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<h4>CHAPTER X.</h4> <div class="poem0" style="margin-left:15%"> Born of noble state, Well could he tourney, and in lists debate.--Spenser. </div> When, as may be remembered, the porter led the knight into the second hall, our friend Longpole remained in the first, with those of his own degree; nor was he long in making acquaintance, and becoming intimate with every one round about, from the old seneschal, who took his place in the leathern chair by right of immemorial service, to the sucking serving-man who was hardly yet weaned from his mother's cottage, and felt as stiffly uncomfortable in his rich livery suit as a hog in armour, a cat in pattens, or any other unfortunate animal in a garb it has not been accustomed to. For all, and each, Longpole had his joke and his quibble; he played with one, he jested with the other, and he won the hearts of all. In short, every one was in a roar of laughter when the porter returned from the second hall, followed by one of those inferior gentlemen who had just found it inexpedient to follow up his purpose of casting Sir Osborne out. Immediately on entering, the porter pointed out Longpole to the other, who advanced and addressed him with a vastly supercilious air, which, however, did not produce any very awful effect upon the honest fletcher.[4] "So, fellow," said he, "you are the servant of that gentleman in the old gray doublet?" "Yes, your worship, even so," answered Longpole. "My honoured master always wears gray; for when he is not in gray cloth, he goes in gray iron; and as to its being old, better an old friend than a new foe." "And who is your master? I should like to hear," asked the gentleman. "Lord! does not your worship know?" demanded Longpole, giving a merry glance round the crowd, that stood already well disposed to laugh at whatever he should say. "Bless you, sir! my master's the gentleman that beat Gog and Magog in single fight, slew seventy crocodiles of the Nile before breakfast, and played at pitch and toss with the cramp bones of an elephant's hind leg. For heaven's sake, don't anger him: he'd eat a score such as you at a mouthful!" "Come, fellow, no insolence, if you mind not to taste the stirrup leather," cried the other, enraged at the tittering of the menials. "You and your master both give yourselves too great airs." "'Ods life, your worship, we are not the only ones!" answered Longpole. "Every Jack carries it as high as my lord, now-a-days; so I'll not be out o' the fashion." "You had better bid your master get a new doublet, then," said the gentleman of the second hall, with a look of vast contempt. "That your worship may have the old one?" asked Longpole, slily. What this might have produced it is impossible to say, for a most insupportable roar burst from the servants at Longpole's last thrust; but at that moment the chamberlain entered from the second hall, and beckoned to the gentleman, who was no other than his cousin. "Take care what you say, William," whispered he; "that knight, with whom I find Master Wilmotswood quarrelled about touching the armour, is some great man, depend on it. The duke sent me away, and then he embraced him, and hugged him, as he had been his brother; and the old controller, who saw him go by, nods and winks, as if he knew who he is, and says that we shall see whether he does not dine at the first table, ay, and near his grace, too, for all his old gray doublet. Hast thou found out his name?" "No," replied the other. "His knave is as close as a walnut, and does not scruple to break his jests on any one, so I'll have no more of him." Their farther conversation was interrupted by a yeoman of the kitchen presenting himself at the door of the hall, and a cry of "Sewers, sewers!" made itself heard, giving notice that the noon repast was nearly ready to be placed upon the table. The scene was at once changed amongst the servants, and all was the bustle of preparation; the sewers running to serve the dinner, the yeomen of the hall and the butler's men making speed to take their places in the banquet room, and the various pages and servants of different gentlemen residing in the manor hurrying to wait on their masters at the table. In the midst of this, our friend Longpole felt some doubt what to do. Unacquainted with what had passed between his master and the duke, and even whether the knight had made known his real rank or not, Longpole did not well know where to bestow himself. "'Ods life!" said he, after fidgeting for a moment on the thorns of uncertainty, "I'll e'en take my chance, and go to the chief hall. I can but walk into the next, if my young master does not show himself soon. Ho! youngster," he continued to a page he saw running by, "which is the way to the lord's hall?" "Follow, follow, quick!" cried the boy; "I'm going there to wait for my Lord Abergany, and we are too late." Longpole lost no time, and arrived in the hall at the moment the controller was arranging the different servants round the apartment. "Stand you here, Sir Charles Poynder's man; why go you higher than Sir William Cecil's? Sir William is a banneret. Harry Mathers, you keep there. You, Jim, by that cupboard. And who are you? Who is your master, tall fellow?" he continued, addressing Longpole. "Oh! the gentleman that is with the duke," cried several of the servants; "the gentleman that is with the duke." "Why, I know not where he will sit," said the controller; "but wait about, and stand behind his chair. Now, are yon all ranged? Bid the trumpets sound." A loud flourish gave notice to the sewers to serve, and to the various guests to descend to the hall, when in a few minutes appeared Lord Abergany and Lord Montague, and one by one dropped in Sir William Cecil, Sir Charles Poynder, and several other knights, who, after the various salutations of the morning, fell into groups of two and three, to gossip out the long five minutes which must pass while the controller informed the duke that the first dish was placed upon the table. In the mean while honest Longpole stood by, too anxious to know the reception his lord had met with even to jest with those around him; but instead, he kept examining all the splendid scene, the rich cloth of estate placed for the duke, the various cupboards of magnificent plate, the profusion of Venice glasses, and all the princely furnishing of the hall and table, with feelings nearly allied to apprehension. At length the voice of the controller was heard crying "The duke! the duke! Make way there for the duke!" and in a moment after the Duke of Buckingham entered, leaning with familiar kindness on the arm of the young knight. "My Lord Abergany," said the duke, "my son, and you, my Lord Montague, my excellent good friend, before we fall to the cheer that heaven has given us, let me introduce to your love this much esteemed knight, Sir Osborne Maurice, of a most noble stock, and what is better still, ennobled by his deeds: and now let us to table. Sir Osborne, you must sit here on my right, so shall you enjoy the conversation of my Lord Abergany, sitting next to you, and yet I not lose yours. Our chaplain is not here, yet let some holy man bless the meat. Lord Montague, you will take my left." That profound silence now succeeded which ought always to attend so important an avocation as that of dining, and the whole worldly attention of every one seemed fixed upon the progress of each dish, which being brought up in turn to the Duke of Buckingham, first supplied those immediately around him, and then gradually travelling down the table from person to person, according to their rank, was at length carried out by a servant into the second hall, where it underwent the same perambulation, and was thence transferred to the third. Here, however, its journeys did not cease; for after having thus completed the grand tour, and become nearly a finished gentleman, the remnant was bestowed upon the paupers without. So different was the order of the dinner from that which we now hold orthodox, and so strange would it appear to the modern epicure, that were not such long descriptions insufferably tiresome, many curious pages might be written to show how a roasted pig, disjointed by the carvers without, was the first dish set upon the table; and also to evince the wisdom of beginning with the heavier food, such as beef, mutton, veal, and pork, and gradually drawing to the conclusion with capons, herons, pigeons, rabbits, and other more delicate dishes. However, as our object is to proceed with our history as fast as possible, we shall not stay to detail the various services, or to defend antiquity against the prejudices of to-day: suffice it, that so great was the noble Duke of Buckingham's attention to his new guest, that Longpole, who stood behind to hand his master drink, threw forward his chest, and raised his head two inches higher than ordinary, as if all the stray beams of the great man's favour that passed by the knight lighted upon himself. The duke, indeed, strove generously to distinguish his young friend, feeling that misfortune has much greater claims upon a noble mind than saucy prosperity. The marks of regard which he gave were such as, in those days, might well excite the wonder of Lord Abergany, who sat next to him. He more than once carved for him himself, and twice invited him to drink; made him notice those dishes which were esteemed most excellent, and spoke to him far more than was usual during the course of dinner. At length the last service appeared upon the table, consisting entirely of sweets. To use the words of Holingshed: "Gelaffes of all colours, mired with a variety of representations of sundrie flowers, herbes, trees, forms of beasts, fish, fowls, and fruits, and thereunto marchepaines wrought with no small curiosity; tarts of divers heads and sundrie denominations; conserves of old fruits, foreign and homebred: sackets, codinals, marmalats, sugar-bread, ginger-bread, florentines, and sundrie outlandish confections, wherein the sweet hand of the seafaring Portingal was not wanting." Now also came the finer sorts of wines: Muscadel, Romanie, and Caprike; and the more serious part of the banquet being over, the conversation became animated and interesting. The young knight, as a stranger to all, as well as from the marked kindness of the duke, was, of course, a general object of attention; and as the guests easily judged him a traveller lately returned from abroad, many were the questions asked him concerning the countries he had seen, and the wars he had been in. Tilts and tournaments then became the subject of discourse; and at length the duke filled high a Venice glass with wine, and calling upon all to do the like, "Good gentlemen," said he, "'tis seldom that Buckingham will stint his guests, but this is our last just now, for I would fain see a lance broken before night. I know not why, but me thinks those sports and exercises, which are thus undertaken at a moment's notice, are often more replete with joy than those of long contrivance; and here is a good knight, who will balk no man of his humour, when 'tis to strike a strong blow, or to furnish a good course. Sir Osborne, to your good health, and may all prosperity and success attend you! Good lords and friends, join me in drinking his health." Sir Osborne expressed his willingness to do the duke any pleasure, and to furnish his course with any knight who thought him worthy of his lance. "But your grace knows," he continued, "that I have come here without arms, and that my horse I lost yesterday, as I explained to you." "He would fain excuse himself the trouble," said the duke, smiling, "because we have no fair lady here to view his prowess; but, by heavens! I will have my will. Surely in my armoury there is a harness that may suit you, sir knight, and in my stables a steed that will bear you stoutly. My Lord of Montague, you are unarmed too; quick to the armoury and choose you arms. Sir Osborne shall maintain the field, and furnish two courses against each comer. We have not time for more; and the horse and harness which the good knight wears shall be the prize. Ho! call here the armourer. He is a Fleming, most expert, and shall choose your suit, Sir Osborne." All now rose, and Lord Montague proceeded to the armoury to choose his arms; while the duke, taking Sir Osborne and Lord Abergany into one of the recesses, spoke to them apart for some moments, the effect of which, as it appeared, was, that the duke's kinsman embraced the young knight heartily. While they were still speaking, the armourer appeared, and with a low reverence approached the duke. "Billenbach," said the duke, "thou hast an excellent eye, and canst see to the size of a straw that a harness be well adjusted. Look at this good knight, and search out amongst the finest suits in the manor one that may be convenient for him." "'Tis a damage, your grace," replied the armourer, with the sort of bow a sledge-hammer might be supposed to make. "'Tis a great damage that you are not at Thornbury, for there is the armour that would have well harnessed him. The gelt armour that is all engrailed with gelt; made for a tall man and a strong, such as his worship: very big upon the chest. Then there is the polished suit up stairs, which might suit him, but I doubt that the greaves be long enough, and I have taken away the barbet and volant from the head-piece to give more light, and 'twould take much time to fasten them on. There are none but the ten suits in the second hall: one of the tallest of them might do; but then they are for your grace's own wear;" and he looked inquiringly at the duke, as if he doubted whether he might not have offended by mentioning them. "Nay, nay, thou art right, Billenbach!" exclaimed the duke; "the fluted suit above all others! I am sure it will do. Call thy men, and fetch it here; we will arm him amongst us." The armourer obeyed; and in a few minutes returned with his men bearing the rich suit of fluted armour which had attracted the knight's attention in the hall. "Ha! Sir Osborne," said the duke, "do you remember this armour? You were present when it was won; but yet you were too young for that gay day to rest on your memory." "Nay, my good lord, not so," replied the knight; "I remember it well, and how gallantly the prize was won. I doubt not it will fit me." "I feel full sure of it," said the duke, "and that you will fit it, for a better harness was never worn; and Surrey says, and I believe, there never was a better knight. Come! let us see; first, for the greaves. Oh, admirable! Does the knee move free? But I see it must. Now the corslet: that will fit of course. How, fellow! you are putting the back piece before! The breast-plate! The breast-plate!" "This brassard is a little too close," said the knight. "If you loosen that stud, good armourer, 'twill be better." "'Tis padded, good sir, near the elbow," said the man; "I will take out the padding. Will your worship try the headpiece? Can you see when the barbet is down?" "Well enough to charge my lance," said the knight. "These arms are exquisite in beauty, my lord duke, yet very light." "There are none stronger in the world," said the duke, "and therein lies the excellence. Though so light that one moves in them more freely than in a coat of goldsmith's work, yet they are so well tempered, both by fire and water, and the juice of herbs, that the sword must be of fine steel indeed that will touch them." "One may see it by the polish that they keep," said the knight. "In each groove one may view oneself in miniature, as in a mirror. They are very beautiful!" "You must win them, my young soldier," whispered the duke. "Abergany has gone to arm, with Cecil and Montague; but I know their force. And now for the horses. The strongest in my stable, with his chanfron, snaffle-bit, manifaire, and fluted poitrel (which I have all, point device corresponding with the suit), goes along as part of the prize. Billenbach! take the casque, put a little oil to the visor, and bring it to the lawn of the Four Oaks. See that the other gentlemen be told that we render ourselves there, where this knight will answer all comers on horseback, and I will judge the field. Send plenty of light lances; and as we have not time to put up lists, bid the porter bring seven men with staves to mark the space." Thus saying, the duke led the way towards the stable, speaking to the knight, as they went, of various matters which they had not discussed in the morning, and making manifold arrangements for concentrating all sorts of interest to produce that effect upon the mind of the king which might lead to the fulfilment of Sir Osborne's hopes. Nor to the Duke of Buckingham, who was well acquainted with the character of Henry, did the plan of the young knight seem unlikely to be successful. The sort of diffidence implied by concealing his name was that thing of all others calculated to win the monarch's good-will; and there was also a kind of romantic and chivalrous spirit in the scheme altogether, that harmonised well with the tastes of the king, who would fain have revived the days of the Round Table, not contented with even the wild, adventure-loving character of the times: and yet, heaven knows! those who read the history of the Chevalier Bayard, and the memoirs of Fleurange, will find scenes and details recorded of those days which the novelist dare not venture to portray. Only one thing made the duke anxious in regard to his young protége: the vast splendour and magnificence of the court of England. He saw that the knight, accustomed alone to the court of Burgundy, where merit was splendour, and valour counted for riches, was totally unaware of the thoughtless expense required by Henry. Sir Osborne had, indeed, informed him that in London he expected to receive from a Flemish merchant the ransom of a knight and three esquires, amounting in all, together with the value of their arms, to about three thousand French crowns, which the duke well knew would little more than pay for the bard and base[5] of his first just; and yet he very evidently perceived it would be difficult to prevail upon him to accept of any purely pecuniary assistance, especially as he had no time to lay a plan for offering it with any very scrupulous delicacy: Sir Osborne purposing to depart after the beverage, or three o'clock meal. "Now, Osborne," said the duke familiarly, after they had seen their horses properly accoutred, and were proceeding towards the place of rendezvous; "now you are once more armed at all points, and fit to encounter the best knight in the land; but we must have that tall fellow who serves you armed too, as your custrel, and mounted; for as you are a knight, and certainly errant, I intend to put you upon an adventure; but here come the counterparty. No one but Cecil will run you hard. I last year gave a harness and a purse of a thousand marks as a prize, which Cecil had nearly won from Surrey. But you must win!" "I will do my best, your grace," replied the knight, "both for the honour of your grace's friendship, and for this bright suit, which in truth I covet. To break two spears with all comers? I think your grace said that was my task. And if I keep the field with equal success against all----" "Of course you win the prize," interposed the duke. "And if any other gentleman make as good points as yourself, you furnish two more courses with him to decide. But here we are. Well, my lords, the horses will be here before the ground be marked. I stand by, and will be an impartial judge." It is not easy to imagine, in these times, how the revenues of that age could support the nobles in the sort of unbounded expense in their houses which has made Old English hospitality a proverbial expression; but it is nevertheless a certain fact, that from fifty to sixty persons commonly sat to dinner each day in the various halls of every wealthy peer. The boards of those who, like Buckingham, maintained a more than princely splendour, were generally much better furnished with guests; and when he looked round the spot that had been appointed for their morning's amusement, and beheld not more than a hundred lookers-on, all of whom had fed at his own tables, he felt almost disappointed at the scantiness of spectators. "We have more guests at Thornbury," said he; "and yet, porter, you do not keep the ground clear. Gentlemen, these four oaks are the bounds; I pray you do not come within. Here are our chargers." The fine strong horse which Buckingham had chosen for the young knight was now led up, harnessed as if for war; and before mounting, Sir Osborne could not refrain from walking round to admire him, as he stood pawing the ground, eager to show his speed. The young knight's heart beat high, and laying his left hand on the neck, he sprang at once from the ground into the saddle; while the very clang of his new armour, and the feeling of being once more equipped as he was wont, gave him new life, and hope, and courage. Ordered by a whisper from the duke, the groom beckoned Longpole from the ground, and the armourer, taking the shield and lance, presented them to the young knight at the end of the course. A note or two was now sounded by the trumpet, and Lord Abergany offered himself on horseback opposite to Sir Osborne, who paused a moment to observe if he charged his lance at the head-piece or the shield, that, out of compliment to the duke's relation, he might follow his example. "Spur, spur, Sir Osborne!" cried the duke, who stood near; "Abergany comes." The knight struck his spurs into the charger's sides; the horse darted forward, and the spear, aimed low, struck the fess point of Lord Abergany's shield, and splintered up to the vantplate in Sir Osborne's hand; at the same moment Lord Abergany's broke upon the young knight's breast; and suddenly wheeling their chargers, they regained the opposite ends of the lawn. The second lance was broken nearly in the same manner; with only this difference, that Sir Osborne, having now evinced his respect for his opponent, aimed at the head-piece, which counted a point more. Lord Montague now succeeded, laughing good-humouredly as he rode towards his place, and bidding Sir Osborne aim at his head, for it was, he said, the hardest part about him. The knight did as he was desired, and broke his spear twice on the very charnel of his helmet. It being now Sir William Cecil's turn, each knight charged his spear directly towards the other's head, and galloping on, both lances were shivered to atoms. "Gallantly done! gallantly done!" cried the Duke of Buckingham, though he began to feel some little anxiety lest the knight banneret might carry off the prize, which he had fully intended for Sir Osborne. "Gallantly done! to it again, gentle knights." The spears were now once more delivered, and setting out as before, each struck the other's head-piece; but Sir William Cecil's, touching obliquely, glanced off, while that of Sir Osborne was again splintered. "Give me your voices, gentlemen all!" cried the duke, turning to the spectators. "Who has the day? Sir Osborne Maurice, I say." "Sir Osborne! Sir Osborne!" cried a dozen voices; but one person, no other than he who had thought fit to quarrel with the knight about touching the very armour he now wore, could not forbear vociferating the name of Sir William Cecil, although, fearful of the duke's eye, he took care to keep back behind the rest while he did so. "Some one says Sir William Cecil!" cried the duke, both surprised and angry. "What say you yourself, Sir William?" "I say, Sir Osborne Maurice," replied the banneret surlily, "because my lance slipped; but had it not, I think I should have unseated him." "He is not easily unseated," said the duke, "if report speak true. However, the prize is yours, Sir Osborne. Yet, because one voice has differed from my judgment, if you two knights will furnish one more course for my satisfaction, I will give a thousand marks for the best stroke." "Your grace knows that I must soon depart," said Sir Osborne; "but, nevertheless, I am quite willing, if this good knight be so, for I am sure his lance slipped merely by accident." "Oh! I am very willing!" cried Sir William Cecil, somewhat sharply. "A thousand marks, your grace says?" "Ay, sir," replied the duke, "I do." "'Tis a tough prize!" cried Sir William; "so give me a tough ash spear." "To me the same!" cried Sir Osborne Maurice, not exactly pleased with the tone of his opponent. "'Tis for the best stroke." At this moment Longpole appeared, completely armed by Buckingham's command, as a custrel, or shield-bearer; and hearing his master's demand, he searched amongst the spears till he met with one that his practised eye, long used in his quality of fletcher, or arrow-maker, to select the hardest woods, instantly perceived was excellent, and bore it himself to the knight. The trumpet sounded; both galloped forward, and Sir William Cecil's lance, aimed as before at the knight's casque, struck hard: but Sir Osborne was as immoveable as a rock; and though of firm, solid wood, the spear shivered. Not so Sir Osborne's; borne forward by a steady, unerring hand, it struck Sir William Cecil's head-piece just under the crest, wrenched away the crest and plume, and still catching against the ironwork, bore him backwards upon the croupiere, and thence with his horse to the ground; for though Sir Osborne pulled in his rein as soon as he could, it was not before the weight of his charger had overborne that of his opponent, and thrown him far back upon his haunches. The servants of Sir William ran up to disentangle him; and finding him considerably hurt by the fall, they bore him away to his apartments in the manor. In the mean while the duke and his friends were not scanty of the praises which they bestowed upon the young knight; and indeed there might be some sensation of pleasure at Cecil's overthrow, mingled with their approbation of Sir Osborne; for though a good soldier and an honourable man, the banneret was overbearing in society with his equals, and insupportably proud towards those of an inferior rank, so that all the servants winked to each other as he was borne past, taking no pains to conceal their pleasure in his humiliation. "I am sorry that Sir William Cecil is hurt," said the knight, springing off his horse: "On, Longpole, after his men, and discover what is his injury." "'Tis no great matter," said Lord Abergany, "and it will do Cecil no harm that his pride is lowered; for in truth, he has lately become beyond all endurance vain. He spoke of quelling the mutiny of the shipwrights at Rochester as if his single arm were capable of doing more than Lord Thomas and all his company. Well, fellow!" he continued to Longpole, who now returned, "what hurt has Sir William?" "Why, please your lordship," replied he, "he is neither whole beaten nor whole strangled, but a little of both; for his casque has proved a cudgel, and given him a bloody nose; and his gorget a halter, and half hanged him." "A merry knave!" said the duke. "Come, Sir Osborne, half-an-hour still rests before our beverage; that you shall bestow upon me, when you have taken off your casque. Gentlemen, amuse yourselves till three, when we will rejoin you in the hall." Thus saying, the duke again led the way to his closet, and concluded all his arrangements with the young knight with the same generosity of feeling and delicacy of manner which had characterised all the rest of his conduct towards him. The prize Sir Osborne had won he paid to him as a mere matter of course, taking every means to conceal that it had been offered merely that he might win it. But he also exacted a promise, that whenever the young knight was in London, he would use his beautiful manor-house of the Rose, in St. Lawrence Pountney, as if it were his own, and furnished him with a letter which gave him therein unlimited command over whomsoever and whatsoever it contained. "And now," continued Buckingham, "let us speak, my young friend, of the means of introducing you to the king, without my appearing in it, for I am not well beloved of the butcher-begotten cardinal. My cousin, the abbot of the Benedictines, near Canterbury, writes me this morning that his sister, the lady abbess, a most holy and devout woman, has with her, even now, a young lady of high station, a woman of the queen's, one Mistress Katherine Bulmer, who has lately been there to visit and cheer her relation the abbess, who has somewhat suffered from a black melancholy that all her holy piety can hardly cure; and also, as he hints, perhaps to tame down the young damsel's own light spirits, which, it may be, soar a pitch too high. However, the time has come that the queen calls for her lady, and the abbess must send her back; but this mutiny of the shipwrights at Rochester puts the good devotees in fear; and they must needs ask me, with an 'if I be sending that way,' to let the lady journey to the court at Greenwich under escort of any of my retainers or friends. If you undertake the charge, our most excellent Queen Katherine will surely give you her best thanks, and make you know the king; and the mutiny of the shipwrights, who are still in arms, will be a full reason and excuse why you should ride armed. Three of my servants shall accompany you. Say, does this proposal please you? Will you accept it?" "With many thanks!" replied the knight. "Your grace is ever kind and thoughtful for your poor friend's good." "Your father once saved my life," answered the duke, "and I would almost give that life again to see him what he was. See, here is the letter to the lord abbot. Let us now back to our friends, or they will think we are plotting treason. Do you favour the bad habit of beverages? No? then we will drain one cup ere you mount, and bid you farewell." The duke now led to the hall, called for a cup of wine, and then pledging the young knight, together with Lord Abergany and Lord Montague, conducted him to his horse, notwithstanding the opposition which he made to so marked an honour. "'S life!" cried Lord Montague, seeing him still armed: "Are you going to ride in harness? Three of his grace's servants armed too! Why you are surely going to deliver some captive damsel from the power of a base ravager." "Your lordship is not far wrong," replied the knight, springing on his horse. "But as it is a secret adventure put upon me by the noble duke, him you must ask if you would hear more." "Oh, the history! the history! I pray thee, most princely Buckingham?" cried Lord Montague. "But the knight gallops off with his fellow, whom he calls Longpole; but I doubt me much that both Longpole and Osborne Maurice at times bear other names. Ha! my lord duke? Well, well! Keep your secret; nothing like a little romance. He seems a noble heart, whoever he be." With this speech the whole party turned into the mansion; the generous-hearted duke congratulating himself on having thus found means to furnish his old friend's son with money and arms, and laying still farther plans for rendering him more extensive and permanent service, and the two lords very well pleased with the little excitement which had broken in upon the sameness of their usual morning amusements. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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