rank demanded at each, now sate round about the radiant fire, mingled promiscuously together with no other distinction than that which courtesy assigns to age or beauty.

Lord Roland de Mainefort, a noble specimen of the feudal baron (the staunchest among the stern grandees, whose mailed forms, closed vizors, and grim silence in the House of Parliament had recently so startled their royal suzerain, and the foremost of those who uttered their patriotic fiat, "Nolumus Leges Anglia mutare!”) sate conspicuous among the rest, not less from his own majestic figure than from the two personages who sate at his right hand and at his left. The one was a bold-eyed youth, with fair brow and bright hair, wearing a silken vest emblazoned with the arms of his house; or, a leopard passant regardant gules; over which was an azure velvet cloak, scarcely covering his broad shoulders; his neck bare to his chest, till the deep and straight hem of superfine and snow-white linen rose above the tunic, over which the broad gold links of a massive chain fell in heavy folds. This was Sir Ildebrand Blondel, who, by perpetually leaning across the patriarchal old baron, breaking in upon his speech, and greatly discomposing his minever robe, in order to devote eye, ear, and soul to the lady on his other side, evinced how much he disapproved of the temporary barrier that existed between them.

That lady was Leonora de Mainefort, and never was there more adequate cause for a lover's impatience of restraint, than in that beautiful maiden. Night had lent her own intensest sable to those luxuriant tresses, and her sovereign planet was not so serene, so noble, so blessed in its brilliance, as the countenance that smiled below them; a broad garland of pearls, wrought in the pattern of roses, bound them up; and the golden girdle which confined her crimson velvet robe above a costly kirtle of snowy samite, clasped a waist that Psyche might have envied.

Such attention as maidenly decorum might allow the lady Leonora to bestow on her bethrothed knight, she by no means reluctantly accorded; and, though it may be supposed she did not go to the extremity of turning a deaf ear to her friends about her, yet the ever glowing colour, and the ready smile, and the sidelong glance, most eloquent when the lips were silent, were all pledges that in heart at least, if not in act, she was idolizing her beloved with undivided homage.

Such were the host and bridal pair that were solemnizing the twelve nights at Goldenrood Castle. As for their guests, as well might we be expected to call stars from the constellations in the sparkling heavens that hung above the castle towers, as to particularize them by rank and name; such was the gorgeous multitude, the harmonious contrast, the well-assorted confusion of magnificence, that reigned among those Christmas revellers.

Round flew the tale, the ballad, and the jest. Mighty mazers of gold and silver richly chased, or of curiously engraven woods hooped with metal, performed their pleasant pilgrimage at stated intervals around the festal ring,—now laving the silver beard with ivory dewnow moistening the thick brown moustache, and then with gentler courtesy, accosting the ruby pouting lip, that dismissed with scarcely a touch, their rich and spicy beverage.

Hill

But while the genius of hospitality thus kept his Christmastide within the walls of Goldenrood, a cheerless contrast was presented by the woods and plains and fields without. A deep snow had fallen during the last two days, and when it ceased, no enchanter could have effected a more complete metamorphosis, and valley, tree and field, village, town, and tower, were arrayed in one thick, cheerless, but most dazzling vesture of white. The vast old oaks stood up into the clear, still sky, every branch and spray thickly incrusted with hoary crystal; the tall hedgerows resembled walls covered with tapestry of silver tissue; while the broad yellow moon looked down upon the stately castle towers, whose black forms were strangely chequered with snowy patches, lodged by the storm capriciously here and there upon their ramparts and buttresses. The old Saxon steeple of the church, generally so dark and grave, now glared and grinned hideously with fantastic swathings that the snow had whirled around it; and the neighbouring Grange in the middle of a large croft, seemed, with its stables and barns, to be absolutely overwhelmed by the unwelcome mantle, that drove its melancholy flocks and herds to the shelter of the fold and the shed.

At this dreary hour, for it was about midnight, a belated traveller, wandering in that wide meadow that stretches between the wood of Goldenrood and the river side, paused in his path, and raising his bowed head, seemed for the first time to become aware that he was in the immediate vicinity of a feudal mansion

of the first rank, and illuminated at that cheerless hour with all the promises of hospitality.

He wore the sable cloak and hood over the white cassock of a Dominican friar, and his steps were supported by a tall staff, surmounted with a cross. The wanderer paused awhile, contemplating the massive pile that rose in wide array of turret, rampart, and window, above the topmost branches of the venerable wood which clothed the sides of the mound on which it stood. The gable end of the baron's hall shewed its steeple roof and smoking lovery conspicuously among the multifarious architecture of the castle; and in its breast the mighty Norman window blazed like a bloody shield upon a warrior's armour ; while in the frosty stillness of the night air, faint strains of minstrelsy, and the still fainter sounds of festive laughter, came down the wooded steep.

Apparently the hospitable summons, thus directed to eye and ear, was not to be neglected; for with marvellous strides the friar quitted the meadows, climbed the hill, threaded the burly trunks of its guardian wood with familiar ease, and presented himself before the grand portal, through which we, my courteous readers, will endeavour to obtain as easy admission as this Dominican friar.

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A new subject of peculiar interest seemed at this time to have suddenly engrossed the attention of our festive chroniclers at Goldenrood, for as the courteous seneschal, with the usual cry Room, lordings, room! Place for a reverend friar!" ushered the wanderer into the vast darkness visible of that large and shadowy hall, he seemed almost a mocking echo to the exclamations which were, at that moment, passing from lip to lip-"How is it possible? never heard of the Friar with the Gory Cowl and his legends? nay then, wasted though the night be already, we will wear it a space further for thy behoof, sir knight !"

This seemed to be addressed to Sir Ildebrand Blondel, who was laughing heartily, and at the same time courteously acknowledging this universal competition to enlighten him upon the ill-sounding subject, of which he was so lamentably ignorant.

A general hush succeeded the introduction of the Dominican, and, although hospitality peremptorily commanded a gracious welcome to the benighted stranger, still a temporary sensation of constraint, a mingled feeling of awe and dislike, for which no one could reasonably account, pervaded the whole company.

This awkward and strange embarrassment was at length broken by Baron Roland, who, quitting his seat, advanced to meet the friar midway in the hall, and with much stately kindness, led the venerable wanderer through its glimmering gloom, to the more cheerful precincts of the blazing reredoss and its legendary ring of revellers.

An eye of a dazzling and a fearful glitter flamed from beneath that Dominican's cowl, and a beard of ghastly whiteness, and of such prodigious thickness and length that it concealed his lips, descended curling and waving like the froth of a cataract upon his black-stoled bosom.

Repeated offers, hospitably pressed, of meat and wine, which still covered the table dormant in the spacious recesses of the oriel, the priestly mendicant pertinaciously declined; he only requested permission to warm his chilled limbs by the fire.

"I am one who hath little to do either with merry-making or story-telling, and I must forward on my path, ere morning dawn; I pray you, therefore, break not off your entertainment for my coming, and heed me not at my departure. And as for the red cowled brother and his exploits, of which I caught some speech as I entered, let not my presence check the theme; since I too have heard strange things recorded of him, and would, not unwillingly, learn more."

Thus saying, the Dominican quietly assumed the vacant seat which had been respectfully surrendered to him; then dropping his tall, crosletted staff within his folded arms, he gathered his dusky robes around him, drew his hood deeper over his brow, and, leaning back in his rudely carved chair, sate like some lifeless effigy in a remote part of that festive circle, neither speaking, stirring, nor (apparently) breathing, during the progress of the wild and incredible stories that ensued.

(See page 253).

GENEROSITY.

There is a great distinction to be made between generosity of manner and generosity of heart. A good man, with the noblest sentiments and feelings, is sometimes disguised by a certain coldness and formality of manner; while a libertine, whose life is spent in the gratification of self, imposes on the multitude, by the bravery and frankness of his air, for a most generous-hearted fellow.

Gronde, comme enfermé sous la cloche sonore.',

At the sixth stroke of the hammer upon the bell, the door of a small obscure dwelling, against which a barber's ensign trembled in the wind, was opened by the hand of a young man apparently about nineteen years of age, and, by a counter movement closed again with nicely calculated precision, in order that such slight noise might be lost-absorbed in the pealing resound of the clock. But that sage precaution was rendered abortive by the indiscretion of the very party by whom it had been adopted. So that, as though some irresistible impulse stronger than prudence itself, had made him forget that silence was necessary to secure his retreat, scarcely had he placed foot in the street, ere he trilled with clear and melodious voice an extempore stave, to which the booming of the clock served as a bass, and which he ended in a sharp C several times repeated, whilst the bell-hammer struck the same note two octaves lower.

The principal, or to speak more correctly, the sole tenant of this dwelling, the barber Keller, shewed himself at the casement, and recognizing the singer,

"'Tis you, Joseph? I thought you had been within this long while; what the deuce are you at, my fine fellow, in the

street at such an hour?"

Without making reply, and perhaps with a design to avoid the question, Joseph said to his interlocutor,

"With what sublime accents time

speaks in the night by means of these clocks, don't you think so Master Keller? When all around is hushed and steeped in that repose which is born of fatigue, that voice, which the intelligence of man has given to time, still mounts towards heaven, to glorify him, even as a homage

rendered whilst he sleeps; and hence it is, religious minds can never, under such thoughts and circumstances, hear it without emotion."

"All very likely," replied the barber; "but these fine metaphysics of which J understand not one jot, don't explain to me the reason of your being in the street at this hour singing away there like a night-lark; you'll soon lose all the little voice you have left, and then, good by to your pupils.'

"What matter!" replied the young man ; "if I should become dumb, the violin will sing for me! Do you really think then, my good friend, that I was created and brought into the world merely for the honour of the solfa? The meal of a nightingale is the pittance of those who have neither the head nor heart of a master. Be easy on that score, the airs that are humming through my brain, will never lack echoes for their repetition."

"True, Joseph, thou art a great musician: I well know it. I have always said so from the first day I heard thee sing; and, out of gratitude for the pleasure afforded me, have I lodged and boarded you beneath my roof, ever since you were expelled from the soprani class at St. Stephen's, for a boyish prank which merited not so severe a punishment. But don't let foolish ideas run in your head; throw not away that which you have in your possession, to run after a shadow."

He reiterated his recommendation, and perceiving that the young man was not lending the most attentive ear possible, he followed it up with, "Come, get in doors."

"That's impossible," said Joseph. "And why, if it so please you?" "Because, far from wishing to come in, I was just taking my departure when you opened the casement."

"Heaven forgive me!" cried Keller, gazing more attentively at him, "heaven forgive me, for as plain as I can see by help of the moonlight, thou hast decked thyself gaily, and wear'st the black coat thou we'rt wont to reserve for fete days alone. Ah! Joseph, Joseph, I fear me much, thou art taking to bad courses, and that I have just surprised thee setting forth on some gallant adventure!"

"Believe me it is not so, Master Keller; you full well know I have no other sweetheart than your daughter Anne-and meanwhile that I await her becoming my bride, have none other mistress than the sweet muse, who,

wooing me even from the cradle, has taught me to express by song that which passes within my heart."

"Where are you going then?"

"Under the balcony of a lady, it is true; but merely to ask her opinion, touching the serenade I composed yesterday, and which I am going to execute with Georges and Grantz, who are waiting for me behind the church." "And what lady is this?" "The lovely Wilhelmina." "The mistress of old Count de Staremberg! Know you her?"

"I know her not-save by name, and as a relative of the harlequin Bernardone."

"The very same."

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Really!" said Joseph laughingly, "you treat me like a gossip customer, and retail at second-hand all the scandalous chit chat of the city. But whether spouse or mistress, they say she is a good musician, and therefore I hope after having heard me, she will deign to open her window and cry, 'Bravo! the serenade was well sung.' So a good night to you Master Keller. Here have we been half an hour already, chatting together, my orchestra will become impatient, the night is cold, and that costume of yours seems somewhat too scanty for you prudently to remain any longer there with your elbows upon the balcony. So adieu! I have a presentiment I shall bring you back good tidings."

So saying, Joseph set off at full speed, and turning the corner of the square, disappeared behind the church. The barber casting up his eyes towards the heavens, and emitting a sound, half groan, half sigh, betook himself to bed. The three young men traversed a considerable portion of the city, taking the road towards the Carinthian theatre, of which the harlequin was manager. They stopped before a window, from which a soft and tranquil light made its way through a double curtain of silk and gauze.

The serenade commenced, was continued and ended, without the slighest movement being observable within the chamber. The three disappointed musicians had already exchanged several uneasy glances with each other, when the door of the house opened. The harlequin Bernardone appeared upon the threshold, and inquired of the singers whose music they had just executed.

"It is mine, signior," replied Joseph, "and to speak frankly, as I thought it passable, I was desirous of offering the first essay to you and your wife."

"Thine, my good lad, why how old are you? There is a very charming air in that serenade of your's then, which has just caused a dispute to arise between my niece and a great personage who honours us with his friendship-the Count Staremberg. The Count, who is in an ill-humour this evening, I know not why, deems this said aria a very miserable composition; Wilhelmina has declared it ravishing, and I have left them both at high words thereon. As for myself, the tune pleases me exceedingly. Arrange it for me as a dance, bring it me to-morrow, and I will pay you handsomely."

"Many thanks for your proposition, signior; but the serenade shall remain a serenade. As for airs de danse, if you require them, I have here," said he, tapping his forehead with his finger, "I have here wherewithal to set all the harlequins in the world spinning en cadence. Bestow upon me one touch of your wand, and the stream will burst forth." "Per Dio!" exclaimed Bernardone, "the lad pleases me. Could you compose an opera for me?" "Why not, signior ?" "Well, come up stairs; we'll have some talk about the matter."

Joseph, begging his companions to wait for him, followed Bernardone. He was conducted to a richly furnished chamber, balmy with exhalations of the most exquisite perfume, wherein, though all around breathed of luxury, yet a somewhat confused and disorderly kind of elegance prevailed. But Joseph was far too great a novice in the world to remark this. Besides, his opera alone occupied his thoughts to such a pitch of abstraction, as scarcely to allow of his observing that the Count Staremberg, who was passing the apartment with folded arms and a frowning brow, limped about in a most frightful manner. Wilhelmina, tired of the disputation, was extended, with her back towards the door, upon a sofa; she raised her head as her relative entered, and judging that the new-comer-short, mean and meagre, merited not a second glance, she resumed her first position.

"Count," said Bernardone, "I have brought you the culprit. I am grieved that I am unable to be of the same opinion as your excellency; but I am sure that this lad will do something. He talks about composing an opera."

The Count stopped shuffling about for an instant, shrugged up his shoulders and said, "Capital! I'll go and hiss it."

Joseph bowed in reply to this polite intimation, and the Count recommenced his limping tour of the chamber.

"And I will go on purpose to applaud it," retorted Wilhelmina, seizing the opportunity of contradicting her old cicisbeo, and I should like myself to choose your libretto, Thank Heavens! we're in no want of such," added she, at the same time opening a cabinet in which some hundreds of manuscripts were heaped. After a short search, she drew forth one and placed it in the hands of Joseph.

"Thanks! madam," said Joseph; "I have ever experienced kindness from the hands of the fair sex. The black coat I wear upon my shoulders I owe to the generosity of an Italian lady, to whom I gave singing lessons some twelve months ago, at the baths of Marendorff, whither, in the capacity of servant, I had followed the celebrated Porpora.

The Count cast a disdainful glance at the narrator.

"Yes, madam," continued Joseph, "for that great master, though as illtempered and brutally behaved man as ever existed, still deigned to give me what I prized more than all-instruction in harmony; for which I brushed his clothes, blacked his shoes, and powdered his old peruke. He paid me my wages in basses and counterpoint. The lady of whom I have just made mention hav ing learned my history, sent for me to her house, and for twelve lessons gave me six sequins, with which I purchased this attire, that enables me to appear everywhere dressed in as good style as Prince Esterhazy. You are equally as kind as she, madam, and the contemplation of your beauty would be ample recompense for passing one's life in composing serenades for the sole satisfaction of obtaining a word of thanks, or even one look during the evening from you through the apertures of your Venetian blinds; but it would be sheer folly of me to think of such a thing, and all that I desire is that you may esteem me somewhat for my music."

The Count, who was limping all the while round the apartment, halted again, and ironically begged to know what might be the title of the poem selected as a subject for the intended opera.

The young man, with some difficulty, suppressed a smile that had well nigh curled his lip, on seeing written in large characters upon the first page of the manuscript: Le Diable Boiteux. His glance met that of Wilhelmina; as he thus answered the Count