though it was not actually removed from the statute-book, was in fact only once appealed to after the accession of James, and even then the combat, as a mode of trial unsuited to enlightened times, did not take place.

For the same reason, the other sovereigns of Europe discountenanced those challenges and combats, undertaken for pure honour or in revenge of some injury, which it used to be their custom to encourage, and to sanction with their own presence. Such encounters were now generally accounted by all sensible persons an inexcusable waste of gallant men's lives for matters of mere punctilio; and were strictly forbidden, under the highest penalties, by the kings both of England and France, and, generally speaking, throughout the civilised world. But the royal command could not change the hearts of those to whom it was addressed, nor could the penalties annexed to the breach of the law intimidate men, whom a sense of honour, though a false one, had already induced to hold life cheap. Men fought as many, perhaps even more, single combats than formerly; and although such meetings took place without the publicity and formal show of lists, armour, horses, and the attendance of heralds and judges of the field, yet they were not less bloody than those which had been formerly fought with the observance of every point of chivalry.

According to the more modern practice, combatants met in some solitary place, alone, or each accompanied by a single friend, called a second, who were supposed to see fair play. The combat was generally fought with the rapier or small sword, a peculiarly deadly weapon, and the combatants, to show they wore no defensive armour under their clothes, threw off their coats and waistcoats, and fought in their shirts. The duty of the seconds, properly interpreted, was only to see fair play; but as these hot-spirited young men felt it difficult to remain cool and inactive when they saw their friends engaged, it was very common for them, though without even the shadow of a quarrel, to fight also; and, in that case, whoever first despatched his antagonist, or rendered him incapable of further resistance, came without hesitation to the assistance of his comrade, and thus the decisive superiority was brought on by odds of numbers, which contradicts all our modern ideas of honour or of gallantry.

Such were the rules of the duel, as these single combats were called. The fashion came from France to England, and was adopted by the Scots and English as the readiest way of settling their national quarrels, which became very numerous.

One of the most noted of these was the bloody and fatal conflict between sir James Stewart, eldest son of the first lord Blantyre, a Scottish knight of the Bath, and sir George Wharton, an Englishman, eldest son of lord Wharton, a knight of the same order. These gentlemen were friends; and, if family report speaks truth, sir James Stewart was one of the most accomplished young men of his time. A trifling dispute at play led to uncivil expressions on the part of Wharton, to which Stewart answered by a blow. A defiance was exchanged on the spot, and they resolved to fight next day at an appointed place near Waltham. This fatal appointment made, they carried their resentment with a show of friendship, and drank some wine together; after finishing which, Wharton observed to his opponent, "Our next meeting will not part so easily." The fatal rencounter took place; both gentlemen fought with the most determined courage, and both fell with many wounds, and died on the field of battle.

Sometimes the rage and passion of the gallants of the day did not take the fairest, but the shortest, road to revenge; and the courtiers of James I., men of honourable birth and title, were, in some instances, known to attack an enemy by surprise, without regard to the previous appointment of a place of meeting, or any regulation as to the number of the combatants. Nay, it seems as if, on occasions of special

provocation, the English did not disdain to use the swords of hired assassins in aid of their revenge, and all punctilios of equality of arms or numbers were set aside as idle ceremonies.

Sir John Ayres, a man of rank and fortune, entertained jealousy of lord Herbert of Cherbury, celebrated as a soldier and philosopher, from having discovered that his wife, lady Ayres, wore around her neck the picture of that high-spirited and accomplished nobleman. Incensed by the suspicions thus excited, sir John watched lord Herbert, and meeting him on his return from court, attended by only two servants, he attacked him furiously, backed by four of his followers with drawn weapons, and accompanied by many others, who, though they did not directly unsheath their swords, yet served to lend countenance to the assault. Lord Herbert was thrown down under his horse; his sword, with which he endeavoured to defend himself, was broken in his hand; and the weight of the horse prevented him from rising. One of his lacqueys ran away on seeing his master attacked by such odds; the other stood by him, and released his foot, which was entangled in the stirrup. At this moment sir John Ayres was standing over him, and in the act of attempting to plunge his sword into his body; but lord Herbert, catching him by the legs, brought him also to the ground; and, although the young lord had but a fragment of his sword remaining, he struck his unmanly antagonist on the stomach with such force as deprived him of the power to prosecute his bloody purpose; and some of lord Herbert's friends coming up, the assassin thought it prudent to withdraw, vomiting blood in consequence of the blow he had received.

This scuffle lasted for some time in the streets of London, without any person feeling himself called upon to interfere in behalf of the weaker party; and sir John Ayres seems to have entertained no shame for the enterprise, but only regret that it had not succeeded. Lord Herbert sent him a challenge as soon as his wounds were in the way of being cured; and the gentleman who bore it, placed the letter on the point of his sword, and in that manner delivered it publicly to the person whom he addressed. Sir John Ayres replied, that the injury he had received from lord Herbert was of such a nature, that he would not consent to any terms of fair play, but would shoot him from a window with a musket, if he could find an opportunity. Lord Herbert protests in his Memoirs, that there was no cause given on his part for the jealousy which drove sir John Ayres to such desperate measures of revenge.

The

A still more noted case of cruel vengeance, and which served to embitter the general hatred against the Scots, was a crime committed by lord Sanquhar, a nobleman of that country, the representative of the ancient family of Creichton. This young lord, in fencing with a man called Turner, a teacher of the science of defence, had the misfortune to be deprived of an eye by the accidental thrust of a foil. mishap was, doubtless, both distressing and provoking; but there was no room to blame Turner, by whom no injury had been intended, and who greatly regretted the accident. One or two years after this, lord Sanquhar being at the court of France, Henry IV., then king, asked him how he had lost his eye. Lord Sanquhar, not wishing to dwell on the subject, answered in general terms, that it was by the thrust of a sword. "Does the man who did the injury still live?" asked the king; and the unhappy question impressed it indelibly upon the heart of the infatuated lord Sanquhar that his honour required the death of the poor fencing-master. Accordingly, he despatched his page aud another of his followers, who pistolled Turner in his own school. The murderers were taken, and acknowledged they had been employed to do the deed by their lord, whose commands, they said, they had been bred up to hold as indisputable warrants for the execution of whatever he might enjoin. All the culprits being brought to trial and condemned, much interest was made for lord Sanquhar, who was a young man, it is said, of eminent parts.

But to have pardoned him would have argued too gross a partiality in James towards his countrymen and original subjects. He was hanged, therefore, along with his two associates; which lord Bacon termed the most exemplary piece of justice in any king's reign.

To sum up the account of these acts of violence, they gave occasion to a severe law, called the statute of stabbing. Hitherto, in the mild spirit of English jurisprudence, the crime of a person slaying another without premeditation only amounted to the lesser denomination of murder which the law calls manslaughter, and which had been only punishable by fine and imprisonment. But to check the use of short swords and poniards, weapons easily concealed, and capable of being suddenly produced, it was provided, that if any one, though without forethought or premeditation, with sword or dagger, attacked and wounded another whose weapon was not drawn, of which wound the party should die within six months after receiving it, the crime should not be accounted homicide, but rise into the higher class of murder, and be as such punished with death accordingly.

The Catholics who had expected toleration, or an approach to it, were enraged at the increased severity of the laws directed against them, and some of them were absolutely maddened by the persecutions they suffered, and by the heavy fines they were constantly called upon to pay. Among the sufferers, there was one capable of the most daring deeds. This was Robert Catesby, a gentleman of an ancient family and of a good estate. During one period of his life he had recanted, but he soon returned to the ancient religion, and endeavoured to make up for his youthful backsliding by the ardour of his zeal. He had engaged in the rash business of the earl of Essex, who had promised liberty of conscience; he had intrigued with the court of France, and with the Spanish court, but at last, seeing no hope of assistance from those quarters, he conceived the project of destroying at one blow, king, lords, and commons. Horrible and desperate as was this plot, he soon found a few spirits as implacable and furious as his own to join in it. The first person to whom he opened his design, was Thomas Winter, a gentleman of Worcestershire, who had been a soldier of fortune in the Low Countries, and a secret agent of the English Catholics in Spain. This man was at first overcome with horror, and though Catesby removed his repugnance by drawing the most frightful picture of the sufferings of their co-religionists, he would not agree to the mighty murder till they had solicited the mediation of the king of Spain, who was then negotiating with James. Winter passed over to the Netherlands, where he soon learned from the Spanish ambassador that his court could not get a clause of toleration inserted in the English treaty. At this moment, when he had made up his mind to co-operate with Catesby, he accidentally encountered in the town of Ostend, another soldier of fortune, an old fellow traveller and associate. This was Guy or Guido Fawkes, whom (knowing him to be the most daring of men) he carried over to England, without telling him what particular service would be required at his hands. Fawkes did not come for pay. It has been customary to represent him as a low mercenary ruffian, but it appears on the contrary, that he was a pure fanatic, and as much a gentleman as the others. Before Winter and Fawkes had been many days with Catesby in London, they were joined by two other conspirators, Thomas Percy, a distant relation, and steward to the earl of Northumberland, and John Wright, Percy's brother-in-law, who was

reputed the best swordsman in all England. Percy, during Elizabeth's time, had visited Edinburgh, where James, to secure what influence he could command, had promised to "tolerate mass in a corner. He was now furious at the king's broken promises, and seems to have been more headlong than any of them, more eager even than Catesby to do something, though as yet he knew not what, for the arch conspirator was cautious in his madness. They all met at Catesby's lodgings. "Well, gentlemen," cried Percy," shall we always talk and never do?" Catesby said that before opening the particulars of his scheme, they must all take a solemn oath of secrecy. The condition was accepted by all, and a few days afterwards they met at a lonely house in the fields, beyond St. Clement's Inn. "You shall swear by the blessed Trinity, and by the sacrament you now propose to receive, never to disclose directly or indirectly, by word or circumstance, the matter that shall be proposed to you to keep secret, nor desist from the execution thereof until the rest shall give you leave." Such was the form of the oath which was taken on their knees by Catesby, Percy, Thomas Winter, John Wright, and Fawkes, and immediately after they had taken the oath, Catesby explained that his purpose was to blow up the Parliament House with gunpowder, the next time the king should go to the House of Lords. He then made the means clear to their comprehension, and ceasing this discourse, led them all to an upper room in the same lone house, where they heard mass and received the sacrament from Father Gerard, a Jesuit missionary, who, it is said, was not admitted into the horrid secret. Percy's zeal was unabated, and an office he held about the court (he was a gentleman pensioner) gave him facilities which the others did not possess. Their first object was to secure a house adjoining the Parliament building. As Percy, by his office, was obliged to live during a part of the year near to Whitehall, there would appear nothing strange in his taking a lodging in that quarter.

After some search, they found a house held by one Ferris, as tenant to Whinneard, the keeper of the king's wardrobe, which seemed adapted to their purpose. This Percy hired in his own name, by a written agreement with Ferris. When they took possession, they again swore to be faithful and secret. The back of the house, or an out-building, leaned against the very wall of the Parliament House. Here they resolved to commence operations by cutting away the wall in order to make a mine through it. It was an arduous task to gentlemen unaccustomed to manual labour, and before they could well begin they learned that the king had prorogued Parliament to the 7th of February, and upon this news they agreed to separate, and after visiting their friends in the country to meet again in November. In the interval they hired another house, situated on the Lambeth side of the river. Here they cautiously deposited wood, gunpowder, and other combustibles, which were afterwards removed in small quantities at a time, and by night, to the house at Westminster. The custody of the house at Lambeth was committed to Robert Kay, a Catholic gentleman in indigent circumstances, who took the oath and entered into the plot. When the chief conspirators met again in the capital, they found themselves debarred of the use of their house at Westminster, for the court had thought fit to accommodate therein the commissioners that were engaged on James's premature scheme for a union between England and Scotland. ****

At last, on a dark December night, Catesby and his confederates entered the house at Westminster and commenced operations, having previously laid in a store of hard eggs, dried meats, pasties, and such provisions as would keep, in order to avoid [exciting] suspicion by going or sending abroad for food. They presently found that the wall to be penetrated was of tremendous thickness, and that more hands would be required to do the work. Kay was therefore brought over from the house at Lambeth, and the party was further reinforced by the enlisting of Christopher

Now in all

Wright, a younger brother of John Wright, who was already in the plot. they were seven. "All which seven," said Fawkes, in his ex ination, 66 were gentlemen of name and blood, and not any was employed in or about this action (no, not so much as in digging and mining), that was not a gentleman. And while the others wrought, I stood as sentinel to descry any man that came near; and when any man came near to the place, upon warning given by me they ceased, until they had again notice from me to proceed; and we seven lay in the house, and had shot and powder, and we all resolved to die in that place before we yielded or were taken." They lightened, or it may be sometimes burthened, their heavy toil with discussions of future plans. They calculated that the king's eldest son, prince Henry, would accompany his father to the opening of Parliament, and perish with him; but Percy undertook to secure prince Charles, and carry him off to a sure place as soon as the mine should be exploded. Calculating, however, on the possibility of this scheme failing, they made arrangements for carrying off the princess Elizabeth, who was then under the care of lord Harrington at his mansion near Coventry. Horses and armour were to be collected in Warwickshire. They resolved if possible to save all members of the two houses that were Catholics, but they could not agree as to the safest mode of doing this. The notion of applying to the Catholics abroad and the Pope, was discarded as useless and unsafe.

They were working hard to cut their way through the stubborn wall, when Fawkes brought intelligence that the king, who had no great desire to meet that body again, had further prorogued parliament from the 7th of February to the 3rd of October. Hereupon they agreed to separate till after the Christmas holidays, taking good care not to associate or meet abroad, and on no account to correspond by letter on any point connected with the plot. In the month of January, 1605, Catesby being at Oxford, admitted two other conspirators. One of these was John Grant, an accomplished but moody gentleman of Warwickshire, who possessed at Norbrook, between the towns of Warwick and Stratford-on-Avon, a large and strong mansion house, walled round and moated, which seemed the best possible place for the reception of horses and ammunition. Lamentation and grief had been carried within those walls in Elizabeth's time, and Grant's melancholy disposition took its rise from the persecution he had endured. The other was Robert Winter, the eldest brother of Thomas Winter, who was already engaged, and one of whose sisters was wife to Grant of Norbrook. Shortly after, Catesby suspecting that his servant Thomas Bates had an inkling of the plot, thought it prudent to make him a full accomplice, and bind him by the oath of secrecy. This Bates was the only one not of the rank of a gentleman; he was of a mean station and of weak character, but his obscurity and timidity had not saved him from the Elizabethan persecution. About the beginning of February they all met in the house at Westminster, and resumed their painful toils. Their ears were acutely sensible to the least sound, their hearts susceptible of supernatural dread. They heard, or fancied they heard, the tolling of a bell deep in the earth under the Parliament house, and the noise was stopped by aspersions of holy water. But one morning, while working in their mine, they heard a loud rumbling noise right over their heads. There was a pause, a fear that they had been discovered; but Fawkes soon brought intelligence that it was nothing but one Bright, who was selling off his stock of coals, intending to remove his business from a cellar under the parliament house to some other place. This opportunity seemed miraculous: the cellar was immediately below the House of Lords; the wall of separation was not yet cut through, and doubts were entertained whether they should be able to complete the work without discovery. Percy hired the cellar of the dealer in coals; the mine was abandoned, and they began to remove thirty-six barrels of gunpowder from the house on the opposite bank of the river. They threw