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me her hand, as much as to say that Harm thee! I could have pressed her she could not thank me sufficiently in to my heart, and sworn to protect her words. I told her I was well repaid for ever, and I would have kept my by having saved her favourite; and I word. I asked her if she had never been was sure that, if he could speak, he tempted to follow the example of her would thank me for having restored him sister. to so kind a mistress. She told me “ No," said she, “my mother is old she lived with her mother, in a cottage, and infirm; I shall never leave her.” about half an hour's walk up the river; “Heaven will bless thy resolution," and that, having wet myself in her ser- said I. But I could not help thinking, vice, if I would walk along with her, her as I beheld her charms, and reflected mother would be glad to receive me as upon her goodness, that destiny would a stranger, and still more as the pre- hardly be just, if it should refuse to reserver of their favourite. It was not an ward her filial piety by the holy joys of offer to refuse: she gave me the little wedded love. dog to carry, and we walked on together. “ We live yonder,” said she, as we came She told me that she had been to see her in sight of a beautiful little cottage with sister, who was married, and who resided an orchard sloping down the river. **** in the village whose tower I had seen ; I was received as strangers were received that she had taken the dog with her as a of old, before the inhabitants of cities companion, and thinking it might be had carried their corruptions into the tired, had carried it all the way from the lands of simplicity and hospitality. Never village. Innocent, tender-hearted crea- shall I forget our evening meal. ture? What are ye, ye refinements of talked of the danger of their favourite. civilization, in comparison with the con- “ Take care of him, Constance," said fiding innocence and simplicity of the the kind old woman, “it is all we have of Hungarian girl, who extends her hand Theodore :” as she named her son, a to the stranger who has saved her dog, tear trickled down her cheek; Constance and invites him to her maternal roof, to kissed it off, but her own trickled in its refreshment and repose ! She said the place. I talked to them of distant climes dog had belonged to her brother Theo- and

foreign manners. They had heard dore, but that when he went to the wars of England, but had never before seen he had made her a present of it, to keep one of its natives; they said that hencefor her sake, and that she and her mother forth they would love it next to Hunloved it much, both because Theodore gary. They keep early hours in Hunloved it, and because it had loved Theo- gary. After supper I strolled into the dore. As we walked for a few moments orchard with Constance, and we silently in silence, I had leisure to contemplate gazed upon the river.

She gave me the form which enshrined so pure a soul. some ripe pears. She was above the middle height, slen- “ These will perhaps refresh you to. der, but possessed that beautiful round. morrow," said she. ness of form, which is so captivating in “ Ah, Constance," I replied, “ they woman; her eyes were blue and mild, may be sweet to day but to-morrow they but expressive; her mouth was not per- will be bitter." haps quite so small and symmetrical as The bell tolled from the neighbouring a limner would die of envy to paint, but village where I was to sleep, and I knew two rows of pearly teeth were seen be- it was time to part. I trembled every twixt two parted lips of roses. She held inch of me; “ Absurd,” said I to myself, her bonnet in her hand; and abundance “I have known her but three hours; of beautiful tresses, gently agitated by true, but I could live with her for ever.” the air, shewed a forehead of purity, and We returned to the cottage. The cusshaded a neck no less white; her age tom of the country permitted me to emmight be eighteen, but whatever it was, brace at parting, -and never did I press she seemed yet to preserve the recent the cheek of youth and beauty with so impress of the hand of divinity. I asked large an alloy of pain. Fair Constance, her if she was not afraid to walk so far where art thou now? still in thy little alone.

cottage, on the banks of the Danube! I “ No,” said she; "all the country see thee strolling among the walnut trees, people know me:”

and I think that, when gazing on the “ And love you too," I added. river, thou wilt perhaps remember that

• At least,” said she, “no one would a stranger once gazed upon it with thee harm me.”

Hungarian girl, farewell !

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ground with a well-directed blow, which

had it alighted on his head instead of CHAPTER I.

his shoulder,would infallibly have knock

ed out his brains. On the evening of the 29th of April, in Though somewhat daunted at this rethe year 1517, and consequently in the sistance, the other thief drew forth a long eighth year of the reign of Henry the knife, while his companion scrambled Eighth, a tall, portly, broad-shouldered on his legs again, and blood would no and comely visaged man, in the garb of doubt have flowed but for the sudden a respectable citizen, emerged from one arrival of a young man armed with a of the dark lanes which led into Thames- broad-sword and a buckler, who shoutstreet, near Dowgate, and proceeded at ing as he whirled his weapon round his a sturdy pace in a westerly direction. It head,“ Have at ye, ye cut-purse villains!" was growing dark, the shops and stalls instantly placed himself by the side of were closed, and the good citizens were the citizen. at their suppers. The lusty stranger

Alarmed at this unexpected succour, seemed to be conscious of this, and strode the thieves fled precipitately down the along with a firm and erect gait, more street, and were soon lost among the resembling that of a man-at-arms than numerous dark alleys which led to the a simple burgess. He had scarcely walk- water side. ed forty paces when two men, squalid “ Thanks, my young master,” said the and ill-looking, darted from under a portly figure who had been so promptly gateway, and while they both confronted assisted, “ a friend at such a time is him, one of them with a grisly oath worth a thousand fair speeches." made a snatch at the purse which hung “ You are heartily welcome, sir,” reat his girdle.

plied the youth, sheathing his broad“Ha! St. George !” cried the stout sword, “and if your road lies westward, man, eluding the fellow's grasp, “take I will bear you company a part of the that, knave,” and flourishing a stout The gentlemen of the Whiteoaken staff, he stretched the fellow on the friars are always stirring with the owl


nary citizen.



and the bat, and you may meet others the stairs, and the stranger having enof the same family before you reach tered and taken his seat, it darted out home."

into the stream, and was soon lost in “ A boat waits for me at Queenhithe,” the gloom. said the stranger, “but as the night is “ George Willoughbye! he must he coming on, I will accept your offer, be a noble!” ejaculated Fortescue, thrustyoung man;" and he proceeded on his ing the well filled purse into his bosom ; way with his sturdy step, humming one “ I have surely seen that broad fair of the songs of that period: at length face and well trimmed beard before tohe spoke again.

night; but now for my master's uncomeBy what name shall I know my ly visage.” And saying this he bent his champion ?

way homeward. He had just reached “ Nicholas Fortescue, an 't please you, Thames-street, when the trampling of fair sir,” replied the youth, in a respect- feet was heard on his right. ful tone, for he thought there was some- “ Ha! by the mass !” muttered the thing in the air and manner of his 'prentice as he quickened his pace, interrogator above the stamp of an ordi. “ here's the city watch going their

rounds—I'd rather face master Elliott « Of what craft or profession ?” than sleep in the Compter tonight.” the next inquiry.

Disappearing steathily from the spot, “ 'Prentice to master George Elliott, Nicholas Fortescue was in a few minutes stationer, in St. Paul's Churchyard,” afterwards knocking at his master's door, replied the youth.

on the north side of St. Paul's Church“ Ha! St. George! a 'prentice, and yard, now wrapped in total darkness. abroad at this hour! does master Elliott give you such license young man?

CHAP. II. The 'prentice hung his head, and was mute for some seconds.

At length he Our 'prentice had knocked three or muttered in a tone which shewed that he four times, each knock being louder than did not relish the remark:

the preceding one, when a window was “ My back will doubtless taste of the opened above, and the gaunt visage of stirrup leather, sir; but I shall not master Elliott, illumined by the light of grieve at that since my playing truant the lamp which he held in his hand, brought me to your rescue. There was looked out ominously upon him. some good sword play at the bank-side " Who knocks? inquired the stathis evening, and Mahoud the great tioner, in a loud and angry voice. black bear was baited. Ecod, sir! he "''Tis I, master,” replied the 'prennipped asunder Ralph, the butcher's dog, tice, in a soft, subdued, penitential tone. of the High-street, and played the devil “ Rascal ! ” cried the man of business, among the other curs."

get thee gone! go and sleep in St. “ And you could not fee from the Nicholas' shambles I will not let thee temptation ?" interrupted the stranger. into my house to night !” and he shut “ But come, you are a brave youth, and to the window in a furious passion. though I cannot save your back from “ Hum !” said Fortescue, as he seatmaster Elliott's discipline, I can find an ed himself on the stone steps; “then unguent that hath cured many wounds. I'm likely to get a lodging at the ex

As he said this they arrived at Queen- pense o’the city; for if I stay here 1 hithe stairs, off which lay a boat with a shall soon be marched off to the Compparty-coloured tilt, and the stranger, ter- I'll e'en try him again.” unfastening the pouch which hung at He accordingly renewed his knocking his girdle, placed it in the hand of the with increased vehemence: but master apprentice.

Elliott was inexorable; the door re“ Take this,” he continued, “you mained closed against him, and our will find it stuffed with proper metal; 'prentice resumed his seat on the steps, but have a care of the purse; it is a whistling a tune and beating time with sovereign charm against sorcery and his heel. danger of all kinds-George Willough- The sound smote the ear of his masbye is your debtor, young man." ter, who was praying for the arrival of The tice doffed his leathern cap, the watch. He did

pray in vain; and bowed low as he received the pouch; the watch soon arrived, and the whole but as he did so he took care to steal a party halted, as soon as they espied the glance at the features of the donor. ’prentice, whose solo was hushed in a

The keel of the boat now grated on

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“ Ho! friend!” cried the sergeant, at this bantering, and he uttered an “what art doing there?”

execration, which for the ladies' sakes The 'prentice made no reply, indeed must not be recorded. he knew not what reply to make.

“ Go to the devil with you, sirrah !” “ Kick him up, Will Lathbury,” said cried he, “and have a care of your the sergeant; and one of the men ad- prisoner !” vanced to do his bidding, but this was While this was passing, Nicholas Fornot an easy performance. Fortescue tescue uttered not a word, much to the started up, and swearing a fierce oath, surprise of his master, who naturally placed himself in a threatening attitude, expected to hear him supplicate for parhis unsheathed sword in his hand, and don; but the man of business was dishis buckler covering his head. Dark as appointed, and shutting-to his window, it was, the man perceived his danger and he left the watch to conduct their prirecoiled. “ 'Ods, daggers and devils !” soner to the compter. cried the sergeant,

May double-beer Master Elliott threw himself into his be my poison, if thou 'rt not afraid !" arm chair, and took a long pull at his

“ I am not afraid,” said the man in a horn of sack posset. surly tone, “and now my fine fellow “ A murrian take the girl!” cried he, put up your broadsword, or I'll cleave “she will plague me more than half a your pate for you in a trice.”

score of boys! I'll take a course with Daring and obstinate, Nicholas For- her, spite of her tears, which every woman tescue heeded not this menace, but re- can shed at will. Who but a beardless mained on the defensive, when the ser- gallant would be moved by such ? 1 geant of the watch again addressed him. should as soon grieve at seeing a duck

Harkee, young coistrel !” cried he, walk barefoot !" “ this may be very pretty play in Moor The concluding part of Master Elliott's Fields on a summer's evening, but it soliloquy was strictly true; but the fair won't do here-throw down your weapon reader should be informed that our wiat once, or you 'll be cut to the chine in dower had counted sixty summers, and a paternoster.”

that he had been plagued for many The 'prentice did not stir.

years by his wife, who was a shrew. “ Nay then, down with him," continued the sergeant, perceiving that his

CHAP. III. remonstrance produced no effect; and Fortescue was instantly stretched on the Shamwell.—“They are up in the Friars.". ground with the stroke of a brown bill.

The Squire of Alsatia. His buckler saved his head, but he sunk The boat which conveyed Master Wilunder the furious blow, and was instant- loughbye, glided rapidly up the stream ly seized by two of the watch.

in almost total darkness. Here and Suddenly there was a stir in the house there a feeble light glimmered in some of the stationer, whose head appeared at dwelling which encroached upon and the window, while the pretty round face overhung the city wall, and on the other of his daughter looked out with alarm side of the river, the faint light of a over his shoulder upon the scene below. taper might be seen at intervals in the

My dearest father, forgive him,” houses on the bankside. Lower down, murmured the damsel, in a voice trem- but dimly seen through the gloom, Lonbling with emotion.

don Bridge, with its towers and dwell“Go to your chamber, girl,” said her ings, spanned the noble river, whose father angrily, “ I'll teach the rascal to dark stream poured through its arches be malapert.'

with a sullen and unbroken roar. But “ Be not wrath with him, dear father,” these were soon lost to the ear and the and the tears stood in her blue eyes. eye as the boat ascended the river. It

“ Away with thee,” cried the stationer, soon approached the neighbourhood of in a tone which shewed that he would the Blackfriars, when the noise of smiths' not be trifled with. Jane Elliott instant- hammers aroused master Willoughbye ly left the room in tears, and her father from the reverie in which he had been leaning out of the window, desired the indulging. watch to lodge his undutiful apprentice “ Ha!” cried he, “ what can this in the Poultry Compter.

mean ? no citizen can working at this Nay nay, master stationer,” said the late hour!" sergeant, “'tis a pity to take the boy The boat continued to advance, and away, your pretty daughter will grieve,” the sound became more and more audiMaster Elliott turned pale with rage, ble. They were now off the far famed



Whitefriars, and the cause of the noise But to return to master Willoughbye. became obvious.

The hammering in the Alsatian smithy In one of the wretched hovels which at length ceased, and the fire sunk down, descended to the water's edge, was a

so that the boat could approach nearer smith's forge, the fire from which threw without being observed. its red glare upon the river. Two men “The jail-birds of the Friars are hatchwere hard at work, and several others ing treason,” observed one of the boatwere conversing in boisterous tones. men in a whisper to his fellow. Mischief was brewing in Alsatia !

* Ay,” replied the other, “ and the " Pull towards that smithy and lie to cockneys are going to bed, little dreamunder the shadow of yon great barge,” ing, good souls! that a thousand knives said master Willoughbye to the rowers. are sharpening for their throats! The

This command was promptly obeyed, mayor is a fool, or he'd give these rascals and the boat was soon within half a stone's a camisado.” throw of the Alsatians. The smiths Master Willoughbye was listening to continued at their work for some time, the conversation in the smithy, which and the noise they made prevented the now rung with other music than that of conversation of the others who had assem

the anvil. bled in the shed, from being distinctly “ There's good stuff at the steel-yard” heard by him who was now playing the remarked a burly shaped and sinister eaves-dropper. Merrily rung the ham- featured man, with a ragged jerkin and a mers, as they dashed the bright sparks greasy thrum cap—“Ay, capital stuff! among the company, whose features were That old Flemish rascal Philip Van Rynk lit up by the vivid glow of the fire- has many a bale of Brabant linen in his it was a scene worthy the pencil of bestowing rooms. Schalcken.

Ay, ay !” cried another, “and not A lengthened description of the re- a few ells of cloth of gold, and budge, gion of Whitefriars, which, under the and tapestry, and other fineries which cant name of Alsatia, was for a long have been denied to the poor man.” period the hiding-place of the most des- “ And a pretty daughter too,” said a perate wretches that infested the metro- tall slim young man with a gilt chain polis, will not here be necessary.

Shad- round his neck, a sword and dagger, and a well has left us a play, in which he has neatly trimmed beard, all of which tended given a picture of the doings in this to shew his threadbare apparel to still classic land, and Sir Walter Scott, with greater disadvantage. He had been one consummate skill, has, in “ The For- of the most cutting gallants that strutted tunes of Nigel' wrought a beautiful and in St. Paul's for an appetite. stirring scene from the slender materials. “ Thou mayest take the wench, master Whitefriars was, at the period of which Lorymer, and leave me the cloth, for I we are writing, and for a long while lack linen," stammered another in a voice after, a sanctuary for all whom debt or

that shewed him to be about three parts crime had thrust from decent society: the drunk. lurking-hole of theives, beggars and bul

“ You shall have enough to make lies, where warrant and capias were

you a comfortable winding sheet, my powerless, unless supported by a file of boy,” replied the young man, who had musketeers; the head quaters of

also been drinking. Have you got your

brown-bill well ground ? These fo--- angry spirits,

reigners can fight, and they'll shew their And turbulent mutterers of stified treason, Who lork in narrow places, and walk out

teeth, my valiant Hector !" Muffled to whisper curses to the night;

“ Havock's the word,” said a fellow Disbanded soldiers, discontented ruftians, with a ferocious countenance and the And desperate libertines.”-Marino Faliero.

frame of a Hercules, “I'm for having a Woe to the unlucky tipstaff who ven- turn at the Frenchmen in St. Martins-letured within the precincts of Alsatia; grand first, and then we can visit one a fortunate man was he if he could com- Monsieur Meutas in Leadenhall street, pound for his life by quietly allowing whose throat I'll cut if we should catch himself to be tarred and feathered. him at home."

It is long since this human den existed, This ruffian had been a butcher, and but he who visits th

spot at the present had been thrice exposed in the pillory. day, will find that, although Whitefriars “And there's another frog-eater near is no longer a sanctuary for felons and the Conduit in the West Cheap: his debtors, it has not been entirely purged name's Pierre Beauvarlet : he deals in of its abominations.

Naples-fustians, Normandy canvass and

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