the earth; his curse on the cowards that fled, and the foes that opposed, was the last sound that thundered over the hills, amid which the flying Albigeois seemed, like spectres, hastening to hide themselves amid the deepening shades of the mountains and of the night.

Paladour and Amirald, who had dealt about with their lances and swords as boys would with their staves amid a heap of bulrushes, grew weary of the carnage, and toward twilight rode apart from the field and stuck their lances in the ground, while they viewed with some amazement the deeds of a minstrel, apparently the most eccentric and dissolute of his profession, who had all day long sung the loose strains that pleased the ear of Sir Aymer; and when the conflict (if it could be termed so between armed knights and unarmed peasantry) commenced, had snatched a weapon from one of the bishop's attendants, and dealt about his blows with such mortal force, that he scarce gave a wound where he did not leave a corse. At the end of the business he caught up his

harp, and, tuning it as he might, began to sing some antique ditty, apparently careless to whom he sung, or whether his strain was noted or not. There was an insouciance about his general deportment that accorded with this abrupt transition from ferocity to levity. He was not old, though he looked so; intemperance, anticipating the approach of age, had done its full work on him; his hair was white,, and his hands shrivelled; his garb too was such as betokened rather the attire of a poor wandering minstrel, than of the pampered favourite of a lordly castle; and from time to time there was an expression of insanity in his sunk eye, and something like the reality of it in the stubbornness with which he refused all solicitation to sing the songs that his companions called for, and persisted in chanting the wildest and loosest lays that ever minstrel uttered. They were, however, sufficiently acceptable to Sir Aymer, whose admiration was not diminished by the valour of which he gave such unexpected proofs, and who, riding up to the young knights, exclaimed,

This is a brave minstrel!- Where, fellow, didst thou learn to wield the harp and sword together?"

The minstrel, instead of answering, struck some vague chords on his harp, and then replied, "In the service of a noble valiant lord, whose name I dare not utter now; there I learned that the brave alone can worthily sound the actions of the brave, and that none should dare to lay finger on the harp, who could not lay hand on sword and lance."

"And who was thy valiant. lord ?" said Sir Aymer.

"One whom I dare not name, though his towers are near ;-let, the bishop of Toulouse tell ye whose they were once."

"Thou darest not name Raymond of Toulouse, an beretic and accursed of the church," said the bishop, as he rode by.

"Thou hast named him," answered the minstrel in a suppressed voice, " though I dare not; those towers once were the abode of Raymond of Toulouse; a neighbouring retreat, where he had placed his family for

safety-alas! not a stone of it is left; the smoke of its last flame was slaked by the blood of his wife and infant children; and ever since that day of blood and death," he exclaimed, "I have been all for mirth and jollity;" and he preluded wildly on his harp. Ever since that day," he repeated, striking his harp so strongly that some of the strings gave way—

"Thou hast broken the strings of thy harp, fellow," said Sir Aymer.

"It was in memory of the day the strings of the minstrel's heart were broken," said the player

"Who busied himself the strings withal,

To hide the tear that fain would fall."

"And whose service boasts thy minstrelsy now?" said Sir Aymer, laughing as the minstrel wept.

"I am in the service of the Lord of Courtenaye, the tenant of yon castle," said the minstrel.

"What!" cried Sir Amirald, advancing as they rode, "thou the follower of Raymond of

Toulouse, and now the menial of the Lord of Courtenaye, his deadliest foe?"

The minstrel, without answering, struck a few wild chords on his dismantled harp; then suddenly raising his head and his voice, "Hadst thou ever loved the harp, sir knight," he said,

the

never wouldst thou cease to love the spot where its chords were first struck and echoed. The stones of that castle," he cried, pointing to it" the weeds that burst through its walls the very waters of its moat rugged battlements of its walls, are dearer to me than all or aught but this"-and with enthusiastic expression he kissed his harp as he spoke. "With this," he cried wildly, "I can raise palaces of amethyst and rivers of silver, and flowers of hue and odour that shame paradise.-But such visions mock me,' he continued in a dejected tone;- give me the dark-grey stone, the heavy water, the weeping and tufted weed, and the dim twilight that sheltered me as I sung of themes then praised, now forgotten-give me my dreams of childhood back again, when my harp and