"Sold that, false traitor?"

"My liege gave no description, save the 'largest-that was the largest; I knew not the high value you set on it, and I sold it to a Jew at Bruges full three months since."

"But a jewel just like it is said to have been seen not long since in your very house," said the chancellor, "where it was said to be kept secretly.

"I see it all," said the king fiercely; "you pretended to mistake the jewel, and took it to your own house, and then, after having made your bargain with the King of France, fearing danger if it were in your own possession, you sent a trusty messenger to convey it away. Arrest this traitor!"

"My liege," said Sir Walter Manny, "be not so hasty; I would stake my knightly honour on that young stranger: I pray you send not yonder worthy knight to prison on such light evidence."

"Sir Walter Manny, perchance, knows somewhat more about the stranger knight, seeing that he interposed to save him from discovery, and caused him to be sent safely away," replied the chancellor sternly.

"I did but what I would do again," replied Sir Walter proudly.

The council separated in much confusion, Sir Walter lamenting the harsh doom of the jewel-master, and musing over the events of the preceding day, bent his footsteps to the court-yard.

"Good Sir Walter Manny, what is this about a missing jewel and a stranger knight?" said a meanly dressed old man; "tell me, I pray you, for I may bring you aid."

"Alas! good man," replied the valiant knight, "it is beyond your skill."

"It must be difficult indeed then," returned the old man proudly; "refuse not my aid, Sir Walter, though you know me not-many a jewel, mean though I seem, hath passed through my hands, and perchance even this lost one.'

There was somewhat in the manner of the aged man that commanded Sir Walter Manny's attention: he looked earnestly at him, and in the swarthy countenance and flashing eye recognized a Jew, whom, though he knew not his name, he had often met in Flanders. He hastily detailed the particulars, bade him use his utmost skill to discover the missing jewel, and promised him a fitting reward.

respite of only ten days to the jewel-master, and all shall be well."

"But who hath taken it? and how may I tell that you will not deceive me?"

The Jew drew nearer, and whispered two or three words in his ear.

"I will trust you to the utmost," cried the well-pleased knight. "Farewell!" He turned to depart; when, looking up to the palace windows, he observed the eyes of the king fixed upon him, with a mingled expression of anger and grief.

That evening there was high feasting at the palace; but even a deeper shade clouded King Edward's brow. Was it possible that his most favourite knight, his most cherished companion, was in league with his enemies against him?-and yet, it was Sir Walter Manny who had yesterday interfered even thrice on behalf of that traitor knight; it was he, too, who had urged delay at the council; it was he who engaged in mysterious converse about the lost jewel with a stranger and a foreigner even under the palace windows; and, when charged with perfidy, had scarcely made a reply.

"A boon, King Edward!" cried Philippa, advancing with a gay smile to the recess where, involved in sad and conflicting thoughts, he moodily sat; "a boon for the queen of faërie!" "It is granted, fairest," said the king, half unconsciously; "what would you?"

"That you take no farther steps in the business of this lost jewel, until ten days are past."

"Madam!" said the king fiercely, starting up, "would that I might deny you! That perfidious knight, Sir Walter Manny, hath prayed you to ask this boon, that the leaders of the plot may escape. My word is pledged, and I cannot go back-but I here solemnly vow, that never shall he advance my banner, never again see my face, until all and every one in whose hands that jewel hath been stand together before me."

While the rash vow of the king and the probable fate of the jewel-master occupied every mind, the vessel that bore the Lord of Warrington bounded swiftly along, and ere the close of the fourth day entered the harbour of Vannes. He proceeded to Roche Perion, but there new marvels awaited him. He was received with strange courtesy, complimented on his knightly honour, shown an order from Charles of Blois directing his instant liberation, and told that his ransom had been paid by a Jew, who had returned to England. Bidding a joyful farewell to his prison towers, the Lord of Warrington hastened away, and in little more

than a week again stood upon Vintry quay, no longer the unknown knight, forbidden by his vow to disclose his name, but as the brave Sir Johan de Boteler, one of the valiant leaders of the army in Brittany, and the knight for whom Sir Walter Manny had done so splendid a deed of chivalrous valour.

But short was his joy: from the busy groups that crowded the quay he soon learned the story of the lost jewel, the stranger knight, the disgrace of Sir Walter Manny, and the imminent peril of the luckless jewel-master, ¦ who, his ten days' respite having expired, was that very morning to be brought before the council.

"It is through me and this luckless purchase," cried he bitterly; while the strangely generous conduct of the Jew, and his singular anxiety that he should purchase that jewel, assumed to his excited mind the guise of a deeply laid and malignant plot, to work not merely his ruin, but that of him from whom he had first received his gilt spur, and beneath whose auspices he had first unfurled his pennon. To make his instant way to Westminster, to acknowledge himself the stranger knight, and to exhibit the ruby carcanet, was his first impulse; and he wildly hastened to fulfil it.

Onward he went; but, as he drew near the king's palace, the busy gathering of the guard and the eager pressure of the crowd, as the hapless jewel-master was conducted along, caused him to turn aside, when an unseen hand grasped his collar, and an earnest voice exclaimed

"Blessed be His name that hath sent you!" He looked round, and beheld Eleazar of Bruges.

"There is no time to lose," said he; "three messengers have I sent over seas for you-so hasten-give me the carcanet—all depends on it."

"And wherefore?" said the knight, with a look of distrust.

"Peace!" said the Jew, sternly; "you will thank me erelong"-and, before he was aware, the delicate gold chain was broken, and the Jew had vanished with his prize.

"You must come hither with me, my fair sir," said one of the guard coming up; "methinks I took you down to the Vintry a week 'ago; the next road that I shall lead you will be through Our Lady's grace to the gallows-tree." King Edward and his assembled nobles sat in council; the hapless jewel-master was placed before them; but, ere the proceedings commenced, another prisoner was brought in and placed beside him.

"Who is this?" said the chancellor.

"My right valiant companion in arms, and one who, to save my life, put his own in jeopardy," cried a young knight rushing for ward. "My brave Sir Johan de Boteler, wherefore art thou here!"

"Because I determined to fulfil my vow, Sir Matthew Trelauny," replied the Lord of Warrington; and alas! that, through it, such unmerited disgrace should have befallen Sir Walter Manny.'

"St. George is my witness I had kept my vow," returned Sir Matthew Trelauny, "had not the king sent me into Flanders, from whence I have but just returned."

"Then it was you, Sir Knight, who came to the tournament as a stranger from Brittany," said the chancellor, sternly. "But what say you of the jewel?"

"I purchased a ruby, heart-shaped, inclosed in enamel, for thirty marks, of a Jew, named Eleazar of Bruges, and it was that which I wore, and which was mistaken for one more precious."

"Produce it," said the chancellor.

"Would that I could! but, even as I came hither, that accursed Jew-though I scarce should say so, since he hath ever seemed to be my friend-took it from me. Would that Eleazer of Bruges were here!"

"He is here," said a hooded stranger beside him, "though no longer Eleazer of Bruges," throwing back his hood, and drawing himself up proudly, "but Matthias Ben Judah of Toledo. King Edward, thou knowest me well?"

"I do, and most gladly do I welcome thee," said the king, instantly recognizing the learned alchemist, whose fame had gone forth over the whole of Europe, and whose aid had been sought by many a Christian monarch, and by Edward himself, to replenish their exhausted treasuries by his fancied skill.

"And thou knowest this jewel," said the Jew, laying the ruby carcanet on the table.

"I do, right well-precious, priceless jewel!" cried Edward; "but how camest thou possessed of it?"

"By purchase from a stranger, but whom I find to be he who stands there, and I sold it to this knight."

"And for thirty marks only?" said the chancellor.

"I did:-little do you, little does the Lord of Warrington suspect the priceless service he rendered me, when my dwelling was beset by the brutal populace at Lisle. It was not for my gold that I trembled, not for my

jewels, scarcely even for my safety, but for that precious vial of liquid, bequeathed to me by that learned adept, my father, by which I trust erelong to obtain the mighty secret. The brave arm of the Lord of Warrington drove back the craven churls; and I then vowed that, in whatever trouble he might be, or whatever gift he might wish to obtain, I would always stand his friend. Good sire, I have released you from your rash vow; the jewel and the purchasers are all before you: suffer me therefore to pray a guerdon, since it was for this purpose, as you I know will scarcely refuse me, that I took from him this jewel-it is, that you will restore to the Lord of Warrington the estates which through poverty his father sold, and allow him to obtain the Lady Edith."

"Grant it, good king," cried Sir Matthew Trelauny, sinking on his knee.

"Do you say thus, my generous rival!" exclaimed the Lord of Warrington, overwhelmed with joy and surprise.

"Not so generous as you, my true friend," replied his rival, smiling. "The lady favours you, and I am your debtor for life."

"Bid Sir Walter Manny hither," cried King Edward, looking joyfully around. "Good Matthias of Toledo, ten thousand thanks to you-brave Sir Johan de Boteler, whatever you wish is granted-my worthy Sir Nicholas de Farendone, you must forgive my harshness, it was my own error; but from this time forth you shall have no reason to complain. And you, my tried and true friend," and his voice faltered, "what shall I say for my rash speech, Sir Walter? what shall I do for you?"

"Nought, my dear sovereign," replied the chivalrous Manny, "save never to think of it again."

"Follow me, brave knights," cried the king, rising, "and you, too, good Matthias; we will hold high festival and receive the gratulations of our faërie queen. And for this precious jewel, lest it should again be lost, I will place it in the keeping of my patron, St. George, for it shall be set in a chalice for his altar."

And so it was-erelong a splendid gold chalice, executed under the superintendence of Sir Nicholas de Farendone, with "the great balas ruby" conspicuously set, was placed upon the high altar of St George's chapel, where for generations it remained, challenging admiration from all, until that worthy monarch Henry the Eighth, with whom to see, to covet, and to take were synonymous, caused the beautiful chalice to be coined into gold pieces, and placed the gem among the crown-jewels. Nor few

VOL. III.

were the after-vicissitudes of "the great balas ruby." It decked the bosom of the vain and hapless Anne Eoleyn, when, unconscious of her short-lived regality, she moved in state from the abbey to Westminster Hall; it blazed in the gorgeous stomacher of her more fortunate daughter, when, hailed as "goddess more than queen," she presided over the princely revels and pageants of Kenilworth; it shone proudly on the threadbare gray hat of her sapient successor when he edified the Star Chamber with lectures on theology, demonology, and that subject dearer than all, his divine right; and it glowed on the rich point collar of his unhappy son, when for the last time he quitted Whitehall, whither he was only to return a captive condemned to execution. At length, all its varied fortunes past, in the attempt to convey the crown-jewels to Holland, this splendid gem was lost: that deep depository of long accumulated treasure, that vast jewel-chamber of all past generations, the occan, finally engulfed "THE GREAT BALAS RUBY.'

MISS LAWRANCE.

THE EQUALITY OF THE GRAVE.2

The glories of our blood and state

Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings:

Sceptre and crown

Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made

With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,

And plant fresh laurels where they kill; But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still:

Early or late,

They stoop to fate,

And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow,

Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb,

Only the actions of the just

Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. JAMES SHIRLEY (1659).

1 Author of London in the Olden Time.

2 This is said to have been a favourite song of Charles II.

53

THE GREEN WILLOW.1

All a green willow, willow,

All a green willow is my garland.

Alas! by what means may I make ye to know
The unkindness for kindness that to me doth grow!
That one who most kind love on me should bestow,
Most unkind unkindness to me she doth show,

For all a green willow is my garland!

To have love and hold love, where love is so sped,
Oh! delicate food to the lover so fed!
From love won to love lost where lovers be led,
Oh! desperate dolor, the lover is dead!

For all a green willow is his garland!

She said she did love me, and would love me still,
She swore above all men I had her good-will;
She said and she swore she would my will fulfil;
The promise all good, the performance all ill;

For all a green willow is my garland!

Now, woe with the willow, and woe with the wight That windeth willow, willow garland to dight! That dole dealt in allmys2 is all amiss quite! Where lovers are beggars for allmys in sight,

No lover doth beg for this willow garland!

Of this willow garland the burden seems small, But my break-neck burden I may it well call; Like the sow of lead on my head it doth fall!

THE HALL OF SILENCE.

AN EASTERN TALE.

On the banks of the sonorous river Tsampu, whose thundering cataracts refresh the burning soil, and sometimes shake the mighty mountains that divide Thibet from the empire of Mogul, lived a wealthy and esteemed Lama, whose lands were tributary to the supreme Lama, or sacerdotal emperor, the governor of the whole country from China to the pathless desert of Cobi. But although his flocks and herds were scattered over a hundred hills, and the number of his slaves exceeded the stars in heaven, yet was he chiefly known throughout all the East as the father of the beautiful Zerinda. All the anxiety that Lama Zarin had ever experienced arose from the conviction that he must soon leave his beloved daughter; and the question was always present to his mind, "Who will guard her innocence when I shall have quitted her for ever?" The Lama was at this time afflicted with a dreadful malady, peculiar to the inhabitants of the country in which he resided, which threatened, in spite of all that medicine could do, to put a speedy period to his existence.

One day, after an unusually severe attack of his disorder, he sent for the fair Zerinda, and

and all!

All parts pressed in pieces!

Too ill for her think I best things may be had,
Too good for me thinketh she things being most bad,
All I do present her that may make her glad,
All she doth present me that may make me sad;

This equity have I with this willow garland!

Could I forget thee, as thou canst forget me,
That were my sound fault, which cannot nor shall be;
Though thou, like the soaring hawk, every way flee,
I will be the turtle still steadfast to thee,

And patiently wear this willow garland!

All ye that have had love, and have my like wrong,
My like truth and patience plant still ye among;
When feminine fancies for new love do long,
Old love cannot hold them, new love is so strong,
For all.

JOHN HEYWOOD (died 1576).

1 This is the ballad of which a fragment is sung by Desdemona in Othello, act iv, scene 3.

The allmys dish, or alms-dish, was the dish in the

old halls and country houses where bread was placed for the poor.

thus addressed her:

"Daughter of my hopes and fears, Heaven grant that thou mayest smile for ever; yet whilst my soul confesses its delight in gazing on thee, attend to the last injunctions of thy dying father: The angel of death, who admonishes and warns the faithful in the hour of sickness before he strikes the fatal blow, has summoned me to join thy sainted mother, who died in giving birth to thee. Yet let me not depart to the fearful land of death, and leave my daughter unprotected. Oh! my Zerinda, speak! Hast thou ever seriously reflected on the dangers to which thy orphan state must shortly be exposed, surrounded as thou wilt be by suitors of various dispositions and pretensions; some wooing, with mercenary cunning, thy possessions through thy person: others haughtily demanding both, and threatening a helpless heiress with their powerful love?"

He then reminded his daughter that he had lately presented her with the portraits of several princes who had solicited a union with his house, which they had sent to her according to the custom of Thibet, where the parties

can never behold each other till they are married; proceeded to give a brief outline of their various characters; and concluded by asking her which of all these mighty suitors she thought she should prefer? Zerinda sighed, but answered not. Lama Zarin desired her to withdraw, compare their several portraits, and endeavour to decide on which of the Lamas she could bestow her love. At the word LOVE Zerinda blushed, though she knew not why; her father, who saw the crimson on her cheek, but attributed it to timidity, again urged her to withdraw, and be speedy in her decision. Zerinda replied with a smile

"My father knows that he is the only man I ever saw, and I think the only being I can ever love; at least my love will ever be confined to those objects which delight or benefit the author of my being:" and turning round, she continued, playfully, "I love this favourite dog which my father so frequently caresses; I loved the favourite horse on which my father rode, until he stumbled, and endangered his master's life; but when the tiger had dragged my father to the ground, and he was delivered by his trusty slave, I LOVED Ackbar; and since my father daily acknowledges that he saved his life, I LOVE Ackbar still."

"Zarin heard her artless confession with a smile, but reminded her that Ackbar was a slave."

"But which of those Lamas who now demand my love has created an interest in my heart by services rendered to thee like those of the slave Ackbar? And yet I have not seen either his person or his picture; nor know I whether he be old or young-but I know that he saved the life of Lama Zarin, and therefore do I LOVE Ackbar."

The old Lama gently reproved his child for her freedom of expression; he explained to her that love was impious, according to the laws of Thibet, between persons of different ranks in society. Zerinda left her father, and as she stroked her favourite dog a tear trembled in her eye, from the apprehension that she might possibly be guilty of impiety.

About this time the slave Ackbar, who for his services had been advanced from the chief of the shepherds to be chief of the household, had an audience of his master; observing him to be unusually dejected, he declared that he himself had acquired some knowledge of medieine, and humbly begged permission to try his skill in a case in which every other attempt had proved unsuccessful. The Lama heard his proposal with a mixture of pleasure and contempt. The slave, nothing daunted by

the apparent incredulity of his master, proceeded

"May Lama Zarin live for ever!-I boast no secret antidote, no mystic charm, to work a sudden miracle; but I have been taught in Europe the gradual effects of alterative medicines; 'tis from them alone that I hope to gain at length a complete victory over your disease; and if in seven days' time the smallest change encourages me to persevere, I will then boldly look forward, and either die or conquer."

Lama Zarin assented, and from that day became the patient of Ackbar, whose new appointment of physician to the Lama gave him a right to remain always in his master's presence, save when the beautiful Zerinda paid her daily visit to her father, at which times he was invariably directed to withdraw.

The first week had scarcely elapsed when the Lama was convinced that his disease was giving way to the medicines of his favourite; his paroxysms indeed returned, but grew every day shorter in duration; and in proportion as Ackbar became less necessary in his capacity of physician, his company was so much the more courted by Zarin as an associate. He possessed a lively imagination, and had improved his naturally good understanding by travel in distant countries. Thus his conversation often turned on subjects which were quite new to his delighted master. They talked of the laws, religion, and customs of foreign nations, comparing them with those of Thibet; and by degrees the slave became the friend, and almost the equal, of the Lama. Amongst other topics of discourse the latter would frequently enumerate the virtues and endowments of his beloved daughter, whilst Ackbar listened with an interest and delight for which he was quite at a loss to account. On the other hand, the Lama, in the fulness of his gratitude, could not avoid speaking of the wonderful skill and knowledge displayed by the slave, nor forbear relating to Zerinda the substance of the various conversations which had passed between them. It happened one day, when he had been repeating to his daughter the account which the physician had given him of European manners, that Zerinda blushed and sighed: her father entreated to know the cause of her emotion, when she confessed that he had so often mentioned the extraordinary acquirements of this young slave, that she could think of nothing else; and that in her dreams she saw him, and fancied he was a Lama worthy of her love; then turning to her father, she asked,

"Oh, Lama, tell me, can my sleep be impious?"