(1848) The Last of the Fairies: A Christmas Tale

8/9/2019 (1848) The Last of the Fairies: A Christmas Tale

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THE

LAST OF THE FAIRIES;

Cl)ri0tma0 STale.

BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.AUTHOR OF

THE CONVICT," "MARGARET GRAHAM," "RUSSELL," "THE CASTLE OF EHRENSTHIN,'" BEAUCHAMP," "HEIDELBERG," ETC., ETC.

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,82 CLIFF STREET, NEW YORK.

1848.


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES,CHAPTER I.

THERE was an old house near "Wor-cester on the very highest part of thehill, which is not very high after all. Itwas not a gentleman's house, nor a farm-house, nor a cottage. Heaven knowswhat it had been in former years. Itwas nothing at all in A. D. 1651, but amoderate sized brick building, lined withold wainscot, with broken windows andlatchless doors, and one portion of it agreat deal taller than the other.There were eyes in the upper roomof the tallest part of the old house ; andto them was exposed an exceedinglybeautiful scene, such as is rarely beheld,except in the vale of the Severn. Wor-cester, with its walls, and gates, andchurches, and sunny fields, and pleasantplaces round ; and the wide valley stud-ded with little knolls, and monticulescovered with turf still green, and plumedwith feathery trees. It was a pleasantand a cheerful sight, a sort of fairyscene ; and indeed the rings left by thefeet of the Good People, in their merrymoonlight dances, attested their frequentrevels in the meadows and under thetrees.But there were other objects besidesthose which nature's hand had formed

that gave additional cheerfulness to thescene. On both banks of the Severn,the eyes gazing from that high windowcould discern colours flaunting in thelight wind, banners tossed about, andplumes, and gay dresses, and glitteringarms; so that in that part of the land-scape, as a cloud or two passed over thesun, the effect was like that of rapidlight and shade sweeping across a gar-den of flowers. And merry notes werethere too: the fife, and the drum, andthe clarion, rUtfig up from below, soft-ened arid entendered by the air and thedistance. The bells of the cathedralchimed cheerfully, and altogether it was

a pleasant scene to look upon, and thesewere merry sounds to hear.About ten of the clock, a horseman,followed by two or three others, spurredup from the bank of the Severn, towardsthat house upon the hill. He came gailyalong at a good quick canter, and hishorse was a fine one, and well capari-soned. His bearing, too, was firm andsoldier-like : but when one saw his facenearer, although he could not havecounted more than five or six and thirtyyears, there seemed to be traces ofmany cares arid anxieties upon his coun-tenance, as well, perhaps, as a certaindegree of constitutional melancholy, notto say gloom. It was a very grave face

very grave, indeed, yet high and no-ble in expression, with a tall straightforehead, somewhat broader, perhaps, atthe top of the temples than over thebrow.Some servants came round from theback of the house as he approached, andran to hold his horse and his stirrup.He sprang lightly to the ground, andwalked into the house, saying, " Takethe basket from Matthews there behindme, and bring it up. Take care thatyou don't break the wine bottles, forthere is but little to be had at Worces-ter. The Puritans have drank it all upin a very godly manner;" and mountingthe old stairs as he spoke, he ran ratherthan walked up to the higher chamber.There was an embrace for each of thetwo persons it contained a lady ofseven or eight and twenty years of age,still in her full loveliness, and a littlegirl of nine or ten, exceedingly beautiful,and very like her mother, their faceswere full of affection towards him whocame; but yet there oould not be agreater contrast than between the ex-pression of his countenance and theirs.Cheerful hope and glad expectation wasupon the face of the girl arid her moth-er, and melancholy thought upon his.


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES." Here is some breakfast for you, Lil-

la, dear," he said, " and for my littleKate too. I was resolved to come upfor half an hour, and take it with you,for Heaven knows where our next mealmay be."44 Will there be a battle to-day, fa-ther?" said the little girl; "and willthe King win 1 Oh ! yes, I am sure theKing will win."" I trust he will," replied the soldier," if there is a battle, my Kate ; but ofthat I begin to doubt, for the Round-heads have a long march before them,and cannot get here very early."" Then we had better come back intothe town," said the lady, looking toher husband inquiringly, while two ofthe servants laid a napkin in one of thebroad, open window-seats, for tablethere was none. " I should not likeCromwell's people to cut us off."" No, my Lilla," answered h'er hus-band, you must not come into the townagain. There is much confusion there ;and as soon as the enemy appear, youhad better retire with the servants tolYrsliore, where you will have speedytidings of what follows. If we have tostand a siege, or repel an assault, itwould be a pain and a burden to me tohave all I love pent up within those oldand crumbling walls."There was a look of remonstrancecame upon the lady's face, but her hus-band interrupted her with a smile, say-ing, " Come to breakfast ! to break-fast ! for I must soon get back. What,not a chair to sit down upon ! Well,we must make the best of our campaign-ing;" and standing by the side of thewindow-scat, he proceeded to distributethe homely breakfast he had brought upfrom Worcester ; ate a small portion,but not much, himself; and gazed witha look of thoughtful delight upon his in-nocent child, as she seemed to partakeof the meal with double zest, from therude and hasty way in which it wasserved.

Perhaps five minutes had elapsedwhile they were thus employed, when aquick light foot was heard coming upthe stairs, and a lad some seventeen oreighteen years of age, richly dressed andaccoutred, with his long dark hair flow-ing down over his laced collar to hisshoulders, entered the room in haste,exclaiming, *' Lord Eustace ! My lord !

Cromwell is in sight Hark! you canhear his trumpets !"The gentleman he addressed instant-ly started to the window and looked out,while his young visitor, with a slight af-fectation of manhood, patted the littleirl upon the head, saying, "Ah! myarling Kate, drinking wine at ten inthe morning. That's to make you a fitwife for a dashing cavalier. I hope

) our ladyship is well this morning. Youwill soon see some warm work downbelow ; but I trust before night we shallhave one-half of the Roundheads in theSevern, and the rest in the gaol."A slight cloud came over the lady'sface, and she was answering, with a

sigh, " I trust so," when her husbandturned round from the window, saying,I must to horse, dear ones. Remem-

ber, you must ride to Pershore, assoon as you have seen them upon theground. Come, Denzil, we must away."" Do you see them, Charles, do yousee them 1" asked the lady, clinging tohis arm." Not their whole force," replied herhusband, * those trees there hide them ;buf I caught a glance of steel capsthrough the brake; and if you listenfor a moment you will hear. There !there !"The distant sounds of a trumpet rosupon tbe air; and with one brief em-brace he tore himself away, ran downthe stairs, followed by his young friend,mounted his horse, and galloped backto Worcester.The lady's eyes were full of tearswhen she gazed forth from the window,first marking the course of her husbandtowards the town, and then turning ananxious look over the distant woodedlandscape, where the forces of the Par-liament were advancing towards thefatal field of Worcester. In a few min-utes she beheld a dark moving masswith catches of light here and thereupon breast-plate or steel cap comeforth from behind one clump of treesand disappear again behind a littlewood. Another, and another bodypassed, foot and horse in very equalnumbers; but regiment after regiment,troop after troop, till the lady's heartsunk at the conviction of the great su-periority oftheir numbers ; and her eyesturned to the royal army below.A good deal of bustle was then ob-


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES.servable ; and, by the aid of fancy, shethought she could discover her husband,End the King, and Leslie, and Middle-ton, and Hamilton, and Derby.Long and anxious was her watch, tillpassing in and out, now seen, now lostas before, the army of the Common-wealth, growing more and more distinctin all its parts as it advanced, swept onhalted for a moment marched for-ward again, and assumed its position asif for battle, taking possession of theslope of the very hill on which she stood,and interposing between herself and thetown.Her heart sank a little, and she gazeddown upon her child ; but then a lookof high resolution came into her face,and putting her arm round the fair del-icate form of the little girl, she said," We will see it out, Kate ; we will seeit out."" Oh ! yes, mother, let us see it out,"answered the child ; " do not let us runaway while my father is fighting."" Never," answered the lady ; andthere they stood, while the servantsgathered themselves together at anotherwindow, and gazed forth likewise.All seemed tranquil for about half-an-hour. An occasional horseman gallopedalong the line, trumpets sounded fromtime to time, a slight movement tookplace amongst the infantry, some strag-glers were seen moving about upon therear of the Parliamentary army, and astout heavy man, with ten or twelveother horsemen following him, movedslowly for a little distance up the hill.Then halting, he gazed over the plain,and over the town, for a moment ortwo, Bpoke a few words to one of thosenear him, and instantly a horsemandashed away, taking his course towardsthe left. A large body of cavalry de-tached itself at once, and rode along thebank of the river ; a fire of musketrybegan from the centre of the line, and acloud of smoke spread over the scene.It inteiTupted the sight sadly, but thelady saw several large squadrons ofhorse put into a charge, and they whirl-ed down like a bolt from a cross-bowagainst the Royalist troops on the near-est side of the river.From that moment all was confusion,to eyes unaccustomed to seek out and

judge the events of a field of battle.Large bodies of men riding fast, were

seen through the clouds of sulphurousvapour, the flashes of the musketry, thegleam of waving swords, and the slowmovements of some bands of pikemenwere caught indistinctly from time totime ; but all that the lady and her childcould gather as to the result of thesemovements was, that the Parliamentaryarmy was pressing down steadily andstrongly upon Worcester, and that thewaves of battle rolled nearer and nearerto the town.

It was a sight that made her heartsink, and her eye ran along the courseof the river, towards a spot where sheknew that a large body of the Royalistcavalry had been posted. She saw themthere all firm and in array upon the op-posite bank, but a little further on shesaw what they could not see, on ac-count of a thick copse and a woodedhill, which screened the operations ofthe enemy two regiments of Parlia-mentary horse galloping rapidly towardsa ford, where the stream took a sharpturn. She clasped her hands together,and pressed them tight. What wouldshe have given at that moment for wingsto fly and bear her friends intelligenceof the manoeuvre she had detected andunderstood right well. But it was allin vain. The enemy reached the ford,dashed in, gained the meadows on theother side, re-formed, and taking grounda little to the left, became suddenly ap-parent to the King's cavalry.An instant movement was observableamongst the latter ; two gentlemen drewout a little way from the rest, gazed atthe squadrons which had so suddenlyappeared, and rode to the opposite ex-tremes of their own line. A slightchange of disposition immediately fol-lowed. The right of the Royalists wassomewhat extended, the left was broughta little forward at a slow pace, and thenthere came a temporary pause. Thesound of trumpets was heard the mo-ment after ; and both parties dashed for-ward against each other with furiousspeed. They met in full career, whilea fierce and wild hurrah rose up intothe air and reached the lady's ears asshe gazed upon the struggling mass,now all mingled and confused. Herhands pressed tighter and tighter to-gether as she saw masterless horsesbreak away from the line and gallopacross the plain, and knew that some


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6 THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES.one, as loved and dear to others as hewhom she loved best was to herself, hadfallen beneath the chargers' feet in themidst of that fierce conflict." They give way, mother, they giveway," cried the little girl, touching thelady's arm, " the Roundheads are routed

See, they fly, they fly !"It was true. The temporary success !of Middleton and the Duke of Hamilton

for an instant promised to change thefate of the day. Cromwell's cavalrydid give way, the Royalists pursuedfiercely and drove them back fighting,almost to the very ford. But at thatmoment a small group was seen to sep-arate itself from the rear of the King'ssoldiers, and the lady could distinguishtwo or three troopers supporting a gen-tleman upon his horse. " That lookslike the Duke," she murmured ; " No,it must be Middleton."

Another group detached itself, butthese were on foot dismounted soldiersbearing a dead or wounded man in theirarms. Then the uncertain tide of bat-tle turned. The Parliamentary forcesrallied, charged again, the Royalistswere beaten back over the ground theyhad just traversed, broken, scattered,and flying hither and thither in partiesof ten and twelve.The lady clasped the child's hand inher own tight, very tight; and the lit-tle girl wept. They turned their eyesto the part of the field immediately be-low them. A terrible change had comeover the scene. The Royalist forceswere not to be discovered unless, in-deed, the fragments might be distin-guished in those small bodies of horsethat were seen galloping away over thedistant fields. The troops of the Par-liament were at the gates of Worcester.

** Pardon, my lady, but it is time foryou to go," said an old servant, ap-proaching from the other window ; "theday is lost. You had better betakeyourself to Pershore, as my lord di-rected. The horses are all ready."The lady raised her eyes to heavenfor an instant, and seemed to askstrength from above. " No," she said,at length, " we will hide in the wood,Isaac. I will not quit this ground till Iknow his fate. Come, Kate, we mayhelp your dear father yet. God give uscourage and success !"

CHAPTER II.IT was night dark night.' Therewere stars out but no moon, and across

many parts of the sky long lines of dullgrey clouds were drawn, hiding thetwinklers of the heavens. The clocksof Worcester had struck nine, and thedull vibration of the great bell wassounding, as if with pulses, through theheavy feverish air. The scene aroundthe city lay wrapt up in shadows, whilethe fugitives sped far away from thefield of their defeat, and the pursuerswith hot spur hurried after. The deadin their last rest lay in the meadowsround three thousand as gallant gen-tlemen as ever drew a sword. Thewounded untended shared the couch ofthe dead, and lost part of their ownsufferings in the sense of their royalmaster's disaster. Here and there wasa light upon the field, sometimes seenwandering about, sometimes stationary ;and the low creaking of rude cart-wheels could be heard seeking for theless dangerously wounded, or for thoseprisoners who had not yet been takeninto the town of Worcester.Near a low wood, broken and irreg-ular in its external form, stood two or

three Parliamentary musketeers, with agroup of some seven or eight prisoners,disarmed and tied. A torch was stuckinto a hole in the ground, casting its redunwholesome glare around, over therough stern features of Cromwell's sol-diers, and the sad countenances of thecaptives, and the green branches of thetrees, and the turf dabbled with blood,and the corpses of five or six gallantcompanions fallen ; for the spot was onewhere a fierce and last effort at resist-ance had been made.The armed soldiers were standing,resting on their guns ; the captives weregenerally seated, though some who hadreceived wounds were stretched outupon the grass. Few of them spoke,but one man, a Scotchman, in the garbof a Royalist foot-soldier, who was uponhis feet, nearest to the musketeers, seem-ed anxious to ascertain the fate reservedfor them. He had put several questionswithout receiving an answer; but, atlength, one of the men, seemingly irri-tated by his pertinacity, replied in aloud harsh tone, " If you want to knowwhat is to become of you, Scot, I wiH


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES.tell you, though methinks you wouldlearn soon enough : you are to be soldfor slaves into the plantations."The poor Scotchman hung his head,and sat down dejected by his fellows.At the same moment a heavy cart camegrating along towards them, and one ofthe soldiers said, " Come, get up, getup ; here is your conveyance."The cart had not yet indeed becomevisible, but the next instant the faintoutline thereof was descried wendingslowly forward, and there seemed twoor three people with it. The soldiers, asthey looked forward, thought they per-ceived a woman's garments, and in abouta minute after, they saw a child also.That sight was seen by another like-wise, and it told to a heart oppressedwith grief and despair, the sweet con-soling tale of love and devotion true tothe last. He raised himself a little fromthe grass, and the light of the torch fellmore strongly than before upon his fineform and noble countenance. The ex-pression was still the same, and anyclose observer could not have doubtedthat there was a man of noble lineage,and of gentle breeding, although hisgay and plumed hat was cast away, andthe coat that he now wore was that of acommon foot-soldier.

Slowly the cart rolled on, but when itcame nigh, though the child still ap-peared, young, and fair, and graceful,the woman's form was no longer seenIt seemed to have dissolved into thinair, or as if the darkness had swallowedit up, even as she came forward. Sosuddenly and completely did it disap-pear, that one of the soldiers took twoor three steps forward to meet the cartbending his eyes fixedly upon the ob-scurity before him ; and when hereached the little group walking to-gether at the horse's head, he de-manded, sharply, " Was there not awoman with you ?"" No," replied the carter, " there hasbeen no woman here, unless you callthis babe a woman."" And what does she want here 1" de-manded the stern voice of the soldier ;"this is no place for children, or womeneither."" I am seeking my father, sir," saidthe sweet low voice of the little girl" I am sure you will help mo to findmy father."

The soldier gazed at her for an in-stant, as the light of the torch, some-,vhat softened by the distance, fell uponler fair countenance and her rich dress;and he shook his head with a look notaltogether unfeeling, replying, " Ah,Door child ! your father is not here ;we have none of your gay gallantaamongst us ; your ruffling cavaliers anddashing lords have all been taken intothe town ; we have got none but thepoor foot-soldiers, who have been ledike sheep to the slaughter by thosowho should know better."" But I am sure he is here, living ordead," said the little girl in reply;one of our servants saw him here justafter the battle, and he told me whereto find him; pray let me look for himby the light of the torch ;" and , sheclasped her fair small hands togeth-er with the gesture of earnest entrea-ty-" I am here, my child, I am here, myKate," cried a voice ; for, although itwas ruin to all his plans, the captivecould resist no longer; and the childdarted forward unopposed, for thesoldiers had not the heart to restrainher under the impulse of filial affection.The poor captive tried to rise fromthe ground to press her to his heart asshe sprang towards him ; but his handswere tied, and before he could effectthat purpose, the child had cast herselfupon his bosom with one arm round hisneck, covering his face with kisses.The stern soldiers looked on muchmoved ; but the captive was surprisedto find that while with her left arm sheclung closely to him, the right soughtout the bonds upon his hands, and some-thing cold, like steel, glided down hiswrist. The next instant the cord wassevered, and his hands were free ; andthe child's mouth pressed close to hisear, whispered, low but clear, " There'sa horse at the corner of the wood.Mount, father, and away!"His brain seemed to turn giddy fora moment, and the pulsations of hisheart to stop. But the child unclaspedher arm from his neck, and whisperedonce more, " Away !"

It was the only chance for safety.The concealment he had hoped for wasno longer possible. The bloody axflwhich had struck so many of his noblefriends was the only fate before him ;


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES.and, springing suddenly on his feet, hedarted away into the gloom.As his tall figure disappeared, how-ever, the stern soldiers, with a fiercecry of indignation, raised their musketsto their shoulders, and fired in the di-rection he had taken. A shrill screamburst from the darkness, at the veryame instant that the sound of a horse'shoofs at the full gallop reached the spotwhere they stood." He is down, he is down !" criedome of the men, rushing forward,while two of their comrades remainedwith the prisoners. But they found noone, though they searched diligentlyaround ; and still the quick beating ofthe horse's hoofs was heard, growingfainter and fainter in the distance.When they returned to the spot wherethe captives were, they found the child ly-ing prone upon the ground, pale as mon-umental marble ; nor did she recoverfrom the swoon into which she had fall-en, till the prisoners had been all placedin the cart, and the party were about toproceed upon their way. The soldiersthreatened and reproached ; but theyhad not the heart to hurt her ; and oneof them, who was a father himself, tookher by the hand, and led her into Wor-cester. He said he must take her be-fore the Lord General, but she besoughtand prayed him to let her seek shelterin the house of an old servant, and whenhe left her at the door, he said to him-elf, " If I should be ever in such a case,may my child do as she has done."" How the hours fleet away ! Be

they dull and heavy-footed, overbur-dened with sorrow be they wingedwith joy and mirth be they even-pacedand tranquil in the path of life, still theygo, they go ; and when they are gonethey diminish into a mere speck. Nineyears have passed away and it seemsbut a span ; and yet if I come to think,my hair, which is now white, was thenjust turning grey, and my eyes, that aredim now, were as clear as an eagle's.But come out of the way, lad, come outof the way. There's a stranger ridingdown the hill, and I have not liked thesight of a stranger for many a long year."Such were the words of an old man,dressed in a black coat, with a broad-ended handkerchief round his neck, andbearing a respectable and even rever-

end appearance, to a good-looking coun-try youth of two or three and twentyyears of age, as they stood togetherupon the green sward beneath an oldcastle wall.Many a strong fortified house had

been besieged and ruined by the can-non of one or the other of the contend-ing parties in the great civil war, butthe dilapidation of this building datedfrom a period long anterior, and the ivyhad grown thickly over even the frag-ments which had fallen from the walls,marking that centuries had passed. Yetthese walls were very thick and strong,arid one could not suppose, to look uponthem, that the hand of time alone hadbroken them as they now appeared. Itwas evident, in short, that some of man'sdesolating devices had overthrown theplace of strength before its time when,I know not perhaps during the con-tentions of York and Lancaster; buthowever, there it stood, a ruin. Themost perfect part of the building wasthe old gateway, with its two tall machi-colated towers, and guard-room over thearch ; but yet, guard-room and towerswere both unroofed, and the wind whis-tled through the empty window-framesthevoice ofdesolation callingto the drai.From either side of this gatewaystretched forth walls, with other tow-ers, surrounding perhaps an acre and ahalf of ground ; and the court withinshowed many a fragment of feudaltimes in the crumbling masonry of thelate keep, and the broken tracery ofthe chapel windows. A seedling ashtree had planted itself here and thereamongst the ruins, and three tall elmsin a group stretched their wide branch-es over the well in the castle court.That well had once been covered byan arch of richly wrought stone-work ;but some forty years before the periodof which I speak, the mortar havingfallen out and some of the stones drop-ped into the water, which was the finest,the clearest, and the best in the wholeneighbourhood, the inhabitants of theadjacent village, who loved the wellwith a degree of almost superstitiousaffection, cleared away the ruined frag-ments from around it, and left it nearlyas nature had formed it, with no cover-ing but the branches of the three elmaof which I have spoken.The castle well was in fact a spring


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES.of very beautiful water which issuedbountifully from the turf in the castle-court. Old hands long gone had dug alittle reservoir for the waters of thisspring about three feet deep, and ofthe same width, with a length of aboutfour feet it might be five, but I nevermeasured it. The sides of this reser-voir were lined with flat stones, to pre-vent the earth from falling in ; and asemi-circular piece cut out of the slabat the west side, suffered the superfluouswater to flow away into a little conduitunderneath the castle wall, and so overthe side of the hill down to the streamin the

valley.From the distance ofmore than a mile, people would cometo fill the pitcher at this well ; and, in-

deed, so limpid was the water, thatalthough at most times the smooth sur-face reflected the leaves and branchesof the trees above, yet through thesetransparent coloured images one couldsee the little pebbles at the bottom asdistinctly as if no medium but thin airhad been interposed : indeed, it onlyseemed to render them brighter, as ifencasing them in polished crystal. Allaround, the turf was short and thick ;and the elms and the well they shadedwere so placed as to be clearly seenthrough the archway of the great gates,by any one who was standing on thecastle-green in front.

I have been obliged to dwell uponthese facts particularly ; for the readermust remark and remember them asnecessary to the due understanding ofthis tale. It may be also as well topoint out that the castle stood alone, onwhat may be called the step of a hill,occupying a position about half way upthe ascent, which was long but not steep.This step was a flat piece of some twentyor thirty acres ; and upon it, at the dis-tance of three or four hundred yardsfrom the old castle, were built severalneat cottages. Below them again, onboth sides of the road, which, aftercrossing the castle-green in its descent,wound gently down to the bottom of thevalley, appeared the village, followingall the sinuosities of the path, and soclosely embowered in trees, that fromthe old gates nothing could be perceivedbut a roof or a chimney here and there,and the tower of the church rising upfrom below.

It was as pretty a rural scene, indeed,

as ever the eye fell upon ; and, whether! in sunshine or in shade, under the bluesky or the cloud, there was somethingof homely peace and tranquillity aboutit which had a tendency to soothe themind of the beholder, and call up im-ages of a calmer and happier kind thanthe heart was ordinarily conversant within those days of strife and faction.The village had fared well, too, inmany respects. At some distance fromany of the channels through which thetide of war had flowed, few of thosepertinacious heart-burnings had beenengendered in it which had sprung upin most

partsof England, from thestruggle of parties in the civil war. Theold clergyman of the place, it is true,had been dispossessed ; and a Presby-terian minister occupied his place ; but

good Doctor Aldover was a very meek,peaceful, timid man, and he had madeno struggle to retain what the powersthat were thought fit to take away fromhim, having been scared almost out ofhis senses by being apprehended as amalignant, while on a visit to a neigh-boring town, and examined by a partyof Parliamentary Commissioners. Hepromised them on that occasion, with allthe sincerity of terror, to conform asmuch as in him lay to their good willand pleasure, and, consequently, resign-ed his benefice, without a word, at thevery first summons. He had studiedmedicine early, as a means of benefit-ting his parishioners ; and now, as wasfrequently the case with dispossessed1clergymen in their days, he studied thehealing art more deeply, for the purposeof maintaining himself. He acquiredskill and reputation, too, and, at thetime I speak of, was the only physicianor surgeon in the place. It can not besaid that, though he bore his fate someekly, he looked at his Presbyterian-rival at first with any great affection rbut it so happened that the minister,though somewhat starch and caustic in-his manner, was a good man and a kind,at heart ; and when he discovered allthe high qualities of his predecessor, hefelt half inclined to be sorry that he hadbeen the means of depriving him of hiscure. He made sundry attempts to winthe friendship of good old Dr. Aldover,which, though shyly viewed at first, wererendered successful in the end by variousaccidental circumstances which tended


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10 THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES.to bring them together ; and now theywould not urifrequently sit in the parlourof the one or the other, drinking a mod-erate glass of good ale, and conversinglearnedly of this or of that, sometimeswith much simple shrewdness, when thetopic was one with which their studieshad rendered them familiar, and some-times very nonsensically when they ven-tured upon ground of which they hadno experience.Such was the state of the village onthe day I speak of.I know not whether the poet intend-ed it as the most perfect picture of hu-man felicity when he described a manas " the world forgetting, by the worldforgot," but certainly, dear reader, suchis to many men, and to all men undercertain circumstances, a very blissfulmode or condition of life. We all knowthat in this great world that we inhabit,there are a great number of jealousies,fears, animosities, hatreds, strifes, confu-sions, riots, massacres, crimes that menin the world pick each other's pocketsof their purses, their snuff-boxes, theirhandkerchiefs, their reputation, theirhonour, their peace ; and we all know,moreover, that there are certain timesstormy times in the world, party timeswhen the winds of faction blow high,and the clouds of rancour gather overthe state, and men see in the fancifulvapours, strange images of patriotismand freedom, and devotion and renown,which after all turn out shapes formedof mist, that change with every puff ofprevailing gale; we all know, I say,that there are such times, and that thenthe devil is exceedingly busy in stirringup the confused caldron of human pas-sions and bringing hatred, malice, andall uncharitableness to the surface.

Surely, at such epochs as these, a manmay well wish to live, " the world for-getting, by the world forgot." But it isnot very often that he can find such astate in its completeness as might havebeen done at the time I speak of, in thevillage that I have mentioned. ThePresbyterian minister was at the heightof his ambition. There was nothingmore for him to have or to desire. Hehad dispossessed an Episcopalian of hischurch and benefice, he had sat himselfdown amongst a knot of his co-religion-ists, to whom he could hold forth con-tinually upon predestination, and elec-

ioii, and free grace. He met with noimposition and very little dissent fromlis doctrines, and he did not at all wanto be disturbed in the exercise of func-ions which worked so easily by Bap-;ists, Anabaptists, Independents, or FifthMonarchy men.Doctor Aldover had still greater ob-ections to any interruptions of the qui-jtutlc of the place ; and he it was, to saythe truth, who, standing before the cas-tle gate, with a youth, the son of one oflis patients, was struck with so muchterror at the sight of a stranger, and hur-ried away so precipitately towards hisown house in the village.

In the mean time, the horseman whomlie had perceived coming down the hill,descended slowly; and it would appearthat his quiet pace was the effect, moreof curiosity in regard to the country,than of apprehension for his 1knees, for he stopped altogether morethan once, and seemed to gaze over thesurrounding scene. He took no noticewhatsoever of the two who turned awayat his approach ; and, at length, hereached the step in the hill which I havedescribed, and drew in his rein In-forethe castle gates. Whether it was thobeauty of the scene that attracted him,or some personal interest in the spot, Icannot tell; but, after looking mimdhim for a moment, he dismounted,threw the heavy stirrups across thver attentively ; his brow grew in-stantly dark, however, and he demandedsternly, ' Do you know the contents ofthis paper, young man t"" The part which is written in En-glish

I do know," answered Denzil Nor-man. " Of the rest I comprehend notone word."" Happy for you, you do not," saidthe other ; " happy for you that yourwant of reverence makes me believethat it is BO, for, were it otherwise, Iwould have hanged you on the tree be-fore the door. Nevertheless, you shallho taken care of; and as you would va-lue your life, take care how you use yourtongun with those people in whose handsI piace you. Ho! without there ! bringup a guard."" Yes, my Lord General," answereda voice ; a?id the next moment severalsoldiers appeared at the door.As may easily be conceived, the feel-ings of Denzil Norman were of no verypleasant kind ; but there was about thecavaliers of that period an assumptionof indifference to the evils of life which:was not of the best school of philosophy,but which affected even those of highertoned mind and character. " I shouldremonstrate, sir," he said, " upon beingsubjected to inconvenience for havingvery civilly borne you a message, theimport of which I did not understand,if remonstrance were likely to be ofany avail ; but having lived long in acountry where neither law nor reasonare very available, 1 think it best to holt*my tongue."" You do wisely," replied the other;drily ; and then addetT, addressing theofficer of the guard, " Remove him."" Shall we search his person or ex-amine his papers, my Lord General ?'*demanded the officer.

44 You will do at your peril any thingmore than the strict letter of my com-mands," answered the other, "which are,to remove him, and keep him under


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES,arrest, with all due civility, till 1 makefurther inquiries. Send Mr. Clargeshither.""One question before I go, sir," saidDenzil Norman. " May I ask at whosecommand I am to be subjected to im-prisonment, for amongst all the LordGenerals whom wo have lately heardof, I am unacquainted with the name ofGeneral Gideon V 9" He was a famous man, too, in hisday," replied the other, with a faintsmile, " and a great general ; but myname is Monk.""Oh! very well," replied Denzil,with a mind a good deal relieved, andwithout farther comment or resistancehe followed the officer of the guard outcf the room.The life of Denzil Norman for sometime was a very unpleasant one, for itwas a life of uncertainty and of confine-ment. The general prevalent beliefthat Monk was favourable to the royalcause of course had its effect in reliev-ing

his mind from any serious apprehen-sions for his personal safety ; but yet tobe in the midst of scenes where thegreat game of poliqy was playing with-out knowing any of the moves, andwithout the power to take any part, un-certain of his own fate, or the fate ofbis country and friends, was at oncepainful and exciting. Rumours he couldnot but hear, movements he could notbut see

;but the truth of the one, andthe causes of the other, he could not in

any degree divine. He was treatedwith general civility, and gradually hadmore liberty allowed him than at first ;but still he was obliged to consider him-self as a pr aer, and seemed more thesport of caprice than the object of justprecaution. At one time he was per-mitted to go out for an hour or two onparole ; at another was strictly confinedin whatever place the army might be.Sometimes he fared well in his prison,sometimes had little more allowed himthan mere bread and water.From the small town where he hadbeen captured, he was removed to Ber-wick, then to Edinburgh, then to Cold-stream, and then advanced with thearmy into England in the midst of asevere winter. But that which struckhim as most unaccountable was, thatHot the slightest inquiry was made withregard to his name, station, or quality ;

no examination took place of hfo smallbaggage, which was always carefullyplaced in the same room with himself:and had it not been for the guard at hisdoor, and the occasional changes whichoccurred in his treatment, he shouldhave thought that Monk had entirelyforgotten him. At length, on a wintryand inclement evening, the army ap-proached York, and the well-remem-bered cathedral appearing in the greylight, showed Denzil Norman that howas coming near a city where he wasknown to many, and threw him intomeditation in regard to the chancesof effecting his escape by their aid andassistance.A little reflection, however, inducedhim to refrain from attempting it.There was something he could nothelp thinking very peculiar in Monk'sconduct towards him. Perhaps, in-deed, he was influenced in this vievirof the case by the treatment ho hadlately received ; for, since the armyreached Durham, his fare and hisquarters had been very superior tothose which he had met with before.However that might be, he was in-clined to imagine that the general wunot so harshly disposed towards him ashis demeanour at first might have in-duced him to believe; and in the endho asked himself, " I wonder whateffect perfect frankness will have uponthis man 1"The opportunity of trying was soonafforded to him, for as he was ridingwith a trooper by his side, Monk him-self passed by on horseback, gave himwhat seemed to be a casual glance, androde on to the head of the army. Inabout ten minutes, however, a youngofficer appeared, and' informed theprisoner that he would be permittedto choose his own lodging in the town,upon the condition that he presentedhimself every morning at the general'fquarters." Give my humble duty to the LordGeneral," replied "~ ^nzil, " and tellhim that, for parties reasons, I can-not avail myself of I permission till' Ihave spoken with him or a moment."

41 Ride on with ' V?n," said thoyoung officer; "but y' *nust be quick,for he is going forward into the town."Monk was soon overtaken, however,for he had stopped to converse with


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES.Bomo of his principal officers, and themessage of his prisoner was deliveredto him ns soon as a pause took place.He looked at Drnzil for a moment,from under his bent and somewhatshaggy eyebrows, and then beckoninghim up, as he rode on, he asked himabruptly, "What is the meaning ofthis? Is your money expended ?'*" Not so, sir," answered Denzil ;" but you cautioned me to be carefulof what I said and did, making meimagine that you would rather I shouldhave no communication, public or pri-vate, with any of my friends. I havenow to tell you that I have more thanone acquaintance in York and its neigh-bourhood, with whom I shall most likelybe brought into communication if I amat liberty in the city."Monk mused, " It were well to avoidit," he suid at last. "Who do youknow at York 1"

." I know the Lord Fairfax,*' repliedDenzil, " and several others in thetown."" I will consider," answered Monk." Retire for the present :" arid withoutanother word he rode on, leaving hisprisoner in custody of the trooper.That night he was lodged at the quar-ters of the general, and remained twodays a close prisoner. He was sittingat ao early hour on the third morning,feeling some mortification at the resultof his frankness for though, accordingto the old copy-line, " virtue is its ownreward," yel we are seldom inclined tobe satisfied with that sort of recompensewhen the door opened, and, with hiselpw step and sedate carriage. Monkhimself entered the room and sat down.

'* You are discreet, young gentle-man," he said, "and honest rare qual-ities in the world. 1 can trust you,which is what I can say to few men."He paused for a moment or two, andDenzil asked himself what this pream-blo was to lead to. Tbo stop was solong, however, that he had almost: cometo the conclusion that Monk had deliv-ered himself of all he had to say, whenthat officer resumed, *' Under these cir-cumstances, and upon the assurance ofLord Fairfax, I have resolved to giveyou :ill personal freedom, notwithstand-ing your boldness in bringing me letterscontaining matter little short of hihtrcaion."

" I was perfectly ignorant of the con-tents," replied Denzil, " not being learn-ed in Arabic, or whatever tongue theywere written in."

' You knew who sent them at allevents," replied General Monk ; " andthat was sufficient."" Not so," answered Denzil Nor-man ; " I was as ignorant of one as theother."" Strange enough!" replied Monk." But to the point : I will give you, asI have said, all reasonable freedom uponconditions, which are, first, that you ac-company me soberly and quietly toLondon, presenting yourself at myquarters every morning; secondly, thatyou mention to no one who or whatyou are ; and thirdly, that you make noattempt whatsoever in favour of personswho may be your friends without com-municating with me."Denzil marked with very strong emo-tions the last phrase in Monk's address.In difficult times, and circumstancesmost perilous to himself, he bad learnedfrom very small indications to puess at,if not divine, men's feelings and inten-tions, and with a heart greatly relieved,ho replied, " I accept all the terms, myLord General, and you shall iind that Iadhere to them punctually. Perhaps,when you find that I do so, you maygrant me permission to absent myselffor a short time, as I am anxious, onmany personal accounts, to visit oncemore the place from which I broughtthose letters you have mentioned."" All in Rood time, all in good time,"answered Monk ; " but now, remember,should you havo occasion to speak withme, or any information to give, affectingtho good of the state, say it not rashly,even should I seem alone ; for there bemen full of doubts and jealousies, whohave not even scrupled, in this very townof York, to bore a hole through raychamber-door in order to gain a hearingof my private conversation. I warnone who will take a warning, I think ;and I will beg you to remember, youngman, that there is a certain name, whichit is an offence to mention in the ears ofmany people in this land with whom Iam at present compelled to deal, andtherefm-c it must never bo uttered be-tween you and me."" May I know, Lord General," saidDenzil, " how I am to contrive to obtain


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES.private audience of you, should it beneedful]"" Merely say, when you come to me,"replied Monk, *' that it is your wish tocpeak with me in private, and I will findthe means. Be ready at my call, how-ever, whenever I may want you ;" and%hus saying, he left the room.The thoughts of Denzil Norman,when Monk was gone, were of AliceBrownlow, and they were sweet.

It was a bright morning in the monthof May, 1660, and the light and shadewere skipping over the fair village ofLandleigh, bringing out a thousand dif-ferent beauties in their passage, whenthe sound of drum and trumpet washeard upon the castle green, and a smallbody of horse rode in and formed in linonearly opposite to the great gates. Thesmallest event has its rumour, and it istherefore no wonder that a full hour atleast before the entrance of the soldiers,the tidings of their approach had reach-ed Landleigh. Thus, although thosewere times of doubt and suspicion, andthe sober citizens and peasantry, evenwhen fanatically inclined themselves,looked upon the military hypocrites ofthe day with much awe and trepidation,a number of the inhabitants of Land-leigh, amongst whom was many a stoutyoung peasant and buxom country girl,were assembled on the castle green tosee the arrival of the soldiers. The manat their head was no very favourablespecimen of the class to which he be-longed, either internally or externally.Though not absolutely ugly, his counte-nance was anything but prepossessing;and, though tall, and in reality strong,there was a shambling, ungainly lookabout his limbs which gave one no greatidea of his corporeal vigour. His char-acter was one not unfrequently met within every age, but which was peculiarlydeveloped by the times of which I speak.Excitable, sensual, and worldly, he hadcunning enough to discover that his pas-sions could be best served, and his inter-ests advanced by an assumption of zealfor the predominant tenets of the day.He had pursued this course cunninglyfor many years, and there are few mindsso incapable of enthusiasm, as not to ob-tain by long habit a tincture of the viewsthey affect. As a man is sometimes de-ceived by his own lies, so are men fre-

quently cheate:! by their own rogueries,and Colonel Okey doubtless believedhimself a fanatic in religion, and a re-publican in policy.But a truce to description. We haveto do with a fo\v of the man's actions, the.springs of which will be easily under-stood by those who have at all studiedthe times. After marshalling his menand glancing his eyes round the villagerswith a look which, when it rested uponthe female part of the assembly, betoken-ed no very unearthly feelings, he ha-rangued his men with the common-placecant of the wilder and more enthusiasticsectaries, who then struggled to retainthat power and predominance whichthey had for many years enjoyed andmisused in the land, wresting texts ofScripture from their original meaning,and applying them in the most forcedand extraordinary manner to the eventsof the times. With all the rest he min-gled a confusion ofcommands and direc-tions, which none but those accustomedto such strange oratory could at all com-prehend, and from which the villagers,habituated to the homely, but intelligiblepreaching of Mr. Gideon Samson, couldonly make out that General Lambertwas in arms for the repose and domina-tion of the saints, and that the soldierswere exhorted to denounce every onewherever they met with him, who couldeven be suspected of favouring the ma-lignant proceedings of Papists, Prela-tists, and Presbyterians. He ended bya call upon the inhabitants of the place,under the most fearful denunciations ofwrath, to give up without delay all per-sons who might harbour or conceal them-selves in the village from the wrath ofGod and man ; and then, dismissing histroopers to their quarters, rode slowlyinto the village himself, followed by oneor two of hia officers, after having com-manded a muster ofthe troop at the sameplace, at the hour of five in the evening.He took his way straight down the highroad, going at a slow pace, and examin-ing the different houses as he went withthe eye of one seeking a comfortablelodging, but it would seem that he hadpreviously received some informationconcerning the characters and opinionsof the inhabitants, for lie at length fixedupon by no means the best house in theplace, but one inhabited by a man afterhis own heart the grocer, or, as we


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES.should call him, the chandler of the vil-lage, whoso notions of predestination,saintly freedom, sufficiency of grace, andother dogmas were held in high detesta-tion by Mr. Gideon Samson, whose owndoctrines were uniformly pronouncedcold, comfortless, and carnal by the moreenthusiastic Mr. Culpoper. After feed-ing liberally, and drinking somewhatdeep, considering the early hour in themorning, Colonel Okey held a long pri-vate conference with his worthy host, atthe end of which he walked out into thevillage, and visited several of the housesand cottages, amongst which was that ofRoger Brownlow, where he remainedfor some time in private conference withthe ci-devant sexton. It might seem, in-deed, that the subject matter of theirconversation was of no great moment,for when they issued forth from the roomformerly tenanted by Denzil Norman,John Brownlow, who was below, heardwith consternation his worthy father as-suring Colonel Okey that he had beenbewitched by the old hag, under whichdenomination the young man naturallyconcluded was meant poor old MarthaUnvvin.

44 Well, Master Brownlow," said theColonel, " I will visit and interrogateher this very day, and on my return willproceed in her case and all others to putdown the kingdom of Satan, and estab-lish the roign of the Saints upon earth."Thus saying, the worthy Colonel quit-ted the cottage, and a somewhat sharpdispute took place between father andson, in regard to the reputation of DameUmvin. But the Colonel's last wordsimplied a hint not lost to the ears ofJohnBrownlow, who, as soon as the angry dis-cussion was over with his father, hurriedaway into the cottage of the poor oldwoman, to warn her of the officer'sfriendly intentions towards her. As heapproached the house, he thought hefecard the voice of his fair Jane raisedin higher and less gentle tones than usu-al ; and, lifting the latch, he pushed thedoor sharply open. It struck with a vi-olent clatter upon the steel back-pieceof Colonel Okey, who was holding bothJane's hands tight in his own, and ad-dressing words to her pure car, whichmade the blond boil in the veins of herlover. The hypocrite let go his holdand started back, and, placing himselfby Jane Umvia'a side, John Brownlow

stood gazing in the officer's face, stronglytempted to knock him down on the spot,yet dreading the consequences to allwhom he loved.With a swaggering and superciliousair, often assumed to cover confusion,Colonel Okey turned to the door andquitted the cottage without saying aword ; and in an hour or so after, howas once more pouring forth the rapidstrain of hypocrisy and cant, with whichhe was wont to delight the ears of hisfanatical soldiers.The following morning the troopsmarched out of the village, and the in-habitants rejoiced in the thoughts of hav-ing got rid of their unwelcome guests;but John Brownlow remembered thehint that Colonel Okey had given ofhis intentions to return, and with a de-gree of vigour, determination, and goodsense which his fellow villagers had notexpected of him, he took the first stepstowards preparing the people of Laml-leigh for resisting, in case of need, thoaggressions of the insolent soldiery.Presbyterians and Churchmen for onceunited together to make common causeagainst those who were enemies of both,and, with the exception of Mr. Culpep-er and a few of his particular associates,all the inhabitants of the place preparedthemselves, determined to resist to thlast. But, alas! profession of resistancein peaceable men are not much to bodepended on, and when, two nights aft-er, a corporal's guard entered the villagebringing intelligence that the Coloneland his men would be there early on thefollowing morning, the scene of conster-nation that ensued amongst those whohad been so bold but a few hours beforowas both ludicrous and lamentable. Ru-mours crept among them, whether spreadby the soldiery or not I cannot tell, thatthe Lord General Lambert was in theimmediate neighbourhood with a largoforce ; that he had defeated the troopsof the hew Parliament, and proclaimeda pure and perfect Republic, the wholeaffairs of which were to be carried on bya committee of twelve saints. The peo-ple of Landleigh, it would appear, weroin a very ungodly state, for they seemedto dread nothing so much as this saintlydomination. Some were actually pre-paring to run away, but a mere hint froma single soldier was quite sufficient tomake the most forward of them skulk


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 30back to their houses ; and early the nexmorning, the report was spread throughthe village that both good Doctor Aldover arid Mr. Gideon Samson had beciapprehended in their beds without warrant.By the grey daylight, John Brownlouwas at the door of good Dame Unwind

cottage, and he was not kept long waiting, as it was opened for him. A hurried consultation ensued as to what wasbest to ba done, and at length it was determined that Jane and the gornl dametth:>:ild take refuge in a part of the ruin:of the castle, where John Brownlow assured them that they might lin concealettill the soldiers departed. " I will cometo you at sun-set, dear Jane," he said" and bring you provisions, and all thaiI can think of to make you comfortable*1Jane seemed to entertain no appre-hensions ; but the old lady, all witch asshe was, entertained a great dread oftho fairy, and it was not without muclipersuasion that she was induced to jj(1forth with her grand-daughter to makeabode near the spirit's well. Their littlejourney was not without trepidation, forJane fancied she saw a soldier in everybush they passed in the lane leading t


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40 THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES.with his fist clenched, when a voice ex-claimed, "Forbear!" in a tone sweetand musical, but loud and penetrating;nnd all eyes turned towards the spotwhence the sound seemed to proceed.There, standing as before, on the otherside of the well, appeared the samebeautiful figure, clothed in white, withthe sort of lustrous light upon her faceand garments which Denzil Norman hadseen when first he visited Landleigh."Forbear!" repeated the figure ; "badman, forbear !"Every one was silent for an instant;but then, with an exclamation strangely

mingling blasphemy with fanaticism,Colonel Okey darted forward towardsthe well." It is the fairy ! it is the fairy !" criedJane Umvin." Were it Beelzebub, I would bringhim into captivity," said Colonel Okey ;but the fairy receded before him, and, erehe could run round the well, had reach-ed the same gloomy archway throughwhich she had disappeared when follow-ed by Denzil Norman." Keep them fast till I return," shout-ed the officer, turning his head to speakto the soldiers, and the next instant dis-appearing in the gloom.

"Verily, he is rash to trust himselfwith spiritual enemies," said one of thesoldiers, gazing at the walls and towersopposite. " Mayhap she will lure himto some perilous place, and there seek todestroy him."His words seemed to be verified themoment they were spoken ; for hardlywere they uttered when, in the clearevening twilight, the beautiful figure, inits floating white garments, was seenWalking with a step of light along thevery edge of the crumbling battlements,when the loose stones seemed hardly fit-ted to support the very softest tread ;and the next instant the head of ColonelOkey protruded from a small door-wayin a tower, looking upon that part of thecurtain along which her course lay. Thefigure paused a moment, as if poised inair; and a clear short laugh was heard,followed by the words, "Come, on, comeon ;" and instantly Colonel Okey sprangforward, several of the stones giving wayunder his feet, and rolling into the courtbelow. At the same time the figure hewas pursuing resumed its rapid coursetowards a round tower, in the western

wall of which were still to be seen thofragments of a stone stair-case, whichformerly led up to the higher apartmentsof the keep. She reached the foot ofthetower, and then began to ascend by thebroken steps, only supported on one sideby the old wall into which they werebuilt." Forbear, Colonel, forbear !" shoutedone of the soldiers. * Do not sacrificethe life of one of the saints in pursuit ofa shadow."

But the officer hurried recklessly on,and began to mount with a slower step,when suddenly a black arm was thrustthrough one of the loop-holes, and at asingle blow hurled the fanatic down intothe court below ; while at the same mo-ment the female figure disappeared, van-ishing apparently into the body of thotower." 1 knew it, I knew it," cried one ofthe soldiers. " It was written in the Bookthat he should be so slain, even by thopowers of darkness ;" and at the samomoment he sprang forward toward thespot where the unhappy man had fallen.The two others were following, whenthey were reminded of their charge ofthe prisoners by a somewhat untimelymovement of Dame Unvvin towards thegate; and, unceremoniously drawingtheir swords, they commanded the un-willing captives to march on before themto the spot where their unsanctified com-mander lay. To the surprise of all, how-ever, on approaching, they found ColonelOkey endeavouring to raise himselfuponhis arm. His escape might indeed havebeen considered miraculous in a fall fromsuch a height, had it not been that somethick and tangled bramble-bushes hadgathered roundthe foot ofthe tower, andhad received him on his descent fromabove as on a soft, though somewhatthorny, bed. Sorely bruised, indeed, hewas, and stunned, and confused with thefall ; but the evil spirit was by no meansdriven out of him, and his first exclama-tion was an order to look well to the pris-oners. He remained some time uponthe ground unable to rise; but when,with the assistance of one of his troopers,he succeeded in getting on his feet, hopoured forth long and bitter complaintsin regard to the misfortune which hadbefallen him, savouring very little ofsaintly resignation. Indeed, the expres-sions that he used were neither more


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 41nor less than imprecations in anotherform, and probably comforted him asmuch as a volley of oaths would havesolaced a habitual swearer. With thesecomplaints over his bruised body, hemingled orders for removing the threeprisoners to the house where he hadtaken up his abode, and guarding themstrictly till he should be well enough todeal with them as he thought fit. Thisdone, he limped away, grumbling everystep he took ; and was fain to call forthe assistance of Doctor Aidover tosoothe his hurts as best he might.

Surely there is no faith to be found onearth. We trust not, we hope not, as weshould trust and hope were we really andthoroughly convinced that there is anover-ruling Providence, a just Judge, afuture state. We look to this worldalone. If we trust, it is in our ownstrength ; if we calculate, it is uponworldly chances ; if we despair, it is be-cause this life is our all.The heart of John Brownlow burnedwithin him as he sat during the livelongnight in a small garret-room, with a sol-dier at the door, separated from his com-panions, and every moment fancying herhe loved exposed to insult, and perhapsto injury, from a brutal and licentioushypocrite. It was in vain that he triedto console himself; it was in vain thathe looked around for help or hope. Hetrusted not, he thought not of trustingwhere trust only is sure ; and he pass-ed the whole hours of darkness in thefever fits of cold despair and fiery indig-nation. He saw the day break at lengthwithout having closed an eye ; and thesoft light of the early morning was per-haps more painful to him than the shad-ows of the night. He heard peoplemoving about, he heard voices speaking,he thought he could distinguish the tonesof his dear Jane ; and he would havegiven all that he possessed on earth forsome intelligence of her fate. For manyhours, however, he was kept in the bit-terness of suspense. No one came nearhim, no one spoke to him, except whenonce he tried to open the door, and thevoice of the seminal without bade himkeep quiet under the threat of the stra-pado. At length, however, the door wasthrown back, and he was hurried with agood deal of rude brutality into a largeroom a sort of hall, indeed, it might becalled, which had been built by worthy

Mr. Culpeper as a place of meeting forhimself and his fellows. A table wasstretched across the upper end of thoroom, beyond which was placed an arm-chair. A soldier, with an ink-horn amisome paper, sat at one end of tho table;and Colonel Okey himself, with his headbound up and his arm in a sling, wasseated in the chair of state. At a littlodistance from the table stood old MarthaUnwin and her daughter, both as pale. a3death. Several of the villagers, umroespecially of the Culpeper faction, werobetween them ard the door ; and behindall were a number of troopers, mostlywith grave faces aud arms crossed on thobreast.The room, indeed, had somewhat theaspect of a court of justice ; and oldRoger Brownlow, who stood before thotable speaking, seemed acting the partof a witness. The sight of his father insuch a capacity was no great consolationto the young prisoner; nor were the firstwords he heard at all calculated to re-lieve his anxiety." That is quite sufficient," said ColonelOkey, as he entered, apparently address-ing his father. " She shall have a fulltrial by water. Take her away, Heze-kiah Strong-i'-the arm, and worthy Good-fight-lhe-faith Perkins. Conduct herquietly to the river side at the deepestpart, and cast her in, taking care that shereach not the land on the same side, butthat if the fiend help her, she pass clearlyover. Ifshe succeed in doing so, we willgive her over to the fire ; for no witchmust be suffered to dwell in our Israel."The old woman uttered not a word ;for, to say the truth, her senses weroquite benumbed by terror at the pros-pect of a fate to the disgrace of tholand be it spoken not at all uncommonin England at that period. Jane, how-ever, cast herself upon her knees beforethe brutal tyrant who threatened heraged relation with the dreadful alterna-tive of perishing by water or by fire, andpoured forth wild entreaties for mercy,mingled with appeals to the villagerspresent to give some testimony of thoacts of kindness and Christian charitywhich had so often been performed byher now brutally condemned.Okey gazed at her with a fiend-likesmile, and then beckoned to her to comoround to the same side on which he wassitting; but at that moment John Brown-


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43 THE LAST OP THE FAIRIES.low's indignation mastered all prudence,and starting forward through the crowd,lie caught Jane's arm, exclaiming, " Gonot near him, Jane. He is a base, lewdhypocrite, and you know it. Go notnear him, my love. Ho dare not dowhat he has threatened."" Ha, ha ! young viper's spawn !" ex-claimed Okey. ' Dare not ! Do youthink that we have girded up our loinsand ridden forth with our swords uponour thigh for nothing 1 You shall soonlearn what the saints of the Lord darewhen the spirit moves them. Have younot aided to harhour and conceal thatmalignant traitor Charles Brooke, calledof men Lord Eustace? Have you notcomforted him and abetted him afterproclamation made, and contrary to thelaws of this land of England 1 Haveyou not received rents for him, and of-ferings from dark-minded and perversemen, who were once his tenants, butwho now owe nothing to any one butthe Commonwealth of

England,and

those to whom it shall give a portion inthe marrow and fatness of the land?Dare not to deny it, for thine own fatheris a witness against thee, and againsthimself also, if we choose to be extremewith him ; but, considering that he hasgiven us a knowledge of these things,and how we may bring the most guiltyto justice, we will spare the old adder,seeing that the poison is squeezed outof its fangs; but we will tread upon thehead of the young adder, lest it bite theheel of the saints. In less than one hourshall the malignant Charles Brooke be-come the captive of our bow and spear;for we have surrounded his hiding-placewith godly men, who will take care notto let him forth. In the mean time, how-ever, we will smite his comforters aridadherents hip and thigh ; and thou andthe prelatic malignant Aldover, whoconsorted with thee in thy evil deeds,shall die within ten minutes from thistime, even upon the green before thecastle gates. Here, Obadiah Jason, takethe young man away, and bring the oldman out of the prison where thou hastimprisoned him; and see that they beboth shot upon the green within tenminutes, for which thou shalt have ourwarrant, according to the powers grant-ed us by our commission under the sealof the Committee of Safety. What is it,Joshua Scroggs, thou man of valoui ?

What causes that tumult at the door,and who is it thou halest along so sturd-ily 1"" Verily he is a captain whom wohave taken, worthy colonel," replied thocorporal, to whom he addressed himself,speaking in a harsh, ruds voice. " I washastening up with my men to relieve thoguard at the gutes of the castle, and 1hurried my steps when 1 was upon thogreen, for methought I heard tho voicesof many men speaking loud and tumult-uously ; but, lo ! tho sentinel was walk-ing calmly at his post, and he heard notthe sounds that were revealed to myears, when suddenly I beheld this youthwalking slowly towards the castle, andI saw in him all the signs of the man ofBelial. Behold his love-locks and hisboots of French calf-skin, and his sword-knot of blue and white, and his G d-d mme hat, with a band of ostrichfeather; and, meditating with myself, tsaid, ' Woe bo to the land when euchthings walk abroad in open day,' amitherewith I apprehended him, andbrought him hither. Stand forth, thouman of Belial, and give an account ofthyself." And he pulled roughly thoarm of a man, the principal part ofu IIMSOface and figure was concealed by thocrowd which filled the lower part of thoroom." I will stand forth, if you will makoway," replied a voice ;

" for, to tell youthe truth, my good friend, you have onlybrought mo where I was coming." Andat the same time, putting tho soldiersomewhat roughly aside, Dcnzil Nor-man advanced into the little open spacobefore the table, and took his placo bythe side of young John Brownlow." Who art thou, bold boy ?" demand-ed Colonel Okey, gazing upon the younggentleman with some surprise, and notaltogether without apprehension, a* homarked the calm and almost contemptu-ous smile with which the young cavalierlooked at him. " Take off thy hat.Knowest thou in whose presence thoustamlest?"" Oh sir ! I am sorry to sec you here,"said John Brownlow, with his fingersclasping tighter upon those of Jir.ie,whose hand ho held, and, unlike lliogenerality of men, really feeling distress-ed to see a new companion destined tr>share in his misfortunes ; but DcnzilNorman, without noticing, replied to


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 43Colonel Okey, " I know well in whosepresence I stand, but, nevertheless, Ishall keep my hat upon my head, as Ihave mi reverence for any ono I see be-fore me. You asked my name, air. Itis Denzil Norman."" Ha ! ha ! hast thou found me, mineenemy ?" said Okey ; *' but now shaltthou know what it is to be in the handsof those who will not spare. Art thou,I ask thee, that Denzil Norman, Lord

lint, who slew my nephew, my sis-ter's son, when thou wert but a boy atWorcester t"" I am," replied the young

1

cavalier,without the slightest sign of emotion ;" but what of that, Master Okey 1 Itwas hand to hand in fair fight, a man ofthirty against a lad of eighteen. Hedied fighting against his king ; I livedto fight for my king another day."

*' That thou shalt never do," answer-ed Okey ; " for thou hast seen the lastBun thou ever shalt seo. Take himaway, Obadiah Jason, and do him todeath with the rest."" Nay, nay," answered Denzil Nor-man ; " not quite so fast, Master Okey.A word or two more before we part."" Take him away !" shouted Okey, byno means well pleased at the young no-bleman's bold bearing and tranquilsmile. " I know what he counts uponthe nest of traitors and scorpions inLondon, and the falso and deceitfulMonk; but he shall find himself deceiv-ed, for were it the last day I had to live,this hour shall he die. Take him away,1 say !"" Nay, then," answered Denzil Nor-man, putting his hand into his breast," if you be so imperative, Master Okey,I must take another course," and draw-ing forth a pistol, he levelled it acrossthe table at Okey's head, adding rapid-ly, " the man that lays a hand upon mesigns your death-warrant. Bid themhold back !"Hold back, hold back !'! cried Okey,his face turning pale ; " hear what theyoung man has to say."" It will be soon said, Master Okey,"answered Denzil. " Listen, all men.In virtue of a commission under thehand and seal of General Monk, com-mander-in-chief of all the land forces ofEngland, I hereby apprehend you, JohnOkey, for high treason, and I commandyou instantly to surrender. You, troop-

ers of the seventh troop of Lilburn'sregiment, by the same power and au-thority 1 command you to lay down youranna, and every man to betake himselfpeacefully to the house where lie isquartered, to await the decision of thocommissioners in your case, giving you,at tho same time, to know that the com-missions of Generals Flectwood andLambert have been revoked by thocouncil of state, and that, six days ago,the latter, who resisted tho authority ofParliament and the Council, was en-countered near Davcntry by ColonelsStreatcr, Ingoldsby, and myself, his menrouted, and himselftaken prisoner, to bodealt with according to law. Seo thatyou obey ! To you, villagers if youmovo a hand or utter a word, ColonelOkey, 1 blow your brains out on thespot I have more joyful tidings to an-nounce. Your King is restored, bring-ing with him pardon and oblivion for alloffences, toleration for all religions, andpeace and happiness to his subjects.Neither have any foar of these misguid-ed men who have quartered themselvesamongst you ; for know that tho castloand tho church arc by this time in thehandj of my regiment, and that tho re-port of this pistol will fill this room inono minute with faithful subjects of hismajesty. Long live King Charles !"" Hark !" cried a voice from behind,"there is a drum."As is usual in such cases, a moment-ary hesitation had come over those per-sons who an instant before had felt thogreatest confidence in their own pow-er and strength, when they perceivedthat the chances were turning againrtthem. It was not, indeed, that they wcroutterly dismayed, but their minds hungin the balance, as it were, as to whatcourse they should pursue, and tho leastweight thrown into either of tho scaleswas certain to decide between tho mostopposite courses. Tho sound of thatIriim had wclluigh given the preponder-ance to tho more timid policy, but therewas more than one stout heart amongstOkcy's troopers, and the stoutest ofthem all, because the most fanatical, wasthat of the corporal, Joshua Scroggs."What!" ho exclaimed, starting for-ward, while the rest stood round withlooks of moody hesitation, " do our heartswax faint because tho battlo ra^es strongagainst us 1 Shall wo bo deprived of tho


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES.captives ofour bow and spear because theAmorites triumph in the hill country 1Did not Barak, the son of Abinoam,coming out of Kadesh-Naphthali, go upagainst the hosts of Jabin, King of Ca-naan, with few people, and did he notprevail against him even by the side ofthe river Kishon ; and shall we be afraidbecause the castle and the steeple-houseare in the hands of the Philistines ? No, 'verily, this young man shall die as thouhast said, and the other young man, andthe old man with him, because they havebrought the abominable things into ourIsrael, even a king and a king's crown,which the land had spued forth."" Beware, Colonel Okey, beware !"cried Denzil Norman.

11 Hark ! they are in the streets beforethe house," cried a young man from thewindow, looking out." Call them up," shouted the youngcavalier ; and, instantly letting go JaneUnwin's hand, John Brownlow startedtowards the window.One of the troopers, however, threwhimself in the way, and knocked himdown with the hilt of his sword, when

at once the confusion became general.Some voices shouted, " Long live KingCharles," some " Down with the men ofBelial ;" the crowd in the room swayedhither and thither as several strove topush forward, and not a few to escape ;and, in the midst ofthe confusion, JoshuaScroggs threw himself upon the youngLord Blount, and endeavoured to pinionhis arms ; but Denzil was as strong andmore active, and turning the pistol fromOkey towards the head of his assailant,he fired, and the man fell back, knock-ing down with his ponderous weight oneof the soldiers who was hurrying up tohis assistance. A loud rushing trampwas heard from the door as of a multi-tude of feet hurrying up the stairs, andthe next moment a number of steel capsand grim faces appeared pouring in, andthe voice of Denzil Norman shoutedaloud, " Arrest every man found in arms,and let the rest go. Quietly, quietly ;we have had too much strife already."" Take that, at least, for thy part," cri-ed one ofOkey's troopers, levelling a car-bine towards him. A villager, however,who stood near, struck the man a blowon the nrm at the very moment he wasrailing the trigger, and the shot, passingDenzil Norman's head, with one of

those retributive accidents which we sooften see occur, hit old Roger Brown,low on tho temple, and laid him con-vulsed and prostrate on the ground.No further resistance was offered ; thotroops, who might now be called Royal-ists, poured into the room, and althoughthe scene of confusion, of which I willnot attempt to give the details, continuedfor about a quarter of an hour longer, allwas at length quieted, and Colonel Okeyand his companions removed from thoroom, leaving Denzil Norman with someof his officers and one or two of the vil-lagers. Amongst the latter was JohnBrownlow, who, notwithstanding hisown deliverance from peril and imme-diate death, felt too keenly for all joy,not alone the sad fate which had befall-en his father, but the treacherous coursewhich that father had pursued." Be comforted, my good friend," saidthe young nobleman, after he had givenorders to remove the body to the oldman's cottage. " This was an accidentwhich but shortened his days by a verybrief space, and, perhaps, it is better toterminate life with one brief pang sud-denly over, than to endure prolongedsuffering, or the wearisome exhaustionof gradual decay."John Brownlow was a simple and notvery well educated peasant. He affect-ed to be nothing more ; but there issomething in plain good sense superiorto all education and to all talent, and hereplied, I think, my lord, that every-thing must depend upon preparation;and it is with grief I ask myself, * Washe prepared 1* 'Lord Blount felt rebuked, but it wadone without the slightest assumption,and he replied at once, " That is tootrue. Nevertheless, my good friend,let us not, even in our thoughts, limitGod's mercy; but go home no\v, andtell your fair cousin that I shall be atyour house soon. I have many thingsto deal with, but I will not be long eroI visit you."John Brownlow smiled faintly. " Youwill not find Alice there," he said ; " butI will tell you more, my lord, when Isee you. She, too, has had duties to per-form, and has performed them well ; but,if I might advise you, your lordship-would look to the safety of Lord Eus-tace, he was your old friend, I under-stand, and if these men have dared such


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 45things hero, what may they not have attempted there ?"44 My old friend !" replied the youngcavalier. " He was more than a fatherto me; but I fear not for him. Theyhad no power to injure him. Now leaveme, John. We will soon meet again."An hour had passed, and while min-ute after minute of that time crept by,not less than a third part of the time hadbeen spent by Denzil Norman LordBlount in deep meditation, with his hands

covering his eyes, as he sat in the chairso lately occupied by Colonel Okey.His orders had been given, his arrange-ments made, soldier after soldier hadquitted the room, and no one remainedon that floor of the house but the guardat the door. He was left all alone inthe hall, where one of those little trage-dies had taken place which, though en-acted in a smaller space than the greaterdramas performed on the wide stage ofthe world, often afford a deeper andmore concentrated interest. The hallwas large, as I have said, and lookedlarger in its vacancy. Benches and set-tles had been removed, and naught re-mained upon the flu -r but the dark-redstaina of blood whe: " the soldier andRoger Brownlow had fallen.Twenty minutes may seem a long pe-riod for meditation, but who can tell how

many were the different images whichpresented themselves to his mind duringthat time, how wide was the range ofthought, how discursive and how erraticwas the course that it pursued. Inthose twenty minutes the present andthe past were revolved, and the futurecame in for its share of consideration ;but memory, perhaps, was the most busy,and the eight or nine years last past pre-sented a thousand objects to arrest themind. It was only wonderful that somuch was crowded into so small a space.Where did his thoughts wander 1 ToWorcester field, the flight, the pursuit,the first battle he had ever seen, with itsfiery strife, and its thrilling interest, thedisastrous defeat, the breathless gallopfor life and liberty, tho long concealment,the passage to another land, the life ofprivation, adventure, and care, and allthat had succeeded,seemed like adream :painful, confused, irregular, yet full ofdark and powerful emotions, and thingswhich could never bo blotted from mem- 1

ory. But if from tho fountain roso updrops of bitterness, yet there \vas onosweet and balmy stream mingled withthe less refreshing waters, and seemedto enrich and beautify the garden of thefuture. It sprang from the memories ofthe place in which he then was. In ahumble cottage, with nothing to deco-rate, to enrich, or to beautify, there ap-peared to remembrance a form and aface never to be forgotten. His ear stillseemed to hear the musical tones heardmany months before, his heart to thrill,his imagination to take fire, with the highthoughts presented to him by a simplepeasant girl. There was no hesitation,there was no doubt, as to his own con-duct. He had learned a deep, a stern,a wholesome lesson in adversity, and hehad not learned it in vain. Worth is let-ter than wealth, goodness greater than no-bility y excellence brighter than distinction.And, after that long pause of thought, herose, and putting on his hat again, fen nohad removed it, as if to cool his heatedbrow while the furnace of thought work-ed within, he went to the door, and de-manded, " Has the King been proclaim-ed in the village?"" No, my lord," replied the man ;" you gave no orders."41 Quick, order up my horse," repliedthe young nobleman, " and order thetrumpeters to mount. Shame on mothat I neglected it for a minute !"Then descending to the door, wherea number of the soldiers were waitingfor his pleasure, he gave various ordersfor marching off the prisoners who hadbeen taken in the town, and for commu-nicating intelligence of all that had oc-curred both to Colonel Ingoldsby andto the Commander-in-Chief. He thenmounted his horse, and with a smallparty of troops following, and threetrumpeters preceding him, he rodethrough the village, proclaiming theKing at every open space. His lasthalt was before the castle, where thewhole of the regiment which had ac-companied him, drawn up in battle ar-ray, occupied the right-hand side of thegreen, while the villagers, in a consider-able number, stood with every sijrn ofrejoicing beneath tho castle walls. Aloud shout greeted his approach, and, inanswer to the proclamation, a hundredvoices shouted, " God save the King!"a sound which had not been heard in


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TFJE LAST OF THE FAIRIES.bo tinder no fear, my good doctor. Ican act as a man of honour to a woman aswell as to a man. I will now send for myluggage, and change my dress, for I amBumcwliat travel-stained arid very wet."

*' You will find all your luggage inyour room, my lord," replied Doctor Al-tlover. " I took the liberty of tellingyoui' people that you should quarter no-where else while you were here. I willJight you up, and when you have donewo will have another howl of punch to-gether, and drink the King's health witha worthy friend of mine who is anxiousto ho well acquainted with you.""What! Mr. Gideon Samson

1?" saidthe young nobleman."No, no," replied the doctor; "oneof a very different kidney; but this is theway ;" and he led him up the low openstair-case to the room he had tenantedbefore. Some time elapsed before Dcu-zil came down again, for, to say the truth,he passed several minutes in meditation.At length, however, he descended, andfound his way easily enough to the doorof the good doctor's library, guided part-ly by memory, partly by the sound ofvoices speaking. On opening the door,ho beheld two persons seated by theemail, square table in the window. Doc-tor Aldover was one, the other was anoble-looking man in black, with n point-ed hbard, which, as well as his hair, wasnearly white; and yet, tojudge both fromform and face, he was by no means faradvanced in life. He had a long rapierby his side, and his black cloak had rotbeen cast off. The moment the youngnobloman entered, he rose and gazedupon him steadfastly, while DenziPs eyeswere busy with his features also. Thenext instant, however, Lord Blount start-ed forward with extended hand, exclaim-ing, " Oh, my dear lord ! this is indeed ajoyful meeting. Whore have you con-cealed yourself so longV" Welcome, welcome, Denzil," saidLord Eustace ; " welcome, my dear boy."Well have you done your devoir as aloyal subject, a good soldier, and an hon-est man. What more need 1 for all the 'care that I bestowed upon your youth ?"and at the same moment he tookDenzil'shand with his own left.The young man looked somewhat sur-prised. " Nay, my good lord," he .said ;" give mo your right hand surely, if youlove me as of old."

" You will know the touch of it rightwell," said Lord Eustace, stretching 'hiaright arm from beneath the cloak, andgrasping Denzil's hand.The young nobleman started back, ex-claiming, " Good heaven ! What is this ?It is cold as iron !"" Because it is iron," answered LordEustace. " On the bitterest day of allmy life, Denzil, wounded in this rightarm, and a prisoner on the field of battle,my escape was purchased at the dearestprice that ever was paid for human safe-ty at a price which I call honour towitness I would not willingly have paidfor a thousand years of the brightest ex-istence that ever was given to mortalman. Untended for many days, the gan-grene seized upon my wounded hand,and I lost it under the surgeon's knife.Thanks to this good old man, whom yonmust remember well as my chaplainwhen you were a boy, this contrivancewas procured for me, on a model broughtfrom far, serving me well-nigh as well asthe hand I had lost ; for by tho move-ment of my arm, I can clasp and extendthe fingers as you see, aye, wield a swordor strike a stout blow, nhould it be need-ful. I have struck one, too, and not longsince."

44 Yes, I have'heard of it," repliedDenzil.


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THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 49Captive, had struck her whose life ' be united to you, whom we had oduca-was far dearer to him than his own, as

has been shadowed out in the first chap-ter of this history." For nine years," continued LordEustace, " I have mourned as few men

ted with so much care. The dearwill soon he in my arms again. I findthat her education has been in no de-gree neglected ; and as Cromwell, witha generosity but little to be expected,ever mourned. In secrecy and by night i saved my lands from confiscation for her

I caused the body of my departed saint ! sake, saying that he would not spoil thato be brought hither to my old castle of orphan, inasmuch as he believed me toLandleigh, where the reverend friend | be dead, the wealth, which was abund-who has just left us performed the last ' ant in other days, has only increased,office for the dead in the vaults beneath i Beautiful she is. Denzil, beautiful shethe castle. Every morning have I pray- 1 must be; and with a right good will, aed beside her tomb, every evening have

j

father's blessing, and a dowry which1 wept over her, and strewed the cold might suit a princess, I will give her toyou as soon as we reach London. Butyou look grave, good youth. What is thematter ? Does not the match suit you 1"

stone with flowers. I have lived the lifeof a hermit within those old walls, con-cealed and aided by a few kind friendsand faithful dependents, who befriended Denzil Norman paused for a momentme in my adversity as I had befriended j ere he replied, and he felt his situationthem in my prosperity. The most skil- 1 painful. For the man before him he felt,fuJ and the most kind, because by nature j as well he might, a son's affection. Lordthe most timid, was good Doctor Aldo-ver; and an idle story which the villa-

Eustace had been to him a father whenhis own father was no more. Lady Eus-

got up of the castle being haunted j face had been more than a mother to him.Sy a fairy, contributed much to my long i For the sweet child, who, with such for-concealment." titude and presence of mind, had saved

* Nay, my pood lord," replied Denzil ; her father from imprisonment and death," it was no idle story got up by villa- j he had felt in early years a brother's af-gers. The fairy I have seen with my

j

fection. But yet there was somethingown eyes, and a right beautiful fairy shejstronger still than all this: there was

is. On the very same night when I saw love, the pure, high, first love of a warmyour lordship in the vaults beneath the \ and enthusiastic heart. That would havecastle, 1 beheld that fairy, and you must been enough ; but there was somethingLave beheld her too."He spoke with a smile, but Lord Eus-tace answered gravely, " I saw no fairy,Denzil. You must have been dreaming."" Not so, upon my life," replied Den-

zil Norman. " I was called thither to

more. There was honour that feeling,that principle, that prejudice, call it whatyou will, which had been early implant-ed in his heart by the man who nowspoke to him, which had been cherish-ed through life, and worshipped almost

that interview by the fairy's voice ; I saw | with idolatry. He had spoken words tolier with my own eyes that night ; I haveseen her twice since, ay, this very night,not much more than an hour ago. But,perhaps, my dear lord, the fairy was offlesh and blood. Had I not known that

Alice Brownlow that could never be un-said, that he could not, that he would not,wish unsaid. What was to him the prej-udices of the world, what the consider-ations of wealth, of rank, of station, in

your dear daughter was in London, kept comparison with honour and love ! Heunder the tutelage of Cromwell, t should j knew that the light and gay might laugh ;havo thought it was her whom I beheld." j he knew that the proud

Documents

(1848) The Last of the Fairies: A Christmas Tale