company were feparated after fpend-
ing three weeks at Caiverly-hall. Sir John
attended Sir William and his lady to their
own manfion, and fpent fome weeks there.
The family returned to its ufual fiate of
quietnefs and uniformity. Edith enjoyed the
tranquillity of a private life, but Mabel re-
gretted the lofs of the gay company ; neither
of them grieved for the departure of their
fitter, and even the mother bore it with great
philofophy. Mabel was rather of a roman-
tic turn of mind ; the old houfekeeper had a
great collection of ftories. Mabel often vi-
flted her apartments, and furnifhed herfelf
with fubjecls for her dreams at night, and
her waking reveries.

Sir John went from his brother-in-law's
feat to London, where he fpent fome time,
and found all his former feaxs and doubts re-
newed

[ 49 ]

newed. Very foon after the Parliament
broke up, the King returned to his former
courfes. He quarrelled with the Duke of
Glocefter; he obliged him to releafe the Earl
of Suffolk, his evil counfellor ; he threaten-
ed to revoke every thing done in the late
Parliament, declaring againft advice, which
he called compulfion. Sir John Calverly at-
tempted to convince him of the dangers he
incurred, but he held every man for his ene-
my that oppofed his conduct.

Clement Woodville met Sir John in Lon-
don ; he was quite recovered in health and
fpirits, and returned with him to Calverly-
hall, where he was gracioufly received by
every part of the family. Sir John was very
fond of his younger fifters, whofe graces and
merits rofe upon him daily ; he wifhed to fee
them happily eftablifhed. He was commif-
fioned to make a propofal to Edith; it was
an old knight and a widower that offered.
Sir John infifted that this propofal fliould be
left to his filler's determination, and that flie
fhould not be urged, nor yet over-perfuaded
to accept it. Lady Calverly mentioned it
with this permiffion. Edith refufed it abfo-
lutely, and gratefully acknowledged the li-
eL. T. D berty

[ So ]

berty allowed her. When Lady Calverly
was alone with her fon, ftie reported Edith's
denial. He faid he expe&ed it, and was not
furprifed. He faid, " My dear mother has
* often wifhed me to marry ; flie has recom-
" mended feveral deferring young ladies to
" me. I would pay every kind of refpect to
" her opinion, but the heart will make its
" own choice in preference to that of any
" other perfon. The truth is, mine has
** long lince fixed upon its object:, and I muft
t( either marry to pleafe myfelf, or elfe re-
" main fingle."

" Sir John, I {hall rejoice to fee you mar-
" ried, provided the lady is a fuitable match
cc for you. I hope you refpedl the honour
<c of your family too much to introduce an
improper perfon into it."

* Pray, Madam, tell me your requifites
for the wife of your fon, and then I fhall
" know whether my beloved object can an-
- fwer to them."

Firil, I expea that flie fhall be defcend-
w ed from an honourable family."

<: Very well, Madam, we can anfwer to
*' that point."

" Secondly, She fliould bring you a fo*-
" tune fufficient to enable you to pay your
<s fitters and brothers their portions without
" making any alteration in your prefent man-
" ner of living."

'* There we inuft fail : but what fhe wants
" in fortune, fhc fhall fupply in merit."

" Merit may as eafily be found with a
" good fortune as without it, and the woman
" you naake your wife will expect the fame
" expences and indulgencies if fhe brings no
" fortune, as if fhe had brought an equal
" one."

" That may be true, Madam ; but where
" thefe requiiites muft be feparated, I fhould
6C choofe merit in preference to fortune. I
<c will be contented to retrench my manner
" of living, to be bleft with the woman I
love."

<c I feared fomething of this kind from
" your declining my recommendation ; I am
" concerned to find it fo. Your wife, Sir
<c John, ought to have fomc dignity to com-
<c mand the refpecl: of others, to fupport and
<{ adorn yopr family and confequence."

<c She will adorn it with the dignity of

" virtue, prudence, and ceconomy ; I fay no-

Da " thing

[ 52 ]

" thing of her beauty and accomplifliments,
I throw them into the fcale."

" She ought to have had a good educa-
tion."

" She has had the heft this country can
" afford. She loft her mother while {he was
" an infant, her father died while fhe was
" ftill a child ; her friends placed her in a
" convent, where fhe has been under the par-
" ticular care of the abbefs, who fpeaks
<c highly of her merits and virtues."

" And who is this paragon of beauty and
accompli fhments ?"

" I am not afhamed to name her, Maria
Woodvilie."

* c Ah, me ! all my fears are verified in
* defpite of all my precautions."

" Your precautions were wife, but they
** were ineffectual ; I thank you for your
" cares for the dear girl's education : you de-
<c figned her for a nun, but fhe has no voca-
tion to it. The abbefs is my friend, fhe
<{ knows of my attachment and feconds my
views."

<c Then you muft have practifed upon her

& integrity, and you have fucceeded by fuch

** means as you will not acknowledge. To

f " what

[ 53 ]

" what purpofe, Sir, do you confult me when
" you have taken your refolution and your
" meafures r"

" Becaufe, Madam, I wifli you to con-
" fent to my marriage ; becaufe I would
" have you be a mother to my wife as well
" as to your other children, and that you
u fliould extend your advice and protection
" to her alfo : ftie reveres you, and would
" fuhmit to your injunctions."

" I cannot approve nor confent to it. Your
" father never intended that the Woodvilles
" fhould be his heirs.''

" He adopted them for his children ; he
" recommended them to my care in his hft
t( moments ; he did not forbid me to ally
" with them ; I have perfuaded myfelf
that he would not have oppofed my
wifhes."

" People eafily believe what they wifh to
" be true. I am of a different opinion ; but
" what will that avail if you have taken
c< your refolution ?"

" It is taken, Madam, and I am forry that
" you are difpleafed with it."

" I have aifo taken mine, Sir; I and my

" daughters will go to Eglantine Bower,

D 3 which

[ 54 ]

" which I referved for my retreat ; we will
" not flay here to do honour to your
bride."

" I am forry for it, Madam ; nothing
" could give me fo muchpleafure ; I honour
" my Bother, I love my fitters, and I hoped
<( that we fhould continue together, and be
" a happy and united family.''

Sir William and Lady Trnffel will be
" proud of their new relation, Sir."

" My fitter Ifabel is too proud to be hap-
" Py> or to make others fo. I thought that
" quality was of her own rearing, but I
" fearfhe derives it from you, Madam."

" I leave you, Sir; I can hear no more af-
*' ter this reproach."

" No, Madam, I will leave you. Con-
<c fider^of what has pafled, confent to your
" fon*s happinefs, and he will always con-

" fult yourV

Sir John left his mother to her reflections;
they were painful to her; fhe kept them in
her own bofom, ftill hoping to vanquilh his
relblution. She made feveral attempts, hut
to no purpofe. A coldnefs took place be-
tween them, and my lady made preparations
for leaving Calverly-hall.

She

C ss 1

She had an old fervant called Gervafe
Bramber, who had lived in her father's fami-
ly, and in whom {he put confidence. She
told him that Sir John was likely to be mar-
ried foon r and {he had always intended,
whenever that event happened, to remove to
Eglantine Bower.

She ordered him to go thither to prepare
the houfe for her reception, to felect fome of
the tenants' fons and daughters to be her fer-
vants, and to have the houfe aired, and got
ready as loon as poffible.

Lady Calverly's coldnefs extended to Cle-
ment Woodville, who till now had been one
of her favourites : (he began to fear that fu-
ture alliances might arife ; and fhe behaved
with pride and referve to him. Clement
complained to his friend, who refented it for
him, and this family, formerly fo happy, was
now full of diftrufl: and fufpicion.

Sir John afked his mother whether Cle-
ment had done any thing to difoblige her,
and why {he had altered her behaviour to
him.

My lady anfwered, it was high time that he
(hould be kept at a greater diftance both by
her and her daughters.

D 4 Sir

[ 56 ]

Sir John fmilcd. He told her this precau-
tion came rather too late.

My lady was angry. " It is a mother's
" duty to guard her daughters. Sir; I know
** that Clement actually once looked up to
Ifabel."

*< Perhaps he might, Madam ; I am fure
" fhe looked down upon him, and it was
" hard that the poor lad might not admire
" her in filence, for even her vanity fhould
<c have excufed him."

" I am anfwered, Sir John ; my precau-
<c tions are justified. Perhaps you may en-
u courage him to afpire to one of your fif-
<c ters. It is time that I iliould remove my
" daughters from your houfe ; I fuppofe
" Clement knows your heart and your opU
" nions on thefe points."

" Yes, he knows my heart and I know
" his ; but there are many things which he
" is ignorant of, particularly my addrerTes to
" his fifter Maria : his elder brother knows
" it, and ib fhall he in due time."

" I am, indeed, -furprifed that you keep
" any thing from him." .

(C My dear mother, you may truft in
Cl Clement's honour and prudeece, and I

" wifh

[ 57 ]

" wilh you would place fome confidence in
me."

" Oh, my dear fon, that you would give
(( me more reafon for it !"

This converfation was concluded by the
entrance of the young ladies. Sir John took
Mabel upon his knee ; he afked her whether
fhe fhould like that he fhould give her a
new fifter inftead of Ifabel ? She anfwered,
fhe fhould like any thing that would make
him happy. " That is my dear little girl,
" and you will love your new fifter dear-
lv ?" " I fhall love all thofethat you do,
* as long as I live." a I thank you, my
" fweet fifter. What fay you, my Edith ?"
u I fay as my fifter does, that I will love and
" refpecl all thofe that are dear to you,
" Sir." " I will ftudy to requite your af
" feclion, and fo fhall thofe whom I love
" beft, or they {hall no longer be dear to
" me, I promife you."

My lady turned the fubjecl to her intend-
ed removal.

Sir John expreiTed great concern to be de-
prived of their compahy ; he endeavoured to
foften her upon the tubjecl, but fhe was firm
and refolved.

D 5 She

C s 8 3

She told her daughters to prepare for k
as foon as old Bramber fliould return, and
all things were ready for their reception.

While the family were in this fituation,
Clement met Edith in her favourite walk in
the garden. He told her that he was juft
then informed of Sir John's intended marri-
age. He expreffed furprife in regard to the
perfon whom he fhould honour with his
hand, and his concern at Lady Calverly's re-
folution to remove to the Bawer before the
wedding, which declared her difapprobation
of it. He complained that he was involved
in her difpleafure, though he had done no-
thing to deferve it. Edith comforted him,
{he defired him to bear patiently the prefect
eoolnefs of her mother, {he was certain that
her difpleafure would not be of long conti-
nuance ; that when Sir John was adtually
married^ {he would relax in her feverity,
and by degrees all things would come right.
She knew her mother's affectionate heart
would not fuffer her to be long upon ill
terms with her fon, whom {he loved and ho-
noured; that {he would be reconciled an.d
make all her children happy.

"May

I 59 ]

X

" May it be fo !" faid Clement, " but in
" the mean time we are deprived of your
" company ; I know the value of your's,
" Madam, fo well, that not even that of my
" fifter can make me amends for it."

Edith bluflied at this fincere compliment
/he faid flie hoped they fhould fee each other
fometimcs, and that fhe /hould always re
member him.

Clement was more warm in his expreflions
of everlafting gratitude, refpect, honour,
and fubmiffion. If Lady Calverly did not
forbid him, he would certainly pay his re-
fpecls to her at the Bower; and in cafe of a
reconciliation, he ftiould frequently find or
make occafion for his vifits.

They parted with repeated promifes of
eternal friendship.

Old Bramber returned with tidings, that
Eglantine Bower was ready to receive his
lady. Sir John had another fonveriution
with his mother; in .::ldidon to all that he
had faid before^ he warned her cf t';e cloud
that hung over the land ; that h^ feared the
king and his people would go to extremities
with each other. In cafe of a civil war a
family of women might want a protector,
D6 and

[ 6 ]

and he could not fo well difcharge that duty
as if flie continued under his roof. Never-
thelefs he would always be ready to render
her every fervice in his power, and dcfired
her to command him freely ; that in cafe of
danger he would fend a trufty friend, and
fome of his vafTals, to defend her upon the
firft notice. My lady was affe&ed, me wept,
but her heart remained inflexible ; me took
an affectionate leave of him, faying, the
ftep {he was taking was what {he had always
refolvedwhen he fhould marry.

Sir John fpoke to his fifter Edith, he beg-
ged her influence in his behalf, to foften his
' mother, and difpofo her to a reconciliation,
and a friendly intercourfe between the two
families. Edith aflured him that nothing
in her power ihould be wanting ; {he told
him, as {he had Clement, that {lie was cer-
tain when he {hould be married, but n,ot be-
fore, her mother would relax ; that it was
better to let things reft as they were at pre-
fent, and not to urge my lady any farther,
as her resolution was fixed for her departure,
and {he had named a day in the following
week. He was cerwinced that {he was right,
and determined to follow her advice.

Sir

C 61 ]

Sir John defired his mother to take what-
ever fhe liked of the furniture, and fuch of
the fervants as fhe chofe to attend her. She
thanked him and named them. She defired
the old houfekeeper might go with her, and
recommended Urfula to fucceed her. She
took Beatrice her own maid fervant, and
Jane to wait on the young ladies. Old
Bramber, and young Jacob his nephew for
her footman, and fhe fhould fupply the reft
when fhe came to the Bower.

Clement offered his fervices, and begged
permifllon to attend her on her journey
fhe wiflied him well, but refufed his atten-
dance ; fhe chofe to have none but her own
fervants to attend her.

At length the day of parting arrived.
They took a filent farewell. The young
ladies' eyes were fwelled with tears, and they
left Calverly-hall with apparent reluftance ;
but my lady's firmnefs was a leflbn to them
to fupprefs their emotions. She looked very
ferious, and her heart was opprefTed with
painful recollections.

They travelled in a kind of wain, with an
awning over it, not near fo well made as a
caravan of our times ; they had cufhions to

fit

fit on, and their paraphernalia was with
them. Another waggon carried the goods
my lady had felected for herfelf. Sir John
infifted on fending his fervants with them to
conduct and protect them. The roads in
thofe times could hardly be called by that
name. A modern fine lady would have been
fhaken to pieces, in her own dialect; but
thefe travellers arrived whole and in good
health at their Eglantine Bower. They lay
two nights on the road ; the firfl at a vafTal's
of Sir John, the fecond at a farm of my
lady's, and the farmer attended them home.

Eglantine Bower had many beauties, it had
alfo its defects. It was fituated in a valley
between two hills. A rivulet ran near the
houfe and through the garden, which had
many pleafant walks in it ; one particularly
that was (haded from the fun. Behind it, was
a thick wood, which had a winding path up
the hill, and abated the afcent to it. In the
thicker parts of it there were feats here and
there for reft and meditation. Through it
you faw a beautiful profpect on the oppofite
fide, where the afcent was more gradual ;
there were to be feen the fpires of churches,
monafteries, and houfes intcrfperfed, which

was

[ 63 ]

was more pleafing to the beholder. There
were cattle feeding, and the occupations of
the hufbandmen all around, which enlivened
the profpeft and cheered the heart. The
houfe was neat and convenient. The jeffa-
mines, eglantines, and woodbines, grew
round the windows, and fometimes forced
their way in the rooms.

The front of the houfe faced the rifing
fun, the windows were bowed, and there
was a balcony in the center, that gave a full
view of the agreeable profpeft all around.
Lady Calvei ly was partial to this houfe, be-
caufe it recalled to her mind many agreeable
fcenes of the youthful part of her life. The
rivulet proceeded from the branch of a neigh-
bouring river, and fupplied the houfe with
fifh of many kinds, and it afforded amufe-
ment to the patient angler.

Lady Calverly found employment for
many weeks in fetting her houfe in order,
and regulating her houfehold. Here we
fhall leave this branch of the family for the
prefent, and return to Sir John.

He reflected upon his fifter Edith's advice,
and was convinced by it. He fet out for
London a few days after, attended by Cle-
ment,

C 6 4 ]

ment, with a refolution to conclude his mar-
riage as foon as poffible. Richard Wood-
ville was too well pleafed to fufFer unnecei-
fary delays; the week following Sir John
was married to his long-beloved Maria.
The wedding was kept at her brother's, who
was then courting an heirefs of great for-
tune, and award of the crown. The King
favoured his addrefs, and he was fortunate in
his purfuits both in love and ambition. Sir
John- and his lady fpent a month with him
before they went to Calverly-hall.

In thofe times there was very little varia-
tion of fafhion; the fame kind of garments
continued in fafhion during the life of the
wearer. The grand fuits of clothes were
only worn upon higfi days, feftivals, birth-
days of the king, queen, and heir-apparent
of the crown, marriages, chriftenings, and
other great occafions. Their clothes fome-
times defcended to their children, and fome-
times were devifed by their wills to their
friends, favourites, and fervants, and thefe
legacies were highly valued.

When we read of the magnificence of
former times, we mull underftand them with
great limitations, Jt is true that they fome-

times

C 65 ]

times wore cloth of gold, but how manu-
fa&ured we know not; the fafhion of the
garments we can guefs by the remains of an-
tiquity, by pictures, monuments, medals,
and coins.

Cloth of gold was often lined with wool-
len, or fluff, and not always of the finefk
kinds.

He clothed his children then not like to other men,

In partye colours ftrange to fee,
The right fide cloth of gold -the left fide to behold,

Of woollen cloth ftill framed he.
Men thereat did wonder-. -golden fame did thunder
This fbunge deed in every place.

Ballad of the K. of France's Daughter*
See PERCY'S SONGS, Vol. III.

Not two centuries ago the gentry lay upon
beds fluffed with flraw, and the coverings
were of coarfe and ordinary materials. The
houfehold furniture was very rudely made
up ; it was fometimes covered with filk or
velvet upon great occafions, but very mean*
Jy in common.

The floors were ma/le of clay, and when
they became fo dirty that the fight of them
could not be endured, they were flrewed

over

[ 66 ]

over with rufhes, and this was repeated as
often as there was a freih layer of filth upon
it. Thiscuftom was the caufe of many epi-
demical diforders in London, we may read
of them in hiftory by the name of the plague;
but there is great reafon to believe they did
not refemble the plague of the Eaftern coun-
tries, but were occafioned by this and other
uncleanly cuftoms.

Our anceitors were magnificent in fome
refpedh, while in others they were mean and
uncomfortable ; they were ignorant of the
arts of polifhed manners and of refinements
in luxury.

We may with truth aflert, that an ordi-
nary citizen or tradefman in London, in the
eighteenth century, lives in a ftate of more
elegance and luxury, than men of the firft
rank and fortune did in the fourteenth, fif-
teenth, and even the fixteenth centuries ;
nay, than the greater part of the fovereign
princes of Europe.

In our days it is the cuftom to complain of
poverty and oppreflion, but when we behold
the drefles, luxuries, and manners of the
lower degrees of people, we mult either
doubt the truth of thefe aflertions, or elfe

we

C 67 ]

we muft believe that they had rather fee
the ruin of themfelves and their pofte-
rity, than retrench the lead article of their
luperfluous expences.

In the times of our Gothic anceftors, fru-
gality was an eminent virtue; the man who
lived, or dreffed beyond his degree in life,
would have been fcorned, fhunned, and de-
fpifed by all his neighbourhood.

Sir John Calverly and his Lady made their
appearance at court; they were gracioufly
received by the King, who remembered and
recited the fervices of Sir Hugh Calverly to
himfelf and his family.

We do not pretend to defcribe their drefles
upon this occafion, but it is prefumed they
were fuitable to their rank and fortune, and
the times in which they lived; their inward
habits were thofe of virtue, honour, and
fidelity.

King Richard was too fond of drefs and
gewgaws ; he loved public fhews, and every-
thing that indicated a light, vain, and fri-
volous mind.

Mr. Woodville detained Sir John and his
bride fix weeks in London, and would have
kept them (till longer, but they wiihed to be

at

[ 68 ]

at Calverly-hall, and to enjoy the pure and
unmixed pleafures of the country. Sir John's
heart yearned after his mother and fitters ;
he longed for a perfect reconciliation and a
conttant intercourfe of friend/hip and good
offices, between himfelf and every part of
his family. Such are the genuine wifhes and
fentiments of an uncorrupted and affection-
ate heart.

As foon as they arrived at Calverly-hall,
Sir John di {patched a meflenger to Eglantine
Bower, with a letter to this effect :

" Sir John Calverly and his beloved wife,
" throw themfelves at the feet of their ho-
s noured and beloved mother Lady Calverly;
" they implore her bleffing, and her prayers,
t( in order to complete their happinefs.

" They requeft the favour of a letter to
".convey thefe biettings, and the congratula-
<c tions of their dearly-beloved fitters, Edith
"and Mabel; and they pray daily for the
health and happinefs of all at Eglantine
Bower.

* e JOHN and MARIA CALVERLY."

Cle-

[ 69 ]

Clement Woodville would fain have ac-
companied this mefTenger,but Sir John would
not permit it. u Let us wait to fee the ef-
" fet of our letter : to go now would pro-
" bably draw down an interdict upon your
" vifits in future* There will come a day
" when you will be invited to Eglantine
" Bower ; ifi the mean time let us leave it
" to time and affection, to fubdue obftinacy,
c< which will deny to others what it wiflies
" for in its own heart." Clement fubmit-
ted, but his heart travelled with the meflen-
ger and foreftalled his reception.

My lady was diftreffed how to anfwer this
letter; but fhe ordered the perfon that brought
it to be entertained and accommodated. She
fhowed the letter to Edith and Mabel, they
were concerned in it, and fhe confulted them
about anfwering it. This was the time for
Edith to ufe her influence, which /he did not
fail to do. <c They are now adually mar-
" ried. My dear mother will not long keep
tc her refentment againil a fon who is an ho-
" nour to his family, arid who dearly loves
*' his mother and filters. You will certain-
" ly be reconciled to him one time or other ;
" the fooner you forgive, the greater will

"be

C 70 ]

<c be the obligation. My brother will vifit
c< us, we (hall return it, and we fhall be again
" a happy family*. Oh, my deareft mother !
" let your Edith prevail upon 'you to return
" a kind and affe6Uonate anfwer."

Lady (Mverly's mind was perplexed, ob-
ilinacy kept its hold, but affection fhook it
every hour ; her daughters urged her warm-
ly ; fhe chid them gently, and yet felt their
importunities.

Edith begged that fhe might anfwer the
billet ; my lady faid fhe might ; adding, u if
" I do not like it, 1 need not fend it."
Edith wrote thus :

" Lady Calverly returns the bleflings,
" prayers, and good wifhes of her children.
" Edith and Mabel fend hearty congratula-
" tions, and affectionate wifhes to Sir John
" and Lady Calverly : they all unite in
" prayers for their happinefs."

My lady objected to this anfwer. It was
too humble and condefcending to a fon who
had married againft her wifhes and declared
difapprobation. She took up the pen herfelf,

and wrote as follows :

Lady

[ 7i 3

<e Lady Calverly is doubtful whether {he
" ought to anfwer the note that brings an
" account of her ion's marriage, after ha-
" ving declared her wifhes to the contrary ;
" neverthelefs flie cannot forget that flie is
" his mother : (he wifhes he may find happi-
" nefs in tlie lot he has choien for himfelf.
" Edith and Mabel lend congratulations and
" good wifhes."

Edith begged her mother not to fend the
laft written : my Lady would not fend the
other. A iudden thought rofe in Edith's
mind ; (he put her own letter into her poc-
ket, and gave up to her mother. My Lady
fealed her's and made it ready. She defired
to know when the mefTenger was ready to
return ; flie went out of the room Edith
feized the opportunity ; fhe folded her own
note exactly like the other, ihe directed it
as nearly to her mother's as poffible. She
fubftituted her own in the place, and took
the other up ftairs with her, and laid it by
fafely. She put on a cheerful countenance
and went into her mother's apartment; flie
took her work and purfucd it. The fervant
came to acquaint my Lady that the meflen-

[ 72 3

ger was ready to depart. She ordered her
to give him the letter that was laid upon the
table in the parlour. Edith blu/hed and felt
fome painful emotions ; flic doubted whether
{he had not been guilty of a fault, however
flie did not attempt to recall it. She refol-
ved to fay no more upon the fubjedl left fhc
fhould betray herfelf.

The next day my Lady looked as if fhe
had not refted well ; fhe revived the fubjecl:
herfelf, and Edith declined it, faying,
" What is done cannot be undone." My
Lady fighed deeply ; her daughters obferved
it. Mabel afked if fhe was well fhe faid,
*' Not quite well." Edith exprefled con-
cern : her mother took her hand in her's
" Oh, my Edith ! you know me better than
*< I do myfelf ! that letter I fent to your
" brother!" " What of that, my dear mo-
" ther r" Oh, my child ! would I had
" never fent it ! I have reproached him
" with his marriage, in return for his kind
" and dutiful attention to me ; I have
" wounded his noble, generous heart, and
" ftruck a dart into my own." " Be com-
" forted, my dear mother ; I can give you
comfort." " No, my child, you cannot ;

What

[ 73 J

<c what is done cannot be undone ; you have
" find truly." " That is true, my dear lady,
" and if you will pardon me for what I have
cc done, I will never wifti it undone."-
" What means my Edith, fhe does not fmile
" at my forrow ?" " Yes I do, my fweet
"jnother, becaufe I can cure it," She then
told the deception file had been guilty of;
flie ran and fetched the letter, and gave it
into her mother's hand. My lady was fur-
prifed and overjoyed.

She embraced her Edith ; he called her
her heft child, her darling, her comforter :
fhe thanked her for what fhe had done, and
told her, from this time forward fhe fliould
hold her for her beft and fafeft counfellor.
Mabel took her part in the joy, and never
was there feen a happier family.

In a fhort time after, Sir John fent a letter
of thanks to his mother, with a prefent of
vcnifon to her, and fome ornamental gifts to
Ins fitters. Then was the maternal heart en-
livened; then it felt the happinefs arifing
from the reconciliation with a beloved child.
The parent that defpifes and rcjr&s this blef-
fing is unworthy of it.

VOL. T. E Lady

[ 74 ]

L'.!y Calverly in return fent a fine pair of
bracelets of pearl to the bride ; the letters
were full of affection and tendernefs : from
this time there was a conftant intercourfe of
friendship, and there feldom paffed a we*ek
without fome delightful proofs of it. Some
months after the marriage, Sir John brought
his Maria to vifit his mother ; they ftaid a
week at the Bovver, and Sir John inlifted
upon their returning home with them. Lady
Calverly would have fent her daughters and
have remained at home, but Sir John would
not be denied.

They ftaida month at Calverly-hall. The
young lady, by her tender attention to her
mother-in-law, fubdued her coldnefs, and
ihe became as fond of her as of the reft of
<her children.

The family union brought an increafe of
happinefs to all the parties.

Mr. Clement came to the Hall while the
ladies were there, and he was permitted to
efcort them home, and invited to vifit them
often.

Lady Calverly was invited fome months
after, to vifit her daughter, Lady Truflel,
and to be prefent at the birth of a child,

which

[ 75 3

which was daily expected. The young la-
dies were requefted to be with their fifler-m-
law, the young Lady Calverly, during her
abfence. Clement and Edith fpent many
happy hours together, in all the confidence
of friendship ; they never fufpe&ed that the
regard they bore each other was any thing
more than that between an affectionate bro^
ther and filler.

Lady Tmflel was very impertinently an-
gry with her brother for his marriage, and
with her mother for being reconciled to it.
Lady Calverly declared that fhe had fuffered
too much during her refentment aad eftrange-
ment from her fon, and that nothing could
tempt her to undergo again fo much pain and
felf-accufation. She told her that pride was
the caufe of it, and that fhe was determined
never more to give way to it. They had
feveral altercations upon the fubjecl:, but
neither party could convince the other. A
coldnefs took place between them, and Lady
Calverly refolved to flay no longer than
while her prefence was neceflary.

Lady TruiTel brought her hufband a daugh-
ter, to the difappointment of them both, and
they were ungrateful to God for the blefling
2 he

[ 76 ]

he had fent them, becaufe it was not exactly
\v,fyat they had wiAied.

Lady Calverly left them as foon as flie

-could be fpared. She .went to Calverly-hall;

and from thence carried her daughters home.

Within the year from the marriage, the
young Lady Calverly brought a fon and heir
to that refpe&able family, and gave joy to
every part of it. The good lady-mother,
and her daughters, were prcfent at the birth
and the baptifm, and when they returned
home, they were attended by Mr. Clement
Woodville, who was fully reftored to the
friendihip and confidence of Lady Calverly,

There were but few families that vifited at
Eglantine Bower ; the ladies found amufe-
rnent and employment in their own dwelling.
Mabel was as lively as a bird in the fpring ;
Edith had that happy complacency of mind,
that makes a heaven in the bofom that pof-
fefles it, and contributes to the happinefs of
all around it.

Lady Calverly and her daughters afliiled
their vafTals ; they took care of their chil-
dren, they fed the hungry, clothed the naked,
vifited the fick and affli&ed, and were daily
employed in ads of piety and benevolence ;

and

I 77-]

and in confequence, were adored by their
neighbours and dependents.

This is the fmiation of all others the bed
calculated for the difcharge of all the focial
and relative duties; here all the virtues are
kept in conftant exercife ; in towns and ci-
ties they languifh for want of employment,
and too frequently expire.

The fummer was in its prime, the fun
flione in all his glory, when the two young
Jadies, attended by Clement, went to walk
in the wood ; Mabel fpoke largely of its
beauties, and of the pleafure fhe found there.

Clement fhook his head Ci Ah, my dear
" lady, while you are. admiring the beauties
" of this wood, lam thinking of the dan^
** gers of it ; it looks like a harbour for noxi-
" ous animals and reptiles, and worfe ftill,
" for robbers and aiTaffins. My deareft la-
* dies, never walk here alone, I befeech yoti ;
<{ be always attended by fome trufty friend,
" or at leaft by a man fervant : you are riot
" aware of all the dangers that wait on
C{ youth and beauty."

"I am convinced that you are right,"

faid Edith, and I have fometimes told Ma-

3 bel

[ 78 ]

" bel that Ihe ventures too far into the r'c-
" cefles of this wood."

Mabel laughed at them both; Hie knew
no dangers, /lie feared none. She told them
fheihouldnot be afraid of being there alone,
and if they pleafed they might leave her
there. Edith chid her for her daring, and
faidfhefhou Id endeavour to guard her again il
it.

"Come along;" faid Mabel, " I will
" (how you a feat in an old hollow tree,
" where you may fee through the branches,
" and to the church on the hill, and hear
** the fweet birds iinging all around you ; it
u is fo charming that I can almoil think my-
." felf in heaven."-" My dear Mabel, how
c< your imagination heightens all your plea-
" fures !" " Well, Edith, and your's fug--
*' gePcs only fears and dangers ; I will not
** change with you."- May your happi-
* c nefs be always as pure and unmixed as at
" this hour !" faid Clement.

They followed Mabel to the feat ; the two
ladies fat down, and Clement leaned againft
the tree., and here they enjoyed in filence for
fome minutes the pleafure Ihe had deferihed

On

[ 79 3

On a ludden they heard groans as from a
perfon in pain ; they ftarted, and Edith laid,
c< Let us return, here are dangers too near
c< us." Clement laid, u Do you return and
" leave me here, Ibmebody is in danger and
" diftrefs, and, perhaps, I may relieve
*' them." The groans were repeated. Cle-
meit urged the ladies to return, hut flill
they tarried. He went towards the noife,
they followed at a diftance; he made mo-
tions for them to return, but they refufed to

g-

They faw two men running away, as if to
efcape purfuit ; they law at a much greater
diftanoe one man running towards them.

On a fudden Clement fprang from them,
and ran towards a place where they heard
flill plainer the groans of the wounded man ;
they faw lying on the ground a man who
feemed expiring. Clement raifed his head
and laid it upon his knees ; he took his hand
and felt his pulfe. Fie hade him take heart,
for relief was at hand. Edith took the other
hand, and promifed him the rites of hofpita-
lity. Mabel flood like a ftatue, contem-
plating him with aftonifhment.

E 4 The

[ 8 3

The per Con whom they had feen at a dif-
tarice now came up, and faw them employed
in recovering the wounded man. He ex-
claimed " Oh, my mafter ! thou dcareft
"* and heft of men ! what favage hand has
" ufed thee thus cruelly ?" Clement told
him they had heard his groans, and as they
came to his afliftance, they faw two men,
who upon their approach efcaped. " Here
" is no time to lofe,* 1 faid he, u help me to
" carry your mafter to a houfe hard by,
" where he fliall be attended carefully, and
" every means ufed for his recovery."

They tore down branches from the trees,
nod made a kind of barrow^ upon which they
laid the body, almoft without motion ; they
laid it down gently, and then carried it foft-
Iy between them. The young ladies went
before them ; they haftened to their mother,
and Edith told her all that had happened.
Mabel had not fpoken one word from the
moment {he faw the wounded man.' Lady
Calverly pra&ifed the noble hofpitality of
thofe times ; fhe thought it a duty to relieve
the diilrefled, to vifit the fick ? and to heal
the wounds of affliction, and of ficknefs.
She ordered her fervants to prepare a bed for

the

[ 8, ]

the flranger, and her houfekeeper to prepare
dreflings for his wounds : fhe then fet out
with her daughters to meet the expected
guefts.

The motion made him revive; he opened
his eyes and looked round him the man
faid, " God he praifed ! he is not dead ; look
" up, dear Sir, it is I ! it is Bertram ! this
" gentleman and two young ladies have been
"your prefervers." The wounded man
fighed, he raifed his hand foftly to his mouth,
he laid his finger upon his lips, and looked
upon Bertram, he then bowed his hand to
Clement, he clofed his eyes, and feemed
fainting again. Clement afked, " Who is
" your matter r" - " One of the nobleft
" knights upon earth," he anfwered.
" His name ?" Sir Roland."" And his
u firname r n " I beg your pardon, Sir, I
" am ordered to conceal it. He has power-
'* ful enemies without having deferved them.
<* He has alfo friends among the firfl peo-
pie of this land."" An Englifliman ?"
" Yes, Sir, and of the nobleft blood that
" England owns."--" Well, we muft wait
" till it pleafes him to inform us further."-
" I fear that will not be, Sir !'

E 5 Lady

C 82 ]

Lady Calverly met them defcending the
hill ; {he and her daughters accompanied
them into the hall ; they were obliged to lay
down their burthen and reft awhile. The
houfekeeper brought a cup of cordial water,
of which ihe put a little into the Granger's
mouth, and rinding that he fwa-flowed it,
/he gave him more, and by degrees the re-
mainder.

All the fpe&ators were fixed in filent at-
tention. The knight opened his eyes again,
he looked around him. He kiiTed his hand
and bowed it to the ladies, and then to Cle-
ment. Lady Calverly defired him to wave
all ceremony, and to accept of luch ailiftance
as they could give him. He bowed his head
and was filent. Clement motioned to carry
him tip ftai-rs, the fervants affifted them;
they carried him gently up ftairs, and then
lifted him off the barrow, and laid him upon
the bed.

When they opened his hcforri they per-
ceived that he wore a coat of rriail under hrs
clothes, and found that his wounds were
only in his arms and legs, except one in his
left thigh, which feemed dangerous. They
took ofF his cloathing, the houfekeeper

drefTed

[ 83 ]

dreiTed his wounds, none of which were
deep except that in his thigh, but he was
faint with lofs of blood. They lifted him
into bed, and then left him, with Bertram
only, to repofe himfelf without difturbance.

This adventure afforded much fpeculation
to all the family.

Clement reported all that he could learn
of the fervant, and the ladies were furprifed
at the concealment. My Lady wondered
who this ftranger could be;, of fo high quality
and .his name concealed.

She then gave orders for his accommoda-
tion in all refpecls, and commimoned Cle-
ment to fee them executed, and to vifit the
ftranger and entertain him, till fuch time as
he was well enough to receive vifits from
herfelf and her daughters.

The ftranger had a good night, his wounds
looked favourably, and they hoped he would
loon recover.

As foon as his wounds were drefTed, Maf-
ter Clement vifited him ; he afked after his
health, and rejoiced that he was in fo good
a way ; he defired him to compofe his mind
and think of nothing but getting well.

E 6 The

C 84 ]

The flranger anfwered only by figns, as he
had done the night before.

Clement thought it very odd, but he re-
folved to make him fpeak if it was poffible.
** Sir, you are under the roof of Lady Cal-
" verly, reli& of the gallant Sir Hugh Cal-
" verly, whofe name, I prefume, muil have
" reached your ear." The flranger made a
fign of aiTent.---" She is the mother of
" Sir John Calverly; and thofe two young
" ladies, with whom I was walking in the
<{ wood, are her daughters ;' they are lovely
4< and amiable, and praud of being your af-
'< fiftaitts."- A fign of refpecl and grati-
tude. " Bertram, is your mafter dumb r"
After a paufe " He is under a folemn in-
<{ junction of filence for a certain time : I
" am fure you would not urge him to break
" it."" No, certainly ; a penance, per-
" haps r" " Yes, Sir, fomething like it."
" Very ftrange !" " True, Sir." The
gueft looked at Bertram and made a fign.
" Sir, my mafter is truly fenfible of the la-
<c dies' kindnefs and hofpitality, and of your
<e noblenefs and generofity. He thanks you
" from his foul ; he is concerned to give fo
<* much trouble, and will remove as foon as

he

C & 5 1

"he can do It with fafety." " I beg that
" he will not think of it at prefent. Every
" one here is interefted in his favour, and I
u am entirely at his fervice."

The knight bowed his head, he extended
his hand, Clement took it in his ; the flran-
ger took Clement's hand between both of his,
he kifled it, prefTed it to his heart, and then
let it fall down gently.

" I will not intrude upon you any longer,

" Sir; I pray God to have you in his holy

, " keeping, and to reflore your health and

*< happinefs."---Clement retired bowing, and

left the room. He went to the ladies and

1 gave an account of his vi(it. They were

furprifed at the fmgular circumftances of his

fituafion, and efpecially at his filence.

" I know not who or what he is, but his
** countenance is the moil interefting I ever
44 beheld. 1 faw him undrefled laft night, I
" never beheld fo complete a form : all his
u motions are graceful, and his filence is more
" exprefiive than the fpeech of moft other
" men." u 'Tis ftrange, r> faid my Lady,
" that he fhould keep that fullen filence to
"thofewho have preferved his life: furely
<( he might put fome confidence in them.

"He

[ 86 ]

" He muft certainly have fome reafon for it,
" which, perhaps, will appear in due time."

" It feems to me," faid Clement, " that I
" have fecn fomebody like him ; his favour
" is familiar to me ; I have feen a pi&ure
" that refembled him, but I cannot tell
" where; he is above the common race of
" men, and I am curious to know his hif-
" tory." " You muft talk with Bertram,"
faid my Lady, "and try to get it out of
" him." " Oh, Madam, that will not be
66 eafy ; Bertram is no common fervant, and
" his mafter knows whom he trufts ; how-
" ever, I will fpeak to him as occ.aftofls may
arife."

Clement offered to relieve Bertram and to
fit up with his mailer, but he would not ac-
cept or hear of it. He offered a fervant to
relieve him, but it was refufed with acknow-
ledgements. Several days paffed in this man-
ner, the knight grew better every day, but
nothing tranfpired.

Bertram defired Mailer Clement to lend
him a horfe for one day ; he wanted to fetch
frefh clothes and linen for his mafler, and to
inform fome of his friends where he was,
and how circumftanced* It was ordered di-

iec~tJy.

reclly. Before he departed, he faidj <e Sfr,
" my mafter will be glad to fee you, if you
" will not urge him to fpeak." " Can he
hear well ?" Yes, Sir."" Then I will

*< wait on him." He did fo, and they had

an odd kind of converfation, which was pan-
tomime on the one fide and fpeech on the
other.

Clement told him the ladies were defirous
to pay their refpe6h to him as foon as he
chofe to fee them ; he made figns that when
his fervant fhouid return, he fhould think
himfelf honoured by their prefence.

Bertram returned at night, and a fervant
with him, bringing clothes and linen for his
mafter ; the fervant was admitted to his
chamber. He fell on his knees to him and
wept for his misfortune; the houfekeeper
was leaving the room when he entered and
made this report; they were fhut up together
fome time, and then the fervant returned and
Bertram remained. When Clement vifited
the ftranger the following day, Bertram told
him his mafter would rife and be feated, for
he could not bear to receive the ladies in bed.
This point was contefted, but the gueft

would

[ 88 ]

would not hear a word ; he was determined
on that head.

Clement made his report ; the ladies' ex-
pectations were raifed : in an hour after, Ber-
tram carne to afk the favour of their com-
pany. He attended them to his matter's
room; he was feated in an armed chair, and
his feet laid upon a ttool. At their approach
he endeavoured to rife, but was unable. Lady
Calverly chid him for the attempt. She de-
fired him not to put himfelf too forward, but
wait with patience till the cure was com-
pleted : fhe was glad to have the power to
affitt a per foil of merit in dittrefs, and wifh-
ed him to command every kind of affiftance
that her houfe afforded. .The knight ex-
prefTed his gratitude by geftures. Bertram
paid his acknowledgements in words; he
paid every kind of refpe<5t to his matter; he
called him Sir Roland, and faid he was re-
lated to the firft families in the kingdom.

" If we fail in paying Sir Roland due re-
" fpe6t, he mutt impute it to our ignorance
" of his quality," faid my Lady. Clement
faid fomething of the fame kind that feemed
to give him uneafinefs, he bowed his head
and fighed deeply. Clement faid, that Sir

Roger

Roger Morley, cldeft fon to the Lord Mor-
ley, was on a vifit to Sir John at Calverly-
hall. The knight made a fign to Bertram, he
(aid " That Sir Roger Morley is Sir Roland's
" near kinfman." My Lady faid, fhe was
glad flie knew that he was related to fo noble
a family. The young ladies were filerit, the
knight gazed on them attentively, he looked
on Bertram. He faid, " Sir Roland is deep-
<; ly fenfible of his obligations to thole
" charming young ladies, who took compaf-
" fion upon a ftranger, and gave fo generous
" a proof of their gocdnefs of heart; he
" will never forget what he owes them fo
" long as life is given to him.'* Edith then
fpoke, flie faid the happinefs was thcir's to
have been at hand upon fuch an occafion,
and defired him not to call it an obligation.

After fome more compliments pafled, the
ladies and Clement withdrew.

. When they met at dinner, they could talk
of nothing but the Granger knight. My
Lady faul, " I am of your opinion, Clement ;
" I think I have feen fomebody that he re-
Ct ftiTibles ; and now I think of it, it is one
" of the royal family ; nay, I believe it is
" more than or,.-, he is like Prince Lionel,

wht

[ 9 1

" who died foon after hlsfecond marriage."
t( You bring to my mind, Madam, that I
* e once faw a pi&ure of the late Prince of
" Wales, the glory of old England; that
** picture was as like Sir Roland as thefe two
<c hands of mine."

" Well, be that as it may, I do verily be-
" lieve he is a natural fon of one of the royal
" family, and his mother is related to the
" LoTd Morley ; let us keep thefe conjec-
" tures to ourfelves, he is really one of the
" handfomeft men I ever faw, and very cour-
" teous in all things hut fpeaking."

After the ice was broken, the ladies called
upon their gueft every day, and as foon as he
was able, he returned their vifits. The
wound in his thigh made him lame and un-
able to fit on a horfe, but the others were
foon healed. A meflenger came from Cal*
verly-hall, defiring Clement to return thi-
ther, unlefs my Lady had any wifli to detain
him. He fh owed her the letter, and, afked
whether {he had any commands for him.
She faid, " Why really I think I have. I
<<L wifti if Sir John can fpare you, that you
" would remain here till this ftranger leaves
*< the houfe, for it is very aukward to have

no

C 9' ]

<; no man in the family to entertain him,
" and to take leave of him when he de-
" parts." Clement profefTed his readinefs to
flay,, and hefent the fervant with an account
of all that had happened, the adventure in the
wood, and my Lady's wiih to detain him
longer.

This proof of her confidence raifed his
ipirits, and he was the gayeft and the hap-
piefl man that ever attended upon fair la-
dies.

From the day that the flranger was brought
"to the Bower, Mabel feemed to afTume a new
and different character; from being talkative,
fhe became filent ; from being frank and
communicative, fhe was fo referved, that fhe
was afraid to open her heart, even to her be-
loved Edith. She fhunned company, fhe
walked alone in the covered walk in the gar-
den, and was not pleafed to be interrupted.
Edith's eye was upon her, but /lie feared; ta
fay too much, and to difcover what as yet was
a fecret to herfelf. She waited till Mabel
fhould open her heart, and thought fhe could
not be filent much longer.

Mabel walked longer tha-n ufual ; Edith
went tp feek her : fhe waj in the covered

walk

t 92 ]

walk mufing ; Edith came near her unper-
ceived, fhe heard her fay, " What a pity that
" he is dumb i" " So it is," anfwered Edith;
<( and I do not remember that circumstance
4< in the dream." Mabel turned about, fhe
faw her fitter, and perceived that fhe had
heard her; fhe blufhed, hung down her head,
and was covered with confufion. Edith
went on " Speak to me, Mabel; open
" your heart to me as you ufed to do :
" filence is not natural to you, and I am
<c fure it muft be very painful." " Oh, my
." fifter, have pity upon me !" faid Mabel ;
fhe burft mto tears and hid her face in Edith's
bofom. " So I do, my love ; trufb in me,
" I will not betray your fecret ; 1 know ail
<c that you can tell me ; be ingenuous with
<( me, but guard yourfelf before others. I
" am furprifed that my mother has not ob-
" ferved the alteration in you." " She has
." obferved it ; fhe told me I was grown fe-
<c rious and womanly, and fhe praifed me
" for it." " That is fortunate for you, take
" tlie advantage of it : but do not indulge
" folitude and moping, it will increafe your
" diforder." " Were you ever in this way,
Edith r" No, but I know the caufe and

" the

[ 93 ]

4< the efFe& of it, and that it is in our own
" power to make it worfe by indulgence, or
" better by prudenge and reftraint."

" Can one help it, then ?" " Yes, in a
<e degree, if you are convinced that it is your
" duty to ftrive againft it, you will exert
" yourfelf to do it, for duty does not de-
" mand impofTibilities, and thus you will be
" cured."

" Is it not flrange that every circumftance
" in my dream fhould be realized ?" " It
" is, my dear; but let us think of it as little
u as poffible; let us do our duty and leave
" the event to heaven." " I will do all I
<c can, but I cannot avoid thinking of it for
" my life." " Well, let us go in, and when
<l you find yourfelf uneafy from filence, I
u will indulge you^ pity and comfort you."
"I thank you, my fweet (iftefrj my heart
" feels lighter already from this converfa-
" tion ; I will do whatever yoa require of
me."

Edith led her into the honfe; (lie advifed
her to take her needlework, and to be con .1-
n-ually employed; and above all things to ; j
conitant in praying to heaven for aiTiflance,
and not to doubt of being cured.

Many

L 94 3

Many courtefies were received and return-
ed between the ladies and their gueft, and
many filent conferences paffed between the
knight and Mabel.

He gazed on her in a way that told her he
was ftruck with her charms, and when her
eye fell under his, he fighed; fometimes he
laid his hand upon his heart and then bowed
it towards her; at others he put his finger
upon his lips and then fighed, as if he lament-
ed his obligation to be filent.

This pantomime was only acted when my
Lady was not prefent, but Edith fometimes
caught a light of it ; ihe trembled for her
filter's danger, and wifhed inceflantly for the
Granger's departure.

The knight left his chamber; he leaned
upon Bertram, and came down flairs to din-
ner. He behaved with the greateft politenefs
and delicacy, his geftures were fo fignificant
and graceful, that he wanted not the aid. of
language to make them understood. He fig-
nified his intention to leave the Bower loon ;
his obligations for his hofpitable reception,
and his regret at leaving fo amiable a family.
Bertram attended and fometimes fpoke, but
only when Sir Roland referred to him.

i He

t 95 ]

He dined with the family every day after-
wards till his departure.

Mabel walked every day fome hours in the
garden ; at the end of her favourite walk
there was a feat, the rofes and woodbines
were interwoven, and, afliiled by the garden-
er's hand, formed an alcove of excellent
beauty and fragrance. Here fhe would fit,
when tired of walking, and meditate on her
dream, and the ftrange circum fiances that
feemed to realize many parts of it. Hopes,
doubts, and fears, incelTantly invaded that
heart formerly fo peaceful and happy. One
tlay, as fhe was in this fituation, abforbed in
thought, the objeft of her meditations pre~
fented himfelf before her. She ftarted, trem-
bled, and arofe, intending to leave him im-
mediately. He bowed mofl courteoufly,
and waving his hand befought her not to
leave him. She curtfied low, and made a
motion to return into the houfe. He feized
both her hands, grafped them gently, gazed
carneftly on her face, till fhe blufhed and
turned afide to conceal it; he feated her, and
himfeif befide her, then lifted her hands to
his lips, and iighed deeply.

.Mabel

C 96 3

MabeJ was in a tremor, me knew not what
to do or fay, an affecting filence was held
for fome moments ; her fituation grew every
moment more dangerous---at laft " Pray
"" let me go, Sir ! my mother ! my fitter !---
*' I cannot dare not ftay longer !"

A voice the moft tender and harmonious
replied: " And will you go ? Muft I leave
" you before you know all that my heart
" feels ? Oh", lady, ftay, and hear me breathe
" my foul upon your hand ! I love you with
" a paflion the moft ardent, fmcere, and ho-
nourable."

Mabel trembled fo that fhe could hardly
ftand, me was glad to fit down to recover
herfelf. u Holy Virgin ! you fpeak what
" a miracle!" faid Mabel. " To you only
" I fpeak ;" the knight replied, to all
" others in this houfe I am filent. I put
" my fate into your hands, and give you this
" proof of my love, and of my honour. I
" muft leave this houfe in a few days. I
" ftiull ever remember the kindnefs and hof-
<4 pi tali ty with which I have been entertain-
" ed in it : but to you J owe another kind of
*< explanation : accept my vows, let me plight
"my faith, and give me your's in return.

"If

L 97 ]

* 4 If you will deign to own me for your fcr-
*' vant, I will live; that charming hope {hall
<c enable me to fruftrate all the fchemes of
" my enemies. There will come a day when.
" I ihall come and demand you in marriage
" of your mother, till then I will wait for the
" firft bleffing of my life. Only give me an
" affb ranee of your favour, that I may hope
" to live for you ; fay that you will be mine,
<e and I will reft fecurely upon your word."

Mabel's heart felt every word her lover ut-
tered. She fighed, {he wept, but could not
find words to anfwer him prefently. " You
" weep !" faid he, Oh that I dared to
<c think thofe precious drops were mine ! I
" have heard that love is trueft that is waflied
" in tears. May I hope that you will ex-
ct change a lover's vows with me ? Speak,
" lovely fair one; fpeak my doom ; confirm
<c my hope or my defpair."

" What can I fay to you ? I never before
u liftened to the language of love; I fear I
"'am breaking a duty now ; I am difpleafed
<c with myfelf, and yet I am afraid of ofFend-
- a ing you." " That is fweetly faid; fear
" nothing. I aik you to break no duty,

VOL. I. F <c only

I 9 3

" only to wait for me till I am in a fituation
<c to afk your hand in holy marriage. You
cc will not refufe me this promife, unlefs fome
" happier man" " Oh, no, no ! I never faw
" a man that gave me one unealy thought
" till now." " I thank you, my charmer.
" May all your thoughts be happy.! May
" my remembrance be ever included in them
"till all my wifhes are realized, and I am
" blefTcd with the name of your hufband ( "
The knigbt kneeled down ; he vowed
eternal fidelity and love.

Mabel urged him to rife, /he feared his
wound would be injured.

Her tendernefs appeared in fpite of all her
endeavours to conceal it.

The knight was convinced of : his good
fortune; he ventured to feal his vow upon
her lips. He ;-put a rich pak of bracelets
upon her arms; in the center of .one of them
was his own picture, in the other that of a
warrior, whom he greatly refembled. He
told her it was his father, and was by him
given to his mother, and with that he gave
his heart and his fate. Time flew away too
fad for thefe lovers. The fun declined and

was

, C 99 ]

was near the horizon. Mabel heard fome-
body in the garden, fhe told him they fhould
be difcovered.

He releafed her hand reluctantly. She ran
into the houfe, and up flairs to her own
apartment. She took off the bracelets, kif-
fed both the pictures, put them into a pri-
vate drawer, trembling all the time for fear
of interruption. Her heart was in fuch a
flutter, that fhe fat down to compofe herfelf.
She dreaded the fight of her mother and fif-
ter ; fhe feared their inquiries, their fufpi-
cions, and for the firfl time in her life flu-
died concealment and artifice. She refolved
if they fhould perceive her emotions, to fay-
Hie was fick, which, perhaps, could hardly
be called an untruth.

A[few minutes after Mabel left the garden,
Edith entered it. She expected to find her
lifter there, and was difappointed. She went
into the covered walk, and faw Sir Roland
fitting in the alcove. He rofe at her ap-
proach, and by his geftures invited her to
fit down by him.

Edith thought fhe had never feen him look

fo handfome ; there was a fire in his eyes

F 2 that

that was unufual, his cheeks were adorned
with a beautiful colour, which had generally
the pale hue of ficknefs. He looked cheer-
ful and animated. A fufpicion arofe in.
Edith's mind ; fhe thought her fitter was
pot far off, fhe expected to fee her every mo-
ment ; {he waited till the fun was fetting ;
but fhe came not : flie told Sir Roland that
the damps of the evening were not good for
an invalid, {he invited him to walk into the
houfe ; he led her into the hall, and flie went
to her mother's apartment.

She inquired where was Mabel my Lady
faid, fhe believed in her own apartment.
Edith went thither and found her fitting by
a table, with her cheek leaning upon her
hand. Edith told her {he had been feeking
her every where, and chid her for indulging
folitude and mufing.

Mabel complained of being unwell, but
could not tell very well what ailed her.
While they were talking, the bell fummoned
them to fupper. The knight excufed him-
felf b; Bertram, and fupped in his own apart-
ment. Clement began to think he was well
enough to depart. Edith feconded him.
i My

C 1C I ];

My Lady faid it was tmpoi&bfe to hint any
thing of that kind, file doubted not that
he would go as foon as he found himielf
able to travel. Clement obferved that Ber-
tram had often been going and coming back
within the lail week. Lady Calverly laid,
that looked like making preparations for their
departure, and it proved fo.

A few days after, Bertram declared his
mailer's refolution to depart on the morrow.
He expatiated upon his obligations to Lady
Calverly and all her family ; he hoped there
would come a time when he fliould acknow-
ledge them more fully, and claim a continu-
ance of her friendship. At prefeut he mull
obey the circumstances of his peculiar fitua-
tion ; that he fhould go with the deepeft fenfe
of her noblenefs and hofpitality, and fliould
daily remember all the family in his prayers
to heaven.

My Lady returned a fuitable anfwer.
Many compliments were fent and returned
by all the parties concerned.

The knight dined and fupped with the fa-
mily. Mabel and he dared not exchange
F 3 looks-

looks; they were upon their guard before
thofe who obfefved them.

The next morning as the family was fit-
ting at breakfaft they heard the found of a
horn, and prefently after a number of horfe-
rnen came into the court-yard. They
ranged themfelves on each fide, and a man
in green blew his horn loudly. The knight
and Bertram defcended the flairs, they enter-
ed the parlour where the ladies were fitting,
Sir Roland approached Lady Calverly, he
took her hand and kifTed it, he bowed low
and retreated ; he embraced Mr. Woodville,
and made figns of gratitude and friendfhip ;
he then laid his right hand upon his heart
and bowed to the young ladies. He retired
backwa