She could have taught the doctors.

Then at winter

When weekly she distributed the bread
In the poor old porch, to see her and to hear
The blessings on her! and I warrant them
They were a blessing to her, when her wealth
Had been no comfort else. At Christmas, Sir!
It would have warm'd your heart if you had seen
Her Christmas kitchen; how the blazing fire

Made her fine pewter shine, and holly boughs
So cheerful red; and as for mistletoe,
The finest bough that grew in the country round
Was mark'd for Madam. Then her old ale went
So bountifully about! a Christmas cask,

And 'twas a noble one! . . . God help me, Sir!
But I shall never see such days again.

STRANGER.

But sure all changes are not needs for the worse.
My friend?

OLD MAN.

May-hap they may'nt, Sir; . . for all that
I like what I've been used to. I remember
All this from a child up, and now to lose it,
'Tis losing an old friend. There's nothing left
As 'twas; I go abroad and only meet

With men whose fathers I remember boys;
The brook that used to run before my door,
That's gone to the great pond; the trees, I learnt
To climb, are down; and I see nothing now
That tells me of old times, except the stones
In the church-yard. You are young, Sir, and I hope
Have many years in store, but pray to God
You may'nt be left the last of all

STRANGER.

your friends!

Well! well! you've one friend more than you're aware of. If the squire's taste don't suit with yours, I warrant, That's all you'll quarrel with; walk in and taste

His beer, old friend! and see if
E'er broach'd a better cask.
But we're acquainted now.

You did not know me, 'Twould not be easy

To make you like the outside; but within,
That is not chang'd, my friend! you'll always find
The same old bounty and old welcome there.

Southey.

THE YORKIST NOBLE-(Continued).

SIX or seven years passed away, during which the throne of Edward appeared to be peaceably established. Sir William de Worde had not forgotten the youth whose flight he had so strangely aided; but he had never obtained any explanation of that mystery, and in process of time his curiosity had almost ceased. It chanced, however, that in the year 1477 an embassy was despatched by the English king to the court of Burgundy, for the purpose of proposing a marriage between the young duchess and the king's brother-in-law, Lord Rivers. The ship in which William was a passenger, became separated from the others during the night by some mischance, it was asserted; but, as was believed by many of the party, in consequence of secret instructions. The crew were landed on the coast of Brittany, where they were immediately arrested, or rather despatched in a species of honourable captivity to Vannes, where the Duke of Brittany then held his court, in order to obtain his permission to pursue their route. The duke received them hospitably, and detained them several days, during which they were sumptuously lodged and feasted.

One night it chanced that Sir William de Worde was returning late to his lodging (which was situated on the outskirts of the town), when the clash of arms at some little distance, together with cries for help, struck on his ear. Drawing his sword he hurried up, and saw by the light of the moon a masked cavalier defending himself

desperately against three assailants, also masked, and evidently disguised. One of these the solitary champion had disabled; but the other two were pressing on him so keenly, that it was evident his resistance could not be long protracted. De Worde shouted to them to forbear, and one of them instantly turned upon him. A short but sharp conflict ensued, in which William received a wound on the cheek; requiting his antagonist, however, with a thrust which stretched him dead on the ground. Meanwhile the cavalier had succeeded in his encounter also, running his opponent through the body. The third man, who had been wounded before William's arrival, had now risen, and attempted to escape; but the stranger rushing upon him, passed his sword through him without the smallest hesitation, laying him also lifeless on the field. He now stepped forward to thank his unexpected ally. At the same moment his mask, which had been loosened by the exertion of the conflict, fell off; and De Worde discerned in the full light of the moon the features of the youth, whom he had assisted to escape from the Welsh coast some seven years before. It was plain that the recognition was mutual.

a second time

"Noble De Worde," said the stranger; I owe you my life. I knew of your presence in Vannes, and would fain have visited you to express my thankfulness, but that I dared not. A hard necessity compels me to shun the notice of even my friends. But believe me, we shall meet yet a third time, when such necessity will exist no more. Meanwhile, I pray you to make no mention of what has to-night occurred; nor any inquiries as to who he is, whom you have twice delivered from death."

So saying, he resumed the mask which he had raised from the ground, and with a courteous salutation to De Worde, walked rapidly away.

A few days afterwards De Worde and his companions received permission to depart. Accordingly, with as many of the men-at-arms as could be found (for several, it was evident, had deserted) they rejoined the English embassy;

which, after a very brief visit to the court of the duchess, was now returning to England.

Sir William de Worde observed with scrupulous fidelity the injunction, which had been laid upon him, to make no inquiries which might tend to elucidate the late mystery. It was evident that the unknown must have deceived him, when he had declared on a former occasion, that he was about to seek refuge in Ireland. Probably the whole tale, which he had then related to him, was fictitious; but that did not, in his opinion, release him from the honourable obligation imposed on him. Doubtless the unknown was one of the many Lancastrian exiles, who after the defeat at Tewkesbury had sought a refuge in France; and it would be unknightly, he felt, to seek to dispel a mystery which might be necessary to the stranger's safety. Accordingly he returned to England, and resumed his post at King Edward's court, which he retained until the death of that monarch.

His father, it should have been mentioned, had not long survived the restoration of the House of York; and Sir William had now inherited the family estates, and the office at court, which had been bestowed on his father. But he did not also inherit the warm regard which the latter had felt for the king. Towards the close of his life the character of Edward greatly declined. The faults of indolence and licentious luxury, which had always been his most conspicuous failings, gained now so completely the mastery over him, as to extinguish the more generous qualities, which had hitherto, in some degree, balanced them. Richard, Duke of Gloucester, who now, by the death of Clarence, was the heir of the House of York, failing the issue of Edward himself, began to attract to himself the regard of all the abler spirits of the age. Few princes have been more differently representedmore unscrupulously maligned or defended than the Duke of Gloucester. But without touching upon these disputed points, it is certain that he was a person who could conciliate the affections and command the enthusiastic loyalty of men whose bravery and honour were

beyond dispute. Sir William de Worde was one of those whom he sought most eagerly to attach to his service, and whose devotion he was most successful in winning. When, after the death of Edward V., the duke was proclaimed king by the title of Richard III., Sir William was one of his most staunch supporters. Nor did he waver in his loyalty throughout the long and complicated struggle, which terminated at last on the Field of Bosworth. Overtures were made more than once by the chiefs of the Lancastrian party; and the most brilliant promises of advancement held out to him, if he would quit the service of the usurper, who, he was assured, was on the brink of ruin. But De Worde not only rejected these offers, but divulged them immediately afterwards, with such disastrous effect to the Lancastrians, that the rage of that party was greatly excited against him. He was one of a small number expressly exempted from the general amnesty, proposed to be made in the case of the Earl of Richmond's success in the attempt, which he was now about to make, on the crown of England. But these tidings, when conveyed to his ear, only confirmed De Worde's resolution to stand to the death by the master, of whom he would believe no evil.

At last there appeared the closing scene of the Great Drama which had been enacted on English sail for so many years, and with such disastrous effect. The Earl of Richmond landed at Milford Haven with a small force, the numbers of which were considerably augmented during his march through the western counties; while King Richard, breaking up his camp at Nottingham, also advanced to meet his antagonist. The two armies met at Bosworth, in Leicestershire, that of Richard being greatly the more numerous. But, at a short distance, lay a third force under the command of Lord Stanley, which, if it should espouse the cause of either party, would in all likelihood give that party the preponderance.

Whatever might be King Richard's weaknesses or vices, the lack of personal bravery was not among them,