Woodstock

slowly under th

tumbles at these

at in worth and

ve glibness o

te-armour on th

g and not

.

s head, then receding farther to let in glimpses of the moon, and anon opening yet wider into little meadows, or savannahs, on which the moonbeams lay in silvery silence; as he thus proceeded on his lonely course

nd unsettled; the roads full of disbanded soldiers, and especially of royalists, who made their political opinions a pretext for disturbing the country with marauding parties and robberies. Deer-stealers also, who are ever a desperate banditti, had of l

dvancing towards him. This could hardly be a friend; for the party to which he belonged rejected, generally speaking, all music, unless psalmody. “If a man is merry, let him sing psalms,” was a text which they were pleased to interpret as literally and to as little purpose as they did some others; yet it was too c

liers! Ho fo

or cav

ub — ru

old Be

smokes

e pistol which he had drawn from his belt, but continu

m — slas

ieces da

kham, “who goes th

ded, “No, d — n me — I mean against Church and King, and fo

e, as I guess?

Squattlesea-mere, in the

have been moistening your own throat to some purpose, and usi

enough, Mark, only out of fashion

ken cavalier, as desperate and dangerous as night and sack usually m

s all,” said Wildrake. “But wherefore come you t

it — I will tell you the cau

ting cavalier was cross

— it is all over wit

— it won’t deny — but I’ll uphold him a gentleman and a pretty fellow, for all that. — Madam, says I, you may think your cousin looks like a psalm-singing weaver, in that bare felt, and with that rascally brown cloak; that band, which looks like a baby’s clout, and those loose boots, which have a whole calf-skin in each of the

” said Everard, “and tell me if you are sober

yself for the best man of the party; twanged my nose, and turned up my eyes, as I took my can — Pah! the very wine tasted of hypocrisy. I th

h you about, Wildrake,” said Markham —“Y

Orestes and Pylades; and, to sum up the whole with a puritanic touch, David and Jonathan, all in one breath. Not e

enrolled under Essex, we swore, at our parting, that whichever side was victo

me accordingly? Did you not save me from hanging?

bout. Why render the task of protecting you more difficult than it must necessarily be at any rate? Why thrust thyself into the company of soldiers, or such like, where thou art

ways be reminding you, that our obligation of mutual protection, our league of offensive and defensive, as I may call it, was to be carried into

uch outward conformity to the times as should make it more easy and safe for his friend to be of ser

ised that a rough, rattling, honest fellow, accustomed to speak truth all his life, and especially when he found it at the bottom of a flask, cannot be so perfect a prig as thyself — Zooks! there is no equality betwixt us — A trained diver might as well, because he

d Everard, in a tone so serious that it imposed on h

y broken. Noll hath certainly sold himself to the devil, and his

at who asked the question?” said Everard. “Methinks you

cy — a glorifying mercy — a crowning mercy — a vouchsafing — an uplifting — I profess the malignants

of Colonel Thorn

— the roundheaded rascal! — Nay, hold! it was but a

ung man, King of Scotland, as

coln’s-Inn gambols — though you did not mingle much in them, I think — I used always to play as well as any of them when it came to the action, but they could never get me to rehearse conformably.

ou to do aught, save to be modest and silent. Speak little, and lay aside, if y

for the jaunty manner in which I wear my castor

member you a

ildrake: “let it be sec

— plain clerk — and remember to be c

s superiority, Master Markham Everard. Remember, I am your senior

for thine own, bend thy freakish folly to listen to reason. T

y sake I will do much — but remember to cough, and cry hem! when thou seest

kham Everard: “I am informed that soldiers have taken possession — Ye

or some such rogue, had gone down to the Lod

” replie

passed through the park in quest of you, scarce half an hour since,

Everard. “It is from a window in wha

— So, rat me, says I, if I leave a light in my rear, without knowing what it means. Besides, Mark, th

dangers do you expose yourself and your

y case, I, who was to see the lady, was steeled by honour against the charms of my friend’s Chloe — Then the lady was not to see

dge long before sunset, and never returned. What

e any cat that ever mewed in any gutter,) and holding on by the vines and creepers which grew around,

ou there?” once mor

royal or noble chambers. I saw two rascallions engaged in emptying a solemn stoup of strong waters, and dispatching a huge venison

s!” exclaimed Everar

ow in these incidents of the lute and the table, to try if it was possi

the men?” said

spoken of in the town; the other was a short sturdy fellow, with a wood-knife at his girdle, and a long quarterstaff lying beside hi

keeper. Tomkins is Desborough’s right hand — an Independent, and hath pourings forth, as he calls the

ike a squirrel to an ivy twig, and stood fast — was wellnigh shot, though, for the noise alarmed them both. They looked to the oriel, and saw me on the outside; the fanatic fellow took out a pistol — as they have always such texts in readiness hanging beside the little clasped Bible, thou know’st — the keeper seized his hunting-pole — I treated them both to a roar and a grin — thou must know

aid his companion; “we are now bound for th

er treat than mine. But trust me, they will no more know me, than a man who had only seen your friend Noll at a conventicle of saints, would know th

It is ill jesting with the rock you may split on. — But here is

“Rat-tat-tat-too!” said Wildrake; “there is a fine alarm to you cuckolds

me dig, cucko

ckolds, come d

dsummer frenzy,” said Ever

on, just like what one makes before beginning a long speech. I will be gr

th a chain in case of accidents. The visage of Tomkins, and that of Joceline beneath it, appeared at the chin

ance!” said Everard. “Jo

, alas! sir, you see I am not key-keeper — Here is the gentleman whose war

, who I think may be Mas

ile Wildrake whispered in Everard’s ear; “I will be no longer secretary. Ma

y condition well enough,” said Everard, addressing the Independent, “not t

the house of entertainment in the town, which men unprofitably call Saint George’s Inn. There is but confined accommodation here,

next tempted to play the preacher. But I will take it for no apology for keeping me here in the cold harvest wind

ers at the time. Yet it was well known that whatever might be Cromwell’s own religious creed, he was not uniformly bounded by it in the choice of his favourites, but extended his countenance to those who could serve him, even, although, according to the phrase of the time, they came out of the darkness of Egypt. The character of the elder Everard stood very high for wisdom and sagacity; besides, being of a good family and competent fortune, his adherence would lend a dignity to any side he might espouse. Then his son had been a distinguished and successful soldier, remarkable for the discipline he maintained among his men, the brave

in the apartment, under whose roof he had passed so many of the happiest hours of his life. There was the cabinet, which he had seen opened with such feelings of delight when Sir Henry Lee deigned to give him instructions in fishing, and to exhibit hooks and lines, together with all the materials for making the artificial fly, then little known. There hung the ancient family picture, which, from some

er looked at them with a good-humoured and careless smile, he had once heard him mutter, “And if it should turn out so — why, it might be best for both,” and the theories of happiness he had reared on these words. All these visions had been dispelled

bly a seasoned toper, had made the additional arrangements with more expedition and accur

w the Colonel’s dire

e eat an

N

accept Sir Henry Lee’s bed

es

e Lee should be prepar

ne ears — No,”

e worthy Secretary

, stepping to the sleeping apartment of Alice, which opened from the parlo

any other comman

remain with me — I have orders which must be written out. — Ye

d

ine, what she said w

eed I think that she wept a little — but

ssage did sh

will write to my cousin; and as it may be late ere I have an opportunity of speaking with my father, do thou come for my answer after service.’— So I went to church myself, to while away the time; but when I returned to the Chase, I found this man ha

to the brace of clerks or secretaries, who had in the meanwhile sate quietly down beside the stone bottl

nkle, tinkle, in the bottle

s companion’s imprudence, I will not answer for what arose in his heart — “Well!” he said, obser

rough a pane of yonder window, and how he thinks he had a mighty strong resemblance to your worship’s humble slave

and I have to tell you, that you have drunken a glass too

g up behind the long leathern back of a chair, hemmi

sternly; “you are not now sufficiently y

ommissioners, stalking out of the room — the rest was los

to thy bed — yonder it lies,” po

lady’s for thyself? I saw the

ere — but I will watch in this arm-chair. — I have made him place wood for r

ksop, and the son of a milksop, and know’st not what a

te, dissolute; — and if I cannot get him safely shipped for France, he will certainly be both his own ruin and mine. — Yet, withal, he is kind, brave, and generous, and would have kept the faith with me which he now expec

,” he said, “that, if possible, the thought of public affairs may expel this keen sense of personal sorrow. Gracious Providence, where is this to end! We have sacrificed the peace of our families, the warmest wishes of our young hearts, to right the country in which we were born, and

m and liberties of England, as their supreme ends, could not, by all the ambagitory expressions they made use of, prevent the shrewd eye of Mark